Part 27 (1/2)

the great but vague faith--the unutterable tenets seem to him worthless, visionary; they are not enough immersed in matter; they move about 'in worlds not realized'. We wish he could be tried like the prophet once; he would have found G.o.d in the earthquake and the storm; he could have deciphered from them a bracing and a rough religion: he would have known that crude men and ignorant women felt them too, and he would accordingly have trusted them; but he would have distrusted and disregarded the 'still small voice'; he would have said it was 'fancy'--a thing you thought you heard to-day, but were not sure you had heard to-morrow: he would call it a nice illusion, an immaterial prettiness; he would ask triumphantly 'How are you to get the ma.s.s of men to heed this little thing?' he would have persevered and insisted '_My wife_ does not hear it'.

But although a suspicion of beauty, and a taste for ugly reality, have led Mr. Browning to exaggerate the functions, and to caricature the nature of grotesque art, we own or rather we maintain that he has given many excellent specimens of that art within its proper boundaries and limits. Take an example, his picture of what we may call the _bourgeois_ nature in _difficulties_; in the utmost difficulty, in contact with magic and the supernatural. He has made of it something homely, comic, true; reminding us of what _bourgeois_ nature really is. By showing us the type under abnormal conditions, he reminds us of the type under its best and most satisfactory conditions--

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its walls on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: ''Tis clear', cried they, 'our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin!

You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease?

Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!'

At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

A person of musical abilities proposes to extricate the civic dignitaries from the difficulty, and they promise him a thousand guilders if he does.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eye twinkled Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cooking tails and p.r.i.c.king whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the Piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished!

--Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the ma.n.u.script he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary: Which was, 'At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of sc.r.a.ping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks, And a breaking the hoops of b.u.t.ter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, ”Oh rats, rejoice!

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

So, munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!”

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, ”Come, bore me!”

--I found the Weser rolling o'er me.'

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.

'Go', cried the Mayor, 'and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!'--when suddenly, up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a 'First, if you please, my thousand guilders!'

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too.

For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest b.u.t.t with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!

'Beside,' quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, 'Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

Besides, our losses have made us thrifty.

A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!'

The piper's face fell, and he cried, 'No trifling! I can't wait, beside!

I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor-- With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

And folks who put me in a pa.s.sion May find me pipe to another fas.h.i.+on.'

'How?' cried the Mayor, 'd'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a Cook?

Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald?