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My Victorian Nightmare
Ep. 101 - The DARK History Behind the 19th Century’s Most Haunting Paintings
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This episode is brought to you by Google Chrome. You think you know a browser, but Gemini and Chrome? That's new. It can help you with practically anything on the web, like restoring a vintage motorcycle from a 50 page restoration block. Or finally break down that long article you've had open for weeks. Gemini and Chrome is here for it, ready to make anything online make sense. There's no place like Chrome. Check responses set up required Compatibility and availability Various 18 not all probiotics are created equal. New olly precise probiotics are expertly made with clinically studied strains for targeted benefits beyond digestion, like skin health, metabolism or even stress response. Find your precise probiotic at a Walmart near you. These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease. Hello and welcome to My Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host Genevieve Mannion, and I'm here to talk about mysterious depths, morbid fascinations, disturbing stories, and otherwise spooky events from the Victorian era. Because to me there's just something especially intriguing, creepy, and oddly comforting about horror and mayhem from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised. Hello friends, and welcome to this, my 101st episode. And have I got an artfully dark episode for you today. Some paintings from the 19th century are admired for their beauty, some are remembered for the strong emotions that they inspired at the time of their creation, and some, despite their bright, bold colors, portrayed a darkness so overwhelming at their unveilings that they brought the audience to tears. Some fainted and some screamed. For you today, dear Listener, I will be discussing the dark histories and meanings behind three nights, 19th century masterpieces, Edvard Munch's electrifying the Scream, Theodore Jericho's devastating Raft of the Medusa, and John William Waterhouse's haunting Pre Raphaelite work the lady of Shalott. But first, thank you everyone for all of the beautiful comments that you left me on last week's show. I love that you are continuing to tell me how you found the show, what you enjoy about it. I especially appreciate appreciate the messages telling me that the show has gotten you through tough times. That is always particularly touching to me as the entire purpose of the creation of the show was to get me through a tough time. It's profoundly touching to read those messages. I also really appreciated that a bunch of folks told me their own creepy experiences with Bachelor's Grove Cemetery on Instagram. I made a post to promote the episode and folks were telling me that they themselves have seen the disappearing house Some said that there are other disappearing things, things that I didn't know about besides dudes and houses. A few people said that there are disappearing cars, cars that they see drive into the cemetery, but as they turn around the bend the cars that should be right there are gone. Some said that they're old cars, perhaps the cars of the mob who dumped bodies in the quarry pond. Who can say? Someone else said that they asked a friend to take a picture of them, but told her to wait until a group of people passed first. But her friend said what group of people? And when she turned they were all gone. I love this stuff so much. Other people were saying that it becomes silent in the cemetery, like you can't hear any birds or bugs. There's no sound at all, not even in the trees, not even the leaves. That is so spooky. So thank you everyone for reaching out as always. And thank you to those of you who have joined the Patreon who receive Victorian True Crime extras, witchy content, dark poetry and this show right here ad free. If you would like to join the free trial, you will find the link in the show notes. You will also find a link to subscribe to the newsletter. I put all of the photos related to episodes in the newsletter, apart from very interesting behind the scenes details like I got an amazing lamp that I really wanted to share. And of course I share important details about Mr. Toby Toes and what that fluffy little rascal has been up to, as well as simply horrifying illustrations from the Illustrated Police News. It's an emotional rollercoaster of a newsletter. Oh and finally, with all of the creepy experiences that folks have been sharing with me about Bachelor's Grove, it got me thinking. If you ever have a creepy personal experience with anything that I've talked about on any episode, please tell me about it either in a comment or email me@myvictorianightmaremail.com and be aware it will likely be shared on the show if it's good stuff. A listener named Jake Fleur sent me a video of Cheeseman Park. I did an episode about that place like a couple weeks back and I mentioned that some people claim that you can actually see the outlines of graves in the park. When I researched that even I was like maybe folks are seeing something else. Like maybe it's a trick of the mind that's really kind of crazy. Jake sent me a video that turned my blood cold. You can currently plainly see all of the lined up plots and people are like having picnics on top. It is bone chilling and it's over such a large area my jaw completely dropped. I put the video in this week's Instagram post link in the episode notes Take a look. You will not believe what you're going to see. So again, if you have any creepy personal experiences with anything that I talk talk about, please shoot them my way. MyVictorianNightmaremail.com this episode of My Victorian Nightmare is brought to you by Alloy Health. It can be hard to tell sometimes whether your menopause or perimenopause symptoms are actually symptoms like Am I just sweating because it's 90 degrees out? Am I not sleeping because I'm full of anxiety? Or am I full of anxiety because of my perimenopause? Etc but luckily, since we can now treat our perimenopause and menopause symptoms with Alloy, we can eliminate some of that guesswork. 43% of women have reported that their doctors never mentioned menopause or perimenopause solutions and another 40% of women don't even know which doctors to talk to. Is it my gp? Is it my gynecologist? In my case, neither of them had much to tell me. Alloy offers unlimited access to expert physicians that will hear you out and offer science backed treatments and prescriptions for your symptoms. They discuss solutions for hot flashes, skin issues, hair thinning and weight gain and even discuss osteoporosis prevention. All you have to do is complete the intake form, then you will be paired with a doctor to create a specialized treatment plan just for you. You'll get a three month supply and prescriptions delivered to your door with automatic refills. I cannot recommend Alloy enough. Join the 95% of women who tried Alloy in Cell Relief within the first two weeks. Head to myalloid.com and use code Victorian and tell them all about your symptoms and you'll get a fully customized treatment plan and unlimited messaging with your doctor. Plus you'll get $20 off your first order today. Head to my a l l o y.com and use code VICTORIAN to get $20 off your first order. Now let us begin with the history and backstory behind Edvard Munch'. I placed the piece on the Instagram on the very off chance that you have not seen it. Edvard Munch was born in Norway in 1863 and he had a very tragic life full of loss. He struggled with mental illness and addiction later in life. His mother died of tuberculosis when he was only five years old. So would his sister. Just a few years later another sister would be institutionalized with a mental illness. And his brother died of pneumonia at only age 30. What I think. Think of the current state of the world like the horrors that we currently have to live with now, and imagine what it would be like to live with the horrors of the Victorian age while so many people that they loved were dying, some slowly from diseases, some being taken away to lock inside asylums, is just something I can't wrap my mind around. These were common experiences for people in the 1800s, all people, rich and poor. Munch believed that his own struggles with mental, mental illness, severe depression and anxiety were inherited from his father. He said that he inherited the seeds of madness from him. His father, in his opinion, was a religious zealot, obsessed with his religion to the point of psychosis. He also said that his father suffered from nervousness, perhaps a similar anxiety issue that plagued him all his life. He attempted to train to become an engineer, but after only one year, he dropped out. He truly wanted to become an artist, and so he enrolled in the Royal School of Art and design in 1881, attempting realism. And his work was torn to shreds by critics, his father, his friends and his neighbors, which is so traumatizing. But despite his first real go at the profession being utterly mocked, he kept going and made one of the most heartbreaking pieces of the century, a painting called the Sick Child that was inspired by the death of his sister. I mentioned this piece in. In Episode nine. The work wasn't just inspired by her death, but by his own survivor's guilt. He, too, had tuberculosis as a child and shockingly, survived. Very few people survived that illness, especially children, but he did. And the guilt that he survived and not his mother, not his sister, haunted him all of his life. Imagine, after experiencing your art, being torn apart by just about but everyone who looked at it, you not only didn't give up, you used your deepest pain to create your next work and nailed it. It's just astounding to me. Between 1893 and 1910, Munsch created four versions of the Scream, and he wrote that it was inspired by a walk that he took with two friends in January of 1882, almost 10 years before the painting was even created. He said, I was walking along the road with two friends. The sun was setting. Suddenly the sky turned blood red. I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence. There was blood and tongues of fire above the blue black fjord and the city. My friends walked on and I stood there trembling with anxiety, and I sensed an infinite screech passing through nature. It seemed to me that I heard the scream. I painted this picture, painted the clouds as actual blood. The color shrieked. This became the scream. End quote. The location where he described this happening to him was very close to both a slaughterhouse and his sister's mental institution. He may have been deeply affected by either or both of these. That day. It was possible that he was there visiting her, which he didn't mention. But it has also been theorized that the bright color in the sky that he saw could have been caused by the volcano Krakatoa erupting. Despite the success of this painting, which was part of a series called Frieze of Life, all works being highly regarded, he slipped deeply into a depressed state. He self medicated with alcohol and entered a mental Institution in 1908. He checked out only about a year later. But from that point his artistic drive and and skill was never quite the same. He lived the rest of his life in isolation until 1944. He is buried in Our Savior's cemetery in Oslo and his monument is so interesting to me. It is the bust of his head on a pillar, but the writing on the stone is just his name in his own signature handwriting and the date of his birth and death. I've never seen a grave with the signature of a person used. I love it. The scream isn't the screaming character. The scream is the sky. It's coming from nature, the world, his world. And the figure is trying to quiet the scream by covering its ears. It has been suggested that Munch made the figure genderless, ambiguous, to imply that everyone can relate to his experience. Wanting to quiet the scream of a life lived with depression and anxiety. God, does that resonate. Personally, I can think of nothing louder than the sound of my own fear. Nothing. Let us now discuss the simply horrifying history of the Raft of the Medusa, painted in 1819 by Theodore Jericho. The scene depicted in the painting is the moment survivors on the life raft of the ship Medusa see a passing ship, the Argus, which was not on a rescue mission. These people were already expected to be dead. The Argus was returning to rescue gold, silver and cargo from the ship that these folks had to abandon. The painting depicts an entangled mass of dying or dead bodies, some naked, some barely still connected to the raft. Some appear to be moments away from slipping off the semi submerged edges. Someone is lifting a white cloth in the direction of the silhouette of a far off ship on the horizon of storm tossed waves. The sky appears to be the moment just after a storm has lifted and the sun peeks behind the black clouds above. I had a friend in high school who was an astounding artist. And I saw her starting to randomly sketch this scene at the beginning of a class. It was like math or something. And at the end of the class I looked back over and she had sketched every single detail from memory. I had very cool friends in high school. I still do. But despite the many facets of this painting, the many, many details, they do indeed very easily burn into the memory. It's a 16 by 23 foot painting, not one that can by any means be ignored. It hangs in the Louvre and it was painted by a 28 year old man who was looking to create a slam dunk of an art piece, something that would really stir things up. And damn, this worked. The painting's horrifying subject was not only based on a true story, he did his very best to recreate this event as realistically and accurately as he could, based on the interviews of the few survivors, that he used real corpses as models for the dead men lying on the boat. He even leased body parts from the morgue so that he could bring them back to his studio to paint as accurately as he could. I find it interesting that you could lease a body part in those days. He also sat for hours in storms watching the sea to see exactly how it would look, how the sky would look, exactly how the wind would blow the makeshift sail on the day as it was described by those who survived the day that they were rescued. In June of 1816, a ship carrying 400 people called the Medusa set sail alongside three other ships to the port of St. Louis in Seneca, Senegal, West Africa. Their purpose was to ensure that the English had left the West African colony, which had been returned to the French by the British following the end of the Napoleonic wars, and to re establish it as a French colony. So folks on the ship were soldiers, sailors, colonial officers, colonizers, scientists, a newly appointed governor colonel and his wife. They were to sail information with the Loire, the Argus and Echo. But the captain of the Medusa was completely incompetent and very irresponsible. And as such, he didn't stay in formation. He figured they'd get there in their own sweet time, in their own sweet way, despite numerous signals and warnings sent from other ships that they were