Crystal Reppert

October 02, 2006

Romanticism as Racial Justification

            American Romanticism is a genre that places the hero in the role of outcast loner. The romantic story builds around the idealism of the loner, but the merit of the story is often mired by the reality of prejudice and cultural bias that surround the hero.  Reading beyond the heroic accomplishments of pre-Romantic writers such as Columbus and Jefferson to negotiate their views on people of color provides a contextual background in which to interpret the work of a Romantic author such as James Fenimore Cooper.

            Christopher Columbus is hailed as one of the great explorers of documented history. With only calculated maps, Columbus convinced the king and queen of the Spanish empire to fund his voyage in search of a sea route to Asia. He sold his quest as a tool to glorify Spain, not himself. Mayo (2005) writes that the romantic hero is often “an instrumental agent of progress for his nation.” Although a foreigner in Spain, Columbus willingly  re-invented himself as a servant of the Spanish crown to pursue his dream. From the first voyage, Columbus wrote, “And there I found very many islands filled with people innumerable, and of them all I have taken possession for their highnesses, by proclamation made and with the royal standard unfurled, and no opposition was offered to me” (26). In his attempt to ingratiate himself to the royal house in his role as “agent of progress for his [adopted] nation,” Columbus casually overlooks the position of the native masses and their desire to be or not to be possessions of the Spanish crown. Inferring that non-resistance implies consent rather than misrepresentation of the circumstances, Columbus sets the tone for the treatment of indigenous peoples by future explorers/conquerors. The lack of opposition to the planting of the Spanish flag in their nation implies that a paternalistic relationship can be established between Spain and the aboriginals. The apparent inability for self-determination by the aboriginal is further emphasized when Columbus writes of his exploration: “I understood sufficiently from other Indians, whom I had already taken, that this land was nothing but an island” (26). Columbus does not write “from Indians whom I had asked for help” which would have implied a mutual give and take encounter. Instead he insinuates a leader/follower relationship. 

            By the time of his fourth voyage, “[Columbus] had not a hair on [his] body that [was] not grey” (28). His youth had been spent in the service of an alien government. A foreigner in the Spanish court, he was without family connections and dependant on the support and good-will of strangers. He wrote to Ferdinand and Isabella of his joy at the prospect of being in their “high presence with victory and with great news of gold” (28). His joy turned to despair as he came face-to-face with the duplicity of the Spaniards. His tales of gold and the absence of opposition from the indigenous peoples whose land he “[had] taken possession for their highnesses,” inspired others of less intelligence but more cunning to take up the call of Spanish conquest in pursuit of wealth and court favor. Instead of returning to Spain as a hero, he returned “laden with fetters, stripped to the skin, very ill-treated, and without being tried or condemned” (28).  Columbus, in the dual weaknesses of old age and isolation, assumed the status of the inhabitants of the lands he had invaded - his wealth was taken from him and he was labeled as unfit to determine his own destiny by those who considered themselves his superiors.

            Thomas Jefferson was a romanticized hero of another type. While Columbus pursued glory through exploration and service to a monarchy, “Jefferson’s lifelong passion [was] to liberate the human mind from tyranny, whether imposed by the state, the church, or our own ignorance” (334). His determination to promote the philosophy of Enlightenment and sever ties with King George III of England as well as his skill as a writer, won him appointment to the drafting committee of the Declaration of Independence (335). Like Columbus, Jefferson acted as an “agent of progress for his nation.” Unlike Columbus, who courted ties to an established monarchy, Jefferson acted in the interests of a new nation.

            Jefferson’s concept of the new nation is clearly imprinted on the Declaration in spite of the changes Congress imposed. In the second paragraph of the Declaration, Jefferson writes:

We hold these truths to be self evident: that all men are

created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with

inherent and [certain] inalienable rights; that among these

are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; . . . (337)

The Declaration continues with a list of grievances against the King. Jefferson writes of the Crown’s conscription policies as it relates to the indigenous peoples of America:

He has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers,

the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes, and conditions

of existence. (340)

Jefferson’s words echo the implications of Columbus that the indigenous peoples, “the inhabitants of our frontiers,” are incapable of acting as self-determining separate nations. Were he referencing a people of Europe, Jefferson would undoubtedly refer to a sovereign nation by name. By grouping all native inhabitants as “savages” who exhibit “undistinguished destruction,” Jefferson prevents there being distinction between Indians who acted in good faith toward the new Americans and those who were hostile. This early exhibition of disregard for the recognition of aboriginals as individual members of sovereign nations was a precursor for the inhumane treatment of these people long into the future of America. In spite of Jefferson’s readings of Enlightenment, his bias toward those who were outside his personal frame of reference was well established.

            A further censure of the King’s conscription practices appeared in a deleted clause of the Declaration. In his autobiography, Jefferson claims that this clause condemned “enslaving the inhabitants of Africa (337). In the original document, he wrote, “He [King George] has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him.” Jefferson also holds the King responsible for the suppression of “every legislative attempt to prohibit or to restrain this execrable commerce” and that the King “is now exciting those very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them by murdering the people on whom he also obtruded them” (340). Apparently, Jefferson, a slave holder, was incapable of acting on his own conscience. He condemns slavery as an abomination of the King and portrays Americans as victims on whom the cruel practice was forced. That blacks have to purchase freedom, an inalienable right “endowed by their Creator” (337) doesn’t seem to be the problem. The problem is that they purchase this freedom  “with crimes which he [King George] urges them to commit against the LIVES of another [the white Americans]” (340). White Americans are continuously portrayed as victims while people of color are tools to be used against them. The inclusive victimization shared by all at the hands of an imperialist dictator is not addressed; the division between us (white) and them (colored) is enforced.

            Cooper picks up this trend in his novel, The Last of the Mohicans. He extends the concept of the lone hero to also include nostalgic idealism. Columbus’ prejudices are obscured to a point by the traditions of his place in history; a monarch, by divine right, ruled over others. Columbus was as much a subject of the Crown as those who he discovered. Jefferson’s biases are shrouded behind words of outrage against a tyrannical king. Cooper cloaks his personal vision of race and class superiority behind a story line that superficially appears to condemn both in the frontier atmosphere of New England.

            The story line of the Mohicans is built around the safe conduct of two young European ladies from one British fort to another during the French and Indian War so that they may rejoin their father. Cooper insidiously introduces the gothic contrast of light and dark in his descriptions of Alice who is fair and Cora who is dark:

. . . the most juvenile in her appearance . . . permitted

glimpses of her dazzling complexion, fair golden hair and

bright blue eyes . . . (16)

The tresses of this lady were shining and black, like the

plumage of a raven. Her complexion was not brown, but it

rather appeared charged with the color of the rich blood . . . (17)

With their male escort, an officer of the fort, Duncan Heyward, they are to follow an Indian guide, Magua, along a secret path through a dense forest. Alice, the fair lady, voices concern, “I like him not,” and queries of their escort, “You know him, Duncan, or you would not trust yourself so freely to his keeping?” (18). Duncan assures her of their safety and Cora, the dark lady, responds, “Should we distrust the man because his manners are not our manners, and that his skin is dark!” (20). During their journey they are joined by a singing master whose company Alice encourages, “. . . it may be a friend added to our strength, in time of need” (24). In both cases dealing with the gothic, the dark unknown of the person Magua and the forest journey, it is the fair Alice who is the voice of caution while dark Cora takes a tone of reproach or is silent.

            The second Indian encounter in the Mohicans occurs “on the banks of a small, but rapid stream” (28). A white man, Hawk-eye, and his Indian companion, Chingachgook, are discussing Chingachgook’s heritage. He declares, “the blood of chiefs is in my veins, where it must stay forever. And of his son he says, “. . . and when Uncas follows in my footsteps [dies], there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores, for my boy is the last of the Mohicans” (34-35). In this presentation of the Indians, Cooper makes certain that it is known they are of pure blood, untainted by mixing with other races or even other Indian nations. Their purity of race, however, is not for admiration; it is a line to keep them separate from others.

            Duncan and his party come upon Hawk-eye and the Indians at the stream. Immediately Magua is recognized by the scout as a scoundrel: “I knew he was one of the cheats as soon as I laid eyes on him!” Chingachgook and Uncas attempt to restrain Magua, but he disappears into the forest. The seven companions now travel together and elect to refuge in a protected cavern for the night where they are later discovered by Magua and his compatriots. Escape appears futile. The scout and Indians prepare to accept death; Cora demands of them: “Why die at all? The path is open on every side; fly, then to the woods, and call on God for succor!” (91). Suddenly, Hawk-eye’s view of the matter changes: “. . . what might be right and proper in a red skin, may be sinful in a man who has not even a cross in blood to plead for his ignorance” (92). The woman with a cross in her blood (Cora’s mother was “descended, remotely, from that unfortunate class who are so basely enslaved” (193)), was able to breach the scout’s defiance of being “without a cross” and his adherence to the ways of a people he respected from a racial distance. When Duncan (who is without a cross) wants the situation re-evaluated, he is ignored in favor of the Indian way. It is safe to ignore him. There is no question that they are both white. Hawk-eye responds to Cora defensively, as though it has become necessary to re-establish his whiteness. His Indian companions cease to be his friends, but are instead the “red skin” whose ways are “sinful” and “ignoran[t]” to a man “who has not even a cross in blood.” Chingachgook and Uncas acquiesce to  the superior reasoning of the white way and follow Hawk-eye out of the cave (92-94).

