A Woman Killed With Kindness

“SIR CHARLES. My God, what have I done! What have I done!

My rage hath plunged into a sea of blood,

In which my soul lies drowned. Poor innocents,

For whom we are to answer! Well, ‘tis done,

When I would give this right hand, nay, this head,

To breathe in them new life whom I have slain!—

Forgive me, God! ‘Twas in the heat of blood,

And anger quite removes me from myself.

It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder;

Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it.”

Charles’s speech after the brawl develops the theme of Social Judgment, Legal Consequences, and Moral Regulation by suggesting that he was controlled by his emotions rather than in control of them: Charles says that while his “rage” killed the men, he will be prosecuted for the crime. Key to both plots is the idea that people cannot allow their base desires to determine their behavior, as Charles finds out firsthand. What separates Wendoll and Charles is the final line, in which Charles takes responsibility for his actions rather than fleeing them.

“SHERIFF. Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument

Of your attach and apprehension.

I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men

Should be of you exacted. It was told me

That you were guarded with a troop or friends,

And therefor I come thus armed.

SIR CHARLES. O Master Sheriff!

I came into the field with many friends,

But see, they all have left me; only one

Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.”

The critical element of the sheriff’s dialogue is that he is “sorry” and the “unwilling instrument” of Charles’s arrest. These terms imply that the sheriff thinks Charles was justified in participating in the brawl, which Francis started. Charles’s response highlights this injustice, noting how many of those involved in the fight fled at the first sign of real trouble. Only Susan remains, marking her as the one person Charles can trust.

“FRANKFORD. How happy am I amongst other men,

That in my mean estate embrace content!

I am a gentleman, and by my birth

Companion with a king; a king’s no more.

I am possessed of many fair revenues,

Sufficient to maintain a gentleman;

Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts;

The riches of my thoughts and of my time

Have been a good proficient; but, the chief

Of all the sweet felicities on earth,

I have a fair, a chaste, and loving wife,

Perfection all, all truth, all ornament.”

Echoing the Prologue, Frankford is grateful for his life, which is “mean” (modest) compared to some but affords him much to appreciate. However, he places Anne above his wealth, rank, and education, allowing the audience to see Frankford as a genuine and loving husband and thus making her betrayal even more devastating. His emphasis on her chastity is particularly ironic, while also serving as a reminder of the qualities valued in women.

“MALBY. This is the sessions-day; pray can you tell me

How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit,

Or must he try the law’s strict penalty?

CRANWELL. He’s cleared of all, spite of his enemies,

Whose earnest labor was to take his life.

But in this suit of pardon he hath spent

All the revenues that his father left him;

And he is now turned a plain countryman,

Reformed in all things.”

Even though Malby mostly appears alongside Francis, he comes to see Charles’s release and even supports Charles in pursuing justice. Cranwell’s comment, though, adds another dimension to Charles’s troubles: wealth. Charles has spent all his money securing his freedom, which will make it more difficult for him to maintain his social standing.

“WENDOLL. O God, O God! With what a violence

I’m hurried to mine own destruction!

There goest thou, the most perfect’st man

That ever England bred a gentleman,

And shall I wrong his bed?—Thou God of thunder!

Stay, in thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath,

Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand

From speedy execution on a villain,

A villain, and a traitor to his friend.”

Wendoll’s monologue vacillates between insisting that he cannot harm Frankford (whom, in his guilt, he hyperbolically describes as “perfect”), decrying himself as a villain deserving of punishment, and pleading that he be spared punishment. Like Charles, Wendoll sees his desires as an external force pushing him toward an act he would rather avoid. Wendoll’s prayer admits his villainy, but he asks God to delay his punishment, allowing him to enjoy the pleasure of his villainy before his “execution.”

“ANNE. What shall I say?

My soul is wandering, and hath lost her way.

O, Master Wendoll! O!

WENDOLL. Sigh not, sweet saint;

For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart

A drop of blood.

ANNE. I ne’er offended yet:

My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ.

Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace,

Have their offences noted in their face.

I blush, and am ashamed. O, Master Wendoll,

Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue,

That hath enchanted me! This maze I am in

I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin.”

This first exchange between Anne and Wendoll, in which Wendoll convinces Anne to have sex with him, highlights what Anne later describes as a lack of “wit.” Against her better judgment, Anne is swayed by Wendoll’s flirtations—namely, that “every sigh” causes him pain. However, she predicts correctly that giving in to this temptation is a “labyrinth of sin,” meaning that one act of infidelity will lead to further sins in the future.

