Roland. (See Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.)

Rosny. (Asolando, 1889.) Love, pure and passionate, unrestrained by thought of self, and gluttonous of sacrifice, was the undoing of the hero. No prudence could keep Rosny from his fate. Strength in love, and its victory in death is judged by the maiden to be the best. Although there does not seem to be any historical incident referred to in the poem, it may be advisable to say that Maximilian de Béthune, duke of Sully (1560-1641), the French statesman, was born at the château of Rosny, near Mantes. The title of his baronetcy was derived from the name of his birthplace, and he was commonly known by the name of Rosny all his life. Murray says that “Rosny is a dirty little village about half-way between Mantes and Bonnières. The château was the birthplace of Sully, where he was frequently visited by his friend and master, Henri IV., who slept here the night after his victory at Ivry. The king, having overtaken Sully on the road desperately wounded, carried on a litter, accompanied by his squires in a like plight, fell on his neck and affectionately embraced him. The château is a plain, solid building of red brick, with stone quoins and a high tent roof, surrounded by a deep ditch. It was rebuilt by Sully at the beginning of the seventeenth century. From 1818 down to the Revolution of 1830 Rosny was the favourite residence of the Duchesse de Berri, who erected here a chapel to contain the heart of her husband.”

Rosamund Page. (Martin Relph.) She was the young girl who was shot by the military for supposed treason, and whose innocence would have been proved by her lover Parkes, if Mr. Martin had made known his presence when he saw him arrive at the village from the eminence on which he was standing.

“Round us the Wild Creatures.” (Ferishtah’s Fancies.) The lyric to the first poem, “The Eagle,” commences with this line.

Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli. (Dramatic Lyrics, in Bells and Pomegranates, No. III., 1842. Since transferred to Men and Women in Poetical Works, 1863.) Geoffrey de Rudel was a gentleman of Blieux, in Provence, and one of those who were presented to Frederick Barbarossa in 1154. He was a troubadour. Sismondi, in his Literature of the South of Europe, vol. i., p. 87 (Bohn’s Edit.), gives the following account of Rudel:—“The knights who had returned from the Holy Land spoke with enthusiasm of a Countess of Tripoli, who had extended to them the most generous hospitality, and whose grace and beauty equalled her virtues. Geoffrey Rudel, hearing this account, fell deeply in love with her without having ever seen her, and prevailed upon one of his friends, Bertrand d’Allamanon, a troubadour like himself, to accompany him to the Levant. In 1162 he quitted the court of England, whither he had been conducted by Geoffrey, the brother of Richard I., and embarked for the Holy Land. On his voyage he was attacked by a severe illness, and had lost the power of speech when he arrived at the port of Tripoli. The Countess, being informed that a celebrated poet was dying of love for her on board a vessel which was entering the roads, visited him on shipboard, took him kindly by the hand, and attempted to cheer his spirits. Rudel, we are assured, recovered his speech sufficiently to thank the Countess for her humanity, and to declare his passion, when his expressions of gratitude were silenced by the convulsions of death. He was buried at Tripoli, beneath a tomb of porphyry which the Countess raised to his memory, with an Arabic inscription. I have transcribed his verses on “Distant Love,” which he composed previous to his last voyage:—

“Angry and sad shall be my way,
If I behold not her afar:
And yet I know not when that day
Shall rise—for still she dwells afar.
God! who hast formed this fair array
Of worlds, and placed my love afar,
Strengthen my heart with hope, I pray,
Of seeing her I love afar.

“Oh Lord I believe my faithful lay,
For well I love her, though afar;
Though but one blessing may repay
The thousand griefs I feel afar,
No other love shall shed its ray
On me, if not this love afar;
A brighter one, where’er I stray
I shall not see, or near, or far.”

In Mr. Browning’s poem, Rudel chooses for his device a sun flower, which, by ever turning towards the sun, has parted with the graces of a flower to become a mimic sun. He says that men feed on his songs; but the sunflower’s concern is not for the bees which gather the sweetness of the flower’s breast,—its concern is solely for the sun. So turns Rudel longingly to the East, where his lady dwells afar.

St. John. (A Death in the Desert.) The poem is a monologue of the dying saint in the desert near Ephesus. He records what he has seen of our Lord, and sadly anticipates the time when men will ask, “Did he say he saw?”

St. Martin’s Summer. (Pacchiarotto, with Other Poems, 1876.) A husband and wife, both young, are reflecting on the fact that they have each buried love under some tomb now moss-grown and forgotten. The man admits that somehow, somewhere, he has pledged his “soul to endless duty, many a time and oft.” Grief is fickle, for time is a traitor. Love, being mortal, must pass away, and he does not think either of them so very guilty; they grieved over their lost love at the time, though now it is forgotten. Yet, though Love’s corpse lies quiet, its ghost sometimes escapes, and it is not well to build too durable a monument over it; trellis-work is better. It is better to own the power of first love, recognise its permanence in the soul, and let the succeeding love be estimated at its value, which to the poet does not seem to be very high. Dead loves are the potent, though living loves are ghost dispellers. From the oft-repeated expressions of Mr. Browning’s opinion, and from the drift of this poem, we might be warranted in concluding that he believed only in first love.

Notes.—St. Martin’s Summer; or, St. Martin’s Little Summer. From October 9th to November 11th. At the close of autumn we generally have a month of magnificent summer weather. “Expect St. Martin’s summer, halcyon days” (Shakespeare, I Hen. VI., Act i., sc. 2), and, “Farewell thou latter spring! farewell All-hallown summer!” It is also called “St. Luke’s Summer,” and Martinmas, and Martilmasse, because the feast of St. Martin is kept on November 11th. St. Luke’s Day is October 18th. Verse 12, Penelope was the wife of Ulysses. During the long absence of her husband she was several times importuned by suitors to marry them. She told them that she could not marry again, even if she were assured that Ulysses were dead, until she had finished weaving a shroud for her aged father-in-law. Every night she pulled out what she had woven during the day, and so her work made no progress. Ulysses: is a corrupt form of Odusseus, the king of Ithaca. He is one of the principal heroes in the Iliad of Homer, and the chief hero of the Odyssey.

St. Peter’s at Rome. (Christmas Eve.) The great colonnade on either side of St. Peter’s Square is of semicircular form, and is beautifully described by the poet as

“Arms wide open to embrace
The entry of the human race.”

