Marianna & The Last Duchess: The Feminine Presence

 
     The feminine voice in Victorian poetry is often overshadowed by male authors' presence coming through in word choice and scenarios. Inspite the fact that these authors attempt to express the desires and emotions of their female characters, their words often do not convince and produce voices of weak women. Although male authors like Alfred Lord Tennyson and Robert Browning most often create such enfeebled women, so does Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Therefore, this fact suggests that the weak distant feminine voices in nineteenth-century poetry derive from contemporary constraints women rather than from blatant misogyny. This paper will examine the way that male authors describe the female figures in their poems in connection to men. I shall also show how the masculine voice of the author frequently dominates the poems and thus distances the reader from the women in these poems.
In Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “Marianna,” the female voice has a very depressed and melancholy tone. Tennyson depicts a bleak scene in the first stanza of the poem, describing the "blackest moss," "rusted nails," and "broken sheds." Before the reader hears from Marianna, Tennyson establishes a gloomy tone, which prepares the reader for the poem's depressed central figure. The first words that she utters are prefaced by the condition "she only said." This implies that either she does not say very much or that what she does say is not of much consequence to the narrator. If Tennyson had omitted this conditional preface, the words that she speaks would have a much stronger effect. Tennyson thus establishes his male presence in the poem. The reader only knows what Marianna says because Tennyson places himself in the scene to describe her sadness. He is effectively the moderator dissecting her emotions and allowing a glimpse of her world. Without his existence, the reader would not know anything about Marianna and as such, her existence completely depends on his interpretation of her.
The fact that few words she says are about a man for whom she is pining for also makes her voice very weak. Throughout the poem she obsessively repeats her concern for her lover's absence: "The night is dreary, he cometh not" (stanza 1, lines 9-10). In the subsequent stanzas, "the night" is replaced with "the day" and "my life." Her sorrow is intimately connected to the absence of an anonymous male figure. The idea that her feelings depend on a man's presence effectively ties her existence to men. She does not have a personality of her own independent of men, but everything that Tennyson has her say and feel is somehow related to a man. Furthermore, since she is not speaking about herself, the reader is given the impression that her words and thoughts would not exist without male presence.
Tennyson also removes Marianna from her setting, as the only thing she can focus on is her lover's absence. We the readers are affected by this removal from reality and consequently are distanced from Marianna. Her words are even more unconvincing in lines eleven and twelve when she repeats the anguished lament, "I am a weary, a weary, I would that I were dead." Even if the character had such morbid feelings, it is unlikely that she would sit by herself and mutter them aloud. Tennyson also over-dramatizes her emotions. Although she is obviously a melancholy character, it is somewhat of a stretch to imagine an embowered woman pacing her room, repeating again and again, "I am a weary, a weary." This repetition does emphasize her depression but it also is not a believable manner to do so since a variation of her expressions of loneliness would seem more like a woman speaking, rather than a man's voice attempting to speak for her.
Another aspect of the poem that draws away from the idea that the woman herself is speaking is the fact that Tennyson romanticizes her setting. It seems more likely that Marianna is an expression of a man's desire to imagine a woman wasting away for the presence of her lover who has abandoned her. The archaic, ballad-form that the poem is written in makes the woman more removed from the reader, which also detracts from a strong female presence. This poem is extremely static and it does not give the reader any indication that Marianna is really expressing her own feelings. The "dreamy house" (stanza 6) that she is described in only adds to her distance from the reader and does not allow for a sense that she is describing her sadness but rather that her sadness is being romanticized by the male author.
The romanticized sadness of a female heroine also appears in Tennyson's poem "The Lady of Shallot." Tennyson plays with the idea of the embowered woman once again, except that in this poem, the woman is confined because of a mysterious curse rather than a self-imposed isolation. Like "Mariana," the "Lady of Shallot" is defined by the absence of a man:
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shallot. [part 2, stanza 3, lines 24-27]
     She too is placed near a window and waits for her love to rescue her from her despondent existence. The reader never learns the fate of Marianna, but it can be assumed that she her happiness is solely dependant on her lover's return. In contrast, there is no speculation about the Lady of Shallot's fates since it her death is explained as a result of her feeling that she is "half sick of shadows," (part 2, stanza 4, line 35) which can be read as her desire to experience the real world.
The Lady of Shallot does not say anything else in the entire poem and by its end she is dead. She dies an anonymous beauty as the people of Camelot gather around her body and question who she is and where she came from:
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said she has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shallot. [part 4, stanza 6]
The only validation that the Lady of Shallot receives is from Lancelot at the very end of the poem when he comments on her beauty. The reader never even learns her name, only where she is from. The sing-song rhythm and rhyme scheme employed by Tennyson throughout the poem also diminishes the impression that she is speaking for herself. It sounds more like Tennyson fit her words into his rhyme scheme and she had no input in what came out of her mouth. Consequently, the voice of the male author is more perceptible than the voice of the woman who is the central focus of the poem.
When "Marianna" and "The Lady of Shallot" are read in comparison to Robert Browning's “My Last Duchess,” the idea of distance between the female in the poem and the reader is repeated. The main difference between the poems is that in Browning's poem, the woman does not ever speak because she is already dead. The poem begins in the middle of a conversation between the Duke and an envoy. The Duke describes his last wife, apparently so the envoy will pass on the Duke's strict standards for his wives. The Duke totally controls access to the late Duchess, who in this poem is only a painting, not a live woman. The reader does not know how she was killed or even what she looked like, only that she was beautiful. The Duke completely controls all that the reader knows about her, which means that everything the Duke says, must be read in the context of his insanity. He tells us more than he should and his obsession is clear when he tells the envoy that "none puts by the curtain I have drawn for you." (lines 9-10) The reader is thus denied access to the Duchess in the sense that the Duke controls who and what can be learned about her and when they can learn such information.
Since he strictly controls access to his wife, the reader will never know what the Duchess herself actually thought or said. She is completely objectified by the Duke, and the reader only knows about her in the context of her relationship to her husband. This is especially evident in the fact that she is the "Duchess," and we never know her name, just as we never learn the Lady of Shallot's name. Not only that, but the Duke refers to her as "My last Duchess." She is a possession, something the Duke once added to his collection of things to show off. The way that Browning emphasizes the idea of the artist painting her portrait further objectifies her until she is only a figment of the male characters' impressions, just as the figure of Marianna is discussed as a removed and distant figure. The reader is never given the idea that a true understanding of the Duchess is possible because the Duke and the Duke's ideas of his late wife are the barrier to his accessing the central figure of the poem, the Duchess.
