too full of detail to dwell on here. It has a thousand
touches of life and intimacy. And it is perhaps the finest thing
Browning has done in portraiture of character. But then there was a
certain sympathy in Browning for Aristophanes. The natural man was never
altogether put aside by Browning.

Lastly, there is the fresh presentation of Balaustion, of the matured
and experienced woman whom we have known as a happy girl. Euthycles and
she are married, and one night, as she is sitting alone, he comes in,
bringing the grave news that Euripides is dead, but had proved at the
court of Archelaos of Macedonia his usefulness as counsellor to King and
State, and his power still to sing--

Clashed thence _Alkaion_, maddened _Pentheus'_ up;
Then music sighed itself away, one moan
Iphigeneia made by Aulis' strand;
With her and music died Euripides.

And Athens, hearing, ceased to mock and cried "Bury Euripides in
Peiraios, bring his body back." "Ah," said Balaustion, "Death alters the
point of view. But our tribute is in our hearts; and more, his soul
will now for ever teach and bless the world.

Is not that day come? What if you and I
Re-sing the song, inaugurate the fame?

For, like Herakles, in his own _Alkestis_, he now strides away (and this
is the true end of the _Alkestis_) to surmount all heights of destiny."
While she spoke thus, the Chorus of the Comedy, girls, boys, and men, in
drunken revel and led by Aristophanes, thundered at the door and claimed
admittance. Balaustion is drawn confronting them--tall and superb, like
Victory's self; her warm golden eyes flashing under her black hair,
"earth flesh with sun fire," statuesque, searching the crowd with her
glance. And one and all dissolve before her silent splendour of reproof,
all save Aristophanes. She bids him welcome. "Glory to the Poet," she
cries. "Light, light, I hail it everywhere; no matter for the murk, that
never should have been such orb's associate." Aristophanes changes as he
sees her; a new man confronts her.

"So!" he smiled, "piercing to my thought at once,
You see myself? Balaustion's fixed regard
Can strip the proper Aristophanes
Of what our sophists, in their jargon, style
His accidents?"

He confesses her power to meet him in discourse, unfolds his views and
plans to her, and having contrasted himself with Euripides, bids her use
her thrice-refined refinement, her rosy strength, to match his argum