manner, with a taste so viciously superfined, that he turns away from what is manly, honest, robust, and just to waste his energies in sentimental wishes for a better world he never lifts his finger to create. What was strong and manly in the age of chivalry we do not find in Sordello. He belongs to an age of doubt, excessive refinement, and metaphysical yearnings for what is not real and natural. He is a product of conventionality, of taste turned into an ideal, and of manners grown to be the measure of life. He is unreal from too much delicacy of intellect, too exquisite sense of the beauty of life, and from want of moral sternness and insistent purpose.
It is not difficult to see that Sordello represents an element in Browning’s own life, that at one time he was this man he has described. That he was in full manhood gifted with a robustness which is singularly striking and personal, does not prove he had not this other quality which youth manifested. It is not Sordello we can admire in Browning’s poetry. He has his own interest; but he is not an ideal character or one worthy of special study. It is the Browning of youth, of excessive sensibility, an undue regard for the artistic side of life and drawn too much into sympathy with the objective side of chivalry, which we find here. The brave, strong, robust, courageous Browning of our admiration is not a Sordello.
“My esteemed guests are separated into two camps,” he began, after the noise had subsided a little. “As a wretched artist desiring to please all who appreciate my art, I cannot at present satisfy either party, for I do not know which possesses the keener appreciation of my performance. There remains nothing for me
