'The Englishman In Italy' by Robert Browning
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(PIANO DI SORRENTO.)
Fortu, Frotu, my beloved one,
Sit here by my side,
On my knees put up both little feet!
I was sure, if I tried,
I could make you laugh spite of Scirocco;
Now, open your eyes—
Let me keep you amused till he vanish
In black from the skies,
With telling my memories over
As you tell your beads;
All the memories plucked at Sorrento
—The flowers, or the weeds,
Time for rain! for your long hot dry Autumn
Had net-worked with brown
The white skin of each grape on the bunches,
Marked like a quail's crown,
Those creatures you make such account of,
Whose heads,—specked with white
Over brown like a great spider's back,
As I told you last night,—
Your mother bites off for her supper;
Red-ripe as could be.
Pomegranates were chapping and splitting
In halves on the tree:
And betwixt the loose walls of great flintstone,
Or in the thick dust
On the path, or straight out of the rock side,
Wherever could thrust
Some burnt sprig of bold hardy rock-flower
Its yellow face up,
For the prize were great butterflies fighting,
Some five for one cup.
So, I guessed, ere I got up this morning,
What change was in store,
By the quick rustle-down of the quail-nets
Which woke me before
I could open my shutter, made fast
With a bough and a stone,
And look through the twisted dead vine-twigs,
Sole lattice that's known!
Quick and sharp rang the rings down the net-poles,
While, busy beneath,
Your priest and his brother tugged at them,
The rain in their teeth:
And out upon all the flat house-roofs
Where split figs lay drying,
The girls took the frails under cover:
Nor use seemed in trying
To get out the boats and go fishing,
For, under the cliff,
Fierce the black water frothed o'er the blind-rock
No seeing our skiff
Arrive about noon from Amalfi,
—Our fisher arrive,
And pitch down his basket before us,
All trembling alive
With pink and grey jellies, your sea-fruit,
—You touch the strange lumps,
And mouths gape there, eyes open, all manner
Of horns and of humps.
Which only the fisher looks grave at,
While round him like imps
Cling screaming the children as naked
And brown as his shrimps;
Himself too as bare to the middle—
—You see round his neck
The string and its brass coin suspended,
That saves him from wreck.
But today not a boat reached Salerno,
So back to a man
Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards
Grape-harvest began:
In the vat, half-way up in our house-side,
Like blood the juice spins,
While your brother all bare-legged is dancing
Till breathless he grins
Dead-beaten, in effort on effort
To keep the grapes under,
Since still when he seems all but master,
In pours the fresh plunder
From girls who keep coming and going
With basket on shoulder,
And eyes shut against the rain's driving,
Your girls that are older,—
For under the hedges of aloe,
And where, on its bed
Of the orchard's black mould, the love-apple
Lies pulpy and red,
All the young ones are kneeling and filling
Their laps with the snails
Tempted out by this first rainy weather,—
Your best of regales,
As tonight will be proved to my sorrow,
When, supping in state,
We shall feast our grape-gleaners (two dozen,
Three over one plate)
With lasagne so tempting to swallow
In slippery ropes,
And gourds fried in great purple slices,
That colour of popes.
Meantime, see the grape-bunch they've brought you,—
The rain-water slips
O'er the heavy blue bloom on each globe
Which the wasp to your lips
Still follows with fretful persistence—
Nay, taste, while awake,
This half of a curd-white smooth cheese-ball,
That peels, flake by flake,
Like an onion's, each smoother and whiter;
Next, sip this weak wine
From the thin green glass flask, with its stopper,
A leaf of the vine,—
And end with the prickly-pear's red flesh
That leaves through its juice
The stony black seeds on your pearl-teeth
...Scirocco is loose!
Hark! the quick, whistling pelt of the olives
Which, thick in one's track,
Tempt the stranger to pick up and bite them,
Though not yet half black!
How the old twisted olive trunks shudder!
The medlars let fall
Their hard fruit, and the brittle great fig-trees
Snap off, figs and all,—
For here comes the whole of the tempest
No refuge, but creep
Back again to my side and my shoulder,
And listen or sleep.
