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Allison L. Harl. "Passive, Pursued and Powerful: Construction of the Male Self in Renaissance Autobiography." Discoveries 22.2 (2005). 15 October 2005 <http://www.scrc.us.com/ discoveries/archives/222/harl222pf.htm>

The private and inner lives of individuals living in the Renaissance period were so heavily integrated into their public affairs that it is difficult to distinguish between what most would consider today two relatively distinct facets of self. As a result of the Protestant Reformation, a new emphasis on a personal relationship with God lead to a stronger development of the interior life, and new ways of looking at the self began to develop. The autobiographies of the late sixteenth century are valuable in revealing insights about how the men of the period constructed a public portrayal of their persona, fashioning this sense of self not just for the sake of their readers, but perhaps to discover the matter for themselves as well. Thus, the autobiographer found himself in the unique position of becoming his own author and creator, suddenly wielding the power that once belonged only to others in the public realm—he became his own “objective” observer and judge of character as he narrated the events of his life.

From the Vikings in the mead halls of ancient Britain to the corporate executives in the upscale night clubs of New York City, men throughout the ages have typically assessed their personal power through, among other things, their sexual prowess, through their ability to conquer a woman sexually. Simon Forman and Thomas Whythorne were autobiographers writing in the latter half of the sixteenth century who, being no exceptions, both wrote about this sense of power by relying heavily on their depictions of their relationships with women. However, some perplexing questions emerge from the reading of these texts concerning a strange pattern of gender role reversal that subverts the traditional notions of male power and aggression. For instance, why do these writers choose to focus on relationships with women where the conventional roles of men and women as respective pursuer and pursued are strangely reversed? Moreover, why do both writers spend a seemingly unwarranted amount of time discussing how they are pursued by women in whom they ostensibly have no interest? The particular women these men discuss did not play a significant role in their lives; in fact, the entire second half of Whythorne’s autobiography focuses on his relations with a woman who would not have been considered more than a mere acquaintance for a short period of time in his life. Forman the physic and Whythorne the musician differ from each other in their personal lives as well as in their writing styles. However, the tensions and subtextual conflicts in each autobiography suggest that, even though they go about it in different ways, both writers manipulate their narratives with the distinct purpose of emphasizing their power and invulnerability. Whether conscious of this approach or not, each writer seeks to achieve these ends in part through his depiction of himself as a man who is pursued by a woman whom he rejects.

Simon Forman’s autobiography reveals a highly contrived presentation of his public self, especially when compared to his diary where he privately records a much different, less laudable persona. In his autobiography, he curiously refers to himself in the third person as if he himself were a public onlooker and observer of his life, objective and detached. He casts himself as the reader of his own text, and one suspects he admires the heroic character he presents for public scrutiny. He constructs the character of “Simon” as an innocent victim of an unloving mother and a cruel world; however, despite all the obstacles he faces and against all odds, he still manages to triumph. He describes one of the dreams, or nighttime visions, he had as a child, proclaiming, “Yet God, the only defender of all that be his, would never let him to be overthrown, but continually gave him always in the end the victory of all his enemies. And he overpassed all with credit, by the help of God, to whom praise be evermore! Amen” (qtd. in Rowse 274). He explains to the reader that the dreams he had of powerful mountains and waters raging against him were sent to him by God to signify the trouble he would have with others who tried, though unsuccessfully, to overrun and conquer him. So, who exactly are these “enemies” over whom Forman is assured triumph? A close look at the text reveals that it is in large part the women in his life with whom Forman constantly experiences a power struggle.

Mary Roberts, his master’s maid, is the first and most pronounced of Forman’s proclaimed enemies. Forman’s relationship with this woman reveals a combative power struggle even when Forman would still have been a relatively young boy. In this early stage of Forman’s life, he sought power over women through the means of overtly aggressive, physical force. He constructs the narrative in his autobiography in such a way as to manipulate the readers’ emotions, to gain sympathy for his weakness, which he attributes to his age. “Simon at first, being the youngest apprentice of four, was put to all the worst, and, being little and small of stature and young of years, everyone did triumph over him. Especially a kitchen-maid named Mary Roberts; oftentimes she would knock him that the blood should run about his ears” (277). Forman goes on to explain that because Mary did not help him with the customers in the shop one day, he was justified in beating her “black and blue all over” (277). However, he later reveals a more revengeful and less honorable motive for attacking Mary as he tells the reader, “For he beat her thoroughly for all her knavery before done to him” (277). Thus, Forman constructs the story of how he gains victory over his first enemy, a woman who had once, but who will no more victimize and emasculate him.

