Beware the Duke

Ahoy there! It's time for the next stop on our British adventure. Beware! The lord of this realm, a Duke, is of questionable disposition. Now, while nineteenth-century poet Robert Browning crafted this literary land, he is not the Duke in question. This noble of a less than wholesome disposition is the narrator of Browning's well-known poem "My Last Duchess," a piece which we will be exploring momentarily. Again, be wary - these be dangerous waters!

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My Last Duchess

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,                       1

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said                        5

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)                            10

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps                          15

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough                    20

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,                        25

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,             30

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill                   35

In speech—which I have not—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set                               40

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;          45

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretense                                50

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,                                 55

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

 

Browning’s dramatic monologue, an unexpectedly dark piece, is extremely revealing in regards to its narrator, the Duke, who wife – the “Last Duchess” of the title – is dead, as indicated in the opening lines; “That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall/Looking as if she were alive.” The Duke, in talking with an associate who, at this point in the poem, is unknown, acknowledges the look on the face of his deceased wife’s likeness, stating that “the depth and passion of its earnest glance” – the look of flattered, almost flirtatious expression, if you will – was not put there by him. He states that the “spot of joy” painted on her cheek could have been called up by the flattery of Fra Pandolf, the priest who painted the portrait.

While this is plausible, the Duke’s speech to his yet unrevealed guest not very strange thus far, he goes on, in lines twenty through thirty-four, to describe how this look of joy, this look of happy gratitude, was received by any who pleased her, that “She had /A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad/Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er/ She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.” This begins to indicate the Duke’s jealous nature as he describes his resentment of the fact that she treated such gifts as a “bough of cherries” with the same great gratitude and joy as the “gift” of his favor and the honor of his “nine-hundred-year-old name.”  Throughout this section of the poem, the language, via word choice and punctuation, grows more and more agitated, conveying a distinct tone of fevered jealousy. The language also serves to reveal the arrogant pride of the Duke, primarily through the idea that – because he is titled and comes from an incredibly old family line – he is worth more than others and what gifts they have to offer. The Duke then goes on to say that he could have discussed with his wife his dislike of her behavior, but doing so would have been “stooping,” and he chooses “never to stoop.” This further supports the idea that the Duke is possessed of a prideful arrogance as it suggests that his wife should simply have known his likes and dislikes without ever having been told.

The Duke then says, “Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt/Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without/Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands/Then all smiles stopped together.” This segment of the poem heavily implies that, eventually, the Duke could no longer tolerate his wife not exalting him, raising him above all else, and gave orders to have her killed. This drastic measure further emphasizes the Duke’s arrogance while simultaneously revealing the extent of his cruelty and – perhaps arguably – his madness.

In the lines which follow, it is revealed that the Duke has been speaking with some kind of emissary who works for a Count whose daughter the Duke wishes to marry. Not only has the Duke revealed that he may very well have caused his late wife’s death, he, in stating that “no just pretense/Of mine for dowry will be disallowed,” proceeds to indicate that he must be given the dowry of the Count’s daughter, revealing his greed. This idea is expanded upon when the Duke refers to the Count’s daughter as an “object,” revealing his sentiment that women are nothing more than possessions. The closing lines of the poem, in which the Duke suddenly points out a bronze sculpture of Neptune taming a sea-horse, further emphasize these ideas. They further emphasize the Duke’s greed and possessiveness while also indicating, through the symbolic nature of the statue, that he views women not only as possessions, but as objects fully subject to his will.

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Well, we have survived another exciting – if not harrowing – voyage on the Jar of Dirt! Enjoy your time in port – but keep a weather eye on the horizon! We’ll be off on our next voyage before long!

Until next time!

A Journey Through the Night

Ahoy! It’s time to start the Jar of Dirt’s latest voyage in earnest!

And where are we venturing to first? It seems that the tides of British Literature are carrying us towards the work of Lord Byron, the famous – or, in the eyes of some, infamous – late eighteenth and early nineteenth century poet. Byron, famous for a great many of his poetic works, is also noted for creation of what has come to be known as the “Byronic Hero,” a romantic figure who – much like himself – was often dark and brooding, full of noble angst and a kind of glorious melancholy.

While there are any number of works which we could be focusing on for the purposes of this voyage, the literary seas have brought us to a particular poem of Byron’s, “She Walks in Beauty.”

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 
 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Much like Byron’s eponymous romantic hero, “She Walks in Beauty” is filled with a kind of dark elegance. In this particular poem, Byron, interestingly enough, casts darkness itself as a thing of beauty, contrasting greatly with the common idea of darkness as something to be feared, something almost evil. This is done in the poem’s opening line, “She walks in beauty, like the night,” immediately establishing the beauty – even the goodness – of the night, of darkness. The alliteration of “cloudless climes” and “starry skies” found in the next line serves to draw increased attention to imagery which further serves to reinforce the idea of beautiful darkness. Also in this first stanza, an almost profound longing is expressed through the statement that “All that’s best of dark and bright/Meet in her aspect and her eyes,” indicating that the “she” who is the subject of the speaker’s attention is a veritable well of goodness, the best of everything, possessed of an almost ethereal kind of beauty – characterized by a “tender light” – which heaven denies even to “gaudy day.”

 

In the second stanza of the poem, the numerous instances of alliteration (beginning with “h,” then going on to “w” and then “r”) in the lines “Had half impaired the nameless grace/Which waves in every raven tress” continue to expand on the initial idea of darkness being beautiful. The alliteration draws attention of descriptive language and specific word usage which adds a further element of grace to the idea of the night, of darkness. Further alliteration in the lines “Where thoughts serenely sweet express,/How pure, how dear their dwelling place” also suggests, through the initial simile of the “she” at the center of the poem being “like the night,” that the night – or darkness – like the lady being focused on, can be something calm and almost wholesome.

 

In the final stanza, the poem seems to turn in terms of tone. The imagery of darkness disappears entirely, causing the tone of the poem to rather brooding undertone present in the prior stanzas. The imagery turns, the choice of such phrases as “The smiles that win, the tints that glow,” as well as the final two lines, “A mind at peace with all below,/A heart whose love is innocent!” conveying much warmer, brighter feelings, a more conventional brand of longing and happiness than was seen previously in the poem, the first two stanzas tinted with a hint of contented melancholy.

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Well, it seems that the first chapter of our voyage has come to an end. I hope you enjoyed today’s leg of the journey – we’ll sail again soon!

Until next time!