O how will your country show next week
When all the vine-boughs
Have been stripped of their foliage to pasture
The mules and the cows?
Last eve, I rode over the mountains;
Your brother, my guide,
Soon left me, to feast on the myrtles
That offered, each side,
Their fruit-balls, black, glossy and luscious,—
Or strip from the sorbs
A treasure, so rosy and wondrous,
Of hairy gold orbs!
But my mule picked his sure, sober path out,
Just stopping to neigh
When he recognized down in the valley
His mates on their way
With the faggots, and barrels of water;
And soon we emerged
From the plain, where the woods could scarce follow
And still as we urged
Our way, the woods wondered, and left us,
As up still we trudged
Though the wild path grew wilder each instant,
And place was e'en grudged
'Mid the rock-chasms, and piles of loose stones
(Like the loose broken teeth
Of some monster, which climbed there to die
From the ocean beneath)
Place was grudged to the silver-grey fume-weed
That clung to the path,
And dark rosemary, ever a-dying,
That, 'spite the wind's wrath,
So loves the salt rock's face to seaward,—
And lentisks as staunch
To the stone where they root and bear berries,—
And... what shows a branch
Coral-coloured, transparent, with circlets
Of pale seagreen leaves—
Over all trod my mule with the caution
Of gleaners o'er sheaves,
Still, foot after foot like a lady—
So, round after round,
He climbed to the top of Calvano,
And God's own profound
Was above me, and round me the mountains,
And under, the sea,
And within me, my heart to bear witness
What was and shall be!
Oh Heaven, and the terrible crystal!
No rampart excludes
Your eye from the life to be lived
In the blue solitudes!
Oh, those mountains, their infinite movement!
Still moving with you—
For, ever some new head and breast of them
Thrusts into view
To observe the intruder—you see it
If quickly you turn
And, before they escape you, surprise them—
They grudge you should learn
How the soft plains they look on, lean over,
And love (they pretend)
-Cower beneath them; the flat sea-pine crouches
The wild fruit-trees bend,
E'en the myrtle-leaves curl, shrink and shut—
All is silent and grave—
'Tis a sensual and timorous beauty—
How fair, but a slave!
So, I turned to the sea,—and there slumbered
As greenly as ever
Those isles of the siren, your Galli;
No ages can sever
The Three, nor enable their sister
To join them,—half-way
On the voyage, she looked at Ulysses—
No farther today;
Though the small one, just launched in the wave,
Watches breast-high and steady
From under the rock, her bold sister
Swum half-way already.
Fortu, shall we sail there together
And see from the sides
Quite new rocks show their faces—new haunts
Where the siren abides?
Shall we sail round and round them, close over
The rocks, though unseen,
That ruffle the grey glassy water
To glorious green?
Then scramble from splinter to splinter,
Reach land and explore,
On the largest, the strange square black turret
With never a door,
Just a loop to admit the quick lizards;
Then, stand there and hear
The birds' quiet singing, that tells us
What life is, so clear!
The secret they sang to Ulysses,
When, ages ago,
He heard and he knew this life's secret,
I hear and I know!
Ah, see! The sun breaks o'er Calvano—
He strikes the great gloom
And flutters it o'er the mount's summit
In airy gold fume!
All is over! Look out, see the gipsy,
Our tinker and smith,
Has arrived, set up bellows and forge,
And down-squatted forthwith
To his hammering, under the wall there;
One eye keeps aloof
The urchins that itch to be putting
His jews'-harps to proof,
While the other, through locks of curled wire,
Is watching how sleek
Shines the hog, come to share in the windfalls
—An abbot's own cheek!
All is over! Wake up and come out now,
And down let us go,
And see the fine things got in order
At Church for the show
Of the Sacrament, set forth this evening;
Tomorrow's the Feast
Of the Rosary's Virgin, by no means
Of Virgins the least—
As you'll hear in the off-hand discourse
Which (all nature, no art)
The Dominican brother, these three weeks,
Was getting by heart.
