Compared to Bagshot’s rather austere military bearing,
Rapatio’s Chief Justice Hazelrod presents an especially vain, slimy, and
depraved portrait of contemporary colonial officialdom. He is by far the most
verbose of the Governor of Servia’s minions, the most grandiose in his manners,
and the one seemingly most given to relish the wickedness he is being asked to
partake in merely for its own sake. Granted, he remains most emphatically
Rapatio’s creature. The praise he sees fit to lavish upon his patron is profuse
in the extreme. That being said, the manner by which he describes Rapatio’s
administration and tactics implies a love of method as much as personality. That
is to say, Hazelrod does not appear simply to express adoration for his
superior in gratitude for the preferment he has received thereof, but does so
as a great admirer of the kind of man he perceives Rapatio to be – i.e.
imperious, decisive, ambitious, and cynical. In this quality of his character,
Hazelrod arguably embodies what any number of those who stood in opposition to
the Stamp Act (1765) and the Townshend Duties (1767) in British America believed
to be true of every government minister, military officer, tax collector, and
colonial administrator that supported and promoted the same. It was not out of
principle or personal conviction that these kinds of functionaries acted as
they did, claimed notable firebrands like Samuel Adams (1722-1803) and Patrick
Henry (1736-1799), but rather because they were brutes, or sycophants, or
tyrants at heart. As drawn by Warren, Hazelrod most certainly – and unsubtly –
plays to this perception.
Consider, by way of example, his first full appearance in
Act IV, Scene III of The Adulterer.
Of note, before the character is able to utter so much as a single syllable,
are the stage directions that precede his entrance. “Opens with a procession of
coaches, chariots, etc. [,]” Warren writes of the scene, which then, “Changes
to the chamber where the divan is opened with a speech by Hazelrod, highly
pleasing to creatures of arbitrary power, and equally disgusting to every man
of virtue.” Forgiving the narratively questionable choice of including a
description of a speech in the text of a play before that speech is actually
delivered – loaded though the phrases “creatures of arbitrary power” and “men
of virtue” may be – certain elements of this brief sketch serve to subtly
presage the nature of the character about to appear. That Hazelrod must first
be introduced by a literal procession – that his existence in the world of The Adulterer can only follow upon a
display of wealth and social preeminence – says a great deal about his
potential role in the events of the narrative. So introduced, one might fairly
assume that he is prideful, relishes a show of status, and willingly embraces
his place in the gilded halls of power. Rapatio, by comparison, is introduced
to the audience alone, secreted in his home, and attempting to cast off
whatever sympathy he may still feel for his fellow Servians so that he can
achieve the revenge that has become his burning preoccupation. It is a private
moment, and one that speaks to the Governor of Servia’s self-consciousness and
suspicion. Hazelrod entrance is nowhere near so intimate. He first makes
himself known in the company of bombast, and so doubtless forms a primary
association in the minds of the audience between himself and a sense of
posturing pomposity.
Turning again to the
cited stage direction, another symbolic association presents itself as most
certainly intended by Warren to color audience perceptions of the forthcoming
Hazelrod – if not the entire administration to which he belongs. Having
described the train of wealth which must proceed the character, the text then
denotes, “The chamber where the divan is opened with a speech [.]” Note the use
of the word “divan” – here seemingly meant to indicate the governing council of
Servia – in place of something more literal. Originally a Persian term, divan
(or diwan, or dewan) has historically indicated a high government body within any
number of Islamic states. Populated by viziers, military paymasters, tax
officials, and bureaucrats, the divans of the Umayyad (661-750) and Abbasid
Caliphates (750-1258) evolved to meet the needs of the ruler, the situation, or
the culture then in ascendancy. The divan best known to the 18th
century Anglo-American imagination – chiefly through the medium of trade – was
almost certainly that of the Ottoman Empire (1299-1922), known as the Divan-ı Hümâyûn or Imperial Council. Without
delving into the complexity of its history, its various functions, or its
shifting composition, it will here suffice to say that the Ottoman divan was a
very structured and regulated form of centralized administration that was both
effective in governing a vast and complicated empire and almost wholly
antithetical to the Anglo-American tradition of parliamentary sovereignty.
While the divan performed the same basic function as the
cabinet within the British parliamentary system, it was by no means accountable
to a larger representative body. Councillors were not also required to be
elected members of an Ottoman legislature – which itself didn’t exist until
1876 – and everyone served at the nominal pleasure of the reigning sultan. The
resulting opportunities for corruption, the complete lack of any safeguards
against executive tyranny, and the absence of any form of legislative oversight
would doubtless have been cause enough for alarm and revulsion from the
perspective of an Anglo-American observer. What made the very concept of the
divan so much more reprehensible, however, was its association with a
distinctly “Oriental” culture whose perception in the European world had long
become synonymous with decadence, effeminacy, vice, and brutality. This
ingrained tradition of portraying the world of “the East” as wholly
antithetical to the values of “the West” – rightly distressing though it now
may appear – has formed a part of the European cultural vocabulary since at
least the era of the Greco-Persian Wars (499-449 BC) and been renewed and
reinvigorated through centuries of conflict between major European powers and
the dominant civilizations of contemporary Asia, Africa, and the Middle East.
Having inherited the vast majority of their basic cultural assumptions and
traditions from their English/British forebears, the members of the Revolutionary
Generation were very much heirs to this ingrained practice of “othering” the
East and using references thereto as a kind of literary shorthand for the
values which they found to be disagreeable. Accordingly, in the same way that
an American living in the late 20th century might have taken it for
granted that all things French were inherently effeminate, their late 18th
century counterpart would have been as likely to think of the Turkish civilization
as fundamentally barbarous, corrupt, and backward.
Mercy Otis Warren was no stranger to these kinds of
perceptions, or to making use of them in order to advance the message she
intended to communicate. Thus, in Act III, Scene I of The Adulterer, Cassius takes solace in the awareness he and his
fellow Servians possess of their battered liberties by asking his countrymen
to, “Look to the Turk, and relish if you can / A life in chains – he sighs, but
sighs unpitied.” In his mind, it seems, the Ottoman citizen appears as an
object of supreme pity whose suffering is made worse by his inability to grasp
the nature of his plight. Thus, also, Warren describes the aforementioned
Bagshot in the Dramatis Personae as
the “Aga of the Janizarie” after the commandant of the Ottoman sultan’s
personal bodyguard of slave-soldiers. Referring to the governing council of
Servia as a divan was yet another example of this same species of literary
Orientalism. Referred to by a name whose cultural associations are overwhelmingly
negative, Rapatio’s advisory body is thereby robbed by Warren of any possible
claim to legitimacy in the eyes of her audience. Portraying the character of
Hazelrod as offering a speech before the opening of the same then transferred
these selfsame negative associations onto him. As the presiding officers of
Rapatio’s divan – a body which epitomizes decadence and corruption – he is thus
inherently debauched, and cruel, and autocratic – and all before he even opens
his mouth.
The
content of Hazelrod’s much-heralded address does nothing to dispel this
impression. Indeed, it arguably serves to heighten the sense of revulsion that
Warren appeared so keen to cultivate. Not only does he offer his deep and
abiding gratitude to Rapatio for having recently appointed him to the position
of Lord Chief Justice – “Rapatio – hail!” he declares, “Tis by thy faltering
hand / This happy day beholds me robed in honor” – but he accompanies his
thanks with a soaring meditation on the nature of power and his patron’s expert
grasp upon it. “Power!” he declares,
Tis
a charm the gods can only know;
These,
while they view this little globe of earth,
And
trace the various movements of mankind,
With
pleasure mark that soul that dares aspire
To
catch this heavenly flame and copy from them.
Beyond simply offering praise in
exchange for a favor fulfilled – like Dupe – or pledging aid out of a sense resignation
– like Limput – Hazelrod here elevates Rapatio to the status of one who
possesses a quality of godliness. He seems captivated by the very notion that
such a person could exist – one who “dares aspire to catch this heavenly flame”
– and so his tribute takes on a quality of philosophical admiration. “And sure
Rapatio,” he goes on to say,
If
mortality
Could
ever boast an elevated genius,
That
scorns the dust, and towers above the stars;
A
soul that only grasps at high achievements,
And
drinks intoxicating draughts of power,
The
claim is thine – while simple yet thy station,
True
greatness peered and promised future glory.
Compared to those of his followers
who only see in Rapatio a means by which they might advance their own fortunes,
Hazelrod perceives in him a sense of innate superiority which informs his
present office rather than derives from it.
Consider, to that end, Dupe’s
declaration that “It gives me highest joy to see your honor / Servia’s sole
ruler [,]” and his subsequent expression of disbelief that he has lived to see
such “halcyon days.” His praise is explicitly derived from the fact of Rapatio
having attained the office of Governor of Servia. It seems a monumental
achievement, in Dupe’s eyes, and worthy of praise as a thing alone. The
enigmatically named P___p demonstrates a similar motivation during a
conversation with Rapatio in Act II, Scene IV. In a seeming attempt to make
known his bona fides as a servant of and seeker after power, he asks, “Is
Rapatio grown distrustful of me? / Of me, who long had sacrificed my honor, /
To be a tool? Who cringe and bowed and fawned / To get a place? Fear not I ever
should prove / An alien here [.]” Compared to these blatant testimonials of
flattery and favor-seeking – by which Rapatio’s servants effectively describe
his attainment of high office as the reason for their service – Hazelrod
appears to see the position recently conferred upon his benefactor as a mere
outward sign of the man’s inner quality. “While simple yet thy station,” he
accordingly admits, “True greatness peered and promised future glory.” What
seems to attract Hazelrod to Rapatio, therefore, is not just the promise of
preferment which inevitably accompanies executive office – though he has
benefited from the same – but rather the manner by which Rapatio attained that
office. He then goes on to describe the relevant technique – what he believes
to be his benefactor’s path to greatness – with characteristic zeal.
The
key to Rapatio’s greatness, Hazelrod effuses, lies chiefly in the man’s ability
to cultivate virtue and integrity while secretly planning to dispose of all
those sentiments and attachments which block the path to power. The future
Governor of Servia, he avows, imbibed a lust for dominance, “Yea while an
infant, hanging at the breast [.]” Thereafter, as a youth, he set to work on
the plan which would see him placed upon the seat of power. “With this in
view,” Hazelrod acclaimed, in seeming address to Rapatio, “You’d imitate
devotion, / Which like a mantle, covered great designs, / With virtue glow, and
set among her sons [.]” Thus, “When nature slept, they busy mind awoke, / And pored
on future scenes, and planned thy fate.” Again, Hazelrod shows that his
admiration for the Governor of Servia runs deeper than mere ambition or greed. Rather
than rest at fawning over the man in exchange for personal advancement, he
paints Rapatio’s birth and adolescence as a kind of quasi-heroic narrative
whereby the man honed the skills he would require to achieve his destined
success. The aspects of this tale which most seem to animate Hazelrod are
denoted by the extravagance of his description thereof.
The manner by which Rapatio
appeared to seize the power offered him as Governor of Servia, for example, is
painted as though it were a masterstroke of superhuman genius. “Then,” Hazelrod
thusly narrates,
When the
ties of virtue and thy country,
Unhappy
checked thy lust of power – like Caesar,
You
nobly scorned them all and on the ruins,
Of
bleeding freedom, founded all thy greatness.
It is this evident betrayal that
Hazelrod seems to find most glorious in Rapatio’s drive towards power, and the language
he uses to describe the same reveals yet more of his disagreeable character.
Whereas Patriots like Brutus and Cassius speak of their common love for Servia
and their devotion to virtue with total and utter sincerity, Hazelrod
characterizes these same sentiments as obstacles lying in Rapatio’s path to a
kind of godly spiritual superiority. To scorn these things, the Lord Chief
Justice avows, constitutes a noble imitation of one Julius Caesar, by which the
Governor of Servia effectively founded the greatness that Hazelrod attests to
be his birthright. This wilful twisting of the terminology of the Patriot
resistance to Rapatio in service of glorifying the man himself – and the
rhetorical association of the Classical Republican enemy of virtue, Caesar,
with the characteristic of nobility – was surely intended to solidify the
depravity of Hazelrod in the eyes of Warren’s intended audience. By claiming
virtue and patriotism as impediments to personal ambition, and by attaching
nobility to an act of betrayal, Hazelrod attempts to pervert the values that
serve to motivate characters like Brutus and his cohorts. His justification for
such degenerate acts is thus a curious one, combining as it does a soaring
sense of purpose with the most squalid behavior imaginable.
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