Throughout the poem, the Duke speaks for the late Duchess, and there is no way that she can defend herself against his accusations and descriptions of her because she is not present to speak for herself. Although this might seem like a weak support of the absence of the female voice in poetry, I think that it supports my central argument that the female voice in many Victorian poems is really only a male voice speaking for the female. In this poem in particular, the male voice comes through because the female is physically not included in the poem to defend herself. Therefore, every accusation that the Duke makes might be unsubstantiated, but the reader will never know what the Duchess would have said in response, because Browning omits her from the action in the poem. She is not there when the Duke speaks about her and thus, she cannot defend herself against his description of her. It is in this manner that Browning creates a distance between the reader and the female described in the poem, which completely eliminates the reader's ability to feel any connection to her.
Browning similarly objectifies the female character in his poem "Porphyria's Lover." The result of this objectification is the creation of distance between Porphyria and the reader in his poem. In this poem, Browning continues the theme of men trying to possess women, as though these women are objects without souls, personalities or thoughts of their own. Although her name is central in the title, the poem is not about Porphyria. It is concerned with her lover's obsession for her and the tragic end that she meets as a result of his obsession. Browning does not even bother to quote Porphyria in the poem, but rather, he only mentions that she "called" the speaker. Browning does not tell the reader what she called, how she called it or even why she called, he only tells that she did in fact call. Porphyria is thus a mute, ephemeral figure that the reader is essentially distanced from.
Since the reader does not understand her motivation, it is difficult to feel connected to her and it is thus difficult to feel any sympathy for her. Although her death by strangulation is certainly shocking, the fact that her voice is not expressed makes the reader much more detached from her. The reader understands that she is a selfless and generous person because of the way she comes into her lover's room and stokes the fire to make sure that he is warm and comfortable. Despite her kindness, the male speaker objectifies her and feels justified in killing her. What is so distressing about the poem is that she is not given the chance to speak. Browning does not even allow her to scream while she is being strangled. Instead, in lines 40-41, the speaker tells the reader "no pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain." How does the speaker know that she felt no pain? He strangles her with her own hair and yet he is sure that she has felt nothing. Porphyria is essentially denied the ability to speak for herself. Even in her death, her male counterpart interprets her emotions for her and tells the reader what she feels as though he can read her mind. Not only does Browning's speaker deny Porphyria the ability to speak for herself, but he also projects all of his anger onto her. This projection further decreases Porphyria's presence in the poem, which increases the reader's distance from her.
Browning's wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning does not create a more convincing portrayal of women in poetry, even though she is a female poet. Like the women in Robert Browning's poetry, the women in Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Aurora Leigh are objectified as the author makes extreme stereotypes about women in different classes. This poem can be read as a brilliant feminine work because of its focus on an independent Victorian woman, but it really only addresses the problem of a woman trying to escape male patriarchy. There is no mythic control over the women in this poem such as in "Marianna" or "The Lady of Shallot," but these women are still subjected to men as they are forced to arrange their lives according to the actions of the men around them. Although Barrett Browning tries to liberate Aurora Leigh, she only succeeds in showing how women had no real identity of their own as Aurora Leigh's individuality is only through her separation from a man.
The reader learns the most about Aurora Leigh through her relationship to the men in her life. This reinforces the idea that Victorian women did not have their own identities outside of their relationships with these male figures. Early in the poem, Browning writes of Aurora Leigh's attachment to her doting father and how his influence on her does not diminish even as she grows up. Later in her life, Aurora Leigh's existence is defined by her desire to avoid marriage to her cousin Romney and make a living as a poet. Although much time passes during her period as an independent poet, in lines 571-577 of the fifth book, she marks the progress of her life by referring to Romney:
For instance, I have not seen Romney Leigh
Full eighteen months add six, you get two years.
They say he's very busy with good works, — 
Has parted Leigh Hall into almshouses.
He made an almshouse of his heart one day,
Which ever since is loose upon the latch
For those who pull the string. — I never did.
This passage shows that even though years have passed between her visits with Romney, she still thinks about him and about the love that she gave up. Her life at this point is accordingly defined by her deliberate reaction against men, which means that her identity is defined against male figures.
Additionally, the latter part of the poem when Aurora Leigh is the most independent and separated from men is also the most ambiguous since Barrett Browning does not give a clear explanation of setting details. This expresses the author's self-conscious discomfort about what it meant to be a self-sufficient woman in the nineteenth-century. Women at this point were seldom published authors and it was even more rare for a woman to be a published poet since poetry was considered a higher art form than the novel. Barrett Browning's attempt to describe the life of a female poet is admirable in its effort to emancipate her main character from dependence on men, but despite the poem's female authorship, it objectifies the female characters and defines their existence in comparison to men in the same way that contemporary male poets did.
The way that Barrett Browning stereotypes women and only defines them against men is most apparent in lines 457-465 of the first book in which she describes the way men perceive women:
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary — or a stool
To stumble over and vex you . . . 'curse that stool!'
Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this … that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.
Although Aurora Leigh makes a point about her anger regarding the way Victorian women were objectified by men, this statement furthers the idea that women had no identity outside of the men in their lives. Aurora Leigh effectively supports my suggestion that the male voice and male presence is more palpable in many Victorian poems, regardless of the poet's gender.
To write a truly feminist poem, Barrett Browning would have had to describe Aurora Leigh solely in terms of her accomplishments as a poet. The constraints of Victorian society would not have allowed a woman to exist as such however. Respectable women in Victorian England were either identified by marriage or by spinsterhood. Either way, their identity depended on the presence or absence of a man. It would have been completely unrealistic for Barrett Browning to have written about Aurora Leigh as a completely autonomous heroine, but the fact that she could not do this supports my suggestion that female figures in Victorian poetry are overshadowed either by the presence of men in the poems or the voice of the poems' male authors.
Although many nineteenth-century poets attempted to use the voices of the female characters in their poems in effective ways, the result is usually that the male voice of the author or the presence of men in the poems overshadows the female voice and the female presence. Since women are always defined by their relationship to men, a distance is created between the reader and the female subjects that also makes the female voice and presence in these poems weaker than the presence of the male authors and the male subjects in the poems. The result of this is that women are typically objectified in Victorian poetry since their voices and their actions in the poems are only described according to their relationship with men.

