The Browning Cyclopaedia Part 17

=Humility.= (_Asolando_, 1889.) A flower-laden girl drops a careless bud without troubling to pick it up. She has "enough for home." "So give your lover," says the poet, "heaps of love," he thinking himself happy in picking up a stray bud, "and not the worst," which she has gladdened him by letting fall.

="I am a Painter who cannot Paint."= (_Pippa Pa.s.ses._) Lutwyche's speech begins with these words.

="I go to prove my Soul."= (_Paracelsus._) The words of the hero of the poem when he starts on his career.

=Ibn-Ezra= == the historical person who forms the subject of the poem RABBI BEN EZRA (_q.v._)

=Imperante Augusto Natus Est.= (_Asolando_, 1889.) In the reign of Augustus Octavia.n.u.s Caesar, second emperor of Rome, two Romans are entering the public bath together, and while the bath is being heated they converse in the vestibule about the great services which Octavia.n.u.s has rendered to the city and the empire, and one of them refers to the panegyric on the Emperor read out in public on the previous day by Lucius Varius Rufus. He had praised the Emperor as a G.o.d, and the speaker goes on to say how he once met Octavia.n.u.s as he was going about the city disguised as a beggar.

At the end of the poem is the story told by Suidas, the author of a Greek lexicon, who lived before the twelfth century, and who was probably a Christian, as his work deals with Scriptural as well as pagan subjects.

This myth narrates the visit of Augustus Caesar to the oracle at Delphos.

"When Augustus had sacrificed," said Suidas, "he demanded of the Pythia who should succeed him, and the oracle replied:--

"'A Hebrew slave, holding control over the blessed G.o.ds, Orders me to leave this home and return to the underworld.

Depart in silence, therefore, from our altars.'"

Nicephorus relates that when Augustus returned to Rome after receiving this reply, he erected an altar in the Capitol with the inscription "Ara Primogeniti Dei." On this spot now stands the Church of S. Maria in Aracli, a very ancient building, mentioned in the ninth century as S.

Maria de Capitolio. The present altar also incloses an ancient altar bearing the inscription _Ara Primogeniti Dei_, which is said to have been the one erected here by Augustus. According to the legend of the twelfth century, this was the spot where the Sibyl of Tibur appeared to the Emperor, whom the Senate proposed to elevate to the rank of a G.o.d, and revealed to him a vision of the Virgin and her Son. This was the origin of the name "Church of the Altar of Heaven." It is historical that Augustus used to go about Rome disguised as a beggar. Jeremy Taylor's account of events in the Roman world, as recorded in his _Life of Christ_, sec. iv., will serve as a good introduction to the historical matters referred to in the poem:--"For when all the world did expect that in Judaea should be born their prince, and that the incredulous world had in their observation slipped by their true prince, because He came not in pompous and secular ill.u.s.trations; upon that very stock Vespasian (Sueton. _In Vita Vesp._ 4; Vide etiam Cic., _De Divin._) was nursed up in hope of the Roman empire, and that hope made him great in designs; and they being prosperous, made his fortunes correspond to his hopes, and he was endeared and engaged upon that future by the prophecy which was never intended him by the prophet.

But the future of the Roman monarchy was not great enough for this prince designed by the old prophets. And therefore it was not without the influence of a Divinity that his predecessor Augustus, about the time of Christ's nativity, refused to be called "lord" (_Oros._ vi. 22). Possibly it was to entertain the people with some hopes of rest.i.tution of their liberties, till he had griped the monarchy with a stricter and faster hold; but the Christians were apt to believe that it was upon the prophecy of a sibyl foretelling the birth of a greater prince, to whom all the world should pay adoration; and that prince was about that time born in Judaea. (Suidas _In histor. verb. "Augustus."_) The oracle, which was dumb to Augustus' question, told him unasked, the devil having no tongue permitted him but one to proclaim that 'an Hebrew child was his lord and enemy.'" Octavia.n.u.s chose the t.i.tle of Augustus on religious grounds, having a.s.sumed the exalted position of Chief Pontiff. The epithet Augustus was one which no man had borne before--a name only applied to sacred things. The rites of the G.o.ds were termed august, their temples were august, and the word itself was derived from the auguries. The cult of the Caesar began to a.s.sume a ritual and a priesthood at the very time when the approaching birth of Christ was to destroy the empire and its religious belief. Mrs. Jameson, in her _Legends of the Madonna_, p. 197, says: "According to an ancient legend, the Emperor Augustus Caesar repaired to the sibyl Tiburtina, to inquire whether he should consent to allow himself to be wors.h.i.+pped with divine honours, which the Senate had decreed to him.

The Sibyl, after some days of meditation, took the Emperor apart and showed him an altar; and above the altar, in the opening heavens, and in a glory of light, he beheld a beautiful Virgin holding an infant in her arms, and at the same time a voice was heard saying, 'This is the altar of the Son of the living G.o.d!' whereupon Augustus caused an altar to be erected on the Capitoline Hill with this inscription, _Ara Primogeniti Dei_; and on the same spot, in later times, was built the church called the _Ara Cli_--well known, with its flight of one hundred and twenty-four marble steps, to all who have visited Rome. This particular prophecy of the Tiburtine sybil to Augustus rests on some very antique traditions, pagan as well as Christian. It is supposed to have suggested the 'Pollio' of Virgil, which suggested the 'Messiah' of Pope. It is mentioned by writers of the third and fourth centuries. A very rude but curious bas-relief, preserved in the Church of the Ara Cli, is perhaps the oldest representation extant. The Church legend a.s.signs to it a fabulous antiquity; and it must be older than the twelfth century, as it is alluded to by writers of that period. Here the Emperor Augustus kneels before the Madonna and Child, and at his side is the sibyl Tiburtina pointing upwards." Of course, such a subject became a favourite one with artists. There is a famous fresco on the subject by Balda.s.sare Peruzzi at Siena, Fonte Giusta. There is also a picture dealing with it at Hampton Court, by Pietro da Cortona. St. Augustine (_De Civitate Dei_, lib.

xviii., cap. 23) describes the prophecy of Sibylla Erythrea concerning Christ:--"Flaccia.n.u.s, a learned and eloquent man (one that had been Consul's deputy), being in a conference with us concerning Christ, showed us a Greek book, saying they were this sibyl's verses; wherein, in one place, he showed us a sort of verses so composed that, the first letter of every verse being taken, they all made these words: ??s??? ???st??, Te??

???? s?t?? (Jesus Christ, Son of G.o.d, the Saviour)." Some think this was the c.u.mean Sibyl. Lactantius also has prophecies of Christ out of some sybilline books, but he does not give the reference. The Latin hymn sung in the Ma.s.ses for the Dead, and well known as the _Dies Irae_, has this verse:

"Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla, Teste David c.u.m Sibylla."

NOTES.--_Publius_: not historical. _Lucius Varius Rufus_ was a tragic poet, the friend of Virgil and Horace. He wrote a panegyric on the Emperor Augustus, to which Mr. Browning refers in the opening lines of the poem.

_Little Flaccus_ was Horace, who declared that Varius was the only poet capable of singing the praises of M. Agrippa. His tragedy _Thyestes_ is warmly praised by Quintillian. _Epos_: heroic poem. _Etruscan kings._ The Rasena or Etrusci inhabited Etruria, in that part of Italy north of Rome.

The kings were elected for life. Roman families were proud to trace back their ancestry to the Etruscan kings. _Maecenas_: patron of letters and learned men, the adviser of Augustus. He was descended from the ancient kings of Etruria. _Quadrans_: a Roman coin, worth about half a farthing of our money. The price of a bath, paid to the keeper of the public bagnio.

_Thermae_, the baths. _Suburra_: a street in Rome, where the dissolute Romans resorted. _Quaestor_, the office of Quaestor, under the empire, was the first step to higher positions. _aediles_, magistrates. The baths were under their superintendence. _Censores_, officials whose duty it was to take the place of the consuls in superintending the five-yearly census.

_Pol!_ an oath. By Pollux! _Quarter-as_: in Cicero's time, the as was equal to rather less than a halfpenny. _Strigil_, a flesh brush.

_Oil-drippers_, used after bathing.

