Introduction to Robert Browning

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[This etext was prepared from a 1910 printing.
This third edition was originally published in 1886.]

Introduction to Browning
Hiram Corson

An Introduction to the Study of Robert Browning's Poetry

by Hiram Corson, LL.D.,

Professor of English Literature in the Cornell University;
Author of "An Introduction to the Study of Shakespeare", "A Primer
of English Verse, chiefly in its Aesthetic and Organic Character",
"The Aims of Literary Study", etc.

"Subtlest Assertor of the Soul in song."

{There are several Greek phrases in this book. ASCII cannot represent
the Greek characters, so if you are interested in these phrases,
use the following map. Hopefully these phrases will not be mistaken
for another language. . . .

ASCII to Greek

A,a alpha
B,b beta
G,g gamma
D,d delta
E,e epsilon
Z,z zeta
H,h eta
Q,q theta
I,i iota
K,k kappa
L,l lambda
M,m mi/mu
N,n ni/nu
J,j ksi/xi
O,o omikron/omicron
P,p pi
R,r rho
S,s,c sigma
T,t tau
U,u ypsilon/upsilon
F,f phi
X,x chi/khi
Y,y psi
W,w omega

',`,/,\,^ Accents, follow the vowel. You figure them out.}

{The following is transcribed from a letter (from Browning to Corson)
which Corson chose to use in facsimile form to begin his text.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), it will be regular text here.}

19. Warwick Crescent.
W.

Dec. 28. '86

My dear Dr. Corson,

I waited some days after the arrival of your Book and Letter,
thinking I might be able to say more of my sense of your goodness:
but I can do no more now than a week ago. You "hope I shall not find
too much to disapprove of": what I ought to protest against,
is "a load to sink a navy -- too much honor": how can I put aside
your generosity, as if cold justice -- however befitting myself --
would be in better agreement with your nature? Let it remain
as an assurance to younger poets that, after fifty years' work
unattended by any conspicuous recognition, an over-payment may be made,
if there be such another munificent appreciator as I have been
privileged to find, in which case let them, even if more deserving,
be equally grateful.

I have not observed anything in need of correction in the notes.
The "little Tablet" was a famous "Last Supper", mentioned by Vasari,
(page. 232), and gone astray long ago from the Church of S. Spirito:
it turned up, according to report, in some obscure corner,
while I was in Florence, and was at once acquired by a stranger.
I saw it, genuine or no, a work of great beauty. (Page 156.)
"A canon", in music, is a piece wherein the subject is repeated --
in various keys: and being strictly obeyed in the repetition,
becomes the "Canon" -- the imperative law -- to what follows.
Fifty of such parts would be indeed a notable peal:
to manage three is enough of an achievement for a good musician.

And now, -- here is Christmas: all my best wishes go to you
and Mrs Corson. Those of my sister also. She was indeed suffering
from grave indisposition in the summer, but is happily recovered.
I could not venture, under the circumstances, to expose
her convalescence to the accidents of foreign travel:
hence our contenting ourselves with Wales rather than Italy.
Shall you be again induced to visit us? Present or absent,
you will remember me always, I trust, as

Yours most affectionately
Robert Browning.

"Quanta subtilitate ipsa corda hominum reserat, intimos mentis
recessus explorat, varios animi motus perscrutatur.
Quod ad tragoediam antiquiorem attinet, interpretatus est,
uti nostis omnes, non modo Aeschylum quo nemo sublimior,
sed etiam Euripidem quo nemo humanior; quo fit ut etiam illos
qui Graece nesciunt, misericordia tangat Alcestis,
terrore tangat Hercules. Recentiora argumenta tragica cum lyrico
quodam scribendi genere coniunxit, duas Musas et Melpomenen
et Euterpen simul veneratus. Musicae miracula quis dignius cecinit?
Pictoris Florentini sine fraude vitam quasi inter crepuscula
vesperascentem coloribus quam vividis depinxit. Vesperi quotiens,
dum foco adsidemus, hoc iubente resurgit Italia. Vesperi nuper,
dum huius idyllia forte meditabar, Cami inter arundines mihi videbar
vocem magnam audire clamantis, Pa\n o` me/gas ou' te/qnhken.
Vivit adhuc Pan ipse, cum Marathonis memoria et Pheidippidis
velocitate immortali consociatus." -- Eulogium pronounced by
Mr. J. E. Sandys, Public Orator at the University of Cambridge,
on presenting Mr. Browning for the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws,
June 10, 1879.

PREFACE.

The purpose of the present volume is to afford some aid and guidance
in the study of Robert Browning's Poetry, which, being the most
complexly subjective of all English poetry, is, for that reason alone,
the most difficult. And then the poet's favorite art-form,
the dramatic, or, rather, psychologic, monologue, which is quite
original with himself, and peculiarly adapted to the constitution
of his genius and to the revelation of themselves by the several
"dramatis personae", presents certain structural difficulties,
but difficulties which, with an increased familiarity,
grow less and less. The exposition presented in the Introduction,
of its constitution and skilful management, and the Arguments given
of the several poems included in the volume, will, it is hoped,
reduce, if not altogether remove, the difficulties of this kind.
In the same section of the Introduction, certain peculiarities
of the poet's diction, which sometimes give a check to the reader's
understanding of a passage, are presented and illustrated.

I think it not necessary to offer any apology for my going all the way
back to Chaucer, and noting the Ebb and Flow in English Poetry
down to the present time, of the spirituality which constitutes
the real life of poetry, and which should, as far as possible,
be brought to the consciousness and appreciation of students.
What I mean by spirituality is explained in my treatment
of the subject. The degree to which poetry is quickened with it
should always enter into an estimate of its absolute worth.
It is that, indeed, which constitutes its absolute worth.
The weight of thought conveyed, whatever that be, will not compensate
for the absence of it.

The study of poetry, in our institutions of learning, so far as I
have taken note of it, and the education induced thereby,
are almost purely intellectual. The student's spiritual nature
is left to take care of itself; and the consequence is that he becomes,
at best, only a thinking and analyzing machine.

The spiritual claims of the study of poetry are especially demanded
in the case of Browning's poetry. Browning is generally
and truly regarded as the most intellectual of poets.
No poetry in English literature, or in any literature,
is more charged with discursive thought than his. But he is,
at the same time, the most spiritual and transcendental of poets,
the "subtlest assertor of the Soul in Song". His thought is never
an end to itself, but is always subservient to an ulterior
spiritual end -- always directed towards "a presentment of
the correspondency of the universe to Deity, of the natural to
the spiritual, and of the actual to the ideal"; and it is
all-important that students should be awakened, and made,
as far as possible, responsive to this spiritual end.

The sections of the Introduction on Personality and Art
were read before the Browning Society of London, in June, 1882.
I have seen no reason for changing or modifying, in any respect,
the views therein expressed.

The idea of personality as a quickening, regenerating power,
and the idea of art as an intermediate agency of personality,
are, perhaps, the most reiterated (implicitly, not explicitly)
in Browning's poetry, and lead up to the dominant idea of Christianity,
the idea of a Divine Personality; the idea that the soul,
to use an expression from his earliest poem, `Pauline',
must "rest beneath some better essence than itself in weakness".

The notes to the poems will be found, I trust, to cover all points
and features of the text which require explanation and elucidation.
I have not, at any rate, wittingly passed by any real difficulties.
Whether my explanations and interpretations will in all cases
be acceptable, remains to be seen.

Hiram Corson.

Cascadilla Cottage, Ithaca, N.Y.
September, 1886.

Note to the Second Edition.

In this edition, several errors of the first have been corrected.
For the notes on "fifty-part canon", p. 156, and "a certain precious
little tablet", p. 232, I am indebted to Mr. Browning.

H. C.

{p. 156 -- in this etext, see line 322 of "The Flight of the Duchess",
in the Poems section. p. 232 -- see Stanza 30 of "Old Pictures
in Florence", also in the Poems section.}

Note to the Third Edition.

In this edition have been added, `A Death in the Desert',
with argument, notes, and commentary, a fac-simile of a letter
from the poet, and a portrait copied from a photograph
(the last taken of him) which he gave me when visiting him in Venice,
a month before his death.

It may be of interest, and of some value, to many students
of Browning's poetry, to know a reply he made, in regard to
the expression in `My Last Duchess', "I gave commands; then all smiles
stopped together."

