Though sixty years old, Salinguerra looked like a youth-- So agile, quick And graceful turned the head on the broad chest Encased in pliant steel, his constant vest, Whence split the sun off in a spray of fire Across the room; and, loosened of its tire Of steel, that head let breathe the comely brown Large massive locks discoloured as if a crown Encircled them, so frayed the basnet where A sharp white line divided clean the hair; Glossy above, glossy below, it swept Curling and fine about a brow thus kept Calm, laid coat upon coat, marble and sound: This was the mystic mark the Tuscan found, Mused of, turned over books about.

Square-faced, No lion more; two vivid eyes, enchased In hollows filled with many a shade and streak Settling from the bold nose and bearded cheek.
Nor might the half-smile reach them that deformed A lip supremely perfect else--unwarmed, Unwidened, less or more; indifferent Whether on trees or men his thoughts were bent, Thoughts rarely, after all, in trim and train As now a period was fulfilled again: Of such, a series made his life, compressed In each, one story serving for the rest.
This is one example of a gallery of vivid portraiture in all Browning's work, such as Carlyle only in the nineteenth century has approached in England.

It is not a national, but an international gallery of portraits.

The greater number of the portraits are Italian, and they range over all classes of society from the Pope to the peasant.

Even Bishop Blougram has the Italian subtlety, and, like the Monsignore in _Pippa Passes_, something of the politic morality of Machiavelli.