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CHAPTER VI.

DRAMATIC POEMS.

No great event to call out art! Is not humanity always a great event? George Howland.

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1.-Pippa Passes.

IPPA PASSES" may be called a dramatic poem rather than a drama; the scenes are linked together by the songs of Pippa. In every scene we have a distinguishing characteristic of Browning's genius, his skill in delineating a crisis which develops the essential characters of men and women. The word crisis means a judgment; and it is in that sense that Browning introduces the supreme moment, when the books are opened, and an inevitable sentence is pronounced. The singular attraction of this poem is the way in which four crises are precipitated by the singing of the little factory girl of Asolo.

I.

In the commencement of the poem Pippa springs out of bed, remembers it is her one holiday of all the year, and her heart bubbles over with happi

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ness. She is attracted to her window, to watch the gorgeous sunrise, as day boils at last; boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim." Then she talks about how she must not waste a single moment of her one precious holiday. Very beautiful is her chatter to the sunbeam which flashes and is broken in the water of her jug, and then darts up to be re-united on the ceiling. Then she turns to the flowers in her window, and says they should be grateful for all the care she gives them, and feels quite thankful that she can rule over them as their queen. She laughs merrily at the fun of calling herself a queen, but to-day she will please herself and take any name she likes. Yes! she goes on to say, you can worship me as a queen, for, on this holiday, I am no longer the factory girl, I can be just any person I choose to imagine myself. Who shall she be? Well, there are four persons in Asolo whom she counts happiest. First, she will be that beautiful lady Ottima, wife of the old man who owns the silk factory. Yes! she will be Ottima in the lovely house and garden, where her lover Sebald comes to court her, while the old husband lies asleep. Ah! but she remembers that such a love cannot be right, even her childish instinct can feel that; the ugly gossip about the fine lady makes her shrink even from her splendour and beauty. Some better love shall be hers. She will be the bride Phene, who, at noon to-day, is to be married to that clever sculptor Jules. Then, in a moment, the simple child thinks there is a finer love than that of bride and bridegroom. She has seen a lady walking every day with her son Luigi towards a ruined tower; and it

is touching to mark their tenderness to each other. She will be Luigi, encompassed by a love which has lapped round her from her birth and can never change.

Lovers grow cold, men learn to hate their wives,
And only parents' love can last our lives.

So she rises from the unhallowed love of Sebald and Ottima, to the wedded love of Jules and Phene, to the love of Luigi's mother for her only son. That seems the highest form of human love. But above all there is the divine love; can she rise to that? Remembering that she has never known her father and mother, she rejoices to think there is a supreme beatitude, the love of God. She will imagine herself to be the good Bishop, who has just arrived at Asolo to attend the funeral of his brother who has suddenly died. Yes! she will fancy herself that holy and beloved Priest, who surely knows most of the mystery of God's great love. And, suddenly, a sublime thought flashes upon her, as she remembers her New Year's Hymn. Why should she wish to be the Bishop, when her hymn teaches that everyone can be a priest of God if divine love inspires the soul? Love is the one solemn sacrament, which ordains even the obscurest child to a priesthood of holy service. She thought it was necessary to become a bishop to realise the divine grace; but now she trembles with a more solemn feeling :

Now wait!-Even I already seem to share

In God's love: What does New Year's Hymn declare?
What other meaning do these verses bear?

"All service ranks the same with God:
If now, as formerly He trod
Paradise, His presence fills

Our earth, each only as God wills

Can work-God's puppets, best and worst,
Are we; there is no last nor first.

"Say not 'a small event!' Why 'small'?
Costs it more pain that this, ye call
A great event,' should come to pass,
Than that? Untwine me from the mass
Of deeds which make up life, one deed
Power shall fall short in, or exceed!"

And more of it, and more of it!-oh yes-
I will pass by, and see their happiness,
And envy none-being just as great, no doubt,
Useful to men, and dear to God, as they!
A pretty thing to care about

So mightily, this single holiday!

But let the sun shine! wherefore repine?
-With thee to lead me, O Day of mine,
Down the grass-path grey with dew,
Under the pine-wood, blind with boughs,
Where the swallow never flew

As yet, nor cicala dared carouse-
Dared carouse!

Then Pippa passes through the town and country,— passes by each of these people whom she has counted the happiest in Asolo.

II.

In the early morning, Ottima is alone with her lover Sebald. In the madness of passion, they have murdered old Luca; and now they are watching the dawning of the day when they must face the consequences of their

crime. Sebald is horrified at the frightful deed he has committed; he cannot rid his sight of the old man's corpse lying at the foot of the couch where he was murdered. But Ottima glories in their guilt, and declares she loves Sebald best of all for the crime which has broken her hateful marriage. To try to relieve his mind of its burden she reminds him of their days of passionate love. In one wonderful passage, she recalls a day they spent, one hot July, in the thick forest :

Buried in woods we lay, you recollect;

Swift ran the searching tempest overhead;
And ever and anon some bright white shaft

Burnt through the pine-tree roof, here burnt and there,
As if God's messenger through the close wood screen
Plunged and replunged his weapon at a venture,
Feeling for guilty thee and me: then broke

The thunder like a whole sea overhead.

Recalling those passionate hours, Ottima sweeps away all compunction from the conscience of her lover, and he becomes absorbed in her luxuriant beauty. They are beginning to glory in their sin, to feel a kind of dreadful gratitude, because their love was equal to such a crime. He is binding her hair in coils round her head :

SEBALD. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now, and now!
This way? Will you forgive me-be once more

My great Queen?

OTTIMA. Bind it thrice about my brow;

Crown me your Queen, your spirit's arbitress,

Magnificent in sin. Say that!

SEBALD. I crown you

My great white queen, my spirit's arbitress,
Magnificent-

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