Not a post nor a pillar but's dizened
With red and blue papers;
All the roof waves with ribbons, each altar
A-blaze with long tapers;
But the great masterpiece is the scaffold
Rigged glorious to hold
All the fiddlers and fifers and drummers
And trumpeters bold,
Not afraid of Bellini nor Auber,
Who, when the priest's hoarse,
Will strike us up something that's brisk
For the feast's second course.
And then will the flaxen-wigged Image
Be carried in pomp
Through the plain, while in gallant procession
The priests mean to stomp.
And all round the glad church lie old bottles
With gunpowder stopped,
Which will be, when the Image re-enters,
Religiously popped.
And at night from the crest of Calvano
Great bonfires will hang,
On the plain will the trumpets join chorus,
And more poppers bang!
At all events, come—to the garden,
As far as the wall,
See me tap with a hoe on the plaster
Till out there shall fall
A scorpion with wide angry nippers!
..."Such trifles"—you say?
Fortu, in my England at home,
Men meet gravely today
And debate, if abolishing Corn-laws
Is righteous and wise
—If 'tis proper, Scirocco should vanish
In black from the skies!
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Englishman In Italy: A Critique
Robert Browning's poem, "The Englishman in Italy," is a beautiful and intricate piece of literature, full of vivid descriptions and powerful emotions. It tells the story of an Englishman who visits Italy and is struck by the beauty of the country and the warmth of its people. The poem is complex and layered, with many different themes and ideas woven together in a way that is both engaging and thought-provoking.
Overview
The poem is written in the first person, as if the speaker is the Englishman himself. He describes his journey through Italy, starting in the city of Florence and then traveling through the countryside to Naples. Along the way, he meets many different people and experiences a wide range of emotions.
The poem is divided into five sections, each of which tells a different part of the Englishman's journey. The first section is set in Florence, where the Englishman is struck by the beauty of the city and its architecture. The second section takes place in the countryside, where the Englishman meets a young girl and her mother and is charmed by their warmth and hospitality. The third section is set in Rome, where the Englishman is overwhelmed by the history and grandeur of the city. The fourth section takes place in a small village, where the Englishman witnesses a religious procession and is moved by the devotion of the people. The final section is set in Naples, where the Englishman is struck by the poverty and suffering of the city.
Themes
One of the central themes of the poem is the contrast between the beauty and warmth of Italy and the poverty and suffering that exist alongside it. The Englishman is initially struck by the beauty of Italy, but as he travels through the country, he becomes more aware of the poverty and suffering that exist there. This is particularly evident in the final section of the poem, where the Englishman is confronted with the poverty and misery of Naples.
Another important theme of the poem is the idea of cultural difference and the challenges that come with trying to understand another culture. The Englishman is initially drawn to Italy because of its beauty and romance, but as he travels through the country, he realizes that he does not fully understand the culture or the people who live there. This is particularly evident in the second section of the poem, where the Englishman struggles to communicate with the young girl and her mother.
The poem also explores the idea of identity and the ways in which people are shaped by their surroundings. The Englishman is initially presented as a somewhat aloof and detached figure, but as he travels through Italy, he becomes more emotionally engaged with the people and places he encounters. This is particularly evident in the third section of the poem, where the Englishman is overwhelmed by the history and grandeur of Rome.
Interpretation
"The Englishman in Italy" is a complex and multifaceted poem that rewards close reading and interpretation. One possible interpretation of the poem is that it is a reflection on the challenges of cultural difference and the ways in which people can be shaped by their surroundings.
The poem can be read as a critique of the Englishman's initial fascination with Italy and its culture. The Englishman is drawn to Italy because of its beauty and romance, but as he travels through the country, he realizes that he does not fully understand the culture or the people who live there. This is particularly evident in the second section of the poem, where the Englishman struggles to communicate with the young girl and her mother.
