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Dapkus analyzes the relationship between Jane Campion's films "The Piano" and "The Portrait of a Lady," which is based on a novel by Henry James.

[When Warburton proposes, Isabel] would have given her little finger at that moment to feel strongly and simply the impulse to answer: "Lord Warburton, It's impossible for me to do better in this wonderful world, I think, than to commit myself, very gratefully, to your loyalty." But though she was lost in admiration of her opportunity she managed to move back into the deepest shade of it, even as some wild, caught creature in a vast cage. (James, The Portrait of a Lady 106-07)1

[After Ada's husband realizes she has betrayed him he] takes her right hand and holds it in place with his boot so that only Ada's index finger shows.... The axe falls. Ada's face buckles in pain. Blood squirts. . . (Campion, The Piano Screenplay 97)2

The world, in truth, had never seemed so large; it seemed to open out, all round her, to take the form of a mighty sea, where she floated in fathomless waters. She had wanted help, and here was help; it had come in a rushing torrent . . . she believed just then that to let him take her in his arms would be the next best thing to her dying. This belief, for a moment, was a kind of rapture, in which she felt herself sink and sink. In the movement she seemed to beat with her feet, in order to catch herself, to feel something to rest on . . . the confusion, the noise of waters, all the rest of it, were in her own swimming head . . . she felt each thing in his hard manhood that had least pleased her, each aggressive fact of his face, his figure, his presence, justified of its intense identity and made one with this act of possession. So had she heard of those wrecked and under water following a train of images before they sink. But when darkness returned she was free. (James, The Portrait of a Lady 542)

The rope tightens and grips her foot so that she is snatched into the sea, and pulled by the piano down through the cold water.... Down she falls, on and on, her eyes are open.... She kicks at the rope, but it holds tight around her boot. She kicks hard again and then, with her other foot, levers herself free from her shoe. The piano and her shoe continue their fall while Ada floats above, suspended in deep water, then suddenly her body awakes and fights, struggling upwards to the surface. (Campion, The Piano Screenplay 121)

I

Some time before I learned that Jane Campion had chosen to direct Henry James's novel The Portrait of a Lady as her next film, I was struck by a strong affinity between her earlier film. The Piano, and James's novel. I had already decided to write up an analysis of a relationship of the two works. So it is with some pleasure that I can hypothesize that Campion may have sensed a connection between Portrait and Piano, because her efforts to direct a film version of Portrait immediately follow in the wake of Piano's huge success. Two other feature films she has directed, which also involve unusual, intense women, are Sweetie (1989) and An Angel at My Table (1991). The Piano (1993) is not only Campion's most important film to date, but has also earned her the prestigious Paime d'Or. Moreover, her success deserves even greater praise because, not only did she direct Piano, she wrote both the story and screenplay. Furthermore, I am certain that after Portrait has been released as a film, there will be an energetic rush by reviewers and critics alike to compare Piano and Portrait as films. There will also likely be some people who think to compare Campion's other films with James's Portrait. As the pairs of quotes provided at the beginning of this paper attest, the references both stories make to fingers as well as to near-drownings suggest the relationship of the works is remarkably interesting and perhaps an intention on the part of Campion.

I saw Piano and, shortly after, I read Portrait for the first time. I could not help but connect the two works in a profound way in terms of structure and meaning. The connection is so powerful, in fact, that it seems as though Campion might have created Piano as a reaction to her own reading of Portrait. This may seem strange at first, because Piano is filled with surrealistic images and powerful symbols, while Portrait is a cerebrally realistic novel filled with typical Jamesian elaborateness. In fact, the works are realized so differently that I consider them often to be antithetical rather than obviously similar to one another. But this seductive, antithetical element intrigues me as well, because, in spite of the fact that the two works do not resemble one another in style or tone, Piano seems to echo Portrait structurally, and the heroines experience revelations related to strikingly similar struggles between their natural selves, including their sexual selves, and their positions within a Victorian society which demands that they live up to certain moral and aesthetic ideals.