“NICK. I love my master, and I hate that slave;

I love my mistress; but these tricks I like not.

My master shall not pocket up this wrong;

I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal?

Does not that rascal Wendoll go on legs

That thou must cut off? Hath he not ham-strings

That thou must hough? Nay, mettle, thou shalt stand

And watch them in their close conveyances.

I never looked for better of that rascal,

Since he came miching first into our house.

It is that Satan hath corrupted her;

For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye

In all their gestures.”

Nick’s class prevents him from taking direct action: Unlike the upper-class characters who act on impulse, Nick resists the urge to violently attack Wendoll and free Anne from “Satan,” and the pun on “metal” (his weapon) versus “mettle” (resolve) suggests that this shows significant strength of character. Nick chooses instead to watch the couple and report back to Frankford, who has the right to interfere in the situation. Nick’s assertion that Wendoll is entirely at fault, while Anne has merely been swayed, though accurate, creates a pattern of denying women’s agency, as though Anne could not have chosen to have an affair on her own.

“SHAFTON [To the Sergeant]. Arrest him at my suit! —Actions and actions

Shall keep thee in continual bondage fast;

Nay, more, I’ll sue thee by a late appeal,

And call thy former life in question.

The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons,

And usage such as I’ll deny to dogs.—

Away with him!

SIR CHARLES. Ye are too timorous,

But trouble is my master,

And I will serve him truly.—My kind sister,

Thy tears are of no use to mollify

This flinty man.”

Shafton betrays Charles, using the seeming kindness of his loan to imprison Charles again. Charles criticizes Shafton for being “timorous,” or fearful, highlighting the cultural premium placed on defending one’s personal honor; Charles would prefer to fight against Shafton but lacks the means to do so.

“NICK. Strike, strike, do strike; yet hear me! I am no fool;

I know a villain, when I see him act

Deeds of a villain. Master, master, that base slave

Enjoys my mistress, and dishonors you.

FRANKFORD. Thou hast killed me with a weapon, whose sharp point

Hath pricked quite through and through my shivering heart.

Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,

Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers,

And I am plunged into strange agonies.

What did’st thou say? If any word that touched

His credit, or her reputation,

It is as hard to enter my belief,

As Dives into heaven.”

Frankford’s violent reaction to Nick’s (initially mild and implied) criticism of Anne highlights the vast power discrepancy between the classes: Frankford threatens to strike Nick, who accepts this and even urges Frankford to hit him, highlighting his loyalty. Frankford’s total devastation also emphasizes his love for Anne, as he knows in his heart that Nick would not lie but also struggles to reconcile his faith in his wife and friend with what Nick is saying. The final line’s reference to “Dives,” or rich men, alludes to Matthew 19:24’s claim that “[i]t is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God,” underscoring Frankford’s state of shock.

“SIR FRANCIS. She hates my name, my face; how should I woo?

I am disgraced in every thing I do.

The more she hates me, and disdains my love,

The more I am rapt in admiration

Of her divine and chaste perfections.

Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts

Sent in my name she spurns; with looks I cannot,

For she abhors my sight; nor yet with letters,

For none she will receive. How then? How then?

Well, I will fasten such a kindness on her,

As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it.

Sir Charles, her brother, lies in execution

For a great sum of money’ and, besides,

The appeal is sued still for my huntsmen’s death.

Which only I have power to reverse.

In her I’ll bury all my hate of him.—

Go seek the Kepper, Malby, bring him to me!

To save his body, I his debts will pay;

To save his life, I his appeal will stay.”

Francis’s struggle to win over a woman who hates him was a trope of love stories even at the time (for example, in William Shakespeare’s 1593 comedy The Taming of the Shrew). The critical element of this passage is that Francis is willing to do anything to woo Susan but hates Charles for killing his huntsmen. In the end, though Francis insists on saving Charles’s “body” and “life,” the overall speech indicates that Francis is only helping Charles to secure Susan’s favor. The line “In her I’ll bury all my hate of him” has two possible meanings: first that Francis intends to smother his hatred of Charles with his love of Susan, but second, as Susan suspects, that Francis intends to ruin the Mountford family by extorting Charles to give him Susan.

“SIR CHARLES. Ha! Acton! O, me! More distressed in this

Than all my troubles! Hale me back,

Double my irons, and my sparing meals

Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon

More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless!

By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles

Could fetter so my heels, as this one word

Hath thralled my heart; and it must now lie bound

In more strict a prison than thy stony gaol.

I am not free, I go but under bail.

[…]

SUSAN [aside]. His love to me, upon my soul, ‘tis so!