We were walking up and down the great hall of the Palazzo Rezzonico,
when, in the course of what I was telling him about the study
of his works in the United States, I alluded to the divided opinion
as to the meaning of the above expression in `My Last Duchess',
some understanding that the commands were to put the Duchess to death,
and others, as I have explained the expression on p. 87 of this volume
(last paragraph). {For etext use, section III (Browning's Obscurity)
of the Introduction, sixth paragraph before the end of the section.}
He made no reply, for a moment, and then said, meditatively, "Yes,
I meant that the commands were that she should be put to death."
And then, after a pause, he added, with a characteristic dash
of expression, and as if the thought had just started in his mind,
"Or he might have had her shut up in a convent." This was to me
very significant. When he wrote the expression, "I gave commands",
etc., he may not have thought definitely what the commands were,
more than that they put a stop to the smiles of the sweet Duchess,
which provoked the contemptible jealousy of the Duke. This was all
his art purpose required, and his mind did not go beyond it.
I thought how many vain discussions take place in Browning Clubs,
about little points which are outside of the range
of the artistic motive of a composition, and how many minds
are occupied with anything and everything under the sun,
except the one thing needful (the artistic or spiritual motive),
the result being "as if one should be ignorant of nothing concerning
the scent of violets, except the scent itself."

H.C.

CONTENTS.

PREFACE.

INTRODUCTION.

I. The Spiritual Ebb and Flow exhibited in English Poetry
from Chaucer to Tennyson and Browning.
{This section contains Browning's `Popularity' and many excerpts.}

II. The Idea of Personality and of Art as an intermediate agency
of Personality, as embodied in Browning's Poetry.

III. Mr. Browning's "Obscurity".
{This section contains Browning's `My Last Duchess'}

IV. Browning's Verse.

V. Arguments of the Poems.

Wanting is -- What?
My Star.
The Flight of the Duchess.
The Last Ride Together.
By the Fireside.
Prospice.
Amphibian.
James Lee's Wife.
A Tale.
Confessions.
Respectability.
Home-Thoughts from Abroad.
Home-Thoughts from the Sea.
Old Pictures in Florence.
Pictor Ignotus.
Andrea del Sarto.
Fra Lippo Lippi.
A Face.
The Bishop orders his Tomb.
A Toccata of Galuppi's.
Abt Vogler.
`Touch him ne'er so lightly', etc.
Memorabilia.
How it strikes a Contemporary.
"Transcendentalism".
Apparent Failure.
Rabbi Ben Ezra.
A Grammarian's Funeral.
An Epistle containing the Strange Medical Experience of Karshish,
the Arab Physician.
A Martyr's Epitaph.
Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister.
Holy-Cross Day.
Saul.
A Death in the Desert.

POEMS.

Wanting is -- What?
My Star.
The Flight of the Duchess.
The Last Ride Together.
By the Fireside.
Prospice.
Amphibian.
James Lee's Wife.
A Tale.
Confessions.
Respectability.
Home Thoughts, from Abroad.
Home Thoughts, from the Sea.
Old Pictures in Florence.
Pictor Ignotus.
Andrea del Sarto.
Fra Lippo Lippi.
A Face.
The Bishop orders his Tomb.
A Toccata of Galuppi's.
Abt Vogler.
"Touch him ne'er so lightly."
Memorabilia.
How it strikes a Contemporary.
"Transcendentalism":
Apparent Failure.
Rabbi Ben Ezra.
A Grammarian's Funeral.
An Epistle containing the Strange Medical Experience of Karshish,
the Arab Physician.
A Martyr's Epitaph.
Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister.
Holy-Cross Day.
Saul.
A Death in the Desert.

A LIST OF CRITICISMS OF BROWNING'S WORKS.

INTRODUCTION.

I. The Spiritual Ebb and Flow exhibited in English Poetry
from Chaucer to Tennyson and Browning.

Literature, in its most restricted art-sense, is an expression
in letters of the life of the spirit of man co-operating with
the intellect. Without the co-operation of the spiritual man,
the intellect produces only thought; and pure thought,
whatever be the subject with which it deals, is not regarded
as literature, in its strict sense. For example, Euclid's `Elements',
Newton's `Principia', Spinoza's `Ethica', and Kant's
`Critique of the Pure Reason', do not properly belong to literature.
(By the "spiritual" I would be understood to mean the whole domain
of the emotional, the susceptible or impressible, the sympathetic,
the intuitive; in short, that mysterious something in the constitution
of man by and through which he holds relationship with
the essential spirit of things, as opposed to the phenomenal
of which the senses take cognizance.)

