Where is this sex act?
A whole lot of how we understand this poem depends on how we read stanzas 35 and 36. In stanza 35 Madeline, who has been dreaming of Porphyro, sees him beside her bed and is jolted by how pale, chill and unhappy he looks. The entire stanza is her reported speech. She seems to be not fully aware that this is the real guy as opposed to her dream.
Jolted by the bloodless appearance of the man who is the real Porphyro as opposed to the more lively dreamed version, she imagines he might be dying. Not surprisingly, Porphyro's move in Stanza 36 is to show her he really is alive. But what exactly does he do here?
Just about every interpreter I have ever read sees sex happening here; sees the image of the rose blending its odour with the violet as signifying the penetration of Madeline. Solution sweet! And the last sentence, "St. Agnes' moon hath set", seems to seal the deal. But what is being solved?
Let's forget about poetry for a while and consider this purely in terms of what we know about human beings. This is not a realistic poem so it doesn't have to follow the rules but let's ask, separate from that, "Is this plausible?" In the very next stanza, Porphyro tells Madeline that this is no dream. If he has penetrated her, can we credibly imagine that she doesn't realize what has happened? Has Porphyro fed her the date rape drug?
Okay, but I have already admitted that the poem is a romantic fantasy so it doesn't need to follow the rules. But if we read it that way, meaning we read him as deflowering her while she is still unconscious and unable to consent, I think it loses it's power.
Voyeurism
To return to the poem, I think one of the most important things about it is that it's a very voyeuristic bit of writing. I find it odd that more people aren't troubled by Porphyro watching Madeline get naked before getting into bed and by old Angela helping him. For even if Angela really believes that Porphyro has not intention of taking advantage of Madeline in any other way, she has to know that the girl will get undressed on her way to bed and that Porphyro will see this.
It's also voyeuristic in another sense in that it makes us a party of the voyeurism. In some ways it gives us lots of detail. the carvings, the food, the dress, the colours the stained glass casts on her skin (remind me to tell you something funny about that later) are all described so we can imagine them. They are described so well that the Pre-Raphaelites were inspired to paint them. At the same time, however, the poem is voyeuristic in that it helpfully gets rid of any distracting details. The house is full of other people but "These let us wish away". After that we only get the possible menace of their breaking in as described by Angela or by the sound of the music that might wake Madeline.
The whole thing moves the way a suspenseful movie uses voyeurism. We are with Porphyro always. When Angela leaves him to set things up, we stay with him and cheer for him in the same way we cheer for a jewel thief breaking into the suite where the rich and beautiful woman sleeps with her jewels at a hotel on the Riviera. We get sucked into the lead character's perspective and don't question the legitimacy of his motives.
Momentous acts
We know for certain that sex does happen at some point, by the way, because of the publication history of the poem. Keats had originally been more explicit but was dissuaded from this by his publishers who thought, certainly correctly, that it would destroy his career were he to do so. To my mind, however, that is all the more reason to conclude that stanza 36 does not depict sex. It is complete of itself and there is no sense of anything removed or changed.
To read sex into this stanza we'd have to read the long em dash in the last half of the stanza as taking the place of the sex act and the description of the sleet on the window in the same way that the camera used to pan away to a waterfall in old movies as the couple really got down to business.
But, to return to plain psychological terms, we then have to believe that Keats, a medical doctor by training, would seriously believe that Madeline, her hymen now torn, needs to be told she is not dreaming afterward.
It also doesn't fit with the style of Keats' narrative. Every momentous act has been accorded its full due up until now. Think of how Keats lingers on Madeline's undressing and how much significance is accorded the moment when Porphyro, peering through her bed curtains, presses his arm into her pillow back in stanza 32.
The act of actually getting into Madeline's bed is of immense significance and I'm certain that is all that happens in Stanza 36.
Roses and violets and Greek and Gothic
If this were Shakespeare, we would worry a whole lot about the significance of the particular flowers. For Keats? I don't know. You can decide yourself.
The first question is which is which. Violets are violet or white and "Porphyro" means purple so we might think that he is that. But Porphyro has been rendered colourless here and Madeline has been given colour and warmth so who knows?
We could also approach the problem in terms of the symbolic meanings of the two flowers.
The rose has two meanings depending on whether we choose to be pagan or Christian about it. The Ancients associated the rose with Venus, which is to say sexual love. They also associated it with secrecy; to meet "under the rose" or sub rosa, was to agree that everything that happens there was to be kept secret. Roses are also associated with death and rebirth and with victory.
Christians, as they always did, gave the best flowers to Mary and so the rose comes to be associated with her. Unlike what we might guess, the rose doesn't necessarily associate with virginity however. In Medieval literature it is often associated with love and always with licit love and not with illicit trysts. It is a flower of chastity not virginity.
Colour also matters to Christians. White roses connect to purity and red roses connect to martyrdom.
