"Oh, he is cruel!" Maggie sobbed aloud, finding a wretched pleasure in the hollow resonance that came through the long empty s.p.a.ce of the attic. She never thought of beating or grinding her Fetish; she was too miserable to be angry.

These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the s.p.a.ce from summer to summer seems measureless.

This text furnishes an easier exercise in interpretation, does it not?

It does not require a great stretch of imagination to slip back five, ten, a dozen years to play with these children. But I cannot let you _play_ with them. We want to meet and know them. The task for your imagination is not so simple as you think. It is called upon to engage in character interpretation. You cannot be allowed to merely watch Maggie and Tom play, or even to play with them. You must use your imagination to get inside the minds, hearts, souls of this boy and girl and reveal them to us. You must relive this scene for us, becoming first Maggie and then Tom. This exercise of your imagination belongs in its final and complete stage to the next and last of our studies, and to work on the drama; so we shall not demand too much of you along this line here, and I shall confine my suggestive a.n.a.lysis of the text to the following questions:

Define the relation existing between this brother and sister indicated by this scene.

Is this scene typical of their relation?

Is it a relation likely to obtain throughout their lives? Why?

Define the dispositions of these two children by applying to each three adjectives.

Will Maggie or Tom make the sacrifices inevitable to such a relation?

Characterize as to inflection and tone-color Maggie's voice and Tom's. (If your use of this book has been intelligently directed you have already made a study of these two elements of a vocal vocabulary--_inflection_ and _tone-color_.)

Answer these questions and re-read the scene.

SELECTIONS FOR INTERPRETATION

The following selections were chosen for this study with a double concern in the choice,--concern for the development of imaginative vigor in vocal interpretation; concern for the development of a sense of plot in narrative composition. The demand upon the interpreter of any of these poems, for sensitive progressive play of imagination, in carrying an auditor through a series of events up to a critical issue, cannot fail to develop, with imaginative vigor, a new sensitiveness of creative instinct to the third element in narrative,--action.

Your imagination given free play can no more carry the "good news" from Ghent to Aix on this wild ride, and in the feat fail to outgrow all its former dimensions, than could the heart of Roland's master remain untouched in actually performing the feat itself.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX[9]

[9] The "Good News" is that of the "Pacification de Gant,"

concluded in 1576. It was a treaty of union between Holland, Zealand, and the southern Netherlands, against Spain, under tyrannical Philip II. The treaty was greeted rapturously by the frontier cities, because it was expected to free the Netherlands from Spanish power.

"There is," writes Mr. Browning, "no sort of historical foundation about 'Good News from Ghent.' I wrote it under the bulwark of a vessel off the African coast, after I had been at sea long enough to appreciate even the fancy of a gallop on the back of a certain good horse 'York,' then in my stable at home. It was written in pencil on the fly-leaf of Bartoli's _Simboli_, I remember."

While there is, then, no historical foundation for the "gallop,"

the verisimilitude of the situation is perfect. Aix might easily have resolved to set herself on fire at a given hour, rather than submit herself and her citizens piecemeal to the torch of the persecutor. The "horse without peer" might possibly have galloped the ninety-odd miles between Ghent and Aix, but the feat would be a marvelous one.

This poem and "Herve Riel," with the accompanying notes, are reprinted from _Select Poems of Robert Browning_, edited by William Rolfe, A.M., and Heloise E. Hersey, and published by Harper & Brothers.

I

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

II

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

III

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the c.o.c.ks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime, So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

IV

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, With resolute shoulders, each b.u.t.ting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

V

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other p.r.i.c.ked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

VI

By Ha.s.selt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

VII

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!

VIII

How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

IX

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

X

And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

--BROWNING.

LOCHINVAR

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Esk river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,-- "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up; He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup; She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-- "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.