FLORIN
WEBSITE © JULIA
BOLTON HOLLOWAY, AUREO
ANELLO ASSOCIAZIONE, 1997-2022:
ACADEMIA
BESSARION ||
MEDIEVAL: BRUNETTO
LATINO, DANTE
ALIGHIERI, SWEET
NEW STYLE: BRUNETTO
LATINO, DANTE ALIGHIERI, & GEOFFREY
CHAUCER || VICTORIAN:
WHITE
SILENCE: FLORENCE'S 'ENGLISH' CEMETERY
|| ELIZABETH
BARRETT BROWNING || WALTER
SAVAGE LANDOR || FRANCES
TROLLOPE || ABOLITION
OF SLAVERY || FLORENCE
IN SEPIA || CITY AND BOOK CONFERENCE
PROCEEDINGS I, II,
III,
IV,
V,
VI,
VII
|| MEDIATHECA
'FIORETTA MAZZEI' || EDITRICE
AUREO
ANELLO CATALOGUE || UMILTA
WEBSITE || LINGUE/LANGUAGES:
ITALIANO,
ENGLISH
|| VITA
New: Dante
vivo || White
Silence
See also http://www.florin.ms/ironchain.html
for the lecture given at Little Rock, 28 February, 2007
ELIZABETH
BARRETT BROWNING
AND
SLAVERY
Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett grew up in a
slave-owning family from Jamaica, knowing she was
herself part Black. She hated slavery. She married
Robert Browning, whose family likewise had owned slaves
on St Kitts. She used her poetry to speak out against
slavery as a 'crime against humanity'.
THE
RUNAWAY
SLAVE
AT PILGRIM’S POINT
[ADVERTISEMENT,
The following verses were the contribution of the
Authoress to a volume entitled ‘The Liberty Bell, by
Friends of Freedom,’ printed in America last year for
sale at the Boston National Anti-Slavery Bazaar. It is
for the use of a few ‘friends of freedom’ and of the
writer on this side of the Atlantic that the verses
are now reprinted. FLORENCE, 1849.]
I stand on the mark, beside the shore
Of
the
first white pilgrim’s bended knee,
Where
exile
changed
to
ancestor,
And
God
was thanked for liberty.
5
I
have run through the night = my skin is as dark =
I
bend
my
knee
down on this mark: =
I
look
on the sky and the sea.
II
O,
pilgrim-souls,
I speak to you:
I
see
you come out proud and slow
10
From
the land of the spirits, pale as dew,
And
round
me and round me ye go.
O
pilgrims,
I
have
gasped and run
All
night
long
from
the whips of one
Who,
in
your names, works sin and woe.
III
15
And
thus
I
thought that I would come
And
kneel
here where ye knelt before,
And
feel
your
souls
around me hum
In
undertone
to the ocean’s roar;
And
lift
my
black
face, my black hand,
20
Here, in your names, to curse this land
Ye
blessed
in
Freedom’s, evermore.
IV
I am
black = I am black!
And
yet
God made me, they say:
But if He did so, smiling, back
25
He must have cast His work away
Under
the
feet
of
His white creatures,
With
a
look
of
scorn, that the dusky features
Might
be
trodden again to clay.
V
And yet He has made dark
things
30
To be glad and merry as light:
There’s
a
little
dark
bird sits and sings;
There’s
a
dark stream ripples out of sight;
And
the
dark
frogs
chant in the safe morass,
And
the
sweetest
stars
are made to pass
35
O’er the face of the darkest night.
VI
But we
who are dark, we are dark!
O
God,
we have no stars!
About
our
souls,
in
care and cark,
Our
blackness
shuts like prison bars:
40
And crouch our souls so far behind,
That
never
a
comfort
can they find
By
reaching
through the prison-bars.
[VII
Indeed we live beneath the sky, . .
That
great
smooth Hand of God, stretched out
45
On all His children fatherly,
To
bless
them from the fear and doubt,
Which
would
be,
if,
from this low place,
All
opened
straight
up
to His face
Into
the
grand eternity.]
