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@E)SINTNG TEE SELF: MODERNIST WOMEN AND THE

AUTOBIOGRAPHTCAL TRADITION

Liane C.L.Schwarz

A thesis submitted in confomity with the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Graduate Department of English

University of Toronto

O Copyright by Liane C. L.Schwarz 1998

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ABSTRACT

Suhnitted by Liane Schwarz, f o r the degrcc of Ikctor of Philosaphy,

obtaind fraa the G L : ~ Whparhmnt
B ~ ~
of mglish,
University of Toraito, 1998
With an historical context that attcillpts to delineate the
probl-tic

relationship between autobiography as an androcentric

discourse and fcmale autobiographers who have traditionally been

circumscribed by that discourse (both in matters of idaitity and

authorship) , my thesis isolates modernim in al1 of its hcterogen~~ll~
cariplexity as a moment in Western canscio~~sness
that allaws for the
destabilizatian of autobiography's idcological foiardatia. My primary
contention is that modernism, so defined, provides an apportitnity for
wanen writers to consciously reassess their roles in relation to the

patriarchal mainstream, and for women autobiographers in particular to

reveal the fictions of selfhood that had fixed them as subordinates for
so many centuries. To denwarstrate this point, 1 aaploy an analysis of
four moernist autobiographies that successfully take hold of the

ideological apportunity before than: Virginia Woolf's Mammrts of BeUlg

(1907-1940): Vera Brittain's -tament
T h Rrrtahiograpiiy of Ali-

of Youth (1933); Gertrude Stein's

B. M a s (1933); and Zora Neale Hurstm's

Dust Tracks an a Road (1942). A coamon ar-t

is justifi d by the fact

that al1 of these texts challsnge the received cmvaitions of

autdiography, a d n m t espccially the androcaitrie assmpticm of

iii

subjectivity, by exposing the fictivity that lies a t the hcart of the

genre. Their separate example is warrantai by the s l i a t l y differait

emphasis each w a m n places m that fictivity: Woolf m the fiction of

recolh?ctian; Brittain aar the f i c t i m of thic story; Stein an the f i c t i m
of the inplid readef; and Hurstan m the fictim of the textuad "1".
The final implications of such a study are far reaching, for the

revisimary strategies employd by each of these fanale autobiographers,

while insisting oai-moreexpansive definitiais of both autobiography and

modemism, also cal1 for a type of interdisciplinary scholarship that

not mly reveals the a r t i f i c i a l nature of epistemological categories,

but also the bmrefit of mutually reinforcing hawledge.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ii-iii
iv-v

A. (Re)Signing the Self: Modernist Wamen and

the Autobiographical Tradition

B. Autobiographical Discourse and the Politics

of F a d e Subjectivity
C. Four R e v i s i u u y Wonien: A R e s i m t i m for

Reassigment
D, Notes

A. Through the Looking Glass: The Autobiographical

Evolutian of Virginia Woolf

48

B. Reminisccnces: A Portrait of the Artist as

Everyane Else
C. The Memir Club Ccntributians: A Gradua1 nveiling
O. R Sketch

58

of the Past: Fragments of a Broken

Mirror
E. Fran Reflection t o Reframing: A n Evolution of
the Self
F. Notes

A. Setting the R e c o r d Straight: Vera Brittain's

Testament of Youth
B. Redrawing the Battic Lines: The M y t h of the Lost
-ration
Revisite
C. The nentrmched Voice

D. The Spirit of Caitradicticni: R e r d n g Tcstammt

of Youth

99

E. D i g g i n g a New Trmch: Uar Autobiography With a

Diff erence
F. Notes

A. l%eAutabiograp&
B e y d the Genre

of Alice B. M a s : Writng

B. Leaming to Speak Steinese

C.

' m t is the use of bein a boy if you are going

up t o be a m?":Stein's Resistance to
Temporal Order
t o gr-

D. 'My sentences do get inder their skin": Stein's

Versicm of Authenticity
E. "Tranbling was al1 living, living was al1 lwing,
same m e was UIcn the other me": Sharing a
Subjectivity

F. Readerly Writing/Writerly Readsng

G.

Notes

A. Zora Neale Hurstoa's Dust Tracks

a ~oad:
Dialogism, Dialectics and Diaspora
B. Covering Up Her Tracks: Hurstan's Alternate
Sense of Time
C. Diasporan

Subjectivity, or De-Colmizing the! Self

D. B e y d the Cult of Truc Womanhood: A Voice That

Know No Bounds
E. Making New Tracks : Penne!ating Old Boundaries

CONCLUSION
A. Glancing Back

Implicatiams

and Forth: Sane Revisimary

INTRODUCTION

m ) S i a u the Self: M d e i i s t W a n m r and the

A uanaxa writer, in the context of inainstream culture, has

always been a trespasser in anai's territory. And she
trespasses a t hitr mil. She is as much at hrmre in nia's

traditians as is a T h i d Worlder i n the privilcgcd

landscapes of Eusopean Society. She has no 'natuml ' place
there. She can either create a new place-a mman's subculture, with al1 the derogatiars the prefix inplies-to
which the niainstream nesd give no serious regard, o r she can
do b a t t l e w i t h u m t o prwe she is worthy t o be hmourd as
one of than.
Gil lian Hanscamhr and Virginia L. Smyers,
Writing For TPIcir Lives, 3-4

Western patriarchal culture has for so lmg so thorouqhly

covered wancn in myth, bas so efficiently u s d gender t o
c d l a t e al1 womcln i a t o W a n a n , the scxual category of Man,
the ther, and the contrast by which a nian may h o u hiiaself
as Self, that mme of us cari yet r e a l l y know w h a t a w a a a n
is. W a n a n blocks our view.

Since it u i l l be my c m t m t i a i hem that the autabiographies of

Virginia Woolf, Vera Brittain, Gertnde Stein and Zora Neale Hurstm

have
way

llvanage

not arly t o assert the positiogr of the w a m n writer in a

that successfully elides the c a n f h i n g aptiars previously available

t o f-le

authors, kt also t o expose our vicw t o four very distinctive

w a w n cmscious of their if f erence f rom the cultural myth of Waaan, I

would like t o begin with a disassiai of the historical and theoretical

L. Schwarz

perspectives that allow m e t o niake such a c l a i m . By briefly sketching

the salient aspects of

problamatic relationship t o autobiography

WB'S

as a genre, 1 hope t o accamplish two main objectives: f i t s t , a smse of

the discursive i-rialism?

inhercnt in the genre an cmvaitiaa?, of

autobiography; and second, an historical n o t i m of the female

autobiographer as an author who either allaws herself t o be coionized by
the daninant idcology of the discourse or a t t w t s t o establish her awn
colony aolly t o discwer that her autobiographical island is not so f a r

remove from the mainland as she might have hoped, From a perspective,
then, that inplies the imbrication of history and discourse, 1 would

like t o proce& w i t h the idea that m e r n i s m , an perhaps it is better

to

Say

modern consciousness in general, provides an instance in history

and discursive formation tbat is ripe for change, an apportmity for

women writers t o cmsciously reassess m i r roles

patriarchal mainstream, and for

WB

in r e l a t i m t o the

autobiographers i n particular to

reveal the fictions of selfhood that had fixe t h e m as subordhates for:

SO

many

cmturiese

Having set the stage hzstorically, 1 w i l l thm t u m my attention

t o four texts which, i n my view, have both seieed and altered this
nrodernist zedtgeist: Virginia Woolf's Momarts of Bcing (1907-40),
Brittain's T l e S t a m m t of Y m t h (1933), Gertrude Stein's

Vera

Z%e

Autobiogmphy of Aiice B. W a s (1933), and Zora Neale Hurstm's Dust

T r a c b an a R d (1942). In t h i s l a t t e r portim of the introduction, 1

plan t o delineate my rcasms for

chooging

these particular works as w e l l

as my proposcd mthodology. To ths end, 1 would l i k e not a a l y t a

highlight those aspects of subjectivity and self-repzesartatim in each

L.

Sc)rwarz

text that justify a camm argmmnt, but also to look at those elcments

&ch

set the texts apart .ad. ultiiprtely. warnnt tbcir separate

example. Run this logical point of departurc, finally, 1 will situate

my ain critical positim vis h vis the marrent rcvisianary trends in

both autobiographical and modcrnist criticism. Herc 1 hope not anly to

illustrate the kind of work that is k i n g m e by revisimist scholars,

but also to show hou this particular project will make furthet.
cantributims to t h s e respective fields of study.

Autobioura~hicslDiscourse and the Politics of Fanale Subiectivity

Etymologically, the te-

"autobiography" did not appear in Piglish

usage until 1797, and did not gain any particular currrmcy mtil the

middle of the nineteenth century (Folkenflik 1; 6)'

. Its hiritory as a

scholarly discipline is wm shorter, with no gmuine interest being

exhibitexi mtil the sttdies of eorg Misch and Anna Robeson Burr
appeared at the bcginning of the twmtieth century (mgemann ~ 8 ) ~ .

Yet, as a discursive force, autobiography has had a very laarg and

influential life. In the western world alont, most historrians m the

subject would identify St Augustine's Carfcssians (397-8) as the "square
upan which the self-cscioiisness of European man f irst coalesced"

(Bakhtin 135), for as a text that marks the b e g i m i n g of Christian

asceticism, it rsstmrs the -rtance

sin, and hm-

of the sou1 's strraggles with past

the importance of the individual. Moreover, as a text

which boasts the distinction of canbining "a1 1 thme of the f O=--

L. Wmarz
historical, philosophical, and poctic-that

autobiography wuld assune

i n the caurse of its dcvclopment wer the next f i f t e m *cd

(spezlgcmann

ysars"

xiv) , it is t r u l y a universal prototype.

That autabiographical historians have assignd this d i s t i n c t i a i t o

St Augustine's Caafessims, hawwer, has perbaps less to do with the

pivota1 place it occupies in history and inore t o do with the fact that
it canfinns, in retrapect, the accretim of ideas t b t we have cane t o
jmdW

as "autobiogrsphy": an "extaxied an corustcted" prose 'harrative

fol lowing sane kind of chraiological , historical, or other cl'kant for

order",

the public eye", in which its narrator claims t o recall his

or her past with accuracy, "assirmes the reader's interest in 'the life'
because of the importaince givm t o introspectim or self-analysis", and,
as a cansequawe, exhibits a certain "literarinesst' (Kadar 1993: x i -

xii ) Certainly the same might be said of ~ o u s s e d sCanfessicrns (1765) ,

which is similarly held up as the modern Euopean v e r s i m of
autobiographical quintessmce. e may rcco(plize the daims of self
generated miquemess, universal i-rtance,

and absolute veracity, but

i t does not necessarily hold that Rousseau's text is the source of these

autobiographical cmvaitians. My point, very sinply, is that such

assunptiis are rootsd in, and develop with, cultural ideology rather

than anerging frn particular textual sites. 1 raise U s issue

imnediately not arly because of its importance t o the derstanding of
autobiography as a discourse, k t also because 1 believe that the

prototypical s c h l of thought a i l y reinforces a kind of "grcat man"

ide01ogy

L. Schwarz
Indee, the notion of autobiographical history as a collectiai of
"great men" is possibly t h single largest ideology caitrrbuting to the

problematic relationship betuem womcn an autobiogmphy, for, as a

manifestatian of the daninant patriarchal discourse, it is sathing

which influences both the cultural narratives of female identity and the
discursive formatian of the genre itself. In other words, how women

historically perceive themselves as autobiographical subjects is

inextricably related to the way in which they are perceived. A d this,
for a variety of reasons, has never been particularly cunpli~tary,
perhaps explaining, in part, wmen's delayed autoblographical impulse,

for it was not mtil the mystical writings of Julian of Norwich (1373)
and Margery Kempe (1436)--sane thousan years after St Augustine's

Canfwi--that

women first wrotc (or spoke)' about thmaselves in the

West. The coincidence of these wanen's accomts w i t h the rilsdieval

revision of Christian anthmpology is probably no accident, for,

whatever iniquities may have existai in the real world, wanen d e r this
"new anthropology" were at least assurai of "the moral equality of a#r*s

and womm's souls in the quest for eternal salvation" (Smith 1987: 27).
As

would saon discover, hawever, the quest for autobiographical

autmany was not quite the same thing. H e r transgressions into realnis of
the flesh and spiritual realms still considerd the province of male
ccrgy ooosi mark&

her as a kretid

The real heresy, of course, was that K m p e had failed to c-ly

with cmteirp>orary standards of fanale propriety which wcrc, for the most
part, dictatd by a kind of "scholastic synthesis" that "systematized
both the prelapsarian and the postlapsarian inferiority of woman" (Smith

L. Sclmasz
1987: 27). Biblical (and prsdaninaatly m i n e ) interpretatians of

me,

f ocusing an hes subordinatim t o kdam, her betrayal of mmikiad t k o u g h

the transgressive att-t

t o gain h w l d g e , and bcr final curse t o bear

childra, were taken together with Aristotle's ~ ~ 1 c e p t iof

mwaman as an
"essential absence" and AQuinas's notion of uauan as "misbegottan man"
(Smith 1987: 27-31)(, a d it was swminglp decidd that

regarded i n te-

wcaiai

should be

of m i v e r s a l negativitq: the malfonmd 0 t h by

which man would h o u himself, the origin of a l 1 sin, and the aupty
vesse1 of procreatim. To the nudieval niirrd, therefore, the "good" wamn
was almost a contradiction

in

ternies,

for behg g d was simply a natter

of maintaining bouxiaries. As man's subordinate,

vonian

was expectd t o

reniain within the domestic sphere of the homestead. As his betrayer, she

would forsake her desire f o r kiowledge, speaking as l i t t l e as possible

and c d i n i n g herself t o private conccrns. And finally, as t h e
biological m t i t y that would bring forth his childrm, she would limit
herself t o the roles of wife and mother. M t o this the remote

exceptions of nun and heretic, and one could safely argue that the
medieval

wonian

looking f o r a cultural s c r i p t oa which t o base her

identity had an cxtranely nasrow m g i n of choice a t her disposal.

With the advmt of Renaissance hinranism cane a s l i q h t l y altered

perceptian of hunan aatological staturr. Houever, such w e n t s as the
disintegratim of f d l i s m and new s c i a r t i f i c i s c w e r i c s that gave

precedence t o individual, inductive truths mer miversal notias of

Truth (Smith 1987: 22-3) did l i t t l e t o &mge the c-lexim

of w~iai's

autobiography, for axnitting the inportance of hunan worth or

individual knawledge was still tantamoiort t o atnitting the inportance of

L e Schwarz
m..W a n c n , still assi-

ml-,

and resigwd to t k i r private, danestic

ha little access to sduatim, rrd mmt, in any went. were

rdwtant to aspire to the very public put'suit of s e c u l u autobiography.

.mt anly perceptible differcnce for w o m a of this period uas the

addiitiosr of ane more potmtial script, that of the

asnsims of Elizabeth 1, Mary

qibcar,

since the

of Scots, and Catherine de Medici

M.if m l y by virtue of their nunkr, legitimize th idea of female

(arstocratic) authority (Baith 1987: 3 4 But uhat this neant for the
majbrity of wan#i uas very little, for authority in the face of
psclttailing illiteracy is nevertheless -te.
midence of fanale life-utiting
eveci

Caisequently, the m l y

in this period is aristocratd , and

this is seemingly reluctant, for althaugtr these wamm are

aceounting for their lives,

they

are still confining their efforts to

tbe more private f o m of diary, letter and journal. In fact, k fore the
m i s h Civil War (1642-1651), it would appeu that wome!n's secular
autmbiography cmsisted of very little else.

first instance of a

wwpublic"
autobiography does not appear mtil 1656, with Nargaret
Cstnendish's A True Relatim of J& Birth, Br-vting, and Life; an here,
s m y ,

we must ac)arawlege that it is public anly by virtue of its

attachment to her biography of William Cavadish'.

a a visible

level, therefore, the ideology of Renaissance

h u m n i s m did not have any significant impact an the rather inauspiciaus

tradition of wa#nls autobiography. Old notions of divine authority may

hme given way t o ideas of R - s s m c e

autmbiagraphical -gin

self-fiahionindu,prariding an

for samc uamm, but the galvanization of

pabriarchal primacy that attmds this particular ideology did as much to

L. Schwarz

preclude wawn fran autabiography as any other. And pcrhaw, for this
reason alme, 1 muid argue that l e s visible influmces were
respansible for the aggravatim of the fanale autobiographical inpulse
during this pcriod. By "less visible", of course, 1 do not mean to i-ly
that these influaices wcre subtle, for certainly the concept of

autobiography had bcar dmstically r d s e d inder the ncw mtology, but

rather that the ideological inflectim of these influences had cscaped

general notice. In other wors, western scholarship may have taken

something of an autobiographical turn (Smith 1987 : 24), but the! fact

that autobiography shara the androcmtric basis of this scholarship, or

that its emgedering might have unfairly excludeci wanen, was still an
uncanscious dume.

That

nian

naw saw himsel f as the centre of the universe, for

instance, cmtrihted greatly to an idsa of autanomaus selfhood, a

philosophy which f

d its autobiographical translaticm in the

assmptions of self-generaticm (sui generis) an self-importance (?es

pastac)".

nerlying this notim of individual autaaany , houever. is

the unaclaiowledged assumptian of male privilege, for wen abananing the

"Adam's

rib" school of fernale subordinatioa, the idea of a wanan free

from any claims but her awn in a socio-ecmanic climate that still
ensured her dependency a d -tic

a fictian. Few womai, Save que-

resente might just as well have b e a ~

anci aristocrats,

wclr

live the kind

of life that this revision of the genre tods for qranted. The rebirth,
furthennore, of certain classical cawaitions, such as rcs gestae,
presumed not only a certain 1-1

of literacy, but also a level of

literariness that was well b e y d the reach of most waricn. Thus, in

Le Schwarz

spite of the rise in "public" autobiography, correspaiding to the rise

in public literacy braught about by the invmtim of the printing press,

w e are still hard-presscd to

find many faaale e x ~ l a r s ,for the v e w

idea of autobiography as it fonned in t h

W58an

l e f t a i l y the

remtest of possibilities o p a ~to women.

For the fanale autobiographer, then, the assertion in the Age of

~ e a s c a iof

an individualmsinnate ireedcm ind -lit?

-rd

with

crile1 irmy, and espedal ly w h e r e her fredan to represent herself on an

equal footing w i t h mmr was caicesnede Throughaut the scvmrteenth and
eighteenth centuries, in f act, women would auintain their rather

uncornfortable position in relatim t o autobiography. Those who chose to

mite
they

about thanselves generally opted for one! of two courses: either

would cuntent themelves w i t h the private discourse of their

diaries and journals, resigning themselves to a sub-cultural status; or,

t h q would dare to mite a public autobiography, usurping the

anrh-ocentric stage. In tenns of feniale identity, houever, both choices

are extremely problematic. In the f i r s t instance, the fanale

autobiographer is sinply reinforcing the fictim of self-representatim

she has been assigned by the patriarchal daninance of the discourse. She
car~~o
presume
t

to be the kind of self that autobiographical cmventian

bas made law, and thereforeshc inscribes a place for herself that is

different, but not equal. And in thc sec&

instance, the feniale

autobiographer's necessary traasgressian into the public discursive

realm amounts to a carfimation of patriarchal dominance itself. "She

cnits herself to a certain kin of 'patrilineal' contract" (Smith
1987: 52), embracing al1 thoge aspects of self that form the

L. Sck&karz
andr-tric

10

basis of the genre, but werlodring those very aspects of

herself that make her uniquely f a d e , and in the

pro ces^

mderanining

any of "the value and the privileges she can gamer as an ideal wanan"

(Smith 1987: 54). The r e l a t i v e pasitim of wamen to autobiography,

therefore, is not mly precariaus but double binding, for the available
choice, it seenrs, i s between the mted voice of her o m private story

and the audible voice of her self-effacing transgression.

Notwithstanding the treachcry of discursive prescription, haJever,
the state of wan's autobiography during these centuries id in fact

undergo a reamrkable transformation, particularly in the eightea~th

century. The "dichotany

betweein

(Spacks 1976: 89) that s

public passivity and private dne~:gy"

d t o represent the nom for seventeenth-

century (aristocratie) wamen became more of a spectrimi in the f 01lawing

century. The reason for this is twofold, The f i r s t , and most
3

significant, factor is the drastic change in ecanamics precipitated by

the Industrial Revolutian. Imp?ovtrisheci social c e t i o n s "tendeci to

produce a high proportion of widows, deserted wives, and m r i e d

mothers, while women's occupatims were over-stodced, il1 paid and

irregular" (Nussbaun 1989: 147). In other words, prevailing eccmaics

had not mly f orced

won#lr

out of their -lace

marriage roles, but

also necessitatd tbir ~ l o y m r m snd

t
ca~lsequenturbanizatioar (Jelinek
1986: 33). And uith this new growth

i n vorking-class w a d 3 carne an

altered saise of subjectivity, aie that was marked by an intarsificatiaol

of class c o n s c i ~ (Nussbaun
s
1989: xiv) and, in some cases,

resistance t o the old ideologies of gender (Nussbamn 1989: 133-4).

n l i k e their swmt-th-century

CVC~

predecessors, therefore, f a d e

autobiographers of the eightemth amtury are mich more vasid.

Certainly, because of litesacy levels, t h a e i s still a large incidence

of upper (and middle) class

writing privately in their jounials

and diasies, or publicly i n r e l a t i a r t o their htLSbandS, fathers or

G d 4 , but what

uc notice for the f i r s t tin is the .mcrgmce of a

working-class voice, autobiographies writtcn by wommr who were f o r c d t o

make their oun way in the world. And it is hcre that 1 w d d note the

second significant change in wamen's autobiography of the period, for

w i t h the aitim of al 1 these ncw voices came a marke increase in the

"collective sphere of fernale subjectivity'' (Nusshwn 1989: xviii).

Possibly the mst notable rkir'tim of the tine is the fanale
apology or confessional, sanetimes called the rcandalaus manoir (or Vie

scanda1c u ~ c ) a~ ~f orm
,
that could be distinguishd by its "persmal and

subjective emphasis ," its "dis junctive narratives," and its conciliatory
attitude towards the r d e r [Jelinek 1986: 33). Although it was a mode
that did not appear until the 1740s ( N u s s b a i n r 1988: 151), 1 single it
out because 1 believe it is the most revealing in terms of the mgoing

antagonism between wonmn and autobiography a1 arc hand, it was an

autobiographical innovation, a t d y subjective form that "inauguratecl

psychological self-analysis" (Jelinek 1986: 32). Chi the other han&

however, i t was a form that posed a gnat threat t o the ever increasing
ossification of the genre, for mlike the military histories of the res
gestae,

or any other mode tbat presu the n u r a t i v e objectivity of the

autobiographical subject", it p r e s a i t d i t s e l f as a cantsaiction t o

the dominant ideology. Thesefore, rather than rccciving the a t t e n t i m it

deserved, it was quickly dismissed as sentwntal , dishonest and

L. Schwarz

12

libertine (Stantm 6; Schwmkerr 23-24), a c d i r m a t i ~mce again of

wanen's colaiized status in relatiai to the imperial discourse of
autobiography

A case-in-point can be made by A iKarrative of the Life of M r s

Charlotte Chxke, Raughter of Colley

Wljttm

by Herself (1755),

a working wuaan's apology that not arly represents a new strain of

fende autobiography (the disguise narrative), but also stands out as a
kind of metaphor for the female position in relatim to the patriarchal

discourse. Charlotte Qiar:ke, daughter of Colley Cibber, a poet laureate

and remouneci dramatist, was h a w n by virtue of her father's

fanie

and her

own career as an actress. The accomt she gives of her life is of a

child engaged in a series of playful i m r s m a t i m s and of an adult who,

by virtue of her husban's death and her father's reproach, must dress

as a

nian

in order to forge a living.

tare of

the autobiography is

extremely pleading, alinost pathetic, the underlying agenda obviously to

regain her father's acceptance and financial support. Generically, then,
it is a typical scanalous manoir: shocking, subjective, and

conciliatory to a fault. But the fact that it depicts a w a n a n who

survives by means of cross-tessing and whose primary concern is the

recognitiaoi and forgiveness of her father is very telling, for it

suggests the essmtial c d l i c t of the female autobiographer, the choice
between writing

as a w a a a n and always standing at sam r-e

fran the

patriarchal authority, or writing as a man, disguising her female body

in order to reap the bnefits of the metaphysical (androcaitric) self.

Therefore, in spite of wanm's att-ts

to perscmalize the g-e,

to make it more applicable to their cxpcsiences. it uss the inescapable

L. Schwarz

13

association of the famale writer with the fanale body that still
returned t o haunt

d7.
llnd at no point

in history does this bec-

more apparent than in the ninctcarth cmtury , when, at the same time

that autobiography is being conccptualized as a m e , Victorian notians

of incividuality axe succmbing to a Qrtcsian i i i d / b P d y sPlitl8,
giving

rise t o codes of prapriety that suppress physicality and

sexuality almost entirely. In other wors, the caicurrcnt -1-t

of

a genre around the idea of a mctaphysical cogrito, a nearly Platonic

notian of selfhood, and the dwelopment of moral cades, such as ' W s
Gntndyism" and ''The Cult of T n w ~omwhood,'~'did not bode well for
t h e female autobiographer. The priority given t o mind wer body anci

reascm over sentiment, together with the rigid notion that wanen's
primry virtues were "piety, purity, subaaissivmess and damsticity"

(Welter 21), seemingly r d e r a i the idea of fenrale authorship a logical

inrpossibility as w e l l as something of a mortal sin.

Much t o the surprise of the mrelaating Mrs G a y , hawever, wamn
of this century

seceai

more determincd than ever t o locate "the discursive

e l a s t i c i t i r c " (Smith 1992: 85) of the genre, f o r rather than fixing

thenselves as "true wamnW'or isguising thanselves as "true men", the

vast xnajority of female autobiographers have adopted mtthods that allw

for both their authorship ( t h i r asserticm of individu1 selfhood) and
their female "goodness" (their atta-t
behaviour). In most self-portraiture,

t o societal codes of
f o r instance, we will mcomter

either a passage of self-denigratim, usually ara apology for the

t-gressian

-hasis

of the autobiographial act i t s a l f t O , or an mnatural

on the d a m s t i c details of the author's l i f e . Both are an

L. Schwarz

14

attmpt to cimvince the reader that the feinale author before thexn is
perfectly canpatible w i t h the ideas of society at large. Thus the
canciliatory attitude toward the readcr that was &dent

in eghteenth-

century wcmen's apologies i s here sanething o f a nom. Wcmm appear to

go out of their way to caaistnict themselves as exaaplary, and therefore

to establish an affinity between their life stories and readerly
expectatiadl. Such accamodating vthods are especiolly evidait in
the resurgence of evangelial

life-writing that gives

precedence to religims example and self-hermcneutics in order to

canceal the primary autobiographical motive of publicity.
But perhaps the most musual product of this accamnodating inpulse

is the Victorian "invention of childhdJ3, the prolangeci a d

sometimes exclusive anphasis m childhood ysars f

d in niany

nineteenth-century wcmen's autobiographies. Al though this technique is

certainly not representative of al1 autobiographies k i n g written by
u-,

especially those writtcn by lover and uorking class wwn2', it

is m e that seems to danhate the dwindling nmbers of women's literary

autobiographies, possibly because it is me that still allaws for

literary or public (and haia transgrcssive) cxemplarity without
offending the accepted n o m of gender idcology. In other words, these

narratives manage to occupy a liminal territory s ~ l ~ e ~ h between

ere
the
essentiatist idea of male selfhood (the autaiomous inetaphysical "1") and

the Mdrocmtric idea of female selfhood (the trcmulous danestic "1").

Cancentrating almost exclusively m pre-adolescent mernories, these
autobiographies succcssfully elrrde the associatian of the fanale writer
and the fcmale body. They si-1 y ard bef ore the mrmcui's body is of any

L. Schwarz

15

cansquence t o the r d e r . A d so, wfrat w e bave in most cases is a very

peculiar dichotamy between the nascent individual and the reticence
(ccmsciaus or tarcaucitxas) of the f a d e autobiographer who would soaier
abort her l i f e story i n d a s res rather than suffer the accusatiars of

i ~ n p r o ~ r i e Iri
t ~ fa&,
~.
this attitudc tuuards autobiography rccounts,
in large part, for the prwalmce of autobiographical xmsks, such as we
see i n the novals of George Eliot or the Bront ~ i s t e r s Reluctant
~~.
to

relate the intimate details of their lives in tbe "accountable" genre of

autobiography, these w o m n toak. refuge in the guise of fiction.
Sadly, then, "the cult of d-ticity

still wershadwd the

b u r g d n g cult of persanality" (Gagnier 9 5 ) for most nineteaith-ccntury

wanen. Perhaps

the m l y exceptims can be fomd in the autobiographies

of professimal w-

and fe~ninistd' but, even so, such narratives do

not begin t o appear with any frcquency mtil the l a s t two decades of the
century. Where me xnight mark a difference, however, is i n the
autobiographies of American wamen. p t o and until the en of the
eighteenth century, American women's autobiographies were not much of a

radical departurc. A s t r m g Puritan tradition2' M ensureci the

dominance of religious comversim narratives, and iriherited g d e r codes
had similarly colourcd e a r l y sccular att-ts

with the reserve of a

private, danestic d i s c o ~ r s e ~If~ .there uas any noticeable diffarmce,

it was not one m t i n g frarn the situaticm of the subject in relation

t o the daninant discourse, but rather me of circmstance, a difference

relating t o Amtrica's colonial s t a t w , uestward expansiar, or the
s e t t l m t of minhabiteci regims. Harce, w e discover wommr writing

L. Schwarz

16

unparalleled accomts of pimeer life, travel, exploratio~iand

captivity.

In the ninet-th-cent-,

houever, these ciraanstances, nou

altered by the Amrican Civil War and the abolition of slave-,

contributecl to more than just a quantitative difference in uanen's lifewriting. uie genre, in particulas, posed a threat to "The Cuit of Tzue

WOmanhOOdl'--the f a d e slave narrative. For here, as never before, we

encounter a moe of fernale self-reprtsentatim that is centered on the

physical body of the aut&iographical subject. Whether relating tales of

abuse at the bands of white slave m e r s or boasting about the fcniale
strength that was necessary to be a desirable slave, most of these

accounts seem to highlight the body. More transgressive still was the
fact that many of these accounts ventureci to disclose the sexual
violatian concomitant w i t h slavery". An so, it was not just the body,
but the sexual body, t h t became the focal point of these narratives.

Against a fictim of self-representatian that demnded female purity and

goodness, this assertion of the self as a "fallen wanen" (Smith 1993:
41) and a physical king certainly affronteci the daninant ideology

attached to the metaphysical "IN. What is most peculiar about these

narratives, thm, is the seexning attempt to remain within the

circumscribed fiction of the submissive fcmale, for like many of the

nineteenth-century autobiographies pcnned m the continent, the fanale
slave narratives are just as likely to display an initial moesty or to
opologizc for the act of uriting itseli3'. The contraiction they
inscribe (or reinscribe), in other words, is between the white codes of
gener that inform the fanale autograph and the black embodied voice

L. Schwarz

17

which necessarily resides on the margins. bviously, in spite of feeling

their sauls, there is still a very strmg desire

the necessity to "

e
"

to cater to a white authority, if m l y for the reason that their

perceived readers were northern abolitianists (Cuiley 13). Therefore,

even in the case of the

inost

"autspalcenm' examples, '%e

Cult of True

Woraanhood" still stands as a kind of totem in the centre of wane!n's

autabiographical traditim. Those feu voices tbat resist its

prescriptims ncvcr quite dismiss its pawer.
To dismiss such a m e r , though, would be no easy a c c a n p l i s ~ t ,
for the ideology that semai as its fourdation, the notim of

"individuality" that had been "turned in the mills of eighteenth-century

en1ight-t

, early nineteenth-cartusy rarmanticism, bourgeois

capitalism, and Victorian optimism" had "achieved its fullest, most

finely-tuned shape in

[...] the ninetcarth caitury's

metaphysical selfhood" (-th

idcology of

1990: 11). What the female autobographer

had to confraolt, therefore, was not sinply a fiction of self-

representation, an idea of W m a n put forth by the daainant patriarchal

discourse, but the very ideology that had exclwkd women fran the sphere

of subjectivity in the first place. In oUier wors, if the self at the

centre of autobiography had been privilegd as m l e , white, mitary,

metaphysical, and objective, t h e n the -den

f o r the fanale writer was

first to r e c o w z e i t as such, and then to problenmtize its privilege by

rendering it squally fictioolal-a

simple t a s k m l y in theory, for the

reality would necessitate the werturning of the Western mind, the

disxnantling of so niany heganmic structures that had rsniained swereign
for so many centuries.

L. Schiwarz

18

But first and formmt, it was a question of fciwle caascioilsness,

theneed for women to actively mgaqe and challenge the gendcr idcology

that had relegated their autobiographical status to the margias for al1
these centuries. Withcut recognizing the patriarchal equatian between
W o m and
~

fiction, there could be no progress, no "disi~ntlingof

taphysical cmceptiars of self-presence, autimrity, authenticity,

[and] truth" (Smith 1990: 12). The finidamental problem was

epistemological. Wanen's ways of knauing thuoselves had always been in

relation to, and by way of, an anrocatric discourse that prescribed
tbe autobiographical self as a free agent wbose unitary essence cauld be
houn by a process of objectifying the world around h i m , by assuming
tbat he was the locus of a l e d g e a d that his relati-hip

to language

was unproblcaiatic, his mind producinq a mirror of himelf for readers to

apprehend w i t h correspmding ease. Wanen's exclusion fran this agezicy,

f ran this essence, and f raa this kind of subjectivity, therefore, had
always placed the female autobiographer in negotiatim between the

"materna1 and paternal narratives" (Smith 1987: 56) of selfhd: either

she would follaw the prescriptiars of self set dawn for her sex by the

patriarchal discoutse, or she muid sacrifice her sexual identity in an

atternpt

to us=

the prerogatives of male selfhood. Eithes uay, she

would be d e to feel like anly half a self, an outsider to her awn sex

or an outsider: to the autobiographical pursuit itself.

With the tuenticth century, hwever, an alternative narrative
begins to emerge, one that not mly allaws the feanale autobiographer to

challenge the assuuptiars inhermt in the genre, but also supplies her
w i t h an opportunity to assert a more canplete sense of self. That

L. Schwarz

19

alternative, 1 would argue, i s nmemism--net th wricrnism of l i t e r a r y

historians who f i n it i~ time, quality and gandrr, but modernigni in its
most vexing and hcterogm-

a s n i f e s t a t i a ~ d ~for.
, as a fabric of

multiple an often cantradictory ideologies, it presents i t s e l f as an

opportunity f o r the d e s t a h i l i z a t i m of autobiographical iutperialism.
In other words, uhat had b

e admowledged
~
or connwnily reccived as

autobiographical canventim, notions about the self and "his"

relatianship t o the text, was naw calleci into questim by a multitwie of
neu id-

t h a t began t o oc-

the Western min#.

The notion of an

essential, m i t a r y s e l f , f o r example, was no lmger s t a b l e iader a

Marxist ideology of claso c m s c i ~ ~ ~ ~ n eTheotiting
ss~'.
the inextricable

lurk between the individual and larger socio-ecmanic forces, Marx

prevented us f r a n assming that i n d i v i d u a l i t y was sinply a matter of
self-generation, or that it could ever have been an inviolable force
unaffectecl by materiality. Similar implications srose f r m Frd's
theory of the unc-~i-~~,

f o r the c a ~ i d e r a t i mof multiple levels

of human cansciousness effectively disrirpted the foundatian of thought

t h a t inforiried assumptiars of self-presence o r agency. The

autobiographical self could no lcmger be regarded in te-

of absolute

ratimlity, an objective locus of self-kiwlaige, because another,

potentially subversive level of caisciousness might very w e l l give way
t o thoughtc and f eeluigs that wauld crack the mirror of representatim.
Rirthcnnore, r e p r e s e n t a t i a i t s e l f

)iad

been greatly problsniatized

by new developmnts i n literature, neu philosophies of t i m e , a d ncw

ideas about language. I f autobiography was a genre praicate oa~the

idea of a self capable of delivering objective o r historieal realism

L. Schwarz
(hence privileging a chranological or dcvel-tal

20

pattern, an usually

progressing in linear fashim tawards a point of closure), then

modemist ideas of rsalism and what it was to be "literary" in general

certainly revised that habit of thought. As Woolf so eloqumtly states

in 'Modern Fction," "life is not a series of gig laxnps symetrically
arranged; but a lianinous halo, a semi-transparent arvelope surroundhg

us fram the beguung of carsci~u~ness

to the d

(trpt.

Kim Scott

631). Not that al1 modern writers necessarily advocated the kind of

psychological realism Woolf describes, but m e thing is certain: the

idea of reality had k e n irrevocably altered. And so, perhaps while

there is no carmm thread to link them all, it niay be said at lsast that
modernist writers succeeded in reflecting the heterogmeous realities of

their subjective worlds, whether they were entertaining more inclusive

notions of character and plot canstructim, or experinbenting w i t h the

very nature of language itselff6. Old c-otati-

of objectivity, of a

"true" and accurate reflectian of reality were no more. The subjective

thoughts and feelings of a writer may have f

d a correlatim in the

objective world, as E l i o t suggests, but the idea of a writer in perfect

correspandenee w i t h tht world was g m e forever3'.

In part, this is due to the naturalization of Freudian psychology,

an acceptance of the uncmsciaus mind together with the possibility of

multiple and interior realities. But also cattributing to the

destabilization of realism are nmernist philosophies of tinae that
challenge the notim of linear chrarology. Uhether idealist, pragmatist,

or phenomenologist , philosophers at the bsgirrning of the twartieth

century wese not only mtertaining ditferait ways of codifying tinie, but

L. s c b a r z

21

a l s o loaking a t hou the subjective, textual "1" had altered our p r e v i w

cmceptiais of history or past tirne. With &smbtto

C r o c e ' s idea tbat

al 1 history was cmtenporary history (since the historian's t-ral

perspective was equally evident i n the account) , Emd Husserl 's

phenanenological "1" (the perceiver's point of view a l u a y s isturbing

the outwar appearance of things), Henri Bergsah idca of "duration" (a

lived, qualitative time rather than a s p a t i a l quantifieatim of time),
and W i l l i a m James's notion of "stream of caisciausncss" (which renderd

l i n e a r time inconsequential, i f not obsolete), the traditional geunetric

methods of looking a t time and history uere no langer acceptable3'.
Time was not samething with an a priori existaice, sanething we could

discwer thraugh the proccss of reasaning; it was sanething w e imposeci

for the purpose of a s s i u g order, and sanethhg that naw incliide an

awareness of that i m i t i a n . To coalceive of autobiographical t r u t h or

authenticity as sanething that could ananate d i r e c t l y fran the mind of
the autobiographer, therefore, was simply impossible. And t o assume that
narrative r e a l i s m was the best way t o d e that "tmth" i n t e l l i g i b l e t o
the reader was s i m i l a r l y erraieous, f o r the only t r u t h that remaineci was
the process itself. No inetho o f presentatiar, no ordcring of events

could mitigate the rcality of the arbitrary, subjective mind.

Language i t s e l f , moreover, ha Mane an unyielding vehicle.

Previous assmpticms about the tmnsparancy of language, the direct

correspadence betwccn a word and its m

were now giving way t o

l i n g u i s t i c theories that demnstrated quite the carttary. Ferdinand de

Saussure shattersd a l 1 such thinlting w i t h his notiai that the
relatianship betwcein the s i g n i f i e r and the si&fied

was caapletely

L.

Scbasz

arbitrary, m l y araningful w i t b i n a clord ~ y s t m ~In

~0
.-r

22

words,

the reality of language dictatd the hpossibility of direct

correspaaidence, and hence the impossibility of a swereim speaker, an
autobiographer who couid relate his or her life without losing anything

in the translation. I n d d the very idea of t m l a t i a n hsd bcen

complicated by Saussure's revisim of linguistic moveum~t, for although
language was for him hani~allysequaitial, it did m t ncctssarily move
in progressive fashim, but could exist m ei-

a paradigmatic or

syntagmtic plane. Thus, for the autobiographer, the idea that language
could provide a s w e of orber, reflective of the realism he or she
presumed, was a concept that also needsd .
g
-

With the patriarcbal fainidatian of.autobiography beginning to

crack, thm, the modemst spirit of the tuenticth century prwided a
fertile ground for f -le

autobiographers who uere desperately seeking

t o escape the "traditienal" methods of self-representation, for the

challenges issued by the new and various ideologes of the era had
drastically altered the couqplcxian of autobiagraphy. At least in theory,
the discourse that had reigxd ixrperially for so many mturies could

now be regarded as an artificial construct, not sanething actually

practised by autobiogriphess, but somtthing tbat had been learned,
accepted as truth. To sane extent, therefore, it uas possible to look at

autobiography as a kind of textbook language, the kind of language one

might learn in school, but that one

soaol

iscwerad is never quite

spoken in reality. kd to be sure, the old patriarchal

granmiar

of the

language was still being taiaght. What was different, hikscver, was the

expansion of the Western mind to incl\rde an awareness of the idianatic,

L m Schwarz

23

v e r n a d a r reality. Autobiography an this level cauld no lmger be

regarded in temm of self-history, an authentic docrmrntatim of the
truth, for wery me of its pasts of speech, t o continue the metaphor,
had been i n f e c t a w i t h a certain mark of f i c t i v i t y . Tbc a s s m t i a r of
objectivity had been altered by a subjective, potentially subversive
memory. The correspdence assu between the historical being an the

autobiographical "1" had been isrupted by the arbitrary nature of

language. A process o f selection an memory had s h a t t e r d the

correlation between historical r e a l i t y and textual represmtation. And

finally, the implication of a reaer who might apprehend al1 of *As
opacity had bccamc an -1

part of the fiction a t

Of course, such innovatioas

disp-e

do.

in thought w o u l d not ncccssarily

w i t h the m y t h of W a n a n that had plague wmen's

autobiographical attempts since the time of Julian of Norwich and

Margery Kempe. In fact, wernism i t s e l f , and particularly l i t e r a r y

mociemsm, had been, an Larpaly continues t o be, gadered iule". Our

lists of praninent writers, M e r s , and s c i m t i s t s are al-t

always

daninateci by the xmmes of m. A substantial part of the problem can be

attributed t o transitiaaal thinking. Old paradigms of periodizatim o r

conventid2 w e r e beng applie t o an astcaishinply large and d

group of new ideas, and probably for no other reason than acbieving a
s-e

of order out of uhat was otherwise quite chaotic. And thus,

whether i t was a case of bad timing or a case of s t y l i s t i c

incanpatibility, a large portion of temale productim cartinued t o be
ignora5 by the patriarchal machine. Hawever, t o suggest that such a
paradigm shif t might be wholly respaasible for the modemist

L. ScbiwarZ

24

inarginalizatim of w a n e n ' s ( l i f e ) writing is not quite accusate cither,

for, in spite of patriarcbal iiqpositiars, madernist -turcs

in the old

foundatim of Western thought provided ample appartunity f o r fanale

autobiographers t o seize the centre of the h

stage4'. The qusstim,

at hast as 1 see it, was w h e t h e r or not wanen had r e c w z e d that

opportmi t y

Four Revisimarv W a n e n : A Resimatim f o r Reassiqnment

Four

feirrale

autobiographers who, 1 believe, both recognize and

took that opportamity were Virginia Woolf, Vera Brittain, Gertrude

Stein, and Zora Neale Hurston, for a l 1 of these w a n e n not a r l y challenge

and revise the received conventims of autobiography, but aiso

cmsciously seek t o reassign their subject positia in relation t o that

imperial discourse. m h a t i c a l l y mderscoring their oun constructedness
within the patriarchal prescriptions of the discourse, as w e l l as the
fictivity of the genre i t s e l f , each ane of these writers manages t o
expose the exclusianary logic o f autobiography. The daninant myths of
womanhood which had relegated

U r autobiographical predecessors t o the

margins of the genre are met, in Woolf's M a m c n t s of M n g , Brittain's

Testament of Youth, Stein's Z k AutobioprapnU of N i c e B. Toklas, and

Hurston's Drrst Tracks on a Rad, with versicais of selfhood that both

engage and denounce

the old narrative models. Woolf, no longer content

with the patriarchal and Victorian traditiars inherited fran her father,

generates an autobiographical evolutian that questicms and, wentually,

writes her subjectivity out of such confinement. Lsmaiting the

L m Schwarz

25

androcentric "trarch" logic of the mir autobiogrriphy, Brittain asserts a

fenrale versiar of the w a r which simultanmusly invites an expansion of

the genre and incltdes her "unentre!nchedl'subject p~~iti-. Stein eldes

the heterosexual pzuaign entirely, putting f orth a lesbian alternative

of share subjectivity, And finally, challarging the self-abnegatim of

both the Afro-American spiritual autobiogmphy and the slave

narrative4', ~urstancarptructs a 8 ~ o t aof

t ~krsclf uhich refuses to
be f i x e d either in ternrs of race, gender or autobio~raghicalauthority.

Although it does not necessarily follaw, givm my caispicuous

choice of literary autobiographies, that these particular texts are

exenrplary or in any way carstitute an adequate saapling of modernist

female life-writing, 1 have chosen than primarily bccause they prwide

four of the strmgest -les

of wanen who bave

msvinged

to capture the

modernist teitgeist and, secdly, h a u s e cach are succeeds in

highlighting a slightly difierait aspect of autobiographical fictivity.
For, as much as each text cmtributes to the revisim of autobiography
as a whole, mdennining the hegunmic structures of its fomdatim, each

one is also considerab1y diff ermt i n its -hasis.

Virginia

Woolf ,

through a stries of autobiographical rcaractmirits of the same period in

her life, rcvcals the fictiaai of wmory and recollectim. Vera

Brittain's active rcvisim of the usual plottings ud cmvmtiars of the

World W a r f autobiography drnwnstratcs the carsciaris and, hence,

arbitrary act of narratim. With Gertrilde Stein, it is the reaer's
position that is calld into questian. No largcr able to assune an
uncanplicated relatimship w i t h the text, the reader becoues part of the
fictianal artity. And lastly, in Zora Neale Hurstm's tmt, the -hasis

L m SCbPiklirz

26

fails on the fictivity of the textual "IN, the si- of autobiographical

subjectivity. Al1 of this is not to suggest that m

e areas of anphasis

are exclusive, because indeed t b r e are nbany instances of ovcrlap. that

1 would mclerscore is the fact that each t e , w)iether illiistnting one,

or evm all, of t k s e four marks of fictivaiess, succcsds in txetcising

a fernale conscioumess which not anly isrupts the cmvmtiaial uays of

looking at a~tobi-hy'~,

revisionary potential

but also revealr the e x t c ~ tof woinea's

In lliethod, thcrefore, 1 will approach t b s e autobiographies as

both texts an si-

of cantext, since it is my contention that the

subject positim in each case i s not just a mtter of pure

representation, but rather an intersectim of the textual "1" and the
cmscious humn agent who inscribes it. What I am propaing, i n othcr

words, is a way of looking at f emale autobiographical subjectivity

witfrout sacrificing identity, for al-

postmnrldsm has chne its

part to challenge essentialist ideologies of al1 kinds, 1 believe that

the idea of a purrly abtract subjed6 ir both inaccurate and selfdefeatng where autobiography is c~cerne:inaccurate, because the

textual "1" is, at the very least, informed by the epistcmological

inflectians of the historical being who authors the t e ; and selfdefeating, because evar though the death of the autbor ~aayabate the
totalizing force of autahiographical discourse, the author's inability
to cross the emmciatiaral abyss m l y replaces arc form of cssmtialist
tyranny with another. kd for the fende autabiographr who is
interested in establishing a MW authority w i t h i n a discursive realm

that has always kept h r out, this kind of -th

is mtirely too

L. Sctrwarz

27

canvarid'. Thus, vithait invoiving the canplicatioas of authorial

intmt*

I w i l 1 assert thot a1 four of thase w

-

PIC

a i ive and mi 1

in the variairs fonns of self-representatioa t h e y choose.

I n Woolf's case, i t is the process of autobiographical evolutian

t h a t demonstrates this point. Thc coarstant relocation of her subjet

position fran her f i r s t aismir, RemUrisciences (1907), t o her last,

Sketches of the Past (1939-40), not m l y foregrounds the shifting

attitirde of her writing self tawards her written s e l f , but ais0 serves
as an emphatic reminder of the nature of recollectim-that

the

transcriptim from evmt t o memory, or fran mexnory t o autobiography, is

selective, artful, and wholly &pendent an the apprehaisian of the
pr-t

mind. And Md, each ane of the four autobiographical texts 1

have chosen t o discuss reveals the "presence" or, as Woolf herself would

put it, the "invisible presence" of its author. But more importantly,
each are, as a kind of revisitatiooz of the same set of manories,
illustrates haw fundamental that presence is t o the autobiographical act
i t s e l f . Taking note of al1 the anissims, anbellishmnts, and deliberate
patterns of arrangement, w e soan discover, as Woolf herself does, that
the idea of a mirrored reality is really anly a f i c t i m . R e a l i s m may
ref lect and confirm the patriarchal cancept of autobiography, but, f o r

Woolf, it is neither a r e f l e c t i m of subjectivity nor of rcmcmbrance,

because her autobiographical self -revisionin-

have g i v m her a kcen

sense of the part she used t o play i n that fiction. Thus, as Woolf
herself canes throibgh the lookuig glass, so toa does the reader.
The c ~ c i o u s n e s sof such fictivity is no less acute in Testament

of Youth, al-

f e l t a l i t t l e d i f f e r m t l y because o t Brittain's

L. Schwarz

28

subject matter. What distinguishes Brittain f r m Woolf, howcver, is a

mode of self-repr-tatim

that b @ n s with the statsd intmtian of

revising a particular autobiographical genre. Brittain uanta to assert

herself as a female exemplar of World W a r 1 autobiography. As such, she

directs her autobiography quite specifically at thr inherait assmptians
of the trarch -dg: that o l y a heroic acc-t

of the war is

worthy of docrmiartation, that the solier's spantanusus authenticity

will supersede the presme objectivity of historical record, that the

facts will speak for thamelves, and that the illusian of i d i a c y must

aluays take precedcrrce w e r the narrative voice. To this extent, tha~,

of a w a m n asserting the stnaggles of a wanan's war,

the inplicati-

and of a fanale autobiographer asserting her narrative authority, are

directed a little moze t=&

the act of telling than the act of

recollectim, for it is the open acknoulsdgant of Brittain's narrative

voice that not osily rewrites the

depletes the

wat:

war frun another perspective, k t also

narrative of its historical currmcy. Brittain's

exposeci selectivity togethet, w i t h the intermingling of past and present

voices finally rweals that doamentary, like any other narrative fom,
1s a ficti-1

construct.

This, toa, would appear to be the projet of Stein's

autobiography, since her manner of represmting the self suc@

in

flauting alnost wery cawentimally bcld idea of autobiography.

Presenting herself as subject and objcct simultaneously, in a narrative
gwemed by lateral association rather

than cramloqical or lin-

order, and w i t h a carscious effort to distort perspective, Stcin

exploes the traditional iea of autobiography quite thorotrghly. What

L. Sdmasz

29

remins i n its place, hcrwcver, is s01cthing quite dif fetcnt from ether

of Woolf 's or Brittain's autobiographies, f o r the fictim Stein exposes

is t h a t of the ilplid r d e r and the notim that autobiography is
nessarily a readerly -eso.

~ndacd,% e h ' s mrnipuiiitims of

readerly expectatiars rn aie harad, md ber irisinuatim of more than one

potential reaer m the other, suggests that she bas transfon the
g-e

fran reackrly t o writerly. And this, 1 btlieve, is h r e Stein's

presence @es

itself most obvious, for rather thn writing

autobiography for a particule reaer or cvar assinaing tbat such a

reader exists, she takes matters into her uwn hands, allawing

unsympathetic readers their isappointnent, krt, a t the st-ng

more opai-minded remciers an a journey bey&

time,

generic boinidaries

ancl tajar& a recoCputim of their metafictiaral participatim in the

textual production of maning.

AiEd finally, looking at this productim of manhg fran another

angle, or perbaps it is mre accurate t o Say from many d i f f e r m t angles,

Hurstm presmts herself in a way that refuses any stable identification

whatsaver -1

oying several discursive mcthods (autobiographicsl ,

literary, anthrapological, ethnic, historical ) , and nwer a l lwing any

one t o daninate her accomt, or wm t o reach a point of

&monstrates that the autobiographical "1" -king

closure, she

her subjectivity i s

neither fixed rior fixable. She nmy be a black famale author, but the
lietatiazs of tfuwe categories certainly do not define tht &le

of her

existence. As with Stein's autobiography, themiose, urPt h.aks m a

Ruad directs its reaer beyard the limits of the t e , f o r with

voice that w e sncomter we cannot help but recogiize the author who is

L. Schwarz

30

orchestrating the whole. And psibly, for this reasm, the

autobiography i t s e l f must eva,tually give uay t o a vertical
organiratianS1, since each chapttr becanes s i p i i f i c a n t not as a part of
any sequeme, but sather as a different i n f l e c t i m cantributing t o

Hurstoor's slippery and multiple "I", much less a &je&

p o s i t i m than a

challenge t o the very idea of essmrtial or metaphysical subj-ivity.

Implicit in my approach, therefore, is the precadmce of
autobiographical practice wer autobiographical theory, since my
emphasis cm the imovative strategies of these four fernale authors will

necessitate a careful rsading of each tcxt. Houever, apart fran logicai

cansistmcy, my raasm for adapting sueh a c r i t i c a l stance is also
infonne by a desire t o mitigate against the tyranny of essentialism. 1
use the tenn "mitigate" purposely, for in s p i t e of my a t t w t s t o reveal
the margin of difference i n each text, those things uhich simultancously

cmtribute t o the distinctiveness of the autobiographical subject and

challenge the abstract uatity of autobiography itself, 1 will inevitably
find i t necessary t o cal1 upm theoretical notiaas of cawentiamlity in

order t o coupare the departurcs of each text. By referring a t times t o

androcentrie traditim or cmvartim, houever, 1 do not aman t o imly

that men's a u t o M m e s are categorically hanogamus, but simply t o
invoke an historically gener m k e discourse.

In te-

of the c r i t i c a l spectrimi, th-,

my approach raay be seen

as an uptimistic canbinatian of the two schools of tharrght wbch

presmtly -te

t h f a s t revisim of autobiography sttdljes: those

c r i t i c s who, in the nmr of faninist recwery,

mit

the existmce o f a

separate traditiai of uomm's autobiography; and those c r i t i c s who

L. S c b a r z

31

prefer to r e c m z e irrdividual differcnce in or&r to Quard against

political boioginzzatim an the loss of i ~ t i t + ~In
. refushg to
subscribe to an tssentialist ideology, I wuid still ncoCprize the
importance of mcwering a fumle autobiographical tradition, partly

because 1 believe tbat such arcbaeological research 1s a nccessary first

step (-ce

my W i s t m c e upm an historical retrospective), but largely

because the idea of a " f i x a i " and marginalized tnsditim facilitates my

argument of change. Howcver , by oancentmting my cfforts on the

autobiographical practice of these four womrn, 1 w o u l d also hope to
avoid the theoretical temptation ofg-r

al1 mraien's autobiography

as a kind of &rit== fanininef3. In t h s respect, 1 am closer to the

latter school of thinking, a faninbm of difference, for al-

recognize a certain consistcncy i n w a n e n ' s troublsd relationship to the

discourse of autobiography, 1 would be loath to suggest that their

writing is always markcd by a similar set of essential characteristics.

If there is any simalarity to be discwered, it is one arising from
socio-econanic ciraamstance Md not fran biologieal essence.
It is for this reasan as well that 1 have chosen to look
specifically at autobiography rathcr tban any of the other forms which
have been colonited mer the rubric of life-writing (diaries, letters,

jourmals, travelogus), since the cawarly held idea that these tonas
are essential1y f-le

f O-"

siiiply strragthms an ir-t

preicated m the binary logic of semal opposition. Thc fact, moreover,

that these "typically" fanale forms of life-writing are often regarded
as silent autobiography, because they u e private, danestic or aumteur,
mly reinforces the marginal or sub-cultural status of wonrcn. Thus in

L. Schwarz

32

accordance w i t h Sidonie Smith, 1 W d argue that "uawn who do not

challenge those gadcr idcologies d t h baindaries thcy place arotmd

woman's proper l i f e script, textual irucriptim, and spsaking voice do

not m i t e autobiography" (Sinith 1987: 44). This i s not t o daiigrate

alternative fornis of lfe-writing, krt simply t o reognize that the
cultural effect of such aaite voices is not likely t o be grsat. As much
as the recovery of these life s t o r i e s might bolster the history of
women's autobiograpby, they are not likely mer t o change the imprial

status of the discourse itsel f

H e r e i n lies the primary s i m f i c a n c e of the four women in thxs

study , for in =ch me of thcir autobiographies it is evidaat not m l y

that t h e authors are interested in penneating the boiadaries which
have culturally ciraanscribai their lives, but also, in &ing so, that
they are inipelled t o reassign the positim of the femle subject t o a
place of cultural centrality. nlike the majority of their: preccessors,

therefore, these w a n e n are cansciously seeking t o crase the boudaries

between the niainstream and the marginal, the public and the private. The

strategies they adopt both counter and urpartd the definitional

botaLdaries of autobiography s o that t h categories of literary versus

n a - l i t e r a r y or hi* versus law culture are no larger valid. The old

lines of division, the old asswtians which support Umm, have been
exposai as falsehoods. And having finally rweale the f i c t i v i t y a t the

heart of this hard discursive nut, these four autobiographers have

accmplished far more than a simple blutring of boudaries, for their
rwisionary efforts are instrumntal in altering both the path of faamle

life-writing and the way in which that life-writing is regardd in

L. schu8rz

33

l i t e t a r y terais. With the vicw t o fsiiale subjectivity potcntially cleared

of the mythe-cultural ides of Utaman, wbo hrd for so riary centuries
obstructe the fanale autobiograpkr and the fsmale subject in gareral,

the cancept of f-le

authority is no laigcr a cartradictian in terms.

w a n a n m y caisider herself

an autobiographr without feeling either the

derogatiars of identity or the sub-generic status prcviously assigned to

her, since these assi-ts

have nas hrrrr p l a d i n thitir prqper

perspective, as those belangbg t o the fictimal c a r s t m of Wanan.

Further reaching still are the i-licatiaas

of such discursive

transgressiaas for autabiography as mdenllat litemture. In prcvious

centuries, most foraas of life-writing had b e n utcludd fran canonical

consideratim bccause #y

werc carsiderd sec-

or non-lit-.

At

the bcginning of the twaitieth century, cultural ambivalence tawards

autobiography s h i f t d its tenais mer so slightly. Naw, in spite of its

content-drivai formal aspects, autobiography's quest for self-definitiai
could a t least be

coliscioumesd5,

r e c m z d as a pro ject canp?atible with mern self

cvai

if thc genre as a

i not caigly with

received ideas of experinntal modemism. Thus, w e encaiolter the

fundamental i r m y of modernism. While old -c

structures were

criPnbling inder the weight of its "nmness", its reluetance t o surrcnder

old patriuchal prescripti-

of uhat c-tituted

"good" 1 i t c r a t u ~ : t ~ ~

wauld still allaw it to turn away me of its mm childrai.

For the f a m l e autobiographer, hawcver, this irmy was s

more caip>lex. If the im of friiale authority had a l r d y h a n

discomtsd because uunen had rdaptal atntegies of self-represmtatiom

tbat werc carsierad other or mmmvmtiaral, them a lit-

atcgory

L. scl.warz

34

which gave privilege to "other" fonns presdnted itself as a kind of

unexpected rebirth (Clarke 41). In other words, the very strategies

adopted by women in respoarse to patriarchy, and here specifically as a

way

to counteract its effects, might be regardeci as the "avant garde of

the avant garde" (Gilbert and Gubar 1986: 1), a kind of ailodeirnism by
default. Unfortunately, logic and reality do not always coincide- The
opportunity for equality had indeed presentd itself, but the literary
mainstream was nevertheless guilty of anploying an exclusionary logic

where autobiography was cancenied. Autabiography, regardless of w h o was

writing it, was still "over there," because it was still held to be
literal and not literary.
To cansider the type of generic revision undertaken by Woolf,
Brlttain, Stein and Hurston, therefore, is not m l y to recognize that
autobiography i s equally literary, fictional in al1 of ~ t aspects,
s
and

even capable of the stylistic gyninastics required by male modernism, but

also to see that modernism itself is far more expansive than

conservative literary historians are willing to allow. And so, evthough the impact of these wanen's autobiographical innovations was not

irranediate, it carries a force which canot be igrore, insisting at mce

an the inclusion of a genre that has always b e n denied literary access

and a perspective canplicated by the carsideration of gezrder, ensuring

against such wersights in the future. Rua a late tuenticth-century

point of view, t h e n , and particularly fran the point of view of

revisicmary maernists, the autobiographical mdertakings of these four

wamen is invaluable, camtributing to a new understanding of

autobiography, inodernism, literary history and cananicxty canbined.

L. Schwarz

35

NOTES
1. 1 have borrawcd the terminology hem fran Lee Quinby, uho refers to
autobiography's "discursive colcmieatim" in her essay "The Subject of
llemoirs: me
riRPrrior 's Teclmology of Ideographic Selfhood" (298)
See De./Colanizing the SubjCCt: me Politics of Gadcr in Hmen's
Autabiopraphy, ais. Sid-e
Smith and Julia Watsm (Minneapolis: U of
Minnesota P, 1992), 297-320. The idea itself, houever, originates with
James M. Cox, who argues that the tenn autakiugrsphy is naw "so daninant
that it is used retroactively to inclde as well as to artitle books
fran the present al1 the way back into the ancient world" (124). See
"Recovering Literature's Lost Ground Through Autobiography," in
Autabiopraphy: Essays Theoretical and Critical, ai. James Olney
(Princeton: Princeton UP, 1980), 123-145.

2. Until 1961, the ED had dated the tenn "autobiography" mly as far
back as Robert Southey's use of it in 1809. James Ogden's 1961 discovery
of an anonyn#,us use of the t e m in a review of D'Israeli's Mscelianies
or Li terary Crcvrtians (Nanthly Review) naw dates itn first appearance at
1793. Institutiaial r e c m t i a n of the word, however, was not in

evidence until the late 1820'9, w h e n its titular inclusiar became more
frequmt bath in works of fiction and in works intended as biographies
of the self See Robert Folkmflik "Introduction" m The Cui ture of
Autabiography: Canstructzans of Self-Reprcsentatian, ed. Robert
Foikenflik (Stanford: Stanford UP, 19931, 1-20.

3. William C . Spengeniann cites Georg Misch's Geschichte der

Autobiographie, 2 vols. (Leipzig Md Berlin, 1907), pub. in mglish as A
Hstory of Autohrography i n Antiquity (-:
Routldge and Kegan Paul,
1950) and Anna Robes- Burr 's T h Autohfography: A Cri tical and
Ccmp~ritiveStudy (Boston and New York: H e t m and Mifflin, 1909) as
the first two scholarly publications oar the subject of autobiography.
See The F o m s of Autcrbiograptut (New Haven: Yale UP, 1989) 178.
4. nlike Julian of Norwich's Revelatians of Divine Love (1373), which
was actually written by the anchoress, 2%
Book of E h r m Kcaipe (1436)

is a product of ctatim and transcription, since K a n p e herself was

illiterate. T b possibility of scribal interference, therefore, and,
according to sane sources, as -y
as four such interferences,
canplicates the issue of authenticity and/or subjectivity. Kcmpe's
reference to herself r the third persun, for instance, might simply be
regarded as a cmventim ot nmdesty appropriate to mystical rwelation;
but, it might also be cmstrucd as a distancing device euployed by a
priest scribe who was fearful of any attachent to this wman accused of
heresy See Marlarc rtnrdar R-ding tife Hriting (Tormto: Oxford UP,
1993) 16-17.

5. Kempe's foray into the realm of the flesh was not mtireiy apposed t o
the late niedieval mystical tradztim, since it was quite acceptable to
speak of the body in refermce to, and in irmtatiaa of, Christ's

hmmity. A discussioa of the fanale body, hawever, layere as it was

w i a a hstory of suppressim a d religmus taboos, muid have bcein most

musual. Therefore, Kaape's cxplicit accomts of her marriage and of her

r-ciatiar
of sex in camectim w i t h her caaversxm would have been
cangdered quite transgrcssive. See Kama Lochrie, lyarprry Kailpe and
Trarnslatians ot the Flesh (Philadelphia: U of Fmnsylvania P, 19911, 23.
6 . I h s portiaai of my discussioa rehearses the amin points of an
argmnent put forth by Sidotnie -th
in A -tic
of #&mm's
Aularbiography: lrGargnali ty and the Fictians of Self -Represmtatiarz
(B1Qomingtm: Indiana UP, 1987) 27-31.

7 . The idea that W a m n has been assiwed a iniiversally negative positian

in culture is not mcorrmoa in fcminrst scholarship, but my oun
invocation here i s of Ann Rosalincl Jmes's distinctim betueen Man as "a
s u b p t of discourse" and W a n a n as "a subject i n discourse". See
"Suzprising Fame: Remaissance Gener Ideologies and Wanen's Lyric" 79,
in Bhe Poletics of Cender, ai. Nancy K. Miller (New York: Colinnbia UP,
1%) 74-95.

8. -les

of this largely aristocratie output inclide the diaries of

ay Anne Clifford (1590-1676), Lady Margaret Hoby (15714633) and

I-lla
Twysden (1645-51) which, apart f r m a few protestant
ca&ssionals writtm prior to the civil war, accaunts for the bulk of
UGMI's autobiographical writing in ths early portion of the
sevcnteenth century. See Estelle Jelinek The Traditzan of WB
's
Aubbiography: man Antiquity to the Pcesmt (Boston: Twayne, 1986) 2324.

9. lkrgaret Cavendish's A True R e l a t i m , disthguished as the first

wurian's s d a r autobiography intendeci for publication, was writtem in
1655 and published in 1667 as a lcngthy ax
i n c l a d a t the end of
B e L i f e of the Zhrice N a b l e , ni@ and Puissant Rince W i l l i a m
Catiieindish, a biography extolling the military virtues of her husband
dursng the bglish Civil War. In other words, the relational
subpctivity of the autobiography is quite apparmt. Indeed, Cavendish's
poStion as an author is already inscribed in the extardeci title of the
wort. Nearly half a page is devoted to aggran&zing qualificatims of
ber husban, and only a feu lines to the qualification of herself

10. A formidable stiwly of self-fashiming as an ideology informai by

Rumissance hinnanism can be f ound in Stephen Gremblatt 's Renaissance
Self-Fashianing: Fran Wre t o Shakespeare (Chcago: U of Chicago Pr
1986).

il. Res gwtae literally ncans "thmgs gestured," crsid was a classical
mode reinvented in this period as a type of autobiography that
delrvered the "progressive and orderly chranicles" of art's career or

d e , usually military and quite oftm escaggerated. The

m t r a t i o n upoar the public sphere of influaice was most anphatic,

grciat

with little o r no menticm of ane's frniily or -tic

Jelinek, The Traditim of kks#n's AutahioprriptUI:

l i f e . See E s t e l l e

R m kitquity to tne

Presmt(Ebeton: Twayne, 1986) 24.

12. Here 1 rtfcr 8pecifically t o t b s o c i a l -tract
theorists Rausseau
and Locke, both of whoai depart frm the old Hobbesian uorld view of man
in a perpttual state of uar ard carrstraint, asserting instead tnt m
m
1s e s s m t i a l l y good, free and -1.
ee Jean Jacques Rousseau, Z%e
Socla1 -tract,
1762 (Oxford: Oxford P, 1994) t and John Locke An lFlPsay
CaicernUIg H b m n Uhdsrstanding, 1690 (Oxford: C l a r a d a i , 1975).

13. S t a t i s t i c a l l y speiskirag, 'idorking clam n and

carstitutd an
overwhelming portiar of - l a d a
papulatiar in tbt eightmth cdntury-approximately 80 percent " 6et F e l i a t y -un,
Z%e Autabiographical
Subject: Gmer and fdbdoggr i n EigPhtemth-Century mgland (Baltimore:
John H o p k i n s P, 1989) 148.

14. 1 r e f e r hcre t o Mary

cmtmtim that mrawn's
- - G. Hason's
autobiograghial
wcrc prdmbantly r e l a t i a n a l , -ch
is t o
say that women uere more l i k e l y t o inscribe their subj e c t i v i t y in
r e l a t i o n t o s r i ~ m relse (iistlally a danimant patriarchal figurehusband, fator Go), mther thui g
a iaritary or originary
subject p o s i t i m . Scc "The Othcr Voice: Autobiographies of Wanien
Writers" in tife/Unes: TPlearizing klbbsn's Autcrhiogralpliy, ds. ella
Brodzki and Celeste Schcnck ( I t h c a : Corne11 UP, 1988) 19-44.

15. A feiw of the more notable p m c t i t i a m r s h e r e inciude W t i t i a

Pilkingtan (Memafrs, 3 vols., 171801754), Teresia Carstantia P h i l l i p s
(TAe Apology for the -t
and L i f e of mis CWastantia mllips,
1748-491, and Lady Frances Vane ( m i r s of a Lu& of puality, 1751).
16. Apart f ran rets gwtae, other such rodes wuld bave inclrviwt
p o l i t i c a l w i r s , a c c m t s of religious calling, and faiaily histories.
See Cynthia S. Panerleau, ''The mrgemce of Wown's Autobiography i n
mgland" 22, in iilbmen's Autahiugzqp&: m y s in C k i t i c i s m , e. E s t e l l e
Jelrck (Bloomington: I m a n 8 UP, 1980) 21-38.

17. Follcming Rancis Barker's ugment that the subject of the

seventmth ud eigfiteenth centuries i s "caistructed as the m e r of
naturalian" gd thus "c~ltrastet o an auter world -ch,
al'social, ' becf o r i t a kind of nature" (53), we may a s s w the
iaiquitous r e l a t i a r s h i p betweai t b undrocantric, nrctaphysical "1" u b
bears this naturalisan (the cmtral subject) ard the auter nature o r body
that caifinm this nature (the mginal objact). kd since t b cultural
assigment of mmwn h a always bdan that of the ther or cartruting
object, hcr a s s o c i a t i a r with tht body is a l s o am that logically
precludes her fran s u b j e c t i v i t y (63). See Prancis Barker, l%e Tranuious
Rivate Boeiy: 5says m Subjeetim (Qd New York: Mc-,
1984).

18. -By invoking Rai Descartes bitre 1 do not wish t o suggcst the origin
of such linking (Iibditatians m i.irst l % i f 1 ~6 U ) , h t mthcr its
q u a l i t y , since the idsology of s e l f 1s m b t i c a l i y i n t e r i o r i z a l &ring
the -ninetamth c ~ t u r j l with
,
the authiorial &je&
beaaing a kird of
drc; ex machina [the ghost in the machine], a rind i v e s t d of its body.
Accordingly, the autobiographical "1" is a# that J ~ I U U S hir or bcrself
almwt exclusively by way of t h o u g h t - m t o ergu s m [ 1 think therefore
1 am].
19. OrigiMlly a f ictiaaal cbamcter i n Thmas 140rtmos
the Plou@
( l W 8 ) , Mrs Gnmdy took m mythic (and ideological ) praportim during
the nineteenth caitury as an .iarbryliwnt of carvarticmal censorship. The
p h a m n o n conmwnly r e f e r r d t o as ' W s Gmmdyisai" &notes an ideology
of abriolute (rad @ce
extemal) e o n n i t y with al1 cdes of pruprety.
"The Cult of Tnae Womanhood," as it bas b e a ~c o i n d by Barbara Welter,
is tthen a kind of fmale-specific form of M
' m Gnmdyism," dictating as
it does t h e r i g i d "piety, purity, submissivmess and danesticity" (21)
of tthe nineteuath-cartury waaan. For: the f m l e -ter,
thrrref ore, such
canformity was logically incoap~atiblew i t h autobiogmphy, f o r the cult
of persauility s a ~ l ydid not mesh with the c u l t of d a m s t i c i t y . See
Barbara Welter, marity Canvictims: TAc micm Wbrnan in tlic N i n e t e e n t h
Cenrtury (Colunbus: Ohio State UP, 1976).

20. Testinmy t o the f a c t that any such act of fmale indepanence m l d

have bcen r e g a d d as tmnsgressive can be fomd in the prevailing
a t t n t u d t tawar:ds mattachad waaren:
W a a e n , caisidered in W r distinct ind a b t r a c t nature, as

isolated beings, must lose more than half their worth. Thcy are,
in fa&, f ran their am caistitutim, ard f ran the s t a t i o n they
occupy i n the world, s t r i c t l y spsaking, r e l a t i v e cr-tures.
If,
therefore, t b y are aadawod only w i t h such f a c u l t i c s as rades
thern s t r i k i n g and disthguished i n ~ e l v e s without
,
the iaculty
of inst-tality,
tbcy are d y
letters in the volof
human l i f e , f i l l i n g what would otherwise be a blank space, k r t
doing mthing inore.
Sarah Stickrcy E l l i s , 2% kkrian of -land
(Ladai and
Paras: tisher, son and Co., 1839) 155.

Thus, i t was not incosmar for famale autobiognpbrs of the tinr t o

disguise or make apologies for thbir perceived acts of egotism. We find
emmpIcs ranging fran Elizabeth Barrett's wert r c f l e c t i m that "to k
me"s own chrmicler is a task gancrally d i c t a t a 3 by extrane vanity"
(-O
A u t a b i m a l a m ,p. 130) t o Charlotte Tama's niore discrete
e n g : ''1 have given my best cawidtratiar t o the argumbts by which
youi support the dmmc f o r a feu notice8 of wsats connectai 6 t h my
perssonal rccollectims of the past" ( P h s u m l R ~ l l e c t i a u ,1842).
ts
of mmtn writers uho
m l l y rwealing, bawever, are the wisthsd, ht never dard, t o write their autobiognphics. Jane Welsh
C a d y l e ' s words i n I 2bo AQ H' (1843) reprmuat the suppressed desires
of lmany wanen:

Lm Schwarz

39

. .
my am biogrrphy f r m begmmlw t o ad-uithout reservatiah or hlse col---it
YOUld bC an invaluable
documat for my c o u n t m in more t h n me particular-kit
-cy
f a & ' ! (74).
Oh i f 1 ught -te

-,
i n Thc Gmre of ~utcrbiagraphyia Victorian
Literature (kin Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1994), disasses this irmpufse t o
e s t a b l i s h an affinity with t k r d r in teof r "social cmtnct"
(9) that uouid &fi- t h w a t i a a s of rutddographical h i s t o r i c i t y ,
or what wuld more apprapriately be calle s i n c e t i t y uith anissiar,
since it
assimbd that autobiographers mruld "cariccial -.y
of the
d e t a i l s of t b i r persanal lives a& any interior experiance that is
irrelevant to their place in society or, more s p e d f i c a l l y , irrelcvant
t o previow publicly eapressad iri.us d MS gwtae OS uorks--works
usually correspading t o bodrs" (10).
21. Clintm

..

22. The '@hcrm#nauticimperative" in V i c t o r i a n autobiography (as Linda

Petersan bas callai i t ) is largely a product of t b m a g e betwcai
introspective and m r a l l y guara sexasibilities of tb tiant. In contrsst
t o the secular autobiographies of the period, -1ical
narratives put
forth a kind of -1s e l f , giving "voice t o a11 the p a i and
~
pleasu~esof thc Cbristisn subject" (Corbett 1992: 7 5 ) . As ckuntation
of more private religious exprianees, tbrefore, it uas a practice that
"license wan t o tU& and i n t e r p r e t for thePselves, i f not wholly
without male lawiiatian, for 'the religim of the hart' i n v e s t d its
beliwers with 'the mus of interpreting Cod's Word"' (75). Examples of
such t e x t s are Charlotte Tuma's Parsanal Recollactiaas (l842), Hary
Martba She!rwood's
Life of lYrs Sbmmd (1857) an Mary Anne
Schiimielpenninck'a lae Life o f M u y m e Sktumitfpainrpainrnck,
2 vols.
(1858). See Linda H. Petersai, Victorian Autabagzqphy: TOlc T r a d i t i m of
Self -Intupretatiar (Naw Haven: Yale UP, 1986) ; Mary Jean Corbett ,
"Fenuaine Authorahp ud Spiritual Authority in Victotian Wailen Writer's
Autobiographies, " Marsn 's Sttrdias 18.1 (1990) : 13-29; rnd Mary 3Corbett, Reprasmting Fcminuiity: Mddle-Clrsp SUbjectiivity in Victorian
and IWrmrdian '
s
Autahioptrphias (New York: xford UP, 1992).
23. Luarin Walther's essay,
i n v a t i o n of Chilciho& in Victorian
Autabiogr:aphyg8(mra~chcs
t o V i c t o r i a n Autabi-,
ad. George P.
Land- LAtbms: M o UP, 1979]), pits forth the iea tht childhood was
both an historical ud a literuy i n v m t i m of th6 ti, "since never
before this period bad ao aany -lia writers besn interestet3 in
recalling their e u l y lives a t latgth within the fora of sutaina2 prose
autobiography" (65). W k t is i n t e r e s t h g t o note, hcmiever, is the

dif f erarce betwem male and fanale versions of -8

8inventiar.
Where male autobiogmpherb, i n aogt cases, cartinue t o includt t b i r
adult l i f e or sane portiar of it, woaisn are niore .gt t o gd in
adolescence or t o severely curtail the a c c a r ~ ~
oft thtir .dulthood.

24. Here 1 defer t o Rbgsnia Ga@erls stirdy, Subfectivitias: A a s t o r y

of s e l f - R q p r e s m t a t i m i n Britain, 1832-1920 (New York: Oxford UP,
1991), whcre i t is nota that am o f the aiore coaan#r trads for working

class women autobiographers is a truncate cfldhood, since mst of

their earlier recollectiaais wouid have a marked by the tramas of
child labour or othcr associated abuses, and, -naore,
since the
subjects w h x h occupy the upper class narratives (happy parmt-child
relationships or primary ahcation) are sixrply not applicable (43).
25. Possibly the best example of such an abrupt arding is Elizabeth
Barrett's second autobiographical essay, "Glimpses Into My ajn Life and
Literary Character" (1820). L w a t i n g wer the details recalled fran
ages three to thirteen, she then recalls hier fourtmth year by
annoirncing that her charactcr since W has not nntch changed (Iltio
Autabiographzcgl m y s , 127). S\rddmly,after remanberhg herself as
the heroine of the nursery (123) and as samane who might evm start her
own religion (1261, she takes refuge in a &scourse of propriety by
acknawiedging her youthful pride and thenceforth e n g the account.
m e r examples, however, include Anna Jameson's '@ARevelatian of
Childhood" (1854), "Reco~lectionsof the Early Life of Sara Coleridge"
(1873), and Charlotte Mary Yarge's "Autobxography" (1877).
26. Here 1 refer specifically to Eliot's M l 1 m the F l a s s (1860) as an
autobiographical fictim, and more generally to al l of the novels
wrltten by the Bromte sisters, since their brother, Branwell, is figured
quite prominently in each. Jane Eyre (1847) is also m e of the earliest
novels to carry the subtitle "an autobiography" (Folkarflik 6). Of
course, the practice of disguising aic's private or intimte
autobiographcal detaxls in fictiaa was not exclusive to Victorian
women, as we see in the examples of Carlyle (Sartor Resartus) and
Wordsworth ( The Prel d e ) . However, for many f cmale authors, the
a-tianal
m s k of a male psdonym seenrs to suggest the increased
social risk attached to a w a m n Iwking such revelatims. According to
Mary G. Masan, in fact, Christina Rossetti is m e of very feu literary
women in the nineteenth century to have written "undisguiseci"
autobiography (42)

27. Of the feu autobiographies that speak out against the cult of
domesticity, noteworthy examples include: F M n y Kcmble's Record of a
Girlhood and Recoof Later Life (pub. 2 vols., m:
Richard
Bentley and S a , 189), both ot which prescnt a subject fully cognizant
ot her gener perfonwnce, first as a girl i n Victorian society and thm
as an actress in the theatre (See Corbett 1992: 109-111); Harriet
Martineau's Autahi3 vols. 1873 (rpt. Xazm: Virago, 19831, an
account of the phlosopher's life that reads as a kind of bildungsranan,
(Christian and domestic)
but distinctly rejets the usual female -1s
in favour of a "Canptian paraigm of self-develapmart" (Smith 1987: 62);
and Rmeline Pankhurst's J@ Cbm Story, 1914 (rpt. New York: Source Book
P r a s , 19701, an accoiint which carters cm her life as a militant
feriunist and sutfragette. Altlus is by no means represmtative,
part of problan lies w i t h the delayd publicatioor of many of these
texts. Florence Nightingale's "Cassandra" (18591, for instance, is an
equally outspoken autabiographical essay, rejecting the "natural"
assignment of wanmi to the sentimental; but, its initial publication in

1928 oftm prohibits its inclusim in Victorian autabiography. Also, in

teof temale suffrage, I would note that American tgninists, althoiagh
producing autobiographxcal accounts as early as mid-cartury, are not
necessarily feminist i n thcrr late-wrting. Since nmny of these ware cmcerned with maintainhg their upper class privileges, thex
accounts are often t-red
by a desire to "-ter
the public's image
of than as 'niavericks' or as 'iinladyiike"' (Jelinek 1986: 97-98).
Consequently, several of these autobiographies follaw a pattern more
clasely resembling the chilhood m i r s of nineteenth-ccntury literary
wanen, w i t h the bulk of the -hasis
fallxng on earlier years rather
than on professianal or political developnent.
28. Margo Culley's essay 'Wbt Piece of Work is 'Wanan'?" (Aroierican
W m e n 'S Autoljiography, cd. M. Culley. Madisac U of Wisconsin P, 1992,

3-31) argues that "the dominant traditim of American wanen's

autobiography has its roots in Puritan beliefs about the self and the
Pur~tanpractice of cmversim narratives; and that even in periods when
autobiography has becune a thoroughly secular enterprise its t o m Md
purposes can be traced to these earlier tratians" (10). Primanily, i t
is the practice of reading aie's self in cantext, Ruitan or otherwise,
that Cul ley sees as domihant, and h c e the ambivalence of the subject
taward the textual "1" (10). Thus, as w i t h mglish wanen's
autobiographies, relational subjectivity (the individual always
inscribed as part of another or larger comaunity) seem to be the nom.

29. One ot the more interesting examples here is Anne Bradstreet's "To
My Dear Children" (c. 16601, an account that, if not the first American
example of wanen's secular autobiography, is certanly the first attempt
to move away fran the extreme brevity of letters and diaries (the
logical choice for wanen w i t h very liniited leisure time). Althaugh it is
written as a series of fragments in the m i t a n tradition of the
confessional, it distinguishes itself by virtue of its developmental
pattern and the faet that its stated purpose is to relate the events of
Bradstreet's life to her children. Thus, to sare extent, it serves as a
bridge between the purely spiritual aind the purely secular. Bradstreet's

complete suppression of her

f i n n l y within the religious
subjectivity in relatim to
places hier in an alternate,

professianal lite as a poet places her

tradition, while her attempt to set doun her
her father, her hushnd, and her children
sccular realm of damsticity.

30. By "sernral violation," 1 refer not anly to the rape of fciwle slaves
tbat was s e t n as a privilege of the slave masters, but also to the

reproductive violatzar involved in the ounership (and selling) of slave

children, the faet that wanen's wanbs were not their am.
31. A prime txample ot this rhetorical self-abnegatian can be found in
Harriet Jacobs' I n u d m t s i n t h Life of a Slave G l r l (18611, the
prerace ot which states:
1 have not writtm my experiences in order ta attract attention to
myself ; m the contrary, it would have becll more pleasant to m e to
have becm silent about my awn history. Neither do 1 care to txcite

sympathy for my awn sufferings. But 1 do earnestly desire to

arouse the uane!n of the North to a realizing sense of the
cmitim of two millims of w a m n at the South, still in bondage,
suf fering what 1 suffered, and mmt of thrm fat: worse. 1 want to
add my testimmy to that of abler psns to amvince the people of
the Free States what slavery really is (Jacobs 1-2).
Although this initial pose of modesty i s a practice c a m m to both male
and female slave narratives, m e originatng wath Z?x? Life of Olatiolnh
Equiano (1789), it 1s a practice w i t h slightly different implicaticns
for wanen. In male slave narratives, the apology is usually issubd for
the absence of literary merit, accentuatng the assunptim of a white
reader (Moo&y 51). In fernale accounts, hawcver, the apology also
inscribes an assmptim of g d e r , for she anticipates a rcadcr who is
both white and male, and hmce tmce removed f rom her subje& positian.
Jacobs' explicit srMress here to a fanale reader is something of an
anumaly, but, by the same token, one that would not have been necessary
if the assiinrption of a =le reader were not a given. See Jocelyn M y ,
"%ce
Other, nce Shy: Nineteenth-Ceatury Black W a w n Autobiographers
and the American Literary Traditian of Self-Effacanent," WB:
Auto/Biography Studi- 7.1 (1992): 46-61.
32. My qualification of modernism as "vcrting and heterogenc0us8'is meant
to invoke an idedogrcal inflection of Uie texm which is distinct from
received definitims that tend to regard it either as an historical
period (usually falling between World War 1 and World War II) or as a

particular trend in literary and/or artistic prouctim (impressimsm,

expressionism, inmgisrn, symbolism, dadaism, surrealism, futurism,
cub~srn--in general, anythang that complies with Pound's inandate to make
it new). In other words, 1 prefer to adapt a revisionist notion of
mahrnisrn which recoQnizes it as a "collectim of interlocking
instltutional, cultural, and philosopbcal strands -ch
anerge and
develop at diffetrent times" (Felski 12), even if it may be said in
retrospect that such ideological influences began to coalesce at the
bgmnng of the twentieth century (Bradbury andMcFarlane 29). My kpe
in doing so is not only to embrace the plural and often cantradictory
reality, but also to disengarder the idea of modtrnism itself, since
woaren are usually excludeci when other organizing principles are applied
to the term (Scott 5). Sec Rita Felski The M e r of Modemity
(Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1995); Malcolm Brand James McFarlane,
M o d e r n i s m 18%-1930 ~Harmondsworth:Paiguin, 1976); and Bamie Kim
Scott ed. , The Gendec of Nodernism (Bloomingtapl: Indiana UP, 1990).
33. The follouing ar-t
is modelai m a brief outline -ch
appears
in Sidanie Smith's article "Self, Subject, an Resistance: Marghalities
and Twentieth-Ccntury Autobiographical Practice," ( Ttrlsa Studies in
's Litcrature 9.1 [1990j: 11-24) 12. As a point of clarification, 1
would also whasize that the following ideas did not necessarily
ongrnate at the W n g of the twentieth m t u r y , but rather had
gained a certain intellectual c u r m c y by a s time.

34. See Karl Marx an F n a k i c h Ehgels, nie Coacmo3ist lrhnrfesto Lmglish

trans. publistied 1888J (Hanmndsworth: Pcngiim, 1967). Part 3, III

specifically discusses the notion of a sacialist utopia in whichlhrx

postulatcd that people would behave m accordance with the determination
of social forces.

35. R d ' s ttieory of the unconscious is not cmtatined i n one p a r t l e u l u

work (alan essay spccif i c a l l y mtitle "The U ~ C ~ S C ~ O UeSs" t o ) ,
but was establishe through a series of writings on the subject
begmning i n the c a r l y 1890s and cmtinuing thraughaut his career. in
general, however, Rewl uscd the term "unconscious" t o dmote a hddm
mental r e a l m which could not beccmscious under normal
cir-tances,
&ut whch cauld detennine certain patterns of bchaviour
beyond the cmtrol of the coaiscious mirid. fn other words, his t h t o r y
cantraxted the zdea of the perfectly ratimal and free m u i d put forth
by the nineteenth-cmtury metaphysicians. See 'The Uncmscious," SiFreud: Standard Eaitim 14: 166-216 (Landan: Hogarth Press, 1957).

36. Here again, 1 would defer t o a more inclusive, revisionist

canception of nsodernism (see note *32), since ths more accurately
reflects what 1 would cal1 modemist realities.
37. E l i o t ' s "objective correlative" 1s
poetic personality that figures poetry
expressian of anotian. S e e T.S. Eliot,
T.S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kennode (London:

an anti-Ranantic conceptioai of
as an escape tran rather than an
"Hamlet" i n Selected Prase of
-r
and Faber, 1961) 141-46.

38. The ideas related in t u s sentence can be found in Benedetto Croce's

Phi1 asophy of the Pmctical (orig. pub. 1908); Edmttnd Husserl 's Id-:
General Introductim t o Aue Phename~lology(orig. pub. 1913); Henri
Bergson's C r e a t i v e Evolutian (orig. pub. 1907); W i l l i a m James's The
Princip1 es of Psycho1 ogy (1890)

39. Saussure's linguistic theories an the sign and the dual mvemmt of
language are cantaned in P a r t ne (General Principles, chapters 1 and
3) of Course in General f i n g u i s t i c s , 1916 (trans. Roy Harris, La Salle,

Illinois:

Open Court,

1986) 65-70; 79-98.

40. The above diseussian is meant t o invoke the "four marks of

fictiveness": "the t i c t i a n s ot memory, ot the '1', of the imagined
reader, and of the story" &am out in Sidoaile Smtth's A Puetics of
Wamen 's Autotriography (Bloanington: Inian UP, 1987) 45.
41. The idea that literary modemisni has bee!n g d e r e d male is naw
generally acceptai by both faninist 9nd modernist scholars alike, since
the canon of modern l i t e r a t u r e is still overwhelmed by male authors such
as T.S. Eliot, Ezra P d , James Joyce, and D.H. Lawrence. R e c e n t
attempts t o redefine modcniism, houever, s o that it may &race none~perimentalwriters, literary rmdwives, and writers who fa11 outside of
historical p r u c r i p t i a r s , represent an effort t o expand both the

definitional bomdanes and the notion of canomcity such that wanen

writers are not routinely ignored.
42. See note 32.
43. The netaphor is borroued from Sidanie Smith, who uses a theatrical
analogy to explain the canplicated relatxonship betwem wane!n an
autobiography. Since Man and Hunan are dxscursive equivalents, he
m w i e s centre stage; and since W a m n is Other, and hence her
autobxography a "transgressitm of cultural expectatians," she mters
from a "space beyand the wings" (Smith 1987: 42).

44. Although arguably the! tradition of self-abnegatim or selfobjectificatian is coumon throughout American autobiography prior to the
twentieth century, it i s a convention that appears more cmsistently in
Afro-American life-writing, and particularly in the narratives of black
wamen. The reason for a s is prinmrily ane of anticipated resistance,
since no group of Amrican autobiographers has w e r ben regarded with
so much scepticism (Ancireus 3). Thus, what umy simply be a pose of
modesty for sane, is a rhetorical strategy laden w i t h heavy implications
for the black autobiographer, representing both an attempt to appease
the resistant white audience and the result ot so many hundrab of years
of externalize idmtificatmn. See Lawrence Buell, "Autobiography in
the American Renaissance," American Autabmgrap&: Retrcxspect and
Prospect, ed. Paul John Eakm (mason: U of Wiscarsin P, 1991) 47-69;
Jocelyin Moody ," M c e ther , nce Shy : Ninetcenth-Centwy Black W a n e n
Autobiographers and the American hterary Traxtian of Self-Effacement,"
W B : Autobiography Studies 7.1 (1992): 46-61; and William Andrews, To
Tell a F r e e Story: The E!rst Cmtury of Atro-Rmerican Autahiagraphy
1765-1865, (Urbana: U of fllznois P, 1986).
45. 1 refer more generally here to the assmnption of historical
objectivity and/or accuracy implicit in the discourse, and as it applies
to al1 four aspects of autobiography: the subject as mirror, the subject
as locus of krowlege, the direct correspondence between memory and
narrative, an transparent meaning for the reader.

46. Although Roland Barthes is usually accrsdite with the death of the
author, his pustnwrdern views cn subjectivity are perhaps not as
stringent as those held by Paul de Man. Barthes may insist an destroying
the category of the know1edgeable subject or the individual, but he
still allaws for a notion of self bound up in certain-epistanological
modes. This idea of the purely abstract s u b j e , therefore, is more in
keeping with De Man's conception of autobiography as a garre "subsumed
under the trope of 'prosopopeia,' the catinual inscription and
reinscription of masks which is circimscribed by an which serves merely
t o remind us of our own mortality" (P. Smith 104). Sulcn a cmceptian, as
Laura Marcus observes, actually figures the autabiographical "1" as the
mark of "a dead man--though the dea nmn speaking, addressing the
living, also petrifies the living and produces an uncanny reversai ot
the living and dead" (Marcus 1995: 18). See Paul de Man "Autobiography

as Defacement" (Mena Lsngwrge Notes 94: 1979); hul Smith, Dzsccnzing

the Subject (Hinneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1988); and Laura Marcus,
"Tb Face of Autobiography," Ztae Uses of Autcabiugzaphy, e. Julia
Swindells (Loadai: Taylor and Franc~s,1995).
47. In Liz Stanley's words, i t i s a death "articulated by a feu white
middle class male first world elite self-stylai intellectuals. A very

cmvenient death-for than. At the very point uhm--due to the

ac-hvities of anti-colarialisnr, the black mov-t,
the won#ils
movument, the gay wvanent--'the author,' the authoritative source of
al1 that excludes, is namai and has an accusatory finger poirited at h i m ,
the author at this very point cmvemiaitly dies. This is a suicide that
is no suicide at al 1" (17) See, Liz Stanley, The Auto/hiographzcal 1:
The T h e a r y and Pmctice of Fannst Auto/biography (Manchester:
Manchester UP, 1992).

48. Although my ar-t

imputes the existence of an hxstorical being
who authors the tat, 1 do not wish to invoke an "intentionalist"

ideology which suggests that an author's intmtiars are clearly

available to the reaer. Rather, to the contrary, 1 would s w e s t that
any authorial lntiectia oariy further canplicates uhat is already
textually multivalent.
49. The assumpticms listai here represent a canbmation of femnist
ideology (Sanra Gilbert, Sharar Orditt, Claire Tylee) and the
postmodern representatimal stuies of Evelyn Cobley 5ee Sandra
Gilbert, "Soldier's Heart : Literary Men, Literary Women and the Great
War, " S z m 8.3 (1983): 422-450 ; Sharon wiitt , Fimting For-,
Wri trg
Wosen: Identity and IdeoJogy in the Erst Wbc1d M r ( L a n d m : Routledge,
1994); Claire Tylee, The Graat ibr and Htmmn's Canscious;nLlca
(Hamdsmills: Macmillan, 1990); and Evelyn Cobley, Representulg War:
Fonn and Ideology in nrst klbrld H a r Narratives (Toronto: U of Toronto
P, 1993).

50. The idea of autobiography as a readerly genre stems primarily tram

the tacit assmpticm that the autobiographer ml1 deliver an authentic
and truthful version of h i m or trcr self, a concept more recezitly
referred to as the "autobiographical pact" (See Philippe Lejeune, "Le
Pacte Autobiographique" Poctique 14 (1973): 137-162; rpt. ''The
Autobiographical Pact ," a Autoljlography 3-30, trans. Katherine Leary,
ed. Paul Jelm Eakin (MirPraapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1989). The coimnan
belief, in other words, is that autobiography is govemed by readerly
expectations of canventim and narrative quality. My use of the te"readerly" and "writerly", houever, is also a deliberate invitation to
adopt Roland Barthts's oppositioar between the Jun of text which follaws
a prescribed narrative structure (readerly) and the kird which lbakes no
pretence either about structural meani~gOS closure (writerly). S e e
Roland Barthes, S/Z 1970, trans. Richard Wller (LOCZdm: JarathM Cape,
19741.

51. Although 1 suggest that Hurstcm's shift fran horizmtal organizatim

(ie. m e cmtinuous narrative infonncd by linear, temporal logx) to
vertical organizatim (le. a collectiar of organically separate
chapters) is logical, 1 am not inviting a causal intcrpretatiai.
52. That faninist revisiof autohiography s t u c s seem to divide
almg essentialist/differmce lines is partly a product of academic
infancy. In 1980, uhen the first book-laigth studies began to appear,
the relative paucity of informatian available to academics necessitated
the kind of recovery and tratian-establishing work that was unertaken
by critlcs like Estelle Jelinek and Mary G. Wason. As zntonnatim about
female life-writing began to accrue, hawever, revisiunist projects
became less cmcerned w i t h archaeology and taxctnomy and more involveci x n
theoretical issues, particularly those of idartity and subjectivity.
Docina Stanton's active questioning of separatist implications in The
Female Autograph (1984) begins a slightly differmt traxi wkuch is
eventually bolstcred by such practiticmers as Shari Barstock, Bella
Brodzki, Celeste SchePlck, Sidonie -th,
Franaise Lionnet, Lit Stanley
and Leigh Gilmre (see gmeral bibliography for al1 refermces here).
Although perhaps it is not quite accutate to portray these developmnts
in binary ternis, especially since nmre recent theoreticians sean to
"occupy the middle ground b e t w e e n valoristic and cxcisory" (Stanley 94),
1 have dopne so in the hope of prwiding sane idea of the critical
spectrum at hand.
53. Originating -th Hlne Cixoiis, and espoused by Rmch feminists
such as Luce Irigaray and Julia Kristeva, criture fJninrne Iwaman's
writlngj connotes a language ot feminst ecmany based on essential
sexual/libidinal difference. In general tenns, thxs language is
charcicterized as materna1 (or bisexual), atemporal, plural, f l u d , and
disconnectd. Sce "The Laugh of the Medusa," tram. Keith Cohen and
Paula Cohen. Si1.4 (1976): 875-93.

54. The feminization of "prlvate" autobiographxcal foriris (diary,

journal, letters) has, m part, to do =th early practice, since wome~r's
social and ducatianal limitatioars usually restricted them in time and
ability. Houever, eighteenth-century derogatiars of smtianentalist
ideology , cancutfring with the fanale invmtiai of "sentimental"
autobiography (most notably the vie scandaleuse), also gave rise to the
idea that such "ferninine" foms were less than literary. The effect ot
such thmking is still evident in the "pervasive dccoding of al1 female
writing as autobiographical" (Stanton 4) and the division of
either ot high and lm culture or
autobiographical foniis in teniainstream versus marginal. The gedering of private autobiographical
forms, however, is not withmat its problcnrs. The canonical diaries o t
Samuel Pepys or the letters of John Keats, for example, suggest that it
is more a matter of who note tfiem than a simple umtter of the fornrs
themselves. See Suzanne Clarke, Sentimental M o d e m i s m : k b m Wri ters and
the Revolutim of t h &rd (Bloanington: Indiana UP, 1991); and Dama
Stanton ed.. Zhe Female Autugraph (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1984).

55. William C. Spengem~nsuggests that "the maiernist movanent away

fran representatiaral discourse taJards self-caaicting, self-reflexive
verbal structures and csitical thCories that bave been evsed to
explain thrs mement conspire to nmke the very idea ot literary
modernism synonyinous =th that of autobiography" ( S p e n g ~ l l l ~xiii).
n
My
own emphasis k r e wouid be an the word "carspire,"since the discursive
intersection of autobiagraphy and modcmsm does not extend nnrch bey&
Ulis point, and W u s e reality largely "camspired" against their
eqillvalmce.
56. The patriarchal exciusivity of modernsm, although largely a prouct
of androcmtric canonical practice, was greatly exacerbated by the
effects of World War 1. Exteamg tram the myth of the lost generatim,
logic dlctate that such an incredible 1-s of life must necessarily
man an increchble loss ot g-us.
With the literary spectrtm greatly
reduced, the critics' tendmcy was "to tuni literature into Literature,"
percaving their task as that ot "goidmmers washing away the dirt to
discover a few grains of preciow mctal, genuine Literature" (Priestly
327). The end result was a sort of critical abeolutism, a very elitist
notion equating "good" literature with intellectual esoterica, and are
that was necessarxly patnarchal, smce the categories ot genus and
waman had been r d e r e d nnttually exclusive.

CHAPTER ONE

T h r d the

Glass: Tbe Autobioaramhical Evolutian of

Virainia Woolf

W i t h Woolf, perhps mre

80

than with

have chos= for this study, tbe p r - m

ury

ot&r

autobiographer: 1

bctwaa autobiography

and fiction is ifficult to locate. So mch of Woolf ' 8 fictim is

autobiagraphical and so nuch of Uoolf's autobiography is fictiaial that

m e must almoat sntirely abaz&n the notim of distinct literary
g-Cs'

. TO u ~ t r u i l yisolata ~oolf's r e i o i r s - - e m s a n c a s m *

(1907), her Mernoir Club cartributiais (1920-36), a d 'A Sketch of the

Past" (1939-10)~--is no 1-

probl-tic,

for thc subject positian (or

discursive m p ) uid thc niode of self-represantatiaai in each of these

autobiographical sketches is vastly different, in paxt because al1 of

them were writtai at ditferant tim in Woolf's life, h t also bccause
Woolf's amceptacm of autobiography had itself changd w e r U m e . She
begrns in 1907 with far more traitianal notiars of autobiogrrghical

cmventicm and sads in 1910 w i t h samething quite experinmtal , sancthing

which not a i l y

tram the norms of Victorian autobiography, but

also questiau t h vcry bisis of those nomm. kd it is this aspect of

W o o l f ' s aiamoirs, 1 mwld like to argue, this rutobiographical evolutiai,

that distingui-

Woolf as ur author both acting in and acting

igxxr

modcrnism.

That Woolf's writing cames is stmngely bmcketed by

"Raniniscsncss" (1907), her initial a t t w t at manoir writing, and "A

L.

49

&bar2

Sketch of the P.st9'(1939-1940), k r final autobiographial pie-,

of course, convaaiatly lsnd itself ta tbie -tritim

of such an

amlution. But t b f a c t tht t h m i r Club cartrikrti-

of thc interwming yemrs

autobiographical offcaweniawe s~~ebthng

of

dscsptim,

dm,

n y

are t b anly
radcr this

mt mly bauiye of the brevity of

these pieces, but also a u s e of their i q l i d atrdiaea. Che sdvsntage,

hawcver, docs e x i s t in the fact that two of tbicJe autdographical

essays ("22 Hye Park Gate" and "Old Bloamsbury") do not extend much

beyad the evaits of the f i r s t and final m i r s . In other mirds, the

subject natter in al1 four of thcse sketches is not rmnarkably

difierat. What has been alterd is the relatiaaship bet-

the

inscribing self of t b presart mma~tand the self inscribed in the

past, anci the way i n -ch

the h s a i b i n g s e l f has chosen t o represmt

the scene. If only for this reasan,

m,the p s i b i l i t y of e f f i c i m t l y

tracing the discrepancy betwan a f a i r l y stable subject natter and an

al tering subject positim, 1 have chusen t o caacaitrate aa these four

autobiographical works

To illustrate hcw these four t u t t s i f f e r in terne of subjectivity

and self-repr-tatian,

ud, in turn, bar this parhcuiu evolutim

affects Woolf's r e l a t i d p t o autobiography, t b r e f o r e , will be the

priiaary objectives of this chapter. M y agproach, as the intraductory

sectiai s w t s , will rcly h v i l y

a hybrid notian of the subject

as both a discursive intersection in the text and an historical being

whoee reality infonns the textual self. Thus, in te-

of arriving a t a

notion of Woolf's aubjectivity (and its wolutiar), 1 have

to

focus m dominant discursive strains, particularly issues of Qadtr and

L* kifuarz

50

genre, as well 8s various Wtezpamtrritiam. By Uipoging these lmits, 1

do m t wish to suggest tbat Woolf bcgurs and ends w i t h t h s e ideological

influences, anly that 1 mst begin ud ami m

. Rani this point of

departaxe, thm, 1 uuuid like to abecrve uhat hgpens uhm al1 of this

intersects (or possibly collidcs) w i t h the discourse of m d e r n i s m . To

this end# 1 will lodt specifically at those el--.+a

t h notim of literary -am,

which cartribute t o

ULd cspecially at t)une aspects which

pertain to a revisiamry notion of rmlism. These limitatiaas, once

again, are not m
t to 8-t

a narraw ciramscriptian, for my

coaceptiun of nmemism, as 1 bave alrsady nrartiarcd in the

introduction, is highly vcxcd and, amst certainly, heterogenwus. It i s

crsly because my interest

heze is specifically related to autobiography

as a literary gaue that f do not wish to cast my net any further. My

purpose, after a11, is to rweal the quality of the intersectim between

Woolf 's autobiographical subjectivity and wernism, ond haw this

intersection ultimately coaparcs w i t h Woolf's a u t o b i ~ c a l

f onmothers.

Remulisciencc~:A Portrait of the A r t i s t

In

"A

Sketch of t&

as Evewam Else

Past" (IN), Woolf refers to her mther,

Julia Stepheaz, as one of t b mny "invisible prsssness" whi& "play so

-rtant

a part in every life" (Woolf, 1976: 80)'. IMing frao the

particular to tbt gaaeml, shc continues to discuss Uuaaie '@presaiccs"in

te-

of socio-scaianic forces, and -1-

that "if w e carrnot rnalyze

L. s c b a r z
t h s e invisible prcamces,

51

kiaw very little of the subject of the

d r ; and a9ain bar f u t i l e lift-writing bccaoncs"

(SP 8 0 ) .

TbiouqfiWoolf

h e r s e l f , in spite of her familiarity with the eoacept of pcmaia'.

&d

not have bad t b vocs)Jufary t o ccmceive of subjcctivity in

dbmxsive tenas, hcr notim of "invisible p r e s ~ c d s "-,

intcrestingly

m,t o anticipate discourse thcory ud

its socio-

cultural cllphasis More interesting stil 1 is Woolf 's idea that the
absaice of such an w i s M

life-writing, for it s-ts

lllgke

for an ia@overishbdform of

not m l y that a b is s - g

of a m i r

carmoisseurr, but also tbat her: wn m i r writing may have wolved t o a

paint where, at least, ahe i s able t o nke such an abssrvation.

Certain1y her f i r s t attciip?t a t lift-writing, ' ~ s c e n ~ "

(1907) , would not auanum

~p

t o these stringcllt stmxhrs, for nouhere

in this brief chcmazt does Woolf discuss the larger socio-cultural

nexw which impressed itself
evidcnt, since this -ir.
serties of portraits

her life. Her l i f e , in fact, is hardly

in tnae Victorian fashian5, is writtai as a

or vimttes which treat t b lives of those people

w i t h whan she is nost intimate. The ostarsible subjects are Vanessa

(Stephen) B e l l , Julia Stephen, and Stella hickWorth (al-

Woolf

inchdes laser portraits of Leslie Staphsn, Jack Kills and George

Dudnorth). Even t h &dicatiab in keeping with a s o r t of Victorian

pratocol, draws a t t s n t i m auay fran Woolf as the ruthor of the piece,

a&kessing instsrd the mbom cbld of b?sistcr V a n e s s a , pres-1

Julian B e l l who would bc born in Febmary of 1908, a feu mths a f t e r

s b bad begm this l i f e-writing projeet.

Lm Scbmsz

52

Nevertheless , VirQirria Woolf 's invisible presence in the text is

very telling, f o r wm i n the a b a i c e of any obvious s e l f ~ c l o s u r e ,
she rwemls many of the "invisible presaices" -ch

wuuld have

influmced her a t t b tirr of its wrriting. Thc Victorian

autobographical caavmtars, for -le,

indirect infl-

reveal both the direct and

of her father, Leslie

strilung s=larities

betwren 'hrdnis-"

Loakinq at the

and Leslie Stephm's wn

aanoir, mt~c01- Boak (1895)', t& direct infl-ce

of the

paterfamilias utakes i t s e l f apparart: both texts are e e s s e t o the

next generatim; b t h texts are a "series of portraits beld togcthr by

the first-person voicc of tkcir author, ihose relation to the various
figures portrayed is t k real focus of the work" (Dehl 181); and both
tex-,

finally, sean werly

6 t h -thm

And looking a t the

patrilineal l i t e r a r y hritage of the Stephm family in general , with

neaxly every male

for three g a n e r a t i a Writing sane form of

autobiography, rd u i t h Laslie Stephen's .dditiaW iintolvemmt in 2%

D i c t i m a r y of AWticirul a

d (b.grni in 1882, t h y-

of

Virginia's birth) , aic carmot discomt the thci& influence of this

presiding p a t r i u c h either; for, whether o r not Woolf ha an intiarate
hwledge of a l l ber forefathers' texts, it cannot be anie that she
was born into a literate housetaold.