=In a Balcony.= (Published in _Men and Women_: 1855.) A drama which is incomplete. Concentrated into an hour, we have the crises of three lives, which, pa.s.sing through the fire, reveal a tragedy which has for its scene the balcony of a palace. A Queen has arrived at the age of fifty with her strong craving for love still unsatisfied. Constance, a cousin of the Queen and a lady of her court, is loved by Norbert, who is in the Queen's service. He has served the State well and successfully, and the Queen has set her heart upon him. Norbert is advised by Constance to act diplomatically, and pretend that he has served the Queen only for her sake. He must not permit her to see the love which he has for the woman to whom he has pledged himself. The Queen, who is already married in form, though not in heart, offers to dissolve the union, in an interview which she has with Constance, and shows how eagerly she grasps at the prospect of a new life which opens up before her. Constance is prepared to sacrifice herself for Norbert and the Queen. She seeks Norbert, and reveals to him the real state of affairs. The Queen discovers the lovers, and hears Norbert declare his love for Constance, which she tries to divert to the Queen. At once the Queen sees all her hopes dashed to the ground. She says nothing; but having left the balcony, the music of the ball, which is proceeding within, suddenly ceases, the footsteps of the guard approach, the lovers feel their impending doom; but one pa.s.sionate moment unites them in heart for ever, and they are led away to death.

=In a Gondola.= (_Dramatic Lyrics_, in _Bells and Pomegranates_, No. III.: 1842.) In the fourth book of Forster's _Life of d.i.c.kens_ is a letter which d.i.c.kens wrote to Maclise, from which we learn that Browning wrote the first verse of this poem, beginning, "I send my heart up to thee," to express Maclise's subject in the Academy catalogue. d.i.c.kens says, in a letter to the artist: "In a certain picture called the 'Serenade,' for which Browning wrote that verse in Lincoln's Inn Fields, you, O Mac, painted a sky. If you ever have occasion to paint the Mediterranean, let it be exactly of that colour." In the poem a lover and his mistress are singing in a gondola--conscious of their danger, for the interview is a stolen one, and the three who are referred to are perhaps husband, father, and brother, or a.s.sa.s.sins hired by one of them. The chills of approaching death avail not to cool the ardour of their pa.s.sion in this precious hour in the gondola. They feel they have lived, let death come when it will; and as they glide past church and palace, reality is concentrated in their boat, the shams and illusions of life are on the banks. The lover is stabbed as he hands the lady ash.o.r.e. He craves one more kiss, and dies. He scorns not his murderers, for they have never lived:

"But I Have lived indeed, and so--can die!"

NOTES.--_Castelfranco_ (born 1478) is Giorgione, one of the greatest Italian painters. His father belonged to the family of the Barbarella, of Castelfranco in the Trevisan. For his Life see VASARI. _Schidone_ was an Italian painter of the sixteenth century. _Haste-thee-Luke_ is the English of _Luca-fa-presto_ ("Luke work-fast"), nickname of _Luca Giordano_ (1632--1705), a Neapolitan painter. His nickname was given to him, not on account of his rapid method of working, but in consequence of his poor and greedy father urging him to increased exertions by constantly exclaiming "Luca, fa presto." The youth obeyed his father, and would actually not leave off work for his meals, but was fed by his father's hand while he laboured on with the brush. _Giudecca_: a great ca.n.a.l of Venice. "_Lido's wet, accursed graves_." Byron desired to be buried at Lido. Ancient Jewish tombs are there, moss-grown and half covered with sand. The place is desolate and very gloomy. _Lory_: a species of parrot.

=Inapprehensiveness.= (_Asolando._) The ruin referred to in the fourth line is that of the old palace of Queen Cornaro, who, having been driven out of her kingdom of Cyprus, kept up a shadow of royalty here, with Cardinal Bembo as her secretary. It was he who told the story, in his _Asolani_. Mr. Browning thought that there was no view in all Italy to compare with that from the tower of the old palace. Two friends stand side by side contemplating the scene. The lady's attention is attracted to a chance-rooted wind-sown tree on a turret, and to certain weed-growths on a wall. She is inapprehensive that by her side stands an incarnation of dormant pa.s.sion, needing nothing but a look from her to burst into immense life. So little does one soul know of another. The Vernon Lee in the last line is a well-known auth.o.r.ess, Violet Paget, best known perhaps by her work ent.i.tled Euphorion.

=In a Year.= (_Men and Women_, 1855; _Dramatic Lyrics_, 1868.) Finely contrasts the constancy of a woman's love with the inconstancy of man's.

Love is not love unless it be "an ever fixed mark." In exchange for the man's love, the woman gave health, ease, beauty, and youth, and was content to give "more life and more" till all were gone, and think the sacrifice too little. That was the woman's "ever fixed mark." The man asks calmly: "Can't we touch these bubbles, then, but they break?"

=Incident of the French Camp.= (_Dramatic Lyrics_, in _Bells and Pomegranates_, III.: 1842.) Ratisbon (German Regensburg) is an ancient and famous city of Bavaria, on the right bank of the Danube. It has endured no less than seventeen sieges since the tenth century, accompanied by bombardments, the last of which took place in 1809, when Napoleon stormed the town, which was obstinately defended by the Austrians. Some two hundred houses and much of the suburbs were destroyed. As the Emperor was watching the storming, a rider flew from the city full gallop, saluting the Emperor. He told him they had taken the city. The chief's eye flashed, but presently saddened as he looked on the brave youth who had brought the news. "You are wounded!" "Nay, I'm killed, sire!" and the lad fell dead.

=Inn Alb.u.m, The.= (1875.) The chief features of this tragedy, "where every character is either mean, or weak, or vile," are taken from real life. It is "the story of the wrecked life of a girl who loved her base seducer as a G.o.d." This curious study in mental pathology opens with a description of the visitors' book of a country inn, filled with the usual idiotic entries which are found in such books. The shabby-genteel parlour of the inn is occupied by two men playing at cards--a young and a middle-aged man. The elder, a cultivated and accomplished _roue_, has just lost to the younger man ten thousand pounds at play. The loser has. .h.i.therto been pretty uniformly the winner; but his companion, who has succeeded in plucking the pigeon, has not deceived him. He has seen through his pretences, and is fully aware that he is accompanied on this trip to the village where the inn in which they are staying is situated, purely for the chance it offered of winning money from him for the last time before his approaching marriage. The polished sn.o.b who has won is inclined to be satirical at his companion's expense, and loftily desires him to consider the debt as cancelled: he is a millionaire, and can afford to do without it. This the elder man, with perfect politeness, declines, and a.s.sures him that it shall be paid. They leave the inn. The young man is to visit his intended bride; but he dare not introduce his companion, as his reputation has made it impossible to do so. As they walk towards the station the young man inquires how it is that his friend, with all his advantages in life, is in every way a failure. He then learns that his chances were missed four years ago, when he should have married a woman with whom he had certain relations, and who could have saved him from his aimless and wayward life.

He had won the heart of a lofty-minded girl, had seduced her, and, though he had not intended marriage at first, had offered it. When she discovered that he had betrayed her without thinking of marrying her, she rejected his proposal, which had come too late to appease her wounded pride, and had settled down as the wife of an obscure country parson, old and poor.

Weakly, she had neglected to secure her safety by telling her husband the story of her past, and in consequence was liable at any moment to be the victim of her seducer for the second time. The scoundrel had led the life of a woman-wrecker, and his love for his victim had turned to hate, as he told his companion, because she had disdained to save him from himself.