The term literature is sometimes extended in meaning (and it may be
so extended), to include all that has been committed to letters,
on all subjects. There is no objection to such extension
in ordinary speech, no more than there is to that of the signification
of the word, "beauty" to what is purely abstract. We speak,
for example, of the beauty of a mathematical demonstration;
but beauty, in its strictest sense, is that which appeals to
the spiritual nature, and must, therefore, be concrete, personal,
not abstract. Art beauty is the embodiment, adequate,
effective embodiment, of co-operative intellect and spirit, --
"the accommodation," in Bacon's words, "of the shows of things
to the desires of the mind."

It follows that the relative merit and importance of different periods
of a literature should be determined by the relative degrees
of spirituality which these different periods exhibit.
The intellectual power of two or more periods, as exhibited
in their literatures, may show no marked difference,
while the spiritual vitality of these same periods may
very distinctly differ. And if it be admitted that literature proper
is the product of co-operative intellect and spirit (the latter being
always an indispensable factor, though there can be no high order
of literature that is not strongly articulated, that is not
well freighted, with thought), it follows that the periods
of a literature should be determined by the ebb and flow
of spiritual life which they severally register, rather than
by any other considerations. There are periods which
are characterized by a "blindness of heart", an inactive,
quiescent condition of the spirit, by which the intellect
is more or less divorced from the essential, the eternal,
and it directs itself to the shows of things. Such periods may embody
in their literatures a large amount of thought, -- thought which is
conversant with the externality of things; but that of itself
will not constitute a noble literature, however perfect
the forms in which it may be embodied, and the general sense
of the civilized world, independently of any theories of literature,
will not regard such a literature as noble. It is made up of what
must be, in time, superseded; it has not a sufficiently large element
of the essential, the eternal, which can be reached only through
the assimilating life of the spirit. The spirit may be
so "cabined, cribbed, confined" as not to come to any consciousness
of itself; or it may be so set free as to go forth and recognize
its kinship, respond to the spiritual world outside of itself, and,
by so responding, KNOW what merely intellectual philosophers
call the UNKNOWABLE.

To turn now to the line of English poets who may be said to have
passed the torch of spiritual life, from lifted hand to hand,
along the generations. And first is

"the morning star of song, who made
His music heard below:

"Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
The spacious times of great Elizabeth
With sounds that echo still."

Chaucer exhibits, in a high degree, this life of the spirit,
and it is the secret of the charm which his poetry possesses for us
after a lapse of five hundred years. It vitalizes, warms, fuses,
and imparts a lightsomeness to his verse; it creeps and kindles
beneath the tissues of his thought. When we compare Dryden's
modernizations of Chaucer with the originals, we see the difference
between the verse of a poet, with a healthy vitality of spirit, and,
through that healthy vitality of spirit, having secret dealings
with things, and verse which is largely the product of the rhetorical
or literary faculty. We do not feel, when reading the latter,
that any unconscious might co-operated with the conscious powers
of the writer. But we DO feel this when we read Chaucer's verse.

All of the Canterbury Tales have originals or analogues,
most of which have been reproduced by the London Chaucer Society.
Not one of the tales is of Chaucer's own invention. And yet they may
all be said to be original, in the truest, deepest sense of the word.
They have been vitalized from the poet's own soul. He has infused
his own personality, his own spirit-life, into his originals;
he has "created a soul under the ribs of death." It is this
infused vitality which will constitute the charm of
the Canterbury Tales for all generations of English speaking
and English reading people. This life of the spirit,
of which I am speaking, as distinguished from the intellect,
is felt, though much less distinctly, in a contemporary work,
`The Vision of William concerning Piers the Plowman'.
What the author calls "KIND WIT", that is, "natural intelligence",
has, generally, the ascendency. We meet, however,
with powerful passages, wherein the thoughts are aglow
with the warmth from the writer's inner spirit. He shows at times
the moral indignation of a Hebrew prophet.

The `Confessio Amantis' of John Gower, another contemporary work,
exhibits comparatively little of the life of the spirit,
either in its verse or in its thought. The thought rarely passes
the limit of natural intelligence. The stories, which the poet drew
from the `Gesta Romanorum' and numerous other sources, can hardly
be said to have been BORN AGAIN. The verse is smooth and fluent,
but the reader feels it to be the product of literary skill.
It wants what can be imparted only by an unconscious might
back of the consciously active and trained powers. It is this
unconscious might which John Keats, in his `Sleep and Poetry',
speaks of as "might half slumbering on its own right arm",
and which every reader, with the requisite susceptibility,
can always detect in the verse of a true poet.

