1878
Good, to forgive;Best, to forget!Living, we fret;Dying, we live.Fretless and free,Soul, clap thy pinion!Earth have dominion,Body, o'er thee!
Wander at will,Day after day,—Wander away,Wandering still—Soul that canst soar!Body may slumber:Body shall cumberSoul-flight no more.
Waft of soul's wing!What lies above?Sunshine and Love,Skyblue and Spring!Body hides—where?Ferns of all feather,Mosses and heather,Yours be the care!
1883
Wanting is—what?Summer redundant,Blueness abundant,—Where is the blot?Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,—Framework which waits for a picture to frame:What of the leafage, what of the flower?Roses embowering with nought they embower!Come then, complete incompletion, O comer,Pant through the blueness, perfect the summer!Breathe but one breathRose-beauty above.And all that was deathGrows life, grows love,Grows love!
1883
Never the time and the placeAnd the loved one all together!This path—how soft to pace!This May—what magic weather!Where is the loved one's face?In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,But the house is narrow, the place is bleakWhere, outside, rain and wind combineWith a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,With a malice that marks each word, each sign!O enemy sly and serpentine,Uncoil thee from the waking man!Do I hold the PastThus firm and fastYet doubt if the Future hold I can?This path so soft to pace shall leadThro' the magic of May to herself indeed!Or narrow if needs the house must he,Outside are the storms and strangers: we—Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she,—I and she!
Browning's poetic career extended from 1833 to 1889, nearly sixty years of fairly continuous composition. We may make a threefold division: first, the thirteen years before his marriage in 1846; second, the fifteen years of married life, closing in 1861; third, the remaining twenty-eight years. During the first period he published twelve works; during the second, two; during the third, eighteen. The fact that so little was published during the years when his wife was alive may be accounted for by the fact that the condition of her health required his constant care, and that after the total failure ofMen and Women(1855) to attract any popular attention, Browning for some time spent most of his energy in clay-modelling, giving up poetry altogether. Not long before the death of Mrs. Browning, he was busy writingPrince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, although he did not publish it until the right moment, which came in 1871. After the appearance ofDramatis Personae(1864), andThe Ring and the Book(1868-9), Browning's fame spread like a prairie fire; and it was quite natural that his immense reputation was a sharp spur to composition. One is more ready to speak when one is sure of an audience. Capricious destiny, however, willed that the books which sold the fastest after publication, were, with few exceptions, the least interesting and valuable of all the poet's performances. Perhaps he did not take so much care now that his fame was assured; perhaps the fires in his own mind were dying; perhaps the loss of his wife robbed him of necessary inspiration, as it certainly robbed him of the best critic he ever had, and the only one to whom he paid any serious attention. When we remember that some of theDramatic Romances,Luria,A Soul's Tragedy,Christmas-Eve,Men and Women, and some of theDramatis Personaewere read by her in manuscript, and thatThe Ring and the Bookwas written in the shadow of her influence, we begin to realise how much she helped him. Their love-letters during the months that preceded their marriage indicate the excellence of her judgment, her profound and sympathetic understanding of his genius and his willingness to listen to her advice. He did not intend to publishA Soul's Tragedyat all, though it is one of his most subtle and interesting dramas, and only did so at her request; part of the manuscript ofChristmas-Eveis in her handwriting,
It is worth remembering too that in later years Browning hated to write poetry, and nothing but a sense of duty kept him during the long mornings at his desk. He felt the responsibility of genius without its inspiration.
Browning has given a little trouble to bibliographers by redistributing the poems originally published in the three works,Dramatic Lyrics(1842),Dramatic Romances and Lyrics(1845), andMen and Women(1855). TheDramatic Lyricsat first contained sixteen pieces; theDramatic Romances and Lyricstwenty-three; theMen and Womenfifty-one. In the final arrangement the first of these included fifty; the second, called simplyDramatic Romances, twenty-five; whilst the last was reduced to thirteen. He also changed the titles of many of the poems, revised the text somewhat, classified two separate poems under one title,Claret and Tokay, andHere's to Nelson's Memory, under the headingNationality in Drinks, and united the two sections ofSaulin one poem. It is notable that he omitted not one, and indeed it is remarkable that with the exception ofThe Boy and the Angel,A Lover's Quarrel,Mesmerism, andAnother Way of Love, every poem in the long list has the indubitable touch of genius; and even these four are not the worst of Browning's compositions.
It would have seemed to us perhaps more fitting if Browning had grouped the contents of all three works under the one headingMen and Women; for that would fairly represent the sole subject of his efforts. Perhaps he felt that the title was too general, and as a matter of fact, it would apply equally well to his complete poetical works. I think, however, that he especially loved the appellationDramatic Lyrics, for he put over half of the poems finally under that category. The word "dramatic" obsessed Browning.
What is a dramatic lyric? When Tennyson published in 1842 hisUlysses, a Yankee farmer in America made in one sentence three remarks about it: a statement and two prophecies. He said thatUlyssesbelonged to a high class of poetry, destined to be the highest, and to be more cultivated in the next generation. NowUlyssesis both a dramatic lyric and a dramatic monologue, and Tennyson never wrote anything better than this poem. As it became increasingly evident that the nineteenth century was not going to have a great literary dramatic movement on the stage, while at the same time the interest in human nature had never been keener, the poets began to turn their attention to the interpretation of humanity by the representation of historical or imaginary individuals speaking: and their speech was to reveal the secrets of the human soul, in its tragedy and comedy, in its sublimity and baseness, in its nobility and folly. Later in life Tennyson cultivated sedulously the dramatic monologue; and Browning, the most original force in literature that the century produced, after abandoning his early attempts at success on the stage, devoted practically the entire strength of his genius to this form of poetry. Emerson was a wise man.
In reshuffling the short poems in the three works mentioned above, it is not always easy to see the logic of the distribution and it would be interesting if we could know the reasons that guided the poet in the classification of particular poems. Thus it is perfectly clear whyIncident of the French Camp,Count Gismond, andIn a Gondolawere taken from theDramatic Lyricsand placed among theDramatic Romances; it is easy to see whyThe Lost LeaderandHome-Thoughts, from Abroadwere taken from theRomancesand placed among theLyrics; it is not quite so clear whyRudelandArtemis Prologizeswere taken from theLyricsand classed amongMen and Women, when nearly all the poems originally published under the latter head were changed toLyricsandRomances. In changingHow They Brought the Good Newsfrom theDramatic Romances, where it was originally published, toDramatic Lyrics, Browning probably felt that the lyrical sound of the piece was more important than the story: but it really is a dramatic romance. Furthermore,My Last Duchesswould seem to fall more properly under the headingMen and Women; Browning, however, took it from theDramatic Lyricsand placed it among theDramatic Romances. In most cases, however, the reason for the transfer of individual poems is clear; and a study of the classification is of positive assistance toward the understanding of the piece.
In the eight volumes published from 1841 to 1846, which Browning calledBells and Pomegranates, meaning simply Sound and Sense, Meat and Music, only two are collections of short poems and the other six contain exclusively plays—seven in all, two being printed together in the last volume. Browning intended the wholeBells and Pomegranatesseries to be devoted to the drama, as one may see by the original preface toPippa Passes: but that drama and the next did not sell, and the publisher suggested that he include some short poems. This explains why the third volume is filled with lyrics; and in a note published with it, Browning half apologised for what might seem a departure from his original plan, saying these two might properly fall under the head of dramatic pieces; being, although lyrical in expression, "always dramatic in principle, and so many utterances of so many imaginary persons, not mine."
He means then by a dramatic lyric a poem that is short, that is musical, but that is absolutely not subjective—does not express or betray the writer's own ideas nor even his mood, as is done in Tennyson's ideal lyric,Crossing the Bar. A dramatic lyric is a composition lyrical in form, and dramatic in subject-matter; remembering all the time that by dramatic we do not necessarily mean anything exciting but simply something objective, something entirely apart from the poet's own feelings. On the stage this is accomplished by the creation of separate characters whoin propria personaexpress views that may or may not be in harmony with the poet's own. Thus, Macbeth's speech, beginning
Out, out, brief candle!
is really a dramatic lyric; because it is lyrical in form, and it expresses views on the value of life which could hardly have been held by Shakespeare, though they seem eminently fitting from the lips of a man who had tried to gain the whole world by losing his soul, and had succeeded in losing both.
In view of Browning's love for this form of verse, it is interesting to remember that the first two independent short poems that he ever wrote and retained in his works are both genuine dramatic lyrics. These arePorphyria's LoverandJohannes Agricola, printed in theMonthly Repositoryin 1836, when Browning was twenty-four years old. Thus early did he show both aptitude for this form and excellence in it, for each of these pieces is a work of genius. They were meant to be studies in abnormal psychology, for they were printed together in theDramatic Lyricsunder the captionMadhouse Cells. Browning was very young then, and naturally thought a man who believed in predestination and a man who killed the woman he loved were both insane; but after a longer experience of life, and seeing how many strange creatures walk the streets, he ceased to call these two men, obsessed by religion and obsessed by love, mad. If Porphyria's lover is mad, there is method in his madness. Her superior social rank has stifled hitherto the instincts of the heart; she has never given her lover any favors; but to-night, at the dinner-dance, by one of those strange and inexplicable caprices that make Woman the very Genius of the Unexpected, she has a vision. In the midst of the lights and the laughter, she sees her lonely lover sitting dejectedly in his cold and cheerless cottage, thinking of her. She slips away from the gay company, trips through the pouring rain, and enters the dark room like an angel of light. After kindling a blazing fire in the grate, she kindles her lover's hope-dead heart; she draws him to her and places his head on her naked shoulder. Suddenly a thought comes to him; one can see the light of murder in his eyes. At this moment she is sublime, fit for Heaven: for the first time in her life, a noble impulse has triumphed over the debasing conventions of society; if he lets her go, she will surely fall from grace, and become a lost soul. He strangles her with her yellow hair, risking damnation for her salvation. So the quick and the dead sit together through the long night.
1836
The rain set early in to-night,The sullen wind was soon awake,It tore the elm-tops down for spite,And did its worst to vex the lake:I listened with heart fit to break.When glided in Porphyria; straightShe shut the cold out and the storm,And kneeled and made the cheerless grateBlaze up, and all the cottage warm;Which done, she rose, and from her formWithdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,And laid her soiled gloves by, untiedHer hat and let the damp hair fall,And, last, she sat down by my sideAnd called me. When no voice replied,She put my arm about her waist,And made her smooth white shoulder bare,And all her yellow hair displaced,And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,Murmuring how she loved me—sheToo weak, for all her heart's endeavour,To set its struggling passion freeFrom pride, and vainer ties dissever,And give herself to me for ever.But passion sometimes would prevail,Nor could to-night's gay feast restrainA sudden thought of one so paleFor love of her, and all in vain:So, she was come through wind and rain.Be sure I looked up at her eyesHappy and proud; at last I knewPorphyria worshipped me; surpriseMade my heart swell, and still it grewWhile I debated what to do.That moment she was mine, mine, fair,Perfectly pure and good: I foundA thing to do, and all her hairIn one long yellow string I woundThree times her little throat around,And strangled her. No pain felt she;I am quite sure she felt no pain.As a shut bud that holds a bee,I warily oped her lids: againLaughed the blue eyes without a stain.And I untightened next the tressAbout her neck; her cheek once moreBlushed bright beneath my burning kiss:I propped her head up as before,Only, this time my shoulder boreHer head, which droops upon it still;The smiling rosy little head,So glad it has its utmost will,That all it scorned at once is fled,And I, its love, am gained instead!Porphyria's love: she guessed not howHer darling one wish would be heard.And thus we sit together now,And all night long we have not stirred,And yet God has not said a word!
What is the meaning of that last enigmatical line? Does it mean that the expected bolt from the sky has not fallen, that God approves of the murder? Or does it mean that the man is vaguely disappointed, that he had hoped to hear a voice from Heaven, saying, "This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased"? Or does it mean that the Power above is wholly indifferent, "when the sky, which noticed all, makes no disclosure"?
InJohannes Agricola, Browning wrote a lyric setting forth the strange and yet largely accepted doctrine that Almighty God before the foundations of the earth were laid, predestined a few of the coming population to everlasting bliss and the vast majority to eternal torture. This is by no means a meditation in a madhouse cell, as Browning first believed; but might logically be the reflections of a nineteenth century Presbyterian clergyman, seated in his comfortable library. It is the ecstatic mystical joy of one who realises, that through no merit of his own, he is numbered among the elect. Sir Thomas Browne quaintly pictured to himself the surprise of the noble, upright men of antiquity, when they wake up in hell simply because they did not believe on One of whom they had never heard; so Johannes speculates on the ironical fate of monks, ascetics, women and children, whose lives were full of innocence and purity, who nevertheless reach ultimately the lake of fire. Praise God for it! for if I could understand Him, I could not praise Him. How much more noble this predestinating God is than one who should reward virtue, and thus make eternal bliss a matter of calculation and bargain!
