The Duchess of Malfi | On General Thoughts Regarding the Play and Its Ending

As I finish reading The Duchess of Malfi, I cannot help but think that this play has become more and more absurd as it has progressed. In the opening act everything seems as well as it should: Antonio has returned from France and is conveying his observations of the French court to Delio, Delio wants Antonio to put him in the Cardinal's good graces, the Cardinal is managing his underlings (i.e. Bosola), Ferdinand is acting as a man of power, and the Duchess is acting as, well, a duchess. There's nothing that indicates that this play is anything other than a story whose setting and plot will be filled with political intrigue. And when the Duchess rather suddenly marries her steward, Antonio, this initial notion seems to be confirmed. I thought nothing other than, "Well, this ought to shake things up some." In fact, when Ferdinand and the Cardinal make it clear to the Duchess that she should not remarry, I only saw this as a way to set up more political craftiness. "Ferdinand and the Cardinal are interfering in their sister's life as a way of protecting their own reputation and social status or something of the like," I thought, and also, "Oh, now The Duchess has married her steward to slight her brothers." And I suppose, in looking back, that this isn't too far off the mark.

I still think that part of the reason the Duchess married Antonio is to slight her brothers. Sure, she may have had an emotional attachment to him before Ferdinand and the Cardinal began to interfere, but, judging by Antonio's response to the Duchess's marriage proposal, she had made absolutely no indication of the sort (or Antonio is simply missed all the signs, which may be equally likely--he doesn't seem to be the brightest by any measure). I also think that much of this play is concerned with political intrigue. The Duchess is all too aware of what will happen, in the political spectrum, if her brothers or her subjects find out that she has married her steward. Part of the suspense for the play does stem from the notion of, "What will happen to the Duchess and Antonio if their marriage is discovered?"

Even at this point in the play I had yet to think, "Mm, yes. This play is certainly obsessed with the female body and female sexuality," or, "Quite right. This play is indeed hung up on Ferdinand's incestuous, perhaps even madman-like, behavior." Sure, the play does certainly explore these topics, but, again, it all seemed to fit within the scope of a story of political scandal. It seemed to me that this play was still grounded in reality, and nothing had strayed so far from the norm that I it made me think, "Well, that is significantly unusual." The Duchess and Antonio are banished; this is maybe a little bit of an overreaction by Ferdinand and the Cardinal, but then again, the Duchess did commit taboo by marrying her steward, so I guess it could be a reasonable punishment. Perhaps.

And then Act IV rolled around. "Oh, the Duchess is imprisoned? And it's Ferdinand's doing? What, was exile not enough? Maybe Ferdinand is a bit odd." And then Ferdinand gives his sister the hand of a dead man. And that's just not necessary. While I may have had doubts about Ferdinand's mental stability up until this point, lurking in the back of my mind but largely ignored because of the plausibility of the scenes so far, it was at this point that I stopped reading, backtracked a few lines, and went, "Wait. What? He gave her what?" And thus begins the roller coaster of "What the hell"s that characterized the rest of the play for me: "Of course Ferdinand made 'artificial figures' of Antonio and his children. Why didn't I see that coming?"; "Ah, Antonio is using madmen to torture his sister. Classic punishment, am I right?"; "All Ferdinand wanted was to guarantee that he received the fortune that belonged to his sister after her death. It's perfectly normal that he went to all this effort to kill her now."

And so, with the Duchess and her maid dead, we move into the fifth and final act of the play. Now Ferdinand is mad (insane) and is believed to have lycanthropia, Antonio hears the voice of his wife coming from his wife's tomb, and then everyone dies (though, admittedly, I expected this last point simply from the title of the play, The Tragedy of the Duchess of Malfi). This last act seems much more quick-paced than the rest of the play, as if everyone left alive at this point is rushing to their inevitable deaths, which I would argue emphasizes how quickly the entirety of the action of the play, as a whole, has spiraled out of control. Everything builds until the middle of Act III, whereafter the resolution slowly unfolds, then quickens through Act IV, and then bullets through the final scene of Act V.

We have talked in class about how the play is obsessed with the female body and with female sexuality, about how the play explores the question, "What would have happened if Elizabeth had married," and about how the play seems to posture as a play about politics in its opening yet quickly turn into a play about family matters, and with all these opinions I will readily concur. Yet, to me, these points are compartmentalized within the play: the obsession with the female body and female sexuality lasts only until the marriage between Antonio and the Duchess is discovered (or perhaps until the Duchess is killed), the speculating about Elizabeth lasts only until the Duchess is killed (since the "Elizabeth" figure is dead and the fallout seems to no longer be grounded in reality), and the play being about family again seems to dissolve, for the most part, after the Duchess's death. Instead, I think the play is a demonstration of how quickly things can spiral out of control. From the very moment that the Cardinal and Bosola enter in Act I, scene i, it seems obvious that there is going to be conflict. And there is, continually throughout the play. And this conflict, which seems to merely concern two overbearing brothers and their sister, very quickly (especially after the close of Act III) turns into a play about murder and madness. And that, to me, is the true warning this play conveys.

The Duchess of Malfi | On the Names (or Lack Thereof) of Characters

The next text on which I will focus is John Webster's The Duchess of Malfi. In today's post, I would like to briefly address one question that occurred to me while reading through the first two acts + one scene of the play: why, of all the characters in the play, is the Duchess simply "Duchess" and the Cardinal simply "Cardinal" while Ferdinand, Antonio, Bosola, and even the somewhat insignificant Duchess's lady Cariola are all named characters?

In response to this, I would argue that the Duchess and the Cardinal are named simply as such because any other role they might become during the course of the play is viewed in relation to their role as the Duchess or the Cardinal. For instance, the first time we encounter the Duchess, her role as a widow is being discussed by Ferdinand and the Cardinal. Yet this role is only being discussed because if she decides to remarry, it could reflect poorly on her position as the Duchess of Malfi. Her brother Ferdinand reminds her that she is a person of court, where there are those who would take advantage of her and where another marriage may taint her status (1.3.15-17). Even when Ferdinand tells the Duchess that his concern is so strong because she is his sister (1.3.37), the greater is concern is that she will be courted not because she is his sister, but rather because she is a duchess. In another instance, when the Duchess proposes to Antonio, Antonio states that he feels unworthy of the status which the Duchess is raising him up to. Even at the level of reading the text, the Duchess' status as "duchess" precedes all else; the tag "Duchess" comes before any line she speaks. The predicament which the Duchess winds up in is the result of her status as a duchess, and Webster is not going to let us forget that. We, the audience, cannot truly connect to the Duchess as a widow, or as a wife, or as a sister, or even as just a woman because she will always be, first and foremost, the Duchess of Malfi.

The Cardinal is in a similar position. In the opening scene, Delio asks about the Cardinal, asking whether he is brave, whether he likes to bet, whether he courts ladies, and whether he partakes in combat. Yet Antonio, in his answer to Delio, says, "Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form; but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman" (1.2.66-67). He may seem to be many things, but the core identity of the Cardinal is his position as a cardinal. Antonio describes him in more detail following, but, like the Duchess, everything that follows is a merely secondary to the Cardinal's position as a churchman.

Whether or not this trend will remain as the play progresses, I am not sure. However, prior to act 3, scene 2, this seems to be the case. It may be said the Duchess is a strong and independent character and also a strong and independent woman since she refuses to be governed by anything but her own desires and refuses to be held back by social constraints and taboos. I would agree with this, and even more so when I consider that she is operating out the undefined identity of "Duchess." Whereas Ferdinand becomes the man Ferdinand with all his unique characterization, the Duchess will forever remain just "the Duchess."

The Faerie Queene | On National Identity and Leisurely Reading

It has recently struck me that I classify "pleasure reading" and "class reading" in two disjoint categories. While I do enjoy reading the works of Shakespeare and other Renaissance authors, for instance, these are not the texts that I immediately go to when I think, "I would like to read something." There is always that part of me that says, "Huh, there seems to be an obvious connection between this work and other contemporary works of the time!" or "Ah, yes, this does (or perhaps does not) reflect the societal norms of 17th century England quite well!" I am always looking for that think that would make a brilliant paper, even if I set out to read solely for the sake of reading. Perhaps because they are held to a different standard than other works (and they are, undoubtedly, held to a different standard), I do this with any works that fall into the "established literary canon," since that is what, as an English major, I have been trained to do.

That said, I would venture to say that Spencer's The Faerie Queene is the closest I have come to being able to read a "classic" and "important" work without over-analyzing it. There are times where I have been more eager to find out what happens to Una and the Lion, for instance ("Is it gonna eat her?"; "Where will they go next?"), than to think, "What does the lion symbolize in this context?" or "What societal commentary is being made by pairing the Lion with Una in this passage?" It has been a refreshing change of pace, and it has been nice to read a text with minimal pressure to determine why it is such a deeply-rooted part of the established literary canon and a staple Renaissance work.

And with that said, I do still feel obligated to give a thought-out and more in-depth post on The Faerie Queene. So let's talk about English nationalism. While a decidedly "English" national identity had already begun to form by the time that Elizabeth I took the throne, the defeat of the Spanish armada in the mid-late 1500s (if I recall correctly) truly cemented this idea of "Englishness." It would be unsurprising then, to find instances of English nationalism in Spencer's work (published in the late 1500s), and so I would like to turn to Chaucer and Arthur. If I were to ask who the top five quintessential English writers were, I have no doubt that Chaucer would be a recurring answer, even more so if the question addressed only authors contemporary to or older than Spencer. And so when Spencer writes in his pseudo-middle-English and in a way which bears many similarities to Chaucer's The Tale of Sir Thopas (I discussed this briefly in my last post), I cannot help but think that Spencer is drawing a connection between himself, an English writer during this period of growing nationalism, and one of the greatest writers in English history, Chaucer, as an expression of English nationalism. What better way to express this nationalism than by honoring one of the greatest English writers through your own work? This can also be seen in works such as Shakespeare's The Two Noble Kinsmen, though I will not get into that here.

Another instance of nationalism is the portrayal of Arthur in The Faerie Queene. Arthur is arguably one of the most well-known English heroes (whether he is a mythical or historical figure makes no difference), and so making him the hero who rescues the main character Redcrosse is a very "English" thing to do. Arthur, the English hero, saves the day; England is righteous, powerful, and just. Spencer could hardly portray England in a better light than by portraying Arthur this way in his work. Further, it is a common interpretation that Arthur, in TFQ, is portrayed as a very Christ-like figure. While Arthur has an obvious connection with religion in many of the tales in which he appears, making Arthur himself a Christ-like figure further elevates Arthur's status as a hero and as a symbol of English identity. Thus, it seems evident to me that Spencer and The Faerie Queene are both clearly involved with the rise and cementation of English nationalism. I am sure there are more instances of this throughout TFQ, but these are the two that jumped out at me while reading.

Until next time.

The Faerie Queen | On Shifting Symbolism and Throwbacks to Chaucer

Right, moving away from Doctor Faustus, the next text on which I would like to focus is Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queen. The first thing I noted about this piece was how easy it is to recognize. When I was preparing for the GRE in English Literature, it was strongly recommended that I familiarize myself with The Faerie Queen, as this was a staple text within Renaissance literature. This I absolutely could not be bothered to do at the time, since the work is relatively long and because Renaissance literature composes a less significant portion of the exam than modern English and American literature, with which I am easily the least familiar. However, between the Spenserian stanza verse form, created by Spenser for this piece, and the intentionally middle-English-looking spelling within the work, it was among the easiest to identify whenever it came up. Anyhow, now that I have begun to actually read the work, there are two things of which I would like to make mention.

The shifting symbolism in The Faerie Queen is both intriguing and infuriating. Whereas a piece of symbolism is consistent from once place to another in many pieces of literature, something in The Faerie Queen may symbolize one thing in one instance and yet either something completely different or nothing at all in another. The inconsistency of this is somewhat off-putting at first, but it also keeps the reader on their toes. I find myself forced to interpret each stanza both on its own and in context with the rest of the story. Meaning within The Faerie Queen is thus fluid, adding an extra layer of significance to the text and necessitating varying levels of interpretation, a complexity that I have found in few other texts.

Regarding the middle-English-like language of The Faerie Queen, I cannot help but notice that Spenser's work (judging exclusively from the first few cantos of the first book, it is important to note) is quite similar to The Tale of Sir Thopas, which Chaucer-the-pilgrim tells in Chaucer's (the author) The Canterbury Tales. Specifically, the two stories both include a land of fairies and elves and a main character who is a noble and chivalrous yet perhaps also rash and naive, and though The Tale of Sir Thopas is interrupted by the Host in The Canterbury Tales and is thus incomplete, I nevertheless see a connection between the two. Perhaps The Faerie Queen is an embellishment upon or a continuation of The Tale of Sir Thopas, with some changes. Just a thought.

I realize that this is post is brief, but since I am not too far into the text, I find that I have relatively little to say. More next time.

________________________

Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely

Each one demand and answer to his part

Performed in this wide gap of time since first

We were discovered. Hastily lead away.

--from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale