The Diverse Depictions of our “Almost-Instinct” Love as Seen in the Poetry of Sydney, Browning and Larkin

Of all the human emotions which have inspired artistic expression, the most prominent perhaps is love. From ancient statues of the unclothed, airborne son of the goddess Venus, to caricatures of a chubby cherub drawing a heart-tipped arrow printed on last year‟s Valentine‟s Day cards, love has pervaded throughout history alongside humanity itself. It is prevalent not only in the visual arts but also in literature, where various authors have treated the subject in unique ways. By evaluating these works, it can be seen that, while a vague conception of love has persisted, those emotions noted to accompany it have gradually changed. In deed, love as it is perceived now is most certainly not the love of centuries ago. From the Renaissance sonnet sequence of Sir Sydney Philip, to Robert Browning‟s dramatic monologues of the 19th century, and finally to Philip Larkin‟s 20th-century poem “An Arundel Tomb,” one can witness the many transmutations of the idea of love throughout history.

Sir Sydney Philip‟s sonnet sequence, amassing over one hundred sonnets, recounts the unhappy romance between Astrophil (“lover of star”) and Stella (“star”), a story wrought with despair. From the very form of the first sonnet in the sequence, penned in iambic hexameter, readers get a sense of the burden of love: that it is an emotion that overwhelms and flows beyond the iambic pentameter typical of sonnets. The first four lines,

"Loving in truth, and faine in verse my love to show,

That the deare She might take some pleasure of my paine,
Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pitie winne, and pitie grace obtaine,"

which build upon each other in content, reflect the climactic accumulation of thoughts within the speaker as he struggles to confront his emotion. Astrophil describes his love for Stella as the “blackest face of woe,” one that reduces his mind to a “sunne-burn‟d braine” incapable of producing any impressive “inventions.” Certainly, the way in which the speaker presents himself in love – “Thus great with child to speake, and helpless in my throwes/Biting my trewand pen, beating my selfe for spite” – makes love out to be upsetting rather than pleasing.

Sonnet 31 of the sequence “Astrophil and Stella” is another which conveys an unfavourable impression of love. The poem presents Astrophil apostrophizing to the “Moone” who “climb‟st the skies” soundlessly and with “wanne a face.” Because of the moon‟s “languisht grace,” Astrophil believes it to be in love, implying in turn that he himself feels languished. The reason becomes apparent in the concluding quatrain and couplet wherein Astrophil reveals that he has been rejected by a “proud” Stella who calls his love for her “but want of wit.” This sonnet in the sequence conveys the loneliness of thwarted love in the solitary figure of Astrophil talking to the unresponsive moon. The conclusion of the poem in four questions which are never answered effectively conveys Astrophil‟s sense of confusion after having been misled by his own love into a state of dejection.

The sonnets of “Astrophil and Stella” follow Petrarchan convention. Like Petrarch who pined in his poems for the love of a woman named Laura, Astrophil yearns for Stella throughout the sequence which ardently focuses on the speaker‟s “resulting agony” from unrequited love (“Poetry” 179-180). Thus his sonnets present love as a distressing ordeal. Paradoxically, however, the sequence, which dwells obsessively on the despair of the speaker, inherently glorifies it as well, portraying love as something which is at once painful and pleasurable.

Robert Browning‟s dramatic monologue, “My Last Duchess,” is strikingly different from “Astrophil and Stella.” Spoken by a Duke to the envoy of a Count, the monologue conveys the idea of a love that is forcefully possessive rather than, as in “Astrophil and Stella,” one that harmlessly languishes in despair. The shocking story within the poem is of a Duke who, jealous of the fact that “the bough of cherries some officious fool/Broke in the orchard for her,” among countless other things, drew the same “spot of joy” into his Duchess‟ cheek as did “[his] favour at her breast,” gives “commands” to have the lady killed. Her portrait, kept behind curtains that “none puts by” but the Duke himself, represents the Duke‟s domination of her in that he has ultimate control of who at last gets to see her. The meticulousness of the poem‟s structure – always ten-syllable lines arranged in successive couplets – further alludes to the speaker‟s need for order, and moreover adds a sense of calm to the poem which, coupled with the content, creates a rather sinister mood. Ironically, while the Duke attempts to discredit his former wife by saying she had “a heart…too soon made glad, too easily impressed,” his descriptions of her betray him, showing rather an innocent woman who delighted in all things in life, be they “the dropping of the daylight in the West” or “the white mule she rode with round the terrace,” and portraying himself instead, as Arnold Markley terms it, as “somewhat of a monster” ("An overview of 'My Last Duchess'”). Thus the poem invites us to see the deluding and destructive force of possessiveness within a relationship. The conclusion of the poem reiterates the theme of possessiveness: “Notice Neptune though,/Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,/Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!” Corresponding to the way that the domineering sea-god conquers the wild and elusive sea-horses, the Duke manages to tame his Duchess and pin her to the wall as another part of his personal art collection, immortalizing her in artwork in the same way that he has the powerful Neptune “cast in bronze.”

