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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of gender discrimination, rape, sexual harassment, death by suicide, death, graphic violence, sexual content, and suicidal ideation.
Heywood’s play is set in the early 1600s, in which women in England did not have many legal rights and were subject to strict sexual mores—particularly in the upper classes, where marriage was often a matter of wealth and inheritance (making concerns about children’s paternity paramount). By contrast, men of means had near total freedom within the law to travel, own property, advance themselves, and pursue sexual relationships outside of marriage. In A Woman Killed with Kindness, the conflict between Frankford, Anne, and Wendoll best encapsulates the gendered disparities in rights and roles, while the resolution of Charles, Susan, and Francis’s conflict highlights the status of women as property.
The storyline centering on Wendoll and Anne’s affair starkly exposes the difference in how society approached sexual transgression in men versus women. When Frankford finds Wendoll and Anne in bed, his first instinct is to kill both of them, and other characters emphasize Frankford’s legal right to do so. While his response may seem to involve a kind of gender parity, it speaks to Anne’s subordinate status as a wife; a woman whose husband was unfaithful would not have been able to exact similar punishment because her husband did not “belong” to her in the way a wife “belonged” to her husband. Moreover, Frankford’s reaction presumes Anne and Wendoll are equally culpable, despite the fact that, by modern standards, Wendoll effectively coerced Anne into sleeping with him.
Frankford’s ultimate decision to banish Anne and Wendoll from his life further clarifies the disparity, including how the characters have internalized it. For Wendoll, the scandal is something he can escape, which he resolves to do by leaving town, going “first to France, / And so Germany and Italy” (202); he even speculates about a successful career upon his return to England. Besides illustrating Wendoll’s greater ability to recover from sexual impropriety, the result of both personal mobility and societal leniency, this demonstrates that he views himself as essentially blameless. Anne, by contrast, cannot live with herself because she has lost the virtues the play has associated with womanhood, including obedience, grace, and fidelity: “O women, women, you that yet have kept / Your holy matrimonial vow unstained, / Make me your instance” (190). Moreover, Anne does not have the resources to escape her situation; though Frankford gives her a home of her own, she is effectively imprisoned there. The impossibility of recovering her reputation and social standing, even in her own eyes, ultimately leads to her death.
Susan’s plight, though it in many ways inverts Anne’s, reveals similar disparities in men’s and women’s statuses. When Charles and Susan learn that Francis paid Charles’s debt, Susan’s reaction is fear and anger since she hates Francis for pressing the suit against Charles but also recognizes Francis’s interest in her. Charles, too, recognizes this, saying, “I have enough, though poor: my heart is set, / In one rich gift to pay back all my debt” (180). To Charles, Susan is another asset he can sell to satisfy his own sense of honor, and he pursues this scheme even when Susan says she will die by suicide if forced to sleep with Francis, modifying it only to give Susan permission to die rather than lose her “virtue.” Much like Anne, Susan has no means of extricating herself from this situation; that Francis offers to marry rather than rape her removes the specter of social condemnation but does not alter the fundamental power dynamics.
A Woman Killed with Kindness shows two forms of moral adjudication: the law and social norms. However, these two kinds of judgment are often at odds in the play, revealing an Early Modern society transitioning from an era in which reputation was paramount to one governed more firmly by the rule of law.
The conflict between Charles and Francis, which leads to all the former’s legal and financial troubles, arises out of an exchange of insults that escalates into violence. Francis is the first to resort to name-calling and physical aggression (striking Charles), but he is not wholly responsible for what unfolds; Charles is the first to threaten death, and he ultimately kills Francis’s huntsman and falconer. As Charles himself acknowledges, the deaths constitute “murder,” yet virtually everyone, including the sheriff who arrives to arrest Charles, expresses sympathy for his predicament. The sheriff laments, “I am made the unwilling instrument / Of your attach and apprehension” (149), highlighting the contrast between his legal responsibility to arrest Charles and his belief that Charles is not truly guilty of any crime. Even Anne, Francis’s sister, calls Charles’s behavior “valorous,” elevating him to heroic status for his engagement in the brawl. This praise for Charles goes hand in hand with criticism of Francis. Wendoll, for example, comments on the contrast between “[Francis’s] body not being blemished with one wound” and “poor Sir Charles […] to the prison led” (151). Wendoll’s observation paints Francis in a cowardly light since his lack of injuries indicates less aggressive participation in the brawl. All told, the reaction to the fight suggests the general social tolerance for resorting to violence in cases where one’s honor was in question, even if the law said otherwise.