drifting into an area with dangerous underwater sea banks, the bank of Arguin, a vast area of shallow water and drifting sea banks far off the coast of Mauritania, 30 miles from shore. If you got stuck in one of these, you would not make it to the shore by boat. You would have to swim that length. As the water would get increasingly deeper toward the shore, it was a death trap. This area was not mysterious. It was a well known, documented, dangerous area. And the captain still chose to sail dangerously close until they got stuck. The other boats weren't going to come anywhere near that area. It was decided that they would all, all 400 people would have to abandon ship on lifeboats of which there were not enough for all 400 passengers. Common them throughout this era and the Edwardian era as well. They decided to dismantle the ship. This was how serious a situation this was, and create a lifeboat that would carry 150 people that would be able to float above the sandbars. In the few lifeboats were placed the captain, high ranking officials, the governor, his family and his loyalists. And even with these folks aboard, there was still room for more. But they did not take anyone else. Very similar to a Titanic situation. Although the captain in that situation chose to go down with his ship, the raft was not capable of moving on its own. Even with a makeshift sail. It was just to float. And the idea was that the lifeboats would tow the 152passengers to shore. But as a storm approached and the lifeboats were finding it difficult to tow the raft, which was terribly overloaded, they decided to cut the ropes and allow it to simply drift away. It has been debated whether or not it was a matter of panic at the idea of a storm or other difficult difficulty on the water that the lifeboats cut the others away, or if it was simply their own panic at the idea that people would soon attempt to swim to their underfilled, far more seaworthy, safe boats. I find it an interesting detail that the French governor demanded that he be lowered into his lifeboat on his armchair. Not just so that he could sit in an armchair in the lifeboat, but as a sign of respect that he thought he deserved. He shouldn't have to crawl into a lifeboat like a commoner. These men condemned almost every soul on board of the Raft of the Medusa to slow torturous death. Study and play come together on a Windows 11 PC. And for a limited time, college students get the best of both worlds. Get the unreal college deal. Everything you need to study and play with select Windows 11 PCs. Eligible students get a year of Microsoft 365 Premium and a year of Xbox game. Pass ultimate with a custom color Xbox wireless controller. Learn more@windows.com studentoffer while supplies last ends June 30th terms at aka mscollegepc. The raft had only two small barrels of water, six barrels of wine. This is all terribly tragic, and I do not mean to make any light of this, but I do find it kind of funny that the French decided to bring 300% more wine than water with them on a lifeboat. They had only 25 pounds of salty water drenched food and they were floating away from the nearest land. For days they drifted, people fighting to be away from the edges which were constantly bobbing in and out of the water. They were tossed by sickening waves. The storm came and they had to weather it to then be baked by the sun the next day. Very quickly they ran out of water and wine and food. It wasn't long before passing passengers became violent. Some deranged, some suicidal. Men began to murder one another with swords, some with their bare hands, knives. Some, in moments of madness or fully aware of what would happen, dove into the water, telling others that they would swim for help. There was no way to survive in the water. The distance from shore. Numbers were dwindling fast, and rather than throw all of the dead over the sides, survivors turned to cannibalism. After 13 days, there were only 15 survivors left, from again over 150. Those 15 decided to drown anyone who was either too sick or too weak to continue to save resources for the strongest survivors. It's unclear how many people were intentionally drowned at this time, only by chance. Six days later, one of the other ships that the Medusa was supposed to stay in formation with came upon the survivors of the raft. They were returning to recover cargo, gold and silver from the Medusa, the part of it that wasn't turned into a raft. When the captain, governor and all of the loyalists landed in West Africa, they simply said that they had to abandon ship. And there were no other survivors. They made a raft, but who can say where it drifted, did too. They all must have died, so there was no rescue effort made. As soon as they arrived safely at their destination, The Argus offered five of their lifeboats and five sailors to steer them. But only two of the five lifeboats actually landed close to the town in St. Louis. The other three boats were carried far from the town and landed near the desert shore. And after everything they had been through, they had to walk through