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Hi, I’m Christy Shriver and we’re here to discuss books that have changed the world and have changed us. And I am Garry Shriver and this is the How to Love Lit Podcast. This week and next we will have two poetry supplements. After talking about one of the worst romances in literature- we will switch to one of literature’s greatest love stories- the romance of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning- although you would never guess it after reading the poem we are doing today- My Last Duchess- a very twisted poem. You know, Christy, now that I think about it, there’s not really a lot of great love stories that we’ve read. So many of them end poorly- Romeo and Juliet comes to mind- but even the real life stories aren’t all that awesome. I can’t say I’m all that impressed with the love story of Mary Shelley and Percy Shelley. No, I should think not. I wouldn’t think Petrarch or Lauuuura define true love either- although Petrarch sure got a lot of mileage out of their non-relationship. No, Hester and Dimmesdale didn’t end well. Or William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne Now that you mention it, whether we’re talking about characters or writers- there’s quite a bit of tragedy involved. You’re right- but of course, doesn’t great love tragedies produce great art- look no farther than the new hit song by Selena Gomez about her disasterous relationship with Justin Bieber. “Lose You to Love Me” debuted at number 15 on the Billboard Hot 100 and stayed on the chart for 23 weeks- hittint it number one. And it was number 1 on Itunes as well. Of course, Justin Bieber has milked that relationship or should I say, all of their break ups over the years, as well. Well, xometimes things do go right- there’s hope for the Noras and Torvalds out there. HA! So, let’s introduce at least one love story that went right…Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Except, if you want to know the love-story part, you’ll have to stick around for one more episode. We’re going to start with this episode by discussing Robert Browning and his most nefarious villiian in “My Last Duchess” and then we’ll look at Elizabeth and her infectious love sonnets- and that’s when we’ll get into their personal story. Great, so Robert Browning, what I find unusual about Robert Browning is that there is nothing unusual about Robert Browning. I’m so used to all of these British poets and their colorful lives, but he’s kind of a non-scandalous person, well- if you don’t count the part about his elopement with Elizabeth, of course. Indeed, and that is just how he liked it- perhaps a man of his time. Let me back us by introducing him as part of the Victorian Age- that glorious period of English history where Britain held the position of world leadership- I guess somewhat like we think of as belonging to the United States today. Just for clarification- The Victorian period is considered somewhere around 1837-1900. Oh yes- I should have said that. Not talking about literature, Garry, what stands out about this period of time. Well, there’s a lot- it was an incredible period and Queen Victoria was incredibly popular. When you say Victorian England, a lot comes to mind- both good and bad- but the first thing that comes to my mind, and please bear in mind that I’m American, so there’s the disclaimer- we’re always talking about impressions from this side of the Atlantic, but the first thing that comes to mind is just the incredible amount of material progress- there was unequaled production of goods- England was well on the front end of the Industrial Revolution. There was a lot of innovation, a growing middle class- but then again on the flip side- with that there’s all the social problems that go with material progress. Things that we think of Charles Dickens writing novels about- street children, dirty pollution from coal- the sort of things we’ve talking about in other episodes like when we talked about where the Bronte sisters grew up or William Blake’s Chimney Sweepers- and these problems are the things that lots of people but specifically a lot of writers were concerned about and commenting on. John Ruskin famously said, “that the real test of a community is not how much wealth it is producing but what kind of people it is producing” and of course he’s right about that. It was something that would take years to sort out- finding the moral balance between production and exploitation- something every society wrestles with and always will. Well, the Brownings, surprisingly, weren’t really a part of that protest movement, to be honest- and the reason I say that is because for a big chunk of time, in fact, their entire married life, they lived in Italy. Didn’t Ibsen live in Italy, and Keats lived in Italy- Italy seems to be responsible for a lot of great English language writing. Ironically, that’s true. Well, getting to the Brownings, Robert Browning grew up in Camberwell, at the time, a suburb of London. He was the only son of a fairly affluent family. He was the product private tutoring, world travel, and a lot of what today we would call privilege. None of this made him a famous poet though. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I was impressed to see how supportive his family was to the point of paying for his work to get published. I was also impressed by how bumpy his start was. It seems his work was not well-received initially, and in fact was met with a bit of mean-spirited extremely embarrassing criticism. John Stuart Mill said that Browning was parading and I quote a “morbid state” of self-worship after he published his first poem named “Pauline” when he was 21. Yeah- that seems meat to me, and maybe would have wiped me out too, but in his case, Browning reacted to those criticisms of his early work in a positive kind of way. I find it clever, actually, and this stylistic change altered the course of his career. He swore off confessional writing- the kind that’spersonal- and instead modified from the kind of writing he had done in the poem “Pauline” and turned to what today, he is has become famous for- the dramatic monologue. Exactly- now Christy, I think we’ve mentioned these before, but what is a dramatic monologue and more importantly, why should we care? Thank you for asking exactly the question I wanted to answer! Ha! It’s like you didn’t ask me to ask you. Well, there is that- hahaha- anyway, let me start by saying that the reason most people don’t like poetry in general is because they think it doesn’t make a lot of sense. It doesn’t SAY anything. And I realize, we high school English teachers, likely share part of the blame for this dislike of the genre. More than one teacher, myself included I’m sure, have droned on and on about things that are fairly boring. I remember a few years ago, and this is a tangent, but it’s stayed with me. Anyway, it was a junior English class and I started the class by saying something like, “Today, students, we are going to explore some of the key features of American Romanticism and then some of the greatest hits”- to which a kid from the back row rapid fire responded- with “And that is why I got up and came to school this morning”. It made me laugh because this particular boy, an athlete, could not think of an introduction to anything more boring than what I had just described…although, in fairness, American Romanticism is NOT boring…but I digress. Ha!! I’m sure you changed his mind about the writings of Edgar Allan Poe and Walt Whitman. Well, of course I did. HA! But where I’m heading is that- when we think of poietry as being boring. We often are thinking about confessionals – people whining about their lives, their loves, getting in their feelings for the wrongs life has brought upon them- that sort of thing. For most of us- that is not the purpose of reading. We think of writing as a form of communicating information, and reading as a form of gathering information. The problem with a poem is that it has no information. And so the natural reaction to it is the very honest question- why am I reading this? But we shouldn’t read poetry like we would read an article on Snap Chap or a newspaper editorial. Instead, we should judge it with a very intuitive criteria- did I learn something, did it make me laugh or cry, was it unexpected, did it change my mind? That sort of thing? But isn’t learning or gathering information a large part of what writing is about? Well, of course that’s true- but it isn’t a very good way to read poetry because if you do it that way you just can’t enjoy it- what makes great poetry is not the transmission of information at all. What makes great poetry is the exact same thing as what makes great plays or great novels or great music- they voice ideas about the world- they spotlight things we experience, things we’ve seen but have not articulated, things we’ve noticed but have not thought. Great poems are not about the poet at all- they are about us- the reader. They are about our experiences in the world- they are about understanding the people and the emotions that populate our world. And then we are no longer alone in our world- even from 100 years ago, there was a guy who knows somebody like I know. And Robert Browning did this sort of thing extremely well. And I want to explain how all of this works. Sounds good. One thing we have to always keep in our minds about a poem is that the speaker is not the author. In other words the poem may be in the first person, but that doesn’t mean we are to understand that the speaker is writing about himself. Example, a poem may say “I love chopped onions” and the poet actually hates them, but the speaker of the poem can say I love chopped onions because this speaker is his own separate character totally apart from the poet. And in this world that has been created, the speaker likes chopped onions. This is, of course, true for plays as well, we know that Nora is not Ibsen , nor is Torvald. But when we read poetry, we slip into the habit of thinking the poet is writing about his or her own life- that it’s ocnfessional. And although, that’s sometimes true, and it was true for the poems we’re going to read by Elizabeth next- it’s not necessarily true- in fact, I would argue- it’s mostly not true. So, that brings us to dramatic monologues. In the dramatic monologue, especially Browning’s, it is extremely apparent that the speaker is NOT the poet. Browning wants to make it very clear he is not using dramatic monologues as a masking technique to talk about himself. Instead, he uses this poem, My Last Duchess, to explore something really twisted in humanity- and although, I doubt many of us know a guy as twisted as this guy from this poem- he doesn’t sound unrelatable. As we read the monologue, Browning pushes forth a really aggressive commentary on how people treat each other, but he does it with a sort of ironic detachment. He can entertain