That is the root from whence these strange things grow.”

Charles, like Susan, rejects Francis’s favor on suspicion that Francis is acting in bad faith. Charles acknowledges that his freedom is conditional since Francis will certainly demand some kind of payment. Susan already suspects that Francis freed Charles to woo her, setting up the dynamic in which Susan becomes the payment that resolves Charles’s debt to Francis.

“FRANKFORD. Did not more weighty business of mine own

Hold me away, I would have labored peace

Betwixt them with all care; indeed I would, sir.

ANNE. I’ll write unto my brother earnestly

In that behalf.

WENDOLL. A charitable deed,

And will beget the good opinion

Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford.

FRANKFORD. That’s you, for one; I know you love Sir Charles—

[aside] And my wife too, well.”

This passage summarizes the distinction between the two plots, as Frankford addresses why he is not involved in the drama between Charles and Francis; he is preoccupied with the “weighty business” of the suspected affair. Anne decides to write to Francis, and Wendoll praises her for it, allowing a transition back into the Frankford plot, as he notes in an aside that Wendoll loves Anne too much. This passage marks one of the only times any acknowledgment of multiple plots occurs.

“WENDOLL [aside]. How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove,

And are the furtherers to my new born love!

I am husband now in Master Frankford’s place,

And must command the house.—My pleasure is

We will not sup abroad so publicly,

But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.

ANNE [aside]. O, sir! You are too public in your love,

And Master Frankford’s wife—

CRANWELL. Might I crave favor,

Would entreat you I might see my chamber.

I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill,

And would be spared from supper.”

Unlike Wendoll’s earlier debates, in which he is uncomfortable with his adultery, he is now clear and confident in his choice. He sees how events have arranged an easy way to sleep with Anne, and he readily accepts his role as the “husband” in Frankford’s place; as Wendoll is implied to be somewhat younger and lower-ranking than Frankford (he lacks the honorific “sir”), there is an element of class usurpation to his behavior as well. Anne, however, is still uncomfortable with this situation, playing on Wendoll’s use of the word “public”; being alone together in her quarters, technically a “private” space, would broadcast their illicit affair. Cranwell, however, interrupts her aside, seemingly rendering the affair inevitable by removing another obstacle.

“WENDOLL. Come, Nan, I pr’ythee, let us sup within!

ANNE. O! what a clog unto the soul is sin!

We pale offenders are still full of fear;

Every suspicious eye rings danger near;

When they, whose clear heart from offence are free,

Despite report, base scandals do outface,

And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.

WENDOLL. Fie, fie! You talk too like a puritan.

ANNE. You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll:

I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom;

That which for want of wit I granted erst,

I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in;

Once o’er shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.”

This passage directly references and contrasts with the prior conversation in which Wendoll tempts Anne. Rather than flirting, Wendoll criticizes Anne, calling her “a puritan,” while Anne is more prepared to argue the situation. She notes that she behaved thoughtlessly before but now cannot find a way to end the affair. Essentially, Anne feels obligated to sleep with Wendoll to avoid both violence from Wendoll and the threat of exposure.

“FRANKFORD. This is the key that opes my outward gate;

This, the hall-door; this, the withdrawing-chamber;

But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame,

Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts,

Where the most hallowed order and true knot

Of nuptial sanctity hath been profaned.

It leads to my polluted bed-chamber,

Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth’s hell,

The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell.—

But I forget myself; now to my gate!

[…]

O, keep my eyes, you heavens, before I enter,

From any sight that may transfix my soul;

Or, if there be so black a spectacle,

O, strike mine eyes stark blind; or if not so,

Lend me such patience to digest my grief,

That I may keep this white and virgin hand

From any violent outrage, or red murder!—

And with that prayer I enter.”

Before entering his own home, Frankford enumerates his keys and rooms as though he can no longer recognize these familiar sights: The threat of infidelity, for which he does not yet have evidence, is enough to transform his home into a nightmare, underscored by the contrasting images of “terrestrial heaven” and “earth’s hell.” When contemplating the possibility of “red murder,” Frankford describes his hand as “virgin.” While most explicitly a reference to the fact that he has never committed this kind of violence, his use of a word commonly associated with sex underscores the link between his potential violence and his wife’s lack of sexual purity.

“NICK. Master, what, have ye left them sleeping still?

Let me go wake ‘em!

FRANKFORD. Stay, let me pause awhile!—

O, God! O, God! That it were possible

To undo things done; to call back yesterday;

That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass,

To untell the days, and to redeem these hours!