desert to get to the town. Town. In this trek, five men died. Only about 10 people in all survived. Two of the survivors, an engineer and a geographer who was offered a seat on a lifeboat, but who chose not to abandon his men, and a Surgeon told their tales of the horror of the raft of the Medusa when they arrived. After a long recovery, they returned to France and told the awaiting journalists every God awful detail of the catastrophe. And you better believe they did not not hold back when discussing how they were turned loose by the governor and the captain. The captain would face trial for his incompetence and the abandoning of the Medusa before he knew all passengers were safe. Not the deaths of about 150 people, but interestingly the sentence for abandoning a ship before a captain knows that all passengers were safe. The sentence for that would have been the death penalty. But. But he was given only three years in prison. He was court martialed and stripped of his naval rank and all honors removed. But this is regarded as one of the greatest miscarriages of justice in naval court history. His sentence was and still is considered to have been far too lenient. It's said that he hadn't even captained a ship in over 20 years and was only given the position as captain of the Medusa because he was loyal to the restored monarchy after Napoleon was defeated. He was just, just an aristocrat who spent most of the French Revolution and Napoleon's reign in exile because he was loyal to the monarchy that now reigned again. And his sentence is believed to be the result of that loyalty as well. Entirely incompetent men with no regard for human life have been placed in positions of massive power based solely on loyalty for centuries it seems. I wonder if that'll ever stop. The governor was not tried at all. He was however, intensely publicly shamed and was forced to resign. At first Jericho didn't know which moment he would choose from the detailed descriptions of the survivors stories. The moment the ropes were cut, the murders and fights with knives and swords on the rickety raft, the drowning of the six survivors who couldn't defend themselves. He chose the moment of hope, which was still just as horrific to depict as any of the desperate moments experienced on the raft. The piece was shown in Paris in 1819 and opinion was sharply divided. Some were awestruck, some were disgusted. Some were also torn simply because they couldn't understand exactly what the artist was trying to say with a piece. Was it a critique of French society, the aristocracy, the monarchy? Some wondered if it represented the struggle of French society after the fall of Napoleon and how common people were again at the mercy of the powerful. And was this perhaps attempting to incite another revelation? But many critics were stunned by the artistry, the realism of the tragedy, the humanity and the sheer artistic skill that it took to create a work so exquisitely horrifying. The painting is, of course, today considered a true masterpiece, and it didn't take long for the initial naysayers to become embarrassed. There are so many examples of works of art in history that are now undisputed masterpieces that were panned in their days and stayed that way for a long time. The opera Carmen was torn to shreds. Madame X, perhaps Sargent's most famous painting, decried essentially as pornography. Citizen Kane took decades to be considered the masterpiece that it is. The Raft of the Medusa won a gold medal awarded by the jury of the annual Paris Salon and established Jericho as a of the member major artist almost immediately. Within a year or two, especially after its successful exhibition in London in 1820, he was widely regarded as one of the leading young painters in France and a pioneer of the new Romantic movement. And within 30 years, within his own lifetime, art historians and critics regarded the Raft of the Medusa as one of the defining masterpieces of the century. Even the King, despite his connection to the controversy around the event itself, famously told Jericho, your shipwreck is certainly no disaster for you. Let us now discuss the lady of Shalott, the painting by John William Waterhouse. I put it on the Instagram. The painting is a dreamy pre Raphaelite scene awash in autumn colors. This is a painting of a woman who, although she may not appear to be, is dying. She sits alone in a small boat, and by the time it reaches the shore, she will be dead. She holds a chain. Two of the three candles that she has in her boat have gone out, and the flame of the last appears to be just about to. It blows on an angle in the wind. The painting illustrates a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, based on Elaine of Astolat from Arthurian legend. I'll read the poem after we discuss it. It is, as far as I'm concerned, one of the very most beautiful poems written in the entire 19th century. It is overwhelmingly beautiful. In the poem, the lady of Shalott lives alone in a castle tower on an island with a view of Camelot. She's been cursed to only be able to see the world