Robert Browning’s Andrea del Sarto Essay -- Andrea del Sarto

Robert Browning’s Andrea del Sarto Lucrezia del Sarto (To My Dear Husband) My dear husband, put away your plate of bread Or, pray you, hand it to the dogs; the sun Has but an hour to make its mid-way trek, And here sit you etching pewter with crust, And smearing cheese and jam with lazy thumbs. Ah, yes! Kiss me so. Then kiss me better To smother my lips. Your artlessness is What makes me smile so, dear, and not your kiss. No, I will speak. And should you be so kind As to listen, you’ll find me plainly spoken. Long last night, in my bed, I turned and turned; As much as I’d suffered your words while they Tumbled from your lips, I suffered them once More, and more fresh, fettered fast inside my head! Love, the night wore on, black, blank, and at last Thinned. But how you wear me! Tell me you shall Keep your promise to each one of the three: To myself, to my cousin, and to thee! I will tell you how I mean: Do life’s work, Honor your wife, your word, and yourself If it pleases you. But be first a man; No—a husband—above all else. Tell me, ’Tis possibly better to honor yourself? My dear husband, I have much in reply To offer your last eve’s soliloquy; So perhaps it shall suit you to gaze less Dumbly at my brow and more at my mouth Whilst I so plainly speak. Your talents do Not waste themselves on me. Do not doubt it. I am more certain of your skill than you May think. And so I am less humored by The fickle errantry of a mind which once Was sharp and sweet. My pride in you has waned. Pick, pick, pick, but never paint! Well enough, You say we are all only but in God’s Hands; ’Tis not God who binds you down, nor I! Your works have touched heaven, but you are low; God, you think, assign... ...ehind a play of words or a psychological puzzle, tempting his reader to dig for it there, later. I have come to appreciate the rich expressiveness inherent in the dramatic mono-logue format. Without actually stating or describing very much, the poet is able to depict a scene and its props, animate characters, and imply action, emotion, and rhthym for the audience. I discovered that each time I implied action on the part of either Lucrezia or Andrea, (â€Å"put away your plate . . . But even now you entwine me . . .†), I was, at the same time, implying action—and its accompanying emotion—on the part of the second character, as well. The poem becomes a dance—a dense, complex web of subtleties and surprises. This poetic form is a pleasure to read and a pleasure to mimic. It carries an intimacy which embraces the poet, the characters, and the reader all at once.