Is it not best to imagine him as having walked out with a friend to some point where the villa above and the city below are both clearly visible? And as the humor of the monologue consists in the impressions which the two places make upon the speaker, the contrasts are sharp and sudden. In such a position we can distinctly realize him now looking with longing towards the city that he loves and then turning with disgust and contempt towards the villa he despises. Possibly his listener is located on the side towards the villa, as that unknown and almost unnoticed personage seems once or twice, at least, to make a mild defence. That his listener does not wholly agree with him, is indicated by "Why?" at the end of the eleventh line, to which he replies, heaping encomiums upon the city, careless of the fact that his arguments would make any lover of beauty smile: "Houses in four straight lines." "And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly." "What of a villa?" may also be an echo of the listener's question or remark, or apply to a look expressive of his attitude of mind. "Is it ever hot in the square?" suggests some satire on his part. The listener, however, is barely noticed, as the speaker seems to scorn the slightest opposition or expression of opinion. In such a position, we can easily imagine him with the whole city at his feet in sufficiently plain view to allow him to discover enough of the procession to waken memory and enthusiasm, and bring all up as a present reality. The procession can be easily imagined as starting from some convent outside the walls and appearing below them on its way to town. All the facts of the procession need not be discovered. It is a scene he has often observed and delighted in, and distance would lend enchantment to the speaker and serve as the climax of his enthusiasm, as he portrayed to his less responsive friend the details of the procession. Some of his references to both villa and city are certainly from memory. For example, the different sights and sounds that he has seen and heard from time to time in the city, such as the "diligence," the "scene-picture at the post-office." The spirit of the monologue, the enthusiasm and exultation over what gives anything but pleasure to others, requires such a character as will enjoy "the travelling doctor" who "gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth." Notice Browning's touch for the reformers, he makes such a man rejoice at the news, "only this morning three liberal thieves were shot." The "liberal thieves" are doubtless three Italian reformers who had been trying to deliver their country. It is possible to imagine the procession as wholly from memory, and "noon strikes" to be simply a part of his imagination and exultation. How gaily he skips as our Lady, the Madonna, is "borne smiling and smart, With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart!"