An Irony of Life and Death - GB Shaw

There reside two personae, the public and the private, within each and every person. It is likely that in most cases the public person, the person that is seen walking down the street, interacting with colleagues, friends and family is nearly the same as the private person, the person alone, either in his own head or alone at home in bed. Most people are probably pretty consistent with who they represent themselves to be to others and who they are with themselves. However, because there are certain social norms that we as a society are expected to live by, we may behave in a particular way in public that may not be consistent with how we are feeling on the inside. To that casual friend that asks how we’re doing we may respond with a stock answer, such as “Good, how are you?” when inside we may not be doing well at all; this is just a part of meeting social norms.



Because we live within the bounds of expectations placed on us by society, people develop a picture or idea of who we are, and depending on how consistent our actions are with our words, we develop a reputation. That reputation, or the idea of how others see us, is a mere shadow or façade of who we really are on the inside. Our thoughts about our lives and ourselves are not of a physical nature that can be worn like a coat, but rather are private thoughts and feelings that are only made known if we verbalize them to someone. The vast majority of the people we meet on any given day will have no idea who we really are, or what goes on in our minds; as Creon states in Antigone we “…cannot know a man completely” (An Introduction to Literature: 1147.194).


In Edwin Arlington Robinson’s poem “Richard Cory”, we meet a man who, in the eyes of the people who saw him in the street every day, seemed to have it all. In the first three stanzas of the poem, the narrator tells how Cory was viewed:

“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place” (692.1-12).

So often people are judged by first impressions, little things such as how they are dressed, how they walk, how well-groomed they are; Richard Cory made a good first impression, for he was all of these things and more. Cory comported himself as a gentleman, seemed well educated, dressed well, had money and affluence, and was kind to those with whom he had contact, even those of lower station in life, those who, “went without meat, and cursed the bread” (692.14).

Richard Cory presented himself to the world in such an affable way that people admired him, even wished they could have his life, but all was not as it seemed. While we cannot be entirely sure what went on in Richard Cory’s mind, Robinson gives us clues as to why Cory killed himself. There is no mention of a lost love, a lost child or even a lost fortune. The fact that Robinson spent twelve of the sixteen lines of this poem extolling the virtues and good repute of the protagonist suggests to the reader the very cause of this horrendous act. It is the very irony of what Robinson does relate to the reader that becomes Richard Cory’s killer, the inner thoughts of a man who, on the outside had it all, but found nothing but meaninglessness in the platitudes and admiration of those around him. Robinson chose to tell us of the expectations and pressures put on this man by his community, those pressures that would cause this seemingly good man to commit suicide.


Even though Richard Cory was “richer than a king” (692.9), and was the beneficiary of the admiration of his fellow man, even though it all sounded good, to Cory it was all meaningless. In the first twelve lines we learn how Cory is seen by others, and even a bit about who he is, but Richard Cory felt the frustration and futility of what he deemed a hollow, empty, meaningless life and so, “one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head” (692.13-16).

In 1875 Gustave Caillebotte (1848 – 1894) painted the portrait at the beginning of this post entitled, Young Man at His Window, depicting his half brother René at home on Rue de Miromesnil. This painting by Caillebotte could be a portrait of Richard Cory on the evening of his suicide. The very name of this painting draws poem and art together, for anyone could be the “Young Man at His Window” including Richard Cory. The painting shows a well dressed man in an apparently well appointed apartment. His suit hints toward someone, “quietly arrayed” (An Introduction to Literature 692.5), it being of a simple, yet elegant dark fabric and cut. The man’s posture intimates a man who has been, “admirably schooled in every grace” (692.10) with legs spread the proper distance apart. The haircut and well trimmed neck show a man who has taken pains toward proper appearance or being “(c)lean favored” (692.4).



At the same time the apartment itself appears to be in a fashionable location, most assuredly ‘down town’ as opposed to the suburbs. The buildings outside are clean and built of beautiful stone with balconies on the facades. The streets are clean, and the pedestrians appear well dressed. Inside the apartment is seen a beautiful multi-colored carpet, and an equally beautiful velvet-plush chair. This is indeed a painting of a man who seemed to have it all: money, education, manners, grace, in short, everything.



“Young Man at His Window” is as a photograph taken during the waning afternoon before Richard Cory shot himself in the head. Caillebotte shows us a lone man looking out on the street from his balcony window; a window from which he sees and is seen. It is interesting to note that in this room where the subject stands alone we are privy to the two personae of this person as we see two men: the man standing in the window, presenting himself to the world – the public persona, and the private persona that only this lone man can see – his own reflection in the window. Furthermore, while this gentleman seems to have good posture, there is a slight slump noted in his shoulders and his hands are in his pockets, the posture of a man in thought. What is he thinking? Is he thinking about how he had come to this point in his life? Could his slumped shoulders be the result of being tired and wearisome from the arduous task of always having to put on the brave face for those around him?

Or could Richard Cory’s posture be falling apart as his mind begins to consider what he will do in just a few short hours? A few short hours because we know that he shot himself, “one calm summer night” (692.15). Caillebotte’s painting seems to have that late summer afternoon light to it, that hazy, bright white that happens just before the sun begins its sluggish descent. In this late afternoon, standing there in the window ‘Richard Cory’ allows the world to see him as he is, but there appears to be no one looking. The lady in the dress, the people about a block away and both coaches are all traveling away from him. What must he be feeling? Perhaps Cory is comparing his life, with all its riches and finery; with those people on the street who, “went without the meat, and cursed the bread” (692.14) and is wondering who is better off. Is he wishing that someone, anyone, would turn around and see him for who he truly is? Does he wish that his good manners would allow him to cry out, to call for any one of those people to come up and know him?

The chair in this painting also presents an interesting symbol of the loneliness of Cory’s life up to this moment and a portent of what is to come. This single red chair, the only piece of furniture in view, seems to mock Cory with its emptiness and its position. The chair is situated directly in front of the window where he could sit alone and watch the world walk right past him, never knowing he was there, just behind the shears covering the panes; what other pains did these shears cover? The bright red of the chair brings a splash of color to the painting and perhaps, as his bullet–riddled head comes to rest on the overstuffed cushion, will help keep the splash of blood, “quietly arrayed” (692.5).



When walking down the street among the people in his well dressed, well groomed way, Richard Cory shows his public persona, speaking in a “human(ly)” (692.6) manner to people likely not as well off as he. However, upon returning to his apartment one evening, alone with his private persona, Cory stands in the window and contemplates what he is about to do, showing that what appears to be, may not necessarily be so. Robinson’s poem “Richard Cory” and Caillebotte’s painting “Young Man at His Window” work together to show that while the public may see one side of a person, and develop their own idea of what a person is like, in private, in the recesses of the mind, people live different, sometimes hollow and lonely lives. With these two works, art and poetry come together to remind us that people around us live with the irony that often, not all is as it seems.

Works Cited



Robinson, Edwin Arlington, “Richard Cory.” An Introduction to Literature. Ed. Sylvan
Barnet et al. 14th ed. New York: Longman, 2006. 692
"Gustave Caillebotte." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 23 Jun 2007, 03:15 UTC.
Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 4 Jul 2007
http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?ttle=Gustave_Caillebotte&oldid=140041461.
Caillebotte, Gustave. Young Man at his Window. Private collection.
"Young Man at his Window" www.oil-painting-portrait.com. Bergmann & Heuer –
Kunsthandel GbR .