When the elder man has unburdened himself, then the younger tells his story too. He has loved a peerless woman, who refused him, as she was vowed to another. There are points in his story which suggest to him that they have both loved the same woman, though he says that could not be, as he has heard that she married the man of whom she spoke. The young man now parts from his companion, and bids him return to the inn, there to await him for an hour, while he tries to induce his aunt to receive him as her guest. In the third part of the poem we are introduced to two women--an elder and a younger--who are talking in the parlour of the inn, just left vacant by the departure of the two card-players. The younger is the girl whom the young man of the story is to marry; and she has begged her old friend, the elder woman, to meet her, that she may see the man whom she is to marry. She has come by the train, has been met at the station by her young friend, and they adjourn to the little inn to talk matters over quietly. While the younger woman is absent from the parlour, and the elder is engaged in turning over the leaves of the visitors' book, she is terror-stricken at seeing her old lover enter the room. The lady is the clergyman's wife, and the man is the old _roue_ who is waiting for his friend who has won his ten thousand pounds. She believes the whole affair is a scheme to entrap her, and bitterly reproaches the man who has ruined her life, and even now must drag her from her retirement for further persecution. He indulges in recriminations, pretending that it is his life which she has wrecked, and that she is inspired with hatred for him though he has not ceased to love her. She thanks G.o.d that she had grace to hurl contempt at the contemptible:

"Rent away By treason from my rightful pride of place, I was not destined to the shame below.

A cleft had caught me."

Revealing to him the bitterness of her position, hanging, as it were, over the brink of a yawning precipice, his old love for her is reawakened, and he kneels to the injured woman. He entreats her to fly with him to

"A certain refuge, solitary home To hide in.

Come with me, love, loved once, loved only, come, Blend loves there!"

But the woman sees through him, and says:

"Your smiles, your tears, prayers, curses move alike My crowned contempt."

And while he is kneeling there, in bursts the young man, who has returned to say that his aunt declines to meet him. He is startled to see the lady to whom he had vainly offered his heart four years ago, and rushes to the conclusion that he too has been entrapped for some purpose. The fifth section of the poem opens with a scornful denunciation of the trick which he considers stands confessed in the scene which he beholds. "O you two base ones, male and female! Sir!" he exclaims; "half an hour ago I held your master for my best of friends, and four years since you seemed my heart's one love!" The woman explains to him that she has been sent for simply to counsel his cousin on the question of her proposed marriage. She finds him innocent save in folly, and will so report. The elder man she bids to leave the youth, and leave unsullied the heart she rescues and would lay beside another's. While she speaks the devil is tempting him to one more crime. He will turn affairs to his own advantage. He writes some lines in the alb.u.m before him, closes the book, hands it to the indignant woman, and begs her to leave him alone with his friend while he discusses the situation. In the book which she receives he has written a note to her telling her that her young lover is still faithful to her, and threatening her that if she does not receive him on familiar terms the story of her past shame shall be exposed to her husband. Left alone with the young man, he opens out a scheme of infernal ingenuity, whereby at once he will pay his gambling debt and avenge himself for the contempt and scorn with which his unhappy victim has once more received the offer of his affection. He proposes to barter the woman who has unwittingly put herself into his power--to compel her to yield herself up to the man in exchange for the ten thousand pounds he cannot otherwise pay. He explains to him that she has deluded her parson husband--would have yielded to himself had he not determined to subst.i.tute his friend. "Make love to her; pick no phrase; prevent all misconception: there's the fruit to pluck or let alone at pleasure!" He leaves the room, and in superb composure the intended victim enters. Captive of wickedness, she warns him: "Back, in G.o.d's name!" "Sin no more!" she cries: "I am past sin now." She implores him to break the fetters which have bound him to the evil influence which has destroyed her life. Her n.o.ble bearing under the terrible circ.u.mstances a.s.sures him of her innocence of any complicity in a trick. He tells her the man has told heaps of lies about her, which he had not believed. Blus.h.i.+ng and stumbling in his speech, he contrives to let her know the use that was to be made of her. Not knowing if there were truth in what was told him of her marriage, he offers her his hand if she is free to accept it,--any way, to take him as her friend. She gives him her hand. At that moment the adversary returns. "You accept him?" he asks. "Till death us do part!" she answers. "But before death parts, read here the marriage licence which makes us one." He then displays the awful words addressed to her in the fatal page she holds in her hand. She reads, and when she comes to the last line--

"Consent--you stop my mouth, the only way"--

turning to the young man, she pitifully asks, "How could mortal 'stop it'?" "So!" he cries. "A tiger-flash, and death's out and on him!" In the closing scene the wretched, hunted woman dies. She has secured her vindicator's acquittal on the charge of murder by writing in the alb.u.m that he has saved her from the villain, righteously slain, who would have outraged her. As she dies the young girl who was to have married the defender of the dead woman appears on the scene, and the tragedy closes.

In _Notes and Queries_ for March 25th, 1876, Dr. F. J. Furnivall thus mentions the incidents on which the poem is based: "The story told by Mr.

Browning in this poem is, in its main outlines, a real one--that of Lord De Ros, once a friend of the great Duke of Wellington, and about whom there is much in the _Greville Memoirs_. The original story was, of course, too repulsive to be adhered to in all its details--of, first, the gambling lord producing the portrait of the lady he had seduced and abandoned, and offering his expected dupe, but real beater, an introduction to the lady as a bribe to induce him to wait for payment of the money he had won; secondly, the eager acceptance of the bribe by the younger gambler, and the suicide of the lady from horror at the base proposal of her old seducer. The story made a great sensation in London over thirty years ago. Readers of _The Inn Alb.u.m_ know how grandly Mr.

Browning has lifted the base young gambler, through the renewal of that old love, which the poet has invented, into one of the most pathetic creations of modern time, and has spared the base old _roue_ the degradation of the attempt to sell the love which was once his delight, and which, in the poem, he seeks to regain, with feelings one must hope are real, as the most prized possession of his life. As to the lady, the poet has covered her with no false glory or claim on our sympathy. From the first she was a law unto herself; she gratified her own impulses, and she reaped the fruit of this. Her seducer has made his confession of his punishment, and has attributed, instead of misery, comfort and ease to her. She has to tell him, and the young man who has given her his whole heart, that the supposed comfort and ease have been to her simply h.e.l.l; and tell, too, why she cannot accept the true love that, under other conditions, would have been her way back to heaven and life. What, then, can be her end? No higher power has she ever sought. Self-contained, she has sinned and suffered. She can do no more. By her own hand she ends her life; and the curtain falls on the most profoundly touching and most powerful poem of modern times." The young girl of the poem is the invention of the poet; the other characters took part in the actual tragedy. In his _Memoirs_, first series, Greville mentions Lord De Ros from time to time, and they travelled together in Italy. Under date of "Newmarket, March 29th, 1839," Greville makes the following entry in the first volume of the second series of his _Memoirs_, concerning the death of his friend: "Poor De Ros expired last night soon after twelve, after a confinement of two or three months from the time he returned to England.

His end was enviably tranquil, and he bore his protracted sufferings with astonis.h.i.+ng fort.i.tude and composure. Nothing ruffled his temper or disturbed his serenity. His faculties were unclouded, his memory retentive, his perceptions clear to the last; no murmur of impatience ever escaped him, no querulous word, no ebullition of anger or peevishness; he was uniformly patient, mild, indulgent, deeply sensible of kindness and attention, exacting nothing, considerate of others and apparently regardless of self, overflowing with affection and kindness of manner and language to all around him, and exerting all his moral and intellectual energies with a spirit and resolution that never flagged till within a few hours of his dissolution, when nature gave way, and he sank into a tranquil unconsciousness, in which life gently ebbed away. Whatever may have been the error of his life, he closed the scene with a philosophical dignity not unworthy of a sage, and with a serenity and sweetness of disposition of which Christianity itself could afford no more s.h.i.+ning or delightful example. In him I have lost, 'half lost before,' the last and greatest of the friends of my youth; and I am left a more solitary and a sadder man."

=Instans Tyrannus= == The Threatening Tyrant. (_Men and Women_, 1855; _Dramatic Romances_, 1868.) The t.i.tle of this poem was suggested by Horace's Ode on the Just Man (_Od._ iii. 3. 1):--

"Justum et tenacem propositi virum, Non civium ardor prava jubentium, Non vultus instantis tyranni," etc.

('The just man, firm to his purpose, is not to be shaken from his fixed resolve by the fury of a mob laying upon him their impious behests, nor by the frown of a threatening tyrant, etc.') These lines are said to have been repeated by the celebrated De Witte while he was subject to torture.

