53 pages 1 hour read

Moll Flanders

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1722

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Symbols & Motifs

Newgate

Newgate is a symbol of the unjust power and authority of the state, as well as of existential dread. Newgate was intended to be a deterrent against the explosion of thievery that occurred in the early 18th century. In the absence of a centralized police force, and amid the proliferation of merchants, the English courts imposed harsh punishments for minor crimes. Thus, one who steals a bundle of cloth or pickpockets a gold watch can expect to die. Yet even the constant fear of Newgate does not deter Moll from her criminal activities—nor does it deter the other criminals she knows. The theoretical threat of Newgate pales when starvation looms and options are limited.

Newgate is not an institution of reform, as prisons would later attempt to become; rather, it is a place that breeds criminality as much as it tries to deter it. As Moll’s mother talks of her experiences there, she condemns its very existence: “there are more thieves and rogues made by that one prison of Newgate than by all the clubs and societies of villains in the nation” (101). She goes on to suggest that the colonies are at least half-populated with the transported prisoners of Newgate. Newgate symbolizes not only the injustice of cruel punishment but also the horror of exile.

Newgate also signifies hopelessness: Moll witnesses numerous accomplices being carted off to Newgate never to be seen alive again. When she first comes to Newgate, she “looked upon [her]self as lost” (258). She has abandoned all hope. In just a few weeks, she becomes acclimated to the prison and alienated from herself: “I degenerated into stone: I turned first stupid and senseless, then brutish and thoughtless, and at last raving mad as any of them were” (262). Newgate destroys the mind and the soul and kills or banishes those to transgress the law, but it fails to prevent the crimes it punishes, creating a cycle of death and despair.

Disguise and Performance

Moll employs disguises throughout the novel with the aplomb of a theatrical performer. This motif reveals Moll’s talent for survival and her ability to escape difficult situations. Her very name is a kind of disguise behind which her real self can hide. She will not even tell her reader what her given name is: “it is not to be expected that I should set my name or the account of my family to this work; perhaps, after my death, it may be better known” (33). In this way, Moll evades telling the full truth and maintains the upper hand. She is the ultimate authority on Moll Flanders; only she knows all of her secrets.

She begins using the name Mrs. Flanders early on, long before the beginning of her criminal career. It is a way to protect her assets and maintain control of her persona. After her second husband flees to France, Moll travels to the Mint, the financial district of early 18th-century London, and decides to conceal her true self: “the first thing I did was to go quite out of my knowledge, and go by another name” (81). This talent for discretion serves her well throughout the novel; it is one of many skills necessary for survival. Frequently, the disguise is merely one that amplifies Moll’s own identity, adding legitimacy to her performance. For example, when she resides among wealthy families in the country or goes into the city to work as a pickpocket, she dresses like a fortunate gentlewoman: “I had very good clothes on, and a gold watch by my side, as like a lady as other folks” (206). She already thinks of herself as a gentlewoman—indeed, she has been trained as one and married as one—so this disguise only serves to mask her lost assets. It also provides her a shield against any accusations: “Everything looked so honest about me, that they treated me civiller than I expected” (211). Looking the part of the gentlewoman keeps Moll from prison more than once.

She dresses also as a beggar when it serves her purpose, and her governess convinces her to dress as a man for a time. Shedding her male disguise keeps her from the gallows. She dons makeup—something a gentlewoman would never do—for her meeting with the man she robbed in the coach. This disguise signifies her willingness to enter into a sexual arrangement with him, and it is also a way for Moll to distance herself from the proceedings. All of these disguises serve to protect her in some way, but they are also, sometimes, playful and roguish. Still, Moll’s best disguise is Moll Flanders herself, master thief and mysterious outlaw: “My name was public among them indeed, but how to find me out they knew not, not so much as how to guess at my quarters” (214). She slips among them, bands of thieves and groups of gentlewomen alike, a liminal figure who never remains static for long.

The Weakness of the Gentleman

Moll Flanders depicts the people with the most power and advantages in society—gentlemen—as the most weak. Women, who are barred from amassing hard power—the right to own property, to work in the marketplace, or to petition for divorce—must possess strength and ingenuity to survive. By contrast, upper-class men are weak in these areas and succumb quickly to temptation and despair. Moll describes the gentlemen of the Mint: “he flies to the same relief again, viz. to drink it away, debauch it away, and falling into the company of men in just the same condition as himself, he repeats the crime” (82). She describes men who take up with mistresses to the distress of their actual families. When Moll tells her third husband that he is actually her brother, he is almost undone by the revelation, whereas Moll has held herself together. When her banker husband loses almost all of his fortune, he grows ill and then dies. Moll soldiers onward, learning to survive by whatever means necessary. Even the Lancashire husband reveals his weakness when Moll reveals her plan for them to be transported to the colonies: “there [in the colonies] he should be the most ignorant, helpless wretch alive. I told him he frighted and terrified himself with that which had no terror in it” (283). Moll reinforces her husband’s spirits when he cannot.

These feelings of helplessness are at least partially linked to the concept of what it means to be a gentleman. First, the Lancashire husband has the notion that “servitude and hard labour were things a gentleman could never stoop to” (282). He believes execution to be the nobler route, following the code of conduct set down by the social standards of the time. Indeed, when he and Moll make it to the colonies, he proves himself fairly useless. Moll well knows that she must supervise him: “The case was plain: he was bred a gentleman, and by consequence was not only unacquainted [with work], but indolent” (304). Thus, she must oversee the management of the plantation because he would much rather be hunting or loafing. While Moll does not explicitly criticize him for this, one suspects that the author himself obliquely critiques the notion that the gentleman is an exalted position. Indeed, within the next century, the “captains of industry” will fuel England’s growing wealth and international prominence, while the gentleman will slowly retreat to the countryside in ever-dwindling numbers.

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