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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:56 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:44:56 -0700 |
| commit | b8c83fee35725fd2ac5ab2d8b1bc4fbdeae79e8b (patch) | |
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diff --git a/14618-h/14618-h.htm b/14618-h/14618-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25a377b --- /dev/null +++ b/14618-h/14618-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10793 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of "Robert Browning", by C.H. Herford. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + +body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; max-width: 40em; } + +h1,h2,h3,h4 { text-align: center; } +h3,h4 { font-weight: normal; } + +a:link { text-decoration: none; } +a:visited { text-decoration: none; } +a:active { text-decoration: underline; } +a:link:hover { text-decoration: underline; } + +hr { width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + +hr.long { width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + +hr.short { width: 20%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + +#titlepages p { text-align: center; } + +#preface p { margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-right: 12%; margin-left: 12%; + text-align: justify; text-indent: 0; } + +#preface p.center { text-align: center; } + +#toc { margin-top: 5em; } + +#content { margin-top: 5em; margin-bottom: 2em; } +#content h2 { margin-top: 5em; } + +p { margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1em; } + +p.noindent { text-indent: 0em; } +p.title { font-size: 1.5em; text-align: center; } + +.poem { margin-right: 15%; margin-left: 15%; + margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; + line-height: 1.4em; } + +.poem span.in1 {margin-left: 1em;} +.poem span.in2 {margin-left: 2em;} +.poem span.in3 {margin-left: 3em;} +.poem span.in4 {margin-left: 4em;} +.poem span.in45 {margin-left: 4.5em} +.poem span.in5 {margin-left: 5em;} +.poem span.in6 {margin-left: 6em;} +.poem span.in7 {margin-left: 7em;} +.poem span.in8 {margin-left: 8em;} +.poem span.in9 {margin-left: 9em;} +.poem span.in10 {margin-left: 10em;} +.poem span.in11 {margin-left: 11em;} +.poem span.in12 {margin-left: 12em;} +.poem span.in14 {margin-left: 14em;} +.poem span.in15 {margin-left: 15em;} +.poem span.in16 {margin-left: 16em;} +.poem span.in17 {margin-left: 17em;} +.poem span.in18 {margin-left: 18em;} +.poem span.in19 {margin-left: 19em;} +.poem span.in20 {margin-left: 20em;} + +.poem p.right { text-align: right; } +.poem p.quote { text-indent: -0.4em; } + +.in9 {margin-left: 9em;} + +.fnref { font-size: 90%; } + +.fn { border-top: .1em dashed gray; border-bottom: .1em dashed gray; + padding: 1em 1em 1em 2.5em; font-size: 90%; text-align: justify; + margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%; } + +.fn span.fnnum { position: absolute; left: 17.5%; text-align: left; } + +#index h3 { text-align: center; margin-top: 3em; } +#index ul { padding-left: 0; } +#index li { list-style-type: none; line-height: 1.4em; } + +#ads li { margin-bottom: 1em; } +#ads li.none { margin-bottom: 0; list-style-type: none; } +#ads li.rom { list-style-type: upper-roman; margin-bottom: 1em; } +#ads p { text-indent: 0; } +#ads h3 { font-weight: normal; } +#ads p.title { font-size: 1.5em; text-align: center; } +#ads td { text-align: left; } + +.small { font-size: 90%; } +.tiny { font-size: 80%; } +.center { text-align: center; } +.right { text-align: right; } +.larger { font-size: 1.5em; } + +table { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 2em; } + +td { vertical-align: top; text-align: left; } +td.right { text-align: right; } +td.center { text-align: center; } +td.small { font-size: 90%; } +td.tiny { font-size: 80%; } +td.left40 { width: 40%; } +td.right40 { width: 40%; } +td.center15 { width: 15%; } +td.left45 { width: 45%; } +td.right47 { width: 47%; } +td.center8 { width: 8%; } + + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14618 ***</div> + +<div id="titlepages"> + +<p class="title">MODERN ENGLISH WRITERS.</p> + +<p><i>Crown 8vo, 2/6 each</i>.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellspacing="3" summary="List of books in the Modern +English Writers series."> +<tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class="small">READY.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="left40"><span class="small">MATTHEW ARNOLD</span></td> + <td class="center15"> </td> + <td class="right40"><span class="small">Professor + SAINTSBURY. </span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">R.L. STEVENSON</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">L. COPE CORNFORD.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">JOHN RUSKIN</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">Mrs MEYNELL.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">ALFRED TENNYSON</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">ANDREW LANG.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">EDWARD CLODD.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">W.M. THACKERAY</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">CHARLES WHIBLEY.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">ROBERT BROWNING</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">C.H. HERFORD.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class="small">IN + PREPARATION.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">GEORGE ELIOT</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">A.T. QUILLER-COUCH.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><span class="small">J.A. FROUDE</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td><span class="small">JOHN OLIVER HOBBES.</span></td> +</tr> + +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="small">WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<br /> + +<h1>ROBERT BROWNING</h1> + +<br /><br /><br /> + +<p class="small">BY</p> + +<p class="larger">C.H. HERFORD</p> + +<p class="tiny">PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE<br /> +UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER</p> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<p>WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS</p> +<p class="small">EDINBURGH AND LONDON</p> +<p class="small">MCMV</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<br /><br /> + +</div> + +<div id="preface"> + +<p class="center"><i>TO THE</i></p> +<p class="center"><i><span class="larger">REV. F.E. MILLSON.</span></i></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>DEAR OLD FRIEND,</i></p> + +<p style="text-indent: 7em; line-height: 1.5em;"><i>A generation has +passed since the day when, in your study at Brackenbed +Grange, your reading of "Ben Ezra," the tones of which still vibrate in +my memory, first introduced me to the poetry of Robert Browning. He was +then just entering upon his wider fame. You had for years been one not +merely of the few who recognised him, but of those, yet fewer, who +proclaimed him. The standpoint of the following pages is not, I think, +very remote from your own; conversations with you have, in any case, +done something to define it. You see, then, that your share of +responsibility for them is, on all counts, considerable, and you must +not refuse to allow me to associate them with a name which the old +Rabbi's great heartening cry: "Strive, and hold cheap the strain, Learn, +nor account the pang, Dare, never grudge the throe," summons +spontaneously to many other lips than mine. To some it is brought yet +closer by his calm retrospect through sorrow.</i></p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<br /><br /> + +<p><i>ει δη θειον ο νους προς τον ανθρωπον, και ο κατα τουτον βιος θειος προς τον ανθρωπινον βιον</i> —<span class="small">ARIST</span>., <i>Eth. N</i>. x. 8.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p>"Nè creator nè creatura mai,"<br /> +Cominciò ei, "figliuol, fu senza amore."<br /> +<span class="in10">—</span><span class="small">DANTE</span>, +<i>Purg</i>. xvii. 91.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<br /><br /> + +<a name="pagevii" id="pagevii"></a> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>BROWNING is confessedly a difficult poet, and his difficulty is by no +means all of the kind which opposes unmistakable impediments to the +reader's path. Some of it is of the more insidious kind, which may +co-exist with a delightful persuasion that the way is absolutely clear, +and Browning's "obscurity" an invention of the invertebrate. The +problems presented by his writing are merely tough, and will always +yield to intelligent and patient scrutiny. But the problems presented by +his mind are elusive, and it would be hard to resist the cogency of his +interpreters, if it were not for their number. The rapid succession of +acute and notable studies of Browning put forth during the last three or +four years makes it even more apparent than it was before that the last +word on Browning has not yet been said, even in that very qualified +sense in which the last word about any poet, or any poetry, can ever be +said at all. The present volume, in any case, does not aspire to say it. +But it is not perhaps necessary to apologise for adding, under these +conditions, another to the list. From most of the recent studies I have +learned something; but this book has its roots in a somewhat earlier +time, and may perhaps be described as an attempt to work out, in the +detail of Browning's life and poetry, from a more definitely literary +standpoint and without Hegelian prepossessions, a view of his genius not +unlike that set forth with so much eloquence and penetration, in his +well-known volume, by Professor Henry Jones. The narrative of Browning's +life, in the earlier chapters, makes no pretence to biographical +completeness. An immense mass of detail and anecdote bearing upon him is +now available and within easy reach. I have attempted to sift out from +this picturesque loose drift the really salient and relevant material. +Much domestic incident, over which the brush would fain linger, will be +missed; on the other hand, the great central epoch of Browning's poetic +life, from 1846 to 1869, has been treated, deliberately, on what may +appear an inordinately generous scale. Some amount of overlapping and +repetition, it may be added, in the analytical chapters the plan of the +book rendered it impossible wholly to avoid.</p> + +<p>I am indebted to a friend, who wishes to be nameless, for reading the +proofs, with results extremely beneficial to the book.</p> + +<p class="small">UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER,<br /> +<i>January 1905</i>.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +</div> + +<div id="toc"> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<table border="0" width="100%" summary="Table of contents"> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> + <td class="right"><span class="tiny">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"><span class="small">PREFACE</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#pagevii">vii</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="center" colspan="4">PART I.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="center" colspan="4">BROWNING'S LIFE AND WORK.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="center"><span class="tiny">CHAP.</span></td> + <td colspan="3"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">I.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">EARLY LIFE. + <i>PARACELSUS</i></span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page1">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">II.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">ENLARGING HORIZONS. + <i>SORDELLO</i></span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page24">24</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">III.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">MATURING METHODS. + DRAMAS AND DRAMATIC LYRICS</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page37">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td>Introduction.</td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">I.</td> + <td>Dramas. From <i>Strafford</i> to <i>Pippa Passes</i></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page42">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">II.</td> + <td>From the <i>Blot in the 'Scutcheon</i> to <i>Luria</i></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page51">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">III.</td> + <td>The early Dramatic Lyrics and Romances</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page65">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">IV.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">WEDDED LIFE IN ITALY. <i>MEN + AND WOMEN</i></span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page74">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">I.</td> + <td>January 1845 to September 1846</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page74">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">II.</td> + <td>Society and Friendships</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page84">84</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">III.</td> + <td>Politics</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page88">88</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">IV.</td> + <td>Poems of Nature</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page91">91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">V.</td> + <td>Poems of Art</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page96">96</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VI.</td> + <td>Poems of Religion</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page110">110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VII.</td> + <td>Poems of Love</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page132">132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">V.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">LONDON. <i>DRAMATIS + PERSONÆ</i></span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page148">148</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">VI.</td> + <td colspan="2"><i><span class="small">THE RING AND THE + BOOK</span></i></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page169">169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">VII.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">AFTERMATH</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page187">187</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">VIII.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">THE LAST DECADE</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page220">220</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="center" colspan="4">PART II.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="center" colspan="4">BROWNING'S MIND AND ART.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">IX.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">THE POET</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page237">237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">I.</td> + <td> Divergent psychical tendencies of Browning—"romantic" + temperament, "realist" senses—blending of their + <i>données</i> in his imaginative activity—shifting + complexion of "finite" and "infinite"</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page237">237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">II.</td> + <td> His "realism." Plasticity, acuteness, and veracity of intellect + and senses</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page239">239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">III.</td> + <td> But his realism qualified by energetic individual preference + along certain well-defined lines</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page245">245</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">IV.</td> + <td> <i>Joy in Light and Colour</i></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page246">246</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">V.</td> + <td> <i>Joy in Form</i>. Love of abruptness, of intricacy; clefts + and spikes</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page250">250</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VI.</td> + <td> <i>Joy in Power</i>. Violence in imagery and description; in + sounds; in words. Grotesqueness. Intensity. Catastrophic action. The + pregnant moment</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page257">257</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VII.</td> + <td> <i>Joy in Soul</i>. 1. Limited in Browning on the side of + simple human nature; of the family; of the civic community; of myth + and symbol</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page266">266</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VIII.</td> + <td> <i>Joy in Soul</i>. 2. Supported by Joy in Light and Colour; in + Form; in Power. 3. Extended to (<i>a</i>) sub-human Nature, + (<i>b</i>) the inanimate products of Art; Relation of Browning's + poetry to his interpretation of life</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page272">272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="right">X.</td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="small">THE INTERPRETER OF + LIFE</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page287">287</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">I.</td> + <td> Approximation of God, Man, Nature in the thought of the early + nineteenth century; how far reflected in the thought of Browning</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page287">287</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">II.</td> + <td> Antagonistic elements of Browning's intellect; resulting + fluctuations of his thought. Two conceptions of Reality. Ambiguous + treatment of "Matter"; of Time</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page290">290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">III.</td> + <td> Conflicting tendencies in his conception of God</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page295">295</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">IV.</td> + <td> Conflicting tendencies in his treatment of Knowledge</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page297">297</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">V.</td> + <td> Proximate solution of these antagonisms in the conception of + Love</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page300">300</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="right">VI.</td> + <td> Final estimate of Browning's relation to the progressive and + conservative movements of his age</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page304">304</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="4"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="3"><span class="small">INDEX</span></td> + <td class="right"><a href="#page310">310</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="long" /> + +</div> + + +<div id="content"> + +<h2>PART I.</h2> + +<h2>BROWNING'S LIFE AND WORK</h2> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr class="long" /> +<a name="page1" id="page1"></a> +<h2>BROWNING.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h4>EARLY LIFE. <i>PARACELSUS</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent">The Boy sprang up ... and ran,<br /> + Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.<br /> + <span class="in10">— <i>A Death in the Desert</i>.</span></p> +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent">Dass ich erkenne, was die Welt<br /> + Im Innersten zusammenhält.<br /> + <span class="in10">— <i>Faust</i>.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Judged by his cosmopolitan sympathies and his +encyclopædic knowledge, by the scenery and the persons among whom +his poetry habitually moves, Browning was one of the least insular of +English poets. But he was also, of them all, one of the most obviously +and unmistakably English. Tennyson, the poetic mouthpiece of a rather +specific and exclusive Anglo-Saxondom, belonged by his Vergilian +instincts of style to that main current of European poetry which +<a name="page2" id="page2">finds</a> response and recognition +among cultivated persons of all nationalities; and he enjoyed a European +distinction not attained by any other English poet since Byron. +Browning, on the contrary, with his long and brilliant gallery of +European creations, Browning, who claimed Italy as his "university," +remains, as a poet, all but unknown even in Italy, and all but +non-existent for the rest of the civilised world beyond the Channel. His +cosmopolitan sympathies worked through the medium of a singularly +individual intellect; and the detaching and isolating effect which +pronounced individuality of thinking usually produces, even in a genial +temperament, was heightened in his case by a robust indifference to +conventions of all kinds, and not least to those which make genius +easily intelligible to the plain man.</p> + +<p>What is known of Browning's descent makes these contrasts in some +degree intelligible. An old strain of Wessex squires or yeomen, dimly +discernible in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, issued, about +the middle of the eighteenth, in the first distinct personality among +the poet's forebears, his grandfather, who also bore the name Robert. He +was a robust, hard-headed, energetic, pushing man of business and the +world, who made his way from a clerkship to an important and responsible +post in the Bank of England, and settled accounts with religion and with +literature in a right English way, by reading the Bible and 'Tom Jones' +through every year, and very little else. More +<a name="page3" id="page3">problematical</a> and elusive is the figure +of his first wife, Margaret Tittle, with whom, to judge from the +character of her eldest son, literary and artistic sensibility first +mingled in the hard practical Browning stock. In this second Robert +Browning, indeed, the somewhat brutal and grasping egotism +of the father gave place to a cultured humanity of almost feminine +tenderness and charm. All his life long he was passionately devoted to +literature, to art, to children. He collected rare books and prints with +avidity, but was no less generous in giving them away. Indifferent to +money, he hated to see a scrap of paper wasted. He had a neat touch in +epigrams, and a boyish delight in grotesque rhymes. But there was no +lack of grit in this accomplished, fresh-minded, and lovable man. He had +the tough fibre of his race; only it was the wrongs of others that +called out its tenacity, not his own. While holding an appointment on +his mother's West Indian estate, he braved the fierce resentment of the +whole colony by teaching a negro-boy to read; and finally incurred +disinheritance rather than draw a livelihood from slave-labour. This +Shelleyan act involved for him the resignation of his intellectual and +artistic ambitions; and with the docility characteristic of him, where +only his own interests were concerned, he forthwith entered the fairly +well-paid but unexciting service of the Bank.</p> + +<p>In 1811 he married, and on May 7 of the following year his eldest son, +Robert, was born. His wife <a name="page4" id="page4">was</a> the +daughter of a German shipowner, William Wiedemann, who had settled and +married at Dundee. Wiedemann is said to have been an accomplished +draughtsman and musician, and his daughter, without herself sharing +these gifts, probably passed them on to her son. Whether she also +communicated from her Scottish and German ancestry the "metaphysical" +proclivities currently ascribed to him, is a hypothesis absolutely in +the air.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref1" id="fnref1" +href="#fn1">[1]</a></span> What is clear is that she was herself +intellectually simple and of few ideas, but rich in the temperament, at +once nervous and spiritual, which when present in the mother so often +becomes genius in the son. "She was a divine woman," such was her son's +brief sufficing tribute. Physically he seems to have closely resembled +her,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref2" id="fnref2" +href="#fn2">[2]</a></span> and they were bound together by a peculiarly +passionate love from first to last.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn1" id="fn1" href="#fnref1">[1]</a></span> +A similar but more groundless suggestion, that the author +of <i>Holy-cross Day</i> and <i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i> probably had Jewish +blood in his veins, can only be described as an impertinence—not to +Browning but to the Jewish race. As if to feel the spiritual genius of +Hebraism and to be moved by the pathos of Hebraic fate were an +eccentricity only to be accounted for by the bias of kin! It is +significant that his demonstrable share of German blood left him rather +conspicuously impervious to the literary—and more especially to the +"metaphysical"—products of the German mind. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn2" id="fn2" href="#fnref2">[2]</a></span> +Browning himself reports the exclamation of the family +doctor when trying to diagnose an attack of his: "Why, has anybody to +search far for a cause of whatever nervous disorder you may suffer +from, when there sits your mother—whom you so absolutely resemble!" +(<i>Letters to E.B.B</i>., ii. 456.) +</div> + +<p>The home in Camberwell into which the boy Robert +<a name="page5" id="page5">was</a> born reflected the +serene, harmonious, self-contented character of his parents. Friends +rarely disturbed the even tenor of its ways, and the storms of politics +seem to have intruded as faintly into this suburban seclusion as the +roar of London. Books, business, and religion provided a framework of +decorous routine within which these kindly and beautiful souls moved +with entire content. Well-to-do Camberwell perhaps contained few homes +so pure and refined; but it must have held many in which the life-blood +of political and social interests throbbed more vigorously, and where +thought and conversation were in closer touch with the intellectual life +of the capital and the larger movements of the time. Nothing in +Browning's boyhood tended to open his imagination to the sense of +citizenship and nationality which the imperial pageants and ceremonies +of Frankfurt so early kindled in the child Goethe. But within the limits +imposed by this quiet home young Robert soon began to display a vigour +and enterprise which tried all its resources. "He clamoured for +occupation from the moment he could speak," and "something to do" meant +above all some living thing to be caught for him to play with. The gift +of an animal was found a valuable aid to negotiations with the young +despot; when medicine was to be taken, he would name "a speckled frog" +as the price of his compliance, and presently his mother would be seen +hovering hither and thither among the strawberry-beds. A quaint +menagerie was gradually assembled: owls and monkeys, magpies +<a name="page6" id="page6">and</a> hedgehogs, an eagle and snakes. +Boy-collectors are often cruel; but Robert showed from the first an +anxious tenderness and an eager care for life: we hear of a hurt cat +brought home to be nursed, of ladybirds picked up in the depths of +winter and preserved with wondering delight at their survival. Even in +stories the death of animals moved him to bitter tears. He was equally +quick at books, and soon outdistanced his companions at the elementary +schools which he attended up to his fourteenth year. Near at hand, too, +was the Dulwich Gallery,—"a green half-hour's walk across the +fields,"—a beloved haunt of his childhood, to which he never +ceased to be grateful.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref3" id="fnref3" +href="#fn3">[3]</a></span> But his father's overflowing library and +portfolios played the chief part in his early development. He read +voraciously, and apparently without restraint or control. The letters of +Junius and of Horace Walpole were familiar to him "in boyhood," we are +assured with provoking indefiniteness by Mrs Orr; as well as "all the +works of Voltaire." Most to his mind, however, was the rich sinewy +English and athletic fancy of the seventeenth-century Fantastic Quarles; +a preference which foreshadowed his later delight in the great master of +the Fantastic school, and of all who care for close-knit intellect in +poetry, John Donne.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn3" id="fn3" href="#fnref3">[3]</a></span> +<i>To E.B.B</i>., March 3, 1846.] +</div> + +<p>Curiously enough, it was some fragments of the grandiose but shadowy +Ossian which first stirred the imitative impulse in this poet of +trenchant and clear-cut form. "The first composition I ever was guilty +<a name="page7" id="page7">of</a>," he wrote to Elizabeth Barrett +(Aug. 25, 1846), "was something in imitation of Ossian, whom I had not +read, but conceived through two or three scraps in other books." And +long afterwards Ossian was "the first book I ever bought in my +life" (ib.) These "imitations" were apparently in verse, and in rhyme; +and Browning's bent and faculty for both was very early pronounced. "I +never can recollect not writing rhymes; ... but I knew they were +nonsense even then." And a well-known anecdote of his infancy describes +his exhibition of a lively sense of metre in verses which he recited +with emphatic accompaniments upon the edge of the dining-room table +before he was tall enough to look over it. The crowding thoughts of his +maturity had not yet supervened to prevent the abundant music that he +"had in him" from "getting out." It is not surprising that a boy of +these proclivities was captivated by the stormy swing and sweep of +Byron; nor that he should have caught also something of his "splendour +of language," and even, a little later, a reflection, respectable and +suburban enough, of his rebellious Titanism. The less so, that in +Robert's eleventh or twelfth year Byron, the head of the +Satanic school, had become the heroic champion of Greek liberation, and +was probably spoken of with honour in the home of the large-hearted +banker who had in his day suffered so much for the sake of the +unemancipated slave. In later years Browning was accustomed to deliver +himself of breezy sarcasms at the expense of the +<a name="page8" id="page8">"flat-fish"</a> who +declaimed so eloquently about the "deep and dark blue ocean." But it is +easy to see that this genial chaff covered a real admiration,—the +tribute of one abounding nature to another, which even years and the +philosophic mind did not seriously abate. "I always retained my first +feeling for Byron in many respects," he wrote in a significant letter to +Miss Barrett in 1846. " ... I would at any time have gone to Finchley to +see a curl of his hair or one of his gloves, I am sure,—while +Heaven knows that I could not get up enthusiasm enough to cross the room +if at the other end of it all Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey were +condensed into the little china bottle yonder."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref4" id="fnref4" href="#fn4">[4]</a></span> +It was thus no mere freak of juvenile taste that took shape in these +early Byronic poems. He entitled them, with the lofty modesty of boyish +authorship, <i>Incondita</i>, and his parents sought to publish them. No +publisher could be found; but they won the attention of a notable +critic, W.J. Fox, who feared too much splendour and too little thought +in the young poet, but kept his eye on him nevertheless.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn4" id="fn4" href="#fnref4">[4]</a></span> +<i>To E.B.B</i>., Aug. 22, 1846.] +</div> + +<p>Two years later the boy of fourteen caught the accents of another +poetic voice, destined to touch the sources of music and passion in him +with far more intimate power. His casual discovery, on a bookstall, of +"Mr Shelley's Atheistical poem" seems to have for the first time made +known to him even the name of the poet who had died in Italy four years +before. Something <a name="page9" id="page9">of</a> Shelley's story +seems to have been known to his parents. It gives us a measure of the +indulgent sympathy and religious tolerance which prevailed in this +Evangelical home, that the parents should have unhesitatingly supplied +the boy of fourteen, at some cost of time and trouble, with all the +accessible writings of the "atheistical" poet, and with those of his +presumably like-minded friend Keats as well. He fell instantly under the +spell of both. Whatever he may have known before of ancient or modern +literature, the full splendour of romantic poetry here broke upon him +for the first time. Immature as he was, he already responded +instinctively to the call of the spirits most intimately akin to his +own. Byron's stormy power thrilled and delighted him; but it was too +poor in spiritual elements, too negative, self-centred, and destructive +to stir the deeper sources of Browning's poetry. In Keats and in Shelley +he found poetic energies not less glowing and intense, bent upon making +palpable to eye and ear visions of beauty which, with less of +superficial realism, were fed by far more exquisite and penetrating +senses, and attached by more and subtler filaments to the truth of +things. Beyond question this was the decisive literary experience of +Browning's early years. Probably it had a chief part in making the +poet's career his fixed ideal, and ultimately, with his father's willing +consent, his definite choice. What we know of his inner and outer life +during the important years which turned the boy into the man is slight +and baffling enough. The fiery spirit of poetry +<a name="page10" id="page10">can</a> rarely have worked out its way with +so little disturbance to the frame. Minute scrutiny has disclosed traits +of unrest and revolt; he professed "atheism" and practised +vegetarianism, betrayed at times the aggressive arrogance of an able +youth, and gave his devoted and tender parents moments of very +superfluous concern. For with all his immensely vivacious play of brain, +there was something in his mental and moral nature from first to last +stubbornly inelastic and unimpressible, that made him equally secure +against expansion and collapse. The same simple tenacity of nature which +kept his buoyantly adventurous intellect permanently within the tether +of a few primary convictions, kept him, in the region of practice and +morality, within the bounds of a rather nice and fastidious decorum. +Malign influences effected no lodgment in a nature so fundamentally +sound; they might cloud and trouble imagination for a while, but their +scope hardly extended further, and as they were literary in origin, so +they were mainly literary in expression. In the meantime he was laying, +in an unsystematic but not ineffective way, the foundations of his +many-sided culture and accomplishment. We hear much +of private tutors, of instruction in French, in music, in riding, +fencing, boxing, dancing; of casual attendance also at the Greek classes +in University College. In all these matters he seems to have won more or +less definite accomplishment, and from most of them his versatile +literary talent took, at one time or another, an effective +<a name="page11" id="page11">toll</a>. The athletic musician, who +composed his own songs and gloried in a gallop, was to make verse +simulate, as hardly any artificer had made it before, the labyrinthine +meanderings of the fugue and the rhythmic swing of hoofs.</p> + +<p>Of all these varied aims and aspirations, of all in short that was +going on under the surface of this brilliant and versatile Robert +Browning of twenty, we have a chaotic reflection in the famous fragment +<i>Pauline</i>. The quite peculiar animosity with which its author in +later life regarded this single "crab" of his youthful tree of knowledge +only adds to its interest. He probably resented the frank expression of +passion, nowhere else approached in his works. Yet passion only agitates +the surface of <i>Pauline</i>. Whether Pauline herself stand for an +actual woman—Miss Flower or another—or for the nascent spell +of womanhood—she plays, for one who is ostensibly the heroine of +the poem, a discouragingly minor part. No wonder she felt tempted to +advise the burning of so unflattering a record. Instead of the lyric +language of love, she has to receive the confessions of a subtle +psychologist, who must unlock the tumultuous story of his soul "before +he can sing." And these confessions are of a kind rare even amongst +self-revelations of genius. Pauline's lover is a dreamer, but a dreamer +of an uncommon species. He is preoccupied with the processes of his +mind, but his mind ranges wildly over the universe and chafes at the +limitations it is forced to recognise. Mill, a master, +<a name="page12" id="page12">not</a> to say a pedant, of +introspection, recognised with amazement the "intense self-consciousness" +of this poet, and self-consciousness is the keynote which persists +through all its changing harmonies. It is the self-consciousness of a +soul compelled by quick and eager senses and vivid intelligence to +recognise a host of outer realities not itself, which it constantly +strives to bring into relation with itself, as constantly baffled and +thrown back by the obstinate objectivity of that outer world. A pure +dreamer would have "contentedly lived in a nut-shell and imagined +himself king of infinite space"; a purely scientific intelligence would +have applied himself to the patient mastery of facts; in the hero of +<i>Pauline</i> the despotic senses and intellect of science and the +imperious imagination of the poet appear to coexist and to contend, and +he tosses to and fro in a fever of fitful efforts, continually +frustrated, to find complete spiritual response and expressiveness in +the intractable maze of being. There had indeed been an earlier time +when the visions of old poets had wholly sufficed him; and the verses in +which he recalls them have almost the pellucid charm of Homer,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in3">"Never morn broke clear as those</span><br /> + On the dim clustered isles in the blue sea,<br /> + The deep groves, and white temples, and wet caves."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But growing intellect demanded something more. +Shelley, the "Sun-treader," weaving soul and sense into a radiant +vesture "from his poet's station between both," did much to sustain him; +Plato's more explicit <a name="page13" id="page13">and</a> systematic +idealism gave him for a while a stronger assurance. But disillusion +broke in: "Suddenly, without heart-wreck I awoke; I said, 'twas +beautiful, yet but a dream, and so adieu to it!" Then the passionate +restlessness of his nature stings him forth afresh. He steeps himself in +the concrete vitality of things, lives in imagination through "all life +where it is most alive," immerses himself in all that is most beautiful +and intense in Nature, so fulfilling, it might seem, his passionate +craving to "be all, have, see, know, taste, feel all,"—yet only to +feel that satisfaction is not here:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"My soul saddens when it looks beyond:<br /> + I cannot be immortal, taste all joy;"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">only the sickness of satiety. But when all joy was +tasted, what then? If there was any "crowning" state, it could only be, +thought Browning, one in which the soul looked up to the unattainable +infinity of God.</p> + +<p>Such seem to be the outlines of the mental history which passes before +us, brilliant and incoherent as a dream, in <i>Pauline</i>. The material, +vast and many-sided as it is, is not fully mastered; but there is +nothing merely imitative; it is everywhere Browning, and no mere +disciple of Shelley or another, who is palpably at work. The influence +of Shelley seems, indeed, to have been already outgrown when +<i>Pauline</i> was written; Browning gloried in him and in his +increasing fame, but he felt that his own aims and destiny were +different. Rossetti, a few years later, took <i>Pauline</i> to be the +work of an <a name="page14" id="page14">unconscious</a> pre-Raphaelite; +and there is enough of subtle simplicity, of curious minuteness, in the +details to justify the error. In the meantime many outward circumstances +conspired to promote the "advance" which every line of it foretold. His +old mentor of the <i>Incondita</i> days, W.J. Fox, in some sort a +Browningite before Browning, reviewed <i>Pauline</i> in <i>The Monthly +Repository</i> (April 1833) with generous but discerning praise. This +was the beginning of a warm friendship between the two, which ended only +with Fox's death. It was founded upon hearty admiration on both sides, +and no man living was better qualified to scatter the morbid films that +clung about the expanding genius of young Browning than this robust and +masculine critic and preacher. A few months later came an event of which +we know very little, but which at least did much to detach him from the +limited horizons of Camberwell. At the invitation of M. Benckhausen, +Russian consul-general, Browning accompanied him, in the winter of +1833-34, on a special mission to St Petersburg. The journey left few +apparent traces on his work. But he remembered the rush of the sledge +through the forest when, half a century later, he told the thrilling +tale of <i>Iván Ivánovitch</i>. And even the modest intimacy with +affairs of State obtainable in the office of a consul-general seems to +have led his thoughts seriously to diplomacy as a career. One +understands that to the future dissector of a Hohenstiel-Schwangau and a +Blougram the career might present attractions. It +<a name="page15" id="page15">marks</a> the seriousness of his ambition +that he actually applied for a post in the Persian Embassy. This fancy +of <i>Ferishtah</i>, like a similar one of ten years later, was not +gratified, but the bent which was thus thwarted in practical life +disported itself freely in poetry, and the marks of the diplomatist <i>in +posse</i> are pretty clearly legible in the subtle political webs which +make up so much of the plots of <i>Strafford</i>, <i>King Victor</i>, and +<i>Sordello</i>.</p> + +<p>But much sharper rebuffs than this would have failed to disturb the +immense buoyancy of Browning's temperament. He was twenty-three, and in +the first flush of conscious power. His exuberant animal spirits flowed +out in whimsical talk; he wrote letters of the gayest undergraduate +<i>insouciance</i> to Fox, and articles full of extravagant jesting for +<i>The Trifler</i>, an amateur journal which received the lucubrations +of his little circle. He enjoyed life like a boy, and shared its +diversions like a man about town. These superficial vivacities were the +slighter play of a self-consciousness which in its deeper recesses was +steadily gathering power, richness, and assurance. His keen social +instincts saved him from most of the infirmities of budding genius; but +the poems he contributed to Fox's journal during the following two years +(1834-36) show a significant predilection for imagining the +extravagances and fanaticisms of lonely self-centred minds. Joannes +Agricola, sublime on the dizzy pinnacle of his theological arrogance, +looking up through the gorgeous <a name="page16" id="page16">roof</a> of +heaven and assured that nothing can stay his course to his destined +abode, God's breast; Porphyria's lover, the more uncanny fanatic who +murders with a smile; the young man who in his pride of power sees in +the failures and mistakes of other men examples providentially intended +for his guidance,—it was such subjects as these that touched +Browning's fancy in those ardent and sanguine years. He probably entered +with keener relish into these extravagances than his maturer wisdom +approved. It is significant, at any rate, that when <i>Agricola</i> and +<i>Porphyria's Lover</i> were republished in <i>The Bells and +Pomegranates</i> of 1842, a new title, <i>Madhouse Cells</i>, gave +warning that their insanity was not to be attributed to the poet. The +verses "Still ailing wind," he qualified in a yet more explicit fashion +twenty years later, for they are the young man's poem which James Lee's +wife reads "under the cliff," and subjects to her austere and +disillusioned criticism. But they mark the drift of Browning of the +mid-'Thirties, so far as they go, clearly enough. Fortunately, however, +we are not dependent upon these slight clues. For during the winter +months of 1834-35 he was occupied in portraying a far more imposing +embodiment of the young man's pride of power, a Joannes Agricola of +equally superb confidence and far more magnificent ideals. In April 1835 +Browning was able to announce to his good friend Fox the completion of +<i>Paracelsus</i>.</p> + +<p>He owed the suggestion to another new acquaintance, whose intimacy, +like that of the Russian consul-general, <a name="page17" +id="page17">marks</a> the fascination exercised by young Browning upon +men of antecedents, race, and social standing widely different from his +own. Count Amédée de Ripert Monclar was a French royalist and refugee; +he was also an enthusiastic student of history. Possibly he recognised +an affinity between the vaguely outlined dreams of Pauline's lover and +those of the historic Paracelsus; and he may well have thought that the +task of grappling with definite historic material would steady the young +poet's hand. We could applaud the acuteness of the suggestion with more +confidence had not the Count had an unlucky afterthought, which he +regarded as fatal, to the effect that the story of Paracelsus, however +otherwise adapted to the creator of Pauline's lover, was entirely +destitute of a Pauline. There was no opening for love. But Pauline, with +all her warm erotic charms and her sparkling French prose, was the most +unsubstantial and perishable thing in the poem which bore her name: she +and the spirit which begot her had vanished like a noisome smoke, and +Browning threw himself with undiminished ardour upon the task of +interpreting a career in which the sole sources of romance and of +tragedy appeared to be the passion for knowledge and the arrogance of +discovery.</p> + +<p>For it is quite clear that, whatever criticisms Browning finally +brought to bear upon Paracelsus, his attitude towards him, at no time +hostile, was at the outset rather that of a literary champion, +vindicating a man of original <a name="page18" id="page18">genius</a> +from the calumnies of ignorance and dulness. This +view, then rather unusual, was a very natural one for him to take, +Paracelsus being among the many keen interests of the elder +Browning.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref5" id="fnref5" +href="#fn5">[5]</a></span> It is a strange mistake to suppose, with a +recent very ingenious commentator, that Browning, eager to destroy the +fallacy of intellectual pride, singled out Paracelsus as a crucial +example of the futilities of intellect. On the contrary, he filled his +annotations with documentary evidences which attest not only the +commanding scientific genius of Paracelsus, but the real significance of +his achievements, even for the modern world. In the intellectual hunger +of Paracelsus, in that "insatiable avidity of penetrating the secrets of +nature" which his follower Bitiskius (approvingly quoted by Browning) +ascribed to him, he saw a fascinating realisation of his own vague and +chaotic "restlessness." Here was a spirit made up in truth "of an +intensest life," driven hither and thither by the hunger for +intellectual mastery of the universe; and Browning, far from convicting +him of intellectual futility, has made him actually divine the secret he +sought, and, in one of the most splendid passages of modern poetry, +declare with his dying lips a faith which is no less Browning's than his +own.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn5" id="fn5" href="#fnref5">[5]</a></span> +His library, as I am informed by Prof. Hall Griffin, contained a copy of +the works of Paracelsus, doubtless that used by his son. +</div> + +<p>While he thus lavished his utmost power on portraying the soaring +genius of Paracelsus, as he conceived it, he turned impatiently away +from the husk of popular legend <a name="page19" id="page19">by</a> +which it was half obscured. He shrank from no attested fact, however +damaging; but he brushed away the accretions of folklore, however +picturesque. The attendant spirit who enabled Paracelsus to work his +marvellous cures, and his no less renowned Sword, were for Browning +contemptible futilities. Yet a different way of treating legend lay +nearer to the spirit of contemporary poetry. Goethe had not long before +evolved his Mephistopheles from the "attendant spirit" attached by that +same sixteenth century to the Paracelsus of Protestantism, Faust; +Tennyson was already meditating a scene full of the enchantment of the +Arthurian sword Excalibur. Browning's peremptory rejection of such +springs of poetry marks one of his limitations as a poet. Much of the +finest poetry of <i>Faust</i>, as, in a lower degree, of +the <i>Idylls</i>, is won by a subtle transformation of the rude stuff of +popular imagination: for Browning, with rare exceptions, this rude stuff +was dead matter, impervious to his poetic insight, and irresponsive to +the magic of his touch. Winnowing the full ears, catching eagerly the +solid and stimulating grain, he hardly heeded the golden gleam of the +chaff as it flew by.</p> + +<p>He did not, however, refrain from accentuating his view of the story +by interweaving in it some gracious figures of his own. Festus, the +honest, devoted, but somewhat purblind friend, who offers Paracelsus the +criticism of sober common-sense, and is vindicated—at the bar of +common-sense—by his great comrade's tragic +<a name="page20" id="page20">end</a>; Michal, an exquisitely +tender outline of womanhood, even more devoted, and even less +distinguished; and the "Italian poet" Aprile, a creature of genius, +whose single overpowering thought avails to break down the stronghold of +Paracelsus's else unassailable conviction. Aprile, who lives for love as +Paracelsus for knowledge, is not to be identified with Shelley, but he +has unmistakable Shelleyan traits, and the dreamy pageant of his +imaginary creations might stand for a summary review of Shelley's work. +Had Shelley lived, he might have come nearer than any one else to +fulfilling the rounded and complete ideal of which Paracelsus and Aprile +were dissevered halves: the greater part of his actual achievement +belonged, Browning evidently thought, to the category of those dazzling +but imperfectly objective visions which he ascribes to his Aprile. But +Shelley—the poet of <i>Alastor</i>, the passionate "lover of +Love," was yet the fittest embodiment of that other finer spiritual +energy which Paracelsus in his Faustian passion for knowledge had +ruthlessly put from him. Sixteen years later, Browning was to define in +memorable words what he held to be the "noblest and predominating +characteristic of Shelley"—viz., "his simultaneous perception of +Power and Love in the Absolute and of Beauty and Good in the concrete, +while he throws, from his poet's station between both, swifter, subtler, +and more numerous films for the connection of each with each than have +been thrown by any modern artificer of +<a name="page21" id="page21">whom</a> I have knowledge." This divining +and glorifying power it is that Browning ascribes to Love; the lack of +it is in his conception the tragic flaw which brings to the ground the +superbly gifted genius of Paracelsus. This genuine and original tragic +motive is not worked out with uniform power; his degeneration, his +failures, are painted with the uncertain hand of one little acquainted +with either. But all the splendour of a young imagination, charged with +the passion for truth and for beauty, glows in the pictures of the great +moments in Paracelsus's career,—the scene in the quiet +Würzburg garden, where he conquers the doubts of Festus and Michal +by the magnificent assurance of his faith in his divine calling; and +that in the hospital cell at Salzburg, where his fading mind anticipates +at the point of death the clearness of immortal vision as he lays bare +the conquered secret of the world.</p> + +<p>That Paracelsian secret of the world was for Browning doubtless the +truth, though he never again expounded it so boldly. Paracelsus's reply +to the anxious inquiry of Festus whether he is sure of God's +forgiveness: "I have lived! We have to live alone to well set forth +God's praise"—might stand as a text before the works of Browning. +In all life he sees the promise and the potency of God,—in the +teeming vitalities of the lower world, in the creative energies of man, +in the rich conquests of his Art, in his myth-woven Nature. "God is +glorified in Man, and to man's glory vowed I soul and limb." +<a name="page22" id="page22">The</a> historic Paracelsus failed most +signally in his attempt to connect vast conceptions of Nature akin to +this with the detail of his empiric discoveries. Browning, with his +mind, as always, set upon things psychical, attributes to him a parallel +incapacity to connect his far-reaching vision of humanity with the +gross, malicious, or blockish specimens of the genus Man whom he +encountered in the detail of practice. It was the problem which Browning +himself was to face, and in his own view triumphantly to solve; and +Paracelsus, rising into the clearness of his dying vision, becomes the +mouthpiece of Browning's own criticism of his failure, the impassioned +advocate of the Love which with him is less an elemental energy drawing +things into harmonious fusion than a subtle weapon of the intellect, +making it wise</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"To trace love's faint beginnings in mankind,<br /> + To know even hate is but a mask of love's,<br /> + To see a good in evil and a hope<br /> + In ill-success."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Paracelsus is a clear self-revelation, rich and +inspired where it marks out the circle of sublime ideas within which the +poet was through life to move, and by which he was, as a man and a +thinker, if not altogether as a poet, to live; reticent where it +approaches the complexities of the concrete which the poet was not yet +sufficiently mature to handle, restrained where increased power was to +breed a too generous self-indulgence, a too +<a name="page23" id="page23">manifest</a> aptitude for glorying and +drinking deep. It is flushed with the peculiar mellow beauty which comes +if at all to the early manhood of genius,—a beauty like that of +Amiens or Lincoln in Gothic art, where the crudeness of youth is +overworn, and the problems of full maturity, though foreshadowed and +foreseen, have not yet begun to perplex or to disintegrate.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page24" id="page24"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h4>ENLARGING HORIZONS. <i>SORDELLO</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent">Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach, in meiner Brust,<br /> + Die eine will sich von der andern trennen;<br /> + Die eine hält in derber Liebeslust<br /> + Sich an die Welt mit klammernden Organen;<br /> + Die andre hebt gewaltsam sich vom Dust<br /> + Zu den Gefilden hoher Ahnen.<br /> + <span class="in8">—<i>Faust</i>.</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent"><i>Paracelsus</i>, though only a series of +quasi-dramatic scenes, suggested considerable undeveloped capacity for +drama. From a career in which the most sensational event was a dismissal +from a professorship, and the absorbing passion the thirst for +knowledge, he had elicited a tragedy of the scientific intellect. But it +was equally obvious that the writer's talent was not purely dramatic; +and that his most splendid and original endowments required some other +medium than drama for their full unfolding. The author of +<i>Paracelsus</i> was primarily concerned with character, and with +action as the mirror of character; agreeing in both points substantially +with the author of <i>Hamlet</i>. But while Browning's <a name="page25" +id="page25">energetic</a> temperament habitually impelled him to +represent character in action, his imaginative strength did not lie in +the region of action at all, but in the region of thought; the kinds of +expression of which he had boundless command were rather those which +analyse character than those which exhibit it. The two impulses derived +from temperament and from imagination thus drew him in somewhat diverse +directions; and for some years the joy in the stir and stress and +many-sided life of drama competed with the powerful bent of the +portrayer of souls, until the two contending currents finally coalesced +in the dramatic monologues of <i>Men and Women</i>. In 1835 the solution +was not yet found, but the five years which followed were to carry +Browning, not without crises of perplexity and hesitation, far on his +way towards it. <i>Paracelsus</i> was no sooner completed than he +entered upon his kindred but more esoteric portrayal of the soul-history +of Sordello,—a study in which, with the dramatic form, almost all +the dramatic excellences of its predecessors are put aside. But the poet +was outgrowing the method; the work hung fire; and we find him, before +he had gone far with the perplexed record of that "ineffectual angel," +already "eager to freshen a jaded mind by diverting it to the healthy +natures of a grand epoch."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref6" +id="fnref6" href="#fn6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn6" id="fn6" href="#fnref6">[6]</a></span> +Preface to the first edition of <i>Strafford</i> (subsequently omitted). +</div> + +<p>The open-eyed man of the world and of affairs in Browning was plainly +clamouring for more expression than he had yet found. An invitation from +the first <a name="page26" id="page26">actor</a> of the day to write a +tragedy for him was not likely, under these circumstances, to be +declined; and during the whole winter of 1836-37 the story of Sordello +remained untold, while its author plunged, with a security and relish +which no one who knew only his poetry could have foretold, into the +pragmatic politics and diplomatic intrigues of <i>Strafford</i>. The +performance of the play on May 1, 1837 introduced further distractions. +And <i>Sordello</i> had made little further progress, when, in the April +of the following year, Browning embarked on a sudden but memorable trip +to the South of Europe. It gave him his first glimpse of Italy and of +the Mediterranean, and plenty of the rough homely intercourse with men +which he loved. He travelled, in a fashion that suited his purse and his +hardy nature, by a merchant vessel from London to the Adriatic. The food +was uneatable, the horrors of dirt and discomfort portentous; but he +bore them cheerfully for the sake of one advantage,—"the +solitariness of the <i>one</i> passenger among all those rough new +creatures, <i>I</i> like it much, and soon get deep into their +friendship."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref7" id="fnref7" +href="#fn7">[7]</a></span> Grim tragedies of the high-seas, too, came +within his ken.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref8" id="fnref8" +href="#fn8">[8]</a></span> Two or three moments of the voyage stand out +for us with peculiar distinctness: the gorgeous sunset off Cadiz bay, +when he watched the fading outlines of Gibraltar and Cape St +Vincent,—ghostly mementos of England,—not as Arnold's weary +Titan, but as a Herakles stretching a hand of help +<a name="page27" id="page27">across</a> the seas; the other sunset on the +Mediterranean, when Etna loomed against the flaming +sky;<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref9" id="fnref9" +href="#fn9">[9]</a></span> and, between them, that glaring noontide on +the African shore, when the "solitary passenger," weary of shipboard and +sea sickness, longed for his good horse York in the stable at home, and +scribbled his ballad of brave horses, <i>How they brought the Good +News</i>, in a blank leaf of Bartoli's <i>Simboli</i>. The voyage ended +at Trieste; and thence he passed to Venice, brooded among her ruined +palaces over Sordello, and "English Eyebright" and all the destiny and +task of the poet; and so turned homeward, through the mountains, +gathering vivid glimpses as he went of "all my places and castles,"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref10" id="fnref10" href="#fn10">[10]</a></span> +and laying by a memory, soon to germinate, of "delicious Asolo," +"palpably fire-clothed" in the glory of his young imagination.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn7" id="fn7" href="#fnref7">[7]</a></span> +<i>R.B.</i> to <i>E.B.B.</i>, i. 505.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn8" id="fn8" href="#fnref8">[8]</a></span> +Cf. the long letter to Miss Haworth, Orr, <i>Life</i>, p. 96.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn9" id="fn9" href="#fnref9">[9]</a></span> +Cf. <i>Sordello</i>, bk. iii., end.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn10" id="fn10" href="#fnref10">[10]</a></span> +Ib., p. 99. +</div> + +<p>Thus when, in 1840, <i>Sordello</i> was at length complete, it bore +the traces of many influences and many moods. It reflected the expanding +ideals and the critical turning-points of four years of his life. In the +earlier books the brilliant yet self-centred poet of <i>Paracelsus</i> is +still paramount, and even the "oddish boy" who had shyly evolved +<i>Pauline</i> is not entirely effaced. But in the later books we +recognise without difficulty the man who has mixed with the larger +world, has won some fame in letters, has immersed himself in the +stirring atmosphere of a supreme national conflict, has seen Italy, and +has, in the solitude and detachment from his <i>milieu</i> which foreign +travel brings, girded up his loins anew for a +<a name="page28" id="page28">larger</a> and more exacting poetic task. +The tangled political dissensions of the time are set before us with the +baffling allusiveness of the expert. The Italian landscape is painted, +not with richer imagination, for nothing in Browning exceeds some +passages of the earlier books, but with more depth of colouring, more +precision of contour and expression. And he has taken the "sad +disheveled form," Humanity, for his bride, the mate of an art which will +disdain no evil and turn away from nothing common, in the service of +man. Doubtless the result was not all gain. The intermittent composition +and the shifting points of view add an element of real ambiguity and +indecision to faults of expression which mainly spring from the +swiftness and discursiveness of a brilliant and athletic intellect. The +alleged "obscurity" of the poem is in great part a real obscurity; the +profiles are at times not merely intricate, but blurred. But he had +written nothing yet, and he was to write little after, which surpasses +the finest pages of <i>Sordello</i> in close-packed, if somewhat +elusive, splendour; the soil, as he wrote of Italy, is full of loose +fertility, and gives out intoxicating odours at every footfall. +Moreover, he can now paint the clash and commotion of crowds, the +turmoil of cities and armies, with superb force—a capacity of +which there is hardly a trace in <i>Paracelsus</i>. Sordello himself +stands out less clearly than Paracelsus from the canvas; but the +sympathetic reader finally admits that this visionary being, who gleams +ghostlike at the end of all the avenues <a name="page29" +id="page29">and</a> vistas of the poem, whom we are always looking at +but never rightly see, is an even more fascinating figure.</p> + +<p>He is however less historical, in spite of the abstruse historic +background upon which he moves. Of the story of Paracelsus Browning +merely reinterpreted the recorded facts; whereas he brushes aside the +greater part of the Sordello story, as told confusedly and +inconsistently by Italian and Provençal tradition. The whole later +career of the Mantuan poet as an accomplished and not unsuccessful man +of the world, as the friend of Raymond of Toulouse and Charles of Anjou, +rewarded with ample estates by the latter for substantial +services,—is either rejected as myth, or purposely ignored. To all +appearance, the actual Sordello by no means lacked ability to "fit to +the finite" such "infinity" as he possessed. And if he had the chance, +as is obscurely hinted at the close, of becoming, like Dante, the +"Apollo" of the Italian people, he hardly missed it "through disbelief +that anything was to be done." But the outward shell of his career +included some circumstances which, had they befallen a Dante, might have +deeply moulded the history of Italy. His close relations with great +Guelph and Ghibelline families would have offered extraordinary +opportunities to a patriot of genius, which, for the purposes of +patriotism, remained unused. Yet Dante, a patriot of genius if ever +there was one, had given Sordello a position of extraordinary honour in +the <i>Purgatory</i>, had allowed him to illuminate <a name="page30" +id="page30">the</a> darkness of Virgil, and to guide both the great +poets towards the Gate. The contrast offered an undeniable problem. But +Dante had himself hinted the solution by placing Sordello among those +dilatory souls whose tardy repentance involved their sojourn in the +Ante-purgatory. To a mind preoccupied, like Browning's, with the +failures of aspiring souls, this hint naturally appealed. He imagined +his Sordello, too, as a moral loiterer, who, with extraordinary gifts, +failed by some inner enervating paralysis<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref11" id="fnref11" href="#fn11">[11]</a></span> +to make his spiritual quality explicit; and who impressed contemporaries +sufficiently to start a brilliant myth of what he did not do, but had to +wait for recognition until he met the eye and lips of Dante. It is +difficult not to suspect the influence of another great poet. +<i>Sordello</i> has no nearer parallel in literature than Goethe's +<i>Tasso</i>, a picture of the eternal antagonism between the poet and +the world, for which Bordello's failure to "fit to the finite his +infinity" might have served as an apt motto. Browning has nowhere to our +knowledge mentioned <i>Tasso</i>; but he has left on record his +admiration of the beautiful sister-drama +<i>Iphigenie</i>.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref12" id="fnref12" +href="#fn12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn11" id="fn11" href="#fnref11">[11]</a></span> +<span class="poem"> + "Ah but to find<br /> +A certain mood enervate such a mind," &c.<br /></span> + <span class="in9">—</span><i>Works</i>, i. 122. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn12" id="fn12" href="#fnref12">[12]</a></span> +<i>To E.B.B.</i>, July 7, 1846. He is "vexed" at Landor's +disparagement of the play, and quotes with approval Landor's earlier +declaration that "nothing so Hellenic had been written these two +thousand years." +</div> + +<p>The elaboration of this conception is, however, +<a name="page31" id="page31">entirely</a> Browning's own, and discloses +at every point the individual quality of his mind. Like <i>Faust</i>, +like the Poet in the <i>Palace of Art</i>, Sordello bears the +stamp of an age in which the ideal of intellect, art, culture, and the +ideal of humanity, of social service, have both become potent +inspirations, often in apparent conflict, and continually demanding a +solution of their differences. Faust breaks away from the narrow +pedantries of the schools in order to heap upon his breast the weal and +woe of mankind, and to draw all their life and thought into the compass +of his mind. Tennyson's "glorious devil" (by a curious irony intended +for no other than Faust's creator) sets up his lordly pleasure-house +apart from the ways of men, until at last, confuted by experience, he +renounces his folly. <i>Sordello</i> cannot claim the mature and +classical brilliance of the one, nor the limpid melodious beauty of the +other; but it approaches <i>Faust</i> itself in its subtle soundings of +the mysteries of the intellectual life. It is a young poet's attempt to +cope with the problem of the poet's task and the poet's function, the +relation of art to life, and of life to art. Neither Goethe nor Tennyson +thought more loftily of the possibilities of poetic art. And neither +insisted more peremptorily—or rather assumed more +unquestioningly—that it only fulfils these possibilities when the +poet labours in the service of man. He is "earth's essential king," but +his kingship rests upon his carrying out the kingliest of +mottoes—"Ich dien." Browning <a name="page32" id="page32">all</a> +his life had a hearty contempt for the foppery of "Art for Art," and he +never conveyed it with more incisive brilliance than in the sketch of +Bordello's "opposite," the Troubadour Eglamor.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">"How he loved that art!</span><br /> + The calling marking him a man apart<br /> + From men—one not to care, take counsel for<br /> + Cold hearts, comfortless faces, ... since verse, the gift<br /> + Was his, and men, the whole of them, must shift<br /> + Without it."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">To Eglamor his art is a mysterious ritual, of which +he is the sacrosanct priest, and his happy rhyme the divine response +vouchsafed to him in answer. Such beauty as he produces is no effluence +from a soul mating itself, like Wordsworth's, "in love and holy passion +with the universe," but a cunning application of the approved recipes +for effective writing current in the literary guild;—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"He, no genius rare,</span><br /> + Transfiguring in fire or wave or air<br /> + At will, but a poor gnome that, cloistered up<br /> + In some rock-chamber, with his agate-cup,<br /> + His topaz-rod, his seed-pearl, in these few<br /> + And their arrangement finds enough to do<br /> + For his best art."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref13" id="fnref13" href="#fn13">[13]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn13" id="fn13" href="#fnref13">[13]</a></span> +Works, i. 131. +</div> + +<p>From these mysticisms and technicalities of Troubadour and all other +poetic guilds Browning decisively detaches his poet. Sordello is not a +votary of poetry; he does not "cultivate the Muse"; he does not even +<a name="page33" id="page33">prostrate</a> himself before the beauty and +wonder of the visible universe. Poetry is the atmosphere in which he +lives; and in the beauty without he recognises the "dream come true" of +a soul which (like that of Pauline's lover) "existence" thus "cannot +satiate, cannot surprise." "Laugh thou at envious fate," adorers cry to +this inspired Platonist,</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Who, from earth's simplest combination ...<br /> + Dost soar to heaven's complexest essence, rife<br /> + With grandeurs, unaffronted to the last,<br /> + Equal to being all."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref14" + id="fnref14" href="#fn14">[14]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn14" id="fn14" href="#fnref14">[14]</a></span> +Works, i. 122. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And, in truth, his power of imaginative apprehension +has no bounds. From the naïve self-reflection of his boyish dreams +he passes on to visions which embrace a continually fuller measure of +life, until he forestalls the sublime Dantesque conception of a poetry +vast and deep as humanity, where every soul will stand forth revealed in +its naked truth. But he cannot, like Dante, put his vast conceptions into +the shackles of intelligible speech. His uncompromising "infinity" will +not comply with finite conditions, and he remains an inefficient and +inarticulate genius, a Hamlet of poetry.</p> + +<p>In the second half of the poem the Hamlet of poetry becomes likewise a +Hamlet of politics. He aspires to serve the people otherwise than by +holding up to them the mirror of an all-revealing poetry. Though by +birth associated with the aristocratic and imperial Ghibellines, his +natural affinity is clearly with the Church, which in +<a name="page34" id="page34">some</a> sort stood for the people against +the nobles, and for spirit against brute force. We see him, now, a +frail, inspired Shelleyan<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref15" +id="fnref15" href="#fn15">[15]</a></span> democrat, pleading the Guelph +cause before the great Ghibelline soldier Salinguerra,—as he had +once pitted the young might of native song against the accomplished +Troubadour Eglamor. Salinguerra is the foil of the political, as Eglamor +of the literary, Sordello, and the dramatic interest of the whole poem +focusses in those two scenes. He had enough of the lonely inspiration of +genius to vanquish the craftsman, but too little of its large humanity +to cope with the astute man of the world. When Salinguerra, naturally +declining his naïve entreaty that he should put his Ghibelline sword at +the service of the Guelph, offers Sordello, on his part, the command of +the imperial forces in Italy if he will remain true to the Ghibelline +cause, he makes this finite world more alluring than it had ever been +before to the "infinite" Sordello. After a long struggle, he renounces +the offer, and—dies, exhausted with the strain of choice.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn15" id="fn15" href="#fnref15">[15]</a></span> +There are other Shelleyan traits in <i>Sordello</i>—e.g., the +young witch image (as in <i>Pauline</i>) at the opening of the second +book. +</div> + +<p>What was Browning's judgment upon Sordello? Does he regard him as an +idealist of aims too lofty for success in this world, and whose +"failure" implied his triumph in another, where his "broken arc" would +become the "perfect round"? Assuredly not. That might indeed be his +destiny, but Browning makes it perfectly clear +<a name="page35" id="page35">that</a> he failed, not +because his ideal was incommensurate with the conditions in which he +lived, but because he lacked the supreme gift by which the greatest of +souls may find their function and create their sphere in the least +promising <i>milieu</i>,—a controlling and guiding passion of +love. With compassionate tenderness, as of a father to his wayward +child, Browning in the closing pages of the poem lays his finger on the +ailing place. "Ah, my Sordello, I this once befriend and speak for you." +It was true enough, in the past, that Soul, as belonging to Eternity, +must needs prove incomplete for Time. But is life to be therefore only a +struggle to escape from the shackles of the body? Is freedom only won by +death? No, rejoins the poet, and the reply comes from the heart of his +poetry, though at issue with much of his explicit doctrine; a harmony of +soul and body is possible here in which both fulfil their functions:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Like yonder breadth of watery heaven, a bay,<br /> + And that sky-space of water, ray for ray<br /> + And star for star, one richness where they mixed,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">the Soul seeing its way in Time without being either +dazzled by, or losing, its vision of Eternity, having the saving clue of +Love. Dante, for whom Love was the pervading spirit of the universe, and +the beginning and end of his inspiration, wrought his vision of eternal +truth and his experience of the passing lives of men into such a harmony +with unexampled power; and <a name="page36" id="page36">the</a> +comparison, implicit in every page of <i>Sordello</i>, is driven home +with almost scornful bitterness on the last:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"What he should have been,</span><br /> + Could be, and was not—the one step too mean<br /> + For him to take—we suffer at this day<br /> + Because of: Ecelin had pushed away<br /> + Its chance ere Dante could arrive and take<br /> + That step Sordello spurned, for the world's sake.<br /> + <span class="in8">. . . A sorry + farce</span><br /> + Such life is, after all!"</p> +</div> + +<p>The publication of <i>Sordello</i> in 1840 closes the first phase of +Browning's literary career. By the great majority of those who had +hailed the splendid promise of <i>Paracelsus</i>, the author of +<i>Sordello</i> was frankly given up. Surprisingly few thought it worth +while to wrestle with the difficult book. It was the day of the gentle +literary public which had a few years before recoiled from <i>Sartor +Resartus</i>, and which found in the difficulty of a book the strongest +presumption against it. A later generation, leavened by Carlyle, came +near to regarding difficulty as a presumption in its favour, and this +more strenuous and athletic attitude towards literature was among the +favouring conditions which brought Browning at length into vogue.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page37" id="page37"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h4>MATURING METHODS. DRAMAS AND DRAMATIC +LYRICS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">Since Chaucer was alive and hale,</span><br /> + No man hath walk'd along our roads with step<br /> + So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue<br /> + So varied in discourse.<br /> + <span class="in9">—</span><span class="small">LANDOR.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The memorable moment when Browning, standing on the +ruined palace-step at Venice, had taken Humanity for his mate, opened an +epoch in his poetic life to which the later books of <i>Sordello</i> +form a splendid prelude. For the Browning of 1840 it was no longer a +sufficient task to trace the epochs in the spiritual history of lonely +idealists, to pursue the problem of existence in minds themselves +preoccupied with its solution. "Soul" is still his fundamental +preoccupation; but the continued play of an eager intellect and +vivacious senses upon life has immensely multiplied the points of +concrete experience which it vivifies and transfigures to his eyes. It +is as if a painter trained in the school of Raphael or Lionardo had +discovered <a name="page38" id="page38">that</a> he could use the +minute and fearless brush of the Flemings in the service of their +ideals. He pursues soul in all its rich multiplicity, in the +tortuosities and dark abysses of character; he forces crowds of sordid, +grotesque, or commonplace facts to become its expressive speech; he +watches its thought and passion projected into the tide of affairs, +caught up in the clash and tangle of plot. In all these three ways the +Dramas and Dramatic Lyrics and Romances, which were to be his poetic +occupation during the Forties, detach themselves sharply from +<i>Paracelsus</i> and the early books of <i>Sordello</i>. A poem like +<i>The Laboratory</i> (1844), for instance, stands at almost the +opposite pole of art to these. All that Browning neglected or veiled in +<i>Paracelsus</i> he here thrusts into stern relief. The passion and +crime there faintly discerned in the background of ideally beautiful +figures are here his absorbing theme. The curious technicalities of the +chemist's workshop, taken for granted in <i>Paracelsus</i>, are now +painted with a realism reminiscent of Romeo's Apothecary and <i>The +Alchemist</i>. And the outward drama of intrigue, completely effaced in +<i>Paracelsus</i> by the inward drama of soul, sounds delusive scorn and +laughter in the background, the more sinister because it is not seen. +These lyrics and romances are "dramatic" not only in the sense that the +speakers express, as Browning insisted, other minds and sentiments than +his own, but in the more legitimate sense that they are plucked as it +were out <a name="page39" id="page39">of</a> the living organism of a +drama, all the vital issues of which can be read in their +self-revelation.</p> + +<p>A poet whose lyrics were of this type might be expected to find in +drama proper his free, full, and natural expression. This was not +altogether the case with Browning, who, despite an unquenchable +appetency for drama, did better work in his dramatic monologues than in +his plays. The drama alone allowed full scope for the development of +plot-interest. But it was less favourable to another yet more deeply +rooted interest of his. Not only did action and outward event—the +stuff of drama—interest Browning chiefly as "incidents in the +development of soul," but they became congenial to his art only as +projected upon some other mind, and tinged with its feeling and its +thought. Half the value of a story for him lay in the colours it derived +from the narrator's personality; and he told his own experience, as he +uttered his own convictions, most easily and effectively through alien +lips. For a like reason he loved to survey the slow continuities of +actual events from the standpoint of a given moment, under the +conditions of perspective and illusion which it imposed. Both these +conditions were less well satisfied by drama, which directly "imitates +action," than by the dramatic speech or monologue, which imitates action +as focussed in a particular mind. And Browning's dramatic genius found +its most natural and effective outlet in the wealth of implicit drama +which he concentrated in <a name="page40" id="page40">these</a> salient +moments tense with memory and hope. The insuppressible alertness and +enterprise of his own mind tells upon his portrayal of these intense +moments. He sees passion not as a blinding fume, but as a flame, which +enlarges the area, and quickens the acuteness, of vision; the background +grows alive with moving shapes. To the stricken girl in <i>Ye Banks and +Braes</i> memory is torture, and she thrusts convulsively from her, like +dagger-points, the intolerable loveliness of the things that remind her +of her love; whereas the victim of <i>The Confessional</i> pours forth +from her frenzied lips every detail of her tragic story.</p> + +<p>So in <i>The Laboratory</i>, once more, all the strands of the +implicit drama are seen like incandescent filaments in the glow of a +single moment of fierce impassioned consciousness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"He is with her, and they know that I know<br /> + Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow<br /> + While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear<br /> + Empty church, to pray God in, for them!—I am here."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Both kinds—drama and dramatic +lyric—continued to attract him, while neither altogether +satisfied; and they engaged him concurrently throughout the decade.</p> + +<p>In this power of seizing the salient moment of a complex situation and +laying bare at a stroke all its issues, Browning's monologues have no +nearer parallel than the Imaginary Conversations of Landor, which +illuminate with so strange a splendour so many unrecorded scenes of the +great drama of history. To <a name="page41" id="page41">Landor</a>, +according to his wife's testimony, Browning "always said that he owed +more than to any contemporary"; to Landor he dedicated the last volume +of the <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>. Landor, on his part, hailed in +Browning the "inquiring eye" and varied discourse of a second Chaucer. +It is hardly rash to connect with his admiration for the elder artist +Browning's predilection for these brief revealing glimpses into the +past. Browning cared less for the actual <i>personnel</i> of history, +and often imagined his speakers as well as their talk; but he imagined +them with an equal instinct for seizing the expressive traits of +nationalities and of times, and a similar, if more spontaneous and +naïve, anti-feudal temper. The French camp and the Spanish cloister, +<i>Gismond</i> and <i>My Last Duchess</i> (originally called +<i>France</i> and <i>Italy</i>), are penetrated with the spirit of +peoples, ages, and institutions as seized by a historical student of +brilliant imagination and pronounced antipathies.</p> + +<p>But in one point Landor and Browning stood at opposite poles. Landor, +far beyond any contemporary English example, had the classic sense and +mastery of style; Browning's individuality of manner rested on a robust +indifference to all the traditional conventions of poetic speech. The +wave of realism which swept over English letters in the early 'Forties +broke down many barriers of language; the new things that had to be said +demanded new ways of saying them; homely, grotesque, or sordid life was +rendered in sordid, <a name="page42" id="page42">grotesque</a>, and +homely terms. <i>Pickwick</i> in 1837 had established the immense vogue +of Dickens, the <i>Heroes</i> in 1840 had assured the imposing prestige +of Carlyle; and the example of both made for the freest and boldest use +of language. Across the Channel the stupendous fabric of the <i>Comédie +Humaine</i> was approaching completion, and Browning was one of Balzac's +keenest English readers. Alone among the greater poets of the time +Browning was in genius and temperament a true kinsman to these great +romantic realists; his poetry, as it emerged in the rich dramatic +harvest of the 'Forties, is the nearest counterpart and analogue of +their prose.</p> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Browning's first drama, as is well known, was the result of a direct +application from Macready. Introduced in November 1835 by his "literary +father" Fox, Browning immediately interested the actor. A reading of +<i>Paracelsus</i> convinced him that Browning could write, if not a good +play, yet one with an effective tragic <i>rôle</i> for himself. Strained +relations with his company presently made him eager to procure this +service. Browning, suddenly appealed to (in May 1836), promptly +suggested <i>Strafford</i>. He was full of the subject, having recently +assisted his friend Forster in compiling his life. The actor closed with +the suggestion, and a year later (May 1, 1837) the play was +<a name="page43" id="page43">performed</a> at Covent Garden. The fine +acting of Macready, and of Helen Faucit, who was now associated with +him, procured the piece a moderate success. It went through five +performances.</p> + +<p>Browning's <i>Strafford</i>, like his <i>Paracelsus</i>, was a +serious attempt to interpret a historic character; and historic experts +like Gardiner have, as regards the central figure, emphatically indorsed +his judgment. The other persons, and the action itself, he treated more +freely, with evident regard to their value as secondary elements in the +portrayal of Stafford; and it is easy to trace in the whole manner of +his innovations the well-marked ply of his mind. The harsh and rugged +fanaticisms, the splendid frivolities, of the seventeenth century, fade +and lose substance in an atmosphere charged with idealism and +self-consciousness. Generous self-devotion is not the universal note, +but it is the prevailing key, that in which the writer most naturally +thinks and most readily invents. Strafford's devotion to Charles and +Pym's to his country were historical; but Browning accentuates Pym's +heroism by making the man he sends to the scaffold his old friend; and +devotion is the single trait of the beautiful but imaginary character of +Lucy Carlisle. "Give me your notion of a thorough self-devotement, +self-forgetting," he wrote a few years later to Miss Flower: the idea +seems to have been already busy moulding his still embryonic invention +of character. Something of the visionary exaltation of the dying +Paracelsus thus hangs <a name="page44" id="page44">over</a> the final +scene in which Strafford goes to meet the fate which the one friend +imposes on him and the other cannot turn aside. All the characters have +something of the "deep self-consciousness" of the author of +<i>Pauline</i>. Not that they are, any of them, drawn with very profound +grasp of human nature or a many-sided apprehension of life. They are +either absolutely simple, like Lady Carlisle, or built upon a rivalry or +conflict of simple elements, like Strafford and Charles; but there is so +much restless vivacity in their discourse, the broad surface of mood is +so incessantly agitated by the play and cross-play of thought and +feeling, that they seem more complex than they are.</p> + +<p>Though played for only five nights, <i>Strafford</i> had won a +success which might well have dazzled a young and untried aspirant, and +which was sufficiently impressive to shrewd men of business like Messrs +Longman to induce them to undertake its publication free of cost. It +appeared in April, with an interesting preface, subsequently withdrawn, +from which a significant sentence has already been quoted. The +composition of <i>Strafford</i> had not only "freshened a jaded mind" +but permanently quickened his zest for the drama of political crises. +New projects for historical dramas chased and jostled one another +through his busy brain, which seems to have always worked most +prosperously in a highly charged atmosphere. I am going "to begin +... thinking a Tragedy," he wrote characteristically to Miss +Haworth—"(an Historical one, so I shall want heaps of +<a name="page45" id="page45">criticisms</a> on <i>Strafford</i>), and I +want to have <i>another</i> tragedy in prospect; I write best so +provided."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref16" id="fnref16" +href="#fn16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn16" id="fn16" href="#fnref16">[16]</a></span> +Orr, <i>Life</i>, p. 103. +</div> + +<p>The "Historical Tragedies" here foreshadowed, <i>King Victor and King +Charles</i> and <i>The Return of the Druses</i>, were eventually +published as the Second and Fourth of the <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, +in 1842-43. How little Browning cared for history except as a quarry for +psychical problems, how little concern he had at bottom with the +changing drama of national life, is clear from the directions in which +he now sought his good. In <i>Strafford</i> as in <i>Paracelsus</i>, and +even in <i>Sordello</i>, the subject had made some appeal to the +interest in great epochs and famous men. Henceforth his attitude, as a +dramatist, to history is a curious blend of the historical specialist +who explores the recondite byways of history, and the romantic poet who +abandons actuality altogether. He seeks his heroes in remote sequestered +corners of the world,—Sardinia, Juliers, Lebanon; but actual +historic research gradually yields ground to a free invention which, +however, always simulates historic truth. <i>King Victor and King +Charles</i> contains far less poetry than <i>Paracelsus</i>, but it was +the fruit of historic studies no less severe. There was material for +genuine tragedy in the story. The old king, who after fifty years of +despotic rule shifts the crown to the head of his son with the intention +of still pulling the wires behind the scenes, but, finding that Charles +means to rule as well as reign, clutches angrily at his surrendered +crown,—this <a name="page46" id="page46">King</a> Victor has +something in him of Lear, something of the dying Henry IV. But history +provided more sober issues, and Browning's temperament habitually +inclined him to stave off the violence of tragic passion which disturbs +the subtle eddyings of thought and feeling. Charles is no Regan, hardly +even an Albany, no weakling either, but a man of sensitive conscience, +who shifts and gyrates responsively to the complex play of motive which +Browning brings to bear upon him. Reluctantly he orders Victor's arrest, +and when the old man, baffled and exasperated, is brought before him and +imperiously demands the crown, he puts it upon his father's head. +Neither character is drawn with the power of Strafford, but the play is +largely built upon the same contrasts between personal devotion and +political expediency, the untutored idealism of youth and the ruses or +rigidity of age. This was a type of dramatic action which Browning +imagined with peculiar power and insight, for it bodied forth a contrast +between contending elements of his own nature. Towards this type all his +drama tended to gravitate. In <i>The Return of the Druses</i> Browning's +native bent can be more freely studied, for history has contributed only +the general situation. His turn for curious and far-fetched incident is +nowhere better illustrated than in this tangled intrigue carried on +between Frankish Hospitallers, Venetians, and Druses of Lebanon in a +lonely island of the Aegean where none of the three are at home. A +political revolution—the revolt of the Druses against their +Frankish <a name="page47" id="page47">lords</a>—provides the outer +momentum of the action; but the central interest is concentrated upon a +"Soul's tragedy," in which the conflict of races goes on within the +perplexed and paralysed bosom of a single man. Djabal, the Druse patriot +brought up in Brittany, analyses his own character with the merciless +self-consciousness of Browning himself:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I with my Arab instinct—thwarted ever<br /> + By my Frank policy, and with in turn<br /> + My Frank brain thwarted by my Arab heart—<br /> + While these remained in equipoise, I lived—<br /> + Nothing; had either been predominant,<br /> + As a Frank schemer or an Arab mystic<br /> + I had been something."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The conflict between policy and devotion is now +transferred to the arena of a single breast, where its nature is +somewhat too clearly understood and formulated. The "Frank schemer" +conceives the plan of turning the Druse superstition to account by +posing as an incarnation of their Founder. But the "Arab mystic" is too +near sharing the belief to act his part with ease, and while he is still +paltering the devoted Anael slays the Prefect. The play is thenceforth +occupied, ostensibly, with the efforts of the Christian authorities to +discover and punish the murderers. Its real subject is the subtle +changes wrought in Djabal and Anael by their gradual transition from the +relation of prophet and devotee to that of lovers. Her passion, even +before he comes to share it, has begun to sap the security of his false +<a name="page48" id="page48">pretensions:</a> he longs, not at first to +disavow them, but to make them true: he will be the prophetic helper of +his people in very deed. To the outer world he maintains his claim with +undiminished boldness and complete success; but the inner supports are +gradually giving way, Arab mystic and Frank schemer lose their hold, +and</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"A third and better nature rises up,<br /> + My mere man's nature."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Anael, a simpler character than any previous woman +of the plays, thus has a more significant function. Lady Carlisle +fumbles blindly with the dramatic issues without essentially affecting +them; Polyxena furthers them with loyal counsel, but is not their main +executant. Anael, in her fervid devotion, not only precipitates the +catastrophe, but emancipates her lover from the thraldom of his lower +nature. In her Browning for the first time in drama represented the +purifying power of Love. The transformations of soul by soul were +already beginning to occupy Browning's imagination. The poet of +<i>Cristina</i> and <i>Saul</i> was already foreshadowed. But nothing as +yet foreshadowed the kind of spiritual influence there +portrayed—that which, instead of making its way through +the impact of character upon character, passion upon passion, is +communicated through an unconscious glance or a song. For one who +believed as fixedly as Browning in the power of these moments to change +the prevailing bias of character and conduct, such a conception was full +of implicit drama. A chance <a name="page49" id="page49">inspiration</a> +led him to attempt to show how a lyric soul flinging its soul-seed +unconsciously forth in song might become the involuntary <i>deus ex +machina</i> in the tangle of passion and plot through which she moved, +resolving its problems and averting its catastrophes.</p> + +<p>The result was a poem which Elizabeth Barrett "could find it in her +heart to envy" its author, which Browning himself (in 1845) liked better +than anything else he had yet done.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref17" +id="fnref17" href="#fn17">[17]</a></span> It has won a not less secure +place in the affections of all who care for Browning at all. It was +while walking alone in a wood near Dulwich, we are told by Mrs Orr, that +"the idea flashed upon him of some one walking thus through life; one +apparently too obscure to leave a trace of his or her passage, yet +exercising a lasting though unconscious influence at every step of it; +and the image shaped itself into the little silk-winder of Asolo."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref18" id="fnref18" href="#fn18">[18]</a></span> +The most important effect of this design was to call out Browning's +considerable powers of rendering those gross, lurid, unspiritualised +elements of the human drama upon which Pippa was to flash her +transforming spell. His somewhat burly jocosity had expatiated freely in +letters; but he had done nothing which, like the cynical chaff of his +art students, suggests the not unskilful follower of Balzac and Dickens. +And he had given no hint of the elemental tragic power shown in the +great Ottima and Sebald scene, nor of the fierce and cruel sensuality, +the magnificence in sin, of Ottima herself.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn17" id="fn17" href="#fnref17">[17]</a></span> +<i>Letters of R. and E.B.B.</i>, i. 28. +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn18" id="fn18" href="#fnref18">[18]</a></span> +Orr, <i>Handbook</i>, p. 55. +</div> + +<a name="page50" id="page50"></a> +<p><i>Pippa Passes</i>, the most romantic in conception of all +Browning's plays, thus first disclosed his genius for realism. +<i>Strafford</i>, <i>King Victor</i>, <i>The Druses</i> are couched in +the tempered ideality of blank verse; here we pass to and fro from the +airiest lyric to the most massive and sinewy prose. It counted for +something, too, that Italy, and above all the little hill-town in which +the scene was laid, was a vivid personal memory, not a vague region of +fancy like his Sardinia or Lebanon. Asolo, with its walls and turret, +its bishop's palace and duomo, and girls sitting on the steps, its +upland farms among the cherry orchards, its beetles sparkling along the +dust, its "warm slow yellow moonlit nights" of May, and "glaring pomps" +of June,—Asolo, with its legend of "Kate the queen" and her +carolling page, lives as few other spots do for Browning's readers. +Pippa herself, in her exquisite detachment from the sordid humanity amid +which she moves, might have appeared too like a visionary presence, not +of earth though on it, had she not been brought into touch, at so many +points, with things that Browning had seen. <i>Pippa Passes</i> has, +among Browning's dramas, the same kind of peculiar interest which +belongs to the <i>Tempest</i> and to <i>Faust</i> among Shakespeare's +and Goethe's. Faery and devilry were not Browning's affair; but, within +the limits of his resolute humanism, <i>Pippa Passes</i> is an ideal +construction, shadowing forth, under the semblance of a single definite +bit of life, the controlling elements, as <a name="page51" +id="page51">Browning</a> imagined them, in all life. For Browning, too, +the world teemed with Stephanos and Trinculos, Sebastians and Antonios; +it was, none the less, a magical Isle, where strange catastrophes and +unsuspected revolutions sprang suddenly into being at the unseen carol +of Ariel as he passed. Browning's Ariel is the organ of a spiritual +power which, unlike Prospero, seeks not merely to detect and avert +crime, or merely to dismiss the would-be criminal, forgiven, to "live +and deal with others better," but to renovate character; to release men +from the bondage of their egoisms by those influences, slight as a +flower-bell or a sunset touch, which renew us by setting all our aims +and desires in a new proportion.</p> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>Browning's first four plays seemed to mark a growing neglect of the +requirements and traditions of the stage. He might even appear to have +renounced the stage altogether when in 1841 he arranged with Moxon to +publish his writings in a cheap pamphlet form. The first number of +<i>Bells and Pomegranates</i> contained the least theatrical of his +dramas, <i>Pippa Passes</i>. "Two or three years ago" he declared in the +preface (not reprinted), "I wrote a play, about which the chief matter I +much care to recollect at present is that a Pit-full of good-natured +people applauded it. Ever since I have been desirous of doing something +in the same way that should better <a name="page52" id="page52">reward</a> +their attention. What follows I mean for the first of a series of +Dramatical Pieces, to come out at intervals; and I amuse myself by +fancying that the cheap mode in which they appear will for once help me +to a sort of Pit-audience again."</p> + +<p>But Browning's ambition for fame as a maker of plays was still keen, +and nothing but a renewed invitation to write for the stage was needed to +lure him back into tentative compliance with its ways. In the course of +1841 Macready intervened with a request for another play from the author +of <i>Strafford</i>.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref19" id="fnref19" +href="#fn19">[19]</a></span> Thereupon Browning produced with great +rapidity <i>A Blot in the 'Scutcheon</i>. After prolonged and somewhat +sordid green-room vicissitudes, it was performed on Feb. 11, 1843. +Macready, its first begetter, did his best to wreck it; the majority of +the players refused to understand their parts; but through the fine +acting of Helen Faucit (Mildred) and Phelps (Lord Tresham), it achieved +a moderate but brief success.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn19" id="fn19" href="#fnref19">[19]</a></span> +The date is fixed by Browning's statement (Orr, p. 119). +</div> + +<p>The choice of subject indicates, as has been said, a desire to make +terms with stage tradition. But the ordinary theatre-goer, who went +expecting to witness what the title appeared to promise, found himself, +as the play proceeded, perplexed and out of his bearings. An English +nobleman, with the deep-engrained family pride of his order, had +suffered, or was to suffer, dishonour. But this seemingly commonplace +<i>motif</i> was developed in a strange and unfamiliar ethical +atmosphere—an <a name="page53" id="page53">atmosphere</a> of moral +ideas which seemed to embrace both those who upheld the feudal honour +and those who "blotted" it; to hint at a purity deeper than sin. In a +more sinister sense than <i>Colombe's Birthday</i>, this play might have +been prefaced by the beautiful motto of its successor:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ivy and violet, what do ye here<br /> + With blossom and shoot in the warm spring weather<br /> + Hiding the arms of Montecchi and Vere?"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The love of Mildred and Mertoun, which blots the +Tresham 'scutcheon, is in origin as innocent as that which breaks into +flower across the royal ambitions of Colombe; and their childlike purity +of passion becomes, in spite of the wrong to which it has led them, the +reconciling fact upon which at the close all animosities and resentments +die away. The conception is genuinely tragic, for the doom which +descends upon them all is a Nemesis which they have all contributed to +provoke, but which none of them deserves; and which precisely the +blended nobility and naïveté of Mildred and Mertoun prevents from +passing by them altogether. More mature or less sensitive lovers would +have found an issue from the situation as easily as an ordinary Hamlet +from his task of vengeance. But Mertoun and Mildred are at once too +timid and too audacious, too tremulous in their consciousness of guilt, +too hardy and reckless in their mutual devotion, to carry through so +difficult a game. Mertoun falters and stammers in his suit to Tresham; +Mildred stands mute at her brother's charge, +<a name="page54" id="page54">incapable</a> of evasion, only resolute not +to betray. Yet these same two children in the arts of politic +self-defence are found recklessly courting the peril of midnight +meetings in Mildred's chamber with the aid of all the approved resources +and ruses of romance—the disguise, the convenient tree, the signal +set in the window, the lover's serenade. And when the lover, who dared +all risks to his lady and to himself for a stolen interview with her +night by night, finally encounters Tresham, he is instantly paralysed, +and will not even lift a sword in his own defence. Upon this union of +boundless daring for one another's sake and sensibility to the shame of +having wronged the house and blotted the 'scutcheon Mertoun's fate +hangs, and with his Mildred's, and with hers Tresham's.</p> + +<p>Beside the tragedy and the stain of the love of Mertoun and Mildred, +Browning characteristically sets the calm, immaculate, cousinly +affection of Gwendolen and Austin. One has a glimpse here of his +habitual criticism of all satisfied attainment, of all easy completeness +on a low plane. It is Gwendolen herself who half disarms that criticism, +or makes it, as applied to her, more pathetic than trenchant by +instantly detecting and proclaiming the different quality of Mertoun's +love. "Mark him, Austin: that's true love! Ours must begin again." In +Tresham Browning seems to have designed to portray the finest type of +ancestral pride. He is "proud" of his "interminable line," because the +men were all "paladins" and the women all of flawless +<a name="page55" id="page55">honour;</a> and he has the chivalrous +tenderness of ideal knighthood, as well as its honourable pride. When +Mertoun has received his death-stroke and told his story, the tenderness +comes out; the sullied image of his passionately loved sister not only +recovers its appeal, but rises up before him in mute intolerable +reproach; and Mildred has scarcely breathed her last in his arms when +Tresham succumbs to the poison he has taken in remorse for his hasty +act. It is unlucky that this tragic climax, finely conceived as it is, +is marred by the unconscious burlesque of his "Ah,—I had +forgotten: I am dying." In such things one feels Browning's want of the +unerring sureness of a great dramatist at the crucial moments of action.</p> + +<p>Although not brilliantly successful on the boards, <i>A Blot in the +'Scutcheon</i> made a deep impression upon the more competent part of the +audience. For Browning himself the most definite result was that +Macready passed out of his life—for twenty years they never +met—and that his most effective link with the stage was thus +finally severed. But his more distant and casual relations with it were +partly balanced by the much enlarged understanding of dramatic effect +which he had by this time won; and <i>A Blot in the 'Scutcheon</i> was +followed by a drama which attains a beauty and charm not far below that +of <i>Pippa Passes</i> under the conditions of a regular dramatic plot. +The ostensible subject of <i>Colombe's Birthday</i> is a political +crisis on the familiar lines;—an imperilled throne in the centre +of <a name="page56" id="page56">interest,</a> a background of vague +oppression and revolt. But as compared with <i>King Victor</i> or <i>The +Druses</i> the dispute is harmless, the tumult of revolution easily +overheard. The diplomatic business is not etherealised into romance, +like the ladies' embassy in <i>Love's Labour's Lost</i>; but neither is +it allowed to become grave or menacing. Berthold's arrival to present his +claim to the government of this miniature state affects us somewhat like +the appearance of a new and formidable player in some drawing-room +diversion; and the "treason" of the courtiers like the "unfairness" of +children at play. Nevertheless, the victory of love over political +interest which the motto foreshadows is not accomplished without those +subtle fluctuations and surprises which habitually mark the conduct of +Browning's plots. The alternative issues gain in seriousness and +ideality as we proceed, and Browning has nowhere expressed the ideal of +sovereignty more finely than it is expressed in this play, by the man +for whose sake a sovereign is about to surrender her +crown.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref20" id="fnref20" +href="#fn20">[20]</a></span> Colombe herself is one of Browning's most +gracious and winning figures. She brings the ripe decision of womanhood +to bear upon a series of difficult situations without losing the bright +glamour of her youth. Her inborn truth and nature draw her on as by a +quiet <a name="page57" id="page57">momentum</a>, and gradually +liberate her from the sway of the hollow fictions among which her lot is +cast. Valence, the outward instrument of this liberation, is not the +least noble of that line of chivalrous lovers which reaches from Gismond +to Caponsacchi. With great delicacy the steps are marked in this inward +and spiritual "flight" of Colombe. Valence's "way of love" is to make +her realise the glory and privileges of the rulership which places her +beyond his reach, at the very moment when she is about to resign it in +despair. She discovers the needs of the woman and the possibilities of +power at the same time, and thus is brought, by Valence's means, to a +mood in which Prince Berthold's offer of his hand and crown together +weighs formidably, for a moment, against Valence's offer of his love +alone, until she discovers that Berthold is the very personation, in +love and in statecraft alike, of the fictions from which she had +escaped. Then, swiftly recovering herself, she sets foot finally on the +firm ground where she had first sought her "true resource."</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn20" id="fn20" href="#fnref20">[20]</a></span> +This fine speech of Valence to the greater glory of his +rival (Act iv.) is almost too subtle for the stage. Browning with good +reason directed its omission unless "a very good Valence" could be +found. +</div> + +<p>Berthold, like Blougram, Ogniben, and many another of Browning's +mundane personages, is a subtler piece of psychology than men of the +type of Valence, in whom his own idealism flows freely forth. He comes +before us with a weary nonchalance admirably contrasted with the fiery +intensity of Valence. He means to be emperor one day, and his whole life +is a process of which that is to be the product; but he finds the process +unaffectedly boring. Without relaxing a whit in the mechanical +<a name="page58" id="page58">pursuit</a> of his end, he views life with +much mental detachment, and shows a cool and not unsympathetic +observation of men who pursue other ideals, as well as an abundance of +critical irony towards those who apparently share his own. An adept in +courtly arts, and owing all his successes to courtly favour, he meets +the assiduities of other courtiers with open contempt. His ends are +those of Laertes or Fortinbras, and he is quite capable of the methods +of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern; but he regards ends and methods alike +with the sated distaste of Hamlet. By birth and principle a man of +action, he has, even more than most of Browning's men +of action, the curious introspectiveness of the philosophic onlooker. He +"watches his mind," and if he does not escape illusions, recognises and +exposes them with ironical candour. Few of Browning's less right-minded +persons attain final insight at less cost to dramatic propriety than +Berthold when he pronounces his final verdict:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"All is for the best.</span><br /> + Too costly a flower were this, I see it now,<br /> + To pluck and set upon my barren helm<br /> + To wither,—any garish plume will do."</p> +</div> + +<p><i>Colombe's Birthday</i> was published in 1844 as No. 6 of the +<i>Bells</i>, but had for the present no prospect of the stage. Nine +years later, however, the loyal Phelps, who had so doughtily come to the +rescue of its predecessor, put it successfully on the boards of his +theatre at Sadler's Wells.</p> + +<a name="page59" id="page59"></a> +<p>The most buoyant of optimists has moments of self-mockery, and the +hardiest believer in ideal truth moods in which poetry seems the phantom +and prose the fact. Such a mood had its share in colouring the dramatic +sketch which, it is now pretty evident, Browning wrote not long after +finishing <i>Colombe's Birthday</i>.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref21" id="fnref21" href="#fn21">[21]</a></span> +That play is a beautiful triumph of poetry over prose, of soul and heart +over calculation and business. <i>A Soul's Tragedy</i> exhibits the +inverse process: the triumph of mundane policy and genial <i>savoir +faire</i> in the person of Ogniben over the sickly and equivocal +"poetry" of Chiappino. Browning seems to have thrown off this bitter +parody of his own idealisms in a mood like that in which Ibsen conceived +the poor blundering idealist of the <i>Wild Duck</i>. Chiappino is +Browning's Werle; the reverse side of a type which he had drawn with so +much indulgence in the Luigi of <i>Pippa Passes</i>. Plainly, it was a +passing mood; as plainly, a mood which, from the high and luminous +vantage-ground of 1846, he could look back upon with regret, almost with +scorn. His intercourse with Elizabeth Barrett was far advanced before +she was at length reluctantly allowed to see it. "For <i>The Soul's +<a name="page60" id="page60">Tragedy</a></i>," he wrote +(Feb. 11)—"that will surprise you, I think. There is no trace of +you there,—you have not put out the black face of +<i>it</i>—it is all sneering and disillusion—and shall not be +printed but burned if you say the word." This word his correspondent, +needless to add, did not say; on the contrary, she found it even more +impressive than its successor <i>Luria</i>. This was, however, no +tribute to its stage qualities; for in hardly one of his plays is the +stage more openly ignored. The dramatic form, though still preserved, +sets strongly towards monologue; the entire second act foreshadows +unmistakably the great portrait studies of <i>Men and Women</i>; it +might be called <i>Ogniben</i> with about as good right as they are +called <i>Lippo Lippi</i> or <i>Blougram</i>; the personality of the +supple ecclesiastic floods and takes possession of the entire scene; we +see the situation and the persons through the brilliant ironic mirror of +his mind. The Chiappino of the second act is Ogniben's Chiappino, as +Gigadibs is Blougram's Gigadibs. His "tragedy" is one in which there is +no room for terror or pity, only for contempt. All real stress of +circumstance is excluded. Both sides fight with blunted weapons; the +revolt is like one of those Florentine risings which the Brownings later +witnessed with amusement from the windows of Casa Guidi, which were +liable to postponement because of rain. The prefect who is +"assassinated" does not die, and the rebellious city is genially +bantered into submission. The "soul" of Chiappino is, in fact, +not the <a name="page61" id="page61">stuff</a> of which tragedy is made. +Even in his instant acceptance of Luitolfo's bloodstained cloak when the +pursuers are, as he thinks, at the door, he seems to have been casually +switched off the proper lines of his character into a piece of heroism +which properly belongs to the man he would like to be thought, but has +not the strength to be. On the whole, Browning's scorn must be +considered to have injured his art. Tragedy, in the deepest sense, lay +beyond his sphere; and this "tragedy" of mere degeneration and helpless +collapse left untouched all the springs from which his poetry drew its +life.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn21" id="fn21" href="#fnref21">[21]</a></span> +Browning's letter to Elizabeth Barrett, Feb. 13, 1846, +which does not seem to have been adequately noticed. The piece is +ignored by Mrs Orr. He speaks of suspending the publication of the +"unlucky play" until a second edition of the <i>Bells</i>—an +"apparition" which Moxon, he says, seems to think possible; and then +inserting it before <i>Luria</i>: it will then be "in its place, for it +was written two or three years ago." In other words, <i>The Soul's +Tragedy</i> was written in 1843-44, between <i>Colombe's Birthday</i> +and <i>Luria</i>. +</div> + +<p>In the autumn of 1844 Browning made a second tour to Italy. It was +chiefly memorable for his meeting, at Leghorn, with Edward John +Trelawney, to whom he carried a letter of introduction;—one who +had not only himself "seen Shelley plain," but has contributed more than +any one else, save Hogg, to flash the unfading image of what he saw on +the eyes of posterity. The journey quickened and enriched his Italian +memories; and left many vivid traces in the poetry of the following +year. Among these was the drama of <i>Luria</i>, ultimately published as +the concluding number of the <i>Bells</i>.</p> + +<p>In this remarkable drama Browning turned once more to the type of +historical tragedy which he had originally essayed in <i>Strafford</i>. +The fall of a man of passionate fidelity through the treachery of the +prince or the people in whom he has put his trust, was for Browning one +of the most arresting of the great traditional motives of +<a name="page62" id="page62">tragic</a> drama. He dwelt with emphasis +upon this aspect of the fate of Charles's great minister; in +<i>Luria</i>, where he was working uncontrolled by historical +authority, it is the fundamental theme. At the same time the effect is +heightened by those race contrasts which had been so abundantly used in +<i>The Return of the Druses</i>. Luria is a Moor who has undertaken the +service of Florence, and whose religion it is to serve her. Like +Othello,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref22" id="fnref22" +href="#fn22">[22]</a></span> he has been intrusted, alien as he is, by a +jealous and exacting State, with the supreme command of her military +forces, a position in which the fervour of the Oriental and the frank +simplicity of the soldier inevitably lie open to the subtle strategy of +Italians and statesmen. "Luria," wrote Browning, while the whole scheme +was "all in my brain yet, ... devotes himself to something he thinks +Florence, and the old fortune follows, ... and I will soon loosen my +Braccio and Puccio (a pale discontented man) and Tiburzio (the Pisan, +good true fellow, this one), and Domizia the lady—loosen all these +on dear foolish (ravishing must his folly be) golden-hearted Luria, all +these with their worldly wisdom and Tuscan shrewd ways." Florence, in +short, plays collectively somewhat the part of Iago to this second +Othello, but of an Iago (need it be said) immeasurably less deeply +rooted in malignity than Shakespeare's. It was a source of weakness as +well as of strength in Browning as a dramatist that the +<a name="page63" id="page63">evil</a> things in men +dissolve so readily under his scrutiny as if they were mere shells of +flimsy disguise for the "soul of goodness" they contain. He has, in +fact, put so much strong sense on the side of the jealous Florentine +masters of his hero that his own sympathies were divided, with +paralysing effect, it would seem, upon his interest in drama.<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref23" id="fnref23" href="#fn23">[23]</a></span> +Even the formidable antagonism of Braccio, the Florentine Commissary, is +buttressed, if not based, upon a resolve to defend the rights of +civilisation against militarism, of intellect against brute force. +"Brute force shall not rule Florence." Even so, it is only after +conflict and fluctuation that he decides to allow Luria's trial to take +its course. Puccio, again, the former general of Florence, superseded by +Luria, and now serving under his command, turns out not quite the "pale +discontented man" whom Browning originally designed and whom such a +situation was no doubt calculated to produce. Instead of a Cassius, +enviously scowling at the greatness of his former comrade, Cæsar, we +have one whose generous admiration for the alien set over him struggles +hard, and not unsuccessfully, with natural resentment. In keeping with +such company is the noble Pisan general, who vies with Luria in +generosity and twice intervenes decisively to save him from the +Florentine attack. Even Domizia, the <a name="page64" +id="page64">"panther"</a> lady who comes to the camp burning for +vengeance upon Florence for the death of her kinsmen, and hoping to +attain it by embroiling him with the city, finally emerges as his lover. +But in Domizia he confessedly failed. The correspondence with Miss +Barrett stole the vitality from all mere imaginary women; "the panther +would not be tamed." Her hatred and her love alike merely beat the air. +With all her volubility, she is almost as little in place in the economy +of the drama as in that of the camp; her "wild mass of rage" has the air +of being a valued property which she manages and exhibits, not an +impelling and consuming fire. The more potent passion of Luria and his +lieutenant Husain is more adequately rendered, though "the simple +Moorish instinct" in them is made to accomplish startling feats in +European subtlety. The East with its gift of "feeling" comes once more, +as in the <i>Druses</i>, into tragic contact with the North and its gift +of "thought"; but it is to the feeling East and not to thinking North +that we owe the clear analysis and exposition of the contrast. Luria has +indeed, like Djabal, assimilated just so much of European culture as +makes its infusion fatal to him: he suffers the doom of the lesser race</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Which when it apes the greater is forgone."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But the noblest quality of the lesser race flashes +forth at the close when he takes his life, not in defiance, nor in +despair, but as a last act of passionate fidelity to +<a name="page65" id="page65">Florence</a>. This is conceived with a +refinement of moral imagination too subtle perhaps for appreciation on +the stage; but of the tragic power and pathos of the conception there +can be no question. Mrs Browning, whose eager interest accompanied this +drama through every stage of its progress, justly dwelt upon its +"grandeur." The busy exuberance of Browning's thinking was not +favourable to effects which multiplicity of detail tends to destroy; but +the fate of this son of the "lone and silent East," though utterly +un-Shakespearean in motive, recalls, more nearly than anything else in +Browning's dramas, the heroic tragedy of Shakespeare.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn22" id="fn22" href="#fnref22">[22]</a></span> +Browning himself uses this parallel in almost his first +reference to <i>Luria</i> while still unwritten: <i>Letters of R.B. and +E.B.B.</i>, i. 26. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn23" id="fn23" href="#fnref23">[23]</a></span> +"For me, the misfortune is, I sympathise just as much with +these as with him,—so there can no good come of keeping this wild +company any longer."—Feb. 26, 1845. +</div> + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>"Mere escapes of my inner power, like the light of a revolving +lighthouse leaping out at intervals from a narrow chink;" so wrote +Browning in effect to Miss Barrett (Feb. 11, 1845) of the "scenes and +song-scraps," of which the first instalment had appeared three years +before as the <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>. Yet it is just by the intermittent +flashes that the lighthouse is identified; and Browning's genius, as we +have seen, was in the end to be most truly denoted by these "mere +escapes." With a few notable exceptions, they offer little to the +student of Browning's ideology; they do not illustrate his theories of +life, they disclose no good in evil and no hope in ill-success. But they +are full of an exuberant joy in life itself, as seen by a keen observer +<a name="page66" id="page66">exempt</a> from its harsher conditions, to +whom all power and passion are a feast. He watches the angers, the +malignities of men and women, as one might watch the quarrels of wild +beasts, not cynically, but with the detached, as it were professional, +interest of a born "fighter." The loftier hatred, which is a form of +love,—the sublime hatred of a Dante, the tragic hatred of a Timon, +even the unforgetting, self-consuming hatred of a Heathcliff,—did +not now, or ever, engage his imagination. The indignant invective +against a political renegade, "Just for a handful of silver he left us," +in which Browning spoke his own mind, is poor and uncharacteristic +compared with pieces in which he stood aside and let some accomplished +devil, like the Duke in <i>My last Duchess</i>, some clerical libertine, +like the bishop of St Praxed's, some sneaking reptile, like the Spanish +friar, some tiger-hearted Regan, like the lady of <i>The Laboratory</i>, +or some poor crushed and writhing worm, like the girl of <i>The +Confessional</i>, utter their callous cynicism or their deathbed +torment, the snarl of petty spite, the low fierce cry of triumphant +malice, the long-drawn shriek of futile rage. There was commonly an +element of unreason, extravagance, even grotesqueness, in the hatreds +that caught his eye; he had a relish for the gratuitous savagery of the +lady in <i>Time's Revenges</i>, who would calmly decree that +her lover should be burnt in a slow fire "if that would compass her +desire." He seized the grotesque side of persecution; and it is not +fanciful to see in the <a name="page67" id="page67">delightful</a> +chronicle of the Nemesis inflicted upon "Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis" a +foretaste of the sardonic confessions of <i>Instans Tyrannus</i>. And he +seized the element of sheer physical zest in even eager and impassioned +action; the tramp of the march, the swing of the gallop in the fiery +Cavalier Tunes, the crash of Gismond's "back—handed blow" upon +Gauthier's mouth; the exultant lift of the "great pace" of the riders +who bring the Good News.</p> + +<p>Of love poetry, on the other hand, there was little in these first +Lyrics and Romances. Browning had had warm friendships with women, and +was singularly attractive to them; but at thirty-three love had at most +sent a dancing ripple across the bright surface of his life, and it +apparently counted for nothing in his dreams. His plans, as he told Miss +Barrett, had been made without any thought of "finding such a one as +you." That discovery introduced a new and unknown factor into his scheme +of things. The love-poetry of the Dramatic Lyrics and Romances is still +somewhat tentative and insecure. The beautiful fantasia <i>In a Gondola</i> +was directly inspired by a picture of his friend Maclise. He paints the +romance of the lover's twilight tryst with all his incisive vigour; but +his own pulse beats rather with the lover who goes forth at daybreak, +and feels the kindling summons of the morning glory of sea and sunlight +into the "world of men." His attitude to women is touched with the +virginal reserve of the young Hippolytus, whose tragic fate he had told +in <a name="page68" id="page68">the</a> lofty <i>Prologue</i> of +Artemis. He approaches them with a kind of delicate and distant awe; +tender, even chivalrous, but accentuating rather the reserves and +reticences of chivalry than its rewards. The lady of <i>The Flower's +Name</i> is beautiful, but her beauty is only shyly hinted; we see no +feature of face or form; only the fold of her dress brushing against the +box border, the "twinkling" of her white fingers among the dark leaves. +The typical lover of these lyrics is of a temperament in which feminine +sensitiveness and masculine tenacity are characteristically blended; a +temperament which the faintest and most fugitive signs of love—a +word, a glance, the impalpable music of a romantic name—not only +kindle and subdue, but permanently fortify and secure. <i>Cristina</i>, +<i>Rudel</i>, and the <i>Lost Mistress</i> stand in a line of +development which culminates in <i>The Last Ride Together</i>. Cristina's +lover has but "changed eyes" with her; but no queenly scorn of hers can +undo the spiritual transformation which her glance has wrought:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Her soul's mine; and thus, grown perfect,<br /> + I shall pass my life's remainder."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The <i>Lost Mistress</i> is an exquisitely tender +and pathetic farewell, but not the stifled cry of a man who has received +a crushing blow. Not easily, but yet without any ruinous convulsion, he +makes that transition from love to "mere friendship" which passionate +men so hardly endure.</p> + +<a name="page69" id="page69"></a> +<p>The really tragic love-story was, for Browning, the story not of love +rejected but of love flagging, fading, or crushed out.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Never fear, but there's provision<br /> + Of the devil's to quench knowledge<br /> + Lest on earth we walk in rapture,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Cristina's lover had bitterly reflected. Courts, as +the focuses of social artifice and ceremonial restraint, were for him +the peculiar breeding-places of such tragedies, and in several of the +most incisive of the Lyrics and Romances he appears as the champion of +the love they menace. The hapless <i>Last Duchess</i> suffers for the +largess of her kindly smiles. The duchess of <i>The Flight</i> and the +lady of <i>The Glove</i> successfully revolt against pretentious +substitutes for love offered in love's name. <i>The Flight</i> is a +tale, as Mrs Browning said, "with a great heart in it." Both the +Gipsy-woman whose impassioned pleading we overhear, and the old Huntsman +who reports it, are drawn from a domain of rough and simple humanity not +very often trodden by Browning. The genial retainer admirably mediates +between the forces of the Court which he serves and those of the wild +primitive race to which his world-old calling as a hunter makes him kin; +his hearty, untutored speech and character envelop the story like an +atmosphere, and create a presumption that heart and nature will +ultimately have their way. Even the hinted landscape-background serves +as a mute chorus. In this "great wild country" of wide +<a name="page70" id="page70">forests</a> and pine-clad mountains, the +court is the anomaly.</p> + +<p>Similarly, in <i>The Glove</i>, the lion, so magnificently sketched by +Browning, is made to bear out the inner expressiveness of the tale in a +way anticipated by no previous teller. The lion of Schiller's ballad is +already assuaged to his circumstances, and enters the arena like a +courtier entering a drawing-room. Browning's lion, still terrible and +full of the tameless passion for freedom, bursts in with flashing +forehead, like the spirit of the desert of which he dreams: it is the +irruption of this mighty embodiment of elemental Nature which wakens in +the lady the train of feeling and thought that impel her daring +vindication of its claims.</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p>Art was far from being as strange to the Browning of 1842-45 as love. +But he seized with a peculiar predilection those types and phases of the +Art-world with which love has least to do. He studies the egoisms of +artists, the vanities of connoisseurs; the painter Lutwyche showing "how +he can hate"; the bishop of St Praxed's piteously bargaining on his +death-bed for the jasper and lapislazuli "which Gandolph shall not +choose but see and burst"; the duke of the <i>Last Duchess</i> +displaying his wife's portrait as the wonder of his gallery, and +unconcernedly disposing of her person. In a single poem only Browning +touches those problems of the artist life which were to occupy him in +the 'Fifties; and the <i>Pictor Ignotus</i> is as far behind the +<i>Andrea del <a name="page71" id="page71">Sarto</a></i> and +<i>Fra Lippo Lippi</i> in intellectual force as in dramatic brilliance +and plasticity. Browning's sanguine and energetic temperament always +inclined him to over-emphasis, and he has somewhat over-emphasised the +anæmia of this anæmic soul. Rarely again did he paint in such resolute +uniformity of ashen grey. The "Pictor" is the earliest, and the palest, +of Browning's pale ascetics, who make, in one way or another, the great +refusal, and lose their souls by trying to save them in a barrenness +which they call purity.</p> + +<p>The musician as such holds at this stage an even smaller place in +Browning's art than the painter. None of these Lyrics foreshadows <i>Abt +Vogler</i> and <i>Hugues of Saxe-Gotha</i> as the <i>Pictor</i> +foreshadows <i>Lippi</i> and <i>Del Sarto</i>. But if he did not as yet +explore the ways of the musical soul, he shows already a peculiar +instinct for the poetic uses and capabilities of music. He sings with +peculiar <i>entrain</i> of the transforming magic of song. The thrush +and cuckoo, among the throng of singing-birds, attract him by their +musicianly qualities—the "careless rapture" repeated, the "minor +third" <i>which only the cuckoo knows</i>. These Lyrics and Romances of +1842-45 are as full of tributes to the power of music as +<i>L'Allegro</i> and <i>Il Penseroso</i> themselves. Orpheus, +whose story Milton there touched so ravishingly, was too trite an +instance to arrest Browning; it needed perhaps the stimulus of his +friend Leighton's picture to call forth, long afterwards, the few choice +verses on Eurydice. More to his mind was the legend of that motley +Orpheus <a name="page72" id="page72">of</a> the North, the Hamelin +piper,—itself a picturesque motley of laughter and tears. The +Gipsy's lay of far-off romance awakens the young duchess; Theocrite's +"little human praise" wins God's ear, and Pippa's songs transform the +hearts of men. A poet in this vein would fall naturally enough upon the +Biblical story of the cure of the stricken Saul by the songs of the boy +David. But a special influence drew Browning to this subject,—the +wonderful <i>Song to David</i> of Christopher Smart,—"a person of +importance in his day," who owes it chiefly to Browning's enthusiastic +advocacy of a poem he was never weary of declaiming, that he is a poet +of importance in ours. Smart's David is before all things the glowing +singer of the Joy of Earth,—the glory of the visible creation +uttering itself in rapturous Praise of the Lord. And it is this David of +whom we have a presentiment in the no less glowing songs with which +Browning's shepherd-boy seeks to reach the darkened mind of Saul.</p> + +<p>Of the poem we now possess, only the first nine sections belong to the +present phase of Browning's work. These were confessedly incomplete, but +Browning was content to let them go forth as they were, and less bent +upon even their ultimate completion, it would seem, than Miss Barrett, +who bade him "remember" that the poem was "there only as a first part, +and that the next parts must certainly follow and complete what will be +a great lyrical work—now remember."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref24" id="fnref24" href="#fn24">[24]</a></span> +And the "next parts" when they came, in <i>Men and Women</i>, bore the +mark <a name="page73" id="page73">of</a> his ten years' fellowship +with her devout and ecstatic soul, as well as of his own growth towards +the richer and fuller harmonies of verse. The 1845 fragment falls, of +course, far short of its sequel in imaginative audacity and splendour, +but it is steeped in a pellucid beauty which Browning's busy +intellectuality was too prone to dissipate. Kenyon read it nightly, as +he told Mrs Browning, "to put his dreams in order"; finely comparing it +to "Homer's Shield of Achilles, thrown into lyrical whirl and life." And +certainly, if Browning anywhere approaches that Greek plasticity for +which he cared so little, it is in these exquisitely sculptured yet +breathing scenes. Then, as the young singer kindles to his work, his +song, without becoming less transparent, grows more personal and +impassioned; he no longer repeats the familiar chants of his tribe, but +breaks into a new impetuous inspiration of his own; the lyrical whirl +and life gathers swiftness and energy, and the delicate bas-reliefs of +Saul's people, in their secular pieties of grief or joy, merge in the +ecstatic vision of Saul himself, as he had once been, and as he might +yet be, that</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"boyhood of wonder and hope,</span><br /> + Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">all the fulness and glory of the life of humanity +gathered upon his single head. It is the very voice of life, which +thrills and strikes across the spiritual darkness of Saul, as the coming +of Hyperion scattered the shadows of Saturnian night.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn24" id="fn24" href="#fnref24">[24]</a></span> +<i>E.B.B. to R.B.</i>, Dec. 10, 1845. +</div> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page74" id="page74"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h4>WEDDED LIFE IN ITALY. <i>MEN AND +WOMEN</i>.</h4> + + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">This foot, once planted on the + goal;</span><br /> + <span class="in2">This glory-garland round my soul.</span><br /> + <span class="in12"><i>—The Last Ride Together</i>.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in10">Warmer climes</span><br /> + Give brighter plumage, stronger wing; the breeze<br /> + Of Alpine highths thou playest with, borne on<br /> + Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where<br /> + The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.<br /> + <span class="in18">—</span><span class="small">LANDOR.</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p class="noindent">The <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i> made no very great +way with the public, which found the matter unequal and the title +obscure. But both the title and the greater part of the single poems are +linked inseparably with the most intimate personal relationship of his +life. Hardly one of the Romances, as we saw, but had been read in MS. by +Elizabeth Barrett, and pronounced upon with the frank yet critical +delight of her nature. In the abstruse symbolic title, +too,—implying, as Browning expected his readers to discover, +"sound and sense" <a name="page75" id="page75">or</a> "music and +discoursing,"—her wit had divined a more felicitous application to +Browning's poetry—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Some 'Pomegranate,' which, if cut deep down the + middle,<br /> + Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The two poets were still strangers when this was +written; but each had for years recognised in the other a new and +wonderful poetic force,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref25" +id="fnref25" href="#fn25">[25]</a></span> +and the vivid words marked the profound community of spirit which was +finally to draw them together. A few years later, a basket of +pomegranates was handed to her, when travelling with her husband in +France, and she laughingly accepted the omen. The omen was fulfilled; +Elizabeth Browning's poetry expanded and matured in the companionship of +that rich-veined human heart; it was assuredly not by chance that +Browning, ten years after her death, recalled her symbol in the name of +his glorious woman-poet, Balaustion.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn25" id="fn25" href="#fnref25">[25]</a></span> +She had at once discerned the "new voice" in <i>Paracelsus</i>, +1835; and the occasion may have been not much later ("years ago" in +1845) on which he was all but admitted to the "shrine" of the "world's +wonder" (<i>R.B. to E.B.B.</i>, Jan. 10, 1845). +</div> + +<p>But she, on her part, also brought a new and potent influence to bear +upon his poetry, the only one which after early manhood he ever +experienced; and their union was by far the most signal event in +Browning's intellectual history, as it was in his life. Her experience +up to the time when they met had been in most points +<a name="page76" id="page76">singularly</a> unlike +his own. Though of somewhat higher social status, she had seen far less +of society and of the world; but she had gone through the agony of a +passionately loved brother's sudden death, and the glory of English wood +and meadow was for her chiefly, as to Milton in his age, an enchanted +memory of earlier days, romantically illuminating a darkened London +chamber. "Most of my events, and nearly all my intense pleasures," she +said to Horne, "have passed in my thoughts." Both were eager students, +and merited the hazardous reputation which both incurred, of being +"learned poets"; but Browning wore his learning, not indeed "lightly, +like a flower," but with the cool mastery of a scholarly man of the +world, whose interpretation of books is controlled at every point by his +knowledge of men; while Miss Barrett's Greek and Hebrew chiefly served +to allure an imagination naturally ecstatic and visionary along paths +crowded with congenial unearthly symbols, with sublime shapes of gods +and Titans, angels and seraphim. Then, notwithstanding the <i>rôle</i> of +hopeless invalid which she was made to play, and did play with touching +conviction, she had, it is clear, a fund of buoyant and impulsive +vitality hardly inferior to Browning's own; only that the energy which +in him flowed out through natural channels had in her to create its own +opportunities, and surged forth with harsh or startling +violence,—sometimes "tearing open a parcel instead of untying it," +and sometimes compelling words to serve her will by masterful audacities +of collocation. <a name="page77" id="page77">Both</a> poets stood apart +from most of their contemporaries by a certain exuberance—"a fine +excess"—quite foreign to the instincts of a generation which +repudiated the Revolution and did its best to repudiate Byron. But +Browning's exuberance was genial, hearty, and on occasion brutal; hers +was exalted, impulsive, "head-long,"<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref26" id="fnref26" href="#fn26">[26]</a></span> +intense, and often fantastic and quaint. His imagination flamed forth +like an intenser sunlight, heightening and quickening all that was alive +and alert in man and Nature; hers shot out superb or lurid volcanic +gleams across the simplicity of natural chiaro-oscuro, disturbing the +air with conflicting and incalculable effects of strange horror and +strange loveliness. It might have been averred of Browning that he said +everything he thought; of her the truer formula would be her own, that +she "took every means of saying" what she thought.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref27" id="fnref27" href="#fn27">[27]</a></span> +There was something of Æschylus in her, as there was much of +Aristophanes in him; it was not for nothing that her girlish ardour had +twice flung itself upon the task of rendering the <i>Prometheus +Bound</i> in English; they met on common ground in the human and +pathetic Euripides. But her power was <a name="page78" +id="page78">lyric</a>, not dramatic. She sang from the depths of a +wonderfully rich and passionate nature; while he was most truly himself +when he was personating some imaginary mind.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn26" id="fn26" href="#fnref26">[26]</a></span> +The word her Italian tutor meant to describe her by, but +could not pronounce it. He said she was <i>testa lunga</i> (<i>Letters +of R. and E.B.</i>, i. 7). +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn27" id="fn27" href="#fnref27">[27]</a></span> +<i>Letters, R. and E.B.,</i> i. 8. Cf. her admirable letter to +Ruskin, ten years later, apropos of the charge of "affectation." "To say +a thing faintly, because saying it strongly sounds odd or obscure or +unattractive for some reason to careless readers, does appear to me bad +policy as well as bad art" (<i>Letters of E.B.B</i>., ii., 200). +</div> + +<p>Early in January 1845 the two poets were brought by the genial Kenyon, +her cousin and his good friend, into actual communication, and the +memorable correspondence, the most famous of its kind in English +literature, at once began. Browning, as his way was in telling other +men's stories, burst at once <i>in medias res</i> in this great story of +his own. "I love your verses, my dear Miss Barrett, with all my heart," +he assures her in the first sentence of his first letter. He feels them +already too much a part of himself to ever "try and find +fault,"—"nothing comes of it all,—so into me has it gone and +part of me has it become, this great living poetry of yours, not a +flower of which but took root and grew." It was "living," like his own; +it was also direct, as his own was not. His frank <i>cameraderie</i> was +touched from the outset with a fervent, wondering admiration to which he +was by no means prone. "You <i>do</i>, what I always wanted, hoped to +do, and only seem likely now to do for the first time. You speak out, +<i>you</i>,—I only make men and women speak—give you truth +broken into prismatic hues, and fear the pure white light, even if it is +in me, <i>but I am going to try</i>." Thus the first contact with the +"Lyric Love" of after days set vibrating the chords of all that was +lyric and personal in Browning's nature. His <a name="page79" +id="page79">brilliant</a> virtuosity in the personation of other minds +threatened to check all simple utterance of his own. The "First Poem" of +Robert Browning had yet to be written, but now, as soon as he had broken +from his "dancing ring of men and women,"—the Dramatic Lyrics and +Romances and one or two outstanding dramas,—he meant to write it. +Miss Barrett herself hardly understood until much later the effect that +her personality, the very soul that spoke in her poetry, had upon her +correspondent. She revelled in the Dramatic Lyrics and Romances, and not +least in rollicking pieces, like <i>Sibrandus</i> or <i>The Spanish +Cloister</i>, which appealed to the robust masculine humour with which +this outwardly fragile woman is too rarely credited. <i>Pippa Passes</i> +she could find in her heart to covet the authorship of, more than any of +his other works—a preference in which he agreed. Few more brilliant +appreciations of English poetry are extant than some of those which sped +during 1845 and 1846 from the invalid chamber in Harley Street to the +"old room" looking out on the garden at New Cross. But she did not +conceal from him that she wished him to seek "the other crown" also. "I +do not think, with all that music in you, only your own personality +should be dumb."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref28" id="fnref28" +href="#fn28">[28]</a></span> But she undoubtedly, with all her sense of +the glory of the dramatic art, discouraged his writing for the stage, a +domain which she regarded with an animus curiously compounded of Puritan +loathing, poetic scorn, and <a name="page80" id="page80">wellbred</a> +shrinking from the vulgarity of the green-room. And it is clear that +before the last plays, <i>Luria</i> and <i>A Soul's Tragedy</i>, were +published his old stage ambition had entirely vanished. It was not +altogether hyperbole (in any case the hyperbole was wholly unconscious) +when he spoke of her as a new medium to which his sight was gradually +becoming adjusted, "<i>seeing all things, as it does, in you.</i>"</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn28" id="fn28" href="#fnref28">[28]</a></span> +<i>E.B.B to R.B.</i>, 26th May 1846. Cf. <i>R.B.</i>, 13th Feb. +1846. +</div> + +<p>She, on her part, united, as clever women in love so often do, with a +woman's more utter self-abasement a larger measure of critical +penetration. The "poor tired wandering singer," who so humbly took the +hand of the liberal and princely giver, and who with perfect sincerity +applied to herself his unconscious phrase—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Cloth of frieze, be not too bold<br /> + Though thou'rt match'd with cloth of gold,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">"That, beloved, was written for me!"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref29" id="fnref29" +href="#fn29">[29]</a></span>—shows at the same time the keenest +insight into the qualities of his work. She felt in him the masculine +temper and the masculine range, his singular union of rough and even +burly power with subtle intellect and penetrating music. With the world +of society and affairs she had other channels of communication. But no +one of her other friends—not <i>Orion</i> Horne, not even +Kenyon—bridged as Browning did the gulf between the world of +society and affairs, which she vaguely knew, and the romantic world of +poetry in which she lived. If she quickened the <a name="page81" +id="page81">need</a> for lyrical utterance in him, he drew her, in his +turn, into a closer and richer contact with common things. If she had +her part in <i>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</i>, he had his, no less, in +<i>Aurora Leigh</i>.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn29" id="fn29" href="#fnref29">[29]</a></span> +<i>E.B.B. to R.B.</i>, 9th Jan. 1846. +</div> + +<p>Twenty-one months passed between Browning's first letter and their +marriage. The tentative exchange of letters passed into a formal +"contract" to correspond,—sudden if not as "unadvised" as the +love-vows of Juliet, a parallel which he shyly hinted, and she, with the +security of the whole-hearted, boldly recalled. All the winter and early +spring her health forbade a meeting, and it is clear that but for the +quiet pressure of his will they never would have met. But with May came +renewed vigour, and she reluctantly consented to a visit. "He has a way +of putting things which I have not, a way of putting aside,—so he +came." A few weeks later he spoke. She at first absolutely refused to +entertain the thought; he believed, and was silent. But in the meantime +the letters and the visits "rained down more and more," and the fire +glowed under the surface of the writing and the talk, subdued but +unsuppressed. Once more his power of "putting aside" compelled her to +listen, and when she listened she found herself assailed at a point +which her own exalted spirituality made her least able to defend, by a +love more utterly self-sacrificing than even she had ever imagined. This +man of the masterful will, who took no refusals, might perhaps in any +case have finally "put aside" all obstacles to her consent. But when +<a name="page82" id="page82">he</a> disclosed—to her amazement, +well as she thought she knew him—that he had asked the right to +love her without claiming any love in return, that when he first spoke +he had believed her disease to be incurable, and yet preferred to be +allowed to sit only a day at her side to the fulfilment of "the +brightest dream which should exclude her," her resistance gave +way,—and little by little, in her own beautiful words, +she was drawn into the persuasion that something was left, and that she +could still do something for the happiness of another. In another sense +than she intended in the great opening sonnet "from the Portuguese," +Love, undreamt of, had come to her with the irresistible might of Death, +and called her back into life by rekindling in her the languishing, +almost extinguished, desire to live. Is it hyperbole, to be reminded of +that other world-famous rescue from death which Browning, twenty-five +years later, was to tell with such infinite verve? Browning did not need +to imagine, but only to remember, the magnificent and audacious vitality +of his Herakles; he had brought back his own "espoused saint," like +Alcestis, from the grave.</p> + +<p>But the life thus gained was, in the immediate future, full of +problems. Browning, said Kenyon, was "great in everything"; and during +the year which followed their engagement he had occasion to exhibit the +capacities both of the financier he had once declined to be, and of the +diplomatist he was willing to become. Love <a name="page83" +id="page83">had</a> flung upon his life, as upon hers, a sudden +splendour for which he was in no way prepared. "My whole scheme of +life," he wrote to her,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref30" +id="fnref30" href="#fn30">[30]</a></span> "(with its wants, material +wants at least, closely cut down), was long ago calculated—and it +supposed <i>you</i>, the finding such an one as you, utterly +impossible." But his schemes for a profession and an income were +summarily cut short. Elizabeth Barrett peremptorily declined to +countenance any such sacrifice of the work he was called to for any +other. The same deep sense of what was due to him, and to his wife, +sustained her through the trial that remained,—from the apparent +degradation of secrecy and subterfuge which the domestic policy of Mr +Barrett made inevitable, to the mere physical and nervous strain of +rising, that September morning of 1846, from an invalid's couch to be +married. That "peculiarity," as she gently termed it, of her father's, +malign and cruel as it was, twice precipitated a happy crisis in their +fortunes, which prudence might have postponed. His refusal to allow her +to seek health in Italy in Oct. 1845 had brought them definitely +together; his second refusal in Aug. 1846 drove her to the one +alternative of going there as Browning's wife. A week after the marriage +ceremony, during which they never met, Mrs Browning left her home, with +the faithful Wilson and the indispensable Flush, <i>en route</i> for +Southampton. The following day they arrived in Paris.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn30" id="fn30" href="#fnref30">[30]</a></span> +<i>R.B. to E.B.B.</i>, Sept. 13, 1845. +</div> + +<a name="page84" id="page84"></a> +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>There followed fifteen years during which the inexhaustible +correspondents of the last twenty months exchanged no further letter, +for they were never parted. That is the sufficient outward symbol of +their all but flawless union. After a leisurely journey through France, +and an experimental sojourn at the goal of Mrs Browning's two frustrated +journeys, Pisa, they settled towards the close of April 1847 in +furnished apartments in Florence, moving some four months later into the +more permanent home which their presence was to render famous, the +Palazzo (or "Casa") Guidi, just off the Piazza Pitti.</p> + +<p>Their life—mirrored for us in Mrs Browning's vivid and +delightful letters—was, like many others, in which we recognise +rare and precious quality, singularly wanting in obviously expressive +traits. It is possible to describe everything that went on in the +Browning household in terms applicable to those of scores of other +persons of wide interests, cultivated tastes, and moderate but not +painfully restricted means. All that was passionate, ideal, heroic in +them found expression through conditions which it needs a fine eye to +distinguish from those of easy-going bourgeois mediocrity. Their large +and catholic humanity exempted them from much that makes for bold and +sensational outline in the story of a career. Their poetic home was +built upon all the philistine virtues. Mrs Jameson laughed at their +<a name="page85" id="page85">"miraculous</a> prudence +and economy"; and Mrs Browning herself laughed, a little, at her +husband's punctilious rigour in paying his debts,—his "horror of +owing five shillings for five days"; Browning, a born virtuoso in +whatever he undertook, abhorring a neglected bill as he did an easy +rhyme, and all other symbols of that slovenly Bohemia which came +nearest, on the whole, to his conception of absolute evil. They lived at +first in much seclusion, seeking no society, and unknown alike to the +Italian and the English quarters of the Florentine world. But Arcady +was, at bottom, just as foreign to their ways as Bohemia. "Soundless and +stirless hermits," Mrs Browning playfully called them; but in no house in +Florence did the news of political and literary Europe find keener +comment or response than in this quiet hermitage. Two long absences, +moreover (1851-52 and 1855-56), divided between London and Paris, +interrupted their Italian sojourn; and these times were crowded with +friendly intercourse, which they keenly enjoyed. "No place like Paris +for living in," Browning declared after returning from its blaze to the +quiet retreat of Casa Guidi. But both felt no less deeply the charm of +their "dream life" within these old tapestried +walls.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref31" id="fnref31" +href="#fn31">[31]</a></span> Nor did either, in spite of their delight +in French poetry and their vivid interest in French politics, really +enter the French world. They were received by George Sand, whose +"indiscreet immortalities" had ravished Elizabeth Barrett in her invalid +<a name="page86" id="page86">chamber</a> years before; but though she +"felt the burning soul through all that quietness," and through the +"crowds of ill-bred men who adore her <i>à genoux bas</i>, betwixt a +puff of smoke and an ejection of saliva,"—they both felt that she +did not care for them. Dumas, another admiration, they did not see; an +introduction to Hugo, Browning carried about for years but had no chance +of presenting; Béranger they saw in the street, and regretted the absence +of an intermediator. Balzac, to their grief, was just dead. A complete +set of his works was one of their Florentine ambitions. One memorable +intimacy was formed, however, during the Paris winter of 1851-52; for it +was now that he first met Joseph Milsand, his warm friend until +Milsand's death in 1886, and probably, for the last twenty years at +least, the most beloved of all his friends, as he was at all times one +of his shrewdest yet kindliest critics. Their summer visits to London +(1851, 1852, 1855, 1856) brought them much more of intimate personal +converse, tempered, however, inevitably, in a yet greater proportion, by +pain, discomfort, and fatigue. Of himself, yet more than of the +Laureate, might have been used the phrase in which he was to dedicate a +later poem to Tennyson—"noble and sincere in friendship." The +visitors who gathered about him in these London visits included friends +who belonged to every phase and aspect of his career—from his old +master and mentor, Fox, and Kenyon, the first begetter of his wedded +happiness, to Dante Rossetti, his first and, for years to come, +<a name="page87" id="page87">solitary</a> disciple, +and William Allingham, whom Rossetti introduced. Among his own +contemporaries they were especially intimate with Tennyson,—the +sterling and masculine "Alfred" of Carlyle, whom the world first learnt +to know from his biography; and with Carlyle himself, a more genial and +kindly Carlyle than most others had the gift of evoking, and whom his +biographers mostly efface.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn31" id="fn31" href="#fnref31">[31]</a></span> +<i>Letters of E.B.B.</i>, ii. 199. +</div> + +<p>After their return from the second journey to the north their Italian +life lost much of its dream-like seclusion. The publication of <i>Men and +Women</i> (1855) and <i>Aurora Leigh</i> (1856) drew new visitors to the +salon in Casa Guidi, and after 1853 they repeatedly wintered in Rome, +mingling freely in its more cosmopolitan society, and, on occasion, in +the gaieties of the Carnival. To the end, however, their Roman circle was +more American than English. "Is Mr Browning an American?" asked an +English lady of the American ambassador. "Is it possible that you ask me +that?" came the prompt and crushing retort; "why, there is not a village +in the United States so small that they could not tell you that Robert +Browning is an Englishman, and they wish he were an American." +Spiritualism, in the main an American institution, became during the +later years a centre of fervid interest to the one and an irritant to +the other. One turns gladly from that episode to their noble and helpful +friendship for a magnificent old dying lion, with whom, as every one +else discovered, it was ill to play—Walter Savage Landor. Here it +was <a name="page88" id="page88">the</a> wife who looked on with +critical though kindly sarcasm at what she thought her husband's +generous excess of confidence. Of all these intimacies and +relationships, however, the poetry of these years discloses hardly a +glimpse. His actual dealings with men and women called out all his +genial energies of heart and brain, but—with one +momentous exception—they did not touch his imagination.</p> + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>Almost as faint as these echoes of personal friendship are those of +the absorbing public interest of these years, the long agony, fitfully +relieved by spells of desperate and untimely hope, of the Italian +struggle for liberty. The Brownings arrived in Florence during the lull +which preceded the great outbreak of 1848. From the historic "windows of +Casa Guidi" they looked forth upon the gentle futilities of the Tuscan +revolution, the nine days' fight for Milan, the heroic adventure of +Savoy, and the apparently final collapse of all these high endeavours on +the field of Novara. Ten years of petty despotism on the one side, of "a +unanimity of despair" on the other, followed; and then the monotonous +tragedy seemed to break suddenly into romance, as the Emperor, "deep and +cold," marched his armies over the Alps for the Deliverance of Italy.</p> + +<p>Of all this the Brownings were deeply moved spectators. Browning +shared his wife's sympathy with the <a name="page89" +id="page89">Italians</a> and her abhorrence of Austria, and it is not +likely that he uttered either sentiment with less vivacity and emphasis, +though much less of his talk is on record. "'How long, O Lord, how +long!' Robert kept saying." But he had not her passionate admiration for +France, still less her faith in the President-Emperor. His less lyric +temperament did not so readily harbour unqualified emotion as hers. His +judgment of character was cooler, and with all his proverbial readiness +as a poet to provide men of equivocal conduct with hypothetical +backgrounds of lofty or blameless motive, he was in practice as exempt +from amiable illusions as he was from narrow spite. Himself the most +exact and precise in his dealings with the world, he could pardon the +excesses and irregularities of a great nature; but sordid self-seeking +under the mask of high ideals revolted him. He laughed at the boyish +freaks of Lander's magnificent old age, which irritated even his +large-hearted wife; but he could not forgive Louis Napoleon the <i>coup +d'état</i>, and when the liberation of Lombardy was followed by the +annexation of Savoy and Nice, the Emperor's devoted defender had to +listen, without the power of effective retort, to his biting summary of +the situation: "It was a great action; but he has taken eighteenpence +for it, which is a pity."</p> + +<p>A dozen years later Louis Napoleon's equivocal character and career +were to be subjected by Browning to a still more equivocal exposition. +But this sordid <a name="page90" id="page90">trait</a> brought him +within a category of "soul" upon which Browning did not yet, in these +glowing years, readily lavish his art. A poem upon Napoleon, which had +occupied him much during the winter of 1859 (cf. note, p. +<a href="#page167">167</a> below), was abandoned. "Blougram's" splendid +and genial duplicity already attracted him, but the analysis of the +meretricious figure of Napoleon became a congenial problem only to that +later Browning of the 'Sixties and 'Seventies who was to explore the +shady souls of a Guido, a Miranda, and a Sludge. On the other hand, +deeply as he felt the sorrows of Italy, it was no part of his poetic +mission to sing them. The voice of a great community wakened no lyric +note in him, nor did his anger on its behalf break into dithyrambs. +Nationality was not an effectual motive with him. He felt as keenly as +his wife, or as Shelley; but his feeling broke out in fitful allusion or +sardonic jest in the <i>De Gustibus</i> or the <i>Old +Pictures</i>—not in a <i>Casa Guidi Windows</i>, or <i>Songs +before Congress</i>, an <i>Ode to Naples</i>, or a <i>Hellas</i>. An +"Ode" containing, by his own account, fierce things about +England, he destroyed after Villafranca. It is only in subtle and +original variations that we faintly recognise the broad simple theme of +Italy's struggle for deliverance. The <i>Patriot</i> and <i>Instans +Tyrannus</i> both have a kind of nexus with the place and time; but the +one is a caustic satire on popular fickleness and the other a +sardonically humorous travesty of persecution. Italy is mentioned in +neither. <a name="page91" id="page91">Both</a> are far removed from the +vivid and sympathetic reflection of the national struggle which thrills +us in <i>The Italian in England</i> and the third scene of <i>Pippa +Passes</i>. This "tyrant" has nothing to do with the +Austrian whom Luigi was so eager to assassinate, or any other: whatever +in him belongs to history has been permeated through and through with +the poet's derisive irony; he is despotism stripped of the passionate +conviction which may lend it weight and political significance, reduced +to a kind of sport, like the chase of a butterfly, and contemplating its +own fantastic tricks with subdued amusement.</p> + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<p>The great political drama enacted in Italy during the Brownings' +residence there, thus scarcely stirred the deeper currents of Browning's +imagination, any more than, for all the vivid and passionate eloquence +she poured forth in its name, it really touched the genius of his wife. +The spell of Italian scenery was less easily evaded than the +abstractions of politics by a poet of his keen sensibility to light and +colour. And the years of his Italian sojourn certainly left palpable +traces, not only, as is obvious, upon the landscape background which +glows behind his human figures, but on his way of conceiving and +rendering the whole relation between Nature and Man. They did not, +indeed, make him in any sense a Nature poet. In +<a name="page92" id="page92">that</a> very song of delight in "Italy, my +Italy," which tells how the things he best loves in the world are</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">"a castle precipice-encurled</span><br /> + In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">or some old palazzo, with a pointed cypress to guard +it, by the opaque blue breadth of summer sea, the joy in mountain and +sea is subtly reinforced at every point by the play of human interest; +there are frescoes on the crumbling walls, and a barefooted girl tumbles +melons on the pavement with news that the king has been shot at; art and +politics asserting their place beside Nature in the heart of Italy's +"old lover." And in the actual life of the Brownings "Nature" had to be +content, as a rule, with the humbler share. Their chosen abode was not a +castle in the Apennines or an old crumbling house by the southern sea, +but an apartment commanding the crowded streets of Florence; and their +principal absences from it were spent in Rome, in London, or in the yet +more congenial "blaze of Paris." They delighted certainly to escape into +the forest uplands. "Robert and I go out and lose ourselves in the woods +and mountains, and sit by the waterfalls on the starry and moonlit +nights," she wrote from their high perch above Lucca in 1849; but their +adventures in this kind were on the whole like the noon-disport of the +amphibian swimmer in <i>Fifine</i>,—they always admitted of an +easy retreat to the <i>terra firma</i> of civilisation,—</p> + +<a name="page93" id="page93"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Land the solid and safe<br /> + <span class="in1">To welcome again (confess!)</span><br /> + When, high and dry, we chafe<br /> + <span class="in1">The body, and don the dress."</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The Nature Browning knew and loved was well within +sight of humanity, and it was commonly brought nearer by some intrusive +vestiges of man's work; the crescent moon drifting in the purple +twilight, or "lamping" between the cypresses, is seen over Fiesole or +Samminiato; the "Alpine gorge" above Lucca has its ruined chapel and its +mill; the Roman Campagna has its tombs—"Rome's ghost since her +decease"; the Etrurian hill—fastnesses have their crowning cities +"crowded with culture." He had always had an alert eye for the elements +of human suggestion in landscape. But his rendering of landscape before +the Italian period was habitually that of a brilliant, graphic, but not +deeply interested artist, wielding an incisive pencil and an opulent +brush, fastening upon every bit of individual detail, and sometimes, as +in the admirable <i>Englishman in Italy</i>, recalling Wordsworth's +indignant reproof of the great fellow-artist—Scott—who "made +an inventory of Nature's charms." This hard objective brilliance does +not altogether disappear from the work of his Italian period. But it +tends to give way to a strangely subtle interpenetration of the visible +scene with the passion of the seeing soul. Nature is not more alive, but +her life thrills and palpitates in subtler relation with the life of +man. The author of <i>Men and Women</i> is a greater poet +<a name="page94" id="page94">of</a> Nature than the author of the +<i>Lyrics and Romances</i>, because he is, also, a greater poet of +"Soul"; for his larger command of soul-life embraces just those moods of +spiritual passion which beget the irradiated and transfigured Nature for +which, since Wordsworth, poetry has continually striven to find +expression. Browning's subtler feeling for Nature sprang from his +profounder insight into love. Love was his way of approach, as it was +eminently not Wordsworth's, to the transfigured Nature which Wordsworth +first disclosed. It is habitually lovers who have these +visions,—all that was mystical in Browning's mind attaching +itself, in fact, in some way to his ideas of love. To the Two in the +Campagna its primeval silence grows instinct with passion, and its peace +with joy,—the joy of illimitable space and freedom, alluring yet +mocking the finite heart that yearns. To the lovers of the Alpine gorge +the old woods, heaped and dim, that hung over their troth-plighting, +mysteriously drew them together; the moment that broke down the bar +between soul and soul also breaking down, as it were, the bar between +man and nature:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The forests had done it; there they stood;<br /> + <span class="in1">We caught for a moment the powers at play:</span><br /> + They had mingled us so, for once and good,<br /> + <span class="in1">Their work was done, we might go or stay,</span><br /> + They relapsed to their ancient mood."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Such "moments" were, in fact, for Browning as well +as for his lovers, rare and fitful exceptions to the general +<a name="page95" id="page95">nonchalance</a> of Nature towards +human affairs. The powers did good, as they did evil, "at play"; +intervening with a kind of cynical or ironical detachment (like Jaques +plighting Touchstone and Audrey) in an alien affair of hearts. A certain +eerie playfulness is indeed a recurring trait in Browning's highly +individual feeling about Nature; the uncanny playfulness of a wild +creature of boundless might only half intelligible to man, which man +contemplates with mingled joy, wonder, and fear. Joy, when the brown old +Earth wears her good gigantic smile, on an autumn morning; wonder, when +he watches the "miracles wrought in play" in the teeming life of the +Campagna; fear, when, on a hot August midnight, Earth tosses stormily on +her couch. And all these notes of feelings are struck, with an intensity +and a boldness of invention which make it unique among his writings, in +the great romantic legend of <i>Childe Roland</i>. What the <i>Ancient +Mariner</i> is in the poetry of the mysterious terrors and splendours of +the sea, that <i>Childe Roland</i> is in the poetry of bodeful horror, +of haunted desolation, of waste and plague, ragged distortion, and +rotting ugliness in landscape. The Childe, like the Mariner, advances +through an atmosphere and scenery of steadily gathering menace; the +"starved ignoble" Nature, "peevish and dejected" among her scrub of +thistle and dock, grows malignant; to the barren waste succeed the +spiteful little river with its drenched despairing willows, the +blood-trampled mire and wrecked torture-engine, the poisonous +<a name="page96" id="page96">herbage</a> and palsied oak, and +finally the mountains, ignoble as the plain—"mere ugly heights and +heaps," ranged round the deadly den of the Dark Tower. But Browning's +horror-world differs from Coleridge's in the pervading sense that the +powers which control its issues are "at play." The catastrophe is not +the less tragic for that; but the heroic knight is not a culprit who has +provoked the vengeance of his pursuers, but a quarry whose course they +follow with grim half-suppressed laughter as he speeds into the trap. +The hoary cripple cannot hide his malicious glee, the "stiff blind +horse" is as grotesque as he is woeful, the dreary day itself, as it +sinks, shoots one grim red leer at the doomed knight as he sets forth; +in the penury and inertness of the wasted plain he sees "grimace"; the +mountains fight like bulls or doze like dotards; and the Dark Tower +itself is "round and squat," built of brown stone, a mere anticlimax to +romance; while round it lie the sportsmen assembled to see the end—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay<br /> + Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay."</p> +</div> + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<p>But the scenery of Italy, with all its appeals of picturesque outline +and glowing colour, interested Browning less than its painting, +sculpture, and music. "Nature I loved, and after Nature, Art," Landor +declared in one of his stately epitaphs on himself; Browning +<a name="page97" id="page97">would</a>, in this sense of the terms at +least, have inverted their order. Casa Guidi windows commanded a view, +not only of revolutionary throngs, but of the façade of the +Pitti—a fact of at least equal significance. From the +days of his boyish pilgrimages to the Dulwich Gallery across the +Camberwell meadows, he had been an eager student and critic of painting; +curious, too, if not yet expert in all the processes and technicalities +of the studio. He judged pictures with the eye of a skilful draughtsman; +and two rapid journeys had given him some knowledge of the Italian +galleries. Continuous residence among the chief glories of the brush and +chisel did not merely multiply artistic incitement and appeal; it +brought the whole world of art into more vital touch with his +imaginative activity. It would be hard to say that there is any definite +change in his view of art, but its problems grow more alluring to him, +and its images more readily waylay and capture his passing thought. The +artist as such becomes a more dominant figure in his hierarchy of +spiritual workers; while Browning himself betrays a new +self-consciousness of his own function as an artist in verse; +conceiving, for instance, his consummate address to his wife as an +artist's way of solving a perplexity which only an artist could feel, +that of finding unique expression for the unique love.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush,<br /> + Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly,<br /> + Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little,<br /> + <a name="page98" id="page98"></a> + Makes a strange art of an art familiar,<br /> + Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets;<br /> + He who blows thro' bronze may breathe thro' silver,<br /> + Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess;<br /> + He who writes may write for once, as I do."</p> +</div> + +<p>Browning is distinguished among the poets to whom art meant much by +the prominence with him of the specifically artist's point of view. He +cared for pictures, or for music, certainly, as clues to the +interpretation of human life, hints of "the absolute truth of things" +which the sensible world veils and the senses miss. But he cared for +them also, and yet more, as expressions of the artist's own "love of +loving, rage of knowing, seeing, feeling" that absolute truth. And he +cared for them also and not less, without regard to anything they +expressed, as simple outflows of vitality, however grotesque or +capricious. His own eye and ear continually provoked his hand to +artistic experiments and activities. During the last years in Italy his +passion for modelling even threatened to divert him from poetry; and his +wife playfully lamented that the "poor lost soul" produced only casts, +which he broke on completion, and no more Men and Women. And his own +taste in art drew him, notoriously, to work in which the striving hand +was palpable,—whether it was a triumphant <i>tour de force</i> +like Cellini's Perseus, in the Loggia—their daily banquet in the +early days at Florence; or the half-articulate utterances of "the +Tuscan's early art," like those "Pre-Giotto pictures" which +<a name="page99" id="page99">surrounded</a> them in the salon of +Casa Guidi, "quieting" them if they were over busy, as Mrs Browning +beautifully says,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref32" id="fnref32" +href="#fn32">[32]</a></span> more perhaps in her own spirit than in her +husband's.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn32" id="fn32" href="#fnref32">[32]</a></span> +<i>Letters of E.B.B</i>., ii. 199. +</div> + +<p>Almost all Browning's finest poems of painting belong to these Italian +years, and were enshrined in <i>Men and Women.</i> They all illustrate +more or less his characteristic preoccupation with the artist's point of +view, and also, what is new, the point of view of particular and +historical artists,—a Guercino, an Andrea del Sarto, a Giotto, a +Lippo Lippi. Even where he seems to write under the peculiar spell of his +wife, as in the <i>Guardian Angel,</i> this trait asserts itself. They +had spent three glowing August days of 1848 at Fano, and thrice visited +the painting by Guercino there,—"to drink its beauty to our soul's +content." Mrs Browning wrote of the "divine" picture. Browning entered, +with a sympathy perhaps the more intimate that his own "angel" was with +him, and the memory of an old friend peculiarly near, into sympathy with +the guardian angel; but with one of his abrupt turns he passes into the +world of the studio, telling us how he has written for the sake of "dear +Guercino's fame," because he "did not work thus earnestly at all times, +and has endured some wrong." With all this, however, the <i>Guardian +Angel</i> is one of the few pieces left by Browning which do not +instantly discover themselves as his. His typical children are +well-springs of spiritual influence, <a name="page100" +id="page100">scattering</a> the aerial dew of quickening song upon a +withered world, or taking God's ear with their "little human praise." +The spirituality of this child is of a different temper,—the +submissive "lamblike" temper which is fulfilled in quiescence and +disturbed by thought.</p> + +<p>What is here a mere flash of good-natured championship becomes in the +great monologue of <i>Andrea del Sarto</i> an illuminating compassion. +Compassion, be it noted, far less for the husband of an unfaithful wife +than for the great painter whose genius was tethered to a soulless mate. +The situation appealed profoundly to Browning, and Andrea's monologue is +one of his most consummate pieces of dramatic characterisation. It is a +study of spiritual paralysis, achieved without the least resort to the +rhetorical conventions which permit poetry to express men's silence with +speech and their apathy with song. Tennyson's Lotos-eaters chant their +world-weariness in choral strains of almost too magnificent afflatus to +be dramatically proper on the lips of spirits so resigned. Andrea's +spiritual lotus-eating has paralysed the nerve of passion in him, and +made him impotent to utter the lyrical cry which his fate seems to +crave. He is half "incapable of his own distress"; his strongest +emotions are a flitting hope or a momentary pang, quickly dissolved into +the ground-tone of mournful yet serene contemplation, which seems to +float ghostlike in the void between grief and joy. Reproach turns to +<a name="page101" id="page101">grateful</a> acquiescence on his lips; +the sting of blighted genius is instantly annulled by the momentary +enchantment of her smile, whose worth he knows too well and remembers +too soon:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in7">"And you smile indeed!</span><br /> + This hour has been an hour! Another smile?<br /> + If you would sit thus by me every night<br /> + I should work better, do you comprehend?<br /> + I mean that I should earn more, give you more."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The tragedy is for us, not for him: he regrets +little, and would change still less. The "silver-grey" lights of dreamy +autumn eve were never with more delicate insight rendered in terms of +soul.</p> + +<p>Suddenly these autumnal half-tones give way to the flash of torches in +the fragrant darkness of an Italian night. There is a scurry of feet +along a dark alley, a scuffle at the end, and the genial rotundity of +Brother Lippo Lippi's face, impudent, brilliant, insuppressible, leers +into the torchlight. <i>Fra Lippo Lippi</i> is not less true and +vivacious than the <i>Andrea</i>, if less striking as an example of +Browning's dramatic power. Sarto is a great poetic creation; Browning's +own robust temperament provided hardly any aid in delineating the +emaciated soul whose gifts had thinned down to a morbid perfection of +technique. But this vigorous human creature, with the teeming brain, and +the realist eye, and the incorrigible ineptitude for the restraints of +an insincere clerical or other idealism, was a being to which Browning's +heart went out; <a name="page102" id="page102">and</a> he even makes him +the mouthpiece of literary ideas, which his own portrait as here drawn +aptly exemplifies. There is not much "soul" in Lippo, but he has the +hearty grasp of common things, of the world in its business and its +labour and its sport and its joys, which "edifies" men more than +artificial idealities designed expressly to "beat nature." +He "lends his mind out" and finds the answering mind in other men +instead of imposing one from without:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"This world's no blot for us,</span><br /> + Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good:<br /> + To find its meaning is my meat and drink."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">"Ay, but," objects the Prior, "you do not instigate +to prayer!" And it is the prior and his system which for Lippi stand in +the place of Andrea's soulless wife. Lucrezia's illusive beauty lured +his soul to its doom; and Lippo, forced, as a child of eight, to +renounce the world and put on the cassock he habitually disgraced, +triumphantly cast off the incubus of a sham spirituality which only +tended to obscure what was most spiritual in himself. He was fortunate +in the poet who has drawn his portrait so superbly in his sitter's own +style.</p> + +<p>These two monologues belong to the most finished achievements of +Browning. But we should miss much of the peculiar quality of his mind, +as well as a vivid glimpse into the hope-and-fear-laden atmosphere of +Tuscany in the early 'Fifties, if we had not that quaint heterogeneous +causerie called <i>Old Pictures in Florence</i>. There is passion in its +grotesqueness and <a name="page103" id="page103">method</a> in its +incoherence; for the old painters, whose apologies he is ostensibly +writing, with their imperfect achievement and their insuppressible +idealism, sounded a congenial note to men whose eyes were bent +incessantly upon the horizon waiting for the invisible to come into +play, and Florence looked for her completion as Giotto's unfinished +campanile for its spire.</p> + +<p>If Italy deepened Browning's hold upon the problems of painting, it +witnessed the beginnings of his equally characteristic achievement in +the kindred poetry of music. Not that his Italian life can have brought +any notable access of musical impressions to a man who had grown up +within easy reach of London concerts and operas. But England was a land +in which music was performed; Italy was a land in which it was made. +Verdi's "worst opera" could be heard in many places; but in Florence the +knowing spectator might see Verdi himself, at its close,</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Look through all the roaring and the wreaths<br /> + Where sits Rossini patient in his stall."</p> +</div> + +<p>Italian music, with its facile melody and its relative poverty of +ideas, could not find so full a response in Browning's nature as Italian +painting. It had had its own gracious and tender youth; and Palestrina, +whom he contrasts with the mountainous fuguists of "Saxe-Gotha" and +elsewhere, probably had for him the same kind of charm as the early +painters of Florence. Out of that "infancy," however, there had arisen +no "titanically infantine" Michelangelo, but a race of accomplished +<a name="page104" id="page104"><i>petits maîtres</i></a>, whose +characteristic achievement was the opera of the rococo age. A Goldsmith +or a Sterne can make the light songs of their contemporaries eloquent +even to us of gracious amenities and cultivated charm; but Browning, +with the eternal April in his heart and brain, heard in the stately +measures it danced to, only the eloquence of a dirge, penetrated with +the sense of the mortality of such joy as theirs. Byron had sung gaily +of the gaieties of Venice; but the vivacious swing of <i>Beppo</i> was +less to Browning's mind than the "cold music" of Baldassare Galuppi, who +made his world dance to the strains of its own requiem, and fall upon +dreamy suggestions of decay in the very climax of the feast:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths + diminished,<br /> + <span class="in2">sigh on sigh,</span><br /> + Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions<br /> + <span class="in2">—'Must we die?'</span><br /> + Those commiserating sevenths—"Life might last! We can<br /> + <span class="in2">but try!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The musician himself has no such illusions; but his +music is only a more bitter echo:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent + what<br /> + <span class="in2">Venice earned:</span><br /> + The soul, doubtless, is immortal—where a soul can be<br /> + <span class="in2">discerned."</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And so the poet, in the self-consciousness of his +immense vitality, sweeps into the limbo of oblivion these dusty +<i>débris</i> of the past, with no nearer approach to the romantic +regret of a Malory for the glories of <a name="page105" +id="page105">old</a> time or to Villon's awestruck contemplation of the +mysterious evanishment of storied beauty, than the half-contemptuous +echo—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"'Dust and ashes!' So you creak it, and I want the + heart<br /> + <span class="in2">to scold.</span><br /> + Dear dead women, with such hair too—what's become of<br /> + <span class="in2">all the gold</span><br /> + Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and<br /> + <span class="in2">grown old."</span></p> +</div> + +<p>In the other music-poem of the Italian time it is not difficult to +detect a kindred mood beneath the half-disguise of rollicking rhymes and +whimsical comparisons. Once more Browning seems preoccupied with that in +music which lends expression to a soulless animation, a futile and +aimless vivacity. Only here it is the vivacity of the schools, not of +the ballroom. Yet some lines seem a very echo of that hollow joyless +mirth, for ever revolving on itself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Est fuga, volvitur rota;<br /> + On we drift: where looms the dim port?"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The intertwining and conflicting melodies of the +fugue echo the impotent strife of jangling tongues, "affirming, denying, +holding, risposting, subjoining,"—the shuttle play of comment and +gloze shrouding the light of nature and truth:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Over our heads truth and nature—<br /> + <span class="in1">Still our life's zigzags and dodges,</span><br /> + Ins and outs, weaving a new legislature—<br /> + <span class="in1">God's gold just shining its last where that + lodges,</span><br /> + Palled beneath man's usurpature."</p> +</div> + +<a name="page106" id="page106"></a> +<p class="noindent">But Browning was at heart too alive to the charm of +this shuttle-play, of these zigzags and dodges,—of zigzags and +dodges of every kind,—not to feel the irony of the attack upon +this "stringing of Nature through cobwebs"; when the organist breaks +out, as the fugue's intricacy grows, "But where's music, the dickens?" +we hear Browning mocking the indignant inquiries of similar purport so +often raised by his readers. <i>Master Hugues</i> could only have been +written by one who, with a childlike purity of vision for truth and +nature, for the shining of "God's gold" and the glimpses of the "earnest +eye of heaven," had also a keen perception and instinctive delight in +every filament of the web of human "legislature."</p> + +<p>This double aspect of Browning's poetic nature is vividly reflected in +the memorable essay on Shelley which he wrote at Paris in 1851, as an +introduction to a series of letters since shown to have been forged. The +essay—unfortunately not included in his Works—is a document +of first-rate importance for the mind of Browning in the midst of his +greatest time; it is also by far the finest appreciation of Shelley +which had yet appeared. He saw in Shelley one who, visionary and +subjective as he was, had solved the problem which confronts every +idealist who seeks to grasp the visible world in its concrete actuality. +To Browning himself that problem presented itself in a form which tasked +far more severely the resources of poetic imagination, in proportion as +actuality bodied itself forth to his alert <a name="page107" +id="page107">senses</a> in more despotic grossness and strength. Shelley +is commonly thought to have evaded this task altogether,—building +his dream-world of cloud and cavern loveliness remote from anything we +know. It is Browning, the most "actual" of poets, who insisted, half a +century ago, on the "practicality" of Shelley,—insisted, as it is +even now not superfluous to insist, on the fearless and direct energy +with which he strove to root his intuitions in experience. "His noblest +and predominating characteristic," he urges, to quote these significant +words once more, "is his simultaneous perception of Power and Love in +the absolute, and of Beauty and Good in the concrete, while he throws, +from his poet's station between both, swifter, subtler, and more +numerous films for the connection of each with each than have been +thrown by any modern artificer of whom I have knowledge; proving how, as +he says—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"'The spirit of the worm beneath the sod<br /> + In love and worship blends itself with God.'"</p> +</div> + +<p>Browning has nowhere else expounded so fully his ideas about the aims +of his own art. It lay in the peculiar "dramatic" quality of his mind to +express himself freely only in situations not his own. Hence, while he +does not altogether avoid the poet as a character, his poets are drawn +with a curious externality and detachment. It is in his musicians, his +painters, his grammarians, that the heart and passion of Browning the +poet really live. He is the poet of musicians and of painters, the poet +of lawyers and physicians and Rabbis, <a name="page108" +id="page108">and</a> of scores of callings which never had a poet +before; but he is not the poets' poet. In the <i>Transcendentalism</i>, +however, after tilting with gay irony at the fault of over-much argument +in poetry, which the world ascribed to his own, he fixes in a splendid +image the magic which it fitfully yet consummately illustrates. The +reading public which entertained any opinion about him at all was +inclined to take him for another Boehme, "with a tougher book and +subtler meanings of what roses say." A few knew that they had to deal, +not less, with a "stout Mage like him of Halberstadt," who</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">"with a 'look you' vents a brace of rhymes,</span><br /> + And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,<br /> + Over us, under, round us every side."</p> +</div> + +<p>The portrait of the poet of Valladolid, on the other hand (<i>How it +Strikes a Contemporary</i>), is not so much a study of a poet as of +popular misconception and obtuseness. A grotesquely idle legend of the +habits of the "Corregidor" flourishes among the good folks of +Valladolid; the speaker himself, who desires to do him justice, is a +plain, shrewd, but unimaginative observer ("I never wrote a line of +verse, did you?"), and makes us acquainted with everything but the inner +nature of the man. We see the corregidor in the streets, in his chamber, +at his frugal supper and "decent cribbage" with his maid, but never at +his verse. We see the alert objective eye of this man with the +"scrutinizing hat," who</p> + +<a name="page109" id="page109"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p>"stood and watched the cobbler at his trade, ...<br /> + If any beat a horse, you felt he saw,<br /> + If any cursed a woman, he took note,"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and all this, for Browning, went to the making of +the poet, but we get no inkling of the process itself. Browning had, in +his obscure as in his famous days, peculiar opportunities of measuring +the perversities of popular repute. Later on, in the heyday of his +renown, he chaffed its critical dispensers in his most uproarious vein +in <i>Pacchiarotto</i>. The <i>Popularity</i> stanzas present us with a +theory of it conveyed in that familiar manner of mingled poetry and +grotesqueness which was one of the obstacles to his own.</p> + +<p>There is, however, among these fifty men and women one true and +sublime poet,—the dying "Grammarian," who applies the alchemy of a +lofty imagination to the dry business of verbal erudition.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"He said, 'What's time? Leave Now for dogs and + apes!<br /> + <span class="in4">Man has Forever.'"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">This is one of the half-dozen lyrics which enshrine +in noble and absolutely individual form the central core of Browning's +passion and thought. Even the verse, with its sequence of smooth-flowing +iambics broken by the leap of the dactyl, and the difficult double rhyme, +sustains the mood of victorious but not lightly won serenity of +soul—"too full for sound and foam." It is, among songs over the +dead, what <i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i> and <i>Prospice</i> are among the songs +which face and grapple with death; the fittest requiem to follow such +deaths as <a name="page110" id="page110">those.</a> Like Ben Ezra, the +Grammarian "trusts death," and stakes his life on the trust:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"He ventured neck or nothing—heaven's + success<br /> + <span class="in4">Found, or earth's failure:</span><br /> + 'Wilt thou trust death or not?' He answered, 'Yes:<br /> + <span class="in4">Hence with life's pale lure!'"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">To ordinary eyes he spends his days grovelling among +the dust and dregs of erudition; but it is the grovelling of a builder +at work upon a fabric so colossally planned that life is fitly spent in +laying the foundations. He was made in the large mould of the +gods,—born with "thy face and throat, Lyric Apollo,"—and the +disease which crippled and silenced him in middle life could only alter +the tasks on which he wreaked his mind. And now that he is dead, he +passes, as by right, to the fellowship of the universe—of the +sublime things of nature.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Here—here's his place, where meteors shoot, + clouds form,<br /> + <span class="in3">Lightnings are loosened,</span><br /> + Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm,<br /> + <span class="in3">Peace let the dew send!</span><br /> + Lofty designs must close in like effects:<br /> + <span class="in3">Loftily lying,</span><br /> + Leave him—still loftier than the world suspects,<br /> + <span class="in3">Living and dying."</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>VI.</h3> + +<p><i>The Grammarian's Funeral</i> achieves, in the terms and with the +resources of Browning's art, the problem of which he saw the consummate +master in Shelley,—that <a name="page111" id="page111">of</a> +throwing "films" for the connexion of Power and Love in the abstract +with Beauty and Good in the concrete, and finding a link +between the lowliest service or worship and the spirit of God. Such a +conception of a poet's crowning glory implied a peculiarly close +relation in Browning's view between poetry and religion, and in +particular with the religion which, above all others, glorified the +lowly. Here lay, in short, the supreme worth for him of the Christian +idea. "The revelation of God in Christ" was for him the consummate +example of that union of divine love with the world—"through all +the web of Being blindly wove"—which Shelley had contemplated in +the radiant glow of his poetry; accepted by the reason, as he wrote a few +years later, it solved "all problems in the earth and out of it." To +that solution Shelley seemed to Browning to be on the way, and his +incomplete grasp of it appealed to him more powerfully than did the +elaborate dogmatisms professedly based upon it. Shelley had mistaken +"Churchdom" for Christianity; but he was on the way, Browning was +convinced, to become a Christian himself. "I shall say what I +think,—had Shelley lived he would have finally ranged himself with +the Christians."</p> + +<p>This emphatic declaration is of great importance for Browning's +intellectual history. He may have overlooked the immense barriers which +must have always divided Shelley from the Christian world of his time; +he may have overlooked also that the Christian thought <a name="page112" +id="page112">of</a> our time has in some important points "ranged itself +with" Shelley; so that the Christianity which he might finally have +adopted would have been sufficiently unlike that which he assailed. But +it is clear that for Browning himself the essence of Christianity lay at +this time in something not very remote from what he revered as the +essence of Shelleyism—a corollary, as it were, ultimately implicit +in his thought.</p> + +<p>It was thus a deeper poetical rather than a religious or doctrinal +interest which drew Browning in these Italian years, again and again to +seek his revealing experiences of souls amid the eddies and convulsions, +the exultations and the agonies, brought into the world by the amazing +"revelation of God in Christ." It is true that we nowhere approach this +focus of interest, that we have no glimpse, through Browning's art, how +that "revelation" shaped itself in the first disciples, far less of +Christ himself. But that was at no time Browning's way of bringing to +expression what he deeply cared for. He would not trumpet forth truth in +his own person, or blazon it through the lips of the highest recognised +authority; he let it struggle up through the baffling density, or +glimmer through the conflicting persuasions of alien minds, and break +out in cries of angry wonder or involuntary recognition. And nowhere is +this method carried further than in the Christian poems of the Italian +time. The supreme musicians and painters he avoids, but Fra Lippo Lippi +<a name="page113" id="page113">and</a> Master Hugues belong at least to +the crafts whose secrets they expound; while the Christian idea is set +in a borrowed light caught from the souls of men outside the Christian +world—an Arab physician, a Greek poet, a Jewish shepherd or rabbi, +or from Christians yet farther from the centre than these, like Blougram +and the Abbe Deodaet. In method as in conception these pieces are among +the most Browningesque things that Browning ever wrote. It is clear, +however, that while his way of handling these topics is absolutely his +own, his peculiar concern with them is new. The <i>Karshish</i>, the +<i>Clean</i>, and the <i>Blougram</i> have no prototype or parallel +among the poems of Browning's previous periods. In the early Dramatic +Lyrics and Romances, and in the plays, there is exquisite rendering of +religion, and also of irreligion; but the religion is just the simple +faith of Pippa or of Theocrite that "God's in his world"; and the +irreligion is the Humanist paganism of St Praxed's, not so much hostile +to Christianity as unconscious of it. No single poem written before 1850 +shows that acute interest in the problems of Christian faith which +constantly emerges in the work of this and the following years. +<i>Saul</i>, which might be regarded as signally refuting this view, +strikingly confirms it; the David of the first nine sections, which +alone were produced in 1845, being the naïve, devout child, brother of +Pippa and of Theocrite; the evolution of this harping shepherd-boy into +the illuminated prophet of Christ <a name="page114" id="page114">was</a> +the splendid achievement of the later years.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref33" id="fnref33" href="#fn33">[33]</a></span> And to all this +more acutely Christian work the <i>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</i> +(1850) served as a significant prologue.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn33" id="fn33" href="#fnref33">[33]</a></span> +It is, indeed, clear, as has been seen, from Browning's +correspondence that a sequel of this kind was intended when the first +nine sections were published. The traditional legend of David would in +any case suggest so much. That the intention was not then executed is +just the significant fact. +</div> + +<p>There can be little doubt that the devout Christian faith of his wife +was principally concerned in this new direction of his poetry. Yet we +may easily overstate both the nature of her influence and its extent. +She, as little as he, was a dogmatic Christian; both refused to put on, +in her phrase, "any of the liveries of the sects."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref34" id="fnref34" href="#fn34">[34]</a></span> +"The truth, as God sees it, must be something so different from these +opinions about truth.... I believe in what is divine and floats at +highest, in all these different theologies,—and because the really +Divine draws together souls, and tends so to a unity, could pray +anywhere and with all sorts of worshippers, from the Sistine chapel to +Mr Fox's, those kneeling and those standing."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref35" id="fnref35" href="#fn35">[35]</a></span> +Yet she demurs, a little farther on in the same letter, to both these +extremes. "The Unitarians seem to me to throw over what is most +beautiful in the Christian Doctrine; but the Formulists, on the other +side, stir up a dust, in which it appears excusable not to see." To +which he replies (Aug. 17): "Dearest, I know your very meaning, in what +you said of religion, <a name="page115" id="page115">and</a> responded +to it with my whole soul—what you express now is for us both, +... those are my own feelings, my convictions beside—instinct +confirmed by reason."</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn34" id="fn34" href="#fnref34">[34]</a></span> +<i>E.B.B. to R.B.</i>, 15th Aug. 1846. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn35" id="fn35" href="#fnref35">[35]</a></span> +Ib. +</div> + +<p>These words of Browning's seem to furnish the clue to the relation +between their minds in this matter. Their intercourse disturbed no +conviction on either side, for their convictions were identical. But her +intense personal devoutness undoubtedly quickened what was personal in +his belief, drew it into an atmosphere of keener and more emotional +consciousness, and in particular gave to that "revelation of God in +Christ" which they both regarded as what was "most beautiful in the +Christian doctrine," a more vital hold upon his intellectual and +imaginative life. In this sense, but only in this sense, his fervid +words to her (February 1846)—"I mean to ... let my mind get used +to its new medium of sight, seeing all things as it does through you; +and then let all I have done be the prelude and the real work +begin"—were not unfulfilled. No deep hiatus, such as this phrase +suggests, divides the later, as a whole, from the earlier work: the +"dramatic" method, which was among the elements of his art most foreign +to her lyric nature, established itself more and more firmly in his +practice. But the letters of 1845-46 show that her example was +stimulating him to attempt a more direct and personal utterance in +poetry, and while he did not succeed, or succeeded only "once and for +one only," in evading his dramatic bias, he certainly +<a name="page116" id="page116">succeeded</a> in making the dramatic +form more eloquently expressive of his personal faith.</p> + +<p>This was peculiarly the case in the remarkable <i>Christmas-Eve and +Easter-Day</i> (1850), the first-fruits of his married life, and the most +instinct of all his poems with the mingled literary and religious +influences which it brought. The influence of the ardent singer, which +impelled him to fuller self-expression, here concurred with that of the +devout but undogmatic Christian, which drew the problem of Christianity +nearer to the focus of his imagination and his thought. There is much +throughout which suggests that Browning was deliberately putting off the +habits and usages of his art, and reaching out this way and that towards +untried sources and avenues of expression. He lays hold for the first +time of the machinery of supernatural vision. Nothing that he had yet +done approached in boldness these Christmas and Easter apparitions of +the Lord of Love. They break in, unheralded, a startling but splendid +anomaly, upon his human and actual world. And the really notable thing +is that never had he drawn human actuality with so remorseless and even +brutal fidelity as just here. He seeks no legendary scene and atmosphere +like that of Theocrite's Rome, in which the angels who come and go, and +God who enjoys his "little human praise," would be missed if they were +not there; but opens the visions of the Empyrean upon modern Camberwell. +The pages in which Browning might seem, for once, to vie with the author +of the Apocalypse <a name="page117" id="page117">are</a> interleaved +with others in which, for once, he seems to vie with Balzac or Zola. Of +course this is intensely characteristic of Browning. The quickened +spiritual pulse which these poems betoken betrays itself just in his +more daringly assured embrace of the heights and the depths of the +universe, as communicating and akin, prompting also that not less daring +embrace of the extremes of expression,—sublime imagery and +rollicking rhymes,—as equally genuine utterances of spiritual +fervour,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"When frothy spume and frequent sputter<br /> + Prove that the soul's depths boil in earnest."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">These lines, and the great Shelleyan declaration +that</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"A loving worm within its clod<br /> + Were diviner than a loveless God,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">are the key to both poems, but peculiarly to the +<i>Christmas-Day,</i> in which they occur. We need not in any wise +identify Browning with the Christmas-Day visionary; but it is clear that +what is "dramatic" in him exfoliates, as it were, from a root of +character and thought which are altogether Browning's own. Browning is +apparent in the vivacious critic and satirist of religious +extravagances, standing a little aloof from all the constituted +religions; but he is apparent also in the imaginative and sympathetic +student of religion, who divines the informing spark of love in all +sincere worship; and however far he may have been from putting forward +the little conventicle with its ruins of humanity, +<a name="page118" id="page118">its</a> soul at struggle with insanity, +as his own final choice, that choice symbolised in a picturesque +half-humorous way his own profound preference for the spiritual good +which is hardly won. He makes the speaker choose the "earthen vessel" in +spite of its "taints of earth," because it brimmed with spiritual water; +but in Browning himself there was something which relished the spiritual +water the more because the earthen vessel was flawed.</p> + +<p>Like <i>Christmas-Eve</i>, <i>Easter-Day</i> is a dramatic +study,—profound convictions of the poet's own being projected as +it were through forms of religious consciousness perceptibly more +angular and dogmatically defined than his own. The main speaker is +plainly not identical with the narrator of <i>Christmas-Eve,</i> who is +incidentally referred to as "our friend." Their first beliefs may be +much alike, but in the temper of their belief they differ widely. The +speaker in <i>Christmas-Eve</i> is a genial if caustic observer, +submitting with robust tolerance to the specks in the water which +quenches his thirst; the speaker of <i>Easter-Day</i> is an anxious +precisian, fearful of the contamination of earth, and hoping that he may +"yet escape" the doom of too facile content. The problem of the one is, +what to believe; the problem of the other, how to believe; and each is +helped towards a solution by a vision of divine love. But the Easter-Day +Vision conveys a sterner message than that of <i>Christmas-Eve</i>. Love +now illuminates, not by enlarging sympathy and disclosing the hidden +soul of good in <a name="page119" id="page119">error</a>, but by +suppressing sympathies too diffusely and expansively bestowed. The +Christmas Vision makes humanity seem more divine; the Easter Vision +makes the divine seem less human. The hypersensitive moral nature of the +Easter-Day speaker, on the other hand, sees his own criminal darkness of +heart and mind before all else, and the divine visitation becomes a Last +Judgment, with the fierce vindictive red of the Northern Lights +replacing the mild glory of the lunar rainbows, and a stern and scornful +cross-examination the silent swift convoy of the winged robe. This +difference of temper is vividly expressed in the style. The rollicking +rhymes, the "spume and sputter" of the fervent soul, give place to a +manner of sustained seriousness and lyric beauty.</p> + +<p>Yet the Easter-Day speaker probes deeper and raises more fundamental +issues. When the form of Christian belief to be adopted has been +settled, a certain class of believing minds, not the least estimable, +will still remain restive. Browning of all men felt impatient of every +nominal belief held as unassimilated material, not welded into the +living substance of character; and he makes his Easter-Day visionary +confound with withering irony the "faith" which seeks assurance in +outward "evidence,"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in7">"'Tis found,</span><br /> + No doubt: as is your sort of mind,<br /> + So is your sort of search: you'll find<br /> + What you desire."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Still less mercy has he for the dogmatic voluptuary +who <a name="page120" id="page120">complacently</a> assumes the +"all-stupendous tale" of Christianity to have been enacted</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in3">"to give our joys a zest,</span><br /> + And prove our sorrows for the best."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Upon these complacent materialisms and epicureanisms +of the religious character falls the scorching splendour of the Easter +Vision, with its ruthless condemnation of whatever is not glorified by +Love, passing over into the uplifting counter—affirmation, +indispensable to Browning's optimism, that—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"All thou dost enumerate</span><br /> + Of power and beauty in the world<br /> + The mightiness of Love was curled<br /> + Inextricably round about."</p> +</div> + +<p>With all their nobility of feeling, and frequent splendour of +description, these twin poems cannot claim a place in Browning's work at +all corresponding to the seriousness with which he put them forward, and +the imposing imaginative apparatus called in. The strong personal +conviction which seems to have been striving for direct utterance, +checked without perfectly mastering his dramatic instincts and +habitudes, resulting in a beautiful but indecisive poetry which lacks +both the frankness of a personal deliverance and the plasticity of a +work of art. The speakers can neither be identified with the poet nor +detached from him; they are neither his mouthpieces nor his creations. +The daring supernaturalism seems to indicate that the old spell of +Dante, so keenly felt in the <i>Sordello</i> days, had been +<a name="page121" id="page121">wrought</a> to new +potency by the magic of the life in Dante's Florence, and the subtler +magic of the love which he was presently to compare not obscurely to +that of Dante for Beatrice.