Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  Nowise performed here, therefore never willed.

  What follows but that God, who could the best,

  Has willed the worst, — while man, with power to match

  Will with performance, were deservedly

  Hailed the supreme — provided . . . here’s the touch

  That breaks the bubble . . . this concept of man’s

  Were man’s own work, his birth of heart and brain,

  His native grace, no alien gift at all.

  The bubble breaks here. Will of man create?

  No more than this my hand which strewed the beans

  Produced them also from its finger-tips.

  Back goes creation to its source, source prime

  And ultimate, the single and the sole.”

  “How reconcile discordancy, — unite

  Notion and notion — God that only can

  Yet does not, — man that would indeed

  But just as surely cannot, — both in one?

  What help occurs to thy intelligence?”

  “Ah, the beans, — or, — example better yet, —

  A carpet-web I saw once leave the loom

  And lie at gorgeous length in Ispahan!

  The weaver plied his work with lengths of silk

  Dyed each to match some jewel as it might,

  And wove them, this by that. ‘How comes it, friend,’ —

  (Quoth I) — ’that while, apart, this fiery hue,

  That watery dimness, either shocks the eye,

  So blinding bright, or else offends again

  By dulness, — yet the two, set each by each,

  Somehow produce a colour born of both,

  A medium profitable to the sight?’

  ‘Such medium is the end whereat I aim,’ —

  Answered my craftsman: ‘there’s no single tinct

  Would satisfy the eye’s desire to taste

  The secret of the diamond: join extremes,

  Results a serviceable medium-ghost,

  The diamond’s simulation. Even so

  I needs must blend the quality of man

  With quality of God, and so assist

  Mere human sight to understand my Life,

  What is, what should be, — understand thereby

  Wherefore I hate the first and love the last, —

  Understand why things so present themselves

  To me, placed here to prove I understand.

  Thus, from beginning runs the chain to end,

  And binds me plain enough. By consequence,

  I bade thee tolerate, — not kick and cuff

  The man who held that natures did in fact

  Blend so, since so thyself must have them blend

  In fancy, if it take a flight so far.”

  “A power, confessed past knowledge, nay, past thought,

  — Thus thought thus known!”

  “To know of, think about —

  Is all man’s sum of faculty effects

  When exercised on earth’s least atom, Son!

  What was, what is, what may such atom be?

  No answer! Still, what seems it to man’s sense?

  An atom with some certain properties

  Known about, thought of as occasion needs,

  — Man’s — but occasions of the universe?

  Unthinkable, unknowable to man.

  Yet, since to think and know fire through and through

  Exceeds man, is the warmth of fire unknown,

  Its uses — are they so unthinkable?

  Pass from such obvious power to powers unseen,

  Undreamed of save in their sure consequence:

  Take that, we spoke of late, which draws to ground

  The staff my hand lets fall: it draws, at least —

  Thus much man thinks and knows, if nothing more.”

  “Ay, but man puts no mind into such power!

  He neither thanks it, when an apple drops,

  Nor prays it spare his pate while underneath.

  Does he thank Summer though it plumped the rind?

  Why thank the other force — whate’er its name —

  Which gave him teeth to bite and tongue to taste

  And throat to let the pulp pass? Force and force,

  No end of forces! Have they mind like man?”

  “Suppose thou visit our lord Shalim-Shah,

  Bringing thy tribute as appointed. ‘Here

  Come I to pay my due!’ Whereat one slave

  Obsequious spreads a carpet for thy foot,

  His fellow offers sweetmeats, while a third

  Prepares a pipe: what thanks or praise have they?

  Such as befit prompt service. Gratitude

  Goes past them to the Shah whose gracious nod

  Set all the sweet civility at work;

  But for his ordinance, I much suspect,

  My scholar had been left to cool his heels

  Uncarpeted, or warm them — likelier still —

  With bastinado for intrusion. Slaves

  Needs must obey their master: ‘force and force,

  No end of forces,’ act as bids some force

  Supreme o’er all and each: where find that one?

  How recognize him? Simply as thou didst

  The Shah — by reasoning ‘Since I feel a debt,

  Behoves me pay the same to one aware

  I have my duty, he his privilege.’

  Didst thou expect the slave who charged thy pipe

  Would serve as well to take thy tribute-bag

  And save thee further trouble?”

  “Be it so!

  The sense within me that I owe a debt

  Assures me — somewhere must be somebody

  Ready to take his due. All comes to this —

  Where due is, there acceptance follows: find

  Him who accepts the due! and why look far?

  Behold thy kindred compass thee about!

  Ere-thou wast born and after thou shalt die,

  Heroic man stands forth as Shahan-Shah.

  Rustem and Gew, Gudarz and all the rest,

  How come they short of lordship that’s to seek

  Dead worthies! but men live undoubtedly

  Gifted as Sindokht, sage Sulayman’s match,

  Valiant like Kawah: ay, and while earth lasts

  Such heroes shall abound there — all for thee

  Who profitest by all the present, past,

  And future operation of thy race.

