The Duchess of Malfi

 

Question 1: What is the importance of justice in the play “the Duchess of Malfi” by John Webster?

Ans:

While there's a lot of intense, interesting stuff going on in this play The Duchess of Malfi is probably most famous for its depiction of the Duchess herself. As the widow of the Duke of Malfi, the Duchess is in an almost unique position among Renaissance women because she not only has legit legal rights, but she also has considerable political power. In addition, our girl's got the personality to match all that power: she's independent, smart, strong willed, and doesn't see why she can't have it all—sovereignty, motherhood, sexual freedom, and the hubby of her choice.

Problem is, not only are her brothers maniacally fixated on controlling her, but she lives in a world that isn't ready for her. See, the Duchess faces the dual problem of (1) being an independent woman in a society that doesn't really know how to handle independent women and (2) trying to maintain a family on the down-low while hanging onto her power as a ruler. In that society where a woman seeks justice even she is a ruler.

Webster's depiction of the Duchess's hopes, struggles and ultimate destruction in the face of these obstacles has led many critics to argue that, in this play, Webster managed to create what Shakespeare himself never really did: a truly tragic female protagonist who seeks justice for her family and independency of woman.

It's obsessed mankind for thousands of years, it'll bag us a mighty impressive Scrabble score, and it's at the heart of The Duchess of Malfi. Simply put, it refers to the ability to shift the nature of our own existence. Sounds impressive, but how does it tie in with The Duchess of Malfi? Well, nothing is stable in this play, and one of its main difficulties is keeping track of all of the movement, whether it be across geographic spaces, social barriers, or lines of loyalties. All of this motion is swirling around the main instability of the play: identity. None of our characters can ever quite pinpoint who the heck they are. Even the villains are searching for their rights.

From moment to moment, these characters are changing—the Duchess, for instance, can start a scene embracing her role as a wife, but at the drop of a hat shifts into the sister, or the prince, or the mother. Bosola agrees to serve Ferdinand in large part because his own identity is so insecure—who and what is he? A Malcontent? A spy? A disillusioned ex-con? Antonio has to both secretly be the Duchess's husband while pretending to everyone else that he's just her employee. But he is rightful hubby of Duchess and our Duchess is rightful queen of Antonio.

We get the picture: these people have identities coming out their ears. Not only are most of the characters pretending to the world to be something they're not, but they themselves are constantly wrestling with the fluid uncertainty of their roles in society.That's because this play takes place at a time when traditional concepts of identity were undergoing some major renovations. Before, people had more or less been born into their lot in life, but now they were beginning to be able to shape their own lives and livelihoods. At the time, this was a huge upset to the old-school social hierarchy.

If we think these issues are a thing of the past, though, think again: all of those buzzwords we hear in our daily life—the American Dream, Women's Lib, new money, old money—all exist because we still have some sort of template for what each person's proper place in the world is, and our cultural ideas and instincts about it are still really unresolved.

The Duchess is an aristocratic widow secretly looking to remarry, but her brothers Ferdinand and the Cardinal are hell-bent on her staying single. To keep her in line, they insert their spy, Bosola, into her court as her employee. So far, things are a little strange (solo Duchess, obsessive brothers, spies, etc.), but, given the political and family ties at play, basically par the course. This isn’t pure judgment by them. Their sister should get married when she is still a young woman than having an affair without marriage. They should think about it too.

The Duchess secretly woos and marries her steward Antonio, defying both her brothers and her society by marrying her social inferior. They actually have a really happy marriage, but what with the subsequent pregnancies and having a spy in her court, their secret eventually gets out. The Duchess knows she's messing with social norms and her brothers, but figures (optimistically and incorrectly) that she can keep a lid on the situation. But as we say, marriage is not a thing that should be placed in a secret bottle. It should be open that they are together. But impure brothers of Duchess makes it hell for them.

The brothers, having found out about the Duchess's marriage and kids, make it their mission to destroy the new family. The family splits up, and Ferdinand successfully captures, imprisons, and then executes the Duchess, two of her three children, and her maid Cariola. After this, stuff goes from crazy to crazier, and the plot spirals into an escalating series of plots, betrayals, and murders.

Bosola, horrified at how everything's turned out, vows to save Antonio and avenge the Duchess. Ferdinand, after having the Duchess killed, goes crazy, and falls victim to lycanthropia (thinks he's a werewolf). Antonio, naively believing that he can resolve everything by just talking it out with the Cardinal, goes to surprise him his castle in Naples, only to be accidentally killed by Bosola upon his arrival. We shouldn’t be fooled by the "falling" part of "falling action"—it doesn't mean that things are "winding down," it means that this is the stuff that comes after the climactic event of the Duchess's execution.

Bosola successfully kills Ferdinand and the Cardinal, but is himself mortally wounded in the process. After he dies, the only surviving son of the Duchess and Antonio is brought in by Antonio's BFF Delio, who intends to instate the boy in his mother's political title. The only judgmental scene of this play! But all the other scenes are all about corruption and hierarchy. But this last scene could calm us down for a moment.

Apart from all of this deep stuff about judgments, there's also the fact that, from a dramatic standpoint, this play has got it all: forbidden love, spies, betrayal, doomed nobility, werewolves—well, okay, just the one werewolf, but still—and a poisoned bible, just to top it off. The point is, if we thought Renaissance plays were a snore, we haven't seen this one yet.