'Englishman In Italy, The' by Robert Browning

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PIANO DI SORRENTO

Fort, Fort, 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 Plain saw me gather, I garland
---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,---speckled 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 flint-stone,
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 thro' 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 to-day not a bout reached Salerno,
So back, to a man,
Came our friends, with whose help in the vineyards
Grape-harvest began.
In the vat, halfway 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 to-night 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, 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 thro' 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,
Tho' 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, or, rosy and wondrous,
Those 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*1 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,
Till, 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,---halfway
On the voyage, she looked at Ulysses---
No farther to-day,
Tho' the small one, just launched in the wave,
Watches breast-high and steady
From under the rock, her bold sister
Swum halfway already.
Fort, 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, tho' 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, thro' locks of curled wire,
Is watching how sleek
Shines the hog, come to share in the windfall
---Chew, 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.
To-morrow'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 pillar nor post but is 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
Thro' the plain, while in gallant procession
The priests mean to stomp.
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?
Fort, in my England at home,
Men meet gravely to-day
And debate, if abolishing Corn-laws
Be righteous and wise
---If 'twere proper, Scirocco should vanish
In black from the skies!

*1 The mastic tree (resinous).

Editor 1 Interpretation

An Englishman's Journey Through Italy: A Critical Analysis of Robert Browning's "Englishman in Italy"

"What do they know of England who only England know?" – Rudyard Kipling

Robert Browning's "Englishman in Italy" is an exploration of cultural identity, self-discovery and the transformative power of travel. The poem is a journey through the landscapes and people of Italy, as experienced by an Englishman who, in the process of discovering the richness of Italian culture, also discovers himself.

The poem, though relatively short, is rich in imagery, language and themes. In this critical analysis, I will delve deeper into the poem's structure, form and content, exploring the ways in which Browning uses language to evoke the sights, sounds and sensations of Italy, and how these elements contribute to the poem's central themes of identity and transformation.

Structure and Form

"Englishman in Italy" is a dramatic monologue, a form that Browning is famous for. It is written in iambic pentameter, a rhythm that mimics the natural cadence of speech and gives the poem a sense of immediacy and intimacy. The poem consists of 22 stanzas of varying lengths, each containing four to six lines. The use of short stanzas and lines creates a sense of urgency and momentum, as the Englishman's journey unfolds in real time.

The poem is structured like a travelogue, with each stanza representing a different moment in the journey. The first few stanzas describe the Englishman's arrival in Italy and his initial impressions of the landscape. As the poem progresses, the Englishman encounters various people and experiences, each of which contributes to his evolving understanding of Italian culture and his own identity.

The final stanza is particularly significant, as it marks a turning point in the Englishman's journey. In this stanza, the Englishman reflects on his experiences in Italy and how they have changed him, both as a person and as an Englishman. The final line of the poem, "Open my heart and you will see / Graved inside of it, 'Italy'," is a powerful statement of the Englishman's newfound appreciation for Italian culture and his own sense of identity.

Imagery and Language

Browning's use of language and imagery in "Englishman in Italy" is masterful. The poem is suffused with vivid descriptions of the Italian landscape, from the "blue Apennines" to the "olive-groves" and "orange-trees" that dot the countryside. The use of sensory language evokes the sights, sounds and smells of Italy, creating a rich and immersive experience for the reader.

In addition to the descriptions of the landscape, Browning also uses language to explore the cultural differences between England and Italy. The Englishman's initial impressions of Italy are colored by his preconceptions and biases, as he struggles to reconcile his English identity with the unfamiliar culture around him. As the poem progresses, however, the Englishman begins to shed these preconceptions and open himself up to the richness and complexity of Italian culture.

One of the most striking examples of this occurs in stanza 12, where the Englishman describes a group of Italian peasants singing and dancing in the moonlight. At first, the Englishman is dismissive of their "barbarous" behavior, but as he watches them more closely, he begins to appreciate the "grace" and "beauty" of their movements. This moment represents a turning point in the Englishman's journey, as he begins to see Italian culture not as something alien and incomprehensible, but as something beautiful and worthy of admiration.

Themes

At its core, "Englishman in Italy" is a poem about identity, both personal and cultural. The Englishman's journey through Italy is, in many ways, a journey of self-discovery. As he encounters new people and experiences, he begins to question his own preconceptions and biases, and to open himself up to new possibilities.

The poem is also a meditation on the transformative power of travel. As the Englishman immerses himself in Italian culture, he undergoes a process of personal transformation, shedding old identities and assumptions and embracing a new, more nuanced understanding of himself and the world around him.

Finally, "Englishman in Italy" is a celebration of cultural difference and the beauty of diversity. Browning uses the poem to explore the complex relationship between England and Italy, highlighting the richness and depth of Italian culture and the ways in which it differs from English culture. At the same time, however, he also suggests that these differences are not insurmountable, and that by embracing and celebrating cultural diversity, we can all become richer and more fully realized human beings.

Conclusion

Robert Browning's "Englishman in Italy" is a powerful and evocative poem, full of rich language, vivid imagery and profound themes. Through the Englishman's journey through Italy, Browning explores the transformative power of travel and the ways in which it can help us to better understand ourselves and the world around us.

As we read the poem, we are reminded of the importance of openness, curiosity and a willingness to embrace new experiences and perspectives. We are also reminded of the beauty of cultural difference and the ways in which it can enrich our lives and deepen our understanding of ourselves and others.

In short, "Englishman in Italy" is a poem that speaks to the power of human connection, the beauty of diversity and the transformative potential of personal and cultural exploration.

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, is known for his dramatic monologues that explore the complexities of human nature. His poem, "The Englishman in Italy," is a perfect example of his mastery of the form. Written in 1838, the poem tells the story of an Englishman who travels to Italy in search of adventure and romance. In this article, we will explore the themes, structure, and language of this classic poem.

The poem begins with the Englishman's arrival in Italy. He is immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape and the warmth of the people. He describes the "golden clime" and the "azure sky" that surround him. The language here is rich and evocative, painting a vivid picture of the Italian countryside. The Englishman is clearly enchanted by his surroundings, and he is eager to explore all that Italy has to offer.

As he travels through the country, the Englishman encounters a variety of people and experiences. He meets a group of peasants who are singing and dancing in a field, and he is moved by their joy and vitality. He also falls in love with a beautiful Italian woman, who he describes as "a queen, / And like a queen, has robed her beauty round." The language here is romantic and passionate, reflecting the Englishman's intense feelings for this woman.

However, the poem takes a darker turn when the Englishman encounters a group of bandits who attempt to rob him. He is forced to defend himself with a pistol, and he kills one of the bandits in the process. This violent act shakes the Englishman to his core, and he begins to question his own morality. He wonders if he has become like the bandits he has encountered, and he feels a sense of guilt and shame.

The themes of the poem are complex and multifaceted. On one level, the poem is a celebration of Italy and its people. Browning portrays Italy as a place of beauty, passion, and vitality. The peasants he encounters are full of life and joy, and the Italian woman he falls in love with is described as a queen. However, the poem also explores the darker side of human nature. The bandits represent the violence and lawlessness that can exist in any society, and the Englishman's reaction to them raises questions about the nature of justice and morality.

The structure of the poem is also noteworthy. Browning uses a series of dramatic monologues to tell the story of the Englishman's journey. Each section of the poem is spoken by a different character, including the Englishman himself, the peasants, the Italian woman, and the bandits. This technique allows Browning to explore the story from multiple perspectives, giving the reader a more nuanced understanding of the events that unfold.

The language of the poem is rich and evocative, reflecting Browning's mastery of the English language. He uses vivid imagery and sensory details to bring the Italian landscape to life. For example, he describes the "olive-groves and vineyards and the maize" that surround the Englishman as he travels through the countryside. He also uses metaphor and symbolism to explore the themes of the poem. The Italian woman, for example, is described as a queen, symbolizing her beauty and power.

In conclusion, "The Englishman in Italy" is a masterpiece of Victorian poetry. Browning's use of dramatic monologue, rich language, and complex themes make this poem a timeless work of art. The poem explores the beauty and passion of Italy, while also delving into the darker aspects of human nature. It is a powerful reminder that even in the most idyllic of settings, violence and injustice can still exist.

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