Saul. This is perhaps the grandest and most beautiful of all Mr. Browning’s religious poems. It is a Messianic oratorio in words. The influence of music in the cure of diseases has long been a subject of study by physicians. Disraeli, in his Curiosities of Literature, has an article on “Medical Music.” In Dr. Burney’s History of Music there is a chapter on “The Medicinal Powers attributed to Music by the Ancients.” Dr. Burney thought this influence was partly due to its occasioning certain vibrations of the nerves, as well as its well-known effect in diverting the attention. Depression of mind, delirium and insanity, were anciently attributed to evil spirits, which were put to flight by suitable harmonies. It was for this reason that David was sent for to cure the mental derangement of Saul. The influence of music on the lower animals is often exceedingly marked, and can scarcely in their case, as in our own, be due to the association of ideas. The peculiar and sweet melancholy inspired by distant church bells on a calm summer evening in the country, though difficult to account for, is not less real than is the inspiring and invigorating effect produced by march music on weary soldiers. Life is a harmonious process; where there is most health there is most harmony in the way in which the bodily functions are performed. A great physician has described health as “going easy.” It would be strange, therefore, if animal life were not attuned to sympathy with mechanical harmony. The most modern theory is that “Music is one of the stimuli which regulates the vaso-motor activity employed in tissue nutrition.” (See Lancet, May 9th, 1891, p. 1055.) In another article in the same journal, for May 23rd, the subject is still further treated. The writer says: “The value of music as a therapeutic method cannot yet be so precisely stated that we may measure it by dosage or by an invariably similar order of effects. Of its wholesome influence in various forms of disease, however, there can be little or no doubt. In making this assertion we do not, of course, assign to it any specific or peculiar action. It is no quack’s nostrum, no reputed conqueror of ache or ailment. It is only, as we have already shown in a recent article, one of those intangible but effective aids of medicine which exert their healthful properties through the nervous system. It is as a mental tonic that music acts. Accordingly, we may naturally expect it to exert its powers chiefly in those diseases, or aspects of disease, which are due to morbid nervous action. The evidence of its utility on occasions where fatigue or worry has disturbed the proper balance and relation between the mind and body of the so-called healthy will explain its action in disease. We can readily understand how a pleasing and lively melody can awake in a jaded brain the strong emotion of hope, and energising by its means the languid nerve-control of the whole circulation, strengthen the heart-beat and refresh the vascularity of every organ. We can picture the same brain in forced irritation fretfully stimulating the service of the vaso-motor nerves, and starving the tissues of their blood-supply. Here, again, it is easy to comprehend the regulating effect of quieter harmony, which brings at once a rest and a diversion to the fretting mind. Even aches are soothed for a time by a transference of attention; and why, then, should not pain be lulled by music?” That it sometimes is thus relieved, we cannot doubt. It is especially in the graver nervous maladies, however, that we should look for benefit from this remedy. Definite statistics on the subject may not be forthcoming, but all that we have said goes to show that states of insanity, which are largely influenced by the condition of the sympathetic system, should find some part of their treatment in the hands of the musician. It is, therefore, for such cases especially that we would enlist his services. In nervous diseases music produces a stimulating effect on the trophic nerves, these are so called because they are supposed to govern or control the normal metabolism of their tissues (or the phenomena whereby living organisms assimilate their food into their tissues). Depressing news will impede or even arrest digestion, as is well known; cheerful conversation and music assist the assimilation of our sustenance. The almost total ignorance of the ancients concerning physiological processes caused them to attribute to demons the maladies which they could not comprehend. Music was prescribed for Saul empirically: it mattered little to the patient, so long as he was cured, whether music expelled a demon who was tormenting him, or lubricated the wheels of his nervous mechanism. David took his harp to Saul’s tent, untwisted the lilies which were twined round the strings to keep them cool, and began by playing the tune all the sheep knew, appealing to his mere animal nature, and bringing him into harmony with the lower forms of healthy life; for there are points in our lives touched alike by men and sheep. Then he played the tune which the quails love, and that which delights the crickets, and the music which appeals to the quick jerboa; for there is a bond of sympathy between these creatures of our Father’s hand and ourselves which we do ill to overlook; it is well for us sometimes to allow ourselves to be influenced by those things which God has made to delight the beautiful dumb creatures whom St. Francis of Assisi delighted to call his brothers and sisters. It was another step towards Saul’s recovery when his soul achieved the harmony of a quail and a jerboa. Then he advanced his theme: he led the patient by his melody to the help tune of the reapers; brought before his saddened soul the good friendship of the toilers at their merry-making; expanded his heart in the warmth of brotherliness, the sympathy of man with man. But higher yet! The march of the honoured dead is played,—the praise of the men who have forgotten the faults in the work the man completed. And after that the joyful marriage chant, the abounding life and cheerfulness of the maidens; the march, too, of the comradeship of man in his greater task, the compulsion of the mechanical forces to aid the progress of the race. More exalted strains follow when, in the spirit of the worship of the one God of Israel, the Levites ascend the altar steps to appease Jehovah in sacrifice. By slow degrees the music had done the first part of its work: the sluggish forces of his life began to tremble, the quiverings of returning vital force began to thrill his torpid nerves. The song went forward: the wild joys of living were celebrated, the value of man’s life, the good providence of God, the friendship, the kingship, the gifts combined to dower one head with the wealth of the world,—the stimulus of high ambition, the surpassing deeds, the crowning fame all concentrated in Saul, king of Israel. And the leap of David’s heart voicing itself in the cry “Saul!” went to his wintry soul as “spring’s arrowy summons to the vale, making it laugh in freedom and flowers.” Saul was “released and aware,” the despair was gone; pale and worn, he stood by the tent pole, once more himself; he was recalled to life, but not yet fitted to enjoy it. David pushes his advantage: the future, with its glorious prospect, the reward which God shall give to the successors of the king; and as David sings of the ages to come, which will ring with his praises and the fame of his mighty deeds, the life stream courses through his veins, he begins to live once more, he puts out his hand, touches tenderly the brow of the harpist, and as he looks on David the beautiful soul of the youthful singer goes out to the king in love, the magnetism of his sympathy touches him, and he longs to impart to him more than the past and present; he would give him new life altogether ages hence as at the moment. If he would do this, how much more would God do!

“Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare.
Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care!”

If he would fain do so much for this suffering man, would save, redeem and restore him, interpose to snatch Saul the mistake, the failure, from ruin, and bid him win by the pain-throb, the intensified bliss of the next world’s reward and repose, if he would starve his own soul to fill up Saul’s life, surely God would exceed all that David could desire to do, as the Creator in everything surpasses the creature, and as the Infinite transcends the finite. Then, in a magnificent prophetic burst, the singer tells Saul:

“O Saul, it shall be
A Face like my face that receives thee; a Man like to me,
Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever; a Hand like this hand
Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand!”

The singer leaves the tent, goes to his home through the night, but not alone: clouds of witnesses hover around him, angels have come to listen to his prophecy, and the air is full of yearning spirits; the earth has awakened; hell has heard the echoes of his song,—her crews are loosed with alarm at the danger which impends; the stars in their courses beat with emotion; all creation palpitates with excitement; but the Hand which impelled him “quenched it with quiet,” and earth in rapture sank to rest. But the world was the better for the blessed news, “felt the new law”; the flowers rejoiced, the heart of the cedars and the sap of the vines responded to the thrill of joy the brooks murmured, “E’en so, it is so!” (What are known as the Messianic Psalms, or those in which David sings of the Christ, who was to come, are the following: Psalm ii., xxi., xxii., xlv., lxxii., and cx.)—In Longus’s romance of Daphnis and Chloe there occur two passages which may have furnished Browning with the suggestion of this series of tunes. The first is found on pp. 303-4 (I quote from Smith’s translation, in the Bohn edition): “He ran through all variations of pastoral melody; he played the tune which the oxen obey, and which attracts the goats,—that in which the sheep delight. The notes for the sheep were sweet, those for the oxen deep, those for the goats were shrill. In short, his single pipe could express the tones of every pipe which is played upon. Those present lay listening in silent delight; when Dryas rose up, and desired Philetas to strike up the Bacchanalian tune, Philetas obeyed; and Dryas began the vintage-dance in which he represented the plucking of the grapes, the carrying of the baskets, the treading of the clusters, and the drinking of the new-made wine.... Upon losing sight of her, Daphnis, seizing the large pipe of Philetas, breathed into it a mournful strain as of one who loves; then a lovesick strain as of one who pleads; lastly, a recalling strain, as of one who seeks her whom he has lost.” The other is from pp. 332-4: “Daphnis disposed the company in a semicircle; then standing under the shade of a beech-tree, he took his pipe from his scrip, and breathed into it very gently. The goats stood still, merely lifting up their heads. Next he played the pasture tune, upon which they all put down their heads and began to graze. Now he produced some notes soft and sweet in tone: at once his herd lay down. After this he piped in a sharp key, and they ran off to the wood, as if a wolf were in sight.” Again, may not the impulse to write this poetry have been derived from Heber’s Spirit of Hebrew Poetry? On p. 197, vol. ii., of the translation, there is a kind of challenge to poets in general: “Take David in the presence of Saul. More than one poet has availed himself of the beauty of this situation; but no one to my knowledge has yet stolen the harp of David, and produced a poem, such even as Dryden’s ode in the composition of Handel, where Timotheus plays before Alexander. If Browning did accept the challenge, it was only to refute the observation by his success.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

Notes.—The Bible story of David playing before Saul is found in 1 Samuel xvi. 14-23. Stanza i., Abner: the son of Ner, captain of Saul’s host (1 Samuel xxvi. 5). Stanza vi., jerboa: a small jumping rodent animal, called also the jumping hare. Stanza viii., Male-Sapphires: the asterias or star-stone, a semi-transparent sapphire. Stanza xiv., Hebron: the most southern of the three cities of refuge west of Jordan; Kidron: a brook in Jerusalem.

Science in Browning. The following are some references to scientific matters in the poet’s works appended to my essay on “Browning as a Scientific Poet” in Browning’s Message to his Time. The list of references makes no pretension to be an exhaustive one—it could be considerably amplified by a careful reperusal of the works—but it will suffice for the purpose:—

The references are to the six-volume edition of the poems, and to the original separate editions of the larger works.

Sebald. The man in Pippa Passes who murdered Ottima’s husband.

Serenade at the Villa, A. (Men and Women, 1855; Lyrics, 1863; Dramatic Lyrics, 1868.) A lover serenades his lady on a sultry summer night; and the burden of his song is that, as he watches through the dark night at her villa, so he vows to watch through life over her path, and shield her from danger and serve her in secret devotion, as he sings to her now while she sleeps. The lady dreamed of music, but slept on, though “the earth turned in her sleep in pain,” Earth has heard many serenades and many vows made only to be broken. The iron gate which ground its teeth to let the serenader pass seemed to be disputing the lover’s protestations; and one fears that if his mistress was like the earth, and “turned in her sleep” too, she would derive little satisfaction from his music.

Setebos. (Caliban and Setebos.) The god of the Patagonians, whom Caliban worships because his mother did so. Caliban thinks he lives in the moon, and has made mankind for his amusement.

Shah ’Abbas. (Ferishtah’s Fancies, III.) Shah ’Abbas, surnamed the Great, was one of the most celebrated of the sovereigns of Persia. He came to the throne at the age of eighteen, in the year 1585. He defeated the predatory Uzbeks, who occupied Khorassan, after a long and severe struggle, in a great battle near Herat (1597), and drove them out of his dominions. He was successful in the wars he waged against the Turks, and thereby greatly extended his dominions. He defeated the united armies of the Turks and Tartars in 1618. Baghdad was taken in 1623. When he died, in 1628, his dominions reached from the Tigris to the Indus. The circumstances narrated in Mr. Browning’s poem are not historical. The subject of the poem is Belief. “It is beautiful, but is it true?” Ferishtah has now achieved dervishhood, and a pupil asks, “Was this life lived, was this death died, not dreamed?” It was answered, “Many attested it for fact.” A cup-bearer left on record a story of the death of the brave Shah ’Abbas of simple fear at discovering a spider in his wine. The cup-bearer was eye-witness of the fact. The Dervish says we must distinguish between the noble act of belief, and mere easy acquiescence. Twenty soldiers testify to the death of a comrade; yet he comes home safe and sound after the wars. He had two sons. One who heard that his father was living rejoiced; the other preferred the evidence of the twenty men who saw him die. Ten years later home comes Ishak. The townsmen bid the man of ready faith go and welcome his father, and the unbelieving one to hide his head. The father would praise the loving heart in preference to the sceptical head. “Is God less wise?” asks Ferishtah. The lyric teaches that the true light of life is love. The dark ways of life and the mysteries of the human heart will prove stones of stumbling and rocks of offence where love is not the guide. With love and truth our obstacles disappear.

Shakespeare. The poem which Mr. Browning wrote for the Shakespearean Show-Book, 1884, commenced with the word “Shakespeare!” See Names, The.

Shop. (Pacchiarotto, with other Poems, 1876.) “As even in science all roads,” it has been said, “lead to the mouth,” so is it with Art and Letters. The poet deplores the life of a tradesman who knows no other use of life but to enable him to drive a roaring business, his “meat and drink but money chink,”—and so, because flesh must be fed, spirit is chained to the counter. The poet would have the tradesman brighten his daily life with art and song, as men do who let their good angels sometimes converse with them, in lands where poets and painters think more of art than money. The danger and wickedness of compelling the soul to be the eternal slave of sordid desires and petty anxieties is pointed out in this poem, and by “shop” we are not only to think of tradesmen, but of all the large class of those who are, like the man in the Pilgrim’s Progress, too busy with the muck-rake to look at the heavens above them, and losing their higher selves in their absorption in earthly employments.

Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis. (See Garden Fancies.) The name of some old scholar, who has written a book, which is read by a profane fellow in a garden, who throws it into a decaying tree, there to be in company with congenial fungi.

“Sighed Rawdon Brown.” (See Rawdon Brown.)

Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister. [Dramatic Lyrics, in Bells and Pomegranates, III., 1842, under the title of “Camp and Cloister—I. Camp (French), II. Cloister (Spanish).”] There is, of course, no historical basis for the subject-matter of this poem; but there is no reason why such things should not occur in a convent or monastery. Human nature, we find, is pretty much the same, under whatever conditions we examine it; and petty malice, ill-nature, and evil passions, find their congenial soil alike in the cloister and the world. Some of the most unpleasant failings of our nature are no doubt directly fostered by cloister life, just as religious people of every class are often censorious, uncharitable in their judgments, pharisaical and severe. Unless monks and nuns are regularly and entirely employed in useful labour, these evil weeds are certain to spring up in the untilled soil of the human heart. Work is the only remedy for pettiness of spirit, and active employment the only atmosphere for the nobler products of the soul. It must never be forgotten, however, that thousands of the most beautiful characters which have blessed the world have been formed in the cloister; such are being formed now, and will continue to be so formed, in direct proportion to the useful work in which its inmates are employed.—To inferior and evil natures the lofty and noble soul is generally an object of hatred and jealousy. In this poem we have a coarse-minded Spanish monk, boiling over with abhorrence of a good, gentle brother, who loves his flowers, trims his bushes and waters his rose trees with tender solicitude for the welfare of his plants, the only things in the monastery he can love. The simple talk of the hated friar at meal-time and recreation disgusts him; he knows in his heart that the good brother is a saint, though he tries in his malice to rake up some remembrance of a wandering look at odd times, and is not so ritualistically exact as he is himself. He spites him by damaging his plants all he can in a sly and ingenious way. He would like him to lose his chances of salvation if he could, so he will endeavour to pervert his orthodoxy and trip him up on his way to heaven; he will slip in amongst his greengages a wicked French novel; or he will even go so far as to ask Satan’s aid,—when, as he meditates all this evil doing, the vesper bell rings and the wicked old fellow goes to his prayers.

Notes.—Verse ii., “Salve tibi”: a salutation, “Hail to thee!” Verse v., Cross-wise: the use of the sign of the cross is traceable to the earliest Christian times; “The Trinity illustrate”: when the sign of the cross is made it is usual to add internally “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” A Catholic remembers the Trinity in numberless ways; Arian: “One who adheres to the doctrines of Arius, a presbyter of the Church in the fourth century, who held Christ to be a created being, inferior to God the Father in nature and dignity, though the first and noblest of created beings.” (Mosheim.) Verse vii., “The great text in the Galatians” I take to be the tenth verse of the third chapter: “For as many as are of the works of the law are under the curse: for it is written, ‘Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.’” “It is written,”—that is to say, in the book of Deuteronomy, xxviii., 15 to 68, wherein are set forth at length the curses for disobedience. Those arithmetically-minded commentators on this poem who have been disappointed in finding only some “seventeen works of the flesh” in Galatians v. 19-21 will find an abundant opportunity for their discrimination in the chapter of Deuteronomy to which I refer. The question to settle is “the twenty-nine distinct damnations.” St. James says in his epistle (ii. 10), that “he who offends against the law in one point is guilty of all.” If, therefore, the envious monk could induce his brother to trust to his works instead of to his faith, he would fall under the condemnation of the law, as explained by St. Paul in his epistle. Manichee: “A follower of Manes, a Persian, who tried to combine the Oriental philosophy with Christianity; and maintained that there are two supreme principles: the first of which, light, was held to be the author of all good; the second, darkness, the author of all evil” (Webster’s Dict.). Verse viii., Belial: an evil spirit; “Plena gratiâ Ave, Virgo!”: probably intended to represent “the angelical salutation,” which is “Ave Maria, gratiâ plena”—“Hail, Mary, full of grace!”

Notes.—Conster: Old English for construe. “spheieron do”: (Greek), his home: the idea of Balkis talking Greek to Solomon is to show what a prig she was. Solomon’s Seal, as Solomon’s ring is commonly called, was celebrated for its potency over demons and genii. It is probably of Hindu origin, and bore the double triangle sign of the Kabalists. (See Isis Unveiled (Blavatsky), vol i., pp. 135-6.) “You cat, you!” Solomon descending to this is exquisitely funny. Habitat: a suitable dwelling-place. Hyssop (1 Kings iv. 33): a plant which grows in crevices of walls. Dr. J. Forbes Royle considers it to be the caper (Capparis spinosa), the asuf of the Arabs. According to the Encyclopædia Britannica, vol. xxiv., p. 738, the land of Sheba is Yemen, in Arabia. The ancient name of the people of Yemen was Saba (Sheba). “The Queen of Sheba who visited Solomon may have come with a caravan trading to Gaza, to see the great king whose ships plied on the Red Sea. The Biblical picture of the Sabæan kingdom is confirmed and supplemented by the Assyrian inscriptions. Tiglath Pileser II. (733 B.C.) tells us that Teima, Sabá, and Haipá (== Ephah, Gen. xxv. 4 and Isa. lx. 6) paid him tribute of gold, silver, and much incense. Similarly Sargon (715 B.C.), in his Annals, mentions the tribute of Shamsi, queen of Arabia, and of Itamara of the land of Sabá, gold and fragrant spices, horses and camels.” The following is the Talmudic legend concerning the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon. “It is said that Solomon ruled the whole world, and this verse is quoted as proof of the assertion: ‘And Solomon was ruling over all the kingdoms, which brought presents, and served Solomon all the days of his life’ (1 Kings iv. 21). All the kingdoms congratulated Solomon as the worthy successor of his father, David, whose fame was great among the nations; all save one, the kingdom of Sheba, the capital of which was called Kitore. To this kingdom Solomon sent a letter: ‘From me, King Solomon, peace to thee and to thy government. Let it be known to thee that the Almighty God has made me to reign over the whole world, the kingdoms of the north, the south, the east, the west. Lo, they have come to me with their congratulations, all save thee alone. Come thou also, I pray thee, and submit to my authority, and much honour shall be done thee; but if thou refusest, behold, I shall by force compel thy acknowledgment.—To thee, Queen Sheba, is addressed this letter in peace from me, King Solomon, the son of David.’ Now, when Queen Sheba received this letter, she sent in haste for her elders and councillors, to ask their advice as to the nature of her reply. They spoke but lightly of the message and the one who sent it; but the Queen did not regard their words. She sent a vessel, carrying many presents of different metals, minerals, and precious stones, to Solomon. It was after a voyage of two years’ time that these presents arrived at Jerusalem; and in a letter intrusted to the captain, the Queen said ‘After thou hast received the message, then I myself will come to thee.’ And in two years after this time Queen Sheba arrived at Jerusalem. When Solomon heard that the Queen was coming, he sent Benayahu, the son of Jehoyadah, the general of his army, to meet her. When the Queen saw him she thought he was the King, and she alighted from her carriage. Then Benayahu asked, ‘Why alightest thou from thy carriage?’ And she answered, ‘Art thou not his majesty, the King?’ No, replied Benayahu, ‘I am but one of his officers.’ Then the Queen turned back and said to her ladies in attendance, ‘If this is but one of the officers, and he is so noble and imposing in appearance, how great must be his superior, the King!’ And Benayahu, the son of Jehoyadah, conducted Queen Sheba to the palace of the King. Solomon prepared to receive his visitor in an apartment laid and lined with glass; and the Queen at first was so deceived by the appearance that she imagined the King to be sitting in water. And when the Queen had tested Solomon’s wisdom[5] and witnessed his magnificence, she said: ‘I believed not what I heard; but now I have come, and my eyes have seen it all, behold, the half has not been told to me. Happy are thy servants who stand before thee continually to listen to thy words of wisdom. Blessed be the Lord thy God, who hath placed thee on a throne to rule righteously and in justice.’ When other kingdoms heard the words of the Queen of Sheba, they feared Solomon exceedingly, and he became greater than all the other kings of the earth in wisdom and in wealth. Solomon was born in the year 2912 A.M., and reigned over Israel forty years. Four hundred and thirty-three years elapsed between the date of Solomon’s reign and that of the Temple’s destruction.” (From Polano’s translation of selections from the Talmud.)

Sonnet:[6]—

“Eyes, calm beside thee, (Lady could’st thou know!)
May turn away thick with fast-gathering tears:
I glance not where all gaze: thrilling and low
Their passionate praises reach thee—my cheek wears
Alone no wonder when thou passest by;
Thy tremulous lids bent and suffused reply
To the irrepressible homage which doth glow
On every lip but mine: if in thine ears
Their accents linger—and thou dost recall
Me as I stood, still, guarded, very pale,
Beside each votarist whose lighted brow
Wore worship like an aureole, ‘O’er them all
My beauty,’ thou wilt murmur, ‘did prevail
Save that one only:’—Lady could’st thou know!
August 17th, 1834 Z.”

Sordello. [The Man.] Sordello was a troubadour, and we have to thank Dante for having made, in his Purgatorio, such frequent reference to him as will preserve his name from oblivion as long as the Divina Commedia is known to the world. Sordello is referred to in the Purgatorio eight times: viz., in Canto vi. 75; vii. 2, 52; viii. 38, 43, 62, 93; ix. 53 (Cary’s translation). In the sixth Canto we are introduced to Sordello thus:—

“But lo! a spirit there
Stands solitary, and toward us looks;
It will instruct us in the speediest way.”
We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit!
How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,
Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes.
It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,
Eying us as a lion on his watch.
But Vergil, with entreaty mild, advanced,
Requesting it to show the best ascent.
It answer to his question none return’d;
But of our country and our kind of life
Demanded—When my courteous guide began,
‘Mantua,’ the shadow, in itself absorb’d,
Rose towards us from the place in which it stood,
And cried, ‘Mantuan! I am thy countryman,
Sordello.’ Each the other then embraced.

Cary’s note is valuable: “The history of Sordello’s life is wrapt in the obscurity of romance. That he distinguished himself by his skill in Provençal poetry is certain; and many feats of military prowess have been attributed to him. It is probable that he was born towards the end of the twelfth, and died about the middle of the succeeding century. Tiraboschi, who terms him the most illustrious of all the Provençal poets of his age, has taken much pains to sift all the notices he could collect relating to him; and has particularly exposed the fabulous narrative which Platina has introduced on this subject in his history of Mantua. Honourable mention of his name is made by our poet in the treatise De Vulg. Eloq., lib. i. cap. 15, where it is said that, remarkable as he was for eloquence, he deserted the vernacular language of his own country, not only in his poems, but in every other kind of writing. Tiraboschi had at first concluded him to be the same writer whom Dante elsewhere (De Vulg. Eloq., lib. ii. c. 13) calls Gottus Mantuanus, but afterwards gave up that opinion to the authority of the Conte d’Arco and the Abate Bettinelli. By Bastero, in his Crusca Provenzale, (ediz. Roma., 1724, p. 94), amongst Sordello’s MS. poems in the Vatican, are mentioned “Canzoni, Tenzoni, Cobbole,” and various “Serventesi,” particularly one in the form of a funeral song on the death of Blancas, in which the poet reprehends all the reigning princes in Christendom.—Many of Sordello’s poems have been brought to light by the industry of M. Raynouard, in his Choix des Poésies des Troubadours and his Lexique Roman.” Sismondi, in his Literature of Europe, vol i., p. 103, says that the real merit of Sordello as a troubadour “consists in the harmony and sensibility of his verses. He was amongst the first to adopt the ballad form of writing; and in one of these which has been translated by Millot, he beautifully contrasts, in the burthen of his ballad, the gaieties of nature, and the ever-reviving grief of a heart devoted to love. Sordel, or Sordello, was born at Goïto, near Mantua, and was for some time attached to the household of the Count of S. Bonifazio, the chief of the Guelf party, in the march of Treviso. He afterwards passed into the service of Raymond Berenger, the last count of Provence of the house of Barcelona. Although a Lombard, he had adopted in his compositions the Provençal language, and many of his countrymen imitated him. It was not at that time believed that the Italian was capable of becoming a polished language. The age of Sordello was that of the most brilliant chivalric virtues and the most atrocious crimes. He lived in the midst of heroes and monsters. The imagination of the people was still haunted by the recollection of the ferocious Ezzelino, tyrant of Verona, with whom Sordello is said to have had a contest, and who was probably often mentioned in his verses. The historical monuments of this reign of blood were, however, little known; and the people mingled the name of their favourite poet with every revolution which excited their terror. It was said that he had carried off the wife of the Count of S. Bonifazio, the sovereign of Mantua; that he had married the daughter or sister of Ezzelino; and that he had fought this monster, with glory to himself. He united, according to popular report, the most brilliant military exploits to the most distinguished poetical genius. By the voice of St. Louis himself he had been recognised, at a tourney, as the most valiant and gallant of knights; and at last the sovereignty of Mantua had been bestowed upon this noblest of the poets and warriors of his age. Historians of credit have collected, three centuries after Sordello’s death, these brilliant fictions, which are, however, disproved by the testimony of contemporary writers. The reputation of Sordello is owing, very materially, to the admiration which has been expressed for him by Dante; who, when he meets him at the entrance of Purgatory, is so struck with the noble haughtiness of his aspect, that he compares him to a lion in a state of majestic repose, and represents Virgil as embracing him on hearing his name.”—I am indebted to Professor Sonnenschein for the following account of the man Sordello, as well as for the valuable notes on the period, and the persons with whom the poem deals. The notes distinguished by the initial [S.] are also due to Professor Sonnenschein’s generous assistance: “All that is known of the real Sordello is that he was a troubadour of the thirteenth century mentioned by his contemporary Rolandin, who states that he eloped with Cuniza, wife of Count Richard de Saint Bonifazio, and sister of Ezzelino da Romano. Some of his poems still survive, and from them a few more facts relating to the poet may be gleaned; and that is the whole of our real knowledge of him. For some reason, however, the poets and romantic historians have made much more of him. First, Dante met him at the portals of Purgatory among those who had perished by violence without a chance of repenting them of their sins. When he saw Vergil he cried: ‘O Montovano io son Sordello, della tua terra’ (‘Oh Mantuan, I am Sordello of thy country!’) Dante, in his poem says he had the appearance and aspect of a lion; and the same author, in a prose treatise on the vulgar tongue, says Sordello excelled in all kinds of poetry and aided in founding the Italian language by numerous words skilfully borrowed from the dialects of Cremona, Brescia and Verona. A century later Benvenuto d’Imola, in a commentary on the works of Dante, says Sordello was a citizen of Mantua, an illustrious and able warrior and a courtier, who lived in the reign of Ezzelin da Romano, whose sister Cuniza fell in love with him and invited him to a rendezvous. Ezzelino, disguised as a servant, discovered them together, but permitted Sordello to escape upon promising not to return. Yielding, however, again to the entreaties of Cuniza, he was again discovered by her watchful brother, and fled. He was pursued and slain by the emissaries of Ezzelino. Benvenuto, who gives no authority for his statements, also says that Sordello was the author of a book which he admits never to have seen, called Thesaurus thesaurorum. About the same time some biographical notices of the troubadours, written in the language of Provence, mention Sordello as having been the son of a poor knight of Mantua. At an early age he composed numerous songs and poems, which gained him admittance to the court of the Count of St. Boniface. He fell in love with the wife of that lord, and eloped with her. The fugitives were received by the lady’s brothers, who were at war with St. Boniface. After a time he left the lady there, and passed into Provence, where his talents obtained such brilliant recognition that he was soon the owner of a château, and made an honourable marriage. Early in the next century Aliprando wrote a fabulous rhyming chronicle of Milan, in which Sordello plays a conspicuous part. In this he is a member of the family of Visconti, born at Goïto. He began his literary career in early youth by producing a book called The Treasure. Arms proving more attractive, by the time he was twenty-five he was distinguished for his bravery, his address, his nobility, and the grace of his demeanour, although he was small of stature. Accepting many challenges, he was always victorious, and sent the vanquished knights to tell his deeds of valour to the King of France. At the invitation of that prince he was about to cross the Alps, when he yielded to the entreaties of Ezzelino and went to reside with him at Verona. There he long resisted the advances, the prayers, the entreaties of Ezzelino’s sister Beatrice. At last he fled to Mantua, but was followed by Beatrice disguised as a man. He finally yielded, and married her. A few days later he left her, and went to France, where he spent several months with the court at Troyes, where his valour, his gallantry and his poetic talents were greatly admired. After being knighted by the King, who gave him three thousand francs and a golden falcon, he returned to Italy. All the towns received him with pomp, as the first warrior of his time. The Mantuans came out to meet him, but he passed on to Verona to reclaim his bride. When he returned with her, he was welcomed with eight days of public rejoicing. After that, Ezzelino laid siege to Mantua, but was driven away by Sordello, who afterwards aided the Milanese against him and gave him the wound of which he died. What became of him afterwards does not appear; but this chronicle, which was a mass of anachronisms, romances, and fictions, was largely drawn upon by the historic writers of the next century, many of whom have adopted the story of Sordello as therein told, and of the Lady Beatrice who never existed. In the sixteenth century, Nostradamus, in his Lives of Provençal Poets, says: Sordello was a Mantuan, who at the age of fifteen years entered the service of Berenger, Count of Provence. His verses were preferred to those of Folquet de Marseille, Perceval Doria, and all the other Genoese and Tuscan poets. He made very beautiful songs, not about love, but on subjects relating to philosophy. He translated into Provençalese a digest of the laws, and wrote a historical treatise on the Kings of Aragon and Provence. Darenou, to whom I am indebted for most of my information, after examining all of these and some later authorities, considers that the only certain facts are those written by Rolandin shortly after Sordello’s death. Dante was so nearly contemporaneous that he also may be taken as an authority. Of his Italian poems, and his prose works, nothing is known to have survived; but at least thirty-four of his Provençalese poems still exist. Of these one-half are love songs of the most pronounced type, despite the statement of Nostradamus to the contrary. Several have been translated into French, and some are said to be of a high character. In one, the poet boasts of his conquests and his fickleness. Some are in the form of dialogues, in which he discusses such questions as, Whether it be better for a lover to die or continue to exist after the loss of his beloved; or Whether it be right to sacrifice love to honour, or to prefer the glory of knightly combat to love. In a poetic letter to the Count of Provence, he begs that prince not to send him to the Crusades, as he cannot make up his mind to cross the seas, and wishes to delay as long as possible entering into life eternal. In several of his poems he violently attacks Pierre Vidal, the troubadour, whom he seems to have hated bitterly. The whole story is a curious instance of development. Originally a troubadour, apparently with most of the vices, faults, and virtues of the typical troubadour of the thirteenth century, he gradually became, as the centuries advanced, first a hero of romance, a preux-chevalier and model Italian knight-errant, and finally that which we see Mr. Browning has made of him. In Sismondi I find the following concerning Sordello: “Two men, superior in character to these court parasites, about this time attained great reputations in the Lombard republics, through their Provençalese songs. One of these, Ugo Cattola, devoted his talents to combating the corruption and tyranny of princes; the other, Sordello de Mantua, is enveloped in mysterious obscurity. The writers of the following century speak of him with profound respect, without giving us any details of his life. Those who came later have made him a magnanimous warrior, a valiant defender of his country, and some even a prince of Mantua. The nobility of his birth and his marriage with a sister of Eccelino da Romana, are attested by his contemporaries. His violent death is obscurely indicated by the great Florentine poet; and the only claims to immortality that remain to Sordello to-day are his words and actions mentioned by Dante in the Purgatorio.” The following is also given in Sismondi as one of the few surviving specimens of Sordello’s poetry. It is called:

Tensa de Sordel et de Peyre Guilhem.

The poem of Sordello is a picture of the troublous times of the early part of the thirteenth century in North Italy, and is the history of the development of Sordello’s soul. Frederick II. is Emperor and Honorius III. is Pope. Frederick II., the noblest of mediæval princes, the man who suffered much because he was centuries in advance of his time, is too well known to need any description. To understand the causes of the conflicts in which Lombardy was engaged, we must go back to the time of Charlemagne, who took the Lombard king Desiderius prisoner, in 774, and destroyed the Lombard kingdom. Luitprand, the sovereign of the Lombards from 713 to 726, had extended the dominion of Lombardy into Middle Italy. The Popes found this dominion too formidable, so they solicited the assistance of the Frankish kings. The whole of Upper Italy had been conquered by the Lombards in the sixth century. “Charles, with the title of King of the Franks and Lombards, then became the master of Italy. In 800, the Pope, who had crowned Pepin King of the Franks, claimed to bestow the Roman Empire, and crowned his greater son Emperor of the Romans” (Encyc. Brit.). Now began a vast system in North Italy of episcopal “immunities,” which made the bishops temporal sovereigns. In the eleventh century the Lombard cities had become communes and republics, managing their own affairs and making war on their troublesome neighbours. Leagues and counter-leagues were formed, and confederacies of cities even dared to challenge the strength of Germany. Otto the Great’s empire, in the early years of the tenth century, consisted of Germany and Lombardy, with the Romagna and Burgundy; and it was Otto who fixed the principle, that to the German king belonged the Roman crown. The crown of Germany was at this period elective, although it often passed in one family for several generations. Struggles for supremacy between the two powers took place in the reign of the Emperor Henry IV. of Franconia and the papacy of Gregory VII., the famous Hildebrand. It was the struggle between Church and State destined to be fraught with so much misery. The contest ended at this period in a compromise; but most of the gains were on the side of the Pope. It was renewed with great fierceness in the reign of Frederick I. of Hohenstaufen, called Barbarossa or “Red Beard,” who came to the throne in 1152. He bestowed on the Empire the title of Holy. The cities of Lombardy were commonwealths, somewhat after the fashion of those of ancient Greece; they had grown very rich and powerful, and whilst they admitted the Emperor’s authority in theory, were averse to the practice of submission. The city of Milan, by her attacks on a weaker neighbour, who appealed to Frederick for aid, began a war which resulted in the Peace of Constance in 1183, by which the Emperor abandoned all but a nominal authority over the Lombard League. The son and successor of Frederick—Henry VI.—began to reign in 1190; he married Constance, heiress of the Norman kingdom of Sicily, which was a fief of the papal crown. After the death of Henry VI., Philip, his brother, began to reign, in 1198. In 1208, Otho IV., surnamed the Superb, ascended the throne, and was crowned Emperor. The next year he was excommunicated and deposed. In 1212, Frederick II., King of Sicily, who was the son of Henry VI., began his reign, he received the German crown at Aix-la-Chapelle, 1215, and the Imperial crown of Rome, 1230. When he died he possessed no fewer than six crowns,—the Imperial crown, and the crowns of Germany, Burgundy, Lombardy, Sicily, and Jerusalem. He had assumed the cross, and in 1220 he left his Empire for a space of fifteen years, to accomplish the crusade and to carry on the war with the Lombard cities and the Pope (Gregory IX.). John of Brienne, the dethroned King of Jerusalem, who was afterwards Emperor of the East, had a daughter named Yolande, whom Frederick married. He sent a bunch of dates to Frederick to remind him of his promised crusade. When that sovereign formed the army of the East, he left his young son Henry to represent him in Germany. Frederick was deposed by his subjects, and died in 1250, naming his son Conrad as his successor. In the beginning of the reign of Conrad III., 1138, the Imperial crown was contested by Henry the Proud Duke of Saxony. It was at this time that the contests between the factions, afterwards so famous in history as those of the Guelfs and the Ghibellines, began. Duke Henry had a brother named Welf, the leader of the Saxon forces. They used his name as their battle cry, and the Swabians responded by crying out the name of the village where their leader, the brother of Conrad, had been born—namely, Waibling. The Welfs and the Waiblings were therefore the originals of the terms Guelfs and Ghibellines.—“The Romano Family.” During the reign of Conrad II. (1024-39) a German gentleman, named Eccelino, accompanied that Emperor to Italy, with a single horse, and so distinguished himself that, as a reward for his services, he received the lands of Onaro and Romano in the Trevisan marches. This founder of a powerful house, famous for its crimes, was succeeded by Alberic, and he by another Eccelino, called the First and also le Bègue—‘the Stammerer.’ These gentlemen largely augmented their patrimony, acquiring Bassano, Marostica, and many other estates situated to the north of Vicenza, Verona, and Padua; so that their fief formed a small principality, equal in power to either of its neighbouring republics; and as the factions of the towns sought to strengthen themselves by alliances with them, the Seigneurs de Romano were soon regarded as the chiefs of the Ghibelline party in all Venetia. Eccelin le Bègue and Tisolin de Campo St. Pierre, a Paduan noble, were warm friends, and the latter was married to a daughter of the former, and had a son grown to manhood. Cecile, orphan daughter and heiress of Manfred Ricco d’Abano, was offered in marriage, by her guardians, to the young St. Pierre; but the father before concluding the advantageous alliance, thought it proper to consult his friend and father-in-law, Eccelino. That gentleman, however, wished to obtain this great fortune for his own son, and secretly bribed the lady’s guardians to deliver her up to him, when he carried her off to his castle of Bassano and then hurriedly married her to his son. This treachery made the whole family of Campo St. Pierre indignant, and they vowed vengeance. They had not long to wait for their opportunity. Several months after the marriage, the wife of the young Eccelino went on a visit to her estates in the Paduan territory, with a suite more brilliant than valiant. Tisolin’s son, Gerard, who was to have been Cecile’s husband, and was now her nephew, seized her and carried her off from the midst of her retinue to his castle of St. André. Cecile, escaping after a time, returned to Bassano and related her terrible misfortune to her husband, who at once repudiated her, and she afterwards married a Venetian nobleman. The two families had, however, thus founded a mutual hate, which descended from father to son, and cost many lives and much blood. In the meantime, Eccelino II.’s power was augmented by this marriage and the one he afterwards contracted. He made alliances with the republics of Verona and Padua; and he soon required their aid, for in 1194, when one of his enemies was chosen podesta of Vicenza, he, his family, and the whole faction of Vivario, were exiled from the city. Before submitting, he undertook to defend himself by setting fire to his neighbours’ houses; and a great portion of the town was destroyed during the insurrection. These were the first scenes of disorder