            The sagacity of Cora’s proposal proves beneficial to the four members left behind. They are captured by Magua and his group, rescued from certain death by Hawk-eye, Chingachgook, and Uncas, and delivered to the father of Cora and Alice. Before they can reach Munro (the father) at his fort, the group must pass through a cover of fog during a battle between the French, their Indian allies, and the English inside the fort. The fog disorients the scout and “he had lost the direction” (176). When direction is re-established, “. . . the whole party retraced the error with the utmost diligence . . . Duncan willingly relinquished the support of Cora to the arms of Uncas, and Cora as readily accepted the welcome assistance” (174). Throughout the book, direct interaction between Cora, the dark sister, and the Indians exists. Alice, the light sister, interacts through Duncan or Cora. The story line makes it unimaginable that Alice could be relinquished to the care of an Indian.

            Magua’s prisoners escape, but are recaptured later. In this final captivity, they are awarded to Magua as his right under Indian law by Tamenund, the patriarch of the Delaware people. Unexpectedly, Cora throws herself on the mercy of Tamenund: “Just and venerable Delaware, on thy wisdom and power we lean for mercy!” (371-72). Cora pleads for her sister: “. . . the curse of my ancestors has fallen heavily on their child. But yonder is one who has never known the weight of Heaven’s displeasure until now [Alice]” (374). Cora is acting in the expectation of the time as a person of mixed race she is willing to sacrifice herself for her fair sister. Cooper makes this sacrifice very clear in the wording of Cora’s plea; it is not her sister’s youth or innocence, but her sister’s purity and right to pardon as opposed to Cora’s responsibility to bear the weight of the curse of an inferior race that she uses to support her plea.

            Cora’s willingness to sacrifice her life is a necessary element to establish her place among the people “without a cross”; however, that is not what affects Tamenund‘s decision. It is the tattoo of the turtle on Uncas. This symbol proves Uncas’ place of superiority among the Delaware as one of the “two warriors of the unchanged race” (380), another reference to blood line purity. Uncas, in his new position of authority, secures the release of all the prisoners except Cora: “Mohican, you know that she is mine,” Magua declares (383). Uncas acknowledges the customs of his people, but warns Magua that at the end of an hour Uncas will pursue him to reclaim Cora. In his new position of leadership, Uncas is acting on his own recognizance. Uncas assigns Hawk-eye and Duncan positions in the rescue party. The rescue attempt goes awry and results in the deaths of not only Magua but also of Uncas and Cora. “Magua recoils a step; and one of his assistants, profiting by the chance sheathed his own knife in the bosom of Cora” (413). “The latter [Magua] seized the nerveless arm of the unresisting Delaware [Uncas], and passed his knife into his bosom three several times . . .” (414). Magua, the last to die, is finally shot by the scout. “But his hold loosened, and his dark person was seen cutting the air with its head downward. . . Its rapid flight to destruction” (415).

            Cora and Uncas are both eulogized in an Indian funeral rite. Hutson, who introduces the Mohicans, quotes from anthropologist R. Rosaldo: “The paradox here is that the tone of elegy helps the dominant culture to accept the vanishing [of the Native American], in a spirit of innocence” (vii). Uncas has been built up as a displaced chief who achieves his status as leader of a nation by acting as an aid to the white American cause against the French invader and their evil Indian allies. To justify the white American race’s fulfillment of their destiny of conquest of the tribal lands of Uncas‘ people, he symbolically ends the Indian race. Cora, symbolizes the blot on white race purity that the institution of slavery has brought about. Her death functions as a philosophical cleansing. Their death at the hands of  Mingos, the evil Magua and his companion, romanticizes the white American “spirit of innocence.” That the evil Magua is killed by Hawk-eye, “a man without a cross,” romantically seems to balance the books - a white man revenges both the Indian and the woman with mixed blood. However, the white man will live to see another day while those whose account he has balanced will not.

            Columbus, Jefferson, and Cooper wrote from the confines of the conscience of their societies. They wrapped their biases in romantic concepts of independence, the idealism of freedom from tyranny, and nostalgia for a mythological past. Review of their works in the context of events such as the Fugitive Slave Act, the Trail of Tears, and Jim Crow laws clearly indicate how effectively words can be used to romanticize injustice.    

Works Cited

Columbus, Christopher.  “From Letter to Luis de Santangel Regarding the First Voyage.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature.  Gen Ed. Nina Baym. New York: Norton & Co., 2003. 26.

Columbus, Christopher.  “From Letter to Ferdinand and Isabella Regarding the Fourth Voyage.”  The Norton Anthology of American Literature.  Gen Ed. Nina Baym. New York: Norton & Co., 2003. 27.

Cooper, James Fennimore.  The Last of the Mohicans: A Narrative of 1957.  New York: Signet Classics, 2005.

Hutson, Richard.  Introduction.  The Last of the Mohicans: A Narrative of 1957.  By James Fennimore Cooper.  New York: Signet Classics, 2005.  v-xiv.

Jefferson, Thomas.  “The Autobiography of Thomas Jefferson.”  The Norton Anthology of American Literature.  Gen Ed. Nina Baym.New York: Norton & Co., 2003. 334-342.