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref36" +id="fnref36" href="#fn36">[36]</a></span> The divine apparitions have +the ironic hauteurs and sarcasms of Beatrice in the <i>Paradise</i>. Yet +the comparison brings into glaring prominence the radical incoherence of +Browning's presentment. In Dante's world all the wonders that he +describes seem to be in place; but the Christmas and Easter Visions are +felt as intrusive anachronisms in modern London, where the divinest +influences are not those which become palpable in visions, but those +which work through heart and brain.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn36" id="fn36" href="#fnref36">[36]</a></span> +<i>One Word More</i>. +</div> + +<p>Browning probably felt this, for the <i>Christmas-Eve and +Easter-Day</i> stands in this respect alone in his work. But the idea of +Christ as the sign and symbol of the love which penetrates the universe +lost none of its hold upon his imagination; and it inspired some of the +greatest achievements of the <i>Men and Women</i>. It was under this +impulse that he now, at some time during the early Italian years, +completed the splendid torso of <i>Saul</i>. David's Vision of the +Christ that is to be has as little apparent relation to the quiet +pastoralism of the earlier stanzas as the Easter Vision to the +common-sense reflections that preceded it. But while this Vision +abruptly bursts upon him, David's is the final conquest of his own +ardent intellect, under the impulse of a great human task which lifts it +beyond its experience, and <a name="page122" id="page122">calls</a> out +all its powers. David is occupied with no speculative question, but with +the practical problem of saving a ruined soul; and neither logical +ingenuity nor divine suggestion, but the inherent spiritual significance +of the situation, urges his thought along the lonely path of prophecy. +The love for the old king, which prompts him to try all the hidden paths +of his soul in quest of healing, becomes a lighted torch by which he +tracks out the meaning of the world and the still unrevealed purposes of +God; until the energy of thought culminates in vision, and the Christ +stands full before his eyes. All that is supernatural in the <i>Saul</i> +is viewed through the fervid atmosphere of David's soul. The magic of the +wonderful Nocturne at the close, where he feels his way home through the +appalled and serried gloom, is broken by no apparition; the whole earth +is alive and awake around him, and thrills to the quickening inrush of +the "new land"; but its light is the tingling emotion of the stars, and +its voice the cry of the little brooks; and the thronging cohorts of +angels and powers are unuttered and unseen.</p> + +<p>Only less beautiful than Browning's pictures of spiritual childhood +are his pictures of spiritual maturity and old age. The lyric simplicity, +the naïve intensity which bear a David, a Pippa, a Pompilia without +effort into the region of the highest spiritual vision, appealed less +fully to his imagination than the more complex and embarrassed processes +through which riper minds forge their way towards the completed insight +of a Rabbi ben <a name="page123" id="page123">Ezra</a>. In this sense, +the great song of David has a counterpart in the subtle dramatic study +of the Arab physician Karshish. He also is startled into discovery by a +unique experience. But where David is lifted on and on by a continuous +tide of illuminating thought, perfectly new and strange, but to which +nothing in him opposes the semblance of resistance, Karshish feels only +a mysterious attraction, which he hardly confesses, and which all the +intellectual habits and convictions of a life given up to study and +thought seem to gainsay. No touch of worldly motive belongs to either. +The shepherd-boy is not more single-souled than this devoted "picker up +of learning's crumbs," who makes nothing of perilous and toilsome +journeys for the sake of his art, who is threatened by hungry wild +beasts, stripped and beaten by robbers, arrested as a spy. At every step +his quick scrutiny is rewarded by the discovery of some new drug, +mineral, or herb,—"things of price"—"blue +flowering borage, the Aleppo sort," or "Judaea's gum-tragacanth." But +Karshish has much of the temper of Browning himself: these +technicalities are the garb of a deep underlying mysticism. This man's +flesh so admirably made by God is yet but the earthly prison for "that +puff of vapour from his mouth, man's soul." The case of Lazarus, though +at once, as a matter of course, referred to the recognised medical +categories, yet strangely puzzles and arrests him, with a fascination +that will not be put by. This abstracted docile man of perfect physical +vigour, who heeds the approach of <a name="page124" id="page124">the</a> +Roman avenger as he would the passing of a woman with gourds by the way, +and is yet no fool, who seems apathetic and yet loves the very brutes +and the flowers of the field,—compels his scrutiny, as a +phenomenon of soul, and it is with the eye of a psychological idealist +rather than of a physician that he interprets him:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"He holds on firmly to some thread of + life— ...<br /> + Which runs across some vast distracting orb<br /> + Of glory on either side that meagre thread,<br /> + Which, conscious of, he must not enter yet—<br /> + The spiritual life around the earthly life:<br /> + The law of that is known to him as this,<br /> + His heart and brain move there, his feet stay here.<br /> + So is the man perplext with impulses<br /> + Sudden to start off crosswise, not straight on,<br /> + Proclaiming what is right and wrong across,<br /> + And not along, this black thread through the blaze—<br /> + 'It should be' baulked by 'here it cannot be.'"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Lazarus stands where Paracelsus conceived that he +himself stood: he "knows God's secret while he holds the thread of +life"; he lives in the glare of absolute knowledge, an implicit +criticism of the Paracelsian endeavour to let in upon men the searing +splendour of the unclouded day. To Karshish, however, these very +embarrassments—so unlike the knowing cleverness of the spiritual +charlatan—make it credible that Lazarus is indeed no oriental +Sludge, but one who has verily seen God. But then came the terrible +crux,—the pretension, intolerable to Semitic monotheism, that God +had been embodied in a man. The words scorch the paper as he writes, +and, like Ferishtah, he will not repeat them. <a name="page125" +id="page125">Yet</a> he cannot escape the spell of the witness, and the +strange thought clings tenaciously to him, defying all the evasive +shifts of a trained mind, and suddenly overmastering him when his +concern with it seems finally at an end—when his letter is +finished, pardon asked, and farewell said—in that great outburst, +startling and unforeseen yet not incredible:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think?<br /> + So, the All-Great were the All-Loving too,—<br /> + So, through the thunder comes a human voice<br /> + Saying, 'O heart I made, a heart beats here!'<br /> + Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">That words like these, intensely Johannine in +conception, should seem to start naturally from a mind which just before +has shrunk in horror from the idea of an approximation between God and +that which He fashioned, is an extraordinary <i>tour de force</i> of +dramatic portraiture. Among the minor traits which contribute to it is +one of a kind to which Browning rarely resorts. The "awe" which invests +Lazarus is heightened by a mystic setting of landscape. The visionary +scene of his first meeting with Karshish, though altogether +Browningesque in detail, is Wordsworthian in its mysterious effect upon +personality:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I crossed a ridge of short, sharp, broken + hills<br /> + Like an old lion's cheek teeth. Out there came<br /> + A moon made like a face with certain spots<br /> + Multiform, manifold and menacing:<br /> + Then a wind rose behind me."</p> +</div> + +<a name="page126" id="page126"></a> +<p>A less formidable problem is handled in the companion study of +<i>Cleon</i>. The Greek mind fascinated Browning, though most of his +renderings of it have the savour of a salt not gathered in Attica, and +his choice of types shows a strong personal bias. From the heroic and +majestic elder art of Greece he turns with pronounced preference to +Euripides the human and the positive, with his facile and versatile +intellect, his agile criticism, and his "warm tears." It is somewhat +along these lines that he has conceived his Greek poet of the days of +Karshish, confronted, like the Arab doctor, with the "new thing." As +Karshish is at heart a spiritual idealist, for all his preoccupation +with drugs and stones, so Cleon, a past-master of poetry and painting, +is among the most positive and worldly-wise of men. He looks back over a +life scored with literary triumphs, as Karshish over his crumbs of +learning gathered at the cost of blows and obloquy. But while Karshish +has the true scholar's dispassionate and self-effacing thirst for +knowledge, Cleon measures his achievements with the insight of an +epicurean artist. He gathers in luxuriously the incense of universal +applause,—his epos inscribed on golden plates, his songs rising +from every fishing-bark at nightfall,—and wistfully contrasts the +vast range of delights which as an artist he imagines, with the limited +pleasures which as a man he enjoys. The magnificent symmetry, the +rounded completeness of his life, suffer a serious deduction here, and +his Greek sense of harmony suffers offence as well as his human hunger +for joy. He <a name="page127" id="page127">is</a> a thorough realist, +and finds no satisfaction in contemplating what he may not possess. Art +itself suffers disparagement, as heightening this vain capacity of +contemplation:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I know the joy of kingship: well, thou art + king!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">With great ingenuity this Greek realism is made the +stepping-stone to a conception of immortality as un-Greek as that of the +Incarnation is un-Semitic. Karshish shrank intuitively from a conception +which fascinated while it awed; to Cleon a future state in which joy and +capability will be brought again to equality seems a most plausible +supposition, which he only rejects with a sigh for lack of outer +evidence:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Zeus has not yet revealed it; and alas,<br /> + He must have done so, were it possible!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The little vignette in the opening lines finely +symbolises the brilliant Greek decadence, as does the closing picture in +Karshish the mystic dawn of the Earth. Here the portico, flooded with +the glory of a sun about to set, profusely heaped with treasures of art; +there the naked uplands of Palestine, and the moon rising over jagged +hills in a wind-swept sky.</p> + +<p>In was in such grave <i>adagio</i> notes as these that Browning chose +to set forth the "intimations of immortality" in the meditative wisdom +and humanity of heathendom. The after-fortunes of the Christian legend, +on the other hand, and the naïve ferocities and fantasticalities of the +medieval world provoked him rather to <a name="page128" +id="page128"><i>scherzo</i></a>,—audacious and inimitable +<i>scherzo</i>, riotously grotesque on the surface, but with a +grotesqueness so penetrated and informed by passion that it becomes +sublime. <i>Holy-Cross Day</i> and <i>The Heretic's Tragedy </i> both +culminate, like <i>Karshish</i> and <i>Clean</i>, in a glimpse of +Christ. But here, instead of being approached through stately avenues of +meditation, it is wrung from the grim tragedy of persecution and +martyrdom. The Jews, packed like rats to hear the sermon, mutter under +their breath the sublime song of Ben Ezra, one of the most poignant +indictments of Christianity in the name of Christ ever conceived:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"We withstood Christ then? Be mindful how<br /> + At least we withstand Barabbas now!<br /> + Was our outrage sore? But the worst we spared,<br /> + To have called these—Christians, had we dared!<br /> + Let defiance of them pay mistrust of Thee,<br /> + And Rome make amends for Calvary!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And John of Molay, as he burns in Paris Square, +cries upon "the Name he had cursed with all his life." The +<i>Tragedy</i> stands alone in literature; Browning has written nothing +more original. Its singularity springs mainly from a characteristic and +wonderfully successful attempt to render several planes of emotion and +animus through the same tale. The "singer" looks on at the burning, the +very embodiment of the robust, savagely genial spectator, with a keen +eye for all the sporting-points in the exhibition,—noting that the +fagots are piled to the right height and are of the right quality—</p> + +<a name="page129" id="page129"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Good sappy bavins that kindle forthwith, ...<br /> + <span class="in1">Larch-heart that chars to a chalk-white glow:"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and when the torch is clapt-to and he has "leapt +back safe," poking jests and gibes at the victim. But through this +distorting medium we see the soul of John himself, like a gleam-lit +landscape through the whirl of a storm; a strange weird sinister thing, +glimmering in a dubious light between the blasphemer we half see in him +with the singer's eyes and the saint we half descry with our own. Of +explicit pathos there is not a touch. Yet how subtly the inner pathos +and the outward scorn are fused in the imagery of these last stanzas:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ha, ha, John plucketh now at his rose<br /> + <span class="in1">To rid himself of a sorrow at heart!</span><br /> + Lo,—petal on petal, fierce rays unclose;<br /> + <span class="in1">Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart;</span><br /> + And with blood for dew, the bosom boils;<br /> + <span class="in1">And a gust of sulphur is all its smell;</span><br /> + And lo, he is horribly in the toils<br /> + <span class="in1">Of a coal-black giant flower of hell!</span></p> + + <p class="noindent">So, as John called now, through the fire amain,<br /> + <span class="in1">On the Name, he had cursed with, all his + life—</span><br /> + To the Person, he bought and sold again—<br /> + <span class="in1">For the Face, with his daily buffets + rife—</span><br /> + Feature by feature It took its place:<br /> + <span class="in1">And his voice, like a mad dog's choking + bark,</span><br /> + At the steady whole of the Judge's face—<br /> + <span class="in1">Died. Forth John's soul flared into the dark."</span></p> +</div> + +<p>None of these dramatic studies of Christianity attracted so lively an +interest as <i>Bishop Blougram's Apology.</i> It was "actual" beyond +anything he had yet <a name="page130" id="page130">done</a>; it +portrayed under the thinnest of veils an illustrious Catholic prelate +familiar in London society; it could be enjoyed with little or no +feeling for poetry; and it was amazingly clever. Even Tennyson, his +loyal friend but unwilling reader, excepted it, on the last ground, from +his slighting judgment upon <i>Men and Women</i> at large. The figure of +Blougram, no less than his discourse, was virtually new in Browning, and +could have come from him at no earlier time. He is foreshadowed, no +doubt, by a series of those accomplished mundane ecclesiastics whom +Browning at all times drew with so keen a zest,—by Ogniben, the +bishop in <i>Pippa Passes,</i> the bishop of St Praxed's. But mundane as +he is, he bears the mark of that sense of the urgency of the Christian +problem which since <i>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</i> had so largely +and variously coloured Browning's work. It occurred to none of those +worldly bishops to justify their worldliness,—it was far too +deeply ingrained for that. But Blougram's brilliant defence, enormously +disproportioned as it is to the insignificance of the attack, marks his +tacit recognition of loftier ideals than he professes. Like Cleon, he +bears involuntary witness to what he repudiates.</p> + +<p>But there is much more in Blougram than this. The imposing personality +of Wiseman contained much to attract and conciliate a poet like +Browning, whose visionary idealism went along with so unaffected a +relish for the world and the talents which succeed there. A great +spiritual ruler, performing with congenial ease the +<a name="page131" id="page131">enormous</a> and varied +functions of his office, and with intellectual resources, when they were +discharged, to win distinction in scholarship, at chess, in society, +appealed powerfully to Browning's congenital delight in all strong and +vivid life. He was a great athlete, who had completely mastered his +circumstances and shaped his life to his will. Opposed to a man of this +varied and brilliant achievement, an ineffectual dilettante appeared a +sorry creature enough; and Browning, far from taking his part and +putting in his craven mouth the burning retorts which the reader in vain +expects, makes him play helplessly with olive-stones while the great +bishop rolls him out his mind, and then, as one cured and confuted, +betake himself to the life of humbler practical activity and social +service.</p> + +<p>It is plain that the actual Blougram offered tempting points of +contact with that strenuous ideal of life which he was later to preach +through the lips of "Rabbi ben Ezra." Even what was most problematic in +him, his apparently sincere profession of an outworn creed, suggested the +difficult feat of a gymnast balancing on a narrow edge, or forcibly +holding his unbelief in check,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Kept quiet like the snake 'neath Michael's foot,<br /> + Who stands calm just because he feels it writhe."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But Browning marks clearly the element both of +self-deception and deliberate masquerade in Blougram's defence. He made +him "say right things and call them by wrong names." The intellectual +athlete in him went out to the intellectual athlete in the other, and +rejoiced in <a name="page132" id="page132">every</a> equation he seemed +to establish. He played, and made Blougram play, upon the elusive +resemblance between the calm of effortless mastery and that of hardly +won control.</p> + +<p>The rich and varied poetry reviewed in the last three sections +occupies less than half of <i>Men and Women</i>, and leaves the second +half of the title unexplained. In that richer emotional atmosphere which +breathes from every line of his Italian work, the profound fulfilment of +his spiritual needs which he found in his home was the most vital and +potent element. His imaginative grasp of every kind of spiritual energy, +of every "incident of soul," was deepened by his new but incessant and +unqualified experience of love. His poetry focussed itself more +persistently than ever about those creative energies akin to love, of +which art in the fullest sense is the embodiment, and religion the +recognition. It would have been strange if the special form of +love-experience to which the quickening thrill was due had remained +untouched by it. In fact, however, the title of the volume is +significant as well as accurate; for Browning's poetry of the love +between men and women may be said, save for a few simple though +exquisite earlier notes, to begin with it.</p> + +<h3>VII.</h3> + +<p>The love-poetry of the <i>Men and Women</i> volumes, as originally +published, was the most abundant and various, if not the most striking, +part of its contents. It was almost entirely transferred, in the +collected edition of <a name="page133" id="page133">his</a> Poems issued +in 1863, to other rubrics, to the <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>, of which it +now forms the great bulk, and to the <i>Dramatic Romances</i>. But of +Browning's original "fifty men and women," nearly half were lovers or +occupied with love. Such fertility was natural enough in the first years +of a supremely happy marriage, crowning an early manhood in which love +of any kind had, for better or worse, played hardly any part at all. Yet +almost nothing in these beautiful and often brilliant lyrics is in any +strict sense personal. The biographer who searches them +for traits quivering with intimate experience searches all but in vain. +Browning's own single and supreme passion touched no fountain of song, +such as love sets flowing in most poets and in many who are not poets: +even the memorable months of 1845-46 provoked no Sonnets "<i>to</i> the +Portuguese." His personal story impresses itself upon his poetry only +through the preoccupation which it induces with the love-stories of +other people, mostly quite unlike his own. The white light of his own +perfect union broke from that prismatic intellect of his in a poetry +brilliant with almost every other hue. No English poet of his century, +and few of any other, have made love seem so wonderful; but he +habitually takes this wonder bruised and jostled in the grip of +thwarting conditions. In his way of approaching love Browning strangely +blends the mystic's exaltation with the psychologist's cool penetrating +scrutiny of its accompanying phenomena, its favourable or impeding +conditions. The keen analytic accent of Paracelsus mingles with the +ecstatic unearthly <a name="page134" id="page134">note</a> of Shelley. +"Love is all" might have served as the text for the whole volume of +Browning's love-poetry; but the text is wrought out with an amazingly +acute vision for all the things which are not love. "Love triumphing +over the world" might have been the motto for most of the love-poems in +<i>Men and Women</i>; but some would have had to be assigned to the +opposite rubric, "The world triumphing over love." Sometimes Love's +triumph is, for Browning, the rapture of complete union, for which all +outer things exist only by subduing themselves to its mood and taking +its hue; sometimes it is the more ascetic and spiritual triumph of an +unrequited lover in the lonely glory of his love.</p> + +<p>The triumph of Browning's united lovers has often a superb Elizabethan +note of defiance. Passion obliterates for them the past and throws a +mystically hued veil over Nature. The gentle Romantic sentiments hardly +touch the fresh springs of their emotion. They may meet and woo "among +the ruins," as Coleridge met and wooed his Genevieve "beside the ruined +tower"; but their song does not, like his, "suit well that ruin old and +hoary," but, on the contrary, tramples with gay scorn upon the lingering +memories of the ruined city,—a faded pageant yoked to its triumphal +car.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!<br /> + <span class="in4">Earth's returns</span><br /> + For whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin!<br /> + <span class="in4">Shut them in,</span><br /> + With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!<br /> + <span class="in4">Love is best."</span></p> +</div> + +<a name="page135" id="page135"></a> +<p class="noindent">Another lover, in <i>My Star</i>, pours lyric +disdain upon his friends for whose purblind common-sense vision the star +which to him "dartled red and blue," now a bird, now a flower, was +just—a star. More finely touched than either of these is <i>By the +Fireside</i>. After <i>One Word More</i>, to which it is obviously akin, +it is Browning's most perfect rendering of the luminous inner world, +all-sufficing and self-contained, of a rapturous love. The outer world +is here neither thrust aside nor fantastically varied; it is drawn into +the inner world by taking its hue and becoming the confidant and +executant of its will. A landscape so instinct with the hushed awe of +expectation and with a mystic tenderness is hardly to be found elsewhere +save in <i>Christabel</i>,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"We two stood there with never a third,<br /> + <span class="in1">But each by each, as each knew well:</span><br /> + The sights we saw and the sounds we heard,<br /> + <span class="in1">The lights and the shades made up a spell,</span><br /> + Till the trouble grew and stirred.</p> + + <p>. . . . . . . . . .</p> + + <p class="noindent">A moment after, and hands unseen<br /> + <span class="in1">Were hanging the night around us fast;</span><br /> + But we knew that a bar was broken between<br /> + <span class="in1">Life and life: we were mixed at last</span><br /> + In spite of the mortal screen.</p> + + <p class="noindent">The forests had done it; there they stood;<br /> + <span class="in1">We caught for a moment the powers at play:</span><br /> + They had mingled us so, for once and good,<br /> + <span class="in1">Their work was done—we might go or stay,</span><br /> + They relapsed to their ancient mood."</p> +</div> + +<a name="page136" id="page136"></a> +<p class="noindent"><i>By the Fireside</i> is otherwise memorable as +portraying with whatever disguise the Italian home-life of the poet and +his wife. The famous description of "the perfect wife" as she sat</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Musing by firelight, that great brow<br /> + <span class="in1">And the spirit-small hand propping it,</span><br /> + Yonder, my heart knows how"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">remain among the most living portraitures of that +exquisite but fragile form. Yet neither here nor elsewhere did Browning +care to dwell upon the finished completeness of the perfect union. His +intellectual thirst for the problematic, and his ethical thirst for the +incomplete, combined to hurry him away to the moments of suspense, big +with undecided or unfulfilled fate. The lover among the ruins is +awaiting his mistress; the rapturous expectancy of another waiting lover +is sung in <i>In Three Days</i>. And from the fireside the poet wanders +in thought from that highest height of love which he has won to the +mystic hour before he won it, when the elements out of which his fate +was to be resolved still hung apart, awaiting the magical touch, which +might never be given:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Oh moment, one and infinite!<br /> + <span class="in1">The water slips o'er stock and stone;</span><br /> + The West is tender, hardly bright:<br /> + <span class="in1">How grey at once is the evening grown—</span><br /> + One star, its chrysolite!</p> + + <p>. . . . . . . . . .</p> + +<a name="page137" id="page137"></a> + <p class="noindent">Oh, the little more, and how much it is!<br /> + <span class="in1">And the little less, and what worlds away!</span><br /> + How a sound shall quicken content to bliss,<br /> + <span class="in1">Or a breath suspend the blood's best play,</span><br /> + And life be a proof of this!"</p> +</div> + +<p>But the poet who lingered over these moments of suspended fate did not +usually choose the harmonious solution of them. The "little less" of +incomplete response might "suspend the breath" of the lover, but it was +an inexhaustible inspiration to the poet. It provokes, for instance, the +delicate symbolism of the twin lyrics <i>Love in a Life</i> and <i>Life +in a Love</i>, variations on the same theme—vain pursuit of the +averted face—the one a <i>largo</i>, sad, persistent, dreamily +hopeless; the other impetuous, resolute, glad. The dreamier mood is +elaborated in the <i>Serenade at the Villa</i> and <i>One Way of +Love</i>. A few superbly imaginative phrases bring the Italian summer +night about us, sultry, storm-shot, starless, still,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Life was dead, and so was light."</p> +</div> + +<p>The Serenader himself is no child of Italy but a meditative Teuton, +who, Hamlet-like, composes for his mistress the answer which he would not +have her give. The lover in <i>One Way of Love</i> is something of a +Teuton too, and has thoughts which break the vehemence of the impact of +his fate. But there is a first moment when he gasps and knits himself +closer to endure—admirably expressed in the sudden change to a +brief trochaic verse; then the grim mood is dissolved in a +<a name="page138" id="page138">momentary</a> ecstasy of remembrance or +of idea—and the verse, too, unfolds and releases itself +in sympathy:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"She will not hear my music? So!<br /> + <span class="in1">Break the string; fold music's wing;</span><br /> + Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Or, instead of this systole and diastole +alternation, the glory and the pang are fused and interpenetrated in a +continuous mood. Such a mood furnishes the spiritual woof of one of +Browning's most consummate and one of his loveliest lyrics, <i>The Last +Ride Together</i> and <i>Evelyn Hope</i>. "How are we to take it?" asks +Mr Fotheringham of the latter. "As the language of passion resenting +death and this life's woeful incompleteness? or as a prevision of the +soul in a moment of intensest life?" The question may be asked; yet the +passion of regret which glows and vibrates through it is too suffused +with exalted faith in a final recovery to find poignant expression. This +lyric, with its taking melody, has delighted thousands to whom Browning +is otherwise "obscure," partly because it appeals with naïve audacity at +once to Romantic and to Christian sentiment—combining the faith in +love's power to seal its object for ever as its own with the Christian +faith in personal immortality—a personal immortality in which +there is yet marrying and giving in marriage, as Romance demands. <i>The +Last Ride Together</i> has attracted a different audience. Its passion +is of a rarer and more difficult kind, less accessible to the love and +less flattering to the faith of common minds. This lover dreams of no +future <a name="page139" id="page139">recovery</a> of more +than he still retains; his love, once for all, avails nothing; and the +secure faith of Evelyn's lover, that "God creates the love to reward the +love," is not his. His mistress will never "awake and remember and +understand." But that dead form he is permitted to clasp; and in the +rapture of that phantom companionship passion and thought slowly +transfigure and glorify his fate, till from the lone limbo of outcast +lovers he seems to have penetrated to the innermost fiery core of life, +which art and poetry grope after in vain—to possess that supreme +moment of earth which, prolonged, is heaven.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"What if heaven be that, fair and strong<br /> + At life's best, with our eyes upturned<br /> + Whither life's flower is first discerned,<br /> + <span class="in1">We, fixed so, ever should so abide?</span><br /> + What if we still ride on, we two<br /> + With life for ever old yet new,<br /> + Changed not in kind but in degree,<br /> + The instant made eternity,—<br /> + And heaven just prove that I and she<br /> + <span class="in1">Ride, ride together, for ever ride?"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The "glory of failure" is with Browning a familiar +and inexhaustible theme; but its spiritual abstraction here flushes with +the human glory of possession; the æthereal light and dew are mingled +with breath and blood; and in the wonderful long-drawn rhythm of the +verse we hear the steady stride of the horses as they bear their riders +farther and farther in to the visionary land of Romance.</p> + +<p>It is only the masculine lover whom Browning allows +<a name="page140" id="page140">thus</a> to get the +better of unreturned love. His women have no such <i>remedia amoris</i>; +their heart's blood will not transmute into the ichor of poetry. It is +women almost alone who ever utter the poignancy of rejected love; in +them it is tragic, unreflecting, unconsolable, and merciless; while +something of his own elastic buoyancy of intellect, his supple optimism, +his analytic, dissipating fancy, infused itself into his portrayal of +the grief-pangs of his own sex. This distinction is very apparent in the +group of lyrics which deal with the less complete divisions of love. An +almost oppressive intensity of womanhood pulses in <i>A Woman's Last +Word, In a Year</i>, and <i>Any Wife to Any Husband</i>: the first, with +its depth of self-abasement and its cloying lilting melody, trembles, +exquisite as it is, on the verge of the "sentimental." There is a rarer, +subtler pathos in <i>Two in the Campagna</i>. The outward scene finds +its way to his senses, and its images make a language for his mood, or +else they break sharply across it and sting it to a cry. He feels the +Campagna about him, with its tranced immensity lying bare to heaven:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Silence and passion, joy and peace,<br /> + <span class="in1">An everlasting wash of air— ...</span><br /> + Such life here, through such length of hours,<br /> + <span class="in1">Such miracles performed in play,</span><br /> + Such primal naked forms of flowers,<br /> + <span class="in1">Such letting nature have her way</span><br /> + While heaven looks from its towers;"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and in the presence of that large sincerity of +nature he would fain also "be unashamed of soul" and probe +<a name="page141" id="page141">love's</a> wound to the core. But the +invisible barriers will not be put aside or transcended, and in the +midst of that "infinite passion" there remain "the finite hearts that +yearn." Or else he wakes after the quarrel in the blitheness of a bright +dawn:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">"All is blue again</span><br /> + <span class="in2">After last night's rain,</span><br /> + And the South dries the hawthorn spray.<br /> + <span class="in2">Only, my love's away!</span><br /> + I'd as lief that the blue were grey."</p> +</div> + +<p>The disasters of love rarely, with Browning, stir us very deeply. His +temperament was too elastic, his intellect too resourceful, to enter +save by artificial processes into the mood of blank and hopeless grief. +Tragedy did not lie in his blood, and fortune—kinder to the man +than to the poet—had as yet denied him, in love, the "baptism of +sorrow" which has wrung immortal verse from the lips of frailer men. It +may even be questioned whether all Browning's poetry of love's tragedy +will live as long as a few stanzas of Musset's <i>Nuits</i>,—bare, +unadorned verses, devoid of fancy or wit, but intense and penetrating as +a cry:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ce soir encor je t'ai vu m'apparaître,<br /> + <span class="in1">C'était par une triste nuit.</span><br /> + L'aile des vents battait à ma fenêtre;<br /> + <span class="in1">J'étais seul, courbé sur mon lit.</span><br /> + J'y regardais une place chérie,<br /> + <span class="in1">Tiède encor d'un baiser brûlant;</span><br /> + Et je songeais comme la femme oublie,<br /> + Et je sentais un lambeau de ma vie,<br /> + <span class="in1">Qui se déchirait lentement.</span><br /> + <a name="page142" id="page142"></a> + Je rassemblais des lettres de la veille,<br /> + <span class="in1">Des cheveux, des débris d'amour.</span><br /> + Tout ce passé me criait à l'oreille<br /> + <span class="in1">Ses éternels serments d'un jour.</span><br /> + Je contemplais ces réliques sacrées,<br /> + <span class="in1">Qui me faisaient trembler la main:</span><br /> + Larmes du coeur par le coeur devorées,<br /> + Et que les yeux qui les avaient pleurées<br /> + <span class="in1">Ne reconnaîtront plus demain!"</span><span + class="fnref"><a name="fnref37" id="fnref37" href="#fn37">[37]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn37" id="fn37" href="#fnref37">[37]</a></span> +Musset, <i>Nuit de décembre</i>. +</div> + +<p>The same quest of the problematic which attracted Browning to the +poetry of passion repelled or unrequited made him a curious student also +of fainter and feebler "wars of love"—embryonic or simulated forms +of passion which stood still farther from his personal experience. <i>A +Light Woman, A Pretty Woman</i>, and <i>Another Way of Love</i> are +refined studies in this world of half tones. But the most important and +individual poem of this group is <i>The Statue and the Bust</i>, an +excellent example of the union in Browning of the Romantic temper with a +peculiar mastery of everything in human nature which traverses and +repudiates Romance. The duke and the lady are simpler and slighter +Hamlets—Hamlets who have no agonies of self-questioning and +self-reproach; intervening in the long pageant of the famous lovers of +romantic tradition with the same disturbing shock as he in the bead-roll +of heroic avengers. The poet's indignant denunciation of his lovers at +the close, apparently for not violating the vows of marriage, is +puzzling to readers who do not appreciate the extreme +<a name="page143" id="page143">subtlety</a> of Browning's use of figure. +He was at once too much and too little of a casuist,—too +habituated to fine distinctions and too unaware of the pitfalls they +often present to others,—to understand that in condemning his +lovers for wanting the energy to commit a crime he could be supposed to +imply approval of the crime they failed to commit.</p> + +<p>Lastly, in the outer periphery of his love poetry belong his rare and +fugitive "dreams" of love. <i>Women and Roses</i> has an intoxicating +swiftness and buoyancy of music. But there is another and more sinister +kind of love-dream—the dream of an unloved woman. Such a dream, +with its tragic disillusion, Browning painted in his poignant and +original <i>In a Balcony</i>. It is in no sense a drama, but a dramatic +incident in three scenes, affecting the fates of three persons, upon +whom the entire interest is concentrated. The three vivid and impressive +character-heads stand out with intense and minute brilliance from a +background absolutely blank and void. Though the scene is laid in a +court and the heroine is a queen, there is no bustle of political +intrigue, no conflict between the rival attractions of love and power, +as in <i>Colombe's Birthday</i>. Love is the absorbing preoccupation of +this society, the ultimate ground of all undertakings. There is vague +talk of diplomatic victories, of dominions annexed, of public +thanksgivings; but the statesman who has achieved all this did it all to +win the hand of a girl, and the aged queen whom he has so successfully +served has secretly dreamed all the time, <a name="page144" +id="page144">though</a> already wedded, of being his. For a brilliant +young minister to fail to make love to his sovereign, in spite of her +grey hairs and the marriage law, is a kind of high treason. In its +social presuppositions this community belongs to a world as visionary as +the mystic dream-politics of M. Maeterlinck. But, those presuppositions +granted, everything in it has the uncompromising clearness and +persuasive reality that Browning invariably communicates to his dreams. +The three figures who in a few hours taste the height of ecstasy and +then the bitterness of disillusion or severance, are drawn with +remarkable psychologic force and truth. For all three love is the +absorbing passion, the most real thing in life, scornfully contrasted +with the reflected joys of the painter or the poet. Norbert's noble +integrity is of a kind which mingles in duplicity and intrigue with +disastrous results; he is too invincibly true to himself easily to act a +part; but he can control the secret hunger of his heart and give no +sign, until the consummate hour arrives when he may</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in12">"resume</span><br /> + Life after death (it is no less than life,<br /> + After such long unlovely labouring days)<br /> + And liberate to beauty life's great need<br /> + O' the beautiful, which, while it prompted work,<br /> + Suppress'd itself erewhile."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">In the ecstasy of release from that suppression, +every tree and flower seems to be an embodiment of the harmonious +freedom he had so long foregone, as Wordsworth, chafing +<a name="page145" id="page145">under</a> his unchartered freedom, saw +everywhere the willing submission to Duty. Even</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"These statues round us stand abrupt, distinct,<br /> + The strong in strength, the weak in weakness fixed,<br /> + The Muse for ever wedded to her lyre,<br /> + Nymph to her fawn, and Silence to her rose:<br /> + See God's approval on his universe!<br /> + Let us do so—aspire to live as these<br /> + In harmony with truth, ourselves being true!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But it is the two women who attract Browning's most +powerful handling. One of them, the Queen, has hardly her like for pity +and dread. A "lavish soul" long starved, but kindling into the ecstasy +of girlhood at the seeming touch of love; then, as her dream is +shattered by the indignant honesty of Norbert, transmuted at once into +the daemonic Gudrun or Brynhild, glaring in speechless white-heat and +implacable frenzy upon the man who has scorned her proffered heart and +the hapless girl he has chosen.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref38" +id="fnref38" href="#fn38">[38]</a></span> Between these powerful, <a +name="page146" id="page146">rigid</a>, and simple natures stands +Constance, ardent as they, but with the lithe and palpitating ardour of +a flame. She is concentrated Romance. Her love is an intense emotion; +but some of its fascination lies in its secrecy,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Complots inscrutable, deep telegraphs,<br /> + Long-planned chance meetings, hazards of a look";</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">she shrinks from a confession which "at the best" +will deprive their love of its spice of danger and make them even as +their "five hundred openly happy friends." She loves adventure, ruse, +and stratagem for their own sake. But she is also romantically generous, +and because she "owes this withered woman everything," is eager to +sacrifice her own hopes of happiness.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn38" id="fn38" href="#fnref38">[38]</a></span> +An anecdote to which Prof. Dowden has lately called attention +(<i>Browning</i>, p. 66) describes Browning in his last years as +demurring to the current interpretation of the <i>dénoûment</i>. Some +one had remarked that it was "a natural sequence that the guard should +be heard coming to take Norbert to his doom." "'Now I don't quite think +that,' answered Browning, <i>as if he were following out the play as a +spectator</i>. 'The queen has a large and passionate temperament.... She +would have died by a knife in her heart. The guard would have come to +carry away her dead body.'" The catastrophe here suggested is +undoubtedly far finer tragedy. But we cannot believe that this was what +Browning originally meant to happen. That Norbert and Constance expect +"doom" is obvious, and the queen's parting "glare" leaves the reader in +no doubt that they are right. They may, nevertheless, be wrong; but +what, then, is meant by the coming of the guard, and the throwing open +of the doors? The queen has in any case not died on the stage, for she +had left it; and if she died outside, how should they have come "to +carry away her dead body"? +</div> + +<p>Were it not for its unique position in Browning's poetry, one might +well be content with a passing tribute to the great love canticle which +closes <i>Men and Women</i>—the crown, as it is in a pregnant +sense the nucleus, of the whole. But here, for "once, and only once, and +for one only," not only the dramatic instinct, which habitually coloured +all his speech, but the reticence which so hardly permitted it to +disclose his most intimate personal emotion, were deliberately +overcome—overcome, however, only in order, as it were, to explain +and justify their more habitual sway. All the poetry in it is reached +<a name="page147" id="page147">through</a> the endeavour to +find speaking symbols for a love that cannot be told. The poet is a high +priest, entering with awed steps the sanctuary which even he cannot +tread without desecration save after divesting himself of all that is +habitual and of routine,—even the habits of his genius and the +routine of his art. Unable to divest himself of his poetry altogether, +for he has no other art, he lays aside his habitual dramatic guise to +speak, for once, not as Lippo, Roland, or Andrea, but "in his true +person." And he strips off the veil of his art and speaks in his own +person only to declare that speech is needless, and to fall upon that +exquisite symbol of an esoteric love uncommunicated and incommunicable +to the apprehension of the world,—the moon's other face with all +its "silent silver lights and darks," undreamed of by any mortal. +"Heaven's gift takes man's abatement," and poetry itself may only hint +at the divinity of perfect love. The <i>One Word More</i> was written in +September 1855, shortly before the publication of the volume it closed, +as the old moon waned over the London roofs. Less than six years later +the "moon of poets" had passed for ever from his ken.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page148" id="page148"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h4>LONDON. <i>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.</i></h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent"><span class="in7">Ah, Love! but a day</span><br /> + <span class="in8">And the world has changed!</span><br /> + <span class="in7">The sun's away,</span><br /> + <span class="in8">And the bird estranged.</span><br /> + <span class="in15">—<i>James Lee's Wife</i>.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent"><span class="in4">That one Face, far from + vanish, rather grows,</span><br /> + <span class="in4">Or decomposes but to recompose,</span><br /> + <span class="in4">Become my universe that feels and knows.</span><br /> + <span class="in18">—<i>Epilogue</i>.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The catastrophe of June 29, 1861, closed with +appalling suddenness the fifteen years' married life of Browning. "I +shall grow still, I hope," he wrote to Miss Haworth, a month later, "but +my root is taken, and remains." The words vividly express the valour in +the midst of desolation which animated one little tried hitherto by +sorrow. The Italian home was shattered, and no thought of even +attempting a patched-up existence in its ruined walls seems to have +occurred to him; even the neighbourhood of the spot in which all that +was mortal of her had been laid had no power to detain him. But his +departure was no mere flight from scenes <a name="page149" +id="page149">intolerably</a> dear. He had their child to educate and his +own life to fulfil, and he set himself with grim resolution to the work, +as one who had indeed <i>had everything</i>, but who was as little +inclined to abandon himself to the past as to forget it. After visiting +his father in Paris—the "dear <i>nonno</i>" of his wife's charming +letters<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref39" id="fnref39" +href="#fn39">[39]</a></span>—he settled in London, at first in +lodgings, then at the house in Warwick Crescent which was for a quarter +of a century to be his home. Something of that dreary first winter found +its way, ten years later, through whatever dramatic disguise, into the +poignant epilogue of <i>Fifine</i>. Browning had been that +"Householder," had gone through the dragging days and nights,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"All the fuss and trouble of street-sounds, + window-sights,<br /> + All the worry of flapping door and echoing roof; and then<br /> + All the fancies,"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">perhaps, among them, that of the "knock, call, cry," +and the pang and rapture of the visionary meeting. Certainly one of the +effects of his loss was to accentuate the mood of savage isolation which +lurked beneath Browning's genial sociality. The world from which his +saint had been snatched looked very common, sordid, and mean, and he +resented its intrusiveness on occasion with startling violence. When +proposals were made in 1863 in various quarters to publish her life, he +turned like a wild beast upon the "blackguards" who "thrust their paws +into his bowels" by prying into his intimacies. <a name="page150" +id="page150">To</a> the last he dismissed similar proposals by critics +of the highest status with a cavalier bluntness highly surprising to +persons who only knew him as the man of punctilious observance and +fastidious good form. For the rest, London contained much that was bound +by degrees to temper the gloom and assuage the hostility. Florence and +Rome could furnish nothing like the circle of men of genius and varied +accomplishment, using like himself the language of Shakespeare and +Milton, in which he presently began to move as an intimate. Thackeray, +Ruskin, Tennyson, Carlyle, Rossetti, Leighton, Woolner, Prinsep, and +many more, added a kind of richness to his life which during the last +fifteen years he had only enjoyed at intervals. And the flock of old +friends who accepted Browning began to be reinforced by a crowd of +unknown readers who proclaimed him. Tennyson was his loyal comrade; but +the prestige of Tennyson's popularity had certainly blocked many of the +avenues of Browning's fame, appealing as the Laureate largely did to +tastes in poetry which Browning rudely traversed or ignored. On the +Tennysonian reader <i>pur sang</i> Browning's work was pretty sure to +make the impression so frankly described by Frederick Tennyson to his +brother, of "Chinese puzzles, trackless labyrinths, unapproachable +nebulosities." Even among these intimates of his own generation were +doubtless some who, with F. Tennyson again, believed him to be "a man of +infinite learning, jest, and bonhomie, and a sterling heart that reverbs +no hollowness," but who yet <a name="page151" id="page151">held</a> "his +school of poetry" to be "the most grotesque conceivable." This was the +tone of the 'Fifties, when Tennyson's vogue was at its height. But with +the 'Sixties there began to emerge a critical disposition to look beyond +the trim pleasances of the Early Victorians to more daring romantic +adventure in search of the truth that lies in beauty, and more fearless +grip of the beauty that lies in truth. The genius of the pre-Raphaelites +began to find response. And so did the yet richer and more composite +genius of Browning. Moreover, the immense vogue won by the poetry of his +wife undoubtedly prepared the way for his more difficult but kindred +work. If <i>Pippa Passes</i> counts for something in <i>Aurora Leigh, +Aurora Leigh</i> in its turn trained the future readers of <i>The Ring +and the Book</i>.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn39" id="fn39" href="#fnref39">[39]</a></span> +His father beautifully said of Mrs Browning's portrait +that it was a face which made the worship of saints seem possible. +</div> + +<p>The altered situation became apparent on the publication, in rapid +succession, in 1864, of Browning's <i>Dramatis Personæ</i> and Mr +Swinburne's <i>Atalanta in Calydon</i>. Both volumes found their most +enthusiastic readers at the universities. "All my new cultivators are +young men," Browning wrote to Miss Blagden; adding, with a touch of +malicious humour, "more than that, I observe that some of my old friends +don't like at all the irruption of outsiders who rescue me from their +sober and private approval, and take those words out of their mouths +which they 'always meant to say,' and never did." The volume included +practically all that Browning had actually written since 1855,—less +than a score of pieces,—the somewhat slender harves +<a name="page152" id="page152">of</a> nine years. But +during these later years in Italy, as we have seen, he had done little +at his art; and after his return much time had been occupied in +projecting the great scheme of that which figures in his familiar +letters as his "murder-poem," and was ultimately known as <i>The Ring and +the Book</i>. As a whole, the <i>Dramatis Personæ</i> stands yet more +clearly apart from <i>Men and Women</i> than that does from all that had +gone before. Both books contain some of his most magnificent work; but +the earlier is full of summer light and glow, the later breathes the +hectic and poignant splendour of autumn. The sense of tragic loss broods +over all its music. In lyric strength and beauty there is no decay; but +the dramatic imagination has certainly lost somewhat of its flexible +strength and easy poise of wing: falling back now upon the personal +convictions of the poet, now upon the bald prose of daily life. <i>Rabbi +ben Ezra</i> and <i>Abt Vogler, A Death in the Desert</i>, are as noble +poetry as <i>Andrea del Sarto</i> or <i>The Grammarian's Funeral</i>; +but it is a poetry less charged with the "incidents" of any other soul +than his own; and, on the other hand, <i>Dis Aliter Visum</i> and +<i>Youth and Art</i>, and others, effective as they are, yet move in an +atmosphere less remote from prose than any of the songs and lays of love +which form one of the chief glories of <i>Men and Women</i>. The world +which is neither thrillingly beautiful nor grotesquely ugly, but simply +poor, unendowed, humdrum, finds for the first time a place in his +poetry. Its blankness answered too well to the desolate regard which in +the early 'Sixties he turned <a name="page153" id="page153">upon</a> +life. The women are homely, even plain, like James Lee's wife, +with her "coarse hands and hair," and Edith in <i>Too Late</i>, with her +thin, odd features, or mediocre, like the speaker in <i>Dis Aliter +Visum</i>; and they have homely names, like "Lee" or "Lamb" or "Brown," +not gratuitously grotesque ones like Blougram, Blouphocks, or the +outrageous "Gigadibs." "Sludge" stands on a different footing; for it is +dramatically expressive, as these are not. The legend of the gold-haired +maiden of Pornic is told with a touch of harsher cynicism than was heard +in Galuppi's "chill" music of the vanished beauties of Venice. If we may +by no means say that the glory of humanity has faded for Browning, yet +its glory has become more fugitive and more extrinsic,—a "grace not +theirs" brought by love "settling unawares" upon minds "level and low, +burnt and bare" in themselves. And he dwells now on desolate and desert +scenes with a new persistence, just as it was wild primitive nooks of +the French coast which now became his chosen summer resorts in place of +the semi-civic rusticity which had been his choice in Italy. "This is a +wild little place in Brittany," he wrote to Miss Blagden in August 1863; +"close to the sea, a hamlet of a dozen houses, perfectly +lonely—one may walk on the edge of the low rocks by the sea for +miles.... If I could I would stay just as I am for many a day. I feel +out of the very earth sometimes as I sit here at the window." The wild +coast scenery falls in with the desolate mood of James Lee's wife; the +savage luxuriance of the Isle with the primitive fancies of +<a name="page154" id="page154">Caliban</a>; the arid desert holds in +its embrace, like an oasis, the well-spring of Love which flows from the +lips of the dying Apostle. In the poetry of <i>Men and Women</i> we see +the ripe corn and the flowers in bloom; in <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>, the +processes of Nature are less spontaneous and, as it were, less complete; +the desert and the abounding streams, the unreclaimed human nature and +the fertilising grace of love, emerge in a nearer approach to elemental +nakedness, and there are moods in which each appears to dominate. +Doubtless the mood which finally triumphed was that of the dying John +and of the Third Speaker; but it was a triumph no longer won by "the +happy prompt instinctive way of youth," and the way to it lay through +moods not unlike those of James Lee's wife, whose problem, like his own, +was how to live when the answering love was gone. His "fire," like hers, +was made "of shipwreck wood",<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref40" +id="fnref40" href="#fn40">[40]</a></span> and her words "at the window" +can only be an echo of his—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ah, Love! but a day<br /> + <span class="in1">And the world has changed!</span><br /> + The sun's away,<br /> + <span class="in1">And the bird estranged;</span><br /> + The wind has dropped,<br /> + <span class="in1">And the sky's deranged:</span><br /> + Summer has stopped."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn40" id="fn40" href="#fnref40">[40]</a></span> +The second section of <i>James Lee's Wife, By the Fireside</i>, cannot +have been written without a conscious, and therefore a purposed and +significant, reference to the like-named poem in <i>Men and Women</i>, +which so exquisitely plays with the intimate scenery of his home-life. +</div> + +<a name="page155" id="page155"></a> +<p>As her problem is another life-setting of his, so she feels her way +towards its solution through processes which cannot have been strange to +him. She walks "along the Beach," or "on the Cliff," or "among the +rocks," and the voices of sea and wind ("Such a soft sea and such a +mournful wind!" he wrote to Miss Blagden) become speaking symbols in her +preoccupied mind. Not at all, however, in the fashion of the "pathetic +fallacy." She is too deeply disenchanted to imagine pity; and Browning +puts into her mouth (part vi.) a significant criticism of some early +stanzas of his own, in which he had in a buoyant optimistic fashion +interpreted the wailing of the wind.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref41" id="fnref41" href="#fn41">[41]</a></span> +If Nature has aught to teach, it is the sterner doctrine, that nothing +endures; that Love, like the genial sunlight, has to glorify base +things, to raise the low nature by its throes, sometimes divining the +hidden spark of God in what seemed mere earth, sometimes only lending +its transient splendour to a dead and barren spirit,—the fiery +grace of a butterfly momentarily obliterating the dull turf or rock it +lights on, but leaving them precisely what they were.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn41" id="fn41" href="#fnref41">[41]</a></span> +Cf. <i>supra</i>, p. <a href="#page16">16</a>. +</div> + +<p><i>James Lee's Wife</i> is a type of the other idyls of love which +form so large a part of the <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>. The note of +dissonance, of loss, which they sound had been struck by Browning +before, but never with the same persistence and iteration. The +<i>Dramatic Lyrics</i> and <i>Men and Women</i> are not quite silent of +the tragic <a name="page156" id="page156">failure</a> of love; but it is +touched lightly in "swallow flights of song," like the <i>Lost Mistress</i>, +that "dip their wings in tears and skim away." And the lovers are +spiritual athletes, who can live on the memory of a look, and seem to be +only irradiated, not scorched, by the tragic flame. But these lovers of +the 'Sixties are of less ætherial temper; they are more obviously, +familiarly human; the loss of what they love comes home to them, and +there is agony in the purifying fire. Such are the wronged husband in +<i>The Worst of It</i>, and the finally frustrated lover in <i>Too Late</i>. +In the group of "Might-have-been" lyrics the sense of loss is less +poignant and tragic but equally uncompensated. "You fool!" cries the +homely little heroine of <i>Dis Aliter Visum</i> to the elderly scholar +who ten years before had failed to propose to her,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in45">"You fool for all your lore!...</span><br /> + The devil laughed at you in his sleeve!<br /> + You knew not? That I well believe;<br /> + Or you had saved two souls;—nay, four."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Nor is there much of the glory of failure in Kate +Brown's bitter smile, as she sums up the story of Youth and Art:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Each life unfulfilled, you see;<br /> + <span class="in1">It hangs still, patchy and scrappy,</span><br /> + We have not sighed deep, laughed free,<br /> + <span class="in1">Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy."</span></p> +</div> + +<p>It is no accident that with the clearer recognition of sharp and +absolute loss Browning shows increasing <a name="page157" +id="page157">preoccupation</a> with the thought of recovery after death. +For himself death was now inseparably intertwined with all that he had +known of love, and the prospect of the supreme reunion which death, as +he believed, was to bring him, drew it nearer to the core of his +imagination and passion. Not that he looked forward to it with the easy +complacency of the hymn-writer. <i>Prospice</i> would not be the great +uplifting song it is were the note of struggle, of heroic heart to bear +the brunt and pay in one moment all "life's arrears of pain, darkness, +and cold," less clearly sounded; and were the final cry less intense +with the longing of bereavement. How near this thought of rapturous +reunion lay to the springs of Browning's imagination at this time, how +instantly it leapt into poetry, may be seen from the <i>Eurydice to +Orpheus</i> which he fitly placed immediately after these—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!<br /> + <span class="in1">Let them once more absorb me!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But in two well-known poems of the <i>Dramatis +Personæ</i> Browning has splendidly unfolded what is implicit in the +strong simple clarion—note of <i>Prospice</i>. <i>Abt Vogler</i> +and <i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i> are among the surest strongholds of his +popular fame. <i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i> is a great song of life, bearing +more fully perhaps than any other poem the burden of what he had to say +to his generation, but lifted far above mere didacticism by the +sustained glow in which ethical passion, and its imaginative splendour, +indistinguishably blend. It is <a name="page158" id="page158">not</a> +for nothing that Browning put this loftiest utterance of all that was +most strenuous in his own faith into the mouth of a member of the race +which has beyond others known how to suffer and how to transfigure its +suffering. Ben Ezra's thoughts are not all Hebraic, but they are +conceived in the most exalted temper of Hebrew prophecy; blending the +calm of achieved wisdom with the fervour of eagerly accepted discipline, +imperious scorn for the ignorance of fools, and heroic ardour, for the +pangs and throes of the fray. Ideals which, coolly analysed, seem +antithetical, and which have in reality inspired opposite ways of life, +meet in the fusing flame of the Rabbi's impassioned thought: the body is +the soul's beguiling sorceress, but also its helpful comrade; man is the +passive clay which the great Potter moulded and modelled upon the Wheel +of Time, and yet is bidden rage and strive, the adoring acquiescence of +Eastern Fatalism mingling with the Western gospel of individual energy. +And all this complex and manifold ethical appeal is conveyed in verse of +magnificent volume and resonance, effacing by the swift recurrent anvil +crash of its rhythm any suggestion that the acquiescence of the "clay" +means passivity.</p> + +<p>In <i>Abt Vogler</i> the prophetic strain is even more daring and +assured; only it springs not from "old experience," but from the lonely +ecstasy of artistic creation. Browning has put into the mouth of his old +Catholic musician the most impassioned and undoubting assertion to be +found in his work of his <a name="page159" id="page159">faith</a> that +nothing good is finally lost. The Abbé's theology may have supplied the +substance of the doctrine, but it could not supply the beautiful, if +daring, expansion of it by which the immortality of men's souls is +extended to "all we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good." This was +the work of music; and the poem is in truth less remarkable for this +rapturous statement of faith than for the penetrating power with which +the mystical and transcendental suggestions of music are explored and +unfolded,—the mysterious avenues which it seems to open to kinds +of experience more universal than ours, exempt from the limitations of +our narrow faculties, even from the limitations of time and space +themselves. All that is doctrinal and speculative in <i>Abt Vogler</i> +is rooted in musical experience,—the musical experience, +no doubt, of a richly imaginative mind, for which every organ-note turns +into the symbol of a high romance, till he sees heaven itself yearning +down to meet his passion as it seeks the sky. Of the doctrine and +speculation we may think as we will; of the psychological force and +truth of the whole presentment there can be as little question as of its +splendour and glow. It has the sinew, as well as the wing, of poetry. +And neither in poetry nor in prose has the elementary marvel of the +simplest musical form been more vividly seized than in the well-known +couplet—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed + to man<br /> + That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but + a star."</p> +</div> + +<a name="page160" id="page160"></a> +<p><i>A Death in the Desert</i>, though a poem of great beauty, must be +set, in intrinsic value, below these two. To attack Strauss through the +mouth of the dying apostle was a smart pamphleteering device; but it +gave his otherwise noble verse a disagreeable twang of theological +disputation, and did no manner of harm to Strauss, who had to be met on +other ground and with other weapons,—the weapons of history and +comparative religion—in which Browning's skill was that only of a +brilliant amateur. But the impulse which created it had deeper springs +than this. What is most clearly personal and most deeply felt in it is +the exaltation of love, which seems to have determined the whole +imaginative fabric. Love, Browning's highest expression of spiritual +vitality, was the cardinal principle of his creed; God was vital to him +only as a loving God, and Christ only as the human embodiment and +witness of God's love. The traditional story of Christ was in this sense +of profound significance for him, while he turned away with indifference +or disgust from the whole doctrinal apparatus of the Atonement, which, +however closely bound up with the popular conception of God's love, had +nothing to do with his conception of it, and he could thus consistently +decline the name of Christian, as some witnesses aver that he did.<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref42" id="fnref42" href="#fn42">[42]</a></span> +It was thus in entire keeping with his way of approaching Christianity +that he imagined this moving episode,—the dying apostle whose +genius had <a name="page161" id="page161">made</a> that way so +singularly persuasive, the little remnant of doomed and +hunted fugitives who seem to belong to earth only by the spiritual bond +of their love to him, as his own physical life is now a firebrand all +but extinct,—"all ashes save the tip that holds a spark," but that still +glowing with undiminished soul. The material fabric which enshrines this +fine essence of the Christian spirit is of the frailest; and the +contrast is carried out in the scenic setting,—the dim cool cavern, +with its shadowy depth and faint glimmerings of day, the hushed voices, +the ragged herbage, and the glory in the face of the passing saint +within; without, the hard dazzling glare of the desert noon, and the +burning blue, and the implacable and triumphant might of Rome.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn42" id="fn42" href="#fnref42">[42]</a></span> +Other testimony, it is true, equally strong, asserts that +he accepted the name; in any case he used it in a sense of his own. +</div> + +<p>The discourse of the "aged friend" is full of subtle and vivid +thinking, and contains some of Browning's most memorable utterances +about Love, in particular the noble lines—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"For life with all it yields of joy and woe ...<br /> + Is just our chance of the prize of learning love,<br /> + How love might be, hath been indeed, and is."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Nowhere, either, do we see more clearly how this +master-conception of his won control of his reasoning powers, framing +specious ladders to conclusions towards which his whole nature yearned, +but which his vision of the world did not uniformly bear out. Man loved, +and God would not be above man if He did not also love. The horrible +spectre of a God who has power without love never ceased to lurk in the +background of Browning's <a name="page162" id="page162">thought</a>, and +he strove with all his resources of dialectic and poetry to +exorcise it. And no wonder. For a loving God was the very keystone of +Browning's scheme of life and of the world, and its withdrawal would +have meant for him the collapse of the whole structure.</p> + +<p>It is no accident that the <i>Death in the Desert</i> is followed +immediately by a theological study in a very different key, <i>Caliban +upon Setebos</i>. For in this brilliantly original "dramatic monologue" +Caliban—the "savage man"—appears "mooting the point 'What is +God?'" and constructing his answer frankly from his own nature. It was +quite in Browning's way to take a humorous delight in imagining grotesque +parallels to ideas and processes in which he profoundly believed; a +proclivity aided by the curious subtle relation between his grotesquerie +and his seriousness, which makes <i>Pacchiarotto</i>, for instance, +closely similar in effect to parts of <i>Christmas-Eve</i>. Browning is +one of three or four sons of the nineteenth century who dared to fill in +the outlines, or to complete the half-told tale, of Shakespeare's +Caliban.