Arcadia

Act I introduces and explores some of the key themes and ideas in the text, touching on issues such as the desire for knowledge, different modes of being and experiencing, and identity. Both the Regency-era plot and the modern-day plot mirror and intersect with one another, allowing these issues to play out in both the past and present simultaneously.

The play begins with a literal representation of characters searching for the answer to a mathematical problem, which introduces the theme of The Importance of Knowledge and Truth. Septimus has asked Thomasina to find a proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem. In 1637, the French mathematician Pierre de Fermat wrote in his copy of the Arithmetica, “It is impossible for a cube to be a sum of two cubes, a fourth power to be a sum of two fourth powers, or in general for any number that is a power greater than the second to be the sum of two like powers. I have discovered a truly remarkable proof [of this theorem], but this margin is too small to contain it.” This statement baffled mathematicians for centuries and remained unsolved. Some scholars even wondered if Fermat was mistaken or joking.

The question of whether a proof for Fermat’s last theorem exists reflects the play’s interest in lost knowledge, the fragility of the historical record, and the search for truth. Like the Library of Alexandria and Thomasina’s work, Fermat’s possible proof has been lost and needs to be recovered. The margins of the book are “too narrow for his purpose” and he “did not have room to write it down” (5), shrouding Fermat’s knowledge in mystery. In assigning Thomasina the theorem, Septimus signals his recognition of her precocious intellectual abilities. Thomasina’s commitment to knowledge and the pursuit of truth is a crucial component of her characterization; she approaches her intellectual tasks with both curiosity and rigor.

Thomasina’s note in the primer also mimics Fermat’s, suggesting she belongs among great mathematicians like Fermat even though she will ultimately be lost to history. Despite her earlier assertion that Fermat’s note was a joke, she writes her note in earnest. Her theorem does just what she claims. At the time of the play’s premiere, the truth about Fermat’s proof was still unknown. Stoppard therefore uses this disparity to suggest that Thomasina’s genius surpasses Fermat’s even if, as a young girl who will die prematurely, she will not get her due in the field of mathematics.

In the modern-day plot, the academics are also seeking knowledge and truth, only in their case, it is historical instead of mathematical truth. The subject of Hannah’s first book reveals a lot about her character. She “rehabilitated a forgotten writer” (20-21), Lady Caroline Lamb, with a feminist slant. Lady Caroline is infamous for her affair with Byron, with her posthumous reputation often reduced to that of an adulteress. However, as Hannah’s book suggests, Lady Caroline was a writer and important Regency personality in her own right. Hannah’s book rediscovers a marginalized figure, much as she ends up doing with her work on the hermit. In using her academic research as a means to reconstruct and illuminate the past—especially forgotten or misunderstood aspects of it—Hannah’s work also testifies to The Importance of Knowledge and Truth.

However, Hannah has a foil in the form of Bernard, whose vainglory and fast-and-loose approaches to the integrity of his ideas and research processes stand in marked contrast to hers. Bernard’s interest in the proposed project is selfish. He cares for the already-famous Byron, as Byron can help make Bernard more well-known. Bernard even speaks dismissively of Hannah’s work when he describes her book as “shedding reflected light on the character of Lord Byron” (21), thereby mocking Hannah’s interest in the rehabilitation of Lady Caroline. Bernard is only interested in subjects that will boost his own name and standing, which appears to be the only motive he has for choosing Byron as his current subject. A figure like Chater, he jeers, only “gets two references in the periodical index” and two “substantial review[s] in the Piccadilly Recreation” before he fades into obscurity (22). Chater becomes important to Bernard because of the proposed connection to Byron, not because of any inherent literary value. Thus, while Thomasina and Hannah represent a genuine love of knowledge, the figure of Bernard is a cautionary tale: Not all who appear to seek knowledge do so for the right reasons, and some will even ignore or manipulate historical truths to suit their own ends.

The figure of Byron is an important symbol for English Romanticism, which ties into the play’s thematic preoccupation with The Tensions Between Romanticism and the Enlightenment. In both the Regency plot and the modern-day plot, the characters try to navigate the conflicting impulses that pull them toward one mode of being and thinking over the other. For example, Thomasina’s rejection of Cleopatra and preference for Queen Elizabeth reflect her embrace of Enlightenment ideals over Romantic ones. She says she hates Cleopatra because “[e]verything is turned to love with her” and she makes “noodles of our sex” (38). In favoring Queen Elizabeth—a monarch known for her reason and talent for realpolitik—Thomasina suggests that a more rational, Enlightenment way of being is preferable to the excesses of Romanticism.

The design of the country house’s garden also symbolizes the battle between Romanticism and the Enlightenment. Captain Brice describes the original garden as “an Englishman’s garden” (10), suggesting something laid out in an orderly, harmonious, and very disciplined way—the favored style of pleasure gardens during the Enlightenment era of the 18th century. While looking at Noakes’s before and after designs, Lady Croom outlines the changes that are happening in the garden. Before the changes, it was marked by its “pastoral refinement” (12): She describes an Arcadia where the “slopes are green and gentle,” the “trees are companionably grouped,” and a “lake [is] peaceably contained by the meadows” with sheep (12). It is a picture of the values of the past. Now, she says, the garden is “an eruption of gloomy forest and towering crag” (12), reflecting the more unkempt, Gothic Romanticism that is in vogue. Septimus disapproves of these changes; his rejection of Noakes’s Gothic design illustrates his connection to the Enlightenment and its objectivity. This shift between the garden’s former design and its new, Romantic upgrade embodies the kind of emotional and intellectual tensions that are going on within the home between Romantic and Enlightenment impulses.

The modern-day academics are, like their Regency counterparts, wrestling with the same competing modes of thought and being. While wishing to present herself as a rational, professional scholar, Hannah’s angry reaction to Bernard’s raillery reveals a more impassioned side to her personality. The crudeness of her threat to “kick [him] in the balls” (21) underscores both her visceral emotional connection to her work and her inability to entirely rein in her emotions under the scholarly façade. Chloe even teases Hannah about her supposed sexual tension with Bernard, before also insisting that Gus is in love with her. Chloe’s allusions to two potential romantic interests for Hannah suggest that Hannah, in her desire to adhere to rationality and objectivity above all else, may be denying herself outlets for the more Romantic side of her character.

Bernard, on the other hand, openly values following his impulses and emotions, suggesting that his affinity for Byron may also be a matter of personality. Bernard has no real interest in the Enlightenment ideals of order, restraint, and rationality. He asserts that gut instinct is a valuable tool and stubbornly clings to his theories despite how he “[has]n’t established” (50) anything. For the rest of the play, he will interpret any piece of evidence as proof for his conclusion and refuse to consider he is wrong. When confronted for proof, he lashes out and calls Hannah a “silly bitch” (49). When he cheerfully insists that history has “dropped from sight but we will write it again” (49, emphasis added), Bernard once again emphasizes his self-centered idea of how he can simply “write” the past in the form that best suits him and his own values, rather than more objectively assessing what is there, as Hannah tries to do. Furthermore, Bernard’s unapologetic sexuality and crudity mirror Byron’s reputation, once again suggesting that the past and present are intertwined, with the characters pursuing the same kinds of ends and wrestling with the same kinds of issues.

Finally, Act I plays with the notion of identity. Bernard tries to use another name to hide his identity from Hannah. His choice of “Nightingale” is ironic, as the nightingale is a prominent symbol in Romantic poetry, including that of Keats, Wordsworth, and Coleridge. Chloe states that he is “not really a Nightingale” (17, emphasis added), emphasizing how he is masquerading as an expert on the Romantic period. By instead naming him “Peacock,” Chloe inadvertently suggests that he is actually a prideful and preening man, just like the ignorant and prideful Chater with his empty literary ambitions in the Regency plot.

The reveal of the inscription is an early example of dramatic irony and also leads to a case of mistaken identity. The audience knows the truth of the inscriptions and the letters, while Hannah and Bernard debate the truth. Hannah and Bernard read the inscription as a sincere declaration of thanks to a dear friend, while the audience is aware that Septimus manipulated Chater and then wrote a review that “ridiculed” The Couch of Eros (30). The selection of Chater and the hermit as topics of study emphasize how academics can raise obscure figures to a level of importance, while sometimes misunderstanding or misapplying the evidence that they find. The construction of this importance is highlighted by the overlooking of Septimus Hodge, who is actually the figure that both Bernard and Hannah are searching for. Even with his name inscribed to show that the book “belonged to Septimus Hodge” (30), his importance is dismissed, leaving his true identity and role overlooked.