How keen the sense of humor and of the sharp contrasts of life in "Fra Lippo Lippi," and what power of character a.n.a.lysis. The intellectual vigor and the keen insight into the play of mental action in "Bishop Blougram's Apology"--a poem that occasioned great discussion on its appearance (from a real or fancied resemblance of the "Bishop" to Cardinal Wiseman)--are almost unsurpa.s.sed in poetic literature. Many of the poems in the "Dramatis Personae" are aglow with the romance of life, as in the "Eurydice to Orpheus," and "A Face," which refers to Emily Patmore. There are studio traces as well in these, and in the "Deaf and Dumb," suggested by a group of Woolner. The crowning power of all is revealed in the n.o.ble faith and the exquisite tenderness of "Prospice," especially in those closing lines when all of fear and pain and darkness and cold,--

"Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with G.o.d be the rest!"

The references to his wife in this poem, in the enthralling "One Word More," and in the dedication to "The Ring and the Book," as well as those to be divined in his character drawing of "Pompilia," are incomparable in their impressiveness and beauty, and must live so long as poetry is enshrined in life. The vital drama, the splendor of movement, the color, the impa.s.sioned exaltation of feeling, the pictorial vividness that are in these poems grouped under "Dramatic Romances" and "Dramatis Personae," give them claim to the first rank in the poet's creations. Curiously, during this period, the change in Browning's habits of work, which his wife used to urge upon him, seemed to gradually take possession of him, so that he came to count that day lost in which he had not written some lines of poetry. Did he, perchance in dreams, catch something of "the rustling of her vesture" that influenced his mind to the change? To Elizabeth Browning poetry was not only a serious calling, but its "own exceeding great reward," always.

Another change came to Browning, which redeemed him from the growing tendency to become a recluse, and made him a familiar figure in the great world. He seemed to become aware that there was something morbid and unworthy in the avoidance of the world of men and women. Browning's divinely commissioned work had to do with life, in its most absolute actualities as well as its great spiritual realities, because the life eternal in its nature was the theme on which he played his poetic variations, and no revelation of human nature came amiss to him.

He had already supervised the publication of Mrs. Browning's essay on "The Greek Christian Poets" and "The Book of the Poets," and "nothing," he said, "that ought to be published, shall be kept back." He had also lent Story considerable a.s.sistance in arranging with Blackwood for the serial publication of "Roba di Roma."

For two or three summers Browning with his father, his sister, and his son, pa.s.sed the summers at St. Marie, near p.o.r.nic, from where in the August of 1863 he wrote to Leighton that he was living on fruit and milk, and that each day he completed some work, read a little with Pen, and somewhat more by himself. St. Marie was a "wild little place" in Brittany, on the very edge of the sea, a hamlet of hardly more than a dozen houses, of which the Brownings had the privilege of occupying that of the mayor, whose chief attraction, apparently, was that, though bare, it was clean.

The poet liked it all, and it was there that he wrote "In the Doorway" in "James Lee's Wife," with the sea, the field, and the fig-tree visible from his window.

In the late summer the Brownings are all again at St. Marie in Brittany, and the poet writes to Isa Blagden that he supposes what she "calls fame within these four years" has come somewhat from his going about and showing himself alive, "but," he adds, "I was in London from the time that I published 'Paracelsus' till I ended the writing of plays with 'Luria,'--and I used to go out then, and see far more of merely literary people, critics, etc., than I do now,--but what came of it?" If in the lines following there is a hint of sadness, who can blame him?

During this summer he revised "Sordello" for re-publication, not, however, as he had once contemplated, making in it any significant changes. In the dedication to his friend Milsand, he incorporated so clear an exposition of his idea in the poem that this dedication will always be read with special interest. In London again the next winter, Browning wrote to Isa Blagden that he "felt comfort in doing the best he could with the object of his life,--poetry. I hope to do much more yet," he continued; "and that the flower of it will be put into _Her_ hand somehow."

The London spring found the poet much engaged, taking his son to studios, and to the Royal Academy, to concerts, and for long walks, and in a letter to Kate Field not heretofore published is indicated something of the general trend of the days:

LONDON, 19, WARWICK CRESCENT,

UPPER WESTBOURNE TERRACE, May 5th, 1864.

DEAR KATE FIELD, (so let me call you, please, in regard to old times when I might have done it, and did not,) I know well enough that there is great stupidity in this way of mine, this putting off a thing because I hope to compa.s.s some other thing, as here, for had you not asked for some photographs which I supposed I could soon find time and inclination to get, I should have thanked you at once; as I do now, indeed, and with all my heart, but the review article is wavering and indistinct in my mind now, and though it is inside a drawer of this table where I write, I cannot bring myself to look at it again,--not from a motive which is disparaging to you, as I am sure you understand; the general impression is enough for me, also, if you care in the least how I feel toward you. The boy has certainly the likeness to which you refer, and an absolute sameness, almost, in feature as well as in look, with certain old portraits of hers,--here, older and younger; there is not a trace of me in him, thank G.o.d! I know that dear, teasing Isa, and how she won't answer your questions, but sometimes, for compensation, she tells you what you never asked for, and though I always, or very often, ask about you, yet I think it may have been in reply to curiosity about the price of Italian stock, that she lately described to me a photograph of you, yourself, and how you were: what? even that's over. And moreover, how you were your old self with additions, which, to be sure, I don't require.

Give my true regard to your mother, and thank her for her goodness in understanding me. But I write only to have a pleasant chat with you, in a balcony, looking for fire-flies in the garden, wider between us than the slanting Pitti facade, now that it's warm and Maylike in Florence.

Always yours,

ROBERT BROWNING.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KATE FIELD

From a portrait painted by Elihu Vedder, Florence, 1860.]

Mr. Browning had now begun to think of placing his son, who had pa.s.sed his sixteenth birthday, in Oxford. In quest of this desire the poet sought the acquaintance of Dr. Jowett, afterward Master of Balliol College. This initiated a friendship between Browning and Jowett that lasted all the poet's life, and that has insured to Balliol many priceless treasures of a.s.sociation with both Robert and Elizabeth Browning. Up to that time Jowett had not been an admirer of Browning's poetry. But his keen interest in the theme then engaging Browning was aroused, and he wrote to a friend:

"I thought I was getting too old to make new friends, but I believe that I have made one,--Mr. Browning, the poet, who has been staying with me during the past few days. It is impossible to speak without enthusiasm of his open, generous nature, and his great ability and knowledge. I had no idea that there was a perfectly sensible poet in the world, entirely free from vanity, jealousy, or any other littleness, and thinking no more of himself than if he were an ordinary man. His great energy is very remarkable, as is his determination to make the most of the remainder of life. Of personal objects he seems to have none, except the education of his son, in which I hope in some degree to help him."[9]

After returning to London, Browning writes to Tennyson, in thanks for a book received from the Laureate:[10]

19, WARWICK CRESCENT, W., Oct. 10, 1865.

MY DEAR TENNYSON,--When I came back last year from my holiday I found a gift from you, a book; this time I find only the blue and gold thing which, such as it is, I send you, you are to take from me. I could not even put in what I pleased but I have said all about it in the word or two of preface, as also that I beg leave to stick the bunch in your b.u.t.tonhole. May I beg that Mrs. Tennyson will kindly remember me?

Ever Affectionately Yours,

ROBERT BROWNING.

Tennyson wrote in reply that the nosegay was very welcome. "I stick it in my b.u.t.tonhole ... and feel ----'s cork heels added to my boots," he added.

Volumes of selections from the poems of both Browning and his wife were now being demanded for the "Golden Treasury"; and to Miss Blagden Browning says further that he will certainly do the utmost to make the most of himself before he dies, "for one reason that I may help Pen the better."

Browning complies with his publisher's request to prepare a new selection of his wife's poems. "How I have done it, I can hardly say," he noted, "but it is one dear delight that the work of her goes on more effectually than ever--her books are more and more read,"--and a new edition of her "Aurora Leigh" was exhausted within a few months.

The winter was a very full and engaging one. On one evening he dined at the deanery of St. Paul's, Sir John Lubbock and Tennyson being also guests, but the Stanleys, who were invited, were not present. At another dinner the poets met, Tennyson recording: "Mr. Browning gave me an affectionate greeting after all these years," and Browning writing to a friend: "... I have enjoyed nothing so much as a dinner last week with Tennyson, who with his wife and one son is staying in town for a few weeks, and she is just what she was and always will be, very sweet and dear: he seems to me better than ever. I met him at a large party ... also at Carlyle's...."

In May of 1866 Browning's father was in poor health, and on June 14 he died, at his home in Paris, his son having arrived three days before.

Although nearly eighty-five years of age, the elder Browning had retained all his clearness of mind, and only just before he pa.s.sed away he had responded to some question of his son regarding a disputed point in medieval history with "a regular book-full of notes and extracts." His son speaks of the aged man's "strange sweetness of soul," apparently a transmitted trait, for the poet shared it, and has left it in liberal heritage to his son, Robert Barrett Browning, the "Pen" of all these pages. Of his father the poet said:

"He was worthy of being Ba's father,--out of the whole world, only he, so far as my experience goes. She loved him, and he said very recently, while gazing at her portrait, that only that picture had put into his head that there might be such a thing as the worship of the images of saints."

Miss Browning came henceforth to live with her brother, and for the remainder of his life she was his constant companion. She was a woman of delightful qualities,--of poise, cheerfulness, of great intelligence and of liberal culture. She was a very discriminating reader, and was peculiarly gifted with that sympathetic comprehension that makes an ideal companionship. Her presence now transformed the London house into a home.

The next summer they pa.s.sed at Le Croisic, where Browning wrote "Herve Riel," in "the most delicious and peculiar old house," and he and his sister, both very fond of the open air, walked once to Guerande, the old capital of Bretagne, some nine miles from their house.

Browning had received his first academic honors that summer, Oxford having conferred on him her degree of M.A. The next October Browning was made Honorary Fellow of Balliol College, a distinction that he greatly prized.

During this summer Rev. Dr. Phillips Brooks (later Bishop of Ma.s.sachusetts) was in London, and visited Browning once or twice. To a Boston friend who asked for his impressions of the great poet, Dr. Brooks wrote:[11]

"... I can't say anything now except that he is one of the nicest people to pa.s.s an evening with in London. He is a clear-headed and particularly clear-eyed man of the world, devoted to society, one of the greatest diners-out in London, cordial and hearty, shakes your hand as if he were really glad to see you.... As to his talk it wasn't 'Sordello,' and it wasn't as fine as 'Paracelsus,' but n.o.body ever talked more n.o.bly, truly, and cheerily than he. I went home and slept after hearing him as one does after a fresh starlight walk with a good cool breeze on his face."

In 1863, on July 19, a little more than two years after the death of Mrs.

Browning, Arabel Barrett had a dream, in which she was speaking with her sister Elizabeth, and asked, "When shall I be with you?" "Dearest, in five years," was the reply. She told this dream to Mr. Browning, who recorded it at the time. In June of 1868 Miss Barrett died, the time lacking one month only of being the five years. "Only a coincidence, but noticeable,"

Mr. Browning wrote to Isa Blagden. But in the larger knowledge that we now have of the nature of life and the phenomena of sleep, that the ethereal body is temporarily released from the physical (sleep being the same as death, save that in the latter the magnetic cord is severed, and the separation is final)--in the light of this larger knowledge it is easy to realize that the two sisters actually met in the ethereal realm, and that the question was asked and answered according to Miss Barrett's impression. The event was sudden, its immediate cause being rheumatic affection of the heart, and she died in Browning's arms, as did his wife.

Her companionship had been a great comfort to him, and Mr. Gosse notes that for many years after her death he could not bear to pa.s.s Delamere Terrace.

The late summer of that year was devoted to traveling from Cannes about the coast, and they finally decided on Audierne for a sojourn. "Sarianna and I have just returned from a four hours' walk," he writes to a friend from this place; but here, as everywhere, he was haunted by Florentine memories, and by intense longings for his vanished paradise. To Isa Blagden he wrote:

"I feel as if I should immensely like to glide along for a summer day through the streets and between the old stone walls, unseen come and unheard go,--perhaps by some miracle I shall do so ... Oh, me! to find myself some late sunshiny afternoon with my face turned toward Florence...."

While at Audierne, Browning put the final touches to the new six-volume edition of his works that was about to appear from the house of Smith, Elder, and Company, on the t.i.tle-page of which he signs himself as M.A., Honorary Fellow of Balliol College. Mr. Nettleship's volume of essays on Browning's poems was published that season, indicating a strong interest in the poet; and another very gratifying experience to him was the interest in his work manifested by the undergraduates of both Oxford and Cambridge. Undoubtedly the pleasant glow of this appreciation stimulated his energy in the great poem on which he was now definitely at work, "The Ring and the Book." Publishers were making him offers for its publication, "the R. B. who for six months once did not sell a single copy of his poems," he exclaimed in a letter to a friend, to whom he announced that he should "ask two hundred pounds for the sheets to America, and get it!"

with an evident conviction that this was a high price for his work. The increasing recognition of the poet was further indicated by a request from Tauchnitz for the volumes of selections which Browning dedicated to the Laureate in these graceful words: "To Alfred Tennyson. In Poetry--ill.u.s.trious and consummate; In Friendship--n.o.ble and sincere."

The publication of "The Ring and the Book" was the great literary event of 1869. Two numbers had appeared in the previous autumn, but when offered in its completeness the poem was found to embody the most remarkable interpretation of transfigured human life to be found in all the literature of poetry. The fame of the poet rose to splendor. This work was the inauguration of an epoch, of a period from which his work was to be read, studied, discussed, to a degree that would have been incredible to him, had any Ca.s.sandra of previous years lifted the veil of the future.

The great reviews united in a very choral pean of praise; the _Fortnightly_, the _Quarterly_, the _Edinburgh Review_, the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, and others were practically unanimous in their recognition of a work which was at once felt to be the very epitome of the art and life of Robert Browning. The poem is, indeed, a vast treasure into which the poet poured all his searching, relentless a.n.a.lysis of character, and grasp of motive; all his compa.s.sion, his sensitive susceptibility to human emotion; all his gift of brilliant movement; all his heroic enthusiasms, and his power of luminous perception. But all this wealth of feeling and thought had been pa.s.sed through the crucible of his critical creation; it had been fused and recast by the alchemy of genius. He trans.m.u.ted fact into truth.

"Do you see this Ring?

'T is Rome-work made to match (By Castellani's imitative craft) Etrurian circlets....

I fused my live soul and that inert stuff, Before attempting smithcraft...."