and bloodshed which greeted the eyes of Eccelino III. or the Cruel, who was born a few weeks before. Exile from Vicenza was not a severe sentence for the lords of Romano; for they retired to Bassano, in the midst of their own subjects, and called around them their partisans, who were persecuted as they themselves were, without the same resources. By the aid thus given with apparent generosity, they degraded their associates, transforming their fellow-citizens into mercenary satellites, and increasing their influence in the town, from which their exile could not be of long duration. The Veronese interfered to establish peace in Vicenza. They had the Romanos recalled, with all their party; and an arrangement was made by which two podestas were chosen at the same time, one by each party. In 1197, however, the Vicenzese again chose a single podesta, hostile to Eccelino, and this time not only banished the Romanos, but declared war against them, and sent troops to besiege Marostica. Eccelino, placed between three republics, could choose his own allies; and decided now upon Padua. The Paduan army attacked that of Vicenza, near Carmignano, and took two thousand prisoners. The Vicenzese called upon the Veronese to assist them, and together they invaded the Paduan territory, desolating it up to the very walls of the city, and so frightening the Paduans that they delivered up all of their prisoners without waiting to consult Eccelino. That prince took this opportunity to break with Padua, and called upon Verona to arbitrate between him and Vicenza, giving them as hostages his young daughter and his strongest two castles, Bassano and Anganani. By this thorough confidence he so won the affection of the podesta of Verona that he concluded peace for him with Vicenza and the whole Guelf party, and then returned his castles to him. The Paduans revenged themselves by confiscating Onaro, the first estate possessed by the Romano family in Italy.—Salinguerra. William Marchesella des Adelard, chief of the Guelf party in Ferrara, had the misfortune to see all the male heirs of his house, his brother and all his sons, perish before him. An only daughter of his brother, named Marchesella, remained, and he declared her the sole heiress to his immense estates, naming the son of his sister as heir should Marchesella die without children. Tired of warfare, and hoping to ensure peace to his distracted country, he determined to do so by uniting the leading families of the two factions. Salinguerra, son of Torrello, was at the head of the Ghibellines in Ferrara; and William not only offered his niece to him in marriage, but actually before his death placed her, then a child of seven years, in his hands to be reared and educated. The Guelfs were, however, unwilling to permit the heiress of their leading family to remain in the hands of their enemies; and they could not consent to transfer their affection and allegiance to those with whom they had fought for so long a time. They therefore found an opportunity to surprise Salinguerra’s palace, and abduct Marchesella, whom they placed in the palace of the Marquis d’Este, choosing Obizzo d’Este to be her husband, and placing her property in the hands of the Marquis. In the end Marchesella died before she was married; her cousins, designated by William, in this event, to be his heirs, were afraid to claim the estates, and the whole property continued in the hands of the Este family. In the meantime the insult offered to Salinguerra was keenly resented. The abduction took place in 1180, and for nearly forty years afterwards civil war continued within the walls of Ferrara without ceasing. During those years, ten times one faction drove the other out of the city, ten times all the property of the vanquished was given up to pillage, and all their houses razed to the ground.—Eccelino and Salinguerra. In 1209 Otho IV. entered Italy, and held his court near Verona. All the chief lords of Venetia—but especially Eccelino II., de Romano, and Azzo VI., Marquis d’Este—were summoned to attend. Those two gentlemen had profited by the long interregnum which preceded Otho’s reign to increase their influence in the marches, and the factions were more bitter against each other than ever. These factions had different reasons for existing in the different towns; but they quickly adopted the newly introduced names of Guelf and Ghibelline, and a common tie was thus suddenly formed between the factions in the various places. Thus, by the mere adoption of a name, Salinguerra in Ferrara and the Montecci in Verona, found themselves allies of Eccelino; and, on the other hand, the Adelards of Ferrara, Count St. Bonifazio at Verona and Mantua, and the Campo St. Pierre at Padua, were all allies of the Marquis d’Este. The year before, Este, after a short banishment, had re-entered Ferrara, and had succeeded in being declared lord of that city,—the first time that an Italian republic abandoned its rights for the purpose of voluntarily submitting to a tyrant. About the same time the Marquis had gained an important victory over Eccelino and his party; but, at the moment when the Emperor entered Italy, Eccelino had gained some advantages over the Vicenzese, and thought himself on the point of capturing the city. Azzo marched against him, whereupon Salinguerra entered Ferrara and drove out all of Azzo’s adherents. The summons sent to the chiefs to meet the Emperor no doubt prevented a bloody battle and a useless massacre. (See note, p. 500; see also the article, Taurello Salinguerra, in this work.) In 1235, after a long and turbulent reign, full of vicissitudes, Eccelino II. retired into a monastery, and divided his principality between his two sons, Eccelino III. and Alberic. The latter remained at Treviso; but Eccelino III. became very powerful, kept all Italy in turmoil, and was notorious for his infamous tyrannies and cruelties. In 1255 he was excommunicated by the Pope, Alexander IV., and a crusade was preached against him. He fought against his enemies from that time, with varying success and stubborn courage, until 1259, when he was wounded in battle and taken prisoner. The leaders of the enemy with difficulty protected him from the fury of the soldiers and the people; but he himself tore the bandages from his wounds, and died on the eleventh day of his captivity. All the cities which he had conquered and oppressed at once revolted; and Treviso, where Alberic had reigned ever since his fathers abdication, revolted and drove him out. Alberic, with his family, took refuge in his fortress of San Zeno, in the Euganean mountains; but the league of Guelf cities declared against him, and the troops of Venice, Treviso, Vicenza, and Padua surrounded the castle, where they were soon joined by the Marquis d’Este. Traitors delivered up the outworks; but Alberic and his wife, two daughters and six sons, took refuge on the top of a tower. After three days, compelled by hunger, he delivered himself up to the Marquis, at the same time reminding him that one of his daughters was the wife of Renaud d’Este. In spite of this, however, he and his family were all murdered and torn to pieces, and their dismembered bodies divided among all the cities over which the hated Romano family had tyrannised. In 1240 Gregory IX. preached a crusade against the Emperor Frederick II., and a crusading army surrounded Ferrara, where Salinguerra, then more than eighty years old, had reigned for some time as prince and as head of the Ghibellines. He successfully defended the city for some time; but when attending a conference, to which he was invited by his enemies, he was treacherously captured and sent to Venice, where, after five years’ imprisonment, he died.” [S.]