by looking through the reflection of a mirror on her wall. She must look at the world indirectly or she will die. We don't know who put this curse on her. It isn't explained in the poem. All we know is that in the end, she chooses to no longer see the world this way. She chooses to see the world as it is, despite the consequence. She knows that she will die, but she doesn't care. She has spent her whole life in the castle, watching through the mirror, the beautiful reflected world of Camelot. She sees joyful maidens, people coming and going through Camelot. She sees funerals through the mirror. And she wishes to experience all of these images, the beautiful and the sad, just the same. But when she sees Sir Lancelot riding on his horse, shimmering in the sun, she's so entranced that she turns to look out the window and sees the whole world for the first time as it truly is. The mirror cracks and she realizes she is soon to die. Rather than sit and wait for death, she runs outside in hopes of taking in as much of what is true as she can. She is not trying to find Sir Lancelot when she leaves her castle, though. She is simply compelled by her own passion to run. She finds a boat to drift toward Camelot, but by the time she arrives, lives, she is dead. The curse also wasn't just that she must only see the world through a reflection, but she must weave a tapestry of what she sees. She spent her entire life weaving a distorted story with her back to the window, creating an iteration of an iteration of the truth. Like an AI image of a phone with a picture of a happy Instagram couple on vacation. Not a picture of the fight at the airport, just photos from the highlight reel. Imagine this is your curse. She's forced to weave that together all day, every day. In the painting, the tapestry is draped over the boat's edge, her life's work now wet, trailing along in the water. And the most intriguing aspect of the painting to me, is the expression on her face. It's fascinating to ask people who don't know the context of the story what they believe her facial expression. Expression shows everyone sees something different. A woman afraid, a woman brave, A woman exhausted, a woman full of grief. Some see a woman present, content in what appears to be a dark situation, seeking a woman about to release a chain. Literally, she holds a chain in the painting, the one that held the boat to the dock. She is about to drop it and allow her boat to take her with without an oar, wherever it may go. And she is keeping her eyes open. You thought this was your Run Club era? Turns out it was more of a thinking about Run Club era. The good news? Someone's marathon training is about to start. Sell your workout gear on Depop. Just snap a few photos and we'll take care of the rest. They get their race day fit and you get a payout for trying someone On Depop wants what you've got. Start selling now. Depop where taste recognizes taste. The lady of Shalott is a beautiful, beautiful painting, but it is also one of many, many examples of Victorian men's obsession with dead or doomed women. Poe was obsessed with dead or doomed, doomed women. John William Waterhouse is known for this being the subject of many of his pieces. He was also very much inspired by Millais's Ophelia. He took great inspiration from that painting when creating this one. Men were so infatuated with the idea of young dead women in this era that many women did what they could to become them, or at least look like them. To attract men, they would take arsenic to give themselves a ghastly pale blue pallor. Tuberculosis chic was mostly a fad for women, not men so much, although some dudes did lean into it as well. The goal was to take weakness, powerlessness, quietness, defenselessness, and make it fashion. I talk more about this in episode nine. And just as we've seen time and time again, it's generally the rise of certain feminist ideas in society that give birth to these kinds of fads. It's not a coincidence that just, just as women are now beginning to surpass men in education, homeownership, lifespan, college educated labor force positions, they're choosing to stay single because they can, that the tradwife has entered the chat. That was never a thing, by the way. This woman who does nothing but stays home, obeys her husband, does all of the childcare and the housework. In the 1800s, women had servants, governesses, nursemaids, even. Even women that were not in upper or even middle classes had help. They were not expected to silo themselves or take over the entire household. They also had jobs. Unless they were wealthy, many women still did what they could do to make some sewing, cleaning, cooking, laundry, teaching, sex work, working in factories, married women just as well. This era of pre Raphaelite, dead or doomed women obsession coincided with women's suffrage and at least in the west, perhaps the very first glimmers of female artists and writers being taken seriously. The lady of Shalott was painted in 1888, and in 1893, just five years later, Georgia O' Keeffe and Mary Cassatt took the art