The Express.
London, England, 1868-12-18 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

Tke lii*g and tAe Book. By ROBERT BiLOWNDM.
In four vols. Vol. 1. Smith, Elder, and Co. 1868.
Mr. Browning has given us the first instalment
of a poem which promises to be one of the longest
in the English language.
It is impossible justly to estimate such a work
from a single portion of it. A poem, like • pic-
ture, must be studied as a whole, for thus only
are we able to appreciate the conception of the
master, and we must express our surprise that •
poet like Mr. Browning, whose knowledge of art
is as profound as his power of expression is extra-
ordinary, should have been induced to publish a
work like this in detachments. Probably Mr.
Browning felt that in an age of light reading and
easy study, the British public, who, as ho says,
like him nut, would have shown their dislike of a
lOC= in four volumes by neglecting it altogether,
whereas the same public might be capable of
digesting seventeen hundred lines a month from
one of the wealthiest and most original minds
which this century has produced. The force and
richness of Mr. Browning's intellect has been
never more apparent than in the volume before
us; we must add also that the faults of his com-
position, its obscurity, its harshness, its want of
musical charm, its parenthetical breaks, its gro-
tesque arrangement arc as obvious as ever. Mr.
Brow fling, like all true poets, exacta a great deal
from his readers; but, unlike the greatest motors,
ho gcnerally demands a two-fold labour, and com-
pels you to master his language before you can
commence the study of his thought.
" The Ring and the Book" is the story of the
murder of a wife by a husband, as related in an
old volume which the poet professes to have dia-
covcred on a bookstall in Florence :
Do you tee this square old yellow Book, I toss
1' the air, and catch again, and twirl about

By the crumpled vellum co; ers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,

And Mainly high-blooded, ticked two centuries since!
Ezamine it younelves !

He reads it in the streets, and before reaching his
home in Casa Gulch has mastered its contents,
which concern $ certain nobleman, Guido Prances-
chini, who in the year 1698 enters a house in
Rome with four cut-throats, and slays his young
wife and an old couple who had passed themselves
off as bur parents. The murder was committed
on the ground that Pompilia, the wife, who is
only seventeen years old, and has just borne him
a son, had eloped with a young priest, Canon
Caponsacchi by name, a lover

With goodly shoulderblade and proper leg,
A portly make and a symmetric shape,
And curia that clustered to the tonsure quite.

Guido awoke one morning to find his bird flown,
whereupon he followed to Castelnuovo, and
there discovered Pompilia and the priest, whose
reasons for their flight, if not satisfactory to the
husband, were so far accepted by the authorities
that the wife was permitted to remain apart from
Guido, and the priest was only enjoined a tem-
porary penance. Guido thereupon claims a di-
vorce, which is met by a counter claim from
Pompilia; after which Porapilia leaves the sister-
hood on the plea of ill-health, and betakes herself
to the old people who call themselves her parents
at Rome. There the murder was accomplished,
and there after a trial, in which they " wrangled,
brangled, jangled for a month," Count Guido
appeals to the Pope en the ground that he has
talon minor. orders., awl is by him adjudged to
death.

The poem which hangs upon this common-place
crime is full of picturesque descriptions, weighty
thoughts, and dramatic sketches which are singu-
hu•ly powerful and life-like. Mr. Browning
relates the opinions of half Rome in favour of the
Count, and then the opinions of the other half in
favour of his wife, and in the narrative which is
blended with the arguments on both sides, the
power of the artist's hand is everywhere apparent.
Here is a picture of the scene in the church when
the murdered bodies are exposed :

From dawn till now that it is growing dusk,
A multitude has flocked and filled the church,
Corning and going, coming back again,
Till to count crazed one. Rome was at the show.

People climbed up the columns, fought for spikes
0' the chapel-rail to perch themselves upon,
Jumped over and so broke the wooden work
Painted like porphyry to deceive the eye ;
Nerve the priests right ! The organ-loft was crammed,
Women were fainting, no few light. ensued,
In short, it was a show repaid your pains :
For, though their room was scant undoubtedly,
Yet they did manage matter*, to be Jest,
A little at this Lorenzo. Body o' me !
I raw a body exposed once . . . never mind !
Enough that here the bodies had their due.
No stinginess in wax, a row all round,
And one big taper at each head and foot.
So, people pushed their way, and took their tarn,
Saw, threw their eyes up, crossed themselves, gave plane
To pressure from behind-, since all the world
Knew the old pair, could talk the tragedy
Over from firstto last.

And here is a very characteristic passage which
describes the love passages between the Canon and
Pompilia and the first feeling of jealousy in the
Count :

He, not a visitor at Guido's house,
Emma en acquaintance, but in prime request
With the magnetos of Arezzo, was seen hero,
Heard there, felt everywhere in Ouido's path
If Cuido's wife's path he her husband's too.
Now be threw comfits at the theatre
Into her lap,—what harm in Carnival P
Now he premed close till his foot touched her 'Town,
His Lund brushed hers,—how help ou promenade?
And, ever on weighty Impiet', found his steps
lbeiine to a certain haunt of doubtful fame

Which limited Guido's reboil by mere chance;
NVl.ile—huw do accidents sometime,' combine !
Pompilia chose to cloister up her charms
hit M a chamber that tierlooked the street.
Fut thereto pray, or peep thence at mankind.
This leafage of arms and wits amused the town.
At last the huabaud lifted iyobrow,—bent
On day-hook and the study how to wring
Half the due i intage from tho worn-out vines
At the villa, tease a quarter the old rent
From the farmstead., tenants swore would tumble suon,—
Pricked up his ear a-singing day and night
With "ruin, ruin; '—and so surprised at last—
Why, what else but a titter 'r Up he jumps.
Bark to mind come three scratching' at the grange,
Prints of the paw about the outhouse ; rife
In his head at once again are word and wink.
Nees here and budget there, the smell o' the fez,
The musk o'the gallant. " Friends, there's hammer

-ems r'

The proper help of friends in such • Minit
le waggery, the world over. Laugh him free
0' the regular joaloua-fit that's incident
To all old husbands that wed brisk young wives,
And he'll go duly docile all his days.
" Somebody courts your wife, count ? Where and when I
" How and why ? Nue horn-rombises : have a ears 1
" Your lady loves her own roam sticks to it,
"Locks baud in for hours, you my yourself.
"And—what, its Clapamacchi maansyou harm t
"The Oman t We CMOS him, he's the world's,
"A man of suck aotieptance.—never dream,
"Though be were fifty times the for you fear,
"He risk his brush for your partieuhir chtck.
When the wide town's hi hen-roost! Fin o' the fool ! "
Ku they dispensed their comfort of a kind.
The mauler may (Nisi that such extracts as
these are evidenotet rather of intellectual vigour