Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  “That first night at Foligno! — news abound

  “O’ the road by this time, — men regaled me much,

  “As past them I came halting after you,

  “Vulcan pursuing Mars, as poets sing, —

  “Still at the last here pant I, but arrive,

  “Vulcan — and not without my Cyclops too,

  “The Commissary and the unpoisoned arm

  “O’ the Civil Force, should Mars turn mutineer.

  “Enough of fooling: capture the culprits, friend!

  “Here is the lover in the smart disguise

  “With the sword, — he is a priest, so mine lies still:

  “There upstairs hides my wife the runaway,

  “His leman: the two plotted, poisoned first,

  “Plundered me after, and eloped thus far

  “Where now you find them. Do your duty quick!

  “Arrest and hold him! That’s done: now catch her!”

  During this speech of that man, — well, I stood

  Away, as he managed, — still, I stood as near

  The throat of him, — with these two hands, my own, —

  As now I stand near yours, Sir, — one quick spring,

  One great good satisfying gripe, and lo!

  There had he lain abolished with his lie,

  Creation purged o’ the miscreate, man redeemed,

  A spittle wiped off from the face of God!

  I, in some measure, seek a poor excuse

  For what I left undone, in just this fact

  That my first feeling at the speech I quote

  Was — not of what a blasphemy was dared,

  Not what a bag of venomed purulence

  Was split and noisome, — but how splendidly

  Mirthful, what ludicrous a lie was launched!

  Would Molière’s self wish more than hear such man

  Call, claim such woman for his own, his wife,

  Even though, in due amazement at the boast,

  He had stammered, she moreover was divine?

  She to be his, — were hardly less absurd

  Than that he took her name into his mouth,

  Licked, and then let it go again, the beast,

  Signed with his slaver. Oh, she poisoned him,

  Plundered him, and the rest! Well, what I wished

  Was, that he would but go on, say once more

  So to the world, and get his meed of men,

  The fist’s reply to the filth. And while I mused,

  The minute, oh the misery, was gone!

  On either idle hand of me there stood

  Really an officer, nor laughed i’ the least.

  They rendered justice to his reason, laid

  Logic to heart, as ‘twere submitted them

  “Twice two makes four.”

  ”And now, catch her!” — he cried.

  That sobered me. “Let myself lead the way —

  “Ere you arrest me, who am somebody,

  “And, as you hear, a priest and privileged, —

  “To the lady’s chamber! I presume you — men

  “Expert, instructed how to find out truth,

  “Familiar with the guise of guilt. Detect

  “Guilt on her face when it meets mine, then judge

  “Between us and the mad dog howling there!”

  Up we all went together, in they broke

  O’ the chamber late my chapel. There she lay,

  Composed as when I laid her, that last eve,

  O’ the couch, still breathless, motionless, sleep’s self,

  Wax-white, seraphic, saturate with the sun

  O’ the morning that now flooded from the front

  And filled the window with a light like blood.

  “Behold the poisoner, the adulteress,

  “ — And feigning sleep too! Seize, bind!” — Guido hissed.

  She started up, stood erect, face to face

  With the husband: back he fell, was buttressed there

  By the window all a-flame with morning-red,

  He the black figure, the opprobrious blur

  Against all peace and joy and light and life.

  “Away from between me and hell!” — she cried:

  “Hell for me, no embracing any more!

  “I am God’s, I love God, God — whose knees I clasp,

  “Whose utterly most just award I take,

  “But bear no more love-making devils: hence!”

  I may have made an effort to reach her side

  From where I stood i’ the door-way, — anyhow

  I found the arms, I wanted, pinioned fast,

  Was powerless in the clutch to left and right

  O’ the rabble pouring in, rascality

  Enlisted, rampant on the side of hearth,

  Home, and the husband, — pay in prospect too!

  They heaped themselves upon me. — ”Ha! — and him

  “Also you outrage? Him, too, my sole friend,

  “Guardian, and saviour? That I baulk you of,

  “Since — see how God can help at last and worst!”

  She sprung at the sword that hung beside him, seized,

  Drew, brandished it, the sunrise burned for joy

  O’ the blade, “Die,” cried she, “devil, in God’s name!”

  Ah, but they all closed round her, twelve to one,

  — The unmanly men, no woman-mother made,

  Spawned somehow! Dead-white and disarmed she lay.

  No matter for the sword, her word sufficed

  To spike the coward through and through: he shook,

  Could only spit between the teeth — ”You see?

  “You hear? Bear witness, then! Write down . . . but, no —

  “Carry these criminals to the prison-house,

  “For first thing! I begin my search meanwhile

  “After the stolen effects, gold, jewels, plate,

  “Money, and clothes, they robbed me of and fled:

  “With no few amorous pieces, verse and prose,

  “I have much reason to expect to find.”