world by storm at the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Until the 1890s, women were still very much regarded as amateur statures, or their respected work was restricted to certain kinds of art, like creating miniatures. But with artists like Bertha Morissette, Rosa Bonheur and Waterhouse's own wife, Esther Kenworth, painting circles around many top male artists of the day. They were getting harder and harder to call amateurs. And like today, a selection of men felt their ego twitch and the glamorizing of powerless women became rather a la mode. And just like then as now, a large selection of the female population didn't fall for it either. Not every woman was swallowing arsenic. Many were in the streets demanding their rights. Many were continuing to paint their circles. Interestingly, it is believed that the model in the lady of Shalott is Esther Kenworth, his wife. It is, however, worth noting that that it is believed that she is the model in a few of his paintings. The very Not Dead, Doomed or Dying, Cleopatra and the Magic Circle, one of my very favorite paintings. Two very empowered figures of women. In fact, they look more like his wife than the woman in the lady of Shalott, in my opinion. I don't want to imply that I believe Waterhouse was trying to fantasize about his own wife being weak or dead or dying or doomed. It actually sounds like they had a lovely progressive relationship. They never had children. They preferred to focus on their art and each other's. And they lived in a purpose built artists colony at Primrose Hill with a number of other painters. There are no reported tawdry affairs or scandalous aspects of their relationship. They deeply respected each other's work and are buried beside one another in Kensal Green Cemetery. The romanticized ideas of helpless, defenseless, quiet, dead or dying or doomed women and the many depictions of dead and dying women to be found in both art and poetry of the day aside, the story of the lady of Shalott itself I don't believe is a particularly regressive one. It is a story about a woman told that she is only allowed to see her world falsely, who decides that she doesn't even care if it means that she will die, she will seek the truth. But the poem is left very open, ended on purpose, so you can take numerous meanings easily from it. That's one valid interpretation, but the other may be a warning. She was a woman destroyed for refusing to do as she was told. Simply see the beautiful world not entirely as it is, but a reasonable, safe facsimile. She chose not to fall in line and take what was good enough and paid the price. Was it worth it? Tennyson masterfully leaves this interpretation wide open. It truly does not appear that he wants the reader of the poem to believe either of those interpretations are his own. He famously did not define a definitive intended moral to the story, although in his own writings and letters he did express that he was exploring themes of danger, of isolation. But above all, quite simply, he wanted to create a meditation on the tension between living life and merely observing it. The poem creates a sense of an almost bewildering sense of beauty, of the world as it is, the beauty of truth and the way that it is described. In the poem. We, the reader, unlike the lady until the very end, get to see it from the beginning. It isn't described through her view. It is described as it truly is from a firsthand perspective. To me, and this is just my own interpretation, it appears to be begging a Would you not turn around as well, despite the cost? Would you not make the same decision that she made? What is life if it is only to be lived in family fantasy, separate from what is true? Maybe ask yourself that question as I read the lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson on either side the river lie long fields of barley and of rye that clothe the wold and meet the sky, and through the field the road runs by too many towns, Camelot the yellow leaved water lily, the green sheathed daffodilly tremble in the water Chilly roundabout Shalott willows whiten aspens shiver the sunbeam showers break and quiver in the stream that runneth ever by the island in the river flowing down to Camelot Four grey walls and and four gray towers overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle embowers the lady of Shalott. Underneath the bearded barley the Reaper, reaping late and early, hears her ever chanting cheerily like an angel singing clearly o' er the stream of Camelot Piling the sheaves in the of front furrows airy beneath the moon. The Reaper, weary listening, whispers, Tis the fairy lady of Shalott. The little isle is all enrailed with a rose fence, and over trailed with roses by the marge unhaled the shallop flitteth silken sailed, skimming down to Camelot a pearl garland with unwinds her head she leaneth on a velvet bed full royally apparelled the lady of Shalott no time hath she to sport and play A charmed web she weaves alway A curse is on her if she stay her weaving either night or day to look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she