| It was Elizabeth’s younger brother
Edward who first called her "Ba" as a small child, and this became the
family’s pet name for her.
In 1840 Elizabeth persuaded their father to let "Bro" stay
with her at Torquay, a decision which was to have tragic consequences, Edward being
drowned there in an unexplained sailing accident.
The music aims to capture the sense of "innocent play", while at the same
time hinting at the north of Italy, where the couple would shortly settle, and where
indeed Elizabeth would later be buried, on July 1st 1861. |
XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven’s undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God . . call God! - So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name, - and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer, and not wait. |
September 12th 1846: the couple
married in absolute secrey, with only Elizabeth’s maid Wilson and one Browning cousin
for witnesses. They then parted again until emigrating, again in secrecy, a week later,
taking with them just Wilson and her dog Flush.
But could even Elizabeth have forseen, when she penned the prophetic words "If I
leave all for thee..." just how devastatingly true they would prove to be, her father
from that instant cutting her out of his life absolutely? None of his children were to
marry, and Elizabeth had defied him. The two never met again. |
XXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors . . another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change?
That’s hardest. If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief, tries more . . . as all things prove;
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me - wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove. |
Fred. A. Mayer
|
XXXVIII
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white, . .
Slow to world-greetings . . quick with its ‘Oh, list,’
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third, upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, ‘My love, my own.’ |
Sonnet 43 deserves its curtain calls.
It is the triumphant aria, the positive reevaluation and summation of the entire sequence
.... The past has been redeemed, grief has been transfigured through love’s fire ....
Her inner conflict has been resolved, her choice has been made.
Julia Markus 1996 |
XXXXIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. |
|
