"Aurora Leigh"

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Aurora Leigh" has the eminent ability to become a favorite poem of any female writer. For that matter, it could easily circulate among the preferences of women who, in general, feel stifled. The first three lines of "Aurora Leigh" begin the headstrong and rightfully self-centered account of the life of a young woman of the Pen:

"Of writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
For others' uses, will write now for mine,--(532)"

Subtley rejecting the common propriety of educated young women, the semi-autobiographical poem sketches an image of a girl at odds with the expectations she must meet within her class. Towards the beginning, a discussion ensues about the untimely death of Aurora Leigh's mother, comparing the tender kiss of a mother to a child to the cold indifference to affection by the Father. Unfortunately, the Father is all Aurura Leigh has left. Already, we have a young girl who questions the nature of her sex--she is depreived of Motherly guidance, forced to allow the tactics of an unknowing Father to influence and bridle her upbringing.

The poem discusses friends that Aurura encounters along her journey to adulthood, one of which she compares to a caged bird. She describes herself as a wild bird, harmed by the restricting security of the metal bars. She calls her cage-bird friend "Very Kind," but seems to acknowledge that kindness and a good natured disposition are not sufficient in providing true contentment.

When Aurora discovers books, a new feeling of excitement and worldliness fills the tone of the poem. Aurora Leigh immerses herself in any and every book she can find. She finds herself reading books about womanhood, and discovering truths about herself that could not really arise through a conversation with her Father:

"I read a score of books on womanhood
To prove, if women do not think at all,
They may teach thinking (to a maiden aunt
Or else the author),-- books that boldly assert
Their right of comprehending husband's talk
When not too deep, and even of answering
With pretty "may it please you," or "so it is,"--(538)"

It seems obvious that the underlying tones of feminine submission were inserted into this poem for sarcastic purposes. The empty responses of "may it please you," or "so it is" seem quite unfulfilling for the womanly temperment of Aurora Leigh, let alone for Elizabeth Barrett Browning. What does she mean, though, when she says, "To prove, if women do not think at all, they may teach thinking?" It sounds like wordplay, however, I cannot quite put my mind around what Browning is trying to say. Does she imply that women are so absent minded that they often are unaware of the fact that they are unqualified, yet they still push forward with instruction? Perhaps it is better to be unaware of our own ignorance--in practice it could prove to be useful. With such a lack of knowledge, we could easily push onward in a discussion with little selfconciousness of our unaquainted selves with the subject. We could discuss politics, economics, philosophy, art, and never wonder if our facts were truly accurate. But is that really better? Such a circumstance would only be ideal if all parties involved participated in this same purity of mind. If not, someone would surely find issues to correct or argue. Amongst the ignorant, there would be no disputing since no one would have the facts to support any such arguement, and opinions would generally be accepted and unified toward the group's full understanding of the subject. Of course, in Aurora Leigh, the batch of ignorance includes only the women. Her bitterness for this aquisition is brutally evident.

Continuing her bad taste for the woman's domestic occupation, she writes:

"The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight,
Producing what?...
...a cushion where you lean
And sleep and dream of something we are not
But would be for your sake (538)."

She writes about the trouble a woman must go through to create an illusion of something they can never really become. How depressing! Browning's view of a domesticated woman is one of misperceived identities, lost in the daily stitchwork of a housewife. Reading this poem reminds me of Mr. Darcy's sarcastic remark to Miss Bingley during a discussion of his prospective matriomonial future:

"Have you any more proposals for my domestic felicity?"