What matters to the Greeks about violets is that they grow close to the ground and we might read Porphyro falling to his knees here as a connection to the violet. The Greeks also associated violets with death and lovers remember their lost partners with violets. Again, that matches with Madeline thinking Porphyro to be dying when she awakens and sees him pale and cold.
For Christians, violets symbolized humility and modesty.
If Keats is following the rules of parallel structure, then Porphyro is definitely the rose.
In that construction, Porphyro is the rose and Madeline's dream is the violet. Oops. It has to be her dream doesn't it? Could Porphyro be both flowers? The dreamed Porphyro the violet and the live one the rose?
What can we conclude?
Well, your call really. I think Porphyro gets into Madeline's bed and tells her it isn't a dream. I think she is not entirely taken by surprise at this but that the significance of his crawling in with her, she is completely naked after all, is what moves her to see herself as ruined and not any sex act just yet. Her fear is that he will now just take her as he easily could. And if this were a matter of purely Greek morals, that is what would happen.
In Gothic manners, however, the love has to be pure and justified between the lovers no matter how much it might be abhorred and prohibited by the society around them. Porphyro is not a date rapist. Instead he pleads his troth as a true medieval courtier in Stanza 38:
And only then, upon her acceptance, do they have sex. Yes, there is room for all sorts of ambiguity here but I believe Porpyhro finds but does not rob her nest. The missing sex scene, I think, would have come after this between Stanzas 38 and 39 like a missing floor number thirteen in a modern apartment building. And then we move to Stanza 39 where they must wake up, as in an Aubade, but escape together.
The funny thing about that stained glass
The stained glass has a funny sequel. Several of the Pre-Raphaelites were moved to paint scenes from the poem. Millais was a stickler for accuracy and when he painted it he had a model stand in front of stained glass window with a full moon shining through in order that he could render the colours as they would have truly appeared. Alas, moonlight is too cold, it does not contain a full spectrum of colours, so it didn't work. There were no warm colours on his Madeline's breast.
By the way, I can't help but notice the significance of number in closing. Even though she is still fully dressed, it's very important that Keats get the number of the object noun correct here:
For the whole thing reads very differently if we pluralize:
And right there, we might say, is a key detail in the difference between Gothic manners and Greek morality.
A whole lot of how we understand this poem depends on how we read stanzas 35 and 36. In stanza 35 Madeline, who has been dreaming of Porphyro, sees him beside her bed and is jolted by how pale, chill and unhappy he looks. The entire stanza is her reported speech. She seems to be not fully aware that this is the real guy as opposed to her dream.
Jolted by the bloodless appearance of the man who is the real Porphyro as opposed to the more lively dreamed version, she imagines he might be dying. Not surprisingly, Porphyro's move in Stanza 36 is to show her he really is alive. But what exactly does he do here?
Just about every interpreter I have ever read sees sex happening here; sees the image of the rose blending its odour with the violet as signifying the penetration of Madeline. Solution sweet! And the last sentence, "St. Agnes' moon hath set", seems to seal the deal. But what is being solved?
Let's forget about poetry for a while and consider this purely in terms of what we know about human beings. This is not a realistic poem so it doesn't have to follow the rules but let's ask, separate from that, "Is this plausible?" In the very next stanza, Porphyro tells Madeline that this is no dream. If he has penetrated her, can we credibly imagine that she doesn't realize what has happened? Has Porphyro fed her the date rape drug?
Okay, but I have already admitted that the poem is a romantic fantasy so it doesn't need to follow the rules. But if we read it that way, meaning we read him as deflowering her while she is still unconscious and unable to consent, I think it loses it's power.
Voyeurism
To return to the poem, I think one of the most important things about it is that it's a very voyeuristic bit of writing. I find it odd that more people aren't troubled by Porphyro watching Madeline get naked before getting into bed and by old Angela helping him. For even if Angela really believes that Porphyro has not intention of taking advantage of Madeline in any other way, she has to know that the girl will get undressed on her way to bed and that Porphyro will see this.
It's also voyeuristic in another sense in that it makes us a party of the voyeurism. In some ways it gives us lots of detail. the carvings, the food, the dress, the colours the stained glass casts on her skin (remind me to tell you something funny about that later) are all described so we can imagine them. They are described so well that the Pre-Raphaelites were inspired to paint them. At the same time, however, the poem is voyeuristic in that it helpfully gets rid of any distracting details. The house is full of other people but "These let us wish away". After that we only get the possible menace of their breaking in as described by Angela or by the sound of the music that might wake Madeline.
The whole thing moves the way a suspenseful movie uses voyeurism. We are with Porphyro always. When Angela leaves him to set things up, we stay with him and cheer for him in the same way we cheer for a jewel thief breaking into the suite where the rich and beautiful woman sleeps with her jewels at a hotel on the Riviera. We get sucked into the lead character's perspective and don't question the legitimacy of his motives.