The Lady and the Painter: By Robert Browning (Asolando – 1889)



SHE: Yet womanhood you reverence,
So you profess!

HE: With heart and soul.

SHE: Of which fact this is evidence!
To help Art-study,--for some dole
Of certain wretched shillings,--you
Induce a woman--virgin too--
To strip and stand stark naked?

HE: True.

SHE: Nor feel you so degrade her?

HE: What
--(Excuse the interruption)--clings
Half-savage-like around your hat?

SHE: Ah, do they please you? Wild-bird-wings
Next season,--Paris-prints assert,--
We must go feathered to the skirt:
My modiste keeps on the alert.
Owls, hawks, jays--swallows most approve ...

HE: Dare I speak plainly?

SHE: Oh, I trust!

HE: Then, Lady Blanche, it less would move
In heart and soul of me disgust
Did you strip off those spoils you wear,
And stand--for thanks, not shillings--bare,
To help Art like my Model there.
She well knew what absolved her--praise
In me for God's surpassing good,
Who granted to my reverent gaze
A type of purest womanhood.
You clothed with murder of His best
Of harmless beings--stand the test!
What is it you know?

SHE: That you jest!

In a combination of Browning’s defense of the female nude in art along with his love of animals and antivivisectionist beliefs, this delightful little poem was born. In reply to Mrs. Bronson’s question as to what inspired the poem, Browning said: “Well, . . . the birds twittering in the trees suggested it to me. You know, I don’t like women to wear those wings in their bonnets.” The poem opens with a slightly snobbish woman, Lady Blanch, a title suggesting, perhaps, social elitism, reproaching an artist for painting nudes. She bluntly accuses him of having no “reverence” for “womankind.” The painter stands firm and replies that he does revere women “With heart and soul.” To this, the woman gestures about the studio and admonishes the painter for paying “certain wretched shillings” to “Induce a woman – virgin too – / To strip and stand stark-naked?” His defense is a monosyllabic “True.” The woman finds not only his art subject disagreeable, but his attitude as well appalls her. She continues: “Nor feel you so degrade her?” Since the painter feels he has already answered this question, he changes the subject and asks: “What / . . . clings / Half-savage-like around your hat?” Mistaking this question as a complement, the woman suddenly forgets her disdain for the artist and begins boasting of her “wild-bird-wings!” She explains that it’s all the latest fashion, in fact, “Next season, – Paris-prints assert, – / We must go feathered to the skirt . . .”

She begins to name some of the birds from which the fashionable feathers have come: “Owls, hawks, jays – swallows” when the painter interrupts her a second time. He asks: “Dare I speak plainly?” and she gives him the go-ahead: “Oh, I trust.” Then he makes a comically shocking confession; he says, in essence, that he would be less disgusted “In heart and soul” if she stripped “off those spoils you wear, / And stand – for thanks, not shillings – bare . . .” His wording is interesting; he does not say that he would be pleased to see her naked, but that he would be less disgusted. He draws the lady’s attention to one of the paintings of a nude in his studio and explains that his model “Well knew what absolved her.” He further explains that God has granted him the gift to be able to paint “A type of purest womanhood.” Literally and figuratively stripped of all moral and social impurities, “the naked female form” (to borrow a line from “Parleying with Francis Furini”), is the purest of the pure. The painter then focuses on Lady Blanch and exclaims: “You – clothed with murder of His best / Of harmless beings – stand the test!” The lady has not had a chance to reply since the artist first told her to strip bare; one can only imagine what is going through her mind. The artist then asks: “What is it you know?” and the woman, in a fitting and humorous reply simply says: “That you jest.”

A closer look at her reply, the reader wonders exactly what she thinks the painter is jesting about; her stripping bare, his defense of painting nudes, his belief that God has granted him the skill to paint “purest womanhood,” or that her fashionable hat is made from murdering God’s best harmless creatures. Perhaps her single statement encompasses all of the above. Still, the reader might ask which of the insults stings her the most: that she is a “savage” accomplice to the “murder” of innocent birds, that he would feel less disgusted (but still disgusted!) to see her naked or that he does not offer to pay her even a few “wretched shillings” as he does with his virgin models.

Browning’s love of animals can be seen in the painter’s feelings towards the woman he accuses of murdering small birds for the sake of her vanity. Similarly, Browning’s love of music can be seen in the next poem where the poet wrestles with the composer to shed a little light on the meaning of his fugues.

Structural Analysis of The Garden Fancies II: Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis

Plague take all your pedants, say I!
He who wrote what I hold in my hand,
Centuries back was so good as to die,
Leaving this rubbish to cumber the land;
This, that was a book in its time,
Printed on paper and bound in leather,
Last month in the white of a matin-prime
Just when the birds sang all together.

Into the garden I brought it to read,
And under the arbute and laurustine
Read it, so help me grace in my need,
From title-page to closing line.
Chapter on chapter did I count,
As a curious traveller counts Stonehenge;
Added up the mortal amount;
And then proceeded to my revenge.

Yonder’s a plum-tree with a crevice
An owl would build in, were he but sage;
For a lap of moss, like a fine pont-levis
In a castle of the Middle Age,
Joins to a lip of gum, pure amber;
When he’d be private, there might he spend
Hours alone in his lady’s chamber:
Into this crevice I dropped our friend.

Splash, went he, as under he ducked,
At the bottom, I knew, rain-drippings stagnate;
Next, a handful of blossoms I plucked
To bury him with, my bookshelf’s magnate;
Then I went in-doors, brought out a loaf,
Half a cheese, and a bottle of Chablis;
Lay on the grass and forgot the oaf
Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais.

Now, this morning, betwixt the moss
And gum that locked our friend in limbo,
A spider had spun his web across,
And sat in the midst with arms akimbo:
So, I took pity, for learning’s sake,
And, de profundis, accentibus lætis,
Cantate! quoth I, as I got a rake;
And up I fished his delectable treatise.

Here you have it, dry in the sun,
With all the binding all of a blister,
And great blue spots where the ink has run,
And reddish streaks that wink and glister
O’er the page so beautifully yellow,
Oh, well have the droppings played their tricks!
Did he guess how toadstools grow, this fellow?
Here’s one stuck in his chapter six!

How did he like it when the live creatures
Tickled and toused and browsed him all over,
And worm, slug, eft, with serious features,
Came in, each one, for his right of trover;
When the water-beetle with great blind deaf face
Made of her eggs the stately deposit,
And the newt borrowed just so much of the preface
As tiled in the top of his black wife’s closet?

All that life and fun and romping,
All that frisking and twisting and coupling,
While slowly our poor friend’s leaves were swamping
And clasps were cracking and covers suppling!
As if you had carried sour John Knox
To the play-house at Paris, Vienna or Munich,
Fastened him into a front-row box,
And danced off the Ballet with trousers and tunic.

