Duecento anni fa nasceva Robert Browning, uno dei più importanti poeti dell’età vittoriana. Come molti inglesi subì quel fascino dell’Italia, mediato dalla letteratura e dall’arte, che lo spinse più volte a viaggiare nella nostra penisola. Nel luglio 1848, in compagnia di sua moglie Elizabeth Barrett, progettò di attraversare l’Appennino diretto a Fano, annunciatagli come una cittadina molto accogliente (“dove pianteremo la nostra tenda, come dice Robert, per il beneficio che ci daranno l’aria di mare e le ostriche” – Elizabeth Barrett to Mrs. Jameson, Firenze, Palazzo Guidi, 15 luglio 1848). Da qui, come scrive Elizabeth, potevano calcare le orme del Castiglione e di Bernardo Tasso verso Pesaro; ma non prima di essere andati alla fiera di Sinigaglia e magari oltre, verso Ancona e Loreto. Il progetto si realizzò. Arrivati a Fano, l’accoglienza fu ben diversa: Robert, indisposto dal clima afoso del luogo ed infastidito dagli intellettuali italiani“che non leggono mai un libro con attenzione”, si gettò nel freddo abbraccio delle chiese, alla ricerca delle più segrete bellezze dell’arte. Nella chiesa di Sant’Agostino rimase letteralmente folgorato dal “divin dipinto” del Guercino, L’Angelo Custode (allora pala d’altare della chiesa, oggi al Museo Civico di Fano).  Ne nacque una delle sue poesie più belle, poi raccolta in Men and Women (1855). Eccone una esecuzione su musica di Barry Brake, seguita dal testo inglese e dalla traduzione italiana di G. Berardi.
 The Guardian Angel – A Picture at Fano
I.
Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave
That child, when thou hast done with him, for me!
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve
Shall find performed thy special ministry,
And time come for departure, thou, suspending
Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending,
Another still, to quiet and retrieve.
II.
Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,
From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,
—And suddenly my head is covered o’er
With those wings, white above the child who prays
Now on that tomb—and I shall feel thee guarding
Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding
Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.
III.
I would not look up thither past thy head
Because the door opes, like that child, I know,
For I should have thy gracious face instead,
Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low
Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together,
And lift them up to pray, and gently tether
Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment’s spread?
IV.
If this was ever granted, I would rest
My bead beneath thine, while thy healing hands
Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,
Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands,
Back to its proper size again, and smoothing
Distortion down till every nerve had soothing,
And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed.
V.
How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!
I think how I should view the earth and skies
And sea, when once again my brow was bared
After thy healing, with such different eyes.
O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:
And knowing this, is love, and love is duty.
What further may be sought for or declared?
VI.
Guercino drew this angel I saw teach
(Alfred, dear friend!)—that little child to pray,
Holding the little hands up, each to each
Pressed gently,—with his own head turned away
Over the earth where so much lay before him
Of work to do, though heaven was opening o’er him,
And he was left at Fano by the beach.
VII.
We were at Fano, and three times we went
To sit and see him in his chapel there,
And drink his beauty to our soul’s content
—My angel with me too: and since I care
For dear Guercino’s fame (to which in power
And glory comes this picture for a dower,
Fraught with a pathos so magnificent)—
VIII.
And since he did not work thus earnestly
At all times, and has else endured some wrong—
I took one thought his picture struck from me,
And spread it out, translating it to song.
My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend?
How rolls the Wairoa at your world’s far end?
This is Ancona, yonder is the sea.
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L’Angelo Custode – Un dipinto a Fano
I.
Grazie Antonio, la poesia è davvero bella.
Forse la parte cantata un po’ troppo retorica…
Anche la moglie Elizabeth ha scritto delle belle poesie. Che coppia!
Me lo immagino questo inglese in visita a Fano… 🙂