Robert Browning: How to Know Him | Page 4

forever associated with the names of our two great Victorian poets: and the association with Tennyson is Death: with Browning, Love.
Not only was Elizabeth believed to be a hopeless invalid, but her father had forbidden any of his children to marry. He was a religious man, whose motto in his own household was apparently "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." He had the particular kind of piety that is most offensive to ordinary humanity. He gave his children, for whom he had a stern and savage passion, everything except what they wanted. He had an insane jealousy of any possible lover, and there is no doubt that he would have preferred to attend the funeral of any one of his children rather than a marriage. But Browning's triumphant love knew no obstacles, and he persuaded Elizabeth Barrett to run away with him. They were married in September, 1846, and shortly after left for Italy. Her father refused to see either of them in subsequent years, and returned his daughter's letters unopened. Is there any cause in nature for these hard hearts?
Browning's faith wrought a miracle. Instead of dying on the journey to Italy, Mrs. Browning got well, and the two lived together in unclouded happiness for fifteen years, until 1861, when she died in his arms. Not a scrap of writing passed between them from the day of her marriage to the day of her death: for they were never separated. She said that all a woman needed to be perfectly happy was three things--Life, Love, Italy--and she had all three.
The relations between Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning had all the wonder and beauty of a mediaeval romance, with the notable addition of being historically true. The familiar story of a damosel imprisoned in a gloomy dungeon, guarded by a cruel dragon--and then, when all her hope had vanished, rescued by the sudden appearance of the brilliant knight, who carried her away from her dull prison to a land of sunshine and happiness--this became the literal experience of Elizabeth Barrett. Her love for her husband was the passionate love of a woman for a man, glorified by adoration for the champion who had miraculously transformed her life from the depths of despair to the topmost heights of joy. He came, "pouring heaven into this shut house of life." She expressed the daily surprise of her happiness in her Sonnets, which one day she put shyly into his hands:
I thought once how Theocritus had sung?Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,?Who each one in a gracious hand appears?To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:?And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,?I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,?The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,?Those of my own life, who by turns had flung?A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,?So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move?Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;?And a voice said in mastery while I strove, ...?"Guess now who holds thee?"--"Death!" I said. But, there, The silver answer rang ... "Not Death, but Love."
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me?From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,?And in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown?A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully?Shines out again, as all the angels see,?Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,?Who camest to me when the world was gone,?And I who looked for only God, found _thee_!?I find thee: I am safe, and strong, and glad.?As one who stands in dewless asphodel?Looks backward on the tedious time he had?In the upper life ... so I, with bosom-swell,?Make witness here between the good and bad,?That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
Browning replied to this wonderful tribute by appending to the fifty poems published in 1855 his _One Word More_. He wrote this in a metre different from any he had ever used, for he meant the poem to be unique in his works, a personal expression of his love. He remarked that Rafael wrote sonnets, that Dante painted a picture, each man going outside the sphere of his genius to please the woman he loved, to give her something entirely apart from his gifts to the world. He wished that he could do something other than poetry for his wife, and in the next life he believed that it would be possible. But here God had given him only one gift--verse: he must therefore present her with a specimen of the only art he could command; but it should be utterly unlike all his other poems, for they were dramatic; here just once, and for one woman only, he would step out from behind the scenes, and address her directly in his own person.
Of course Browning could have modelled a statue, or written