[The Poem.] Sordello is Browning’s Hamlet, and is the most obscure of all Mr. Browning’s poems. It has been aptly compared to a vast palace, in which the architect has forgotten to build a staircase. Its difficulties are not merely those which are inseparable from an attempt to trace the development of a soul,—such a work without obscurity could only deal with a very simple soul,—but are consequent on the remoteness of time in which the political events and historical circumstances which formed the environment of Sordello’s existence took place, and the partial interest which the majority of readers feel concerning those events. The work deals with the struggles of the Guelfs and Ghibellines; and it is necessary to possess a fair knowledge of the history of the times, places, and persons concerned before we can grasp the mere outlines of the story. It must be admitted, whether we allow the charge of obscurity or not, that Mr. Browning never helps his reader. He may or may not actually hinder him: it is certain that he does not go out of his way to assist him. The first step towards understanding Sordello, then, is to gain some acquaintance with the period and personages of the story. The work is full of beauty. Probably no poet ever poured out such wealth of richest thought with such princely liberality as Mr. Browning has done in this much discussed poem. It is like a Brazilian forest, in which, though we shall almost certainly lose our way, it will be amidst such profusion of floral loveliness that it will be a delight to be buried in its depths.

Book I.—The poem in its first scene places us in imagination in Verona six hundred years ago. A restless group has gathered in its market-place to discuss the news which has arrived,—that their prince, Count Richard of St. Boniface, the great supporter of the cause of the Guelfs, who had joined Azzo, the lord of Este, to depose the Ghibelline leader, Tauzello Salinguerra, from his position in Ferrara, has become prisoner in Ferrara; and in consequence immediate aid is demanded from the “Lombard League of fifteen cities that affect the Pope.” The Pope supported the Guelf cause, the Kaiser that of the Ghibellines. The leaders of the two causes are described, and the principles of which each was the representative. We are next introduced to Sordello; not in his youth, but in a supreme moment before the end of his career—a moment which has to determine his future. How this pregnant moment has come about, and how the past has fashioned the present, the poet now proceeds to explain. We are taken back to the castle of Goïto, when Sordello was a boy already of the regal class of poets, musing by the marble figures of the fountain, and finding companions in the embroidered figures on the arras. Adelaide, wife of Eccelino da Romano, the Ghibelline prince, was mistress of the castle. Sordello was only a page, known only as the orphan of Elcorte, an archer, who, in the slaughter of Vicenza, had saved his mistress and her new-born son at the cost of his own life. The son was afterwards known as Eccelin the Cruel. Sordello led the ideal life of a poet child at Goïto. All nature was a scene of enchantment to him, was endowed with form and colour from his own rich fancy. But Sordello was not content with living his own life, he must combine in his person the lives of his imaginary heroes. He will be perfect: he chooses Apollo as his ideal: he must love a woman to match his high ambition. He aims at Palma, Eccelin’s only child by his former wife, Agnes Este, but who has been already set apart, for reasons of state, as the wife of Count Richard of St. Boniface, the Guelf. Palma, however, it is reported in the castle, will refuse him. Sordello anxiously awaits his opportunity. The return of Adelaide to the castle demands the services of the troubadours: Sordello’s chance lies this way.

Book II. shows us Sordello setting forth on a bright spring day, full of hope that he will meet Palma. Arriving at Mantua, he finds a Court of Love, in which his lady sits enthroned as queen, and the troubadour Eglamor contending for her prize against all comers. Eglamor seems to make but a poor affair of the story he is singing. He ceases. Sordello knows the story too, and feels that he can do better with it. He springs forward, and with true inspiration sings a new song to the old idea transfigured. He has won the prize from Palma’s hands. Swooning with joy, he is carried back to Goïto, the poet’s crown on his brow and Palma’s scarf round his neck. Eglamor is dead with spite, and the troubadours have a new chief. Thus was Sordello poet, Master of the Realms of Song. He will slumber: he can arise in his strength any day. He is summoned to Mantua to sing to order. He finds the idea of work distasteful; but he conquers, and is crowned with honours. But he feels he has only been loving song’s results, not song for its own sake; his failure to reach his ideal destroys the pleasure derived from his success. Soon the true Sordello vanished, sundered in twain, the poet thwarting the man. The man and bard was gone; internal struggles frittered his soul; he became too contemptuous, and so he neither pleased his patrons nor himself. He falls lower and lower, abjures the soul in his songs, and contents himself with body. His degradation is complete. Meanwhile Adelaide dies, and Eccelin resolves to forsake the world and the Emperor, and come to terms with the Pope. Taurello rages furiously at this news, and returns to Mantua. Sordello is chosen to sound his praises. “’Tis a test, remember,” says Naddo. But Sordello loathes the task: he will not sing at all, and runs away to Goïto.