and he gives her
leave, in case he breaks his word, to vanish away altogether. The story
ends here; but its epilogue "The Householder" depicts a widowed
husband, grotesquely miserable, fetched home by his departed wife; and
his identity with Don Juan seems unmistakable. This scene is more
humorous than pathetic, as befits the dramatic spirit of the poem; but
the most serious purport and most comprehensive meaning of "Fifine at
the Fair" are summed up in its closing words. The "householder" is
composing his epitaph, and his wife thus concludes it: "Love is all, and
Death is nought."

"PRINCE HOHENSTIEL-SCHWANGAU, SAVIOUR OF SOCIETY."

"Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau" is a defence of the doctrine of
expediency: and the monologue is supposed to be carried on by the late
Emperor of the French, under this feigned name. Louis Napoleon is musing
over past and present, and blending them with each other in a waking
dream. He seems in exile again. But the events of his reign are all, or
for the most part behind him, and they have earned for him the title of
"inscrutable." A young lady of an adventurous type has crossed his path,
in the appropriate region of Leicester Square. Some adroit flattery on
her side has disposed him to confidence, and he is proving to her, over
tea and cigars, that he is not so "inscrutable" after all; or, if he be,
that the key to the enigma is a simple one. "This wearer of crinoline
seems destined to play Oedipus to the Sphinx he is supposed to be;" or
better still, as he gallantly adds, the "Lais" for whose sake he will
unveil the mystery unasked. The situation he thus assumes is not
dignified; but as Mr. Browning probably felt, his choice of a
_confidante_ suits the nature of what he has to tell, as well as the
circumstances in which he tells it. Politically, he has lived from hand
to mouth. So in a different way has she. A very trifling incident
enables him to illustrate his confession, which will proceed without
interruption on the listener's part.

They are sitting at a table with writing materials upon it. Among these
lies a piece of waste-paper. Prince Hohenstiel descries upon it two
blots, takes up a pen, and draws a line from one to the other. This
simple, half-mechanical act is, as he declares, a type of his whole
life; it contains the word of the enigma. His constant principle has
been: not to strive at creating anything new; not to risk marring what
already existed; but to adapt what he f