  When I saw, that, — no more than the first mad speech,

  Made out the speaker mad and a laughing-stock,

  So neither did this next device explode

  One listener’s indignation, — that a scribe

  Did sit down, set himself to write indeed,

  And sundry knaves began to peer and pry

  In corner and hole, — that Guido, wiping brow

  And getting him a countenance, was fast

  Losing his fear, beginning to strut free

  O’ the stage of his exploit, snuff here, sniff there, —

  I took the truth in, guessed sufficiently

  The service for the moment — ”What I say,

  “Slight at your peril! We are aliens here,

  “My adversary and I, called noble both;

  “I am the nobler, and a name men know.

  “I could refer our cause to our own court

  “In our own country, but prefer appeal

  “To the nearer jurisdiction. Being a priest,

  “Though in a secular garb, — for reasons good

  “I shall adduce in due time to my peers, —

  “I demand that the Church I serve, decide

  “Between us, right the slandered lady there.

  “A Tuscan noble, I might claim the Duke:

  “A priest, I rather choose the Church, — bid Rome

  “Cover the wronged with her inviolate shield.”

  There was no refusing this: they bore me off,

  They bore her off, to separate cells o’ the same

  Ignoble prison, and, separate, thence to Rome.

  Pompilia’s face, then and thus, looked on me

  The last time in this life: not one sight since,

  Never another sight to be! And yet

  I thought I had saved her. I appealed to Rome:

  It seems I simply sent her to her death.


  You tell me she is dying now, or dead;

  I cannot bring myself to quite believe

  This is a place you torture people in:

  What if this your intelligence were just

  A subtlety, an honest wile to work

  On a man at unawares? ‘Twere worthy you.

  No, Sirs, I cannot have the lady dead!

  That erect form, flashing brow, fulgurant eye,

  That voice immortal (oh, that voice of hers!)

  That vision in the blood-red day-break — that

  Leap to life of the pale electric sword

  Angels go armed with, — that was not the last

  O’ the lady! Come, I see through it, you find —

  Know the manœuvre! Also herself said

  I had saved her: do you dare say she spoke false?

  Let me see for myself if it be so!

  Though she were dying, a priest might be of use,

  The more when he’s a friend too, — she called me

  Far beyond “friend.” Come, let me see her — indeed

  It is my duty, being a priest: I hope

  I stand confessed, established, proved a priest?

  My punishment had motive that, a priest

  I, in a laic garb, a mundane mode,

  Did what were harmlessly done otherwise.

  I never touched her with my finger-tip

  Except to carry her to the couch, that eve,

  Against my heart, beneath my head, bowed low,

  As we priests carry the paten: that is why

  — To get leave and go see her of your grace —

  I have told you this whole story over again.

  Do I deserve grace? For I might lock lips,

  Laugh at your jurisdiction: what have you

  To do with me in the matter? I suppose

  You hardly think I donned a bravo’s dress

  To have a hand in the new crime; on the old,

  Judgment’s delivered, penalty imposed,

  I was chained fast at Civita hand and foot —

  She had only you to trust to, you and Rome,

  Rome and the Church, and no pert meddling priest

  Two days ago, when Guido, with the right,

  Hacked her to pieces. One might well be wroth;

  I have been patient, done my best to help:

  I come from Civita and punishment

  As a friend of the court — and for pure friendship’s sake

  Have told my tale to the end, — nay, not the end —

  For, wait — I’ll end — not leave you that excuse!

  When we were parted, — shall I go on there?

  I was presently brought to Rome — yes, here I stood

  Opposite yonder very crucifix —

  And there sat you and you, Sirs, quite the same,

  I heard charge, and bore question, and told tale

  Noted down in the book there, — turn and see

  If, by one jot or tittle, I vary now!

  I’ the colour the tale takes, there’s change perhaps;

  ‘Tis natural, since the sky is different,

  Eclipse in the air now; still, the outline stays.

  I showed you how it came to be my part

  To save the lady. Then your clerk produced

  Papers, a pack of stupid and impure

  Banalities called letters about love —

  Love, indeed, — I could teach who styled them so.

  Better, I think, though priest and loveless both!

  “ — How was it that a wife, young, innocent,

  “And stranger to your person, wrote this page?” —

  “ — She wrote it when the Holy Father wrote

  “The bestiality that posts thro’ Rome,

  “Put in his mouth by Pasquin.” — ”Nor perhaps

  “Did you return these answers, verse, and prose,

  “Signed, sealed and sent the lady? There’s your hand!”

  “ — This precious piece of verse, I really judge

  “Is meant to copy my own character,

  “A clumsy mimic; and this other prose,

  “Not so much even; both rank forgery:

  “Verse, quotha? Bembo’s verse! When Saint John wrote

  “The tract ‘De Tribus,’ I wrote this to match.”

  “ — How came it, then, the documents were found

  “At the inn on your departure?” — ”I opine,

  “Because there were no documents to find

  “In my presence, — you must hide before you find.

  “Who forged them, hardly practised in my view;

  “Who found them, waited till I turned my back.”

  “ — And what of the clandestine visits paid,

  “Nocturnal passage in and out the house

  “With its lord absent? ‘Tis alleged you climbed . . . ”

  “ — Flew on a broomstick to the man i’ the moon!

  “Who witnessed or will testify this trash?”

  “ — The trusty servant, Margherita’s self,

  “Even she who brought you letters, you confess,

  “And, you confess, took letters in reply:

  “Forget not we have knowledge of the facts!”

  “ — Sirs, who have knowledge of the facts, defray

  “The expenditure of wit, I waste in vain,

  “Trying to find out just one fact of all!

  “She who brought letters from who could not write,

  “And took back letters to who could not read, —

  “Who was that messenger, of your charity?”

  “ — Well, so far favours you the circumstance

  “That this same messenger . . . how shall we say? . . .

  “Sub imputatione meretricis

  “Laborat, — which makes accusation null:

  “We waive this woman’s: — nought makes void the next.

  “Borsi, called Venerino, he who drove,

  “O’ the first night when you fled away, at length

  “Deposes to your kissings in the coach,

  “ — Frequent, frenetic . . . ” “When deposed he so?”

  “After some weeks of sharp imprisonment . . . ”

  “ — Granted by friend the Governor, I engage — ”

  “ — For his participation in your flight!

  “At length his obduracy melting made

  “The avowal mentioned . . . ” “Was dismissed forthwith

  “To liberty, poor knave, for recompense.

  “Sirs, give what credit to the lie you can!

  “For me, no word in my defence I speak,

  “And God shall argue for the lady!”

  So

  Did I stand question, and make answer, still

  With the same result of smiling disbelief,

  Polite impossibility of faith

  In such affected virtue in a priest;

  But a showing fair play, an indulgence, even,

  To one no worse than others after all —

  Who had not brought disgrace to the order, played

  Discreetly, ruffled gown nor ripped the cloth

  In a bungling game at romps: I have told you, Sirs —

  If I pretended simply to be pure,

  Honest, and Christian in the case, — absurd!

  As well go boast myself above the needs

  O’ the human nature, careless how meat smells,

  Wine tastes, — a saint above the smack! But once

  Abate my crest, own flaws i’ the flesh, agree

  To go with the herd, be hog no more nor less,

  Why, hogs in common herd have common rights —

  I must not be unduly borne upon,

  Who had just romanced a little, sown wild oats,

  But ‘scaped without a scandal, flagrant fault.

  My name helped to a mirthful circumstance:

  “Joseph” would do well to amend his plea:

  Undoubtedly — some toying with the wife,

  But as for ruffia
n violence and rape,

  Potiphar pressed too much on the other side!

  The intrigue, the elopement, the disguise, — well charged!

  The letters and verse looked hardly like the truth.

  Your apprehension was — of guilt enough

  To be compatible with innocence,

  So, punished best a little and not too much.

  Had I struck Guido Franceschini’s face,

  You had counselled me withdraw for my own sake,

  Baulk him of bravo-hiring. Friends came round,

  Congratulated, “Nobody mistakes!

  “The pettiness o’ the forfeiture defines

  “The peccadillo: Guido gets his share:

  “His wife is free of husband and hook-nose,

  “The mouldy viands and the mother-in-law.

  “To Civita with you and amuse the time,

  “Travesty us ‘De Raptu Helenœ!”

  “A funny figure must the husband cut

  “When the wife makes him skip, — too ticklish, eh?

  “Do it in Latin, not the Vulgar, then!

  “Scazons — we’ll copy and send his Eminence!

  “Mind — one iambus in the final foot!

  “He’ll rectify it, be your friend for life!”

  Oh, Sirs, depend on me for much new light

  Thrown on the justice and religion here

  By this proceeding, much fresh food for thought!

  And I was just set down to study these

  In relegation, two short days ago,

  Admiring how you read the rules, when, clap,

  A thunder comes into my solitude —

  I am caught up in a whirlwind and cast here,

  Told of a sudden, in this room where so late

  You dealt out law adroitly, that those scales,

  I meekly bowed to, took my allotment from,

  Guido has snatched at, broken in your hands,

  Metes to himself the murder of his wife,

  Full measure, pressed down, running over now!

  Can I assist to an explanation? — Yes,

  I rise in your esteem, sagacious Sirs,

  Stand up a renderer of reasons, not

  The officious priest would personate Saint George

  For a mock Princess in undragoned days,

  What, the blood startles you? What, after all

  The priest who needs must carry sword on thigh

  May find imperative use for it? Then, there was

  A princess, was a dragon belching flame,

  And should have been a Saint George also? Then,

  There might be worse schemes than to break the bonds

  At Arezzo, lead her by the little hand,

  Till she reached Rome, and let her try to live?

  But you were the law and the gospel, — would one please

  Stand back, allow your faculty elbow-room?

  You blind guides who must needs lead eyes that see!