The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition. Robert Browning
Barrett Browning relates that while his father was reading aloud these last proofs to himself and his wife, the poet paused over the “Epilogue,” at the stanza—
“One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.”
and remarked: “It almost seems like praising myself to say this, and yet it is true, the simple truth, and so I shall not cancel it.”
November, often lovely in Venice, was singularly summer-like that year. On one day Mr. Browning found the heat on the Lido “scarcely endurable,” indeed, but “snow-tipped Alps” revealed themselves in the distance, offering a strange contrast to the brilliant sunshine and the soft blue skies. Still November is not June, after all, however perfect the imitation of some of its days. One day there was a heavy fog on his favorite Lido, and the poet, who refused to be deprived of his walk, became thoroughly chilled and illness followed. The following note from Mr. Barrett Browning to Mrs. Bronson indicates the anxiety that prevailed in Palazzo Rezzonico, where the tenderest care of his son and daughter-in-law ministered to the poet. The note is undated, save by the day of the week.
Palazzo Rezzonico,
9 o’clock, Monday Evening.
Dearest Mrs. Bronson,—The improvement of last night is scarcely maintained this morning,—the action of the heart being weaker at moments. He is quite clear-headed, and is never tired of saving he feels better, “immensely better,—I don’t suppose I could get up and walk about, in fact I know I could not, but I have no aches or pains,—quite comfortable, could not be more so,”—this is what he said a moment ago.
I will let you know if there is any change as the day goes on.
My love to you.
Yours, Pen.
The delightful relations that had always prevailed between the poet and his publishers were touchingly completed when, just before he breathed his last, came a telegram from George Murray Smith with its tidings of the interest with which “Asolando” was being received in England. And then this little note written on that memorable date of December 12, 1889, from Barrett Browning to Mrs. Bronson, tells the story of the poet’s entrance on the new life.
Palazzo Rezzonico, 10.30 p.m.
Dearest Friend,—Our Beloved breathed his last as San Marco’s clock struck ten,—without pain—unconsciously.
I was able to make him happy a little before he became unconscious by a telegram from Smith saying, “Reviews in all this day’s papers most favorable, edition nearly exhausted.”
He just murmured, “How gratifying.”
Those were his last intelligible words.
Yours, Pen.
In that hour how could the son and the daughter who so loved him remember aught save the exquisite lines with which the poet had anticipated the reunion with his “Lyric Love”:
“Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!”
In the grand sala with its floor of black Italian marble and its lofty ceiling with exquisite fresco decoration, the simple and impressive service was held in Palazzo Rezzonico, and a fleet of gondolas, filled with friends and accompanied by the entire Venetian Syndic, bore the casket to its temporary resting-place in the chapel of San Michele, in the campo santo. The gondola that carried the casket had an angel, carved in wood, at the prow, and a lion at the stern. Dean Bradley, on behalf of Westminster Abbey, had telegraphed to Robert Barrett Browning, asking that the body of the poet might be laid within those honored walls; and as the cemetery in Florence wherein is Mrs. Browning’s tomb had long been closed, this honor from England was accepted. The same honor of a final resting-place in Westminster Abbey was also extended for the removal of the body of Mrs. Browning, but their son rightly felt that he must yield to the wishes of Florence that her tomb be undisturbed, and it is fitting that it should remain in the Italy she so loved.
Palazzo Rezzonico, Venice
Owned by Robert Browning from 1888 to 1906. In the upper room, at the left-hand corner, the poet died.
So associated with her brother’s life was Miss Sarianna Browning that the story would be incomplete not to add that she survived him many years,—a gracious and beloved presence. In the January following the poet’s death, she said in a letter to Mrs. Bronson:
“I have already let a day pass without thanking you for the most beautiful locket, which I love even more for your sake than his. I shall always think of you, so good, so near, and so dearly loved by him. All your watchfulness over our smallest comfort,—how he felt it!... Bless you forever for all the joy you gave him at Asolo,—how happy he was! And how you were entwined in all our plans for the happy future we were to enjoy there! Think of him when you go back, as loving the whole place, and yourself, the embodiment of its sweetness.”
Miss Browning died in her nephew’s home, La Torre All’ Antella, near Florence, in the spring of 1903, in her ninetieth year.
On the façade of the Palazzo Rezzonico the City of Venice placed this inscription to the memory of the poet:
a
ROBERTO BROWNING
morto in questo palazzo
il 12 Dicembre, 1889
venezia
pose
“Open my heart and you will see
Graved inside of it,—‘Italy’”
It was on the last day of 1889 that the impressive rites were held in Westminster Abbey for Robert Browning. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Dean of Windsor, an aid-de-camp representing Queen Victoria, Dean Bradley, the sub-dean, and many eminent canons, and Sir Frederick Bridge, of the Abbey choir, all were present among the officiating clergy. The casket under its purple pall, with a massive cross of violets, and wreaths of lilies-of-the valley, and white roses (Mrs. Browning’s favorite flower), was followed by the honorary pall-bearers including Hallam Tennyson, representing the Poet Laureate (whose health did not permit him to be present), Archdeacon Farrar, the Master of Balliol (representing Oxford), the Master of Trinity (representing Cambridge), Professor Masson (representing the University of Edinburgh), and George Murray Smith. The committal service was entirely choral, and Mrs. Browning’s poem with its touching refrain,
“He giveth His beloved sleep!”
was chanted by the full vested choir of the Abbey, to music composed for the occasion by Sir Frederick Bridge. Preceding the Benediction, the entire vast concourse of people united in singing the hymn,
“O God, our help in ages past!”
As that great assemblage turned away from the last rites in commemoration of the poet who produced the largest body of poetry, and the most valuable as a spiritual message, of any English poet, was there not wafted in the air the choral strains from some unseen angelic choir, that thrilled the venerable Abbey with celestial triumph:
“‘Glory to God—to God!’ he saith:
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And Life is perfected by Death.”
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