LECTURE V
CHRISTMAS EVE AND EASTER DAY (ii)

Thus in the opening lines of Easter Day is suggested the subject occupying the entire poem: a consideration of the difficulty attendant upon an acceptance of the Christian faith, sufficiently practical in character to serve as the mainspring of life. The difficulty is not solved at the close, since identical in form with the earlier assertion is the final decision

I find it hard
To be a Christian. (ll. 1030-1031.)

Nevertheless, the nature of the position has been modified. The obstacles in the way of faith are no longer regretted as a bar to progress, rather are they welcomed as an impetus towards the increase of spiritual vitality and growth. It is the work of the intervening reflections and resultant deductions to effect this change, by supplying a reasonable hypothesis on which to base an explanation of the existent conditions of life.

As with Christmas Eve, so here, for a full appreciation of the arguments advanced, some understanding is essential of the character of the speaker. It is at once obvious that he who finds it hard to be a Christian may not be identified with the critic of the GÖttingen lecturer: but, that no loophole may be left for question, the statement is directly made in Section XIV.

On such a night three years ago,
It chanced that I had cause to cross
The common, where the chapel was,
Our friend spoke of, the other day. (ll. 372-375.)

Later, in the same Section (ll. 398-418), a descriptive touch is supplied, recalling curiously Browning’s estimate of himself in Prospice.

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
And bade me creep past.

Thus the first speaker in Easter Day refers to his childish aversion to uncertainty, even though uncertainty meant present safety.

I would always burst
The door ope, know my fate at first. (ll. 417-418.)

This then is the man, a fearless fighter, an uncompromising investigator who, whilst he would “fain be a Christian,” is yet bound to reject a mere uncritical acceptance of the tenets of Christianity. Opposed to him in the first twelve Sections is a second speaker to whom, somewhat strangely it would seem, the designation sceptic has been applied. The title in its virtual sense, is, indeed, justly applicable, but in the ordinary acceptation might possibly prove misleading. It is a fact of common experience that among professing Christians, of whatever form of creed, are to be found those who, in that peculiar crisis of life when death removes from sight those dearest to them, go back from the fundamental tenets of a faith in which hitherto their confidence appeared to have been unshaken. Even that main pillar of faith, a belief in the immortality of the soul, lies temporarily shattered. Such failure suggests itself as the result of an insufficiently considered acceptance of dogma; an acceptance without question, rather than in spite of doubts and questionings. This distinction we have seen Bishop Blougram drawing between the position of the man who implicitly believes, since, his logical and reasoning faculties being undeveloped or inactive, no cause for question arises; and the position of him who, in the midst of spiritual perplexity, makes “doubt occasion still more faith.” To Browning, with whom half-heartedness was the one unpardonable sin, this so-called faith would necessarily be far more dangerous than downright acknowledged scepticism. Hence the succeeding argument of Easter Day becomes one, not between a pronounced sceptic and a would-be Christian, but rather between two nominal Christians whose outward profession may be similar but the motives inspiring it wholly at variance—This in accordance with Browning’s peculiar attraction towards problems involving the establishment of connection between motive and action. As in Bishop Blougram’s Apology his psychological analysis would reconcile two apparently irreconcilable aspects of the mind of a prelate whose position had perplexed the world. As by a method closely akin to this treatment, he offers explanation of the presence, amongst the illiterate and bigoted congregation of Zion Chapel, of a man whose intellectual capacity should have led him to assume a position of wider tolerance: so here, too, he would discover and reveal the link between the outward form of creed and the widely differing spiritual acceptance of the same in two individual cases.

I. The arguments of Sections I to XII are not always easy to follow closely; but, in passing with Section XIII to the history of the Vision, all obscurity vanishes, and we have no difficulty in tracing the line of thought of the first speaker, resulting in his willing reconcilement to the uncertainties inseparable from human life as at present constituted. A brief attempt to follow the preceding course of argument will afford an explanation of the speaker’s position at the opening of Section XIII. (1) The difficulty advanced at the outset of attaining to even a moderate realization of the possibilities of the Christian life is ascribed by the first speaker (at the close of Section I) to the essential indefiniteness in things spiritual implied in the very suggestion of advance, of growth. That which we believed yesterday to be the mountain-top proves to-day but the vantage-ground for a yet higher ascent:

And where we looked for crowns to fall,
We find the tug’s to come. (ll. 27-28.)

