Robert Browning - The Complete Works of Robert Browning - Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Robert Browning - The Complete Works of Robert Browning - Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition» — ознакомительный отрывок электронной книги совершенно бесплатно, а после прочтения отрывка купить полную версию. В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Жанр: unrecognised, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.

The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

This carefully edited collection has been designed and formatted to the highest digital standards and adjusted for readability on all devices.
Robert Browning (1812–1889) was an English poet and playwright whose mastery of the dramatic monologue made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. His poems are known for their irony, characterization, dark humour, social commentary, historical settings, and challenging vocabulary and syntax.
Contents:
Life and Letters of Robert Browning:
Life and Letters of Robert Browning by Mrs. Sutherland Orr
The Brownings: Their Life and Art
Letters
Life of Robert Browning by William Sharp
Robert Browning by G.K. Chesterton
Poetry:
Bells and Pomegranates No. III: Dramatic Lyrics
Bells and Pomegranates No. VII: Dramatic Romances and Lyrics
Pauline: A Fragment of a Confession
Sordello
Asolando
Men and Women
Dramatis Personae
The Ring and the Book
Balaustion's Adventure
Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Fifine at the Fair
Red Cotton Nightcap Country
Aristophanes' Apology
The Inn Album
Pacchiarotto, and How He Worked in Distemper
La Saisiaz and the Two Poets of Croisic
Dramatic Idylls
Dramatic Idylls: Second Series
Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day
Jocoseria
Ferishtah's Fancies
Parleyings with Certain People of Importance in Their Day
Plays:
Strafford
Paracelsus
Bells and Pomegranates No. I: Pippa Passes
Bells and Pomegranates No. II: King Victor and King Charles
Bells and Pomegranates No. IV: The Return of the Druses
Bells and Pomegranates No. V: A Blot in the 'scutcheon
Bells and Pomegranates No. VI: Colombe's Birthday
Bells and Pomegranates No. VIII: Luria and a Soul's Tragedy
Herakles
The Agamemnon of Aeschylus

The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition — читать онлайн ознакомительный отрывок

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

And I have some sympathy in your habit of feeling for chairs and tables. I remember, when I was a child and wrote poems in little clasped books, I used to kiss the books and put them away tenderly because I had been happy near them, and take them out by turns when I was going from home, to cheer them by the change of air and the pleasure of the new place. This, not for the sake of the verses written in them, and not for the sake of writing more verses in them, but from pure gratitude. Other books I used to treat in a like manner—and to talk to the trees and the flowers, was a natural inclination—but between me and that time, the cypresses grow thick and dark.

Is it true that your wishes fulfil themselves? And when they do , are they not bitter to your taste—do you not wish them un fulfilled? Oh, this life, this life! There is comfort in it, they say, and I almost believe—but the brightest place in the house, is the leaning out of the window—at least, for me.

Of course you are self-conscious —How could you be a poet otherwise? Tell me.

Ever faithfully yours,

E.B.B.

And was the little book written with Mr. Mill, pure metaphysics, or what?

R.B. to E.B.B.

Saturday Night, March 1 [1845].

Dear Miss Barrett,—I seem to find of a sudden—surely I knew before—anyhow, I do find now, that with the octaves on octaves of quite new golden strings you enlarged the compass of my life's harp with, there is added, too, such a tragic chord, that which you touched, so gently, in the beginning of your letter I got this morning, 'just escaping' &c. But if my truest heart's wishes avail, as they have hitherto done, you shall laugh at East winds yet, as I do! See now, this sad feeling is so strange to me, that I must write it out, must , and you might give me great, the greatest pleasure for years and yet find me as passive as a stone used to wine libations, and as ready in expressing my sense of them, but when I am pained, I find the old theory of the uselessness of communicating the circumstances of it, singularly untenable. I have been 'spoiled' in this world—to such an extent, indeed, that I often reason out—make clear to myself—that I might very properly, so far as myself am concerned, take any step that would peril the whole of my future happiness—because the past is gained, secure, and on record; and, though not another of the old days should dawn on me, I shall not have lost my life, no! Out of all which you are—please—to make a sort of sense, if you can, so as to express that I have been deeply struck to find a new real unmistakable sorrow along with these as real but not so new joys you have given me. How strangely this connects itself in my mind with another subject in your note! I looked at that translation for a minute, not longer, years ago, knowing nothing about it or you, and I only looked to see what rendering a passage had received that was often in my thoughts. 3I forget your version (it was not yours , my 'yours' then ; I mean I had no extraordinary interest about it), but the original makes Prometheus (telling over his bestowments towards human happiness) say, as something περαιτερω τωνδε, that he stopped mortals μη προδερκεσθαι μορον—το ποιον ευρων, asks the Chorus, τησδε φαρμακον νοσου? Whereto he replies, τυφλας εν αυτοις ελπιδας κατωκισα (what you hear men dissertate upon by the hour, as proving the immortality of the soul apart from revelation, undying yearnings, restless longings, instinctive desires which, unless to be eventually indulged, it were cruel to plant in us, &c. &c.). But, μεγ' ωφελημα τουτ' εδωρησω βροτοις! concludes the chorus, like a sigh from the admitted Eleusinian Æschylus was! You cannot think how this foolish circumstance struck me this evening, so I thought I would e'en tell you at once and be done with it. Are you not my dear friend already, and shall I not use you? And pray you not to 'lean out of the window' when my own foot is only on the stair; do wait a little for

Yours ever ,

R.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

March 5, 1845.

But I did not mean to strike a 'tragic chord'; indeed I did not! Sometimes one's melancholy will be uppermost and sometimes one's mirth,—the world goes round, you know—and I suppose that in that letter of mine the melancholy took the turn. As to 'escaping with my life,' it was just a phrase—at least it did not signify more than that the sense of mortality, and discomfort of it, is peculiarly strong with me when east winds are blowing and waters freezing. For the rest, I am essentially better , and have been for several winters; and I feel as if it were intended for me to live and not die, and I am reconciled to the feeling. Yes! I am satisfied to 'take up' with the blind hopes again, and have them in the house with me, for all that I sit by the window. By the way, did the chorus utter scorn in the μεγ' ωφελημα. I think not. It is well to fly towards the light, even where there may be some fluttering and bruising of wings against the windowpanes, is it not?

There is an obscurer passage, on which I covet your thoughts, where Prometheus, after the sublime declaration that, with a full knowledge of the penalty reserved for him, he had sinned of free will and choice—goes on to say—or to seem to say—that he had not , however, foreseen the extent and detail of the torment, the skiey rocks, and the friendless desolation. See v. 275. The intention of the poet might have been to magnify to his audience the torment of the martyrdom—but the heroism of the martyr diminishes in proportion—and there appears to be a contradiction, and oversight. Or is my view wrong? Tell me. And tell me too, if Æschylus not the divinest of all the divine Greek souls? People say after Quintilian, that he is savage and rude; a sort of poetic Orson, with his locks all wild. But I will not hear it of my master! He is strong as Zeus is—and not as a boxer—and tender as Power itself, which always is tenderest.

But to go back to the view of Life with the blind Hopes; you are not to think—whatever I may have written or implied—that I lean either to the philosophy or affectation which beholds the world through darkness instead of light, and speaks of it wailingly. Now, may God forbid that it should be so with me. I am not desponding by nature, and after a course of bitter mental discipline and long bodily seclusion, I come out with two learnt lessons (as I sometimes say and oftener feel),—the wisdom of cheerfulness—and the duty of social intercourse. Anguish has instructed me in joy, and solitude in society; it has been a wholesome and not unnatural reaction. And altogether, I may say that the earth looks the brighter to me in proportion to my own deprivations. The laburnum trees and rose trees are plucked up by the roots—but the sunshine is in their places, and the root of the sunshine is above the storms. What we call Life is a condition of the soul, and the soul must improve in happiness and wisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these faintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.

And I do like to hear testimonies like yours, to happiness , and I feel it to be a testimony of a higher sort than the obvious one. Still, it is obvious too that you have been spared, up to this time, the great natural afflictions, against which we are nearly all called, sooner or later, to struggle and wrestle—or your step would not be 'on the stair' quite so lightly. And so, we turn to you, dear Mr. Browning, for comfort and gentle spiriting! Remember that as you owe your unscathed joy to God, you should pay it back to His world. And I thank you for some of it already.

Читать дальше
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.


Отзывы о книге «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.

x