Hannah Webster Foster’s The Coquette was written during a time and cultural structure in which morality was largely based upon the foundations of Judeo-Christian ideology. These principles were brought to the American continent through the movement of Puritans seeking religious freedom from England. Puritan faith characterized the settlers’ morality for many years, later transforming during the first Great Awakening, and shifting to a post-Puritan mentality after the revolutionary war, as well as through several other protestant awakenings. Since Judeo-Christian principles were the accepted source of truth and ethics in this culture and time, society as a whole donned the role of spurring one another on toward its virtues. Hannah Webster Foster was a forerunner for this movement in the feminine community, and she devoted her work to promoting the “political, moral, intellectual, and emotional” well-being of women in her era (Pettengill). Foster penned her famous epistolary novel in the late eighteenth century, with the ultimate intent of guiding young women toward humility and virtue. Like the majority of the population, Foster believed that genuine “well-being”—joy, success, and fulfillment in life—could only come through the pursuit of these biblical characteristics. The epistolary format of her story offered her audience a profound relatability and outside perspective regarding the importance of these virtues. By highlighting virtue—or vice—behind the voice and letters of each character, she was able to intrigue her audience, ultimately conveying to them the moral convictions of the time.
Among the most significant characteristics of this early American novel is its form. It is a compilation of letters from different characters which, when positioned together, reveal the intricacies of a tragic, moral story. During the eighteenth century, when Foster wrote her novel, The Coquette, the epistolary form of story-telling was already in use. It was commonly employed by authors specifically desiring to reach feminine audiences with stories of virtue. The themes were generally “women struggle[ing] to maintain their virtue in the face of insistent pressures to the contrary” (Harris). Because of this, it is not surprising that Foster chose to implement this form of writing into her moral novel. The reason this form was a popular approach to gaining an eighteenth-century woman’s attention was that the exchange of letters was an intimate piece of nearly every lady’s life. As letters were the only form of long-distance correspondence at the time, and women were not subjected to the burdens of business as were men, they had a lot of time to read and write letters, keeping in touch with their family and friends. It was also a very intimate form of communication as the writer had to have taken time to reflect upon the receiver as well as their own words while penning each message. Another impact of this form of writing lies in these voices behind the letters. “Foster uses the epistolary form to make distinct the multiplicity of voices” (Hamilton). In an ordinary narrative—one that is not a compilation of letters—it is difficult to detect the characters’ precise voice since, in such pieces, a third-person narrator generally expresses it for them. Here, in Foster’s format of letters, the strongest aspect of each one is the voice of the character who expresses it. Through this epistolary form, Foster fully enables the writers to express their voice in a natural and untainted manner, through which she is able to convey the deep and moral issues of the heart.
Foster opens the novel with a letter from the protagonist, Eliza Wharton, to her closest friend. It is the first introduction that the reader has with the mind of the young woman society already knows as the coquette. Because The History of Eliza Wharton was based on a true story, the community was very familiar with what would be expressed in the pages of Foster’s novel. With this understanding, a reader would begin this letter with a biased view of vice in the words of the young lady Wharton; and it is quite evident within the first few lines of her letter that her mental and moral position is skewed from that of the rest of society. The voice expressed in this passage is clearly one of arrogance and foolish delight—like a child who laughs at hardship or folly without understanding the severity of either. It is a dramatic declaration of foolishness, and it appears that Foster purposefully constructed it as such. “…pleasure, pleasure my dear Lucy on leaving my paternal roof!” (Foster). Here, Foster repeats and italicizes the word “pleasure;” the pursuit of which, to a former Puritan society, is the epitome of folly. Foster poignantly expresses the roots of Eliza’s downfall in this initial introduction, demonstrating that her seduction was not merely the result of a momentary lapse of judgement, but of many years cultivating rebellious and vain thoughts. This exclamation would have been understood by every reader as contrary to the biblical and legal conviction of women being under their fathers’ authority until marriage. Yet Eliza conveys a strong voice of delight in it—a clear and profound forewarning for the story.
