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 b.u.t.toned 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 pa.s.s!

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 Alb.u.m--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. G.o.d 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 Alb.u.m.

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 att.i.tude 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 G.o.d,--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?"