Before I articulate the thesis of this paper directly, I will summarize the existing discussion of the two works, particularly the discussion which involves the two heroines. Campion's film Piano has not existed long enough to have been as much analyzed as Portrait has been. Still, numerous film reviews do offer a variety of interpretations, especially of the protagonist of Piano, Ada. She is described by critics as a woman, bound by the restrictions of Victorian society, who-largely through the exploration of her sexual self-is trying to break free of the demands of her civilized culture. "She is a memorably eccentric heroine who finds her place in the world by pushing instinctively against the res-century civilization" (Ansen 53). "The story worms further into the guts of Victorian experience than most historical dramas" (Lane 151). Ada is described as an extremely independent woman who will stop at nothing to have her freedom. "In creating Ada, [Campion] has made a heroine who is willful, instinctive, centered, yet deeply sexual" (Buck 127). "Ada is vastly selfpossessed yet free of vanity . . she needs no man to come and rescue her" (Lane 149). She is "indomitably strong-willed" (Klawans 705). Ada must choose whether or not to acknowledge her sexuality, knowing that the consequences for doing so will mean a great sacrifice for herself in a social sense. In the case of Piano, Ada does explore her sexual self. Campion realizes this largely through the "easy allegory" (Klawans 705) of Ada's piano, which is "her chief mode of self-expression" (Simon 66). Not only does it represent Ada's "symbolic voice" (Kauffmann, Simon, Ansen, Buck), it is a "bridge to a deeper relationship than what's called marriage, one rooted in sex, one that also demands sacrifice" (Buck 128). Also, the piano itself serves to bridge the realms of the strict ideals of Victorian society, and the natural part of Ada. It is a metaphor for "civilization marooned on a primeval landscape" (Buck 128). Edward Rothstein, in his article "A Piano as Salvation, Temptation and Star," provides some intriguing information about the role of pianos in the nineteenth century. He notes that Ada's piano, a Broadbent created by "England's most distinguished manufacturer," with its English brand name and its drawing-room cabinetry, "is an alien visitation" to the New Zealand shore. He points out that learning to play the piano was considered a "must" for all "decent and civilized" girls. Courtships were handled around the piano and in this way it came to represent both risk and respectability. Rothstein claims that "the piano is a sign of civilization and cultivation, opposing the natural surroundings [but it is also] an embodiment of natural forces" (C15). In effect, the piano, as an idealization of both the highest form of civilization and the most basic rhythms in nature, represents the dualistic nature of Ada herself. But, she is somehow bound by it at first in the film. "If anything, the instrument appears to possess her" (Lane 48). And, until she is sexually awakened later in the film, the piano serves a dualistic purpose. It is both her inhibitor and her bridge to freedom.

In James's Portrait, Isabel has earned a wide variety of interpretations. Many critics have seen her as a tragic figure, failing in her self-proclaimed quest for freedom and experience. They say Isabel has a "sober, almost dispassionate acceptance of life's limitations" (Ventura 37). She has a "fundamental timidity towards life and fear of self-assertion despite her many pronouncements to the contrary" (Peterson 21). Her final and inescapable destiny is "the prison of womanhood" (Sabiston 339).

However, plenty of critics have also recognized the triumph of Isabel's character, especially in regards to her emergence as a self-actualized person within a context which makes it very difficult for a woman to become so. Like Ada, these critics see Isabel as searching for her freedom and maintaining her ability to choose her fate. Isabel is "independent, selfwilled, freedom loving" (Wiseman 463). "Like America, she is ardently engaged in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." She is "consciously and deliberately self-creating," "fanatic in her quest for freedom" (McMaster 50, 57). She is "a young woman affronting her destiny" (Sangari 714). In Isabel, "James found a literary solution which created possibilities of freedom for himself as an artist, as well as possibilities for the women he admired" (Niemtzow 393). The interpretations which regard Isabel as a character who somehow triumphs in spite of the obstacles in her way are interesting to the discussion in this paper because they support the thesis that includes the assumption that Isabel succeeds as a woman searching for her true self. There is yet another interesting element to Isabel which is at the very core of why her decisions represent a "freedom" rather than a "prison." This element has to do with Isabel's unreleased, sexual self. The notion is certainly not new. Critics have often interpreted Isabel's meetings with male characters other than her husband, Osmond, as illustrations of her fear of her sexual desire (Hochenauer, Vopat, Niemtzow, Sangari). In fact, these critics argue that Isabel's struggle is one which involves her own "secret self ' and the demands of the society in which she lives. They feel that Isabel cannot afford to give in to her hidden passions because, not only would it mean that she would sacrifice all of the luxuries society reserves for the "morally correct" woman, it would also mean that she would somehow lose control over herself-something she fears more than anything else. "There is tension between the passionate Isabel and the inhibited Isabel.... Isabel's divided sexuality, then, becomes the point not the problem" (Hochenauer 19-20). "Because she feels her sexuality so strongly, she feels in danger of falling" (Niemtzow 386). And, "the maintenance of her individual identity and what it represents hinges on the rejection of the men who define her too tightly, whether in terms of status or sexuality" (Sangari 723). "Isabel Archer is terrified of passion. . . once to begin feeling is to risk being unable to stop, to court either passion or irrationality, both of which signal the death of the self' (Vopat 43). Clearly, these critics see Isabel's sexuality as a burden to her, and so it certainly would have been historically. Nancy F. Cott's piece on Victorian sexual ideology points out the following:

In sexual encounters, women had more than an even chance to lose, whether by censure under the double standard, unwanted pregnancy and health problems, or ill-fated marriage. In this perspective, women might hail passionlessness as a way to assert control in the sexual arena-even if that "control" consisted in denial. (Cott 233)

She adds that women "downplay altogether their sexual characterization which was the cause of their exclusion from significant 'human' (i.e., male) pursuits" (Cott 233). In light of this, it is easy to see why Isabel, who is so profoundly interested in maintaining control of her self and her situation, would repress her sexuality. She is venturing into a world which had normally been experienced only by men-a world where she alone controls and owns her voice, her choices, and her fate.

How, then, can Isabel become free? The answer lies in the artistry of James as he creates in Isabel a work of art who functions realistically. James's "portrait" of Isabel is highly sensitive to real problems which faced any woman seeking to self-actualize in the nineteenth century. In order to be realistic, he makes Isabel deal with any and all elements that threaten her freedom to choose. It turns out that the most significant of these is her suppressed sexual self. Its undeniable existence makes things difficult for her, but the achievement of James's work is that he creates a female who realistically finds a way to self-assert, by overcoming distractions caused by her sexual desire, and despite the absolute impossibility of living up to the ideals placed before her by society. "Isabel's strength of character allows her to exercise her own freedom within this web of complexity and intrigue" (King 347). "Being a lady means achieving total unity of self" (Vopat 47). "James's novel seeks to accrete the values of femaleness qua subjectivity to an increasingly 'vulgar' commercial culture in an attempt to transcend it" (Sangari 723). He is in favor of "the civilizing power of the cultivated female consciousness," and for women he "asserts the power of impotence," which in turn gives rise to a "birth pang of mature awareness" (Sangari 734).

II

I will now direct the attention of this analysis back to the heart of this essay, a comparison of Piano and Portrait. The two works are interesting for the way they each portray female protagonists, who embark on quests for self-actualization and freedom3 within parameters set by Victorian standards, and who succeed in this because of their ability to discard the most significant burdens in their lives, those which have been preventing them from becoming liberated. Their choices transcend the competing forces of their natural selves and the expectations of civilization. Particularly fascinating is the way that both works present their heroines in such a way that-at corresponding moments of truth near the end of both the film and the novel-the audience is manipulated into "rooting" for the opposite choice than the one each heroine ultimately makes. However, there is almost simultaneously a sense of the overwhelming "rightness" of each heroine's choice when examined as the result ensured by events which have led up to it. Sensationally, each choice at first seems to represent an agonizing loss of freedom and happiness, but the revelation is that each choice really represents each heroine sloughing off the most crushing burdens which have been controlling her life, and actually preventing her from having the potential to gain true control of herself. For Ada, ultimate freedom involves the separation of herself from her piano. Because the piano is her, in effect, her revelation is paradoxical, because she must lose herself to find herself. In Portrait, the idea of freedom is elusive, best expressed by Sangari who says that Isabel's freedom has to do with the revelation that "maintenance of freedom is the suspension of its operation" (Sangari 731 ). As with Ada, Isabel's revelation is paradoxical.

Piano and Portrait are certainly works realized in totally different ways, yet their similarities in structure and meaning suggest both the possibility of a discussion of their parallel elements and also a discussion of their antithetical elements. However, it is easiest to discuss the parallel and antithetical elements together, because they are inseparable in terms of the evidence which reveals them. To examine these elements, and to therefore explain the corresponding behaviors of both heroines, in the following section I will list eleven of the most significant parallel and/or antithetical elements in a two-part format. This list will serve to illustrate a remarkable similarity in the way the heroines progress within the constraints of their Victorian environments, and it will show how they self-actualize through a series of choices which, when examined in comparison from one work to the other, diametrically oppose each other. For Ada, the moral and aesthetic ideals of civilization are a burden to her, and she must release natural desires in order to become free. For Isabel, her natural desires are a burden to her, and she must embrace the moral and aesthetic ideals of civilization in order to become free.