The insinuatiar of this literate anvirarmart is most clearly

cvidmt i n Woolf's style. niike later autobiographical efforts,

" R a n i n i s ~ , "perhaps beause it is the f i r s t , i s extrmely fornial.

man W linsarity

of its chapterd forniat ta t h highly metapborical

languagc of its proae, Woolf -trates

her literarintss, evm t o the

Lm scblarz
point of excessmT b werblarn l-ge

she atploys, for Utan-,

53

in

b r description of the family as d r i f t i n g "together like M p s in an

ipmmise

ocean"

(m 29),

or later, after Stella's -th,

"like sane crdcing old wagaP

8s M i - g

(mU), is so poctically

e s t i c

that it is difficuft t o pawtrate the arrning. m l l y uanting are thuse

brief instancc3 of apparcat originality which are mfortmately "cut

short by hasty retreats into the safety of c a r v e n t i a d fondas"

(Schulkind 15). Htr portrait of J u l i a Stephai is perhaps the best

example of this tantative approach. Woolf begins by i b l i z i n g J u l i a as
"pure lwe and baauty" (RD 32), d as r

wor~srutme

marriage t o Leslie

Stephen cmstitute arc of the " p ~ c l e of

s l i f e " ( R B i 38). Then, Woolf
ventures t o discuss Julia's "quick t-r,"

t h fact that she was "a

l i t t l e imriaris," ud how she "had conre t o attach a esperate

importance t o the swing of tinr" (RR4 39). The i d y l l i c portrait is

broken dovn by a certain

amoiipit

of -1exity.

But fiaally, Woolf does

not f o l l w thrOQ;ISEhw i t h this potentially nterestiag point, and

retreats, i n s t d , to her uae of metaphor, telling us that her mother

"sank, l i k e .a CXIIomtai mimer"

(m39)--a

line which, quite

s i w f i c a n t l y , mruld acquire f i c t i a m l r-amnce

i n &r p o r t r a i t of Wrs

Ramay in To the Ligdrtborrse. Thc clmest she cams t o suggesting that

her f ather 's y

t

and wer-dapandarce may bave bom respausible for

the "sinking" of Julia Stephen is uhm she aiartiw i n passing that

Leslie was not a very perceptive man.

These extrcmcly v e l d revelatiars are, in f act, a distAnguishng

feature of this m i r . Almost al1 of the portraits cartained in the

manoir 8
t

tbat sanething nw>re lies -th

t h surface of this

L. s c b a r z

54

Victorian literary prapriety. Vanessa i s not just anothtr inhabitant of

thie mtcnial void lcft by thc -th

of Juia stepkm~,or t b "Saint," as

she is teasingly a l l d ; she is al80 a uan w i t h a passim for art

291,

(m

an a w a n n d t h r semal appetite. But this is mly givmr t o us as

a hint at the snd of tbc m i r when Woolf disr-srca~t o

appreciate " t b

rparre' of

haJ aach Jack Hills

"Vanessa's .aibsvai+"

(m59)

t o help

of his wif e (ber step-sister) , Stel la

him cope w i t h thc -th

~ u c k w o George
~ ~ ~ .DuEkuoNi, likewisa, arges soiedrrt ambigwusly.

mtensibly, he is the hcro (REM 57), a little stupid, but always "good

natured" (RPI 57 ) Houever, Woolf 's passing m t i m of his "voluble

affectiaas"

(m57)

"swiming i n a ssa

and of the irratiaral instinct which o f t m kept him

of racing anotiars"

(m58)

scrat-

a t a surface

that she wwld not pierce mtil 1920 with the final blw delivere by
"22 Hyde Park Gate," the fact that "George Duekworth was not mly father

and mother, brothcr and sister t o those poor Stephen girls; he was their
lwer also"

(H#3 177).

Houever, here, in "Raninisca~ces,"no such revelatiai exists. What

we receive iasteati is a subject whose positim can m l y be determined by

infer-,

sincc very l i t t l e else is givan in uiiiition t o these brief

c h a r a c t e sketches. Thc inforniatim we r e v e rhmit Woolf's l i f e , and

m l y as it

t o the gaieml atmephere of 22 Hyde Park Gate, is

scanewhat imressimistic, again revealing her artistic a p p r m t i ~ z p .

We are told, for instance, tbit l i f e srinwd "to divide itself into two

large spaces" (RQ4 28), t b nursery and Karsingtm Oardms, .nd,

hrthenmre, tht these spaces uere 'hot crawded with cvarts" (RPI 28).
Anci ue discwer, as -11,

that several more divisim mark the stephen

L. sdamrt

55

household: the divisim betwan the Stephen childran and the m r t h

childrsn, "the others" (REW 29) as Woolf calls tbsari; t h divisita
b e t w c e n the st-

"state of d o u s grouthmm
(m30) -ch

l i f e in Kmsingtar and the e

"

enjoymcnt" (RPI 31) of St Ives, tbeir

in Cornwall ; the divisim betweai tbe "old life"

sumer

typfies

and the ncw l i f e which follaws Julia S t e p h V s -th;

(m46)

tbt d i v i s i m

between the "iaaaiature world" (REM 46) of the nursery and thc realm of

adulthood; and, lastly, the iwlicit divisim betwicar t h foregradeci

matriarcha1 inhibitants (Julia, Stella, and V a n e s s a ) rnd the patriarchal

figures uho occupy the backgromri (Leslie, Jack Hills, .ndi Geotge
Duckuorth)

& may

gather fraai this catalogue of divisiais eithcr that Woolf's

childhaod was, as she chinas, "orderd vith great siaplicity and

regularity"

(m28),

or tbat she has dtliberately chosen t o represent

it as such. In aither case, wc might question &y Woolf has portrayed

her l i f e as a series of binary appositiars (ance again relying m an

i n h e r i t d patriarchal logic): us vemus tlnn, UUiety versus arjoymmt,

city vers-

country, old versus nrw, children versus adults, and waaen

versus arn. The ansuer, in part, r i y lie in thc tact tbat Woolf has
ccmstructed her aubjectivity i n almoet exclitsively relatianal temas,

through a collectim of loosely comectsd biographical sketches. If she

is u s h g "the others" as a basis of coaparism and cmtrast, tbm it

seems a r l y natural that she shauld ally b r s e l f 6 t h am si& wer the

other i n al1 of W e burary pair-.

But a certain ammt of

signifiance apy be attached s p e c i f i a l l y t o t b faet tht this m i r

intawls Vanessa as its primary subject, for it suggests not mly tbat

L. scbmrz

56

she and her sister have forisd a ki&d of alliance against which al1 of

the apposiag forces

aaaiy

be caitxastd, but also, by virtue of tbe bad

itself, an a t t g e t t o dmrf thme oter relatiars. This parcticular

identification, more thn aaything else, gives us a mre conpletc notim

of Wool f 's subjectivity in 'a4miniscms. "
Imka, t o remad Vanessa's portrait f ran this angle of vision is
quite enlietaring,

for t o a carsiderable dsgree her positiai in the

Stephen family is not m l i k e Virginia's. Born ia 1879, and hiencc anly

three years older tban V i r g i n i a , sbt i s t k closest sister t o her in

age Therefore, even though sbe M a a s in a materna1 role, abe is a

more apprapriate d i d a n t e than S t d h rru?k.#lrth

course, may nat be a product of a-,

since Woolf

(m 46).

dacg

This, of

not hold Stella in

very high esteen, thinking b r s t w i d .nd, urfortiniately, " s ~ r e s s e d "

(RR4 42) by Victorian

codca. -er,

expectatiars of domestic

femininity do not escape Vaneasa either, for a f t e r Stella's -th

she

too must occupy the role of mgel in te a e , s e r c s s i n g her passi"beneath the seriaus surface" (RPI 29)

. Nevertlmless,

Virginia describes

Vanessa, and not Stella, as a "centml figure" (RP1 S3), poesibly

because her awn artistic a t t w t km is similarly suffocated by

Victorian formality, but mre likely beuuse Vanessa is a Stephar sister

wbo , like herself, h s b a ~
t h w t into f o r c d intimcy w i t h "the

others." An inportant distinctm is -iulr betrecn the mer syi9athctic

aiannet. of Stel la Duchorth

and Vmessa acting

lessan by heart kit did not a t m

"M

riY.,h maniag

she W her

to it; t o George s b

would be davotai ud submi8sive; t o erald affectiarate; t o her father

helpful; t o us protective" (RR4 54). The f u l l inpliatim of this

stat-t

would

mt be rsalize mtil mwh later, in the m i r Club

contrikrtiars ami "A Sketch of the Past," h t here, at least, w e are

able t o ciahce tbrt Woolf, i f m l y by vieVanessa and

of her alliance w i t h

hcr a b i l i t y to recognize hcr sister's artifice, dis-

herself f raai the patriarchal expectatioas of th family.

Uhere, thm, do

wic

locate Woolf's subject positim, f o r cl-ly

it

is fraiiQht w i t h caitradictim? T b carvantiars s b .mhloys t o write her

-ir

are both Victorian and patrilineal, iad yet t b cmtarts of the

-ir

i t s e l f are pmaninmtly m a t r i l i n a l mi express, hmwer

iniplicitly, a rejectim of Victorui coes of bebaviour. Even the fact

of her writing a t al1 is an implicit rejectim of t b s e codes. Ho~cver,

we cannot werlook Woolf's abmt body, the fact tbat her presence in
'Bminiscaiccs" i s f e l t m l y

i n the narrative stratagy which iraiically

diffuses her avn c m t r a l t y . Docs this si-ly

represcnt Woolf's

adherence t o Victorian a u t o b i m c a l protocol, or can w e r d this as

an m-ci-

acceptance of " ~ h c~ u l of
t T-

~ ~ ~ h 0 0 d
r an
. ' ' ~

acceptance of the iea that a wanan's body, her very s e l f , could have no
place i n an autobiography? And what, in this svant, can w e make of the

fact t h a t Vanessa ocCupies the central place in this m i r , or tbat

Clive B e l l (Vanessa's ushnd, as well as the i n t u d i t o r ) , possibly

more so than the mbom Julian, is tbc iaplid remder of the t e ? 1s

Vanessa's presawe mant as an adquate s u b t i t u t e for her cwn body? 1s

Clive the loamip peta~ctula u t h o ~ : i t y ? ~ ~
To bc sure, "ltminis-"

qives its rade]: very l i t t l e

determinate irrformatiar. Woolf's dcscriptiars of hcr hmm and family

l i f e U d a b l y p h c e ber in an m r middle class aiilieu, and hcr

L. Scbmrz

58

demoaistmtim of literary p r m reinforces this seat of privilege. But

beyan3 m

e mterial s i w t s , t
e are leit with the mcolllforrhble

tensions which exist b e t w the pinvate dis-

of Victorian

danesticity and tbc public dlscawse of literature, bet-

the

androcentrie cawcc~tionsof Victorian rutobiography .rd the protofeminist suggcstian of a & m u a l subjectivity, rrd, wt of al1 , between

the self w e may eciuce from the f irst-persan aarratim

thc others

who daninate this autobiographical accomt. A t best , wc niight s p e a l a t e

an the way in which Woolf seasningly -ies

cmtradictiar,

of

the

baPLdary we usually associate with frriini'st resistance.

But whether o r not this

occllpstiai

i s eliberate, wbther it actiral l y

represents an a t t w t m Woolf's part t o blur the liaes of rlrniarcatim,

we cannot s a y for sure.

m i r Club Contributions:

A G r s d u a1 Unvellurq
. .

No lcss d i f f i c u l t t o ncgotiate are the autobiographical essays

*ch

make up Woolf's cantrihitian t o the Mewir

"22 Hyde Park Gate" and

c1ud3, porticularly

"Old B l o a m h u y . '' Wttm for .n UIfonoal

audiace of f riends and 8cguaintans who ware interestai in publicly

h i n g t h i r private lives, thesc essays are mtirrrhly differart i n

tme and

style. The infornmlity s t r i k e s

Gate," for -le,

ait

-ately.

"22 Hyde Park

apms with the phrure, "As 1 bave said*' (HFG 164),

suggesting not mly that Woolf is -timing

sonrthing shc had spoken

about m a previous octasiai, &t al80 that a h

i8

8pdchg

in a casual

L. sc)iiirarz

59

- .
mvirannt. Tbe begurnurg
of "Old Blr~ri#&zry," likewise, s i w l s tbat
sbc i s

fanrln, w i t h its t-ing

teference t o the tact tbat sbe

bas written this piece a t Molly M&arthy's

"cammxi" (08 181).

Oariously, t h r e is a mbtantial difierence ktthe implie r d -

this awiimce an

of '@Raniniscaices."But h m much am can attach to

the fact tbt '

-mmi s intedu3

history to be pasmd

as a docupartatim of family

t o t b ne%tgeneratim ( J u l i m Bell) is not

certain, for, claarly, Woolf also intcndcd it as a mrk of literary and

a r t i s t i c merit, otherwise d m mnrld not k v e 8-t

the advice of Clive

B e l l . Surely the differmce bctueen the i n t a a d d rmcks may account for

the fonnality of the -lier

M-ir

m i r and the eanversatiaml air of the

Club essays; but, ultimately, one wst question uhether or not

this discrcpancy will affect the substance of Woolf's life-writing, i n

other words, uhether or not it will affect the public/private balance of
the facts she bas chosm t o ivulge, or how much she augments or
detracts f r a n the stories she has already told.

It is in Woolf's process of selectiaa, i n fact, that 1 would

locate the greatest ditfer-

betwcmr the two autcbiogrsphical efforts,

for dcspite the fact that the m i r Club had t h s o r e t i a l l y a g r d

"abgolute frankicss" (Schulkind 161), a mark& caatrast t o the vedle

truths of "Rminiscmwes," t b gr-

did not agrcc t o tell abaolutely

everything. T)nrs, it i s quite revahling t h a t "22 H y e Park Gate" mly

r-ts

"George

DucJcuorth's disastrous rdgime wer the

( e 120) during te social seas-

-lie

Stephai's -th.

The 8ubj-t

Staphen girls"

of 1903 rnd 1904, just prior t o

mtter, for arc, is much more

narrawly circumcribd. krd rnilike t b -tic

carcaitratiai of

Lm ScLrwarz

ventures into t k social spbcre,

this particular

%emini-ces,"

giving us a mre conpletc saase of the -etal

t)i.ncelves

ar,

t b -r

.1-

cl-

60

f-le

press=of t b

tuhich Mposed

tria' : *koPiap aite*

at e i g h t m , attening variaru dances a d parties in ordcr t o find a

prospective

)riubard,

balance bet-

sil-

and l a u n h g the a r t of cmversatim, the proper

and loquacity

Indesd, the discourse of class in "22 H y d e Park Gate" a l w s t

the essay, for in adition t o the t r i a l s and tribulatiars of

-tes

the upper class feamle, Woolf places r great & a l of w i s m the

tact tht w r g e Dudmmrth is a prrtantious young nian w i t h

an "inhnrn

reversncc for tbie British aristocncy" (H#Z 169). We are told quite

plainiy tht he is a sxmb

(H#;

169). But more than this, ue recolplite

tbat George's abessian w i t h keeping up appearances is very near the

point of tyrannical, first for Vanessa who can no langer tolcrate her
fmctian as "an ornammrt for any dinner table" ( H E 170) and must

ev-tually

resist George

I)uckwort.h's invitatiars

altogcther, and thcn

for Virginia who feels oblige t o replace her sister, lest her
"imnaculate" half-brother %e f o r c d into the ams of thores" (HPG 172).
Vndoubtdly, this l a t e r versiar of m r g e Dudcworth is

cmsiderably different fran t h versian which is set dam i n

'RuniRaniaiscemes," in part becauae ws rreceve more inforibatim, but also,

a d more i w r t a n t l y , because Woolf 8 p l i e s rtaAn dctails with the
express purpose of &ring

-le,

t h n iraiic. As i n '%e~niniscences,for

w e are givm a rathit? positive vicw of Ocorge, 8l-t

exaggeratsdly so, suice M e he is m r e thn simply heroic; bs is

"Christlike"

(II#2 166).

H e i s the "inaumalate George Duckworth" (H#;:

Lm Scbmr~

61

172), both good and pure wc presmm, aspacally W w e laam that

Lcslie's cancer M s forcal George t o fmctiaa as "father ird mother,

sister and b r o t k r in one"

(m168).

Hail~wer, whisn wc &we fran

Woolf's careful dctailing that George i s far fraai being a "gentle" mm,

and, in the ad, uhm ue discwer that there is r hupc gulf bet"the! old ladies of Kauingtar

d Bclgmvia" krcw

what

wbat tbt Stcphen's

sisters kwu, that "he uas their lwer also" (EIPG 177), Woolf's

idealizing language is capletcly t x p l n r i w i e

Possibly Pore intriguing than the revelation of George's

malefactim, buever, is the mannet in which Woolf has IriN3rrl h r bl-.

ai aie band, she kms &am George hackworth as a repr-aitative

chss society, as a man so totally in&

that he does not

cvai

of -r

by aristocratie cawentian

recognize hilnself as a snob. ai the other hand,

she has rend+rad George the stnw man, the target of broad satire,
ironizing both the idea of society and the highly inflated Christian

language she has usai t o describe his character. In te-

therefore, Woolf

hot

of discaurse,

only uxierminss the upper class social faade, but

also, specifically, negates the chivalric ideal attacbsd t o George in

the earlier mmoir. kd she does this by exposing for the f irst time the

danestic and sexual r s a l i t y that existai for hrr a t 22 Hyde PuLk Gate:
Sleep had aliiaost c a t o me. The roan was ark. The house

m;tremdmg
*mat
be

silant. Thar, creaking stealthily, the &or

gingcrly, saiirrnr? aitere. 'Who?" 1 crimi,

f rightemd" , George ubisperai. **Anddm ' t turn m the light ,

oh befwd. Belwed--" and he flurg h i n e l f ar py bai, and

todr

me in his a s (H#i 177).

L. z
At

this mmak, mm s o than at rny otbbr point in the -y,

62

we are

acutely aware of Woolf ' 8 audience, of the fret that "22 Hyde Park Gate"
was originally a l i v e r d as a speech
Woolf bas not d

y c&em ber

for the -fit

of her Memoir Club.

n a s a t i v e ortdcr carefully, m a s p a x h g the

tmth about George arckuorth mtil ttm very last m t , but she bas

also rcinforcai the -ct

of the revelatim by buil-

up t o it in a

very draniatic and suspmseful m y . kd this, 1 btlieve, corrstitutes an

important departuze fran her -lier

the relationsbp bet-

r f o,r it s i 6 f i c a n t l y a l t e r s

autobiography and f i c t i o n &y intrducing the

possibility that Woolf has delibemtely embellisbe imr story i n o&r,

perhaps, t o sho& or surprise b r audima. C e r t r i n l y me mwld not n e d

=ch more t h n a revelatim of quasi-inccstwnrs 8-1

sufficiently dm& an r-mace

abuseto

of tht day; m e r , Woolf's fictiai of

. r r a n g e n d 5 (not of sub~tance)ansutes tht this partiailu truth

will have a lasting effect. The stratcgy is marksdly different; ratber

tfran attcrapting t o suppress the "tmth"uder a veil of mctaphor and

fonaality, Woolf bas chogca irutea t o expose it and a r t i s t i c a l l y

enhance it. Thie presmptian of objectivity ubich, in "Ranhiscarces",
stood apart f ran the l i t e r a r y dntice is naJ a p r e s w t i m of

subjectivity -ch

i s Uicxtriably liakd to its f i c t i a m l i t y .

What this iwlies, furthCrmore, i s tbat Woolf bas brokan with her

earlier and more stringmt lit-

pattena. In fact, she bas forsaken

Victorian autobiogrrphical canvantiai in mm mys tan arc: first, and

most obviously, by asserting herself as a central pressncc; s d l y , by
nwnring beyand the arrr-

bomxls o f the donsstic r e a l m ; thirdly , by

intrducing her am sexuality, in s p i t e of its borrific begumings; and,

L.

8c)rwarz

63

finally, with the ''story" of George Ouckworth's ahse, by mqgesting

tbat abeolute truth anci reliability are not aluays givcar priority, that

satimcs the process of selectiar rnd

atraragsiart

a n be m l l y

important. Certainly, a l 1 of these factors are r ~ k a b l e especially

,

a9

they compare with Woolf's initial autobiographical a t t w t , for they are

m e s which t
8

not mly the relocatim of Woolf's subject

position, kt also m inplicit r e j e c t i m of the older, rinarocsntric

"

~ ~ 1 v u a t i a nwirich
s
insinuate ~ c l v e in
s 'asminis-.

That Woolf's rejectiai of t h e s cunvantims might bc more than

sinply a suggcstiar is caafirnisd by "Old B
,-l

"

thC f of lawing

mamir which beqims its narrative by rccor~itingthe final evants of "22

Hyde Park Gate", but not quite i n the samc -y.

H e r e Woolf reverts t o

the e v d n g she and George had spart w i t h Lady Carnarvm. In "22 Hyde
Park Gate" s b &scribes this evcning naieh mre extaasively,
cantextualizing the disgust and discomfort she crrpcrisad at the sight

of nirdity a d capulatiar in a R

d play all of

ha sccn, such

that her relief t o be hanrr in t h canfcortable s u r r d n g s of her Greek

dictimary cauld -11

be tmderstooc. sbc also describes bat she fel t

herself "in a c m a i uhirlpaol of bc~uatim''(H#l l77), mxing

thoughts of ''diamaxis and

cainrtgsses,

m a t i a s , the dialogues of

Plato, t3ad Dick Popham [another g~mst]ud te "Light of the World"

[the t i t l e of the Holman

(HEG 177). In "Old B-"l,

H\ort

painting

8 k

hrd v i d tb.t evaxing]"

t h preludc ta the abuse i s aoaiewhat

cacdcc~sed,p r e s m a b l y beause Woolf is taking it for gmate tbat her

audience will m

r t h &tails f ran the previous m i r . But b e y a d

this, Woolf has also chosen t o alter the =y in which s b recounts the

L w Sdmarz

events surramding t k i r attendance of " t h mst ind=art Fr(OB 181).

nike the first vtrsim of thc story, Woolf

nad

64

play"

d e s light

of her rsactiar, dcscribkng har they left the perfomance "like a f lock
of partridges at the ad of t h first act" (OQ1 181). She also indudes a

detail about W s Papham which &es not cst 1ii the aulier telling,
that after the play this

miaian

bid crrpressed s uncern wer the

possibility that V i r g i n i a might lase b r

v i r g i n i t y (B

181).

Hawever, more disturbing tb8n any omissian or uHitim i s the

ca@etely

diffarait setting of the act of J w e itself. In "22 Hyde

Park Gate" Woolf recalls retiring to ber rom and rading hitr Gredr;

hem. she is remi,ng Pater's

mitu

the &@i-d6.
In t& forrar, she

has already exthguished the Ught wtiar George stmls his way into the

rom and smothtrs her w i t h &races;

i n the latter, the light is s t i l l

an when George knocks and

f linges] hiiaself m cher] bed, cuddling and kissing and

otherwise mnbracing Cher) in order, as he told D r Saivage

later, to cornfort [her] for the fatal illness of cher]
father-wtio

cancer

was dying thr-

or four storeys lawer dawn of

(08 182).

As Phyllis Rose states i n bu, biography of Woolf, this kind of variance

may

sean trivial, "but the effect

i8

niore sinister" (Rose ix). For my

part, 1 would a m , rince tht l a t u d t i m of this m

t not a i l y
att-ts

to depict George us saaething les8 thur rn abuser, kit al80 as

baving perfectly scnd rmsam for ovicrrtcpping t h bouda of a good

ha f -brother.

L. m

65

But f ran mother point of vieu, this a t t w t to rescue George's

rcputatim is a&

m r e tban smly an act of past hoc justificatiai,

for i t reinforces thc possbility tbat Woolf i s rejecting the

traiticnal authorial role, cmt -ch

stipulates that the autobiographtr

is synmymous with W historian, &, i n the case of Victoriui

autobiography, with the biographcr as -11.

By focusing ar the iamdiacy

of the story-telling rather than the accuracy of the details, Woolf

implicitly resists this role which hrd became her patrilineal

inherltance in 'cminiscences. " Woreover, shc effects this resistance

not only by refusing to adhu-e to Victorian cuwmtiai, but also by

generating 8nothes saurce of literary authority-namely

herself; for

rathier than adapting the pose of an autobiogmphet: who sees hcrself as

the locus of objective truth, Woolf opts iastead to cast krself as the
locus of subjective truth(s), bles&ng togcther the voie of her

inscribing self with the voices which m r q e fran her um diaries. I t i s

as though tbc m e fram 22 Hyde Park Gate t o 46

Go-

Square marks both

an autobiagraphical and a persanal turning point for Woolf, because no

s-er

does the narrative of "Old Bloomskrry" disclose this went than

it begms to rely

ip~n
the

-tries

of her 1901-1905 diary.

As an autobiographical techique, the use of arc's ptrscmal

writings to eithsr verify or justify the autobiography proper is not

new, especially where waawn are

quite t.ogularly -1oyed

Victorian wanar i n partida

their dimes as a private form of historical

or docmmtary evidsncc, proviing a rather efficient way of authorizing

their awn writrg witbout appsoring to werstep the barads of their

"true uamdmod" or the -tic

8phCt.e t o whic they had bcar

L. Schwarz

66

relegatd. But cantsary to the Victorian nnrm, Woolf docs not sean
especially interestai in using her diary as an evidaitiary source. The

entries u e not tbere t o verify the rast of thb texte in fact, she
relates the -tm~ts

of these antries witbaut vcrp uzch interpretatian

at al 1, almost as thouQh sbie bas siaaply copidd thm fraa her journal.
The nmst w e receive is btr stat-t

of ragrct that tbt "diary ads just

as i t might bave bece inter-ting"

(B 186). If anythhg, she

sccms to

provide these altemative acunmts as a type of formal subetitutim, for

the essay and iary porticms of this nemoir & not rrrtaaally reinforce
m e another,

kit rather supply two diff erent narratives.

Moreover, it &es not scsni likely that Woolf i s a t t w t i n g t o

maintain the -rance

of

private, damestic fanale, since the very

o p e ~ e s sof the subject matter would caitcrdict any such notion. Moving

fran the molcstatim of George Duckworth t o the "

r
d
'
Bfoaasbury and ta the Thursday e

(OB 194) of

w i n which " s a penneatd [the]

cmversatiar" (OB 195-6) , anc could hardly conclude that Woolf has taken

cm the role of the carservative fanale. If m

e is any resichal

influmce fraa Leslie Stcphar and bis Victorian stranglehold, it d s t s

in the f act tbat Woolf's cbcrriptiaa of the -1:s

of Old Bl-y

resemblcs a biogmpbial catalogue, not m l i k e the swcessim of

portraits she r d e r d in 'Raninisances," arly b r e mch briefer and

far more candid. -mise,
have ended, for,

t b patriarchal insinuatiar would appear to

in spite of such "raninis-t"

t o d m s , the majority of

this wnoir is surprisingly infornual. The narrative, t b w # a linsar, i s

not highly stIUCtuzd. Rathcr, it is six narratives loasely cmnected by

chraiology: George's rkise just priot t o -lie's

-th,

t h m e to

L. schasz
Go-

67

Square, Old B l o a i s k i r y ' s fozntioa, Thursday evclunQs, Virginia's

discovery of the 'lruvggcrs" rad W b e g m h g of 8-1

group, and, f i n a l l y ,

a mlf-carsciaas t-

fmnkness in the

Yhich qwsticms the

bmmdaries of B1oomsbur-y i t a e l f , a subject which Woolf decides t o

reserve for amthes manoir. And 30, clearly, between the subjeet she

treats ard tir tom she q t s , Woolf

)ras

al1 but dispogd of fieslie

Stephn's infl-.

N w h t r e i s this more -art

+-)isn

these Thursday eumimgsi spant uth her

in Woolf 's disclosure of how

brother's (Thoby's) Cambridge

friens provided her and htr sister with an aiormus sease of

intel 1ectual f redan:
Ran such discussians V a n e s s a asd 1 got probably aalr?h the
same pleasurc that mdergrauates get whni they meet f r i a d s

of their um for the f i r s t time. In the world of the Booths

and the Maxses w e were not a s k d t o use our brains much.

H e r e w e usai mthing else (B 190).

Though seemingly

innocu;rnrs,

this statamnt is rich with nuhing. The

first sentence, for instasice, not m l y expresses pleasure, krt also,

inplicitly, camiirrits on the fact that the S t e p h a ~sisters, m l i k e their
brothers, had been exclwbd fran a forma1 abcation. Tbc s c c a d portim

of this statanat, likawise, is double--,

the vapidity of the m

criticizing

r class society t o which the Booths urd the

Maxses bel~1~sd,
and m thc

other dclighting in t k Stark caatrast of

these infornral intellectus1 gathd-.

were

m arc

These T)rursday evaaings, then,

more than just a plsrssnt pastirne for the Stcphai sisters, for U r y

reprtsent ubat is abviausly a wtlcanc m u r e fruo both the rlgidly

L. scbarz
define gender rolu ind the -r
infect&

class cassemtism tbat &n

22 Hyde Park Gate for tht untim of W

In te-

68

r .dolescmce.

of autabiographical wolutim, therefore, b l f has

certainly came a 1-

way fran

her f i r s t rttwt. The "invisible

presences" (SP 80) which i n ' W s c m ~ e t i "d

d ml y be rawn out by

inference are by this point in Woolf's autobiogrsphical writiags quite

w i d m t . The nascmt f a s t of t
h mrlier text is b g h m i n g t o show

herself. The intellectual passiais uhic uere siprprassed in the yomg

Virginia are naw explicit interests for Virginia the ault. Likewiae,
the domestic emphasis of the earlier docuiait bas bear sq?plaatdby a
more public discoume,

r hnguage of iAua anci &tractions,

a language

which engages the Mnd. But perhaps aaore inportantly, Woolf has
introduced tLtr body to the text, not a l y in

termis

of making hrself

present as the subject of the mamir, but also in te-

of scxuality.

Her open discussim of the prsdminmce of hamcxuality in Old

Bloaasbury sets a persara1 autobiographical prccsdmt. Finally, in the
act of authorizing her mm writing, Woolf not a i l y asserts her position

as a writer, but also chooees quite caisciasly to forsakt the literary

inheritance of b r father. The incorporatim of her diary in the fabric
of the tact represents both a ptrsaml and indcpadait voice.

Acutely auare of t b potsntial difficultim involved in writing

autobiography, Woolf bsgins this final msmoir w i t h a self-cauciow

L. s c b a r z

69

critique of the form itself. Har f i m t c~lccrnw i t h recollcctim is the

p a s s i b i l i t y of forgetting; carfrmtsd with s o mny l i f e-ti w ~ t s s, k

is not at a l 1 certain of tLer a b i l i t y t o rsnrsnibcr Umm al 1. H e r aecmd

caicern

is w i t h expressim; kving r d so rany m i r s , an having

writtcn a few of hcr

oni

already, sht is wcll auare of the ifferent

possibilities which exist for bcrr. Humver, this being said, Woolf does

not pursue the matter very ruih frrtbcr, for 'trithout atapping t o choose
Cher] way" (SP 64). she siaply sigds ber intcntien t o begin by

assuring the mader that her fonn 'bill find itself" (SP 64).
Of course, Woolf's icbr tbat this t h d of uxiting is sahow
dcvoid of choice, or tbat it mightet .

f r m r subcansciosls lwel is

a l i t t l e dubious, for men without t h guidance of any precaiccptiais,

she is nevertheless in cantrol of b r arn writing. And so the fact that

. . is mst intriguing. Wbat

she bas dmem such a taatative begummg
possible motive cauld exist? 1s it simply a device, perhaps a residual

ttw of Victorian wdesty?

r i s

it, rathcr, Woolf's way of finally

discaring the forniality attrrr)url t o tbat l i t e r a r y era? The highly

impressidstic quality of Woolf's f i r s t mmry mggests the l a t t e r .

Recalling the pattern of ber mther'a dress, hcr state of half-sleep,

the soun of the waves breaking, an the feeling of "purest ecstasy" (SP
651, Woolf sccnrs more in kssping w i t h

&mrmdem cmt-raries,

delivering a poctic rutapositiar of images instead of r t-tianal

narrative w i t h deteminate camectians. Hawcver, before am wen bas a

dance t o carfirm thitse suspiciars, Woolf retreats t o the pose of the

self-consciow author, m t i n g m her failure t o capture the gaaune

nature of the

SC-

beause she bas ornittecl the very thing which wuld

L. Schwarz
ensure her su---a

70

descriptiar of b m e l f (SP 6 5 ) . Thus, before

rejoining her earli-t

r e c o l l t c t i m of childhad, s b l a m a into a

brief , and soicwhat forcd, descriptim of wtro she is, providing the

reaer with the &te of bel: birth, inforiiatim about her family lineage,
and the basic n t e r i a l caditiau of lmr l i f e , that she was "boni into a
large camectim, born not of rich =arts,

but of tell-to-da parents,

born into a very nriaa\icative, literate, letter writing, visiting,

articulate, l a t e nineteenth c ~ t u r y[sic]tmrldae(SP 65).

What

this damastrates, W e r , is not s o much Woolf's a b i l i t y t o

redress the initial short-,

but mther a t a m i m which seem t o

exist between the f i r s t nrridr? of represantatim and this more traditiaml

wag of begmniiag

t o the reader

&
O
I

an autobiography Thc f i r s t descriptiar is inaccessible

camot Jmou what "scstasy" Woolf would have

experimce, and the s e c d escriptim provides hami facts which allaw

the reader

t o place Woolf i n some kind of historical cartirrum. But the

notion that the l a t t e r descriptim shauld saaaias campauate for the

inadequacy of the f i r s t is al-t

ludicrous. Thiese are sinply two

caiipeting modes of rcpre8entatim. hy Woolf has p l a d them in

competitiar is more t o the point, f o r certainly it is curiow Ut she
should anly just nas, a f t e r al1 of her previous autobiographical

ef f or-,

w n t i m bbr birth and its c i r w -

That ahe should

8-t,

for the f i r s t time.

furthennore, that LNeh infonnatim could

magically supply what i s a b e n t , -1y

the person .bout whan the

autobiography is w r i t t c n , is mre c u t i a a still, since it inplies that

. .
. . with a series of public
the cmvmtim of bagmmag
at t)Ld begmnmg

historical fa-

does m r e t o provide t&

reader w i t h a same of

L m Sdmarz

pers-lity

71

than anything M c h might &rive f ran t b persara1 tbughts

and inpressions of the autobiographer.

that
But lmre rlgin nOOlf fools us, f o r jiist as we are ~~1virrced
she bas given prscsdanat t o this very trsditiaral, rnrir-tric

mde of

begirrning hcr autobiography, wc find h r arcc mre riddlsd uith doubt :

I do not kiar haw mach of this, or uhat part of tbis, mae
rr feel what 1 f e l t in the nursery a t St Ives. 1 do not kww

inm far 1 d i f f a fran otber -le.

That is awthcr m i r

writer's dif ficulty. Y e t t o &scribe ansself t r u l y arc nist

have some standard of caipariscm; was 1 cl-,

h o k i n g , ugly, passionate, wld-?

stupid, good

(SP 65).

bviously Woolf r m t e s #e potmtial indequacy of her s

kgmning as

U d l m

Simle facts are no substitute for ait's being; it is

also esseatial t o have sane idea of the persai's qualities and of the

persan's r e l a t i a w h i p t o others. An so, m g l y , Woolf is gesturing

tawards a more private, an what is oftcn carsidesal a mre feninAne,
d

e of expressim. Her notion tbat ane neads a stanard of -risa,

likewise, invokcs the f anale autobiographieal cawmtion of relatiaral

subjectivity, daoosing t o 8ee amself i n caitext rrther ttmn assuaing
the

poBe

of a m i t a r y relf-mae iridividual. Yet, Woolf does mt "chm~e''

this fom of expr-im

wer the other. She opts iastead t o ad this

discursive caapctitim, t o s t r i k e a caapraaise betueai the two mcb by

searching for rsr "externa1 reasan for thc intecasity of [her] f i r s t
impressian" (SP 6 5 ) .
Wther or not ahe bas truly etfectai this -ramise

matter mtirel y, since the descriptlai -ch

is another

mues i s squal l y

inpressianistic and, bdncc, jwt as private or asoteric

of iamges she is attsapting to explain.

recalls, o r

the grouping
80

dm cl*,

that the original intcasity was tSue t o the fact of b r rather musual

perspective, " t h feeling

of lying irr a

8-

Waugh

f i l m of semi-tmxasparmt yellaw" (SP 65). T b n , caitinuing w i t h what

somtthing more cancrete, she d s l i v e r s a furtbr catalogue of

impressiaas, a p a i n t e r l y s-ce

of colours and slmpes, a b l a d of

the souxi of the mves, her sami-carrsciaris state, ard, f i n a l l y , the

iiqpossibility of r e rmrds t o &scribe tbe "scrrtasy" shc felt.

Indeed, WOO1fmsfom

8-

t o have f

d i t s e l f , f o r the s e a n

memory she i n t r o d m m l y gathers ilpressimistic iuiuhtm. RCCglling

the g a d e m s at S t Ives same time later

(m
not

s p e c i f i d ) , Woolf naw

discusses this "highly sensual" (SP 66) sccrie f r u n her childhood in

ternis

of "rapture," a11 of the shapes, smells and soiods coming togsether

i n such a way tint "al1 seemai t o press voluptwusly against sme

membrane" (SP 66). Again, it is cl-

that Woolf attaches s a m

significance to the racalld perspective, ber grape-like visim Piaking

its secand appearurcc. But hem, it is al80 apparart f rm hcr chaice of
vocabulary that these maories of St Ives u e sanehm intertwined with a

notiar of sexuality, f o r te discourse of croticism in b o a of these

initiai rcaorid7,

use o f

"volupturwsl y ," rnd "smsual ," ~

wotcb a~ ol-tyy,

** @*rapture,

t tbit this
s
n i n i h m uhich

8w

L.
Woolf's 'Sketch,"'
fa&,

this "great

grripc

73

&bar2

eyeball" (&nith1993: 100) -Y,

in

be an attlipt "to displace tbat pemasive phalloccntric t r w of

1993: 100-101)--rumcly

visim" (-th
Hht

the penis.

is prablcmzatic about this m t i a , tbnrgh, is that Woolf

never c l s a r l y desi-tes

the symbolic si@fitancc of imr ~ i n i p e

men\brane. Several pomsibilities e s t . T b tw &aieh c u r y the wsight of

Smith's

ar~lnnenttake

their

fran the sexually clsrarged nature of

CU

Woolf's language: f i r s t , that the mmihmne i s a kind of hymen, a

gynocentric trope of visim; and secad, that it is a wmb-like spacc, a
displac-t

of

i d e n t i f i a t i a n (SLnith 1993: 94-96; 100-102). Both

tanuous. For w, the hymen i s not at a11

i n t e r p r e t a t i a a s are s-t
equivalmt t o the male

-S.

It represents the sexually ininitirtsd;

t h e penis carries no such camotatim. For another, the wamb cbes not so

much escape gader i d e n t i f i c a t i a a as it acts t o t m p o r a r i l y &fer

it.

Another i n t e r p r e t i v e p o s s i b i l i t y is me which S e t h invokes t h r o q h her

language and yet strangcly omit&

that Woolf 's grape eye imctiars as

another version of mrraa's "t-parmt

carries sweral c a u r o t a t i m s of its

aai:

eyebal1'".

This m i b i l i t y

p e r m that Woolf sees herself

as samething of a visiaiary, that a b sees f i t t o appropriate this

predaninantly anckac~sitrictrope, or perhaps, quite the m i t e , that

t h i s appropriation i s s
-t

atonie, that i t reptesmts part of the

patriarchal inheritance she stmggles to iscard.

A thiird

aptim, hawcver, and ane which -th

raises coextaisively,

is the p o s s i b i l i t y of t h gmpe eyeball siaaply reptesenting a aan-body,

a "dis4mbodisd" perspective (Baith 1993: 102). Unfortiaitely, Wth has

her mm probleans with this interpretatiar, rccognizing t b a t it 1s

L* scbarz

74

possible to see this grapc eyeball as both a f rminist *@locus

of
resistance t o stable tapographics o f clam a d gaLdcrWaDd as yet
another manif-tatiai

of 8nanyPIlty -ch

triri ria t b basmess of the

body" (&nith 1993: 102). To k sure, the potmtirl . i b i g u i t y of this

disanbodid point of v i a a i s samukt d i m r t i n g , for While it
muggests,

-ter,

it

on arc band, tlnt Woolf is clahhg her m i t i o n as

dl-ts,

place she -id

miaian

on the o t k r , tint sbe m y bave revertd t o the

in 'Xaniniscaices," beause

again it i s poemible

to see Woolf as the a h e n t autobiographcr. But the fact tbat the "1"
whicfi made its debut in the Mesmir Club -ys

is n m smmhgly

synonynmus w i t h the "eye" dots not necessarily man that Woalf hss
8he is not , rf t e r al 1,

dispensed w i t h either the self or its -mmt.

pretending tlmt anyaie other than herself 1s the "presmt" subject of

this autobiography. Hhat has changd,

i s the relatiamhip

-CI:,

betwfcn the Wcriba and inscribing abjects, for this naw se-

slippery as the grape nirmhrane itself, in arc t

-

as

apparartly iusai

through a perspective which is relevant t o both past a d presmt selves,

and, in another, sepante by an acute aelf -canacioumesis which

~ r s c o r e st b distance betwasn thhse selves.

This distance bet-

past d pr-t

selves, a l r d y h i n t d a t

in the begiruring of the tact w i t h W o o l f ' s annamamuat of t

h date m
-ch

she began t o write, aaw bec-

te &je&

of another s e l f -

carsciaru digressim. W o o l f '8 c a i t w a t i m is a t a l y

that the

t d by

the idea

strmgth or intcasity of her racollactiars makes thm aahou

"more real than the pruent

inrninrit"

(SP 67),

mr-Roustian notion

tbat, a t times, a b "can go hack t o S t Ives mre coapletely" (SP 6 7 )

Lm sdxmrz
than she could t o the "presmt" morning.
that certain

cvdnts

mt

this suggests for Woolf is

niay "have an existarcc hdepm%mt of

6 7 ) . In other words, the

75

mr

&dS"

past may be a type of avenue, "a 1-

(SP

ribban of

scenes" (SP 6 7 ) , but wfiat aaablu us to travcl wn tbat road again is

the intensity of the w t i m wc s t i l l carry w i t h us, for we cannot

"listen i n to the past" (SP 6 7 ) withnrt

lire

kird of a plug to

facilitate o w b u i n g . The pmcess of 1:cc0llectimrthiar, 1s saatthing

or b a s the past ml-

like eavestopping. W e carurot r-1:

the

sotvds m t b other side of t b wall are loud Quwgh t o be bard.

To illustmte uhat she

iilemory-her

rmrim,

b l f provides us w i t h are such

''feeling .bout the looking glass in the lnll" (SP 6 7 ) .

Recalling the harise at St Ives arct mre, anly na# m i n g ahead t o a

time when she uas six or sevm, she discusses the cautant sharae an
guilt she associates not only uith the lodllng glsss at Talland H o u s e ,

but also w i t h al1 of the mirrors she bas sincc sncoroitered. She attempts

two explanati-

for bcr "looking glass s h d (SP 6 8 ) : me camected

with the idea that she tas a tamboy as a Child and that u r y form of
vanity "would have bcar against [ber) t-y
s e c d caanectd w i t h the m i b i l i t y

puritan" (SP 68) Clbelarged. Al-

code" (SP 68); a d the

of an irbrite "streak o f the

sectlg to which her -te-1

in the d Woolf does not

se^

grandfather

satAsf id w i t h either

of these expluutiam, roaliting she ir no tarigcr a tomboy an

a ~ o w l a d g i n gan opposing family traitiai of benuty Ud cultivateci

faaininity, she canclirde~mvertbless tht the associated intansity is

what enables hier ninansy of tbat tim.

L.

76

scfiiinrt

Houever, just as Woolf aems to bave closad the i-,

she relates

d d , in fa&, be tbt actual reasan for the

another arrmary -ch

intarsity of ber feelings about the lookirrig glassi. fit is as

herself has b~ lutmahg in at t h -11

Woolf

of the past ud bas mly just

bard the saund which i s larrd QIough to penetratt t h r e to the prssait

-t.

Tbat so\nd is Ocrald Ouckworth's wlestatiax

Once uhen 1 uas very s n l l Gerald urdnrorth l i f t d rc mto

at Talland House in S t

this Lie. the during roan s

i
-

Ives], and as 1 nt t b r e he began t o e%plore my -y.

rumbex the 2-1

of his

f i r a l y rnd stAulily 1-r

going

U e r mg c l o u ; going

1-r.

tbat he would stop; h m 1 stiffamd

1 can

ramber baw 1 bped

axx wrigglsd as his band

approachbd my private parts. But it did not stop. iiis hand

explord

niy

private parts too. 1 r

r resmting,

disliking it--ubt i s the word for so dunb and m i x d a

feeling? It nrrst have bem strang,

1 still recall it.

8-

This sriri# to shw that a feeling about certain parts of the

body;

ha8

thcy

tham to be t

nrrt not tae touched; has it ir wrong to allaw

e

; mst be instinctive. ft prwes that

Virginia Stephm was not born m the 25th Jaauary 1882, but
w a bom
~
nany thmmads of years ago; ud bad fran the very

fimt t o mcamtes instincts r l r d y rcquira by thoitsands

of urcsstr-es

in the past (SP 69).

1 have cita3 this passage rt length not d

p beause i t

8
-

to be a

more sufficient explanatiar for Woolf's looking glass sbme, but also
because i t opms, as uell rs re-ogsas, several

*ch

bear

77

L. s c b a r z

discussiar. In t k f i r s t instance, it reinfor-

the notiaa that

einotianal i n t a i s i t y an m r y are inextricably borind for Woolf.

Secandly, it reinvites

ris

t o caui&r ber poitim in relatim t o both

patriarchy and Victorianisrna, for the rccollectiar illustrates the

dominance of bath: the child expectsd t o remin silart and yieling as

the anale authority figure takcs what he presums t o be his right.

Lastly, it re-opcns the issue of Woolf's body asd sexual i h t i t y , since

w e realize naw that her bodily abbcncc i n "Raninis~ces"may have anore

t o do with this trauaatic rebirth than any p r d l i n g notiar of

Victorian flmininity.
Looking f i r s t at the caincctim between motion and recollectim,
w e obeerve that Gerald I)uckworth's abuse not anly for-

the roder t o

recarsider Woolf's notian of m r y , h t also causes Woolf berself t o

review the proccss. I d a t e l y follawing this profamly disturbing

passage, Woolf returns t o the subject of her earlier digressiai,
cammting alaaost apologetically that UIese f i r s t few mrmnries "as an
accoiart of [her]

life" are s

t "misleading, because the

me

does not remanber a r e as imqportant; perhaps t h e y are more important" (SP

69).

Naw, rather than focusing ar those ummnts of musual -tensity,

she shifts instead t o what she cal 1s a ~ n w n bof 'bon-being" (SP 7 0 ) ,

thoBe nmumts uhich form "a kiad of e c r i p t c o t t m m>ol" (SP 70).

SecMngly, W o o l f ha8 id.na-

taphor t o replace the m l 1 at which

the autobiogrsgher attaipts t o listm in at the past. But the

qualitative differmce betwccrr a wall and cotton wool s w t s that this

is more than s i n p l y a subetitutim. Thc wall was r definitive sepantian

of past and pr-snt;

it u8s inptrmsable. The cotton wool of non-bsing is

Lm S ~ b a r ~

78

just the opposite: it is a kind of pliable backgrasxi agaiiut which al1

of i f a m so
thetse

-d
ro

ga-

tbcrr siwfiance. In

*wo-.

nurwnts forever trelegate t o te cottmy b.ze are wbat .Ilou for

the epiphanic clartity of thoee m

t
s -ch

we actually do r-,

thme exanples of which Woolf provides r childhoai fight s b brd uith

u b n she realize that r fl-r

her brotber, Tboby; a t

-

integral part of the earth in which it gr-;

neighbour 's

()(r

and the

uas an

asrnourceinart

of a

Valppa8) suicide.

W r e these exceptional

umiirrts

interesthg than u h t they ex-lify,

deaaninator, that these

l d , howsver, i s perhaps more

for Woolf iscwers a c u m m

with t h a n a peculiar horror and

m~lldnts"brQCIQht

a physical collapse; t h e y s e a d doninrrit; myself passivemm

(SP 72). kd
what this suggests for her

parer through r-on

is "that as am gets older aie has a grsster

t o provide an explmation; and tbat this

cxplanatia b l m t s the slege-humer force of the blaw" (SP 72). ait

waiders, i n fact, i f this very digressian

aa

iunvrrts

bdng is not just such an expluratim, art -ch

of being aillid n a v

mables Woolf t o b l m t

the force of Gerald Ikckworth's "sla4e-hamr". in any case, it brings

W o o l f t o the realizatian tbat sach -ries

are gnly wer the

"scaffolding in the backgmudm(SP 73), for in s p i t e of thcir

intmsity, it is the autobiograpbr wiro nist make the stmcture whole by
atknpting t o briw the henmaeutic

mps:

Fraa this 1 reach wbat 1 might cal1 a philophy; a t any

rate it i s r caastmt iea of mine; that be;lhiad the cottan

-1

i s hicich a patteni; tbat rrt--1 mean a11 hiuaarr beings--

are cainectd w i t h t u s ; that tbe whole world i s a work of

L.

79

art; tbat wc are parts of the work of art. Hmnet or a

Bccthwuaquartetistbetmthrknrtrthisvastmssthatwe

a l 1 ttr mrld. But t h r e in no v

, tbre is no

are the words; we are the music; wc are the thing itself (SP
72).

Almost anticipatirkg a

a lei chi an'' 1-

of r d r responsc, Woolf s
@

so-called philoeophy places the author/autubiogmpkr in an extr-ly

pouerful positiarr, a poaitian which not only cartradicts her w

stance, the idba that the f o m should cboose i t s e l f , but 8180 revises
her notion of t h r e l a t i w p kt-

thc past ard the presait, because

clearly the interpretive act of thc presart is as much a M i m of

mmory as the past evsnts ~ e l v e s .

Al1 of

-ch

brings us b a c . t o the passage at ha&,

and, more

ixnportantly, to the qunstim of Woolf's interpretive choiccs. Ccrtainly,

part of what she recalls is her childhood reactiar t o Gtrrld Duclrworth's

abuse, but h m
f o r -le,

explains her reactiar is equally important. The idsa,

t h t it is instinctive and matrilima1 , sathing passai

ciam throwh "thmmads of rnccstresses" (SP 69) is extrsmcly thmq#k

prwokiag, for it suggests not m l y that Woolf's relatinnnhip to

patriarchal minmce is accidantal, an inhcritd canmodity, ht also

that patriarcbal -ce

i s i t s e l f s y s t d c , mvoidable, ata hardly

specific t o the Victorian erra. -ce,

she is able t o carcludc that she

was born %any thamxds of years ago" (SP 6 9 ) , because, a v e n the

before her. But what do ue maake of this tnplaaatim for Woolf's looking

L. Scimarz

80

glass sharae, this shared i h t i f i c a t i a r with al1 ogpressd mrmar

throughout thc ages? 1s it

a fraiinist gesture of solidarity -ch

wrcr@oing? O r , i s it

reinforces her instinctive sense of -triarchl

rather a justification of patriarchy, an explanatim aot a i k e the aac

which follaws George Duckworth's wlestatim in "Old B l m b u r y " ?

My

instinct tells

iac

it i s the f i r s t ,

f a s t gesture which

attanpts t o replace tbc Puritan "amcestors" who furk h h b d the looking

glass w i t h t)iese "ance~tresses'~

explanatim, h e v e r , i s s

facilitate her rebirth. This

t -1icatd

of the passage. I f , irYlrrrl, this *rd

by t h potmtial ambiguity

i d m t i f i c a t i m is an expressim

of Woolf's fanini'ni, then tbit iea tbat s k sbmld be inriistinguishable

fran al1 other w a w n is potaitially isturbing, since effectively it

ccmstitutes an erasut:e of her idsntity, an erasure of thaee qualities

which earlier in "A Skctch of the Past" s e a n d so mcessary t o her

autobiographical craft. In other mrrds, Woolf givcs us room t o

miscmstrue the notion of thinking "back t h r e our motlaers" (Woolf
1928: 76; Lee 79). But whether we believe tnt Woolf bas 1-d

from

her foramthers or rsactd against them (Lee 79), it is still more

likely an explanatiar than the one wtrich s-ts

e i t k r that she has

acceptai htr abuse as part of a normative pattern in history, or tbat

she is trying

aice

again t o gloss over the tnath. Tht l a t t e r ,

especially, scrii# inapprapriate, since Woolf's am feelings of

madequacy about getting at thc

"truth" cause her t o do just t k

opposite, as she offers up yet uiother recollcctim t o spplrnimt the

already accruing list of possibilities:

L. s ~ b a ~81~
1 drsgit that 1 m a lodng i n a glass uhen a horrible face-

-the face of an animal---ly

shawed wer my 8houlder. 1

carmot be sure i f this uas a droam, or i f it bappmai. Was 1

loduag in the glass cme &y u

h soacthiag
~
i n the

backgrarnd mve, a d rrccmsd t o me alive? 1 clrislot be sure.

the other face in the glass,

But 1 have always t-ai

whetirr it tms a dream or a fact, rnd that it frightam

at

(SP 69).

Naj, instea of placiag herself i n t h 1-

context of al1

mimni,

she

returns t o the reafm of private specificity. I t is not relevant whcther

what she rawmbers is a & m m or r e a l i t y , bccause, regadless of the

fact, it is her caisistcnt reactiar t o this nunent that d c e s it real

for her.

What is relevant, -,
ambiguous r-lity

is Woolf's subetitutim of this

for what, earlier, in s p i t e of multiple explanatians,

she haci wantsd to portray as an imwtable wmt, for what this suggests

is that Woolf is att-ting

t o extricate hesself f rom the kind of logic

which dictates that realism

mrist

nccsssarily be acca~paniedby

transparent nsaning. In other words, the fa&

evmt i n in nebulrrrb territory bet-

that Woolf situates this

drsam ( f i c t i m ) and reality

iqplies a certain dis8atisfactim with 1it is a v e r s i m of r e a l i t y uhich fails t o cn-

realism, since, c l e a r l y ,
the particular

reality of her am experisncc. i b t this i ~ l i e s -,se,

relocatim of Woolf ' 8 subject positim. N o 1-r

of objectivity -ch

is the

c m t m t w i t h the myth

mwld out bcr subjectivity as a type of f i c t i a i

within the daainaint r e a l i t y , Woolf bas decided t o seinscribe her s s a l i t y

L. scbmrz
fran her am paculiu angle of visim, W e r -1-

82

or

incaaprchrrrsible it n y sean t o the roder who ia cxpecting the -th,

linear progressian of an autobiographial 8thje&

d saoe sort of

teleological destination. If it i a y be said that Woolf bas any

estinatian at a l l , it i s t o find a language of ber am.

mre euident whar we

That this is no sinple task, hmmrer,

read back mer the carstant shifting of iAua and the wetlll prOctSs of

self-revisiar uhich ocCupies the better part of this i n i t i a l irrstalment

of the "Sket~h".Acutely auare of self-repres-tatim

.rd m r y i t s e l f ,

increasingly "self" conscious, an indicatian of htr &sire

Wooi f bec-

t o fiad an alternative forai of reference, perhaps one in which she is

able t o see herself apart fran the mirror which aluays ref 1-

patriarchal reality. I f m l y for this reasai, t h , her isproportiarate

devotiar in this art-

explaaatim for

t o the discwery of a -le

her looking glass ahane s e m ~wrst appropriate, for it is as though tach

successive explanatim brings her closer t o brciaking the -th

of the mirror The whole process is

fran an explanatiar -ch

surface

kind of syaibolic rebirth---ming

is infectd by patriarchal gcadcr logic (tbat

it suite hcr tniritinyish mamer, or tblt it ught bave bcai the religioiis
legacy of hes patcrnal grandfather) t o a m in which she i-tifies

herself with al 1 uam&ind thr-

of her birth t o mark b r f aiinist -mess

catalyst) , and

Uu_n,

even revising the amment

the a-,

(in s p i t e of its atrociow

finally, t o me i n which shc "r-rs"

as sathing which might just as m l 1 b v e bear

the -le

dream, relcgating the

horrifie animal in the mirror (perbaps patriarchy itself) t o the nether

rcgim betwisar reality ud fictian. Tbcrefore, mlike Woolf, wfio sees

Lm W Z

83

her "mal" birtMay as the day of Gerald's ahme, 1 WOUld situate it

here, i n this final explanatiai of ber 1
-

here that her s u b j e c t i v i t y amer-

the reflecti-

qlass -,

for thc fimt

for it is

fram al1

tiinc,

in the patriarcfial mirror.

fi Woolf's trarrsitian, in the subs-t

(re)birth t o matriarch

rraciairs

three aitries, tram

a little i r d c m a synibolic 1-1

one urror for another o r wm t o

(perbaps an attpt t o s-titute

retreat into her grape-like wamb), m the 1-1

of discourse it

represerrts a s i w f i c a n t change, not only because it cotmterbalances the

patriarchal loomuigs of the prwious sectiai, kit also W u s e it

prwides her w i t h a very diffesmt vocabularp. I t is m the l a t t e r , 1

believe, that w e should place the saaghasis, particularly i n light of

Woolf's anmuncammt that she may have "discoverd a possible fonn for
[her] notes[,] [ t l h a t is, ta niake t h indiide the present-at

lst

mough of thc presait t o serve as a platforni to stand upm" (SP 75). Her
desire t o inclildt the mment of inscriptim, t o r w z e hcr "self"
apart fran the selves she irrscribes, siwls hitr m e beyad the looking

glass. That -ch

of the follouing entries, wreover, begns with

discussiar of the presait

ninmrrit

which manage t o catalyte hsr m

brief

an with those elamrats of the prescrit

t

s of the past,

mde aware of Woolf's l i f t a p a r t f r m b r existaace as

that wc u e

an author of the

L. Sc)umuz

text, su@gests, in fact, tbat she h- f

84

a both btr form and &u

platform.

In ttrms of form, for instm, Woolf bas finally machai the

point of self-revisim whcre she ackrawlinfluence of "invisible prescnccs" (SP 8 0 ) ,

d insists

the

thoee things without uhich a

piece of life-writing w a l d be futile. kd it is in light of t h s e

"invisible presens" tbat Woolf r e t m to her wther, t m z i n g her

ntrality not f rom the enclosure of ber grrpe-like nmbrane, but f ran
a "vast space [

..., a] great bal 1 [ ...]with wisdaft letting in strange

ligbts" (SP 79). The perspective is still tbat of the outsider, kit

a i k e Woolf's grape visiar, t h great bal1 -ive

is neithcr a

taphor for the opacity of rrr.rnnry, nor an a t t w t to recapture the

i..9ressim of inf ancy. Rather , it representrr a passage in -ch

Woolf

sees herself at the ccntre of a ncxus of infliisnce, of strmge lights

which bear

her presenec. The separatiar, therefore, is not

bctwem herself an a world in which others have carstruetsd her

acaxding to tbeir reality, but betwcmr herself and hcr am ability to

mnstruct the reality arorPd her. In otimr words, she has recarstnicted
her subject positiar and, effectively, i n the pr-,

fom a uay of

mking b r presmce felt. Thorre uuwets which uere sem&ngly out of her

gnsp

at the bgimhag of '@ASketch of the Past", premambly because s k

looking for t b a n in al1 of the wraig narrative structures, are naw

there for the taking; her arly tas&is t o put those strange 11-

into

wotrds.

That she 8hould rrcturn yet again to her earliest n m ~ r y ,then, is

a t appropriate, for, to sane extant, Woolf is seeing her mther for

L. Sdmasz
the f i r s t

tiine.

kd

80,

not suprisingly, Woolf att-ts

her motber fran the fable of Julia St-

8s

t o dissociate

which bad infacte her

childhood, aaking a CQllCaLted effort to loak for the "pUUcular pcnm"

presence" (SP 83). Iac thad she chwees,

beneath the "-1

likewise, is a fonn of dissociatim, the srnhlanee of a biographical

sketch fran "Remin%scieaces" with a cmtent tbat is at

i r d c and

highly self-carsciaus. Nas, nt&r thsn dcpicting her mther as "a11 the

golden mcbant._mmts of Tauiysaiian sentiment"

(m3Z),

or as an angel

i n the hotise ubse attcimpt to keep up the ' m l y of life" (SP 83) had
exhausted her, Woolf prwides us w i t h many of the dietails she bad

earlier abBcurd in favour of the iml portrait. For instance, thrthe lem of Julia S t e p h d s two very incangmms iaarriages, Woolf allaws
us to see that htr mother uas actually a "'mixture of the Wadrmna and a
w a n a n of the world"'

(SP 90), as a f r i a d of the f-ly

bad mce

described her. But perhaps more importantly, Woolf ackrouledges the

cauplexity of her am feelings tarards her mther, and especial ly
tclvards her mther's -th.
Julia Stephen, or her

the

niranccs

of f-ling

Recal ling more than just the great beauty of

a ~ l rcatataxic state,

Woolf naw discussea aa of

d sarsuality uhich wcre also part of the

maurning period. She dcscribes, for -16,

a 'bii@ficant blaze of

colour" (SP 93) at Paddington Statim, and a ssase of linguistic

transparmcy which stnack k i n a pam which Vanessa had r d t o biu in

W i n g t a r Gardars. An possibly the mst tellhg of al1 is ~ o o l f ' s

acccnmt of the family's reactiar, for she observes that i t uas not hex

mother's -th

i t s d f that uas tragic, but the fact "that it iade her

(sp 9 5 ) .

L. sdmarz
This mreality, i n fact, is tnt
forward, since what

wt

scgas

86

t o propel the autobiography

receive naw is a atalogue of sinailas d e t h

of t b faaily, ~~~t as

which attempt to &au out t br-r

it bas H m l y struck Woolf that m r t a l i t y docs not reside txclusively

w i t h her mother Again,

mt urlike this latest r m m r of

~ ber mthr,

tbt fom is -ively

"raeniniscmit", highly biograpbal ami

praaninmtly lnear, md y e t rcndtrai frm a corpletely differmt angle

of visiai. We are introduced t o Stella, for instance, fran the point of

v i c w of her

am (presait) i n a b i l i t y t o ca~tinuewriting Roger Fry's

hography. The caitext alrsady casts sathing of

an ircnic ahacbu, for

Woolf's return t o her autobiography is not mly e r s c o r d as an

interruptim of the pressnt nmmat, but also as arc p r m t d by her
"distractd and disconnectd thoisghts" (SP 95). If

wic

are expecting a

s a m t h transitlai betuem motber aind dawter, Woolf does not deliver.

Stella's portrait, i f

aic casr

caitinue to use t h label, is made up

"fmn stray anecdotes and fran what [Woolf] notical [bcrself]" (SP 96),

in other wocds, a CQmbination of stories and imaginrgs. W i t h neither

the pretmce of objectivity nor the cormpulsiaa t o wersigplify, Woolf
pr-ts

-ch

an al-t

inprsssiaristic version of her b a l f - s i s t a , ud arc

is not particularly coiapliiu-ntary. For nas, nt&rthan drawing

ber as a simple bsauty of danestic virtue, d m &pi&

amsiderably more rcpressed atid subemiait, as the

a r d the mther

SUI

(SP 96), and as r

as much a part of ber stupditd' as b r

97). The rose-colaurd glasses of

are obviously gone.

w o ~ a nwhose

ber aa
which orbits

rcute insccurity was

of t o r r 1 aucatiaa (SP

her i n i t i a l autobioqmphical attaxpt

L. S c M a r z
Ccctainly any residual dnibt w
revsiamry glrncc rt her fa-,

mat have

-lie

87

i s d i s p c l l d by Woolf's

Stcpbar. EVQ

tbc authorirl

platforai uhich bcplns tbis particular sectim suam more . s s c e i v e ,

idmtifying not only t k date, J m e 19th 1940, but also the -t
h s c r i p t i o n , "tbc present" (SP 107), as

of

smehcw this p0rt-t

will do more than any other t o carfirai Woolf's n c y - i d forai. nt she

&scribes, iurtkrmore, as the evmt utaich proiapts k r recollection i s

possibly Woolf at the height of lmr i r a a i c s m s i b i l i t y . tirst sbe

immkes the war by mentianhg that "[t)oday the dictators dictate their

tems t o Rance'' (SP 107),

the i a w r i a t e arvir-t

by relating a

detail about the toothless organ grudtr who plays in the square autsie

The ordcr of appwmm already

her windw, and, finally, her fa-.

intiptw that
T h s , to

S~IE

o vi- o

ber
~ t a m r .s both a tyruit ind a ufoan2'.

extmt, it is hardly surprisin@ wtien the f i r s t thmg we

r d about Leslie Stcphen is that "during the seven years between

Stclla's death in 1897 and his death in 1904

[...] Nessa and 1 wcre

Wly exposed wittraut protectim t o the f u l l blast of tbat strange

character" (SP lO7), f o r i t

sccnis

t o canfirm what wc a l r d y Jmw.

The surprise, i f one can cal1 it that, cams i n the self-canscious

explanatiar -ch

"

follaws, Woolf's qmdary wer wbcther or net the word

di s "
the right me, and her rsum for using the word "strange" ,

a u s e she

no langer inhrhits "the outmm ahel1 o f [her] wn cbilish

mird and body" (SP 107). In other

watt she recalls about hcr fa-.

WO-,

,
H

time has emsd a goo &al of

just as she d

d not let

t b nvwrry of IIbt: mtbr lie mtil ahe bad written Tb the LighthorrPe, so

too she

mniiot

mrmder hcr irtbr'8 iwrary mtii she ha8 i u i i y writtm

L. Schuarz

88

him out ( S 108). kd it is here tbat s b surpasses herself i n irony,

for ratkr

+_han

e t t i n g t o the uravoi&ble fiction of het rcavlr?rirrig,

she arrnor~~ces
irutea tht sht will "try t o sketch him as

[ h l think[s]

he must bave b e ~ not

,
t o [her], h t t o the world rt large'' (SP 108).
The inplicatian is sauhat nmre couplex than it might a t first a p p m r ,

since her i n t e m t i m is t o preserve a pretaicc of objectivity evm while

she is iaiagining what that "objective" perspective might be, and no las
w i t h i n the cantext of a "sketch," s ~ ~ ~ t t h w)rich
i n g r l r m y carnates

fragmentary incoc(?letmess. But if, inded, this is Woolf's intention,

then aw couid a l s o s-t

that therc is sane kind of parodg6 at

work, a type of variant zepetitim -ch

"premppses both a lm a&

its

transgression" (Hutchcool 1991: 101). The law i n this case would be the
androcentric assimption of objectivity, an s s s w t i m whichis cloerely
alliai with the notion that the (male) subject i s possessed of a s o r t of
P l a t d c mtology (-th

1993: 7 ) , an the t r a n s g r e s s i a i would be the

cantext of s u b j e c t i v i t y and incmnpleteness which stiparsdes this

objective pretence. Thus, read as a paraiy, the sketch of Leslie Stephen

is rife with subversive ircmy, for this recontextualizai objectivity not

miy

inscribes a distance bettmm Woolf ud her father (a distance

which, Uncidmtally, did not cxist in ' ~ s c a i c e s " i, n spite of the

same assmptim), but

a l s o manages t o rtcanfigure her fathcr as an

a b s t r a c t being who is held bstage by her oun subjective r e a l i t y (a

s i g n i f i e u i t reversal of the s i t u a t i m in 'aemirriscaices").

In other

words, Woolf's cartextual variatiai sucds in transioming Leslie

Steph

fran an abtract icirul t o an abtract ides.

L. Scbmzz

ovcr t h wotd "expoual" id, threfore,

Woolf's original

nmt appropriate, since t h escriptim ubich follm is not

cxposure

in t b

89

80

much an

of revelatian 8s it is an expoeure of the type me

mcounters in pmtognphy

. T b e g u i t y of the word

c m v a a i t , for by \.Lob-

i8

nevertbeless

t h e u l i e r picture Woolf is alro

rwealing herself as the m

t
o
g
m
p
h
r W tbC

the a s t uho

frames ber aubject. Hou s b chmaes to f n Leslie St-

is very mieh

in keeping w i t h her nsw-fcnm forrn, her ability to @@r-"

by incliyriina the pr-art

the past

in it. W o u depicta8 as a "strullge" cmbinatiai

of the past (a perspective uhich Woolf b s -rd

throt&

distance and

prcsinned objectivity) ud the prasent (a perspective which is amrkd by

a l
a-g

abniratim), frtslie Stcphni is at an steely and

tanpestuloits, godlike axa childlike, privileged and pmthmtic, ingenious

and uninmgbative (SP 108-116 pmssm). Rem Uoolf's pr-t

platfona ht

is also a a m whose chamcter i ~ a ybe glame fran the simpple caistructs

of his writing, wtnting which

not suit her taste, but nrnetheless

serves a purpose, for "just as a dog takes a bite of grass, [she]

take[s] a bite of h i m mwiicinally, rnd there oftcn steals in, not a

f i l i a l , but a rsldtr's affectim for him" (SP 115-116). kd so, in the

end, Lelie Stephm is not arec, but twi, tawve frai hi8 P l a t d c

seat. H e is the writer wfro is r d by the autobiograp)ihr wfio,

ultiniately, reinscribes U n as a character w i t h i n a double

iranie

of her

own nmJcing, as a fictiai in t b world accordmg to Virginia ~oolf.

As tharrgh tbc symbolic act of uritng hes fatkr mat

dld

f to discard the final vestiges of hcr literary rttacbrant to the

Stcpherr

fsniily, thc rutobiogrrphy naw proceab w i t h a kemer sarse of

btr awn distinctive litcanhingeacy

of

presait r

sigaature. More tban simply r e c m z i n g the

t m hcr: z-llcctim

in fact denmastrates hou mach of her lit-

of tbt pst, Woolf

self is bom up in that

prcsent manenta The "scene making" which daminates these final entries
i s xmt anly "[ber] natwal way of =king
Wlyich

the past", but also a way

defies ratiarality d logical argu#nt; i t 1s not a cmvmtiaral

literary dwice which will nsatly tie up or disentangle al1 of the

prePious louee thrsads (SP 142). If a
n-,

W o o l f ' s "scsac iraking" is

just the apposite, for it confuses the rsader w i t h a further collectia

of *invisible presences" (SP 80) which, al-

not mtirely inuelate,

do not approach anything r d l i n g a ~~~ventiaral

dsnausaart.

Part of this m i a i , of course, is a product of aur readerly

cxpcctatiam. For instance, wiLsn Woolf cmtinues f rom the "portrait" of
her father with a higly renlistic physical escriptim of 22 Hyde Park
Oat+

( c w l e t e w i t h details about the fiuniturc, paintings

ai

the -11,

d i s b s m the table, .Ilid the strt scane b e y a d the u i d a m ) , wc are

mre tban a Little discaiccrte by Woolf's narrative choice. For the

carr;ervative readcr, the inCQLOL7Uty is a niatter of o h ; t U s type of

Wriptiar is amething wirich uould nornlly appear at the begirrning of

an autobiography. But wm for tb rsder wha bas follfar, al 1-0

Woolf thus

for her arnwnts of being an nar-bcing, there i r sanething

L. scbarz

91

msettlrg about the fa& tbit &rc, for the f i r a t t i r sin"Rminisances",

-ter

a descriptian of such realistic

proportim. An yet, i f wc follar thrargh, ue discover, ancc

m,that

mqressiar, kit a "rWscsntmform that Woolf has

it is not a Ifte-

misshagai for bcr arn ad. It is the

c a b t e she desiwtes,

ftramc

she re-frirss, the literary

both i r a i i u l l y ssd appropriately, for her

descriptiar of "the cage" (SP 116), that baiue which bad "framd" her
being for so nany ycars. Mot~cover,as te se-cnactmmt of an insamiac

saital tour she hd takm of the house twa nights earlier (SP 116), a
tair which ultimately I

this realistic

d to a place of rd-,

a r-

of her oun,

is not anly diffusal by the psychological realism

SB

of thc "present" platf orm, but aiso by the introductiar of a space -ch
is far mre symbolic tban mterial in i t s rcalism. In othcr words, i f w e

are lodting f o r the type of closure which might attaid linear realism,
Woolf has managecl t o point us i n another direction cntirely.
Sukimly, in a room at the back of the hause that Woolf rcmembers

as two halves Mhich " f w t each other" for damirurice (SP 123), a living
half and a slceping half , the rsadcr cannot hclp hat acccpt t h a t W o o l f
is ' W n g " another
bas bear t-sd

SC-.

The painterly attention to physical details

by the syiabolic significance she naw attaches t o

naarly every item. Ebr

utample,

the looking glass that George had g i v m

her is descrtibsd as "imitatiar", r word which, i n the c a r t e of Wolf 's

autobiographial oeuvre, crrriea iuitiple suggestiais: t h a t George's

aristocratie airs wcrc mtiaing h t

pretmce; or, perhps, that he was

imitating U s brother Gerald i n his ahse o f Virginia; or, possibly men

that Woolf, fran ber pressnt pempoctive, is able t o denigrate the

L. schnrz
patriarchal associatians of the mirtor, if not
i t s e l f . Ch anotber level as well, the -1

92

pattern of abuse

glass is

art

of many icons

of Victorian 1Qdyhoo uhich are part of the sleeping half of her man;
al1 of her

i t is a t war w i t h tbe living half, the half -ch

-tains

books and writing iwlamnts, the things -ch,

quite literally,

belqng t o her "self". kd thtin, it is al1 the more s i g a i f i a n t that the

looking glass is associatai w i t h btr dormant life, for it s v t s mt

m l y that t h codrs of Victorian prapriety b v e been laid to r u t , but
also that the living half, her very livelihod, his w m the w a r .
Confirmation of the victory sews t o e s t in the f act that W w l f
now rejoina her "presmt" platform, drawing the rsadcr's a t t a r t i m t o

her authorial subjectivity. Recalling that 22 Hyde Park Gate had bec-

a Guest house, she mxdtts uhethcr any of the gutcrts hsd r d To the
Lighthouse, or A Roan of Che's Okal, or The Wmm Raader, and, i f so,

whether "he or she might say: 'This roan enplains a great deal "' (SP
123-124). But i f sornehaw the portent es-

the reader, Woolf m u adds

an interpretatim of her own, haw the

two halves symbolized with the intarsity, the naiffled

intansity, w h i & a butterfly or wth feels

w)iwr

with i t s

sticky tremulous legs and asrtamae it piishes out of the

chrysalis an unerges a d sits quvering laeside the broken

case for a

fiinnurit;

its wings still crcassd; its eycs

d a z z l d , incapable of flight (SP 124).

Certainly the remder's i-licit

that

wt,

alliance with the b t e l grrsts suggests

too, shmld avke the effort t o

r d those texts i n order t o

reach a better taderstanding of that psychic spacc; for, without this

L. Scfawart

93

furt&r kiowlege, wc u g h t not be able t o f u l l y appreciate the victory

of the living balf , 8-9

d g e of [hcd

mly the y o m g V i r g i n i a "sitting there an the

braitan chrysalis" (SP 124) and WQdCring wirther or not

she ever todr flight. W o o l f ' s invitatim to caruider bu fictian as part

of ubat caitributes t o h r subjectivity intimates a very successful

attmt, telegraphing y e t another rejectiar of the id-

autobiograghy as a genre is -ily

that

limitd t o the realm of fa*.

Thus, it is not that Woolf f a i l s t o prwide us with any

txplanation whatsocver, mly that what wc receive is lcss of an answer

than it is a eummtratim. kd surely, for the rasder with utpectatiars

of linear caitinuity, the follawing "scaic" is smething of a

disappointment, for

aice

again Woolf retums to

St

Ives.

bhat

is

peculiar about this scene, houever, is that Woolf &es not return to her
earliest recollectim, h t instead to a moamt which p r d a t e s ber birth.

In fact, she relates that she "was to be born in the follawing January"
(SP 127).

What Woolf bas w r i t t a r , in other words, is -lete

fabricatiai, sunething which coaifirms hcr idea that t u s autobiography ,

like the f i c t i m she writes, is a "loose story" (SP 124). More pewliar
still is the tact that Woolf's s t a t d intantiai here, to describe

herse1f in relatian t o Vanessa an Thoby (SP 125). invokes an iea she

expressd earlier in the "Sketch", that in o&r

"to escrih ~

truly one mut have sane standard of canparism" (Sp 65, -1s

mine).

A l l of which invites us t o w i & r an interesting cartmctim. Hou

can she describe bcmelf "truly" in r e l a t i a i t o what she bas alreay

ackn~ledgedas a fictim? The m r , of course, i r that ahe cannot,

that she must also includc b r s e l f as part of the f i c t i m . H e r retum t o

St Ives, therefore, is not s o much an act of rcpctitim as it is an act

of self-rwisim. I t is as tholugh the actual pro-

of writing the

autobiography h m b r e t Woolf t o the rlizatim tbat 8he herself is

as wuch a part of the caastnact as anything else. If m l y t o c&im our

suspicions, the follawing escriptim of her brother Thaby a t St Ives

seaas t o occupy a border regim s e r t bttwear r e a l i t y an fictiai,
s o closely rssmbling mny of the passages in To the Lighithowe that it
i s difficult t o tell &ch

one came before the o t h d 7 . But whether it

is a fictimal r s a l i t y or a real fiction is not particularly relevant,

for, i n any case, i t dcmrnstrates that Woolf "came to think of life as

s-thing

of extrane reality. And this of course increrrsed [her] sense

of [her] own importance" (SP 137).

This heightarsd sense of reality i s amst acute in Woolf's final

autobiographical antry, in uhich she attributes t o herself the

perspective of a conplete autsider. Recalling hier father not as the

paterfamilias or cven as an udividual, but as a part of his social

enviraunent and its attendant ideologies, she represents herself as a
gypsy girl who bas happeaed

irpon

a great circus -ch

pi-

her

curiosity (SP 152). S h e stands apart tram "the game of Victorian

Society'' (SP 1%)

and looks in a t al1 of the peaple u b "playal" in

accordance with its rules. What Woolf sees here is quite cwealing, not
because she is lodcing at the uay things "really" wcre, but bscause of

the extrane angle of vision she attaches t o the scaae. 22 Hyde Park Gate

is no laigcr a cage, but

i,

patriarcbal ma-

r q r d s fran ber

distant (and dist8nci.n~)

