diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:47:22 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:47:22 -0700 |
| commit | ccc840002dc9700659dbcd164ef2f0447ca1c63b (patch) | |
| tree | 76f9b0bfdab99e8df555ccbd433887ece67d73e3 /old | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/29365-8.txt | 14514 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/29365-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 253161 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/29365.txt | 14514 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/29365.zip | bin | 0 -> 253097 bytes |
4 files changed, 29028 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/29365-8.txt b/old/29365-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6d1903 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/29365-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14514 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Browning's England, by Helen Archibald Clarke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Browning's England + A Study in English Influences in Browning + +Author: Helen Archibald Clarke + +Release Date: July 10, 2009 [EBook #29365] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWNING'S ENGLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Linda Cantoni (music), Katherine +Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + 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 Robert +Browning by way of direct poetical inspiration, it is more than likely +that 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 felt +by Browning for the poet in his youth, which he had, many years before +this little lyric was written, recorded in a finely appreciative passage +in "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 literary +life. The story has often been told of how the young Robert, passing a +bookstall one day spied in a box of second-hand volumes, a shabby little +edition of Shelley advertised "Mr. Shelley's Atheistical Poems: very +scarce." It seems almost incredible to us now that the name was an +absolutely new one to him, and that only by questioning the bookseller +did he learn that Shelley had written a number of volumes of poetry and +that he was now dead. This accident was sufficient to inspire the +incipient poet's curiosity, and he never rested until he was the owner +of Shelley's works. They were hard to get hold of in those early days +but the persistent searching of his mother finally unearthed them at +Olliers' in Vere Street, London. She brought him also three volumes of +Keats, 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 often +discussed. There are many traces of Shelleyan music and idea in his +early poems "Pauline," "Paracelsus," and "Sordello," but no marked nor +lasting impression was made upon Browning's development as a poet by +Shelley. Upon Browning's personal development Shelley exerted a +short-lived though somewhat intense influence. We see the young +enthusiast professing the atheism of his idol as the liberal views of +Shelley were then interpreted, and even becoming a vegetarian. As time +went on the discipleship vanished, and in its place came the recognition +on Browning's part of a poetic spirit akin yet different from his own. +The last trace of the disciple appears in "Sordello" when the poet +addresses Shelley among the audience of dead great ones he has mustered +to 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 on +Shelley which was written to a volume of spurious letters of that poet +published in 1851. In this is summed up in a masterful paragraph +reflecting Browning's unusual penetration into the secret paths of the +poetic mind, the characteristics of a poet of Shelley's order. The +paragraph is as follows: + +"We turn with stronger needs to the genius of an opposite tendency--the +subjective poet of modern classification. He, gifted like the objective +poet, with the fuller perception of nature and man, is impelled to +embody the thing he perceives, not so much with reference to the many +below as to the One above him, the supreme Intelligence which apprehends +all 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 lying +burningly on the Divine Hand,--it is toward these that he struggles. Not +with the combination of humanity in action, but with the primal elements +of humanity, he has to do; and he digs where he stands,--preferring to +seek 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 and +tempestuous tossings of the forest-trees, but with their roots and +fibers naked to the chalk and stone. He does not paint pictures and +hang them on the walls, but rather carries them on the retina of his own +eyes: we must look deep into his human eyes, to see those pictures on +them. He is rather a seer, accordingly, than a fashioner, and what he +produces will be less a work than an effluence. That effluence cannot be +easily considered in abstraction from his personality,--being indeed the +very radiance and aroma of his personality, projected from it but not +separated. Therefore, in our approach to the poetry, we necessarily +approach the personality of the poet; in apprehending it, we apprehend +him, and certainly we cannot love it without loving him. Both for love's +and for understanding's sake we desire to know him, and, as readers of +his poetry, must be readers of his biography too." + +Finally, the little "Memorabilia" lyric gives a mood of cherished memory +of the Sun-Treader, who beaconed him upon the heights in his youth, and +has now become a molted eagle-feather held close to his heart. + +Keats' lesser but assured place in the poet's affections comes out in +the pugnacious lyric, "Popularity," one of the old-time bits of +ammunition shot from the guns of those who found Browning "obscure." The +poem is an "apology" for any unappreciated poet with the true stuff in +him, but the allusion to Keats shows him to have been the fuse that +fired this mild explosion against the dullards who pass by unknowing and +uncaring of a genius, though he pluck with one hand thoughts from the +stars, 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 the +stirring lines "The Lost Leader." Browning's strong sympathies with the +Liberal cause are here portrayed with an ardor which is fairly +intoxicating poetically, but one feels it is scarcely just to the +mild-eyed, exemplary Wordsworth, and perhaps exaggeratedly sure of +Shakespeare's attitude on this point. It is only fair to Browning, to +point out how he himself felt later that his artistic mood had here run +away with him, whereupon he made amends honorable in a letter in reply +to the question whether he had Wordsworth in mind: "I can only answer, +with something of shame and contrition, that I undoubtedly had +Wordsworth in my mind--but simply as a model; you know an artist takes +one or two striking traits in the features of his 'model,' and uses them +to start his fancy on a flight which may end far enough from the good +man or woman who happens to be sitting for nose and eye. I thought of +the great Poet's abandonment of liberalism at an unlucky juncture, and +no repaying consequence that I could ever see. But, once call my +fancy-portrait _Wordsworth_--and how much more ought one to say!" + +The defection of Wordsworth from liberal sympathies is one of the +commonplaces of literary history. There was a time when he figured in +his poetry as a patriotic leader of the people, when in clarion tones he +exhorted his countrymen to "arm and combine in defense of their common +birthright." But this was in the enthusiasm of his youth when he and +Southey and Coleridge were metaphorically waving their red caps for the +principles of the French Revolution. The unbridled actions of the French +Revolutionists, quickly cooled off their ardor, and as Taine cleverly +puts it, "at the end of a few years, the three, brought back into the +pale of State and Church, were, Coleridge, a Pittite journalist, +Wordsworth, a distributor of stamps, and Southey, poet-laureate; all +converted zealots, decided Anglicans, and intolerant conservatives." The +"handful of silver" for which the patriot in the poem is supposed to +have left the cause included besides the post of "distributor of +stamps," given to him by Lord Lonsdale in 1813, a pension of three +hundred pounds a year in 1842, and the poet-laureateship in 1843. + +The first of these offices was received so long after the cooling of +Wordsworth's "Revolution" ardors which the events of 1793 had brought +about that it can scarcely be said to have influenced his change of +mind. + +It was during Wordsworth's residence in France, from November 1791 to +December 1792, that his enthusiasm for the French Revolution reached +white heat. How the change was wrought in his feelings is shown with +much penetration and sympathy by Edward Dowden in his "French Revolution +and English Literature." "When war between France and England was +declared Wordsworth's nature underwent the most violent strain it had +ever experienced. He loved his native land yet he could wish for nothing +but disaster to her arms. As the days passed he found it more and more +difficult to sustain his faith in the Revolution. First, he abandoned +belief in the leaders but he still trusted to the people, then the +people seemed to have grown insane with the intoxication of blood. He +was driven back from his defense of the Revolution, in its historical +development, to a bare faith in the abstract idea. He clung to theories, +the free and joyous movement of his sympathies ceased; opinions stifled +the spontaneous life of the spirit, these opinions were tested and +retested by the intellect, till, in the end, exhausted by inward +debate, he yielded up moral questions in despair ... by process of +the understanding alone Wordsworth could attain no vital body of +truth. Rather he felt that things of far more worth than political +opinions--natural instincts, sympathies, passions, intuitions--were +being disintegrated or denaturalized. Wordsworth began to suspect the +analytic intellect as a source of moral wisdom. In place of humanitarian +dreams came a deep interest in the joys and sorrows of individual men +and women; through his interest in this he was led back to a study of +the mind of man and those laws which connect the work of the creative +imagination with the play of the passions. He had begun again to think +nobly of the world and human life." He was, in fact, a more thorough +Democrat socially than any but Burns of the band of poets mentioned in +Browning'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 of +his model's physiognomy and building up from it a repellent portrait is +question for debate, especially when he admits its incompleteness. But +we may balance against this incompleteness, the fine fire of enthusiasm +for the "cause" in the poem, and the fact that Wordsworth has not been +at all harmed by it. The worst that has happened is the raising in our +minds of a question touching Browning's good taste. + +Just here it will be interesting to speak of a bit of purely personal +expression on the subject of Browning's known liberal standpoint, +written by him in answer to the question propounded to a number of +English men of letters and printed together with other replies in a +volume 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 of +Browning. + +His fullest treatment of the cause of political liberty is in +"Strafford," to be considered in the third chapter, but many are the +hints strewn about his verse that bring home with no uncertain touch the +fact that Browning lived man's "lover" and never man's "hater." Take as +an example "The Englishman in Italy," where the sarcastic turn he gives +to the last stanza shows clearly where his sympathies lie: + + --"Such trifles!" you say? + Fortů, 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, from +the Sea," wherein the scenes of England's victories as they come before +the 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. The +poems are "Waring" and "May and Death." + +Waring, who stands for Alfred Domett, is an interesting figure in +Colonial history as well as a minor light among poets. But it is highly +probable that he would not have been put into verse by Browning any more +than many other of the poet's warm friends if it had not been for the +incident described in the poem which actually took place, and made a +strong enough impression to inspire a creative if not exactly an exalted +mood on Browning's part. The incident is recorded in Thomas Powell's +"Living Authors of England," who writes of Domett, "We have a vivid +recollection of the last time we saw him. It was at an evening party a +few days before he sailed from England; his intimate friend, Mr. +Browning, was also present. It happened that the latter was introduced +that evening for the first time to a young author who had just then +appeared in the literary world [Powell, himself]. This, consequently, +prevented the two friends from conversation, and they parted from each +other without the slightest idea on Mr. Browning's part that he was +seeing his old friend Domett for the last time. Some days after when he +found that Domett had sailed, he expressed in strong terms to the writer +of this sketch the self-reproach he felt at having preferred the +conversation of a stranger to that of his old associate." + +This happened in 1842, when with no good-bys, Domett sailed for New +Zealand where he lived for thirty years, and held during that time many +important official posts. Upon his return to England, Browning and he +met again, and in his poem "Ranolf and Amohia," published the year +after, he wrote the often quoted line so aptly appreciative of +Browning's genius,--"Subtlest assertor of the soul in song." + +The poem belongs to the _vers de société_ order, albeit the lightness is +of a somewhat ponderous variety. It, however, has much interest as a +character sketch from the life, and is said by those who had the +opportunity 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 of +Browning's appreciation of English Nature than for its expression of +grief 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 English +Nature he sings out in his longing for an English spring in the +incomparable 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 "De +Gustibus," yet long and happy living away from England doubtless dimmed +his sense of the beauty of English landscape. "De Gustibus" was +published ten years later than "Home-Thoughts from Abroad," when Italy +and he had indeed become "lovers old." A deeper reason than mere delight +in its scenery is also reflected in the poem; the sympathy shared with +Mrs. 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 from +Browning. There is the exquisite bit called "Deaf and Dumb," after a +group of statuary by Woolner, of Constance and Arthur--the deaf and dumb +children 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" of +the Alkestis by Sir Frederick Leighton. + +The flagrant anachronism of making a Greek girl at the time of the Fall +of Athens describe an English picture cannot but be forgiven, since the +artistic effect gained is so fine. The poet quite convinces the reader +that Sir Frederick Leighton ought to have been a Kaunian painter, if he +was not, and that Balaustion or no one was qualified to appreciate his +picture 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 the +exquisite 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 fully +interpreting Leighton's picture. The expression of Eurydice is rather +one of unthinking confiding affection--as if she were really unconscious +or ignorant of the danger; while that of Orpheus is one of passionate +agony as he tries to hold her off. + +Though English art could not fascinate the poet as Italian art did, for +the fully sufficient reason that it does not stand for a great epoch of +intellectual awakening, yet with what fair alchemy he has touched those +few artists he has chosen to honor. Notwithstanding his avowed devotion +to Italy, expressed in "De Gustibus," one cannot help feeling that in +the poems mentioned in this chapter, there is that ecstasy of sympathy +which goes only to the most potent influences in the formation of +character. Something of what I mean is expressed in one of his latest +poems, "Development." In this we certainly get a real peep at young +Robert Browning, led by his wise father into the delights of Homer, by +slow degrees, where all is truth at first, to end up with the +devastating criticism of Wolf. In spite of it all the dream stays and is +the reality. Nothing can obliterate the magic of a strong early +enthusiasm, as "fact still held" "Spite of new Knowledge," in his "heart +of 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 dog +Tray, whose traits may not be peculiar to English dogs but whose name +is proverbially English. Besides it touches a subject upon which the +poet had strong feelings. Vivisection he abhorred, and in the +controversies which were tearing the scientific and philanthropic world +asunder in the last years of his life, no one was a more determined +opponent 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 choosing +people of minor note to figure in his dramatic monologues. In "At the +'Mermaid'" he ventures upon the consecrated ground of a heart-to-heart +talk between Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and the wits who gathered at the +classic "Mermaid" Tavern in Cheapside, following this up with further +glimpses into the inner recesses of Shakespeare's mind in the monologues +"House" and "Shop." It is a particularly daring feat in the case of +Shakespeare, for as all the world knows any attempt at getting in touch +with 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 be +of interest to glance at the actual facts as far as they are known in +regard to the relations which existed between Shakespeare and Jonson. +Praise and blame both are recorded on Jonson's part when writing of +Shakespeare, yet the praise shows such undisguised admiration that the +blame sinks into insignificance. Jonson's "learned socks" to which +Milton refers probably tripped the critic up occasionally by reason of +their weight. + +There is a charming story told of the friendship between the two men +recorded by Sir Nicholas L'Estrange, within a very few years of +Shakespeare's death, who attributed it to Dr. Donne. The story goes that +"Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and after +the christening, being in a deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up and +asked 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 fittest +gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved at last.' 'I +prythee what?' says he. 'I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a dozen good +Lattin spoons, and thou shalt translate them.'" If this must be taken +with a grain of salt, there is another even more to the honor of +Shakespeare reported by Rowe and considered credible by such +Shakespearian scholars as Halliwell Phillipps and Sidney Lee. "His +acquaintance with Ben Jonson" writes Rowe, "began with a remarkable +piece of humanity and good nature; Mr. Jonson, who was at that time +altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the +players in order to have it acted, and the persons into whose hands it +was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were +just upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer that it would +be of no service to their company, when Shakespeare luckily cast his eye +upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first to +read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings +to the public." The play in question was the famous comedy of "Every Man +in His Humour," which was brought out in September, 1598, by the Lord +Chamberlain's company, Shakespeare himself being one of the leading +actors upon the occasion. + +Authentic history records a theater war in which Jonson and Shakespeare +figured, on opposite sides, but if allusions in Jonson's play the +"Poetaster" have been properly interpreted, their friendly relations +were not deeply disturbed. The trouble began in the first place by the +London of 1600 suddenly rushing into a fad for the company of boy +players, recruited chiefly from the choristers of the Chapel Royal, and +known as the "Children of the Chapel." They had been acting at the new +theater in Blackfriars since 1597, and their vogue became so great as +actually to threaten Shakespeare's company and other companies of adult +actors. Just at this time Ben Jonson was having a personal quarrel with +his fellow dramatists, Marston and Dekker, and as he received little +sympathy from the actors, he took his revenge by joining his forces with +those of the Children of the Chapel. They brought out for him in 1600 +his satire of "Cynthia's Revels," in which he held up to ridicule +Marston, Dekker and their friends the actors. Marston and Dekker, with +the actors of Shakespeare's company, prepared to retaliate, but Jonson +hearing of it forestalled them with his play the "Poetaster" in which he +spared neither dramatists nor actors. Shakespeare's company continued +the fray by bringing out at the Globe Theatre, in the following year, +Dekker and Marston's "Satiro-Mastix, or The Untrussing of the Humorous +Poet," and as Ward remarks, "the quarrel had now become too hot to +last." The excitement, however, continued for sometime, theater-goers +took sides and watched with interest "the actors and dramatists' +boisterous war of personalities," to quote Mr. Lee, who goes on to +point out that on May 10, 1601, the Privy Council called the attention +of the Middlesex magistrates to the abuse covertly leveled by the actors +of the "Curtain" at gentlemen "of good desert and quality," and directed +the magistrates to examine all plays before they were produced. + +Jonson, himself, finally made apologies in verses appended to printed +copies 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 in +allusions to it in "Hamlet," wherein he "protested against the abusive +comments on the men-actors of 'the common' stages or public theaters +which were put into the children's mouths. Rosencrantz declared that the +children 'so berattle [_i.e._ assail] the common stages--so they call +them--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and dare +scarce come thither [_i.e._ to the public theaters].' Hamlet in pursuit +of the theme pointed out that the writers who encouraged the vogue of +the 'child actors' did them a poor service, because when the boys should +reach men's estate they would run the risk, if they continued on the +stage, of the same insults and neglect which now threatened their +seniors. + +"'_Hamlet._ What are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they +escorted [_i.e._ paid]? Will they pursue the quality [_i.e._ the actor's +profession] no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, +if they should grow themselves to common players--as it is most like, if +their means are no better--their writers do them wrong to make them +exclaim against their own succession? + +"'_Rosencrantz._ Faith, there has been much to do on both sides, and the +nation 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 the +player went to cuffs in the question.'" + +This certainly does not reflect a very belligerent attitude since it +merely puts in a word for the grown-up actors rather than casting any +slurs upon the children. Further indications of Shakespeare's mildness +in regard to the whole matter are given in the Prologue to "Troylus and +Cressida," where, as Mr. Lee says, he made specific reference to the +strife 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 Jonson +remained friends, even in the heat of the conflict, may be gained from +the "Poetaster" itself if we admit that the Virgil of the play, who is +chosen peacemaker stands for Shakespeare; and who so fit to be +peacemaker as Shakespeare for his amiable qualities seem to have +impressed 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, Tibullus +and Gallus, eulogize the work and genius of another character, Virgil, +in terms so closely resembling those which Jonson is known to have +applied to Shakespeare that they may be regarded as intended to apply to +him (Act V, Scene I). Jonson points out that Virgil, by his penetrating +intuition, achieved the great effects which others laboriously sought to +reach 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 touched +with 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 Cćsar to act as judge +between Horace and his libellers, and he advises the administration of +purging pills to the offenders." + +This neat little chain of evidence would have no weak link, if it were +not for a passage in the play, "The Return from Parnassus," acted by +the students in St. John's College the same year, 1601. In this there is +a 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 Ben +Jonson, too. O! that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow. He brought up +Horace, giving the poets a pill; but our fellow Shakespeare hath given +him a purge that made him bewray his credit." Burbage continues, "He is +a shrewd fellow indeed." This has, of course, been taken to mean that +Shakespeare 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 words +quoted from 'The Return from Parnassus' hardly admit of a literal +interpretation. Probably the 'purge' that Shakespeare was alleged by the +author of 'The Return from Parnassus' to have given Jonson meant no more +than that Shakespeare had signally outstripped Jonson in popular +esteem." That this was an actual fact is proved by the lines of Leonard +Digges, an admiring contemporary of Shakespeare's, printed in the 1640 +edition of Shakespeare's poems, comparing "Julius Cćsar" and Jonson's +play "Cataline:" + + "So have I seen when Cćsar 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 Porter +that "Shakespeare was sent from Heaven and Ben from College." + +If Jonson's criticisms of Shakespeare's work were sometime not wholly +appreciative, the fact may be set down to the distinction between the +two here so humorously indicated. "A Winter's Tale" and the "Tempest" +both called forth some sarcasms from Jonson, the first for its error +about the Coast of Bohemia which Shakespeare borrowed from Greene. +Jonson wrote in the Induction to "Bartholemew Fair;" "If there be never +a servant-monster in the Fair, who can help it he says? Nor a nest of +Antics. He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays like those that +beget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries." The allusions here +are very evidently to Caliban and the satyrs who figure in the +sheep-shearing feast in "A Winter's Tale." The worst blast of all, +however, occurs in Jonson's "Timber," but the blows are evidently given +with a loving hand. He writes "I remember, the players have often +mentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare that, in his writing, whatsoever +he penn'd, hee never blotted out line. My answer hath beene, would he +had blotted a thousand;--which they thought a malevolent speech. I had +not told posterity this, but for their ignorance who choose that +circumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and to +justifie mine owne candor,--for I lov'd the man, and doe honor his +memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. Hee was, indeed, honest, +and of an open and free nature; had an excellent phantasie; brave +notions and gentle expressions; wherein hee flow'd with that facility +that sometime it was necessary he should be stop'd;--_sufflaminandus +erat_, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his owne +power;--would the rule of it had beene so too! Many times he fell into +those things, could not escape laughter; as when he said in the person +of Cćsar, one speaking to him,--Cćsar thou dost me wrong; hee +replyed,--Cćsar 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 wholly +eulogistic lines Jonson wrote for the First Folio edition of Shakespeare +printed in 1623, "To the memory of my beloved, The Author Mr. William +Shakespeare 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 portrait +reproduced in this volume, which it is safe to regard as the Shakespeare +Ben 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 been +calling him "Next Poet," a supposition quite justifiable in the light of +Ben's praises of him. The poem also reflects the love and admiration in +which Shakespeare the man was held by all who have left any record of +their impressions of him. As for the portraiture of the poet's attitude +of mind, it is deduced indirectly from his work. That he did not desire +to become "Next Poet" may be argued from the fact that after his first +outburst of poem and sonnet writing in the manner of the poets of the +age, he gave up the career of gentleman-poet to devote himself wholly to +the more independent if not so socially distinguished one of +actor-playwright. "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" were the only poems +of his published under his supervision and the only works with the +dedication 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 and +1594,--beautiful little quartos with exquisitely artistic designs in the +title-pages, headpieces and initials; altogether worthy of a poet who +might 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 a +patron. 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 pirates +who cribbed them from stage copies. + +Such hints as these have been worked up by Browning into a consistent +characterization of a man who regards himself as having foregone his +chances of laureateship or "Next Poet" by devoting himself to a form of +literary art which would not appeal to the powers that be as fitting him +for any such position. Such honors he claims do not go to the dramatic +poet, who has never allowed the world to slip inside his breast, but has +simply 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? I +pluck 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. The +allusions Shakespeare makes to the last "King" are not very definite, +but, on the whole, they fit Edmund Spenser, whose poems from first to +last are dedicated to people of distinction in court circles. His work, +moreover, is full of wailing and woe in various keys, and also full of +self-revelation. He allowed the world to slip inside his breast upon +almost every occasion, and perhaps he may be said to have bought "his +laurel," for it was no doubt extremely gratifying to Queen Elizabeth to +see herself in the guise of the Faerie Queene, and even his dedication +of the "Faerie Queene" to her, used as she was to flattery, must have +been as music in her ears. "To the most high, mightie, and magnificent +Empresse, renouned for piety, vertue, and all gratious government, +Elizabeth, by the Grace of God, Queene of England, Frahnce, and Ireland +and of Virginia. Defender of the Faith, &c. Her most humble servant +Edmund Spenser doth in all humilitie, Dedicate, present, and consecrate +These his labours, To live with the eternity of her Fame." The next year +Spenser 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 official +position. The term, "laureate," seems to have been used to designate +poets who had attained fame and Royal favor, since Nash speaks of +Spenser 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 hundred +pounds a year and a butt of wine from the King's cellars. + +Probably the allusion "Your Pilgrim" in the twelfth stanza of "At the +Mermaid" is to "The Return from Parnassus" in which the pilgrims to +Parnassus who figure in an earlier play "The Pilgrimage to Parnassus" +discover the world to be about as dismal a place as it is described in +this stanza. + +At first sight it might seem that the position taken by Shakespeare in +the poem is almost too modest, yet upon second thoughts it will be +remembered that though Shakespeare had a tremendous following among the +people, attested by the frequency with which his plays were acted; that +though there are instances of his being highly appreciated by +contemporaries of importance; that though his plays were given before +the Queen, he did not have the universal acceptance among learned and +court circles which was accorded to Spenser. + +It is quite fitting that the scene should be set in the "Mermaid." No +record exists to show that Shakespeare was ever there, it is true, but +the "Mermaid" was a favorite haunt of Ben Jonson and his circle of wits, +whose meetings there were immortalized by Beaumont in his poetical +letter 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 the +wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a +Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war; Master Jonson (like the +former) was built far higher in learning, solid but slow in his +performances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, +but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take +advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention," and +there 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 is +aware 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 the +autobiographical significance of Shakespeare's Sonnets. As volumes upon +the subject have been written, it is not possible even adequately to +review the various theories here. The controversialists may be broadly +divided into those who read complicated autobiographical details into +the sonnets, those who scout the idea of their being autobiographical at +all, and those who take a middle ground. Of the first there are two +factions: one of these believes that the opening sonnets were addressed +to Lord William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and the other that they were +addressed to Shakespeare's patron, the Earl of Southampton. The first +theory dates back as far as 1832 when it was started by James Boaden, a +journalist and the biographer of Kemble and Mrs. Siddons. This theory +has had many supporters and is associated to-day with the name of Thomas +Tyler, who, in his edition of the Sonnets published in 1890, claimed to +have 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, like +most things of the sort, has its fascinations, and few people can read +the 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 proved +incorrect, namely, that the dedication of the Sonnets to their "Onlie +Begettor, Mr. W. H." is intended for "Mr. William Herbert." There was a +Mr. William Hall, later a master printer, and the friend of Thomas +Thorpe, the publisher of the Sonnets, who is much more likely to be the +person meant. Lord Herbert was far too important a person to be +addressed as Mr. W. H. As Mr. Lee points out, when Thorpe did dedicate +books to Herbert he was careful to give full prominence to the titles +and distinction of his patron. The Sonnets as we have already seen were +not published with Shakespeare's sanction. In those days the author had +no protection, and if a manuscript fell into the hands of a printer he +could print it if he felt so disposed. Mr. William Hall was in the +habit of looking out for manuscripts and before he became a printer, in +1606, had one published by Southwell of which he himself wrote the +dedication, 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 the +Southwell volume was Mr. William Hall, who, when he procured that +manuscript for publication, was an humble auxiliary in the publishing +army." To sum up in Mr. Lee's words his interesting and convincing +chapter on "Thomas Thorpe and Mr. 'W. H.'" "'Mr. W. H.,' whom Thorpe +described as the 'only begetter of these ensuing sonnets,' was in all +probability the acquirer or procurer of the manuscript, who, +figuratively speaking, brought the book into being either by first +placing the manuscript in Thorpe's hands or by pointing out the means by +which a copy might be acquired. To assign such significance to the word +'begetter' was entirely in Thorpe's vein. Thorpe described his rôle in +the piratical enterprise of the 'Sonnets' as that of 'the well-wishing +adventurer in setting forth,' _i.e._, the hopeful speculator in the +scheme. 'Mr. W. H.' doubtless played the almost equally important +part--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 Massey +in his lengthy book on the Sonnets--truly entertaining reading but too +ingenious to be convincing. + +Finally Mr. Lee in his book looks at the subject in an unbiased and +perfectly sane way. He thinks the opening Sonnets are to the Earl of +Southampton, known to be Shakespeare's patron, but he warns us that +exaggerated devotion was the hall-mark of the Sonnets of the age, and +therefore what Shakespeare says of his young patron in these Sonnets +need 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 he +thinks that some of the sonnets reflecting moods of melancholy or a +sense of sin may reveal the writer's inner consciousness. Possibly, too, +the story of the "dark lady" may have some basis in fact, though he +insists, "There is no clue to the lady's identity, and speculation on +the topic is useless." Furthermore, he thinks it doubtful whether all +the 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 uncompromisingly +non-autobiographical view of the Sonnets. In this stand present +authoritative opinion would not justify him, but it speaks well for his +insight and sympathy that he was not fascinated by the William Herbert +theory 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 is +proved that the dramatic poet does not allow himself to appear in his +work, the step toward regarding him as having no individuality aside +from his work is an easy one. The allusions in the poem to the +mercenariness of the "Shop-Keeper" seem to hit at the criticisms of +Shakespeare's thrift, which enabled him to buy a home in his native +place and retire there to live some years before the end of his life. In +some quarters it has been customary to regard Shakespeare as devoting +himself to dramatic literature in order to make money, as if this were a +terrible slur on his character. The superiority of such an independent +spirit over that of those who constantly sought patrons was quite +manifest to Browning's mind or he would not have written this sarcastic +bit of symbolism, between the lines of which can be read that Browning +was 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 interesting +interpretation of Shakespeare's character as a man and artist, but for +the glimpses they give into Browning's stand toward his own art. He +wished to be regarded primarily as a dramatic artist, presenting and +interpreting the souls of his characters, and he must have felt keenly +the stupid attitude which insisted always in reading "Browning's +Philosophy" into all his poems. The fact that his objective material was +of the soul rather than of the external actions of life has no doubt +lent force to the supposition that Browning himself can be seen in +everything he writes. It is true, nevertheless, that while much of his +work is Shakespearian in its dramatic intensity, he had too forceful a +philosophy of life to keep it from sometimes coming to the front. +Besides he has written many things avowedly personal as this chapter +amply illustrates. + +To what intensity of feeling Browning could rise when contemplating the +genius of Shakespeare is revealed in his direct and outspoken tribute. +Here there breathes an almost reverential attitude toward the one +supremely 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 English +history is this truer than of King Charles I. Just at a time when the +nation was feeling the strength of its wings both in Church and State, +when individuals were claiming the right to freedom of conscience in +their form of worship and the people were growing more insistent for the +recognition of their ancient rights and liberties, secured to them, in +the first place, by the Magna Charta,--just at this time looms up the +obstruction of a King so imbued with the defunct ideal of the divine +right of Kings that he is blind to the tendencies of the age. What +wonder, then, if the swirling waters of discontent should rise higher +and 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 into +shape the future of England stand out in bold relief in front of a +background of interminable bickerings. There was constant quarreling +between the factions within the English church, and between the +Protestants and the Catholics, complicated by the discontent of the +people and at times the nobles because of the autocratic, vacillating +policy of the King. + +Among these epoch-bringing events were the emergence of the Puritans +from the chaos of internecine church squabbles, the determined raising +of the voice of the people in the Long Parliament, where King and people +finally came to an open clash in the impeachment of the King's most +devoted minister, Wentworth, Earl Strafford, by Pym, the great leader in +the House of Commons, ending in Strafford's execution; the Grand +Remonstrance, which sounded in no uncertain tones the tocsin of the +coming revolution; and finally the King's impeachment of Pym, Hampden, +Holles, Hazelrigg and Strode, one of the many ill-advised moves of this +Monarch which at once precipitated the Revolution. + +These cataclysms at home were further intensified by the Scottish +Invasion and the Irish Rebellion. + +[Illustration: Charles I in Scene of Impeachment] + +It is not surprising that Browning should have been attracted to this +period of English history, when he contemplated the writing of a play on +an English subject. His liberty-loving mind would naturally find +congenial occupation in depicting this great English struggle for +liberty. Yet the hero of the play is not Pym, the leader of the people, +but Strafford, the supporter of the King. The dramatic reasons are +sufficient to account for this. Strafford's career was picturesque and +tragic and his personality so striking that more than one interpretation +of his remarkable life is possible. + +The interpretation will differ according to whether one is partisan in +hatred or admiration of his character and policy, or possesses the +larger quality of sympathetic appreciation of the man and the problems +with which he had to deal. Any one coming to judge him in this latter +spirit would undoubtedly perceive all the fine points in Strafford's +nature and would balance these against his theories of government to the +better understanding of this extraordinary man. + +It is almost needless to say that Browning's perception of Strafford's +character was penetrating and sympathetic. Strafford's devotion to his +King had in it not only the element of loyalty to the liege, but an +element of personal love which would make an especial appeal to +Browning. He, in consequence, seizes upon this trait as the key-note of +his portrayal of Strafford. + +The play is, on the whole, accurate in its historical details, though +the poet's imagination has added many a flying buttress to the +structure. + +Forster's lives of the English Statesmen in Lardner's Cyclopćdia +furnished plenty of material, and he was besides familiar with some if +not all of Forster's materials for the lives. One of the interesting +surprises in connection with Browning's literary career was the fact +divulged some years ago that he had actually helped Forster in the +preparation of the Life of Strafford. Indeed it is thought that he wrote +it almost entirely from the notes of Forster. Dr. Furnivall first called +attention to this, and later the life of Strafford was reprinted as +"Robert Browning's Prose Life of Strafford."