the lady of Shalott she lives with little joy or fear over the water running near the SHEEP BELL TINKLES IN her ear before her hangs a mirror clear reflecting towered Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls she sees the surly village churls and the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, an abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad or long haired page in crimson clad Goes by to towered Camelot. And sometimes through the mirror blue the knights come riding two and two. She hath no lord, loyal knight and true the lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights to weave the mirror's magic sights. For often through the silent nights of funeral with plumes and lights and music came from Camelot. Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed. I am half sick of shadows, said the lady of the Shalott. A bough shot from her bower eaves. He rode between the barley sheaves. The sun came dazzling through the leaves and flamed upon the brazen greaves of bold Sir Lancelot. A red cross knight forever kneeled to a lady in his shield that sparked on the yellow field beside remote Shalott the gemmy birdle glittered free like some branch of stars we see hung in the golden galaxy. The bridal bells rang merrily as he rode down from Camelot and from his blazoned baldric slung a mighty silver bugle hung. And as he rode his armor rung beside remote Shalott, all in the blue unclouded clouded weather, thick jeweled shone the saddle leather, the helmet and the helmet feather burned like one burning flame together as he rode down from Camelot as often through the purple light below the starry clusters bright some bearded meteor trailing light moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow and sight Sunlight glowed on burnished hooves his war horse trode. From underneath his helmet flowed his coal black curls as on he rode. As he rode down from Camelot, from the bank and from the river he flashed into the crystal mirror. Tira lira, lira lira, sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom. She made three paces through the room. She saw the water flower bloom. She saw the helmet and the plume. She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide. The mirror cracked from side to side. The curse has come upon me. Cried the lady of Shalott. In the stormy east wind straining the pale yellow woods were waning. The broken broad stream in his banks complaining heavily. The low sky raining over towered Camelot. Outside the isle a shallow boat beneath a willow lay afloat Below the carven stern she wrote the lady of Shalott. A cloud white crown of pearl she dight all raimented in snowy white that loosely flew her zone in sight Clasped with one blinding diamond bright her wide eyes fixed on Camelot Though the squally east wind keenly blew with folded arms serenely by the water stood the queenly lady of Shalott with steady stony glance like some bold seer in a trance Beholding all his own mischance Mute with a glassy countenance she looked down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day. She loosed the chain and down she lay the broad stream bore her far away the lady of Shalott as when the sailors while they roam by creeks and outfalls Far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam from dying swans wild warblings come blown shoreward so to Camelot still as the boat had wound along the willowy hills and fields among, they heard her chanting her death song the lady of Shalott A long drawn carol, mournful, holy, she chanted loudly, she chanted lowly Till her eyes were darkened wholly and her smooth face sharpened slowly turned toward towered Camelot. For ere she reached upon the tide the first house by the waterside Singing in her song, she died, the lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, by garden wall and gallery of a pale, pale corpse she floated by dead cold between the houses high dead into towered Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame to the planked wharfage came below the stern. They read her name, the lady of Shalott. They crossed themselves their stars they blessed knight, minstrel, abbot, squire and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast that puzzled more than all the rest the well fed wits at Camelot the web was woven curiously, the charm is broken utterly. Draw near and fear not. This is I, the Lady of Shalom. If you enjoyed this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate the show on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Leave me comments because I love them so much and for ad free listening. True crime extras, dark poetry and witchy content join the patreon@myvictoriannightmare.com Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares. Uncovered windows can make your home feel up to 20 degrees hotter. Stay cool and save up to 45% off custom window treatments during the 4th of July VIP access sale at blinds.com from outdoor shades to room darkening blinds, finding the perfect fit is easy. 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