Come, old Martyr! What, torment enough is it?
Back to my room shall you take your sweet self.
Good-bye, mother-beetle; husband-eft, sufficit!
See the snug niche I have made on my shelf!
A.’s book shall prop you up, B.’s shall cover you,
Here’s C. to be grave with, or D. to be gay,
And with E. on each side, and F. right over you,
Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment-day!

“Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis” (Dramatic Romances and Lyrics – 1845)

This poem is delightfully amusing from start to finish. Ian Jack comments that “In so far as it is a narrative, it might well be described as a comic Dramatic Romance”. Browning uses different tools from his artist’s kit to created a totally different kind of humor. In this poem, one warm spring morning, the speaker, probably Browning himself, carries an old leather book into his garden for an afternoon of pleasant reading. The speaker reads the book from cover to cover and, disgusted with its pedantic contents, prepares for “revenge.” The book is one written by the German scholar Sibrandus of the city of Aschafenburg. In the title, Browning plays with the name of the city, garbling, gnarling and warping Aschafenburg to Schafnaburgensis. The pronunciation is difficult if not comically impossible; a precursor of the poet’s own feelings about those who believe in and practice pedantic forms of education. Browning summarizes his contempt for this dry, lifeless, unnatural education with the first word of the poem “Plague” and with humorously Biblical proportions, he proceeds to do just that, he casts a plague on the book and its writer and, presumably, on all those who follow these tenets. The speaker calls the book “rubbish” and declares it a bother to the land.

The humor is acute in the personification of wrecking “revenge” on an old book. Most readers, finding some offence with a book would simple set it aside without bothering to read it in entirety. Other, more drastic reactions might be to burn the distasteful old tome. But this reader decides to go one step further and to teach the book (and its writer) a lesson about the meaning of real life, a life throbbing with vibrant, flourishing, colorful and rich action; quite the opposite of the dry, flat and pedantic nature of the book by Sibrandus. To exact his revenge, the reader decides to drop the old book into the rotting, insect-laden pool of stagnant rain-water found at the bottom of a crevice in the garden’s old plum tree “where it endures the indignity of being invaded by amorous efts and bugs.” Once the book has been deposited, the speaker tosses “a handful of blossoms he plucked/To bury him with.” It is interesting to note that the speaker drops the book into the “crevice of a tree, which an owl (conventional symbol of wisdom) has rejected for a home.” Afterward, the speaker goes back to the house and returns to the garden with a loaf of bread, “Half a cheese, and a bottle of Chablis” along with a different book “and forgot the oaf/Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais.”

A month later, the speaker, feeling sorry for the old book, comically says: “I took pity, for learning’s sake,” and rescues the book from its water-logged nest with a rake. Once the book has been baptized in the joyousness of life’s brew, he refers to the redeemed book (and Sibrandus), as “our friend,” “this fellow,” “old martyr” and “your sweet self.” During the soaking, a spider had spun a web over the crevice and now “sat in the midst with arms akimbo.” The following quotation has a high edge of comedy as the speaker describes the condition of the old stuffy book now that it has been fished from the nook in the plum tree and is allowed to dry in the sun:

     With all the binding all of a blister,
And great blue spots where the ink has run,
     And reddish streaks that wink and glister
O’er the page so beautifully yellow:
     Oh, well have the droppings played their tricks!
Did he guess how toadstools grow, this fellow?
     Here’s one stuck in his chapter six!
How did he like it when the live creatures
     Tickled and toused and browsed him all over,
And worm, slug, eft, with serious features,
     Came in, each one, for his right trover?
–When the water-beetle with great blind deaf face
     Made of her eggs the stately deposit,
And the newt borrowed just so much of the preface
     As tiled in the top of his black wife’s closet?
All that life and fun and romping,
     All that frisking and twisting and coupling,
While slowly our poor friend’s leaves were swamping
     And clasps were cracking and covers suppling. (42–60)

A partial catalogue of the words from the above quote highlights the humor: blister, reddish streaks, toadstools, live creatures, tickled, toused, browsed, worm, slug, eft, water-beetle, “blind deaf face,” eggs, deposit, newt, life, fun, romping, frisking, twisting, coupling, swamping, cracking and supplying. Of course, insects and reptiles don’t couple, but that’s part of the fun. W. David Shaw makes these comments on the inherent humor of this poem: “The toadstool growing in Sibrandus’ sixth chapter and ‘the live creatures’ that ‘Tickled and toused and browsed’ his book all over advertise the speaker’s hilarious revolt against pendants like the grammarian. But even in discrediting the pendants, the extravagance of the speaker’s own high spirits become an object of comedy.”

