Color — Caste — Denomination —

Color — Caste — Denomination —
These — are Time's Affair —
Death's diviner Classifying
Does not know they are —

As in sleep — All Hue forgotten —
Tenets — put behind —
Death's large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand —

If Circassian — He is careless —
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber —
Equal Butterfly —

They emerge from His Obscuring —
What Death — knows so well —
Our minuter intuitions —
Deem unplausible —


     -Fr836, J970, Fascicle 40, 1864

Dickinson often starts with an idea, which, in this case, would be that death doesn’t discriminate, and then explores and expands upon that idea until something deeper about this idea is revealed. Part of the joy, for me, is watching the way she starts by weaving her idea around the sounds it evokes. It is clear in this poem that the poet takes the C and D sounds of that opening line and then consciously repeats them all throughout the rest of it. But more is going on than just the C and D alliteration. The R sound of “Color,” for instance, leads to the end rhymes of “Affair” and “are.” And there are sound clusters too, like how the CLR sound in “Color” comes back strongly in the third stanza with Circassian, careless and Chrysalis. The result is a subtle music that is beautiful beyond compare. Few poets can do this as well as Dickinson, and none better.

Another remarkable thing is to watch how further ideas spin out of the original. If you are looking for it, every new line may well carry some new revelation. In the first stanza we find out, for instance, that Death doesn’t discriminate based on color of skin, religion (denomination) or class (caste). These are all big issues, and each would have been even more divisive in Dickinson’s day than they are now. Dickinson was white, upper class and was raised in a protestant society, but here she is dismissing all of that, or at least acknowledging that Death does.

But then she says something curious, that Death has a “diviner Classifying.” What is she getting at here? In a poem before this one in the fascicle, Fr834, there is the idea of being patient and constant, so that in death you will be worthy of Grace. This seems to me to be the sense here too. We see in a later stanza that something graceful, like a butterfly, “emerges” after death. 

There is a bit of a paradox in this poem though. There is a hint of the idea of a diviner classifying being one where there is classification, and by extension, there is the idea that those who classify aren’t so fit for death. We see this paradox play out in other Dickinson poems, like this one, Fr797, in which she tells us that the definition of beauty is that there is no definition. 

As in sleep — All Hue forgotten —
Tenets — put behind —
Death's large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand —

In this stanza Dickinson hints toward other ideas. American “democracy” is lampooned a bit in the phrase “Death's large—Democratic fingers.” America purports to be democratic, but has it ever truly been? Only death’s fingers are truly democratic. And what do they do? They rub away the brand. With brand you get a hint of capitalism. I’m not sure if “brand” meant the same thing in 1864 that it does now. Dickinson may just be referring to a cow’s brand here. But even that definition brings to mind the idea of commerce, of chattel, of ownership. A true democracy would get rid of any hot iron branding altogether. Everything would be shared by all alike. In Dickinson’s dark irony, though, it is only Death that can truly do this.

If Circassian — He is careless —

Careless here means that Death couldn't care less whether you are Circassian or not. You might be tempted to think, as I did at first, that Dickinson chose the ethnic group Circassian based on the way the sound of the word echoes the soundscape of the poem, but, alas, it would seem that nothing is careless in Dickinson’s poetry. The Circassians were very much in the news in 1864 when this poem was written for being an exiled people. 

From Wikipedia:

“The native Circassian population was largely decimated or expelled to the Ottoman Empire. Only those who accepted Russification and made agreements with Russian troops, were spared. Starvation was used as a tool of war against Circassian villages, many of which were subsequently burned down. Russian writer Leo Tolstoy reported that Russian soldiers attacked village houses at night. British diplomat Gifford Palgrave, stated that "their only crime was not being Russian." Seeking military intervention against Russia, Circassian officials sent "A Petition from Circassian leaders to Her Majesty Queen Victoria" in 1864, but were unsuccessful in their attempt to solicit aid from the British Empire.That same year, the Imperial Russian Army launched a campaign of mass deportation of Circassia's surviving population. Many died from epidemics or starvation. Some were reportedly eaten by dogs after their death.”

Circassian Zalumma Agra, by Mathew Brady, ca. 1865.

Zalumma was presented as a freak in P.T. Barnum's circus.

Same problems, different day.

If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber —
Equal Butterfly —

Dickinson’s choices for Chrysalis colors here reflects the hair color of the Russians and the Circassians, blonde and umber. In death it doesn’t matter which you are, an “equal” butterfly emerges.

The idea of emerging as a butterfly reflects a belief in an after-life, of some kind at least. The idea of our life here on earth being our chrysalis is a rich one. Did Emily believe in an afterlife? I’m starting to think that maybe she did. 

But belief in an afterlife is not necessary for this poem. Getting beyond the trappings of identity doesn’t necessitate an actual death. It could also be achieved through renunciation in life. In other words, it would be a symbolic death, the death of an ego. You might say that this is the only kind of death we can ever really understand, since actual death is beyond our ken.

Either way, our democratic equality, our freedom, is not to be found in life as we know it. It is the removal of the ties of identity, such as color, caste and creed, that frees us. 

They emerge from His Obscuring —
What Death — knows so well —
Our minuter intuitions —
Deem unplausible —

Something akin to butterflies emerge from death’s obscuring of the self. Our “minuter intuitions” tell us that the emergence of something after death is "unplausable," but Death well knows that the butterfly will soar once the veil of the chrysalis has been torn.

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff