Early modern literature is full of mothers who have an absent presence. One assumes that there must have been a Mrs. Lear, for example, or a mother figure for one of Othello’s characters. Likewise for The Tempest and The Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare’s six most celebrated romantic comedies are also surprising in their lack of maternal representation. In Love’s Labor’s Lost, The Taming of the Shrew, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing, and Twelfth Night, no mothers appear at all.¹ The texts of the Early Modern period that do include mothers are notable for their rarity, and also for the roles these women play in the other characters’ lives precisely because of their maternal identity. Why is it, however, that mothers are so conspicuously absent in much of Renaissance literature? It seems that there is an ever present need to elimin ate or problematize these women as they attempt to be female and maternal in a society that doesn’t know what to do with a developing domestic sphere.

Power seems to have been a significant concern in Early Modern society—perhaps a reason for which mothers were problematized in literature as well as in society. Practically speaking, mothers are the source of life, although the idea that they are the only source would have been almost heretical in the Renaissance. It was clear, however, that maternal status did set one aside in society—as part of a group to whom access was limited, especially for men. This lack of access was felt most clearly in the process of childbirth itself. Mothers clearly had the upper hand when it came to fertility, and men involved in the medical profession who wanted to learn about obstetrics battled with mothers as well as midwives as they attempted to learn about delivery. The maternal body was ever mysterious, however; though men began to learn and publish their knowledge about childbirth, their access to this knowledge depended solely on women and mothers.

The infant mortality rate was high during the Renaissance for various reasons. However, whether a child lived or not, parents were expected to be grateful. Even if there were complications in childbirth and the infant did not live, women in some ways felt empowered by motherhood. Lady Mary Carey, upon miscarrying a child, "attempts to discover why God chose to punish her with a dead embryo rather than to bless her with a full-term living child." She writes a poem in which she initiates a dialogue with God—something very few women did.² She therefore claimed to have a unique relationship with God in which men were unable to share. Clearly, if fathers were going to have any power in the developing domestic sphere, it was in their best interest to take control of the family quickly. Therefore, just as Oberon would have taken Titania’s young ward away in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, sons were taken away from a maternal influence by age seven to begin formal schooling. Daughters were taught, while receiving a different sort of education, that the father was always the head of the household, and that he had control over their economic status and future marriage, among other things. Mothers clearly had their presence and importance in the family taken away very quickly—becoming "ghost" mothers indeed.

Although mothers in the Renaissance were denied the rights that are now given to mothers, there were ways in which they might become more present in the lives of their children, and in society as well. For example, many Renaissance mothers wrote legacies to their children, giving them advice about living a good Christian life. When and if these legacies were published, they could also be used as examples for other young mothers of the period. The irony here is biting however—mothers were not given the practical power now accorded to them, as I will show below, but were encouraged to write about their motherhood, to help other women who would be victims of the same societal and domestic practices surrounding maternal identity.

Literary works of this time period displayed conflicting feelings about maternal power as well. This is especially the case in depictions of mothers' antagonistic behavior with each other as well as with their own children. One would think that perhaps the women writers of the Renaissance might spare mothers the non-identity they suffered in the developing society of the period. However, women writers tended to be as quick as their male counterparts to assign a "ghost" mother status to their maternal figures. In The Tragedy of Mariam, in particular, Elizabeth Cary problematizes or eliminates each maternal character in the play. Beginning with the introduction of Mariam’s own mother, we see a conflict between mother and daughter. We have heard at the beginning of the text that Herod is thought to be dead, and Mariam has conflicting emotions, which are challenged by her mother Alexandria:

What means these tears?
My Mariam doth mistake the news we heard did tell the tyrant’s end.
What weep’st thou for thy brother’s murthrer’s sake?
Will ever wight a tear for Herod spend? (I, ln. 79-81)

Alexandria continues to be difficult, and finishes the play by heckling her daughter to the grave. Through Alexandria’s character Cary suggests why society wanted to be rid of mothers—for their at times overbearing interest in the lives of their children. However, mothers may become overbearing with their love, as Richard Allestree suggests in The Ladies Calling, because, though they may seem to have a significant place in the growing domestic sphere, its true control has been taken out of their hands.

Another example of conflicting attitudes toward motherhood in The Tragedy of Mariam, comes with the relationship between Mariam and Doris, Herod’s former wife. Both of these women have had children by Herod, and both want to protect their sons and insure their well being. Doris is shown to be the slighted ex-wife, as Mariam quickly took her place. The conflict between Mariam and Doris shows a deeper concern for maternal power, in that it only competition seems to be itself. Perhaps society felt a need to create some sort of opposition for maternal power, and finding none that would suffice, forced mothers to act as antagonistic figures to each other. Here however, Doris's cursing paradoxically serves to heighten her importance as a mother.

The connection of motherhood with the ability to criticise others and invoke evil gives further testimony to the idea that maternal influence should be curtailed.

Shakespeare’s Pericles, also deals with "ghost" motherhood of sorts, as Thaisa dies in childbirth in the third act of the play, while aboard a ship. Lychordia brings Pericles his infant daughter with the sad news of his wife’s death, and Pericles laments over the tragedy:

Although Pericles is visibly distraught by his wife’s death and the fact that he is not able to provide a proper burial, this moment in the play is yet another instance of motherhood eliminated. The Comedy of Errors provides an example of misplaced motherhood with the character of Aemilia. Despite the fact that she is now the protecting Abbess of Ephesus, a role in which she seems to thrive, Aemilia is still a mother denied influence in the domestic arena. She does return to her family at the end of the play. However, her children are grown men and one is married; therefore her maternal knowledge may no longer be applied.

The most unique, though still problematic, representations of motherhood in Early Modern literature, can perhaps be found in John Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi, and Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. As with Pericles, both of these plays feature maternal figures who die before the end of the play’s action. Hermione in The Winter’s Tale is unjustly accused of infidelity, and defends herself through her love for her husband, Leontes. Paulina has risen to her defense as well, by presenting to Leontes the daughter Hermione bears while imprisoned—the child is clearly his own. Following Hermione’s trial, at which she seems to have been proven innocent by the Oracle, the news arrives that her son Mamillius has died, seemingly from the lack of her presence. "This news is mortal to the Queen," Paulina says as Hermione slips to the ground, apparently dead as a result of her maternal identity. Hermione responds to the death of her son as a mother who clearly has a significant emotional attachment to her offspring. Perhaps she feels that she has failed, or has been made to fail somehow, at her nurturing duties. Mamillius dies as a result of Hermione’s absence, and the young princess is removed from her mother’s care. It seems as though Hermione may justifiably feel that part of her identity is being stripped away by a jealous husband who doesn’t seem to be worth the sacrifice of two small lives.

In its representation of maternal identity, The Duchess of Malfidoes not show the bond between mother and child so strikingly, focusing instead primarily on the effects of the Duchess’s motherhood on other characters in the text, and dealing slightly less with the nuances of family life and maternal affection. The common marriage between the Duchess and Antonio has produced three children, a tangible testimony to her femininity and fertility, which has angered the Duchess’s brothers. At the close of act four, the Duchess has been killed by Bosola at Ferdinand’s direction, and we see her, as with Hermione, remembering her children and her own identity as a mother, immediately before her death. It is clear in the last act of the play that the Duchess’s influence is still felt. We see Ferdinand lapse into madness, for example—seemingly a continuance of his anger at his sister for being female and fertile, as well as anger at himself for killing someone to whom he clearly had an intimate connection.

The Duchess and Hermoine share a unique maternity in these plays. Both women appear pregnant on stage, and The Duchess of Malfi deals with the biology of motherhood as well, with Bosola’s reference to "apricocks" as a craving. Another interesting similarity between these two women is the fact that both appear in some unearthly form after their deaths. Hermione appears as both an angel and a witch in Antigonus’ dream, in which she instructs him to name her daughter Perdita, and curses him as well, leading up to the unique stage direction which ends his life, "exit being pursued by a bear." The Duchess does not appear in human form, but rather as an echo from her own grave in the third scene of act five, inserting herself into Antonio and Delio’s conversation. This scene may be one of the Duchess’s most beautiful moments. Shakepeare’s play is more magical than is Webster’s however, as Hermione returns to life at the end of the play. This perhaps suggests that she may not have died at all, or perhaps only died in a certain sense, and was put into hiding until Leontes regretted his behavior, as with Hero’s character in Much Ado About Nothing.

Maternal figures in Renaissance literature are significant in that, even if they are excluded from the text, they are still present in some sense. We can assume that there must have been a mother in many examples of works in which they are not represented. However, it is disheartening to see the ghost in Hamlet for example, represented in a more significant way than are some physically present mothers in other texts. The mother figure in this play is shown to be weak and morally lax. The ghost of Gertrude’s former husband, however, is given moral conviction and a sense of right and wrong. The depiction of Gertrude as compared with the ghost may demonstrate the fact that mothers were problematized during this period perhaps because of their attempts to establish a place for themselves in an emerging domestic sphere. Even deceased, Hamlet's father clearly has a definite space in his son's life. This is not the case with Gertrude. Recall her efforts to make some sort of peace with Hamlet, even to include him in whatever semblance of a family these characters have, despite the fact that Hamlet despises Claudius and seemingly herself as well. The Renaissance must have been frustrating for any mother who truly desired to take on a domestic role, simply because her children were quickly taken out of her control. During this period, sons were taken away at about age seven, to receive a formal education free of maternal influence and command. Daughters, though remaining at home, were controlled almost exclusively by the father. It is disturbingly clear from Shakespeare’s presentation of the ghost of Hamlet’s father, versus that of Gertrude, that somehow even a ghostly father is more powerful than a mother who desires to be present in the domestic arena.

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