  Why, then, o’erburdened with a debt of thanks,

  Look wistful for some hand from out the clouds

  To take it, when, all round, a multitude

  Would ease thee in a trice?”

  “Such tendered thanks

  Would tumble back to who craved riddance, Son!

  — Who but my sorry self? See! stars are out —

  Stars which, unconscious of thy gaze beneath,

  Go glorifying, and glorify thee too

  — Those Seven Thrones, Zurah’s beauty, weird Parwin!

  Whether shall love and praise to stars be paid

  Or — say — some Mubid who, for good to thee

  Blind at thy birth, by magic all his own

  Opened thine eyes, and gave the sightless sight,

  Let the stars’ glory enter? Say his charm

  Worked while thyself lay sleeping: as he went

  Thou wakedst: ‘What a novel sense have I!

  Whom shall I love and praise?’ ‘The stars, each orb

  Thou standest rapt beneath,’ proposes one:

  ‘Do not they live their life, and please themselves,

  And so please thee? What more is requisite?’

  Make thou this answer: ‘If indeed no mage

  Opened my eyes and worked a miracle,

  Then let the stars thank me who apprehend

  That such an one is white, such other blue!

  But for my apprehension both were blank.

  Cannot I close my eyes and bid my brainr />
  Make whites and blues, conceive without stars’ help,

  New qualities of colour? were my sight

  Lost or misleading, would yon red — I judge

  A ruby’s benefaction — stand for aught

  But green from vulgar glass? Myself appraise

  Lustre and lustre; should I overlook

  Fomalhaut and declare some fen-fire king,

  Who shall correct me, lend me eyes he trusts

  No more than I trust mine? My mage for me!

  I never saw him: if he never was,

  I am the arbitrator!’ No, my Son!

  Let us sink down to thy similitude:

  I eat my apple, relish what is ripe —

  The sunny side, admire its rarity

  Since half the tribe is wrinkled, and the rest

  Hide commonly a maggot in the core, —

  And down Zerdusht goes with due smack of lips:

  But — thank an apple? He who made my mouth

  To masticate, my palate to approve,

  My maw to further the concoction — Him

  I thank, — but for whose work, the orchard’s wealth

  Might prove so many gall-nuts — stocks or stones

  For aught that I should think, or know, or care.”

  “Why from the world,” Ferishtah smiled, “should thanks

  Go to this work of mine? If worthy praise,

  Praised let it be and welcome: as verse ranks,

  So rate my verse: if good therein outweighs

  Aught faulty judged, judge justly! Justice says:

  Be just to fact, or blaming or approving:

  But — generous? No, nor loving!

  “Loving! what claim to love has work of mine?

  Concede my life were emptied of its gains

  To furnish forth and fill work’s strict confine,

  Who works so for the world’s sake — he complains

  With cause when hate, not love, rewards his pains.

  I looked beyond the world for truth and beauty:

  Sought, found and did my duty.”

  EPILOGUE.

  Oh , Love — no, Love! All the noise below, Love,

  Groanings all and moanings — none of Life I lose!

  All of Life’s a cry just of weariness and woe, Love —

  ”Hear at least, thou happy one!” How can I, Love, but choose?

  Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me

  — Much as when the moon’s might frees a space from cloud —

  Iridescent splendours: gloom — would else confound me —

  Barriered off and banished far — bright-edged the blackest shroud!

  Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the faces

  Faint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old?

  “What” — they smile — ”our names, our deeds so soon erases

  Time upon his tablet where Life’s glory lies enrolled?

  “Was it for mere fool’s-play, make-believe and mumming,

  So we battled it like men, not boylike sulked or whined?

  Each of us heard clang God’s ‘Come!’ and each was coming:

  Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind!

  “How of the field’s fortune? That concerned our Leader!

  Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right:

  Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder,

  Lay the blame or lit the praise: no care for cowards: fight!”

  Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that’s under

  Wide our world displays its worth, man’s strife and strife’s success:

  All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder,

  Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less.

  Only, at heart’s utmost joy and triumph, terror

  Sudden turns the blood to ice: a chill wind disencharms

  All the late enchantment! What if all be error —

  If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms?

  Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati, Venice: December 1, 1883.

  PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY

  CONTENTS

  PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY

  APOLLO AND THE FATES.

  WITH BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE.

  WITH DANIEL BARTOLI.

  WITH CHRISTOPHER SMART.

  WITH GEORGE BUBB DODINGTON.

  WITH FRANCIS FURINI.

  WITH GERARD DE LAIRESSE.

  WITH CHARLES AVISON.

  FUST AND HIS FRIENDS.

  AN EPILOGUE.

  PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY

  IN MEMORIAM J. MILSAND OBIIT IV. SEPT. MDCCCLXXXVI.

  Absens absentem auditque videtque .

  1887.

  APOLLO AND THE FATES.

