Browning's England

 A STUDY OF ENGLISH INFLUENCES IN BROWNING

 BY HELEN ARCHIBALD CLARKE Author of "_Browning's Italy_"

 NEW YORK THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

 MCMVIII

 _Copyright, 1908, by_ The Baker & Taylor Company

 Published, October, 1908

 _The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U. S. A. _

 To MY COLLEAGUE IN PLEASANT LITERARY PATHS AND MANY YEARS FRIEND CHARLOTTE PORTER

 CONTENTS

 CHAPTER I PAGE English Poets, Friends, and Enthusiasms 1

 CHAPTER II

 Shakespeare's Portrait 42

 CHAPTER III

 A Crucial Period in English History 79

 CHAPTER IV

 Social Aspects of English Life 211

 CHAPTER V

 Religious Thought in the Nineteenth Century 322

 CHAPTER VI

 Art Criticism Inspired by the English Musician, Avison 420

 ILLUSTRATIONS

 Browning at 23 _Frontispiece_

 PAGE Percy Bysshe Shelley 4 John Keats 10 William Wordsworth 16 Rydal Mount, the Home of Wordsworth 22 An English Lane 33 First Folio Portrait of Shakespeare 60 Charles I in Scene of Impeachment 80 Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford 88 Charles I 114 Whitehall 120 Westminster Hall 157 The Tower, London 170 The Tower, Traitors' Gate 183 An English Manor House 222 An English Park 240 John Bunyan 274 An English Inn 288 Cardinal Wiseman 336 Sacred Heart 342 The Nativity 351 The Transfiguration 366 Handel 426 Avison's March 446

BROWNING'S ENGLAND

CHAPTER I

ENGLISH POETS, FRIENDS AND ENTHUSIASMS

To any one casually trying to recall what England has given RobertBrowning by way of direct poetical inspiration, it is more than likelythat the little poem about Shelley, "Memorabilia" would at once occur:

 I

 "Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems and new!

 II

 "But you were living before that, And also you are living after; And the memory I started at-- My starting moves your laughter!

 III

 "I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about:

 IV

 "For there I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather! Well, I forget the rest. "

It puts into a mood and a symbol the almost worshipful admiration feltby Browning for the poet in his youth, which he had, many years beforethis little lyric was written, recorded in a finely appreciative passagein "Pauline. "

 "Sun-treader, life and light be thine forever! Thou are gone from us; years go by and spring Gladdens and the young earth is beautiful, Yet thy songs come not, other bards arise, But none like thee: they stand, thy majesties, Like mighty works which tell some spirit there Hath sat regardless of neglect and scorn, Till, its long task completed, it hath risen And left us, never to return, and all Rush in to peer and praise when all in vain. The air seems bright with thy past presence yet, But thou art still for me as thou hast been When I have stood with thee as on a throne With all thy dim creations gathered round Like mountains, and I felt of mould like them, And with them creatures of my own were mixed, Like things, half-lived, catching and giving life. But thou art still for me who have adored Tho' single, panting but to hear thy name Which I believed a spell to me alone, Scarce deeming thou wast as a star to men! As one should worship long a sacred spring Scarce worth a moth's flitting, which long grasses cross, And one small tree embowers droopingly-- Joying to see some wandering insect won To live in its few rushes, or some locust To pasture on its boughs, or some wild bird Stoop for its freshness from the trackless air: And then should find it but the fountain-head, Long lost, of some great river washing towns And towers, and seeing old woods which will live But by its banks untrod of human foot, Which, when the great sun sinks, lie quivering In light as some thing lieth half of life Before God's foot, waiting a wondrous change; Then girt with rocks which seek to turn or stay Its course in vain, for it does ever spread Like a sea's arm as it goes rolling on, Being the pulse of some great country--so Wast thou to me, and art thou to the world! And I, perchance, half feel a strange regret That I am not what I have been to thee: Like a girl one has silently loved long In her first loneliness in some retreat, When, late emerged, all gaze and glow to view Her fresh eyes and soft hair and lips which bloom Like a mountain berry: doubtless it is sweet To see her thus adored, but there have been Moments when all the world was in our praise, Sweeter than any pride of after hours. Yet, sun-treader, all hail! From my heart's heart I bid thee hail! E'en in my wildest dreams, I proudly feel I would have thrown to dust The wreaths of fame which seemed o'erhanging me, To see thee for a moment as thou art. "

Browning was only fourteen when Shelley first came into his literarylife. The story has often been told of how the young Robert, passing abookstall one day spied in a box of second-hand volumes, a shabby littleedition of Shelley advertised "Mr. Shelley's Atheistical Poems: veryscarce. " It seems almost incredible to us now that the name was anabsolutely new one to him, and that only by questioning the booksellerdid he learn that Shelley had written a number of volumes of poetry andthat he was now dead. This accident was sufficient to inspire theincipient poet's curiosity, and he never rested until he was the ownerof Shelley's works. They were hard to get hold of in those early daysbut the persistent searching of his mother finally unearthed them atOlliers' in Vere Street, London. She brought him also three volumes ofKeats, who became a treasure second only to Shelley. 

[Illustration: Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Sun-treader, life and light be thine forever. "]

The question of Shelley's influence on Browning's art has been one oftendiscussed. There are many traces of Shelleyan music and idea in hisearly poems "Pauline, " "Paracelsus, " and "Sordello, " but no marked norlasting impression was made upon Browning's development as a poet byShelley. Upon Browning's personal development Shelley exerted ashort-lived though somewhat intense influence. We see the youngenthusiast professing the atheism of his idol as the liberal views ofShelley were then interpreted, and even becoming a vegetarian. As timewent on the discipleship vanished, and in its place came the recognitionon Browning's part of a poetic spirit akin yet different from his own. The last trace of the disciple appears in "Sordello" when the poetaddresses Shelley among the audience of dead great ones he has musteredto listen to the story of Sordello:

 --"Stay--thou, spirit, come not near Now--not this time desert thy cloudy place To scare me, thus employed, with that pure face! I need not fear this audience, I make free With them, but then this is no place for thee! The thunder-phrase of the Athenian, grown Up out of memories of Marathon, Would echo like his own sword's grinding screech Braying a Persian shield, --the silver speech Of Sidney's self, the starry paladin, Turn intense as a trumpet sounding in The Knights to tilt, --wert thou to hear!"

Shelley appears in the work of Browning once more in the prose essay onShelley which was written to a volume of spurious letters of that poetpublished in 1851. In this is summed up in a masterful paragraphreflecting Browning's unusual penetration into the secret paths of thepoetic mind, the characteristics of a poet of Shelley's order. Theparagraph is as follows:

"We turn with stronger needs to the genius of an opposite tendency--thesubjective poet of modern classification. He, gifted like the objectivepoet, with the fuller perception of nature and man, is impelled toembody the thing he perceives, not so much with reference to the manybelow as to the One above him, the supreme Intelligence which apprehendsall things in their absolute truth, --an ultimate view ever aspired to, if but partially attained, by the poet's own soul. Not what man sees, but what God sees, --the _Ideas_ of Plato, seeds of creation lyingburningly on the Divine Hand, --it is toward these that he struggles. Notwith the combination of humanity in action, but with the primal elementsof humanity, he has to do; and he digs where he stands, --preferring toseek them in his own soul as the nearest reflex of that absolute Mind, according to the intuitions of which he desires to perceive and speak. Such a poet does not deal habitually with the picturesque groupings andtempestuous tossings of the forest-trees, but with their roots andfibers naked to the chalk and stone. He does not paint pictures andhang them on the walls, but rather carries them on the retina of his owneyes: we must look deep into his human eyes, to see those pictures onthem. He is rather a seer, accordingly, than a fashioner, and what heproduces will be less a work than an effluence. That effluence cannot beeasily considered in abstraction from his personality, --being indeed thevery radiance and aroma of his personality, projected from it but notseparated. Therefore, in our approach to the poetry, we necessarilyapproach the personality of the poet; in apprehending it, we apprehendhim, and certainly we cannot love it without loving him. Both for love'sand for understanding's sake we desire to know him, and, as readers ofhis poetry, must be readers of his biography too. "

Finally, the little "Memorabilia" lyric gives a mood of cherished memoryof the Sun-Treader, who beaconed him upon the heights in his youth, andhas now become a molted eagle-feather held close to his heart. 

Keats' lesser but assured place in the poet's affections comes out inthe pugnacious lyric, "Popularity, " one of the old-time bits ofammunition shot from the guns of those who found Browning "obscure. " Thepoem is an "apology" for any unappreciated poet with the true stuff inhim, but the allusion to Keats shows him to have been the fuse thatfired this mild explosion against the dullards who pass by unknowing anduncaring of a genius, though he pluck with one hand thoughts from thestars, and with the other fight off want. 

 POPULARITY

 I

 Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!

 II

 My star, God's glow-worm! Why extend That loving hand of his which leads you, Yet locks you safe from end to end Of this dark world, unless he needs you, Just saves your light to spend?

 III

 His clenched hand shall unclose at last, I know, and let out all the beauty: My poet holds the future fast, Accepts the coming ages' duty, Their present for this past. 

 IV

 That day, the earth's feast-master's brow Shall clear, to God the chalice raising; "Others give best at first, but thou Forever set'st our table praising, Keep'st the good wine till now!"

 V

 Meantime, I'll draw you as you stand, With few or none to watch and wonder: I'll say--a fisher, on the sand By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder, A netful, brought to land. 

 VI

 Who has not heard how Tyrian shells Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes Whereof one drop worked miracles, And colored like Astarte's eyes Raw silk the merchant sells?

 VII

 And each bystander of them all Could criticise, and quote tradition How depths of blue sublimed some pall --To get which, pricked a king's ambition; Worth sceptre, crown and ball. 

 VIII

 Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh, The sea has only just o'er-whispered! Live whelks, each lip's beard dripping fresh As if they still the water's lisp heard Thro' foam the rock-weeds thresh. 

 IX

 Enough to furnish Solomon Such hangings for his cedar-house, That, when gold-robed he took the throne In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone

 X

 Most like the centre-spike of gold Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb, What time, with ardors manifold, The bee goes singing to her groom, Drunken and overbold. 

 XI

 Mere conchs! not fit for warp or woof! Till cunning come to pound and squeeze And clarify, --refine to proof The liquor filtered by degrees, While the world stands aloof. 

 XII

 And there's the extract, flasked and fine, And priced and salable at last! And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combine To paint the future from the past, Put blue into their line. 

 XIII

 Hobbs hints blue, --straight he turtle eats: Nobbs prints blue, --claret crowns his cup: Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats, -- Both gorge. Who fished the murex up? What porridge had John Keats?

[Illustration: John Keats

 "Who fished the murex up? What porridge had John Keats?"]

Wordsworth, it appears, was, so to speak, the inverse inspiration of thestirring lines "The Lost Leader. " Browning's strong sympathies with theLiberal cause are here portrayed with an ardor which is fairlyintoxicating poetically, but one feels it is scarcely just to themild-eyed, exemplary Wordsworth, and perhaps exaggeratedly sure ofShakespeare's attitude on this point. It is only fair to Browning, topoint out how he himself felt later that his artistic mood had here runaway with him, whereupon he made amends honorable in a letter in replyto the question whether he had Wordsworth in mind: "I can only answer, with something of shame and contrition, that I undoubtedly hadWordsworth in my mind--but simply as a model; you know an artist takesone or two striking traits in the features of his 'model, ' and uses themto start his fancy on a flight which may end far enough from the goodman or woman who happens to be sitting for nose and eye. I thought ofthe great Poet's abandonment of liberalism at an unlucky juncture, andno repaying consequence that I could ever see. But, once call myfancy-portrait _Wordsworth_--and how much more ought one to say!"

The defection of Wordsworth from liberal sympathies is one of thecommonplaces of literary history. There was a time when he figured inhis poetry as a patriotic leader of the people, when in clarion tones heexhorted his countrymen to "arm and combine in defense of their commonbirthright. " But this was in the enthusiasm of his youth when he andSouthey and Coleridge were metaphorically waving their red caps for theprinciples of the French Revolution. The unbridled actions of the FrenchRevolutionists, quickly cooled off their ardor, and as Taine cleverlyputs it, "at the end of a few years, the three, brought back into thepale of State and Church, were, Coleridge, a Pittite journalist, Wordsworth, a distributor of stamps, and Southey, poet-laureate; allconverted zealots, decided Anglicans, and intolerant conservatives. " The"handful of silver" for which the patriot in the poem is supposed tohave left the cause included besides the post of "distributor ofstamps, " given to him by Lord Lonsdale in 1813, a pension of threehundred pounds a year in 1842, and the poet-laureateship in 1843. 

The first of these offices was received so long after the cooling ofWordsworth's "Revolution" ardors which the events of 1793 had broughtabout that it can scarcely be said to have influenced his change ofmind. 

It was during Wordsworth's residence in France, from November 1791 toDecember 1792, that his enthusiasm for the French Revolution reachedwhite heat. How the change was wrought in his feelings is shown withmuch penetration and sympathy by Edward Dowden in his "French Revolutionand English Literature. " "When war between France and England wasdeclared Wordsworth's nature underwent the most violent strain it hadever experienced. He loved his native land yet he could wish for nothingbut disaster to her arms. As the days passed he found it more and moredifficult to sustain his faith in the Revolution. First, he abandonedbelief in the leaders but he still trusted to the people, then thepeople seemed to have grown insane with the intoxication of blood. Hewas driven back from his defense of the Revolution, in its historicaldevelopment, to a bare faith in the abstract idea. He clung to theories, the free and joyous movement of his sympathies ceased; opinions stifledthe spontaneous life of the spirit, these opinions were tested andretested by the intellect, till, in the end, exhausted by inwarddebate, he yielded up moral questions in despair . .. By process ofthe understanding alone Wordsworth could attain no vital body oftruth. Rather he felt that things of far more worth than politicalopinions--natural instincts, sympathies, passions, intuitions--werebeing disintegrated or denaturalized. Wordsworth began to suspect theanalytic intellect as a source of moral wisdom. In place of humanitariandreams came a deep interest in the joys and sorrows of individual menand women; through his interest in this he was led back to a study ofthe mind of man and those laws which connect the work of the creativeimagination with the play of the passions. He had begun again to thinknobly of the world and human life. " He was, in fact, a more thoroughDemocrat socially than any but Burns of the band of poets mentioned inBrowning's gallant company, not even excepting Browning himself. 

 THE LOST LEADER

 I

 Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat-- Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags--were they purple, his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, --they watch from their graves! He alone breaks from the van and the freeman, --He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

 II

 We shall march prospering, --not thro' his presence Songs may inspirit us, --not from his lyre; Deeds will be done, --while he boasts his quiescence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire: Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part--the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him--strike gallantly, Menace our hearts ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

Whether an artist is justified in taking the most doubtful feature ofhis model's physiognomy and building up from it a repellent portrait isquestion for debate, especially when he admits its incompleteness. Butwe may balance against this incompleteness, the fine fire of enthusiasmfor the "cause" in the poem, and the fact that Wordsworth has not beenat all harmed by it. The worst that has happened is the raising in ourminds of a question touching Browning's good taste. 

Just here it will be interesting to speak of a bit of purely personalexpression on the subject of Browning's known liberal standpoint, written by him in answer to the question propounded to a number ofEnglish men of letters and printed together with other replies in avolume edited by Andrew Reid in 1885. 

 "Why I am a Liberal. "

 "'Why?' Because all I haply can and do, All that I am now, all I hope to be, -- Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, God traced for both? If fetters, not a few, Of prejudice, convention, fall from me, These shall I bid men--each in his degree Also God-guided--bear, and gayly too?

 "But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved thro' Liberty. Who then dares hold, emancipated thus, His fellow shall continue bound? Not I, Who live, love, labor freely, nor discuss A brother's right to freedom. That is 'Why. '"

[Illustration: William Wordsworth

 "How all our copper had gone for his service. Rags--were they purple, his heart had been proved. "]

Enthusiasm for liberal views comes out again and again in the poetry ofBrowning. 

His fullest treatment of the cause of political liberty is in"Strafford, " to be considered in the third chapter, but many are thehints strewn about his verse that bring home with no uncertain touch thefact that Browning lived man's "lover" and never man's "hater. " Take asan example "The Englishman in Italy, " where the sarcastic turn he givesto the last stanza shows clearly where his sympathies lie:

 --"Such trifles!" you say? Fortł, in my England at home, Men meet gravely to-day And debate, if abolishing Corn-laws Be righteous and wise! --If 't were proper, Scirocco should vanish In black from the skies!

More the ordinary note of patriotism is struck in "Home-thoughts, fromthe Sea, " wherein the scenes of England's victories as they come beforethe poet arouse pride in her military achievements. 

 HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA

 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; "Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?"--say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. 

In two instances Browning celebrates English friends in his poetry. Thepoems are "Waring" and "May and Death. "

Waring, who stands for Alfred Domett, is an interesting figure inColonial history as well as a minor light among poets. But it is highlyprobable that he would not have been put into verse by Browning any morethan many other of the poet's warm friends if it had not been for theincident described in the poem which actually took place, and made astrong enough impression to inspire a creative if not exactly an exaltedmood on Browning's part. The incident is recorded in Thomas Powell's"Living Authors of England, " who writes of Domett, "We have a vividrecollection of the last time we saw him. It was at an evening party afew days before he sailed from England; his intimate friend, Mr. Browning, was also present. It happened that the latter was introducedthat evening for the first time to a young author who had just thenappeared in the literary world [Powell, himself]. This, consequently, prevented the two friends from conversation, and they parted from eachother without the slightest idea on Mr. Browning's part that he wasseeing his old friend Domett for the last time. Some days after when hefound that Domett had sailed, he expressed in strong terms to the writerof this sketch the self-reproach he felt at having preferred theconversation of a stranger to that of his old associate. "

This happened in 1842, when with no good-bys, Domett sailed for NewZealand where he lived for thirty years, and held during that time manyimportant official posts. Upon his return to England, Browning and hemet again, and in his poem "Ranolf and Amohia, " published the yearafter, he wrote the often quoted line so aptly appreciative ofBrowning's genius, --"Subtlest assertor of the soul in song. "

The poem belongs to the _vers de société_ order, albeit the lightness isof a somewhat ponderous variety. It, however, has much interest as acharacter sketch from the life, and is said by those who had theopportunity of knowing to be a capital portrait. 

 WARING

 I

 I

 What's become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip, Chose land-travel or seafaring, Boots and chest or staff and scrip, Rather than pace up and down Any longer London town?

 II

 Who'd have guessed it from his lip Or his brow's accustomed bearing, On the night he thus took ship Or started landward?--little caring For us, it seems, who supped together (Friends of his too, I remember) And walked home thro' the merry weather, The snowiest in all December. I left his arm that night myself For what's-his-name's, the new prose-poet Who wrote the book there, on the shelf-- How, forsooth, was I to know it If Waring meant to glide away Like a ghost at break of day? Never looked he half so gay!

 III

 He was prouder than the devil: How he must have cursed our revel! Ay and many other meetings, Indoor visits, outdoor greetings, As up and down he paced this London, With no work done, but great works undone, Where scarce twenty knew his name. Why not, then, have earlier spoken, Written, bustled? Who's to blame If your silence kept unbroken? "True, but there were sundry jottings, Stray-leaves, fragments, blurs and blottings, Certain first steps were achieved Already which"--(is that your meaning?) "Had well borne out whoe'er believed In more to come!" But who goes gleaning Hedgeside chance-glades, while full-sheaved Stand cornfields by him? Pride, o'erweening Pride alone, puts forth such claims O'er the day's distinguished names. 

 IV

 Meantime, how much I loved him, I find out now I've lost him. I who cared not if I moved him, Who could so carelessly accost him, Henceforth never shall get free Of his ghostly company, His eyes that just a little wink As deep I go into the merit Of this and that distinguished spirit-- His cheeks' raised color, soon to sink, As long I dwell on some stupendous And tremendous (Heaven defend us!) Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrend-ous Demoniaco-seraphic Penman's latest piece of graphic. Nay, my very wrist grows warm With his dragging weight of arm. E'en so, swimmingly appears, Through one's after-supper musings, Some lost lady of old years With her beauteous vain endeavor And goodness unrepaid as ever; The face, accustomed to refusings, We, puppies that we were. .. . Oh never Surely, nice of conscience, scrupled Being aught like false, forsooth, to? Telling aught but honest truth to? What a sin, had we centupled Its possessor's grace and sweetness! No! she heard in its completeness Truth, for truth's a weighty matter, And truth, at issue, we can't flatter! Well, 'tis done with; she's exempt From damning us thro' such a sally; And so she glides, as down a valley, Taking up with her contempt, Past our reach; and in, the flowers Shut her unregarded hours. 

[Illustration: Rydal Mount, the Home of Wordsworth]

 V

 Oh, could I have him back once more, This Waring, but one half-day more! Back, with the quiet face of yore, So hungry for acknowledgment Like mine! I'd fool him to his bent. Feed, should not he, to heart's content? I'd say, "to only have conceived, Planned your great works, apart from progress, Surpasses little works achieved!" I'd lie so, I should be believed. I'd make such havoc of the claims Of the day's distinguished names To feast him with, as feasts an ogress Her feverish sharp-toothed gold-crowned child! Or as one feasts a creature rarely Captured here, unreconciled To capture; and completely gives Its pettish humors license, barely Requiring that it lives. 

 VI

 Ichabod, Ichabod, The glory is departed! Travels Waring East away? Who, of knowledge, by hearsay, Reports a man upstarted Somewhere as a god, Hordes grown European-hearted, Millions of the wild made tame On a sudden at his fame? In Vishnu-land what Avatar? Or who in Moscow, toward the Czar, With the demurest of footfalls Over the Kremlin's pavement bright With serpentine and syenite, Steps, with five other Generals That simultaneously take snuff, For each to have pretext enough And kerchiefwise unfold his sash Which, softness' self, is yet the stuff To hold fast where a steel chain snaps, And leave the grand white neck no gash? Waring in Moscow, to those rough Cold northern natures born perhaps, Like the lambwhite maiden dear From the circle of mute kings Unable to repress the tear, Each as his sceptre down he flings, To Dian's fane at Taurica, Where now a captive priestess, she alway Mingles her tender grave Hellenic speech With theirs, tuned to the hailstone-beaten beach As pours some pigeon, from the myrrhy lands Rapt by the whirlblast to fierce Scythian strands Where breed the swallows, her melodious cry Amid their barbarous twitter! In Russia? Never! Spain were fitter! Ay, most likely 'tis in Spain That we and Waring meet again Now, while he turns down that cool narrow lane Into the blackness, out of grave Madrid All fire and shine, abrupt as when there's slid Its stiff gold blazing pall From some black coffin-lid. Or, best of all, I love to think The leaving us was just a feint; Back here to London did he slink, And now works on without a wink Of sleep, and we are on the brink Of something great in fresco-paint: Some garret's ceiling, walls and floor, Up and down and o'er and o'er He splashes, as none splashed before Since great Caldara Polidore. Or Music means this land of ours Some favor yet, to pity won By Purcell from his Rosy Bowers, -- "Give me my so-long promised son, Let Waring end what I begun!" Then down he creeps and out he steals Only when the night conceals His face; in Kent 'tis cherry-time, Or hops are picking: or at prime Of March he wanders as, too happy, Years ago when he was young, Some mild eve when woods grew sappy And the early moths had sprung To life from many a trembling sheath Woven the warm boughs beneath; While small birds said to themselves What should soon be actual song, And young gnats, by tens and twelves, Made as if they were the throng That crowd around and carry aloft The sound they have nursed, so sweet and pure, Out of a myriad noises soft, Into a tone that can endure Amid the noise of a July noon When all God's creatures crave their boon, All at once and all in tune, And get it, happy as Waring then, Having first within his ken What a man might do with men: And far too glad, in the even-glow, To mix with the world he meant to take Into his hand, he told you, so-- And out of it his world to make, To contract and to expand As he shut or oped his hand. Oh Waring, what's to really be? A clear stage and a crowd to see! Some Garrick, say, out shall not he The heart of Hamlet's mystery pluck? Or, where most unclean beasts are rife, Some Junius--am I right?--shall tuck His sleeve, and forth with flaying-knife! Some Chatterton shall have the luck Of calling Rowley into life! Some one shall somehow run a muck With this old world for want of strife Sound asleep. Contrive, contrive To rouse us, Waring! Who's alive? Our men scarce seem in earnest now. Distinguished names!--but 'tis, somehow, As if they played at being names Still more distinguished, like the games Of children. Turn our sport to earnest With a visage of the sternest! Bring the real times back, confessed Still better than our very best!

 II

 I

 "When I last saw Waring. .. . " (How all turned to him who spoke! You saw Waring? Truth or joke? In land-travel or sea-faring?)

 II

 "We were sailing by Triest Where a day or two we harbored: A sunset was in the West, When, looking over the vessel's side, One of our company espied A sudden speck to larboard. And as a sea-duck flies and swims At once, so came the light craft up, With its sole lateen sail that trims And turns (the water round its rims Dancing, as round a sinking cup) And by us like a fish it curled, And drew itself up close beside, Its great sail on the instant furled, And o'er its thwarts a shrill voice cried, (A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's) 'Buy wine of us, you English Brig? Or fruit, tobacco and cigars? A pilot for you to Triest? Without one, look you ne'er so big, They'll never let you up the bay! We natives should know best. ' I turned, and 'just those fellows' way, ' Our captain said, 'The 'long-shore thieves Are laughing at us in their sleeves. '

 III

 "In truth, the boy leaned laughing back; And one, half-hidden by his side Under the furled sail, soon I spied, With great grass hat and kerchief black, Who looked up with his kingly throat, Said somewhat, while the other shook His hair back from his eyes to look Their longest at us; then the boat, I know not how, turned sharply round, Laying her whole side on the sea As a leaping fish does; from the lee Into the weather, cut somehow Her sparkling path beneath our bow, And so went off, as with a bound, Into the rosy and golden half O' the sky, to overtake the sun And reach the shore, like the sea-calf Its singing cave; yet I caught one Glance ere away the boat quite passed, And neither time nor toil could mar Those features: so I saw the last Of Waring!"--You? Oh, never star Was lost here but it rose afar! Look East, where whole new thousands are! In Vishnu-land what Avatar?

"May and Death" is perhaps more interesting for the glimpse it gives ofBrowning's appreciation of English Nature than for its expression ofgrief for the death of a friend. 

 MAY AND DEATH

 I

 I wish that when you died last May, Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring's delightful things; Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too. 

 II

 A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps! There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm Moon-births and the long evening-ends. 

 III

 So, for their sake, be May still May! Let their new time, as mine of old, Do all it did for me: I bid Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold. 

 IV

 Only, one little sight, one plant, Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak, Is spring's blood, spilt its leaves between, --

 V

 That, they might spare; a certain wood Might miss the plant; their loss were small: But I, --whene'er the leaf grows there, Its drop comes from my heart, that's all. 

The poet's one truly enthusiastic outburst in connection with EnglishNature he sings out in his longing for an English spring in theincomparable little lyric "Home-thoughts, from Abroad. "

 HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD

 I

 Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now!

 II

 And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

After this it seems hardly possible that Browning, himself speaks in "DeGustibus, " yet long and happy living away from England doubtless dimmedhis sense of the beauty of English landscape. "De Gustibus" waspublished ten years later than "Home-Thoughts from Abroad, " when Italyand he had indeed become "lovers old. " A deeper reason than mere delightin its scenery is also reflected in the poem; the sympathy shared withMrs. Browning, for the cause of Italian independence. 

 "DE GUSTIBUS----"

 I

 Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If our loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. Hark, those two in the hazel coppice-- A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, Making love, say, -- The happier they! Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flower's boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!

 II

 What I love best in all the world Is a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. Or look for me, old fellow of mine, (If I get my head from out the mouth O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands, And come again to the land of lands)-- In a sea-side house to the farther South, Where the baked cicala dies of drouth, And one sharp tree--'tis a cypress--stands, By the many hundred years red-rusted, Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted, My sentinel to guard the sands To the water's edge. For, what expands Before the house, but the great opaque Blue breadth of sea without a break? While, in the house, for ever crumbles Some fragment of the frescoed walls, From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. A girl bare-footed brings, and tumbles Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons, And says there's news to-day--the king Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling: --She hopes they have not caught the felons. Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me-- (When fortune's malice Lost her--Calais)-- Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, "Italy. " Such lovers old are I and she: So it always was, so shall ever be!

Two or three English artists called forth appreciation in verse fromBrowning. There is the exquisite bit called "Deaf and Dumb, " after agroup of statuary by Woolner, of Constance and Arthur--the deaf and dumbchildren of Sir Thomas Fairbairn. 

 DEAF AND DUMB

 A GROUP BY WOOLNER. 

 Only the prism's obstruction shows aright The secret of a sunbeam, breaks its light Into the jewelled bow from blankest white; So may a glory from defect arise: Only by Deafness may the vexed Love wreak Its insuppressive sense on brow and cheek, Only by Dumbness adequately speak As favored mouth could never, through the eyes. 

[Illustration: An English Lane]

There is also the beautiful description in "Balaustion's Adventure" ofthe Alkestis by Sir Frederick Leighton. 

The flagrant anachronism of making a Greek girl at the time of the Fallof Athens describe an English picture cannot but be forgiven, since theartistic effect gained is so fine. The poet quite convinces the readerthat Sir Frederick Leighton ought to have been a Kaunian painter, if hewas not, and that Balaustion or no one was qualified to appreciate hispicture at its full worth. 

 "I know, too, a great Kaunian painter, strong As Herakles, though rosy with a robe Of grace that softens down the sinewy strength: And he has made a picture of it all. There lies Alkestis dead, beneath the sun, She longed to look her last upon, beside The sea, which somehow tempts the life in us To come trip over its white waste of waves, And try escape from earth, and fleet as free. Behind the body, I suppose there bends Old Pheres in his hoary impotence; And women-wailers, in a corner crouch --Four, beautiful as you four--yes, indeed!-- Close, each to other, agonizing all, As fastened, in fear's rhythmic sympathy, To two contending opposite. There strains The might o' the hero 'gainst his more than match, --Death, dreadful not in thew and bone, but like The envenomed substance that exudes some dew Whereby the merely honest flesh and blood Will fester up and run to ruin straight, Ere they can close with, clasp and overcome The poisonous impalpability That simulates a form beneath the flow Of those grey garments; I pronounce that piece Worthy to set up in our Poikilé!

 "And all came, --glory of the golden verse, And passion of the picture, and that fine Frank outgush of the human gratitude Which saved our ship and me, in Syracuse, -- Ay, and the tear or two which slipt perhaps Away from you, friends, while I told my tale, --It all came of this play that gained no prize! Why crown whom Zeus has crowned in soul before?"

Once before had Sir Frederick Leighton inspired the poet in theexquisite lines on Eurydice. 

 EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS

 A PICTURE BY LEIGHTON

 But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow! Let them once more absorb me! One look now Will lap me round for ever, not to pass Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond: Hold me but safe again within the bond Of one immortal look! All woe that was, Forgotten, and all terror that may be, Defied, --no past is mine, no future: look at me!

Beautiful as these lines are, they do not impress me as fullyinterpreting Leighton's picture. The expression of Eurydice is ratherone of unthinking confiding affection--as if she were really unconsciousor ignorant of the danger; while that of Orpheus is one of passionateagony as he tries to hold her off. 

Though English art could not fascinate the poet as Italian art did, forthe fully sufficient reason that it does not stand for a great epoch ofintellectual awakening, yet with what fair alchemy he has touched thosefew artists he has chosen to honor. Notwithstanding his avowed devotionto Italy, expressed in "De Gustibus, " one cannot help feeling that inthe poems mentioned in this chapter, there is that ecstasy of sympathywhich goes only to the most potent influences in the formation ofcharacter. Something of what I mean is expressed in one of his latestpoems, "Development. " In this we certainly get a real peep at youngRobert Browning, led by his wise father into the delights of Homer, byslow degrees, where all is truth at first, to end up with thedevastating criticism of Wolf. In spite of it all the dream stays and isthe reality. Nothing can obliterate the magic of a strong earlyenthusiasm, as "fact still held" "Spite of new Knowledge, " in his "heartof hearts. "

 DEVELOPMENT

 My Father was a scholar and knew Greek. When I was five years old, I asked him once "What do you read about?" "The siege of Troy. " "What is a siege and what is Troy?" Whereat He piled up chairs and tables for a town, Set me a-top for Priam, called our cat --Helen, enticed away from home (he said) By wicked Paris, who couched somewhere close Under the footstool, being cowardly, But whom--since she was worth the pains, poor puss-- Towzer and Tray, --our dogs, the Atreidai, --sought By taking Troy to get possession of --Always when great Achilles ceased to sulk, (My pony in the stable)--forth would prance And put to flight Hector--our page-boy's self. This taught me who was who and what was what: So far I rightly understood the case At five years old: a huge delight it proved And still proves--thanks to that instructor sage My Father, who knew better than turn straight Learning's full flare on weak-eyed ignorance, Or, worse yet, leave weak eyes to grow sand-blind, Content with darkness and vacuity. 

 It happened, two or three years afterward, That--I and playmates playing at Troy's Siege-- My Father came upon our make-believe. "How would you like to read yourself the tale Properly told, of which I gave you first Merely such notion as a boy could bear? Pope, now, would give you the precise account Of what, some day, by dint of scholarship, You'll hear--who knows?--from Homer's very mouth. Learn Greek by all means, read the 'Blind Old Man, Sweetest of Singers'--_tuphlos_ which means 'blind, ' _Hedistos_ which means 'sweetest. ' Time enough! Try, anyhow, to master him some day; Until when, take what serves for substitute, Read Pope, by all means!" So I ran through Pope, Enjoyed the tale--what history so true? Also attacked my Primer, duly drudged, Grew fitter thus for what was promised next-- The very thing itself, the actual words, When I could turn--say, Buttmann to account. 

 Time passed, I ripened somewhat: one fine day, "Quite ready for the Iliad, nothing less? There's Heine, where the big books block the shelf: Don't skip a word, thumb well the Lexicon!"

 I thumbed well and skipped nowise till I learned Who was who, what was what, from Homer's tongue, And there an end of learning. Had you asked The all-accomplished scholar, twelve years old, "Who was it wrote the Iliad?"--what a laugh! "Why, Homer, all the world knows: of his life Doubtless some facts exist: it's everywhere: We have not settled, though, his place of birth: He begged, for certain, and was blind beside: Seven cites claimed him--Scio, with best right, Thinks Byron. What he wrote? Those Hymns we have. Then there's the 'Battle of the Frogs and Mice, ' That's all--unless they dig 'Margites' up (I'd like that) nothing more remains to know. "

 Thus did youth spend a comfortable time; Until--"What's this the Germans say is fact That Wolf found out first? It's unpleasant work Their chop and change, unsettling one's belief: All the same, while we live, we learn, that's sure. " So, I bent brow o'er _Prolegomena_. And, after Wolf, a dozen of his like Proved there was never any Troy at all, Neither Besiegers nor Besieged, --nay, worse, -- No actual Homer, no authentic text, No warrant for the fiction I, as fact, Had treasured in my heart and soul so long-- Ay, mark you! and as fact held still, still hold, Spite of new knowledge, in my heart of hearts And soul of souls, fact's essence freed and fixed From accidental fancy's guardian sheath. Assuredly thenceforward--thank my stars!-- However it got there, deprive who could-- Wring from the shrine my precious tenantry, Helen, Ulysses, Hector and his Spouse, Achilles and his Friend?--though Wolf--ah, Wolf! Why must he needs come doubting, spoil a dream?

 But then "No dream's worth waking"--Browning says: And here's the reason why I tell thus much I, now mature man, you anticipate, May blame my Father justifiably For letting me dream out my nonage thus, And only by such slow and sure degrees Permitting me to sift the grain from chaff, Get truth and falsehood known and named as such. Why did he ever let me dream at all, Not bid me taste the story in its strength? Suppose my childhood was scarce qualified To rightly understand mythology, Silence at least was in his power to keep: I might have--somehow--correspondingly-- Well, who knows by what method, gained my gains, Been taught, by forthrights not meanderings, My aim should be to loathe, like Peleus's son, A lie as Hell's Gate, love my wedded wife, Like Hector, and so on with all the rest. Could not I have excogitated this Without believing such men really were? That is--he might have put into my hand The "Ethics"? In translation, if you please, Exact, no pretty lying that improves, To suit the modern taste: no more, no less-- The "Ethics": 'tis a treatise I find hard To read aright now that my hair is grey, And I can manage the original. At five years old--how ill had fared its leaves! Now, growing double o'er the Stagirite, At least I soil no page with bread and milk, Nor crumple, dogsear and deface--boys' way. 

This chapter would not be complete without Browning's tribute to dogTray, whose traits may not be peculiar to English dogs but whose nameis proverbially English. Besides it touches a subject upon which thepoet had strong feelings. Vivisection he abhorred, and in thecontroversies which were tearing the scientific and philanthropic worldasunder in the last years of his life, no one was a more determinedopponent of vivisection than he. 

 TRAY

 Sing me a hero! Quench my thirst Of soul, ye bards! Quoth Bard the first: "Sir Olaf, the good knight, did don His helm and eke his habergeon. .. . " Sir Olaf and his bard----!

 "That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second), "That eye wide ope as though Fate beckoned My hero to some steep, beneath Which precipice smiled tempting death. .. . " You too without your host have reckoned!

 "A beggar-child" (let's hear this third!) "Sat on a quay's edge: like a bird Sang to herself at careless play, 'And fell into the stream. Dismay! Help, you the standers-by!' None stirred. 

 "Bystanders reason, think of wives And children ere they risk their lives. Over the balustrade has bounced A mere instinctive dog, and pounced Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives!

 "'Up he comes with the child, see, tight In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite A depth of ten feet--twelve, I bet! Good dog! What, off again? There's yet Another child to save? All right!

 "'How strange we saw no other fall! It's instinct in the animal. Good dog! But he's a long while under: If he got drowned I should not wonder-- Strong current, that against the wall!

 "'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time --What may the thing be? Well, that's prime! Now, did you ever? Reason reigns In man alone, since all Tray's pains Have fished--the child's doll from the slime!'

 "And so, amid the laughter gay, Trotted my hero off, --old Tray, -- Till somebody, prerogatived With reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived, His brain would show us, I should say. 

 "'John, go and catch--or, if needs be, Purchase--that animal for me! By vivisection, at expense Of half-an-hour and eighteenpence, How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!'"

CHAPTER II

SHAKESPEARE'S PORTRAIT

Once and once only did Browning depart from his custom of choosingpeople of minor note to figure in his dramatic monologues. In "At the'Mermaid'" he ventures upon the consecrated ground of a heart-to-hearttalk between Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and the wits who gathered at theclassic "Mermaid" Tavern in Cheapside, following this up with furtherglimpses into the inner recesses of Shakespeare's mind in the monologues"House" and "Shop. " It is a particularly daring feat in the case ofShakespeare, for as all the world knows any attempt at getting in touchwith the real man, Shakespeare, must, per force, be woven out of such"stuff as dreams are made on. "

In interpreting this portraiture of one great poet by another it will beof interest to glance at the actual facts as far as they are known inregard to the relations which existed between Shakespeare and Jonson. Praise and blame both are recorded on Jonson's part when writing ofShakespeare, yet the praise shows such undisguised admiration that theblame sinks into insignificance. Jonson's "learned socks" to whichMilton refers probably tripped the critic up occasionally by reason oftheir weight. 

There is a charming story told of the friendship between the two menrecorded by Sir Nicholas L'Estrange, within a very few years ofShakespeare's death, who attributed it to Dr. Donne. The story goes that"Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and afterthe christening, being in a deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up andasked him why he was so melancholy. 'No, faith, Ben, ' says he, 'not I, but I have been considering a great while what should be the fittestgift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved at last. ' 'Iprythee what?' says he. 'I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a dozen goodLattin spoons, and thou shalt translate them. '" If this must be takenwith a grain of salt, there is another even more to the honor ofShakespeare reported by Rowe and considered credible by suchShakespearian scholars as Halliwell Phillipps and Sidney Lee. "Hisacquaintance with Ben Jonson" writes Rowe, "began with a remarkablepiece of humanity and good nature; Mr. Jonson, who was at that timealtogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to theplayers in order to have it acted, and the persons into whose hands itwas put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, werejust upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer that it wouldbe of no service to their company, when Shakespeare luckily cast his eyeupon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first toread it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writingsto the public. " The play in question was the famous comedy of "Every Manin His Humour, " which was brought out in September, 1598, by the LordChamberlain's company, Shakespeare himself being one of the leadingactors upon the occasion. 

Authentic history records a theater war in which Jonson and Shakespearefigured, on opposite sides, but if allusions in Jonson's play the"Poetaster" have been properly interpreted, their friendly relationswere not deeply disturbed. The trouble began in the first place by theLondon of 1600 suddenly rushing into a fad for the company of boyplayers, recruited chiefly from the choristers of the Chapel Royal, andknown as the "Children of the Chapel. " They had been acting at the newtheater in Blackfriars since 1597, and their vogue became so great asactually to threaten Shakespeare's company and other companies of adultactors. Just at this time Ben Jonson was having a personal quarrel withhis fellow dramatists, Marston and Dekker, and as he received littlesympathy from the actors, he took his revenge by joining his forces withthose of the Children of the Chapel. They brought out for him in 1600his satire of "Cynthia's Revels, " in which he held up to ridiculeMarston, Dekker and their friends the actors. Marston and Dekker, withthe actors of Shakespeare's company, prepared to retaliate, but Jonsonhearing of it forestalled them with his play the "Poetaster" in which hespared neither dramatists nor actors. Shakespeare's company continuedthe fray by bringing out at the Globe Theatre, in the following year, Dekker and Marston's "Satiro-Mastix, or The Untrussing of the HumorousPoet, " and as Ward remarks, "the quarrel had now become too hot tolast. " The excitement, however, continued for sometime, theater-goerstook sides and watched with interest "the actors and dramatists'boisterous war of personalities, " to quote Mr. Lee, who goes on topoint out that on May 10, 1601, the Privy Council called the attentionof the Middlesex magistrates to the abuse covertly leveled by the actorsof the "Curtain" at gentlemen "of good desert and quality, " and directedthe magistrates to examine all plays before they were produced. 

Jonson, himself, finally made apologies in verses appended to printedcopies of the "Poetaster. "

 "Now for the players 'tis true I tax'd them And yet but some, and those so sparingly As all the rest might have sat still unquestioned, Had they but had the wit or conscience To think well of themselves. But impotent they Thought each man's vice belonged to their whole tribe; And much good do it them. What they have done against me I am not moved with, if it gave them meat Or got them clothes, 'tis well: that was their end, Only amongst them I was sorry for Some better natures by the rest so drawn To run in that vile line. "

Sidney Lee cleverly deduces Shakespeare's attitude in the quarrel inallusions to it in "Hamlet, " wherein he "protested against the abusivecomments on the men-actors of 'the common' stages or public theaterswhich were put into the children's mouths. Rosencrantz declared that thechildren 'so berattle [_i. E. _ assail] the common stages--so they callthem--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and darescarce come thither [_i. E. _ to the public theaters]. ' Hamlet in pursuitof the theme pointed out that the writers who encouraged the vogue ofthe 'child actors' did them a poor service, because when the boys shouldreach men's estate they would run the risk, if they continued on thestage, of the same insults and neglect which now threatened theirseniors. 

"'_Hamlet. _ What are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are theyescorted [_i. E. _ paid]? Will they pursue the quality [_i. E. _ the actor'sprofession] no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players--as it is most like, iftheir means are no better--their writers do them wrong to make themexclaim against their own succession?

"'_Rosencrantz. _ Faith, there has been much to do on both sides, and thenation holds it no sin to tarre [_i. E. _ incite] them to controversy;there was for a while no money bid for argument, unless the poet and theplayer went to cuffs in the question. '"

This certainly does not reflect a very belligerent attitude since itmerely puts in a word for the grown-up actors rather than casting anyslurs upon the children. Further indications of Shakespeare's mildnessin regard to the whole matter are given in the Prologue to "Troylus andCressida, " where, as Mr. Lee says, he made specific reference to thestrife between Ben Jonson and the players in the lines

 "And hither am I come A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence, Of Authors' pen, or Actors' voyce. "

The most interesting bit of evidence to show that Shakespeare and Jonsonremained friends, even in the heat of the conflict, may be gained fromthe "Poetaster" itself if we admit that the Virgil of the play, who ischosen peacemaker stands for Shakespeare; and who so fit to bepeacemaker as Shakespeare for his amiable qualities seem to haveimpressed themselves upon all who knew him. 

Following Mr. Lee's lead, "Jonson figures personally in the 'Poetaster'under the name of Horace. Episodically Horace and his friends, Tibullusand Gallus, eulogize the work and genius of another character, Virgil, in terms so closely resembling those which Jonson is known to haveapplied to Shakespeare that they may be regarded as intended to apply tohim (Act V, Scene I). Jonson points out that Virgil, by his penetratingintuition, achieved the great effects which others laboriously sought toreach through rules of art. 

 'His learning labors not the school-like gloss That most consists of echoing words and terms . .. Nor any long or far-fetched circumstance-- Wrapt in the curious generalities of arts-- But a direct and analytic sum Of all the worth and first effects of art. And for his poesy, 'tis so rammed with life That it shall gather strength of life with being, And live hereafter, more admired than now. '

Tibullus gives Virgil equal credit for having in his writings touchedwith telling truth upon every vicissitude of human existence:

 'That which he hath writ Is with such judgment labored and distilled Through all the needful uses of our lives That, could a man remember but his lines, He should not touch at any serious point But he might breathe his spirit out of him. '

"Finally, Virgil in the play is nominated by Cęsar to act as judgebetween Horace and his libellers, and he advises the administration ofpurging pills to the offenders. "

This neat little chain of evidence would have no weak link, if it werenot for a passage in the play, "The Return from Parnassus, " acted bythe students in St. John's College the same year, 1601. In this there isa dialogue between Shakespeare's fellow-actors, Burbage and Kempe. Speaking of the University dramatists, Kempe says:

"Why here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them all down; aye, and BenJonson, too. O! that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow. He brought upHorace, giving the poets a pill; but our fellow Shakespeare hath givenhim a purge that made him bewray his credit. " Burbage continues, "He isa shrewd fellow indeed. " This has, of course, been taken to mean thatShakespeare was actively against Jonson in the Dramatists' and Actors'war. But as everything else points, as we have seen, to the contrary, one accepts gladly the loophole of escape offered by Mr. Lee. "The wordsquoted from 'The Return from Parnassus' hardly admit of a literalinterpretation. Probably the 'purge' that Shakespeare was alleged by theauthor of 'The Return from Parnassus' to have given Jonson meant no morethan that Shakespeare had signally outstripped Jonson in popularesteem. " That this was an actual fact is proved by the lines of LeonardDigges, an admiring contemporary of Shakespeare's, printed in the 1640edition of Shakespeare's poems, comparing "Julius Cęsar" and Jonson'splay "Cataline:"

 "So have I seen when Cęsar would appear, And on the stage at half-sword parley were Brutus and Cassius--oh, how the audience Were ravish'd, with what wonder they went thence; When some new day they would not brook a line Of tedious, though well-labored, Cataline. "

This reminds one of the famous witticism attributed to Eudymion Porterthat "Shakespeare was sent from Heaven and Ben from College. "

If Jonson's criticisms of Shakespeare's work were sometime not whollyappreciative, the fact may be set down to the distinction between thetwo here so humorously indicated. "A Winter's Tale" and the "Tempest"both called forth some sarcasms from Jonson, the first for its errorabout the Coast of Bohemia which Shakespeare borrowed from Greene. Jonson wrote in the Induction to "Bartholemew Fair;" "If there be nevera servant-monster in the Fair, who can help it he says? Nor a nest ofAntics. He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays like those thatbeget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries. " The allusions hereare very evidently to Caliban and the satyrs who figure in thesheep-shearing feast in "A Winter's Tale. " The worst blast of all, however, occurs in Jonson's "Timber, " but the blows are evidently givenwith a loving hand. He writes "I remember, the players have oftenmentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare that, in his writing, whatsoeverhe penn'd, hee never blotted out line. My answer hath beene, would hehad blotted a thousand;--which they thought a malevolent speech. I hadnot told posterity this, but for their ignorance who choose thatcircumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and tojustifie mine owne candor, --for I lov'd the man, and doe honor hismemory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. Hee was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free nature; had an excellent phantasie; bravenotions and gentle expressions; wherein hee flow'd with that facilitythat sometime it was necessary he should be stop'd;--_sufflaminanduserat_, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his ownepower;--would the rule of it had beene so too! Many times he fell intothose things, could not escape laughter; as when he said in the personof Cęsar, one speaking to him, --Cęsar thou dost me wrong; heereplyed, --Cęsar did never wrong but with just cause; and such like;which were ridiculous. But hee redeemed his vices with his virtues. There was ever more in him to be praysed then to be pardoned. "

And even this criticism is altogether controverted by the whollyeulogistic lines Jonson wrote for the First Folio edition of Shakespeareprinted in 1623, "To the memory of my beloved, The Author Mr. WilliamShakespeare and what he hath left us. "[1]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Tempest volume in First Folio Shakespeare. (Crowell & Co. )

For the same edition he also wrote the following lines for the portraitreproduced in this volume, which it is safe to regard as the ShakespeareBen Jonson remembered:

 "TO THE READER

 This Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face; the Print would then surpasse All, that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 

 B. J. "

Shakespeare's talk in "At the 'Mermaid'" grows out of the supposition, not touched upon until the very last line that Ben Jonson had beencalling him "Next Poet, " a supposition quite justifiable in the light ofBen's praises of him. The poem also reflects the love and admiration inwhich Shakespeare the man was held by all who have left any record oftheir impressions of him. As for the portraiture of the poet's attitudeof mind, it is deduced indirectly from his work. That he did not desireto become "Next Poet" may be argued from the fact that after his firstoutburst of poem and sonnet writing in the manner of the poets of theage, he gave up the career of gentleman-poet to devote himself wholly tothe more independent if not so socially distinguished one ofactor-playwright. "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" were the only poemsof his published under his supervision and the only works with thededication to a patron such as it was customary to write at that time. 

I have before me as I write the recent Clarendon Press fac-similes of"Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece, " published respectively in 1593 and1594, --beautiful little quartos with exquisitely artistic designs in thetitle-pages, headpieces and initials; altogether worthy of a poet whomight have designs upon Fame. The dedication to the first reads:--

 "TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE Henry Wriothesley, Earle of Southampton and Baron of Litchfield

 _Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolisht lines to your Lordship, nor how the worlde will censure mee for choosing so strong a proppe to support so weake a burthen, onelye if your Honour seeme but pleased, I account my selfe highly praised, and vowe to take advantage of all idle houres, till I have honoured you with some great labour. But if the first heire of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorie it had so noble a god-father: and never after eare so barren a land, for feare it yield me still so bad a harvest, I leave it to your Honourable Survey, and your Honor to your hearts content, which I wish may alwaies answere your owne wish, and the worlds hopeful expectation. _

 Your Honors in all dutie WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. "

The second reads:--

 "TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, HENRY Wriothesley, Earle of Southampton and Baron of Litchfield

 The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end: wherof this Pamphlet without beginning is a superfluous Moiety. The warrant I have of your Honourable disposition, nor the worth of my untutored Lines makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to doe is yours, being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duety would shew greater, meane time, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship; To whom I wish long life still lengthened with all happinesse. 

 Your Lordships in all duety. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. "

No more after this does Shakespeare appear in the light of a poet with apatron. Even the sonnets, some of which evidently celebrate Southampton, were issued by a piratical publisher without Shakespeare's consent, while his plays found their way into print at the hands of other pirateswho cribbed them from stage copies. 

Such hints as these have been worked up by Browning into a consistentcharacterization of a man who regards himself as having foregone hischances of laureateship or "Next Poet" by devoting himself to a form ofliterary art which would not appeal to the powers that be as fitting himfor any such position. Such honors he claims do not go to the dramaticpoet, who has never allowed the world to slip inside his breast, but hassimply portrayed the joy and the sorrow of life as he saw it around him, and with an art which turns even sorrow into beauty. --"Do I stoop? Ipluck a posy, do I stand and stare? all's blue;"--but to the subjective, introspective poet, out of tune with himself and with the universe. Theallusions Shakespeare makes to the last "King" are not very definite, but, on the whole, they fit Edmund Spenser, whose poems from first tolast are dedicated to people of distinction in court circles. His work, moreover, is full of wailing and woe in various keys, and also full ofself-revelation. He allowed the world to slip inside his breast uponalmost every occasion, and perhaps he may be said to have bought "hislaurel, " for it was no doubt extremely gratifying to Queen Elizabeth tosee herself in the guise of the Faerie Queene, and even his dedicationof the "Faerie Queene" to her, used as she was to flattery, must havebeen as music in her ears. "To the most high, mightie, and magnificentEmpresse, renouned for piety, vertue, and all gratious government, Elizabeth, by the Grace of God, Queene of England, Frahnce, and Irelandand of Virginia. Defender of the Faith, &c. Her most humble servantEdmund Spenser doth in all humilitie, Dedicate, present, and consecrateThese his labours, To live with the eternity of her Fame. " The next yearSpenser received a pension from the crown of fifty pounds per annum. 

It is a careful touch on Browning's part to use the phrase "Next Poet, "for the "laureateship" at that time was not a recognized officialposition. The term, "laureate, " seems to have been used to designatepoets who had attained fame and Royal favor, since Nash speaks ofSpenser in his "Supplication of Piers Pennilesse" the same year the"Faerie Queene" was published as next laureate. 

The first really officially appointed Poet Laureate was Ben Jonson, himself, who in either 1616 or 1619 received the post from James I. , later ratified by Charles I. , who increased the annuity to one hundredpounds a year and a butt of wine from the King's cellars. 

Probably the allusion "Your Pilgrim" in the twelfth stanza of "At theMermaid" is to "The Return from Parnassus" in which the pilgrims toParnassus who figure in an earlier play "The Pilgrimage to Parnassus"discover the world to be about as dismal a place as it is described inthis stanza. 

At first sight it might seem that the position taken by Shakespeare inthe poem is almost too modest, yet upon second thoughts it will beremembered that though Shakespeare had a tremendous following among thepeople, attested by the frequency with which his plays were acted; thatthough there are instances of his being highly appreciated bycontemporaries of importance; that though his plays were given beforethe Queen, he did not have the universal acceptance among learned andcourt circles which was accorded to Spenser. 

It is quite fitting that the scene should be set in the "Mermaid. " Norecord exists to show that Shakespeare was ever there, it is true, butthe "Mermaid" was a favorite haunt of Ben Jonson and his circle of wits, whose meetings there were immortalized by Beaumont in his poeticalletter to Jonson:--

 "What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid? heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life. "

Add to this what Fuller wrote in his "Worthies, " 1662, "Many were thewit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like aSpanish great galleon and an English man-of-war; Master Jonson (like theformer) was built far higher in learning, solid but slow in hisperformances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and takeadvantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention, " andthere is sufficient poetic warrant for the "Mermaid" setting. 

[Illustration: First Folio Portrait of Shakespeare

 "Do I stoop? I pluck a posy. Do I stand and stare? All's blue. "]

The final touch is given in the hint that all the time Shakespeare isaware of his own greatness, perhaps to be recognized by a future age. 

Let Browning, himself, now show what he has done with the material. 

 AT THE "MERMAID"

 The figure that thou here seest. .. . Tut! Was it for gentle Shakespeare put?

 B. JONSON. (_Adapted. _)

 I

 I--"Next Poet?" No, my hearties, I nor am nor fain would be! Choose your chiefs and pick your parties, Not one soul revolt to me! I, forsooth, sow song-sedition? I, a schism in verse provoke? I, blown up by bard's ambition, Burst--your bubble-king? You joke. 

 II

 Come, be grave! The sherris mantling Still about each mouth, mayhap, Breeds you insight--just a scantling-- Brings me truth out--just a scrap. Look and tell me! Written, spoken, Here's my life-long work: and where --Where's your warrant or my token I'm the dead king's son and heir?

 III

 Here's my work: does work discover-- What was rest from work--my life? Did I live man's hater, lover? Leave the world at peace, at strife? Call earth ugliness or beauty? See things there in large or small? Use to pay its Lord my duty? Use to own a lord at all?

 IV

 Blank of such a record, truly Here's the work I hand, this scroll, Yours to take or leave; as duly, Mine remains the unproffered soul. So much, no whit more, my debtors-- How should one like me lay claim To that largess elders, betters Sell you cheap their souls for--fame?

 V

 Which of you did I enable Once to slip inside my breast, There to catalogue and label What I like least, what love best, Hope and fear, believe and doubt of, Seek and shun, respect--deride? Who has right to make a rout of Rarities he found inside?

 VI

 Rarities or, as he'd rather, Rubbish such as stocks his own: Need and greed (O strange) the Father Fashioned not for him alone! Whence--the comfort set a-strutting, Whence--the outcry "Haste, behold! Bard's breast open wide, past shutting, Shows what brass we took for gold!"

 VII

 Friends, I doubt not he'd display you Brass--myself call orichalc, -- Furnish much amusement; pray you Therefore, be content I balk Him and you, and bar my portal! Here's my work outside: opine What's inside me mean and mortal! Take your pleasure, leave me mine!

 VIII

 Which is--not to buy your laurel As last king did, nothing loth. Tale adorned and pointed moral Gained him praise and pity both. Out rushed sighs and groans by dozens, Forth by scores oaths, curses flew: Proving you were cater-cousins, Kith and kindred, king and you!

 IX

 Whereas do I ne'er so little (Thanks to sherris) leave ajar Bosom's gate--no jot nor tittle Grow we nearer than we are. Sinning, sorrowing, despairing, Body-ruined, spirit-wrecked, -- Should I give my woes an airing, -- Where's one plague that claims respect?

 X

 Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again. 

 XI

 What, like you, he proved--your Pilgrim-- This our world a wilderness, Earth still grey and heaven still grim, Not a hand there his might press, Not a heart his own might throb to, Men all rogues and women--say, Dolls which boys' heads duck and bob to, Grown folk drop or throw away?

 XII

 My experience being other, How should I contribute verse Worthy of your king and brother? Balaam-like I bless, not curse. I find earth not grey but rosy, Heaven not grim but fair of hue. Do I stoop? I pluck a posy. Do I stand and stare? All's blue. 

 XIII

 Doubtless I am pushed and shoved by Rogues and fools enough: the more Good luck mine, I love, am loved by Some few honest to the core. Scan the near high, scout the far low! "But the low come close:" what then? Simpletons? My match is Marlowe; Sciolists? My mate is Ben. 

 XIV

 Womankind--"the cat-like nature, False and fickle, vain and weak"-- What of this sad nomenclature Suits my tongue, if I must speak? Does the sex invite, repulse so, Tempt, betray, by fits and starts? So becalm but to convulse so, Decking heads and breaking hearts?

 XV

 Well may you blaspheme at fortune! I "threw Venus" (Ben, expound!) Never did I need importune Her, of all the Olympian round. Blessings on my benefactress! Cursings suit--for aught I know-- Those who twitched her by the back tress, Tugged and thought to turn her--so!

 XVI

 Therefore, since no leg to stand on Thus I'm left with, --joy or grief Be the issue, --I abandon Hope or care you name me Chief! Chief and king and Lord's anointed, I?--who never once have wished Death before the day appointed: Lived and liked, not poohed and pished!

 XVII

 "Ah, but so I shall not enter, Scroll in hand, the common heart-- Stopped at surface: since at centre Song should reach _Welt-schmerz_, world-smart!" "Enter in the heart?" Its shelly Cuirass guard mine, fore and aft! Such song "enters in the belly And is cast out in the draught. "

 XVIII

 Back then to our sherris-brewage! "Kingship" quotha? I shall wait-- Waive the present time: some new age . .. But let fools anticipate! Meanwhile greet me--"friend, good fellow, Gentle Will, " my merry men! As for making Envy yellow With "Next Poet"--(Manners, Ben!)

The first stanza of "House"--

 "Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see? Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? 'Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?'"--

brings one face to face with the interminable controversies upon theautobiographical significance of Shakespeare's Sonnets. As volumes uponthe subject have been written, it is not possible even adequately toreview the various theories here. The controversialists may be broadlydivided into those who read complicated autobiographical details intothe sonnets, those who scout the idea of their being autobiographical atall, and those who take a middle ground. Of the first there are twofactions: one of these believes that the opening sonnets were addressedto Lord William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and the other that they wereaddressed to Shakespeare's patron, the Earl of Southampton. The firsttheory dates back as far as 1832 when it was started by James Boaden, ajournalist and the biographer of Kemble and Mrs. Siddons. This theoryhas had many supporters and is associated to-day with the name of ThomasTyler, who, in his edition of the Sonnets published in 1890, claimed tohave identified the dark lady of the Sonnets with a lady of the Court, Mary Fitton and the mistress of the Earl of Pembroke. The theory, likemost things of the sort, has its fascinations, and few people can readthe Sonnets without being more or less impressed by it. It is based, however, upon a supposition so unlikely that it may be said to be provedincorrect, namely, that the dedication of the Sonnets to their "OnlieBegettor, Mr. W. H. " is intended for "Mr. William Herbert. " There was aMr. William Hall, later a master printer, and the friend of ThomasThorpe, the publisher of the Sonnets, who is much more likely to be theperson meant. Lord Herbert was far too important a person to beaddressed as Mr. W. H. As Mr. Lee points out, when Thorpe did dedicatebooks to Herbert he was careful to give full prominence to the titlesand distinction of his patron. The Sonnets as we have already seen werenot published with Shakespeare's sanction. In those days the author hadno protection, and if a manuscript fell into the hands of a printer hecould print it if he felt so disposed. Mr. William Hall was in thehabit of looking out for manuscripts and before he became a printer, in1606, had one published by Southwell of which he himself wrote thededication, to the "Vertuous Gentleman, Mathew Saunders, Esquire W. H. Wisheth, with long life, a prosperous achievement of his good desires. ""There is little doubt, " writes Mr. Lee, "that the W. H. Of theSouthwell volume was Mr. William Hall, who, when he procured thatmanuscript for publication, was an humble auxiliary in the publishingarmy. " To sum up in Mr. Lee's words his interesting and convincingchapter on "Thomas Thorpe and Mr. 'W. H. '" "'Mr. W. H. , ' whom Thorpedescribed as the 'only begetter of these ensuing sonnets, ' was in allprobability the acquirer or procurer of the manuscript, who, figuratively speaking, brought the book into being either by firstplacing the manuscript in Thorpe's hands or by pointing out the means bywhich a copy might be acquired. To assign such significance to the word'begetter' was entirely in Thorpe's vein. Thorpe described his rōle inthe piratical enterprise of the 'Sonnets' as that of 'the well-wishingadventurer in setting forth, ' _i. E. _, the hopeful speculator in thescheme. 'Mr. W. H. ' doubtless played the almost equally importantpart--one as well known then as now in commercial operations--of the'vender' of the property to be exploited. "

The Southampton theory is reared into a fine air-castle by Gerald Masseyin his lengthy book on the Sonnets--truly entertaining reading but tooingenious to be convincing. 

Finally Mr. Lee in his book looks at the subject in an unbiased andperfectly sane way. He thinks the opening Sonnets are to the Earl ofSouthampton, known to be Shakespeare's patron, but he warns us thatexaggerated devotion was the hall-mark of the Sonnets of the age, andtherefore what Shakespeare says of his young patron in these Sonnetsneed not be taken too literally as expressing the poet's sentiments, though he admits there may be a note of genuine feeling in them. Also hethinks that some of the sonnets reflecting moods of melancholy or asense of sin may reveal the writer's inner consciousness. Possibly, too, the story of the "dark lady" may have some basis in fact, though heinsists, "There is no clue to the lady's identity, and speculation onthe topic is useless. " Furthermore, he thinks it doubtful whether allthe words in these Sonnets are to be taken with the seriousness implied, the affair probably belonging only to the annals of gallantry. 

It will be seen from the poem that Browning took the uncompromisinglynon-autobiographical view of the Sonnets. In this stand presentauthoritative opinion would not justify him, but it speaks well for hisinsight and sympathy that he was not fascinated by the William Herberttheory which, at the time he wrote the poem, was very much in the air. 

In "Shop" is given, in a way, the obverse side of the idea. If it isproved that the dramatic poet does not allow himself to appear in hiswork, the step toward regarding him as having no individuality asidefrom his work is an easy one. The allusions in the poem to themercenariness of the "Shop-Keeper" seem to hit at the criticisms ofShakespeare's thrift, which enabled him to buy a home in his nativeplace and retire there to live some years before the end of his life. Insome quarters it has been customary to regard Shakespeare as devotinghimself to dramatic literature in order to make money, as if this were aterrible slur on his character. The superiority of such an independentspirit over that of those who constantly sought patrons was quitemanifest to Browning's mind or he would not have written this sarcasticbit of symbolism, between the lines of which can be read that Browningwas on Shakespeare's side. 

 HOUSE

 I

 Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see? Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? "Unlock my heart with a sonnet key?"

 II

 Invite the world, as my betters have done? "Take notice: this building remains on view, Its suites of reception every one, Its private apartment and bedroom too;

 III

 "For a ticket, apply to the Publisher. " No: thanking the public, I must decline. A peep through my window, if folk prefer; But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!

 IV

 I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talk In a foreign land where an earthquake chanced: And a house stood gaping, nought to balk Man's eye wherever he gazed or glanced. 

 V

 The whole of the frontage shaven sheer, The inside gaped: exposed to day, Right and wrong and common and queer, Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay. 

 VI

 The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt! "Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth! What a parcel of musty old books about! He smoked, --no wonder he lost his health!

 VII

 "I doubt if he bathed before he dressed. A brasier?--the pagan, he burned perfumes! You see it is proved, what the neighbors guessed: His wife and himself had separate rooms. "

 VIII

 Friends, the goodman of the house at least Kept house to himself till an earthquake came: 'Tis the fall of its frontage permits you feast On the inside arrangement you praise or blame. 

 IX

 Outside should suffice for evidence: And whoso desires to penetrate Deeper, must dive by the spirit-sense-- No optics like yours, at any rate!

 X

 "Hoity toity! A street to explore, Your house the exception! '_With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart_, ' once more!" Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

 SHOP

 I

 So, friend, your shop was all your house! Its front, astonishing the street, Invited view from man and mouse To what diversity of treat Behind its glass--the single sheet!

 II

 What gimcracks, genuine Japanese: Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog; Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese; Some crush-nosed, human-hearted dog: Queer names, too, such a catalogue!

 III

 I thought "And he who owns the wealth Which blocks the window's vastitude, --Ah, could I peep at him by stealth Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude On house itself, what scenes were viewed!

 IV

 "If wide and showy thus the shop, What must the habitation prove? The true house with no name a-top-- The mansion, distant one remove, Once get him off his traffic-groove!

 V

 "Pictures he likes, or books perhaps; And as for buying most and best, Commend me to these City chaps! Or else he's social, takes his rest On Sundays, with a Lord for guest. 

 VI

 "Some suburb-palace, parked about And gated grandly, built last year: The four-mile walk to keep off gout; Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer: But then he takes the rail, that's clear. 

 VII

 "Or, stop! I wager, taste selects Some out o' the way, some all-unknown Retreat: the neighborhood suspects Little that he who rambles lone Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"

 VIII

 Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence Fit to receive and entertain, -- Nor Hampstead villa's kind defence From noise and crowd, from dust and drain, -- Nor country-box was soul's domain!

 IX

 Nowise! At back of all that spread Of merchandize, woe's me, I find A hole i' the wall where, heels by head, The owner couched, his ware behind, --In cupboard suited to his mind. 

 X

 For why? He saw no use of life But, while he drove a roaring trade, To chuckle "Customers are rife!" To chafe "So much hard cash outlaid Yet zero in my profits made!

 XI

 "This novelty costs pains, but--takes? Cumbers my counter! Stock no more! This article, no such great shakes, Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore The cheap thing--thousands to the fore!"

 XII

 'Twas lodging best to live most nigh (Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be) Receipt of Custom; ear and eye Wanted no outworld: "Hear and see The bustle in the shop!" quoth he. 

 XIII

 My fancy of a merchant-prince Was different. Through his wares we groped Our darkling way to--not to mince The matter--no black den where moped The master if we interloped!

 XIV

 Shop was shop only: household-stuff? What did he want with comforts there? "Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough, So goods on sale show rich and rare! '_Sell and scud home_' be shop's affair!"

 XV

 What might he deal in? Gems, suppose! Since somehow business must be done At cost of trouble, --see, he throws You choice of jewels, everyone, Good, better, best, star, moon and sun!

 XVI

 Which lies within your power of purse? This ruby that would tip aright Solomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurse Wants simply coral, the delight Of teething baby, --stuff to bite!

 XVII

 Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took Your purchase, prompt your money rang On counter, --scarce the man forsook His study of the "Times, " just swang Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang, --

 XVIII

 Then off made buyer with a prize, Then seller to his "Times" returned; And so did day wear, wear, till eyes Brightened apace, for rest was earned: He locked door long ere candle burned. 

 XIX

 And whither went he? Ask himself, Not me! To change of scene, I think. Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf, Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink, Nor all his music--money-chink. 

 XX

 Because a man has shop to mind In time and place, since flesh must live, Needs spirit lack all life behind, All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive, All loves except what trade can give?

 XXI

 I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute, Blows out his brains upon the flute!

 XXII

 But--shop each day and all day long! Friend, your good angel slept, your star Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong! From where these sorts of treasures are, There should our hearts be--Christ, how far!

These poems are valuable not only for furnishing an interestinginterpretation of Shakespeare's character as a man and artist, but forthe glimpses they give into Browning's stand toward his own art. Hewished to be regarded primarily as a dramatic artist, presenting andinterpreting the souls of his characters, and he must have felt keenlythe stupid attitude which insisted always in reading "Browning'sPhilosophy" into all his poems. The fact that his objective material wasof the soul rather than of the external actions of life has no doubtlent force to the supposition that Browning himself can be seen ineverything he writes. It is true, nevertheless, that while much of hiswork is Shakespearian in its dramatic intensity, he had too forceful aphilosophy of life to keep it from sometimes coming to the front. Besides he has written many things avowedly personal as this chapteramply illustrates. 

To what intensity of feeling Browning could rise when contemplating thegenius of Shakespeare is revealed in his direct and outspoken tribute. Here there breathes an almost reverential attitude toward the onesupremely great man he has ventured to portray. 

 THE NAMES

 Shakespeare!--to such name's sounding, what succeeds Fitly as silence? Falter forth the spell, -- Act follows word, the speaker knows full well; Nor tampers with its magic more than needs. Two names there are: That which the Hebrew reads With his soul only: if from lips it fell, Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven and hell, Would own, "Thou didst create us!" Naught impedes We voice the other name, man's most of might, Awesomely, lovingly: let awe and love Mutely await their working, leave to sight All of the issue as--below--above-- Shakespeare's creation rises: one remove, Though dread--this finite from that infinite. 

CHAPTER III

A CRUCIAL PERIOD IN ENGLISH HISTORY

"Whom the gods destroy they first make mad. " Of no one in Englishhistory is this truer than of King Charles I. Just at a time when thenation was feeling the strength of its wings both in Church and State, when individuals were claiming the right to freedom of conscience intheir form of worship and the people were growing more insistent for therecognition of their ancient rights and liberties, secured to them, inthe first place, by the Magna Charta, --just at this time looms up theobstruction of a King so imbued with the defunct ideal of the divineright of Kings that he is blind to the tendencies of the age. Whatwonder, then, if the swirling waters of discontent should rise higherand higher until he became engulfed in their fury. 

The history of the reign of Charles I. Is one full of involved details, yet the broader aspects of it, the great events which chiseled intoshape the future of England stand out in bold relief in front of abackground of interminable bickerings. There was constant quarrelingbetween the factions within the English church, and between theProtestants and the Catholics, complicated by the discontent of thepeople and at times the nobles because of the autocratic, vacillatingpolicy of the King. 

Among these epoch-bringing events were the emergence of the Puritansfrom the chaos of internecine church squabbles, the determined raisingof the voice of the people in the Long Parliament, where King and peoplefinally came to an open clash in the impeachment of the King's mostdevoted minister, Wentworth, Earl Strafford, by Pym, the great leader inthe House of Commons, ending in Strafford's execution; the GrandRemonstrance, which sounded in no uncertain tones the tocsin of thecoming revolution; and finally the King's impeachment of Pym, Hampden, Holles, Hazelrigg and Strode, one of the many ill-advised moves of thisMonarch which at once precipitated the Revolution. 

These cataclysms at home were further intensified by the ScottishInvasion and the Irish Rebellion. 

[Illustration: Charles I in Scene of Impeachment]

It is not surprising that Browning should have been attracted to thisperiod of English history, when he contemplated the writing of a play onan English subject. His liberty-loving mind would naturally findcongenial occupation in depicting this great English struggle forliberty. Yet the hero of the play is not Pym, the leader of the people, but Strafford, the supporter of the King. The dramatic reasons aresufficient to account for this. Strafford's career was picturesque andtragic and his personality so striking that more than one interpretationof his remarkable life is possible. 

The interpretation will differ according to whether one is partisan inhatred or admiration of his character and policy, or possesses thelarger quality of sympathetic appreciation of the man and the problemswith which he had to deal. Any one coming to judge him in this latterspirit would undoubtedly perceive all the fine points in Strafford'snature and would balance these against his theories of government to thebetter understanding of this extraordinary man. 

It is almost needless to say that Browning's perception of Strafford'scharacter was penetrating and sympathetic. Strafford's devotion to hisKing had in it not only the element of loyalty to the liege, but anelement of personal love which would make an especial appeal toBrowning. He, in consequence, seizes upon this trait as the key-note ofhis portrayal of Strafford. 

The play is, on the whole, accurate in its historical details, thoughthe poet's imagination has added many a flying buttress to thestructure. 

Forster's lives of the English Statesmen in Lardner's Cyclopędiafurnished plenty of material, and he was besides familiar with some ifnot all of Forster's materials for the lives. One of the interestingsurprises in connection with Browning's literary career was the factdivulged some years ago that he had actually helped Forster in thepreparation of the Life of Strafford. Indeed it is thought that he wroteit almost entirely from the notes of Forster. Dr. Furnivall first calledattention to this, and later the life of Strafford was reprinted as"Robert Browning's Prose Life of Strafford. "[2] In his Forewords to thisvolume, Dr. Furnivall, who, among many other claims to distinction, wasthe president of the "London Browning Society, " writes, "Three timesduring his life did Browning speak to me about his prose 'Life ofStrafford. ' The first time he said only--in the course of chat--thatvery few people had any idea of how much he had helped John Forster init. The second time he told me at length that one day he went to seeForster and found him very ill, and anxious about the 'Life ofStrafford, ' which he had promised to write at once, to complete a volumeof 'Lives of Eminent British Statesmen' for Lardner's 'CabinetCyclopędia. ' Forster had finished the 'Life of Eliot'--the first in thevolume--and had just begun that of Strafford, for which he had made fullcollections and extracts; but illness had come on, he couldn't work, thebook ought to be completed forthwith, as it was due in the serial issueof volumes; what _was_ he to do? 'Oh, ' said Browning, 'don't troubleabout it. I'll take your papers and do it for you. ' Forster thanked hisyoung friend heartily, Browning put the Strafford papers under his arm, walked off, worked hard, finished the Life, and it came out to time in1836, to Forster's great relief, and passed under his name. " ProfessorGardiner, the historian, was of the opinion from internal evidence thatthe Life was more Browning's than Forster's. He said to Furnivall, "Itis not a historian's conception of the character but a poet's. I amcertain that it's not Forster's. Yes, it makes mistakes in facts anddates, but, it has got the man--in the main. " In this opinion Furnivallconcurs. Of the last paragraph in the history he exclaims, "I couldswear it was Browning's":--The paragraph in question sums up thecharacter of Strafford and is interesting in this connection, as givinghints, though not the complete picture of the Strafford of the Drama. 

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Estes and Lauriat, Boston, Mass. 

"A great lesson is written in the life of this truly extraordinaryperson. In the career of Strafford is to be sought the justification ofthe world's 'appeal from tyranny to God. ' In him Despotism had at lengthobtained an instrument with mind to comprehend, and resolution to actupon, her principles in their length and breadth, --and enough of herpurposes were effected by him, to enable mankind to 'see as from a towerthe end of all. ' I cannot discern one false step in Strafford's publicconduct, one glimpse of a recognition of an alien principle, oneinstance of a dereliction of the law of his being, which can come in todispute the decisive result of the experiment, or explain away itsfailure. The least vivid fancy will have no difficulty in taking up theinterrupted design, and by wholly enfeebling, or materially emboldening, the insignificant nature of Charles; and by according some half-dozenyears of immunity to the 'fretted tenement' of Strafford's 'fierysoul', --contemplate then, for itself, the perfect realization of thescheme of 'making the prince the most absolute lord in Christendom. 'That done, --let it pursue the same course with respect to Eliot's nobleimaginings, or to young Vane's dreamy aspirings, and apply in likemanner a fit machinery to the working out the projects which made thedungeon of the one a holy place, and sustained the other in hisself-imposed exile. --The result is great and decisive! It establishes, in renewed force, those principles of political conduct which haveendured, and must continue to endure, 'like truth from age to age. '" Thehistory, on the whole, lacks the grasp in the portrayal of Wentworth tobe found in the drama. C. H. Firth, commenting upon this says truly, "One might almost say that in the first, Strafford was represented as heappeared to his opponents, and in the second as he appeared to himself;or that, having painted Strafford as he was, Browning painted him againas he wished to be. In the biography Strafford is exhibited as a man ofrare gifts and noble qualities; yet in his political capacity, merelythe conscious, the devoted tool of a tyrant. In the tragedy, on theother hand, Strafford is the champion of the King's will against thepeople's, but yet looks forward to the ultimate reconciliation ofCharles and his subjects, and strives for it after his own fashion. Heloves the master he serves, and dies for him, but when the end comes hecan proudly answer his accusers, 'I have loved England too. '"

The play opens at the important moment of Wentworth's return to Londonfrom Ireland, where for some time he had been governor. The occasion ofhis return, according to Gardiner, was a personal quarrel with theChancellor Loftus, of Ireland. Both men were allowed to come to Englandto plead their cause, which resulted in the victory of Wentworth. In theplay Pym says, "Ay, the Court gives out His own concerns have broughthim back: I know 'tis the King calls him. " The authority for this remarkis found in the Forster-Browning Life. "In the danger threatened by theScots' Covenant, Wentworth was Charles's only hope; the King sent forhim, saying he desired his personal counsel and attendance. He wrote:'The Scots' Covenant begins to spread too far, yet, for all this, I willnot have you take notice that I have sent for you, but pretend someother occasion of business. '" Certain it is that from this timeWentworth became the most trusted counsellor of Charles, that is, asfar as Charles was capable of trusting any one. The condition of affairsto which Wentworth returned is brought out in the play in a thoroughlyalive and human manner. We are introduced to the principal actors in thestruggle for their rights and privileges against the government ofCharles meeting in a house near Whitehall. Among the "great-hearted" menare Hampden, Hollis, the younger Vane, Rudyard, Fiennes--all leaders inthe "Faction, "--Presbyterians, Loudon and other members of the Scots'commissioners. A bit of history has been drawn upon for this openingscene, for according to the Forster-Browning Life, "There is no doubtthat a close correspondence with the Scotch commissioners, headed byLords Loudon and Dumferling, was entered into under the management ofPym and Hampden. Whenever necessity obliged the meetings to be held inLondon, they took place at Pym's house in Gray's Inn Lane. " In the talkbetween these men the political situation in England at the time fromthe point of view of the liberal party is brought vividly before thereader. 

There has been no Parliament in England for ten years, hence the peoplehave had no say in the direction of the government. The growingdissatisfaction of the people at being thus deprived of their rightsfocussed itself upon the question of "ship-money. " The taxes levied bythe King for the maintainance of a fleet were loudly objected to uponall sides. That a fleet was a necessary means of protection in thosethreatening times is not to be doubted, but the objections of the peoplewere grounded upon the fact that the King levied these taxes upon hisown authority. "Ship-money, it was loudly declared, " says Gardiner, "wasundeniably a tax, and the ancient customs of the realm, recentlyembodied in the Petition of Right, had announced with no doubtful voicethat no tax could be levied without consent of Parliament. Even thisobjection was not the full measure of the evil. If Charles could takethis money without the consent of Parliament, he need not, unless someunforeseen emergency arose, ever summon a Parliament again. The truequestion at issue was whether Parliament formed an integral part of theConstitution or not. " Other taxes were objected to on the same grounds, and the more determined the King was not to summon a Parliament, thegreater became the political ferment. 

[Illustration: Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford]

At the same time the religious ferment was centering itself uponhatred of Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury. His policy was to silenceopposition to the methods of worship then followed by the Church ofEngland, by the terrors of the Star Chamber. The Puritans were smartingunder the sentence which had been passed upon the three pamphleteers, William Prynne, Henry Burton, and John Bastwick, who had expressed theiropinions of the practises of the church with great outspokenness. Prynnecalled upon pious King Charles "to do justice on the whole Episcopalorder by which he had been robbed of the love of God and of his people, and which aimed at plucking the crown from his head, that they might setit on their own ambitious pates. " Burton hinted that "the sooner theoffice of the Bishops was abolished the better it would be for thenation. " Bastwick, who had been brought up in the straitest principlesof Puritanism, had ended his pamphlet "_Flagellum Pontificis_, " withthis outburst, "Take notice, so far am I from flying or fearing, as Iresolve to make war against the Beast, and every hint of Antichrist, allthe days of my life. If I die in that battle, so much the sooner I shallbe sent in a chariot of triumph to heaven; and when I come there, Iwill, with those that are under the altar cry, 'How long, Lord, holyand true, dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood upon them that dwellupon the earth?'"

These men were called before the Star Chamber upon a charge of libel. The sentence was a foregone conclusion, and was so outrageous that itsresult could only be the strengthening of opposition. The "muckworm"Cottington, as Browning calls him, suggested the sentence which wascarried out. The men were condemned to lose their ears, to pay a fine of£5000 each, and to be imprisoned for the remainder of their lives in thecastles of Carnarvon, Launceston, and Lancaster. Finch, not satisfiedwith this, added the savage wish that Prynne should be branded on thecheek with the letters S. L. , to stand for "seditious libeller, " andthis was also done. 

The account of the execution of this sentence is almost too horrible toread. Some one who recorded the scene wrote, "The humours of the peoplewere various; some wept, some laughed, and some were very reserved. "Prynne, whose sufferings had been greatest for he had been burned aswell as having his ears taken off, was yet able to indulge in a grimpiece of humor touching the letters S. L. Branded on his cheeks. Hecalled them "Stigmata Laudis, " the "Scars of Laud, " on his way back toprison. Popular demonstrations in favor of the prisoners were made allalong the road when they were taken to their respective prisons, wherethey were allowed neither pen, ink nor books. Fearful lest they mightsomehow still disseminate their heretical doctrines to the outer world, the council removed them to still more distant prisons, in the ScillyIsles, in Guernsey and in Jersey. Retaliation against this treatmentfound open expression. "A copy of the Star Chamber decree was nailed toa board. Its corners were cut off as the ears of Laud's victims had beencut off at Westminster. A broad ink mark was drawn round Laud's name. Aninscription declared that 'The man that puts the saints of God into apillory of wood stands here in a pillory of ink!'"

Things were brought to a crisis in Scotland also, through hatred of Laudand the new prayer-book. The King, upon his visit to Scotland, had beenshocked at the slovenly appearance and the slovenly ritual ofthe Scottish Church, which reflected strongly survivals of thePresbyterianism of an earlier time. The King wrote to the ScottishBishops soon after his return to England: "We, tendering the good andpeace of that Church by having good and decent order and disciplineobserved therein, whereby religion and God's worship may increase, andconsidering that there is nothing more defective in that Church than thewant of a Book of Common Prayer and uniform service to be kept in allthe churches thereof, and the want of canons for the uniformity of thesame, we are hereby pleased to authorise you as the representative bodyof that Church, and do herewith will and require you to condescend upona form of Church service to be used therein, and to set down the canonsfor the uniformity of the discipline thereof. " Laud, who as Archbishopof Canterbury had no jurisdiction over Scottish Bishops, put his fingerinto the pie as secretary of the King. As Gardiner says, "He conveyedinstructions to the Bishops, remonstrated with proceedings which shockedhis sense of order, and held out prospects of advancement to thezealous. Scotchmen naturally took offense. They did not troublethemselves to distinguish between the secretary and the archbishop. Theysimply said that the Pope of Canterbury was as bad as the Pope of Rome. "

The upshot of it all was that in May, 1637, the "new Prayer-book" wassent to Scotland, and every minister was ordered to buy two copies onpain of outlawry. Riots followed. It was finally decided that it must besettled once for all whether a King had any right to change the forms ofworship without the sanction of a legislative assembly. Then came theScottish Covenant which declared the intention of the signers to upholdreligious liberty. The account of the signing of this covenant is one ofthe most impressive episodes in all history. The Covenant was carried onthe 28th of February, 1638, to the Grey Friars' Church to which all thegentlemen present in Edinburgh had been summoned. The scene has beenmost sympathetically described by Gardiner. 

"At four o'clock in the grey winter evening, the noblemen, the Earl ofSutherland leading the way began to sign. Then came the gentlemen, oneafter the other until nearly eight. The next day the ministers werecalled on to testify their approval, and nearly three hundred signatureswere obtained before night. The Commissioners of the boroughs signed atthe same time. 

"On the third day the people of Edinburgh were called on to attest theirdevotion to the cause which was represented by the Covenant. Traditionlong loved to tell how the honored parchment, carried back to the GreyFriars, was laid out on a tombstone in the churchyard, whilst weepingmultitudes pressed round in numbers too great to be contained in anybuilding. There are moments when the stern Scottish nature breaks outinto an enthusiasm less passionate, but more enduring, than the frenzyof a Southern race. As each man and woman stepped forward in turn, withthe right hand raised to heaven before the pen was grasped, every onethere present knew that there would be no flinching amongst that band ofbrothers till their religion was safe from intrusive violence. 

"Modern narrators may well turn their attention to the picturesquenessof the scene, to the dark rocks of the Castle crag over against thechurchyard, and to the earnest faces around. The men of the seventeenthcentury had no thought to spare for the earth beneath or for the skyabove. What they saw was their country's faith trodden under foot, whatthey felt was the joy of those who had been long led astray, and had nowreturned to the Shepherd and Bishop of their souls. "

Such were the conditions that brought on the Scotch war, neither Charlesnor Wentworth being wise enough to make concessions to the Covenanters. 

The grievances against the King's Minister Wentworth are in this openingscene shown as being aggravated by the fact that the men of the"Faction" regard him as a deserter from their cause, Pym, himself beingone of the number who is loth to think Wentworth stands for the King'spolicy. 

The historical ground for the assumption lies in the fact that Wentworthwas one of the leaders of the opposition in the Parliament of 1628. 

The reason for this was largely personal, because of Buckingham'streatment of him. Wentworth had refused to take part in the collectionof the forced loan of 1626, and was dismissed from his official posts inconsequence. When he further refused to subscribe to that loan himselfhe was imprisoned in the Marshalsea and at Depford. Regarding himself aspersonally attacked by Buckingham, he joined the opposition. Yet, asFirth points out, "fiercely as he attacked the King's ministers, he wascareful to exonerate the King. " He concludes his list of grievances bysaying, "This hath not been done by the King, but by projectors. " Again, "Whether we shall look upon the King or his people, it did never morebehove this great physician the parliament, to effect a true consentamongst the parties than now. Both are injured, both to be cured. By oneand the same thing hath the King and people been hurt. I speak trulyboth for the interest of the King and the people. "

His intention was to find some means of cooperation which would leavethe people their liberty and yet give the crown its prerogative, "Let usmake what laws we can, there must--nay, there will be a trust left inthe crown. "

It will be seen by any unbiased critic that Wentworth was only half forthe people even at this time. On the other hand, it is not astonishingthat men, heart and soul for the people, should consider Wentworth'ssubsequent complete devotion to the cause of the King sufficient tobrand him as an apostate. The fact that he received so many officialdignities from the King also leant color to the supposition thatpersonal ambition was a leading motive with him. With true dramaticinstinct Browning has centered this feeling and made the most of it inthe attitude of Pym's party, while he offsets it later in the play byshowing us the reality of the man Strafford. 

There is no very authentic source for the idea also brought out in thisfirst scene that Strafford and Pym had been warm personal friends. Thestory is told by Dr. James Welwood, one of the physicians of WilliamIII. , who, in the year 1700, published a volume entitled "Memoirs, ofthe most material transactions in England for the last hundred yearspreceding the Revolution of 1688. " Without mentioning any source hetells the following story; "There had been a long and intimatefriendship between Mr. Pym and him [Wentworth], and they had gone handin hand in everything in the House of Commons. But when Sir ThomasWentworth was upon making his peace with the Court, he sent to Pym tomeet him alone at Greenwich; where he began in a set speech to sound Mr. Pym about the dangers they were like to run by the courses they were in;and what advantages they might have if they would but listen to someoffers which would probably be made them from the Court. Pymunderstanding his speech stopped him short with this expression: 'Youneed not use all this art to tell me you have a mind to leave us; butremember what I tell you, you are going to be undone. But remember, thatthough you leave us now I will never leave you while your head is uponyour shoulders. '"

Though only a tradition this was entirely too useful a suggestion not tobe used. The intensity of the situation between the leaders on oppositesides is enhanced tenfold by bringing into the field a personalsentiment. 

The attitude of Pym's followers is reflected again in their opinion ofWentworth's Irish rule. Although Wentworth's policy seemed to besuccessful in Ireland, the very fact of its success would condemn it inthe eyes of the popular party; besides later developments revealed itsweaknesses. How it appeared to the eyes of a non-fanatical observer atthis time may be gathered from the following letter of Sir Thomas Roe tothe Queen of Bohemia, written in 1634. 

"The Lord Deputy of Ireland doth great wonders, and governs like a King, and hath taught that Kingdom to show us an example of envy, by havingparliaments, and knowing wisely how to use them; for they have given theKing six subsidies, which will arise to £240, 000, and they are like tohave the liberty we contended for, and grace from his Majesty worththeir gift double; and which is worth much more, the honor of goodintelligence and love between the King and people, which I would to Godour great wits had had eyes to see. This is a great service, and togive your Majesty a character of the man, --he is severe abroad and inbusiness, and sweet in private conversation; retired in his friendships, but very firm; a terrible judge and a strong enemy; a servant violentlyzealous in his Master's ends, and not negligent of his own; one thatwill have what he will, and though of great reason, he can make his willgreater when it may serve him; affecting glory by a seeming contempt;one that cannot stay long in the middle region of fortune, beingentreprenant; but will either be the greatest man in England, or muchless than he is; lastly, one that may (and his nature lies fit for it, for he is ambitious to do what others will not), do your Majesty verygreat service, if you can make him. "

In order to be in sympathy with the play throughout and especially withthe first scene all this historical background must be kept in mind, forthe talk gives no direct information, it merely in an absolutelydramatic fashion reveals the feelings and opinions of the men upon thesituation, just as friends at a dinner party might discuss one of ourown less strenuous political situations--all present being perfectlyfamiliar with the issues at stake. 

STRAFFORD

ACT I

SCENE I. --_A House near Whitehall. _

_HAMPDEN, HOLLIS, the +younger+ VANE, RUDYARD, FIENNES and many of thePresbyterian Party: LOUDON and other Scots' Commissioners. _

 _Vane. _ I say, if he be here--

 _Rudyard. _ (And he is here!)--

 _Hollis. _ For England's sake let every man be still Nor speak of him, so much as say his name, Till Pym rejoin us! Rudyard! Henry Vane! One rash conclusion may decide our course And with it England's fate--think--England's fate! Hampden, for England's sake they should be still!

 _Vane. _ You say so, Hollis? Well, I must be still. It is indeed too bitter that one man, Any one man's mere presence, should suspend England's combined endeavor: little need To name him!

 _Rudyard. _ For you are his brother, Hollis!

 _Hampden. _ Shame on you, Rudyard! time to tell him that, When he forgets the Mother of us all. 

 _Rudyard. _ Do I forget her?

 _Hampden. _ You talk idle hate Against her foe: is that so strange a thing? Is hating Wentworth all the help she needs?

 _A Puritan. _ The Philistine strode, cursing as he went: But David--five smooth pebbles from the brook Within his scrip. .. . 

 _Rudyard. _ Be you as still as David!

 _Fiennes. _ Here's Rudyard not ashamed to wag a tongue Stiff with ten years' disuse of Parliaments; Why, when the last sat, Wentworth sat with us!

 _Rudyard. _ Let's hope for news of them now he returns-- He that was safe in Ireland, as we thought! --But I'll abide Pym's coming. 

 _Vane. _ Now, by Heaven, They may be cool who can, silent who will-- Some have a gift that way! Wentworth is here, Here, and the King's safe closeted with him Ere this. And when I think on all that's past Since that man left us, how his single arm Rolled the advancing good of England back And set the woeful past up in its place, Exalting Dagon where the Ark should be, -- How that man has made firm the fickle King (Hampden, I will speak out!)--in aught he feared To venture on before; taught tyranny Her dismal trade, the use of all her tools, To ply the scourge yet screw the gag so close That strangled agony bleeds mute to death; How he turns Ireland to a private stage For training infant villanies, new ways Of wringing treasure out of tears and blood, Unheard oppressions nourished in the dark To try how much man's nature can endure --If he dies under it, what harm? if not, Why, one more trick is added to the rest Worth a king's knowing, and what Ireland bears England may learn to bear:--how all this while That man has set himself to one dear task, The bringing Charles to relish more and more Power, power without law, power and blood too --Can I be still?

 _Hampden. _ For that you should be still. 

 _Vane. _ Oh Hampden, then and now! The year he left us, The People in full Parliament could wrest The Bill of Rights from the reluctant King; And now, he'll find in an obscure small room A stealthy gathering of great-hearted men That take up England's cause: England is here!

 _Hampden. _ And who despairs of England?

 _Rudyard. _ That do I, If Wentworth comes to rule her. I am sick To think her wretched masters, Hamilton, The muckworm Cottington, the maniac Laud, May yet be longed-for back again. I say, I do despair. 

 _Vane. _ And, Rudyard, I'll say this-- Which all true men say after me, not loud But solemnly and as you'd say a prayer! This King, who treads our England underfoot, Has just so much . .. It may be fear or craft, As bids him pause at each fresh outrage; friends, He needs some sterner hand to grasp his own, Some voice to ask, "Why shrink? Am I not by?" Now, one whom England loved for serving her, Found in his heart to say, "I know where best The iron heel shall bruise her, for she leans Upon me when you trample. " Witness, you! So Wentworth heartened Charles, so England fell. But inasmuch as life is hard to take From England. .. . 

 _Many Voices. _ Go on, Vane! 'Tis well said, Vane!

 _Vane. _ --Who has not so forgotten Runnymead!--

 _Voices. _ 'Tis well and bravely spoken, Vane! Go on!

 _Vane. _ --There are some little signs of late she knows The ground no place for her. She glances round, Wentworth has dropped the hand, is gone his way On other service: what if she arise? No! the King beckons, and beside him stands The same bad man once more, with the same smile And the same gesture. Now shall England crouch, Or catch at us and rise?

 _Voices. _ The Renegade! Haman! Ahithophel!

 _Hampden. _ Gentlemen of the North, It was not thus the night your claims were urged, And we pronounced the League and Covenant, The cause of Scotland, England's cause as well: Vane there, sat motionless the whole night through. 

 _Vane. _ Hampden!

 _Fiennes. _ Stay, Vane!

 _Loudon. _ Be just and patient, Vane!

 _Vane. _ Mind how you counsel patience, Loudon! you Have still a Parliament, and this your League To back it; you are free in Scotland still: While we are brothers, hope's for England yet. But know you wherefore Wentworth comes? to quench This last of hopes? that he brings war with him? Know you the man's self? what he dares?

 _Loudon. _ We know, All know--'tis nothing new. 

 _Vane. _ And what's new, then, In calling for his life? Why, Pym himself-- You must have heard--ere Wentworth dropped our cause He would see Pym first; there were many more Strong on the people's side and friends of his, Eliot that's dead, Rudyard and Hampden here, But for these Wentworth cared not; only, Pym He would see--Pym and he were sworn, 'tis said, To live and die together; so, they met At Greenwich. Wentworth, you are sure, was long, Specious enough, the devil's argument Lost nothing on his lips; he'd have Pym own A patriot could not play a purer part Than follow in his track; they two combined Might put down England. Well, Pym heard him out; One glance--you know Pym's eye--one word was all: "You leave us, Wentworth! while your head is on, I'll not leave you. "

 _Hampden. _ Has he left Wentworth, then? Has England lost him? Will you let him speak, Or put your crude surmises in his mouth? Away with this! Will you have Pym or Vane?

 _Voices. _ Wait Pym's arrival! Pym shall speak. 

 _Hampden. _ Meanwhile Let Loudon read the Parliament's report From Edinburgh: our last hope, as Vane says, Is in the stand it makes. Loudon!

 _Vane. _ No, no! Silent I can be: not indifferent!

 _Hampden. _ Then each keep silence, praying God to spare His anger, cast not England quite away In this her visitation!

 _A Puritan. _ Seven years long The Midianite drove Israel into dens And caves. Till God sent forth a mighty man, _PYM enters_

 Even Gideon!

 _Pym. _ Wentworth's come: nor sickness, care, The ravaged body nor the ruined soul, More than the winds and waves that beat his ship, Could keep him from the King. He has not reached Whitehall: they've hurried up a Council there To lose no time and find him work enough. Where's Loudon? your Scots' Parliament. .. . 

 _Loudon. _ Holds firm: We were about to read reports. 

 _Pym. _ The King Has just dissolved your Parliament. 

 _Loudon and other Scots. _ Great God! An oath-breaker! Stand by us, England, then!

 _Pym. _ The King's too sanguine; doubtless Wentworth's here; But still some little form might be kept up. 

 _Hampden. _ Now speak, Vane! Rudyard, you had much to say!

 _Hollis. _ The rumor's false, then. .. . 

 _Pym. _ Ay, the Court gives out His own concerns have brought him back: I know 'Tis the King calls him. Wentworth supersedes The tribe of Cottingtons and Hamiltons Whose part is played; there's talk enough, by this, -- Merciful talk, the King thinks: time is now To turn the record's last and bloody leaf Which, chronicling a nation's great despair, Tells they were long rebellious, and their lord Indulgent, till, all kind expedients tried, He drew the sword on them and reigned in peace. Laud's laying his religion on the Scots Was the last gentle entry: the new page Shall run, the King thinks, "Wentworth thrust it down At the sword's point. "

 _A Puritan. _ I'll do your bidding, Pym, England's and God's--one blow!

 _Pym. _ A goodly thing-- We all say, friends, it is a goodly thing To right that England. Heaven grows dark above: Let's snatch one moment ere the thunder fall, To say how well the English spirit comes out Beneath it! All have done their best, indeed, From lion Eliot, that grand Englishman, To the least here: and who, the least one here, When she is saved (for her redemption dawns Dimly, most dimly, but it dawns--it dawns) Who'd give at any price his hope away Of being named along with the Great Men? We would not--no, we would not give that up!

 _Hampden. _ And one name shall be dearer than all names. When children, yet unborn, are taught that name After their fathers', --taught what matchless man. .. . 

 _Pym. _ . .. Saved England? What if Wentworth's should be still That name?

 _Rudyard and others. _ We have just said it, Pym! His death Saves her! We said it--there's no way beside! I'll do God's bidding, Pym! They struck down Joab And purged the land. 

 _Vane. _ No villanous striking-down!

 _Rudyard. _ No, a calm vengeance: let the whole land rise And shout for it. No Feltons!

 _Pym. _ Rudyard, no! England rejects all Feltons; most of all Since Wentworth . .. Hampden, say the trust again Of England in her servants--but I'll think You know me, all of you. Then, I believe, Spite of the past, Wentworth rejoins you, friends!

 _Vane and others. _ Wentworth? Apostate! Judas! Double-dyed A traitor! Is it Pym, indeed. .. . 

 _Pym. _ . .. Who says Vane never knew that Wentworth, loved that man, Was used to stroll with him, arm locked in arm, Along the streets to see the people pass, And read in every island-countenance Fresh argument for God against the King, -- Never sat down, say, in the very house Where Eliot's brow grew broad with noble thoughts, (You've joined us, Hampden--Hollis, you as well, ) And then left talking over Gracchus' death. .. . 

 _Vane. _ To frame, we know it well, the choicest clause In the Petition of Right: he framed such clause One month before he took at the King's hand His Northern Presidency, which that Bill Denounced. 

 _Pym. _ Too true! Never more, never more Walked we together! Most alone I went. I have had friends--all here are fast my friends-- But I shall never quite forget that friend. And yet it could not but be real in him! You, Vane, --you, Rudyard, have no right to trust To Wentworth: but can no one hope with me? Hampden, will Wentworth dare shed English blood Like water?

 _Hampden. _ Ireland is Aceldama. 

 _Pym. _ Will he turn Scotland to a hunting-ground To please the King, now that he knows the King? The People or the King? and that King, Charles!

 _Hampden. _ Pym, all here know you: you'll not set your heart On any baseless dream. But say one deed Of Wentworth's since he left us. .. . 

[_Shouting without. _

 _Vane. _ There! he comes, And they shout for him! Wentworth's at Whitehall, The King embracing him, now, as we speak, And he, to be his match in courtesies, Taking the whole war's risk upon himself, Now, while you tell us here how changed he is! Hear you?

 _Pym. _ And yet if 'tis a dream, no more, That Wentworth chose their side, and brought the King To love it as though Laud had loved it first, And the Queen after;--that he led their cause Calm to success, and kept it spotless through, So that our very eyes could look upon The travail of our souls, and close content That violence, which something mars even right Which sanctions it, had taken off no grace From its serene regard. Only a dream!

 _Hampden. _ We meet here to accomplish certain good By obvious means, and keep tradition up Of free assemblages, else obsolete, In this poor chamber: nor without effect Has friend met friend to counsel and confirm, As, listening to the beats of England's heart, We spoke its wants to Scotland's prompt reply By these her delegates. Remains alone That word grow deed, as with God's help it shall-- But with the devil's hindrance, who doubts too? Looked we or no that tyranny should turn Her engines of oppression to their use? Whereof, suppose the worst be Wentworth here-- Shall we break off the tactics which succeed In drawing out our formidablest foe, Let bickering and disunion take their place? Or count his presence as our conquest's proof, And keep the old arms at their steady play? Proceed to England's work! Fiennes, read the list!

 _Fiennes. _ Ship-money is refused or fiercely paid In every county, save the northern parts Where Wentworth's influence. .. . 

[_Shouting. _

 _Vane. _ I, in England's name, Declare her work, this way, at end! Till now, Up to this moment, peaceful strife was best. We English had free leave to think; till now, We had a shadow of a Parliament In Scotland. But all's changed: they change the first, They try brute-force for law, they, first of all. .. . 

 _Voices. _ Good! Talk enough! The old true hearts with Vane!

 _Vane. _ Till we crush Wentworth for her, there's no act Serves England!

 _Voices. _ Vane for England!

 _Pym. _ Pym should be Something to England. I seek Wentworth, friends. 

In the second scene of the first act, the man upon whom the popularparty has been heaping opprobrium appears to speak for himself. Againthe historical background must be known in order that the whole drift ofthe scene may be understood. Wentworth is talking with Lady Carlisle, awoman celebrated for her beauty and her wit, and fond of havingfriendships with great men. Various opinions of this beautiful womanhave been expressed by those who knew her. "Her beauty, " writes one, "brought her adorers of all ranks, courtiers, and poets, and statesmen;but she remained untouched by their worship. " Sir Toby Mathews whoprefixed to a collection of letters published in 1660 "A character ofthe most excellent Lady, Lucy, Countess of Carlisle, " writes that shewill "freely discourse of love, and hear both the fancies and powers ofit; but if you will needs bring it within knowledge, and boldly directit to herself, she is likely to divert the discourse, or, at least, seemnot to understand it. By which you may know her humour, and her justice;for since she cannot love in earnest she would have nothing from love. "According to him she filled her mind "with gallant fancies, and high andelevated thoughts, " and "her wit being most eminent among the rest ofher great abilities, " even the conversation of those most famed for itwas affected. Quite another view of her is given in a letter ofVoiture's written to Mr. Gordon on leaving England in 1623. 

"In one human being you let me see more treasures than there are there[the Tower], and even more lions and leopards. It will not be difficultfor you to guess after this that I speak of the Countess of Carlisle. For there is nobody else of whom all this good and evil can be said. Nomatter how dangerous it is to let the memory dwell upon her, I have not, so far, been able to keep mine from it, and, quite honestly, I would notgive the picture of her that lingers in my mind, for all the loveliestthings I have seen in my life. I must confess that she is an enchantingpersonality, and there would not be a woman under heaven so worthy ofaffection, if she only knew what it was, and if she had as sensitive anature as she has a reasonable mind. But with the temperament we knowshe possesses, there is nothing to be said except that she is the mostlovable of all things not good, and the most delightful poison thatnature ever concocted. " Browning himself says he first sketched hercharacter from Mathews, but finding that rather artificial, he usedVoiture and Waller, who referred to her as the "bright Carlisle of theCourt of Heaven. " It should be remembered that she had become a widowand was considerably older at the time of her friendship with Wentworththan when Voiture wrote of her, and was probably better balanced, andtruly worthy of Wentworth's own appreciation of her when he wrote, "Anobler nor a more intelligent friendship did I never meet with in mylife. " A passage in a letter to Laud indicates that Wentworth was wellaware of the practical advantage in having such a friend as LadyCarlisle at Court. "I judge her ladyship very considerable. She is oftenin place, and extremely well skilled how to speak with advantage andspirit for those friends she professeth unto, which will not be many. There is this further in her disposition, she will not seem to be theperson she is not, an ingenuity I have always observed and honoured herfor. "

It is something of a shock to learn that even before the Wentworthepisode was well over, she became a friend of his bitterest foe, Pym. Gardiner sums up her character in as fair a way as any one, --and not atall inconsistent with Browning's portrayal of her. 

"Lady Carlisle had now been for many years a widow. She had long beenthe reigning beauty at Court, and she loved to mingle political intriguewith social intercourse. For politics as a serious occupation she had noaptitude; but, in middle age, she felt a woman's pride in attaching toherself the strong heads by which the world was ruled, as she hadattached to herself in youth, the witty courtier or the agile dancer. Itwas worth a statesman's while to cultivate her acquaintance. She couldmake him a power in society as well as in Council, could worm out asecret which it behoved him to know, and could convey to others hissuggestions with assured fidelity. The calumny which treated Strafford, as it afterwards treated Pym, as her accepted lover, may be safelydisregarded. But there can be no doubt that purely personal motivesattached her both to Strafford and Pym. For Strafford's theory ofMonarchical government she cared as little as she cared for Pym's theoryof Parliamentary government. It may be, too, that some mingled feelingmay have arisen in Strafford's breast. It was something to have an allyat Court ready at all times to plead his cause with gay enthusiasm, towarn him of hidden dangers, and to offer him the thread of thatlabyrinth which, under the name of 'the Queen's side, ' was such amystery to him. It was something, too, no doubt, that this advocate wasnot a grey haired statesman, but a woman, in spite of growing years, ofwinning grace and sparkling vivacity of eye and tongue. "

[Illustration: Charles I]

Strafford, himself, Browning brings before us, ill, and worn out withresponsibility as he was upon his return to England at this time. Carlisle tactfully lets him know how he will have to face criticismsfrom other councillors about the King, and how even the confidence ofthe fickle King cannot be relied upon. In his conference with the Kingin this scene, Strafford, at last, wins the confidence of the King ashistory relates. Wentworth, horrified at the way in which a war withScotland has been precipitated, carries his point, that Parliamentsshould be called in Ireland and England. This will give time forpreparation, and at the same time an opportunity of convincing thepeople that the war is justified by Scotland's treason, so causing themwillingly to grant subsidies for the expense of the war. To turn fromthe play to history, Commissioners from the Scottish Parliament, theEarls of Loudon and Dumferling had arrived in London to ask that theacts of the Scottish Parliament might receive confirmation from theKing. This question was referred to a committee of eight PrivyCouncillors. Propositions were made to put the Scotch Commissioners inprison; however, the King finally decided to dismiss them withouttreating with them. Scottish indignation of course ran high at thisproceeding, and here Wentworth stepped in and won the King to his policyof ruling Scotland directly from England. "He insisted, " writesGardiner, "that a Parliament, and a Parliament alone, was the remedyfitted for the occasion. Laud and Hamilton gave him their support. Hecarried his point with the Committee. What was of more importance hecarried it with the King. " And as one writer expressed it the Lords wereof the opinion that "his Majesty should make trial of that once more, that so he might leave his people without excuse, and have where withalto justify himself to God and the world that in his own inclination hedesired the old way; but that if his people should not cheerfully, according to their duties, meet him in that, especially in this exigentwhen his kingdom and person are in apparent danger, the world might seehe is forced, contrary to his own inclination, to use extraordinarymeans rather than, by the peevishness of some few factious spirits, tosuffer his state and government to be lost. "

In the play as in history, Charles now confers upon Wentworth anEarldom. Shortly after this the King "was prepared, " says Gardiner, "toconfer upon his faithful Minister that token of his confidence which hehad twice refused before. On January 12, Wentworth received the Earldomof Strafford, and a week later he exchanged the title of Lord-Deputy ofIreland for the higher dignity of Lord-Lieutenant. "

In his conference with Pym, Strafford who, in talking to Carlisle, hadshown a slight wavering toward the popular party, because of findinghimself so surrounded by difficulties, stands firm; this episode is astriking working up of the tradition of the friendship between thesetwo men. 

The influence of the Queen upon Charles is the last strand in thistangled skein of human destiny brought out by Browning in the scene. TheParliament that Wentworth wants she is afraid of lest it should ask fora renewal of the persecution of the Catholics. The vacillating Charles, in an instant, is ready to repudiate his interview with Wentworth, andact only to please the Queen. 

SCENE II. --_Whitehall. _

_+Lady+ CARLISLE and WENTWORTH_

 _Wentworth. _ And the King?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Wentworth, lean on me! Sit then! I'll tell you all; this horrible fatigue Will kill you. 

 _Wentworth. _ No;--or, Lucy, just your arm; I'll not sit till I've cleared this up with him: After that, rest. The King?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Confides in you. 

 _Wentworth. _ Why? or, why now?--They have kind throats, the knaves! Shout for me--they!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ You come so strangely soon: Yet we took measures to keep off the crowd-- Did they shout for you?

 _Wentworth. _ Wherefore should they not? Does the King take such measures for himself? Besides, there's such a dearth of malcontents, You say!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ I said but few dared carp at you. 

 _Wentworth. _ At me? at us, I hope! The King and I! He's surely not disposed to let me bear The fame away from him of these late deeds In Ireland? I am yet his instrument Be it for well or ill? He trusts me too!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ The King, dear Wentworth, purposes, I said, To grant you, in the face of all the Court. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ All the Court! Evermore the Court about us! Savile and Holland, Hamilton and Vane About us, --then the King will grant me--what? That he for once put these aside and say-- "Tell me your whole mind, Wentworth!"

 _Lady Carlisle. _ You professed You would be calm. 

 _Wentworth. _ Lucy, and I am calm! How else shall I do all I come to do, Broken, as you may see, body and mind, How shall I serve the King? Time wastes meanwhile, You have not told me half. His footstep! No. Quick, then, before I meet him, --I am calm-- Why does the King distrust me?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ He does not Distrust you. 

 _Wentworth. _ Lucy, you can help me; you Have even seemed to care for me: one word! Is it the Queen?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ No, not the Queen: the party That poisons the Queen's ear, Savile and Holland. 

 _Wentworth. _ I know, I know: old Vane, too, he's one too? Go on--and he's made Secretary. Well? Or leave them out and go straight to the charge-- The charge!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Oh, there's no charge, no precise charge; Only they sneer, make light of--one may say, Nibble at what you do. 

 _Wentworth. _ I know! but, Lucy, I reckoned on you from the first!--Go on! --Was sure could I once see this gentle friend When I arrived, she'd throw an hour away To help her . .. What am I?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ You thought of me, Dear Wentworth?

 _Wentworth. _ But go on! The party here!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ They do not think your Irish government Of that surpassing value. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ The one thing Of value! The one service that the crown May count on! All that keeps these very Vanes In power, to vex me--not that they do vex, Only it might vex some to hear that service Decried, the sole support that's left the King!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ So the Archbishop says. 

 _Wentworth. _ Ah? well, perhaps The only hand held up in my defence May be old Laud's! These Hollands then, these Saviles Nibble? They nibble?--that's the very word!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Your profit in the Customs, Bristol says, Exceeds the due proportion: while the tax. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ Enough! 'tis too unworthy, --I am not So patient as I thought. What's Pym about?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Pym?

 _Wentworth. _ Pym and the People. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ O, the Faction! Extinct--of no account: there'll never be Another Parliament. 

 _Wentworth. _ Tell Savile that! You may know--(ay, you do--the creatures here Never forget!) that in my earliest life I was not . .. Much that I am now! The King May take my word on points concerning Pym Before Lord Savile's, Lucy, or if not, I bid them ruin their wise selves, not me, These Vanes and Hollands! I'll not be their tool Who might be Pym's friend yet. But there's the King! Where is he?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Just apprised that you arrive. 

 _Wentworth. _ And why not here to meet me? I was told He sent for me, nay, longed for me. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Because, -- He is now . .. I think a Council's sitting now About this Scots affair. 

 _Wentworth. _ A Council sits? They have not taken a decided course Without me in the matter?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ I should say. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ The war? They cannot have agreed to that? Not the Scots' war?--without consulting me-- Me, that am here to show how rash it is, How easy to dispense with?--Ah, you too Against me! well, --the King may take his time. --Forget it, Lucy! Cares make peevish: mine Weigh me (but 'tis a secret) to my grave. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ For life or death I am your own, dear friend!

[_Goes out. _

 _Wentworth. _ Heartless! but all are heartless here. Go now, Forsake the People! I did not forsake The People: they shall know it, when the King Will trust me!--who trusts all beside at once, While I have not spoke Vane and Savile fair, And am not trusted: have but saved the throne: Have not picked up the Queen's glove prettily, And am not trusted. But he'll see me now. Weston is dead: the Queen's half English now-- More English: one decisive word will brush These insects from . .. The step I know so well! The King! But now, to tell him . .. No--to ask What's in me he distrusts:--or, best begin By proving that this frightful Scots affair Is just what I foretold. So much to say, And the flesh fails, now, and the time is come, And one false step no way to be repaired. You were avenged, Pym, could you look on me. 

_PYM enters. _

 _Wentworth. _ I little thought of you just then. 

 _Pym. _ No? I Think always of you, Wentworth. 

 _Wentworth. _ The old voice! I wait the King, sir. 

 _Pym. _ True--you look so pale! A Council sits within; when that breaks up He'll see you. 

 _Wentworth. _ Sir, I thank you. 

 _Pym. _ Oh, thank Laud! You know when Laud once gets on Church affairs The case is desperate: he'll not be long To-day: he only means to prove, to-day, We English all are mad to have a hand In butchering the Scots for serving God After their fathers' fashion: only that!

[Illustration: Whitehall]

 _Wentworth. _ Sir, keep your jests for those who relish them! (Does he enjoy their confidence?) 'Tis kind To tell me what the Council does. 

 _Pym. _ You grudge That I should know it had resolved on war Before you came? no need: you shall have all The credit, trust me!

 _Wentworth. _ Have the Council dared-- They have not dared . .. That is--I know you not. Farewell, sir: times are changed. 