Or that the sun

Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward;

Take from th’account of time so many minutes,

Till he had all these seasons called again,

Those minutes, and those actions done in them,

Even from her first offence; that I might take her

As spotless as an angel in my arms!

But, O! I talk of things impossible,

And cast beyond the moon. God give me patience;

For I will in, and wake them.”

This passage distinguishes Frankford from other characters in the play, who largely give in to their impulses without much thought. Even Nick, who formerly paused before choosing how to act with Wendoll, urges Frankford forward, but Frankford stops and renews his prayer for patience. He laments the situation that would provoke his anger rather than feeding that anger. As a result, though Frankford does chase Wendoll with a sword, he does not cross the line into murder, as Charles does.

“ANNE. I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,

No apprehension, no capacity.

When do you spurn me like a dog? When tread me

Under feet? When drag me by the hair?

Though I deserve a thousand, thousand-fold,

More than you can inflict—yet, once my husband,

For womanhood, to which I am a shame,

Though once an ornament—even for his sake,

That hath redeemed our souls, mark not my face,

Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go

Perfect and undeformed to my tomb!

I am not worthy that I should prevail

In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,

Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence;

Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave;—

This granted, I am ready for my grave.”

Anne’s expectations of Frankford’s behavior reveal the dangers of married life for women; she knows Frankford could commit the acts of violence she lists without legal consequence. Critically, Anne’s only concern in this moment is retaining her beauty, which she once called “imperfect” and useless except to please Frankford. This evokes the stereotype of women as vain, but it also speaks to the fact that beauty was one of the most powerful social currencies women had.

“FRANKFORD. My words are registered in heaven already.

With patience hear me! I’ll not martyr thee,

Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage

Of more humility torment thy soul,

And kill thee even with kindness.

[…]

Woman, hear thy judgment!

Go make thee ready in thy best attire;

Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;

Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress.

Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,

I may remember such a woman by.

Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;

Take with thee every thing which hath thy mark,

And get thee to my manor seven mile off,

Where live; ‘tis thine, I freely give it thee.

My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains

To carry all thy stuff within two hours;

No longer will I limit thee my sight.

Choose which of all my servants thou lik’st best.

And they are thine to attend thee.

ANNE. A mild sentence.”

Frankford’s delivery of Anne’s “sentence” complicates his largely positive characterization. For instance, Frankford’s use of the term “martyr” in this passage suggests awareness that killing Anne directly might actually arouse sympathy for her. The judgment he chooses instead is seemingly kind, as he allows her all of the luxuries she had in his home; even Anne calls it a “mild sentence.” However, his monologue makes it clear that he does not intend it kindly: The purpose of this punishment is to show that worldly goods are useless if someone lacks the virtue and grace to enjoy them, highlighting that Anne’s crime is not only physical but spiritual. What seems like mercy thus reveals The Limitations of Forgiveness Following Betrayal, as Frankford predicts (correctly) that Anne will ultimately pay for her “sins” with her life.

“SUSAN. Will Charles

Have me cut off my hands, and send them Acton?

Rip up my breast, and with my bleeding heart

Present him as a token?

SIR CHARLES. Neither, sister;

But hear me in my strange assertion!

Thy honor and my soul are equal in my regard;

Nor will thy brother Charles survive thy shame.

His kindness, like a burden, hath surcharged me,

And under his good deeds I stooping go,

Not with an upright soul. Had I remained

In prison still, there doubtless I had died.

Then, unto him that freed me from that prison,

Still do I owe this life. What moved my foe

To enfranchise me? ‘Twas, sister, for your love;

And shall he not enjoy it? Shall the weight

Of all this heavy burden lean on me,

And will not you bear part? You did partake

The joy of my release; will you not stand

In joint-bond bound to satisfy the debt?

Shall I be only charged?”

Susan’s words echo Anne’s, as her questions liken being given to Francis to being physically maimed. Charles’s response highlights the inequality of their relationship, framing his own freedom as a gift to both himself and Susan and thus making her another benefactor of Francis’s kindness. However, Charles intends to pay nothing except the conceptual sacrifice of “losing” his sister to Francis, which is obviously not comparable to Susan being “taken” by Francis.

“SIR CHARLES. Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride,

And I too much opposed to be thy brother.

There, take her to thee; if thou hast the heart

To seize her as a rape, or lustful prey;

To blur our house, that never yet was stained;

To murder her that never meant thee harm;

To kill me now, whom once thou sav’dst from death;—

Do them at once; on her all these rely,

And perish with her spotless chastity.

SIR FRANCIS. You overcome me in your love, Sir Charles.

I cannot be so cruel to a lady

I love so dearly. Since you have not spared

To engage your reputation to the world.

Your sister’s honor, which you prize so dear,

Nay, all the comfort which you hold on earth,

To grow out of my debt, being your foe,—

Your honored thoughts, lo! Thus I recompense,

Your metamorphosed foe receives your gift

In satisfactions of all former wrongs.

This jewel I will wear here in my heart;

And where before I thought her, for her wants,.

Too base to be my bride, to end all strife,

I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.”

Charles’s suggestion clarifies his view of what “giving” Susan to Francis entails. “Rape” at the time frequently referred to kidnapping or theft, but the modern connotation of sexual assault is also evident as Charles challenges Francis to take and murder Susan. His tone is accusatory, yet his list of the consequences of such an act—the tarnishing of the family’s reputation, his own death, etc.—reveals he is not principally concerned with Susan’s well-being. However, Francis surprises both Charles and Susan by offering to marry Susan, take Charles as a brother, and forgive everything. This event solidifies that Francis is truly in love with Susan, rather than simply using her to get revenge on Charles, though it does nothing to change her basic lack of agency.

“JENKIN. Marry, an you will not, another will! Farewell and be hanged! Would you had never come to have kept this coil within our doors! We shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again.

WENDOLL. She’s gone to death; I live to want and woe.

Her life, her sins, and all upon my head.

And I must now go wander, like a Cain,

In foreign countries and remoted climes,

Where the report of my ingratitude

Cannot be heard. I’ll over first to France,

And so to Germany and Italy;

Where, when I have recovered, and by travel

Gotten those perfect tongues, and that these rumors

May in their height abate, I will return:

And I divine (however now dejected),

My worth and parts being by some great man praised,

At my return I may in court be raised.”

Jenkin, though a servant, insults Wendoll outright, cementing Wendoll’s social fall following his betrayal of Frankford. However, his privilege as a man of means comes out in his plan to flee England. Though he acknowledges his responsibility for Anne’s adultery and likely death, Wendoll can simply leave, make a new life elsewhere, and even return to enter politics. These options are not available to Anne, marking the disparity between the ways society punishes men and women.

“MALBY. How fare you, Mistress Frankford?

ANNE. Sick, sick, O, sick! Give me some air. I pray you!

Tell me, O, tell me, where’s Master Frankford?

Will not [he] deign to see me ere I die?

MALBY. Yes, Mistress Frankford; divers gentlemen,

Your loving neighbors, with that just request

Have moved, and told him of your weak estate:

Who, though with much ado to get belief,

Examining of the general circumstance,

Seeing your sorrow and your penitence,

And hearing therewithal the great desire

You have to see him, ere you left the world,

He gave to us his faith to follow us,

And sure he will be here immediately.”

Malby’s explanation includes two critical details. First, a large group of gentlemen have gathered to support Anne, moved by her impending death to urge Frankford to forgive her. Second, they successfully convinced Frankford, suggesting that societal perception shapes his treatment of Anne.

“ANNE. Amen, amen!

Out of my zeal to heaven, whither I’m now bound,

I was so impudent to wish you here;

And once more beg your pardon. O, good man,

And father to my children, pardon me.

Pardon, O, pardon me: my fault so heinous is,

That if you in this world forgive it not,

Heaven will not clear it in the world to come.

Faintness hath so usurped upon my knees,

That kneel I cannot; but on my heart’s knees

My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet,

To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, O, pardon me!

FRANKFORD. As freely, from the low depth of my soul,

As my Redeemer hath forgiven his death,

I pardon thee. I will shed tears with thee;

Pray with thee; and, in mere pity of thy weak estate,

I’ll wish to die with thee.

ALL. So do we all.”

This passage shows Anne at her lowest point, literally begging Frankford for his forgiveness out of fear that she will not get into heaven without it—an unorthodox idea that casts Frankford in the role of redeemer. Frankford picks up the comparison in his response, evoking the grace of Jesus Christ as a figure of forgiveness and redemption as he himself forgives Anne. Like much about the final scene, the moment is ambiguous. On the one hand, it reflects a sense of Christian solidarity: Everyone knows that they are capable of sin, and they forgive Anne because they, too, will need forgiveness. On the other, the comparison of Frankford to Jesus has a lightly satirical ring; where Christianity teaches that Jesus died for humanity’s sins, Frankford does no more than “wish” to die with Anne, even as she herself pays the ultimate price for her actions.