The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 1 — Background and Themes

Diction of the Divine and the Earthly

Barrett Browning's diction in 'The Drama of Exile' oscillates between the elevated and the visceral. The Earth speaks in a voice of weary personification: 'I have groaned; I have travailed: I am weary. / I am blind with my own grief.' The repetition of 'I have' and the short, breathless clauses convey exhaustion. In contrast, the seraph Zerah uses more abstract, lyrical language: 'The pathos hath the day undone: / The death-look of His eyes / Hath overcome the sun.' The poet juxtaposes concrete physical details—'naked hands and feet transfixèd stark'—with cosmic imagery, such as 'the sun' sickening in its 'narrow skies.' This blend of the material and the metaphysical is a hallmark of her style, grounding theological concepts in sensory experience.

Dialogue as Dramatic Conflict

The poem's structure relies on dialogue between personified forces: Ador (likely a worshipper or angel), Zerah (a seraph), and the Earth. Their exchanges are not merely expository but create dramatic tension. When Zerah questions the worth of humanity—'Was it for such, / It pleased him to overleap / His glory with his love?'—the line breaks and enjambment mimic a faltering, incredulous tone. Ador responds with stark imagery: 'The light is riven / Above, around, / And down in lurid fragments flung.' The fragmented syntax mirrors the shattering of cosmic order. Barrett Browning uses these vocal contrasts to explore the paradox of a suffering deity, with each speaker embodying a different perspective on the event.

Descriptive Patterns: Light and Darkness

Throughout the excerpt, light and darkness function as recurring descriptive motifs. The dying Christ's 'death-look' overcomes the sun, and his 'naked hands and feet' become 'a light / More dreadful than the glooms which round them dwell.' This inversion—where the body emits a terrible radiance—reverses typical associations of light with hope. Elsewhere, 'the darkness stands for all,' and 'the shine and music' are dulled by 'closèd eyes and ears.' Barrett Browning's descriptions often pair opposites: 'forced quietness' with 'earthquake,' 'silent bones' with 'the tramp of the coming Doom.' These juxtapositions create a world in which stillness is violent and silence is loud, reinforcing the poem's theme of a creation in turmoil.

Voice and Structure in the Prefatory Note

The prefatory note, though not by Barrett Browning, provides context for her authorial development. It corrects a memoir's errors with precise details: her birth date (March 6, 1806), birthplace (Coxhoe Hall), and the nature of her relationship with Hugh Stuart Boyd. The note emphasizes that Boyd was not a tutor but a blind scholar whose company she sought 'partly from her own love of Greek, and partly from a desire for the congenial society.' This biographical detail aligns with the poet's own self-reliance, as she was 'self-taught in almost every respect.' The note's careful, corrective tone mirrors the precision Barrett Browning herself brings to her poetic craft, where every word is chosen to convey exact emotional and theological weight.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to the interplay of voices and the density of imagery. Barrett Browning does not offer a simple retelling of biblical narrative but a complex, lyrical exploration of suffering and redemption. The prefatory note, while external, enriches the reading by grounding the poet's intellectual independence. As you read, consider how the poet's diction—whether in the Earth's groans or Zerah's laments—shapes the poem's theological argument.

I remember evenings spent with Barrett Browning’s first volume, her exiles finding footholds in broken light, and how that quiet persistence reminds me of another old friend—Blottentots, and How to Make Them — Text and Context—where even misshapen things are given gentle, careful names. Both speak of making do with what remains.