  A PROLOGUE.

  APOLLO.

  [From above.

  Flame at my footfall, Parnassus! Apollo,

  Breaking a-blaze on thy topmost peak,

  Burns thence, down to the depths — dread hollow —

  Haunt of the Dire Ones. Haste! They wreak

  Wrath on Admetus whose respite I seek.

  THE FATES.

  [Below. Darkness.

  Dragonwise couched in the womb of our Mother,

  Coiled at thy nourishing heart’s core, Night!

  Dominant Dreads, we, one by the other,

  Deal to each mortal his dole of light

  On earth — the upper, the glad, the bright.

  CLOTHO.

  Even so: thus from my loaded spindle

  Plucking a pinch of the fleece, lo, “Birth”

  Brays from my bronze lip: life I kindle:

  Look, ‘t is a man! go, measure on earth

  The minute thy portion, whatever its worth!

  LACHESIS.

  Woe-purfled, weal-prankt, — if it speed, if it linger, —

  Life’s substance and show are determined by me,

  Who, meting out, mixing with sure thumb and finger,

  Lead life the due length: is all smoothness and glee,

  All tangle and grief? Take the lot, my decree!

  ATROPOS.

  — Which I make an end of: the smooth as the tangled

  My shears cut asunder: each snap shrieks “One more

  Mortal makes sport for us Moirai who dangled

  The puppet grotesquely till earth’s solid floor

  Proved film he fell through, lost in Nought as before.”

  CLOTHO.

  I spin thee a thread. Live, Admetus! Produce him! LACHESIS.

  Go, — brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!

  He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose him

  A goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,

  Men crown him, he stands at the height, — ATROPOS.

  He is . . . APOLLO.

  [Entering: Light.

  “Dead?”

  Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise you

  Making and marring the fortunes of Man?

  Huddling — no marvel, your enemy eyes you —

  Head by head bat-like, blots under the ban

  Of daylight earth’s blessing since time began!

  THE FATES.

  Back to thy blest earth, prying Apollo!

  Shaft upon shaft transpierce with thy beams

  Earth to the centre, — spare but this hollow

  Hewn out of Night’s heart, where our mystery seems

  Mewed from day’s malice: wake earth from her dreams!

  APOLLO.

  Crones, ‘t is your dusk selves I startle from slumber:

  Day’s god deposes you — queens Night-crowned!

  — Plying your trade in a world ye encumber,

  Fashioning Man’s web of life — spun, wound,

  Left the length ye allot till a clip strews the ground!

  Behold I bid truce to your doleful amusement —

&nb
sp; Annulled by a sunbeam! THE FATES.

  Boy, are not we peers? APOLLO.

  You with the spindle grant birth: whose inducement

  But yours — with the niggardly digits — endears

  To mankind chance and change, good and evil? Your shears . . .

  ATROPOS.

  Ay, mine end the conflict: so much is no fable.

  We spin, draw to length, cut asunder: what then?

  So it was, and so is, and so shall be: art able

  To alter life’s law for ephemeral men? APOLLO.

  Nor able nor willing. To threescore and ten

  Extend but the years of Admetus! Disaster

  O’ertook me, and, banished by Zeus, I became

  A servant to one who forbore me though master:

  True lovers were we. Discontinue your game,

  Let him live whom I loved, then hate on, all the same!

  THE FATES.

  And what if we granted — law flouter, use-trampler —

  His life at the suit of an upstart? Judge, thou —

  Of joy were it fuller, of span because ampler?

  For love’s sake, not hate’s, end Admetus — ay, now —

  Not a gray hair on head, nor a wrinkle on brow!

  For, boy, ‘t is illusion: from thee comes a glimmer

  Transforming to beauty life blank at the best.

  Withdraw — and how looks life at worst, when to shimmer

  Succeeds the sure shade, and Man’s lot frowns — confessed

  Mere blackness chance-brightened? Whereof shall attest

  The truth this same mortal, the darling thou stylest,

  Whom love would advantage, — eke out, day by day,

  A life which ‘t is solely thyself reconcilest

  Thy friend to endure, — life with hope: take away

  Hope’s gleam from Admetus, he spurns it. For, say —

  What’s infancy? Ignorance, idleness, mischief:

  Youth ripens to arrogance, foolishness, greed:

  Age — impotence, churlishness, rancour: call this chief

  Of boons for thy loved one? Much rather bid speed

  Our function, let live whom thou hatest indeed!

  Persuade thee, bright boy-thing! Our eld be instructive! APOLLO.

  And certes youth owns the experience of age.

  Ye hold then, grave seniors, my beams are productive

  — They solely — of good that’s mere semblance, engage

  Man’s eye — gilding evil, Man’s true heritage?

  THE FATES.

  So, even so! From without, — at due distance

  If viewed, — set a-sparkle, reflecting thy rays, —

  Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,

  The counterfeit goes, the reality stays —

  An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb. APOLLO.

  What craze