III

1a. Piano makes fun of Victorian restrictions and contrasts them with earthy, erotic images. Ada is an "alien" to the New Zealand coast. At the beginning of the film she is someone arriving from a far-away, civilized land. She and her piano are distinctly out of place on the savage shore. However, her character progressively changes to accommodate the natural surroundings along with her awakening sexual desires. The film makes fun of the prudish Victorian limitations on humanity, and it highlights the freeing aspects of the passionate, sexual sides of humanity. This is most apparent in the many scenes which involve native New Zealanders, the Maoris, as they contrast the Victorians and, often, mock them. For example, in the beginning of the film, as Stewart arrives on the beach to collect Ada and her things, the Maoris mock the Europeans by mimicking their behaviors (F, Scene 16), and they make ridiculing comments to each other that no one but Baines understands. One such comment comes from Pito, who says in reference to Stewart (subtitled), "Watch it, dry-balls is getting touchy" (F, Scene 16). This taunting undercurrent by the Maoris continues throughout the film, and Ada's eventual migration to Baines's hut shows that she will eventually align herself with the more natural, sexually open natives.

1b. Portrait contrasts "high European society" with the earthier American one by making fun of a posturing, decadent Europe, and by favoring the more energetic openness of the Americans. Isabel is an "alien" to the European society. At first she is someone who is arriving in Europe after coming from a far-away, relatively uncivilized society-namely, America. There are repeated references to her quality of being "natural." She strikes Ralph early on as being "very natural" (48). "She had a natural taste" (50). It is only after the novel progresses that she changes into a person who must deliberately suppress her natural self. The novel emphasizes the inadequacy of the American environment as a place suitable for "a lady" to self-actualize, and it posits the European environment as an ideal place for this to happen.

2a. Ada does not speak verbally. She refuses to use communication in a "civilized" manner. Instead she opts for communicating with her piano, or by using a harsh, primitive form of hand-signing with her daughter, Flora. In fact, Flora, who does speak, becomes "a sort of moral consciousness" (Jurkiewicz, Interview) for that period in history, and in the following conversation contrasts Ada's character by showing her disdain for her mother's methods of communication:

AUNT MORAG: I can't imagine a fate worse than being dumb.

NESSIE: To be deaf?

AUNT MORAG: Oh yes, deaf too-terrible! Awful!

FLORA: Actually, to tell you the whole truth, Mama says most people speak rubbish and it's not worth the listen.

AUNT MORAG and NESSIE exchange looks.

AUNT MORAG (Stiffly.): Well, that is a strong opinion.

FLORA: Yes, it's unholy.

Flora's comments and her own angelic image, which is enhanced by her wearing angel's wings throughout much of the film, underscore Ada's deviation from the ways of civilization. However, once Flora witnesses the brutal removal of her mother's finger-an incident she helped bring about by tattling to Stewart about Ada's adultery-she becomes truly horrified. This effects, in her and in viewers of the film, a definite bias against the morals of the "civilized" Stewart, who would chop off his wife's finger. Through her "deviant" behavior, Ada comes to represent all that is morally right and true according to nature while the legitimacy of the morality of the "civilized" Victorians is overturned.

2b. Isabel speaks often. Her story is told largely through dialogue with others, or through the "verbose" thoughts James allows us to see in her head. She explores the European continent for its depth of culture, and she comes to embrace civilization wholeheartedly. Isabel's retreat from her natural self is illustrated in a comparison between she and Madame Merle. In a scene that is fascinating to the thesis of this paper, Merle is first introduced to Isabel through an introduction that takes place through the sound of Merle's piano playing. As Merle plays music in a different room of the house, Isabel is drawn to her: "the girl took her way . . . toward the source of the harmony" (163). The music moves Isabel so strongly that she begs Merle to play some more, and this time, "while she played the shadows deepened in the room. The autumn twilight gathered in, and from her place Isabel could see the rain" (164). The whole scene has a very natural tone to it, because there is moving music, and falling rain. James aligns Merle with nature in this way even though, at first, Isabel views Merle as very civilized and high-class. However, later, as is foreshadowed by Merle's deeply moving piano playing and the "deepening shadows," Isabel discovers that Merle has betrayed her by not disclosing the facts of her adulterous affair with Osmond, and the resulting illegitimate child, Pansy. Suddenly, it is apparent that Merle has, at one time, given in to her own nature, her sexual desire, in spite of the sacrifices she knew she would make. Isabel is ultimately repulsed by Merle, and, simultaneously, understands that she is also repulsed by her own sexual self. If she is to "be what she appeared," and "appear what she was" (55), she has no choice but to eliminate her natural, sexual self, and pursue a self that is in harmony with the ideals of civilization. In this way, Isabel comes to represent all that is morally right and true according to civilization and the moral and aesthetic idealism which accompanies it.

3a. Ada has a total of three suitors in the film. The first is a man the viewers never get to see, but he is the father of her illegitimate daughter, Flora. Although he represents Ada's first sexual encounter, Campion says in her interview with Brian D. Johnson that "we imagine it was a pretty rudimentary experience" (Johnson 74). The second suitor is her husband, Stewart, who is completely wrong for her in terms of sexual chemistry, and who is also unable to recognize the importance of Ada's piano as a pathway to her heart. His inability to see her clearly eventually causes him to completely misunderstand her liaisons with Baines, and he becomes a villain, chopping off one of her fingers in a fruitless attempt to control her. He and the first suitor are her "sexless" experiences with men. Finally, there is Baines who ostensibly becomes the recipient of Ada's piano teaching after he procures ownership of the piano. For a time, he seems to exert control over Ada because he uses her desire to have her piano back to bargain for sexual favors. Baines recognizes best advantage so that he has the gratification of observing her as he engages himself in erotic fantasies. Eventually, Ada participates willingly in sexual acts with him. She does not consider him to be a person who has ensnared her into doing this. Instead, she ends up using him to release her natural self, and to gain her freedom.

3b. Isabel has a total of four suitors in the novel. The first is Goodwood, who is an American businessman, and who most obviously represents a constant temptation to Isabel's natural side-her erotic self. "Isabel sees Goodwood as a `walking erection"' (Hochenauer 20). Ultimately, Isabel is able to reject Goodwood's advances in a final scene which illustrates perfectly her choice to accept the moral and aesthetic truths she finds in fine art and civilization rather than to give in to her natural inclinations. The second suitor is Ralph, Isabel's cousin, who is never truly in the running as a husband because he suffers from consumption. However, ironically, it is Ralph who most resembles Baines in Piano because it is he who procures the means to attempt to control Isabel in her life by ensuring that she receives seventy-thousand pounds as an inheritance. Like Baines, Ralph is interested in observing

Isabel, and he does this for his own gratification. He seems to be the character who best reflects Isabel's character, and it is through him that Isabel experiences her most profound feelings:

"Isabel," [Ralph] went on suddenly, "I wish it were over for you." She answered nothing; she had burst into sobs . . . she had lost all her shame. all wish to hide things . . . she wished him to know, for it brought them supremely together. (528)

Like Ada with Baines, Isabel does not consider Ralph as having trapped her. His gift of seventy-thousand pounds is ironically the vehicle which leads her into a fate that she could never have chosen if she had not had the money.

The third suitor is Warburton, an English lord who seems genuinely attached and loyal to Isabel. His presence is troubling to Isabel because he represents yet another compelling sexual outlet. His proclamation that he will "come to see her" results in her receiving "an appreciable shock" which she cannot pretend "was an altogether painful one." Still, she succeeds in sending him away by becoming "cold." And her coldness "came from a certain fear" (82). Of course, this "certain fear" is of what would happen if she unleashed her sexual self.

The final suitor is Osmond. He becomes Isabel's superficial, dishonest husband, and he resembles Stewart in Piano because he is unable to appreciate Isabel on any level that would connect them intimately. Osmond is the epitome of someone who is an ideal rather than a real person. Like Stewart, he is the suitor who represents a social ideal. Ironically, although Osmond parallels Stewart's character, he is the antithetical parallel to Baines's character as well. Osmond becomes the only man Isabel can tolerate because he is the only one of her suitors who is largely passionless and sexless in his appeal to her. In Piano, Baines becomes the only man Ada can tolerate because he is the only one of her suitors who is passionate and sexual.

4a. The story of "Bluebeard" is acted out as a play in the film by townspeople. It gruesomely depicts Bluebeard chopping off the head of his wife, who had committed an act of treason against him by peeking behind a door he had forbidden her to open. The play foreshadows Ada's exploration into the "locked room" of her own sexual desire, and it foreshadows the rage of her husband, Stewart, as he chops off her finger after he discovers that she has disobeyed him (F, Scenes 69, 117).

4b. There is a skewe-room motif of the "Bluebeard" story in Portrait when James describes Isabel's grandmother's house. In it there is a door which Isabel refuses to open, because "this would have interfered with her theory that there was a strange, unseen place on the other side-a place which became to the child's imagination, according to its different moods, a region of delight or of terror" (31), and so "never assured herself that the vulgar street lay beyond" (31). As for Ada, this unopened, tantalizing door of Isabel's childhood foreshadows her later struggle for balance. However, unlike Ada, Isabel quite consciously and deliberately resolves never to open the door to that "region of delight or of terror."