1836
There's heaven above, and night by nightI look right through its gorgeous roof;No suns and moons though e'er so brightAvail to stop me; splendour-proofI keep the broods of stars aloof:For I intend to get to God,For 'tis to God I speed so fast,For in God's breast, my own abode,Those shoals of dazzling glory passed,I lay my spirit down at last.I lie where I have always lain,God smiles as he has always smiled;Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,Ere stars were thundergirt, or piledThe heavens, God thought on me his child;Ordained a life for me, arrayedIts circumstances every oneTo the minutest; ay, God saidThis head this hand should rest uponThus, ere he fashioned star or sun.And having thus created me,Thus rooted me, he bade me grow,Guiltless for ever, like a treeThat buds and blooms, nor seeks to knowThe law by which it prospers so:But sure that thought and word and deedAll go to swell his love for me,Me, made because that love had needOf something irreversiblyPledged solely its content to be.Yes, yes, a tree which must ascend,No poison-gourd foredoomed to stoop!
I have God's warrant, could I blendAll hideous sins, as in a cup,To drink the mingled venoms up;Secure my nature will convertThe draught to blossoming gladness fast:While sweet dews turn to the gourd's hurt,And bloat, and while they bloat it, blast,As from the first its lot was cast.For as I lie, smiled on, full-fedBy unexhausted power to bless,I gaze below on hell's fierce bed,And those its waves of flame oppress,Swarming in ghastly wretchedness;Whose life on earth aspired to beOne altar-smoke, so pure!—to winIf not love like God's love for me,At least to keep his anger in;And all their striving turned to sin.Priest, doctor, hermit, monk grown whiteWith prayer, the broken-hearted nun,The martyr, the wan acolyte,The incense-swinging child,—undoneBefore God fashioned star or sun!God, whom I praise; how could I praise,If such as I might understand,Make out and reckon on his ways,And bargain for his love, and stand,Paying a price, at his right hand?
The religious exaltation of the opening lines
There's heaven above, and night by nightI look right through its gorgeous roof; …For I intend to get to God,For 'tis to God I speed so fast,For in God's breast, my own abode,Those shoals of dazzling glory, passed,I lay my spirit down at last
reminds one infallibly of Tennyson's beautiful dramatic lyric,St. Agnes' Eve:
Deep on the convent roof the snowsAre sparkling to the moon:My breath to heaven like vapour goes,May my soul follow soon!
It is interesting to remember that the former was published in 1836, the latter in 1837, and each in a periodical.
Perhaps Browning attempted to show the dramatic quality of his lyrics by finally placing at the very beginning theCavalier TunesandThe Lost Leader; for the former voice in eloquent language the hatred of democratic ideas, and the latter, in language equally strenuous, is a glorification of democracy. Imagine Browning himself saying what he places in the mouth of his gallant cavaliers— "Hampden to hell!" In the second,The Lost Leader, nothing was farther from Browning's own feelings than a personal attack on Wordsworth, whom he regarded with reverence; in searching for an example of a really great character who had turned from the popular to the aristocratic party, he happened to think of the change from radicalism to conservatism exhibited by Wordsworth. Love for the lost leader is still strong in the breasts of his quondam followers who now must fight him; in Heaven he will not only be pardoned, he will be first there as he was always first here. In the following lines, the prepositions are interesting:
Shakespeare wasofus, Milton wasforus,Burns, Shelley, werewithus.
Shakespeare was indeed of the common people, but so far as we can conjecture, certainly not for them; Milton was not of them, but was wholly for them, being indeed regarded as an anarchist; Burns was a peasant, and Shelley a blue-blood, but both were with the popular cause. Browning himself, as we happen to know from one of his personal sonnets, was an intense Liberal in feeling.
1842
Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King,Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:And, pressing a troop unable to stoopAnd see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,Marched them along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.
God for King Charles! Pym and such carlesTo the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor supTill you're—CHORUS.—Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.
Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knellServe Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!England, good cheer! Rupert is near!Kentish and loyalists, keep we not hereCHORUS.—Marching along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?
Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarlsTo the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!Hold by the right, you double your might;So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,CHORUS.—March we along, fifty-score strong,Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!
King Charles, and who'll do him right now?King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,King Charles!
Who gave me the goods that went since?Who raised me the house that sank once?Who helped me to gold I spent since?Who found me in wine you drank once?CHORUS.—King Charles, and who'll do him right now?King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,King Charles!
To whom used my boy George quaff else,By the old fool's side that begot him?For whom did he cheer and laugh else,While Noll's damned troopers shot him?CHORUS.—King Charles, and who'll do him right now?King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,King Charles!
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!Rescue my castle before the hot dayBrightens to blue from its silvery grey,CHORUS.—Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;Many's the friend there, will listen and pray"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay—"CHORUS.—"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,"CHORUS.—"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!I've better counsellors; what counsel they?"CHORUS.—"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
1845
Just for a handful of silver he left us,Just for a riband to stick in his coat—Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,Lost all the others she lets us devote;They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,So much was theirs who so little allowed:How all our copper had gone for his service!Rags—were they purple, his heart had been proud!We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,Made him our pattern to live and to die!Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,—He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!
We shall march prospering,—not thro' his presence;Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,Forced praise on our part—the glimmer of twilight,Never glad confident morning again!Best fight on well, for we taught him—strike gallantly,Menace our heart ere we master his own;Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!
The poemCristina(1842), while not very remarkable as poetry, is notable because it contains thus early in Browning's career, four of his most important doctrines. The more one studies Browning, the more one is convinced that the poet's astonishing mental vigor is shown not in the number and variety of his ideas, but rather in the number and variety of illustrations of them. I can not at this moment think of any poet, dramatist or novelist who has invented so many plots as Browning. He seems to present to us a few leading ideas in a vast series of incarnations. Over and over again the same thoughts, the same doctrines are repeated; but the scenery, the situations, and the characters are never alike. Here is where he remains true to the theory set forth inTranscendentalism; the poet should not produce thoughts but rather concrete images of them; or, as he says in the closing lines ofThe Ring and the Book, Art must do the thing that breeds the thought.
InCristina, four of Browning's fundamental articles of faith are expressed: the doctrine of the elective affinities; the doctrine of success through failure; the doctrine that time is measured not by the clock and the calendar, but by the intensity of spiritual experiences; the doctrine that life on earth is a trial and a test, the result of which will be seen in the higher and happier development when the soul is freed from the limitations of time and space.
The expression "elective affinities" as applied to human beings was first brought into literature, I believe, by no less a person than Goethe, who in his novel, published in 1809, which he calledElective Affinities (Wahlverwandschaften), showed the tremendous force which tends to draw together certain persons of opposite sexes. The term was taken from chemistry, where an elective affinity means the "force by which the atoms of bodies of dissimilar nature unite"; elective affinity is then simply a chemical force.
In Goethe's novel, Charlotte thus addresses the Captain: "Would you tell me briefly what is meant here by Affinities?" The Captain replied, "In all natural objects with which we are acquainted, we observe immediately that they have a certain relation." Charlotte: "Let me try and see whether I can understand where you are bringing me. As everything has a reference to itself, so it must have some relation to others." Edward interrupts: "And that will be different according to the natural differences of the things themselves. Sometimes they will meet like friends and old acquaintances; they will come rapidly together, and unite without either having to alter itself at all—as wine mixes with water." Charlotte: "One can almost fancy that in these simple forms one sees people that one is acquainted with." The Captain: "As soon as our chemical chest arrives, we can show you a number of entertaining experiments, which will give you a clearer idea than words, and names, and technical expressions." Charlotte: "It appears to me that if you choose to call these strange creatures of yours related, the relationship is not so much a relationship of blood as of soul or of spirit." The Captain: "We had better keep to the same instances of which we have already been speaking. Thus, what we call limestone is a more or less pure calcareous earth in combination with a delicate acid, which is familiar to us in the form of a gas. Now, if we place a piece of this stone in diluted sulphuric acid, this will take possession of the lime, and appear with it in the form of gypsum, the gaseous acid at the same time going off in vapour. Here is a case of separation: a combination arises, and we believe ourselves now justified in applying to it the words 'Elective Affinity;' it really looks as if one relation had been deliberately chosen in preference to another." Charlotte: "Forgive me, as I forgive the natural philosopher. I can not see any choice in this; I see a natural necessity rather, and scarcely that. Opportunity makes relations as it makes thieves: and as long as the talk is only of natural substances, the choice appears to be altogether in the hands of the chemist who brings the creatures together. Once, however, let them be brought together, and then God have mercy on them." The scientific conversation is summed up by their all agreeing that the chemical term "elective affinities" can properly be applied in analogy to human beings.
An elective affinity as applied to men and women may result in happiness or misery; or may be frustrated by a still superior prudential or moral force. The law of elective affinity being a force, it is naturally unaware of any human artificial obstacles, such as a total difference in social rank, or the previous marriage of one or both of the parties. If two independent individuals meet and are drawn together by the law of elective affinities, they may marry and live happily forever after; if another marriage has already taken place, as in Goethe's story, the result may be tragedy. InCristina, the elective affinities assert their force between a queen and a private individual; the result is, at least temporarily, unfortunate for the simple reason that the lady, although drawn toward the man by the workings of this mysterious force, is controlled even more firmly by the bondage of social convention; she behaves in a contrary manner to that shown by the stooping lady in Maurice Hewlett's story. This force needs only one moment, one glance, to assert its power:
She should never have looked at meIf she meant I should not love her!
Love in Browning is often love at first sight; no prolonged acquaintance is necessary; not even a spoken word, or any physical contact.
Doubt you whetherThis she felt as,looking at me,Mine and her souls rushed together?
In Tennyson'sLocksley Hall(published the same year), contact was important:
And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
Browning's portrayal of love shows that it can be a wireless telegraphy, that, in the instance of Cristina and her lover, exerted its force across a crowded room; inThe Statue and the Bust, it is equally powerful across a public square in Florence. The glance, or as Donne expresses it, the "twisted eye-beams," is an important factor in Browning's poetry—sufficient to unite two souls throughout all eternity, as it does inTristan und Isolde. Browning repeats his favorite doctrine of the elective affinities inEvelyn Hope,Count Gismond,In a Gondola,Dis Aliter Visum,Youth and Art, and other poems; and its noblest expression is perhaps in that wonderful scene in the crowded theatre at Arezzo; whilst the flippant audience are gazing at a silly musical comedy, the sad eyes of Pompilia encounter the grave, serious regard of Caponsacchi, and the two young hearts are united forever.
Another leading idea in Browning's philosophy isSuccess in Failure. This paradox is indeed a corner-stone in the construction of his thought. Every noble soul must fail in life, because every noble soul has an ideal. We may be encouraged by temporary successes, but we must be inspired by failure. Browning can forgive any daring criminal; but he can not forgive the man who is selfishly satisfied with his attainments and his position, and thus accepts compromises with life. The soul that ceases to grow is utterly damned. The damnation of contentment is shown with beauty and fervor in one of Browning's earliest lyrics,Over the Sea Our Galleys Went. The voyagers were weary of the long journey, they heeded not the voice of the pilot Conscience, they accommodated their ideals to their personal convenience. The reason why Browning could not forgive Andrea was not because he was Andrea del Sarto, the son of a tailor; it was because he was known as the Faultless Painter, because he could actually realise his dreams. The text of that whole poem is found in the line
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp.
InCristina, the man's love is not rewarded here, he fails; but he has aimed high, he has loved a queen. He will always love her—in losing her he has found a guiding principle for his own life, which will lead him ever up and on.
She has lost me, I have gained her;Her soul's mine: and thus, grown perfect,I shall pass my life's remainder.
Her body I have lost: some other man will possess that: but her soul I gained in the moment when our eyes met, and my life has reached a higher plane and now has a higher motive. In failure I reach real success.
This doctrine, illustrated repeatedly in Browning's works, is stated explicitly inRabbi Ben Ezra:
For thence,—a paradoxWhich comforts while it mocks,—Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:What I aspired to be,And was not, comforts me:A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.
The thought that life is not measured by length of days is brought out clearly inCristina. We constantly read in the paper interviews with centenarians, who tell us how to prolong our lives by having sufficient sleep, by eating moderately, by refraining from worry. But, as a writer in a southern journal expressed it, Why do these aged curiosities never tell us what use they have made of this prolonged existence? Mark Twain said cheerfully, "Methuselah lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years; but what of that? There was nothing doing." No drama on the stage is a success unless it has what we call a supreme moment; and the drama of our individual lives can not be really interesting or important unless it has some moments when we live intensely, when we live longer than some persons live in years; moments that settle our purpose and destiny.
Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows!But not quite so sunk that moments,Sure, tho' seldom, are denied us,When the spirit's true endowmentsStand out plainly from its false ones,And apprise it if pursuingOr the right way or the wrong way,To its triumph or undoing.There are flashes struck from midnights,There are fire-flames noondays kindle,Whereby piled-up honours perish,Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle.
An American public man who one day fell in public esteem as far as Lucifer, said that it had taken him fifty years to build up a great reputation, and that he had lost it all in one forenoon. The dying courtier inParacelsushad such a moment.
Finally, inCristina, we find that ardent belief in a future life that lifts its head so often and so resolutely in Browning's poetry, and on which, as we shall see later, his optimism is founded. Science tells us that the matter of which the universe is composed is indestructible; Browning believes even more strongly in the permanence of spirit. Aspiration, enthusiasm, love would not be given to us to have their purposes broken off, not if this is a rational and economic universe; the important thing is not to have our hopes fulfilled here, the important thing is to keep hoping. Such love as the man had for Cristina must eventually find its full satisfaction so long as it remains the guiding principle of his life, which will serve as a test of his tenacity.
Life will just hold out the provingBoth our powers, alone and blended:And then, come next life quickly!This world's use will have been ended.
Precisely the same situation and the same philosophical result of it are illustrated in the exquisite lyric,Evelyn Hope. The lover is frustrated not by social distinctions, but by death. The girl is lost to him here, but the power of love is not quenched nor even lessened by this disaster. The man's ardor will steadily increase during the remaining years of his earthly existence; and then his soul will start out confident on its quest.
God aboveIs great to grant, as mighty to make,And creates the love to reward the love:I claim you still, for my own love's sake!Delayed it may be for more lives yet,Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few:Much is to learn, much to forget,Ere the time be come for taking you.
This doctrine, that earthly existence is a mere test of the soul to determine its fitness for entering upon an eternal and freer stage of development, is frequently set forth in Browning. The apostle John makes it quite clear inA Death in the Desert; and inAbt Vogler, the inspired musician sings
And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidenceFor the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonised?Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issuethence?Why rushed the discords in but that harmony might be prized?
From the above discussion it should be plain that the short poemCristinadeserves patient and intense study, for it contains in the form of a dramatic lyric, some of Browning's fundamental ideas.
1842
She should never have looked at meIf she meant I should not love her!There are plenty … men, you call such,I suppose … she may discoverAll her soul to, if she pleases,And yet leave much as she found them:But I'm not so, and she knew itWhen she fixed me, glancing round them.
What? To fix me thus meant nothing?But I can't tell (there's my weakness)What her look said!—no vile cant, sure,About "need to strew the bleaknessOf some lone shore with its pearl-seed,That the sea feels"—no "strange yearningThat such souls have, most to lavishWhere there's chance of least returning."
Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows!But not quite so sunk that moments,Sure tho' seldom, are denied us,When the spirit's true endowmentsStand out plainly from its false ones,And apprise it if pursuingOr the right way or the wrong way,To its triumph or undoing.
There are flashes struck from midnights,There are fire-flames noondays kindle,Whereby piled-up honours perish,Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle,While just this or that poor impulse,Which for once had play unstifled,Seems the sole work of a life-timeThat away the rest have trifled.
Doubt you if, in some such moment,As she fixed me, she felt clearly,Ages past the soul existed,Here an age 'tis resting merely,And hence fleets again for ages,While the true end, sole and single,It stops here for is, this love-way,With some other soul to mingle?
Else it loses what it lived for,And eternally must lose it;Better ends may be in prospect,Deeper blisses (if you choose it),But this life's end and this love-blissHave been lost here. Doubt you whetherThis she felt as, looking at me,Mine and her souls rushed together?
Oh, observe! Of course, next moment,The world's honours, in derision,Trampled out the light for ever:Never fear but there's provisionOf the devil's to quench knowledgeLest we walk the earth in rapture!—Making those who catch God's secretJust so much more prize their capture!
Such am I: the secret's mine now!She has lost me, I have gained her;Her soul's mine: and thus, grown perfect,I shall pass my life's remainder.Life will just hold out the provingBoth our powers, alone and blended:And then, come the next life quickly!This world's use will have been ended.