In Book I Browning speaks in his own character, and states the facts and how the story came into his hands. In Book II, called "Half-Rome," a Roman, more or less in sympathy with the husband, tells the story. In Book III, styled "The Other Half-Rome," one in sympathy with the wife tells the story. In Book IV, called "Tertium Quid," a society gentleman, who prides himself on his critical acumen, tells the story in a drawing-room. Each speaker in these monologues has a character of his own, and the facts are strongly colored according to his nature and point of view. In Book V Guido makes his defence before the judges. He is a criminal defending himself, and puts facts in such a way as to justify his actions. In Book VI the priest who assisted Pompilia to escape passionately proclaims the lofty motives which actuated Pompilia and himself. In Book VII Pompilia, on her deathbed, gives her testimony, telling the story with intense pathos. In Book VIII a lawyer, with all the ingenuity of his profession, speaks in defence of Guido, but without touching upon the merits of the case. In Book IX Pompilia's advocate, endeavoring to display his fine cultured style, gives a legal justification of her course. In Book X the Pope decides against Guido, and gives the reasons for this decision. Book XI is Guido's last confession as a condemned man; here his character is still more definitely unfolded. He tries to bribe his guards; though still defiant, he shows his base, cowardly nature at the close, and ends his final weak and chaotic appeal by calling on Pompilia, thus giving the highest testimony possible to the purity and sweetness of the woman he murdered: "Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours, I am the Granduke's--no, I am the Pope's! Abate,--Cardinal,--Christ,--Maria,--God, ... Pompilia, will you let them murder me?" In his defence he was concealing his real deeds and character, and justifying himself. In this book he reveals himself with great frankness. In Book XII the case is given as it fades into history, and the poem closes with a lesson regarding the function or necessity of art in telling truth. "The Ring and the Book" affords perhaps the highest example of the value of the monologue as a form of art. Men who have only one point of view are always "cranks,"--able, that is, to turn only one way. A preacher who can appreciate only the point of view of his own denomination will never get very near the truth. The statesman who declares "there is but one side to a question" may sometime by his narrowness assist in plunging his country into a great war. No man can help his fellows if unable to see things from their point of view. "The Ring and the Book" shows every speaker coloring the truth unconsciously by his own character, and Browning, by putting the same facts in the mouths of different persons, enables us to discover the personal element.