He has no conception of the symbol of the seven deadly sins, but dances away at the music, "No keeping one's haunches still." Later, however, when he exclaims to his listener, "Look," he seems to make an actual discovery. Does he start as he actually sees a procession in the distance? A real one coming before him would give life and variety to the monologue. Browning intentionally leaves the conceptions gradually to dawn in the imagination. The doubts, and the questions which may be asked, have been dwelt upon in order to emphasize the point that the speaker must be conceived in a definite situation. When once a situation is located, this will modify some of the shades of feeling and expression. The point, then, is, that a reader or interpreter must conceive the speaker as occupying a definite place, and when this is done, the position will determine somewhat the feeling and the expression. Difference in situation causes many differences in action and in voice modulations. Whatever location, therefore, the reader decides upon, everything else must be consistent with it. One point in this monologue may be especially obscure, where reference is made to the city being "dear!" "fowls, wine, at double the rate." I was one of three in a carriage who were once stopped at a gate in Florence and examined to see whether we carried any "salt," "oil," or anything on which there was a tax, which, according to the owner of the villa, "is a horror to think of." Some Italian cities do not have free trade with the surrounding country; food stuffs are taxed upon "passing the gate," thus making life in the city more expensive. And here is the reason why this man sadly mourns: "And so, the villa for me, not the city! Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but still--ah, the pity, the pity!" Whatever may be said regarding Browning's obscurity, however far he may have gone into the most technical knowledge of science in any department of life, however remote his allusions to events or objects or lines of knowledge which are unfamiliar to the world, there is one thing about which he is always definite, possibly more definite than any other writer. In every monologue we can find an indication of the place or situation in which the monologue is located.