[2] In his Forewords to this +volume, Dr. Furnivall, who, among many other claims to distinction, was +the president of the "London Browning Society," writes, "Three times +during his life did Browning speak to me about his prose 'Life of +Strafford.' The first time he said only--in the course of chat--that +very few people had any idea of how much he had helped John Forster in +it. The second time he told me at length that one day he went to see +Forster and found him very ill, and anxious about the 'Life of +Strafford,' which he had promised to write at once, to complete a volume +of 'Lives of Eminent British Statesmen' for Lardner's 'Cabinet +Cyclopćdia.' Forster had finished the 'Life of Eliot'--the first in the +volume--and had just begun that of Strafford, for which he had made full +collections and extracts; but illness had come on, he couldn't work, the +book ought to be completed forthwith, as it was due in the serial issue +of volumes; what _was_ he to do? 'Oh,' said Browning, 'don't trouble +about it. I'll take your papers and do it for you.' Forster thanked his +young friend heartily, Browning put the Strafford papers under his arm, +walked off, worked hard, finished the Life, and it came out to time in +1836, to Forster's great relief, and passed under his name." Professor +Gardiner, the historian, was of the opinion from internal evidence that +the Life was more Browning's than Forster's. He said to Furnivall, "It +is not a historian's conception of the character but a poet's. I am +certain that it's not Forster's. Yes, it makes mistakes in facts and +dates, but, it has got the man--in the main." In this opinion Furnivall +concurs. Of the last paragraph in the history he exclaims, "I could +swear it was Browning's":--The paragraph in question sums up the +character of Strafford and is interesting in this connection, as giving +hints, 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 extraordinary +person. In the career of Strafford is to be sought the justification of +the world's 'appeal from tyranny to God.' In him Despotism had at length +obtained an instrument with mind to comprehend, and resolution to act +upon, her principles in their length and breadth,--and enough of her +purposes were effected by him, to enable mankind to 'see as from a tower +the end of all.' I cannot discern one false step in Strafford's public +conduct, one glimpse of a recognition of an alien principle, one +instance of a dereliction of the law of his being, which can come in to +dispute the decisive result of the experiment, or explain away its +failure. The least vivid fancy will have no difficulty in taking up the +interrupted design, and by wholly enfeebling, or materially emboldening, +the insignificant nature of Charles; and by according some half-dozen +years of immunity to the 'fretted tenement' of Strafford's 'fiery +soul',--contemplate then, for itself, the perfect realization of the +scheme of 'making the prince the most absolute lord in Christendom.' +That done,--let it pursue the same course with respect to Eliot's noble +imaginings, or to young Vane's dreamy aspirings, and apply in like +manner a fit machinery to the working out the projects which made the +dungeon of the one a holy place, and sustained the other in his +self-imposed exile.--The result is great and decisive! It establishes, +in renewed force, those principles of political conduct which have +endured, and must continue to endure, 'like truth from age to age.'" The +history, on the whole, lacks the grasp in the portrayal of Wentworth to +be found in the drama. C. H. Firth, commenting upon this says truly, +"One might almost say that in the first, Strafford was represented as he +appeared to his opponents, and in the second as he appeared to himself; +or that, having painted Strafford as he was, Browning painted him again +as he wished to be. In the biography Strafford is exhibited as a man of +rare gifts and noble qualities; yet in his political capacity, merely +the conscious, the devoted tool of a tyrant. In the tragedy, on the +other hand, Strafford is the champion of the King's will against the +people's, but yet looks forward to the ultimate reconciliation of +Charles and his subjects, and strives for it after his own fashion. He +loves the master he serves, and dies for him, but when the end comes he +can proudly answer his accusers, 'I have loved England too.'" + +The play opens at the important moment of Wentworth's return to London +from Ireland, where for some time he had been governor. The occasion of +his return, according to Gardiner, was a personal quarrel with the +Chancellor Loftus, of Ireland. Both men were allowed to come to England +to plead their cause, which resulted in the victory of Wentworth. In the +play Pym says, "Ay, the Court gives out His own concerns have brought +him back: I know 'tis the King calls him." The authority for this remark +is found in the Forster-Browning Life. "In the danger threatened by the +Scots' Covenant, Wentworth was Charles's only hope; the King sent for +him, saying he desired his personal counsel and attendance. He wrote: +'The Scots' Covenant begins to spread too far, yet, for all this, I will +not have you take notice that I have sent for you, but pretend some +other occasion of business.'" Certain it is that from this time +Wentworth became the most trusted counsellor of Charles, that is, as +far as Charles was capable of trusting any one. The condition of affairs +to which Wentworth returned is brought out in the play in a thoroughly +alive and human manner. We are introduced to the principal actors in the +struggle for their rights and privileges against the government of +Charles meeting in a house near Whitehall. Among the "great-hearted" men +are Hampden, Hollis, the younger Vane, Rudyard, Fiennes--all leaders in +the "Faction,"--Presbyterians, Loudon and other members of the Scots' +commissioners. A bit of history has been drawn upon for this opening +scene, for according to the Forster-Browning Life, "There is no doubt +that a close correspondence with the Scotch commissioners, headed by +Lords Loudon and Dumferling, was entered into under the management of +Pym and Hampden. Whenever necessity obliged the meetings to be held in +London, they took place at Pym's house in Gray's Inn Lane." In the talk +between these men the political situation in England at the time from +the point of view of the liberal party is brought vividly before the +reader. + +There has been no Parliament in England for ten years, hence the people +have had no say in the direction of the government. The growing +dissatisfaction of the people at being thus deprived of their rights +focussed itself upon the question of "ship-money." The taxes levied by +the King for the maintainance of a fleet were loudly objected to upon +all sides. That a fleet was a necessary means of protection in those +threatening times is not to be doubted, but the objections of the people +were grounded upon the fact that the King levied these taxes upon his +own authority. "Ship-money, it was loudly declared," says Gardiner, "was +undeniably a tax, and the ancient customs of the realm, recently +embodied in the Petition of Right, had announced with no doubtful voice +that no tax could be levied without consent of Parliament. Even this +objection was not the full measure of the evil. If Charles could take +this money without the consent of Parliament, he need not, unless some +unforeseen emergency arose, ever summon a Parliament again. The true +question at issue was whether Parliament formed an integral part of the +Constitution or not." Other taxes were objected to on the same grounds, +and the more determined the King was not to summon a Parliament, the +greater became the political ferment. + +[Illustration: Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford] + +At the same time the religious ferment was centering itself upon +hatred of Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury. His policy was to silence +opposition to the methods of worship then followed by the Church of +England, by the terrors of the Star Chamber. The Puritans were smarting +under the sentence which had been passed upon the three pamphleteers, +William Prynne, Henry Burton, and John Bastwick, who had expressed their +opinions of the practises of the church with great outspokenness. Prynne +called upon pious King Charles "to do justice on the whole Episcopal +order 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 set +it on their own ambitious pates." Burton hinted that "the sooner the +office of the Bishops was abolished the better it would be for the +nation." Bastwick, who had been brought up in the straitest principles +of Puritanism, had ended his pamphlet "_Flagellum Pontificis_," with +this outburst, "Take notice, so far am I from flying or fearing, as I +resolve to make war against the Beast, and every hint of Antichrist, all +the days of my life. If I die in that battle, so much the sooner I shall +be sent in a chariot of triumph to heaven; and when I come there, I +will, with those that are under the altar cry, 'How long, Lord, holy +and true, dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood upon them that dwell +upon 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 its +result could only be the strengthening of opposition. The "muckworm" +Cottington, as Browning calls him, suggested the sentence which was +carried out. The men were condemned to lose their ears, to pay a fine of +Ł5000 each, and to be imprisoned for the remainder of their lives in the +castles of Carnarvon, Launceston, and Lancaster. Finch, not satisfied +with this, added the savage wish that Prynne should be branded on the +cheek with the letters S. L., to stand for "seditious libeller," and +this was also done. + +The account of the execution of this sentence is almost too horrible to +read. Some one who recorded the scene wrote, "The humours of the people +were various; some wept, some laughed, and some were very reserved." +Prynne, whose sufferings had been greatest for he had been burned as +well as having his ears taken off, was yet able to indulge in a grim +piece of humor touching the letters S. L. branded on his cheeks. He +called them "Stigmata Laudis," the "Scars of Laud," on his way back to +prison. Popular demonstrations in favor of the prisoners were made all +along the road when they were taken to their respective prisons, where +they were allowed neither pen, ink nor books. Fearful lest they might +somehow still disseminate their heretical doctrines to the outer world, +the council removed them to still more distant prisons, in the Scilly +Isles, in Guernsey and in Jersey. Retaliation against this treatment +found open expression. "A copy of the Star Chamber decree was nailed to +a board. Its corners were cut off as the ears of Laud's victims had been +cut off at Westminster. A broad ink mark was drawn round Laud's name. An +inscription declared that 'The man that puts the saints of God into a +pillory of wood stands here in a pillory of ink!'" + +Things were brought to a crisis in Scotland also, through hatred of Laud +and the new prayer-book. The King, upon his visit to Scotland, had been +shocked at the slovenly appearance and the slovenly ritual of +the Scottish Church, which reflected strongly survivals of the +Presbyterianism of an earlier time. The King wrote to the Scottish +Bishops soon after his return to England: "We, tendering the good and +peace of that Church by having good and decent order and discipline +observed therein, whereby religion and God's worship may increase, and +considering that there is nothing more defective in that Church than the +want of a Book of Common Prayer and uniform service to be kept in all +the churches thereof, and the want of canons for the uniformity of the +same, we are hereby pleased to authorise you as the representative body +of that Church, and do herewith will and require you to condescend upon +a form of Church service to be used therein, and to set down the canons +for the uniformity of the discipline thereof." Laud, who as Archbishop +of Canterbury had no jurisdiction over Scottish Bishops, put his finger +into the pie as secretary of the King. As Gardiner says, "He conveyed +instructions to the Bishops, remonstrated with proceedings which shocked +his sense of order, and held out prospects of advancement to the +zealous. Scotchmen naturally took offense. They did not trouble +themselves to distinguish between the secretary and the archbishop. They +simply 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" was +sent to Scotland, and every minister was ordered to buy two copies on +pain of outlawry. Riots followed. It was finally decided that it must be +settled once for all whether a King had any right to change the forms of +worship without the sanction of a legislative assembly. Then came the +Scottish Covenant which declared the intention of the signers to uphold +religious liberty. The account of the signing of this covenant is one of +the most impressive episodes in all history. The Covenant was carried on +the 28th of February, 1638, to the Grey Friars' Church to which all the +gentlemen present in Edinburgh had been summoned. The scene has been +most sympathetically described by Gardiner. + +"At four o'clock in the grey winter evening, the noblemen, the Earl of +Sutherland leading the way began to sign. Then came the gentlemen, one +after the other until nearly eight. The next day the ministers were +called on to testify their approval, and nearly three hundred signatures +were obtained before night. The Commissioners of the boroughs signed at +the same time. + +"On the third day the people of Edinburgh were called on to attest their +devotion to the cause which was represented by the Covenant. Tradition +long loved to tell how the honored parchment, carried back to the Grey +Friars, was laid out on a tombstone in the churchyard, whilst weeping +multitudes pressed round in numbers too great to be contained in any +building. There are moments when the stern Scottish nature breaks out +into an enthusiasm less passionate, but more enduring, than the frenzy +of a Southern race. As each man and woman stepped forward in turn, with +the right hand raised to heaven before the pen was grasped, every one +there present knew that there would be no flinching amongst that band of +brothers till their religion was safe from intrusive violence. + +"Modern narrators may well turn their attention to the picturesqueness +of the scene, to the dark rocks of the Castle crag over against the +churchyard, and to the earnest faces around. The men of the seventeenth +century had no thought to spare for the earth beneath or for the sky +above. What they saw was their country's faith trodden under foot, what +they felt was the joy of those who had been long led astray, and had now +returned to the Shepherd and Bishop of their souls." + +Such were the conditions that brought on the Scotch war, neither Charles +nor Wentworth being wise enough to make concessions to the Covenanters. + +The grievances against the King's Minister Wentworth are in this opening +scene shown as being aggravated by the fact that the men of the +"Faction" regard him as a deserter from their cause, Pym, himself being +one of the number who is loth to think Wentworth stands for the King's +policy. + +The historical ground for the assumption lies in the fact that Wentworth +was one of the leaders of the opposition in the Parliament of 1628. + +The reason for this was largely personal, because of Buckingham's +treatment of him. Wentworth had refused to take part in the collection +of the forced loan of 1626, and was dismissed from his official posts in +consequence. When he further refused to subscribe to that loan himself +he was imprisoned in the Marshalsea and at Depford. Regarding himself as +personally attacked by Buckingham, he joined the opposition. Yet, as +Firth points out, "fiercely as he attacked the King's ministers, he was +careful to exonerate the King." He concludes his list of grievances by +saying, "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 more +behove this great physician the parliament, to effect a true consent +amongst the parties than now. Both are injured, both to be cured. By one +and the same thing hath the King and people been hurt. I speak truly +both for the interest of the King and the people." + +His intention was to find some means of cooperation which would leave +the people their liberty and yet give the crown its prerogative, "Let us +make what laws we can, there must--nay, there will be a trust left in +the crown." + +It will be seen by any unbiased critic that Wentworth was only half for +the people even at this time. On the other hand, it is not astonishing +that men, heart and soul for the people, should consider Wentworth's +subsequent complete devotion to the cause of the King sufficient to +brand him as an apostate. The fact that he received so many official +dignities from the King also leant color to the supposition that +personal ambition was a leading motive with him. With true dramatic +instinct Browning has centered this feeling and made the most of it in +the attitude of Pym's party, while he offsets it later in the play by +showing us the reality of the man Strafford. + +There is no very authentic source for the idea also brought out in this +first scene that Strafford and Pym had been warm personal friends. The +story is told by Dr. James Welwood, one of the physicians of William +III., who, in the year 1700, published a volume entitled "Memoirs, of +the most material transactions in England for the last hundred years +preceding the Revolution of 1688." Without mentioning any source he +tells the following story; "There had been a long and intimate +friendship between Mr. Pym and him [Wentworth], and they had gone hand +in hand in everything in the House of Commons. But when Sir Thomas +Wentworth was upon making his peace with the Court, he sent to Pym to +meet 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 some +offers which would probably be made them from the Court. Pym +understanding his speech stopped him short with this expression: 'You +need not use all this art to tell me you have a mind to leave us; but +remember what I tell you, you are going to be undone. But remember, that +though you leave us now I will never leave you while your head is upon +your shoulders.'" + +Though only a tradition this was entirely too useful a suggestion not to +be used. The intensity of the situation between the leaders on opposite +sides is enhanced tenfold by bringing into the field a personal +sentiment. + +The attitude of Pym's followers is reflected again in their opinion of +Wentworth's Irish rule. Although Wentworth's policy seemed to be +successful in Ireland, the very fact of its success would condemn it in +the eyes of the popular party; besides later developments revealed its +weaknesses. How it appeared to the eyes of a non-fanatical observer at +this time may be gathered from the following letter of Sir Thomas Roe to +the 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 having +parliaments, and knowing wisely how to use them; for they have given the +King six subsidies, which will arise to Ł240,000, and they are like to +have the liberty we contended for, and grace from his Majesty worth +their gift double; and which is worth much more, the honor of good +intelligence and love between the King and people, which I would to God +our great wits had had eyes to see. This is a great service, and to +give your Majesty a character of the man,--he is severe abroad and in +business, and sweet in private conversation; retired in his friendships, +but very firm; a terrible judge and a strong enemy; a servant violently +zealous in his Master's ends, and not negligent of his own; one that +will have what he will, and though of great reason, he can make his will +greater when it may serve him; affecting glory by a seeming contempt; +one that cannot stay long in the middle region of fortune, being +entreprenant; but will either be the greatest man in England, or much +less 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 very +great service, if you can make him." + +In order to be in sympathy with the play throughout and especially with +the first scene all this historical background must be kept in mind, for +the talk gives no direct information, it merely in an absolutely +dramatic fashion reveals the feelings and opinions of the men upon the +situation, just as friends at a dinner party might discuss one of our +own less strenuous political situations--all present being perfectly +familiar with the issues at stake. + + +STRAFFORD + +ACT I + +SCENE I.--_A House near Whitehall._ + +_HAMPDEN, HOLLIS, the +younger+ VANE, RUDYARD, FIENNES and many of the +Presbyterian 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 popular +party has been heaping opprobrium appears to speak for himself. Again +the historical background must be known in order that the whole drift of +the scene may be understood. Wentworth is talking with Lady Carlisle, a +woman celebrated for her beauty and her wit, and fond of having +friendships with great men. Various opinions of this beautiful woman +have 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 who +prefixed to a collection of letters published in 1660 "A character of +the most excellent Lady, Lucy, Countess of Carlisle," writes that she +will "freely discourse of love, and hear both the fancies and powers of +it; but if you will needs bring it within knowledge, and boldly direct +it to herself, she is likely to divert the discourse, or, at least, seem +not 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 and +elevated thoughts," and "her wit being most eminent among the rest of +her great abilities," even the conversation of those most famed for it +was affected. Quite another view of her is given in a letter of +Voiture'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 difficult +for 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. No +matter 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 not +give the picture of her that lingers in my mind, for all the loveliest +things I have seen in my life. I must confess that she is an enchanting +personality, and there would not be a woman under heaven so worthy of +affection, if she only knew what it was, and if she had as sensitive a +nature as she has a reasonable mind. But with the temperament we know +she possesses, there is nothing to be said except that she is the most +lovable of all things not good, and the most delightful poison that +nature ever concocted." Browning himself says he first sketched her +character from Mathews, but finding that rather artificial, he used +Voiture and Waller, who referred to her as the "bright Carlisle of the +Court of Heaven." It should be remembered that she had become a widow +and was considerably older at the time of her friendship with Wentworth +than when Voiture wrote of her, and was probably better balanced, and +truly worthy of Wentworth's own appreciation of her when he wrote, "A +nobler nor a more intelligent friendship did I never meet with in my +life." A passage in a letter to Laud indicates that Wentworth was well +aware of the practical advantage in having such a friend as Lady +Carlisle at Court. "I judge her ladyship very considerable. She is often +in place, and extremely well skilled how to speak with advantage and +spirit for those friends she professeth unto, which will not be many. +There is this further in her disposition, she will not seem to be the +person she is not, an ingenuity I have always observed and honoured her +for." + +It is something of a shock to learn that even before the Wentworth +episode 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 at +all inconsistent with Browning's portrayal of her. + +"Lady Carlisle had now been for many years a widow. She had long been +the reigning beauty at Court, and she loved to mingle political intrigue +with social intercourse. For politics as a serious occupation she had no +aptitude; but, in middle age, she felt a woman's pride in attaching to +herself the strong heads by which the world was ruled, as she had +attached to herself in youth, the witty courtier or the agile dancer. It +was worth a statesman's while to cultivate her acquaintance. She could +make him a power in society as well as in Council, could worm out a +secret which it behoved him to know, and could convey to others his +suggestions with assured fidelity. The calumny which treated Strafford, +as it afterwards treated Pym, as her accepted lover, may be safely +disregarded. But there can be no doubt that purely personal motives +attached her both to Strafford and Pym. For Strafford's theory of +Monarchical government she cared as little as she cared for Pym's theory +of Parliamentary government. It may be, too, that some mingled feeling +may have arisen in Strafford's breast. It was something to have an ally +at Court ready at all times to plead his cause with gay enthusiasm, to +warn him of hidden dangers, and to offer him the thread of that +labyrinth which, under the name of 'the Queen's side,' was such a +mystery to him. It was something, too, no doubt, that this advocate was +not a grey haired statesman, but a woman, in spite of growing years, of +winning grace and sparkling vivacity of eye and tongue." + +[Illustration: Charles I] + +Strafford, himself, Browning brings before us, ill, and worn out with +responsibility as he was upon his return to England at this time. +Carlisle tactfully lets him know how he will have to face criticisms +from other councillors about the King, and how even the confidence of +the fickle King cannot be relied upon. In his conference with the King +in this scene, Strafford, at last, wins the confidence of the King as +history relates. Wentworth, horrified at the way in which a war with +Scotland has been precipitated, carries his point, that Parliaments +should be called in Ireland and England. This will give time for +preparation, and at the same time an opportunity of convincing the +people that the war is justified by Scotland's treason, so causing them +willingly to grant subsidies for the expense of the war. To turn from +the play to history, Commissioners from the Scottish Parliament, the +Earls of Loudon and Dumferling had arrived in London to ask that the +acts of the Scottish Parliament might receive confirmation from the +King. This question was referred to a committee of eight Privy +Councillors. Propositions were made to put the Scotch Commissioners in +prison; however, the King finally decided to dismiss them without +treating with them. Scottish indignation of course ran high at this +proceeding, and here Wentworth stepped in and won the King to his policy +of ruling Scotland directly from England. "He insisted," writes +Gardiner, "that a Parliament, and a Parliament alone, was the remedy +fitted for the occasion. Laud and Hamilton gave him their support. He +carried his point with the Committee. What was of more importance he +carried it with the King." And as one writer expressed it the Lords were +of the opinion that "his Majesty should make trial of that once more, +that so he might leave his people without excuse, and have where withal +to justify himself to God and the world that in his own inclination he +desired the old way; but that if his people should not cheerfully, +according to their duties, meet him in that, especially in this exigent +when his kingdom and person are in apparent danger, the world might see +he is forced, contrary to his own inclination, to use extraordinary +means rather than, by the peevishness of some few factious spirits, to +suffer his state and government to be lost." + +In the play as in history, Charles now confers upon Wentworth an +Earldom. Shortly after this the King "was prepared," says Gardiner, "to +confer upon his faithful Minister that token of his confidence which he +had twice refused before. On January 12, Wentworth received the Earldom +of Strafford, and a week later he exchanged the title of Lord-Deputy of +Ireland for the higher dignity of Lord-Lieutenant." + +In his conference with Pym, Strafford who, in talking to Carlisle, had +shown a slight wavering toward the popular party, because of finding +himself so surrounded by difficulties, stands firm; this episode is a +striking working up of the tradition of the friendship between these +two men. + +The influence of the Queen upon Charles is the last strand in this +tangled skein of human destiny brought out by Browning in the scene. The +Parliament that Wentworth wants she is afraid of lest it should ask for +a renewal of the persecution of the Catholics. The vacillating Charles, +in an instant, is ready to repudiate his interview with Wentworth, and +act 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 the +assembling and the dissolution of the Short Parliament. Only the salient +points of the political situation have been seized upon by Browning. As +in 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 the +exorbitant demands made upon it for money to support an army, this army +to crush Scotland whose cause was so nearly like its own. The popular +party or the Faction had supposed the Parliament would be a means for +the redressing of its long list of grievances which had been +accumulating during the years since the last Parliament had been held. +Instead of that the Commons was deliberately informed by Charles that +there would be no discussions of its demands until it had granted the +subsidies for which it had been asked. The play gives one a much more +lively sense of the indignant feelings of the duped men than can +possibly be gained by reading many more pages of history with its +endless minor details. Upon this gathering, Pym suddenly enters again, +and to the reproaches of him for his belief in Strafford, makes the +reply that the Parliament has been dissolved, the King has cast +Strafford off forever, and henceforth Strafford will be on their +side,--a conclusion not warranted by history, and, of course, found out +to be erroneous by Pym and his followers in the next scene. Again there +is the dramatic need to emphasize the human side of life even in an +essentially political play, by showing that Pym's friendship and loyalty +to Wentworth were no uncertain elements in his character. The moment it +could 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 duty +to 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 is +in the main true to history though much condensed. History relates that +after the Short Parliament was dissolved, "voices were raised at +Whitehall in condemnation of Strafford." His policy of raising subsidies +from the Parliament having failed, criticisms would, of course, be made +upon his having pushed ahead a war without the proper means of +sustaining it. Charles himself was also frightened by the manifestations +of popular discontent and failed to uphold Wentworth in his policy. + +Northumberland had been appointed commander-in-chief of the army, but +besides having little heart for an enterprise so badly prepared for, he +was ill in bed and could not take command of the army, so the King +appointed Strafford in his place. A hint of Strafford as he appears in +this scene may be taken from Clarendon who writes "The earl of Strafford +was scarce recovered from a great sickness, yet was willing to undertake +the charge out of pure indignation to see how few men were forward to +serve the King with that vigor of mind they ought to do; but knowing +well the malicious designs which were contrived against himself, +he would rather serve as lieutenant-general under the earl of +Northumberland, than that he should resign his commission: and so, with +and under that qualification, he made all possible haste towards the +north before he had strength enough for the journey." Browning makes the +King tell Strafford in this interview that he has dissolved the +Parliament. He represents Strafford as horrified by the news and driven +in this extremity to suggest the desperate measure of debasing the +coinage as a means of obtaining funds. Strafford actually counseled +this, when all else failed, namely, the proposed loan from the city, and +one from the Spanish government, but, according to history, he himself +voted for the dissolution of Parliament, though the play is accurate in +laying the necessity of the dissolution at the door of old Vane. It was +truly his ill-judged vehemence, for, not able to brook the arguments of +the Commons, "He rose," says Gardiner, "to state that the King would +accept nothing less than the twelve subsidies which he had demanded in +his message. Upon this the Committee broke up without coming to a +resolution, postponing further consideration of the matter to the +following day." The next morning the King who had called his councillors +together early "announced his intention of proceeding to a dissolution. +Strafford, who arrived late, begged that the question might first be +seriously discussed, and that the opinions of the Councillors, who were +also members of the Lower House, might first be heard. Vane declared +that there was no hope that the Commons 'would give one penny.' On this +the votes were taken. Northumberland and Holland were alone in wishing +to avert a dissolution. Supported by the rest of the Council the King +hurried to the House of Lords and dissolved Parliament." + +Wholly imaginary is the episode in this scene where Pym and his +followers break in upon the interview of Wentworth and the King. Just +at the climax of Wentworth's sorrowful rage at the King's treatment of +him, 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 CHARLES +to the door, in such a manner as to hide his agitation from the rest: as +the King disappears, they turn as by one impulse to PYM, who has not +changed 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's +position is wonderfully brought out--the man who loves his King so +overmuch that no perfidy on the King's part can make his resolution to +serve 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 is +making his great speech impeaching Wentworth. + +The conditions of affairs at the time of this Parliament were well-nigh +desperate for Charles and Wentworth. Things had not gone well with the +Scottish war and Wentworth was falling more and more into disfavor. +England was now threatened with a Scottish invasion. Still, even with +this danger to face it was impossible to raise money to support the +army. The English had a suspicion that the Scotch cause was their own. +The universal demand for a Parliament could no longer be ignored; the +King, therefore, summoned it to meet on the third of November. As Firth +observes, "To Strafford this meant ruin, but he hardly realized the +greatness of the danger in which he stood. On October 8, the Scotch +Commissioners in a public paper denounced him as an incendiary, and +declared that they meant to insist on his punishment. + +"As soon as the Parliament opened Charles discovered that it was +necessary for his service to have Strafford again by his side, and +summoned him to London. There is evidence that his friends urged him to +pass over to Ireland where the army rested at his devotion, or to +transport himself to foreign Kingdoms till fairer weather here should +invite him home. The Marquis of Hamilton advised him to fly, but as +Hamilton told the King, the Earl was too great-hearted to fear. Though +conscious of the peril of obedience, he set out to London to stand by +his Master." + +The enmity of the Court party to Strafford is touched upon in the first +scene, and in the second, Strafford's return, unsuspecting of the great +blow that awaits him. He had indeed meditated a blow on his own part. +According to Firth, he felt that "One desperate resource remained. The +intrigues of the parliamentary leaders with the Scots had come to +Strafford's knowledge, and he had determined to impeach them of high +treason. He could prove that Pym and his friends had secretly +communicated with the rebels, and invited them to bring a Scottish army +into England. Strafford arrived in London on Monday, November 9, 1640, +and spent Tuesday in resting after his journey. On the morning of +Wednesday the 11th, he took his seat in the House of Lords, but did not +strike 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 for +imprisonment before the charge had been set forth, the news of the +impeachment was carried to Strafford. 'I will go,' he proudly said 'and +look my accusers in the face.' With haughty mien and scowling brow he +strode up the floor of the House to his place of honor. There were those +amongst the Peers who had no wish to allow him to speak, lest he should +accuse them of complicity with the Scots. The Lords, as a body, felt +even more personally aggrieved by his method of government than the +Commons. Shouts of 'Withdraw! withdraw!' rose from every side. As soon +as he was gone an order was passed sequestering the Lord-Lieutenant from +his place in the House and committing him to the custody of the +Gentleman Usher. He was then called in and bidden to kneel whilst the +order was read. He asked permission to speak, but his request was +sternly refused. Maxwell, the Usher of the Black Rod, took from him his +sword, and conducted him out of the House. The crowd outside gazed +pitilessly on the fallen minister, 'No man capping to him, before whom +that 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 a +bystander, 'high treason is a small matter.'" + +This passage brings up the scene in a manner so similar to that of the +play, 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, and +amid 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 crowd +discovered, 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's +trial, especially with the change in the procedure from Impeachment to a +Bill of Attainder against Strafford. The details of this great trial are +complicated 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 found +treasonable. + +After Strafford's brilliant defense of himself, it was decided to bring +in a Bill of Attainder. New evidence against Strafford contained in +some notes which the younger Vane had found among his father's papers +were used to strengthen the charge of treason. In these notes Strafford +had advised the King to act "loose and absolved from all rules of +government," and had reminded him that there was an army in Ireland, +ready to reduce the Kingdom. These notes were found by the merest +accident. The younger Vane who had just been knighted and was about to +be married, borrowed his father's keys in order to look up some law +papers. In his search he fell upon these notes taken at a committee that +met immediately after the dissolution of the short Parliament. He made a +copy and carried it to Pym who also made a copy. + +According to Baillie, the "secret" of the change from the Impeachment to +the Bill was "to prevent the hearing of the Earl's lawyers, who give out +that there is no law yet in force whereby he can be condemned to die for +aught yet objected against him, and therefore their intent by this Bill +to supply the defect of the laws therein." To this may be added the +opinion of a member of the Commons. "If the House of Commons proceeds to +demand judgment of the Lords, without doubt they will acquit him, there +being no law extant whereby to condemn him of treason. Wherefore the +Commons are determined to desert the Lord's judicature, and to proceed +against him by Bill of Attainder, whereby he shall be adjudged to death +upon a treason now to be declared." + +One of the chief results in this change of procedure, emphasized by +Browning in an intense scene between Pym and Charles was that it altered +entirely the King's attitude towards Strafford's trial. As Baillie +expresses it, "Had the Commons gone on in the former way of pursuit, the +King might have been a patient, and only beheld the striking off of +Strafford's head; but now they have put them on a Bill which will force +the King either to be our agent and formal voicer to his death, or else +do the world knows not what." + +For the sake of a gain in dramatic power, Browning has once more +departed from history by making Pym the moving power in the Bill of +Attainder, and Hampden in favor of it; while in reality they were +opposed to the change in procedure, and believed that the Impeachment +could have been carried through. + +The relentless, scourging force of Pym in the play, pursuing the +arch-foe of England as he regarded Wentworth to the death, once he is +convinced that England's welfare demands it, would have been weakened +had he been represented in favor of the policy which was abandoned, +instead of with the policy that succeeded. But Pym is made to intimate +that he will abandon the Bill unless the King gives his word that he +will ratify it, and further, Pym declares, should he not ratify the Bill +his 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 the +Trial, 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 any +other part of the play. Strafford in prison in the Tower is the center +around which all the other elements of the drama are made to revolve. A +glimpse, the first, of the man in a purely human capacity is given in +the second scene with Strafford and his children. From all accounts +little Anne was a precocious child and Browning has sketched her +accordingly. The scene is like a gleam of sunshine in the gathering +gloom. + +The genuine grief felt by the historical Charles over the part he played +in the ruin of Strafford is brought out in an interview between +Strafford and Charles, who is represented as coming disguised to the +prison. Strafford who has been hoping for pardon from the King learns +from Hollis, in the King's presence, that the King has signed his death +warrant. He receives this shock with the remark which history attributes +to 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 an +attempt to bribe Balfour to allow him to escape from the tower. This +hint the Poet has worked up into the episode of Charles, calling Balfour +and begging him to go at once to Parliament, to say he will grant all +demands, and that he chooses to pardon Strafford. History, however, does +not say that Lady Carlisle was implicated in any plan for the rescue of +Strafford, of which Browning makes so much. According to Gardiner, she +was by this time bestowing her favors upon Pym. Devotion to the truth +here on Browning's part would have completely ruined the inner unity of +the play. Carlisle, the woman ready to devote herself to Strafford's +utmost need, while Strafford is more or less indifferent to her is the +artistic compliment of Strafford the man devoted to the unresponsive +King. The failure of the escape through Pym's intervention is a final +dramatic climax bringing face to face not so much the two individual men +as the two principles of government for which England was warring, the +Monarchical and the Parliamentary. To the last, Strafford is loyal to +the King and the Kingly idea, while Pym crushing his human feelings +under foot, calmly contemplates the sacrifice not only of Strafford, but +even of the King, if England's need demand it. + +In this supreme moment of agony when Strafford and Pym meet face to face +both men are made to realize an abiding love for each other beneath all +their earthly differences. "A great poet of our own day," writes +Gardiner, "clothing the reconciling spirit of the nineteenth century in +words which never could have been spoken in the seventeenth, has +breathed a high wish. On his page an imaginary Pym, recalling an +imaginary friendship, looks forward hopefully to a reunion in a better +and 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 "Cavalier +Tunes"--which ought to furnish conclusive proof that Browning does not +always put himself into his work. They may be compared with the words +set to Avison's march given in the last chapter which presents just as +sympathetically "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" is +included 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., forms +the background of "Martin Relph," the point of the story being the +life-long agony of reproach suffered by Martin who let his envy and +jealousy conquer him at a crucial moment. The history of the attempt of +Charles Edward to get back the crown of England, supported by a few +thousand Highlanders, of his final defeat at the Battle of Culloden, and +of the decay henceforth of Jacobitism, needs no telling. The treatment +of spies as herein shown is a common-place of war-times, but that a +reprieve exonerating the accused should be prevented from reaching its +destination in time through the jealousy of the only person who saw it +coming gives the episode a tragic touch lifting it into an atmosphere of +peculiar 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 account +of its English historical setting. + +The remarkable career of Robert Clive cannot be gone into here. Suffice +it to refresh one's memory with a few principal events of his life. He +was born in Shopshire in 1725. He entered the service of the East India +Company at eighteen and was sent to Madras. Here, on account of his +falling into debt, and being in danger of losing his situation, he twice +tried to shoot himself. The pistol failed to go off, however, and he +became 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 the +first military power in India. On his return to India (1755-59) he took +a further step and secured for the English a political supremacy. +Finally, on his last visit, he crowned his earlier exploits by putting +the English dominance on a sounder basis of integrity than it had before +been. + +The incident related in the poem by the old man, Browning heard from +Mrs. Jameson, who had shortly before heard it from Macaulay at Lansdowne +House. Macaulay mentions it in his essay: "Of his personal courage he +had, while still a writer [clerk] given signal proof by a desperate duel +with a military bully who was the terror of Fort St. David." + +The old gentleman in the poem evidently mixed up his dates slightly, for +he says this incident occurred when Clive was twenty-one, and he +represents him as committing suicide twenty-five years afterwards. Clive +was 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, Cćsars, 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 social +life in England as it does of those in Italy, perhaps, because there is +a poise and solidity about the English character which does not lend +itself to so great a variety of mood as one may find in the peculiarly +artistic temperament of the Italians, especially those of the +Renaissance period. Even such irregular proceedings as murders have +their philosophical after-claps which show their usefulness in the +divine scheme of things, while unfortunate love affairs work such +beneficent results in character that they are shorn of much of their +tragedy of sorrow. There is quite a group of love-lyrics with no +definite setting that might be put down as English in temper. It does +not require much imagination to think of the lover who sings so lofty a +strain 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 the +philosophy which an Englishman, or at any rate a Browning, can evolve +from 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 name +indicates sufficiently, though the scene is laid out of England. This +wife has her agony over the faithless husband, but she plans vengeance +against neither him nor the other women who attract him. She realizes +that his nature is not a deep and serious one like her own, and in her +highest reach she sees that her own nature has been lifted up by means +of 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 are +among 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 the +Scutcheon" and "The Inn Album;" while, of the shorter ones, "Ned Bratts" +has an English theme, and "Halbert and Hob" though not founded upon an +English story has been given an English _mis en scčne_ by Browning. + +In the "Blot," we get a glimpse of Eighteenth Century aristocratic +England. The estate over which Lord Tresham presided was one of those +typical country kingdoms, which have for centuries been so conspicuous a +feature of English life, and which through the assemblies of the great, +often gathered within their walls, wielded potent influences upon +political life. The play opens with the talk of a group of retainers, +such as formed the household of these lordly establishments. It was not +a rare thing for the servants of the great to be admitted into intimacy +with the family, as was the case with Gerard. They were often people of +a superior grade, hardly to be classed with servants in the sense +unfortunately given to that word to-day. + +Besides the house and the park which figure in the play, such an estate +had many acres of land devoted to agriculture--some of it, called the +demesne, which was cultivated for the benefit of the owner, and some +land held in villeinage which the unfree tenants, called villeins, were +allowed to till for themselves. All this land might be in one large +tract, or the demesne might be separate from the other. Mertoun speaks +of their demesnes touching each other. Over the villeins presided the +Bailiff, who kept strict watch to see that they performed their work +punctually. His duties were numerous, for he directed the ploughing, +sowing and reaping, gave out the seed, watched the harvest, gathered and +looked after the stock and horses. A church, a mill and an inn were +often 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 no +blot in their escutcheon. Some writers have even declared that most of +the nobles are descended from tradesmen. According to one of these "The +great bulk of our peerage is comparatively modern, so far as the titles +go; but it is not the less noble that it has been recruited to so large +an extent from the ranks of honorable industry. In olden times, the +wealth and commerce of London, conducted as it was by energetic and +enterprising men was a prolific source of peerages. Thus, the earldom +of Cornwallis was founded by Thomas Cornwallis, the Cheapside merchant; +that of Essex by William Capel, the draper; and that of Craven by +William Craven, the merchant tailor. The modern Earl of Warwick is not +descended from 'the King-maker,' but from William Greville, the +woolstapler; whilst the modern Dukes of Northumberland find their head, +not in the Percies, but in Hugh Smithson, a respectable London +apothecary. The founders of the families of Dartmouth, Radnor, Ducie, +and Pomfret were respectively a skinner, a silk manufacturer, a merchant +tailor, and a Calais merchant; whilst the founders of the peerages of +Tankerville, Dormer, and Coventry were mercers. The ancestors of Earl +Romney, and Lord Dudley and Ward, were goldsmiths and jewelers; and Lord +Dacres was a banker in the reign of Charles I., as Lord Overstone is in +that of Queen Victoria. Edward Osborne, the founder of the dukedom of +Leeds, was apprentice to William Hewet, a rich cloth worker on London +Bridge, whose only daughter he courageously rescued from drowning, by +leaping into the Thames after her, and eventually married. Among other +peerages 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 closest +counterpart in the Sidney family, for many generations owners of +Penshurst, and with a traditional character according to which the men +were all brave and the women were all pure. Sir Philip Sidney was +himself the type of all the virtues of the family, while his father's +care for his proper bringing up was not unlike Tresham's for Mildred. In +the words of a recent writer: "The most famous scion of this Kentish +house was above all things, the moral and intellectual product of +Penshurst Place. In the park may still be seen an avenue of trees, under +which the father, in his afternoon walks with the boy, tested his +recollection of the morning's lessons conned with the tutor. There, too, +it was that he impressed on the lad those maxims for the conduct of +life, afterwards emphasized in the correspondence still extant among the +Penshurst archives. + +"Philip was to begin every day with lifting up his mind to the Almighty +in hearty prayer, as well as feelingly digesting all he prayed for. He +was also, early or late, to be obedient to others, so that in due time +others might obey him. The secret of all success lay in a moderate diet +with rare use of wine. A gloomy brow was, however, to be avoided. +Rather should the youth give himself to be merry, so as not to +degenerate from his father. Above all things should he keep his wit from +biting words, or indeed from too much talk of any kind. Had not nature +ramparted up the tongue with teeth and the lips with hair as reins and +bridles against the tongue's loose use. Heeding this, he must be sure to +tell no untruth even in trifles; for that was a naughty custom, nor +could there be a greater reproach to a gentleman than to be accounted a +liar. _Noblesse oblige_ formed the keynote of the oral and written +precepts with which the future Sir Philip Sidney was paternally +supplied. By his mother, too, Lady Mary Dudley, the boy must remember +himself to be of noble blood. Let him beware, therefore, through sloth +and vice, of being accounted a blemish on his race." + +Furthermore, the brotherly and sisterly relations of Tresham and Mildred +are not unlike those of Sir Philip Sidney and his sister Mary. They +studied and worked together in great sympathy, broken into only by the +tragic fate of Sir Philip. Although the education of women in those days +was chiefly domestic, with a smattering of accomplishments, yet there +were exceptional girls who aspired to learning and who became brilliant +women. Mildred under her brother's tutelage bid fare to be one of this +sort. + +The ideals of the Sidneys, it is true, were sixteenth-century ideals. +Eighteenth-century ideals were proverbially low. England, then, had not +recovered from the frivolities inaugurated after the Restoration. The +slackness and unbelief among the clergy, and the looseness of morals in +society were notorious, but this degeneration could not have been +universal. There are always a few Noahs and their families left to +repeople the world with righteousness after a deluge of degeneracy, and +Browning is quite right in his portrayal of an eighteenth-century knight +_sans peur et sans reproche_ who defends the honor of his house with his +sword, because of his high moral ideals. Besides, the Methodist revival +led by the Wesleys gained constantly in power. It affected not only the +people of the middle and lower classes, rescuing them from brutality of +mind and manners, but it affected the established church for the better, +and made its mark upon the upper classes. "Religion, long despised and +contemned by the titled and the great" writes Withrow, "began to receive +recognition and support by men high in the councils of the nation. Many +ladies of high rank became devout Christians. A new element of +restraint, compelling at least some outward respect for the decencies of +life and observances of religion, was felt at court, where too long +corruption and back-stair influence had sway." + +Like all of his kind, no matter what the century, Tresham is more than +delighted at the thought of an alliance between his house and the noble +house to which Mertoun belonged. The youth of Mildred was no obstacle, +for marriages were frequently contracted in those days between young +boys and girls. The writer's English grand-father and mother were married +at the respective ages of sixteen and fifteen within the boundaries of +the nineteenth century. + +The first two scenes of the play present episodes thoroughly +illustrative of the life lived by the "quality." + + +ACT I + +SCENE I.--_The interior of a lodge in LORD TRESHAM'S park. Many +Retainers crowded at the window, supposed to command a view of the +entrance 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 its +jugs._] + + 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. Meantime +AUSTIN 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 human +one, and belongs to no one country or no one period of civilization more +than another, but the attitude of all the actors in the tragedy belongs +distinctively to the phase of moral culture which we saw illustrated in +the youth of Sir Philip Sidney, and is characteristic of English ways of +thinking whenever their moral force comes uppermost, as for example in +the Puritan thought of the Cromwellian era. + +The play is in a sense a problem play, though to most modern readers the +tragedy of its ending is all too horrible a consequence of the sin. +Dramatically and psychically, however, the tragedy is much more +inevitable than that of Romeo and Juliet, whose love one naturally +thinks of in the same connection. The catastrophe in the Shakespeare +play is almost mechanically pushed to its conclusion through mere +external blundering, easily to have been prevented. Juliet saw clearly +where Mildred does not, that loyalty to a deep and true love should +triumph over all minor considerations, so that in her case the tragedy +is, in no sense, due to her blindness of vision. In the "Blot," lack of +perception of the true values in life makes it impossible for Mildred or +Tresham to act otherwise than they did. But having worked out their +problem according to their lights, a new light of a more glorious day +dawns upon them. + +The ideal by which Tresham lives and moves and has his being is that of +pride of birth, with honor and chastity as its watchwords. At the same +time the idol of his life is his sister Mildred, over whom he has +watched with a father's and mother's care. When the blow to his ideal +comes at the hands of this much cherished sister, it is not to be +wondered at that his reason almost deserts him. The greatest agony +possible to the human soul is to have its ideals, the very food which +has been the sustenance of its being, utterly ruined. The ideal may be a +wrong one, or an impartial one, and through the wrack and ruin may dawn +larger vision, but, unless the nature be a marvelously developed one the +storm that breaks when an ideal is shattered is overwhelming. + +It would be equally true of Mildred that, nurtured as she had been and +as young English girls usually are, in great purity, even ignorance of +all things pertaining to life, the sense of her sin would be so +overwhelming as to blind her to any possible means of expiation except +the most extreme. And indeed may it not be said that only those who can +see as Mertoun and Guendolen did that genuine and loyal love is no less +love because, in a conventional sense, it has sinned,--only those would +acknowledge, as Tresham, indeed, does after he has murdered Mertoun, how +perfect the love of Mildred and Mertoun was. Sin flourishes only when +insincerity tricks itself out in the garb of love, and on the whole it +is well that human beings should have an abiding sense of their own and +others insincerity, and test themselves by their willingness to +acknowledge their love before God and man. There are many Mildreds but +few Mertouns. It is little wonder that Dickens wrote with such +enthusiasm of this play that he knew no love like that of Mildred and +Mertoun, no passion like it. + +[Illustration: An English Park] + +One does not need to discuss whether murders were possible in English +social life. They are possible in all life at all times as long as men +and women allow their passions to overthrow their reason. The last act, +however, illustrates the English poise already referred to; Tresham +regains his equilibrium with enlarged vision, his salvation is +accomplished, his soul awakened. + + +ACT III + +SCENE I.--_The end of the Yew-tree Avenue under MILDRED'S window. A +light 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 MERTOUN +cloaked 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 arrests +his 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 is +empty._ + + 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 influence +exerted by Bunyan upon some of his wicked contemporaries. The poet took +his hints for the story from Bunyan himself, who tells it as follows in +the "Life and Death of Mr. Badman." + +"At a summer assizes holden at Hertford, while the judge was sitting +upon the bench, comes this old Tod into the Court, clothed in a green +suit, with his leathern girdle in his hand, his bosom open, and all on a +dung sweat, as if he had run for his life; and being come in, he spake +aloud, as follows: 'My lord,' said he, 'here is the veriest rogue that +breathes 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 do +other such like wicked things, and I have continued a thief ever since. +My lord, there has not been a robbery committed these many years, within +so many miles of this place, but I have either been at it, or privy to +it.' The judge thought the fellow was mad, but after some conference +with some of the justices, they agreed to indict him; and so they did of +several 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 amid +the scenes of Bunyan's labors and imprisonment. Bunyan, himself, was +tried at the Bedford Assizes upon the charge of preaching things he +should not, or according to some accounts for preaching without having +been ordained, and was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment in the +Bedford Jail. At one time it was thought that he wrote "Pilgrim's +Progress" during this imprisonment, but Dr. Brown, in his biography of +Bunyan conjectured that this book was not begun until a later and +shorter imprisonment of 1675-76, in the town prison and toll-house on +Bedford Bridge. Dr. Brown supposes that the portion of the book written +in prison closes where Christian and Hopeful part from the shepherds on +the Delectable Mountains. "At that point a break in the narrative is +indicated--'So I awoke from my dream;' it is resumed with the +words--'And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same two pilgrims +going down the mountains along the highway towards the city.' Already +from the top of an high hill called 'Clear,' the Celestial City was in +view; dangers there were still to be encountered; but to have reached +that high hill and to have seen something like a gate, and some of the +glory of the place, was an attainment and an incentive." There Bunyan +could pause. Several years later the pilgrimage of Christiana was +written. + +Browning, however, adopts the tradition that the book was written during +the twelve years' imprisonment, and makes use of the story of Bunyan's +having supported himself during this time by making tagged shoe-laces. +He brings in, also, the little blind daughter to whom Bunyan was said to +be devoted. The Poet was evidently under the impression also that the +assizes were held in a courthouse, but there is good authority for +thinking that at that time they were held in the chapel of Herne. +Nothing remains of this building now, but it was situated at the +southwest corner of the churchyard of St. Paul, and was spoken of +sometimes as the School-house chapel. + +Ned Bratts and his wife did not know, of course, that they actually +lived in the land of the "Pilgrim's Progress." This has been pointed out +only recently in a fascinating little book by A. J. Foster of Wootton +Vicarage, Bedfordshire. He has been a pilgrim from Elstow, the village +where Bunyan was born near Bedford, through all the surrounding country, +and has fixed upon many spots beautiful and otherwise which he believes +were transmuted in Bunyan's imagination into the House Beautiful, The +Delectable Mountains, Vanity Fair and so on through nearly all the +scenes of Christian's journey. + +The House Beautiful he identifies with Houghton House in the manor of +Dame Ellen's Bury. This is one of the most interesting of the country +houses of England, because of its connection with Sir Philip Sidney's +sister, Mary Sidney. After the death of her husband, Lord Pembroke, +James I. presented her with the royal manor of Dame Ellen's Bury, and +under the guidance of Inigo Jones, it is generally supposed, Houghton +House was built. It is in ruins now and covered with ivy. Trees have +grown within the ruins themselves. Still it is one of the most beautiful +spots in Bedfordshire. "In Bunyan's time," Mr. Foster writes, "we may +suppose the northern slope of Houghton Park was a series of terraces +rising one above another, and laid out in the stiff garden fashion of +the time. A flight of steps, or maybe a steep path, would lead from one +terrace to the next, and gradually the view over the plain of Bedford +would reveal itself to the traveler as he mounted higher and higher." + +From Houghton House there is a view of the Chiltern Hills. Mr. Foster is +of the opinion that Bunyan had this view in mind when he described +Christian as looking from the roof of the House Beautiful southwards +towards the Delectable Mountains. He writes, "One of the main roads to +London 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 passed +along this road. All in this direction was, therefore, to him familiar +ground. Many a pleasant walk or ride came back to him through memory, as +he took pen in hand to describe Hill Difficulty with its steep path and +its arbor, and the House Beautiful with its guest-chamber, its large +upper room looking eastward, its study and its armory. + +"Many a time did Bunyan, as he journeyed, look southwards to the blue +Chilterns, and when the time came he placed together all that he had +seen, as the frame in which he should set his way-faring pilgrim." + +Pleasant as it would be to follow with Mr. Foster his journey through +the real scenes of the "Pilgrim's Progress," our main interest at +present is to observe how Browning's facile imagination has presented +the 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 Curić_--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-- + Astrća 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 in +his own time. The most innocent among us had overwhelming qualms in +regard to our sins, as children when we listened to our mothers read the +book. I remember having confessed some childish peccadillo that was +weighing on my small mind as the first result of my thoroughly aroused +sense of guilt. In these early years of the Twentieth Century, such a +feeling seems almost as far removed as the days of Bunyan. A sense of +guilt is not a distinguishing characteristic of the child of the present +day, and it may also be doubted whether such reprobates as Ned and his +wife would to-day be affected much if at all by the "Pilgrim's +Progress." There was probably great personal magnetism in Bunyan +himself. We are told that after his discharge from prison, his +popularity as a preacher widened rapidly. Such vast crowds of people +flocked to hear him that his place of worship had to be enlarged. He +went frequently to London on week days to deliver addresses in the large +chapel in Southwark which was invariably thronged with eager worshipers. + +Browning's picture of Bunyan shows the instant effect of his personality +upon 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 the +shoe laces to tie up the hands of their victims, and to bring on by this +means the meeting between Tab and Bunyan. Of course, the blind +daughter's part is imaginary, but yet it seems to bring very vividly +before us this well loved child. Another touch, quite in keeping with +the time, is the decision of the Judge that the remarkable change of +heart in Ned and Tab was due to the piety of King Charles. Like every +one else, however, he was impressed by what he heard of the Tinker, and +inclined to see what he could do to give him his freedom. It seems that +Bunyan's life in jail was a good deal lightened by the favor he always +inspired. The story goes that from the first he was in favor with the +jailor, who nearly lost his place for permitting him on one occasion to +go as far as London. After this he was more strictly confined, but at +last he was often allowed to visit his family, and remain with them all +night. One night, however, when he was allowed this liberty Bunyan felt +resistlessly impressed with the propriety of returning to the prison. He +arrived after the keeper had shut up for the night, much to the +official's surprise. But his impatience at being untimely disturbed was +changed to thankfulness, when a little after a messenger came from a +neighboring clerical magistrate to see that the prisoner was safe. "You +may go now when you will" said the jailer; "for you know better than I +can 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 an +appreciative tribute to his genius and to his force of character, +only to be paralleled by Dowden's sympathetic critique in his "Puritan +and Anglican Studies." What Browning makes Ned and Tab see through +suddenly 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, admirably +discriminated, and as convincing in their self-verification as those of +Holbein. His personages live for us as few figures outside the drama of +Shakespeare live.... All his powers cooperated harmoniously in creating +this book--his religious ardor, his human tenderness, his sense of +beauty, nourished by the Scriptures, his strong common sense, even his +gift 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 England +setting. We may imagine, if we choose, that this wild father and son +dwelt in the beautiful country of Northumberland, in the North of +England, but descriptions of the scenery could add nothing to the +atmosphere of the poem, for Northumberland is surpassingly lovely. +Doubtless, human beings of this type have existed in all parts of the +globe. At any rate, these particular human beings were transported by +Browning from Aristotle's "Ethics" to the North of England. The incident +is told by Aristotle in illustration of the contention that anger and +asperity are more natural than excessive and unnecessary desires. "Thus +one 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 he +also (pointing to his child) will strike me, when he becomes a man; for +it runs in our family.' A certain person, also, being dragged by his +son, bid him stop at the door, for he himself had dragged his father as +far as that." The dryness of "Aristotle's cheeks" is as usual so +enlivened by Browning that the fate of Halbert and Hob grows pathetic +and 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 Englishman +is dissected with the keen knife of a surgeon, which Browning knows so +well how to wield. The villain of this poem was a real personage, a Lord +de Ros, a friend of the Duke of Wellington. The story belongs to the +annals of crime and is necessarily unpleasant, but in order to see how +Browning has worked up the episode it is interesting to know the bare +facts as Furnivall gives them in "Notes and Queries" March 25, 1876. He +says "that the gambling lord showed the portrait of the lady he had +seduced and abandoned and offered his dupe an introduction to her, as a +bribe to induce him to wait for payment of the money he had won; that +the young gambler eagerly accepted the offer; and that the lady +committed suicide on hearing of the bargain between them." Dr. Furnivall +heard the story from some one who well remembered the sensation it had +made in London years ago. In his management of the story, Browning has +intensified the villainy of the Lord at the same time that he has shown +a 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 year +of tutelage from the older man. He makes one radical change in the story +as well as several minor ones. In the poem the younger man had been in +love with the girl whom the older man had dishonorably treated, and had +never ceased to love her. Of course, the two men do not know this. By +the advice of the elder man, the younger one has decided to settle down +and marry his cousin, a charming young girl, who is also brought upon +the scene. The other girl is represented as having married an old +country parson, who sought a wife simply as a helpmeet in his work. By +thus complicating the situations, room has been given for subtle psychic +development. The action is all concentrated into one morning in the +parlor of the old inn, reminding one much of the method of Ibsen in his +plays of grouping his action about a final catastrophe. At the inn one +is introduced first to the two gamblers in talk, the young man having +won his ten thousand pounds from the older man, who had intended to +fleece him. The inn album plays an important part in the action, +innocent as its first appearance upon the scene seems to be. The +description 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 of +the inn is, it is impossible to say which out of the many English inns +Browning had in mind. Inns date back to the days of the Romans, who had +ale-houses along the roads, the most interesting feature of which was +the ivy garland or wreath of vine-leaves in honor of Bacchus, wreathed +around a hoop at the end of a long pole to point out the way where good +drink could be had. A curious survival of this in early English times +was the "ale-stake," a tavern so called because it had a long pole +projecting from the house front wreathed like the old Roman poles with +furze, a garland of flowers or an ivy wreath. This decoration was called +the "bush," and in time the London taverners so vied with each other in +their attempt to attract attention by very long poles and very prominent +bushes that in 1375 a law was passed according to which all taverners +in the city of London owning ale-stakes projecting or extending over the +King's highway more than seven feet in length, at the utmost, should be +fined forty pence, and compelled to remove the sign. Here is the origin, +too, of the proverb, "good wine needs no bush." In the later development +of the inn the signs lost their Bacchic character and became most +elaborate, often being painted by artists. + +The poet says this inn was the "Something-arms," and had perhaps once +been a house. Many inns were the "Something (?) arms" and certainly many +inns had been houses. One such is the Pounds Bridge Inn on a secluded +road between Speldhurst and Penshurst in Kent. It was built by the +rector of Penshurst, William Darkenoll, who lived in it only three +years, when it became an inn. The inn of the poem might have been a +combination in Browning's memory of this and the "White Horse" at +Woolstone, which is described as a queerly pretty little inn with a +front distantly resembling a Chippendale bureau-bookcase. "It is tucked +away under the mighty sides of White Horse Hill, Berkshire, and +additionally overhung with trees and encircled with shrubberies and +under-woods, and is finally situated on a narrow road that presently +leads, as it would seem, to the end of the known world." So writes the +enthusiastic lover of inns, Charles Harper. Or, perhaps, since there is +a river to be seen from the inn of the poem the "Swan" at Sandleford +Water, where a foot bridge and a water splash on the river Enborne mark +the boundaries of Hampshire and Berkshire. Here "You have the place +wholly to yourself, or share it only with the squirrels and the birds of +the overarching trees." The illustration given of the Black Bear Inn, +Tewksbury, is a quite typical example of inn architecture, and may have +helped the picture in Browning's mind, though its situation is not so +rural as that described in the poem. + +Inns have, from time immemorial, been the scenes of romances and +tragedies and crimes. There have been inns like the "Castle" where the +"quality" loved to congregate. The "inn album" of this establishment had +inscribed in it almost every eighteenth-century name of any distinction. +There have been inns which were noted as the resort of the wits of the +day. Ben Jonson loved to take "mine ease in mine inn," and Dr. Johnson +declared 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 a +comfortable sanded parlor, a roaring fire, and plenty of good cheer and +good company, but also of the circle of humbly appreciative auditors who +gathered round an accepted wit, hung upon his words, offered themselves +as butts for his ironic or satiric humor, and--stood treat." Or there +was the inn of sinister aspect where highwaymen might congregate, or +inns with hosts who let their guests down through trap-doors in the +middle of the night to rob and murder them--or is this only a vague +remembrance of a fanciful inn of Dickens? Then there was the pilgrim's +inn in the days when Chaucerian folks loved to go on pilgrimages, and in +the last century the cyclists inn, and to-day the inn of the +automobilist. The particular inn in the poem belongs to the class, rural +inn, and in spite of its pictures by noted masters was "stuffy" as to +the atmosphere. + +[Illustration: An English Inn] + +The "inn album" or visitors' book is a feature of inns. In this country +we simply sign our names in the visitors' book, but the "album" feature +of the visitors' book of an English inn is its glory and too often its +shame, for as Mr. Harper says, "Bathos, ineptitude, and lines that +refuse to scan are the stigmata of visitors' book verse. There is no +worse poetry on earth than that which lurks between those covers, or in +the pages of young ladies' albums." He declares that "The interesting +pages of visitors' books are generally those that are not there, as an +Irishman might say; for the world is populated very densely with those +appreciative people who, whether from a love of literature, or with an +instinct for collecting autographs that may have a realizable value, +remove the signatures of distinguished men, and with them anything +original they may have written." + +Browning pokes fun at the poetry of his inn album, but at the same time +uses 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 threat +by 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 the +following 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 they +have another talk, in which each tells the other of his experience, but +they 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 the +wife 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, to +talk over her prospective husband. She desires her friend to come to her +home and meet her fiancé, but the lady, who is in constant fear of +meeting "Iago," never goes anywhere, and proposes a meeting with him at +the inn. While she waits, "Iago" comes in upon her. There is a terrible +scene of recrimination between these two, the man again daring to prefer +his love. The lady scorns him. Horror is added to horror when the young +man appears at the door, and recognizes the woman he really loves. His +faith in her and his love are shaken for a moment, but return +immediately and he stands her true friend and lover. The complete +despicableness of "Iago's" nature finally reveals itself in the lines he +writes in the album and gives to the lady to read. The poem is too long +to quote in full. The closing scene, however, will give the reader a +good idea of the poet's handling of this nineteenth-century tragedy. + +The true nobility of soul of the younger man links him with Mertoun +among Browning's heroes and represents the Englishman or the man of any +country for that matter at his highest. Whether redemption for the older +man would have been possible had the lady believed him in the inn parlor +is doubtful. Such natures are like Ibsen's "Peer Gynt." They need to be +put 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 the +nineteenth century in England; and possibly "Caliban" might be included +as representative of Calvinistic survivals of the century. + +The two most strongly marked of these tendencies have been shown in the +Tractarian Movement which took Anglican in the direction of High +Churchism and Catholicism, and in the Scientific Movement which led in +the direction of Agnosticism. + +The battle between the Church of Rome and the Church of England was +waged the latter part of the first half of the century, and the greater +battle between science and religion came on in its full strength the +middle of the century when the influence of Spencer, Darwin, Tyndall, +Huxley and other men of science began to make itself felt, as well as +that of such critics of historical Christianity as Strauss in Germany +and Renan in France. The influence of the dissenting bodies,--the +Presbyterians and the Methodists--also became a power during the +century. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the development has been +in the direction of the utmost freedom of conscience in the matter of +religion, though the struggles of humanity to arrive there even during +this century are distressing to look back upon; and occasionally one is +held up even in America to-day by the ghost of religious persecution. + +It is an open secret that in Bishop Blougram, Browning meant to portray +Cardinal Wiseman, whose connection with the Tractarian Movement is of +great interest in the history of this movement. Browning enjoyed hugely +the joke that Cardinal Wiseman himself reviewed the poem. The Cardinal +praised it as a poem, though he did not consider the attitude of a +priest of Rome to be properly interpreted. A comparison of the poem with +opinions expressed by the Cardinal as well as a glimpse into his +activities will show how far Browning has done him justice. + +It is well to remember at the outset that the poet's own view is neither +that of Blougram nor of the literary man Gigadibs, with whom Blougram +talks over his wine. Gigadibs is an agnostic and cannot understand how a +man of Blougram's fine intellectual and artistic perceptions is able so +implicitly to believe in Catholic doctrine. Blougram's apology for +himself amounts to this,--that he does not believe with absolute +certainty any more than does Gigadibs; but, on the other hand, Gigadibs +does not disbelieve with absolute certainty, so Blougram's state is one +of belief shaken occasionally by doubt, while Gigadibs is one of +unbelief 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 point +is, Blougram contends, that he lives by what he finds the most to his +taste; giving him as it does, power, distinction and beauty in life as +well 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 in +connection with Browning's portrayal of him to observe his earlier +years. He was born in Spain, having a Spanish father of English descent +and an English mother, all Catholics, as Blougram says, "There's one +great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in." His mother took +him as an infant, and laid him upon the altar of the Cathedral of +Seville, 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 and +his brother to England where he was trained at the Catholic college of +Ushaw. From there he went to Rome to study at the English Catholic +College there. Later he became Rector of this College. The sketch of +Wiseman at this period given by his biographer, Wilfred Ward, is most +attractive. "Scattered through his 'Recollections' are interesting +impressions left by his student life. While mastering the regular course +of scholastic philosophy and theology sufficiently to take his degree +with credit, his tastes were not primarily in this direction. The study +of Roman antiquities, Christian and Pagan, was congenial to him, as was +also the study of Italian art--in which he ultimately became +proficient--and of music: and he early devoted himself to the Syriac and +Arabic languages. In all these pursuits the enthusiasm and eminence of +men living in Rome itself at this era of renaissance was a potent +stimulus to work. The hours he set aside for reading were many more than +the rule demanded. But the daily walk and the occasional expedition to +places of historic interest outside of Rome helped also to store his +mind and to fire his imagination." Wiseman writes, himself, of this +period, "The life of the student in Rome should be one of unblended +enjoyment. His very relaxations become at once subsidiary to his work +and yet most delightfully recreative. His daily walks may be through the +field of art ... his wanderings along the stream of time ... a thousand +memories, a thousand associations accompany him." From this letter and +from accounts of him he would seem to have been possessed of a highly +imaginative temperament, possibly more artistic than religious. +Scholars, linguists, or historians, artists or antiquarians interested +him far more than thinkers or theologians. In noting the effects on +Wiseman's character of the thoughts and sights of Rome, "it must be +observed," writes Ward, "that even the action of directly religious +influences brought out his excessive impressionableness. His own inner +life was as vivid a pageant to him as the history of the Church. He was +liable at this time to the periods of spiritual exaltation--matched, as +we shall see later on, by fits of intense despondency--which marked him +through life." + +This remarkable intellectual activity brought with it doubts of +religious truth. "The imaginative delight in Rome as a living witness to +the faith entirely left him, and at the same time he was attacked by +mental disturbances and doubts of the truth of Christianity. There are +contemporary indications, and still plainer accounts in the letters of +his later life, of acute suffering from these trials. The study of +Biblical criticism, even in the early stages it had then reached, seems +immediately to have occasioned them; and the suffering they caused him +was aggravated into intense and almost alarming depression by the +feebleness of his bodily health." He says, speaking of this phase in his +life, "Many and many an hour have I passed, alone, in bitter tears, on +the _loggia_ of the English College, when every one was reposing in the +afternoon, and I was fighting with subtle thoughts and venomous +suggestions of a fiendlike infidelity which I durst not confide to any +one, for there was no one that could have sympathized with me. This +lasted for years; but it made me study and think, to conquer the +plague--for I can hardly call it danger--both for myself and for others. +But during the actual struggle the simple submission of faith is the +only remedy. Thoughts against faith must be treated at the time like +temptations against any other virtue--put away; though in cooler moments +they may be safely analyzed and unraveled." Again he wrote of these +years as, "Years of solitude, of desolation, years of shattered nerves, +dread often of instant insanity, consumptive weakness, of sleepless +nights and weary days, and hours of tears which no one witnessed." + +"Of the effect of these years of desolation on his character he speaks +as being simply invaluable. It completed what Ushaw had begun, the +training in patience, self-reliance, and concentration in spite of +mental depression. It was amid these trials, he adds, 'that I wrote my +"Horć Syriacć" 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 Puseyite +controversy at a later period.' Any usefulness which discovered itself +in later years he considers the 'result of self-discipline' during his +inner conflict. The struggle so absorbed his energies that his early +life was passed almost wholly free from the special trials to which that +period is liable. He speaks of his youth as in that respect 'almost +temptationless.'" This state of mind seemed to last about five years and +then he writes in a letter: + +"I have felt myself for some months gradually passing into a new state +of mind and heart which I can hardly describe, but which I trust is the +last stage of mental progress, in which I hope I may much improve, but +out of which I trust I may never pass. I could hardly express the calm +mild frame of mind in which I have lived; company and society I have +almost entirely shunned, or have moved through it as a stranger; hardly +a 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 it +proceed? I think I could make an interesting history of my mind's +religious progress, if I may use a word shockingly perverted by modern +fanatics, from the hard dry struggles I used to have when first I +commenced to study on my own account, to the settling down into a state +of stern conviction, and so after some years to the nobler and more +soothing evidences furnished by the grand harmonies and beautiful +features of religion, whether considered in contact with lower objects +or viewed in her own crystal mirror. I find it curious, too, and +interesting to trace the workings of those varied feelings upon my +relations to the outward world. I remember how for years I lost all +relish for the glorious ceremonies of the Church. I heeded not its +venerable monuments and sacred records scattered over the city; or I +studied them all with the dry eye of an antiquarian, looking in them for +proofs, not for sensations, being ever actively alive to the collection +of evidences and demonstrations of religious truth. But now that the +time of my probation as I hope it was, is past, I feel as though the +freshness of childhood's thoughts had once more returned to me, my +heart expands with renewed delight and delicious feelings every time I +see the holy objects and practices around me, and I might almost say +that I am leading a life of spiritual epicureanism, opening all my +senses to a rich draught of religious sensations." + +From these glimpses it would appear that Wiseman was a much more sincere +man 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 the +attitude which will be, so to speak, the most politic from both a +worldly and a spiritual point of view. The beautiful passage beginning +"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset touch" etc., comes nearer to +the genuine enthusiasm of a Wiseman than any other in the poem. There is +an essential difference between the minds of the poet and the man he +portrays, which perhaps made it impossible for Browning fully to +interpret Wiseman's attitude. Both have religious fervor, but Browning's +is born of a consciousness of God revealed directly to himself, while +Wiseman's consciousness of God comes to him primarily through the +authority of the Church, that is through generations of authoritative +believers the first of whom experienced the actuality of Revelation. +Hundreds and thousands of people have minds of this caliber. They cannot +see a truth direct for themselves, they must be told by some person +clothed in authority that this or that is true or false. To Wiseman the +beauty of his own form of religion with its special dogmas made so +strong an appeal, that, since he could only believe through authority, +under any circumstances, it was natural to him to adopt the particular +form that gave him the most satisfaction. Proofs detrimental to belief +do not worry long with doubts such a mind, because the authority they +depend on is not the authority of knowledge, but the authority of +belief. This comes out clearly enough in one of Wiseman's letters in +which after enumerating a number of proofs brought forward by various +scholars tending to cast discredit on the dogmas of the Church, he +triumphantly exclaims, "And yet, who that has an understanding to judge, +is driven for a moment from the holdings of faith by such comparisons as +these!" + +[Illustration: Sacred Heart _F. Utenbach_] + +Upon looking through his writings there will always be found in his +expression of belief, I think, that ring of true sincerity as well as +what I should call an intense artistic delight in the essential beauty +of his religion. + +As to Blougram's argument that he believed in living in the world while +he was in it, Wiseman's life was certainly not that of a worldling +alone, though he is described by one person as being "a genuine priest, +very good looking and able bodied, and with much apparent practice in +the world." He was far too much of a student and worker to be altogether +so worldly-minded as Browning represents him. + +His chief interest for Englishmen is his connection with the Tractarian +Movement. The wish of his soul was to aid the Catholic Revival in +England, and with that end in view he visited England in 1835. Two years +before, the movement at Oxford, known as the Tractarian Movement had +begun. The opinions of the men in this movement were, as every one +knows, printed in a series of ninety tracts of which Newman wrote +twenty-four. It was an outgrowth of the conditions of the time. To sum +up in the words of Withrow,[3] "The Church of England had distinctly +lost ground as a directing and controlling force in the nation. The most +thoughtful and earnest minds in the Church felt the need of a great +religious awakening and an aggressive movement to regain its lost +influence." As Dean Church describes them, the two characteristic forms +of Christianity in the Church of England were the High Church, and the +Evangelicals, or Low Church." Of the former he says: "Its better +members were highly cultivated, benevolent men, intolerant of +irregularities both of doctrine and life, whose lives were governed by +an unostentatious but solid and unfaltering piety, ready to burst forth +on occasion into fervid devotion. Its worse members were jobbers and +hunters after preferment, pluralists who built fortunes and endowed +families out of the Church, or country gentlemen in orders, who rode to +hounds 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 including +Newman, Pusey, Keble, Arnold, Maurice, Kingsley, and others, who began +an active propaganda of the new or revised doctrines of the Oxford +Movement. + +"The success of the Tracts," says Molesworth, "was much greater, and the +outcry against them far louder and fiercer, than their authors had +expected. The Tracts were at first small and simple, but became large +and learned theological treatises. Changes, too, came over the views of +some of the writers. Doctrines which probably would have shocked them at +first were put forward with a recklessness which success had increased. +Alarm was excited, remonstrances stronger and stronger were addressed to +them. They were attacked as Romanizing in their tendency." + +"The effect of such writing was two-fold[4]--the public were dismayed +and certain members of the Tractarian party avowed their intention of +becoming Romanists. So decided was the setting of the tide towards Rome +that 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 the +Thirty-nine Articles in the interest of Roman Catholicism. This tract +aroused a storm of indignation. The violent controversy which it +occasioned led to the discontinuance of the series." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] See Withrow. + +Such in little was this remarkable movement. When Tract No. 90 appeared +Wiseman had been in England for some time, and had been a strong +influence in taking many thinking men in the direction of Rome. His +lectures and discourses upon his first visit to England had attracted +remarkable attention. The account runs by one who attended his lectures +to Catholics and Protestants: "Society in this country was impressed, +and listened almost against its will, and listened not displeased. Here +was a young Roman priest, fresh from the center of Catholicism, who +showed himself master, not only of the intricacies of polemical +discussion but of the amenities of civilized life. The spacious church +of Moorfields was thronged on every evening of Dr. Wiseman's appearance. +Many persons of position and education were converted, and all departed +with abated prejudice, and with very different notions about Catholicism +from those with which they had been prepossessed by their education." +Wiseman, himself, wrote, "I had the consolation of witnessing the +patient and edifying attention of a crowded audience, many of whom stood +for two hours without any symptom of impatience." + +The great triumph for Wiseman, however, was when, shortly after Tract +90, Newman, "a man," described "in many ways, the most remarkable that +England has seen during the century, perhaps the most remarkable whom +the English Church has produced in any century," went over to the Church +of Rome and was confirmed by Wiseman. Others followed his example and by +1853 as many as four hundred clergymen and laity had become Roman +Catholics. + +The controversies and discussions of that time, it must be remembered, +were more upon the dogmas of the church than upon what we should call +to-day the essential truths of religion. Yet, to a certain order of mind +dogmas seem important truths. There are those whose religious attitude +cannot be preserved without belief in dogmas, and the advantage of the +Catholic Church is that it holds firmly to its dogmas, come what may. It +was expected, however, that this Romeward Movement would arouse intense +antipathy. "The arguments by which it was justified were considered, in +many cases, disingenuous, if not Jesuitical." + +In opposition of this sort we come nearer to Browning's attitude of +mind. Because such arguments as Wiseman and the Tractarians used could +not convince him, he takes the ordinary ground of the opposition, that +in using such arguments they must be insincere, and they must be +perfectly conscious of their insincerity. Still, in spite of the fact +that Browning's mind could not get inside of Blougram's, he shows that +he has some sympathy for the Bishop in the close of the poem where he +says, "He said true things but called them by wrong names." Raise +Blougram's philosophy to the plane of the mysticism of a Browning, and +the arguments for belief would be much the same but the _counters_ in +the arguments would become symbols instead of dogmas. + +In "Christmas-Eve and Easter Day," Browning becomes the true critic of +the nineteenth-century religious movements. He passes in review in a +series of dramatic pictures the three most diverse modes of religious +thought of the century. The dissenter's view is symbolized by a scene in +a very humble chapel in England, the Catholic view by a vision of high +mass at St. Peter's and the Agnostic view by a vision of a lecture by a +learned German professor,--while the view of the modern mystic who +remains religious in the face of all destructive criticism is shown in +the speaker of the poem. The intuitional, aspiring side of his nature is +symbolized by the vision of Christ that appears to him, while the +intensity of its power fluctuates as he either holds fast or lets go the +garment of Christ. Opposed to his intuitional side is his reasoning +side. + +Possibly the picture of the dissenting chapel is exaggeratedly humble, +though if we suppose it to be a Methodist Chapel, it may be true to +life, as Methodism was the form of religion which made its appeal to the +lowest classes. Indeed, at the time of its first successes, it was the +saving grace of England. "But for the moral antiseptic," writes Withrow, +"furnished by Methodism, and the revival of religion in all the churches +which it produced, the history of England would have been far other than +it was. It would probably have been swept into the maelstrom of +revolution and shared the political and religious convulsions of the +neighboring nation," that is the French Revolution. + +"But Methodism had greatly changed the condition of the people. It had +rescued vast multitudes from ignorance and barbarism, and raised them +from almost the degradation of beasts to the condition of men and the +fellowship of saints. The habits of thrift and industry which it +fostered led to the accumulation, if not of wealth, at least to that of +a substantial competence; and built up that safeguard of the +Commonwealth, a great, intelligent, industrious, religious Middle-Class +in the community." + +After the death of Wesley came various divisions in the Methodist +Church; it has so flexible a system that it may be adapted to very +varied needs of humanity, and in that has consisted its great power. +The mission of the church was originally to the poor and lowly, but "It +has 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 this +poem, 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 love +in little, from that transcendent love may be deduced. His reasoning +finally brings him to a state of vision. His subjective intuitions +become palpable objective symbols, a not infrequent occurrence in highly +wrought 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 the +little Methodist Chapel. The Catholic Church is the church of all others +which has gathered about itself the marvels of art in sculpture, +painting and music. As the chapel depressed with its ugliness, the great +cathedral 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 scientific +criticism has been upon historical Christianity. + +The warfare between science and religion forms one of the most +fascinating and terrible chapters in the annals of the development of +the human mind. About the middle of the nineteenth century the war +became general. It was no longer a question of a skirmish over this +or that particular discovery in science which would cause some +long-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 science +sees, on the one hand, it cannot conquer religion, and religion sees, on +the other, it cannot conquer science. What each has done is to strip the +other of its untruths, leaving its truths to grow by the light each +holds up for the other. Together they advance toward the knowledge of +the 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 anapćsts 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 a +vision. His conclusions have that broadness of view which belongs only +to those most advanced in thought. He has learned that not only must +there be the essential truth behind every sincere effort to reach it, +but that even his own vision of the truth is not necessarily the final +way of truth but is merely the way which is true for him. The jump from +the attitude of mind that persecutes those who do not believe according +to one established rule to such absolute toleration of all forms because +of their symbolizing an eternal truth gives the measure of growth in +religious thought from the days of Wesley to Browning. The Wesleys and +their fellow-helpers were stoned and mobbed, and some died of their +wounds in the latter part of the eighteenth century, while in 1850, when +"Christmas-Eve" was written, an Englishman could express a height of +toleration and sympathy for religions not his own, as well as taking a +religious stand for himself so exalted that it is difficult to imagine a +further step in these directions. Perhaps we are suffering to-day from +over-toleration, that is, we tolerate not only those whose aspiration +takes a different form, but those whose ideals lead to degeneracy. It +seems as though all virtues must finally develop their shadows. What, +however, is a shadow but the darkness occasioned by the approach of some +greater 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 and +somewhat intricate discussion between two friends upon the basis of +belief and gives no glimpses of the historical progress of belief. In +brief, the poem discusses the relation of the finite life to the +infinite life. The first speaker is not satisfied with the different +points of view suggested by the second speaker. First, that one would be +willing to suffer martyrdom in this life if only one could truly believe +it would bring eternal joy. Or perhaps doubt is God's way of telling who +are his friends, who are his foes. Or perhaps God is revealed in the law +of the universe, or in the shows of nature, or in the emotions of the +human heart. The first speaker takes the ground that the only +possibility satisfying modern demands is an assurance that this world's +gain is in its imperfectness surety for true gain in another world. An +imaginatively pictured experience of his own soul is next presented, +wherein he represents himself at the Judgment Day as choosing the finite +life instead of the infinite life. As a result, he learns there is +nothing in finite life except as related to infinite life. The way +opened out toward the infinite through love is that which gives the +light of life to all the good things of earth which he desired--all +beauties, 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 in +historical Christianity. It can hardly be said to be more than a +doubtful proof, for it depends upon a subjective vision of which the +speaker, himself, doubts the truth. The speaker in this poem belongs in +the same category with Bishop Blougram. A belief in infinite Love can +come to him only through the dogma of the incarnation, he therefore +holds to that, no matter how tossed about by doubts. The failure of all +human effort to attain the Absolute and, as a consequence, the belief in +an Absolute beyond this life is a dominant note in Browning's own +philosophy. The nature of that Absolute he further evolves from the +intellectual 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, Herbert +Spencer. The relativity of knowledge and the relativity of good and evil +are cardinal doctrines with both of them. Herbert Spencer's mystery +behind all phenomena and Browning's failure of human knowledge are +identical--the negative proof of the absolute,--but where Spencer +contents himself with the statement that though we cannot know the +Absolute, yet it must transcend all that the human mind has conceived +of perfection, Browning, as we have already seen, declares that we _can_ +know something of the nature of that Absolute through the love which we +know 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 be +touched on in the present volume, it will be instructive to round out +Browning's presentations of his own contributions to nineteenth-century +thought with two quotations, one from "The Parleyings:" "With Bernard de +Mandeville," and one from a poem in his last volume "Reverie." In the +first, 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 near +the 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 a +discussion of the problem of the ephemeralness of musical expression. +He hits upon Avison to have his colloquy with because a march by this +musician came into his head, and the march came into his head for no +better reason than that it was the month of March. Some interest +would attach to Avison if it were only for the reason that he was +organist of the Church of St. Nicholas in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. In +the earliest accounts St. Nicholas was styled simply, "The Church of +Newcastle-upon-Tyne," but in 1785 it became a Cathedral. This was after +Avison's death in 1770. All we know about the organ upon which Avison +performed is found in a curious old history of Newcastle by Brand. "I +have found," he writes, "no account of any organ in this church during +the times of popery though it is very probable there has been one. About +the year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed Ł300 towards +the erection of the present organ. They added a trumpet stop to it June +22d, 1699." + +The year that Avison was born, 1710, it is recorded further that "the +back front of this organ was finished which cost the said corporation +Ł200 together with the expense of cleaning and repairing the whole +instrument." + +June 26, 1749, the common council of Newcastle ordered a sweet stop to +be added to the organ. This was after Avison became organist, his +appointment to that post having been in 1736. So we know that he at +least had a "trumpet stop" and a "sweet stop," with which to embellish +his organ playing. + +The church is especially distinguished for the number and beauty of its +chantries, and any who have a taste for examining armorial bearings will +find two good-sized volumes devoted to a description of those in this +church, by Richardson. Equal distinction attaches to the church owing to +the beauty of its steeple, which has been called the pride and glory of +the Northern Hemisphere. According to the enthusiastic Richardson it is +justly esteemed on account of its peculiar excellency of design and +delicacy of execution one of the finest specimens of architectural +beauty in Europe. This steeple is as conspicuous a feature of Newcastle +as the State House Dome is of Boston, situated, as it is, almost in the +center of the town. Richardson gives the following minute description of +this marvel. "It consists of a square tower forty feet in width, having +great and small turrets with pinnacles at the angles and center of each +front tower. From the four turrets at the angles spring two arches, +which meet in an intersecting direction, and bear on their center an +efficient perforated lanthorne, surmounted by a tall and beautiful +spire: the angles of the lanthorne have pinnacles similar to those on +the turrets, and the whole of the pinnacles, being twelve in number, and +the spire, are ornamented with crockets and vanes." + +There is a stirring tradition in regard to this structure related by +Bourne to the effect that in the time of the Civil Wars, when the Scots +had besieged the town for several weeks, and were still as far as at +first from taking it, the general sent a messenger to the mayor of the +town, and demanded the keys, and the delivering up of the town, or he +would immediately demolish the steeple of St. Nicholas. The mayor and +aldermen upon hearing this, immediately ordered a certain number of the +chiefest of the Scottish prisoners to be carried up to the top of the +tower, the place below the lanthorne and there confined. After this, +they returned the general an answer to this purpose,--that they would +upon no terms deliver up the town, but would to the last moment defend +it: that the steeple of St. Nicholas was indeed a beautiful and +magnificent piece of architecture, and one of the great ornaments of the +town; 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 the +same moment he destroyed the beautiful structure he should bathe his +hands in the blood of his countrymen who were placed there on purpose +either to preserve it from ruin or to die along with it. This message +had the desired effect. The men were there kept prisoners during the +whole time of the siege and not so much as one gun fired against it. + +Avison, however, had other claims to distinction, besides being organist +of this ancient church. He was a composer, and was remembered by one of +his airs, at least, into the nineteenth century, namely "Sound the Loud +Timbrel." He appears not to be remembered, however, by his concertos, of +which he published no less than five sets for a full band of stringed +instruments, nor by his quartets and trios, and two sets of sonatas for +the harpsichord and two violins. All we have to depend on now as to the +quality of his music are the strictures of a certain Dr. Hayes, an +Oxford Professor, who points out many errors against the rules of +composition in the works of Avison, whence he infers that his skill in +music is not very profound, and the somewhat more appreciative remarks +of Hawkins who says "The music of Avison is light and elegant, but it +wants originality, a necessary consequence of his too close attachment +to the style of Geminiani which in a few particulars only he was able to +imitate." + +Geminiani was a celebrated violin player and composer of the day, who +had 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 in +1760. Avison's early education was gained in Italy; and in addition to +his musical attainments he was a scholar and a man of some literary +acquirements. It is not surprising, considering all these educational +advantages that he really made something of a stir upon the publication +of his "small book," as Browning calls it, with, we may add, its "large +title." + + 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 the +aforementioned Dr. W. Hayes, and although the learned doctor's pamphlet +seems to have died a natural death, some idea of its strictures may be +gained from Avison's reply. The criticisms are rather too technical to +be of interest to the general reader, but one is given here to show how +gentlemanly a temper Mr. Avison possessed when he was under fire. His +reply runs "His first critique, and, I think, his masterpiece, contains +many circumstantial, but false and virulent remarks on the first allegro +of 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 what +the public is already in possession of, the public being the most proper +judge. I shall only here observe, that our critic has wilfully, or +ignorantly, confounded the terms _fugue_ and _imitation_, which latter +is by no means subject to the same laws with the former. + +[Illustration: Handel] + +"Had I observed the method of answering the _accidental subjects_ in +this _allegro_, as laid down by our critic in his remarks, they must +have produced most shocking effects; which, though this mechanic in +music, would, perhaps, have approved, yet better judges might, in +reality, have imagined I had known no other art than that of the +spruzzarino." There is a nice independence about this that would +indicate Mr. Avison to be at least an aspirant in the right direction in +musical composition. His criticism of Handel, too, at a time when the +world was divided between enthusiasm for Handel and enthusiasm for +Buononcini, shows a remarkably just and penetrating estimate of this +great genius. + +"Mr. Handel is, in music, what his own Dryden was in poetry; nervous, +exalted, and harmonious; but voluminous, and, consequently, not always +correct. Their abilities equal to every thing; their execution +frequently inferior. Born with genius capable of _soaring the boldest +flights_; they have sometimes, to suit the vitiated taste of the age +they lived in, _descended to the lowest_. Yet, as both their +excellencies are infinitely more numerous than their deficiencies, so +both their characters will devolve to latest posterity, not as models of +perfection, yet glorious examples of those amazing powers that actuate +the human soul." + +On the whole, Mr. Avison's "little book" on Musical Expression is +eminently sensible as to the matter and very agreeable in style. He hits +off well, for example, the difference between "musical expression" and +imitation. + +"As dissonances and shocking sounds cannot be called Musical Expression, +so neither do I think, can mere imitation of several other things be +entitled to this name, which, however, among the generality of mankind +hath often obtained it. Thus, the gradual rising or falling of the +notes in a long succession is often used to denote ascent or descent; +broken intervals, to denote an interrupted motion; a number of quick +divisions, to describe swiftness or flying; sounds resembling laughter, +to describe laughter; with a number of other contrivances of a parallel +kind, which it is needless here to mention. Now all these I should chuse +to style imitation, rather than expression; because it seems to me, that +their tendency is rather to fix the hearer's attention on the similitude +between the sounds and the things which they describe, and thereby to +excite a reflex act of the understanding, than to affect the heart and +raise the passions of the soul. + +"This distinction seems more worthy our notice at present, because some +very eminent composers have attached themselves chiefly to the method +here mentioned; and seem to think they have exhausted all the depths of +expression, by a dextrous imitation of the meaning of a few particular +words, 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 the +sentence, he would not think he had done the poet justice, or _risen_ to +that _height_ of sublimity which he ought to express, till he had +climbed up to the very top of his instrument, or at least as far as the +human voice could follow him. And this would pass with a great part of +mankind for musical expression; instead of that noble mixture of solemn +airs and various harmony, which indeed elevates our thoughts, and gives +that exquisite pleasure, which none but true lovers of harmony can +feel." What Avison calls "musical expression," we call to-day "content." +And thus Avison "tenders evidence that music in his day as much absorbed +heart and soul then as Wagner's music now." It is not unlikely that this +very passage may have started Browning off on his argumentative way +concerning the question: how lasting and how fundamental are the powers +of musical expression. + +The poet's memory goes back a hundred years only to reach "The bands-man +Avison whose little book and large tune had led him the long way from +to-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 of +fashion in music, the poet boldly goes on to declare that there is no +truer truth obtainable by man than comes of music, because it does give +direct expression to the moods of the soul, yet there is a hitch that +balks her of full triumph, namely the musical form in which these moods +are expressed does not stay fixed. This statement is enriched by a +digression 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 a +comparison with the other arts. His contention is that art adds nothing +to the _knowledge_ of the mind. It simply moulds into a fixed form +elements already known which before lay loose and dissociated, it +therefore does not really create. But there is one realm, that of +feeling, to which the arts never succeed in giving permanent form +though all try to do it. What is it they succeed in getting? The poet +does not make the point very clear, but he seems to be groping after the +idea that the arts present only the _phenomena_ of feeling or the image +of feeling instead of the _reality_. Like all people who are +appreciative of music, he realizes that music comes nearer to expressing +the spiritual reality of feeling than the other arts, and yet music of +all 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 so +ephemeral in its appeal. He merely refers to the development of harmony +and modulation, nor does it seem to enter his head that there can be any +question about the appeal being ephemeral. He imagines the possibility +of resuscitating dead and gone music with modern harmonies and novel +modulations, but gives that up as an irreverent innovation. His next +mood is a historical one; dead and gone music may have something for us +in 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 of +relativity in art and not only in art but in ethics and religion. It is +a statement in poetry of the prevalent thought of the nineteenth +century, of which the most widely known exponent was Herbert Spencer. +The form in which every truth manifests itself is partial and therefore +will pass, but the underlying truth, the absolute which unfolds itself +in form after form is eternal. Every manifestation in form, according to +Browning, however, has also its infinite value in relation to the truth +which 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 through +sound, and why it should be so ephemeral in its appeal, there are +various things to be said. It is just possible that it may soon come to +be recognized that the psychic growth of humanity is more perfectly +reflected in music than any where else. Ephemeralness may be predicated +of culture-music more certainly than of folk-music, why? Because +culture-music often has occupied itself more with the technique than +with the content, while folk-music, being the spontaneous expression of +feeling must have content. Folk-music, it is true, is simple, but if it +be genuine in its feeling I doubt whether it ever loses its power to +move. Therefore, in folk-music is possibly made permanent simple states +of feeling. Now in culture-music, the development has constantly been +in the direction of the expression of the ultimate spiritual reality of +emotions. Music is now actually trying to accomplish what Browning +demands 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 of +raising evil into a region of the artistically beautiful. Doubt, +despair, passion, become blossoms plucked by the hand of God when +transmuted in the alembic of the brain of genius--which is not saying +that he need experience any of these passions himself. In fact, it is +his power of perceiving the eidolon of beauty in modes of passion or +emotion not his own that makes him the great genius. + +It is doubtless true that whenever in culture-music there has really +been content aroused by feeling, no matter what the stage of technique +reached, _that_ music retains its power to move. It is also highly +probably that in the earlier objective phases of music, even the +contemporary audiences were not moved in the sense that we should be +moved to-day. The audiences were objective also and their enthusiasm may +have been aroused by merely the imitative aspects of music as Avison +called them. It is certainly a fact that content and form are more +closely linked in music than in any other art. Suppose, however, we +imagine the development of melody, counterpoint, harmony, modulation, +etc., to be symbolized by a series of concrete materials like clay +bricks, silver bricks, gold bricks, diamond bricks; a beautiful thought +might take as exquisite a form in bricks of clay as it would in diamond +bricks, or diamond bricks might be flung together without any informing +thought so that they would attract only the thoughtless by their +glitter. But it also follows that, with the increase in the kinds of +bricks, there is an increase in the possibilities for subtleties in +psychic expression, therefore music to-day is coming nearer and nearer +to the spiritual reality of feeling. It requires the awakened soul that +Maeterlinck talks about, that is, the soul alive to the spiritual +essences of things to recognize this new realm which composers are +bringing to us in music. + +There are always, at least three kinds of appreciators of music, those +who can see beauty only in the masters of the past, those who can see +beauty only in the last new composer, and those who ecstatically welcome +beauty past, present and to come. These last are not only psychically +developed themselves, but they are able to retain delight in simpler +modes of feeling. They may be raised to a seventh heaven of delight by a +Bach fugue played on a clavichord by Mr. Dolmetsch, feeling as if angels +were ministering unto them, or to a still higher heaven of delight by a +Tschaikowsky symphony or a string quartet of Grieg, feeling that here +the seraphim continually do cry, or they may enter into the very +presence of the most High through some subtly exquisite and psychic song +of an American composer, for some of the younger American composers are +indeed approaching "Truth's very heart of truth," in their music. + +On the whole, one gets rather the impression that the poet has here +tackled a problem upon which he did not have great insight. He passes +from one mood to another, none of which seem especially satisfactory to +himself, and concludes with one of the half-truths of nineteenth-century +thought. It is true as far as it goes that forms evolve, and it is a +good truth to oppose to the martinets of settled standards in poetry, +music and painting; it is also true that the form is a partial +expression of a whole truth, but there is the further truth that, let a +work of art be really a work of genius, and the form as well as the +content touches the infinite; that is, we have as Browning says in a +poem already quoted, "Bernard de Mandeville," the very sun in little, or +as he makes Abt Vogler say of his music, the broken arc which goes to +the formation of the perfect round, or to quote still another poem of +Browning's, "Cleon," the perfect rhomb or trapezoid that has its own +place in a mosaic pavement. + +[Illustration: Avison's March] + +The poem closes in a rolicking frame of mind, which is not remarkably +consistent with the preceding thought, except that the poet seems +determined to get all he can out of the music of the past by enlivening +it with his own jolly mood. To this end he sets a patriotic poem to the +tune 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 and +quantity the notes of the march. Truth to say, the essential goodness of +the 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 a +graceful little sonnet written by the poet in an album which was +presented to Mr. Chappell in recognition of his popular concerts in +London. Browning was a constant attendant at these. It gives a true +glimpse 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,") + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Browning's England, by Helen Archibald Clarke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWNING'S ENGLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 29365-8.txt or 29365-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/3/6/29365/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Linda Cantoni (music), Katherine +Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/29365-8.zip b/old/29365-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d16b97 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/29365-8.zip diff --git a/old/29365.txt b/old/29365.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9caf3b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/29365.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14514 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Browning's England, by Helen Archibald Clarke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Browning's England + A Study in English Influences in Browning + +Author: Helen Archibald Clarke + +Release Date: July 10, 2009 [EBook #29365] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWNING'S ENGLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Linda Cantoni (music), Katherine +Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + 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 Robert +Browning by way of direct poetical inspiration, it is more than likely +that 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 felt +by Browning for the poet in his youth, which he had, many years before +this little lyric was written, recorded in a finely appreciative passage +in "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 literary +life. The story has often been told of how the young Robert, passing a +bookstall one day spied in a box of second-hand volumes, a shabby little +edition of Shelley advertised "Mr. Shelley's Atheistical Poems: very +scarce." It seems almost incredible to us now that the name was an +absolutely new one to him, and that only by questioning the bookseller +did he learn that Shelley had written a number of volumes of poetry and +that he was now dead. This accident was sufficient to inspire the +incipient poet's curiosity, and he never rested until he was the owner +of Shelley's works. They were hard to get hold of in those early days +but the persistent searching of his mother finally unearthed them at +Olliers' in Vere Street, London. She brought him also three volumes of +Keats, 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 often +discussed. There are many traces of Shelleyan music and idea in his +early poems "Pauline," "Paracelsus," and "Sordello," but no marked nor +lasting impression was made upon Browning's development as a poet by +Shelley. Upon Browning's personal development Shelley exerted a +short-lived though somewhat intense influence. We see the young +enthusiast professing the atheism of his idol as the liberal views of +Shelley were then interpreted, and even becoming a vegetarian. As time +went on the discipleship vanished, and in its place came the recognition +on Browning's part of a poetic spirit akin yet different from his own. +The last trace of the disciple appears in "Sordello" when the poet +addresses Shelley among the audience of dead great ones he has mustered +to 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 on +Shelley which was written to a volume of spurious letters of that poet +published in 1851. In this is summed up in a masterful paragraph +reflecting Browning's unusual penetration into the secret paths of the +poetic mind, the characteristics of a poet of Shelley's order. The +paragraph is as follows: + +"We turn with stronger needs to the genius of an opposite tendency--the +subjective poet of modern classification. He, gifted like the objective +poet, with the fuller perception of nature and man, is impelled to +embody the thing he perceives, not so much with reference to the many +below as to the One above him, the supreme Intelligence which apprehends +all 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 lying +burningly on the Divine Hand,--it is toward these that he struggles. Not +with the combination of humanity in action, but with the primal elements +of humanity, he has to do; and he digs where he stands,--preferring to +seek 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 and +tempestuous tossings of the forest-trees, but with their roots and +fibers naked to the chalk and stone. He does not paint pictures and +hang them on the walls, but rather carries them on the retina of his own +eyes: we must look deep into his human eyes, to see those pictures on +them. He is rather a seer, accordingly, than a fashioner, and what he +produces will be less a work than an effluence. That effluence cannot be +easily considered in abstraction from his personality,--being indeed the +very radiance and aroma of his personality, projected from it but not +separated. Therefore, in our approach to the poetry, we necessarily +approach the personality of the poet; in apprehending it, we apprehend +him, and certainly we cannot love it without loving him. Both for love's +and for understanding's sake we desire to know him, and, as readers of +his poetry, must be readers of his biography too." + +Finally, the little "Memorabilia" lyric gives a mood of cherished memory +of the Sun-Treader, who beaconed him upon the heights in his youth, and +has now become a molted eagle-feather held close to his heart. + +Keats' lesser but assured place in the poet's affections comes out in +the pugnacious lyric, "Popularity," one of the old-time bits of +ammunition shot from the guns of those who found Browning "obscure." The +poem is an "apology" for any unappreciated poet with the true stuff in +him, but the allusion to Keats shows him to have been the fuse that +fired this mild explosion against the dullards who pass by unknowing and +uncaring of a genius, though he pluck with one hand thoughts from the +stars, 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 the +stirring lines "The Lost Leader." Browning's strong sympathies with the +Liberal cause are here portrayed with an ardor which is fairly +intoxicating poetically, but one feels it is scarcely just to the +mild-eyed, exemplary Wordsworth, and perhaps exaggeratedly sure of +Shakespeare's attitude on this point. It is only fair to Browning, to +point out how he himself felt later that his artistic mood had here run +away with him, whereupon he made amends honorable in a letter in reply +to the question whether he had Wordsworth in mind: "I can only answer, +with something of shame and contrition, that I undoubtedly had +Wordsworth in my mind--but simply as a model; you know an artist takes +one or two striking traits in the features of his 'model,' and uses them +to start his fancy on a flight which may end far enough from the good +man or woman who happens to be sitting for nose and eye. I thought of +the great Poet's abandonment of liberalism at an unlucky juncture, and +no repaying consequence that I could ever see. But, once call my +fancy-portrait _Wordsworth_--and how much more ought one to say!" + +The defection of Wordsworth from liberal sympathies is one of the +commonplaces of literary history. There was a time when he figured in +his poetry as a patriotic leader of the people, when in clarion tones he +exhorted his countrymen to "arm and combine in defense of their common +birthright." But this was in the enthusiasm of his youth when he and +Southey and Coleridge were metaphorically waving their red caps for the +principles of the French Revolution. The unbridled actions of the French +Revolutionists, quickly cooled off their ardor, and as Taine cleverly +puts it, "at the end of a few years, the three, brought back into the +pale of State and Church, were, Coleridge, a Pittite journalist, +Wordsworth, a distributor of stamps, and Southey, poet-laureate; all +converted zealots, decided Anglicans, and intolerant conservatives." The +"handful of silver" for which the patriot in the poem is supposed to +have left the cause included besides the post of "distributor of +stamps," given to him by Lord Lonsdale in 1813, a pension of three +hundred pounds a year in 1842, and the poet-laureateship in 1843. + +The first of these offices was received so long after the cooling of +Wordsworth's "Revolution" ardors which the events of 1793 had brought +about that it can scarcely be said to have influenced his change of +mind. + +It was during Wordsworth's residence in France, from November 1791 to +December 1792, that his enthusiasm for the French Revolution reached +white heat. How the change was wrought in his feelings is shown with +much penetration and sympathy by Edward Dowden in his "French Revolution +and English Literature." "When war between France and England was +declared Wordsworth's nature underwent the most violent strain it had +ever experienced. He loved his native land yet he could wish for nothing +but disaster to her arms. As the days passed he found it more and more +difficult to sustain his faith in the Revolution. First, he abandoned +belief in the leaders but he still trusted to the people, then the +people seemed to have grown insane with the intoxication of blood. He +was driven back from his defense of the Revolution, in its historical +development, to a bare faith in the abstract idea. He clung to theories, +the free and joyous movement of his sympathies ceased; opinions stifled +the spontaneous life of the spirit, these opinions were tested and +retested by the intellect, till, in the end, exhausted by inward +debate, he yielded up moral questions in despair ... by process of +the understanding alone Wordsworth could attain no vital body of +truth. Rather he felt that things of far more worth than political +opinions--natural instincts, sympathies, passions, intuitions--were +being disintegrated or denaturalized. Wordsworth began to suspect the +analytic intellect as a source of moral wisdom. In place of humanitarian +dreams came a deep interest in the joys and sorrows of individual men +and women; through his interest in this he was led back to a study of +the mind of man and those laws which connect the work of the creative +imagination with the play of the passions. He had begun again to think +nobly of the world and human life." He was, in fact, a more thorough +Democrat socially than any but Burns of the band of poets mentioned in +Browning'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 of +his model's physiognomy and building up from it a repellent portrait is +question for debate, especially when he admits its incompleteness. But +we may balance against this incompleteness, the fine fire of enthusiasm +for the "cause" in the poem, and the fact that Wordsworth has not been +at all harmed by it. The worst that has happened is the raising in our +minds of a question touching Browning's good taste. + +Just here it will be interesting to speak of a bit of purely personal +expression on the subject of Browning's known liberal standpoint, +written by him in answer to the question propounded to a number of +English men of letters and printed together with other replies in a +volume 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 of +Browning. + +His fullest treatment of the cause of political liberty is in +"Strafford," to be considered in the third chapter, but many are the +hints strewn about his verse that bring home with no uncertain touch the +fact that Browning lived man's "lover" and never man's "hater." Take as +an example "The Englishman in Italy," where the sarcastic turn he gives +to the last stanza shows clearly where his sympathies lie: + + --"Such trifles!" you say? + Fortu, 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, from +the Sea," wherein the scenes of England's victories as they come before +the 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. The +poems are "Waring" and "May and Death." + +Waring, who stands for Alfred Domett, is an interesting figure in +Colonial history as well as a minor light among poets. But it is highly +probable that he would not have been put into verse by Browning any more +than many other of the poet's warm friends if it had not been for the +incident described in the poem which actually took place, and made a +strong enough impression to inspire a creative if not exactly an exalted +mood on Browning's part. The incident is recorded in Thomas Powell's +"Living Authors of England," who writes of Domett, "We have a vivid +recollection of the last time we saw him. It was at an evening party a +few days before he sailed from England; his intimate friend, Mr. +Browning, was also present. It happened that the latter was introduced +that evening for the first time to a young author who had just then +appeared in the literary world [Powell, himself]. This, consequently, +prevented the two friends from conversation, and they parted from each +other without the slightest idea on Mr. Browning's part that he was +seeing his old friend Domett for the last time. Some days after when he +found that Domett had sailed, he expressed in strong terms to the writer +of this sketch the self-reproach he felt at having preferred the +conversation of a stranger to that of his old associate." + +This happened in 1842, when with no good-bys, Domett sailed for New +Zealand where he lived for thirty years, and held during that time many +important official posts. Upon his return to England, Browning and he +met again, and in his poem "Ranolf and Amohia," published the year +after, he wrote the often quoted line so aptly appreciative of +Browning's genius,--"Subtlest assertor of the soul in song." + +The poem belongs to the _vers de societe_ order, albeit the lightness is +of a somewhat ponderous variety. It, however, has much interest as a +character sketch from the life, and is said by those who had the +opportunity 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 of +Browning's appreciation of English Nature than for its expression of +grief 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 English +Nature he sings out in his longing for an English spring in the +incomparable 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 "De +Gustibus," yet long and happy living away from England doubtless dimmed +his sense of the beauty of English landscape. "De Gustibus" was +published ten years later than "Home-Thoughts from Abroad," when Italy +and he had indeed become "lovers old." A deeper reason than mere delight +in its scenery is also reflected in the poem; the sympathy shared with +Mrs. 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 from +Browning. There is the exquisite bit called "Deaf and Dumb," after a +group of statuary by Woolner, of Constance and Arthur--the deaf and dumb +children 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" of +the Alkestis by Sir Frederick Leighton. + +The flagrant anachronism of making a Greek girl at the time of the Fall +of Athens describe an English picture cannot but be forgiven, since the +artistic effect gained is so fine. The poet quite convinces the reader +that Sir Frederick Leighton ought to have been a Kaunian painter, if he +was not, and that Balaustion or no one was qualified to appreciate his +picture 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 Poikile! + + "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 the +exquisite 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 fully +interpreting Leighton's picture. The expression of Eurydice is rather +one of unthinking confiding affection--as if she were really unconscious +or ignorant of the danger; while that of Orpheus is one of passionate +agony as he tries to hold her off. + +Though English art could not fascinate the poet as Italian art did, for +the fully sufficient reason that it does not stand for a great epoch of +intellectual awakening, yet with what fair alchemy he has touched those +few artists he has chosen to honor. Notwithstanding his avowed devotion +to Italy, expressed in "De Gustibus," one cannot help feeling that in +the poems mentioned in this chapter, there is that ecstasy of sympathy +which goes only to the most potent influences in the formation of +character. Something of what I mean is expressed in one of his latest +poems, "Development." In this we certainly get a real peep at young +Robert Browning, led by his wise father into the delights of Homer, by +slow degrees, where all is truth at first, to end up with the +devastating criticism of Wolf. In spite of it all the dream stays and is +the reality. Nothing can obliterate the magic of a strong early +enthusiasm, as "fact still held" "Spite of new Knowledge," in his "heart +of 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 dog +Tray, whose traits may not be peculiar to English dogs but whose name +is proverbially English. Besides it touches a subject upon which the +poet had strong feelings. Vivisection he abhorred, and in the +controversies which were tearing the scientific and philanthropic world +asunder in the last years of his life, no one was a more determined +opponent 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 choosing +people of minor note to figure in his dramatic monologues. In "At the +'Mermaid'" he ventures upon the consecrated ground of a heart-to-heart +talk between Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and the wits who gathered at the +classic "Mermaid" Tavern in Cheapside, following this up with further +glimpses into the inner recesses of Shakespeare's mind in the monologues +"House" and "Shop." It is a particularly daring feat in the case of +Shakespeare, for as all the world knows any attempt at getting in touch +with 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 be +of interest to glance at the actual facts as far as they are known in +regard to the relations which existed between Shakespeare and Jonson. +Praise and blame both are recorded on Jonson's part when writing of +Shakespeare, yet the praise shows such undisguised admiration that the +blame sinks into insignificance. Jonson's "learned socks" to which +Milton refers probably tripped the critic up occasionally by reason of +their weight. + +There is a charming story told of the friendship between the two men +recorded by Sir Nicholas L'Estrange, within a very few years of +Shakespeare's death, who attributed it to Dr. Donne. The story goes that +"Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and after +the christening, being in a deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up and +asked 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 fittest +gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved at last.' 'I +prythee what?' says he. 'I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a dozen good +Lattin spoons, and thou shalt translate them.'" If this must be taken +with a grain of salt, there is another even more to the honor of +Shakespeare reported by Rowe and considered credible by such +Shakespearian scholars as Halliwell Phillipps and Sidney Lee. "His +acquaintance with Ben Jonson" writes Rowe, "began with a remarkable +piece of humanity and good nature; Mr. Jonson, who was at that time +altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the +players in order to have it acted, and the persons into whose hands it +was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were +just upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer that it would +be of no service to their company, when Shakespeare luckily cast his eye +upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first to +read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings +to the public." The play in question was the famous comedy of "Every Man +in His Humour," which was brought out in September, 1598, by the Lord +Chamberlain's company, Shakespeare himself being one of the leading +actors upon the occasion. + +Authentic history records a theater war in which Jonson and Shakespeare +figured, on opposite sides, but if allusions in Jonson's play the +"Poetaster" have been properly interpreted, their friendly relations +were not deeply disturbed. The trouble began in the first place by the +London of 1600 suddenly rushing into a fad for the company of boy +players, recruited chiefly from the choristers of the Chapel Royal, and +known as the "Children of the Chapel." They had been acting at the new +theater in Blackfriars since 1597, and their vogue became so great as +actually to threaten Shakespeare's company and other companies of adult +actors. Just at this time Ben Jonson was having a personal quarrel with +his fellow dramatists, Marston and Dekker, and as he received little +sympathy from the actors, he took his revenge by joining his forces with +those of the Children of the Chapel. They brought out for him in 1600 +his satire of "Cynthia's Revels," in which he held up to ridicule +Marston, Dekker and their friends the actors. Marston and Dekker, with +the actors of Shakespeare's company, prepared to retaliate, but Jonson +hearing of it forestalled them with his play the "Poetaster" in which he +spared neither dramatists nor actors. Shakespeare's company continued +the fray by bringing out at the Globe Theatre, in the following year, +Dekker and Marston's "Satiro-Mastix, or The Untrussing of the Humorous +Poet," and as Ward remarks, "the quarrel had now become too hot to +last." The excitement, however, continued for sometime, theater-goers +took sides and watched with interest "the actors and dramatists' +boisterous war of personalities," to quote Mr. Lee, who goes on to +point out that on May 10, 1601, the Privy Council called the attention +of the Middlesex magistrates to the abuse covertly leveled by the actors +of the "Curtain" at gentlemen "of good desert and quality," and directed +the magistrates to examine all plays before they were produced. + +Jonson, himself, finally made apologies in verses appended to printed +copies 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 in +allusions to it in "Hamlet," wherein he "protested against the abusive +comments on the men-actors of 'the common' stages or public theaters +which were put into the children's mouths. Rosencrantz declared that the +children 'so berattle [_i.e._ assail] the common stages--so they call +them--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and dare +scarce come thither [_i.e._ to the public theaters].' Hamlet in pursuit +of the theme pointed out that the writers who encouraged the vogue of +the 'child actors' did them a poor service, because when the boys should +reach men's estate they would run the risk, if they continued on the +stage, of the same insults and neglect which now threatened their +seniors. + +"'_Hamlet._ What are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they +escorted [_i.e._ paid]? Will they pursue the quality [_i.e._ the actor's +profession] no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, +if they should grow themselves to common players--as it is most like, if +their means are no better--their writers do them wrong to make them +exclaim against their own succession? + +"'_Rosencrantz._ Faith, there has been much to do on both sides, and the +nation 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 the +player went to cuffs in the question.'" + +This certainly does not reflect a very belligerent attitude since it +merely puts in a word for the grown-up actors rather than casting any +slurs upon the children. Further indications of Shakespeare's mildness +in regard to the whole matter are given in the Prologue to "Troylus and +Cressida," where, as Mr. Lee says, he made specific reference to the +strife 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 Jonson +remained friends, even in the heat of the conflict, may be gained from +the "Poetaster" itself if we admit that the Virgil of the play, who is +chosen peacemaker stands for Shakespeare; and who so fit to be +peacemaker as Shakespeare for his amiable qualities seem to have +impressed 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, Tibullus +and Gallus, eulogize the work and genius of another character, Virgil, +in terms so closely resembling those which Jonson is known to have +applied to Shakespeare that they may be regarded as intended to apply to +him (Act V, Scene I). Jonson points out that Virgil, by his penetrating +intuition, achieved the great effects which others laboriously sought to +reach 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 touched +with 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 Caesar to act as judge +between Horace and his libellers, and he advises the administration of +purging pills to the offenders." + +This neat little chain of evidence would have no weak link, if it were +not for a passage in the play, "The Return from Parnassus," acted by +the students in St. John's College the same year, 1601. In this there is +a 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 Ben +Jonson, too. O! that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow. He brought up +Horace, giving the poets a pill; but our fellow Shakespeare hath given +him a purge that made him bewray his credit." Burbage continues, "He is +a shrewd fellow indeed." This has, of course, been taken to mean that +Shakespeare 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 words +quoted from 'The Return from Parnassus' hardly admit of a literal +interpretation. Probably the 'purge' that Shakespeare was alleged by the +author of 'The Return from Parnassus' to have given Jonson meant no more +than that Shakespeare had signally outstripped Jonson in popular +esteem." That this was an actual fact is proved by the lines of Leonard +Digges, an admiring contemporary of Shakespeare's, printed in the 1640 +edition of Shakespeare's poems, comparing "Julius Caesar" and Jonson's +play "Cataline:" + + "So have I seen when Caesar 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 Porter +that "Shakespeare was sent from Heaven and Ben from College." + +If Jonson's criticisms of Shakespeare's work were sometime not wholly +appreciative, the fact may be set down to the distinction between the +two here so humorously indicated. "A Winter's Tale" and the "Tempest" +both called forth some sarcasms from Jonson, the first for its error +about the Coast of Bohemia which Shakespeare borrowed from Greene. +Jonson wrote in the Induction to "Bartholemew Fair;" "If there be never +a servant-monster in the Fair, who can help it he says? Nor a nest of +Antics. He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays like those that +beget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries." The allusions here +are very evidently to Caliban and the satyrs who figure in the +sheep-shearing feast in "A Winter's Tale." The worst blast of all, +however, occurs in Jonson's "Timber," but the blows are evidently given +with a loving hand. He writes "I remember, the players have often +mentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare that, in his writing, whatsoever +he penn'd, hee never blotted out line. My answer hath beene, would he +had blotted a thousand;--which they thought a malevolent speech. I had +not told posterity this, but for their ignorance who choose that +circumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and to +justifie mine owne candor,--for I lov'd the man, and doe honor his +memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. Hee was, indeed, honest, +and of an open and free nature; had an excellent phantasie; brave +notions and gentle expressions; wherein hee flow'd with that facility +that sometime it was necessary he should be stop'd;--_sufflaminandus +erat_, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his owne +power;--would the rule of it had beene so too! Many times he fell into +those things, could not escape laughter; as when he said in the person +of Caesar, one speaking to him,--Caesar thou dost me wrong; hee +replyed,--Caesar 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 wholly +eulogistic lines Jonson wrote for the First Folio edition of Shakespeare +printed in 1623, "To the memory of my beloved, The Author Mr. William +Shakespeare 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 portrait +reproduced in this volume, which it is safe to regard as the Shakespeare +Ben 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 been +calling him "Next Poet," a supposition quite justifiable in the light of +Ben's praises of him. The poem also reflects the love and admiration in +which Shakespeare the man was held by all who have left any record of +their impressions of him. As for the portraiture of the poet's attitude +of mind, it is deduced indirectly from his work. That he did not desire +to become "Next Poet" may be argued from the fact that after his first +outburst of poem and sonnet writing in the manner of the poets of the +age, he gave up the career of gentleman-poet to devote himself wholly to +the more independent if not so socially distinguished one of +actor-playwright. "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" were the only poems +of his published under his supervision and the only works with the +dedication 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 and +1594,--beautiful little quartos with exquisitely artistic designs in the +title-pages, headpieces and initials; altogether worthy of a poet who +might 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 a +patron. 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 pirates +who cribbed them from stage copies. + +Such hints as these have been worked up by Browning into a consistent +characterization of a man who regards himself as having foregone his +chances of laureateship or "Next Poet" by devoting himself to a form of +literary art which would not appeal to the powers that be as fitting him +for any such position. Such honors he claims do not go to the dramatic +poet, who has never allowed the world to slip inside his breast, but has +simply 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? I +pluck 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. The +allusions Shakespeare makes to the last "King" are not very definite, +but, on the whole, they fit Edmund Spenser, whose poems from first to +last are dedicated to people of distinction in court circles. His work, +moreover, is full of wailing and woe in various keys, and also full of +self-revelation. He allowed the world to slip inside his breast upon +almost every occasion, and perhaps he may be said to have bought "his +laurel," for it was no doubt extremely gratifying to Queen Elizabeth to +see herself in the guise of the Faerie Queene, and even his dedication +of the "Faerie Queene" to her, used as she was to flattery, must have +been as music in her ears. "To the most high, mightie, and magnificent +Empresse, renouned for piety, vertue, and all gratious government, +Elizabeth, by the Grace of God, Queene of England, Frahnce, and Ireland +and of Virginia. Defender of the Faith, &c. Her most humble servant +Edmund Spenser doth in all humilitie, Dedicate, present, and consecrate +These his labours, To live with the eternity of her Fame." The next year +Spenser 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 official +position. The term, "laureate," seems to have been used to designate +poets who had attained fame and Royal favor, since Nash speaks of +Spenser 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 hundred +pounds a year and a butt of wine from the King's cellars. + +Probably the allusion "Your Pilgrim" in the twelfth stanza of "At the +Mermaid" is to "The Return from Parnassus" in which the pilgrims to +Parnassus who figure in an earlier play "The Pilgrimage to Parnassus" +discover the world to be about as dismal a place as it is described in +this stanza. + +At first sight it might seem that the position taken by Shakespeare in +the poem is almost too modest, yet upon second thoughts it will be +remembered that though Shakespeare had a tremendous following among the +people, attested by the frequency with which his plays were acted; that +though there are instances of his being highly appreciated by +contemporaries of importance; that though his plays were given before +the Queen, he did not have the universal acceptance among learned and +court circles which was accorded to Spenser. + +It is quite fitting that the scene should be set in the "Mermaid." No +record exists to show that Shakespeare was ever there, it is true, but +the "Mermaid" was a favorite haunt of Ben Jonson and his circle of wits, +whose meetings there were immortalized by Beaumont in his poetical +letter 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 the +wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a +Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war; Master Jonson (like the +former) was built far higher in learning, solid but slow in his +performances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, +but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take +advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and invention," and +there 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 is +aware 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 the +autobiographical significance of Shakespeare's Sonnets. As volumes upon +the subject have been written, it is not possible even adequately to +review the various theories here. The controversialists may be broadly +divided into those who read complicated autobiographical details into +the sonnets, those who scout the idea of their being autobiographical at +all, and those who take a middle ground. Of the first there are two +factions: one of these believes that the opening sonnets were addressed +to Lord William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and the other that they were +addressed to Shakespeare's patron, the Earl of Southampton. The first +theory dates back as far as 1832 when it was started by James Boaden, a +journalist and the biographer of Kemble and Mrs. Siddons. This theory +has had many supporters and is associated to-day with the name of Thomas +Tyler, who, in his edition of the Sonnets published in 1890, claimed to +have 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, like +most things of the sort, has its fascinations, and few people can read +the 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 proved +incorrect, namely, that the dedication of the Sonnets to their "Onlie +Begettor, Mr. W. H." is intended for "Mr. William Herbert." There was a +Mr. William Hall, later a master printer, and the friend of Thomas +Thorpe, the publisher of the Sonnets, who is much more likely to be the +person meant. Lord Herbert was far too important a person to be +addressed as Mr. W. H. As Mr. Lee points out, when Thorpe did dedicate +books to Herbert he was careful to give full prominence to the titles +and distinction of his patron. The Sonnets as we have already seen were +not published with Shakespeare's sanction. In those days the author had +no protection, and if a manuscript fell into the hands of a printer he +could print it if he felt so disposed. Mr. William Hall was in the +habit of looking out for manuscripts and before he became a printer, in +1606, had one published by Southwell of which he himself wrote the +dedication, 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 the +Southwell volume was Mr. William Hall, who, when he procured that +manuscript for publication, was an humble auxiliary in the publishing +army." To sum up in Mr. Lee's words his interesting and convincing +chapter on "Thomas Thorpe and Mr. 'W. H.'" "'Mr. W. H.,' whom Thorpe +described as the 'only begetter of these ensuing sonnets,' was in all +probability the acquirer or procurer of the manuscript, who, +figuratively speaking, brought the book into being either by first +placing the manuscript in Thorpe's hands or by pointing out the means by +which a copy might be acquired. To assign such significance to the word +'begetter' was entirely in Thorpe's vein. Thorpe described his role in +the piratical enterprise of the 'Sonnets' as that of 'the well-wishing +adventurer in setting forth,' _i.e._, the hopeful speculator in the +scheme. 'Mr. W. H.' doubtless played the almost equally important +part--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 Massey +in his lengthy book on the Sonnets--truly entertaining reading but too +ingenious to be convincing. + +Finally Mr. Lee in his book looks at the subject in an unbiased and +perfectly sane way. He thinks the opening Sonnets are to the Earl of +Southampton, known to be Shakespeare's patron, but he warns us that +exaggerated devotion was the hall-mark of the Sonnets of the age, and +therefore what Shakespeare says of his young patron in these Sonnets +need 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 he +thinks that some of the sonnets reflecting moods of melancholy or a +sense of sin may reveal the writer's inner consciousness. Possibly, too, +the story of the "dark lady" may have some basis in fact, though he +insists, "There is no clue to the lady's identity, and speculation on +the topic is useless." Furthermore, he thinks it doubtful whether all +the 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 uncompromisingly +non-autobiographical view of the Sonnets. In this stand present +authoritative opinion would not justify him, but it speaks well for his +insight and sympathy that he was not fascinated by the William Herbert +theory 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 is +proved that the dramatic poet does not allow himself to appear in his +work, the step toward regarding him as having no individuality aside +from his work is an easy one. The allusions in the poem to the +mercenariness of the "Shop-Keeper" seem to hit at the criticisms of +Shakespeare's thrift, which enabled him to buy a home in his native +place and retire there to live some years before the end of his life. In +some quarters it has been customary to regard Shakespeare as devoting +himself to dramatic literature in order to make money, as if this were a +terrible slur on his character. The superiority of such an independent +spirit over that of those who constantly sought patrons was quite +manifest to Browning's mind or he would not have written this sarcastic +bit of symbolism, between the lines of which can be read that Browning +was 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 interesting +interpretation of Shakespeare's character as a man and artist, but for +the glimpses they give into Browning's stand toward his own art. He +wished to be regarded primarily as a dramatic artist, presenting and +interpreting the souls of his characters, and he must have felt keenly +the stupid attitude which insisted always in reading "Browning's +Philosophy" into all his poems. The fact that his objective material was +of the soul rather than of the external actions of life has no doubt +lent force to the supposition that Browning himself can be seen in +everything he writes. It is true, nevertheless, that while much of his +work is Shakespearian in its dramatic intensity, he had too forceful a +philosophy of life to keep it from sometimes coming to the front. +Besides he has written many things avowedly personal as this chapter +amply illustrates. + +To what intensity of feeling Browning could rise when contemplating the +genius of Shakespeare is revealed in his direct and outspoken tribute. +Here there breathes an almost reverential attitude toward the one +supremely 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 English +history is this truer than of King Charles I. Just at a time when the +nation was feeling the strength of its wings both in Church and State, +when individuals were claiming the right to freedom of conscience in +their form of worship and the people were growing more insistent for the +recognition of their ancient rights and liberties, secured to them, in +the first place, by the Magna Charta,--just at this time looms up the +obstruction of a King so imbued with the defunct ideal of the divine +right of Kings that he is blind to the tendencies of the age. What +wonder, then, if the swirling waters of discontent should rise higher +and 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 into +shape the future of England stand out in bold relief in front of a +background of interminable bickerings. There was constant quarreling +between the factions within the English church, and between the +Protestants and the Catholics, complicated by the discontent of the +people and at times the nobles because of the autocratic, vacillating +policy of the King. + +Among these epoch-bringing events were the emergence of the Puritans +from the chaos of internecine church squabbles, the determined raising +of the voice of the people in the Long Parliament, where King and people +finally came to an open clash in the impeachment of the King's most +devoted minister, Wentworth, Earl Strafford, by Pym, the great leader in +the House of Commons, ending in Strafford's execution; the Grand +Remonstrance, which sounded in no uncertain tones the tocsin of the +coming revolution; and finally the King's impeachment of Pym, Hampden, +Holles, Hazelrigg and Strode, one of the many ill-advised moves of this +Monarch which at once precipitated the Revolution. + +These cataclysms at home were further intensified by the Scottish +Invasion and the Irish Rebellion. + +[Illustration: Charles I in Scene of Impeachment] + +It is not surprising that Browning should have been attracted to this +period of English history, when he contemplated the writing of a play on +an English subject. His liberty-loving mind would naturally find +congenial occupation in depicting this great English struggle for +liberty. Yet the hero of the play is not Pym, the leader of the people, +but Strafford, the supporter of the King. The dramatic reasons are +sufficient to account for this. Strafford's career was picturesque and +tragic and his personality so striking that more than one interpretation +of his remarkable life is possible. + +The interpretation will differ according to whether one is partisan in +hatred or admiration of his character and policy, or possesses the +larger quality of sympathetic appreciation of the man and the problems +with which he had to deal. Any one coming to judge him in this latter +spirit would undoubtedly perceive all the fine points in Strafford's +nature and would balance these against his theories of government to the +better understanding of this extraordinary man. + +It is almost needless to say that Browning's perception of Strafford's +character was penetrating and sympathetic. Strafford's devotion to his +King had in it not only the element of loyalty to the liege, but an +element of personal love which would make an especial appeal to +Browning. He, in consequence, seizes upon this trait as the key-note of +his portrayal of Strafford. + +The play is, on the whole, accurate in its historical details, though +the poet's imagination has added many a flying buttress to the +structure. + +Forster's lives of the English Statesmen in Lardner's Cyclopaedia +furnished plenty of material, and he was besides familiar with some if +not all of Forster's materials for the lives. One of the interesting +surprises in connection with Browning's literary career was the fact +divulged some years ago that he had actually helped Forster in the +preparation of the Life of Strafford. Indeed it is thought that he wrote +it almost entirely from the notes of Forster. Dr. Furnivall first called +attention to this, and later the life of Strafford was reprinted as +"Robert Browning's Prose Life of Strafford."[2] In his Forewords to this +volume, Dr. Furnivall, who, among many other claims to distinction, was +the president of the "London Browning Society," writes, "Three times +during his life did Browning speak to me about his prose 'Life of +Strafford.' The first time he said only--in the course of chat--that +very few people had any idea of how much he had helped John Forster in +it. The second time he told me at length that one day he went to see +Forster and found him very ill, and anxious about the 'Life of +Strafford,' which he had promised to write at once, to complete a volume +of 'Lives of Eminent British Statesmen' for Lardner's 'Cabinet +Cyclopaedia.' Forster had finished the 'Life of Eliot'--the first in the +volume--and had just begun that of Strafford, for which he had made full +collections and extracts; but illness had come on, he couldn't work, the +book ought to be completed forthwith, as it was due in the serial issue +of volumes; what _was_ he to do? 'Oh,' said Browning, 'don't trouble +about it. I'll take your papers and do it for you.' Forster thanked his +young friend heartily, Browning put the Strafford papers under his arm, +walked off, worked hard, finished the Life, and it came out to time in +1836, to Forster's great relief, and passed under his name." Professor +Gardiner, the historian, was of the opinion from internal evidence that +the Life was more Browning's than Forster's. He said to Furnivall, "It +is not a historian's conception of the character but a poet's. I am +certain that it's not Forster's. Yes, it makes mistakes in facts and +dates, but, it has got the man--in the main." In this opinion Furnivall +concurs. Of the last paragraph in the history he exclaims, "I could +swear it was Browning's":--The paragraph in question sums up the +character of Strafford and is interesting in this connection, as giving +hints, 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 extraordinary +person. In the career of Strafford is to be sought the justification of +the world's 'appeal from tyranny to God.' In him Despotism had at length +obtained an instrument with mind to comprehend, and resolution to act +upon, her principles in their length and breadth,--and enough of her +purposes were effected by him, to enable mankind to 'see as from a tower +the end of all.' I cannot discern one false step in Strafford's public +conduct, one glimpse of a recognition of an alien principle, one +instance of a dereliction of the law of his being, which can come in to +dispute the decisive result of the experiment, or explain away its +failure. The least vivid fancy will have no difficulty in taking up the +interrupted design, and by wholly enfeebling, or materially emboldening, +the insignificant nature of Charles; and by according some half-dozen +years of immunity to the 'fretted tenement' of Strafford's 'fiery +soul',--contemplate then, for itself, the perfect realization of the +scheme of 'making the prince the most absolute lord in Christendom.' +That done,--let it pursue the same course with respect to Eliot's noble +imaginings, or to young Vane's dreamy aspirings, and apply in like +manner a fit machinery to the working out the projects which made the +dungeon of the one a holy place, and sustained the other in his +self-imposed exile.--The result is great and decisive! It establishes, +in renewed force, those principles of political conduct which have +endured, and must continue to endure, 'like truth from age to age.'" The +history, on the whole, lacks the grasp in the portrayal of Wentworth to +be found in the drama. C. H. Firth, commenting upon this says truly, +"One might almost say that in the first, Strafford was represented as he +appeared to his opponents, and in the second as he appeared to himself; +or that, having painted Strafford as he was, Browning painted him again +as he wished to be. In the biography Strafford is exhibited as a man of +rare gifts and noble qualities; yet in his political capacity, merely +the conscious, the devoted tool of a tyrant. In the tragedy, on the +other hand, Strafford is the champion of the King's will against the +people's, but yet looks forward to the ultimate reconciliation of +Charles and his subjects, and strives for it after his own fashion. He +loves the master he serves, and dies for him, but when the end comes he +can proudly answer his accusers, 'I have loved England too.'" + +The play opens at the important moment of Wentworth's return to London +from Ireland, where for some time he had been governor. The occasion of +his return, according to Gardiner, was a personal quarrel with the +Chancellor Loftus, of Ireland. Both men were allowed to come to England +to plead their cause, which resulted in the victory of Wentworth. In the +play Pym says, "Ay, the Court gives out His own concerns have brought +him back: I know 'tis the King calls him." The authority for this remark +is found in the Forster-Browning Life. "In the danger threatened by the +Scots' Covenant, Wentworth was Charles's only hope; the King sent for +him, saying he desired his personal counsel and attendance. He wrote: +'The Scots' Covenant begins to spread too far, yet, for all this, I will +not have you take notice that I have sent for you, but pretend some +other occasion of business.'" Certain it is that from this time +Wentworth became the most trusted counsellor of Charles, that is, as +far as Charles was capable of trusting any one. The condition of affairs +to which Wentworth returned is brought out in the play in a thoroughly +alive and human manner. We are introduced to the principal actors in the +struggle for their rights and privileges against the government of +Charles meeting in a house near Whitehall. Among the "great-hearted" men +are Hampden, Hollis, the younger Vane, Rudyard, Fiennes--all leaders in +the "Faction,"--Presbyterians, Loudon and other members of the Scots' +commissioners. A bit of history has been drawn upon for this opening +scene, for according to the Forster-Browning Life, "There is no doubt +that a close correspondence with the Scotch commissioners, headed by +Lords Loudon and Dumferling, was entered into under the management of +Pym and Hampden. Whenever necessity obliged the meetings to be held in +London, they took place at Pym's house in Gray's Inn Lane." In the talk +between these men the political situation in England at the time from +the point of view of the liberal party is brought vividly before the +reader. + +There has been no Parliament in England for ten years, hence the people +have had no say in the direction of the government. The growing +dissatisfaction of the people at being thus deprived of their rights +focussed itself upon the question of "ship-money." The taxes levied by +the King for the maintainance of a fleet were loudly objected to upon +all sides. That a fleet was a necessary means of protection in those +threatening times is not to be doubted, but the objections of the people +were grounded upon the fact that the King levied these taxes upon his +own authority. "Ship-money, it was loudly declared," says Gardiner, "was +undeniably a tax, and the ancient customs of the realm, recently +embodied in the Petition of Right, had announced with no doubtful voice +that no tax could be levied without consent of Parliament. Even this +objection was not the full measure of the evil. If Charles could take +this money without the consent of Parliament, he need not, unless some +unforeseen emergency arose, ever summon a Parliament again. The true +question at issue was whether Parliament formed an integral part of the +Constitution or not." Other taxes were objected to on the same grounds, +and the more determined the King was not to summon a Parliament, the +greater became the political ferment. + +[Illustration: Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford] + +At the same time the religious ferment was centering itself upon +hatred of Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury. His policy was to silence +opposition to the methods of worship then followed by the Church of +England, by the terrors of the Star Chamber. The Puritans were smarting +under the sentence which had been passed upon the three pamphleteers, +William Prynne, Henry Burton, and John Bastwick, who had expressed their +opinions of the practises of the church with great outspokenness. Prynne +called upon pious King Charles "to do justice on the whole Episcopal +order 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 set +it on their own ambitious pates." Burton hinted that "the sooner the +office of the Bishops was abolished the better it would be for the +nation." Bastwick, who had been brought up in the straitest principles +of Puritanism, had ended his pamphlet "_Flagellum Pontificis_," with +this outburst, "Take notice, so far am I from flying or fearing, as I +resolve to make war against the Beast, and every hint of Antichrist, all +the days of my life. If I die in that battle, so much the sooner I shall +be sent in a chariot of triumph to heaven; and when I come there, I +will, with those that are under the altar cry, 'How long, Lord, holy +and true, dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood upon them that dwell +upon 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 its +result could only be the strengthening of opposition. The "muckworm" +Cottington, as Browning calls him, suggested the sentence which was +carried out. The men were condemned to lose their ears, to pay a fine of +L5000 each, and to be imprisoned for the remainder of their lives in the +castles of Carnarvon, Launceston, and Lancaster. Finch, not satisfied +with this, added the savage wish that Prynne should be branded on the +cheek with the letters S. L., to stand for "seditious libeller," and +this was also done. + +The account of the execution of this sentence is almost too horrible to +read. Some one who recorded the scene wrote, "The humours of the people +were various; some wept, some laughed, and some were very reserved." +Prynne, whose sufferings had been greatest for he had been burned as +well as having his ears taken off, was yet able to indulge in a grim +piece of humor touching the letters S. L. branded on his cheeks. He +called them "Stigmata Laudis," the "Scars of Laud," on his way back to +prison. Popular demonstrations in favor of the prisoners were made all +along the road when they were taken to their respective prisons, where +they were allowed neither pen, ink nor books. Fearful lest they might +somehow still disseminate their heretical doctrines to the outer world, +the council removed them to still more distant prisons, in the Scilly +Isles, in Guernsey and in Jersey. Retaliation against this treatment +found open expression. "A copy of the Star Chamber decree was nailed to +a board. Its corners were cut off as the ears of Laud's victims had been +cut off at Westminster. A broad ink mark was drawn round Laud's name. An +inscription declared that 'The man that puts the saints of God into a +pillory of wood stands here in a pillory of ink!'" + +Things were brought to a crisis in Scotland also, through hatred of Laud +and the new prayer-book. The King, upon his visit to Scotland, had been +shocked at the slovenly appearance and the slovenly ritual of +the Scottish Church, which reflected strongly survivals of the +Presbyterianism of an earlier time. The King wrote to the Scottish +Bishops soon after his return to England: "We, tendering the good and +peace of that Church by having good and decent order and discipline +observed therein, whereby religion and God's worship may increase, and +considering that there is nothing more defective in that Church than the +want of a Book of Common Prayer and uniform service to be kept in all +the churches thereof, and the want of canons for the uniformity of the +same, we are hereby pleased to authorise you as the representative body +of that Church, and do herewith will and require you to condescend upon +a form of Church service to be used therein, and to set down the canons +for the uniformity of the discipline thereof." Laud, who as Archbishop +of Canterbury had no jurisdiction over Scottish Bishops, put his finger +into the pie as secretary of the King. As Gardiner says, "He conveyed +instructions to the Bishops, remonstrated with proceedings which shocked +his sense of order, and held out prospects of advancement to the +zealous. Scotchmen naturally took offense. They did not trouble +themselves to distinguish between the secretary and the archbishop. They +simply 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" was +sent to Scotland, and every minister was ordered to buy two copies on +pain of outlawry. Riots followed. It was finally decided that it must be +settled once for all whether a King had any right to change the forms of +worship without the sanction of a legislative assembly. Then came the +Scottish Covenant which declared the intention of the signers to uphold +religious liberty. The account of the signing of this covenant is one of +the most impressive episodes in all history. The Covenant was carried on +the 28th of February, 1638, to the Grey Friars' Church to which all the +gentlemen present in Edinburgh had been summoned. The scene has been +most sympathetically described by Gardiner. + +"At four o'clock in the grey winter evening, the noblemen, the Earl of +Sutherland leading the way began to sign. Then came the gentlemen, one +after the other until nearly eight. The next day the ministers were +called on to testify their approval, and nearly three hundred signatures +were obtained before night. The Commissioners of the boroughs signed at +the same time. + +"On the third day the people of Edinburgh were called on to attest their +devotion to the cause which was represented by the Covenant. Tradition +long loved to tell how the honored parchment, carried back to the Grey +Friars, was laid out on a tombstone in the churchyard, whilst weeping +multitudes pressed round in numbers too great to be contained in any +building. There are moments when the stern Scottish nature breaks out +into an enthusiasm less passionate, but more enduring, than the frenzy +of a Southern race. As each man and woman stepped forward in turn, with +the right hand raised to heaven before the pen was grasped, every one +there present knew that there would be no flinching amongst that band of +brothers till their religion was safe from intrusive violence. + +"Modern narrators may well turn their attention to the picturesqueness +of the scene, to the dark rocks of the Castle crag over against the +churchyard, and to the earnest faces around. The men of the seventeenth +century had no thought to spare for the earth beneath or for the sky +above. What they saw was their country's faith trodden under foot, what +they felt was the joy of those who had been long led astray, and had now +returned to the Shepherd and Bishop of their souls." + +Such were the conditions that brought on the Scotch war, neither Charles +nor Wentworth being wise enough to make concessions to the Covenanters. + +The grievances against the King's Minister Wentworth are in this opening +scene shown as being aggravated by the fact that the men of the +"Faction" regard him as a deserter from their cause, Pym, himself being +one of the number who is loth to think Wentworth stands for the King's +policy. + +The historical ground for the assumption lies in the fact that Wentworth +was one of the leaders of the opposition in the Parliament of 1628. + +The reason for this was largely personal, because of Buckingham's +treatment of him. Wentworth had refused to take part in the collection +of the forced loan of 1626, and was dismissed from his official posts in +consequence. When he further refused to subscribe to that loan himself +he was imprisoned in the Marshalsea and at Depford. Regarding himself as +personally attacked by Buckingham, he joined the opposition. Yet, as +Firth points out, "fiercely as he attacked the King's ministers, he was +careful to exonerate the King." He concludes his list of grievances by +saying, "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 more +behove this great physician the parliament, to effect a true consent +amongst the parties than now. Both are injured, both to be cured. By one +and the same thing hath the King and people been hurt. I speak truly +both for the interest of the King and the people." + +His intention was to find some means of cooperation which would leave +the people their liberty and yet give the crown its prerogative, "Let us +make what laws we can, there must--nay, there will be a trust left in +the crown." + +It will be seen by any unbiased critic that Wentworth was only half for +the people even at this time. On the other hand, it is not astonishing +that men, heart and soul for the people, should consider Wentworth's +subsequent complete devotion to the cause of the King sufficient to +brand him as an apostate. The fact that he received so many official +dignities from the King also leant color to the supposition that +personal ambition was a leading motive with him. With true dramatic +instinct Browning has centered this feeling and made the most of it in +the attitude of Pym's party, while he offsets it later in the play by +showing us the reality of the man Strafford. + +There is no very authentic source for the idea also brought out in this +first scene that Strafford and Pym had been warm personal friends. The +story is told by Dr. James Welwood, one of the physicians of William +III., who, in the year 1700, published a volume entitled "Memoirs, of +the most material transactions in England for the last hundred years +preceding the Revolution of 1688." Without mentioning any source he +tells the following story; "There had been a long and intimate +friendship between Mr. Pym and him [Wentworth], and they had gone hand +in hand in everything in the House of Commons. But when Sir Thomas +Wentworth was upon making his peace with the Court, he sent to Pym to +meet 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 some +offers which would probably be made them from the Court. Pym +understanding his speech stopped him short with this expression: 'You +need not use all this art to tell me you have a mind to leave us; but +remember what I tell you, you are going to be undone. But remember, that +though you leave us now I will never leave you while your head is upon +your shoulders.'" + +Though only a tradition this was entirely too useful a suggestion not to +be used. The intensity of the situation between the leaders on opposite +sides is enhanced tenfold by bringing into the field a personal +sentiment. + +The attitude of Pym's followers is reflected again in their opinion of +Wentworth's Irish rule. Although Wentworth's policy seemed to be +successful in Ireland, the very fact of its success would condemn it in +the eyes of the popular party; besides later developments revealed its +weaknesses. How it appeared to the eyes of a non-fanatical observer at +this time may be gathered from the following letter of Sir Thomas Roe to +the 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 having +parliaments, and knowing wisely how to use them; for they have given the +King six subsidies, which will arise to L240,000, and they are like to +have the liberty we contended for, and grace from his Majesty worth +their gift double; and which is worth much more, the honor of good +intelligence and love between the King and people, which I would to God +our great wits had had eyes to see. This is a great service, and to +give your Majesty a character of the man,--he is severe abroad and in +business, and sweet in private conversation; retired in his friendships, +but very firm; a terrible judge and a strong enemy; a servant violently +zealous in his Master's ends, and not negligent of his own; one that +will have what he will, and though of great reason, he can make his will +greater when it may serve him; affecting glory by a seeming contempt; +one that cannot stay long in the middle region of fortune, being +entreprenant; but will either be the greatest man in England, or much +less 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 very +great service, if you can make him." + +In order to be in sympathy with the play throughout and especially with +the first scene all this historical background must be kept in mind, for +the talk gives no direct information, it merely in an absolutely +dramatic fashion reveals the feelings and opinions of the men upon the +situation, just as friends at a dinner party might discuss one of our +own less strenuous political situations--all present being perfectly +familiar with the issues at stake. + + +STRAFFORD + +ACT I + +SCENE I.--_A House near Whitehall._ + +_HAMPDEN, HOLLIS, the +younger+ VANE, RUDYARD, FIENNES and many of the +Presbyterian 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 popular +party has been heaping opprobrium appears to speak for himself. Again +the historical background must be known in order that the whole drift of +the scene may be understood. Wentworth is talking with Lady Carlisle, a +woman celebrated for her beauty and her wit, and fond of having +friendships with great men. Various opinions of this beautiful woman +have 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 who +prefixed to a collection of letters published in 1660 "A character of +the most excellent Lady, Lucy, Countess of Carlisle," writes that she +will "freely discourse of love, and hear both the fancies and powers of +it; but if you will needs bring it within knowledge, and boldly direct +it to herself, she is likely to divert the discourse, or, at least, seem +not 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 and +elevated thoughts," and "her wit being most eminent among the rest of +her great abilities," even the conversation of those most famed for it +was affected. Quite another view of her is given in a letter of +Voiture'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 difficult +for 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. No +matter 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 not +give the picture of her that lingers in my mind, for all the loveliest +things I have seen in my life. I must confess that she is an enchanting +personality, and there would not be a woman under heaven so worthy of +affection, if she only knew what it was, and if she had as sensitive a +nature as she has a reasonable mind. But with the temperament we know +she possesses, there is nothing to be said except that she is the most +lovable of all things not good, and the most delightful poison that +nature ever concocted." Browning himself says he first sketched her +character from Mathews, but finding that rather artificial, he used +Voiture and Waller, who referred to her as the "bright Carlisle of the +Court of Heaven." It should be remembered that she had become a widow +and was considerably older at the time of her friendship with Wentworth +than when Voiture wrote of her, and was probably better balanced, and +truly worthy of Wentworth's own appreciation of her when he wrote, "A +nobler nor a more intelligent friendship did I never meet with in my +life." A passage in a letter to Laud indicates that Wentworth was well +aware of the practical advantage in having such a friend as Lady +Carlisle at Court. "I judge her ladyship very considerable. She is often +in place, and extremely well skilled how to speak with advantage and +spirit for those friends she professeth unto, which will not be many. +There is this further in her disposition, she will not seem to be the +person she is not, an ingenuity I have always observed and honoured her +for." + +It is something of a shock to learn that even before the Wentworth +episode 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 at +all inconsistent with Browning's portrayal of her. + +"Lady Carlisle had now been for many years a widow. She had long been +the reigning beauty at Court, and she loved to mingle political intrigue +with social intercourse. For politics as a serious occupation she had no +aptitude; but, in middle age, she felt a woman's pride in attaching to +herself the strong heads by which the world was ruled, as she had +attached to herself in youth, the witty courtier or the agile dancer. It +was worth a statesman's while to cultivate her acquaintance. She could +make him a power in society as well as in Council, could worm out a +secret which it behoved him to know, and could convey to others his +suggestions with assured fidelity. The calumny which treated Strafford, +as it afterwards treated Pym, as her accepted lover, may be safely +disregarded. But there can be no doubt that purely personal motives +attached her both to Strafford and Pym. For Strafford's theory of +Monarchical government she cared as little as she cared for Pym's theory +of Parliamentary government. It may be, too, that some mingled feeling +may have arisen in Strafford's breast. It was something to have an ally +at Court ready at all times to plead his cause with gay enthusiasm, to +warn him of hidden dangers, and to offer him the thread of that +labyrinth which, under the name of 'the Queen's side,' was such a +mystery to him. It was something, too, no doubt, that this advocate was +not a grey haired statesman, but a woman, in spite of growing years, of +winning grace and sparkling vivacity of eye and tongue." + +[Illustration: Charles I] + +Strafford, himself, Browning brings before us, ill, and worn out with +responsibility as he was upon his return to England at this time. +Carlisle tactfully lets him know how he will have to face criticisms +from other councillors about the King, and how even the confidence of +the fickle King cannot be relied upon. In his conference with the King +in this scene, Strafford, at last, wins the confidence of the King as +history relates. Wentworth, horrified at the way in which a war with +Scotland has been precipitated, carries his point, that Parliaments +should be called in Ireland and England. This will give time for +preparation, and at the same time an opportunity of convincing the +people that the war is justified by Scotland's treason, so causing them +willingly to grant subsidies for the expense of the war. To turn from +the play to history, Commissioners from the Scottish Parliament, the +Earls of Loudon and Dumferling had arrived in London to ask that the +acts of the Scottish Parliament might receive confirmation from the +King. This question was referred to a committee of eight Privy +Councillors. Propositions were made to put the Scotch Commissioners in +prison; however, the King finally decided to dismiss them without +treating with them. Scottish indignation of course ran high at this +proceeding, and here Wentworth stepped in and won the King to his policy +of ruling Scotland directly from England. "He insisted," writes +Gardiner, "that a Parliament, and a Parliament alone, was the remedy +fitted for the occasion. Laud and Hamilton gave him their support. He +carried his point with the Committee. What was of more importance he +carried it with the King." And as one writer expressed it the Lords were +of the opinion that "his Majesty should make trial of that once more, +that so he might leave his people without excuse, and have where withal +to justify himself to God and the world that in his own inclination he +desired the old way; but that if his people should not cheerfully, +according to their duties, meet him in that, especially in this exigent +when his kingdom and person are in apparent danger, the world might see +he is forced, contrary to his own inclination, to use extraordinary +means rather than, by the peevishness of some few factious spirits, to +suffer his state and government to be lost." + +In the play as in history, Charles now confers upon Wentworth an +Earldom. Shortly after this the King "was prepared," says Gardiner, "to +confer upon his faithful Minister that token of his confidence which he +had twice refused before. On January 12, Wentworth received the Earldom +of Strafford, and a week later he exchanged the title of Lord-Deputy of +Ireland for the higher dignity of Lord-Lieutenant." + +In his conference with Pym, Strafford who, in talking to Carlisle, had +shown a slight wavering toward the popular party, because of finding +himself so surrounded by difficulties, stands firm; this episode is a +striking working up of the tradition of the friendship between these +two men. + +The influence of the Queen upon Charles is the last strand in this +tangled skein of human destiny brought out by Browning in the scene. The +Parliament that Wentworth wants she is afraid of lest it should ask for +a renewal of the persecution of the Catholics. The vacillating Charles, +in an instant, is ready to repudiate his interview with Wentworth, and +act 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 the +assembling and the dissolution of the Short Parliament. Only the salient +points of the political situation have been seized upon by Browning. As +in 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 the +exorbitant demands made upon it for money to support an army, this army +to crush Scotland whose cause was so nearly like its own. The popular +party or the Faction had supposed the Parliament would be a means for +the redressing of its long list of grievances which had been +accumulating during the years since the last Parliament had been held. +Instead of that the Commons was deliberately informed by Charles that +there would be no discussions of its demands until it had granted the +subsidies for which it had been asked. The play gives one a much more +lively sense of the indignant feelings of the duped men than can +possibly be gained by reading many more pages of history with its +endless minor details. Upon this gathering, Pym suddenly enters again, +and to the reproaches of him for his belief in Strafford, makes the +reply that the Parliament has been dissolved, the King has cast +Strafford off forever, and henceforth Strafford will be on their +side,--a conclusion not warranted by history, and, of course, found out +to be erroneous by Pym and his followers in the next scene. Again there +is the dramatic need to emphasize the human side of life even in an +essentially political play, by showing that Pym's friendship and loyalty +to Wentworth were no uncertain elements in his character. The moment it +could 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 duty +to 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 is +in the main true to history though much condensed. History relates that +after the Short Parliament was dissolved, "voices were raised at +Whitehall in condemnation of Strafford." His policy of raising subsidies +from the Parliament having failed, criticisms would, of course, be made +upon his having pushed ahead a war without the proper means of +sustaining it. Charles himself was also frightened by the manifestations +of popular discontent and failed to uphold Wentworth in his policy. + +Northumberland had been appointed commander-in-chief of the army, but +besides having little heart for an enterprise so badly prepared for, he +was ill in bed and could not take command of the army, so the King +appointed Strafford in his place. A hint of Strafford as he appears in +this scene may be taken from Clarendon who writes "The earl of Strafford +was scarce recovered from a great sickness, yet was willing to undertake +the charge out of pure indignation to see how few men were forward to +serve the King with that vigor of mind they ought to do; but knowing +well the malicious designs which were contrived against himself, +he would rather serve as lieutenant-general under the earl of +Northumberland, than that he should resign his commission: and so, with +and under that qualification, he made all possible haste towards the +north before he had strength enough for the journey." Browning makes the +King tell Strafford in this interview that he has dissolved the +Parliament. He represents Strafford as horrified by the news and driven +in this extremity to suggest the desperate measure of debasing the +coinage as a means of obtaining funds. Strafford actually counseled +this, when all else failed, namely, the proposed loan from the city, and +one from the Spanish government, but, according to history, he himself +voted for the dissolution of Parliament, though the play is accurate in +laying the necessity of the dissolution at the door of old Vane. It was +truly his ill-judged vehemence, for, not able to brook the arguments of +the Commons, "He rose," says Gardiner, "to state that the King would +accept nothing less than the twelve subsidies which he had demanded in +his message. Upon this the Committee broke up without coming to a +resolution, postponing further consideration of the matter to the +following day." The next morning the King who had called his councillors +together early "announced his intention of proceeding to a dissolution. +Strafford, who arrived late, begged that the question might first be +seriously discussed, and that the opinions of the Councillors, who were +also members of the Lower House, might first be heard. Vane declared +that there was no hope that the Commons 'would give one penny.' On this +the votes were taken. Northumberland and Holland were alone in wishing +to avert a dissolution. Supported by the rest of the Council the King +hurried to the House of Lords and dissolved Parliament." + +Wholly imaginary is the episode in this scene where Pym and his +followers break in upon the interview of Wentworth and the King. Just +at the climax of Wentworth's sorrowful rage at the King's treatment of +him, 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 CHARLES +to the door, in such a manner as to hide his agitation from the rest: as +the King disappears, they turn as by one impulse to PYM, who has not +changed 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's +position is wonderfully brought out--the man who loves his King so +overmuch that no perfidy on the King's part can make his resolution to +serve 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 is +making his great speech impeaching Wentworth. + +The conditions of affairs at the time of this Parliament were well-nigh +desperate for Charles and Wentworth. Things had not gone well with the +Scottish war and Wentworth was falling more and more into disfavor. +England was now threatened with a Scottish invasion. Still, even with +this danger to face it was impossible to raise money to support the +army. The English had a suspicion that the Scotch cause was their own. +The universal demand for a Parliament could no longer be ignored; the +King, therefore, summoned it to meet on the third of November. As Firth +observes, "To Strafford this meant ruin, but he hardly realized the +greatness of the danger in which he stood. On October 8, the Scotch +Commissioners in a public paper denounced him as an incendiary, and +declared that they meant to insist on his punishment. + +"As soon as the Parliament opened Charles discovered that it was +necessary for his service to have Strafford again by his side, and +summoned him to London. There is evidence that his friends urged him to +pass over to Ireland where the army rested at his devotion, or to +transport himself to foreign Kingdoms till fairer weather here should +invite him home. The Marquis of Hamilton advised him to fly, but as +Hamilton told the King, the Earl was too great-hearted to fear. Though +conscious of the peril of obedience, he set out to London to stand by +his Master." + +The enmity of the Court party to Strafford is touched upon in the first +scene, and in the second, Strafford's return, unsuspecting of the great +blow that awaits him. He had indeed meditated a blow on his own part. +According to Firth, he felt that "One desperate resource remained. The +intrigues of the parliamentary leaders with the Scots had come to +Strafford's knowledge, and he had determined to impeach them of high +treason. He could prove that Pym and his friends had secretly +communicated with the rebels, and invited them to bring a Scottish army +into England. Strafford arrived in London on Monday, November 9, 1640, +and spent Tuesday in resting after his journey. On the morning of +Wednesday the 11th, he took his seat in the House of Lords, but did not +strike 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 for +imprisonment before the charge had been set forth, the news of the +impeachment was carried to Strafford. 'I will go,' he proudly said 'and +look my accusers in the face.' With haughty mien and scowling brow he +strode up the floor of the House to his place of honor. There were those +amongst the Peers who had no wish to allow him to speak, lest he should +accuse them of complicity with the Scots. The Lords, as a body, felt +even more personally aggrieved by his method of government than the +Commons. Shouts of 'Withdraw! withdraw!' rose from every side. As soon +as he was gone an order was passed sequestering the Lord-Lieutenant from +his place in the House and committing him to the custody of the +Gentleman Usher. He was then called in and bidden to kneel whilst the +order was read. He asked permission to speak, but his request was +sternly refused. Maxwell, the Usher of the Black Rod, took from him his +sword, and conducted him out of the House. The crowd outside gazed +pitilessly on the fallen minister, 'No man capping to him, before whom +that 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 a +bystander, 'high treason is a small matter.'" + +This passage brings up the scene in a manner so similar to that of the +play, 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, and +amid 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 crowd +discovered, 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's +trial, especially with the change in the procedure from Impeachment to a +Bill of Attainder against Strafford. The details of this great trial are +complicated 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 found +treasonable. + +After Strafford's brilliant defense of himself, it was decided to bring +in a Bill of Attainder. New evidence against Strafford contained in +some notes which the younger Vane had found among his father's papers +were used to strengthen the charge of treason. In these notes Strafford +had advised the King to act "loose and absolved from all rules of +government," and had reminded him that there was an army in Ireland, +ready to reduce the Kingdom. These notes were found by the merest +accident. The younger Vane who had just been knighted and was about to +be married, borrowed his father's keys in order to look up some law +papers. In his search he fell upon these notes taken at a committee that +met immediately after the dissolution of the short Parliament. He made a +copy and carried it to Pym who also made a copy. + +According to Baillie, the "secret" of the change from the Impeachment to +the Bill was "to prevent the hearing of the Earl's lawyers, who give out +that there is no law yet in force whereby he can be condemned to die for +aught yet objected against him, and therefore their intent by this Bill +to supply the defect of the laws therein." To this may be added the +opinion of a member of the Commons. "If the House of Commons proceeds to +demand judgment of the Lords, without doubt they will acquit him, there +being no law extant whereby to condemn him of treason. Wherefore the +Commons are determined to desert the Lord's judicature, and to proceed +against him by Bill of Attainder, whereby he shall be adjudged to death +upon a treason now to be declared." + +One of the chief results in this change of procedure, emphasized by +Browning in an intense scene between Pym and Charles was that it altered +entirely the King's attitude towards Strafford's trial. As Baillie +expresses it, "Had the Commons gone on in the former way of pursuit, the +King might have been a patient, and only beheld the striking off of +Strafford's head; but now they have put them on a Bill which will force +the King either to be our agent and formal voicer to his death, or else +do the world knows not what." + +For the sake of a gain in dramatic power, Browning has once more +departed from history by making Pym the moving power in the Bill of +Attainder, and Hampden in favor of it; while in reality they were +opposed to the change in procedure, and believed that the Impeachment +could have been carried through. + +The relentless, scourging force of Pym in the play, pursuing the +arch-foe of England as he regarded Wentworth to the death, once he is +convinced that England's welfare demands it, would have been weakened +had he been represented in favor of the policy which was abandoned, +instead of with the policy that succeeded. But Pym is made to intimate +that he will abandon the Bill unless the King gives his word that he +will ratify it, and further, Pym declares, should he not ratify the Bill +his 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 the +Trial, 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 any +other part of the play. Strafford in prison in the Tower is the center +around which all the other elements of the drama are made to revolve. A +glimpse, the first, of the man in a purely human capacity is given in +the second scene with Strafford and his children. From all accounts +little Anne was a precocious child and Browning has sketched her +accordingly. The scene is like a gleam of sunshine in the gathering +gloom. + +The genuine grief felt by the historical Charles over the part he played +in the ruin of Strafford is brought out in an interview between +Strafford and Charles, who is represented as coming disguised to the +prison. Strafford who has been hoping for pardon from the King learns +from Hollis, in the King's presence, that the King has signed his death +warrant. He receives this shock with the remark which history attributes +to 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 an +attempt to bribe Balfour to allow him to escape from the tower. This +hint the Poet has worked up into the episode of Charles, calling Balfour +and begging him to go at once to Parliament, to say he will grant all +demands, and that he chooses to pardon Strafford. History, however, does +not say that Lady Carlisle was implicated in any plan for the rescue of +Strafford, of which Browning makes so much. According to Gardiner, she +was by this time bestowing her favors upon Pym. Devotion to the truth +here on Browning's part would have completely ruined the inner unity of +the play. Carlisle, the woman ready to devote herself to Strafford's +utmost need, while Strafford is more or less indifferent to her is the +artistic compliment of Strafford the man devoted to the unresponsive +King. The failure of the escape through Pym's intervention is a final +dramatic climax bringing face to face not so much the two individual men +as the two principles of government for which England was warring, the +Monarchical and the Parliamentary. To the last, Strafford is loyal to +the King and the Kingly idea, while Pym crushing his human feelings +under foot, calmly contemplates the sacrifice not only of Strafford, but +even of the King, if England's need demand it. + +In this supreme moment of agony when Strafford and Pym meet face to face +both men are made to realize an abiding love for each other beneath all +their earthly differences. "A great poet of our own day," writes +Gardiner, "clothing the reconciling spirit of the nineteenth century in +words which never could have been spoken in the seventeenth, has +breathed a high wish. On his page an imaginary Pym, recalling an +imaginary friendship, looks forward hopefully to a reunion in a better +and 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 "Cavalier +Tunes"--which ought to furnish conclusive proof that Browning does not +always put himself into his work. They may be compared with the words +set to Avison's march given in the last chapter which presents just as +sympathetically "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" is +included 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., forms +the background of "Martin Relph," the point of the story being the +life-long agony of reproach suffered by Martin who let his envy and +jealousy conquer him at a crucial moment. The history of the attempt of +Charles Edward to get back the crown of England, supported by a few +thousand Highlanders, of his final defeat at the Battle of Culloden, and +of the decay henceforth of Jacobitism, needs no telling. The treatment +of spies as herein shown is a common-place of war-times, but that a +reprieve exonerating the accused should be prevented from reaching its +destination in time through the jealousy of the only person who saw it +coming gives the episode a tragic touch lifting it into an atmosphere of +peculiar 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 account +of its English historical setting. + +The remarkable career of Robert Clive cannot be gone into here. Suffice +it to refresh one's memory with a few principal events of his life. He +was born in Shopshire in 1725. He entered the service of the East India +Company at eighteen and was sent to Madras. Here, on account of his +falling into debt, and being in danger of losing his situation, he twice +tried to shoot himself. The pistol failed to go off, however, and he +became 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 the +first military power in India. On his return to India (1755-59) he took +a further step and secured for the English a political supremacy. +Finally, on his last visit, he crowned his earlier exploits by putting +the English dominance on a sounder basis of integrity than it had before +been. + +The incident related in the poem by the old man, Browning heard from +Mrs. Jameson, who had shortly before heard it from Macaulay at Lansdowne +House. Macaulay mentions it in his essay: "Of his personal courage he +had, while still a writer [clerk] given signal proof by a desperate duel +with a military bully who was the terror of Fort St. David." + +The old gentleman in the poem evidently mixed up his dates slightly, for +he says this incident occurred when Clive was twenty-one, and he +represents him as committing suicide twenty-five years afterwards. Clive +was 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, Caesars, 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 social +life in England as it does of those in Italy, perhaps, because there is +a poise and solidity about the English character which does not lend +itself to so great a variety of mood as one may find in the peculiarly +artistic temperament of the Italians, especially those of the +Renaissance period. Even such irregular proceedings as murders have +their philosophical after-claps which show their usefulness in the +divine scheme of things, while unfortunate love affairs work such +beneficent results in character that they are shorn of much of their +tragedy of sorrow. There is quite a group of love-lyrics with no +definite setting that might be put down as English in temper. It does +not require much imagination to think of the lover who sings so lofty a +strain 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 the +philosophy which an Englishman, or at any rate a Browning, can evolve +from 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 name +indicates sufficiently, though the scene is laid out of England. This +wife has her agony over the faithless husband, but she plans vengeance +against neither him nor the other women who attract him. She realizes +that his nature is not a deep and serious one like her own, and in her +highest reach she sees that her own nature has been lifted up by means +of 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 are +among 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 the +Scutcheon" and "The Inn Album;" while, of the shorter ones, "Ned Bratts" +has an English theme, and "Halbert and Hob" though not founded upon an +English story has been given an English _mis en scene_ by Browning. + +In the "Blot," we get a glimpse of Eighteenth Century aristocratic +England. The estate over which Lord Tresham presided was one of those +typical country kingdoms, which have for centuries been so conspicuous a +feature of English life, and which through the assemblies of the great, +often gathered within their walls, wielded potent influences upon +political life. The play opens with the talk of a group of retainers, +such as formed the household of these lordly establishments. It was not +a rare thing for the servants of the great to be admitted into intimacy +with the family, as was the case with Gerard. They were often people of +a superior grade, hardly to be classed with servants in the sense +unfortunately given to that word to-day. + +Besides the house and the park which figure in the play, such an estate +had many acres of land devoted to agriculture--some of it, called the +demesne, which was cultivated for the benefit of the owner, and some +land held in villeinage which the unfree tenants, called villeins, were +allowed to till for themselves. All this land might be in one large +tract, or the demesne might be separate from the other. Mertoun speaks +of their demesnes touching each other. Over the villeins presided the +Bailiff, who kept strict watch to see that they performed their work +punctually. His duties were numerous, for he directed the ploughing, +sowing and reaping, gave out the seed, watched the harvest, gathered and +looked after the stock and horses. A church, a mill and an inn were +often 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 no +blot in their escutcheon. Some writers have even declared that most of +the nobles are descended from tradesmen. According to one of these "The +great bulk of our peerage is comparatively modern, so far as the titles +go; but it is not the less noble that it has been recruited to so large +an extent from the ranks of honorable industry. In olden times, the +wealth and commerce of London, conducted as it was by energetic and +enterprising men was a prolific source of peerages. Thus, the earldom +of Cornwallis was founded by Thomas Cornwallis, the Cheapside merchant; +that of Essex by William Capel, the draper; and that of Craven by +William Craven, the merchant tailor. The modern Earl of Warwick is not +descended from 'the King-maker,' but from William Greville, the +woolstapler; whilst the modern Dukes of Northumberland find their head, +not in the Percies, but in Hugh Smithson, a respectable London +apothecary. The founders of the families of Dartmouth, Radnor, Ducie, +and Pomfret were respectively a skinner, a silk manufacturer, a merchant +tailor, and a Calais merchant; whilst the founders of the peerages of +Tankerville, Dormer, and Coventry were mercers. The ancestors of Earl +Romney, and Lord Dudley and Ward, were goldsmiths and jewelers; and Lord +Dacres was a banker in the reign of Charles I., as Lord Overstone is in +that of Queen Victoria. Edward Osborne, the founder of the dukedom of +Leeds, was apprentice to William Hewet, a rich cloth worker on London +Bridge, whose only daughter he courageously rescued from drowning, by +leaping into the Thames after her, and eventually married. Among other +peerages 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 closest +counterpart in the Sidney family, for many generations owners of +Penshurst, and with a traditional character according to which the men +were all brave and the women were all pure. Sir Philip Sidney was +himself the type of all the virtues of the family, while his father's +care for his proper bringing up was not unlike Tresham's for Mildred. In +the words of a recent writer: "The most famous scion of this Kentish +house was above all things, the moral and intellectual product of +Penshurst Place. In the park may still be seen an avenue of trees, under +which the father, in his afternoon walks with the boy, tested his +recollection of the morning's lessons conned with the tutor. There, too, +it was that he impressed on the lad those maxims for the conduct of +life, afterwards emphasized in the correspondence still extant among the +Penshurst archives. + +"Philip was to begin every day with lifting up his mind to the Almighty +in hearty prayer, as well as feelingly digesting all he prayed for. He +was also, early or late, to be obedient to others, so that in due time +others might obey him. The secret of all success lay in a moderate diet +with rare use of wine. A gloomy brow was, however, to be avoided. +Rather should the youth give himself to be merry, so as not to +degenerate from his father. Above all things should he keep his wit from +biting words, or indeed from too much talk of any kind. Had not nature +ramparted up the tongue with teeth and the lips with hair as reins and +bridles against the tongue's loose use. Heeding this, he must be sure to +tell no untruth even in trifles; for that was a naughty custom, nor +could there be a greater reproach to a gentleman than to be accounted a +liar. _Noblesse oblige_ formed the keynote of the oral and written +precepts with which the future Sir Philip Sidney was paternally +supplied. By his mother, too, Lady Mary Dudley, the boy must remember +himself to be of noble blood. Let him beware, therefore, through sloth +and vice, of being accounted a blemish on his race." + +Furthermore, the brotherly and sisterly relations of Tresham and Mildred +are not unlike those of Sir Philip Sidney and his sister Mary. They +studied and worked together in great sympathy, broken into only by the +tragic fate of Sir Philip. Although the education of women in those days +was chiefly domestic, with a smattering of accomplishments, yet there +were exceptional girls who aspired to learning and who became brilliant +women. Mildred under her brother's tutelage bid fare to be one of this +sort. + +The ideals of the Sidneys, it is true, were sixteenth-century ideals. +Eighteenth-century ideals were proverbially low. England, then, had not +recovered from the frivolities inaugurated after the Restoration. The +slackness and unbelief among the clergy, and the looseness of morals in +society were notorious, but this degeneration could not have been +universal. There are always a few Noahs and their families left to +repeople the world with righteousness after a deluge of degeneracy, and +Browning is quite right in his portrayal of an eighteenth-century knight +_sans peur et sans reproche_ who defends the honor of his house with his +sword, because of his high moral ideals. Besides, the Methodist revival +led by the Wesleys gained constantly in power. It affected not only the +people of the middle and lower classes, rescuing them from brutality of +mind and manners, but it affected the established church for the better, +and made its mark upon the upper classes. "Religion, long despised and +contemned by the titled and the great" writes Withrow, "began to receive +recognition and support by men high in the councils of the nation. Many +ladies of high rank became devout Christians. A new element of +restraint, compelling at least some outward respect for the decencies of +life and observances of religion, was felt at court, where too long +corruption and back-stair influence had sway." + +Like all of his kind, no matter what the century, Tresham is more than +delighted at the thought of an alliance between his house and the noble +house to which Mertoun belonged. The youth of Mildred was no obstacle, +for marriages were frequently contracted in those days between young +boys and girls. The writer's English grand-father and mother were married +at the respective ages of sixteen and fifteen within the boundaries of +the nineteenth century. + +The first two scenes of the play present episodes thoroughly +illustrative of the life lived by the "quality." + + +ACT I + +SCENE I.--_The interior of a lodge in LORD TRESHAM'S park. Many +Retainers crowded at the window, supposed to command a view of the +entrance 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 its +jugs._] + + 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. Meantime +AUSTIN 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 human +one, and belongs to no one country or no one period of civilization more +than another, but the attitude of all the actors in the tragedy belongs +distinctively to the phase of moral culture which we saw illustrated in +the youth of Sir Philip Sidney, and is characteristic of English ways of +thinking whenever their moral force comes uppermost, as for example in +the Puritan thought of the Cromwellian era. + +The play is in a sense a problem play, though to most modern readers the +tragedy of its ending is all too horrible a consequence of the sin. +Dramatically and psychically, however, the tragedy is much more +inevitable than that of Romeo and Juliet, whose love one naturally +thinks of in the same connection. The catastrophe in the Shakespeare +play is almost mechanically pushed to its conclusion through mere +external blundering, easily to have been prevented. Juliet saw clearly +where Mildred does not, that loyalty to a deep and true love should +triumph over all minor considerations, so that in her case the tragedy +is, in no sense, due to her blindness of vision. In the "Blot," lack of +perception of the true values in life makes it impossible for Mildred or +Tresham to act otherwise than they did. But having worked out their +problem according to their lights, a new light of a more glorious day +dawns upon them. + +The ideal by which Tresham lives and moves and has his being is that of +pride of birth, with honor and chastity as its watchwords. At the same +time the idol of his life is his sister Mildred, over whom he has +watched with a father's and mother's care. When the blow to his ideal +comes at the hands of this much cherished sister, it is not to be +wondered at that his reason almost deserts him. The greatest agony +possible to the human soul is to have its ideals, the very food which +has been the sustenance of its being, utterly ruined. The ideal may be a +wrong one, or an impartial one, and through the wrack and ruin may dawn +larger vision, but, unless the nature be a marvelously developed one the +storm that breaks when an ideal is shattered is overwhelming. + +It would be equally true of Mildred that, nurtured as she had been and +as young English girls usually are, in great purity, even ignorance of +all things pertaining to life, the sense of her sin would be so +overwhelming as to blind her to any possible means of expiation except +the most extreme. And indeed may it not be said that only those who can +see as Mertoun and Guendolen did that genuine and loyal love is no less +love because, in a conventional sense, it has sinned,--only those would +acknowledge, as Tresham, indeed, does after he has murdered Mertoun, how +perfect the love of Mildred and Mertoun was. Sin flourishes only when +insincerity tricks itself out in the garb of love, and on the whole it +is well that human beings should have an abiding sense of their own and +others insincerity, and test themselves by their willingness to +acknowledge their love before God and man. There are many Mildreds but +few Mertouns. It is little wonder that Dickens wrote with such +enthusiasm of this play that he knew no love like that of Mildred and +Mertoun, no passion like it. + +[Illustration: An English Park] + +One does not need to discuss whether murders were possible in English +social life. They are possible in all life at all times as long as men +and women allow their passions to overthrow their reason. The last act, +however, illustrates the English poise already referred to; Tresham +regains his equilibrium with enlarged vision, his salvation is +accomplished, his soul awakened. + + +ACT III + +SCENE I.--_The end of the Yew-tree Avenue under MILDRED'S window. A +light 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 MERTOUN +cloaked 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 arrests +his 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 is +empty._ + + 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 influence +exerted by Bunyan upon some of his wicked contemporaries. The poet took +his hints for the story from Bunyan himself, who tells it as follows in +the "Life and Death of Mr. Badman." + +"At a summer assizes holden at Hertford, while the judge was sitting +upon the bench, comes this old Tod into the Court, clothed in a green +suit, with his leathern girdle in his hand, his bosom open, and all on a +dung sweat, as if he had run for his life; and being come in, he spake +aloud, as follows: 'My lord,' said he, 'here is the veriest rogue that +breathes 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 do +other such like wicked things, and I have continued a thief ever since. +My lord, there has not been a robbery committed these many years, within +so many miles of this place, but I have either been at it, or privy to +it.' The judge thought the fellow was mad, but after some conference +with some of the justices, they agreed to indict him; and so they did of +several 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 amid +the scenes of Bunyan's labors and imprisonment. Bunyan, himself, was +tried at the Bedford Assizes upon the charge of preaching things he +should not, or according to some accounts for preaching without having +been ordained, and was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment in the +Bedford Jail. At one time it was thought that he wrote "Pilgrim's +Progress" during this imprisonment, but Dr. Brown, in his biography of +Bunyan conjectured that this book was not begun until a later and +shorter imprisonment of 1675-76, in the town prison and toll-house on +Bedford Bridge. Dr. Brown supposes that the portion of the book written +in prison closes where Christian and Hopeful part from the shepherds on +the Delectable Mountains. "At that point a break in the narrative is +indicated--'So I awoke from my dream;' it is resumed with the +words--'And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same two pilgrims +going down the mountains along the highway towards the city.' Already +from the top of an high hill called 'Clear,' the Celestial City was in +view; dangers there were still to be encountered; but to have reached +that high hill and to have seen something like a gate, and some of the +glory of the place, was an attainment and an incentive." There Bunyan +could pause. Several years later the pilgrimage of Christiana was +written. + +Browning, however, adopts the tradition that the book was written during +the twelve years' imprisonment, and makes use of the story of Bunyan's +having supported himself during this time by making tagged shoe-laces. +He brings in, also, the little blind daughter to whom Bunyan was said to +be devoted. The Poet was evidently under the impression also that the +assizes were held in a courthouse, but there is good authority for +thinking that at that time they were held in the chapel of Herne. +Nothing remains of this building now, but it was situated at the +southwest corner of the churchyard of St. Paul, and was spoken of +sometimes as the School-house chapel. + +Ned Bratts and his wife did not know, of course, that they actually +lived in the land of the "Pilgrim's Progress." This has been pointed out +only recently in a fascinating little book by A. J. Foster of Wootton +Vicarage, Bedfordshire. He has been a pilgrim from Elstow, the village +where Bunyan was born near Bedford, through all the surrounding country, +and has fixed upon many spots beautiful and otherwise which he believes +were transmuted in Bunyan's imagination into the House Beautiful, The +Delectable Mountains, Vanity Fair and so on through nearly all the +scenes of Christian's journey. + +The House Beautiful he identifies with Houghton House in the manor of +Dame Ellen's Bury. This is one of the most interesting of the country +houses of England, because of its connection with Sir Philip Sidney's +sister, Mary Sidney. After the death of her husband, Lord Pembroke, +James I. presented her with the royal manor of Dame Ellen's Bury, and +under the guidance of Inigo Jones, it is generally supposed, Houghton +House was built. It is in ruins now and covered with ivy. Trees have +grown within the ruins themselves. Still it is one of the most beautiful +spots in Bedfordshire. "In Bunyan's time," Mr. Foster writes, "we may +suppose the northern slope of Houghton Park was a series of terraces +rising one above another, and laid out in the stiff garden fashion of +the time. A flight of steps, or maybe a steep path, would lead from one +terrace to the next, and gradually the view over the plain of Bedford +would reveal itself to the traveler as he mounted higher and higher." + +From Houghton House there is a view of the Chiltern Hills. Mr. Foster is +of the opinion that Bunyan had this view in mind when he described +Christian as looking from the roof of the House Beautiful southwards +towards the Delectable Mountains. He writes, "One of the main roads to +London 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 passed +along this road. All in this direction was, therefore, to him familiar +ground. Many a pleasant walk or ride came back to him through memory, as +he took pen in hand to describe Hill Difficulty with its steep path and +its arbor, and the House Beautiful with its guest-chamber, its large +upper room looking eastward, its study and its armory. + +"Many a time did Bunyan, as he journeyed, look southwards to the blue +Chilterns, and when the time came he placed together all that he had +seen, as the frame in which he should set his way-faring pilgrim." + +Pleasant as it would be to follow with Mr. Foster his journey through +the real scenes of the "Pilgrim's Progress," our main interest at +present is to observe how Browning's facile imagination has presented +the 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 Curiae_--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-- + Astraea 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 in +his own time. The most innocent among us had overwhelming qualms in +regard to our sins, as children when we listened to our mothers read the +book. I remember having confessed some childish peccadillo that was +weighing on my small mind as the first result of my thoroughly aroused +sense of guilt. In these early years of the Twentieth Century, such a +feeling seems almost as far removed as the days of Bunyan. A sense of +guilt is not a distinguishing characteristic of the child of the present +day, and it may also be doubted whether such reprobates as Ned and his +wife would to-day be affected much if at all by the "Pilgrim's +Progress." There was probably great personal magnetism in Bunyan +himself. We are told that after his discharge from prison, his +popularity as a preacher widened rapidly. Such vast crowds of people +flocked to hear him that his place of worship had to be enlarged. He +went frequently to London on week days to deliver addresses in the large +chapel in Southwark which was invariably thronged with eager worshipers. + +Browning's picture of Bunyan shows the instant effect of his personality +upon 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 the +shoe laces to tie up the hands of their victims, and to bring on by this +means the meeting between Tab and Bunyan. Of course, the blind +daughter's part is imaginary, but yet it seems to bring very vividly +before us this well loved child. Another touch, quite in keeping with +the time, is the decision of the Judge that the remarkable change of +heart in Ned and Tab was due to the piety of King Charles. Like every +one else, however, he was impressed by what he heard of the Tinker, and +inclined to see what he could do to give him his freedom. It seems that +Bunyan's life in jail was a good deal lightened by the favor he always +inspired. The story goes that from the first he was in favor with the +jailor, who nearly lost his place for permitting him on one occasion to +go as far as London. After this he was more strictly confined, but at +last he was often allowed to visit his family, and remain with them all +night. One night, however, when he was allowed this liberty Bunyan felt +resistlessly impressed with the propriety of returning to the prison. He +arrived after the keeper had shut up for the night, much to the +official's surprise. But his impatience at being untimely disturbed was +changed to thankfulness, when a little after a messenger came from a +neighboring clerical magistrate to see that the prisoner was safe. "You +may go now when you will" said the jailer; "for you know better than I +can 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 an +appreciative tribute to his genius and to his force of character, +only to be paralleled by Dowden's sympathetic critique in his "Puritan +and Anglican Studies." What Browning makes Ned and Tab see through +suddenly 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, admirably +discriminated, and as convincing in their self-verification as those of +Holbein. His personages live for us as few figures outside the drama of +Shakespeare live.... All his powers cooperated harmoniously in creating +this book--his religious ardor, his human tenderness, his sense of +beauty, nourished by the Scriptures, his strong common sense, even his +gift 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 England +setting. We may imagine, if we choose, that this wild father and son +dwelt in the beautiful country of Northumberland, in the North of +England, but descriptions of the scenery could add nothing to the +atmosphere of the poem, for Northumberland is surpassingly lovely. +Doubtless, human beings of this type have existed in all parts of the +globe. At any rate, these particular human beings were transported by +Browning from Aristotle's "Ethics" to the North of England. The incident +is told by Aristotle in illustration of the contention that anger and +asperity are more natural than excessive and unnecessary desires. "Thus +one 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 he +also (pointing to his child) will strike me, when he becomes a man; for +it runs in our family.' A certain person, also, being dragged by his +son, bid him stop at the door, for he himself had dragged his father as +far as that." The dryness of "Aristotle's cheeks" is as usual so +enlivened by Browning that the fate of Halbert and Hob grows pathetic +and 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 Englishman +is dissected with the keen knife of a surgeon, which Browning knows so +well how to wield. The villain of this poem was a real personage, a Lord +de Ros, a friend of the Duke of Wellington. The story belongs to the +annals of crime and is necessarily unpleasant, but in order to see how +Browning has worked up the episode it is interesting to know the bare +facts as Furnivall gives them in "Notes and Queries" March 25, 1876. He +says "that the gambling lord showed the portrait of the lady he had +seduced and abandoned and offered his dupe an introduction to her, as a +bribe to induce him to wait for payment of the money he had won; that +the young gambler eagerly accepted the offer; and that the lady +committed suicide on hearing of the bargain between them." Dr. Furnivall +heard the story from some one who well remembered the sensation it had +made in London years ago. In his management of the story, Browning has +intensified the villainy of the Lord at the same time that he has shown +a 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 year +of tutelage from the older man. He makes one radical change in the story +as well as several minor ones. In the poem the younger man had been in +love with the girl whom the older man had dishonorably treated, and had +never ceased to love her. Of course, the two men do not know this. By +the advice of the elder man, the younger one has decided to settle down +and marry his cousin, a charming young girl, who is also brought upon +the scene. The other girl is represented as having married an old +country parson, who sought a wife simply as a helpmeet in his work. By +thus complicating the situations, room has been given for subtle psychic +development. The action is all concentrated into one morning in the +parlor of the old inn, reminding one much of the method of Ibsen in his +plays of grouping his action about a final catastrophe. At the inn one +is introduced first to the two gamblers in talk, the young man having +won his ten thousand pounds from the older man, who had intended to +fleece him. The inn album plays an important part in the action, +innocent as its first appearance upon the scene seems to be. The +description 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: + _Ecarte_, 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 of +the inn is, it is impossible to say which out of the many English inns +Browning had in mind. Inns date back to the days of the Romans, who had +ale-houses along the roads, the most interesting feature of which was +the ivy garland or wreath of vine-leaves in honor of Bacchus, wreathed +around a hoop at the end of a long pole to point out the way where good +drink could be had. A curious survival of this in early English times +was the "ale-stake," a tavern so called because it had a long pole +projecting from the house front wreathed like the old Roman poles with +furze, a garland of flowers or an ivy wreath. This decoration was called +the "bush," and in time the London taverners so vied with each other in +their attempt to attract attention by very long poles and very prominent +bushes that in 1375 a law was passed according to which all taverners +in the city of London owning ale-stakes projecting or extending over the +King's highway more than seven feet in length, at the utmost, should be +fined forty pence, and compelled to remove the sign. Here is the origin, +too, of the proverb, "good wine needs no bush." In the later development +of the inn the signs lost their Bacchic character and became most +elaborate, often being painted by artists. + +The poet says this inn was the "Something-arms," and had perhaps once +been a house. Many inns were the "Something (?) arms" and certainly many +inns had been houses. One such is the Pounds Bridge Inn on a secluded +road between Speldhurst and Penshurst in Kent. It was built by the +rector of Penshurst, William Darkenoll, who lived in it only three +years, when it became an inn. The inn of the poem might have been a +combination in Browning's memory of this and the "White Horse" at +Woolstone, which is described as a queerly pretty little inn with a +front distantly resembling a Chippendale bureau-bookcase. "It is tucked +away under the mighty sides of White Horse Hill, Berkshire, and +additionally overhung with trees and encircled with shrubberies and +under-woods, and is finally situated on a narrow road that presently +leads, as it would seem, to the end of the known world." So writes the +enthusiastic lover of inns, Charles Harper. Or, perhaps, since there is +a river to be seen from the inn of the poem the "Swan" at Sandleford +Water, where a foot bridge and a water splash on the river Enborne mark +the boundaries of Hampshire and Berkshire. Here "You have the place +wholly to yourself, or share it only with the squirrels and the birds of +the overarching trees." The illustration given of the Black Bear Inn, +Tewksbury, is a quite typical example of inn architecture, and may have +helped the picture in Browning's mind, though its situation is not so +rural as that described in the poem. + +Inns have, from time immemorial, been the scenes of romances and +tragedies and crimes. There have been inns like the "Castle" where the +"quality" loved to congregate. The "inn album" of this establishment had +inscribed in it almost every eighteenth-century name of any distinction. +There have been inns which were noted as the resort of the wits of the +day. Ben Jonson loved to take "mine ease in mine inn," and Dr. Johnson +declared 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 a +comfortable sanded parlor, a roaring fire, and plenty of good cheer and +good company, but also of the circle of humbly appreciative auditors who +gathered round an accepted wit, hung upon his words, offered themselves +as butts for his ironic or satiric humor, and--stood treat." Or there +was the inn of sinister aspect where highwaymen might congregate, or +inns with hosts who let their guests down through trap-doors in the +middle of the night to rob and murder them--or is this only a vague +remembrance of a fanciful inn of Dickens? Then there was the pilgrim's +inn in the days when Chaucerian folks loved to go on pilgrimages, and in +the last century the cyclists inn, and to-day the inn of the +automobilist. The particular inn in the poem belongs to the class, rural +inn, and in spite of its pictures by noted masters was "stuffy" as to +the atmosphere. + +[Illustration: An English Inn] + +The "inn album" or visitors' book is a feature of inns. In this country +we simply sign our names in the visitors' book, but the "album" feature +of the visitors' book of an English inn is its glory and too often its +shame, for as Mr. Harper says, "Bathos, ineptitude, and lines that +refuse to scan are the stigmata of visitors' book verse. There is no +worse poetry on earth than that which lurks between those covers, or in +the pages of young ladies' albums." He declares that "The interesting +pages of visitors' books are generally those that are not there, as an +Irishman might say; for the world is populated very densely with those +appreciative people who, whether from a love of literature, or with an +instinct for collecting autographs that may have a realizable value, +remove the signatures of distinguished men, and with them anything +original they may have written." + +Browning pokes fun at the poetry of his inn album, but at the same time +uses 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 threat +by 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 the +following 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 they +have another talk, in which each tells the other of his experience, but +they 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 the +wife 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, to +talk over her prospective husband. She desires her friend to come to her +home and meet her fiance, but the lady, who is in constant fear of +meeting "Iago," never goes anywhere, and proposes a meeting with him at +the inn. While she waits, "Iago" comes in upon her. There is a terrible +scene of recrimination between these two, the man again daring to prefer +his love. The lady scorns him. Horror is added to horror when the young +man appears at the door, and recognizes the woman he really loves. His +faith in her and his love are shaken for a moment, but return +immediately and he stands her true friend and lover. The complete +despicableness of "Iago's" nature finally reveals itself in the lines he +writes in the album and gives to the lady to read. The poem is too long +to quote in full. The closing scene, however, will give the reader a +good idea of the poet's handling of this nineteenth-century tragedy. + +The true nobility of soul of the younger man links him with Mertoun +among Browning's heroes and represents the Englishman or the man of any +country for that matter at his highest. Whether redemption for the older +man would have been possible had the lady believed him in the inn parlor +is doubtful. Such natures are like Ibsen's "Peer Gynt." They need to be +put 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 the +nineteenth century in England; and possibly "Caliban" might be included +as representative of Calvinistic survivals of the century. + +The two most strongly marked of these tendencies have been shown in the +Tractarian Movement which took Anglican in the direction of High +Churchism and Catholicism, and in the Scientific Movement which led in +the direction of Agnosticism. + +The battle between the Church of Rome and the Church of England was +waged the latter part of the first half of the century, and the greater +battle between science and religion came on in its full strength the +middle of the century when the influence of Spencer, Darwin, Tyndall, +Huxley and other men of science began to make itself felt, as well as +that of such critics of historical Christianity as Strauss in Germany +and Renan in France. The influence of the dissenting bodies,--the +Presbyterians and the Methodists--also became a power during the +century. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the development has been +in the direction of the utmost freedom of conscience in the matter of +religion, though the struggles of humanity to arrive there even during +this century are distressing to look back upon; and occasionally one is +held up even in America to-day by the ghost of religious persecution. + +It is an open secret that in Bishop Blougram, Browning meant to portray +Cardinal Wiseman, whose connection with the Tractarian Movement is of +great interest in the history of this movement. Browning enjoyed hugely +the joke that Cardinal Wiseman himself reviewed the poem. The Cardinal +praised it as a poem, though he did not consider the attitude of a +priest of Rome to be properly interpreted. A comparison of the poem with +opinions expressed by the Cardinal as well as a glimpse into his +activities will show how far Browning has done him justice. + +It is well to remember at the outset that the poet's own view is neither +that of Blougram nor of the literary man Gigadibs, with whom Blougram +talks over his wine. Gigadibs is an agnostic and cannot understand how a +man of Blougram's fine intellectual and artistic perceptions is able so +implicitly to believe in Catholic doctrine. Blougram's apology for +himself amounts to this,--that he does not believe with absolute +certainty any more than does Gigadibs; but, on the other hand, Gigadibs +does not disbelieve with absolute certainty, so Blougram's state is one +of belief shaken occasionally by doubt, while Gigadibs is one of +unbelief 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 point +is, Blougram contends, that he lives by what he finds the most to his +taste; giving him as it does, power, distinction and beauty in life as +well 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 in +connection with Browning's portrayal of him to observe his earlier +years. He was born in Spain, having a Spanish father of English descent +and an English mother, all Catholics, as Blougram says, "There's one +great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in." His mother took +him as an infant, and laid him upon the altar of the Cathedral of +Seville, 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 and +his brother to England where he was trained at the Catholic college of +Ushaw. From there he went to Rome to study at the English Catholic +College there. Later he became Rector of this College. The sketch of +Wiseman at this period given by his biographer, Wilfred Ward, is most +attractive. "Scattered through his 'Recollections' are interesting +impressions left by his student life. While mastering the regular course +of scholastic philosophy and theology sufficiently to take his degree +with credit, his tastes were not primarily in this direction. The study +of Roman antiquities, Christian and Pagan, was congenial to him, as was +also the study of Italian art--in which he ultimately became +proficient--and of music: and he early devoted himself to the Syriac and +Arabic languages. In all these pursuits the enthusiasm and eminence of +men living in Rome itself at this era of renaissance was a potent +stimulus to work. The hours he set aside for reading were many more than +the rule demanded. But the daily walk and the occasional expedition to +places of historic interest outside of Rome helped also to store his +mind and to fire his imagination." Wiseman writes, himself, of this +period, "The life of the student in Rome should be one of unblended +enjoyment. His very relaxations become at once subsidiary to his work +and yet most delightfully recreative. His daily walks may be through the +field of art ... his wanderings along the stream of time ... a thousand +memories, a thousand associations accompany him." From this letter and +from accounts of him he would seem to have been possessed of a highly +imaginative temperament, possibly more artistic than religious. +Scholars, linguists, or historians, artists or antiquarians interested +him far more than thinkers or theologians. In noting the effects on +Wiseman's character of the thoughts and sights of Rome, "it must be +observed," writes Ward, "that even the action of directly religious +influences brought out his excessive impressionableness. His own inner +life was as vivid a pageant to him as the history of the Church. He was +liable at this time to the periods of spiritual exaltation--matched, as +we shall see later on, by fits of intense despondency--which marked him +through life." + +This remarkable intellectual activity brought with it doubts of +religious truth. "The imaginative delight in Rome as a living witness to +the faith entirely left him, and at the same time he was attacked by +mental disturbances and doubts of the truth of Christianity. There are +contemporary indications, and still plainer accounts in the letters of +his later life, of acute suffering from these trials. The study of +Biblical criticism, even in the early stages it had then reached, seems +immediately to have occasioned them; and the suffering they caused him +was aggravated into intense and almost alarming depression by the +feebleness of his bodily health." He says, speaking of this phase in his +life, "Many and many an hour have I passed, alone, in bitter tears, on +the _loggia_ of the English College, when every one was reposing in the +afternoon, and I was fighting with subtle thoughts and venomous +suggestions of a fiendlike infidelity which I durst not confide to any +one, for there was no one that could have sympathized with me. This +lasted for years; but it made me study and think, to conquer the +plague--for I can hardly call it danger--both for myself and for others. +But during the actual struggle the simple submission of faith is the +only remedy. Thoughts against faith must be treated at the time like +temptations against any other virtue--put away; though in cooler moments +they may be safely analyzed and unraveled." Again he wrote of these +years as, "Years of solitude, of desolation, years of shattered nerves, +dread often of instant insanity, consumptive weakness, of sleepless +nights and weary days, and hours of tears which no one witnessed." + +"Of the effect of these years of desolation on his character he speaks +as being simply invaluable. It completed what Ushaw had begun, the +training in patience, self-reliance, and concentration in spite of +mental depression. It was amid these trials, he adds, 'that I wrote my +"Horae Syriacae" 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 Puseyite +controversy at a later period.' Any usefulness which discovered itself +in later years he considers the 'result of self-discipline' during his +inner conflict. The struggle so absorbed his energies that his early +life was passed almost wholly free from the special trials to which that +period is liable. He speaks of his youth as in that respect 'almost +temptationless.'" This state of mind seemed to last about five years and +then he writes in a letter: + +"I have felt myself for some months gradually passing into a new state +of mind and heart which I can hardly describe, but which I trust is the +last stage of mental progress, in which I hope I may much improve, but +out of which I trust I may never pass. I could hardly express the calm +mild frame of mind in which I have lived; company and society I have +almost entirely shunned, or have moved through it as a stranger; hardly +a 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 it +proceed? I think I could make an interesting history of my mind's +religious progress, if I may use a word shockingly perverted by modern +fanatics, from the hard dry struggles I used to have when first I +commenced to study on my own account, to the settling down into a state +of stern conviction, and so after some years to the nobler and more +soothing evidences furnished by the grand harmonies and beautiful +features of religion, whether considered in contact with lower objects +or viewed in her own crystal mirror. I find it curious, too, and +interesting to trace the workings of those varied feelings upon my +relations to the outward world. I remember how for years I lost all +relish for the glorious ceremonies of the Church. I heeded not its +venerable monuments and sacred records scattered over the city; or I +studied them all with the dry eye of an antiquarian, looking in them for +proofs, not for sensations, being ever actively alive to the collection +of evidences and demonstrations of religious truth. But now that the +time of my probation as I hope it was, is past, I feel as though the +freshness of childhood's thoughts had once more returned to me, my +heart expands with renewed delight and delicious feelings every time I +see the holy objects and practices around me, and I might almost say +that I am leading a life of spiritual epicureanism, opening all my +senses to a rich draught of religious sensations." + +From these glimpses it would appear that Wiseman was a much more sincere +man 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 the +attitude which will be, so to speak, the most politic from both a +worldly and a spiritual point of view. The beautiful passage beginning +"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset touch" etc., comes nearer to +the genuine enthusiasm of a Wiseman than any other in the poem. There is +an essential difference between the minds of the poet and the man he +portrays, which perhaps made it impossible for Browning fully to +interpret Wiseman's attitude. Both have religious fervor, but Browning's +is born of a consciousness of God revealed directly to himself, while +Wiseman's consciousness of God comes to him primarily through the +authority of the Church, that is through generations of authoritative +believers the first of whom experienced the actuality of Revelation. +Hundreds and thousands of people have minds of this caliber. They cannot +see a truth direct for themselves, they must be told by some person +clothed in authority that this or that is true or false. To Wiseman the +beauty of his own form of religion with its special dogmas made so +strong an appeal, that, since he could only believe through authority, +under any circumstances, it was natural to him to adopt the particular +form that gave him the most satisfaction. Proofs detrimental to belief +do not worry long with doubts such a mind, because the authority they +depend on is not the authority of knowledge, but the authority of +belief. This comes out clearly enough in one of Wiseman's letters in +which after enumerating a number of proofs brought forward by various +scholars tending to cast discredit on the dogmas of the Church, he +triumphantly exclaims, "And yet, who that has an understanding to judge, +is driven for a moment from the holdings of faith by such comparisons as +these!" + +[Illustration: Sacred Heart _F. Utenbach_] + +Upon looking through his writings there will always be found in his +expression of belief, I think, that ring of true sincerity as well as +what I should call an intense artistic delight in the essential beauty +of his religion. + +As to Blougram's argument that he believed in living in the world while +he was in it, Wiseman's life was certainly not that of a worldling +alone, though he is described by one person as being "a genuine priest, +very good looking and able bodied, and with much apparent practice in +the world." He was far too much of a student and worker to be altogether +so worldly-minded as Browning represents him. + +His chief interest for Englishmen is his connection with the Tractarian +Movement. The wish of his soul was to aid the Catholic Revival in +England, and with that end in view he visited England in 1835. Two years +before, the movement at Oxford, known as the Tractarian Movement had +begun. The opinions of the men in this movement were, as every one +knows, printed in a series of ninety tracts of which Newman wrote +twenty-four. It was an outgrowth of the conditions of the time. To sum +up in the words of Withrow,[3] "The Church of England had distinctly +lost ground as a directing and controlling force in the nation. The most +thoughtful and earnest minds in the Church felt the need of a great +religious awakening and an aggressive movement to regain its lost +influence." As Dean Church describes them, the two characteristic forms +of Christianity in the Church of England were the High Church, and the +Evangelicals, or Low Church." Of the former he says: "Its better +members were highly cultivated, benevolent men, intolerant of +irregularities both of doctrine and life, whose lives were governed by +an unostentatious but solid and unfaltering piety, ready to burst forth +on occasion into fervid devotion. Its worse members were jobbers and +hunters after preferment, pluralists who built fortunes and endowed +families out of the Church, or country gentlemen in orders, who rode to +hounds 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 including +Newman, Pusey, Keble, Arnold, Maurice, Kingsley, and others, who began +an active propaganda of the new or revised doctrines of the Oxford +Movement. + +"The success of the Tracts," says Molesworth, "was much greater, and the +outcry against them far louder and fiercer, than their authors had +expected. The Tracts were at first small and simple, but became large +and learned theological treatises. Changes, too, came over the views of +some of the writers. Doctrines which probably would have shocked them at +first were put forward with a recklessness which success had increased. +Alarm was excited, remonstrances stronger and stronger were addressed to +them. They were attacked as Romanizing in their tendency." + +"The effect of such writing was two-fold[4]--the public were dismayed +and certain members of the Tractarian party avowed their intention of +becoming Romanists. So decided was the setting of the tide towards Rome +that 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 the +Thirty-nine Articles in the interest of Roman Catholicism. This tract +aroused a storm of indignation. The violent controversy which it +occasioned led to the discontinuance of the series." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] See Withrow. + +Such in little was this remarkable movement. When Tract No. 90 appeared +Wiseman had been in England for some time, and had been a strong +influence in taking many thinking men in the direction of Rome. His +lectures and discourses upon his first visit to England had attracted +remarkable attention. The account runs by one who attended his lectures +to Catholics and Protestants: "Society in this country was impressed, +and listened almost against its will, and listened not displeased. Here +was a young Roman priest, fresh from the center of Catholicism, who +showed himself master, not only of the intricacies of polemical +discussion but of the amenities of civilized life. The spacious church +of Moorfields was thronged on every evening of Dr. Wiseman's appearance. +Many persons of position and education were converted, and all departed +with abated prejudice, and with very different notions about Catholicism +from those with which they had been prepossessed by their education." +Wiseman, himself, wrote, "I had the consolation of witnessing the +patient and edifying attention of a crowded audience, many of whom stood +for two hours without any symptom of impatience." + +The great triumph for Wiseman, however, was when, shortly after Tract +90, Newman, "a man," described "in many ways, the most remarkable that +England has seen during the century, perhaps the most remarkable whom +the English Church has produced in any century," went over to the Church +of Rome and was confirmed by Wiseman. Others followed his example and by +1853 as many as four hundred clergymen and laity had become Roman +Catholics. + +The controversies and discussions of that time, it must be remembered, +were more upon the dogmas of the church than upon what we should call +to-day the essential truths of religion. Yet, to a certain order of mind +dogmas seem important truths. There are those whose religious attitude +cannot be preserved without belief in dogmas, and the advantage of the +Catholic Church is that it holds firmly to its dogmas, come what may. It +was expected, however, that this Romeward Movement would arouse intense +antipathy. "The arguments by which it was justified were considered, in +many cases, disingenuous, if not Jesuitical." + +In opposition of this sort we come nearer to Browning's attitude of +mind. Because such arguments as Wiseman and the Tractarians used could +not convince him, he takes the ordinary ground of the opposition, that +in using such arguments they must be insincere, and they must be +perfectly conscious of their insincerity. Still, in spite of the fact +that Browning's mind could not get inside of Blougram's, he shows that +he has some sympathy for the Bishop in the close of the poem where he +says, "He said true things but called them by wrong names." Raise +Blougram's philosophy to the plane of the mysticism of a Browning, and +the arguments for belief would be much the same but the _counters_ in +the arguments would become symbols instead of dogmas. + +In "Christmas-Eve and Easter Day," Browning becomes the true critic of +the nineteenth-century religious movements. He passes in review in a +series of dramatic pictures the three most diverse modes of religious +thought of the century. The dissenter's view is symbolized by a scene in +a very humble chapel in England, the Catholic view by a vision of high +mass at St. Peter's and the Agnostic view by a vision of a lecture by a +learned German professor,--while the view of the modern mystic who +remains religious in the face of all destructive criticism is shown in +the speaker of the poem. The intuitional, aspiring side of his nature is +symbolized by the vision of Christ that appears to him, while the +intensity of its power fluctuates as he either holds fast or lets go the +garment of Christ. Opposed to his intuitional side is his reasoning +side. + +Possibly the picture of the dissenting chapel is exaggeratedly humble, +though if we suppose it to be a Methodist Chapel, it may be true to +life, as Methodism was the form of religion which made its appeal to the +lowest classes. Indeed, at the time of its first successes, it was the +saving grace of England. "But for the moral antiseptic," writes Withrow, +"furnished by Methodism, and the revival of religion in all the churches +which it produced, the history of England would have been far other than +it was. It would probably have been swept into the maelstrom of +revolution and shared the political and religious convulsions of the +neighboring nation," that is the French Revolution. + +"But Methodism had greatly changed the condition of the people. It had +rescued vast multitudes from ignorance and barbarism, and raised them +from almost the degradation of beasts to the condition of men and the +fellowship of saints. The habits of thrift and industry which it +fostered led to the accumulation, if not of wealth, at least to that of +a substantial competence; and built up that safeguard of the +Commonwealth, a great, intelligent, industrious, religious Middle-Class +in the community." + +After the death of Wesley came various divisions in the Methodist +Church; it has so flexible a system that it may be adapted to very +varied needs of humanity, and in that has consisted its great power. +The mission of the church was originally to the poor and lowly, but "It +has won for itself in spite of scorn and persecution," says Dr. Schoell, +"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 this +poem, 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 love +in little, from that transcendent love may be deduced. His reasoning +finally brings him to a state of vision. His subjective intuitions +become palpable objective symbols, a not infrequent occurrence in highly +wrought 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 the +little Methodist Chapel. The Catholic Church is the church of all others +which has gathered about itself the marvels of art in sculpture, +painting and music. As the chapel depressed with its ugliness, the great +cathedral 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 scientific +criticism has been upon historical Christianity. + +The warfare between science and religion forms one of the most +fascinating and terrible chapters in the annals of the development of +the human mind. About the middle of the nineteenth century the war +became general. It was no longer a question of a skirmish over this +or that particular discovery in science which would cause some +long-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 science +sees, on the one hand, it cannot conquer religion, and religion sees, on +the other, it cannot conquer science. What each has done is to strip the +other of its untruths, leaving its truths to grow by the light each +holds up for the other. Together they advance toward the knowledge of +the 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 Goettingen, I have to thank for 't? + It may be Goettingen,--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 Goettingen, + 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 anapaests 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 a +vision. His conclusions have that broadness of view which belongs only +to those most advanced in thought. He has learned that not only must +there be the essential truth behind every sincere effort to reach it, +but that even his own vision of the truth is not necessarily the final +way of truth but is merely the way which is true for him. The jump from +the attitude of mind that persecutes those who do not believe according +to one established rule to such absolute toleration of all forms because +of their symbolizing an eternal truth gives the measure of growth in +religious thought from the days of Wesley to Browning. The Wesleys and +their fellow-helpers were stoned and mobbed, and some died of their +wounds in the latter part of the eighteenth century, while in 1850, when +"Christmas-Eve" was written, an Englishman could express a height of +toleration and sympathy for religions not his own, as well as taking a +religious stand for himself so exalted that it is difficult to imagine a +further step in these directions. Perhaps we are suffering to-day from +over-toleration, that is, we tolerate not only those whose aspiration +takes a different form, but those whose ideals lead to degeneracy. It +seems as though all virtues must finally develop their shadows. What, +however, is a shadow but the darkness occasioned by the approach of some +greater 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 Goettingen 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 and +somewhat intricate discussion between two friends upon the basis of +belief and gives no glimpses of the historical progress of belief. In +brief, the poem discusses the relation of the finite life to the +infinite life. The first speaker is not satisfied with the different +points of view suggested by the second speaker. First, that one would be +willing to suffer martyrdom in this life if only one could truly believe +it would bring eternal joy. Or perhaps doubt is God's way of telling who +are his friends, who are his foes. Or perhaps God is revealed in the law +of the universe, or in the shows of nature, or in the emotions of the +human heart. The first speaker takes the ground that the only +possibility satisfying modern demands is an assurance that this world's +gain is in its imperfectness surety for true gain in another world. An +imaginatively pictured experience of his own soul is next presented, +wherein he represents himself at the Judgment Day as choosing the finite +life instead of the infinite life. As a result, he learns there is +nothing in finite life except as related to infinite life. The way +opened out toward the infinite through love is that which gives the +light of life to all the good things of earth which he desired--all +beauties, 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 in +historical Christianity. It can hardly be said to be more than a +doubtful proof, for it depends upon a subjective vision of which the +speaker, himself, doubts the truth. The speaker in this poem belongs in +the same category with Bishop Blougram. A belief in infinite Love can +come to him only through the dogma of the incarnation, he therefore +holds to that, no matter how tossed about by doubts. The failure of all +human effort to attain the Absolute and, as a consequence, the belief in +an Absolute beyond this life is a dominant note in Browning's own +philosophy. The nature of that Absolute he further evolves from the +intellectual 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, Herbert +Spencer. The relativity of knowledge and the relativity of good and evil +are cardinal doctrines with both of them. Herbert Spencer's mystery +behind all phenomena and Browning's failure of human knowledge are +identical--the negative proof of the absolute,--but where Spencer +contents himself with the statement that though we cannot know the +Absolute, yet it must transcend all that the human mind has conceived +of perfection, Browning, as we have already seen, declares that we _can_ +know something of the nature of that Absolute through the love which we +know 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 be +touched on in the present volume, it will be instructive to round out +Browning's presentations of his own contributions to nineteenth-century +thought with two quotations, one from "The Parleyings:" "With Bernard de +Mandeville," and one from a poem in his last volume "Reverie." In the +first, 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 near +the 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 a +discussion of the problem of the ephemeralness of musical expression. +He hits upon Avison to have his colloquy with because a march by this +musician came into his head, and the march came into his head for no +better reason than that it was the month of March. Some interest +would attach to Avison if it were only for the reason that he was +organist of the Church of St. Nicholas in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. In +the earliest accounts St. Nicholas was styled simply, "The Church of +Newcastle-upon-Tyne," but in 1785 it became a Cathedral. This was after +Avison's death in 1770. All we know about the organ upon which Avison +performed is found in a curious old history of Newcastle by Brand. "I +have found," he writes, "no account of any organ in this church during +the times of popery though it is very probable there has been one. About +the year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed L300 towards +the erection of the present organ. They added a trumpet stop to it June +22d, 1699." + +The year that Avison was born, 1710, it is recorded further that "the +back front of this organ was finished which cost the said corporation +L200 together with the expense of cleaning and repairing the whole +instrument." + +June 26, 1749, the common council of Newcastle ordered a sweet stop to +be added to the organ. This was after Avison became organist, his +appointment to that post having been in 1736. So we know that he at +least had a "trumpet stop" and a "sweet stop," with which to embellish +his organ playing. + +The church is especially distinguished for the number and beauty of its +chantries, and any who have a taste for examining armorial bearings will +find two good-sized volumes devoted to a description of those in this +church, by Richardson. Equal distinction attaches to the church owing to +the beauty of its steeple, which has been called the pride and glory of +the Northern Hemisphere. According to the enthusiastic Richardson it is +justly esteemed on account of its peculiar excellency of design and +delicacy of execution one of the finest specimens of architectural +beauty in Europe. This steeple is as conspicuous a feature of Newcastle +as the State House Dome is of Boston, situated, as it is, almost in the +center of the town. Richardson gives the following minute description of +this marvel. "It consists of a square tower forty feet in width, having +great and small turrets with pinnacles at the angles and center of each +front tower. From the four turrets at the angles spring two arches, +which meet in an intersecting direction, and bear on their center an +efficient perforated lanthorne, surmounted by a tall and beautiful +spire: the angles of the lanthorne have pinnacles similar to those on +the turrets, and the whole of the pinnacles, being twelve in number, and +the spire, are ornamented with crockets and vanes." + +There is a stirring tradition in regard to this structure related by +Bourne to the effect that in the time of the Civil Wars, when the Scots +had besieged the town for several weeks, and were still as far as at +first from taking it, the general sent a messenger to the mayor of the +town, and demanded the keys, and the delivering up of the town, or he +would immediately demolish the steeple of St. Nicholas. The mayor and +aldermen upon hearing this, immediately ordered a certain number of the +chiefest of the Scottish prisoners to be carried up to the top of the +tower, the place below the lanthorne and there confined. After this, +they returned the general an answer to this purpose,--that they would +upon no terms deliver up the town, but would to the last moment defend +it: that the steeple of St. Nicholas was indeed a beautiful and +magnificent piece of architecture, and one of the great ornaments of the +town; 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 the +same moment he destroyed the beautiful structure he should bathe his +hands in the blood of his countrymen who were placed there on purpose +either to preserve it from ruin or to die along with it. This message +had the desired effect. The men were there kept prisoners during the +whole time of the siege and not so much as one gun fired against it. + +Avison, however, had other claims to distinction, besides being organist +of this ancient church. He was a composer, and was remembered by one of +his airs, at least, into the nineteenth century, namely "Sound the Loud +Timbrel." He appears not to be remembered, however, by his concertos, of +which he published no less than five sets for a full band of stringed +instruments, nor by his quartets and trios, and two sets of sonatas for +the harpsichord and two violins. All we have to depend on now as to the +quality of his music are the strictures of a certain Dr. Hayes, an +Oxford Professor, who points out many errors against the rules of +composition in the works of Avison, whence he infers that his skill in +music is not very profound, and the somewhat more appreciative remarks +of Hawkins who says "The music of Avison is light and elegant, but it +wants originality, a necessary consequence of his too close attachment +to the style of Geminiani which in a few particulars only he was able to +imitate." + +Geminiani was a celebrated violin player and composer of the day, who +had 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 in +1760. Avison's early education was gained in Italy; and in addition to +his musical attainments he was a scholar and a man of some literary +acquirements. It is not surprising, considering all these educational +advantages that he really made something of a stir upon the publication +of his "small book," as Browning calls it, with, we may add, its "large +title." + + 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 the +aforementioned Dr. W. Hayes, and although the learned doctor's pamphlet +seems to have died a natural death, some idea of its strictures may be +gained from Avison's reply. The criticisms are rather too technical to +be of interest to the general reader, but one is given here to show how +gentlemanly a temper Mr. Avison possessed when he was under fire. His +reply runs "His first critique, and, I think, his masterpiece, contains +many circumstantial, but false and virulent remarks on the first allegro +of 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 what +the public is already in possession of, the public being the most proper +judge. I shall only here observe, that our critic has wilfully, or +ignorantly, confounded the terms _fugue_ and _imitation_, which latter +is by no means subject to the same laws with the former. + +[Illustration: Handel] + +"Had I observed the method of answering the _accidental subjects_ in +this _allegro_, as laid down by our critic in his remarks, they must +have produced most shocking effects; which, though this mechanic in +music, would, perhaps, have approved, yet better judges might, in +reality, have imagined I had known no other art than that of the +spruzzarino." There is a nice independence about this that would +indicate Mr. Avison to be at least an aspirant in the right direction in +musical composition. His criticism of Handel, too, at a time when the +world was divided between enthusiasm for Handel and enthusiasm for +Buononcini, shows a remarkably just and penetrating estimate of this +great genius. + +"Mr. Handel is, in music, what his own Dryden was in poetry; nervous, +exalted, and harmonious; but voluminous, and, consequently, not always +correct. Their abilities equal to every thing; their execution +frequently inferior. Born with genius capable of _soaring the boldest +flights_; they have sometimes, to suit the vitiated taste of the age +they lived in, _descended to the lowest_. Yet, as both their +excellencies are infinitely more numerous than their deficiencies, so +both their characters will devolve to latest posterity, not as models of +perfection, yet glorious examples of those amazing powers that actuate +the human soul." + +On the whole, Mr. Avison's "little book" on Musical Expression is +eminently sensible as to the matter and very agreeable in style. He hits +off well, for example, the difference between "musical expression" and +imitation. + +"As dissonances and shocking sounds cannot be called Musical Expression, +so neither do I think, can mere imitation of several other things be +entitled to this name, which, however, among the generality of mankind +hath often obtained it. Thus, the gradual rising or falling of the +notes in a long succession is often used to denote ascent or descent; +broken intervals, to denote an interrupted motion; a number of quick +divisions, to describe swiftness or flying; sounds resembling laughter, +to describe laughter; with a number of other contrivances of a parallel +kind, which it is needless here to mention. Now all these I should chuse +to style imitation, rather than expression; because it seems to me, that +their tendency is rather to fix the hearer's attention on the similitude +between the sounds and the things which they describe, and thereby to +excite a reflex act of the understanding, than to affect the heart and +raise the passions of the soul. + +"This distinction seems more worthy our notice at present, because some +very eminent composers have attached themselves chiefly to the method +here mentioned; and seem to think they have exhausted all the depths of +expression, by a dextrous imitation of the meaning of a few particular +words, 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 the +sentence, he would not think he had done the poet justice, or _risen_ to +that _height_ of sublimity which he ought to express, till he had +climbed up to the very top of his instrument, or at least as far as the +human voice could follow him. And this would pass with a great part of +mankind for musical expression; instead of that noble mixture of solemn +airs and various harmony, which indeed elevates our thoughts, and gives +that exquisite pleasure, which none but true lovers of harmony can +feel." What Avison calls "musical expression," we call to-day "content." +And thus Avison "tenders evidence that music in his day as much absorbed +heart and soul then as Wagner's music now." It is not unlikely that this +very passage may have started Browning off on his argumentative way +concerning the question: how lasting and how fundamental are the powers +of musical expression. + +The poet's memory goes back a hundred years only to reach "The bands-man +Avison whose little book and large tune had led him the long way from +to-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 of +fashion in music, the poet boldly goes on to declare that there is no +truer truth obtainable by man than comes of music, because it does give +direct expression to the moods of the soul, yet there is a hitch that +balks her of full triumph, namely the musical form in which these moods +are expressed does not stay fixed. This statement is enriched by a +digression 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 a +comparison with the other arts. His contention is that art adds nothing +to the _knowledge_ of the mind. It simply moulds into a fixed form +elements already known which before lay loose and dissociated, it +therefore does not really create. But there is one realm, that of +feeling, to which the arts never succeed in giving permanent form +though all try to do it. What is it they succeed in getting? The poet +does not make the point very clear, but he seems to be groping after the +idea that the arts present only the _phenomena_ of feeling or the image +of feeling instead of the _reality_. Like all people who are +appreciative of music, he realizes that music comes nearer to expressing +the spiritual reality of feeling than the other arts, and yet music of +all 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 so +ephemeral in its appeal. He merely refers to the development of harmony +and modulation, nor does it seem to enter his head that there can be any +question about the appeal being ephemeral. He imagines the possibility +of resuscitating dead and gone music with modern harmonies and novel +modulations, but gives that up as an irreverent innovation. His next +mood is a historical one; dead and gone music may have something for us +in 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 of +relativity in art and not only in art but in ethics and religion. It is +a statement in poetry of the prevalent thought of the nineteenth +century, of which the most widely known exponent was Herbert Spencer. +The form in which every truth manifests itself is partial and therefore +will pass, but the underlying truth, the absolute which unfolds itself +in form after form is eternal. Every manifestation in form, according to +Browning, however, has also its infinite value in relation to the truth +which 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 through +sound, and why it should be so ephemeral in its appeal, there are +various things to be said. It is just possible that it may soon come to +be recognized that the psychic growth of humanity is more perfectly +reflected in music than any where else. Ephemeralness may be predicated +of culture-music more certainly than of folk-music, why? Because +culture-music often has occupied itself more with the technique than +with the content, while folk-music, being the spontaneous expression of +feeling must have content. Folk-music, it is true, is simple, but if it +be genuine in its feeling I doubt whether it ever loses its power to +move. Therefore, in folk-music is possibly made permanent simple states +of feeling. Now in culture-music, the development has constantly been +in the direction of the expression of the ultimate spiritual reality of +emotions. Music is now actually trying to accomplish what Browning +demands 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 of +raising evil into a region of the artistically beautiful. Doubt, +despair, passion, become blossoms plucked by the hand of God when +transmuted in the alembic of the brain of genius--which is not saying +that he need experience any of these passions himself. In fact, it is +his power of perceiving the eidolon of beauty in modes of passion or +emotion not his own that makes him the great genius. + +It is doubtless true that whenever in culture-music there has really +been content aroused by feeling, no matter what the stage of technique +reached, _that_ music retains its power to move. It is also highly +probably that in the earlier objective phases of music, even the +contemporary audiences were not moved in the sense that we should be +moved to-day. The audiences were objective also and their enthusiasm may +have been aroused by merely the imitative aspects of music as Avison +called them. It is certainly a fact that content and form are more +closely linked in music than in any other art. Suppose, however, we +imagine the development of melody, counterpoint, harmony, modulation, +etc., to be symbolized by a series of concrete materials like clay +bricks, silver bricks, gold bricks, diamond bricks; a beautiful thought +might take as exquisite a form in bricks of clay as it would in diamond +bricks, or diamond bricks might be flung together without any informing +thought so that they would attract only the thoughtless by their +glitter. But it also follows that, with the increase in the kinds of +bricks, there is an increase in the possibilities for subtleties in +psychic expression, therefore music to-day is coming nearer and nearer +to the spiritual reality of feeling. It requires the awakened soul that +Maeterlinck talks about, that is, the soul alive to the spiritual +essences of things to recognize this new realm which composers are +bringing to us in music. + +There are always, at least three kinds of appreciators of music, those +who can see beauty only in the masters of the past, those who can see +beauty only in the last new composer, and those who ecstatically welcome +beauty past, present and to come. These last are not only psychically +developed themselves, but they are able to retain delight in simpler +modes of feeling. They may be raised to a seventh heaven of delight by a +Bach fugue played on a clavichord by Mr. Dolmetsch, feeling as if angels +were ministering unto them, or to a still higher heaven of delight by a +Tschaikowsky symphony or a string quartet of Grieg, feeling that here +the seraphim continually do cry, or they may enter into the very +presence of the most High through some subtly exquisite and psychic song +of an American composer, for some of the younger American composers are +indeed approaching "Truth's very heart of truth," in their music. + +On the whole, one gets rather the impression that the poet has here +tackled a problem upon which he did not have great insight. He passes +from one mood to another, none of which seem especially satisfactory to +himself, and concludes with one of the half-truths of nineteenth-century +thought. It is true as far as it goes that forms evolve, and it is a +good truth to oppose to the martinets of settled standards in poetry, +music and painting; it is also true that the form is a partial +expression of a whole truth, but there is the further truth that, let a +work of art be really a work of genius, and the form as well as the +content touches the infinite; that is, we have as Browning says in a +poem already quoted, "Bernard de Mandeville," the very sun in little, or +as he makes Abt Vogler say of his music, the broken arc which goes to +the formation of the perfect round, or to quote still another poem of +Browning's, "Cleon," the perfect rhomb or trapezoid that has its own +place in a mosaic pavement. + +[Illustration: Avison's March] + +The poem closes in a rolicking frame of mind, which is not remarkably +consistent with the preceding thought, except that the poet seems +determined to get all he can out of the music of the past by enlivening +it with his own jolly mood. To this end he sets a patriotic poem to the +tune 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 and +quantity the notes of the march. Truth to say, the essential goodness of +the 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 a +graceful little sonnet written by the poet in an album which was +presented to Mr. Chappell in recognition of his popular concerts in +London. Browning was a constant attendant at these. It gives a true +glimpse 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,") + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Browning's England, by Helen Archibald Clarke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWNING'S ENGLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 29365.txt or 29365.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/3/6/29365/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Linda Cantoni (music), Katherine +Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/29365.zip b/old/29365.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..92a640d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/29365.zip |