I met a King this afternoon!
He had not on a Crown indeed,
A little Palm leaf Hat was all,
And he was barefoot, I'm afraid!
But sure I am he Ermine wore
Beneath his faded Jacket's blue –
And sure I am, the crest he bore
Within that Jacket's pocket too!
For 'twas too stately for an Earl –
A Marquis would not go so grand!
'Twas possibly a Czar petite –
A Pope, or something of that kind!
If I must tell you, of a Horse
My freckled Monarch held the rein –
Doubtless an estimable Beast,
But not at all disposed to run!
And such a wagon! While I live
Dare I presume to see
Another such a vehicle
As then transported me!
Two other ragged Princes
His royal state partook!
Doubtless the first excursion
These sovereigns ever took!
I question if the Royal Coach
Round which the Footmen wait
Has the significance, on high,
Of this Barefoot Estate!
-
F 183 (1860)
The poet seems to have met a raggedy and tattered man
with his two boys traveling in an old wagon pulled by an old horse. But
something about the pride or dignity in the man’s bearing must have struck her
for he was “too stately for an Earl” and “A Marquis would not go so
grand.” Consider, though, the
difference in the way Whitman describes a rustic man in a lovely passage of “I Sing the Body
Electric”:
I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the
fathers of sons.
This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of
person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of
his hair and
beard, the immeasurable meaning of his
black eyes, the richness
and breadth of his manners,
[…]
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to
hunt or fish,
you would pick him out as the most
beautiful and vigorous of
the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would
wish to sit
by him in the boat that you and he might
touch each other.
While Whitman is writing a tribute (and writing at about
the same time as Dicknson), Dickinson seems to be making light of a poor man’s
proud demeanor as she tosses out that he was “possibly a Czar petite – / A
Pope, or something of that kind!” King, Czar, Pope – whatever. One pictures the
poet smiling behind her hand and then running home to write a description down.
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Modern Amherst citizens might laugh at this man, too |
Here’s
the picture: a barefoot freckled man with a rustic palm-leaf hat, a faded blue
jacket, two ragged young sons who had seemingly never ventured far from home
before, a dilapidated wagon, and an old horse “not at all disposed to run.”
When she claims she was “transported” by the “vehicle” she is making a play on
the double meanings of “conveyed” and “delighted.”
I
leave it to other readers to each determine whether or not she was writing in
admiration of something she saw in the traveler or in mockery (as the raggedy
group were probably out of place in the byways of tidy, prosperous Amherst).
Nonetheless, she ends by saying that in Heaven this man and his family will
have probably even more significance that a real king. And that is a very
democratic thing to say so we will forgive Dickinson the giggles here.
The riders in the chariot, shades of Elijah himself! A dabble with the visionary.
ReplyDeleteThis man is a palmer, a pilgrim returning from the holy land, one who has made this high journey. She seems his great stature in terms of royalty but mocks her imaginative tendency to do so with the oddness and extravagance of the titles given. For his true worth is beyond appearances. His humble station and poverty are the badge of his high estate. No patronising of the picturesque here. But a display of the transporting power of imagination. Beyond literal or symbolic or moral connotation. An affirmation of the sovereign worth of the inner perception.
Thank you for this, particularly for the 'palmer' insight. I'm almost convinced but still find the tone a bit flippant.
DeleteNot sure how to interpret, but Emily would never make fun of someone of low station.
ReplyDeleteI surely agree.
DeleteEmily was compassionate and kind. She would never do such a thing.
Maybe in the largest, truest sense. But her letter show she likes to have a giggle about foibles. She pokes a bit of fun at ladies at lunch and about town in their fine clothes (can't remember which poem off the top of my head). But I'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt on this one.
Delete