When men or causes are suppressed by tyranny, the tyrant knows well in his heart that force alone, and not justice, enables him to crush opposition to his will; and he is the first to see, even if he do not acknowledge, the Divine Arm thrust forth from the heavens to protect his victims and avenge their wrongs. From some undefined cause a poor, contemptible man was the object of a tyrant's hate: he struck him, tried to bribe him, tempted his blood and his flesh. Having tried every way to extinguish the man, he contrived thunder above and mine below him to destroy, as a rat in a hole, this friendless wretch, when suddenly the man saw G.o.d's arm across the sky. The man

--"caught at G.o.d's skirts, and prayed!

So, _I_ was afraid!"

[Archdeacon Farrar refers the incidents of this poem to the persecution of the early Christians.--_Browning Society Papers_, Pt VII., p. 22*.]

=In Three Days.= (_Men and Women_, 1855; _Dramatic Lyrics_, 1868.) A lover antic.i.p.ates that in three days he shall see his lady. He is aware that three days may change his future, as has often been changed the history of the world in the time. He knows, too, that though three days may cast no shadow in his way, still the years to follow may bring changes and chances of unimagined end. He reiterates that in three days he shall see her, and fear of all that the future may have in store is absorbed in the blissful antic.i.p.ation.

=Italian in England, The.= (_Dramatic Romances and Lyrics_, in _Bells and Pomegranates_, No. VII., 1845.) The incident is not historical, though something of the kind might well have happened to any of the Italian patriots in their revolt against the Austrian domination. A prominent Italian patriot is hiding from the Austrian oppressors of his country after an unsuccessful rising. He has taken refuge in England, and the poem tells how the Austrians pursued him everywhere, and how he would have been taken if a peasant girl, to whom he confessed his ident.i.ty, had not preferred humanity and the love of her country to the gold she might have earned by delivering him to his pursuers. [Mazzini must have gone through many such experiences, and the poem was one which he very highly appreciated.] Hunted by the Austrian bloodhounds, hiding in an old aqueduct, up to the neck in ferns for three days, the pangs of hunger induced him to attract the attention of a peasant girl going to her work with her companions: he threw his glove, to strike her as she pa.s.sed.

Without giving any sign that could acquaint her friends with her object, she glanced round and saw him beckon; breaking a branch from a tree, so as to recognise the spot, she picked up the glove and rejoined her party. In an hour she returned alone. He had not intended to confide in the woman, but her n.o.ble face led him to confess he was the man on whose head a great price was set. He felt sure he would not be betrayed. He bade her bring paper, pen and ink, and carry his letter to Padua, to the cathedral; then proceed to a certain confessional which he mentions, and whisper his pa.s.sword. If it was answered in the terms he named, then she was to give the letter to the priest. She promised to do as he desired. In three days more she appeared again at his hiding-place. She told him she had a lover who could do much to aid him. She brought him drink and food. In four days the scouts gave up the search, and went in another direction. At last help arrived from his friends at Padua. He kissed the maiden's hand, and laid his own in blessing on her head. When he took the boat from the seash.o.r.e, on the night of his escape, she followed him to the vessel. He left, and never saw her more. And now that he is safe in England, he reflects that it is long since he had a thought for aught but Italy. Those whom he had trusted, those to whom he had looked for help, had made terms with the oppressors of his country; his presence in his own land would be awkward for his brethren. But there is one "in that dear, lost land" whose calm smile he would like to see; he would like to know of her future, her children's ages and their names, to kiss once more the hand that saved him, and once again to lay his own in blessing on her head, and go his way. "But to business!"

NOTES.--_Metternich_: the great Austrian diplomatist, and enemy of Italian independence. _Charles_: Carlo Alberto, King of Sardinia. He resorted to severe measures against the party known as "Young Italy," founded by Mazzini. He died in 1849. _Duomo_, the cathedral. _Tenebrae_ == darkness: the office of matins and lauds, for the three last days in Holy Week.

Fifteen lighted candles are placed on a triangular stand, and at the conclusion of each psalm one is put out, till a single candle is left at the top of the triangle. The extinction of the other candles is said to figure the growing darkness of the world at the time of the Crucifixion.

The last candle (which is not extinguished, but hidden behind the altar for a few moments) represents Christ over whom Death could not prevail.