Quilligan’s overarching thesis–that incest gives women agency to halt the traffic in women–seems to be only applicable to very particular forms of incest. Quilligan herself notes that greater agency is exercised by women already in positions of social power (for example, in her discussion on the frequency of women writers to be Tories) (20). I would question whether it is the incest that gives women social power, or rather the fact that they already hold social power that allows for the endogamous transgression. She gives the example of the queen Semiramis who had sex with her son. But Semiramis was already powerful before committing incest with her son–incest here may be a way for her to consolidate her power but it is not the cause of it. Additionally, Quilligan’s discussion seems to ignore the way patriarchal conventions can instead lead to incest and instead take away women’s agency. The control of a father, brother (as in the Duchess of Malfi) or other figure may be able to use his position of authority to subjugate a female member of the family, particularly if the woman does not have her own source of power in society. Incest then may halt the homosocial bonding of the traffic in women, but it will not necessarily grant women agency.

Hi Nick!

I think that your point that Bosola is ultimately just a tool for Ferdinand’s reach was really key for me in understanding Bosola’s tragedy and his shift in character in the last act of the play. It seems to me that Bosola speaks much less in the final act than in the other three. In Act 5 scene two, he’s on stage for nearly a page of dialogue before speaking, and even then he only gets to speak in snippets. While he is still the featured character in this section he, ironically, takes on more of a spy position, hiding in the shadows while Julia tricks the Cardinal and genuinely rebelling against the authority of Ferdinand and the Cardinal. While Bosola seems to mourn the Duchess’s death and genuinely wishes for the safety of Antonio, he also seems to turn inward in this section, and I wonder how much of his change of heart is due to his dejection and/or vengeance (motivations that are, at the core, self-centered) rather than morality or sympathy.

Bosola and Ferdinand, undoubtedly the two most detestable characters in the play, play off each other, constantly shifting roles and changing the seeming balance of power. As the play goes on into the Acts 4 and 5, Ferdinand’s evil works further into the plot, while Bosola is portrayed less and less as the force of evil and more as the body through which Ferdinand is able to carry out his own evil wishes. Of course, Bosola is still a horrible person imo, but we really see Ferdinand come to the fore as he shows, even under pressure from Bosola, no remorse whatsoever for killing the Duchess. It is interesting to think broadly about how Bosola and Ferdinand’s respective roles change throughout the play, with Bosola’s agency appearing less in his own hands and more in the hands of Ferdinand as the acts play on. He is ultimately just the agent through which Ferdinand can carry out his psychopathic wishes, and while this does not excuse Bosola, it does present him less as an evil soul and more as a pathetic servant to Ferdinand, the true source of evil in the play.

I found your post about the multiple scenes/voyeurism really interesting. I think the effect makes particular sense for a play that is so centered on surveillance and control. I wonder how Bosola, the spy, is incorporated into this idea–he is the one observing others, but is also so much something to be observed himself, because of the way he dominates the scenes he is a part of in the play.

In Act 1, Scene 3 when Cardinal, Ferdinand, and the Duchess are discussing the possibility of her remarrying, the two brothers use several arguments to try to talk the Duchess out of remarrying, though she sees right through them. At one moment, Ferdinand says to her: “Your darkest actions, nay your privatest thoughts, / Will come to light” (1.3.23-24). This reminded me of the scientia sexualis discussed by Foucault, which centers around the ritual of confessing ones sexual transgressions and desires, which first requires some level of secrecy. Ferdinand suggests a forced revealing of her choosing a new husband/sexual partner, not allowing her any chance at privacy in the court life. Not just her actions but her “privatest thoughts” will be revealed implying a sort of forced confession. I was interested in how this notion will develop throughout the rest of the play, for though the Duchess is married in secret, it certainly cannot remain private for long.

I found Scene 2 of Act 1 particularly interesting, if only to think about how this scene would play out on stage. Essentially there are two plays going on simultaneously: the play that we are watching, and the play that Delio and Antonio are watching. We look on and watch as Antonio and Delio look on and watch. We see not only characters entering and leaving the stage, but Antonio and Delio watching such characters enter and leave. In a sense, we are watching the action unfold through Antonio and Delio’s eyes – having spent the first Scene in their company, we are now party not only to their dialog, but also to their secrecy. This scene is in many ways similar to the garden scene in Twelfth Night, in which we (the audience) are able to voyeuristically peer in on private interactions taking place on the stage. The juxtapositions of various scenes within the scene are made clear only to us – in a sense the ultimate pleasure of the theater.

Hi Raisa!

I was also struck by some moments that struck me as particularly Donnean. I noticed specifically the scene in which the Duchess proposes to Antonio. She claims that he has “left me heartless; mine is in your bosom; / I hope twill multiply love there” (1.3.152-3). I thought that this moment felt like Donne, and to some extent Philips, in placing two “hearts,” or souls, together in order to make something new and more grand, along with taking a common refrain (you have my heart) making it extreme  (I no longer have a heart). Further, the Duchess makes comments that their love can ignore a gross world: “Do not think of them. / All discord without this circumference / Is only to be pitied, and not feared” (1.3.170-2). Their love, like Donne’s, elevates them above the world outside of their domesticity. We know that this is a tragic play, I wonder how to take this language coming from a seemingly empowered woman, or if the play’s tragedy is a larger critique of Donnean themes?

When reading the first act of The Duchess of Malfi, I couldn’t help but notice on page 1434, when Bosola states that “He and his brother are like plum trees that grow crooked over standing pools….” how this seems super similar to how Donne uses metaphor, in the sense that it is essentially a long extended metaphor.

Also, I was curious how the “geometry” of the body (“man’s head lies at that man’s foot”) which Webster speaks of could connect to the “symmetry” of the body Donne explores in his “Sappho” poem.