Blackbird: In Defense of Serena Merle
yes, you read that right
“When you have lived as long as I, you will see that every human being has his shell, and that you must take the shell into account. By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances.” Serena Merle, The Portrait of a Lady
Who, or what, is Serena Merle?1
She is forty years old, not pretty, and wears a delightful expression with a charming, if crooked, smile. Her confidence bears a repose suggestive of large experience. Madame Merle2 seems open about herself and her past with Isabel, the heroine of The Portrait of a Lady (1881)3; she is no European noble, as one might imagine from her comportment, accent, and appearance, but an American, born in the Brooklyn Navy yard, although she has spent much time in Florence. Isabel’s compatriot is tall, fair, and plump, with a healthy clear complexion and small gray eyes. She plays the piano with skill and feeling.4
She knows a lot of people; only the best ones, of course, and she likes everything, except the sea.5
Isabel’s mortally ill cousin Ralph Touchett doesn’t seem to like Madame Merle, but he admits she “is the cleverest woman I know.” Is this a compliment? Isabel wishes he would be more clear. His mother, who brought Isabel to Europe and offers her the opportunity to travel, assures Isabel of the longstanding friendship she shares with Serena, who she claims is the one person in the world Mrs. Touchett admires; she has no faults and is one of the most brilliant women in Europe.6 Isabel admires Serena more than she likes her, but believes her graceful, gracious, wise, and good. When Isabel becomes engaged to Osmond, their introduction arranged by Serena, Serena is the first person she tells.
Serena warns Isabel a day will come when Isabel will have a reason to dislike her, in spite of Isabel’s protests. She divulges her wish to be Isabel’s age again, with her whole life before her, a life free of the mistakes she has made, of squandering the best parts of her youth: “as for my memories, the less said about them, the better.” A rare bitterness creeps into her tone as she ridicules her own ambitions and dreams, which she insists were preposterous. Monsieur Merle was an adventurer who took advantage of Serena’s youth and inexperience; her life was wasted on her marriage to this unworthy man.
Isabel cannot think of Serena, who she finds too finished, too civilized, as an independent figure; she exists only in relationship with others. But Isabel is wrong, if only in that it isn’t others, but other. The solitary other is Pansy, Serena Merle’s natural daughter with Isabel’s husband, Gilbert Osmond; her life has been narrowed to this point, to Pansy.7 While Isabel suspects Serena has “suffered much,” Serena explains that everyone has, but she herself has been “cleverly mended,” and when she must come into the light, she is “a horror.” She has done what she had to, what she will always do, to benefit her child; it just so happens it will benefit Pansy’s father as well. Keeping him in good temper (and solid financial circumstances) makes him a better father, even if he does view Pansy as a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder. He is devoted to Pansy, or rather, devoted to ensuring she remains a blank slate, as he wishes Isabel was, to do as she is told and reflect her father’s thoughts and wishes. A worthy future husband will value this quality in her as well.
Osmond and Serena’s affair is long over, and there is no interest on either side in rekindling this relationship. No adultery has taken place during Isabel’s marriage, nor will it. Serena doesn’t pine for Osmond, but she knows she must keep in his good graces to a degree or she will not be allowed to visit her daughter, who she laments doesn’t like her. She also knows Osmond has no money to settle on Pansy, so the chances she will make a great marriage are small. It doesn’t help that Osmond is so picky for his daughter, and not for the same reasons Serena is. He wants a title, he wants money; he wants Pansy to bring him something with her match.
Serena, on the other hand, wants her child cared for, loved, and happy as only a rich and kindly man might provide. She wants Pansy to live far away from her father’s home in Florence and from Osmond himself; out from under his thumb and control. The girl is like a doll, transparent, slightly artificial, entirely Osmond’s creation, now. When Lord Warburton, Isabel’s former suitor from England, visits Italy and takes an interest in Pansy, Serena is thrilled. A man like Warburton would allow, even teach Pansy to be her own mistress as Lady Warburton. Serena has her heart set on this match, and Isabel, who faces the brunt of Serena’s disappointment when it does not come about, is surprised and even annoyed over Serena’s zealous interest: “as if it were any business of hers!” Serena admits she has no influence over Pansy’s marriage and yet, Osmond earlier explained to Isabel Serena is “a great friend of ours. We have much faith in her judgment.” But this is the first time she has meddled in Pansy’s life; she has a dread of seeming to do so when it comes to the Osmonds, but now, so close to achieving her wish for the child she cannot claim, she can’t hide her dismay.8
She tells Osmond, to whom she is closer to face to face than either of them is with anyone else:
You have dried up my soul.
You have made me bad.
I never adored you.
The tragedy is for me!
I have been so vile for nothing!
You have taken it out on her.
She gave Osmond a present of incalculable value; a present he now takes for granted like a spoiled child when he should care of it, of her. Of his wife, Isabel, introduced to him by his former lover who looks only to the welfare of the child who can never know her true mother. In her misery Serena takes Osmond to task for making Isabel unhappy, for she did not intend to cause Isabel pain by bringing the two of them together. She meant to please Osmond with Isabel’s fortune, yes, but she thought the benefit would be to Pansy as well; that Isabel would be good to her stepdaughter, and even give her the dowry Osmond cannot. Isabel is a gift to the child Serena can never claim, not when at Pansy’s birth it was impossible to pin paternity on Monsieur Merle but it was almost too convenient to settle maternity on Osmond’s recently deceased wife.
When Isabel and Serena meet unexpectedly at the convent near the end of the novel, Isabel, now aware Serena used her and her money to benefit Osmond, both women, both mothers, are determined to visit Pansy while she is exiled by her father. Serena betrays her lack of confidence and Isabel sees the helplessness in the companionless woman when Serena speaks of the daughter they share: “I came to see her because it occurred to me she must be lonely, miserable. Of course, it’s none of my business.” Serena understands these feelings all too well. She and Isabel know Pansy is afraid of her father, of disappointing him and losing his love. There is nothing Serena can do to atone for her crime against Isabel or to stop herself from visiting the daughter who dislikes her except to leave the family alone, but she leaves aware Pansy is in good hands with her generous, kind, and loving stepmother. She can’t know Isabel has instructed Pansy never to speak ill of Serena; this compassion from a woman who feels she has thrown her life away for another woman in the same boat.9
To answer my original question, who, or what, is Serena Merle?
She is a mother who loves her only child, and for Pansy’s sake, exiles herself from her, forever. While she tells Isabel, “you are very unhappy, I know. But I am more so,” she prioritizes Pansy’s future over her own feelings and leaves for America.
Alone.
Serena’s name was originally Geraldine in the early installments of the serial. Serena means, as one might guess, serene, or tranquil - in her case, superficially so. She’s well-practiced, with occasional flashes of cruelty and lapses from candor. She wouldn’t be the same as Geraldine.
Merle means blackbird in French. I can’t help thinking of the apt blackbird imagery in The Duchess of Malfi: “I will thrive in some way. Blackbirds fatten best in hard weather.” Of course, Merle was Serena’s husband’s last name, and we can guess he has made her into what she is. Osmond certainly didn’t help, but had Monsieur Merle been a better sort of husband, a better sort of man, Serena might not have been susceptible to Osmond’s - for lack of a more fitting word - charms.
For purposes of this essay I used the text of The Cambridge Edition of the Complete Fiction of Henry James, edited by my favorite James scholar, Michael Anesko. He was kind enough to send me a copy (signed!) when it released in 2016. I can’t recommend this edition for all James work highly enough.
Anesko notes Serena plays Beethoven in the 1881 edition and Schubert in the New York Edition. I feel like James means something with this change but I can’t put my finger on it.
Serena wears “a curious silver necklace.” I’ve only seen one mention of this in the book, and have always wondered if I am missing something, some meaning to this ornament. What is curious about it? Is it a chain, or does it feature a pendant, and if so what sort? Why does James note this but never return to explain?
In the New York Edition (1908), Serena is less refined, reduced from her wisdom, brilliance, and artistry to mere tact. She and Osmond are both blatantly treacherous. See Nina Baym’s essay in the Norton Critical Edition, Second Edition (1995) for details. Why did James do this to her? Had he merely become jaded, more judgmental with age? At least the wrongs he committed against Daisy Miller might be explained by his trip to America in 1904-1905, but the cause of this difference in Serena’s character eludes me. It’s frustrating.
“The great thing is to love something.” Serena tells Isabel, long before Isabel learns who Madame Merle truly loves.
To contrast, Christina Light’s mother is destructive and selfish but not vilified like Serena Merle in literary studies. Is this because Portrait is more popular, or more studied, than The Princess Casamassima? I can’t stand Mrs. Light, who, like Serena, gave birth to an illegitimate daughter and now wishes to see her settled properly. Properly for herself and her own future comfort, though, not as Serena wishes for the happiness and security of her child.
I get questions about film productions of James’ books. When it comes to Portrait, please for the love of all that you hold dear do NOT bother with the Campion movie. I do love the 1968 BBC TV series. Suzanne Neve is an incandescent Isabel.
A middle aged author declining in popularity. An up and coming literary agent with an eye for genius. A partnership that would forge a prodigious legacy in American literature. Read or listen to An Eye for Genius today.
I don’t drink coffee anymore but I adore matcha. You can buy me one or just click over, take a look at some random photos, and snag a free black cat lined notebook page PDF to print or use with any PDF annotation app.
I wonder if Schubert is seen as the more gentle composer than Beethoven. Equally as Romantic but somehow less turbulent.