The analogy between Browning’s and Sordello’s time is not a weak one.  The spirit of the world, between 1830 and 1840 in England, resembled in many ways the spirit abroad at the beginning of the thirteenth century.  The country had awakened out of a long sleep, and was extraordinarily curious not only with regard to life and the best way to live it, but also with regard to government, law, the condition of the people, the best kind of religion and how best to live it, the true aims of poetry and how it was to be written, what subjects it should work on, what was to be the mother-motive of it, that is, what was the mother-motive of all the arts.  And this curiosity deepened from year to year for fifty years.  But even stronger than the curiosity was the eager individualism of this time, which extended into every sphere of human thought and action, and only began about 1866 to be balanced by an equally strong tendency towards collectivism.

These two elements in the time-spirit did not produce, in a settled state like England, the outward war and confusion they produced in the thirteenth century, though they developed after 1840, in ’48, into a European storm—­but they did produce a confused welter of mingled thoughts concerning the sources and ends of human life, the action it should take, and why it should take it.  The poetry of Arnold and Clough represents with great clearness the further development in the soul of man of this confusion.  I think that Browning has represented in the first three books of Sordello his passage through this tossing sea of thought.

He had put into Paracelsus all that he had worked out with clearness during his youth; his theory of life is stated with lucidity in that poem.  But when it was finished, and he had entered, like Sordello from Goito into Mantua, into the crowd and clash of the world; when, having published Pauline and Paracelsus, he had, like Sordello, met criticism and misunderstanding, his Paracelsian theory did not seem to explain humanity as clearly as he imagined.  It was only a theory; Would it stand the test of life among mankind, be a saving and healing prophecy?  Life lay before him, now that the silent philosophising of poetic youth was over, in all its inexplicable, hurried, tormented, involved, and multitudinously varied movement.  He had built up a transcendental building[9] in Paracelsus.  Was it all to fall in ruin?  No answer came when he looked forth on humanity over whose landscape the irony of the gods, a bitter mist, seemed to brood.  At what then shall he aim as a poet?  What shall be his subject-matter?  How is life to be lived?

Then he thought that he would, as a poet, describe his own time and his own soul under the character of Sordello, and place Sordello in a time more stormy than his own.  And he would make Sordello of an exceptional temper like himself, and to clash with his time as he was then clashing with his own.  With these thoughts he wrote the first books of Sordello, and Naddo, the critic of Sordello’s verses, represents the critics of Paracelsus and the early poems.  I have experienced, he says of himself in Sordello, something of the spite of fate.