In reply, the second speaker admits the existence of difficulty, but of one differing somewhat in character from that recognized by his interlocutor. The Christian life were a sufficiently straightforward matter, if belief pure and simple were possible: if, as he puts the case, the relative worth of things temporal and eternal were once rendered clear and unmistakable. Even martyrdom itself would then become as nothing to the believer.

(2) The first speaker, or the soliloquist (since he it is who actually advances the arguments consistent with the position of his imaginary companion), whilst accepting the truth of the proposition, reasserts the theory, little more than suggested in Section I, that such fixity and definiteness of belief is, under existing conditions, an impossibility. If not in the visible world, granting so much, yet beyond it, is that which may not be grasped by the finite intelligence. Such limitations may perchance serve for the term of mortal life; but in the light thrown upon life by the approach of death a change will inevitably pass over the aspect of all things, and

Eyes, late wide, begin to wink
Nor see the path so well. (ll. 57-58.)

Again, the Christian who does not wish his position of moderate faith to be disturbed, agrees; but attributes the shifting ground of belief to the self-evident truth that faith would no longer be faith were the objects with which it deals mere matters of common and proved knowledge, belief in them as inevitable as the necessity of breath to the living creature.

You must mix some uncertainty
With faith, if you would have faith be. (ll. 71-72.)

Even in the intercourse of everyday life, faith is a necessity. Now, had the easy-going Christian paused at this stage of the discussion, with line 82, his argument would have had the weight which attaches to an elaboration of the same theory given by Browning elsewhere—in An Epistle of Karshish. But even he, upon whom these considerations are forced for what one may well believe to be the first time, finds that any individual proposition requires constant modification, that a doubt will “peep unexpectedly.” Thus, though faith, with its attendant uncertainty, may well obtain in the relations between man and man, yet, between the Creator and his creation, is it not possible that more clearly defined regulations shall subsist?

(3) The thinker who is anxious to rightly adjust his own position in the world of faith interposes before the argument has passed to its final stage, and points to the conditions prevailing in the world of lower animal life where the entire creation “travails and groans”—reverting again to the assurance which, as the conclusion of the poem is to show, had been indelibly stamped upon his mind by the experience of the Vision—the assurance already referred to in Sections I and II, that could these conditions be changed, then, too, would be altered the character of human life, its purpose—as Browning ever regards it—would be annulled. This is not the place to discuss the question of the probationary character of life and its educative purpose; it is sufficient to recognize that in Nature is discoverable no definite and final answer to the questionings of doubt. Hence, with Section VI, the second speaker shifts his ground; and admitting that this suggested “scientific faith,” is impracticable, declares himself none the more prepared, therefore, to yield such faith as may yet be possible to him. All he would ask is that the greater probability may rest upon the side of that creed which he professes. His belief, such as it is, affords him satisfaction, and will continue, so he holds, sufficient for his needs until its “curtain is furled away by death.” And he would at once meet the arguments which he sees his companion prepared to advance in favour of asceticism. To give up the world for Eternity is surely an act sufficiently easy of accomplishment, since the renunciation is daily effected for causes of small moment. Whilst the would-be Christian shrinks at prospect of the hardships involved in self-denial, his worldly neighbour is adopting that self-same life of abstention that he may attain an object no more important than that of acquiring a record collection of beetles or of snuff-boxes. In short, in the speaker’s own words, by subduing the demands of the flesh, he would be

Doing that alone,
To gain a palm-branch and a throne,
Which fifty people undertake
To do, and gladly, for the sake
Of giving a Semitic guess,
Or playing pawns at blindfold chess. (ll. 165-170.)

(4) The second speaker then, having declared himself satisfied with a minimum of evidence as to the truth of his creed, a balance, merely, in favour of its probability, there follows the scornful comment of the man who would take nothing upon trust, investigation of which is possible—

As is your sort of mind,
So is your sort of search: you’ll find
What you desire, and that’s to be
A Christian. (ll. 173-176.)

To such a nature belief is easy where belief is desirable; the very reason which would hinder faith on the part of his opponent. The search made either for intellectual or emotional satisfaction will meet with equal result. Whether for historical confirmation of the Scriptural narrative, or in a philosophic attempt to adapt the Christian creed to the wants of the human heart. Where, indeed, this satisfaction is found for spiritual cravings, the intellectual may be disregarded; when

Faith plucks such substantial fruit
······
She little needs to look beyond. (ll. 190-192.)

So Bishop Blougram in a somewhat different connection—

If you desire faith—then you’ve faith enough:
What else seeks God—nay, what else seek ourselves? (B. B. A., ll. 634-635.)

In the concluding lines of Section VII and in Section VIII is presented the contrast between the two opposing views. On the one hand, that of the man who is glad to accept the Christian faith as that best calculated for his advantage both in this world and in that to which he looks in the future. On the other hand, the view of the man who will take nothing on trust, who is “ever a fighter,” and who, having fought, and partially, though by no means wholly, vanquished his doubts, is prepared “to mount hardly to eternal life,” at whatever cost of sacrifice and self-denial may be demanded of him. The criticism of the second speaker touching this proposed life of asceticism is that it is to be deprecated, not on account of the self-denial involved, but because such life ignores the bountiful provision of the Creator as evidenced in Nature. To abstain from the enjoyment of the gifts offered is an act of ingratitude towards the Provider. On the contrary, the Christian, whilst discerning love in every gift, should seek from his creed intensification rather than diminution of the joys of life: and in time of adversity when

Sorrows and privations take
The place of joy,

the truths of Christianity shall throw upon the darkness the light of revelation, and

The thing that seems
Mere misery, under human schemes,
Becomes, regarded by the light
Of love, as very near, or quite
As good a gift as joy before. (ll. 216-221.)

(5) The arguments of this and the Section following are of special importance, since on them are based the charges of a too great asceticism which have been urged against the poem. Here, too, the dramatic element is more pronounced than elsewhere. The life of ease, physical and spiritual, to the second speaker a source of supreme gratification and happiness, to the man of sterner mould presents itself as an impossibility. “The all-stupendous tale” of the Gospel leaves him “pale and heartstruck.” The belief that the sufferings there recorded were undergone for the purpose of intensifying the joys of life and affording consolation for its ills, is to him an explanation so inadequate as to approach the verge of profanity. This being so he would demand of the advocate of the life of ease,

How do you counsel in the case?

The answer is characteristic:

I’d take, by all means, in your place,
The safe side, since it so appears:
Deny myself, a few brief years,
The natural pleasure. (ll. 267-271.)

That the eternal reward will outweigh the temporal suffering to the exclusion even of recollection, the testimony of the martyr of the catacombs affords ample proof.

For me, I have forgot it all. (l. 288.)

(6) If this be so, then indeed there remains a direct and certain means of escape from sin, of fulfilment of the purposes of life—self-denial, renunciation. But, as the reply of Section X points out, the argument has been conducted in a circle, and the starting-point on the circumference has now been reached. The original statement has never been satisfactorily controverted. “How hard it is to be a Christian”; hard on account of the uncertainty bound to be attendant on all matters in which faith is requisite. It is hard to be a Christian since the difficulty but shifts its ground and is not actually removed by any venture of faith. After all argument, all reasoning, the possibility remains that the Christian’s hope is a mistaken one; that death is not the gateway to fuller life but the annihilation of life; in short that the Christian has renounced life

For the sake
Of death and nothing else. (ll. 296-297.)

In which case his gain is less than that of the worldling, since he has, at least, temporarily possessed the object towards the acquisition of which his self-denial was directed. Beetles and snuff-boxes may be but small gains, but gains they are to whomso desires them: and “gain is gain, however small.” Nevertheless, in the spirit of Browning, the wrestler with his doubts would rather risk all for the vaguest spiritual hope, than rest satisfied with a life limited to material gratification: rather be the grasshopper

That spends itself in leaps all day
To reach the sun, (ll. 310-311.)

than the mole groping “amid its veritable muck.” When Bishop Blougram makes the same decision—in favour of faith as opposed to scepticism—the motive he alleges is one which might well be ascribed to the second speaker of Easter Day. The choice is influenced, not by aspirations which refuse to be checked, but by considerations of prudence touching a possible future.

Doubt may be wrong—there’s judgment, life to come!
With just that chance, I dare not [i.e. relinquish faith]. (ll. 477-478.)

The attitude of the second speaker towards life generally recalls, indeed, not infrequently the professed opportunism of the Bishop. With Blougram also he fears the effects upon the stability of his faith of a critical investigation of its tenets. Hence, the reproach of Section XI, addressed to the first speaker, whose questionings threaten to disturb the earlier condition of “trusting ease.” The reply of Section XII points out that, the eyes having been once opened, to close them wilfully, living in a determined reliance on hopes proved only too probably fallacious, is to adopt a pagan rather than a Christian conception of life.

II. Section XIII constitutes the introduction to the second part of the poem in which is given the history of the revelation to which the narrator ascribes his realization of the momentous nature of the faith which he and his companion alike profess; and of the life which should be lived upon the lines of that faith. Vivid as the account of the Vision in Christmas Eve is the description by the first speaker of the experiences of the night preceding the dawn of Easter Day, three years ago; when, into the midst of his reflections touching the possibility of a near approach of a Day of Judgment, there broke that tremendous conflagration marking the crisis when man shall awaken to realities from

That insane dream we take
For waking now, because it seems. (ll. 480-481.)

And the portrayal of the Judgment which follows is, in character, just that which we should expect from the pen of the writer who held that “the development of a soul, little else is worth study.” How far the conception is indeed Browning’s own will be best considered in estimating the extent of the dramatic element—in Lecture VI. To trace the history of this particular soul awaiting judgment is our immediate object. In a position of personal isolation from his kind, face to face with his Creator, to that lonely soul “began the Judgment Day.” The sentence from without was unnecessary to him who should pass judgment upon himself.

The intuition burned away
All darkness from [his] spirit too; (ll. 550-551.)

and he recognized in that moment of revelation that, whatever the uncertainty of his position before “the utmost walls of time” should “tumble in” to “end the world,” in that moment was no uncertainty; his choice of life was fixed irrevocably. Hitherto he had loved the world too well to relinquish its joys wholly, whilst yet looking for a time when the renunciation, in which he believed to discern the highest course, should become possible: when he would at last “reconcile those lips”

To letting the dear remnant pass
... some drops of earthly good
Untasted! (ll. 583-585.)

In the light of that flash of intuition, it at once became clear that such an attitude of compromise had meant, in fact, a decision in favour of the world; a choice of things temporal to the virtual exclusion of things eternal. That he, too, had been doing that which he to-night reproaches the Christian of placid assurance for doing: he had been but using his faith “as a condiment” wherewith to “heighten the flavours” of life. The final issue being assured, the true relations of life and faith became manifest. The sentence of the voice beside him was unessential to the revelation

Life is done,
Time ends, Eternity’s begun,
And thou art judged for evermore. (ll. 594-596.)

And yet “the shows of things” remain. No longer fire that

Would shrink
And wither off the blasted face
Of heaven, (ll. 524-526.)

but the common yet visible around, and the sky which above

Stretched drear and emptily of life. (l. 601.)

In that vast stillness of earth and heaven, judgment is as emphatically pronounced as if read from “the opened book,” in the presence of “the small and great,” following “the rising of the quick and dead” which all prior conceptions of the Day of Judgment had led the spectator to anticipate. But he whose sentence had been passed was not of those whom

Bold and blind,
Terror must burn the truth into. (ll. 659-660.)

For these, their fate: such fate as the old Pope trusted should awaken the criminal Franceschini to a realization of the horror and brutality of a deed which he sought to justify to himself and to the world, as an act of self-defence. Sentence is there passed in lines recalling, though with intensified force, the description of Section XV. Thus, the result of the papal reflections—

For the main criminal I have no hope
Except in such a suddenness of fate.
I stood at Naples once, a night so dark
I could have scarce conjectured there was earth
Anywhere, sky or sea or world at all:
But the night’s black was burst through by a blaze—
Thunder struck blow on blow, earth groaned and bore,
Through her whole length of mountain visible:
There lay the city thick and plain with spires,
And, like a ghost disshrouded, white the sea.
So may the truth be flashed out by one blow,
And Guido see, one instant, and be saved.[66]

No such violence of retribution is here necessary. To the more finely tempered nature another fate. The choice between flesh and spirit having been decided, henceforth for the flesh the things of the flesh; for the spirit those of the spirit. The line of demarcation remains unalterable. For him who has chosen “the spirit’s fugitive brief gleams,” yearning for fuller light and life, for him shall those transitory gleams expand into complete and enduring radiance, and he shall “live indeed.” For him who has but employed the spirit as an aid to the gratification of the flesh, using it to

Star the dome
Of sky, that flesh may miss no peak,
No nook of earth. (ll. 693-695.)

For him, as the inevitable outcome of the choice, shall the heaven of spirit be shut; the material world delivered over for the full gratification of the senses. No sudden revelation of terror, no judgment by fire, but the permission—

Glut
Thy sense upon the world: ’tis thine
For ever—take it. (ll. 697-699.)

The hell designed for this man is one in which externals inevitably take no part. The world and its inhabitants apparently pursue their course, “as they were wont to do,” before the time of probation was at an end. The sole difference is to be found in the spiritual outlook. The interest attaching to these things of time is no longer existent; no longer is the soul “visited by God’s free spirit.” Thus is again suggested that central doctrine of Browning’s creed: the superlative worth of the individual soul in the divine scheme of the universe. “God is, thou art.” From this it is only one step to the assurance,

The rest is hurled to nothingness for thee. (ll. 666-667.)

All upon which the eye rests has become for the spectator but an outward show, to be regarded with the consciousness that his own period of probation is for ever ended. It is, of course, in reference to this result of the judgment that in Section XIII the speaker questions the utility of a narration of his story; since if, on the one hand, the listener is actually alive, not to be numbered amongst the outward shows of things, then this fact is proof sufficient of the illusory character of the Vision. Yet, on the other hand, should the listener be “what I fear,” that is, the presentation of a man passed already beyond his probationary phase of existence, then, in good sooth, will the

Warnings fray no one; (ll. 360-361.)

as they will convert no one. With him, the speaker, alone rests the knowledge of the nature of his surroundings, and at times he, too, experiences the old uncertainty as to their true character.

And what the results following the Judgment? (a) At first, joy that all is now free of access where heretofore part only was attainable. Nature lies open not merely for the gratification of the senses, but to be studied by aid of science—

I stooped and picked a leaf of fern,
And recollected I might learn
From books, how many myriad sorts
Of ferns exist (etc.). (ll. 738-741.)

Will not the vistas of “earth’s resources,” thus opening out before the lover of nature, prove composed of “vast exhaustless beauty, endless change of wonder?” Yes: but the Judgment has taught that which the term of probation failed to teach—that a genuine appreciation of these beauties was even then a possibility. Absolute renunciation was not essential to spiritual development: for that alone was needed the insight capable of looking beyond “the gift to the giver,” beyond “the finite to infinity.” Which could recognize in

All partial beauty—a pledge
Of beauty in its plenitude. (ll. 769-770.)

The cause of life’s failure, justifying condemnation, lay in an acceptance of the means as the end, of the pledge in place of the ultimate fulfilment. Now, absolute satiety being attained, the soul’s ambition being bounded by the limits of earth, the plenitude of “those who looked above” is not for it.

(b) But if Nature refuses to yield the satisfaction demanded, the seeker for consolation would turn thence to a contemplation of Art, the works of which he holds as “supplanting,” mainly giving worth to Nature: Art which bears upon it the impress of human labour. And here again recurs the teaching of Andrea del Sarto, of A Toccata of Galuppi’s, of Old Pictures in Florence, of Rabbi Ben Ezra, of Cleon: in short, of almost any of the more characteristic poems. In so far as these artists, to whom the lover of earth looks for satisfaction in his search for the beautiful, refused to recognize as binding the limitations imposed upon their work by temporary conditions: in so far was a sphere of higher development prepared for and awaiting them elsewhere. Undesirous of contemporary appreciation, the true artist is represented as fearing lest judgment should be passed upon that which he realizes to be but the imperfection denoting “perfection hid, reserved in part to grace” that after-time of labour, the existence of which the world ignores. He was

Afraid
His fellow men should give him rank
By mere tentatives which he shrank
Smitten at heart from, all the more,
That gazers pressed in to adore. (ll. 791-795.)