Frankford’s response to discovering Anne and Wendoll’s affair appears to subvert this pattern. At the time, adultery was prosecuted in ecclesiastical rather than secular courts, but secular law did not forbid a man from killing the man who slept with his wife. Francis, who used the law to press a suit against Charles, even notes, “My brother Frankford showed too mild a spirit / In the revenge of such a loathed crime. / Less than he did, no man of spirit could do” (203), acknowledging that many men in Frankford’s position would have killed both Wendoll and Anne. Despite having both the law and public opinion on his side, Frankford chooses apparent clemency by merely banishing Anne rather than killing her or taking her to court. However, there are hints that concern for appearances does shape this decision; in particular, Frankford’s remark that he does not want to “martyr” Anne implies awareness that honor killings of the kind Charles describes were becoming less socially acceptable. At the same time, Frankford implicitly rejects the courts as a vehicle for settling the matter, recalling a system in which the family patriarch was understood to be the sole arbiter of justice. Like the circumstances surrounding the brawl, the nature of Anne’s punishment thus speaks to the complex interplay between legality and social acceptability in early 17th-century England.
Heywood presents a conditional form of forgiveness following each of the betrayals in the play, in which each instance of forgiveness comes with a caveat. This calls into question the very nature of forgiveness, framing it not as a matter of mercy or compassion but of transaction.
The transactional nature of forgiveness is clearest in the conflict that arises between Francis and Charles. Both have wronged each other: Francis had Charles imprisoned, which cost Charles his fortune, while Charles killed Francis’s favorite falconer and huntsman. Though Francis ends Act III by resolving to pay Charles’s debts and arrange for his release, he tells Malby that he is only doing so to win Susan’s favor; he intends to “fasten such a kindness on her, / As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it” (175). Indeed, his attraction to Susan does so little to mitigate his anger at Charles that it emerges as a potential avenue of revenge when Francis resolves, “In her I’ll bury all my hate of him. (175)—an ambiguous phrase that could read either as an attempt to smother his hatred or as the discovery of a new outlet for it. Regardless, it is only after Charles “gives” Susan to him that Francis commits to putting their “strife” behind them. Charles, in turn, expresses love and admiration for Francis now that his debts and legal troubles are resolved. In other words, the men forgive each other not after repentance, discussion, or reflection but after an exchange of property—money and Susan.
The finale of the play centers on Frankford forgiving Anne for her infidelity in an exchange that touches all who witness her. However, this forgiveness also contains elements of self-interest. For one, it involves concern for his own soul. Frankford knows Anne is about to die, and he forgives her just as he wishes to one day be forgiven, saying, “Even as I hope for pardon, at that day / When the Great Judge of heaven in scarlet sits, / So be thou pardoned! (206). Moreover, as the passage continues, it becomes clear that Anne’s death is a precondition for her forgiveness. Frankford remarks, “[T]hy rash offence / Divorced our bodies, thy repentant tears / Unite our souls” (206), essentially affirming that no earthly reconciliation is possible. Frankford’s forgiveness does not seek to understand Anne’s offense, nor does it represent a real willingness to move beyond it, as Anne’s death renders this unnecessary. Rather, the episode serves Frankford’s interests by functioning simultaneously as an affirmation of Anne’s guilt and a demonstration of his own clemency.



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