Dramatic Monologue: Love and Death Christina Rossetti and Robert Browning

Outline “Song” (“When I’m Dear, My Dearest”) Christina Rossetti Dramatic Monologue: Definition “Song” as a Dramatic Monologue “My Last Duchess” “Porphyria’s Lover” Robert Browning as a Victorian Poet

Song When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree. Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. Questions: Repetition, Pattern and Contrast? Meanings of the last two lines. Tone?

Song (2) I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on as if in pain. And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. [1st stanza] No sad song, roses, shady Cypress tree Green grass wet with rain and dewdrops A Song version: http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/crossetti/plockinger1.html. edit 羅大佑’s version

“Song” –Multiple Meanings Release: Death as a release; no need for mourning ritual or obsession; Reluctance: Death being an eternal midnight, the speaker rejects what she knows she cannot enjoy, and her enumeration of them reveals her love (e.g. nature and natural cycles); Both. A woman talking about her own death, but not used as a symbol by men.

Christina Georgina Rossetti in Context (1830-1894) Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s sister but not accepted as a member of Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood; serve as Dante Gabriel Rossetti's model for virgin contradictory images produced by DGR: (top to bottom): an innocent girl, tempestuous one, a serious and aloof woman. vs. the Pre-Raphaelite Women

CR as Virgin Ecce Ancilla Domini,1850  Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

CR as a Writer Seen as a ‘simple’ writer by her brother William Michael R and other male critics (e.g. "at best a spontaneous and at worst a naive technician.") Writer of religious poetry and children’s nursery rhymes. Like Dickinson, hers is poetry of reticence (沈默寡言), deals with loss and death a lot. The language, only apparently simple, is rich with ambiguities. (They also have a lot of religious poems.)

Dramatic Monologue A poem which involves a speaker speaking alone to a and an implied auditor. Through his speech, the following is revealed: what, when, where and how of “the story”; “a gap between what that speaker says and what he or she actually reveals” (reference).

Dramatic Monologue & the Reader Browninesque dramatic monologue has three requirements: The reader takes the part of the silent listener. The speaker uses a case-making, argumentative tone. We complete the dramatic scene from within, by means of inference and imagination. (Glenn Everett reference).

“Song” as a Dramatic Monologue Dramatic Situation and listener (my dearest): unknown Contradiction between the speaker’s intention and what she actually reveals. We can write the story in many ways.

Dramatic Monologue in Historical Context The poets’ meeting the readers’ need for stories in Victorian society, when novel was a popular genre. A device to explore the depth of human psychology and the theme of alientation– by assuming an personae (often quite alien to the poet’s own values and beliefs) e.g. The Waste Land, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

“My Last Duchess”: Starting Question 1. The "who, where, when, and why" of the poem? 2. The role the listener plays in this poem? 2. What is the last duchess like? (See ll. 21-34) Why is she called the “last” duchess? Is she a flirt or one with genuine kindness to all creatures? 3. What is the duke's attitude to his duchess? What happened to her? 4. What kind of person is the duke? What does the ending reveal about him?

“My Last Duchess” (1) Ferrara That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà 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)                      

“My Last Duchess” (2) 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 Frà 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

“My Last Duchess” (3) 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,

“My Last Duchess” (4) 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

“My Last Duchess” (5) 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 pretence      Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;           

“My Last Duchess” (6) 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!          

“My Last Duchess” Time: the Italian Renaissance, when the duke is negotiating with an envoy over the dowry of his next marriage. Place: the grand staircase in the ducal palace at Ferrara, in northern Italy His purpose: to boast and/or to threaten. silence of the listener = awe, alertness?

“My Last Duchess” The duchess – jovial and loving equally to everyone and every being. last – 1) not late; she may be killed, but she may also be put in a convent. 2) will be another one. The duke: 1) possessive and arrogant, he treats the duchess and the next one as “objects” to possess; 2) proud—choose not to stoop His language: 1) implicit demand; 2) uses grand rhetoric to assert his power, disguising his lack of power.

“My Last Duchess”—Dramatic Irony Contradiction between what he says and what he means: double negative says he has no skills in speech says he refuses to stoop (Isn’t the command a compromise of his humanity?) Between assertion of power and powerlessness Power -- none but me draws the curtain Powerlessness– repetitions of “all” “not alone,” “it was all one.”

Robert Browning (1812-1889) Eloped with and married the poet Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861, writer of Sonnets from the Portuguese), and settled with her in Florence. He produced comparatively little poetry during the next 15 years. After Elizabeth Browning died in 1861, he returned to England. DRAMATIS PERSONAE (1864) THE RING AND THE BOOK (1869), based on the proceedings in a murder trial in Rome in 1698. (source)

“Porphyria’s Lover” Starting Question How would you describe the speaker? From which details can you tell the way his mind works? How about Porphyria? How are the two set in contrast with each other? Where is the turning point in this poem? How are the two changed, or not changed, before and after the turning point? Who is the listener? Why is the listerner silent?

“Porphyria’s Lover” (1) THE rain set early in to-night,   The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite,   And did its worst to vex the lake:   I listen'd with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight   She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate   Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

“Porphyria’s Lover” (2) Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,   And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall,   And, last, she sat down by my side   And call'd me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist,   And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced,   And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,   And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me—she   Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free   From pride, and vainer ties dissever,   And give herself to me for ever.

“Porphyria’s Lover” (3) But passion sometimes would prevail,   Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale   For love of her, and all in vain:   So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I look'd up at her eyes   Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise   Made my heart swell, and still it grew   While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair,   Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair   In one long yellow string I wound   Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she;   I am quite sure she felt no pain.

“Porphyria’s Lover” (4) As a shut bud that holds a bee,   I warily oped her lids: again   Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. And I untighten'd next the tress   About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:   I propp'd her head up as before,   Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still:   The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will,   That all it scorn'd at once is fled,   And I, its love, am gain'd instead! Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how   Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now,   And all night long we have not stirr'd,   And yet God has not said a word! “Porphyria’s Lover” (4)

“Porphyria and her Lover” cares about the norms of society and its "gay feast" dominates over him. The speaker – isolated; quiet; gloomy, listens "with heart fit to break.“ His language: repetition, nasal sound to show his sulkiness. The lack of communication: "no voice replied."

Turning Point & the Listener(s) turning point –When the speaker believes that Porphyria loves her, he takes the initiative to “possess” her forever. The ending: an attempt to ‘rejuvenate’ her. the listener – Porphyria, God, or us  sympathy + horror

Reference “Porphyria’s Lover”-visual presentation http://www.scottmccloud.com/comics/porphyria/porphyria.html