genius who marked out for himself a career of complete asceticism; of work
apart from human sympathy, love, and friendship, as well as from all
gratifications of the flesh. And the scheme was pursued
unflinchingly--for a time--until the inevitable reaction set in, spirit
and flesh alike avenging themselves for their temporary suppression. Not
only are love and friendship found claiming their own, but
A host of petty wild delights, undreamed of
Or spurned before, (_Par._, iii, ll. 537-538.)
offer themselves to supply the place of what the earlier ascetic, in a
moment of despairing self-contempt, terms his "dead aims." The declaration
at Colmar is made whilst the influence of reaction still prevails.
I will accept all helps; all I despised
So rashly at the outset, equally
With early impulses, late years have quenched.
* * * * *
All helps! no one sort shall exclude the rest. (_Par._, iv, ll. 235-239.)
Only when he has learned from experience that human nature is not to be
developed through suppression, that "its sign and note and character" are
"Love, hope, fear, faith"--that "these make humanity," only then can he
fearlessly, as in youth, "press God's lamp to [his] breast," assured of
the divine guidance and protection.
_Sordello_, so closely allied to _Paracelsus_ in time of composition (pub.
1840, begun before _Strafford_, 1836), demands a brief reference since it
has been especially singled out for notice in this connection as
constituting "an indirect vindication of the conceptions of human life
which _Christmas Eve and Easter Day_ condemns."[84] In the _Sixth Book of
Sordello_ the question of renunciation has become imminent and practical.
It is the moment for decision. The imperial badge which he tells his soul
"would suffer you improve your Now!" must be accepted or rejected: and
with it the attendant temporal advantages. But the reflections occupying
the poet's mind, at this crisis of his fate, are akin to those following
the Vision of the Judgment in _Easter Day_. Why not enjoy life to the
full? Why treat it as a mere ante-room to the palace at the door of which
stands the Usher, Death? Even accepting the simile
I, for one,
Will praise the world, you style mere ante-room
To palace.
* * * * *
Oh, 'twere too absurd to slight
For the hereafter the to-day's delight.[85]
Yet the thought recurs, how often has the cup of life been set aside by
"sage, champion, martyr," to whom had been revealed the secret of that
which "masters life." To what causes is attributable the failure which he
recognizes in reviewing his own Past? The soul, true inhabitant of the
Infinite, has been unable to adapt itself to its lodgment in the body
fitted, by its constitution, for Time only. Sorrow has been the inevitable
result of the soul's attempts at subjecting the body to its use. Sorrow to
be avoided only when the employer shall
Match the thing employed,
Fit to the finite his infinity.[86]
Some solution of the difficulty there must assuredly be. The question of
_Sordello_ is in different form the question of the soliloquist of _Easter
Day_--
Must life be ever just escaped which should
Have been enjoyed?[87]
And the answer?--
Nay, might have been and would,
Each purpose ordered right--the soul's no whit
Beyond the body's purpose under it.[88]
Yet the struggle ends in _renunciation_, and Salinguerra arrives to find
Sordello dead, "under his foot the badge": but
Still, Palma said,
A triumph lingering in the wide eyes.[89]
In _Rabbi Ben Ezra_ a more material conception of life is to be expected
from the change in the personality of the soliloquist. The Jewish Rabbi of
the twelfth century takes the place of the Mantuan poet of the thirteenth.
The Rabbi also recognizes the limitations imposed by the body upon the
development of the soul.
Pleasant is this flesh,
Our soul, in its rose-mesh
Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest. (_R. B. E._, xi.)
* * * * *
Thy body at its best,
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? (viii.)
Yet, since "gifts should prove their use," he would, in so far as may be,
utilize the body for the advancement of the soul.
Let us not always say
"Spite of the flesh to-day
I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"
As the bird wings and sings,
Let us cry "All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" (xii.)
In this complete co-operation of spirit and flesh--if attainable--might be
found a satisfactory answer to Sordello's question concerning the
possibility of that use of life which should prove a legitimate enjoyment
of its gifts, no mere avoidance of its snares.
The parable of _The Two Camels of Ferishtah's Fancies_ is employed to
again introduce the subject of asceticism and its uses. The conclusions
there reached differ, perhaps, rather in degree than in kind from those
which have gone before. Not asceticism, but enjoyment develops best the
faculties of man. The perfect achievement of the work allotted him is the
object of his existence. Hence the admonition,
Dare
Refuse no help thereto, since help refused
Is hindrance sought and found.
The decision, however, goes a step further than that of _Easter Day_ where
it is noticeable that the professing Christian, who objects to an
examination of the basis of his faith, appears to have no anxiety
respecting the world at large. The salvation of his individual soul is
that which alone concerns him, and pretty well limits his outlook on life
temporal and eternal. In _The Two Camels_, Ferishtah, in rejecting
asceticism as a mode of life, looks not to its personal effects only, but
to those influences which he is bound to transmit to his fellow men. To
become a joy-giving medium, individual experience of joy is, he claims,
essential, and to be best acquired through a free and grateful acceptance,
and a reasonable enjoyment of the blessings of earth.
Just as I cannot, till myself convinced,
Impart conviction, so, to deal forth joy
Adroitly, needs must I know joy myself.
Renounce joy for my fellows' sake? That's joy
Beyond joy; but renounced for mine, not theirs?
* * * * *
No, Son: the richness hearted in such joy
Is in the knowing what are gifts we give,
Not in a vain endeavour not to know![90]
That, I believe, we must take as Browning's final word on the subject.
Does it differ so widely from the teaching of _Easter Day_? Surely not?
The man who feared to enjoy earth lest earth should prove a snare, was
taught by the final Judgment that, to a nature of higher capacity, might
be possible that full enjoyment of life comprehended in the use of all
good things as opportunities for soul-enlargement. An enjoyment following
immediately upon the discovery that in all
Of power and beauty in the world,
The mightiness of love was curled
Inextricably round about.
LECTURE VII
LA SAISIAZ
LECTURE VII
LA SAISIAZ
The peculiar interest attaching to _Christmas Eve and Easter Day_ is
wholly absent from _La Saisiaz_; for here is no uncertainty as to the
identity of the speaker, no soliloquist interposed between the author and
his public. The dramatic interest absent, the personal interest is,
however, proportionately stronger. As in _Prospice_ the closing lines are
unmistakably the outcome of an overwhelming torrent of feeling, so in the
later poem the problems demanding consideration have been forced into
prominence by the events of the hour; and the mourner, who was "ever a
fighter," will not rest until he has confronted them, and has done all
that may be fairly and honestly done towards the settlement of tormenting
doubts and fears. Thus, in _La Saisiaz_, we get, perhaps, the sole example
in Browning's work of a direct attempt on his part to give to the world a
rational and sustained argument, resulting in his personal decision as to
the questions immediately involved; the immortality of the soul and the
relation of its future to its present phase of existence. It is to this
deliberate design that the striking difference in character of these two
similarly inspired poems may be mainly attributable: that the joyful
assurance of _Prospice_ is succeeded by the reasoned hope of _La Saisiaz_.
The mourner hesitates to launch himself upon the waves of faith until he
has argued the questions before him in so far as they are capable of
argument. For the confidence of _Prospice_ that
The fiend-voices that rave
_Shall_ dwindle, _shall_ blend,
_Shall_ change, _shall_ become ... a peace out of pain:
we have the hope of _La Saisiaz_,
No more than hope, but hope--no less than hope. (l. 535.)
In place of the triumphant certainty of future reunion,
O thou soul of my soul! I _shall_ clasp thee again,
is the answering query--sole response to the question as to mutual
recognition in another world
Can it be, and must, and will it? (l. 390.)
But the problems of _La Saisiaz_ are not capable of solution by argument;
there comes a stage at which it is inevitable that faith must supplement
and succeed the reasoning powers of the intellect. "Man's truest answer"
is, after all, but human: the finite may not grasp the Infinite; and,
looking upon the Infinite as revealed through Nature, man can but reflect
How were it did God respond?
It is the necessary failure in the attainment of a satisfactory conclusion
by ratiocinative methods alone which causes the apparent uncertainty:
apparent rather than actual, since, wherever in the course of the
discussion feeling is allowed free exercise, there faith--or
hope--prevails. In _Prospice_, reasoning offers no check to the emotions,
and faith holds complete sway. Though Faith and Reason are no antagonistic
forces, the ventures of Faith must yet transcend the powers of Reason, and
Reasoning, whilst it may define, is incapable of limiting the province of
Faith, since even "true doctrine is not an end in itself: it cannot carry
us beyond the region of the intellect.... All formulas are of the nature
of outlines: they define by exclusion as well as by comprehension; and no
object in life is isolated. Our premisses in spiritual subjects,
therefore, are necessarily incomplete, and even logical deductions from
them may be false."[91]
But whatever the intellectual questionings and uncertainties occurring in
the course of the poem itself, the prologue is a pure lyric of spiritual
triumph. Though actually the outcome of the premises preceding and the
conclusions following the argument between Fancy and Reason, no suggestion
of effort is apparent in the joyous song of the soul freed from the
trammels of the body to "wander at will," in the fruition of its fuller
life. The reference to its mortal tenement recalls no painful element in
the process of material decay; only autumn woods, the glowing colours of
fading leaves and mosses.
Waft of soul's wing!
What lies above?
Sunshine and Love,
Skyblue and Spring!
Body hides--where?
Ferns of all feather,
Mosses and heather,
Yours be the care!
Of the circumstances immediately giving rise to this personal expression
of feeling the briefest notice will suffice, the bare facts being stated
beneath the title in the latest edition of the works; whilst for the
details necessary to fill in the outline, we have only to turn to the poem
itself, reading the first 140 lines. Miss Egerton-Smith was one of
Browning's oldest women friends, but it was not until many years after
their first meeting in Florence that their intercourse seems to have
become a really important factor in the lives of both: when, after the
return to England following his wife's death, the poet temporarily
established himself in London with his sister as housekeeper. Miss
Egerton-Smith would appear to have been of a nature not readily responsive
to the demands of ordinary social intercourse; a nature likely to make
special appeal to the man who saw in imperfection, perfection hid, and in
complete temporal adaptability the exclusion of possibilities of future
growth. Hence we find him writing in the moment of bereavement:
You supposed that few or none had known and loved you in the world:
May be! flower that's full-blown tempts the butterfly, not flower that's
furled.
But more learned sense unlocked you, loosed the sheath and let expand
Bud to bell and out-spread flower-shape at the least warm touch of hand
--Maybe, throb of heart, beneath which,--quickening farther than it
knew,--
Treasure oft was disembosomed, scent all strange and unguessed hue.
Disembosomed, re-embosomed,--must one memory suffice,
Prove I knew an Alpine-rose which all beside named Edelweiss?
(ll. 123-130.)
At the time of the chief intercourse between the two friends, Browning's
health rendered it necessary for him to leave England during a part of
each year, and for four successive summers Miss Egerton-Smith had been the
companion of the brother and sister in their foreign sojourns, when that
of 1877 was interrupted by her sudden death from heart disease on the
night of September 14th. The villa "La Saisiaz" (in the Savoyard dialect
"the Sun"), at which the party was staying, was situated above Geneva, and
almost immediately beneath La Salève, the summit of which was the
destination of the expedition occupying Miss Egerton-Smith's thoughts at
the time of her death. The shock to her friends was wholly unexpected, as
she had been in better health than was usual to her during the days
immediately preceding. To Browning it would appear to have been at first
overwhelming. It was not long, however, before the emotional and
intellectual faculties were sufficiently under control to render the
arguments of _La Saisiaz_ a possibility. When he added the concluding
lines in "London's mid-November," only six weeks had elapsed since that
"summons" in the Swiss village which had meant for him temporary
bereavement of affection and friendship.
_A._ The first 400 lines of the poem proper--exclusive of the
prologue--constitute a prelude to the formal debate conducted between
Fancy and Reason, designed as a rational and logical course of argument by
which the writer would assure himself of the immortality of the soul as a
no less reasonable hypothesis than is the self-evident fact of the
mortality of the body: that the assumption with which instinct forces him
to start is also the goal to which reason ultimately draws him. The
assumption--
That's Collonge, henceforth your dwelling. All the same, howe'er
disjoints
Past from present, no less certain you are here, not there. (ll. 24-25.)
The conclusion--that even though
O'er our heaven again cloud closes ...
Hope the arrowy, just as constant, comes to pierce its gloom.
(ll. 542-543.)
Line 44 may be not unfitly taken as significant of the whole course of
thought
What will be the morning glory, when at dusk thus gleams the lake?
(i) The first part of the prelude (if we may so call it), occupying 139
lines, calls for little more comment than that already necessitated by the
foregoing consideration of the circumstances giving rise to the poem. (ii)
In taking the solitary walk to the summit of La Salève five days after
Miss Egerton-Smith's death, the poet recalls the circumstances of their
last climb together; and as he stands looking down upon Collonge, that
final resting-place of the body, the question recurs--
Here I stand: but you--where?
The heart has already assured itself that, in spite of the occupation of
that dwelling-place at Collonge, the certainty remains, "you are here, not
there." But this assurance has proved transitory as the feeling which
engendered it. No "mere surmise" will suffice concerning a matter "the
truth of which must rest upon no legend, that is no man's experience but
our own."[92] So to the author of _La Saisiaz_ the suggestion as to proofs
of spiritual survival presents itself only to be rejected.
What though I nor see nor hear them? Others do, the proofs abound!
Such second-hand evidence is inadmissible.
My own experience--that is knowledge. (l. 264.)
* * * * *
Knowledge stands on my experience: all outside its narrow hem,
Free surmise may sport and welcome! (ll. 272-273.)