1actaphorical perspective; ber father i s the
~~~ork" und George, who naw appears to k the "perfect fossil of the

L. sctmarz

95

Victorian age" (SP 151), "fill[sJ in the fmummrk w i t h al1 kirds of

saws" (SP 152). Morwver, any girl

miautely-tee-

[...] ha no chance rgainst its fangs- N o otbr

"ruthless ma-

&sires--say

tdm inhabitai that

t o paint, o r t o -te--could

Thus, f rani this extemal .nd d i s t a n t

be takm seriously" (SP 157).

perspective, Woolf

is able t o strow

us the inhesart cartndictim of a yamger self, the fact that she, l i k e

many uanen of bcr day, h m g prccariotuly i n the bolance bctwccn the

inside and outsi&

of thcir s o c i e t a l codes.

t o be the spccuiar othcr by which her fa-

So latg

as she was cartent

@ her brothers could

define their fainrilia1 daninance, she uas accepted as part of the

riachine; but, any step t a k m tawards hcr a m subjectivity, any m t i m t o

break the m e r rules, and she wss quickly ouste3 by its merciless

fangs. More inportantly, Woolf shows us tht i t is i n f i n i t e l y preferable

t a be

an outsider in a society of me's

ani choarring,

for as an

autobiographical subject who has configurai (and reconfigured) her

"self" t o a point where hcr perspective no lmger st&lss

two worlds,

or two balves of a roan, she is m m s t r a t i n g t h a t she has f i n a l l y takm

flight, that sht has not d

foinid her form, but a l s o her siwture.

Retracing the various iuidPn of self-represmtatim -1oyai

by

Woolf wer the course of thirty-thrsc years, fran 'acminiscmces" (1907)

t o '@ASketch of the Past" (1939-1940), ue discover a k h i of inap, a
which not a a l y irdicates the -tant

relocaticm of htr subject

aiap

La scbarz

96

positim, krt also the shifting a t t i t u d t of her writing self tarards lm?

awn subjectivity. In "Rminiscmcd@,t k authorial -if,

apprc11ticsd in

the ways of Victorian autobiography and bearing thC s-

of p ~ t r i u c h a l

danhance, i s d i f f i c u l t t o separate from the authored 8ubject whoee

anestic s i t u a t i m and a b c n t presmce seem periectly cpatible uith

androcartrie cawmtian. kd yet, avcrr withdut Occam's rator, we may

iscern the nasmt si-

of tensim. Thit patriarchal

DO-

are

implicitly cballmged by t k prdairinrtely matriarcha1 focru; the

private whasis of the mbject matter is comterd by the public

endeavour of the autobiography i t s e l f ; and the relatiaral subjectivity

inherait in the biographical portraiture is t g p t r d by t

h hint of a
shard subj e c t i v i t y bettricai Woolf anci hcr sister Vanessa.
In the Wenoir Club contributions, the s w a t i m betwriting aelf and writtm self bec-

Woolf 's

fat: more evident. Woolf has

dispemsed with most of the Victorian fonaality that bamts the =lier

piece. The cpletely othersd s e l f , presiiiuhly a Victorian pose of

modesty, has g i v m uay

t o a clearly delineatd presance, both in tenm

of the narrating "1" and the sexual body. N

c is this amre apparait

than i n "Old Bloamsbury," with Woolf not mly introducing the

h & p e n d ~ t voice of her diary, h t also r sexual ftrankless which is
unpreceentd. The pretmce of objectivity, likexise, h~ bem replacsd
by an auareness of the subjectivity of subjectivity. 9i#raing t o i r d z e

instead of idealize and opting f o r artistic arrangemnt i a s t d of

l m r organizatiar, Woolf is b g i m i n g t o assert lmr authorship. She is

also bcginning t o w t i m the r e l a t i a c ~ ~ h ibpe t u e ~autobiography ud

fictim, for whcre the earlier piece scaploye fictional tauebas f o r

L. Schwarz

97

decorous snd dccorative pupases, W e iaterim a t t w t s at

autabiography secin t o ackrawledge the msubjective grouxi that

supports both

Qanras.

Final 1y, w i t h "A S k e t c h of the Past ," Woolf 's inscribuig attitilde
towars the self she inscribes is deciely more -1ex.
author, has bccaac anach more self--cimas.

Woolf, the

The qricstim naw is not so

much a mtter of the subject rt band as it 1s a matter of htw that

subject is remderai. In other uords, Woolf is not simply revising the

way

in which she chooees t o epict the scme, but actually revising the

way in which she sccs the relati-p

bettmen herself as autobiographer

and herself as the rcmeiabcrcd subject. And pcrhaps, for this masopi, the
designatian o f "sketch" is nmt appropriate, sincc the piece i s
colrstantly shifting its perspective, never allwng its outlines t o take
ooi

any distinctive forai. Ran the slippery ambiguities of her grape-

eyeball, t o the great hall w i t h its sidelights of inflmce, to the

gypsy who s
-

apart fran the ciretas of Victorian society, the lais

through which ue vi-

Woolf's reality is ncvcr the same.

But more imrtsntly, the lsns through uhich Woolf vieus herself

is -11

y iinstable. 8hc bsgins with an idea of her autobiographieal

self as eavesroppet:, the notim that manory, like s d , must be

intense m m to p i t r e thrargh the m l 1 of the past-that

b m d a r y which separata thc writirrig

fim

aod the writtar s e l f . Finding this

explanatim soiaswhit inadquate, hiowcver, Woolf decides that the wall is

actually more l i k e cottcin wool, r permbable haze of nai-being u p a ~a d

through which special uariats erge w i t h ovemhtlming clarity. Although

Woolf's same of t h e nearly epiphrnic nmnts dictates a certain

L. Schwarz

98

artistic passivity, the bomdary betuwn past ud prsaait selves is

nevertheless brmking d m , for seeaaingly Woolf r m z e s that ber

prcsencc as an author i s sanehou linke t o the presence in the tcxt.

this camectian, as she d e s

Indeed, her subgequa~tshift a

1
-

a delibetate effort t o inclwie the prcsait in the pst. Each diary-like

entry annomces her p r e s ~ c ewith the inclusiar of a brief passage which

d e t a i l s the

~ ~ ~ l l ao
en
f tinscription

m e s as a platf a m

md, -re,

fran which ta lainch her memory of the past. kd thus, within the scope

of the "Sketch" alme, Woolf has gane fraa an author wiro feels daninated
by her mernories t o an author who carsciously &minates her recollectim,

from an idea tnt the fonn will choose i t s e l f t o an idea that she alam

can chaose k r f om.

In temm of subjectivity, therefore, Woolf has cpletely

abandaned the idea of autobiography as an objective historical accomt.

If there is any mirror of r e a l i t y here at a l l , it is me which reflects

her struggle t o btmk auay fran traditional modes of represmtation,
modes which sean to have the " m r of treflecting the figure of nmn a t

twice its natural site" (Woolf 1928: 37). Hcnct, Woolf's t r a n s i t i m fran
the "looking glass conscioirsncss" (Gray 81) of the earliest mtry t o the
highly subjective rciality of the hter =tees 1s extreartly significant,
for it not m l y siwls hcr desire t o break .way fran the smoth, linear

surface of the laoking glass narrative, but

8180

ndicates that she has

came thraugh the lodung glass, to a subject poaitim which no 1

-r
dcpends

upon that reflectd reality. The process of s e l f - r w i s i a r , i n

other words, bas taken her fran resigpratiaz t o reassi-t.

NOTES
1. athough James King's Virginia rJbo1f (mdm: Parguin, 1994) claims
t o be the " f i r s t full-scale literary biography" ( m i ) of Woolf, Hemime
Lee's more rcccnt Virpinia klbolf (Landar: Qiatto and W i n d u s , 1996) is
ffclry b i t as exhaustive, and possibly more s o in teof sawing aut
the carnections bctwcar Woolf's litenturc and autobiography. Anothcr
formidable source, houever, is R o g e r Poole's 2% QhAolmm Virgrinia -1 f
(Cambridge: Clinbridge UP, 1978; 2nd ed. 1995) -ch, because of i t s
attcnipt t o mavc away fran the cancnicity of w t i n Bell's biography and
Lemard Woolf's autobiography, strives t o xead the autobiographical back
into the fictian.
2. These manoirs were not publishcd until 1976 uith Jeanne Schulkind's
collected editim -ts
of Ru'ng (New York: HBJ, 1976).

3. Any further citaticiars f ran Maamts of Bcing will acknawledge a

spccific text with the follwing shorthand: '~uniniscarces"(m);"22
H m Park Gate" (H#;); "Old Bloamsbury" (03); ''A Sketch of the Past"

(SPI
4- The cmcept of persam, the social fame adopts t o satisfy his
or her ~~~~~t, would have hem w e l l knawn t o Woolf, since she
&ruent
an intennittcnt stries of treatmemts for her breakdoms and
d w e s s i m s (ranging from the Parwinian t o the Psychoanalytic) which
began shortly a f t e r the -th
of hier father in 1904. The Hogarth Press
al= published mglish language eitims of R a ' s works, although it
i s evidmt fran Woolf's diaries that she did not read thecn mtil a f t e r
t&e outbreak of World War II. Furthemore, the degree t o which Fr&
influez~ced"A sketch of the Past" i s sanewhat =certain. Louise DeSalvo
ar~uesthat Woolf's ncw fotind acquaintance with Frcudian ideology "urged
her t o abandon her awn insights" (127), while Hermione Lee suggests that
W f was always nnich more dismissive than di-yd.
Here, a t Least, it
w d d appear that Woolf docs not invoke the accomnodative carnotations
attached t o the idea of persona.

5 . In a 1927 essay called "The New ~iography"Woolf would eventually

a&nowledge "the draperies and decencies" of the Victorian l i t e r w
cowrentims which c o l a u r d her first autobiographical attanpt,
(Lee
recognizing her praispositiar t o "caxsored, revertartial" a-ts
9)

6. I t is interesting t o note here that Woolf's later -ccptim

of
artistic "talmit" would cane t o inclide a notim of direct and indirect
inEluence, an idea that wm t h "lives of the obscure" caitribute t o
"t& productim of culture by the 'talartd"' (Houe 6 - 7 ) . See Florence
Haic ed., Traditim and the Talents of kkrircn (Urbana and Chicago: U of
Illinois, 1991).

L. Schwarz

100

7. Altaough the subetance of tese tuo m i r s are raukably similar ,

Hermiake Lee's abservatim that ths mal of tbc )(iusolcuir Rade amre
close1y rcscmbles "A Sketch of t h Past" a s t s an intercating sidelight
m the iea of litinhcritrncc (Lee 29). Additiamlly, tht year 1
have c i t d hem is anly ur approxintiar, #ince Leslie Stophm wrote tbe
bulk of the ) h w o h m Rflnlr bctMay and July of 1895. TRC actual
process of uriting cartinubd until his eath i n 1904 asd the text itself
was not publishai mtil 1977 (Edited with introduictioa by Aian Eell.
Oxford: ClarQdar Press).

8. QuistaphCr Dahl's article "Virginia Woolf's Warients of Beng and

Autobiograpbcal Tmitim i n tht StE'amily" (Journal of Uadem
Literature10 [ J m e 19831: 175-196) p h each of W o o l f ' s m i r s in
patrilineal c a r t e , d i s w i n g hirrw tbcy relate in f orm ud cmtart t o
the memoirs of Jamts Stephen (Leslie Staphar's grandfathtr), the diary
of S i r James Stsphmi (Leslie's father), the autobiography of George
Stephen (his -le) , the autobiogrrp5Ut of Fttjams S t e p h ~(teslie's
older brother) , ud -lie
Stephai's Uhzm01cur W. art note of
interest, houever, i s the fact that W ha8 no l m a w l d g e of -the&
or
not Virginia Woolf wer r d any of these ammirs. Althis would
certainly strength~the ar-t
for f m i l y irhcritance, arc
qualificatim &es cmcrge in H e n n i m e L d 8 biography which docurents
that Woolf not a r l y r d htr fathCros book, kit also todt dictatim for
the final portim he wrote just prior t o his death (List 56-57; 69). This
l a t t e r f act i s also c a a f i e by the Uhusoletan Bo& i t s e l f , -ch
records the detail of Virginia's ictatim an 14 Novaaber 1903. As for
the rest of her ancestors, it is quite possible that Woolf lmci a -t
sec&-hartd kicmlege f rom Frai Maitland's historical biograghy of her
f ather

9. Al1 accomts of Leslie stapbmr's i n v o l v m t w i t h this dictionary

suggest that he was extraml y obessive about the pro je&, nearly
tripling the original volmage he had intawlcd. The &grt o which ths
absession took hold is widarcai by the fact that Julia Stcphmi was
forced t o seek out the a r e of Dr S e t m tm atrargly advised s- metho

of mrntal release from t k "incubus of this Dictiaaary" (Lee 100). A s

far as Virginia was
W e t o r e , this uouid bave hem a nther
pentasive force i n hcr l i f e .

from ber
10. Jack Hills and Stells DuckWorth, Julia Stephar's &-ter
previous mrriage t o Herbert Dudcworth (Id. 1870), uere murid for only
a brief ptriod before Stella's -th
ar 19 July 1897. Soaa &ter the
nmrriage, Stella became il1 with peritonitis, suffering several
relapses, iartil finally b r p r w ausd a fatal c a i p l i a t i m .
Wml f ' s veilai ref ercnce t o t h intib e t w Jack Hil 1s ud Vanessa
may have further inplicatiam i f am carsiders the faet that Vanessa's
husband, Clive Bell, rrervd as Woolf's primary e s o r .nd proof reaer
while she uas writing 'X-8-."
arc might qusstim in this case
i f Woolf WM deliberately a t t m t i n g t o be nrsty i n s t d of just
adhcring t o the codes of ~ r a p r i e t y .Hcnaiart Lee's interpretatian
suggests tht Virginia uas h d e d irsing imr relatiaship w i t h Clive as a

veb&le t o disturb Vanessa, krt out of a jaalous love for her s i s t e r rnd
aot pure maliawmess (Lee 250).
11. The tenn origiriates with Barbara Welter's study Oiaity mvictars:
nie AiRcrican kkrirn in the N a t - t h
Cbrtuty (Col-:
hio Sate UP,
19?6), an g a i c n l l y refers t o the assimtim o f "four cardirill
vintues-opiety, p u i t y , submissivud d r r w t i c i t y " (21) t o the
o t b r autobiography
"traic w a m d e . Sidarie 8iaith and Jocelyn
n i a i c s , explore b the uipositian/expe&atim
of suc& an ideal affects
fs a l e rutobiographial subjectivity. S Sidrinie =th, "Elizabeth Cay
Sbntar, M e t Jacobe, rPrd Resistances t o 'Truc Woi.abnod"@in
a163ectivity, l t b t z t y , ud the Bo4y (Blomingtm: Indiana UP, 1993),
y "Tuice Otacr, Oncc -y:
Ninctemth-Century Black Woinen
Jocelyn M
Autdiograpbcrs .Nd the kacrican Literary Tmditim of Self-Effacment"
N B : A u t o / h ~Studies 7.1 (Spring 1992) : 46-61.

m,

12- As Hcriaiarc Lee has ventursd, Clive B e l 1's finctim as the proof
betwcen m i r rnd
rsacder/editor of the text tards t o blur tbt
l m - l e t t e r (&ee 235). Woolf "liked the idam of 8 rispbsw as an audimce
for her narratives" (Lee 235 W i s mine), W she was much mre
interestad in C l i v e Bell's approval, both f r m a l i t e r a r y and a rantantic
standpoint ( L e e 248-249). fn cicase, ubtbtr: appealing to a i a a h
a-rity
figure uhose p r s d i l e c t i m ms f o r "lucid", " h a m m ~ "prose
(Ise 254) o r striving t o inpress the
)rinrelf, it WOUld appear that
W f is c&oriPing t o a d i s t i n c t l y patriarchrl code.
13.. According t o Jsnics King, the Mcmoir C l u b began its meetings ai 4
Marcch 1920, ud was fonned at the Ulstigatim of Molly McCarthy "in an
attiempt t o provie a forun in which
[bcr huhnd] mght write
-thmg
other than jaunalism" (King 282). AlQwntin Bell's and
Rrarime Lee's bi-es
both conw i t h this time ftrsoat (Bell 233;
L e e 263), there is same questiai as t o the wniwrship of the group.
Since t k r e is ri tr-ous
amoiolt of ovtrlap betuea~~
tht m r s of Old
Blamsbury and those of the Mtmoir Club, it is d i f f i c u l t t o say where
QIK grcndS and the othez begins. In m y a s e , the groupespriiwry
activity was the reading of mernoirs written expressly f o r the occasion
of itheir m e e t m . Mditiaral points of interest includt the fa& tbat
"absolute franhass" (Scfrulkiad, 161), and the
t b group had . g r d
fact that Woolf's initial respame t o t b idmn of publicly rcvsaling her
priwate self usa quite negative (UME
15-16), samtfring uhich may
p a r t i a l 1y explain her t a d m c y taitards "styliah performances" (Lee 18).
14- Just )raw conmodifid a uuamn of that agc m in that agc was is
d l y gleaned fran t b historieal w
g
e of t h tenn 'barriage market".

of this nightaiare of r i t u a l s an opportinism 1s

idmilf's a-t
m r i s i n g l y ivdrislt

l5- Worth m t i n g is the fact that Woolf deliberately cut r passage about
-ch was potartially uriaiguoirs and mt -1etely
com~atible
with her satiric rinr: ''He dreaiat and k &si&
with great natuml l u s t ;

but as for giving c i t b r t o binrrclf or t o otbtrs an rcwmt of his

&sir- that uas art of the questian" (qtd. in fise 155).
16. That Woolf jdringly r e f e r r d t o her "caPing art" years as the "Grcck
slave years" (Lee 110) aaay perbaps offer a partial explanatim for bu
confusim of the tm, taxts. kiother p o s s i b i l i t y is thc fact that George
was f a i i ~ n i sfor intruding u p a ~her Greek 1
(Lee 196). Hawever,
neither of thsse poesibilities 8-ts
Wirtbr t b f i r s t or the second
text providcs t b aore accurate detail.
17. Although several c r i t i c s discuss "A Sketch of the Past" i n tcrms of
Woolf 's sexunlity ( S i c h i e Bmith and Louise DeSalvo nogt mtably) ,
Phyliis Rose is possibly thc a i l y arc t o e r s c o r e tbc wertly semal
nature of the language itself. Sec kkinian of Lettcrs: A Life of Virginia
W o o l f (New York: Oxford UP, 1978) 17.

of -sonas
Htaturcwhich
18. 1 refer here t o a m a g e fraan sectiai
enbodies the quintesscntial -tic
resthetic of the visiaiary:
Stanng ai the beme grouad... al1
egotism vanistrcs. 1
becme a transparmt eyeball ; 1 an nothing; 1 see al1; the

currmts of the Universal B e b q c i r a d a t e

me; 1 am
p a r t ud parce1 of G d .
S e e mlph Waldo Wrsar, Nsture (1836), ed. Kmneth Walter Ciamercm (New
York: Scholar's Facsiaailes an Reprints, 1910) 13.
19. T%e Clapham se& was a "proepcraus evangelical greicated t o
a b o l i t i d ' ( K i n g 15) and oftaa vimd as "the c a r s c i ~ c eof the B r i t i s h

iniddie classes" (Lee 59).

20. A point of clarification. The word "othec" here is not munt t o

suggest that these a e mnimts other thrh the ams attacheci t o the
previous metaphor. These amnts, s i m i l a r l y , are profinstances of
both good and bad. The a a l y thing -ch hrs changai is Woolf's analogy.
21. David B l e i c h subacribes t o a school of "subjective criticism" uhich
only allaws for the v a l i d i t y of the r W r ' s subjective
interpretatim of the textual abject, but also t b reintetpretatim o r
"resymbolizatim" of tint obje& thrOUQh subequaat readhgs, a
rwisiarary process not m l i k e the aie wie meamter in the whole of this

riot

text. Bleich's iea t b t ench subjective notim w a i t u a l l y cmtributes

to a larger collective krawlcdgt is also c~apatiblew i t h Woolf's idea of
how art is ma&, uhch she cmceives as "both an active, caitrolling
proccss, in -ch sbit o*zs
r e a l i t y by 'putthg it into words' ; and a
passive, self-abncgating procems, whereby she r w t e s tb.t what she
is making is part of sanething pre-erstirag and universal" (Lee 173).
See David Bleich, Subjective Criticisn, (Baltimore: Joim H u p k i n s UP,
1978).
22. m l y Dmlgarno's rcsadiriig of the mirror accne crists rn intesesting
sidelight htre, since it is hcr (Lacanian) belief t h t the absence of
the mther 's reassuring gaze is, in fact, mre distwbing t o Woolf t h n

w h a t she sees reflectd in the nrirror in the f i r s t a t m c e (Oalgamo

180).

23. Woolf's explaxaatim, curiarislp enaugh, ssgis to xespad t o hcr a

earlier q w r y abeut Julia Stin *Beminiscsnecs," 'Whcre has s b
gone?" (m39).

~ n

24. According to Hermiaac L e e this "sto~page*~

in Stella's iaind m y have
been causd by a childhood illness (Lee 121-122). -lits mthr
uncharitable portrait bere 1crsdaice t o t h fact tbat she is, in
large part, cultivating the partrs of h r imqinatim.
25. Ironically cnough, Hemhne L e e seem to t h b k that Woolf's portrait
of Leslie Stephm is a "fair-miadsd trikit&@
( L e e 71).

26. Without uanting t o t

that this is t h anly instance of parody
in Woolf's autobiogrrphical works, I uould assert ~~cverthcless
tbat this
i s , by far, the m ~ obvious
t
i n ttrae, of si-ting
her intcnt.
27. Henaicme Lee m8kthe additionai obeervatim tbat the passage
echoes -y
of the adjectives 4mploysd by Woolf in Jaccrb '
s Roc;iai and TAe
Whveis (Lee 115-116).

CIIAPTER TWO

mttim
Vera

the Record St&Cht:

Brittain's Ths-t

of Youth

Nat that 1 much l i k e ber. A stringy iaetallic mhd, w i t h 1

suppose, the sort of t a s t e 1 should d i s l i k e in real life.
But hcr story, told in detail, withaat reserve, of the was,

and hua shic lost lwer rnd brother, rnd rlrkhld b r hlnds in

entrails, and uas forever

8-

the daad, and aating

scraps, ud sitting five on ant WC, rrnrs rapidly, vividly

across my eyes (Virginia Woolf, 2 Septanber ~933)~.

The idsa tbat Woolf &wld not much like B r i t t a i n berself, but

that she w o u l d lavish praise for r text which could evake such powerful

images, goes a lahg

way

d an explanatim of haw the two womar

differed in their approach t o autobiography. Woolf, t h r m t ber

autobiographical u o l u t i a i , wuid aluays favour the pemaurl, these
outstanding m t s of being wbich gave voice t o her private same of

self. Brittain,

QI

the other ha&,

mndd writs ZWtament of Youth (1933)

w i t h the intent of spsakirrg for an entire -ration,

of nking her

private cxptriarcc ramate with public sigPrificasrcc. But b e v e r

malike the two

mmami

wcrc in tems of style, t h c y uere, in m

~ oyt b r

respects, engaga3 in tbc sm autobiogrriphical pursuit, for the process

of ael f -revisiar -ch

Woolf's separate -in

becas evidmt in r progressive r.rding of

is

which,
c
in bstammt of Youth, i s self

L. Scbstarz

105

cmtainsd. The taasim betwrar the voice of the txperimcing &je&--

the Vera Brittain trho autgraw tbe provincialism of m m , who a t t a d s d

~xfordiaiversity,

atrv~das a

d during

ori id WPT I--rnd thc

voice of the narrating subject--the Vera Brittain w)io inscribes and

interprets the experiaicc she mcalls-mot m l y accentuates th text's

self-ref lexive revisia, but alro exposes the rame autobiographieal

reality which cases t o light in Woolf, that ultiinately a r e is aluays

an authorial platfom fran which the whole has bcar executed.

The more obvious distinctim, howevtrr, is betwcen arc waaan who

revisits the aanm seenes of her youth f ran four dif ferart authorial

platforans, and a n o t b r uho, fran a singular platfom, visits me

particular span of existence with the idea of rewriting histoty a t the
same time that she is writing about herself:
'Why

shouid these yamg nra have the war t o thmselves?

Didn't

worrrmi

have their war as wel l? They wcrm't, as these

men make than, m l y suff ering wives and mothers, or cal lous

parasites, or mercenary prostitutes. Does no me rcmearber

the wanen who bcgan their tmr work w i t h such high idcals, or
)raw

grimly they

c a r r i d ar

a that

flaming faith had

cniribled into the g r e y ashes of disillusion? Who will mite

the .pic of tha uomaiuim uat t o thc war?'. (TE 771~.

Indea, Brittain's explicit desire t o redress the shortcunings of the

Great War autobiography marks a kind of rcvisi-

never manages t o articulate, for

self-cau!cious

i n t m t which Woolf
as Woolf is about

autobiography, she never designates a m r i c focal point. But Brittain,

alrnost in imitatiai of thc soldiers who occupy the najority of these

works, tskes rim at tbat particular mab-mies which in t b deade

follajing the uu ha bccn f d l y ubbed the "trrich autabiogrrehy'.(.

In la-

part, it was the vem naarapoly of the trericb

autobiography that fuellai B r i t t a i n ' s f i n , for it s

d t o her not

anly tbat wu literature ha b a damiruteci

~
by mS,
but also that

had ail tao narrowly circmscribed the

soldiers' first-hand a-ts

r e a l i t y of the Great War. ThCrcf ore, like many of her inale

cmtesporaries, B r i t t a i n has as

correctiai o r t-

her prima-

autobiographical impulse the

of an u u e l i a b l e historical r e c o r d - 4 t h

aic

substantial differmce, of course, sincc the ioueliable record in t h i s

case is the androcentric front-line versim of the war which already

clainrs i t s e l f as adequate redress to the inadsquacies of officia1
history. In other words, the record

-tanient

of YouUI is attanpting t o

set straight is the ides that the soldiers uere the m l y participants in

the war and, carscqumrtly, the a i l y possible locus of authenticity.

Cleatly, Brtlittain &es not

CO~CUT.

FUtLfhiCrm~re, the fact that she has

s i w l l e d a challenge t o both the officia1 and androcemtric versians of

history suggests that Brittain is aiso at o&k With the asstm@tian of
grsatness which normal 1y attends the war autabiography, for w i t h the

intimatiai that her versian of things will u l t h t e l y comp?lete the

story, she inplies not on1y that her subjective accomt is just as
valuable as those d e l i v e r d by hier male cartafporraries, but also that as
a f emale author shc is no longer willing t o resign herse1f t o a subcultural stance.

Thus, as an atteapt t o rwise t h definitiaral barodaries of the

trmch autobiography, -tament

of Youth is r-kable

both in te-

of

LI Schwarz

107

cnpanding the idea of Grmt War litemturc a d in teris of

autobiogcrphical N b j e c t i v i t y . In t b f i r a t

instance,

Brittain's

disclmure of a f e a l e perspective, .nb p u t i a i l u l y of b r axparimce

as a VAD, an urpcrimce tht f a l l s

samncw)icre bctwctn

the cust-ry

oppositian of the hamrfroat and the frmt-lines, effcctively prevaits

us fran assming th usual equivalaice betueen the World War 1 narrative

and the trench autobiography. In a same, B r i t t a h is telling u s that
there is a kind of literary No m's Land beyad the rigid cmvartims

of the trmch autobiography, a place which is neither bound by m e r

nor the exclusivity of experimce.

That Brittain's account manages t o traverse the f r a t - l i n e s of the

genre,

believe, is eqtzally the result of her self-represmtatianal

strategies, the way in which she inscribes her subjectivity. In s p i t e of

the appearance of many traich-like tropes, Brittain's attitude taards
these canventioas is marked by an ambiguity and a self-carsciousness

which sets her quite apart fran the majority of her male cmtauporaries.
Certainly, oa m e level,

-taniant

of Y
&

is fraught with many of the

same contradictioais. B r i t t a i n is caupelld by her desire t o cannanorate

the dead, and y e t overwhclmsd by her survivor's guilt, just as mger t o

for@

the horrors she witnessad. H e r strmg n a d t o i-e

narrative

order, likewise, could easily be miscarstrued as an attanpt t o defuse an

otherwise chaotic reality. And her infusim of rriliitiaml docunmtary
sources might s i m i l a r l y give the illusim

of imnediacy where, in fact,

nane exists. Houever, on another level, Tlcstammt of Youth has, t o sane

extmt, redrawn the battle lines, because i n every instance that the
t e x t intersects with cawentim, Brittain not o i l y pushes the cnvtlope

L. s c b a r z
by intraducing those very elr-aiiirits which are o f t m -ressed

108

in the

n a of creating a seamless narrative, but also, by virtue of raising

U e incanpatible aspects to the fore, she opcnly acknawleges the

cmtradictiaxs inherent in the assunptians of docmmtuy trsalisra and

autabiographical &jectivity. Thus, uhat sets Brittain apart is not

80

miirrh the constnactim of a n m fom, but nther her self-cariscious

a b i l i t y t o -e

the fault lines of the gauc. Ehacting a textual

battle w i t h canvmtiar, she invites us, by way of autobiographical

raalism, t o reconsider the standards by which wc nornmlly judge the
autodiegetic accomts of World W a r 1.
Inplicit iri iqy rnrlysis of Brittain's text is a body of
b t h feminist and postmodern, -ch

~riti~i~ll\,

bas r e c a i t l y formcd ararind the Great

War autobiography, i n particular such revisiarary studies as C l a i r e

Tylee's

me G r e a t mr and

Fikmar

's C ~ ~ ~ U O L L Q ~Images
G Q S : of M l i tari-

and Filbnianl;rood in kknien's WkitUIg 1914-1964 (1990) and Evelyn Cobley's

Representing WBuc: Form and Idcalagy in F i r s t Wrld M a r Narratives

(1993). Since my ar-t

i s an atteapt t o i l l u s t r a t e hou Brittain's

text not arly reassi~plsthe p o s i t i m of the f-le

autobiographer, but

also raiefines the notion of the G r e a t War autobiography, 1 would l i k e

t o begin with a brief discussiar of the t r a x h autobiography, both as it
was traditianally receivcd and fran the point of

view of faninism and

literary represartatim. With this as my theoretical springboad, thm,

1 will pro&

with a close rmding of the text which, f i r s t , situstes

Brittain in relatim t o her autobiographical cantem~orariesand then,

finally, d-trates

how B n t t a i n ' s points of departurc constitute a

L. Schasz

109

revisim of &th the specific genre of b r l d War 1 autobiography and tbe

larger category of autobiography in ganeml.

Psdrawinq the Battle Lines:

The M ~ t hof the Lost Genemtiai Rcvisited

In the years just prior t o B n t t a i n ' s publicatiar of Zkstan#nt of

Youth, the trarch autobiography had gainal mormous papularity. As

Martin Ceadel's s t t d y of l a t e 1920s w a r litcraturt a t t e s t s , the more

serious accomts of the war wcrc bcgirining t o take hold of the

camercial market7. Anci with the publicatim of such notable works as

Richard Aldington's -th

of a Hero (1928), Edmund Blmdm's mertares

of War (1928), Sigfried Sassoan's m ' r s of a m - H u n t i n g Iilan (1928)

and M a m o i r s of an I ' t r y O f f i c c r (1930), Erich Maria RamrqueesAl l

-et

an the hkstem Rmt (1929), and Robert Graves' M y e t o A l 1

That (1929), the pressure for Brittain t o capitalize an such a boan was

overwhelming, so much so, i n fact, that by 1933 both Brittain and her
London publishcr, Victor: Gollancz, wiere perhaps aaore anxiaus t o see the

book f inishcd tban t o f orcgo its gopularit#.

In other uors. the

trmch autobiography was just as maich a cumnercial enterprise as a

literary genre, a phaiammiai uhich is not especially musual, hut are

which certainly accamts, a t l e t i n part, f o r the history of the G r e a t
War autobiography. The prepaderance of first-hand battlefield manoirs
was nearly guaranteed by

the mutual reinfor:cunent of papular and

critical f ashiai, while autobiographical works f rom bey&

the f rmt-

L.

Sc)rwsrz

llo

lines rclMined priniarily in the shadows, published privately or by

lesser

presses, and seceiving little or no critical acclaim. kd

since these wtrc oftai the works of

mraien

who wcre not permitted to

fi&L but could arly gain indirect experimce of the uar either through
volunteer work, nursing or c o r r e s ~ a i c e ,the rather prectable
division betwcen the trench autobiography and other autabiographical
forins had also bec-

a very pronouncd divisian of gadtr.

Europe, it seems, was detennined to remenber its war as almost

exclusively i ~ s c u l i n e .The "myth of the lost grneratid' would

invariably bec-

the story of al1 those yotmg

mmi

at the Prant who

fought and ied m behalf of dawcracy, of the best an the brightcst

lost forwer, bccause it was, after all, a story told by the returning

voices of their carpatriots. That this was an ideology as much

perpetuated by the literature itself as by the cold facts of the wartime casualty lists was of little caicern to the public at large, for in
the end it was what they wantai to believe, that the m l y '@truthW of war
had -rgd

frun the fighting young mmr in the trenches. In fact, as

Dorothy G o l a sees it in W

I kh-iters and

the Great

m, "it

an act of postwar piety to nurture such myths and to give the writing
that anbodied thm cultural pride of place" (Golchnan 1995: 101).
Hawcver, to look more carefully at the writing which supposedly

"aPbodied" this collective narrative, at the actul chracter of these

so-cal led traxh autobiographies, is to recognize the differmce betwear
m y t h and reality. In the first instance, trench autobiographies in

general are not about the honourable deaths of the yoiing soldiers.
Arguably, they are not about anything at al1 , since many of them are, in

L. Sct&Jarz

111

fact, devoid of plot in any traditicmal sense. To be sure, m e can

discern a structural pattern, kit this pattern is more episodic than

unifiai. As W i l l i a m B l i s s e t t ' s rather rsductive outline of the typical
Great War narrative reveals, there is nothing especially c-lling
about the events ~ e l v e s :

the outbreak of war, ailistmmt, training, anbarkatim, the

base, marching t o the line, the samd of bcnnbardment, the
f i r s t shell, the line, digging in, mder fire, the f i r s t

death, relief, leave, return,

ai

patrol , in canbat , the

suffering of harships or mnolds or sickress, the en

(Blissett 258).
Indeed, the daninant narrative device in t h s e first-band docmentary

accounts of the var is d e s c r i p t i d . The text cal 1s forth itr

authenticity through a successian of realistic details, a prdominantly
refermtial rnethodology which, as Evelyn Cobley has observecl, is o f t m
done at the expense of

draina, characterization, plot dwel-t

and

analysis (Cobley 31-33). The primry objective is t o f u l f i l the amncis

of historical realism, t o caivince the reader that what is beng relateci

is not mly accurate, but also as close t o the real experimce as me

can cane.

To this ad, the author assumes a m i f i a l subject p o s i t i a ,

suppressing or depersonalizing the narrative self in order to elevate

the expcriencing self, the persan who actually &cd

al1 of the untold

horrors of t r e n d warfare (Cobley 88). The rrarrator, in o t k r words, is

extremely passive, lcss likely t o intrude w i t h intazpretive reniarks or
provide any lsngthy uralysis. Thc prevalent assmptim i s that the facts

L. Schwarz

112

will speak f o r thcmselvu. and that the i l lusian of i d a c y s-rsedes

the need for explanatim. So larg as t b process of tt.wscmtia

appears neutral and ~ ~ c m o t i a i a the
l , reader will be

impression of objectivity (Cobley 76). For this

by the
a

thcrefore, a

great many of these accomts are w r i t t m i n what Cobley t e m ~the

'hiiddle style", anploying a tme of understatd seriousness or detached

irony (Cobley 97).
To those tutored in an older school of Great W a r criticism, this

last point, in fa&,

anerges with an irony of its am, f o r according t o

the dictates of Paul Pusse11 's

Robert Wohl 's

me Gareratim of

me G r e a t W r aad lilodima

Mewry (1975)

1914 (l979), or Bernard Bergonzins

Heroes' Itrfilight (1980), t h i s "niiddle s t y l e " fares much more praninently

i n these autobiographical accomts. Understatcment o r iroolic detackisaent

is much less a prouct of iaderlying narrative assuap?tions than a
product of their authors' defining cynicism towards the war, the quality
of which has been effectively (and most hirmorously) capturai by Samuel
Hynes' more recent study, A

Imagined: ZTae First klbtld kkPr and

Ehglish Cial ture (1990):

A

genemtian of innocent young men, their heas f u l l of high

abstractions l i k e Hmour, Glory, and mgland, w n t off t o

war t o makt the world safe for ~ m c y They
. wcre

slaughtered i n stupid battles plannd by stupid w e r a l s .

Those who surviveci wcre shocked, disilliisiaw and

anbittercd by their war experiences, ud saw that their real
manies wcre not the G e m , but the old

men wbo had lied

t o them. They rejected the values of the society that ha

La scbmrz

113

sait tham t o uar, snd in doing so scpatated their oun

m t i m fran the past and fran thdr cultural inhcritancc
( H y n e s ni).

For Etassel1 and many others, it is this m e r a l disillusiarnwnt,

together w i t h the sgise of a l i a i a t i m and the final rcjectim of
traditional values, that

etcripirrcs

the fonnal aspects of the! trmch

autobiography. The "baldness of narrative style" and the "sharpaicss and

exactness of ubeervatim" that Berg-i

identifies (Bergaizi 141; 145),

the understatsd i r d e s , the surface metaphors, and the anti-heroic

language that Ebssell isolates, a11 seaningly micrac f r m this

anbittered attitide. Thc idea of separatim from an older cultural
inheritance i s i n s c r i b d in the very nrtho e l o y e d , or indeai the
structure of the work i t s e l f , as is the case w i t h several trench works
that employ a kind of binary-visim, "a cartrast between the brutal

r e a l i t i e s of war snd the ramnberai or imagined beautics and banmies

of nature and the rural order" (Ber0-i

144). Wmm B l i a d e n ' s

thdertanes of h b r , a prime example, is structureci m the pastoral elegy,

with the solier in his trench m l i c i t l y l i k d t o the shcphcrd at his

watch.

Although there is nothmg oetaisibly wrmg with mst of these

observations, there is a t h c y rnarngst this earlier gamratiai of

c r i t i c s t o focw m the way i n whi& tht "myth of the lo6t gaieratim"
had f aund its autobiographical translation, uhether in the pastoral
undertanes of B l m d m or t h caustic farce of Graves. Apart
Wsell's interrogatim of -ye

friom

Paul

to 1111 That, very l i t t l e effort has

La Schwarz

n4

k e n d e to explore the relatimship between menory and its

representatiaa in this grap of uu autobiographies. It is - u n d

for

the most part that these recollectiaas rcplicate the frets as fthfully
as possible,

cvai

we

if the account is deliberately fictianalizd,

find in Sassoai's Sbarsta, serido. Thc cnccptiais are noted, but

usuall y minimized in order not to interfere with the assunptim of

spantaneairs authenticity. What al1 of this effccts, therefore, is a

notian of autabiography as historical recor, the very squation that

most of these works were attampting to achieve, since it was perceived

that their intimate revelations would rectify, or evem replace, the

incamplete versim of the war put forth by the official history. The
fault with this kind of criticism, in other words, is not so much an

error in pigement as it is a failure to recopllze just hrm much

it

complies with the mderlying assmptions of the autabiographies

themselves

In this respect, Evelyn Cabley's analysis of the autodiegetic war

narrative and, in particular, her ability to elicit the inherent

ideolagical cantradictians which exist at the site of inscriptim,

represents a substantial and uelcane departurc. Uthough Cobley

deliberately focuses her attentim

ai

nrst World War narratives written

by mm, 1 believe her postmoern methodology will prwe arormoilsly

useful for the study of wanein's tacts as wcll, in part because it allaws

for an autobiographical subjectivity uhich extends beyond the scope of

the experimcing Y'', but also W u s e it achwledges a textual depth

which acts as a deterrait to essaitializd m e r caqparisoas. ltro

larger strains of Cabley's argumnt are especially relevant wkre

L. Schuarz

ll5

B r i t t a u l ' s tact is cmcerncd: first, ber disCusion of various lexical,

phenanenological a d semiotic constraints tbat c w t e with the

assmptiai of a u t h m t i c i t y , the idea that a highly descriptive or

referential we Wlicates a kind of h i s t o r i c a l r e a l i s m ; and secoadly,

her treatnmnt of the n a r r a t i v e coatradictiars that iapinge

irpaai

the

assumptiaa of abj e c t i v i t y , the idea that f oregromding the experiencing

"1"

can replicate the inmsdiacy of the

makes

cvait.

In both instances, w h a t

these ccmtraictians sigpllficant is the fact that they are never

taken i n t o account by the anale writers Cobley discusses. In other words,

these

authors assune their narrative poses quite blindly. The taisions,

f o r example, betwc the daninant descriptive mode and the contingencies

of selection, o r the f a c t s which do not a c t u a l l y speak f o r tIKcrrselves,

or the highly focalized points of vicw, are never questiaied. In f a c t ,

t o do s o would c o n s t i t u t e a type of s=render,

an admissian that this

autobiography is les than it claims t o be, less thsn real and less than
authentic. Y e t , as Cobley d-trates,

that is precisely the nature of

autobiography. It is, a f t e r all, anly representation, a narrative about

its author, but n w e r t h e l e s s a narrative subject t o al1 the p i t f a l l s of

textuality. Therefore, the fact that B r i t t a i n , as narrator, aclarowledges

many

of these c m t r a d i c t i m s , that she, in a sense, admits t o being an

autobiagrapher instead of an historian, is quite ramrkable, f o r she

reveals a margin of difference which simultanmusly istinguishes her
authorship and questions the daninant asswnptioars of the genre.
Of course, fran the frminist point of vicw, the f a i l u r e t o

question the representational a b i l i t y of these accounts is not just a

matter of t e s t i n g the d e f i n i t i a m l hmdaries of Great War

L. Schwarz

116

autobiography; it is tantaummt to obliterating the wanan's war, since

at root it is a failure to ackrcwlege any experience of the war b e y d

the experiences of men at the Front. For Dorothy Goldman, this kind of

oversight carries dangcrws inplicatians:

If it is cmcede that it was wanengs lack of battlefield

expesience that exclded their writing from literary
consideration, then wc grant &are

a -tral

fiinction in

determinin9 cultural signifieance; and if, cmversely,

wanen's wsiting is to be fosgotten because uanen r d n e d
true to their awn expesiences, seldom wrote about mud, id
not describe life in the trmches, then wc emshrine men's
perception of men's eacpericllce as the single detenninant of
literary culture ( G o l a 1993: 2).
Simply put, the defoniiatiosr of history and the deformation of the
literary canon have been mutually reinforcing, and mostly to the
detriment of wanen.
The fa&,

then, that Brittaings 2Wst-t

of Youth was m e of very

feu women's war texts to receive any recognitim in its &y

is doubly

significant: first, bccause its often begruiged inclusian in the wartime canon seem to niaJce a case-inopoint, particularly in light of
recent recavery projects which reveal approximately sevcnty-two
contemporary autobiographies written by waben; and secandly, because it
was populas

in spite of its "mentrenched" subject matter, a strong

suggestian that a womn's perspective could be equally cuqpelling. That

Brittain prwes to be somtthing of an exceptim to the rule, hawcver, is
not entirely mptoblematic, for in somc cases it sinply exposes the fact

L. Schwarz
that the androcentric stsndard bas bec-

naturalized. A prime

117

ertamplt

can be fwnc in C l a i r e Tylee's somtwhat cmtmdictory a n a l y s i s of the

t e x t . As

a revisiamry faninist, Tylee insists m the importance of

i n c l m g lkstaatmt of Youth in the war-time mm, and ccran#rds

Brittain f o r hier g r d - b r s a k i n g @*gcncratioaal
autobiography" (Tylcc
214). As a literary critic, hawever, Tylee has a few reservatims

cmcerning Brittain's cx-larity.

represent an e n t i r e gaaeration of

Brittain's self-proclaimed a b i l i t y t o
mni

and w a a e n fails on two counts:

f i r s t , her i n a b i l i t y t o d e r s t a n d the men she writes about, in part

because she has oversimplified the male experimce, but a l s o because she
seems maware of

the psychology which cmtributed t o the gulf between

men and uanen during the war;

am s e c d l y , her ihability t o cmprehend

woaaen, since she provides no fcminist coartext an ml y seems interested

in wamen of her own class (Tylee 214). What Tylee f a i l s t o recogrize is

the fact that she has judged Brittain

a accordance with

the

androcentric ideology of the trench genre, f o r instance, the idea that

it is necessary t o delve into the s o l d i e r ' s psychology in order to f u l l y
capture the mood of the w a r . I t never occurs t o Tylee that such d e t a i l s
IMY

not mly be wholly inapprapriate t o a wanan's accozolt of the war,

but also beyand the scope of her cxptrience because of the ntn-combatant

restrictiuns placsd an fcmale sentice.

Just what exactly might constitute a typical accutant of the

w a n a n ' s war is another question a i t i r e l y , and one not s o easily

a n s u e r d Sandra Gilbert's sespanse in "Soldier's H e a r t : Literary Men,
~itcraryW-

arui the ~ r a a warwJ1

t
suggests quite siapy that vaacai8s

more positive errperimce of the war producd a very different kind of

L. Schwarz
literary representatioai. niike the tr&

118

authors u b errpressed

of cynicism, misogynistic anger or disaapwemmnt as

thearselves in te-

a result of their physical and psychological division

froni

the hane

f rant , women uriters wcre imrch more inclineci to express theanselves in

te=

of optimism and liberatian because of their newly-gaincd political

and ecananic freedoms. In other words, the war's tanporary displacement

of "patriarchal primacy" (Gilbert 425) bad not d y cmtributed to the

cause of wamen's suffrage and the increase of wanen's cmployment, but

also to the quality of wamenns writing, In fact, as Gilbert sees it, the
war producd

a kUld of sexual release for women, which expressed itself

in their writing as anything fran heightmed seinsuality to very explicit

depietions of sex. Thus, while men were presrmiubly

)Ix#ding out of

necessity Wei: their caman aliaiation, wunm were uniting over a sense
of c a m m victory, so much so that Gilbert is even willing to suggest
that the buirge-ng

of lesbian literature after the war is a direct

consequmce.

Certainly, as a feminist footnote to Paul Rissell's TAe Great K?r

and Mudem M - r y

or Bernard Bergoaui's Hames' Itirilight, Gilbert's

-Say

is a very welcane additiar to the critical canm, for it not only

&es

the point that

but also that it

womien's

mirst

war literature is worthy o f carsideratian,

be regarded frm an entirely differmt

perspective. Wkre the argraent falls short, hawever, is in its strict

adherence to the oppositi-1

logic of m e r , for Gilbert's haoogenow

idea of wamai, together w i t h her selective use of examples, effectively

elides the ciifferences that exist between womar writers, particularly
w a n e n of different classes and ifferart occupations. 1 raise this issue

Le Scbslltarz

119

specifically because of i t s relevance to Vers Brittain, whose difference

is noted once again as an exce!ptian to the d e , m l y here it is not her
departure from the androcentric mdel that is saip,hasizd, but rather her
inability to conform with the daminant fanale pattern. Gilbert fixes an
Brittain's lamattingtone, her sense of alicllatim (Gilbert 425) and her
inhibited attitude tward sex (Gilbert 436), and decides, in fact, that

she is much more masculine than fanhine in her outlook. Seemingly, the
only point of conmoaality betueen Brittain and her female contemporaries

is her expressian of "'gratitude' for the 'sacred glamou' of nursing"

(Gilbert 435).

Althoirgh Gilbert's perspective is s

t single-minded, her

discussion of Brittain's nursing as one female point of intersection

raises several thorny issues about the perception of U s specific

female occupatim, particularly in light of the fact that for many, and
=pecially for the VADs themselves, this occupatian was seen as the

female equivalent to the soldier. In other words, one could argue just
as effectively that Brittain's experience in a military organization

devoted to the care of wouned soldiers had more in cemaon w i t h the

accounts writtm by her male capitaqporaries. The fact that Gilbert has
chosen to unerscore the consenrative, fanAnine aspect of devotimal
sacrifice is thus both eurious and revealing, for while, an m e han& it
s e e m to belie her feminist politics, ooi the other hsnd, it suggests the

pawerful allure of the war-time prapaQanda which often depicted the

nurse as a hybrid of mother, lover, nun, and virgin. Gilbert's analysis

of Alonzo Earl Foringer's 1918 Red Cross War Relief poster nrakes this
point rather ncatly. The poster, depicting a very large Red Cross nurse

L. Schwarz
holding a miniature soldier an a stretcher, bel-

-ch

Greatest Mother in the World, is for G i l b e r t &innation

120

is written: The
of the

positive, restorative pa~ersof the materna1 (Gilbert 436). E'rm another

point of vicw, m e r , it is also c d i r n i a t i a r of the kind of Christian

submissiveness so often a s s o c i a t d w i t h the Marion role, of the "sacred

glamour" that Gilbert draws t o our a t t e n t i m in the f i r s t place. And
yet, beyonci r e c e e i n g the parody involve, G i l b e r t never considers

t h a t this "bizarre intersectiaa of the Hadanna and child and the Piet"
(Ouditt 20) might bear canfl i c t i n g cotnnoiations.
More t o the point, houever, it nwer occurs t o Gilbert that the
idea of the war nurse avails itself of more than ane possible

interpretation, that it may be seen as liminal not only in tephysical locatian, but also i n te-

one hand, nursing is one of -y

of

of g d e r identity. For while, on

istinctly f -le

expeziences of the

war, cm the other hand, it is also an experience which occripies the

boundary of the masculine. As such, it is one which allaws us t o

more feniinist p o t m t i a l than G i l b e r t ' s

question, perhaps w i t h w a ~
argument, the very rigid associatiar of trench autobiography and Great
W a r literature. In B r i t t a i n ' s case, especially, the subjcct position of

the VAD is fraught with such cnitradictian that it is i a ~ g ~ ~ ~ st ai b l e

locate with any amownt of pticcision. But certainly the fact that i t is
a l s o a positian heavily inflected by the ideology of the narrating
author changes i t s cwlexion -en

further. Therefore, t o return t o

Darothy Golmanos caveat about the nccessity of inclwiing woinen's

l i t e r a t u r e i n the war-time canon, 1 w d d add that it is cqually
important t o look a t the quality o f each author's representation,

L. Sc)warz

121

particularly in a text where the subject natter tells only half the
st0Ky

From Brittain's openhg page, where she announces "the heur of

sharing w i t h Robert Graves the subject of [her] earliest recolle~tim'~

(TY 17), to her mentian of that "very articulate gr-

of young writers

[...] who were seriously analysing the effect of the War upan theinselves
and their world" (T'Y 497), and her peppering throughout of various war
poets, the r d e r anerges w i t h a very s t r w sesme of the literary
cantext out of which Testament of Youth arose. Anci not surprisingly,
that cantext is almost exclusively masculine, for conspiring to create

such a lopsided impression was not only the papularity of trench

literature in general, but also Brittain's awn ignorance about female

war writing. Together these factors suggest an anxiety of influence

which for most wolnen was not so easily escaped. W a n e n who wanted to
write about the war were in a most uncanfortable position.

me hand,

they were anxiaus to express their gender-specific experimces--what it

was like to be a nurse, a niunitiens worker,

bereaved mother-and,

an the other han&

a desolated lover, a

they suffered a kind of formal

crisis, wandering whether their choices for docmentaticm--1etters.

diaries, poans, short stories, nwels-were

The questiun for w,-

appropriate to

a subject.

in other wors, was often m e of validation. H m

couid they express thanselves in a mmner befitting the importance of

their part in the war? For sane, the choice of expressioai was more

private, and hence not as papular as the androcentrie version of war in

the trenches. In fa&,

the store of

wamein's

letters and private

documents an file at the British ar Wwn would suggest tbat a great

deal of the literature written by w a a m was never intudeci for
publication1*. But for o t h u s , the decisiai to go public m s a
necessary part of the validating process, as was the choice to anploy a
fonn reminiscent of those fatrnd in the majority of the trmch works.

For, although cane bas to allow for the anxiety of msculine influence,
one must also cacee that this influence was recognized by many as a

powerful expedient for conveying their gder-specific messages.

In Brittain's case, 1 would argue that it was probably a little of

both, since the testament tom was sanething she decidd upon after

several unsatisfactory attanpts to narrate her war experience. In 1922,

she discovered rather quickly that the private revelations of her diary
did not have the literary cachet that she had hoped (Bishop 1982: 13).

And after several ficti-1

incarnation#

shc realized. as she notes

in the Foreword, that she n d e d "retrospective reflectians heavy with

knowledge" in order t o bear the weight of her "indictment of a

civilization" (TY 12). The process of writing her experiarce, in other

wor&,

was a process of discwering that the gravity of her situation

could only really be expressed in documientary form. The assumption,

mfortunately, is m e which reinfocces the belief that oarly "those who
were there" are qualifieci narrators, for althaugh Brittain was never
actually in the trmches, the inplicatiai of hcr desire to fulfil the
historical demands of her story puts her there in spirit.

L. Schwarz
Indeed, t o loak a t nmny of the fo-1

aspects of B r i t t a i n ' s

123

text

is t o r e a l i z e the extent t o which the trmch autabiography exercised its

influence. And yet , for every point of s i n i l a r i t y , Urere is also

something distinctively i f f e r m t about Brittain's choice of self-

representation. The pose of exemplarity, for instance, which she assi n the opening l i n e s of the Forewor:d, bears a s t r i k i n g reseniblance t o

the autobiographical poses adopted by many a male cent-rary. Brittain

wanted

t o write sanething w h i c h would shaw what the whole War and

post-war period--rottghly,
u n t i l about 1925-ahas

fran the years l e a d h g

mileant

irp

t o 1914

t o the men and w m e n of my

generatim, the generatim of those boys and girls who grew

up just before the War broke out. 1 wanted t o give too, i f 1

could, an impression of the changes which that period

brought about in the mincis and lives of very d i f f e r m t
groups of individuals belonging t o the large section of
middle-class society fran which my oun family canes.
nly, 1 f e l t , by scme such attempt to mite history i n
te-

of persanal l i f e could 1 rescue s a t h n g that might

be of value, some elunent of truth and hope and usefulness,

fran the smsbing up of my own youth by the War (T'Y 11).

In other words, l i k e many of the trench autobiographers who precded

her, B r i t t a i n is very intent

ai

s e t t i n g the record s t t a i g h t . She not

mly prrcumes t o speak on behalf of an saitire generation of midle-class

men and w,-

but also t o create an impression of their l i v e s at that

time, and t o mite that history from a more intimate, and hence more

L. Schwarz

124

"authentic", point of vicw. Hawever, the arrogance implicit in the

a s s w t i m s of objectivity and authenticity which colour this statement

of intent soan gives way to a self-canscious cmsideratim of the

narrative task at band:
It is true that to do it mruit lookrg back into a past of
which many of us, preferring to contemplate to-morraw rather
than yesteray, beliwe ourselves to be tired. But it is

only in the light of that past that we, the depleted

generation now caning into the control of public affairs,
the grneration which has to niake the present and endeavour
to mould the future, can understand aurselves or hope to be
iarderstood by our successors. 1 knew that until 1 had tried
to contribute to this understaning, 1 could never write
anything in the least worth while (TY 11).
The idea that her account will present us w i t h anything approaching

transparent history is deflatd not mly by the admission that ths

autobiography represents a kind of private contribution, but also, and
more importantly, by the way in which Brittain acknawledges her

narrative self, the present-&y

Vera Brittain who is going to look back

into the past. For this, right fran the very beginning, senres as a
gentle reminder that both the illusion of objectivity and the illusiool

of irmiediacy are just that--illusiau. We may be tempted to mistake

Brittain's pose for an asstmptim of mitary subjectivity, c w l e t e w i t h

the idea that autobiographies are capable of a neutral and accurate

transcriptian of events, but, in the end, we cannot overlook the way in

which Brittain mderscores the autobiographical reality

L. Schaarz

125

Of course, part of Ulis a c k n ~ l e d g e a m tis a product of the

"canplex double f u n c t i d ' ntany wanen p e r f o d cturing the -,

as

"actors i n Uieir um war and spectators of the soldiers' war" (Golbman

1995: 102). The feeling of k i n g simultaneausly on the inside an the

outside lent i t s e l f quite readily t o a s p l i t perspective or a s p l i t

subjectivity in their writing. Thus, while the t r m c h autobiographers
were supposedly plagued by ?Ae binary-visim which separated Frmt from
home, many of the fecwle writers were struck by an equally imposing

binary , niarking the same oppositian, m l y now secll through the looking
glass. What is d i f f e r m t , though, is the way in which

woniein

inscribecl

this binary in t h e i r writing, f o r rather than sinply l m t i n g t h e

destructive psychological effects of the division or presenting it

symbolically, w a w n were much more apt t o discmss those effects openly

or t o seek some kind of explanatim (Golman 1995: 105).
So, too,

is the case w i t h V e r a Brittain, who, a t l e s t on three

separate occasians, discwses the iqpdiment of t h e war at sane lemgth:

f i r s t , as a "barrier of inescribable experiaice b e t w m men snd the
wamen whm they lwed, thmsting horror deeper and deeper inward,

linking the drud of spiritual death t o the apprehmsim of physical

disaster" (TY 143); secon, as a "terrible barrier of knowledge by which

War cut off the men who possessed it fran the wanen who, in spite of the
love that they gave and received, raaained i n igiorance" (TY 215); and
finally, as a "dividing influence [which] move [her] t o irrational fury
against

[...] the spiritually destructive preoccupations of military

service" (TY 217). To the l a t t e r , she ad&:

"1 had not yet realized-as

I was l a t e r t o realize through my awn mrntal surender-that

a l y a

L. Schwarz

126

process of canplete adaptation, blotting out tastes and talmts and even
-ries,

ma& life sufierable for sememe face to face with war at its

worst" (TY 217). Thcrefore, in temm of authorial subjectivity,

Brittain's assunptim of cxemg,larity is sanewhat more complex than
either Claire Tylee or Sandra Gilbert allaw. Certainly, as a
"generatimal" exemg?lar, she adopts a typically androcaitric pose.
Houever, as a narrator who also prwides self-canscious analysis,

Brittain is clearly much closer to her faaale or na-canbatant

cantenigoraries, because, unlike most of the trmch authors, she does not
presuppose the implicit inderstanding of her readers (Goldmn 1995:
1051, but rather couwnicates her sense of the incarmunicable. The
duality of her narration, in fact, telcgraphs her occupatim of both a

literal and a figurative No Man's tand, her liminal positiaa between

those who experieinced trench warfare and those whose second-hand

knowledge was not enough to presme absolute understanding.

For this reason, as well, Brittain's accounts of the war are

marked by a kind of borderland perspective--al1 of the horror, but none

of the mid. In other words, like many of the trench autobiographers, she

conveys a strong sense of "the physical ami psychological shoc)r that the
Great War causeci'* (TY 45), but, as many of her fellaw nar-canhatants,

she can anly give us that smse f rom the outsider's point of vicw.
Brittain's first ertperience w i t h eath provides a very telling example:

Although surprised at my oun equanimity, 1 had not yet

acquired the self-protective callousness of later days, and
1 put into the writing of my diary that evening

an amtien

aa4perab1e to the feeling of shock and impotent pity that

L. Schwarz
had seize Roland uhen he f

plat-

127

d the first dead man fraa his

at the bottom of the trcnch (TY 176, aqphsis mine).

Evidently, she had rcceived inforiaatiosi fran her fianc, Roland, about
ife in the trernches, mough to teel a kind of -thy;

but, in the

final anatysis, the best she can effcct is a kinb of canparisan. Not
that Brittain's perspective is in any way depleted or less interesting,
m l y that it is neccssarily affected by her expesimce as a VAD who saw

most of the war's devastatiaoi fran another angle of vision:

After the sonne 1 had seen mai without faces, without eyec,
without l i e , men almost discmCYruelled, men w i t h hideous
tnancated stumps of M e s , and f ew certainties could have
been less durable than my gruesame speculatims (TY 339).
Again, the point of view of the outsider is difficult to overlook. The

focus of Brittain's descriptim, revealing her nurse's perspective, is

the aftermath of the battle. The battle itself is absent, belanging, as

she intimates, to the realnr of speculation.
Chi the

other side of this split perspective, hoctever, is also

Brittain's desire to relate the wamn's w a r in al1 of its glory, with no

apologie for its difierence. Indee, a large part of the text's
functian is political. Brittain is not just interested in the "physical

and psychological shock" of the w a r , but

)raw

that shock affectcd the

"Modern Girl of 1914" (TY 45). Therefore, at the same time t h t she is
drawing our attention to the liminal position of the W,

she is also

attempting to cclsure the acceptance of wanm in a military capacity.

For, in spite of the fact that "the VAD, as a wama~'sorganization, was
not in a position to challenge or change the m e r system" ( m t t 12),

L. Schwarz

128

it was for Brittain and many other young women an avenue of escape fran
the stultifying cffects of Edwardian gaider noms. "After twenty years

of &el tered gmtility ,"Brittain was anxious to see life (TY 213), to
assert her individuality in any way she knew how :

1 do not agree that my place is at hane doing nothing or

practical ly nothing, for 1 cmsider that the place now of

anyone who is y o m g and strang and capable is where the work

that is needed is to be done (TY 214).

In other wors, mlisting in the VAD was not just a way of k i n g close
to her beloved Roland, or an expression of sympathy for the soldiers in

the war effort. It reprrcented for Brittain, at hast in the beginning,

a way of doing "the next best m g " (TY 213-14), that is, a way of
joining the women's w a r .

nfortunately , as Brittain quickly iscovers, the "sacred glamour"

of the profession is temperd by a great deal of "tediun and disgust"

(T'Y 210). But this, too, is politically expeciient, for, seemingly, it

demanstrates Brittain's ability to separate the symbolic quality of the

VAD from the harsh reality of the day-to-day perforniance of the job:

At hast a third of the men were dying; their daily

dressings were not a mese matter of changing huge wads of

stained gauze and wool, but of stopping haemrrhages,

replacing intestines and draining and re-inserting
innunerable rubS3er tubes. [

...] 1 often wonder h m we were

able to drink tea and eat cake in the theatm-as

day at frtquent intervals-in

we id al1

the foetid starch, uith the

thermometer about 90 degrees in the shade, and the saturateci

L. Schwarz
dressings and yet more gruesane huaan ramants heape

129
irgan

the floor (TY 374).

These atrocities, so far removed fran the fclminine construction of

nursing as a kird of dtvotianal sacrifice, not arly suggest that

Brittain's Victorian upbringing is a dim flicker in the background, but
also that she has truly fought a war of brr own, that the cross

OA

her

unifom is perhaps better likmed to the figure of St George (uditt 10)

than that of a nun. And certainly, the associatiar of the VAD w i t h the

Virgin Mary is no longer appropriate, since part of what Brittain

aclmawledges is her crash-course in se% &cation:
1 stifl have reason to be Ulankful for the krowledge of

masculine functidng which the care of them gave me, and

for my early release from the sex-inhibitions that even to&y--thanks

to the Victorian traditiun which up to 1914

dictated that a y o m g woman should h o u nothing of men but

their faces and their clothes until marriage pitchforked her

into an incompletely visualized and highly discmcerting
intimacy-beset

niany of my femle cantwraries, both

married and single (TY 165-66).

Thus, in respmse to Smdra Gilbert's notiar that Testament of Youth is

less characteristically fanale because of Brittain's sema1 inhibitions,
1

would argue, to the contrary, m t m l y that Brittain disasses

sexuality, but also that her discussion of it belangs very specifically

to her fecrrale experiarce of the w a r .

Where Brittain s-,

once again, to V

e the anxiety of

masculine influence is m l y tawards the end of the book where her

L. Schwarz
articulatims cm the subject of nursing &lve

130

into a icind of pessimism

reminiscmt of the trench accounts. IIere, Gilbert's observaticms are

much more apt, as we fin Brittain remarking (with al1 of the self-

deprecatim Gilbert would also attribute to the male accaunts) that she
is "nothing but a p i m of wartime neckage, living an ingloriously in a
world that doesn't want [herJ" (TY 490). Moreover, Brittain's

nightmarish accomts of the post-war "hallucinatiaois and dreanrs and

insorimia" she experienced as a result of the "excessive strain" of her

profession have led to a kind "sinister transfonaatiar" (TY 496). She

has "drifted to the borderlan of crazincss" (TY 496), imaging mch time
that she passes a mirror that her face is defonned, or that she bas
gr-

a bard. In other words, "the effects of the horrors of war ate

into the m s t ObVious elemmrts of her geneted identificatim" (uditt

38). The "chocolate-box prettiness" (TY 211), the femininity of which

she was quite coplscious earlier in the text, is now completely altered.

But the fact that the w a r seems to have displaced her sense of identity
is not, as Gilbert might suggest, a quintessentially masculine trait.
Arguably, it is a trait coumm to al1 human beings who have endured such

extreme suffering. huthcrmore, the fact that Brittain has suffered a

loss of feminine identity might do more to suggest that the war has

finally brought hcr to the brink of feminist existence, for although it

is her initial rejecticm of the role of *'prwincial y-

lady" that

causes her to join the VAb in the first place, it is her actual
experience with the horrors of tmrfare that causes her to qucstiar the

nature of such rolcs

t. Scfwarz

131

fndeed, for Brittain, a large part of the wax's e f f e t involves

the dissolution of the bomdary betwcmi tbt private, u s t i c realm and

the public sphere of inflirace:

Naw, like the rest of my garcraticn, 1 have bad t o leazn

again and again the t e r r i b l e truth of George Eliot's words

about the invasian of persarral preoccupatians by the larger

destinies of mankind, and a t last t o r e c m z e that no life

1s really private, o r i s o l a t d , or self-sufficient (TY 47172).

As a constant refrain throtrghout the autobiography, the tension between

public and private identity not arly plays a drimirrrrrt thematic role, but

also emphasizes, mce again, the female version of binary-vision. In

fact, beginnng with her ays a t Oxford, uhm she perceives the w a r as a

terrible intrusim upm her private l i f e , and ading with her career as
a lecturer for the League of Natims, which she v i w s as a happy
caanproaaise between public

and private obligatim, there is always a

sense that, for Brittain, this tausian was as much a forniative

experience as the war itsel f :
What exhausts w a n e n

in wartime i s not the strenwus and

unfamiliar tasks that fa11 upm them, nor

tven

the hourly

dread of ckath f o r husbads or lwers or brothers or sons;

it is the incessant conflict ktween personal and natiaral

claims which wears out their arergy and brwks their s p i r i t
(TY 422-23).

L. Scbiwarz

132

Of course, these ccxapeting clairns were sarething which exhausteci

many men as -11,

and, in this respect, 1 wodd be reluctant t o suggest

that Brittain's gader-specificatim uas necessarily just. Houever, as a

heightened expression of the "incanpatible clai-

with which w o m n have

always been tornwnteci" (Golman 1995: 43), and, more importantly, as an

autobiographical expressiaa of these claims, Brittain's cmceatratiaa m
these issues

is most definitely an i n s c r i p t i m of funale subjectivity.

Certainly, in ternis of her male cantemporaries, Brittain's exploration

of her private self i s already most musual, since the qhasis in the

vast majority of the trench works is decidedly public, treating m l y the

most referential aspects of the war. The psychology, i f it eacists, tends

t o expose itself in the various narrative tropes employed by these

writers, but it is never explored with any amount of auaalytical
attention. ZLnd so, t o privilege the psychological tarsia between the

clainrs of private and public, as Brittain &es i n Testament of Youth,

distinguishes hex femwle authorship t o a cmsiderable degree.

But finally, whether w e acknowledge t h a t Brittain's fenale
subjectivity i s a product of her a b i l i t y t o exploit her linrina1 position

as a VAD or a function of her attentian t o more private issues of the

w a r , it is d i f f i c u l t t o overlook the way

in which Brittain's narrative

s e l f m g e s t o inpose a frlninist perspective w e r the whole of the

text. This, perhaps more than anythng else, sets Brittain apart

from

her male ccmtanporaries, f o r it not m l y calls attention t o her

ideological prsdisposition, but also effectively &rscores

the

cmstructsdness of the autobiography. In other words, it i s Brittain's

way of infonning the

reaer that her narrative subjectivity plays just

L. Schuarz

133

as significant a role as the subject who daninates the recalled

experience.

Since t b r e is more of an ideological c-tibility

betueen the

the d of the

experiencing self a d the narrating self t

autobiography, 1 will draw my exaqple from the begmnng, where the

simple tact tbat her expesiencing self has not yet actively adopte a
f-st

politic will make Brittain's narrative infectiai much more

apparent. In particular, 1 would like to focus

ai

Brittain's

recollectian of her school days at St Maca's as sanething of a

feminist fmmatim. She begins in the fifth part of Chapter One by

tel ling us that the school was hbadsd by two f male principals, her aunt
(Florence Berva) and Miss Heath J m e s . Brittain's choice of words here
is quite significant; she refers to Miss Heath Jmes as her auntms
"partner" (TY 32), a word which, in i t s very anibiguity, not only invokes

a type of fernale solidarity, but also hints at their unconventional

But perhaps more r-kable

relati-hipl'.
Brittain assi-

is the priority which

ths infomtian, since it is inmedately suggestive of

a much later arrangement which existe betweexa herself and Winifred

Holtby--two friards working and living together in an awironmait of

mutual support-an

arrangement which would, in fact, continue until

Holtby's daath in 1935lS.Althaiph 1 would not vaature to caaclue that

Brittain

mis

writing with t h i s parallel in mind, 1 do believt that her

partnership w i t h Holtby and her frJninist politics in gmeral at the time

of writing likely influ#lce the way in which she chose to ozder the

telling. Brittain's inclusion of the fact that Miss Heath Jones was "a
brilliant, dynamic wanan who had bsen eucated at Cheltclrham and

L. Schwarz
Newnham" (TY 32) provides us with a case-in-point,

-timing

134

for withaut even

that such a level of ahcation would have bcen most unusml

for a w a m n a t the turn of the century, Brittain once again alerts us t o

the fact of who is writing the t e , a w a m n tshase a n attenance a t

Oxford had bcar aarked by a faninist strraggle for both the matriculatian
and graduation of f a d e s t u d e d 6 .

Possibly me of the wrct M o u s si-

of Brittain's feminist

imposition is the intrusive camentary she provides almg the way. For
instance, m l y a feu pages i n t o hez discussim of S t Harica's Brittain
exposes herself quite plainly:

Only the o t h r day a fellw-journalist, half meful and half

amwed, told m e that 1 had made a better thing out of sex

equality than she had ever thoibght possible for such a

portmtous topic until 1 began t o scatter articles an equal
pay and -ricd

wonen's careers through the pages of the

a i l y and wedcly Press. If that is so, then I can mly reply

that 1 have written nothing an the variaus aspects of

feminisrn which has not been based an gclurine conviction, and

that the fomatians of that conviction were first laid,

strangely

w,at

a school which was apparently regarded

by many of the parents who patrarise it as a m~rn.sof

equipping girls t o be nimr's decorative and cartmte

inferiors (TY 38).

Onderscoring her desire t o interpret that period of her life as a
feminist fomdatiar is the ramark which follaws directly on the bels of
t h i s passage, tbat she bad always suspectcd Miss Heath

Jan-

of k i n g

L. Schmsz

135

"secretly i n sympathy with the militant suffrage raids and

dencmstraticais which began a f t e r Mt foudatim of t b Rnmn's Social

and Political nim in 1905" (T'Y 38). Not surprisingly, fran ths point
forward, Brittain portrays Miss Heath Jones as thoorgh she m, in fact,

such a femhist, placing particular anphasis m hcr teacherns

encouragement in rcading Olive Schreiner's book,
text she identifies as both the Bible of the w-'s

aad tabou, a

movanent and the

book which inspired her awn final acceptance of feminism (TY 41).

Certainly, by i t s e l f , the pattern of events here would not be

sufficient cause t o suspect that Brittain has imposed any faninist

template. However, while it is the case t h a t Brittain o f t m cited Olive

Schreiner as her feminist influence, there are also a ntPaber of factors

which suggest that Brittain is getting a l i t t l e ahead of herself i n this

chapter recomting her school ays. The f i r s t is that Brittain's

"reactim

f i r s t reading

and Labour, during her last year a t

~ g l

school, was by no means exceptimal" (Bishop 1983: 82). In fact, as Alan

Bishop d~c~tments,
it was not until Roland Leightm gave ber a copy of
The Story of an African Fann in Aprl 1914 that Brittain developed any

particular interest i n Schreiner (Bishop 1983: 86-87). This, hawever, is

an event she does not relate inrtil Chapter Two, wbar she also tells us
that Roland had '%ea~
a faninist ever since he discwered that his
mother's work as w e l l as his father's had paid for his sducatim and

their household expmses" (T'Y 84). Thereafter, her aithusiasm becames

apparent, as she ranarks in her diary of 4 May 1914 that 2%e Story of an

African Fann "is a great book

has mae cher] head alpiost ache with

thinking. Religion-lif e--the pasitia of women-are

may c a a t w l a t e

L. s c b a r z
them forever" (CY 8 0 )

136

. Altbough she would refer repeatsdly to

Schreiner's influence in later articles she would write as a journalist,

it is pcrbaps a little too soar to suggest her final acceptance of
fernini-

with her first reading of iIJbraan and

As an autobiographical transgressian, hawwer, Brittain's exposure

of the fault lines betwccn the experiaicing self and the rratrrating self,
her retrospective coarstnictim of a feminist subjectivity, hardly

ccinstitutes an error, for, in the exa, it serves a very inportant

functioan in Brittain's detennine effort to m i t e the! mrmran's uar epic.
Like her insistence un writing a w a r autobiography not m l y as the lige

of a VAD, but also as the life of wanan t o m by the c-ting

claims of

public and private, Brittain's feminist i m i t i a n g becams yet

another ideological inflectim which reveals her fenmle subjectivity.
And, as such, it becornes another viable force pushing against the

definitioaial walls of the genre. Fran a political perspective, in other

wors, it suggests that Brittain has not anly forced apen the narrative
boumbries that kept wanm's war autobiographies fran canarical
recognitian, but also that she is asserting another ideology as a

substitute for the m e uhich bad nuttured the myth of the lost
geineratiaa and assioab that trmch literature was i t s m l y appropriate
voice. -more,

with Brittain's own voice split between the

subjectivity of the past and the subjectivity of the presa~t,the

arrogant a s s w t i m of mit-

subjectivity tbat we fn in so many of

the tremch works is effectively rcvised. Brittain's autobiographical

selves danonstrate that m e voice is no langer sufficiant.

Uhere Zbs-t

of YouM becas saarwhat more carfusing, W e r ,

is in the realni of form, for al-

B r i t t a i n ' s subjectivity raises

l i t t l e question of her dcparture fran the garcric nom, her adaptation

of several traach-like tropes has nmny of the book's c r i t i c s thorauQhly

canfomded, Sandra Gilbert, auphasizing Brittain's language and tane,

sees her account as more masculine

than faninine. Oeborah Gorham, fixing

an the absence of "deft" irony and "linguistic decarstructim" of the

heroic (Gorfiam 1996: 232-234), suggests, t o the cmtrary, that her

account is more distinctively fende. And Dorothy Golman, adopting y e t

another approach, suggests that Brittain's use of high diction together
w i t h her imitatim of a kULd of "jolly gmd chap" t m e (Goldman 1995:
109) lends the text a certain g d e r a l aimbiguity.

To sane extmt, the text supports al1 of these reaings.

Brittain's articulation of the divisive effects of war certainly 1credence t o Gilbert's notion that the book expresses a typically

msculine pessinrism. The book's tone, moreover, i s nothing i f not

lamentative, particularly as it draws to a close. In fact, Brittan
provides us with what could be carsiderai the quintessential lost

generatim 1-t

Too many victims of the G r e a t W a r have not risen again an

w i l l never rise, while there appear t o be guite a nim\ber of

that yaunger gencratiar which swings betwcen jazz and

mwloyment i n a world d ~ u d e dof prospects and leit arid

and point less , u b have ncver ris= at a l 1 (TY 496).

L. Sch~arz

138

The text is equally coaperative where Deborah Gorham's opinions

are cmcerned. Brittain's attitude tawards heroic langrrage, for one, is
far fran decarstrirctive. Her martyr-like depictias of both Roland

Leightar (her fianc) and Eduad Brittain (her brother), indeed, s-t
quite the cmtrary. And the fact, furthemore, that Brittain refers to
Roland after his death as m e wauld mfer to Christ not mly d i r m s
her ranantic attitudt, but also establishes a cainectim with an older
tradition of heroic war writing, a tradition in uhich it wauld not be
uncoriraoll to liken

the w a r to a kind of Christian crusade (Tylee 57).

Similarly, Brittain's irany, although it exists, is not pointed in

exactly the same directitm as the irmy of the trmch works. As Jean
Pickering has noted, kittain does employ a type of surface metaphor, at
least in so far as an i r d c cantrast between the tennis courts axzd
trenches can be discerned (Pickering 76). Houever, compared with

Sassoan's Mernoirs of a Fox-Himthg Man or Edmmd Blunden's Ukzdertones of

War, where the surface metaphors are furdamental to the structure of the

works, Brittain's attempts to pictorialize the irany of war are much

less pronounceci. In fact, her tendency where irony is cancerne is

simply to deliver it head an, as a subject ont0 itself, part of the

cruel reality of war.
A d finally, to accaanodate Dorothy Golman's notion of Testament

of Youth, we m y d e n t e that the language of the text also bears a

striking resemblance to its masculine counterpart. Brittain may not

display her literary predispositian in broad structural strokes, but, an

a verbal level, she d e s herself quite evident. Brittain's description

of Malta at the beginning of Chapter Seven is, in fact, worthy of high

L. Scfwarz

139

rmance. She recalls the island as an "intenta1 of heavme' (TY 290), a

"sbrine, the object of a pilgrimage, a f a i r y country'' (TY 291), and Uum
cries out with a kind of ubi smt

lainent:

"Ca back, Pagic days! 1 was

sorrawful, anxiaus, frustrated, lanely--but yet h m vividly alive"

291). Certainly, f o r somcrxle like Paul msell, who is inclined t o see a

kind of ranantic rewival at the gmeric root of t h Great m r

autobiography (Golman 1995: 5 2 ) , this kin of lan~uagewould not be

considered out of place. And arguably, since she w d d have read most of
the war books published prior t o her writing of

-tanient

of Youth,

Brittain herself is well aware of the s i m i l a r i t y , snd i n more ways than

me,

for, beym this runantic hyperbole, she also recognizes her

t d e n c y taward descriptive realism. Referring t o a letter she wrote t o

her mother just prior t o the Battle of Eetapps, she rcl~rlrnthat she was
w r i ting

in a langrrage not so different fran that used by Roland to

describe the preparations f o r the f i r s t of those large-scale

inassacres which appeare t o be the m l y mcthod of escape

from trench warfare cmceivable t o the b r i l l i a n t imginatian

of the Higher Conmand, "there has been the usual restless

atmosphere of the great push--trains going baclcwards anci

forwars a l 1 day bringing w&ed

fran the line or taking

reinforcements t o it; canvoys c d n g in a l 1 night,

evacuations t o mgland and -les

going al 1 the tinte; -y

wards ud a great a~ntirigof the s t a f f fran one uard t o

axmther..." (TY 387, emphiwis mine).

L. scbarz

140

The point 1 wish to &manstrate, in other words , is the fact that

T-t

of Youth is inbrently cmtradictory,

huring the

Wfight of

the anrwentric inode1 rather incasistartly. To depart from the

critical n o m , hwever, which sriggests that Brittain's stmgge with

that mode1 nranifests itself as either imitation or rejectim, 1 wouid

argue that her textual struggle si-

itself sanewhat less decisively.

It may be the case that certain local instances provie clcar examples
of Brittain's resolution one way or the other, but, taken in the

of Brittain's self-corrscious and multiple subjcctivity, most of these

formal elerilents are c-licatd

by an ackiawledganent of textmlity.

Vacillating between voices of the past and voices of the presmt,

Brittain canstantly reminds us of her position as author of the text,

whether she is attempting to accotant for the mlutioai of her

experiencing self, or whether she is merely alerting us to the

"inmutability of time", the notion that

a people

"look back upon themselves it is not themselves they see,

not even--as it is custanary to say--#anselves

'as they

formerly were, but strange ghosts mde in their image, with

w h a n thcy have no cammicatian" (TY 13).

And thus, e v m as Brittain intersects u t h cmventim, her approach

invites us to recmsider the u s w t i m s inplicit in the fonn. For

instance, in the letter to her mother, there is little chance of being

seducd by the illusim of i d a c y inhercnt in Brittain's descriptive
1 anguage, because her self-caiscioirs ranark at the beginning a l r d y

deflates the illusian. Brittain's struggle with canvartian, thcrefore,

is not a prcttxtual event ue un assune fran various code, but rather

an ev-t

mactd within the text itself,

m e aspect of this stnaggle, as m saw i n the previous section, is

certainly apparait in Brittain's narrative pose. The assmptiars of

objectivity and authenticity inhermt in Brittain's aanplarity are
quickly temperd by her disclosure not m l y of a v u y subjective war,

but also of a cancept of self that is dvided a l m g both spatial and

temporal lines. Indeed, Brittain's intrusive and analytic remarks

throughout the text suggest that the locus of objectivity is no more.

Brittain's feminist i m i t i m i n g is arly am -le.

Another can be

f o u 4 in Brittain's continual desire to draw herself as a pacifist,

soarthing, in fact, she did not bec-

mtil 193617, ancl

iras

anly jurt

b e g i m i n g to cansider at the tiiae of writing this autobiography.

Xoreover, if we carefully cross-referaice Brittain's war diary

(published in 1981 as Chrcrnicle of Youth), the closcst approximation to

an W a t d accomt of the period, w e discover that Brittain's

distaste for war was rather Qradual, that she began instead w i t h a more
ranantic view, arc -ch

Lynne Layton identifies as the product of very

naXve and abtract notims of heroism (Laytan 72), and one which Alan
Bishop suggests is the product of a y a g , idsalistic woman much more
takm u i t h the "glan#ur of war"

than the h-ty

of pacifism (Bishop

1983: 86; 91). Thus, wm without delving too far into the caplex
relatianship between the diary and the autobiography, are is able to

rwognize t h presmce of Brittain's xaarrating self as an anachronistic

imition.

L. Scbiwarz

142

Ironieally mough, haJever, Brittain issues the in~itatioaiherseif

by way of caastantly ail-g to, or inclirding fnmts of, her diary

within the t e :
The nave quotatiais fraa my yauthful diary which 1 have

use& and intend to use, are incl-

in this book in order

to give sane idea of the effect of the War, w i t h its stark

disil l u s i m t s , its miseries mmftigatsd by polite
disguise,

the ingnue who "greu up" (in a purely social

scnse) just before it broke out (TY 45, empIhsis mine).

Brittain's assunptim is quite plain. She inta&

to use these entries

as a kind of docra#itary source, as wimce o f ber part in the war.

Cfurdcling her i d a t e reactim to the evarts of those years, the
iary represents for her an "unmitigated" slice of history. Seemingly,

then, Brittain plays directly into the daninant assunptian of the war

autobiography, namely that these accounts are capable of duplicating the

realism of the event. In other words, like many of the d-tary
autobiographers, Brittain feels c-lled

war

to interject evidentiary

material in order to support her narrative claims, mgagng i n a very

typical practice of overdeterminatim (Cobley 83). Hwever, as Evelyn
Cobley rweals, such a practice is inherently cmtradictory, for while
the miter is attaqpting "to gr-

the text firmly in experience,"

producing a kind of minietic reafism, he or shc also reveals, by virtue

of the textual insertim, "that ampirical reality recdes behind an

infinite d&n of substitutians" (Cobley 85). Sinply put, Brittain's
ability to anploy sny part or al1 of her war diary exposes the actual
contingency of the process. For instance, Brittain's failure to

L m Schwarz

143

incorporate any diary artries after her accaunt of 1916 w h n , in fact,

her war diary sparrned the years 1913-1917, would certainly alert us to

her authorial selectivity.

In this respect, lbstummt of Youth is not unike

niany

of the

cantemporary war autobiographies. The asswtiai of realism is met by

its cantradictim at the site of inscriptia. m r e Brittain
distinguishes herself, hawwer, is not in ternis of the contradictiun
itself, but rather in her narrative attitude twars this
overdetenninism. As was the case with the letter a r e shc r a ~ r k sar
her linguistic resaablance to Roland, Brittain's y-t

with hier diary

entries is similarly indirect. Very rarely &es she include a portion of

her diary without first caancnting either that she is about to do so, or
prefacing it with sane remark about herself or her state of m i n d at the

time of the entry. And, in most cases, she does not even include the
entry itself, but rather alludes to it, anphasizing its facilitative
role i n jarring her

nieliihry.

Therefore, as with the -le

of the

letter, Brittain's intrusiveness not arly deflates the illusian of

imnediacy, but a h o exposes the narrative cmtradictian, for in spite of
her intentions, she is ml1 auare of the fact that her diary does not
provide us with an "&tigateW

history. Imieed, w i t h each phrase that

alerts us to the intrusim of an outside fonn, Brittain is acknowleging

how very fia-tary a d cantingemt her reality i s .

Ruthemore, Brittain's departurc fran the use of more traditional

fornrs of werdeterminatim suggssts that her attitude in general is f ar

more playful than that of her male cartuaporaries. The Forcword, with
its declareci intcntiar to indict an artire civilizatim, might ring a

L. Schuarz

144

familiar bell. Houever, the faim tale fragment we encounter at the

beginning of Part m e w i l l most assuredly strike us

as musual, m one

hand resnnhling a classical epigram a d , ar the other han& figuring

ratber incmgmmsly mgst sgmbre dedicatians and w a r poenis. And yet,

the vignette itself is quite appropriate, a proleptic view of Brittain

as autobiographical heroine. Destiny offers a yomg uman the chOice

between happiness in youth and happiness i n old age, and she -es

latter. What &es

the

this fabular fragnent so musual, therefore, is not

so mch a matter of cooltent as arc of discursive politics. Wc questim

Brittain's choice not mly beause it bel-

to me Pink Fairy Book,

but also because it draws our attaatim to the arbitrary process of her

selectim. In 0th-

words, it is a choice which detracts from the

illusion of authmticity implicit in the text's refermitial discourse,

for unlike the inclusion of letters, recruiting poster facsimiles,
musical scores or diary entries, Brittain's use of fairy tale does more
to rweal than cmceal her narrative self, rauing the reader's

attention away fran the presund replicatim of war-time history and

taclkard

the autobiographical process itself.

Indee, cvar w i t h Brittain's more convcs1tiaral use of epigram-the

many war poem she eaploys at the begimng of each chapter-there

is a

sense that she is attanpting to break the discursive mould of the Great

War autobiography , for, rather than sinply al -1

t h e

to

perfom in their usual authanticating capacity, Brittain has use them

not only as a way of incorporating a more intimate perspective of the
war, but also as something approaching an interpretive key. aie very
M o u s indication that B r i t t a i n is writing beyond the convention is her

L m Schwarz

deliberate pattern of -ta

145

Altemating betueen her awn poetry

and tbat of her dcad fianck's and, uiriitiaially, mixing poetry f rom the
more reccnt past with poetry written during the war, Brittain's

epigramnatic arrangement i d a t e l y suggests that 8he is attqting to

strike a balance, between the perspectives of miale and fanale, canbatant
and non-canbatant, past and pres~t.Il-es,

baaeath the surface, nrany

of these poems also functim as a kind of proleptic signpt,

anticipating the wents that will follow.
Che rather outstanding example of this appears at the b-nning

of

Chapter Three, Oxfoml Vcrstrs the M u . The poem, deriving from Brittain's
Verses of a VAD, is cal le "August 1914", and ostensibly imagines Gad's
math against Man for the death and destnactiar caused by the w a r . In

the cmtext of the chapter which ensues, houever, the poem takes on a

slightly differmt canplexiai. The first line of the poem, "God said:
'Men have forgotten me"',

becanes especially iranic, particularly in

light of a circrnnstance that would warrant Brittain's awn recriminatiain.

She has finally won a small victory in the battle w i t h her father,
g a i n h g bis consent

to attend Oxford; and sudenly, the! war breaks out,

not anly depriving her of her belwad Roland, but also causing "an

infuriating personal interruptim" (TY 93). To Brittain's way of

thinking, therefore, she has bemr forgottm i n both a literal and a
figurative sense. She bas bccn physically left bebind, forgottm by the
man in her l i f e , as well as having fallar prey once again to the larger

patriarchal machine, for despite the fact that she has finally loosened
the stranglehold of her am father, Father mgland nar conipels her to
have her less than patriotic scat at Oxford to join the war effort.

L. SchsJarz

146

B r i t t a i n ' s poun, therefore, is 6uch more than just a tme-setting

gesture

of authmticatioa, for as a c a w m t i a r a l form which stretches

its cariventional capacity, its pertinence lies in its trarisgressian, i n

the margin of differmce which c a m t i t u t e s B r i t t a i n ' s signature. In

other words, it is B r i t t a i n ' s use of the epigram as a private

interpretive device t h a t once again a l e s us t o the carscious crafting

behind the story.
As oppascd

t o marry of her male contemporaries, thm, Brittain

establishes a Und of balance b e t w e m the book's r e f e r a r t i a l and textual

aspects, for a l e we may be canpelled by the s t o r y of the cxperimcing

"IN, w e a r e equally aware of the narrating "Eye" who gives this story

direction. Nowhere is this more apparent than in B r i t t a i n ' s carstruction

of a plot, for unlike the largely mstoried accounts of the aiale war
wrxters, Tcstamcnt of Youth bears the pattern of the traditianal
ronwce18. The caly thing missing i s the wt-

clooure, the happy

m n g w e usually equate w i t h marriage. But the f a c t t h a t Brittain

s u p p l i e s us with a successiai of epithalamial gestures m l y t o deprive

us of our much anticipated end

siapgests

neverthcless that some very

canscious crafting is at work.

Brittain's cmstructim of her relatimship w i t h Roland as a
clich of the star-crossed lwers is a pri-

example of such narrative

arrangement, exposing her i m i t i m of "plot" where one might not be so

e a s i l y discernable. Here, i t is not a i l y evident that Brittain has
orderai the evcnts clinuwtically, h t also a t t r i w t e d sane symbolic
(primarily religiaiis) si@ficancc

t o thoee cvarts. We are introduced t o

Roland during an accomt of Easter holidays in the mmths just prior t o

L. Schwarz

147

the war. Vera and Roland establish a cloae baxi. They mect a total of

swen times before they f inally kiss, and a a l y thimi in a mrrnmt which
they

manage t o steal away fran tbtir chaperm, Vera's Aunt B e l le. They

agree t o a tentative

cn~a-t.

Roland is killed just i n time t o darkein

her family's Christmas lebratian. kd his -th,

martyred Christ

suggestive of the

Iiiaaself, is rnore tlnn once associateci uith the Oxford

chape1 inscriptim, "1 am the Resurrectim and the Lif eut. B r i t t a i n ' s
rendering of the situatim suggests that she is extraly m i n i u l of her
reader, and perhaps even anticipates a reader w i t h certain literary

predilectims, for through the quality of armngumnt Brittain not mly

delivers the story of two star-croased lwers, but also manages t o

canvey

a serise of haw the w a r could intensify even the inost quotidian of

experimces, haw it succeeded i n both expsditing and quickly aborting

wbat would otherwise have bem a very ordinary relatiaaship.
Of course, part of what adds t o our scnse of Brittain's cmscious

crafting is fier deliberate drainatization of each one of the

relatimships cmtributing t o the werall ranantic pattern. Here 1 w i l l

have t o tread somcwhat more lightly, since 1 carrnot claim that the
evmts

of Brittain's l i f e are part of the autobiographical invclitiai.

Certainly the fact that Brittain does not marry either Roland Leightool
or Victor Richardson has everything t o do with their deaths in the war,

and the fact that she does not relate her marriage t o George Catlin (who
is i d e n t i f i d a i l y as G a ) has much more t o do w i t h the t v r a l

baundaries of 1900-1925 shc has aet for the text. H a ~ c v e r ,Brittain's

choice of presentatian is another natter cntirely, since her arrangenient
of the facts i n each case places these anticipate iriarriages in a

L. Schwarz

148

cmtext of heavy irary. With the chth of Roland, for instance, Brittain
intensifies the cvart by f i r s t presmting us with an accoiuit of her
famly Christmas. Although, as the narrator of the piece, shc would have

becn well auare of Roland's death preceing the holiday (since he died
an Decernber 23, 1915), she choses instea t o delay this informatim i n

the t e x t mtil a f t e r she has r e l a t d the &tails of the family

celebratian, alnwrst as i f she wants t o reproduce the c m 1 i r m y

SA%

herself would have ucpcrience in hearing the news two days later fran
Roland's sister, C l a s e . Similarly, with Victor's death, she prefaces the
evmt by relating a story which appeared in the newspaper of

a grieving

widow who attanpts t o console herself by volunteering t o marry a d

soldier (TV 343-4).

e d

The fact, tha~,that B r i t t a i n essartially did the

same thing with poor Victor, who returned fran the war with a severe
head injury and suffering f ran partial blin&hess, presmts the s i t u a t i m

as an ironie imitatian of the previously related ncws i t a m . kd thus,

when Victor finally dies, the ironie intensity is further increased.

Brittain emerges much more p a t k t i c a l l y than the womn in the newspaper,

for she has naw been doubly widowed by the cruel realities of the war.
With her i w n g marriage t o George Catlin, hawever, the irmy

is sanewhat more canplex, introducing an extra-textual level as w e l l . As

both of the mort r-t

Brittain biographidg reveal, the r u s o n that

she presmts the details of her courtship in an abbreviatd fashim, ami

indeed the reasm she refers t o her husband as the anmymus G. , is
largely the result of Catlin's s t r m g objectim t o the inclusiar of such
information i n the autobiography. Not m l y did he cmsider his marriage
private, but he was under the inpressim as well that such i n f o m t i o n

L. s c h a r z

149

could be potentially harmful t o his political career (Gortiam 1996: 229;

Berry

and Bostridge 257). This Imawlalge, r d back into the t e x t

produces a kind of multiple irmy. On aic band, her upcming aarriage

seemingly presmts us with a reversal of the previous t r d . Not mly

has she found a man who bas managed t o survive the war, but she has
foumi a caqpatible, fcminist mate who is willing t o accomaodate her
career with a "sani-detached marriage" (TY 658). And so, although the
text does not include the actual marriage, wc are still satisfied i n
howing that Brittain w i l l finally marry happily. But, m the o t h r

hand, w e must also ccmsider the possibility that B r i t t a i n bas

deliberately aborted the book's clding, an not just in respanse t o her

husband's reqirrst, but also as a way of expressing her tmn anger. As

Deborah Gorham m t i a a r s i n the chapter she devotes t o -tament

of

Youth, B r i t t n i n was cmvince that t b details of her cowtship and

marriage were necessary t o the popular success of her autobiography.

kan this angle of vision, therefore, a hint of the iorhappy outcane

which would have informsd Brittain's writing in 1933 is already

apparent. Certainly any notion w e may have of Catlin as an accomnodating
mate is somwhat alterai, as is the way in which wc perceive the
boudaries of the t e , since this bifurcatiai not a l y makes us aware

of evmts wirich extend b e y d the scope of Brittain's self-i-ed

limits, but also, arce again, forces us t o recogniee the t-ral

fracturing between the Vera Brittain wfra narrates the story and the Vera

Brittain who is the subject of the autobiography.

What is w i d m t in a11 of these exanples,

m, is Brittain's

insistmce on narrative interest. Whether she has developsd a plot in

L. sdmarz

1%

order t o bolster the descriptive details of b r r love story, or uhether

she has smly draaratized sinaller episodes within the larger -le,

ber

narrative interferancc i s quite deliberate. In other words, Brittain bas

sacrificed the illusim of spai+If'rrn authmticity by rcv-ling
tbe phenomenological and saniotic canstraink -ch

saire of

are 110-lly

suppressed in an autabiography which purports a seamlcss replicatian of

history. By rwealing the narrative "Eye" behin t

h errpcriencing "I",

she has not oinly shasn us the -tradictim

which informs the assurption

of inmediacy, the idsa that an autodiegetic narrative is perfectly

annietic, presarting us with an uiiisdiated versiun of history, but also

the s d o t i c cmtradiction which lies a t the hart of such

tepresentational asswnptims, for Brittain's stmctural and thenatic

patterns imiibdiately suggest a much larger frame of referace, me which
explodes the idea that the facts are able t o speak for themselves. To be
sure,

once w e have rccogxized the pattern of ranance o r an irmy which

extends beyend the tanporal fraine, the notim of a referentially self-

cantained text becanes somcwhat l d c r o w Therefore, by achowledging

rather than suppressing these ixahermit c m t r a d i c t i w , Brittain has mce

again managsd t o sign her differmce i n the f i e l d of cantuaprary war

narratives.

By giving precaimce to the notim that Brittain's tcxt

carstitutes both a specific respme t o the "official" male versiam of

L. Schwarz
the war and a more general response to the

151

of the trmch

autobiography, 1 have wanted to s w t not arly the inportance w e

should assi-

to Brittain's assertion of a funale/faminist subjectivity,

but also the si-ficance

of her repres~~tatimal
coastruct as an

enacted struggle w i t h the mocartric noms of the genre. In both

instances, Brittain's revisiamry potaitial is rmarkable. As an author
who insists on recotmting the mraan's uaz fran a perspective which blurs
the oppositim between the frmt lines and the h m e frart, Brittain ha,

created a sort of literary No Man's Land -ch

both revises the notion

of the Great W a r autobiography and crrpands the territory of the

autobiographical subject. She has taken the Great War autobiography
bey&

its werly "entrcnchsd" bomds not only by acltnawldging the

external perspective of the non-cetant, but also by inscribing the

fractureci borderland subjectivities which constitute that reality, the

in tension between passive and active

experience of someme ca-t

participation in the w a r and between public and private claims. And

furthenaore, as a war autobiographer who ackrawldges the split between
the experimcing subject and the narrating subject, allawing both an
equal identity throughout the tee, Brittain has also taken the Great

War bey&

the realm of myth. Her 1

t

for the lost generatim may

suggest a w a w n upholding a male traitiar, but

her self-caiscious

narratia, to the cmtrary, s m t s a woman eagcr to break the mould, a

wanan whose autobiographical rdslism both questiorrs and tevises the

artdrocaitric ass-tiaas

of spm-

that traditiamlly mark the

WC.

authenticity and objectivity

L. Schwarz

152

Tbtrough a process of multiplication, thai, ate c d d say that

Brittain has certainly dam her part f o r the revisim of subjectivity,

for, like Woolf, she creates "subjectivity through famie crtperiencc"
of shifting realities" (Gray 84;

and through "an ambiguous snvir-t

85)

. She respoolds t o the "off icial"

versian of the uar by providing an

account which is a t mce private aad public, distinctively famile and

yet

somewhat iraric i n its seaning imitatiai of certain androcenttic

strategies. In other words, she adopts a multiple perspective which

enables her t o occupy both the positiaai of self and other, a sort of
binary vision, 1 am sure, Paul Pusse11 never aitertains, for it is

aie

which must a h a w l a i g e that i t is possible for a female writer not anly

t o take up arms against the dominant patriarchal myths, but also t o

construct her subjectivity in f u l l vi,w of her existence as part of that

fiction.

NOTES
1. This particular excerpt fran Woolf's diaries is reproduccd i n Paul
Berry and Mark Besttidge, Vera B r i t t a i n : R Life ( t a i d o n : Pimlico, 1995,
p. 264), and constitutes uhat is perbaps Woolf's most visceral response
t o Testammt of YozWz. The original can be f ottnd in volune 4, The Diary
of Virginia Woolf, 5 vols., sd. Anne Olivier B e l l (Ladai: HM, 1984).
2. Although VAD was technically the acrmym f o r the Volmtary Aid
Detachment, it becme in papular usage a way o f referring t o an
W v i d u a l nurse
belarged t o the organitatim.

3. Testament of -ience
(1957) is the thir instalment of Brittain's
testament seri-. Ihstammt of Frimciship was publislad in 1940, and
Testament of Ti-, a r l y balf -lete
wiirn Brittain did, r d n s
impublished. The cantext of the passage c i t a i is aie in which Brittain
tries t o account f o r her motives in writing Zbstammt of Youth, and the

m t i a r itself reprouces her sesparse frun early in 1929 t o the aiany

(male-authoreci) uar books being published at that t a .

usage of the tenn "traich autobiagraphy" stemis priiaarcily fran

the tact that the tmjority of war accounts came f r m s o l d i e r s who fought
at the R a t . A arore cam~rehcnsived i s c u s s i m of the iimplicatiars
s u r r o m i ~ gthe tenn will f o l l w in the next section of this chapter.
4. Popular

5. Brittain's iipressim is, of course, quite e r r m . Claire Tylee's

ZBe G r e a t kRnr and kkmcn 's Carsao~~9111ess
(1990) includss a lcngthy
appendix -ch
cites several hmdrd First World War-relatai works
writtm by w a w n betwcen 1914 an 1964, and Jean Kennad, citing W i l l i a m
Matth-'
BibliogrrpiUI of British Autahioprsphies in Ver8 Brittain and
Wfred H o l t b y : A kkcking R r t n e r s t p (1989), rccozds tbat sevmty-two
war autobiographies alme wese writtm by w a m n p r i o r t o 1929. Far more

interesting WLan the f a c t of her wersight, homver, is the reasm

behind it, for apart f r m b r carscioils decisiar t o werlook the f i c t i m

written by women (Berry and Bostridqe 240), Brittain 8to daare a

world-wide i w r a n c e papetuateci by the ethic of the t r ~ &

autobiography: 'Thme Tbat Had B e a ~-re"
( G o l c h m 1995: 101).

In Repcesenting kkrr: Fonn and Idcol opy i n First Wrld kRu Narratives
( l B 3 ) , Evelyn Cobley spsaks of " t e l l i n g the truth" as a priinary
autobiographical i m s e and "cammmrating the dead" as a secaidary
motive (Cabley 6-7 )
6

7 . Se Martin Ceadel, "In focus: The! War Books of 1928-30" i n Z h m t i e M W t u r y Britain: EcQnanic, Social and Clrl tural Change, ai. Paul Johnson
(LQIdon: Lmgmm, 1994) 228-234.

8. The suggestion is made by Paul Berry asrd Mark Bostridge in Vera

Bzttain: A Life ( L a d a i : Pimlico, 1995) 246.
9. Of the f ew exceptiars, one of the m t
m y e to A l 1 lliat (1929) wtiichnot only

notable is Rabert Graves's

entploys a great deal of
dialogue (mostly invented o r recreated), krt a l s o d e s use of several
c m c c a w ~ t i a i in
s order t o dramaatize the narrative. theruise, Graves
hiiself has admitted that there is riot much of a plot, kit rather a
series of short s t o r i e s . See Robert Graves's But I t Still
Ch
(Lard-: Cape, 1930, 6 ; qilatai in m s e l l , 27ze Great kar ud lrdodern
M-ry,

205).

10. 1 r e f e r here t o S i g f r i d Sassoar's autobiogmphxcal trilogy: m i r s

of a Ebx-Hmting)ibn, 1928 (Lad=: Folio Society, 1971); -irs
of an
Infantry O f f i e r , 1930 (Imch~:E'aber and E'aber, 1965); und m s t a n ' s
Progress, 1936 (Ladai: Folio Society, 1974). Although Sassoon has
adapted a f i c t i m a l nmde, mploying the "persara" of George Sherston,
the works thsniselves bave gareral l y bem regared as "i;plimsdiatd"
autobiography. The krlk of this inpression stf rom Sassoar's att-t
t o "recreate" the iamisdiacy of the evaits, which, iranically, supersedes
his self-cmscioiis attitilde towards this narrative meavour.

11. Another versian of this essay (Si8.3 [Spring 19831: 422-450)

appears in Sandm G i l b e r t ' s aad Susan Oubar 'a collaborative e f f o r t
Sexchanges, Vol. II (-p.
7 ) of No UM'S &and: Thc Place of the kkraan
W r i t e r i n the -ticth
Ccntury ( N a hava^: Y a l e UPO 1989). Hwever,
canpared w i t h G i l b e r t ' s earlier w t s on the subject, the cmly
difierence would appear t o be i t s tauiarcy tawar werstatcnulnt, f o r
instance, its presentation of the war as a " f e s t i v a l of sexual
liberatim" a r e wunm "smwpsd wes the mste 1of the war w i t h
the energetic love of the Valkyriest' (293).
12. The f i r s t cbapter of Dorothy Gol&an's
Wkitcrs and the Great
Har (New York: Twayne, 1995) c m s i d e r s the body of infonnal resprxlses t o
the war, the letters, journals, diaries and nvmnirs never intcrui#i f o r
publication, naw housed in the Archives of the Iaapl~erialWar Muse\ni (18,
19, 25). These p r i v a t e d o c m ~ ~ can
~ t sbe fowxl in 2% M m m at klbrk
Col 1ectim (Brightm, Siusex: Hamester Hicrof om8 1984-1986, 91 reels )

13. Althotagh B r i t t a i n herself arnticms tint hcrr f i r s t two attenpts t o

c h r d c l e the war wcrc by way of diary and laig nwel (TY 11-12), a more
d e t a i l e iscrissiar of the pr-ch evantually lai t o Testament of
Youth can be f oiod i n Paul Berry and Mark Bostridge V e r a B r i ttain: A
Life (Lancm: Pimlico, 1995) 236-238.

14. In an article entitld, "The Thecation of Eward snd Vera Brittain:

Class and Gender in an Upper-Middk-Class Family in Late Victorian and
Edwardian mgland" (Kstory of Bhcatim R c v i e w 20.1 [1991] : 22-38),
Deborah Gorham describes the relati-p
betweem Floraice Bervar and
Miss Heath Jmes as intimte, arlding that "although no evidence exists
to support an assertia that t k two uamm a c t i v e l y chose to make a l i f e
together in preferaice to heterosexual marriage, they did create f o r
thenselves a ' w a n a n cmtrolled space', a camnunity in which work and
home were amalgamated" (29). I t is interesting t o note that t h e
def initim of lesbianism which Gorbam gpploys 1s that of Martha Vicinus,
m e of anly a feu fsminist critics who efine the term sa broadly.
Lillian Fademuan, who regars any r e l a t i a m h i p of
Others incl*
emotianal i n t e n s i t y between w a n m 8s lesbian, and Blanche Cooke, who
fomses on an envirament of mutual support as the m l y ncccssary
canpanent. See Hartha V i c i n u s , Indc,pcndant kknwrn: klbrk and
ty for
Single H m e n , 1850-1920, (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1985); Lillian
Faderman, SwpssUIg the Love of m: R a m ~ t i cFriendsMp and Love
Betmen klbaiien fram the R e n a i - a
t o the Prtsemt, (New York: William
Morris, 1981); ud Blanche Cooke "'Pham A l o n e S t i r My Imagination':
Lesbianism and the Cultural Traditiua" Si4 (1979) : 718-739.

15. Jean Kanard disasses the p o a s i b i l i t y of a lesbian r e l a t i a s h p

b e t w e e n Brittain an Holtby a t soarc langth in the introductory chapter
of V c r a Brittain ud a n i f r d Hol tby: A mrking R r t n e r s h i p (Hanover: UP
of New mgland, 1989). Carsidering both s i d e s of t h issue, the mre
cormervative v i m of biographers l i k e Paul Berry m Hillary Bailey who
contend that there uas no erotic -t
and cite the faet that
B r i t t a i n was philosophically oppoeo t o huoosexuality, and the more

liberal views of such critics as Sheila Jeffreys WhO sees Brittain as

of her i r u h i l i t y t o &fend lesbianism,
mre memte position, satisfied with
the idea of aui -tiaml
intiniacy which a l l m the authors to mgage i n
a sort of athalLtic l i t e r a r y self-clefinitiai (12).

sathing of a hypocrite b a w e
Kamad berself
t o adopt a

16. After the war, uing Brittain's s e c d a t t a d a n at Oxford. s k

in the frminist push for the fmal e stiidents'

right t o matrieulate and graduate. "[Tlhe battle was alawrst won, as she
p u b it, on May 11, 1920 then a s t a t u t e claiming t h s e rights was
actually passd, and tmlly w a i in ctober of that y e a r when the
University saw the matriculatim of rrearly a thoiisand f emale & d e n t s
and the f i s s t &grcc giving ceranmy involving umen (TY 506-507).
bemxne actively involvd

17. Host c r i t i c s who conceni themselvcs w i t h the issue of B r i t t r i n ' s

pacifisrn cite 1936 as the y e a r in which she &came politically active,
since it coincies uith her e t i n g of cana^ Oick Shcppard, the leder
of the Pledge Union. See especially the two mogt recent biographies,
Paul Berry and Mark Bostrige, V i r a B r i t t a i n : A Life (1995) and Deborah
Gorham VB r i t t a i ~ :A Fcnrrist t i f e (1996), as uell as articles c i t d
by Muriel Me11-,
Ma&
Rintala and L y m e Laytm.
18. To my kiawldge, Jean Pickering i s the anly c r i t i c who varturcs this
type of interpretation, claiming that Brittain's structure i s t h a t of a
ranantic caney. &e "On the Battlefield: Vera Brittain's Zkst-t
of
Youth," The Fcaiale fmirginatim and the memist Aesthethic, ais. Sandra
Gilbert rind Susan Oubar (New York: Gordon Bseach, 1986) 76.
19. 1 refer here t o the colhborative effort of Paul Berry and Mark
Bostridge, Vera Brittain: A Life (Laidm: Pimlico, 1995), and Dcborah
Gorham's V e r a Brittain: A F a n u r i s t Life (Oxford: Blachell, 1996).

CHAPTER THREE

AutcrbioPraahv of Ali-

B. Tbklas:

As Marianne De Kovai recently suggeste in her introductim to the

special Gertnnic Stein commemorative issue of -cm

Ectim Studied,

the relatively new aind ever-burQeaning interest in Stein's oeuvre can be

attributed primarily to the decline of New Criticism and the subsequent
rise and curency of feminism and pu&modeniisni.

In other words, the

change in critical cmp,hasis from text to cartext, fran the imrs-1

to

the persmal, and fran the centre to the margin, has givar rise to a
figure who would otherwise have r4mained forever ar the d g e . The

implication is that Stein was never "really" a modernist, at hast not

according to the c m v m t i a m l (New Critical) definition. fndeed,

elsewhere, De Koven has idrntified Stein either as an author whose

relatianship to makrnism constitutes the "middle gr&

between caitre

and ~nargin'~,or as me uhose affiliatiaa uith the avant-garde iaakes

her more of a wtmodernist'.

Part of uhat colpliates this vicw of

Stein as a denizen of the modtmist hinterland, however, is the fact

that while she may be "half out" (to borrou De Kavca's terminology), she

is still, by imlicatim, "half in". kd surely Dc K o v a ' s "postmodern"

designation carries similar camotatims, for, as c r i t i c s sisch as Linda
Hutchean have theorizd, "pastmrYiernism literally naam and catitutes
its am paradoxical identity" (Hutchcai 1988: 2 0 ) , both extricating and
inplicating the "modtrnism" which follows its prefix.

L. Scbsltarz

157

Discerning which part of wernism Stein implicatts, or, perhaps

it is btter to say, which part of ainocrnism imp?liatcs Rein, is

another matter entirely, for the catcgoracal slippagc which s-

to

cbaracterize Stein's oeuvre as a whole is saacthing uhich rlso applies

to every type of literature Stein has writtcn. 1

evai

hesitate to use

Stein's revision of f orm and lssguagc would, in

the wotd "genre",

most cases, burst the definitiaral botadaries. 2% Autchhiograp)UI of

Rlce B. Taklas (1933) is no cxceptim, in spite of its cmventiaral

appearance, and in spite of its reception, by sonue, as a less than

literaty piece of gossip5 As 1 w d d argue, in fact, it is because of

its slippery appearance that it manages so successfully to question the
"cmvention" to which it belongs, for not unlike Vera Brittain's
Testament of Youth, TAe Autbiograpliy of A l i c e B. T d t l a s destabilizes
al1 of its canventianal tropes from within-writing
androcmtric no-,

against and beyand

carving out a new subject positim, and teforming

ideas of subjectivity in general. Arxi in this, the book accwlishes

much the same work as Virginia Woolf's final autobiographical "Sketch",

autobiography for
dmamtrating the ultimate UIBdeQiU1cy of ~~1ventiaral

so subjective a reality.
Where Stein's approach difiers, buever, is in htr dtliberate

manipulatiaa of the mader. hlike Brittain or Woolf, Stein does not

take a sympatlaetic reader for granted. Nor dots she assu t b t a

sympathetic r d r is

~ven
nncessarily

inplieci by "autobiography".

Certainly, if her title i s any indicati-,

Stein is not lookhg to

establish any sort of "autabiographiul pact".

Scemingy just the

opposite, for it is not until the fral page of the sut-ography that

Stein apsnly rweals herself as the author of the text Uhtil this
point, we receive what has been callsd, v a r i w l y , a "ta11 tale" (Adams
37), "a duplicitous out-of-body ruse" (Smith 6 5 ) , and "a leshian lie"
( S t i n p s a 1992: p a s s i m ) , al1

of -ch

suggests tbat Stein is not arly

f lauting some of the iwwt basic autobiographial assmptions, h t also

interrogating reaerly expe&atiaas of the

WC.

Ard still more

interuting is the fact t h t such an interrogatiai also revises the

reader's (anri nvany a critic's) expectatiai of Stein's autobiography as

the most accessible of her literary productions, since any apparart

simplicity is really mly part of the literary "nase" at hand. If the
reader is i n t e r u t d in truth or authmticity in u i y cmvmtional sense

of those ternis, thm he or she skrrnild look elsewhere. This is not to

suggest that Stein's text is completely devoid of "truth", a l y that it
does not deliver

the kind of veracity w e have c u to associate with

that word. What it does deliver is a totally different diguration of

the traditional reaer/autobiographer relationship. Where usually
autobiography is regardal as a readerfy genre, one in which the reader

passively carsi~ncswhat is thought to be a finished text (a telcological

progression where the correspadence of language and m n g is never
questimed), Stein's version o f autobiography rcconfigures it as a
writerly genre, one in which the reaer is forcd to actively produce
meaning

fran thc infinite nuabtr o f poasibilities t h t cmstitute the

or incaaplate text7.
bhat 1 wauld like to suggest, in other words, is that Stein's tact
pushes the rtader bey&

the bomds of ganeric limtatiai, ud not

simply because sht is writing against the grain of carvmtiaral

L. Sctmmsz

159

autobiography, making the reaer mscioris of its shortcomings, krt

priaiarily because sbe forces t b rrJirlcr outsi& the very logic which
determines wbat that "grain" is in the f i r s t place, what is uid is not

considerd 'bonarnial" autobiographical practice. Of course, it is m t i r e l y

possible tbat Stein's am pccuiiu logic n y force the remder out

pranaturely, for, as ~ c o r g i a~ a t a bis
a r-tiy

s-td.

thare

are actually two types of rcaticrs enguxkrsd by the tact--the intimate

rshder, the t y p e of reader who i s willing t o f ollaw each interpretive
p o s s i b i l i t y (within nd bey&

the text), an the stranger, the type of

reader who i s preocmpie w i t h the remperatim of an -pal

a narrative which "mvmovts tamrds endmg and mi*
592).

Although admittsdly my -hasis

narrative,

memhg'g (J-tm

gives priority t o the intimate

reader, 1 do not wish t o discount the inportaxe of the stmnge reader,

f o r , i n part, 1 see the iagdication of both r d e r s , i n dialectic

r e l a t i a r t o each other, as saaething -ch

cartributes t o the

extraordinary quality of Stein's text. H a s e v e r , since my objective here

is t o dernoaistrate how Stein forces the rtader beyard nozamtive

expectatims, 1 would l i k e t o consider this aspect of the text as a r l y

me of mny which manage t o break Waugh the generic autobiographical
seal.

In teraas of my

ani argummt,

of these transgressive el-ts

temproral and narrative

O*,

thesefore, 1 would Wce t o treat aach

in turn--Stein's alternate scnse of

her subtitutim of s t y l e for truth, and

hex plural, 11~ln-heterosexualsubjectivity-bcfore

of Stein's

iwlid

retumhg t o the idea

radership. In 0 t h ~
words, 1 feel it is necessary t o

look a t the uay in which Stein writes beymd the genre, before w e can

L. Schwarz

160

tu1 1y appreciate the way in which she forces the reader t o r d b c y d

the genre. The i t a n y in this, of course, is tbat my

ain

wroach will be

most un-Steinian, adhering t o a fairly rigid logical pattern.

Coaequmtly, part of what 1 d

d like t o ardeavour i s a preiminary

explanatim of Stein's basic a r t i s t i c philosophy, not m l y as a =y

of

seeking partial rsdress, but also a s a uay of acssing the ghost in the

machine, the thought which informs Stein's resparse to, and rejectim
of, the autahiographical form. Such an inquiry, 1 believe, is important

for two raasons: f i r s t , because Stein's inplicatiai as a niodemist (in

the New Critical sarse of the term) is, to a great extcnt, the remit of

her ideas about language and art in -ml;

and second, because 1 would

l i k e to argue that Stein's literary practice, as an extension of U s

theory, not anly questions the efinitiaml boindaries of autobiography,

but also those of modernism i t s e l f . If there is any way in which Stein

implicates modernism, it is i n her incanny ability to staind half in and

half out of tradition while vieuing ( a d reviwing) things f rom a

perspective that always seerirs to repositim the border w h i c h separates
the two.

In tangua~rcCbrbotold:

QI

-inicntal

klkiting By kkmcn (1992) ,

Nancy Gray introchaces her chapter an Stein w i t h a childhood anecdote

about a t i m e when sht and her s i s t e r ha been dard to grasp a bal1 of
mercury. The story sentes a dual purpose. aI m e hiand, Gray is trying to

L. s c b a r z

161

carvey the iapossibility of fixing Stein's c a r t i n w u s l y c b a ~ g n gand

processive ieas about language. On the ottier band, she is s-ting

that criticisnt, as an epistamlogical version of "taking hold" (Gray
39), is not mlike her oun atteapt t o grasp the rcury. The contact of

text and critic aaanages t o create srairtbing else antirely. Of course, i n

the face

of postmodernism, Gray's admmitim is b d l y mu. But

nevertheless, as an attcnpt t o Licniinstmte haw thoroughly

"uncategorical" (Gray 40) Stein's writing is, t k gialogy is mre than
appropriate, for not anly &es it manage t o capture the idsa of Stein's
mercurial thotight, Wt also the way in which her mediun, ordinary

American english, remains carstant, evaa as her artistic nisdiation

cantinually reshapes it

Indced, Stein's insisterace m ordinary langmge is a large part of

her critical arigma. We encorolter the appara~tsimplicity of "a rose is

a rose i s a rose," and either w e dismiss it as utter namaise, or, like
Jcan Malcolm ~ruurin',we a t t w t t o wrestla w i t h al1 of i t s poesible

meanings. Unfortmately, Stein's awn t b a g h t s m the subject are j u s t as

varied as the critics' respmses. In part, her use of everyday langirage

is a product o f her angoing fascination w i t h gramaar, particularl y the

idea that wm simle words can be imbusd with an

~XCCSS

of

that "real siwlicity" i s , i n fact, very carplicated. kiorcover, as she

states i n Tlic Autabiooralpliy of Aicr B. Tcrklas, "the use of fabricated

wor&

offendal her, it was an escape into imitative cmotiarialid (ABT

119)lomib it muid

s-.

then, Stein's insistica an the ordinary is

also partly i n f o m by a kind of moral objectim t o linguistic

inventim, at least t o the extent that it indiates a certain mimetic

L. Schwarz
ramnticism-the

162

whole of uhch is raderd soaew)rat iraric by the fact

that her of farse is ant to justify

aui

aarlier statd "desire to

express the rhythai of the visible world" (ABT 119). Prestmiably,

therefore, Stein's language not anly firnctiaas as a r e f l e c t i m of the

underlying coaghxity of gramnatic stnactures, kit also as a way of
imitating the "rhyths" of m i r i c a l r e a l i t y .
Already then, without vaituring any furthCr into Stein's a r t i s t i c
inpetus, it is evident that her s i n p l i c i t y is almost always deceptive,

cancealing a philosophy of inclusivamss which penetrates mach deeper

than the ridimaitary surface. What cartinues to carfuse the reader,

harwer, is the fact that

inost

of Stein's poetry, and a good quantity of

her prose, is i n e t e d with repetitim. Haw, we may ask, is this an

dequate reflection of the visible world and al1 of its ca@cxity? The
answer, of course,

on haw one caiccivcs of r e a l i t y . For Stein,

life is a pattern of repetitim with variatim, "the aarly thing that is

different fran one t i m e t o anothcr is what is sem and what is seen

depends an how everyboy is &ing werything" (Stein 1962 : 513) More

succinctly, variatim or difftraace is a matter of socio-historical

context; it is always m m r t cm the present m a n m t , -ch

both alters

and recreates the past. Thesefore, uhat a t f i r s t might appear rcpetitive

is actually Stein's way of accounting for the fluidity of time and
context. Nothing i s

ever repeate e x a c t l y the rrar uay twice. The

variatiars may be slight, but they are always a sign of movana~tan

caopositian, a reflection of reality as a p r m of interactiai.
In te-

of representatim, therefore, it i s d i f f i c u l t t o speak of

realism as a narrative structure w i t h a begixming, a micZdle and an end,

. . again Md again and

because f o r Stein r e a l i t y is a ptocess of begummg
again. Each interaction kt-

reality. -rality

text and caitext rareus or recreates

d s t s , but it i s cl-r

t o a notim of suspcnded

time, a cantinwus presait which is carstantly changng but never

reaching an d.Likeuise, the idea that realism is in any uay
equivalent to mirncticism has alwxst cwletely evaporated with Stein's
revision of the cmcept. Her prcoccugatian with the cantinuorrs present,
evm in her n w e l s anci short stories, sccms t o insinuate i t s e l f as

something much more akin t o ingnxssionisrn, the rcpetitim of larger

structures accomplishing the same work as the local repetition of her
poetry. Perhaps the only exception t o a11 of tbis is Stein's n o t i m of

character, which was gmatly inilwmcai by her sttrdies i n psychology

personality, a p e r s a n a l i t y that, no matter the variables, would ramin

EiPidamental. B u t the fact that Stein adopts this n o t i m is not wholly

inc-tible

w i t h her concept o f trcality, for, t o scme a t t e i n t , it is

simply a t r a n s l a t i a i of )rr "repetitim uith v a r i a t i d ' world view; only

here, i t is a certain cote of subjectivity which reaiains carstant while

the ever changing cartext takes wbat is l e f t and transforms it into a

persmality in progrus.
Al-

such a cutsory sketch cauld hardly provide us with a

couprehensive derstanding of Stein's Literary philosophy (for 1

believe, as Nancy Gray does, that any attcmpt ta "grasp" Stein will
never quite s a t i s f y the original), there i s a t 1-t
suggest why it

enough here t o

is that nmst c r i t i c s are plagued with an inability t o

categorize her writing. For me thing is certain: i f Stein intersects

LI Scb~arz
with l i t e r a r y cawcntian, it is d

begin again. S t r i c t ide!as of t

164

y t o resbape it and t o allou it t o

i sad
~ l-ty,

and assuaetions of

transparent langniage, are al1 d e n t fran Stein's way of thinking about

literature. Perbaps, f o r this masan, Stein is met a t home with poetry

and l i t e r a r y sketches. This, banver, dom not accomt f o r her c h o i e of

autobiography, or, f o r that matter, any other "time" genre (such as the
novel o r the short story) w i t h which her creative force bas managd t o

collide. The choice of autobiography is especially curious given Stein's

objectioar t o imitative realism and her asn preference f o r the coatinuous
present

In f a c t , Stein is quite explicit about the kind of art she

privileges. In an essay m t i t l e d 'What are Master-picces an Why Are
There So Few of Thenr [sic],
" Stein d e s two points (r e p e a t e l y ) , that

neither identity nor time play any p a r t i n a real masterpiece, or, as

she puts it, "time is very important in camectim with raster-pieces,
of course it d e s i d a r t i t y time does make i d a i t i t y an i d e n t i t y does

stop the c r e a t i a r o f master-pieces [sic]" (rpt. Kirne Scott 500). The

logic which infornis this thought is r e a l l y quite simle: "Idmtity is

recognitioa" (rpt. Kime Scott 496), r w t i m is a functm of ananory,
and memory fixes things i n time, in the past, barring t h a n fraa

p a r t i c i p a t i m in an ongoing presart. Thcrefore, both

are logically in-tible

timt

an identity

with Stein's iea of great art. Returning t o

the idea of autobiography, then, it mnild appear tbat t k lsap fran

coi1venti-

t o nmsterpiece is ntarly -sible.

If autobiography is the

a c t of represaiting a W s aelf prior t o tbit manmt of inscription, then,

L. scbuatz

165

by implicatim, it is a ggve dcpsndait an t i aild idcntity, an

certaully not a Stein&- rasterpiece.

So hou, g i v m

bcr amr detulition of great art, does Stein manage

t o m i t e an autobiography without cunpletely caaaprdsinq hcr am

aesthetic i h l s ? According t o James Breslin, Stein undertalces this
nesuly i-ible

feat by enacting hcr creative stsuggle w i t h

autobiographical carventiai (Breslin 149), by achnitting b t not

suhnitting t o any o f its tropes.

Autabiogrqphy of

Ali-

B. Was

gives us time, ordcr, iniimry and i h t i t y , but it dots not give us

linearity, dcrvelopasnt, r e l i a h i l i t y or Wtary subjectivity. In other

words, it is a ttxt uhich resanbles cmventiaial autobiography in al1 of

i b cnstward a

norinative expectati-.

, but a m uhich does not follaw through w i t h any

kad herdn lies one -11

c-sion,

for in

order t o demmstrate her ability t o circmvmt the tyranny of time and

cmvention, Stein n e d s an a-aice,

a reaer who i s capable of

recognizing (and barce fixing) her trsnsgressive acts.

Sust haw any givsn r d e r would f i x u p a ~these literary

transgressiaas, hawcver, was samthing S t e i n could not entirely predict

In February 1935, tzansitim, a Paris journal which had hem h a w n for

its encouragement of expersmental litentute, publishbd a rather
discoumgip test=-y

a-t

nit matai-

The aiitors, isturbd by the book's frrequ#rt

of ~ i a B.c 1 ~ 1 3 ~ .

inaccuracies and their

potential effect m "less inford readers", mmde an appaal t o H e n r i

Matisse, Tristan Tzara, Georges B

m ami -6

particular rintnrtbs '-fore

[...] had t i m e t o assinic the

the book

S a l m t o refute those

L. S c h u z

166

character of historic authaiticity" (Wintersan 45). Thcse camter-

testimmies, as they saw

i t , wauld

invalidate the claim of the Talas-Stein -rial

t h a t Miss

Stein was i n any way ccrnce~'I1CCIwith the shaping o f the cpoch

she att-ts

t o describe. Thcre i s a manimity of apinim

that she had no d e r s t a n d i n g of uhat reall y uas gas-

ber, that the mutatim of ideas -th

the surface

of the more o b v i a cartacts and clashes of personalities

during that period escapcd ber mrtirely. Her participation

i n the gaiesis a d devel-t

of such nmvcniilrits as Pawism,

Cubism, Dada, Surrealism, Transition, etc. was never

ideologically intimate and, as M. Matisse s t a t e s , she has

presented the epoch 'without taste and without relatian t o

reality. '
The Autohiogmphy of Ali-

B. Taklas, i n its hollow,

tinsel bohemiansm an egoccntric defonnatims, may very

well becme me

&y

the symbol of deCadarce that hovers wer

cmtenporary literature (rpt. Wintersan 45-46).

Frorn a journal *ch

"f-td

the rwolutiaa of the word,"

cspausing the "need f o r a new language crossbred fran a l l languages, al1

myth, al1 fornrs of art" (Barille log), and, no less, fran a jaurnal

-ch

had already publishad several of Stein's previous works, this

harsh c-tary

amrges w i t h heavy i r a r y . I t is almuet as though the

editors, Eugne and hhria Jolas, are drawing an imaginary line i n the
sami: authors may experimart with tomt f ormis of literatuse, but

L. s c b a r z

167

autobiography is apparaitly off limits, over the line. Thr derlying

i&icatim

is tbat the 11-ce

of mdernism does not apply to the law

of this particulsr genre, otherwise neither Eugne Jolas nor Maame

Matisse would have b e n espccially troublai by Stein's departue fran

historical fact and narrative realism. A furthet: i r m y , hawever, exists

in Jolas 's choice of vocabulary , b o a his use of the word "ho1lm" and
his descriptia of "the mutatim of idcas bcneath the surface"

suggesting that al1 the while S t e i n deforms the gmre she mges to
k w the fonn intact. Evidaitly, the nsccssity of the intinmte reaer

m o t be underestimatsd, for Jolas's "strange" rrnrling, his

deteminatim to overlook Stein's experiarsnt, semts to acknowldge Stein

as an outlaw who is canpletely aware of the iaws she is breaking, as

s
e

who, in any other instance, he would typify as niodernist.

'What is the use of b i n a a boy if you are qoina t o

grow w to be a asn?"13:Stein's Resistpnca

to Temoral Order

Perhaps Stein's most obvious gesture as an outlaw of the g m e is

the way in which she writes against and bey&

the ccnventional notion

of time, the idea that autobiographical narrative should deliver a

linear pattern of developnent (f ran childbd to the

nirriunt

of

inscription, presiiiubly Qdulthood) in a naat chrmological package. Not

surprisingly, Stein was not very fand of such iriua. Idran of begnnning,
midle, a d d,
of logical order a d chsure, were in direct conflict
with her own aesthetic ideology, her insistaice m kping art alive in

L m -z
the continuaus md

cvcr

&mgAng

168

prcsent The nrxt questai, of course,

is haw Stein manages t o escape the chduung, tisbe-barind ~ ~ ~ ~ v c c ~

oft i a a s
autobiography without completely eluding the r d e r who is her an1y

potential salvatim. Stein's ansuer: give them al1 of the necessary

sigrrposts, but d a V t give thmn any reliable directi-.

T e l l them this

is an autobiography, but dai't divulgc the actual subject. rganize the

bmk into chapters with a semblancc of chramlogy and teleological

progression, It d m ' t let cm that the book r e a l l y -tres

relatively -11

aswnd a

cluster of events which begin again and again and again

thmugh flights of narrative lmnory which return t o them repsatedly,

d

y each time fran a slightly d i f f e r m t perspective. In o t k r wors,

let them see for thunselves that the s t i l l - l i f e of autobiographical

cawentim can be transfoAnd

i n t o a breathing 'baaster-piece".

inde&, this is whtre Stein's amcte struggle with

autobiographical cmvention begins, i n the play of autward appearances

aganst inward (Stcinian) r e a l i t y . The original 1933 aiitian of the
autobiographgl(, exhibiting no o b v i a s mark of Stein's authorship on

the cover, makes this point rather ckamatically. No soosler do w e

approach the text than w e are met with an i d a t e si-

of the tensim

between mask and sigaraturc. W e read the cover's title, 2% A

of A l i -

B. W l a s , and thar our: eyes ghnce dom a t the a s e

circular inscription of '@Roseis a rose is a rose...",

an insima which

evm the least astute o f readers would probably identify w i t h Stein.

Already, thm, Stein bas d e an mofficial dedaration of war, for t h i s

hint of authorship m the cover dcstabilites our traitianail cmceptiun
of the autobiographial subject as a unitary narrative force.

L. -crSuarz

169

Furtherume, i f w e m i d e r the a&iitianal camotative w e i g h t of

Stein's insigiia, ue =y perceive it as nuach mre tban s-1y

a silait

signature. As Sidanie Smith suggests, in fact, it is a ''multiply valent

signature

[... which] points t o a v a r i e t y of

phammna that mark the

disruptive nature of Stein's autobiographical t e " (Smith 1993: 65).

Frst, because it is a band uhich separates an irrncr space fran an outer
space, it quite l i t e r a l l y c a l l s attmtim t o t b "interdrparrlaacies of
marghs and cc~tres
, outsides

aIllid insides" (Smith 1993: 65-66); sccard,

because of its carfiguratiai, it "signifies the ssamless relatianship of

*

begmnmgs snd eridings" (Smith 1993: 6 6 ) ; third, because it is

p i c t o r i a i y suggestive of a ring, it synibolizes the esbian m i o n of

Stein and Toklas; and finally, because a rose oftcn symbolizes the
female genitalia, it represmts "a metaphorical trace of the f a m l e
body" (Smith 1993: 66).
Thus, in additicm t o her covert claim of authorship, Stein's

insignia seuns t o m e t i o n as a tmral bridge which links the t e x t t o

its cantext. I t is, at once, a figurative and a l i t e r a l joining o f the

inside and the outside. The symbolic representatim of the ring figures
this r e l a t i d p spatially, and the allusive gestures both t o Stein's

a r t i s t i c philosophy and t o her private sexuality l i t e r a l l y extends the

t e x t beyaid i t s cwers. Before wc have cven

begim

t o read, Stein has

seemingly a u r d that any sarse of narrative tame w e might have or

impose will always be taaperd by that which exists outside of the text,
those variables which sustain a continuous presart.
Once we manage

t o get inside, -ver,

t b whole process

sceriiis

begrn again, and quite deliberately t o be sure. Naw w e a r e f a d with

to

Lm

170

Stein's somewhat deceptive Wit of labelling al1 o f ber chapters w i t h

sonie

s o r t of t-ral

inriicatiar, Thtee of the scvai chapters actually

stipulate a certain pcriod of t i m t (1903-1907; 1907-1914; 1919-1932),

and the others, by virtue of their referaicc t o a particular event,
evoke a specific t a nevertbless. Alice's arriva1 in Paris i n 1907

fares quite prdminently as a &te, since both the first srd stcard

chapters ("Before 1 Came t o Paris" anci "My Arriva1 in Paris") refer t o

this event. Stein's an arriva1 in Piris in 190315 and World War 1
(1914-1919) make

i ~ p
the

remainderm mtmsibly, thar, S t e i n is luring the

reader in with yet another nomative signal. Our clrpcctatiars of a story

which will follcm a chrarological pattern of develapbat bave, at least,
been piqued.

Interfering with our expectatims, houever, are several fairly

signif icant details. Thc first can be fomd on the superficial level of

the text, in Stein's organizatia and d c s i w t i a n of the chapter titles

themselves, and is smething which primarily distutbs our anticipation

of the traditimal pattern of developmnt. Stein's odd smse of

organizatim might not s t r i k e us inimediately, since nmt versions of the

text do not include a list of the chapters in des-ng

ordd6; but.

i f we look closely, wc w i l l notice, in fact, that chapters three and

four are out of ordcr. -ter

Three, suppo~edlyealing with the years

1903-1907, has bcmr arbitrarily positimed before -ter

Paur, w M c h

treats the yearr, beforc Stein's arriva1 i n Paris in 1903. A l t h a u g h feu

critics see f i t t o m i s e the issue a t a l l , probably becruse mst of them

simply view it as a aial1 taste of the grand lie which i s about t o

follaw, Carolyn Famce Capcland goes out ar a lia to sug~estthat

L. Scbwsrz

171

Stein's misorganizatiar is a delikrate attcnpt ta sustain the interest

of bcr r d e r (Capeland 129). After all,

mts to r d about Stein's

childhood when they can r d al1 sorts of colourful anecotes about

Stein's interactiam with the likes of hktisse and Picasso? But,

wbatever the motivation, this cbes aot alter te fa&

than u h n wc

approach the book from bcgirrning to and, t

e still encomtes these

anecdotes in advsnce of Stein's accomt of hitr childhood. kd t&erefore,

we nist canclirde either that Stein is anticipating the kind of reades

who will not bc bothered by such a small lapse in organizatiar

(especially if the "gossip" is worthy), or that she is having the reaer

an, that she has deliberately brokar

aic

of the tmaamtal tarcts of

the autobiographical pact.

My best guess is the latter, since this anal1 departurc fran the

devel-tal

patteni is reinforcd by Stein's choemr desiwtiais, the

first four of which centre around the word "Paris", and the last two of
which mention the war. What 1 am suggesting, in other wors, is that
Stein has orchestrated a slight tension bctwcai the temporal and the

verbal designatians of her titles. t h r e hcr inclusicm of various

temporal ranges (al1 of which are chramlogically arrange) intimates a

linear progression, ber repetitim of ''Paris" in four titles and "the

war" in two (accounting for six of the sevar titles which makt up the

book as a whole) mests, rather, U t the narrative will be t-s

circimilocutory

And indeai, aicc m delve into tht text proper, this would appear

to k the case, marking w h t 1 see as the s

d crucial elwrwnt of

interference, Stein's very digrcssive and repetitive narrative strategy,

L. Schwarz
a strategy not uilike the

aini-

aic i r s d

172

by Lautmce Sterne i n The Livss a d

of Tristram M y . There is nothing wfrich actually caastitutes

a dominant narrative s o much as a pattern of i n t m t i a n s which al-

f o r digrcssive excursicms t o radiate pcrpctually outward. According t o

Lew Welch (one of Stein's sarliest crritics), i n fret, Thc Autabiogralpiry

of M i c e B. -18s

effects more tban just a "sinahint of reading"; its

digressions ''determint its structure" (Wclch 24). For my part, 1 wuld

agree, f o r e v a ~though the text is anchorcd by its b e g h d n g auid s-,

f o r the most part, t o cmitre an a handful of s i w f i c a i n t events, it is

me which is drivca by digressim. The repctitims are aluays variant.

If Alice departs t o d e an interesting note, she never re-entccr the

story a t her original place of departum. She returns iristead t o a

slightly d i f f e r m t place o r time, almost as though she mre a jcweller

giving each facet its lapidary ccmsideratiar.
Of course, such M analogy is bardly apt f o r W

e rudrrs wfto

find thanselves caapletdy frustrated by Stein's narrative mthod. Try

t o imagine what it must be l i k e f o r the reader who is a stranger t o

Stein's aestheticisrn, for the me who expects a t-rally

ordered

narrative t o unfold and, instead, rcceives what Shirley N e m m has

describeci as a "genn of narrative

[...] suspendecl in t i d ' ( N e m a n 1979:

21). The gem which N e m a n herself takes as an -le

is Alice'r f i r s t

Saturday night at Stein's atelier, a rather v c t passage fran Chapter

d7
uith

so -y

d i g r a s i v e rein-tiaru

tht it bagiils t o taka m

a l i f e of its aar. Naman's dsscriptim of the various narrative

machinatiam as a "canplcx
is worth quoting in f u l l :

tcmg?oral

interparetration"

(Nciniran

1979: 23)

L. Scmarz
In t b passage quotsd, the r d e f , g-

173

w i t h Alice's

succcss at party carversatim, is la3 i n t o a digrcssim,

basd

ai

hcr subsqiiant enperiaices, about the wives of

muses. A return t o the party seads Toklas on a ualk t o

Msntnuutre, again at a later date. Cbce again at the party,

Alice's narration becaaies mre -1ex

as the past lm-,

n a r r a t d this the by Stein, is recalhd and, in its turn,

intimates the future vernissage an a future e v m t i n the

autobiography's chrarology. With Alice's return t o the party

and her canversatiar with Picasso, the associatiaaal matrix

which gives coherence t o these t m r a l l y separate events

extends further. Picasso, in the 'prescrit' of the party,

begim t o narrate an tarlier crcpcriarcc--"Y=

see

...

Gcirtndem--and is interrrirpted by a Taklas parmthesis

generalizing fran the knowldge garnered in a l 1 the years

intervening between the party and the autobiography.

Toklas's resparse to Picasso generates another digression,

this time on the future of the Stein-Toklas r e l a t i ~ 1 ~ h i p

( N e m a n 1979: 23-24).

Thus, in the spacc of m l y two pages, and in what is, o s t a r s i b l y , me

anecdote, S t e i n bas managed t o involve nine differsnt t-ral

frames of

ref erence. Past , p r e s m t and future moments are al1 boiPd together in
t h i s particular

narrative instance ancl recreatd in the cmtinuous

present of i t s t e l l i n g . And, of course, this is a a l y arc such instance

in me Aut&ogralp)ity

of Ali-

B. Taiklas. Georgia Jo)isrston is equally

fascinated by hact the t c x t " c a r t i n u ~ st o return t o the

aranr-ht

then Alice

L.

174

Sc)rwarz

canes to Paris, creating anew Stein's eting Tdrlas ud initiating the

text, Which &fers

an aading by -'

(Jobnstm

590) Julie

Abraham, likcwise, notes tbat Stein's multiple sevisitatiars an m e

particulas nmmry of the uar semm to create an altemate s-e

history,

aic

of

which not arly caiflatcs, but also cmhses, idcias of tact

and fiction (Abrsham 81-82).

For the reaes w i t h normative urpectatiaas, thab the te*,
successioar of these narrative

"geraa~",

as a

is saaiewtrat disappointing,

certainly not a nnrlti-faccte gun. Ha~ever,in te-

of Stein's oun

objectives, and especially hes desire to escape t h stultifyingeffects

of linear time, such narrative gem are a good

T b idea of

linear time still lurks in the backgroumi, but the autobiographical

plotting of that time, the element which for Stein puts the "graph" in
autobiography ( N e m a n 1979: 24), has been greatly alterai. The
teleological progressian of the traditiaral autobiography, the march of
linear time, has been s e p l a d by a pattern of digressiais and variant

repetitiais which circle ararPld, ratber tbn movinQ forward fran, the
events to which they pertain. The "sunshine of r e g , " as Welch calls

it, may radiate outwu&,

-=es

but certainly not tawards an ard, for Stein

that our begimi~gwill be perpctually suspaded in a time of

her own re-(ad infinitun)-creatim. W i t h a caisierable degree of

success, therefore, Stsin's repetitive narrative l r t h o d has m g e d to

replace the teuporal world of bcgirrnings, midldles and adings with the
spatial milieu of the cartinuaus presait.
Part of this

SUCCCSS,haScver,

can be attributd to Stein's choice

of a putative narrator, since her decision to create the text as Alicegs

L.

Sc)auarz

175

autobiography i s doubly avantageous. 0 a m band, N i d s ait-1

speech patterns, which wuc apparently quite fza~tticand irnprsdictable,

facilitate Stein's experirients with tiar. kd, an t b other hand,

Alice's very pitiai in the text as the suppo6ed 'smbjcct"of the
autobiography manages to r m yet amther t o m of interfermm w t h the

reader's clrpcctations of dcvelopment. Imagine the proccss as it might

take place. We bave no rmson to question that anyam other than Ali-

is the actual subject. W e begin reang Chapter

and wc c~comter

what appears to be a rather formulait begiming: Alice's first

disclosure is her birth, and she cmtinm by supplying us with
additional infonnatiai about her ancestry, her childhood and her
eventual arriva1 in Paris. What strikes us as pcculiar, hrmcver, is the

fact that Alice devotes less than three pages to the whole of her l i f e
prior to the nretting of Gertrirde S t e i n in 1907. Thirty ytarcs are almost

entirely werlookd; h t then, as the chapter draws to a close, w e are

suddenly met with a lingering passage (occttpying nrurly a third of the

total space) about Alice's first cncounter w i t h Ocrtride Stein an her
inmediate recognition of Stein's genius.

Al though such an abbreviated introductian might certainly raise

the hackles of our suspici-,

it does nothmg, as yet, to d

question the authorship of the tcxt.

mt

e us

it alters is our view of

Tokias, especially w b m we discwer that thc rest of #e book is

virtually an extadcd trihte t o Gertrude Stein. In fact, b e t m the

inantatory effect of the caistant repetitiar of Stein's name and the

incessant mentiai of her books, #ret notably TIiree tives and Z% m n g

of Rmericans, t k reatkr alumst forgets the fact that this is s u p p ~ ~ c d

t. Schart
t o be l%eA u t h i e of Ali-

8.

=las.

176

~t the vesy hast, we find

ourselves q u e s t i u this ratber lapsided v s s i m of the me--three

pages of i41icc8sd-1-t,

an -ter

&rotad

to Stcin88ehildhmd

w l y auithood (chranologically a s b u , ifue r e a l l ) , and the rast

oi the text, &th in te-

of i t s cmtmt ard i t s narrative thodology,

kd so, t o sane

centrai a r d the heart of the S t - ~ d t l ~

e x t m t , it i s not evm nece~saryfor

t o ackiawldge her authorship

in order to isturb the reader8sqmst for a dCVCl~p~~rntal

pattern. 'hro
very obvious elcnwits alreay aianage to atail the

first, Alice's -hatic

rindue

focus

ai

cm-tratim

mbst nave

of raaders:

stein; and secmd, Alicees

me significant period of hcr life. Ccrtainly, i f ue a r e

expecting the tractitiaial self-made (sui m d s )

Alice d a s not eliver, f o r what m actually -ive

autobiographical hero,

is her l i f e as it

has beai gsaftd m t o Stein's, an, at that, oarly a -11

portiar of it.

In essence, she has thuarted our axpcctatim o f the genre in the first
place, since aast people would agree that sucfi an accotmt is closer to

the stuff of mamirs than of autobiographies.

Hawever, as w e finish our hypothetical raading of the t a , we
discwer: me mare curious cornplicatiai, the fact that Stein is actually
the author of the autobiography, a fact
way

naw cpletely revises the

in which we bave r d the t e . Naw, instsad of vieuing Alice as the

subject, w e are more apt t a view her as a tactual conduit, a hmtess to

the book just as she Rad bom r lmstess to the guests at 27 Rue de

Fleurus. Therefore, lookig back a t the nlpraportiarnd text,

somcwhat relieve ta digcover that i t is

wt

are

Stein's. A t least ue are

able to account f o r the amphasis, i f not for the fact that Stein, too,

L. s c b a r z
seems t o neglect

her childhood, both deferring a d abkavia-

existence in the tact. Thtis,

ai

arc 1-1,

177

its

the disappointment wc

expericncc wer Alicc's largely abermt drvelopnmt bas simply hem

s u b s t i t u t 4 by aur disagpointmrmt wer Stein. Tbat is, mlcss w e fixxi
-selves

wembhlmd by c u r i i t y , or perbags affectcd by Stein's

subliminal cue, an illrrstration of t&e first pnw of the manuscript

facing d i r e c t l y apposite the last page of written t&.

In other

mir&,

wie

may find ourselves mting t o sea the text

again, perbaps not so much because of Stein's d u a u m t (although it is

a lovely suggestim of t-ml

seamlessness, a visual reinforcernait of

her idea that trtm art bcgias again and again), but more s o because we
are canpelled t o play detective, t o mcover the paper trail w)lich leads

to Stein's f i n a l r w e l a t i a i . The cl-,

al-

not t e r r i b l y abundant,

are certainly there. For instance, the insiga

ai

the cwer, the

incantatory repetitim of Stein's f u l l rumc throughout the book, and the

sporadic menti-

of "Ada" (a short biographical story about, but not by,

lice)'' al1 seme as s d t l e

~ n t o
of tei in's .utholap.

a tbsn, of

course, one might add the not s o subtle hint of the book's fraartispiece,
a Man Ray photograph depicting S t e i n a t her v t r y large esk i n the
foregmmd and A l i -

in the backgroioid f

d in the dmrway. The

positioois of the two subjects are already suggestive of t h

aisuing

tcxtual relatiawhip; houever, the poeitiar of the f r a t i s p i e c e i t s e l f

reinforces Stein's danirunt presmce, for, not m l i k e the final
i l l u s t r a t i a a , this pictrirc a l s o -ies

a rather s t r a t e g i c positian i n

the tcxt, d i r e c t l y facing the t i t l e page which, in the original d t i a n ,

simply read, ZBe Autabi-

of Ali-

8 . -Jas.

Effectively, thm,

Le S c b a r ~

178

the rsader sees the relatively am11 verbal dcclaratim an a m si&

and

the glaring visual & c l u a t i o n a n tbe othes. U k t codd bc a cleiarer

sign of intantiar? In fact, there are a M u l of critcs, most notably

T h m t h y Ikw Adams

and Paul Alksn, who muid question the reader's

h a b i l i t y t o renark at such a blatant t-

of Stein's authorial

ruse.
-tever

the etective work , howcver , are th%ngranwins c a s t a n t .

Stein has reconfigure the ttaditiaral trope of Welopaacnt, f o r i f

reader and critic a l i k e are c a m g c l l d e i t b r t o search (or re-search)

for cl-

of Stein's authorship, tlrn it muld sean that the telcoiogy

of canventiar has bem raplacai by t k paper t n i l which 1

-

us t o

Stein's final isclosure. In othcr uords, ue do not follow the

developmnt of either A l i -

or Gcrtriidc per se, but the -elopment

of

the text i t s e l f . The final result is sathing Catharine S t i w o n

(taking her eue fran Lirvla Hutchcan) uants to a l 1 "historiographie

metafiction," the kiad of text which "'inscribes and t
mimetic engagemint w i t h the world"'

(St-m

h subverts its

1992: 158). For the most

part, 1 believe shc i s correct, particularly wbcre Stein's treatmmt of

temporal and narrative order is carccmd. Sttia bas givca us al1 of the
signposts and thcn cleverly subvertd each an every am of than. The

canvmtional time-orimrtai lin-

progressiar laas hrvri r e p l a d by a

spatial pattern of evmts, and the canvmtiorral iea of dcvelapment has

been transferre f rcim the autobiographieal &je&

to the

autobiographial text W r e 1 am inclind t o depart f ran Stim>son8s

analysis is arlg i n ratter of &grce,

for

iny

W r s t a i r d i n g of the

text, and wm of Ustoriogmphic netafiction, suggests Ut the analogy

L. Scbasarz

179

could stand t o be pushd a l i t t l e fastber, to include the process of

referentiality. For wbar al1 is said and dart, i t is the reaer (and the
reader's iaderstading of the world) that d e s the rsaduig cxptrience.

The fact tbat Stein's aaacted stmggle w i t h these cawentiaial

autobiographical tropes always s

m t o point t o the reader's

expectatiaas suggests t o nr that tb ultimate refcrart of Stein's text

is not Stein, kit the roader-a

r m l i t a t i m which, of course, mly

fwther trpsets our e r s t a d i n g of cawentimal limitataam.

Already by dismntling the tyranny of time and, hmce, by

questianing the usual "readerly" approach to autobiography, Stein bas

manageci t o transfer the m@msis fran the autobiographical subject t o

the reading subject(s). Shc bas f o r c d her readers t o relinquish their

passive ways by danmstrating that the d n g one attaches t o

canventional expectatiperpetrating the &a#

is ultimately elusive. In other words, without

of the author, S t e i n has sumdetrsd the life o f

her text to its reacbrs, a perfect solution f o r an author so i n s i s t ~ t

on the idea of cantinwus presarce. What rambs t o be seai, hawever, is

whether or not this transformation fran "readerly" t o "writerly" text
can actually sustain the l i f e which c a t i t u t e s its subject, f o r part of

Stein's manipulation naturally involves an a l t e r d ~ ~ ~ c c p of

t i truth
m

and authmticity. If Stein i s no longer the locus of "abjective" truth

L m Sckar~

180

(as cawentional autobioOraphy uouid bald), then it mwld saan to follow

eitber t h t she bas mwittingly RIlC1CTe ber "self", or that sbc has

revisai the mtire notim of autobiographical authcnticity. If m l y ar

the basis of Stein's caoitertertuality and intertextuality, 1 mn;rld Use

to argue the latter, sincc these psirticulu "textual" features not m l y
niarrage

to t e l m tbat Stein is alive and -11

(al-ys

ranbdhq us of

her presence in the wings), h t also fiinctiai as a uay of escotrting the

reaer b e y d the barods of intratextual rsality, to axmtbcr realnr of

truth, are which both aclaiouldges and subverts aur traditional

understanding of authmticity as an quivalaice of veracity.

To begin, 1 would like to qualify my use of the terms "comtertextuality" and "intertextuality," aot so mvrh because 1 intnd to use
these ternis any differartly fran other critical practitiarcrs, but more

so for the purpose of clarifying d circmscribing the temtory of my

argrnnmrt. The idea of coiintertefi is especially tricky, since mst

people would be t w t e d ta equate it with -ter

discourse, which

i d a t e l y suggests an idcological inflectiar 1 do not want. My awn

seme of the term is much closer to what dramatists w o u l d call

didascdlia, those things in the text which do not belmg to tbt work
praper but irdicate the author's parallel presence. Thus, what 1 uould
like to call the cauntertext is sinply what others m i g h t call the

apparatus. In Stein's case, 1 use the tarm to refer specifically to the

photographs a d illustratiaas uhich accanpany t h writtar words. My
choie of

an oppositi-1

prefix, therefore, is mre a ftinctim of my

awn interpretatiar, sincc 1 v i m this portion of Stein's ttxt as lugely

contradictory. To sa atent, m,my use of t h tenn

L. Sclmarz
"intertextuality" is slightly r-t,

since phot-

181

and

illustrations u e nonnally crnsiderd part of t h alternate s d o t i c

system of a text. For the purpose of

t o -1oy

a i p ~ argirmsnt,

hwever, 1 d

d like

the tem rather m r e narrrawly, invoking anly the idea of

extratextual refermtiality, and mre specificslly t

h ~ i a yin uhich the
autobiography rrefers repeatcdly t o Stein's tsm lit-

praductions.

As t o the comtertext of thc autabiography, 1 have already

discusssd s a a ~of the more m o u s irutances: t b i n s i w a a the frmt

cwer, the frmtispiece, and the final illustmtim of the f i r s t page of

the llyv~uscript.Hwever, in the original Harcourt Brace editian of the

t e , Stein has p l a d a total of sixtaai differtmt i l l u s t r a t i m s , with

al1 photographs and f acsimiles caisierd. 1 suggest tbat she has
"placcd" t h ~ because
,
mlike the t r a d i t i a m l gathering (or gatherings)
of photographs one nonnally encau~ltersin an autobiograghical text,

Stein's i l l u s t r a t i m s exist a t sporadic (as oppuecd t o m l y - s p a c e d )

intenmls, an indication that =ch p o s i t i m is quite deliberate, i f not
utterly strategic. And certainly, i f there is any doubt, we have a l y t o
look as f a r as the imiiediate textual s ~ ~ 1 o m h g swhich
,
in alinost wesy

instance will produce a sort of circmstantial irmy, an irony which

anerges fran

the cmtradictiar of the verbal frsme or cartext (HutcheaP.r

1994: 143). Of cuurse, there is already samthing of an irany attached

t o the fact that S t e i n has subvertd our: noraiative expectatim of

verbal/visual irmy i n autobiography: pictures usually take us back in

time whila the narrative w v l l y takes us forward in tidO.
wit with
Stein, t h i s "usual" irmy has b e a ~c-licate

by the fact that the

narrative is suspaded i n a kind of "liquid time" (Capcland 123), and,

iurthennore, by the f a c t that each illustratim, evm as it may

contradiet the M a t e caitaxt, b8s becane part of that t i d . fa

other words, i f ve att-t

t o r d the visual text in a 1-

or

progressive fashim, w e will soai discwer that it is equally dtvoid of

"chrono-logic." And so, what actirally engages the r d e r is not the
contradietory movanmts of the verbal and visual texts, but the
recoQnitian that each instance of local irany is an intendd product.
The f i r s t photograph a f t e r the f rmtispiece i s a perfect -le

of this kind of irmy. Directly follwing page sevar of the text, Stein
has situated a picture of herself which was takm "in front of the

a t e l i e r door". Thc picture depicts Stein in a nmak-like dress, w i t h her

hair pulled up, and i n a pose that suggests she is praying o r poesibly
W t a t i n g . As Paul Alkon bas ronarked, the positim of this picture,

imnediately follouing an a l l u s i m t o Picassots portrait of Stein, i s

rather curious. We have just read that Picasso's 'hnw so famous"

portrait would a t that

tinic

(1907) m l y have been kiawn t o the painter

and his subject and, therefore, the logical choicc f o r an illustration

would have been a facsimile of the portrait i t s e l f , a gesture which

would allaw us t o coniirm our recognition. Instead, Stein supplies us
with a photograph which, at the time of publicatim, would prabably have
been just as ohcure as the Picasso portrait in 1907. Ch me fevel, the

photograph simply thwarts our expectatiaa of the Picasso portrait;

however, aw another level, it manages t o prwoke a sort of imagislary

canparisan htwccn the photograph in frant of us and the absent portrait

which i s aientimed hem as well as thrQU9hOUt the t e , producing yet
ainother irony i n the discrepancy between the photographie moment (which

L. Sclmarz

183

suggests that it is possible t o "captuse" Stein's sssencc), and the

scemingly syiless proCCsr, tbat was involved i n the painting of the
Picasso portrait (which s w t s , t o the ccntrrry, t h a t it uas
impossible ta capture her "mal" essence)

Indeai, almost cverry photograph prevents us fran fixing the

subject or subjects in a way tbat uuuld allaw us to aasiga authmticity

or priority to either the written or the visual t e . The photograph on

page twenty-four, for example, depicting "Picasso and Fe-

at

Mmtmartre" i n a pose which intimates domestic haramy ( c w l e t e with

their dogs), comes directly after Stein's accamt of t b i r marital

s t r i f e and break-up. I t is as i f the picturc's physical oppositioar t o

that part of the text has been iiteralized, reflecting a kind of reverse

mirror iniage. But more than this, it creates a s i t u a t i m in which the

verbal and the visual c-te

for the " t ~ t h ' 'The

.
reader w i t h normative

expectatioars is put i n the positiar of having t o decide uhich accouni is

the more reliable, Stein's or the phot-'S.
will not be for&

kd the reader who

t o mke such ecisions must siuply accept tbt

neither rendering supplies the "whole picturem, that both are party t o a

process of sehctim.
N w h e r e is this process more apparaat than

choices for -ter

in Stein's i l l u s t r a t i v e

Four (Stein's accoturt of hcr upbringing) uhere she

i n c l d e s two pictures of hemelf , ont in V i a m a am3 the o t b r a t John

Hopkin's -cal

School, both of which simultaneoirsly complcavht anci

accenttrate the cbapter's anachraaistic placsmait in the text. The f i r s t

photo, depicting Stein as a l i t t l e girl in V i m n a , carjures up the
"usual" verbal/visual irany w e e x p e c t fram autobiography-the photograph

Lm W m r z

184

taking us back in tinse while t k text is t.king us f o d . that is

musual, however , is the f act tbat this particular photograph is not a
tem~oralcaitradictiai; it pl-

us badc in t h e , but so &es the

anachtanism of chapter four. In other words, the -tian

of

cmventiamlity ir both inscribeci and subvertsd. T b dccOnd photograph,

caning at the ad of the -ter,

likewise, sug~eststhat Stein is fully

iea
l of cloeure, kat n o t so willing t o
c m z a n t of the ~ ~ 1 v e n t i m
supply us with a strai#t foruard -le.

The effcct, at f i r s t , is

similar to t k t of the f i r s t photograph. The r d e r bas a sense of

cunplementarity (rather than cmtradictim). Stein has just g i v m u s

sporaic accounts of her days at Radcliffe d John H o p k i n s and, h c e ,

the picture of herself at meical school s.im# an appropriate m y t o ad

the chapter. H ~ w c v e r , as Paul Alkm has cleverly obsented, the picture's

inclusim of a skull carries carnotations which not mly regopen our
sense of closure, but also manage to sen u s

in two temporal directions

at once (Alkm 8 6 7 ) . T k a l l u s i m t o her death mihwlieri h a photo which

is sitppose to be represartative of her bsgirinings has us looking both

forwars and bacl&tards, and, like the facsimle of the f i r s t page of the
m~uscriptwhich rnda tbe autobiography, prwides us w i t h an idea of
. .
tenporal seamlessness, the begummg and the
t o g e t k r in are

si-.

To a very large extsnt, thm, aut expericnce 6 t h Stein's

photographie

text is not mlike our urpcrimce with the written t e x t .

The pictures uhich &au us bacJwads and foruars in time, m r a t i n g

cmtextual irmy ud preclding our a b i l i t y t o read for determinate
meaning,

seem t o mimic Stein's narratim. Evar the idea of Alice as the

L. Schwarz

185

''bstbss" of Stein's autobiography sees t o find a paralle1 in the

8bfHmt

photograpbier(s), t h inrQlnsd ( h t nevertheless mal) beiIAg

through uhan we rcccive the t+at. kd, of caurse, the effect of al1 t h i s

is also very similu. Rather than ccrncerning ourselves with the contents
of these various photographs, we find aurselves more o f t m fascinated by

the uay in -ch

Stei~bas chasen t o poaitim t h m . The ramier's

a t t m t i a r is drawn away fran t b substance of the text and dram toward

the process of textuality i t s e l f , the thod of rcpresaitatim.

Furthemore, the idea of representatiai itself i s saamingly

"rcpresarted" by the movcmcnt of the visual tcxt which, m the *le,

becanes less and less focuse m the hinaan subject, an m t e ami more

metatextual. Althaugh early m Stein i n c l d e s thme photographs of her

salm fran differclrt angles, with various paintings as their focus, it
is not until the middle of Chapter F i v e that the pairitings theniselves

(and not the rom) becare the desi-ted

w e receive

subjccts. In other words, what

( a t hast w i t h four of the final five iIlustrations) are

rqresmtatims of other represcntatioas, photographs of paintings

('%anage

Gertmde, ceiling painting by Picasso;

painting by Juan G r i s " ;

"A Transatlantic,

" B i l i @ n Ran Across the Valley, painting by

Francis Rose"; "Alice B. Toklas , painting by Rancis Rose") Agaan, in

cmtext, al1 of these illustrations sccra curiausly -en,

especially

the Picasso and the Gris. EVQ tough Picasso figures quite prominmtly

in Chapter Fve, his 'Wamge

An likewise,

Gertridc" is ncvar actually maitimd.

Gris's a b t r a c t represaitatioa of a shipboard, i n the

middle of a chapter about the war, seam squally incmgmous. But

perhaps more i m r t a n t than the tuttual friction or in-tibility

L m Scmarz

(-ch

186

by this jinicture might be a l i t t l e rsdradant) i s Stein's

a l l u s i m , in both cases, t o hcrself.

The Picasso p a i ~ t i n gis particularly evocative, sincc it is a

ceil ing painting -ch

epicts a bost of abtract angels hovering wer

what appears t o be a bed, ait of which rcsenibles Stein (with her hair in

a neat l i t t l e hm) and can be scmr (quite i r a r i c a l l y ) blwing ber horn.

The ht~norousparody of the S i s t i n t Chape1 i s i f f i c u l t t o werlook

(Alkan 872); houever, the fact that a repr-entatim

of

Stein

should

appear i n the midst of this creation scenc niakm it doubly parodic, for

at the same time that it invokes n i c h t l a n ~ t l o ' sfamous freaco, it also

invokes the t e x t we are reading, drawing our: a t t a t i a i t o Stein's a c t of

creatian, which, ar one level, hovers over the surface ( l i k e the
ceiling) as nictatext, and, on another, hovers wer an m t y be ( l i k e
the angels depicte in the painting), the bed she shares w i t h A l i c e , but
which is nwer explicitly mentimal.
Gris's "A Transatlantic", sawhat more obtuse, m g e s a similar

allusion. The painting i t s e l f , a d i s t o r t u image of a shipboard w i t h

several smokestacks al1 emittng fumes, is not particularly suggestive.

However, as Paul Alkm bas obeerve, "the t i t l e is an invitation t o

consider the picture as an apt e l a n of that other transatlantic,
Gertrude Stein8' (Alkm 874). Moreover, as a verbal si- which invites

t o consider a visual si-,

which Stein

)ras

iis

it also invites u s t o look at the uay in

i n t e r f w a i the two si- systdnrs i n her text and, as a

ccmsewence, arade the rsader more acutely aware of her tcxtuality. Thus,

unce again, it i s an allusion which seam t o direct us off-stage t o the

author waiting i n the uings, f o r the intertextuality of both these

L. Sctmarz

187

paintings forces us t o look b c y d the pbysical icai of tht text t o the

r d m of productim, i n t c n t i a i a d c a ~ t e x t .

Another manifestation of this mcthod can be found in Stein's

use of the intertextual reference, spccificall y the rcpetd

-ive
mientim

of her awn works. The titles

mec Uvcs and 29k m

g of

Aiziericans appear so o f t a r , in fact, that their incantatory effect is

only second t o that of Stein's narne. Houever, apart f r a n the subliminal

quality of the repetitim i t s e l f , Stein's intertextual allusims force
us beyand the niaterial realm of the t e x t i n two very significant ways:

f i r s t , as a way of si-lling

t o the rtadtr that there is a s t o r e of

of Ali-

informatim outside of 2% Autahi-

B. Tciklas which could

very well influence the way in which ue read the present text; a d
secoadly, as a way of a l e r t i n g the r d e r t o his o r hcr interpretive
functim. Simply put, Stein is tel l i n g

US

there is not m l y more t o

Stein than what w e see i n f r m t of us, but also more t o our r e a e r l y

role than a simple act of passive cansmptiai. Indccd, f o r Georgia

Johnstan, the a b i l i t y t o rccagnize Stein's insistent nudge i s what

separates the intimate rtader frcm the strange raider, since the strange

reader will not be c-lled

text i n the quest for

t o read b e y d the confines of the original

extrancus

n t e m t i v e possibilities,

In part, tha3, the t e x t is dcpadmrt upm the intimste reader's

active participation, his o r lier a b i l i t y "to r d thrOUQh associatiaial
progressiai rather than by means of progressim of kiawldge, through

s a t i s f a c t i m by

nicans

of sustained habit rather tban by cantinual

replacanent, and through d i s l o c a t i a i rather than cartering" ( J o h s t m

596). In other words, our continual mcumters w i t h the tities Three

L. Schwarz
Li-

and

me Making of Americarrs should not si-ly

Steinian iridulgarce in bcr

c d g us into the =gins

a#r

188

strike us as a

ganius, rt rather as Stcin's msthod of

to discover, per-

exploration of lesbian sexuality, or that ilne m

, that Tfrree

tivcs is an

g of Anicrir-.lv~.r

m l o y s a cawentionsl historical frsmmork to deliver an mcmvaitianal

idea of history (Abraham 84). Of course, the potential for expading
me's interpretive range is ardlcss, but wm w i t h such little

information m e is able to see hou the pracess might work. For example,
instead of interpreting Ine Autabiogzaphy of Alice B. T o k l a s as a t e x t

which srrppresses Stein's lesbian sexuality (as is oftm the case,

especially in the carlier criticism), we may r d Stein's reference to

mec t i v e s as an intestextual "auting". We nmy also at this point

decide that Stein's two referaices to '%da", a short biographical story
in GWgraphy and Pfays, are hardly accidmtal, since it is both the
portrait of a lesbian union and m e which specifically pertains to
Alice. Thus, the fact that Aii is depictai as rcading the story with
pleasure might be sear as yet another layer of information the strange

reader would likely overlaak. And taking this m e step farther, m e

could also suggest, as Leigh Gilmre does, that Stein's initial

refermas to the story as "a good descriptid' is somcthing which

alludes directly t a the line "Tranbling was al1 living, living was al1
loving, sane me was thm the other me" ("Ada" 16; Gilmore 1991: 68),

somthing which not anly implicates the idta of lesbian love, but also
the idea of a share s~bjectivity2~.
Certainly, if wc are inclincd to look at the text as a pattern of

al lusians which cast innunerable interpretive sidelights, the idea that

L m Sdmasz

189

Stein bas involved us in a grrnd h o u , or that the text is s i w l y a l i e ,

must m

y be nnrlifid. Tlr act of dislocatim (as Georgia

Johnston c a l l s it) o r translocation (as Leigh Galmore ternis i

affected the uay in which wc th$&

bas

about autcbiographical truth. Stein's

repeated menti= of The Making of Aincricans might be our f i r s t hint,

since this text mimica precisely tbe saue pattern we have

autobiagraphy, providing

tu with

star

in the

a s d l a n c e of caivsntiaral form while

executing a substance which is extrantly uncmventiaral. H e r allusiar t o

the literary portrait of

and t o variaru paintd portraits,

particularly her am by Picasso, aiight alrio

tbt Stein's artful

8-t

mixture of autobiographical fonn with the idcia of portraiture or:

l i t e r a r y sketclaing is quite intcntiaaal. Therefore, i f the reader has in

minci sanething which is not necessarily self-containai or wilole, an

something which me w a u l d not normally associate w i t h acpctatims of

veracity, then the &mxd for autobiographical truth is sainewhat
diministicd.
Of course, the most abviaas -le

of Stein's a l l w i v e

buttressing is her referaicc t o Rabinsan C-oe

a t the aid of the book,

just a f t e r she has divulged hu, authorship, for here Stein scemingly
hits

UB

over the head with her m r i c intentions: ' V a kiaw what 1 am

going t o do. 1 am going t o write it f o r y-.

siaply

1 am going t o mite it as

as Defoe did the autobiography of R o b i ~ o nCrusoc" (ABT 252).

Just haw sinply Stein bas actually w r i t t m the autobiogrrphy, however,

is subject for

kid p a r u , a v e n the u-t

at hand, it might

be better t o mqgest that t h s i m g l i c i t y of the a l l u s i m is wholly

d
t-

an the reader's w i l lin-s

t o pursue the referaice. Msny

L. S c b a r z
critics, for -le,
aiere

190

are c m t m t to r d this final allusion as aie of

d e s s i m . Just as Defoe f m the autobiography of Robinsm

nasoe,

e
i
m
so, too, Stein bas f

of Ali-

%e A u t a -

B. Taik1as.

But, as Timothp Dau AdamCs has pointai art, the resanblance =y,

in fa&,

imply just the opposite. Cmoe is

an inmgined literary chmcter, basd on an actual persan,

who daims that his life is a metaphor for the author who

croateci hixn in the first place-which is exactly what not

only Gerttudc Stein but a11 autobiographers are doing (Adanrs
35).

I t is possible, in other wors, that Stein's 80-called deceptian

is closer to the t ~ t than

h
w e might otherwise bave thaurght. What is
dif ferent, haScver, is the way i n uhich Stein hss apened

tg?

the tenn,

for in this case the ca~ceptof truth is not quite the same as objective
fact. QI the cartrary, it is a t ~ t which
h
adaxwlages the

impossibility of objectivity, "the i-ibility

of iirding any truly

objective positim fran which the rutabiographer =y

present h i m [or

her] self as he [or she) appears to others" (Neunan 1979: 25). Shirley
N e t m m has called this the "paradax of veracity", but 1 wauld suggest as

wel 1 that this is the pariaor of autoiograp&

convention tards to

a35-

in -ml,

that tbc rutabiograpbz &tes

since

fran a locus

of cabjectivity wm while he or she i

m a t m t h which i s completely

subjtctive. Thie fact, thai, that Stein's allusive autobiography sccms to

e ~ c this
t
truth .nd, thcrefore, situates it

as a produet of form and

s t y l e is most siwficant, for Stein bas not aaly transformsd the locus

L. Schwarz

191

of tmth fran w h a t was fomerly a matter of substance t o what is here a

nmtter of structure, but she has also managed t o demanstrate that the
reader's participatia, in the textual productian of meaning plays an

-1

part in what she would ccinsider veracity. To sane extent ,

therefore, S t e h has taken Philippe Lejeme's n o t i m of the

autobiographical pact snd turned it an its head. EKpectatiaors of truth

tsve been thnast fran the miter t o the reaer. And the cmventiai of
the readerly text has given uay t o the uncmvmtiaial writerly text. To
recanfigure the metaphor of Crusoe one l a s t the, me could Say that
Stein has created her own autobiographical island.

"Trunblinu was al1 livinu, livina was al1 lovina,

s-

one was then the other

: Sharina a Subiectivity

Unlike Crusoe, hwwer, Stein was not subjecte t o a great many

years of isolation before meeting her own version of R i d a y . In fact, as

I have already discussed, the great m j o r i t y of the autobiography t u ,

m the wents of the Stein/Toklas mrriage, and, as 1 will argue here,

i n more ways t h a ~
me. For, part of what cartributes t o the sense of
their marriage o r lcsbian psrtnership is the uay i n which Stein e f f e t s

a shared subjectivity through her "out-of-body m e , " as Sidonie Smith

has called it (Smith 1993: 65). By iaaking Alice the discmbodied voice

(subject) and herself the material body (abject), Stein effectively

creates a "we" instead of an "I", sancthing which not aaly reinforces

the possibility that the text is a celebratim rather than a suppression

192

L. Schwarz

of her lesbian lwe, krt a l s o revises the t r a d i t i o n a l n o t i m of

subjectivity as a mitary entity.

But n a t m l l y , as w i t h every other aspect of the t e x t , this is not
something Stein delivers in a neatly wrappa package, f o r evm though

the Stein/Toklas "we" bears l i t t l e resemblance t o the traditi-1

unitary "1", lacking any cmventianal n o t i m of dcvclapment tacsar& a

predestined greatness, i t is nevertheless a "we" i n danger of k i n g

misccmstrued as an "1".

The reasai for t h i s is two-fold: f i r s t , because

of Stein's depiction throughout as a genius; and sec&,

because of

Alice's generally subeervient role, a r o l e which is, in f a c t , neatly

packaged i n a sinimary tawards the end of the book:

1 am a p r e t t y good housckeeper and a p r e t t y good gardener

and a p r e t t y good neeltwoman and a p r e t t y good secretary

and a p r e t t y good d i t o r and a p r e t t y good vet f o r dogs and
1 have t o do them a l 1 at ance and 1 foutad it difficult to

add being a p r e t t y good author (ABT 251-252).

What 1 am suggesting, i n other words,

is that the inequality of the

partnership, or what sane critics have seen f i t t o describe as a parody

of the masculine/ferninine dynamic of heterosexuality, lcnds i t s e l f quite

e a s i l y t o a traitimal interpretaticm of the autobiographical subject

as a unitary "1" bound

in the myth of genius. Hewever, while it is

d i f f i c u l t t o werlook Stein's shamtless self-pranotiaar, m e

miist

also

recognize t h a t the pose of creative genius is tarpered by the

acknawledgement of another cmtributing force. Stein is not chinring t o

be the self-made hero of the book, but rather a genus fostered by the

care and support of her partner. EUrthemore, the lesbian partnership

L. Schwarz
kes it difficult t o cast the relatianship

193

i n the heterosexual currency

of masculine an faninine W e r roles. And the idea of rn androccntric

pose of -us

snarhrrv s w r s d i n g the faainine pose of dasticity t o

asarae the mitary &je&

pogitim is eqmlly problcmnatic,

up in

a discoutse of patriarchal dnmirunrrr. Part of uhat 1 would l i k e t o

explore, therefore, i s haw Stein m g e s to assert herself as genius

a l e , at the

time, couatering the discourse of heteroaexuality

w h i c h threatens t o deplete her sharcd subjectivity with Ali-.

1 muid

l i k e to argue, in fact, that Stein's configuration of her -us

cmstitutes y e t anothu, fonn of autabiographical revisim, and me that

taken i n canjunctim with her dual subjectivity is t n i l y novel.
To sitmte Stein wi-

the discourse of gmius, humver, i s an

accanplishment unto itself, for, as Bob Pcrelman bas point& out, the
concept of genius is already fraught with ccntradictiar, particularly in
moexnst

tiiiies

where the idea tan& t o privihge an "aura of illegible

authority" (Perelman 1).H m does a gmius fmctim as "both origin and

goal for society a t large" (Perelman 164) i f U s or her work is largely
inaccessible? 1s this what it nmns t o be able to create smething of
transhistorical value i n a culture -ch

has rccently bee!n transf ormsd

by so many new and heterogamous technologies and art forins? Perhaps so,

but evm "though the genius may be free fran the baggage of history that
everyane else is dooiaed t o carry, the category of e u s bas a history"

(Perelutan 159). And this, 1 believe, is the ncccssary starting point,

since the mo&rxaist versiaa of

gmiiis

is not cntirely divorced fran

earlier Ramntic idsas of the "bord' genius and the rareficatim of art.

Moreover, it is similarly plagued by the androcsrrtric language of m e r

L.

&bar2

194

which looks upon the 'han of gmim" as sonrthing quite natural , uhereas

the "wanan of m
us"( i f the tcrma is evcn applie) is lobkcd qm in

camic or iraiic terms which "&f l a t e both the possessor and the pursuetof faninine genius by pointing to i t s a r t i f i c e or cmstt-uct&u?ss"

( E l l i o t t and Wallace 91).

In 0 t h words, it is

t o rec-ze

tint the exclitsiauuy

p r a s e of m u s not aily eattands t o i&as of the fanimine, but also,

by i m l i c a t i a n , equates the f minine w i t h the ordinary

aaodern times chsnged very little, f o r al-

Qdvmt of

the attittde t~wards

creativity had been samahat altcred, tbc attitwie tawards gaLder was
aauch the same. Artistic m,as Gillian Hanscanbe and V i r g u r i a Smyers
o b s e ~ e ,wcrt trrpcctd t o perforai thedr -tic
(Hanscanbe and Snyers 4). They
earned -y

wert

t a s b ncvertheless

expected t o do it al1 , evm i f they

f ran their artistic output. krd because of the

strmg

g d e r e d associatim of the teminine end the damstic/private realm of

s o c i e t y , intellectual misogynists

uho saw the fsnwile -us

wcrt

still very much in fashim, those

as a "'caitsadictim i n te-,

for genius

[was] simply i n t e n s i f i d , perfectly devtloped, universally carscious

nmlaiess "' (Otto Weininger Scx and Cbracter 1907; qtd. in E l l i o t t and

Wallace 96).
That S t e i n should positian berself as m u s aumg male geniuses,

-t
then, is both expected and s
hier placaaait w i t h -10

surprising, f o r a l e ,

ai

one hand,

P i a s s o and Aifre Waitchsad stcms t o

acknowldqe the mcessity of fwhiaxing her gmius as male, m the

other, her cartral positim seens t o s-t

that her m
u
sis

superior. But whst of this m

u
s
?
Stein's insistence on ordinary,

simple vocakilary would sean t o deflate the ~ ~ 1 c e pkd

t . yet, her
abi1ity t o pemtrate t h car@l&ty bmeath th ordinary surface, or,

perhaps it is m r e appropriate t o say, her ability t o nirdge the reader

&
t

such

a rtmrrutratiar, sems t o fit the efinitim of

gdirs

quite w e l l . Likeuise, in the cmtext of tbe autobiography, her assertiai

of greatness is entirely caipatible w i t h the male iea of e u s . Where

Stein departs fran tbis pose, M e r , is in t k abawe of any myth of

self-grneration. Take, for instance, the passage in which mice first

recognizes that Stein is a genius:
1 met Gertnde Stein. 1 was iaprcssed by the coral brooch

she wore and by her voice* 1 may say that only three times
in my l i f e have 1 met a -us

asd sach time a bell within

me rang and 1 was not mistaken, and 1 may say in each case
it was before there was any general recognitim of the

quality of gcnius i n them. The three geniuses of whom

speak are Gertrude S t e i n , Pablo Picasso and Alfred Wlaitehea

(=
5).

The origin of Stein's genius is not her birth, k t rather Alicees

recognitian of her genius. Furthemore, Alice's rccognitim is not

predicated m any stercotypical iea of genius. shc hws that Stein is

a genius priiriarily out of intuition. Stein's appearance and voice cause
an imaginary bel1 t o ring within Toklas' nind, and tus bell, w i t h i n the

cantext of her experimce, means that S t e i n i s a genius. Simply put,

Alice's recognitiai i s private; it dots not correspad with received
ideas, but i ~ t amrges
d
fran a standard which is antirely her mm.

L m Schwarz

196

And N
,
the idea that Stein's m u s is a product of its

conte*

is sustainai by the mctho of representing -self

through

Alice's eyes. in large part, she is a m u s because Mice and the other

w-

are merely the wives of geniuses. In other words, she is the

centre because they fonn the nrargins, a position which is doubly

reinforced by Alice's descriptions of other m m in diminutive te-

as

well, their last names often appearing in carjmcticm with an adjective

such as "little" or "small". Stein's name, on the other han&

is always

written out in full, a semiotic suggestion of her superiority, but one

whch, in this particular instance, is mostly the result of its semiotic

envirament.

To same extmt, then, Stein's configuration of her genius m y be

regarded in te-

of irony and caaistructeness, the very terus usually

applied to denigrate the notion of f-le

genius. However, as 1 see it,

the i r m y is one of f d n i s t appropriation, and the construction is m e

which approaches another typically fennist pose, that of the relatiaaal
subject. Of course, comglicating the idea that Stein's representational
strategies are deliberate feminist subversions is the fact tbat Alice

always occupies a secandary position. Alice does not relate stories

which pertain exclusively to her, nor does she apportim the anecdotes

-11

y between her own and Stein's. The autobiography, on the contrary,

is filled with "detailcd observatiars about [Stein's] literary cmcerns,

writing techniques, and habits of work

[...] that corresptmed to

prwailing myths of masculine g d u s " (Elliott and Wallace 99). In other

words, Stein's constructim of her genius is not mtirely seamless
(Elliott and Wallace 100). She may not be the stcrcotypical masculine

L. Schwarz

197

genius, but neither is she a subversive faninist, as Shari Bcnstock is

in h m m of the Left Bank (176-177). Her positian, i f

quick t o r-k

are could m p it, is s~t~here

in the problemotic mile gr&.
Hcwever, part of the problem, as 1 m n t i a e d earlier, i s the
critical tanptatioa t o regard the Stein/Toklas relatiaaiship in

heterosexual te-

of masculine and f cminine, for invariably such binary

logic will not accoirmodate the lesbian ecmomy of the autobiography. In

fact, such logic typically produces the kind of reaing which looks at
the text as an act of narrative ventriloquism (Brodzki and Schenck IO)--

Stein appropriating Alice's voice i n order t o t e l l her own story, or

Stein using Alice t o demonstrate the s p l i t consciousness of the

autobiographer (Adanrs 20)--or, werrse y&,

as the story of a " h p y

anarriage" (a husband and wife who subscribe t o a dannant/submissive

d y ~ m i c ) ' ~or
,

the rclatianship between aother and baby (as is the case

in une of Catharine Stimpson's e a r l i e r a r t i c l e s where she attributes

signif icance t o the couple's nicknames for each other--Mama Woo jimis and
Baby ~ o j-12'.
o

observe&

As both Leigh G i l m o r c and Shari Benstod6 have

these types of interpretations not mly injure the shared

subjectivity of the autobiography, but also the way i n which w e look at

Stein's work in the cosrtext of modernism as a whole, because in both
instances the heterosexuaf nom which as applied as the standard elides

the alteraty of Stein's and Toklas' sexuality.

Again, the

questim of hou w e read the text becanes the issue a t

hand, for naturally a willingness to view the Stein/Toklas relatiarship

through the lais of heterosexual logic will produce a correspading

interpretatim. Houever, a h w l e q e of the couple's sexuality,

L. Scfrwarz

198

regardless of a d s cdtical predispoaitioa, seeans t o r d e r this kud

of impasitian sanewhat ridiculoup. Why, f o r instance, uould me impose a

masculine/feminine gender dynaxrtic when the more l i k e l y d-c

of the butch and the femme? And why, more i-rtantly,

is that

would ane want t o

impose a singular i d m t i t y where a shared subject positiaai has been

inscribed? My own suspicions t e l l ne that it has much more t o do with

our reluctance t o surraider the patriarchal laws of the genre than

anything else. Autobiagraphy, after a l l , is not usually a collective

proposition, but rather the narrative of a singular self who progresses

from a point of origin t o a point of inscriptim. Moreover, it is also
very often a narrative of greatness, a story worthy of telling because

the public deniands it. Therefore, given both the fact of Stein's
overwhelming presmce and the fact of her notoriety, egregious

interpretations of this s o r t are a t least expected, even i f they a r e not

entirely acceptable.
What might be more acceptable, houever, is not so easily

accompiished, since w e must f i r s t necessarily flnd or invent the

appropriate language t o rpeak thesa 'inrpeakablc dif f erencesmB As

Audre

Lorde might say, we cannot cmtinue t o use the master's tools i f

w e have built a house w i t h matesiah which belong t o saneone else. In

the case of

me Autahiogzap& of Alice

B. Toklas, then, it is necessary

t o find a language which allaus for the Imbian ecmany of the

Stein/Toklas subjectivity withaut reducing it t o ei-r

androcentric te-,

heterosemal or

a language, i n other wors, which expan& the l a w of

the genre. A l 1 of which is not t o Say t h a t the c r i t i c must force every

instance of generic resistance into a reading of the lesbian signature,

L. Sciwarz

199

for in most cases Stein's departues are simply experimts wth

language and tinre. Oae should, hawever, cansider those instances which
effect a "displacement" ( t o borraw Leigh Gihmare's terntinology) of the
gender identification associated with the anroceatric noms of

autobiographxcal cmventiat.
ne such displacemmt occurs in the chiastic intenningllng of

subject and object, the fact that Stein and Toklas simultaneowly
function in both capacities. Toklas is the speaking subject and yet the
object with relation to the daninant subject matter--Gertrude Stein.
Likewise, Stein is the abject of Alice's narrative and yet the actual
subject of the autobiography. Together they functiool as the body and
voice of their collective subjectivity. Therefore, as a "we" instead of

an "1", the shared subject positian effectively displaces the mitaself one usually associates with autobiographical practice. And as a

"we" which is niore than simply ''the superabundance of 1--that is, [

...]

overdetermined by the t r d o u s referential work it must perfonn"

(Gllmore 1991: 6 O ) , as an inextricably linked position, the Stein/Toklas

subjectivity also very definitely signals its lesbian sexuality in a way

which actively resists the presimrption of a nonnative, heterosexually
mrked "1".

In fact, as Leigh Gilmore points out, the plural

subjectivity in ZYze Autdaiography of Alice B. Toklas is more aptly

describeci in te-

of Moarica Wittig's "j/eW, a tcnn she uses "to signify

a coupled rather thsn a split fanale subject" (Gilrrrore 1991: 60).

Regardless of the terminology, hadever, we cannat mistake its alterity.

"Stein [has made] the mspecable of lesbian coupling speak" (Smith
1993: 81).

L.

Sc)rwarz

200

Y e t anather locus of resistance can be found i n tbc very dynamic

which is oftm takai as a parody o f the masculine and faninine--butch/femne dyMmic -ch

is inscribed throughout the ttxt, a dyrramic

which 1st similarly performative, but which d i f i e r s cncc again in terms

of the space i t oc-ies.

bihere the mrssculine/fdnine dynainic is

inhermtly appositimal , the kitch/fanme dynainic is "a role lesbians

inhabit together" (Case 56) The dif f ermce =y

appear subtle,

especial l y whra we cmsier the dominant ptrfo---geniiis

and wif e

of genius, miter rud a i i t o r , nocturnal creator and d a i l y danestic, the

brave rescuer an the fearful victim---ex,

as L d g h Gilmre rightly

observes, they should not be r d simly as a '"miming of heterosexual

domestic relatims" (Gilmore 1991: 64), for if t h e y are a "parady of

heterosexual segregatimmm
(Gilmore 1991: 65) they are crracted as a
couple. And herein lies the crux of the matter, sincc the perfomance is

twice remaved and, more ia@ortantly, recognizable as a performance. The

repeated menti-

of A l i c e ' s "wife sitting", for instance, is so

exaggeratd that w e camot f a i l t o see the irmy of Stein's depiction.

And similarly, Stein's over-state pose of m
u
s effectively raises

husbanding t o a ncw level of caup. Therefore, the fact tbat Stein has
represmted her genius i n such a tcrribly amiguous fashim

secnis

particularly relevant at this point, for i t suggests that hcr irony may
have been quite deliberate, that her i n s c r i p t i m of &th androcclitric
and gynoccntric traits may bave been part of the butch/fenme perfo-ce
at large. If this i s the case, thar S t e i n is not only wreaking havoc
w i t h the iea of

-us,

but also, i n doing so, rwlsing the

ccmventianal idea of the autobiographical subject, for the &titiaial

L. Scirwarz
el-t

201

of irany goes a l a g way tawards the deflatian of "the great

man" who normally ocCupies the central narrative position.

A third instance of displace!mnt can be fomd i n wirat Leigh

Gilmore refers to as "a code of lesbian gifts in anti-realist and antiauthoritarian discursive practices" (Gilmore 1991: 66). Of course, to
some extmt, it is possible to read the entire text

as an offering f r m

m e lesbian lover to the other, since Stein's experinirrits wiL%language

and time go against the grain of conventional autobiographical practice

and, hence, the attendant androcatric and heterosdst assmptions.

Hwever, without wanting to reiterate the whole of my argument, 1 wouid

like to emphasize those instances which specifically reinforce the

lesbian partnership: the rose magery of the f r a t cwer; the repeated
allusions to T h e e &ives and to "Ada"; the illustration of Picasso's
Hanage Wtrude; and the tact that Alice's narrative returns again and

again to significant moments in the couple's life together, each time

from a different angle, as if to cmstantly breath new life into their

love for each other. For, these snraller instances of gift giving, more

specifically than the larger gift of Stein's narrative strategy itself,

represent the share ecanomy of the lesbian subject positian. Indeed,
Stein is deinmstrating that in return for Alice's "pretty good"
everything else, she can be a pretty good partner, inscribing her l w e
as a distinctive and permanent part of tlzeir "pretty good"

autobiography

L. m

202

J3eaderl~
W r i t i n d W r i t e r l y Reading

bat finally malces ZBe A u t c r b i m of Alice B. Tcik1as

distinctive, hawcver, has aiuch less t o do with p c m than with a

strategy of representatim -ch

tra~forarrr e d e r l y cxpectations into

writerly textuality, a strategy which not anly questiars the

conventional limitatiam of autobiography, h t also aicourages the

reader t o interpret beyond those d e f i n i t i a m l botdaries. Stein's
e a c o u r a ~ t t, o be sure, is legs than subtle, for, like a mischievo~~s
tour guide, Stein has given us a mp with al1 of the major sites clearly

marked, but she has neglected t o tell us that w e are in another c i t y

entirely. Thus, as w e aicounter the signpost of chraiological order, and

iscover Wtead a pattern of digressims and variant repetitions, or
the si9pipost of objective truth which has bcen replace by Stein's

subjective and oftm mctafictianal versian of t a t h , w e

soaai

learn that

t h e markers w e have cane t o expect make for an insufficient tour of the

city before us.

In large part, therefore, Stein's text departs fran the nom

because i t forces the rcadcr t o r c c m z e that nonns are simply literary

vessels which may be filled or exploded as the miter -or

reader

wishes. That is t o say, its differsncc is one which rests p r i m r i l y m

the reader's a b i l i t y t o perceive Stein's playful manipulatim of

cmventimatl autobiographical tropes. The mader, for instance, who

cannot see bey&

Stein's altered sarse of t-ral

organizaticni, or

beyond her unorthaiox notiai of truth, i s the reader who, in al1

likelitiood, w i l l find h i m or herseIf estrangd frn the text. In other

L. Schwarz

203

words, the reader who siwly approaches the autobiography with a predetermined set of canvmtiaral cnpectatims, and then assesses uhether

or not Stein bas m g e d t o f u l f i l lmr literary destiny, is the same

reader wihose disappointnrent will translate into cdmmatioas of t h
book's gossipy naascrrse and lack of veracity. But the r d e r uho sees

Stein's transgressiars f o r what they are, and uagages in the cxcess

meaning of the self-reflexive t e , is me who w i l l recognze t h a t
Stein's outlaw activity cmstitutes a revision of the gaue which not

anly amblcs her t o accoaamodate her awn aesthetic ideals, krt also t o
inscribe a subjectivity which mre aequately rcpresmts her csm semse
of self.
ne irmy

in al1 of this i s the fact that the intcrpretive skills

of the "intimate" reaer are a t mce a salvation and a carcession, for

while the reaer is the anly me who m y prevent the text fran being
fixed or i d e n t i f i d in te-

of carvcntional autobiographical practice,

he or she, by the very act of interpretatiaa, is fixing the ttxt in

time, idmtifying it i n a way which mns contrary t o Stein's aesthetic

ideal. Nevertheless, the nccessary interactim of r d e r and t e x t in the

production of nnauUng creates yet another temporal bridge between the

inside and the m i d e of the booJc, bctwcen the t e ' s mmteriality and
the interpretive variables uhich are forevar cbsnging UdOh c e ,

allawing the autobiography t o reriain i n Stein's preferre realm of the

continuou presait. Therefoze, w i t h regami t o Stein's phlloeophy as a

whole, the reader of the autobiography is uuch less a hiadrance than a

fundamental contribution, especially in terncs of Stein's revisianary

pro je&.

L. Scbaarz

204

Indcsd, as 1 would l i k e t o suggcst, an intimate reading such as

the are 1 have attempte here not o n l y cartrihtes t o a ramppxng of

autobiographical caiventim-an
genre, but

expansiai of the law of ont particular

also, i n the larges scape of things, t o a rcmapping of the

idea of aiodernisn\ i t s e l f , f o r it calls i n t o question the conspicwus

absence of both fanale an autobiograghical worlrs from the! na;rraw,

androcentrie, d e f i n i t i m of the te-,

replete w i t h i t s iaperatives for

freedan of f orm, linguistic crrpcrint, ami allusivaress.

n-s,

Certainly, w e c m no longer accept the idea that autobiography is a

genre we

nnist

excl-

fran modernism, wen in its wst tradtiaral

sense, because S t e i n has s h m

us not m l y that it is possible t o

interfuse linguistic e x p e r m t w i t h cmventiaral trapc, krt also tbat

the

struggle she cnacts between caiventiai and her a m margin of

diff erence replicates the modernist "qmst for the representatim of the

self" (Vanacker 1988: 113). Likeuise, Stein's playful attitirdc touards

autobiographical plotting and subjectivity, together w i t h her

iirraginative and v a r i d use of intertextuality, ewmtrates that the
f emale narrative is neither always linThus, i n t h e d,
TAe Autabiograp&

nor exclusively h t e r e x u a l

of Alice B. -las

armrges as a text

which forces thc exclusiaaary boundaries of mdernisin t o

v,f o r

with

one f w t i n tnditiar and the other aie performing a lively dance i n the

margins, S t e i n ss not m l y that it is t i m c t o write beyad the

confines of the genre, but a l s o that it i s time t o r d b e y a d our own

categorical predispositians.

NOTES

1. My subtitle is a eliberate echo of Rach1 Blau DuPlessis's text

Writing &y&
the D&ng: Hbirrative Strategies of ZWentieth-Cfntwy
kknien Wi-iters (Bloanhgtm: =ana
UP, 1985).
2. S e e Marianne De K m , '%ansformtiais of Gertde Stein," Nodern
Ectim Studi- 42.3 (Fall 1996): 469-483. This issue camemrates the
fiftieth anniversary of Stein's &th

m July 27, 1946.

3. See Marianne De Kovm, "kalf in and Hal f Out of Doors: Gertrude Stein
and Literary Tradition," A OcrtCUCIe Stein -m:
Crantent W i t t ,
-le,
ed. Bruce -1 lner (New York: GrcarwOOd Press, 1988) 76.

4. S e e Marianne De Kovm, '*GertriideStein (l874-1946)," TIie M e r of

M d e m s m , ed. Rrinnie Kim Scott (Bloaningtm: Indiana UP, 1990) 480.
5. Although this kind of dismissal typifies a slightly datd view of
Stein (Donald Sutherland, -na&
Stein: a Biof H' Brk
[1951]; B.L. Reid, A r t By Strbtractim: A Dissanting aiaian of &rtnde
Stein 119581; Kingsley Widmcr,
Literary R d 1 [1965); Brucc Kellner,
A Gertrude Stein Conpanim: a t m t W i t h -le
[l988]), 1 would argue
that its repercussions are still w i t h us, since, in relaticn to the rest
of Stein's oeuvre, Thc AutohiograMy of Aiice B. Mlas still ganiers
very little critical attmtiar.
6. The terminology here &rives fran Philippe tcjewne's article "Le
Pacte Autobiographique" anci refers to the idea that an autobiographer
&es
a 'tpact"w i t h his or her reader to deliver an authentic version of
the self. A
ithis notion displaces the problaaatic equiv~irlmcy
between autobiagraphy and truth, it still presmes that the
autobiographical act is m e of good faith, that the author intens to
prduce a persoaal history and that the namc affixcd to the text is
necessarily a si- of authenticity. See "Le Pacte Autobiographique,"
Poetique 14 (1973): 137-162; rpt ''The Autobiographical Pact ," m
Autobiogrtqp&,
3-30, tcans. Kathcrine Leary, ed. Paul Jdm Eakin
(Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1989).

7. The idea of reiadcrly d writerly texts originates w i t h Roland

Barthes 's study of Bal tac 's Sarrasine ( S/Z 1970. Trurs Richard Mi 1 1er
London: Jaiathrn Cape, 1974), a tcxt which Barthes typifies as rsaderly
because of its adhcrsnee to classical m a t i v e structures.

'Wamatologics of Plsasure: Gettnxh Stein's

The Autahiography of Alice B. Taklas," Iibdern Ectim Studics 4 2 . 3 (-11
1996): 590-606.
8. See Georgia J-tan,

9. My specif ic referarcc hcre is t o John Malcolm Brinnin's lengthy me

Third Rase: Gcrtrudc S t d n and Her klbrld (Reading, MA: kbdison-Wesley,
1987), in which Brinnin ounces his awn inahility to mderstand "the

third rose" as the critical i i p c t u s for the study. Tbre u e , hauwer,

several critics who regad Stein's yorks in tcniis of coes which require
t o lPlrct
decoding, ranging fran Wmy Steiner (&a& -1R e s d l a n c e ; New Haven: Y a l e P, 1978), who perceives Stein's language
as a system of e q u v a l ~ ,t o W i l l i a m Gass ('@Gertrde
S t e i n and the
Geography of the Sentaace," Ziae Wbrld Hithin the klhrd [Boetm: David R.
Godine, 19'19] 630123)~wbo ha8 ta ka^ the idea of cwert W n g t o the
point of excess, attaapting t o dccodc Stein's rmrks w i t h a set of
algorhythm -ch
sean t o d r r w m his a#r store of a s s o c i a t i v e w g s .
10. A l 1 of the quotatiars frm the autobiwill refer to the
Vintage crditim of the test (New York, 1961) ud will hersafttr -1oy
the same shorthand (ABT).
il.An i n t e r e s t h g discussiar of William J a w d s inflirence can be farnd
i n Jonathan Levin's essay, "'PItering t k Modern -itiar':
Stein and
the Patterns of Wodernism," R e r w the Ilkw: A BaGlancc a t
N o d e m i s m , d.W i n 3.H. Dettniar ( A m Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1992)

137-163. Here Levin -ts

tbat Jaws's influaice mtrikrtes t o a
strain of Ramnticism i n Stein's writing which, in fa&, a11us t a
s i t u a t e her w i t h i ~an Aaerncan Wrsmian tmitiar.

12. T e s t z m Agaurst
Stein m s originall y published as a
supplemmt t o the Fcbniasy 1935 volof transitim, sditd by m
e
and Maria Jolas. Surprisingly feu critical works c~lcarnthamselves w i t h
the implicatims of sisch r test-.
Tiwthy D m Ada's Tlelling Lies
i n Modern Amcrican Autohi(-1
H i l l : U of North Carolina P,
19901, Shirley N e m a n ' s G e r t e Stein: Autabiogrqptrg and the Rablcm of
Narratim (Victoria: Piglish Literary Studies, -aph
Series, 1979),
and Jeanette Wintersar's A r t Qbjects:
m &stasy and Effrmtcry
(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1996) are possibly the m l y works i n recent
years t o mentim the episoe as scmething more than s-ly
a

d-tratian

of S t e i n ' s m r e l i a b i l i t y .

13. This quote is taken fron Stein's cssay 'What are Master-pieces [sic]
an Why are There s o Few of Tham?" (rpt. in The w e r of Mai-sm,
ai.
Bmnie Kime Scott [Bloaningtm: Indiana UP, 19901 495-501).
14. I r e f e r hem t o thc original illustrated Harcourt Brace sditim of
me Autohiograpliy of Ali- B. Tbklas uhich &es no direct nwntiai of

Stein's authorship mtil the f h a l page of the book.

15. Althis is the &te S t e i n k m e l f splies, it is cvida~tfran

several biographies t b a t Stein did not t.ke up tresidarce in
Paris u n t i l saaac t i n e later. Dima Souhami, in tact, records tbat u p
u n t i l 1904 Stein was still 8-t
troubled by uhether or not she
wanted t o lmve the United States. Curiously m,though, 1903 is the
year in which hsr older brothbt Michel, his wife, Sarah, an t h i r
family did m e to Paris. Sae mspecirlly -ter
five of Diana souhami's
Gertrude and Alice (San Francisco: Pandora, 1991).

16. To my knawledge, the original 1933 Harcourt Brace etion is the

m l y one to inclirde a table of contents.

17. In the Vintage sditim of the tcxt, this particular passage can be
found on pages 14-16.
18. A n interesting qualification emerges from Diana Souhami 's biography ,
artrude and Alice (San Francisco: Pandora, lggl), which suggests that
"Ada" was in fact "a joint declaratiai of thris lwe" (95) since Alice
is supposed to have added the last few sclltences herself while in the
process of transcription, begulning with, 'TremblUlg was al1 living,
living was al1 lovuig, sune m e was then the other me" ("Ada" 16).
19. This quote may be f
d near the b g i m n g of chapter four in l%e
Autobzography of Alice B. T o k l a s (p. 70 in the Vintage editian).
2 0 . Roland Barthes iscusses this "double movemmt" in his study of
photography, Cmera Lucida (New York: Hill and Wang, 1981) 40.

21. Stein's interference with the interpretive act here seems to canfirm
at hast two modern vieus on photography: Susan Santag's idea that
photographs "cannot themselves explain anythmg," that they "are
inexhaustible invitaticms to deductian, speculation, and fantasy" (QI
Photography, 1977 [New York: Anchor, 19891 23); and Roland Barthes's
idea that "ultimately, photography is subversive not when it frightens,
repels, or even stigmatizes, but when it is pensive, w h e n it thinks"
( -ra
Lucida [New York: Hill and Wang, 19813 38).
22. Please refer to note n m k r 18.
23. This quote, taken f rom the final paragraph of "Ada" (Geography and
Plays [Boston: Four Seas, 1922J 14-16), represmts Alice' s col laborative
effort. Please refer to note number 18.
24. See Catharine R. Stimpsan, "Gertrice/Altrude: Stein, Toklas. and the
Paradox of the Happy Marriage," Mothering the Murd: lkel ve Studi- of
Writers and TBcir S l m t Partners, ais. Ruth Perry and Martine Watsen
Brownley (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1984) 122-139; and also "Gertrude
Stein and the Lesbian Lie," knericm Wanien's Autclibiagzqphy: Feia(s)ts of
Memory, e. Margo Culley (Madison: U of Wiscarsin P, 1992) 152-166.
Although the later interpretatia Sves c-aderatian
to the lesbian
coda of the text, it still insists that "the coda maintains heterosexual
roles. The husband, male-identified waman, has actually d m e the work of
writing. The wife, the lady, merely speaks" (158).

25. S e e the initial reference of the previaus note.

26- See Leigh Gilmore, ''A Signature of Lesbian Autobiography:
'Gertrice/Altrude'," Autabiograptly and Qutstim of -et,
ed. Shirley

Neuman (Portland: Frank Cass, 1991) 56-75; and Shari Benstock,

"Expatriate Sapphic Modemisni: =tering Literary History," m i a n Zkxts

L. Schwarz

208

and Cmtexts: Radical R e v i s i a n s , eds. Karla Jay and Joanne Glasgaw (New
York: New York UP, 1990) 183-203.
27. 1 a l l d e hem t o Julia Watsan's essay, 'Vhspeakable Difierences: The
Politics of Gezlder and Lesbian and Heterosexual Phmen's
Autobiographies," &/ColaniMng the Subject : me Potir-c of M e r i n
W
's Autahiography, eds . Sidcnie Smith and Julia Watson (Minneapolis:
U of Minnesota P, 1992) 139-168. Hawcver, Watson's title 1s itself
derivative, allluiing to Adriame Rich who "uses the 'mspeakable' to
name haw wamn's love for arid affiliation with one another, whlch she
sees as primary, are silence by the colarizing practices exerted
literally itpon the Mes of w a n e n in Western Culture" (Watson 146).

CHAPTER FOUR

Zora Neale Htustm's Dcmt h9cks m a Raad:

Baloaism, Pialectics and Diasmra

Guenolyn Hae Hendersan, i n her essay "Spcaking in Targues,"

suqgests that the taxhcy touards dialogisin in black womai's writing

can be seen f rom two if f e r a t t perspectives, i n the usual sense of

mlti-vocality or Wti-discursivamss, and also in t h biblical saise

of speaking i n tmgues, "sigafying intimste, private, inspirai

utterances" ( H a d t r s a r 23). She uses this l a t t e r qiralificatim t o

propose that black wamen writers are "modern &y apoetles, aipouered by

experience t o spmk as poets and prophets in many tmgws" (Hdersm

24)

. Certain1y ,

in the realm of &la&

woa#rls autobiography , me of

these modern day apostles is Zora Neale Hurstoai, uhe inspired private
vision prophesies the caning of a new era i n both Afro-Amrican and
Euro-Ameriean autobiography. Indeed Dust h9&

m a R a d , the t i t l e of

which alreay conjures up a palinpwestic image (Davies 147), speaks i n

many ciifferait

tmgues, creating a muiti-layerd effect which

simultancausly exploes carventiaral boindaries and deiics

categorization. Rancoise Li-t
text

as "autoe-,"

and Nia De&

both rafcr to the

a tenn arant t o camote the canbinatiai of

self-portraiture a d anthropologieal study, an yet, in their final

analyses, find the term wanting, &le

t o capture the whole. Barbara

Johnson, i n league uith the vast majority of H u r s t m critics, fixes an

the m r e l i a b i l i t y of the narrataan, calling it a trickster's t a l e

L. sctiwscz
(Jobs-

210

taking this kind of interpretatioa ane

183). kd N e l l i e -y,

stcp further, siiggests that the text is pure p e r f o ~ c e ,tharaQh not

unlike a s t o r y t o l d by an Mrican griot "uhose mmnry presentes the

sense of a past culture" (-y

1988: 184). But tcmpering this vicw of

Hurstai's autabiography as an e x t e '1such as 3-

-id

are a l s o critics

Krasner, who scozns the normative valuatim system and

recognizes Hurstm's evasivaicss as an hmesty mre prof-

than simple

veracity (Krasner piatwim), or C l a m e Raynaud, uho acknawledges both

the gencric pressures of the confessiaral

plode

in m t e r n

autobiographical t r a d i t i o n and the m o r e s p c c i f i c eitorial cmstraints

which transform the text fran its original m u s c r i p t versioa (Raynau
1988: p a s s i m )

Clearly, Hurstm's method of self-representatim is not

mproblematic. Hawever, her mixture of elcriwits f rom the &neriean slave
narrative, caifessi-1

autobiography, Sauthem black folklore, cultural

anthropology, the epic, the picaresque and the emay is b e t t e r takm as

a a l e , f o r t h critical innhility t o parse and label

stems

anly tbat Hurstm's text is not operating within the same

to reveal

graimiar.

Her

dialogic approach resists any s t a b l e category, in part because no me

elament adequately r e p r u e n t s the whole, but largely becairse Hurstan's

experimce and renering o f that experiaice disappoints any -cric
expectatiais w e might hold. To be sure, mny of the signposts are there,

krt not al 1 of than. In each case, t b w i c destinatiar, s o t o speak,

is absent, almast as though Hurstm is delibemtely toying with her

reader's d e s i r e t o locate a daainant thead. But this is not just pst-

modern meta-text before ik

tinit,

for al-

Drrst Tracks un a Rmd

L. Schwarz

211

functioars on two Levels, Hwston's wasivamss, In this case, is also a

statement of subjectivity, an ackiawledgemmt of the vg
which carverge at the jmcture -ch

influmces

is hcr "self". In other words, it

is a way of locating ber identity within the

m
g
i
n of

differmce that

separates her fran the fixed subjcct position of black/female/author/

autobiographet, a way of danmstrathg not mly that she as neither m e

of those tfrings exclusively, but also that she is so much more.

-1icating

this neat vicw of Hurstaa's resistance to

conventional noms and fixed ihtity, bawever, is the original

tesistance which marks the autobiographical occasim of the text.
Prompted by her publiskr, J.B. Lippincott, to mite the autobiography
as a sort of pranotianal vehicle, Iiurstm was initially very reluctant.

In the first place, she did not think she had accimntlatcd mough
experience to warrant the telling; she wes aaly in her forties at the
time, and her literary carccr was arly just gaining ammentun (Hamnway
1977: 275). Anci in the s e c d place, she was apprehensive about the

genre itself, claiming that she did not teel an autobiography could

adequately capture the "inner self" (Heamnway 1977: 278; Raynaud 111).
Though not many critics questiar wkther the printed t e x t adequately
encanpasses Hurstm's subjectivity, since awrst eithuc c o n d e her final

volitim in mciting the autobiography or have an iconic regard for the

textual "I", a brave feu have begm to spcculate ar the distortion

resulting from the ditorial miwiving, for like Hurstm's own mirife

her publisher was white riind male. The fact, thcrefore, that certain
chapters have h e n anitted, that sam are greatly transfigure& or that
sane

of the lurguage has b e a ~cbanged or excisai, forces w to carsider

L. Schwarz

212

hou theSe a t o r i a l caistraints affect the subjectivity w e perceive in

thie original aiition of the tcxt, revis-

issirs of race and gaxer,

and also greatly vexing the question of aut&iogrrphical

authmticity.

To saxe extmt, ue nnast accept tbt Hurstm's text is not as far

reCROVed

fran the slave narrative as w e would like t o think, at the very hast
encruiing

coext-ive

k r subjectim t o a white male publishing industry with its

desire t o appeal t o a similar audience.

More canplicated still is the question of wbich text, the printed

versian or the manuscript versioa2, desemes our attaitioi. Do
regard the editorial interfer-

WC

as something which & y e t another

i n f l e c t i m t o Hurstm's subjectivity, or should wc simply accept the

textual "1" as the anly "true" mark of self, regardless of intentian?
The assmptim of authmticity, furthemore, brings its awn set of

problems, as we saw w i t h Stein's autobiography. aie could certainly

argue that the m u s c r i p t versi-

is the more authartic of the two

without inviting the notian of tmth, since it is whole, uncensoreci artd

idiarriatically original. However, by the s-

tdrar, one couid argue that

the printed versicm i s equally authentic, representing that part of

Hurston's subj e c t i v i t y which derives f ran the inposition of white

androcentric nonirs. My awn approach, therefore, will utvolve the

surremder of ccam's razor, abandniing the ass-tiai

of authenticity

altogether. Sincc both texts a r e valuable in their oun right, especially

i n te-

of assessing H u r s t d s revisiarary autobiographical methos, 1

do not wish t o privilege either versian, ht wish, instead, t o regard

the text as a processive whole which in every arc of its iasnifwtatioois

contributes t o Hurstm's subjectivity.

L. Sctiiitarz
With this in min, then, 1 would like t o

213

cm-trate an the t e e ' s

revisimary dialogism, focusing a the self-reprcsentatiaial strategies

with which H u r s t a i not arly resists categorical definition, but also
maps out a new trajectory for wane!n's autobiography. T.king

organieatiaral cue fran Sidmie Siaith's essay

ai

~ u r s t o n ' sdiaspora

subjectivt*, 1 vil1 Subdivide my discussion in t-

resistance t o t-ral,

of Hurstan's

racial, m e r and narrative "fixing." Hawever,

unlike Smith's approach, my awn will delve somcwhat further into the
t e x t , both inviting more nuance and expandukg upcjn the idea of narrative

dialogism, for although -th's

trcatmmt i s an exllart me, it does

not accomt for several of Hurstai's autobiographical registers. In

particular, it does not account for the dialectic betwicar Hurstar and

her publisher, or the related dialectic between Hurston and her reader,
whch manif e s t theniselves as subtle subversive modinqs, and

consequently moify Smith's c m t m t i m that 'Wurstm's text moves by

incorporation rather than exclusiars" (Smith 1993: 124). Ha~ever,this
is not t o detract fran Smith's theory of s e l f - m l t i p l i c a t i m as evidaice
of Hurstm's diaspotan subjectivity, but anly t o give m i d e r a t i m t o

an elanent of the text which potentially a l t e r s its c r i t i c a l caqpfemioa,

since, fran the t i m ~of its original publicatim to the pressent day,

mt Tm&

an a R a d has often bcar overlOQksd as a domment of social

protest and either unjustly a f f i l i a t e w i t b the literary school of Uncle

T d s m or charactarized as highy seleetive in ita racial p r t r a i t d .
To use one of H u r s t a ' s lllctapho~cs,thertfore, this new carsideratiaai of

the t e x t is a way of shazpening the oyster Mie (Raynaud 1992: 36), of

m

g the

shell to reveal yet another autobiographical space.

L. Scirwarz

214

Caverinu Ut, H e r Tracks: Hurstm's A l t e m a t e Sense of Time

Like the &ad-seeming cold rocks, 1 have mernories

within that came out of the material that n t t o miake me.

T h e and place have h d their say.
So you will

place whcre 1

have t o kiow samthing about the time and

fran, in orer that you may interpret the

incidents and directi-

of ay l i f a

(m 1)'.

The self-carsciousness w i t h which these apening paragraphs of the

first chapter, 'My B i r t h p l a c e , " not a i l y annomce that time and place
w i l l play a significant role in the autobiography, but a h o figure the

implied reader of the text is not innisdiately inpressive, particularly

when the next three words w e read are "1 was born". W e cane away with
t h e assunptim that Hurstan, l i k e the vast majority of autobiographers,

is going to begh w i t h an accamt of her birth, Houwer, cmtrary t o

expectation, H u s t o n does not deliver. hat ue receive instead is the

history of Eatmville, Florida leading up t o its incorporatim as an al1

black tawn m August 18, 1886. Hurstan has certainly a v e n w a

descriptim of bcr birthplace, but the events recounted are stiil at

quite a remove fran hier birth. The second chaptcr,

'My Mylks," cmtinues

this pattern of caatcxtualitatiar, anly here aarrawing the focus t o an

a n d o t a l portrait of the i d a t e family: her father, JOhSI Hurstan;

her mother, Lucy Ann Potts; the eight (mostly uxaidartified) children;
A u n t Caroline and Oncle Jim. Zora, the subject of the autobiography, is

still absemt as Zora, the author, supplies us with al1 of this second-

L. Schssarz
band informatia. In fa&,

kt-

21s

the order of the t e l l i n g (fran her

place of birth to her parents and thua, f i n a l l y , in cbapter three, t o

her birth) and the d i s t a n t "1" of the narratiai, m e almost has the

sense of rMding Zora's birth c e r t i f i c a t e rather than hcr autobiography.

Her actual birth in Chapter Three, hawcver, does little t o s a t i s f y

o u readerly txpectatims:

This is al1 hear-say. Maybe sane of the details of my birth

as t o l d me might be a little inaccurate, but t is p r e t t y
w e l l e s t a b l i s h d that 1 rcially did get bom (DT 19).

Nat anly has H u r s t m deferrd the canvmtiaml positioning of this cvart

by postpming her birth mtil the third chapter, ht she bas almost

m t i r e l y el-

the umtter of autabiographical chraiology, for, instead

of supplying us w i t h the &te

of hcr birth, she telegraphs her

acceptance of the cammrplity's recollection of the evcnt. Indeed, for

sane of

Hurston's critics, this omissian is tranendmisly bothersane.

Robert Xemenway, fiursto~tr'sliterary biographer, sees it as evidence of

two pervasive flaws, Hurstm's werall "reluctance t o locate persanal

experience i n the aman chronological record" (Hemnway 1984: JC), and

the fact that the actual date,

a s p e r i m e d on the euarts

t e x t , creates a missing decade and, carsequently,

of the

an e n t i t e l y new

reading of the t a x t (Heiarenway 1984: fi)(.Ilid s i m i l u l y . Elizabeth FoxGenwese sees such dexmnstrable inaccuracy as

ane of rrany attatpts t o

construct her i m t i t y apart from history, particularly the litemry

inheritance of the slave narrative (Fox-Gemuvese 1987: 132, 174).
Evidently these critics wicre tnpecting a traditiaral
developnmtal pattern: Henrnway the Euro-centric n o m which situates the!

L. Schwarz

216

subject in a horizontal progressian of historically identifiable evmts;

and Fox-Gamvese the Afro-Anmrican nom which situates the subject in a

similar progressian of racially identifiable evcnts. Clearly, both are

disappointed by Hurstm's failure to replicate the pattern. Hawcver,

what bath of thcse critics overlook is Hursta's careful navigation

between the Scylla and Cbarybdis of autobiography, her successful

passage betueen the self-effacing androcentric

nomm of both white and

black traditiars. fiJhat 1 am suggesting, in other words, is U t

Hurston's alternative orering principle is less a mtter of deliberate

deceptian than it

is a m a t t e r of asserting her individuality. She is

certainly not the self-gaicrated (sui meris) hero of the Euopean

traditian, but neither is she the exemplar of an oppresseci race.

Perhaps, for this reasm, Hurstm's autobiography begins with what

Lillie P. Howard calls "the rich incubator of her

161), a description of the envir-t

-ch

a ~ birth"
n

(Harard

cmtributd specifically to

Zora Neale Hurstai.

Of course, me cannot discount the idea of deliberate

misrepresmtatiar cntirely, for Hurstm's self-caasciow e e s s t o a

fictitious "you" is quite mmgh to suggest the separatim she perceives

between herself and her airdience. And given the dtorial carstraints
she encomterd at the tinte of publication, it w o u l d not be so

implausible to s g e s t that Hurston might be inclined to antaganiee

readerly expectatiais as a subtle form of rwmge. In tact, Claudisle