J. Boyer’s letter to Mr. Selby is the first intimate understanding that the reader has of Eliza’s preferable suitor, the reverend—which is particularly eye-opening for women who have here a direct look into the mind of a virtuous man. He opens with a confident and comic voice, “You ask me…whether I am in pursuit of truth, or a lady? I answer, both” (Foster). By responding with “both,” Boyer positions his pursuit of Eliza equal to his pursuit of the knowledge of God—simultaneously a sacrificial statement as well as demonstrative evidence of his practicality. He follows this with a comment confidently exclaiming his surety in their harmony—in that of truth and the lady—“I hope and trust they are united.” His character is thus established—that he is a practical man, desirous of a woman who will balance out his work life with her cheerfulness, as well as a trusting man who, despite Eliza’s genuine disposition, can see only goodness and perfection in her person and in the prospect of their union. It is important to recognize here that Foster does not depict his thoughts or character as “perfect” or even “ideal.” There are inklings of possible staleness due to the nature of his work, and even hints of pious thinking from his words. It appears Foster does not make him an icon because it would defeat the purpose of her novel. She makes him real—with evident imperfections, but also with very clear and respectable virtues that outweigh the rest. This real depiction of a virtuous man helps to prevent women from idolizing a false image of a perfect man, from which they will never be able to find contentment. It also serves to help women recognize underlying virtue within a man regardless of his imperfections.
The audience’s first introduction to the mind of the story’s deemed antagonist, Major Sanford, is in letter eight. He writes to a friend about his recent experiences in New Haven where he is currently positioned. “We had an elegant ball last night…I had an elegant partner; one exactly calculated to please my fancy” (Foster). The word “please” is strictly selected to emulate the very same sentiment expressed by Eliza in her first letter; the pursuit of which, again, refers to the Puritan mindset of folly itself. The opening of the letter as well depicts the internal state of such a man—he first noted the elegance of the ball that seemed “to the taste” of his liking, which demonstrates a self-centered, worldly, and egoistical state of mind (Foster). His description of Eliza is very different than that of J. Boyer in that he notes her present, flirty behavior in a positive light of gain, which is understood by the audience as very shortsighted and careless. The voice expressed through such words adds to the vice-filled note in that Sanford himself expresses sentiments of carelessness for the genuine person of Eliza. His tone is thoughtless and conceited, holding within it the undeniable presence of unholy desire which is exactly what Foster wishes to depict for the young ladies reading her novel.
The first response that Eliza receives from her closest friend, Lucy, is replete with warning. She recognizes the folly of Eliza’s inclination toward Major Sanford while J. Boyer is seeking her hand, and her voice is sternly expressive of such concern. “I can gather from your letters, a predilection for this Major Sanford. But he is a rake…and can a lady of your delicacy and refinement think of forming a connection with a man of that character?” (Foster, 26). Lucy demonstrates a well-discerning mind through her words as well as her tone of voice. The words in her letter speak directly to the underlying motives in Eliza’s heart without any consent to her actions, which serves to portray the voice of reason and sound counsel to the audience of the novel. Similarly, Eliza’s mother writes in her first response to her daughter, “Let us conduct uprightly and justly; with propriety and steadiness; not servilely cringing for favor, nor arrogantly claiming more attention…than our due” (Foster, 41). Here, Mrs. Wharton, displays a softer voice of wisdom while still directly addressing her own concern for Eliza’s behavior. The general form of this address, by using the first person plural, clearly shows Foster’s desire to share the same values with all those included in reading her novel, as if she were addressing them directly through her own, motherly voice.
Toward the end of the novel, the voices heard in each character’s letters begin to change—revealing the truth behind each person, only visible through very difficult testing. In Eliza’s last letter to her mother she offers a heartbreaking sentiment of remorse and repentance for all that has come of her frivolousness and from straying from her mother’s sound counsel. The letter itself contains a lot of exclamatory punctuation, but instead of subjects like pleasure that she exclaims, it is now grief. Foster connects the reader deeply to the heart of grief involved in such coquetry. The final letter written by J. Boyer demonstrates a calm and gentle voice—gentle with Eliza despite her past folly and calm because he realizes he was fortunate to have recognized it when he did. This reveals to the audience the superiority and comfort in the position of the one who is faithful to the proper and moral path of life. Contrarily, Sanford’s last letter expresses severe anguish in the results of his actions—grief, loss, pain, and life-long consequences—all a resounding cymbal in the voice of the broken man. This letter also deeply connects the reader to a heart aching from walking an immoral path.
