The Duchess of Malfi

Reread for a class I am teaching. This is one of my all-time favorite Jacobean tragedies. Forbidden passions, secret marriages, spies, incestuous feelings, political machinations, a malcontent, lycanthropy, torture, and murder--and on top of it all, excellent writing. What more can you ask? I love teaching this play because it touches on all the aspects of the genre and of early modern court society that are so significant to understanding the period. Daniel de Bosola is my second all-time favorite villain (the first being Edmund in King Lear); I had the good chance of seeing him played by Ian McKellan at the National in 1985.

Ferdinand: Women like that part that hath not a bone in it.
Duchess: Fie, sir!
Ferdinand: I mean the tongue.

(How show more can you not love it?)

I just wish there was a DVD version. Back in the 1970s I saw a television production starring Vanessa Redgrave, but so far, it is not available. I'm waiting for one of those BBC collections--"Vanessa Redgrave at the BBC"--to come out. They've done them on Helen Mirren, Judi Dench, and Maggie Smith, and the series is wonderful; that's how I've gotten ahold of some of the classic plays that I teach ('Tis Pity She's a Whore, The Country Wife, etc.). But so far, the students have been enjoying reading scenes aloud. show less

Other sins only speak, murder shreiks out:
The element of water moistens the earth,
But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

Oh mercy, revenge upon the cursed Vengeful in five sumptuous acts of poetry, racy bits and bloodshed. The initial revengers are a creepy pair of powerful brothers miffed that their sis has moved on from bereavement and is now happily shacking up. They enlist the world's most literate assassin for the wet work. I began this a month ago and made it half way. I started over and completed the piece this evening. Touch your caps to the lyrical wizardry of John Webster. Extra points should be awarded for use of a poisoned book.

This creep-o macabre drama really appeals to my sick sense of humor. While I hate to admit it, I often have a difficult time getting into literature pre-dating the nineteenth century (blasphemous, I know!) However, this play, like much of Shakespeare's work, is full of poignant observations that remind one of the consistency in human nature over centuries, for better or for worse.

Warning: this review contains spoilers.

****

I read this for a group read. It was certainly a dramatic play: characters constantly left and entered the stage, and the action never let up. Years seemed to pass in a matter of seconds. In the bare-bones text supplied by Project Gutenberg, these chronological shifts were disorienting, and the stage directions didn't provide that much indication of where and when we were supposed to be. The story itself was interesting, especially that the Duchess had a stronger role than I would have expected from a play of that period -- she makes her own marriage and figures out a way to save her husband, even though in the end the scheming ring of men around her prove to be simply too many for her to show more outwit. The end reminded me of Hamlet, with the huge body count and the bewildered last person standing come to claim the title. There were a lot of people to keep track of before they became bodies, and without the commentary or background, it was hard to keep track of some of them. I'm going to have to read a print copy to get all of that background and perhaps further my understanding of the play.

I've given this 3 stars because it really did rocket along, and I bet the commentary will be interesting. show less

I don't know what John Webster was on, but I want some of it. His plotting is so much more populist than Shakespeare, which ordinarily I would count as a mark against him, yet 'The Duchess' has a rare, guttural power that elevates it above the rest of Webster's output. A joy.

This review contains spoilers.

That John Webster's birth records were quite probably destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666 is a fitting biographical fact in light of reading "The Duchess of Malfi." It perfectly highlights the senseless destruction, both physical and spiritual, that permeates this play. The duplicity, violence, and familial division rival anything that you can find in Shakespeare. While the poetry itself doesn't quite reach the Shakespearean firmament in its baroque floridity, the language is wonderful, and just as full of double entendre and puns as the greatest of Shakespeare's plays are.

The action is relatively straightforward. The Duchess of Malfi, whose overbearing brothers Ferdinand and the Cardinal insist show more that she never re-marry for fear that they might have to share her wealth with someone else, disobeys them and asks Antonio, one of her stewards, to marry her. Several years pass, during which the Duchess has two children by Antonio, while the brothers remain ignorant of the marriage, but they eventually find out. In an attempt to escape Ferdinand's wrath, Antonio flees to Ancona. Bosola, the Cardinal's goon, chases them in hot pursuit. The Duchess, her two younger sons, and her female servant are all killed on Bosola's instruction. Bosola, long upset by the Cardinal's venality, decides to revenge the Duchess and her children. The Cardinal, after murdering his mistress to keep her quiet, plans to kill Bosola, too, but instead kills Antonio who has since returned to Malfi. Just to drive home the idea of complete and utter wanton cruelty, the Cardinal, Ferdinand, and Bosola all die in a final melee. Just when you think all hope is lost, the Duchess' oldest son appears on stage in the final scene to take charge of a court that has destroyed itself because of its singular bloodlust. However, Webster leaves little room for the reader to imagine matters getting any better.

While Bosola seems like he might be the least interesting character because he has the least qualms with murder, he shows some interesting moments of moral ambiguity and even clarity, which makes his development interesting to watch. Needless to say, by the end, you're left feeling rent in two by the treachery, deceit, and duplicity of it all. The Duchess' son does not provide the necessary Aristotelian catharsis, and instead of a court being wholly purged of bad seeds, you feel that that he will end up a young victim in further machinations, another courtly pawn.

While others seem to not have appreciated the introduction and editorial notes, I rather enjoyed them and thought they shed some light on the production, composition, and historical background (yes, this is based on historical events - can you imagine?) As the footnotes are located at the bottom of the page, you don't have to flip back and forth between pages - one of my bête noirs when it comes to Penguin Classics editions. All in all, I look forward to reading more New Mermaids in the future, and I especially appreciate their effort at trying to revive Elizabethan and Jacobean drama. show less

This is great example of a Jacobean tragedy. There is the virtuous woman, betrayed by her greedy and malicious brothers. There is the instrument of evil deeds that is redeemed (but not saved from his own untimely death). There are the requisite ending scenes full of dead bodies and profound speeches from said dying persons. There are some famous lines ("Mine eyes dazzle: she di'd too young" is one that jumped out at me). Drama as a genre isn't one I turn to for entertainment, but this was definitely worth the re-read.