Ritual and Aesthetic: The Influence of Europe on the Art of Fenimore Cooper

Helen Phinit-Akson [Dr. Helen James]
(Thammasat University, Bangkok Thailand)

Thammasat University Press, Bangkok, 1976

Placed on-line with permission of the author
[may be downloaded and reproduced for personal or instructional use, or by libraries]

Return to Cooper's Writings

Publisher's Note: Since 1967, Helen Phinit-Akson has taught English and American Literature at the University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., and at Thammasat and Chulalongkorn Universities in Bangkok, THAILAND. She earned her B.A. (Arts/Oriental Studies) from the Australian National University, and M.A. and Ph.D. from the University of Pittsburgh.

SUMMARY (from rear cover of original): RITUAL AND AESTHETIC: The Influence of Europe on the Art of Fenimore Cooper by Helen Phinit-Akson analyzes the varied artistic techniques of James Fenimore Cooper as found in eight of his novels written between 1828 and 1849. Across these twenty years, Cooper's artistic modes changed from iconography to motif and ritual, to allegory and symbol as this first American novelist of International reputation responded positively to the Renaissance art and architecture of Europe. In this manner, Cooper's artistry becomes a definition of the human condition. The eight novels treated here -- The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish, The Bravo, The Heidenmauer, The Headsman, The Wing-and-Wing, Mercedes of Castile, The Oak Openings, The Sea Lions reflect a Cooper with interests vastly different from those of the author of the Leatherstocking saga.

CONTENTS

Transcriber's Note: A few typographical errors in the Bangkok-printed original have been silently corrected.

PREFACE

{i} This book grew from my conviction that America's first novelist of international stature deserves more recognition than as a spinner of Indian yarns, as the Leatherstocking series is often considered. Among the forty-two volumes of Cooper's fiction, three groups are usually recognized: the Sea tales, the tales of the Prairie and the Indian, and the tales of Social Criticism. For students of American literature who are not native speakers of English, only the Indian tales are often thought appropriate. Yet, in fact these may hold the least interest for bi-lingual students. Among the Sea tales and the tales of Social Criticism, several volumes of racy narrative in Cooper's best style would attract more interest and be more engaging to the bi-lingual student than those of the Leatherstocking saga e.g. The Pilot, The Red Rover, The Wing-and-Wing, The Bravo, Satanstoe. There is however, a fourth group of novels in Cooper's fiction which includes some of the Sea tales and some of the volumes of Social Criticism, but which really forms a new group. These are, the eight novels which are profoundly influenced in technique and theme by Cooper's experiences while travelling in Europe, 1816-1833. Superficially, this group includes and subsumes the three former groups, for the Indian and the Settler, the Sea, and Social Criticism have been utilized as narrative elements in articulating Cooper's vision of the nature and condition of man in the universe. However, when the extent of the influence of Cooper's experiences on his art is recognized, it can be seen that this fourth group of eight novels distinctly deals with one overall theme, his spiritual vision of man's responsibility as a finite creature within an infinite universe. The eight novels on which this study focuses show that Cooper's artistic methods were conditioned by his response to European art and architecture, especially that of the Renaissance. His techniques are most assuredly not those of Henry James and it is a mistake to judge him by these; his style is not faultless as Mark Twain has shown, and as any devotee of Cooper will admit; but, his artistry has a form and validity which deserves appreciation. At his best, Cooper is incisive, pithy, and devastatingly accurate in his analysis of society and man.

It is hoped that this book will aid and stimulate teachers and students of nineteenth-century American literature to judge the achievement of this first American novelist of international renown. It is one of the ironies of Cooper's fortunes that he has been more appreciated overseas than in his own country, partly because of his belligerent criticism of social and moral codes which he considered were in decay during his own time. Yet his remarks are not merely local, but have universal relevance wherever man pretends to be other than a fallible being.

Chapter 1 -- AN AFFAIR OF FAITH: Cooper in Europe

{1} Myth-maker, social critic, creator of the American sea novel, Fenimore Cooper has been the subject of resurgent interest in academic literary circles since the 1920's. The religious concerns dominating those of his novels which do not fall into these categories have been the subject of various articles by Howard Mumford Jones, Charles A. Brady, Donald A. Ringe, and Frank M. Collins. Suggestive, though not exhaustive, as these articles have been, they bring into focus this important religious dimension attested to by numerous letters and journals of Fenimore Cooper as well as by his non-fiction travel books. In Paris during his European sojourn, 1826-1833, Cooper once declared: "Selon moi chaque homme devrait être le maître de ses propres intérêts jusque au point où cette liberté ne gêne pas l'ordre public et la justice, et avec moi, la religion est une affaire de foi et pas de raisonnements. Un Dieu que je pourrais comprendre deviendrait un égal, et les égaux ne s'adorent pas."1-1 Religion, Cooper believes, is a matter of faith for him, not reason--faith in the benevolence of an incomprehensible Deity in whose omnipotence he delights. Such antinomian feelings were confirmed in Cooper during his residence in Europe and resound throughout his fiction, especially the novels of his last decade, 1840-1850.

Commenting on the religious dimension in Cooper's fiction, Howard Mumford Jones points out that Cooper is "the only American novelist of international stature to take Christianity seriously both as personal motive and as social force."1-2 He recognizes Cooper's insistence on Christian principles as the only valid guides for individual conduct and as the only reliable bases of a worthwhile human community. Fenimore Cooper, the social critic established during the 1930's by the valuable studies of Robert E. Spiller1-3 and Dorothy Waples,1-4 becomes a necessary forerunner of Brady's Christian romancer, the Cooper who is "the most religious of our major novelists."1-5 Cooper's religious views could be defined as the unqualified acceptance of Trinitarian Christianity; from this position, Cooper constantly analyzes man and society. In his fiction, man "cannot hope to arrive at truth or justice solely through the use of his unaided reason."1-6 Cooper condemns those who do uphold the sufficiency of their own rational faculty; he "abhorred Deism, automaticallY anathematized Paine and Voltaire, shuddered and later shook at the mention of{2} Unitarianism."1-7 Though his religious opinions may lack originality and may leave a God-less generation untouched, they assert a profound influence on the form and technique of his fiction, an influence fostered and nurtured by experiences during his European travels.

This religious dimension was first alluded to by Thomas R. Lounsbury, the novelist's first biographer, who remarks on Cooper's deeply religious nature and traces the importance of theology in Cooper's fiction from his first novel, Precaution, to his penultimate work, The Sea Lions (1849). Lounsbury's unsympathetic attitude towards his subject and his inability to obtain access to family documents since published by James F. Beard cause him to portray a bigoted Cooper, a "Puritan of the Puritans," whose religion is merely "pietistic narrowness." Completely misreading The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish, Lounsbury says Cooper was unable to delineate the Puritan character sympathetically because he shared their "earnestness, their intensity, their narrowness, their intolerance, their pugnacity, their serious way of looking at human duties and responsibilities," all of which in Lounsbury's view "correspond with elements in his own character." Discussing Cooper's late novels, 1840-1850, Lounsbury believes that they merely illustrate "his regard for the Episcopal church and his dislike of New England." With the excuse of writing fiction, Cooper supposedly attacked "those whose religious views differed from his own."1-8

With Lounsbury's acid judgment of Cooper, Marcel Clavel totally disagrees. Cooper, he declares, was a "Chrétien convaincu -- si convaincu et si sincère qu'il n'avait pas encore osé se présenter à la table de communion -- épiscopalien pratiquant et même agissant, il n'avait rien du dévot ni du sectaire. Son hostilité contre les puritains -- dont il reconnaissait d'ailleurs les mérites et les vertus -- venait en partie du sectarisme avec lequel ils avaient persécuté les coreligionnaires de ses ancêtres quakers, tandis que l'impression durable que lui avait laissée la poésie de culte catholique espagnol témoignait éloquemment de son manque de préjugés."1-9 In his monumental study of Cooper's early works, Clavel here agrees with the novelist's friend and contemporary, Samuel Morse, who testifies that Cooper was "theoretically orthodox, a great respecter of religion and religious men, a man of unblemished moral character,"1-10 and with William C. Brownell who appreciated the fact that Cooper's antipathy to the Yankee archetype in his fiction was a critique of religious fanaticism, self-sufficiency, and disputatious sectarianism. Bearing in mind Cooper's responses to the various European religious cultures in {3} The Bravo (1831), The Heidenmauer (1832), The Headsman (1833), Mercedes of Castile (1840), and The Wing-and-Wing (1842), Brownell disperses the spectre of bigotry: "Catholicism and Catholics always receive just and appreciative treatment at his hands."1-11 The sympathetic treatment of Catholicism in these latter two novels is especially noteworthy because Cooper wrote them following the violent anti-Catholic agitation in the United States subsequent to the publication, in 1836, of Maria Monk's Awful Disclosures of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery. Cooper closely followed the religious controversies of the years, 1834-1840, before incorporating his conclusions in his final novels.

Cooper's friends thus support recent scholars in their growing appreciation of the religious dimension in his novels. The man who declared to C. Henry that religion was, to him, a matter of faith, not reason, appears in his writings, not as a zealot, but as a man of encompassing breadth of soul whose compassion for his fellow creatures caught in their human limitations led him to examine the implications of Christian theology as the basis of Western civilization. In several of his novels, Cooper presents a religious vision of life stemming from his intuition of the original catholicity of an untheorized Christianity before disputatious sectarianism stripped the spirit from the system. This religious vision is most clearly presented in eight of his novels written between 1829 and 1849 -- specifically, The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish (1829), The Bravo (1831), The Heidenmauer (1832), The Headsman (1833), Mercedes of Castile (1840), The Wing-and-Wing (1842), The Oak Openings (1848), and The Sea Lions (1849). These novels show that Cooper, as artist, seeks to demonstrate the necessity for man to acknowledge the inadequacy of his reason to find truth; for humility as a fallible being whose only chance of avoiding gross error lies in accepting the will of Providence and the theological disciplines of orthodox Christianity.

As expressed in his fiction, Cooper's religious vision appears to have been stimulated by the art and architecture of Catholic Europe. During his seven years in Europe, 1826-1833, he assiduously sought out the relics of the once powerful Holy Roman Empire. Thus, soon after his arrival in France, Cooper wrote to his sister a lengthy description of the Cathédrale de Notre Dame at Rouen. Quite attracted by this "fine specimen of the Gothic," he commended the ornamentation of "saints, virgins, cherubim, angels, and other sacred images" and then proceeded to describe the interior and minor altars decorated with paintings, religious images, and burning candles, altars "which are in use by pious devotees at all hours of the day -- { 4} Remember you never enter a Catholic Church without finding some one at prayer, counting his or her beads, or performing a penance."1-12 Gothic art and architecture appear to have been on Cooper's mind frequently during these years, for in this same letter he also mentions a specific visit to the ruins of Netley Abbey and a church near Carisbrooke Castle on the English Isle of Wight and confesses that the Coopers are "great hunters after the Gothic" which they have "since enjoyed in such perfection in France."1-13

Just what did Gothic mean to Cooper? Not the Protestant, night-mare visions of the late eighteenth century Gothic novelists. Nor does he appear to emulate the Gothic ideal of structural balance such as Charles Muscatine has found in Chaucer's "Knight's Tale."1-14 For Cooper, Gothic conjures up that fabulous era of medieval piety when artisans and artists were stimulated by their faith to produce masterpieces of art and architecture for the purpose of magnifying the greatness of their God. The Gothic held a natural attraction to a novelist who declared that religion was a matter of faith to him, faith in the benevolence of an incomprehensible Deity who presided over a unified Catholicism.

Not surprisingly then, Cooper's letters and journals during his European sojourn show that, while travelling in Belgium 29 May to 10 June 1828, he deliberately sought out churches in Breda, Antwerp, and Mechlin -- Catholic cathedrals with Gothic associations. At Antwerp, he also visited the art gallery where his journals specify that he saw Ruben's painting of Calvary and the Descent from the Cross.1-15 Cooper says that he saw another Rubens in the church of Mechlin; which painting, he does not specify, but Rubens is known to have painted twelve versions of the "Assumption of the Virgin" and fifteen of the "Adoration of the Magi,"1-16 and it is not impossible that Cooper saw one of these studies. Indeed, Cooper's letters and journals show that he soon developed a connoisseur's delight in religious art. He eagerly visited galleries in Dresden, Munich, and Florence; discussed Raphael and Murillo,1-17 whose paintings were being copied in the Louvre by Cooper's friend, Samuel Morse; cemented friendships with the American artists, Horatio Greenough and Thomas Cole. Later, Cooper was anxious to obtain the painting by Washington Allston, "Elisha in the Wilderness."

