An Introduction to the Study of Robert Browning's Poetry. Robert Browning
and, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith! Say this as silvery as tongue can troll—the anger of the man may be endured, the shrug, the disappointed eyes of him are not so bad to bear—but here’s the plague, that all this trouble comes of telling truth, which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, seems to be just the thing it would supplant, nor recognizable by whom it left: while falsehood would have done the work of truth. But Art—wherein man nowise speaks to men, only to mankind—Art may tell a truth obliquely, DO THE THING SHALL BREED THE THOUGHT”, that is, bring what is IMPLICIT within the soul, into the right attitude to become EXPLICIT—bring about a silent adjustment through sympathy induced by the concrete; in other words, prepare the way for the perception of the truth—“do the thing shall breed the thought, nor wrong the thought missing the mediate word”; meaning, that Art, so to speak, is the word made flesh—IS the truth, and, as Art, has nothing directly to do with the explicit. “So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, beyond mere imagery on the wall—so, note by note, bring music from your mind, deeper than ever the Andante dived—so write a book shall mean beyond the facts, suffice the eye and save the soul beside.”
And what is the inference the poet would have us draw from this passage? It is, that the life and efficacy of Art depends on the personality of the artist, which “has informed, transpierced, thridded, and so thrown fast the facts else free, as right through ring and ring runs the djereed and binds the loose, one bar without a break.” And it is really this fusion of the artist’s soul, which kindles, quickens, INFORMS those who contemplate, respond to, reproduce sympathetically within themselves the greater spirit which attracts and absorbs their own. The work of Art is apocalyptic of the artist’s own personality. It CANNOT be impersonal. As is the temper of his spirit, so is, MUST be, the temper of his Art product.* It is hard to believe, almost impossible to believe, that ‘Titus Andronicus’ could have been written by Shakespeare, the external testimony to the authorship, notwithstanding. Even if he had written it as a burlesque of such a play as Marlow’s ‘Jew of Malta’, he could not have avoided some revelation of that sense of moral proportion which is omnipresent in his Plays. But I can find no Shakespeare in ‘Titus Andronicus’. Are we not certain what manner of man Shakespeare was from his Works (notwithstanding that critics are ever asserting their impersonality)—far more certain than if his biography had been written by one who knew him all his life, and sustained to him the most intimate relations? We know Shakespeare—or he CAN be known, if the requisite conditions are met, better, perhaps, than any other great author that ever lived—know, in the deepest sense of the word, in a sense other than that in which we know Dr. Johnson, through Boswell’s Biography. The moral proportion which is so signal a characteristic of his Plays could not have been imparted to them by the conscious intellect. It was SHED from his spiritual constitution.
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