CHAPTER IX.

POEMS OF LIFE AND DUTY, AND BROWNING'S CRITICISM" OF LIFE.

HAVING studied the rise of Browning's art, and the ideas and aims of his earlier works, I propose now to take his work more at large, and to consider certain groups of poems with regard to their substance rather than their form.

And, first, I take a group dealing with certain problems and parts of life, on the ground that they throw light from this poet's mind on questions of duty and spiritual culture. To do this, I know, is likely to please some and offend others—to please unduly those who care for literature only as it has ethical value; to offend those who think it should have no such value or bearing. All cordial readers of Browning are thought to belong to the first class, and Browning is their prophet. But, though this is true of some of the poet's readers, it is not true of the poet, nor is it a possible view of literature. Browning's poetry, in spite of its inward problems and spiritual

quality, is as just and profound in its idea of literature as in its ideal of life, and both are necessary to wise and great writing.

But the question now touched has been much discussed, and of all recent poets Browning is thought to raise it. Let us consider it so far as to make clear our point of view. Literature, some think, should be ethically neutral, simply human, its "use" consisting in its interest and its beauty only. But what, we must ask, is meant by "simply human"? Morality is a very human interest, and may surely occupy the place in literature it has in life. Truth, too, is an interest of man as well as beauty. And if beauty be art's vision of truth and sense of man's pleasure in it, there must be regard for truth, and not for beauty simply. While all literature of power has sprung from a passion and care for human life that laughs to scorn the exclusion of any of its interests, its "voice has been to the sons of men," its thoughts about the life of man, and the modern mind is only more explicit and deliberate in the matter, more spiritual and universal.

But, granting the principle, and allowing some relations to be normal, the question may be thought to have been shifted, not solved, because we have still to define the right relation. Is it, for instance, that held by some earnest people who think literature nothing if not "moral"? But morality, and still more life, includes much these good people do not include in their conception, and their view is even

narrower on its literary than on its ethical side. How, then, shall we indicate the right relation? A phrase put forth by a critic, whose phrases are often happy and light-giving, has been taken as fairly answering the question. He described the relation of literature to life as "criticism of life," and declared the higher value of literature to depend essentially on its worth in this respect. By some it has been thought that this is really a Puritanic view of letters, and that Mr. Arnold only stated that personal bias and inner thought which he has shown in all his later writings when he put forth that view. As he had said, besides, that "conduct is three parts of life," and as literature must to that extent be concerned with "conduct," the matter seemed very serious. Mr. Arnold's care for literature and mastery of it is so true that I should not much fear the effects of his "Hebraism;" but his phrase is not large enough, and may be put to perverse uses. Shall we say, then, that literature is the expression and interpretation of life, wise, large, and free, and that according to the power, breadth, and truth with which it grasps and states man's experience will be its value to men?

And how is this done? In what ways does literature help men to interpretation of life? Not in any way of "criticism" in the narrower sense, let us be clear. The proper concern of art is with life, and not with notions about it. It must present life itself in such ways that men shall see it as they could not by their own insight. It must put some significant

part of life so that its significance may be felt. That is art's first and proper business. But that is only representation? Let us not mistake. Neither in science nor in art is the pure objective possible or intelligible. In other words, art is not life, but life as seen through the mind and experience of the artist. The ethical value of a writer will therefore depend on the power and reach of the man, on his scope and sanity of nature; not only on his point of view and the value of his distinctive ideas, but on the power and passion he has put into his work; not on his wisdom only, but on his vital power.

If this be our standpoint, and these our principles, how do matters stand as regards the value and characteristics of Browning's work as interpretation of life? How does he help his readers? After what has been above said of the poet's qualities, it will be seen that in all the ways just named he helps them. The man himself is a moral power of great worth and energy. He has breadth, variety, and strength of nature; great force, not so much of single qualities as of many qualities acting well together. He rouses you to the reality and to the interest of life; to the valour and force of man's will and mind. He braces you by the vigour and clearness of his own temper and bearing, both by the firmness of his hold on things and by his manliness. His frank acceptance and straightforward enjoyment are in the nature of a witness to the worth and health of things, with many uses on the poet's own time.

And in the matter of moral truth and moral impressions, the personality of a writer has much to do with his influence. No man can ever convey explicitly the whole reason of any of his deeper convictions, still less of that most complex conviction which we call his "view of life." And it is the humanity of a writer, the "open secret" of his sense of things as a whole and his own relation to them, that moves and helps us beyond all he directly conveys. Browning has much of this kind of power and value.

It often happens that characters of much breadth lose something of power. It seems as if here the breadth and the power proved themselves together, and found means of conveying themselves through the work. There is power at every point, and yet, except on certain great principles, no emphasis.

So this poet has essential moral truth, essential spiritual power, yet great freedom and naturalness; a large independence of rules and opinions, and yet a strong hold of those principles which alone get to the heart of duty and right. He has, as moralist and as poet, the instinct and sympathy of life; a care for what is alive or makes for life.

And it is, I think, in this vital power, not only of the poet, but of his poetry in its whole principle and scope, that great part of his ethical value consists. His poetry is almost wholly dramatic, free and varied representation of the facts of life and of the minds of men; and by this he liberates our humanity, teaching lessons of intelligence and sympathy-nay, giving