Cooper's comments on art and artists seem to indicate that he had a special predilection for the works of the Counter-Reformation and the historical relics of this movement. At the home of his English friend, Samuel Rogers, in 1828, Cooper {5} had indulged himself wandering around Roger's fabulous collection of art works among which were some fine paintings of the Madonna, a favorite subject for artists of the Counter-Reformation.1-18 Like the Belgian painter, Rubens, whom Cooper noted in his journal, Raphael and Murillo were similarly renowned for their Madonnas, as were the galleries of Dresden, Munich, and Florence at this time. Since there is much latent mariolatry in the novels Cooper wrote after 1828, it would seem as if these works of art and the Gothic, religious spirit inspiring them were acting as a catalyst for Cooper's imagination.

Mariolatry and the relics of Gothic Catholicism seem to have been on Cooper's mind during his extended visit to Switzerland, 1828 - 1830. For the Protestant churches of the Bernese Oberland, Cooper showed no such enthusiasm as he had accorded the French Gothic structures. Not until he was in the Catholic regions of Zurich, Goldau, and Soleure-Constance did Cooper show more than desultory interest in the art and architecture once more. He deliberately sought out the Dominican convent in Constance where John Huss had been tried and condemned for heresy in 1414. Cooper made a detailed examination of the hall in which the Council of Constance was held and later visited the site of the execution of Huss. In this Dominican stronghold of Langenthal and Constance, he was, as in Belgium, confronted with mariolatry -- the Dominican polemicists, St. Bernard and St. Thomas Aquinas, had both upheld this dogma. In his journal, Cooper noted that these convents together with those at Sachseln and Sarnen also celebrated St. Nicholas, who, as the patron saint of children, is often found in religious paintings of the Virgin and Child.1-19 It is not surprising then to find that his experiences in this region are directly incorporated into his novel, The Heidenmauer, (1832).

A further instance of Cooper's confrontation with mariolatry, also incorporated into The Heidenmauer, is his experience at the shrine of Einsiedeln. Fascinated by the large number of pilgrims of humble station, all praying aloud as they made their offerings inside the shrine to the Virgin and Child, Cooper earnestly commended their simple faith and their lack of skepticism, a characteristic observation for a novelist who had declared: la religion est une affaire de foi et pas de raisonnements. Empathizing with the villagers, Cooper supposed that they felt "awe" before the "mysterious looking countenances"1-20 of the Mother and Child.

Cooper's interest in religious art and architecture increased during his residence in Italy (12 October 1828, to 7 May 1830). During this time, he deliberately {6} immersed himself in the religious art of the Italian Renaissance. To Milan he went to see Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper,"1-21 while Corregio's painting of St. Jerome with the Madonna and Child draws praise from him in the cathedral of Parma.1-22 In Florence, the city he enjoyed most of all, Cooper frequented the art collection in the Pitti Palace and commissioned Horatio Greenough to execute for him a sculpture from Raphael's painting, "La Madonna del Trono."1-23 His enthusiastic response to Rome and to the religious spirit of Italian Renaissance art is noticeably in contrast to the tepid remarks of the novelist, Hawthorne, or the explicit antipathy of his near-contemporary, Dickens.

Quite aware of the inherent dangers of the doctrine of mariolatry, at the Sorrento shrine, Cooper suspects idolatry in the people's worship, a reservation he had also documented at the Einsiedeln shrine.1-24 Idolatry decreases the idealized aspects of the Madonna and emphasizes the human features of the figure to a deplorable extent. Thus we find two entries in Cooper's journal which elucidate his fear:

Sunday, 27 Sept. A procession in which a waxen image of the Virgin was carried in state passed this morning to the church of the Archbishop.
Sunday, 4 Oct. The Virgin of an adjoining church to the deserted convent on the point went in procession to some of the other churches. She is a gay doll in wax, with a wig of raw cotton and much bedizzened with lace and cotton.1-25

Cooper infers that the inappropriate attire of the image, which contravenes the rules set by the Council of Trent for the representation of the Virgin, is more suited to Persephone than to the Mother of Christ. She seems to be an emblem of fertility, rather than of immortality.

To the themes of mortality and immortality, Cooper's immersion in the religious cultures, art, and architecture finally led him. Confronted by the massive ruins of Rome, Cooper had an overwhelming sense of the insignificance of human endeavors and the fragility of human life. At the tomb of Cecilia Motella, he marvelled at the chance which had preserved her story for posterity: "In this manner do we come into the world, struggle through, furnish some frail memorial of our self esteem, in an effort to be remembered, and perish from the memory of our fellows."1-26 The limits of human endeavor were again on Cooper's mind as he stood at the shrine of the Three Magi at Cologne Cathedral in 1832. As at the tomb of Cecilia Motella, the bony memorials induce in Cooper that humility which {7} he regarded as the stepping-stone to faith, a condition which he believed was aided by the external appurtenances peculiar to Catholic culture.

Cooper's letters and journals, consequently, furnish proof that the novelist enthusiastically absorbed himself in European Catholic culture. His travels through Ancona, Loretto, Venice all attest to this point. The Gothic cathedral and convent at Nonnenswerth, an island in the Rhine river of Germany, once close to the heart of the Holy Roman Empire, evoked a positive response from him. This ancient, Benedictine convent was, at the time of Cooper's visit in 1832, a tavern! While his family lodged felicitously in the apartments of the former Abbess, about ten o'clock at night, with lightning and thunder outside, Cooper strolled, candle in hand, into the chapel alone. The glare of the lightning, images of saints, crucifixes, altars, all combined to produce "a sensation" in Cooper who admitted he had been "enjoying all this."1-27 To Samuel Morse later, Cooper declared that he went to the chapel deliberately "in quest of a sensation;" on seeing the images and crucifixes, he exclaimed: "Here was what I wanted." His sensitivity to the atmosphere of this ancient convent is explicit in a paragraph concluding his account to Morse of the chapel adventure:

Tis near midnight Mr. Morse -- all but nature is asleep, and I have been walking and musing in the long and empty corridors. Strange thoughts come uppermost in such a place and at such a time, Master Samuel. The rushing of the winds seem as the murmuring of uneasy sisters, the pattering of the rain like floods of tears and the thunders sound as so many gémissements at the sins of man.1-28

In view of this intense interest in the art and architecture of Catholic Europe, Cooper's response to the Swiss Alpine scenery may not be a coincidence; it is couched in spiritual terms. In his novels, The Heidenmauer, The Headsman, and The Sea Lions, recollection of this scenery inspires him to religious themes in his own art. Cooper regarded the alpine peaks, Jung Frau and Wengern, as piercing into a different sphere separated from the intrigues of the lower world. He comments on the "spectral and unearthly appearance of the Alps when seen through broken intervals in the clouds, which resemble glimpses into the interior of another world."1-29 On the Niesen and neighboring mountains, Cooper declares: "The separation from the lower world was made the more complete, from the contrast between the sombre hues beneath and the calm but bright magnificence above.... [It] resembled a glimpse {8} through the windows of heaven." Significantly, he continues: "It was impossible to look at them without religious awe... I could hardly persuade myself I was not gazing at some of the sublime mysteries that lie beyond the grave."1-30 Did Cooper see in these alpine pinnacles the Gothic spires which had attracted him in France? Certainly they provoked his imagination in the same manner as did the religious art and architecture of Catholic Europe.

Cooper's letters, journals, and travel books, therefore, support the contention of Marcel Clavel that Cooper was a devout Christian, interested in all the manifestations of this Faith, appreciative of the poetry within Catholic culture, and completely untainted by sectarian bigotry. The Bishops' scandal and the hysterical fear of a Catholic conspiracy in the United States in the decade following Cooper's return from Europe, caused him to write to The Churchman:

Would it not be healthful for some among us to remember that there is to be a general union of all the churches, making a truly catholic body, and does any sane man suppose that any particular branch of the church is now so infallible, that this can be done without mutual concessions? I believe that Rome and our own church are one day to be united, and yet I doubt if transubstantiation will ever be received again, as catholic doctrine.1-31

Cooper's abiding interest in theology and the schisms within Christianity continued throughout his lifetime. His journal for 1 January 1848 shows him beginning a systematic reading of the Bible from the Gospel of St. John through the Pauline Epistles to Revelation before returning to Genesis and on to Numbers -- surely part or a continuous performance as Boynton suggests.1-32 Before his death, 14 September 1851, Cooper's family prevailed on him to accept the sacraments of the Episcopal church. After a lifetime of consciously confronting the variations of religion in diverse cultures, Cooper finally felt he could participate in the Eucharist himself. In his last decade, his novels attest to this continuing analysis of Christianity.

As a prelude to his final novels, Cooper transformed his European experiences into a series of travel books on England, Germany, France, Switzerland, and Italy, The prolific references to the vine, wine-making, vineyards, in both parts of the Sketches of Switzerland (1836) emphasize Cooper's interest in the proper uses of the vine. Thus, he comments on the vine and olive which both "help to make up the sum of the picturesque, though quite as much through association as through {9} the eye."1-33 He also refers to the "classical associations"1-34 evoked by the vines of Vevey -- surely a reference to the Bacchus-Dionysus cult in the Roman and Greek pantheons. Bacchus figures prominently in the Festival of Vine-growers in The Headsman which was written at Vevey. In the travel books, therefore, Cooper suggests that the misuse of the vine in Bacchanalian revelry is inappropriate to its sacred associations with the Eucharist in the Christian dispensation. The second part of the Sketches of Switzerland further expounds Cooper's concern with the misuse of the vine as representative of wilful disregard of the sacrifice of Christ.1-35 On an excursion to the former abode of Voltaire, whose rationalistic philosophy he abhorred, Cooper significantly described Voltaire's exaltation of Reason in terms of inebriation; to make an idol of the human intellect is testimony to a "vanity so besotted."1-36 Cooper thus equates misuse of the Eucharistic vine with the pride of reason which represents besotted human disregard of the decrees of Providence. By following the motif of the vines in the Sketches we arrive at a perception of Cooper's increasing distrust of the rational faculty when man's pride of reason displaces his faith, a major emphasis in his last novels. In this non-fiction, Cooper is clearly re-working his European experiences and transforming them to provide a vehicle for artistry in his fiction. The shrine of Einsiedeln and the church of St. Jaques at Liège evoke from him the wish that he had been educated a catholic "in order to unite the poetry of religion with its higher principles."1-37 To Cooper's imagination, the Christian mysteries made a fervent appeal apprehended by his reason as the catholicity of Christianity. Not only did his experiences with the diverse religious cultures of Europe condition the themes of his novels, but also they suggested the forms and techniques of his fiction from the European novels of the 1830's to those of the final decade, 1840-50.

Chapter 2 -- MOSAIC AND ICONOGRAPHIC: The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish

{12} Environmental influence on themes and techniques is evident in The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish (1829), perhaps Cooper's most overtly religious work up to this time. Written mostly in Calvinistic Switzerland following Cooper's brief visit to Holland and Belgium where he sought out the cathedrals and the religious art of Rubens,2-1 The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish shows Cooper foregoing the use of European materials for the moment, to employ the Calvinistic New England setting of late seventeenth-century America. The novelist has reacted to his European environment by producing this fictional analysis of two Calvinistic communities in his native country. Both theme and technique are the results of his reaction to his Calvinistic environment, always rather uncongenial to Cooper. Thus, his analysis of the blighting effect on human life by the Mosaic principle of vengeance is carried by the prolific use of Biblical texts and iconographic details of setting. Though Cooper's theme renders the work a powerful, if ironic, study of Puritan characteristics, his technique makes it aesthetically unsatisfactory as the texts and the iconography fail to jell.

The undeniable, thematic power of the book has prompted Donald A. Ringe to write that it is "not so much a Puritan as a broadly Christian book full of biting ironies that make telling comments about true and false religion.2-2 One of the most glaring of these ironies is the structure of Cooper's narrative from the Christian to the Mosaic dispensation, an inversion, of course, of the Biblical sequence, and an effective method of emphasizing his theme. In this regression from the Christian to the Mosaic, the well scene and holocaust form a structural pivot between two communities whose bases of moral action are directly opposed. By tracing the blighting effects on human life subsequent to the annihilation of the Christian dispensation by the Mosaic formulae, Cooper announces the extinction of the human species should man continue to disregard the "characteristics of our mild and forbearing doctrines"2-3 at the heart of Christianity. The religious theme is clearly fundamental to the novel, not just a sentimental accretion to an Indian tale. Consequently, the carefully developed symbolism of the well scene merits close attention.

The most flagrant emphasis of the symbolism in this scene is on flaming destruction, fiery sacrifice, and the desolation of a flourishing community evocative of an apocalyptic end before the Second Advent. Not only is the reader led to {13} believe that the Heathcotes have perished, but also that a particular manner of life, an entire culture has been destroyed. Thus, while the Heathcote family and their surviving retainers seek refuge in the empty well in the centre of their fortification, the wooden defences, swiftly ignited by the Indians, "kindled fiercely.... They became too violent to be subdued.... The subtle element flashed...and...was stealing up...the outer side of the heated block itself" (p. 222). Numerous phrases -- "wrapped in flames", "crackling of the flames", "the interior was in a blaze", "rekindled", "smouldering pile " -- all contribute to Cooper's impression of fiery Apocalypse. Utter destruction is the mood of his realistic picture of the settlement (p. 226) as Conanchet, the Indian lad who had dwelt with the Heathcotes, wanders around the smoking ruins "so lately consecrated by the agony and martyrdom of a Christian family" (p. 227). The narrator points out that this destruction forms an "effectual check...to the further progress of civilization in the ill-fated valley of the Wish-ton-Wish" (p. 228). Since civilization has been obliterated, the second community in the same valley will logically represent a regression of human culture, not a confident march to progress.

To re-inforce this suggestion of ironic regression from Christian to Mosaic, Cooper employs iconographic details inherent in the natural setting: the bird, the well, the trees and environment of the second settlement in the same valley. Thus, the "Wish-ton-Wish" is said to be the "Whip-Poor-Will" (pp. 246-247), a name for the American Night Hawk; however, Cooper indicates the emblematic significance of the name for him in his work by comparing the song of the Wish-ton-Wish to a message of peace2-4 which is inaudible above the crackling flames of the holocaust. Associated with a pacific, Christian dispensation, the Wish-ton-Wish is reduced to an inept representation of itself in the reborn community where it seems an "unknown bird" (p. 246), for the moral values of the second settlement are a mere effigy of Christian principles. The air of death at the well site is not so much the literal extinction of a people as the death of their Christian values. The guiding principle of the second community will be the Mosaic code of vengeance (p. 329).

Secondly, Cooper's description of the natural setting reflects the changed moral state of man when he rises, Phoenix-like, from the ashes to rebuild his community. Though the apocalyptic destruction in winter (the prescribed season for the event, Matt. 24:20-21) is succeeded by the traditional resurrection in spring of both human nature and external nature, there is no spiritual renewal. The "renovated existence" (p. 225) contains no illusions about inherent human worth. The human {14} beings who appear from the well rise "with marked suspicion" (p. 229) about their fellow creatures. Gone is their pre-lapsarian innocence and trust in man. The Phoenix-like rebirth from the well, as Ringe suggests, is heavily ironic, for Christian resurrection implied by this image is quite inapplicable to the vengeful characteristics of the second community.2-5

In establishing the nature of this second community, Cooper has also drawn on Christian iconography with which he was familiar from his study of religious art. Through the emblem of the dried-up well the narrator suggests that it is an essentially Grace-less community now that the young Ruth Heathcote has been spirited away during the holocaust. As ancestress of David, the Biblical Ruth is regarded as a type of the Virgin. Further evidence that Cooper is taking advantage of the religious connotations of Ruth's name appears in the use of other attributes of the Virgin also given to Ruth in the novel: the dove, apple, daughter of the morning, and the lady of the snows.2-6 In addition, the dried-up well from which this second community is born seems specifically disassociated from the well which is always full, the well of Grace which Christ discussed with the woman of Samaria (John 4:13-14). Since Christian charity is in short supply in the new settlement, the desire to wreak vengeance on the attackers has clearly dried-up the springs of Grace in the hearts of the settlers. Mark Heathcote's warnings not to seek vengeance are unheeded. As a group of the survivors prepare to take news of the disaster to townships on the lower Connecticut, it was "evident...[his] forgiving principle might be forgotten, should chance...bring them on the trail of any wandering inhabitant of the forest" (p. 232). In this rebuilt community dominated by the principle of vengeance, the Reverend Meek Wolfe is far more influential than Mark Heathcote. Instead of the fruitful life which draws its vitality from the full well, blight and death are to be the characteristics of this Grace-less second community reborn from the empty well.

The iconographic tradition in Christian symbolism is again apparent in Cooper's description of the natural setting of the rebuilt settlement. Notably more specific than that accorded the original community,2-7 the description focuses on the trees and flowers characteristic of this new settlement. The forty dwellings in the village cluster around the "devious course" (p. 244) of a river bordered by willow and sumach; other trees dominant in the settlement are elms and a large sycamore in the centre of the main street; roses and lilacs bloom in front of the dwellings. The home of the Heathcotes, which Cooper specifies has been reconstructed from the remnants of the first settlement has a flourishing apple orchard. These botanical {15} details may be just a naturalistic description of a rural, New England village; on the other hand, in other works of Cooper, the willow and the sumach are associated with particular qualities. In The Prairie, a novel he completed in Europe, the few trees existing in the dreary, wasteland setting have particular thematic functions; it is a willow from which Abiram White is hanged for the murder of his nephew; the solitary willow, moreover, is associated pre-eminently with sterility and death, for its naked trunk, "tempest-riven," is a "solemn monument of former fertility," which "proclaimed the frailty of existence and the fulfillment of time."2-8 In a later work of Cooper, The Deerslayer, "Sumach" is the name of a bloodthirsty Indian woman who seeks revenge on Natty Bumppo for the deaths of her husband and brother. Cooper says she was given the name because she was "as acid as the berry from which she derived her name."2-9 He associates her acidity with "fury, rage, mortified pride" as she becomes a "volcano of wrath" launching a maniacal attack on Leatherstocking. The willow and sumach, therefore, would seem to have particular values of sterility, bitterness, and violence in Cooper's consciousness.

Cooper does not always use natural details functionally, however; the deciduous maple and beech among the evergreens of the village of Templeton in The Pioneers, have no symbolic significance, for here Cooper uses the architecture of Judge Temple's house to carry his theme instead. On the other hand, in The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish he seems to reflect the moral state of man in the physical setting. Just prior to his description of the rebuilt settlement in the valley of the Wish-ton-Wish, Cooper indicates that the country exhibits a "concurrence of moral and physical causes" (p. 243). The physical environment seems intended, therefore, to indicate the moral stature of the settlement. Moreover, the author deliberately pauses to "take another hasty view of the country" (p. 243) before continuing his narrative.

The particular trees Cooper has chosen for his scene grow in the valley of the Jordan river2-10 as well as in New England. He could have chosen other trees indigenous to New England which are not also found in biblical lands: for example, the maple and beech already employed in The Pioneers. Trees such as the poplar, bay laurel, and oak which grow In both locales2-11 do not have the same emblematic connotations as the willow, elm, and sycamore. The specific natural details which Cooper has chosen to employ strengthen the suggestion that he is working in the iconographic tradition of Christian symbolism to indicate clearly the values of the second settlement led my Meek Wolfe, and to distinguish it from Mark Heathcote's first community. These iconographic details re-inforce the irony of the structural {16} pattern in the regression from Christian to Mosaic. In Cooper's development as a novelist, his use of iconography seems to be a direct result of his experiences with the religious art of Europe. If we accept the idea that Cooper is working in the iconographic tradition, then his naturalistic details draw added meaning from the biblical commentaries where the deciduous trees, the willow of sterility and the elms grow beside the waters of cupidity.2-12 The willow is particularly associated with those sterile in Christian charity, a value Cooper adopted for the willow in The Prairie. As in The Deerslayer, the sumach is again related to violence, indicative of the vengeful heart of the second community. Into these trees associated with the waters of cupidity offered by the woman of Samaria, intrude "occasional masses of evergreens" (p. 214) that contrast with the deciduous trees bearing no fruit. The moral bases of this graceless community born from the dried-up well are opposed to those of the Living Waters and Tree of Life by which the Christian dispensation is often designated in the iconographic tradition.

To re-inforce his other emblematic, botanical details, Cooper's sycamore, a center for idle gossiping, represents the useless, worldly knowledge of vana scientia which, in the biblical commentaries, is the opposite of sapientia, the wisdom of the Christian doctrine. The sycamore, the "Ficus Fatuus" whose fruit is inedible, is emblematic of the barren condition of human life in a society based on the Mosaic code of vengeance.13 To leave no doubt of the iconographic significance of his sycamore being the foolish fig of scientia, Cooper deliberately associates it with the fig in the parable of St. Matthew (24:32) with which he has already worked closely in developing his apocalyptic destruction of the first community. In addition, the action of the second settlement is located in summer, when the fig "putteth forth leaves," not winter, the time of tribulation specified in St Matthew 24:20)

Among Cooper's other botanical details, the roses, lilacs, and apple orchard are only indirectly related to the motif of fruition embedded in his conjunction of emblematic trees. They do, however, represent a center of opposition to the thematic connotations of the trees. The roses and lilacs, emblematic of the Virgin and of Christ (Cant. 2:1-3) indicate the residue of the Christian dispensation lingering in the second community. Significantly, the flourishing apple orchard of the Heathcotes, in stark contrast to the barren condition of the trees in the town, has existed only eight or ten years, the time elapsed since the first conflagration. Since Cooper specifies that the orchard has a "deep moral interest attached to its existence" {17} (p. 497), he would appear to he using this traditional emblem of the fall of man as a reminder of man's need of redemption. The apple is appropriately located on the land of the Heathcotes. Anxious about the lost Ruth (Grace), they are most conscious of the graceless state of the second community. It is no accident that the church and the tavern in this settlement seem identical, for the unregenerate community, in the security of its self-righteousness, is largely unaware of its need of redemption. Cupiditas controls both sacred and secular spheres.

Worldly knowledge, scientia, absolute confidence in their intellectual powers are the dominant characteristics of both the Reverend Meek Wolfe, alleged spiritual leader of the community, and his secular counterpart, Dr. Ergot, another version of that intellectual blindness which Cooper had celebrated in The Prairie. In The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish, however, pride of reason in the secular sphere is not fully developed, for Cooper has chosen to concentrate on the perversion of sacred principles when intellectual pride dominates the spiritual sphere. Meek Wolfe, Cooper's Anti-Christ, is thus more powerful and more dangerous than Dr. Ergot. In presenting the minister who, as Kay Seymour House suggests. embodies the "discordant parts of Puritan theology"2-14 Cooper employs biblical texts instead of iconography to which he returns only when Ruth is restored to the community. Meek Wolfe thus becomes the epitome of the Mosaic dispensation as he preaches from Judges (6:1), corrupts the texts of the New Testament (Matt. 7:13-14, John 10:16), and finally invokes the ultimate Mosaic formula of vengeance: an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.2-15

A careful selection of biblical texts informs Meek's great scene as Anti-Christ on the Sabbath when the second destruction of the community occurs. Thus, a skilful combination of passages from the Old Testament elucidates the vengeful spirit of the killer Wolfe, while those from the New Testament show Meek identifying himself with Christ. The texts emphasize that Meek approaches the battle with the Indians as one between the Israelites (his own congregation) and the Philistines on whom he prays that burning coals may fall. With heavy irony, while Meek comes to judge, not to save, Cooper allows him to cry out in the tone of a Messiah: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34).

Judgment pronounced in the tones of an angry God is the theme of Meek's major appearances in the novel. During his first sermon after the Indian attack, Meek chooses to ignore the clemency of Conanchet, denounces him and Philip {18} (Metacom) as agents of Moloch, and urges retribution. Ho stirs the congregation, as Israelites, to dispossess the Judeans and establish the "empire of the true faith" (p. 385) by arrogating to themselves the right "to visit the former possessors of the country with what he termed the wrath of an offended Deity" (p. 385). Characteristically, Meek expresses approval of the destruction of Pettyquamscott during the preceding winter by the men of the Wish-ton-Wish. Though Cooper describes the desolation of Conanchet's chief settlement indirectly through the conversations of Meek, Content Heathcote, Philip, and Conanchet, a vivid picture of fearful destruction emerges. Not the Indians, but the men of the Wish-ton-Wish, are the agents of Moloch.2-16 For Meek, the slaughter at Pettyquamscott is a "triumph of the righteous cause" (p. 385). He thereby applauds this fiery sacrifice and himself becomes identified with Moloch. In such a role, Meek is morally antagonistic to the Christian dispensation. It is no surprise then that Meek should ignore the mercy of Conanchet and approve the plan to use the captured Mohtucket, Judas-like, to betray the chief.

Cooper subjects this supreme representative of the Mosaic dispensation to superb irony on the restoration of Ruth (Narra-mattah). As this emblem of Grace is returned to her family, though not to the settlement as a whole, Meek proclaims that he is "rejoicing that enough of redeeming grace hath been found to save the Gomorrah of our hearts" (p. 411). Only by the mercy of Conanchet has Grace been restored; yet, it is this instrument of the return of God's Grace which Meek plans to eliminate. Meek accurately describes the state of his heart as a Gomorrah. His subsequent derision of mercy and charity2-17 shows he is ironically ignorant of the implications of his texts by which he unconsciously demonstrates his anti-Christian nature. Cooper does not miss an opportunity to emphasize his irony. Evoking Matt. 7:15-20 "Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them", this Meek who is barren of "the fruit of Christian qualities" (p. 416) admits "the tree is known by its fruits" (p. 416). This minister is clearly a corrupt tree producing only evil fruit engendered by the seeds of vengeance. At the murder of Conanchet, Cooper leaves no doubt that it is Meek and the society he represents which have been judged and found wanting in humility, mercy, and charity, the essences of the Christian dispensation.

By contrast with Meek's society, the first settlement in the valley of the Wish-ton-Wish is rendered in specifically Christian terms. The bird after which the settlement has been named carries overtones of St. Mark's dove of the Holy Spirit {19} (Mark 1:10) suitable to this estate of Edenic rural beauty. The Puritan patriarch, Mark Heathcote, has placed the blockhouse for his family's security on a foundation of rock in prescribing to the precept: "Do as thou wouldst be done by!" (p. 31). As the narrative begins, however, the Edenic beauty of the settlement has been marred by the ubiquitous, blackened tree stumps indicative of the mark of Cain which looms over the community, for Eben Dudley has participated in the murder of Miantonimoh prior to joining the Heathcotes. The old patriarch's principles, therefore, must contend with a post-lapsarian condition in man and recognize his need of redemption, a concept Mark acknowledges in the piety of his Christian practice, as he attempts to alleviate the slate of fallen man. His affectionate, family circle, in contrast to Meek Wolfe's apparent lack of family affection, is a result of his practice of Christian precepts. In developing his moral and religious vision through the history of this first community, Cooper discards the Mosaic texts identified with Meek Wolfe, and returns to the fruitful iconographic tradition: the emblem of the lost sheep, and the woman clothed with the sun of Revelation.

The "fine and fruitful season" (p. 25) of Christian fellowship in the wilderness is almost finished, when the motif of the lost sheep is introduced. From the literal event of the lost sheep, Cooper moves swiftly to establish its metaphorical significance in the remarks of Whittal Ring. The lad, on finding some wool from the lost sheep hung on the branch of a tree, has remarked: "Queer fruit this!" (p. 33); with obvious associations with the Crucifixion, Whittal seems to be posing the question: "What kind of fruit is engendered by a tree on the thorns of which a lamb has been hung?" Cooper answers the query in the linked destinies of the young: Ruth, Conanchet, and Submission.

Indeed, through the emblem of the lost lamb, Cooper prefigures the salvation and redemption of Conanchet. He is early brought into the Christian pale first by Mark Heathcote: "Hither hath he been led in order to be placed upon the straight and narrow path (p. 82)", and then by the young Ruth (Narra-mattah) herself. Pre-eminently associated with grace and mercy, she becomes the most important instrument redeeming Conanchet from paganism, for, during the Indian onslaught she causes Conanchet to hearken to the pleas for mercy, and thus draws him into the Christian dispensation. The Indian lad, therefore, becomes a suitable subject for salvation and redemption. Conanchet's fate is also linked to that of Submission who initially has caused the death of the emblematic lamb (p. 45). Like the death of Conanchet, the loss of the lamb is arbitrary and unjustified, since Mark Heath{20}cote could have satisfied the stranger's needs. Cooper clearly foreshadows the destinies of Ruth and Conanchet in the interlocking motifs of fruit, tree, and lost lamb. The destruction of the first community is rendered in terms of the Apocalypse (Rev. 8-12) as the seven blasts on the conch evoke the seven trumpets of Doomsday following which the powers of Anti-Christ (Meek Wolfe) will be conquered by the "blood of the Lamb." (Rev. 12:11) To the elder Ruth, her daughter seems to become the sacrificial lamb whose blood atones for the sins of others (p. 235). At the graveside scene after the holocaust, a parallel of a similar scene later between Meek Wolfe and Conanchet, Mark Heathcote emphasizes that the loss of Ruth is a "seeming evil" from which will spring good fruit to fulfil God's purposes.

Not only is Mark Heathcote's prediction fulfilled in the subsequent relations between the young Ruth and Conanchet, but also in those of Conanchet and Submission. During the second attack, the community is saved by Ruth's influence on Conanchet when he rejects Metacom's call for vengeance, and thus remains within the Christian pale. As a logical consequence, Conanchet enacts the Christian concept: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13), when he braves capture by his enemies, the Mohicans, in order to save the life of Submission. The scapegoat role has certainly been cast for the former regicide as Kay Seymour House suggests;2-18 however, he is also the instrument by which Cooper demonstrates that Conanchet himself is eligible for salvation, Speaking to Ruth just before his death, he invokes the Lamb of God (John 1:59): "They say that one just man died for all colors" (p. 460) he says, and he completes his destiny as the sacrificial lamb himself whose life is given for that of Submission. Overtones of the crucifixion which cling to his death at the "fatal tree," "the pine tree" (pp. 456, 464), enhance the suggestion that Cooper may be redeeming the society of Meek Wolfe by the violent sacrifice of Conanchet. Certainly, his death has a powerful effect on all present. Narra-mattah (Ruth) becomes again a little child -- the biblical overtones are surely intentional -- before her spirit follows that of Conanchet, the two bound together in death "by a mysterious and unearthly intelligence (p, 470)." No longer secure in the righteousness of his own judgment, Meek Wolfe now prays "to ask the Omnipotent Ruler of Heaven and Earth to sanctify his dispensation to those who survive (p. 471)." As the accuser who has been cast down, he has been conquered "by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death." (Rev. 12:11) From Meek Wolfe there descends a Reverend Meek Lamb {21} whose name, Cooper points out, may indicate come changes in the doctrinal interpretation of his duty.2-19

Cooper's final iconographic emblem, the woman clothed with the sun, raises his novel to tragic intensity in this narrative of ironic regression from Christian to Mosaic. Just before her death, the young Ruth cries out "an evil Spirit besets me (p. 470)," which has been interpreted as referring to Conanchet. More appropriately, it is likely this phrase indicates Meek Wolfe, the beast of Revelation, who has challenged the maternity of Ruth, the daughter of the morning, the woman "clothed with the sun." (Rev. 12:1) She has already been developed as a type of the Virgin with whom this text is usually identified. In addition, the two Ruths, who seem to be incorporated into one during the orchard scene, have been given a prime attribute of the Virgin, the Mater Dolorosa, or Sorrowing Mother, a figure familiar to Cooper in the religious art of Europe. The incidents of Revelation subsequent to the seventh trumpet (Rev. 11, 12) thus accompany Ruth's second departure from the community, as they did the first. Her transfiguration, and that of Conanchet, are simultaneous with the decay of the symbolic apple orchard, for in the redeemed community, there is no place for this emblem of God's wrath at the audacity of man.

As Cooper confronts the religious art and culture of Europe, he appears to be examining the basic tenets of his faith, In the conflict between the Mosaic and the Christian dispensations, he has dramatized the blighting of all earthly aspirations when the principles of divine love are ignored. He has raised the possibility of the annihilation of the human species, if man is guided by a code of vengeance, and he has courageously recognized a common brotherhood of mankind at the heart of the Christian message. If The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish as a whole seems rigid, it is perhaps owing to Cooper's essential discomfort with the sectarian materials he is forced to use in the Calvinist setting of early American colonial history. Secondly, the prolific use of biblical texts seems too overt for an aesthetic success. On the other hand, his imagination seems to be released by the iconography he employs at different stages in the novel. The aesthetic success of a subsequent novel, The Bravo (1830), suggests that Cooper learned in writing The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish that the non-sectarian, European, Catholic setting was most congenial to his imagination as it allowed him to use the generative, emblematic technique, refined and disciplined, with which he first experimented in The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish.

Chapter 3 -- ETHICS AND RITUAL: The Bravo

{25} Inspired by his brief sojourn in Venice during the spring of 1830, The Bravo marks Cooper's first departure from American materials. Its aesthetic success suggests that Catholic Italy provided Cooper with the environment needed to release his imagination. From his correspondence it is clear that Cooper was charmed by the Italian scene, by Italy's art, and its Church; he commends the Italian people for their grace, their poetry, and their piety.3-1 In contrast to the negative response which the sectarian materials of Puritan New England drew, the Catholic milieu of Venice became a catalyst inspiring the generative motifs which enable Cooper, in The Bravo, to subordinate his biblical sources to the demands of fictional aesthetic. Thus, Cooper specifically turns to Catholic ritual and sacrament to provide an integrated structure for his religious theme in this novel. As Cooper again draws inspiration from particular aspects of the New Testament, the Catholic, Venetian environment seems more conducive than sectarian New England to articulating the universal significance of those basic tenets of his faith already examined in The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish.

The Venetian setting was important to Cooper's inner eye for the mental images it evoked. He confesses "no other place ever struck my imagination so forcibly,"3-2 a sentiment he repeats to William Branford Shubrick: "[Venice] took such deep hold on my fancy, that I have been obliged to disburthen it in a tale."3-3 To Samuel Rogers, Cooper acknowledges "I frequently stimulated the imagination by reading your own images and tales of that part of Europe."3-4 The Bravo thus incorporates Cooper's imaginative, religious response to Catholic Venice and reflects his enjoyment of Italy which derives from his appreciation of the deep piety of the people, and their emphasis on spiritual values. Cooper's religious theme, drawn from a specifically Christian mythos, distinguishes his work from numerous others set in Venice. Depicting a decadent, Venetian, social system, after all, is not original with Cooper, for Venetian injustice and corruption had been dramatized at least as early as Thomas Otway's Venice Preserved (1682). The mythos of The Bravo itself originates from the German J. H. D. Zschokke's Abaellino, a Venetian Bravo, translated by Cooper's friend, William Dunlap, as Abaellino the Great Bandit (1801). Thus, neither Cooper's mythos, nor the social commentary incorporated in the novel {26} sufficiently account for the undeniable power of the book. That power comes from Cooper's artistic blend of the fictional elements of setting, character, action, and time while simultaneously investing the received mythos with the mass of associations drawn from his personal responses to the Italian landscape, culture, and religion. The religious associations based on Catholic ritual enable Cooper's theme to transcend local time and place, and invest it with universal applications.

In his fictional Venice, Cooper has incorporated all types of dominating minorities: the doge and his regal trappings represent at once monarchial and religious domination, for the titular ruler of the Venetian state, revered almost as a deputy of God in competition with the Vatican, is identified with a St. Mark who exacts unquestioning obedience from those over whom he presides; the Venetian senators, ostensible representatives of republicanism, inherit their positions and thus form a traditional, hereditary aristocracy. Since their wealth derives from maritime commerce, the senators at the same time compose a commercial oligarchy jealously excluding the majority of citizens from sharing their wealth. Overtones of a quasi-religious domination by the senators are apparent in the machinations of the Council of Three, the Venetian Inquisition. The Venice of The Bravo is Cooper's version of every possible example of a "narrow and exclusive system" which exerts baleful influence on "the sacred rights of individuals."3-5 Cooper, therefore, appears to have found in the religious art and culture of Catholic Italy the generative motifs which provide an integrated structure for his narrative analysis of individuals who assert their moral principles in defiance of corrupt, secular authority.