Here, as with the uncompromising investigator of _Easter Day_, the fact
that credence in a certain tenet is desirable, is advantageous, proves
cause for rejection rather than acceptance. All evidence must be sifted
with the utmost care. Thus the question is stated in line 144, the
answer, or attempted answer to which, is to occupy the entire poem--
Does the soul survive the body?
The second part of the question is on a different platform--
Is there God's self, no or yes?
The existence of God is accepted at the outset of the enquiry as a premise
on which the subsequent argument may be based: as is also the existence of
the soul: it is the condition of immortality alone which is to be proved.
And the poet puts the question, determined to face the truth--whether it
meets his "hopes or fears." It would be difficult to find a more
characteristic assertion of Browning's usual attitude than that of lines
149-150.
Weakness never need be falseness: truth is truth in each degree
--Thunderpealed by God to Nature, whispered by my soul to me.
(iii) But the events of the preceding days have converted the abstract
enquiry, "Does the soul survive the body?" into one of vital personal
import.
Was ending ending once and always, when you died? (l. 172.)
Hence suggests itself the further question, a necessary sequel to the
first. If death is not the ending of the soul's life, what is the _nature_
of that immortality, the actuality of which the speaker seeks to
establish? We have already seen Cleon emphatically repudiating the theory
of Protus as to the satisfaction afforded by a vicarious immortality,
"what thou writest, paintest, stays: that does not die." Equally
unsatisfactory to human nature is the suggestion in the present instance
of a prolongation and renewal of life by influences transmitted to
succeeding generations. And yet is the certainty of the thirteenth century
possible to the nineteenth? "Phrase the solemn Tuscan fashioned."
I believe and I declare--
Certain am I--from this life I pass into a better, there
Where that lady lives of whom enamoured was my soul.
With this assurance all would be well.
(iv) Now, the mere possibility of propounding questions such as the
foregoing, involves the existence of that which asks, and of that to which
the enquiry is addressed with at least an anticipation, however vague, of
obtaining an answer. In other words, the existence of an intelligent being
and an external source of intelligence to which its questionings are
directed. These are the only facts on which the speaker would insist as a
basis for subsequent argument: but of the certainty of these he is
absolutely assured. That their existence is beyond proof he holds as
testimony to their reality.
Call this--God, then, call that--soul, and both--the only facts for me.
Prove them facts? that they o'erpass my power of proving, proves them
such:
Fact it is I know I know not something which is fact as much.
(ll. 222-224.)
God and the soul. The primary fact of life and that which is dependent on
the primary. That the soul knows not whence it came nor whither it goes is
no argument against either its existence and immortality, or the existence
and omnipotent and omniscient control of a divine Being. The relative
positions of the rush and the stream lend themselves to the illustration
of this assertion. Whatever the purpose of life, it is yet possible that
man should exist without possessing assured knowledge concerning his
future destiny. All that the rush may conjecture of the course of the
stream is "mere surmise not knowledge": nevertheless, the existence of the
stream is a fact as self-evident to the onlooker as is that of the rush.
Therefore--
Ask the rush if it suspects
Whence and how the stream which floats it had a rise, and where and how
Falls or flows on still! What answer makes the rush except that now
Certainly it floats and is, and, no less certain than itself,
_Is_ the everyway external stream that now through shoal and shelf
Floats it onward, leaves it--may be--wrecked at last, or lands on shore
There to root again and grow and flourish stable evermore.
--May be! mere surmise not knowledge: much conjecture styled belief,
What the rush conceives the stream means through the voyage blind and
brief. (ll. 226-234.)
Thus all man's conjecture as to his future existence is but conjecture:
surmise based upon probabilities deduced from the present conditions of
life and accumulated experience.
(v) And is then this fact of the present existence of the soul cause
sufficient to demand belief in its immortality? The affirmative answer,
"Because God seems good and wise," proves inadequate when the eyes of the
enquirer are turned to a world in which evil is manifestly existent, and
not only existent, but frequently predominant. The possibility of
reconciling such conditions with the design of a beneficent omnipotence is
only attained through the acceptance of belief in a future life which
shall disentangle the complexities of the present; which shall render
perfect that which is imperfect; complete that which is incomplete.
Without such a prospect of the ultimate solution of its problems life
would be unintelligible, therefore impossible as the work of an
intelligent being: hence the existence of God is denied by implication,
and the premise originally accepted (l. 222) is rejected. This question is
treated more fully later in the poem (ll. 335-348).
But, granted this possibility of a future, then
Just that hope, however scant,
Makes the actual life worth leading.
With hope the poet would rest satisfied, since certainty is neither
possible, nor, in view of the educative purpose which he claims for life,
desirable. Upon this recognition of "life, time,--with all their chances,"
as "just probation-space," rests one of the main dogmas of Browning's
teaching--suggested or expressed in countless passages throughout his
works; embodied in most concise form perhaps in the concluding stanzas of
_Abt Vogler_. This life being the prelude to another, failure becomes "but
a triumph's evidence for the fulness of the days," when for the evil of
the present shall be "so much good more": when, indeed, all those
unfulfilled hopes which had "promised joy" to the author of _La Saisiaz_,
shall find soul-satisfying fulfilment. And all we have willed or dreamed
of good shall exist. So long as Eternity may be held to "affirm the
conception of an hour," all the seeming inconsistencies of life may admit
of solution.
In this passage of _La Saisiaz_ recurs also that suggestion so
characteristic of Browning--introduced dramatically in _Easter Day_, to be
met with again later in the expositions nominally ascribed to
Ferishtah--the theory of the adaptation of the entire universe, as known
to man, to the needs and development of the individual soul. As in _Easter
Day_ is depicted by the Vision the work of
Absolute omnipotence,
Able its judgments to dispense
To the whole race, as every one
Were its sole object; (_E. D._, ll. 662-665.)
so again in _A Camel-driver_ is emphasized the individual character of the
final Judgment:
Thou and God exist--
So think!--for certain: think the mass--mankind--
Disparts, disperses, leaves thyself alone!
Ask thy lone soul what laws are plain to thee,--
Thee and no other,--stand or fall by them!
That is the part for thee: _regard all else
For what it may be--Time's illusion_.
Similarly here the entire scheme of life is to be regarded from the
individual standpoint; all outside the "narrow hem" of personal experience
can be but the result of surmise. Therefore
Solve the problem: "From thine apprehended scheme of things, deduce
Praise or blame of its contriver, shown a niggard or profuse
In each good or evil issue! nor miscalculate alike
Counting one the other in the final balance, which to strike,
Soul was born and life allotted: ay, the show of things unfurled
For thy summing-up and judgment,--thine, no other mortal's world!"
(ll. 287-292.)
With the acceptance, however, of the doctrine, "His own world for every
mortal," recurs again the disturbing reflection inevitable to the
contemplation of that world whether in its personal relation, or as a
training-ground for "some other mortal." Were the extreme transitoriness
and the preponderance of pain indispensable factors in the scheme of
instruction?
Can we love but on condition, that the thing we love must die?
Needs then groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
(ll. 311-312.)
Certainly personal experience has resulted in the conclusion:
Howsoever came my fate,
Sorrow did and joy did nowise,--life well weighed,--preponderate!
(ll. 333-334.)
In the discussion which follows (ll. 335-348) the fact of the existence of
these evils is employed to enforce the admission of the necessity of a
future life. It is in fact the earlier argument (ll. 235, _et seq._)
repeated and elaborated. How are the existing conditions of life to be
reconciled with the belief in the over-ruling Providence of a God whose
name is synonymous with goodness, wisdom, and power? Here each attribute
is dealt with categorically--Was it proof of the divine Goodness that
within the limits of the poet's personal experience
The good within [his] range
Or had evil in admixture or grew evil's self by change? (ll. 337-338.)
Again could it be deemed a token of the divine Wisdom that
Becoming wise meant making slow and sure advance
From a knowledge proved in error to acknowledged ignorance?
(ll. 339-340.)
Finally, seeing that Power must within itself include the force known as
Will, could that indeed rank as omnipotence, which was incapable of
securing for man even the enjoyment of life possessed by the worm which,
on the hypothesis of the non-existence of a future world, becomes "man's
fellow-creature," man too being thus but the creature of an hour? Since
with the loss of his immortal destiny passes also the reason (according to
Browning's reiterated theory) of his imperfection as compared with the
more complete physical perfection of the lower world of animal life. If,
then, such a consummation is the sole outcome of the Creator's work the
conclusion is inevitable, that the Goodness, Wisdom, and Power ascribed to
Him must be limited in range and capacity. Thus again the premise
originally accepted as a basis of argument has to be rejected--a God
possessing merely human attributes is no God. But once more also, though
in stronger terms, the conclusion of ll. 242-243:
Only grant a second life, I acquiesce
In this present life as failure, count misfortune's worst assaults
Triumph, not defeat, assured that loss so much the more exalts
Gain about to be. (ll. 358-361.)
Thus all experience fairly considered goes to prove the necessity for a
future life; and with the hope of such a future is closely interwoven the
need also for reunion with those who have already tested the grounds of
their belief:
Grant me (once again) assurance we shall each meet each some day.
* * * * *
Worst were best, defeat were triumph utter loss were utmost gain.
(ll. 387-389.)
_B._ Nevertheless, the soul refuses even yet to accept, without that which
it deems reasonable proof, the justice of its intuitions and of its hopes
arising from experience. It will assume the position of arbitrator in the
debate which it permits between the sometime opposing forces of Reason and
Fancy, as to the results of an acceptance of that belief, for an assurance
of the truth of which it yearns.
_Fancy._ To the facts already admitted as the basis of argument Fancy may,
therefore, add a third, "that after body dies soul lives again."
_Reason._ In accepting the challenge to employ these three facts--God, the
soul, a future life--in a rational development of the present phase of
existence, Reason would reply that deductions from experience suggest that
the future life must necessarily prove an advance on the old. This being
so, the most prudent course is obviously that which would take, without
delay, the step leading from the lower to the higher; always allowing that
there is no existent law restrictive of man's free will in this matter.
What shall then deter his dying out of darkness into light? (l. 441.)
_Fancy._ The deterrent is to be found in the suggestion by Fancy of the
law rendering penal "voluntary passage from this life to that."
He shall find--say, hell to punish who in aught curtails the term.
(l. 463.)
_Reason._ And what influence upon life it must be asked will this new
knowledge exert? Life, says Reason, would thus be reduced to a condition
of stagnation. The absolute certainty involved in this exact knowledge of
the future would stultify action in the present. A result similar to that
which, according to Karshish, was attained in the case of Lazarus. The
things of this world matter not in view of an ever-present realization of
Eternity. The use of faith is at an end as "the substance of things hoped
for, the evidence of things not seen," since all is clear, definite and,
further still, unalterable to the inward vision.
_Fancy._ Again Fancy interposes with the suggestion that this equal
realization of future and present must be accompanied by an appreciation
of the worth of life temporal and its opportunities, of the eternal import
of the deeds wrought in the flesh. Thus the future life completely
revealed would not, as Reason holds, supersede the uses of this, but would
serve rather as an incentive to action in the present, on the assumption
that the virtual reward of performance is reserved for the after-time.
_Reason._ The final position is then examined by Reason. To the original
premises--the existence of the soul, an intelligent being, and of a God,
the author of an intelligible universe in which man's lot is cast--has
been added the certainty of a future world, but a world into which man may
not pass until his allotted term has been fulfilled on earth. Further,
that in this world to come are to be dealt out allotments of happiness or
misery in exact relative proportion to the deeds accomplished during the
period of mortal life. That by laws as unerring and relentless as those of
Nature's code, pain will follow evil-doing, pleasure will succeed acts of
self-devotion to that which is esteemed goodness and truth. Absolute
certainty in all things spiritual being thus established, free will
becomes but a name, and the probationary character of life is at an end.
Here again a reminiscence of the discussion contained in the early stanzas
of _Easter Day_ when the Second Speaker suggests that faith may be
A touchstone for God's purposes,
Even as ourselves conceive of them.
Could he acquit us or condemn
For holding what no hand can loose,
Rejecting when we can't but choose?
As well award the victor's wreath
To whosoever should take breath
Duly each minute while he lived--
Grant heaven, because a man contrived
To see its sunlight every day
He walked forth on the public way. (_E. D._, iv, ll. 59-70.)
So _La Saisiaz_
Thenceforth neither good nor evil does man, doing what he must.
Lay but down that law as stringent "wouldst thou live again, be just!"
As this other "wouldst thou live now, regularly draw thy breath!
For, suspend the operation, straight law's breach results in death--"
And (provided always, man, addressed this mode, be sound and sane)
Prompt and absolute obedience, never doubt, will law obtain!
(ll. 497-502.)
The difference between the sanction attaching to laws moral and spiritual,
and to those of Nature is not, Reason would hold, the result of defective
power on the part of the legislator. Some definite purpose is existent in
the scheme of the universe in accordance with which
Certain laws exist already which to hear means to obey;
Therefore not without a purpose these man must, while those man may
Keep and, for the keeping, haply gain approval and reward. (ll. 515-517.)
_C._ In short, the conclusion reached is that already propounded as the
outcome of experience--that uncertainty is one of the essential attributes
of life temporal. That in its probationary character lies its educative
influence. That since "assurance needs must change this life to [him]"
the author of _La Saisiaz_, no less than the soliloquist of _Easter Day_,
would willingly continue in that state of probation which fosters growth
and development; would cling to that uncertainty which allows of the
existence of hope.