The book and the author are conjoined into one personified “he” and “him.” The speaker asks: “How did he like it when his creatures/ Tickled and toused and browsed him all over?” The verb browsed is usually used in reference to looking through a book, and the humorous twist in these lines is that the insects are literally browsing through the book; toadstools are growing “Here’s one stuck in your chapter six!” Meanwhile, insects including newts, beetles and efts are “coupling,” burrowing and laying eggs from cover to cover. The combined effect is absurd, bizarre and comic. Elizabeth Browning wrote in a letter to her future husband: “Do you know that this poem’s a great favourite with me –it is so new, and full of a creeping, crawling grotesque life.” The speaker, delighted with the result of his revenge, compares it to the horror and disgust that the puritanical Scottish religious leader, John Knox, might feel if he were “fastened…into a front-row” seat at a ballet and forced to watch the dancers wearing “trousers and tunic.” To a pious and straight-laced fellow such as John Knox, this performance would be disgusting, appalling and against every fiber of his moral and spiritual character.

But for Browning, a great nature lover, the creepy, crawling grotesqueness of this poem would be amazing and alluring, not at all disgusting. Sibrandus symbolizes intellectuals who have lost touch with what is real and meaningful in life; they have lost sight of the true, base origins from which life grows. This poem shows “how natural and simple beauty of true knowledge is found in close association with the harmonies and rhythms of nature and the instinctive life processes.”

The poem ends when the speaker asks the book: “What, torment enough is it?” Then the speaker and the personified voice of the book say farewell to “mother beetle; husband eft” and the old, warped, rotting, cracking volume is returned to the house and placed on the bookshelf surrounded by other books to “Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment day!” Obviously, in the speaker’s mind at least, the book and its author have received  a taste of redemption, but have not been forgiven. Understanding the humor of this poem will help the reader understand the much more subtle humor found in “A Grammarian’s Funeral” (Men and Women – 1855) where another pedantic character is satirically eulogized by his loving and adoring students.

Among Browning’s most despised character flaws of humanity are vanity, arrogance and pride – he attacks these vices, often humorously, over and over throughout his work. Sibrandus, and his book, are given due punishment; in the next poem, the characters also pay the price for their own unbridled vanity, arrogance and pride.

“Solomon and Balkis” (Jocoseria – 1883)


Solomon King of the Jews and the Queen of Sheba, Balkis,
Talk on the ivory throne, and we well may conjecture their talk is
Solely of things sublime: why else has she sought Mount Zion,
Climbed the six golden steps, and sat betwixt lion and lion?

She proves him with hard questions: before she has reached the middle
He smiling supplies the end, straight solves them riddle by riddle;
Until, dead-beaten at last, there is left no spirit in her,
And thus would she close the game whereof she was first beginner:

"O wisest thou of the wise, world's marvel and well-nigh monster,
One crabbed question more to construe or vulgo conster!
Who are those, of all mankind, a monarch of perfect wisdom
Should open to, when they knock at spheteron do that's his dome?"

The King makes tart reply: "Whom else but the wise his equals
Should he welcome with heart and voice? since, king though he be, such weak walls
Of circumstance power and pomp divide souls each from other
That whoso proves kingly in craft I needs must acknowledge my brother.

"Come poet, come painter, come sculptor, come builder whatever his condition,
Is he prime in his art? We are peers! My insight has pierced the partition
And hails for the poem, the picture, the statue, the building my fellow!
Gold's gold though dim in the dust: court-polish soon turns it yellow.

"But tell me in turn, O thou to thy weakling sex superior,
That for knowledge hast travelled so far yet seemest no whit the wearier, —
Who are those, of all mankind, a queen like thyself, consummate
In wisdom, should call to her side with an affable 'Up hither, come, mate!' "

"The Good are my mates — how else? Why doubt it?" the Queen upbridled:
"Sure even above the Wise, or in travel my eyes have idled, —
I see the Good stand plain: be they rich, poor, shrewd or simple,
If Good they only are. . . . Permit me to drop my wimple!"

And, in that bashful jerk of her body, she peace, thou scoffer! —
Jostled the King's right-hand stretched courteously help to proffer,
And so disclosed a portent: all unaware the Prince eyed
The Ring which bore the Name turned outside now from inside!

The truth-compelling Name! and at once "I greet the Wise — Oh,
Certainly welcome such to my court with this proviso:
The building must be my temple, my person stand forth the statue,
The picture my portrait prove, and the poem my praise you cat, you!"

But Solomon nonplussed? Nay! "Be truthful in turn!" so bade he:
"See the Name, obey its hest!" And at once subjoins the lady
— "Provided the Good are the young, men strong and tall and proper,
Such servants I straightway enlist, which means . . . " but the blushes stop her.

"Ah, Soul," the Monarch sighed, "that wouldst soar yet ever crawlest,
How comes it thou canst discern the greatest yet choose the smallest,
Unless because heaven is far, where wings find fit expansion,
While creeping on all-fours suits, suffices the earthly mansion?

"Aspire to the Best! But which? There are Bests and Bests so many,
With a habitat each for each, earth's Best as much Best as any!
On Lebanon roots the cedar soil lofty, yet stony and sandy —
While hyssop, of worth in its way, on the wall grows low but handy.

"Above may the Soul spread wing, spurn body and sense beneath her;
Below she must condescend to plodding unbuoyed by æther.
In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity;
On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools that's Vanity.

"It is nought, it will go, it can never presume above to trouble me;
But here, why, it toys and tickles and teases, howe'er I redouble me
In a doggedest of endeavours to play the indifferent. Therefore,
Suppose we resume discourse? Thou hast travelled thus far: but wherefore?

"Solely for Solomon's sake, to see whom earth styles Sagest?"
Through her blushes laughed the Queen. "For the sake of a Sage? The gay jest!
On high, be communion with Mind there, Body concerns not Balkis:
Down here, do I make too bold? Sage Solomon, one fool's small kiss!"

A delightfully playful and little known poem shows the softer, sweeter side of Browning’s humor. Cooke says that the conversation between King Solomon and Queen Balkis “contains an amount of humor such as does not appear in the Talmudic or other legends.” Browning’s imagination, of course, allowed him to see humor in even the driest of legends. Based on Arabian legends, Queen Balkis of Sheba (the legendary Queen of Sheba) was invited to visit King Solomon’s palace. According to the legends, she “was quite the equal to King Solomon in the answering of riddles.” In this poem, Browning humorously aligns these two wise sages together in kind of a wisest of the wisest riddle contest. He prefaces this royal tournament by explaining: “We may conjecture their talk is/Solely of things sublime . . .” The narrator offers insights into their “sublime” and lofty discussion with Queen Balkis posing riddles which theologians, philosophers and poets have wrestled with since there were such professions.

Queen Balkis begins by asking King Solomon whom he considers to be his equal or peer. Solomon replies: “‘Whom else but the wise his equals . . .” He invites all the wise ones: “‘Come poet, come painter, come sculptor, come builder . . . / All hails – for the poem, the picture, the statue, the building . . .” Then King Solomon asks Queen Balkis the same question (first addressing her, humorously, as the “weakling sex superior”) and she replies that “the Good” are “even above the Wise,” and “I see the Good stand plain: be they rich, poor, shrewd or simple . . .” Following these words, the Queen drops her wimple (because it rhymes with simple?) and the King, in the hustle to retrieve it, hands it to the Queen with his right hand outstretched – palm up – whereby his ring is exposed “turned outside now from inside!” The inside part of the ring that can only be seen palm-side, not the part that the world can see. Inscribed on the ring is “the Name,” “the truth-compelling Name.” The “Ineffable Name” written on the ring may be the word “Truth,” or some other, but, I would argue, taken from the context of the poem, more than likely, the name written on the ring bears Solomon’s name. Pearsall writes that the sudden exposing of this “Name” on the ring “causes the wisest man in the world to admit that his motivation is vanity rather than love of wisdom, and causes Balkis, Queen of Shiba, to admit (laughing and kissing him) that she has come on her famous visit not to hear his wisdom but to experience his lovemaking.” According to the legend, King Solomon did, in fact, possess a ring that granted him special powers including the ability to communicate with animals. 

Having been caught out, King Solomon says: “you cat, you!” Now, King Solomon, speaking truthfully (since the Queen has seen the name engraved on the ring), reluctantly explains that yes, he welcomes the Wise as his peers and equals so long as the “wise” poet writes a poem giving him praise, the “wise” painter paints his portrait, the “wise” sculptor creates a statue of him and the “wise” builder constructs his temple. In this unexpected and humorous admission of the Great Wise King Solomon’s immense vanity, we see the blinding and hilarious vitality of the power of Truth. The King is forced to speak the Truth behind the truth, since the dropping of the wimple was merely a ruse by Queen Balkis to force the King to show her the “name” written on the inside of the ring. Then, King Solomon tells the Queen to do the same, that is, tell the real truth. This she does by saying: “Provided the Good are the young, men strong and tall and proper . . .” She blushes after this truthful confession of her unlimited lust; the “Good” are her peers provided they are good young men, "strong and tall and proper."

Both King Solomon and Queen Balkis have confessed their innermost Truths; the King’s flaw is his vanity and the Queen’s fault of character is her lust. King Solomon lets out a sigh and asks the rhetorical question (paraphrased): “Why must the human soul forever crawl when it should soar!” He adds that we should “Aspire to the Best!” but continues that statement with a riddle: “There are Bests and Bests so many,” which one is Best? He answers his own question with: “earth’s Best as much Best as any!” He explains that he “In heaven I yearn for knowledge,” but that, in reality, here “On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools – that’s Vanity.” No matter how hard he “redoubles” his efforts to be “indifferent” to its power, “it toys and tickles and teases” him, regardless of the “doggedest of endeavors” to not be affected. He breaks from this confessional revelry and asks the Queen, rather bluntly, “Thou has traveled thus far: but wherefore?”  She laughs with a blush and says in heaven, “there, Body concerns not Balkis:/Down here,–/do I make too bold? Sage Solomon,– one fool’s small kiss!” Though she is not concerned with the body in heaven (there), she is very aware of the physical passions “Down here” on earth. (“Down here” may also refer to where her hands are placed on her lap.)