Through the Venetian setting, the topography of the city, the dwellings which comprise it, as well as the actions of the citizens high and low, Cooper shows that the secular authority controls a perverted world; Venice is his "loathsome...state of society that reduces the feelings of neighbourhood, religion, veneration for the past, hope for the future, country, kindred and friends, to the level of a speculation."3-6 The Venetian citizenry concealed behind their masks are emblems of the state itself disguising its tyranny with the dogma of the infallible justice of St. Mark. Over this region, the moon holds sway; at the beginning, Cooper writes: "The sun had disappeared behind the summits of the Tyrolean Alps, and the moon was already risen above the low barrier of the Lido"3-7 At the close of the novel, after the Carmelite has quit the city following Jacopo's execution, "the sun fell behind the mountains of the Tyrol, and the moon reappeared above the Lido" (p. 460). It is a city which lives by moonlight; most of the major crises of the {27} novel occur under moonlight. Antonio is taken to the Council of Three during the night of a "brilliant moon" (p. 160), a night which provides "privileged security" for "the conspirator and the agent of police" (p. 158); he is drowned in the Lagunes in "the bright beauty of that moonlight night" (p. 231). The moonlight itself is associated with the devious policies of concealment practised by the state; fleeing the official assassins, Jacopo "blended his wake in a line with one of those bright streaks that the moon drew on the water, and which, by dazzling the eye, effectually concealed the objects within its width" (p. 225). A tool of the state, the Lion's Mouths, "the receptacles of secret accusations" (p. 48), are lit by moonlight as Gino entrusts Don Camillo's ring to Giacomo Gradenigo, mistaking him for Jacopo. Moonlight is thus associated with treachery and intrigue. Cooper presents this world lit by moonlight as a wilderness in which the likes of Antonio Vecchio and his grandson find themselves "solitary wanderers" (p. 427). Cooper is clearly working in the Ptolemaic tradition depicting the sublunary world as a cesspool of putrefaction.

Cooper also associates moonlight with its traditional values of illusion and deception, perhaps stimulated by his moonlight visit to the square of St, Mark about which he writes: "It was now evening, but a fine moon was shedding its light on the scene, rendering it fairylike. Passing beneath an arch, we issued into the great square of St. Mark. No other scene, in a town, ever struck me with so much surprise and pleasure. ...The moon, with its mild, delusive light, aided the deception, the forms rising beneath it still more fanciful and quaint."3-8 In Cooper's narrative of Venice by moonlight, one character, Jacopo, is constantly shown in the light of the moon. On an errand for Don Camillo, Gino sees Jacopo in the square of St. Mark, with "the rays of the moon full upon the calm countenance" (p.51); Jacopo sits "in the light of the moon" (p. 104) while he listens to Antonio, in error, accuse him of being a public assassin. The ignominy in which Jacopo lives has been fostered by the state for its own purposes; the melancholy face bathed in moonlight, which Gino fears, belongs to a being deceived by the state that he serves in the delusion that he can ransom his father's life. Deceptive moonlight also falls on Giacomo Gradenigo when he appears to Gino as Jacopo, but this corrupt and homicidal scion of an aristocratic family must retain the illusion of an unsullied reputation, and he escapes the capital punishment unjustly meted out to Jacopo. Terminating his service to the state at the conclusion of his interview with Don Camillo, Jacopo declares: "The delusion is over; from this hour I serve them no longer (p. 267)." The brilliant sun shining on his execution seems to transfer Jacopo from the sublunary sway of the moon in the light of which exists the illusion of a {28} just, secular authority, to the more ethereal sphere above the moon, Cooper's firmament which is "sublime in immensity (p. 218)."

In this sublunary world of illusion and deception, the natural topography is perverted too. The Canale Orfano holds the bodies of criminals while a member of the council of Three admits that the other canals are "encumbered with slimy weeds (p. 198)." Annina, the spying daughter of a wine-seller, on being seized by Don Camillo, exclaims: "This is a bold step to take in the heart of the canals!" (p. 319), for the polluted waterways are thought to protect those in tune with their perverted world; the canals are "convenient graves for sudden deaths (p. 109)." Water here is not purifying; it is an agent of corrupted men and involved in their evil. Following Antonio's execution in the Lagunes, Jacopo, searching the water for him is confronted with "the profound repose of the treacherous element (p. 233)." Venetian maritime interests have already caused the deaths of Antonio's sons, and are responsible for the plight of his grandson; the fisherman's subsequent challenge to the power of the watery element leads to his death by drowning in the Lagunes.

Sterile and unstable are the foundations of this world, for they owe their existence to the debris carried by the rivers flowing away from the Alps, debris which has gradually increased to become low, sandy islands by the accumulation of decayed vegetation (p. 32). The Lido, as these sandy islands are called, is devoid of all signs of natural fertility, the only exception being the isolated spot which is the last refuge for Venetian social outcasts. Here, the "modest graves" support a "meager vegetation that is in slight contrast to the sterility of most of the bank (p. 260)." Disassociating himself from the values of the Venetian world after the death of Antonio, Jacopo comes to this sandy, temporal refuge where he tells Don Camillo: "The canals choke me -- I can only breathe in freedom on this bank of sand! (p. 263)." In this setting, Cooper points out that "there is no base of rock (p. 32);" yet, the citizens have chosen to make this unstable, unproductive, sandy foundation support the "superincumbent loads of palaces. churches, and public monuments (p. 33)." It is no wonder then, that in this world, government, religion, and public affairs are distorted and perverted, for the Venetian society, in a moral and material decline, is like the foolish man who, ignoring the teachings of Christ, chooses to build his house upon the sand "and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fail of it (Matt. 7:24-27)," Though the fall of this society is imminent, the senators try to {29} postpone the final collapse. Thus, they propagate the doctrine of the infallibility of their secular authority, for their privileged positions are secure only as long as the populace believes that the senators are able to determine truth and dispense justice. Their specious doctrine is but part of the larger evil enveloping their total environment, for the horned bonnet of the doge, ostensible ruler of Venice, emphasizes the satanic character of this secular sphere.

In such an environment, conflict arises between those who are willing to capitalize on necessity and surrender to the circumstances of any given moment, and those who refuse to compromise their individual moral principles. The conduct of the latter is guided by their recognition of the ethical authority of a higher power beyond the immediate interests of self; despite all the forces urging pragmatic expediency, their homage to this transcendent authority never fails. Thus, their potentially insurgent individualism, which impels them to challenge the corrupt, secular authority in the temporal sphere, is limited. Dealing with the relation of moral principles to individualism in The Bravo, Cooper asserts that only this limitation of the individual impulse by the ethical principles of a transcendent power distinguishes these adherents of expediency from their opponents.

In The Bravo, Senator Gradenigo typifies this immersion in circumstance. Living in a palace whose darkness, silence, and air of distrust make its "gloomy grandeur...no bad type of the republic itself (p. 67)," Gradenigo, in the capacity of inquisitor on the Council of Three, assents to the exile of his son for pursuing his wealthy ward, Donna Violetta Tiepolo, a courtship encouraged by the senator himself in order to add her riches to his own bulging coffers. He acquiesces in Violetta's removal from his charge, and approves the plan for her incarceration in a convent. He makes no attempt to rescue Antonio, his foster brother, from the wrath of the secret tribunal; instead, he participates in the trial of the fisherman, and condones the assassination: "He had been too long familiar with the sinuous policy of the council...not to understand that he would run the risk of a more serious accusation were he to hesitate in acknowledging its justice (p. 198)." Recognizing the expediency of disposing of Violetta and Antonio in the interests of the state, Gradenigo assumes an expression "as treacherous as that of his wily companion" and "submit[s] with that species of desperate resignation which becomes a habit, if not a virtue (p. 199)." Gradenigo's behavior in the secret tribunal is predictable for one who has cultivated the "specious reasoning of the state" (p. 80) at the expense of all moral principles.

Gradenigo represents those who choose the expedient rather than the honorable course in conducting their affairs. His life is geared to the accumulation of wealth, for in his opinion "property was...the absorbing interest of civilized life.... Calculation had substituted taste for principles (p 99)." Gradenigo, like Meek Wolfe, misuses the scriptures to support his favorite social theories and vested interests. In the Great Chain of Being he recognizes not the limitations of man in relation to the magnitude of the created order, but a sanction for asserting the infallibility of the aristocratic order in the Venetian social structure.3-9 Consequently, he encourages his profligate son, Giacomo, to intrigue against the safety and life of Don Camillo by placing accusations in the Lion's Mouth, since the death of Don Camillo will eliminate a rival claim to the wealth of his ward; his only concern is that unfavorable attention play be directed thereby to Giacomo himself. A worthy disciple of his father, Giacomo reassures him: "My progress is by secret and gradual means. Neither my countenance nor my mind is unused to a mask -- thanks to necessity! (p. 75)." Giacomo's remark is just one more strand in the frequently recurring theme of deceptive appearances found throughout Cooper's works.

The Council of Three, the real power in Venice, is but an extension of the deceitful traits exhibited by the Gradenigo family. In addition to its major decisions affecting Violetta, Antonio. and Jacopo, Cooper indicates two other occasions when the secret tribunal adopts an expedient suited to the circumstances. In competition with the Vatican, the tribunal has made an abortive attempt to intercept letters of the Holy See to the French ambassador; since the failure of the agents has been publicized by the intended victim, the state, in time-honoured fashion, disassociates itself from the venture lest the reputation of Venice suffer: "Care must be had to issue orders for the arrest of the robbers, else may the Republic fall into disrepute with its friends. There are names on our list which might be readily marked for punishment, for that quarter of our patrimony is never in want to conceal an accident of this nature (p. 188)." On learning from Jacopo that Don Camillo and Violetta have escaped to Ancona by his contrivance, the tribunal "instantly admitted the wisdom of making a virtue of necessity" (p. 421) and determines that "it will be seemly to send letters of congratulation to the cardinal secretary, on the union of his nephew with so rich an heiress of our city (p. 421)." The ease with which the tribunal disposes of these two embarrassments predetermines Jacopo's treatment in the hands of the council. Moreover, Cooper suggests that expediency governs all classes of Venetian society by the antics of Annina, the wily daughter of the wine-seller, who spends her time smuggling contraband and spying on Gino, Violetta, {31} and Don Camillo; easily duping her confiding cousin, Gelsomina, comfortable in mask and disguise, she is a suitable tool of the state, the epitome of the vacuous citizenry each of whom lives only for himself.

In addition to this espousal of expediency, Senator Gradenigo's commitment to materialism is likewise shared with all classes of Venetian society, even with the doge himself who is unable to comprehend Antonio's rejection of the golden oar.3-10 Gold is so revered in this society, whose paramount concern is the augmentation of its wealth from maritime commerce, that Cooper seems to suggest it has become the state religion; that the state has established a golden idol. During Antonio's first confrontation with Gradenigo when the aged fisherman begs that his influence be used to free Antonio's grandson, the senator twice offers gold to appease the fisherman.3-11 Triumphant in the gondola race, Antonio again begs for the release of his grandson in place of the victor's golden chain and oar; but, the doge believes a gondola or the right to fish in the Lagunes is of more importance, and he commands Antonio: "Take thy golden chain and oar, and depart among thy fellows in triumph (p 151)." Offered the golden prize a second time the same evening in order to buy his silence, Antonio rejects it again: "I should think the bauble coined of my grandchild's blood! (p. 159). The Lion of St. Mark which presides over Venice may not be a golden calf, but, as an emblem of the state, all citizens must acknowledge the paramount importance of gold in continuing the dominion of the winged Lion. It therefore carries strong overtones of a state religion which worships a golden idol.

In contrast to those who serve the state, Don Camillo and Donna Violetta, Antonio and Jacopo, Gelsomina and Father Anselmo, in various degrees demonstrate their firm moral principles when they challenge the power of the corrupt, secular authority. For all of them, intrigues concerning wealth test their ethics. By refusing to take the most expedient course they affirm their moral principles and effect a triumph of the human spirit.

Unlike Gradenigo, Violetta does not value her wealth or position. Warned by the Carmelite, Father Anselmo, that in her environment the freedom to act ethically is in inverse proportion to worldly comfort, she replies: "I would there were less of luxury and more of liberty within its [her palace's] walls (p. 61)." The magnificent art of Titian, Veronese, Tintoretto, Bellino, Montegna, and Palma Vecchio, which Cooper says adorns her palace, seems excessive; in contrast to this {32} oppressive luxury, Violetta's own apartments are decorated with pictures from "the pencil of some youthful amateur" (p. 58) instead of the works of these artists who were employed by the state. This luxurious edifice erected on an unstable foundation,3-12 its courtyard in darkness, its household concealing agents of the state, is an inappropriate and dangerous dwelling for those opposed to the premises of the state. Consequently, liberty for Violetta and Don Camillo comes by fleeing to Ancona aboard Stefano's felucca and divesting themselves of their Venetian wealth. Significantly, the Carmelite later joins them in Ancona, the "States of the Church" (p. 49), the earthly repository of spiritual strength and refuge for those recognizing the ethical authority of a transcendent power beyond the politic interests of self. Don Camillo's withdrawal from Venice and the senatorial honors he has claimed there by inheritance is appropriate. for one who "joyfully abandons" (p. 209) this wealth in favor of Violetta, whom he declares is "far more precious than the horned bonnet itself" (p. 219), is opposed to the policies of expediency adopted by the senators.