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref43" id="fnref43" +href="#fn43">[43]</a></span> Kenan's hero is the quondam disciple of +Stephano and Trinculo, finished and matured in the corrupt mob-politics +of Europe; a caustic symbol of democracy, as Renan saw it, alternately +trampling on and patronising culture. Browning's Caliban is far truer to +Shakespeare's conception; he is the Caliban <a name="page163" +id="page163">of</a> Shakespeare, not followed into a new phase but +observed in a different attitude,—Caliban of the days before the +Storm, an unsophisticated creature of the island, inaccessible to the +wisdom of Europe, and not yet the dupe of its vice. His wisdom, his +science, his arts, are all his own. He anticipates the heady joy of +Stephano's bottle with a mash of gourds of his own invention. And his +religion too is his own,—no decoction from any of the recognised +vintages of religious thought, but a home-made brew cunningly distilled +from the teeming animal and plant life of the Island. It is a mistake to +call Caliban's theology a study of primitive religion; for primitive +religion is inseparable from the primitive tribe, and Caliban the +savage, who has never known society, was a conception as unhistorical as +it was exquisitely adapted to the individualist ways of Browning's +imagination. Tradition and prescription, which fetter the savage with +iron bonds, exist for Caliban only in the form of the faith held by his +dam, which he puts aside in the calm decisive way of a modern thinker, +as one who has nothing to fear from the penalties of heresy, and has +even outlived the exultation of free thought:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"His dam held that the Quiet made all things<br /> + Which Setebos vexed only: 'holds not so;<br /> + Who made them weak, made weakness He might vex."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn43" id="fn43" href="#fnref43">[43]</a></span> +It is characteristic that M. Maeterlinck found no place +for Caliban in his striking fantasia on the <i>Tempest, Joyzelle</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Caliban's theology has, moreover, very real points +of contact with Browning's own. His god is that sheer Power which +Browning from the first recognised; it is <a name="page164" +id="page164">because</a> Setebos feels heat and cold, and is therefore a +weak creature with ungratified wants, that Caliban decides there must be +behind him a divinity that "all it hath a mind to, doth." Caliban is one +of Browning's most consummate realists; he has the remorselessly vivid +perceptions of a Lippo Lippi and a Sludge. Browning's wealth of +recondite animal and plant lore is nowhere else so amazingly displayed; +the very character of beast or bird will be hit off in a line,—as +the pie with the long tongue</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"That pricks deep into oakwarts for a worm,<br /> + And says a plain word when she finds her prize,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">or the lumpish sea-beast which he blinded and called +Caliban (an admirable trait)—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"A bitter heart that bides its time and bites."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And all this curious scrutiny is reflected in +Caliban's god. The sudden catastrophe at the close</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">("What, what? A curtain o'er the world at once!")</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">is one of Browning's most superb surprises, breaking +in upon the leisured ease of theory with the suddenness of a horrible +practical emergency, and compelling Caliban, in the act of repudiating +his theology, to provide its most vivid illustration.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare, with bitter irony, brought his half-taught savage into +touch with the scum of modern civilisation, and made them conspire +together against its benignity and wisdom. The reader is apt to remember +this <a name="page165" id="page165">conjunction</a> when he passes from +<i>Caliban</i> to <i>Mr Sludge.</i> Stephano and Trinculo, almost alone +among Shakespeare's rascals, are drawn without geniality, and Sludge is +the only one of Browning's "casuists" whom he treats with open scorn. +That some of the effects were palpably fraudulent, and that, fraud +apart, there remained a residuum of phenomena not easy to explain, were +all irritating facts. Yet no one can mistake <i>Sludge</i> for an +outflow of personal irritation, still less for an act of literary +vengeance upon the impostor who had beguiled the lofty and ardent +intelligence of his wife. The resentful husband is possibly there, but +so elementary an emotion could not possibly have taken exclusive +possession of Browning's complex literary faculty, or baulked the eager +speculative curiosity which he brought to all new and problematic modes +of mind. His attitude towards spiritualism was in fact the product of +strangely mingled conditions. Himself the most convinced believer in +spirit among the poets of his time, he regarded the bogus demonstrations +of the "spiritualist" somewhat as the intellectual sceptic regards the +shoddy logic by which the vulgar unbeliever proves there is no God. But +even this anger had no secure tenure in a nature so rich in solvents for +disdain. It is hard to say where scorn ends and sympathy begins, or +where the indignation of the believer who sees his religion travestied +passes over into the curious interest of the believer who recognises its +dim distorted reflection in the unlikeliest quarters. But Sludge is +clearly permitted, like Blougram before and <a name="page166" +id="page166">Juan</a> and Hohenstiel-Schwangau after him, to assume in +good faith positions, or at least to use, with perfect sincerity, +language, which had points of contact with Browning's own. He has an eye +for "spiritual facts" none the less genuine in its gross way that it has +been acquired in the course of professional training, and is valued as a +professional asset. But his supernaturalism at its best is devoid of +spiritual quality. His "spiritual facts" are collections of miraculous +coincidences raked together by the anteater's tongue of a cool egoist, +who waits for them</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"lazily alive,</span><br /> + Open-mouthed, ...<br /> + Letting all nature's loosely guarded motes<br /> + Settle and, slick, be swallowed."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Like Caliban, who also finds the anteater an +instructive symbol, he sees "the supernatural" everywhere, and +everywhere concerned with himself. But Caliban's religion of terror, +cunning, and cajolery is more estimable than Sludge's business-like +faith in the virtue of wares for which he finds so profitable a market, +and which he gets on such easy terms. Caliban tremblingly does his best +to hitch his waggon to Setebos's star—when Setebos is looking; +Sludge is convinced that the stars are once for all hitched to his +waggon; that heaven is occupied in catering for his appetite and +becoming an accomplice in his sins. Sludge's spiritual world was genuine +for him, but it had nothing but the name in <a name="page167" +id="page167">common</a> with that of the poet of Ben Ezra, and of the +<i>Epilogue</i> which immediately follows.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref44" id="fnref44" href="#fn44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn44" id="fn44" href="#fnref44">[44]</a></span> +The foregoing account assumes that the poem was not +written, as is commonly supposed, in Florence in 1859-60, but after his +settlement in London. The only ground for the current view is Mrs +Browning's mention of his having been "working at a long poem" that +winter (<i>Letters</i>, May 18, 1860). I am enabled, by the kindness of +Prof. Hall Griffin, to state that an unpublished letter from Browning to +Buchanan in 1871 shows this "long poem" to have been one on Napoleon +III. (cf. above, p. <a href="#page90">90</a>). Some of it probably +appears in <i>Hohenstiel Schwangau</i>. +</div> + +<p>This <i>Epilogue</i> is one of the few utterances in which Browning +draws the ambiguous dramatic veil from his personal faith. That he +should choose this moment of parting with the reader for such a +confession confirms one's impression that the focus of his interest in +poetry now, more than ever before, lay among those problems of life and +death, of God and man, to which nearly all the finest work of this +collection is devoted. Far more emphatically than in the analogous +<i>Christmas-Eve</i>, Browning resolves not only the negations of +critical scholarship but the dogmatic affirmations of the Churches into +symptoms of immaturity in the understanding of spiritual things; in the +knowledge how heaven's high with earth's low should intertwine. The +third speaker voices the manifold protest of the nineteenth century +against all theologies built upon an aloofness of the divine and human, +whether the aloof God could be reached by special processes and +ceremonies, or whether he was a bare abstraction, whose +<a name="page168" id="page168">"pale bliss"</a> never thrilled in +response to human hearts. The best comment upon his faith is the saying +of Meredith, "The fact that character can be and is developed by the +clash of circumstances is to me a warrant for infinite hope."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref45" id="fnref45" href="#fn45">[45]</a></span> +Only, for Browning, that "infinite hope" translates itself into a sense +of present divine energies bending all the clashing circumstance to its +benign end, till the walls of the world take on the semblance of the +shattered Temple, and the crowded life within them the semblance of the +seemingly vanished Face, which</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">"far from vanish, rather grows,</span><br /> + Or decomposes but to recompose,<br /> + Become my universe that feels and knows."<span class="fnref"><a + name="fnref46" id="fnref46" href="#fn46">[46]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn45" id="fn45" href="#fnref45">[45]</a></span> +Quoted <i>Int. Journ. of Ethics</i>, April 1902. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn46" id="fn46" href="#fnref46">[46]</a></span> +The last line is pantheistic in expression, and has been +so understood by some, particularly by Mr J.M. Robertson. But pantheism +was at most a tendency, which the stubborn concreteness of his mind held +effectually in check; a point, one might say, upon which his thinking +converges, but which it never even proximately attains. God and the Soul +never mingle, however intimate their communion. Cf. chap. <a +href="#page287">X</a>. below. +</div> + +<a name="page169" id="page169"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h4><i>THE RING AND THE BOOK</i>.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in7">Tout passe.—L'art robuste</span><br /> + <span class="in8">Seul a l'éternité.</span><br /> + <span class="in11">Le buste</span><br /> + <span class="in8">Survit à la cité.</span><br /> + <span class="in8">Et la médaille austère</span><br /> + <span class="in8">Que trouve un laboureur</span><br /> + <span class="in11">Sous terre</span><br /> + <span class="in8">Révèle un empereur.</span><br /> + <span class="in15">—</span><span class="small">GAUTIER</span>: <i>L'Art</i>.</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">After four years of silence, the <i>Dramatis +Personæ</i> was followed by <i>The Ring and the Book</i>. This +monumental poem, in some respects his culminating achievement, has its +roots in an earlier stratum of his life than its predecessor. There is +little here to recall the characteristic moods of his first years of +desolate widowhood—the valiant Stoicism, the acceptance of the +sombre present, the great forward gaze upon the world beyond. We are in +Italy once more, our senses tingle with its glowing prodigality of day, +we jostle the teeming throng of the Roman streets, and are drawn into +the vortex of a vast debate which seems to occupy the entire +<a name="page170" id="page170">community</a>, and which turns, not upon +immortality, or spiritualism, or the nature of God, or the fate of man, +but on the guilt or innocence of the actors in one pitiful +drama,—a priest, a noble, an illiterate girl.</p> + +<p>With the analytic exuberance of one to whom the processes of Art were +yet more fascinating than its products, Browning has described how he +discovered this forgotten tale and forged its glowing metal into the +<i>Ring</i>. The chance finding of an "old square yellow book" which +aroused his curiosity among the frippery of a Florentine stall, was as +grotesquely casual an inception as poem ever had. But it was one of +those accidents which, suddenly befalling a creative mind, organise its +loose and scattered material with a magical potency unattainable by +prolonged cogitation. The story of Pompilia took shape in the gloom and +glare of a stormy Italian night of June 1860, as he watched from the +balcony of Casa Guidi. The patient elaboration of after-years wrought +into consummate expressiveness the <i>donnée</i> of that hour. But the +conditions under which the elaboration was carried out were pathetically +unlike those of the primal vision. Before the end of June in the +following year Mrs Browning died, and Browning presently left Florence +for ever. For the moment all the springs of poetry were dried up, and it +is credible enough that, as Mrs Orr says, Browning abandoned all thought +of a poem, and even handed over his material to another. But within a +few months, it is clear, the story of Pompilia not merely recovered <a +name="page171" id="page171">its</a> hold upon his imagination, but +gathered a subtle hallowing association with what was most spiritual in +that vanished past of which it was the last and most brilliant gift. The +poem which enshrined Pompilia was thus instinct with reminiscence; it +was, with all its abounding vitality, yet commemorative and memorial; +and we understand how Browning, no friend of the conventions of poetic +art, entered on and closed his giant task with an invocation to the +"Lyric Love," as it were the Urania, or heavenly Muse, of a modern epic.</p> + +<p>The definite planning of the poem in its present shape belongs to the +autumn of 1862. In September 1862 he wrote to Miss Blagden from Biarritz +of "my new poem which is about to be, and of which the whole is pretty +well in my head—the Roman murder-story, you know."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref47" id="fnref47" href="#fn47">[47]</a></span> +After the completion of the <i>Dramatis Personæ</i> in 1863-64, the +"Roman murder-story" became his central occupation. To it three quiet +early morning hours were daily given, and it grew steadily under his +hand. For the rest he began to withdraw from his seclusion, to mix +freely in society, to "live and like earth's way." He talked openly +among his literary friends of <a name="page172" id="page172">the</a> +poem and its progress, rumour and speculation busied themselves with it +as never before with work of his, and the literary world at large looked +for its publication with eager and curious interest. At length, in +November 1868, the first instalment was published. It was received by +the most authoritative part of the press with outspoken, even +dithyrambic eulogies, in which the severely judicial <i>Athenæum</i> +took the lead. Confirmed sceptics or deriders, like Edward FitzGerald, +rubbed their eyes and tried once again, in vain, to make the old +barbarian's verses construe and scan. To critics trained in classical +traditions the original structure of the poem was extremely disturbing; +and most of FitzGerald's friends shared, according to him, the opinion +of Carlyle, who roundly pronounced it "without <i>Backbone</i> or +basis of Common-sense," and "among the absurdest books ever written by a +gifted Man." Tennyson, however, admitted (to FitzGerald) that he "found +greatness" in it,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref48" id="fnref48" +href="#fn48">[48]</a></span> and Mr Swinburne was in the forefront of +the chorus of praise. The audience which now welcomed Browning was in +fact substantially that which had hailed the first fresh runnels of Mr +Swinburne's genius a few years before; the fame of both marked a wave of +reaction from the austere simplicity and attenuated sentiment of the +later <i>Idylls of the King</i>. Readers upon whom the shimmering +exquisiteness of Arthurian knighthood began to pall turned with relish +to Browning's <a name="page173" id="page173">Italian</a> murder story, +with its sensational crime, its mysterious elopement, its problem +interest, its engaging actuality.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn47" id="fn47" href="#fnref47">[47]</a></span> +W.M. Rossetti reports Browning to have told him, in a call, March 15, +1868, that he "began it in October 1864. Was staying at Bayonne, and +walked out to a mountain-gorge traditionally said to have been cut or +kicked out by Roland, and there laid out the full plan of his twelve +cantos, accurately carried out in the execution." The date is presumably +an error of Rossetti's for 1862 (<i>Rossetti Papers</i>, p. 302). Cf. +Letter of Sept. 29, 1862 (Orr, p. 259). +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn48" id="fn48" href="#fnref48">[48]</a></span> +<i>More Letters</i> of E.F.G. +</div> + +<p>And undoubtedly this was part of the attraction of the theme for +Browning himself. He had inherited his father's taste for stories of +mysterious crime.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref49" id="fnref49" +href="#fn49">[49]</a></span> And to the detective's interest in probing +a mystery, which seems to have been uppermost in the elder Browning, was +added the pleader's interest in making out an ingenious and plausible +case for each party. The casuist in him, the lover of argument as such, +and the devoted student of Euripides,<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref50" id="fnref50" href="#fn50">[50]</a></span> seized with +delight upon a forensic subject which made it natural to introduce the +various "persons of the drama," giving their individual testimonies and +"apologies." He avails himself remorselessly of all the pretexts for +verbosity, for iteration, for sophistical invention, afforded by the +cumbrous machinery of the law, and its proverbial delay. Every detail is +examined from every point of view. Little that is sordid or revolting is +suppressed. But then it is assuredly a mistake to represent, with one of +the liveliest of Browning's recent exponents, that the story was for him, +even at the outset, in the stage of "crude fact," merely a common and +<a name="page174" id="page174">sordid</a> tale like a hundred others, +picked up "at random" from a rubbish-heap to be subjected to the alchemy +of imagination by way of showing the infinite worth of "the +insignificant." Rather, he thought that on that broiling June day, a +providential "Hand" had "pushed" him to the discovery, in that unlikely +place, of a forgotten treasure, which he forthwith pounced upon with +ravishment as a "prize." He saw in it from the first something rare, +something exceptional, and made wondering inquiries at Rome, where +ecclesiasticism itself scarcely credited the truth of a story which told +"for once clean for the Church and dead against the world, the flesh, +and the devil."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref51" id="fnref51" +href="#fn51">[51]</a></span> The metal which went to the making of the +<i>Ring</i>, and on which he poured his imaginative alloy, was crude and +untempered, but it was gold. Its disintegrated particles gleamed +obscurely, as if with a challenge to the restorative cunning of the +craftsman. Above all, of course, and beyond all else, that arresting +gleam lingered about the bald record of the romance of Pompilia and +Caponsacchi. It was upon these two that Browning's divining imagination +fastened. Their relation was the crucial point of the whole story, the +point at which report stammered most lamely, and where the interpreting +spirit of poetry was most needed "to abolish the death of things, deep +calling unto deep." This process was itself, however, not sudden or +simple. This first inspiration was superb, visionary, romantic,—in +keeping <a name="page175" id="page175">with</a> "the beauty and +fearfulness of that June night" upon the terrace at Florence, where it +came to him.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in11">"All was sure,</span><br /> + Fire laid and cauldron set, the obscene ring traced,<br /> + The victim stripped and prostrate: what of God?<br /> + The cleaving of a cloud, a cry, a crash,<br /> + Quenched lay their cauldron, cowered i' the dust the crew,<br /> + As, in a glory of armour like Saint George,<br /> + Out again sprang the young good beauteous priest<br /> + Bearing away the lady in his arms<br /> + Saved for a splendid minute and no more."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref52" id="fnref52" href="#fn52">[52]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn49" id="fn49" href="#fnref49">[49]</a></span> +Cf. II. Corkran, <i>Celebrities and I</i> (R. Browning, +senior), 1903. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn50" id="fn50" href="#fnref50">[50]</a></span> +It is perhaps not without significance that in the summer sojourn when +<i>The Ring and the Book</i> was planned, Euripides was, apart from +that, his absorbing companion. "I have got on," he writes to Miss +Blagden, "by having a great read at Euripides,—the one book I +brought with me." +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn51" id="fn51" href="#fnref51">[51]</a></span> +<i>Ring and the Book</i>, i. 437. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn52" id="fn52" href="#fnref52">[52]</a></span> +<i>Ring and the Book</i>, i. 580-588. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Such a vision might have been rendered without +change in the chiselled gold and agate of the <i>Idylls of the King</i>. +But Browning's hero could be no Sir Galahad; he had to be something +less; and also something more. The idealism of his nature had to force +its way through perplexities and errors, beguiled by the distractions +and baffled by the duties of his chosen career. Born to be a lover, in +Dante's great way, he had groped through life without the vision of +Beatrice, seeking to satisfy his blind desire, as perhaps Dante after +Beatrice's death did also, with the lower love and scorning the loveless +asceticism of the monk. The Church encouraged its priest to be "a +fribble and a coxcomb"; and a fribble and a coxcomb, by his own +confession, Caponsacchi became. But the vanities he mingled with never +quite blinded him. He walked in the garden of the Hesperides bent on +great adventure, <a name="page176" id="page176">plucked</a> in ignorance +hedge-fruit and feasted to satiety, but yet he scorned the achievement, +laughing at such high fame for hips and haws.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref53" id="fnref53" href="#fn53">[53]</a></span> Then suddenly +flashed upon him the apparition, in the theatre, of</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"A lady, young, tall, beautiful, strange and sad."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn53" id="fn53" href="#fnref53">[53]</a></span> +<i>Caponsacchi</i>, 1002 f. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The gaze burnt to his soul, and the beautiful, sad, +strange smile haunted him night and day; but their first effect was to +crush and scatter all thoughts of love. The young priest found himself +haunting the solemn shades of the Duomo instead of serenading +countesses; vowed to write no more canzonets, and doubted much whether +Marini were a better poet than Dante after all. His patron jocularly +charged him with playing truant in Church all day long:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"'Are you turning Molinist?' I answered quick:<br /> + 'Sir, what if I turned Christian? It might be.'"</p> +</div> + +<p>The forged love-letters he instantly sees through. They are the +scorpion—blotch feigned to issue miraculously from Madonna's +mouth. And then Pompilia makes her appeal. "Take me to Rome!" The +Madonna has turned her face upon him indeed, "to summon me and signify +her choice," and he at once receives and accepts</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"my own fact, my miracle</span><br /> + Self-authorised and self-explained,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">in the presence of which all hesitation +vanished,—nay, <a name="page177" id="page177">thought</a> itself +fell back before the tide of revealing emotion:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I paced the city: it was the first Spring.<br /> + By the invasion I lay passive to,<br /> + In rushed new things, the old were rapt away;<br /> + Alike abolished—the imprisonment<br /> + Of the outside air, the inside weight o' the world<br /> + That pulled me down."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The bonds of his old existence snapped, the former +heaven and earth died for him, and that death was the beginning of +life:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"Death meant, to spurn the ground.</span><br /> + Soar to the sky,—die well and you do that.<br /> + The very immolation made the bliss;<br /> + Death was the heart of life, and all the harm<br /> + My folly had crouched to avoid, now proved a veil<br /> + Hiding all gain my wisdom strove to grasp:<br /> + As if the intense centre of the flame<br /> + Should turn a heaven to that devoted fly<br /> + Which hitherto, sophist alike and sage,<br /> + Saint Thomas with his sober grey goose-quill,<br /> + And sinner Plato by Cephisian reed,<br /> + Would fain, pretending just the insect's good,<br /> + Whisk off, drive back, consign to shade again.<br /> + Into another state, under new rule<br /> + I knew myself was passing swift and sure;<br /> + Whereof the initiatory pang approached,<br /> + Felicitous annoy, as bitter-sweet<br /> + As when the virgin-band, the victors chaste,<br /> + Feel at the end the earthly garments drop,<br /> + And rise with something of a rosy shame<br /> + Into immortal nakedness: so I<br /> + Lay, and let come the proper throe would thrill<br /> + Into the ecstasy and outthrob pain."</p> +</div> + +<a name="page178" id="page178"></a> +<p class="noindent">But he presently discovered that his new task did +not contravene, but only completed, the old ideal. The Church had +offered her priest no alternative between the world and the +cloister,—self-indulgence and self-slaughter. For ignoble passion +her sole remedy was to crush passion altogether. She calls to the priest +to renounce the fleshly woman and cleave to Her, the Bride who took his +plighted troth; but it is a scrannel voice sighing from stone lungs:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Leave that live passion, come, be dead with me!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">From the exalted Pisgah of his "new state" he +recognised that the true self-sacrifice, the perfect priesthood, lay by +way of life, not death, that life and death</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Are means to an end, that passion uses both,<br /> + Indisputably mistress of the man<br /> + Whose form of worship is self-sacrifice."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Yet it is not this recognition, but the "passion" +which ultimately determines his course. Love is, for Browning, in his +maturity, deeper and more secure than thought; Caponsacchi wavers in his +thinking, falls back upon the narrower conception of priesthood, +persuades himself that his duty is to serve God:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Duty to God is duty to her: I think<br /> + God, who created her, will save her too<br /> + Some new way, by one miracle the more,<br /> + Without me."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But when once again he is confronted with the +strange <a name="page179" id="page179">sad</a> face, and hears once more +the pitiful appeal, all hesitations vanish, and he sees no duty</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Like daring try be good and true myself,<br /> + Leaving the shows of things to the Lord of Show."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">With the security of perfect innocence he flings at +his judges as "the final fact"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"In contempt for all misapprehending ignorance<br /> + Of the human heart, much more the mind of Christ,—<br /> + That I assuredly did bow, was blessed<br /> + By the revelation of Pompilia."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Thus, through all the psychologic subtlety of the +portrait the groundwork of spiritual romance subsists. The militant +saint of legend reappears, in the mould and garb of the modern world, +subject to all its hampering conditions, and compelled to make his way +over the corpses, not of lions and dragons only, but of consecrated +duties and treasured instincts. And the matter-of-course chivalry of +professed knighthood is as inferior in art as in ethics to the chivalry +to which this priest, vowed to another service, is lifted by the vision +of Pompilia.</p> + +<p>Pompilia is herself, like her soldier saint, vowed to another service. +But while he only after a struggle overcomes the apparent discrepancy +between his duty as a priest and as a knight, she rises with the ease +and swiftness of a perfectly pure and spiritual nature from the duty of +endurance to the duty of resistance—</p> + +<a name="page180" id="page180"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">"Promoted at one cry</span><br /> + O' the trump of God to the new service, not<br /> + To longer bear, but henceforth fight, be found<br /> + Sublime in new impatience with the foe!"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref54" id="fnref54" href="#fn54">[54]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn54" id="fn54" href="#fnref54">[54]</a></span> +<i>The Pope</i>, 1057. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And she carries the same fearless simplicity into +her love. Caponsacchi falters and recoils in his adorations of her, with +the compunction of the voluptuary turned ascetic; he hardly dares to +call his passion by a name which the vulgar will mumble and +misinterpret: she, utterly unconscious of such peril, glories in the +immeasurable devotion</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Of my one friend, my only, all my own,<br /> + Who put his breast between the spears and me."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Pompilia is steeped in the remembrance of the poet's +"Lyric Love." Remote enough this illiterate child must seem from the +brilliant and accomplished Elizabeth Browning. But Browning's conception +of his wife's nature had a significant affinity to his portrayal of +Pompilia. She, he declared, was "the poet," taught by genius more than +by experience; he himself "the clever person," effectively manipulating +a comprehensive knowledge of life. Pompilia does indeed put her narrow +experience to marvellous use; her blending of the infantine with the +profound touches the bounds of possible consistency; but her naïve +spiritual instinct is ever on the alert, and fills her with a perpetual +sense of the strangeness of the things that happen, a "childlike, +wondering yet subtle perception of the anomalies of life."</p> + +<a name="page181" id="page181"></a> +<p>Spiritual simplicity has received no loftier tribute than from the +most opulent and complex poetic intellect of our day. He loves to bring +such natures into contrast with the cunning and cleverness of the world; +to show an Aprile, a David, a Pippa loosening the tangle of more +complicated lives with a song. Pompilia is a sister of the same +spiritual household as these. But she is a far more wonderful creation +than any of them; the same exquisite rarity of soul, but unfolded under +conditions more sternly real, and winning no such miraculous alacrity of +response. In lyrical wealth and swiftness Browning had perhaps advanced +little since the days of Pippa; but how much he had grown in +Shakespearian realism is fairly measured by the contrast between that +early, half-legendary lyric child, by whose unconscious alchemy the hard +hearts of Asolo are suddenly turned, and this later creation, whose +power over her world, though not less real, is so much more slowly and +hardly achieved. Her "song" is only the ravishing "unheard melody" which +breathes like incense from her inarticulate childhood. By simple force +of being what she is, she turns the priest into the saint, compels a +cynical society to believe in spiritual love, and wins even from the +husband who bought her and hated her and slew her the confession of his +last desperate cry—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Pompilia, will you let them murder me?"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">In contrast with these two, who shape their course +by <a name="page182" id="page182">the</a> light of their own souls, the +authorised exponents of morality play a secondary and for the most part +a sorry part. The old Pope mournfully reflects that his seven years' +tillage of the garden of the Church has issued only in the "timid leaf +and the uncertain bud," while the perfect flower, Pompilia, has sprung +up by the wayside 'neath the foot of the enemy, "a mere chance-sown +seed."</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Where are the Christians in their panoply?<br /> + The loins we girt about with truth, the breasts<br /> + Righteousness plated round, the shield of faith?...<br /> + Slunk into corners!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The Aretine Archbishop, who thrust the suppliant +Pompilia back upon the wolf, the Convent of Convertities, who took her +in as a suffering saint, and after her death claimed her succession +because she was of dishonest life, the unspeakable Abate and Canon, +Guido's brothers,—it is these figures who have played the most +sinister part, and the old Pope contemplates them with the "terror" of +one who sees his fundamental assumptions shaken at the root. For here +the theory of the Church was hard to maintain. Not only had the Church, +whose mission it was to guide corrupt human nature by its divine light, +only darkened and destroyed, but the saving love and faith had sprung +forth at the bidding of natural promptings of the spirit, which its rule +and law were to supersede.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref55" +id="fnref55" href="#fn55">[55]</a></span> The blaze of "uncommissioned +meteors" had intervened where <a name="page183" id="page183">the</a> +authorised luminaries failed, and if they dazzled, it was with excess of +light. Was Caponsacchi blind?</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ay, as a man should be inside the sun,<br /> + Delirious with the plenitude of light."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref56" id="fnref56" href="#fn56">[56]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn55" id="fn55" href="#fnref55">[55]</a></span> +<i>The Pope</i>, 1550 f. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn56" id="fn56" href="#fnref56">[56]</a></span> +<i>The Pope</i>, 1563. +</div> + +<p>It is easy to imagine how so grave an indictment would have been +forced home by the author of the <i>Cenci</i> had this other, less +famous, "Roman murder-case" fallen into his hands. The old Godwinian +virus would have found ready material in this disastrous breakdown of a +great institution, this magnificent uprising of emancipated souls. Yet, +though the Shelleyan affinities of Browning are here visible enough, his +point of view is clearly distinct. The revolutionary animus against +institutions as the sole obstacle to the native goodness of man has +wholly vanished; but of historic or mystic reverence for them he has not +a trace. He parts company with Rousseau without showing the smallest +affinity to Burke. As sources of moral and spiritual growth the State +and the Church do not count. Training and discipline have their relative +worth, but the spirit bloweth where it listeth, and the heights of moral +achievement are won by those alone in whom it breathes the heroism of +aspiration and resolve. His idealists grow for the most part in the +interstices of the social organism. He recognises them, it is true, +without difficulty even in the most central and responsible organs of +government. None of his unofficial heroes—<a name="page184" +id="page184">Paracelsus</a> or Sordello or Rabbi ben Ezra—has a +deeper moral insight than the aged Pope. But the Pope's impressiveness +for Browning and for his readers lies just in his complete emancipation +from the bias of his office. He faces the task of judgment, not as an +infallible priest, but as a man, whose wisdom, like other men's, depends +upon the measure of his God-given judgment, and flags with years. His +"grey ultimate decrepitude" is fallible, Pope though he be; and he +naïvely submits the verdict it has framed to the judgment of his former +self, the vigorous, but yet uncrowned, worker in the world. This +summing-up of the case is in effect the poet's own, and +is rich in the familiar prepossessions of Browning's individualist and +unecclesiastical mind. He vindicates Caponsacchi more in the spirit of +an antique Roman than of a Christian; he has open ears for the wisdom of +the pagan world, and toleration for the human Euripides; scorn for the +founder of Jesuitism, sympathy for the heretical Molinists; and he +blesses the imperfect knowledge which makes faith hard. The Pope, like +his creator, is "ever a fighter," and his last word is a peremptory +rejection of all appeals for mercy, whether in the name of policy, +Christian forgiveness, or "soft culture," and a resolve to</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Smite with my whole strength once more, ere end + my part,<br /> + Ending, so far as man may, this offence."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And with this solemn and final summing-up—this +quietly authoritative keynote into which all the clashing <a +name="page185" id="page185">discords</a> seem at length to be +resolved—the poem, in most hands, would have closed. But Browning +was too ingrained a believer in the "oblique" methods of Art to +acquiesce in so simple and direct a conclusion; he loved to let truth +struggle through devious and unlikely channels to the heart instead of +missing its aim by being formally proclaimed or announced. Hence we are +hurried from the austere solitary meditation of the aged Pope to the +condemned cell of Guido, and have opened before us with amazing +swiftness and intensity all the recesses of that monstrous nature, its +"lips unlocked" by "lucidity of soul." It ends, not on a solemn keynote, +but in that passionate and horror-stricken cry where yet lurks the +implicit confession that he is guilty and his doom just—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Pompilia, will you let them murder me?"</p> +</div> + +<p>It is easy—though hardly any longer quite safe—to cavil +at the unique structure of <i>The Ring and the Book</i>. But this unique +structure, which probably never deterred a reader who had once got under +way, answers in the most exact and expressive way to Browning's aims. +The subject is not the story of Pompilia only, but the fortunes of her +story, and of all stories of spiritual naïvete such as hers, when +projected upon the variously refracting media of mundane judgment and +sympathies. It is not her guilt or innocence only which is on trial, but +the mind of man in its capacity to receive and apprehend the surprises +of the spirit. The issue, triumphant for her, <a name="page186" +id="page186">is</a> dubious and qualified for the mind of man, where the +truth only at last flames forth in its purity. Browning even hints at +the close that "one lesson" to be had from his work is the +falseness of human estimation, fame, and speech. But for the poet who +thus summed up the purport of his twenty thousand verses, this was not +the whole truth of the matter. Here, as always, that immense, even +riotous, vitality of his made the hazards and vicissitudes of the +process even more precious than the secure triumph of the issue, and the +spirit of poetry itself lured him along the devious ways of minds in +which personality set its own picturesque or lurid tinge upon truth. The +execution vindicated the design. Voluble, even "mercilessly voluble," +the poet of <i>The Ring and the Book</i> undoubtedly is. But it is the +volubility of a consummate master of expression, in whose hands the +difficult medium of blank verse becomes an instrument of Shakespearian +flexibility and compass, easily answering to all the shifts and windings +of a prodigal invention, familiar without being vulgar, gritty with +homely detail without being flat; always, at its lowest levels, touched, +like a plain just before sunrise, with hints of ethereal light, +momentarily withheld; and rising from time to time without effort to a +magnificence of phrase and movement touched in its turn with that +suggestion of the homely and the familiar which in the inmost recesses +of Browning's genius lurked so near—so vitally near—to the +roots of the sublime.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page187" id="page187"></a> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h4>AFTERMATH.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">Which wins—Earth's poet or the Heavenly Muse?</span><br /> + <span class="in16">—<i>Aristophanes' Apology</i>.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The publication of <i>The Ring and the Book</i> +marks in several ways a turning-point in Browning's career. Conceived +and planned before the tragic close of his married life, and written +during the first desolate years of bereavement, it is, more than any +other of his greater poems, pervaded by his wife's spirit, a crowning +monument to his Lyric Love. But it is also the last upon which her +spirit left any notable trace. With his usual extraordinary recuperative +power, Browning re-moulded the mental universe which her love had seemed +to complete, and her death momentarily to shatter, into a new, lesser +completeness. He lived in the world, and frankly "liked earth's way," +enjoying the new gifts of friendship and of fame which the years brought +in rich measure. The little knot of critics whose praise even of <i>Men +and Women</i> and <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>; had been little more than a +cry in the wilderness, found <a name="page188" id="page188">their</a> +voices lost in the chorus of admiration which welcomed the +story of Pompilia. Some stout recalcitrants, it is true, like Edward +FitzGerald, held their ground. And while the tone of even hostile +criticism became respectful, enough of it remained to provide objects, +seven years later, for the uproarious chaff of <i>Pacchiarotto</i>.</p> + +<p>From 1869 to 1871 Browning published nothing, and he appears also to +have written nothing beyond a sonnet commemorating Helen, the mother of +Lord Dufferin (dated April 26, 1870), almost the only set of fourteen +lines in his works of which not one proclaims his authorship. But the +decade which followed was more prolific than any other ten years of his +life. Between 1871 and 1878 nine volumes in swift succession allured, +provoked, or bewildered the reading world. Everything was now planned on +a larger scale; the vast compass and boundless volubility of <i>The Ring +and the Book</i> became normal. He gave free rein to his delight in +intricate involutions of plot and of argument; the dramatic monologue +grew into novels in verse like <i>Red-cotton Night-cap Country</i> and +<i>The Inn Album</i>; and the "special pleaders," Hohenstiel and Juan, +expounded their cases with a complexity of apparatus unapproached even +by Sludge. A certain relaxation of poetic nerve is on the whole +everywhere apparent, notwithstanding the prodigal display of crude +intellectual power. His poetic alchemy is less potent, the ore of sordid +fact remains sordid still. Not that his high spirituality is insecure, +<a name="page189" id="page189">his</a> heroic idealism dimmed; but they +coalesce less intimately with the alert wit and busy intelligence of the +mere "clever man," and seek their nutriment and material more readily in +regions of legend and romance, where the transmuting work of imagination +has been already done. It is no accident that his lifelong delight in +the ideal figures of Greek tragedy, so unlike his own creations, became +in these years for the first time an effective source of poetry. The +poems of this decade form thus an odd motley series—realism and +romance interlaced but hardly blent, Aeschylus and Euripides, the divine +helper Herakles and the glorious embodiment of the soul of Athens, +Balaustion, emerging and re-emerging after intervals occupied by the +chicaneries of Miranda or the Elder Man. No inept legend for the +Browning of this decade is the noble song of Thamuris which his +Aristophanes half mockingly declaimed. "Earth's poet" and "the heavenly +Muse" are not allies, and they at times go different ways.</p> + +<p><i>Hervé Riel</i> (published March 1871) is less characteristic of +Browning in purely literary quality than in the hearty helpfulness which +it celebrates, and the fine international chivalry by which it was +inspired. The French disasters moved him deeply; he had many personal +ties with France, and was sharing with his dearest French friend, Joseph +Milsand, as near neighbour, a primitive villeggiatura in a Norman +fishing-village when the stupendous catastrophe of Sedan broke upon +them. <a name="page190" id="page190">Sympathy</a> with the French +sufferers induced Browning to do violence to a cherished principle by +offering the poem to George Smith for publication in <i>The +Cornhill</i>. Most of its French readers doubtless heard of Hervé Riel, +as well as of Robert Browning, for the first time. His English readers +found it hard to classify among the naval ballads of their country, few +of which had been devoted to celebrating the exploits of foreign +sailors, or the deliverance of hostile fleets. But they recognised the +poet of <i>The Ring and the Book</i>, Hervé has no touch of +Browning's "philosophy." He is none the less a true kinsman, in his +homely fashion, of Caponsacchi,—summoned in a supreme emergency for +which the appointed authorities have proved unequal.</p> + +<p>A greater tale of heroic helpfulness was presently to engage him. +<i>Balaustion's Adventure</i> was, as the charming dedication tells us, +the most delightful of May-month amusements; but in the splendid proem +which enshrines the story of Herakles and Alkestis, we still feel the +thrill of the deadly conflict; the agony of France may be partly divined +in the agony of Athens. Thirty years before, he had shown, in the noble +fragmentary "prologue" to a <i>Hippolytus (Artemis Prologizes)</i>, a +command of the majestic, reticent manner of Greek tragedy sufficiently +remarkable in one whose natural instincts of expression were far more +Elizabethan than Greek. The incongruity of Greek dramatic methods with +his own <a name="page191" id="page191">seems</a> to have speedily +checked his progress; but Euripides, the author of the Greek +<i>Hippolytus</i>, retained a peculiar fascination for +him, and it was on another Euripidean drama that he now, in the fulness +of his powers, set his hand. The result certainly does not diminish our +sense of the incongruity. Keenly as he admired the humanity and pathos +of Euripides, he challenges comparison with Euripides most successfully +when he goes completely his own way. He was too robustly original to +"transcribe" well, and his bold emphatic speech, curbed to the task of +reproducing the choice and pregnant sobriety of Attic style, is apt to +eliminate everything but the sobriety. The "transcribed" Greek is often +yet flatter than "literal" versions of Greek verse are wont to be, and +when Browning speaks in his own person the style recovers itself with a +sudden and vehement bound, like a noble wild creature abruptly released +from restraint. Among the finest of these "recoveries" are the bursts of +description which Balaustion's enthusiasm interjects between the +passages of dialogue. Such is the magnificent picture of the coming of +Herakles. In the original he merely enters as the chorus end their song, +addressing them with the simple inquiry, "Friends, is Admetos haply +within?" to which the chorus reply, like civil retainers, "Yes, +Herakles, he is at home." Browning, or his Balaustion, cannot permit the +mighty undoer of the tragic harms to come on in this homely fashion. A +great interrupting voice rings suddenly <a name="page192" +id="page192">through</a> the dispirited maunderings of Admetos' +house-folk; and the hearty greeting, "My hosts here!" thrills them with +the sense that something good and opportune is at hand:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Sudden into the midst of sorrow leapt,<br /> + Along with the gay cheer of that great voice<br /> + Hope, joy, salvation: Herakles was here!<br /> + Himself o' the threshold, sent his voice on first<br /> + To herald all that human and divine<br /> + I' the weary, happy face of him,—half god,<br /> + Half man, which made the god-part god the more."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The heroic helpfulness of Herakles is no doubt the +chief thing for Browning in the story. The large gladness of spirit with +which he confronts the meticulous and perfunctory mourning of the +stricken household reflected his own habitual temper with peculiar +vividness. But it is clear that the Euripidean story contained an +element which Browning could not assimilate—Admetos' acceptance of +Alkestis' sacrifice. To the Greek the action seemed quite in order; the +persons who really incurred his reproof were Admetos' parents, who in +spite of their advanced years refused to anticipate their approaching +death in their son's favour. Browning cannot away with an Admetos who, +from sheer reluctance to die, allowed his wife to suffer death in his +place; and he characteristically suggests a version of the story in +which its issues are determined from first to last, and on both sides, by +self-sacrificing love. Admetos is now the large-minded king who grieves +to be called away before <a name="page193" id="page193">his</a> work for +his people is done. Alkestis seeks, with Apollo's leave, to take his +place, so that her lord may live and carry out the purposes of his +soul,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Nor let Zeus lose the monarch meant in thee."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But Admetos will not allow this; for Alkestis is as +spirit to his flesh, and his life without her would be but a passive +death. To which "pile of truth on truth" she rejoins by adding the "one +truth more," that his refusal of her sacrifice would be in effect a +surrender of the supreme duty laid upon him of reigning a righteous +king,—that this life-purpose of his is above joy and sorrow, and +the death which she will undergo for his and its sake, her highest good +as it is his. And in effect, her death, instead of paralysing him, +redoubles the vigour of his soul, so that Alkestis, living on in a mind +made better by her presence, has not in the old tragic sense died at +all, and finds her claim to enter Hades rudely rejected by "the pensive +queen o' the twilight," for whom death meant just to die, and wanders +back accordingly to live once more by Admetos' side. Such the story +became when the Greek dread of death was replaced by Browning's +spiritual conception of a death glorified by love. The pathos and tragic +forces of it were inevitably enfeebled; no Herakles was needed to pluck +this Alkestis from the death she sought, and the rejection of her claim +to die is perilously near to Lucianic burlesque. But, simply as poetry, +the joyous sun-like <a name="page194" id="page194">radiance</a> of the +mighty spoiler of death is not unworthily replaced by the twilight +queen, whose eyes</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"lingered still</span><br /> + Straying among the flowers of Sicily,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">absorbed in the far memory of the life that Herakles +asserted and enforced,—until, at Alkestis' summons, she</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"broke through humanity</span><br /> + Into the orbed omniscience of a god."</p> +</div> + +<p>From his idealised Admetos Browning passed with hardly a pause to +attempt the more difficult feat of idealising a living sovereign. +Admetos was ennobled by presenting him as a political idealist; the +French Emperor, whose career had closed at Sedan, was in some degree +qualified for a parallel operation by the obscurity which still invested +the inmost nature of that well-meaning adventurer. Browning had watched +Louis Napoleon's career with mixed feelings; he had resented the <i>coup +d'état</i>, and still more the annexation of Savoy and Nice after the war +of 1859. But he had never shared the bitter animus which prevailed at +home. He was equally far, no doubt, from sharing the exalted +hero-worship which inspired his wife's <i>Poems before Congress</i>. The +creator of <i>The Italian in England</i>, of Luigi, and Bluphocks, could +not but recognise the signal services of Napoleon to the cause of Italian +freedom, however sharply he condemned the hard terms on which Italy had +been compelled to purchase it. "It was a great action; but he has taken +eighteenpence <a name="page195" id="page195">for</a> it—which is a +pity";<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref57" id="fnref57" +href="#fn57">[57]</a></span> it was on the lines of this +epigram, already quoted, that eleven years later he still interpreted +the fallen emperor, and that he now completed, as it would seem, the +abandoned poem of 1860. He saw in him a man of generous impulses doubled +with a <i>borné</i> politician, a ruler of genuine Liberal and even +democratic proclivities, which the timid calculations of a second-rate +opportunist reduced to a contemptible travesty of Liberalism. The +shifting standpoints of such a man are reproduced with superfluous +fidelity in his supposed Defence, which seems designed to be as elusive +and impalpable as the character it reflects. How unlike the brilliant +and precise realism of Blougram, sixteen years before! The upcurling +cloud-rings from Hohenstiel's cigar seem to symbolise something +unsubstantial and evasive in the whole fabric. The assumptions we are +invited to form give way one after another. Leicester Square proves the +"Residenz," the "bud-mouthed arbitress" a shadowy memory, the discourse +to a friendly and flattered hearer a midnight meditation. And there is a +like fluctuation of mood. Now he is formally justifying his past, now +musing, half wistfully, half ironically, over all that he might have +been and was not. At the outset we see him complacently enough +intrenched within a strong position, that of the consistent opportunist, +who made the best of what he found, not a creator but a conservator, +"one who keeps the world safe." But he has ardent ideas and +aspirations. <a name="page196" id="page196">The</a> freedom of Italy has +kindled his imagination, and in the grandest passage of the poem he +broods over his frustrate but deathless dream:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Ay, still my fragments wander, music-fraught,<br /> + Sighs of the soul, mine once, mine now, and mine<br /> + For ever! Crumbled arch, crushed aqueduct,<br /> + Alive with tremors in the shaggy growth<br /> + Of wild-wood, crevice-sown, that triumphs there,<br /> + Imparting exultation to the hills."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn57" id="fn57" href="#fnref57">[57]</a></span> +<i>Letters of E.B.B.</i>, ii. 385. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But if he had abandoned these generous dreams, he +had won free trade and given the multitude cheap bread, and in a highly +ingenious piece of sophistry he explains, by the aid of the gospel of +Evolution, how men are united by their common hunger, and thrust apart +by their conflicting ideas. But Hohenstiel knows very well that his +intrenchments are not unassailable; and he goes on to compose an +imaginary biography of himself as he might have been, with comments +which reflect his actual course. The finest part of this æthereal voyage +is that in which his higher unfulfilled self pours scorn upon the paltry +duplicities of the "Peace" policy by which his actual and lower self had +kept on good terms abroad, and beguiled the imperious thirst for "la +gloire" at home. Indignantly the author of <i>Hervé Riel</i> asks why +"the more than all magnetic race" should have to court its rivals by +buying their goods untaxed, or guard against them by war for war's sake, +when Mother Earth has no pride above her pride in that same</p> + +<a name="page197" id="page197"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"race all flame and air</span><br /> + And aspiration to the boundless Great,<br /> + The incommensurably Beautiful—<br /> + Whose very falterings groundward come of flight<br /> + Urged by a pinion all too passionate<br /> + For heaven and what it holds of gloom and glow."</p> +</div> + +<p><i>The Ring and the Book</i> had made Browning famous. But fame was +far from tempting him to undue compliance with the tastes of his new-won +public; rather it prompted him to indulge his genius more freely, and to +go his own way with a more complete security and unconcern. +<i>Hohenstiel-Schwangau</i>—one of the rockiest and least +attractive of all Browning's poems—had mystified most of its +readers and been little relished by the rest. And now that plea for a +discredited politician was followed up by what, on the face of it, was, +as Mrs Orr puts it, "a defence of inconstancy in marriage." The +apologist for Napoleon III. came forward as the advocate of Don Juan. +The prefixed bit of dialogue from Molière's play explains the situation. +Juan, detected by his wife in an intrigue, is completely nonplussed. +"Fie!" cries Elvire, mockingly (in Browning's happy paraphrase),—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Fie! for a man of mode, accustomed at the court<br /> + To such a style of thing, how awkwardly my lord<br /> + Attempts defence!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">In this emergency, Browning, as it would seem, steps +in, and provides the arch-voluptuary with a philosophy of illicit love, +quite beyond the speculative capacity of <a name="page198" +id="page198">any</a> Juan in literature, and glowing with poetry +of a splendour and fertility which neither Browning himself nor the +great English poet who had identified his name with that of Juan, and +whom Browning in this very poem overwhelms with genial banter, ever +surpassed. The poem inevitably challenged comparison with Byron's +masterpiece. In dazzling play of intellect, in swift interchange of wit +and passion, the English nineteenth century produced nothing more +comparable to the <i>Don Juan</i> of Byron than <i>Fifine at the Fair</i>.</p> + +<p>It cannot be denied that the critics had some excuse who, like +Mortimer, frankly identified Browning with his hero, and described the +poem as an assertion of the "claim to relieve the fixity of conjugal +affection by varied adventure in the world of temporary loves."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref58" id="fnref58" +href="#fn58">[58]</a></span> For Browning has not merely given no direct +hint of his own divergence from Juan, corresponding to his significant +comment upon Blougram—"he said true things but called them by +false names"; he has made his own subtlest and profoundest convictions +on life and art spring spontaneously from the brain of this brilliant +conqueror of women. Like Goethe's Faust, he unmistakably shares the +mind, the wisdom, the faith, of his creator; it is plausible to suppose +that the poet indorses his application of them. This is unquestionably a +complete mistake; but Browning, as usual, presumed too much upon his +readers' <a name="page199" id="page199">insight</a>, and took no pains to +obviate a confusion which he clearly supposed to be impossible.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn58" id="fn58" href="#fnref58">[58]</a></span> +Mrs Orr, <i>Life</i>, p. 297. Her own criticism is, however, +curiously indecisive and embarrassed. +</div> + +<p>It was on the strand at Pornic that he encountered the fateful gipsy +whom he calls Fifine. Arnold, years before, had read unutterable depths +of soul in another gipsy child by another shore. For Browning now, as in +the days of the <i>Flight of the Duchess</i>, the gipsy symbolised the +life of joyous detachment from the constraints of society and +civilisation. The elementary mood, out of which the wondrous woof of +reasonings and images is evolved, is simply the instinctive beat of the +spirit of romance in us all, in sympathy with these light-hearted losels +of the wild, who "cast allegiance off, play truant, nor repine," and +though disgraced but seem to relish life the more.</p> + +<p>The beautiful <i>Prologue</i>—one of the most original lyrics +in the language—strikes the keynote:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Sometimes, when the weather<br /> + <span class="in1">Is blue, and warm waves tempt</span><br /> + To free oneself of tether,<br /> + <span class="in1">And try a life exempt</span></p> + + <p class="noindent">From worldly noise and dust,<br /> + <span class="in1">In the sphere which overbrims</span><br /> + With passion and thought,—why, just<br /> + <span class="in1">Unable to fly, one swims....</span></p> + + <p class="noindent">Emancipate through passion<br /> + <span class="in1">And thought,—with sea for sky,</span><br /> + We substitute, in a fashion,<br /> + <span class="in1">For heaven—poetry."</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">It is this "emancipation" from our confinement in +<a name="page200" id="page200">the</a> bonds of prose, commonplace, and +routine, by a passion and thought-winged imagination, which is the true +subject of the poem. But he chooses to convey his meaning, as usual, +through the rich refracting medium of dramatic characters and situations +quite unlike his own. So his "apology for poetry" becomes an item in Don +Juan's case for the "poetry" of dalliance with light-o'-loves. Fifine +herself acquires new importance; the emancipated gipsy turns into the +pert seductive coquette, while over against her rises the pathetic +shadow of the "wife in trouble," her white fingers pressing Juan's arm, +"ravishingly pure" in her "pale constraint." Between these three persons +the moving drama is played out, ending, like all Don Juan stories, with +the triumph of the baser influence. Elvire, with her eloquent silences +and wistful pathos, is an exquisite creation,—a wedded sister of +Shakespeare's Hero; Fifine, too, with her strutting bravado and "pose +half frank, half fierce," shrills her discordant note vivaciously +enough. The principal speaker himself is the most complex of Browning's +casuists, a marvellously rich and many-hued piece of portraiture. This +Juan is deeply versed in all the activities of the imagination which he +so eloquently defends. Painting and poetry, science and philosophy, are +at his command; above all, he is an artist and a poet in the lore of +Love.</p> + +<p>It is easy to see that the kind of adventure on which Juan claims the +right of projecting his imagination has close affinities with the +habitual procedure of Browning's <a name="page201" id="page201">own</a>. +Juan defends his dealings with the gay fizgig Fifine as a step to the +fuller appreciation of Elvire; he demands freedom to escape only as a +means of possessing more surely and intimately what he has. And +Browning's "emancipation" is not that of the purely Romantic poet, who +pursues a visionary abstraction remote from all his visible environment. +The emancipated soul, for him, was rather that which incessantly +"practised with" its environment, fighting its way through countless +intervening films of illusion to the full knowledge of itself and of all +that it originally held <i>in posse</i>. This might not be an adequate +account of his own artistic processes, in which genial instinct played a +larger, and resolute will a smaller, part than his invincible +athleticism of temperament would suggest. But his marvellous wealth of +spontaneous vision was fed and enriched by incessant "practice with" his +environment; his idealism was vitalised by the ceaseless play of eye and +brain upon the least promising mortal integuments of spirit; he +possessed "Elvire" the more securely for having sent forth his +adventurous imagination to practise upon innumerable Fifines.</p> + +<p>The poem itself—as a defence of his poetic methods—was an +"adventure" in which imagination played an unusually splendid part. A +succession of brilliant and original images, visions, similes, parables, +exhibits the twofold nature of the "stuff" with which the artist +plays,—its inferiority, its poverty, its "falseness" in itself, +its needfulness, its potency, its worth for him. <a name="page202" +id="page202">It</a> is the water which supports the swimmer, but in +which he cannot live; the dross of straw and chaff which +yields the brilliant purity of flame (c. 55); the technical cluster of +sounds from which issues "music—that burst of pillared cloud by +day and pillared fire by night" (c. 41). The whole poem is haunted by +the sense of dissonance which these images suggest between the real and +the apparent meaning of things. Browning's world, else so massive and so +indubitable, becomes unsubstantial and phantasmal, an illusive pageant +in which Truth is present only under a mask, being "forced to manifest +itself through falsehood." Juan, who declares that, unlike poets, "we +prose-folk" always dream, has, in effect, a visionary quality of +imagination which suits his thesis and his theme. The "dream figures" of +the famous ladies pass before us like a gorgeous tapestry,—some +rich Venetian rendering of a medieval <i>ballade du temps jadis</i>; +then Venice itself opens before us, all moving life and colour, under the +enchantment of Schumann's <i>Carnival</i>, only to resolve itself into a +vaster pageant of the world, with its mighty fanes of art and science, +which, seemingly "fixed as fate, not fairy-work," yet</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in9">"tremblingly grew blank</span><br /> + From bright, then broke afresh in triumph,—ah, but sank<br /> + As soon, for liquid change through artery and vein<br /> + O' the very marble wound its way."</p> +</div> + +<p>The August of 1872 found Browning and his sister once more in France. +This time, however, not at <a name="page203" id="page203">Croisic</a> +but Saint Aubin—the primitive hamlet on the Norman coast to which +he had again been drawn by his attachment to Joseph Milsand. At a +neighbouring village was another old friend, Miss Thackeray, who has +left a charming account of the place. They walked along a narrow +cliff-path: "The sea-coast far below our feet, the dried, arid +vegetation of the sandy way, the rank yellow snapdragon lining the +paths.... We entered the Brownings' house. The sitting-room door opened +to the garden and the sea beyond—a fresh-swept bare floor, a +table, three straw chairs, one book upon the table." A misunderstanding, +now through the good offices of Milsand happily removed, had clouded the +friendship of Browning and Miss Thackeray; and his joyous revulsion of +heart has left characteristic traces in the poem which he dedicated to +his "fair friend." The very title is jest—an outflow of high +spirits in an exuberantly hearty hand-shake—"British +man with British maid"; the country of the "Red-cotton Night-cap" being +in fact, of course, the country which her playful realism had already +nicknamed "White-cotton Night-cap Country," from the white lawn +head-dress of the Norman women. Nothing so typical and everyday could +set Browning's imagination astir, and among the wilderness of white, +innocent and flavourless, he caught at a story which promised to be +"wrong and red and picturesque," and vary "by a splotch the righteous +flat of insipidity."</p> + +<a name="page204" id="page204"></a> +<p>The story of Miranda the Paris jeweller and his mistress, Clara de +Millefleurs, satisfied this condition sufficiently. Time had not +mellowed the raw crudity of this "splotch," which Browning found +recorded in no old, square, yellow vellum book, but in the French +newspapers of that very August; the final judgment of the court at Caen +("Vire") being actually pronounced while he wrote. The poet followed on +the heels of the journalist, and borrowed, it must be owned, not a +little of his methods. If any poem of Browning's may be compared to +versified special correspondence, it is this. He tells the story, in his +own person, in blank verse of admirable ease and fluency, from which +every pretence of poetry is usually remote. What was it in this rather +sordid tale that arrested him? Clearly the strangely mingled character +of Miranda. Castile and Paris contend in his blood; and his love +adventures, begun on the boulevards and in their spirit, end in an +ecstasy of fantastic devotion. His sins are commonplace and prosaic +enough, but his repentances detach him altogether from the herd of +ordinary penitents as well as of ordinary sinners—confused and +violent gesticulations of a visionary ascetic struggling to liberate +himself from the bonds of his own impurity. "The heart was wise +according to its lights"; but the head was incapable of shaping this +vague heart-wisdom into coherent practice. A parallel piece of analysis +presents Clara as a finished artist in life—a Meissonier of +limited but flawless perfection in her unerring <a name="page205" +id="page205">selection</a> of means to ends. In other words, this not +very attractive pair struck Browning as another example of his familiar +contrast between those who "try the low thing and leave it done," and +those who aim higher and fail. Yet it must be owned that these +Browningesque ideas are not thoroughly wrought into the substance of the +poem; they are rather a sort of marginal embroidery woven on to a story +which, as a whole, has neither been shaped by Browning's hand nor +vitalised with his breath. Neither Clara nor Miranda can be compared in +dramatic force with his great creations; even Clara's harangue to the +Cousinry, with all its passion and flashing scorn, is true rather to her +generic character as the injured champion of her dead lord than to her +individual variety of it—the woman of subtle, inflexible, yet +calculating devotion. Miranda's soliloquy before he throws himself from +the Tower is a powerful piece of construction, but, when the book is +closed, what we seem to see in it is not the fantastical goldsmith +surveying the motives of his life, but Browning filling in the bizarre +outlines of his construction with appropriate psychological detail. +Another symptom of decline in Browning's most characteristic kind of +power is probably to be found in the play of symbolism which invests +with an air of allegorical abstraction the "Tower" and the "Turf," and +makes the whole poem, with all its prosaic realism, intelligibly +regarded as a sort of fantasia on self-indulgence and self-control.</p> + +<a name="page206" id="page206"></a> +<p>The summer retreat of 1874 was found once more on the familiar north +coast of France,—this time at the quiet hamlet of Mers, near +Treport. In this lonely place, with scarcely a book at hand, he wrote +the greater part of the most prodigally and exuberantly learned of all +his poems—<i>Aristophanes' Apology</i> (published April 1875). It +was not Browning's way to repeat his characters, but the story of +Balaustion, the brilliant girl devotee of Euripides, had proved an +admirable setting for his interpretations of Greek drama; and the charm +of that earlier "most delightful of May-month amusements" was perhaps +not the less easily revived in these weeks of constant companionship +with a devoted woman-friend of his own. Balaustion is herself full ten +years older than at the time of her first adventure; her fresh girlish +enthusiasm has ripened into the ardent conviction of intellectual +maturity; she can not only cite Euripides, but vindicate his art against +his mightiest assailant. Situation, scenery, language, are here all more +complex. The first Adventure was almost Greek in its radiant and moving +simplicity; the last is Titanically Browningesque, a riot of the least +Hellenic elements of Browning's mind with the uptorn fragments of the +Hellenic world. Moreover, the issue is far from being equally clear. The +glory of Euripides is still the ostensible theme; but Aristophanes had +so many points of contact with Browning himself, and appeals in his +defence to so many root-ideas of Browning's <a name="page207" +id="page207">own</a>, that the reader hesitates between +the poet to whom Browning's imagination allied him, and the poet whom +his taste preferred. His Aristophanes is, like himself, the poetry of +"Life," a broad and generous realist, who like Lippo Lippi draws all +existence into his art; an enemy of all asceticisms and abstractions, +who drives his meaning home through vivid concrete example and drastic +phrase, rather than by enunciating the impressive moral commonplaces of +tragic poetry.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref59" id="fnref59" +href="#fn59">[59]</a></span> Aristophanes, too, had been abused for his +"unintelligible" poetry,—"mere psychologic puzzling,"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref60" id="fnref60" href="#fn60">[60]</a></span>—by a +"chattering" public which preferred the lilt of nursery rhymes. The +magnificent portrait of Aristophanes is conceived in the very spirit of +the riotous exuberance of intellect and senses—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in3">"Mind a-wantoning</span><br /> + At ease of undisputed mastery<br /> + Over the body's brood"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">which was so congenial to the realist in Browning; +"the clear baldness—all his head one brow"—and the surging +flame of red from cheek to temple; the huge eyeballs rolling back native +fire, imperiously triumphant, the "pursed mouth's pout aggressive," and +"the beak supreme above," "beard whitening under like a vinous foam."</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn59" id="fn59" href="#fnref59">[59]</a></span> +<i>Arist. Ap.</i>, p. 698. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn60" id="fn60" href="#fnref60">[60]</a></span> +Ib., p. 688. +</div> + +<p>Balaustion is herself the first to recognise the divinity shrouded in +this half satyr-like form: in some of the <a name="page208" +id="page208">finest</a> verses of the poem she compares him to the +sea-god, whom as a child she had once seen peer</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"large-looming from his wave,</span><br /> + . . . . . . . . . .<br /> + A sea-worn face, sad as mortality,<br /> + Divine with yearning after fellowship,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">while below the surface all was "tail splash, frisk of fin." And when +Balaustion has recited her poet's masterpiece of tragic pathos, +Aristophanes lays aside the satirist a moment and attests his affinity +to the divine poets by the noble song of Thamyris. The "transcript from +Euripides" itself is quite secondary in interest to this vivid and +powerful dramatic framework. Far from being a vital element in the +action, like the recital of the <i>Alkestis</i>, the reading of the +<i>Hercules Furens</i> is an almost gratuitous diversion in the midst of +the talk; and the tameness of a literal (often awkwardly literal) +translation is rarely broken by those inrushes of alien genius which are +the glory of Browning's <i>Alkestis</i>. Yet the very self-restraint +sprang probably from Browning's deep sensibility to the pathos of the +story. "Large tears," as Mrs Orr has told us, fell from his eyes, and +emotion choked his voice, when he first read it aloud to her.</p> + +<p>The <i>Inn Album</i> is, like <i>Red-cotton Night-cap Country</i>, a +versified novel, melodramatic in circumstances, frankly familiar in +scenery and atmosphere. Once more, as in the <i>Blot in the +'Scutcheon</i>, and in <i>James Lee's Wife</i>, Browning turned for his +"incidents in the development <a name="page209" id="page209">of</a> +souls" to the passion and sin-frayed lives of his own countrymen. But no +halo of seventeenth-century romance here tempers the sordid modernity of +the facts; the "James Lee" of this tragedy appears in person and is +drawn with remorseless insistence on every mean detail which announces +the "rag-and-feather hero-sham." Everything except his wit and eloquence +is sham and shabby in this Club-and-Country-house villain, who violates +more signally than any figure in poetic literature the canon that the +contriver of the tragic harms must not be totally despicable. A thief, +as Schiller said, can qualify for a tragic hero only by adding to his +theft the more heroic crime of murder; but Browning's Elder Man +compromises even the professional perfidies of a Don Juan with shady +dealings at cards and the like which Don Juan himself would have +scouted. In <i>Fifine</i> the Don Juan of tradition was lifted up into +and haloed about with poetical splendours not his own; here he is +depressed into an equally alien sorriness of prose. But the decisive and +commanding figure, for Browning and for his readers, is of course his +victim and Nemesis, the Elder Lady. She is as unlike Pompilia as he is +unlike Guido; but we see not less clearly how the upleaping of the soul +of womanhood in the child, under the stress of foul and cruel wrongs, +has once more asserted its power over him. And if Pompilia often recalls +his wife, the situation of the Elder Lady may fairly remind us of that +of Marion Erle in <i>Aurora Leigh</i>. But many complexities in the +working <a name="page210" id="page210">out</a> mark Browning's design. +The betrayed girl, scornfully refusing her betrayer's tardy offer of +marriage, has sought a refuge, as the wife of a clergyman, in the +drudgery of a benighted parish. The chance meeting of the two, four +years after, in the inn parlour, their bitter confessions, through the +veil of mutual hatred, that life has been ruined for both,—he, +with his scandalous successes growing at last notorious, she, the soul +which once "sprang at love," now sealed deliberately against beauty, and +spent in preaching monstrous doctrines which neither they nor their +savage parishioners believe nor observe,—all this is imagined very +powerfully and on lines which would hardly have occurred to any one else.</p> + +<p>The <i>Pacchiarotto</i> volume forms a kind of epilogue to the work +of the previous half-dozen years. Since <i>The Ring and the Book</i> he +had become a famous personage; his successive poems had been everywhere +reviewed at length; a large public was genuinely interested in him, +while a yet larger complained of his "obscurity," but did not venture to +ignore him, and gossiped eagerly about his private life. He himself, +mingling freely, an ever-welcome guest, in the choicest London society, +had the air of having accepted the world as cordially as it on the whole +accepted him. Yet barriers remained. Poems like the <i>Red-cotton +Night-cap Country</i>, the <i>Inn Album</i>, and <i>Fifine</i> had +alienated many whom <i>The Ring and the Book</i> had won captive, and +embarrassed the defence of some <a name="page211" id="page211">of</a> +Browning's staunchest devotees. Nobody knew better than the popular +diner-out, Robert Browning, how few of the men and women who listened to +his brilliant talk had any grip upon his inner mind; and he did little +to assist their insight. The most affable and accessible of men up to a +certain point, he still held himself, in the deeper matters of his art, +serenely and securely aloof. But it was a good-humoured, not a cynical, +aloofness, which found quite natural expression in a volley of genial +chaff at the critics who thought themselves competent to teach him his +business. This is the main, at least the most dominant, note of +<i>Pacchiarotto</i>. It is like an aftermath of <i>Aristophanes' +Apology</i>. But the English poet scarcely deigns to defend his art. No +beautiful and brilliant woman is there to put him on his mettle and call +out his chivalry. The mass of his critics are roundly made game of, in a +boisterously genial sally, as "sweeps" officiously concerned at his +excess of "smoke." <i>Pacchiarotto</i> is a whimsical tale of a poor +painter who came to grief in a Quixotic effort to "reform" his fellows. +Rhyme was never more brilliantly abused than in this <i>tour de +force</i>, in which the clang of the machinery comes near to +killing the music. More seriously, in the finely turned stanzas <i>At the +Mermaid</i>, and <i>House</i>, he avails himself of the habitual +reticence of Shakespeare to defend by implication his own reserve, not +without a passing sarcasm at the cost of the poet who took Europe by +storm <a name="page212" id="page212">with</a> the pageant of his broken +heart. <i>House</i> is for the most part rank prose, but it sums up +incisively in the well-known retort:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in12">"'<i>With this same key</i></span><br /> + <i>Shakespeare unlocked his heart</i>,' once more!<br /> + <span class="in1">Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">This "house" image is singularly frequent in this +volume. The poet seems haunted by the idea of the barrier walls, which +keep off the public gaze, but admit the privileged spirit. In <i>Fears +and Scruples</i> it symbolises the reticence of God. In +<i>Appearances</i> the "poor room" in which troth was plighted and the +"rich room" in which "the other word was spoken" become half human in +sympathy. A woman's "natural magic" makes the bare walls she dwells in a +"fairy tale" of verdure and song. The prologue seems deliberately to +strike this note, with its exquisite idealisation of the old red brick +wall and its creepers lush and lithe,—a formidable barrier indeed, +but one which spirit and love can pass. For here the "wall" is the +unsympathetic throng who close the poet in; there</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"I—prison-bird, with a ruddy strife<br /> + <span class="in1">At breast, and a life whence storm-notes start—</span><br /> + Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing<br /> + <span class="in1">That's spirit: though cloistered fast, soar free;</span><br /> + Account as wood, brick, stone, this ring<br /> + <span class="in1">Of the rueful neighbours, and—forth to thee!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">These stanzas finely hint at a second theme which +wanders in and out among the strident notes of Browning's anti-critical +"apologetics." Of all the <a name="page213" id="page213">springs</a> of +poetry none lay deeper in Browning than love; to the last he could sing +of love with the full inspiration of his best time; and the finest +things in this volume are concerned with it. But as compared with the +love-lays of the <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i> or <i>Men and Women</i> +there is something wistful, far off, even elegiac, in this love-poetry. +A barrier, undefinable but impassable, seems to part us from the full +tide of youthful passion. The richest in this tender sunset beauty is +the <i>St Martin's Summer</i>, where the late love is suddenly smitten +with the discovery that its apparent warmth is a ghost of old passion +buried but unallayed. Again and again Browning here dwells upon the +magic of love,—as if love still retained for the ageing poet an +isolated and exceptional irradiating power in a world fast fading into +commonplace and prose. The brief, exquisite snatches of song, <i>Natural +Magic, Magical Nature</i>, are joyous tributes to the power of the +charm, paid by one who remains master of his heart. <i>Numpholeptos</i> +is the long-drawn enchanted reverie of one in the very toils of the +spell—a thing woven of dreams and emotions, dark-glowing, +iridescent to the eye, languorous to the ear, impalpable to the analytic +intellect. In <i>Bifurcation</i> he puts again, with more of subtlety +and of detachment, the problem of the conventional conflict of love with +duty, so peremptorily decided in love's favour in <i>The Statue and the +Bust</i>. <i>A Forgiveness</i> is a powerful reworking of the theme of +<i>My Last Duchess</i>, with an added irony of situation: <a +name="page214" id="page214">Browning</a>, who excels in the drama of +silent figures, has drawn none more effective than this guilty priest, +who grinds his teeth behind the confessional grating as he listens +perforce to the story of his own crime from the lips of the wronged +husband, still cherishing the hope that he is unrecognised, or at the +worst may elude vengeance in his cloister's solitude; until the +avenger's last words throw off the mask:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Hardly, I think! As little helped his brow<br /> + The cloak then, Father—as your grate helps now!"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">From these high matters of passion and tragedy we +pass by easy steps into the jocular-colloquial region in which the +volume opened. Painting in these later days of Browning's has ceased to +yield high, or even serious poetry, and Baldinucci's tale of shabby +trickery cannot be compared, even for grotesque humour, with the +powerful grotesquerie of <i>Holy-Cross Day</i>, while it wholly lacks +the great lift of Hebraic sublimity at the close. The <i>Epilogue</i> +returns to the combative apologetics of the title poem; but, unlike +that, does attempt some reply to the cavils of the discontented. They +cannot have the strong and the sweet—body and bouquet—at +once, he tells them in effect, and he chooses to be strong, to give the +good grape and leave the cowslips growing in the meadow. The argument +was but another sally of the poet's good-humoured chaff, and would not +have stood the scrutiny of his subtler mind. Doubtless he, like Ben +Jonson, inclined to see signs of the "strong" in the astringent <a +name="page215" id="page215">and</a> the gritty; but no one knew better, +when he chose, to wed his "strength" with "sweetness." The falling-off +of the present volume compared with <i>Men and Women</i> or <i>Dramatis +Personæ</i> lay less in the lack of either quality than in his failure +to bring them together. Of the "stiff brew" there is plenty; but the +choicest aroma comes from that "wine of memories"—the fragrant +reminiscences—which the poet affected to despise. The epilogue +ends, incorrigibly, with a promise to "posset and cosset" the cavilling +reader henceforward with "nettle-broth," good for the sluggish blood and +the disordered stomach.</p> + +<p>The following year brought a production which the cavilling reader +might excusably regard as a fulfilment of this jocose threat. For the +translation of the <i>Agamemnon</i> (1877) was not in any sense a +serious contribution to the English knowledge and love of Greek drama. +The Balaustion "transcripts" had betrayed an imperfect sensibility to +the finer qualities of Greek dramatic style. But Browning seems to have +gone to work upon the greatest of antique tragedies with the definite +intention of showing, by a version of literal fidelity, how little the +Greek drama at its best owed to Greek speech. And he has little +difficulty in making the oracular brevity of Aeschylus look bald, and +his sublime incoherences frigid.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref61" +id="fnref61" href="#fn61">[61]</a></span> The result is, <a +name="page216" id="page216">nevertheless</a>, very interesting and +instructive to the student of Browning's mind. Nowhere +else do we feel so acutely how foreign to his versatile and athletic +intellect was the primitive and elemental imagination which interprets +the heart and the conscience of nations. His acute individualism in +effect betrayed him, and made his too faithful translation resemble a +parody of this mighty fragment of the mind of Themistoclean Athens by +one of the brilliant irresponsible Sophists of the next generation.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn61" id="fn61" href="#fnref61">[61]</a></span> +It is hard to explain how Browning came also to choose his +restless hendecasyllables as a medium for the stately iambic of +Æschylus. It is more like Fletcher outdoing himself in double endings. +</div> + +<p>The spring and summer of 1877 were not productive. The summer holiday +was spent in a new haunt among the Savoy Alps, and Browning missed the +familiar stimulus of the sea-air. But the early autumn brought an event +which abruptly shattered his quiescence, and called forth, presently, +the most intimately personal poem of his later years. Miss Ann +Egerton-Smith, his gifted and congenial companion at London concerts, +and now, for the fourth year in succession, in the summer +<i>villeggiatura</i>, died suddenly of heart disease at dawn on Sept. +14, as she was preparing for a mountain expedition with her friends. It +was not one of those losses which stifle thought or sweep it along on +the vehement tide of lyric utterance; it was rather of the kind which +set it free, creating an atmosphere of luminous serenity about it, and +allaying all meaner allurements and distractions. Elegy is often the +outcome of such moods; and the elegiac note is perceptible in the grave +music of <i>La Saisiaz</i>. Yet the poem as a <a name="page217" +id="page217">whole</a> does not even distantly recall, +save in the quiet intensity of its ground tone, the noble poems in which +Milton or Shelley, Arnold or Tennyson, commemorated their dead friends. +He himself commemorated no other dead friend in a way like this; to his +wife's memory he had given only the sacred silence, the impassioned +hymn, the wealth of poetry inspired by her spirit but not addressed to +her. This poem, also, was written "once, and only once, and for one +only." <i>La Saisiaz</i> recalls to us, perversely perhaps, poems of +his in which no personal sorrow beats. The glory of the dawn and the +mountain-peak—Salève with its outlook over the snowy splendour of +Mont Blanc—instils itself here into the mourner's mood, as, long +before, a like scene had animated the young disciples of the +Grammarian; while the "cold music" of Galuppi's Toccata seems to be +echoed inauspiciously in these lingering trochaics. Something of both +moods survives, but the dominant tone is a somewhat grey and tempered +hope, remote indeed from the oppressive sense of evanescence, the +crumbling mortality, of the second poem, remote no less from the hushed +exaltation, the subdued but rapturous confidence of the first.</p> + +<p>The poet is growing old; the unity of poetic vision is breaking up +into conflicting aspects only to be adjusted in the give and take of +debate; he puts off his singing robes to preside as moderator, while +Fancy and Reason exchange thrust and parry on the problem of +immortality; delivering at last, as the "sad <a name="page218" +id="page218">summing</a> up of all," a balanced and +tentative affirmation. And he delivers the decision with an oppressive +sense that it is but his own. He is "Athanasius contra mundum"; and he +dwells, with a "pallid smile" which Athanasius did not inspire, upon the +marvellous power of fame. Nay, Athanasius himself has his doubts. Even +his sober hope is not a secure possession; but in the gloom of London's +November he remembers that he had hoped in the sunset glory of Salève, +and "saves up" the memory of that pregnant hour for succour in less +prosperous times.</p> + +<p>The <i>Two Poets of Croisic</i>, published with <i>La Saisiaz</i>, +cannot be detached from it. The opening words take up the theme of +"Fame," there half mockingly played with, and the whole poem is a +sarcastic criticism of the worship of Fame. The stories of René +Gentilhomme and Paul Desfarges Maillard are told with an immense burly +vivacity, in the stanza, and a Browningesque version of the manner, of +<i>Beppo</i>. Both stories turned upon those decisive moments which +habitually caught Browning's eye. Only, in their case, the decisive +moment was not one of the revealing crises which laid bare their utmost +depths, but a crisis which temporarily invested them with a capricious +effulgence. Yet these instantaneous transformations have a peculiar +charm for Browning; they touch and fall in with his fundamental ideas +of life; and the delicious prologue and epilogue hint these graver +analogies in a dainty music which pleasantly relieves the riotous +uncouthness of the tale <a name="page219" id="page219">itself</a>. +If René's life is suddenly lighted up, so is the moss bank with the +"blue flash" of violets in spring; and the diplomatic sister through +whose service Paul wins his laurels has a more spiritual comrade in the +cicada, who, with her little heart on fire, sang forth the note of the +broken string and won her singer his prize. Browning's pedestrian verse +passes into poetry as he disengages from the transient illusions, the +flickerings and bickerings, of Fame, the eternal truth of Love. But it +is only in the closing stanzas of the main poem that his thought clearly +emerges; when, having exposed the vanity of fame as a test of poetic +merit, he asks how, then, poets shall be tried; and lays down the +characteristic criterion, a happy life. But it is the happiness of Rabbi +ben Ezra, a joy three parts pain, the happiness won not by ignoring evil +but by mastering it!—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"So, force is sorrow, and each sorrow, force:<br /> + <span class="in1">What then? since Swiftness gives the charioteer</span><br /> + The palm, his hope be in the vivid horse<br /> + <span class="in1">Whose neck God clothed with thunder, not the steer</span><br /> + Sluggish and safe! Yoke Hatred, Crime, Remorse,<br /> + <span class="in1">Despair: but ever mid the whirling fear</span><br /> + Let, through the tumult, break the poet's face<br /> + Radiant, assured his wild slaves win the race!"</p> +</div> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page220" id="page220"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h4>THE LAST DECADE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiled.</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Since the catastrophe of 1861 Browning had not +entered Italy. In the autumn of 1878 he once more bent his steps +thither. Florence, indeed, he refused to revisit; it was burnt in upon +his brain by memories intolerably dear. But in Venice the charm of +Italy reasserted itself, and he returned during his remaining autumns +with increasing frequency to the old-fashioned hostelry, Dell' +Universo, on the Grand Canal, or latterly, to the second home provided +by the hospitality of his gifted and congenial American friend, Mrs +Arthur Bronson. Asolo, too, the town of Pippa, he saw again, after +forty years' absence, with poignant feelings,—"such things have +begun and ended with me in the interval!" But the poignancy of memory +did not restore the magic of perception which had once been his. The +mood described ten years later in the Prologue to <i>Asolando</i> was +already dominant: <a name="page221" id="page221">the</a> iris glow of +youth no longer glorified every common object of the natural world, but +"a flower was just a flower." The glory still came by moments; some of +his most thrilling outbursts of song belong to this time. But he built +up no more great poems. He was approaching seventy, and it might well +seem that if so prolific a versifier was not likely to become silent +his poetry was rapidly resolving itself into wastes of theological +argument, of grotesque posturing, or intellectualised anecdotage. The +<i>Dramatic Idyls</i> of 1879 and 1880 showed that these more serious +forebodings were at least premature. There was little enough in them, +no doubt, of the qualities traditionally connected with "idyll." +Browning habitually wore his rue with a difference, and used familiar +terms in senses of his own. There is nothing here of "enchanted +reverie" or leisurely pastoralism. Browning's "idyls" are studies in +life's moments of stress and strain, not in its secluded pleasances and +verdurous wooded ways. It is for the most part some new variation of +his familiar theme—the soul taken in the grip of a tragic crisis, +and displaying its unsuspected deeps and voids. Not all are of this +kind, however; and while his keenness for intense and abnormal effects +is as pronounced as ever, he seeks them in an even more varied field. +Italy, the main haunt of his song, yields—it can hardly be said +to have inspired—one only of the <i>Idyls</i>—<i>Pietro of +Abano</i>. Old memories of Russia are furbished up in <i>Iván +Ivánovitch</i>, odd gatherings <a name="page222" id="page222">from</a> +the byways of England and America in <i>Ned Bratts, Halbert and Hob, +Martin Relph</i>; and he takes from Virgil's hesitating lips the hint +of a joyous pagan adventure of the gods, and tells it with his own +brilliant plenitude and volubility. The mythic treatment of +nature had never appealed much to Browning, even as a gay decorative +device; he was presently to signalise his rejection of it in <i>Gerard +de Lairesse</i>, a superb example of what he rejected. In all mythology +there was something foreign to the tenacious humanity of his intellect; +he was most open to its appeal where it presented divinity stretching +forth a helping hand to man. The noble "idyl" of <i>Echetlos</i> is +thus a counterpart, in its brief way, to the great tragic tale of +Herakles and Alkestis. Echetlos, the mysterious ploughman who shone +amid the ranks at Marathon,</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in9">"clearing Greek earth of weed</span><br /> + As he routed through the Sabian and rooted up the Mede,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">is one of the many figures which thrill us with +Browning's passion for Greece, and he is touched with a kind of magic +which it did not lie in his nature often to communicate. But the great +successes of the <i>Dramatic Idyls</i> are to be found mainly among the +tales of the purely human kind that Browning had been used to tell. +<i>Pheidippides</i> belongs to the heroic line of <i>How they brought +the Good News</i> and <i>Hervé Riel</i>. The poetry of crisis, of the +sudden, unforeseen, and irremediable critical moment, upon which so +much of Browning's <a name="page223" id="page223">psychology</a> +converges, is carried to an unparalleled point of intensity in +<i>Clive</i> and <i>Martin Relph</i>. And in most of these "idyls" +there emerges a trait always implicit in Browning but only distinctly +apparent in this last decade—the ironical contrasts between the +hidden deeps of a man's soul and the assumptions or speculations of his +neighbours about it. The two worlds—inner and outer—fall +more sharply apart; stranger abysses of self-consciousness appear on +the one side, more shallow and complacent illusions on the other. +Relph's horror of remorse—painted with a few strokes of +incomparable intensity, like his 'Get you behind the man I am now, you +man that I used to be!'—is beyond the comprehension of the +friendly peasants; Clive's "fear" is as much misunderstood by his +auditor as his courage by the soldiers; the "foolishness" of Muleykeh +equally illudes his Arab comrades; the Russian villagers, the Pope, and +the lord have to fumble through a long process of argument to the +conclusion which for Iván had been the merest matter of fact from the +first. Admirable in its quiet irony is the contrast between the stormy +debate over his guilt or innocence and his serene security of mind as he +sits cutting out a toy for his children:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"They told him he was free</span><br /> + As air to walk abroad; 'How otherwise?' asked he."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">With the "wild men" Halbert and Hob it is the spell +of a sudden memory which makes an abrupt rift <a name="page224" +id="page224">between</a> the men they have seemed to be and +the men they prove. Browning in his earlier days had gloried in these +moments of disclosure; now they served to emphasise the normal illusion. +"Ah me!" sounds the note of the proem to the second series, scornful and +sad:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in5">"Ah me!</span><br /> + So ignorant of man's whole,<br /> + Of bodily organs plain to see—<br /> + So sage and certain, frank and free,<br /> + About what's under lock and key—<br /> + <span class="in3">Man's soul!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p>The volume called <i>Jocoseria</i> (1883) contains some fine things, +and abounds with Browning's invariable literary accomplishment and +metrical virtuosity, but on the whole points to the gradual +disintegration of his genius. "Wanting is—what?" is the +significant theme of the opening lyric, and most of the poetry has +something which recalls the "summer redundant" of leaf and flower not +"breathed above" by vitalising passion. Compared with the <i>Men and +Women</i> or the <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>, the <i>Jocoseria</i> as a +whole are indeed</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Framework which waits for a picture to frame, ...<br /> + Roses embowering with nought they embower."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Browning, the poet of the divining imagination, is +less apparent here than the astute ironical observer who delights in +pricking the bubbles of affectation, stripping off the masks of sham, +and exhibiting human <a name="page225" id="page225">nature</a> in +unadorned nakedness. <i>Donald</i> is an exposure, savage and +ugly, of savagery and ugliness in Sport; <i>Solomon and Balkis</i> a +reduction, dainty and gay, of these fabled paragons of wisdom to the +dimensions of ordinary vain and amorous humanity. Lilith and Eve unmask +themselves under stress of terror, as Balkis and Solomon at the +compulsion of the magic ring, and Adam urbanely replaces the mask. +Jochanan Hakka-dosh, the saintly prop of Israel, expounds from his +deathbed a gospel of struggle and endurance in which a troubled echo of +the great strain of Ben Ezra may no doubt be heard; but his career is, +as a whole, a half-sad, half-humorous commentary on the vainness of +striving to extend the iron frontiers of mortality. Lover, poet, +soldier, statist have each contributed a part of their lives to prolong +and enrich the saint's: but their fresh idealisms have withered when +grafted upon his sober and sapless brain; while his own garnered wisdom +fares no better when committed to the crude enthusiasm of his disciples. +But twice, in this volume, a richer and fuller music sounds. In the +great poem of <i>Ixion</i>, human illusions are still the preoccupying +thought; but they appear as fetters, not as specious masks, and instead +of the serio-comic exposure of humanity we see its tragic and heroic +deliverance. Ixion is Browning's Prometheus. The song that breaks from +his lips as he whirls upon the penal wheel of Zeus is a great liberating +cry of defiance to the phantom-god—man's creature and his +ape—<a name="page226" id="page226">who</a> may plunge the body in +torments but can never so baffle the soul but that</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"From the tears and sweat and blood of his torment</span><br /> + Out of the wreck he rises past Zeus to the Potency o'er him,<br /> + Pallid birth of my pain—where light, where light is, aspiring,<br /> + Thither I rise, whilst thou—Zeus take thy godship and sink."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And in <i>Never the Time and the Place</i>, the +pang of love's aching void and the rapture of reunion blend in one +strain of haunting magical beauty, the song of an old man in whom one +memory kindles eternal youth, a song in which, as in hardly another, +the wistfulness of autumn blends with the plenitude of spring.</p> + +<p>Browning spent the summer months of 1883 at Gressoney St Jean, a +lonely spot high up in the Val d'Aosta, living, as usual when abroad, +on the plainest of vegetable diet. "Delightful Gressoney!" he wrote,</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Who laughest, 'Take what is, trust what may be!'"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And a mood of serene acquiescence in keeping with +the scene breathes from the poem which occupied him during this +pleasant summer. To Browning's old age, as to Goethe's, the calm wisdom +and graceful symbolism of Persia offered a peculiar attraction. In the +<i>Westöstlicher Divan</i>, seventy years earlier, Goethe, with a +subtler sympathy, laid his finger upon the common germs of Eastern and +Western thought and poetry. <a name="page227" id="page227">Browning</a>, +far less in actual touch with the Oriental mind, turned to the +East in quest of picturesque habiliments for his very definitely +European convictions—"Persian garments," which had to be +"changed" in the mind of the interpreting reader.</p> + +<p>The <i>Fancies</i> have the virtues of good fables,—pithy +wisdom, ingenious moral instances, homely illustrations, easy +colloquial dialogue; and the ethical teaching has a striking +superficial likeness to the common-sense morality of prudence and +content, which fables, like proverbs, habitually expound. "Cultivate +your garden, don't trouble your head about insoluble riddles, accept +your ignorance and your limitations, assume your good to be good and +your evil to be evil, be a man and nothing more"—such is the +recurring burden of Ferishtah's counsel. But such preaching on +Browning's lips always carried with it an implicit assumption that the +preacher had himself somehow got outside the human limitations he +insisted on; that he could measure the plausibility of man's +metaphysics and theology, and distinguish between the anthropomorphism +which is to be acquiesced in because we know no better, +and that which is to be spurned because we know too much. Ferishtah's +thought is a game of hide-and-seek, and its movements have all the +dexterity of winding and subterfuge proper to success in that game. +Against the vindictive God of the creeds he trusts his human assurance +that pain is God's instrument to educate us into pity <a name="page228" +id="page228">and</a> love; but when it is asked how a just God can +single out sundry fellow-mortals</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"To undergo experience for our sake,<br /> + Just that the gift of pain, bestowed on them,<br /> + In us might temper to the due degree<br /> + Joy's else-excessive largess,"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">instead of admitting a like appeal to the same +human assurance, he falls back upon the unfathomable ways of +Omnipotence. If the rifts in the argument are in any sense supplied, it +is by the brief snatches of song which intervene between the +<i>Fancies</i>, as the cicada-note filled the pauses of the broken +string. These exquisite lyrics are much more adequate expressions of +Browning's faith than the dialogues which professedly embody it. They +transfer the discussion from the jangle of the schools and the cavils +of the market-place to the passionate persuasions of the heart and the +intimate experiences of love, in which all Browning's mysticism had its +root. Thus Ferishtah's pragmatic, almost philistine, doctrine of +"Plot-culture," by which human life is peremptorily walled in within +its narrow round of tasks, "minuteness severed from immensity," is +followed by the lyric which tells how Love transcends those limits, +making an eternity of time and a universe of solitude. Finally, the +burden of these wayward intermittent strains of love-music is caught +up, with an added intensity drawn from the poet's personal love and +sorrow, in the noble Epilogue. As he listens to the call of Love, the +world becomes an enchanted place, resounding with <a name="page229" +id="page229">the</a> triumph of good and the exultant battle-joy of +heroes. But a "chill wind" suddenly disencharms the enchantment, a +doubt that buoyant faith might be a mirage conjured up by Love +itself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in6">"What if all be error,</span><br /> + If the halo irised round my head were—Love, thine arms?"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">He disdains to answer; for the last words glow with +a fire which of itself dispels the chill wind. A faith founded upon +love had for Browning a surer guarantee than any founded upon reason; +it was secured by that which most nearly emancipated men from the +illusions of mortality, and enabled them to see things as they are seen +by God.</p> + +<p>The <i>Parleyings with Certain People of Importance in their Day</i> +(1887) is a more laboured and, save for one or two splendid episodes, a +less remarkable achievement than <i>Ferishtah</i>. All the burly +diffuseness which had there been held in check by a quasi-oriental +ideal of lightly-knit facility and bland oracular pithiness, here has +its way without stint, and no more songs break like the rush of birds' +wings upon the dusty air of colloquy. Thrusting in between the lyrics +of <i>Ferishtah</i> and <i>Asolando</i>, these <i>Parleyings</i> recall +those other "people of importance" whose intrusive visit broke in upon +"the tenderness of Dante." Neither their importance in their own day +nor their relative obscurity, for the most part, in ours, had much to +do with Browning's choice. They do not illustrate merely his normal +interest in <a name="page230" id="page230">the</a> obscure freaks and +out-of-the-way anomalies of history. The doings of these "people" had +once been "important" to Browning himself, and the old man's memory +summoned up these forgotten old-world friends of his boyhood to be +championed or rallied by their quondam disciple. The death of the +dearest friend of his later life, J. Milsand, in 1886, probably set +these chords vibrating; the book is dedicated to his memory. Perhaps the +<i>Imaginary Conversations</i> of an older friend and master of +Browning's, one even more important in Browning's day and in ours than +in his own, and the master of his youth, once more suggested the +scheme. But these <i>Parleyings</i> are conversations only in name. +They are not even monologues of the old brilliantly dramatic kind. All +the dramatic zest of converse is gone, the personages are the merest +shadows, nothing is seen but the old poet haranguing his puppets or +putting voluble expositions of his own cherished dogmas into their +wooden lips. We have glimpses of the boy, when not yet able to compass +an octave, beating time to the simple but stirring old march of Avison +"whilom of Newcastle organist"; and before he has done, the memory +masters him, and the pedestrian blank verse breaks into a hymn "rough, +rude, robustious, homely heart athrob" to Pym the "man of men." Or he +calls up Bernard Mandeville to confute the formidable pessimism of his +old friend Carlyle—"whose groan I hear, with guffaw at the end +disposing of mock—melancholy." Gerard de Lairesse, <a +name="page231" id="page231">whose</a> rococo landscapes had +interested him as a boy, he introduces only to typify an outworn way of +art—the mythic treatment of nature; but he illustrates this +"inferior" way with a splendour of poetry that makes his ironic exposure +dangerously like an unwitting vindication. These visions of Prometheus +on the storm-swept crag, of Artemis hunting in the dawn, show that +Browning was master, if he had cared to use it, of that magnificent +symbolic speech elicited from Greek myth in the <i>Hyperion</i> or the +<i>Prometheus Unbound</i>. But it was a foreign idiom to him, and his +occasional use of it a <i>tour de force</i>.</p> + +<p>Two years only now remained for Browning, and it began to be +apparent to his friends that his sturdy health was no longer secure. +His way of life underwent no change, he was as active in society as +ever, and acquaintances, old and new, still claimed his time, and added +to the burden, always cheerfully endured, of his correspondence. In +October 1887 the marriage of his son attached him by a new tie to +Italy, and the Palazzo Rezzonico on the Grand Canal, where "Pen" and +his young American wife presently settled, was to be his last, as it +was his most magnificent, abode. To Venice he turned his steps each +autumn of these last two years; lingering by the way among the +mountains or in the beautiful border region at their feet. It was thus +that, in the early autumn of 1889, he came yet once again to Asolo. His +old friend and hostess, Mrs Arthur Bronson, had discovered a pleasant, +airy abode on the old <a name="page232" id="page232">town-wall</a>, +overhanging a ravine, and Asolo, seen from this "castle +precipice-encurled," recovered all its old magic. It was here +that he put together the disconnected pieces, many written during the +last two years in London, others at Asolo itself, which were finally +published on the day of his death. The Tower of Queen Cornaro still +overlooked the little town, as it had done half a century before; and he +attached these last poems to the same tradition by giving them the +pleasant title said to have been invented by her secretary. +<i>Asolando</i>—<i>Facts and Fancies</i>, both titles contain a +hint of the ageing Browning,—the relaxed physical energy which +allows this strenuous waker to dream (<i>Reverie; Bad Dreams</i>); the +flagging poetic power, whose fitful flashes could no longer transfigure +the world for him, but only cast a fantastic flicker at moments across +its prosaic features. The opening lines sadly confess the wane of the +old vision:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"And now a flower is just a flower:<br /> + <span class="in1">Man, bird, beast are but beast, bird, man—</span><br /> + Simply themselves, uncinct by dower<br /> + <span class="in1">Of dyes which, when life's day began,</span><br /> + Round each in glory ran."</p> +</div> + +<p>The famous Epilogue is the last cheer of an old warrior in whom the +stout fibre of heroism still held out when the finer nerve of vision +decayed; but <i>A Reverie</i> shows how heavy a strain it had to endure +in sustaining his faith that the world is governed by Love. Of outward +evidence for that conviction Browning saw less and <a name="page233" +id="page233">less</a>. But age had not dimmed his inner witness, and +those subtle filaments of mysterious affinity which, for Browning, +bound the love of God for man to the love of man for woman, remained +unimpaired. The old man of seventy-seven was still, in his last autumn, +singing songs redolent, not of autumn, but of the perfume and the +ecstasy of spring and youth,—love-lyrics so illusively youthful +that one, not the least competent, of his critics has refused to accept +them as work of his old age. Yet <i>Now</i> and <i>Summum Bonum</i>, +and <i>A Pearl, a Girl</i>, with all their apparent freshness and +spontaneity, are less like rapt utterances of passion than eloquent +analyses of it by one who has known it and who still vibrates with the +memory. What preoccupies and absorbs him is not the woman, but the +wonder of the transfiguration wrought for him by her word or +kiss,—the moment made eternal, the "blaze" in which he became +"lord of heaven and earth." But some of the greatest love-poetry of the +world—from Dante onwards—has reflected an intellect +similarly absorbed in articulating a marvellous experience. For the +rest, <i>Asolando</i> is a miscellany of old and new,—bright +loose drift from the chance moods of genius, or bits of anecdotic +lumber carefully recovered and refurbished, as in prescience of the +nearing end.</p> + +<p>Yet no such prescience appears to have been his. His buoyant +confidence in his own vitality held its own. He was full of schemes of +work. At the end of October the idyllic days at Asolo ended, and +Browning repaired for the last time to the Palazzo <a name="page234" +id="page234">Rezzonico</a>. A month later he caught a bronchial +catarrh; failure of the heart set in, and on the evening of December 12 +he peacefully died. On the last day of the year his body was laid to +rest in "Poets' Corner."</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page235" id="page235"></a> +<h2>PART II.</h2> + +<h2>BROWNING'S MIND AND ART</h2> +<br /><br /> +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page237" id="page237"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h4>THE POET.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent">Then, who helps more, pray, to repair our loss—<br /> + Another Boehme with a tougher book<br /> + And subtler meanings of what roses say,—<br /> + Or some stout Mage, like him of Halberstadt,<br /> + John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about?<br /> + He with a "look you!" vents a brace of rhymes,<br /> + And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,<br /> + . . . . . . . . . .<br /> + Buries us with a glory, young once more,<br /> + Pouring heaven into this shut house of life.<br /> + <span class="in14">—<i>Transcendentalism</i>.</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p class="noindent">"I have, you are to know," Browning once wrote to +Miss Haworth, "such a love for flowers and leaves ... that I every now +and then in an impatience at being unable to possess them thoroughly, +to see them quite, satiate myself with their scent,—bite them to +bits." "All poetry," he wrote some twenty years later to Ruskin, "is +the problem of putting the infinite into the finite." Utterances like +these, not conveyed through the lips of some "dramatic" creation, but +written seriously in his own person to intimate friends, give us a <a +name="page238" id="page238">clue</a> more valuable it may be than some +other utterances which are oftener quoted and better known, to the +germinal impulses of Browning's poetic work. "Finite" and "infinite" +were words continually on his lips, and it is clear that both sides of +the antithesis represented instincts rooted in his mental nature, +drawing nourishment from distinct but equally fundamental springs of +feeling and thought. Each had its stronghold in a particular psychical +region. The province and feeding-ground of his passion for "infinity" +was that eager and restless self-consciousness which he so vividly +described in <i>Pauline</i>, seeking to "be all, have, see, know, +taste, feel all," to become all natures, like Sordello, yet +retain the law of his own being. "I pluck the rose and love it more than +tongue can speak," says the lover in <i>Two in the Campagna</i>. +Browning had his full portion of the romantic idealism which, under the +twofold stimulus of literary and political revolution, had animated the +poetry of the previous generation. But while he clearly shared the +uplifted aspiring spirit of Shelley, it assumed in him a totally +different character. Shelley abhors limits, everything grows evanescent +and ethereal before his solvent imagination, the infinity he aspires +after unveils itself at his bidding, impalpable, undefined, "intense," +"inane." Whereas Browning's restlessly aspiring temperament worked under +the control of an eye and ear that fastened with peculiar emphasis and +eagerness upon all the limits, the dissonances, the angularities that +Shelley's harmonising fancy dissolved away. The <a name="page239" +id="page239">ultimate</a> psychological result was that the brilliant +clarity and precision of his imagined forms gathered richness and +intensity of suggestion from the vaguer impulses of temperament, and +that an association was set up between them which makes it literally +true to say that, for Browning, the "finite" is not the rival or the +antithesis, but the very language of the "infinite,"—that the +vastest and most transcendent realities have for him their <i>points +d'appui</i> in some bit of intense life, some darting bird or insect, +some glowing flower or leaf. Existence ebbs away from the large, +featureless, monotonous things, to concentrate itself in a spiked +cypress or a jagged mountain cleft. A placid soul without "incidents" +arrests him less surely than the fireflies on a mossy bank. Hence, +while "the finite" always appears, when explicitly contrasted with "the +infinite," as the inferior,—as something <i>soi-disant</i> +imperfect and incomplete,—its actual status and function in +Browning's imaginative world rather resembles that of Plato's +περας in relation to the +απειρον,—the saving "limit" +which gives definite existence to the limitless vague.</p> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>Hence Browning, while a romantic in temper, was, in comparison with +his predecessors, a thorough realist in method. All the Romantic poets +of the previous generation had refused and decried some large portion of +reality. Wordsworth had averted his ken from half <a name="page240" +id="page240">of</a> human fate; Keats and Shelley turned from the +forlornness of human society as it was to the transfigured humanity of +myth. All three were out of sympathy with civilisation; and their +revolt went much deeper than a distaste for the types of men it bred. +They attacked a triumphant age of reason in its central fastness, the +brilliant analytic intelligence to which its triumphs were apparently +due. Keats declaimed at cold philosophy which undid the rainbow's +spells; Shelley repelled the claim of mere understanding to settle the +merits of poetry; Wordsworth, the profoundest, though by no means the +most cogent or connected, thinker of the three, denounced the "meddling +intellect" which murders to dissect, and strove to strip language +itself of every element of logic and fancy, as distortions of the +truth, only to be uttered in the barest words, which comes to the heart +that watches and receives. On all these issues Browning stands in +sharp, if not quite absolute, contrast. "Barbarian," as he has been +called, and as in a quite intelligible sense he was, he found his +poetry pre-eminently among the pursuits, the passions, the interests +and problems, of civilised men. His potent gift of imagination never +tempted him, during his creative years, to assail the sufficiency +of intellect, or to disparage the intellectual and "artificial" elements +of speech; on the contrary, he appears from the outset employing in the +service of poetry a discursive logic of unsurpassed swiftness and +dexterity, and a vast heterogeneous army of words gathered, like a +sudden levy, with <a name="page241" id="page241">a</a> sole eye to +their effective force, from every corner of civilised life, and wearing +the motley of the most prosaic occupations. It was only in the closing +years that he began to distrust the power of thought to get a grip upon +reality. His delight in poetic argument is often doubtless that of the +ironical casuist, looking on at the self-deceptions of a soul; but his +interest in ideas was a rooted passion that gave a thoroughly new, and +to many readers most unwelcome, "intellectuality" to the whole manner +as well as substance of his poetic work.</p> + +<p>While Browning thus, in Nietzsche's phrase, said "Yes" to many sides +of existence which his Romantic predecessors repudiated or ignored, he +had some very definite limitations of his own. He gathered into his +verse crowded regions of experience which they neglected; but some very +glorious avenues of poetry pursued by them he refused to explore. +Himself the most ardent believer in the supernatural among all the great +poets of his time, the supernatural, as such, has hardly any explicit +place in his poetry. To the eternal beauty of myth and +folk-lore,—dream-palaces "never built at all and therefore built +for ever,"—all that province of the poetical realm which in the +memorable partition of 1797 Coleridge had taken for his own, splendidly +emulated by Shelley and by Keats, Browning the Platonist maintained on +the whole the attitude of the utilitarian man of facts. "Fairy-poetry," +he agreed with Elizabeth Barrett in 1845-46, was "impossible <a +name="page242" id="page242">in</a> the days of steam." With a faith in +a transcendent divine world as assured as Dante's or Milton's, he did +not aspire to "pass the flaming bounds of Space or Time," or "to +possess the sun and stars." No reader of <i>Gerard de Lairesse</i> at +one end of his career, or of the vision of <i>Paracelsus</i> +at the other, or <i>Childe Roland</i> in the middle, can mistake the +capacity; but habit is more trustworthy than an occasional <i>tour de +force</i>; and Browning's imagination worked freely only when it bodied +forth a life in accord with the waking experience of his own day. "A +poet never dreams," said his philosophical Don Juan, "we prose folk +always do"; and the epigram brilliantly announced the character of +Browning's poetic world,—the world of prose illuminated through +and through in every cranny and crevice by the keenest and most +adventurous of exploring intellects.</p> + +<p>In physical organisation Browning's endowment was decidedly of the +kind which prompts men to "accept the universe" with joyful alacrity. +Like his contemporary Victor Hugo, he was, after all reserves have been +made, from first to last one of the healthiest and heartiest of men. If +he lacked the burly stature and bovine appetite with which young Hugo a +little scandalised the delicate sensibilities of French Romanticism, he +certainly "came eating and drinking," and amply equipped with nerve and +muscle, activity, accomplishment, social instinct, and <i>savoir faire</i>. +The isolating loneliness of genius was checkmated by a profusion of <a +name="page243" id="page243">the</a> talents which put men <i>en +rapport</i> with their kind. The reader of his biography is apt to miss +in it the signs of that heroic or idealist detachment which he was +never weary of extolling in his verse. He is the poet <i>par +excellence</i> of the glory of failure and dissatisfaction: but +his life was, in the main, that of one who succeeded and who was +satisfied with his success. In the vast bulk of his writings we look in +vain for the "broken arc," the "half-told tale," and it is +characteristic that he never revised. Even after the great sorrow of his +life, the mood of <i>Prospice</i>, though it may have underlain all his +other moods, did not suppress or transform them; he "lived in the world +and loved earth's way," and however assured that this earth is not his +only sphere, did not wish</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">"the wings unfurled</span><br /> + That sleep in the worm, they say."</p> +</div> + +<p>Whatever affinities Browning may have with the mystic or the +symbolist for whom the whole sense-world is but the sign of spiritual +realities, it is plain that this way of envisaging existence found +little support in the character of his senses. He had not the brooding +eye, beneath which, as it gazes, loveliness becomes far lovelier, but +an organ aggressively alert, minutely inquisitive, circumstantially +exact, which perceived the bearings of things, and explored their +intricacies, noted how the mortar was tempered in the walls and if any +struck a woman or beat a horse, but was as little prone to <a +name="page244" id="page244">transfigure</a> these or other +things with the glamour of mysterious suggestion as the eye of Peter +Bell himself. He lacked the stranger and subtler sensibilities of eye +and ear, to which Nature poetry of the nineteenth century owes so much. +His senses were efficient servants to an active brain, not magicians +flinging dazzling spells into the air before him or mysterious music +across his path. By a curious and not unimportant peculiarity he could +see a remote horizon clearly with one eye, and read the finest print in +twilight with the other; but he could not, like Wordsworth, hear the +"sound of alien melancholy" given out from the mountains before a storm. +The implicit realism of his eye and ear was fortified by acute tactual +and muscular sensibilities. He makes us vividly aware of surface and +texture, of space, solidity, shape. Matter with him is not the +translucent, tenuous, half-spiritual substance of Shelley, but +aggressively massive and opaque, tense with solidity. And he had in an +eminent degree the quick and eager apprehension of space—relations +which usually goes with these developed sensibilities of eye and muscle. +There is a hint of it in an early anecdote. "Why, sir, you are quite a +geographer!" he reported his mother to have said to him when, on his +very first walk with her, he had given her an elaborate imaginary +account of "his houses and estates."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref62" id="fnref62" href="#fn62">[62]</a></span> But it was +only late in life that this acute plasticity and concreteness of his +sensibility found its <a name="page245" id="page245">natural</a> +outlet. When in their last winter at Rome (1860-61) he took to +clay-modelling, it was with an exultant rapture which for the time +thrust poetry into the shade. "The more tired he has been, and the more +his back ached, poor fellow," writes his wife, "the more he has exulted +and been happy—no, nothing ever made him so happy before."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref63" id="fnref63" href="#fn63">[63]</a></span> +This was the immense joy of one who has at length found the key after +half a lifetime of trying at the lock.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn62" id="fn62" href="#fnref62">[62]</a></span> +Mrs Orr, <i>Life</i>, p. 24. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn63" id="fn63" href="#fnref63">[63]</a></span> +Mrs Browning's <i>Letters</i>, March 1861. +</div> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>And yet realism as commonly understood is a misleading term for +Browning's art. If his keen objective senses penned his imagination, +save for a few daring escapades, within the limits of a somewhat normal +actuality, it exercised, within those limits, a superb individuality of +choice. The acute observer was doubled with a poet whose vehement and +fiery energy and intense self-consciousness influenced what he observed, +and yet far more what he imagined and what he expressed. It is possible +to distinguish four main lines along which this determining bias told. +He gloried in the strong sensory-stimulus of glowing colour, of dazzling +light; in the more complex <i>motory</i>-stimulus of intricate, abrupt, +and plastic form,—feasts for the agile eye; in all the signs of +power, exciting a kindred joy by sympathy; and in all the signs of +conscious life or "soul," <a name="page246" id="page246">exciting</a> a +joy which only reaches its height when it is enforced by those more +elemental and primitive springs of joy, when he is engaged with souls +that glow like a flower or a gem, with souls picturesquely complex and +diversified, or vehement, aspiring, heroic. In each of those four +domains, light and colour, form, power, soul, Browning had a profound, +and in the fullest sense creative, joy, which in endless varieties and +combinations dominated his imagination, controlled and pointed its +flight, and determined the contents, the manner, and the atmosphere of +his poetic work. To trace these operations in detail will be the +occupation of the five following sections.</p> + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<h4>1. JOY IN LIGHT AND COLOUR.</h4> + +<p>Browning's repute as a thinker and "teacher" long overshadowed his +glory as a singer, and it still to some extent impedes the recognition +of his bold and splendid colouring. It is true that he is never a +colourist pure and simple; his joy in light and colour is never merely +epicurean. Poets so great as Keats often seem to sit as luxurious +guests at their own feasts of sense; Browning has rather the air of a +magnificent dispenser, who "provides and not partakes." His colouring +is not subtle; it recalls neither the æthereal opal of Shelley nor the +dewy flushing glow and "verdurous glooms" of Keats, nor the <a +name="page247" id="page247">choice</a> and cultured splendour of +Tennyson; it is bold, simple, and intense. He neglects the +indecisive and subdued tones; the mingled hues chiefly found in Nature, +or the tender "silvery-grey" of Andrea's placid perfection. He dazzles +us with scarlet and crimson; with rubies, and blood, and "the poppy's +red effrontery," with topaz, and amethyst, and the glory of gold, makes +the sense ache with the lustre of blue, and heightens the effect of all +by the boldest contrast. Who can doubt that he fell the more readily +upon one of his quaintest titles because of the priestly ordinance that +the "Pomegranates" were to be "of blue and of purple and of scarlet," +and the "Bells" "of gold"? He loves the daybreak hour of the world's +awakening vitality as poets of another temper love the twilight; the +splendour of sunrise pouring into the chamber of Pippa, and steeping +Florence in that "live translucent bath of air"<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref64" id="fnref64" href="#fn64">[64]</a></span>; he loves the +blaze of the Italian mid-day—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Great noontides, thunderstorms, all glaring pomps<br /> + That triumph at the heels of June the god."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Even a violet-bed he sees as a "flash" of +"blue."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref65" id="fnref65" +href="#fn65">[65]</a></span> He loves the play of light on golden hair, +and rarely imagines womanhood without it, even in the sombre South and +the dusky East; Poiphyria and Lady Carlisle, <a name="page248" +id="page248">Evelyn</a> Hope and the maid of Pornic, share the gift +with Anael the Druse, with Sordello's Palma, whose</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in9">"tresses curled</span><br /> + Into a sumptuous swell of gold, and wound<br /> + About her like a glory! even the ground<br /> + Was bright as with spilt sunbeams;"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and the girl in <i>Love among the Ruins</i>, and +the "dear dead women" of Venice. His love of fire and of the imagery of +flame has one of its sources in his love of light. Verona emerges from +the gloom of the past as "a darkness kindling at the core." He sees the +"pink perfection of the cyclamen," the "rose bloom o'er the summit's +front of stone." And, like most painters of the glow of light, he +throws a peculiar intensity into his glooms. When he paints a dark +night, as in <i>Pan and Luna</i>, the blackness is a solid jelly-like +thing that can be cut. And even night itself falls short of the pitchy +gloom that precedes the Eastern vision, breaking in despair "against +the soul of blackness there," as the gloom of Saul's tent discovers +within it "a something more black than the blackness," the sustaining +tent-pole, and then Saul himself "gigantic and blackest of all."</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn64" id="fn64" href="#fnref64">[64]</a></span> +"I never grow tired of sunrises," he wrote in a letter, recently +published, to Aubrey de Vere, in 1851 (<i>A. de Vere: A Memoir</i>, +by Wilfrid Ward). +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn65" id="fn65" href="#fnref65">[65]</a></span> +<i>Two Poets of Croisic</i>. +</div> + +<p>But mostly the foil is a vivid, even strident, contrast. He sees the +"old June weather" blue above, and the</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in7">"great opaque</span><br /> + Blue breadth of sea without a break"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">under the walls of the seaside palazzo in Southern +Italy, "where the baked cicala dies of drouth"; and <a name="page249" +id="page249">the</a> blue lilies about the harp of golden-haired David; +and Solomon gold-robed in the blue abyss of his cedar house, "like the +centre spike of gold which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb";<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref66" id="fnref66" href="#fn66">[66]</a></span> +and the "gaze of Apollo" through the gloom of Verona woods;<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref67" id="fnref67" href="#fn67">[67]</a></span> +he sees the American pampas—"miles and miles of gold +and green," "where the sunflowers blow in a solid glow," with a +horse—"coal-black"—careering across it; and his swarthy +Ethiop uses the yellow poison-wattles of a lizard to divine with.<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref68" id="fnref68" href="#fn68">[68]</a></span> +If he imagines the "hairy-gold orbs" of the sorb-fruit, they must be +ensconced in "black glossy myrtle-berries," foils in texture as in +hue;<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref69" id="fnref69" href="#fn69">[69]</a></span> +and he neglects the mellow harmonies of autumnal decay in order to +paint the leaf which is like a splash of blood intense, abrupt, across +the flame of a golden shield.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref70" +id="fnref70" href="#fn70">[70]</a></span> He makes the most of every +hint of contrast he finds, and delights in images which accentuate the +rigour of antithesis; Cleon's mingled black and white slaves remind him +of a tesselated pavement, and Blougram's fluctuating faith and doubt of +a chess-board. And when, long after the tragic break-up of his Italian +home, he reverted in thought to Miss Blagden's Florentine garden, the +one impression that sifted itself out in his tell-tale memory was of +spots of colour and light upon dark backgrounds,—"the herbs in +red flower, and the butterflies on the top of the wall under the +olive-trees."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref71" id="fnref71" +href="#fn71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn66" id="fn66" href="#fnref66">[66]</a></span> +<i>Popularity</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn67" id="fn67" href="#fnref67">[67]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn68" id="fn68" href="#fnref68">[68]</a></span> +Ibid. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn69" id="fn69" href="#fnref69">[69]</a></span> +<i>Englishman in Italy</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn70" id="fn70" href="#fnref70">[70]</a></span> +<i>By the Fireside</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn71" id="fn71" href="#fnref71">[71]</a></span> +Mrs Orr, <i>Life</i>, p. 258. +</div> + +<a name="page250" id="page250"></a> +<p>Browning's colouring is thus strikingly expressive of the build of +his mind, as sketched above. It is the colouring of a realist in so far +as it is always caught from life, and never fantastic or mythical. But +it is chosen with an instinctive and peremptory bias of eye and +imagination—the index of a mind impatient of indistinct +confusions and placid harmony, avid of intensity, decision, and +conflict.</p> + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<h4>2. JOY IN FORM.</h4> + +<p>If the popular legend of Browning ignores his passion for colour, it +altogether scouts the suggestion that he had a peculiar delight in form. +By general consent he lacked the most ordinary and decent attention to +it. No doubt he is partly responsible for this impression himself. His +ideals of literary form were not altogether those commonly recognised in +literature. If we understand by form the quality of clear-cut outline +and sharply defined articulation, there is a sense in which it was one +of the most ingrained instincts of his nature, indulged at times with +even morbid excess. Alike in life and in art he hated sloth,—the +slovenliness of the "ungirt loin" and of the indecisive touch. In +conduct, this animus expressed itself in a kind of punctilious +propriety. The forms of social convention Browning observed not merely +with the scrupulous respect of the man of fashion, but with the +enthusiasm of the <a name="page251" id="page251">virtuoso</a>. Near +akin in genius to the high priests of the Romantic temple, Browning +rarely, even in the defiant heyday of adolescence, set more than a +tentative foot across the outer precincts of the Romantic Bohemia. His +"individualism" was not of the type which overflows in easy +affectations; he was too original to be eccentric, too profoundly a man +of letters to look "like a damned literary man." In his poetry this +animus took a less equivocal shape. Not a little, both of its vividness +and of its obscurity, flows from the undisciplined exuberance of his +joy in form. An acute criticism of Mrs Browning's—in some points +the very best critic he ever had—puts one aspect of this +admirably. <i>The Athenæum</i> had called him "misty." "Misty," she +retorts, "is an infamous word for your kind of obscurity. You never are +misty, not even in <i>Sordello</i>—never vague. Your graver cuts +deep sharp lines, always,—and there is an extra distinctness in +your images and thoughts, from the midst of which, crossing each other +infinitely, the general significance seems to escape."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref72" id="fnref72" href="#fn72">[72]</a></span> +That is the overplus of form producing obscurity. But through immense +tracts of Browning the effect of the extra-distinctness of his images +and thoughts, of the deep sharp lines cut by his graver, is not thus +frustrated, but tells to the full in amazingly vivid and unforgettable +expression. Yet he is no more a realist of the ordinary type here than +in his colouring. His deep sharp lines are caught from life, but under +the <a name="page252" id="page252">control</a> of a no less definite +bias of eye and brain. Sheer nervous and muscular energy had its part +here also. As he loved the intense colours which most vigorously +stimulate the optic nerve, so he delighted in the angular, indented, +intertwining, labyrinthine varieties of line and surface which call for +the most delicate, and at the same time the most agile, adjustments of +the muscles of the eye. He caught at the edges of things—the +white line of foam against the shore, the lip of the shell, and he +could compare whiteness as no other poet ever did to "the bitten lip of +hate." He once saw with delight "a solitary bee nipping a leaf round +till it exactly fitted the front of a hole."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref73" id="fnref73" href="#fn73">[73]</a></span> Browning's joy +in form was as little epicurean as his joy in colour; it was a banquet +of the senses in which the sense of motion and energy had the largest +part. Smooth, flowing, rounded, undulating outlines, which the eye +glides along without check, are insipid and profitless to him, and he +"welcomes the rebuff" of every jagged excrescence or ragged fray, of +every sudden and abrupt breach of continuity. His eye seizes the crisp +indentations of ferns as they "fit their teeth to the polished block" +of a grey boulder-stone;<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref74" +id="fnref74" href="#fn74">[74]</a></span> seizes +the "sharp-curled" olive-leaves as they "print the blue sky" above the +morning glories of Florence;<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref75" +id="fnref75" href="#fn75">[75]</a></span> seizes the sharp zigzag of +lightning against the Italian midnight, the fiery west through a +dungeon grating or a lurid rift in the clouds,<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref76" id="fnref76" href="#fn76">[76]</a></span>—"one +gloom, a rift <a name="page253" id="page253">of</a> fire, another +gloom,"—the brilliant line of Venice suspended "between blue and +blue." "Cup-mosses and ferns and spotty yellow leaves—all that I +love heartily," he wrote to E.B.B.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref77" +id="fnref77" href="#fn77">[77]</a></span> Roses and moss strike most +men's senses by a soft luxuriance in which all sharp articulation of +parts is merged; but what Browning seizes on in the rose is its +"labyrinthine" intricacy, while the moss becomes a little forest of +"fairy-cups and elf needles." And who else would have thought of saying +that "the fields look <i>rough</i> with hoary dew"?<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref78" id="fnref78" href="#fn78">[78]</a></span> +In the <i>Easter-Day</i> vision he sees the sky as a network of black +serrated ridges. He loves the intricate play of light and shade, and +the irregular, contorted, honeycombed surface which produces it; +craggy, scarred, indented mountains, "like an old lion's +cheek-teeth";<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref79" id="fnref79" +href="#fn79">[79]</a></span> old towns with huddled roofs and towers +picked out "black and crooked," like "fretwork," or "Turkish verse +along a scimitar"; old walls, creviced and crannied, intertwined with +creepers, and tenanted by crossing swarms of ever-busy +flies,—such things are the familiar commonplace of Browning's +sculpturesque fancy. His metrical movements are full of the same joy in +"fretwork" effects—verse-rhythm and sense-rhythm constantly +crossing where the reader expects them to coincide.<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref80" id="fnref80" href="#fn80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn72" id="fn72" href="#fnref72">[72]</a></span> +<i>E.B. to R.B.</i>, Jan. 19, 1846. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn73" id="fn73" href="#fnref73">[73]</a></span> +<i>To E.B.B</i>., Jan. 5, 1846. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn74" id="fn74" href="#fnref74">[74]</a></span> +<i>By the Fireside</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn75" id="fn75" href="#fnref75">[75]</a></span> +<i>Old Pictures in Florence</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn76" id="fn76" href="#fnref76">[76]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>, i. 181. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn77" id="fn77" href="#fnref77">[77]</a></span> +Jan. 5, 1846, apropos of a poem by Horne. The "love" may +refer to Horne's description of these things, but it matters little for +the present purpose. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn78" id="fn78" href="#fnref78">[78]</a></span> +<i>Home Thoughts</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn79" id="fn79" href="#fnref79">[79]</a></span> +<i>Karshish</i>, i. 515. Cf. <i>Englishman in Italy</i>, i. 397. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn80" id="fn80" href="#fnref80">[80]</a></span> +Cf., <i>e.g.</i>, his treatment of the six-line stanza. +</div> + +<a name="page254" id="page254"></a> +<p>Nor was his imaginative sculpture confined to low-relief. Every rift +in the surface catches his eye, and the deeper and more intricate the +recess, the more curiously his insinuating fancy explores it. Sordello's +palace is "a maze of corridors,"—"dusk winding stairs, dim +galleries." He probes the depths of the flower-bell; he pries after the +warmth and scent that lie within the "loaded curls" of his lady, and +irradiates the lizard, or the gnome,<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref81" id="fnref81" href="#fn81">[81]</a></span> in its +rock-chamber, the bee in its amber drop,<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref82" id="fnref82" href="#fn82">[82]</a></span> or in its +bud,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref83" id="fnref83" href="#fn83">[83]</a></span> +the worm in its clod. When Keats describes the closed eyes of the +sleeping Madeline he is content with the loveliness he sees:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"And still she slept an <i>azure-lidded</i> sleep."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Browning's mining fancy insists on showing us the +eye of the dead Porphyria "ensconced" within its eyelid, "like a bee in +a bud." A cleft is as seductive to his imagination as a cave to +Shelley's. In a cleft of the wind gashed Apennines he imagines the home +he would best love in all the world;<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref84" id="fnref84" href="#fn84">[84]</a></span> in a cleft the +pine-tree, symbol of hardy song,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref85" +id="fnref85" href="#fn85">[85]</a></span> strikes precarious root, the +ruined eagle finds refuge,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref86" +id="fnref86" href="#fn86">[86]</a></span> and Sibrandus +Schaffnaburgensis a watery Inferno. A like instinct allures him to +other images of deep hollow things the recesses of which <a +name="page255" id="page255">something</a> else explores and +occupies,—the image of the sheath; the image of the cup. But he +is equally allured by the opposite, or salient, kind of angularity. +Beside the Calabrian seaside house stands a "sharp tree—a +cypress—rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit o'er-crusted,"—in all +points a thoroughly Browningesque tree.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn81" id="fn81" href="#fnref81">[81]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn82" id="fn82" href="#fnref82">[82]</a></span> +This turn of fancy was one of his points of affinity with Donne; cf. +<i>R.B. to E.B.B.</i>, i. 46: "Music should enwrap the thought, as +Donne says an amber drop enwraps a bee." +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn83" id="fn83" href="#fnref83">[83]</a></span> +<i>Porphyria</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn84" id="fn84" href="#fnref84">[84]</a></span> +<i>De Gustibus</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn85" id="fn85" href="#fnref85">[85]</a></span> +<i>Pan and Luna</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn86" id="fn86" href="#fnref86">[86]</a></span> +E.g., <i>Balaustion's Adventure</i>; Proem. +</div> + +<p>And so, corresponding to the cleft-like array of sheaths and cups, a +not less prolific family of <i>spikes</i> and <i>wedges</i> and +<i>swords</i> runs riot in Browning's work. The rushing of a fresh +river-stream into the warm ocean tides crystallises into the "crystal +spike between two warm walls of wave;"<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref87" id="fnref87" href="#fn87">[87]</a></span> "air +thickens," and the wind, grown solid, "edges its wedge in and in as far +as the point would go."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref88" +id="fnref88" href="#fn88">[88]</a></span> The fleecy clouds embracing +the flying form of Luna clasp her as close "as dented spine fitting its +flesh."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref89" id="fnref89" +href="#fn89">[89]</a></span> The fiery agony of John the heretic is a +plucking of sharp spikes from his rose.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref90" id="fnref90" href="#fn90">[90]</a></span> Lightning is a +bright sword, plunged through the pine-tree roof. And Mont Blanc +himself is half effaced by his "earth-brood" of +aiguilles,—"needles red and white and green, Horns of +silver, fangs of crystal, set on edge in his demesne."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref91" id="fnref91" href="#fn91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn87" id="fn87" href="#fnref87">[87]</a></span> +<i>Caliban on Setebos</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn88" id="fn88" href="#fnref88">[88]</a></span> +<i>A Lover's Quarrel</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn89" id="fn89" href="#fnref89">[89]</a></span> +<i>Pan and Luna</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn90" id="fn90" href="#fnref90">[90]</a></span> +<i>The Heretic's Tragedy</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn91" id="fn91" href="#fnref91">[91]</a></span> +<i>La Saisiaz</i>. +</div> + +<p>Browning's joy in abrupt and intricate form had then a definite root +in his own nervous and muscular energy. It was no mere preference which +might be indulged or not, but an instinctive bias, which deeply affected +his way not only of imagining but of conceiving the relations of things. +In this brilliant visual speech of sharply cut <a name="page256" +id="page256">angles</a> and saliences, of rugged incrustations, and +labyrinthine multiplicity, Browning's romantic hunger for the infinite +had to find its expression; and it is clear that the bias implicit in +speech imposed itself in some points upon the matter it conveyed. +Abrupt demarcations cut off soul from body, and man from God; the +infinite habitually presented itself to him as something, not +transcending and comprehending the finite, but <i>beginning where the +finite stopped</i>,—Eternity at the end of Time. But the same +imaginative passion for form which imposed some concrete limitations +upon the Absolute deprived it also of the vagueness of abstraction. +Browning's divinity is very finite, but also amazingly real and near; +not "interfused" with the world, which is full of stubborn +distinctness, but permeating it through and through, "curled +inextricably round about" all its beauty and its power,<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref92" id="fnref92" href="#fn92">[92]</a></span> +"intertwined" with earth's lowliest existence, and thrilling with +answering rapture to every throb of life. The doctrine of God's +"immanence" was almost a commonplace with Browning's generation. +Browning turned the doctrine into imaginative speech equalled in +impressiveness by that of Carlyle and by that of Emerson, but +distinguished from both by an eager articulating concrete sensibility +which lifts into touch with supreme Good all the labyrinthine +multiplicity of existence which Carlyle impatiently suppressed, while +it joyously accentuates the sharp dissonances which Emerson's ideality +ignored.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn92" id="fn92" href="#fnref92">[92]</a></span> +<i>Easter-Day,</i> xxx. +</div> + +<a name="page257" id="page257"></a> +<h3>VI.</h3> + +<h4>3. JOY IN POWER.</h4> + +<p>Browning was thus announced, we have seen, even by his splendour of +colouring and his rich and clear-cut plasticity, as something more than +a feaster upon colour and form. In his riot of the senses there was more +of the athlete than of the voluptuary. His joy was that of one to whom +nervous and muscular tension was itself a stimulating delight. In such a +temperament the feeling of energy was an elementary instinct, a +passionate obsession, which projected itself through eye and ear and +imagination into the outer world, filling it with the throbbing +pulsations or the clashing conflict of vehement powers. We know that it +was thus with Browning. "From the first Power was, I knew," he wrote in +the last autumn of his life.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref93" +id="fnref93" href="#fn93">[93]</a></span> It was a primitive instinct, +and it remained firmly rooted to the last. As Wordsworth saw Joy +everywhere, and Shelley Love, so Browning saw Power. If he later "saw +Love as plainly," it was the creative and transforming, not the +emotional, aspect of Love which caught his eye. His sense of Power +played a yet more various part in the shaping of his poetic world than +did his sense of form. But intellectual growth inevitably modified the +primitive instinct which it could not uproot; and his sense of Power +traverses the whole gamut of dynamic <a name="page258" +id="page258">tones</a>, from the lusty "barbaric" joy in the +sheer violence of ripping and clashing, to the high-wrought sensibility +which throbs in sympathy with the passionate heart-beats of the stars.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn93" id="fn93" href="#fnref93">[93]</a></span> +<i>Asolando: Reverie.</i> +</div> + +<p>No one can miss the element of savage energy in Browning. His +associates tell us of his sudden fits of indignation, "which were like +thunder-storms"; of his "brutal scorn" for effeminacy, of the "vibration +of his loud voice, and his hard fist upon the table," which made short +work of cobwebs.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref94" id="fnref94" +href="#fn94">[94]</a></span> The impact of hard resisting things, the +jostlings of stubborn matter bent on going its own way, attracted him +as the subtle compliances of air appealed to Shelley; and he runs riot +in the vocabulary (so abundantly developed in English) which conveys +with monosyllabic vigour to the ear these jostlings and impacts.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn94" id="fn94" href="#fnref94">[94]</a></span> +Mr E. Gosse, in <i>Dict. of N.B.</i> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Who were the stragglers, what war did they wage;<br /> + Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank<br /> + Soil to a plash?"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">he asks in <i>Childe Roland</i>,—altogether +an instructive example of the ways of Browning's imagination when +working, as it so rarely did, on a deliberately fantastic theme. Hear +again with what savage joy his Moon "rips the womb" of the cloud that +crosses it; Shelley's Moon, in keeping with the ways of his more +tender-hefted universe, merely <i>broke its woof</i>. So the gentle +wife of James Lee sees in a vineyard "the vines writhe in rows each +impaled on its stake."</p> + +<a name="page259" id="page259"></a> +<p>His "clefts" and "wedges" owe their attraction not only to their +intricate angularity but to the violent cleavings and thrustings apart +which they result from or produce. And his clefts are as incomplete +without some wild bit of fierce or frightened life in their grip as are +Shelley's caves without some form of unearthly maidenhood in their +embrace.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref95" id="fnref95" href="#fn95">[95]</a></span> +His mountains—so rarely the benign pastoral presences of +Wordsworth—are not only craggy and rough, but invisible axes have +hewn and mutilated them,—they are fissured and cloven and +"scalped" and "wind-gashed." When they thrust their mighty feet into +the plain and "entwine base with base to knit strength more +intensely,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref96" id="fnref96" +href="#fn96">[96]</a></span> the image owes its grandeur to the double +suggestion of sinewy power and intertwined limbs. Still grander, but in +the same style, is the sketch of Hildebrand in <i>Sordello</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in6">"See him stand</span><br /> + Buttressed upon his mattock, Hildebrand<br /> + Of the huge brain-mask welded ply o'er ply<br /> + As in a forge; ... teeth clenched,<br /> + The neck tight-corded too, the chin deep-trenched,<br /> + As if a cloud enveloped him while fought<br /> + Under its shade, grim prizers, thought with thought<br /> + At deadlock."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref97" id="fnref97" href="#fn97">[97]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn95" id="fn95" href="#fnref95">[95]</a></span> +Cf. <i>Prometheus Unbound</i>, passim. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn96" id="fn96" href="#fnref96">[96]</a></span> +<i>Saul</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn97" id="fn97" href="#fnref97">[97]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>, i. 171. +</div> + +<p>When the hoary cripple in <i>Childe Roland</i> laughs, his +mouth-edge is "pursed and scored" with his glee; and his scorn must not +merely be uttered, but <i>written</i> with <a name="page260" +id="page260">his</a> crutch "in the dusty thoroughfare." +This idea is resumed yet more dramatically in the image of the palsied +oak, cleft like "a distorted mouth that splits its rim gaping at death." +Later on, thrusting his spear into the gloom, he fancies it "tangled in +a dead man's hair or beard." Similarly, Browning is habitually lured +into expressive detail by the idea of smooth surfaces frayed or +shredded,—as of flesh torn with teeth or spikes: Akiba,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"the comb</span><br /> + Of iron carded, flesh from bone, away,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref98" id="fnref98" href="#fn98">[98]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">or Hippolytus, ruined on the "detested beach" that +was "bright with blood and morsels of his flesh."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref99" id="fnref99" href="#fn99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn98" id="fn98" href="#fnref98">[98]</a></span> +<i>Joch. Halk.</i> +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn99" id="fn99" href="#fnref99">[99]</a></span> +<i>Artemis Prol.</i> +</div> + +<p>This savageness found vent still more freely in his rendering of +sounds. By one of those apparent paradoxes which abound in Browning, +the poet who has best interpreted the glories of music in verse, the +poet of musicians <i>par excellence</i>, is also the poet of grindings +and jostlings, of jars and clashes, of grating hinges and flapping +doors; civilisation mated with barbarism, "like Jove in a thatched +house."</p> + +<p>Music appealed to him by its imaginative suggestiveness, or by its +intricate technique; as the mine from which Abt Vogler reared his +palace, the loom on which Master Hugues wove the intertwining harmonies +of his fugue. But the most dulcet harmony aroused him less surely to +vivacious expression than some "gruff hinge's invariable scold,"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref100" id="fnref100" href="#fn100">[100]</a></span> +or the quick sharp <a name="page261" id="page261">rattle</a> of rings +down the net-poles,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref101" id="fnref101" +href="#fn101">[101]</a></span> or the hoof-beat of a galloping horse, +or the grotesque tumble of the old organist, in fancy, down the +"rotten-runged, rat-riddled stairs" of his lightless loft. There was +much in him of his own Hamelin rats' alacrity of response to sounds "as +of scraping tripe" and squeezing apples, and the rest. Milton +contrasted the harmonious swing of the gates of Paradise with the harsh +grinding of the gates of hell. Browning would have found in the latter +a satisfaction subtly allied to his zest for other forms of robust +malignity.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn100" id="fn100" href="#fnref100">[100]</a></span> +<i>Christmas Eve</i>, i. 480. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn101" id="fn101" href="#fnref101">[101]</a></span> +<i>Englishman in Italy</i>, i. 396. +</div> + +<p>And with his joy in savage images went an even more pronounced joy in +savage words. He loved the grinding, clashing, and rending sibilants and +explosives as Tennyson the tender-hefted liquids. Both poets found their +good among Saxon monosyllables, but to Tennyson they appealed by limpid +simplicity, to Browning by gnarled and rugged force. Dante, in a famous +chapter of the <i>De Vulgari Eloquio</i><span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref102" id="fnref102" href="#fn102">[102]</a></span> laid down +a fourfold distinction among words on the analogy of the varying +texture of the hair; enjoining the poet to avoid both the extremes of +smoothness and roughness,—to prefer the "combed" and the "shaggy" +to the "tousled" and the "sleek." All four kinds had their function in +the versatile technique of Browning and Tennyson; but it is safe to say +that while Tennyson's vocabulary is focussed among the "combed" in the +direction of the "sleek," Browning's centres in the "shaggy," verging +towards <a name="page262" id="page262">the</a> "tousled."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref103" id="fnref103" href="#fn103">[103]</a></span> +The utmost sweetness is his when he will; it is the counterpart of his +pure intensity of colouring, and of the lyric loveliness of his Pippas +and Pompilias; but</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">though genuine Browning, is not distinctively and unmistakably his, like</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?"</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn102" id="fn102" href="#fnref102">[102]</a></span> +<i>De Vulg. Eloq</i>., ii. 8. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn103" id="fn103" href="#fnref103">[103]</a></span> +Making allowance, of course, for the more "shaggy" and +"tousled" character of the English vocabulary as a whole, compared with +Italian. +</div> + +<p>Browning's genial violence continually produced strokes which only +needed a little access of oddity or extravagance to become grotesque. He +probably inherited a bias in this direction; we know that his father +delighted in drawing grotesque heads, and even "declared that he could +not draw a pretty face."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref104" +id="fnref104" href="#fn104">[104]</a></span> But his grotesqueness is +never the mere comic oddness which sometimes assumes the name. It is a +kind of monstrosity produced not by whimsical mutilations, but by a +riot of exuberant power. And he has also a grave and tragic use of the +grotesque, in which he stands alone. He is, in fact, by far the greatest +English master of grotesque. <i>Childe Roland</i>, where the natural +bent of his invention has full fling, abounds with grotesque traits +which, instead of disturbing the <a name="page263" +id="page263">romantic</a> atmosphere, infuse into it an element of +strange, weird, and uncanny mirth, more unearthly than any +solemnity; the day shooting its grim red leer across the plain, the old +worn-out horse with its red, gaunt, and colloped neck a-strain; or, in +<i>Paracelsus</i>, the "Cyclops-like" volcanoes "staring together with +their eyes on flame," in whose "uncouth pride" God tastes a pleasure. +Shelley had recoiled from the horrible idea of a host of these One-eyed +monsters;<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref105" id="fnref105" +href="#fn105">[105]</a></span> Browning deliberately invokes it. But he +can use grotesque effects to heighten tragedy as well as romance. One +source of the peculiar poignancy of the <i>Heretic's Tragedy</i> is the +eerie blend in it of mocking familiarity and horror.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn104" id="fn104" href="#fnref104">[104]</a></span> +H. Corkran, <i>Celebrities and I</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn105" id="fn105" href="#fnref105">[105]</a></span> +Cf. Locock, <i>Examination of the Shelley MSS. in the Bodleian,</i> p. +19. At the words "And monophalmic (<i>sic</i>) Polyphemes who haunt the +pine-hills, flocked," the writing becomes illegible and the stanza is +left incomplete. Mr Forman explains the breaking-off in the same way. +</div> + +<p>Yet it was not always in this brutal and violent guise that Browning +imagined power. He was "ever a fighter," and had a sense as keen as +Byron's, and far more joyous, for storm and turbulence; but he had also, +as Byron had not, the finer sense which feels the universe tense with +implicit energies, and the profoundest silences of Nature oppressive +with the burden of life straining to the birth. The stars in <i>Saul</i> +"beat with emotion" and "shot out in fire the strong pain of pent +knowledge," and a "gathered intensity" is "brought to the grey of the +hills"; upon the lovers of <i>In a Balcony</i> evening comes "intense +<a name="page264" id="page264">with</a> yon first trembling star." +Wordsworth's "quiet" is lonely, pensive, and serene; his stars are not +beating with emotion, but "listening quietly." Browning's is hectic, +bodeful, high-strung. The vast featureless Campagna is instinct with +"passion," and its "peace with joy."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref106" id="fnref106" href="#fn106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Quietude—that's a universe in germ—<br /> + The dormant passion needing but a look<br /> + To burst into immense life."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref107" id="fnref107" href="#fn107">[107]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn106" id="fn106" href="#fnref106">[106]</a></span> +<i>Two in the Campagna.</i> +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn107" id="fn107" href="#fnref107">[107]</a></span> +<i>Asolando: Inapprehensiveness</i>. +</div> + +<p>Half the romantic spell of <i>Childe Roland</i> lies in the wonderful +suggestion of impending catastrophe. The gloom is alive with mysterious +and impalpable menace; the encompassing presences which everything +suggests and nothing betrays, grow more and more oppressively real, +until the decisive moment when Roland's blast suddenly lets them loose.</p> + +<p>For the power that Browning rejoiced to imagine was pre-eminently +sudden; an unforeseen cataclysm, abruptly changing the conditions it +found, and sharply marking off the future from the past. The same bias +of imagination which crowded his inner vision of space with abrupt +angular forms tended to resolve the slow, continuous, organic energies +of the world before his inner vision into explosion and catastrophe. His +geology neglects the æons of gradual stratification; it is not the slow +stupendous upheaval of continents, but the volcanic uprush of the molten +ore among the rocks, which renew the ancient rapture of the <a +name="page265" id="page265">Paracelsian</a> God. He is the poet of the +sudden surprises of plant-life: the bud "bursting unaware" into flower, +the brushwood about the elm-tree breaking, some April morning, into +tiny leaf, the rose-flesh mushroom born in a night. The "metamorphoses +of plants,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref108" id="fnref108" +href="#fn108">[108]</a></span> which fascinated Goethe by their inner +continuity, arrest Browning by their outward abruptness: that the +flower is implicit in the leaf was a fact of much less worth for him +than that the bud suddenly passes into something so unlike it as the +flower. The gradual coming on of spring among the mountains +concentrates itself for him in one instant of epic +sublimity,—that in which the mountain unlooses its year's load of +sound, and</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to<br /> + <span class="in2">his feet."</span><span class="fnref"><a name="fnref109" id="fnref109" href="#fn109">[109]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn108" id="fn108" href="#fnref108">[108]</a></span> +<i>Metamorphose der Pflanzen</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn109" id="fn109" href="#fnref109">[109]</a></span> +<i>Saul</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Even in the gradual ebb of day he discovers a +pregnant instant in which day dies:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="noindent"><span class="in3">"For note, when evening shuts,</span><br /> + <span class="in3">A certain moment cuts</span><br /> + The deed off, calls the glory from the grey."</p> +</div> + +<p>Hence his love of images which convey these sudden +transformations,—the worm, putting forth in autumn its "two +wondrous winglets,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref110" id="fnref110" +href="#fn110">[110]</a></span> the "transcendental platan," breaking +into foliage and flower at the summit of its smooth tall bole; the +splendour of flame leaping from the dull fuel of gums and straw. In +such images <a name="page266" id="page266">we</a> see how the simple +joy in abrupt changes of sensation which belonged to his riotous energy +of nerve lent support to his peremptory way of imagining all change and +especially all vital and significant becoming. For Browning's trenchant +imagination things were not gradually evolved; a sudden touch loosed the +springs of latent power, or an overmastering energy from without rushed +in like a flood. With all his connoisseur's delight in technique, +language and sound were only spells which unlocked a power beyond their +capacity to express. Music was the "burst of pillared cloud by day and +pillared fire by night," starting up miraculously from the barren +wilderness of mechanical expedients,<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref111" id="fnref111" href="#fn111">[111]</a></span> and poetry +"the sudden rose"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref112" id="fnref112" +href="#fn112">[112]</a></span> "breaking in" at the bidding of a "brace +of rhymes." That in such transmutations Browning saw one of the most +marvellous of human powers we may gather from the famous lines of +<i>Abt Vogler</i> already quoted:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man,<br /> + That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn110" id="fn110" href="#fnref110">[110]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i> (Works, i. 123). +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn111" id="fn111" href="#fnref111">[111]</a></span> +<i>Fifine</i>, xlii. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn112" id="fn112" href="#fnref112">[112]</a></span> +<i>Transcendentalism</i>. +</div> + +<h3>VII.</h3> + +<h4>4. JOY IN SOUL.</h4> + +<p>No saying of Browning's is more familiar than that in which he +declared "incidents in the development of <a name="page267" +id="page267">souls</a>"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref113" +id="fnref113" href="#fn113">[113]</a></span> to be to him the supreme +interest of poetry. The preceding sections of this chapter have +sufficiently shown how far this formula was from exhausting the vital +springs of Browning's work. "Little else" might be "worth study"; but a +great many other things had captured those rich sensibilities, without +which the "student's analytic zeal" might have devoured the poet. On the +other hand, his supreme interest in "incidents in the development of +souls" was something very different from the democratic enthusiasm for +humanity, or the Wordsworthian joy in the "common tears and mirth" of +"every village." The quiet routine existence of uneventful lives hardly +touched him more than the placid quiescence of animal and vegetable +existence; the commonplace of humanity excited in him no mystic rapture; +the human "primrose by the river's brim," merely as one among a throng, +was for him pretty much what it was to Peter Bell. There was no doubt a +strain of pantheistic thought in Browning which logically involved a +treatment of the commonplace as profoundly reverent as Wordsworth's own. +But his passionate faith in the divine love pervading the universe did +not prevent his turning away resolutely from regions of humanity, as of +nature, for which his poetic alchemy provided no solvent. His poetic +throne was not built on "humble truth"; and he, as little as his own +Sordello, deserved the eulogy of the plausible Naddo upon his verses as +based "on man's broad nature," and having a "staple <a name="page268" +id="page268">of</a> common-sense."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref114" id="fnref114" href="#fn114">[114]</a></span> +The homely toiler as such, all members of homely undistinguished classes +and conditions of men, presented, <i>as</i> embodiments of those classes +and conditions, no coign of vantage to his art. In this point, +human-hearted and democratic as he was, he fell short not only of the +supreme portrayers of the eternal commonplaces of peasant +life,—of a Burns, a Wordsworth, a Millet, a Barnes,—but +even of the fastidious author of <i>The Northern Farmer</i>. Once, in a +moment of exaltation, at Venice, Browning had seen Humanity in the +guise of a poor soiled and faded bit of Venetian girlhood, and +symbolically taken her as the future mistress of his art. The programme +thus laid down was not, like Wordsworth's similarly announced resolve +to sing of "sorrow barricadoed evermore within the walls of cities," +simply unfulfilled; but it was far from disclosing the real fountain of +his inspiration.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn113" id="fn113" href="#fnref113">[113]</a></span> +Preface to <i>Sordello</i>, ed. 1863. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn114" id="fn114" href="#fnref114">[114]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>, ii. 135. +</div> + +<p>And as Browning deals little with the commonplace in human nature, +so he passes by with slight concern the natural relationships into +which men are born, as compared with those which they enter by passion +or choice. The bond of kinship, the love between parents and children, +brothers and sisters, so prolific of poetry elsewhere, is singularly +rare and unimportant in Browning, to whom every other variety of the +love between men and women was a kindling theme. The names of husband, +of wife, of lover, vibrate for him with a poetry more thrilling than +any that those <a name="page269" id="page269">names</a> excite +elsewhere in the poetry of his generation; but the mystic glory which +in Blake and Wordsworth and Coleridge gathered about unconscious +childhood is all but fled. Children—real children, naïve and +inarticulate, like little Fortù—rarely appear in his verse, and +those that do appear seem to have been first gently disengaged, like +Pippa, David, Theocrite, from all the clinging filaments of Home. In its +child pathos <i>The Pied Piper</i>—addressed to a +child—stands all but alone among his works. His choicest and +loveliest figures are lonely and unattached. Pippa, David, Pompilia, +Bordello, Paracelsus, Balaustion, Mildred, Caponsacchi, have no ties of +home and blood, or only such as work malignly upon their fate. Mildred +has no mother, and she falls; Sordello moves like a Shelleyan shadow +about his father's house; Balaustion breaks away from the ties of +kindred to become a spiritual daughter of Athens; Paracelsus goes +forth, glorious in the possession of "the secret of the world," which +is his alone; Caponsacchi, himself sisterless and motherless, releases +Pompilia from the doom inflicted on her by her parents' calculating +greed; the song of Pippa releases Luigi from the nobler but yet hurtful +bondage of his mother's love.</p> + +<p>More considerable, but yet relatively slight, is the part played in +Browning's poetry by those larger and more complex communities, like the +City or the State, whose bond of membership, though less involuntary +than that of family, is still for the most part the expression of +<a name="page270" id="page270">material</a> necessity or interest, not +of spiritual discernment, passion, or choice. Patriotism, in this +sense, is touched with interest but hardly with conviction, or with +striking power, by Browning. Casa Guidi windows betrayed too much. Two +great communities alone moved his imagination profoundly; just those +two, namely, in which the bond of common political membership was most +nearly merged in the bond of a common spiritual ideal. And Browning +puts the loftiest passion for Athens in the mouth of an alien, and the +loftiest Hebraism in the mouth of a Jew of the dispersion. Responsive +to the personal cry of the solitary hero, Browning rarely caught or +cared to reproduce the vaguer multitudinous murmur of the great mass. +In his defining, isolating imagination the voice of the solitary soul +rings out with thrilling clearness, but the "still sad music of +humanity" escapes. The inchoate and the obsolescent, the indistinctness +of immaturity, the incipient disintegration of decay, the deepening +shadow of oblivion, the half-instinctive and organic bond of custom, +whatever stirs the blood but excites only blurred images in the brain, +and steals into character without passing through the gates of passion +or of thought, finds imperfect or capricious reflection in his verse.</p> + +<p>Browning's interest in "soul" was not, then, a diffused enjoyment of +human nature as such. But, on the other hand, human nature stood for too +much with him, his sense of what all personality at the lowest implies +was too keen, to allow him to relish, or <a name="page271" +id="page271">make</a> much use of, those unpsychological amalgams of +humanity and thought,—the personified abstractions. Whether in +the base form branded by Wordsworth, or in the lofty and noble form of +Keats's "Autumn" and Shelley's "West Wind," this powerful instrument of +poetic expression was touched only in fugitive and casual strokes to +music by Browning's hand. Personality, to interest him, had to possess +a possible status in the world of experience. It had to be of the +earth, and like its inhabitants. The stamp of fashioning intelligence, +or even of blind myth-making instinct, alienates and warns him off. He +climbs to no Olympus or Valhalla, he wanders through no Empyrean. His +rare divinities tread the visible and solid ground. His Artemis +"prologizes" to, his Herakles plays a part in, a human drama; +and both are as frankly human themselves as the gods of Homer. Shelley +and Keats had rekindled about the faded forms of the Greek gods the +elemental Nature-worship from which they had started; Apollo, Hyperion, +are again glorious symbols of the "all-seeing" and all-vitalising Sun. +Browning, far from seeking to recover their primitive value, treats +their legends, with the easy rationalism of Euripides or Ferishtah, as a +mine of ethical and psychological illustration. He can play charmingly, +in later years, with the myth of Pan and Luna, of Arion and the +dolphin,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref115" id="fnref115" +href="#fn115">[115]</a></span> or of Apollo and the Fates, but idyl +gets the better of nature feeling; "maid-moon" Luna is far more maid <a +name="page272" id="page272">than</a> moon. The spirit of autumn does +not focus itself for him, as for Keats, in some symbolic shape, +slumbering among the harvest swathes or at watch over the fragrant +cider-press; it breaks up into the vivid concrete traits of <i>The +Englishman in Italy</i>. The spirit of humanity is not shadowed forth +in a Prometheus, but realised in a Caponsacchi.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn115" id="fn115" href="#fnref115">[115]</a></span> +<i>Fifine at the Fair</i>, lxxviii. +</div> + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + +<p>What, then, in the vast multifarious field of soul-life were the +points of special attraction for Browning? To put it in a word, the same +fundamental instincts of the senses and the imagination which we have +watched shaping the visible world of his poetry, equally determined the +complexion of its persons. The joy in pure and intense colour, in +abruptness of line and intricacy of structure, in energetic movement and +sudden disclosure and transformation,—all these characteristics +have their analogies in Browning's feeling for the complexion, +morphology, and dynamics of what he calls the soul. Just as this lover +of crowded labyrinthine forms surprises us at first by his masses of +pure and simple colour, untroubled by blur or modulation, so in the long +procession of Browning's men of the world, adepts in the tangled lore of +experience, there mingle from time to time figures radiant with a pure, +intense, immaculate spiritual light,—Pippa, Pompilia, the David +of the earlier <i>Saul</i>. Something of the strange charm of <a +name="page273" id="page273">these</a> naïvely beautiful beings springs +from their isolation. That detachment from the bonds of home and +kindred which was noticed above in its negative aspect, appears now as +a source of positive expressiveness. They start into unexplained +existence like the sudden beauty of flames from straw. +Browning is no poet of the home, but he is peculiarly the poet of a kind +of spirituality which subsists independently of earthly ties without +disdaining them, lonely but unconscious of loneliness. Pippa would +hardly be so recognisably steeped as she is in the very atmosphere of +Browning's mind, but for this loneliness of hers,—the loneliness +neither of the exile nor of the anchorite, but native, spontaneous, and +serene. Wordsworth sometimes recalls it, but he is apt to invest his +lonely beings with a mystic glamour which detaches them from humanity as +well as from their fellow-men. The little "H.C., six years old," is "a +dewdrop which the morn brings forth," that</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in1">"at the touch of wrong, without a strife,</span><br /> + Slips in a moment out of life."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Pippa, with all her ideality and her upward gaze, +has her roots in earth; she is not the dewdrop but the flower.</p> + +<p>But loneliness belongs in a less degree to almost all characters +which seriously engaged Browning's imagination. His own intense +isolating self-consciousness infused itself into them. Each is a little +island kingdom, judged and justified by its own laws, and not entirely +intelligible <a name="page274" id="page274">to</a> the foreigner. Hence +his persistent use of the dramatic monologue. Every man had his point +of view, and his right to state his case. "Where you speak straight +out," Browning wrote in effect, as we saw, in one of his earliest +letters to his future wife, "I break the white light in the seven +colours of men and women"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref116" +id="fnref116" href="#fn116">[116]</a></span>; and each colour +had its special truth and worth. His study of character is notoriously +occupied with failures of transit between mind and mind. His lovers miss +the clue; if they find it, as in <i>By the Fireside</i>, the collapse +of the barrier walls is told with triumph, and the spell of the forests +invoked to explain it.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn116" id="fn116" href="#fnref116">[116]</a></span> +<i>R.B. to E.B.B.</i>, i. 6. +</div> + +<p>And within the viewless intrenchments thus drawn about character +Browning's imagination was prone to reproduce the abrupt and intricate +play of line and surface which fascinated his outward eye. "The +care-bit, erased, broken-up beauties ever took my taste," says, in +<i>Sordello</i>, the creator of the pure flame-like soul-beauty of +Pompilia and Pippa; very much as the crumbling and blistering of the +frescoed walls are no less needful to the charm he feels in his +Southern villa than the "blue breadth of sea without break" expanding +before it. The abruptness, the sharp transitions, the startling and +picturesque contrasts which mark so much of the talk of his persons, +reflect not merely his agility of mind but his æsthetic relish for the +Gothic richness and fretted intricacy that result. The bishop <a +name="page275" id="page275">of</a> St Praxed's monologue, for instance, +is a sort of live mosaic,—anxious entreaty to his sons, diapered +with gloating triumph over old Gandulph. The larger tracts of soul-life +are apt in his hands to break up into shifting phases, or to nodulate +into sudden crises; here a Blougram, with his "chess-board" of faith +diversified by doubt, there a Paracelsus, advancing by complex +alternations of "aspiring" and "attainment." Everywhere in Browning the +slow continuities of existence are obscured by vivid moments,—the +counterpart of his bursts of sunlight through rifts and chinks. A +moment of speech with Shelley stands out, a brilliant handbreadth of +time between the blank before and after; a moment of miserable failure +blots out the whole after-life of Martin Relph; a moment of heroism +stamps once for all the quality of Clive; the whole complex story of +Pompilia focuses in the "splendid minute and no more" in which she is +"saved"; the lover's whole life is summed up in "some moment's product" +when "the soul declares itself,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref117" +id="fnref117" href="#fn117">[117]</a></span> or utters +the upgarnered poetry of its passion; or else, conversely, he looks back +on a moment equally indelible, when the single chance of love was +missed. "It once might have been, once only," is the refrain of the +lover's regret in Browning, as "once and only once and for one only" is +the keynote of his triumph. In the contours of event and circumstance, +as in those of material objects, <a name="page276" id="page276">he</a> +loves jagged angularity, not harmonious curve. "Our interest's in the +dangerous edge of things,"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The honest thief, the tender murderer,<br /> + The superstitious atheist;"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">where an alien strain violently crosses the natural +course of kind; and these are only extreme examples of the abnormal +nature which always allured and detained Browning's imagination, though +it was not always the source of its highest achievement. Ivánovitch, +executing justice under the forms of murder, Caponsacchi, executing +mercy under the forms of an elopement, the savagery of Halbert and Hob +unnerved by an abrupt reminiscence,—it is in these suggestive and +pregnant situations, at the meeting-points of apparently irreconcilable +classes and kinds, that Browning habitually found or placed those of +his characters who represent any class or kind at all.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn117" id="fn117" href="#fnref117">[117]</a></span> +<i>By the Fireside</i>. +</div> + +<p>The exploring, in-and-out scrutinising instincts of Browning's +imagination equally left their vivid impress upon his treatment of +character. If the sharp nodosities of character caught his eye, its +mysterious recesses and labyrinthine alleys allured his curiosity; this +lover of "clefts," this pryer among tangled locks and into the depths of +flower-bells, peered into all the nooks and chambers of the soul with +inexhaustible enterprise. It is hard to deny that even <i>The Ring and +the Book</i> itself suffers something from the unflagging zest with +which the poet pursues all the windings of popular <a name="page277" +id="page277">speculation</a>, all the fretwork of Angelo de +Hyacinthis's forensic and domestic futilities. The poem is a great +poetic Mansion, with many chambers, and he will lead us sooner or later +to its inner shrine; but on the way there are "closets to search and +alcoves to importune,"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in3">"The day wears,</span><br /> + <span class="in3">And door succeeds door,</span><br /> + <span class="in4">We try the fresh fortune,</span><br /> + Range the wide house from the wing to the centre."</p> +</div> + +<p>For the most part, after the not wholly successful experiment of +direct analysis in <i>Sordello</i>, he chose to make his men and women +the instruments of their own illumination; and this was a second source +of his delight in the dramatic monologue. He approached all problematic +character with a bias towards disbelieving appearances, which was fed, +if not generated, by that restlessly exploring instinct of an +imagination that spontaneously resolved surface and solidity into +integument and core. Not that Browning always displays the core; on the +contrary, after elaborately removing an imposing mask from what appears +to be a face, he will hint that the unmasked face is itself a mask. "For +Blougram, he believed, say, half he spoke." Browning is less concerned +to "save" the subjects of his so-called "Special Pleadings" than to +imagine them divested of the gross disguises of public rumour about +them; not naked as God made them, but clothed in the easy undress of +their own subtly plausible illusions about <a name="page278" +id="page278">themselves</a>. But the optimist in him is always alert, +infusing into the zest of exploration a cheery faith that behind the +last investiture lurks always some soul of goodness, and welcoming with +a sudden lift of verse the escape of some diviner gleam through the +rifts, such as Blougram's—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Just when we're safest comes a sunset touch."</p> +</div> + +<p>Yet it is hardly a paradox to say that his faith throve upon the +obstacles it overcame. He imagined yet more vividly than he saw, and the +stone wall which forbade vision but whetted imagination, acquired an +ideal merit in his eyes because it was not an open door. In later life +he came with growing persistence to regard the phenomenal world as a +barrier of illusion between man and truth. But instead of chilling his +faith, the obstacle only generated that poet's philosophy of the "value +of a lie" which perturbs the less experienced reader of <i>Fifine</i>. +"Truth" was "forced to manifest itself through falsehood," won thence by +the excepted eye, at the rare season, for the happy moment, till +"through the shows of sense, which ever proving false still promise to +be true," the soul of man worked its way to its final union with the +soul of God.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref118" id="fnref118" +href="#fn118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn118" id="fn118" href="#fnref118">[118]</a></span> +<i>Fifine at the fair</i>, cxxiv. +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p>And here at length if not before we have a clear glimpse of the +athlete who lurks behind the explorer. Browning's joy in imagining +impediment and illusion <a name="page279" id="page279">was</a> only +another aspect of his joy in the spiritual energy which answers to the +spur of difficulty and "works" through the shows of sense; and this +other joy found expression in a poetry of soul yet more deeply tinged +with the native hue of his mind. "From the first, Power was, I knew;" +and souls were the very central haunt and focus of its play. Not that +strong natures, as such, have much part in Browning's poetic-world; the +strength that allured his imagination was not the strength that is +rooted in nerve or brain, slowly enlarging with the build of the +organism, but the strength that has suddenly to be begotten +or infused, that leaps by the magic of spiritual influence from heart to +heart. If Browning multiplies and deepens the demarcations among +material things, he gives his souls a rare faculty of transcending them. +Bright spiritual beings like Pippa shed their souls innocently and +unwittingly about like a spilth of "X-rays," and the irradiation +penetrates instantly the dense opposing integuments of passion, +cupidity, and worldliness. At all times in his life these accesses of +spiritual power occupied his imagination. Cristina's momentary glance +and the Lady of Tripoli's dreamed-of face lift their devotees to +completeness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"She has lost me, I have gained her,<br /> + Her soul's mine, and now grown perfect<br /> + I shall pass my life's remainder."</p> +</div> + +<p>Forty years later, Browning told with far greater realistic power +and a grim humour suited to the theme, <a name="page280" +id="page280">the</a> "transmutation" of Ned Bratts. Karshish has his +sudden revealing flash as he ponders the letter of Abib:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The very God! Think, Abib, dost thou think,—<br /> + So the All-great were the All-loving too"—</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and the boy David his prophetic vision. A yet more +splendid vision breaks from the seemingly ruined brain of the dying +Paracelsus, and he has a gentler comrade in the dying courtier, who +starts up from his darkened chamber crying that—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in4">"Spite of thick air and closed doors</span><br /> + God told him it was June,—when harebells grow,<br /> + And all that kings could ever give or take<br /> + Would not be precious as those blooms to me."</p> +</div> + +<p>But it is not only in these magical transitions and transformations +that Browning's joy in soul was decisively coloured by his joy in +power. A whole class of his characters—the most familiarly +"Browningesque" division of them all—was shaped under the sway of +this master-passion; the noble army of "strivers" who succeed and of +"strivers" who fail, baffled artists and rejected lovers who mount to +higher things on stepping-stones of their frustrated selves, like the +heroes of <i>Old Painters in Florence</i>, and <i>The Last Ride +Together,</i> and <i>The Lost Mistress</i>; and on the other hand, the +artists and lovers who fail for want of this saving energy, like the +Duke and Lady of the <i>Statue and the Bust</i>, like Andrea del Sarto +and the Unknown Painter. But his <a name="page281" id="page281">very</a> +preoccupation with Art and with Love itself sprang mainly from his +peculiar joy in the ardent putting-forth of soul. No kind of vivid +consciousness was indifferent to him, but the luxurious receptivity of +the spectator or of a passively beloved mistress touched him little, +compared with the faintest pulsation of the artist's "love of loving, +rage of knowing, feeling, seeing the absolute truth of things," of the +lover's passion for union with another soul. When he describes effects +of music or painting, he passes instinctively over to the standpoint of +the composer or the performer; shows us Hugues and Andrea themselves at +the organ, or the easel; and instead of feeling the world turned into +"an unsubstantial faery place" by the magic of the cuckoo or the thrush, +strikes out playful theories of the professional methods of these +songsters,—the cuckoo's monopoly of the "minor third," the +thrush's wise way of repeating himself "lest you should think he never +could recapture his first fine careless rapture." Suffering enters +Browning's poetry almost never as the artless wail of the helpless +stricken thing; the intolerable pathos of <i>Ye Banks and Braes</i>, or +of</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"We twa hae paidl't in the burn<br /> + Frae morning sun till dine,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">belonged to a side of primitive emotion to which +"artificial" poets like Tennyson were far more sensitive than he. +Suffering began to interest him when the wail passed into the +fierceness of vindictive passion, as in <a name="page282" +id="page282"><i>The Confessional</i></a>, or into the outward calm of a +self-subjugated spirit, as in <i>Any Wife to any Husband</i>, or <i>A +Woman's Last Word</i>; or into reflective and speculative, if bitter, +retrospect, as in <i>The Worst of It</i> or <i>James Lee's Wife</i>. +And happiness, equally,—even the lover's happiness,—needed, +to satisfy Browning, to have some leaven of challenging disquiet; the +lover must have something to fear, or something to forgive, some +hostility, or guilt, or absence, or death, to brave. Or the rapturous +union of lovers must be remembered with a pang, when they have +quarrelled; or its joy be sobered by recalling the perilous hairbreadth +chances incurred in achieving it (<i>By the Fireside</i>)—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Oh, the little more, and how much it is!<br /> + <span class="in1">And the little less, and what worlds away!</span><br /> + How a sound shall quicken content to bliss,<br /> + <span class="in1">Or a breath suspend the blood's best play,</span><br /> + <span class="in3">And life be a proof of this!"</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Further, his joy in soul drew into the sphere of his poetry large +tracts of existence which lay wholly or partly outside the domain of +soul itself. The world of the lower animals hardly touched the deeper +chords of his thought or emotion; but he watched their activities with +a very genuine and constant delight, and he took more account of their +pangs than he did of the soul-serving throes of man.<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref119" id="fnref119" href="#fn119">[119]</a></span> +His imaginative selection among the countless types of these "low +kinds" follows the lead of all those forms of primitive joy which we <a +name="page283" id="page283">have</a> traced in his types of men and +women: here it is the quick-glancing intricate flights of birds or +insects, the flitting of quick sandpipers in and out of the marl, or of +flies about an old wall; now the fierce contrasts of hue, angularity, +and grotesque deformity all at once in Caliban's beasts:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech;<br /> + Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam,<br /> + That floats and feeds; a certain badger brown<br /> + He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye<br /> + By moonlight;"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">or it is the massive power of the desert lion, in +<i>The Glove</i> or the bright æthereal purity of the butterfly +fluttering over the swimmer's head, with its</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"membraned wings</span><br /> + So wonderful, so wide,<br /> + So sun-suffused;"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref120" id="fnref120" href="#fn120">[120]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">or the cheery self-dependence of the solitary +insect. "I always love those wild creatures God sets up for +themselves," he wrote to Miss Barrett, "so independently, so +successfully, with their strange happy minute inch of a candle, as it +were, to light them."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref121" +id="fnref121" href="#fn121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn119" id="fn119" href="#fnref119">[119]</a></span> +<i>Donald</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn120" id="fn120" href="#fnref120">[120]</a></span> +Some of these examples are from Mr Brooke's excellent +chapter on Browning's Treatment of Nature. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn121" id="fn121" href="#fnref121">[121]</a></span> +<i>To E.B.B.</i>, 5th Jan. 1846. +</div> + +<p>Finally, Browning's joy in soul flowed over also upon the host of +lifeless things upon which "soul" itself has in any way been spent. To +bear the mark of Man's art and toil, to have been hewn or moulded or +built, <a name="page284" id="page284">compounded</a> or taken to +pieces, by human handiwork, was to acquire a certain romantic +allurement for Browning's imagination hardly found in any other poet in +the same degree. The "artificial products" of civilised and cultured +life were for him not merely instruments of poetic expression but +springs of poetic joy. No poetry can dispense with images from +"artificial" things; Wordsworth himself does not always reject them; +with most poets they are commoner, merely because they are +better known; but for Browning the impress of "our meddling intellect" +added exactly the charm and stimulus which complete exemption from it +added for Wordsworth. His habitual imagery is fetched, not from flowers +or clouds or moving winds and waters, but from wine-cups, swords and +sheaths, lamps, tesselated pavements, chess-boards, pictures, houses, +ships, shops. Most of these appealed also to other instincts,—to +his joy in brilliant colour, abrupt line, intricate surface, or violent +emotion. But their "artificiality" was an added attraction. The wedge, +for instance, appeals to him not only by its angularity and its rending +thrust, but as a weapon contrived by man's wit and driven home by his +muscle. The cup appeals to him not only by its shape, and by the rush of +the foaming wine, but as fashioned by the potter's wheel, and flashing +at the festal board. His delight in complex technicalities, in the +tangled issues of the law-courts, and the intertwining harmonies of +Bach, sprang from his joy in the play of mind as well as from his joy in +mere intricacy as such. His mountains <a name="page285" +id="page285">are</a> gashed and cleft and carved not only because their +intricacy of craggy surface or the Titanic turmoil of +mountain-shattering delights him, but also because he loves +to suggest the deliberate axe or chisel of the warrior or the artist +Man. He turns the quiet vicissitudes of nature into dexterous +achievements of art. If he does not paint or dye the meads, he turns the +sunset clouds into a feudal castle, shattered slowly with a visible +mace; the morning sun pours into Pippa's chamber as from a wine-bowl; +and Fifine's ear is</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in16">"cut</span><br /> + Thin as a dusk-leaved rose carved from a cocoanut."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref122" id="fnref122" href="#fn122">[122]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn122" id="fn122" href="#fnref122">[122]</a></span> +<i>Fifine at the Fair</i>, ii. 325. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Sordello's slowly won lyric speech is called</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"a rude</span><br /> + Armour ... hammered out, in time to be<br /> + Approved beyond the Roman panoply<br /> + Melted to make it."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref123" id="fnref123" href="#fn123">[123]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn123" id="fn123" href="#fnref123">[123]</a></span> +<i>Sordello</i>, i. 135. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And thirty years later he used the kindred but more +recondite simile of a ring with its fortifying alloy, to symbolise the +welded <i>Wahrheit</i> and <i>Dichtung</i> of his greatest poem.</p> + +<p>Between <i>Dichtung</i> and <i>Wahrheit</i> there was, indeed, in +Browning's mind, a closer affinity than that simile suggests. His +imagination was a factor in his apprehension of truth; his "poetry" +cannot be detached from his interpretation of life, nor his +interpretation of life from his poetry. Not that all parts of his +apparent <a name="page286" id="page286">teaching</a> belong equally to +his poetic mind. On the contrary, much of it was derived from traditions +of which he never shook himself clear; much from the exercise of a +speculative reason which, though incomparably agile, was neither well +disciplined in its methods nor particularly original in its grasp of +principles. But with the vitalising heart of his faith neither tradition +nor reasoning had so much to do as that logic of the imagination by +which great poets often implicitly enunciate what the after-thinker +slowly works out. The characteristic ways of Browning's poetry, the +fundamental joys on which it fed, of which the present chapter attempts +an account, by no means define the range or the limits of his +interpreting intellect, but they mark the course of its deepest +currents, the permanent channels which its tides overflow, but to which +in the last resort they return. In the following chapter we shall have +to study these fluctuating movements of his explicit and formulated +thought, and to distinguish, if we may, the ground-tone of the deep +waters from the more resonant roll of the shifting tides.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<a name="page287" id="page287"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h4>THE INTERPRETER OF LIFE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"> + <p>His voice sounds loudest and also clearest for the things that as a + race we like best; ... the fascination of faith, the acceptance of + life, the respect for its mysteries, the endurance of its charges, + the vitality of the will, the validity of character, the beauty of + action, the seriousness, above all, of great human passion.<br /> + <span class="in20">—</span><span class="small">HENRY JAMES.</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p class="noindent">The trend of speculative thought in Europe during +the century which preceded the emergence of Browning may be described +as a progressive integration along several distinct lines of the great +regions of existence which common beliefs, resting on a still vigorous +medievalism, thrust apart. Nature was brought into nearer relation with +Man, and Man with God, and God with Nature and with Man. In one aspect, +not the least striking, it was a "return to Nature"; economists from +Adam Smith to Malthus worked out the laws of man's dependence upon the +material world; poets and idealists from Rousseau to Wordsworth +discovered in a <a name="page288" id="page288">life</a> "according to +nature" the ideal for man; sociologists from Hume to Bentham, and from +Burke to Coleridge, applied to human society conceptions derived from +physics or from biology, and emphasised all that connects it with the +mechanical aggregate of atoms, or with the organism.</p> + +<p>In another aspect it was a return to God. If the scientific movement +tended to subjugate man to a Nature in which, as Laplace said, there was +no occasion for God, Wordsworth saw both in Nature and in man a spirit +"deeply interfused"; and the great contemporary school of German +philosophy set all ethical thinking in a new perspective by its original +handling of the old thesis that duty is a realisation of the will of +God.</p> + +<p>But, in yet another aspect, it was a return to Man. If Man was +brought nearer to Nature and to God, it was to a Nature and to a God +which had themselves acquired, for him, closer affinities with +humanity. He divined, with Wordsworth, his own joy, with Shelley his +own love, in the breathing flower; he saw with Hegel in the Absolute +Spirit a power vitally present in all man's secular activities and +pursuits. And these interpreting voices of poets and philosophers were +but the signs of less articulate sensibilities far more widely +diffused, which were in effect bringing about a manifold expansion and +enrichment of normal, mental, and emotional life. Scott made the +romantic past, Byron and Goethe, in their different ways, the Hellenic +past, a living element of the present; and Fichte, calling upon his <a +name="page289" id="page289">countrymen</a> to emancipate +themselves, in the name not of the "rights of men" but of the genius of +the German people, uttered the first poignant recognition of national +life as a glorious vesture arraying the naked body of the individual +member, not an aggregate of other units competing with or controlling +him.</p> + +<p>In this complicated movement Browning played a very notable and +memorable part. But it was one of which the first generation of his +readers was entirely, and he himself to a great extent, unconscious, and +which his own language often disguises or conceals. Of all the poets of +the century he had the clearest and most confident vision of the working +of God in the world, the most buoyant faith in the divine origin and +destiny of man. Half his poetry is an effort to express, in endless +variety of iteration, the nearness of God, to unravel the tangled +circumstance of human life, and disclose everywhere infinity enmeshed +amid the intricacies of the finite.</p> + +<p>On the side of Nature his interest was less keen and his vision less +subtle. His "visitations of the living God" came to him by other avenues +than those opened by Wordsworth's ecstatic gaze, "in love and holy +passion," upon outward beauty. Only limited classes of natural phenomena +appealed to him powerfully at all, the swift and sudden upheavals and +catastrophes, the ardours and accesses, the silence that thrills with +foreboding and suspense. For continuities, both of the mechanical and +the organic kind, he lacked sense. <a name="page290" +id="page290">We</a> have seen how his eye fastened +everywhere upon the aspects of life least suggestive of either iron +uniformity or harmonious evolution. The abrupt demarcations which he +everywhere imposes or discovers were the symptom of a primitive +ingrained atomism of thought which all the synthetic strivings of a +God-intoxicated intellect could not entirely overcome.</p> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>His metaphysical thinking thus became an effort to reconcile an +all-embracing synthesis with a sense of individuality as stubborn and +acute as ever man had. Body and Soul, Nature and Spirit, Man and God, +Good and Evil, he presented now as co-operative or alien, now as hostile +antagonists or antitheses. That their opposition is not ultimate, that +evil is at bottom a form of good, and all finite existence a passing +mode of absolute being, was a conviction towards which his thought on +one side constantly strove, which it occasionally touched, but in which +it could not securely rest. Possessed by the thirst for absoluteness, he +vindicated the "infinity" of God and the soul by banishing all the +"finiteness" of sense into a limbo of illusion. The infinite soul, +imprisoned for life in a body which at every moment clogs its motion and +dims its gaze, fights its way through the shows of sense,<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref124" id="fnref124" href="#fn124">[124]</a></span> +"which ever proving false still promise to be <a name="page291" +id="page291">true</a>," until death opens the +prison-gate and restores the captive to its infinity. Sorrow and evil +were stains imposed by Time upon the white radiance of an eternal being; +and Browning sometimes rose, though with a less sure step, to the +dizzier height of holding Time itself to be unreal, and the soul's +earthly life not an episode in an endless sequence, but a dream of +progressive change imposed upon a changeless and timeless essence.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn124" id="fn124" href="#fnref124">[124]</a></span> +<i>Fifine at the Fair.</i> +</div> + +<p>But there were, as has been said, elements in Browning's mental make +which kept this abstract and formal theory, fortified though it was by +theological prepossessions, in check. His most intense consciousness, +his most definite grip upon reality, was too closely bound up with the +collisions and jostlings, the limits and angularities, of the world of +the senses, for the belief in their illusoriness easily to hold its +ground. This "infinite soul" palpably had its fullest and richest +existence in the very heart of finite things. Wordsworth had turned for +"intimations of immortality" to the remembered intuitions of childhood; +Browning found them in every pang of baffled aspiration and frustrate +will. Hence there arose in the very midst of this realm of illusion a +new centre of reality; the phantoms took on solid and irrefragable +existence, and refused to take to flight when the cock-crow announced +that "Time was done, Eternity begun."</p> + +<p>Body and Time had in general too strong a grip upon him to be +resolved into illusion. His actual <a name="page292" +id="page292">pictures</a> of departed souls suggest a state +very unlike that reversion of the infinite spirit which had been thrust +upon Matter and distended in Time, to the timeless Infinitude it had +forgone. It does not escape from Time, but only passes on from the +limited section of Time known as life, into another section, without +limit, known as Eternity. And if it escapes from Body, at least Browning +represents his departed soul more boldly than any other modern poet in a +garb of flesh. Evelyn Hope, when she wakens in another world, will find +her unknown lover's leaf in her hand, and "remember, and understand."</p> + +<p>And just as Matter and Time invade Browning's spiritual eternity, so +his ideal of conduct for man while still struggling with finite +conditions casts its shadow on to the state of immortal release. Two +conceptions, in fact, of the life after death, corresponding to +divergent aspects of his thought, contend in Browning's mind. Now it is +a state of emancipation from earthly limits,—when the "broken +arcs" become "perfect rounds" and "evil" is transformed into "so much +good more," and "reward and repose" succeed the "struggles"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref125" id="fnref125" href="#fn125">[125]</a></span> +by which they have been won. But at times he startles the devout reader +by foreshadowing not a sudden transformation but a continuation of the +slow educative process of earth in a succession of preliminary heavens +before the consummate state is reached. "Progress," in short, was too +deeply <a name="page293" id="page293">ingrained</a> in Browning's +conception of what was ultimately good, and therefore ultimately real, +not to find entrance into his heaven, were it only by some casual +backdoor of involuntary intuition. Even in that more gracious state +"achievement lacked a gracious somewhat"<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref126" id="fnref126" href="#fn126">[126]</a></span> to his +indomitable fighting instinct.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn125" id="fn125" href="#fnref125">[125]</a></span> +<i>Saul</i>, xvii. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn126" id="fn126" href="#fnref126">[126]</a></span> +<i>One Word More</i>. +</div> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Soul resteth not, and mine must still advance,"</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">he had said in <i>Pauline</i>, and the soul that +ceased to advance ceased for Browning, in his most habitual mood, to +exist. The "infinity" of the soul was not so much a gift as a destiny, +a power of hungering for ever after an ideal completeness which it was +indefinitely to pursue and to approach, but not to reach. Far from +having to await a remote emancipation to become completely itself, the +soul's supremest life was in its hours of heroic stress, when it kept +some dragon of unbelief quiet underfoot, like Michael,</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Who stands calm, just because he feels it writhe."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">It was at this point that the athletic energy of +Browning's nature told most palpably upon the complexion of his +thought. It did not affect its substance, but it altered the bearing of +the parts, giving added weight to all its mundane and positive +elements. It gave value to every challenging obstruction akin to that +which allured him to every angular and broken surface, to all the +"evil" which balks our easy perception of "good."<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref127" id="fnref127" href="#fn127">[127]</a></span> <a +name="page294" id="page294">Above</a> all, by idealising effort, it +created a new ethical end which every strenuous spirit could not merely +strive after but fulfil, every day of its mortal life; and thus +virtually transferred the focus of interest and importance from "the +next world's reward and repose" to the vital "struggles in this."</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn127" id="fn127" href="#fnref127">[127]</a></span> +<i>Bishop Blougram</i>. +</div> + +<p>Browning's characteristic conception of the nature and destiny of man +was thus not a compact and consistent system, but a group of intuitions +nourished from widely different regions of soul and sense, and +undergoing, like the face of a great actor, striking changes of +expression without material change of feature under the changing +incidence of stress and glow. The ultimate gist of his teaching was +presented through the medium of conceptions proper to another school of +thought, which, like a cryptogram, convey one meaning but express +another, He had to work with categories like finite and infinite, which +the atomic habits of his mind thrust into exclusive opposition; whereas +the profoundest thing that he had to say was that the "infinite" has to +be achieved in and through the finite, that just the most definitely +outlined action, the most individual purpose, the most sharply +expressive thought, the most intense and personal passion, are the +points or saliency in life which most surely catch the radiance of +eternity they break. The white light was "blank" until shattered by +refraction; and Browning is less Browning when he glories in its +unbroken purity than when he rejoices in the prism, whose obstruction +alone</p> + +<a name="page295" id="page295"></a> +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in8">"shows aright</span><br /> + The secret of a sunbeam, breaks its light<br /> + Into the jewelled bow from blankest white."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref128" id="fnref128" href="#fn128">[128]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p>We have now to watch Browning's efforts to interpret this profound +and intimate persuasion of his in terms of the various conceptions at +his disposal.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref129" id="fnref129" +href="#fn129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn128" id="fn128" href="#fnref128">[128]</a></span> +<i>Deaf and Dumb</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn129" id="fn129" href="#fnref129">[129]</a></span> +On the matter of this section cf. Mr A.C. Pigou's acute +and lucid discussions, <i>Browning as a Religious Teacher</i>, ch. viii. and +ix. +</div> + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>Beside the soul, there was something else that "stood sure" for +Browning—namely, God. Here, too, a theological dogma, steeped in +his ardent mind, acquired a new potency for the imagination, and a more +vital nexus with man and nature than any other poet of the century had +given it. And here, too, the mystic and the positive strains of +Browning's genius wrought together, impressing themselves equally in +that wonderful Browningesque universe in which every germ seems to be +itself a universe "needing but a look to burst into immense life," and +infinity is ever at hand, behind a closed door. The whole of his +theology was an attempt to express consistently two convictions, rarely +found of the same intensity in the same brain, of the divineness of the +universe and the individuality of man.</p> + +<p>The mechanical Creator of Paley and the deists could never have +satisfied him. From the first he "saw God <a name="page296" +id="page296">everywhere</a>." There was in him the stuff of which the +"God-intoxicated" men are made, and he had moments, like that expressed +in one of his most deliberate and emphatic personal utterances, in +which all existence seemed to be the visible Face of God—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Become my universe that feels and knows."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref130" id="fnref130" href="#fn130">[130]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn130" id="fn130" href="#fnref130">[130]</a></span> +<i>Epilogue</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">He clearly strained towards the sublime pantheistic +imaginings of the great poets of the previous +generation,—Wordsworth's "Something far more deeply interfused," +Shelley's "One spirit's plastic stress," and Goethe's <i>Erdgeist</i>, +who weaves the eternal vesture of God at the loom +of Time. The dying vision of Paracelsus is as sublime as these, and +marks Browning's nearest point of approach to the ways of thought they +embody. In all the vitalities of the world, from the uncouth play of the +volcano to the heaven-and-earth transfiguring mind of man, God was +present, sharing their joy. But even here the psychological barrier is +apparent, against which all the surge of pantheistic impulse in Browning +broke in vain. This God of manifold joys was sharply detached from his +universe; he was a sensitive and sympathetic spectator, not a pervading +spirit. In every direction human personality opposed rigid frontiers +which even the infinite God could not pass, and no poet less needed the +stern warning which he addressed to German speculation against the +"gigantic stumble"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref131" id="fnref131" +href="#fn131">[131]</a></span> of <a name="page297" +id="page297">making</a> them one. The mystic's dream of +seeing all things in God, the Hegelian thesis of a divine mind realising +itself in and through the human, found no lodgment in a consciousness of +mosaic-like clearness dominated by the image of an incisively individual +and indivisible self. In later life the sharp lines which he drew from +the first about individual personality became a ring-fence within which +each man "cultivated his plot,"<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref132" +id="fnref132" href="#fn132">[132]</a></span> managing independently as +he might the business of his soul. The divine love might wind +inextricably about him,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref133" +id="fnref133" href="#fn133">[133]</a></span> the dance of plastic +circumstance at the divine bidding impress its rhythms upon his +life,<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref134" id="fnref134" href="#fn134">[134]</a></span> +he retained his human identity inviolate, a "point of central rock" +amid the welter of the waves.<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref135" +id="fnref135" href="#fn135">[135]</a></span> His love might be a "spark +from God's fire," but it was his own, to use as he would; he "stood on +his own stock of love and power."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref136" +id="fnref136" href="#fn136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn131" id="fn131" href="#fnref131">[131]</a></span> +<i>Christmas-Eve.</i> +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn132" id="fn132" href="#fnref132">[132]</a></span> +<i>Ferishtah</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn133" id="fn133" href="#fnref133">[133]</a></span> +<i>Easter-Day</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn134" id="fn134" href="#fnref134">[134]</a></span> +<i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn135" id="fn135" href="#fnref135">[135]</a></span> +<i>Epilogue</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn136" id="fn136" href="#fnref136">[136]</a></span> +<i>Christmas-Eve</i>. +</div> + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<p>In this sharp demarcation of man's being from God's, Browning never +faltered. On the contrary, the individualising animus which there found +expression impelled him to raise more formidable barriers about man, and +to turn the ring-fence which secured him from intrusion into a high wall +which cut off his view. In other words, the main current of Browning's +thought <a name="page298" id="page298">sets</a> strongly towards a +sceptical criticism of human knowledge. At the outset he stands on the +high <i>à priori</i> ground of Plato. Truth in its fulness abides in +the soul, an "imprisoned splendour," which intellect quickened by love +can elicit, which moments of peculiar insight, deep joy, and sorrow, +and the coming on of death, can release. But the gross flesh hems it +in, wall upon wall, "a baffling and perverting carnal mesh,"<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref137" id="fnref137" href="#fn137">[137]</a></span> +the source of all error. The process of discovery he commonly conceived +as an advance through a succession of Protean disguises of truth, each +"one grade above its last presentment,"<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref138" id="fnref138" href="#fn138">[138]</a></span> until, at +the rare moment, by the excepted eye, the naked truth was grasped. But +Browning became steadily more reluctant to admit that these fortunate +moments ever occurred, that the Proteus was ever caught. Things would +be known to the soul as they were known to God only when it was +emancipated by death. Infinity receded into an ever more inaccessible +remoteness from the finite. For the speaker in <i>Christmas-Eve</i> +man's mind was the image of God's, reflecting trace for trace his +absolute knowledge; for Francis Furini the bare fact of his own +existence is all he knows, a narrow rock-spit of knowledge enisled +in a trackless ocean of ignorance. Thus for Browning, in differing moods +and contexts, the mind of man becomes now a transparent pane, opening +directly upon the truth as God sees it, now a coloured lens, <a +name="page299" id="page299">presenting</a> truth in blurred refraction, +now an opaque mirror idly bodying forth his futile and illusive dreams.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn137" id="fn137" href="#fnref137">[137]</a></span> +<i>Paracelsus</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn138" id="fn138" href="#fnref138">[138]</a></span> +<i>Fifine</i>, cxxiv. +</div> + +<p>These conflicting views were rooted in different elements of +Browning's many-sided nature. His vivid intuition of his own +self-consciousness formed a standing type of seemingly absolute +immediate knowledge, to which he stubbornly clung. When the optimism of +the "Head" was discredited, passion-fraught instinct, under the name of +the Heart, came to the rescue, and valiantly restored its authority. On +the other hand, a variety of subtle attractions drew him on to give +"illusion" a wider and wider scope. Sheer joy in battle had no small +share. The immortal and infinite soul, projected among the shows of +sense, could not be expected to do its part worthily if it saw through +them: it had to believe its enemies real enemies, and its warfare a +rational warfare; it had to accept time and place, and good and evil, +as the things they seem. To have a perfectly clear vision of truth as +it is in God was to be dazzled with excess of light, to grope and +fumble about the world as it is for man, like the risen Lazarus—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in2">"witless of the size, the sum,</span><br /> + The value in proportion of all things,<br /> + Or whether it be little or be much."</p> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The mystic who withdrew from the struggle with +phantoms to gaze upon eternal realities was himself the victim of the +worst illusions; while the hero who <a name="page300" +id="page300">plunged</a> into that struggle was training his soul, and +thereby getting a grip upon ultimate truth. Thus Browning's passionate +and reiterated insistence upon the illusiveness of knowledge was rooted +in his inalienable faith in the worth and reality of moral conflict. The +infinite soul realised itself most completely when it divested itself of +the trappings of its infinity, and it worked out God's law most +implicitly when it ignored God's point of view.</p> + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<p>Such a result could not be finally satisfying, and Browning's thought +fastened with increasing predilection and exclusiveness upon one intense +kind of vitality in which the hard antagonism of good and evil seems to +be transcended, and that complete immersion of the soul in a nature not +its own appears not as self-abnegation but as self-fulfilment. He did +not himself use this phraseology about Love; it is that of a school to +which he, at no time, it would seem, made any conscious approach. But it +is clear that he found in the mysterious union and transfusion of +diverse being which takes place in Love, as Hegel found in the union of +opposites, the clue to the nature of reality, the very core of the heart +of life. He did not talk of the union of opposites, but of "infinitude +wreaking itself upon the finite." God himself would have been less +divine, and so, as God, less real, had he remained aloof in lonely +infinity instead of uniting himself with all creation in that love +which "<a name="page301" id="page301">moves</a> the world and the other +stars"; the "loving worm," to quote his pregnant saying once more, were +diviner than a loveless God. We saw how his theology is double-faced +between the pantheistic yearning to find God everywhere and the +individualist's resolute maintenance of the autonomy of man. God's +Love, poured through the world, inextricably blended with all its power +and beauty, thrilled with answering rapture by all its joy, and +striving to clasp every human soul, provided the nearest approach to a +solution of that conflict which Browning's mechanical metaphysics +permitted. One comprehends, then, the profound significance for him of +the actual solution apparently presented by Christian theology. In one +supreme, crucial example the union of God with man in consummate love +had actually, according to Christian belief, taken place, and Browning +probably uttered his own faith when he made St John declare that</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"The acknowledgment of God in Christ<br /> + Acknowledged by thy reason solves for thee<br /> + All questions in the earth and out of it."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref139" id="fnref139" href="#fn139">[139]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn139" id="fn139" href="#fnref139">[139]</a></span> +<i>Death in the Desert</i>. These lines, however "dramatic," +mark with precision the extent, and the limits, of Browning's Christian +faith. The evidence of his writings altogether confirms Mrs Orr's +express statement that Christ was for him, from first to last, "a +manifestation of divine love," by human form accessible to human love; +but not the Redeemer of the orthodox creed. +</div> + +<p>For to acknowledge this was to recognise that love was divine, and +that mankind at large, in virtue of their gift of love, shared in God's +nature, finite as they were; that <a name="page302" +id="page302">whatever</a> clouds of intellectual illusion they walked +in, they were lifted to a hold upon reality as unassailable as God's +own by the least glimmer of love. Whatever else is obscure or elusive +in Browning, he never falters in proclaiming the absolute and flawless +worth of love. The lover cannot, like the scientific investigator, miss +his mark, he cannot be baffled or misled; the object of his love may be +unworthy, or unresponsive, but in the mere act of loving he has his +reward.</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in6">"Knowledge means</span><br /> + Ever renewed assurance by defeat<br /> + That victory is somehow still to reach;<br /> + But love is victory, the prize itself."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref140" id="fnref140" href="#fn140">[140]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn140" id="fn140" href="#fnref140">[140]</a></span> +<i>Pillar of Sebzevir</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">This aspect of Browning's doctrine of love, though +it inspired some of his most exalted lyrics, throws into naked relief +the dearth of social consciousness in Browning's psychology. Yet it is +easy to see that the absolute self-sufficiency into which he lifted the +bare fact of love was one of the mainsprings of his indomitable +optimism. In Love was concentrated all that emancipates man from the +stubborn continuities of Nature. It started up in corrupt or sordid +hearts, and swept all their blind velleities into its purifying flame +of passion—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p><span class="in3">"Love is incompatible</span><br /> + With falsehood,—purifies, assimilates<br /> + All other passions to itself."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref141" id="fnref141" href="#fn141">[141]</a></span></p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn141" id="fn141" href="#fnref141">[141]</a></span> +<i>Colombe's Birthday</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And the glimmer of soul that lurked in the veriest +act <a name="page303" id="page303">of</a> humanity the breath of love +could quicken into pervading fire.<span class="fnref"><a +name="fnref142" id="fnref142" href="#fn142">[142]</a></span> Love was +only the most intense and potent of those sudden accesses of vitality +which are wont, in Browning, suddenly to break like a flame from the +straw and dross of a brutish or sophisticated consciousness, +confounding foresight and calculation, but giving endless stimulus to +hope. Even in the contact with sin and sorrow Browning saw simply the +touch of Earth from which Love, like Antaeus, sprang into fuller being; +they were the "dread machinery" devised to evolve man's moral +qualities, "to make him love in turn and be beloved."<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref143" id="fnref143" href="#fn143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn142" id="fn142" href="#fnref142">[142]</a></span> +<i>Fifine</i>. +<br /><br /> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn143" id="fn143" href="#fnref143">[143]</a></span> +<i>The Pope</i>. +</div> + +<p>But with all its insurgent emancipating vehemence Love was for +Browning, also, the very ground of stable and harmonious existence, +"the energy of integration," as Myers has finely said, "which makes a +cosmos of the sum of things," the element of permanence, of law. True, +its harmony was of the kind which admits discord and eschews routine; +its law that which is of eternity and not of yesterday; its stability +that which is only assured and fortified by the chivalry that plucks a +Pompilia, or an Alcestis, from their legal doom. The true anarchist, as +he sometimes dared to hint, was the cold unreason of duty which, as in +<i>Bifurcation</i>, keeps lovers meant for each other apart. It is by +love that the soul solves the problem—so tragically insoluble to +poor Sordello—of "fitting to the finite its infinity," and +satisfying the needs of Time and Eternity at once;<span +class="fnref"><a name="fnref144" id="fnref144" href="#fn144">[144]</a></span> +for Love, belonging <a name="page304" id="page304">equally</a> to both +spheres, can bring the purposes of body and soul into complete accord:</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"Like yonder breadth of watery heaven, a bay<br /> + And that sky-space of water, ray for ray<br /> + And star for star, one richness where they mixed,<br /> + As this and that wing of an angel, fixed<br /> + Tumultuary splendours."</p> +</div> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn144" id="fn144" href="#fnref144">[144]</a></span> +<i>Sordello, sub fin</i>. +</div> + +<p class="noindent">In a life thus thrilled into harmony heaven was +already realised on earth; and Eternity itself could but continue what +Time had begun. Death, for such a soul, was not an awaking, for it had +not slept; nor an emancipation, for it was already free; nor a +satisfying of desire, for the essence of Love was to want; it was only +a point at which the "last ride together" might pass into an eternal +"riding on"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> + <p class="quote">"With life for ever old, yet new,<br /> + Changed not in kind but in degree,<br /> + The instant made Eternity,—<br /> + And Heaven just prove that I and she<br /> + Ride, ride together, for ever ride!"</p> +</div> + +<h3>VI.</h3> + +<p>No intellectual formula, no phrase, no word, can express the whole +purport of those intense and intimate fusions of sensation, passion, and +thought which we call poetic intuition, and which all strictly poetic +"philosophy" or "criticism of life" is an attempt to interpret and +articulate. Browning was master of more potent weapons <a +name="page305" id="page305">of</a> the strictly intellectual kind than +many poets of his rank, and his work is charged with convictions which +bear upon philosophic problems and involve philosophic ideas. But they +were neither systematic deductions from a speculative first principle +nor fragments of tradition eclectically pieced together; by their very +ambiguity and Protean many-sidedness they betrayed that, however tinged +they might be on the surface with speculative or traditional phrases, +the nourishing roots sprang from the heart of joyous vitality in a +primitive and original temperament. In Browning, if in any man, Joy +sang that "strong music of the soul" which re-creates all the +vitalities of the world, and endows us with "a new Earth and a new +Heaven." And if joy was the root of Browning's intuition, and life "in +widest commonalty spread" the element in which it moved, Love, the most +intimate, intense, and marvellous of all vital energies, was the ideal +centre towards which it converged. In Love, as Browning understood it, +all those elementary joys of his found satisfaction. There he saw the +flawless purity which rejoiced him in Pompilia's soul, which "would not +take pollution, ermine-like armed from dishonour by its own soft snow." +There he saw sudden incalculableness of power abruptly shattering the +continuities of routine, throwing life instantly into a new +perspective, and making barren trunks break into sudden luxuriance like +the palm; or, again, intimately interpenetrating soul with +soul,—"one near one is too far"; or <a name="page306" +id="page306">entangling</a> the whole creation in the inextricable +embrace of God.</p> + +<p>But if all his instincts and imaginative proclivities found their +ideal in Love, they also insensibly impressed their own character upon +his conception of it. The "Love" which has so deep a significance for +Browning is a Love steeped in the original complexion of his mind, and +bearing the impress of the singular position which he occupies in the +welter of nineteenth-century intellectual history. His was one of the +rare natures in which revolutionary liberalism and spiritual reaction, +encountering in nearly equal strength, seem to have divided their +principles and united their forces. Psychologically, the one had its +strongest root in the temper which reasons, and values ideas; the other +in that which feels, and values emotions. Sociologically, the one stood +for individualism, the other for solidarity. In their ultimate +presuppositions, the one inclined to the standpoint of the senses and +experience; the other to a mostly vague and implicit idealism. In their +political ideals, the one strove for progress, and for freedom as its +condition; the other for order, and for active legal intervention as its +safeguard.</p> + +<p>In two of these four points of contrast, Browning's temperament +ranged him more or less decisively on the Liberal side. Individualist +to the core, he was conspicuously deficient in the kind of social mind +which makes a poet the voice of an organised community, a nation, or a +class. Progress, again, was with him even <a name="page307" +id="page307">more</a> an instinct than a principle; and he became the +<i>vates sacer</i> of unsatisfied aspiration. On the other +hand, that he was not without elements of the temper which makes for +order was shown by his punctilious, almost eager, observance of social +conventions, and, in the last years of his life, by the horror excited +in him by what he took to be the anarchy of Women's Suffrage and Home +Rule. In the other two fields of opposition he belonged decisively to +the spiritual and emotional reaction. Spirit was for him the ultimate +fact of existence, the soul and God were the indissoluble realities. But +his idealism was not potent and pure enough either to control the +realist suggestions of his strong senses and energetic temperament, or +to interpret them in its own terms. And in the conflict between reason +and feeling, or, as he put it, between "head" and "heart," as sources of +insight, and factors in human advancement, feeling found its most +brilliant champion in Browning, and its most impressive statement in his +doctrine of Love. An utilitarian reduction of welldoing to a +distribution of properly calculated doses of satisfaction he dismissed +with a scorn as derisive as Carlyle's; "general utility" was a favourite +of "that old stager the devil."<span class="fnref"><a name="fnref145" +id="fnref145" href="#fn145">[145]</a></span> Yet no critic of intellect +ever used intellect more vigorously, and no preacher of the rights of +the heart ever dealt less in flaccid sentiment. Browning was Paracelsus +as well as Aprile, and sharply as he chose to dissever "Knowledge" and +"Love," Love was for him never a foe of intellect, <a name="page308" +id="page308">but</a> a more gifted comrade who does the same work more +effectively, who dives deeper, soars higher, welds more potently into +more enduring unities, and flings upon dry hearts with a more +infallible magic the seed of more marvellous new births. Browning as +the poet of Love is thus the last, and assuredly not the least, in the +line which handed on the torch of Plato. The author of the +<i>Phoedrus</i> saw in the ecstasy of Love one of the avenues to the +knowledge of the things that indeed are. To Dante the supreme realities +were mirrored in the eyes of Beatrice. For Shelley Love was interwoven +through all the mazes of Being; it was the source of the strength by +which man masters his gods. To all these masters of idealism Browning's +vision of Love owed something of its intensity and of its range. With +the ethical Love of Jesus and St Paul his affinities were more apparent, +but less profound. For him, too, love was the sum of all morality and +the root of all goodness. But it resembled more the joyous +self-expansion of the Greek than the humility and self-abnegation of +Christian love. Not the saintly ascetic nor the doer of good works, but +the artist and the "lover," dominated his imagination when he wrote of +Love; imbuing even God's love for the world with the joy of creation and +the rapture of embrace. Aprile's infinite love for things impelled him +to body them visibly forth. Deeper in Browning than his Christianity, +and prior to it, lay his sense of immeasurable worth in all life, the +poet's passion for being.</p> + +<div class="fn"> +<span class="fnnum"><a name="fn145" id="fn145" href="#fnref145">[145]</a></span> +<i>Red-cotton Night-cap Country</i>. +</div> + +<a name="page309" id="page309"></a> +<p>Browning's poetry is thus one of the most potent of the influences +which in the nineteenth century helped to break down the shallow and +mischievous distinction between the "sacred" and the "secular," and to +set in its place the profounder division between man enslaved by apathy, +routine, and mechanical morality, and man lifted by the law of love into +a service which is perfect freedom, into an approximation to God which +is only the fullest realisation of humanity.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> +<br /><br /> +</div> + +<div id="index"> +<a name="page310" id="page310"></a> +<h2>INDEX.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="small">NOTE</span>—<i>The names of the Persons +are given in small capitals; titles of literary works in italics; other +names in ordinary type; black figures indicate the more detailed +references. Only the more important of the incidental quotations are +included. Poems are referred to only under their authors' names.</i></p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">AESCHYLUS</span>, + <a href="#page215">215</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">ALLINGHAM, W.</span>, + <a href="#page87">87</a>.</li> + <li>American fame of Browning, + <a href="#page87">87</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">ARISTOPHANES</span>, + <a href="#page77">77</a>, + <a href="#page207">207 f</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">ARNOLD, M.</span>, + <a href="#page26">26</a>.</li> + <li>Asolo, + <a href="#page27">27</a>, + <a href="#page50">50</a>, + <a href="#page220">220</a>, + <a href="#page232">232</a>.</li> + <li><i>Athenæum, The,</i> + <a href="#page172">172</a>, + <a href="#page251">251</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">BALZAC</span>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>, + <a href="#page49">49</a>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>, + <a href="#page117">117</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BARRETT, ELIZABETH</span>. + See Browning, E.B.</li> + <li><span class="small">BARTOLI</span>, his <i>Simboli,</i> + <a href="#page27">27</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BENCKHAUSEN</span>, Russian Consul-General, + <a href="#page14">14</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BÉRANGER</span>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BLAGDEN, ISA</span>. + See <span class="small">BROWNING, R.</span>, letters.</li> + <li><span class="small">BRONSON, Mrs ARTHUR</span>, + <a href="#page220">220</a>, + <a href="#page231">231</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BRONTE, EMILY</span>, her character + "Heathcliff," + <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BROWNING, ROBERT</span> (grandfather), + <a href="#page2">2</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BROWNING, ROBERT</span> (father), + <a href="#page3">3</a>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>, + <a href="#page18">18</a>, + <a href="#page149">149 n.</a>, + <a href="#page173">173</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BROWNING, ROBERT</span>, + <ul> + <li>cosmopolitan in sympathies, English by his art, + <a href="#page1">1</a>, + <a href="#page2">2</a>;</li> + <li>his birth, + <a href="#page3">3</a>;</li> + <li>likeness to his mother, + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a>;</li> + <li>character of his home, + <a href="#page5">5</a>;</li> + <li>boyhood, + <a href="#page5">5</a>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>;</li> + <li>early sense of rhythm, + <a href="#page7">7</a>;</li> + <li>reads Shelley, Keats, and Byron, + <a href="#page8">8 f.</a>;</li> + <li>journey to St Petersburg, + <a href="#page14">14</a>;</li> + <li>first voyage to Italy, + <a href="#page26">26 f.</a>;</li> + <li>second voyage to Italy, + <a href="#page61">61</a>;</li> + <li>correspondence with E.B. Barrett, + <a href="#page78">78</a>;</li> + <li>marriage, + <a href="#page81">81</a>;</li> + <li>settlement in Italy, + <a href="#page84">84</a>;</li> + <li>friendships and society at Florence, + <a href="#page84">84 f.</a>;</li> + <li>Italian politics, + <a href="#page88">88</a>;</li> + <li>Italian scenery, + <a href="#page91">91</a>;</li> + <li>Italian painting, + <a href="#page98">98 f.</a>;</li> + <li>and music, + <a href="#page103">103 f.</a>;</li> + <li>religion, + <a href="#page110">110 f.</a>;</li> + <li>his interpretation of <i>In a Balcony</i>, + <a href="#page145">145 n.</a>;</li> + <li>death of Mrs Browning, + <a href="#page147">147</a>;</li> + <li>return to London, + <a href="#page148">148</a>;</li> + <li>society, + <a href="#page150">150</a>;</li> + <li>summer sojourns in France, + <a href="#page153">153 f.</a>, + <a href="#page202">202 f.</a>;</li> + <li>in the Alps, + <a href="#page216">216</a>;</li> + <li>death of Miss Egerton-Smith, + <a href="#page216">216</a>;</li> + <li>Italy once more, + <a href="#page220">220</a>;</li> + <li>Asolo and Venice, + <a href="#page231">231 f.</a>;</li> + <li>death, + <a href="#page234">234</a>.</li> + <li>Works— + <ul> + <li><i>Abt Vogler</i>, + <a href="#page71">71</a>, + <a href="#page158"><b>158</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Agamemnon</i> (translation of), + <a href="#page215">215 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Andrea del Sarto</i>, + <a href="#page70">70 f.</a>, + <a href="#page100"><b>100</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Another Way of Love</i>, + <a href="#page142">142</a>.</li> + <li><i>Any Wife to Any Husband</i>, + <a href="#page140">140</a>.</li> + <li><i>Appearances</i>, + <a href="#page212">212</a>.</li> + <li><i>Aristophanes' Apology</i>, + <a href="#page206"><b>206</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Artemis Prologizes</i>, + <a href="#page68">68</a>, + <a href="#page190">190</a>.</li> + <li><i>Asolando</i>, + <a href="#page220">220</a>, + <a href="#page232"><b>232</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>At the Mermaid</i>, + <a href="#page211">211</a>.</li> + <li><i>Bad Dreams</i>, + <a href="#page232">232</a>.</li> + <li><i>Balaustion's Adventure</i>, + <a href="#page75">75</a>, + <a href="#page190"><b>190</b> f.</a></li> + <li><a name="page311" id="page311"> + <i>Baldinucci</i></a>, + <a href="#page214">214</a>.</li> + <li><i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, + <a href="#page16">16</a>, + <a href="#page41">41 f.</a>, + <a href="#page74">74</a>.</li> + <li><i>Bifurcation</i>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Bishop of St Praxed's, The</i>, + <a href="#page70">70</a>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + <li><i>Blot in the 'Scutcheon, A</i>, + <a href="#page52"><b>52</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Blougram's Apology</i>, + <a href="#page14">14</a>, + <a href="#page57">57</a>, + <a href="#page60">60</a>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page129"><b>129</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page277">277 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Boy and the Angel, The</i>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page116">116</a>.</li> + <li><i>By the Fireside</i>, + <a href="#page94">94</a>, + <a href="#page135"><b>135</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + <li><i>Caliban upon Setebos</i>, + <a href="#page162"><b>162</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Cavalier Tunes</i>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + <li><i>Childe Roland</i>, + <a href="#page95"><b>95</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page262">262 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Christmas-Eve and Easter Day</i>, + <a href="#page81">81</a>, + <a href="#page114"><b>114</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page162">162</a>.</li> + <li><i>Cleon</i>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page126"><b>126</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Clive</i>, + <a href="#page223">223</a>.</li> + <li><i>Colombe's Birthday</i>, + <a href="#page53">53</a>, + <a href="#page55"><b>55</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Confessional, The</i>, + <a href="#page40">40</a>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + <li><i>Cristina</i>, + <a href="#page48">48</a>, + <a href="#page68"><b>68</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Deaf and Dumb</i>, + <a href="#page295">295</a>.</li> + <li><i>Death in the Desert, A</i>, + <a href="#page152">152</a>, + <a href="#page160"><b>160</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>De Gustibus</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>, + <a href="#page92">92</a>, + <a href="#page254">254</a>.</li> + <li><i>Dis Aliter Visum</i>, + <a href="#page152">152</a>, + <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + <li><i>Dramas</i>, + <a href="#page37">37 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Dramatic Idylls</i>, + <a href="#page221"><b>221</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>, + <a href="#page38">38 f.</a>, + <a href="#page65"><b>65</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page79">79</a>.</li> + <li><i>Dramatic Romances</i>, + <a href="#page38">38</a>, + <a href="#page79">79</a>.</li> + <li><i>Dramatis Personæ</i>, + <a href="#page151"><b>151-168</b></a>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Echetlos</i>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Englishman in Italy, The</i>, + <a href="#page93">93</a>.</li> + <li><i>Epilogue to Dramatis Personæ</i>, + <a href="#page154">154</a>, + <a href="#page167"><b>167</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page296">296</a>.</li> + <li><i>Epistle of Karshish, An</i>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page123"><b>123</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Eurydice to Orpheus</i>, + <a href="#page157">157</a>.</li> + <li><i>Evelyn Hope</i>, + <a href="#page138">138</a>, + <a href="#page293">293</a>.</li> + <li><i>Fears and Scruples</i>, + <a href="#page212">212</a>.</li> + <li><i>Ferishtah's Fancies</i>, + <a href="#page227"><b>227</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Fifine at the Fair</i>, + <a href="#page92">92 f.</a>, + <a href="#page148">149</a>, + <a href="#page197"><b>197</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page209">209</a>, + <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> + <li><i>Flight of the Duchess, The</i>, + <a href="#page69"><b>69</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page199">199</a>.</li> + <li><i>Flower's Name, The</i>, + <a href="#page68">68</a>.</li> + <li><i>Forgiveness, A</i>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Fra Lippo Lippi</i>, + <a href="#page71">71</a>, + <a href="#page101"><b>101</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page112">112</a>.</li> + <li><i>Francis Furini</i>, + <a href="#page298">298</a>.</li> + <li><i>Gerard de Lairesse</i>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Gismond</i>, + <a href="#page41">41</a>, + <a href="#page57">57</a>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + <li><i>Glove, The</i>, + <a href="#page69">69</a>, + <a href="#page70"><b>70</b></a>.</li> + <li><i>Grammarian's Funeral, The</i>, + <a href="#page109"><b>109</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Guardian Angel, The</i>, + <a href="#page99">99</a>.</li> + <li><i>Halbert and Hob</i>, + <a href="#page222"><b>222</b></a>.</li> + <li><i>Helen's Tower</i>, sonnet, + <a href="#page188">188</a>.</li> + <li><i>Heretic's Tragedy, A</i>, + <a href="#page128"><b>128</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> + <li><i>Hervé Riel</i>, + <a href="#page189"><b>189</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Holy Cross Day</i>, + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a>, + <a href="#page128"><b>128</b></a>.</li> + <li><i>Home Thoughts from Abroad</i> (quoted), + <a href="#page265">265</a>.</li> + <li><i>Home Thoughts from the Sea</i>, + <a href="#page26">26</a>.</li> + <li><i>House</i>, + <a href="#page211">211</a>.</li> + <li><i>How it Strikes a Contemporary</i>, + <a href="#page108">108 f.</a></li> + <li><i>How they brought the Good News from Ghent to + Aix</i>, + <a href="#page27">27</a>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Hugues of Saxe Gotha, Master</i>, + <a href="#page71">71</a>, + <a href="#page105"><b>105</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>.</li> + <li><i>In a Balcony</i>, + <a href="#page143"><b>143</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>In a Gondola</i>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + <li><i>In a Year</i>, + <a href="#page140">140</a>.</li> + <li><i>Incondita</i>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + <li><i>Inn Album, The</i>, + <a href="#page188">188</a>, + <a href="#page208"><b>208</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Instans Tyrannus</i>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + <li><i>In Three Days</i>, + <a href="#page137">137</a>, + <a href="#page141">141</a>.</li> + <li><i>Italian in England, The</i>, + <a href="#page91">91</a>.</li> + <li><i>Iván Ivánovitch</i>, + <a href="#page14">14</a>, + <a href="#page221">221</a>, + <a href="#page223"><b>223</b></a>.</li> + <li><i>Ixion</i>, + <a href="#page225"><b>225</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>James Lee's Wife</i>, + <a href="#page153">153 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Jochanan Halkadosh</i>, + <a href="#page225">225</a>.</li> + <li><i>Jocoseria</i>, + <a href="#page224"><b>224</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Johannes Agricola</i>, + <a href="#page15">15 f.</a></li> + <li><i>King Victor and King Charles</i>, + <a href="#page15">15</a>, + <a href="#page45"><b>45</b></a>, + <a href="#page50">50</a>.</li> + <li><i>Laboratory, The</i>, + <a href="#page38">38</a>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + <li><i>La Saisiaz</i>, + <a href="#page216"><b>216</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Last Ride Together, The</i>, + <a href="#page68">68</a>, + <a href="#page138"><b>138</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page304">304</a>.</li> + <li><i>Life in a Love</i>, + <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + <li><i>Light Woman, A</i>, + <a href="#page142">142</a>.</li> + <li><i>Lost Leader, The</i>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + <li><i>Lost Mistress, The</i>, + <a href="#page68">68</a>, + <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + <li><i>Love in a Life</i>, + <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + <li><i>Luria</i>, + <a href="#page60">60</a>, + <a href="#page61"><b>61</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Madhouse Cells</i>, + <a href="#page16">16</a>.</li> + <li><i>Martin Relph</i>, + <a href="#page222">222 f.</a>, + <a href="#page275">275</a>.</li> + <li><i>Men and Women</i>, + <a href="#page25">25</a>, + <a href="#page60">60</a>, + <a href="#page72">72</a>, + <a href="#page74">74</a>, + <a href="#page87"><b>87-147</b></a>, + <a href="#page152">152</a>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Muleykeh</i>, + <a href="#page223">223</a>.</li> + <li><i>My Last Duchess</i>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>, + <a href="#page70">70</a>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>My Star</i>, + <a href="#page140">140</a>.</li> + <li><i>Natural Magic</i>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Ned Bratts</i>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Never the Time and the Place</i>, + <a href="#page226">226</a>.</li> + <li><i>Now</i>, + <a href="#page233">233</a>.</li> + <li><i>Numpholeptos</i>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Old Pictures in Florence</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>, + <a href="#page102">102 f.</a></li> + <li><i>One Way of Love</i>, + <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + <li><i>One Word More</i>, + <a href="#page97">97 f.</a>, + <a href="#page146"><b>146</b> f.</a></li> + <li><a name="page312" id="page312"> + <i>Pacchiarotto</i></a>, + <a href="#page109">109</a>, + <a href="#page162">162</a>, + <a href="#page188">188</a>, + <a href="#page210"><b>210</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Pan and Luna</i>, + <a href="#page248">248</a>.</li> + <li><i>Paracelsus</i>, + <a href="#page16"><b>16</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page25">25</a>, + <a href="#page29">29</a>, + <a href="#page38">38</a>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>.</li> + <li><i>Parleyings with Certain People of + Importance</i>, + <a href="#page229">229 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Patriot, The</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + <li><i>Pauline</i>, + <a href="#page11">11 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Pearl, a Girl, A</i>, + <a href="#page233">233</a>.</li> + <li><i>Pheidippides</i>, + <a href="#page222">222</a>.</li> + <li><i>Pictor Ignolus</i>, + <a href="#page70">70 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Pied Piper, The</i>, + <a href="#page71">71 f.</a>, + <a href="#page269">269</a>.</li> + <li><i>Pippa Passes</i>, + <a href="#page49"><b>49</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page59">59</a>, + <a href="#page79">79</a>, + <a href="#page91">91</a>, + <a href="#page151">151</a>, + <a href="#page181">181</a>.</li> + <li><i>Popularity</i>, + <a href="#page109">109</a>.</li> + <li><i>Porphyria's Lover</i>, + <a href="#page16">16</a>.</li> + <li><i>Pretty Woman, A</i>, + <a href="#page142">142</a>.</li> + <li><i>Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau,</i> + <a href="#page14">14</a>, + <a href="#page194"><b>194</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Prospice</i>, + <a href="#page109">109</a>, + <a href="#page157">157</a>.</li> + <li><i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i>, + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a>, + <a href="#page109">109</a>, + <a href="#page157"><b>157</b> f</a>.</li> + <li><i>Red-cotton Night-cap Country</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a> (Miranda), + <a href="#page188">188</a>, + <a href="#page203"><b>203</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Return of the Druses, The</i>, + <a href="#page45">45</a>, + <a href="#page46"><b>46</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page64">64</a>.</li> + <li><i>Reverie</i>, + <a href="#page233">233</a>.</li> + <li><i>Ring and the Book, The</i>, + <a href="#page151">151 f.</a>, + <a href="#page169"><b>169-186</b></a>, + <a href="#page276">276 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Rudel</i>, + <a href="#page68">68</a>.</li> + <li><i>Saint Martin's Summer</i>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Saul</i>, + <a href="#page48">48</a>, + <a href="#page72"><b>72</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page113">113</a>, + <a href="#page121"><b>121</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Serenade at the Villa</i>, + <a href="#page137">137</a>.</li> + <li><i>Shelley, Essay on</i>, + <a href="#page20">20</a>, + <a href="#page106"><b>106</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page109">109 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis</i>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>, + <a href="#page79">79</a>.</li> + <li><i>Sludge, Mr, the Medium</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>, + <a href="#page165"><b>165</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Solomon and Balkis</i>, + <a href="#page225">225</a>.</li> + <li><i>Sordello</i>, + <a href="#page15">15</a>, + <a href="#page25"><b>25</b> f.</a>, + <a href="#page238">238</a>.</li> + <li><i>Soul's Tragedy, A</i>, + <a href="#page59">59 f.</a></li> + <li><i>Spanish Cloister, The</i>, + <a href="#page79">79</a>.</li> + <li><i>Statue and the Bust, The</i>, + <a href="#page142">142</a>, + <a href="#page213">213</a>.</li> + <li><i>Strafford</i>, + <a href="#page15">15</a>, + <a href="#page25">25</a>, + <a href="#page42"><b>42</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Summum Bonum</i>, + <a href="#page233">233</a>.</li> + <li><i>Time's Revenges</i>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>.</li> + <li><i>Toccata of Galuppi's, A</i>, + <a href="#page104">104 f.</a>, + <a href="#page153">153</a>.</li> + <li><i>Too Late</i>, + <a href="#page153">153</a>.</li> + <li><i>Transcendentalism</i>, + <a href="#page108">108</a>.</li> + <li><i>Two in the Campagna</i>, + <a href="#page93">93</a>, + <a href="#page134">134</a>, + <a href="#page140"><b>140</b></a>, + <a href="#page238">238</a>.</li> + <li><i>Two Poets of Croisic, The</i>, + <a href="#page218"><b>218</b> f.</a></li> + <li><i>Woman's Last Word, A</i>, + <a href="#page140">140</a>.</li> + <li><i>Women and Roses</i>, + <a href="#page143">143</a>.</li> + <li><i>Worst of It, The</i>, + <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + <li><i>Youth and Art</i>, + <a href="#page152">152</a>, + <a href="#page156">156</a>.</li> + </ul> + </li> + <li>Letters, + <ul> + <li>to E.B.B., + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page49">49</a>, + <a href="#page59">59 n.</a>, + <a href="#page62">62</a>, + <a href="#page63">63</a>, + <a href="#page65">65</a>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>, + <a href="#page72">72</a>, + <a href="#page75">75</a>, + <a href="#page78">78-83</a> <i>passim</i>, + <a href="#page85">85</a>, + <a href="#page114">114 f.</a>, + <a href="#page241">241</a>, + <a href="#page252">252 f.</a>, + <a href="#page283">283</a>;</li> + <li>to Miss Blagden, + <a href="#page153">153</a>, + <a href="#page171">171</a>, + <a href="#page173">173 n.</a>, + <a href="#page249">249</a>;</li> + <li>to Miss Flower, + <a href="#page43">43</a>;</li> + <li>to Miss Haworth, + <a href="#page26">26 n.</a>, + <a href="#page44">44</a>, + <a href="#page237">237</a>;</li> + <li>to Ruskin, + <a href="#page237">237</a>;</li> + <li>to Aubrey de Vere, + <a href="#page247">247 n.</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><span class="small">BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT + MOULTON-BARRETT</span> (wife). + <ul> + <li>First allusion to Browning, + <a href="#page75">75</a>;</li> + <li>reads <i>Paracelsus</i>, + <a href="#page75">75 n.</a>;</li> + <li>her character, early life, and poetry, + <a href="#page76">76 f.</a>;</li> + <li>correspondence with Browning, + <a href="#page78">78 f.</a>;</li> + <li>marriage, + <a href="#page81">81</a>;</li> + <li>settlement in Italy, + <a href="#page84">84</a>;</li> + <li>friendships, society at Florence, + <a href="#page84">84 f.</a>;</li> + <li>death, + <a href="#page147">147</a>;</li> + <li>her relation to Pompilia, + <a href="#page180">180</a>. + <ul> + <li><i>Aurora Leigh</i>, + <a href="#page81">81</a>, + <a href="#page87">87</a>, + <a href="#page151">151</a>, + <a href="#page209">209</a>.</li> + <li><i>Songs before Congress</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + <li><i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>, + <a href="#page87">87</a>.</li> + <li><i>Casa Guidi Windows</i>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>.</li> + <li>Letters to R.B., + <a href="#page49">49</a>, + <a href="#page65">65</a>, + <a href="#page77">77 n.</a>, + <a href="#page78">78-83</a> <i>passim</i>, + <a href="#page114">114</a>, + <a href="#page251">251</a>.</li> + <li>Letter to Ruskin, + <a href="#page77">77 n.</a></li> + <li>Letters to others, + <a href="#page85">85</a>, + <a href="#page89">89</a>, + <a href="#page92">92</a>, + <a href="#page99">99</a>, + <a href="#page245">245</a>.</li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><span class="small">BROWNING, SARAH ANNA</span> (mother), + <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BURNS, R.</span>, + <a href="#page40">40</a>, + <a href="#page281">281</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">BYRON, LORD</span>, + <a href="#page7">7</a>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page104">104</a>, + <a href="#page198">198</a>, + <a href="#page218">218</a>, + <a href="#page263">263</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">CARLYLE, THOMAS</span>, + <a href="#page36">36</a>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>, + <a href="#page87">87</a>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>, + <a href="#page172">172</a>, + <a href="#page230">230</a>, + <a href="#page256">256</a>, + <a href="#page307">307</a>.</li> + <li><i>Carnival</i>, Schumann's, + <a href="#page202">202</a>.</li> + <li>Casa Guidi, + <a href="#page84">84 f.</a>, + <a href="#page97">97</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">CELLINI, BENVENUTO</span>, + <a href="#page98">98</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">CHAUCER, G.</span>, + <a href="#page41">41</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">COLERIDGE, S.T.</span>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page95">95 f.</a>, + <a href="#page134">134</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">CORNARO, CATHARINE</span>, + <a href="#page50">50</a>.</li> + <li><i>Cornhill Magazine, The</i>, + <a href="#page190">190</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">DANTE</span>, + <a href="#page29">29 f.</a>, + <a href="#page33">33</a>, + <a href="#page35">35</a>, + <a href="#page66">66</a>, + <a href="#page120">120 f.</a>, + <a href="#page261">261 f.</a>, + <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">DICKENS, CHARLES</span>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>, + <a href="#page49">49</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">DOMETT, ALFRED</span> (referred to), + <a href="#page99">99</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">DONNE, JOHN</span>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>, + <a href="#page254">254 n.</a></li> + <li>Dulwich, + <a href="#page6">6</a>, + <a href="#page49">49</a>, + <a href="#page97">97</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<a name="page313" id="page313"></a> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">EGERTON-SMITH, ANN</span>, + <a href="#page216">216</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">EMERSON, R.W.</span>, + <a href="#page256">256</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">EURIPIDES</span>, + <a href="#page173">173 n.</a>, + <a href="#page191">191</a>, + <a href="#page208">208</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li>Fano, the Brownings at, + <a href="#page99">99</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">FAUCIT, HELEN</span> (Lady Martin), + <a href="#page43">43</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">FICHTE, J.E.</span>, + <a href="#page288">288 f.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">FITZGERALD, EDWARD</span>, + <a href="#page172">172</a>, + <a href="#page188">188</a>.</li> + <li>Florence, + <a href="#page84">84 f.</a> <i>passim.</i></li> + <li><span class="small">FLOWER, ELIZA</span>, + <a href="#page11">11</a>, + <a href="#page43">43</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">FORSTER, JOHN</span>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">FOX, W.J.</span>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page14">14</a>, + <a href="#page42">42</a>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li>Germany. German strain in Browning, + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">GIOTTO</span>, + <a href="#page99">99</a>, + <a href="#page103">103</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">GOETHE, J.W. VON</span>, + <a href="#page5">5</a>, + <a href="#page288">288</a>; + <ul> + <li><i>Faust</i>, + <a href="#page19">19</a>, + <a href="#page31">31</a>, + <a href="#page50">50</a>, + <a href="#page198">198</a>, + <a href="#page296">296</a>;</li> + <li><i>Iphigenie</i>, + <a href="#page30">30 n.</a>;</li> + <li><i>Metamorphose der Pflanzen</i>, + <a href="#page265">265</a>;</li> + <li><i>Tasso</i>, + <a href="#page30">30</a>;</li> + <li><i>Westöstlicher Divan</i>, + <a href="#page226">226</a>.</li> + </ul> + </li> + <li>Greek, early studies in, + <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + <li>Gressoney, + <a href="#page226">226</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">HAWORTH, EUPHRASIA FANNY</span>, + <a href="#page27">27</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">HORNE</span>, author of <i>Orion</i>, + <a href="#page80">80</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">HUGO, VICTOR</span>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>, + <a href="#page242">242</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">IBSEN, H.</span>, <i>The Wild Duck</i>, + <a href="#page59">59</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">JAMESON, ANNA</span>, + <a href="#page84">84</a>.</li> + <li>Jews. Browning's attitude towards the Jewish race, + <a href="#page4">4 n.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">JONSON, BEN</span>, + <a href="#page38">38</a>, + <a href="#page214">214</a>.</li> + <li><i>Junius, Letters of</i>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">KEATS, J.</span>, + <a href="#page9">9</a>, + <a href="#page73">73</a>, + <a href="#page240">240 f.</a>, + <a href="#page254">254</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">KENYON, JOHN</span>, + <a href="#page73">73</a>, + <a href="#page78">78</a>, + <a href="#page80">80</a>, + <a href="#page82">82</a>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">LANDOR, W.S.</span>, + <a href="#page30">30 n.</a>, + <a href="#page40">40 f.</a>, + <a href="#page87">87 f.</a>, + <a href="#page96">96</a>, + <a href="#page229">229</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">LEIGHTON, Sir FREDERIC</span>, + <a href="#page71">71</a>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> + <li>Lucca, the Brownings at, + <a href="#page92">92</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">MACLISE</span>, + <a href="#page67">67</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MACREADY</span>, + <a href="#page42">42 f.</a>, + <a href="#page32">32</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MAETERLINCK, M.</span>, + <a href="#page144">144</a>, + <a href="#page162">162 n.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">MALORY</span>, + <a href="#page104">104</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MEREDITH, Mr G.</span>, + <a href="#page168">168</a>.</li> + <li>Metres, Browning's, + <a href="#page186">186</a>, + <a href="#page253">253</a>, + <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MICHELANGELO</span>, + <a href="#page103">103</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MILL, JOHN STUART</span>, + <a href="#page11">11 f.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">MILSAND, JOSEPH</span>, + <a href="#page86">86</a>, + <a href="#page188">188</a>, + <a href="#page203">203</a>, + <a href="#page230">230</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MILTON, J.</span>, + <a href="#page71">71</a>, + <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + <li><i>Monthly Repository</i>, + <a href="#page14">14</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MOXON, EDWARD</span>, publisher, + <a href="#page59">59 n</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">MUSSET, ALFRED DE</span>, + <a href="#page141">141 f.</a></li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">NAPOLEON III.</span>, Emperor, + <a href="#page88">88 f.</a>, + <a href="#page194">194</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">OSSIAN</span>, + <a href="#page7">7</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">PALESTRINA</span>, + <a href="#page103">103</a>.</li> + <li>Paris, + <a href="#page85">85 f.</a>, + <a href="#page92">92</a>, + <a href="#page106">106</a>, + <a href="#page204">204</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">PAUL, SAINT</span>, + <a href="#page308">308</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">PHELPS</span>, actor, + <a href="#page58">58</a>.</li> + <li>Pisa, + <a href="#page84">84</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">PLATO</span>, + <a href="#page12">12</a>, + <a href="#page239">239</a>, + <a href="#page307">307</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">PRINSEP, V.</span>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">QUARLES, FRANCIS</span>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li>Rezzonico Palace, + <a href="#page231">231</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">RIPERT-MONCLAR, COMTE AMÉDÉE DE</span>, + <a href="#page17">17</a>.</li> + <li>Rome, the Brownings in, + <a href="#page87">87</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">ROSSETTI, D.G.</span>, + <a href="#page13">13 f.</a>, + <a href="#page86">86 f.</a>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">ROSSETTI, Mr W.M.</span>, + <a href="#page171">171 n.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">RUSKIN, JOHN</span>, + <a href="#page77">77 n.</a>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>, + <a href="#page237">237</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">SAND, GEORGE</span>, + <a href="#page85">85</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SCHILLER, F.</span>, + <a href="#page70">70</a>, + <a href="#page209">209</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SCOTT, Sir W.</span>, + <a href="#page93">93</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SHAKESPEARE, W.</span>, + <a href="#page65">65</a>, + <a href="#page200">200</a>, + <a href="#page211">211</a>; + <ul> + <li><i>Romeo and Juliet</i>, <a href="#page38">38</a>;</li> + <li><i>The Tempest</i>, + <a href="#page50">50 f.</a>, + <a href="#page162">162 f.</a>;</li> + <li><i>Loves Labour's Lost</i>, + <a href="#page56">56</a>;</li> + <li><i>Hamlet</i>, + <a href="#page58">58</a>;</li> + <li><i>Julius Cæsar</i>, + <a href="#page63">63</a>;</li> + <li><i>Othello</i>, + <a href="#page62">62</a>;</li> + <li><i>As You Like It</i>, + <a href="#page95">95</a>.</li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><span class="small">SHELLEY, P.B.</span>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page9">9</a>, + <a href="#page12">12 f.</a>, + <a href="#page20">20</a>, + <a href="#page34">34</a>, + <a href="#page90">90</a>, + <a href="#page110">110 f.</a>, + <a href="#page183">183</a>, + <a href="#page238">238</a>, + <a href="#page240">240</a>, + <a href="#page254">254</a>, + <a href="#page257">257</a>, + <a href="#page263">263</a>, + <a href="#page271">271</a>, + <a href="#page296">296</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SMART, CHRISTOPHER</span>, his <i>Song to + David</i>, + <a href="#page72">72</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SOUTHEY, R.</span>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>.</li> + <li>Spiritualism, + <a href="#page87">87</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">SWINBURNE, Mr A.C.</span>, + <a href="#page151">151</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">TENNYSON, ALFRED LORD</span>, + <a href="#page1">1</a>, + <a href="#page19">19</a>, + <a href="#page31">31</a>, + <a href="#page86">86 f.</a>, + <a href="#page130">130</a>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>, + <a href="#page172">172</a>, + <a href="#page175">175</a>, + <a href="#page261">261 f.</a></li> + <li><span class="small">TENNYSON, FREDERICK</span>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small"><a name="page314" id="page314">THACKERAY, + ANNIE</a></span> (Mrs Ritchie), + <a href="#page203">203</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">THACKERAY, W.M.</span>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">TITTLE, MARGARET</span>, the poet's + grandmother, + <a href="#page3">3</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">TRELAWNEY, E.J.</span>, + <a href="#page61">61</a>.</li> + <li><i>Trifler, The</i>, + <a href="#page15">15</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li>Venice, + <a href="#page27">27</a>, + <a href="#page37">37</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">VERDI</span>, + <a href="#page103">103</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">VILLON</span>, + <a href="#page105">105</a>.</li> + <li>Virgil, Dante's, + <a href="#page30">30</a>.</li> + <li>Vocabulary, Browning's, + <a href="#page261">261</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">VOLTAIRE</span>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li><span class="small">WALPOLE, HORACE</span>, + <a href="#page6">6</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">WIEDEMANN, WILLIAM</span>, the poet's + maternal grandfather, + <a href="#page4">4</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">WISEMAN, CARDINAL</span>, + <a href="#page130">130</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">WOOLNER</span>, + <a href="#page150">150</a>.</li> + <li><span class="small">WORDSWORTH</span>, + <a href="#page8">8</a>, + <a href="#page32">32</a>, + <a href="#page93">93 f.</a>, + <a href="#page244">244</a>, + <a href="#page264">264</a>, + <a href="#page268">268</a>, + <a href="#page273">273</a>, + <a href="#page284">284</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<ul> + <li>York (a horse), + <a href="#page27">27</a>.</li> +</ul> + +<p class="center"><br /><br />THE END.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><span class="tiny">PRINTED BY WILLIAM +BLACKWOOD AND SONS.</span></p> + +<hr class="long" /> +<br /><br /> +</div> + +<div id="ads"> + +<h2>PERIODS OF EUROPEAN LITERATURE.</h2> + +<h3>A COMPLETE AND CONTINUOUS HISTORY OF THE SUBJECT.</h3> + +<p class="center">Edited by <span class="small">PROFESSOR +SAINTSBURY.</span></p> + +<p class="center">In 12 crown 8vo vols., each 5s. net.<br /><br /></p> + +<ul> + <li class="rom"><span class="small">THE DARK AGES</span>. + By <span class="small">PROF. 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OMOND</span>.</li> + <li class="rom"><span class="small">THE LATER NINETEENTH CENTURY</span>. + By The <span class="small">EDITOR</span>. + <i>[In preparation.</i></li> +</ul> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<h2>PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS</h2> + +<h3><i>FOR ENGLISH READERS.</i></h3> + +<p class="center">Edited by <span class="small">PROFESSOR KNIGHT, +LL.D.</span></p> + +<p class="center">Price 1s. each.</p> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" width="100%" summary="List of books in the +Philosophical Classics series."> +<tr> + <td class="left45">Descartes. Prof. <span class="small">MAHAFFY.</span></td> + <td class="center8"> </td> + <td class="right47">Vico. Prof. <span class="small">FLINT.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Butler. Rev. <span class="small">W.L. COLLINS.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Hobbes. Prof. <span class="small">CROOM ROBERTSON.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Berkeley. Prof. <span class="small">CAMPBELL FRASER.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Hume. 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The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Tacitus. <span class="small">W.B. DONNE.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Herodotus. <span class="small">G.C. SWAYNE.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Lucian. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Cæsar. <span class="small">ANTHONY TROLLOPE.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Plato. <span class="small">C.W. COLLINS.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Virgil. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Greek Anthology. Lord <span class="small">NEAVES.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Horace. Sir <span class="small">THEODORE MARTIN.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Livy. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Aeschylus. Bishop <span class="small">COPLESTONE.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Ovid. Rev. <span class="small">A. CHURCH.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Xenophon. Sir <span class="small">ALEX. GRANT.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius. <span class="small">J. DAVIES.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Cicero. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Demosthenes. <span class="small">W.J. BRODRIBB.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Sophocles. <span class="small">C.W. COLLINS.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Aristotle. Sir <span class="small">ALEX. GRANT.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Pliny. Rev. <span class="small">A. CHURCH</span> and <span class="small">W.J. BRODRIBB.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Thucydides. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Euripides. <span class="small">W.B. DONNE.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Lucretius. <span class="small">W.H. MALLOCK.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Juvenal. <span class="small">E. WALFORD.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td>Pindar. Rev. <span class="small">F.D. MORICE.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Aristophanes. The <span class="small">EDITOR.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Hesiod and Theognis. <span class="small">J. DAVIES.</span></td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="small">WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON</span></p> + +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14618 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |