Introduction to Robert Browning [104]
This world seemed not the world it was, before: Mixed with my loving trusting ones, there trooped . . . Who summoned those cold faces that begun To press on me and judge me? Though I stooped Shrinking, as from the soldiery a nun, They drew me forth, and spite of me. . .enough! These buy and sell our pictures, take and give, [50] Count them for garniture and household-stuff, And where they live needs must our pictures live And see their faces, listen to their prate, Partakers of their daily pettiness, Discussed of, -- "This I love, or this I hate, This likes me more, and this affects me less!" Wherefore I chose my portion. If at whiles My heart sinks, as monotonous I paint These endless cloisters and eternal aisles With the same series, Virgin, Babe, and Saint, [60] With the same cold calm beautiful regard, -- At least no merchant traffics in my heart; The sanctuary's gloom at least shall ward Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart: Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine While, blackening in the daily candle-smoke, They moulder on the damp wall's travertine, 'Mid echoes the light footstep never woke. So, die my pictures! surely, gently die! O youth, men praise so, -- holds their praise its worth? [70] Blown harshly, keeps the trump its golden cry? Tastes sweet the water with such specks of earth?
-- 3. ah, thought which saddens while it soothes: the thought saddens him that he has not realized his capabilities, and soothes him that he has resisted the temptations to earthly fame, and been true to his soul.
14-22. he could have expressed Hope, Rapture, Confidence, and all other passions, in the human face, each clear proclaimed without a tongue.
23. hath it spilt, my cup?: the cup of his memory.
24. What did ye give me that I have not saved?: he has retained all the impressions he has received from human faces.
25 et seq.: Nor will I say I have not dreamed (how well I have dreamed!) of going forth in each new picture, as it went to Pope or Kaiser, etc., making new hearts beat and bosoms swell.
34. the star not yet distinct above his hair: his fame not having yet shone brightly out; "his" refers to "youth".
35. lie learning: and should lie.
41. But a voice changed it: the voice of his secret soul.
67. travertine: coating of lime; properly a limestone. Lat., `lapis Tiburtinus', found near Tibur, now Tivoli.
Andrea del Sarto.
[Called "The Faultless Painter".]
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear, Treat his own subject after his own way, Fix his own time, accept too his own price, And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? Oh, I'll content him, -- but to-morrow, Love! [10] I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual: and it seems As if -- forgive now -- should you let me sit Here by the window, with your hand in mine, And look a half hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! [20] Your soft hand is a woman of itself, And mine, the man's bared breast she curls inside. Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve For each of the five pictures we require: It saves a model. So! keep looking so -- My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! -- How could you ever prick those perfect ears, Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet -- My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, Which everybody looks on and calls his, [30] And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, While she looks -- no one's: very dear, no less. You smile? why, there's my picture ready made, That's what we painters call our harmony! A common grayness silvers every thing, -- All
-- 3. ah, thought which saddens while it soothes: the thought saddens him that he has not realized his capabilities, and soothes him that he has resisted the temptations to earthly fame, and been true to his soul.
14-22. he could have expressed Hope, Rapture, Confidence, and all other passions, in the human face, each clear proclaimed without a tongue.
23. hath it spilt, my cup?: the cup of his memory.
24. What did ye give me that I have not saved?: he has retained all the impressions he has received from human faces.
25 et seq.: Nor will I say I have not dreamed (how well I have dreamed!) of going forth in each new picture, as it went to Pope or Kaiser, etc., making new hearts beat and bosoms swell.
34. the star not yet distinct above his hair: his fame not having yet shone brightly out; "his" refers to "youth".
35. lie learning: and should lie.
41. But a voice changed it: the voice of his secret soul.
67. travertine: coating of lime; properly a limestone. Lat., `lapis Tiburtinus', found near Tibur, now Tivoli.
Andrea del Sarto.
[Called "The Faultless Painter".]
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear, Treat his own subject after his own way, Fix his own time, accept too his own price, And shut the money into this small hand When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? Oh, I'll content him, -- but to-morrow, Love! [10] I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual: and it seems As if -- forgive now -- should you let me sit Here by the window, with your hand in mine, And look a half hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! [20] Your soft hand is a woman of itself, And mine, the man's bared breast she curls inside. Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve For each of the five pictures we require: It saves a model. So! keep looking so -- My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! -- How could you ever prick those perfect ears, Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet -- My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, Which everybody looks on and calls his, [30] And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, While she looks -- no one's: very dear, no less. You smile? why, there's my picture ready made, That's what we painters call our harmony! A common grayness silvers every thing, -- All