Raynaud locates the origin of the author/reader termiai in the proleptic

image of the title itself, claiming that "the t-rariness

of the

traces left on the road, the fletinmess of the dust annomce the

L. s c h a r z

217

silences and the volmtary cniissims" (Raynaud 1988: 112). Fbrther

evidm-,

w e r , can ccrtainly be farad within the autobiography

H u r s t u i n ' s recollecticm of her gate-post perforaaanccs, for e-le,

provides us with art substantial hint:
1 u s a i to take a seat ai top of the gate-post and watch t h

world go by. ale way to Orlando ran past

ipy

carriages and cars would pass before

The movanent d

nie.

house, so the

nus glad to see it. Often white travellers would hail me, but

more oit-

1 bilai them, and asked, "Don't you uant mc to

go a piece of the way w i t h you?" (Ilf 33-34).

Poised between the all-black tawn of Eatmville and the white passersby, Huston inscribes her ambivalent positim (Johnson 279). She bel-

to the black world, as her scolding grsndmother often rani&

her, and

yet, she can be lured, for a price, "to go a piece" in the other

direction. As "both audiemce and actor" (McKay 1988: 181), thrrefore,

she had observed the behaviour of the white tourists and kncw very well
hm to take Avantage of them.
Another example can be fomd in the glaring cattraictiar between

the excised chapter, "Seing The World As It 1s" (chapter fourteen in

the original manuscript) and the inscription Hurstan perured for the ust
jacket :
Reean is a ccmctery f louer--motad in stmggle and

nourishe in blood. Naw aur young

aaai

are in the field,

offering and giving that last snd final posstssim--1ife-that w e

may

sccue in poestssims rud peace, liberty and

life. Can we do lcss than give freely of pcrhaps the lmst

L.

Sc)lslian

218

of the things they are guaranting t o us with their a l l ?

Buy t&r Bads. Buy Saving

Stiiaips.

(qtd. in HQaarway 1984:

rrriv)

In light of the bock's p u b l i c a t i a during tbC height of World W II, a

patriotic appaal of this s o r t miQht not sam espccially pcculiaz.

H o u e v e r , in liat of tbc fa& that P a u l -bof

had j u s t i f i d

Lippincott's missiai of a chapter which not arly attacks Arican

1-rialisni

and democratic zeal, but a l s o s m t h i z e s w i t h the Jaganese

(Hemglway 1977: 276), this i n s c r i p t i a i w r g e s w i t h a gr-t

deal of

i r m y . Either Hurstai's opinion bas irrstantaneously rcversed itrrclf, o r

she is having a bit of fm at her publishcrr's expense. Givar the

exaggerate quality of the purph prose, are is rlwst certain that

Hurstm intaideci this as more than j u s t an inside j o b .

The querrtiar which ramins, hcwwer, is wbther o r not these

manents of resistance are mmugh t o suggest that Hurstm's emsivc11ess
about the d e t a i l s of her l i f e is simply a niatter of subversiai. 1 think

not, i n part beause Hurstm's refusa1 t o locate berself within a larger

historical framework a d Hurstan's subtle mdermining of her publisher's

authority contrihate t o her subjectivity in two very distinct ways, but

largely because Humtai's cvasivams w r e s s e s much mre about her

of self-repr-artatian.

carplex mders-

Like Stein, urstm is

acutely aware of the uipossibility of objective self-portraiture:

1 did

not kiar thai, as 1 kraw nar, that people are prme t o

build a s t a t u e of the kind of pemm tbat it pleases t h u n t o

be. And f-

peo~lewant to be forcd to ask W e l v e s ,

' W b t i f tbcre is no ac l i k e

mpl

statue?' (DT 25-26)

L. Schwarz

219

In other words, Hustm's cxperien w i t h the! genre has altered her

perception of the autabiographer as t h locus of objective truth. Truth,

i n Hurstm's r e v i s i m of the term, is the ptrouct of subjective desire.

Houever, the subjectivity of subjectivity, as wc saw in the
previous chapter, i s just as much a t r u t h as any factual detail. And
this, 1 believe, is crucial t o an understanding of Hurstm8salternate
sense of order, for, as James

Krasner has pointed out, H u r s t a i ' s

distaste f o r the idea of "truth [as] a tiaac-drpadat pheaomend'

(Ktasner 116) tares m u r significantly in the way she choses t o

pattern the text. That is t o say that i f H u r s t a r is interestcd i n

building the kind of statue wfrich it p h a s e s her t o be, Uien she is not

likely t o build it using s-

else's plaster. For Hurstoar, truth-

bound ideas of time are just that, a kind of plaster which would not
cmly limit her t o the historical past, but also f i x her in someone

else's idea of truth. Thus, H u r s t o m ' s refusal t o supply chtes or

historical bencharks, or any of the wert siaccanpany the developumtal pattern of

which nonnally

the autobiography, is less a forw

of mistruth than it is an attempt by H u r s t a r t o carve an individual

space f o r her own autobiographical statue.

What manages

t o confuse cven the most astute of readcrs, hawever,

is the fact that part of Hurstm's private cautruction seaningly

patterns itself

tipon

the caafcssiarsl autobiography Huston invokes

t h i s pattern w i t h a rather lengthy passage in Chapter Four which

describes the visiaary -riance
1 had hawledge before

of a sevm year old Zora:

its time. 1 heu my fate. 1 h e w that

1 would be an orphan and tramneless. 1 krtw that w h i l e 1 was

L. s c w a r z

220

still helpless, tbat tbc canforting circle of my family

would be broken, and tbat 1 would bave to wander cold and

fritndless mtil 1 had serval q y ti. 1 wouid stand beside

a dark pool of =ter and see a huge fish m e sla~lyavay at
a time uhen 1 would be s
w o u l d hurry to catch

m in the -th

of despair. 1

a train, uth doubts and fears driving

me and scek solace i n a place and fail to find i t u b n 1

arrived, then cross many tracks to board the train again. 1

knm~that a hause, a shotgun-built house that neeed a now

coat of white paint, beld torture

saw deep lwe betrayed, but

for mc, kat 1 m s t go. 1

must teel and knw it. There

was no

tuming back. kid last of all, 1 would cane t o a big

house.

ItK) W O I ~ ~waite
C~

there for me. 1 could not see their

faces, but 1 h e u m e t o be yomg and m e to be old. Chre of

them wss arranging some queer-shapd flowers such as 1 had

never scmr. When 1 had

caaic

to these mrnrea, then 1 would be

at the end of my pilgrinmge, but not the aid of my life.

Then 1 would know peace and love and what goes w i t h these
things, and not before (IIT 42).

AdmLttedly, the passage is too much to imore, echoing as it does with

many of the familiar s

subject (with no 1-

W of confessional writing: the visiarisry

than twelve visims), the "cartographie plotting

[of] her life" (Smith 1993: 106), and the proleptic or teleological

organizatian which casts that life in tcrms of me grand spiritual

quest. The m l y thing missing, as Sidonie Siaith obeenres, is the

"traditioaal tripartite structure of death, cmversim, [and] rebirth"

L. SclSrwarz
(Smith 1993: 107), -ch

221

Hurstm cleverly eludes by stating that the end

of k r pilgrimage would not be the end of her l i f e .

Understadably, therefore, many c r i t i c s are disappointed by the
f act that Hurstm does not f01lm Waugh with the st-ural

pattern

she invokes. Robert Hcmenway, i n fact, makes this a central issue in his
introductim to the s e c d sditiar of the text, suggesting that the
absence of visians nine throusgh twelve detracts fran our a b l i t y "to

explain h m an imaginative young girl could tmvel fran Eataaville t o

the horizon, discovcring fame and fortme as a natianally krawn author"
(Hemenway 1984: uunri). In other words, Hcmenway is ance again isturbed

by the t a c t that Hurstm does not adhere t o cawentiaral modes. Her

failure t o employ the twelve vsiaas as a structuring device and, hence,

her failure t o provide the reader w i t h a "ptfaper" sarse of closure, is

quite simply the mark of a negligmt autobiographer. What Hcrnenway

himself f a i l s t o recognize, however, i s the possibility that Hutstan

s an ordtring principle, but as a way of

invokes this gemeric fonn, not a
inscribing her departure fran both the hiro-ccntric and Afro-American
versians of the canfessianal autobiography.
1 raise

this possibility priwrrily because of the passage

iameiately preceing Hurstm's descriptan of the twelvc visians, a

passage which describes the quality of t h visiais thsarselves:

Like clcafrcut stcreapticon slidsii, 1 saw tuelve scams flash

before me, each one held mtil 1 haci scen i t w e l l i n every

detail, and thcn be r e p l a d by anothcr. There was no
cmtinuity as in an average &mam. Just discauiected scme
af ter sccnc w i t h blank spaces in betwcen. 1 krew that they

rd.

Schwarz

222

wcre al1 trut, a prwiew of things t o c a e , and my sou1

writhdd in r g a i y and shmk auay (DT 41).

Hurstm's characterzatiar of these visians as a discarnccted series of

flashes which r-le

stereopticm slidcs not m l y prearpts the

"confessiaaral" interpretatim by alerting the reader t o the actual

discmtinuity of t h narrative which aasues, but also suggests an

alternative miap for r d g the tact--"a previcw of thirags t o cane". To

regard H u r s t a 8 s v i s i a as anything other thrn flashes of recollecticm,
therefore, i s t o

iiqpose

a pattern tJhtre one was never intmed.

Moremer, it is an imposition which genetates its am atpcctatians. The

c r i t i c who mistakenly reads the follawing narrative as onc -ch

patterns i t s e l f m the d e s s i a r a 1, crrpecting linear cartinuity and its
attendant closure, is nectssarily a disappointad critic. And so, t o

accuse Huston of not properly fulfilling her literary station as a

confessitmal autabiographer is simply erraneolls, not t o umtion

carel ess

Indee, the r d e r who pays closer attmtiar t o the text as it is

writtm will more likely interpret Hurstm's authorial stance as me of

canscious m r e l i a h i l i t y , and will ip.rderstand that hcr disclosiue of
discoanectdness is the "previcw of things to cane", f o r in s p i t e of her
declaratim that "timc was to prwe the tmth of Cher] visiaw" (llT 431,
w e have

cane t o leam tbat Hurstcm's versim of the truth i s not

necessarily t
h saum as ours. aie foriaidable clue alrcedy exists in
Hurstan's evasiar of historical ud t-ml
time

markers. Her suspicion of

as an agcnt of t r u t h not arly explains Why she h m chosen t o

project forward i n t o the territory of taqporal iarccrtainty, but also,

L. Sdmarz

223

because of tbis mcertainty, susffests that this projcctiai aaay be

sanewhat tcnuous. In fact, i f there i s anr truth Hwsta~m g -

to

cmvey, it is th t m t h sh attaches t o the Mtural phanamarar of

irnreliability, a t m t h shc reinforces at the b e g i m h g of -ter

Eve

(appropriately entitld "E'igure and Fancy") uhere sbe asserts, "Nothing

t h a t God cver made is the same +hina t o more thsn are persm. That is

natural. There is no single face UI nature, because every eye that looks
it, secs it fran its am angle" (Efi 45).
That Hurstan's "angle" on autobiography should differ from the

rest, therefore, i s not artirely mexpe&ai.

Hurstm has sigrallcd her

departure not mly by actively resisting the nomative t-ral

patternings of clarelapaiartal and d e s s i a r a 1 autobiography, but also by

sharing her caisciaus m r e l i a b i l i t y w i t h the r d e r . But whitre the
organization of t h first faur chapters had a t&cy

t o l d the

traditional reader down the literary garm path, the subesquait

chapters seem t o practice mre wertly uhat Hurstm preaches. Hurston's

resistance t o linear t-ml

order 8n its associatiai w i t h

autobiographical truth i s naw marked by what Franaise L i a m e t has

called "interactive -tic

topoi" ( L i a i n c t 97). The chapters have each

beesr organized around a particular topic (childltiaod fancy, -ring,

love, research, books); hawcver, as -cd

chronology, they are s-ly

t o being l i n k d by

linked by the author's fabricatim of the

t e x t , interactive m l y in so far as the evcnts al1 pertain t o the l i f e

ard life-writing of Zorn N e a h Hurstm. In other words, Hurstm bas

replacsd traitianal horizaatal organizatiai w i t h a kind of vertical

L. s c b a r z

224

organizatian which d e s no pretence rhniit the seamlt~~ll~~s

of
autobiographical narrative.
Possibly mre interesthg than t h stxategy itself, barever, is
the type of critical respmse angemierd by Hurston's vertical

t-rality,

for wai those who ackna~ledgethe alternative ordering

principle are still cmpelled to r d the text in ternis of cmtinuity

and progressim. The pecdiar canbinatim of cross-disciplinary

discourse theory and cmventimal autobiographical theory in Alice

Deck's reading, for instance, effectively mdermines her arn

mderstaning of Humtcm's otganizatim. QI one hsnd, she allaws for the

possibility that Hurstar is employing an antiphmal structure of cal1

and resparse, a synchrcnic order which preserves "her voice as a

distinct entity" (Dcck 249); and, an the other, she claims that
t'Hurstm offers a straight lin-

w r a t i m of her lifet'(Dcck 241) and

adberes "to the c~1vmtimalirrnocmce-to-experience plot of

autobiography" (Deck 242).

nly slightly more cmvincing is Judith R o b e y , who suggests that

Orrst Tracks an a Raad has sinply displaced the usual autobiographical

progression to a meta-textual level. There may not be any Iinear

plotting per se, laut nwertheless the text is possessai of an "werall

progression" ubich consists of "shifts in genesic modes within the

autobiography-fran myth in the chapters m childhd, to the picaresque

travel chapters, to the final essay chapters" (Robey 66). Hurstm is

still depicted as a traitia~slautobiogrsphical hero, but instead of
coursing her uay t h r e chrarological timc, she moves from the natural

(feminine) time associated w i t h myth, to the episodic (masculine) time

L. Schwarz

225

associated with the picaresque genre, and thai f i n a l l y t o the ~ s a y i s t i c

(neutral) presmt. Thus, -le

ai

are level Robey's argunent

successfully allars f o r ~ u r s t m ' svertical organizatim, m as10-b

it

is samewhat defusai by the i m i t i m of traditianal literary structures

as a way of rcading progressive movanent back i n t o the text. In fact,

the additiauil i-licatian

of Roky's m e r i n g , that H u r s t a ' s

subjectivity evolves fran fwminine t o masculine to rrcutral, is

potentially c a r t ~ c t o r yt o the iMin thnast of her argrmient-that

these

fictional analogues represent the assertiai of Hurstm's individuality-since it suggests that Hurstm's success in extricating herself fram the

p o l i t i c s of gender is a product of self-effacing neutrality.

What al1 of this reveals, apart fran a certain predisposition t o

tradi t i c m a l interpretive structures, is that Hurstm 's "an-archic"

temporality not a l y defies cmventimal labels, but a l s o denmnds a

laquage of its awn. Perhaps f o r this reasan, Ranoise Lionnet's
i n t e r p r e t a t i m , as one which canstantly exvarious nuances of the text, canes cl-est

t o accormiodate the
to capturing the s p i r i t of

Hurston's Drrst h-acks. Dismissing the tem "autobiography" aliaost

iainediately, L i a m e t suggests that the t e x t i s better look&

as a

kind of self-portrait, a self-containicd a i t i t y rather than a

r e p r w e n t a t i m of the past (Liamet 98). The linear historical program

of canventimal autabiography is not c-tible
anthropology"'

w i t h the "'figura1

(Lionnet 99) of H u r s t a i ' s essayistic method. And

fuicttitrmore, i t does not accamoate the petformative e1-t

Hurston's storytelling, which

riot

of

arly ~antratesits wn gamalogy, but

a l s o overwhelms the cfironological sclue of time with sanethmg nirach mare

L. Schwarz

226

fluid and contextual (Liamet 101). Storytelling, as Hurstm herseif

tel 1s us in -ter

Ten ("Resciarch") , is a phcnonwlrm which cannot be

f ixed either i n fonn or caitmt:

Oncc thcy

got started, the "lies" just rollCd and the story-

tellers fought for a chance t o talk. It t m ~the same with

thesargs. T h e a i e thing t o b e guardedagainst, in the

interest of truth, was wer-enthusiasm. For instance, i f a

singer
sang was going g d , and the material ran out, +h
mrs apt t o interpolate picces of other sangs into it. The

arly way you can kraw w h a r that happens, i s t o

)oiaw

your

material so well that you c m same the violatim. Even i f

you do not hw the saig that is being usai for padding, you
can tell the change in rhythm and tempo. The words do not

count. The subject umtter in Negro folk-saigs can be

anything and go fran love t o work, t o travel, t o food, t o

weather, t o iight, t o &mandng the return of a

wig by

w a m n who has tunieci unfaithful. The tune is the u n i t y of

the thing

(m 143-144).

The process Hurst~acribes is are which has its origins i n the

context of the

groiip.

The story or sang may have had a previoiis l i f e ,

but each neu t e l l i n g is a kind of rebirth, as the story or sang is

transfigurai by the interpolations of al1 who are presait. As Hurstan

says, the words do not count. What matters is the ttrne or the tempo. The

idea of an historieal fmme of mieremce, i n other words, bas been

replaced by a rhythnic seme of timc -ch

the cmtext of the imnediate situatioor.

i s significant only within

L. Schwarz

227

The same, f belicvc, applies to Hurstm's autobiography as a

whole. There is a tiine or teanpo which d e s the work si&ficant
its own frame of referaice, but the words do not coiint; -y

within

are not

necessarily ccnsistmt with the message they deliver, nor do they

necessarily jibe with anyare else's smg. The fa&,

then, that Hurston

moves fran arc subject to the other, almost exactly like the folksmgs
she describes, or that she invokts certain literary traditiais to suit
the momnt rather than pattern the whole, should not be jtdged in terniis

of inconsistency or lack of continuity, for within the mode1 o f

storytelling she Qives us, she accords canpletely. H u r s t a i has
interpolated her sang with many different elemnts--carfessimal

autobiography, folklore, storytelling, essay uritig--but, in the end,

she has d e it her own, and given it b r am tempo. The problem for any

critic who perceives the autobiography as lacking, therefore, is the

problem of having a dif fermt song i n mind while r d n g what is quite
clearly a unique and self-cmtained -1tion.

Unfortiorately, the idea that Hurston is lparcbing to the tme of a

different drimmer does not lard itself so easily to a dismassian of
racial subjectivity. In

termis

of politics, critics bave dividai alang

issues of whethr Hurstm's cvasive practice is a product of f d n i s t

self-asserticm or yet another manifestation of racial suppression; and,
i n te-

of literary analysis, critics are split bctwccn those who feel

L. Schwarz

228

that Hwstan has forsaken her Afro-Amtriean l i t e r a r y heritage in favour

of "dust tracks ai a road" and thme uho assert t h t many of Hurstmms

self-represmtatiaaal strategies are, in f a c t , an extension of the

l i t t l e recognizd, a l b e i t strarg, traditim of black funale

autobiography. In part, the difficulty arises frun what E'ranoise

Limanet c a l l s the @'&tissagew
cultural

forirrs

of the text, Hurstm's braiding of several

together ( L i a m e t 128), f o r while this diasporan

dispersion makes it d i f f i c u l t t o f i x H u r s t a r ' s subjectivity with any

racial stercotype, it a l s o suggests that this self-orphaning mode of
representatiaai may be a fkctim of rrcccssity. Another factor
contributing t o this problein, hawever, is the p o l i t i c s of publicatiun,
f o r Hurstm's autobiographical coamand performance, s o t o speak,

together w i t h the very intrusive editing which brought about the f irst
editim of the t e x t , raises the issue of whether o r not Hurston's
subjectivity

is t m l y her wn. Those who focus on the heavy-handed

excisian of Hurstm's potentially inflanamtory material, or m the

editorial suppressiai of her black idian, are apt t o interpret Hurstosr's
subjectivity i n temm of racial or sexual oppressim; and, those who
assert that Hurstai has subtly a i c o d her resistan t o the imitiars
of J.B Lippincott and -y

are, naturally, more inclinai t o read her

subjectivity as me possessed of racial pride o r faninist strength.

But then, of course, tbcre i s the issue of what Hurstm has

actually selecte f o r the t e l l i n g , for, i n s p i t e of al1 the .intwrtled

caveats that warn the reaer against taking her words at face value, she

has nevertheless exercised a certain amotmt of choice i n the material

she has braided togcther. Al-

Hurstanmscmtmt is by no means

L. Schwarz

229

exempt fran the critical warfare, sane choosing to exalt the text m the
basis of Hurstm's idmtificatim w i t h her cmn race -le

others

denigrate it for just the opposite reasar, 1 believe tbat Hurston's awn
views m race, if not the last word on the subject, are at least a good

place to begin, especially if we are interesta3 in cxamining the

strategies with which she has chmen (os not chosar) to rqascsent race.

me

chapter in particular desemes our attsntim, Cbapter TWelve,

entitled 'My People! My People!", where Hurstai not m l y gives us her

opinim of such canccpts as race pride, race prejudice, race

nian,

race

solidarity and race carsciousness (Dl!159ff), h t also discusses her am

racial socialization. To be sure, Hurstm's maderstanding of race

teminology is a little unsettling to the reader who is accustaned to

more radical or militant views, In fact, according to Hurston's world
view, race cansciousness and race solidarity are not necessarily

desirable. Race consci~u~ness

is simply "a plea to Negroes to bear their
color in mind at al1 times" (U' 159), anci race solidarity is a fictian

produced and sustained by the upper classes. For Hurstoa, the black race

is a much more variegated caicept T'here are "uell-niitnnered Negroes" (DT

their opinims

157) and "trashy Negro[cs]" (DT 158), those who 1-e

and those who are quiet-spokm, those who are educated and those are

not, those who belmg to the upper classes and those who, like herself,
came fran a lesser emnanic class ard uere raisai

ai

folktales rather

than political fictions. Indee, the conclusion Hurstm draws at the en

of telling a story about racial strife in her cuammity is
that the Negro race was not me band of hsavcnly lwe. There
was stress and strain inside as wcll as out. Being black was

L. s c h a r z

230

not mough. It took more than a coimnrnity of s k i n color t o

make yaur lwe

corr dawn m you. That was the

beghnhg

of

w me*
Light came t o m e
t o consider any racial gr-

1 realize tbat 1 did not have

as a whole.

[...] 1 leame

tbat skins wre no w u T e of what was inside people. So

nare of the Racc clichCs mant anything any more (DT 170171).

As part of Hurstai's socializatim, therefore, these stories play

a significant role i n # developmmt of her racial vieus. But an equal
part is played by the fact that Hurstm grew up in the all-black town of

Eatonville Florida, for apart fran what she lsanied and oberved about
her camnanty, the "rich incubator of hcr am birth" (Haward 161) was,

t o sane e x t m t , a shield which kept ber protected fran the racial

tensicms that plagued the rest of the Sauth. In fact, as Hurstm

describes i n Chapter Six, it was not mtil she was sent t o Jacksarville
as a young girl that she was iMde to feel the colour of her skin (IIT
68). Thus, as both an acknowledgcment of her sheltered upbringing and a

declaratiai of racial diversity, the f i n a l paragraph of Chapter Twelve

cmerges as perhaps the ao9t important statsmait Hurstar lloakes m the

subject of race:
1 &tain

that 1 have bcar a Negro thme tinrs-a

Negro

baby, a Negro girl d a Negro wanan. Still, i f you have

received no clcar eut iiqprcssian of what the Negro i n

hnerica is l i k e , W you are in the mm place with me.

L. Sc&warz
Thtre is no 2%

-O

231

here. ut ives are so diversifid,

interna1 attitudes so variai,

a d capabilities

so differmt, that there is no possible classification so

catholic tbat it will cover us all, urcept My People! My
People! (Dl'172).

Aithough the manuscript vessim of this -ter

is much more

anecdotal and, to soar dcgree, aiore personalized, it does not affect

Hurston's overarchng mssage, her ailrni9nt assertial about the
heterogeneous quality of her race, No one classificatiar will suffice.
And this, as 1 set i t , is s~llitthingquite inextricable f rom the way in

which Hurstm has chos= to reprcscnt haself m the *le,

for it not

only infoniis the way her subjectivity is poisai betwccn variaus cultural

traditions and discursive moes, but also offers a partial explanation

as to why she feels free to borrw fran both Eure-karrican and Afro-

Amrican autobiographieal ~ ~ 1 v e n t i o nwithout

s
having to take up
permanent resience in either traditim. It is not so much that she is

rejecting or disinheriting any of these traditions autright, but more so

that she is iirdicating hcm many dif f erent influences carverge to make up

Zora Neale Hurstm, and that no one classification will suffice.

To reconsidcr Hurstar's autobiogra~hialpastiche w i t h this in

min&

then, will not arly r w m l a more inclusive notiaa of her racial

subjectivity, h t also shed sa new light an the raging critical

dispute which, at present, 8urrouxia the te%t. In faet, the quutian of
whether or net Hurston has sold k r race mn the river seerningly
becanes irrelcvant, because the textual "niCtissage" (Liaanet 128)

L. Scbarz
meourages the rsader to look

ripan

232

the various discursive elanmts as

they are braided togcther, rnd not as potmtially antithetial modes.

abc

cannot, for instance, scparate the Zora Neale Hurstm who identifies

herself w i t h the cammmity of Eatmville mmmr (a typical relational

pose for black tumen autobiographcrs) fran the Zora Nale Hurstm who

inscribes her subjectivity as a solitary mythic h o (a pose cumcm in

Western tradition)--an inverse Persephme (Sanith 1993: 115; Liamet 119)

uho will (re)search for her mther, since it is Hurstm's strmg

collective sensibility in the first place wbich 1wandering. In other wors, both puses

rnierge

to ber solitary

froin the same racial

identification of the subject.

Likewise, an attempt to distinguish the Soutbrn black storyteller

fron the Boazian anthropologist who records the folktales i s rerdered

nearly impossible by the tact that Hurstai's autobiography participates
equally in both discursive mes. Her recollectims of Polk County, for

example, are not just of the people and the folklore she arcountered,
the detache scientific observations of a "white" acaanic; they include
herself as an active participant in the story of jealous misunderstandmg and feuale bmwling she relates. Hurston is, in fact, the

abject of the jealousy that incites Big Smet (the ostensible subject of
the study) to have i t out in a )cnife fight with Lucy, the

woaisn

uho

perceives Hurstm as a threat to her mrriage. Thus, not mlike the seat

she adopts m the gatcpost at the

of the book, Hurstan is both

actor and audime, both black ud white identified.

To regard Hurstan's subjectivity in ternis of idmtity formation

is, therefore, saneuhat m i s l a g , for evm a patient sifting of al1 of

L. s c b m r z

233

the racially identifia3 manents i n the tact will never r e a l l y produce an

either/or result, since Hurstm's poised position on the bomdary

between the two always affects the uay in which ue receive these
moments. Hurstm may tell

us w i t h seaning navte about her days as a

domestic servant or as a lady's maid for a Gilbert and Sullivan c-y,

but the voice which rcmirids us t h a t "-le

can be slavc-ships in shoes"

(DT 85) is never very far bctrind. O r , as 1s the case in Chapter Nine,
she may tell us rather neutrally about the bigoted barber f o r whan she

worked on Capitol Hill, but the story is not mer amtil she acknawiedges
her man part in this Jim Craw operatiar

(m 119).

Hurstm's ambivalent

stance, i n other words, prevents us from fixing her i d m t i t y me way o r

the other. Anci possibly, for t u s remson, many critics avoid diswsing

or waa mentionhg the Cidjo Lewis episode in the book, f o r it is me

which suggests that Hurstm is simultancdusly

an emboimmt of Harriet

Jacob6 and ncle Tan:

ne thing impressed me s t r m g l y fran this three manths of

association with Cid j o Lwis. The white people had held my

pemple in slavery here in Axriea. They had bought us, it is

tme Md exploited us. But the inescapable f a c t that stuck

i n my craw, was : my -le

had sold me and the w h i t e people

had bought me (DT 145).

Certainly, as an inplicatiai of her am people's guilt in the selling of

slaves, the revelatim is less than appropriate for a woman who has
spent most of her l i f e ommting and extolling the lmguage of
Southern black folklore. But nevertheless, as an identifi c a t i m which a t

once quates her w i t h slavery ("my people had sold

wt")

and also brings

t o it the academic objectivity iaplicit in her project (the research she

was caxlucting m behal f of llze Joucllhl of

University), this passage ~ r g e 8s

s perhaps

in the autobiography, for here it is t - y

Hstory at Colunbia

-O

aic

of the

aiost

reamskable

i m s i b l e to classify

Hurston's racial subjectivity in any way that s a t i s f i e s the whole

without aekrowledging that she is both one and the other togethe?. In
effect, Hurstm has multiplieci her i d e n t i t i e s (Sinith 1993: 109). But
more irnportantly, by this process of d t i p l i c a t i m , she has shwn us
that "the body [ i s not] constitutive of the si1081, that race

'race"' (Smith 1993:

is a cultural construct , not one hanogmous essence, kt

a variety of individuals, each of whan brings U s or her caitextuti

ciifferences t o the bomless reality.
Of course, Hurstm's resistsnce t o esscntialized idcntity uas not

without its probleus. The idea o f a prauinent black author who refused

t o be star as a represartative of her race stirred a great deai of

cmtroversy, particularly ammgst the black literati. i n i t i a l receptiar
of the text was ~ r o s t l ymixed, and mostly because of what critics saw as

Hurstai's negligent portraya1 of race7. I t was not so much that H u s t o n

had werlooked racial issues ( f o r cvidently the subjects of slave-

an

oppressian are presait), kt primarily that she had optai for a

depictioar of race which was not a l y more positive, but also much more

varied. In other words, she had refusai t o subscribe t o a n o t i m of the

victimize black race in a l i t e r a r y clinmate which stipulate that the

black author wt ascassarily writc protest l i t e r a t d . To

cenitanporary critics, therefore, Nurston was regardcd as samthing of a
t r a i t o r , as an author who m l d not assune the requisite exemplary

L. ScbaJarz

235

positiar. Moreover, as an autobiographcr, Hurstm's resistance to the

literary nom s u n r i doubly
way

~ g r c g i o ~ siPCC
t~,

it uas not d

y scca as a

of tuniing b r back on her mn race, but also, very s m i f i c a l l y , as

a way of den-

thc l i t e r a r y hritage i a p l i c i t in t b tradition of

black autobiography:

The 'self' of black autobiogrsphy an the wfiole

an irYlivi-1

[...] is not

w i t h a private career, but a soldier in a

lm, historic march taami Canaan. The self is cmceived as

a membcr of an oppresscd social gr-,

with ties and

resparsibilities t o the other manbers. It i s a cmscious

political identity, craving sustesaance fran the! past

experiance of the group, giving back the iran of its
adUrance fashiamd into armer

ud ma--

for the use of

the ncxt generatiar of fightws (Butterfield 2-3).

In short, thm, Hurstoa's "disarming" approach t o autobiography was seen
as equivalmt t o a kind of literary genocide, f o r in the process o f
disawning herself she w o u i d

orphan al1 future ~ a r c r a t i a n s .

a e point ubich i s ccnsistently werlooked, )rrrwtver, is the fact

that black slave narratives, as the first manifestation of Afro-kmrican

autobiography, were also mtivated by i n d i v i h l conccrns, by the desire

for "authartic self-expression" (anith 1974: i x ) , a desire, in fact,

which w o u l d mark t k i r authors' if f ermce f rom other e

s of their

race even as it senmd to inscribe thdr appositiori t o white a d a v e r s .

To sane extent, I wauld argue tbat private desire, a t 1-t

as it

inheres i n the dcmorutration of endition, bas always been these. Thus,

L. Scbarz

236

to Stepkn Butterfield's narrow circimaiscriptim of the black self, 1

would add William kdrcws' assesmmnt:

By the erd of the f i r s t century of Afro-iherican

autobiography, the garre had beca the scare of a c a m p l a

discursive encomter presided wer by a self-determining
narrator wha nmkes free with text and r d e s in the name of
tmth to self, a stan&rd that left both identity and
veracity problcwitically int-

in their awn mtual

selativity (Andrews 2).

And like William Andrews, 1 would eaphasize the autobiographer's t ~ t h

to the self, for here, in this particular aspect of the tradition, 1

think it is still possible to r e c m z e hrst Tracks m a Rad.

Certainly, no aie would ever suggest that Huston's same of tmth and
identity rests on any standard other than her awn, especially
considering the mutual reinfor-t

of her express opinians on race Md

the te* as a whole.

But clearly, what separates Hurstaa fran the majority o f Afro-

American autobiographers is the fa& that her idea of truth in identity

does not invite the usual appositiaral politics of black

Hurstoar does not arlist

versus -te.

in Butterfield's autobiographieal anny precisely

because she does not see hcrself as a "uarrior or defiant black

activist" (Deck 237)) but rather, as she puts it, as a "better-thinking
Negro"

(m 169)- And, as such,

1 think that Hurstai uas able to see

b e y d the tangible oppressiai o f the white race to the more pawerful

oppressiai that exists in the logic of appoeitim itself. Thcrefore, as
1 see it, Hurston's resistance to an csrrsntializd racial identity is

not so much an attmt t o dispossas berself of a people or a literary

M t a g e as it is a way t o extricate herself ftan the oppressive binary

logic uhich informs the normative cmcepts of race and, in turn,

motivates a great many black autobiographers. in a garse, then, it is a
way of

freeing the self ubich transcabds the inscribd ciesires and

f r e d a m of the slave narratives, for it is truly a decolarizatim of

the self.

nfortmately, "the creatim of her fictive self is not solely a

self-conscious textual strategy, but also a product of her historical
positim as a black f a m l e writer" (Raynatrd 1992: 35). Althcnrgh the self
which Hurstcm delivers in the publishe ( f i r s t d i t i a r ) version of the

text is

aic

whose deliberate diasporan strategies carstitute a very

positive decolaiizatioai, it is also a self which cannot be separateci

frm the author who was both c r d and cmstrained i n the

autobiographical act. In other words, i f we allaw for the idea that

Hurstan's racial ientity is are which operates by a procesa of

Ulcorporatiar, multiplying rather than exclwiing as SidqUe -th

suggests, thm wc nrust also allaw for the incorporation of an el-t
which potentially cappliamtes the ecolarized self of the p r i n t d page.

We must carsider not a r l y the fact that Hurstm uas a reluctsnt subject,

but also haw, perhaps, that reluctance was w m t u a l l y ancodsd as part of

the autobiography. Futhennore, we rnrst caisider the political

inplicatiais of the various excisims and d e l e t i a i s which wcre imed

upon the t e , f o r withaut the aditiar of these polanical voices w e
ectrge with smething less than a -lete

racial idaitity.

unerstanding of fiurstm's

L.

-2

238

Irdeed, a certain i r m y manifests i t s e l f i n the idea of Hurstm's

otherwise unfixable racial self k i n g c o n t r o l l d by a prabhi.mmtly
white publishing industry, especially i f w e cmsider how cloeely the

editorial process at J.B. tippiacott ressaables tbt of tbe editors

and/m scribes involve i n the publication of slave narratives. It is
pmbably no coincidence that Hurstm referrcd t o Bertram tippincott as

"the Colonel" in the original manuscript (Raynaui 1992: 37). since fris

editorial requests uere oftcn issubd by camrr;and, and somtimes quite

arbitrarily. The omission of Hurstm's last chapter, "The Inside LightBeing a Salute to Fricndship",

f o r instance,

motivatd primarily by incanvacncc. Al-

sceiars

t o have bem

H u s t o n finished the

chapter a July 20, 1941, in time t o submit it w i t h the r e s t of the

manuscript, no reascm was given f o r the unissim. Perhaps it was anly a
matter of timing, but perhaps it was also a very deliberate way of
suppressing H u r s t o n ' s subjectivity, f o r no uhere else i n the

autobiography & w e find such a profusion of persmal friaads and

acquaintances. In fa&,

the majority of the chapter r

d l i k e an

extaded thank-you note. I t is quite passible t h a t Lippincott faund this

t o be an inappropriate aditiar t o what is nonnally cansidered an

"objective" literary work. Another p s s i b i l i t y , hawever, is the fact

that Hurstm refers t o James Weldai J o h s a r (ironically, the man whose

collectiooi naw houses the Hurstm manuscript at Yale) i n lcss than

complimntary ternis: "There8s a

rpn

white 4nough t o suit Hitler, and

he's been passing f o r colorai for ~(ears"(m 216). A potantial libel

suit may have bcen cause a~ouqhf o r the anissiai. But the questim of
why Lippincott chose t o anit the whole chapter nevertheless ranains.

L. s c b a r z

239

A n ducated guess, a the basis of Lippincott's expressed opinians

ccncerning o t h r mjor excisiars, wauld favour the idea that they siwly
f

d the chapter "irrelcvant" to t b autobiography, aa uas the case

with Chapter Faut-,

"Seeing tbe mrld AS It 1s". AlthQuQh the

anissiar was m a b l y jtrhcious in light of t h Pearl Harbor banbing,

this was not t h reasan Lippincott s w l i d . To be sure, the manuscript

is litterai with '@queries such as '&YS

who?,

' Sure of this?, ' and 'Csn

@

yau quote examples?"' (Hamway 1984: xxxiii), an indication that

Lippincott was fearful of the political causqibcnces; but, the
cancliyiing rauarks r d : "Suggest eliminating internaticmal opuliars as
irrelevant to autobiography" (Hamnway 1984: xxxiii). In other words,
Chapter Fourteen (and probably "The insi& Light") uas anitted on the
basis of incangruity, because it was uncharacteristic of autobiography,

at l e a s t according to Lippincott's derstanding of the tem.

question we anust ask, of course, is why? Was it because of the audiarcc
they perceived? Or, was it sinply because they haci such an incredibly

positivistic notion of autabography? Ptrhaps a little o f both. But

either way, tht ad r d t is much the m. The substantial eliminatim

of these two chapters is a muting of Hurstm's voice. As such, it alters

the way in which w e perceive Hurstem's racial subjectivity, for part of
w h a t infornrs the text is the h v y hand of thc white publisher whose
primary ancern is not to give offerrse to bis prdominsntly white
aridience w i t h (presunably) very consenrative literary cxgcctatiars.

n i i s reaamiag may, in fact, accomt for the ma jority of the Riirror

changes and deletiars as -11,

since it is wident fran the esastue of

much of Hurstai's black dialect and spelling that Lippincott did not

L. Schwarz
want t o alienate their perceivd white audiance. But, while

a l t e r a t i m s t o the 1
-

240

such

may have achicvcd tbt desird effect for

their reaers, the effect for H u r s t a r uas increasingly thqative. Not

mly did this represent a h r t h e r Camtra.int m ~ u r s t m ' ssubjectivity,

but another way in which Hurstm's v o i e had b e a ~depleted, and quite

l i t e r a l l y so. By chanOinQ the Sauthem black ialect t o s t ~ r i z e d

mglish spelling, the uanan vith "the niap of D i x i e ar [her] tmgue" (IIT
99) could

no langer be heard (Raynaiid 1992: 39). And perhaps this as

precisely the point, because part of what these alteratiars effect is

the eliminatim of Hurstm's orality (Raynaud 1992: 39), t k oral/aural
quality -ch

accomg?anies the

story-telling c-art

of nruch of the

text. If the text i s no lmger written in the p-etics

Hurstm's

which conjure up

Southern black dialect, and harce the voice of the story-

t e l l e r , then the oral quality becanes lost, ovemhelned by the

"polished, acceptable form of writtcn language" (Raiynaud 1992: 39)
d d e d by the publishers. Ultimaately, Hurstm's control mer her awn

voice is severely cnprdsed.

More c ~ r o m i s i n gstill, hmwer, are the actual excisions which

suppress the strangth of H u r s t a r ' s racial voice.

arc passage

is

particularly notcworthy, as Claudint Raynaud points out, because it is a

passage which si(prificant1y departs fran the

sapswfiat mutai

voice w e

hear in the rest of the autobiography. The passage was strickar from the

beginning of Chapter Eight uhich details Zora's aaploynm~twith k&s

m c r i e f , and is i t s e l f the recaastructa voice of Mr Mattcrief:

1 am not the kind of man t o be worrie with

80

much

respmsibilities. Never should have let myself gct iwrried

L I Schwarz

in the f i r s t place. Al1 1 n d is a

241

y m g , full-of-feelings

girl t o sleep with and enjoy l i f e . I aluays did kctp

n#

colore girl. kfy l a s t are wved off t o Chicago and l e f t m e

without lard or wer]. 1 want a c o l o r d girl and I'm giving

you the prefercncc. (fran MS folder 13, 122, qtd. in Raynaud
1992: 44).

As an wert critique of the racism which persistai in Hurstm's &y,

m e directcd specifically a t

the oppressim of black

womai,

and

this is not

only a voice worthy of social protest literature, but also are whose

affinity extcnds back in timc, t o the l i t e r a r y heritagc of the slave

narratives. Thus, the u t c i s i a i of such a passage i s doubly iranic, for
w h l e it was takar out t o turn dawn the racial volune for the white

audiences, it was also precisely the kind of anissian which garnere the
most criticism f o r the book, since most f e l t tbat the book's racial

sensibility was m t i r e l y too tepid, especially given caitargmrsry

literary n o m . Thus, t o realize t h a t Lippincott removeci several like
passages fraa the autobiography is t o realize that Hurstm's

subjectivity is much more c-lex.

than it might at first appear i n

the

original publishbd version of thc ttxt, for, in rrtiition to the

iasporan ispersim, ue discwer there is also a self uhose racial

identiticatiai is quite evidsnt- This may be mly arc of -y

voices

which cmtribute t o H u r s t a i ' s subjectivity, h t neverthelsss it i s one

w e cannot discomt entirely, especial l y since it marks

the i n t e r s e c t i m

betwecn Hurstm the author and Hurstaar the textual subjeet. In other
words, it is what all-

us t o see the

black fernale author in the 1910s &es,

way

to

in wiaich her existence as a

8-

=tait, infonn her

L. Schua?z

242

textual subjectivity. Perhaps, this is a m of the instances s b refers

t o a t the d of -ter

m l v e whai s k dis-

being arade t o f-1

like a Negro m l y three tis i n her l i f e .

Consiclering the type of e i t o n a l practice -ch

surroundai the

publicatian of tb text, and th fa& that Lippincott took full

advantage of their poaitiar in relatim t o Ihustm, me d

d not bave

t o stretch too far. Indssd, the rems= that Hurstm did not -1y
object t o Lippincott's -itiaru

imbalance of pouer. Hurstm

bad everythiag t o do with t h

war,

an author who depmdd

pramotim of mr publiaher. l&reover, a t the

timt

the

of hrst ha-'

publicatiai Rurstan "had no security, no s t d y incane, ( d l no

guarantee that her career d

d extard b e y d the prepublicatian

piiblicity" for the autobiography (Hcmasarway 1984: xiv-xv). Howcver, the

fact that Hurstan was not open about her objections should not

necessarily be takai as a si- of p a s s i v i t y or resigiatim. Hurstm nray

have beai f o r d not t o bite the hand that f d her, but she amtarai that
Lippincott's heavy band would not go m n o t i d . A p p d a l t o the
manuscript at the Beinecke Rare Bodr and Manuscript Library, Yale
University is a note in Hurstm's oun bind which r d : "Parts of tbis
numuscript wcrc not uscd in tbe final -ition

of the book for

publishcr's r e ~ a u ' '(qtd. i n Bummay 1984: xxxiii). And so, although

H u r s t a r ' s affinity with the slave narrators may be more than mt

c r i t i c s are willing t o acJmadedge, t b r e is arc very sigaificant point

which distinguishes her as ue11. S b refusa3 t o

resiw herself t o

tbe

d t o r i a l c a ~ t r a i n t sof her publisher without a t least biving the final

word

L. Schwarz
B e v d The Cult of Tnae W a m n h o o : A Voice That Kn-

243

No Bounds

Inplicit in Hurstai's negative experiarce w i t h ber publisher is

the power of the patriarchal irutitutoa, for as much as Lippncott was
aware of her race, so t w were they aware of bier position as a f-le

author. In fact, the separatim of race and g d e r , as far as the

subjectivity Hurstar bttings to the text (as distinct fran her textual

subjectivity), is almost artificial, since -y

of the passages which

Lippincott chose to anit were cmsidered racial precisely because of

their sexual explicitness. As Clarvline Raynaud's study of the original

manuscript revaals, folklore which ha bccli "erotically inflected" or

revelled in the pleasure of black sexuality was either "cleaned

irp"

or

conpletely excised (Raynaud 1992: 40). No a t t w t was made to separate

racism fraa sexism. As an author, therefore, Hurstai suffered cqually

fran the double othering which has narginalized black w o a m fran the
time of the first f a d e slave narrative.
As the textual subject of Dust Tracks an a R d , fiarcver, Hurstuin
speaks in a voice which is far fran mute. Her publishers may have
suppressed that part of her feanale voce which was incxtricably borvd to

the racial material they preicted would overwhelm their white

audiences, but the voice which runains is still p~werfullyaiujible,

nderscoring the point is Hurston's departure fran the (black) temale

autobiographical traditim, for although she shares a similar subject
postioa as an author, the intersectim of Hursta and gener in the
text bears little resanblance. Hurstoa's voice is self-affirning where
the voices of her preecessors had beai primrily self-effacing; and

Le Schwarz

244

wtrere thcse voices cauld oftcn only be bard in relation t o dominant or

camnmal voiccs, Hurston's is a voice which stands aiare. She does not
rcquire the validatim of others, especially not the kind of validation

which society deeaas the result of an advantageous relatiamhip with a

nran. H e r careet as an indcpadent anthrapologist and author always fares

more prrminrrrtly than lwe or cvat the i n s t i t u t i m of niarriage. And

perhaps, for this remson, a large part of the autobiography's

uncanventionality

stenis

from Hurston's refusal t o play i n t o the bands of

gendes typing. As w e have seen, she docs not f u l f i l the m r i c

ewectatiars of the daminant androccntric mels, invdting but never

sustaining either of the secular ( d e v e l ~ t a l or
) the confessiaial

trajectories. The same holds t r u e for the chinant fanale tropes.

Hurston's subjectivity is a larg way f m the "piety, purity,
submissiveness, and danesticity" associate with "The Cult of True
Wamanhood", and an equal distance fram the cloaked, God-fearing selves

who populate most of the fanale anversian narratives (Welter 21; Moody
52).

To be sure, if Hurstan has ccmcealed anything, i t is her position

in relation t o the m e r hierarchy. W t r u c t i n g -self

as neither

male nor female i d e n t i f i d , and revelling in the certbral as xnuch as the

semal, Hurstm effectively elides the idea of a particular gader role.

Futhermore, as an author who refuses t o participate in the daminant

autobiographical -1s

of her culture, cither an&occntric or

gynocesrtric, she seaningly alerts

US

t o the ina&quacy of a gender-based

subdivision of literature. In part, 1 k l i e v e Huston 1s telling us, as

she did in Chapter Tuelve cancerning mce, that no singular definition

L. Schwasz

245

of "female" vil1 suffice. Just as there is no such persan as '7fhe

Negro", there is no such wamn as "The Fanale". Beyad this, Wever, 1

believe that Hurstm is making a vcry signifiant stat-t

about

autobiography in gcneral , for whether or not her resistancc t o the

g d e r e d norms of convartim is deliberate, it is one ncverthdtss which

demanstrates not a

tbat a waman is capable of brsaking away fran the

autobiographical sub-culture to which she bas been relegated, but also

that she is capable of borrowing tropes from al1 cultures, daminant or:
otherwise, an creating an autobiography which stands spart fram the

mtanglements of gmder politics.

Beginning w i t h Hurstan's self-carstructim, ue discover rather

quickly that her so-calle "statue", although missing a feu pieces of

plaster here and there, is for the most part uncarstrained in any other
way, particularly in the ares of gaLder. Hurston's "primary smse of

herself," as Elizabeth Fox-Genovese asserts, "transcaids garder" (FoxGenovese 1988: 81).

m e of the first clues we r d v e is Hurstm's

"cross-gendersd mythic birth" (Smith 1992: 112), a ratber mmatic

passage which relates the c r i s i s surrouning the event:
So

there was no gr-

folks close a r d w h m Mama's water

broke. She 8ent one of the saialler children to fetch A m t

Jiidy, the nid-wife, but she had gaic to Woodbridge, a mile

and a half away, to eat at a hog-killing. The child was told

L. Schwarz

246

t o go wer there and tell Ainrt J a y t o cane. But nature,

m

g indifferent t o hrman arranganents, uas iapatiart. My

mther had t o make it alaic.

[...] Help canr fran uhere s k

never would bave tought t o look for it. A white man of

acres and things, wha heu the family -11,

iwny

had butchered

the day before. K~awingthat Papa uas not hane, and that
consequmtly there would be no f rash a t in aur hoiise, he

decided t o drive the f i v e miles and bring a half of a shoat,

sweet potatoes , and other gardm s t u f f alaig. He tms there a

fw minutes a f t e r 1 was bom (VT 2 0 ) .

Although perhaips not mythic in any caivcntiaial scnse--iiurstan does not,

after a l l , spring frun the imad of her mother--her b i r t h is nwertheless

canstructed i n mythic proportion. Zora's mther, abandmecl by Mother

Nature and Aunt Judy i n her hour of need, a m t brave the situation by

herself, until f i n a l l y the white man makes his timely appearance. The
w h i t e man is , f o r al 1 intmts and -es,

the hero of the piece. H e

arrives with much-nded supplies, and just in time t o a c t as Zora's

mid-husband. In te-

of gender, therefore, a s i t u a t i m which i s usual ly

exclusively f a d e i n daamin has becane a cross-gaderal ment, and,

moreover, an wmt whch suggests that Hurston's f i r s t mants as a
f-le

child were male-identifid.

As the narrative continues, the c a n f l a t i m of male and fanale

identification is sustand. Hurston's childhood is eaarkd by an elusive

v a c i l l a t i m kt-

the two g d e r roles, a sort of gader limbo. Ch one

hanci, we find her "playing" at very traditional fernale plots of

epithalamia, creating a marriage scarario betwcmr Mr and Hrs Cob (her

L. Schwarz

247

corn-cob do1 1s) and fantasizing about htr a m wentual m a g e t o the

sctiool principal. ai the other band, wc discwer a child uho is much

more aptly ar-ctcribd as a tomboy, a child wfio6e Chtistmas drcaras caasist

of owning a swift s t a l l i m and riding off t o mcct the horitm. In fact,
the desire for speeci, puer and caiqucst a s s o c i a t d with this masculine
fantasy is so s t r m g that l i t t l e Zora declares t o hcr fa-:

"If 1

can't have no riding horse, 1 m't want nothing a t all" (DT 29). hat
Hurstan gets for Christmias, hawever, i s a lessai in gender politics. Her

father's refusal t o buy her the s t a l l i m i s ac-ed

by the message

that it is not acceptable for girls to have such ambitims, an the

present she receives instea is a doll.

Huston's reactian t o al1 of this seems to suggest not m l y that

she re jects her fathcr's idea of propriety and m e r , but also that she
was, t o sam extent, auare of

the performative aspects involvd in the

cancept of gerader. She describcs how playing with girls never suited

her, that she was always too s t r m g and carseqwlrtly m g e d t o hurt her

playniates. 'Werything was al1 right, hawcver, when [she] playcd with
boys"

(m 29).

H e r asscssmart of the s i t u a t i m is extraly telling:

The fly i n the ointnamrt there, was that i n my family it was

not ladylike for girls t o play w i t h boys. No matter h m

y m g you werc, no gw would ever caac of the thing. 1 iise

t o mxder what was wraig w i t h playing w i t h boys. Nobody told

nie.

1 just mustn't, that was 811. Uhat was wrcng with my

doll-babies? Why c d d n ' t 1 sit still an BYBke my dolls sane

clothes? (DI!30).

Le Schwarz

248

She is attmsd t o the accepted noms of the family, but m o t

understandwhy those are thenarms, rror why it is tht casse that shemst
accept them as h r oune Evidartly,

no m e ever siipplied her w i t h an

adequate reasm. Thus, in orer: t o placate her friniily and sinnrltaneously

satisfy htr oun needs for actim, Hurstai invents im8gLn-Y

&Us which

"did werything" (DI 30): "So 1 uas drivcn irward. 1 lived an exciting
l i f e -car"

(IIT 30). Nmst instinctively, therefore, Hurstm turns t o

the one place uhere she can escape the dictates of gadered
socializatiar. She camot Werstan why i t is macceptable for her t o
play w i t h boys or t o l i k e boys, and s o she! &es so in her min. She

eludes the performance of the good little girl by turning inward t o the
realm of the imagination.

Part of Xurstm's inward t u , hawever, casr be attributed t o the

death of her mother, an svcnt which not m l y marks a turning point i n

her l i f e , but also i n the way that she represmts herself w i t h i n the

autobiography. From the yomg girl who is cmstructe in sanewhat

ambiguous te-,

and whose "phantasies [sic]wcre still fighting against

the facts" (Mi 6 0 ) , ue naw move t o the near-adolescent Hurstm whose

canfrmtatim uith t b facts of life

sedm

t o inspire both a more active

r e j e c t i m of exclusively danestic i d n i n e nomm and a resistance t o the

type of linear progressian which would normally a t t d the ramntic

female plot. For, it is here, a t this jmcture in the narrative, that

Hurston abandons the idea of telling the "story" of her l i f e , hawever
iarconvmtiaially, in favour of the thanatic tapoi which occupy the rest
of the text. In tethe

nuiwt

of rapresa~tatiai,in fact, the mamnt is a m g

symbolically signiiicant in the entire book:

Le Scbssarz

249

The Master-Haker in His ai9king h d iirdr? Old Death. M e h i m

with big, soft feet and square toes. Made hm w i t h a face

that reflects the face of al1 things, but neither changes

itself , nor is mirrored anywhcre. W e the body of Death out
of infinite hmgere Ma& a ueapcm for his band to satisfy
. .
his de
This was the mo-g
of t k d a y of the begmmnQ
of things (Di!63).
The male figure of Death, depriving Hurstm of her materna1 anchor,
alters things forever. aic tell-tale si-

seenrs to k Zora's outuard

defiance of the Eatonville wamen who cane aro\Pd to ausure t b t certain

deathbe ceramnies are king upheld, particularly the covering of

clocks and mirrors. Presmably this is dme so that Death will neither

reflect nor becane fixai in that place; but little Zora will have nane
of this danestic superstition, knowing tbat her mttrer would uant things
to be left as they are. Although her nine year old voice is ignored by

the tawn women and she herself is restraned physically by her father,
the outspoken transgressioa is tantamainit to the fulfilmait of the dream

she has of reaching the edge of the world, for not m l y has she givm
voice to her mother's silent wishes, but she has also let it be hawn

that she herself will not be circurrscribed by this private danestic

code. Her mother's eath at suxlawn had cbngd the world for her
65),

(m

bringing her ta the horizai withaut any stallim or fantasy to

assist the journey.

Bey&

the horizon, howtver, Hurstm's chnge is marked by the

"structural invocatim of the myth of Demeter/Persephoat, the

mother/daughter quest for mima'(Smith 1993: 113). Now that Hurstai and

LI Sc2#arz

250

her amther cm no longer physically mite, the story of Persephme &ch

had fascinated Zosa in bitrr scho~ldaystrikcs m a ratber st-

s p i r i t u a l resarancc. Inspird by hcr mther's eath t o go &ring,

she calls it, the adult Zora will naw (tie)search

ai

as

bchalf of ber

mother. In other words, the plot of the original Grcck mjrth h s bcrn

revcrsed (-th

1993: US; Liaanet U9). And as though the text must

saiv?haw follow s u i t , t h quality of the narmtive s h i f t s just as

drastically, -ring

in ud out of various tbcmes instead of &ring

to the s t o r i e s associatsd w i t h one particular period i n Hurstan's l i f e .

Although there are niany uays t o intcrpret this d a i f t , samc of

which 1 discusse earlier, 1 believe it is siCplificant not so much f o r
its syrnbolic gesture as f o r the statanmt it mskes about Hurstm's

subjectivity. Judith Robey's tmtatiai, f o r instance, t o regard the

shift as m e of progression fran th faninine mythic world t a the

masculine picaresque r e a l m , i s one t o which 1 w o u l d rather not succimib,

especially since its f i n a l d e s t i n a t i m seecas t o be the self-effacing
neutrality of the autobiography's final essays. In fact, sgaibolically, 1

think it is more a question of not having the materna1 o r feainine

reflectiaoi t o franr b r existmce. Nthuugh there is aothing ostansibly
wrmg with -y's

a s s o c i a t i m of the masculine snd the picaresque, 1 do

not think it is the mobt appropriate in the cartext of Humtar's

autobiography. Again, Ftanoise Limet's assessmmt is definitely

preferable, since the shift, f o r her, is cloeer t o a mergi~gof

Persephone and N a r c i s s u s ( i d a m e t 123). H i t h o u t her motber i n the

mirror, o r the danestic anchor of the Eataiville

mm#r,

it would stand

ta reasan tbat the anly r e f l e c t i m flurston perceives is bcr oun. Thus,

L. Schwarz

251

of self-represartatim, the frsnetic shifts of the narrative

i n te-

are better scar as various attenpts to capture her subjectivity apart

fran the =ternal/damstic

frane which had playe such an important role

i n her childhood.
Indeed, my awn interpretatim of thsrce transitimal chapters in

the autobiography would suggest that Hurstan is becoming much more self-

i d e n t i f i d than male-idmtified, as Judith Robey's reading would have.

Centre a r d themes of work, ducation, research and books, the
cuntent of these medial chapters primarily reflects the experiences of a

young woman trying to tstablish k r s e l f i n the world. The cmcaitratian

is definitely upm Hurstm's career: the varioirs jobs she held as an

i n d e p e n d ~ tadolescent; her educatioai a t Hatard University and Barnard

College; her f i e l d work as an anthrapologist in Polk County, Florida,

the Caribbe!an an New O r l e a n s ; and the publication history of her

novels. However, the nunerous s t o r i e s uhich form the pastiche of these

chapters a r e f a r fran suggesting that these pursuits are exclusively

masculine province. In fa&,

t o a large cbgree, the heterosexist idea of

masculine and feminine Qarder roles i s a b s a ~ t ,not so much because

Hurston avoids the subject, but more s o because she refuses t o caistruct
her awn subjectivity i n gemder specific ternis. nlike the child who saw

nothing wrmg with "playing" a t both roles, or wm alternating betueen

me and the other as she saw f i t , thc adult Hurstm i s much more

reluctant about being f i x d into place.

A

prime e m l e of Hurston's resistance can be fom i n the

chapter e n t i t l e d '@ResearchW,
where she d e s c r i h hier f i e l d work i n Polk

county at sane 1ength. Hurston's anthrapological study of the smal1

L. Scbiwarz
mining c-ty

has been misconstnied by same of the local

wanien

252
as a

threatening s o r t of intimaacy Che of these uan, Lucy, wan+C t o k i l l

Hurstai because she suspects a liaism betyet

Zora and her husband. But

another wanan, Big Sueet, who a l s o bappens t o be Lucy's sworn -y,

recognizes that ~ u r s t mposes no threat ami c a m s t o her defarse in a

"specifying" b a t t h which r o m becanes violart. The reasm Big

Skcct

supplies is twofold: f i r s t , that Zora d s not hou haw t o hsndle a

knife; and second, that she believes iiier t o be a virgin, n w e r having
s l e p t with any aien, let alme carrying an adulterous a f f a i r s with other

women's husbands. The effect of the story as it mes from one

perspective t o the other i s m e in which Hurstm is progressively
disengenered. han Lucy's perspective, Hurston is the other uamn, the

femne f a t a l e , a threatening female stereotype. But then, according to

B i g Sueet, she is a f r a i l , defmceless wanan and a virgin, both of which

not only deplete the prwious type of her threat, but a h o suggest, at
least within the c m t e x t of Big Sweet's ideology, that wtakress and
virginity are musual, even macceptable, q u a l i t i e s f o r a woman. Seen

from Big Sweet's perspective, then, Hurstan becanes a slippery

combination of two stereotypes which have beem emptied of their

conventional significance w i t h i n the revisiauary cmtext of the tale.
That the story should d with Big Swcct and Hurstm becanhg f a s t

friens is, therefore, nothing short of appropriate, f o r w h i l e the

gender dynamic of the pair secmingly duplicates a kind of heterosexual

bmd, it is also a dynamic, within the temm of the r e v i s i m , that can

only be regardcd as completely evasive, with both ideas of gendcr
suspendeci in ambiguity.

L. Sdxmrz

253

Having las t o do u i t h suspensim, b e r , and more t o do with

displacement is Hurstan's near d s s i m of heterasexual m

g in

general. Although ostaisibly Hurston devotes one mtire cbapter t a the

subject of lwe, she cwiously avoids the isciissim of an-

too

personal. In f a c t , she kgins the chapter w i t h uhat appears t o be a kind

of disclaimcr:
What do 1 really kraJ about

and f e e l f l u n t en-

love? 1 have haci sa expesience

for my awn satisfaction. Love, 1 find

is like singing. Everyboy can do araugh t o s a t i s f y

tficinselves, though it may not img>ressthe neighbors as being

very much. That is the way w i t h me, but whether 1 kiaw

a n m g musual, 1 couldn't Say. Dm't look f o r

a#

t o cal1

a s t r i n g of names and point out chapter and verse. Ladies do

not kiss nand! tell

! wanyn meore lthan
t m

do (DT 181).

But under the guise of ignorance and "lady-like" propriety, Hurstcm has

actually written herself an escape clause, f o r a f t e r a brief discussim

of her most recent marriage and it shortcamings, she proceeds rather

deliberately with the tnie love of her life--her career. The anarrage,
i n f act , seenis t o fmction more as a springboard for the subeequa~t

discussioa. nly the mt important details are flesha out-that

A.W.P.

(his f u l l nanre, kdrew Price III, is never used) was sonicwhat ahasive,
that he objectai t o her work, and that Xursta, herself aluays had aiixe
f e l i n g s about the mrriage. Her career, on the other hsnd, i s described

throughout the chapter in te-

of religious calling. As she says at m e

point, "A charge had been l a i d upm m e d 1 mst follow the call"

(I)T

188). Although she is punning rathes playfully with the "calls" that

L. Schwarz
also quite literally d d e d the priority of her

carter,

254

her choice in

the matter is crystal clcar. Spdcing of her marriage as a "fiendish

trap" i n which she recognizes that her "real self had escaped h i m
[A-W-P.]"

(Ifi 188), it is mre than &dent

tbat the heterostxual b m d

and its usual primacy i n the "fcinale plot" is, for Hurstm, only
something of a s c c d banma. H e r f i r s t husband, Herbert Sheerr ( t a uhan

she was marrle in 1927), daes not wen nerit honoUrable mention, and

Andrew Price (1937), wfio is martime only in ternis of his -am,

is

more of a c a t a l y s t than a caitral issue. And as such, Huston's

discussim of "love" not d

y el*

the epithalamial clich of the

rcnmntic female plot, but also suggests by virtue of her displacemenit

that a w a a a n may fin love apart fran the danestic sphere of the

marriage buin.

Hurstds refusal t o participate in the dominant gener d e s also

extends t o the text's narrative strategies, which rcveal either her

resistance t o or revisim of previaus gynocmtric autobiographical

models, particularly the r e t i m t and cammunally ientifie traditia of
the nineteenth-cartury black m.Although Hurstoa's ties t o the slave

narrative are certainly not negligible, as w e saw in r e l a t i m t o the

editorial canstraints of her publisher, her link t o black famiale
autobiographers of the previow cartury i n terms of represaatatianal
strategies is al1 but non-existent. Ln fact, most critics who place
Hurstczn within an Afro-Amricm contcxt are usually drawn t o

camg?arisars

L. sdmasz
w i t h R a k i c k Oouglass or: Booker T. Washington. H-er,

255

as 1 would

argue, such eraaparisa~~

also have M r limitatiam, f o r wen tho\rgh
Hurstm's cvasivamss ard racial represaitatim are r-sccnt

Douglass and -ar

r-ively,

of

Humta's strategies in 1
-

do

not pattern thcmaselvcs a f t e r the androccntric mode1 of ante-bellinn

autobiographies either. A partial explanatim f o r Hurstm's departuse

f r a i both traditiolns may be the f a c t that she belmgad t o uhat was
perhaps the f i r s t gcacratim of authors not directly cairincted t o the

i n s t i t u t i m of slavery ( B r a x t m 12), kt an equally plausible

explanatim is the fact t h a t ''Wt Racks is the f i r s t autabiography of
a black woman who is a crsative writer" (-y
words, me may look m it

1988: 180). In othet

as a transitional text i n two d i f f e r m t

senses: as a text uhich n w k s the tcsnsitim fran ante-bellrnn narratives

t o modernity, as well as me which marks a generic t r a n s i t i m . krd

possibly, f o r this reasan, Hurstan has chosan t o represmit her

subjectivity as an abstract ideal, as a statue of what she would l i k e t o

be .
Who that

persar might be, of course, i s d i f f i c u l t t o say,

p a r t i d a r l y in light of Hurston's elusive t b c i e s . HaJever, t o

cmcartrate m Hurstm's &parturc f rom the gadcr-specific strategies
of her foranothers c e r t a h l y reveals a considerable

of

difference. 2tro differmces are e s p e d a l l y noteuorthy: Iiurstm's voice

and her position in t c l a t i m t o the fcimale m t y . in taraais of voice,
the traditiaral response t o the double othring of thie black fmnale had

been uhat Jocelyn Moody c a l l s '"parrridoxical self-ahregatim''

(Woody 46).

on me band, the fanale n a r n t o r would assert herself, claiming the

L m Schwarz
necessary errposure of her story; and,

ai

256

the other band, she would adopt

a pose of moesty, paradoXical f y disclaiming ber interest in the

authoritative fmctim. Rom ber rhetorical stance, U#Ii, the
nineteenth-cattury black wumn autobiographer was evidently t o m betwem
a kind of f a s t self-asserti- and canpliance w i t h the daninant codes
of gender propriety prescribd by "The

Cuit

understandably so, since her lack of -1iance

of Trise Wonianhood," and

mnild assure that her

autobiography would never f ind an audiame. fndeed, the nature of the

story itself was alreay, in many instances, carsidered unacceptable.

Relating tales of sexual ahse, hamrer veiled or indirect, was enQIIQfi

to pose a W e s t to the idca of tnic woiaianhood (Smith 1993: U),
detracting at hast fran piety and purity, two of the four carinal
fernale virtues. It was precisely for this reason that many black female
autobiographers opted for a type of conversiar narrative, hoping that
the spiritual force of the form would outweigh the perceived threat. Che
very telling feature of these narratives was the suppressiar of any sign

of authority; the title would very often exclde the autobiographer's

name as well as the titular tag of W t t a r by herself", h c e relying

on the religious sidficance of the story to carry the burden of

authority (-y

53).

Although Dust Tracks m a Road, as Claudiac Raynaud obsemes, is a

title which seaningly enCodCs its transiperhaps cven reminis-t

(Raynaid 1988: 112), and is

of the nineteenth-caiturry cmversiai

narratives, its author can hardly be characterizai in te-

of

suppressicm. If Hurstm's voie scans paraoxical, it is not bccause she

is tom betueen self-assertion ud self-abnegatim, kit rather because

L. Schwarz

257

she as t o m betwdcn telling what uas and building her statue. To k

sure, Hurstm's authorial s u b j c c t i v i t y still bears the mark of a dwbly

o t h e r d uamn, but ber textual subjectivity, t a the cmtrary, as aiarked
by an active resistance t o normative gadcr pmctices. Hurstar's self-

consciaus revelling in hcr fernale scxuality is a prime -le.

Describing the m a n a ~ t

she receive a telcgram a m m m d q the

acceptance of her f irst n w e l , J m a b '

s Oourd Vine, H u r s t m relates: "1
never expect t o have a greater thrill than tbat wire gave me- You knaw

the feeling whai you found your f i r s t pubic U r " (Di'155). And again,

in tefesence t o her Hoodoo research in New Orleans, H u r s t a r &scribes

how much she mjoye her am niksdnsss for those three days. Another
example, howcver, exists in Hurstm's deliberate blurring of sexual
codes, as we saw with the story of Big Swect, a w a m n whose id-

of

waaanhbad cauld not be fwther fran the nineteenth-mtury cultist

notian. Thus, whcther Hurstm is w l o y i n g the discourse of fanale

sexuality, or whether she is @ y

carfrmting the "politics of

heteroscxuality" (Bethe1 186), her voice i s anything but self-effacing.

In fa&,

her eff arts t o permeate the bomthqy b t w -

male and f a d e

suggcst that her voi is pussessed of a t r s n s c d n d ~ political

t

strength, for mce again she has chasen t o target the -itianal

logic

ratber than just the oppositiai i t s e l f .

Not surprisingly, thnr, Hurstm's pitiai in relatiax t o other
w a n e n in the text is also cansiderably differmt fran the earlier

autobiographical prototypes. Typical 1y, the f a m l e a n t e b e l lm m t o r

would inscribe &self

in r e l a t i m t o her w m m i t y , ud, more oftua

than not, in relation t o strmg matriarchal figures. 'I5Jo different

L.

schools of thought exist whtre this practice is cmcerned.

cmploying a kin of strength-in-nunbess logic, soar s-t

258

Sc)rwarz

a me

hand,

that this

kind of cammty i h t i f i c a t i m acts as a safcguard against a

potentially diarinished racial and semal self (lH&y 1988: 175). n the
other band, houever,

wt

find those who e

-

this practice with Euro-

American models of autauamus individuality and s-t,

t o the

cantrary, t h t this relatiaral subjectivity effects the very diminutiaar

it seeks t o prcvmrt. To s a m cxtmt, therefore, the a b i l i t y t o regard

the autobiographer as self-possessed in a relatiaral cmtext is a

ftrnction of the author's inscribed attitude t

d herself, for clearly

the critical padulun could swing either way.

Indeed, i f me had t o locate Hurston's difierence in this area i t

would be s e r e betwcai her attitide and the strategies she adopts,

f o r even though the i n i t i a l portim of Dust Tra&
c

bears a s t r m g

idrntification, it is also me which revises the very teniis o f

collectivity (WcKay 1988: 184). To begin, Hurstm's saase of camtmity

is already quite unusual, since Eatmville, unlike any other town in the
United States, was f d e d m a principle of black autmany. Certainly

there could be no caqparisan between the war-tom aivirammnt of the

Southern toms and c i t i c s which fostcred =lier

f a a l e autobiographers

and the self-gwerned cummmity of Eatawille. To many, in fact,

Eatonville was carsiderd sanethhg of a Utopia, a fantasy. If only

because of this very unique "incubator", therefore, the caimnoiity

Hurstan fornrs w i t h other wamen is also basad in s a m u r e a strargth

and indepenence.

L. Schwarz

259

Hurstm's mother and her Aunt Caroline, for example, bath

participate in b r vision of "the miversal female go~pcl"(IIT 13)
because of their ability t o assert pamr i n a heteroscxist climmte. H e r

mother, i n spite of hcr small stature, unerges as tbt "boss" of the

household because of ber superior mental prawess. And Aunt Caroline i s ,

simlarly, 'hobody's weakling" (Ifi 14) because of k r persistent
attempts t o keep tlncle J i m from his uanering ways. Hurstoa's

identification, in other words, is w i t h

woniern

who scem t o successfully

transcend the socially imposeci idea of faninine. Noreover, it is an

idmtificatian d e out of choice rather than nocessity, f o r mlike the

"strmgth-in-niaabers" attitirde that might accompany the slave narrative,
Hurstm's attitude is much more selective. Her mther's funeral prwides
a case-in-point. Rejecting the sitperstitious tawn wanen, H u r s t a i Ctiooses
instead t o speak cm her mother's behalf. Thus, wm w h i l e Hurstm's

voice merges with that of another wcnnan, it still m g e s t o s t r i k e a

different chord. That Hurstan shauld eventually divorce hcrself frun

this comminity identification, then, is not mtirely unexpectd, for i n

a sense Hurstm is only follawing the mode1 of lndependence which

nurtured her f r a n the beginning.

New Tracks: Permeating Old Boudaries

Speaking i n tongues, using a variety of different voices as w e l l

as the inspiratim of her experience, Huston illustrates not only the

unique

casriluence of elanents which ccmstitute her subjective s e l f , but

L m ScWarz

260

also the potential prophesy inherent in bcr dialogism. With each voice,
Hurston posits a if fermt challmge, simultaneorisly forcing her &ers
to surraxier normative expectatiars and to accept the -table
multiplicity which lies before than. ft is a gentle antagaiisni, a
playhil ialectic betwcai r d e r and tutt, but a m which finally 1us to the boindary of the ncw, for with each successive departwe fran

convention Hurstm is urging us to abandm

OUK

old cartography.

The mp we cal1 time is the first to go. Old patterns of

cfuanology anci linear developncnt are r e p l a d by Hurstmascontextual
semsibility and vertical organization. ther autobiographies may begin
w i t h birth, but Hurston's begins with the rich spectnm of history that

contributai to her sense of self. When she is boni, ahe wants to -ure

we have a contact. Of course, part of that context may bave involved a

familiarity with older patterns, as Hurstm's suggestion of the
confessional seerrcs ta ienply. But wen here, we cannot ignore her
assertiun of individual differmce, for whether her refusal to fulfil
the pattern is deliberate or unconsciaus, it is a statanent of her

subjective reality nevertheless. Certainly, if the rest of the book is

any indicaticm, that reality does not follaw behind anyone else's
tracks. In fact, Hurstm's vertical, thematic organizatim suggests her
resistance to traditi-1

horizontal developaent in general. The life we

have before us is a series of fa-

dwoid of any real cohcrcnce. ft is

as if sa~&aw w e have canc to view that statue of Hurstm's self and

each chapter represmts a diffesmt angle of vision. Each me bel-

to

the same carstruct and yet wc camot behold it al1 together. Therefore,
like the folk stories she collected as an anthropologist, Hurston's

L. Schwarz
frame of reference is c d -

t o the mnm~t.WC m o t look

261

the

text, because outside the framt of Zorn N e a l e H u r s t a the mrds will no

langer cury the saae signifiomcc. In other words. t i r has not m l y
been diveste o f its usual autobiographia&lprivilwe, but also reviscd

i n such a uay as t o recaifigure the relatiarship bet-

the subjtct Md

her life-writing, because, as apposai t o the &ter wha "graphs" her

l i f e as a series of tauporally ordered events, Huxstm has orchestratai

a kind of antiphaaal cal1 rnd rcspmse pattern betueen her "self" and

herse1f

Just as elusive are al1 of the sigrgosts ue normally associate

with the caacept of self or identity. If Hurston does not want us t o f i x

her i n time, neither does she want us t o essentialize her subjectivity

in te-

of race or g d e r . Resisting caitemporary ideas of hamgenous

race, Hurstm writes against the grain of both socially inposeci n o m

and Afro-Americsn autobiography. Her insistmce on a heterogeneous
concept of race, together with the way in which she inheres that concept

i n her own bcand of self-represmtatim, not m l y prevarts us fraa

regarding H u r s t a r in temm of "ber people", but also suggests that a
traditional pose of exemplarity may m l y further exacerbate distortai
concepts of race. Certainly, as a w a w n already victimized by her

position as a black female author in a prdaminrntly white publishing

world, Hurstoai &es not want t o adopt a discourse of race pride or black
activism which iagdies the unif orm victimizatim of a m i f onn people. To
be sure, Hurstm8s textual strategy, and sp=ifically her btraiding

together of various cultural discourses, c d i r m s an i m s e which not

only n m s cartrarp t o the n o t i m of racial essmtialism, but also sceks

to transcen the bcnmds of racial identificatim altogethes, for by

questiming t&e very logic of opposition which informs the ancept of

race in the first instance, Hurstm permeates the bomdary which

erroneausly defines her position as m e of dis-eennent.

Similarly, in t e m of gaider, ?iurstmtsrefusal to coiagrly with

ether heterosexist nom or gaider-specific autobiographical practice

is a way of asserting her transccndence. She resists essentialized

gender identificatim by caistructing herself as a persan who lived

transgenderally as a cfiild, never observe the tyranny of heterexism
as an adult, and always s

d to privilcge her autcmaay above al1 else.

Ruthemore, by aapting strategies which neither dilute nor detract

fran the strmgth of tbat self, H u r s t a r awe again manages to permeate

the bounary of coolvention, -timing

the very logic which had

prwiously defined the black feamle autobiographer in terirrs of selfeffacement. Hurston has shawn us, finally, that any fixe ideas of a
black female autobiographer camot be supporte& for althorsgh her

subjectivity anbraces al1 three, those threads are anly a feu m

the

many which canstitute the larger fabric of Zora N e a l e Hurstan.

NOTES
1. S e e Fran~oiseLiaurct, Ilutabiogzqphicrrl Voicies: Ra-, M e r , S e l f Portraiture (Ithaca: Comell UP, 1989) 97-129; a d , M i c e Peck
"Autoethnography: Zora Neale Humton, N a n i Jabavu, and CrossDisciplinzvy Discourse," Black American Litmature Ponaa 24.2 (Swmner
1990): 237-256.
2. The original manuscript for mt T r a d m a Rmdcan be fom in the
James Weldon Johnson Collection at Yale University's Beinecke Library,
specifically in Box 1, folders 10 through 15 of the Hurstm Papers. In

the absence of direct access, hawever, 1 bave irelied m Claudine

Raynaud's bibliographical scholarship f o r mst of the infonoatiar
cmcerning the manuscript v e r s i m of the autobiography. Scc
"Autobiography as 'Lying' Sessiai: Zorn N e a l e Hurstm'r m t T r a d m a
Rad," Studicp i n Black Aiiicrican Litmaturc Vol une I I I : Black Fsiludst
Criticism and C r i t i c a l Z%eory, ds. Joe Wiexlmann ami Houston A. Baker
Jr (Greenwd, Fla.: d c e v i l l , 1988) 111-138; and "'Rubbing a Paragraph
With a Soft Cloth?': Mutad Voices and Ekitorial CarstLgints in Dust
T r a d m a Raad," &/Colaaizulg the Subjrt, d s Sidcne Smith and
J u l i a Watsm (Bfinneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1992) 34-64.

3. See Sidoaie -th,

'3iasporan Subjectivity and Identity Politics i n
Zora Neale H u r s t o n ' s m t Tracks m a R d , " S t t b j e i v i t y , Identity, and
the Body: fikmm's Autahiogrqphical R a d i a s i n the - t i c t h
Cartury.
(Bloaningtm: Indiana UP, 1993) 103-125.

rwieus o f the ttxt uere especially g u i l t y of this type of

for N w York H i l d Zcikne &mb wrote that
Huston "deals very s i i p l y w i t h the more serious aspects of Negro l i f e
3). Phi1 S t r m q for the Saturday
i n America--she i-ores thente ( m t Review of Litsrature, alw s t l y -linumtary,
w m t so f a r as t o
Say that race ccinsciousness was "ccmpletely abcnt" (Strmg 6 - 7 ) . And
Harold Ekwce of Ibinorroy, perhaps the moat scathing of a11, calls Dust
Tracks "the tragey of a g i f t a mind, eatm up by an egoccntrism fed on
the patronizing amsation of the dominant white world" (qtd. i n News2 0 ) . Although this idoological traid has lost sane of its momentun, it
is neverthelam apparclit i n criticism such as Robert Hanmway's which
characteriees b s racial represcntatiai as a 'haiconfrmtatimal
strategy" (II-way
1984: x i i i ) , or Joanne Braxtai's -ch
points t o
Hurstoness e l e c t i v e and highly cmtrolled e p i c t i m of race (Braxtm
150), or even Maya kigtlou's -ch
accuses H u r s t m of not mentioning
"even me inplansant racial incidart in Dtrst Tracks m r R d ' (Angelou,
4. Early

oversight. Arna Bant-

"Introductian,

" hrst Traclks, Harper 1991 ed. , x)

5. Unless otherwise indicatd, a l 1 of my e n b d e citatims will refer

to the 1991 Harpcr P e r d a l eition of Dust Tracks m a Raad, and w i l l
employ the same shorthsnd notatiar (VT)

6. H-way
devotes nearly two pages of the autobiography's (2nd ad.)
introduction t o t b i s m m , claiming t h a t H u r s t a r bad always b e n
"deliberately ambiguaru about htr bi-te
during her l i f e tim,
variously c i t i n g 1898, 1899, 1900, 1901, 1903 and 1910 on public
docments" (1984: x i ) . According to CSicryl Wall, hawcver, "uorking fran
the 1900 census records f o r Eatawille, Florida..., Zora Neale Hurstm
was born on January 7, 1891, rather than the usualiy c i t d January 1,
1901" (1984: xi).
7 . Please r e f e r t o note four above.

fi. Schwarz

264

8. This was not the first tisac Hurstm bad ancomterai this attituie.
r 4- iikre
Eve years carlier, w i t h the publicatiar of her nwel W
mtching W, s b IUC) b severely c r i t i c i z d by mmny of the black
(Ric M a t i a r ) , Alain Locke ( m r t d t y ) , tis
literati. Sterling BrNciir Masses), t o
Fergusan ( TAe l k w R e l i c ) , and Richard Wright (
nane o n l y a few, al1 took Hurstm's prdaninaratly positive portrait of
race as a si- of betrayal, as a uay of keeping her white audiaices
amsed. Richard Wright's critiasm of her minstrel-like characters has,
in fact, becoaie somcwhat i n f e , since it irispird Hurstm's later

retaliatim. Reviewing Wright's 1938 book of stories, Calcle Tab's

Chil&m, Hurstm rauke that 'hot ait act of iodcrstandurg and
smathy cornes to pass in the artire mrk", tht al1 the chamctcrs are
motivated by hatre, Ulfe&sd by k k Wright's caimirPlist preispoeition t o
blame the state for werything (Rcview zpt. in Z%e Gender of Iidodernism,
ed. Bonnie Kirnt Scott [BlOomington: Indiana UP, 19901 195).

L. Schwarz

265

CONCLUSION

G1anci.m Back and Forth: Sane Rewisianarv Iiiplicatims

Advancing a n o t i a i that the ideological i n s t a b i l i t y of mdernism

presmted i t s e l f as an apportmty f o r fsmale iife-writers t o challenge

the swereign, androcentric foundatiar of autobiography-a

discourse

which, over the past f i f t e e n hm&& years, had settled cm a s s w t i o n s

of metaphysical selfhood, objectivity, and neutral transcriptim-1

have

shawn here four w a m n who rose t o the occasian: V i r g i n i a Woolf, Vera

Brittain, Gertrude Stein, and Zora Neale Hurston. Each of these

autobiographers, 1 have argue, seized the modernist moment by bringing
about an awarmess of the genre's mderlying f i c t i v i t y . In Woolf's case,
i t was an understanding reached through a process of autobiographical

evolutian. She saw with her first a t t w t , "Reminiscences" (1907), t h a t

the patriarchal mirror was me that exclude her own reflcctim; she

could not anploy her father's "biographical" objectivity without

forfeiting her "self", and thus cmtradicting her i n p l i c i t r e j e c t i a of
Victorian gendcr codes. The Wemoir Club cartributiam effectively
introduced Woolf t o that "self" ; her subjectivity , absent i n

"Reminisce!nces" but f o r the trace of the textual "1", was here quite
evident

i n the process of selectioor a d arrangement, a fictiolr of

recollectim she would bolster with the aditim of another self-the

voice anan8ting fran her diary. "A Sketch of the Past" (1939-a),
finally, would return a gaze to the patriarchal mirror that would danrage

it irreparably, f o r b r e f through a process of s e l f -conscioris revision,

L.

Schwarz

266

.questianing the nature of r e c o l l e c t i m i t s e l f and adsavauring t o

inclide and expose t&

s e l f wha does that mcallng, Woolf not m l y

utxlermines t b realist assunptiars attsnding the danhant notian of

autobiographical subjectivity, but also rweads her 8 b i l i t y t o "think

back Urrough our mothers" (Woolf 1928: 76)--to lsarn f r m tht cultural

an gmeric prescriptiars of the mtrilinrnl past zmd t o think Wot@

them in order t o f i n that prescnt platform f r a n which she could assert

her subjective reality. In other words, Woolf's negotiatim between the

patrilineal and matrilineal narratives of selfhood r e s u l t s in a symbolic

disavowal of both. Her f i n a l cfforts t o dissociate her wther fran the
myth of Julia Stephmi and t o r e c m s t i t u t e Leslie Stephen, paterfamilias,

as merely a portion of her awn subjective r e a l i t y are both markcd by an

i r m i c reframing that s i g n i f i e s once and for al1 that this is the

narrative of Virginia Woolf.
For V e r a B r i t t a i n , focusing rather more specifically cm the

assunptians of spontaneous authenticity and historieal objectivity so

often taken f o r granted i n "docmmtary" accounts of var, the angle of
exposure was narrativity i t s e l f . Angerd by the patriarchal myth of the

lost g m e r a t i m , B r i t t a i n detenainai that Testaincnt of Youth (1933)

should exemplify the waman's war, a version of history t h a t would

penneate the barrier of the front l i n e both in its story m in its

canventians. She accouplishes this by rtvealing her um positiar in
relation t o World

mr

1 trarch narratives, by mapologetically

recounting her story and, in the process, ac)arawladging the inherclrt

contradictions of represmtatianal inmcdiacy ard doclnnmtary realism.
Like Woolf, Brittain uses her "prescnt" platform t o its f u l l e s t

L m Schwarz

267

advantage, the imitims of her narrating self never aflacJing the

experiencing self t o daninate the represeatatim. Whetbr acccntuilting
the liminality of her uar experiencc, or anphasizing the anachrmistic

reality of her s p l i t autobiographical subjectivity, Brittain aasures

that the f c t i v i t y involved in her narrative act will always ranain i n
full view. The reader intent m the illusim of participating i n a slice

of history w i l l be most disappointad, for, ultimately, Brittain's

"testament" i s are tbat depletes the word of its historical
significance. Neither an eye-witntss accomt, nor me delivering the

of Youth tells the story of a uomn's struggle

whole truth, -tament

with the daninant coblventions of w a r autobiography, and how that

particular b a t t l e was wm i n a f r a r t a l attack on the assunptiais of
authenticity and accuracy that had too l m g upheld the privilege of the
trench soldier's authority.
Where Brittain had takm on me particular battle, S t e i n , it
seems, would anly cmtent herself with the whole war. Flouting nearly

every received autobiographical cmventim, frm the chronological orer

of r e a l i s t i c , developnental presentatim t o the mitary subject who
presinnes objectivity, 2%

A u t o b i o g r e of Ali-

B. M a s (1933)

revises nearly al1 of our readerly cxpectations ~ ~ 1 c e n i i n g

autobiography, as -11

as sane cmcerning the very work i t s e l f .

Certainly, i f we had any notim that this test stood out in Stein's

oeuvre as one of the most readerly, then Stein's playfui a t t i t i d e

tawards caiventim w a u l d also cause us t o rccarsider that asscssment.
But wen this aside, Stein's approach, indeed the very sage w i t h which

she upsets the mader's normative wcpectatiais, ddmarstrates that the

L . Schwarz

268

inplied reader is m l y part of the fictiaaal cmstruct, for in the end

it is the author's writerly presence that orchestntcs the whole. An
how Stein orchestrates hier autobiographical narrative, haw s&e

ccmsistently draws our attaitiar to the process of textual production

and receptian b e y d the botvbds of the text's wbrds and illustrations,
makes this point rather effectively.

If al1 of the traditiaral s i w t s

are in place, a guarantee of their fulfilmmt is not. As readers,

therefore, ue are given two choices: either w e recogxaiee Steids

resistance ta the definitional boudaries of the genre, snd read the

t e x t as a sort of historiographie mtafictim that imlicates

us in the

textual production of maning, or, like Caliban, we r m fran the

reflectim in the glass because it is a represmtatim, hawever just,
that does not ncct with

ait

urpcctatiasi. Either way, Stein shows us

that her interferaice with autobiographical cmventia will always

alienate her reader fran the fiction of an i-lied

teader who believes

implicitly in the caacept of neutral translatian, for in this case it is

not m l y Alice but the mtire autabiography that has cane thraugh the
looking glass.

No less ambitious i n its cmfrmtatiai with autobiographical n o m s

is Zora Neale Hurstm's Dust Tracks m a Ruud (1942), m l y here, instead

of unermining the notim of a fixed genre camplete w i t h i t s fixed

reader, Hurstun directs her efforts at the idea of stable identity,

undertaking to expom the actial vicissitudes that -verge

m the

textual "1". Refusing to be f i x a i either in the proleptic temporal

pattern of the cmfessional narrative or the linear developaart of the
secular autobiography, H u r s t o o i creates a vertical organizatiai, a group

L. Schwarz

269

of "thematic topoi" (Limnet 97) that participate in nobody's same of

history but k r oun, And within this self-referential world, we discwer
a subjectivity as multiple arrd varied as the maxay discursive forms
Hurstm braids together to create

her special autobiographical milieu.

For those expecting to locate an essmtial Zora Neale Hurstan, this

diasporan subjectivity is most discanfiting, for with every attunpt to
position her at the intersection of black/female/author we are blocked
by a voice that infornis us of aur limited umierstanding. The statue that

H u r s t a n bas made of her "self" bears absolutely no resemblance to the

manolithic fiction of the metaphysical subjcct, and most definitely

cannot be takm in at me glance.

In challarging the asswtions which had fonne the h d r o c k of

autobiographical discourse--in revealing that m r y cannot exact a
mirror-like reflection, that autobiographical selection and arrangement
is no more objective than any other fonn of narration, that teading
autobiography is not simply an act of passive reception in which one has
only to recognize their other self within the text, and that the

autobiographical subject is not a stable locus of objectivity-al1

of

these wamen insist on a new way of looking at autobiography. And they

insist, furthetmore, on a type of c-rehensive

visim w h i c h refuses to

separate fact fran fictim, autobiography fran literature, self frm

other, or mainstream frout marginal. In other words, they refuse to
recognize the boudaries that sustain the old inperial notion of
autobiography, expceing it as a language that is not necessarily spoken
in practice. In al1 their revelatians of fictivity, these four versions

of sel fhood have shawn us that the old gr-

of autobiography has

t. Schwarz
overlooked some very crucial w

270

s of speech: the subjectivity of

subjectivity, the consciaus crafting of the writer, the rcader's

participatim in the textual productiar of -urning, and the mutlivalaice

of the textual "1".
In te-

of autobiographical scholarship, therefore, the

revisicmary inplicatians of this study are clear. Together these four

female selves assert the voice of a ncw authority-a

female authority

Wiat is neither abscured by the spectre of WoiMn, nor diluted by the

assunptim of male privilege. Defyhg the prescriptims and

circ~lscriptiansof autobiographical discourse, sach one of these w a n e n
has revealed a m g i n of diifexence that establisb ber identity an

separate groun. And that gr&,

as I have argue&

is not only more

expansive because of its inclusitm of these diverse aspects of

subjectivity, but also considerably differait because of the canscious
awareness of fictivity that reflects back w e r the whole. Thus, as

harbingers of a new and more inclusive definitiaol of autobiography,

these innovative practitianers have causa3

us to rethink aur first

principles and to dispense with our revermce for strict epistemological

categories. That autobiographical scholars bave only i n the last two
decades taken up the cause of femnist recwery and the kind of

revisimist criticism directly relatd to these issues is evidence

mough to suggest that these w a n m i were -11

ahead of their time.

To push the arvelope still fustkr, houever, and t o add t o the

potential of this argrm#nt by suggesting the riiaitimal fruit that might
be borne of an interdisciplinary approach2, 1 would likc to ad by

reintroducing the idea of modernism, for bey-

the fact that al1 of

L. Schwarz
these wofnm wese acting i n d e r n i s u lies their effect

and particularly upm the kind of as-tiau

r(pan

271

modernisai,

attading '@high" (male)

of cmsciuusness,
literary amdemism. If the modernist rcc~c~ceptiar
reality and language had cncouraged the fanale autobiographical pursuit,
then it could bc argue that the literary pradispositim tadards fonnal
experiment and impersonality in art did not bode well for its ammical

acceptance. Autobiography, accordng to the prcconceptions of the time,

was still a garre deeply roote in Mstoricity and persoaality, and,

because of the latter, often associatu3 w i t h the sentinmitalism of

nineteenth-cmtury Rananticism. -ed

w i t h the scientific

prescriptias for art dictated by the likes of Eliot, P a n d and ~ o y c e ~ ,

therefore, autabiography was not aily outside the realm of "good"

literature, but outside the realm of literature altogether. What 1 would
like to suggest, ta the ccntrary, in te-

of the quality of

autobiography these four w o m m have writtm a d particularly in light of

the literary boi.adaries they bave already w t r a b l y crossed

(fact/fiction, self/other, mainstream/marginal), i s that another kind of

"master"discaurse is being called into questiar--naiacly the kind of
mdernism that fails to distinguish itself fran the modern, the kind

informeci by "werarching narratives of innovation and decline" (Felski

9)

Certainly, given the cxperimmtal carscioiisness of al1 four

autobiographies in this study, one might wondcr at their absence even in

a modeniist

canai that

fulfils the PoiPdian prcscriptiai to * b k e it

new". But the fact that their absarce seuns corispicuaus is enough to
suggest that

such a narrow carceptioa of lllodernism, and are that is

L. Schwarz

272

praie to ignore both the literary productions of w a n and

autobiographers, is no 1-r

valid. Indeed, by forcing us to recognize

the constructecl nature of autobiography, Woolf, Brittain, Stein, and

Hurstm have not m l y

blurre the boimdary betwcar fa& and fiction that

was the basis for autobiogrsphy's exclusion fran the realm of

literature, but also the tniacknowleged border betueen male and female
niodiernism, impersonality and personality, since arguably m i r more

expansive notion of autobiography falls rather uncanfortably under both

headings

In large part, then, these autobiographies cmtribute to an

understanding of the funamental caittradictiars that l i e at the kart of
literary niademism. If w e have been preisposed to the idea that

innwation is a necessary part of modernist literature, then the kind of

innavatian shom here causes us to questia why we cmsistently overlook
the "newness" at the margins of male moernism, whether it is a neuness

of gender cmsciousness or political inflection, for clearly it is

possible to extard the meaning of innwation to include mtters b e y d
those of languatge and represmtatim. And if this is so, then it would

secm that the aesthetic projects of autobiography ami modernism are no

l m e r mutually exclusive. They can and do interseet. The point I ush

to nuake, ultimately, is that we may also profit by the approach of this
study, an approach to genre and literary histozy that rcveals the
importance of epistemological imbrication, the necessity of discursive
interpenetrations bttwcar areas of U l e d g e , an in a way that
underscores hou such interdisciplinary conirmnicatiar can both benefit

and change our- presmt mderstanding. In this case, the intersection of

L. Schwarz
g d e r , history, autobiography, and e r n i s m has shawn
particular

warien

US

273

that four

playai a sigaifiant part in autobiographical history,

facilitating the collisim of two raster discourses, and, as a

consequience, forcing us to reread tbat history from a perspective that

refuses to i~norethe "other" gadcr.

NOTES

1. My al lusim here is to the Reface of ZYze .Pidure of -rian G r a y

(1891; Hannondsworth: Pa~quin,1974) in which Oscar Wilde states that:
The nineteenth-century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban
seeing his mm face in the glass.
The nineteenth-cartury dislike of Rumnticlsm is the rage of
Caliban not seeing his atm face in the glass (5).
2. In al1 of my research 1 was a l y able to locate two brief essays,
both by the same author, that carsiderd the mutual effects of wanm's

autobiography and modernism. Stc, Sabine Vanacker, "Stein, Richardson

and HD: W a n e n Modernists and Autobiography," Bte Noire 6 (1988): 111123; and "Autabiography and rality: The Work of Modernist W a n e n
Wri ters," W
's Li ves/W;#ncn 's Tinies: New =ys
an Autohiograpliy, es
Trev Lynn Broughton and Linda Anderson (Albany: SUNY Press, 1997) 179-

202.
3 . 1 have used the term "scientific" to suggest the various impersmal
theories of art espoused by Eliot, Poroid and Joyce. For Eliot, true to
his notim of the abjective cozreIative, "the poet is the catalyst of
his art, never the expresser of his autobiography, a l y sanieaie who
might use wents fran his life as the object of bis writing" (Vanacker
1997: 187). For Pound, the Imagist manifest0 required a similar
impersaaality, m l y here thc autobiographical was eliminatd in an
effort to allow the cmcrete image to 8for itself. kd for Joyce,
it was a question of the way an artist id in fact relate to his work,
his "presence" becaning less and less widmt, "refin[ing] itself out of
existencet'mtil it simly became an indistinguisbable part of the
narrative (Joyce 215).

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in

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PARADISUCAL IMAGER. IN EdRCY ISLbMIc b#

A thesis submitted in confodty wih tbc ieqiUmnenb

Grdurtt D-t

for the c&qpecof Doctor of Philosophy

of Near and Middle Errttm Civilidon8
Univenity of Toronto

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NOI.

GidiuOt Dcputmcnt of Nerr r ~ MiMe

d
-II

Civiliwliou

Univenity of Tomnt0

Abrb.ct

This thesis considen the Qubbat al-SakhraWs canstnrction ta h m beea r regiond responre,
couched in a regiond artistic vocabulary, to countet what was perceivd to be a seriow regional
problem, the disiracting a e c t of the beauties of Christian churchw and, that 'Abd al-Malik's text in
the Qubbat al-Sakhrah d e c t s the ideologicai threat, by sta!ing

Christian beliefr rnd pointing out thtir

inappropriateness for Musiims. It proposes thst the Qabbat rl-Sakluah'n ornament represents the
Qur'an's numcrous descriptions of Pandisc m 8 wondrous g d c n of rh.dy grovc1 rnd treer bc8ring
eveq kind of fniit. Byzantine art pmvided the mode1 for the visualkation of the pamdisiacd imagery,
and the art of the Sasanid empire contributai the fmtasticaiyother-worldly elements that might be
imagined of Paradise.

The Qubbat ai-Sakhrah's heavenly garden was not an isolated phenornenon, as versions of it
are attributed to at least tbtee mosques; firrthcnaore, two distinct, delibetate iconographic images
developed h m the Qubbah's ornament, One of these shows a hypostyle mosque with a column and
vase in its courtyard. A religious context may have been envisagecl for this imagery, but

thcm is

evidence a i s 0 of its popular manifestation. The second iconographic image was employed secularly,

taking the form of a distinctive arcade through which natumlistic or very stylized vcgetation can be
seen. This version of the imagery appears as architectural decotation aud w u used in, or used ta
point to, areas in which public audiences might be held. PopuIar versions of the arcade imagery

found on portable objects show that birds and luiimals as well as vegetation might be seen through the

arches.

In the Qubbat ai-Srikhrrih'sshrige, ornament and te* the building's patron showed himreif
aiert

and retponsive to the coItuml and rtligous environment, The development of IrIimic

iconographicai forms suggests that the threat petceivecl h m other rieligious iconographies continuai
beyond the &on

of the Qubbat al-Sakhrah and that I i l h wrr rtill attcmpting to defint itsclf; but,

as with the Qubbah, coatemparary actistic vocabulriner were umd to construct a Muslim rinrwa to a
Muslim need.

1am most gratcfl to m y supervisor, Dr. Lisa V. Gotombek of the Royal Onaco Museum and
the University of Toronto, for her patience

aud help in hh endeavour, rad wirh to express my th&

to her and my committa, Dr. Edward J. Keall of the Royd Ontario Museum and the University of

Toronto, Dr. Sheila D. CampbeU and Dr. L. S. Northriip of the University of Toronto, who guided m y
thesis studies and read the mauuscript; and ta those othen whore aid 1sought dong the wty: Dr.
Donald S. Whitcomb and Mr.Raymond D. Tindel, Onentai Institnte, Chicago; Dr. P. M. Michtle
Daviau, Wilfnd Laurier University, Waterloo; Mr.Daniel Walkcr, Cumtor, aud Dr. Stephiino Carboni,
Ms. Katherine Daniels and Mrs. Tricia Sclater-Booth, Department of Islamic Art, The Metn,politaa
Museum of Art, New York; Dr. Lcila Hcmcds, Director, and Mr.Rabie Mdymed of the Mmuscript

Department, Dib al-Kutub, Cairo;Dr. Nimat M.Abu-Bakr, DUector General, and Mr. Saycd Flthi elSayed, Chief of Metalwork Objects, Museum of Isliimic Art, Cairn; Dr. Daniel R McBride, Diriector,

and Mr.Magdy Ali Ali of The Canadian Institute in Egypt, Cairo; Madame Sihrnn Baiqm of the
Archaeologicai Museum, 'Ammh; Dr. Pamela Watson, Ms. Nsdja Qaisi and Mr.David Thomaa at the
British hstitute at 'Amman for Archaeology & History, 'Ammin; cveryone at the Libmry of the
Royal Ontario Museum; and lastly, my colleagues in the West Asirn Section of the ROM, and m y
fnends but for whom

.....

Abstract

Acknowledgemcnts
Introduction

Chapter One: Timc illustrations h m a Qui&

Chapter Two: The Qubbat ai-Sddirah
Chapter Three: The Hypostyle Masque

Chapter Four, Part 1: The Serrated Arch

Chapter Four, Part 2: Origibs and Uses

Conclusion
Selected Bibliography
List of Figures
Figures

The prrticular circumstaucc that led to his papa wrr the recognition thrt the siter of Q&at
'Ammin and Qa@d d-Bdqd in Jordan and 8 numbet of m i g l d dry h n p s dumi 8 dbthctive

arcFiitecaual motif: suntcd arches on plain engagcd c o l o n n ~

withiu whore h

e i

vegetation, gcametric prtterns or fsuna As instmm of the moif accumuirtad, i*

might be seen

apperirrncc

wu

o b s e ~ e dto be remmkably similar across the range of examplet and itr location in archi&
contexts, consistent- Furthexmore, the seamh for p d g m s led to the dircovey that a Qar'ia, fomd
in a Cairo mosq9e, md some m.rQiietry prrnela shrrtd mother, ~

i architectritrl
v e
moe

namely, what seemcd to be a hypostyle mosque with a pmmincntly displayai floral motif in its centrd
courtyard.
For reasons to be discussed, the architectural moti5 individudy appearcd to be feIatcd to the
Qubbat al-Sakhrah, suggesting that they might be evidence of Umayyd iconography. Neithcr motif
had attracted attention ris such, howcvcr, nor did a connection between them p-t

writer saw thr# illustrations b m a Qur'hfound at the Great Mosqm of Sm'.',

itsclf until the

Yemen' (Figures 1:

2 and 33 herein).

An iconography of Umayyad architecture had btcn exploreci by J. Sauvagct, who ptoposed

that, differences of detail aside, similar cemnonial usage had imposed common architcctuml layouts

on the prayer halls of mosques and secular halls of audience.' For his doctoral thesis O. Grabrd
examined the remaino of several Umayyad princely structurer, their decoration and textual mrteriai for

evidence of the development of an imperid iconography. Bath thcrc works contain valud
information and opinions, but their theses predate the discovery of much of the material on which this

paper relies.
As for the two architectumi motifs, it might be supposed that teports of finding extensive
remains of senated arches at a number of eariy Islamic sites would have elicitcd comment, if o d y

because of the motifs reperted use. Some wmitm have refined to Mme of theV pdccesson' work,
but therc arc curious lapses.
In ttir# itticlu of the 1950's K Cho-Dom reporteci that blind rerrited liichcs wcre
characteristic of RusXih, aud cornparcd them with those at 'Ammh.' She dercn'bed RqCtrh's blind

arcades as typical of Umtyyad art and referred to other examples mch as thore on the &ades of Qv
al-Hayr al-GhsrbF and the Small Enclosure at Qwr al-Hayr al-Sh-,'

and on the "Mamin" ewu?

In 1977, H-Gwbe compared hc smatEd arches at 'Ammh, Qa@ and Qm

Kh.rinJi'
without mentioning those at Rusafah. He did point out, howcver, that the blind nicher on the fiicdtl
of Q e r K h a a a h and the Small Enclosure at Qmal-Hayr al-SharqF werc ~imilar,'~and that rerrrsad
horseshoe arches appeued at 'Ammin, Qasw, about the interior windows at QwKharinah, aad on
the courtyard balustrade at Jabai Ssys." When he does d e r ta Otto-Dom's articles on Rusafah, in

1979,it is in connedon with the site only, not its d c c o i a t i ~ n .P.

~ ~Carlier comparui Q-s

senmd

arches with those at nearby 'Ammin," and later, A. Northedge" describai the swrtod arches at
'Ammiin without mentioning those at Qas-,

evcn though he r c f 4 ta Qu@ in mirtten of other

comparanda
Only S. Unce appears to have seen any significance in the location of the arches. He

remarked that the common contact in which the small open arcades at Q q r Kharhrh, the blind

arcades above the soIe catry to the Small Enclosure at Q e r al-Hayr al-Shacqi, and the blind arcades
in the Reception HaU at 'Amman occur seemed to be at a "point of passage" b e t w ~ ~neutml
ll
rind

charged sprr~t.'~
The marquetry panels have frwd even less well. M.Jenkins r e f d b W y to the aipartite

decorative arrangement of the one in the Metropditan Mu-

of Art, New york,16 (Figure log), and

M. Rosen-Ayalon has pointed out that the winged mows in the New York aad C

h panels (Figure

110) resemblcd those to be seen in the Qubbat ai-Slithrah's mosaics, as well u in the sprindrelr of the

fiagment of a Coptic sarcophagus found in Caire." Rosen-Aydon's observation is but one in an

3
iconographie study embncng ail of the )Tmam-

As tht WO* is dcliber+tely limited it does not deal

with much of the matcrial used by the writcr, but a cavert on the stndy of the Qubbat .I-Srkhrrh
would be that it draws nthu heavily on Christirin and Jewish iconography for au underatandhg of th&
monument. F. Satre's comments arc the most intereajag, and fiiistntiag, for tbeU lack of specifics.

He noted that the architccd motif of the p a l in Beriin (Figure 111) " w u taken h m
contemporary mosques" aad was "freqyently found painted in gold as a decorrtjve border on the pages
of earlier Kufic Korans"." The Quians arc not spacified, but he usocilted he paneh medium with

"contemporary Egyptian art, and in particular with the ornamentai dccontion o f the eady K ~ r a u " . ~
Again, the Q u f h s are not specified, but he mentions gencraliy the folios publishd by B. M o r i t ~ , ~

O. Grablu is anothcr who bas drawn attention to Moritz' illustrations," in prrticular, to the
architectural dcpictions in a Qu?% found in the Mosque of 'Amr b. al-'&,

C C m n He identifies

mosque structures on two Surah dividera, and connectr the column on m o t h a folio with the column
seen in Fi-

3,= dortunately, his wide-ranging aiaiysis of the Saa'a' Figures is m

d by tbe

elhination h m discussion of iiiustrative details he found "unsettIingg") a a omission for which he in

The writer was pleased to sec the San'ii' and Cairo Figures
chided by one of his rcvi~wcrs.~
discussed togethet, as bey are so important to this thesis, but disappointeci in the fhdings. Pacticular
responses to Grabar's comments are found in the chapters following.

This paper deals with the relationship betwccn the two architectural motifs, the Sm'Z Figures
and the Qubbat al-Sakhrah. Al1 th=

San'a' Figures are examinai in detail, cornparauda arc prescnted

for their various features and an identification for each is proposed. The ncw information on hc
Qubbat al-Sakhrah that the San'a' Figures provide leads to a recansideration of that monument's origin
and decorative programme.

In following the architectural motif# trail the writer hm not e x a m i d al1 monuments raid to
be Umayyad, nor all of the architecture and decoration of the sites at which the motifi am pment.

The trail is incomplete, but it hm seemed important to record the existence of previously wmcognized

Umayyad iconography and its pcrccived rdationship to the Qubbat al-Sdrhrrh and the San'a" Figures;