us as well as comment on how humans behave towards each other because he’s not talking at all. He will allow the twisted character to just talk and through this guy’s, own confessions, he tell us information about himself, his view of the world, his behaviors and from there we are enabled to actually judge for ourselves how nuts this guy is, and then we can extrapolate people we may have met who are kind of like this, or maybe even really like this. Well, I have to say, as a student of psychology, My Last Duschess, is one of the more psychologically twisted characters and fascinating characters I’ve read about since we’ve started this podcast. The inordinate level of hubris Browning expresses through this duke makes most egomaniacs we know look small time. True- but although none of us go to dinner parties expecting to see pictures of dead wives behind curtains, we may know someone we also find to have an absurd level of vanity disproportionate to their accomplishments or essence- that hints at this level of hubris. That to me is how this poem connects to A Doll’s House, Torvald Helmer, but in his middle class suburban way expresses this unusual degree of possessiveness that we see blown up in a Renaissance setting. Torvald doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would murder his wife, but he most certainly has reduced her to a work of art, a treasure- something comparable to a portrait on a wall to be brought out and admired, but then put back on the shelf- that portrait better not exercise any sort of will of her own- and if she knows what’s best- try to stay mostly quiet and unsmiling towards strangers. So, in case, you are unfamiliar with the poem and I’ve confused you, let me introduce you to the speaker of Browning’s poem. The speaker in this poem is an Renaissance Italian Duke- a extremely wealthy man, who’s pedigree includes a 900 year old name. Garry, was the guy in the poem a real person or totally something Browning made up entirely in his head. Interesting you should ask that because as you know, I’ve always thought that writers write from their experience or what they know- but in the case of this particular poem- if this is an actual person- I’m not really sure we can say that it is. We do know that Browning was well traveled and in 1838 spent two months in Northern Italy studying Italian history and legends. This poem seems to be set somewhere in that area- there’s a lot of scholarship to say maybe the town of Ferrara which, for those of us less familiar with Northern Italy, think of it as North of Florence but South of Verona or Venice. This may or may not be the right town or the right Duke, but it’s an interesting hypothesis that the Duchess in the story could be Lucrezia, Cosimo de Medici’s younger daughter who was married to Alfonso of the Este family. She supposedly died of tuberculosis, but Alfonso showed no interest in her as a wife- to the point that he left three days after their wedding in Florence without his new bride for France. He didn’t even see Lucretia for the next two years. When he did come back to Ferrara, he sent for his wife, she moved to Ferrara and a year later, barely 17 was found dead. It could have been tuberculosis, it could have been poisoning, we all know the Renaissance is famous for a disproportionate share of people being poisoned to death including a few members of the DE Medici family, and of course, Catherine de Medici was famous herself for poisoning people. I saw that in the tv series, Reign. Well, getting back to our Duke, what about this Duke from Ferraro, Alfonso the Second, what kind of guy he- does he match the profile of someone who might poison his wife? That’s a good question. It seems he was something of a jerk. Historians, and let me quote one, called him an “immoderately arrogant and conceited, and prided himself beyond measure upon his bravery, intelligence, and ancient descent. With all that he was vengeful and ever ready to pursue a feud.” So, there you have that commentary, it seems a possibility- but of course, as we will see as we read the poem, Christy, are we even sure the Duke in the Last Duchess murders his wife? Renaissance murderers were kind of mysterious like that- you just never knew. I guess so, before we get out of the history part and start reading the poem, let me ask one more question. In this poem, the Duke keeps a portrait of his murdered wife behind a curtain so he can admire her and show her off when he wants to, is there a portrait of Lucrecia that we know of today that might have inspired this poem? Or is there a painter called Fra Pandolf- the name of the painter in the poem? Do we know of any emissaries that would have been representing the would be the next duchess- the one to follow the Last Duchess? Is there any historical evidence based on the clues from the poem that any of the other characters were real people? Well yes and no- the first hurdle in definitely declaring this poem to be about Lucretia de Medici- is that There is no such painting that we know of, and there is no such famous painter as Frau Pandolf. But, if we just assume that there might have been but it’s just gone to history, and we work on the assumption that the Last Duchess is Lucrezia de medici, that means the second wife would have to be Barbara of Austria. There’s a long story there, their marriage only lasted 8 years before she died. She was most famous for her work with destitute young girls and even founded a house