Robert Browning

Robert Browning

1812–1889 · lived 77 years GB GB

Robert Browning was a prominent English poet and playwright whose mastery of the dramatic monologue and keen psychological insight made him one of the most influential figures of the Victorian era. His work often delves into complex characters and moral dilemmas, exploring the depths of human nature with a distinctive, vigorous style. Browning's expansive vocabulary, intricate plotting, and philosophical bent continue to fascinate readers and scholars alike.

n. 1812-05-07, Londres · m. 1889-12-12, Veneza

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A Grammarian's Funeral

A Grammarian's Funeral
SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF
LEARNING IN EUROPE.
Let us begin and carry up this corpse,
Singing together.
Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes
Each in its tether
Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain,
Cared-for till cock-crow:
Look out if yonder be not day again
Rimming the rock-row!
That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought,
Rarer, intenser,
Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought,
Chafes in the censer.
Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop;
Seek we sepulture
On a tall mountain, citied to the top,
Crowded with culture!
All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels;
Clouds overcome it;
No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's
Circling its summit.
Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights:
Wait ye the warning?
Our low life was the level's and the night's;
He's for the morning.
Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head,
'Ware the beholders!
This is our master, famous calm and dead,
Borne on our shoulders.
Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft,
Safe from the weather!
He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft,
Singing together,
He was a man born with thy face and throat,
Lyric Apollo!
Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note
Winter would follow?
Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone!
Cramped and diminished,
Moaned he, ``New measures, other feet anon!
``My dance is finished?''
No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side,
Make for the city!)
He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride
Over men's pity;
Left play for work, and grappled with the world
Bent on escaping:
``What's in the scroll,'' quoth he, ``thou keepest furled?
``Show me their shaping,


``Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,---
``Give!''---So, he gowned him,
Straight got by heart that hook to its last page:
Learned, we found him.
Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead,
Accents uncertain:
``Time to taste life,'' another would have said,
``Up with the curtain!''
This man said rather, ``Actual life comes next?
``Patience a moment!
``Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text,
``Still there's the comment.
``Let me know all! Prate not of most or least,
``Painful or easy!
``Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast,
``Ay, nor feel queasy.''
Oh, such a life as he resolved to live,
When he had learned it,
When he had gathered all books had to give!
Sooner, he spurned it.
Image the whole, then execute the parts---
Fancy the fabric
Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz,
Ere mortar dab brick!
(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place
Gaping before us.)
Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace
(Hearten our chorus!)
That before living he'd learn how to live---
No end to learning:
Earn the means first---God surely will contrive
Use for our earning.
Others mistrust and say, ``But time escapes:
``Live now or never!''
He said, ``What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes!
``Man has Forever.''
Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head
_Calculus_ racked him:
Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead:
_Tussis_ attacked him.
``Now, master, take a little rest!''---not he!
(Caution redoubled,
Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!)
Not a whit troubled
Back to his studies, fresher than at first,
Fierce as a dragon
He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst)
Sucked at the flagon.
Oh, if we draw a circle premature,
Heedless of far gain,


Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure
Bad is our bargain!
Was it not great? did not he throw on God,
(He loves the burthen)---
God's task to make the heavenly period
Perfect the earthen?
Did not he magnify the mind, show clear
Just what it all meant?
He would not discount life, as fools do here,
Paid by instalment.
He ventured neck or nothing---heaven's success
Found, or earth's failure:
``Wilt thou trust death or not?'' He answered ``Yes:
``Hence with life's pale lure!''
That low man seeks a little thing to do,
Sees it and does it:
This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
Dies ere he knows it.
That low man goes on adding nine to one,
His hundred's soon hit:
This high man, aiming at a million,
Misses an unit.
That, has the world here---should he need the next,
Let the world mind him!
This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed
Seeking shall find him.
So, with the throttling hands of death at strife,
Ground he at grammar;
Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech were rife:
While he could stammer
He settled _Hoti's_ business---let it be!---
Properly based _Oun_---
Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic _De_,
Dead from the waist down.
Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place:
Hail to your purlieus,
All ye highfliers of the feathered race,
Swallows and curlews!
Here's the top-peak; the multitude below
Live, for they can, there:
This man decided not to Live but Know---
Bury this man there?
Here---here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form,
Lightnings are loosened,
Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm,
Peace let the dew send!
Lofty designs must close in like effects
Loftily lying,
Leave him---still loftier than the world suspects,
Living and dying.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Robert Browning was an English poet and playwright. His birth name was Robert Wiedemann Browning. He was born in Camberwell, London. His death occurred in Venice, Italy. He came from a moderately prosperous middle-class family. His father was a clerk in the Bank of England and a lover of literature and art. His mother was of Scottish and German descent, and he was raised in a culturally rich environment. He was a British national and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Browning's childhood was spent in a home filled with books and art, fostering his early intellectual and artistic development. His father was a keen amateur artist and collector of books, and his mother was a talented musician and amateur painter. He received formal schooling at Dr. Wall's Academy and later at Henry Saltmarsh's school, but he was largely self-taught, devouring the contents of his father's extensive library. He showed a prodigious talent for poetry from a young age. His early readings included the Bible, classical literature, and the works of poets such as Byron, Shelley, and Keats. He was exposed to various cultural and religious influences, though his family's religious views were somewhat unorthodox.