After this violent portrayal of triumph through domination, however, Forman’s power struggles in his relations with women becomes much less direct and physical and increasingly more subtle and psychological. As he grows up into a young man and his familiar interactions with women transform to a great extent into sexual relations, his aggression shifts from being active to passive. Now he exerts his power through, ironically, constructing himself as the passive pursued who remains in control as the object of desire rather than the aggressive pursuer who risks rejection and loss of control as he submits himself to the will of another. Thus, the traditional gender role dynamics become reversed. In the section he appropriately titles, “How A.Y. Loved Simon,” Forman explains how a young girl named Anne Young pursued him with extreme passion. He tells the reader, “[She] loved Simon wonderful well and would surely see him once a day, or else she would be sick” (279). He explains, however, that “As for Simon, he loved her not but in kindness. But because she was so kind to Simon, he would do anything he could for her. And this love on her side lasted long, as hereafter shall be showed” (280). The fact that Forman included this section in his autobiography is peculiar. Why would the writer think so much of a young girl who had a crush on him in his teenage years to devote a full section to her in the abbreviated story of his life? If Forman “loved her not but in kindness,” why is her interest in him of any importance at all, especially in the context of the much more noteworthy, life-defining events he writes about, such as his troubled childhood, father’s death, apprenticeship, and schooling?

Significantly, though this account of Anne Young occurs when he is around sixteen or seventeen years old, later on in his thirties he does indeed indulge Anne’s desires for him. In his diaries he catalogues “A.Y.” as one of the women with whom he would on occasion have sexual intercourse (288). In 1584, Forman wrote in a diary entry, “The 29^thof February was the first time ever I did halekekeros harescum tauro cum [have sexual intercourse with] A.Y.” (287-88). Since Forman wrote the autobiography in 1600 when he was around forty-eight years old, it seems odd that he would include a seemingly inconsequential stage in their relationship that had occurred decades earlier. At the time he wrote the lines about A.Y. pursuing him, he had already had multiple sexual encounters with her, yet, strangely, he doesn’t allude to this fact. Instead, he implies that nothing has changed in the dynamic of their relationship as he writes, “And this love on her side lasted long, as hereafter shall be showed” (280). Why does Forman emphasize Anne’s unrequited love for him when he is fully aware that later in life he did in fact become intimate with her, at least sexually? In choosing to relate this early stage of their friendship, perhaps he chooses to perceive himself-- by presenting himself-- as invulnerable and unconquered as he resists ever truly loving any woman. He never committed himself to her or anyone else, including even his wife to whom he was unfaithful. Many Freudian psychologists might suggest that if indeed Forman did experience an underlying fear of rejection and loss of power in his relationships with women, it could be the result of his dysfunctional relationship with his mother. This emotional problem would explain why he constructs a huge portion of his identity around remaining passive and aloof. He retains his power and claims his victory over his pursuer, A.Y., by remaining detached. As in his childhood dreams, he refuses to be crushed by the rolling mountains or drowned by the rushing waters of a woman’s power over him.

Unlike Forman, Thomas Whythorne was indeed a man who pursued women directly and, as a result, came to know rejection all too well. In Whythorne’s autobiography, however, the reader can witness a shift from the writer’s construction of himself as the traditional male pursuer to the more feminine role of the pursued. In an early section of Whythorne’s autobiography titled “The Pangs of Love,” the writer discusses his relations with a woman he unsuccessfully pursued for the purpose of love and marriage. He tells his reader that the woman he loved refused his suit because he wasn’t as socially and economically well-to-do as her parents would have preferred. He consoles himself with this rejection by recalling a gentleman’s advice to an unrequited lover: “To whom he said that he, in his days, had been a suitor to above twenty women, and the forgoing of them all did not so much grieve and vex him, as did the present possessing of her whom he then had” (qtd. in Osborn 69). Whythorne tries to lighten the blow of rejection by demeaning the woman who rejects him. If he can’t get what he wants, he doesn’t want it after all. However, a shift occurs in the text in how he presents his relationships with women, and, like Forman, he will hereafter construct himself in his autobiography as the object of desire being pursued-- a presentation of his persona he finds much more empowering.

Whythorne’s shift of focus directs attention to his cool disinterest in a woman he barely knows, a woman whom he covertly tries to convince the reader is pursuing him. As in Forman’s autobiography, Whythorne’s subtext betrays the writer as it suggests that his narrative is to a great degree contrived and invented. He tells the story of how a neighboring woman named Elsabeth flirted aggressively with him, and at one point, even playfully suggested he become her husband. He humbly insists to his reader that he does not believe Elsabeth is truly interested in him, coming across as innocently unconcerned and unaware of her feelings:

I mused a little at her words, imagining why she should say so much to me, I being so small acquaintance with her as then I was. Yet then again, I did think she spake those words in jest and pastime and by the way of merry talk. Whereupon I disburdened me of thinking any more of that matter; and then I fell into talk with them of other matters. (75)

At this early point in the story, Whythorne seems convincing; however, as he continues on with his account of the events, he inadvertently leads the reader to question the reliability of his narration. How disinterested in Elsabeth was he, after all? Much evidence betrays his feigned purpose in convincing the reader, and perhaps himself, that he doesn’t take her flirtatious behavior seriously. For instance, he seems unduly disturbed by the fact that Elsabeth pretended not to be home when he went to visit her, as he claims, on “business” (77). He tells the reader that he “determined with myself never to seek her again” (77), but then he writes a twelve line lyric about the inconstancy of love. Whythorne conveys quite an emotional response for someone who is not interested in a woman who is ostensibly pursuing him. Thus, Whythorne may be revealing his true romantic notions inadvertently through this evidence that would suggest the opposite of what he wants his reader to believe about himself—that he is disinterested and aloof.

Whythorne uses his friends to explain indirectly to the reader that if it seems he was rejected by Elsabeth, that very rejection is what proves that she loved him after all. “Quoth some of them, ‘That might be but to try ye, or for some other cause, and not for want of good will in her toward you. For some women will many times say one thing and do another, and seem to reject that which they would full fain have” (78). This lesson in women’s psychology conveniently sets up a scenario in which Whythorne need not ever feel rejected. The fallacious logic proposes that either the woman loves him, or she loves him but pretends she doesn’t. Interestingly, this is the same type of irony that is directing Whythorne’s construction of the narrative. He himself is saying one thing, while his subtext reveals something altogether different. He is rejecting Elsabeth, a woman that evidence suggests he “would full fain have” (78).

After Whythorne promised himself not to visit her anymore, he tells the reader she had grown “somewhat a-crazed” (77) and eventually became so sick she was bed-ridden for a long period of time. As in Forman’s account of Anne Young, Whythorne’s narrative suggests that the woman who pursued him doted on him so desperately that she made herself sick with unrequited love. But, perhaps for the sake of representing innocence and humility in his highly contrived construction of himself, Whythorne insists again to the reader that he doesn’t think there is a connection between her illness and his neglecting to visit her anymore. Referring to a conversation with his friends, he says, “And I, to put suspicion out of their heads, told them how she had used me, both in words and deeds, as partly is before rehearsed; wherefore I could not believe that she loved me in such sort as they said she did” (78). The subtext suggests, though, that his protests are ultimately insincere, and he presents his assertion that Elsabeth is not pursuing him only amidst the dramatic protests of his friends whose arguments he hopes the reader will find more convincing than his own. He anticipates the reader will come to believe that there is indeed a connection and that she does indeed love him. Furthermore, his actions indicate he actually does believe her sickness may by caused by her love for him because he does go to visit her with the intention of helping to alleviate her suffering. “But, and if my visiting of her, with what friendship else I am able to show her, saving only wedding and marrying with her, make her whole, I will do it with all my heart” (78).

Despite his friends’ allegations, which were likely for sport and amusement and not to be taken seriously, there is much evidence in Whythorne’s text to help the reader see through the argument that Elsabeth was actually pursuing him. In addition to the fact that she pretended she was not at home when Whythorne came over, she didn’t seem to notice or care when he decided to go to visit her in her sickbed. After he leaves, she eventually gets better, and they never have any contact again. If his disinterest was really the cause of her sickness, she seemed to recover remarkably well without his reciprocated love as the antidote. A more likely explanation is that perhaps Elsabeth heard rumor about the talk of the two of them, so she backed off to avoid further misunderstanding of her mere playful friendliness toward Whythorne.

Puzzling issues emerge from this obvious shift in traditional gender roles. Why do these two men now find more power in adopting the more passive, feminine role of the pursued rather than that of the pursuer? How are these men different from others in the past who subscribed to more conventional behaviors? Their concerns of emasculation and fear of rejection, while explaining to some degree their behavior, may offer only a partial explanation. Surely, these anxieties in various ways and to varying degrees must have also played into the psychology of gender role dynamics long before these men were even born. Perhaps looking at the larger political and cultural context of the late sixteenth century can provide further insight into this anomaly.

During the time these men were writing, the power of England was manifest in its sovereign ruler, Queen Elizabeth. Many scholars have noted the trend that English subjects often linked Queen Elizabeth’s power to her virginity, and the unpenetrated woman came to represent the unpenetrated country itself. In their nationalistic world view, many English citizens believed on one level that as long as the queen’s sexual territory remained unconquerable, England’s political territory remained unconquerable as well. Similarly, Forman and Whythorne had no greater example of authority and understood that the ultimate supremacy wielded by their beloved queen is really a passive power, a feminine power, a power that doesn’t rely on aggression and offense. Though England was actively pursuing colonial expansion through aggressive pursuits at this time, at least sexually, Queen Elizabeth demonstrated a distinct power that derived from a defensive position—a position that relied on the guarding one’s territory, on all levels, from the threat of one’s enemies. In Forman’s and Whythorne’s case, at least, the enemy was perceived as the women in their lives who had the power to emasculate them and overwhelm their masculine terrain, to overthrow their sense of their own authority.

In his autobiography Forman aligns himself with Queen Elizabeth by presenting himself as a man sexually passive and disinterested as a young woman, Anne Young, pines for him, helpless and powerless to his charms. Therefore, he creates a presentation of himself through his aloof behavior toward women so that on some level he can construct himself as invulnerable. Like Queen Elizabeth, like England itself, he portrays himself as impenetrable, and, therefore, he secures for himself a sense of power.

The infamous dream Forman has of Queen Elizabeth also demonstrates his conception of power as having passive characteristics. Even in the subconscious realm of his dream world, he casts himself in the role of the pursued. Initially, the dream illustrates the ambiguity of the dominant and subservient roles in the relationship between Forman and the queen. “I told her she should do me a favor and let me wait on her, and she said I should. Then I said, ‘I mean to wait upon you and not under you, that I might make this belly a little bigger to carry up this smock and coat out of the dirt’” (qtd. in Rowse 31). As the dream progresses to its climactic end, however, Forman’s erotic vision has ultimately cast Elizabeth in the role of the aggressive pursuer and himself in the role of the passive pursued. “[. . .] Then she began to lean upon me, when we were past the dirt and to be very familiar with me, and methought she began to love me. When we were alone, out of sight, methought she would have kissed me” (31). Though Elizabeth “leans” on Forman, a gesture which might suggest a subservient position, she is simultaneously cast as the pursuer in this sequence as well. The active subject of each of these sentences is Elizabeth, and Forman enjoys the erotic position of the passive object. Elizabeth pursues as she leans on him, as she becomes familiar with him, as she loves him, and ultimately, as she seems about to kiss him. His dream suggests that she invites him to penetrate her, and thus to conquer her. In doing so, on some level he would succeed in dethroning her and appropriate her power for himself. This dream follows the same pattern of the dreams he had in childhood of the mighty mountains and raging waters that almost overwhelmed him. Forman seeks to usurp Elizabeth’s power in his dream, where the boundaries between political and sexual power become ambiguous. He struggles with this authority that simultaneously draws him and threatens him-- it is woman’s power after all.

Similarly, in his autobiography, Whythorne constructs a portrait of himself in the image of a Virgin Queen who rejects her pursuers. His approach to love is now, as he presents it, passive and unyielding. Whythorne learns to follow the example of his omnipotent queen: power is had in being unconquerable. If no one seems to be interested in conquering him, though, he will assemble the scenario himself so he can play out this empowered role in the drama written by his own hand. His attempt at defining his sense of self results in a construction whereby he casts himself as the main character in his own fiction. Likening himself to Queen Elizabeth, to one who chooses to retain power in lieu of love, Whythorne constructs a scenario where rejection is no longer rejection, but a conscious choice, a chosen state of chaste-like virtue.

Forman and Whythorne construct different narratives in their autobiographies using diverse styles. However, both men construct a definition of themselves as passive men being pursued by women. These two men, a musician and a physician living in late sixteenth century Renaissance England, are no exception among the countless men throughout the ages who have sought to identify their power, their sense of self, through their conquest of women. Why do these men not simply portray themselves in the traditional role of the successful pursuer of women in order to validate their worth? Surely, Forman’s diaries reveal that he had many relations with women that he could have exploited for these same purposes, even if Whythorne did not? Though these questions may not ever be fully answered, through probing the larger cultural and political context of the period, the reader can discern clues that may help to illuminate why these men chose this incongruent approach in their autobiographies as a prominent means of constructing their idea of the powerful male self.

WORKS CITED

Osborn, James M., ed. The Autobiography of Thomas Whythorne. Modern Spelling Edition. London: Oxford UP, 1962.

Rowse, A.L. The Case Books of Simon Forman: Sex and Society in Shakespeare’s Age. London: Pan Books Ltd, 1974.