Robert Browning: How to Know Him Part 28

SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE

1855

Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together.

Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till c.o.c.k-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again r.i.m.m.i.n.g the rock-row!

That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, Rarer, intenser, Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer.

Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain, citied to the top, Crowded with culture!

Air the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; Clouds overcome it; No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit.

Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights: Wait ye the warning?

Our low life was the level's and the night's; He's for the morning.

Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, 'Ware the beholders!

This is our master, famous calm and dead, Borne on our shoulders.

"Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, Safe from the weather!

He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, Singing together, He was a man born with thy face and throat, Lyric Apollo!

Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow?

Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone!

Cramped and diminished,"

Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon!

My dance is finished?"

No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side, Make for the city!) He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride Over men's pity; Left play for work, and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled?

Show me their shaping,"

Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,-- "Give!"--So, he gowned him, Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Learned, we found him.

Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead, Accents uncertain: "Time to taste life," another would have said, "Up with the curtain!"

This man said rather, "Actual life comes next?

Patience a moment!

Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, Still there's the comment.

Let me know all! Prate not of most or least, painful or easy!

Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast, Ay, nor feel queasy."

Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it, When he had gathered all books had to give!

Sooner, he spurned it.

Image the whole, then execute the parts-- Fancy the fabric Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, Ere mortar dab brick!

(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus!) That before living he'd learn how to live-- No end to learning: Earn the means first--G.o.d surely will contrive Use for our earning.

Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes: Live now or never!"

He said, "What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes!

Man has Forever."

Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head: _Calculus_ racked him: Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead: _Tussis_ attacked him.

"Now, master, take a little rest!"--not he!

(Caution redoubled, Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) Not a whit troubled Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon.

Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain, Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Bad is our bargain!

Was it not great? did not he throw on G.o.d, (He loves the burthen)-- G.o.d's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen?

Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant?

He would not discount life, as fools do here, Paid by instalment He ventured neck or nothing--heaven's success Found, or earth's failure: "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered "Yes: Hence with life's pale lure!"

That low man seeks a little thing to do, 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 hundred's soon hit: This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit.

That, has the world here--should he need the next, Let the world mind him!

This, throws himself on G.o.d, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him.

So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, Ground he at grammar; Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech were rife: While he could stammer He settled _Hoti's_ business--let it be!-- Properly based _Oun_-- Gave us the doctrine of the enc.l.i.tic _De_, Dead from the waist down.

Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus, All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Swallows and curlews!

Here's the top-peak; the mult.i.tude below Live, for they can, there: This man decided not to Live but Know-- Bury this man there?

Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, Peace let the dew send!

Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying.

In the amusing poem, _Up at a Villa--Down in the City_, Browning compares the beauty of city and country life from an unusual point of view. It is generally a.s.sumed that the country is more poetical than the city; but it would be difficult to prove this, if we were put to the test. Natural scenery is now much admired, and mountains are in the height of fashion; every one is forced to express raptures, whether one feels them or not. But this has not always been the case.

When Addison travelled to Italy, he regarded the Alps as disgusting; they were a disagreeable and dangerous barrier, that must be crossed before he could reach the object of his journey. He wrote home from Italy that he was delighted at the sight of a plain--a remark that would d.a.m.n a modern pilgrim. The first man in English literature to bring out the real beauty of mountains was Thomas Gray.

Very few people have a sincere and genuine love of the country--as is proved by the way they flock to the cities. We love the country for a change, for a rest, for its novelty: how many of us would be willing to live there the year around? We know that Wordsworth loved the country, for he chose to live among the lonely lakes when he could have lived in London. But most intelligent persons live in towns, and take to the country for change and recreation.

The speaker in Browning's poem is an absolutely honest Philistine, who does not know that every word he says spells artistic d.a.m.nation.

He is disgusted with the situation of his house:

.... stuck like the horn of a bull Just on a mountain-edge as bare as the creature's skull.

In other words the site is so magnificent that to-day expensive hotels are built there, and people come from all over the world to enjoy the view. In fact it is just this situation which Browning admires in the poem _De Gustibus_.

What I love best in all the world Is a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine.

But our man does not know what he _ought_ to say; he says simply what he really thinks. The views of a sincere Philistine on natural scenery, works of art, pieces of music, are interesting because they are sincere. The conventional admiration may or may not be genuine.

This man says the city is much cooler in summer than the country: that spring visits the city earlier: that what we call the monotonous row of houses in a city street is far more beautiful than the irregularity of the country. It appeals to his sense of beauty.

Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry.

But his real rapture over the city is because city life is interesting. There is something going on every moment of the blessed day. It is a perpetual theatre, admission free. This is undoubtedly the real reason why the poor prefer crowded, squalid city tenements to the s.p.a.ce, fresh air and hygienic advantages of the country. Many well-meaning folk wonder why men with their families remain in city slums, when they could easily secure work on farms, where there would be abundance of fresh air, wholesome food, and cool nights for sleep. Our Italian gives the correct answer. People can not stand dullness and loneliness: they crave excitement, and this is supplied day and night by the city street. Indeed in some cases, where by the Fresh Air Fund, children are taken for a vacation to the country, they become homesick for the slums.

UP AT A VILLA--DOWN IN THE CITY

(AS DISTINGUISHED BY AN ITALIAN PERSON OF QUALITY)

1855

I

Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square; Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there!

II

Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!