At the same time, the poem also celebrates the warmth and hospitality of the Italian people. The Englishman is struck by the kindness and generosity of the people he meets, even as he struggles to understand their culture. This is particularly evident in the second section of the poem, where the Englishman is charmed by the young girl and her mother.
The poem can also be read as a reflection on the contrast between beauty and suffering. The Englishman is initially struck by the beauty of Italy, but as he travels through the country, he becomes more aware of the poverty and suffering that exist there. This is particularly evident in the final section of the poem, where the Englishman is confronted with the poverty and misery of Naples.
Overall, "The Englishman in Italy" is a powerful and thought-provoking poem that explores a wide range of themes and ideas. It is a testament to Browning's skill as a writer that he is able to weave together so many different strands of thought and emotion into a coherent and engaging narrative.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Englishman in Italy: A Masterpiece of Robert Browning
Robert Browning, one of the most celebrated poets of the Victorian era, wrote The Englishman in Italy in 1838. The poem is a reflection of the poet's own experiences during his travels in Italy, where he encountered the beauty and complexity of the Italian culture. The poem is a masterpiece of Browning's poetic style, which is characterized by its use of dramatic monologue, vivid imagery, and complex themes. In this article, we will explore the poem's themes, structure, and language, and analyze its significance in the context of Browning's literary career.
The Structure of the Poem
The Englishman in Italy is a dramatic monologue, which means that it is a poem spoken by a single speaker who addresses a silent audience. In this case, the speaker is an Englishman who is traveling in Italy and is reflecting on his experiences. The poem is divided into three stanzas, each containing twelve lines. The rhyme scheme of the poem is ABABABCCDEDE, which gives it a musical quality and helps to emphasize the speaker's thoughts and emotions.
The Themes of the Poem
The Englishman in Italy explores several themes that are central to Browning's literary career. One of the most prominent themes is the idea of cultural difference and the challenges that come with trying to understand and appreciate a foreign culture. The speaker in the poem is an Englishman who is traveling in Italy and is struggling to understand the Italian way of life. He is fascinated by the beauty of the Italian countryside and the warmth of the Italian people, but he is also frustrated by their customs and traditions, which he finds confusing and sometimes even offensive.
Another important theme in the poem is the idea of identity and self-discovery. The speaker in the poem is on a journey of self-discovery, as he tries to understand his own identity in the context of a foreign culture. He is forced to confront his own prejudices and preconceptions about Italy and its people, and he begins to question his own values and beliefs.
The Language of the Poem
The Englishman in Italy is a masterful example of Browning's use of language to create vivid imagery and convey complex emotions. The poem is full of rich, descriptive language that brings the Italian countryside to life. For example, in the first stanza, the speaker describes the "olive-groves and vineyards" that he sees as he travels through the countryside. He also uses sensory language to describe the smells and sounds of Italy, such as the "fragrant pines" and the "rippling laughter" of the Italian people.
Browning also uses language to convey the speaker's emotions and thoughts. The poem is full of rhetorical questions and exclamations that show the speaker's confusion and frustration. For example, in the second stanza, the speaker asks, "What's the Latin for 'I cannot eat this soup'?" This question shows the speaker's frustration with the Italian cuisine, which he finds unfamiliar and unappetizing.
The Significance of the Poem
The Englishman in Italy is a significant poem in the context of Browning's literary career. It is one of his earliest works and shows the development of his poetic style and themes. The poem also reflects Browning's own experiences as a traveler in Italy, and his fascination with the Italian culture and way of life.
The poem is also significant in the context of Victorian literature, as it reflects the broader cultural interest in travel and exploration during the Victorian era. Many Victorian writers, including Browning, were fascinated by the idea of travel and the opportunities it provided for self-discovery and cultural exchange.
In conclusion, The Englishman in Italy is a masterpiece of Robert Browning's poetic style, which is characterized by its use of dramatic monologue, vivid imagery, and complex themes. The poem explores the challenges of cultural difference and self-discovery, and reflects Browning's own experiences as a traveler in Italy. The poem is a significant work in the context of Victorian literature, and continues to be celebrated for its beauty and insight into the human experience.
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