to re-emmhe the Qubbah in

light of new idonurtion, and to sdvire that identifications of the San'b"

Figures have been made 0th- than those so fhr advancd

+

The conventions observed in this thesis for the Romauization of Arabic script are those found
in the 1997 edition of the Library of Congress' ALA-LC Romanization Tables: Transliteration

Schemes for Non-Roman S c r i n ~ .in~ this scheme, medial aad 6n.I hanzah is R o m a n h l as '; dif
m a p i n a h as ; qvn ru ', and t'mdtrft

as h, or t in consinach

Certain place names and a titIe are shown sccording to th& A n g l i c i d fonns in The Hms
Wehr Dictionarv of Modem Written Arab'ic.-"

Cairo, Damascus, Gaza, Mecca, Yemen, caliph.

To avoid confusion when citing place names h m theu works, the Romanization schemcs
used by the authors following have been retahed: F.-M. Abel et A. Barrois, M. Avi-Yonah, Howard

Crosby Butler, C a . Conder ind HH.Kitchener, Jean-Pucal Foordrin, Jcaa Lassus, Mwaret
Lyttelton, Ruth and Asher Ovadiah, Michele Piccirillo and 'Abd al-Jalil 'Amr, Aapeli Saarisalo and

Heikki Palva, Deborah Thompson, AD, Trendall, Vassilios Tderis.

Notes

lHans-Caspar -von
Bothmer, "Architekturbilder im Koraa," Pmtheon 45 (1987): 4; M d y n
Jenkins, "A Vocabdary of Umayyad Ornament," Masaif San8.". Kuwait: Dk al-Atlk d-IiilllDiYyah,
1985: 19. The codex' invatory numbcr is 20-33 -1and, llccording to the mrnirucript's consemator,
ZJrsula Drtibholz, "Treatment of Eariy Islamic MauurcRpt Fragments on Parchment, 8 Case History:
the find of Saaa'q Yemen," The Conservati'on and PFescrvd o n of blamic Manuscri~ts:~lDccCdiqpsOf
the third confkrmce of Islamic monuma@ 1995, p. 140 and n. 11, "20-33" meam fi lin-es O the page
and the lines no longer thrn 33 cm, whik ".lm
is th& Quirii's individual number. This numberng
system was worked out by the h t director of the Sm'.' consemation gmject, G. Puin.
2.Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," p. 12, the fint page seen on opening the cover; i h m . ,
"Friihislamische Koma-Illuminationen," Kunst & AatiauitCCten 1/1986: 24, Abb. 1.
3Iigure 2 hercin is Fah. II aad Fi3 is Farb, 1 in von Botbmer "Architelrairbildcr,"the colonr
plates in that article having becn repmduced as they appcar side-by-side in the Wh, ttie right-hand
picture (Figure 2) coming kt.Von Bothmer customady rden to them as "right" and "l&
respectivtly. Sec "Architekturbildcr," p. 5 and n-27.
4.Jean Sauvaget, La Mosquk Omewade de Mdine. Paris: Vanaest, 1947, p. 123 fE
5.Oleg Grabar, "Ccrcmonial and Art at the Umayyad Court." P m . diss., Princeton Univmity, 1955.
6.Katharina Otto-Dom, "Bericht ber die grabung im Islamischen Rusafa," Archirolonischer Anzeiaer
des Deutschen Arch&lonischen Instituts (1954) 69: column 152, printed with the Jsrbuch d a
Deutschen Archoloaischen Instituts, (1954) band 69.
two publications were printd together for
the years 1889-19611; idem., "Bericht ber die grabmg im Islamischen Rusda," &es Annala
Archoloniaues de Svrie (1954/5S) 4-5 jointly: 54; idem., "Grabung im umayyadischcn Rusifah,"
Orientdia (1957) 2: 129.
7.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, column 152; idem., "Grabung," p. 129.
8.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," p. 129 and n. 31.
9 H e i . z Gaube, "'Ammin, d n e und Qasw," Zeitschrift d a Deutschen Pailotina-Vercime (1977) 93:

12.Heinz Gaube, "Die syrischcn Wstenschi6sser: Einige wirtrchaftliche und politische

Geschichtspunkte ai ihrcr Entstehung," Zeitscbrift des Dcutschen Pallbtina-Vcreing (1979) 95: p. 206,
n. 80.
13.Paicia Carlier, "Qasw al-Balqa': An Umayyd Site in Jordan," The Fourth Intemationai
Conference On The Historv of B i l a al-Shaim Durina The Umawad Period. Proceedings of the Third
Symposium, vol. N, English Section, 1987: 108.
14.Alastair Northedge, Studies on Roman and Tslamic 'Ammn. Vol. 1, with contributions by Julian
Bowsher, Ulrich Hiibnet, Henry Innes MacAdam, Jason Wood. British Academy Monogmphs in

Archaeology no. 3, M o r d : Oxford University Press, 1992, p. 89 &

15.Stephen IC Urb, Oasr Kharana in the Transiordan. Durham, North Cltoluir: Amcricau Schools of
Oriental Rcsearch, 1987, p, 75.
16Marilyn Jenicino, "Iilamic Art in The Metroplitan Museum of Art," Arts and the blamic Worid
(1985) Issue 11 vol. 3. no. 3: 52-33, figs. 1-2.

17Myriam Rosen-Aydon, J'he Earlv

blamic Monuments on the Hirpgp d - S h c rn i c o m
--ntudv. Qcdan 28. Jerusalem: The H e b m University of Japsdsm, 1989, pp. 4849, and figl. 29-30.
-

18Xriedrich Sarre, Islamic Bookbindinm. TtrinsIated fiPm the German edition Islamirch
Bucheinband by FD. O'Byme. London: a r i a Paul, Trench, Tmbner & Co, Ltd, 1923, an
u n n u m b d caption page for his plate 1,
19.Sarre, Islamic Bookbindinnt unnumbered introductory page.
20.B. Moritz, cd., Araic Palamgraphy. Publications of the Khadivial Library, No. 16. Cliro, 1903.
21.01eg Grabar, The Mediation of Ornamen~The A-W. Meilon Lectures in the Fine Arb, 1989.
Bollingen Series XXXV.38. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1992, p. 164, figs.
131-134.
22.The first 12 plates of Moritz' publication.
23.Grabaq Mediation, figures 134 and 131, respectively.

24.Grabaq Mediation, p- 157.

25.Jane Jakeman, Revicw of The Mediation of Ornament by Oleg Grabar. Ars Orientdia (1994) 24:
151-152.
26Xandall K. Barry, compiler and editor, U A - L C Romaaizrition Tables: T m n s l i d o a Schemer for
Non-Roman Scrhts. Approved by the Library of Congress and the American Library Association.
Washington: Library of Congress, 1997, "Arabie", pp. 10-19.

27.J.Milton Cowan, editor, The Hans Wehr Dictionam of Modern WriArabig Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz, 1961, 1966,1971. Third cdition, Ithaca, New Yorlr: Spoken Language Scnrices, hc.,
1976.

In 1972 a grmt qyantity of parchment and paper mrniucript fragments w u foond above the
ceiling of the Great M o s p at San'I1whcn r e p h werc being m d e to that building. B
criteria as format, layout, saipt style, dcwration of e S

d on roch

d headingr, twcnty-five of the prrchmcnt

fiagrnenu were determincd to be part of one Quanic codex? and Wcely of the U m y y d period?
Amongst those fraements, and the subject of this chapter, were the ritmiiinr of uu# firll-page
illustrations: a geometric figure with trees r c f d ta as the titie page (Figure 1); a building wih
stairs and a centte able (Figure 2), and a building with a central courtyard (Fi-

3), ~ v e l y ,

verso and recto of a double frontispiect.

Their niined state notwithstanding, these arc remadcable dnwings. Unfiamecl, they are the
entire focus of their respective pages; it is not possible to ssy whether they were titiai,' but this may
never have been necessary. While each dBers h m its fdows, clearly they are M e d , fitst, by their

elaborate borders, second, by the natadistic vegctatiou in conjuncion with the bordm. As the most
substantial features of Figure 1, and repeated in a modified farhion on numbcn 2 and 3, theie two
elements have more than ornamental significance. A tbird link is the d o r m i t y of much of the
architectural detail and ornamentation that confirms the nchness of the buildings; this d o x m i t y bas
the a e c t of subordinaliag lesser feahires to the leading parts.
Contributhg notably to the ciramatic eff't of the ensemble is the symmetxy of the three
Figures and the emphasis gained thtough a hierarchy of scaie. For example, t&e trees in Figure 1 and
the arched elements at the upper centres of Figures 2 and 3 are dispmportionately larger than other
elements of the drawiags, suggesting that a greater significance waa attached to them. Anothtr
example of this hierarchy of scale is to be seen in the apse mosaic of S. Catherine's, Mt- Sinai (Figure
56), where Jesus is the largest of the penons illustratecl because he is the most important.

There is much realisic architecturai detail yet, as is characteristic of other medimai

architectiusl dcpictions, reprcscnbion rhitL "discriniveiy" etwccn cracrior and interior h t m w ?

The seeming illogicrty of the rhiftr and the diflimilties of undcmtmding .ad interpreting the d t s
of them is discussed by R Ktsutheimer, with speciai refsrencc to the maay depictiozu aud "copierwof
the Holy Sepulchre at Jawalem,6 and by P. Lampl,' in a mon grnaal wsy. The latter da to
compositions of intenial and extemal feahires as "ideal" tcllderings of architectiue and pointa to roine
of the means uscd to attain them: only quintessential exterior and interior elementr werc dmm; one
part of a building might be the synccdoche for the whole; some feritures were enlrrgcd in accordrnce
with their importance; actual size rnid spatial relationships wcre h ~ ~ l e v a nand
t , niimbetr were
important only if symbolically meaninfil.'

In an examination of "Copies in Medieval Architectrue"

Krautheimer has interpreted this ideality as evidence that content, usage, and the name or attribution
were often more important in the copying or depiction of a structure than the exact reproduction of ita
physicai charactcristics9 but, in a particular instance7has dcmonstrded how knowlcdgc of a
depiction's place of origin and period, contempomy building practices, textuai rnd archiealogicd
evidence have contributed to a reconstruction of that d e p i d . The instance is the EccZesiu mder
mosaic Figure 4) f o u d at ~ a b u k a , 'and
~ his (Figure 5)" and J B . Ward-Pcrkins' (Figure 6)"
interpretaion of that building portrait are relevant to problcms faccd ia understanding the San*;'
QuiSn ill~strations.'~
Ecclesia mater has been reconstructed as a basilica with a wide centre aisle and n m w e r
single aisles flanking. It has a gabled faade and a tiled roof above a clertjtory whose windows

IKC

closed with pierced Stone slabs. A central, curtained door in the faade is reached by stars. In the
nave there is an altar with antependium and thrce candles and beyond are stcps which l e d up to a
three-arched arcade at the chord of the apse. At the left and right walls the arcade is supportecl on
pilasters, and the nave columns end immediately befort the raised apse fioor. The apre ptotnidts
beyond the building's principal dimensions and bas an oculus in its half dome. Mosaics of birds and
flowen deforate the basilka's floor, below which is a sarcophagus in a fiintracy vault."

As disporcd in the mosuc, however, the gale h u b e n pl.ced benerah the clerertory
supportecl by a nave column and, like the door at the extreme right, altar and apst arcade have been
rotated to face the viewer, Navc and apse sham the samc f h r Icvel, althoug&the reconstnactions

show otherwise, and the subterrrniean sarwphagus, fioor-lcvel mosrics and tnmcated colruans of an
aisle betwecn them and the viewcr have al1 been fittc iato the spacc bctwccll the eattrnct and -se
steps.

In both reconstructions the gable's windows have bcen l o w d ta clcttstory levcl as their
more reasonable position in North Afncan basili~as,'~
and the curtahed door, which in the mosaic is
found at the extmne right, hm been placed at the centre of the faade. Altars in fifh century AErican
basilicas werc hiown to h m b e n in the nave, and the stairs to the left arc interprcted as lerding up
to

the raised floor of the apse, because apses then were raiscd above nave le~e1,'~
rathcr than down to

the h e r a r y vault which may have been sedecl."

As to the authors' diffeftnces, the apse' oculus is not shown on Ward-Pcrkins' rtc01wtruction
where it codd not be seen, whereas Krautheimer has re-located it above the riuxnphal arch on the
grounds it "probably slid down in the rendering h m itr actual p l w in the rear gable of the nrva"."
As well, Krautheimer raises the clerestory on arches, because "the horizontal which runs abovc the
columns in the mosaic is the bottom lie of the outside clerestory and not an architrave, an element
rarely, if ever, uscd in North M c a n chur~hes",~
w h i k Wd-PedUns, who also appem to understand

the inscription's underline as part of the clerestory, shows it as an architrave and states "Thcre U no
trace in any of the TripolitCrnian churchcs of the use of the amhitnvc in place of the a d " ?
For the most part the authon agree in their interpretation of hc mosaic, bting distracid
neither by its dissection, nor the enlargement or diminution of its several parts; theu rcconstnactions
were idormed by the detail provided by the mosaicist, and what thcy knew of building p d c t s of
Ecclesia mater's time and place.
Another relevant basilical depiction is the Pddium, or palace of Theodoric, mosaic in the

10

nave of the early stth centpry Sant'Apolinarc Nuovo, Ravema (Figure 7).1' Strucftirauy, fhU d a r
basilica would have look4 much like Ecclesia mater ( s a Figures 5,6), in having a high, wide nave,
and tiled roof above a clmestory whose windows are clored with shutters. As with EccItlia mater the

clercstory roof is shown sloping towards the vicwcrCfNote tat the tiler ovcr the centrai gable nin
parallel to the roof ridge, instead of down h m the ridge to the caves. Two rcrrons for tis cinamaly
can be suggested: one, such an arrangement makes dl the tiles directionally harmonious; two, the bue
alignment of the gable's tiles wouid have been invisible in this method of depiction,
The aisle columns terminate at a large three-archcd amde which, although at the fm end of
the nave, has bcen projccted forward, and the combined interior wlonnsdes and exterior cletestory
roof can been seen to p a s behind it. W h m Palatium now hm cprtriins in wery bay thcm were once
figures, the outlines of whost heads can be discernai above the curtain m i s ? and two of whose
hands remain on the columns. Tt is suggested that the pmence of tbe figures wm the reason for
depicting Palatium in this way, opening up the building like a book, then fia#ening it out to show d l
the persons ~ l e a r l y . ~

Figure 2's building, head-on to and slightly below the vieweis position, is clcdy-drawn,
essentialiy t w ~ d i m e n s i o n acomposed
l~~
of exterior and interior stnxcturai componentm stackad one
upon the other, mostiy within the limits of elaborate floral bands. From bottom to top, there is a
forecourt marked off by two low balustrades behind which columns are seen beneath the building
(grid 14 E).= Thrct doon with stairs lead inside, where there is a well-defined central aisle (3 A-D),
at the

farther end of which is the remnant of inclinecl steps (3B), and a great arch raiscd on twa levels

of paired columns (3 A-B). Flanking the arch is a ine of vegctation (14 A), with stairs again at the
extreme lefi, Because of its inclusion in a Qur'h, and the particuhr identification of some ftritures,
this building has been identifid as a mosque, with which the writer m s , said ta be like that of
Damascus.
The Great Mosque of Damascus was tailorcd to fit an existing, rcctanguiar site in which the

11

qiblah occurred on one of the long wails, In the prayer hail, two arcade-supporting colonnadu create
thtee aisles p d e I to the long walls; at the extremitiu the c o l o d e s abut the short wrllr; at the
centre they are intercepteci by, and abut, four piers supporthg the dome (Figure 8). The eff'ect of the
piers is to create a centre aisle of single srches and it is this combination of central, single arches
within a two-storicd colonnade p.Rucl to the qibfcjl wa that Figure 2's building U said to memble-'

Two points might be made: kt,unified, transverse arch systcms coasisting of a single arch
flanked by two tien of arches did exist in a few Syrian buildings, such w the fourth century (?)
church at Tafh (Figure 9)= and the non-Cbristirm second ccnDiiry basilica at Sbaqqi (Figure lO),= but
these were raised on pien set close together in order to support flat -ne

roofs) and arc not the

arches depicted in Figure 2. Second, the structure at Damascus is a uniticd; it has been cteattd
fiom the marriage of different support systems, that of picrs for the dome, and colamns for the roof.

It is argued that Figure 2's "likeness" to Damascus is the result of misundcrstrinding the juxtaposition
of its support structures, about w l k h the artist has conveyed understandable information.
Decorative difEercnces highlight the structural diffrence of Fi-

2's interior. The nrve (3 C-

D) has marble, or marbleized, columns with Corinthian crpitals, and Echlydccorrted arches. The
C O ~ O M Z ~ ~ ~ Sof

the aisles (2 B-E)are comprised of trabeated, lower coIumns, with plain bases and

capitals, supporting shorter columns with the same plain bases but slightly moredctailcd capitds on
which rest three arches and one gable. Upper and lower columns are chevronned, the architrave has a
meander pattern, and in the spandreb are pairs of ivy leaves.
This building is interpreted as a basilica of oblong shape, in which t w o - t i d colonnades
divide the lateral space into aisles perpendicular to the short walls, while at right angles to the
colonnades large single transverse arches, raised on columns quite scpantt h m thore of the ~ s ~ c s ' ,
defme the nave. The nave's columns stand just within, but fiee of the aisle colwnniations. In keeping
with a basilical reconstruction it is suggested that this building l h l y had a clerestory, aad that the

transverse arches terminated in diaphmgms which abuttcd it. It seems unIikely tmnsversc archa

would have oc&

at cvcry bay, but only intermi#ently.

The artist hm taken great pains to convey the elaborab structure of Figure 2's interior,
accordhg to conventions already obserred in Ecclesia mater rnd Pdatum. Hem, dthoagh d t r r v e s

are seen to extend h m berneen the tiered colonnades to the springing of the nave's arches (3 B-C),
the apparent linkage of these structural elements should be underrtood as a convention that contributes
to the drawing's hannonious appearanct, as does the stmight line tbrt connecta gable, usle coliimns
and txiple-archecl arc& in Ecclesia mater. In Figure 2 the (~t~hitrsves
abut the firime of the centre

door (3 D) and the lower columns of the rear grmt arch (3 A), while the gable of the uppermost
coionnade disappears behind the great arcb's co;umns (3 A-C). Such a characteristic occan in
Palatium, w h a it emphasizes the s e p d o n of aisle and nave stmcturai elementa. The upper
colonnade (23 A-B)of Figure 2 does not actually p a s behind the rear great arch, anymore thrn the
flanking aisles and clerestory roof pass behind the triple arch of bsdical Palatium.

Like Palatium, Figure 2's interior has been opened up and flattenad out in order to show
clearly the structure of the colonnades and nave, thcir decoration, and the multitude of lamps. In a
reconstruction analogous to Palatium's, the four sets of tiered colonnades might pivot on the gabld
bays (2 A-D)which would then be positioned at the farther, short wall. But, rather than assume this
exercise would give Figure 2 four lateral aisles ta either side of the nave, it is pointcd out that the
artist had to incorporae four important central elements in his drawing, to Palatium's one: the mat

rear arch, the two nave arches and the centre doors, each of which has been placed in the context of
the aisle colonnades. One may understand h m this drawing that there wcre a number of lateral aisles
and nave arches, but the exact number is unknown.
It has been observai that archecl and gabled bays occur on the entrante fqsde of the palace at

the Umayyad site of Qqr al-Hayr al-Gharb, Syriq c.73030 and on several s i x t h - ~ ~ ~ ~ccntury
11th
ivones?' Those differences may have been for artistic variation or, in Figure 2's case, might indicate

some structural distinction in the bay nearest the qibldr wall, or in the roofing.

13

From about the fourth centuxy CE o n w d a high n

q clcrertory lightbg, m d two or more

longitudinal c o l o ~ s d e sare common feaaires of the monumentai halls now c d e d builicas?'l

According to archriealogicai and textuai evidencc, Constantine's builicas of old S. P&s,

Rome, and

the Churches of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem, and the Nativity, Bethlehem, were longitudindiy

arches are known to have existed in d y Christian basilicas, for example,

c o l o ~ a d e d ?Transvcne
~
in old S. PeWs, th-

was one at the juncture of nave and transept,% and in the non-Chrutian Great

Hall of the Caracalla Baths, aIso in Rome, there wcte s c v e d The reconstruction of the latter in
Figure 11;'

where an omate transverse support system is raiscd on columns standing withn tbe

margins of the pcxpendicular colonnades, gives an ides of the contrsst in structure and decoration

between the colonnades and transverse arches of Figure 2. (It is not saggested Figure 2 had a
coffered ceiling.)
There were Syrian, rad adjacent regional, p d e n t s for the use of h-standing columns in
conjunction with other arched consructions. The late fifth century main church at Alahan Monastery,
southern Turkey has f o u .fhe-standing columns at the crossing as part of the support for a central
tower capped with a pyramidal timber roof?' At Qal'at SimgSn,c.480-490, ficcataading columns
with Corinthian capitals stand just within the piers of the arched central entrance in the southern
faade, and flank the angled piers on every f r e t of the martyrium's centrai octagon?'
Evidence of the swnptuous decoration lavished on the naves of Christian basilicas is to be
seen at Sant'Apollinare Nuovo, and Sant'Apollinare in Classe, c. 532/6-549 (Figure 12).=

The latter

basilica, which has a transverse arch immediatcly before the apse, shows the rclationship of the
diaphragm heading to a typical wooden, double-pitched roof without the intermediary of a ceiling.
This is the suggestcd roofmg for Figure 2's columnar stnictwe. H. Butler has describai the wooden
roofmg common in many parts of Syria as double-pitched over the main aisle, with lean to's over the
lower side aisles. Such wooden tnissing is carved on the stone porch pediments of the convent at
Brad, and the chape1 at Batt5, both in S ~ r i a ' A
~ hypothetical reconstruction of the basilica of the

Koly Sepdchre has the wooden roof-pitching extendcd over nsve rnd a i s l ~ s . ~

c coiuirtr of two o

Turning now to the mihrab" (Figure 13) (3 A-B in Figure 2), its h

of paired columns: the lowcr, on independent baser, is riinaounted by a section of architrave upon
which rests the uppcr order, aiso on independent baser, apparcnty linkcd by
clearly seen in Figure 3, which supports the arch- The h

1 nrnaw impost,

more

e is interpteted as a fiee-standing

structure, like a two-storey aeicule, the colwnns being perpendicular to the qibfah wali and probably
braced against it at the levels of architrave and arch springing.

No exact mode1 for the structure can be pointcd to; however, in camparing the archiectate in
Roman wall painting with the sppearance of contempotary buildings, M. Lyttelton hm writtm,

"...the

h s c o e s do not necessarily show what was built, but rathcr the d t e c t u r s l schemer which intame
contemporary architects and their patrons".'2

As the mihrilb h

e shms charadcristics of the ornate

architecture in the Damascus mosaics, one may look to reali71Yi architectural dccoration for
inspirational sources.

In the eastem Roman world there are numerous prcctdents for the decorativt use of structurai
features such as columns, arches and gables to calivcn interior and &or

w a I l s ? F o r example, at

Baalbek, Lebanon, the interior of the Temple of Bacchus and the Hexagonal and Great Courts
preceding it," and at Petra, Jordan, the Wasne, and the Deir, c. mid-fjrst centriry CE (Figure 14);'
Decorative columnar arrangements were a feahue of amphitheatm stages also, and rit Pahyra,
fint half

second century CE, paired columns supporting an architrave and gable fldthe principal

entrance. Figure 15" shows the relationship of the columns to he amphithertre's back wall, much as
the mihrab's fiame would relate to the qibld, wall in Figure 2. At Lepcis Magna, Libyq the central

element of the reconstmcted faade of the Great Nymphaeum, c.211," described as "similarto the
scaenae fmns of

a Roman theatreW4'is a two-tier Maagement like the m i h a ' s , composed of single

rather than paind columns (Figure 16);'

and 19:'

the bracing of which is shown in Figure 17." Figures 18"

which are nspectively the extant remriins and suggestcd reconstruction of the no&-w~~teai

15

apse of Lepcis Magna's Scyeraa basilics (datcd betwccll 193-216):'

show interior are of decontive

columns and th& scalc in relationship to the height of that brrfica's n.ve ind give rn id= of the
clramatic quality the m i h a ' s fiame conveys.

In Fi-

2 faint traces of double lining at the arch s p ~ g i n suggest

g
the hood of a ta nrf&Cb

niche, and von Bothmer aviscs having seen traces of at lecut tbree, eight-pomted stars on a blue
ground in the arch maY Other ewidaics for raxssive space is the prcscncc of the lmnp, though
admittedly this could be hanging h m the arch itseK As for von Bothmeis prieoccupation with the
mi+rb's width?' this may be attibutable to the leart controriabk elcmcnt in the drawing, the

asymmetrical minbar.
Lepcis Magna's Severau buildings have been pointed out for their mixture of eutern and
western Roman influences, and for the aid Sbey may provide in undcratanding the drawing. For
example, here as in previous basilical examples, greater carc was exrpended on the dccoration of the
nave than on tbe aides and galle~ies.'~In Figure 2, the nrz&b*s upper columns rcst on low,
individual pedestals. The individual *-standing

pedestds at Lepcis Magna ( s a Figures 18, 19)

were common in regions of the eastern Mcditermacan;s7 they can bc sccn dong the colonnaded street

and in the agora a Jarash, Jordan; in the second century CE Roman tempie at Qauaw* Syria," aad
are a distinctive feature of Syriac canon table architecture like the Rabbula Gospels of 586 CE h m
the monasteqr of S. John at Beth Zagba, Mesopotamia, (Figure 20):'

A fuxther corrcspondcnce

between architectural decoration and book art is the plain border to the arches in the Qufk
hwings,

and the Rabbula Gospels' architecture, vcry like the uncamed margins of arch and pilaster dccoration
at Lepcis Magna and in the blind arcading at the North Gate of Sergiopoiis/Rusafah, Syria (Figue
2 1).&

The mi+& h m e has been taken t . indicate the possible presence of a dome:'

due, perhiips,

to a misinterpretation of its hienuchical scale. Canopies of one sort or another are well-rcprcscnted in

eariy non-Islhic art, and the representation of a dome was cntirely within the capabilitits of this

16

illustrator, so if th-

had beea one perhaps it war indinrtrA at the misshg top of the illustration. In

the wrter's opinion, howevet, th-

was no dome; the illustration shows oniy the projecting m i 8 3 to

whose hicratchicd siguificrince the rcst of the building is subordinrte.

Before the
*.m

is the minba,d5 s a n at the bottom right of Figure 13, of which scvcral

steps, a banister, a vertical member and trace of superstructare muainThe nch decoration throughout the mosque is illnminated by the lit, globular, glass lamps in
evexy bay."

Based in part on discovenes at Jarash, it has b a n pointcd out that surpendcd glass lsmps

of varous forms seem not to be lmown priar to the sixth cciltrtry, surpendeci hen m e d g thore with
loops at the shoulders, as distinct h m those mesnt to be insertcd in metal polycaadtla~ Post-Jamh
the handled bowl type came inta common use, although aU g l a s bowls with attachd loop haadles
may aot have bctn l a m p ~ ,A~ roundcd glass lamp with loop handles" was found at the c h m h of S.

George, Jarash, constructed between 529-33.66

Crowfoot and Emden point out that while some lunps actually held fuel and wick, 0 t h ~ ~ ~
were really lamp "shades", iato which a smaller vesse1 was inscrtod, and this smaer versel contained
water, an upper layer of oil, wick holder and ~ i c k Such
. ~ a priictice is indicatcd h m , when srnailcf
vase-like shapes can be seen through the glass globes.
Mention bas been made of the delimiting floral bands (1-2 A-D), and interpretations of them
lead one to believe the artist was hlly appreciative of the ambiguity they might engender. They have

~
been referred to as the building's ground plan and elsvaton, and enclosure W ~ Sand; calld
~ ~ fiames, they suggcst the
"unsettIingW,"incoherent" and "unrelated" to the a r c h i t e c t ~ r tAs
marshalling qualities of canon table architechue,'0 and in draughtsmanship and handling of pattern and
colour that thcy might be compared with the architectural fiames of the British Museum's manuscript
Add. 5111, That manuscnpt consists of two partial leaves which had been bound into a copy of an
1189 Greek Gospel Book belonging formerly to a monastery on Mount Athos. The four pagea, a

letter from Eusebius and three canon tables, ascribed to the sixth or eady seventh centuries, possibly

17
of mperial patronage," rra in brilliant p o l y c h m y on gilt grounds. C. Nordenfalkn hd suggerted

Add. 5 111's column patterns (Figure 22) wcrc inspired by embroidery iike that in the bm& of rome
Vatican silk fraemcnts (Fi-

23)"

in frct, it is the bands of the S d P illusirations that are cven

more reminiscent of the Vatican silks.

A i.ecurricnt motif in the Sm's' illustrations, aud dominant in the silks, h ivy lesver,

r
n
i
d and

elongated in all the spandrels, and the bands of Figure 2; o r herrtshapcd and particolourcd, in the
bands of Figure 3. They are seen in a l l manner of pre- and d

y b l h i c decorations, such as a fourth

cenhiry Roman mosaic h m the House of the Seasons, at Thugga, T P n l l i ~ 'on

~ cspitals h m the sixth
cenhiry church of S. Polyeuktos, Constantinople (Figure 24);" aad t h u g h o u t the area a o r t h s u t of
Hamh, Syria, dl Wrely h m Christian contexts of the ffth and sixth centuncr~on carvcd, basdt

doon at Tell snZnSn issuing h m a vase on a door jamb at Tell HameSn and on a lintel at Tcmiaya
(Figure 25):'

The Iarger, heart-shaped leaves are also featurcd in the soffit mosacs of the Qubbrt al-

SakhrakM

The parti-coloured Q u i h version, shown c l e d y in Nordenfaltc's dtawing of the Vaticsn silks'

band (Figure 26)T appears to have been very popular for it rccurs in the bands of sevcral scventheighth century silks, al1 likely h m Syria, or said to be dapted h m a Syrian design,= and may be

seen also in the spandrels of a floor fksco at Q-

al-Hayr al-Gharb (Figure 27)"

0. von Falke

points to the ongin of this le& in the camings at Tip-i Bustinu As well, a motif very like the
palmettes of Figure 2 is repeated many times on an Egyptim hingiag of tbe fourth-fifth cm-

CE

(Figure 28):'

This likeness to embroidery is particularly apt. As textile hangings were common interior
furnishings, it is argued tbat the delimitation of the mosquc's inner walls is shown by the cmbroideryIike bands, a convention readily-understood to allude to a nchly-decorated interior. And while the
bands may point only to the existence of decoration, they could be interprcted as actual dccorative
bands like those f o w d beneath the windows on the b e r surface of the outer wall of the Qubbat al-

18
Sakhrah (Figure 29)? J. Jakemaa d e t c n ' i

tbe dccorr5ive band of the iliustmtion u a

component" that "may in fact be representational, indicating stucco or vcgetal relief on the was of
the m o s q ~ e " . ~
T y p i ~ a l l y although
,~
more lushly than most canon table srchitccturc, Add. 5 111's arcdes arc
crowned with vegetation, and one may reasonably spcculate whether this lsyaut influenced the
positioning of the upper vegetation here. The Qui& groves have k e n likened to gacdcns surrounding
mediaeval m o ~ q u e s an
; ~ evocation of Last Days, al-Ghw oasis south of Drmucus, a d the riparian
gardens in the west portico of the Damascus m ~ s q u e . ~
Representation of the created world was fiequent in Byzantine att of the late fifth, early sixth
cent~ries.~'in secular contexts earth might bc personified, but in curches it w u more Nely that a
selection of flora and fauna stood for the whole. One such prcsentation appem as an end prnel in a
ninth centuxy copy of the world map of the sixh-ccntury geogmpher Cosmas Indicopleuster, taking
the form of a line of fhit trees with underplantings which represcnt the Earthly Pandise no longer

inhabited by men (Figure 30).*

In a mosaic panel on the floor of Dumetios' Basilica at Nikopolis, a

similar grove of trees represents the earth (Figure 31), with the understanding the trees "could sig-

Earth or Pandise, accordhg to theu ~ o n t e x t * .The

~ assemblage of fniitfd trees and undnplrntings in
Figures 2 and 3, closely resemble the paradisiacal graves of the map and floor.

The Earthly Paradise of emly Christian Wnters wss a place of perpetually temperate climate
"in which flowers bloom and fiuit are ripe all at the same time snd foreverwp4and a similar ieatiment

is expressed in the Qur'in at Surah LXXVI, 5 ff., where in Paradise mankind will have "shady vaileys,
al1 sorts of delicious h i t s , (pmsim) of all seasons, and &out

a thom ..."." An earlier, secular

version of an other-worldly garda is ta be found in the G d e n Room of the Villa of Livir at

Primaporta, c. 20 BCE,where trccs and underplantcd flowers of every lrind "of all semons appear
together" providing the patron with an individual p d s e (Figure 32)."

In his unpublished doctoral thesis G. Bisheh discusses the repotts of Ibn 'Abd Rabbih ind Ibn

Jubayr on the gold cubes cal1ed~rryfisZ'with which the interior waa of the Grecir Mosqw at
MadFnah were decorated- Ibn Jubayr reportcd the upper w a s above the mrrble d d o werie dccorrted
with various kinds of fiiiit-lsdcn trees, aad that the decordion of the q i b l ' w u raid to be the mort
carefiLgl From other sourccs, Bisheh says "architcctmd compositions" wcre incladed in thb
decoration and of it a mosaicist is reporteci to have aaid "Pve have made the mosaic dccoration

according ta the forms of the tries and mmsions of Plp.dW'".g. J. Sauvaget iIro quoted Ibn 'AM
Rabbih's description of the gold mosaics and the depictioas of divene trees with fiuit-laden branches,
and Ibn w a r ' s on the trtcs and mmsiona of P d i r c , but w u not convinced of their accumcy-w
From these descriptions the Manah mosaics have been intcxpreted u mcmbling the Dlmrrcus

onesloObut, without the architectural compositions, they caa bc compnhcndd dao as l w b g Ite the
vegetation in Figures 2 and 3. The diverse, fiuithi tr#r of the map and mosaic floor couid well have
provided models for the trees of Paradise at Madnah, Damascus and in the San'a' Qui& figmcs;
therefore, Figure 2's qiblah wall is interprcted as displayhg to either side of the mi-,

the

representation of a paradisiacal garden in mosaic above a decoraiive band, just us the mosaic trccs
(and mansions) of Paradise are shown in the west portico of the Great Mosquc at Damucus (Figure
33).

Turning now to the exterior- The mosque is entercd by t h , double-le& doors above stcps
(1-4 E) but, unlike von Bothmer and Grabar the writer dots aot beiieve tbcy are al1 on the faade;"'

rather, it is suggested the left and right doon intemipt and flare beyond the decorativt band to

indicate they are on the sides of the building where, according to tbis illustrative method, t k y could
not otherwise be seen. This detail may be significant also for showing the building stands aione, not
hemmed in by other struct~res.'~
The middle door shows decorated jambs, and the lintel, reiieving

arch, tympanum and return moulding of the lef door are assumed for al1 thtte. That the central door

does not have the latter features is undoubtediy because including them would conceai the richiydecorated arch and the hanging lamp above.

20

The elaborrrte portal haa many Syrian precaicnts. lnrpircition for the jrmbs and lintel c d d
have been drawn h m such monumental entranccs as t h e in the peristyle of the Temple of Bel,
Palm~ra,'~'or hc entrance to the palace at Q-r al-Hayr ai-Gharbi (set Figure 215), whem an
inscription on the lintel states it is h m a sixth ccntury m~nastery.'~As c m be se-,

an irieh hm

been restored above the door. In the churchcs of Northern Syria h m the fiAh century onwards
there's an increasing nchness in the mouidings about catranccs and ~ i n d o w s . ' ~
Two
~ examples of
decorated fiames and rcleving arches can be seen, for example in the men's and women's entmnces ta

the basilica of Qalb Lz, (Figurcs 344 34b).la6

Again h m chuxches in Northern Syria cornes limited evidence for the iihg of relieving

arches, either by dccply-cand Stone plates, pierced to vmying degrces, or Stone grills which may
have been glazed,'"' as could be indicatd by the colouration of the left doois tymprnum; howcver,
another illustration provides a notable compdtdlldum for the doors, relieving arches and tympana

This is the "Consecration of the Tabernacle" scene h m the synagogue at Dura Europos, destmyed in
256 C
E,'''

where the enclosure about the "tent in the desert" ha9 bcen rcplsced by a Roman wall in

which are embedded three doors (Figure 35).lo9 The tympana in both illustrations appeat to be

identical. Further evdence supporting the doors' appearance is available in the form of a number of
carved basalt ones, Iikt that h m Teli Sn&, Syria, (Figure 36).l1 Although cawed as one unit, the
layout indicates it is based on double-leaf models. Other doors arc decorated with ivy Ieaves,
concentric diamonds and circles, nail heads, aad arcades. The testimony of the two illustrations and
the basalt doors spedcs to a remarkable continuity in at least one aspect of Syrian structurai and

illustrative tradition.
At Q v r a 1 - w al-GharbF ,lunettes over doors and window openings were filled with stucco

transennae, some of which were fitted with coloured or paintd glass nit to shapc."'

The arch above

Figure 2's left door is set within an elaborate heading; the mnains of similu headings surrounding
transemae-filled lunettes were found at al-Gharbl (Figure 37)"' and have been rcstod to second-

floor halls of the paiacc facing onto the central c~tirtyard.'~

One of the f

m included in the Tabarka morac wru the hiddea, but known to errirt,

sarcophagus, and a similm qualification applies to some of the lmt elemcnts of Figure 2 to be
discussed, the forecour&, aud steps at the upper le& The writer does not beIieve this mosque u raised
on a podium,"' nor hat it is on a mound or height,"'

nor th& thc uppcr l d t rt.in repcc~cllta minaret

in section,'16 ratha, that elcments which could have bccn partiy seen, and wcrt known to d s t bcncath

the building have been drawn as preceding it, or being to the rcar thereof, and togethcr repment the
unique subterrancan festure of o d y one Umayyad mosque. E v q t b g below the l m 1 of the doar
sills plus what sean to be flights of stcps at the upper left of the illustfation is relatad to the rame
structural feature, the passage of the Double Tunnel h m its entmact at the foat of the southern wall
of Temple Mount to its exit on the Haram ai-Shdf immcdiacly in h n t of al-Aqsi Mosque,
Jeru~aIern."~
Al-Aqsb's @ah

wall is at the southcm extremity of Temple Mount where, in the Second

Temple penod, the Western Hulda double gate gave access to the Mount via a street at the foot of the
southem ~ a l l . " m
~ e n the Muslims occupied Jerusalem the Western Hulda was r e n o v d , prabably
by Caliph 'Abd al-Malik,"g becoming known as Bab al-NabZ (the Prophet's Gate):=

rnd later as al-

Aqsa al-Qadmah (Old al-Aqsa), or the Double Gate, and continued to give public access to what had

become kiiown as the Hamm Mhatlf, and specificdly to al-AqsL1*'

According to R Hamilton, the k t version of the cxisting al-Aqsi Mosque, which he
attributes to the Caliph ai-WaKd I,Iff was some nineteen metres shorter than the prcsent version on the
north-south axis, (no& being the front of the b~ilding),'~
with the pavement beforc the fbsde at the
innermost eastem aisle intempted by the entrance to the Double Gate.12' At its southcm entry

(Figures 38% 38b)lY the Gate has a vestibule of four domed bays supported by wail pilastem and a
central pillar with a Corintitian-like capital (Figure 39).lX Steps rise h m the western bays through

the vaulted tunnel (Figure 40)'" to the platorm b d o n the Mosque.lm

Hamilton speaks of two other structures projecting aove the pavement before the firrt alAqsa's faade, a stylobate about four metrer north of the mosque, a d the h e d of the cistem c.Uad
Bi'r ai-Waraqah, the WeU of the Le&'"

O. Le Strrige, q90ting Nhir-i Kh~urcw,rtitcr: "(

Ina)

the south wall (of the Hamm m a ) is a gate lesding to the places for the ablation, where thme u
ninning water. When a person has need to make the ablution (beforc ptaiyer)y he goes down to this

place, and accomplishes what is prescrbed ...",""and Na?;ir-iK~USMW

continues that al-Aqs6 hm been
erected over the subterranean passage cailed Bab al-NabLU' C. Wdson, to whom Le Strange
appeaied for help in identifjing the various gates into the

mentioncd by NeU-i Khusraw,

(amongst others), explains that the expression "Ieading to the places for the ablutionwmust dei:to
"remains of water-pipes and cells being still shown a$ this point in the subotruc~~s
of the A h & for
the ancient Gate of the Prophet under the Aks can only be the soccalid Double G e , long rince
walled up, but still to be seen closing the southem side of the vaults under the Ak~"."~
The two amphorac (2E,4E) flanking the centrai stairs are interpttted as a convention for Bi'r
al-Waraqah and the ablutions' fa ci lit^,"^ while the stylobate, which is aot teprescnted in the drawingy
might have supported the colonnade of a p o r ~ h . ' ~
Beyond the porch was an open, pavcd forccourt

extending further north than the present mosque's faade and within this court was the well-head of
Bi'r al-Waraqah and a staircase descending to the Double ~unuel.'~'Von Bothma hao intcrpnted the

amphorae as an ablutions' facility and suggested the baiustrsde p d y conceals that area h m visitors'
eyes.'36 Grabar acknowldges this may be

and too obvious"."'

an ablutions' areq but finds the amphoriic "much too large

As cleanliness is an obligatory preparation for prayer, the vessels f f i that an

otherwise unseen washing area does exist.

In Wilson's s m e y of the Hamm the plan of ai-Aqaa Mosque has been superimposeci on that

of the Double Gate, so one can sec the Well of the L e d is situated south of the prerent Mosque's
north wall, where the "risiag vault of the subtenanean passage"'" exited beforc al-Aqsa Mosque

(Figure 41).lf9 Something like the balustrade may have marked off the fortcourt fiom the r a t of the

23
flararn; it u possible dso that tbe balurtrde's apperrrnct hem is purposefiai, like t
b trpncation fomd
in the Tabarka mosaic where the n m columns namcst the viewcr have been d u c c d to stumps ro ru

not to block the farther view, thus dlowing the prucntation of m

a
i but hidden featmcs- In Figure
2's case the featutes arc the Double Tunnel's termini, something cqrwsive of ib subtenrnc.tl-nus,
and the ablutions' arc* Whiie the tbree stain might be undcrstood as tbe tunnel's exit More the

mosque, placing aspects of the vestibule and inner ramp at the upper I d t of the illusration might not
have expressed logicaily the southern entrancc nor the subtcrmnean qualitics of the vdting. So
positions have bcen reversed. At the top left of the page the fights of steps reprcsent both the
southern entranct and the rising ramp of steps within the tunnel. At the bottom of the page, flanlring
the central stairs, the colurnns repmcnt the tunnel's known, but concealed vestibule and vmlting in
their proper position underneath the mosque.
As the d s t chose to plscc together distinct, wide1y-seprrnttd featurer in the rcstricted spof the forecourt, in order ta give each due prominence, without implying the one is before o t behind
the other, the bases and Corinthim capitals of the columns flanking the central stak have bccn halved
to provide space for the amphonie, which do not obstruct eithcr columns or balustrades. The flanking

columns (2Es 4E) represent the supports of the vestibule (see Figure 39), while the columns behhd the
balustrade represent the underlying vaults and are pdy-hidden to evidence this. The tbnt sets of
s t a h should be undentood to q r e s e n t access between the Mosque and the subterranean
For balance, there are "between" stairs at each door, those at the sides being halved so as not to mask
the columns, or to appeac to be behind the balustrades ai thcy would not be in thtir position at the

sides of the mosque. Thete is no suggestion in the litetature that more than one a c w ~ sstair crristed.
That these are not unique solutions to apparently conflicting problems of depicting appearaacc and

showing position is evident h m the distribution of structural elements in the less complm
representation of Ecclesia muter.
As to w h e k the foregoing may be reconcilad with the lilc that is known archacologically

24

of the initial Umayyd ai-Aqs6, -tan

cstabiished th* h m the c?sliut times, the rirlu ra north

and south, at right anglu to the q i b M wali, and wcze h m 4m-to c. dm. wide, dthough the width of

the building itsef could not be e~tablirhcd.'~'The amdu repamthg the risles were supportad by
columns and attached to the north and south walls by pilasters.'"

No centrd north-roua axir cauld

be established, nor is the number of doors known, othet than thc traces of one doar found at the

eastem side of the faade."3 As for Figure 2's wide nrn, while he rpacincaiiy statu thcm wm no
wide nave in the k t mosque,'" the ilhastrative methad suggcsts m explanation. The centre aisle is
the same width as the mierab and principal door it links, and tbe width of d thtee mry h m been

influenced fiuther by the asymmetry of the minbar. Width may not have bcen the nave's tnie
emphasis, rather, its transverse arches, tbeir height and rich ornamentdon- Hamilton could not bc
exact, but his figurc 30 indicates at least thcc flanking aisles on the east side, which may be
compared with the two a side at the Church of the Nativity and the Eoly Scpalchregrbwilice.'"
In the mat-

of numbers, the illustration does not neccsssnly show the actual n u m k of

entrances, aisles, or transverse arches in this al-Aqsh, nor may such accumcy have been especidiy
significant to the illusbator. It was more important to show it wat a fiee-stauding basilica, with
monumental front and side entrances, and an imposing centre aisle leading to a spcctadar mien%,
and to convey its unique distinction of being the only mosque accessible by a subtenaneam, public
walkway.

The information in the drawing accords with the general characteristics of a "Constantinian"
basilica, a practical, quite utilitarian sbucture with longitudinal waIIs supporting a wooden roof, but
without a dome, relying for renown on the quality of its embellishments, extravagrnt lighting and,
perhaps, such relative novelties as more than one "triumphd" arch aud the omrtc confection of the
rnerlib fiame. It bas been suggested that the triumphal arch of the present m.y have been an

eleventh century architecturai novelty in the eastem Mcditeranean.'s

As for the p d s i a c a i

decoration on the qiblrh wall, it is not impossible merely because we have not heard of it, and quite

25

lilrely, considering frthcr and son both supportad mch decorative tbemca elsewhere in Jemaian,
Damascus and Mdnah- One may rccall 8, Stem's -ent
in al-Aqsais dNm are F-id

th& the prucnt Umryyd-like mosaics

imitations of some Umryyad mossicl that were p m e d up to the

eleventh century.'"
Figure 3 depicts another m o s q ~ e , 'as
~ symmebicaily prcacnted as the prcvious one, thou& of
very daerent appearance. This building is raiscd on a single level of colrunns and arches cvenly
disposed amund a central square within which is a pedcstal supporing a vase witb an elabonte floral
arrangement (2C)- The columns and spandrels are embellished Iike those of Figure 2, and in dI but
the central square thac uc similar, lit, globular, g l r u Irnps. Fnming the mihtb1* (2A) is one lcvcl

of paired columns and au ornament-topped arch h m which a lamp Y suspendad; there is no

discernible niche hood behind the lamp.

aa the
This is certainly a hypostyle mosque without any suggcrtion of processionai n a ~ e : ~
cotumns of the arcades, herc parallel to the tcar wall, occur d M y in h n t of the mihrab. As in

Figure 2, there is a decorative registcr about the walls, and the rcprcsentation of a purdisircal garden
above the register on the qibkrh wall. The thme flowers at the base of the mihrab ruggest it taa may
have had vegetal decodon. There is no minbar.

The remains of a double leaf door (4C) in the mosque's side wall can be seen at the botom
nght, in al1 discernible respects similar to the left door in Figure 2 and, by rcason of the illustration's

apparent syrnmetry, a Iike door is postulated for the I d t sidt of the building, Too much of the
illustration is missing for assurance thcm was no centte door, however, as the one visible likely took
up two ranges of columns, and if a centre door Iacked the relieving atch and heading, then,

conceivably, it could fit within the lower range of columns, although the lack of exclusivity in the
aide layout seems to precludc a centre door.

The similarity of its embroidery band to the othcts suggests the courtyard too was decorated,
above the arcades perhaps, for it is reported of Ibn Jubayr in connection with the Great Mosque at

26

Mafinah, that the south wall of the couryard had mosaic dtcorati~n.~'

Because of the paradisiacai decoration, and the possbiliy of tbe wtihrrab beiag mcesrcd, this an immediate tcmptation is to idcntifL this iiiusttation with al-WslFd's m c o ~ o ofn the Grest
Mosque in Md-nah kgun 707 CE;"' howevet, this sfnrctiire ldcs evidcact of the four corner

minarets, or the Prophet's buriai chambeql" the d i n g nsts on d e s not architravcs,LH and thcm is
the courtyard object.

In sharp contrast to the observed detail of Figure 2's building, it seemr those details have
merely been transferred here in order to prcsent a building according to its reputed f-,

This is a

bookish construction, a type of building which the artist could put togethcr h m patterns and
knowledge of other structures, It is interesting, however, that baroqae features continue to be evident
in this mihrab's fiame (2A) which rcsembles an arched aediculq for the cmwning ornament suggerts
this ensemble, like that in Figure 2, stands out h m the qiblah wall, Finiair of one sort o r rinather top
buildings of every estate in the Damascus mosaics, as weli as maay arches in the Rabbula Gospels.
M o t s like it occur ficqucnly in the miniahire arcsdes of a Qiibba al-Sakhmh tic btrm (Figure 42),'"

referred to for other reasons by von B~thrner."~

Speaking of the decoration of the Qubbat ai-Sakhah, M. Rosen-Ayalon drew attention to the
"vases on columns" being "invariably comected with the iconography of P u d i ~ e " . ' ~ 'Within the
space constraints of Figure 3's courtyard, the pedestd might be constmed as a shortened column
supporting a vase which differs h m those in the Qubbat al-Sakhmh in form, not iconographie

content,
Inclusion of the vase and column suggests the mosque is being used metaphorically: as a
walled compound it reflects vernacular, civil architecture, an enclosure with shrded walks about a
well-ordered, well-tcnded garden, which the vase might repment; an oasis of order within a hmh,
chaotic environment; the Dat a i - s l k within the Dat aLHarb. Perhrips the vase is a symbol of God's
bounty, of a Paradise available e q u d y to the community of I s l b , which the mosque rcprescnts.

What link Figure 3 and the object may have with thc Dome of the Rock will be returned to-

The last of the San'a" Qut'h iliustrations to be exrminai, Figure 1, u the temiins of an eightpointed star whose perixnetcr is defineci by aa embroidery band- At the star's inncr angles am mes
with fiaring branches, the trunks of which weavc aitemaely through the band, commg to rest on a

plaited, gold circle. hside the crcle rirt the remains of what stems to bc aaother octagonJu snd thcm
are eight-rayed stan within the embroidcry-band mgl lei.'^^

In their principal qditics the trees axe like those in Figures 2 and 3, sleadcr of trunk, fiuithil,
with tapering crowns, howcvcr, their dramaticay-fiaringbranches lpperr to be attachecf to the tnanks

by rings. At Damascusl" and in tbc Qubbat ai-Sakhmh, maturc trs me fIanltcd by yoangcr ones;
new growth springs h m trunks

where old branches have been cut away, aad the impression is given

thai the star trees' branches reflect that new growth, just movd up so the tranks may wcave through
the band.
As for the rings, certaully they rire a stylistic trait of the Sm's illustrations, cacircliag cvery
tree

and plant in the paradisiacd gardens and holding together each pair of ivy Ieavcs in the spandrels.

Simila.rings are a striking feature of hc Qubbat al-Sath+ah9smosmic and carved mruble vegetation,

where they appear in like positions, that is, on stems immediattly below braaching leaf forms, beneath
floral shapes, and conmlling the exuberant growth of acanthus rinceaux (Figure 43).la They arc of
ancient use in the Iranian world, binding together elements of the Tree of Life, however,

thete wcte

local examples avdable to the artists of the Jizusaicm mosaics and the San8."illustntions, one of
which can be seen in Figure 20, where rings encircle the inner cannon table coltamas rit each change

of pattern, In this, as in other details the artist has shown himself responsive to his cultutal milieu, for
his work reflects the cultural hcritage of Greatcr Syria,lQ available to the Umryyds at the bcginning
of the eighth century. It is in no way suggested al1 decorativt details are Syrian, only that because of
a long-established regional exchange of motifs and style characteristics such materid was readily

available.

28

Figure 1h u been likcned to the firime about Anicia Jiilirnds donor portirait in the Vieana
Dioscondes (Figure 44);"

however, the encircling ~ c c (lA,

r
2B, 2C, 2D) m u t dcrt one to the frct

that the star is more than a geomttric k i n g device.

Encircling trees, or city walls and towen, shown flat ir an auCient pmcticc, an example of
which cornes h m the tomb of Rekh-mi-m, Tbebcs, c.1700 BCE (Figure 49.'"

The Egyptian

illustration is meant only to show clearly that the trees surround the pool; it doesnt dcny them their
natural, upright position any more thau does the similar illustrative method uscd in the c.560 CE
mosaic map of Jcmsalem in the church of S. George, Madaba, Jordan.
The most important represcntation th-,
Sepulchre (lA), is upside down (Figure 46).'"

the basilica and rotunda complex of the Holy

Upright, in itr pmcnt spacc, its cntrrnce would have

appeared, incorrtctly, to be near the city wall. Upright, in its tme position on the lower side of the

lower coo~adedstreet, not only would its back view have btea presented to the viewer, that u, h m
behind the rotunda with little of the basilica showing, the complex would have masked portions of
both colomaded streets as weU as part of a city gate. The c o f l c t has bcen resolved by means of a
very old solution; the Holy Sepulchre complex, like the gates opposite and at the le& hm k e n shown
flat. The entrance is in its proper position on the colonnaded street; the identifjhg faade and great
length of the basilica can be seen as can the golden dome of the rotunda in its proper position at the
rear of the complex.
What the tomb and the map make clear is that, in the h

t instauce,

the flat trees

arie

not the

most important feature, and in the second the flat Holy Sepulchre is, so their relevance is not in being

shown flat but, like al1 features of the San'a' Figures, being depictcd in the way best suited to display
their essential characteristics and their relationship to the illustration. 0th- buildings in the map

have been turned to face the viewer, while the wall towers below the Holy Sepulchre have not, and
these can be undemtood as fiuther manifestations of relative importance.
As the foregoing suggests, the alignmeat and positioning of featurcs of the trees in Figure 1 is

29

pertinent to the statcment the srtist wishes to make about thcm, and tbrt is, whea the tt#r are rrired
to theu aatural, uprigbt position they b

~ theg embroidery band with th-,

tmnrforming the star into

a star-shaped compound. The trees still s m u n d the golden circle, but now tbeir thrding trunks are
seen to be rooted on either side of a decorated wii-

That Figure 1has been likencd to Anicia Juliana's portrait fhme ir due to the geometry
underIying both. This geometry has been c x a ~ i n c din ian ittempt to obtain i d o r m d o n on Byzantine
' ~ of the r c v d
architectural procedures h m an examination of siiMving octagonal r t r ~ c t u r e s and,
theoretical and practical worlchg procedures consided, the ground plan for aii could be shown as a
circle within which rotated squares of varying size conespondeci to the placemeat of concentric
octagonal walls. From a common result of this exercise J. W i i s o n denved the name "star
diagram""

(Figure 47), lines drawn h m the star points giving an octagond shrpe, Himyaritic

~ that in Figure 1 d a i v a h m an
sources have b a n s u ~ e s t c dfor the use of star s h a p ~ s , 'but
established geometxic source weii-hiown for the Roman and Byzantine constructional and d e c o d v e
works based upon it.
As a decorative device the star diagram is the basis for the Herodian ceiling dccoration in the
vestibule of the Double Gate, Jenisalem (Figure 48),L and the floor mosaic in the Propylaca Church,
Jarash, c.565 (EGgure 49).l7' As an architectural procedure it is a plan and proportional guide for
octagonal buildings such as S- Peter's House, Capernaum, mid-fifth ccntury; the church on Mount
Gezerim, c.485, and Qubbat aI-SaLhrah, Jenisalem,"' (Figure 50).ln And it ir the basis for Figure 1,
which, it is argued, is an imaginative, leamed representation of Qubbat al-Sakhrah.
The features of this representation still most clearly discemible arc an embroidery band in the
fonn of a star, afErming the genesis of the Qubbat al-Sakhrah's shape and its identity; a golden circle
for its dome, and the -S.

Havhg in mind that content, usage or attribution might be rignincant

determinants in a structure's depiction then, accordhg to this drawing, the essence of the Qubbat al-

Sakhrah is its decoration.

30

Today, that buiding's

rnd vines rnd containcil of vqetation rre di inside, but originrlIy

the= are said ta h m b e n similar morrics on the outer w&."

Con-

woven through the decorated wall not ody addr d e n c e to th-

reporta, it pmaents the notion tbat

Figure 1with the & e u

the extemal decomion was ru significrnt u the intend, As Title Page, Figme 1 must h m ban

underotood as the key ta Figures 2 and 3, so the embmiday bauds rnd vegetrtion of u c h crn be seen
as purposefiil ljnks. To bc considercd in the following chaptcr u why the decomtion of the Figuru

might best be expmsed as a p v e of fniitfi~ltrees.

So far as is known, &est QIU'& il1ustrations arc unique:"

for thcm secm to e no O*

d y

depictions quite like them, In conception, imaginative presentaton, and qwlity of workmmship the

San'a' Figures must have k e n exceptional evcn in their own tirne; dl the rame, thy am the work of
an artist who participated M y in and was not distinct firom contempomry actirtic pmctices. Known

solutions to probleais of position and visibility have ken u s d , aad it caa be recognizcd that the d s t

was lcnowledgeable about the variety of iiiustrativc options available ta him and rmcnable to urhg
whichever best suited the task, for example, the trees of Fi-

1. Furthexmore, Figure8 2 and 3

demonstrate a mixture of hntality, hierarchy of scale, and nrturalum very like that s a n in the
Damascus mosaics.

Notes

2,Von Botbmcr, "ArchiteWiidet," d o n entitiad "Die EIandschrift,* p. S.

3.Von Bothmer, "Friihislamischc," pp, 22-23; i&m., "ArchiteIchitbilder,"section "Die Illumination" p.
12 ff*
4,At "Architektmbilder," p. 8, von Bothmer speculritet on whcthcr these drnmngs bore armer.
Sfichard Krautheimer, E d v Christiau and Bvzlllltine Architcchu. Tbe Pelicaa Hirtory of Art.
Harmondswork Penguin Books Ltd,, 1965, p. 201.
6-Richard Krautheimer, "Introduction to an 'Iconogriphy of Mcdicvd Architecture'." Reprintcd in
Studies in Earlv Christian, Medieval, and Renaissance Art. New York: New York University Press, p.
115 fE
7.Paul Lampl, "Schcmes of Architcctud Representation ia Eady Medicvd Art," M
6-17.

q (196041)

9:

8Lamp1, "Schemes," Marsvas (196061) 9: 7.

9Xrautheimer, "Introduction to 'Iconography'," the section "Copies in Medieval Architecture" pp. 116130 parsim.
10.The mosaic was publishcd by Paul Gauckler, "Mosaques tombales d'une chapelle de mrrtyn ia
Thabraca," Fondation Eunne Piot, Monuments et Mernoirs (1906) 13: 175-227. Thabner is prerentday Tabarka
ll.Krautheimer, Earh Christian, pp. 201-202 and figs. 152, 153. At n. 42 p. 201 Ktautheimer
acknowledges his fig. 152 is a modified version of Ward-Perkins' fig. 28, set also n. 12.
12.J.B. Ward-Perkins and RG.Goodchild, "The Christian Antiquities of Tripolitania," A r c h a d e
(1953) Second series 45: p.57 ff., fig, 28.
13.Gauckler7"Mosaques" p. 188 ff. thought the work "vcry incoherentn, sec Lampl at p.12, n.41.
14.Krautheimcr, Eatlv Christian, p. 202; Wd-Ptrkins is silent on both these featutcs.
15Krautheimer, Earlv Christian, p.202.
16.The r a i d apse h n t e d by a triple arcade and altar in the nave are "hellmakr" of Afncan church
plans c.400, Krautheimer, Earlv Christian,pp. 202-203.
17.The sarcophagus could be a martyr's, possibly accessible h m outsidc the church, or inaccessible
below the altar, Krautheimer, Earlv Christian, p. 200.

20.Ward-PerlEins and Goodchild, *Christian Antiqutics," p.70.

21.Friednch Wilhclm Deichmrinn, Ravcnna: acschichte und monamen%. 3 vois. W~csbrden:FrSteiner VerIag GmbH, 1969, t a f 107, vol, II.

231bid, a p c s that interna1 and external stnrctprsl featurcs arc iliustrraed togcther in Palcitiom, which
he d e r s to as a propylon flaniced by lateral porticos, but not as tht interior of a basilica

25.A rough grid, not to scak, hm bccn uscd with San'a' Figures 1,2 and 3 to i n d e n e more cleady
what features are being discussed, The writer thanks Dr.E d w d J. Rea for suggcsting this
procedure.
26,That is, with aisles nanning parallel to the qiblah wall through wbich cuts the n m , in an
arrangement siiililar to that of thc Umayyad Mosque at Damascus, von Bothmer, "Atchitelrturbildet,"
p. 9; a hypostyle planning of space with a central nave cutihg through, Grabar, Mediation, p. 157.

27.Howard Crosby Butler, Early Churchts in Svria Fourth to Sevcnth Centunm. Edited aud
completed by E. Baldwin Smith. Amsterdam: Adoif M. Hakert, 1969, pp. 22,24, ills. 17-18.
28.Butler7 Earlv Churches, pp. 16-17, Us. 9-10,

30.Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," p. 10.

3 1.Cari Nordenfaik, Die S~iitantikeaKanontafeln. 2 vols. Gtiteborg: Oscar Isacsons Bowckeri A.-B.,
1938; vol. 1: pp. 266-67, abbs. 30,31.

32.J. B.Ward-Perkins, "Constantine and the Christian Basilicau Reprinted in Studies in Roman and
Earlv Christian Architecture. London: The Pindar Press, 1994, p. 456.

33.Ward-Perkins, "Constantine," pp. 459-462, and fig. 3.

34Jbid., p. 463 on the foundations for the "triumphal archn prtceding the transept of the Constanthian
basilica of S. Peter, first half of 4th cen(n, 69, foundation date not recorded) ;Krautheimcr, Eady
Christian, pp. 55, 59, giving the beginning date as c.3 19-322-

35.D.S. Robertson, A Handbook of Greek & Roman Architecm. Cambridge: University Press, 1929,
pl,

xvm,

36.Cyril Mango, "Byzautium." In Treasures of Turkey. Gencva: Editions d'Art Albert Slara, 1966, p.
92 and pl. on p. 90..
37.Horst Klengel, The Art of Ancient Svria English Language edition, South Brunswick and New
York: AS. Barnes and Company, 1972, pp. 184, upper illustration, and 189.
38Krautheimer, Earlv Christian, figs. 149 and 239, respectively.

39Iarlv Chtuchet p. 199; for Brd sec illas. 201, and B5tt5, illus. 204.
40Xrautheimer, Earlv Christian, pp. 62-63, and fig. 27(a),
41Jdentified as such by von Bathmer, "Architcknirbilderm,p. 6, and Grabat, Madiation, p. 160.
42Margaret Lyttelton, Baroaue Architecture in Classical Antiauitv. London: Thamer and Hudson,
1974, p, 86. The similmities of Petta's architecture to second style Roman painting, the style of the
Damascus mosaics, is the subject of chapter 5 of Judith McKenPt's The Architecture of Petrg. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1990.
43Barri Jones and Roger Ling chripter "6. Tbe Great Nymphreum," in J.B. Wd-Perkinr The Scvcrcm
Buildings of Lacis Mama An Archife~turalSurvcy, ed. by Philip Kenrick, Sociev for Libyrn
Studies Monograph No, 2, London: The Society for Libyan Studics, 1993, pp. 83, 85.
44Lyttelto11, Baroaug pp. 234-236, 2nd centuxy CE fE
45Jbid, 80 and fig. 15.
46.Klenge1, Ancient S~ria,p.173 end fig. on p. 154.
47.J.B. Ward-Pcrkins, The S e v t f ~Buildings of Lewis Msqn_lg, An ArchifcctPrrl Survey. Edited by
Philip Kenrick, Society for Libyan Studies Monograph No. 2, London: The Society for Libyan
Studies, 1993, p. 107.
48.Jones and Ling, "Nymphaeum," p. 79.
49-Ward-Perkins, Severan, fig. 45.

51-Lyttelton, Baroaue, ill, 223, Note: Lyttelton's captions wtte reversed, 223 is the Severan basilica
52.Ward-Perkins, Severan, fig. 30.

54.Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," p. 6.

56.J. B. Ward-Perlans "Severan A . and Architecture at Lepcis Msgaan Reprintcd i Studies in

Roman and Earlv Christian Archittctute. London: The Pindar Press, 1994, pp. 57, 59.
57.Ward-Perkuis, "Severan Art," pp. 138, 150.
58Klengel, Ancient Syria, p. 91, lower.
59.Carlo Cccchelli, Guiseppe Furiani and Mario Salmi, eds., The Rabbula Gomels. Facsimile Edition
of the Miniatures of the Syriac Manuscript Pluteus 1, 56, in the Medicaean-Laurcntian Library?
Florence, Olten and Lausanne: Urs GraGVerIag, 1959, folio 4b.

62.Von Bothmer, "Architeltturbiider", p. 6; Gtsbar, Medirition, p. 160.

63.Von Bothmer has commentcd on the desimbility of a well-illuminatal morqgc, and the fict thU
one has them in every bay, "Architekurbiider," pp. 8,6; contra Grrbar, Medirition, p.159 who states
there are no lamps in the centre aisle.
64.Grace M. Crowfoot and DB.Harden, "Early Byzantine and Later Glass Lamps," The Journal of
E m t i a n Arcbaeology (193 1) 17: 205; a number of these fonns arc shown on pl. XXX, 4047.
65.P.V.C, Ba-,
"Glasswrire." In Gerasa Citw of the Decanolit edited by C d E KraeIing. New
Haven, Connecticut: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1938, p l CXL.a, no, 30 rt top left, and
p. 526 where it's d e s m i as a bowl.
66.J.W. Crowf'oot, "Christian Churcbes." Iii Gerrisa C ~ W
of the DecciUPolia, e d i d by C d H. h l i n g .
New Haven, Co~ecticut:Amcrican Schools of Oriental Research, 1938, p. 241.

67.Crowfoot and Harden, Tarly Byzantine," pp. 207-208.

68.Von Bothmer &ers to them as grouud plan and elevation, and variously ru encloriug,
encompassing, rcanmrd walls, "Architekturbilder, " pp, 5, 10, 11; Grsbrir proposer them as the ground
plan and elevation of Figures 2 and 3, Mediation, p. 157.
69,Grabaq Mediation, pp. 157, 173.

71.Hexuy Shaw and Frederic Maddan, Catalome of Ancient h h L ~ s c r i ~in

t sthe British Museum. Part
1 (reek), London: Printed by Order of the Trustees, 1881; p. 21, pl, 11; idem., 111uminated
Omaments selected h m Manuscri~tsand Eatlv Printed Books h m the sixth to the seventeenth
centuries, London: William Pickering, 1833; page second, the gospel book was bought for the British
Museum in 1785, h m Dr. Askew's library; in the cditor's opinion it was of sixth century and,
because of its quality, must have been executed for a monarch; plates IIIV. Kurt Weitnnann, h t , ~
Antiaue and Earlv Christian Book Illumination, New York George B d e r , 1977, p. 116, suggcnts a
late sixth early seventh century date and thinks it likely originated in Constantinople.
72.Nordenfalk, Die S~atantiken,vol. 1: 144-45, wherein he likens Add. 5111's fol. 11a (his taf. 3) to
the Sancta Sanctorum textile rcpmduced in his abb. 15.

73.W. Fritz Volbach, Eadv Decorative Textiles. Translated h m the Italian edition of 1966, Feltham,
Middlesex: The Hamlyn Publishing Group, 1969, catalogues 51 and 52, two f'ragments of the rame
silk serge of the eighth century, in the Museo Sacro, Vatican, and either h m Syria or derived h m a
Syrian example.
74.M.H. Fantar, general ditor, De Carthane Kairouan. 2000 ans d'art et d'histoire en Tunisie.
Catalogue of an exhibition held in Paris 20 Octobcr 1982-27 Febmtuy 1983. Paris: Association
Franaise d'Action Aitistique, 1982, catalogue #232.

75Martin Harrison, A T e m ~ l efor Bvzantium. The Discovesy and Excavation of Anicia Juiiands
Palace-Chutch in Istanbul, fornord by Stcvcn Runciman, Austin, Texas: University of Texru Press,
1989, figs. 150,170,
76.Jean Lassus, fnvci~taireArcholomaue de la W o n au Nord-Est de Hama,2 vols. Beirut: N-p.,
N.d., p. xii.
77Lassus, Iiiven-,

fig- 215; and dso

a &&naz,

fig. 3.

78Jbid, fig. 33.

79Jbid, fig. 110, p. 103.
80Marguerite Gautier-van Berchem, "The Mosaics of the Dome of the Rock in Jeruselem md of the
Great Mosque in Damascus," in U . C . CresweU, Earlv M u s h A r c h i m . 2 vols. 2nd edition.

Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969, 1: 266, 268,

8l.Nordenfalk, Die S~atantiken,vol. 1, p. 145, Abb. 15.
82.Volbach, Earlv Decorativ, cataIogues 46, (?), 8th ccntury; 49, Syrian (?), 7th centuIy; 50, Syrian
(?), 7th century.

83.Daniel Schlumberger, Oarr el-Heir El Gharbi. Avec contributions de Michel cochard et Nessib
Sdiby. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1986, pl, 34.

84.0tto von Falke, Decoraive Silks. 3rd cd. London: A. Zwemrner, 1936, in fig. 61, on a statue of
Khosm II at Tiq-i Bustan, and setn also in a Coptic version in fig, 35.
85 .Volbach, Earlv Decorativg pp. 57 and 68, catalogue no. 32.

2 vols. 2nd edition, M o r d : Clarendon Press, 1969, El,

86.K. A. Creswell, Earlv Muslim Archi-pl. 10c, one band out of many in that building.
87.Jakeman, Review of Mediation, p. 152.

88Grabar, Mediation, p. 173.

89Jbid, pp. 160-61.

91.Henry Maguire, Earth and Oceaa: the Terrestrial Worid in Earlv Bvzantine Art. University Park
and London: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1987, p. 6 and passim.
92.Maguire, Earth, pp. 22-23 and fig. 13.

95.L.Gardet, "Djama,"Encyclo~aediaof Islam. 2nd edition, p. 447, just one of numaous examples
listed.

96.Roger Ling, Roman Painting. Cambridge, New Yodc, Post Chester, MeIboumc, Sydney: Cambridge
University Press, 1991, p. 150 and fig. 158,
97.Ghazi Izzeddin Bisheh, "The Mosque of the Prophet at Mdnah

Throughout tbe First-Ccatury

P D . disr., University of Michigan, 1979, ibn
'Abd Rabbihi and Ibn Jubayr p, 217 and n. 72, Alm Creswcll, EMA, k1.147.

AH. with Special Emphasir on the Umayyad Mosqrie".

98Bisheh, The Mosaue of the-

p. 217 and n. 73.

lOO.Bisheh, The Mosaue of the Prophet, pp- 217-218.

102.J.W. Ctodoot, Earlv Churches in Palestine, London: British Academy, 1941, 37, who rcmrrlrs
tha T e w churches stood Etee with no 0 t h buildings abutting them".

104.Schlumberger et al, Oasr el-Heir, pp. 10, 26-28.

lOS.Butler, Earlv Churches, p. 220 ff.
106.Jean Lassus, Sanctuaire Chrtienne, pl.XXXIiI.1, .2, of which -1is a tnre arch, and -2 an m a t c d
lintel. This basilica, in the region between Antioch and Aleppo, is dated by Lassus as 6th century,
Sanctuaire, p. 63, and by Butler as late 5th century, Earlv Churchy p. 72.
107.Il1. 282 shows an example of a p i e r d Stone plate, while ill. 128 shows the window of Det S M
church where the remains of an openwork grill which may have been glazed werc found, Butlet, Eady
Churches, pp. 243-244. Stone grills are illustrated also on pls. 13.14 and 14.4-5 in t. 1of Le Cte. de
Voge's S d e centrale: architecture civile et reliaieuse du Ier au VIIe sicle. Paris: J. Baudry, 18651877.
108.Kurt Weitzmann and Herbert L. Kessler, The Frescoes of the Dura Swaporne and Christian Art.
Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Liband Collection, 1990, p. 11.
109.Weitzmann and Kessler, Dura Euro~og,fig. 80.

ilO.Lassus, I n v e n t e pl. XLIi.1, one of tiuee doon h m Tell Snh; his figures 213 right, 215
bottom left, show similar doon, al1 of which am probably Christicin, of the 5th-6th centuries. Othcf
Stone doors are illustrated on de Vogte's Swie centraie, pl. 83.
111.F.B. Flood, "The T m of LXe as a Decorativt Device in Islamic Window-fiilings: The Mobility of
a Leitmotif," Orientai & (1991/92) NS 37, #4: p. 210, fig. 2, and n. 8 quoting a summary analysis
published by Jean Lafond in La Vitrail, Paris, 1966. Claustra at Qqr al-Hayr aLGharbF are shown in
Schlumberger et al, Oasr el-Heu, pls. 76-80 inc., of which 76.i, 77.c, 78.a and b. are semicircular.

112.Schlumberger et al, Oasr &Heu, pl. 75 a. and b.

113.These entranccs were to halls VI and VI1 respectivcly, for which sec entrantes 9 and 10 on pl.
43b.

1l4.Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," 10, who so intcxprets the hdf colomnr a d stcpr bthiad the
balustrade.

116.Von Bothmer, "Architckturbilder," pp. 6, 8.

117Mormation on the Double Gate is avaiiable h m a n u m k of sources, none of which give
everythhg one might like to know, but thosc most helpful include: Chariu W. Wilson, Ordinanc
Survev of Jerusalclll. Facsimile of the 1865 edition, Jenisalem: b e l Publishing House, 1980; for
construction details, gencd Iayout, and prrtidariy for the pian of d-Aqgi superimposed over that of
the Gate, indicating position of the Well of the Le lelasive to the Morque's prerent north fhde.
Charles Warren and Claude Reignier Conder, The SIVYW of Wertan PIutin. London: The Paicstine
Exploration Fund, 1884, for noting that masonty changer where the tunnel origindly opened into the
present Mosque du, neccssitrited cutting awty ducts to the Weil of the Le& PL.-Hughu Vincent
and P.M.-A. Steve, Jnisalcm de l'ancien Testament, Recherches d'Archologie et d'Eistoire, Paris:
Librairie Lecaffrt, 1956, particulady, for a good photo of the capital of the large pillar in the tunnel's
vestibule, Myriarn Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv Islami, for setting out the circumrtancea of thc I s l h i c
reconstruction of the tunnel. Amikan Eld, Mediseval J'salan and blamic won hi^. Leiden, New
York, Cologne: E.J. BnU, 1995, for idormaiion on the Jewiah git# of Temple Mount. Benjamin
Mazar, asst. by G d y a h Cornfeld & D.N. Frdman, The Mountain of the Lot& d c n City, New
York: Doubleday & Company, 1.c-, 1975, for modern photos of part of the verbide, md the o d y one
(though partial) of the Herodian rtucco ceiling decorrition, Melchior de Vog, &e T e m ~ l ede
Jmsdem. Paris: Noblet & Baudry, 1864, the only one to provide ri drniving of the vestibule, to which
the Vmcent/Steve photograph of the column most helpfiilly relates; a feasonrble dnwing of tbe cupola
decoration, and a very us&l longitudinai section of the Mosque above the tunnel. It is to be
regretted that his drawings are so fkequently reproduced without acknowledgement. And, of course,
RW,Hamilton, The Stmctud Histow of the Aasa Mosaue. London: Geaffiey Cumberlege, Oxford
University Press, 1949.
1l8EIad, Medievai, p-97; Meir Ben-Dov, In the Shadow of the Tern~i.Trrns. h m H e b m by 1.8
Friedman. Originally published 1982. Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1985, pp. 135-36.

119.Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv Islami~,p. 45; Michael Hamilton Burgoyne, "The Gates of the Hamm alSharf." In Bavt al-Maadis. 'Abd al-Malik's Jerusalem, P u t One, editcd by Juliui Raby rad Jcmny
Johns. Oxford Studies in Islamic Art IX.Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, p. 110.
12O.Elad, Medieval, p. 97.
121.Ben-Dov, Shadow, p. 286, thinks that, because of its prormity to Umayyad palatial cornplex at
the foot of the southern and western was of Temple Mount, the Double Gate did not serve the
general public, with which Rosen-Ayalon, Eariv Islarni~,p. 33 and n. 3 diragrces.
122Betwecn 709 and 715, Hamilton. Structurai, p. 74.

124.Hamilton, Structural, p. 63; Wsnen & Conder, Survey. p. 167, point out the masonry change rt
190 fi. h m the Mosque's southcm waU indicating where the passage ongindiy exitc inside the
present mosque and the consequent cutti~gaway of the duct to the Well of the L e e when the Double
Gate's tunnel was extendcd to its present exit point 260 ft. fiom the southcm wall.

125Bargoyne, "The Gata," figs. 3,4.

128.Wilson, Orclinance, pp.3 8-39.

129.Hamilton, Structural, p. 63; von Bohmer, "Architekftirbildet", p. 6, pointr out the ewen
undoubtedly indicrte ablutions; cf, Grabar, Modiation, p. 160, indicatcs the constnictions beforie the
building could be for ablutions, but, at p. 162, not likcly bdore Ottoman timer.
130. Guy Le Strringe, Palestine Under the Moslems. A description of Syxa and the Holy Land h m
AB.650 to 1500. Translated h m the works of The Medimal A& Geognphen. Original edition
1890. Published with new introduction by Waiid Khalidy. Beirpt. Khayrts, 1965,178. The writer is
conscious of some discrepancy ktwecn Hamilton's statenaent that Bik al-Wamqah's weli-head
Khusmw's that one descendcd ta the
projected above the pavement beforc the mosquc, cmd N--i
place of ablution.
131.Le Strange, Palestine, 178-179.

133.Hamilton, Structural, p. 64 n.1, notes also that two well-heads for Bik al-Waraqah m a -have
existed in Umayyd times; Wilson, Ordinance, p.39, rc conduit linlring Bi'r d-Waraqah to o k
cisterns having betn cut when he present exit of the Double Gate was mae.

136.Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," p. 6.

137.Grabaq Mediation, pp. 160, 162, 173.
138.Hamilton, Structural, p. 63; cf . von Bohmer, "Architekturbilder," pp. 7, 10, whete these partial
columns are interpreted as a podium.
139.Wilson, Ordinance, sheet 1, where the Double Gate's subterranean route lies imrncdiately west
(reader's lef't) of the Well of the Leaf.
14O.Hamilton, Structural, p. 65.
14lJbid., pp. 60, 61,73-

143Jbid., pp, 6, 60-61.

144Jbid., p. 60, widened subsequently when a dome was built.
145.Krautheimer, Earlv Christian, pp. 60-63, and ills. 26, 27(A).

146.01eg Grabar, The Shme of the Holv: Estiv Islamic Jemsaic01, With contniutions by Mohaiamad
al-Asad, Abeer Audeh, Sad NUICjbeh. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996, p, 151.
147.Henri Stem, "Recherches sur la mosque abAqs6 et sur ses mosai~pu," Ars Orient& (1963) 5:
27-47. Grabar agrccs with Stem and relates al-AqskesF?mid mouics to the "Um+yyd d c c o ~ v e
vocabulary of the late revenh and eariy eight centuries", War, S_hm p- 151.
148.Von Bothmer, "Atchitelrturbilder," p. 5; Gmbrir, MediriSion, p. 160.
149.Von Bothmcr, "Arcbitclchubilder," p. 6.

15l.Creswel1, EMA, E1.147 and n, 2.

152Bisheh, The Mosaue of the Pro~hct,p. 211.
153Bid., pp. 211,214.

155.Creswel1, EMA 1:l. pl, 27.b. There is one on the ciborum in a ninth century Arabic gospel book
instsnced by Grabar, Mediation, fig. 135, p. 166.
156.The central vine scroll of the Qubbat al-Sakbrah tie beam mentionad in the provious note is
compared to a vine on a Surah divider fkom San'a' Qui& 33-20.1 and another vine on the Himyaritic
door post of the mosque at Sarha, Von Bothmer, "Architekturbilder," p. 14, abbs. 16,20,22.
157Rosen-Ayalon, Eariv IsIamic, p. 46, and ill. 3 1.
15&Von Bothmer, "Frhislamische," p. 24, and "Architekturbilder," pp. 12-13.
159.Von Bothmer, "Frhislamische," p. 24.
16O.The likeness of Figure lestrees to those in the Damascus mosaics, and the encircling quaiity has
been observed by M. Jenkias, "Umayyad Ornament," p. 22.
I6I.K.A.C. Creswell, A Short Account of Earlv Muslim Architecture, reviscd and supplemtnted by
James W. Allan, Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1989, fig. 19 is Figure 43 herein. For acanthus rinceaux sce
fig. 13.
CreswelUAllan*~
162.This conclusion rcached also, h m examination of specinc Umayyad omamental forms observeci
in he fhgments, Jenkins "Umayyad Ornament," p. 23. Yemen, Syria and posribly what is now Saudi
Arabia have been presented as sources for the Figures, Grabar, Mcdiation, p. 156 . Prc- and carlyI s l h i c aspects of Yemcni art have been suggested as sources in von Bothmer, "Architelrturbildet," pp.
8, 9, 10.

163.Von Bothmer, "Frhislamische," p. 25; Grabar, Mediatioq p. 156; a full-page repraduction of

folio 6 verso, Cod. Vind. Md.gr.1, of the Nationdbibliothtk, Vienna, can be found on p. 136 in
Harrison, a e .

164.Seton Lloyd, The Art of the Ancient Near Eask Pmcgcr Papesbacks 1961, London: Thamer a d
Hudson, 1961, fie, 133.
16S.Covct shot on pamphlet "Jordanie, visages et lieux de passe," publishd by the Jordan Tourism
Board.
166.John Wikinron, "Architectural Procedures in Byzantine Palestine," Levant (1981) 13: 156.
167,WiUcinson, "Architectural," p, 158.

169.Wilkinsm, "Architectural," 156; De Vog, Le T c m ~ l pl,

s VI. The drawing of the Hemdian
ceiling decoration in Benjamin Mazar, "Herodian Jerusalem in the Light of the Excavaions South and
South-West of the Tcrnpfc Mount, Isntel Exbloration Journal (1978) 28: fig. 1 is more idcalized than
the photograph of it in Mazar, Mountain, allows.
170.Wilkinson, "Architectural," p. 158; F-M. Biebel, "Mosaics." In Gerasa CiW of the Dccaboiis,
edited by Car1 H. Kraeling. New Haven, Connecticut: American Schaols of riental Rcsearch, 1938,
pp. 3 16-18, pl. LXII-b.
171.Wilkinson, "Architectural," passim.
172.Creswell & Atlan, Short Account, fig. 5.
173.Trecs, flowen, and something angel-like, Gautier-van Berchem, "Mosaics," vol. 1 part 1 pp. 22627; Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv Islarnic, pp. 20, 22.

In the previous chapter it w u argucd that Figure 1 was a nepmscntation of the Qubbrt .
I
I

Sakhrah, the essence of which, sccording to that dmwing, was is ornament, i n d i c d by the
embroidery of the star band and the trees. Further, its trees and the paradisiad g d e n representations
of Figures 2 and 3 derived h m the image of a line of bit of rees uscd in Byzantine art to denote
the Earthly Pandise of Cosmaa Indicapleustes' world msp and Eart in Dumetios' basilic. at

Nikopolis. This chapter considers the reasons for the Qubbah's existence and the sources hat were
available to be tapped for its architecture aud decorative programme.

Umayyad appropriation of a familiar image would not have been strauge to contemporary nonMuslims. At its birth Christian imagery "bomwed, aud kept, the Greco-Latini~~nographic
language
as commonly pnctised at the beginning of our era cverywherc amund the ~editerraneaa".' Christian

iconography expresscd itself in the verbal and visual langusge of itr *es,

so the models on which

Christian images werc based were undentandable to contemporary non-Christians, but by adding to or
changing some of the details a Christian artist might trandorm an image common ta the period into a
Christian imago? An example of this is Jesus' enty into Jerusaicm (Figure 51):
&entus,

a sovereign's visit to a city of his empire (Figures 52, 53):

daptcd &rn the

Other categories of eady

Christian images evolvcd h m "image-signs", whose particular traits, not the image, defincd the

subject for the informed viewer, and whose value lies in a b&ty

cornmensurate with beuig

understandable and unequivocdiy decipherablc: to detailed dcpictions of thc subjects thcy wcrt mtant
to evoke. Fish and a basket of loaves in one such image-sign are understaad ao "communion" (Figure
54)= and, in a later depiction, fish and loaves are prcseat at the Last Supper (Figure 55):

In the

process of constructing a definitive rcligious art some images droppcd by the wayside because of the
diniculty in visually encapsulating the subject;' 0th- werc so closely idcatificd with a prrticul~
event they faded h m use because they lacked continuing reIe~ance.~

42

A s ta the Umayyd'r need of this image and the circiunrfroccs th& may have l d to ita
acquisition, one of the reaaons advaaced for hc Qubbah's constrtiction hm ken that it w u cnvisagcd
as a rival for the splendid buildings of othcr rcligious denominati~ns.'~
Al-Muqaddas reportcd of his (d-Muqddas's) uncle th& al-WaEd spent money on the b a t
Mosque of Damascus rather than on roads and repairing fortresser in order to distract the Muslims

h m the beauties of such Christian chwchca as those at Lydda (al-Lidd) and Edersa (d-Rob."), and
'Abd al-Malikerected a Dome for the Rock to distract Muslims hm admimtion of the magnificcnt
Dome of the Resurrection." The Dome of the Resumction, or Anastasis Rotunda, was the round
building erected ovcr Jesus' tomb in Jenisalclll," au architechual shell "...beautifid with choice
columns and with much ornament, decorating it with al1 kinds of embelfishments", in an "...CIIOR~GLOUS
space open to the clear ~ky",'~set apart h m the basilica1' which f o n n d part of the cornplex of the
Holy Sepulchre.
In his reporting on the regional problem of the d

n Christian churches g e n d l y md the

Dome of the Resunection particularly had for Muslims in Greater Syria, al-Muqaddd raya 'Abd al-

Malik feared the Dome of the Resurrection would becorne more powtnul in Muslirn hearts;15 part of
the fear, one may speculate, could have been that Muslims were considered incapable of producing

something comparable. Perhaps the Qubbah was a test of strength.

'Umar b. al-Kh-

had prayed on the mount sacred to Jews and Muslims, and commenced

the clearing away of its rubbish, but rejected including the Rock in his mosque's qiblah because such a

practice suggested dherence to Jewish worship practice~.'~Neverthelesr, the Rock came to be

honoured in a spectacular way. Various reasons for its sanctity have been advancal. Along with its
qubbdt, it has been considered part of an Umayyd building programme to ' s d i z c " the Ij~+m;"

specifically, it has been associated with the events of the Last Days, and in this comection A. E l d
refers to M. Roscn-Ayalon's examinaiion of dl the Umayyrd

monuments for thcir

iconographical linkages." In support of the Rock's special qualities Rosen-Ayalon cites a tradition

43

that the origin of "Earth Water" [sic] lier beneath ikw aad says the m l u of the world's omphdos, and
Axis Mundi

whnc o d y the Tr# of Lifc would gmw w m appmpriltod to itfO A h , the Rock ir

traditionally associrtsd with the location of Solomon's Temple:'

r d h u beaa cunridaod the pl-

of

Abraham's sacrificea
A reccnt article by 1. van Ess draws attention to a discountecl h@th which States that, dPring
the Prophet's Night Journey (ism3 Gabriel went with the Prophet to the Rock and raid, "Hmyour
Although this tradition is known to have been acccpted by a teputable

Lord ascended to Heaven

early traditionaiist, 'Abd Ali*

b. al-MubW (dial 797 CE),w mch otlnopomoiphht w a ~

Irtct'

~ notion of God's
considered scandalous and the hadith w u rejcjcotcd and c d e d a f ~ r g m y .The
f o o t p ~on
t the Rock was r e f d to as Syrian pagansm, and the faotprint was claimed for Ab*-,

"...when hc made it [the Rock] a qibla for all mankind";Mvan Ess understands this as aa mja
attack on a h d i t h of Syro-Palestinian origin. As to how 'Abd al-Mrliir might have ritactcd to mch a
tradition, van Ess statcs the Caliph may "have t a k n the anthropomorphism for grantad or fdd to sce
any theological difficulty in it"?

It is this hypothcsis of God's ascension h m the Rock tha O.

Grabar now accepts as the reason for building the Domc, combincd with the tradition of the Prophet's
isr'to Jerusalem, possibly even to the Haram,that Grabar thinks may have been in place by the end
of the seventh century."

Perhaps belief in God's ascension from this anciently-holy site wru the

reason, or part of the reason, for 'Abd al-Malik ennobling it with a qubbd. In building the Dome for
the Rock h m which God ascended to Heaven, Muslims could surely c l a h to have surpasscd the

Christians who h d only Jesus' footprint in the Church of the Ascension."

The octagond shape, which ha9 been pointed to as an Islimic quality, its "cight-ness"
suggestive of the eight principai gatcs of Ppdi~e,'~h d bcen uscd tbroughout Europe and the Ncar
East to the s m n t h centiuyf' aud M. cochard draws attention to the appropriatenesr of the o c a o n
for magnifying whatever object is at its centre, for instance, the column of a stylitc, an empcror's
tomb, or a rock?' These particular octagons are, respectively, amund the pillar of S. Simeon Stylites

44

at the heart of the cross-shapd cornplex of Qll'at Simgin(end of the fiAh c e n n ~ y ) )the mffuoleum
of Diocletian at Spalato, 303," and tht Qubbat .I-Sakbnh."
Unlike o t k octagons with which it hrs been compad, the Qubbah fiilly r d h d iti
ambulatory potential; auxiaty structures do not detract h m its ccatril focus, and it is wily
accessible by four, equi-distant d w n . Its intemal symmetry is emphasid by magniictnt, but
thematically repetitivt ornamentation, aside h m 'Abd al-Malik's texts, suggcsting a viritor might
enter and lcave by any door without i m p h e n t of the expeticltce? Indec, its symmctxy and

prominent isolatcd position3' suggest it was eonceivcd as omni-diroctional; complete in itsei One
may conclude, thetefore, that in the Rock's housing the Caliph had availed himrelf of a well-

established, cenrally-planned building whose walls wcte amenable to adjustmait for terrain, the shape
of that being h ~ n o u r c d and
, ~ o f f d suitable working d k e s for a contemplrtad d c c o d v e
programme because, unlike Christian iconography which started tenatively and gtew incremclttaliy, on
the evidence of the Qubbah a fomi of I s l h i c rcligious art bunt forth fully gr~wm?~
It cannot be supposed that, having felt constraincd to meet the chaiicnge of the Christian
churches, 'Abd al-Malik found it easy to initiate a programme of religiously-purposefiil imrigery, but,
once the decision was made, it is reasonable to assume that work of surpassing quality and spleadour
was envisaged. Amongst the Ends of images Muslims might have

sdmired and whose prcsentation

they may have sought to srnulate is the glittering gold and blue Transfiguraion mosaic (Figure 56)"
in the apse of the basilica of S. Catherine, Mt. Sinai, c.600 CES4' Befiing he high significance of
this depiction is the dignified, large-scale, fiontal presentation of Jesus in spotleas white; the supranaturd quality of the event is indicated by the mandorla about him; the background is luminous gold,
and supporthg the wondrous, aImost unimaginable scene, is a text.

As for the content of the new imagery, the Qur'k does not recount the life of its Prophet, and
even if it had figurai scenes conceming the history of I s l h , they could not be illustmtcd; the one
consistent theme that might, howcw, is j m n d , the garda of Hcavcn, Paradise."

45

Some years ago it was observcd that the Qubbsh'r n a t m d h k tneer might connote the Earh as
they did at Nilropolis, but if such iconography waa intended, it pl&

o d y a minor d e , u "such a

symbolic theme is not unlikely, in Mew of the fiict that it rccurs in r more developd firhion in the
decorative rcpertory of later Umsyyad struca~es".4~
The same scholar thought the h e u would
probably be suggestive of Paradise in a Christian setting, but not in a Muslim one becuire thy werc
unaccompanied by the houris of the Qur'an's paradis^,^ this .Aer hahg notcd the Qubbah's
decoration c s c h d "animated figures" for rcli~iousreasons-"

Anothcr indication of the fiuitfiil trees' cwtomary role coma h m E. Kitzingcr in whose
opinion archaeologists and even Bishop Dumetios' contempomrics might have interpreted the
Nikopolis' panel as a paradisiacal reprcscntation h d it not becn for the inscription:"

"Hemyou sec

the famous and boundlcss ocean Containing in its midst the errrth Beririg round about in the skdfi~l
images of art cveIything that breathes and creeps ..."." But for the inscription, it w u thought, the

Bishop's contemporaries might not have readily grasped "the meaning with which familiar rnoti.fr had
been invested in this

r Cosmas Indicopleustes' map

That the very similar Iine of ~ r e c on

denotes Paradise is twice rnenti0ned.4~

Attention has been drawn to the memblance between the Earthly Parsdise trtes and those of
Nikopolis' Earth;" between Eaah's trees and those of the Qubba al-Sakhrah:'

and betwecn the ae+s

of the San'a' Figures and al1 those foregoing, yet none of the trccs in question cite quite alike; in the

Qubbah's case the trees are physically s e p m e d but stiU have been considered as a group. The
physical resemblance seems to be that each example is cornposed of various khds of fniitful tr#s
with new growth by them, or underplantings; the iconographie one, that such assemblages were
fiequently understood as paradisiacal.

Stylistically, Kitzuiger likened Earth to the Garden Room at Primerta (sec Figure 32) in a
general way;'

but considered its schematic arrangement of trees aud birds closer to aa h d d i c

arrangement of animals and trees on the floor of the new baptistcry chapel, Mount Nebo.''

In f.ct. dl

46

the groups of trees have much in common with the garda picture-pads of Rom= painting, Figure
57 shows a Third Style garda with undcrgn,wth and a line of fiuit treer hrving tapcred rnd sprcading

foliage?' Figure 58, a Fourth Style garda, bas taIl ncdr and date paIms,lS rnd an amangrnent of
settled and fiying b a s very likc hat of Earth's. The schcmatism .#niutcd to Earth derivu h m
Roman garden paintings' characteristicslly shdow depth of field, essentiai twodimensionaiify, and
cardully delheated h i t and f ~ l i a g efeatures
,~
n o t d of the paintings of he OPdQ Raom al=?
Not al1 hait e

s wem thought to have symbolical or metaphorical rnesnings~' of course, but

they did have consistent paradisiacai charactcristics, derived h m Biblicd and non-Bblical tcsdtions.

In Paradise no seasonal excess disrupted the peacefiil existence of its inhabitaats; it w u a temperate

place of ever-bloaming flowcrs and mer-bearng hait, Paradise might be Eden in which is "the rec
of life with its twelvc kinds of bit,yielding its nuit each r n ~ n t h " ;or
~ the Elysirn fields a the
world's end, where therc is neither snow nor harsh winds, but the daily refierhment of the West Wind

blowing in h m the o c ~ a n .A~ sixth

~
untury Christian poet who wrote that the eartiy Pandise h m
which man had been justly driven was now inhabitecl by aagelr, said it was a seasonless pl-

whose

fniits and flowers ''fiii the whole ~ e a r " . ~ '

In Nikopolis' "familiar motif" the apple, pear and pomegranate trees draw their p d s i a c a l
association fiom Homer, as does part of its inscription." Having crosscd the wide seas to Phacacia
after his enforced stay on Calypso's enchanted island, pear, pomegranate and apple were three of the
f h i t trees Odysseus saw in Alcinous' god-given garden, fniit th* *... ncvcr fails, nor nins short,winter

and summer alike. It cornes at aU scaoons of the year

court of Alcinous were the subject of

The stories Odysseus rdaed at the

a senes of paintings on his wanderings *through landscapc"."

"Odyssey landscapes" mgr even have become a standard topic, for Vitruvius reports they a p p e d in
Roman houses during the Second Styie of Roman painting."

On he walls of S. Sergius, Gaza, c.536, the= was a mosaic with " 'par trees, pomegranate
trees

and apple w s bearing splendid f i t , ' blossoming in ail seasons aiilce ...",& dloaring Choricius

47
to observe tbrt in thir respect the King of the Phacaciaus war riva11cd.61 Kitzinger himretf qwationed

whetha the convention of combiaing these tbrcc trccs w u due to Homeric influaiys and E
Maguim thought it possible that Choricius intcaded to show that the Homeric fiuit wert reea u

"images of P l i r d i ~ e " . ~
Choncius' descriptions have bcca dispPycd because he was a peiegyrist'O and tnmd to
praise."

In fact, his words timelcssly evokc the paradise desirecl by the inhabitants of hot, dry

Mediternuicrin lands. On the wdls of S. Sergius' lateral apser th= grcw "-..cverCburgtonuigmca
f d l of cxmordinuy enchantment: thdot arc l d o u s and shady vines, and the zephyr, u it m.ys the
clumps of grrpcs, murmurs s w d y and pe&lly

among the branches ... Most clegant of di is the

vase containing, 1 imagine, cool wrta", h m which "the vine motif was reprcsented as growing"?

In the Qut'h
P, d s e is tempetate, seuonle~s,without wrnt, and a way of expressing this
latter, understood actuay or mctaphoricdly," is by the abundauce of cvery kind of f i t :

"Ye s h d have therein

Abundsnce of h i t , 60m which
Ye s h d have satidiction-

"...In it [the Garden]

There are for them ai1 kinds of fiwts.
"...They [the Righteous] will see there neither
m e sui's) excessive heat
Nor (the moones)excessive cold.

And the shades of the (Garden)

Will come low over them,
And the bunches (of fiuit),
There, wiU hang Iow
In humility.
"As to the Righteous thcy s h d be amidst
(Cool) shades and springs
(Of wiiter),

And (they shdl have)

Faits, ail they desire"?

~ appmpriated for somc spccid pilrposc;

Images by themselves, Wre words, w m n e ~ t n l 'until

they were an accqted way of convcying infoxmation about the statc or religion76and, in their

acquisition of particulsr traits, wuld present or make d e m c e to o t h d s e uuwieldy prtcels of

knowledge; thcy implicd more than they showedn Images iIredy invutd with parti&

mrsiings

might be appropricaed and t n n ~ e d as

, had imperid i c o n o w h y by Christiou," ao fine of Mt
trees with p d s i a c a l associations might, by adding to or changing the details, become jou~ah. Tbe
new imagexy had to be the least offensive to Muslims, yet able to be as sumptuously-praeated m =y

Christian religious art, Temperate fitfitIness was Qur'anic and wdd be interpretod without a single
animate being. And there must have been recognition that the stybcd v e g d motifr present in both

Byzantine and S S K d art, and the use of bejcwclling to enhance the qualititl of rnotifr of c v q

kind, indicate a way of transforming the earthly fiuit trees into thtu otbcr-wordly vmions in a
heavenly garden.
The implications of the line of h i t trees are key to the Qubbat al-Sakhrah's decorative
programme. h conventionai representations of Earth or Occan one might delight in the spccics that
were displayed but imagined the rcst, for such conventions werc pmctical ways of dealing with
insuperably large topics. If the pear, pomegranate and apple allusion was r e c o w , the rert of
Alcinous' garden was recalled: the sweet fig, the olive, grapes, vegetable bcds, the two springs, the
beneficent West Wind, the garden's encbsing hedges?' The f i t trees with thcir wcalth of
associations were transforrned into a Qur'inic vision of Paradise. Convention and dusion wcrc
dispensed with and in their stead were presented a multitude of non-earthly &ces and plants, donicd
as befitted Heaven, and etcrnally besring d l together a superabundance of C

kind
~ of fiuit.

Looking beyond the line of trets a mind's eye had seen a whole paradisiacal g d e n , and it ir this

imagined reality which the Qubbah manifestsi. One no longer stood before an image, one entcred it.

In this welcoming grove supra-natutal fniiting trets ring the outer surfllct of the octagond
ambulatoxy, on whose inner sudace are natudistic trees bearing dates, slmonds and olives, and

amphorae, acanthus bases and cornucapiae from which issue luxuriant vines bcaring the mort diverse

49

f i t t Acanthw bases, hcir vines heavy with Nit arc on the outer s u r f b of the crcuar d

e rnd

r
in the d m , hait-Iden
on the inner surface, eight amphone mude fniitfi l ~ ~ l l t h urinceaux
rinceaux issue h m 0 t h amphotlie- On the soffits of the octagond rrcae thcm cirie f l o d rhaper;
rosettes; gariands snd rinceaux bearing pomegrmatu, gmpu, applu, figs, olives, pern, dates,
marrows, Limes;m ivy, grape and fis leaves are spred with pornegrrnatcs, olives, cherries, cucumben,
citnis h i t , dates, corn, green figs, pears, apples, prunes and qtinces," whik o t k bits are pmscnfcd
in baskets.= And grapes are t ~ c r y w h c r c growing
,~
h m pots of dl kinds, tniling fiom fintuticai

vines on almost every tic beam; on evety side endless displays of fipitfiilness empharize the infinie
abundance of Pandise.
The flourishing vines drsw attention to their "fruit", an eclectic nxftuie of ~cognizable
edibles, flowers and stylzed motifs. Theu models am the ubiquitous vines scroiling out of rnaphomc
and acanthus bases on countless church and synagogue floors a b u t the Medit~~fllllean
hat appear to

bea. such "fruitn as birds, beasts, men, women, flowers, bit, hmest vignettes, hunting sccner,
religious symbols and so on. This pncptive adaptation of contempomry vimd iniagery m d h s the
dominant paradisiad quality of the seasonless association of every kind of h i t and flower. It not
only brings together ail kinds of "naturai"f i t and foliage on the Qubbab's vines and trees, but, by
adding the "non-naturai" bit of every kind of ornamental feature it imbues the paradise images with
supra-naturai quaiities.
An carlier, purcly vegetal version of the fniitful vUie may be cited, h m tbe moraicr of the
Great Palace, Constantinopk, dated between 450 and 550 CE, Vigurc S9).U

A border in the arca of

the Peristyle has exuberaut scrolls issuing h m acanthus cornucopias bearing c h d e s , pears,
artichokes, grapes, pomegranates, and many fiowers, ail with the most diverse leaves, of which the
excavator says, "Almost every kind of flower and vegetable seems to have bcen in~ludcd".~
A
modest version of the Peristyle mosaic, h o w n h m an Egyptian textile e b u t e d to the fifth ccntury
(Figure 60),'6 has a border of acanthus scrolls beMng assord fruits and flowen.

50

The high sinnificauct of the Qubbat aLSrlrhrrh's g d c n is evidcnt h m the honour done its
presentation: the bmkground is luminous gold; the trees arc formai, dignificd; theu supra-nstumi
qualities are indicated by jewel encrustation and their vitslity by the extrw,rdinarily diverse h i t they

beaqn and supporting these wondnius, aimost unimaginable scenu is a text.

A pmpos the Qubbah's omamentaton, Choricius' tesponse to the visuai imagczy of his
churches ought not to be lightly dismisscd by we who h m a d e i t of images. Surely th-

wete

like reactions h m those privileged to stroli about the Qubbah's shdcd wdks amidst its ''cverburgeoning trees fiill of cxtraordinary enchantment*; to sec its luxuriant vines gmwing h m vuer
undoubtedly fiIIed with cool water, to pause beneath its lefi canopies dnpping with numbetiess
clumps of grapes.
Anothcr appreciaion of imagery's illusionistic quatics is relatai of the qirf, the great csrpet
ffBahr-iKisd', The King's Spring", 60 cubits by 60, taken by the Muslims at the f J 1 of

Md-

in

637. On it were pictures of roads, rivers and houser, and its d g - were *plantedmwih sprbg

vegetables of silk. In winter, S k k i d b g s were said to have sat and drank on it, amidst its gold and
silver blossoms and jcwelled fruit, and imagined themselvcs in a g u d ~ 1 1And
~ ~ what fantasticai

journeys must have been undertaken by those who could wander through the counryside and visit the
cities and village. of the extmordiaary map at S. George, Madabarn
Building and imagery combined suggests that the Qubbah was meant ta be a personal sensory
experience of the literal or metaphoricd r e w d of the blessed in heaven. The relative sameness of
images overall, their arrangement in continuous fiiezes bctween which the visitor passes, and the
C

absence of distracthg auxiliary stnicnitcs, bas led to the inner of the ambulatories being dcscribcd as
like "twohedges ... finming an unendhg ailcy" betwccn which the visitor walks;'O a sensation the
architectural elemcnts do not eFectually inte~npt.~'

The ambulant's steps are directed by the texts found on the outer and iMer surfaca of the
octagonal ambulatory, otsrting b m the outer southem facet, moving clockwse to the south-easteni

51

facet and 'Abd d - M W s dakatory inscription, then, tnming to the inna surf'', h m the S O U ~ ~ C I I L
facet counter-clochirire ta the end at the south-wertrm fmgl

On the lem well-lit outer d a c c of the ambulatory where rosetter or other omaments divide
the text,- repertad stmsing of Gadk singularity, Mllinmad's role as G d ' s messenger, a d
rcpetitions of the B.rmdi piedominate. On the bettcr-lit inncr Iiid.ec which l r k s the M dividen,Y
the text includcs the Bumda, the strwsing of Gad's singulrrity, the declaration that I i l b is the rue
religion and Suwar 4: 171-172 and 19:33-36, denyhg Jemr' divini4' and, by extension, invcighing
against the dogma of his rcsurriection. The cxccrpts h m Suwar 4 and 19 speak directly to Muslims

of the dangers of incorrect bclicf which the attrrction of the Dome of the R e s u . o n could mgender,
counteing such testirnonies as that following Jesus' appeamucc rftct the tvcnt of the R e r d o n :
Mt. 28:18-19

"And Jesuscame and saidto h m ,

'AU authority in heaven and on carth has ken given to me,
"Go t h d o r e and make disciples of ail nations, baptizing them in the arme of
the Fathcr and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ..,

'Abd al-Malik's contemponries would have undcrstood the Suwu perphrastically, that is, God m h s

you aware of Christian belief, which theu Dome of the Resurrection commemorater, but you, sr

Muslims, beliwe othtrwisc. S k a h 19:37-40 [not in the Qubbah] wams of the pcrils to bdrll nonMusiims on the Day of Judgement.

That the t a s support al-Muqaddas's reuons for the Qubbrh's construction is not a n m ides.
At the t h e he proposai that the images of jtwclled crowns in the Qubbsh's mosaics w m in the

nature of trophies, 0. Grabar SU

the inscriptions could have a Muslimonly meaning, clMfying aiMuqddas's statcmenP N.Rabbat statcs that the tcxts agahst the deification of Jesus support alMuqddasF, and that thcy complement the building as a response to the attraction of Christia
churchts?

It is only with the documcnt that the Sm.3 Figures rcpment that mauying of tcxt and

images becomes

Whatever indication of the Rock's sanctity thcm may have becn in the missing part of Figure 1

52

is spedativt. Pediqs, thcm was

8 footprint,

or, rome c o ~ t c m p o ~ - ~ ~ ~ d c tcupheminn

i t a a d for it.

The qaalitics ascned to the Rock may have bccn as vmcd tbca as now and, for theu own
reasons, the Umayyads may have been content to maintain it as the locus of some holy, but
ambiguous continuum.
Among the Qubbat al-Srikhrcih's mosaics the naturalirtic tmes and the thicket of r d s are
understood to be the rcmains of this heavenly garda's model. Thy were rctained in the driptive
process, as models s a m to have been in Christian nasfonnations, in ru clore a pximity to each
other as the decorativt programme allowed, that is, on the f l d s of four adjacent pien on the inncr

side of the octagond ambulatoy.* As nrtiinlistic and stylistic mcs are mdcred with e q d c m , and
as all the pier flanlrs codd as easily have had pots of plants, the retention of the trctr indicatm that

importance was nttriehcd to ~chowledgingthtir origi. in the model.

Although moditcd by the addition of jewel encrustation, tmcs and r a d s rlike markedly
resemble their Roman originals. One sees this in the i n t e r l d branches, carcful nuit plricement and
new growth h m , or saplings beside, mature trees. In these respects the Qubbah's olive aud almond
trees and their flanking saplings (Figures 61, 62)"' are vcry like the tmes and undergrowth in Figure

57. Saplings flanking mature trees are a cornmonplace in Roman garden paintings, and their

appearance in the Qubbat al-Sakhrah speaks to this natuml phcnomenom, not to a manif'estaon of
Christian symboli~m;'~'only in isolation, out of the modcl's contact, might the jcwtllcd trtcr with
flanking saplings be considered euphemisms for the Christian cross. It is of intttest that a shorter
version of the thicket of reeds (Figure 63)lo2exists on the triumphal arch above the Transfiguration
mosaic at S. Catherine's (Figure 64), where it is identified as the Burning Bush bcfore whkh Moses is

seen removing bis sandal~.'~The ensemble of apse and triumphal arch at S. Catherine's is considcd
the work of one tcim of m o s a i c i r t s ~datai on epigraphic p u n d s c. 600 C
E.'''

Extemd ornament was essential to the Qubbat al-Salrhrah's realization. Christiaus must have
been aware of tbeir churches' attractions for Muslims and they needed ta know the challenge of thcu

53

religious art h d bcai met. As they were unable ta tnta the building,'= what Christias srw of it
fiom the outside had to be more thrn "decomtioa"; thedom, some crrtenrai intimation of te interior's

purposefiil imagcry was a =quisite. The tretr woven thtaugh Figiirie 1's pcrimetcr w d attest the

equal significance of intemal and extanal imagery and substantiatc r i r b of th&

tirnilac rppearrinct.

Having in mind Choricius' and Paul the Silentiary's metaphoricd descriptions of the Gazan churches
and Hagia Sophia'OT r~spcctively,it is possible the Qubbat ai-Srlhnh's gli-g

domt and esnenid

omament wem meant ta be interpreted as the litcencss of a hcavcnly pavilion rising out of a
p d s i a c a l garden. As such an illusion might be best m e d in the distrnt view, the location of the
Rock at the focal centre of the Haram was a fortuitous circumstrn. The writer cannot agr with O.
Grabar's conclusion that the Qubbah's mtenral ornament w u r "coloPniil decodon", "cxclusively for

visual &ect"."

In this platmcd rcsponse to the Christian challenge, imagery and buiiding Aspe

would have to have been designed together because of what sccms to be their complementary mler.
On the subject of ornamentaon, M. Gautier-van Bccchem bas providai r w d t h of d c t d in

her painstaking rescarch into the Qubbah's mosaics; something m a -be added, however, on regional
examples of elements in its visual vocabulary, and on the relationship between the Qubbah's imagery

and the wider world of Byzantine art.

Notable features of some Qubbah soffis (Figure 65),'w arc large, h e a r t - s h e leave, karing
fniit and vegetables. A heart-shaped ka b e a ~ fg i t found somewhm in Madaba is ilustrated by

M. Gautier-van Berchem,"" and othar cornparanda now known of suggest he U m m a d s made use of
an established, widespread symbol of plenty. Sites at which hcart-shaped l e m s betring fiuit,

vegetables and even a fish and other leaves have been found, include: the chape1 of Khirbat al-Kursi,
Jordan, second haif of the sixth century;"' a baptistcry at Kafi Kama, about 5 km. north tast of Mount

to~
the east shore of he
Tabor, second p u m a of the sixth century"' rnd a church at ~ u r s i - ~ e r g on
Sea of Galilee, late nffh to mid-rixth century."'

In the "House of the Worcester Huntwat Daphne,

circa sixth century, the leaves cover the pavement in the "Momic of the Leaf" room, in the centre of

54

which is a bust of Ge, Earh, holding a r c d fiilcd with produce.'"

At the Church of the Lions, Umm &Ra&

Jordan, datd cithcr 574 or 589 CE, ( F i 6QXU

the pavement M o r e the -se bas heart-shriped lcmu~bearing hait; birds with fiuttering Stinid neck

ribbons, and two pieces of fiuit with their cutting Imivcs one curvcd, one stnight dongside. Tbis
latter calls to mind the strangely-shaped fniit and strriight lmif in the bath mosaic at Ummad

Khirbat al-Mafjar."6 As well, between the rondels in the north and south bordm of thb pavement,
there are smdl, paired ivy leaves flanking square bases. This same prescntation of smali ivy lerver is

found in the border of a siUr, possibly Syrian, scvtllth~cighthcclttury (Figure 67);'" both examples arc
reminiscent of the paircd ivy leaves in the spcmdrcls of Figures 2 a d 3.
The rings about the vegetation of the Srn'a" Figures, alerteci us to the significance of this
feature in the Qubbah whem similar rings control its exuberant vines. They cun be reen about

acanthus rinceaux in the borders of the Hall of the Seuons, Mdrba, Jordan, iixth century, (Figure
68);"'

controllhg vines on the synagogue floors at Ma'on (Nirim) c.538 CE (Figure 69)lU and Shelld,

561-62C
E,'''

both near G q in the Great Palace border (see Figure 59) about the inner columnr of a

Rabbula canon table (see Figure 20), and about the vines on the Justianic pavement of the Sabratha
basilics, post 533 CE (Figure 70).12'
A prominent feature of the Qubbah's images is the bejewelling of containers. This has bcen

likened to "crowns, bracelets, necklaccs, and bteastplates",'*

refemd to in the mamer of votive

objects dedicated to a saactu~ry.'~Some motifs do tcscmble crowns and diadcms, perhaps copicd
fiom such features on Byzantine mosaics, or h m Sishid and Byzantine spoils of war, but to
distinguish this bejewelling h m thai elsewhttt in the Qubbah is to give it rn independent ch-

it

does not pos~ess.'~'Like the supra-nahunl trecs and h i t and the fantastical containers of this
imagined reaim, jewel encmstation is an attempt to express the inexpressible, to heightcn the out-ofthis-world qualities of the equally nonreal vegetation, just as Christians gought to exprcas h w e n l y
attributes with nimbi, mandodas, and rays of light.

The crowns and ncckiaces and ro on wcre familier

models, the adornments of princes, and h m , the adonrments of htlvcn.

Local examples of bejcweilhg are two j c w e l c o l l d vases known h m Jordmim pavements:
one at the Church of the Lions, Umm al-Re&, (Figure 71):=
(Hesban), c. sixth ccntury (Figure 72):"
are actually jewelled coron-

and the other at the north church, Esbus

On the Sabmtha pavement (sec Fi-

70) thme of the rings

which, it has been notai, may be the only othcr extrint examples of auch

a motif outside of the Qubbah.'"

Bejewelling in the form of pead bands festured on the very styIized vegetation of a page b m

Ms.Add. 5111 (sec Figure 22) is of particuiar interest, as a possible foretaste of the Qubbahesjcwelencnisted vegetatioa Pearl bands rue found on the following Jordrnian pavementa: amund viaes or
acanthus rinceaux at the Church of the Apostllci, Mdaba, 578 CE,'= and the Chutch of Bishop
Sergius, Umm ai-Ras@, 587-588 CE;l" about birds' ne&
597 CE?

at the ncw blptistery chgal, Mount Nebo,

and about birds' necks and acanthus rinceaux at the Church of the Lions.13'

On a Byzantine silk found in the c o f i of S. Cuthbert, died 687 CE, (Figure 73), the "Nature
Goddess" nses h m the sea holding a scarf filled with pomegraaatcs, pem and possibly appler.
Jewels depend h m her collar, hair and beit, and thcm arc pead bands about the necks and wings of
the flanking ducks.13' In her hands she carxies vertically-scctioned objects, in style v c y like the
Qubbah's formal trc~s."~A late sixth eariy seventh ccntury date is postulatcd for the ~ilk.'~'Features
very like the carried objects are found on a silk with the monogram of the Emperor Heraciius (610-

641) (Figure 74),13*while a stylized vegetal motif again reminiscent of the Qubbahk suprisaturai
trees alternates with a natural leaf about the rim of a silver patea h m Constantinople, c. 570 (Figure
75)?

The siriking placement of vases directly above capitals on the inna fsce of the octqgonl" is a
feature of Add. 5 111's folio l l a (see Figure 22), and another example k m a floor mosaic is cited by
H. Stem (Figure 76)."'

Several examples of vases rchially on capitair arc known h m MaWin,

Jordan, and one containhg a tree i s shown in Figure 77."'

56

In the matter of texts, thore bene*

the Trrnrfigumtion ad on the rilvcr pdften th& contriite

to the iniposing effect of thore a r t d k c ~rtrte only th* the former w u cxccuted tbn,ugh the effottr of

Longinus and his second-in-command Thtodorie,'" and that Bishop Eutychimris providd the latter?''
The text on the fnezc of tbe architrave in the church of SS. Sergius and B.cchus, Constantinople,
(betw#n 527 sud S 3 6 ) Y

is tbc dcdicatory inscription of Justinio and ' I ' h c o d ~ ~

Convcnely,
'~
the

interpretive inscription at Nikopolis, describeci as exceptiona in floor mosaics,"'

s a m s to h

m more

in common with the monumental inscriptions of two buildings prior to the Qubbah.

The kt,in support of a buildingis atrbution, is in the Lrtcrrn or Sistinc Baptirteiy, Rome,
c.432-440 CE,"'

on the ambulatory side of tbc architrave on the octagonal canopy ovcr the font

(Figures 78.k 78.b).la In Lateran circles sfter 435 this font wai regadcd as tbc Fountain of Lifc,"'
and the eight verse inscription, d e s c r i i by P. Underwood as "ov~r~helmingly
conccrned with the

doctrine that baptism is a rebirth" supports that idea. To paraphrase roughfy, the outpourings of the
virginal womb of Mother church, fiPm which "ber cbildrcn" are bom, and the blood h m the

wounded Jesus, metaphoncaliy contribute to the notion that "This is the fountain of life", in whose
cleansing waters sinnen may bathe and be reborn.'" This building wrs tcfmed to by KA.C
Creswell on account of its octagonal shape, not its in~cription,'~~
and by M. Rosa-Ayaion for its
shape and inscription as a prototype of the Qubbah.lm

The second is in the church of S. Polyeuktos, Constantinople, 524-27 CE, crccted by the
Byzantine princeos Anicia Juliana in honour of that military saint,'''

where a poem in praise of the

princess, her lineagc and the c h ~ r c h , 'was

~ ~ carvcd in the nave's entablature and outside the n a r h d 5 '
By ber church, the poem claims, Anicia Juliana surpassed the wisdom of Solomon, whose Temple's

si* and decorative featuns she sought to evokc."'

In raiscd lettcn 1lcm high,"' on au eatablaturc

which followed a succession of niches, arches and corner blocks around the centrai nave, the lines
were surmounted by a twisting, very nahiralistic grapevint (Figure 79).'"

Pnor to the dedication of Hagia Sophia in 337, S. Polyeuktos was reputed to have been the

57

most sumptuour church in Conrtrntin~ple'~'and sh.rer with Add- SI11 mpedor workmmnihip, notable

Sikanid influence, and a strkng juxtaposition of natudistic and rtylistic f-.

commentcd on the range of sculpture found, h m cxtmordinrrily r d &
fkquent juxtaposition of these cxtrenier on the same block,"'

The excrnrrtor

to very a y i i d , aad the

and while the natudistic material ir

atrbuted to Hellcnistic and Roman traditions, the stylistic is d e s c r i i as c l d y Sisinid'" whorc

ongins are largely attributcd to textiles *CIL

aa booty by the B y z m t i n ~ . 'Examples

~
of the

omament are the vase on a pier face in Figrue 80,In a vegctal pinel h m the area of the aprt (Figure
81),16' and a SC=

motif (Figure 82).'"

M. Hamison has dmwn attention to the p d d s betwcen this

stylized vegetation and that in the Qubbahl" and, considering the extent to which other upecta of

sixth century Byzantine art sppear to have infumced the Umayyads, the possibility cannot be ignored
thai so notable a conjunction of text and ornament might well h m been h o w n to the Qubbrh's
designers.
The relationship bctwcen the paradiriacal imagery of the Sm's" Figures and the Qubbat al-

Sakhrah can be established, and how the imagcry's model was dapted for that building caa bc
demonstraed. What cannot be indicated is the way in which the model was m a y prerented on the
qiblah walls in Figures 2 and 3; thus, the lincs of fniitflll trees in those two Fi-

arc probably best

understood as image-signs, defining the subject, not the image, for the idormed vicwcr.
As to whethcr the model of the paradisiad grove was uscd at the Greut Moique at Dlinucus,

the writer believes so. Very briefiy, there, the Mewer stands beyond the encirclhg waters and sees

through a grove of immense

a fertile land of idyllic n d scenes aad bejewelled palaces. The

latter, in place of the bejcwelled vegetation, are also formal, two-dimensional, frontslly-presented; that
these mosaics seem to be without Persian influence'6s signifies no mon thaa that Skinidderived art
could supply appropriate models for the jewelled vegetation at Jemsaicm, while Rornanderived art

could supply the appropxiate models for the architecture hem. The resemblrnce between the trccs of
Figure 1 and those of the Great Mosque has been notecl;'" those identifid in the forcground of the

58

Barada panel are c h i d y firrut &ces olive, apricot, wrlnut, fig, pl-,

pear or =le

- aed poplm rnd

cypress.lGTIn layout only, the auaagcmmt of the B a d a pincl suggests the pIfdUucril grove wrr
combined with a mode1 like the riverine aieze at S. John the Baptist, Jlruh, 531, (Figure 83)lm within

whose border "people move toward wallcd cities and shrines" dong a tree-stadded river b d , while
the river itself is fdled with aquatic Me and p 1 a ~ t s . l ~
Titled
~
citics wae included in the Sem, of
but the trees pmcnt arc neither monumental nor dominant,
which the one remaining is Ale~andna,"~
and are not included in a later riverine fnezt about the nave of the church of S. Stephen, Umm ai-

Re&, CE756.17'
Fmm reports of the innumerable t m s "idmtified" in he Damasciu mosaic~,'~it wodd s e u n
the courtyard fkieze can be associated, in part, with the taste for cosmographie and geogrriphic
repesentations on pavements in the Eastern Mediterranean ut its most pop&

in the six& centuy.'"

Hem too convention and allusion stem to have been set aside in fmour of the most complete
rendering of the view beyond the trees'Abd al-Malik's text, the paradisiacal imagery and the San*." Figures support the reasons rlMuqaddasT gives for the construction of the Qubbat al-Sakhrah. By his defcnct of 'Abd al-Malik and
al-WalFd, it could be argued h m the silence on the matter that al-Muqatidad's iincle, and prior
generations, understood the reasons for the Qubbah's construction. 0. Grabar comments on the
terseness of the earliest texts about the Qubbah, as though the cvents described "wete either commonly
known or of little importance.""'

The silence and terseness give substance to J. van Ess' cornmcnts

that the Rock may have been honoured in accorance with the Sym-Pdestinian h#th. One may
speculate that al-Waid felt secure enough of public opinion to go ahead with the instaliation of

paradisiacal imagcry in the Great Mosques of Mdnah

aad Damascus.

The Qubbat al-Sakhrah was an extraordinary response to a particular regional problcm;

couched in the architectural and artistic vocabularies of the times, it expresses a Muslim solution to a
Muslim problem. Some evidence of its influence will be exanined in the cbaptarr followbg.

Notes

--

1Andr Grabar, -an

Icononrs~,
hv: A Study of Itr
The A W. Meilon Lectures in the
Fine Arts, 1961. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968, p, xlv,
2.Grabar, Iconomanhv, p. xlvi.
31bid, fig. 123, pp. 44-45.

4-Grabar, Iconommhy, figs. 124, 125, p, 45. S du, Sabine G- hd.eCormri~k,

Late Antiauity. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of Clilifornia Press, 1981, pp. 65-66 on
Christian appropriation and transformation of imperid adCrenfusimagery.

6Bid., fig. 5, p. 8, rathcr than the Miracle of the Coaves and Fishcs.
7Jbid., fig. 237, p. 95.
8Jbid. p. 112 fK on unsuccesrfit1 attcmpts to achicve a "satirfictory iconogmphy of the dogmu of the
Trinity".

9.Like Constantine's Chi-Rho symbol, Grabsr, I c o n o ~ h vpp.

, 38-39, 125.

10.Shelomo Dov Goitein, "The Historical Background of the Erection of the Dome of the Rock,"
Journd of the Amcrican Oriental Societv. (1950) 70: 106; c Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv blamig p. 14 who
does not believe Goitein offers "any other intcrpretation" for its building.
11.Shams al-Dn Ab 'Abd Allah M a a m m d al-Muqaddm, Ahsrn al-taa&-m
2nd ed., Leiden: 1967, p. 159 h e s 4-11; Goitein, 'Historical,"p~106.

a magrifktal-aum-S,

12.Moshe Gil, A Histow of Palestine. 634-1099. Tmslated h m Hebrew by Ethel Bmido; rev.
edition of Palestine Durian the First Muslim Pcriod (634-10991 originally publirhd in Hebrew by Tel
Aviv University, 1983; Cambridge: Cambridge Univenity Press, 1992, p. 93.
13.Eusebius, Vita Constmtini m, 34, 35. Translated by C y d Msngo in The Art Of the Byzantin
E m ~ i r e3 12-1453. Medieval Academy Reprints for Teaching. Toronto, Buffalo, London: University of
Toronto Press, 1986.
14.Cyril Mango, Bvzantine Architecw. Onginally published in Italian, Milan: Electa Edirice, 1974.
English paperbaclc edition London: Faber and Faber Limitd, 1986, p. 46.

16.The Historv of ai-Tabarl. vol. XII. The Ba& of al-Qadisiyyah and the Conquest of Syria and
Palestine AD. 635-637/A.H. 14-15. Translatcd aad edited by Yohman Friedmann. Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1992, pp. 193-196.
17.Amikan Elad, "Why did 'Abd al-Malik build the Dome of the Rock? A retxlimination of the
Muslim sources." In Bavt al-Maadis. 'Abd al-MaiWs Jerusalem, Part One, editcd by Julian Raby and
Jeremy Johns. Oxford Studies in Islamic Art IX.Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, p. 48 ff.

18.Elad, "Why did 'Abd &Malik." p. 51 and n-90.

219risciUa P. Souceic, "The Temple of Solomon in Islamic Lcgend and Art." TiI The TembIe of
Solomon: arch#olonical fkt and medieval trsdition in Christian, Islmnic sud Jewish rird edited by
Joseph Gutmann. Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1976, p. 73.

22.01eg Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art. New Haven and London: Yak University -8,
p. 55; this as part of a g c n d ducussion on the Rock and its qubbah, pp. 48-67.

1973,

al23.Josef van Ess, "'Abd al-Malik and the Dame of the Rock. An audysu of gome texts." In
Maadis. 'Abd al-Maiik's Jenisalem, Part One, ditcd by Jrilirn Raby and Jeriemy Johns. Oxford Studies
in Islamic Art IX. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, p. 92 and n- 18.
24.Van Ess, "'Abd al-Malik," p. 92 and n. 20.

26Jbid, p. 93; the traasmission chah r e f h g to this rebuttd is given in n. 29.

~ 113-11428.Grabar, S h m pp.
p. 10129.Van Ess, "'Abd ai-Malik,"

30.Gi1, Palestine, p. 93.

3 1Michd cochard, Filiation de Monuments -S.

bnmtins et islamigucg: une question de
gomtrie. Paris: Librairie Onentaliste Paul Geuthner, 1977, pp. 1-54 prssim; th- is r e f ~ r ~ l l ctoc
other polygonal structures as well.
32.cochard, Filiation, p. 39.
33Jbid., pp. 13-17.
34Jbid., pp. 27-28.
35Jbid., pp. 17-18,21.

3 7 J b i d , pp. 104-105, on its visibifity fimm dinrent parts of Jerusalem.

38.cochard. Filiation, p. 39.

39.Nasser Rabbat, "The Meaning of the Umayyad Dome of the Rock," Muaanam (1989) 6 3 2 ,says of
the Qubbah, "... it even manifested a fuU-fledged, stylistic, structuml, and ornamental ptogrrim".

40Michele Piccirillo, The Mosaics of Jordan. Amman: Amcrican Centnt of Oicicatd Rcsarch, 1993,
fig. 712.
,
In The Monutcm of Saint Caherhe at Mount S m : The Chmch
41.Ihor ~ e v b k o "lascriptions."
and Fortresa editcd by George E Forsyth and Kurt Weitanaan. Ann Arbor The University of
Michigan Press, N.d., p. 19.
9

42.L. Gardet, "Djanna," Encvcio~sodiaof Islam, 2nd edition,

43.Richard Ettinghatisen, Arab Painhg, "Treasures of Asia" serica no. 4. Lausanne: Editions d'Art
Albert Skira, 1962, p. 22,
44Ettinghausen, Arab, p. 22.

46Ernst Kitzinger, "Studies on Late Antique and Eady By~~llltine

Floor Mosaics:
Nikopolis," Dumbartun Oaks Pa= No- 6 (1951), pp. 100-102 and n. 79.

I, Mosaict at

47Xizinger "Studics: 1," 100-101; Maguirt, Earth, p. 22.

48 Kitzinger, "Studies: 1," pp. 101-102.
49Jbid.. p. 102, m. 79 und 63.
SONaguixe, Earth, pp. 22-23,

52.Kitzingeq "Studies: ," p. 95.

53.Kitzhger, "Studies: 1,", p. 95; see Piccinllo, Mosaics, fig. 196 for illustration54Ling, Rom- plXIIIA, "Garden paintings with Egyptianising statues and pictures, Pompeii I 9, 5
(House of the Orchard), bedroom 8, east wall, c. AD. 40-50".
SSJbid., fig. 161, "Garden with ohrine of Egyptian deities, Pompeii VI 2, 14 (Bouse of the Amazons),
garden (east wall). third quarter of 1st century AD.".
56Jbid, pp, 150-152.

58 .Magui=, EarthJ pp. 17-20.

59.Revelations 2:22 and Gcncsis 2:9. Al1 Biblical quotations are h m The New Oxford h o t a t a d
Bible. revised standard edition, eds. Herbert G. May and Bruce M. Metzgc~,New Yo* M o r d
University Press.
6O.Oc&ssey. Traaslmd by

E.V. Rieu. Harmondswoah: Penguin Books, 1964, Book N, p. 74; the

material for this parasraph fiom Maguire, Earth, p. 25.

61.The poet is Aviais, Maguirc, Earth, pp. 23,25, M.34, 53

62.Kitzinger, 'Studies: &" p. 101 and IL76, nIid XVII, 447,04vsscy XVITy 131. The wording i s
similar in boa; in the latter, Odysscru s ~ y sto the suitor Amphinomus, "Of aU the crertrret th&
briedhe rird cmep Pbout on Mother Earh ...",sec Rieu, O&ssey, Book XVII, p. 279.
63. Rieu, O@ssey, Book VII, p. 115.
64.Some of thcse stiii cxist, and Ling's figs. 108-111 show some of the sections; they arc datai c.5040 BCE, h m the EsqPiliae, Rome. Ling, Roman, p. 108.
65-Ling, Roman, pp. 107, 110.
4 7 7 & In The Art of the Bvzmtine Emnire 312-1453. Medicvai
66.Choricius, Lcuddio Murcimi
Academy Reprints for Teaching. Tnnrlatd by Cyd Mango. Toronto, BufWo, London: Unvenity of
Toronto Press, 1986, p. 63 and n. 40,O&ssey, VII, 115; XI, 589.

67Maguirs, E d a p. 7, n- 12, quoting h m Lmddio Mcfmi 1.35, eds. FOtflftr and Richsteig, II.
68Xitziiiger, *Studies: 1," n. 54. He notes also that in the pavement bcforc the font rt the b p t ~ t e r y
on Mount Nebo, S. J. Saller identified three of the five trier as peu, pomegraaritc and qple, pp- 6566, nn. 52-53.
69Maguirc, Earth, p. 7.
7OJbid. pp. 6-7.
71.MacCormack, Ceremony, pp. 4-572.Choncius, Lcudmo M d m i 32 in Mango &, p. 62, and 11-38 h m which Mango S
vine motif was represented as growing-"

"the
S

73Editoriai note 4671 by A. Yusuf Ali. translater of and commentatm on The Holv Our'm, th.t
"'fhit' and 'eating' are metaphoncal".
74.AU quotations are h m A, Yusuf Ali's translation of The Holv Our'an75.MacConnack, Ceremonv, p. 121 and n. 148.
76.Graba.q I c o n o q h v , p. xlv.

78.MacComack, Ceremonv, pp. 65-67.

79.Rieu, Odyssey, Book VII, p. 115.
80.Gautier-van Berchem, "Mosaics," p. 265, figs. 214-217, plates 23.4 23.c, 25.b, 26.d.
8 l a i d . , pp. 266-269, figs. 218-227, plates 20.b, 21.c, 26.c, 26% 34.b.
821bid. p. 274 and figs. 270-271, and a third basket which could not bc photographcd.

83Jbid, pp. 269-270, figr. 33-236, plates lS.b, 17.b, 24.b, 25.cd,25f,

Gr84D.T. Rice, cd.,

Cumberlege, 1958, p. 160.

P.lacc of the Bvzantine Emmmn. 2nd report. London: h 8 ) y

85-Rice, Great Pd- 2nd report, pp. 126-127 rnd fig, 484 d e g to a section of borda rnollwodr
found below Torun Sokak', in the SE to NE arca of the Peristyle (sec plan on p. 3); G d d Brett, WJ. Macaulay, Robert B. K. Stevenson, The Great Pd- of he Bvzautiac E m ~ t t Behg
~ r ~ 8~ firit
report on the cxc.vrtions c a i o d out in Istmbui on bchilf of the Walkcr Trust m e Univmity of St.
Andrews), 1935-38, London: G d h y Cumbetlcge, 1947, fig. 40b.

87.Grabaq Shp. 88, full of "lifecrrrting force", the "'othcr' world of the tretr ir rhown as 8 living
world"; thue are *non-terrertnai trecs" about a sbnae or s m c t u ~ .
88.Avinoam Shahn "Tbe F d of d-Mda'in: Some Liteniy Referenccs Concerning Sasmiau Spoils of
(1994) 32: 78-79; The Histow of aI-Tabm-. vol. XIIL The
War in Mediaevd IsIlmnic Treasurier,"
Conquest of h q , Southwrtan Penia, and Egypt, the Middle Y- of 'Umds Caliphrte, 636642/AH. 15-2. Trauslatcd and edited by Gautier R A Juynboll. Albany: Stste University of New York
Press, 1989, pp. 31-33.
89.Piccirill0, Mosaics, fold-out figue betweea pp. 80 and 81.

92.Sheila S. Blair, "What is the Date of the Dome of the Rock," 59-87. In Bsvt al-Muadis. 'Abd JMalik's Jerusaiem. Part One, cdited by Julian Raby and J m m y Johns. M o r d Studicr in Islauic Art
IX.Oxford: Odord University Press, 1992. This article gives a clcar idea of the inscription's starhg
point, and whem its various parts am 1 0 c W and, in Appendicts 1 and 2, English translation of the
IIinscription on u c h f r c of the mubulatory; to bc rad in conjunction with Christel Kesslds- "'Abd
Rovai
Astahc
Society
Malik's Inscription in the Dame of tbc Rock: A Reconsidartion," Journal of the
N.S. (1970) 1: 2-14, which gives the Arabic text, drawn riccording to its physicd apptaranct. Erica
Cruikshank Dodd and Shern Khairallah, The Imaae of the Word. A S w d of
~ Ouianic Verses in
I
m
, 2 vols. Beirut: The Amcricsr University of Btinit, 1981, vol. II, p. 210, lists the
72 AW691 CE tcxts by Srah aud verse, and location.
93.Kessler, "'Abd al-Malik," n. 14, aud p- 11; Blair, "Date," p. 86.
94.Kcsslcr, "'Abd al-Malik," p. 11; Blair, "Date,"pp. 86-87.
95.Rabbat, "The Meaning," p. 16, and idem., "The Doms of the Rock Revisited: Some Remarks on aiWasiti's Accounts," Muaamas (1993) 10: p. 70; cf. Grabar, Sba~,pp. 67-68, who concludes the
reading of these Suwar (pl. of Snh) provides a "fsiriy neutrai" image of Jesus.
96.01eg nbn "The Umqryd Dome of the Rock in k r u s a i . " An Onentalir (1959) 3: pp. 57.555 6.
97.Rabbat, "Revisitcd,"p. 70 and n. 61.

98.The writer is mare of the enormous body of scholmhip on the Qubbat ai-Srkhrrli not even
touched on in tbis chapter. It har not been dirregarded, hstcd, dtentioa b u k e n dmm to the
evidence the Qur'h Figures provide for a re-assessrnent of the building's imagery.

99.Grabar, S~~Q,on picrs 338", 292", 246" and 202" in fig- 22.
100,Gautier-van Berchem, "Mosaics," figs. 211 and 212.
101.Rosen-Ayaion, Earlv Islamic, p. 60, who identifia jewel-encrustcd natudistic &ces u
euphemisms for the Christian cross fanked by saplings.
102.Gautier-van Bmhem, "Mosaics," fig. 213.
103Krut Weitzmann, "Introduction to the Mosucs and Monumentil Paintings." In The Moaastcw of
Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai: The Church rrnd Fortriesg, edited by George H.Forsyth and Kmt
Weitanann. Ana Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, Nd.,p. 14, pl. CLXXIV, Exodus 3:s-

105.Sev~enk0,"Inscriptions," p. 19.
106.Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv Islamic, p. 16.
107,Paulus Sikntiarius, Descr. S. Sophiae, 186 ff. 1563 CE] in Mango, & p. 80 ff.
108.Grabar, S h a ~ pp.
, 114-115.

110.Gautier-van Berchem, "Mosaics," fig. 230.

I l 1.Michele Piccirillo and 'Abd al-Idil 'Amr, "A Chape1 at Khirbet el-Kursi-Ammau," Liber Annuus
(1988) 38: 361382, date on p. 369.
112.Aapeli Saarisalo and Heikki Palva, "A Byzantine Church at Kafi Kama,"Studia Orientalia (1964)
30:3-15; date on p. 15.
113.Vassilios Tzaferis, "The Excavations of Kursi-Gergesa," 'Atiaot. Enalish Serieg, (1983) 14 (whole
volume), date on p. 5.

114.Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1947, pl. 90c,
p. 365, Room 2.

115.PiccUill0, Mosaicg, fig. 338, p, 236, the church was completcd in the "month of Desius of the
seventh indiction [AD. 574 or 5891".

1l6R.W. Hamilton, Khirbat al-Mafiar, Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1959, pp. 336-37, pla.
LXXXLV top, LXXXVL,and colour pl. XCIX a (not XCVIIId as stated).
117.Volbach, Early Decorative, cat. 48, pp. 89,95.
118.Piccirill0, Mosaicg, figs. 41,42 and pp- 76,26.

.-

119M. Avi-Yonrh, "The MosUc Pavanent." In The Ancient S v n m e of Mdon (N-1 .Repnnted
from Bulletin III of Louis M.Rabinowitz Fund for the Exploration of Ancicnt Synagogues, 1960; p.
34, Ma-on ir nerp Gaza, a dating of c. 338 is mggcscd, and it is likely ta be fiom the same tchool u
the Shellal mosaic.

War
1 2 0 A D. Tmdall, The Shellal Mosaic and Other Classicai Antiqutiu in the Au&rn
Memorial Canbenr. 4th dition. Clirbena: Austdaa War Manorid, 1973; p. Shelid is ncar h
and dated to 56142, and p. 24, likely to bc h m the same school u the Mdon mosaic.
IllMaguire, E d , p. 61 and fig. 71, mosaic h m the nave of Justinian's basilica built rit Sabratha
d'ter is recapture h m the Vandals in 533.
122.Grabar "The Umayyd Dome," p. 47.
123.Grabac, "The Umayyad Dome," p. 47 ff.; in
criticized by him and 0th- in rccent ycan.

ap. 73 n. 72 he dvisea this view h u been

124.writer disagrces also with the dominant themaic role M.Roscn-Ayaion rrsigns to precious
stones and jewellery, Esrlv Islamig pp. 49, 52 &
1253iccirill0, Mosaics, fig. 374.
1261bid, fia. 424, pp. 250, 17.

128.Piccirill0, Mosaicg, p. 106, figs. 80-86 inc., 93.

1293id., p. 234, figs. 367,368,370,371.
13OBid., p. 150, fig. 196.
131lbid., figs. 338,378.
132.J.F. Flanagaa, "The Figured Silks." In The Relics of Saint Cuthberg edited by C 3 . Battiscombe.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956, pl. LIII, fig. 1, pp- 505-513.
133.Flanagan7"Figured," p. 511.

135.Volbach, Earlv Dccorativg p. 118, cat. nos. 53-54.

136.Handbook of The Byzantine, Collection, Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1967, cat. 63.
137.Particulatly noted by Grabat, Shme. p. 90, and rather ambiguously by M. Rosen-Ayalon, Emly
Islamic, p. 46, wherc it is not entirely clear whether it is vases filld with foliage, or vases med with
foliage and set above columns, that are "invariably c o ~ e c t e dwith the iconography of Pamdise".
138.H. Stem, Le Calendrier de 354. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthncr, 1953, pl. =III, fig. 3,
and p. 218; it is in the Dumbarton Oaks collection, provenance unknown, but thought to be North
African, c. 5th-6th ccntury.

139.G. VaccrPini, "1 capiteli di Ma'in,"Li'ber Annuw (1989) 39: p. 69 foto 3.

14l.Handbook of The Bvzuntine Collection, Washington, D.C.: Dwnbrirton O&,

1987, p. 18.

142Martin H d s o n , A Temde for Bvzaatium, The Dimvery aad Excavation of Anicia Julimr's
Palace-Chmh in btanbd, foreword by Stevca Runcimsa, Austin, Texas: University of Texu Press,
1989, p. 24, fig, 17. SS. Sergius and Bacchus is the pmentdty Kiik Aya Sofia Camii, sec Mango,
Byzantine Architecture, p, 59.
143Bichard Krautheimer, Earlv Christian and Byzantine A r c b i t m . The Pelicrn History of Art, edited
by Nikolaus Pevsner. Hannondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1965, p. 163.

144Xitzinger, "Studies: 1," p. 101, as something other than a dtdicstary or laudatory label,
145Pau1A, Underwood, "The Fountain of Li& in Manuscripts of the Gospclr." Dumbarton Oakg
P a ~ e m(1950) No. 5, p. 44.
146,Underwood, "Fountain," pp. 54-55.

1481bid.. pp. 54-55; the complete Latin text and English tmnslation are given on p. 55.
149.CresweI1, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, p. 112 and fig. 48.
150.Rosen-Ayalon, Earlv Islamic, pp. 63-65.
lS1.RM. Hanison, Excavations at Ssrachane in Istanbul. vol, 1, Princeton: Princeton University Press
and Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1986, p. 4, martyreci in Melitene in Cappadocia
probably in January 250. This church's inscription mentioncd also by O. Grabar, Shripcl p. 71.
152.Harrison, Tem~ie,p. 33 and n. 9. The poem is presemcd in the Palatine Antholom, Greek
Anthology 1, 10, "a collection of ancient verses and epigrams which was cornpilad in about the ycat
1000".

153Harrison, Excavations, p. 5, of which lines 1-41 were carved in the aave's entablature, and lines
42-76 outside the narthex, (the marginal scholia in the Pdrtrnirs 23 edition of the Anthology indicates
the position of the lincs inside and outside the church); pp. 117-120, confirm the infirmation given in
the scholia, and deal with the interior lines recoveted in excavation, .II or part of liner 9, 15/16, 25,
27, 30, 31, 32.
154.Harrison, Excavation%p. 410; T c m n l ~
pp. 137-139: in the vision of Ezekial the Temple is said
to have been 100 cubits long by 100 cubits wide when he plafonn on which it stood waa includcd.
S. Polyeuktos' size had been problematical ta the excavaton but the conclurion reachcd was that it
measures 100 by 100 long, or royai, cubits, he rame unit u r d for Solomon's Temple. Momver,
decorative features of he Temple such as "ph-&ces, capitals like mes, capitals festooned with
network, pomegranates, and open flowers" are al1 part of S. Polyeuktos' decorativt repertoire.

lSOlbid., pp, 34, 81, 91, fig- 88-

16lHamson, Excavation& fig. 155, p. 133; Harrison, Tcm~l,figs. 118, 122, p. 100: two pien with
this design stand in Venict's Piw h ~ t thcy
t
arc called@fmtH mritmf b c m s c they me said to
have corne fiam Acre. From similar remaias found duriag excavations in Istanbul thcy h m been
proved to have come h m the ruins of S. Polyeuktos, likely taken d u h g the fourth Crusde, c.1204.
162Harrison,

fig. 134.

163Barrison, TemDle,fig. 164.

165Ettinghausen, Arab. p. 26,

166.1~chapter one, and by M. JenlMs, "Umayyad hament," p. 22.

167.Gautier-van Berchem, "Mosaics," p. 339.
168.Emst Kitzinger, "Mosaic Pavements in the Greek East and the Question of a 'Renaissance'under
Justinian," fig. 18. Reprinted in The Art of Bvzantium and the Medieval West: Selecicd Studiea,
edited by W. Eugene Kleinbauer; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976.
169.Piccinll0, Jordan, p. 288.
170.Kizinger, "Renaissance," p .52.

171,There are boats, fishemen, fish, shells, etc. in that fie= which is surroundcd by anothcr of
named cities including Lydda, Gaza, Jerusalem, Madaba; there is a line of fnUt tteer in the panel
before the apse steps, Piccirillo, Mosaics, p. 238 and figs- 345, 380, 383. S. Stephen's nave scems to
be accomplishing in a double fneze what the S. John the Baptist and, possibly, the Great Mosque,
sought to do in one.
172.Ettinghausen, Arab. p. 28.
173.KitpIIger, "Renaissance," 218 ff., and d d to obliquely and without noter by Ettinghauscn,
Arab, p. 28.

It has becn -cd

that the San'a" iIlustrrtions not only dmw attention to prieviousiy nnhioam

paradisiacal imagcry in the earliest U m q y d al-Aqs& and auothcr mosqpc, but lidc itr occorrrmce ta
the deliberate introduction of an I s l h i c iconogmphy in the Qubbat ai-Sakhmh.

The imaginaive and highiy-accomplished drawings that m e m o r i a b the Qubbat ai-Sakhrah,

al-Aqsa and the hypostyle mosque indic*

an awslt~~lcss
of Umryyd achicvement, for they record

Muslim ability to work with the cultural and artistic iaheritanct they h d by conquert, riid to create
things I s l h i c t h h m . Of paxtdar relevancc to this chapter the hypostyle mosquc in Fi-

3.

Extending this beyond the San'a" Figure attcsts that the Qubbah's imagery war part of a l w e r
iconographicd programme, of whosc textual evidcnces we seem to know nothing, but to whose visuai
evidences we may point. That this is the case is suggestcd by the fact that, while the illurtrstion of
the hypostyle mosque in Figure 3 is, as far as we h o w , stylisticaily rinique, it is not iconogmphically
so, and this proposition will now be considemi.
Discovery of the San'a' illustrations renewed some interest in the architecturai reprcsentations
in another early Qui&, found in the Mosquc of 'Amr b. al-'&, Cluo, ten S u d dividen of which
were published in twelvc plates by B. Moritz' Thu anonymous, undate manuscript,' formcrly in the

Khedivial Library now the Dk al-Kutub, Cairo, and published without accession number or rupporting
notes, is identined by A. Grohmam as Mq@if [sic] 139,' rnd by E-Whclrin as rY18953.'

It hm b e n

known of since the eatly nineteenth century when 38 of its folios werc acquired for what is now the
; ~ 12 othcrs for the Hmogiichc
Bibliothque Nationale, paris,.' identified as ms. Arabe 3 2 4 ~ and

Bibliothek in Gotha, Gennany, identified as Cod. Ar. 36 by A. Gn,hmann7 and as ms. 462 by
Whelan.'

E.

In addition ta the Moritz' plates, one folio h m ms. Arabe 324c bas ban published by E.

Tisserant;' one folio from the Hcnogliche Bibliothek group idenincd

lu

ma. 462 war published by J.

H.M~eller,'~
and one h m the Henogliche Bibliohek gmup identified aa Cod. Ar. 36, by S a m and

69
Martin, after it h d ken exhibitcd at Munich in 1910." The writcr docsn't know if MOCIICI
and Same

and Martin published the same, or diff't, folios.

Accordhg ta his csption on the plates, Moritz drbd the Qufiin IIII ccntruy AEE, and later as
c.100 AH;" c.725 CE wrr mggated by Grohmam,* with which M. Jcakns qpcs."
From illustrations and written descriptions it is known that tbu Qur'h's Sarrib dividm go
h m margin-to-mrirgin and

am,at tirna, nauower to the right, giviug a stepped ripperriincc to the

bands which am formed of numetous geometnc and braded patterns. Both bund termini h m
marginal omaments, which m a -include architectural elements, and sometimer, above the band to the

left of the Surah ending, thete arc arcsdes. The Surahs are not titled, but namu have been insertcd in
a recent hand, as have part of the first and last lines of each sheet, @erhaps by libtwans?)."

A striking aspect of the divider ensembles is the stylistic diffcrtilcc betwctll the margind

devices and he arcades; the former having a sketchy, impressionistic appearance, the latter, composed
of registers of tiny squares, with the contrast more remarkable where both styles rppear on the rame
divider. In connection with these differences, it should be pointcd out that E. Whelan is of the
opinion that only Moritz1plates 1-5 q u w as Umayyad;I6 this seems to be a misundcrstaading of
Moritz' comment that the Persian style had entered Umayyad sacred art and the Sishid palmette
could be found dongside the Byzantine-Coptic omaments on plates 2-S."

Pcdups due in part to the

European acquisitions mentioned above, 246 of the Cairn Qur'h's 586 folios said to cxist in 1893 had
been replaced in 1830," and this, in conjunction with the "mriricedly different charm%crUof their
omaments, has Iead Whelan to conclude that Moritz1plates 6-12 am some of the replacements;"
however, as Moritz was a fomna director and o r g e of the Khcdivial ~ibrary.'' it rmns unlikely
that he would have published any of the 1830 replacement folios as part of a firrt-second century AH

manuscript, Moreover, the marked stylistic difference between elements of the illuminations is a
purposefiil chmcteristic, and this apart h m the likelihood that diffkrmt illuminrtors may bave
contributecl to the drawings. Some details of the arcdes and marginal ornamenta wiii be notcd

generaliy, then mort specincally.

Moritz*piatc 1, aad the deta in plate 2 (Figure 84):'

shows the divider betwn S

d 37

and 38 has a iine of horseshoe arches with hringing lamps and stepped metions dong the roof edge,
while three sty-

motifs arc s p d cvenly dong the arcade; the marginai ornamenti have dl but

disappcared h m the band ends. The divida betwccn S d s 46 and 47,= teproducd on plates 4
(Figure 85) and 5" (Figure 86) shows both marginal omaments, and a more elabora!c rrcdcd
structure ornamentcd with three styiizcd motifs similac to those on plates 1 and 2. Figu~es8s and 86
illustrate the most complete divider on the Moritz'plates. A shon arched segment without coImns or
merlons appears on plate 7 (Figure 87), betwcen Surahs 56 and 57, and aa arcade with stepped
merlons on plate 11 (Figure 88), betwecn Surrbs 66 and 67. On plate 6U (Figure 89) thcm u a
double row of arches in the central field of the divider betwcen S d s 48 and 49.

In ms. Arabe 324c, the divider on folio 32r hm, at the end of S u d 69,

"... der m s surmonts

d b e bande de c d s rouges et blancs que soment des triangles verts certains deentreeux supportent
une palme". As this arrangement is compared with Moritz' plates 2, 5 and Il,= one msy understand
the arcade bas the stepped pyramids of Figures 84 and 88, and the arcade ornamenta of Figurer 84 and
86. On f. 39r (Figure go),= the dvder shows the narrower band to the right, both marginal

ornarnents, and has, at the end of Surah 75, a Iine of horseshoe arches with triangles above the arches
and stepped pyramids abovc the columns?'

The arches sunnomted by stepped pyramids on 44r are

compared with those on Moritzeplates 1-2 (Figure 84)?

As for the marginal devices, their flora appears to have k e n based on the style of the

courtyard bouquet in the San'a" Qur'h's hypostyle mosque, and could g e n d l y be describad as
bouquets also. The Cairene version is composed of similar impressionistic flowers and attenuated ivy
leaves, dong with a sort of simplified palmette and lance-shaped forms with the impriessionistic
flowers at their apices.
On Moritz' plate 3 (Figure 91) an isolated column bearing such a bouquet is flanked by

71

attenuatcd le&

&riper

and floral mni-circles, rnd a 8jmil.r colummr composition appcm on Moritz'

plate 9 (Figure 92)- At the inner margia of E 42v of ms. Arabe 324c u a "p.lmetCe compositew,
described Met as two lance-shapcd p h e t t e s mpporting a suni-circlc enclosmg rn isolatcd
c01umn.~~

Marginal ornaments on & 23r:'

Ur:'

aud 46v)t of ms. Arabe 324c are camporcd of "trois

palmes lancol&s", and that of 23r is compareci with the motif of Moritz' plate 7 (Figure 87).
Figure 86's marginal ornament shows half palmates (?) supporthg a rhcli-like arch over a
bouquet. On Moritz' pl*

(Figure 93) a bouquet lre hat in F

86 is p l d bene&

m rch

supported by two columns. The inner marginal ornament of 3% of ms. Arabe 324c, (#cc Figure
90)F a vegetai motif within an arch camcd by two columns?' haa ken cornparcd wih that in Figure

93, as has the outer marginal omarncnt off. 43r, which has two arches cauied by thriee columns h m
which vegetal motif&go out.= Figure 85's ornament has two mws of iinkcd c k l c s arcing ribout a

rosette above half palmettes, aa well as some of the horizontal projections seen in the arcde of Figure
86.

In addition ta the ms. Arabe 324c folios mentioned above, ff. 30r, 32r, 34v, 36v, 38r, Mr, and
46v are reported to have a "palmette composite" at the divider's two extremitks?'

This is a cach-aii

phrase, acknowledging the presence of a marginal omament, but, without an illustration or a

supptementary explanation, there is no clue to the ornament's actual sppeamace For example, u crin
be seen h m f. 39r (Figure go), "Aux deux extrmits, une palmette composite; drns la marge

extrieure, c'est un motif vgtal dispos dans un arc de cercle, tandis qu'di I8int&icur, ....-",(sec notes
26 and 34, above) the phrase covers a number of fonns.

The Henogliche Bibliothek folio exhibited at Munich in 1910 is shown in Figure 94; it
divides Surahs 44 and 45, and the latter's title, al-Jathaliya, appears on the plate, insertcd in r cursive
script. The nght marginal omament has a spiked rosette beneath an arch on two columns with floral

elements radiating h m the a d , as can be secn in Figuee 93 also. At tht left margin, lanceahaped

palmetter support a remi&le

ovet a bouquet similar to th*

in F

m 86.

According to tbe plates aad descriptions, abovc, a M y limitai repertoire ofmrrgind rad
m a d e motifs w u distributexi among the Surah dividas: d u ,rad bou~tietswith, or without,
isolated columns, rad arched forms. Of these, hc arcadcd stnacturc in Figure 86 hm ban i n t e r p d

as a hypostyle mosquc appearrg to have rccdbg pitchcd -fi;

with a centre rrtir emphuizred by the

central floral composition, and au cntranct app+rcntly sepamteci k m thc building;= tbt pederkl aad

column of the central motif is not mentioned, nor have the horizontal projections on the rtrPcture1s left
side b e n accounted for.
Figure 86 is undentood as a reproduction of the hypostyIe mosque in the Sd.'

Qui&

(Figure 3), shown in longitudinal section. Two straight posts d e h a e a centmi c o i n t y d rrtticr thaa
an axial aisle, and in the courtyard, on a column raiscd on a substantial base, is aa elaborde motif, the
top section of which is repeated at the masque's exttemitics. Neithcr the amtaincd enmncc nor the
horizontal projections which d&e

the extremities are anomaous to the structure; rathcr, they reflect

an adaptation to the divider's limiteci space of the handling of longitudinai d o n as seen in the layout
of Ecclesia Mater (Figure 4). The centrai entrance thcm is placcd at the exb.eme nght, while in lieu

of Ecclesia Mater's apse, the correspondhg wall of the mosque is msrked with a s t y W motif and a
number of horizontal projections. Due to the limited detail one cannot say e x a d y where the artist of
the Cairo Quik
meant the curtained entrance to be, but, apwpos the speculation th-

was no central

door in Figure 2, it can be argued that in this drawing a side entmnce bas becn plsced at the extreme
right.

Tbat thete am curtains here instead of ornate doors scems to exgrna ordinary practiw; for

example, curtains that have been gathered up and knottcd arc illustratcd in Eccltria mater, and at the
side entrantes to a basilic. depicted in a fioor mosaic at e l - B h , Syria d a t d nid-sixth century (Figure
99.''

It is reportcd dso that curtains were placcd at the four gatcr of the Umayyad Mosque ut

MadFnah in 138 AH/775-76 CE." As for the fiieze of triangles above the archer, this is but one

73

version of the pyramidaliy-shaped merians th& apperr over arcder in the C

h Win, d which me

interpreted as d s t i c variations of a contemporrry ll~~hitectut.t

feauc, Slppad, or, one msy say,
pyramidally-shsped, merlons arc commonly found on buildings in the Umayyad period. Tby arc to
be seen on the fi@e of Qtyr d-Hyr aI-Gha~bi;~'a d w a t ~ v c r o k
d m the Rcecption Hdi of th
Umayyad Palace at the Citadel at 'Ammiin."

The forms rising out of the arcades in Figure 84 (on Moritz' p h t a 1-2) rnd, by extension,
Figure 86:

have been dwcribed as wwingedp h - l e a v e ~ " and

, ~ "pomcgranatc buahes".'*

have elements suggtjting both wings and pomegranatcs, and th=

Thy do

arc numctow S U h i d cxamplcr of

winged pomegrcinatcs (Figure 9w6occuning as repctitive motifi in rtucca w d l dcwrations, but in

bestowing the above labels neither writer har r d h d the remon why ruch a motif iippern as the
principal ornament of a mosque, and of a column in a mosque's courtyard, or its uncommon
embellishments. A winged pomegranate does become more undentandable, howt~er.if c o n r i d d as
a member of a clus of SkSuid motifs. like that found on a capital at T h - i B u s t a (Figure 97);"

which provided so much inspiration for the Qubbat al-Sakhrah's supra-natuml &ces. And it is
suggested that, in an attempt to capture the exotic sppeuance of the Qubbah's p d s i a c r l imrgeiy, an
artist less able than the mosaicists at Jenisalem has used the more easily-drawn winged pomegranate
as the basis for the Cairene arcade motifs, which are analyzed as follows.

At the centre of many of the Qubbah's supra-naninl trees and vines is an elcment hke a
vertcally-sectioned bulb (Figure 98),a which constricts at the top to a point or tuft, and k m which,
according to availablc s p r e and the d s t ' s fmcy, the varying widths of the outer 1 ~ - s p n d or c d
about (Figure 99)49swith minor stems supporthg uif flowen aad o

h adommcnts (Figure 100).~

In the Cairo Qur'h he "pomegranate"represents the vertically-sectioncd core and tbe "wiags" its
outer layers, while the semi-circular stems with the nobby terminations that frame the core elememt are

an attempt to copy tht upraised grapc bunchcs or other smiill mot& th& similady h

c he core on a

number of the Qubbah's motifs. The small flowna betwcen the "winga", the horimntd projections,

and thG pendant circ1~1of thC column rcprescnt the diverse f i t , flowm and o

h motifi.'

By placing a Qubbat al-Sakhmh motif on the column, inrterd of the S d F QuiSu's Byzantinestyle vase and floral arraugcmcnt, the artist of the Cab Qru'iin hm andentood cl&

that it was the

Qubbah's parsdiriacal imagery to which the San.." Qur'Inesatirt dczrtd; in fict, the rrtut of the
Cairo QuiZn has gone so fru as to aclaiowledge th&

rnosaic ongins by styling the arcade motifi in

registers of tiny squares. Haviag a recognizably paradisiscal motif at the arcade's left a d continuhg
the motifs elements down the ride indicatcs the ftirther wall, as well m showing that a tepmscntation
of Paradise had been attributcd to that wall in Figure 3. The motif above the cnfraace can be
understood as emphasizing the paradiriacal imagery as much as for reasons of symmetry.

In Figure 84 the arcades have neither entrane, nor c e a t d courtyrird and colrimn, but their
general similarity to those in Figure 86, the paradisicical motifs, and the lit, globuiar glass lamps which
have been compared with the lamps of the San*.' Figures:'

evoke the hypostyle mosque, ar would

seem to be true also of ms. Arabe 324c's f. 32r, which has a "palme" between some of the archer.
Other arcades descnbed or illustrated above may fack specific details asjociad with the San'a"

illustration, but in the Cairo Qur'ia they ought not to be dismissed as just something to complete the
line."
Figure 86 shows the k t of the "copies" of Figure 3. As far as one can tell, thcre is no
especial reason for its phcement at this point in the manuscript, although originaily that may have
been otherwise. Because the style of the arcades strongly suggcsts mosaics and Shanid-Utspird flora,
and the style of the marginal omaments, Figure 3's Byzantine-inspired courtyard flowm, it seems that
both needed to be present to aninn the lcnown relatianship betweea the Qubbat al-S*khrah and the
San'a' Figures. Thete may never have b e n a great number of arcade illuminations in the Cairo

'~ccauseof the difficulties in making ckar copie8 of the black & white and colourd photogriiphs
of the Qubbah's mosaics, the writer has supported Figure 98 with tbe less detailed drawings of Figures
99, 100. The Sharie of the Holv's colour figures 38-49, and EMA I:lesblack & white pl13, 16,
22 are commended to the reader for showing the details describcd in this pamgmph.

7s

Quiin, but they are a purporeflll inclusion, as is the isolatcd wlomn of the mrrgins.
The rescmblance of the column in Figure 91 to that in the San'r" illusrdion (Figure 3) hm
been remarlre~l,~'and it is sarilting, dapite the floral semi-ciiclcr hnking aad the 1icL of a vase
between the column and the bouquet- Repetition of this motif in both its By-tint

rnd Qubbah

modes in the sarne Quiin niggcsts it had, or waa in the procets of being imbucd with, a mial
meaning, and that a role independent of the mosque was envisrged for i t As the column ensemble

had been "excised" h m the octagonal ambulatory, this tale could have ban as an image-sign for the
Qubbat al-Sakhrcrh itself, its pandisiacrrl imagcry, or bot.. M

y ch-

by a mixture of

Sikanid and Byzantine elements, the column and bouquet codd have been part of the "search for an
identifving original imsgeryUudiscusse in connsction with the images on some early IslEmic coins,
one of which bas a bust of r SiSnid monarch on the obverse rnd the Prophet'r Irnce, or 'maah, in a
niche on the m n e , (Figure 101)?* As this coin is datd 75 AW695 CE:6 O. Grab= h u quutioned
n
a at a date th& ir pnor to al-Walid's innovation of the
whether the niche actually rcpresentcd a r

~ arches over bouquets in the Cairent marginal

recessed mi&tb,s' or was just a mark of h ~ n o u r ?The
omaments might be examineci for the same reason*
It is tempting to think of the arch in Figure 86 as an elabomtion of the mi&*

with three

flowers in the mosque of Figure 3; it may be so, of course, rio may the arches in Figures 93 and 90,
but another explanation is possible. The marginal ornaments of the Cake Qur'b and a number of
carved wood panels h m al-Aqsa Mosque appear to reflcct the ncwly-crcatcd padisiacal imagery.
Prior to al-Aqsa's restoration between 1938-42:9 the twenty wooden tie beams spannbg the
nave were supported on the walls by consols, and those parts of the consols projacthg over the nave
were masked with carvcd panels; such panels being used simildy on minor nive b ~ a m s .The
~

beams' made-to-measure panels,6' which are attributcd to the second Umayyad building of al-Aqs5, c.
715-16 CE,62have a consistent theme of bountfil vegetation: vines l d c n with flowcrs, leaves, nuit,

and small containers of thesc things, swiri out of pots, baskets and acanthus bases, their ebuilience

76
only just constrained by the rings which dmv the rinceaux togethcf (Figtaru 102, 103):

Some panels

include arches with elabotrrtely-scalloped haads, Iacy or flower-covctcd d o s , rnd flowcm .bout
the arches themselves, (Figures 104,

(Figure 10Q6*is vcry likc that of Fi-

the arch wi?h rdiating fiowcm reen on r berm end

93. Among the Caircnc margind o m ~ c a t thr

arc

equally-fancifiil arches that encompass lush bouquets- While al1 of the p d s tccovctcd are illortntcd
by R Hamilt~n,'~
none include the isolatcd column; but, it should be notcd, that of the forty possible
h m the principal nave beams only th*-two

panels still exist.

Ai-Aqsa's panels are of interest for several rcasons: their vital flom shows relatvc1y Iittle
SkZnid influence yet is very suggestive of tha seen in the Qubbah in ita abundance; in the
overflowing containers; the inclusion of stylkd vegctai elcmcnts md conbrolling rings, and the supra,
natural combination of diverse fiuits and fiowers (Figure 107).~Thcrc is evcn a trcc with cntwind
branches (Figure log)* that resemblcs those of the San'a' Figures, the Damascus mosaics, and the

Qubbah itself.
Arches filled with vegetal and other forms are common in Umayyad cirt, (found ofken on
artefacts where the Iikelihood of their being rn-s

is improbable). The c

originally parailel to the ground about 16 m. up, and not easily stcn.
arches could be rn-s,"

m al-Aqsa panels wcre

so while theu and the Cakene

they might be examples of other views of Paradise, still to

bc considcrcd.

This chapter began with the proposition that other representations of the hypostyle masque
exist, and the writer draws attention to them now: t h e pubiished marquttry panels7' in the
collections of the MetropoIitan Museum of Art, New York, (Figure 1 0 9 ) ; ~the Museum of I s l h i c Art,
Caim (Figure 1 1 0 ) and
~ ~ the Isiamic Department of the State Musaims, B a , (Fi-8

111, 112)7'

Al1 the panels are agiieed to be Egyptian work," continuhg in a long Greco-Roman through
Coptic tradition? and exemplie the ski11 and patience that is requind ta producc tht mosaic-1lrt
patterns composed of tiny pieces of ivory, bonc and wood, inlaid or .tnxcd to a woodcn base."
New York panel's provenance is the F

m , and that pubiished by 2.M. -an,

The

h m the arc8 of

'Ayn a l - S ~ & ; ~the Beriin panel's pmvenancc is not strtrA-

F. Sarre reportcd that the nght side of the prnel in Figure 111,hd been cut cwry, rnd the
remainder "brought up to the sizt of the contcmporriiy Komns"" ia order to make of it the h n t covet

for a Qur'h. Al1 that remainad of the bmk covcr was the piece in Figure 112, ducri'bed u being in
the same te~hnique,~
but without saying it came h m the srme p a e l u Figure 111. While S m
taks about the "oblong form and large measurementr of the cover", comsponding to the shape of
early Kufic Qur'hs," and that it "need scarcely be doubted" tbe p a e l hgments formai the case of

an early monumental "show" Qur'ii~,~

he dots not s p d a t e on what the panel might have beea used
for prior to its cutting down.

M.Dimand said the Berlin fhgments had been "wrongly mgadcd as r bookcovd, and
thought the panels probably bclonged to a t d d ,or tomb caiing."

In the absence of clear e v i d ~ ~ ~ c t ,

Z.M. Hasan callai both he ~alui

and Caire pmeis part of a box or chest?'

The rio. of the .adrrr,

theu similanty, and one of the find spots must have played a role in Dimand's opinion: the New York
panel is 18 i l 4 in. H x 76 112 in. W; the Berlin " h n t cover" is 19 7/16 in. E x 26 6/16 in. WyM.ad
Cairo's fhgmcnts arc said to come f h m the ccmetery at 'Ayn al-srah."The New York panel is tht

most complete, and by observation its wohanship is rather more refined than that on display in
Cairo, but there's such a high degrec of uniformity amongst the t h e , cxtending to the platerns for
upper and lower bands, for each arcade, and in which arcade pattern change may occur, as to suggest
al1 are fiom the same workshop and closely-related in time.

It is a cornmonplace of later Tslhic art that patterns and designs of dl khds move h m one

medium to another. In this change of medium, a balance had to be struck betwcc~lthe rneticulouslyarranged patterns of marquetry, and maintainhg the masque's distinguishing chP.ctcristics of arcades,

central courtyard, and the placement and appearance of motifs that rccognizably linkd it with

paradisiad imagery.
As in Figure 86, the architectural representations on the marquetry panels am laid out

78

horizontdly- The panels arc divided into welidcfnd, uneqiul thirds, f

h rtcder king set witbjn a
m

e of mosaic diapers'' ta ci-

side of m cmphasizcd centrai sqiurr. In ucb a r a i p k the exticme

left and right arcades arc nll~owcrthan the o t h c r ~ .In

~ Sarre's opinion, the d

e as am "archiectprrl

motif" came h m contcmporary mosques and was "fkcpcntlyfomd paiated in gold u a d e c o d v e

border on the pages of carlier Kufc K o r a n ~ " . ~Then are neithcf cmbiasd entraicm nor m@rSb

indicators visible; nor may they have been necessary. These arc bol& uncluttemi reprcseatations; a
box, or tomb casing, with such a panel on one, or both long s i d a would make an (~~~~hitecturat
statement.
Betwccll each arcade is a column with a butbous capital, aa impost, and r vase h m which
nses a "winged thistle", in the New York and BaiBi examples, and "aiaged pomcgr8nrterwat CPIo?
the latter showing thtee of thcse motifs above the vase. Column and vue ensembles arc mat h

m thin

plates and whether thistles or pomegranates resulted may have dependcd on the cutter's skill. The
columns, with theu vases, only suggest a stnictwal d e , but their inclusion herc is quite as striking a
feature as the similar placement of vases above capitals in the Qubbah@s
octagond ambulatory. AS

well, these thistles and pomegranates may be cornparcd with similar forms rising tbrough the mades

in Figures 84 and 87.

The centre third of each panel is the mosque's central courtyard standing on its edge, this
being the means of showing the nature of a floor othtrwise invisible in a twa-dimensional
representation. In Ecclesia Mater (Figure 4), the nave's mosaic fioor is illustratd standing on its odge
to show the birds and vegetation therwn.

b this adaptation of Figure 3 it is possible that the fiowm, vase and columa might not h m
transfemd easily ta rnarquetry. Such a large-SC& element in tc compoiition may not have k e n
sympathetic to the medium's especial characteristic, mcticulous geomctric patterns f o n n d of thou-ds
of tiny pieces. It is speculated that the courtyard's bouquet of flowers war tranrformcd into r n o t k
more easily-worked vegetai motif associated with fhitEUlness, the vine on the c a m d central boss

(Figure 1
3
)
:
'

about which the cratsmam was able to dcmonttrrtt hu &di. Attention is drrwn ta

another mar~rietryprnel h m Egypt, on a box of the sath-sevcnth ceatiuy CE (Figure l14)."

chest has ciradri: mosricr about camed bossa

30

This

it m.y be the h w c prneb fouow 8 rtyhtic

tradition.
These t

h maqactry panels mix Byzantine and Siiriinid-inspird ferrturer in r maancf th&

reflects both the Qubbat al-Sakhrah and the San'a' Figwes. Theu notable reremblrnce to Figruie 3 ir
not diminished by diSemces in medium and prtsentation.

In assigning a dac to the Berlin fhgments, S a m pointcd to the bulbotaa capita and moraic
design as "observable in he art of the contemporary Tulunid perid", commenta reperted by
Gr~hmann.'~On the Coptic chest of Figure 114, most c l e d y seen betwccll the two centrd pmelr of
the bottom row of arcades, are bulbous capitals thai bear compdson with thosc on the I s l h i c panels.

It rnay be that the capitals in Figures 109-111 mericly indicatc lesr s

W worbmanrhip than that in

Figure 114. The Berlin fhgments' workmanship is quite corne.

As arguai above, a Tlnid atribution for Figures 109-111 could be cansidered only without
knowledge of the Sam's and Cain, rcprcsentations of the mosque. -ad

b. Tln, eponymous

founder of the dynasty, promoted 'Abb&id Simarri'-style decoration in the mosque named for him,
not tbings Umayyad, M. Dimand d a t d the New York panel to the d y 'Abbkid p c r i ~ d this
; ~ too
must be rejected. The four "copies" of San'a' Figure 3, which is one of tbree ihstrations the WLiter

has identifid as Ummayad, are of that same period.

One rnay speculate that the mosque and column were W p t s to visualize aa idea in which
the mosque's symmetncal structure was used metaphoricaliy as, say, a

cc to he Muslim

community as whole, the ummah, to its coherence in religious observance, and its equdity More
God; while the column in its midst rnay have temindecl of the paradisiscal rcward for faitbfuhcss.

Wbatever Figure 3 was realIy meant to express, for a whiie it was sufficientiy well known and
vital to be reproduced, and four "copies" of it remain. As an Egyptian origin is attributcd to dl the

80

copies, pehaps sptcial rtgiond factors contributcd to the propagation and demire of this iconograpbic
motif. The isolatcd colwna may have been "tried out" in the sesrch for a more wieldy image, but it
too faded h m use, or mrybe it was discardecl because it did not serve the state's interest oo well as

the architectural motif to be exunincd next.

Notes
1.B. Moritz, ed., Arabic Palrieomanhv. Publications of the Khadiviil L a m , No. 16. C&o: 1905.
Deiixime partie, Manuacrts musuimmu. Tome
2.Franois Droche, Catalome des msiwcrits -.
Paris: Bibliothqyc Nation&, 1983, p. 75.

1, 1. Les Manuscrits du Co=.

3.A. Grohman., "The E d y Islamic Pcriod fiam the Scvcnth to the T w e m CentPiy," in
Book, by Thomas W. h o l d and Adolph Grohmam. Germaay (?what city): The Pegutir Press, 1929,
p. 22.

4Este11e Whelaa, "Writing the Word of God: Some Eady Quiin MmIUCLjpts and Their Milieux,
1," Ars Orientalis 20 (1990): 120, and a. 72, who sta&s the number 18953 corner h m the
"aaonymow catalogue of the Csin, collection", Fhrist d-kutzd d-' d i y y d r , of 1310/1893.

Part

s a
5.Collected by J.-L. Asselin de Cherville, dragomrin to the French Consulate in Egypt 1806-1822,
. *
. .
Henri Dehmin, Orientalistes et antiauaucs- Silvestre de S m - Sm contnnboriin~et sw d i e .
BAH, tXXVII. Paris: Librairie rientaliste, Paul GePthner, 1938, pp. 93-95 in pcirticulrr, a d chrpter
VI prssim; Droche, Caalop. 13, n. 2; Wbelan, "Writing: Psrt I,* M. 34,74.
6.Whelany "Writing: Part 1," n, 72, and Droche, C a t a l o m p. 75.
ir.Grohmann, "The Early Islamic Period," p. 22; see also the note following.
8.Collected by U. J. Seetzen, see Wbtlan, "Writing: Part I," M. 72,74, and as well, het note 34 for
other background information on Europe- acquisition of vafiaus Qufin folios, aud the ditEculties
that can be encountctcd reconciling early catalogue numben and descriptions of contents with ciurent
catalogues.
9.This folio, 39r, is illustrated in Eugenius Tisserant, S ~ eimin
c a Codicum ricatalium. Bonn: A.
Marcus et E. Weber, 1914, plate 42, with corresponding catalogue entry on p. xxxii; s a al80 Wbelrui,
"Writing: Part 1," n. 72; Droche, Catalogue, p. 76.
1O.J.H. Moeller (also identifieci as JEMailer, 1.J. Mller) Palbnrriohische BeitraPt ruis den
Herzoalichen Sammlunven in Gotha Heft 1. Erfiirt, 1844, pl. XIV, Whclan, "Writing: Part 1," n. 72.
11.Published as tafkl 1, in heft 1 of F. S m , F.R Martin,eds., Die Ausstellunn von Meirterwericcn
Muhammedanischer Kunst in Mnchen 1910. Munich: F. Bmclanann AA., 1912. Ncither folio nor
accession numbers are mentioned in the plate caption. See also Grohmam, "The Early Islamic
Period," p. 22, and n. 94, and Ernst Kiihnel, "Ausstcllung von Meisterwerlrcn mohimmedanischer
Kunst in Mnchen (Mai bis Oktober 1910)." Der Islam (1910) 1: 1.Teil: 186.

12.B.Moritz, "Arabia Petma," Mlanncs de la Facult Oriental. Universit Saint-Iosebh (108) 3: p.

430.
13.Grohmann, "Early blamic Period," p. 22.

lQ.Jenkins, "Umayyd Ornament," n. 17, in which she States also that ninth-ttnth c a t u r y CE is given
by D. James, Ouians and Bindin~sh m the Chester Beattv L i b m J (London, 1980) p. 23, but
without supporthg data.

p. 75. Moritz@
plate 1shows the conive text of the bcghung of the tirst line
15Deroche,
on this sheet ( h m Sur& 37), u well at the title given for S d 38. Cursive tcxt indicrting the
beginning of the shat crn be reen at the top right of Tissermt's plde 42, opper illusdon.

~ ~ implictly
~ct
rcmgnizcd by Moritz,
16,Whelan, "Wnting: Part I," p. 120, and a. 75: "This d i f f ~ ~ iwrs
who cited only plates 14, lepmseating thi# pages, in connection with the rpppored W m ~ d
ornamental bands in his QdW;sec also n. 74.
17Moritq "Arabiq" p. 430, "Ich m6chte auch damu erinnem, dam d u penische Stil relbst in die
heilige Kunst der Omaijsden gednrngen ist: in den Ornamcntleirtea d u von ca. 100 A.H. stammendcn
Korans der Vice-khigl. Bibliothek findet sich neben byzantinirch-koptischen Ornamentea d u
sassanische Palmetto (2)", and n. 2: "Arzrbic Pdognphy, taf.2-5".

18.Whelan, "Writing: Part 1," p. 120 and m. 73,74, tbis infornation given in the 1310/1893 E'ihHst,
in which the original folios are said to h m twelve b u to 8 side, whde the 1830 replrcaiieata h m
eleven lines to a side. Exactly what S d or parts thctcof were x c p l d is not s a .
19.It has lead her also to criticize D h c h e for c o m p h g the illuminations on ms. Arab~324c folios
with those on Moritz@
plates 6-12, "Droche does not seem to have rcwgnzcd that these folios belong
to the later portion of the manuscript ...",Whelan, "Writing: Part I," n, 74.
20lbid., Part 1," n. 63.
21.Plate 1 shows a nearly-complete page, with the sheet's opening words at Surah 37:175 written in.
22.Rather &au the more usud Muhanmad, the title of Sumh 47 is shown aa d-QftaI,whichis
described as a MagribF title, see Rudi Paret, Der Korsi. Kommentar und Kodcordanz. Stuttgart,
Berlin, Cologne, Mainz: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1971, p. 546.
23.A severely-edited version of plate S appears as the upper half of fig. 134 in Gmbar's Mcdiation,
entirely omitting the l& marginal dcvice; while the lower hiilf of fig. 134 is an ditcd version of plate
2, showing the divider betwcen Surahs 37 and 38, The iliuslration entry on p. xvi omits mention of
Moritz' plate 2.
24.Shown as plate 133 in Grabar, Mediation, and referred to on p. 164.

26.This is plate 42, upper illustration, in Tisserant, Szwciming.

3llbid.. p. 76 - inntr marginal ornament, which is compuod with that o f f 23 vO.

32lbid.. p. 77 - inner marginal ornament.
30Jbid., p. 75 inner marginal ornament.

m:

Einghausen and Oleg Grrbar, Tbe Art aad Arcbitcctaue of

650-1250. Pelicaa
Group, 1987, p. 120, where the marginal ornament on tbu plate
fig. 101, identifid as 'AbbGid, of the ninth-tcnth ccntary.

Art. London: Pen@

34.The detail of this marginrif onimicnt is shown in the lower illrutrrtion of T u ~ t ' s
plate 42.

37.See descriptions of 44r and 46v, above.

3 8.Grabar, Mediation, p. 164.
39.Jean-Pucd FoPrdrin, "glise E.5 d'el Bh," Swa (1992) 69: 171, .ad pl. 97. E l a m ir on 8he
east side of the Orontes River, mid-way betwccll Hama and Antioch.
40.Sauvaget, La Mosq&, p. 76, aud n. 3.
4IKA.C. Crcswcll, A Shor&Account of Eariv Muslim Architecture, rwised and mpplemented by
James W. Allen, Aldcrshot: Scolar Press, 1989, fig. 81.
42Northedge, "The Umayyad Palace," fig. 56 and pl. 29, E3/1.
431t seems likely the comments following apply to the "palme" of Droche's description (Catp- 75) on f. 32r of ms. Arabe 324c also.
44.Grohmann, "Early Islamic Period," p. 22 and n. 92, said of the arcade motifs on plates 1-2 (folio
214b).
45.Jenkins, "Umayyad Ontament," n- 17, said of the similar devices on Moritz' plates 1-2.
46Jens Kfiger, Sasanidischer Stuckdekor, Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 1982, taf.
213 aad catalogue 75, p. 67, found at Umm al-Za'atir approximatcly 2 lciiometrcs east of the T
h
4
Kis* sec also taE 38,5 h m Ma'Md, and taf. 63,l h m N i i b b s d .
47.Kri)geq Sasanadischer, taf. 403; see also M.Gautier van Berchcm, "Mosaics," EMA 1:1, p.286
and figs. 3 11-313.
48Grabaq Sha~e.fig. 39.
49.M. Gautier van-Berchem, "Mosaics," fig. 311.
SOJbid," fig. 152,

5 1.Jenkins, "Umayyad Ornament," n- 17.

52,Grabaq Mediation, p. 164.

54.Grabrt, Formation, p. 94.

New Yo&

J.J. Augustin Publishcr, 1952, pp, 156-171 pmsim, aad plate XXVIIW.

5 7 h his tebuilding of the Great Mosqtle at Ma-nah, 88-91 AH/707-710CE, Bisheh, The Marge of
the Pro~heg1979, p. 201.

59Ha~nilon,Structurai Histow, p. iii.

60.Their placement is describecl in p. 83 ff.; their position on the tie and corner beams is shown in
figs. 42 and 45 respectively, and they are illustrated in plates L-LXXIof Hamilton, Structural Historv.

621mm the section "An Alternative History of the Aqsa Mosque," which, (y';cording to IL 116, waa
supplicd by R W. Haadton, Crcrwell & Allen, A Short Accomt, p. 82.
63Hamilton, Structural Historv, plaies LESE and LXLIQE, respectively.
64Jbid, plates L I E and L N A E ,respectively.
65Jbid. plate LXXi.13.
66Jbid., plates L-LXXI.
671bid, plate LXV.19W.
68Jbid, plate LVLSE.
69.Creswel1, "Islam's Newly Rcvealed Aristic nheritance h m Byzantium: Hellcnistic Panels in the
El Aksa Mosque," Illustrami London News, 16 Janusiy 1937, p. 94.
7O.Fawzi Zayadine, "Islamic Art and Archaeology in the Publications of MarguMtc Gauthier-van
Berchem," Annual of the Demrtment of Antiauities of Jordan (1984) 24: 209.

71.They arc r e f d to in a g c n d way in The Dictionaw of Art, v. 16, p. 523, in the article on
"Tvory," by Ralph Pinder-Wilson.
72M.S. Dimand, "An Egypto-Arabic Panel with Mosaic Decoration," Bulletin of The Metromlitan
Museum of A@(1938) 33: 78-79, identifkd as Acc. no. 37.103, Lee Fund; Dimand, A Handbmk of
3rd edition, New YorG: The Metnrpo1itaa Museum of Art, 1958, p. 124, where it is
Muhammadan
called a "Copto-Arabic plaque"; Marilyn Jenkins, "Islunic Art in The Metropolitaa Museum of Art,"
A r t s and the Islamic WorlQ (1985) issue 11 vol, 3. no. 3: 52-53; Rosea-Aydon, E d v Tslami~ill. 30,
pp. 48-49; Tardy Les Ivoires. Deuxime Partie, Paris: Tardy, 1977, p. 87, fig. 44.

w,"

73Zala M+ammd ijIasam, Works of Dr. ZIJa Muhrmrnd H m .v. 2 "Al-Fan ai-hl-fi
Beirut: Racd al-Arabi, l4OlH/l98 lM, plate 35, whcre the caption rtiter this p a e l is in the Miueum
of Arabic Antiquitics. In v, 3, "Funn al-Islh", of Works, p. 493, Z.M. wrn statcs there ir inother
panel in the Museum of I s l h i c Antiquitics, Colicge of Art, University of F u d 1. What reems to be
the panel shown hcte in Figure 112, is in the Museum of lslimic Art, Cab, identifid by a waii
plaque as #9018.
7 4 3 . Sarre, Islamic Bookbindmm ttrnr. h m the Germm edition Jklliinirche B
u
-

by F.D.
O'Byrne, London: Kegan P d , Trench, Trubner & Co. Ltd,, 1923, unnumbered "Intraducory"page
and fig. 1, the "back cover" (Figure 114), and unnumbered page with the caption to plate 1 (Figure
113); Gmhmann, "Eariy Islamic Perid," pp. 33-34, w h a the paael is raid ta be in the Kaiser
Friedrich Muscrun, Berlin, fig. 16 and n. 150.

75.Sarre, blamic Bookbindin~s,unnumbettd inroductory page; Grohmanu, " E d y Xrlamic Period," p.

33; Dimand, "An Egypto-Arabic Panel," p. 78.
76sasan, "Funn," p. 493; Jenkins, "Islamic Art," p. 52.
77.Ccdar base for the Cairo panel, llccording to Hasan, "Ai-Faun ai-hlm," p. 114; cedrt dm for the
Berlin paneI, Sane, Islamic Bookbindinm uaaumbered caption page, and ficur, (~ccordingta l~cersion
idonnation for the New York panel.
78sasan, "Al-Fann al-TslhF ," p. 115; in "An Egypto-Arabic P d , " p. 79, Dimand rtster tbat the
"Arabic Museum of Cairo possesses six fhgments with similar mosaic work, most of which corne
fiom the early Islamic cemetery of 'Ain al-Sirah".
79.Sarre, Islamic Bookbindinas, unnumbere caption page.

8 1lbid., unnumbered intmductory page.

83.Dimand7 "An Egypto-Arabic Panel," p. 79. He ~

Handbook.

C T to
S

it as a coffin p-1

on p. 124 of

84.Hasan, "Al-Fannai-IslamT," p. 115, "+ndEq"; also in his "Funn," p. 493.

85.Sane, Isiamic Bookbindinns, unnumbered page caption to plate 1.

86.Dimand, "An Egypto-Arabic Panel," p. 79.

87.Grohmann noted the "intcrsecting zigzag bands" of the borders of the Berlin panel were lilce the
same pattern on Coptic bindings, and thought they had presumably been taken ovcr h m the la#er,
"Early Islamic Period," p. 33.
88.Sarrc tefers to the arcade onginally having five wide arches and a narrowcr one on each flmk,
however, there are only four wide and one narrower to be seen on al1 tuec examples, Islamic
Bookbindinns, unnumbered caption page.
891bid, unnumbered caption page to plate 1.

90Hasan, "FunUn," p. 493.

91J)etrul of Fi-

109, Mebopolitra Museum of Art panel.

92.Tdy, Les IvoDeuxime Partie, pI- 43, the caption of which h d s , "Cofc ibijoux. Bou et
incrustations d'ivoire. T m d en Nubie drns iuie tombe de l'poque byzantine. Art Copte W-VIT S.
Muse E n t i e n , Le Cam".
93.Sarre, blamic Bookbindingn, unnumbemd csption page; Grohmrnn, "Eariy h l d c Period," p. 33;

-an,

"Ai-Fann al-IslamF," p. 114-115 dso places both the Cain Figure 112) and Berlin prneis in

the Tlnid pcrio.

The Saa" illustrations aowed w to se+ Qubbat ai+dmh's pmirirerl imrgery u a

response to the powerfd, establishcd iconographies in the ncw Islimic empire and, it ii -ad,

the

initial stage in a widcr scheme to foster an Islimic iconojpphid programme. Evidencc of the

"San'a'" iconography in the Cairo QuiZn and on marqncy pmeh was d i s c u s d . How long-iivd, or
widely-used the congregational mosque aad isolated column image-signs may have been, the writer
cannot say. Perhaps they f d c d fiom use, or were discarded for some m o n other thrn "1oc.l"
appeal, because there existed in what is now Jordan and Syria a quite diffctcat "local" image-sign
whose presace as d e c o d o n hm h d but paasing notice, and whom populu copier are unrecopkd

This motif, a distiactly-iamed arcade tbrough which views of p d s e arc to be had, scems to
have been as catcfufly crafted as that above mentioned. Th= is -n

to stak it was employai

purposehlly in architecturai contexts that indicattd those arcas' special qualitier or fiinctions and that
the prcsence of the form went hand-in-hand with a structural concomitant. In some instances the

depiction of the arcades' i m a g q maintains the illusory qualities of the Qubbat d-Sakhrrih's ornament
whence it derives; in others, the architecture imposes its own conditions and these secm to have
ptevailed over the maintenance of illusion. At times the distinctive frame itself might appear
independently and be understood as derring to the more usual arcade with a vkw. ManXicstCrtions of
the new iconographie form are considercd in this chapter, but thcm is no comprehensive mumination

of sites at which it occurs, nor are al1 Umayyad sites marnined.

Attention is drawn f h t to the Reception Hall of the Umayybd palatial complex of Qal'at
'Amman, constnacted over two Roman courtyards that werc buiit on a large artificial platform jutthg

fiom an underlyhg hiIl.' It is the southan-mort buiiding in Figure 1153 This weU-presc~ed
building is at the cntrancc ta the palrice complex; it w u the principal gatc and mry have beea J s o the

88

Mail* r l - ' h m , or ha of public audience, tbrough whkh mpplicmtr would have p u & on the w.y
to

a Majfis al-Kham, or hail of private audience, in the no& building: (sec Figure 115).
A, Norihedgc

haa dcscn'bed tbe Hail

ris

a "four-iwan" structure b d t by romeone frmiliar with

the Byzantine cmss-in-1quarq' a locally-constructed "dien" designs that includes four prerido-

squinches in the transition zones of the semidomes coveriag the errt and wert w o t a , "prepdo",
because thtir outlines have been carved onto masonry that gradudiy rounds out above h m ,
apparcntly the work of those who "did not h o w how to build the mai thing"!

0th- "alienwfiahins

include the Hall's tunnel-vaulted north and south wai4r; exterior, rcct81guiar buttxessing as reen at
the Ssanid Tiq-i KisrE, Ctcsiphon, and an interior faade of blind niches dcscriIbed u descendants of

those on the exterior faades of the Ti;p-i Kis* and the Prthian pdace of Assur.'

R Ghirshmm's

reconstniction of the Great Hall of third century CE BTshZpr, with four sets of thriee w & d -g

central court which was cncircled with a mw of separate niches rcrtmg on r ledge,' w u considercd by
Northedge for the influence it might have had on the Reception EWl's architecture, and dismissed for
want of conviacing ~ i d c n c t .E.
~ J, Keali bas r e f d to Ghirsbmrn's rcconsuction as impr~bable.'~
Northedge reconstructs the Hall as an hypaethral court with stepped merions, vegetdlydecorated h n t and back, about the outer and b e r roof edgcs" (Figure 116)." Thcm were interior
and exterior comices, and the latter's decoration includes rcgisters of semation (dso known ar saw-

dog-tooth, zigzag, zt&ig-,

zacken-,tickzak,)and bead and r d .

A. Almagro Gorbea, of the Spanish archaeological team at the site, considers the Vestibule

(Reception Hall) to be in the form of a Greek cross with pseudo-squincher, and state~that, while the
courtyard covering is impossible to determine, a stone dome is l o g i d as the building is strong enough
to support it."

Northedge disputes the dome theory on the grounds of there being insufficient rupporting
structures, and argues also that as the decoration has b e n cawed in local h e s t o n e it could withitaad

wcathering in the hypvthnl court as exccution in stucco could not-"

This latter r u ~ isn

89

questionable, ru the d e c o d o n of the blind arcade about the towen fnking the entrrnct to the Smdl
Enclosure at Qaqr al-&ayr ai-Shatrp is of mouldd, rscd-rcidorce stucco," md rtacco ia u s d for the
abovc-gstc d e c o d o n at Qagr Kh8r&mh.l6 The Hd may have h d 8 lltcr, woodca, roof ag8inst the
cold Jordsuian winterterl'
Almupu Gorber prcsents aitemate f.de t~~~nrarictions,
one of which
shows the butttessing as the lower part of large blind arches wih only two extemal blind nicher
(Figure 117); bis other rsconstruction shows the exterior buttrcssing suggtrtcd by Northcd~e."
Figure 118" shows the interior niche amaugment, with Northedge's crcne11ation-coIliict
reconstruction. There were twmty-four blind niches in the top register, eight in the middle one, aad
one hundrcd and six in the Iowest register which fonn a continuow arcde about the entire inna ~TW,
above a pronouncd moulding some 1.6 m. h m the f l o ~ r . ~
Niche ornament is predominantly floral, and regimented to fit confmed splcer. The nicher arc
individually decoratcd, 49.5% of which decoration stilt exists or is known of through photogrrphr."
Patterns vary not o d y h m niche to niche, but betwecn back, niche b e d and spmdrel. Actudly, the

arch face and spandrel arrangement rescmbles the dfizof Umayyd Spain, and is so called by the
Spanish team.=
As striking as their ornament must have beea originally arc the niches thcmmlves, for theu
distinctive structure binds together the entire decoraive programme. Each consists of two plain,

attached colonnettes without capitals, set on low bases, and supporthg an arch with a s

extra do^.'^ Additionally, in the Hall's lowest register the niches are set on what might be callcd a
plinth, directly above the moulding, where they become an arcade by virtue of k i n g pl@

clorely

side-by-side, although each niche rcmains discrete, that is, intermediate archet do not sharc supports,
the arch of every niche is raised on its own colonnettes. The niches do not protntde bcyond the wall

plane, the arch faces recede progressively to a fiirthcr-cccessed niche back.

Ksh, Umm al-Za'5ti.q ai-Ma'irid, Nizimibad, Tepe Hisrru, Tepe Mil, Chal TakhanEshqabad are among the sites Northedge mentions hat between them have contributcd aii the basic

motas to the dccoontion of the HaQu whosc -und

plan, rchiccctpnl d

concludes to be entirey in the SSsaaid and port-SiirInid brrdition?

d and decoration Le

This should bc ~econsidcred.

At 'Ammh th= sre &th= pattern-sheathed pillars, u at, say Diimghh,w nor patternsheathed wu3, like those reconstructcd at Umm al-Za'atir," nor irc othcr pacta of hc wrllr
"papered" with field patterns. So far as is known, the Hail's voiilts and d d o were plria, die absence

of holes in the sbnewodc makhg it "unlikely tbat a marble or stucco revebnent w u attachedu?
Some of the Hd's niche dtcorativc programmes arc now inwmplete and 0 t h arc difficult to make
out, but what could be disccmed has ban dmwn, and the clcar d . g s fiom Northdge's book are

used herc as the basis for discussing feaures of the decarative programme.

The vegetation in the niche backs may bc atachcd to a slim straight aunlr, or it "grows" fiam
a ground of three semi-circles; somctimes the vegetation is scen through a latticc. A series of
independent circles containhg rosettes and other vegetal elements, often with interstitial leavcs, is a
common arrangement (Figures 119P and 120)?" Uncirclcd rosettes with interstitial lcavcs appcar on
many soffits of the Qubbah's octagoaal arcade:'

and circlcd ones with leavcs arc border motifb in the

western n w @ at the Great Mosque, D a m a ~ c u s .On

~ ~many of al-Aqsa's panels continuous vines
completely encircle leaves and flowers, giving a very similar appearanct. Rosettes have long been
used in Jewish sepulchral art, and 'Amman's alternation of rosettes and other vegctai forms with
interstitial leaves may be compared with those on the sarcophagus in Figure 121, and the c o f h in

Figure 122?3 Figure 120's slim straight tnrnk supporthg stylized rcrolIs fillcd with various floral
motifs may be compared with the more naturalistic versions in Figures 107 and 109. Common also to
the Hall and the wooden panels are groups of three leaves, upright or invatcd on the panels, used to

inaugurate change in a vegetal structure (Figures 108, 120, 102).

ui seelcing cornparanda for the Hall's grapcs Northdge focussed bis attention on the few
accompmying leaves and the vine's entwining of a straight

but the distinctive characteristic of

the 'AmmUi grapes is hat bunches are p a k d (Figures 123," l 2 4 F 125'3, either in the rame bop, or

91

side-by-sidc dong a rtem. In five drawings of the Qiibbah'a mosric scrolls in which
(Figure 126)U the bunchu arc prir#l in the rame hop. One Qubbah tic b
leafess, s t y l i d vine? whik o

rpperr

chu
~ grapc
~ buncbct on a

h show pUIod buaches alternraiag with pmcd leavu, one to eithtf

side of a central stalk,'" an auangement found also on the capola of tbt Double Purage

48).

Paired grape bunches in the same loop are fomd .t the Sabsidiriry Palace, Chal T-m-Eshqrbd,

for

whose decoration an Umayyad date is proposed," but this wiu not the compamadum takca h m that
site- The Coptic chest in Figure 114 has gmpe bunches of a shapc comparable with thore rt 'Ammh,
and few sccompanying Ieaves.

Figures 127 and 128,'' at 'Ammh and Figure 129" at ai-Aqsh,show vegetation on Irtiiccs;
rosettes in diamond grids appear at 'Amman (Figure 130)," and on a wooden p a c l at ai-Aqsi(Figure

13 1):'

The imbrication of concentrc circles in some spandrels and niche backs is a seemingly
anomalous motif, but D. Thompson points out th& at Chal Tacichan-Eshqabd concentric spimis
symbolize water thtough which fish arc reptcscnted as ~wimming,,~
and the ovcrlapping conccntric
circles resemble water symbols on SZsBnid and later metalw~." Perhaps watcr symbolism is
intended in 'Ammaa's non-fi&

imbrication.

A cornparison drawn h m the Qubbat al-Sskhrah or al-Aqsa's panels cannot be applid to the
content of every niche at 'AmmBn, althaugh th-

arc rufficient conespondences ta demonstrate the

influence of both; the mode1 for niches' distinctive structure, on the other hand, may be attributcd to
the Qubbat al-Sakhrah, amongst whose real and decorative arcades arc two camposeci of discretes
blind niches: one is intemal, found on the inner face of the octagond arcde and the outer facc of the
circular arcade (Figure 132)." The arches are rPised on independent, bulbous colomettes with square
capitals and bases; these star-filled niches are surrounded by pearl bands whose vertical membm
appear to support the elaborate interstitial vegetal fonnr.
The second example was found on the parapet during the rcpairs of 1873-74) whcn the

exterior tila qplicd in 1552, in Sdaymin's rcip, w a t kiiy rrplacdM In hb d e , now

concealcd again, "each arch has its own pair of independent columns":'

and is aiub with the w d

plane, while the niche back, behind later innlls of Stones, formod "a sort of apsidd niche, P.25

deep"? These niches h d modest crpitals a d basa, a d thac w u no mention of d .iJiLocs.

Figure 133" shows 8 section of parapet with the b h d arcade, including one of four open
niches which Cnswell suggcsted wete used whcn making repain." Rernains of glars mosaics wcrs
found inside two uncoved niches aud h m these tracts a pattern of interlacc about rosetks wm
reconstructed (Figure 134)."

Clexmont-G.nneai thought that if the mosaic m n ~ wcre

s not original

to the building, they w m lkely made atter the rame pattun;"

Crwweli SM
the mosrics codd not

possibly date h m 'Abd d-Malik's timc, and wcm pmbably of the thirteenth ocnb~y?' It ir mggestd
that these two arcades werc the inspirational soutce for the distinctive fiaanes seen at 'Ammiin and
elsewhere, a resemblaace noted by C. Conder, "In genetal ummgemcnt, s i d erpacidly in the d e t d of
this upper order of dwarf pillars, the outer wall of the Dome of the Rock thus reproducer almoit
exactly features found in the Sassanian or early Arab building alredy descnicd at Amman"."

Serration will be considercd laterBrought down h m the parapet, the arcde metamorphosed. The nicher' csrefirlly thought out
placement in the Reception Hall is an exercise in tmmpe-lbil. Their arrangement leads one to believe

the designer sought to reproduce in some degree the sensory cxpericnce achievcd rrt the Qubbat alSakhrah, Physicdly, the Reception Hall is windowlcss, yet it evokes the interior of some lofty
e upper windows one may look out on the gardas of p d i s e ,
pavilion, through whose ~ 0 1 0 ~ a dand

for they are the only "views" aiTordecl.

To achieve this iiiusory world the Reception Hall's designer tappcd a n u m k of sourcer.

Using othemise fiinctional structurai elements the niches to articulate the wali surfices wm

common in late Gteek, and Roman architecture. In rnother hyprethnl sprec, the courtyud of the
Temple of Bacchus, Baalbek, Lebanon, the= are two registen of arched and gabld d c u l a ~

93
sep-

by Corinthian hrilf'lumns on the side wJIs.~

The " w d " of the Coptic chest in Figure

114 with its registen of arched and gabled nicher ii similady armtged- 0. RePthcr pointcd out that

the "half column" used in Shanid f q a d e designs wrs of Gieek derivation, but its degcncmkd form
without capitals and bases, as seen at 'Ammiiu for instance, w u typicai of Sknid architecture? In
the Umayyad period, half'lumns in S b h i d dress exist contempor(l1lcously with thore more
classicaiiy-garbed.
Contributing to the illusion of the niches u windows on mothm world is the p r o n o u n d
moulding which may have b e n bomwed h m sixth ccntmy North Syrian churchu w h m similady
elaborate exterior mouldings arc a featumrn Thcy am to be seen above and r o u n d doon, aad
swagged about or placed beneath windows; the HaU's anangement can be cornparcd with windows
nsing above a pmminent, continuous moulding at the North Church, Ruwhk (Figwe 13S)= md the
East Church, Me'ez, (Figure 136)."

The moulding is nminiscent dso of wall paintings, which often

start h m a welldefined band marking the upper extent of the d d o .

Illusion of various khds is cxplicit in Roman wall painting h m its earlicst style. For
example, a real colonnade and lattict balustrade on one wall is reproduced in stucco b u t three

othenuise blrnk wails to convey the notion of receding sp.ee;- trecs and shnibs might be painted
behind a real garden to cnly the ~ i c w ; ~figures
'
look out h m a paint and stucco man si on,^ or one
looks through a panel fiamed by a vine wreathcd column, a pillar aad an architrave at "...birds at a
fountain and garden architecture, ali of which rnight have bcen s t t n thmugh the room's window"
(Figure 137).m These examples are not remote k m 'Ammh's d c c o d v e programme; saving the
figura1 elements, illusion is manifst in the Qubbat a l - S M , and the Dlmascus mosaics, the latter a
vibrant example of the Second Style of Roman wdl painting, where the fiamhg device is the

paradisiacal grove of great trees.

Northedge points out the R a p t i o n Hall w u a public building, its dccoration the inest at the
~
to
site, and stresres how much recms to have bcea done for "purely visuai e f f ~ c t " .Acoording

94

Almagro Gorbea the Vestibule's (Reccption Hail) design and dccontion w u "given maximum prceminence" to imprcss visitors with the inhabitad wcaith and

As principal gatc, md posslle mqlis d-5m.for the d m i n i d v c complex of the aru,'"

the ReceQtion Hall was a point of cncoanter betwan locd d e r and d e d , mgeesting the imagcqr was
disposed thcm to some purpose, which the nicher on the exterior *de
nchness of the display was sufely meant to CO&

likely h d d d ' '

The

th& the Reception Hall brd a spccid m.

Similar niches appeated also on the outside of the northem building,= externd r c c e i s to
which, Almagro orbea points out, was restrictcd to the "single pathmtbrough the Veatibole
(Reception Hall);= howcvct, both he aad Northedge point to the Vestibule (Rcccption Hd)u the
most fhely-dtcorated are.of the complex, and this mggesb th& the H
all w u an objective in is own
right, not merely the h t stage in some extended walk.
Almagro Gorbea dates Qal'at 'Ammn between the bcginning of he eighth c e n t . and More
744 CE," and Northdge h m the beginning to just a f k the rcign of H i s h h b. 'Abd al-Malik (724743)."

In conncction with these suggested dates and the Ruxption Hall's position in dation ta the

rest of the site, it msy be noted that H i s h h had two palaces built outside the wdls of Sergiopolis-

Rusafah, Syria, whose northem gate was enclosed by an extra-mural, hypaethral room- Extemally,
this rectangular room was f l d e d by towers, and the walls seem to have been plain; entry w u by
way of a single gateT6 Inside, the room's east and west walls were dcufated with capitalled pilastas

whose architraves joined that above the arches of the blind arcade h i n g the southmi wall's triple
entrance to the city. Of these two extra-mural rooms, the Nor& Gate was a truly defaded and
defensible structure as the Reception Hall c m gate was not; their shapes and oxnament wem not alilce,
but in their modest entries upon hypaethral, richly sdorned interiors, thcy rue conceptudly alilce.

The ncxt site, Qas-,"

is 25 km. south of 'Ammiu, when the eastcm adgc of the Balqa*

farmlaad meets the desert? It is described as weil-watered, and a hg stopping pl-

on thc toute

Darb al-Shh h m Damucus to Md-nah and Mccca, via 'Ammia, Ma8& and Tabk." Qaswwas

95

an aristacrstic midaice laid out within a castrwn-lrt, crencllrtrA extaor wall (Fi-

13Qm whore

merlons may have ban stepped?' 1t u r completcd suctririe, b d t lrrgely of u h l a , nchly d c c o d

with floor and glass mosaics, and much carving wodred h m the rrme stone u the structure itscKa

There was a single entrancc through a tower whose jambs wme omamented with tien of c d ,
paired pilastar (Figure 139).= Bsyond the door, which d s o h d dccoratcd jrmbs, w u a verti'bult of

two domed bays leading to the central courtyard and the mst of the quy, and, flmlong the b q s ,
to the western end of

8 t h

an Audience H
i11 on the second f k r immedidy rbove the grte."

As reconsucted in a maquette (Figure 140)'5 p r e p a d by the rirchadogicai teiini's architcct,

F. Morin, this second floor area was orgauized in the fonn of b c r p s u about a central square
covered by a dome whosc dnim was picrctd by eght windows ftamcd with sagagcd colonne#cr~
similar to those in Figures 104 and 105. The north and south apser were semidomod, whik that on
the east was o t h d s e vauted and mqr have lead to a suite of s m d rooms above the gate for the
qef s owner."

Figure 141" shows a dome voussoir (cZoye~1)~tcovtrtdh m the north st.in.

Figure 140 indicatcs an extrados and vcry wide intrsdos she.thed in ornament,

ir reconstruction

rather

like that atributed to ICishm Figures 142 and 143, cZmeacx for the head of a vault and a vault,

respectively) evince the building's diverse motifs.

In Morin's reconstruction, the no& and south spser have r plain ddo, a band of ornament,
then an arcade of niches?' Two niches h m the site have been published (Figure 144, 14SY and, as
at 'Amman, they are discrete."

Tht grapes in the targer niche are on a vine whose augulrity rcflccts

the tendencies to stylization remarked by M. Avi-Yonah of J- Lassus' researches nto the aftb-sixth
century CE remains north-east of Hama, Syria Vines in the similady-confinhg spaccs of lintels and
jambs had stems which moved stifay h m one border to another, with leaves and h i t ajusttd to

fit.94

The smaller niche (Figurt 145ysbas the nch swrounding detail shown in Morin's
reconstruction, and shows an d b i t y also with both the lowest registcr of niches on the Coptic chest

96

(Figure 114) and the Qubbah's arcade in Figure 132, Like thore on the chest, the rrcb b u an outer
peari band and an innu reirrated one anci, assuming 1 symmetacrl composition, an arcde of thniches with their interstitial vegetation would h m been similrr to the Qubbrh'r d

e in Figurie 132

and to the niches with interstitial grripe rinceaux on the chest.

As for the innu fern-like motif, or branch, this does resemble those at 'Ammin, but a d e r

morr notable comparandum is saen in the mouM for a jar ne& u n d e c i a Radah.

whkh was

founded on virgin soi1 about 708 CE,^ during SulaymEn b. 'AM al-Malik's (715-17) govcrnomte.
k ncck h u a c o l k of rosettes beneath which arc
Figure 146 of the mould and a modern csst, shows t

vertical panels of the fem-like motif Both niche and jar mould illustrate the pcllctict of daply
cutting the interior of motifi and leaving a raisad border in order to m p h u i z e the con-

of light

and shadow. An example Avi-Yonah draws on in his discussion of this technique is the p h t on the
chance1 post in Figure 147,- the doublcd outline of the mould's lc.vca give similrir emphuis.
Among Qasws omamcnt P. Carlier lists such mows as acanthus, grtrpe bunchu, vines,
rosettes, cornucopiae, saw teeth, chevrons, blind horscshoe arches, and

their indisputable

reiationship to Greco-roman, Persian and Skiinid urt, "dans une conception du dcor qui a p d u sa
rationalit antique",^ and later says O the d e c o d o n

des antcdents t d s pmchu Z la Coupole du

I...

Rocher et la Mosque al-Aqsi ~rusalern*;'~

what aspects of the latter monument arc not

expanded upon.
The niches are strjngly Wrs those at 'Ammti, and have bccn so rcmPLcd by P. CPLia/'
however, beyond mentionhg the site bridly for o

h cornparanda, Norlhedge conspicuously ignores

these similarities. Qaspl's decorative motifs corne h m diverse sources, and its architecture is not

"Sisiinid", yet, as at 'Amman, the niches wete p l d to dominate an arca identincd as m Audience
Hall. Beceuse thcir carving is still so crisp, the dccply-rccessad backs convey tven more c l e d y than
at 'Ammin the impression of Mews through windows to

a garda beyond, as does thcir plricement in

Morin's reconstruction. It is not possible to say how the attributcd g l u s mos.icdm m y have

97

complcmcntcd them, but togethcr they ruggeat au imprcarive dirplsy. Here too, it is suggutcd, hat
the splendidlydccorated audience h d was the objective of this part of thc quy md that the mall
suite of rooms ovcr the gate wtre d a r y to it.

H.Gaube published a very wom niche with a senated horserhoe arch, the receasd back of
which is nIled with concentric imbricationl~lke that seen in at ' A m m h He considen thU niche to

bave been part of the fwadc d e c o d o n , as rnay be seen above the portal at Qw KharSnah and Qm
al-Hayr al-SharqL'M It may be noted hem also that h m the remaius of Q-s

contempamry

m o ~ q u e Gaube
' ~ ~ recovered a c m e d stone rosetle, a medafion with a centrai "&mb",

and a fiagrnent

showing a shmb between registen of egg and dart,lW suggesting that this early U m w d moique may
have been ornamented with some sort of paradisiscal imagery.
As the q c at Qagai was a princely residencc, wherc al-'Abbis. b. al-Wald 1aud al-WalId II
may have stayed,'07 the niches cannot have been an exclusive atiri'bute of the gatc ta an dministrativt
cornplex. The excavaton have conjecturcd the q q r rnay date to 'Abd al-Malik's mgn (685-705).'0.
K. Otto-Dom found the distinctive blind niches at Sergiopolis-Rusafah, Syriq during the

1952,19 and 195411 excavations of an m a identificd as that in which Hishtn b. 'Abd d-Mdik (724743) built bis two palaces."'

Limited exploration concentrated principally on one building (Figure

148),112 where rich fmds of decorative stucco and wall paintings were made.

The k t campaign established that the site had a castnam-like exterior wdl, and w u ~11tMed
through a single gate. Room 1's extent was noted, as were parts of room 5, and the south-weat

corner's tower."'

Stucco finds in the gate area were particuldy nwding."'

and d d g the h t

campaign included moulded pieces decorated with a pomegraaate (Figure 149),'" rnd nahualistic
grapes and leaves (Figure 150)."~ When k t published, the pomegranatc was raid to be part of

fiieze, but in the 1957 article, whcre it is shown with the flat border filiet uppetmort, it h d become 8
"StucM.gment", and rnay have been considercd part of the "NischcsiNl1ultgtllnfor blind archa."'

Found in the gate debns were palmettes, rosettes, and a tlumber of diffcrcllt blind arch

98
fragments decoratod with b ~ d e bands
d
and wrcahs of leavu, aad wconrpicu~usw
rmongst the rrch

fiagmcnts war r piccc with double senited brnds (Figure 151)."'

Thcm w a e uiso pl&, ha&

columnar fiaemcntr with rantcd ornament on the edge fillets (Figure 1S2).'U Mouidcd Engmcntr

had a fine gypsam corting, thought to be for wcathcr proection, and thcm were mnrins of plint on
the stucco, in mi, black and y e l l ~ w . ' ~
Traces
~
of rtd paint h d k e n found h i d e 'Ammin'r
Reception Hall by the Italian terini that originally excavrited the site, although Northcdge thought these
couid just as easily h m occumd after tht Umayyd p~riod,'~'and it seuns thrt the coIumnr at the
entrancc to the northeni building's i w a l wert gi1ddLP

Over both campaigns sigaificsat fin& of decorative stucco aad waU pUntings werie m d e in

Room 1 amongst other north-eastcm parts of thc site, and in both coprtyards."

Along with vine 1eaf

and grape motifs, thcm wete borders of overlapping hearts, palmettes, spiral l e m s , and hgmcntr of
se-

arches and half colonne#ts. Stucco elements of blind arcades were found in the vicinity of

~ he eastem part of the couxt~ard,'~leadhg Cho-Dom to

the main courtyard's p o s a g e w a y ~ , ' and
conclude that both the gatc bout and the courtyard w d s h d bccn ornamentcd with the nichedu
Among the fhds made in room 1:'" modded stucco paintod black, rcd and yellow w u
discovered during the h t campagn and, on the north wall above the socle, on a welI-finished stucco
Iayer, were paintcd a numbcr of columns in black and rd,betwtcll which were 10-ge

shapcr

(Figure 153).lm In an early report there were said to have k e n four larger fields and twa smailer ride

fields between the ~ o l u m n s , whereas

'~
the reconstruction drawiag in a later article rhowr only one
smdler field on the left and five largcr. Otto-Dom thought the columns were liktly part of r blind
arcade, but the arches were not found. A layout of narrower fields fluilting widet ones must cd1 to
mind the marquetry panels' (Figures 109-Lll), and cven the one narrow end field in Figure 153 is

suggestive of them. On the eaot wall there was a grid of double lozenges and a circle together,
between what sttms to have bttn a continuation of the painteci ~olumns,'~
and n w it more stucco

ftagments, and maay small pieces of wall painting. Fmm an rnalys of patterns, and colours which

99

included red and white, r d on a black ground, and clcar tones of mi, blue, yellow and grcen, u well
as stucco pieces, it was concluded that the north and east walls had, abave the socle, an made motif,
three zones of painting, and an upper zone of dccorative S ~ U C C O . ~ '

During the second campaign an e l c g a n t l y trec

~ outlincd in black on a white ground
(Figure 154)'" was found in the

niche in m m 1's math ad. Otto-Dan cumprcd it

with the similar wide-branching mosaic tre, at Darnascus, rnd with tbd in the brtb at Khirbat ai-

Mafjar. Another rectangular niche was found in the south-wcst corner of room 3, but thcm is no

mention of any painting therein; both niches are shown on the plan in Figure 148. Had niches been
found also in the southeut corners of these rooms one might sw they were of an ornamental naturc,

but, and here it is spcculated, one niche in a sou& wall could be a mieria.
At Q e r al-Hayr al-SharqF the remains of a mihri5b niche were found in the muth wrll of the
Smaii Enclosure's entrance nom, oriented in the "correct direction".'"

The mie*,

which is shown

on the excavators' plan 6D,is west of an entraace to room 28 immediately south. rii r privatc

dwelling at Rarnlah, a single arch was discovercd, inscrted into the mosaic floor. This is considercd
to be a mm,

for it has the end of Surah 7:205, ",.. and be thou not ncglectfiiln inserted in the arch

hood, and is said to be "properly oriented ta the south, towards Mt~ca".')~The second example,
particularly, speaks of the same flexibility in the placement and form of a rn-rab as suggested for that
in room 1 at Rusafah,

Another group of ruins about 1 km. h m the fmt was sunreyed during the second campaign.
\

Included in it are two large buildings, and a number of m o u d s of debris. Around the walls of a high
tower of the largest building was found a great dcal more decorativt stucco, including blind niches
and niche fillings like those found at the h t palace. Figure 155 is an arch with vegetai motifs in the
spandrels and laure1 lcaves on the arch fsec,'" and Figure 156 is a niche filling describcd as a
candelabra motif with entwining vine tendrils;'" of these latcr discoveries the cxcavator raid all the
elements of the blind arcade omament in the fint palace were found in the rcoond.lp

100

Because the Rus=

excavations arc incamplete therr's no cl-

id- of the rppcmnct of the

palaces and thcir m d i a r y buildings, but the excrmdor obtervcd both sifer were Irvishly, rad simiIdy
decorated. The omameotstion of the exterior of Palace One's single entrrncc included blind nicher
with vegetal motifs in the niche backs, and s

d and othenivise ornamcnted arch fiicer, and fie=

of papes and vines,'39 whik arcsdes of similar blind niches wcrc found on the e u t uid no& of the
principal coiiltyard.

Using the excavators of * h m & and Qas-

as guides, if, as Otto-Dom SV,

he ccatrrl

courtyard of Palace ne was lined with paradiriacal arcdes, tbtn it too codd have bcca r place of
audience, on a scale befitting a caliphal palace. Room 1's singuirrity ia emphasizcd by ita position
immediately oppositc the cnttance, its size and ornament which cauld be dcrcri'bad ai rd&g

the

arcades of the courtyard and, should the conjecture of a rni+rrfb be substanticited, then private or semiprivate devotions could have becn held there. Al=, m m 1 appem to be comectod only to roorn 2

and the unnumbered room to the west; an ensemble of principal hdi and two waiting rooms that

seems to be auxiiiary to the audience area

K. Otto-Dom wrote initidly that Rusafabs senated arches wcre unhiown at enother Umayyad
site,"'

and later of her surprise at fnding them, in carved stane, in the entranct building at

'Ammiin,"' (Figure 157).14' In the Ars Orientdig article, which is almost the only one of hem on

Rusifah that's evcr mentioned, she repeated her statement that RusXrh's chrrrictcristic smated rrch
("charaktenstischen ZacLc11b6gcn") was abundant in 'Ammti's enmnct buildhg;14' dor<uartaly, her
words were not accompanied by the important illustration of the sermted ach frice. She stated d s o
that the correspondence between Rusafhh's and 'Ammin's toothed arches and smooth haifalumns
was obvious,"'

and likely would have raid tbc rame of

Quwniches h d they then bcen discovered.

The other blind arcade cornpainda she gives are Qqr &Hyr ai-Ghhi. Qwr d-H.yr iI-Sha@, the
st
art, the "chamcteristic example"
"Kiosk" in the courtyard at Khirbat al-Mafjar and, a a ~ o n ~portable

in the decoration of the "Manivan" ewer."' Neither Northedge nor Carlier mention R u s W s

characteristic serrated arches.

Recent excavations at -S'ah

have u n c b v d the runains of a gatdcn, an elrbotrteiy-

decoratcd pavilion, rnd Urigaion ryrtem south-wmt of the Otto-Dom p

providing

substance for Theophanes' ofiquoted statcments that H i s h k b. 'AM al-Mdik not only b d t pdaces
in every city and town, he had crops sown, and gardcns and fountaius crtrited?"

At Qwal-Hayr al-SharqF, Syria, about 60 km. south of Rusafsh, thcm is an arcade of

discrete blind niches amund and betwctll the towen flanting the single entraam to the S m d
Enclosure (Fi-

158).Iu Al-Sh-

is almost cqually-distant from Prlmym, the Euphrrtes rnd the

eastem extent of farmed land,"g at a point where the mountains north of it cm be crosied north to
s o ~ t h . ' Rainwater
~~
drains into the ana h m thme wiclym, and thcm crn be mbrtrntial spring
vegetation.15'
As hm been mentioned, the niches here are of moulded stucco. Each arch shares an hpost
with the niche flanking, but has its own pair of engagcd colon net ta^ with a paim ruak design and
modest Corinthian capitals. There are acanthus in the spandrels and windswept acanthus on the arch
faces whose n m w , plain margins copy similar margins found on cawed stmmH2 Gabriel's drmring

of a niche's omament and profile (Figure 159)"' shows one motif in the ttccsscd back and another in

the niche hood, a practice observed at 'Amm5n and in some of al-Aqsa's panels. Tht o d y scrration is
in the form of a mw of angle-laid bricks immediately above the arcades, neverthtless, the writer

believes the niches are related to those at sites mentioned previously. Some exterior niches are
proposed for 'Ammin and Paiace One, Rusafah, although not on tbis scale. Hem, the nicher may
affect signage, on the ont hand ndicating hat this of the site's two enclosures is the one whem
"audiencentakes place. (No niches are recorded for the multiple entrances ta the Large Enclosure.)

On the other, the Small Enclosure's courtyard activity may have made it an inappropriate audience
area which instead would be found on the uppcr floor. Again, it is evidcnt that the niches are not an
attribute of the building's cultural origin or type.

102

This enclonire is thought to have been a caravmscrai d e r thai 8 permanent midence, with
storage space on the p u n d floor, and sleeping quarters Urely on the second, in hction, ated most
closely with Qtyr Kha-ah-'-

The excavator modined this rtbiintion somewhat on the grouah that

there was a lack of bistoricd iaformation about area t d e router, a d that tbe S m d Enclosure h d
rather superior construction and dccoration for a caravmwmi; it w u possible the S m d Enclosure had

been built for some unique purpose.Us

It has been proposed that the Small Enclosure, like many other U m m structures, might
have served a number of purposes, among which would be agriculture and t d e and as a point where

the Umayyads might maintain close contact with important tribai

This last f ~ omight

r
have

influencecl its constniction c- 700, as part of a strategy to deai wih tribai m ~ o n i s m d

s tingh m

the day of M a j R a i & (684).lS' Accordhg to an inscription found in tbc Large Enclosure, he
construction was done in 728-729 CE, during Hisham's reign, by people h m Homs; the inscribeci
Stone, now lost, was thought to have been te-used, and not in its original position-"'

The excavators

believe the inscription den only to the b u i l h g of part of the Large Enclosur~,'~some work of
which was '~bbZsid.'~

Qiyr Kharhah, Jordan, about 60 km. south east of 'Ammb, has above its single entranct five
panels of half-palmette trees rising h m fianking "clover leaf' motifs, cach pancl k i n g sepritated by
pairs of engaged colonnette^,'^' (Figure 160).'~' It may be that originally these colonnctter supported
arches, possibly serrated, to form a small arcade of discrete niches tbrough which might be s a n the
paradise gardens. S. Urice is among the most recent to examine this site in d ~ t a i l , 'and
~ his results
are summarized briefly.
In contradistinction to Q a a t 'Ammh, 's construction and many structurai f w s are closely

linked to Iraqi buildings, while its intemal organivtion is typical of Syrian o n d u In cornmon with
many other Umayyad buildings, its apparently defensive exterior is a sham, uid the "amw slitsmin its

walls provide ventilation and light.16' The q e s building is divided into t h e stages: the ground

103
floor and rooms 47-53 (north of western staim), firrt, then the southan, and errtern wiag to room 39,
with the northcm moms 4 0 4 6 rciiaiang u n c ~ m p l e t c d(.cc
~ ~ 1-t

in Figure 161).'m North-werteni

room 48 was prirposely hypacthral, with ventilators, a drain, rnd a floar hole commPnicrting with the
room beaeath, and this room is thought to have been iudfor cooking and erting; oncompleted m m
40 in the north-wtern corner may have been in all respects similr to room 48.'-

Qwr Kharhah's dccoration is as follows: rooms 49-53 comprise a cohc~ic11tlydccorrted(the

writeis interpretation) bqyt, or suite of m m s , with adjoining -king

and r_lting fbditiu. Room 51

has semidomes at the western and eastcrn ends and, dong the norhun and southent wds, lrrge
blind arcades between transverse arches. These arches appear to be supportcd by gmups of three
engaged colonnettes, without bases or capitals, resting on continuous stylobates. The colomettcs arc

described also as "articulated piers", and "piers" only because the flaiking waUs have bccn pullcd

back, the supports speiking of "wthetic c h o i d not structural neccs~ity,'~

(Figure 162).170 In mom
51 th= is s c d o n at the base of the squincher and arches, and the arches h m a m d d

rno~lding.'~'High on the walls of the fivc rooms, and originaily at the apiwa of the semidomer, am
separately-moulded mundels (Figure 163)"~with a very sylized vegetal motif of a b d h i l i a r h m
the Qubbat al-Sakhrah.

Blind arcades, with engaged colonnettes appearing to support transverse arches, are repeated in
rooms 59,26, 29, 37 and 44, the arches being slighfty taller and slimmcr in the second building phase-

Room 59 bas a southem semidome and twelve rosettes imprcssed into the stucco above cornice
height,'" (Figure 164).17' Room 26, immediatdy above the single cntrciact, has the o d y squrut bay in
the q q r , and is thought to have been domed ~ n g i n a l l ~
It .is~ ils0
~ ~ the oniy single
to, but not part of the buyt based on moms

connectcd

59 and 29, and it is on room 26's exterior wall that the

paradisiacal imagery is found.

Perhaps connected to the exterior display, high on the northem walls of rooms 59 and 29 are

two arcades of open, discrete niches whose sematcd archer arc supported by s o m i ~ a g c d
colo~tttes

104
without capitair or bases (Figure 165);"'

the arcadesmmundmic pinpou ia O eaiuace the ventilation~"

Urke comparu t h u e open arcades with the b h d onet of ai-Sha@'s S m d Enclosure sud of
'Ammn, noting that in each case they seemed to mark the boundmy betwn public and private rpace
and, in 'Amman'r case, possibly indicating space of a ceremonid kind.'"

Rooms 59 and 29

participate in this boundacy mariEiag as they connect with the principal room 26 via rooms 61 and 28
respectively.lm
It is of interest that although the arches and semi-cngaged colonnettes of the ventilaon
arcades are descnied as and look similar to the large urches and engagai colonnct!cs of the rirtidatcd
piers i rooms 51,59,26, 29, and 37, these similaritics are mot commcntod on by Urice- The writer

suggests that in rooms 51, 59, 26,29, and 37 the non-fiinctional colonnetrer "support" both transverse

and wall arches the cover drawing (of room 59) of Uriccmsbook maices just thU point (Figure 166)."'

Thus, rooms 51,59,29, and 37, the principal ones of thtir respective byvt, are rctuaiiy decot.tad
with large, image-frce paradisiscal arcades, as is the single principal mom 26; the western aad errtern

bztyt's are meeting areas subsidiary to the southern pair which arc lhkdto m m 26. In ruch a
reassessment, the ventilation arcades contribute to the charged space, but t h e h ir a subsidiary d e .

Motifs similar to that in both of Qwr Kharihah's rounders are to be found in the Qubbat al-Sakhrah.

The modest quality of the q e f s ornament, including the use of unornamentcd blind niches, may be
attributed to the site's non-residential status and occasional use, but this in no way diminisher the
signincance of the paradiriacal imagery's occurrence.'*
Up to Urice's publication, the tenninus mte quem for the first building phase was an Arabic
inscription in Room 5 1 dated 92 AW710 CE.'"

Since then more inscriptions and &rrrfnti have becn

discovered and published, the most significant for this paper k i n g four grafEti in Room S 1 signcd by
'Umar b. al-Walld b. 'Abd al-Malik, who was govenior of the Jund ai-Urdunn (Jordan) during bis

father's caliphate (705-715),'"

giving a potentidly carlier tamination date for the f h t building phase.

Unce interpreted the building as not for permanent residence, but pupascly built during the Seanid

period, that is up to 684, to serve as aa occasional meeting place for the drland tn'bal
representatves-lm The q-r is not on a major trsvel route, but if that fiom the W
&
-al-S*in to
Azraq oasis was taken,

QwKharhah wodd be one of 8 number of staions r

o u e 20 km,var&

between Azraq and 'Ammh'" Its original white stuccoed extcrior, would have m d e it 0 vcry visible
destination; its solitary position in open country would h m ensurcd meetings r degret of privrcy,'"
and the stucco pancl abow the entrane has been charactrrized as crcating a "public sutement".'*
Urice postulates that constniction rcsumcd (the second building phase) during the rcign of Mamanid,

YazTd II (720-724) who, with his fsmily, had commercial and agricultuni intericrtr in the g e a d
area1*
Their excavators' having attributcd similar purpoier to Qagr al-Hryrai-ShrrqF1s Smrll
Enclosure and Qqr Kha&ah, and in view of the paradisiacal imagery above theu grtes, the li#er's
teminus a quo might be re-examined. Foilowing the Second Civil War, it is passible the Marwiinids

saw the need to meet with tribal allies, and otherwise, at somtwherc like al-SharqF aud Qag
K h a e a h . Qwr Khar&mh's firot building phase, consisting of thc ground fIwr with strbling and

general a~commodation,~
plus a selfkontained suite of rooms with an adjoining cooking and eating
area, could have been completed for use while the southern and castent wings werc being constxuctcd,

whereupon rooms 49-53, as those about room 37 seem to have been, became a lesser meeting area
once the southem rooms were completedThat room 51 is now known to contain si-n

instances of inscriptions and grrfIiti is h d y

an argument for desuetude-19' A caliph's son accounttd for four of those items, and evcn principal

,~
put then just
room 26 has two, dated eighth-ninth/tenth century on epigmphical g r ~ u n d spotentidly
after the second building phase had been completed. As is widely-known, the frct that its c m were
covered with g+ti

did not prevent the New York subway h m ninning! Graffiti can be sr casily

attributable to the qt@s not being constantly occupied and to the diminished importance of room 51,
as to a lengthy hiatus between building phases.

106

Jabal Says (du,known as Seis, U B ~ B Syrir,

) , ~ b u t 105 km. s o u t l i of
~ Dan.icar, licr
on a tmvel mute "circrimv~~~ting
the worst of the h d , or fields of basait, on the w.y north to
Damarnu and the Syrian d a a m Found in the debns of its singk, t o w d a m c c w a c fhgnt~~~tr
of a blind arcade, whose shallow niches were f k d with aiternately plain and renrtad h o d o c
arches resting on clusters of tbec plain, engaged colonnettes, (Figure 167); the d
have mwned the wall."'

e is thought to

It is unhiown whctha these nicher contained ornament Inside, simil.r

open niches (Figure 168)'%werc p l d like a balustrade betwecn the columiu of the uppa s t o y
(Figure 169),Im indicating whcn the place of audience is likeiy to h m ken.

This is another example of the imagery's adaptabiiity; it might be ar rpafe or elrboratc as

occasion dcmmded, but was not of itself samsanct, so long as some manifestation of it was prierent
to indicate the place

of audience. Ai-Wald 1 livcd at Jdai Says for a time prior to hi8 becoming

caliph and, on the basis of the site's mosque with its recessed m i h a , Bri4ch suggerted a date of 8890 -7-709

CE.'- Dated gtanitti in the area points to Umayyad occupation h m 93 AR1712 CE

to 119 AH/737 CE.19'

A more distant site to be considercd is the Main Pal-

at Chd Tarkhan-Eshqabad, near Rayy,

K a , the probable date of whose stucco ornament is the Umayyad period, sevcnth4gJ~thccntury
CEFm The Main Palace's original principal entrance was on the north side, but nhabitud entry" into
the main hall was through four entrances on the east side, opposite which, secn betwctll thr'tt p h of

pattern-sheathed pillars,tO'were four wall niches, the remains of two of which am shown in Figures
~ the back of each niche, between higher borden, are two 'furth170 and 1 7 1 . ~At

c panels
d

with floral ornament and thus simulates a view into a garda or gree~~ery"?~
an obmation
appreciated by the writer, who, quite independently, had rcacted in the same way to 'Amman'r niches.
At the panel bases in Figure 171 are pearl-banded semieircles reniinircent of those

at

'Amman. That on the left has a bar between it and the vegetatioa above, that on the right, a Ieaf
below it; however, in both cases the semi-circles are within the inner panels and perhapr meant to

107
imply the ground h m which the plant Springs. Little remrinr of the o t h a folirse motif in the right-

hand panel of his niche,= but Thompson likcad the lcft prnel'a p l a t witbin r p d and hert border
to a similar panel at Khubat al-MafjarImJfound in s/hr on the 1011thw d of the p a i e cntrmct

(Figure 172):-

and to an "actual instaace of a structural and dccotrsive panela found in the blind

niches Wed with foliage on the entrame tower of Q q r ai-ayr ai-Sharqh Ltua ~ n c l o s u r e - ~

Th-

UO

hl b0th p o i ~ l sof Fi-

170,= quite l R m t i h~ m aith dnit 8Ud 8 lC8f hl

each vine loop. Of the two niches not iilustrrtad, the prnels of one pmbably containcd viner, rnd
those of the othcr showcd "two variations of a crmdtlrbrr trct wih down-mmbg lemes?

0th-

garden dlusions wcre made in connection with the main hall. Pillrn 3 and 4 wcm shertbad in the
concentric spids, through which fish "swam", and 0 t h Eillem wete various l& motif's and
overlapping heart tlorets al1 of which "must represent the fiyitfiilnus and plcasurcs of vegetation
which originate h m watern, and the columns theimselver *may t h be regardcd u symbolic of dl
the pleasant aspects of a Persian gardc11".f'~
In the Main Hall neither engaged colonnettes nor serraSed arch frices arc mentioned. Nor were

the panels the Hall's only ornament; there were plaques of a boar hunt, and the story of B

Gr

and Azadah, and large-scale human and animal reliefs. Nevertheless, it does not seem to k m a
coincidence that the recessed panels are d e d to as pmviding a "Mew into a g d e n " . The Main
Palace's lateral tntrances and niches are called "original" featurer when c o m p d with known SWnid
structures, and their arrangement is said to bt "unique".211 A source considercd for the eatrrnm aud
niches was the paIace at Sarvists and, for "ornamental nichesN,R. Ghirshmrn'r reconstructions of the

Great Hall and its niches at BshZpr?" Biships insdXcient m a i n s have been mentioncd and,
since D. Thompson's study, Sarvistan's SEsEnid attribution has bcen rcjccted in favour of an e d y
Islimic date, between 750 and 950 CE;''=

however, knowlcdge of 'Ammiti, Qu@ and Rusirih

provides another h e w o r k for understanding the relationship of the panels to the Main H u s
adjusted entrante.

108

Blocking off the Hdl'r original principal entrract betweea p i m 9 ad 10 during the Umayyd
periodZ1' meant tha visiton coming through the ncw l.tcral cntrcincr w a e conhnted with the nicher
and their gardcn-vicw panels on the wall opposite. Adjusting the principal cntranct to fi,fct mch a
circumstance is most significant; it confinns that the p l m e n t of the second architcctumi motX, with
or without paradisiacal imagery, at sites previously mentioncd was purposefiil. Had die origiarl
entranct remaincd, the garden imagery at one side could h.ve appe8rcd incidental, Confiontition
enhanced the imagery's status, while its association with Sisanid figurai themer suggertr a

compromise to suit diffcrent geographical and cultural circumstaaas, It was a Marwrnid solution to
the problem of installing the iconography in the least unsuitable part of an eJristing, wuympa!hetic

architecniral setting. The presencc of the gardcn imagery suggests that the Main Hall w u u d for
public audience in this cornplex of buildings. Its auxiliuy area m.y hmc bccn ~ i c . c h dby niniirig Icft
through door 7 ("d7" on Figure 173), behind which the expedition's architect mgguted tbne w u a
"half'-dorned throne mom".fl*
A propos 'Amman's Reception Hall, had its "architectural detail and dccoration" bccn tlltUeIy

within the SSshid tradition:16 then surely engaged colonnettes aud senrtad arch frcer could have
been incorporateci into the decorative programme of Chal Tarkhan-Eshqabad's Main Hall. Yet

Thompson makes no mention of such fe-,

leading to the sptculaioa that the firme uscd in

Greater Syria would have no significance here, even though Thompson describcd Chal TarthanEshqabad's Umayyad decoration as done in a mamer "more Sasanian" than what the S9sanid~would
have producecl?" On the other hand, Thompson's explication of the Pemiaa g d e n symbolism of
pillars 3 and 4 provides a conceptual ficunework for the Umsyyd g d e n panels, in what must h m
been as striking an evocation of paradisiacal imagery as that of 'Ammb and

purposefuL

Quw,aad as

Noter

2Jbid-, fig. 36,

3Northedge, Studiq, p. 99; Antonio Almagro Gorbea, El Pdacio Om-a de Ammia. vol. 1 "La
Arquitectura," Madrid: hstituto Bisprmo-Arabe de Cultum, 1983; in the EnglUh mmmary, p. 205.

8.Cf. Roman Ghirshmaa, Iran: Parthians and Sassrnians. T m l r t e d by Stuart Gilbert rnd Jarnu
Emmons, London: Thrimes and Hudson, 1962, figr, 177 and 179 showing modela of the mconsiructed
Great Ha and one of the niches. The reconstructions show the niches rerting on r continuour ldge.
9Northedge, S t u d i a p. 82, states BFshipr's -und plm only (his fig, 58) is diable, as the wdlr arc
p r e s e ~ e dto a height of about 2 m., and it is aot h o w n whether the building wu rtiU rtaaiding in
Umayyad times to provide a mode1 for 'Ammh.
10.Edward J. Keall, "BFlZpr,"Encyclobatdia Iranica vol. N,p. 288, d

g to Building B.

1l.Only a portion of one stepped merlon was found, with "a half-palmette a c ~ o lon
l both rider", but
Northedge comments merlons are among the first elementr to disappear, citing the Great Morqiie,
S u d , where only two werc tecovetcd fiom a building asd for a much longer period thm those at
'Amman, Northedge, Studies, p. 80, and n. 77.

12Jbid., fig. 41.

13.Almagro Gorbeq "La Arquitectura," p. 20 1; Northedge, Studies, pp. 80-8 1.
14Northedge, Studies, pp. 80-8 1.
15.Oleg Grabar, Renata Holod, James Knustad, William Trousdde, Citv in the DeQasr &HF
East. Havard Middle Eastern Monographs XXIII/XXIV.Cambridge, Mas.: Havard University Press,
1978, vol. 1, p. 20.
16.Urice, Qasr Kharang, p. 74.
17Northedge, Studies. p. 81.

18.Almagro Gorbeq "La Arquitectura," p. 20 1, and fig. 9.

19.Northedge, Studics, fig. 40.

22.Almagro Gorbea, "La Arquitcctun," p. 74.

23Northedge, Studia p- 77, and figs- 45-46,SS; thcm am two rows of senition on the interior arches
and one row on tbe d o r arches.

25Northedge, Studies p. 102; Almagro Gorbea, "La Arquitectum," at pp. 204-203, considen Qaat
' h m b to be a symbiosis of the organization, construction techniques and d e c o d o n of the S5siinid
and Byzantine-Classical worlds.
26.Jens Ktager, Sasanidischer Stackdekor, Baghdada Forschungcn Band 5, Mainz an Rheia: Philipp
von Zabern, 1982, taf. 88.2 "Fragment des 3. Rundpftiicrpaarmn; sec also ta. 88.1.
27Xroger, Sasanidischer, abb. 40 "Rckonstniktionsvcrsiichd a Ostkrns"; ree taflS.3, 17-13for the
fkagments on which this reconstruction was based; also the rcconstnaction for MagSi@1, abb. 43, t
d
25-2-3.

28Northedge, Studiet pp. 77 and 89.

29Jbid. fig. 49.10.
303id., fig. 52.2.
31.M. Gautier van Berchem, "Mosaics," figs. 337, outer face of octagonal arcade; 338, octagond
arcade; 339, octagonal arcade, and 340, circular arcade.
321bid.. pl. 54.b.
33.M. Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements in Palesthian Art," reprinted in M. Avi-Yonah, Art in Ancient
Palestine, Selected Studies, edited by Hanuah Katzenstein & Yoram Tsafnr* Jenisalem: The M m e s
Press, 1981, p. 97 E
,fig. 12 on p. 98 is a sarcophagus fiom the H m ,JcnisaIem, and the cofn in
pl. 18.7 is h m Kufir.

34.Northedge7 Studies, p. 92.

35Jbid., figs. 49.5 and 49.636Jbid., fig. 53.1.

37Almagro Gorbea, "La Atquitectura," fig. 41.

38.M. Gautier van-Berchem, "Mosaics," figs. 153-156, shown in pls. 12c and 24b, 14r, 11%158,
Figure 130 hcrcin; d s o fig. 160 and pl. 24f.
39.Creswel1, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, pl, 29c.
40lbid.. pls. 27.c., 27.e, 28.d.

4l.Deborah Thompson, Stucco h m Chai Tarkhan-Eshaad ncar Rqy, Warminrter: ArU & Phillips
Ltd-, 1976, FiXI-5 aad p. 5 6 fE
42Northedge, Studiq, fig. 48.7 and 49-11. Contn Northcdge's sUcmeat on di& apparent absence in
the art of Byzantine Grtater Sy-sia, trefoiis can be seen betwecn the arma of crosses, on r chance1
c- 6th centpry, Bernard Goldmm,
kSpgpb
screen h m a c h m h near M a s d o t ltzhak, ISII~C~,
Portal, Detroit: Wqmc Statc Univcniiy Press, 1966, p. 49, n. 53, photo. II; and P u a u a z , SHa, 46th century, Lassus, Iiivea*
tome II, pl.IV.3,

me

43,Hamilton, Suctwal, pl. LV-7\K.

44Northedge, Studies, 49.14.
45,Hamilton, structuralSpl. LXrV,17E.
46.Thompoon, hd Tarichan. p. 67; on hcr pl. XI.3 , 2 1/2 s p i r h ap and 2 1/4 spirrls h m the left,
the head of such a fish c m bc seen in one intcrsticc and its tail in thc interstice immediately right,
These spiral fields occur on piiiars 3 and 4 in the main haII of the Main Plilace
47.Thompson7Chal Tarkhan, p, 86, and Northedge, Studiea p. 94, and n, 245.
48.The illustration here is h m Etinghauscn and Grrrbar, Art and ArchiDome of the Rock, completed 691, mosaics".

fig. 9, "Jerusalem,

1873-1874.
49.Charles Clermont-Ganneau, Archaeolonical Researcher in Paiestine During the Yvol. 1, with numemus illustrations h m drawings made on the spot by A- Lecomte du No-,
Architect. Tram by Aubrey Stewart. "Rarifss"Reprint, Jerusalem, 1971, p. 179 ff,
5O.Creswel1, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, p. 78 ff.

52Jbid.. p. 187, and the illustrations on p. 185.

53.Creswell, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, fig. 24, "The Dome of the Rock West and south-wcst fabder when
partly stripped in 1873-74. From Clermont-Garneau, A rchaeologicd Researches.)" . Cresweli'a fig. 32,
"The Dome of the Rock in 1483. (From Bqdenbach, Pemgnndiones in T e m m Srnctm)" shows the
parapet's arcades.
54.Creswel1, EMA, VOL 1, part 1, pp. 89-90, w~ able to look behind the parapet, as ClenaontGanneau was not, and in the whole perimeter found only four o p e n d niches, al1 the rcst were blind;
see his pl. 2b.
5 5Clermont-Ganneau, Archseoloaical, illustration on p. 189.

56Jbid., pp. 191-192.

57.Cmswel1, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, p. 80 note 1.

58.C.R. Conder, Svxian Stone L o w pp. 360-361.
59.Lyttelton, Baroqu~fig. 126, p. 24; the Temple is daed to the 2nd century CE.

6O.Osco Reuthcr, "Stnian Arcbitectprie, A Hrtary," vol. 1: 519, in SONW of Penirn Art, editcd by
Arthur Upham Pope. vol. 1. London and New York: Oxford University h s , 1938.
61Boward Crosby Butler, Architecture and Othcr Ar& Part II of the publications of an Americrin
Archstological Expedition to Syria 1899-1900. New York: The Century Co., London: William
Heinemann, 1904; pp. 181-82; among churches of the pcriod notcd for their exterior moulding are the
apse at 'Arshh, p. 199; B-sS,
p. 194, and the North Basilica of the Church of S. Simeon Stylites,
p. 190, in addition ta the two examples given by the h t e r in the main text

63.J. Lassus, Sanctuaire*pl. XXT.1, dated 6th century.

64.Ling, Roman Painting, pp. 21-22, fig. 18, "Stucco latticc-work balustrae. HercPlaneum Vl-2
(Samnite House), mum. Late 2nd or early 1st century B.C."

66Michael Grant, Cities of Vcsuvius: Pomneii sad Herctilrineum. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books,
1976, pp, 168-169, k m an u n s p d e d house at Pompeii.
67,Maxwell L. Anderson, "Pompeian Frescoes," reprinted h m The ~etioboiitanMuseum of AR
Bulletin. Wiiter 1987/88, p. 18, said of fig. 24. In the reconstnictcd room of which it is a part, the
gardem is but one independent view divided h m its fellows by painted colurnns writer's photopph.

69Almagm Gorbea, "La Arquitectum," p. 205.

70.1. the Umayyad period 'Amman was the administrative centre of a sub-governomte of Damascas,
Northedge, Studies, p. 48.
71Bid.. p. 79 states the= are "more hgments than would be appropriate" for the two niches in
Almagro Gorbea's reconstnictions; he has restored tweny.
72.Northedge, Studies, figs. 67-68; Emilio Olavam-Goicoechea, El Palacio Omcva de Amman, vol. II
"La Arqueologia," figs. 39-42.
73.ALmagro Gorbea, "La Arquitectura," p. 204.
74Jbid, pp. 206-07.

76.Walter Karnapp, "Die Nordtordage der Stadtmauer von Resafa in Syzen," Arch&Ionischer
Anzeiner, (1970): 98-123, abb. 18 shows the rcconstniction of the North Gate's interior, idem ., "Die
Stadtmauer von Resafe in Syrien," Archiiolonischer Anminer, (1968): 307-343, abb. 2. shows a plan
of the site's walls, towers, gates, etc.

77.Patncia Carlier, avec une contribution de Frdric Morin, "Recherches Arch6ologiques ai Chateau
de Qastal (Jordanie)," Annual of the Denartment of Antiauities of Jordan (1984) 28: 343-383, plus
plates; Patricia Carlier, "Qastal un chateau du desert en Jordaaie," Archoloaig (1985) 206: 4637;

ai-Baiqa' ";Patricia Carlier et Frd6ric Morin, "QW,"

Archiv fiir 0ric11tfot~:hmg
(1986) 33: 187-206; Paricia C d e r and Frdiric Morin, "Archadogicd -ha
at Qa@, second
mission, 1983," Annual of the Deuarnent of Antiauities of Jordan (1987) 31: 221-246.
idem ., "Qas.

7 8 . ~ e o f h yR D. King, 1987 "The Umayyd qusur and relsted settlements in Jordan," The Fourth
International Conftrcllce on the Historv of B i l a al-Shh d o r i n ~the U m w a d Period. Proceodings of
the Third Symposium. (1987) VOL II, EngIish Section: 77,
79.Geofney RD. King, "The distn'buton of siter and routes in the Jordrnirn and Syrim dererta in the
early Islamic period," Seminar for Arabian Studieg (1987) 17: 97 fE
80.Carlier et Morin, "Archaeological," fig. 9,
81.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," p. 347, they were listed among a number of feahms caiied "perse
et sassanide", but not othcnuise descriied.

83.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," figs. 16% 16b, and 17 "Pilastre ic o l o ~ e t t e pour

r
montant nord de
1'Ende"; Carlicr, "Qaspi al-Baiqa'," ilius. 3.
84.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," p. 344.
851bi4, pl. LXVT.2 "Qasfal, Maquette de Restitution, par Frdric Morin, Salle d'audience au dessus
du vestibule, Coupole centrale, absides est et sud vue8 de l'abside nord".
861bid.. p. 349, figs. 20 "Colonnette engage avec base et chapiteau tresse", 21 "Colonnette engage
avec chapiteau floral".

88.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," fig. 30 "Claveau pour coupole A svastika".

89.KMger, Sasanidischer, abb. 120, "=O,
171B)".

Gebaude 1. Bogearekonstruktion (nach Watelin, Kish, Abb.

90.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," fig. 24, "Claveau pour tte de voute", and fig. 26, "Claveau a
rosace pour voute".
91.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," p. 349; Carlier, "Qasw al-8aiqa'," p. 108.
92,Cdier, "Chateau du Desert," both on page 52.
93.CarIier et Morin, "Recherches," figs. 33, 34.
94.Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," pp. 80-83, esp. p. 81 and n. 9, figs. 52, 54; Lassus, Invatome 1, figs. 8, 50, 74-75, and especially the almost gtometrical gmpcs and leaves in fig. 138,
RuweyOa, and on the capitals at Hawa, tome 2, pl. XVL
95.Unforhmately, the smaller niche was either "given away or sold" to the Kuwait National Museum,
who sent it off to "Les Treson de I'Islamn exhibition in Genevs, under acquisition number LNS65S.
Comparing the excavator's photograph and drawing with the catalogue photogrsph, it can be seen th&

as a Kuwaiti possession, tbe renrsion bcnerth he niche h u k e n trimmcd .wry, Crriier and Morin,
"Archaeological Rertarchcs," p. 223 and n, 4. In cny no. 353 of the exiuiition's Englhh Iraguage
catalogue, (Tony Falk et al, Trcasuru of Islam, SCCI~~M,
New Jeney: Wellfleet Press, 1985), it ia
said to be h m "Greabr Syriq 1st half of 8th century* aud "clorely relatai" to the in sftn niches at
'Amman. As well, Q@s
midence cind adjacent mosqge d v c d very SCVCE~daiiage fiom the
modern owner of the site, with the rtsult th& parts of those
are now inetricvably Iost and
known only through photographs and site records, Cuiicr and Morin, "Archacologicd ~ h e s , p."
221.

96Myriam Rosen-Aydon and A d a m Eitan, Ramla Excavations: Einds h m the Vmth centrirv CE,
catalogue no. 66, Jerusalem: Jerusalem Port Press, 1969, illustraicd on the u n n a m M nineteenth
page, "Mould for neck of a jar, with a modem cast".
97Michael L. Ba-, "The Coinage of Syria under he Umayyads, 692-750 AD.," The F o d
International C o n f ~ ~ ~On
l c The
e Historv of B i l a al-Shh Diirinn The Umciwad Perid. Procadings
of the Third Symposium, 1987, vol. II, English Section: p. 226.
98.Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," pp. 87-88 and pl. 17.7 of a chance1 post fiom a c h d at h d i 99.Carlier et Morin, "Rt~herches,"p. 347.

103.Gaube, "'Ammh," taf. 7, H no. 10, and p. 59.

105.Carlier and Morin, "Archaeological researches, second mission," pp. 236-239 and figs. 15, 16.
l06.Gaube, "'AmmZa," p, 72, and ta 9,A, B no- 2, C no. 3.
107.Carlier et Morin, "Recherches," p. 350, nn. 26-28.
108.Carliery"Qasmai-Balqa'," pp. 120-121.
109Xatharina Otto-Dom, wBerichtber die grabung im IsIarnischen Rusafa," ArchBolonischcr
h (1954) 69: 138-159; i&m., "Bericht ber die
grabung im Islamischen Rusd'" Les Annales Arch6oloniaucs de Svrig (1954-55) 4 3 jointly: 43-58.
Despite their similar titles, the articles' content and illusbations arc not quite the rame.
A

110.0tto-Dom, "Grabung, pp. 119-133; this article dcals with both campaigns, but does not, for
example, reproduce al1 the earlkr illustrations a significant point.

112Jbid.. text abb. A.

1 1 3 h Otto-Dom's "Bericht," 1954-55 initial rite piau, (abb. 1, " R u s 4 Om.wdcn Schloar"), "A" U
Room 1; "Bn is the aorth-w~~t-comu
of "Nodort-Nebenhof'; "Cmis the n o r t h e conier of the
principal courtyard, and "Dais just within the routh-weot tower a r u
114.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," p. 123.
115.0to-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, abb. 2.
116Jbid., abb. 3.
117.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," tac 1, abb. 3, md p. 123,
118.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, abb. 4, "Stuck6idiagment mit doppeltem Zackenbogen", md column
145.
L19.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, column 145; idem., "nbmg," p. 123, aud text abb. 4,
"Halbstiulchenfiagment vom Tor",
120.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, wlumn 146; i&m., "Grabmg," p. 123.
121.Northedge, Studim p- 80 and n. 78.
122.According to the English captions of Almagro Gorbea, "La Arquitectum," pl. S5b "Detail of the
semi<olumns wih gilded stucco h m the entmnce arch to the FwW, and pl- 56b "Eastern side of the
courtyard 3 with the gilded semi-column of the faade and the foundation of the firrt column".
123.Otto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, wlumn 145; ident ., "Grabung,* p. 122.
124.Otto-Dom, "Grabmg," p. 123.

127.There1ssome ambiguity in the words used for what the writer believes are derences to this mom,
for example, "Mittelsaal" in 1954 and 1957, and "Haupthall" in 1957.
12%.0tbDom,"Grabung," td 2 abb. 7, "Sockehslerei (ergaazt) aus Sad 1".
129.0tto-Dom, "Bcxicht," 1954, wlumn 146 "... Zwischen ihnen satsen vier grotscrc MitteIfclder und
zwei schmalere Seitenfclder".
130,Otto-Dom, "Bencht," 1954, columns 146,148.
13Lotto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, columns 146, 148; idem., "Grabung," pp. 125-126. A stucco
fiagrnent with a braided fiieze had a piece of wall painting attached below, sec "Bericht," 1954,

column 148, and in abb. 8. of the "Bericht," 1954-55 article there's a none too clear photognph of
painted fragments d e 4 to as coming h m this room.
132.0~-Dom,"Grabung," p. 126, taf. 3. abb. 9, "Nischtnmalerei aus Sad 1".

133.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," p. 122, "Rechteckaischew, but crlled "squarewin CrttweII and Alla&
Short Account, p. 146.

134.Grabar et al, Citv in the Desert, vol. 1, p. 16, vol. 2, photograph 12, drrwing 7D.
135a,rn
Rosa-Ayalon, "The Fint Mosaic D i s c o v d in Ramla," I i e l Exploration Joirnid
(1976) 24: p. 119, pl, 23.C.
136.0tto-Dom, "Grabuug," taf, 4 abb. 10, "Anlage IL, Bogenadbatz aus Stuck".
137Jbid., taf, 4 abb. 11, "Anlage II,Blindnischen-Fliung aur Shick".

1391bid.. text abb. C, "Stuckfbgment vom Tor", and p. 123.

140.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, column 145.
141Jbid., 1954, column 152.
142.This illustration appears in ail thtee of her aricles: abb. 10 in "Bericht," 1934-55; ab. 8 in
"Bericht," 1954; ta 4 abb. 12 in "Grabung".
143.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," p. 129.
144.0tto-Dom, "Bericht," 1954, colamn 153.
145.0tto-Dom, "Grabung," p. 129 and n. 3 1.
146.Thilo Ulbert, "Eh umaiyadischet Pavillon in Resafa-Rusafat H i g h , " Damcisccncr Mitteilun=
(1993) 7: 213-23 1.
147.Harry Turtledove, The Chronicle of Theo~hanes:an English translaion of mni munm' 60954305
(A.D. 602-813), with an introduction and notes. Philadclphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 1982,
p. 95.
148Creswell and Allan, A Shon Account, fig. 88, "Qasr al-Har ash-Sharqi: entrancc to the Lesscr
Enclosure".
149.Grabar et al, Citv in the Desert, vol. 1, pp. 3-4.

152.See chaptcr 1, the margins on the arches of Figures 2 and 3, and those r e f d to at Lepcis
Magna and in the blind arcading at the North Gate of Sergiopolis/Rusafab, Syria, Figure 20153.Albert Gabriel, "Kasr el Heu," &ria (1927) 8: 302-329, fig. 11, "Petit chteau: restitution de la
fise".
154.Grabar et al, Citv in the Dese& vol. 1, pp. 31-32.

157Jbid.. pp. 156-157.

16OJbit2, pp. 149-150.

161,Urice, Oasr Kharana, p- 74.
1621bid, "Souh facadc, stucco panel".
1631bid.. provides a discussion of the literahire, pp. 6-23, and a comprcbtluive bbliogmphy, p. 91 ff164Jbid, pp. 82-83.
165Jbid., pp. 61-63.

1671bid-,fig. 120, "Upper floor, plan", with additions by the writcr.

1681bid., p. 29; the hole in room 48's floor is said to communicate with room 18, below, howevcr, on
the plan, Figure 161 herein, a communicating hole shows in room 47, and per the photograph of it and
caption in fig. 93, this wmmunicates with room 17, below.

170Jbid, fig. 27, "Room 51, general view towards southwest corner''.

1721bid., fig. 136, "Rosette, rooms 49-53",

173Jbid., pp. 72-73.
174Jbid., fig. 140, "Rosette, room 59".

176Robert Hillenbrand, "Qasr Kharaaa Re-examined," a review of Oasr Kharana in the Transiordan
by Stephen K. Urice, in Oriental Art (1991) NS 37.2: 113.
177.Urice, Oasr Kharans, fig. 141, "Room 59, north wall, elevaion".
1781bid.. pp. 72-73.
179Jbid., pp. 75-76; other cornparanda w m the arcades at Ukhay@r, Atshrn and Maridh.

181Jbid., cover drawing signed "J- Sagasti".

182.CE Hillenbrand, "Qasr Khatrina R e e e d , " p. 112, that Qaqr Khriraarh'r design w u ignorod
by later architecta and was a "dead end", and at p. 113, said of exterior arcsde, th& "littlcrttempt is
made to indulge in extemal display". Its design may have been ignorcd, but, u is reitcmtd hcrcin, a
building's design or origin is secondary to the inclusion of some mmif'estation of the p d r i a c a l
im43ery.
183.Urice, Oasr Khanmg, pp. 6-8, with 0 t h Arabic and Greek inscriptions rnd graffiti noted.
184.Frdnc Impert, "Inscriptions et espaces d'criture au Pdair d'd-Khrniar en Jordde," Studies in
the Histow and Archaeoloav of Jordan (1995) 5: 409411, @to
numben. 8-11 inc.; of th-,
numbers 8-10 wcrt publishcd previously by GhaP Bisheh,
185.Urice, Oasr Kharana, pp. 86-88.
186.Urice, Oasr Kharang p. 84; Ghazi Bisheh, "Qasr Mshasb and Qasr 'Ayn al-Sil: two Um.yyd
sites in Jordan," The Fourth International Conference on the Historv of B i l a ai-Shh during ths
English Section: p. 88.
Umawad Period. Proceedings of the Third Symposium, vol,
187.Urice, Qasr Kharang, p. 86.

189Jbid. pp. 86-88.

lSOJbid, pp. 26-27.
1 9 l h b e r t , "Inscriptions et espaces," p. 416,
dgrad progressivement".

"... vers 90 h. l'intrieur

du palais aurait commenc a tre

192Jbid, pp. 412413, numbers 15 and 16; room 29 has f o u items, and room 37 bas eight see the
table on page 415.
193.Klaus Brisch, "Le chaeau omeyyade de Djebel Seis," Les Annales Archioloniaue de Syrie (1963)
13: 135-158; idem ., "Das omayyadische schloss in Usais," Mitteilunaen des Deutschen
Archiioloaischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo (1963) 19: 141-187; idem., "Das omayyadische schlass in
Usais (II)," Mittcilunaen des Deutschen Archibloaischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo (1965) 20: 138-177.
194.King, "The distribution of sites," pp. 92-93, and map 2, "Desert routes in caste= Jordan and
northern Arabia".
1965, p, 143, and part of abb. 4, "Fragmente und
195.BrischY"Das omayyadische, 0,"
Rekonstniktion der Blendarkade vom Torhinn des Schlosses (P. Gninauer)". It's not clear just whcre
the niches would have betn placed, but the curved piece of wa to which they cite a h e d ruggcsts
some part of the tower. Xn "Das omayyadische," 1963, Brisch r e f h bnefiy to Otto-Dom's article in
Ars Orientalis about semte arches and blind arcades having bcen found at Rusifrh, 'AmmLL and
Qwr Kharhah.
196.BrischY"Das omayyadische," 1963, taf. XXXVII.b, "Bogcn der Stuckbalustmde".

197Bid., abb. 13, "Rekonstmktion der Ho&ars&

(P. Grrinaucr)",

198Brisch, "Le chateau," p, 157.

199,Crcswell and Ailan, A Short Account, p. 121,
200.Thompson7 Chal Tarkhan, pp. 61,71, 104 a 5 1.
201Jbid., p. 3.
202Jbid., p. 3, and pls. XIE1 and .6, niche' excavation nnmben C.295 and C.296 m v c I y ,
" D e c o d v t niche md flat facings h m the Main Palace".

206.R. W. Hamilton, Khirbat al Mafiar. An Arabian Mansion in the Jordan Vdlev, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1959, pis. VI.2-3, XXXIV.1.
207.Thompson, Chai Tarkhan, p. 73; the= was no mention of the d-Mafirit example h&g
found in place.

been

208lbid., pl. XIILl, excavation number C.295.

209Jbid-, p. 73, excavation numbers C.297 and C298, respectively.
210Jbid., p. 67.

213.Lionel Bier, Sarvistan. A Smdv in E a r l ~Iran'zan A r c h i t e c m University Park and London: The
Pennsylvania State University Press, 1986, p. 48 ff, and p. 53 specifically.
214.Thompson, Chal Tarkhan, p. 3.
215Jbid-, p. 4; the architect offered no conoborating evidence for the suggestion.
2 16.Northedge, Studits, p. 102.
217,Thompson, Chai Tarichan, p. 54.

CbqMw Four, Pmt 2: O d g h rd U~cr

In part 1of this chapter the p d s i a c a i arcsder' origin w u considered, as wrs their
installation at various sites, one of which, 'Amman's Reception Ea, war discussed at rome I a g t h
c o n c e d g the iniuc11ca other &an Sisanid that may have contributtd to is design and d e c o d v e
programme. A chriracteristic feature of the arcdes is their scrratcd archer rnd part II opens with
comments on their likely origin and use.

K. Otto-Dom drew attention rcpeatedly ta Rusafah's chamteristic sernted archer and the
similar ones at 'Ammin. H. Gaube compared scrrated arches at 'Ammin, Qa@ and Q-r Kha-ah;
P. Carlier noted the similarity betwecn Qasws aud 'Amman'r niches which have this fedure and, in
his examination of pendaat aud horizontal s d o n rit Qaqr Kharbah, S. Urh, quoting L. B i d r work
at Sarvistan, drew attention to Sainid uses of the ma-'

On the buis of thne, third c a t u r y CE

palaces at FrSbad and B?sh@r, Bier suggested that serration "must have b e n a common featrire
of SiisSnid architecture, at least in F h , where it servcd the same fiindon aa the dentil fieezc in
classical buildings in the West".'

Attention is drawn now to 0 t h examples of its application. The

wide view is taken that semation is an easily-mmipulated geometrical motif that may be carriecl out in
a variety of techniques on different media

M. Avi-Yonah points to the evidence of serration on votive aitars h m Gtzer c. 625400

BCE,' and to its use on Jcwish ossuaries h m about the period of thc Second ~emple.' In his s e h g
out of "three appearances of chipcsrving" (serration, or kedschnitt) in Palestine, L. Rabmani s.ys the
fust was in the Second Temple pcriod and "exclusively" on Jcwish ossuaries? Such an os
at

Ramat R*el,

Ismel, bas s e d o n about its s i d a and outlining

serrated arch abovc the Atargatis gmto

ru^, found

At Dun-Europor the

is thought to reproduct the sbriae in which the gdd-s

stood (Figure 174).' Therc is a graffitto in a tomb of Jerusalem's North-

Ncctopolis that shows two

registar of serraiion on rn d (Fi-

175):

The s e d o n fouad in Byzantne chu~chesin the Ncgeb fiom about the mid-fifth ccntriry

b u g h the scventh is at te bcginning of Raiunrni's second rpperrrnct of the motif?

CL.Woolley noted the use of senrtion at Abda, Ncgeb, u the lowest reg*

in r sing

course,10and on tbc capital of what secm to h m bccn a prit of engagcd colonne#er, h m the side
door of the North Chiirch at Esbeita (Figure 176)."

Accoding to A Scgai, thb crpitd "dirrippcirsd

decdes ago and nwpt for the drawing in Woolly

and Law~cllct'rbook that U nothing else on ita.*

Segal lists nineteen instancer of the common motif "dog's teeth", or rrrtion, on arches,
lintels and pilasten at Shivtau (also known as Sobota, Sekita, S'beita, Eskit.), Negeb, including
painted serration on the arch of an apse, and carved r d o n on the rrch of a niche (Figure 177), both
in the South Church," and on a pliar cornice (Figure 178).15

H.Colt obsmred that at Nessana, Negeb, "dog's tooth" wm part of the chip crrving repertoire
of simple designs that could be masked out with a compasr and

contra R Ghinhman's

statement that saw-tooth and zigzag patterns arc ail motifs dcrivimg h m brick buildings."

In the

local tradition the wo* was done on "intermediate quality limertonen that w u c o m p ~ v e l yroft
when h s h l y quarred and hardened after exposure to the weather. The motif was found on bases and
caps of door jambs and arch voussoirs, and used fiequently to decotate large pilaster caps h m which
arches sprang,"

D. Rice found fragments of serrated arches c a n d h m stucco at Ijkah, ne= Kiifrih. Some
that were rtcovered h m in a trench between mounds 1rnd II, ue thought to h m been throm out

when building 1in moud 1 was restored; the two pieces he illustrates have one and two rows of
serration, respectively (Figure 179)* Threc construction, or restoration, phases wne obsemed in
building 1; the fmt was considered to be Skinid, and the second and third I d h i c , ending late in the
eighth century or carly nink2' There is some ambiguity in the pcriod to which Rice asrigns the
senated picces.

In 1932 he said that somt elaborate carved stucco in situ belonged to the third period,

122
and among examples cited sayr that rome doors were top@ by arches, rnd "fragments of simflar
[writer's italics] arches w n found on other mounds"; a fhgmeat cited is part of r semami d?'
in
1934 he describes the fhgments of which the scrrrded rrch piecer arc part, u rmongst the matcriai

thrown out whea building 1was restored, and m q be late SiSuid, or bclong to the menth century at
the latest.=
On an early sevtnth ccntury CE glass chalicc, possibly Syrian, a cross is seen beyond a

semated arch at a building's enttance and thetc is a band of s d o n about the rim (Figure 180).= A
church lintel h m Deir Abu De shows a se-

amh supportcd by prired, plain columns betwccll

crosses (Figure 18
A remadcable comparandum for disacte niches and # d o n is the carval =.de on the lid of
an object in the collection of the Pdestine Explordion Fund, published as a Jewish ossuary by C.

Clermont-Ganneau, (Figure 182),Uand as a Christian sepulchral chest by G. Chcrtercrterld

As can be
seen, these nicfies share capitals and bases, but have individual colonnettes. The arches are rerrsted,

as is the l d g e beneath the arcade. This latter feature is much like that found orginally with the
smaller niche h m Q a s w (sec Figure 145), whilc the rosettes within each niche c d to mind the stars
in Qubbat al-Sakhrah's interior arcade (see Figure 132). Neither publisher mentions a date, but M.

Avi-Yonah refers to the ossuary as "late", and within the dating parameten of his research on
Palestinian art, one may understand that as late ~ y z a n t i n e . ~
Tangentially to the ossuary, on the remnant of a pilaster h m the tower gateway at Sebaita,
Negeb, is another instance of independent niches, whose arches are formed of an architrave resting on
the columns (Figure 183)?" The ossuary, this lintel and that h m Deir Abu De suggest then may

have been some wider taste for the discrete form of arcade prior to its MarwiPiid use. This pilaster is

illustrated by A, Segal,= aud by M. ~vi-Yonah?' but seems to have bcen photogmphed o r i g h d y by

C.F.Tynvhitt ~ r a k e as
~ ' one of a pair of pilasters similady ornrmented. In Tyrwhitt Drake's
illustration, the pilastem support a lintel which is divided into three metopes, the outer two king filied

123

with rosetes within double circler; the stone above the lintel hrr a tam wih r prlm

griowing in

it; a concentration of mot88 with ~ ~ l t v mfor

c c Qubbat Hrkhrrh's omrmcntaioa
As pointed out in part 1of this chapter, the arches on the Coptic chut's lowert regirter and the
smaller Qaspi niche have an outer p e d baud and an inner s e r d one. A simiiar amangement
appears on an arch c. fourth century CE thought to have corne h m a church at Kbjnnet Keimel,
about 13 km. south of Hebmn (Figure 184)F and on the arches of the "Mamin" twar, found rt Ab
Sir al-Malaq, in the F

m , near the rcputed tonib of M a m h II (Figure US)?= This is one of the

wmpsrauda proposed by K. Otto-Dom for Rusafcih's bliad accadu.

The ewer's niches have individual colonnettes with Corinthian-type capitalr, and s h d
imposts. Above the arches a luxuriant vine fneze spills out of two vases placed to either side of the
vessel's spout?' Vases set abovc columns cal1 to mind similarly-p1d vana a d vcgetation in the
Qubbat al-Sakhrah, while the rosettes in the arcade follow the usage in Figurer 133 and Figure 182.
Novel are the birds and animals of an earthly p d i s i a c a l garda.
A similar ewer, exbibited at Munich in 1910, bas less well cxecuted arcade ornament. Fmm a
rather unclear illustration there is sernition on the outer edge of arches which rest on single columns,
with animal, birds and vegetation seen through the arcade? On anothcr eum, in the Keir Collection,

just one side of the body bas an arcade whose columns support plain mhes, beneath which rte
gazelles and vegetation. In the sprndrels are "Sasanian" split ~ h a i e s The
- "MarwIL"could have
been the archetype for a p u p of metal ewers whose decoration, which included bird spouts snd
omate fil1 holes and handles, reflects paradisiacal imagery. One of the group, in the Metropolitan
Museum of Art, New York, has no body onrament but the metal appliqu applied to its handle ( F i e
186)"

gives the &tct of vines entwining a column as they do those of the kiosk in the western nWq

(Figure 187).38 The le*

turret about its fil1 hole, a featurc which is similar on ail the ewen,reprises

the theme of a p a r a d i s i d grove seen through P c d c s (Figure 188)?' What sms to bs ipopular
interpretation of the turret appears on the body of a polychrome cerrunic jug fouad at Ssah (Fi-

189), datai eighth ccntury CE and d e k b e d as "...der palmiers, tre lerqiiels on m i t un

arbuste(?)".'O

hagery comparable to that on the "Mamin* ewer w u found on r lintel at Kbitbat al-Blyo."

(also known as Qwd-Ab%), Syxiq c. 100 km. south eut of D.mucris (Figure 190)? This
depiction has the mer's spiraiiy-grooved calumns, rnd Qubbat ai-Srkbtrih's interstitiai ornament and
scalloped niche hoods, with a serrated archifrave fonning the arches. Because Khirbat ai-B&r"r
interior plan diffen h m that of achowledged Umayyd rarictruer, its excmdor, E h b e , thints it
may be a marginal- or early Um-

building, or, perhaps of Ghassanid construction? Tbe lintel

could indicatc the site's Umayyad rc-use, as it was found in the debris of the euteni enclosure wrll in
the vicinity of the single cntrauct? Al-BaydZ w u occppicd scwnaiiy, as dimate and w.tcr supplies

limit its use to the months of March ta May, when the grouad is covcrtd with grus and flowcm; at
0th- times of the year the c o u n t ~is~desolate."

One of the site's uses is thought to have been as a

point of contact with Ghassiuestribal CS.''

An arcade, with serrsted arches h m which hmg lamps, appcars on the dome-shrpad portion

of a steatite lamp (Figure 191) found in an Umayyad residence at al-Fadayn/M*

northcrn Jordan,

an ancient site re-used in the Umayyad period as a h

a station. A piece of ivory h m the srme rite

shows a single arch with a serrated face. Umayyad usage is attributcd to the period of al-Waiiid II
(743 -744)?

L. Rahmani's second period of "chipeMringn in Palestine fiinished with the end of Umayyd
rule."

He remarked on its use on stonc and clay Paiestinian incense bunim of the sixth4ghth

centuries CE, and on Umayyad pottery;" an instance of the latter rppears in Figare 192."

The above examplcs show that d e r than a Skiinid motif of limited and temporally-distant
use, serration was a contemporary, commonly-used Byzantine motif of which the Muslims rvdcd
themselves. Over the centuries it had been employed by Jews, Chnstims ruid 0thostensibly nondenominationai, it may not have aiways bccn ncutral."

and, dthough

S d o n wu a tnditiond

125

motif in the Negeb, rad in Palestine. Colt obrervd th& Nasatu, dong with otkr N w b citim, h d
prospered in the late sixh and scvcnth centuries CE with the revivrl of a carmm route betwn Aylah
and the Mediterranean, and that the Musiim conqricst -cd

to h m prouccd fcw chauges thme?'

Thus, Negeb worJcers might have appiied thcir traditional, ongohg experire to cirving hc stone
serration at 'Ammlh aad Qaswand, pcrhsps, the stucco a Rusiif'. 1t reems possible .lu> th& whilc

many of Q-r Kharhah's structural features reflect Iraqi inauc11ce, the use of &on

dccts

contemporary regional taste.

Serration wlg uscd cxtensively by the Umayyds, and the wider Byzantine taste for combining
it with bands of pearls or roundels seems to have flowed naturaiiy into Umayyad

Whethcr

serraion had some charged meaning for M u s h s is not known, but in Maminid hrnds the motif
acquired a new dynamism. Arcades of semted arches not only provided e

g architectciral settings,

they are the distinguishing festure of a number of mouidcd, unglazd clay lamps.

At Ramlah, dong with the moulded jar neck, wete found a number of ungluid clay lampa
having the generai characteristics of that illustrated by F. Day in her plate X E 2 (Figure 193): a
tongue handle, a channel around the fill hole that continues to the wick hole, a pointcd b u e the same

shape as the lamp with a ridge h m the base to beneuh the wick hole?

Such a lamp is I. Magnas'

Form 5, a "channel-nonlc oil lampn, whose suggested date ir eighth to tcath ccabuy? Lmnps of this

sort rnay or may not have a decorated base, as shown in Magness' illustration.
One of the Rarnlah lamps has an arcade with tiny triangles above the arches, and vine loops
filled with grapes above (Figure 194)." A lamp in the Warschaw CoUection, provcnauca Pnkaown,
shows a similar m a d e with tiny spikes above the arches; a

and a le& can be seen ben&,

above the arcade is a vine fntzc with a tret and assortcd leavcs, or flowcm, in the loops.

and

the

other ride of the Iamp are grape bunches and assortcd leaves (Figure 195)." The Royal Ontario

Museum, (hercaAct "ROM")has a lamp, provenance nnknown (Figure 196)," that could have corne

fiom the same mould as the Warschaw.

Two larnps with sQt.ttd arches w m pubiished h m cx~ntationsat the

Jenisalem; trees, birds and a date palm am seen through tht arcades of one (Fionly on the second (Figure 198), which bas a mon d d e d m

g of the

of Clphcl,
197):'

and birds

The ROM hrr

cornpletc lamp with cquallydetailed cacades, through whose arches mry be reen budr, a#r md
flowers (Figure 199)? Birs and, pahaps, a star, arc lcon through the amado. of anotha lamp in the
Wmchaw Collection (Figure 200)."
An arcaded lamp fragment with birds was fouad by A Tushingham, in the Armenian Garden,
Jerusalem (Figure 201):'

and a tree is seen in the single cornpletc niche on aaotha lamp fhgment,

found at Ramat R d y l (Figure 202Ibt

h a sepulchral cave in the "Wad Yasl", ncar h ~ s d e mC. Clerm0nt~8anc8Ufound 8 l8mp

through whose senated niches "palm leavcs" are seen (Figure 203). On the evidence of this lamp and
dccided
another found with it bearing a Greek inscription (not then deciphaed), C l e r m o n t ~ e a u
the site was an important Christian burial place." TICCSappear u n d a what sccm to bc smrrted arches
on lamp fhgment found at '"Ain Karim", in a none too clear illustratioz~~

From direct observation and what can be deduccd h m illustrations aad descriptions these
particular arcades are found only on lamps of the kind seen in Figure 193.
The lamp arcades mimic those that fkme the padisiacal imagey at 'Ammh, Qasw and
elsewhere, and the creaturcs and vegetation scen through the arcades arc popular versions of the
paradisiacal imagery. Although the decoration is executed with varying degrees of cornpetence,
allowing for the small scale and the necd to draw cach arcade aud its motifs individuaily d e r than
impress the moulds with a die, the lamps unmistakably reflect their architectural models. The plain,

individual colonnettes and serrateci arches are particularly-well delincateci in Figures 198 and 199.
Placing various motifk in each vine loop or within each niche follows the modcl set in the Qubbat al-

Sakhrah, and the similar combining of anomalous motifs seen at 'AmrnSn. The vine scroll above the
arcades links the decorative programme of the Ramlah and associated lamps with the "Marwiin" ewcis

127
amangement, u well as dut m ~ u t e in
d the mconrtrpction of the atdiencc hrll rt Qa@,
inclusion of the buds, @me

whiie the

of which might be W!)

allier the h p s with the CWQI a d IChirbat

ai-Bay&i"s Iintel and their terresaial version of the arcdes and g d c n imaguy.
Another lamp h m the Warschaw Collection shows s a n t a l arches flanking the haadle rad
less-well cxecuted rnration above the flanking the nozzle (Figure 204):'
Figure

A 1-p

similm to thit in

mry have been found by S. Sailcf rit Bettraay. His iliurtrrtion of it u poor, bat the

description, including mention of the "arch with tiny liner dong ita exterior",* appern to d d b e the
Warschaw lamp. (It is not suggested that the few 1-p

examples herein arc J1 there m.)

There is a particular importance to the Ramlah lamp. On the assumption that it, me the jar
mould, copied something, the lamp indicates the existence of at Ieast one building with the made
imagery pnor to Ramlah's founding c. 708 CE. As the notable rcsemblrnca betwecn Qarpl's smaller
niche and the Coptic c h a t suggest an eady pcriod, a date within 'Abd al-Maiik's reign (685-705), u
Carlier and MOM hypothtsize,a post-constniction of the Qubbat d-SJrhrah, seemr possible. What
then do the distinctive arcades attest?
However decorative in appearance, they were not mere decotation. Nor were they a sign of
residence, although they were found at residences. They seem not to have bcen spplied univendly;
for instance, apparcntly not on the bath at Qusayr 'Amrah, Jordan, nor over the multiple enttrnctl of
the Large Enclosure at Q e r al-E&yr al-Sharq. They appear at sites on travel routes. Tbe
appearance is independent of a sructure's cultural origin or type. They might be more or less
elaborate accordhg to circumstance, yet maintain a remarkably constant and recognizable appirance.
Their most elaborate form has been found at a caliphal palace, an administrative cornplex and a

princely residence. They are found in amas idcntiaed as being for "reception","audience", and
"meeting", that may be on the ground floor, or the uppcr storey, m f e d or ull~oofed.Rusiifah, Qu@,
and, possibly Chal Tarkhan-Eshqabd, have, immcdiately adjacent to the location of the garda

imagery, exclusive spacc that stems to have been auxiliary to it- The rucades appcsr to have been

subjectively-related to a stnicture's cntranct.

Conceming the sites at which the arcdes were f o d , G. King h u pointcd out tbrt Umayyad
q q r show a pattern of considerd placement dong the boundaict bctwecn amble land md gnzing

temtoriesd. of the Hiwriii und the Balqa8P(Figure 206)? Far h m king merely .succesaion of
isolated aristocratie estates, they were o

h part of a complex of d e d dhgu and t o m b

d on

agriculture,'' and likely served many ptuposes. QmM, for instance, wai an agriculturil estute 6 t h

substantial nearby water cachement f~cilities? It wu positioncd on the cdgc of d i e laad bordering
the grazing range of nomadic herden ailied to the Umayyads," aad is thought to h m k e n a rbpping

place for hqji caravans on the Darb a l - S h h route betwecn 'Ammh and MdFnA7'
Q q r Kharinah's handinesr to the Darb al-Shh and W&E &Si.@&

routes bas becn pointcd

to by both Urice and King? and the most rt~tlltly-discovCtOdinscriptions found at that Qaqr I

d Gh.

Bisheh to suggest it and the W5d.i a l - S i e h route may h m been w d "primardy by government
officials ntba thm by merchants and pilgrms" in thc Umayyad paiod."

One might continue north h m the WadF al-Siroh route via al-BtyOii' rnd Jabd Saya to
Damascus, or to the eastern des-

via Q e r al-Hayr al-Gharb and Qtqr ai-Hayr al-Sharq; again,

these sites are on travel routes bordering the lands of nomadic herdm allied to the Urnayyads?

King's hypothesis that q-r

distribution suggests "cohercnt" statc planning) is tchoed by

Bisheh, writiag of Qqr Msbash, about 21 km. north-west of Qwr al-KhPa.6"

Mshash h d a small

qqr, a bath and substantial water collection and storagc facilities," but the m a is thought to h m

been generally non-residential. More likely it served a pastord community aud w a ~a halting place
for caravansmand, possibly, was u s 4 by the postal semicc (al-bm-d) and govenunent officiais
travelling between 'Ammia and the W j k m "Cohemt" planning might describe 'Abd al-Mrlik's
administrative centraiizatioa, including reform of the amcncy and the introduction of Aribic sr the
language of burtaucracy."

arcades derive h m it.

Qubbat al-Sakbh wus oather of hi3 initiatives a d the pdisiricd

129
Qastal

and fabal Says had been lived in by Marwhid princes, so the arcder thcm c d d be a

dynastic signaturc. Not ro Qv

Kharhrh, whore subrtmtirtcd ManSnid corndon ir that it w u
visited by the governor of Jmd al-Urdum, 'Umar b. ai-Wdid b. 'Abd ai-Malik.That the rtcder
appear at such disprrrate locations as Rusifah, 'Ammin aad QwKharSnah may indic& no nxed

ceremonid was associated with th-;

however, thcir sppearanct at Rusafiih and 'Ammh s u g g ~ t that

s

the arcades might have been associated with a fiinction that would bc carricd out by the caliph, or by
somtone to whom the caliph h d delegatcd a powcr, such as his provincial govcrnor-u M-g
Unce's hypothesis that Qwr Kharihah was purposely built for meetings with Umayyd tnid allier,
(events that might have been held as convenientiy at regular, well-witered wry stations), the
paradisiad arcades could have indicated places where the meetings or audiences included the
administration of civil justice.
Wnting on the organization of the caliphate, E. Tyaa statcs that in the Umayyad pcriod it was

an essentially personai s o v t f ~ i g n t yconcurrcntly

,~
political and rcligious."

Caliphs lcUd as judges,=

and some, including 'Abd al-Malik, 'Umar II, Y l n d II and Wh,p a o n d l y actcd u
One manifestation of the caliph's absolute power w u the judicial macise called nra@im

8 q@fern

a superior

justice wielded only by the caliph or bis representative; an ariiutt of supnmt authoxity, most wident
in the ascendance of royal power, absent in its dedine."

Tyaa describes it as extn-ordiaary lawyma

sort of revolt against the shm'," not intcgrated into or acceptcd u a part of the fiqh system."
Traditionally, m>rc-int w u founded on Qur'aaic texts and the Prophet's ~unnah;' or, h d its
origins in pre-Tslhic dispute settiing mechanisms unongst clans and tribes without a centrai
authority.% R. Levy citing al-Mwardl says m q a I i m courts for the rcvicw of wrongs w m iastituted
by the "later Umayyads, who sat in pcrson to receive petitions &m al1 ~ o m r n " .J.~ Nielsen says al-

MhvadF's suggestion that 'Abd al-Malik " w u the fmt to arrange for the regular hearing of m+aIim
petitions seems to bc premature"? Tyan citing al-Maqrzi says 'Abd al-Malik wm the k t to set

aside a specid day for m@im

audiences, and put his q@i, Ab-Idns al-&-,

in charge of thcm?

130

Mqalim dcnoted the cdiph's "fiindamentalcompetcnct to d d wih di litigmtiom rnd to right

a l l wrong~".'~The wrongs he might right included: oppression of bis mbjccts by hir officiais; mjust

taxes; m d u d official stpends; riestoraiion of ~ ~ ~ n g f i d i y - s pmpeity;

ebd
mpprcssion of cvildoing,
and generai hearing and seiing of disp~tcs.'~'The crliph codd act pcnonally, or delegrte the power
to his rcprcsentaivc, mch as a ministcr of statc, provinciai governor or idministrator.'ol

Maim audiences were grand public occasion^,'^ whore essential god w u to allow pcnons
to b

~ heir
g cornplaints to the cdiph.'"

'Abbkid caipha h m ai-Mrihdi to d-MuhtacE arc raid to

have followcd the Umryyd example of maIfm jus tic^.'^ Al-Mrhdi (775-785) is said to have bccn
the fiist 'Abbisid caliph to rdminister m@im

justice pmonally,to6 and Mm* (754-774) h d its

exmise iar>mmcndcdto him as a corrective of abuses of powcr by rtitc fpnctionarks.'"

HM (785-186) cxcrcised m q a i n in the DZr al-M-,

Msi ai-

or DIr r l - ' h m 4 in Bqghdd.lo. Oidm

would be given for curtains veiling the catiph to be drrwn aside, the daon would be opened, and the
people allowed to enter.'0g Ai-MuhW- bi-Allah (869-870) built a qubbah with four entmaccs and
called it "Qubbat al-Ma7ai;mn whae di classes of his subjctrr LtCtived ju~tice.''~ The providing of
special buildings, or parts thettof, for malim audiences waa followed by he F-ids,

Zangids and

Mamlks,lll aad in Umayyad Spain Amr 'Abd Allah b. Mdymmad had a gatc opened in the wdl of
his palace compound whtre his subject might corne to make theu complaints; the gatc was called Bab
al-'~dl.''~
Such detail is not given for the Umayyads, but Tyrm's generrrl comments arc of interest.
Initially, there were no rules to determine where or when rna@im courts would be held, other than
that a mosque was never considered a place of habituai audience, because mt@ima justice was of a

secular nature."'

"En principe, le juge des m-im

peut tenir son conseil o il lui plait; en fait, tant

qu'un local ne sera pas dTcct spcialement cet objet, il tiendra conseil dans le lieu ou il exerce ses
fonctions. Pour le souverain, ce sera son palais, pour les ministres, gouverneun, titulaires distinctes
des ma@im, leur rsidence officielle ou prive.""'

Continuhg to @a&:

Hishlm might have srt in m m 1of Pllrce One, Rqiifrh,

dispensing justice to his subjecta assembleci in the courtyard; u might the mb-govcrnor in the
Reception Hall at 'Amma, with the cernnony bdtting his mnk. At Q-s

CICiier, princely

residence somethhg like Rusafab's ceremony might have had the dispenser of justice scatcd in the
suite of rooms over the gate and his petitioners assemblcd in the arcadcd audience hail- These three
sites' decoration, evident and reconstructed, suggests an ambience conducive to r grand show.

In the figctious times post the second civil war, the wide-mging powers of maim justice
would be called for, and the exercising of it at q-r

lacstad stntegicaily on -el

router might have

been a pmtical measure. Qqr Kharhah's decoraion is modert, but the arrangement of the southcm
rooms, with the buyt centred on m m s 59 and 29 fteding iato room 26, indiCster a certain formality
could attend the pracadings. Perhaps the sub-governor at 'Ammh rode out th-

for the piirpore at

set tirnes of the year comsponding to seasonai pastord migrations, or the panring of the h@* camvan,
as a m&im

judge may have gone out h m Damascus in Jund Dimashq to Jabd Siys aad al-Sharq's

Small Enclosure on similar occasions.

'Umar b. al-Wald b. 'Abd al-Malik, who could have administered mqiilim justice, would
surely have been out of bis jurisdiction [?] at Qwr Kharihah during his governorate of Jund alUrdunn, but maybe his visits occiincd during the year he commaaded the @<11arav van.^" I m b q
citing Bisheh, suggcsts that 'Umar b. al-WaEd b. 'Abd al-Malik may have lived for a time at tbe
Q*r.'l6
As for Chai Tarichan-Eshqabad, to which a particular date or origin has not becn aocribed; it,

like Rayy, was within the administrative area of al-'Mq,"' whcrc 'Abd al-Malik had appointcd alHajiiij b. Ysuf govemor, "excluding K h & h

and Sijistann in 75 AB."'

Al-HadSj, or one whom he

deputed, might have dispenseci justice there.

Why paradisiseal arcades should have b e n so used is again speculativt. The wxitet thints it
most likely they onginated with 'Abd al-Malik, who may have hown that, rmciently, gardas were an

132

expression of a ml& wealth and power,'" and hir gardea, the Qubbat d ~ a b m hw
, u th&

He m.y

have lcnown that aacient monarcbs held audiences in t h e gardeas, a i n f d of Cynu the Great
(559-530 BCE):~ whow g a r d a is considcd a iink in the chiai of myd wtaa grdcns, a tradition

that was absorbed into the I s l h i c world and, post the Umayyads, expmrad rit the Bdkuwm P.lace,
of 'Abbisid S ~ ~ I L ~ , ' ~ '

If Qas-

dates to the period of 'Abd al-Mdik himseif', one might say the arcades wcrc

installed there because they were of his mation, Qubbat al-Sakhmh, of which he must have been
justifiably proud. The Qubbah was a manifestation of bis, and by extension, Manvanid power and, of
course, a Muslim triumph. If the arcades' instrillation coincided with the exercire of rn-im

justice

at Qaspd, a precdent could have k e n set and foilowed elscwhcm for dispashg it in rn arm so

omamented. Certainly, the idea of the caliph displaying his absolute authority in the prmence of
imagery that celebratcd absolute Muslim powcr would not have been beyond the imagination of the

man who conceivcd of the Qubbat al-Sakhrah.

As for the concurrence of the single entraact or route with the paradisircal imwery, this could

have focussed the ceremonid aspects of a ma#lim audience; then again, aa existing Umayyd taste
for single entrances may have been an opportunity of which to take advantagt.

There are two fiirther examples of the arcades to be considered. At Khirbat .I-Maaar, about

'~
of thne lile pUnted niches
1.5 miles north of "modern Jaicho in the Jodan ~ a l l c y " , groups
"recessed in the wall facesH were set between each pair of the bah's clemtory windows (Figures 207,
208 and 209).lm Figure 210 shows the buth's r c s t o d ~lcrtstory,'~
and Figure 211, un isometric

reconstruction of the bath building.'= Those niches with sermtc arches ovcr plain colonnettes
without capitals or bases art as spare as those found on the lamps; others with acaathus on arches
over individual colonnettes with paired Corinthian capitrls,

arc fhelydetailed, md rcminiscent of the

arcades above the eatrancc to al-SharqiasSmdl Enclosure (sec Figure 159). Both types have k e n
given scalloped hoods and paintecl marble messes.

133

D.Thompron drcw attention to the similrrity of 8 Chd 'kkhrrn-Eshqabd p a t l motif to one

in al-Mdjds pd-

wQting toom (sec Fi-

172). Thcm it w u just

panel behind r b c h rnn-

rest, a minor featurc in a profiision of vines and other onurnent (Figure 212).Iw A d e i i i act, it
seems, because reprwting the parsdiriacal imagery h m its distinctive fnme, thca elcvrtinp the firme
high above the bath, an area for sybaritical audience, can o d y have been to pmvoke. The

mischievousness intensifies when one considers P. Soucek's recent anayris of the bah porch'r imrgcry
as an interpretation of the legend of Solomon's flying tbrone, and thd monacch'r equay 1egend.w

"wisdom to adjudicae disputes"?

In fact, the many instances of discrete nicher at ai-Matjar, m

niches or lavishly dtcorated balustrades (Figures 213, and 214):"

suggert die imagery h

d becorne the

butt of an cxtended joke.

Another joke seems implied in the arcades on the fwade of Q-r al-Hayr al-GhrtbF, Syriq
about 60 km. west-routh-wcst of P a l m y r ~ 'As
~ at ai-Shm-, the ocmapiers of this quy w a t
positioned ta obsccve the movcment of tribes and their animais in the m o n a l rhythm of desert 1if",'30
as had previous occupiero of the site since at Ieast Roman times, because al-Qer al-Hayr al-GhartC
was not only on a direct route h m Damascus to Paimyra, but on an altemate route to Damascur via

Qaratayn."'
A recurrent aspect of paradisiad imagery and its installation is the appreciation of illusion.

Roman wall painting's influence is evident in this; as interpreted in the Damascris moraics, it mixes
reaiistically portrayed buildings and tandscapes with the mansions aad pavilions of dreamscapes.

E. B. Smith has raid of al-GharbF's faade that its designer would not have gone to ro much
trouble had he btcn unawarc of the "royal signincanct" of impcrial gatc imagay."'

0. Grabar points

to the Roman tradition of symbolism associated with entrances as the liltely origin of al-GharbF's
elaborate faade.'33 Another explanaion may be suggestcd.
As reconstmcttd (Figure 215),13' the fmiliar disCretc niches have betn dispensai with, in
favou of an arcade more common in pre-Islhic times, but a trct with entwining grrpe vine (Figure

21QUSthat h a bcen mtored to the fint towu b.y to the right of the cntt.ns suggertr this ir

variant, more elabonte, version of the paradisiricd imagery recn p b o u s l y at 'Ammin rnd Q@,
where the viewer is outside the garden loaking in. Hem, it is tpecplatd, the view is fbm inride.
Someone has attempted a fantastical "ilustration" on the qtqr's outer wd.

h the foreground of this illustration, above a postuatod socle or d d o on the towen, are three
formal garden beds, or carpets, filleci wih rosettes rnd fowcr buds.'"

These am d g e d with rcanthtis

leaves at the bottom and rosettes at the top. Above them, the geometric register might be rn opus
sectile path between the garcn beds and a cloisteml enclosure w d ; or, it might be a prnclld wdl
(coated in vegetation) beneath the windowed gallcry of a garden p.vilion. Along the margin of the

enclosure wall, or pavilion, there may have been a line of trees, of which the one rcmaining u
reminiscent of the ctceper entwined trees in the paradjriacal garden of Slin'Z Fi-

3, and similrr

mangements in 'Ammh's niches and al-AqsA's panels, Topping cithet structure is a line of
medallions, then stcpped merlons.
Acknowledging this arguable interpretation of al-GharbF's fsade, the d t c r pointi out it is not
the only such instance. An example of what seem to be "plantingr" of &ces and vin- dong a

cloistered enclosure wdl topped with stepped merlons is shown in Figures 217,'"

and 218," on a

ewer said to be S k h i d . Were al1 its bays filled with stucco trees, Q e r al-Hayr al-GhdF's towers,
fiom the level of the arcades to the merlons, would look very like the ewer's ornament.

There is a pavilion (Figure 219)'39 in the centre of the wt11-known large bronze dish (Figure
220), in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin, describecl as h m IrZn of the ~ ~ ~ 1centuryturyL4
1 t h
It is domed

and has verandahs on at least two sides. The faade shows sylimd palmettes (?) or lotus (?) and

p a h s about the lower walls, then a windowed gallery, a register of discs or mddlions,

ruid

rtepped

merlons. A. Pope states the vegetals arc only "wdl decorations not a projection of the gardenu
because one of the mot* is r e p e d OP the central dome;'" however, thcrc is some justification for a
contrary view because of the dish's outer ornament, which could be interpreted as a screen of lush

135

foliage "plmted" agnrt a gardcn's cloistercd enclosue wali. In Figure 215 al-Gh.rbF1s "dm
medallions and merlons are, concurrentiy, part of the "iUustntionn,
Found at Ssah, IM,wcn parts ofuugIazd, mouidecl, four-ridai objcovered with vines (Fimerlons (Fi-

221)'" or ohcr v e g d motilr (Fi-

d o r e wrllr were

2WUmd topped with steppeci

223).lU On each ride wrr an a t m c e topped with r five-lobed archa, sometimu

semted (sec Figare 221), and sometimes pcari-edged (Fi-

224).14'

Figiirct 221,222,224 and,

pssibly, Figure 223, corne h m b e l 3 at the beginning of the site's IslSmic petiod, dated c. midseventh century to the second part of the eighth.'"

Because thcn is a depression in the top of the

objects they are reftntd to as supports,"' that happen to look likc prvilions cn>wned with steppeci
merlons. Thesc pavilions' w d s may be deconte with v e g d motifs; aitemrtively, thme prvilions
may be interprcted as rising through a screen of vegctation "gmwing"riniund them.

In chapter 2 it was suggcstcd that because of its extemal mosaics the Qubbat d-SJrhrah might

have been interpreted aa the "likeness of a heavenly prvilion riring out of r p d a i r e d gden".
The above examples seem to be Iuiked, in ways not immediately cleaf but related
phenomenologically to tbe art, discussed throughout ihis thesis, that invies one to activdy explore
imaginecl worlds.

Schlumberger observed that the k t Isl%nic art used concumntly, juxtaposecl in the same
constructions, architecturai forms, technical procedures and decorative motif3 of divene origins, di of
which were visible at al-GharbF, and the explmation of this eclecticism was known, i-e., "c'est la

pratique de la liturgie, de la corve d'tat".lu It is speculated that duty has b a n tumed about hcrc,
and Q e r al-Hayr al-GharbF may be meant to pamdy the Qubbat ai-Sakhrah. Prcaiding over thir

garden is a bust of the goddess Atargatis (Figure 22S),'49 which hm been nstod to a spandrd
between the middle gable and arch on the nght-hand tower of Figure 215, md a reclining couple
(Figure 226), who have been p l d beside the merious of the right-imd t~wcr.''~Like other statumy
at this site, the couple arc modelled on the funerery sculpture of nearby ~ a l m y n , ' ~aad
' iike thcir

models thy too may bc baqyeting.IR at a fcvt for the M (Figure 227)."
Qqrai-Hiyr al-GM's

u r wry triiiate to the e

a of the g.rdsn visw,

Notes

l.Urice, Oasr Rb-6

pp- 70-77, quotmg Lionel Bier, "The 'Surnicin Pdiee' Nerr Sm&tm," PhD
dissertation, New York University, 1979, pp. 101-106.
2Lionel Bier, Samistan: a studv in earlv lranisn architcctm. Univenity Park and London: The
Pennsylvania State University Press, 1986, p. 44.

41bid., p. 36, and illusates one in fig. 9, p. 96.

5L.Y. Rahrnani, "The tiuec appearances of Chip-carving in Palestine," 1-1

(1988) 38: 61, for the last decades of 1st century BCE to 70 CE,

Exdoration Jouxnd

6Moshe Kochavi, "The burial caves of b a t Raiyf, 1962 m o n , " p. 73 and pl. 10-1, in Yohranaa
Aharoni, Excavations at Ramat Rah& semons 1961 and 1962. Rome: Ccntm di Studi Semitici, 1964.

7M. Rostovtd, "GraBtiti," in P.V.C. Bauer, Ml.Rostovtz&, A b d R Beltringer The Excavrtion~

a -Dura-Eurono~Prcliminary Report of Fourth Season of Wodr Octobcr 1930-Mar& 1931. New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1933, pp. 210-211, pl. X K 3 , "La Deesse aux Colombes". At Khirbat
Tamur, above Petra, Jordan, the goddcss with hcr crowning cagle is p l d in a tympauum with a
radiating fneze of teeth (or rays?), Nelson Glucck, Deities and Dol~hins:the stow of the Nabatacant

New York: Straus and Girousx, 1965, ill. 15.

8.R A. Stewart Macalister, "Report 3," Palestine Exdoration Oiirirteriy Stutcmenf for 1904, p. 256,
fig. 6.

9.Rahmani, "The three appeamnces," pp. 62-64; i&m., "Finds ftom a sixth ta sevath centuries site
near Gaza: II. pottery and stone abjects," Ismel Exdoration Journal (1983) 33: 223-224. .
1O C . Leonard Woolley and TE. Lawrence, "The Wilderness of Zin," Palestine Exdoration Fund
Annual (1914-19 15) 3: 101, fig. 32, in what seemed ta have been a church apse11.Woolley and Lawrence, Wildemess, p. 79, fig. 13, "Esbeita: North Church, capitai of ride door".

D e s a Israel. BAR
12.Arthur Segal, Architecturai Decotation in Bvzantine Shiva NCQCV
International Sefies 420. Odord: B.AK, 1988, p. 14113Segai, Architectural Decotation, p. 151.
14lbid, the painted serration is illustratc on p. 112 no. V-3, "Halfdome fscadc", and the carvcd on
p. 114 no. V-5, "Arched niche facade", The painted serration does not copy well enough for inclusion
here.
15J&id,p. 103, no. N-8, "Wall-attached pillar cornice".

16.H. Dunscombe Colt, ed., Excavations at Nessana (Auia Ha& Palestint) 3 vols. London: British
School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, 1962, vol, 1, p. 48.

l8.C0lt, Excavations at Ncssrina, vol- 1, p, 48, and pls- XVI.3, XVII.7, K I ,

19.D. Talbot Riu, "The Odord Excavations at ljra." Ars Islam icg (1934) 1: 61, and fig. 8.

20.D.Talbot Riu, "The Oxford Excavations at Hira, 1931." Antia&y (1932) 6: 284.
21.Rice, "The Oxford Excavations," 1932, pp. 286, 288, fig, 8f.

22.Rice, "The Oxford Excavations," 1934, p. 61.

23.Handbook of the Bvzantine Collection. Washington, D.C.:Dumbarton Oaks, 1967, p. 93 and cat.
no. 319.
24.Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," p. 36 and n- 10, whete the linte1 is said to be h m Deir Dughiya,
but, according to Conder and Kitchener, was taken h m Deir Abu De;C.R Conder and HHKitchener, The Survcv of Western Palestine. Vol. 1, "Galilee," ed-with additions by E.H.Palmer and
Walter Besant. London: The Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund, 1881, pp. 114-115.
2S.Charles Clermont-Ganncau, "Nouveau ossuaires Juifs, avec inscriptions Grecques et Hbraques,"
Revue Archbloniauq (1873) N.S.25: 398414, illus. on p. 401.
26.Greville J. Chester,"Notes on miscellaneous objects found in the excavations," pp. 384-388. In
Recovew of Jerusalem, by Captains Wilson and Warren. New York: D. Appleton & Company, 1871.
27Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," p. 4 refers to the article's research within the "Roman and
Byzantine period", and p. 36 to the ossuary's "late" date28.Renate Rosenthal-Heginbottom, Die kirchen von Sobota und die dreia~sidenkirchendes Nahen
Ostens. Gottinger Orientforscbungen II Reihe. Band 7. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrasowitz, 1982, taf. 46.c,
"Kapitell ".
29.Sega1, Architectural Decotation, p- 75, no. II-22.
30.Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," p- 42, fig. 13.
31.E.H. Palmer The Desert of the Exodus. With maps and numerous illustrations h m photographs
and drawings taken on the spot by the Sinai Survey Expedition, and CF. Tyrwhitt Drake, Cambridge:
Deighton, Bell and Co., London: Bell and Daldy, 1871, vol. II, p. 377, "Gateway of tower at Sebaita".
Tynvhitt Drake's illustration does not copy well enough for inclusion.

32.Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elements," p. 36 and n. 8; F-M. Abel and A. Banois, "Chronique," Revue
Bibliaue (1929) 38: p, 583, fig, 2, "Yatta. Arceau provenant du Kh. Kennef'.
33.Friedrich Sarre, "Die Bronzekanne des Kalifen M m & II im Arabischen Museum in Kairo," &g
I s l a m i a (1934) 1, b u s Reprint Corporation 1968: p. 10, and fig. 5, "Zeichnung der Gravienmgen
der Bronzekanne des Kalifen Marw5n II". This ewer was publisbed also by GX.D. King, "The
architectural motif as ornament in Islamic art: the 'Marwin II' ewer and three wooden panels in the
Museum of Islamic Art in Cairo," Islamic Archaeolo~icalStudies vol. 2. Cairo: General Organization
for Government Printing Of?lces, 1982, pp. 2337.
3 4 . h w s indicate these on Figure 188, and they can be seen in Sarre, "Die Bronzekanne," figs. 2, 3.

35.S-

and Martin, D

m Band 2, t&

131, kat no- 2993; sec JM) J. Orbcli et C. Tm=,

e sasaaid. Morcow-Leningnd: A d u n i r , 1935, cat. 76.

n
.
36.Gza Fehviri. blmnic Metalwork o f the ei&h ta the h
Foreword by Rdph Pinder-Who& London: Flber aud Faber Limifad, 1976, pp. 27-28, d o o r pl, 2.
37.Handle of ewer in Metropoiitm Museum of Art, New Y

o writds
~
photogmph.

38Ettinghausea and Graar, blamic Ar& fig. 15, "Damucus, &eat Mosque, 706, mosricr h m the
western porficow.

39.Turrtt of ewer in Metropolitan Mwcum of Art, New YoriE; h t d s photogrrph. E. Bier,

Mctalwork in Medieval Islamic & Albany: Strte Univemi@ of New York -8,
1983, roggmta at p.
86 that the "Marwh" aad Metropolitan Museum's mm dmvt f b m a Roman-Byzantine d e r than
an Iraniaa tradition, whik the Ke might bc pcirt of a gmup of Persirn ewr of lata date.

b
. MSureoMure de la
40.Raymond Koechlin, L
Mission Archologique de Perse, vol. XIX. Paris: Eniest Leroux, 1928, c d 107 rnd pl, Xm.107.
41.Heinz Gaube, Ein Arabischer Palaat in Sitdsvrien Hirbet el-Bai& Bcirpt: in Kommisrion bei Fraaz
Steiner Verlag, Wiesbaden, 1974, taf. X.2, F.-N. 28. For a dmuing of hh lintel hgmcnt and othm
h m al-Baytjal, sec de Voge, Syrie centrsle5 pl. 24.
42,Gaube, Ein Arabischer Palast, p. 131 &

44Jbid, pp. 126-127.

451bid, pp. 135-136.
46.A. Desreumaux u. JB. Humbert, "De Fund von a l - F e d a i n M w p. 347, in Pierre Amiet, cd.,
Der K6ninsweg. 9000 J b Kunst und Kultur in Jordanien and Pal-&
Mnz am Rhein: Pbilip von
Zabem, 1987; there's a drawing of the ivory in abb. 355, and a photograph of the Iamp in abb. 357.
47.Rahmani, "The thrce cippearauces," p. 65.
48.L.Y. Rahmani, "Palcstinian incense burncrs of the sixth to eighth centuries C.E.," Israel Exdoraiion
Joumal (1980) 30: 116-122, prssim,
49.Gerald M. Fitzgerald, Beth-Shan Excavations 192191923: the Arab and Bvzantiae levelg.
Publications of the Palestine Section of the Museum of the University of Pennsylvaaia, vol. III.
Philadelphia: University P m s for the University of Pennsylvmia Museum, 1931, pi. XXVI.3,"Tnciacd
Arab bowl h m terrace".
5O.Cf. its use on the Atrvgatis and Christian ahrincs.
5 l.Colt, Excavationsvol. 1, p. 22.

52.Flonncc E. Day, "Early Islamic and Christian Lampr," Bmrhig (1942) 7: p. 72, pl. XII.2, 'From
Menina Excavations, Cilicia'.

53.Jodi Magness, Jerusaicm Cercimic Chronolow cima 200-800 CE. JSOT/ASOR Monognph Series
No. 9. Sheffield: Sheffield Acdemic Press, 1993, "Form 5 CChaane1-Nozzle Oil Llmps'), p. 258.

54Rosen-Ayalon and Eitan, Rarnln twenty-fourth page, lamp in the middle row on the leA; o d y the
one side of the l m p showa.
5S.Yael Ismli and Uri Avidq Oil Lamns h m Eretz IsmcL The Louis md Clrmen W d m y
Collection at the Isracl Muscunt, Jenasalem. Jerusalem: The 1
Museum, 1988, cat. no. 464, rec.
no. 76.6.1444. It should be noted that .Ithough at p. 155 the authon rtrte Wamchniv lrmps likc the F.
Day one describai have pointed o v d [the wrtds italics] bases, in its catalogue listing on p. 193, lamp
464 is said to have a nrtg base,
56Acc. no, 910.114-202, one of a numbcr bought "in 3 lots fiom Beisau, Taibeh, etc.", fiom Vater &
Co., Jerusalem, December 1907.

57.R.A.S. Macalister and J. Garrow Duncan, "Excavations on the Hill of Ophel, Jemsrlem 19231925," Palestine Exdoration Fund Annual (1923-25) 4: plXXI.21; at pp. 193-194, this is one of a
number of lamps ammgcd in a tentative "chronological series" of the Roman md Byzrntine periodr.
Of the twmty-two lamps on the plate, those h m Cl0 on "do not c d for any spccid word of
description, the drswings spcaic for themselves, p. 196.
58Macalister and Duncan, "Ophel," p. 196, fig. 211, as this is one of two lamps described as the
"ovetflow" from pl. XXI, the dismissive cornmcnts of the previous note applies to it &o.
59Acc. 910,114,185, one of a number bought "in 3 lots h m Beisan, Taibeh, etc,", h m Verter &
Co., Jerusalem, December 1907.
6O.Israeli and Avida, Warschaw, cat. no. 465, scc. no- 76.6.1436, no provenance.
61.A.D. Tushingham, Excavations in Jerusalem 1961-1967 vol. 1. With canributions by John W.
Hayes, R.B.Y.Scott and Emmett Willard Hamnck. Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum, 1985, p. 97 and
fig. 32.33. It was with "Byzantine phase IIIB pottery", with which there may h m k e n inxusive
sherds; parallels cited include those of Macalister and Duncan, above.
62Aharoni, Excavations, fig. 26-10, and p. 41 where it's said to be h m the latn Byzantine pcriod
"(stratum II.), i.e. h m the 7th century"; that the fragment's fiil hole structure dHem h m that of the
lamps in the figure can be seen in the drawing.
63.Clermont-Ganneau, Archaeolonical Researches, pp. 420-422, illustration on p. 422, "Tena-cotta
Lamp".
64.P. Bellasmino Bagatti, Il Santuario Della ViPtazione at 'Ain Karim (Montana Judserie).
Pubbliazioni Del10 Studium Biblicum Fraaciscanum No, S. Jenasalem: Tipogrtfia dei PB. Francescrini,
1948, p. 81 and tav. 25.9.
6S.Israeli and Avida, Warschaw Collection, cat. no. 468, acq. no, 76.6.1441, no provenance.

661bid,cat. 467, acq. no. 76.6.1442, no provenance.

67.Sylves~J. Sallcr, Excavations at Bethanv (1949-1953). Publications of the Studium Biblictun
Franciscanum No. 12. Jerusalem: Franciscan Press, 1957, p. 186, item 6. no. 7012. At. p. 184, the

lamp is said to be in the catcgory of "LLrte Byzantine and E d y Arrbic Lamps" with ch~e1-nozzlu
and heart-shriped bases. At p. 186, the lamp shrpe w u raid to h m been "in use thmugh the cady
Arabic period, that is h m about tbe menth to the elcvcnh century.

68.Carlier, "Qaswai-Balqa',"pp. 120421.

69.King, "Setthnentpatterns," p. 369,

71.King, "The distriiution," map 2.

72.King, "The Umayyad W r r , "passim, and p. 73.
73Xing, "Scttlcmcnt patterns," p, 370.
74Jbid. pp. 370-371,
75Xing, "The distribution," pp. 98-99; the Darb ai-Shh wcnt via Ma'an and TrbUlr.

77Bisheh, "Qer Mshash," p, 90 and n. 27.

78.KUig, "The disrbution," p. 93; Grabar, City, pp. 156-157,
79.King, "The distribution," p. 100.
80Bisheh, "Qqr Mshash," pp. 89-90.

84.G.R. Hawting, The First Dvnastv of Islam: the U m m Calinhate AD 661-750. Carbondale aad
Edwardsville: Southem Illinois University Press, 1987, p. 63 B.;Hugh Kennedy, Tho Pro~hetand the
Aae of the Cali~hates:the Islamic Near East h m the sixth to the cleventh ccntum. London and New
York: Longman, 1986, p. 98 B.

. . . . .

8S.See Emile Tyan, Histoire de l'oraan iscition tudicaire en Daver d'islam. Dcuxime dition revue et

corrige. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1960, p. I l on the power of delegation,

86.Emile Tyan, Institutions du droit ~ u b musulman,
k
Tome 1, "Le Califat". Beirut: 1934, p. 385.
87.Tyan, "Le C a l i f ' " p. 386,

88Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds, God's Caii~h.Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge
University Press, 1986, p. 44.
89.Crone and Hinds, Gad's Cali~h,pp. 44-45, citing Tyan, Histoire 1938 ed. vol. 1, p. 134.

90.Tyan, Histoire, p- 44191Jbid. pp. 440441.

9 7 b b e n Levy, The Social Structure of Islam. 2nd edition of The S o c i o l ~ ~

ofyIrlam. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1957, p. 348 and n. 2.

99.Tya11, Histoire, p. 5 14.

100Xmile Tyan, "Judicid Orgaaization," p. 263, in Majid Khdduri and Herbeait J. Liebesny, edr.,
Law in the Middle Easg vol. 1, "Origin and dtveloprnent of Islamic l a d Washington, D.C.: the

Middle East Institute, 1955.

lOl.Levy, The Social Structure, pp. 348-349.
102.TyanYHistoire, pp. 483484; idem., "Le c a s i f # " pp. 387, 389,
1O3.TyanyHistoire, p. 475.
104Jbid.. pp. 507-508,
lOS.Levy, The Socid Structure, p. 348.
IO6.Tyan, Histoire, pp. 476-477.

109.Al-Tabari', Ab Ja'far Mubarnmacl b. JarIr, The Historv of al-TM

Vol. XXX, "The 'Abbhid
Caliphate in Equilibrium," AD 785-809/AH 169-193, translateci and annotated by C.E. Bosworth.
Albany: State University of New York Ptess, 1989, p. 61 [582]; this happened in the year 170 AH,
July 3, 786-June 21, 787 CE.
1lO.Tyan, H i s t o k p. 511 and n. 4; Maoudi (Mas'di] Les brairies d'or. Texte et traduction par C.
Barbier de Meynard. Paris: L'imprimerie Nationale, 1874, tome 8, p. 2.
111.Tyan, Histoire, pp. 5 10-511.

112Bid., pp. 509-510.

115A-TabarF, The HistowSVOL XXIII, "The Zenith of the Mirwiaid House," AD 700-715/AH 8196, translatai and amotatrA by Matin Ehdr. Albany: Strte UaiVenity of New York Press, 1990, p.
145 [119q; this happencd in the yerir 88 AH, Decembcr 12,706-Novembcr 30,707 CEl l d h b e r t , "Inscriptions," p. 409 and n. 18.
117.Georgc C. Miles, The Numismatic Historv of Rmv. Numismatic Studia No. 2. New York: The
American Numismatic Society, 1938, p. 8 and IL 1.
118.Ai-Tabaii, The History> vol, XXII, "The Marwanid R e r t o d o ~ ~AD
, " 693-701/AEI 74-81,
translated and aanotated by Evctc# K Rowson. Albany: Strte University of New York Press, 1989, p.
12 [863], May 2,694-Apd 20,695 CE.
119.D. Stronach, "The Royd Gden rt Puargdie: evalution and legacy," in &chmioni8 h i c . et
Orientdis: Miscellanea in Honomm Louis Vanden B
.
2 vols. Ghent: Pcctm Press, 1989, p. 480,
said of the garden attributcd to N e b u c h ~ z z aII
r (604-562 BCE).
120.Stronach, "The Royal Garden," p. 482.
121Jbid., p. 483 ff.
122Xamilton, Khirbat al Mafiar, p. Mi.
1231bid., p. 71 and pl. MII.3, -6, and -7 respectively.
1241bid., fig. 33; this restarcd sketch of the clerestory of the Bath H U S intermediate aisle bay shows
sets of three serrated arches betwcen each window.
125.Robert Hamilton, Walid and his fnends: au Umavysd tra~cdy.Oxford Studics in Islamic Art VI.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, fig. 2.
126.Hamilton, Walid, fig. 22; in the reconstruction drawing of the palace waiting mom, see the
vertical panel behind the art test at right.
127.Priscilla P. Soucek, "Solomon's throne/Solomon's bath: mode1 or metaphor?," Ars Onentalis
(1993) 20: 109-134, and p. 109 and n. S for the quotation.
128.HamiltonYKhirbat aI Mafisr. pls. XMI.lq "Marble scr#n hgments", and LXVI.1, "A forecourt
balustrade panel". Sec dso the arcades over the upper claustmn in Figure 35 hmin.
129.Schlumbergeret al, Qasr el-Heir, p. 1.

1321. Baldwin Smith, #bchitecturaiSvmbaIism of Yinbetiai Rome and the Middle h.

Princeton
Monographs in Art aad Arcbreology XXX,Princeton, New J':Princeton Uaivcmity Pmss, 1956,
p. 184.
133.0. Grabar, *Ceremonid uad Art," p. 134 ff., rnd p. 135.
134,Cresweli and Allen, A Short Accounb fig. 81.
135Hamey Weiss, cd. Ebla to Damascus: art and archacol~gyof rncicnt Svria. Washington, D-C-:
Smithsonian Institution, 1985, cat. no. 252, "Plaster relief of a nut trten.
136,Grabaq "Ceremonial and

p. 132-

137.0rbei and Tm=, Orfvrerie, fig. 77.

138Lars-Ivar Ringbom, Pardisus Tenicstrit Helsinki: 1958, fig. 85.
139XIaus Brisch, Jens mget, Friedrich Spulhef, Johanna Zick-Nirscn.
Katalog. Museum fur Islamische Kunst, StsatIiche Musan. B d k - Bruno Husling Veriag, 1971, kat.
119.
140.Brisch et ai, Islamische Kunsk kat. 119, abb. 27.
141.Arthur Upham Pope, "A Sasanian Garden Palace," The Art Bulletin (1933,) 15: 79.
142Myriam Rosen-Ayalon, La Poterie islrmiiau. Mission de Susirne, tame 1. Puis: Libniric
Orientdiste Paul Gcuthner, 1974, fia. 194, p. 90.
143Xosen-Ayalon, La Poterie, fig. 192, p. 89, and in n 1 mentions portion of a similar support having
been found in Bactria ( J X . Gadin, Cramiuucs de Bactreg. Paris: Librairie C. Klincksieck, 1937, pl.
msa,b).
144.Rosen-Ayalon, La Poterie, fig. 193, p. 90.

1461bid.,p. 12, as are other ftsgments in figs- 96 and 97.

148.Schlumberger et al, Oasr el-Heu, p. 24.

149.Schlumberger et al, Oasr el-Heu, pl. 64.c, "Buste de femme coiffe d'un caiathos"; probribly
Atargatis with a dove, p. 21; Weiss, Ebla to Damascus, cat. no- 251;
n&cck Cho&", Grabar,
"Ceremonial and Art," pp. 192-193..
15O.Schlumberger et ai, Oasr el-Heu, pl. 64b, "Groupe adossi a la tour Nord".
15i.Schlumberger et al, Oasr el-Heu, p. 21; O. Grabar, "Ceremonid and Art," pp. 229-230.
152.Grabaq "Ceremonial and Art," p. 230.

153,Malcolm AR. CoUedge, The Art of Pdmvtg Boulder, Colorado:Westview Press, Inc., 1976,pl.
100, "Funerary banquet relief h m the underground tomb of Malk, c. A D 200".

The aim of this thesis hm k e n to show the relitionship betwccll the Saagi' illustrations, the
Qubbat al-Sakhmh and the two iconographic motifi: the hypostyle mosquc and column of Figure 3,
and the serraicd mch One conclusion reached is th& the Qubbat ASrlrhiih w u a rqgiond ruponre,
couched in a regional artistic vocabulary, to whrt w u pcrccived to be a A o u s regional problcm. It
was recognized that the &"tivcncss

of the mponse, for conqycror and conqucrcd rlike, dependad on

the visualization of P d i s e as a garden k i n g interprcted in a widely-undentood, contemporrry

artistic idiom, something tha tveryone would "get" in the broadest sense, even if not in di the details.
And in the building's shape; the imaginative adaptation of tbe nidabitcd scrolln to displry Paradise's

infinite bounty; the arrangement of ornament, and the use of Q d E c texta to explah himreif, the
Qubbat al-Sakhrah's patron showed himself alert to the rdigiour rad cultutd enviror~rneat.
A second conclusion is that the Marwanids wete aware of the importance of th&

architectwal

achievements and rnemorialized them in the San'a" Figures, whose value as recorden of the eady
I s l h i c period, and as wodcs of art, can hardly be overestimated- Figure 1, the "star dirigram" of the

Qubbat al-Sakhrah, dispIays the imaginative resources at the Umsryyad's disposd. Figure 2, identifiecl
as the first Umayyad al-Aqsk h o w n hitherto only h

m brief texts, is a maliatic portrait of a building

whose construction and ornament, like the Qubbat al-Stddmh's, h

s hcaviPy on regional sources,

including the baroque features of Roman impcrial architoctute. It was pointed out that the kusalem
mosque's qibldr wall, likc that of the Prophet's Mosque at Madnah, and the courtyard of the Gtea
Mosque at Damascus, bore a version of the Qubbah's heavenly gardcn. Figure 3 tecords the existence
of a previously-unrecugnizcd Manvinid iconographic progmnrne, the need for which suggeits, on the

one hand, the threat p e r c e i d h m other religious iconographies continucd beyond the ercction of the
Qubbat al-Sakhrah and, on the other, that I s l h was still rttempting to d&t

its&

147
A conclusion yet to be rcachd is why a qubbd w u built for the Rock rnd what it w u about

the Rock that made p d s i r c d imagay so appropriate rn ornament. Many of the maaons d v m d
have strong Jcwish rnd Cbnstian overtonu, and d y I s l h was not impcmioor ta the influena of
these faiths; howevef, a rcsponse as p o w d as the Qubbat al-Sakhrah could only h m b e n suitable
in its patron's cycs if the Rock, its houring und ornament were damed to be wholly Muslim. J. vrn

Ess' argument that a contemparary Syro-Paicstinian h##th associateci the Rock with Go'r prcscnct
and the world to came is most interesting.

For whom the San'a" Qui& was made, or what occasion it might h m c e l e b d , it crn oniy

be pointed out that Figures 1 and 2 d e r to Jenasalem, and Figure 3 to an iconogmphy whoac rcmains,
so far as is known, rue h m Egypt where it had some mcccrs, as the Cairo Qur'ia, and the mrrQuetry
panels in particular, evincc. Reasons militating against its contiaurtion might have k e n that it

became otiose, or was of a too regionai a taste to be usefial elscwhcxe.

Regional taste is ccrtaialy cvident in the serratecl arch motif of Palestine, Jodaa and Syriq
viz. its absence at Chal Tachan Eshqabad. One is conscious that, in the cmsuteacy of its cippearaucc
and architecturai placement, this motif was used purposef'uliy. The administrative firnction whkh hm

been speculatively associated with it may not, of corne, h m btcn the applicaion of m6iinr justice,
but the motif was not merely decorative. 'Amman's use of it attests that a riecil attcmpt wris made to
recapture the illusive quality of the Qubbah's imagery, and the modest applicaion of r d o n and
b h d arcade at Qqr Khar&mh dignifies the architecturai layout; but, at Khirbat ai-Maac the imagmy
was trivialized, and at Qwr al-Hayr al-GharbF it appears to have been parodieci, although done so

imaginatively!
As interesthg as aay other feature of Marwhid parsdisiricd imagery is its " d c n qudity.

Whether it is a vista at the Qubbat al-Snthtah, a laadscapc at Damascus, a vine glimpsd through
'Ammaa's "windows", or r bird seen through the uchea of 8 clay Irmp, the l i t e d aad spiritucil eye is
constantly directecl to the farther view. That these views are fkcquentiy ambiguous and veiy alylized

148

docs not diminish their m o n , tby nvite exploration.

Qv
ai--

ai-GhrrbF's fh@e u one mch

arnbiguity; it is either a much decomtd fiontagt, or a plain crcnelhtcd one mrulred u a p ~ l i o n

seen
through a prirrduiacd garden, a threedimensiond iUustration combining vertical Penpectivc with the
fantasy of Roman w d painting. Tbe Qubba

is the bcgnning and d-Gw

i p p c m to be

the end of the Marwiaid iconogmphicai avcntwe, if ~ a t t a ' celebntod

s
frcdc is overlooked. It

can bc observed that the b a i s for its lsyout is semtion, or a zigzag with dots (Figure 228).

The Marwnid urt derred to in this thesis is notable for its delibetatencsr; its iafonnd choice
of regional moMs, and aa ~ ~ ( I F C I I C of
S S its importrnct. Al-Mdjrt and al-GhrrbI'r use of the

paradisiacal arcades have k e n pointcd to as smdi indicators of the declining strengh of the
Marwanid caliphate, to which might be appended G. King'a observation tha the d c p "to which
qwuf tended to mcet specincally Umayyad n d s and intercsts may bc m

neglect of so many sites by the Abbasids."'

d by fbt absolute

Notes

l.King, "Settfement prttenis," p. 369.

Select BiMiognpLy

Abel, F.-M.; Barrois, A,

1929
"Chnique." Revue Bibliaue 38 : 580-592,
Aharoni, Yobsnnm.
1956
"Excavations at Ramath[sic] R@el 1954, Prcliminruy Report," Ismel Exploration Journal
6: 102-111.
1964
Excavations at Ramat Rahel: semons 1961 and 1962, Rome: Centro di Studi Semitici.
Almagro Gorbca, Antonio.
1983
El Pdscio Omeva de Amman. Vol. 1, "La Arquitectura". Madrid: Instituto HispanoArabe de Cultura.
Anderson, Maxwell L.
1987/88
"Pompeian Frescoes," reprnted h m The Metro~olitanMuseum of Art Bulletin. Wmter.
Avi-Yonah, M.
1960
"The Mosaic Pavement." In The Ancient Svnaaome of Ma'on (Nirim). Reprinted h m
Bulletin III of Louis M. Rabinowitz Fund for the Exploration of Ancient Synagogues.
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"Orientai Elements in Palesthian Art," Reprinted in M. Avi-Yonaii, Art in Ancient
Palestine: selected studies, edited by Hannah Katzenstein & Yoram Tsafkir. Jerusalem:
The Magnes PressBaer, E.
1983

Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Bagatti, P. Bellaraiino.
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11 Santuario Della Vizitazione at 'Ain Karim Montana JudaeaeJ Pubbliazioni Dello
Studium Biblicum Franciscanum No. 5 . Jenisalem: Tipografia dei PB. Francescaai.
Baes, Micheel L.
1987
"TheCoinage of Syria under the Umayyads, 692-750 A.D.," The Fourth International
Conference On The Historv of Biliid a l - S h h During The Umawad Period. Proceedings
of the Third Symposium, vol- II, English Section: 195-228,
Bauer, P. V. C.
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Titclreite cina Prmhtkomns d u Umayydcmct, Fragment, Yemen (?), m

u2J8. Jh,, Tinte,
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Fifth-ccatary mosaic h m Tabarka UUItidia) rcprelcllting r wntempomy b u i l i d church;
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Pddium mosaic h m the nave of Sant'ApoUiaarc Nuovo, Ravcnnr;
Deichmrnn,
Ravema, ta. 107.
Damascus: tbe Great Morique, plan; d'ter Crerwell and M m , Short Accoun#, fig. 28.
Tafh? Syria, church, interior looking northwest; rtter B u t k ,
Chlu~cb- ill, 18.
C h m h a ill. 10.
Shaqqi, Syria, bmilica, section; rAer Butler, -Y
k a t hall of Thennac of Carricalla, Rome (rcstored); riAer Robertson, Gi#k & Romsi, pl,

xvm,
Classe, S. Apollinarc, 53216-49, facing east; after Krrutheimer, E d v Christian, fig, 239.
Detail of Figure 2 herein, showing remains of m i h d ; a f k von Bothmer, "Architektrubilder,"
farb. IL
Petra, The Deir; aAer Lyttelton, B a m m fig. 15.
Palmyra: view of the stage and stage fiont d i t v e d by hr cxcdra, the central one of which
had four high pillars supporting an architrave; aAet Klengef, Ancient S e & p. 154.
Great Nymphacum, Lepcis Magna,Libyq reconsucttd paspectivc view; rAer Jones aa
Ling, Severan Buildiaaa, fig. 45.
Great Nymphaeum, Lepcis Magna, Libya, detail of the tnbcation bctwtcll the upper and lowcr
orclers; rffer Jones and Ling, Scv~t(lllBuildina fig. 44b.
Extant =mains of thc Severan basilics at Lepcis Magna,looking no&-west; cifter Lyttelton,
Baroaug fig. 223.
Reconstnicted sectional elevation of the Severan basilic. at Lepcis Magna,looking t o w d s the
north-west end; afbr Wafd-Perkis, Severan Buildinm fi^. 30.
Canon table; after CecchelXi et al, The Rabbulg, fol. 4b.
North gate: Corinthian capitals support the arcdes' archer which arc divided up inta a
number of bands of decoration; after Klengel, AnCient Swia p. 181.
British Museun's Add.5111, fol. lla; after Weitzmam, Late A n t i m , pl. 43.
Nativity, silk serge fhgment, Syriaa (?), eighth century; aAer Volbach, Eariv Dccodv, fig.
5 1.
Capital h m S. Polydttos; after H d r o n , TemPlle. fig. 150
Lintel h m Temiinyah; afbr Lassus, Invcntuir, fig. 103
Drawn detail of roundel band in Figure 23; ldter N o r d d ' , Die S~hmtiken,abb. 15.
Floor fiesco; after Scblumberger et al, Qasr el-air, pl. 34.
Goddess of the domestic htarth, wool on linen, Egyptian, foutth-fifth century; a f h Volbach,
Earlv Decorative, fig. 32.

Jenasrlem: the Dome of the Rock, fritz rirnning round inna fice of outer wdl; rAer
cfuwe11,
vol. 1, part 1, pl. 10c.
Detuil of world map of sixth ccntury geagrrpher Cormu Indicopleruter; rfter Ad-,
fig. 13.
,
fig. 10Mosaic panel on the floor of Damctios' Basilic. at Nikopoh; ifter M
Gaden painting8 h m Villa of Livir at Primaport. (aorth wrll), c, 20 BC; d k Ling, Jbmaa.
fig. 158.
Damucus, the Giieat Morque, mosaic under western Hw@; rfter Crerwel riid Allrn, Short
Accoarlf fig. 37.
La porte d u hommes, Sud-Est, Qalb Lad, Syrr; rfter LM, Sanpl. XXXIII.1.
La porte d u feaimer, Sud-ucst, Qalb L82& Syrir; atlcr Lusus, Sonpl, XXXIII.2.
Synagogue, Dura Eauopos: Consecration of the Trberiucle; rdter Weitzmrnn and Kersler,
Dura Etuomr. fig. 80.
Porte en bu*,
Tell Sn&, Syria; rftcr Lassus, Jhvcn*
pl. XLIEl.
Claustra, Sales VI et Vn; after Schlumbqgcr et al, Our el-H&, PL 73.
Double Gate, Jerusalem, fiom the south; d k B q o y n e , "Gatu," fig. 3.
Ornamental archivolt over the Double Gate, Jerusrlem; d k Burgoyne, "Gates," fig. 4.
Colonne monolithe et chapiteau du vestiiult, intrieur de Ir porte double; d k Vincent &
Steve, Jhsalem, pl. CXXIV.2.
PO* double, VUe bt&iCIKC; d k de VO@, Le T c ~ D ~pl.
I , N,top.
Plan of the H h , Jerusalun; d'ter Wdsoa, grdinaam Shect 1.
Jenisalem, the Dome of the Rock, ocagond rrcrdt, bronze coverings of tiebeamr; rftcr
Cresweli, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, pl. 27b.
Jenisaiem, the Dome of the Rock, flrink of pier of octagond arcade; aAer CZCIWCU
aad M a n ,
Short Accoun$, fig. 19.
Dedicaion miniaturc rom the Vienna Dioscorides, c. 512 AB.; rfter Hamiran, Tan* fig.
173.
Painting h m the tomb of Rekh-mi-re, Thebcs (copy by Nina M.Davia); .fter Seton Lloyd,
Ari, fig. 133.
Maciab. map; aAcr Jordan Tourist Board pamphlet wver
Wntefs dtawing of rotatsd squares in circle.
Jrusalem, Porte Double, coupole du vestibule intincuq d k de VogC, Le Templg pl. VI.
Floor mosaic in the Propylaea Church, Jarash, c.565; after Biebcl, Gerasa, pl. L3QU.b.
attet CreswcIl,
Jenisalem, the Dome of the Rock (rwm Chot'sy, Histoire & l2rrhitecl~m);
EMA, vol. 1, part 1 fig. 19.
The Entry ino Jerusalem, Coptic relief, Staatliche Mueen, B e ; aAer Gmbar, IconotzraDhv,
fig. 123.
The &entus of Constadus Chlorus, coin of his reign, British Museum, London; riAer Grabar,
I c o n o d fige 124.
The &entus of Coustantius 11betwccn a soldier and r wingcd Victory, silver plate h m
w
~ fig.o125.~
Kerch, State H d a g e Museum, Leningrad; rtter Grrbar, I
Fish supporthg basket, detail h m wall painting, catrcombs of St. Calixtns, Rome;after
Grabau, IcoaoPrBDby, fig. 5.
The Last Supper, mosaic, Sant'Apollincue Nuovo, Ravcnna; sAer M a r- , 1
fig.
237.
Mosaic of the Transfiguration, S. Catherine's, Mt.Sinai, c. 600 CE; rAer Piccirillo, Mosaica,
fig. 712.
Garden painting with Egyptianising statues and pictwer, Pompeii 19, 5 (House of the
rchard), bedroom 8, east wall, c. AD. 40-50; cdter Ling, Roman, pl. XIIIA.
Garden with shrine of Egyptian deitics, Pompeii VIZ, 14 (Houte of the Amamas), g d e n (east

m,

wail), thrd qypter of Id century AD.; rfter Ling, Roman, fig. 161.

Mosric h m the Great Pdrce, Constantinople, d a t d betwan 450 rnd 550 CE; rdter Br- et
al, Great Palpl, 40B.
Decontive panel, wool on linen, Egyptisn, 5th ccntpsr, Kuastgcwerbe Museum, Hmnburg;
after Volb*
JlWhr Decomtive. cst. 17.
Olive or aimond tmc; after Gantier-van Bcrchem, "Mosrics," fig. 211.
Olive or b o n d tmc; after autict-van B d e m , "Mosaics," fig. 212Tuft of d;
rdter Gautier van-Berchmu, "Mosrics," fig. 213.
Moses rcmoving hir saadals More tbt Burning Bush, S. Catherine's, Mt. Sinai; rftct
wcitanana, "Introduction," pl. CLXXnr.
Jmisilcm, Dome of he Rock soffit; rfter Grabrt, Shap, fig- 54Church of the Lions, Umm al-m,Jordan; rfter Piccirilio, Morriq, fig- 338.
silk twill, Syria (?), sevcnthleighth cclltiiry, Victoria
Samson (David?) uid the lion,
and Albert Museun, London; d'ter Volbach, E h Decorativ, c a t 48.
Hall of the Seasons, Madabq Jordan; attet Piccirillo, Mosaica fig. 42.
Synagogue floor at Magon(Nirim); afkr Avi Yonah, "Ma'on," the calour plate.
Sabratha, basilica of Justiaian, nave pavanent; rftct Maguirc, Earth, fig. 71.
Church of the Lions, Umm at-RqSs, Jordaa; rttcr Piccirillo, Morai- fig. 374.
North church, Esbus @esban), Jordan; aftcr Piccirillo, Morais fig, 424.
Reconstruction of Byzantine s a f o d in the c o f b of S. Cuthbert, died 687 CE; rAer
Flanagan, "Figured," fig. 1.
S i k with the monogram of the Emperor Hetrclius (610-641); rAer Voibrch,
cat. 53.
Patca, silver, with gildiag and niello, Constantinople, ca. 570; .ftet Hia,dbook, cat. 63.
Floor mosaic in Dumbriiton Oaks collection, provenance unknown, thought to be North
African, c. Sth4th century; ater Stern, Le calendrier, pl, XLIIZ fig. 3.
Capital h m Ma'in, Jordan; aRet Vaccarini, "1 capitelli," p. 69 foto 3.
Lateran Baptistcry, Rome, engraving of Antonio L m ; &ter Undtrwood, "Fountain," fig. 23.
hscribed epistyles, Lateran Baptistery, Rome; rAet Underwood, "Fountain," fig. 24.
A peacock-niche h m the main entablaturie with part of fine 30 of the poem; d k Hauison,
Tem&, fig. 88.
Pier h m S. Polyeaktos in Venicc; ater Harrison, Excavationg, fig. 155.
Vegetd panel h m the area of the apse, S. Polycuktos; aftcr Harrison, Tem~i,fig. 134.
Screen motif, S. Polyeuhos; after Hamison, Temd, fig. 164.
Church of S. John the Baptist, fhgmentary pavement (camposite photognph); aftn Kitznger,
"Renaissance," fig. 18.
Qur'iin, Cairo; aAer Moritz, Arabic Palaeomhv, pl. 2, detail of pl. 1.
Qur'Bn, Cairo; after Moritz, Arabic PaiamnraDhy. pl. 4, right side of folio in Figure 86.
Qur'h, Cairo; rfter Moritz, Arabic Pdaeoma~hv,pl, 5, left side of folio in Figure 85.
Wh, Cairo; after Moritz, Ambic Palaeoizm~hy,pl. 7.
Qur'h, Cairo; aAer Moritz, Arabie Pdpl. I l .
Qur'h, Cairo; rfter Moritz, Arabic Pdacog&y, pl. 6.
Folio 39r, ms. Arabe 324c; a f i Tisserant, w i m i n e pl, 42, uppa.
Qur'h, C d ; rfter Moritz, Arabic Pdacoizm~hy,pl. 3.
Qur'h,Cairo; a A f k Moritz, Arabic Pdacogg&y, pl. 9.
Qur'h, Cairo; a f k Moritz, Arabic Palaeumax~hy,pl. 10.
After S a m and Martin, Die Ausstcllung, hdt 1, tsf, 1.
Mosaque, glise E.S d'cl-BPii; &r Fourdrin "glise E.5," fig. 17.
Gtuiatapfelplatte 75, Umm al-Zanitir,a kKrtigcr, Sasaaidischer, ta. 219.
Kapitell mit der Bogcnreiht, T&-i B u s e ; a f k Kager, Sasanidischer, ta. 403.

Jcnuaicm, Dome of the Rock,mosric on outer k of the -on;

rRer Gnbrt, Sbro_t.fig.
39.
Jenasalem, Dome of the Rock, moraic, dmvn detail of plate 8 4 outer fice of octagond
arcade; rAer Gautier van-Bcrchem, "MosUu," fig- 311,
Jenisalem, Dome of the Rock, mosric, drawn detail, nortb ride circular d e ; rfter Gautier
van-Bcrchem, "Moraics," fig. 152.
Dirham with m@nS meme; rftet Miles, " M F , "pl. XXVm.3.
Carvd cyprcrr prncl3E fibm al-Aqs& .&r Hamilton,
HistowSpl. LIL3E.
pl. LXL14E.
Carvd cyprcsr panel 14E h m al-Aqsi; d k Rmailton, Stnactmd Histo~y~
C d cyprws prnel1E h m al-Aqsi; rfter Hamilton, Snactwrl Histow, pl, L.1E.
Carvod cyprmr panel 6E h m al-Aqsii; rfkr Hamilton, Stiricfturl El[utowJpl. LN.=
pl. LlDCI.13.
Carvd end becim pane113 h m al-Aqsdi; afcrHrmilton, Struct@ HiCawd cyprmr psiel 19W h m al-Aqsi; dtcr Hamilton, Stmpl. W . 1 9 W .
Cawd cypmr pp11el SE h m .I-Aqs& .ftcr Hamilton, Strrictiffil Histarna pl. LVLIE.
M~ltquetrypanel, Metroppolitan Museum of Art, New York; .fter Roses-Ayalon, Earlv I s l a m i ~
fig. 30.
Marquetry panel, Museum of I s l h i c Art, Cairn; rftcs -an,
Worka v. 2, "Al-Fmn," p l 35.
,
Friedrich Muerini, Berlin; rfter S m ,
Arcade portion of marquctry p ~ l c l Kaiser
Bookbindinm pl. 1.
Centrcil portion of marquetry panel, Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Berlin; lAcr Sarre, Islamic
Bookbindina fig. 1.
Detail of Figure 109, Metroplitan Museum of Art panel,
Coffre (i bijoux. Bois et incrustations d'ivoire. Art Copte VI?-VIT sicle; .ftet T d y ,
Ivoires, Dcuxime Partie, pl. 43.
Building and room numbcro in the Umayyd Palace; rifter Northedge, Studies. fig. 36.
Reconstniction of the extmor of the Reception m l ; rttei:Northedge, Stndie&fig. 41.
Alzado reconsbniido del vestibule; sfter Almagm Gorbea, "La Arquitcchm," fig. 9.
Reconstruction of the interior of tbe Reception Hall (idter 8 photagrrph); rftcr Northedge,
Studieh fig. 40.
Niche 86 Ab/B, h m the lowest rcgister, a h Northedge, Studia fig. 49.10.
Niche WN/D, h m the middle register, aftcr Northedgt, Studim fig. 52.2.
Sarcophagus h m the H m , Jenisalem; rftcr Avi-Yonrli, "Oriental Elementa," fig. 12, p. 61.
C o 5 fiom Kufeir, after Avi-Yonah, "Oriental Elemeats," pl. 18.7.
Niches 30 Ab,SN/26, and 80 AbtB; after Northedge, Studicss figs. 49.5 and 49.6.
Niche SW/D); atcr Northedge, Studics. figs. 53.1.
Arco de aicho ciego de la Residencia Emiral; afttr Almagro Gorbea, "La A r q u i b c t ~ ~fig.
,"
41.
Jemalem, Dome of the Rock, examples of rcralis h m the octagond arcade; cbtet Gautierva^ Berchem, "Moraics," figr. 153-156 inc.
Niche h e d 22 Ab; idter Northedge, %die& fig. 48.7.
Niche 21 Ab/B; rfter Northedge, s t u d i a fie. 49-11Cuved cyprcss panel fiom al-AqnS; atter Hamilton, Studi- pl. LV.7W.
Niche hgment SN/23; rfter Northedge, Studi- fig. 49.14.
Carved cypreso pancl 17E h m al-Aqsk a h Haadton, Structural. pl. LXIV.17E.
Jerusalem, Dome of the Rock, completed 691, mosaics, detail; aftcr Ettinghwoen and Grabar,
und Archifig. 9.
Jems&m, Domc of the Rock, wcot and south-wcst frades when partly stripped in 1873-74
(after Clermont-Gmmtau); a h Creswell, EMA, vol. 1, part 1, fig. 24.
~ n s m i c t i o n of
] mosaic in the smdl niches; rAa Clermont-G~erii,AidircolppiyL vol.
1, p. 189.

Syri4 North Church at RPw- mst end; rfter Butler, ArcbifecftffE p. 227, upper photognph
Syria, Mc'eq glise Est (VI? sicle); aftcr Lasau, saadna& pi. XXL1.
Norh-west corner of mcontapcted Bedroom M,villa of P. F d u s Synistor d Boacode,
garcn view prnel ia the Metriopolitan Museum of AR, New York City; wrifer's photogr8ph.
Plan; after C d c r rnd MOM, "Archreologicd," fig. 9.
Pilastre icolonnettes pour montant nord de I'Entrc; atter C d c r et Morin, "Rechercha," fig.
17.
Maqpe#e de Restitution, par Frdric Mo* Sllfe d'aadic~ceru d u m r du vcstibolc, coupole
centde, absidca ut et sud vues de l'abside nord; rA# C d u et Morin, "Rcchdu,"pl.

LxvL2.
CIaveau pour coupole isvastika; aftcr Carlier et Mo*, "Recherches," fig. 30 .
Claveau pour tete de voute; a f k Carlier et Morin, "Recherchu," fig. 24.
C l m a a riosrce pour voute; rdtcr C ~ CaTMorin, "Recherches," fig. 26.
Niche en picne sculpte [raisins]; after Carlier, "Chateau du desert," p. 52.
Niche en picm sculpte [feuilles]; a i l a Cririicr, "Chrterru du dacrt," p. 52.
Mould for neck of a jar, with a modern cslt; after Rosen-Ayalon and Eitaa, Rlmlr iliurtrritod
on the unnumberod ninttccnth page.
Chance1 port fiom a chorch at Jundi; rAer Avi-Yonah, "Onentd Elementr," pl. 17.7,
Umayydenpdast, pian; a f k Otto-Dorn,"Grabung; text abb. A.
Stuckf%&agmentmit Grrniaipfeln; rAer Otto-Dom, "Buicht," 1954, abb. 2.
S t u c ~ ~ emit
n Weintrauben;
t
rAer Otto-Dom, "Bericht," 1934, abb, 3.
Stuckfkierfnsment mit doppeltcm Zackcabogen; rftcr Otto-Dom, "Ekricht," 1954, abb- 4.
Hdbsfulchentiigment vom Tor, rAer Otto-Dom, "Grabmg," text abb. d.
aiu S d 1; d k 0th-Dom, "&abu.ng," ta 2 abb. 7.
Sockelmdemi (erg-)
Nischenmderci uir S d 1; aAer Otto-Dom, "Grabmg," t
d 3. abb. 9.
Adage IL, Bogendsatz aus Stuck; rAer to-Dom, "Gnbung," taf- 4 abb. 10.
Adage IT, Blindnischcn-Fiillmg aus Stuck; d k Otto-Dom,"Grabmg," to. 4 abb. 11.
'Ammin, Torbau der Zitadclie, blendnischendekor, atter Otto-Dom, "Gmbung," d 4 abb. 12.
Qqr ai-vayr al-Sharqf, cntranct to the Lcsscr Enclosart; rfttr Creswell aad Alla, A Short
Accounk fig. 88.
Petit chteau: restitution de la fise; after Gabriel, "Wrel Heir," fig. 11.
South facade, stucco paael; aftet Urice, Oasr Khanna, fig. 116.
Upper floor, plaa (with additions by the &ter); afttr Unct, Our Khiuiaa fig. 120.
Room 51, g e n d vicw towards southwest corner; rftcr Uricc, Our IChlltllll~fig. 27.
Rosette, rooms 49-53; a h r Uricc, w r Kharang, fig. 136.
Rosette, room 59; rAer Urice, Qasr Khamuq fig. 140.
Room 59, no& wall, elevation; aAer Unce, Qasr Khanae, fig. 141.
C o v a drawing si@
"J. Saguti" (of m m 59); rStn Uricc, O u r Khama.
[Detail ofJ Fragmente und Rckonstniktiou der Blcndatiradc vom T o m d a Schlosier (P.
Grunam); atcr Brisch, "Das omayydirche, (II)
abb.
,"4.
B W n der Stuckbaiustrade; &ter Brisch, "Das ornayydische," ta. XXXWi.b.
Rckonstnihion der H o f f i s d e (P. Giunauer); rtter Brisch, " D u omryyrdiache," Ab. 13.
Decomtive niche rnd flat fachgo h m the Main Pd-;
stter Thompmn, hd Tarkhan, pl.
XIXI.1, niche excavation n u m k C.293.
Decorative niche and flat facings h m the Main Palace; after Thompson, Chd Tarkhaa, pl.
XIiI.6, niche excavation number C.296.
The pdacc mitrance hall, dctail of c w e d plut# found in silu: south wrll; rfter Hamilton,
Khirbat ai Mafiar, pl. XXXIV.1.
Plan of the Main Pllace; hatchcd finish indicacs original constniction, stippling a lrtn stirte of
building; atter Thompson, Chal Tarkhui, plaa 1.

La Deesse aux Colombes; a f k R o s t o w "Grrniti,"pl. XIXSPUnted ornament in tomb in the Norihem Ncctdpolir of Jesuaalan; after Mlcrrlirter, "Report
3," p, 256, fig. 6.
Esbeita: North Church, capital of ride door, after Woolly and Lawrence, W l d ~ c s ip,s 79,
fig. 13.
Arched niche f d e ; rfter Segai, Architectd Dccormtioq, p. 114 no. V-S.
p. 103, no. N-8.
Wall-attachai pitlar cornice; rftet Segd, &chitccad
Fragmenta of c m d stucco arches; a f k Rice, 'The M o d Excmmtions," 1934, fig. 8.
Chdice. Engraved glms, Syria (?), e d y scvcnth century; .tter Hsndbook of the Bvzaatiua
Collection, fig. 319.
Lintel taken from Deir Abu De; after Condcr and Kitchener, Western Palcstin, vol. ,
"Galilcc," p. 115.
Jewish ossuary in the collection of the Pdestine Exploridion Fun& a f k Clcnuont-Cirinne#i,
"Nouveau osriiiiir#," p. 401.
Kapiteil (Sabota); .ttet Rasenthal-Heginbottom, Die kirchen= td 46.c.
Arceau provenant du m. Kemel; a f k Abel and Bumis, "Yata," p. 583, fig. 2.
Zeicbaung der Gmvitrp~igcader BronzeIranne d u Kafh Mcirwin & aftet S m , "Die
Bronzekanne: fig. S.
Handle of ewef in Metmpolitan Museum of Art, New York; Writer's photognph,
Damascus, Great Mosque, 706, mosaics h m the western portico (&&); rfter Ettiughriiren
and Grabar, blamic ArI, fig, 15.
Turret of ewer in Metropolitan Museum of Art, New Yorlr; writds photogrrph.
Polychrome vase de Suse; after Koechlin, Les Cmmiaua pl, XII.107.
Figiirliche Dekorationen aus Hirbet el-Ba@&after Gurbe, Fin Arabischer Palas&ta XI.2, F.N. 28.
Teil einer Lampe; rffer Desreumaux u-Humbert, "De Fund von al-Fedrin/Mdhq," rbb. 357.
Inciseci Anb bowl h m termcc; attet Fitzgdd, Beth-Shan, pl. XXVI.3.
From Mersina Excavations, Cilicia; after Day, " M y Iilrinic," pl. XII.2.
Lamp; aAer Rosen-Ayalon and Eitan, Ramla, twcnty-fourth page, lamp in the middle row on
the left.
Unglazed, moulded clay lamp; d e r Israeli and Avida, Warschaw Collection, c a t no. 464, acc.
no. 76.6.1444.
Unglazed, moulded clay lamp, Royal Ontario Museum, Acc, no. 910.114.202; unit&
photograph.
U n g l d , moulded clay lamp; after Mrcaster and Duncan, "Ophei," pl- XXI.21
U n g l d , moulded clay lamp; aftcr Macdister and Duncan, "Ophel," fig. 211.
Unglazed, moulded clay lamp, Royal Ontario Museum, Acc- no. 910.1 14.185; writeiJs
photograph.
Unglazed, moulded clay lamp; after Israeli and Avida, Wanchaw, cat. no. 465, acc. no.
76-6-1436.
U n g l d , moulded clay lamp fiagmcnt; after Tushingham, Excavations in Jerusalem, fig.
32.33.
U n g l d , mouldd clay lamp hgment; after Ahamni, Ramat RgOI1, fig. 26.10
T e m a t t a lamp; a f h Clermont-Ganneau, Archsoalogicd Researchc& p. 422.
U n g l d , moulded clay lamp; afbr Ismcli and Avida, Wanchaw Collection, crt. no. 468, acqno. 76.6.1441.
Unglruod modded clay lamp; afttt Isracli and Avidq Wmchsw Collection, crt. 467, acq. no.
76.6.1442.
Desert routes in eastern Jordan and northern Arabia; rfter King, "The distribution," map 2.
Fragments of plastered rnasomy; after Hamilton, Khirbat ai Mafia pl. Xm.3.

Fragments of plrrterod mmonry; dtcr Hamilton, -rt

al M W PL XID.6.
Fragmenta of pl.rteried mammy; &ter Paaifton, m
a
t al M e pl- XEIL7
Bath h.U, interxndatc &le bry, mstorod sketch of clcrutoxy; rfter k i l t o n , JW&rt.J
Ma@- fig. 33.
The bath, testorcd iromeaic view; rfter FTaailton, Wdi& fig. 2.
The p.lrce writing m m at B a t al-Matjar, mconrtniction dmvbg; rfter Hamilton, Wdi&
fig. 22.
Marble screen fbgmtnts; rAer Haadton, Khirbat al Matigt pl, XXa-la
Khirbat cil-Mafjar, A forecourt b a l u s ~ prnel;
c
rAer Hamilton Khirba ai M*
pl,
Qasr a 1 - m al-Gharbf: the palace cntrrnct u reconstrrictad; atter Crcmell and Allen,
Short Acconat, fig. 81.
Q- al-Hryr al-GlurbF: plaster relief of a nut tree; rfta Weiss, Ebla tg D-lrcuk crt. no.
252.
Bronze ewer raid to be h m DSghistin, .ftet Orbeli rnd Tm-, OrfZvrwi, cat. 77.
Drriwing of Siaid bronze ewer with ccmdlutick
and vina in an d e ; rfter Ringbom,
Paradifig. 85Domd pavilion; r&t Brisch et al, Islamische Kun% kat. 119.
Schiissel, Traa. 7 Jh,; a f k Brisch et al, Tslamische Km@, kat. 119, abb- 27.
Fragment de support; after Rosen-Ayalon, La Poterie, fig. 194.
Fragment de support; sfter Rosen-Ayaion, La Poterie, fig. 192.
Frapnent de support; aAcr Rasen-Ayalon, La Poterie, fig, 193.
Fragment de support; a f k Rosen-Ayalon, La Poterie, fig. 195.
Buste de femme coiffe d'un caiidhos; rfter Schlumbergcr et al, O u r el-He* pl. 64c.
Groupe adosst 1 la tour Nord; .fter Schlumbergcr et ai, Qutel-HeV, pl. 64b.
Funbmqget relief fiom the underground tomb of MiUr, c. AD 200; .Rer Collcdge, The
Art of Palmvq, pl. 100,
Mshata: carved stone triangles; atter Ettinghauscn and Grrbar, Art aad Architectw, fig- 45.

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

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