But swiftly in my bosom there uprose A sudden flame, a merciful fury sent To save me; with both angry hands I flung The skin upon the marble, where it lay 220 Spouting red rills and fountains on the white; Then, all unheeding faces, voices, eyes, I fled across the threshold, hair unbound— White garment stained to redness—beating heart
At this point in the poem, Xantippe has lost the mask she worked so hard to hold on to. Socrates has angered her, and in a sudden fit of rage, her body responds with a faster heartbeat as she flings the wine onto the floor. Xantippe seems to rarely allow herself to feel or express anger; she might often feel slighted or sad, but these emotions are usually restrained, like a quietly glowing ember. Here, however, a “sudden flame” erupts: the heat rises, and she finally releases it. The description of the red wine spilling onto the white marble serves as a powerful metaphor for the loss of innocence or purity. What was once clean and controlled is now marked and transformed. Xantippe crosses the threshold changed, “hair unbound, white garment stained to redness," no longer the restrained, composed figure she once was. Levy’s depiction of this moment reflects her interest in women’s emotional and intellectual repression. Just as Xantippe’s fury has been contained by societal expectations in ancient Athens, Victorian women like Levy faced pressures to restrain their feelings and intellect. By giving Xantippe a dramatic, physical release of her anger, Levy depicts the costs of suppression and illuminates the intense, hidden emotional lives of women. The poem becomes not only a historical reflection on Xantippe’s experience but also a nuanced critique of the constraints placed on women in Levy’s world by showing how powerful and transformative the acknowledgment of one’s own emotions can be.