For Antonio and Jacopo, adherence to moral principle becomes more serious and complicated. In accordance with Cooper's emphasis on the place of the Spirit in human destinies, he turns to religious rituals to support his theme. Thus much of the action concerning the fates of Antonio and Jacopo can be seen in the terms of inverted sacraments -- inverted, because this environment and society devoted to expediency have established an idol of gold and denied the place of the Spirit. The marriage of Venice to the Adriatic is, consequently, a mere travesty of the sacrament of marriage, since it is a wedding to circumstance for the material reason of maintaining wealth derived from maritime commerce. This marriage Antonio symbolically nullifies by retrieving the wedding ring thrown into the Adriatic by the doge and returning it to the Council of Three.3-13 By contrast, the marriage of Violetta and Don Camillo is a true sacrament; their moral principles enable the human spirit to triumph over the agents of circumstance.

Antonio's action is consistent with his character as it is exhibited in the first interview with Senator Gradenigo, to whom he asserts: "A fisherman hath his feelings as the Doge (p. 78)." He rejects the doge's golden oar; he questions the justice of St. Mark whom he implicitly accuses of usury by comparing the state emblem to "the most grasping Hebrew of the Rialto" (p. 185); he humbly acknowledges that "God hath not given to all the same chances in life...for it often happens that I draw an empty net... ...but this is to punish my sins or humble my heart (p. 184)." All these actions prepare Antonio's destiny which Cooper again treats in terms of {33} the sacraments. On the second evening of the tale, Antonio is fishing in the Lagunes where Jacopo joins him after the examination by the Venetian inquisition. Antonio refers to their natural setting as a "chapel," one he prefers above all others that Venice can offer: "There is not a chapel in Venice, Jacopo, in which a sinner may so well lay bare his soul as this (p. 220)." Disavowing the perverted, natural setting of Venice, Antonio perceives an uncorrupted nature which is the work of the Lord: but, it is essentially a supra-lunar world which he confronts. Earlier, in the square of St. Mark, Antonio is shown "beneath the rays of the moon" at which he gazes "as if [he] sought to penetrate into another world, in quest of that peace which he had never known in this (p. 100)." Now, on the wide Lagunes, he says that he is "alone with God, having the gates of Paradise open before my eyes" and adds: "I see the image of my Saviour, Jacopo, in those bright stars, that moon, the blue heavens, the misty bank of mountains, the waters on which we float; ay, even in my own sinking form, as in all which has come from His wisdom and power. I have prayed much since the moon has risen (p. 220)." Through Antonio, Cooper thus distinguishes the perverted, sublunary world from the more ethereal sphere above the moon.

As Jacopo converses with him, Antonio is shown as a deeply pious and humble man seeking his Savior in another world. To him Jacopo brings bread, wine and figs, a repast which surely carries overtones of the Last Supper. This most important sacrament at once is a memorial of Christ's death establishing a new covenant, and it indicates participation in the body and blood of Christ. Cooper's additional detail of "figs" may seem puzzling at first; however, he may be evoking the two parables of the fig used by Christ. The first parable shows the fig tree withered by the power of Christ (Mart. 21:19-21); in the second (Matt. 24:32), the fig tree sprouting tender leaves in summer, its season of fruition after a starkly bare winter, is indicative of a rapid change approaching and thus is connected with the proper attitude of man in facing the future.3-14 Figs then are an appropriate addition to this repast for Antonio who will soon experience the power of his Lord. At the moment when Jacopo offers this symbolic meal to Antonio, the fisherman hesitates to accept it, however, since he believes the bravo tainted. Yet Jacopo's action does lead to a new covenant for Antonio and himself, as the two subsequently converse while the agents of the state draw nearer. Jacopo shortly witnesses Antonio's execution, which directly determines him to thwart Venetian intrigues henceforth.

{34} Ritually, however, Antonio is not quite ready for membership in this new covenant since he has refused the figs, wine, and bread (John 6:47-58). Consequently, Cooper turns to the sacraments of Penance and Baptism to mark Antonio's acceptance into the Church in the fullest meaning of this word. Cooper's first sacrament of the Last Supper however, does indicate symbolically Jacopo's affinity with the spiritual world. Meanwhile, as ritual preparation for participation in the new covenant, Antonio submits to the sacrament of Penance administered innocently by Father Anselmo. Before the priest arrives, Antonio indicates that he has not been to confessional for a long time, and that he has been fasting.3-15 Conscious of his "sinful passions" roused by his recent conflict with the state, Antonio asks the Carmelite to give him "counsel and absolution, that I may have hope" (p. 229). Though he confesses: "In bitterness of heart I cursed them" (p. 230), he then asks mercy for his persecutors and may receive absolution from the Carmelite. Antonio is now fully prepared for his final sacrament -- the baptism into a new life by the water of the Lagunes. As in legends of the lives of the Saints, Antonio's ordeal by evil in the temporal world earns him a new life in the spiritual sphere; and, since his martyrdom occurs because of his efforts on behalf of another, his grandson in this case, the fisherman of the Lagunes therefore exemplifies the text: "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit" (John 12:24-25).

By reversing the usual order of these sacraments, Cooper strengthens the thematic lines he has been drawing carefully and emphasizes the perverted, worldly wilderness in which the Spirit starves and from which it must free itself to eternal life. Antonio's baptism thus at once washes away the original sin of his temporal existence and transfers his spirit to eternity. His vocation of fisherman is no accident, for the events following his death proclaim him a true "fisher of men" (Mark 1:17).

In this case, Antonio's vocation is justified by his influence on Jacopo and the latter's response to the call to abandon his former life. To change the metaphor, the fruit brought forth by Antonio·s death is Jacopo's own spiritual rejuvenation and eventual entrance into eternal life also. Initially, as a bravo, a hired assassin serving the horned bonnet of Venice, Jacopo would seem to have delivered his soul to the Devil, to have committed himself to circumstance. The nature of his involvement with expediency, however, identifies him as eminently suitable for martyrdom. Falsely accused of defrauding the state, Jacopo's father is condemned to life imprison{35}ment. As ransom for his father's life, Jacopo has agreed to accept the public odium attaching to a bravo, a role he must maintain despite final proof of his father's innocence by the confession of the real culprit, for the state finds Jacopo too valuable to release him from his irksome task. Moreover, his service to the state has been to supply information, not commit murders, as the public has been allowed to believe. His father, consequently, remains in durance, and Jacopo's ordeal continues, his existence alleviated only by his love for Gelsomina, the jailer's daughter, who braves official censure to take Jacopo to visit his father in prison. His agony is indicated early in the first chapter: "The cheeks were bloodless, hut they betrayed rather the pallid hue of mental than of bodily disease" (p. 17). His patron saint during the gondola race is, appropriately, St. John of the Wilderness whom he hopes "may have pity on me, in this living desert" (p. 128).

Jacopo's response to Antonio is first seen during the gondola race when he allows the aged fisherman to win and follows his example in rejecting the prize of precious metal. On the Lagunes at night, Jacopo participates in a duet with Antonio, each maintaining "alternate parts...until the music ceased, by the two singing a final verse in chorus" (p. 220). While responding to the song of the fisherman, Jacopo's gondola approaches that of Antonio, a journey which Cooper compares to "the fancied progress of a spirit" (p. 219). Cooper thus indicates the extent of Antonio's influence on Jacopo as the bravo draws farther away from the maxims of Venice and foreshadows the common fate they will share. Like Antonio, Jacopo shows that he looks towards a more just world beyond the unprincipled temporal regions.3-16 Evoking the parable of the sower, Antonio believes that Jacopo is the "good seed cast on a rock" (p. 225) which cannot take root itself "but dureth for a while" (Matt. 13:20-21). Under Antonio's influence, the stony ground in Jacopo becomes fertile.

Taking refuge on the sandy island which is the last refuge on earth of the outcast, Jacopo's mental agony is assuaged, and he achieves a measure of serenity. With the vision of a martyr he acknowledges his destiny: "I wait only for the last solemn scene, which is now certain, and then I quit this city of deceit, to seek my fortune in another region.... God may yet lighten the load" (p. 272). Jacopo has earned pity for the aid he extended to Antonio in the race, for supporting his petition to the doge, and for placing himself in jeopardy in his attempt to save Antonio from the wrath of the state. In addition, he has refused to carry out Giacomo Gradenigo's plot to assassinate Don Camillo; by his last act of mercy {36} towards his fellow human beings, abetting the escape of Don Camillo and Violetta aboard Stefano's felucca, he affirms his own moral principles and testifies to the strength and triumph of the Spirit, for he had defied the corrupt, secular authority which has long held him in bondage. This rejuvenation of Jacopo is thus directly the fruit of Antonio's death: it is fitting, therefore, that the fisherman, in the terms of St. John, does not "abideth alone."

In Cooper's fiction, the first chapter often presages actions later in the novel. The Bravo appears to follow this method, for the martyrdom of both Antonio and Jacopo is foreshadowed in an ironic parody of the metaphysical theme of the novel. Stefano observes to Gino, gondolier of Don Camillo, that the "Council of Three has a fashion of feeding the fishes of the Lagunes which might throw the suspicion of his death on some unhappy Ancona man, were the body ever to come up again" (p. 19). Of course, here Stefano thinks that Jacopo may be fed to the fishes and a foreigner like himself blamed for the deed; but, in the context of later actions and the metaphysical theme, Cooper seems to refer to Antonio's death, of which Jacopo is accused. Since "Ancona" is the "States of the Church," a refuge for the Spirit, the designation of Jacopo as an "unhappy Ancona man" is appropriate. Much later, after advising Don Camillo to make Ancona his destination instead of following the treacherous waters to Naples and there in Ancona seek the "protection of the Cardinal Secretary" (p. 331), Jacopo attains a kind of epiphany. In reply to Don Camillo's question: "What wilt thou become in their hands?" he replies: "Fear not for me, Signore. God disposes of all as he sees fit (p, 311)." Both Jacopo's actions and mental state now qualify him to join Antonio. By asserting his principles in favor of Don Camillo and Violetta, those other advocates of a spirit independent of the expedient policies of secular Venice, Jacopo has become the fertile ground from which the seed of his eternal life will be harvested.

Cooper's techniques for presenting Jacopo's martyrdom are aesthetically perfect. With the overtones of a Pontius Pilate washing his hands of Christ, the doge, aided by Signor Soranzo, sacrifices Jacopo to appease the incensed fishermen.3-17 Circumstances in Venice cause the rulers to fear Jacopo's spirit as, in another age, the purity of Christ was feared by those too corrupted to comprehend it. The ostensible charges against Jacopo and his trial by the Venetian inquisition also recall Christ's tribunal. In contrast to his fictional treatment of Conanchet in The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish, Cooper is not making Jacopo a Christ-figure who {37} redeems his society; but, the mass of associations surrounding his fate emphasizes his spiritual affinities and final martyrdom. Subsequently, the tribunal offers him freedom for information about Don Camillo and Violetta-- "It may yet redeem thy life, wert thou wise enough to turn it to account" (p. 418); for the Romans, it would nave been sufficient for Christ to deny publicly that he was the King of the Jews.

Boldly acknowledging his part in Don Camillo's escape and refusing to treat with expediency, Jacopo is handed over to the lesser tribunals to be dealt with as a common criminal. Giacomo Gradenigo for planning the assassination of Don Camillo, is, like Barabbas, almost exonerated -- "ten years' retirement in the provinces" (p.424) merely relieves Venice of an embarrassment. The inquisitor's travesty of spiritual matters, "Remember thou hast still a life to redeem" (p. 421), is echoed later at the place of execution by Father Anselmo: "Remember thy Redeemer, son. He suffered ignominy and death for a race that denied his Godhead, and derided his sorrows (p. 455)." Jacopo, however, with his faith in God,3-18 asserts his spiritual nature and by death is redeemed from his living desert into eternal life. By his final refusal to compromise with the state of Venice in "its mockery of those sacred principles which are alone founded on truth and natural justice," (p. 461) he testifies to the strength of the individual integrity and its ability to rise supreme despite all corrupting institutions and personal vicissitudes.

Jacopo's martyrdom also seems to be re-inforced by Cooper's time-theme, for the entire action occurs over six days. The evening of the first day establishes the major action and theme for the following days, for here are introduced the Don Camillo-Violetta relationship, the difficulties in dealing with the corrupt and devious Venetian government, the environment of deceit and treachery amidst a masked citizenry whose actions are motivated by duplicity, a citizenry among whom Jacopo is a feared and isolated man. On the second day, the bravo and Antonio in the gondola race are triumphant before a fickle populace, but their rejection of the prizes is also the rejection of the moral norms acceptable to the Venetian environment and marks their ensuing conflict with that environment. In the evening of the second day, Antonio stands before the inquisition and later that night, by moonlight, he dies. The third twenty-four hour period sees Don Camillo and Violetta suit Venice for a haven more conducive to spiritual growth. During the fourth day, Jacopo is betrayed and cast off; the public funeral of Antonio {38} takes place on the fifth day, an occasion for the state to prepare the populace emotionally to approve the execution of Jacopo on the sixth day.

These six days, which conclude with the sacrifice of one unsuited spiritually to remain any longer in the polluted, temporal environment, suggest the final week of Christ's life -- the moment of triumph for a being destined to be sacrificed, followed by public execration and death on the sixth day. Since Christians regard Sunday as the first day of the week, Jacopo's execution would, like Christ's have taken place on a Friday. Though Cooper has deliberately omitted reference to specific days of !he week, he does emphasize, on the first day, that the "sun had disappeared" (p. 9), which is appropriate since the Sabbath would have ended. On the sixth day of the action also, the sun is shining gloriously until after Jacopo's death; the the sun disappears, and the moon again presides over a world of delusion and despair, of symbolic, spiritual darkness. Perhaps this is reading too much into Cooper's time-scheme; nevertheless, he has assigned an event important thematically to each twenty-four hour period during the six days. Since the whole setting, as we have seen, is symbolic, and the actions, by their associations, may be read symbolically too, it seems possible that Cooper intended that the time-scheme of the novel should also be seen in this manner, so that the reader may associate these events thematically with those preceding the first Easter.

Certainly, no Roman eagles preside over the actions occurring during these six days; but the winged lion guarding Venice is as much a symbol of Empire as the eagle. As Don Camillo warns Father Anselmo, it is useless to expect that "the winged lion would become a lamb" (p. 240). Despite Shakespeare, from whom Cooper often borrows chapter tags, the quality of mercy is so strained in this environment that it is non-existent, It is to be expected that this world dominated by moonlight should be a world of insanity; here the efforts of Gelsomina and the Carmelite on behalf of real justice, mercy, and humanity are derided--. "Tis a maniac" cried one (p. 457); "The girl raves" declares another (p. 458) as Gelsomina protests Jacopo's innocence.3-19 In this world of reversed and perverted principles, what the populace regards as irrational behavior is utterly sane. The priest and Gelsomina cannot help placing themselves in jeopardy at Jacopo's execution, for, as he does, they hold intact the individual integrity undefiled by surrounding circumstances. in The Bravo, this principle prevents enmeshment in a world of insanity.

{39} Cooper's response to spiritual values in The Bravo is obvious. His experiences in Europe and his interest in Catholic art have enabled him to develop an aesthetically satisfying technique for the presentation of his religious theme. The religious ritual of Catholic Italy, the Italian landscape, and the Italian people have released his imagination in a way not possible when he was dealing with the sectarian material of Puritan America. By following Cooper's generative, religious motifs, we can see that he has extended the vengeful society of Meek Wolfe's Wish-ton-Wish until its power seems to cover the sublunary world from whose corrupting influence individuals free themselves and transcend the limited human order by recognizing the place of the Spirit as a guide to ethical action.

Chapter 4 -- MIRACLE AND MYSTERY: The Heidenmauer

{42} Cooper's European sojourn, 1826-1833, produced five novels which show direct response to European religious cultures: The Bravo (1831), The Heidenmauer 1832), The Headsman (1833), Mercedes of Castile (1840), and The Wing-and Wing (1842). When judged by the standards of Jamesian realism, The Heidenmauer seems artistically deficient, prosy and rhetorical for Cooper has chosen to abandon the generative motifs he used in The Bravo, in favor of declamations by key characters. If the novel is approached as a miracle play, however, it presents an aesthetically satisfying thematic unity which condemns egotistical individualism. The miracle play form is thus an artistic construct which emphasizes the idea that self-centered individualism in inimicable to a fruitful, human existence. Indeed, the doctrinal implications of egotistical man assaulting established authority is traditionally the theme of the miracle plays of medieval drama. Did Cooper recall this early literary form while travelling in the country of Martin Luther? It would be a miracle if he did not! Not only do allusions to Luther abound in the novel, but also Cooper shows clearly that he is aware of the schisms in the Church caused by the Lutheran assault on established, religious authority.

In two earlier novels inspired by experiences and associations from his European travels, The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish and The Bravo, Cooper responded to European, religious cultures with tales that focus on the sterility of the Mosaic dispensation and the efforts of courageous individuals to combat the selfish interests of a vengeful society. Such sacrificial figures as Conanchet and Jacopo, whose destinies bear associations from the life of Christ, do not appear again in Cooper's fiction until his portrayal of Parson Amen in The Oak Openings (1848). In The Bravo, individual ethics, the refusal to accommodate oneself to a corrupt, temporal authority, are celebrated. In The Heidenmauer, however, Cooper has become deeply suspicious of the individualistic urge. He shows that the individual assertion of one's own opinions in defence of established authority, both sacred and secular, can easily degenerate into arrogant egotism. Though this novel has usually been approached as social criticism,4-1 it is not the social, but the religious concerns which predominate, a specific response to the European environment in which Cooper was travelling.

{43} During an excursion in the Rhineland in 1831, Cooper rested at the village of Deurckheim in the vicinity of which he explored the ruins of an abbey and a castle, a pagan's wall and a devil's stone -- the Heidenmauer, and the Teufelstein in Cooper's novel. Quite enchanted, he wrote to Charles Wilkes: "I fell in with a bit of scenery, some old ruins, a multitude of traditions in Rhenish Bavaria, that will cost me a book."4-2 Cooper's imagination evidently transmuted his experiences among these ruins to provide the form and setting for his religious drama. Thus, on his return to Paris, Cooper told a friend that the ruins "so beset my fancy, that I must give vent to the impression in three volumes"4-3 and asked her aid in obtaining for him a copy of the Almanach de Gotha of 1827 in which there was a short paragraph on the history of the Princes of Leiningen-Hartenburg, former owners of the ruined castle near Deurckheim. Defending the title of his book, Cooper resisted all suggestions that it be changed to the "Baron of Hartenburg." Instead, he suggested the "Abbey of Limburg," "The Benedictines," or simply "Jaegerthal" [sic] as alternates.4-4 Cooper thus seems to be more preoccupied with the existence of the religious brotherhood than with the adventures of a Bavarian count; moreover, Cooper told his publishers that he wished to "fill up the picture of monkish life"4-5 by taking his main characters on a pilgrimage to the Swiss shrine of Einsiedeln in the final volume of The Heidenmauer. Cooper's emphasis is clearly not on the economic bases of the Reformation as Bewley and Grossman suggest, for his theme surpasses the "operation of greed and worldly interest on a dull and superstitious people."4-6

Recalling his first view of the ruins in his preface to The Heidenmauer, Cooper evokes the era of Charlemagne and the proliferation of baronial castles, the embodiment of physical power, to which he opposes the abbey, emblematic of a supernatural power incomprehensible to man. For Cooper, the abbey is "an excresence of that mild and suffering religion, which had appeared on earth, like a ray of the sun." Jealous of the abbey's influence, the baron inevitably clashes with the priest in a contest for temporal power antagonistic to the pacific origins of the abbey. Cooper believed that the monk "secretly distrust[ed] the faith he professed" while the baron "trembl[ed] at the consequences of the blow his own sword had given."4-7 As Cooper establishes the tensions of his work, therefore, his language demonstrates that his attention is directed to religious concerns evoked by his journey through southern Germany and that these will be presented in terms of the conflict between secular and sacred authority.

{44} As Cooper moves from The Bravo to The Heidenmauer, he has chosen to abandon his very successful technique of presenting his theme in terms of generative motifs with religious associations; instead, he has used rhetorical declamations by key characters. A similar difference in technique may be observed in Shakespeare's plays, The Winter's Tale and Henry VIII, which frequently provide Cooper with chapter headings. Essentially, Cooper seems to have moved from a narrative to a dramatic technique for conveying his theme. If the work is approached as drama instead of narrative, it appears as a play in four movements (or acts), and the numerous authorial intrusions which may mar it as a novel become detailed stage directions in the manner of the Shavian commentary. Thus, in the first movement, chapters 1-15, Cooper indicates the approaching conflict between secular and sacred authority as the castle of Hartenburg and the town of Deurckheim seek to overthrow the power of the monks of Limburg Abbey. The second movement, chapters 16-21, deals with the storming of the abbey and its doctrinal consequences. In the third movement, chapters 22-28, Cooper presents the reconciliation with divine authority by means of the pilgrimage to Einsiedeln shrine. The final movement, chapters 29-31, shows the re-integration of society as a result of this submission to divine authority. Conflict with divine authority, repudiation of that authority, reconciliation, and then re-integration are the essential movements of the miracle plays, for example, the thirteenth century work of Rutebeuf, Le Miracle de Théphile. Throughout the four movements in Cooper's Heidenmauer, there are no panoramic narrative sweeps as are commonly found in his other works. All Cooper's scenes in The Heidenmauer are centered on particular stage properties -- a pagan's wall, a castle banquet room, a burghers meeting hall, a mountain pathway, and a shrine. Indicating his theatrical settings, Cooper specifies the time of day, season if necessary, lighting, costumes of the characters in his scene and their placement on his stage. Thus the audience is told "imagine a narrow and secluded valley, for the opening scene of this tale. The time was that in which the day loses its power. ...The hue meant is not a sickly yellow, but rather a soft and melancholy glory" (p. 33). On the way to Einsiedeln, after specifying time and setting, Cooper places characters:

In advance marched two men. One wore the gown and cowl of a Benedictine, while he carried like the rest, the staff and wallet of a pilgrim. His companion had the usual mantle decorated with scallop shells, and also bore his scrip and stick. The others had the same attire, with the usual exceptions {45} that distinguish the sexes. They consisted of two men of middle age, who followed those in front; two of each sex in pairs, all still young and active; two females who were in their prime, though wearied and sad; and a maiden, who dragged her limbs after them with a difficulty disproportioned to her years. At the side of the latter was a crone whose infirmities and age had enabled her to obtain the indulgence of an ass, on which she was seated comparatively at her ease; ...In the rear of all came two males, who seemed to form a sort of rear guard to the whole party. This group was composed of the prior and Emich, who led the van; of Heinrich, and Dietrich, the smith; of Gisela and Gottlob, with a youth and maiden from Deurckheim; of Ulricke and Lottchen; of Meta and Ilse; and of M. Latouche and the knight of Rhodes. (p. 358)

Such obtrusive stage directions are quite lacking in The Bravo where setting and character, lighting and action are silently integrated into the narrative medium. The difference in form, moreover, appears to be a function of the changed thematic emphasis, for the drama of The Heidenmauer, which focuses on submission to divine authority, is essentially a miracle play wherein the power of God is manifest to skeptical man. The re~integration of society at the end of the work after the Providential resurrection of the romantic male lead, as Northrop Frye has demonstrated,4-8 is basically comic form -- the Divine Comedy of the Christian scheme. The sacrificial ritual of the tragic catharsis in The Bravo is complemented by the resurrection of comic catharsis in The Heidenmauer. The divisive tensions followed by death and resurrection in Cooper's miracle play may thus be seen as the logical development of The Bravo in both form and theme.

Cooper pursues his pattern of conflict, which provides the energy for his play, through the relations of three juxtaposed groups: the Castle of Hartenburg, the Abbey of Limburg, and the town of Deurckheim, representative of state, church, and citizenry. As Cooper displays them, however, no group represents the assaulting individual ego, nor does any group monopolize selfless action. The historic backdrop throughout the four movements of this spatial drama nevertheless projects the theme of schism within state and church as secular and spiritual concerns conflict. Thus the Elector Friedrich is beset by his enemies; his insecure throne and authority inspire his baronial vassals to martial forays such as that of Count Emich against the Abbey of Limburg. The count's soubriquet, the "Summer Landgrave," {46} derived from an abortive attempt to seize the title, is indicative of the general struggle for power within the state as ambitious individuals attempt to advance their secular interests. The withdrawal of the Elector's troops sent to protect the abbey against the designs of the count emphasizes the inadequacy and confusion of the temporal authority when the social structure is beset by cupidity. Not only the state, but the church also is subject to deep schism at this time as individuals dispute the authority and traditional discipline of Catholic doctrine and support Luther in undermining the universal sway of established religious authority. The Abbot of Einsiedeln remarks to Bonifacius of Limburg: "I doubt that the severest blow we are to receive will come from one of ourselves! If all that rumor and missives from the bishop reveal be true, this schism of Luther promises us a lasting injury!" (p. 386). Cooper is conscious that much support for Luther originates from local contentions as individuals seek a course most advantageous to themselves. Resisting the terms of the monks for reconciliation, the burgomaster of Deurckheim, Heinrich Frey, declares that such conditions may be "a short way of recruiting the followers of Brother Luther! (p. 337)."