VIII
50
Howbeit
God’s
sunshine and His frost,
They
make
us hot, they make us cold,
As
if
we
ere
not black and lost;
And
the
beasts and birds, in wood and wold,
Do
fear
and
take
us for very men: =
55
Could the weep-poor-will or the cat of the glen
Look
into
my eyes and be bold?
IX
I am black, I am black!
And,
once,
I laughed in girlish glee;
For
one
of
my
colour stood in the track
60
Where the drivers drove, and looked at me =
And
tender
and
full
was the look he gave!
A Slave looked so at another Slave, =
I
look
at the sky and the sea.
X
And
from that hour our spirits grew
65 As free as if unsold,
unbought:
We were strong enough,
since we were two,
To conquer
the world, we thought!
The drivers drove us day
by day
We did not mind, we went
one way
70
And
no
better
a liberty sought.
XI
In the open ground, between the canes,
He
said
‘I love you’ as he passed;
Where
the
shingle-roof
rang
sharp with the rains,
I
heard
how he vowed it fast.
75
While others trembled, he sate in the hut
And
carved
me
a
bowl of the cocoa-nut
Through
the
roar of the hurricanes.
XII
I sang his name instead of a song;
Over
and
over I sang his name;
80
Backward and forward I drew it along
With
my
sweetest notes, it was still the same!
I
sang
it
low,
that the slave-girls near
Might
never
guess,
from
aught they could hear,
That
all
the song was a name.
XIII
85
I
look
on the sky and the sea!
We
were
two to love, and two to pray, =
Yes,
two,
O
God,
who cried on Thee,
Though
nothing
didst Thou say.
Coldly
Thou
sat’st
behind
the sun:
90
And now I cry, who am but one, =
Thou
wilt
not speak to-day!
XIV
We were black, we
were black!
We
had
no claim to love and bliss;
What
marvel,
ours
was
cast to wrack?
95
They wrung my cold hands out of his, =
They
dragged
him
=
where? I crawled to touch
His
blood’s
mark
in
the dust = not much,
Ye
pilgrim-souls,
= though plain as this!
XV
Wrong, followed by a greater wrong!
100
Grief seemed too good for such as I:
So
the
white
men
brought the shame ere long
To
stifle
the sob in my throat thereby.
They
would
not
leave
me for my dull
Wet
eyes!
=
it
was too merciful
105
To let me weep pure tears, and die.
XVI
I am black, I am black!
I
wore
a
child
upon my breast =
An
amulet
that
hung
too slack,
And,
in
my unrest, could not rest:
110
Thus we went moaning, child and mother,
One
to
another,
one
to another,
Until
all
ended for the best.
XVII
For hark! I will tell you low =
low =
I
am
black, you see, =
115
And the babe, who lay on my bosom so,
Was
far
too white, too white for me;
As
white
as
the
ladies who scorned to pray
Beside
me
at
church
but yesterday,
Though
my
tears had washed a place for my knee.
XVIII
120 And
my own child! I could not bear
To
look
in his face, it was so white;
I
covered
him
up
with a kerchief rare,
I
covered
his face in, close and tight:
And
he
moaned
and
struggled, as well might be,
125
For the white child wanted his liberty =
Ha,
ha!
he
wanted the master’s right.
XIX
He moaned and beat with his head and
feet,
His
little
feet that never grew;
He
struck
them
out,
as it was meet,
130
Against my heart to break it through.
I
might
have sung like a mother =
But
I
dared
not
sing to the white-faced child
The
only
song I knew.
XX
And yet I pulled the kerchief close:
135
He could not see the sun, I swear
More,
then,
alive,
than
now he does
From
between
the roots of the mango = where?
I
know
where.
Close!
A child and mother
Do
wrong
to
look
at one another,
140
When one is black and one is fair.
XXI
Even in that single glance I had
Of
my
child’s face, = I tell you all, =
I
saw
a
look
that made me mad! =
The master’s look, that used to fall
145
On my soul like his lash . . or worse! =
Therefore,
to
save
it
from my curse
I
twisted
it round in my shawl.
XXII
And he moaned and trembled from foot
to head,
He
shivered
from head to foot, =
150
Till, after a time, he lay, instead,
Too
suddenly
still and mute.
And
I
felt,
beside,
a creeping cold =
I
dared
to
lift
up just a fold,
As
in
lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
XXIII
155
But my fruit! ha, ha! = there had been
(I
laugh
to think on’t at this hour!)
Your
fine
white
angels
(who have seen
God’s
secret
nearest to His power)
And
gathered
my
fruit
to make them wine
160
And sucked the soul of that child of mine
As
the
humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
XXIV
Ha, ha! for the trick
of the angels white!
They freed the white child’s
spirit so.
I
said
not
a
word, but day and night,
165
I carried the body to and fro;
And
it
lay
on
my heart like a stone = as chill;
The
sun
may
shine
out as much as he will:
I
am
cold, though it happened a month ago.
XXV
From the white man’s house, and the
black man’s hut,
170
I carried the little body on;
The
forest’s
arms
did
round us shut,
And
silence
through the trees did run!
They
asked
no
questions
as I went, =
They
stood
too
high
for astonishment, =
175
They could see God rise on his throne.
XXVI
My little body, kerchiefed fast,
I
bore
it on through the forest = on =
And
when
I
felt
it was tired at last,
I
scooped
a hole beneath the moon.
180
Through the forest-tops the angels far,
With
a
white
fine
finger in every star,
Did point and mock at what was done.
XXVII
Yet when it was all done aright,
Earth,
‘twixt
me and my baby strewed, -
185
All changed to black earth, = nothing white, -
A
dark
child in the dark, = ensued
Some
comfort,
and
my
heart grew young;
I
sate
down
smiling
there, and sung
The
song
I told you of, for good.
XXVIII
190 And
thus we two were reconciled,
The
white
child and black mother, thus;
For,
as
I
sang
it, = soft, slow and wild
The
same
song, more melodious,
Rose
from
the
grave
whereon I sate!
195
It was the dead child singing that,
To
join
the souls of both of us.
XXIX
I look on the sea and the sky!
Where
the
Pilgrims’ ships first anchored lay.
The
great
sun
rideth
gloriously!
200
But the Pilgrims’ ghosts have slid away
Through
the
first
faint
streaks of the morn!
My
face
is
black,
but it glares a scorn
Which
they
dare not meet by day.
XXX
Ah!
= in their stead their hunter sons!
205
Ah, ah! they are on me! they form in a
ring!
Keep
off!
=
I
brave you all at once! =
I
throw
off your eyes like a noisome thing!
You
have
killed
the
black eagle at nest, I think:
Did
you
never
stand
still in your triumph, and shrink
210
From the stroke of her wounded wing?
XXXI
(Man,
drop
that stone you dared to lift! = )
I
wish
you who stand there seven abreast,
Each
for
his
own
wife’s joy and gift,
A
little
corpse as safely at rest,
215
Hid in the mangos! = Yes, but she
May
keep
live
babies
on her knee
And
sing
the song she liketh best.
XXXII
I am not mad: I am black!
I
see
you staring in my face =
220
I know you staring, shrinking back! . .
Ye
are
born of the Washington race:
And
this
land
is
the Free America =
And
this
mark
on
my wrist, (I prove what I say)
Ropes
tied
me up here to the flogging-place.
XXXIII
225 You think
I shrieked then? Not a sound!
I
hung
as a gourd hangs in the sun:
I
only
cursed
them
all around,
As
softly
as I might have done
My
own
child
after.
From these sands
230
Up to the mountains, lift your hands,
O
Slaves,
and end what I began!
XXXIV
Whips, curses; these must answer
those!
For
in
this UNION, you have set
Two kinds of men in adverse rows,
235
Each loathing each! and all forget
The
seven
wounds
in
Christ’s body fair;
While
HE see
gaping everywhere
Our countless wounds that pay
no debt.
XXXV
Our
wounds
are
different. Your white men
240
Are, after all, not gods indeed,
Nor
able
to
make
Christ’s again
Do
good
with bleeding. We who bleed =
(Stand off) = we help not in our loss, =
We are too heavy for our cross,
245
And fall and crush you and your seed.
XXXVI
I fall, I swoon! I look at
the sky.
The
clouds
are breaking on my brain;
I
am
floated
along,
as if I should die
Of
Liberty’s
exquisite pain =
250 In the name of
the white child waiting for me
In
the
deep
black
death where our kisses agree, =
White men, I leave you all curse-free
In
my
broken heart’s disdain!
‘HIRAM POWERS’
GREEK SLAVE’
They say
Ideal Beauty cannot enter
The house of anguish. On the threshold stands
An alien Image with the shackled hands,
Called the Greek Slave: as if the sculptor meant her,
(That passionless perfection which he lent her,
Shadowed, not darkened, where the sill expands)
To, so, confront men’s crimes in different lands,
With man’s ideal sense. Pierce to the centre,
Art’s fiery finger! - and break up erelong
The serfdom of this world! Appeal, fair stone,
From God’s pure heights of beauty, against man’s wrong!
Catch up in thy divine face, not alone
East griefs but west, - and strike and shame the strong,
By thunders of white silence,
overthrown!
Si dice che la Bellezza Ideale non possa entrare
nella
casa d'angoscia. Una figura straniera sta sulla soglia,
con le mani incatenate, la Schiava greca:
come se lo scultore eleggesse lei,
(quella perfezione impassibile che egli le diede,
ombreggiata, non oscurata, là dove la soglia si apre)
per misurare i crimini degli uomini in diversi lidi,
con ogni ideale dell'uomo. Penetra nell'intimo,
infuocato dito dell'arte! - e spezza presto
la schiavitù di questo mondo! Appellati, bella pietra,
dalla pura sommità della bellezza di Dio, contro il male
dell'uomo!
Cattura nel tuo volto divino, le pene
e dell'oriente e dell'occidente, - e colpisci e umilia i
forti,
da tuoni di bianco silenzio sconfitti!
Bibliography
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Aurora
Leigh and Other Poems. Edited, John Robert Glorney
Bolton and Julia Bolton Holloway. Harmondsworth: Penguin
Classics, 1995.
The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning to
her Sister Arabella. Ed. Scott Lewis. 2 vols. Waco:
Wedgestone Press, 2002.
Michael Meredith, Eton College, 2006.
Jeannette
Marks. The Family of the Barrett: A Colonial Romance.
New York: The Macmillan Company, 1938. Sheila Frodella,
Firenze, 2001.
Joseph Shore and John Stewart. In Old St James
(Jamaica): A Book of Parish Chronicles. Kingston,
Jamaica: Aston W. Gardner, 1911. Includes Chapters on
'The Barretts of Cinnamon Hill', and 'A Book of Slaves'.
Tony and Jenny Moulton-Barrett, Midhurst, 2005.
Andrew M. Stauffer. 'Elizabeth Barrett Browning's
Re-visions of Slavery'. English
Language Notes 34 (1997), pp. 29-49. http://www.cswnet.com/~erin/ebb2.htm
FLORIN WEBSITE © JULIA
BOLTON HOLLOWAY, AUREO
ANELLO ASSOCIAZIONE, 1997-2022:
ACADEMIA
BESSARION ||
MEDIEVAL: BRUNETTO
LATINO, DANTE
ALIGHIERI, SWEET
NEW STYLE: BRUNETTO
LATINO, DANTE ALIGHIERI, & GEOFFREY
CHAUCER || VICTORIAN:
WHITE
SILENCE: FLORENCE'S 'ENGLISH' CEMETERY
|| ELIZABETH
BARRETT BROWNING || WALTER
SAVAGE LANDOR || FRANCES
TROLLOPE || ABOLITION
OF SLAVERY || FLORENCE
IN SEPIA || CITY AND BOOK CONFERENCE
PROCEEDINGS I, II,
III,
IV,
V,
VI,
VII
|| MEDIATHECA
'FIORETTA MAZZEI' || EDITRICE
AUREO
ANELLO CATALOGUE || UMILTA
WEBSITE || LINGUE/LANGUAGES:
ITALIANO,
ENGLISH
|| VITA
New: Dante
vivo || White
Silence
