Day Two of my Aurora Leigh series and I am going to pick out my favorite passage from Book II! This epic poem/novel is on many university courses, and for me after only studying dead white mean in my Romantics to Victorians Module, it was nice to finally come across poetry by a female writer – who has just as must respect. I do think that it’s a shame that Barrett Browning was introduced in relation to her husband – but I mean ‘My Last Duchess’ is literally taught in Secondary Schools across the country, so Robert Browning is bound to be well-know, memorable and someone the tutors love talking about about!

We were also told how Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an extremely ill person – I don’t think we should have necessarily started with that point. I somethimes think biographical readings are pushed so much within literature, that at times we forget to look at the text, rather than it’s writer. I think that this sometimes impacts how we criticise a text too… but that is a whole other blog!. That is not to say the biography of a writer is an important factor, especially relating to context and modes of expression. But perhaps, we should just appreciate Barrett Browning and that she managed to influence the emergence of the iconic female poet (…people who call them a ‘poetess’ are literally the bane of my existence). She managed to show the world that female writing can be just as powerful as a man’s… especially in such a patriarchal society and artistic field. She was definitely not letting her husband hold her back! We love Liz!

Rant complete… here is my favourite passage from Aurora Leigh, Book II:

Aurora Leigh – Book II

Because the world is mad? You cannot count,
That you should weep for this account, not you!
You weep for what you know. A red-haired child
Sick in a fever, if you touch him once,
Though but so little as with a finger-tip,
Will set you weeping! but a million sick . .
You could as soon weep for the rule of three,
Or compound fractions. Therefore, this same world
Uncomprehended by you must remain
Uninfluenced by you. Women as you are,
Mere women, personal and passionate,
You give us doating mothers, and chaste wives.
Sublime Madonnas, and enduring saints!
We get no Christ from you,–and verily
We shall not get a poet, in my mind.’
‘With which conclusion you conclude’ . .
                                    ‘But this–
That you, Aurora, with the large live brow
And steady eyelids, cannot condescend
To play at art, as children play at swords,
To show a pretty spirit, chiefly admired
Because true action is impossible.
You never can be satisfied with praise
Which men give women when they judge a book
Not as mere work, but as mere woman’s work,
Expressing the comparative respect
Which means the absolute scorn. ‘Oh, excellent!
‘What grace! what facile turns! what fluent sweeps!
‘What delicate discernment … almost thought!
‘The book does honour to the sex, we hold.
‘Among our female authors we make room
‘For this fair writer, and congratulate
‘The country that produces in these times
‘Such women, competent to … spell.”
                                ‘Stop there!’
I answered–burning through his thread of talk
With a quick flame of emotion,–’You have read
My soul, if not my book, and argue well
I would not condescend … we will not say
To such a kind of praise, (a worthless end
Is praise of all kinds) but to such a use
Of holy art and golden life. I am young,
And peradventure weak–you tell me so–
Through being a woman. And, for all the rest,
Take thanks for justice. I would rather dance
At fairs on tight-rope, till the babies dropped
Their gingerbread for joy,–than shift the types
For tolerable verse, intolerable
To men who act and suffer. Better far,
Pursue a frivolous trade by serious means,
Than a sublime art frivolously.’