Analysis of The Celebrated Woman - An Epistle By A Married Man
Friedrich Schiller 1759 (Marbach am Neckar) – 1805 (Weimar)
Can I, my friend, with thee condole?--
Can I conceive the woes that try men,
When late repentance racks the soul
Ensnared into the toils of hymen?
Can I take part in such distress?--
Poor martyr,--most devoutly, "Yes!"
Thou weep'st because thy spouse has flown
To arms preferred before thine own;--
A faithless wife,--I grant the curse,--
And yet, my friend, it might be worse!
Just hear another's tale of sorrow,
And, in comparing, comfort borrow!
What! dost thou think thyself undone,
Because thy rights are shared with one!
O, happy man--be more resigned,
My wife belongs to all mankind!
My wife--she's found abroad--at home;
But cross the Alps and she's at Rome;
Sail to the Baltic--there you'll find her;
Lounge on the Boulevards--kind and kinder:
In short, you've only just to drop
Where'er they sell the last new tale,
And, bound and lettered in the shop,
You'll find my lady up for sale!
She must her fair proportions render
To all whose praise can glory lend her;--
Within the coach, on board the boat,
Let every pedant "take a note;"
Endure, for public approbation,
Each critic's "close investigation,"
And brave--nay, court it as a flattery--
Each spectacled Philistine's battery.
Just as it suits some scurvy carcase
In which she hails an Aristarchus,
Ready to fly with kindred souls,
O'er blooming flowers or burning coals,
To fame or shame, to shrine or gallows,
Let him but lead--sublimely callous!
A Leipsic man--(confound the wretch!)
Has made her topographic sketch,
A kind of map, as of a town,
Each point minutely dotted down;
Scarce to myself I dare to hint
What this d----d fellow wants to print!
Thy wife--howe'er she slight the vows--
Respects, at least, the name of spouse;
But mine to regions far too high
For that terrestrial name is carried;
My wife's "The famous Ninon!"--I
"The gentleman that Ninon married!"
It galls you that you scarce are able
To stake a florin at the table--
Confront the pit, or join the walk,
But straight all tongues begin to talk!
O that such luck could me befall,
Just to be talked about at all!
Behold me dwindling in my nook,
Edged at her left,--and not a look!
A sort of rushlight of a life,
Put out by that great orb--my wife!
Scarce is the morning gray--before
Postman and porter crowd the door;
No premier has so dear a levee--
She finds the mail-bag half its trade;
My God--the parcels are so heavy!
And not a parcel carriage-paid!
But then--the truth must be confessed--
They're all so charmingly addressed:
Whate'er they cost, they well requite her--
"To Madame Blank, the famous writer!"
Poor thing, she sleeps so soft! and yet
'Twere worth my life to spare her slumber;
"Madame--from Jena--the Gazette--
The Berlin Journal--the last number!"
Sudden she wakes; those eyes of blue
(Sweet eyes!) fall straight--on the Review!
I by her side--all undetected,
While those cursed columns are inspected;
Loud squall the children overhead,
Still she reads on, till all is read:
At last she lays that darling by,
And asks--"What makes the baby cry?"
Already now the toilet's care
Claims from her couch the restless fair;
The toilet's care!--the glass has won
Just half a glance, and all is done!
A snappish--pettish word or so
Warns the poor maid 'tis time to go:--
Not at her toilet wait the Graces
Uncombed Erynnys takes their places;
So great a mind expands its scope
Far from the mean details of--soap!
Now roll the coach-wheels to the muster--
Now round my muse her votaries cluster;
Spruce Abbe Millefleurs--Baron Herman--
The English Lord, who don't know German,--
But all uncommonly well read
From matchless A to deathless Z!
Sneaks in the corner, shy and small,
A thing which men the husband call!
While every fop with flattery fires her,
Swears with what passion he admires her.--
"'Passion!' 'admire!' and still you're dumb?"
Lord bless your soul, the worst's to come:--
I'm forced to bow, as I'm a sinner,--
And hope--the rogue will stay to dinner!
But oh, at dinner!--there's the sting;
I see my cellar on the wing!
You know if Burgundy is dear?--
Mine once emerged three times a year;--
And now to wash these learned throttles,
In dozens disappear the bottles;
They well must drink who well do eat
(I've sunk a capital on meat).
Her immortality, I fear, a
Death-blow will prove to my Madeira;
It has given,
Scheme | AXABCCDDEEFF BBGGHHIIJAJA IIKKBBLLCCMMXXNNOOPPXXQRQR AASSAATTUU VVLWLWXXIIYIYIAXZZ1 1 QQ 2 2 BBFFXX3 3 IIBB1 LAAII4 4 II5 5 6 6 7 7 8 8 9 9 B |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111 110101111 11010101 010101110 11110101 11010101 111011111 11010111 0111101 01111111 110101110 00010101 1111101 01111111 11011101 11011111 11110111 11010111 110101110 110101010 01110111 10110111 01010001 11110111 110101010 111111010 01011101 11001101 01110010 11010010 0111110100 111100 1111111 011111 10111101 1010101101 111111110 1111110 0110101 1100101 01111101 11100101 1111111 111110111 11101101 01110111 11110111 1101001110 11010101 010011010 111111110 110101010 01011101 11110111 11111101 11110111 011100011 11010101 0111101 11111111 11010101 10010101 101111010 11011111 110101110 01010101 11011101 11110001 10111110 110101010 11111101 111111010 10110001 001100110 10111111 1111101 11011010 111101010 11010101 11111111 11111101 01110101 01010101 11010101 01010111 11010111 011111 10111111 110101010 111110 11010111 11010111 110111010 11110110 11011010 010111110 1110011 110111 10010101 01110101 110011100100 111101010 1010111 11110111 111111010 010111110 11110101 11110101 11110011 11011101 01111110 01001010 11111111 11010011 00100110 111111010 1110 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,172 |
Words | 768 |
Sentences | 43 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 12, 12, 26, 10, 22, 10, 12, 13 |
Lines Amount | 117 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 406 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 92 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:55 min read
- 65 Views
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"The Celebrated Woman - An Epistle By A Married Man" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 30 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/14369/the-celebrated-woman---an-epistle-by-a-married-man>.
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