As employed by Reason, and generally throughout the poem, the word hope
possesses more than the comparatively vague significance commonly
attaching to it: it becomes practically synonymous with faith. In a
similar sense the term occurs in the _Epistle to the Romans_,[93] when the
writer asserts that "we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not
hope" (the argument which Browning is here using). "For what a man seeth,
why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we
with patience wait for it." It is further noticeable that here, as
elsewhere in Browning, is rejected the belief in a future which shall, in
the words of Paracelsus, reduce the present world to the position of "a
mere foil ... to some fine life to come."[94] The necessity for a future
life is throughout the argument based upon the fact that immortality is
needed to render intelligible the conditions attendant upon life temporal.
It is the _unintelligibility_ of life, if cut short by death, which
demands its renewal beyond the grave.
The concluding lines of the poem proper (immediately preceding the
supplementary stanza), although not directly essential to the argument,
are especially interesting from the allusions contained in them and the
resulting inferences which have met with some diversity of interpretation.
Thanks, thou pine-tree of Makistos, wide thy giant torch I wave.
(l. 579.)
is thus explained by Dr. Berdoe in his _Browning Cyclopaedia_.
"The reference to Makistos is from the _Agamemnon_ of Æschylus. The town
of Makistos had a watch-tower on a neighbouring eminence, from which the
beacon lights flashed the news of the fall of Troy to Greece. Clytemnestra
says
Sending a bright blaze from Ide,
_Beacon did beacon send_,
Pass on--the pine-tree--to Makistos' watch-place."
This pine tree, as "the brand flamboyant," which should replenish the
beacon-fire of Makistos, Browning takes as symbolic of fame. The Knowledge
and Learning of Gibbon constitute the trunk--
This the trunk, the central solid Knowledge
... rooted yonder at Lausanne [where Gibbon's History was finished].
But Learning is hardly permitted "its due effulgence," being "dulled by
flake on flake of [the] Wit"--nourished at Ferney (sometime the home of
Voltaire). To the Learning of Gibbon, the Wit of Voltaire is added in "the
terebinth-tree's resin," the "all-explosive Eloquence" of Rousseau and of
Diodati:[95] whilst in the heights, above all "deciduous trash," climbs
the evergreen of the ivy, significant of the immortality of Byron's poetic
fame. Having lifted "the coruscating marvel," the watcher on La Salève
would likewise stand as a beacon to those millions who
Have their portion, live their calm or troublous day,
Find significance in fireworks.
That by his help they may
Confidently lay to heart ... this:
"He there with the brand flamboyant, broad o'er night's forlorn abyss,
Crowned by prose and verse; and wielding, with Wit's bauble, Learning's
rod ...
Well? Why, he at least believed in Soul, was very sure of God."
Of these three concluding lines Dr. Berdoe writes: "Many writers have
thought that ... the poet referred to himself. Of course, any such idea is
preposterous; the reference was to Voltaire. Mr. Browning, apart from the
question of the egotism involved, could not say of himself, 'he at least
believed in soul.' There was no minimizing of religious faith in the poet.
Still less could he speak of himself as 'crowned by prose and verse.'"
Whence arises Dr. Berdoe's misapprehension? Apart from the context the
significance might not be obvious; taken in connection with the passage
immediately preceding, it is valuable as adding emphasis to the
conclusions of the foregoing argument, and proclaiming in unmistakable
language the worth to Browning as a personal possession of that creed
which he has just declared himself to hold. Reflecting upon the widespread
influence of those literary men whose presence has rendered celebrated the
region lying before him, he attributes it to the "phosphoric fame" which
attended the path of each. "Famed unfortunates" all, yet "the world was
witched" and became enslaved by their pessimistic theories of life. Forced
to believe because "the famous bard believed!" because the renowned man of
letters could say, "Which believe--for I believe it." Such being the power
of fame as an agency for influencing the human mind, what might not the
author of _La Saisiaz_ achieve, were he, too, armed with this "brand
flamboyant!" No pessimistic creed is his, but that which involving an
absolute belief in God and in the soul would thence deduce a confidence in
"that power and purpose" existent throughout life, indicated and
recognized by the presence and revelations of "hope the arrowy." So would
he gather in one the fame of his predecessors in the literary world; would
become as Rousseau, "eloquent, as Byron prime in poet's power":
Learned for the nonce as Gibbon, witty as wit's self Voltaire.
Thus would he stand "crowned by prose and verse." And why? Because the
millions still take "the flare for evidence," and "find significance" in
the fireworks of fame. Only by wielding "the brand flamboyant" may he
succeed in impressing upon mankind his own supreme assurance. To this end
he would desire Fame.
It remains to assign to _La Saisiaz_ the position which, as a declaration
of faith, it occupies in relation to the poems we have already considered.
In _Caliban_, dealing with a peculiar phase of "Natural Theology," we
found the suggestions of a deity those derived from the conceptions of a
semi-savage being, with whom the intellectual development would seem to
have outrun the moral. Passing to the reflections of Cleon, with the Greek
theory and practice of life there set forth, we reached the utmost heights
attainable by paganism. In _Bishop Blougram's Apology_ the unbelief
threatening was not that of paganism in the early interpretation of the
word, but of the paganism which would substitute authority for faith. With
_Christmas Eve_ came the individual choice of creed, the voluntary
acceptance of the position of worshipper at one of the narrow shrines of
human invention; but an acceptance which involved likewise a personal
faith in the divinity of Jesus Christ. The faith thus accepted received
fuller analysis and investigation through the questionings of _Easter
Day_. But all these poems are, as we have been forced to conclude, more or
less dramatic in character, the first three wholly, the two last to a
degree which we have attempted to define. Only with _La Saisiaz_ do we
reach the undisguised and definite expression of Browning's personal
faith, the basis, though not the culmination of which, is emphatically
asserted as a belief in the soul and in God.
At first sight it may appear disappointing to many readers that the
irreducible minimum of the creed should contain but these two tenets. On
this ground, indeed, we might have been tempted, had such a transposition
been justifiable to place _La Saisiaz_ before, instead of after,
_Christmas Eve and Easter Day_, allowing the profession of faith on La
Salève to serve as a foundation for the superstructure supplied by the
arguments of the listener without the Lecture Hall at Göttingen. On
consideration, however, nothing is discoverable in the position occupied
by the author of _La Saisiaz_ to render untenable that held by the
soliloquist of _Christmas Eve_ or the First Speaker of _Easter Day_. There
is, as we have indeed noticed, a marked similarity between the arguments
employed in the two last cases (_La Saisiaz_ and _Easter Day_) and in the
conclusions reached: in both, the assurance that in the probationary
character of this present life, with its possibilities for spiritual
development through the exercise of faith, lies its main value.
Mrs. Sutherland Orr admits that Browning "was no less, in his way, a
Christian when he wrote _La Saisiaz_ than when he published _A Death in
the Desert_ and _Christmas Eve and Easter Day_, or at any period
subsequent to that in which he accepted without questioning what he had
learned at his mother's knee. He has repeatedly written or declared in the
words of Charles Lamb: 'If Christ entered the room I should fall on my
knees'; and again in those of Napoleon: 'I am an understander of men, and
_He_ was no man.' He has even added: 'If he had been, he would have been
an imposter.'" But she has already remarked of the poem that "It is
conclusive both in form and matter as to his heterodox attitude towards
Christianity." And she continues: "The arguments, in great part negative,
set forth in _La Saisiaz_ for the immortality of the soul, leave no place
for the idea, however indefinite, of a Christian revelation on the
subject."[96] We may indeed regret that such criticism should result from
a study of the poem; but, after all, do the truths discussed in _La
Saisiaz_ involve any immediate question either of the acceptance or
rejection of a Christian revelation on this or on any subject? Do they not
go deeper, if we may so say, than Christianity itself? Until faith in
these fundamental truths has been unassailably established, no basis for
Christianity has been secured. To him who is not yet "sure of God," the
revelation of God in Christ can have little meaning. For whilst far more
than the belief necessarily implied in the confession on La Salève must be
held essential to the fulness of life, without it no superstructure of
faith is possible. Its very strength would seem to lie in the fact that,
avoiding the limitations of strictly defined dogma, it "leaves place" for
all subsequent revelations of spiritual truth.
And what _is_ "the Christian revelation" on these matters? The questions
concerning death, immortality, and future recognition and reunion, ever
suggesting themselves in new form to the human heart and intellect, are
yet unanswered. Even that "acknowledgment of God in Christ" to which the
dying Evangelist points as to the solution of "all questions in the earth
and out of it,"[97] implies the acceptance of a creed not necessarily
involving a revelation of the future life. The teaching of the Gospel
serves as _present_ inspiration of a faith content to leave the future in
the confidence
Our times are in His hand
Who saith "A whole I planned."[98]
Life eternal is there defined, not with reference to a future state, but
as the knowledge of God, the beginnings of which are attainable here and
now, by present service and self-devotion: to him who should do the will
should the doctrine be made known.[99] The record of the intercourse
between the Master and His disciples during the forty days following the
resurrection is silent concerning any lifting of the veil before which
they so consciously stood. That Browning was a Christian in the broadest,
deepest, and possibly in the least conventional acceptation of the term,
it was the attempt of the last Lecture to demonstrate by a consideration
of the dramatic poems bearing reference to Christianity and its relation
to human life. And there is no word throughout _La Saisiaz_ which should
preclude belief in the conclusions of David in _Saul_ or of St. John in _A
Death in the Desert_. To the man who was "very sure of God"--who had
recognized the Divine revelation in Nature--an acceptance of the more
immediate and special revelation was but a natural sequence. "Ye believe
in God, believe also in me":[100] when the assertion holds good the
command is not difficult of fulfilment. Whilst extreme caution is
necessary in dealing with a matter in which the student is too readily
tempted to "find what he desires to find," the historical and logical
necessity for an Incarnation was, as we have seen, so favourite a theme
with Browning for dramatic treatment, that it is wellnigh impossible to
dissociate the personal interest. This subject the reflections of _La
Saisiaz_ do not directly approach.
He at least believed in Soul, was very sure of God.
The creed so expressed meant for the author a gain, once experienced, too
great to remain unshared. No mere abstract belief, but an assurance of
which he could assert
Fact it is I know I know not something which is fact as much. (l. 224.)
For him the power and the purpose which he beheld, "if no one else
beheld," ruling in Nature and in human life were alike Love. The last word
on the subject comes to us direct, unmodified by any dramatic medium--
Power is Love--
* * * *
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? Where 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.[101]
The hope of _La Saisiaz_ has become the assurance of the _Reverie_.
This recognition of "the continuity of life" is the main inspiration, the
invigorating principle of Browning's creed. Cleon _felt_ the necessity
which Reason demonstrated on La Salève. Yet again, eleven years later, the
author of _Asolando_ can speak with absolute confidence of the certainty
that death will afford no interruption to the energies, the activities,
the progress of the soul's life. That he who has _here_ "never turned his
back" will _there_ still continue the forward march. It is, in other
words, the faith of Pompilia which can look beyond the limitations of the
present to the boundless developments of which this life, with its
struggles and apparent failures, is but the beginning: and in the hour of
defeat can hold that "No work begun shall ever pause for death."
It is in the midst of the "bustle of man's work-time" that "the unseen" is
to be greeted. Is it too much to say that Browning, in the admonition of
these closing lines of the _Asolando Epilogue_, makes confession of his
belief in the Communion of Saints? But it is characteristic that the
expression of faith (if such we may account it) is made in terms which
admit of no distinctly formulated definition. The command comes as an
inspiration to the seen and the unseen.
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
"Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,--fight on, fare ever
There as here!"
The underlying confidence is beyond that of the reasoning of _La Saisiaz_,
but not far in advance of the joyful spontaneity of the _Prologue_
_Dying we live._
Fretless and free,
Soul, clap thy pinion!
* * *
Body shall cumber
Soul-flight no more.
And if--admitting that Browning, even when writing _La Saisiaz_, possessed
the assurance thus expressed--we ask why he should have rested satisfied
with the confession of faith contained in its concluding line, the answer
must be--that the author of _La Saisiaz_ is to be numbered amongst that
small minority of religious teachers for whom it may be claimed that "they
cannot fail to recognize that the formulas which express the Truth
suggested by the facts of their Creed are themselves of necessity partial
and provisional." It is impossible to doubt that with him the
consciousness was strongly present, that "Formulas do not exhaust the
Truth"; that "the character and expression of Doctrine ... is relative to
the age."[102] That in proportion as satisfaction is found in formula does
faith lose its life-giving power. Progress being the law of life, he
would, therefore, enforce upon no man as binding formulae of which the
comparative inelasticity might tend to fetter mental or spiritual
development. On the contrary, he would have the seeker after Truth
prepared to relinquish in due time definitions once essential, since
threatening to become restrictive to growth. Before all things, is to be
avoided the danger of resting on that which is not the Truth itself, but
merely a necessary introduction to the Truth. Hence,
The help whereby he mounts,
The ladder-rung his foot has left, may fall,
Since all things suffer change save God the Truth.[103]
Only through such employment of the means may the end be attained, since
whether it be concerning "God the Truth," "the eternal power," or "the
love that tops the might, the Christ in God," in all
New lessons shall be learned ...
Till earth's work stop and useless time run out.[104]
INDEX
_Abt Vogler_, 52, 78, 153, 190.
_Acts, The_, 31, 33, 39.
Æschylus, 33, 196, 197.
Alcestis, 41.
_Andrea del Sarto_, 5, 74, 140, 141, 153.
_Apparent Failure_, 159.
Aratus, 39.
Arnold, Matthew, 3, 4.
Art, 11, 49-51, 55, 139-142, 171.
Asceticism, 97, 130, 132-134, 168-177.
_Asolando_, 7, 203.
_Asolando, Epilogue_, 5, 11, 153, 204.
Athenians, 31.
Augustine, St., 105.
_Balaustion's Adventure_, 20.
Barrett, Miss (_see_ Mrs. Browning), 160, 161.
Berdoe, E., 12, 66, 67, 196-198.
_Bishop Blougram's Apology_, 9, 55, 63-91, 127, 131, 134, 141, 160, 162,
163, 172, 199.
_Bishop orders his Tomb_, 64.
_Book and the Ring, The_, 51.
Brooke, A. Stopford, 13.
Browning, Mrs., 168, 184.
Byron, Lord, 197, 198.
Caliban, 5, 11-26, 29-31, 45, 63, 64, 102, 104.
_Caliban upon Setebos_, 3-26, 31, 45, 199.
Calvinism, 100-103, 160-166.
_Camel-driver, A_, 157-160, 190, 191.
Caponsacchi, 5, 167, 168.
Chesterton, G. K., 12, 68.
Christianity, 7-12, 33, 39, 58, 65, 67, 108, 109, 111-116, 121, 125-146,
150-152, 154, 155, 200-202.
_Christmas Eve_, 10, 11, 95-122, 199, 200.
_Christmas Eve and Easter Day_, 8, 64, 95-177, 181, 200.
_Cleon_, 8, 9, 11, 25, 29-59, 64, 65, 78, 140, 144, 151, 152, 187, 199,
203.
Clough, A. H., 3, 4.
Collonge, 185, 186.
Cross, J. W., 56.
David, 152 (_see_ _Saul_).
_Death in the Desert_, 10, 11, 16, 17, 25, 26, 32, 47, 48, 52, 59, 78,
144, 145, 151, 154, 200, 201, 202, 205.
Dickens, C., 73, 97.
Diodati, 197.
Dionysius, 33.
_Dîs Aliter Visum_, 78, 79, 153.
Doubt, 4 (_see_ Faith and Doubt).
Dowden, E., 12, 96, 161, 164, 165, 168.
Dramatic power of Browning, 5-8, 15, 63, 64, 73, 74, 96-100, 132,
149-177.
_Dramatis Personae_, 7.
_Dramatis Personae, Epilogue_, 9, 153, 154, 163, 164.
_Easter Day_, 6, 10, 23, 125-146, 186, 190, 195, 196, 199, 200 (_see_
_Christmas Eve and Easter Day_).
Egerton-Smith, Miss, 183-186.
Eliot, George, 56.
Emerson, 186.
_Epistle of James_, 115.
_Epistle of Karshish, An_, 10, 129, 151, 152, 155, 156, 194.
_Epistle to the Romans_, 196.
Euripides, 33, 89.
_Evelyn Hope_, 153.
Evil, 21.
Faith, 3, 5, 11, 109-111, 152-157, 182.
Faith and Doubt, 76, 77, 80-91, 126-134, 145, 146, 149.
Fancy, 183, 185, 193, 194.
_Fears and Scruples_, 156, 157.
_Ferishtah's Fancies_, 172, 190 (_see_ _Shah Abbas_, _A Camel-driver_,
_The Two Camels_).
_Fra Lippo Lippi_, 51.
Future Life, 23, 24, 47, 49, 53-58, 181-183, 185-205.
Geneva, 184, 197 (_note_).
Gibbon, 197-199.
Gissing, G., 97.
Gladstone, W. E., 72.
_Grammarian's Funeral_, 54, 55, 78, 153.
Greece (Greeks), 29, 31-34, 37, 39, 43, 48, 49, 51-55, 57-59, 64, 65,
199.
Guido Franceschini, 5, 137, 167.
_Hamlet_, 12, 84, 88, 89.
Hildebrand, 83.
Homer, 31, 32, 34, 35, 38.
Humanitarianism, 111-116.
Immortality, 47 (_see_ Future Life).
Incarnation, The, 18, 25, 26, 39, 111-116, 144, 145, 150-152, 169, 205.
_In Memoriam_, 4, 5, 53, 54, 88.
Innocent XII (_see_ _The Pope_).
_Johannes Agricola in Meditation_, 101, 102.
John, St., 5, 202 (_see_ _A Death in the Desert_).
Judgment, 135-139, 143, 154, 157-160, 170, 171, 174, 177.
Lamb, C., 200.
_La Saisiaz_, 3, 5, 7, 10, 24, 57, 64, 181-205.
La Salève, 5, 184, 186, 197, 200, 201, 203.
Lazarus, 11, 142, 151, 155, 156, 194 (_see_ _Epistle of Karshish_).
Lewes, G. H., 56.
Love, Divine and human, 10, 19, 48, 104, 105, 108-111, 142-145, 151,
171-173, 203, 205.
Lowell, J. R., 117.
Luigi, 80.
Luther, 79, 80, 85.
Makistos, 196, 197.
Manning, Cardinal, 71.
_Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha_, 153.
_Men and Women Series_, 7, 8, 49.
Miracles, 70, 86.
Morley, J., 72, 74.
Napoleon I, 83-85, 200.
Napoleon III (_see_ _Prince Hohenstiel Schwangau_).
Nature, 4, 11, 37, 85, 103-105, 119, 130, 132, 139, 140-143, 151, 170,
182, 187, 194, 195, 202, 203.
Newman, J. H., 71, 76.
Obscurity of Browning, 6.
_Old Pictures in Florence_, 49-52, 59, 140.
Orr, Mrs. Sutherland, 154, 169, 173, 200, 201.
_Paracelsus_, 23, 42-44, 47, 73, 74, 153, 172, 173, 196.
Paul (Paulus), 31, 33, 34, 59.
_Pauline_, 5, 7, 78, 79, 153.
Phidias, 31, 32, 34, 36, 38.
Pippa, 5.
_Pippa passes_, 80, 144.
Pompilia, 166, 203.
_Pompilia_, 55, 203.
_Pope, The_, 136, 137, 162, 166-168.
Power, 19, 20, 25, 104, 105, 144, 145, 151, 192, 203.
_Prince Hohenstiel Schwangau_, 74.
Progress, Law of Life, 25, 34-39, 43-46, 49, 50, 52, 55, 78, 79, 87, 88,
205.
Prospero, 13, 14, 16, 19, 31, 102.
_Prospice_, 11, 126, 181, 182.
Protus, 31-34, 40-42, 48, 53-55, 64, 65, 187.
Pugin, A. W., 69.
"Quiet, The," 21, 24-26, 45.
_Rabbi Ben Ezra_, 10, 36-38, 48, 79, 140, 172, 175, 201.
Reason, 107, 110, 158, 182-185, 193-196, 203.
_Reverie_ (_Asolando_), 105, 203.
_Ring and the Book_, 73 (_see_ _Book and the Ring_, _Pompilia_, _The
Pope_).
Roman Catholicism, 9, 70-72, 83, 86, 103, 106-111, 120, 121, 160-168.
Rousseau, 197, 198.