Should the reader, after completing the poem, return to the beginning where the narrator says: “we well may conjecture their talk is/Solely of things sublime,” we have an all new interpretation of the word “sublime.” At first, we may have interpreted it as “lofty,” “heaven-ward,” “inspirational,” or “transcending.” But on reflection, we are now interpreting the word with a softer, more intimate human definition including “passionate,” “delightful” and “secretive” allowing for natural human weaknesses – including the King’s vanity and the Queen’s lust.

Browning has delicately woven into the very fabric of this marvelous little poem an unparalleled and humorously quaint tale of two not-so-young people flirting with each other as if they were teenagers. The reader soon realizes that the ever-so wise and judicious King Solomon and Queen Balkis are not interested in trying to solve or understand life’s great mysteries under Browning’s pen; they do not discuss social, political, religious or theological things of weight as one would expect of these two great Monarchs. What they do converse about are their innermost secrets while flirting and toying and tickling and teasing each other as is the custom of all new young lovers.

The poem ends with (or perhaps really begins with) “one fool’s small kiss!” The next humorous poem ends the same way, but the kissing couple could not be more unlike King Solomon and Queen Balkis.

“Muckle-Mouth Meg” Robert Browning (Asolando – 1889)



FROWNED the Laird on the Lord: "So, red-handed I catch thee?
Death-doomed by our Law of the Border!
We've a gallows outside and a chief to dispatch thee:
Who trespasses--hangs: all's in order."

He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant:
Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, Husband, I beg!
He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant
--If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!"

"No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry:
Grant rather the gallows!" laughed he.
"Foul fare kith and kin of you--why do you tarry?"
"To tame your fierce temper!" quoth she.

"Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week:
Cold, darkness and hunger work wonders:
Who lion-like roars now, mouse-fashion will squeak,
And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.'"

A week did he bide in the cold and the dark
--Not hunger: for duly at morning
In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark
Chirped "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning?

"Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!"
Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some
Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst:
No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!"

Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide,
Out he marched, and there waited the lassie:
"Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride!
Consider! Sky's blue and turf's grassy:

"Life's sweet: shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?"
"Not I" quoth the stout heart: "too eerie
The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg:
Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!"

"Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man!
Perhaps he would rather wed me!"
"Ay, would he--with just for a dowry your can!"
"I'm Muckle-mouth Meg" chirruped she.

"Then so--so--so--so--" as he kissed her apace--
"Will I widen thee out till thou turnest
From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace,
To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!"
A young, handsome Scottish lad is arrested for trespassing and is sentenced to death by the “Law of the Border.” The Lady of the land (the Lord’s wife), intervenes and begs for mercy; she is able to broker a deal: if the young man agrees to marry their daughter, Muckle-Mouth Meg, his life will be spared. The proud young man scoffs at the idea of marrying the “‘mile-wide-mouthed monster” of a daughter (he has never seen her) and concludes: “‘Grant rather the gallows!” Determined to marry off their daughter to this quick tempered and proud “callant,” the parents decide to imprison the lad for a week without food because “Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders . . .”, and the “lion” will become a “mouse.” He spends a week in the jail but does not go hungry; it seems a young lass, who remains unseen, with the voice of “a lark” brings him food every day. She asks him if he is still “scorning” Muckle-mouth Meg and the stubborn young man admits “No frog-jaws” will become his wife.

At the end of his sentence, one week later, the young lad is released from prison and again is given the choice to marry Muckle-mouth Meg or swing from the gallows. Again, he chooses death over marriage; he explains that Meg’s muckle-mouth is “too eerie/The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock’s egg;/Shall I let it munch mine?”  Browning’s word choice in the poem is immensely humorous. The young lad describes the daughter as a “mile-wide-mouthed monster,” as having “frog-jaws,” and a “mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock’s egg.” Even the verb “munch” instead of the word “kiss” is wonderfully funny. The young, pretty girl with the voice “like a lark” who had been giving him food while imprisoned, suggests that rather than marry Muckle-mouth Meg, “Perhaps he would rather wed me!” The young man, much taken by the young girl’s kindness and beauty (and, of course to avoid the gallows) instantly accepts her proposal with the odd words “with just for a dowry your can!” Just then, the pretty young lass confesses that she is, in fact, Muckly-mouth Meg and the young man stammers: “Then so- so- so- so-“ he says, as he grabs and kisses the girl to transform Margaret Minnikin-mou’s (her real name) sweet, lovely, normal mouth “To Muckle-Mouth Meg in good earnest!”

As Browning leaves the young man ironically and passionately doing his best to transform pretty Margaret’s mouth in the previously abhorrent frog-jawed monster, a whole different kind of monster appears in the next poem.