Literary trajectory

Browning began writing poetry at a very young age, publishing his first poem at the age of 13. His early work, such as 'Pauline' (1833), showed the influence of Romantic poets like Shelley. His first major dramatic poem, 'Paracelsus' (1835), marked a step towards his mature style. The publication of 'Sordello' (1840) was met with critical incomprehension and is often considered a difficult work. His most famous period began with the publication of 'Dramatic Lyrics' (1842) and 'Dramatic Romances' (1845), which introduced his signature dramatic monologues. 'Men and Women' (1855) is a collection of profound and varied monologues. He also contributed to magazines and anthologies, and his plays, though not always successful on stage, were important literary works.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Browning's major works include 'Pauline' (1833), 'Paracelsus' (1835), 'Sordello' (1840), 'Dramatic Lyrics' (1842), 'Dramatic Romances' (1845), 'Men and Women' (1855), 'The Ring and the Book' (1868-69), and 'Asolando' (1889). His dominant themes include love, faith, doubt, art, music, the complexities of human psychology, and the exploration of historical and artistic figures. His most characteristic form is the dramatic monologue, where a single speaker reveals their personality, motivations, and inner conflicts. His style is characterized by its intellectual rigor, vivid imagery, expansive vocabulary, intricate syntax, and often conversational tone, which can be challenging but rewarding. He experimented with meter and rhyme, often employing a vigorous and energetic rhythm. His poetic voice is diverse, adopting the persona of numerous characters from different historical periods and social strata.

Cultural and historical context

Browning lived during the Victorian era, a period of significant social, industrial, and intellectual change in Britain. He was part of a generation of poets that included Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning (his wife), and others, often associated with the broader Romantic and Victorian literary movements. While not overtly political, his works engage with the moral and philosophical debates of his time, particularly concerning faith, reason, and the nature of good and evil. His poetry reflected the burgeoning interest in history, art, and psychology that characterized the era.

Personal life

Browning's personal life was deeply influenced by his marriage to fellow poet Elizabeth Barrett. Their courtship, conducted largely through letters, and their subsequent elopement to Italy, formed a significant chapter in both their lives and his poetry. Elizabeth's invalidism and his devotion to her are evident in some of his works. He was also known for his friendships with other literary figures and his active social life. His father's extensive library profoundly shaped his intellectual development. He was a devoted husband and father.

Recognition and reception

Browning's reception was varied during his lifetime. While he gained a devoted following and critical admiration, particularly for his dramatic monologues, he was often overshadowed by Tennyson as the official poet laureate. 'The Ring and the Book' brought him widespread acclaim and cemented his reputation as a major poet. Posthumously, his work has been consistently recognized for its complexity, psychological depth, and innovation, solidifying his place as a master of the dramatic monologue and a key figure in English literature.

Influences and legacy

Browning was influenced by poets such as Shelley, Keats, and Byron, as well as by Renaissance drama and historical figures. His legacy lies primarily in his pioneering use and mastery of the dramatic monologue, a form that profoundly influenced later poets. His complex characters, exploration of moral ambiguity, and intellectual depth have continued to inspire literary study and analysis. He is considered a foundational figure for modern poetry's interest in psychological realism and diverse perspectives. His works are widely translated and studied globally.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Browning's poetry is rich ground for interpretation, often analyzed for its philosophical underpinnings, psychological realism, and innovative use of language. Critics have debated the moral stances of his speakers, the extent to which Browning himself endorsed their views, and the complex interplay between faith and doubt in his work. The psychological depth of his characters and his exploration of the darker aspects of human motivation have been central to critical discussions.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Browning was an accomplished amateur pianist and had a deep appreciation for music, which often informed his poetry. He was also a keen observer of human nature, often sketching character studies in his notebooks. He was known for his energetic personality and his habit of composing poetry while walking. Despite his intellectual pursuits, he also had a keen interest in sporting activities.

Death and memory

Robert Browning died in Venice in 1889, shortly after the publication of his last collection of poems, 'Asolando'. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, a testament to his enduring stature in English literature. His memory is preserved through the continued study and appreciation of his vast and intricate body of work.

Poems

72

A Light Woman

A Light Woman
I.
So far as our story approaches the end,
Which do you pity the most of us three?---
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
With her wanton eyes, or me?
II.
My friend was already too good to lose,
And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
And over him drew her net.
III.
When I saw him tangled in her toils,
A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
The hundredth for a whim!
IV.
And before my friend be wholly hers,
How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle's the game her pride prefers,
Though she snaps at a wren instead!
V.
So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
And gave me herself indeed.
VI.
The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
The wren is he, with his maiden face.
---You look away and your lip is curled?
Patience, a moment's space!
VII.
For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
Eclipsing his sun's disk.
VIII.
And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:


``Though I love her---that, he comprehends---
``One should master one's passions, (love, in chief)
``And be loyal to one's friends!''
IX.
And she,---she lies in my hand as tame
As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
'Tis mine,---can I let it fall?
X.
With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!
Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst
When I gave its stalk a twist.
XI.
And I,---what I seem to my friend, you see:
What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
No hero, I confess.
XII.
'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one's own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
He played with for bits of stone!
XIII.
One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,---Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?
XIV.
Well, any how, here the story stays,
So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
Here's a subject made to your hand!
472

Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes

"Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes"
Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes
Of labdanum, and aloe-balls,
Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes
From out her hair: such balsam falls
Down sea-side mountain pedestals,
From tree-tops where tired winds are fain,
Spent with the vast and howling main,
To treasure half their island-gain.
And strew faint sweetness from some old
Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud
Which breaks to dust when once unrolled;
Or shredded perfume, like a cloud
From closet long to quiet vowed,
With mothed and dropping arras hung,
Mouldering her lute and books among,
As when a queen, long dead, was young.
249

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40

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