“An Arundel Tomb” by Philip Larkin, in which the poet speaks of love in the voice of one not explicitly involved in it, deals with the subject in yet another way, touching on the concept of love surpassing death, an romantic ideal that many would like to believe. The poem describes the tombs of an earl and countess who “side by side…lie in stone,” holding hands in a seeming final act of love. There is much focus on the fact that the earl and countess have essentially lost every other vestige of their identity. For example, as mentioned in the first stanza, their faces are “blurred” and their dress is only “vaguely shown.” “The Latin names around the base” do not capture the interest of the tomb‟s visitors who “look, not read,” and who likely wouldn‟t understand Latin even if they did. The “plainness” caused by the lack of identity of the two “hardly involves the [eyes]” of the tomb‟s visitors, until they see “his hand withdrawn, holding her hand.” The fact that it is their clasped hands which draw attention suggests that while time has stripped away everything else about them, their love lasts on in their embrace, undying.

Undermining this rather positive interpretation of the poem, however, is a doubt – a secondary meaning that can be found even in the use of the sole word “washing” in the line “Washing at their identity.” As Bryan Aubrey notes, “washing” can imply two things (“Critical Essay on an „Arundel Tomb‟”). Traditionally, water suggests purification. If we apply this significance to the line in the poem, as Aubrey in his “Critical Essay” does, the poet seems to say that the earl and countess have been purified by the departure from individuality, stripped of those worthless elements – their faces, their names, the way they dressed – leaving behind only the pure essence of life: love. The word “washing,” as Aubrey further argues, also suggests erosion, as a stone washed down to a pebble in a river, and this meaning applied conveys the idea that the erosion of the earl and countess‟ respective identities has transfigured the truth about them. What remains of them, their love, is but a pebble of what truly was, and therefore unreliable as fact.

This second interpretation tallies better with the conclusion: “Time has transifigured them into/Untruth.” The speaker considers the fidelity immortalized in the stone figures “hardly meant” by the dead earl and countess. Despite this, it has “come to be/Their final blazon, and to prove/Our almost-instinct almost true.” All of this clearly conveys the notion that the act of love by the effigies is nothing but a lie. The second last line – “Our almost-instinct almost true” is particularly interesting. The speaker seems troubled by the conflict between the “sharp tender shock” he received upon sighting the clasped hands and his own brooding certainty of the finality of death. That he calls the idea of love surpassing death an “almost-instinct” suggests that he has an inclination which comes to him as naturally as an instinct to believe in love and its eternal quality, but denies this tendency, terming it instead “almost” fact. The speaker sounds as though he himself wishes he could believe in the “almost-instinct.”

The final line of the poem, despite the certainty of the speaker in saying the tombs are now merely “untruth,” arguably undermines the speaker‟s sureness. This, as Aubrey notes in his “Critical Essay,” is due largely to the fact that the last line – “What will survive of us is love” – is able to stand alone. Unlike the rest of the stanza, whose lines feature enjambment and must always be read together with others to be understood, the final line has an affirmative tone. It is the heaviest, most striking line of the poem, and weakens the speaker‟s arguments by sheer emotional force alone. Most fascinatingly, that the last line, rather than the work‟s true message, should be in fact the most memorable part of the poem seems itself to render our “almost-instinct almost-true” – readers are more affected by one line which speaks to the heart than the entire poem which makes an argument to the mind. In brief, “An Arundel Tomb” engagingly offers a complicated and contradictory view of love that grapples with its very reality.