And the speaker has been amongst the throng of spectators who accepted these “mere tentatives” as the consummation of the artist’s powers. Thus with Art as with Nature, “the pledge sufficed his mood.” Hence, in both relations—failure. Enjoyment, enjoyment to the full, of Art as of Nature was no impossibility, only, here too, with the sensuous gratification should have subsisted also the “spirit’s hunger,”

Unsated—not unsatable. (ll. 860-861.)

Unsated, until the soul’s true sphere shall have been attained. Now is that judgment pronounced which we find Andrea del Sarto passing upon himself whilst life and its opportunities yet remained his.

Deride
Their choice now, thou who sit’st outside. (ll. 862-863.)

Their choice, whose guide has been “the spirit’s fugitive brief gleams.” So says Andrea of his fellow artists in Florence—

Themselves, I know,
Reach many a time a heaven that’s shut to me,
········
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here.[67]

(c) Nature and Art have then alike failed. Wherein may the yearnings of the soul discover the satisfaction hitherto denied them? Perchance, through a more complete intellectual development.

Mind is best—I will seize mind. (l. 874.)
······
Oh, let me strive to make the most
Of the poor stinted soul, I nipped
Of budding wings, else now equipped
For voyage from summer isle to isle! (ll. 867-870.)

Here a direct reversal of the theory of Bishop Blougram, implied by his censure of the traveller whose equipment was ever adapted to the needs of the future to the neglect of existing requirements. This man, the soliloquist of Easter Day, whose lot is now irrevocably confined to earth, recognizes too late the fatal character of the mistake perpetrated in “nipping the budding wings”: realizes that, as an inevitable result, the course of the race and the goal of the ambition are alike limited, henceforth, by an earthly environment. That “the earth’s best is but the earth’s best.” The failure to look above is, in fact, here more disastrous in its results than in either of the earlier instances: since here the possibilities are also greater. Through the mind alone may come

Those intuitions, grasps of guess,
Which pull the more into the less,
Making the finite comprehend
Infinity. (ll. 905-908.)

To genius have been granted from time to time glimpses of the spiritual world, made plain in moments of insight, yet not too plain. A world which, during his sojourn on earth, is intended not for man’s permanent habitation. A world he must “traverse, not remain a guest in.” Once capable of continuing a denizen of the spiritual world, the uses of earth as a training-ground would be for that man at an end. He who should so live would become a Lazarus, as the Arabian physician presents him to us; in Dr. Westcott’s phrase, “not a man, but a sign.” Brief visions of heaven are vouchsafed, that he who has once seen may “come back and tell the world,” himself “stung with hunger” for the fuller light. As in Nature, as in Art, so, too, here in a more purely intellectual sphere, the pledge is not the plenitude, the symbol not the reality.

Since highest truth, man e’er supplied,
Was ever fable on outside. (ll. 925-926.)

This, too, left unrealized; hence failure also here.

(d) The search for sensuous and for intellectual satisfaction having alike failed, is there no refuge for him whose lot is earth in its fulness? Yes, there is Love, Love which we saw the soliloquist of Christmas Eve recognizing as the “sole good of life on earth.” So now the wearied soul recalls to mind, in the past,

How love repaired all ill,
Cured wrong, soothed grief, made earth amends
With parents, brothers, children, friends. (ll. 938-940.)Hence the appeal for “leave to love only,” made in full confidence of the divine approval. In place of approval, however, falls the reproof of Section XXX: the warning that all now left to the petitioner is “the show of love,” since love itself has passed with the judgment. The “semblance of a woman,” “departed love,” “old memories,” now alone survive of that which might have been all in all to the soul during its life’s struggle. And here we find the man who has failed through a too exclusive devotion to things temporal taught, by this vision of the final judgment, the truth, at first accepted in Christmas Eve by the man who had looked through Nature to the God of Nature, and refused to worship in the “narrow shrines” of the temples made with hands. That love

Shall arise, made perfect, from death’s repose of it.
And I shall behold thee, face to face,
O God, and in thy light retrace
How in all I loved here, still wast thou![68]

Thus the voice of judgment before the Easter dawn—

All thou dost enumerate
Of power and beauty in the world,
The mightiness of love was curled
Inextricably round about.
Love lay within it and without,
To clasp thee. (ll. 960-965.)

