![]() Marguerite PolandShadesChapter 7:
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She continued to feed the chickens, ignoring him. "Goodbye then," he said carelessly as he swung Hector round and sat back in the saddle as the horse sprang forward. She would watch him go, fighting not to call him back: an equal challenge. He would not turn, goaded though he felt to see if she still stood there. That would vex her! Or would it? He could not be sure any more. Suddenly, the certainties evaded him. He had achieved, with ease, all that was expected of him, and yet some obscure disquiet remained. Success had always been assumed for him by others; his ability to impress far beyond his triumphs on cricket pitch and rugby field, far beyond his elegant essays and competent Mathematics and the open admiration of the young ladies of Grahamstown, the hero-worship of new boys, competing to fag for him, to carry his boots, fold his rugger jersey, make his tea in the prefects' study. And on leaving school, the universal predictions of his "brilliant future" hung like a sword above his head as did his mother's vanity and her fond incomprehension of his needs, as did Aunt Emily's aspirations, thrust on him because Crispin was unable to fulfil her hopes. In compensation for usurping Crispin's place he had protected him, both at school and at home. In consequence, Crispin would die for him — a word, a gesture would suffice. It was another burden, heaped on all the other fulsome presumptions. Only Frances knew the truth. She understood his fears too well — Victor, the hero, had cracks in his armour — and if, subconsciously, he had relied on her to shield him from discovery, such knowledge still remained a powerful weapon in her hand. It hadn't mattered until now. She was his. Devoted since he had first come to the mission. And yet, despite this, he had always known that Frances could match him, could lead as well as follow. And could also go. But the possibility of a usurper had not occurred to him before and the unlikeliness of his competitor left him suddenly exposed. The game must end. Swiftly. Before she changed her mind and slipped beyond his reach. He would not relinquish her — she was the constant, the only insurance against his own vulnerability: the memory of a cold nursery, empty of real affection, of the imaginary ghost of his father, blood-stained, bearing the body of O'Flaherty up the stairs at night, shouldering his way into his childhood room, listening for his hidden cry in the dead ear of his pillow. The spectre of that father followed him — deified by his mother — virtues entombed: ribbons, medals, ornamental swords. It was imperative that he should be a hero too.
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The War Game was definitely his favourite, where Victor tried to rescue O'Flaherty and ended up kissing Frances. In Victorian times, a male was never really supposed to be up close with a girl, and certainly was not allowed to kiss her. The war game always ended with O'Flaherty dying and Victor had to bring O'Flaherty's widow (Frances) on horseback to the body. Not only did this mean that Frances had to ride close to Victor on the horse, but it always ended with Victor giving her a kiss. The story mentions that Victor became angry if the game did not end properly and O'Flaherty was not killed. Why should he get angry? Unless such an ending denied his getting close to Frances and kissing her? |
Victor and Frances were playing one of their emotional games with each other. She was angry with him, partly for his kissing her down at the river and partly for his prattish behaviour resulting from her friendship with Walter. At this moment Frances was giving the appearance that she cared nothing for Victor whereas he believed that he was her salvation from the mission station. Without his marrying her, she was doomed to spend the rest of her life as a spinster. He was therefore also playing a game, pretending to ignore Frances, pretending that he cared little for her, believing that he would thereby hurt her feelings and make her come back to him. |
Frances was angry with Victor, partly for his kissing her down at the river and partly for his prattish behaviour resulting from her friendship with Walter. At that moment Frances was giving the appearance that she cared nothing for Victor. |
Victor had strong leadership qualities. Everywhere he went, he showed these qualities.
With such a reputation, it is natural that there would be pressure on him to succeed in whatever he did. |
With such a reputation, it is natural that there would be pressure on Victor to succeed in whatever he did. There was, however, a negative side to such expectations. It hung over him like the proverbial sword of Damocles. Victor had to succeed in everything! Yet he knew he had weaknesses — weaknesses that no-one other than Frances knew about. |
Crispin was not academically gifted. In any case, his academic ability had been damaged by the fact that he was left handed, and this had presumably been beaten out of him because it was regarded as evil for a person to be left-handed. It is also possible that Crispin was dyslexic. Although his parents aspired to his becoming a priest and inheriting the mission station, Anglican priests needed to be academically successful. Crispin was therefore unable to become a priest and fulfill his parents' expectations. |
This has much to do with the fact that everyone expected so much from Victor. Victor, on the other hand, had distinct weaknesses. He appears to have been haunted by the ghost of his dead father, to have been living in the shadow of a hero. Later we will see that even his aunt's house in Grahamstown was a tomb, a cold memorial to Victor's father. He needed support and this could only be provided by Frances. He was therefore dependent upon her to marry him so she could be a support for him for the rest of his life. |
Walter is the usurper. One needs only to look at all the ways in which Walter was good for Frances — emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. You need to be able to spell this out. |
Victor deliberately arrives home late to fuel Frances's anxieties, knowing that she will worry about him. When he finds her waiting for him in his bedroom as expected, he forces himself upon her and has sex with her — knowing that Frances will thereupon be morally obliged to marry him. Victor knew very well that Frances, in true Victorian style, would believe that the sexual act was a consummation of marriage and that she would therefore be his forever. In such a way he would both claim her as his own and rid himself of the threat posed by Walter. |
"The memory of a cold nursery, empty of real affection, of the imaginary ghost of his father, blood-stained and bearing the body of O'Flaherty up the stairs at night, shouldering his way into his childhood room, listening for his hidden cry in the dead ear of his pillow. The spectre of that father followed him — deified by his mother — virtues entombed: ribbons, medals, ornamental swords." |
With so many words linked to death, one sees the image of the tomb. Victor is haunted by the ghost of his father. Indeed, he is living in a tomb. Later, when Frances is forced to live in Grahamstown with Victor's mother, she comes to realise that the house is a mausoleum to Victor's father — and that this mausoleum will accompany them to Johannesburg once they are married. Not only that, but the custodian of the mausoleum — Aunt Alice herself — will come to live with them. Marriage to Victor will therefore be an entry into her own tomb. To what extent is the tomb image used elsewhere in the novel? |
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