for them. After she died, Alfonso married a third time, this time to Margherita, the 15 year old niece of his wife Barbara of Austria. Well, whether this is the guy or not, he does seem to be creepy enough to fit the bill. I think so. And honestly, it doesn’t matter. This stuff is just interesting stuff to discuss at Trivia night. I agree, I’ve read enough Machiavelli to know that the Renaissance boys were not above poisoning people for most anything- and that isn’t even the point. Browning doesn’t tell us who it is maybe because it’s a composite of a couple of people, maybe it’s because it’s a totally made up person, but I think because in a more important sense, this is metaphorical- this Duke is a metaphor of a familiar ego- one a reader of Ibsen might latched on to, one we can all latch on to. And yes, this is a poem about objectifying women again, and this is why we chose to feature it this week, but honestly, if you think about it= the metaphor of the ultimate egoist s person so stupid and delusional that he sees himself as the Neptune in his world is not far fetched. Ah- no- I’d say- look no farther than a twitter feed. Shall we read, Christy- as this is a dramatic monologue- to what degree should we bring a dramatic reading to the text. I think we should bring a very dramatic reading to it. Do you want to give it a go. Let’s read break it up, and then we can put it all back together and see if we can understand it. Sure, let me read it…. Okay, there’s a lot to say, but I want to break everything down so that the poem can be fun- and it is fun. The way to read poems, and I know I’ve said this before, and not just me, but everyone, is read them slowly. It’s about enjoying the details. It’s not about rushing to the end, so let’s do that… That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. Sentence one- we are to see that the duchess is painted on the wall- we’ll understand in a minute that that’s probably a fresco, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. She looks as if she were alive, implying she’s dead. We also know that the belonged to the Duke- it’s his duchess and we know it’s the last one whe had. We should also be alarmed that the tone here is quite detached. Garry, I hope if something bad happens to me, you don’t talk about me like this. There is no tenderness here- there’s pride, perhaps, but no tenderness. Let’s keep going…. 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? Sentence 2- 3The piece is a wonder- not the woman- again-the PIECE is the wonder- be it the paitning or the woman- it’s all very detached. But we also are told that she was painted by Fra Pandolf- Garry, you said we don’t know anything about this guy for sure, but is there any historical context that could give us some help in understanding subtext here. Well, Fra- is short for Friar- this is a catholic monk or priest. That tells us that there is NO sexual hanky panky going on. Friar’s take vows of chastity, and although we know there were those that broke them, there were more that didn’t and we should presume that here as well. Also, he worked busily a day- may imply that this IS a fresco. Fresco paintings had to be done in one day, like with Michelangelo and the Sistine chapel because when the plaster dries youre done. But the nice thing about them is that once they do dry, they last forever. If you wanted beauty to never die- a fresco would be the way to go. And notice this rhetorical question- whoever the Duke is talking to is basically being told to sit and admire the last Duchess. We will soon find out that this guy is the emissary for the new Duchess, so in a sense, it is not appropriate to sit and stare at the last Mrs. So, we have to wonder, why does he insist on this? This next sentence is really very long and difficult to understand. I said “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) But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 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. This sentence takes a couple of rereads to just make sense of it- but let me put it in my words. Basocially, he’s saying that Fra Pandolf- on purpose- captured a very specific facial expression in the face of his ex-wife. She had this certain deep and passionate smile- the way he’s suggesting here- it’s almost a sexy smile- and- according to this duke, he imagines that the guy he’s talking to is like everyone else in the world and everyone else in the world- when they see this painting want to ask him, although they don’t dare because this duke is just that intimidating- they want to ask him who she’s looking at to give such a sexy glance. And then he is just going to tell this guy- who did not ask that question or even ask to see this painting- who exactly his wife was looking at when she gave this sexy smile. And notice that the way he phrases it almost suggests the last duchess was perhaps cheating on him. Sir, ’twas not Her husband’s presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps 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.” He says, it wasn’t just my presence that gave her that sexy smile. Maybe even Fra Pandolf happened to suggest that she reveal a little more skin- implying maybe she liked to show a little more skin- a little more wrist. He goes on to say that paint couldn’t possibly reproduce her half-flush. All of this is pseudo sexual language that ends with death threat along the throat. Let me interject something here that caught my eye- the way he talks to the guy he’s talking to is very condescending. He makes him sit down. He uses the term “sir” and “you” instead of “thee or thou” that would have been more appropriate between men of equal station of the time period. He is talking down to this guy for whatever reason. Look at these next two sentences- Such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 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. He’s going on and on about this sexy smile. But here he again implies she’s permiscuous. He uses the word “stuff”- that is a very vague term which we use euphemistically for things we don’t want to say outloud. Then he says this, “she had a heart- how shall I say?- too soon made glad” that phrase- how shall I say is set off with dashes. This duke is stopping as if he can’t quite find the right word to describe the behavior for his wife- how shall I say- he’s looking for that word and the words he comes up with are “too soon made glad”- or she gets happy to easily- again implying almost less subtly that she flirts inappropriately. Just the very idea that he wants to pretend that he has to find the right word- he’s been rattling on and on in perfect iambic pentameter for a good 22 lines with no need to even have any dash at all- much less a problem with coming up with the right words. In fact, he has already told us he shows off this picture many times apparently to a bunch of people who look at that sexy smile and wonder who she’s smiling at. He will continue to imply that his wife was a slut with even more euphemisms. Read the next two sentences. Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, ’twas all one! That last sentence, is a telegraphic sentence- that means it’s very short for the purpose of highlighting a very important idea. She looked everywhere and with that same dang sexy smile. It’s clear by this point he hated that. My favour at her breast, 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, 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. And now we are let on to the secret that this guy may be a psychopath. Look at what he’s jealous of- that duchess presumed to look at the sunset with her sexy smile. A nice person gave her a cherry and she gave him a sexy smile. She gave her mule that sexy smile. Now we are led to question, is this really a sexy smile or is this just a kind smile? It appears she had the audacity to thank people for things- clearly something he doesn’t do. And in fact, something she should not do- the only person she should ever be thanking is him. He gave her the most p recious thing in the entire universe- his name- and if she thanked him other people with the same words as she used to thank him- or if she smiled at people with a kind smile- that was a direct assault him. Who does she think she is? Who’d stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 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 Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse— E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Notice how the tone seems to shift here. He’s getting a little angrier. He’s also throwing out more of those dashes- this time to set off the phrase that he doesn’t have skill in speech- of course he has skill in speech- that’s the whole point. It reminds me of when I’ve fussed at my children and said something like, “I guess I didn’t make myself clear when I asked you to clean your room”- you’re not really communicating you were not clear, you’re communicating you WERE clear and you were ignored. Exactly- and apparently he had told her that certain behaviors of hers like smiling and thanking people were disgusting to him and she blatantly ignored this. She refused to be lessoned- and of course we have a pun here- because lessons are something that you learn- she refused to be taught- but she also refused to be lessened as in made smaller. She didn’t stoop – but here’s what’s worse. He didn’t actually tell her anything. He didn’t actually ask her to do or not do anything. For him to actually have to tell her to do these things- that in and of itself would be degrading to him. I’ve been told that line before- perhaps you have to- I shouldn’t have to tell you to do this- you should just know it- you should WANT to do this thing that I want you do to do. And by you not knowing or not wanting the right things that I want you to want or to like- THAT is the infraction- the insult lies there. How could you NOT want this thing that I want you to want or have this behavior that I want you to have. The very idea that I would have to stoop to tell you is in itself an insult beyond scope. And if you are not convinced that he’s psycho- he’s got more to say. First to confirm that she did not cheat on him or even hate him. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? She smiled at him. It seems, as we are now to assume, that she did not have a sexy smile but that this smile was a kind smile- she smiled kindly at him. And THIS was an insult because that smile, that we see on the wall- that sexy smile that is now a kind smile- she gave out to other people besides him. Why would she do that!?? That was just too too much, so the poor person sitting down and listening to this is supposed to clearly understand that by this point he had no choice- she had to go. This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. So, did he have her executed? I know- it’s ambiguous. I read somewhere that someone directly asked Browning this question to which and one time he replied smugly, I didn’t say he had her executed. I said all smiles stopped, maybe he sent her to the convent. But another time he said, yes, these were commands to be put to death..so we are left to make that determination for ourselves. I will say, I think the person he’s talking to thinks he had her killed. As we read these lines, there’s an indication that tried to bolt but the Duke won’t let him. Let’s read the ending. 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 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, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! How do you think that means the emissary is trying to bolt? Well, first the Duke tells him to get up for them to go down together to meet the new duchess- but then he says, nay= nay means no- no to what- I think the guy was trying to get head of him because he says, “nay, we’ll go together.” He’s not letting this guy out of his sight. He’s enjoying this. He wanted to tell this story. He wanted to brag on his omnipotence- it’s not a coincidence that he’s showing off another piece of art of his- this one a Roman God- Neptune. And this is the final thought of the poem and worth us taking a minute to think about. Again- this is why poetry is not informational. The fun of poetry is not to get to the end and get all the information. The fun of poetry is to slow down and think the thoughts the poet is feeding you. Following the clues and hearing his voice. Browning, from over 100 years ago wants to give us a few ideas about life and how to look at certain people that surface in every generation. And the final image is this statue of the Roman god, Neptune. When we see the statue, the first thing we think about is =huh, another piece of art. Browning has created a frame for his poem- he started and ended his poem with art- these two pieces. Then the next thought should be- huh- I wonder what Neptune is supposed to tell us. Who is Neptune? How does art piece number two connect with art piece number 1? Well, obviously, Neptune is the god of the sea- the Greeks called him Poseiden. But what is he doing here- well- he’s taming a sea horse- what does that mean? This statue is not a static statue- it’s not a bowl of fruit, it’s not even a horse in a park. It’s a Roman god taming a sea horse. Neptune, in general is god of the sea – he commands and controls nature itself- the environment- there is a suggestion here of violence- by casting the sculpture in bronze the Duke has tamed and stopped the god taming the sea- he is the master of it all- he is in total control- Neptune has restrained the sea horse in exactly the same way as the Duke has restrained his wife- he controls the vitality- just as he has frozen the vitality in this statue- the vitality of his wife is also frozen. Well, and what is ironic about all of it- is that in describing his ex-wife- he describes a woman totally in tune with life- she connected to nature, to others, to animals- she was the very expression of vitality- to the point that her vitality is expressed in a smile he tries to explain away as adulterous. He is bragging because he had the power to get rid of that smile- to get rid of that vitality- she could be reduced to a work of art in death- something he could never accomplish in life. And yet, there is more irony even in this…in order to destroy his wife- he preserved her for all eternity. We all know that art outlasts a single lifespan. By destroying her vitality- he preserved her vitality. Oh my, that’s confusing- are you trying to make us crazy. Maybe- but I’m trying to point out how fun poetry can be if we let it. Let’s read it put back together. That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, 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 “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) 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 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 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, 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, 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 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 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; 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 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, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! A great writer can make things simple- like the simplistic understanding that this is an excellent portrait of a psychopath- which it is- to a historical understanding- as an expose on the dark side of the Renaissance- a moralistic understanding- like beware of objectifying self-serving schucks- or what I will call an optimistic reading….freedom and vitality cannot be contained…life finds a way… (to quote that philosopher Michael Crichton) and that way may just be through a poem.. . Thank you Robert Browning. Yeah- well there you go- today’s take away- stop reading for information- but read looking for the vitality!!! Yeah! Read for vitality!! It’s there! Next episode, we will tell you the famous love story of Robert Browning and his celebrity wife, Elizabeth Barrett, and we’ll read some bona fide love poems. Thank you for spending time with us today. We don’t take that for granted. Support us, if you don’t mind, by tweeting an episode on your twitter feed, your linked in feed, or your facebook or Instagram feed. Text an episode to a friend and help us grow. Thank you. Peace out.