By the works of these three poets alone, it can be seen that the topic of love has had numerous interpretations and has been worked over in highly divergent ways by authors of various eras. From Petrarchan sonnets of the Renaissance which deal with the agony of unrequited love, to monologues which speak of its possessive and jealous nature as manifested in egocentric personalities, to more modern, complex poems with layers of meanings contemplating the immortality and truth of love in an ephemeral world, Love has been pondered from all angles. Perhaps it is because of all these variations in its depiction that love remains such a mysterious abstract today. Is love despair and pain? Is it the selfish need to control others? Or is it pure and immortal, “that later thing than death, more previous than life,” as Emily Dickinson once wrote? Whatever it is, it continues to fuel poetry the world over, inspiring fond memoirs by the wrinkled hand of a widow as it does “Roses are red, violets are blue” verses in the smitten schoolgirl, even to this exact moment, to this brink of history.


Sources

Aubrey, Bryan. "Critical Essay on 'An Arundel Tomb'." Poetry for Students. Ed. Jennifer Smith and Elizabeth Thomason. Vol. 12. Detroit: Gale Group, 2001. Literature Resource Center. Gale. OTTAWA PUBLIC LIBRARY. 3 Dec. 2009 .

Browning, Robert. “My Last Duchess.” The Broadview Anthology of Poetry. Eds. Herbert Rosengarten and Amanda Goldrick-Jones. Ontario: Broadview Press, 1993. 278.

Larkin, Philip. “An Arundel Tomb.” The Broadview Anthology of Poetry. Eds. Herbert Rosengarten and Amanda Goldrick-Jones. Ontario: Broadview Press, 1993. 687-688.

Markley, Arnold. "An overview of “My Last Duchess”." Poetry for Students. Detroit: Gale. Literature Resource Center. Gale. OTTAWA PUBLIC LIBRARY. 3 Dec. 2009. .

"Poetry." Renaissance: An Encyclopedia for Students. Ed. Paul F. Grendler. Vol. 3. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 2004. 179-180.

Sydney, Sir Phillip. “Astrophil and Stella.” The Broadview Anthology of Poetry. Eds. Herbert Rosengarten and Amanda Goldrick-Jones. Ontario: Broadview Press, 1993. 27.

Thoughts on Some Works of Canadian Literature

A comparison of Canadian wolf-stories

Both Ernest Thompson Seton and Farley Mowat wrote within a trend of literary environmentalism which stressed the relationship between man and beast and exalted the environment as a place of harmony and morality. Thus their respective works, “Lobo King of the Currumpaw” and Never Cry Wolf, share these elements, as well as the general purpose of advocating justice for animals. “They surely have their rights” (12), says Seton in his “Note to the Reader,” similarly Mowat in his “Preface” states that the wolf is a “fellow creature which has at least an equal right to life” as humans.

To reinforce the notion that animals are akin to humans and therefore deserve the same rights, both writers personify their wolves. Lobo is first referred to as a “king” (15). His story is laid out like that of an outlaw of the Old West - “well-known to the cowboys” (17), wreaking havoc throughout the land with his “remarkable pack” (15) and dodging all who go after his “royal scalp” (23). He is intelligent enough to outsmart all but one man; the story progresses as a battle of wits between Lobo and the narrator as he tries to kill the wolf. At the end of the story, as a “lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom or a dove bereft of his mate” (43), Lobo is said to die “of a broken heart” (43) Interestingly, while these similes compare the wolf to various other animals, the sentiments expressed therein – hopelessness, apathy, love, and despair – are human emotions. Thus Seton implies that these qualities, conventionally considered exclusively human, are inherent across the animal kingdom.

Mowat also emphasizes the humanness of the wolves he studies. In “Good Old Uncle Albert,” he describes the “individual personalities” of the wolves: the father wolf, “conscientious…thoughtful…and affectionate,” reminds him of a man he once worked for; the mother is described as nurturing, despite being “devilish.” The pups play familiar games such as tag. There is one essential factor, however, in the way Mowat describes George, Angelina, Albert and the pups that is lacking in Seton’s narrative – he actually describes them as better. George is the “idealized image” of a father that might appear in human stories “but whose real prototype has seldom paced the earth upon two legs;” Angelina is “the epitome of motherhood” and, “unlike dogs, who have adopted many of the habits of their human owners,” faithful to her mate, as is her nature. Thus, Mowat’s rendition of the wild is much more exalting than Seton’s. Seton conveys that wolves are as intelligent, heroic, and unique as humans, but not necessarily better.

Therefore, although the motivation of both works is the advocacy of animal rights, the theme of “Lobo” is the kinship between man and wolf, while the central concept of Never Cry Wolf, realized at the very end of the novel, is the “alien role” of humans who have exiled themselves from a world naturally more peaceful and ethical than their own.


Romance and Romanticism in Anne of Green Gables

Romance and Romanticism are motifs which run through L.M. Montgomery’s beloved tale Anne of Green Gables. Countless times, the protagonist herself brings up romance, often praising or denouncing a thing for how romantic (or unromantic) it is. Thus, in understanding Anne of Green Gables, one must explore the role played by these motifs within the novel.

Romanticism provides an encompassing tone and prospect for the novel. The glorification of nature, a defining aspect of Romanticism, is evident in the novel in the many positive descriptions of nature given by both the narrator and the protagonist. Anne herself is particularly depicted as having a very close connection to nature: she names and speaks to the tree outside her window, ponders the feelings of geraniums, and has a deep appreciation for the surrounding environment. In general, Romanticism honoured the child. The movement grew, in part, in reaction to rationalism, and therefore the child, being uncorrupted by the reason of adults, was seen as innocent and pure (Cooper). Above all, the Romantic movement had a preoccupation with a simpler past, “an idyllic time” (Cooper) – and this too is a component of Anne of Green Gables. Written in the early 1900s but placed in a setting some fifty years prior, the novel has always had the nostalgic quality that has greatly influenced its popularity (Fiamengo).

The romance that Anne exalts draws its primary inspiration from the Arthurian legends (Fiamengo). These medieval stories speak of heroes and quests, passionate loyalty, and perhaps above all, self-sacrifice and the trials that love could endure (Fiamengo). Anne’s infatuation with this melodramatic genre, however, leads her to insensible worries and continuous trouble: she detests her name and yearns for a more extravagant title such as “the Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald” (64); she dyes her hair (with disastrous results) in hopes of acquiring “beautiful raven black” (201) locks and later laments that she should lose her hair in such a non-noble fashion. As these events show, romance, in the medieval sense of the word, though “probably easy enough in towered Camelot hundreds of years ago” (211), was unrealistic in a place like Avonlea. Realizing this, Anne chooses to renounce romance.

Though there is no doubt that Anne does greatly relinquish her desire for romance, Montgomery returns to the motif at the end of the novel when Anne chooses to sacrifice her intended plans of going to Redmond in order to save Green Gables and keep Marilla company. In this act, we see the loyalty, love and noble self-sacrifice which are of utmost value in medieval romances (Fiamengo). Thus Montgomery conveys the possibility of romance in the real world, and implies, further, that Anne’s romantic tendencies have not diminished – merely ripened.


Tom Wilson and Brian the Still-Hunter

In her introduction to Roughing It in the Bush, Susanna Moodie explains that the aim of her book is to describe “what the Backwoods of Canada are…to the refined and accomplished gentleman” (5). The various sketches she presents throughout of characters such as Tom Wilson and Brian the Still-Hunter conform to this purpose, offering an unappealing portrayal of a land that is unfit for the gentry.

In “Tom Wilson’s Emigration,” the eccentric Mr. Wilson tells Mr. Moodie that he believed their “qualifications” for prospering in Canada were “pretty equal” (66). This invites readers to consider the possible similarities between the two, and whether or not, in fact, Mr. Moodie isn’t quite as “helpless [and] whimsical” (64) as Mr. Wilson. The author explains that Mr. Wilson comes from an “old but impoverished” (1) family which, despite its financial circumstances, still “held a certain rank and standing” (59) – this is identical to the background of any gentlemen who chose to immigrate to Canada, as outlined in the Introduction. He is portrayed as “dressed with…neatness and care” (61), having a “slight, elegant” (59) figure, and often seen bowing to “pretty girls” (59) or going hunting “with a brown spaniel dodging at his heels” (59). At the same time, he is excessively distracted and impractical. Therefore Wilson is both the portrait of an average Englishman and a device of humour. Thus, while leading her readers to laugh at Wilson and his hopeless “scheme” (66) to immigrate, Susanna Moodie implies that Mr. Moodie will be just as unsuccessful in the New World, being from precisely the same sort of background. She uses Wilson’s speech in “Tom Wilson’s Emigration” to both highlight her feelings of apprehension and foreshadow imminent failure: “’Gentlemen can’t work like labourers…,” says Mr. Wilson to the Moodies, “you will find that out” (66).

“Brian the Still-Hunter” further conveys the futility of gentlemen immigrating to Canada by presenting a disenchanting portrait of a gentleman immersed in the Canadian wilderness. Brian describes himself as “respectably born and educated” (187). Traces of his background are evident through the chapter: he generously provides milk for the baby, shows an interest in art, runs an errand for Mrs. Moodie, and so on. However, it is very clear that twenty years in Canada has taken its toll on him. Layton, who gives Brian’s history, relates that, over time, Brian became a drunk; he says “when the liquor was in, and the wit was out, [Brian became] as savage and as quarrelsome as a bear” (183). This analogy associates wilderness, as embodied by the bear, with lack of “wit” or reason. After three suicide attempts, Brian gives up drinking and chooses to isolate himself in the forest instead – but as he himself states, hunting is merely a replacement to supply “the stimulant which [he] lost when [he] renounced the cursed whiskey bottle” (188). He makes a fourth attempt at suicide – this time succeeding – proving that the Canadian wilderness is no more a solution than drinking is for a gentleman.

The sketches of Tom Wilson and Brian the Still-Hunter both attest to Susanna Moodie’s ultimate conclusion regarding the backwoods of Canada: “To the poor industrious working man, it provides many advantageous; to the poor gentleman, none!” (538).


Satire in Leacock's Sunshine Sketches

Stephen Leacock’s novel, Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, mocks small-town life as represented in the fictional town of Mariposa. Leacock exposes the townspeople as petty, hypocritical, and prone to folly. At the same time, however, he leads readers to identify with the characters. Thus his satire is of a gentle sort. While it ridicules the subject of Mariposa, it also sympathizes with it – and ultimately provides a complex, derisive yet nostalgic view of small-town living.

An excellent example of the complex, satiric yet endearing, viewpoint Leacock takes in his narrative is provided through the character of the Rev. Dean Drone. Although a reverend, Drone is described as being just as self-important as the rest of the Mariposans: in order to impress and appear studious, he pretends to read and understand Greek, but as the narrator says, “when Dean Drone said that he simply couldn’t translate it,…he was perfectly sincere” (69). He has a “liking for machinery” (71) (more enthusiastic, perhaps, than his liking for Christianity, as the fact that his best sermon was one on airplanes might indicate), and makes “kites and boats and clockwork steamboats for [children]” (70) – despite never actually letting the children themselves play with the toys. Thus, Dean Drone is initially depicted as a vain and at least partially dishonest (to others and to himself) person. But from the introduction of his aim of twenty-five years to “kindle a Brighter Beacon” (75), Leacock begins to describe Drone from within the character himself, referring to his dreams, worries, and hurts. When someone refers to Drone as a “mugwump” (81), Leacock details the Reverend’s ensuing anxiety, which is both laughable in its portrayal of a cleric looking up “mugwump” in the encyclopedia, and extremely pitiful. Thus, while Dean Drone is portrayed satirically as a man of many faults, Leacock also provides an inside look at the thoughts and feelings of the reverend, thus allowing the readers to see him not merely as a subject of laughter, but as uniquely human.

The narrative voice with which Leacock writes greatly aids him in establishing his dualistic viewpoint which sees characters both from within and without. As he is detailing the events of the story, the narrator is merely a spectator, seeing each character as the outside world would – that is, as objects of ridicule, ripe with folly. However, the narrator himself appears to be just as foolish as the Mariposans. He often speaks with the same pride in Mariposa and their petty lifestyle as the other citizens; for instance, in the first chapter, he defends the Mariposan opinion that the town, with its “dentists and lawyers…ready to work at any minute” (3) and its four (at the most) “sausage machine” (3) workers, is a “perfect hive of activity” (3). Thus, he is an Mariposan insider as well.

Inasmuch as this is true, Leacock also allows his narrator to be a point of satire. He is as naïve, contradictory, and trivial as the inhabitants of Mariposa. In the self-deprecation of the narrator, as well as the intimate involvement of the reader in the details of the characters’ lives, Leacock assuages the hostility of his satire.


Sources

Cooper, Susan. “Children’s Literature: History of the Child.” ENG2110: Children's Literature. University of Ottawa, Ontario, CA. 30 Jan 2010.

Fiamengo, Janice. Class Lectures on Anne of Green Gables. ENG2400B: Canadian Literature. University of Ottawa, Ontario, CA. 2 Nov 2010-9 Nov 2010.

Leacock, Stephen. Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2010.

Montgomery, L.M. Anne of Green Gables & Anne of Avonlea. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions Limited, 2008.

Moodie, Susanna. Roughing It in the Bush. Toronto: McClelland and Steward, 2007.

Moway, Farley. Never Cry Wolf. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1973. eBook.

Seton, Ernest Thompson. Wild Animals I Have Known. New York: Dover Publications, Inc. 7- 44.