Momentous acts
We know for certain that sex does happen at some point, by the way, because of the publication history of the poem. Keats had originally been more explicit but was dissuaded from this by his publishers who thought, certainly correctly, that it would destroy his career were he to do so. To my mind, however, that is all the more reason to conclude that stanza 36 does not depict sex. It is complete of itself and there is no sense of anything removed or changed.
To read sex into this stanza we'd have to read the long em dash in the last half of the stanza as taking the place of the sex act and the description of the sleet on the window in the same way that the camera used to pan away to a waterfall in old movies as the couple really got down to business.
| Into her dream he melted, as the rose |
| Blendeth its odour with the violet,— |
| Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows |
| Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet |
| Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set. |
But, to return to plain psychological terms, we then have to believe that Keats, a medical doctor by training, would seriously believe that Madeline, her hymen now torn, needs to be told she is not dreaming afterward.
It also doesn't fit with the style of Keats' narrative. Every momentous act has been accorded its full due up until now. Think of how Keats lingers on Madeline's undressing and how much significance is accorded the moment when Porphyro, peering through her bed curtains, presses his arm into her pillow back in stanza 32.
| Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm | |
| Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream | |
| By the dusk curtains:—’twas a midnight charm | |
| Impossible to melt as iced stream: |
The act of actually getting into Madeline's bed is of immense significance and I'm certain that is all that happens in Stanza 36.
Roses and violets and Greek and Gothic
If this were Shakespeare, we would worry a whole lot about the significance of the particular flowers. For Keats? I don't know. You can decide yourself.
The first question is which is which. Violets are violet or white and "Porphyro" means purple so we might think that he is that. But Porphyro has been rendered colourless here and Madeline has been given colour and warmth so who knows?
We could also approach the problem in terms of the symbolic meanings of the two flowers.
The rose has two meanings depending on whether we choose to be pagan or Christian about it. The Ancients associated the rose with Venus, which is to say sexual love. They also associated it with secrecy; to meet "under the rose" or sub rosa, was to agree that everything that happens there was to be kept secret. Roses are also associated with death and rebirth and with victory.
Christians, as they always did, gave the best flowers to Mary and so the rose comes to be associated with her. Unlike what we might guess, the rose doesn't necessarily associate with virginity however. In Medieval literature it is often associated with love and always with licit love and not with illicit trysts. It is a flower of chastity not virginity.
Colour also matters to Christians. White roses connect to purity and red roses connect to martyrdom.
What matters to the Greeks about violets is that they grow close to the ground and we might read Porphyro falling to his knees here as a connection to the violet. The Greeks also associated violets with death and lovers remember their lost partners with violets. Again, that matches with Madeline thinking Porphyro to be dying when she awakens and sees him pale and cold.
For Christians, violets symbolized humility and modesty.
If Keats is following the rules of parallel structure, then Porphyro is definitely the rose.
| Into her dream he melted, as the rose | |
| Blendeth its odour with the violet, |
In that construction, Porphyro is the rose and Madeline's dream is the violet. Oops. It has to be her dream doesn't it? Could Porphyro be both flowers? The dreamed Porphyro the violet and the live one the rose?
What can we conclude?
Well, your call really. I think Porphyro gets into Madeline's bed and tells her it isn't a dream. I think she is not entirely taken by surprise at this but that the significance of his crawling in with her, she is completely naked after all, is what moves her to see herself as ruined and not any sex act just yet. Her fear is that he will now just take her as he easily could. And if this were a matter of purely Greek morals, that is what would happen.
In Gothic manners, however, the love has to be pure and justified between the lovers no matter how much it might be abhorred and prohibited by the society around them. Porphyro is not a date rapist. Instead he pleads his troth as a true medieval courtier in Stanza 38:
And only then, upon her acceptance, do they have sex. Yes, there is room for all sorts of ambiguity here but I believe Porpyhro finds but does not rob her nest. The missing sex scene, I think, would have come after this between Stanzas 38 and 39 like a missing floor number thirteen in a modern apartment building. And then we move to Stanza 39 where they must wake up, as in an Aubade, but escape together.
The funny thing about that stained glass
The stained glass has a funny sequel. Several of the Pre-Raphaelites were moved to paint scenes from the poem. Millais was a stickler for accuracy and when he painted it he had a model stand in front of stained glass window with a full moon shining through in order that he could render the colours as they would have truly appeared. Alas, moonlight is too cold, it does not contain a full spectrum of colours, so it didn't work. There were no warm colours on his Madeline's breast.
By the way, I can't help but notice the significance of number in closing. Even though she is still fully dressed, it's very important that Keats get the number of the object noun correct here:
| Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, | |
| And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast, |
For the whole thing reads very differently if we pluralize:
| Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, |
| And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breasts, |
And right there, we might say, is a key detail in the difference between Gothic manners and Greek morality.
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