Pain was the result in every individual involved in the story of Eliza Wharton, except for J. Boyer who, after having married a virtuous woman had removed himself from Eliza’s life and aftermath. His example was the dominant voice in the text, revealing it to be the only one that came out of the situation calm and content. He was true to the moral ideologies of the time and, while his life was not perfect, it did represent the contentment and security available to anyone who would devote themselves to that higher way of life. As asked in a critical article by Elizabeth Dill, “where does the seduced woman, as an object and as an agent of desire, fit into our understanding of republican ideologies?” (Dill). One response to this question, as seen from the analysis above, is that such a woman fits only to portray the pains of a life not grounded in those ideologies, and the blessings of one that does. Through the voices of each character in her novel, Foster represents the virtues and vices that lead to such pain or blessing, leaving the informed decision up to the young ladies to come to on their own.
Another response to this question lies in the problematic cultural perspective that women’s sole value was found in the ‘pure’ or ‘impure’ state of their bodies. The fact that such labels could even be placed upon a woman’s body, and by so doing, could determine either the destruction or fulfillment of her life, reveals a severely misled Christian morality. Coquettes were the rejected and excommunicated souls of communities such as these. Their hope and future wellbeing was bound up in the value that society placed upon their objectified bodies. And if they were deemed ‘un-whole,’ their lives were ruined forever. Yet, what an oppositional message to the Gospel of Christianity? Who was it that Jesus Christ sought out to be the first person to whom he would reveal his kingship and mission? A coquette–the woman at the well who had been married many times and lived with a man she was not married to. A broken woman, yes, but a beautiful, whole soul in the eyes of Christ. Who did he welcome into his intimate circle and use as an example of pure, holy love in the face of scorning men–a coquette, Mary Magdalene, who wept as she poured oil on his feet, washing them and kissing them and drying them with her hair–one of the greatest expressions of love and devotion in the Bible.
Jesus Christ was born of a virgin, yet it is very unlikely the world believed so at the time. Imagine the scorn that Mary would have felt in a society that believed she had been impregnated before marriage. And imagine the scorn that Jesus would have endured to be raised in a society that believed him to have been a bastard child. Yet, his love transcends these white-washed doctrines of religion that made the scorners scorn. His love says to the coquette, that is not your name; that is not who you are. If any ideologies, republican, Christian, or otherwise, seek to condemn a woman on account of what has been done to her body, they are shallow and misguided at best. Wicked and satanic at worst. Human value lies far deeper within, and it is the Christian faith that should have been the loudest proponent of that message from the very start. In this response, it would appear that while Hannah Webster Foster likely succeeded in frightening contemporary girls into obedience, she, along with all the others in her Christian circles, missed the heart of the matter entirely–the message of a love so powerful that fearful obedience dissolves in light of the resulting devotion that comes from knowing such a love.
May 3, 2018
Works Cited:
Dill, Elizabeth. “A Mob of Lusty Villagers: Operations of Domestic Desires in Hannah Webster Foster’s The Coquette.” University of Toronto Press. Eighteenth-Century Fiction, 15, Number 2, January 2003, pp. 255-279.
Foster, Hannah Webster. The Coquette. Oxford University Press, New York. 1986.
Hamilton, Kristie. “An Assault on the Will: Republican Virtue and the City in Hannah Webster Foster’s The Coquette.” University of North Carolina Press. Early American Literature, Vol. 24, No. 2 (1989), pp. 135-151.
Harris, Jennifer. “Writing Vice: Hannah Webster Foster and The Coquette.” University of Toronto Press. Canadian Review of American Studies, Volume 39, Number 4, 2009, pp. 363-381.
Pettengill, Claire C. “Hannah Webster Foster (1785-1840).” University of Nebraska Press. Legacy, Vol. 12, No. 2 (1995), pp. 133-141.