5a. Fully aware of the terrible rage she knows her husband will feel if she proceeds with her adulterous affair with Baines, Ada ends up sacrificing her finger to have her sexual gratification.

5b. When Warburton proposes, Isabel "would have given her little finger at that moment to feel strongly and simply the impulse to [accept]" (106), but she withdraws out of fear that she will lose control of herself.

6a. In Piano Ada, though mute, is fiercely independent, strong-willed, and bent on having her own way. In the first scene she reveals in a voice-over the following:

I have not spoken since I was six years old. No one knows why, not even me. My father says it is a dark talent and the day I take it into my head to stop breathing will be my last. (F, Scene 2)

There is no question that Ada's "dark talent" is her almost incredible will, and its power is revealed in a series of choices she makes as she struggles against the confines of her situation. It is her will which allows her to break the bonds dictated by Victorian society so that she can awaken her natural self and give in to her sexual desires. It is also the fact of the strength of her will which convinces her husband, Stewart, to release her to Baines. Because Ada is mute, Stewart understands her in one scene only because she telepaths a message to him. Later, he relates her "words" to Baines:

"She said, I have to go, let me go, let Baines take me away, let him try and save me. I am frightened of my will, of what it might do, it is so strange and strong." (F, Scene 136)

Finally, it is Ada's will which saves her after she deliberately allows herself to be dragged under the ocean water along with her piano. As she is being pulled far into the depths of the ocean, suddenly she struggles, breaks free, and emerges safely from her near-drowning. In a voice-over, she exclaims:

What a death!

What a chance!

What a surprise!

My will has chosen life!? (F, Scene 147)

6b. In Portrait, Isabel is also described as independent and radically strong-willed. Right away she proclaims, "I'm very fond of my liberty" (27). Other characters describe her as "capable of anything" (36), and as "a clever girl-with a strong will and a high temper" (46). After she moves to London, Isabel has a conversation with Mrs. Touchett:

"I always want to know the things one should'nt do."

"So as to do them?" asked her aunt.

"So as to chooe,' said Isabel(70)

And Isabel does choose. She keeps her word and regularly asserts her power: "I'm fond of .. my personal independence.... I wish to choose my own fate" (153-54). Ultimately, Isabel's strong will is what keeps her from succumbing to Goodwood's appeal that she leave Osmond at the end of the novel. Clearly, Isabel is a person who is adamantly trying to maintain control over the outcome of her life, and, in light of the big obstacles she must overcome to do this, her powerful will is an essential facet to her character.

7a. Ada is in no way apologetic about her deviation from the boundaries of society. She consistently follows her natural impulses-regardless of the cost to others around her or to her "good name." Holly Hunter, the actress who portrayed Ada in the film, says the following about her: "Ada had her own personal set of morals that guided her; society's did not really touch her. She didn't really have shame or guilt in her make-up" (S 149). Also, we see Ada proceed with her adulterous affair even after her husband has become aware of it. Her attitude is one of self-absorption rather than of shame or guilt (F, Scene 111). In this way, she is able to act without regard to others and without excusing herself by blaming others for what happens to her. Her actions are her own and she is fully responsible for all of her choices. It is this self-absorption which allows her to focus so acutely on her own desires and needs so that, ultimately, she is able to define for herself her greatest burdens-the things which hide her from herself. Her quest for self-actualization takes her to the brink of death, but stubborn, self-serving will permits her to free herself just in time from the burden, the mask, of her piano.

7b. Like Ada, Isabel is not apologetic about her decisions. She chooses to ignore her friends' reservations about her marriage to Osmond, and she remains "bent on pleasing herself" (McMaster 54). Her self-serving attitude is what allows her to act without regard to others, and it is also what keeps her from violating her moral center by blaming her actions on others. When she learns that Madame Merle has "made a convenience" of her by manipulating her into marrying Osmond, Isabel absorbs her pain, rather than focusing her wrath on Merle or Osmond. If at first it seems that she is making the more self-destructive choice, James is actually indicating the opposite. Paradoxically, Isabel's only chance at gaining the elusive freedom of owning herself is to take on total responsibility for absolutely everything that happens to her-whether it is her fault or not. To have blamed Merle or Osmond would have meant that she was deferring part of herself to their ownership, and the result would have been an undeniable violation of herself-not to mention a violation of her "portrait" as a lady. Only Isabel's extraordinary strength of character, her will, her sense of purpose, can enable her to succeed in transcending the pettiness of Merle's and Osmond's betrayal, and also the seductive power of Goodwood's final appeal. She will not hide behind the security offered by these attempts to manipulate her. She realizes that "there was no use pretending, wearing a mask or a dress" (392).

8a. Ada is "most of all an artist: not an artist who will necessarily be recognized for her art, but someone who can only expose herself through art" (Buck 127). Ada is an artist through her piano. She eschews speech by being literally mute. Ultimately, through her artistic expression and her self-absorption, she creates an existential truth-herself.

8b. Isabel is not obviously an artist at first, but she undertakes to make her life itself a work of art. She is constantly compared to a work of art, especially by Ralph, who thinks she is a "real little passionate force to see at play . . . finer than the finest work of art" (65), and by James himself who, after all, is creating "the portrait" in the first place. Isabel tries obsessively to observe and to imitate art. She seeks her true self through her ability to imitate what she interprets to be the truth in art. And, as some interpretations would have, she becomes "an artist of sorts" in the creation of herself (Ventura, McMaster). As with Ada, Isabel's truth is existential because it finally is her.

9a. Ada courts death near the end of the film. There is an underwater sequence as she sinks into depthless waters. Campion describes her near-death in her screenplay: Down she falls, on and on, her eyes are open.... She kicks at the rope ... livers herself free from her shoe. The piano and her shoe continue their fall while Ada floats above, suspended in deep water, then suddenly her body awakes and fights, struggling upwards to the surface. (S 146)

Ada's flirtation with suicide is a deliberate move on her part to attempt to hide in the security that death would offer her. At the point just before she begins to struggle against the ropes which have been holding her to her piano and causing her to be dragged under water, she is still hoping that somehow, if she clings to her piano, she will find refuge from that which threatens her. It is her one last attempt to cleave to the very thing that will certainly entrap her forever-civilization, embodied by the piano. But, the whole sequence indicates that, unlike some interpretations have suggested, her freedom does not come as a result of Baines "taking her away." Rather it is something completely separate from her involvement with him. It involves her getting rid of the imprisoning presence of the piano in her life, and it is only after she comes out from hiding behind the "mask" of the piano that she is able to become "reborn" into the invulnerable, fully self-actualized state that she is in at the conclusion of the film.

9b. For Isabel, "Death.... a sort of petrification-becomes increasingly attractive to her" (McMaster 64). She seeks for a time to become static, like the dead, or like a work of art: "She envied the security of valuable 'pieces' which change by no hair's breadth" (522). She ultimately does not choose death, but, as in Ada's case, the fact that she has flirted with death helps her to direct herself without further fear from those things which have been most confining for her-namely, her sexual passion. At the end of Portrait, at a point exactly corresponding to the point at which Ada experiences her near-drowning in Piano, there is a moment when Isabel experiences a sensation quite similar to Ada's:

The world, in truth, had never seemed so large; it seemed to open out, all round her, to take the form of a mighty sea, where she floated in fathomless waters. She had wanted help, and here was help; it had come in a rushing torrent . . . she believed just then that to let him take her in his arms would be the next best thing to her dying. This belief, for a moment, was a kind of rapture, in which she felt herself sink and sink. In the movement she seemed to beat with her feet, in order to catch herself, to feel something to rest on . . . the confusion, the noise of waters, all the rest of it, were in her own swimming head . . . she felt each thing in his hard manhood that had least pleased her, each aggressive fact of his face, his figure, his presence, justified of its intense identity and made one with this act of possession. So had she heard of those wrecked and under water following a train of images before they sink. But when darkness returned she was free. (542)

Like Ada's, this "underwater experience" is Isabel's one last temptation to cleave to that which would surely entrap her forever-her passionate, sexual self. Not only is Isabel free from Goodwood "possessing" her, she also knows where to turn: "There was a very straight path" (543).

10a. Near the end of the film, Ada literally drops the burden which corrupts her: her piano. It has represented so much throughout the film, but ultimately, it represents that part of herself which was vulnerable. Stewart and Baines were able to manipulate her by using her attachment to her piano to direct her. It has only been through the piano that anyone else has ever had any say in how she lived her life. She finally recognizes that the piano has "unbalanced" her and so she rids herself of its binding force in order to free herself completely, and to avoid ever being manipulated by it again.

10b. Near the end of the novel, Isabel frees herself from her last and most important burden: her passionate nature. It has threatened her desire to emulate the ideal woman throughout her experience, and it represents that part of herself which is vulnerable. Goodwood has repeatedly appealed to this side of her, and has moved her on several occasions. But if she were to give in even once to these foreign desires, then she would lose control over herself and would be at the mercy of society's wrath. Her disposing of Goodwood is extremely telling because his final offer comes at a time when Isabel feels most vulnerable. The fact that she is able to resist him makes her even stronger than before, and she is able to return to Osmond with a frame of mind that is truly within her own control. She owns herself fully because she is no longer vulnerable.

11 a. In Piano Ada finds that truth exists naturally, and that it may be discovered in nature if one is willing to "give in" to natural impulses. If one does this fully, then there is no danger of losing one's self. The result is that one ultimately discovers one's self. Ada's specialness as a fiercely independent, willful woman enables her to focus directly on those impulses which lead her to the truth of who she really is. More important, she is now unlikely to lose sight of herself because she has met the worst threat head-on and overcome it.

11b. In Portrait Isabel finds that truth exists somewhere within the moral and aesthetic ideals which have been placed before her through fine art and culture. This truth may be discovered by one who is very determined as long as she is willing to search consciously, and openly for it, and as long as she does not violate herself by refusing to take responsibility for choices she has made. Isabel's stubbornness, and her single-minded, conscious search to find a life that enables her to choose her identity, are qualities which enable her to find out who she truly is.

IV

The beauty of great art is that we can appreciate the revelations it provides without having to experience these revelations through the reality of living. In effect, Piano and Portrait resemble well-timed snapshots of two women's lives properly lived. But the wisdom and meanings in the snapshots are revelations difficult to grasp, and even more difficult to retain. We witness Ada and Isabel relieving themselves of their most profound burdens in order to self-actualize, and at first, we are shocked by their actions. Ada's piano seems so necessary to her, and Goodwood's final appeal seems too good to pass up-especially if Isabel is to have any chance to experience sexual satisfaction. How then, can these women give up such seemingly fundamental facets of themselves, and still emerge as free? The answer is apparent through the expert use of media for each work. In Piano we see Ada emerge in a cleansing "rebirth" from her near-drowning at the end of the film (F, Scene 147). Likewise, we must trust James when, with his writer's brilliance, he describes Isabel as "free" (542). And, if we have experienced the works properly, we feel that intangible "sense" that the heroines have somehow evolved into women who finally recognize things about themselves that are burdens to them. With this growth they succeed, where most others fail, when they unerringly manage to detect and eliminate those aspects of themselves which are most threatening to their chances for self-actualization. Although Ada has to throw away her civilized identity, the piano, and Isabel must lose forever her passionate, sexual self, the heroines' ability to release these aspects, in turn, liberates them.

As works of art, Piano and Portrait contain a discussion of what art is and what an artist is. Inevitably, this discussion becomes paradoxical or "open," much like the confounding endings of the film and the novel. Ada and Isabel are lucky. Because they are characters within works of art, their destinies do not involve a return to imprisonment. Their quests for freedom, while realized, would only be momentary in the real world. But as either "portraits" or embodiments of art, their self-actualizations remain theirs forever, while we in the real world must brace for yet the next battle for our own freedom. For even if we have felt the freeing revelations of Ada and Isabel, the best art discovers truth only for an instant, and likewise, so do we.

Jeanne R. Dapkus Central Michigan University

[Reference]

Works Cited Buck, Joan Julie. "Strange Melodies." Vogue 353 (Dec. 19930: 127-130. Campion, Jane. The Piano Screenplay. New York: Hyperion. 1993. Cott, Nancy F. "Passionless: An Interpretation of Victorian Sexual Ideology, 1790-1850." Signs 4 (1978): 219-36. Hochenauer, Kurt, "Sexual Realism in 'The Portrait of a Lady': The Divided Sexuality of Isabel Archer." Studies in the Novel 22 (1990): 19-25.

[Reference]

The Pianol Dir. Jane Campion. New York: Mirimax, 1993. Rothstein, Edward, "A Piano as Salvation, Temptation and Star." The New York Times 143 (4 Jan. 1994). natl. ed., sec C: 15.19. Sabiston. Elizabeth. "The Prison of Womanhood." Comparative Literature 25 (1973): 336-51. Sangari, Kumkum. "Of Ladies, Gentlemen, and 'The Short-Cut'" New Literary History 19 (1988): 713-37. Ventura, Mary K. "The Portrait of a Lady'. The Romance/Novel Duality." American Literary Realism 22 (1990): 36-50.