The theme of schism in the historic state and church is transferred to Cooper's fictional settings and is opposed to the idea of "Catholic" in its original meaning of "comprehensive, universal, or broad in sympathies." In the conversation of Bonifacius and Abbot Rudiger of Einsiedeln, schism arises from the "flood-gates of discussion" (p. 388) when individuals spend their intellectual energies in theoretical controversy designed to justify their own desires. Aware of the danger of fragmenting the church should the theories of Luther prevail, Bonifacius would rather see Luther reform the existing church than propagate new doctrines encouraging the rejection of Catholic discipline and authority. As Father Arnolph realizes, however, the schism draws momentum from the scandalous behavior of some of those ministers who represent the church's traditional authority. Catering to their temporal comforts, undisciplined themselves, monks such as Cuno and Siegfried, even Bonifacius himself, are unable to chasten the rampant worldly ambitions of a Count Emich or a Heinrich Frey,

In the three fictional centres of action, the propensity for disputation with which schism is associated is prominent in those characters especially devoted to cupidity, ambition, and self-interest; in their egotistical pursuit of worldly advantage, they resist any authority beyond themselves. Thus Count Emich and Heinrich Frey, {47} the chief representatives of castle and citizenry, challenge the dominion of the Abbey of Limburg; but having increased their wealth at the expense of the monks, the burghers of Deurckheim are subsequently dismayed to find their new autonomy subjected to the sovereignty of rebellious Count. In Gottlob, the cow-herd whose ironic name is appropriate to his role as a comical, profane reflection of his master, the count, Cooper presents a fluent rogue who delights to repeat scandalous rumors concerning the monks, momentarily baffles the wily Siegfried with his sarcastic flattery, and ostensibly barters, information for a golden mark from the Abbot's casket.4-9 Carefully pocketing the gold, though he intends to dupe the monks and play the Trojan horse when Emich storms the abbey, Gottlob places his linguistic abilities at the service of his mercenary instincts; with relish, he advises Abbot Bonifacius:

Were our good Mother of the Church to take this method of securing friends, she might laugh at all the Luthers between the Lake of Constance and the ocean, him of Wittenberg among the number: but, by some strange oversight, she has of late done more toward taking away the people's gold than toward bestowing! I am rejoiced to find that the mistake is at last discovered; and chiefly am I glad that one poor and unworthy as I has been among the first that she is pleased to make an instrument of her new intentions! (p. 182).

Unlike his foster-brother, Berchtold Hintermayer, Cooper has provided Gottlob with no pious mother to chasten his turbulent nature, and the cow-herd eagerly participates in the count's unlawful assault on religious authority.

Despite their calling, the religious brotherhood is not immune to these temptations of cupidity and pride either. Following the storming of the abbey, the dispossessed monks are sent forth "like disbsnded mercenaries" to "prey upon society in a new shape" (p. 323). They are given refuge in the Abbey of Einsiedeln in Switzerland, where they receive the jasper, gold, and silver gifts of the penitents to augment their depleted treasury; unchastened by his recent conflicts with Count Emich, Abbot Bonifacius is "replete with religious pride" (p. 378) as he confronts the penitents. In his subsequent scene with Abbot Rudiger concerning the challenge to established religious discipline by disputatious sectarians,4-10 Bonifacius exemplifies the priest in Cooper's preface who distrusts the faith he professes -- an equivocal position for the head of a religious brotherhood. Among the representatives of the {48} church, the cultivation of ego takes a different form in Father Johan's desire for martyrdom. Neither worldly status nor material comfort attracts him, but he is subject to the more dangerous ambition to be a demi-god. Displaying the relics at the storming of the abbey, he assumes the right to demand a miracle from the Deity which will enhance his own power over priests and laity alike: "There was a gleam of wild delight in his eye, when he found, of all that powerful and boasted fraternity, that he alone remained to defend the altars.... He anticipated the effects which were to follow from his firmness with the self-complacency of prurient confidence, and with the settled conviction of an enthusiast." (p. 312) Secure in his own piety as a member of a religious order devoted to ensuring individual sanctification,4-11 Johan harangues the congregation at the Sabbath morning mass with the fear of judgment, "narrows the fold of the saved within metaphysical and questionable limits" (p. 155) and threatens Emich with damnation should he violate the altars of the abbey. In the contest for the soul of Count Emich between Johan and Father Arnolph, the fiery rhetoric of Johan destroys the more benign influence or Arnolph and confirms Emich in his decision to rid himself of these pesky priests.4-12 Johan's egotistical will thus undermines the religious authority of the brotherhood and directly contributes to Emich's assault on the abbey.

Thus, in Cooper's analysis of insurgent self-interest challenging secular and sacred authority, he demonstrates that the undisciplined, individual will creates a climate of social dissent conducive to sectarian schism. Cooper's emblem of religious authority, the Abbey of Limburg, is inhabited by the Benedictines, a cenobite order whose communal rules should temper the individual ego of each brother. Ideally, the chastened conduct of a disciplined Benedictine community should provide a type for exemplary harmonious relations between man and his Creator. Cooper specifically approves the cenobite discipline since it impels man to "move among his fellows doing good, filling his part in the scale of creation, and escaping from none of the high duties which God has allotted to his being." (p. 59) At the same time, he distrusts the eremite impulse for he believes it often embodies "extraordinary pretension to godliness" which conceals "ambition and deceit" (p. 58). The reward of a hermit is "a rich harvest of veneration and moral dependence among the untrained minds of his admirers" (p 59). Cooper is obviously very suspicious of the eremite retreat from communal discipline, for it stimulates a dangerous egotism by lauding the personal sanctity of the individual.

{49} Though a nominal member of the Benedictine community, Father Johan exemplifies the same dangerously arrogant egotism. Through his actions and character, Cooper points out the inherent weakness in the Benedictine order whose concept of a religious community devoted to individual sanctification is at odds with its concept of religious discipline, for the arrogant rectitude of Johan and the unchastened cupidity of Bonifacius result in the destruction of the Benedictine Abbey of Limburg. On a broader scale, the religious pride and worldly ambition of some of the representatives of divine authority lead to the abuses by which the resulting schism within the church is justified. Such abuses, for Cooper, stem from the "independent exercise of human volition, that seems nearly inseparable from human frailty" (p. 103). Though Cooper suggests that reforms in the temporal administration of religious doctrine are necessary, he nevertheless distinguishes between the fallible human ministers and the church they serve, and emphasizes the "sacred origin" (p. 102) of that church, now racked by schism.

Only Father Arnolph, the prior of the Abbey seems untainted by the divisive, schismatic principle of self-aggrandizement. Instead of the pride and sensuality of Bonifacius, Arnolph's features have a "chastened expression" (p. 177) suited to one who acknowledges "high ecclesiastical authority" (p. 341); consequently, he becomes Cooper's spokesman, for he upholds the divine authority of the religion he professes and is conscious of the errors of the other priests, and of Count Emich. Thus Father Arnolph's sermon at the morning mass, unlike that of Johan, is "charitable and full of love" like the doctrine of "the divine being he served" (p. 157). Carrying out his spiritual duties, Arnolph is not tempted to take advantage of his position to advance his personal power; he thus exemplifies Cooper's ideal spiritual guide who fills his place in the scale of creation by philanthropic acts for his fellow men.

Arnolph's duty to "high ecclesiastical authority" requires that he try to avert the impending assault on the Abbey of Limburg; therefore, he tries to make Emich aware of the doctrinal implications of his plan to destroy the abbey and succeeds temporarily in ameliorating Emich's opposition to the brotherhood, for the count admits that his plan is "not an act for a Christian" (p. 167). Though he eventually fails to avert the assault, Arnolph does not curse the enemies of the abbey as does Bonifacius, If he cannot sincerely bless them, since he regards the attack on the abbey as sacrilege, he yet refrains from pronouncing a malediction. Instead, he directs his efforts towards effecting a reconciliation between church, castle, and town, arranges for the pilgrimage to Einsiedeln, and attempts to obtain masses for {50} the soul of Berchtold who is believed to have perished in the flames of the abbey while trying to rescue Father Johan. Not surprisingly, therefore, the Bonifacius who is skeptical of the validity of the religious discipline he represents is unable to comprehend such a man as Arnolph: "He is not ambitious, for thrice hath he refused the mitre, He is sustained by no wild visions or deceitful fantasies, like the unhappy Johan: nor yet is he indifferent to any of the more severe practices of his profession.... He is learned, without the desire of discussion; meek amid a firmness that would despise the stake; and forgiving to a degree that might lead us to call him easy." (p. 390) Father Arnolph appropriately articulates Cooper's belief that an attack on the abbey is an assault on the symbol of God's temporal dominion by foolhardy individuals arrogating to themselves die right to challenge the Deity. In the chapel of Limburg, Arnolph warns Emich: "Thou raisest thy impotent arm and thy audacious will against thy God! Thou wouldst despise his promises, profane his altars, nay, thou wouldst fain throw down the tabernacle that he hath reared! Dost thou think that Omnipotence will be a nerveless witness of this sin; or that an eternal and benign wisdom will forget to punish? (p, 168).

Father Arnolph's deep piety and submission to a divine authority transcending immediate self-interest attract Ulricke to the abbey's sphere. As he does, Ulricke makes explicit to castle and town the doctrinal significance of assaulting the abbey. Hoping to gain her support in persuading her husband, the burgomaster Heinrich Frey, to aid him in reducing the power of the monks, Emich promises pecuniary benefits to forward the marriage of her daughter, Meta, with his forester, Berchtold Hintermayer. Ulricke, however, is not tempted to abandon her principles and warns Emich that he will repent his deed: "Limburg is reared in honour of God.... If there are unworthy ministers at its altars, there are also those that are worthy.... The mission is too high to be sullied by any frailty of those who abuse their trusts." (p. 214) Like Father Arnolph, she realizes that the depravity of some of the priests does not justify an assault on an emblem of divine power; to storm the abbey is to oppose the will and power of the individual against that of the Deity. In the abbey church during an expiatory midnight mass for Odo von Ritterstein, the Anchorite of the Cedars, Ulricke adopts the same stance before her husband as she had taken when confronting Count Emich previously. Castigating his action as a "fearful crime," she recalls to Heinrich and his followers the fate of Odo von Ritterstein who now lives in the Heidenmauer; twenty years earlier, the Anchorite, too, had assaulted established religious authority by attacking the altar of Limburg, {51} an action which Ulricke specifies carries the "weight of sacrilege" (p. 297). For Ulricke, Heinrich's challenge to divine authority stems from his cupidity and the fact that his first allegiance is to his "Deurckheim council and its selfish policy" (p. 298). She warns the assailants that, like Lucifer and his cohorts, they are disputing the rights of the Deity in desecrating His altars and can expect retribution.

Ulricke's emphasis on the sanctity of the altars has been carefully prepared for in Cooper's pageant of the Sabbath matins. The thematic points conveyed in his description are part of an essentially static theatrical spectacle in which the chapel of Limburg and its decorations become his stage properties. Since Catholic ritual may be a controversial topic for a major part of his audience, Cooper points out that, when "justice has been done to the formula of this [Catholic] church,...there is deep and sublime devotion in its rites" (p. 153). For Cooper, the purpose of Christian worship is to stimulate reverence for the Deity in the congregation and to re-inforce a sense of their own insignificance in those participating in the worship. Such deference to temporal rank and secular power as has been accorded Heinrich Frey inspires "pride and presumption" rather than "humility and penitence" (p. 147) and is inimical to the spirit of Christian worship. Consequently, Cooper suggests that all means of arousing the appropriate feeling of devotion are justified.

In his pageant, the villagers from the surrounding countryside answer the summons of the church bells calling the faithful and the skeptical alike to morning worship. The mass thus must operate on Emich, Berchtold, and Heinrich Frey, as well as on such devot