But we saw the soliloquist of Christmas Eve ultimately rejecting this universal recognition of love in favour of the narrow shrine of Zion Chapel: acting, as he believed, with the divine approval. Again proof of the dramatic character of the poems. The lesson of life is variously interpreted by its different students.

Yet even here, where love is at length sought as the supreme good, the Voice of Easter Day proclaims once more—failure—and its cause, the inability to recognize the divine Love: the object of search is even now but human love.

Some semblance of a woman yet,
With eyes to help me to forget,
Shall look on me. (ll. 941-943.)

The love of “parents, brothers, children, friends”: the seeker has stopped short of Pippa’s final decision,[69] “Best love of all is God’s.” Why has he failed to realize this until Time has passed? Why, but because, with Cleon, he deemed it “a doctrine to be held by no sane man,” that divine Love should prove commensurate with divine Power; that He “who made the whole,” should love the whole, should

Undergo death in thy stead
In flesh like thine. (ll. 974-975.)

But this scepticism, based upon the ground that in the Gospel story is found “too much love,” is illogical, since it suggests by implication the belief of man that his fellow mortals, in whom he daily discerns abundant capacity for ill-will, have been yet capable of inventing a scheme of perfect love such as that involved in the history of the Incarnation. The doctrine that this was the divine work is assuredly less difficult of credence than that which assigns it to the invention of the human imagination? Disbelief on this the ground of “too much love,” revealed in the Gospel story, is dealt with also by the Evangelist in A Death in the Desert. There, too, is presented a position similar to that occupied by the soliloquist of Easter Day. Through satiety, man

Has turned round on himself and stands,[70]
Which in the course of nature is, to die.

When man demanded proof of the existence of a God, the representative of Power and Will, evidence of all was granted—

And when man questioned, “What if there be love
Behind the will and might, as real as they?”—
He needed satisfaction God could give,
And did give, as ye have the written word.

But when the written word no longer sufficed, when (following the argument of this thirtieth Section of Easter Day) man believed himself to be the originator of love, when

Beholding that love everywhere,
He reasons, “Since such love is everywhere,
And since ourselves can love and would be loved,
We ourselves make the love, and Christ was not.”

Then, asks the Evangelist,

How shall ye help this man who knows himself,
That he must love and would be loved again,
Yet, owning his own love that proveth Christ,
Rejecteth Christ through very need of Him?
The lamp o’erswims with oil, the stomach flags
Loaded with nurture, and that man’s soul dies.[71]

The soliloquist of Easter Day, experiencing practically the position imagined by St. John, makes (with the opening of Section XXXI) a final appeal to the Love of God, that he may be permitted to continue in that uncertainty which, in the midst of “darkness, hunger, toil, distress,” yet allows room for hope. Better the sufferings of unending struggle than the deadly calm of despair. To him who has experienced what satiety may bring, the life of probation offers powerful attractions. Whether the Vision may have been a reality or the creation of his own imagination, even this uncertainty is preferable to the judgment that shall grudge “no ease henceforth,” whilst the soul is “condemned to earth for ever.”

Thus the poem closes with the inevitable demand of the soul for progress, for growth; and the collateral recognition of its present life as a state of probation, hence of essential uncertainty—

Only let me go on, go on,
Still hoping ever and anon
To reach one eve the Better Land! (ll. 1001-1003.)

Feeble as is the hope at times, the dawn of Easter Day yet recalls the boundless possibilities opening out for human nature. And, for the moment at least, faith is paramount; no vague, impersonal belief, but that which looks for its direct inspiration to a living Christ.

Christ rises! Mercy every way
Is Infinite,—and who can say?