 _Pym. _ --Since we two met At Greenwich? Yes: poor patriots though we be, You cut a figure, makes some slight return For your exploits in Ireland! Changed indeed, Could our friend Eliot look from out his grave! Ah, Wentworth, one thing for acquaintance' sake, Just to decide a question; have you, now, Felt your old self since you forsook us?

 _Wentworth. _ Sir!

 _Pym. _ Spare me the gesture! you misapprehend. Think not I mean the advantage is with me. I was about to say that, for my part, I never quite held up my head since then-- Was quite myself since then: for first, you see, I lost all credit after that event With those who recollect how sure I was Wentworth would outdo Eliot on our side. Forgive me: Savile, old Vane, Holland here, Eschew plain-speaking: 'tis a trick I keep. 

 _Wentworth. _ How, when, where, Savile, Vane, and Holland speak, Plainly or otherwise, would have my scorn, All of my scorn, sir. .. . 

 _Pym. _ . .. Did not my poor thoughts Claim somewhat?

 _Wentworth. _ Keep your thoughts! believe the King Mistrusts me for their prattle, all these Vanes And Saviles! make your mind up, o' God's love, That I am discontented with the King!

 _Pym. _ Why, you may be: I should be, that I know, Were I like you. 

 _Wentworth. _ Like me?

 _Pym. _ I care not much For titles: our friend Eliot died no lord, Hampden's no lord, and Savile is a lord; But you care, since you sold your soul for one. I can't think, therefore, your soul's purchaser Did well to laugh you to such utter scorn When you twice prayed so humbly for its price, The thirty silver pieces . .. I should say, The Earldom you expected, still expect, And may. Your letters were the movingest! Console yourself: I've borne him prayers just now From Scotland not to be oppressed by Laud, Words moving in their way: he'll pay, be sure, As much attention as to those you sent. 

 _Wentworth. _ False, sir! Who showed them you? Suppose it so, The King did very well . .. Nay, I was glad When it was shown me: I refused, the first! John Pym, you were my friend--forbear me once!

 _Pym. _ Oh, Wentworth, ancient brother of my soul, That all should come to this!

 _Wentworth. _ Leave me!

 _Pym. _ My friend, Why should I leave you?

 _Wentworth. _ To tell Rudyard this, And Hampden this!

 _Pym. _ Whose faces once were bright At my approach, now sad with doubt and fear, Because I hope in you--yes, Wentworth, you Who never mean to ruin England--you Who shake off, with God's help, an obscene dream In this Ezekiel chamber, where it crept Upon you first, and wake, yourself, your true And proper self, our Leader, England's Chief, And Hampden's friend! This is the proudest day! Come, Wentworth! Do not even see the King! The rough old room will seem itself again! We'll both go in together: you've not seen Hampden so long: come: and there's Fiennes: you'll have To know young Vane. This is the proudest day!

[_The KING enters. WENTWORTH lets fall PYM'S hand. _

 _Charles. _ Arrived, my lord?--This gentleman, we know Was your old friend. The Scots shall be informed What we determine for their happiness. 

[_PYM goes out. _

 You have made haste, my lord. 

 _Wentworth. _ Sir, I am come. .. . 

 _Charles. _ To see an old familiar--nay, 'tis well; Aid us with his experience: this Scots' League And Covenant spreads too far, and we have proofs That they intrigue with France: the Faction too, Whereof your friend there is the head and front, Abets them, --as he boasted, very like. 

 _Wentworth. _ Sir, trust me! but for this once, trust me, sir!

 _Charles. _ What can you mean?

 _Wentworth. _ That you should trust me, sir! Oh--not for my sake! but 'tis sad, so sad That for distrusting me, you suffer--you Whom I would die to serve: sir, do you think That I would die to serve you?

 _Charles. _ But rise, Wentworth!

 _Wentworth. _ What shall convince you? What does Savile do To prove him. .. . Ah, one can't tear out one's heart And show it, how sincere a thing it is!

 _Charles. _ Have I not trusted you?

 _Wentworth. _ Say aught but that! There is my comfort, mark you: all will be So different when you trust me--as you shall! It has not been your fault, --I was away, Mistook, maligned, how was the King to know? I am here, now--he means to trust me, now-- All will go on so well!

 _Charles. _ Be sure I do-- I've heard that I should trust you: as you came, Your friend, the Countess, told me. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ No, --hear nothing-- Be told nothing about me!--you're not told Your right-hand serves you, or your children love you!

 _Charles. _ You love me, Wentworth: rise!

 _Wentworth. _ I can speak now. I have no right to hide the truth. 'Tis I Can save you: only I. Sir, what must be?

 _Charles. _ Since Laud's assured (the minutes are within) --Loath as I am to spill my subjects' blood. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ That is, he'll have a war: what's done is done!

 _Charles. _ They have intrigued with France; that's clear to Laud. 

 _Wentworth. _ Has Laud suggested any way to meet The war's expense?

 _Charles. _ He'd not decide so far Until you joined us. 

 _Wentworth. _ Most considerate! He's certain they intrigue with France, these Scots? The People would be with us. 

 _Charles. _ Pym should know. 

 _Wentworth. _ The People for us--were the People for us! Sir, a great thought comes to reward your trust: Summon a Parliament! in Ireland first, Then, here. 

 _Charles. _ In truth?

 _Wentworth. _ That saves us! that puts off The war, gives time to right their grievances-- To talk with Pym. I know the Faction, --Laud So styles it, --tutors Scotland: all their plans Suppose no Parliament: in calling one You take them by surprise. Produce the proofs Of Scotland's treason; then bid England help: Even Pym will not refuse. 

 _Charles. _ You would begin With Ireland?

 _Wentworth. _ Take no care for that: that's sure To prosper. 

 _Charles. _ You shall rule me. You were best Return at once: but take this ere you go! Now, do I trust you? You're an Earl: my Friend Of Friends: yes, while. .. . You hear me not!

 _Wentworth. _ Say it all o'er again--but once again: The first was for the music: once again!

 _Charles. _ Strafford, my friend, there may have been reports, Vain rumors. Henceforth touching Strafford is To touch the apple of my sight: why gaze So earnestly?

 _Wentworth. _ I am grown young again, And foolish. What was it we spoke of?

 _Charles. _ Ireland, The Parliament, --

 _Wentworth. _ I may go when I will? --Now?

 _Charles. _ Are you tired so soon of us?

 _Wentworth. _ My King! But you will not so utterly abhor A Parliament? I'd serve you any way. 

 _Charles. _ You said just now this was the only way. 

 _Wentworth. _ Sir, I will serve you. 

 _Charles. _ Strafford, spare yourself: You are so sick, they tell me. 

 _Wentworth. _ 'Tis my soul That's well and prospers now. This Parliament-- We'll summon it, the English one--I'll care For everything. You shall not need them much. 

 _Charles. _ If they prove restive. .. . 

 _Wentworth. _ I shall be with you. 

 _Charles. _ Ere they assemble?

 _Wentworth. _ I will come, or else Deposit this infirm humanity I' the dust. My whole heart stays with you, my King!

[_As WENTWORTH goes out, the QUEEN enters. _

 _Charles. _ That man must love me. 

 _Queen. _ Is it over then? Why, he looks yellower than ever! Well, At least we shall not hear eternally Of service--services: he's paid at least. 

 _Charles. _ Not done with: he engages to surpass All yet performed in Ireland. 

 _Queen. _ I had thought Nothing beyond was ever to be done. The war, Charles--will he raise supplies enough?

 _Charles. _ We've hit on an expedient; he . .. That is, I have advised . .. We have decided on The calling--in Ireland--of a Parliament. 

 _Queen. _ O truly! You agree to that? Is that The first fruit of his counsel? But I guessed As much. 

 _Charles. _ This is too idle, Henriette! I should know best. He will strain every nerve, And once a precedent established. .. . 

 _Queen. _ Notice How sure he is of a long term of favor! He'll see the next, and the next after that; No end to Parliaments!

 _Charles. _ Well, it is done. He talks it smoothly, doubtless. If, indeed, The Commons here. .. . 

 _Queen. _ Here! you will summon them Here? Would I were in France again to see A King!

 _Charles. _ But, Henriette. .. . 

 _Queen. _ Oh, the Scots see clear! Why should they bear your rule?

 _Charles. _ But listen, sweet!

 _Queen. _ Let Wentworth listen--you confide in him!

 _Charles. _ I do not, love, --I do not so confide! The Parliament shall never trouble us . .. Nay, hear me! I have schemes, such schemes: we'll buy The leaders off: without that, Wentworth's counsel Had ne'er prevailed on me. Perhaps I call it To have excuse for breaking it for ever, And whose will then the blame be? See you not? Come, dearest!--look, the little fairy, now, That cannot reach my shoulder! Dearest, come!

In the second act, the historical episode, which pervades the act is theassembling and the dissolution of the Short Parliament. Only the salientpoints of the political situation have been seized upon by Browning. Asin the first act, the popular party in private conclave is introduced. From the talk it is gathered that feeling runs high against Strafford, by whose advice the Parliament had been called, because of theexorbitant demands made upon it for money to support an army, this armyto crush Scotland whose cause was so nearly like its own. The popularparty or the Faction had supposed the Parliament would be a means forthe redressing of its long list of grievances which had beenaccumulating during the years since the last Parliament had been held. Instead of that the Commons was deliberately informed by Charles thatthere would be no discussions of its demands until it had granted thesubsidies for which it had been asked. The play gives one a much morelively sense of the indignant feelings of the duped men than canpossibly be gained by reading many more pages of history with itsendless minor details. Upon this gathering, Pym suddenly enters again, and to the reproaches of him for his belief in Strafford, makes thereply that the Parliament has been dissolved, the King has castStrafford off forever, and henceforth Strafford will be on theirside, --a conclusion not warranted by history, and, of course, found outto be erroneous by Pym and his followers in the next scene. Again thereis the dramatic need to emphasize the human side of life even in anessentially political play, by showing that Pym's friendship and loyaltyto Wentworth were no uncertain elements in his character. The moment itcould be proved beyond a doubt that Wentworth was in the eyes of Pym, England's enemy, that moment Pym knew it would become his painful dutyto crush Wentworth utterly, therefore Pym had for his own conscience'sake to make the uttermost trial of his faith. 

The second scene, as in the first act, brings out the other side. It isin the main true to history though much condensed. History relates thatafter the Short Parliament was dissolved, "voices were raised atWhitehall in condemnation of Strafford. " His policy of raising subsidiesfrom the Parliament having failed, criticisms would, of course, be madeupon his having pushed ahead a war without the proper means ofsustaining it. Charles himself was also frightened by the manifestationsof popular discontent and failed to uphold Wentworth in his policy. 

Northumberland had been appointed commander-in-chief of the army, butbesides having little heart for an enterprise so badly prepared for, hewas ill in bed and could not take command of the army, so the Kingappointed Strafford in his place. A hint of Strafford as he appears inthis scene may be taken from Clarendon who writes "The earl of Straffordwas scarce recovered from a great sickness, yet was willing to undertakethe charge out of pure indignation to see how few men were forward toserve the King with that vigor of mind they ought to do; but knowingwell the malicious designs which were contrived against himself, he would rather serve as lieutenant-general under the earl ofNorthumberland, than that he should resign his commission: and so, withand under that qualification, he made all possible haste towards thenorth before he had strength enough for the journey. " Browning makes theKing tell Strafford in this interview that he has dissolved theParliament. He represents Strafford as horrified by the news and drivenin this extremity to suggest the desperate measure of debasing thecoinage as a means of obtaining funds. Strafford actually counseledthis, when all else failed, namely, the proposed loan from the city, andone from the Spanish government, but, according to history, he himselfvoted for the dissolution of Parliament, though the play is accurate inlaying the necessity of the dissolution at the door of old Vane. It wastruly his ill-judged vehemence, for, not able to brook the arguments ofthe Commons, "He rose, " says Gardiner, "to state that the King wouldaccept nothing less than the twelve subsidies which he had demanded inhis message. Upon this the Committee broke up without coming to aresolution, postponing further consideration of the matter to thefollowing day. " The next morning the King who had called his councillorstogether early "announced his intention of proceeding to a dissolution. Strafford, who arrived late, begged that the question might first beseriously discussed, and that the opinions of the Councillors, who werealso members of the Lower House, might first be heard. Vane declaredthat there was no hope that the Commons 'would give one penny. ' On thisthe votes were taken. Northumberland and Holland were alone in wishingto avert a dissolution. Supported by the rest of the Council the Kinghurried to the House of Lords and dissolved Parliament. "

Wholly imaginary is the episode in this scene where Pym and hisfollowers break in upon the interview of Wentworth and the King. Justat the climax of Wentworth's sorrowful rage at the King's treatment ofhim, they come to claim Wentworth for their side. 

 That you would say I did advise the war; And if, through your own weakness, or what's worse, These Scots, with God to help them, drive me back, You will not step between the raging People And me, to say. .. . I knew it! from the first I knew it! Never was so cold a heart! Remember that I said it--that I never Believed you for a moment! --And, you loved me? You thought your perfidy profoundly hid Because I could not share the whisperings With Vane, with Savile? What, the face was masked? I had the heart to see, sir! Face of flesh, But heart of stone--of smooth cold frightful stone! Ay, call them! Shall I call for you? The Scots Goaded to madness? Or the English--Pym-- Shall I call Pym, your subject? Oh, you think I'll leave them in the dark about it all? They shall not know you? Hampden, Pym shall not?

_PYM, HAMPDEN, VANE, etc. , enter. _

 [_Dropping on his knee. _] Thus favored with your gracious countenance What shall a rebel League avail against Your servant, utterly and ever yours? So, gentlemen, the King's not even left The privilege of bidding me farewell Who haste to save the People--that you style Your People--from the mercies of the Scots And France their friend? [_To CHARLES. _] Pym's grave grey eyes are fixed Upon you, sir! Your pleasure, gentlemen?

 _Hampden. _ The King dissolved us--'tis the King we seek And not Lord Strafford. 

 _Strafford. _ --Strafford, guilty too Of counselling the measure. [_To CHARLES. _] (Hush . .. You know-- You have forgotten--sir, I counselled it) A heinous matter, truly! But the King Will yet see cause to thank me for a course Which now, perchance . .. (Sir, tell them so!)--he blames. Well, choose some fitter time to make your charge: I shall be with the Scots, you understand? Then yelp at me! Meanwhile, your Majesty Binds me, by this fresh token of your trust. .. . 

[_Under the pretence of an earnest farewell, STRAFFORD conducts CHARLESto the door, in such a manner as to hide his agitation from the rest: asthe King disappears, they turn as by one impulse to PYM, who has notchanged his original posture of surprise. _

 _Hampden. _ Leave we this arrogant strong wicked man!

 _Vane and others. _ Hence, Pym! Come out of this unworthy place To our old room again! He's gone. 

[_STRAFFORD, just about to follow the KING, looks back. _

 _Pym. _ Not gone! [_To STRAFFORD. _] Keep tryst! the old appointment's made anew: Forget not we shall meet again!

 _Strafford. _ So be it! And if an army follows me?

 _Vane. _ His friends Will entertain your army!

 _Pym. _ I'll not say You have misreckoned, Strafford: time shows. Perish Body and spirit! Fool to feign a doubt, Pretend the scrupulous and nice reserve Of one whose prowess shall achieve the feat! What share have I in it? Do I affect To see no dismal sign above your head When God suspends his ruinous thunder there? Strafford is doomed. Touch him no one of you!

[_PYM, HAMPDEN, etc. , go out. _

 _Strafford. _ Pym, we shall meet again!

In the final talk of this scene with Carlisle, the pathos of Strafford'sposition is wonderfully brought out--the man who loves his King soovermuch that no perfidy on the King's part can make his resolution toserve him waver for an instant. 

_+Lady+ CARLISLE enters. _

 You here, child?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Hush-- I know it all: hush, Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ Ah? you know? Well. I shall make a sorry soldier, Lucy! All knights begin their enterprise, we read, Under the best of auspices; 'tis morn, The Lady girds his sword upon the Youth (He's always very young)--the trumpets sound, Cups pledge him, and, why, the King blesses him-- You need not turn a page of the romance To learn the Dreadful Giant's fate. Indeed, We've the fair Lady here; but she apart, -- A poor man, rarely having handled lance, And rather old, weary, and far from sure His Squires are not the Giant's friends. All's one: Let us go forth!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Go forth?

 _Strafford. _ What matters it? We shall die gloriously--as the book says. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ To Scotland? Not to Scotland?

 _Strafford. _ Am I sick Like your good brother, brave Northumberland? Beside, these walls seem falling on me. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford, The wind that saps these walls can undermine Your camp in Scotland, too. Whence creeps the wind? Have you no eyes except for Pym? Look here! A breed of silken creatures lurk and thrive In your contempt. You'll vanquish Pym? Old Vane Can vanquish you. And Vane you think to fly? Rush on the Scots! Do nobly! Vane's slight sneer Shall test success, adjust the praise, suggest The faint result: Vane's sneer shall reach you there. --You do not listen!

 _Strafford. _ Oh, --I give that up! There's fate in it: I give all here quite up. Care not what old Vane does or Holland does Against me! 'Tis so idle to withstand! In no case tell me what they do!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ But, Strafford. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ I want a little strife, beside; real strife; This petty palace-warfare does me harm: I shall feel better, fairly out of it. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Why do you smile?

 _Strafford. _ I got to fear them, child! I could have torn his throat at first, old Vane's, As he leered at me on his stealthy way To the Queen's closet. Lord, one loses heart! I often found it on my lips to say "Do not traduce me to her!"

 _Lady Carlisle. _ But the King. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ The King stood there, 'tis not so long ago, --There; and the whisper, Lucy, "Be my friend Of friends!"--My King! I would have. .. . 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ . .. Died for him?

 _Strafford. _ Sworn him true, Lucy: I can die for him. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ But go not, Strafford! But you must renounce This project on the Scots! Die, wherefore die? Charles never loved you. 

 _Strafford. _ And he never will. He's not of those who care the more for men That they're unfortunate. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Then wherefore die For such a master?

 _Strafford. _ You that told me first How good he was--when I must leave true friends To find a truer friend!--that drew me here From Ireland, --"I had but to show myself And Charles would spurn Vane, Savile, and the rest"-- You, child, to ask me this?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (If he have set His heart abidingly on Charles!) Then, friend, I shall not see you any more. 

 _Strafford. _ Yes, Lucy. There's one man here I have to meet. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (The King! What way to save him from the King? My soul-- That lent from its own store the charmed disguise Which clothes the King--he shall behold my soul!) Strafford, --I shall speak best if you'll not gaze Upon me: I had never thought, indeed, To speak, but you would perish too, so sure! Could you but know what 'tis to bear, my friend, One image stamped within you, turning blank The else imperial brilliance of your mind, -- A weakness, but most precious, --like a flaw I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever!

 _Strafford. _ When could it be? no! Yet . .. Was it the day We waited in the anteroom, till Holland Should leave the presence-chamber?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ What?

 _Strafford. _ --That I Described to you my love for Charles?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (Ah, no-- One must not lure him from a love like that! Oh, let him love the King and die! 'Tis past. I shall not serve him worse for that one brief And passionate hope, silent for ever now!) And you are really bound for Scotland then? I wish you well: you must be very sure Of the King's faith, for Pym and all his crew Will not be idle--setting Vane aside!

 _Strafford. _ If Pym is busy, --you may write of Pym. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ What need, since there's your King to take your part? He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym-- Think you he'll suffer Pym to. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ Child, your hair Is glossier than the Queen's!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Is that to ask A curl of me?

 _Strafford. _ Scotland----the weary way!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Stay, let me fasten it. --A rival's, Strafford?

 _Strafford_ [_showing the George_]. He hung it there: twine yours around it, child!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ No--no--another time--I trifle so! And there's a masque on foot. Farewell. The Court Is dull; do something to enliven us In Scotland: we expect it at your hands. 

 _Strafford. _ I shall not fail in Scotland. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Prosper--if You'll think of me sometimes!

 _Strafford. _ How think of him And not of you? of you, the lingering streak (A golden one) in my good fortune's eve. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford. .. . Well, when the eve has its last streak The night has its first star. 

[_She goes out. _

 _Strafford. _ That voice of hers-- You'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice Is soft too. Only God can save him now. Be Thou about his bed, about his path! His path! Where's England's path? Diverging wide, And not to join again the track my foot Must follow--whither? All that forlorn way Among the tombs! Far--far--till. .. . What, they do Then join again, these paths? For, huge in the dusk, There's--Pym to face! Why then, I have a foe To close with, and a fight to fight at last Worthy my soul! What, do they beard the King, And shall the King want Strafford at his need? Am I not here? Not in the market-place, Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down Hungry yet smile "Why, it must end some day: Is he not watching for our sake?" Not there! But in Whitehall, the whited sepulchre, The. .. . Curse nothing to-night! Only one name They'll curse in all those streets to-night. Whose fault? Did I make kings? set up, the first, a man To represent the multitude, receive All love in right of them--supplant them so, Until you love the man and not the king---- The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes Which send me forth. --To breast the bloody sea That sweeps before me: with one star for guide. Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star. 

During the third act, the long Parliament is in session, and Pym ismaking his great speech impeaching Wentworth. 

The conditions of affairs at the time of this Parliament were well-nighdesperate for Charles and Wentworth. Things had not gone well with theScottish war and Wentworth was falling more and more into disfavor. England was now threatened with a Scottish invasion. Still, even withthis danger to face it was impossible to raise money to support thearmy. The English had a suspicion that the Scotch cause was their own. The universal demand for a Parliament could no longer be ignored; theKing, therefore, summoned it to meet on the third of November. As Firthobserves, "To Strafford this meant ruin, but he hardly realized thegreatness of the danger in which he stood. On October 8, the ScotchCommissioners in a public paper denounced him as an incendiary, anddeclared that they meant to insist on his punishment. 

"As soon as the Parliament opened Charles discovered that it wasnecessary for his service to have Strafford again by his side, andsummoned him to London. There is evidence that his friends urged him topass over to Ireland where the army rested at his devotion, or totransport himself to foreign Kingdoms till fairer weather here shouldinvite him home. The Marquis of Hamilton advised him to fly, but asHamilton told the King, the Earl was too great-hearted to fear. Thoughconscious of the peril of obedience, he set out to London to stand byhis Master. "

The enmity of the Court party to Strafford is touched upon in the firstscene, and in the second, Strafford's return, unsuspecting of the greatblow that awaits him. He had indeed meditated a blow on his own part. According to Firth, he felt that "One desperate resource remained. Theintrigues of the parliamentary leaders with the Scots had come toStrafford's knowledge, and he had determined to impeach them of hightreason. He could prove that Pym and his friends had secretlycommunicated with the rebels, and invited them to bring a Scottish armyinto England. Strafford arrived in London on Monday, November 9, 1640, and spent Tuesday in resting after his journey. On the morning ofWednesday the 11th, he took his seat in the House of Lords, but did notstrike the blow. " Upon that day he was impeached of high treason by Pym. Gardiner's account here has much the same dramatic force as the play. 

"Followed by a crowd of approving members, Pym carried up the message. Whilst the Lords were still debating on this unusual request forimprisonment before the charge had been set forth, the news of theimpeachment was carried to Strafford. 'I will go, ' he proudly said 'andlook my accusers in the face. ' With haughty mien and scowling brow hestrode up the floor of the House to his place of honor. There were thoseamongst the Peers who had no wish to allow him to speak, lest he shouldaccuse them of complicity with the Scots. The Lords, as a body, felteven more personally aggrieved by his method of government than theCommons. Shouts of 'Withdraw! withdraw!' rose from every side. As soonas he was gone an order was passed sequestering the Lord-Lieutenant fromhis place in the House and committing him to the custody of theGentleman Usher. He was then called in and bidden to kneel whilst theorder was read. He asked permission to speak, but his request wassternly refused. Maxwell, the Usher of the Black Rod, took from him hissword, and conducted him out of the House. The crowd outside gazedpitilessly on the fallen minister, 'No man capping to him, before whomthat morning the greatest in England would have stood dis-covered. ''What is the matter?' they asked. 'A small matter, I warrant you, 'replied Strafford with forced levity. 'Yes, indeed, ' answered abystander, 'high treason is a small matter. '"

This passage brings up the scene in a manner so similar to that of theplay, it is safe to say that Gardiner was here influenced by Browning, the history having been written many years after the play. 

SCENE II. --_Whitehall. _

_The QUEEN and +Lady+ CARLISLE. _

 _Queen. _ It cannot be. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ It is so. 

 _Queen. _ Why, the House Have hardly met. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ They met for that. 

 _Queen. _ No, no! Meet to impeach Lord Strafford? 'Tis a jest. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ A bitter one. 

 _Queen. _ Consider! 'Tis the House We summoned so reluctantly, which nothing But the disastrous issue of the war Persuaded us to summon. They'll wreak all Their spite on us, no doubt; but the old way Is to begin by talk of grievances: They have their grievances to busy them. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Pym has begun his speech. 

 _Queen. _ Where's Vane?--That is, Pym will impeach Lord Strafford if he leaves His Presidency; he's at York, we know, Since the Scots beat him: why should he leave York?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Because the King sent for him. 

 _Queen. _ Ah--but if The King did send for him, he let him know We had been forced to call a Parliament-- A step which Strafford, now I come to think, Was vehement against. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ The policy Escaped him, of first striking Parliaments To earth, then setting them upon their feet And giving them a sword: but this is idle. Did the King send for Strafford? He will come. 

 _Queen. _ And what am I to do?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ What do? Fail, madam! Be ruined for his sake! what matters how, So it but stand on record that you made An effort, only one?

 _Queen. _ The King away At Theobald's!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Send for him at once: he must Dissolve the House. 

 _Queen. _ Wait till Vane finds the truth Of the report: then. .. . 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ --It will matter little What the King does. Strafford that lends his arm And breaks his heart for you!

_+Sir+ H. VANE enters. _

 _Vane. _ The Commons, madam, Are sitting with closed doors. A huge debate, No lack of noise; but nothing, I should guess, Concerning Strafford: Pym has certainly Not spoken yet. 

 _Queen_ [_to +Lady+ CARLISLE_]. You hear?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ I do not hear That the King's sent for!

 _Vane. _ Savile will be able To tell you more. 

_HOLLAND enters. _

 _Queen. _ The last news, Holland?

 _Holland. _ Pym Is raging like a fire. The whole House means To follow him together to Whitehall And force the King to give up Strafford. 

 _Queen. _ Strafford?

 _Holland. _ If they content themselves with Strafford! Laud Is talked of, Cottington and Windebank too. Pym has not left out one of them--I would You heard Pym raging!

 _Queen. _ Vane, go find the King! Tell the King, Vane, the People follow Pym To brave us at Whitehall!

_SAVILE enters. _

 _Savile. _ Not to Whitehall-- 'Tis to the Lords they go: they seek redress On Strafford from his peers--the legal way, They call it. 

 _Queen. _ (Wait, Vane!)

 _Savile. _ But the adage gives Long life to threatened men. Strafford can save Himself so readily: at York, remember, In his own country: what has he to fear? The Commons only mean to frighten him From leaving York. Surely, he will not come. 

 _Queen. _ Lucy, he will not come!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Once more, the King Has sent for Strafford. He will come. 

 _Vane. _ Oh doubtless! And bring destruction with him: that's his way. What but his coming spoilt all Conway's plan? The King must take his counsel, choose his friends, Be wholly ruled by him! What's the result? The North that was to rise, Ireland to help, -- What came of it? In my poor mind, a fright Is no prodigious punishment. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ A fright? Pym will fail worse than Strafford if he thinks To frighten him. [_To the QUEEN. _] You will not save him then?

 _Savile. _ When something like a charge is made, the King Will best know how to save him: and t'is clear, While Strafford suffers nothing by the matter, The King may reap advantage: this in question, No dinning you with ship-money complaints!

 _Queen_ [_to +Lady+ CARLISLE_]. If we dissolve them, who will pay the army? Protect us from the insolent Scots?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ In truth, I know not, madam. Strafford's fate concerns Me little: you desired to learn what course Would save him: I obey you. 

 _Vane. _ Notice, too, There can't be fairer ground for taking full Revenge--(Strafford's revengeful)--than he'll have Against his old friend Pym. 

 _Queen. _ Why, he shall claim Vengeance on Pym!

 _Vane. _ And Strafford, who is he To 'scape unscathed amid the accidents That harass all beside? I, for my part, Should look for something of discomfiture Had the King trusted me so thoroughly And been so paid for it. 

 _Holland. _ He'll keep at York: All will blow over: he'll return no worse, Humbled a little, thankful for a place Under as good a man. Oh, we'll dispense With seeing Strafford for a month or two!

_STRAFFORD enters. _

 _Queen. _ You here!

 _Strafford. _ The King sends for me, madam. 

 _Queen. _ Sir, The King. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ An urgent matter that imports the King! [_To +Lady+ CARLISLE. _] Why, Lucy, what's in agitation now, That all this muttering and shrugging, see, Begins at me? They do not speak!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ 'Tis welcome! For we are proud of you--happy and proud To have you with us, Strafford! You were staunch At Durham: you did well there! Had you not Been stayed, you might have . .. We said, even now, Our hope's in you!

 _Vane_ [_to +Lady+ CARLISLE_]. The Queen would speak with you. 

 _Strafford. _ Will one of you, his servants here, vouchsafe To signify my presence to the King?

 _Savile. _ An urgent matter?

 _Strafford. _ None that touches you, Lord Savile! Say, it were some treacherous Sly pitiful intriguing with the Scots-- You would go free, at least! (They half divine My purpose!) Madam, shall I see the King? The service I would render, much concerns His welfare. 

 _Queen. _ But his Majesty, my lord, May not be here, may. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ Its importance, then, Must plead excuse for this withdrawal, madam, And for the grief it gives Lord Savile here. 

 _Queen_ [_who has been conversing with VANE and HOLLAND_]. The King will see you, sir! [_To +Lady+ CARLISLE. _] Mark me: Pym's worst Is done by now: he has impeached the Earl, Or found the Earl too strong for him, by now. Let us not seem instructed! We should work No good to Strafford, but deform ourselves With shame in the world's eye. [_To STRAFFORD. _] His Majesty Has much to say with you. 

 _Strafford. _ Time fleeting, too! [_To +Lady+ CARLISLE. _] No means of getting them away? And She-- What does she whisper? Does she know my purpose? What does she think of it? Get them away!

 _Queen_ [_to +Lady+ CARLISLE_]. He comes to baffle Pym--he thinks the danger Far off: tell him no word of it! a time For help will come; we'll not be wanting then. Keep him in play, Lucy--you, self-possessed And calm! [_To STRAFFORD. _] To spare your lordship some delay I will myself acquaint the King. [_To +Lady+ CARLISLE. _] Beware!

[_The QUEEN, VANE, HOLLAND, and SAVILE go out. _

 _Strafford. _ She knows it?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Tell me, Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ Afterward! This moment's the great moment of all time. She knows my purpose?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Thoroughly: just now She bade me hide it from you. 

 _Strafford. _ Quick, dear child, The whole o' the scheme?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (Ah, he would learn if they Connive at Pym's procedure! Could they but Have once apprised the King! But there's no time For falsehood, now. ) Strafford, the whole is known. 

 _Strafford. _ Known and approved?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Hardly discountenanced. 

 _Strafford. _ And the King--say, the King consents as well?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ The King's not yet informed, but will not dare To interpose. 

 _Strafford. _ What need to wait him, then? He'll sanction it! I stayed, child, tell him, long! It vexed me to the soul--this waiting here. You know him, there's no counting on the King. Tell him I waited long!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (What can he mean? Rejoice at the King's hollowness?)

 _Strafford. _ I knew They would be glad of it, --all over once, I knew they would be glad: but he'd contrive, The Queen and he, to mar, by helping it, An angel's making. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ (Is he mad?) Dear Strafford, You were not wont to look so happy. 

 _Strafford. _ Sweet, I tried obedience thoroughly. I took The King's wild plan: of course, ere I could reach My army, Conway ruined it. I drew The wrecks together, raised all heaven and earth, And would have fought the Scots: the King at once Made truce with them. Then, Lucy, then, dear child, God put it in my mind to love, serve, die For Charles, but never to obey him more! While he endured their insolence at Ripon I fell on them at Durham. But you'll tell The King I waited? All the anteroom Is filled with my adherents. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford--Strafford, What daring act is this you hint?

 _Strafford. _ No, no! 'Tis here, not daring if you knew? all here!

[_Drawing papers from his breast. _

 Full proof, see, ample proof--does the Queen know I have such damning proof? Bedford and Essex, Brooke, Warwick, Savile (did you notice Savile? The simper that I spoilt?), Saye, Mandeville-- Sold to the Scots, body and soul, by Pym!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Great heaven!

 _Strafford. _ From Savile and his lords, to Pym And his losels, crushed!--Pym shall not ward the blow Nor Savile creep aside from it! The Crew And the Cabal--I crush them!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ And you go-- Strafford, --and now you go?--

 _Strafford. _ --About no work In the background, I promise you! I go Straight to the House of Lords to claim these knaves. Mainwaring!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Stay--stay, Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ She'll return, The Queen--some little project of her own! No time to lose: the King takes fright perhaps. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Pym's strong, remember!

 _Strafford. _ Very strong, as fits The Faction's head--with no offence to Hampden, Vane, Rudyard and my loving Hollis: one And all they lodge within the Tower to-night In just equality. Bryan! Mainwaring!

[_Many of his +Adherents+ enter. _

 The Peers debate just now (a lucky chance) On the Scots' war; my visit's opportune. When all is over, Bryan, you proceed To Ireland: these dispatches, mark me, Bryan, Are for the Deputy, and these for Ormond: We want the army here--my army, raised At such a cost, that should have done such good, And was inactive all the time! no matter, We'll find a use for it. Willis . .. Or, no--you! You, friend, make haste to York: bear this, at once . .. Or, --better stay for form's sake, see yourself The news you carry. You remain with me To execute the Parliament's command, Mainwaring! Help to seize these lesser knaves, Take care there's no escaping at backdoors: I'll not have one escape, mind me--not one! I seem revengeful, Lucy? Did you know What these men dare!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ It is so much they dare!

 _Strafford. _ I proved that long ago; my turn is now. Keep sharp watch, Goring, on the citizens! Observe who harbors any of the brood That scramble off: be sure they smart for it! Our coffers are but lean. And you, child, too, Shall have your task; deliver this to Laud. Laud will not be the slowest in thy praise: "Thorough" he'll cry!--Foolish, to be so glad! This life is gay and glowing, after all: 'Tis worth while, Lucy, having foes like mine Just for the bliss of crushing them. To-day Is worth the living for. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ That reddening brow! You seem. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ Well--do I not? I would be well-- I could not but be well on such a day! And, this day ended, 'tis of slight import How long the ravaged frame subjects the soul In Strafford. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Noble Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ No farewell! I'll see you anon, to-morrow--the first thing. --If She should come to stay me!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Go--'tis nothing-- Only my heart that swells: it has been thus Ere now: go, Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ To-night, then, let it be. I must see Him: you, the next after Him. I'll tell how Pym looked. Follow me, friends! You, gentlemen, shall see a sight this hour To talk of all your lives. Close after me! "My friend of friends!"

[_STRAFFORD and the rest go out. _

 _Lady Carlisle. _ The King--ever the King! No thought of one beside, whose little word Unveils the King to him--one word from me, Which yet I do not breathe! Ah, have I spared Strafford a pang, and shall I seek reward Beyond that memory? Surely too, some way He is the better for my love. No, no-- He would not look so joyous--I'll believe His very eye would never sparkle thus, Had I not prayed for him this long, long while. 

SCENE III. --_The Antechamber of the House of Lords. _

_Many of the Presbyterian Party. The +Adherents+ of STRAFFORD, etc. _

 _A Group of Presbyterians. _ --1. I tell you he struck Maxwell: Maxwell sought To stay the Earl: he struck him and passed on. 2. Fear as you may, keep a good countenance Before these rufflers. 3. Strafford here the first, With the great army at his back! 4. No doubt. I would Pym had made haste: that's Bryan, hush-- The gallant pointing. 

 _Strafford's Followers. _ --1. Mark these worthies, now! 2. A goodly gathering! "Where the carcass is There shall the eagles"--what's the rest? 3. For eagles Say crows. 

 _A Presbyterian. _ Stand back, sirs!

 _One of Strafford's Followers. _ Are we in Geneva?

 _A Presbyterian. _ No, nor in Ireland; we have leave to breathe. 

 _One of Strafford's Followers. _ Truly? Behold how privileged we be That serve "King Pym"! There's Some-one at Whitehall Who skulks obscure; but Pym struts. .. . 

 _The Presbyterian. _ Nearer. 

 _A Follower of Strafford. _ Higher, We look to see him. [_To his +Companions+. _] I'm to have St. John In charge; was he among the knaves just now That followed Pym within there?

 _Another. _ The gaunt man Talking with Rudyard. Did the Earl expect Pym at his heels so fast? I like it not. 

_MAXWELL enters. _

 _Another. _ Why, man, they rush into the net! Here's Maxwell-- Ha, Maxwell? How the brethren flock around The fellow! Do you feel the Earl's hand yet Upon your shoulder, Maxwell?

 _Maxwell. _ Gentlemen, Stand back! a great thing passes here. 

 _A Follower of Strafford_ [_To another_]. The Earl Is at his work! [_To +M. +_] Say, Maxwell, what great thing! Speak out! [_To a +Presbyterian+. _] Friend, I've a kindness for you! Friend, I've seen you with St. John: O stockishness! Wear such a ruff, and never call to mind St. John's head in a charger? How, the plague, Not laugh?

 _Another. _ Say, Maxwell, what great thing!

 _Another. _ Nay, wait: The jest will be to wait. 

 _First. _ And who's to bear These demure hypocrites? You'd swear they came . .. Came . .. Just as we come!

[_A +Puritan+ enters hastily and without observing STRAFFORD'S+Followers+. _

 _The Puritan. _ How goes on the work? Has Pym. .. . 

 _A Follower of Strafford. _ The secret's out at last. Aha, The carrion's scented! Welcome, crow the first! Gorge merrily, you with the blinking eye! "King Pym has fallen!"

 _The Puritan. _ Pym?

 _A Strafford. _ Pym!

 _A Presbyterian. _ Only Pym?

 _Many of Strafford's Followers. _ No, brother, not Pym only; Vane as well, Rudyard as well, Hampden, St. John as well!

 _A Presbyterian. _ My mind misgives: can it be true?

 _Another. _ Lost! Lost!

 _A Strafford. _ Say we true, Maxwell?

 _The Puritan. _ Pride before destruction, A haughty spirit goeth before a fall. 

 _Many of Strafford's Followers. _ Ah now! The very thing! A word in season! A golden apple in a silver picture, To greet Pym as he passes!

[_The doors at the back begin to open, noise and light issuing. _

 _Maxwell. _ Stand back, all!

 _Many of the Presbyterians. _ I hold with Pym! And I!

 _Strafford's Followers. _ Now for the text! He comes! Quick!

 _The Puritan. _ How hath the oppressor ceased! The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked! The sceptre of the rulers, he who smote The people in wrath with a continual stroke, That ruled the nations in his anger--he Is persecuted and none hindreth!

[_The doors open, and STRAFFORD issues in the greatest disorder, andamid cries from within of "+Void the House+!"_

 _Strafford. _ Impeach me! Pym! I never struck, I think, The felon on that calm insulting mouth When it proclaimed--Pym's mouth proclaimed me . .. God! Was it a word, only a word that held The outrageous blood back on my heart--which beats! Which beats! Some one word--"Traitor, " did he say, Bending that eye, brimful of bitter fire, Upon me?

 _Maxwell. _ In the Commons' name, their servant Demands Lord Strafford's sword. 

 _Strafford. _ What did you say?

 _Maxwell. _ The Commons bid me ask your lordship's sword. 

 _Strafford. _ Let us go forth: follow me, gentlemen! Draw your swords too: cut any down that bar us. On the King's service! Maxwell, clear the way!

[_The +Presbyterians+ prepare to dispute his passage. _

 _Strafford. _ I stay: the King himself shall see me here. Your tablets, fellow! [_To MAINWARING. _] Give that to the King! Yes, Maxwell, for the next half-hour, let be! Nay, you shall take my sword!

[_MAXWELL advances to take it. _

 Or, no--not that! Their blood, perhaps, may wipe out all thus far, All up to that--not that! Why, friend, you see When the King lays your head beneath my foot It will not pay for that. Go, all of you!

 _Maxwell. _ I dare, my lord, to disobey: none stir!

 _Strafford. _ This gentle Maxwell!--Do not touch him, Bryan! [_To the +Presbyterians+. _] Whichever cur of you will carry this Escapes his fellow's fate. None saves his life? None?

[_Cries from within of "STRAFFORD!"_

 Slingsby, I've loved you at least: make haste! Stab me! I have not time to tell you why. You then, my Bryan! Mainwaring, you then! Is it because I spoke so hastily At Allerton? The King had vexed me. [_To the +Presbyterians+. _] You! --Not even you? If I live over this, The King is sure to have your heads, you know! But what if I can't live this minute through? Pym, who is there with his pursuing smile!

[_Louder cries of "STRAFFORD!"_

 The King! I troubled him, stood in the way Of his negotiations, was the one Great obstacle to peace, the Enemy Of Scotland: and he sent for me, from York, My safety guaranteed--having prepared A Parliament--I see! And at Whitehall The Queen was whispering with Vane--I see The trap!

[_Tearing off the George. _

 I tread a gewgaw underfoot, And cast a memory from me. One stroke, now!

[_His own +Adherents+ disarm him. Renewed cries of "STRAFFORD!"_

 England! I see thy arm in this and yield. Pray you now--Pym awaits me--pray you now!

[_STRAFFORD reaches the doors: they open wide. HAMPDEN and a crowddiscovered, and, at the bar, PYM standing apart. As STRAFFORD kneels, the scene shuts. _

[Illustration: Westminster Hall]

The history of the fourth act deals with further episodes of Strafford'strial, especially with the change in the procedure from Impeachment to aBill of Attainder against Strafford. The details of this great trial arecomplicated and cannot be followed in all their ramifications here. There was danger that the Impeachment would not go through. Strafford, himself, felt confident that in law his actions could not be foundtreasonable. 

After Strafford's brilliant defense of himself, it was decided to bringin a Bill of Attainder. New evidence against Strafford contained insome notes which the younger Vane had found among his father's paperswere used to strengthen the charge of treason. In these notes Straffordhad advised the King to act "loose and absolved from all rules ofgovernment, " and had reminded him that there was an army in Ireland, ready to reduce the Kingdom. These notes were found by the merestaccident. The younger Vane who had just been knighted and was about tobe married, borrowed his father's keys in order to look up some lawpapers. In his search he fell upon these notes taken at a committee thatmet immediately after the dissolution of the short Parliament. He made acopy and carried it to Pym who also made a copy. 

According to Baillie, the "secret" of the change from the Impeachment tothe Bill was "to prevent the hearing of the Earl's lawyers, who give outthat there is no law yet in force whereby he can be condemned to die foraught yet objected against him, and therefore their intent by this Billto supply the defect of the laws therein. " To this may be added theopinion of a member of the Commons. "If the House of Commons proceeds todemand judgment of the Lords, without doubt they will acquit him, therebeing no law extant whereby to condemn him of treason. Wherefore theCommons are determined to desert the Lord's judicature, and to proceedagainst him by Bill of Attainder, whereby he shall be adjudged to deathupon a treason now to be declared. "

One of the chief results in this change of procedure, emphasized byBrowning in an intense scene between Pym and Charles was that it alteredentirely the King's attitude towards Strafford's trial. As Baillieexpresses it, "Had the Commons gone on in the former way of pursuit, theKing might have been a patient, and only beheld the striking off ofStrafford's head; but now they have put them on a Bill which will forcethe King either to be our agent and formal voicer to his death, or elsedo the world knows not what. "

For the sake of a gain in dramatic power, Browning has once moredeparted from history by making Pym the moving power in the Bill ofAttainder, and Hampden in favor of it; while in reality they wereopposed to the change in procedure, and believed that the Impeachmentcould have been carried through. 

The relentless, scourging force of Pym in the play, pursuing thearch-foe of England as he regarded Wentworth to the death, once he isconvinced that England's welfare demands it, would have been weakenedhad he been represented in favor of the policy which was abandoned, instead of with the policy that succeeded. But Pym is made to intimatethat he will abandon the Bill unless the King gives his word that hewill ratify it, and further, Pym declares, should he not ratify the Billhis next step will be against the King himself. 

 _Enter HAMPDEN and VANE. _

 _Vane. _ O Hampden, save the great misguided man! Plead Strafford's cause with Pym! I have remarked He moved no muscle when we all declaimed Against him: you had but to breathe--he turned Those kind calm eyes upon you. 

[_Enter PYM, the +Solicitor-General+ ST. JOHN, the +Managers+ of theTrial, FIENNES, RUDYARD, etc. _

 _Rudyard. _ Horrible! Till now all hearts were with you: I withdraw For one. Too horrible! But we mistake Your purpose, Pym: you cannot snatch away The last spar from the drowning man. 

 _Fiennes. _ He talks With St. John of it--see, how quietly! [_To other +Presbyterians+. _] You'll join us? Strafford may deserve the worst: But this new course is monstrous. Vane, take heart! This Bill of his Attainder shall not have One true man's hand to it. 

 _Vane. _ Consider, Pym! Confront your Bill, your own Bill: what is it? You cannot catch the Earl on any charge, -- No man will say the law has hold of him On any charge; and therefore you resolve To take the general sense on his desert, As though no law existed, and we met To found one. You refer to Parliament To speak its thought upon the abortive mass Of half-borne-out assertions, dubious hints Hereafter to be cleared, distortions--ay, And wild inventions. Every man is saved The task of fixing any single charge On Strafford: he has but to see in him The enemy of England. 

 _Pym. _ A right scruple! I have heard some called England's enemy With less consideration. 

 _Vane. _ Pity me! Indeed you made me think I was your friend! I who have murdered Strafford, how remove That memory from me?

 _Pym. _ I absolve you, Vane. Take you no care for aught that you have done!

 _Vane. _ John Hampden, not this Bill! Reject this Bill! He staggers through the ordeal: let him go, Strew no fresh fire before him! Plead for us! When Strafford spoke, your eyes were thick with tears!

 _Hampden. _ England speaks louder: who are we, to play The generous pardoner at her expense, Magnanimously waive advantages, And, if he conquer us, applaud his skill?

 _Vane. _ He was your friend. 

 _Pym. _ I have heard that before. 

 _Fiennes. _ And England trusts you. 

 _Hampden. _ Shame be his, who turns The opportunity of serving her She trusts him with, to his own mean account-- Who would look nobly frank at her expense!

 _Fiennes. _ I never thought it could have come to this. 

 _Pym. _ But I have made myself familiar, Fiennes, With this one thought--have walked, and sat, and slept, This thought before me. I have done such things, Being the chosen man that should destroy The traitor. You have taken up this thought To play with, for a gentle stimulant, To give a dignity to idler life By the dim prospect of emprise to come, But ever with the softening, sure belief, That all would end some strange way right at last. 

 _Fiennes. _ Had we made out some weightier charge!

 _Pym. _ You say That these are petty charges: can we come To the real charge at all? There he is safe In tyranny's stronghold. Apostasy Is not a crime, treachery not a crime: The cheek burns, the blood tingles, when you speak The words, but where's the power to take revenge Upon them? We must make occasion serve, -- The oversight shall pay for the main sin That mocks us. 

 _Rudyard. _ But his unexampled course, This Bill!

 _Pym. _ By this, we roll the clouds away Of precedent and custom, and at once Bid the great beacon-light God sets in all, The conscience of each bosom, shine upon The guilt of Strafford: each man lay his hand Upon his breast, and judge!

 _Vane. _ I only see Strafford, nor pass his corpse for all beyond!

 _Rudyard and others. _ Forgive him! He would join us, now he finds What the King counts reward! The pardon, too, Should be your own. Yourself should bear to Strafford The pardon of the Commons. 

 _Pym. _ Meet him? Strafford? Have we to meet once more, then? Be it so! And yet--the prophecy seemed half fulfilled When, at the Trial, as he gazed, my youth, Our friendship, divers thoughts came back at once And left me, for a time. .. . 'Tis very sad! To-morrow we discuss the points of law With Lane--to-morrow?

 _Vane. _ Not before to-morrow-- So, time enough! I knew you would relent!

 _Pym. _ The next day, Haselrig, you introduce The Bill of his Attainder. Pray for me!

SCENE III. --_Whitehall. _

_The KING. _

 _Charles. _ My loyal servant! To defend himself Thus irresistibly, --withholding aught That seemed to implicate us! We have done Less gallantly by Strafford. Well, the future Must recompense the past. She tarries long. I understand you, Strafford, now! The scheme-- Carlisle's mad scheme--he'll sanction it, I fear, For love of me. 'Twas too precipitate: Before the army's fairly on its march, He'll be at large: no matter. Well, Carlisle?

_Enter PYM. _

 _Pym. _ Fear me not, sir:--my mission is to save, This time. 

 _Charles. _ To break thus on me! Unannounced!

 _Pym. _ It is of Strafford I would speak. 

 _Charles. _ No more Of Strafford! I have heard too much from you. 

 _Pym. _ I spoke, sir, for the People; will you hear A word upon my own account?

 _Charles. _ Of Strafford? (So turns the tide already? Have we tamed The insolent brawler?--Strafford's eloquence Is swift in its effect. ) Lord Strafford, sir, Has spoken for himself. 

 _Pym. _ Sufficiently. I would apprise you of the novel course The People take: the Trial fails. 

 _Charles. _ Yes, yes: We are aware, sir: for your part in it Means shall be found to thank you. 

 _Pym. _ Pray you, read This schedule! I would learn from your own mouth --(It is a matter much concerning me)-- Whether, if two Estates of us concede The death of Strafford, on the grounds set forth Within that parchment, you, sir, can resolve To grant your own consent to it. This Bill Is framed by me. If you determine, sir, That England's manifested will should guide Your judgment, ere another week such will Shall manifest itself. If not, --I cast Aside the measure. 

 _Charles. _ You can hinder, then, The introduction of this Bill?

 _Pym. _ I can. 

 _Charles. _ He is my friend, sir: I have wronged him: mark you, Had I not wronged him, this might be. You think Because you hate the Earl . .. (turn not away, We know you hate him)--no one else could love Strafford: but he has saved me, some affirm. Think of his pride! And do you know one strange, One frightful thing? We all have used the man As though a drudge of ours, with not a source Of happy thoughts except in us; and yet Strafford has wife and children, household cares, Just as if we had never been. Ah sir, You are moved, even you, a solitary man Wed to your cause--to England if you will!

 _Pym. _ Yes--think, my soul--to England! Draw not back!

 _Charles. _ Prevent that Bill, sir! All your course seems fair Till now. Why, in the end, 'tis I should sign The warrant for his death! You have said much I ponder on; I never meant, indeed, Strafford should serve me any more. I take The Commons' counsel; but this Bill is yours-- Nor worthy of its leader: care not, sir, For that, however! I will quite forget You named it to me. You are satisfied?

 _Pym. _ Listen to me, sir! Eliot laid his hand, Wasted and white, upon my forehead once; Wentworth--he's gone now!--has talked on, whole nights, And I beside him; Hampden loves me: sir, How can I breathe and not wish England well, And her King well?

 _Charles. _ I thank you, sir, who leave That King his servant. Thanks, sir!

 _Pym. _ Let me speak! --Who may not speak again; whose spirit yearns For a cool night after this weary day: --Who would not have my soul turn sicker yet In a new task, more fatal, more august, More full of England's utter weal or woe. I thought, sir, could I find myself with you, After this trial, alone, as man to man-- I might say something, warn you, pray you, save-- Mark me, King Charles, save----you! But God must do it. Yet I warn you, sir-- (With Strafford's faded eyes yet full on me) As you would have no deeper question moved --"How long the Many must endure the One, " Assure me, sir, if England give assent To Strafford's death, you will not interfere! Or----

 _Charles. _ God forsakes me. I am in a net And cannot move. Let all be as you say!

_Enter +Lady+ CARLISLE. _

 _Lady Carlisle. _ He loves you--looking beautiful with joy Because you sent me! he would spare you all The pain! he never dreamed you would forsake Your servant in the evil day--nay, see Your scheme returned! That generous heart of his! He needs it not--or, needing it, disdains A course that might endanger you--you, sir, Whom Strafford from his inmost soul. .. . [_Seeing PYM. _] Well met! No fear for Strafford! All that's true and brave On your own side shall help us: we are now Stronger than ever. Ha--what, sir, is this? All is not well! What parchment have you there?

 _Pym. _ Sir, much is saved us both. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ This Bill! Your lip Whitens--you could not read one line to me Your voice would falter so!

 _Pym. _ No recreant yet! The great word went from England to my soul, And I arose. The end is very near. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ I am to save him! All have shrunk beside; 'Tis only I am left. Heaven will make strong The hand now as the heart. Then let both die!

In the last act Browning has drawn upon his imagination more than in anyother part of the play. Strafford in prison in the Tower is the centeraround which all the other elements of the drama are made to revolve. Aglimpse, the first, of the man in a purely human capacity is given inthe second scene with Strafford and his children. From all accountslittle Anne was a precocious child and Browning has sketched heraccordingly. The scene is like a gleam of sunshine in the gatheringgloom. 

The genuine grief felt by the historical Charles over the part he playedin the ruin of Strafford is brought out in an interview betweenStrafford and Charles, who is represented as coming disguised to theprison. Strafford who has been hoping for pardon from the King learnsfrom Hollis, in the King's presence, that the King has signed his deathwarrant. He receives this shock with the remark which history attributesto him. 

 "Put not your trust In princes, neither in the sons of men, In whom is no salvation!"

History tells us of two efforts to rescue Strafford. One of these was anattempt to bribe Balfour to allow him to escape from the tower. Thishint the Poet has worked up into the episode of Charles, calling Balfourand begging him to go at once to Parliament, to say he will grant alldemands, and that he chooses to pardon Strafford. History, however, doesnot say that Lady Carlisle was implicated in any plan for the rescue ofStrafford, of which Browning makes so much. According to Gardiner, shewas by this time bestowing her favors upon Pym. Devotion to the truthhere on Browning's part would have completely ruined the inner unity ofthe play. Carlisle, the woman ready to devote herself to Strafford'sutmost need, while Strafford is more or less indifferent to her is theartistic compliment of Strafford the man devoted to the unresponsiveKing. The failure of the escape through Pym's intervention is a finaldramatic climax bringing face to face not so much the two individual menas the two principles of government for which England was warring, theMonarchical and the Parliamentary. To the last, Strafford is loyal tothe King and the Kingly idea, while Pym crushing his human feelingsunder foot, calmly contemplates the sacrifice not only of Strafford, buteven of the King, if England's need demand it. 

In this supreme moment of agony when Strafford and Pym meet face to faceboth men are made to realize an abiding love for each other beneath alltheir earthly differences. "A great poet of our own day, " writesGardiner, "clothing the reconciling spirit of the nineteenth century inwords which never could have been spoken in the seventeenth, hasbreathed a high wish. On his page an imaginary Pym, recalling animaginary friendship, looks forward hopefully to a reunion in a betterand brighter world. "

SCENE II. --_The Tower. _

_STRAFFORD sitting with his +Children+. They sing. _

 _O bell 'andare Per barca in mare, Verso la sera Di Primavera!_

 _William. _ The boat's in the broad moonlight all this while--

 _Verso la sera Di Primavera!_

 And the boat shoots from underneath the moon Into the shadowy distance; only still You hear the dipping oar--

 _Verso la sera_, And faint, and fainter, and then all's quite gone, Music and light and all, like a lost star. 

 _Anne. _ But you should sleep, father; you were to sleep. 

 _Strafford. _ I do sleep, Anne; or if not--you must know There's such a thing as. .. . 

 _William. _ You're too tired to sleep?

 _Strafford. _ It will come by-and-by and all day long, In that old quiet house I told you of: We sleep safe there. 

 _Anne. _ Why not in Ireland?

 _Strafford. _ No! Too many dreams!--That song's for Venice, William: You know how Venice looks upon the map-- Isles that the mainland hardly can let go?

 _William. _ You've been to Venice, father?

 _Strafford. _ I was young, then. 

 _William. _ A city with no King; that's why I like Even a song that comes from Venice. 

 _Strafford. _ William!

 _William. _ Oh, I know why! Anne, do you love the King? But I'll see Venice for myself one day. 

 _Strafford. _ See many lands, boy--England last of all, -- That way you'll love her best. 

[Illustration: The Tower, London]

 _William. _ Why do men say You sought to ruin her then?

 _Strafford. _ Ah, --they say that. 

 _William. _ Why?

 _Strafford. _ I suppose they must have words to say, As you to sing. 

 _Anne. _ But they make songs beside: Last night I heard one, in the street beneath, That called you. .. . Oh, the names!

 _William. _ Don't mind her, father! They soon left off when I cried out to them. 

 _Strafford. _ We shall so soon be out of it, my boy! 'Tis not worth while: who heeds a foolish song?

 _William. _ Why, not the King. 

 _Strafford. _ Well: it has been the fate Of better; and yet, --wherefore not feel sure That Time, who in the twilight comes to mend All the fantastic day's caprice, consign To the low ground once more the ignoble Term, And raise the Genius on his orb again, -- That Time will do me right?

 _Anne. _ (Shall we sing, William? He does not look thus when we sing. )

 _Strafford. _ For Ireland, Something is done: too little, but enough To show what might have been. 

 _William. _ (I have no heart To sing now! Anne, how very sad he looks! Oh, I so hate the King for all he says!)

 _Strafford. _ Forsook them! What, the common songs will run That I forsook the People? Nothing more? Ay, Fame, the busy scribe, will pause, no doubt, Turning a deaf ear to her thousand slaves Noisy to be enrolled, --will register The curious glosses, subtle notices, Ingenious clearings-up one fain would see Beside that plain inscription of The Name-- The Patriot Pym, or the Apostate Strafford!

[_The +Children+ resume their song timidly, but break off. _

_Enter HOLLIS and an +Attendant+. _

 _Strafford. _ No, --Hollis? in good time!--Who is he?

 _Hollis. _ One That must be present. 

 _Strafford. _ Ah--I understand. They will not let me see poor Laud alone. How politic! They'd use me by degrees To solitude: and, just as you came in, I was solicitous what life to lead When Strafford's "not so much as Constable In the King's service. " Is there any means To keep oneself awake? What would you do After this bustle, Hollis, in my place?

 _Hollis. _ Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ Observe, not but that Pym and you Will find me news enough--news I shall hear Under a quince-tree by a fish-pond side At Wentworth. Garrard must be re-engaged My newsman. Or, a better project now-- What if when all's consummated, and the Saints Reign, and the Senate's work goes swimmingly, -- What if I venture up, some day, unseen, To saunter through the Town, notice how Pym, Your Tribune, likes Whitehall, drop quietly Into a tavern, hear a point discussed, As, whether Strafford's name were John or James-- And be myself appealed to--I, who shall Myself have near forgotten!

 _Hollis. _ I would speak. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ Then you shall speak, --not now. I want just now, To hear the sound of my own tongue. This place Is full of ghosts. 

 _Hollis. _ Nay, you must hear me, Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ Oh, readily! Only, one rare thing more, -- The minister! Who will advise the King, Turn his Sejanus, Richelieu and what not, And yet have health--children, for aught I know-- My patient pair of traitors! Ah, --but, William-- Does not his cheek grow thin?

 _William. _ 'Tis you look thin, Father!

 _Strafford. _ A scamper o'er the breezy wolds Sets all to-rights. 

 _Hollis. _ You cannot sure forget A prison-roof is o'er you, Strafford?

 _Strafford. _ No, Why, no. I would not touch on that, the first. I left you that. Well, Hollis? Say at once, The King can find no time to set me free! A mask at Theobald's?

 _Hollis. _ Hold: no such affair Detains him. 

 _Strafford. _ True: what needs so great a matter? The Queen's lip may be sore. Well: when he pleases, -- Only, I want the air: it vexes flesh To be pent up so long. 

 _Hollis. _ The King--I bear His message, Strafford: pray you, let me speak!

 _Strafford. _ Go, William! Anne, try o'er your song again!

[_The +Children+ retire. _

 They shall be loyal, friend, at all events. I know your message: you have nothing new To tell me: from the first I guessed as much. I know, instead of coming here himself, Leading me forth in public by the hand, The King prefers to leave the door ajar As though I were escaping--bids me trudge While the mob gapes upon some show prepared On the other side of the river! Give at once His order of release! I've heard, as well Of certain poor manoeuvres to avoid The granting pardon at his proper risk; First, he must prattle somewhat to the Lords, Must talk a trifle with the Commons first, Be grieved I should abuse his confidence, And far from blaming them, and. .. . Where's the order?

 _Hollis. _ Spare me!

 _Strafford. _ Why, he'd not have me steal away? With an old doublet and a steeple hat Like Prynne's? Be smuggled into France, perhaps? Hollis, 'tis for my children! 'Twas for them I first consented to stand day by day And give your Puritans the best of words, Be patient, speak when called upon, observe Their rules, and not return them prompt their lie! What's in that boy of mine that he should prove Son to a prison-breaker? I shall stay And he'll stay with me. Charles should know as much, He too has children! [_Turning to HOLLIS'S +Companion+. _] Sir, you feel for me! No need to hide that face! Though it have looked Upon me from the judgment-seat . .. I know Strangely, that somewhere it has looked on me, . .. Your coming has my pardon, nay, my thanks: For there is one who comes not. 

 _Hollis. _ Whom forgive, As one to die!

 _Strafford. _ True, all die, and all need Forgiveness: I forgive him from my soul. 

 _Hollis. _ 'Tis a world's wonder: Strafford, you must die!

 _Strafford. _ Sir, if your errand is to set me free This heartless jest mars much. Ha! Tears in truth? We'll end this! See this paper, warm--feel--warm With lying next my heart! Whose hand is there? Whose promise? Read, and loud for God to hear! "Strafford shall take no hurt"--read it, I say! "In person, honor, nor estate"--

 _Hollis. _ The King. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ I could unking him by a breath! You sit Where Loudon sat, who came to prophesy The certain end, and offer me Pym's grace If I'd renounce the King: and I stood firm On the King's faith. The King who lives. .. . 

 _Hollis. _ To sign The warrant for your death. 

 _Strafford. _ "Put not your trust In princes, neither in the sons of men, In whom is no salvation!"

 _Hollis. _ Trust in God! The scaffold is prepared: they wait for you: He has consented. Cast the earth behind!

 _Charles. _ You would not see me, Strafford, at your foot! It was wrung from me! Only, curse me not!

 _Hollis_ [_to STRAFFORD_]. As you hope grace and pardon in your need, Be merciful to this most wretched man. 

[_Voices from within. _

 _Verso la sera Di Primavera_

 _Strafford. _ You'll be good to those children, sir? I know You'll not believe her, even should the Queen Think they take after one they rarely saw. I had intended that my son should live A stranger to these matters: but you are So utterly deprived of friends! He too Must serve you--will you not be good to him? Or, stay, sir, do not promise--do not swear! You, Hollis--do the best you can for me! I've not a soul to trust to: Wandesford's dead, And you've got Radcliffe safe, Laud's turn comes next: I've found small time of late for my affairs, But I trust any of you, Pym himself-- No one could hurt them: there's an infant, too. These tedious cares! Your Majesty could spare them. Nay--pardon me, my King! I had forgotten Your education, trials, much temptation, Some weakness: there escaped a peevish word-- 'Tis gone: I bless you at the last. You know All's between you and me: what has the world To do with it? Farewell!

 _Charles_ [_at the door_]. Balfour! Balfour!

_Enter BALFOUR. _

 The Parliament!--go to them: I grant all Demands. Their sittings shall be permanent: Tell them to keep their money if they will: I'll come to them for every coat I wear And every crust I eat: only I choose To pardon Strafford. As the Queen shall choose! --You never heard the People howl for blood, Beside!

 _Balfour. _ Your Majesty may hear them now: The walls can hardly keep their murmurs out: Please you retire!

 _Charles. _ Take all the troops, Balfour!

 _Balfour. _ There are some hundred thousand of the crowd. 

 _Charles. _ Come with me, Strafford! You'll not fear, at least!

 _Strafford. _ Balfour, say nothing to the world of this! I charge you, as a dying man, forget You gazed upon this agony of one . .. Of one . .. Or if . .. Why you may say, Balfour, The King was sorry: 'tis no shame in him: Yes, you may say he even wept, Balfour, And that I walked the lighter to the block Because of it. I shall walk lightly, sir! Earth fades, heaven breaks on me: I shall stand next Before God's throne: the moment's close at hand When man the first, last time, has leave to lay His whole heart bare before its Maker, leave To clear up the long error of a life And choose one happiness for evermore. With all mortality about me, Charles, The sudden wreck, the dregs of violent death-- What if, despite the opening angel-song, There penetrate one prayer for you? Be saved Through me! Bear witness, no one could prevent My death! Lead on! ere he awake--best, now! All must be ready: did you say, Balfour, The crowd began to murmur? They'll be kept Too late for sermon at St. Antholin's! Now! But tread softly--children are at play In the next room. Precede! I follow--

_Enter +Lady+ CARLISLE with many +Attendants+. _

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Me! Follow me, Strafford, and be saved! The King? [_To the KING. _] Well--as you ordered, they are ranged without, The convoy. .. . [_seeing the KING'S state. _] [_To STRAFFORD. _] You know all, then! Why I thought It looked best that the King should save you, --Charles Alone; 'tis a shame that you should owe me aught. Or no, not shame! Strafford, you'll not feel shame At being saved by me?

 _Hollis. _ All true! Oh Strafford, She saves you! all her deed! this lady's deed! And is the boat in readiness? You, friend, Are Billingsley, no doubt. Speak to her, Strafford! See how she trembles, waiting for your voice! The world's to learn its bravest story yet. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Talk afterward! Long nights in France enough, To sit beneath the vines and talk of home. 

 _Strafford. _ You love me, child? Ah, Strafford can be loved As well as Vane! I could escape, then?

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Haste! Advance the torches, Bryan!

 _Strafford. _ I will die. They call me proud: but England had no right, When she encountered me--her strength to mine-- To find the chosen foe a craven. Girl, I fought her to the utterance, I fell, I am hers now, and I will die. Beside, The lookers-on! Eliot is all about This place, with his most uncomplaining brow. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ I think if you could know how much I love you, you would be repaid, my friend!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Then, for my sake!

 _Strafford. _ Even for your sweet sake, I stay. 

 _Hollis. _ For _their_ sake!

 _Strafford. _ To bequeath a stain? Leave me! Girl, humor me and let me die!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Bid him escape--wake, King! Bid him escape!

 _Strafford. _ True, I will go! Die, and forsake the King? I'll not draw back from the last service. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ And, after all, what is disgrace to me? Let us come, child! That it should end this way! Lead them! but I feel strangely: it was not To end this way. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Lean--lean on me!

 _Strafford. _ My King! Oh, had he trusted me--his friend of friends!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ I can support him, Hollis!

 _Strafford. _ Not this way! This gate--I dreamed of it, this very gate. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ It opens on the river: our good boat Is moored below, our friends are there. 

 _Strafford. _ The same: Only with something ominous and dark, Fatal, inevitable. 

 _Lady Carlisle. _ Strafford! Strafford!

 _Strafford. _ Not by this gate! I feel what will be there! I dreamed of it, I tell you: touch it not!

 _Lady Carlisle. _ To save the King, --Strafford, to save the King!

[_As STRAFFORD opens the door, PYM is discovered with HAMPDEN, VANE, etc. STRAFFORD falls back; PYM follows slowly and confronts him. _

 _Pym. _ Have I done well? Speak, England! Whose sole sake I still have labored for, with disregard To my own heart, --for whom my youth was made Barren, my manhood waste, to offer up Her sacrifice--this friend, this Wentworth here-- Who walked in youth with me, loved me, it may be, And whom, for his forsaking England's cause, I hunted by all means (trusting that she Would sanctify all means) even to the block Which waits for him. And saying this, I feel No bitterer pang than first I felt, the hour I swore that Wentworth might leave us, but I Would never leave him: I do leave him now. I render up my charge (be witness, God!) To England who imposed it. I have done Her bidding--poorly, wrongly, --it may be, With ill effects--for I am weak, a man: Still, I have done my best, my human best, Not faltering for a moment. It is done. And this said, if I say . .. Yes, I will say I never loved but one man--David not More Jonathan! Even thus, I love him now: And look for my chief portion in that world Where great hearts led astray are turned again, (Soon it may be, and, certes, will be soon: My mission over, I shall not live long, )-- Ay, here I know I talk--I dare and must, Of England, and her great reward, as all I look for there; but in my inmost heart, Believe, I think of stealing quite away To walk once more with Wentworth--my youth's friend Purged from all error, gloriously renewed, And Eliot shall not blame us. Then indeed. .. . This is no meeting, Wentworth! Tears increase Too hot. A thin mist--is it blood?--enwraps The face I loved once. Then, the meeting be!

 _Strafford. _ I have loved England too; we'll meet then, Pym. As well die now! Youth is the only time To think and to decide on a great course: Manhood with action follows; but 'tis dreary, To have to alter our whole life in age-- The time past, the strength gone! As well die now. When we meet, Pym, I'd be set right--not now! Best die. Then if there's any fault, fault too Dies, smothered up. Poor grey old little Laud May dream his dream out, of a perfect Church, In some blind corner. And there's no one left. I trust the King now wholly to you, Pym! And yet, I know not: I shall not be there: Friends fail--if he have any. And he's weak, And loves the Queen, and. .. . Oh, my fate is nothing-- Nothing! But not that awful head--not that!

 _Pym. _ If England shall declare such will to me. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ Pym, you help England! I, that am to die, What I must see! 'tis here--all here! My God, Let me but gasp out, in one word of fire, How thou wilt plague him, satiating hell! What? England that you help, become through you A green and putrefying charnel, left Our children . .. Some of us have children, Pym-- Some who, without that, still must ever wear A darkened brow, an over-serious look, And never properly be young! No word? What if I curse you? Send a strong curse forth Clothed from my heart, lapped round with horror till She's fit with her white face to walk the world Scaring kind natures from your cause and you-- Then to sit down with you at the board-head, The gathering for prayer. .. . O speak, but speak! . .. Creep up, and quietly follow each one home, You, you, you, be a nestling care for each To sleep with, --hardly moaning in his dreams. She gnaws so quietly, --till, lo he starts, Gets off with half a heart eaten away! Oh, shall you 'scape with less if she's my child? You will not say a word--to me--to Him?

 _Pym. _ If England shall declare such will to me. .. . 

 _Strafford. _ No, not for England now, not for Heaven now, -- See, Pym, for my sake, mine who kneel to you! There, I will thank you for the death, my friend! This is the meeting: let me love you well!

 _Pym. _ England, --I am thine own! Dost thou exact That service? I obey thee to the end. 

 _Strafford. _ O God, I shall die first--I shall die first!

 * * * * *

A lively picture of Cavalier sentiment is given in the "CavalierTunes"--which ought to furnish conclusive proof that Browning does notalways put himself into his work. They may be compared with the wordsset to Avison's march given in the last chapter which presents just assympathetically "Roundhead" sentiment. 

 I. MARCHING ALONG

 I

 Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing: And, pressing a troop unable to stoop And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. 

[Illustration: The Tower: Traitors' Gate]

 II

 God for King Charles! Pym and such carles To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles! Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup, Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup Till you're--

 CHORUS. --_Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. _

 III

 Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well! England, good cheer! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here

 CHORUS. --_Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?_

 IV

 Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, CHORUS. --_March we along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!_

 II. GIVE A ROUSE

 I

 King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

 II

 Who gave me the goods that went since? Who raised me the house that sank once? Who helped me to gold I spent since? Who found me in wine you drank once?

 CHORUS. --_King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!_

 III

 To whom used my boy George quaff else, By the old fool's side that begot him? For whom did he cheer and laugh else, While Noll's damned troopers shot him?

 CHORUS. --_King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!_

 III. BOOT AND SADDLE

 I

 Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my castle before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery grey, CHORUS. --"_Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_"

 II

 Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; Many's the friend there, will listen and pray "God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay--"

 CHORUS. --"_Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_"

 III

 Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, "

 CHORUS. --"_Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_"

 IV

 Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! I've better counsellors; what counsel they?"

 CHORUS. --"_Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!_"

Though not illustrative of the subject in hand, "Martin Relph" isincluded here on account of the glimpse it gives of an episode, interesting in English History, though devoid of serious consequences, since it marked the final abortive struggle of a dying cause. 

An imaginary incident of the rebellion in the time of George II. , formsthe background of "Martin Relph, " the point of the story being thelife-long agony of reproach suffered by Martin who let his envy andjealousy conquer him at a crucial moment. The history of the attempt ofCharles Edward to get back the crown of England, supported by a fewthousand Highlanders, of his final defeat at the Battle of Culloden, andof the decay henceforth of Jacobitism, needs no telling. The treatmentof spies as herein shown is a common-place of war-times, but that areprieve exonerating the accused should be prevented from reaching itsdestination in time through the jealousy of the only person who saw itcoming gives the episode a tragic touch lifting it into an atmosphere ofpeculiar individual pathos. 

 MARTIN RELPH

 _My grandfather says he remembers he saw, when a youngster long ago, On a bright May day, a strange old man, with a beard as white as snow, Stand on the hill outside our town like a monument of woe, And, striking his bare bald head the while, sob out the reason--so!_

 If I last as long at Methuselah I shall never forgive myself: But--God forgive me, that I pray, unhappy Martin Relph, As coward, coward I call him--him, yes, him! Away from me! Get you behind the man I am now, you man that I used to be!

 What can have sewed my mouth up, set me a-stare, all eyes, no tongue? People have urged "You visit a scare too hard on a lad so young! You were taken aback, poor boy, " they urge, "no time to regain your wits: Besides it had maybe cost you life. " Ay, there is the cap which fits!

 So, cap me, the coward, --thus! No fear! A cuff on the brow does good: The feel of it hinders a worm inside which bores at the brain for food. See now, there certainly seems excuse: for a moment, I trust, dear friends, The fault was but folly, no fault of mine, or if mine, I have made amends!

 For, every day that is first of May, on the hill-top, here stand I, Martin Relph, and I strike my brow, and publish the reason why, When there gathers a crowd to mock the fool. No fool, friends, since the bite Of a worm inside is worse to bear: pray God I have balked him quite!

 I'll tell you. Certainly much excuse! It came of the way they cooped Us peasantry up in a ring just here, close huddling because tight-hooped By the red-coats round us villagers all: they meant we should see the sight And take the example, --see, not speak, for speech was the Captain's right. 

 "You clowns on the slope, beware!" cried he: "This woman about to die Gives by her fate fair warning to such acquaintance as play the spy. Henceforth who meddle with matters of state above them perhaps will learn That peasants should stick to their plough-tail, leave to the King the King's concern. 

 "Here's a quarrel that sets the land on fire, between King George and his foes: What call has a man of your kind--much less, a woman--to interpose? Yet you needs must be meddling, folk like you, not foes--so much the worse! The many and loyal should keep themselves unmixed with the few perverse. 

 "Is the counsel hard to follow? I gave it you plainly a month ago, And where was the good? The rebels have learned just all that they need to know. Not a month since in we quietly marched: a week, and they had the news, From a list complete of our rank and file to a note of our caps and shoes. 

 "All about all we did and all we were doing and like to do! Only, I catch a letter by luck, and capture who wrote it, too. Some of you men look black enough, but the milk-white face demure Betokens the finger foul with ink: 'tis a woman who writes, be sure!

 "Is it 'Dearie, how much I miss your mouth!'--good natural stuff, she pens? Some sprinkle of that, for a blind, of course: with talk about cocks and hens, How 'robin has built on the apple-tree, and our creeper which came to grief Through the frost, we feared, is twining afresh round casement in famous leaf. '

 "But all for a blind! She soon glides frank into 'Horrid the place is grown With Officers here and Privates there, no nook we may call our own: And Farmer Giles has a tribe to house, and lodging will be to seek For the second Company sure to come ('tis whispered) on Monday week. '

 "And so to the end of the chapter! There! The murder you see, was out: Easy to guess how the change of mind in the rebels was brought about! Safe in the trap would they now lie snug, had treachery made no sign: But treachery meets a just reward, no matter if fools malign!

 "That traitors had played us false, was proved--sent news which fell so pat: And the murder was out--this letter of love, the sender of this sent that! 'Tis an ugly job, though, all the same--a hateful, to have to deal With a case of the kind, when a woman's in fault: we soldiers need nerves of steel!

 "So, I gave her a chance, despatched post-haste a message to Vincent Parkes Whom she wrote to; easy to find he was, since one of the King's own clerks, Ay, kept by the King's own gold in the town close by where the rebels camp: A sort of a lawyer, just the man to betray our sort--the scamp!

 "'If her writing is simple and honest and only the lover-like stuff it looks, And if you yourself are a loyalist, nor down in the rebels' books, Come quick, ' said I, 'and in person prove you are each of you clear of crime, Or martial law must take its course: this day next week's the time!'

 "Next week is now: does he come? Not he! Clean gone, our clerk, in a trice! He has left his sweetheart here in the lurch: no need of a warning twice! His own neck free, but his partner's fast in the noose still, here she stands To pay for her fault. 'Tis an ugly job: but soldiers obey commands. 

 "And hearken wherefore I make a speech! Should any acquaintance share The folly that led to the fault that is now to be punished, let fools beware! Look black, if you please, but keep hands white: and, above all else, keep wives-- Or sweethearts or what they may be--from ink! Not a word now, on your lives!"

 Black? but the Pit's own pitch was white to the Captain's face--the brute With the bloated cheeks and the bulgy nose and the bloodshot eyes to suit! He was muddled with wine, they say: more like, he was out of his wits with fear; He had but a handful of men, that's true, --a riot might cost him dear. 

 And all that time stood Rosamund Page, with pinioned arms and face Bandaged about, on the turf marked out for the party's firing-place. I hope she was wholly with God: I hope 'twas His angel stretched a hand To steady her so, like the shape of stone you see in our church-aisle stand. 

 I hope there was no vain fancy pierced the bandage to vex her eyes, No face within which she missed without, no questions and no replies-- "Why did you leave me to die?"--"Because. .. . " Oh, fiends, too soon you grin At merely a moment of hell, like that--such heaven as hell ended in!

 Let mine end too! He gave the word, up went the guns in a line. Those heaped on the hill were blind as dumb, --for, of all eyes, only mine Looked over the heads of the foremost rank. Some fell on their knees in prayer, Some sank to the earth, but all shut eyes, with a sole exception there. 

 That was myself, who had stolen up last, had sidled behind the group: I am highest of all on the hill-top, there stand fixed while the others stoop! From head to foot in a serpent's twine am I tightened: _I_ touch ground? No more than a gibbet's rigid corpse which the fetters rust around!

 Can I speak, can I breathe, can I burst--aught else but see, see, only see? And see I do--for there comes in sight--a man, it sure must be!-- Who staggeringly, stumblingly rises, falls, rises, at random flings his weight On and on, anyhow onward--a man that's mad he arrives too late!

 Else why does he wave a something white high-flourished above his head? Why does not he call, cry, --curse the fool!--why throw up his arms instead? O take his fist in your own face, fool! Why does not yourself shout "Stay! Here's a man comes rushing, might and main, with something he's mad to say?"

 And a minute, only a moment, to have hell-fire boil up in your brain, And ere you can judge things right, choose heaven, --time's over, repentance vain! They level: a volley, a smoke and the clearing of smoke: I see no more Of the man smoke hid, nor his frantic arms, nor the something white he bore. 

 But stretched on the field, some half-mile off, is an object. Surely dumb, Deaf, blind were we struck, that nobody heard, not one of us saw him come! Has he fainted through fright? One may well believe! What is it he holds so fast? Turn him over, examine the face! Heyday! What, Vincent Parkes at last?

 Dead! dead as she, by the self-same shot: one bullet has ended both, Her in the body and him in the soul. They laugh at our plighted troth. "Till death us do part?" Till death us do join past parting--that sounds like Betrothal indeed! O Vincent Parkes, what need has my fist to strike?

 I helped you: thus were you dead and wed: one bound, and your soul reached hers! There is clenched in your hand the thing, signed, sealed, the paper which plain avers She is innocent, innocent, plain as print, with the King's Arms broad engraved: No one can hear, but if any one high on the hill can see, she's saved!

 And torn his garb and bloody his lips with heart-break--plain it grew How the week's delay had been brought about: each guess at the end proved true. It was hard to get at the folk in power: such waste of time! and then Such pleading and praying, with, all the while, his lamb in the lion's den!

 And at length when he wrung their pardon out, no end to the stupid forms-- The license and leave: I make no doubt--what wonder if passion warms The pulse in a man if you play with his heart?--he was something hasty in speech; Anyhow, none would quicken the work: he had to beseech, beseech!

 And the thing once signed, sealed, safe in his grasp, --what followed but fresh delays? For the floods were out, he was forced to take such a roundabout of ways! And 'twas "Halt there!" at every turn of the road, since he had to cross the thick Of the red-coats: what did they care for him and his "Quick, for God's sake, quick!"

 Horse? but he had one: had it how long? till the first knave smirked "You brag Yourself a friend of the King's? then lend to a King's friend here your nag!" Money to buy another? Why, piece by piece they plundered him still, With their "Wait you must;--no help: if aught can help you, a guinea will!"

 And a borough there was--I forget the name--whose Mayor must have the bench Of Justices ranged to clear a doubt: for "Vincent, " thinks he, sounds French! It well may have driven him daft, God knows! all man can certainly know Is--rushing and falling and rising, at last he arrived in a horror--so!

 When a word, cry, gasp, would have rescued both! Ay bite me! The worm begins At his work once more. Had cowardice proved--that only--my sin of sins! Friends, look you here! Suppose . .. Suppose. .. . But mad I am, needs must be! Judas the Damned would never have dared such a sin as I dream! For, see!

 Suppose I had sneakingly loved her myself, my wretched self, and dreamed In the heart of me "She were better dead than happy and his!"--while gleamed A light from hell as I spied the pair in a perfectest embrace, He the savior and she the saved, --bliss born of the very murder-place!

 No! Say I was scared, friends! Call me fool and coward, but nothing worse! Jeer at the fool and gibe at the coward! 'Twas ever the coward's curse That fear breeds fancies in such: such take their shadow for substance still, --A fiend at their back. I liked poor Parkes, --loved Vincent, if you will!

 And her--why, I said "Good morrow" to her, "Good even, " and nothing more: The neighborly way! She was just to me as fifty had been before. So, coward it is and coward shall be! There's a friend, now! Thanks! A drink Of water I wanted: and now I can walk, get home by myself, I think. 

This poem, on an incident in Clive's life, is also included on accountof its English historical setting. 

The remarkable career of Robert Clive cannot be gone into here. Sufficeit to refresh one's memory with a few principal events of his life. Hewas born in Shopshire in 1725. He entered the service of the East IndiaCompany at eighteen and was sent to Madras. Here, on account of hisfalling into debt, and being in danger of losing his situation, he twicetried to shoot himself. The pistol failed to go off, however, and hebecame impressed with the idea that some great destiny was awaiting him. His feeling was fully realized as his subsequent career in India shows. At twenty-seven, when he returned to England he had made the English thefirst military power in India. On his return to India (1755-59) he tooka further step and secured for the English a political supremacy. Finally, on his last visit, he crowned his earlier exploits by puttingthe English dominance on a sounder basis of integrity than it had beforebeen. 

The incident related in the poem by the old man, Browning heard fromMrs. Jameson, who had shortly before heard it from Macaulay at LansdowneHouse. Macaulay mentions it in his essay: "Of his personal courage hehad, while still a writer [clerk] given signal proof by a desperate duelwith a military bully who was the terror of Fort St. David. "

The old gentleman in the poem evidently mixed up his dates slightly, forhe says this incident occurred when Clive was twenty-one, and herepresents him as committing suicide twenty-five years afterwards. Clivewas actually forty-nine when he took his own life. 

 CLIVE

 I and Clive were friends--and why not? Friends! I think you laugh, my lad. Clive it was gave England India, while your father gives--egad, England nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak-- "Well, Sir, you and Clive were comrades--" with a tongue thrust in your cheek! Very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, Clive was man, I was, am and ever shall be--mouse, nay, mouse of all its clan Sorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame; While the man Clive--he fought Plassy, spoiled the clever foreign game, Conquered and annexed and Englished! Never mind! As o'er my punch (You away) I sit of evenings, --silence, save for biscuit-crunch, Black, unbroken, --thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old years, Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long-past life appears Like an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood, Once, and well remembered still: I'm startled in my solitude Ever and anon by--what's the sudden mocking light that breaks On me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakes While I ask--aloud, I do believe, God help me!--"Was it thus? Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us--" (Us, --you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be) "--One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see) "Got no end of wealth and honor, --yet I stood stock still no less?" --"For I was not Clive, " you comment: but it needs no Clive to guess Wealth were handy, honor ticklish, did no writing on the wall Warn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that notice--call Hero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words, Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says the land's the Lord's: Louts them--what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring, All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king? Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot before T'other in that dark direction, though I stand for evermore Poor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By-and-by Job grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I. Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy, and still Marks a man, --God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill. You've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin: Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in! True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass; Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage--ah, the brute he was! Why, that Clive, --that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving clerk, in fine, -- He sustained a siege in Arcot. .. . But the world knows! Pass the wine. 

 Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned "fear"! Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear. 

 We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orb Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorb Ray by ray its noontide brilliance, --friendship might, with steadier eye Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze--all majesty. Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle's new: None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe 'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious pile As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile. Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From without Scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about Towers--the heap he kicks now! turrets--just the measure of his cane! Will that do? Observe moreover--(same similitude again)-- Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade: 'Tis when foes are foiled and fighting's finished that vile rains invade, Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holes Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles. So Clive crumbled slow in London--crashed at last. 

 A week before, Dining with him, --after trying churchyard-chat of days of yore, -- Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, head-piece, foot-piece, when they lean Each to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between. As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishment By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers went Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor, --"One more throw Try for Clive!" thought I: "Let's venture some good rattling question!" So-- "Come, Clive, tell us"--out I blurted--"what to tell in turn, years hence, When my boy--suppose I have one--asks me on what evidence I maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whit Worth your Alexanders, Cęsars, Marlboroughs and--what said Pitt?-- Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"--I want to say-- "Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away --In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess-- Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness! Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-center in the wide Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified? (Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome Port!) If a friend has leave to question, --when were you most brave, in short?"

 Up he arched his brows o' the instant--formidably Clive again. "When was I most brave? I'd answer, were the instance half as plain As another instance that's a brain-lodged crystal--curse it!--here Freezing when my memory touches--ugh!--the time I felt most fear. Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear--anyhow, Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now. "

 "Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that's the rarer: that's a specimen to seek, Ticket up in one's museum, _Mind-Freaks_, _Lord Clive's Fear_, _Unique_!"

 Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as though Tracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago. When he spoke 'twas like a lawyer reading word by word some will, Some blind jungle of a statement, --beating on and on until Out there leaps fierce life to fight with. 

 "This fell in my factor-days. Desk-drudge, slaving at St. David's, one must game, or drink, or craze. I chose gaming: and, --because your high-flown gamesters hardly take Umbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his stake, -- I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice, Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud of voice, Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile Who not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile. 

 "Down I sat to cards, one evening, --had for my antagonist Somebody whose name's a secret--you'll know why--so, if you list, Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel! Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feel Quite sufficient honor came of bending over one green baize, I the scribe with him the warrior, --guessed no penman dared to raise Shadow of objection should the honor stay but playing end More or less abruptly, --whether disinclined he grew to spend Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare At--not ask of--lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair, -- Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!'

 "I rose. 'Such the new manoeuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows. What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?'

 "Never did a thunder-clap Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap, As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack) Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black. 

 "When he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!'

 "'Well, you forced a card and cheated!'

 "'Possibly a factor's brain, Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may deem Weighing words superfluous trouble: _cheat_ to clerkly ears may seem Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see! When a gentleman is joked with, --if he's good at repartee, He rejoins, as do I--Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full! Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull Lets in light and teaches manners to what brain it finds! Choose quick-- Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon candle-wick!'

 "'Well, you cheated!'

 "Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around. To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were ground. 'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace! No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space! Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen, Fly the sword! This clerk's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, then! Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expert Make a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he's alert, Likelier hits the broader target!'

 "Up we stood accordingly. As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to try Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out Every spark of his existence, that, --crept close to, curled about By that toying tempting teasing fool-fore-finger's middle joint, -- Don't you guess?--the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the point Of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead. 

 "Up he marched in flaming triumph--'twas his right, mind!--up, within Just an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling, ' chuckled Cocky with a grin As the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House, repeat That expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?'

 "'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well. As for me, my homely breeding bids you--fire and go to Hell!'

 "Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist, Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who list, I can't! God's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No! There's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me, --so, I did cheat!'

 "And down he threw the pistol, out rushed--by the door Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor, He effected disappearance--I'll engage no glance was sent That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment Swallowed up their senses: as for speaking--mute they stood as mice. 

 "Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice! 'Rogue and rascal! Who'd have thought it? What's to be expected next, When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretext For. .. . But where's the need of wasting time now? Nought requires delay: Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away Publicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed Drum and fife must play the Rogue's March, rank and file be free to speed Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear --Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian, --never fear, Mister Clive, for--though a clerk--you bore yourself--suppose we say-- Just as would beseem a soldier!'

 "'Gentlemen, attention--pray! First, one word!'

 "I passed each speaker severally in review. When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knew Over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend, --why, then----

 "'Some five minutes since, my life lay--as you all saw, gentlemen-- At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raised In arrest of judgment, not one tongue--before my powder blazed-- Ventured "Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to mark Some irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark, Guess at random, --still, for sake of fair play--what if for a freak, In a fit of absence, --such things have been!--if our friend proved weak --What's the phrase?--corrected fortune! Look into the case, at least!" Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest? Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each, To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech --To his face, behind his back, --that speaker has to do with me: Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be, Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!'

 "Twenty-five Years ago this matter happened: and 'tis certain, " added Clive, "Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breath Breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since his death, For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you. All I know is--Cocky had one chance more; how he used it, --grew Out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again Brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train, -- That's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate. Ugh--the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prate Longer? You've my story, there's your instance: fear I did, you see!"

 "Well"--I hardly kept from laughing--"if I see it, thanks must be Wholly to your Lordship's candor. Not that--in a common case-- When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face, I should underrate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve! 'Tis no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve. Fear I naturally look for--unless, of all men alive, I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive. Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death--the whole world knows-- Came to somewhat closer quarters. " Quarters? Had we come to blows, Clive and I, you had not wondered--up he sprang so, out he rapped Such a round of oaths--no matter! I'll endeavor to adapt To our modern usage words he--well, 'twas friendly license--flung At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue. 

 "You--a soldier? You--at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick, --At his mercy, at his malice, --has you, through some stupid inch Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open, --not to flinch --That needs courage, you'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man, Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span Distant from my temple, --curse him!--quietly had bade me 'There! Keep your life, calumniator!--worthless life I freely spare: Mine you freely would have taken--murdered me and my good fame Both at once--and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aim Which permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these, He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please? Nay, I'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, remained-- Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. I so had gained Sleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on still Rent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will. "

 "Such the turn, " said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate --No, by not one jot nor tittle, --of your act my estimate. Fear--I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough-- Call it desperation, madness--never mind! for here's in rough Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace. True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face --None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times, Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climes Rub some marks away--not all, though! We poor sinners reach life's brink, Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think There's advantage in what's left us--ground to stand on, time to call 'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over--do not leap, that's all!"

 Oh, he made no answer, --re-absorbed into his cloud. I caught Something like "Yes--courage: only fools will call it fear. " If aught Comfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard, Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word "Fearfully courageous!"--this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned. I'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed--we'll hope condoned. 

CHAPTER IV

SOCIAL ASPECTS OF ENGLISH LIFE

Browning's poetry presents no such complete panorama of phases of sociallife in England as it does of those in Italy, perhaps, because there isa poise and solidity about the English character which does not lenditself to so great a variety of mood as one may find in the peculiarlyartistic temperament of the Italians, especially those of theRenaissance period. Even such irregular proceedings as murders havetheir philosophical after-claps which show their usefulness in thedivine scheme of things, while unfortunate love affairs work suchbeneficent results in character that they are shorn of much of theirtragedy of sorrow. There is quite a group of love-lyrics with nodefinite setting that might be put down as English in temper. It doesnot require much imagination to think of the lover who sings so lofty astrain in "One Way of Love" as English:--

 I

 All June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. 

 II

 How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music? So! Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

 III

 My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion--heaven or hell? She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well! Lose who may--I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

And is not this treatment of a "pretty woman" more English than not?

 A PRETTY WOMAN

 I

 That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers, And the blue eye Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers!

 II

 To think men cannot take you, Sweet, And enfold you, Ay, and hold you, And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!

 III

 You like us for a glance, you know-- For a word's sake Or a sword's sake, All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know. 

 IV

 And in turn we make you ours, we say-- You and youth too, Eyes and mouth too, All the face composed of flowers, we say. 

 V

 All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet-- Sing and say for, Watch and pray for, Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!

 VI

 But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet, Though we prayed you, Paid you, brayed you In a mortar--for you could not, Sweet!

 VII

 So, we leave the sweet face fondly there: Be its beauty Its sole duty! Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!

 VIII

 And while the face lies quiet there, Who shall wonder That I ponder A conclusion? I will try it there. 

 IX

 As, --why must one, for the love foregone, Scout mere liking? Thunder-striking Earth, --the heaven, we looked above for, gone!

 X

 Why, with beauty, needs there money be, Love with liking? Crush the fly-king In his gauze, because no honey-bee?

 XI

 May not liking be so simple-sweet, If love grew there 'Twould undo there All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet?

 XII

 Is the creature too imperfect, say? Would you mend it And so end it? Since not all addition perfects aye!

 XIII

 Or is it of its kind, perhaps, Just perfection-- Whence, rejection Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps?

 XIV

 Shall we burn up, tread that face at once Into tinder, And so hinder Sparks from kindling all the place at once?

 XV

 Or else kiss away one's soul on her? Your love-fancies! --A sick man sees Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!

 XVI

 Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose, -- Plucks a mould-flower For his gold flower, Uses fine things that efface the rose:

 XVII

 Rosy rubies make its cup more rose, Precious metals Ape the petals, -- Last, some old king locks it up, morose!

 XVIII

 Then how grace a rose? I know a way! Leave it, rather. Must you gather? Smell, kiss, wear it--at last, throw away!

"The Last Ride Together" may be cited as another example of thephilosophy which an Englishman, or at any rate a Browning, can evolvefrom a more or less painful episode. 

 THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER

 I

 I said--Then, dearest, since 'tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be-- My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness! Take back the hope you gave, --I claim Only a memory of the same, --And this beside, if you will not blame, Your leave for one more last ride with me. 

 II

 My mistress bent that brow of hers; Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs When pity would be softening through, Fixed me a breathing-while or two With life or death in the balance: right! The blood replenished me again; My last thought was at least not vain: I and my mistress, side by side Shall be together, breathe and ride, So, one day more am I deified. Who knows but the world may end to-night?

 III

 Hush! if you saw some western cloud All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed By many benedictions--sun's-- And moon's and evening-star's at once-- And so, you, looking and loving best, Conscious grew, your passion drew Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, Down on you, near and yet more near, Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!-- Thus leant she and lingered--joy and fear! Thus lay she a moment on my breast. 

 IV

 Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes already lay behind. What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this, So might I gain, so might I miss. Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell! Where had I been now if the worst befell? And here we are riding, she and I. 

 V

 Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds? We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, Saw other regions, cities new, As the world rushed by on either side. I thought, --All labor, yet no less Bear up beneath their unsuccess. Look at the end of work, contrast The petty done, the undone vast, This present of theirs with the hopeful past! I hoped she would love me; here we ride. 

 VI

 What hand and brain went ever paired? What heart alike conceived and dared? What act proved all its thought had been? What will but felt the fleshly screen? We ride and I see her bosom heave. There's many a crown for who can reach. Ten lines, a stateman's life in each! The flag stuck on a heap of bones, A soldier's doing! what atones? They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. My riding is better, by their leave. 

 VII

 What does it all mean, poet? Well, Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell What we felt only; you expressed You hold things beautiful the best, And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then, Have you yourself what's best for men? Are you--poor, sick, old ere your time-- Nearer one whit your own sublime Than we who never have turned a rhyme? Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. 

 VIII

 And you, great sculptor--so, you gave A score of years to Art, her slave, And that's your Venus, whence we turn To yonder girl that fords the burn! You acquiesce, and shall I repine? What, man of music, you grown grey With notes and nothing else to say, Is this your sole praise from a friend, "Greatly his opera's strains intend, But in music we know how fashions end!" I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. 

 IX

 Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate My being--had I signed the bond-- Still one must lead some life beyond, Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. This foot once planted on the goal, This glory-garland round my soul, Could I descry such? Try and test! I sink back shuddering from the quest. Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. 

 X

 And yet--she has not spoke so long! What if heaven be that, fair and strong At life's best, with our eyes upturned Whither life's flower is first discerned, We, fixed so, ever should so abide? What if we still ride on, we two With life for ever old yet new, Changed not in kind but in degree, The instant made eternity, -- And heaven just prove that I and she Ride, ride together, for ever ride?

"James Lee's Wife" is also English in temper as the English nameindicates sufficiently, though the scene is laid out of England. Thiswife has her agony over the faithless husband, but she plans vengeanceagainst neither him nor the other women who attract him. She realizesthat his nature is not a deep and serious one like her own, and in herhighest reach she sees that her own nature has been lifted up by meansof her true and loyal feeling, that this gain to herself is her reward, or will be in some future state. The stanzas giving this thought areamong the most beautiful in the poem. 

 AMONG THE ROCKS

 I

 Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. 

 II

 That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

Two of the longer poems have distinctly English settings: "A Blot in theScutcheon" and "The Inn Album;" while, of the shorter ones, "Ned Bratts"has an English theme, and "Halbert and Hob" though not founded upon anEnglish story has been given an English _mis en scčne_ by Browning. 

In the "Blot, " we get a glimpse of Eighteenth Century aristocraticEngland. The estate over which Lord Tresham presided was one of thosetypical country kingdoms, which have for centuries been so conspicuous afeature of English life, and which through the assemblies of the great, often gathered within their walls, wielded potent influences uponpolitical life. The play opens with the talk of a group of retainers, such as formed the household of these lordly establishments. It was nota rare thing for the servants of the great to be admitted into intimacywith the family, as was the case with Gerard. They were often people ofa superior grade, hardly to be classed with servants in the senseunfortunately given to that word to-day. 

Besides the house and the park which figure in the play, such an estatehad many acres of land devoted to agriculture--some of it, called thedemesne, which was cultivated for the benefit of the owner, and someland held in villeinage which the unfree tenants, called villeins, wereallowed to till for themselves. All this land might be in one largetract, or the demesne might be separate from the other. Mertoun speaksof their demesnes touching each other. Over the villeins presided theBailiff, who kept strict watch to see that they performed their workpunctually. His duties were numerous, for he directed the ploughing, sowing and reaping, gave out the seed, watched the harvest, gathered andlooked after the stock and horses. A church, a mill and an inn wereoften included in such an estate. 

[Illustration: An English Manor House]

Pride in their ancient lineage was, of course, common to noble families, though probably few of them could boast as Tresham did that there was noblot in their escutcheon. Some writers have even declared that most ofthe nobles are descended from tradesmen. According to one of these "Thegreat bulk of our peerage is comparatively modern, so far as the titlesgo; but it is not the less noble that it has been recruited to so largean extent from the ranks of honorable industry. In olden times, thewealth and commerce of London, conducted as it was by energetic andenterprising men was a prolific source of peerages. Thus, the earldomof Cornwallis was founded by Thomas Cornwallis, the Cheapside merchant;that of Essex by William Capel, the draper; and that of Craven byWilliam Craven, the merchant tailor. The modern Earl of Warwick is notdescended from 'the King-maker, ' but from William Greville, thewoolstapler; whilst the modern Dukes of Northumberland find their head, not in the Percies, but in Hugh Smithson, a respectable Londonapothecary. The founders of the families of Dartmouth, Radnor, Ducie, and Pomfret were respectively a skinner, a silk manufacturer, a merchanttailor, and a Calais merchant; whilst the founders of the peerages ofTankerville, Dormer, and Coventry were mercers. The ancestors of EarlRomney, and Lord Dudley and Ward, were goldsmiths and jewelers; and LordDacres was a banker in the reign of Charles I. , as Lord Overstone is inthat of Queen Victoria. Edward Osborne, the founder of the dukedom ofLeeds, was apprentice to William Hewet, a rich cloth worker on LondonBridge, whose only daughter he courageously rescued from drowning, byleaping into the Thames after her, and eventually married. Among otherpeerages founded by trade are those of Fitzwilliam, Leigh, Petre, Cowper, Darnley, Hill, and Carrington. "

Perhaps the imaginary house of Tresham may be said to find its closestcounterpart in the Sidney family, for many generations owners ofPenshurst, and with a traditional character according to which the menwere all brave and the women were all pure. Sir Philip Sidney washimself the type of all the virtues of the family, while his father'scare for his proper bringing up was not unlike Tresham's for Mildred. Inthe words of a recent writer: "The most famous scion of this Kentishhouse was above all things, the moral and intellectual product ofPenshurst Place. In the park may still be seen an avenue of trees, underwhich the father, in his afternoon walks with the boy, tested hisrecollection of the morning's lessons conned with the tutor. There, too, it was that he impressed on the lad those maxims for the conduct oflife, afterwards emphasized in the correspondence still extant among thePenshurst archives. 

"Philip was to begin every day with lifting up his mind to the Almightyin hearty prayer, as well as feelingly digesting all he prayed for. Hewas also, early or late, to be obedient to others, so that in due timeothers might obey him. The secret of all success lay in a moderate dietwith rare use of wine. A gloomy brow was, however, to be avoided. Rather should the youth give himself to be merry, so as not todegenerate from his father. Above all things should he keep his wit frombiting words, or indeed from too much talk of any kind. Had not natureramparted up the tongue with teeth and the lips with hair as reins andbridles against the tongue's loose use. Heeding this, he must be sure totell no untruth even in trifles; for that was a naughty custom, norcould there be a greater reproach to a gentleman than to be accounted aliar. _Noblesse oblige_ formed the keynote of the oral and writtenprecepts with which the future Sir Philip Sidney was paternallysupplied. By his mother, too, Lady Mary Dudley, the boy must rememberhimself to be of noble blood. Let him beware, therefore, through slothand vice, of being accounted a blemish on his race. "

Furthermore, the brotherly and sisterly relations of Tresham and Mildredare not unlike those of Sir Philip Sidney and his sister Mary. Theystudied and worked together in great sympathy, broken into only by thetragic fate of Sir Philip. Although the education of women in those dayswas chiefly domestic, with a smattering of accomplishments, yet therewere exceptional girls who aspired to learning and who became brilliantwomen. Mildred under her brother's tutelage bid fare to be one of thissort. 

The ideals of the Sidneys, it is true, were sixteenth-century ideals. Eighteenth-century ideals were proverbially low. England, then, had notrecovered from the frivolities inaugurated after the Restoration. Theslackness and unbelief among the clergy, and the looseness of morals insociety were notorious, but this degeneration could not have beenuniversal. There are always a few Noahs and their families left torepeople the world with righteousness after a deluge of degeneracy, andBrowning is quite right in his portrayal of an eighteenth-century knight_sans peur et sans reproche_ who defends the honor of his house with hissword, because of his high moral ideals. Besides, the Methodist revivalled by the Wesleys gained constantly in power. It affected not only thepeople of the middle and lower classes, rescuing them from brutality ofmind and manners, but it affected the established church for the better, and made its mark upon the upper classes. "Religion, long despised andcontemned by the titled and the great" writes Withrow, "began to receiverecognition and support by men high in the councils of the nation. Manyladies of high rank became devout Christians. A new element ofrestraint, compelling at least some outward respect for the decencies oflife and observances of religion, was felt at court, where too longcorruption and back-stair influence had sway. "

Like all of his kind, no matter what the century, Tresham is more thandelighted at the thought of an alliance between his house and the noblehouse to which Mertoun belonged. The youth of Mildred was no obstacle, for marriages were frequently contracted in those days between youngboys and girls. The writer's English grand-father and mother were marriedat the respective ages of sixteen and fifteen within the boundaries ofthe nineteenth century. 

The first two scenes of the play present episodes thoroughlyillustrative of the life lived by the "quality. "

ACT I

SCENE I. --_The interior of a lodge in LORD TRESHAM'S park. ManyRetainers crowded at the window, supposed to command a view of theentrance to his mansion. _

_GERARD, the warrener, his back to a table on which are flagons, etc. _

 _1st Retainer. _ Ye, do! push, friends, and then you'll push down me! --What for? Does any hear a runner's foot Or a steed's trample or a coach-wheel's cry? Is the Earl come or his least poursuivant? But there's no breeding in a man of you Save Gerard yonder: here's a half-place yet, Old Gerard!

 _Gerard. _ Save your courtesies, my friend. Here is my place. 

 _2nd Retainer. _ Now, Gerard, out with it! What makes you sullen, this of all the days I' the year? To-day that young rich bountiful Handsome Earl Mertoun, whom alone they match With our Lord Tresham through the country side, Is coming here in utmost bravery To ask our master's sister's hand?

 _Gerard. _ What then?

 _2nd Retainer. _ What then? Why, you, she speaks to if she meets Your worship, smiles on as you hold apart The boughs to let her through her forest walks You, always favorite for your no deserts You've heard, these three days, how Earl Mertoun sues To lay his heart and house and broad lands too At Lady Mildred's feet: and while we squeeze Ourselves into a mousehole lest we miss One congee of the least page in his train, You sit o' one side--"there's the Earl, " say I-- "What then, " say you!

 _3rd Retainer. _ I'll wager he has let Both swans be tamed for Lady Mildred swim Over the falls and gain the river!

 _Gerard. _ Ralph! Is not to-morrow my inspecting day For you and for your hawks?

 _4th Retainer. _ Let Gerard be! He's coarse-grained, like his carved black cross-bow stock. Ha, look now, while we squabble with him, look! Well done, now--is not this beginning, now, To purpose?

 _1st Retainer. _ Our retainers look as fine-- That's comfort. Lord, how Richard holds himself With his white staff! Will not a knave behind Prick him upright?

 _4th Retainer. _ He's only bowing, fool! The Earl's man bent us lower by this much. 

 _1st Retainer. _ That's comfort. Here's a very cavalcade!

 _3rd Retainer. _ I don't see wherefore Richard, and his troop Of silk and silver varlets there, should find Their perfumed selves so indispensable On high days, holidays! Would it so disgrace Our family, if I, for instance, stood-- In my right hand a cast of Swedish hawks, A leash of greyhounds in my left?--

 _Gerard. _ --With Hugh The logman for supporter, in his right The bill-hook, in his left the brushwood-shears!

 _3rd Retainer. _ Out on you, crab! What next, what next? The Earl!

 _1st Retainer. _ Oh Walter, groom, our horses, do they match The Earl's? Alas, that first pair of the six-- They paw the ground--Ah Walter! and that brute Just on his haunches by the wheel!

 _6th Retainer. _ Ay--ay! You, Philip, are a special hand, I hear, At soups and sauces: what's a horse to you? D'ye mark that beast they've slid into the midst So cunningly?--then, Philip, mark this further; No leg has he to stand on!

 _1st Retainer. _ No? That's comfort. 

 _2nd Retainer. _ Peace, Cook! The Earl descends. Well, Gerard, see The Earl at least! Come, there's a proper man, I hope! Why, Ralph, no falcon, Pole or Swede, Has got a starrier eye. 

 _3rd Retainer. _ His eyes are blue: But leave my hawks alone!

 _4th Retainer. _ So young, and yet So tall and shapely!

 _5th Retainer. _ Here's Lord Tresham's self! There now--there's what a nobleman should be! He's older, graver, loftier, he's more like A House's head. 

 _2nd Retainer. _ But you'd not have a boy --And what's the Earl beside?--possess too soon That stateliness?

 _1st Retainer. _ Our master takes his hand-- Richard and his white staff are on the move-- Back fall our people--(tsh!--there's Timothy Sure to get tangled in his ribbon-ties, And Peter's cursed rosette's a-coming off!) --At last I see our lord's back and his friend's; And the whole beautiful bright company Close round them--in they go!

[_Jumping down from the window-bench, and making for the table and itsjugs. _]

 Good health, long life Great joy to our Lord Tresham and his House!

 _6th Retainer. _ My father drove his father first to court, After his marriage-day--ay, did he!

 _2nd Retainer. _ God bless Lord Tresham, Lady Mildred, and the Earl! Here, Gerard, reach your beaker!

 _Gerard. _ Drink, my boys! Don't mind me--all's not right about me--drink!

 _2nd Retainer_ [_aside_]. He's vexed, now, that he let the show escape! [_To GERARD. _] Remember that the Earl returns this way. 

 _Gerard. _ That way?

 _2nd Retainer. _ Just so. 

 _Gerard. _ Then my way's here. 

[_Goes. _

 _2nd Retainer. _ Old Gerard Will die soon--mind, I said it! He was used To care about the pitifullest thing That touched the House's honor, not an eye But his could see wherein: and on a cause Of scarce a quarter this importance, Gerard Fairly had fretted flesh and bone away In cares that this was right, nor that was wrong, Such point decorous, and such square by rule-- He knew such niceties, no herald more: And now--you see his humor: die he will!

 _2nd Retainer. _ God help him! Who's for the great servant's hall To hear what's going on inside? They'd follow Lord Tresham into the saloon. 

 _3rd Retainer. _ I!--

 _4th Retainer. _ I!-- Leave Frank alone for catching, at the door, Some hint of how the parley goes inside! Prosperity to the great House once more! Here's the last drop!

 _1st Retainer. _ Have at you! Boys, hurrah!

SCENE II. --_A Saloon in the Mansion. _

_Enter LORD THESHAM, LORD MERTOUN, AUSTIN, and GUENDOLEN. _

 _Tresham. _ I welcome you, Lord Mertoun, yet once more, To this ancestral roof of mine. Your name --Noble among the noblest in itself, Yet taking in your person, fame avers, New price and lustre, --(as that gem you wear, Transmitted from a hundred knightly breasts, Fresh chased and set and fixed by its last lord, Seems to re-kindle at the core)--your name Would win you welcome!--

 _Mertoun. _ Thanks!

 _Tresham. _ --But add to that, The worthiness and grace and dignity Of your proposal for uniting both Our Houses even closer than respect Unites them now--add these, and you must grant One favor more, nor that the least, --to think The welcome I should give;--'tis given! My lord, My only brother, Austin: he's the king's. Our cousin, Lady Guendolen--betrothed To Austin: all are yours. 

 _Mertoun. _ I thank you--less For the expressed commendings which your seal, And only that, authenticates--forbids My putting from me . .. To my heart I take Your praise . .. But praise less claims my gratitude, Than the indulgent insight it implies Of what must needs be uppermost with one Who comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask, In weighed and measured unimpassioned words, A gift, which, if as calmly 'tis denied, He must withdraw, content upon his cheek, Despair within his soul. That I dare ask Firmly, near boldly, near with confidence That gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham, I love your sister--as you'd have one love That lady . .. Oh more, more I love her! Wealth, Rank, all the world thinks me, they're yours, you know, To hold or part with, at your choice--but grant My true self, me without a rood of land, A piece of gold, a name of yesterday, Grant me that lady, and you . .. Death or life?

 _Guendolen_ [_apart to AUSTIN_]. Why, this is loving, Austin!

 _Austin. _ He's so young!

 _Guendolen. _ Young? Old enough, I think, to half surmise He never had obtained an entrance here, Were all this fear and trembling needed. 

 _Austin. _ Hush! He reddens. 

 _Guendolen. _ Mark him, Austin; that's true love! Ours must begin again. 

 _Tresham. _ We'll sit, my lord. Ever with best desert goes diffidence. I may speak plainly nor be misconceived. That I am wholly satisfied with you On this occasion, when a falcon's eye Were dull compared with mine to search out faults, Is somewhat. Mildred's hand is hers to give Or to refuse. 

 _Mertoun. _ But you, you grant my suit? I have your word if hers?

 _Tresham. _ My best of words If hers encourage you. I trust it will. Have you seen Lady Mildred, by the way?

 _Mertoun. _ I . .. I . .. Our two demesnes, remember, touch; I have been used to wander carelessly After my stricken game: the heron roused Deep in my woods, has trailed its broken wing Thro' thicks and glades a mile in yours, --or else Some eyass ill-reclaimed has taken flight And lured me after her from tree to tree, I marked not whither. I have come upon The lady's wondrous beauty unaware, And--and then . .. I have seen her. 

 _Guendolen_ [_aside to AUSTIN_]. Note that mode Of faltering out that, when a lady passed, He, having eyes, did see her! You had said-- "On such a day I scanned her, head to foot; Observed a red, where red should not have been, Outside her elbow; but was pleased enough Upon the whole. " Let such irreverent talk Be lessoned for the future!

 _Tresham. _ What's to say May be said briefly. She has never known A mother's care; I stand for father too. Her beauty is not strange to you, it seems-- You cannot know the good and tender heart, Its girl's trust and its woman's constancy, How pure yet passionate, how calm yet kind, How grave yet joyous, how reserved yet free As light where friends are--how imbued with lore The world most prizes, yet the simplest, yet The . .. One might know I talked of Mildred--thus We brothers talk!

 _Mertoun. _ I thank you. 

 _Tresham. _ In a word, Control's not for this lady; but her wish To please me outstrips in its subtlety My power of being pleased: herself creates The want she means to satisfy. My heart Prefers your suit to her as 'twere its own. Can I say more?

 _Mertoun. _ No more--thanks, thanks--no more!

 _Tresham. _ This matter then discussed. .. . 

 _Mertoun. _ --We'll waste no breath On aught less precious. I'm beneath the roof Which holds her: while I thought of that, my speech To you would wander--as it must not do, Since as you favor me I stand or fall. I pray you suffer that I take my leave!

 _Tresham. _ With less regret 't is suffered, that again We meet, I hope, so shortly. 

 _Mertoun. _ We? again?-- Ah yes, forgive me--when shall . .. You will crown Your goodness by forthwith apprising me When . .. If . .. The lady will appoint a day For me to wait on you--and her. 

 _Tresham. _ So soon As I am made acquainted with her thoughts On your proposal--howsoe'er they lean-- A messenger shall bring you the result. 

 _Mertoun. _ You cannot bind me more to you, my lord. Farewell till we renew . .. I trust, renew A converse ne'er to disunite again. 

 _Tresham. _ So may it prove!

 _Mertoun. _ You, lady, you, sir, take My humble salutation!

 _Guendolen and Austin. _ Thanks!

 _Tresham. _ Within there!

[_+Servants+ enter. TRESHAM conducts MERTOUN to the door. MeantimeAUSTIN remarks_, Here I have an advantage of the Earl, Confess now! I'd not think that all was safe Because my lady's brother stood my friend! Why, he makes sure of her--"do you say, yes"-- "She'll not say, no, "--what comes it to beside? I should have prayed the brother, "speak this speech, For Heaven's sake urge this on her--put in this-- Forget not, as you'd save me, t'other thing, -- Then set down what she says, and how she looks, And if she smiles, and" (in an under breath) "Only let her accept me, and do you And all the world refuse me, if you dare!"

 _Guendolen. _ That way you'd take, friend Austin? What a shame I was your cousin, tamely from the first Your bride, and all this fervor's run to waste! Do you know you speak sensibly to-day? The Earl's a fool. 

 _Austin. _ Here's Thorold. Tell him so!

 _Tresham_ [_returning_]. Now, voices, voices! 'St! the lady's first! How seems he?--seems he not . .. Come, faith give fraud The mercy-stroke whenever they engage! Down with fraud, up with faith! How seems the Earl? A name! a blazon! if you knew their worth, As you will never! come--the Earl?

 _Guendolen. _ He's young. 

 _Tresham. _ What's she? an infant save in heart and brain. Young! Mildred is fourteen, remark! And you . .. Austin, how old is she?

 _Guendolen. _ There's tact for you! I meant that being young was good excuse If one should tax him. .. . 

 _Tresham. _ Well?

 _Guendolen. _ --With lacking wit. 

 _Tresham. _ He lacked wit? Where might he lack wit, so please you?

 _Guendolen. _ In standing straighter than the steward's rod And making you the tiresomest harangue, Instead of slipping over to my side And softly whispering in my ear, "Sweet lady, Your cousin there will do me detriment He little dreams of: he's absorbed, I see, In my old name and fame--be sure he'll leave My Mildred, when his best account of me Is ended, in full confidence I wear My grandsire's periwig down either cheek. I'm lost unless your gentleness vouchsafes". .. . 

 _Tresham. _ . .. "To give a best of best accounts, yourself, Of me and my demerits. " You are right! He should have said what now I say for him. Yon golden creature, will you help us all? Here's Austin means to vouch for much, but you --You are . .. What Austin only knows! Come up, All three of us: she's in the library No doubt, for the day's wearing fast. Precede!

 _Guendolen. _ Austin, how we must--!

 _Tresham. _ Must what? Must speak truth, Malignant tongue! Detect one fault in him! I challenge you!

 _Guendolen. _ Witchcraft's a fault in him, For you're bewitched. 

 _Tresham. _ What's urgent we obtain Is, that she soon receive him--say, to-morrow-- Next day at furthest. 

 _Guendolen. _ Ne'er instruct me!

 _Tresham. _ Come! --He's out of your good graces, since forsooth, He stood not as he'd carry us by storm With his perfections! You're for the composed Manly assured becoming confidence! --Get her to say, "to-morrow, " and I'll give you . .. I'll give you black Urganda, to be spoiled With petting and snail-paces. Will you? Come!

The story of the love of Mildred and Mertoun is the universally humanone, and belongs to no one country or no one period of civilization morethan another, but the attitude of all the actors in the tragedy belongsdistinctively to the phase of moral culture which we saw illustrated inthe youth of Sir Philip Sidney, and is characteristic of English ways ofthinking whenever their moral force comes uppermost, as for example inthe Puritan thought of the Cromwellian era. 

The play is in a sense a problem play, though to most modern readers thetragedy of its ending is all too horrible a consequence of the sin. Dramatically and psychically, however, the tragedy is much moreinevitable than that of Romeo and Juliet, whose love one naturallythinks of in the same connection. The catastrophe in the Shakespeareplay is almost mechanically pushed to its conclusion through mereexternal blundering, easily to have been prevented. Juliet saw clearlywhere Mildred does not, that loyalty to a deep and true love shouldtriumph over all minor considerations, so that in her case the tragedyis, in no sense, due to her blindness of vision. In the "Blot, " lack ofperception of the true values in life makes it impossible for Mildred orTresham to act otherwise than they did. But having worked out theirproblem according to their lights, a new light of a more glorious daydawns upon them. 

The ideal by which Tresham lives and moves and has his being is that ofpride of birth, with honor and chastity as its watchwords. At the sametime the idol of his life is his sister Mildred, over whom he haswatched with a father's and mother's care. When the blow to his idealcomes at the hands of this much cherished sister, it is not to bewondered at that his reason almost deserts him. The greatest agonypossible to the human soul is to have its ideals, the very food whichhas been the sustenance of its being, utterly ruined. The ideal may be awrong one, or an impartial one, and through the wrack and ruin may dawnlarger vision, but, unless the nature be a marvelously developed one thestorm that breaks when an ideal is shattered is overwhelming. 

It would be equally true of Mildred that, nurtured as she had been andas young English girls usually are, in great purity, even ignorance ofall things pertaining to life, the sense of her sin would be sooverwhelming as to blind her to any possible means of expiation exceptthe most extreme. And indeed may it not be said that only those who cansee as Mertoun and Guendolen did that genuine and loyal love is no lesslove because, in a conventional sense, it has sinned, --only those wouldacknowledge, as Tresham, indeed, does after he has murdered Mertoun, howperfect the love of Mildred and Mertoun was. Sin flourishes only wheninsincerity tricks itself out in the garb of love, and on the whole itis well that human beings should have an abiding sense of their own andothers insincerity, and test themselves by their willingness toacknowledge their love before God and man. There are many Mildreds butfew Mertouns. It is little wonder that Dickens wrote with suchenthusiasm of this play that he knew no love like that of Mildred andMertoun, no passion like it. 

[Illustration: An English Park]

One does not need to discuss whether murders were possible in Englishsocial life. They are possible in all life at all times as long as menand women allow their passions to overthrow their reason. The last act, however, illustrates the English poise already referred to; Treshamregains his equilibrium with enlarged vision, his salvation isaccomplished, his soul awakened. 

ACT III

SCENE I. --_The end of the Yew-tree Avenue under MILDRED'S window. Alight seen through a central red pane. _

_Enter TRESHAM through the trees. _

 Again here! But I cannot lose myself. The heath--the orchard--I have traversed glades And dells and bosky paths which used to lead Into green wild-wood depths, bewildering My boy's adventurous step. And now they tend Hither or soon or late; the blackest shade Breaks up, the thronged trunks of the trees ope wide, And the dim turret I have fled from, fronts Again my step: the very river put Its arm about me and conducted me To this detested spot. Why then, I'll shun Their will no longer: do your will with me! Oh, bitter! To have reared a towering scheme Of happiness, and to behold it razed, Were nothing: all men hope, and see their hopes Frustrate, and grieve awhile, and hope anew. But I . .. To hope that from a line like ours No horrid prodigy like this would spring, Were just as though I hoped that from these old Confederates against the sovereign day, Children of older and yet older sires, Whose living coral berries dropped, as now On me, on many a baron's surcoat once, On many a beauty's wimple--would proceed No poison-tree, to thrust, from hell its root, Hither and thither its strange snaky arms. Why came I here? What must I do? [_A bell strikes. _] A bell? Midnight! and 'tis at midnight. .. . Ah, I catch --Woods, river, plains, I catch your meaning now, And I obey you! Hist! This tree will serve. 

[_He retires behind one of the trees. After a pause, enter MERTOUNcloaked as before. _

 _Mertoun. _ Not time! Beat out thy last voluptuous beat Of hope and fear, my heart! I thought the clock I' the chapel struck as I was pushing through The ferns. And so I shall no more see rise My love-star! Oh, no matter for the past! So much the more delicious task to watch Mildred revive: to pluck out, thorn by thorn, All traces of the rough forbidden path My rash love lured her to! Each day must see Some fear of hers effaced, some hope renewed: Then there will be surprises, unforeseen Delights in store. I'll not regret the past. 

[_The light is placed above in the purple pane. _

 And see, my signal rises, Mildred's star! I never saw it lovelier than now It rises for the last time. If it sets, 'Tis that the re-assuring sun may dawn. 

[_As he prepares to ascend the last tree of the avenue, TRESHAM arrestshis arm. _

 Unhand me--peasant, by your grasp! Here's gold. 'Twas a mad freak of mine. I said I'd pluck A branch from the white-blossomed shrub beneath The casement there. Take this, and hold your peace. 

 _Tresham. _ Into the moonlight yonder, come with me! Out of the shadow!

 _Mertoun. _ I am armed, fool!

 _Tresham. _ Yes, Or no? You'll come into the light, or no? My hand is on your throat--refuse!--

 _Mertoun. _ That voice! Where have I heard . .. No--that was mild and slow. I'll come with you. 

[_They advance. _

 _Tresham. _ You're armed: that's well. Declare Your name: who are you?

 _Mertoun. _ (Tresham!--she is lost!)

 _Tresham. _ Oh, silent? Do you know, you bear yourself Exactly as, in curious dreams I've had How felons, this wild earth is full of, look When they're detected, still your kind has looked! The bravo holds an assured countenance, The thief is voluble and plausible, But silently the slave of lust has crouched When I have fancied it before a man. Your name!

 _Mertoun. _ I do conjure Lord Tresham--ay, Kissing his foot, if so I might prevail-- That he for his own sake forbear to ask My name! As heaven's above, his future weal Or woe depends upon my silence! Vain! I read your white inexorable face. Know me, Lord Tresham!

[_He throws off his disguises. _

 _Tresham. _ Mertoun! [_After a pause. _] Draw now!

 _Mertoun. _ Hear me But speak first!

 _Tresham. _ Not one least word on your life! Be sure that I will strangle in your throat The least word that informs me how you live And yet seem what you seem! No doubt 'twas you Taught Mildred still to keep that face and sin. We should join hands in frantic sympathy If you once taught me the unteachable, Explained how you can live so, and so lie. With God's help I retain, despite my sense, The old belief--a life like yours is still Impossible. Now draw!

 _Mertoun. _ Not for my sake, Do I entreat a hearing--for your sake, And most, for her sake!

 _Tresham. _ Ha ha, what should I Know of your ways? A miscreant like yourself, How must one rouse his ire? A blow?--that's pride No doubt, to him! One spurns him, does one not? Or sets the foot upon his mouth, or spits Into his face! Come! Which, or all of these?

 _Mertoun. _ 'Twixt him and me and Mildred, Heaven be judge! Can I avoid this? Have your will, my lord!

[_He draws and, after a few passes, falls. _

 _Tresham. _ You are not hurt?

 _Mertoun. _ You'll hear me now!

 _Tresham. _ But rise!

 _Mertoun. _ Ah, Tresham, say I not "you'll hear me now!" And what procures a man the right to speak In his defense before his fellow man, But--I suppose--the thought that presently He may have leave to speak before his God His whole defense?

 _Tresham. _ Not hurt? It cannot be! You made no effort to resist me. Where Did my sword reach you? Why not have returned My thrusts? Hurt where?

 _Mertoun. _ My lord--

 _Tresham. _ How young he is!

 _Mertoun. _ Lord Tresham, I am very young, and yet I have entangled other lives with mine. Do let me speak, and do believe my speech! That when I die before you presently, --

 _Tresham. _ Can you stay here till I return with help?

 _Mertoun. _ Oh, stay by me! When I was less than boy I did you grievous wrong and knew it not-- Upon my honor, knew it not! Once known, I could not find what seemed a better way To right you than I took: my life--you feel How less than nothing were the giving you The life you've taken! But I thought my way The better--only for your sake and hers: And as you have decided otherwise, Would I had an infinity of lives To offer you! Now say--instruct me--think! Can you, from the brief minutes I have left, Eke out my reparation? Oh think--think! For I must wring a partial--dare I say, Forgiveness from you, ere I die?

 _Tresham. _ I do Forgive you. 

 _Mertoun. _ Wait and ponder that great word! Because, if you forgive me, I shall hope To speak to you of--Mildred!

 _Tresham. _ Mertoun, haste And anger have undone us. 'Tis not you Should tell me for a novelty you're young, Thoughtless, unable to recall the past. Be but your pardon ample as my own!

 _Mertoun. _ Ah, Tresham, that a sword-stroke and a drop Of blood or two, should bring all this about! Why, 'twas my very fear of you, my love Of you--(what passion like a boy's for one Like you?)--that ruined me! I dreamed of you-- You, all accomplished, courted everywhere, The scholar and the gentleman. I burned To knit myself to you: but I was young, And your surpassing reputation kept me So far aloof! Oh, wherefore all that love? With less of love, my glorious yesterday Of praise and gentlest words and kindest looks, Had taken place perchance six months ago. Even now, how happy we had been! And yet I know the thought of this escaped you, Tresham! Let me look up into your face; I feel 'Tis changed above me: yet my eyes are glazed. Where? where?

[_As he endeavors to raise himself, his eye catches the lamp. _

 Ah, Mildred! What will Mildred do? Tresham, her life is bound up in the life That's bleeding fast away! I'll live--must live, There, if you'll only turn me I shall live And save her! Tresham--oh, had you but heard! Had you but heard! What right was yours to set The thoughtless foot upon her life and mine, And then say, as we perish, "Had I thought, All had gone otherwise?" We've sinned and die: Never you sin, Lord Tresham! for you'll die, And God will judge you. 

 _Tresham. _ Yes, be satisfied! That process is begun. 

 _Mertoun. _ And she sits there Waiting for me! Now, say you this to her-- You, not another--say, I saw him die As he breathed this, "I love her"--you don't know What those three small words mean! Say, loving her Lowers me down the bloody slope to death With memories . .. I speak to her, not you, Who had no pity, will have no remorse, Perchance intend her. .. . Die along with me, Dear Mildred! 'tis so easy, and you'll 'scape So much unkindness! Can I lie at rest, With rude speech spoken to you, ruder deeds Done to you?--heartless men shall have my heart, And I tied down with grave-clothes and the worm, Aware, perhaps, of every blow--oh God!-- Upon those lips--yet of no power to tear The felon stripe by stripe! Die, Mildred! Leave Their honorable world to them! For God We're good enough, though the world casts us out. 

[_A whistle is heard. _

 _Tresham. _ Ho, Gerard!

_Enter GERARD, AUSTIN and GUENDOLEN, with lights. _

 No one speak! You see what's done. I cannot bear another voice. 

 _Mertoun. _ There's light-- Light all about me, and I move to it. Tresham, did I not tell you--did you not Just promise to deliver words of mine To Mildred?

 _Tresham. _ I will bear these words to her. 

 _Mertoun. _ Now?

 _Tresham. _ Now. Lift you the body, and leave me The head. 

[_As they half raise MERTOUN, he turns suddenly. _

 _Mertoun. _ I knew they turned me: turn me not from her! There! stay you! there!

[_Dies. _

 _Guendolen_ [_after a pause_]. Austin, remain you here With Thorold until Gerard comes with help: Then lead him to his chamber. I must go To Mildred. 

 _Tresham. _ Guendolen, I hear each word You utter. Did you hear him bid me give His message? Did you hear my promise? I, And only I, see Mildred. 

 _Guendolen. _ She will die. 

 _Tresham. _ Oh no, she will not die! I dare not hope She'll die. What ground have you to think she'll die? Why, Austin's with you!

 _Austin. _ Had we but arrived Before you fought!

 _Tresham. _ There was no fight at all. He let me slaughter him--the boy! I'll trust The body there to you and Gerard--thus! Now bear him on before me. 

 _Austin. _ Whither bear him?

 _Tresham. _ Oh, to my chamber! When we meet there next, We shall be friends. 

[_They bear out the body of MERTOUN. _

 Will she die, Guendolen?

 _Guendolen. _ Where are you taking me?

 _Tresham. _ He fell just here. Now answer me. Shall you in your whole life --You who have nought to do with Mertoun's fate, Now you have seen his breast upon the turf, Shall you e'er walk this way if you can help? When you and Austin wander arm-in-arm Through our ancestral grounds, will not a shade Be ever on the meadow and the waste-- Another kind of shade than when the night Shuts the woodside with all its whispers up? But will you ever so forget his breast As carelessly to cross this bloody turf Under the black yew avenue? That's well! You turn your head: and I then?--

 _Guendolen. _ What is done Is done. My care is for the living. Thorold, Bear up against this burden: more remains To set the neck to!

 _Tresham. _ Dear and ancient trees My fathers planted, and I loved so well! What have I done that, like some fabled crime Of yore, lets loose a Fury leading thus Her miserable dance amidst you all? Oh, never more for me shall winds intone With all your tops a vast antiphony, Demanding and responding in God's praise! Hers ye are now, not mine! Farewell--farewell!

SCENE II. --_MILDRED'S chamber. _

_MILDRED alone. _

 He comes not! I have heard of those who seemed Resourceless in prosperity, --you thought Sorrow might slay them when she listed; yet Did they so gather up their diffused strength At her first menace, that they bade her strike, And stood and laughed her subtlest skill to scorn. Oh, 'tis not so with me! The first woe fell, And the rest fall upon it, not on me: Else should I bear that Henry comes not?--fails Just this first night out of so many nights? Loving is done with. Were he sitting now, As so few hours since, on that seat, we'd love No more--contrive no thousand happy ways To hide love from the loveless, any more. I think I might have urged some little point In my defense, to Thorold; he was breathless For the least hint of a defense: but no, The first shame over, all that would might fall. No Henry! Yet I merely sit and think The morn's deed o'er and o'er. I must have crept Out of myself. A Mildred that has lost Her lover--oh, I dare not look upon Such woe! I crouch away from it! 'Tis she, Mildred, will break her heart, not I! The world Forsakes me: only Henry's left me--left? When I have lost him, for he does not come, And I sit stupidly. .. . Oh Heaven, break up This worse than anguish, this mad apathy, By any means or any messenger!

 _Tresham_ [_without_]. Mildred!

 _Mildred. _ Come in! Heaven hears me! [_Enter TRESHAM. _] You? alone? Oh, no more cursing!

 _Tresham. _ Mildred, I must sit. There--you sit!

 _Mildred. _ Say it, Thorold--do not look The curse! deliver all you come to say! What must become of me? Oh, speak that thought Which makes your brow and cheeks so pale!

 _Tresham. _ My thought?

 _Mildred. _ All of it!

 _Tresham. _ How we waded--years ago-- After those water-lilies, till the plash, I know not how, surprised us; and you dared Neither advance nor turn back: so, we stood Laughing and crying until Gerard came-- Once safe upon the turf, the loudest too, For once more reaching the relinquished prize! How idle thoughts are, some men's, dying men's! Mildred, --

 _Mildred. _ You call me kindlier by my name Than even yesterday: what is in that?

 _Tresham. _ It weighs so much upon my mind that I This morning took an office not my own! I might . .. Of course, I must be glad or grieved, Content or not, at every little thing That touches you. I may with a wrung heart Even reprove you, Mildred; I did more: Will you forgive me?

 _Mildred. _ Thorold? do you mock? Or no . .. And yet you bid me . .. Say that word!

 _Tresham. _ Forgive me, Mildred!--are you silent, Sweet?

 _Mildred_ [_starting up_]. Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night? Are you, too, silent?

[_Dashing his mantle aside, and pointing to his scabbard, which isempty. _

 Ah, this speaks for you! You've murdered Henry Mertoun! Now proceed! What is it I must pardon? This and all? Well, I do pardon you--I think I do. Thorold, how very wretched you must be!

 _Tresham. _ He bade me tell you. .. . 

 _Mildred. _ What I do forbid Your utterance of! So much that you may tell And will not--how you murdered him . .. But, no! You'll tell me that he loved me, never more Than bleeding out his life there: must I say "Indeed, " to that? Enough! I pardon you. 

 _Tresham. _ You cannot, Mildred! for the harsh words, yes: Of this last deed Another's judge: whose doom I wait in doubt, despondency and fear. 

 _Mildred. _ Oh, true! There's nought for me to pardon! True! You loose my soul of all its cares at once. Death makes me sure of him for ever! You Tell me his last words? He shall tell me them, And take my answer--not in words, but reading Himself the heart I had to read him late, Which death. .. . 

 _Tresham. _ Death? You are dying too? Well said Of Guendolen! I dared not hope you'd die: But she was sure of it. 

 _Mildred. _ Tell Guendolen I loved her, and tell Austin. .. . 

 _Tresham. _ Him you loved: And me?

 _Mildred. _ Ah, Thorold! Was't not rashly done To quench that blood, on fire with youth and hope And love of me--whom you loved too, and yet Suffered to sit here waiting his approach While you were slaying him? Oh, doubtlessly You let him speak his poor boy's speech --Do his poor utmost to disarm your wrath And respite me!--you let him try to give The story of our love and ignorance, And the brief madness and the long despair-- You let him plead all this, because your code Of honor bids you hear before you strike: But at the end, as he looked up for life Into your eyes--you struck him down!

 _Tresham. _ No! No! Had I but heard him--had I let him speak Half the truth--less--had I looked long on him I had desisted! Why, as he lay there, The moon on his flushed cheek, I gathered all The story ere he told it: I saw through The troubled surface of his crime and yours A depth of purity immovable, Had I but glanced, where all seemed turbidest Had gleamed some inlet to the calm beneath; I would not glance: my punishment's at hand. There, Mildred, is the truth! and you--say on-- You curse me?

 _Mildred. _ As I dare approach that Heaven Which has not bade a living thing despair, Which needs no code to keep its grace from stain, But bids the vilest worm that turns on it Desist and be forgiven, --I--forgive not, But bless you, Thorold, from my soul of souls!

[_Falls on his neck. _

 There! Do not think too much upon the past! The cloud that's broke was all the same a cloud While it stood up between my friend and you; You hurt him 'neath its shadow: but is that So past retrieve? I have his heart, you know; I may dispose of it: I give it you! It loves you as mine loves! Confirm me, Henry!

[_Dies. _

 _Tresham. _ I wish thee joy, Beloved! I am glad In thy full gladness!

 _Guendolen_ [_without_]. Mildred! Tresham! [_Entering with AUSTIN. _] Thorold, I could desist no longer. Ah, she swoons! That's well. 

 _Tresham. _ Oh, better far than that!

 _Guendolen. _ She's dead! Let me unlock her arms!

 _Tresham. _ She threw them thus About my neck, and blessed me, and then died: You'll let them stay now, Guendolen!

 _Austin. _ Leave her And look to him! What ails you, Thorold?

 _Guendolen. _ White As she, and whiter! Austin! quick--this side!

 _Austin. _ A froth is oozing through his clenched teeth; Both lips, where they're not bitten through, are black: Speak, dearest Thorold!

 _Tresham. _ Something does weigh down My neck beside her weight: thanks: I should fall But for you, Austin, I believe!--there, there, 'Twill pass away soon!--ah, --I had forgotten: I am dying. 

 _Guendolen. _ Thorold--Thorold--why was this?

 _Tresham. _ I said, just as I drank the poison off, The earth would be no longer earth to me, The life out of all life was gone from me. There are blind ways provided, the foredone Heart-weary player in this pageant-world Drops out by, letting the main masque defile By the conspicuous portal: I am through-- Just through!

 _Guendolen. _ Don't leave him, Austin! Death is close. 

 _Tresham. _ Already Mildred's face is peacefuller. I see you, Austin--feel you: here's my hand, Put yours in it--you, Guendolen, yours too! You're lord and lady now--you're Treshams; name And fame are yours: you hold our 'scutcheon up. Austin, no blot on it! You see how blood Must wash one blot away: the first blot came And the first blood came. To the vain world's eye All's gules again: no care to the vain world, From whence the red was drawn!

 _Austin. _ No blot shall come!

 _Tresham. _ I said that: yet it did come. Should it come, Vengeance is God's, not man's. Remember me!

[_Dies. _

 _Guendolen_ [_letting fall the pulseless arm_]. Ah, Thorold, we can but--remember you!

In "Ned Bratts, " Browning has given a striking picture of the influenceexerted by Bunyan upon some of his wicked contemporaries. The poet tookhis hints for the story from Bunyan himself, who tells it as follows inthe "Life and Death of Mr. Badman. "

"At a summer assizes holden at Hertford, while the judge was sittingupon the bench, comes this old Tod into the Court, clothed in a greensuit, with his leathern girdle in his hand, his bosom open, and all on adung sweat, as if he had run for his life; and being come in, he spakealoud, as follows: 'My lord, ' said he, 'here is the veriest rogue thatbreathes upon the face of the earth. I have been a thief from a child:when I was but a little one, I gave myself to rob orchards and to doother such like wicked things, and I have continued a thief ever since. My lord, there has not been a robbery committed these many years, withinso many miles of this place, but I have either been at it, or privy toit. ' The judge thought the fellow was mad, but after some conferencewith some of the justices, they agreed to indict him; and so they did ofseveral felonious actions; to all of which he heartily confessed guilty, and so was hanged, with his wife at the same time. "

Browning had the happy thought of placing this episode in Bedford amidthe scenes of Bunyan's labors and imprisonment. Bunyan, himself, wastried at the Bedford Assizes upon the charge of preaching things heshould not, or according to some accounts for preaching without havingbeen ordained, and was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment in theBedford Jail. At one time it was thought that he wrote "Pilgrim'sProgress" during this imprisonment, but Dr. Brown, in his biography ofBunyan conjectured that this book was not begun until a later andshorter imprisonment of 1675-76, in the town prison and toll-house onBedford Bridge. Dr. Brown supposes that the portion of the book writtenin prison closes where Christian and Hopeful part from the shepherds onthe Delectable Mountains. "At that point a break in the narrative isindicated--'So I awoke from my dream;' it is resumed with thewords--'And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same two pilgrimsgoing down the mountains along the highway towards the city. ' Alreadyfrom the top of an high hill called 'Clear, ' the Celestial City was inview; dangers there were still to be encountered; but to have reachedthat high hill and to have seen something like a gate, and some of theglory of the place, was an attainment and an incentive. " There Bunyancould pause. Several years later the pilgrimage of Christiana waswritten. 

Browning, however, adopts the tradition that the book was written duringthe twelve years' imprisonment, and makes use of the story of Bunyan'shaving supported himself during this time by making tagged shoe-laces. He brings in, also, the little blind daughter to whom Bunyan was said tobe devoted. The Poet was evidently under the impression also that theassizes were held in a courthouse, but there is good authority forthinking that at that time they were held in the chapel of Herne. Nothing remains of this building now, but it was situated at thesouthwest corner of the churchyard of St. Paul, and was spoken ofsometimes as the School-house chapel. 

Ned Bratts and his wife did not know, of course, that they actuallylived in the land of the "Pilgrim's Progress. " This has been pointed outonly recently in a fascinating little book by A. J. Foster of WoottonVicarage, Bedfordshire. He has been a pilgrim from Elstow, the villagewhere Bunyan was born near Bedford, through all the surrounding country, and has fixed upon many spots beautiful and otherwise which he believeswere transmuted in Bunyan's imagination into the House Beautiful, TheDelectable Mountains, Vanity Fair and so on through nearly all thescenes of Christian's journey. 

The House Beautiful he identifies with Houghton House in the manor ofDame Ellen's Bury. This is one of the most interesting of the countryhouses of England, because of its connection with Sir Philip Sidney'ssister, Mary Sidney. After the death of her husband, Lord Pembroke, James I. Presented her with the royal manor of Dame Ellen's Bury, andunder the guidance of Inigo Jones, it is generally supposed, HoughtonHouse was built. It is in ruins now and covered with ivy. Trees havegrown within the ruins themselves. Still it is one of the most beautifulspots in Bedfordshire. "In Bunyan's time, " Mr. Foster writes, "we maysuppose the northern slope of Houghton Park was a series of terracesrising one above another, and laid out in the stiff garden fashion ofthe time. A flight of steps, or maybe a steep path, would lead from oneterrace to the next, and gradually the view over the plain of Bedfordwould reveal itself to the traveler as he mounted higher and higher. "

From Houghton House there is a view of the Chiltern Hills. Mr. Foster isof the opinion that Bunyan had this view in mind when he describedChristian as looking from the roof of the House Beautiful southwardstowards the Delectable Mountains. He writes, "One of the main roads toLondon from Bedford, and the one, moreover, which passes through Elstow, crosses the hills only a little more than a mile east of Houghton House, and Bunyan, in his frequent journeys to London, no doubt often passedalong this road. All in this direction was, therefore, to him familiarground. Many a pleasant walk or ride came back to him through memory, ashe took pen in hand to describe Hill Difficulty with its steep path andits arbor, and the House Beautiful with its guest-chamber, its largeupper room looking eastward, its study and its armory. 

"Many a time did Bunyan, as he journeyed, look southwards to the blueChilterns, and when the time came he placed together all that he hadseen, as the frame in which he should set his way-faring pilgrim. "

Pleasant as it would be to follow with Mr. Foster his journey throughthe real scenes of the "Pilgrim's Progress, " our main interest atpresent is to observe how Browning's facile imagination has presentedthe conversion, through the impression made upon them by Bunyan's book, of Ned and his wife. 

 NED BRATTS

 'T was Bedford Special Assize, one daft Midsummer's Day: A broiling blasting June, --was never its like, men say. Corn stood sheaf-ripe already, and trees looked yellow as that; Ponds drained dust-dry, the cattle lay foaming around each flat. Inside town, dogs went mad, and folk kept bibbing beer While the parsons prayed for rain. 'T was horrible, yes--but queer: Queer--for the sun laughed gay, yet nobody moved a hand To work one stroke at his trade: as given to understand That all was come to a stop, work and such worldly ways, And the world's old self about to end in a merry blaze. Midsummer's Day moreover was the first of Bedford Fair, With Bedford Town's tag-rag and bobtail a-bowsing there. 

 But the Court House, Quality crammed: through doors ope, windows wide, High on the Bench you saw sit Lordships side by side. There frowned Chief Justice Jukes, fumed learned Brother Small, And fretted their fellow Judge: like threshers, one and all, Of a reek with laying down the law in a furnace. Why? Because their lungs breathed flame--the regular crowd forbye-- From gentry pouring in--quite a nosegay, to be sure! How else could they pass the time, six mortal hours endure Till night should extinguish day, when matters might haply mend? Meanwhile no bad resource was--watching begin and end Some trial for life and death, in a brisk five minutes' space, And betting which knave would 'scape, which hang, from his sort of face. 

 So, their Lordships toiled and moiled, and a deal of work was done (I warrant) to justify the mirth of the crazy sun As this and t'other lout, struck dumb at the sudden show Of red robes and white wigs, boggled nor answered "Boh!" When asked why he, Tom Styles, should not--because Jack Nokes Had stolen the horse--be hanged: for Judges must have their jokes, And louts must make allowance--let's say, for some blue fly Which punctured a dewy scalp where the frizzles stuck awry-- Else Tom had fleered scot-free, so nearly over and done Was the main of the job. Full-measure, the gentles enjoyed their fun, As a twenty-five were tried, rank puritans caught at prayer In a cow-house and laid by the heels, --have at 'em, devil may care!-- And ten were prescribed the whip, and ten a brand on the cheek, And five a slit of the nose--just leaving enough to tweak. 

 Well, things at jolly high-tide, amusement steeped in fire, While noon smote fierce the roof's red tiles to heart's desire, The Court a-simmer with smoke, one ferment of oozy flesh, One spirituous humming musk mount-mounting until its mesh Entoiled all heads in a fluster, and Serjeant Postlethwayte --Dashing the wig oblique as he mopped his oily pate-- Cried "Silence, or I grow grease! No loophole lets in air? Jurymen, --Guilty, Death! Gainsay me if you dare!" --Things at this pitch, I say, --what hubbub without the doors? What laughs, shrieks, hoots and yells, what rudest of uproars?

 Bounce through the barrier throng a bulk comes rolling vast! Thumps, kicks, --no manner of use!--spite of them rolls at last Into the midst a ball which, bursting, brings to view Publican Black Ned Bratts and Tabby his big wife too: Both in a muck-sweat, both . .. Were never such eyes uplift At the sight of yawning hell, such nostrils--snouts that sniffed Sulphur, such mouths a-gape ready to swallow flame! Horrified, hideous, frank fiend-faces! yet, all the same, Mixed with a certain . .. Eh? how shall I dare style--mirth The desperate grin of the guest that, could they break from earth, Heaven was above, and hell might rage in impotence Below the saved, the saved!

 "Confound you! (no offence!) Out of our way, --push, wife! Yonder their Worships be!" Ned Bratts has reached the bar, and "Hey, my Lords, " roars he, "A Jury of life and death, Judges the prime of the land, Constables, javelineers, --all met, if I understand, To decide so knotty a point as whether 't was Jack or Joan Robbed the henroost, pinched the pig, hit the King's Arms with a stone, Dropped the baby down the well, left the tithesman in the lurch, Or, three whole Sundays running, not once attended church! What a pother--do these deserve the parish-stocks or whip, More or less brow to brand, much or little nose to snip, -- When, in our Public, plain stand we--that's we stand here, I and my Tab, brass-bold, brick-built of beef and beer, --Do not we, slut? Step forth and show your beauty, jade! Wife of my bosom--that's the word now! What a trade We drove! None said us nay: nobody loved his life So little as wag a tongue against us, --did they, wife? Yet they knew us all the while, in their hearts, for what we are --Worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged--search near and far! Eh, Tab? The pedler, now--o'er his noggin--who warned a mate To cut and run, nor risk his pack where its loss of weight Was the least to dread, --aha, how we two laughed a-good As, stealing round the midden, he came on where I stood With billet poised and raised, --you, ready with the rope, -- Ah, but that's past, that's sin repented of, we hope! Men knew us for that same, yet safe and sound stood we! The lily-livered knaves knew too (I've balked a d----) Our keeping the 'Pied Bull' was just a mere pretence: Too slow the pounds make food, drink, lodging, from out the pence! There's not a stoppage to travel has chanced, this ten long year, No break into hall or grange, no lifting of nag or steer, Not a single roguery, from the clipping of a purse To the cutting of a throat, but paid us toll. Od's curse! When Gipsy Smouch made bold to cheat us of our due, --Eh, Tab? the Squire's strong-box we helped the rascal to-- I think he pulled a face, next Sessions' swinging-time! He danced the jig that needs no floor, --and, here's the prime, 'T was Scroggs that houghed the mare! Ay, those were busy days!

 "Well, there we flourished brave, like scripture-trees called bays, Faring high, drinking hard, in money up to head --Not to say, boots and shoes, when . .. Zounds, I nearly said-- Lord, to unlearn one's language! How shall we labor, wife? Have you, fast hold, the Book? Grasp, grip it, for your life! See, sirs, here's life, salvation! Here's--hold but out my breath-- When did I speak so long without once swearing? 'Sdeath, No, nor unhelped by ale since man and boy! And yet All yesterday I had to keep my whistle wet While reading Tab this Book: book? don't say 'book'--they're plays, Songs, ballads and the like: here's no such strawy blaze, But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare! Tab, help and tell! I'm hoarse. A mug! or--no, a prayer! Dip for one out of the Book! Who wrote it in the Jail --He plied his pen unhelped by beer, sirs, I'll be bail!

 "I've got my second wind. In trundles she--that's Tab. 'Why, Gammer, what's come now, that--bobbing like a crab On Yule-tide bowl--your head's a-work and both your eyes Break loose? Afeard, you fool? As if the dead can rise! Say--Bagman Dick was found last May with fuddling-cap Stuffed in his mouth: to choke's a natural mishap!' 'Gaffer, be--blessed, ' cries she, 'and Bagman Dick as well! I, you, and he are damned: this Public is our hell: We live in fire: live coals don't feel!--once quenched, they learn-- Cinders do, to what dust they moulder while they burn!'

 "'If you don't speak straight out, ' says I--belike I swore-- 'A knobstick, well you know the taste of, shall, once more, Teach you to talk, my maid!' She ups with such a face, Heart sunk inside me. 'Well, pad on, my prate-apace!'

 "'I've been about those laces we need for . .. Never mind! If henceforth they tie hands, 't is mine they'll have to bind. You know who makes them best--the Tinker in our cage, Pulled-up for gospelling, twelve years ago: no age To try another trade, --yet, so he scorned to take Money he did not earn, he taught himself the make Of laces, tagged and tough--Dick Bagman found them so! Good customers were we! Well, last week, you must know His girl, --the blind young chit, who hawks about his wares, -- She takes it in her head to come no more--such airs These hussies have! Yet, since we need a stoutish lace, -- "I'll to the jail-bird father, abuse her to his face!" So, first I filled a jug to give me heart, and then, Primed to the proper pitch, I posted to their den-- _Patmore_--they style their prison! I tip the turnkey, catch My heart up, fix my face, and fearless lift the latch-- Both arms a-kimbo, in bounce with a good round oath Ready for rapping out: no "Lawks" nor "By my troth!"

 "'There sat my man, the father. He looked up: what one feels When heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels! He raised his hand. .. . Hast seen, when drinking out the night, And in the day, earth grow another something quite Under the sun's first stare? I stood a very stone. 

 "'"Woman!" (a fiery tear he put in every tone), "How should my child frequent your house where lust is sport, Violence--trade? Too true! I trust no vague report. Her angel's hand, which stops the sight of sin, leaves clear The other gate of sense, lets outrage through the ear. What has she heard!--which, heard shall never be again. Better lack food than feast, a Dives in the--wain Or reign or train--of Charles!" (His language was not ours: 'T is my belief, God spoke: no tinker has such powers. ) "Bread, only bread they bring--my laces: if we broke Your lump of leavened sin, the loaf's first crumb would choke!"

 "'Down on my marrow-bones! Then all at once rose he: His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see: Up went his hands: "Through flesh, I reach, I read thy soul! So may some stricken tree look blasted, bough and bole, Champed by the fire-tooth, charred without, and yet, thrice-bound With dreriment about, within may life be found, A prisoned power to branch and blossom as before, Could but the gardener cleave the cloister, reach the core, Loosen the vital sap: yet where shall help be found? Who says 'How save it?'--nor 'Why cumbers it the ground?' Woman, that tree art thou! All sloughed about with scurf, Thy stag-horns fright the sky, thy snake-roots sting the turf! Drunkenness, wantonness, theft, murder gnash and gnarl Thine outward, case thy soul with coating like the marle Satan stamps flat upon each head beneath his hoof! And how deliver such? The strong men keep aloof, Lover and friend stand far, the mocking ones pass by, Tophet gapes wide for prey: lost soul, despair and die! What then? 'Look unto me and be ye saved!' saith God: 'I strike the rock, outstreats the life-stream at my rod! Be your sins scarlet, wool shall they seem like, --although As crimson red, yet turn white as the driven snow!'"

 "'There, there, there! All I seem to somehow understand Is--that, if I reached home, 't was through the guiding hand Of his blind girl which led and led me through the streets And out of town and up to door again. What greets First thing my eye, as limbs recover from their swoon? A book--this Book she gave at parting. "Father's boon-- The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself: He cannot preach in bonds, so, --take it down from shelf When you want counsel, --think you hear his very voice!"

 "'Wicked dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice! Dear wicked Husband, waste no tick of moment more, Be saved like me, bald trunk! There's greenness yet at core, Sap under slough! Read, read!'

 "Let me take breath, my lords! I'd like to know, are these--hers, mine, or Bunyan's words? I'm 'wildered--scarce with drink, --nowise with drink alone! You'll say, with heat: but heat's no stuff to split a stone Like this black boulder--this flint heart of mine: the Book-- That dealt the crashing blow! Sirs, here's the fist that shook His beard till Wrestler Jem howled like a just-lugged bear! You had brained me with a feather: at once I grew aware Christmas was meant for me. A burden at your back, Good Master Christmas? Nay, --yours was that Joseph's sack, --Or whose it was, --which held the cup, --compared with mine! Robbery loads my loins, perjury cracks my chine, Adultery . .. Nay, Tab, you pitched me as I flung! One word, I'll up with fist. .. . No, sweet spouse, hold your tongue!

 "I'm hasting to the end. The Book, sirs--take and read! You have my history in a nutshell, --ay, indeed! It must off, my burden! See, --slack straps and into pit, Roll, reach, the bottom, rest, rot there--a plague on it! For a mountain's sure to fall and bury Bedford Town, 'Destruction'--that's the name, and fire shall burn it down! O 'scape the wrath in time! Time's now, if not too late. How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate? Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pull Through mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful-- But it's late in the day, I reckon: had I left years ago Town, wife, and children dear. .. . Well, Christmas did, you know!-- Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel's strength On the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length! Have at his horns, thwick--thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof-- Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love's sake, keep aloof Angels! I'm man and match, --this cudgel for my flail, -- To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat's wing and serpent's tail! A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful ding Into the deafest ear except--hope, hope's the thing? Too late i' the day for me to thrid the windings: but There's still a way to win the race by death's short cut! Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts? No, straight to Vanity Fair, --a fair, by all accounts, Such as is held outside, --lords, ladies, grand and gay, -- Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say. And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him out To die in the market-place--St. Peter's Green's about The same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with knives, Pricked him with swords, --I'll swear, he'd full a cat's nine lives, -- So to his end at last came Faithful, --ha, ha, he! Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see, Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all: He's in, he's off, he's up, through clouds, at trumpet-call, Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate! Odds my life-- Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife? Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab--do the same by her! O Master Worldly-Wiseman . .. That's Master Interpreter, Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet's handy close: Forestall Last Judgment-Day! Be kindly, not morose! There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand-- Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand! Make haste for pity's sake! A single moment's loss Means--Satan's lord once more: his whisper shoots across All singing in my heart, all praying in my brain, 'It comes of heat and beer!'--hark how he guffaws plain! 'To-morrow you'll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hug Your sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug! You've had such qualms before, time out of mind!' He's right! Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that night, When home we blindly reeled, and left poor humpback Joe I' the lurch to pay for what . .. Somebody did, you know! Both of us maundered then 'Lame humpback, --never more Will he come limping, drain his tankard at our door! He'll swing, while--somebody. .. . ' Says Tab, 'No, for I'll peach!' 'I'm for you, Tab, ' cries I, 'there's rope enough for each!' So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed upon The grace of Tab's good thought: by morning, all was gone! We laughed--'What's life to him, a cripple of no account?' Oh, waves increase around--I feel them mount and mount! Hang us! To-morrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears: One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears: (Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o'er, the Brawl They lead on Turner's Patch, --lads, lasses, up tails all, -- I'm i' the thick o' the throng! That means the Iron Cage, --Means the Lost Man inside! Where's hope for such as wage War against light? Light's left, light's here, I hold light still, So does Tab--make but haste to hang us both! You will?"

 I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouse Squeak, such a death-like hush sealed up the old Mote House. But when the mass of man sank meek upon his knees, While Tab, alongside, wheezed a hoarse "Do hang us, please!" Why, then the waters rose, no eye but ran with tears, Hearts heaved, heads thumped, until, paying all past arrears Of pity and sorrow, at last a regular scream outbroke Of triumph, joy and praise. 

 My Lord Chief Justice spoke, First mopping brow and cheek, where still, for one that budged, Another bead broke fresh: "What Judge, that ever judged Since first the world began, judged such a case as this? Why, Master Bratts, long since, folk smelt you out, I wis! I had my doubts, i' faith, each time you played the fox Convicting geese of crime in yonder witness-box-- Yea, much did I misdoubt, the thief that stole her eggs Was hardly goosey's self at Reynard's game, i' feggs! Yet thus much was to praise--you spoke to point, direct-- Swore you heard, saw the theft: no jury could suspect-- Dared to suspect, --I'll say, --a spot in white so clear: Goosey was throttled, true: but thereof godly fear Came of example set, much as our laws intend; And, though a fox confessed, you proved the Judge's friend. What if I had my doubts? Suppose I gave them breath, Brought you to bar: what work to do, ere 'Guilty, Death, '-- Had paid our pains! What heaps of witnesses to drag From holes and corners, paid from out the County's bag! Trial three dog-days long! _Amicus Curię_--that's Your title, no dispute--truth-telling Master Bratts! Thank you, too, Mistress Tab! Why doubt one word you say? Hanging you both deserve, hanged both shall be this day! The tinker needs must be a proper man. I've heard He lies in Jail long since: if Quality's good word Warrants me letting loose, --some householder, I mean-- Freeholder, better still, --I don't say but--between Now and next Sessions. .. . Well! Consider of his case, I promise to, at least: we owe him so much grace. Not that--no, God forbid!--I lean to think, as you, The grace that such repent is any jail-bird's due: I rather see the fruit of twelve years' pious reign-- Astręa Redux, Charles restored his rights again! --Of which, another time! I somehow feel a peace Stealing across the world. May deeds like this increase! So, Master Sheriff, stay that sentence I pronounced On those two dozen odd: deserving to be trounced Soundly, and yet . .. Well, well, at all events despatch This pair of--shall I say, sinner-saints?--ere we catch Their jail-distemper too. Stop tears, or I'll indite All weeping Bedfordshire for turning Bunyanite!"

 So, forms were galloped through. If Justice, on the spur, Proved somewhat expeditious, would Quality demur? And happily hanged were they, --why lengthen out my tale?-- Where Bunyan's Statue stands facing where stood his Jail. 

The effect which "Pilgrim's Progress" had on these two miserable beings, may be taken as typical of the enormous influence wielded by Bunyan inhis own time. The most innocent among us had overwhelming qualms inregard to our sins, as children when we listened to our mothers read thebook. I remember having confessed some childish peccadillo that wasweighing on my small mind as the first result of my thoroughly arousedsense of guilt. In these early years of the Twentieth Century, such afeeling seems almost as far removed as the days of Bunyan. A sense ofguilt is not a distinguishing characteristic of the child of the presentday, and it may also be doubted whether such reprobates as Ned and hiswife would to-day be affected much if at all by the "Pilgrim'sProgress. " There was probably great personal magnetism in Bunyanhimself. We are told that after his discharge from prison, hispopularity as a preacher widened rapidly. Such vast crowds of peopleflocked to hear him that his place of worship had to be enlarged. Hewent frequently to London on week days to deliver addresses in the largechapel in Southwark which was invariably thronged with eager worshipers. 

Browning's picture of Bunyan shows the instant effect of his personalityupon Tab. 

 "There sat the man, the father. He looked up: what one feels When heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels! He raised his hand. .. . Hast seen, when drinking out the night, And in the day, earth grow another something quite Under the sun's first stare? I stood a very stone. "

And again

 "Then all at once rose he: His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see: Up went his hands. "

It is like a clever bit of stage business to make Ned and Tab use theshoe laces to tie up the hands of their victims, and to bring on by thismeans the meeting between Tab and Bunyan. Of course, the blinddaughter's part is imaginary, but yet it seems to bring very vividlybefore us this well loved child. Another touch, quite in keeping withthe time, is the decision of the Judge that the remarkable change ofheart in Ned and Tab was due to the piety of King Charles. Like everyone else, however, he was impressed by what he heard of the Tinker, andinclined to see what he could do to give him his freedom. It seems thatBunyan's life in jail was a good deal lightened by the favor he alwaysinspired. The story goes that from the first he was in favor with thejailor, who nearly lost his place for permitting him on one occasion togo as far as London. After this he was more strictly confined, but atlast he was often allowed to visit his family, and remain with them allnight. One night, however, when he was allowed this liberty Bunyan feltresistlessly impressed with the propriety of returning to the prison. Hearrived after the keeper had shut up for the night, much to theofficial's surprise. But his impatience at being untimely disturbed waschanged to thankfulness, when a little after a messenger came from aneighboring clerical magistrate to see that the prisoner was safe. "Youmay go now when you will" said the jailer; "for you know better than Ican tell you when to come in again. "

[Illustration: John Bunyan

Statue by J. E. Boehm]

Though Bunyan is not primarily the subject of this poem, it is anappreciative tribute to his genius and to his force of character, only to be paralleled by Dowden's sympathetic critique in his "Puritanand Anglican Studies. " What Browning makes Ned and Tab see throughsuddenly aroused feeling--namely that it is no book but

 "plays, Songs, ballads and the like: here's no such strawy blaze, But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare, "

Dowden puts in the colder language of criticism. 

"The 'Pilgrim's Progress' is a gallery of portraits, admirablydiscriminated, and as convincing in their self-verification as those ofHolbein. His personages live for us as few figures outside the drama ofShakespeare live. .. . All his powers cooperated harmoniously in creatingthis book--his religious ardor, his human tenderness, his sense ofbeauty, nourished by the Scriptures, his strong common sense, even hisgift of humor. Through his deep seriousness play the lighter faculties. The whole man presses into this small volume. "

"Halbert and Hob" belongs here merely for its wild North of Englandsetting. We may imagine, if we choose, that this wild father and sondwelt in the beautiful country of Northumberland, in the North ofEngland, but descriptions of the scenery could add nothing to theatmosphere of the poem, for Northumberland is surpassingly lovely. Doubtless, human beings of this type have existed in all parts of theglobe. At any rate, these particular human beings were transported byBrowning from Aristotle's "Ethics" to the North of England. The incidentis told by Aristotle in illustration of the contention that anger andasperity are more natural than excessive and unnecessary desires. "Thusone who was accused of striking his father said, as an apology for it, that his own father, and even his grandfather, had struck his; 'and healso (pointing to his child) will strike me, when he becomes a man; forit runs in our family. ' A certain person, also, being dragged by hisson, bid him stop at the door, for he himself had dragged his father asfar as that. " The dryness of "Aristotle's cheeks" is as usual soenlivened by Browning that the fate of Halbert and Hob grows patheticand comes close to our sympathies. 

 HALBERT AND HOB

 Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men Inhabiting one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut, Time out of mind their birthright: father and son, these--but-- Such a son, such a father! Most wildness by degrees Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest and worst were these. 

 Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob; But, give them a word, they returned a blow--old Halbert as young Hob: Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed, Hated or feared the more--who knows?--the genuine wild-beast breed. 

 Thus were they found by the few sparse folk of the countryside; But how fared each with other? E'en beasts couch, hide by hide, In a growling, grudged agreement: so, father and son aye curled The closelier up in their den because the last of their kind in the world. 

 Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came father and son to words--such words! more cruel because the blow To crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse Completed with oath in wager, like pastime in hell, --nay, worse: For pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the throat of the father, seized him and held him fast. 

 "Out of this house you go!"--(there followed a hideous oath)-- "This oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both! If there's snow outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift and save the sexton the charge of a parish shell!"

 Now, the old trunk was tough, was solid as stump of oak Untouched at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy broke One whipcord nerve in the muscly mass from neck to shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand like a feather weighed. 

 Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes, Drop chin to breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened--arms and thighs All of a piece--struck mute, much as a sentry stands, Patient to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands. 

 Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn Of his puny strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle, log! If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a dog!"

 Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise, --down to floor Pulled from his fireside place, dragged on from hearth to door, -- Was he pushed, a very log, staircase along, until A certain turn in the steps was reached, a yard from the house-door-sill. 

 Then the father opened eyes--each spark of their rage extinct, -- Temples, late black, dead-blanched, --right-hand with left-hand linked, -- He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came, They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay all the same. 

 "Hob, on just such a night of a Christmas long ago, For such a cause, with such a gesture, did I drag--so-- My father down thus far: but, softening here, I heard A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for an outer word. 

 "For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod Leave this last step we reach, nor brave the finger of God! I dared not pass its lifting: I did well. I nor blame Nor praise you. I stopped here: and, Hob, do you the same!"

 Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat. They mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note Took either of each, no sign made each to either: last As first, in absolute silence, their Christmas-night they passed. 

 At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the self-same place, With an outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But the son crouched all a-tremble like any lamb new-yeaned. 

 When he went to the burial, someone's staff he borrowed--tottered and leaned. But his lips were loose, not locked, --kept muttering, mumbling. "There! At his cursing and swearing!" the youngsters cried: but the elders thought "In prayer. " A boy threw stones: he picked them up and stored them in his vest. 

 So tottered, muttered, mumbled he, till he died, perhaps found rest. "Is there a reason in nature for these hard hearts?" O Lear, That a reason out of nature must turn them soft, seems clear!

In the "Inn Album, " a degenerate type of Nineteenth-Century Englishmanis dissected with the keen knife of a surgeon, which Browning knows sowell how to wield. The villain of this poem was a real personage, a Lordde Ros, a friend of the Duke of Wellington. The story belongs to theannals of crime and is necessarily unpleasant, but in order to see howBrowning has worked up the episode it is interesting to know the barefacts as Furnivall gives them in "Notes and Queries" March 25, 1876. Hesays "that the gambling lord showed the portrait of the lady he hadseduced and abandoned and offered his dupe an introduction to her, as abribe to induce him to wait for payment of the money he had won; thatthe young gambler eagerly accepted the offer; and that the ladycommitted suicide on hearing of the bargain between them. " Dr. Furnivallheard the story from some one who well remembered the sensation it hadmade in London years ago. In his management of the story, Browning hasintensified the villainy of the Lord at the same time that he has showna possible streak of goodness in him. The young man, on the other hand, he has made to be of very good stuff, indeed, notwithstanding his yearof tutelage from the older man. He makes one radical change in the storyas well as several minor ones. In the poem the younger man had been inlove with the girl whom the older man had dishonorably treated, and hadnever ceased to love her. Of course, the two men do not know this. Bythe advice of the elder man, the younger one has decided to settle downand marry his cousin, a charming young girl, who is also brought uponthe scene. The other girl is represented as having married an oldcountry parson, who sought a wife simply as a helpmeet in his work. Bythus complicating the situations, room has been given for subtle psychicdevelopment. The action is all concentrated into one morning in theparlor of the old inn, reminding one much of the method of Ibsen in hisplays of grouping his action about a final catastrophe. At the inn oneis introduced first to the two gamblers in talk, the young man havingwon his ten thousand pounds from the older man, who had intended tofleece him. The inn album plays an important part in the action, innocent as its first appearance upon the scene seems to be. Thedescription of this and the inn parlor opens the poem. 

 THE INN ALBUM

 I

 "That oblong book's the Album; hand it here! Exactly! page on page of gratitude For breakfast, dinner, supper, and the view! I praise these poets: they leave margin-space; Each stanza seems to gather skirts around, And primly, trimly, keep the foot's confine, Modest and maidlike; lubber prose o'er-sprawls And straddling stops the path from left to right. Since I want space to do my cipher-work, Which poem spares a corner? What comes first? '_Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!_' (Open the window, we burn daylight, boy!) Or see--succincter beauty, brief and bold-- '_If a fellow can dine On rumpsteaks and port wine, He needs not despair Of dining well here_--' '_Here!_' I myself could find a better rhyme! That bard's a Browning; he neglects the form: But ah, the sense, ye gods, the weighty sense! Still, I prefer this classic. Ay, throw wide! I'll quench the bits of candle yet unburnt. A minute's fresh air, then to cipher-work! Three little columns hold the whole account: _Ecarté_, after which Blind Hookey, then Cutting-the-Pack, five hundred pounds the cut. 'Tis easy reckoning: I have lost, I think. "

 Two personages occupy this room Shabby-genteel, that's parlor to the inn Perched on a view-commanding eminence; --Inn which may be a veritable house Where somebody once lived and pleased good taste Till tourists found his coign of vantage out, And fingered blunt the individual mark And vulgarized things comfortably smooth. On a sprig-pattern-papered wall there brays Complaint to sky Sir Edwin's dripping stag; His couchant coast-guard creature corresponds; They face the Huguenot and Light o' the World. Grim o'er the mirror on the mantlepiece, Varnished and coffined, _Salmo ferox_ glares --Possibly at the List of Wines which, framed And glazed, hangs somewhat prominent on peg. 

 So much describes the stuffy little room-- Vulgar flat smooth respectability: Not so the burst of landscape surging in, Sunrise and all, as he who of the pair Is, plain enough, the younger personage Draws sharp the shrieking curtain, sends aloft The sash, spreads wide and fastens back to wall Shutter and shutter, shows you England's best. He leans into a living glory-bath Of air and light where seems to float and move The wooded watered country, hill and dale And steel-bright thread of stream, a-smoke with mist, A-sparkle with May morning, diamond drift O' the sun-touched dew. Except the red-roofed patch Of half a dozen dwellings that, crept close For hill-side shelter, make the village-clump This inn is perched above to dominate-- Except such sign of human neighborhood, (And this surmised rather than sensible) There's nothing to disturb absolute peace, The reign of English nature--which mean art And civilized existence. Wildness' self Is just the cultured triumph. Presently Deep solitude, be sure, reveals a Place That knows the right way to defend itself: Silence hems round a burning spot of life. Now, where a Place burns, must a village brood, And where a village broods, an inn should boast-- Close and convenient: here you have them both. This inn, the Something-arms--the family's-- (Don't trouble Guillim; heralds leave our half!) Is dear to lovers of the picturesque, And epics have been planned here; but who plan Take holy orders and find work to do. Painters are more productive, stop a week, Declare the prospect quite a Corot, --ay, For tender sentiment, --themselves incline Rather to handsweep large and liberal; Then go, but not without success achieved --Haply some pencil-drawing, oak or beech, Ferns at the base and ivies up the bole, On this a slug, on that a butterfly. Nay, he who hooked the _salmo_ pendent here, Also exhibited, this same May-month, '_Foxgloves: a study_'--so inspires the scene, The air, which now the younger personage Inflates him with till lungs o'erfraught are fain Sigh forth a satisfaction might bestir Even those tufts of tree-tops to the South I' the distance where the green dies off to grey, Which, easy of conjecture, front the Place; He eyes them, elbows wide, each hand to cheek. His fellow, the much older--either say A youngish-old man or man oldish-young-- Sits at the table: wicks are noisome-deep In wax, to detriment of plated ware; Above--piled, strewn--is store of playing-cards, Counters and all that's proper for a game. 

Circumstantial as the description of this parlor and the situation ofthe inn is, it is impossible to say which out of the many English innsBrowning had in mind. Inns date back to the days of the Romans, who hadale-houses along the roads, the most interesting feature of which wasthe ivy garland or wreath of vine-leaves in honor of Bacchus, wreathedaround a hoop at the end of a long pole to point out the way where gooddrink could be had. A curious survival of this in early English timeswas the "ale-stake, " a tavern so called because it had a long poleprojecting from the house front wreathed like the old Roman poles withfurze, a garland of flowers or an ivy wreath. This decoration was calledthe "bush, " and in time the London taverners so vied with each other intheir attempt to attract attention by very long poles and very prominentbushes that in 1375 a law was passed according to which all tavernersin the city of London owning ale-stakes projecting or extending over theKing's highway more than seven feet in length, at the utmost, should befined forty pence, and compelled to remove the sign. Here is the origin, too, of the proverb, "good wine needs no bush. " In the later developmentof the inn the signs lost their Bacchic character and became mostelaborate, often being painted by artists. 

The poet says this inn was the "Something-arms, " and had perhaps oncebeen a house. Many inns were the "Something (?) arms" and certainly manyinns had been houses. One such is the Pounds Bridge Inn on a secludedroad between Speldhurst and Penshurst in Kent. It was built by therector of Penshurst, William Darkenoll, who lived in it only threeyears, when it became an inn. The inn of the poem might have been acombination in Browning's memory of this and the "White Horse" atWoolstone, which is described as a queerly pretty little inn with afront distantly resembling a Chippendale bureau-bookcase. "It is tuckedaway under the mighty sides of White Horse Hill, Berkshire, andadditionally overhung with trees and encircled with shrubberies andunder-woods, and is finally situated on a narrow road that presentlyleads, as it would seem, to the end of the known world. " So writes theenthusiastic lover of inns, Charles Harper. Or, perhaps, since there isa river to be seen from the inn of the poem the "Swan" at SandlefordWater, where a foot bridge and a water splash on the river Enborne markthe boundaries of Hampshire and Berkshire. Here "You have the placewholly to yourself, or share it only with the squirrels and the birds ofthe overarching trees. " The illustration given of the Black Bear Inn, Tewksbury, is a quite typical example of inn architecture, and may havehelped the picture in Browning's mind, though its situation is not sorural as that described in the poem. 

Inns have, from time immemorial, been the scenes of romances andtragedies and crimes. There have been inns like the "Castle" where the"quality" loved to congregate. The "inn album" of this establishment hadinscribed in it almost every eighteenth-century name of any distinction. There have been inns which were noted as the resort of the wits of theday. Ben Jonson loved to take "mine ease in mine inn, " and Dr. Johnsondeclared that a seat in a tavern chair was the height of human felicity. "He was thinking, " as it has been pertinently put, "not only of acomfortable sanded parlor, a roaring fire, and plenty of good cheer andgood company, but also of the circle of humbly appreciative auditors whogathered round an accepted wit, hung upon his words, offered themselvesas butts for his ironic or satiric humor, and--stood treat. " Or therewas the inn of sinister aspect where highwaymen might congregate, orinns with hosts who let their guests down through trap-doors in themiddle of the night to rob and murder them--or is this only a vagueremembrance of a fanciful inn of Dickens? Then there was the pilgrim'sinn in the days when Chaucerian folks loved to go on pilgrimages, and inthe last century the cyclists inn, and to-day the inn of theautomobilist. The particular inn in the poem belongs to the class, ruralinn, and in spite of its pictures by noted masters was "stuffy" as tothe atmosphere. 

[Illustration: An English Inn]

The "inn album" or visitors' book is a feature of inns. In this countrywe simply sign our names in the visitors' book, but the "album" featureof the visitors' book of an English inn is its glory and too often itsshame, for as Mr. Harper says, "Bathos, ineptitude, and lines thatrefuse to scan are the stigmata of visitors' book verse. There is noworse poetry on earth than that which lurks between those covers, or inthe pages of young ladies' albums. " He declares that "The interestingpages of visitors' books are generally those that are not there, as anIrishman might say; for the world is populated very densely with thoseappreciative people who, whether from a love of literature, or with aninstinct for collecting autographs that may have a realizable value, remove the signatures of distinguished men, and with them anythingoriginal they may have written. "

Browning pokes fun at the poetry of his inn album, but at the same timeuses it as an important part of the machinery in the action. His English"Iago" writes in it the final damnation of his own character--the threatby means of which he hopes to ruin his victims, but which, instead, causes the lady to take poison and the young man to murder "Iago. "

The presence of the two men at this particular inn is explained in thefollowing bit of conversation between them. 

 "You wrong your poor disciple. Oh, no airs! Because you happen to be twice my age And twenty times my master, must perforce No blink of daylight struggle through the web There's no unwinding? You entoil my legs, And welcome, for I like it: blind me, --no! A very pretty piece of shuttle-work Was that--your mere chance question at the club-- '_Do you go anywhere this Whitsuntide? I'm off for Paris, there's the Opera--there's The Salon, there's a china-sale, --beside Chantilly; and, for good companionship, There's Such-and-such and So-and-so. Suppose We start together?_' '_No such holiday!_' I told you: '_Paris and the rest be hanged! Why plague me who am pledged to home-delights? I'm the engaged now; through whose fault but yours? On duty. As you well know. Don't I drowse The week away down with the Aunt and Niece? No help: it's leisure, loneliness and love. Wish I could take you; but fame travels fast, -- A man of much newspaper-paragraph, You scare domestic circles; and beside Would not you like your lot, that second taste Of nature and approval of the grounds! You might walk early or lie late, so shirk Week-day devotions: but stay Sunday o'er, And morning church is obligatory: No mundane garb permissible, or dread The butler's privileged monition! No! Pack off to Paris, nor wipe tear away!_' Whereon how artlessly the happy flash Followed, by inspiration! '_Tell you what-- Let's turn their flank, try things on t'other side! Inns for my money! Liberty's the life! We'll lie in hiding: there's the crow-nest nook, The tourist's joy, the Inn they rave about, Inn that's out--out of sight and out of mind And out of mischief to all four of us-- Aunt and niece, you and me. At night arrive; At morn, find time for just a Pisgah-view Of my friend's Land of Promise; then depart. And while I'm whizzing onward by first train, Bound for our own place (since my Brother sulks And says I shun him like the plague) yourself-- Why, you have stepped thence, start from platform, gay Despite the sleepless journey, --love lends wings, -- Hug aunt and niece who, none the wiser, wait The faithful advent! Eh?_' '_With all my heart_, ' Said I to you; said I to mine own self: '_Does he believe I fail to comprehend He wants just one more final friendly snack At friend's exchequer ere friend runs to earth, Marries, renounces yielding friends such sport?_' And did I spoil sport, pull face grim, --nay, grave? Your pupil does you better credit! No! I parleyed with my pass-book, --rubbed my pair At the big balance in my banker's hands, -- Folded a cheque cigar-case-shape, --just wants Filling and signing, --and took train, resolved To execute myself with decency And let you win--if not Ten thousand quite, Something by way of wind-up-farewell burst Of firework-nosegay! Where's your fortune fled? Or is not fortune constant after all? You lose ten thousand pounds: had I lost half Or half that, I should bite my lips, I think. You man of marble! Strut and stretch my best On tiptoe, I shall never reach your height. How does the loss feel! Just one lesson more!"

 The more refined man smiles a frown away. 

On the way to the station where the older man is to take the train theyhave another talk, in which each tells the other of his experience, butthey do not find out yet that they have both loved the same woman. 

 "Stop, my boy! Don't think I'm stingy of experience! Life --It's like this wood we leave. Should you and I Go wandering about there, though the gaps We went in and came out by were opposed As the two poles, still, somehow, all the same, By nightfall we should probably have chanced On much the same main points of interest-- Both of us measured girth of mossy trunk, Stript ivy from its strangled prey, clapped hands At squirrel, sent a fir-cone after crow, And so forth, --never mind what time betwixt. So in our lives; allow I entered mine Another way than you: 't is possible I ended just by knocking head against That plaguy low-hung branch yourself began By getting bump from; as at last you too May stumble o'er that stump which first of all Bade me walk circumspectly. Head and feet Are vulnerable both, and I, foot-sure, Forgot that ducking down saves brow from bruise. I, early old, played young man four years since And failed confoundedly: so, hate alike Failure and who caused failure, --curse her cant!"

 "Oh, I see! You, though somewhat past the prime, Were taken with a rosebud beauty! Ah-- But how should chits distinguish? She admired Your marvel of a mind, I'll undertake! But as to body . .. Nay, I mean . .. That is, When years have told on face and figure. .. . "

 "Thanks, Mister _Sufficiently-Instructed_! Such No doubt was bound to be the consequence To suit your self-complacency: she liked My head enough, but loved some heart beneath Some head with plenty of brown hair a-top After my young friend's fashion! What becomes Of that fine speech you made a minute since About the man of middle age you found A formidable peer at twenty-one? So much for your mock-modesty! and yet I back your first against this second sprout Of observation, insight, what you please. My middle age, Sir, had too much success! It's odd: my case occurred four years ago-- I finished just while you commenced that turn I' the wood of life that takes us to the wealth Of honeysuckle, heaped for who can reach. Now, I don't boast: it's bad style, and beside, The feat proves easier than it looks: I plucked Full many a flower unnamed in that bouquet (Mostly of peonies and poppies, though!) Good nature sticks into my button-hole. Therefore it was with nose in want of snuff Rather than Ess or Psidium, that I chanced On what--so far from '_rosebud beauty_'. .. . Well-- She's dead: at least you never heard her name; She was no courtly creature, had nor birth Nor breeding--mere fine-lady-breeding; but Oh, such a wonder of a woman! Grand As a Greek statue! Stick fine clothes on that, Style that a Duchess or a Queen, --you know, Artists would make an outcry: all the more, That she had just a statue's sleepy grace Which broods o'er its own beauty. Nay, her fault (Don't laugh!) was just perfection: for suppose Only the little flaw, and I had peeped Inside it, learned what soul inside was like. At Rome some tourist raised the grit beneath A Venus' forehead with his whittling-knife-- I wish, --now, --I had played that brute, brought blood To surface from the depths I fancied chalk! As it was, her mere face surprised so much That I stopped short there, struck on heap, as stares The cockney stranger at a certain bust With drooped eyes, --she's the thing I have in mind, -- Down at my Brother's. All sufficient prize-- Such outside! Now, --confound me for a prig!-- Who cares? I'll make a clean breast once for all! Beside, you've heard the gossip. My life long I've been a woman-liker, --liking means Loving and so on. There's a lengthy list By this time I shall have to answer for-- So say the good folk: and they don't guess half-- For the worst is, let once collecting-itch Possess you, and, with perspicacity, Keeps growing such a greediness that theft Follows at no long distance, --there's the fact! I knew that on my Leporello-list Might figure this, that, and the other name Of feminine desirability, But if I happened to desire inscribe, Along with these, the only Beautiful-- Here was the unique specimen to snatch Or now or never. 'Beautiful' I said-- 'Beautiful' say in cold blood, --boiling then To tune of '_Haste, secure whate'er the cost This rarity, die in the act, be damned, So you complete collection, crown your list!_' It seemed as though the whole world, once aroused By the first notice of such wonder's birth, Would break bounds to contest my prize with me The first discoverer, should she but emerge From that safe den of darkness where she dozed Till I stole in, that country-parsonage Where, country-parson's daughter, motherless, Brotherless, sisterless, for eighteen years She had been vegetating lily-like. Her father was my brother's tutor, got The living that way: him I chanced to see-- Her I saw--her the world would grow one eye To see, I felt no sort of doubt at all! '_Secure her!_' cried the devil: '_afterward Arrange for the disposal of the prize!_' The devil's doing! yet I seem to think-- Now, when all's done, --think with '_a head reposed_' In French phrase--hope I think I meant to do All requisite for such a rarity When I should be at leisure, have due time To learn requirement. But in evil day-- Bless me, at week's end, long as any year, The father must begin '_Young Somebody, Much recommended--for I break a rule-- Comes here to read, next Long Vacation_. ' '_Young!_' That did it. Had the epithet been '_rich_, ' '_Noble_, ' '_a genius_, ' even '_handsome_, '--but --'_Young!_'"

 "I say--just a word! I want to know-- You are not married?" "I?"

 "Nor ever were?" "Never! Why?" "Oh, then--never mind! Go on! I had a reason for the question. "

 "Come, -- You could not be the young man?" "No, indeed! Certainly--if you never married her!"

 "That I did not: and there's the curse, you'll see! Nay, all of it's one curse, my life's mistake Which, nourished with manure that's warranted To make the plant bear wisdom, blew out full In folly beyond field-flower-foolishness! The lies I used to tell my womankind, Knowing they disbelieved me all the time Though they required my lies, their decent due, This woman--not so much believed, I'll say, As just anticipated from my mouth: Since being true, devoted, constant--she Found constancy, devotion, truth, the plain And easy commonplace of character. No mock-heroics but seemed natural To her who underneath the face, I knew Was fairness' self, possessed a heart, I judged Must correspond in folly just as far Beyond the common, --and a mind to match, -- Not made to puzzle conjurers like me Who, therein, proved the fool who fronts you, Sir, And begs leave to cut short the ugly rest! '_Trust me!_' I said: she trusted. '_Marry me!_' Or rather, '_We are married: when, the rite?_' That brought on the collector's next-day qualm At counting acquisition's cost. There lay My marvel, there my purse more light by much Because of its late lie-expenditure: Ill-judged such moment to make fresh demand-- To cage as well as catch my rarity! So, I began explaining. At first word Outbroke the horror. '_Then, my truths were lies!_' I tell you, such an outbreak, such new strange All-unsuspected revelation--soul As supernaturally grand as face Was fair beyond example--that at once Either I lost--or, if it please you, found My senses, --stammered somehow--'_Jest! and now, Earnest! Forget all else but--heart has loved, Does love, shall love you ever! take the hand!_' Not she! no marriage for superb disdain, Contempt incarnate!"

 "Yes, it's different, -- It's only like in being four years since. I see now!"

 "Well, what did disdain do next, Think you?"

 "That's past me: did not marry you!-- That's the main thing I care for, I suppose. Turned nun, or what?"

 "Why, married in a month Some parson, some smug crop-haired smooth-chinned sort Of curate-creature, I suspect, --dived down, Down, deeper still, and came up somewhere else-- I don't know where--I've not tried much to know, -- In short, she's happy: what the clodpoles call 'Countrified' with a vengeance! leads the life Respectable and all that drives you mad: Still--where, I don't know, and that's best for both. "

 "Well, that she did not like you, I conceive. But why should you hate her, I want to know?"

 "My good young friend, --because or her or else Malicious Providence I have to hate. For, what I tell you proved the turning-point Of my whole life and fortune toward success Or failure. If I drown, I lay the fault Much on myself who caught at reed not rope, But more on reed which, with a packthread's pith, Had buoyed me till the minute's cramp could thaw And I strike out afresh and so be saved. It's easy saying--I had sunk before, Disqualified myself by idle days And busy nights, long since, from holding hard On cable, even, had fate cast me such! You boys don't know how many times men fail Perforce o' the little to succeed i' the large, Husband their strength, let slip the petty prey, Collect the whole power for the final pounce. My fault was the mistaking man's main prize For intermediate boy's diversion; clap Of boyish hands here frightened game away Which, once gone, goes forever. Oh, at first I took the anger easily, nor much Minded the anguish--having learned that storms Subside, and teapot-tempests are akin. Time would arrange things, mend whate'er might be Somewhat amiss; precipitation, eh? Reason and rhyme prompt--reparation! Tiffs End properly in marriage and a dance! I said 'We'll marry, make the past a blank'-- And never was such damnable mistake! That interview, that laying bare my soul, As it was first, so was it last chance--one And only. Did I write? Back letter came Unopened as it went. Inexorable She fled, I don't know where, consoled herself With the smug curate-creature: chop and change! Sure am I, when she told her shaveling all His Magdalen's adventure, tears were shed, Forgiveness evangelically shown, 'Loose hair and lifted eye, '--as some one says. And now, he's worshipped for his pains, the sneak!"

 "Well, but your turning-point of life, --what's here To hinder you contesting Finsbury With Orton, next election? I don't see. .. . "

 "Not you! But _I_ see. Slowly, surely, creeps Day by day o'er me the conviction--here Was life's prize grasped at, gained, and then let go! --That with her--may be, for her--I had felt Ice in me melt, grow steam, drive to effect Any or all the fancies sluggish here I' the head that needs the hand she would not take And I shall never lift now. Lo, your wood-- Its turnings which I likened life to! Well, -- There she stands, ending every avenue, Her visionary presence on each goal I might have gained had we kept side by side! Still string nerve and strike foot? Her frown forbids: The steam congeals once more: I'm old again! Therefore I hate myself--but how much worse Do not I hate who would not understand, Let me repair things--no, but sent a-slide My folly falteringly, stumblingly Down, down and deeper down until I drop Upon--the need of your ten thousand pounds And consequently loss of mine! I lose Character, cash, nay, common-sense itself Recounting such a lengthy cock-and-bull Adventure--lose my temper in the act. .. . "

 "And lose beside, --if I may supplement The list of losses, --train and ten-o'clock! Hark, pant and puff, there travels the swart sign! So much the better! You're my captive now! I'm glad you trust a fellow: friends grow thick This way--that's twice said; we were thickish, though, Even last night, and, ere night comes again, I prophesy good luck to both of us! For see now!--back to '_balmy eminence_' Or '_calm acclivity_, ' or what's the word! Bestow you there an hour, concoct at ease A sonnet for the Album, while I put Bold face on, best foot forward, make for house, March in to aunt and niece, and tell the truth-- (Even white-lying goes against my taste After your little story). Oh, the niece Is rationality itself! The aunt-- If she's amenable to reason too-- Why, you stooped short to pay her due respect, And let the Duke wait (I'll work well the Duke). If she grows gracious, I return for you; If thunder's in the air, why--bear your doom, Dine on rump-steaks and port, and shake the dust Of aunty from your shoes as off you go By evening-train, nor give the thing a thought How you shall pay me--that's as sure as fate, Old fellow! Off with you, face left about! Yonder's the path I have to pad. You see, I'm in good spirits, God knows why! Perhaps Because the woman did not marry you --Who look so hard at me, --and have the right, One must be fair and own. "

 The two stand still Under an oak. 

 "Look here!" resumes the youth. "I never quite knew how I came to like You--so much--whom I ought not court at all; Nor how you had a leaning just to me Who am assuredly not worth your pains. For there must needs be plenty such as you Somewhere about, --although I can't say where, -- Able and willing to teach all you know; While--how can you have missed a score like me With money and no wit, precisely each A pupil for your purpose, were it--ease Fool's poke of tutor's _honorarium_-fee? And yet, howe'er it came about, I felt At once my master: you as prompt descried Your man, I warrant, so was bargain struck. Now, these same lines of liking, loving, run Sometimes so close together they converge-- Life's great adventures--you know what I mean-- In people. Do you know, as you advanced, It got to be uncommonly like fact We two had fallen in with--liked and loved Just the same woman in our different ways? I began life--poor groundling as I prove-- Winged and ambitious to fly high: why not? There's something in 'Don Quixote' to the point, My shrewd old father used to quote and praise-- '_Am I born man?_' asks Sancho: '_being man, By possibility I may be Pope!_' So, Pope I meant to make myself, by step And step, whereof the first should be to find A perfect woman; and I tell you this-- If what I fixed on, in the order due Of undertakings, as next step, had first Of all disposed itself to suit my tread, And I had been, the day I came of age, Returned at head of poll for Westminster --Nay, and moreover summoned by the Queen At week's end, when my maiden-speech bore fruit, To form and head a Tory ministry-- It would not have seemed stranger, no, nor been More strange to me, as now I estimate, Than what did happen--sober truth, no dream. I saw my wonder of a woman, --laugh, I'm past that!--in Commemoration-week. A plenty have I seen since, fair and foul, -- With eyes, too, helped by your sagacious wink; But one to match that marvel--no least trace, Least touch of kinship and community! The end was--I did somehow state the fact, Did, with no matter what imperfect words, One way or other give to understand That woman, soul and body were her slave Would she but take, but try them--any test Of will, and some poor test of power beside: So did the strings within my brain grow tense And capable of . .. Hang similitudes! She answered kindly but beyond appeal. '_No sort of hope for me, who came too late. She was another's. Love went--mine to her, Hers just as loyally to some one else. _' Of course! I might expect it! Nature's law-- Given the peerless woman, certainly Somewhere shall be the peerless man to match! I acquiesced at once, submitted me In something of a stupor, went my way. I fancy there had been some talk before Of somebody--her father or the like-- To coach me in the holidays, --that's how I came to get the sight and speech of her, -- But I had sense enough to break off sharp, Save both of us the pain. "

 "Quite right there!" "Eh? Quite wrong, it happens! Now comes worst of all! Yes, I did sulk aloof and let alone The lovers--_I_ disturb the angel-mates?"

 "Seraph paired off with cherub!"

 "Thank you! While I never plucked up courage to inquire Who he was, even, --certain-sure of this, That nobody I knew of had blue wings And wore a star-crown as he needs must do, -- Some little lady, --plainish, pock-marked girl, -- Finds out my secret in my woful face, Comes up to me at the Apollo Ball, And pityingly pours her wine and oil This way into the wound: '_Dear f-f-friend, Why waste affection thus on--must I say, A somewhat worthless object? Who's her choice-- Irrevocable as deliberate-- Out of the wide world? I shall name no names-- But there's a person in society, Who, blessed with rank and talent, has grown gray In idleness and sin of every sort Except hypocrisy: he's thrice her age, A by-word for "successes with the sex" As the French say--and, as we ought to say, Consummately a liar and a rogue, Since--show me where's the woman won without The help of this one lie which she believes-- That--never mind how things have come to pass, And let who loves have loved a thousand times-- All the same he now loves her only, loves Her ever! if by "won" you just mean "sold, " That's quite another compact. Well, this scamp, Continuing descent from bad to worse, Must leave his fine and fashionable prey (Who--fathered, brothered, husbanded, --are hedged About with thorny danger) and apply His arts to this poor country ignorance Who sees forthwith in the first rag of man Her model hero! Why continue waste On such a woman treasures of a heart Would yet find solace, --yes, my f-f-friend-- In some congenial_--fiddle-diddle-dee?'"

 "Pray, is the pleasant gentleman described Exact the portrait which my '_f-f-friends_' Recognize as so like? 'T is evident You half surmised the sweet original Could be no other than myself, just now! Your stop and start were flattering!"

 "Of course Caricature's allowed for in a sketch! The longish nose becomes a foot in length, The swarthy cheek gets copper-colored, --still, Prominent beak and dark-hued skin are facts: And '_parson's daughter_'--'_young man coachable_'-- '_Elderly party_'--'_four years since_'--were facts To fasten on, a moment! Marriage, though-- That made the difference, I hope. "

 "All right! I never married; wish I had--and then Unwish it: people kill their wives, sometimes! I hate my mistress, but I'm murder-free. In your case, where's the grievance? You came last, The earlier bird picked up the worm. Suppose You, in the glory of your twenty-one, Had happened to precede myself! 't is odds But this gigantic juvenility, This offering of a big arm's bony hand-- I'd rather shake than feel shake me, I know-- Had moved _my_ dainty mistress to admire An altogether new Ideal--deem Idolatry less due to life's decline Productive of experience, powers mature By dint of usage, the made man--no boy That's all to make! I was the earlier bird-- And what I found, I let fall: what you missed Who is the fool that blames you for?"

They become so deeply interested in this talk that the train is missed, and, in the meantime, the lady who now lives in the neighborhood as thewife of the hard-working country parson meets the young girl at the inn. They are great friends and have come there, at the girl's invitation, totalk over her prospective husband. She desires her friend to come to herhome and meet her fiancé, but the lady, who is in constant fear ofmeeting "Iago, " never goes anywhere, and proposes a meeting with him atthe inn. While she waits, "Iago" comes in upon her. There is a terriblescene of recrimination between these two, the man again daring to preferhis love. The lady scorns him. Horror is added to horror when the youngman appears at the door, and recognizes the woman he really loves. Hisfaith in her and his love are shaken for a moment, but returnimmediately and he stands her true friend and lover. The completedespicableness of "Iago's" nature finally reveals itself in the lines hewrites in the album and gives to the lady to read. The poem is too longto quote in full. The closing scene, however, will give the reader agood idea of the poet's handling of this nineteenth-century tragedy. 

The true nobility of soul of the younger man links him with Mertounamong Browning's heroes and represents the Englishman or the man of anycountry for that matter at his highest. Whether redemption for the olderman would have been possible had the lady believed him in the inn parloris doubtful. Such natures are like Ibsen's "Peer Gynt. " They need to beput into a button mould and moulded over again. 

 "Here's the lady back! So, Madam, you have conned the Album-page And come to thank its last contributor? How kind and condescending! I retire A moment, lest I spoil the interview, And mar my own endeavor to make friends-- You with him, him with you, and both with me! If I succeed--permit me to inquire Five minutes hence! Friends bid good-by, you know. " And out he goes. 

 VII

 She, face, form, bearing, one Superb composure--

 "He has told you all? Yes, he has told you all, your silence says-- What gives him, as he thinks the mastery Over my body and my soul!--has told That instance, even, of their servitude He now exacts of me? A silent blush! That's well, though better would white ignorance Beseem your brow, undesecrate before-- Ay, when I left you! I too learn at last --Hideously learned as I seemed so late-- What sin may swell to. Yes, --I needed learn That, when my prophet's rod became the snake I fled from, it would, one day, swallow up --Incorporate whatever serpentine Falsehood and treason and unmanliness Beslime earth's pavement: such the power of Hell, And so beginning, ends no otherwise The Adversary! I was ignorant, Blameworthy--if you will; but blame I take Nowise upon me as I ask myself --_You_--how can you, whose soul I seemed to read The limpid eyes through, have declined so deep Even with him for consort? I revolve Much memory, pry into the looks and words Of that day's walk beneath the College wall, And nowhere can distinguish, in what gleams Only pure marble through my dusky past, A dubious cranny where such poison-seed Might harbor, nourish what should yield to-day This dread ingredient for the cup I drink. Do not I recognize and honor truth In seeming?--take your truth and for return, Give you my truth, a no less precious gift? You loved me: I believed you. I replied --How could I other? '_I was not my own_, ' --No longer had the eyes to see, the ears To hear, the mind to judge, since heart and soul Now were another's. My own right in me, For well or ill, consigned away--my face Fronted the honest path, deflection whence Had shamed me in the furtive backward look At the late bargain--fit such chapman's phrase!-- As though--less hasty and more provident-- Waiting had brought advantage. Not for me The chapman's chance! Yet while thus much was true, I spared you--as I knew you then--one more Concluding word which, truth no less, seemed best Buried away forever. Take it now Its power to pain is past! Four years--that day-- Those lines that make the College avenue! I would that--friend and foe--by miracle, I had, that moment, seen into the heart Of either, as I now am taught to see! I do believe I should have straight assumed My proper function, and sustained a soul, Nor aimed at being just sustained myself By some man's soul--the weaker woman's-want! So had I missed the momentary thrill Of finding me in presence of a god, But gained the god's own feeling when he gives Such thrill to what turns life from death before. '_Gods many and Lords many_, ' says the Book: You would have yielded up your soul to me --Not to the false god who has burned its clay In his own image. I had shed my love Like Spring dew on the clod all flowery thence, Not sent up a wild vapor to the sun that drinks and then disperses. Both of us Blameworthy, --I first meet my punishment-- And not so hard to bear. I breathe again! Forth from those arms' enwinding leprosy At last I struggle--uncontaminate: Why must I leave _you_ pressing to the breast That's all one plague-spot? Did you love me once? Then take love's last and best return! I think, Womanliness means only motherhood; All love begins and ends there, --roams enough, But, having run the circle, rests at home. Why is your expiation yet to make? Pull shame with your own hands from your own head Now, --never wait the slow envelopment Submitted to by unelastic age! One fierce throe frees the sapling: flake on flake Lull till they leave the oak snow-stupefied. Your heart retains its vital warmth--or why That blushing reassurance? Blush, young blood! Break from beneath this icy premature Captivity of wickedness--I warn Back, in God's name! No fresh encroachment here! This May breaks all to bud--No Winter now! Friend, we are both forgiven! Sin no more! I am past sin now, so shall you become! Meanwhile I testify that, lying once, My foe lied ever, most lied last of all. He, waking, whispered to your sense asleep The wicked counsel, --and assent might seem; But, roused, your healthy indignation breaks The idle dream-pact. You would die--not dare Confirm your dream-resolve, --nay, find the word That fits the deed to bear the light of day! Say I have justly judged you! then farewell To blushing--nay, it ends in smiles, not tears! Why tears now? I have justly judged, thank God!"

 He does blush boy-like, but the man speaks out, --Makes the due effort to surmount himself. 

 "I don't know what he wrote--how should I? Nor How he could read my purpose which, it seems, He chose to somehow write--mistakenly Or else for mischief's sake. I scarce believe My purpose put before you fair and plain Would need annoy so much; but there's my luck-- From first to last I blunder. Still, one more Turn at the target, try to speak my thought! Since he could guess my purpose, won't you read Right what he set down wrong? He said--let's think! Ay, so!--he did begin by telling heaps Of tales about you. Now, you see--suppose Any one told me--my own mother died Before I knew her--told me--to his cost!-- Such tales about my own dead mother: why, You would not wonder surely if I knew, By nothing but my own heart's help, he lied, Would you? No reason's wanted in the case. So with you! In they burnt on me, his tales, Much as when madhouse-inmates crowd around, Make captive any visitor and scream All sorts of stories of their keeper--he's Both dwarf and giant, vulture, wolf, dog, cat, Serpent and scorpion, yet man all the same; Sane people soon see through the gibberish! I just made out, you somehow lived somewhere A life of shame--I can't distinguish more-- Married or single--how, don't matter much: Shame which himself had caused--that point was clear, That fact confessed--that thing to hold and keep. Oh, and he added some absurdity --That you were here to make me--ha, ha, ha!-- Still love you, still of mind to die for you, Ha, ha--as if that needed mighty pains! Now, foolish as . .. But never mind myself --What I am, what I am not, in the eye Of the world, is what I never cared for much. Fool then or no fool, not one single word In the whole string of lies did I believe, But this--this only--if I choke, who cares?-- I believe somehow in your purity Perfect as ever! Else what use is God? He is God, and work miracles He can! Then, what shall I do? Quite as clear, my course! They've got a thing they call their Labyrinth I' the garden yonder: and my cousin played A pretty trick once, led and lost me deep Inside the briery maze of hedge round hedge; And there might I be staying now, stock-still, But that I laughing bade eyes follow nose And so straight pushed my path through let and stop And soon was out in the open, face all scratched, But well behind my back the prison-bars In sorry plight enough, I promise you! So here: I won my way to truth through lies-- Said, as I saw light, --if her shame be shame I'll rescue and redeem her, --shame's no shame? Then, I'll avenge, protect--redeem myself The stupidest of sinners! Here I stand! Dear, --let me once dare call you so, --you said Thus ought you to have done, four years ago, Such things and such! Ay, dear, and what ought I? You were revealed to me: where's gratitude, Where's memory even, where the gain of you Discernible in my low after-life Of fancied consolation? why, no horse Once fed on corn, will, missing corn, go munch Mere thistles like a donkey! I missed you, And in your place found--him, made him my love, Ay, did I, --by this token, that he taught So much beast-nature that I meant . .. God knows Whether I bow me to the dust enough!. .. To marry--yes, my cousin here! I hope That was a master-stroke! Take heart of hers, And give her hand of mine with no more heart Than now you see upon this brow I strike! What atom of a heart do I retain Not all yours? Dear, you know it! Easily May she accord me pardon when I place My brow beneath her foot, if foot so deign, Since uttermost indignity is spared-- Mere marriage and no love! And all this time Not one word to the purpose! Are you free? Only wait! only let me serve--deserve Where you appoint and how you see the good! I have the will--perhaps the power--at least Means that have power against the world. For time-- Take my whole life for your experiment! If you are bound--in marriage, say--why, still, Still, sure, there's something for a friend to do, Outside? A mere well-wisher, understand! I'll sit, my life long, at your gate, you know, Swing it wide open to let you and him Pass freely, --and you need not look, much less Fling me a '_Thank you--are you there, old friend_?' Don't say that even: I should drop like shot! So I feel now at least: some day, who knows? After no end of weeks and months and years You might smile '_I believe you did your best_!' And that shall make my heart leap--leap such leap As lands the feet in Heaven to wait you there! Ah, there's just one thing more! How pale you look! Why? Are you angry? If there's, after all, Worst come to worst--if still there somehow be The shame--I said was no shame, --none! I swear!-- In that case, if my hand and what it holds, -- My name, --might be your safeguard now--at once-- Why, here's the hand--you have the heart! Of course-- No cheat, no binding you, because I'm bound, To let me off probation by one day, Week, month, year, lifetime! Prove as you propose! Here's the hand with the name to take or leave! That's all--and no great piece of news, I hope!"

 "Give me the hand, then!" she cries hastily. "Quick, now! I hear his footstep!" Hand in hand The couple face him as he enters, stops Short, stands surprised a moment, laughs away Surprise, resumes the much-experienced man. 

 "So, you accept him?" "Till us death do part!"

 "No longer? Come, that's right and rational! I fancied there was power in common sense, But did not know it worked thus promptly. Well-- At last each understands the other, then? Each drops disguise, then? So, at supper-time These masquerading people doff their gear, Grand Turk his pompous turban, Quakeress Her stiff-starched bib and tucker, --make-believe That only bothers when, ball-business done, Nature demands champagne and _mayonnaise_. Just so has each of us sage three abjured His and her moral pet particular Pretension to superiority, And, cheek by jowl, we henceforth munch and joke! Go, happy pair, paternally dismissed To live and die together--for a month, Discretion can award no more! Depart From whatsoe'er the calm sweet solitude Selected--Paris not improbably-- At month's end, when the honeycomb's left wax, --You, daughter, with a pocketful of gold Enough to find your village boys and girls In duffel cloaks and hobnailed shoes from May To--what's the phrase?--Christmas-come-never-mas! You, son and heir of mine, shall re-appear Ere Spring-time, that's the ring-time, lose one leaf, And--not without regretful smack of lip The while you wipe it free of honey-smear-- Marry the cousin, play the magistrate, Stand for the country, prove perfection's pink-- Master of hounds, gay-coated dine--nor die Sooner than needs of gout, obesity, And sons at Christ Church! As for me, --ah me, I abdicate--retire on my success, Four years well occupied in teaching youth --My son and daughter the exemplary! Time for me to retire now, having placed Proud on their pedestal the pair: in turn, Let them do homage to their master! You, -- Well, your flushed cheek and flashing eye proclaim Sufficiently your gratitude: you paid The _honorarium_, the ten thousand pounds To purpose, did you not? I told you so! And you, but, bless me, why so pale--so faint At influx of good fortune? Certainly, No matter how or why or whose the fault, I save your life--save it, nor less nor more! You blindly were resolved to welcome death In that black boor-and-bumpkin-haunted hole Of his, the prig with all the preachments! _You_ Installed as nurse and matron to the crones And wenches, while there lay a world outside Like Paris (which again I recommend) In company and guidance of--first, this, Then--all in good time--some new friend as fit-- What if I were to say, some fresh myself, As I once figured? Each dog has his day, And mine's at sunset: what should old dog do But eye young litters' frisky puppyhood? Oh I shall watch this beauty and this youth Frisk it in brilliance! But don't fear! Discreet, I shall pretend to no more recognize My quondam pupils than the doctor nods When certain old acquaintances may cross His path in Park, or sit down prim beside His plate at dinner-table: tip nor wink Scares patients he has put, for reason good, Under restriction, --maybe, talked sometimes Of douche or horsewhip to, --for why? because The gentleman would crazily declare His best friend was--Iago! Ay, and worse-- The lady, all at once grown lunatic, In suicidal monomania vowed, To save her soul, she needs must starve herself! They're cured now, both, and I tell nobody. Why don't you speak? Nay, speechless, each of you Can spare, --without unclasping plighted troth, -- At least one hand to shake! Left-hands will do-- Yours first, my daughter! Ah, it guards--it gripes The precious Album fast--and prudently! As well obliterate the record there On page the last: allow me tear the leaf! Pray, now! And afterward, to make amends, What if all three of us contribute each A line to that prelusive fragment, --help The embarrassed bard who broke out to break down Dumbfoundered at such unforeseen success? '_Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot_' You begin--_place aux dames_! I'll prompt you then! '_Here do I take the good the gods allot!_' Next you, Sir! What, still sulky? Sing, O Muse! '_Here does my lord in full discharge his shot!_' Now for the crowning flourish! mine shall be. .. . "

 "Nothing to match your first effusion, mar What was, is, shall remain your masterpiece! Authorship has the alteration-itch! No, I protest against erasure. Read, My friend!" (she gasps out). "Read and quickly read '_Before us death do part_, ' what made you mine And made me yours--the marriage-license here! Decide if he is like to mend the same!" And so the lady, white to ghastliness, Manages somehow to display the page With left-hand only, while the right retains The other hand, the young man's, --dreaming-drunk He, with this drench of stupefying stuff, Eyes wide, mouth open, --half the idiot's stare And half the prophet's insight, --holding tight, All the same, by his one fact in the world-- The lady's right-hand: he but seems to read-- Does not, for certain; yet, how understand Unless he reads?

 So, understand he does, For certain. Slowly, word by word, _she_ reads Aloud that license--or that warrant, say. 

 "'_One against two--and two that urge their odds To uttermost--I needs must try resource! Madam, I laid me prostrate, bade you spurn Body and soul: you spurned and safely spurned So you had spared me the superfluous taunt "Prostration means no power to stand erect, Stand, trampling on who trampled--prostrate now!" So, with my other fool-foe: I was fain Let the boy touch me with the buttoned foil, And him the infection gains, he too must needs Catch up the butcher's cleaver. Be it so! Since play turns earnest, here's my serious fence. He loves you; he demands your love: both know What love means in my language. Love him then! Pursuant to a pact, love pays my debt: Therefore, deliver me from him, thereby Likewise delivering from me yourself! For, hesitate--much more, refuse consent-- I tell the whole truth to your husband. Flat Cards lie on table, in our gamester-phrase! Consent--you stop my mouth, the only way. _'

 "I did well, trusting instinct: knew your hand Had never joined with his in fellowship Over this pact of infamy. You known-- As he was known through every nerve of me. Therefore I '_stopped his mouth the only way_' But _my_ way! none was left for you, my friend-- The loyal--near, the loved one! No--no--no! Threaten? Chastise? The coward would but quail. Conquer who can, the cunning of the snake! Stamp out his slimy strength from tail to head, And still you leave vibration of the tongue. His malice had redoubled--not on me Who, myself, choose my own refining fire-- But on poor unsuspicious innocence; And, --victim, --to turn executioner Also--that feat effected, forky tongue Had done indeed its office! One snake's 'mouth' Thus '_open_'--how could mortal '_stop it_'?

 "So!" A tiger-flash--yell, spring, and scream: halloo! Death's out and on him, has and holds him--ugh! But _ne trucidet coram populo Juvenis senem_! Right the Horatian rule! There, see how soon a quiet comes to pass!

 The youth is somehow by the lady's side. His right-hand grasps her right-hand once again. Both gaze on the dead body. Hers the word. "And that was good but useless. Had I lived The danger was to dread: but, dying now-- Himself would hardly become talkative, Since talk no more means torture. Fools--what fools These wicked men are! Had I borne four years, Four years of weeks and months and days and nights, Inured me to the consciousness of life Coiled round by his life, with the tongue to ply, -- But that I bore about me, for prompt use At urgent need, the thing that '_stops the mouth_' And stays the venom? Since such need was now Or never, --how should use not follow need? Bear witness for me, I withdraw from life By virtue of the license--warrant, say, That blackens yet this Album--white again, Thanks still to my one friend who tears the page! Now, let me write the line of supplement, As counselled by my foe there: '_each a line_!'"

 And she does falteringly write to end. 

 "_I die now through the villain who lies dead, Righteously slain. He would have outraged me, So, my defender slew him. God protect The right! Where wrong lay, I bear witness now. Let man believe me, whose last breath is spent In blessing my defender from my soul!_"

 And so ends the Inn Album. 

 As she dies, Begins outside a voice that sounds like song, And is indeed half song though meant for speech Muttered in time to motion--stir of heart That unsubduably must bubble forth To match the fawn-step as it mounts the stair. 

 "All's ended and all's over! Verdict found '_Not guilty_'--prisoner forthwith set free, Mid cheers the Court pretends to disregard! Now Portia, now for Daniel, late severe, At last appeased, benignant! '_This young man-- Hem--has the young man's foibles but no fault. He's virgin soil--a friend must cultivate. I think no plant called "love" grows wild--a friend May introduce, and name the bloom, the fruit!_' Here somebody dares wave a handkerchief-- She'll want to hide her face with presently! Good-by then! '_Cigno fedel, cigno fedel, Addio!_' Now, was ever such mistake-- Ever such foolish ugly omen? Pshaw! Wagner, beside! '_Amo te solo, te Solo amai!_' That's worth fifty such! But, mum, the grave face at the opened door!"

 And so the good gay girl, with eyes and cheeks Diamond and damask, --cheeks so white erewhile Because of a vague fancy, idle fear Chased on reflection!--pausing, taps discreet; And then, to give herself a countenance, Before she comes upon the pair inside, Loud--the oft-quoted, long-laughed-over line-- "'_Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!_' Open the door!"

 No: let the curtain fall!

CHAPTER V

RELIGIOUS THOUGHT IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

In "Bishop Blougram's Apology" and "Christmas-Eve and Easter Day, "Browning has covered the main tendencies in religious thought of thenineteenth century in England; and possibly "Caliban" might be includedas representative of Calvinistic survivals of the century. 

The two most strongly marked of these tendencies have been shown in theTractarian Movement which took Anglican in the direction of HighChurchism and Catholicism, and in the Scientific Movement which led inthe direction of Agnosticism. 

The battle between the Church of Rome and the Church of England waswaged the latter part of the first half of the century, and the greaterbattle between science and religion came on in its full strength themiddle of the century when the influence of Spencer, Darwin, Tyndall, Huxley and other men of science began to make itself felt, as well asthat of such critics of historical Christianity as Strauss in Germanyand Renan in France. The influence of the dissenting bodies, --thePresbyterians and the Methodists--also became a power during thecentury. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the development has beenin the direction of the utmost freedom of conscience in the matter ofreligion, though the struggles of humanity to arrive there even duringthis century are distressing to look back upon; and occasionally one isheld up even in America to-day by the ghost of religious persecution. 

It is an open secret that in Bishop Blougram, Browning meant to portrayCardinal Wiseman, whose connection with the Tractarian Movement is ofgreat interest in the history of this movement. Browning enjoyed hugelythe joke that Cardinal Wiseman himself reviewed the poem. The Cardinalpraised it as a poem, though he did not consider the attitude of apriest of Rome to be properly interpreted. A comparison of the poem withopinions expressed by the Cardinal as well as a glimpse into hisactivities will show how far Browning has done him justice. 

It is well to remember at the outset that the poet's own view is neitherthat of Blougram nor of the literary man Gigadibs, with whom Blougramtalks over his wine. Gigadibs is an agnostic and cannot understand how aman of Blougram's fine intellectual and artistic perceptions is able soimplicitly to believe in Catholic doctrine. Blougram's apology forhimself amounts to this, --that he does not believe with absolutecertainty any more than does Gigadibs; but, on the other hand, Gigadibsdoes not disbelieve with absolute certainty, so Blougram's state is oneof belief shaken occasionally by doubt, while Gigadibs is one ofunbelief shaken by fits of belief. 

 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY

 . . . . . . . 

 Now come, let's backward to the starting place. See my way: we're two college friends, suppose. Prepare together for our voyage, then; Each note and check the other in his work, -- There's mine, a bishop's outfit; criticize! What's wrong? why won't you be a bishop too?

 What first, you don't believe, you don't, and can't, (Not statedly, that is, and fixedly And absolutely and exclusively) In any revelation called divine. No dogmas nail your faith; and what remains But say so, like the honest man you are? First, therefore, overhaul theology! Nay, I too, not a fool, you please to think, Must find believing every whit as hard: And if I do not frankly say as much, The ugly consequence is clear enough. 

 Now wait, my friend: well, I do not believe-- If you'll accept no faith that is not fixed, Absolute and exclusive, as you say. You're wrong--I mean to prove it in due time. Meanwhile, I know where difficulties lie I could not, cannot solve, nor ever shall, So give up hope accordingly to solve-- (To you, and over the wine). Our dogmas then With both of us, though in unlike degree, Missing full credence--overboard with them! I mean to meet you on your own premise: Good, there go mine in company with yours!

 And now what are we? unbelievers both, Calm and complete, determinately fixed To-day, to-morrow and forever, pray? You'll guarantee me that? Not so, I think! In no wise! all we've gained is, that belief. As unbelief before, shakes us by fits, Confounds us like its predecessor. Where's The gain? how can we guard our unbelief, Make it bear fruit to us?--the problem here. Just when we are safest, there's a sunset touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides, -- And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again, -- The grand Perhaps! We look on helplessly. There the old misgivings, crooked questions are-- This good God, --what he could do, if he would, Would, if he could--then must have done long since: If so, when, where and how? some way must be, -- Once feel about, and soon or late you hit Some sense, in which it might be, after all. Why not, "The Way, the Truth, the Life?"

The advantage of making belief instead of unbelief the starting pointis, Blougram contends, that he lives by what he finds the most to histaste; giving him as it does, power, distinction and beauty in life aswell as hope in the life to come. 

 Well, now, there's one great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in--which to teach Was given me as I grew up, on all hands, As best and readiest means of living by; The same on examination being proved The most pronounced moreover, fixed, precise And absolute form of faith in the whole world-- Accordingly, most potent of all forms For working on the world. Observe, my friend! Such as you know me, I am free to say, In these hard latter days which hamper one, Myself--by no immoderate exercise Of intellect and learning, but the tact To let external forces work for me, --Bid the street's stones be bread and they are bread; Bid Peter's creed, or rather, Hildebrand's, Exalt me o'er my fellows in the world And make my life an ease and joy and pride; It does so, --which for me's a great point gained, Who have a soul and body that exact A comfortable care in many ways. There's power in me and will to dominate Which I must exercise, they hurt me else: In many ways I need mankind's respect, Obedience, and the love that's born of fear: While at the same time, there's a taste I have, A toy of soul, a titillating thing, Refuses to digest these dainties crude. The naked life is gross till clothed upon: I must take what men offer, with a grace As though I would not, could I help it, take! An uniform I wear though over-rich-- Something imposed on me, no choice of mine; No fancy-dress worn for pure fancy's sake And despicable therefore! now folk kneel And kiss my hand--of course the Church's hand. Thus I am made, thus life is best for me, And thus that it should be I have procured; And thus it could not be another way, I venture to imagine. 

 You'll reply, So far my choice, no doubt, is a success; But were I made of better elements, with nobler instincts, purer tastes, like you, I hardly would account the thing success Though it did all for me I say. 

 But, friend, We speak of what is; not of what might be, And how 'twere better if 'twere otherwise. I am the man you see here plain enough: Grant I'm a beast, why, beasts must lead beasts' lives! Suppose I own at once to tail and claws; The tailless man exceeds me: but being tailed I'll lash out lion fashion, and leave apes To dock their stump and dress their haunches up. My business is not to remake myself, But make the absolute best of what God made. 

 But, friend, I don't acknowledge quite so fast I fail of all your manhood's lofty tastes Enumerated so complacently, On the mere ground that you forsooth can find In this particular life I choose to lead No fit provision for them. Can you not? Say you, my fault is I address myself To grosser estimators than should judge? And that's no way of holding up the soul, Which, nobler, needs men's praise perhaps, yet knows One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'-- Would like the two, but, forced to choose, takes that. I pine among my million imbeciles (You think) aware some dozen men of sense Eye me and know me, whether I believe In the last winking Virgin, as I vow, And am a fool, or disbelieve in her And am a knave, --approve in neither case, Withhold their voices though I look their way: Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end (The thing they gave at Florence, --what's its name?) While the mad houseful's plaudits near outbang His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, He looks through all the roaring and the wreaths Where sits Rossini patient in his stall. 

 Nay, friend, I meet you with an answer here-- That even your prime men who appraise their kind Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, Confuse themselves. You see lads walk the street Sixty the minute; what's to note in that? You see one lad o'erstride a chimney-stack; Him you must watch--he's sure to fall, yet stands! Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, The superstitious atheist, demirep That loves and saves her soul in new French books-- We watch while these in equilibrium keep The giddy line midway: one step aside, They're classed and done with. I, then, keep the line Before your sages, --just the men to shrink From the gross weights, coarse scales and labels broad You offer their refinement. Fool or knave? Why needs a bishop be a fool or knave When there's a thousand diamond weights between? So, I enlist them. Your picked twelve, you'll find, Profess themselves indignant, scandalized At thus being held unable to explain How a superior man who disbelieves May not believe as well: that's Schelling's way! It's through my coming in the tail of time, Nicking the minute with a happy tact. Had I been born three hundred years ago They'd say, "what's strange? Blougram of course believes;" And, seventy years since, "disbelieves of course. " But now, "He may believe; and yet, and yet How can he?" All eyes turn with interest. Whereas, step off the line on either side-- You, for example, clever to a fault, The rough and ready man who write apace, Read somewhat seldomer, think perhaps even less-- You disbelieve! Who wonders and who cares? Lord So-and-so--his coat bedropped with wax, All Peter's chains about his waist, his back Brave with the needlework of Noodledom-- Believes! Again, who wonders and who cares? But I, the man of sense and learning too, The able to think yet act, the this, the that, I, to believe at this late time of day! Enough; you see, I need not fear contempt. 

 . . . . . . . 

 "Ay, but since really you lack faith, " you cry, "You run the same risk really on all sides, In cool indifference as bold unbelief. As well be Strauss as swing 'twixt Paul and him. It's not worth having, such imperfect faith, No more available to do faith's work Than unbelief like mine. Whole faith, or none!"

 Softly, my friend! I must dispute that point. Once own the use of faith, I'll find you faith. We're back on Christian ground. You call for faith: I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o'ercomes doubt. How I know it does? By life and man's free will, God gave for that! To mould life as we choose it, shows our choice: That's our one act, the previous work's his own. You criticize the soul? it reared this tree-- This broad life and whatever fruit it bears! What matter though I doubt at every pore, Head-doubts, heart-doubts, doubts at my finger's ends, Doubts in the trivial work of every day, Doubts at the very bases of my soul In the grand moments when she probes herself-- If finally I have a life to show, The thing I did, brought out in evidence Against the thing done to me underground By hell and all its brood, for aught I know? I say, whence sprang this? shows it faith or doubt? All's doubt in me; where's break of faith in this? It is the idea, the feeling and the love, God means mankind should strive for and show forth Whatever be the process to that end, -- And not historic knowledge, logic sound, And metaphysical acumen, sure! "What think ye of Christ, " friend? when all's done and said, Like you this Christianity or not? It may be false, but will you wish it true? Has it your vote to be so if it can? Trust you an instinct silenced long ago That will break silence and enjoin you love What mortified philosophy is hoarse, And all in vain, with bidding you despise? If you desire faith--then you've faith enough: What else seeks God--nay, what else seek ourselves? You form a notion of me, we'll suppose, On hearsay; it's a favourable one: "But still" (you add), "there was no such good man, Because of contradiction in the facts. One proves, for instance, he was born in Rome, This Blougram; yet throughout the tales of him I see he figures as an Englishman. " Well, the two things are reconcilable. But would I rather you discovered that, Subjoining--"Still, what matter though they be? Blougram concerns me nought, born here or there. "

 Pure faith indeed--you know not what you ask! Naked belief in God the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent, sears too much The sense of conscious creatures to be borne. It were the seeing him, no flesh shall dare. Some think, Creation's meant to show him forth: I say it's meant to hide him all it can, And that's what all the blessed evil's for. Its use in Time is to environ us, Our breath, our drop of dew, with shield enough Against that sight till we can bear its stress. Under a vertical sun, the exposed brain And lidless eye and disemprisoned heart Less certainly would wither up at once Than mind, confronted with the truth of him. But time and earth case-harden us to live; The feeblest sense is trusted most; the child Feels God a moment, ichors o'er the place, Plays on and grows to be a man like us. With me, faith means perpetual unbelief Kept quiet like the snake 'neath Michael's foot Who stands calm just because he feels it writhe. 

 . . . . . . . 

 The sum of all is--yes, my doubt is great, My faith's still greater, then my faith's enough. I have read much, thought much, experienced much, Yet would die rather than avow my fear The Naples' liquefaction may be false, When set to happen by the palace-clock According to the clouds or dinner-time. I hear you recommend, I might at least Eliminate, decrassify my faith Since I adopt it; keeping what I must And leaving what I can--such points as this. I won't--that is, I can't throw one away. Supposing there's no truth in what I hold About the need of trial to man's faith, Still, when you bid me purify the same, To such a process I discern no end. Clearing off one excrescence to see two, There's ever a next in size, now grown as big, That meets the knife: I cut and cut again! First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last But Fichte's clever cut at God himself? Experimentalize on sacred things! I trust nor hand nor eye nor heart nor brain To stop betimes: they all get drunk alike. The first step, I am master not to take. 

 You'd find the cutting-process to your taste As much as leaving growths of lies unpruned, Nor see more danger in it, --you retort. Your taste's worth mine; but my taste proves more wise When we consider that the steadfast hold On the extreme end of the chain of faith Gives all the advantage, makes the difference With the rough purblind mass we seek to rule: We are their lords, or they are free of us, Just as we tighten or relax our hold. So, other matters equal, we'll revert To the first problem--which, if solved my way And thrown into the balance, turns the scale-- How we may lead a comfortable life, How suit our luggage to the cabin's size. 

 Of course you are remarking all this time How narrowly and grossly I view life, Respect the creature-comforts, care to rule The masses, and regard complacently "The cabin, " in our old phrase. Well, I do. I act for, talk for, live for this world now, As this world prizes action, life and talk: No prejudice to what next world may prove, Whose new laws and requirements, my best pledge To observe then, is that I observe these now, Shall do hereafter what I do meanwhile. Let us concede (gratuitously though) Next life relieves the soul of body, yields Pure spiritual enjoyment: well, my friend, Why lose this life i' the meantime, since its use May be to make the next life more intense?

 Do you know, I have often had a dream (Work it up in your next month's article) Of man's poor spirit in its progress, still Losing true life for ever and a day Through ever trying to be and ever being-- In the evolution of successive spheres-- _Before_ its actual sphere and place of life, Halfway into the next, which having reached, It shoots with corresponding foolery Halfway into the next still, on and off! As when a traveller, bound from North to South, Scouts fur in Russia: what's its use in France? In France spurns flannel: where's its need in Spain? In Spain drops cloth, too cumbrous for Algiers! Linen goes next, and last the skin itself, A superfluity at Timbuctoo. When, through his journey, was the fool at ease? I'm at ease now, friend; worldly in this world, I take and like its way of life; I think My brothers, who administer the means, Live better for my comfort--that's good too; And God, if he pronounce upon such life, Approves my service, which is better still. If he keep silence, --why, for you or me Or that brute beast pulled-up in to-day's "Times, " What odds is't, save to ourselves, what life we lead?

Turning to the life of Cardinal Wiseman, it is of especial interest inconnection with Browning's portrayal of him to observe his earlieryears. He was born in Spain, having a Spanish father of English descentand an English mother, all Catholics, as Blougram says, "There's onegreat form of Christian faith I happened to be born in. " His mother tookhim as an infant, and laid him upon the altar of the Cathedral ofSeville, and consecrated him to the service of the Church. 

[Illustration: Cardinal Wiseman]

His father having died when he was a tiny boy, his mother took him andhis brother to England where he was trained at the Catholic college ofUshaw. From there he went to Rome to study at the English CatholicCollege there. Later he became Rector of this College. The sketch ofWiseman at this period given by his biographer, Wilfred Ward, is mostattractive. "Scattered through his 'Recollections' are interestingimpressions left by his student life. While mastering the regular courseof scholastic philosophy and theology sufficiently to take his degreewith credit, his tastes were not primarily in this direction. The studyof Roman antiquities, Christian and Pagan, was congenial to him, as wasalso the study of Italian art--in which he ultimately becameproficient--and of music: and he early devoted himself to the Syriac andArabic languages. In all these pursuits the enthusiasm and eminence ofmen living in Rome itself at this era of renaissance was a potentstimulus to work. The hours he set aside for reading were many more thanthe rule demanded. But the daily walk and the occasional expedition toplaces of historic interest outside of Rome helped also to store hismind and to fire his imagination. " Wiseman writes, himself, of thisperiod, "The life of the student in Rome should be one of unblendedenjoyment. His very relaxations become at once subsidiary to his workand yet most delightfully recreative. His daily walks may be through thefield of art . .. His wanderings along the stream of time . .. A thousandmemories, a thousand associations accompany him. " From this letter andfrom accounts of him he would seem to have been possessed of a highlyimaginative temperament, possibly more artistic than religious. Scholars, linguists, or historians, artists or antiquarians interestedhim far more than thinkers or theologians. In noting the effects onWiseman's character of the thoughts and sights of Rome, "it must beobserved, " writes Ward, "that even the action of directly religiousinfluences brought out his excessive impressionableness. His own innerlife was as vivid a pageant to him as the history of the Church. He wasliable at this time to the periods of spiritual exaltation--matched, aswe shall see later on, by fits of intense despondency--which marked himthrough life. "

This remarkable intellectual activity brought with it doubts ofreligious truth. "The imaginative delight in Rome as a living witness tothe faith entirely left him, and at the same time he was attacked bymental disturbances and doubts of the truth of Christianity. There arecontemporary indications, and still plainer accounts in the letters ofhis later life, of acute suffering from these trials. The study ofBiblical criticism, even in the early stages it had then reached, seemsimmediately to have occasioned them; and the suffering they caused himwas aggravated into intense and almost alarming depression by thefeebleness of his bodily health. " He says, speaking of this phase in hislife, "Many and many an hour have I passed, alone, in bitter tears, onthe _loggia_ of the English College, when every one was reposing in theafternoon, and I was fighting with subtle thoughts and venomoussuggestions of a fiendlike infidelity which I durst not confide to anyone, for there was no one that could have sympathized with me. Thislasted for years; but it made me study and think, to conquer theplague--for I can hardly call it danger--both for myself and for others. But during the actual struggle the simple submission of faith is theonly remedy. Thoughts against faith must be treated at the time liketemptations against any other virtue--put away; though in cooler momentsthey may be safely analyzed and unraveled. " Again he wrote of theseyears as, "Years of solitude, of desolation, years of shattered nerves, dread often of instant insanity, consumptive weakness, of sleeplessnights and weary days, and hours of tears which no one witnessed. "

"Of the effect of these years of desolation on his character he speaksas being simply invaluable. It completed what Ushaw had begun, thetraining in patience, self-reliance, and concentration in spite ofmental depression. It was amid these trials, he adds, 'that I wrote my"Horę Syriacę" and collected my notes for the lectures on the"Connection between Science and Revealed Religion" and the "Eucharist. "Without this training I should not have thrown myself into the Puseyitecontroversy at a later period. ' Any usefulness which discovered itselfin later years he considers the 'result of self-discipline' during hisinner conflict. The struggle so absorbed his energies that his earlylife was passed almost wholly free from the special trials to which thatperiod is liable. He speaks of his youth as in that respect 'almosttemptationless. '" This state of mind seemed to last about five years andthen he writes in a letter:

"I have felt myself for some months gradually passing into a new stateof mind and heart which I can hardly describe, but which I trust is thelast stage of mental progress, in which I hope I may much improve, butout of which I trust I may never pass. I could hardly express the calmmild frame of mind in which I have lived; company and society I havealmost entirely shunned, or have moved through it as a stranger; hardlya disturbing thought, hardly a grating sensation has crossed my being, of which a great feeling of love seems to have been the principle. Whither, I am inclined to ask myself, does all this tend? Whence does itproceed? I think I could make an interesting history of my mind'sreligious progress, if I may use a word shockingly perverted by modernfanatics, from the hard dry struggles I used to have when first Icommenced to study on my own account, to the settling down into a stateof stern conviction, and so after some years to the nobler and moresoothing evidences furnished by the grand harmonies and beautifulfeatures of religion, whether considered in contact with lower objectsor viewed in her own crystal mirror. I find it curious, too, andinteresting to trace the workings of those varied feelings upon myrelations to the outward world. I remember how for years I lost allrelish for the glorious ceremonies of the Church. I heeded not itsvenerable monuments and sacred records scattered over the city; or Istudied them all with the dry eye of an antiquarian, looking in them forproofs, not for sensations, being ever actively alive to the collectionof evidences and demonstrations of religious truth. But now that thetime of my probation as I hope it was, is past, I feel as though thefreshness of childhood's thoughts had once more returned to me, myheart expands with renewed delight and delicious feelings every time Isee the holy objects and practices around me, and I might almost saythat I am leading a life of spiritual epicureanism, opening all mysenses to a rich draught of religious sensations. "

From these glimpses it would appear that Wiseman was a much more sincereman in his religious feeling than he is given credit for by Browning. His belief is with him not a matter of cold, hard calculation as to theattitude which will be, so to speak, the most politic from both aworldly and a spiritual point of view. The beautiful passage beginning"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset touch" etc. , comes nearer tothe genuine enthusiasm of a Wiseman than any other in the poem. There isan essential difference between the minds of the poet and the man heportrays, which perhaps made it impossible for Browning fully tointerpret Wiseman's attitude. Both have religious fervor, but Browning'sis born of a consciousness of God revealed directly to himself, whileWiseman's consciousness of God comes to him primarily through theauthority of the Church, that is through generations of authoritativebelievers the first of whom experienced the actuality of Revelation. Hundreds and thousands of people have minds of this caliber. They cannotsee a truth direct for themselves, they must be told by some personclothed in authority that this or that is true or false. To Wiseman thebeauty of his own form of religion with its special dogmas made sostrong an appeal, that, since he could only believe through authority, under any circumstances, it was natural to him to adopt the particularform that gave him the most satisfaction. Proofs detrimental to beliefdo not worry long with doubts such a mind, because the authority theydepend on is not the authority of knowledge, but the authority ofbelief. This comes out clearly enough in one of Wiseman's letters inwhich after enumerating a number of proofs brought forward by variousscholars tending to cast discredit on the dogmas of the Church, hetriumphantly exclaims, "And yet, who that has an understanding to judge, is driven for a moment from the holdings of faith by such comparisons asthese!"

[Illustration: Sacred Heart _F. Utenbach_]

Upon looking through his writings there will always be found in hisexpression of belief, I think, that ring of true sincerity as well aswhat I should call an intense artistic delight in the essential beautyof his religion. 

As to Blougram's argument that he believed in living in the world whilehe was in it, Wiseman's life was certainly not that of a worldlingalone, though he is described by one person as being "a genuine priest, very good looking and able bodied, and with much apparent practice inthe world. " He was far too much of a student and worker to be altogetherso worldly-minded as Browning represents him. 

His chief interest for Englishmen is his connection with the TractarianMovement. The wish of his soul was to aid the Catholic Revival inEngland, and with that end in view he visited England in 1835. Two yearsbefore, the movement at Oxford, known as the Tractarian Movement hadbegun. The opinions of the men in this movement were, as every oneknows, printed in a series of ninety tracts of which Newman wrotetwenty-four. It was an outgrowth of the conditions of the time. To sumup in the words of Withrow, [3] "The Church of England had distinctlylost ground as a directing and controlling force in the nation. The mostthoughtful and earnest minds in the Church felt the need of a greatreligious awakening and an aggressive movement to regain its lostinfluence. " As Dean Church describes them, the two characteristic formsof Christianity in the Church of England were the High Church, and theEvangelicals, or Low Church. " Of the former he says: "Its bettermembers were highly cultivated, benevolent men, intolerant ofirregularities both of doctrine and life, whose lives were governed byan unostentatious but solid and unfaltering piety, ready to burst forthon occasion into fervid devotion. Its worse members were jobbers andhunters after preferment, pluralists who built fortunes and endowedfamilies out of the Church, or country gentlemen in orders, who rode tohounds and shot and danced and farmed, and often did worse things. "

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Religious Progress of the Century. 

But at Oxford was a group of men of intense moral earnestness includingNewman, Pusey, Keble, Arnold, Maurice, Kingsley, and others, who beganan active propaganda of the new or revised doctrines of the OxfordMovement. 

"The success of the Tracts, " says Molesworth, "was much greater, and theoutcry against them far louder and fiercer, than their authors hadexpected. The Tracts were at first small and simple, but became largeand learned theological treatises. Changes, too, came over the views ofsome of the writers. Doctrines which probably would have shocked them atfirst were put forward with a recklessness which success had increased. Alarm was excited, remonstrances stronger and stronger were addressed tothem. They were attacked as Romanizing in their tendency. "

"The effect of such writing was two-fold[4]--the public were dismayedand certain members of the Tractarian party avowed their intention ofbecoming Romanists. So decided was the setting of the tide towards Romethat Newman made a vigorous effort to turn it by his famous Tract No. 90. In this he endeavored to show that it was possible to interpret theThirty-nine Articles in the interest of Roman Catholicism. This tractaroused a storm of indignation. The violent controversy which itoccasioned led to the discontinuance of the series. "

FOOTNOTES:

[4] See Withrow. 

Such in little was this remarkable movement. When Tract No. 90 appearedWiseman had been in England for some time, and had been a stronginfluence in taking many thinking men in the direction of Rome. Hislectures and discourses upon his first visit to England had attractedremarkable attention. The account runs by one who attended his lecturesto Catholics and Protestants: "Society in this country was impressed, and listened almost against its will, and listened not displeased. Herewas a young Roman priest, fresh from the center of Catholicism, whoshowed himself master, not only of the intricacies of polemicaldiscussion but of the amenities of civilized life. The spacious churchof Moorfields was thronged on every evening of Dr. Wiseman's appearance. Many persons of position and education were converted, and all departedwith abated prejudice, and with very different notions about Catholicismfrom those with which they had been prepossessed by their education. "Wiseman, himself, wrote, "I had the consolation of witnessing thepatient and edifying attention of a crowded audience, many of whom stoodfor two hours without any symptom of impatience. "

The great triumph for Wiseman, however, was when, shortly after Tract90, Newman, "a man, " described "in many ways, the most remarkable thatEngland has seen during the century, perhaps the most remarkable whomthe English Church has produced in any century, " went over to the Churchof Rome and was confirmed by Wiseman. Others followed his example and by1853 as many as four hundred clergymen and laity had become RomanCatholics. 

The controversies and discussions of that time, it must be remembered, were more upon the dogmas of the church than upon what we should callto-day the essential truths of religion. Yet, to a certain order of minddogmas seem important truths. There are those whose religious attitudecannot be preserved without belief in dogmas, and the advantage of theCatholic Church is that it holds firmly to its dogmas, come what may. Itwas expected, however, that this Romeward Movement would arouse intenseantipathy. "The arguments by which it was justified were considered, inmany cases, disingenuous, if not Jesuitical. "

In opposition of this sort we come nearer to Browning's attitude ofmind. Because such arguments as Wiseman and the Tractarians used couldnot convince him, he takes the ordinary ground of the opposition, thatin using such arguments they must be insincere, and they must beperfectly conscious of their insincerity. Still, in spite of the factthat Browning's mind could not get inside of Blougram's, he shows thathe has some sympathy for the Bishop in the close of the poem where hesays, "He said true things but called them by wrong names. " RaiseBlougram's philosophy to the plane of the mysticism of a Browning, andthe arguments for belief would be much the same but the _counters_ inthe arguments would become symbols instead of dogmas. 

In "Christmas-Eve and Easter Day, " Browning becomes the true critic ofthe nineteenth-century religious movements. He passes in review in aseries of dramatic pictures the three most diverse modes of religiousthought of the century. The dissenter's view is symbolized by a scene ina very humble chapel in England, the Catholic view by a vision of highmass at St. Peter's and the Agnostic view by a vision of a lecture by alearned German professor, --while the view of the modern mystic whoremains religious in the face of all destructive criticism is shown inthe speaker of the poem. The intuitional, aspiring side of his nature issymbolized by the vision of Christ that appears to him, while theintensity of its power fluctuates as he either holds fast or lets go thegarment of Christ. Opposed to his intuitional side is his reasoningside. 

Possibly the picture of the dissenting chapel is exaggeratedly humble, though if we suppose it to be a Methodist Chapel, it may be true tolife, as Methodism was the form of religion which made its appeal to thelowest classes. Indeed, at the time of its first successes, it was thesaving grace of England. "But for the moral antiseptic, " writes Withrow, "furnished by Methodism, and the revival of religion in all the churcheswhich it produced, the history of England would have been far other thanit was. It would probably have been swept into the maelstrom ofrevolution and shared the political and religious convulsions of theneighboring nation, " that is the French Revolution. 

"But Methodism had greatly changed the condition of the people. It hadrescued vast multitudes from ignorance and barbarism, and raised themfrom almost the degradation of beasts to the condition of men and thefellowship of saints. The habits of thrift and industry which itfostered led to the accumulation, if not of wealth, at least to that ofa substantial competence; and built up that safeguard of theCommonwealth, a great, intelligent, industrious, religious Middle-Classin the community. "

After the death of Wesley came various divisions in the MethodistChurch; it has so flexible a system that it may be adapted to veryvaried needs of humanity, and in that has consisted its great power. The mission of the church was originally to the poor and lowly, but "Ithas won for itself in spite of scorn and persecution, " says Dr. Schöll, "a place of power in the State and church of Great Britain. "

[Illustration: The Nativity _Fra Lippo Lippi_]

A scornful attitude is vividly brought before us in the opening of thispoem, to be succeeded later by a more charitable point of view. 

 CHRISTMAS-EVE

 I

 Out of the little chapel I burst Into the fresh night-air again. Five minutes full, I waited first In the doorway, to escape the rain That drove in gusts down the common's centre At the edge of which the chapel stands, Before I plucked up heart to enter. Heaven knows how many sorts of hands Reached past me, groping for the latch Of the inner door that hung on catch More obstinate the more they fumbled, Till, giving way at last with a scold Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled One sheep more to the rest in fold, And left me irresolute, standing sentry In the sheepfold's lath-and-plaster entry, Six feet long by three feet wide, Partitioned off from the vast inside-- I blocked up half of it at least. No remedy; the rain kept driving. They eyed me much as some wild beast, That congregation, still arriving, Some of them by the main road, white A long way past me into the night, Skirting the common, then diverging; Not a few suddenly emerging From the common's self thro' the paling-gaps, --They house in the gravel-pits perhaps, Where the road stops short with its safeguard border Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;-- But the most turned in yet more abruptly From a certain squalid knot of alleys, Where the town's bad blood once slept corruptly, Which now the little chapel rallies And leads into day again, --its priestliness Lending itself to hide their beastliness So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason), And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on Those neophytes too much in lack of it, That, where you cross the common as I did, And meet the party thus presided, "Mount Zion" with Love-lane at the back of it, They front you as little disconcerted As, bound for the hills, her fate averted, And her wicked people made to mind him, Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him. 

 II

 Well, from the road, the lanes or the common In came the flock: the fat weary woman, Panting and bewildered, down-clapping Her umbrella with a mighty report, Grounded it by me, wry and flapping, A wreck of whalebones; then, with a snort, Like a startled horse, at the interloper (Who humbly knew himself improper, But could not shrink up small enough) --Round to the door, and in, --the gruff Hinge's invariable scold Making my very blood run cold. Prompt in the wake of her, up-pattered On broken clogs, the many-tattered Little old-faced peaking sister-turned-mother Of the sickly babe she tried to smother Somehow up, with its spotted face, From the cold, on her breast, the one warm place; She too must stop, wring the poor ends dry Of a draggled shawl, and add thereby Her tribute to the door-mat, sopping Already from my own clothes' dropping, Which yet she seemed to grudge I should stand on: Then, stooping down to take off her pattens, She bore them defiantly, in each hand one, Planted together before her breast And its babe, as good as a lance in rest. Close on her heels, the dingy satins Of a female something, past me flitted, With lips as much too white, as a streak Lay far too red on each hollow cheek; And it seemed the very door-hinge pitied All that was left of a woman once, Holding at least its tongue for the nonce. Then a tall yellow man, like the _Penitent Thief_, With his jaw bound up in a handkerchief, And eyelids screwed together tight, Led himself in by some inner light. And, except from him, from each that entered, I got the same interrogation-- "What, you the alien, you have ventured To take with us, the elect, your station? A carer for none of it, a _Gallio_!"-- Thus, plain as print, I read the glance At a common prey, in each countenance As of huntsman giving his hounds the tallyho. And, when the door's cry drowned their wonder, The draught, it always sent in shutting, Made the flame of the single tallow candle In the cracked square lantern I stood under, Shoot its blue lip at me, rebutting As it were, the luckless cause of scandal: I verily fancied the zealous light (In the chapel's secret, too!) for spite Would shudder itself clean off the wick, With the airs of a Saint John's Candlestick. There was no standing it much longer. "Good folks, " thought I, as resolve grew stronger, "This way you perform the Grand-Inquisitor When the weather sends you a chance visitor? You are the men, and wisdom shall die with you, And none of the old Seven Churches vie with you! But still, despite the pretty perfection To which you carry your trick of exclusiveness, And, taking God's word under wise protection, Correct its tendency to diffusiveness, And bid one reach it over hot plough-shares, -- Still, as I say, though you've found salvation, If should choose to cry, as now, 'Shares!'-- See if the best of you bars me my ration! I prefer, if you please, for my expounder Of the laws of the feast, the feast's own Founder; Mine's the same right with your poorest and sickliest Supposing I don the marriage vestiment: So, shut your mouth and open your Testament, And carve me my portion at your quickliest!" Accordingly, as a shoemaker's lad With wizened face in want of soap, And wet apron wound round his waist like a rope, (After stopping outside, for his cough was bad, To get the fit over, poor gentle creature, And so avoid disturbing the preacher) --Passed in, I sent my elbow spikewise At the shutting door, and entered likewise, Received the hinge's accustomed greeting, And crossed the threshold's magic pentacle, And found myself in full conventicle, --To wit, in Zion Chapel Meeting, On the Christmas-Eve of 'Forty-nine, Which, calling its flock to their special clover, Found all assembled and one sheep over, Whose lot, as the weather pleased, was mine. 

 III

 I very soon had enough of it. The hot smell and the human noises, And my neighbor's coat, the greasy cuff of it, Were a pebble-stone that a child's hand poises, Compared with the pig-of-lead-like pressure Of the preaching man's immense stupidity, As he poured his doctrine forth, full measure, To meet his audience's avidity. You needed not the wit of the Sibyl To guess the cause of it all, in a twinkling: No sooner our friend had got an inkling Of treasure hid in the Holy Bible, (Whene'er 'twas the thought first struck him, How death, at unawares, might duck him Deeper than the grave, and quench The gin-shop's light in hell's grim drench) Than he handled it so, in fine irreverence, As to hug the book of books to pieces: And, a patchwork of chapters and texts in severance, Not improved by the private dog's-ears and creases, Having clothed his own soul with, he'd fain see equipt yours, -- So tossed you again your Holy Scriptures. And you picked them up, in a sense, no doubt: Nay, had but a single face of my neighbors Appeared to suspect that the preacher's labors Were help which the world could be saved without, 'Tis odds but I might have borne in quiet A qualm or two at my spiritual diet, Or (who can tell?) perchance even mustered Somewhat to urge in behalf of the sermon: But the flock sat on, divinely flustered, Sniffing, methought, its dew of Hermon With such content in every snuffle, As the devil inside us loves to ruffle. My old fat woman purred with pleasure, And thumb round thumb went twirling faster, While she, to his periods keeping measure, Maternally devoured the pastor. The man with the handkerchief untied it, Showed us a horrible wen inside it, Gave his eyelids yet another screwing, And rocked himself as the woman was doing. The shoemaker's lad, discreetly choking, Kept down his cough. 'Twas too provoking! My gorge rose at the nonsense and stuff of it; So, saying like Eve when she plucked the apple, "I wanted a taste, and now there's enough of it, " I flung out of the little chapel. 

 IV

 There was a lull in the rain, a lull In the wind too; the moon was risen, And would have shone out pure and full, But for the ramparted cloud-prison, Block on block built up in the West, For what purpose the wind knows best, Who changes his mind continually. And the empty other half of the sky Seemed in its silence as if it knew What, any moment, might look through A chance gap in that fortress massy:-- Through its fissures you got hints Of the flying moon, by the shifting tints, Now, a dull lion-color, now, brassy Burning to yellow, and whitest yellow, Like furnace-smoke just ere flames bellow, All a-simmer with intense strain To let her through, --then blank again, At the hope of her appearance failing. Just by the chapel, a break in the railing Shows a narrow path directly across; 'Tis ever dry walking there, on the moss-- Besides, you go gently all the way uphill. I stooped under and soon felt better; My head grew lighter, my limbs more supple, As I walked on, glad to have slipt the fetter. My mind was full of the scene I had left, That placid flock, that pastor vociferant, --How this outside was pure and different! The sermon, now--what a mingled weft Of good and ill! Were either less, Its fellow had colored the whole distinctly; But alas for the excellent earnestness, And the truths, quite true if stated succinctly, But as surely false, in their quaint presentment, However to pastor and flock's contentment! Say rather, such truths looked false to your eyes, With his provings and parallels twisted and twined, Till how could you know them, grown double their size In the natural fog of the good man's mind, Like yonder spots of our roadside lamps, Haloed about with the common's damps? Truth remains true, the fault's in the prover; The zeal was good, and the aspiration; And yet, and yet, yet, fifty times over, Pharaoh received no demonstration, By his Baker's dream of Baskets Three, Of the doctrine of the Trinity, -- Although, as our preacher thus embellished it, Apparently his hearers relished it With so unfeigned a gust--who knows if They did not prefer our friend to Joseph? But so it is everywhere, one way with all of them! These people have really felt, no doubt, A something, the motion they style the _Call_ of them; And this is their method of bringing about, By a mechanism of words and tones, (So many texts in so many groans) A sort of reviving and reproducing, More or less perfectly, (who can tell?) The mood itself, which strengthens by using; And how that happens, I understand well. A tune was born in my head last week, Out of the thump-thump and shriek-shriek Of the train, as I came by it, up from Manchester; And when, next week, I take it back again. My head will sing to the engine's clack again, While it only makes my neighbor's haunches stir, --Finding no dormant musical sprout In him, as in me, to be jolted out. 'Tis the taught already that profits by teaching; He gets no more from the railway's preaching Than, from this preacher who does the rail's office, I: Whom therefore the flock cast a jealous eye on. Still, why paint over their door "Mount Zion, " To which all flesh shall come, saith the prophecy?

The reasoning which follows upon this is characteristic of Browning. Perceiving everywhere in the world transcendent power, and knowing lovein little, from that transcendent love may be deduced. His reasoningfinally brings him to a state of vision. His subjective intuitionsbecome palpable objective symbols, a not infrequent occurrence in highlywrought and sensitive minds. 

 V

 But wherefore be harsh on a single case? After how many modes, this Christmas-Eve, Does the self-same weary thing take place? The same endeavor to make you believe, And with much the same effect, no more: Each method abundantly convincing, As I say, to those convinced before, But scarce to be swallowed without wincing By the not-as-yet-convinced. For me, I have my own church equally: And in this church my faith sprang first! (I said, as I reached the rising ground, And the wind began again, with a burst Of rain in my face, and a glad rebound From the heart beneath, as if, God speeding me, I entered his church-door, nature leading me) --In youth I looked to these very skies, And probing their immensities, I found God there, his visible power; Yet felt in my heart, amid all its sense Of the power, an equal evidence That his love, there too, was the nobler dower. For the loving worm within its clod, Were diviner than a loveless god Amid his worlds, I will dare to say. You know what I mean: God's all, man's nought: But also, God, whose pleasure brought Man into being, stands away As it were a handbreadth off, to give Room for the newly-made to live, And look at him from a place apart, And use his gifts of brain and heart, Given, indeed, but to keep for ever. Who speaks of man, then, must not sever Man's very elements from man, Saying, "But all is God's"--whose plan Was to create man and then leave him Able, his own word saith, to grieve him, But able to glorify him too, As a mere machine could never do, That prayed or praised, all unaware Of its fitness for aught but praise and prayer, Made perfect as a thing of course. Man, therefore, stands on his own stock Of love and power as a pin-point rock: And, looking to God who ordained divorce Of the rock from his boundless continent, Sees, in his power made evident, Only excess by a million-fold O'er the power God gave man in the mould. For, note: man's hand, first formed to carry A few pounds' weight, when taught to marry Its strength with an engine's, lifts a mountain, --Advancing in power by one degree; And why count steps through eternity? But love is the ever-springing fountain: Man may enlarge or narrow his bed For the water's play, but the water-head-- How can he multiply or reduce it? As easy create it, as cause it to cease; He may profit by it, or abuse it, But 'tis not a thing to bear increase As power does: be love less or more In the heart of man, he keeps it shut Or opes it wide, as he pleases, but Love's sum remains what it was before. So, gazing up, in my youth, at love As seen through power, ever above All modes which make it manifest, My soul brought all to a single test-- That he, the Eternal First and Last, Who, in his power, had so surpassed All man conceives of what is might, -- Whose wisdom, too, showed infinite, --Would prove as infinitely good; Would never, (my soul understood, ) With power to work all love desires, Bestow e'en less than man requires; That he who endlessly was teaching, Above my spirit's utmost reaching, What love can do in the leaf or stone, (So that to master this alone, This done in the stone or leaf for me, I must go on learning endlessly) Would never need that I, in turn, Should point him out defect unheeded, And show that God had yet to learn What the meanest human creature needed, --Not life, to wit, for a few short years, Tracking his way through doubts and fears, While the stupid earth on which I stay Suffers no change, but passive adds Its myriad years to myriads, Though I, he gave it to, decay, Seeing death come and choose about me, And my dearest ones depart without me. No: love which, on earth, amid all the shows of it, Has ever been seen the sole good of life in it, The love, ever growing there, spite of the strife in it, Shall arise, made perfect, from death's repose of it. And I shall behold thee, face to face, O God, and in thy light retrace How in all I loved here, still wast thou! Whom pressing to, then, as I fain would now, I shall find as able to satiate The love, thy gift, as my spirit's wonder Thou art able to quicken and sublimate, With this sky of thine, that I now walk under, And glory in thee for, as I gaze Thus, thus! Oh, let men keep their ways Of seeking thee in a narrow shrine-- Be this my way! And this is mine!

 VI

 For lo, what think you? suddenly The rain and the wind ceased, and the sky Received at once the full fruition Of the moon's consummate apparition. The black cloud-barricade was riven, Ruined beneath her feet, and driven Deep in the West; while, bare and breathless, North and South and East lay ready For a glorious thing that, dauntless, deathless, Sprang across them and stood steady. 'Twas a moon-rainbow, vast and perfect, From heaven to heaven extending, perfect As the mother-moon's self, full in face. It rose, distinctly at the base With its seven proper colors chorded, Which still, in the rising, were compressed, Until at last they coalesced, And supreme the spectral creature lorded In a triumph of whitest white, -- Above which intervened the night. But above night too, like only the next, The second of a wondrous sequence, Reaching in rare and rarer frequence, Till the heaven of heavens were circumflexed, Another rainbow rose, a mightier, Fainter, flushier and flightier, -- Rapture dying along its verge. Oh, whose foot shall I see emerge, Whose, from the straining topmost dark, On to the keystone of that arc?

 VII

 This sight was shown me, there and then, -- Me, one out of a world of men, Singled forth, as the chance might hap To another if, in a thunderclap Where I heard noise and you saw flame, Some one man knew God called his name. For me, I think I said, "Appear! Good were it to be ever here. If thou wilt, let me build to thee Service-tabernacles three, Where, forever in thy presence, In ecstatic acquiescence, Far alike from thriftless learning And ignorance's undiscerning, I may worship and remain!" Thus at the show above me, gazing With upturned eyes, I felt my brain Glutted with the glory, blazing Throughout its whole mass, over and under Until at length it burst asunder And out of it bodily there streamed, The too-much glory, as it seemed, Passing from out me to the ground, Then palely serpentining round Into the dark with mazy error. 

 VIII

 All at once I looked up with terror. He was there. He himself with his human air. On the narrow pathway, just before. I saw the back of him, no more-- He had left the chapel, then, as I. I forgot all about the sky. No face: only the sight Of a sweepy garment, vast and white, With a hem that I could recognize. I felt terror, no surprise; My mind filled with the cataract, At one bound of the mighty fact. "I remember, he did say Doubtless that, to this world's end, Where two or three should meet and pray, He would be in the midst, their friend; Certainly he was there with them!" And my pulses leaped for joy Of the golden thought without alloy, That I saw his very vesture's hem. Then rushed the blood back, cold and clear, With a fresh enhancing shiver of fear; And I hastened, cried out while I pressed To the salvation of the vest, "But not so, Lord! It cannot be That thou, indeed, art leaving me-- Me, that have despised thy friends! Did my heart make no amends? Thou art the love _of God_--above His power, didst hear me place his love, And that was leaving the world for thee. Therefore thou must not turn from me As I had chosen the other part! Folly and pride o'ercame my heart. Our best is bad, nor bears thy test; Still, it should be our very best. I thought it best that thou, the spirit, Be worshipped in spirit and in truth, And in beauty, as even we require it-- Not in the forms burlesque, uncouth, I left but now, as scarcely fitted For thee: I knew not what I pitied. But, all I felt there, right or wrong, What is it to thee, who curest sinning? Am I not weak as thou art strong? I have looked to thee from the beginning, Straight up to thee through all the world Which, like an idle scroll, lay furled To nothingness on either side: And since the time thou wast descried, Spite of the weak heart, so have I Lived ever, and so fain would die, Living and dying, thee before! But if thou leavest me----"

 IX

 Less or more, I suppose that I spoke thus. When, --have mercy, Lord, on us! The whole face turned upon me full. And I spread myself beneath it, As when the bleacher spreads, to seethe it In the cleansing sun, his wool, -- Steeps in the flood of noontide whiteness Some defiled, discolored web-- So lay I, saturate with brightness. And when the flood appeared to ebb, Lo, I was walking, light and swift, With my senses settling fast and steadying, But my body caught up in the whirl and drift Of the vesture's amplitude, still eddying On, just before me, still to be followed, As it carried me after with its motion: What shall I say?--as a path were hollowed And a man went weltering through the ocean, Sucked along in the flying wake Of the luminous water-snake. Darkness and cold were cloven, as through I passed, upborne yet walking too. And I turned to myself at intervals, -- "So he said, so it befalls. God who registers the cup Of mere cold water, for his sake To a disciple rendered up, Disdains not his own thirst to slake At the poorest love was ever offered: And because my heart I proffered, With true love trembling at the brim, He suffers me to follow him For ever, my own way, --dispensed From seeking to be influenced By all the less immediate ways That earth, in worships manifold, Adopts to reach, by prayer and praise, The garment's hem, which, lo, I hold!"

The vision of high mass at St. Peters in Rome is the antipode of thelittle Methodist Chapel. The Catholic Church is the church of all otherswhich has gathered about itself the marvels of art in sculpture, painting and music. As the chapel depressed with its ugliness, the greatcathedral entrances with its beauty. 

[Illustration: The Transfiguration _Fra Angelico_]

 X

 And so we crossed the world and stopped. For where am I, in city or plain, Since I am 'ware of the world again? And what is this that rises propped With pillars of prodigious girth? Is it really on the earth, This miraculous Dome of God? Has the angel's measuring-rod Which numbered cubits, gem from gem, 'Twixt the gates of the New Jerusalem, Meted it out, --and what he meted, Have the sons of men completed? --Binding, ever as he bade, Columns in the colonnade With arms wide open to embrace The entry of the human race To the breast of . .. What is it, yon building, Ablaze in front, all paint and gilding, With marble for brick, and stones of price For garniture of the edifice? Now I see; it is no dream; It stands there and it does not seem; For ever, in pictures, thus it looks, And thus I have read of it in books Often in England, leagues away, And wondered how these fountains play, Growing up eternally Each to a musical water-tree, Whose blossoms drop, a glittering boon, Before my eyes, in the light of the moon, To the granite lavers underneath. Liar and dreamer in your teeth! I, the sinner that speak to you, Was in Rome this night, and stood, and knew Both this and more. For see, for see, The dark is rent, mine eye is free To pierce the crust of the outer wall, And I view inside, and all there, all, As the swarming hollow of a hive, The whole Basilica alive! Men in the chancel, body and nave, Men on the pillars' architrave, Men on the statues, men on the tombs With popes and kings in their porphyry wombs, All famishing in expectation Of the main-altar's consummation. For see, for see, the rapturous moment Approaches, and earth's best endowment Blends with heaven's; the taper-fires Pant up, the winding brazen spires Heave loftier yet the baldachin; The incense-gaspings, long kept in, Suspire in clouds; the organ blatant Holds his breath and grovels latent, As if God's hushing finger grazed him, (Like Behemoth when he praised him) At the silver bell's shrill tinkling, Quick cold drops of terror sprinkling On the sudden pavement strewed With faces of the multitude. Earth breaks up, time drops away, In flows heaven, with its new day Of endless life, when He who trod, Very man and very God, This earth in weakness, shame and pain, Dying the death whose signs remain Up yonder on the accursed tree, -- Shall come again, no more to be Of captivity the thrall, But the one God, All in all, King of kings, Lord of lords, As His servant John received the words, "I died, and live for evermore!"

 XI

 Yet I was left outside the door. "Why sit I here on the threshold-stone Left till He return, alone Save for the garment's extreme fold Abandoned still to bless my hold?" My reason, to my doubt, replied, As if a book were opened wide, And at a certain page I traced Every record undefaced, Added by successive years, -- The harvestings of truth's stray ears Singly gleaned, and in one sheaf Bound together for belief. Yes, I said--that he will go And sit with these in turn, I know. Their faith's heart beats, though her head swims Too giddily to guide her limbs, Disabled by their palsy-stroke From propping mine. Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies: And he, whose eye detects a spark Even where, to man's the whole seems dark, May well see flame where each beholder Acknowledges the embers smoulder. But I, a mere man, fear to quit The clue God gave me as most fit To guide my footsteps through life's maze, Because himself discerns all ways Open to reach him: I, a man Able to mark where faith began To swerve aside, till from its summit Judgment drops her damning plummet, Pronouncing such a fatal space Departed from the founder's base: He will not bid me enter too, But rather sit, as now I do, Awaiting his return outside. --'Twas thus my reason straight replied And joyously I turned, and pressed The garment's skirt upon my breast, Until, afresh its light suffusing me, My heart cried--What has been abusing me That I should wait here lonely and coldly, Instead of rising, entering boldly, Baring truth's face, and letting drift Her veils of lies as they choose to shift? Do these men praise him? I will raise My voice up to their point of praise! I see the error; but above The scope of error, see the love. -- Oh, love of those first Christian days! --Fanned so soon into a blaze, From the spark preserved by the trampled sect, That the antique sovereign Intellect Which then sat ruling in the world, Like a change in dreams, was hurled From the throne he reigned upon: You looked up and he was gone. Gone, his glory of the pen! --Love, with Greece and Rome in ken, Bade her scribes abhor the trick Of poetry and rhetoric, And exult with hearts set free, In blessed imbecility Scrawled, perchance, on some torn sheet Leaving Sallust incomplete. Gone, his pride of sculptor, painter! --Love, while able to acquaint her While the thousand statues yet Fresh from chisel, pictures wet From brush, she saw on every side, Chose rather with an infant's pride To frame those portents which impart Such unction to true Christian Art. Gone, music too! The air was stirred By happy wings: Terpander's bird (That, when the cold came, fled away) Would tarry not the wintry day, -- As more-enduring sculpture must, Till filthy saints rebuked the gust With which they chanced to get a sight Of some dear naked Aphrodite They glanced a thought above the toes of, By breaking zealously her nose off. Love, surely, from that music's lingering, Might have filched her organ-fingering, Nor chosen rather to set prayings To hog-grunts, praises to horse-neighings. Love was the startling thing, the new: Love was the all-sufficient too; And seeing that, you see the rest: As a babe can find its mother's breast As well in darkness as in light, Love shut our eyes, and all seemed right. True, the world's eyes are open now: --Less need for me to disallow Some few that keep Love's zone unbuckled, Peevish as ever to be suckled, Lulled by the same old baby-prattle With intermixture of the rattle, When she would have them creep, stand steady Upon their feet, or walk already, Not to speak of trying to climb. I will be wise another time, And not desire a wall between us, When next I see a church-roof cover So many species of one genus, All with foreheads bearing _lover_ Written above the earnest eyes of them; All with breasts that beat for beauty, Whether sublimed, to the surprise of them, In noble daring, steadfast duty, The heroic in passion, or in action, -- Or, lowered for sense's satisfaction, To the mere outside of human creatures, Mere perfect form and faultless features. What? with all Rome here, whence to levy Such contributions to their appetite, With women and men in a gorgeous bevy, They take, as it were, a padlock, clap it tight On their southern eyes, restrained from feeding On the glories of their ancient reading, On the beauties of their modern singing, On the wonders of the builder's bringing, On the majesties of Art around them, -- And, all these loves, late struggling incessant, When faith has at last united and bound them, They offer up to God for a present? Why, I will, on the whole, be rather proud of it, -- And, only taking the act in reference To the other recipients who might have allowed it, I will rejoice that God had the preference. 

 XII

 So I summed up my new resolves: Too much love there can never be. And where the intellect devolves Its function on love exclusively, I, a man who possesses both, Will accept the provision, nothing loth, --Will feast my love, then depart elsewhere, That my intellect may find its share. 

In his next experience the speaker learns what the effect of scientificcriticism has been upon historical Christianity. 

The warfare between science and religion forms one of the mostfascinating and terrible chapters in the annals of the development ofthe human mind. About the middle of the nineteenth century the warbecame general. It was no longer a question of a skirmish over thisor that particular discovery in science which would cause somelong-cherished dogma to totter; it was a full battle all along the line, and now that the smoke has cleared away, it is safe to say that sciencesees, on the one hand, it cannot conquer religion, and religion sees, onthe other, it cannot conquer science. What each has done is to strip theother of its untruths, leaving its truths to grow by the light eachholds up for the other. Together they advance toward the knowledge ofthe Most High. 

 XIII

 No sooner said than out in the night! My heart beat lighter and more light: And still, as before, I was walking swift, With my senses settling fast and steadying, But my body caught up in the whirl and drift Of the vesture's amplitude, still eddying On just before me, still to be followed, As it carried me after with its motion, --What shall I say?--as a path were hollowed, And a man went weltering through the ocean, Sucked along in the flying wake Of the luminous water-snake. 

 XIV

 Alone! I am left alone once more-- (Save for the garment's extreme fold Abandoned still to bless my hold) Alone, beside the entrance-door Of a sort of temple, --perhaps a college, --Like nothing I ever saw before At home in England, to my knowledge. The tall old quaint irregular town! It may be . .. Though which, I can't affirm . .. Any Of the famous middle-age towns of Germany; And this flight of stairs where I sit down, Is it Halle, Weimar, Cassel, Frankfort Or Göttingen, I have to thank for 't? It may be Göttingen, --most likely. Through the open door I catch obliquely Glimpses of a lecture-hall; And not a bad assembly neither, Ranged decent and symmetrical On benches, waiting what's to see there; Which, holding still by the vesture's hem, I also resolve to see with them, Cautious this time how I suffer to slip The chance of joining in fellowship With any that call themselves his friends; As these folk do, I have a notion. But hist--a buzzing and emotion! All settle themselves, the while ascends By the creaking rail to the lecture-desk, Step by step, deliberate Because of his cranium's over-freight, Three parts sublime to one grotesque, If I have proved an accurate guesser, The hawk-nosed high-cheek-boned Professor. I felt at once as if there ran A shoot of love from my heart to the man-- That sallow virgin-minded studious Martyr to mild enthusiasm, As he uttered a kind of cough-preludious That woke my sympathetic spasm, (Beside some spitting that made me sorry) And stood, surveying his auditory With a wan pure look, well nigh celestial, -- Those blue eyes had survived so much! While, under the foot they could not smutch, Lay all the fleshly and the bestial. Over he bowed, and arranged his notes, Till the auditory's clearing of throats Was done with, died into a silence; And, when each glance was upward sent, Each bearded mouth composed intent, And a pin might be heard drop half a mile hence, -- He pushed back higher his spectacles, Let the eyes stream out like lamps from cells, And giving his head of hair--a hake Of undressed tow, for color and quantity-- One rapid and impatient shake, (As our own Young England adjusts a jaunty tie When about to impart, on mature digestion, Some thrilling view of the surplice-question) --The Professor's grave voice, sweet though hoarse, Broke into his Christmas-Eve discourse. 

 XV

 And he began it by observing How reason dictated that men Should rectify the natural swerving, By a reversion, now and then, To the well-heads of knowledge, few And far away, whence rolling grew The life-stream wide whereat we drink, Commingled, as we needs must think, With waters alien to the source; To do which, aimed this eve's discourse; Since, where could be a fitter time For tracing backward to its prime This Christianity, this lake, This reservoir, whereat we slake, From one or other bank, our thirst? So, he proposed inquiring first Into the various sources whence This Myth of Christ is derivable; Demanding from the evidence, (Since plainly no such life was liveable) How these phenomena should class? Whether 'twere best opine Christ was, Or never was at all, or whether He was and was not, both together-- It matters little for the name, So the idea be left the same. Only, for practical purpose's sake, 'Twas obviously as well to take The popular story, --understanding How the ineptitude of the time, And the penman's prejudice, expanding Fact into fable fit for the clime, Had, by slow and sure degrees, translated it Into this myth, this Individuum, -- Which, when reason had strained and abated it Of foreign matter, left, for residuum, A man!--a right true man, however, Whose work was worthy a man's endeavor: Work, that gave warrant almost sufficient To his disciples, for rather believing He was just omnipotent and omniscient, As it gives to us, for as frankly receiving His word, their tradition, --which, though it meant Something entirely different From all that those who only heard it, In their simplicity thought and averred it, Had yet a meaning quite as respectable: For, among other doctrines delectable, Was he not surely the first to insist on The natural sovereignty of our race?-- Here the lecturer came to a pausing-place. And while his cough, like a drouthy piston, Tried to dislodge the husk that grew to him, I seized the occasion of bidding adieu to him, The vesture still within my hand. 

 XVI

 I could interpret its command. This time he would not bid me enter The exhausted air-bell of the Critic. Truth's atmosphere may grow mephitic When Papist struggles with Dissenter, Impregnating its pristine clarity, --One, by his daily fare's vulgarity, Its gust of broken meat and garlic; --One, by his soul's too-much presuming To turn the frankincense's fuming And vapors of the candle starlike Into the cloud her wings she buoys on. Each, that thus sets the pure air seething, May poison it for healthy breathing-- But the Critic leaves no air to poison; Pumps out with ruthless ingenuity Atom by atom, and leaves you--vacuity. Thus much of Christ does he reject? And what retain? His intellect? What is it I must reverence duly? Poor intellect for worship, truly, Which tells me simply what was told (If mere morality, bereft Of the God in Christ, be all that's left) Elsewhere by voices manifold; With this advantage, that the stater Made nowise the important stumble Of adding, he, the sage and humble, Was also one with the Creator. You urge Christ's followers' simplicity: But how does shifting blame, evade it? Have wisdom's words no more felicity? The stumbling-block, his speech--who laid it? How comes it that for one found able To sift the truth of it from fable, Millions believe it to the letter? Christ's goodness, then--does that fare better? Strange goodness, which upon the score Of being goodness, the mere due Of man to fellow-man, much more To God, --should take another view Of its possessor's privilege, And bid him rule his race! You pledge Your fealty to such rule? What, all-- From heavenly John and Attic Paul, And that brave weather-battered Peter, Whose stout faith only stood completer For buffets, sinning to be pardoned, As, more his hands hauled nets, they hardened, -- All, down to you, the man of men, Professing here at Göttingen, Compose Christ's flock! They, you and I, Are sheep of a good man! And why? The goodness, --how did he acquire it? Was it self-gained, did God inspire it? Choose which; then tell me, on what ground Should its possessor dare propound His claim to rise o'er us an inch? Were goodness all some man's invention, Who arbitrarily made mention What we should follow, and whence flinch, -- What qualities might take the style Of right and wrong, --and had such guessing Met with as general acquiescing As graced the alphabet erewhile, When A got leave an Ox to be, No Camel (quoth the Jews) like G, For thus inventing thing and title Worship were that man's fit requital. But if the common conscience must Be ultimately judge, adjust Its apt name to each quality Already known, --I would decree Worship for such mere demonstration And simple work of nomenclature, Only the day I praised, not nature, But Harvey, for the circulation. I would praise such a Christ, with pride And joy, that he, as none beside, Had taught us how to keep the mind God gave him, as God gave his kind, Freer than they from fleshly taint: I would call such a Christ our Saint, As I declare our Poet, him Whose insight makes all others dim: A thousand poets pried at life, And only one amid the strife Rose to be Shakespeare: each shall take His crown, I'd say, for the world's sake-- Though some objected--"Had we seen The heart and head of each, what screen Was broken there to give them light, While in ourselves it shuts the sight, We should no more admire, perchance, That these found truth out at a glance, Than marvel how the bat discerns Some pitch-dark cavern's fifty turns, Led by a finer tact, a gift He boasts, which other birds must shift Without, and grope as best they can. " No, freely I would praise the man, -- Nor one whit more, if he contended That gift of his, from God descended. Ah friend, what gift of man's does not? No nearer something, by a jot, Rise an infinity of nothings Than one: take Euclid for your teacher: Distinguish kinds: do crownings, clothings, Make that creator which was creature? Multiply gifts upon man's head, And what, when all's done, shall be said But--the more gifted he, I ween! That one's made Christ, this other, Pilate, And this might be all that has been, -- So what is there to frown or smile at? What is left for us, save, in growth Of soul, to rise up, far past both, From the gift looking to the giver, And from the cistern to the river, And from the finite to infinity, And from man's dust to God's divinity?

 XVII

 Take all in a word: the truth in God's breast Lies trace for trace upon ours impressed: Though he is so bright and we so dim, We are made in his image to witness him: And were no eye in us to tell, Instructed by no inner sense, The light of heaven from the dark of hell, That light would want its evidence, -- Though justice, good and truth were still Divine, if, by some demon's will, Hatred and wrong had been proclaimed Law through the worlds, and right misnamed. No mere exposition of morality Made or in part or in totality, Should win you to give it worship, therefore: And, if no better proof you will care for, --Whom do you count the worst man upon earth? Be sure, he knows, in his conscience, more Of what right is, than arrives at birth In the best man's acts that we bow before: This last knows better--true, but my fact is, 'Tis one thing to know, and another to practise. And thence conclude that the real God-function Is to furnish a motive and injunction For practising what we know already. And such an injunction and such a motive As the God in Christ, do you waive, and "heady, High-minded, " hang your tablet-votive Outside the fane on a finger-post? Morality to the uttermost, Supreme in Christ as we all confess, Why need we prove would avail no jot To make him God, if God he were not? What is the point where himself lays stress? Does the precept run "Believe in good, In justice, truth, now understand For the first time?"--or, "Believe in me, Who lived and died, yet essentially Am Lord of Life?" Whoever can take The same to his heart and for mere love's sake Conceive of the love, --that man obtains A new truth; no conviction gains Of an old one only, made intense By a fresh appeal to his faded sense. 

 XVIII

 Can it be that he stays inside? Is the vesture left me to commune with? Could my soul find aught to sing in tune with Even at this lecture, if she tried? Oh, let me at lowest sympathize With the lurking drop of blood that lies In the desiccated brain's white roots Without throb for Christ's attributes, As the lecturer makes his special boast! If love's dead there, it has left a ghost. Admire we, how from heart to brain (Though to say so strike the doctors dumb) One instinct rises and falls again, Restoring the equilibrium. And how when the Critic had done his best, And the pearl of price, at reason's test, Lay dust and ashes levigable On the Professor's lecture-table, -- When we looked for the inference and monition That our faith, reduced to such condition, Be swept forthwith to its natural dust-hole, -- He bids us, when we least expect it, Take back our faith, --if it be not just whole, Yet a pearl indeed, as his tests affect it, Which fact pays damage done rewardingly, So, prize we our dust and ashes accordingly! "Go home and venerate the myth I thus have experimented with-- This man, continue to adore him Rather than all who went before him, And all who ever followed after!"-- Surely for this I may praise you, my brother! Will you take the praise in tears or laughter? That's one point gained: can I compass another? Unlearned love was safe from spurning-- Can't we respect your loveless learning? Let us at least give learning honor! What laurels had we showered upon her, Girding her loins up to perturb Our theory of the Middle Verb; Or Turk-like brandishing a scimitar O'er anapęsts in comic-trimeter; Or curing the halt and maimed 'Iketides, ' While we lounged on at our indebted ease: Instead of which, a tricksy demon Sets her at Titus or Philemon! When ignorance wags his ears of leather And hates God's word, 'tis altogether; Nor leaves he his congenial thistles To go and browse on Paul's Epistles. --And you, the audience, who might ravage The world wide, enviably savage, Nor heed the cry of the retriever, More than Herr Heine (before his fever), -- I do not tell a lie so arrant As say my passion's wings are furled up, And, without plainest heavenly warrant, I were ready and glad to give the world up-- But still, when you rub brow meticulous, And ponder the profit of turning holy If not for God's, for your own sake solely, --God forbid I should find you ridiculous! Deduce from this lecture all that eases you, Nay, call yourselves, if the calling pleases you, "Christians, "--abhor the deist's pravity, -- Go on, you shall no more move my gravity Than, when I see boys ride a-cockhorse, I find it in my heart to embarrass them By hinting that their stick's a mock horse, And they really carry what they say carries them. 

 XIX

 So sat I talking with my mind. I did not long to leave the door And find a new church, as before, But rather was quiet and inclined To prolong and enjoy the gentle resting From further tracking and trying and testing. "This tolerance is a genial mood!" (Said I, and a little pause ensued). "One trims the bark 'twixt shoal and shelf, And sees, each side, the good effects of it, A value for religion's self, A carelessness about the sects of it. Let me enjoy my own conviction, Not watch my neighbor's faith with fretfulness, Still spying there some dereliction Of truth, perversity, forgetfulness! Better a mild indifferentism, Teaching that both our faiths (though duller His shine through a dull spirit's prism) Originally had one color! Better pursue a pilgrimage Through ancient and through modern times To many peoples, various climes, Where I may see saint, savage, sage Fuse their respective creeds in one Before the general Father's throne!"

 XX

 --'Twas the horrible storm began afresh! The black night caught me in his mesh, Whirled me up, and flung me prone. I was left on the college-step alone. I looked, and far there, ever fleeting Far, far away, the receding gesture, And looming of the lessening vesture!-- Swept forward from my stupid hand, While I watched my foolish heart expand In the lazy glow of benevolence, O'er the various modes of man's belief. I sprang up with fear's vehemence. Needs must there be one way, our chief Best way of worship: let me strive To find it, and when found, contrive My fellows also take their share! This constitutes my earthly care: God's is above it and distinct. For I, a man, with men am linked And not a brute with brutes; no gain That I experience, must remain Unshared: but should my best endeavor To share it, fail--subsisteth ever God's care above, and I exult That God, by God's own ways occult, May--doth, I will believe--bring back All wanderers to a single track. Meantime, I can but testify God's care for me--no more, can I-- It is but for myself I know; The world rolls witnessing around me Only to leave me as it found me; Men cry there, but my ear is slow: Their races flourish or decay --What boots it, while yon lucid way Loaded with stars divides the vault? But soon my soul repairs its fault When, sharpening sense's hebetude, She turns on my own life! So viewed, No mere mote's-breadth but teems immense With witnessings of providence: And woe to me if when I look Upon that record, the sole book Unsealed to me, I take no heed Of any warning that I read! Have I been sure, this Christmas-Eve, God's own hand did the rainbow weave, Whereby the truth from heaven slid Into my soul? I cannot bid The world admit he stooped to heal My soul, as if in a thunder-peal Where one heard noise, and one saw flame, I only knew he named my name: But what is the world to me, for sorrow Or joy in its censure, when to-morrow It drops the remark, with just-turned head Then, on again, "That man is dead"? Yes, but for me--my name called, --drawn As a conscript's lot from the lap's black yawn, He has dipt into on a battle-dawn: Bid out of life by a nod, a glance, -- Stumbling, mute-mazed, at nature's chance, -- With a rapid finger circled round, Fixed to the first poor inch of ground To fight from, where his foot was found; Whose ear but a minute since lay free To the wide camp's buzz and gossipry-- Summoned, a solitary man To end his life where his life began, From the safe glad rear, to the dreadful van! Soul of mine, hadst thou caught and held By the hem of the vesture!--

 XXI

 And I caught At the flying robe, and unrepelled Was lapped again in its folds full-fraught With warmth and wonder and delight, God's mercy being infinite. For scarce had the words escaped my tongue, When, at a passionate bound, I sprung, Out of the wandering world of rain, Into the little chapel again. 

He finds himself back in the chapel, all that has occurred having been avision. His conclusions have that broadness of view which belongs onlyto those most advanced in thought. He has learned that not only mustthere be the essential truth behind every sincere effort to reach it, but that even his own vision of the truth is not necessarily the finalway of truth but is merely the way which is true for him. The jump fromthe attitude of mind that persecutes those who do not believe accordingto one established rule to such absolute toleration of all forms becauseof their symbolizing an eternal truth gives the measure of growth inreligious thought from the days of Wesley to Browning. The Wesleys andtheir fellow-helpers were stoned and mobbed, and some died of theirwounds in the latter part of the eighteenth century, while in 1850, when"Christmas-Eve" was written, an Englishman could express a height oftoleration and sympathy for religions not his own, as well as taking areligious stand for himself so exalted that it is difficult to imagine afurther step in these directions. Perhaps we are suffering to-day fromover-toleration, that is, we tolerate not only those whose aspirationtakes a different form, but those whose ideals lead to degeneracy. Itseems as though all virtues must finally develop their shadows. What, however, is a shadow but the darkness occasioned by the approach of somegreater light. 

 XXII

 How else was I found there, bolt upright On my bench, as if I had never left it? --Never flung out on the common at night, Nor met the storm and wedge-like cleft it, Seen the raree-show of Peter's successor, Or the laboratory of the Professor! For the Vision, that was true, I wist, True as that heaven and earth exist. There sat my friend, the yellow and tall, With his neck and its wen in the selfsame place; Yet my nearest neighbor's cheek showed gall. She had slid away a contemptuous space: And the old fat woman, late so placable, Eyed me with symptoms, hardly mistakable, Of her milk of kindness turning rancid. In short, a spectator might have fancied That I had nodded, betrayed by slumber, Yet kept my seat, a warning ghastly, Through the heads of the sermon, nine in number, And woke up now at the tenth and lastly. But again, could such disgrace have happened? Each friend at my elbow had surely nudged it; And, as for the sermon, where did my nap end? Unless I heard it, could I have judged it? Could I report as I do at the close, First, the preacher speaks through his nose: Second, his gesture is too emphatic: Thirdly, to waive what's pedagogic, The subject-matter itself lacks logic: Fourthly, the English is ungrammatic. Great news! the preacher is found no Pascal, Whom, if I pleased, I might to the task call Of making square to a finite eye The circle of infinity, And find so all-but-just-succeeding! Great news! the sermon proves no reading Where bee-like in the flowers I bury me, Like Taylor's the immortal Jeremy! And now that I know the very worst of him, What was it I thought to obtain at first of him? Ha! Is God mocked, as he asks? Shall I take on me to change his tasks, And dare, despatched to a river-head For a simple draught of the element, Neglect the thing for which he sent, And return with another thing instead?-- Saying, "Because the water found Welling up from underground, Is mingled with the taints of earth, While thou, I know, dost laugh at dearth, And couldst, at wink or word, convulse The world with the leap of a river-pulse, -- Therefore I turned from the oozings muddy, And bring thee a chalice I found, instead: See the brave veins in the breccia ruddy! One would suppose that the marble bled. What matters the water? A hope I have nursed: The waterless cup will quench my thirst. " --Better have knelt at the poorest stream That trickles in pain from the straitest rift! For the less or the more is all God's gift, Who blocks up or breaks wide the granite-seam. And here, is there water or not, to drink? I then, in ignorance and weakness, Taking God's help, have attained to think My heart does best to receive in meekness That mode of worship, as most to his mind, Where earthly aids being cast behind, His All in All appears serene With the thinnest human veil between, Letting the mystic lamps, the seven, The many motions of his spirit, Pass, as they list, to earth from heaven. For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure Which lies as safe in a golden ewer; But the main thing is, does it hold good measure? Heaven soon sets right all other matters!-- Ask, else, these ruins of humanity, This flesh worn out to rags and tatters, This soul at struggle with insanity, Who thence take comfort--can I doubt?-- Which an empire gained, were a loss without. May it be mine! And let us hope That no worse blessing befall the Pope, Turned sick at last of to-day's buffoonery, Of posturings and petticoatings, Beside his Bourbon bully's gloatings In the bloody orgies of drunk poltroonery! Nor may the Professor forego its peace At Göttingen presently, when, in the dusk Of his life, if his cough, as I fear, should increase, Prophesied of by that horrible husk-- When thicker and thicker the darkness fills The world through his misty spectacles, And he gropes for something more substantial Than a fable, myth or personification, -- May Christ do for him what no mere man shall, And stand confessed as the God of salvation! Meantime, in the still recurring fear Lest myself, at unawares, be found, While attacking the choice of my neighbors round, With none of my own made--I choose here! The giving out of the hymn reclaims me; I have done: and if any blames me, Thinking that merely to touch in brevity The topics I dwell on, were unlawful, -- Or worse, that I trench, with undue levity, On the bounds of the holy and the awful, -- I praise the heart, and pity the head of him, And refer myself to THEE, instead of him, Who head and heart alike discernest, Looking below light speech we utter, When frothy spume and frequent sputter Prove that the soul's depths boil in earnest! May truth shine out, stand ever before us! I put up pencil and join chorus To Hepzibah Tune, without further apology, The last five verses of the third section Of the seventeenth hymn of Whitfield's Collection, To conclude with the doxology. 

In "Easter-Day" the interest is purely personal. It is a long andsomewhat intricate discussion between two friends upon the basis ofbelief and gives no glimpses of the historical progress of belief. Inbrief, the poem discusses the relation of the finite life to theinfinite life. The first speaker is not satisfied with the differentpoints of view suggested by the second speaker. First, that one would bewilling to suffer martyrdom in this life if only one could truly believeit would bring eternal joy. Or perhaps doubt is God's way of telling whoare his friends, who are his foes. Or perhaps God is revealed in the lawof the universe, or in the shows of nature, or in the emotions of thehuman heart. The first speaker takes the ground that the onlypossibility satisfying modern demands is an assurance that this world'sgain is in its imperfectness surety for true gain in another world. Animaginatively pictured experience of his own soul is next presented, wherein he represents himself at the Judgment Day as choosing the finitelife instead of the infinite life. As a result, he learns there isnothing in finite life except as related to infinite life. The wayopened out toward the infinite through love is that which gives thelight of life to all the good things of earth which he desired--allbeauties, that of nature and art, and the joy of intellectual activity. 

 EASTER-DAY

 . . . . . . . 

 XV

 And as I said This nonsense, throwing back my head With light complacent laugh, I found Suddenly all the midnight round One fire. The dome of heaven had stood As made up of a multitude Of handbreadth cloudlets, one vast rack Of ripples infinite and black, From sky to sky. Sudden there went, Like horror and astonishment, A fierce vindictive scribble of red Quick flame across, as if one said (The angry scribe of Judgment) "There-- Burn it!" And straight I was aware That the whole ribwork round, minute Cloud touching cloud beyond compute, Was tinted, each with its own spot Of burning at the core, till clot Jammed against clot, and spilt its fire Over all heaven, which 'gan suspire As fanned to measure equable, -- Just so great conflagrations kill Night overhead, and rise and sink, Reflected. Now the fire would shrink And wither off the blasted face Of heaven, and I distinct might trace The sharp black ridgy outlines left Unburned like network--then, each cleft The fire had been sucked back into, Regorged, and out it surging flew Furiously, and night writhed inflamed, Till, tolerating to be tamed No longer, certain rays world-wide Shot downwardly. On every side Caught past escape, the earth was lit; As if a dragon's nostril split And all his famished ire o'erflowed; Then, as he winced at his lord's goad, Back he inhaled: whereat I found The clouds into vast pillars bound, Based on the corners of the earth, Propping the skies at top: a dearth Of fire i' the violet intervals, Leaving exposed the utmost walls Of time, about to tumble in And end the world. 

 XVI

 I felt begin The Judgment-Day: to retrocede Was too late now. "In very deed, " (I uttered to myself) "that Day!" The intuition burned away All darkness from my spirit too: There, stood I, found and fixed, I knew, Choosing the world. The choice was made; And naked and disguiseless stayed, And unevadable, the fact. My brain held all the same compact Its senses, nor my heart declined Its office; rather, both combined To help me in this juncture. I Lost not a second, --agony Gave boldness: since my life had end And my choice with it--best defend, Applaud both! I resolved to say, "So was I framed by thee, such way I put to use thy senses here! It was so beautiful, so near, Thy world, --what could I then but choose My part there? Nor did I refuse To look above the transient boon Of time; but it was hard so soon As in a short life, to give up Such beauty: I could put the cup Undrained of half its fulness, by; But, to renounce it utterly, --That was too hard! Nor did the cry Which bade renounce it, touch my brain Authentically deep and plain Enough to make my lips let go. But Thou, who knowest all, dost know Whether I was not, life's brief while, Endeavoring to reconcile Those lips (too tardily, alas!) To letting the dear remnant pass, One day, --some drops of earthly good Untasted! Is it for this mood, That Thou, whose earth delights so well, Hast made its complement a hell?"

 XVII

 A final belch of fire like blood, Overbroke all heaven in one flood Of doom. Then fire was sky, and sky Fire, and both, one brief ecstasy, Then ashes. But I heard no noise (Whatever was) because a voice Beside me spoke thus, "Life is done, Time ends, Eternity's begun, And thou art judged for evermore. "

 XVIII

 I looked up; all seemed as before; Of that cloud-Tophet overhead No trace was left: I saw instead The common round me, and the sky Above, stretched drear and emptily Of life. 'Twas the last watch of night, Except what brings the morning quite; When the armed angel, conscience-clear, His task nigh done, leans o'er his spear And gazes on the earth he guards, Safe one night more through all its wards, Till God relieve him at his post. "A dream--a waking dream at most!" (I spoke out quick, that I might shake The horrid nightmare off, and wake. ) "The world gone, yet the world is here? Are not all things as they appear? Is Judgment past for me alone? --And where had place the great white throne? The rising of the quick and dead? Where stood they, small and great? Who read The sentence from the opened book?" So, by degrees, the blood forsook My heart, and let it beat afresh; I knew I should break through the mesh Of horror, and breathe presently: When, lo, again, the voice by me!

 XIX

 I saw. .. . Oh brother, 'mid far sands The palm-tree-cinctured city stands, Bright-white beneath, as heaven, bright-blue, Leans o'er it, while the years pursue Their course, unable to abate Its paradisal laugh at fate! One morn, --the Arab staggers blind O'er a new tract of death, calcined To ashes, silence, nothingness, -- And strives, with dizzy wits, to guess Whence fell the blow. What if, 'twixt skies And prostrate earth, he should surprise The imaged vapor, head to foot, Surveying, motionless and mute, Its work, ere, in a whirlwind rapt It vanished up again?--So hapt My chance. HE stood there. Like the smoke Pillared o'er Sodom, when day broke, -- I saw Him. One magnific pall Mantled in massive fold and fall His head, and coiled in snaky swathes About His feet: night's black, that bathes All else, broke, grizzled with despair, Against the soul of blackness there. A gesture told the mood within-- That wrapped right hand which based the chin, That intense meditation fixed On His procedure, --pity mixed With the fulfilment of decree. Motionless, thus, He spoke to me, Who fell before His feet, a mass, No man now. 

 XX

 "All is come to pass. Such shows are over for each soul They had respect to. In the roll Of judgment which convinced mankind Of sin, stood many, bold and blind, Terror must burn the truth into: Their fate for them!--thou hadst to do With absolute omnipotence, Able its judgments to dispense To the whole race, as every one Were its sole object. Judgment done, God is, thou art, --the rest is hurled To nothingness for thee. This world, This finite life, thou hast preferred, In disbelief of God's plain word, To heaven and to infinity. Here the probation was for thee, To show thy soul the earthly mixed With heavenly, it must choose betwixt. The earthly joys lay palpable, -- A taint, in each, distinct as well; The heavenly flitted, faint and rare, Above them, but as truly were Taintless, so, in their nature, best. Thy choice was earth: thou didst attest 'Twas fitter spirit should subserve The flesh, than flesh refine to nerve Beneath the spirit's play. Advance No claim to their inheritance Who chose the spirit's fugitive Brief gleams, and yearned, 'This were to live Indeed, if rays, completely pure From flesh that dulls them, could endure, -- Not shoot in meteor-light athwart Our earth, to show how cold and swart It lies beneath their fire, but stand As stars do, destined to expand, Prove veritable worlds, our home!' Thou saidst, --'Let spirit star the dome Of sky, that flesh may miss no peak, No nook of earth, --I shall not seek Its service further!' Thou art shut Out of the heaven of spirit; glut Thy sense upon the world: 'tis thine For ever--take it!"

 XXI

 "How? Is mine, The world?" (I cried, while my soul broke Out in a transport. ) "Hast Thou spoke Plainly in that? Earth's exquisite Treasures of wonder and delight, For me?"

 XXII

 The austere voice returned, -- "So soon made happy? Hadst thou learned What God accounteth happiness, Thou wouldst not find it hard to guess What hell may be his punishment For those who doubt if God invent Better than they. Let such men rest Content with what they judged the best. Let the unjust usurp at will: The filthy shall be filthy still: Miser, there waits the gold for thee! Hater, indulge thine enmity! And thou, whose heaven self-ordained Was, to enjoy earth unrestrained, Do it! Take all the ancient show! The woods shall wave, the rivers flow, And men apparently pursue Their works, as they were wont to do, While living in probation yet. I promise not thou shalt forget The past, now gone to its account; But leave thee with the old amount Of faculties, nor less nor more, Unvisited, as heretofore, By God's free spirit, that makes an end. So, once more, take thy world! Expend Eternity upon its shows, Flung thee as freely as one rose Out of a summer's opulence, Over the Eden-barrier whence Thou art excluded. Knock in vain!"

 XXIII

 I sat up. All was still again. I breathed free: to my heart, back fled The warmth. "But, all the world!"--I said. I stooped and picked a leaf of fern, And recollected I might learn From books, how many myriad sorts Of fern exist, to trust reports, Each as distinct and beautiful As this, the very first I cull. Think, from the first leaf to the last! Conceive, then, earth's resources! Vast Exhaustless beauty, endless change Of wonder! And this foot shall range Alps, Andes, --and this eye devour The bee-bird and the aloe-flower?

 XXIV

 Then the voice, "Welcome so to rate The arras-folds that variegate The earth, God's antechamber, well! The wise, who waited there, could tell By these, what royalties in store Lay one step past the entrance-door. For whom, was reckoned, not so much, This life's munificence? For such As thou, --a race, whereof scarce one Was able, in a million, To feel that any marvel lay In objects round his feet all day; Scarce one, in many millions more, Willing, if able, to explore The secreter, minuter charm! --Brave souls, a fern-leaf could disarm Of power to cope with God's intent, -- Or scared if the south firmament With north-fire did its wings refledge! All partial beauty was a pledge Of beauty in its plenitude: But since the pledge sufficed thy mood, Retain it! plenitude be theirs Who looked above!"

 XXV

 Though sharp despairs Shot through me, I held up, bore on. "What matter though my trust were gone From natural things? Henceforth my part Be less with nature than with art! For art supplants, gives mainly worth To nature; 'tis man stamps the earth-- And I will seek his impress, seek The statuary of the Greek, Italy's painting--there my choice Shall fix!"

 XXVI

 "Obtain it!" said the voice, "--The one form with its single act, Which sculptors labored to abstract, The one face, painters tried to draw, With its one look, from throngs they saw. And that perfection in their soul, These only hinted at? The whole, They were but parts of? What each laid His claim to glory on?--afraid His fellow-men should give him rank By mere tentatives which he shrank Smitten at heart from, all the more, That gazers pressed in to adore! 'Shall I be judged by only these?' If such his soul's capacities, Even while he trod the earth, --think, now, What pomp in Buonarroti's brow, With its new palace-brain where dwells Superb the soul, unvexed by cells That crumbled with the transient clay! What visions will his right hand's sway Still turn to forms, as still they burst Upon him? How will he quench thirst, Titanically infantine, Laid at the breast of the Divine? Does it confound thee, --this first page Emblazoning man's heritage?-- Can this alone absorb thy sight, As pages were not infinite, -- Like the omnipotence which tasks Itself to furnish all that asks The soul it means to satiate? What was the world, the starry state Of the broad skies, --what, all displays Of power and beauty intermixed, Which now thy soul is chained betwixt, -- What else than needful furniture For life's first stage? God's work, be sure, No more spreads wasted, than falls scant! He filled, did not exceed, man's want Of beauty in this life. But through Life pierce, --and what has earth to do, Its utmost beauty's appanage, With the requirement of next stage? Did God pronounce earth 'very good'? Needs must it be, while understood For man's preparatory state; Nought here to heighten nor abate; Transfer the same completeness here, To serve a new state's use, --and drear Deficiency gapes every side! The good, tried once, were bad, retried. See the enwrapping rocky niche, Sufficient for the sleep in which The lizard breathes for ages safe: Split the mould--and as light would chafe The creature's new world-widened sense, Dazzled to death at evidence Of all the sounds and sights that broke Innumerous at the chisel's stroke, -- So, in God's eye, the earth's first stuff Was, neither more nor less, enough To house man's soul, man's need fulfil. Man reckoned it immeasurable? So thinks the lizard of his vault! Could God be taken in default, Short of contrivances, by you, -- Or reached, ere ready to pursue His progress through eternity? That chambered rock, the lizard's world, Your easy mallet's blow has hurled To nothingness for ever; so, Has God abolished at a blow This world, wherein his saints were pent, -- Who, though found grateful and content, With the provision there, as thou, Yet knew he would not disallow Their spirit's hunger, felt as well, -- Unsated, --not unsatable, As paradise gives proof. Deride Their choice now, thou who sit'st outside!"

 XXVII

 I cried in anguish, "Mind, the mind, So miserably cast behind, To gain what had been wisely lost! Oh, let me strive to make the most Of the poor stinted soul, I nipped Of budding wings, else now equipped For voyage from summer isle to isle! And though she needs must reconcile Ambition to the life on ground, Still, I can profit by late found But precious knowledge. Mind is best-- I will seize mind, forego the rest, And try how far my tethered strength May crawl in this poor breadth and length. Let me, since I can fly no more, At least spin dervish-like about (Till giddy rapture almost doubt I fly) through circling sciences, Philosophies and histories Should the whirl slacken there, then verse, Fining to music, shall asperse Fresh and fresh fire-dew, till I strain Intoxicate, half-break my chain! Not joyless, though more favored feet Stand calm, where I want wings to beat The floor. At least earth's bond is broke!"

 XXVIII

 Then, (sickening even while I spoke) "Let me alone! No answer, pray, To this! I know what Thou wilt say! All still is earth's, --to know, as much As feel its truths, which if we touch With sense, or apprehend in soul, What matter? I have reached the goal-- 'Whereto does knowledge serve!' will burn My eyes, too sure, at every turn! I cannot look back now, nor stake Bliss on the race, for running's sake. The goal's a ruin like the rest!-- And so much worse thy latter quest, " (Added the voice) "that even on earth-- Whenever, in man's soul, had birth Those intuitions, grasps of guess, Which pull the more into the less, Making the finite comprehend Infinity, --the bard would spend Such praise alone, upon his craft, As, when wind-lyres obey the waft, Goes to the craftsman who arranged The seven strings, changed them and rechanged-- Knowing it was the South that harped. He felt his song, in singing, warped; Distinguished his and God's part: whence A world of spirit as of sense Was plain to him, yet not too plain, Which he could traverse, not remain A guest in:--else were permanent Heaven on the earth its gleams were meant To sting with hunger for full light, -- Made visible in verse, despite The veiling weakness, --truth by means Of fable, showing while it screens, -- Since highest truth, man e'er supplied, Was ever fable on outside. Such gleams made bright the earth an age; Now the whole sun's his heritage! Take up thy world, it is allowed, Thou who hast entered in the cloud!"

 XXIX

 Then I--"Behold, my spirit bleeds, Catches no more at broken reeds, -- But lilies flower those reeds above: I let the world go, and take love! Love survives in me, albeit those I love be henceforth masks and shows, Not living men and women: still I mind how love repaired all ill, Cured wrong, soothed grief, made earth amends With parents, brothers, children, friends! Some semblance of a woman yet With eyes to help me to forget, Shall look on me; and I will match Departed love with love, attach Old memories to new dreams, nor scorn The poorest of the grains of corn I save from shipwreck on this isle, Trusting its barrenness may smile With happy foodful green one day, More precious for the pains. I pray, -- Leave to love, only!"

 XXX

 At the word, The form, I looked to have been stirred With pity and approval, rose O'er me, as when the headsman throws Axe over shoulder to make end-- I fell prone, letting Him expend His wrath, while thus the inflicting voice Smote me. "Is this thy final choice? Love is the best? 'Tis somewhat late! And all thou dost enumerate Of power and beauty in the world, The mightiness of love was curled Inextricably round about. Love lay within it and without, To clasp thee, --but in vain! Thy soul Still shrunk from Him who made the whole, Still set deliberate aside His love!--Now take love! Well betide Thy tardy conscience! Haste to take The show of love for the name's sake, Remembering every moment Who, Beside creating thee unto These ends, and these for thee, was said To undergo death in thy stead In flesh like thine: so ran the tale. What doubt in thee could countervail Belief in it? Upon the ground 'That in the story had been found Too much love! How could God love so?' He who in all his works below Adapted to the needs of man, Made love the basis of the plan, -- Did love, as was demonstrated: While man, who was so fit instead To hate, as every day gave proof, -- Man thought man, for his kind's behoof, Both could and did invent that scheme Of perfect love: 'twould well beseem Cain's nature thou wast wont to praise, Not tally with God's usual ways!"

 XXXI

 And I cowered deprecatingly-- "Thou Love of God! Or let me die, Or grant what shall seem heaven almost! Let me not know that all is lost, Though lost it be--leave me not tied To this despair, this corpse-like bride! Let that old life seem mine--no more-- With limitation as before, With darkness, hunger, toil, distress: Be all the earth a wilderness! Only let me go on, go on, Still hoping ever and anon To reach one eve the Better Land!"

 XXXII

 Then did the form expand, expand-- I knew Him through the dread disguise As the whole God within His eyes Embraced me. 

 XXXIII

 When I lived again, The day was breaking, --the grey plain I rose from, silvered thick with dew. Was this a vision? False or true? Since then, three varied years are spent, And commonly my mind is bent To think it was a dream--be sure A mere dream and distemperature-- The last day's watching: then the night, -- The shock of that strange Northern Light Set my head swimming, bred in me A dream. And so I live, you see, Go through the world, try, prove, reject, Prefer, still struggling to effect My warfare; happy that I can Be crossed and thwarted as a man, Not left in God's contempt apart, With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart, Tame in earth's paddock as her prize. Thank God, she still each method tries To catch me, who may yet escape, She knows, --the fiend in angel's shape! Thank God, no paradise stands barred To entry, and I find it hard To be a Christian, as I said! Still every now and then my head Raised glad, sinks mournful--all grows drear Spite of the sunshine, while I fear And think, "How dreadful to be grudged No ease henceforth, as one that's judged. Condemned to earth for ever, shut From heaven!" But Easter-Day breaks! But Christ rises! Mercy every way Is infinite, --and who can say?

This poem has often been cited as a proof of Browning's own belief inhistorical Christianity. It can hardly be said to be more than adoubtful proof, for it depends upon a subjective vision of which thespeaker, himself, doubts the truth. The speaker in this poem belongs inthe same category with Bishop Blougram. A belief in infinite Love cancome to him only through the dogma of the incarnation, he thereforeholds to that, no matter how tossed about by doubts. The failure of allhuman effort to attain the Absolute and, as a consequence, the belief inan Absolute beyond this life is a dominant note in Browning's ownphilosophy. The nature of that Absolute he further evolves from theintellectual observation of power that transcends human comprehension, and the even more deep-rooted sense of love in the human heart. 

Much of his thought resembles that of the English scientist, HerbertSpencer. The relativity of knowledge and the relativity of good and evilare cardinal doctrines with both of them. Herbert Spencer's mysterybehind all phenomena and Browning's failure of human knowledge areidentical--the negative proof of the absolute, --but where Spencercontents himself with the statement that though we cannot know theAbsolute, yet it must transcend all that the human mind has conceivedof perfection, Browning, as we have already seen, declares that we _can_know something of the nature of that Absolute through the love which weknow in the human heart as well as the power we see displayed in Nature. 

In connection with this subject, which for lack of space can merely betouched on in the present volume, it will be instructive to round outBrowning's presentations of his own contributions to nineteenth-centurythought with two quotations, one from "The Parleyings:" "With Bernard deMandeville, " and one from a poem in his last volume "Reverie. " In thefirst, human love is symbolized as the image made by a lens of the sun, which latter symbolizes Divine Love. 

 BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE

 . . . . . . . 

 IX

 Boundingly up through Night's wall dense and dark, Embattled crags and clouds, outbroke the Sun Above the conscious earth, and one by one Her heights and depths absorbed to the last spark His fluid glory, from the far fine ridge Of mountain-granite which, transformed to gold, Laughed first the thanks back, to the vale's dusk fold On fold of vapor-swathing, like a bridge Shattered beneath some giant's stamp. Night wist Her work done and betook herself in mist To marsh and hollow there to bide her time Blindly in acquiescence. Everywhere Did earth acknowledge Sun's embrace sublime Thrilling her to the heart of things: since there No ore ran liquid, no spar branched anew, No arrowy crystal gleamed, but straightway grew Glad through the inrush--glad nor more nor less Than, 'neath his gaze, forest and wilderness, Hill, dale, land, sea, the whole vast stretch and spread, The universal world of creatures bred By Sun's munificence, alike gave praise-- All creatures but one only: gaze for gaze, Joyless and thankless, who--all scowling can-- Protests against the innumerous praises? Man, Sullen and silent. 

 Stand thou forth then, state Thy wrong, thou sole aggrieved--disconsolate-- While every beast, bird, reptile, insect, gay And glad acknowledges the bounteous day!

 X

 Man speaks now:--"What avails Sun's earth-felt thrill To me? Sun penetrates the ore, the plant-- They feel and grow: perchance with subtler skill He interfuses fly, worm, brute, until Each favored object pays life's ministrant By pressing, in obedience to his will, Up to completion of the task prescribed, So stands and stays a type. Myself imbibed Such influence also, stood and stand complete-- The perfect Man, --head, body, hands and feet, True to the pattern: but does that suffice? How of my superadded mind which needs --Not to be, simply, but to do, and pleads For--more than knowledge that by some device Sun quickens matter: mind is nobly fain To realize the marvel, make--for sense As mind--the unseen visible, condense --Myself--Sun's all-pervading influence So as to serve the needs of mind, explain What now perplexes. Let the oak increase His corrugated strength on strength, the palm Lift joint by joint her fan-fruit, ball and balm, -- Let the coiled serpent bask in bloated peace, -- The eagle, like some skyey derelict, Drift in the blue, suspended glorying, -- The lion lord it by the desert-spring, -- What know or care they of the power which pricked Nothingness to perfection? I, instead, When all-developed still am found a thing All-incomplete: for what though flesh had force Transcending theirs--hands able to unring The tightened snake's coil, eyes that could outcourse The eagle's soaring, voice whereat the king Of carnage couched discrowned? Mind seeks to see, Touch, understand, by mind inside of me, The outside mind--whose quickening I attain To recognize--I only. All in vain Would mind address itself to render plain The nature of the essence. Drag what lurks Behind the operation--that which works Latently everywhere by outward proof-- Drag that mind forth to face mine? No! aloof I solely crave that one of all the beams Which do Sun's work in darkness, at my will Should operate--myself for once have skill To realize the energy which streams Flooding the universe. Above, around, Beneath--why mocks that mind my own thus found Simply of service, when the world grows dark, To half-surmise--were Sun's use understood, I might demonstrate him supplying food, Warmth, life, no less the while? To grant one spark Myself may deal with--make it thaw my blood And prompt my steps, were truer to the mark Of mind's requirement than a half-surmise That somehow secretly is operant A power all matter feels, mind only tries To comprehend! Once more--no idle vaunt 'Man comprehends the Sun's self!' Mysteries At source why probe into? Enough: display, Make demonstrable, how, by night as day, Earth's centre and sky's outspan, all's informed Equally by Sun's efflux!--source from whence If just one spark I drew, full evidence Were mine of fire ineffably enthroned-- Sun's self made palpable to Man!"

 XI

 Thus moaned Man till Prometheus helped him, --as we learn, -- Offered an artifice whereby he drew Sun's rays into a focus, --plain and true, The very Sun in little: made fire burn And henceforth do Man service--glass-conglobed Though to a pin-point circle--all the same Comprising the Sun's self, but Sun disrobed Of that else-unconceived essential flame Borne by no naked sight. Shall mind's eye strive Achingly to companion as it may The supersubtle effluence, and contrive To follow beam and beam upon their way Hand-breadth by hand-breadth, till sense faint--confessed Frustrate, eluded by unknown unguessed Infinitude of action? Idle quest! Rather ask aid from optics. Sense, descry The spectrum--mind, infer immensity! Little? In little, light, warmth, life are blessed-- Which, in the large, who sees to bless? Not I More than yourself: so, good my friend, keep still Trustful with--me? with thee, sage Mandeville!

The second "Reverie" has the effect of a triumphant swan song, especially the closing stanzas, the poem having been written very nearthe end of the poet's life. 

 "In a beginning God Made heaven and earth. " Forth flashed Knowledge: from star to clod Man knew things: doubt abashed Closed its long period. 

 Knowledge obtained Power praise. Had Good been manifest, Broke out in cloudless blaze, Unchequered as unrepressed, In all things Good at best--

 Then praise--all praise, no blame-- Had hailed the perfection. No! As Power's display, the same Be Good's--praise forth shall flow Unisonous in acclaim!

 Even as the world its life, So have I lived my own-- Power seen with Love at strife, That sure, this dimly shown, --Good rare and evil rife. 

 Whereof the effect be--faith That, some far day, were found Ripeness in things now rathe, Wrong righted, each chain unbound, Renewal born out of scathe. 

 Why faith--but to lift the load, To leaven the lump, where lies Mind prostrate through knowledge owed To the loveless Power it tries To withstand, how vain! In flowed

 Ever resistless fact: No more than the passive clay Disputes the potter's act, Could the whelmed mind disobey Knowledge the cataract. 

 But, perfect in every part, Has the potter's moulded shape, Leap of man's quickened heart, Throe of his thought's escape, Stings of his soul which dart

 Through the barrier of flesh, till keen She climbs from the calm and clear, Through turbidity all between, From the known to the unknown here, Heaven's "Shall be, " from Earth's "Has been"?

 Then life is--to wake not sleep, Rise and not rest, but press From earth's level where blindly creep Things perfected, more or less, To the heaven's height, far and steep, Where, amid what strifes and storms May wait the adventurous quest, Power is Love--transports, transforms Who aspired from worst to best, Sought the soul's world, spurned the worms'. 

 I have faith such end shall be: From the first, Power was--I knew. Life has made clear to me That, strive but for closer view, Love were as plain to see. 

 When see? When there dawns a day, If not on the homely earth, Then yonder, worlds away, Where the strange and new have birth, And Power comes full in play. 

CHAPTER VI

ART CRITICISM INSPIRED BY THE ENGLISH MUSICIAN, AVISON

In the "Parleying" "With Charles Avison, " Browning plunges into adiscussion of the problem of the ephemeralness of musical expression. He hits upon Avison to have his colloquy with because a march by thismusician came into his head, and the march came into his head for nobetter reason than that it was the month of March. Some interestwould attach to Avison if it were only for the reason that he wasorganist of the Church of St. Nicholas in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Inthe earliest accounts St. Nicholas was styled simply, "The Church ofNewcastle-upon-Tyne, " but in 1785 it became a Cathedral. This was afterAvison's death in 1770. All we know about the organ upon which Avisonperformed is found in a curious old history of Newcastle by Brand. "Ihave found, " he writes, "no account of any organ in this church duringthe times of popery though it is very probable there has been one. Aboutthe year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed £300 towardsthe erection of the present organ. They added a trumpet stop to it June22d, 1699. "

The year that Avison was born, 1710, it is recorded further that "theback front of this organ was finished which cost the said corporation£200 together with the expense of cleaning and repairing the wholeinstrument. "

June 26, 1749, the common council of Newcastle ordered a sweet stop tobe added to the organ. This was after Avison became organist, hisappointment to that post having been in 1736. So we know that he atleast had a "trumpet stop" and a "sweet stop, " with which to embellishhis organ playing. 

The church is especially distinguished for the number and beauty of itschantries, and any who have a taste for examining armorial bearings willfind two good-sized volumes devoted to a description of those in thischurch, by Richardson. Equal distinction attaches to the church owing tothe beauty of its steeple, which has been called the pride and glory ofthe Northern Hemisphere. According to the enthusiastic Richardson it isjustly esteemed on account of its peculiar excellency of design anddelicacy of execution one of the finest specimens of architecturalbeauty in Europe. This steeple is as conspicuous a feature of Newcastleas the State House Dome is of Boston, situated, as it is, almost in thecenter of the town. Richardson gives the following minute description ofthis marvel. "It consists of a square tower forty feet in width, havinggreat and small turrets with pinnacles at the angles and center of eachfront tower. From the four turrets at the angles spring two arches, which meet in an intersecting direction, and bear on their center anefficient perforated lanthorne, surmounted by a tall and beautifulspire: the angles of the lanthorne have pinnacles similar to those onthe turrets, and the whole of the pinnacles, being twelve in number, andthe spire, are ornamented with crockets and vanes. "

There is a stirring tradition in regard to this structure related byBourne to the effect that in the time of the Civil Wars, when the Scotshad besieged the town for several weeks, and were still as far as atfirst from taking it, the general sent a messenger to the mayor of thetown, and demanded the keys, and the delivering up of the town, or hewould immediately demolish the steeple of St. Nicholas. The mayor andaldermen upon hearing this, immediately ordered a certain number of thechiefest of the Scottish prisoners to be carried up to the top of thetower, the place below the lanthorne and there confined. After this, they returned the general an answer to this purpose, --that they wouldupon no terms deliver up the town, but would to the last moment defendit: that the steeple of St. Nicholas was indeed a beautiful andmagnificent piece of architecture, and one of the great ornaments of thetown; but yet should be blown into atoms before ransomed at such a rate:that, however, if it was to fall, it should not fall alone, that thesame moment he destroyed the beautiful structure he should bathe hishands in the blood of his countrymen who were placed there on purposeeither to preserve it from ruin or to die along with it. This messagehad the desired effect. The men were there kept prisoners during thewhole time of the siege and not so much as one gun fired against it. 

Avison, however, had other claims to distinction, besides being organistof this ancient church. He was a composer, and was remembered by one ofhis airs, at least, into the nineteenth century, namely "Sound the LoudTimbrel. " He appears not to be remembered, however, by his concertos, ofwhich he published no less than five sets for a full band of stringedinstruments, nor by his quartets and trios, and two sets of sonatas forthe harpsichord and two violins. All we have to depend on now as to thequality of his music are the strictures of a certain Dr. Hayes, anOxford Professor, who points out many errors against the rules ofcomposition in the works of Avison, whence he infers that his skill inmusic is not very profound, and the somewhat more appreciative remarksof Hawkins who says "The music of Avison is light and elegant, but itwants originality, a necessary consequence of his too close attachmentto the style of Geminiani which in a few particulars only he was able toimitate. "

Geminiani was a celebrated violin player and composer of the day, whohad come to England from Italy. He is said to have held his pupil, Avison, in high esteem and to have paid him a visit at Newcastle in1760. Avison's early education was gained in Italy; and in addition tohis musical attainments he was a scholar and a man of some literaryacquirements. It is not surprising, considering all these educationaladvantages that he really made something of a stir upon the publicationof his "small book, " as Browning calls it, with, we may add, its "largetitle. "

 AN ESSAY ON MUSICAL EXPRESSION BY CHARLES AVISON _Organist_ in NEWCASTLE With ALTERATIONS and Large ADDITIONS

 To which is added, A LETTER to the AUTHOR concerning the Music of the ANCIENTS and some Passages in CLASSIC WRITERS relating to the Subject. 

 LIKEWISE Mr. AVISON'S REPLY to the Author of _Remarks on the Essay on MUSICAL EXPRESSION_ In a Letter from Mr. _Avison_ to his Friend in _London_

 THE THIRD EDITION LONDON Printed for LOCKYER DAVIS, in _Holborn_. Printer to the ROYAL SOCIETY. MDCCLXXV. 

The author of the "Remarks on the Essay on Musical Expression" was theaforementioned Dr. W. Hayes, and although the learned doctor's pamphletseems to have died a natural death, some idea of its strictures may begained from Avison's reply. The criticisms are rather too technical tobe of interest to the general reader, but one is given here to show howgentlemanly a temper Mr. Avison possessed when he was under fire. Hisreply runs "His first critique, and, I think, his masterpiece, containsmany circumstantial, but false and virulent remarks on the first allegroof these concertos, to which he supposes I would give the name of_fugue_. Be it just what he pleases to call it I shall not defend whatthe public is already in possession of, the public being the most properjudge. I shall only here observe, that our critic has wilfully, orignorantly, confounded the terms _fugue_ and _imitation_, which latteris by no means subject to the same laws with the former. 

[Illustration: Handel]

"Had I observed the method of answering the _accidental subjects_ inthis _allegro_, as laid down by our critic in his remarks, they musthave produced most shocking effects; which, though this mechanic inmusic, would, perhaps, have approved, yet better judges might, inreality, have imagined I had known no other art than that of thespruzzarino. " There is a nice independence about this that wouldindicate Mr. Avison to be at least an aspirant in the right direction inmusical composition. His criticism of Handel, too, at a time when theworld was divided between enthusiasm for Handel and enthusiasm forBuononcini, shows a remarkably just and penetrating estimate of thisgreat genius. 

"Mr. Handel is, in music, what his own Dryden was in poetry; nervous, exalted, and harmonious; but voluminous, and, consequently, not alwayscorrect. Their abilities equal to every thing; their executionfrequently inferior. Born with genius capable of _soaring the boldestflights_; they have sometimes, to suit the vitiated taste of the agethey lived in, _descended to the lowest_. Yet, as both theirexcellencies are infinitely more numerous than their deficiencies, soboth their characters will devolve to latest posterity, not as models ofperfection, yet glorious examples of those amazing powers that actuatethe human soul. "

On the whole, Mr. Avison's "little book" on Musical Expression iseminently sensible as to the matter and very agreeable in style. He hitsoff well, for example, the difference between "musical expression" andimitation. 

"As dissonances and shocking sounds cannot be called Musical Expression, so neither do I think, can mere imitation of several other things beentitled to this name, which, however, among the generality of mankindhath often obtained it. Thus, the gradual rising or falling of thenotes in a long succession is often used to denote ascent or descent;broken intervals, to denote an interrupted motion; a number of quickdivisions, to describe swiftness or flying; sounds resembling laughter, to describe laughter; with a number of other contrivances of a parallelkind, which it is needless here to mention. Now all these I should chuseto style imitation, rather than expression; because it seems to me, thattheir tendency is rather to fix the hearer's attention on the similitudebetween the sounds and the things which they describe, and thereby toexcite a reflex act of the understanding, than to affect the heart andraise the passions of the soul. 

"This distinction seems more worthy our notice at present, because somevery eminent composers have attached themselves chiefly to the methodhere mentioned; and seem to think they have exhausted all the depths ofexpression, by a dextrous imitation of the meaning of a few particularwords, that occur in the hymns or songs which they set to music. Thus, were one of these gentlemen to express the following words of _Milton_, --Their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heav'n:

it is highly probable, that upon the word _divide_, he would run a_division_ of half a dozen bars; and on the subsequent part of thesentence, he would not think he had done the poet justice, or _risen_ tothat _height_ of sublimity which he ought to express, till he hadclimbed up to the very top of his instrument, or at least as far as thehuman voice could follow him. And this would pass with a great part ofmankind for musical expression; instead of that noble mixture of solemnairs and various harmony, which indeed elevates our thoughts, and givesthat exquisite pleasure, which none but true lovers of harmony canfeel. " What Avison calls "musical expression, " we call to-day "content. "And thus Avison "tenders evidence that music in his day as much absorbedheart and soul then as Wagner's music now. " It is not unlikely that thisvery passage may have started Browning off on his argumentative wayconcerning the question: how lasting and how fundamental are the powersof musical expression. 

The poet's memory goes back a hundred years only to reach "The bands-manAvison whose little book and large tune had led him the long way fromto-day. "

 CHARLES AVISON

 . . . . . . . 

 And to-day's music-manufacture, --Brahms, Wagner, Dvorak, Liszt, --to where--trumpets, shawms, Show yourselves joyful!--Handel reigns--supreme? By no means! Buononcini's work is theme For fit laudation of the impartial few: (We stand in England, mind you!) Fashion too Favors Geminiani--of those choice Concertos: nor there wants a certain voice Raised in thy favor likewise, famed Pepusch Dear to our great-grandfathers! In a bush Of Doctor's wig, they prized thee timing beats While Greenway trilled "Alexis. " Such were feats Of music in thy day--dispute who list-- Avison, of Newcastle organist!

 V

 And here's your music all alive once more-- As once it was alive, at least: just so The figured worthies of a waxwork-show Attest--such people, years and years ago, Looked thus when outside death had life below, --Could say "We are now, " not "We were of yore, " --"Feel how our pulses leap!" and not "Explore-- Explain why quietude has settled o'er Surface once all-awork!" Ay, such a "Suite" Roused heart to rapture, such a "Fugue" would catch Soul heavenwards up, when time was: why attach Blame to exhausted faultlessness, no match For fresh achievement? Feat once--ever feat! How can completion grow still more complete? Hear Avison! He tenders evidence That music in his day as much absorbed Heart and soul then as Wagner's music now. Perfect from center to circumference-- Orbed to the full can be but fully orbed: And yet--and yet--whence comes it that "O Thou"-- Sighed by the soul at eve to Hesperus-- Will not again take wing and fly away (Since fatal Wagner fixed it fast for us) In some unmodulated minor? Nay, Even by Handel's help!

Having stated the problem that confronts him, namely, the change offashion in music, the poet boldly goes on to declare that there is notruer truth obtainable by man than comes of music, because it does givedirect expression to the moods of the soul, yet there is a hitch thatbalks her of full triumph, namely the musical form in which these moodsare expressed does not stay fixed. This statement is enriched by adigression upon the meaning of the soul. 

 VI

 I state it thus: There is no truer truth obtainable By Man than comes of music. "Soul"--(accept A word which vaguely names what no adept In word-use fits and fixes so that still Thing shall not slip word's fetter and remain Innominate as first, yet, free again, Is no less recognized the absolute Fact underlying that same other fact Concerning which no cavil can dispute Our nomenclature when we call it "Mind"-- Something not Matter)--"Soul, " who seeks shall find Distinct beneath that something. You exact An illustrative image? This may suit. 

 VII

 We see a work: the worker works behind, Invisible himself. Suppose his act Be to o'erarch a gulf: he digs, transports, Shapes and, through enginery--all sizes, sorts, Lays stone by stone until a floor compact Proves our bridged causeway. So works Mind--by stress Of faculty, with loose facts, more or less, Builds up our solid knowledge: all the same, Underneath rolls what Mind may hide not tame, An element which works beyond our guess, Soul, the unsounded sea--whose lift of surge, Spite of all superstructure, lets emerge, In flower and foam, Feeling from out the deeps Mind arrogates no mastery upon-- Distinct indisputably. Has there gone To dig up, drag forth, render smooth from rough Mind's flooring, --operosity enough? Still the successive labor of each inch, Who lists may learn: from the last turn of winch That let the polished slab-stone find its place, To the first prod of pick-axe at the base Of the unquarried mountain, --what was all Mind's varied process except natural, Nay, easy, even, to descry, describe, After our fashion? "So worked Mind: its tribe Of senses ministrant above, below, Far, near, or now or haply long ago Brought to pass knowledge. " But Soul's sea, --drawn whence, Fed how, forced whither, --by what evidence Of ebb and flow, that's felt beneath the tread, Soul has its course 'neath Mind's work over-head, -- Who tells of, tracks to source the founts of Soul? Yet wherefore heaving sway and restless roll This side and that, except to emulate Stability above? To match and mate Feeling with knowledge, --make as manifest Soul's work as Mind's work, turbulence as rest, Hates, loves, joys, woes, hopes, fears, that rise and sink Ceaselessly, passion's transient flit and wink, A ripple's tinting or a spume-sheet's spread Whitening the wave, --to strike all this life dead, Run mercury into a mould like lead, And henceforth have the plain result to show-- How we Feel, hard and fast as what we Know-- This were the prize and is the puzzle!--which Music essays to solve: and here's the hitch That balks her of full triumph else to boast. 

Then follows his explanation of the "hitch, " which necessitates acomparison with the other arts. His contention is that art adds nothingto the _knowledge_ of the mind. It simply moulds into a fixed formelements already known which before lay loose and dissociated, ittherefore does not really create. But there is one realm, that offeeling, to which the arts never succeed in giving permanent formthough all try to do it. What is it they succeed in getting? The poetdoes not make the point very clear, but he seems to be groping after theidea that the arts present only the _phenomena_ of feeling or the imageof feeling instead of the _reality_. Like all people who areappreciative of music, he realizes that music comes nearer to expressingthe spiritual reality of feeling than the other arts, and yet music ofall the arts is the least permanent in its appeal. 

 VIII

 All Arts endeavor this, and she the most Attains thereto, yet fails of touching: why? Does Mind get Knowledge from Art's ministry? What's known once is known ever: Arts arrange, Dissociate, re-distribute, interchange Part with part, lengthen, broaden, high or deep Construct their bravest, --still such pains produce Change, not creation: simply what lay loose At first lies firmly after, what design Was faintly traced in hesitating line Once on a time, grows firmly resolute Henceforth and evermore. Now, could we shoot Liquidity into a mould, --some way Arrest Soul's evanescent moods, and keep Unalterably still the forms that leap To life for once by help of Art!--which yearns To save its capture: Poetry discerns, Painting is 'ware of passion's rise and fall, Bursting, subsidence, intermixture--all A-seethe within the gulf. Each Art a-strain Would stay the apparition, --nor in vain: The Poet's word-mesh, Painter's sure and swift Color-and-line-throw--proud the prize they lift! Thus felt Man and thus looked Man, --passions caught I' the midway swim of sea, --not much, if aught, Of nether-brooding loves, hates, hopes and fears, Enwombed past Art's disclosure. Fleet the years, And still the Poet's page holds Helena At gaze from topmost Troy--"But where are they, My brothers, in the armament I name Hero by hero? Can it be that shame For their lost sister holds them from the war?" --Knowing not they already slept afar Each of them in his own dear native land. Still on the Painter's fresco, from the hand Of God takes Eve the life-spark whereunto She trembles up from nothingness. Outdo Both of them, Music! Dredging deeper yet, Drag into day, --by sound, thy master-net, -- The abysmal bottom-growth, ambiguous thing Unbroken of a branch, palpitating With limbs' play and life's semblance! There it lies, Marvel and mystery, of mysteries And marvels, most to love and laud thee for! Save it from chance and change we most abhor! Give momentary feeling permanence, So that thy capture hold, a century hence, Truth's very heart of truth as, safe to-day, The Painter's Eve, the Poet's Helena, Still rapturously bend, afar still throw The wistful gaze! Thanks, Homer, Angelo! Could Music rescue thus from Soul's profound, Give feeling immortality by sound, Then were she queenliest of Arts! Alas-- As well expect the rainbow not to pass! "Praise 'Radaminta'--love attains therein To perfect utterance! Pity--what shall win Thy secret like 'Rinaldo'?"--so men said: Once all was perfume--now, the flower is dead-- They spied tints, sparks have left the spar! Love, hate, Joy, fear, survive, --alike importunate As ever to go walk the world again, Nor ghost-like pant for outlet all in vain Till Music loose them, fit each filmily With form enough to know and name it by For any recognizer sure of ken And sharp of ear, no grosser denizen Of earth than needs be. Nor to such appeal Is Music long obdurate: off they steal-- How gently, dawn-doomed phantoms! back come they Full-blooded with new crimson of broad day-- Passion made palpable once more. Ye look Your last on Handel? Gaze your first on Gluck! Why wistful search, O waning ones, the chart Of stars for you while Haydn, while Mozart Occupies heaven? These also, fanned to fire, Flamboyant wholly, --so perfections tire, -- Whiten to wanness, till . .. Let others note The ever-new invasion!

The poet makes no attempt to give any reason why music should be soephemeral in its appeal. He merely refers to the development of harmonyand modulation, nor does it seem to enter his head that there can be anyquestion about the appeal being ephemeral. He imagines the possibilityof resuscitating dead and gone music with modern harmonies and novelmodulations, but gives that up as an irreverent innovation. His nextmood is a historical one; dead and gone music may have something for usin a historical sense, that is, if we bring our life to kindle theirs, we may sympathetically enter into the life of the time. 

 IX

 I devote Rather my modicum of parts to use What power may yet avail to re-infuse (In fancy, please you!) sleep that looks like death With momentary liveliness, lend breath To make the torpor half inhale. O Relfe, An all-unworthy pupil, from the shelf Of thy laboratory, dares unstop Bottle, ope box, extract thence pinch and drop Of dusts and dews a many thou didst shrine Each in its right receptacle, assign To each its proper office, letter large Label and label, then with solemn charge, Reviewing learnedly the list complete Of chemical reactives, from thy feet Push down the same to me, attent below, Power in abundance: armed wherewith I go To play the enlivener. Bring good antique stuff! Was it alight once? Still lives spark enough For breath to quicken, run the smouldering ash Red right-through. What, "stone-dead" were fools so rash As style my Avison, because he lacked Modern appliance, spread out phrase unracked By modulations fit to make each hair Stiffen upon his wig? See there--and there! I sprinkle my reactives, pitch broadcast Discords and resolutions, turn aghast Melody's easy-going, jostle law With license, modulate (no Bach in awe), Change enharmonically (Hudl to thank), And lo, up-start the flamelets, --what was blank Turns scarlet, purple, crimson! Straightway scanned By eyes that like new lustre--Love once more Yearns through the Largo, Hatred as before Rages in the Rubato: e'en thy March, My Avison, which, sooth to say--(ne'er arch Eyebrows in anger!)--timed, in Georgian years The step precise of British Grenadiers To such a nicety, --if score I crowd, If rhythm I break, if beats I vary, --tap At bar's off-starting turns true thunder-clap, Ever the pace augmented till--what's here? Titanic striding toward Olympus!

 X

 Fear No such irreverent innovation! Still Glide on, go rolling, water-like, at will-- Nay, were thy melody in monotone, The due three-parts dispensed with!

 XI

 This alone Comes of my tiresome talking: Music's throne Seats somebody whom somebody unseats, And whom in turn--by who knows what new feats Of strength, --shall somebody as sure push down, Consign him dispossessed of sceptre, crown, And orb imperial--whereto?--Never dream That what once lived shall ever die! They seem Dead--do they? lapsed things lost in limbo? Bring Our life to kindle theirs, and straight each king Starts, you shall see, stands up, from head to foot No inch that is not Purcell! Wherefore? (Suit Measure to subject, first--no marching on Yet in thy bold C Major, Avison, As suited step a minute since: no: wait-- Into the minor key first modulate-- Gently with A, now--in the Lesser Third!)

The really serious conclusion of the poem amounts to a doctrine ofrelativity in art and not only in art but in ethics and religion. It isa statement in poetry of the prevalent thought of the nineteenthcentury, of which the most widely known exponent was Herbert Spencer. The form in which every truth manifests itself is partial and thereforewill pass, but the underlying truth, the absolute which unfolds itselfin form after form is eternal. Every manifestation in form, according toBrowning, however, has also its infinite value in relation to the truthwhich is preserved through it. 

 XII

 Of all the lamentable debts incurred By Man through buying knowledge, this were worst: That he should find his last gain prove his first Was futile--merely nescience absolute, Not knowledge in the bud which holds a fruit Haply undreamed of in the soul's Spring-tide, Pursed in the petals Summer opens wide, And Autumn, withering, rounds to perfect ripe, -- Not this, --but ignorance, a blur to wipe From human records, late it graced so much. "Truth--this attainment? Ah, but such and such Beliefs of yore seemed inexpugnable. 

 "When we attained them! E'en as they, so will This their successor have the due morn, noon, Evening and night--just as an old-world tune Wears out and drops away, until who hears Smilingly questions--'This it was brought tears Once to all eyes, --this roused heart's rapture once?' So will it be with truth that, for the nonce, Styles itself truth perennial: 'ware its wile! Knowledge turns nescience, --foremost on the file, Simply proves first of our delusions. "

 XIII

 Now-- Blare it forth, bold C Major! Lift thy brow, Man, the immortal, that wast never fooled With gifts no gifts at all, nor ridiculed-- Man knowing--he who nothing knew! As Hope, Fear, Joy, and Grief, --though ampler stretch and scope They seek and find in novel rhythm, fresh phrase, -- Were equally existent in far days Of Music's dim beginning--even so, Truth was at full within thee long ago, Alive as now it takes what latest shape May startle thee by strangeness. Truths escape Time's insufficient garniture; they fade, They fall--those sheathings now grown sere, whose aid Was infinite to truth they wrapped, saved fine And free through March frost: May dews crystalline Nourish truth merely, --does June boast the fruit As--not new vesture merely but, to boot, Novel creation? Soon shall fade and fall Myth after myth--the husk-like lies I call New truth's corolla-safeguard: Autumn comes, So much the better!

As to the questions why music does not give feeling immortality throughsound, and why it should be so ephemeral in its appeal, there arevarious things to be said. It is just possible that it may soon come tobe recognized that the psychic growth of humanity is more perfectlyreflected in music than any where else. Ephemeralness may be predicatedof culture-music more certainly than of folk-music, why? Becauseculture-music often has occupied itself more with the technique thanwith the content, while folk-music, being the spontaneous expression offeeling must have content. Folk-music, it is true, is simple, but if itbe genuine in its feeling I doubt whether it ever loses its power tomove. Therefore, in folk-music is possibly made permanent simple statesof feeling. Now in culture-music, the development has constantly beenin the direction of the expression of the ultimate spiritual reality ofemotions. Music is now actually trying to accomplish what Browningdemands of it:

 "Dredging deeper yet, Drag into day, --by sound, thy master-net, -- The abysmal bottom-growth, ambiguous thing Unbroken of a branch, palpitating With limbs' play and life's semblance! There it lies, Marvel and mystery, of mysteries And marvels, most to love and laud thee for! Save it from chance and change we most abhor. "

This is true no matter what the emotion may be. Hate may have its"eidolon" as well as love. Above all arts, music has the power ofraising evil into a region of the artistically beautiful. Doubt, despair, passion, become blossoms plucked by the hand of God whentransmuted in the alembic of the brain of genius--which is not sayingthat he need experience any of these passions himself. In fact, it ishis power of perceiving the eidolon of beauty in modes of passion oremotion not his own that makes him the great genius. 

It is doubtless true that whenever in culture-music there has reallybeen content aroused by feeling, no matter what the stage of techniquereached, _that_ music retains its power to move. It is also highlyprobably that in the earlier objective phases of music, even thecontemporary audiences were not moved in the sense that we should bemoved to-day. The audiences were objective also and their enthusiasm mayhave been aroused by merely the imitative aspects of music as Avisoncalled them. It is certainly a fact that content and form are moreclosely linked in music than in any other art. Suppose, however, weimagine the development of melody, counterpoint, harmony, modulation, etc. , to be symbolized by a series of concrete materials like claybricks, silver bricks, gold bricks, diamond bricks; a beautiful thoughtmight take as exquisite a form in bricks of clay as it would in diamondbricks, or diamond bricks might be flung together without any informingthought so that they would attract only the thoughtless by theirglitter. But it also follows that, with the increase in the kinds ofbricks, there is an increase in the possibilities for subtleties inpsychic expression, therefore music to-day is coming nearer and nearerto the spiritual reality of feeling. It requires the awakened soul thatMaeterlinck talks about, that is, the soul alive to the spiritualessences of things to recognize this new realm which composers arebringing to us in music. 

There are always, at least three kinds of appreciators of music, thosewho can see beauty only in the masters of the past, those who can seebeauty only in the last new composer, and those who ecstatically welcomebeauty past, present and to come. These last are not only psychicallydeveloped themselves, but they are able to retain delight in simplermodes of feeling. They may be raised to a seventh heaven of delight by aBach fugue played on a clavichord by Mr. Dolmetsch, feeling as if angelswere ministering unto them, or to a still higher heaven of delight by aTschaikowsky symphony or a string quartet of Grieg, feeling that herethe seraphim continually do cry, or they may enter into the verypresence of the most High through some subtly exquisite and psychic songof an American composer, for some of the younger American composers areindeed approaching "Truth's very heart of truth, " in their music. 

On the whole, one gets rather the impression that the poet has heretackled a problem upon which he did not have great insight. He passesfrom one mood to another, none of which seem especially satisfactory tohimself, and concludes with one of the half-truths of nineteenth-centurythought. It is true as far as it goes that forms evolve, and it is agood truth to oppose to the martinets of settled standards in poetry, music and painting; it is also true that the form is a partialexpression of a whole truth, but there is the further truth that, let awork of art be really a work of genius, and the form as well as thecontent touches the infinite; that is, we have as Browning says in apoem already quoted, "Bernard de Mandeville, " the very sun in little, oras he makes Abt Vogler say of his music, the broken arc which goes tothe formation of the perfect round, or to quote still another poem ofBrowning's, "Cleon, " the perfect rhomb or trapezoid that has its ownplace in a mosaic pavement. 

[Illustration: Avison's March]

The poem closes in a rolicking frame of mind, which is not remarkablyconsistent with the preceding thought, except that the poet seemsdetermined to get all he can out of the music of the past by enliveningit with his own jolly mood. To this end he sets a patriotic poem to thetune of Avison's march, in honor of our old friend, Pym. It is a clever_tour de force_ for the words are made to match exactly in rhythm andquantity the notes of the march. Truth to say, the essential goodness ofthe tune comes out by means of these enlivening words. 

 XIV

 Therefore--bang the drums, Blow the trumpets, Avison! March-motive? that's Truth which endures resetting. Sharps and flats, Lavish at need, shall dance athwart thy score When ophicleide and bombardon's uproar Mate the approaching trample, even now Big in the distance--or my ears deceive-- Of federated England, fitly weave March-music for the Future!

 XV

 Or suppose Back, and not forward, transformation goes? Once more some sable-stoled procession--say, From Little-ease to Tyburn--wends its way, Out of the dungeon to the gallows-tree Where heading, hacking, hanging is to be Of half-a-dozen recusants--this day Three hundred years ago! How duly drones Elizabethan plain-song--dim antique Grown clarion-clear the while I humbly wreak A classic vengeance on thy March! It moans-- Larges and Longs and Breves displacing quite Crotchet-and-quaver pertness--brushing bars Aside and filling vacant sky with stars Hidden till now that day returns to night. 

 XVI

 Nor night nor day: one purpose move us both, Be thy mood mine! As thou wast minded, Man's The cause our music champions: I were loth To think we cheered our troop to Preston Pans Ignobly: back to times of England's best! Parliament stands for privilege--life and limb Guards Hollis, Haselrig, Strode, Hampden, Pym, The famous Five. There's rumor of arrest. Bring up the Train Bands, Southwark! They protest: Shall we not all join chorus? Hark the hymn, --Rough, rude, robustious--homely heart a-throb, Harsh voises a-hallo, as beseems the mob! How good is noise! what's silence but despair Of making sound match gladness never there? Give me some great glad "subject, " glorious Bach, Where cannon-roar not organ-peal we lack! Join in, give voice robustious rude and rough, -- Avison helps--so heart lend noise enough!

 Fife, trump, drum, sound! and singers then, Marching, say "Pym, the man of men!" Up, head's, your proudest--out, throats, your loudest-- "Somerset's Pym!"

 Strafford from the block, Eliot from the den, Foes, friends, shout "Pym, our citizen!" Wail, the foes he quelled, --hail, the friends he held, "Tavistock's Pym!"

 Hearts prompt heads, hands that ply the pen Teach babes unborn the where and when --Tyrants, he braved them, -- Patriots, he saved them-- "Westminster's Pym. "

Another English musician, Arthur Chappell, was the inspiration of agraceful little sonnet written by the poet in an album which waspresented to Mr. Chappell in recognition of his popular concerts inLondon. Browning was a constant attendant at these. It gives a trueglimpse of the poet in a highly appreciative mood:

 THE FOUNDER OF THE FEAST

 1884

 "Enter my palace, " if a prince should say-- "Feast with the Painters! See, in bounteous row, They range from Titian up to Angelo!" Could we be silent at the rich survey? A host so kindly, in as great a way Invites to banquet, substitutes for show Sound that's diviner still, and bids us know Bach like Beethoven; are we thankless, pray?

 Thanks, then, to Arthur Chappell, --thanks to him Whose every guest henceforth not idly vaunts "Sense has received the utmost Nature grants, My cup was filled with rapture to the brim, When, night by night, --ah, memory, how it haunts!-- Music was poured by perfect ministrants, By Halle, Schumann, Piatti, Joachim. "

 * * * * *

Transcriber Notes

Typographical inconsistencies have been changed and are listed below. 

Archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation are preserved. 

Author's punctuation style is preserved, except where noted. 

Some illustrations moved to one page later. 

Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. 

Passages in bold indicated by =equal signs=. 

Emphasized words within italics indicated by plus +emphasis+. 

Transcriber Changes

The following changes were made to the original text:

 Page 10: Removed extra quote after Keats (What porridge had John =Keats?=)

 Page 21: Was 'blurrs' (Stray-leaves, fragments, =blurs= and blottings)

 Page 49: Paragraph continued, no quote needed (=Tibullus= gives Virgil equal credit for having in his writings touched with telling truth)

 Page 53: Was 'Shakesspeare' (Jonson wrote for the First Folio edition of =Shakespeare= printed in 1623)

 Page 53: Was 'B. I. ' (=B. J. =)

 Page 53: Added single quotes (Shakespeare's talk in "At the ='Mermaid'=" grows out of the supposition)

 Page 69: Was 'Shakepeare's' (He thinks the opening Sonnets are to the Earl of Southampton, known to be =Shakespeare's= patron)

 Page 81: Added comma after Strafford (not Pym, the leader of the people, but =Strafford, = the supporter of the King. )

 Page 85: Added end quote (some half-dozen years of immunity to the 'fretted tenement' of Strafford's 'fiery =soul'=)

 Page 91: Capitalized King (The =King=, upon his visit to Scotland, had been shocked)

 Page 100: Was 'Finnees' (Hampden, Hollis, the younger Vane, Rudyard, =Fiennes= and many of the Presbyterian Party)

 Page 136: Removed extra start quote ("Be my friend =Of= friends!"--My King! I would have. .. . )

 Page 137: Was 'brillance' (The else imperial =brilliance= of your mind)

 Page 137: Was 'you way' (If Pym is busy, --=you may= write of Pym. )

 Page 140: Capitalized King (the =King=, therefore, summoned it to meet on the third of November. )

 Page 142: Matching the original: leaving it hyphenated (the greatest in England would have stood =dis-covered=. ')

 Page 172: Was 'Partiot' (The =Patriot= Pym, or the Apostate Strafford!)

 Page 174: Was 'perfers' (The King =prefers= to leave the door ajar)

 Page 178: Was 'her's' (I am =hers= now, and I will die. )

 Page 193: Was 'Bethrothal' (Till death us do join past parting--that sounds like =Betrothal= indeed!)

 Page 200: Was 'canonade' (Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of =cannonade=: 'Tis when foes are foiled and fighting's finished that vile rains invade)

 Page 203: Inserted stanza (=Down= I sat to cards, one evening)

 Page 203: Added starting quote (="When= he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!')

 Page 204: Added starting quote (='End= it! no time like the present!)

 Page 224: Changed comma to period (the morning's lessons conned with the =tutor. = There, too, it was that he impressed on the lad those maxims)

 Page 236: Added end quote (Why, he makes sure of her--"do you say, =yes"=-- "She'll not say, no, "--what comes it to beside?)

 Page 265: Added stanza ("'=I've= been about those laces we need for . .. Never mind!)

 Page 266: Keeping original spelling (With =dreriment= about, within may life be found)

 Page 267: Added stanza ("'=Wicked= dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!)

 Page 276: Was 'checks' (The dryness of "Aristotle's =cheeks=" is as usual so enlivened by Browning that the fate of Halbert and Hob grows)

 Page 289: Added starting quote (="You= wrong your poor disciple. )

 Page 290: Removed end quote (Wish I could take you; but fame travels =fast=)

 Page 291: Was 'aud' (Aunt =and= niece, you and me. )

 Page 294: Was 'oustide' (Such =outside=! Now, --confound me for a prig!)

 Page 299: Changed singe quote to double (="Not= you! But I see. )

 Page 315: Was 'Descretion' (To live and die together--for a month, =Discretion= can award no more!)

 Page 329: Removed starting quote ("He may believe; and yet, and yet =How= can he?" All eyes turn with interest. )

 Page 344: Left in ending quote with unknown start (High Church, and the Evangelicals, or Low =Church. "=)

 Page 370: Changed period to comma (Judgment drops her damning =plummet, = Pronouncing such a fatal space)

 Page 421: Removed starting quote (=About= the year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed)

 Page 429: Added period (whose little book and large tune had led him the long way from =to-day. =")

 Page 437: Was 'irreverant' (gives that up as an =irreverent= innovation. )

 Page 440: Added beginning quote (="When= we attained them!)

 Page 445: Added comma (we have as Browning says in a poem already =quoted, = "Bernard de Mandeville, ")