Comparatively little has been known of the lives of these poets. The
fact of their having lived in Italy throughout their married life kept
them somewhat aloof from the gossip-loving writers of their own country;
and the tourists, both from England and America, who were so fond of
calling upon them there, seldom succeeded in establishing anything like
intimate relations with them.
The little that is known can be briefly stated. Browning's father was a
gentleman of wealth and of original character, who allowed the striking
individuality of his son Robert to develop itself in a natural way
instead of attempting to cramp him into the mould of the other young
Englishmen of his rank and time. At an early age he went to Italy, where
he passed several years in diligent study of the institutions and art of
that favored land as well as of her literature both ancient and modern.
Young Browning had a great passion for these studies, and a great
fondness for Italian life, with which he familiarized himself in all the
different provinces and all the principal cities, living for long
periods in each favorite resort where there was anything either in art
or nature to please his fine critical taste. He studied both painting
and music, and has always been a fine amateur in each. He wrote poetry
from childhood, but published nothing until he was about twenty-three
years old, when "Paracelsus," a dramatic poem, appeared. The genius of
the writer was recognized at once, as well as those faults which have
clung to him persistently through life. Two years after, a tragedy
entitled "Strafford" was produced, and a little later, "Sordello." We
are interested in these, for the purposes of this article, only as they
made him known to Elizabeth Barrett, a young invalid in England, who at
once felt the power of the high genius which had appeared in the
literary world. She had written some poems herself, but was almost
unknown, and, indeed, expected to live but a very short time. Returning
to England at this time, Browning, through some knowledge of her poems,
made her acquaintance, and a mutual attachment followed, which proved
very strong and lasting. This love between two poets of such high rank
is unique in the annals of literature. At first she is afraid of her own
love, and bids him
"Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forebore . . .
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream, include thee as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine
And sees within my eyes the tears of two."
The whole outlook of life soon changed to the gentle invalid, as she
tells him later.
"The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I who thought to sink
Was caught up into love and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, sweet with thee anear.
The name of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say."
The wonder of how she could have been able to live without him impresses
her much.
"Beloved, my beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice . . . but link by link
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand . . . why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder. Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech, nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight."
But in order to tell the whole story we should have to quote all the
"Sonnets from the Portuguese,"--and they would make an alluring chapter
certainly,--but we must refrain. The result was that,
"As brighter ladies do not count it strange
For love to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near, sweet view of Heaven for earth with thee."
The two poets were married, and removed at once to Italy, where the
lady's health improved, and where they passed many years of happy
married life. Miss Barrett's father did not approve the marriage, and he
cast her off in consequence, and never became reconciled to her, which
was the one great grief of her happy and fortunate life. She had before
marriage lost a favorite brother by drowning, for whom she had mourned
so deeply as seriously to affect her health. These were the only
abiding sorrows of her life, as far as the world knows. The perfect
companionship of these two gifted souls has been described by Browning
himself:--
"When if I think but deep enough
You are wont to answer prompt as rhyme,
And you too find without a rebuff
The response your soul seeks, many a time
Piercing its fine flesh stuff."