In the interval between Chaucer and Spenser, this life of the spirit
is not distinctly marked in any of its authors, not excepting even
Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, whose sad fate gave a factitious interest
to his writings. It is more noticeable in Thomas Sackville,
Lord Buckhurst's `Induction to the Mirror for Magistrates', which,
in the words of Hallam, "forms a link which unites the school
of Chaucer and Lydgate to the `Faerie Queene'."

The Rev. James Byrne, of Trinity College, Dublin, in his lecture on
`The Influence of National Character on English Literature',
remarks of Spenser: "After that dark period which separated him
from Chaucer, after all the desolation of the Wars of the Roses,
and all the deep trials of the Reformation, he rose on England as if,
to use an image of his own,

"`At last the golden orientall gate
Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre,
And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate,
Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie hayre,
And hurled his glistering beams through gloomy ayre.'

"That baptism of blood and fire through which England passed
at the Reformation, raised both Protestant and Catholic to a newness
of life. That mighty working of heart and mind with which the nation
then heaved throughout, went through every man and woman,
and tried what manner of spirits they were of. What a preparation
was this for that period of our literature in which man,
the great actor of the drama of life, was about to appear on the stage!
It was to be expected that the drama should then start into life,
and that human character should speak from the stage
with a depth of life never known before; but who could have
imagined Shakespeare?"

And what a new music burst upon the world in Spenser's verse!
His noble stanza, so admirably adapted to pictorial effect,
has since been used by some of the greatest poets of the literature,
Thomson, Scott, Wordsworth, Byron, Keats, Shelley, and numerous others;
but none of them, except in rare instances, have drawn the music
out of it which Spenser drew.

Professor Goldwin Smith well remarks, in his article
on Mark Pattison's Milton, "The great growths of poetry have coincided
with the great bursts of national life, and the great bursts
of national life have hitherto been generally periods
of controversy and struggle. Art itself, in its highest forms,
has been the expression of faith. We have now people who profess
to cultivate art for its own sake; but they have hardly produced
anything which the world accepts as great, though they have supplied
some subjects for `Punch'."

Spenser who, of all the great English poets, is regarded
by some critics as the most remote from real life,
and the least reflecting his age, is, nevertheless, filled with
the spirit of his age -- its chivalric, romantic, patriotic, moral,
and religious spirit. When he began to write, the nation had
just passed through the fiery furnace of a religious persecution,
and was rejoicing in its deliverance from the papistical rule of Mary.
The devotion to the new queen with which it was inspired was grateful,
generous, enthusiastic, and even romantic. This devotion
Spenser's great poem everywhere reflects, and it has been
justly pronounced to be the best exponent of the subtleties
of that Calvinism which was the aristocratic form of Protestantism
at that time in both France and England.

The renewed spiritual life which set in so strongly with Spenser,
reached its springtide in Shakespeare. It was the secret
of that sense of moral proportion which pervades his plays.
Moral proportion cannot be secured through the laws of the ancients,
or through any formulated theory of art. It was, I am assured,
through his deep and sensitive spirit-life that Shakespeare felt
the universal spirit and constitution of the world as fully, perhaps,
as the human soul, in this life, is capable of feeling it. Through it
he took cognizance of the workings of nature, and of the life of man,
BY DIRECT ASSIMILATION OF THEIR HIDDEN PRINCIPLES, --
principles which cannot be reached through an observation,
by the natural intelligence, of the phenomenal. He thus became
possessed of a knowledge, or rather wisdom, far beyond
his conscious observation and objective experience.

Shakespeare may be regarded as the first and the last
great artistic physiologist or natural historian of the passions;
and he was this by virtue of the life of the spirit, which enabled him
to reproduce sympathetically the whole range of human passion
within himself. He was the first of the world's dramatists
that exhibited the passions in their evolutions, and in
their subtlest complications. And the moral proportion he preserved
in exhibiting the complex and often wild play of the passions
must have been largely due to the harmony of his soul
with the constitution of things. What the Restoration dramatists
regarded or understood as moral proportion, was not moral proportion
at all, but a proportion fashioned according to merely conventional
ideas of justice. Shakespeare's moral proportion appeared to them,
in their low spiritual condition, a moral chaos, which they
set about converting, in some of his great plays, into a cosmos;
and a sad muss, if not a ridiculous muss, they made of it.
Signal examples of this are the `rifacimenti' of the Tempest by Dryden
and Davenant, the King Lear by Tate, and the Antony and Cleopatra
(entitled `All for Love, or the World well Lost') by Dryden.

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