Wordsworth will devote a fortnight or more to the discovery
of the single word that is the one fit for his sonnet_?"
Mr. Browning was not personally acquainted with either John Sterling
or Caroline Fox, and what he knew of the former as a poet did not, to
his mind, bear out this marked objection to wordiness. Still, he gave the
joint criticism all the weight it deserved; and much more than it
deserved in the case of Miss Fox, whom he imagined, from her
self-confident manner, to be a woman of a certain age, instead of a girl
some years younger than himself; and often, he tells us, during the
period immediately following, he contented himself with two words
where he would rather have used ten. The harsh and involved passages
in "Sordello," which add so much to the remoteness of its thought, were
the first consequence of this lesson. "Pauline" and "Paracelsus" had
been deeply musical, and the music came back to their author's verse
with the dramas, lyrics, and romances by which "Sordello" was
followed. But the dread of being diffuse had doubly rooted itself in his
mind, and was to bear fruit again as soon as the more historical or
argumentative mood should prevail.
The determination never to sacrifice sense to sound is the secret of
whatever repels us in Mr. Browning's verse, and also of whatever
attracts. Wherever in it sense keeps company with sound, we have a
music far deeper than can arise from mere sound, or even from a flow
of real lyric emotion, which has its only counterpart _in_ sound. It is in
the idea, and of it. It is the brain picture beating itself into words.
The technical rules by which Mr. Browning works, carry out his
principle to the fullest extent.
I. He uses the smallest number of words which his meaning allows; is
particularly sparing in adjectives.
II. He uses the largest _relative_ number of Saxon (therefore
picturesque) words.[4]
III. He uses monosyllabic words wherever this is possible.
IV. He farther condenses his style by abbreviations and omissions, of
which some are discarded, but all warranted by authority: "in," "on,"
and "of," for instance, become "i'," "o'," and "o'." Pronouns, articles,
conjunctions, and prepositions are, on the same principle, occasionally
left out.
V. He treats consonants as the backbone of the language, and hence, as
the essential feature in a rhyme; and never allows the repetition of a
consonant in a rhyme to be modified by a change in the preceding
vowel, or by the recurrence of the rhyming syllable in a different
word--or the repetition of a consonant in blank verse to create a
half-consonance resembling a rhyme: though other poets do not shrink
from doing so.[5]
VI. He seldom dilutes his emphasis by double rhymes, reserving
these--especially when made up of combined words, and producing a
grotesque effect--for those cases in which the meaning is given with a
modifying colour: a satirical, or self-satirical, intention on the writer's
part. Strong instances of this occur in "The Flight of the Duchess,"
"Christmas Eve," and "Pacchiarotto."
VII. He always uses the measure most appropriate to his subject,
whether it be the ten-syllabled blank verse which makes up "The Ring
and the Book," the separate dramatic monologues, and nearly all the
dramas, or the heroic rhymed verse which occurs in "Sordello" and
"Fifine at the Fair;" or one of the lyrical measures, of which his slighter
poems contain almost, if not quite, every known form.[6]
VIII. He takes no liberties with unusual measures; though he takes any
admissible liberty with the usual measures, which will interrupt their
monotony, and strengthen their effect.
IX. He eschews many vulgarisms or inaccuracies which custom has
sanctioned, both in prose and verse, such as, "thou _wert_;" "better than
_them_ all;" "he _need_ not;" "he _dare_ not." The universal "I _had_
better;" "I _had_ rather," is abhorrent to him.[7]
X. No prosaic turns or tricks of language are ever associated in his
verse with a poetic mood.
THE CONTINUOUS CHARACTER OF HIS WORK.
The writer of a handbook to Mr. Browning's poetry must contend with
exceptional difficulties, growing out of what I have tried to describe as
the unity in variety of Mr. Browning's poetic life. This unity of course
impresses itself on his works; and in order to give a systematic survey
of them, we must treat as a collection of separate facts what is really a
living whole; and seek to give the impression of that whole by a
process of classification which cuts it up alive. Mr. Browning's work is,
to all intents and purposes, one group; and though we may divide and
subdivide it for purposes of illustration, the division will be always
more or less artificial, and, unless explained away, more or
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