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Five short days, scarce enough to Bronze the clustered wilding apple, redden ripe the mountain ash.
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Blanc, supreme above his earth-brood, needles red and white and green, Horns of silver, fangs of crystal set on edge in his demesne.
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Gay he hails her, and magnific, thrilled her black length burns to gold.
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Past the city's congregated peace of homes and pomp of spires.
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The Ring and the Book are, broadly speaking, of two kinds. On the one side may be ranged the groups which really cohere with
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Men and Women. These are
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The Inn Album, the miscellaneous poems of the
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Pacchiarotto volume, the
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Dramatic Idyls, some of
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Jocoseria, and some of
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Asolando.
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Ferishtah's Fancies and
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Parleyings are not, collectively, dramatic poems, but poems of illuminative insight guided by a dramatic imagination.[23] They, and the classical poems and translations (renderings, rather, by one whose own individuality dominates them to the exclusion of that _nearness_ of the original author, which it should be the primary aim of the translator to evoke), the beautiful
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Balaustion's Adventure,
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Aristophanes' Apology, and
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The Agamemnon of Aeschylus, and the third group, which comprises
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau,
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Red Cotton Nightcap Country, and
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Fifine at the Fair
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I hope and believe that one or two careful readings of the Poem [Ferishtah's Fancies] will make its sense clear enough. Above all, pray allow for the Poet's inventiveness in any case, and do not suppose there is more than a thin disguise of a few Persian names and allusions. There was no such person as Ferishtah--the stories are all inventions. ... The Hebrew quotations are put in for a purpose, as a direct acknowledgment that certain doctrines may be found in the Old Book, which the Concocters of Novel Schemes of Morality put forth as discoveries of their own.
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau (the name, by the way, is not purely fanciful, being formed from Hohen Schwangau, one of the castles of the late King of Bavaria) is Browning's complement to his wife's
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Ode to Napoleon III.
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Red Cotton Nightcap Country is a true story, the narrative of the circumstances pertinent to the tragic death of one Antonio Mellerio, a Paris jeweller, which occurred in 1870 at St. Aubin in Normandy, where, indeed, the poet first heard of it in all its details. It is a story which, if the method of poetry and the method of prose could for a moment be accepted as equivalent, might be said to be of the school of a light and humorously grotesque Zola. It has the fundamental weakness of
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The Ring and the Book
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Fifine at the Fair, on the other hand, is so powerful and often so beautiful a poem that one would be rash indeed were he, with the blithe critical assurance which is so generally snuffed out like a useless candle by a later generation, to prognosticate its inevitable seclusion from the high place it at present occupies in the estimate of the poet's most uncompromising admirers. But surely equally rash is the assertion that it will be the
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However, our concern is not with problematical estimates, but with the poem as it appears to _us_. It is one of the most characteristic of Browning's productions. It would be impossible for the most indolent reader or critic to attribute it, even if anonymous, to another parentage. Coleridge alludes somewhere to certain verses of Wordsworth's, with the declaration that if he had met them howling in the desert he would have recognised their authorship.
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Fifine
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Fifine. In the words of Mrs. Orr,
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of the Goncourt school of novelists. In the same way, we too often see Browning working up the electrical qualities, so that, when the fulmination comes, we understand
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and, as illogically as children before a too elaborate conjurer, conclude that there is not so much in this particular poetic feat as in others which, like Herrick's maids, continually do deceive. To me this is affirmable of
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Fifine at the Fair. The poet seems to know so very well what he is doing. If he did not take the reader so much into his confidence, if he would rely more upon the liberal grace of his earlier verse and less upon the trained subtlety of his athletic intellect, the charm would be the greater. The poem would have a surer duration as one of the author's greater achievements, if there were more frequent and more prolonged insistence on the note struck in the lines (§ lxxiii.) about the hill-stream, infant of mist and dew, falling over the ledge of the fissured cliff to find its fate in smoke below, as it disappears into the deep,
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Hence, when the earth began afresh its life in May, And fruit-trees bloomed, and waves would wanton, and the bay Ruffle its wealth of weed, and stranger-birds arrive, And beasts take each a mate.