Appearance vs. Reality

The theme of Appearance v. Reality is simple to state, yet it is a complex concept and shows itself in many different ways in life and literature. Essentially the theme is based on the difference and conflict of the way things appear to be with the way things really are. In Lois Lowry's The Giver, the is a great conflict between the world as it seems to be to the young protagonist and what he discovers to be the truth as he learns more and more about his society. This theme shows itself in many different works including those that Masconomet students are well aware, such as The Odyssey, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Scarlet Letter and The Lord of the Flies.

The following lesson are given to my Archetypes and Motifs in Literature and Cinema classes. The objectives of these lessons is to help the students become aware of several of the ways that the Appearance v. Reality theme may show itself.

              Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

              We people on the pavement looked at him:

              He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

              Clean favored, and imperially slim.

              And he was always quietly arrayed,

              And he was always human when he talked;

              But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

              "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

              And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -

              And admirably schooled in every grace;

              In fine we thought that he was everything

              To make us wish that we were in his place.

              So on we worked, and waited for the light,

              And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

              And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

              Went home and put a bullet through his head.

                             - Edwin Arlington Robinson -

                               " The Children Of The Night "

 

• How did Richard Cory appear to the people who surrounded him?
• What was the reality of his situation?
• What does the contrast between the appearance and reality tell you?

           That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
           Looking as if she were alive. I call
           That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf's hands
           Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
           Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
           "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
           Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
           That depth and passion of its earnest glance,
           But to myself they turned (since none puts by
           The curtain drawn for you, but I) [10]
           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, 't was not
           Her husband's presence only, called that spot
           Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
           Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
           Over my lady's wrist too much" or "Paint
           Must never hope to reproduce the faint
           Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff
           Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough [20]
           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, 't was 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, [30]
           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 a 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 [40]
           Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse
           - E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
           Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
           Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
           Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
           Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
           As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet
           The company below, then. I repeat,
           The Count your master's known munificence
           Is ample warrant that no just pretense [50]
           Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
           Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
           At starting is my object. Nay, we'll go
           Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
           Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,
           Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me.

• The speaker is a Duke who seeks to remarry after the death of his wife referred to in the title. He is speaking to an emissary of the Count (mentioned in line 49) whose daughter it is he wants to marry. The tension in this poem is created by what the duke intends to say and what he reveals unknowingly about himself and his last wife.
• What does the speaker intend to reveal about himself? (Appearance)
• What do we learn about his relationship with his former wife? (Reality)
• What are the implications of the phrase "my last duchess"? Try replacing the word "duchess" with the word "wife."
• If you were the emissary, would you recommend the duke to your master as a good husband? Why or why not?

Research Sites:

My Last Duchess

Text Clues for a Dramatic Reading. Interesting points are made for analysis and understanding of this famous poem by Browning. Simply click on the highlighted words for a short discussion of the reading clue.

I walk down the garden paths,

And all the daffodils

Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.

I walk down the patterned garden paths

In my stiff, brocaded gown.

With my powdered hair and jeweled fan,

I too am a rare

Pattern.  As I wander down

The garden paths.

My dress is richly figured,

And the train

Makes a pink and silver stain

On the gravel, and the thrift

Of the borders.

Just a plate of current fashion,

Tripping by in high heeled, ribboned shoes.

Not a softness anywhere about me,

Only whalebone and brocade.

And I sink on a seat in the shade

Of a lime tree.  For my passion

Wars against the stiff brocade.

The daffodils and squills

Flutter in the breeze

As they please.

And I weep;

For the lime tree is in blossom

And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

And the splashing of waterdrops

In the marble fountain

Comes down the garden paths.

The dripping never stops.

Underneath my stiffened gown

Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,

A basin in the midst of hedges grown

So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,

But she guesses he is near,

And the sliding of the water

Seems the stroking of a dear

Hand upon her.

What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!

I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.

All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,

And he would stumble after,

Bewildered by my laughter.

I should see the sun flashing from his sword hilt and the buckles on his shoes.

I would choose

To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,

A bright and laughing maze for my heavy booted lover.

Till he caught me in the shade,

And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,

Aching, melting, unafraid.

With the shadows of the leaves and the sun drops,

And the plopping of the waterdrops,

All about us in the open afternoon--

I am very like to swoon

With the weight of this brocade,

For the sun sifts through the shade.

Underneath the fallen blossom

In my bosom,

Is a letter I have hid.

It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.

"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell

Died in action Thursday se'nnight."

As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,

The letters squirmed like snakes.

"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.

"No," I told him.

"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.

No, no answer."

And I walked into the garden,

Up and down the patterned paths,

In my stiff, correct brocade.

The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,

Each one.

I stood upright too,

Held rigid to the pattern

By the stiffness of my gown.

Up and down I walked,

Up and down.

In a month he would have been my husband.

In a month, here, underneath this lime,

We would have broke the pattern;

He for me, and I for him,

He as Colonel, I as Lady,

On this shady seat.

He had a whim

That sunlight carried blessing.

And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."

Now he is dead.

In Summer and in Winter I shall walk

Up and down

The patterned garden paths

In my stiff, brocaded gown.

The squills and daffodils

Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.

I shall go

Up and down

In my gown.

Gorgeously arrayed,

Boned and stayed.

And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace

By each button, hook, and lace.

For the man who should loose me is dead,

Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,

In a pattern called a war.

Christ!  What are patterns for?

• Amy Lowell's poem is filled with restrained sensuality. Why?
• To all the world, how does the speaker appear to be?
• To the reader, what are her secret thoughts?