Sacrifice, Doctrine of, 22, 23.
_Saul_, 18, 19, 25, 26, 36, 151, 202.
Setebos, 14-26, 29, 102, 104.
Shakespeare, 6, 13, 16, 84, 85, 88, 89, 114.
Sharp, W., 12.
Shelley, P. B., 53.
_Sordello_, 57, 58, 73, 173-175.
Stanley, Dean, 72.
_Strafford_, 173.
Strauss, 80, 85.
Sycorax, 14, 21, 29.
_Tempest, The_, 11-14.
Tennyson, A., 4, 38 (_see_ _In Memoriam_).
Terpander, 31, 32, 34, 35, 38.
_The Two Camels_, 176.
_Toccata of Galuppi's_, 40, 140.
Tolerance, 117-120.
Tractarian Movement, 161.
_Tracts for the Times_, 71.
Truth, 3, 4, 5, 17, 39, 44, 76, 119, 120, 153, 154, 204, 205.
Voltaire, 197-199.
Ward, W., 67, 86, 90, 91.
Westcott, B. F., 33, 142, 182, 183, 204, 205.
_Wisdom_, 102.
Wiseman, Cardinal, 66-71, 74, 86, 90, 91.
Zeus, 8, 29, 39, 42.
CHISWICK PRESS: PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _La Saisiaz_, l. 604. _R. Browning_, vol. ii, Smith, Elder and Co.
[2] _Self dependence._ Matt. Arnold.
[3] _Say not the struggle nought availeth._
[4] _Easter Day_, vii.
[5] _Browning_, E. Dowden, J. M. Dent and Co., p. 243.
[6] _R. Browning_, W. Sharp (_Great Writers_), p. 207.
[7] _Browning Cyclopaedia_, Berdoe, p. 91 (quoted).
[8] _R. Browning_, G. K. Chesterton (_Eng. Men of Letters_), p. 135.
[9] _Browning_, S. Brooke, Isbister, p. 288.
[10] _Saul_, 268.
[11] _Balaustion's Adventure_, vol. i, p. 660.
[12] _Genesis_, xxviii, 20.
[13] _Hosea_, vi, 6.
[14] _Paracelsus_, 876-878, pt. v.
[15] L. 390.
[16] _A Death in the Desert_, ll. 474-476.
[17] _Acts_, xvii, 21.
[18] _A Death in the Desert_, 498.
[19] _Religious Thought in the West._
[20] _Acts_, xvii, 34.
[21] _Saul_, 295.
[22] _Rabbi Ben Ezra_, xxiv, xxv.
[23] _Ibid._, xix.
[24] _Acts_, xvii, 24-28.
[25] _A Toccata of Galuppi's._
[26] _Paracelsus_, v, 709-713.
[27] _Caliban_, 101.
[28] _Paracelsus_, i, 726-737.
[29] _Ibid._, i, 759-762.
[30] _A Death in the Desert_, 198-207.
[31] _Rabbi Ben Ezra_, viii.
[32] _Old Pictures in Florence_, xi.
[33] _Ibid._, xix.
[34] _The Book and the Ring_, 866-867.
[35] _Fra Lippo Lippi._
[36] _Old Pictures in Florence_, xx.
[37] _Old Pictures in Florence_, xv.
[38] _Ibid._, xvi.
[39] _A Death in the Desert_, 429-431.
[40] _Abt Vogler_, xi.
[41] _Adonais_, Shelley.
[42] _In Memoriam_, xlvii.
[43] _A Grammarian's Funeral._
[44] _Ibid._
[45] _Pompilia_, 1787.
[46] _Life of George Eliot_, Cross. Letters to J. Blackwood and J. W.
Cross.
[47] _La Saisiaz._
[48] _Sordello_, bk. iv.
[49] _Ibid._, bk. v.
[50] _Ibid._, bk. vi.
[51] Cf. _St. Matthew_, xi, 11.
[52] _Life and Times of Cardinal Wiseman_, by Wilfrid Ward. 2 vols. 1897.
[53] _Ibid._
[54] _Ibid._
[55] Incident related _Browning_. G. K. Chesterton. (_Eng. Men of
Letters._)
[56] _Life of Gladstone._ J. Morley. Vol. i.
[57] _Apologia pro vita sua._ J. H. Newman.
[58] _Pippa passes_, iii, 1210-1215.
[59] Quoted. _Life and Times of Cardinal Wiseman._ W. Ward.
[60] _In Memoriam_, xcvi.
[61] _Browning_, Dent and Co., p. 124.
[62] _Wisdom of Solomon_, xi, 24-26.
[63] _Confessions_, bk. i, chap. iii.
[64] Chapter ii, 14-20.
[65] _Godminster Chimes._ J. R. Lowell.
[66] _The Pope_, 2117-2128.
[67] _Andrea del Sarto_, 83-87.
[68] _Christmas Eve_, 360-363.
[69] _Pippa passes_, 114-180.
[70] _A Death in the Desert_, 498-499.
[71] _A Death in the Desert_, 500-513.
[72] _Life and Letters of Robert Browning_, Mrs. Sutherland Orr, Smith,
Elder and Co., p. 185.
[73] _A Death in the Desert_, 431-433.
[74] _A Death in the Desert_, 589-594.
[75] _Ibid._, 292-298.
[76] _Apparent Failure._
[77] _A Camel-driver._
[78] _Browning_, E. Dowden, J. M. Dent and Co., pp. 121, 123.
[79] _Dramatis Personae._
[80] _Browning_, E. Dowden, pp. 128-129.
[81] _Browning_, Dowden, p. 132.
[82] _Life and Letters of Browning_, Mrs. S. Orr, p. 185.
[83] _Supra_, pp. 135-145.
[84] _Browning_, Mrs. S. Orr, pp. 185-186.
[85] _Sordello_, Book the Sixth.
[86] _Ibid._
[87] _Ibid._
[88] _Sordello_, Book the Sixth.
[89] _Ibid._
[90] _The Two Camels._
[91] _Christian Aspects of Life_, Westcott, p. 30.
[92] Emerson.
[93] Chap. viii, 24, 25.
[94] _Paracelsus_, iii, 1012-1013.
[95] The reference in l. 555. "Is it _Diodati_ joins the glimmer of the
lake?" is to Byron's villa at Geneva. That of l. 590, to the Calvinistic
theologian (1576-1614) born at Lucca, famous through his work at Geneva as
a preacher, etc.
[96] _Life and Letters of R. Browning_, pp. 318-319.
[97] _A Death in the Desert_, 474-476.
[98] _Rabbi Ben Ezra_, i.
[99] _Gospel of St. John_, xvii, 3; vii, 17.
[100] _Ibid._, xiv, 1.
[101] _Reverie, Asolando._
[102] _Christian Aspects of Life_, Westcott, Macmillan, pp. 32-33.
[103] _A Death in the Desert_, 429-431.
[104] _Ibid._, 266-267.