Browning, Robert
Robert (1812-1889), an English poet. He was born May 7, 1812, at Camberwell, a suburb of London His father was a clerk in the Bank of England, with a decided turn for books and writing. Robert was educated chiefly at home and in the University of London. His people were not in accord with the theological views of Oxford or Cambridge. He grew up with the idea that much in society is not right, owing, as he thought, to the prevalence of low ideals. He appears to have lived in an atmosphere of art and to have believed that true art would supply the ideals wanting, and that art is not art that does not uplift. He was associated with a number of writers having the same aim, that of overcoming the insincerity and selfishness of society. When Wordsworth, one of these friends, accepted the position of Poet Laureate in 1843, Browning felt deserted and wrote The Lost Leader:
Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
In 1846 Browning married Elizabeth Barrett. They went to Florence, Italy, to live, though they traveled back and forth frequently, attending to their publishing interests. Mrs. Browning writes of a delightful two days' visit from Tennyson, while all were in London for a few days.
Browning's first poems to attract attention were Pauline, published in 1833, and Paracelsus the year after. Strafford, Sordello, and A Blot in the 'Scutcheon, were produced for the London stage. The Ring and the Book, Red-Cotton Night-Cap Country, Ferishtah's Fancies, and Asolando are other titles. Browning's works thus far mentioned are hard reading. he has a trick of omitting relatives and infinitive signs, and of jumping abruptly from one thought to another. His allusions are far beyond the knowledge of ordinary readers--many tax the information of the learned. The few who enjoy these poems claim that they make ordinary poetry seem flat and insipid. The harder the shell the sweeter the nut, they would perhaps say.
Fortunately, however, Browning has written a number of delightful lyrics quite suitable for young people. Among these easier poems are The Pied Piper of Hamelin, How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, Rabbi Ben Ezra, Abt Vogler and Herve Riel.
Mrs. Browning, to whom he was passionately attached, and who had been an invalid before and during their married life, died in 1861. Their only source of kindly difference during fifteen years of wedded happiness is said to have been Mrs. Browning's leanings toward spiritualism, for which he had no liking. Much of Browning's best work was done after her death. Tardy recognition came to him in 1867 through the conferring of honors by Oxford and Cambridge universities. At his death December 12, 1889, Browning's remains were brought home from Venice and interred in Westminster Abbey between Cowley and Chaucer.
The first quotation below is from Pippa Passes a delightful poem, the doctrine of which is that a lightsome heart makes the burdens of others lighter. Pippa, a little silk-winder enjoying a rare holiday--one day a year--seems by her gladsome heart to lift the world's burden a little, even by passing along the way:
The day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world.
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 one to one,
His hundreds soon hit;
This high man aiming at a million
Misses an unit.
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go!
Progress is
The law of life: man is not Man yet.
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?
I judge people by what they might be,--not are, nor will be.
To try the soul's strength on.
SAID OF BROWNING.
By his contempt of beauty, or inability to surely express it, he fails of that union of art and spiritual power which always characterizes a poet "entirely great."
No man hath walked along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue
So varied in discourse.--Landor.
The man who, more than any other, will make the literature of the nineteenth century speak to the centuries to come.--Wendell.