Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  My fate is known at Florence! What is it?

  Brac. Sir, I shall not conceal what you divine:

  It is no novelty for innocence

  To be suspected, but a privilege:

  The after certain compensation comes.

  Charges, I say not whether false or true,

  Have been preferred against you some time since,

  Which Florence was bound, plainly, to receive,

  And which are therefore undergoing now

  The due investigation. That is all.

  I doubt not but your innocence will shine

  Apparent and illustrious, as to me,

  To them this evening, when the trial ends

  Lur. My trial?

  Dom. Florence, Florence to the end,

  My whole heart thanks thee!

  Puc. [to BRAC.] What is “Trial,” Sir?

  It was not for a trial — surely, no —

  I furnished you those notes from time to time?

  I hold myself aggrieved — I am a man —

  And I might speak, — ay, and speak mere truth, too,

  And yet not mean at bottom of my heart

  What should assist a — Trial, do you say?

  You should have told me!

  Dom. Nay, go on, go on!

  His sentence! Do they sentence him? What is it?

  The block? Wheel?

  Brac. Sentence there is none as yet,

  Nor shall I give my own opinion here

  Of what it should be, or is like to be,

  When it is passed, applaud or disapprove!

  Up to that point, what is there to impugn?

  Lur. They are right, then, to try me?

  Brac. I assert,

  Maintain, and justify the absolute right

  Of Florence to do all she can have done

  In this procedure, — standing on her guard,

  Receiving even services like yours

  With utmost fit suspicious wariness.

  In other matters — keep the mummery up!

  Take all the experiences of the whole world,

  Each knowledge that broke thro’ a heart to life,

  Each reasoning which, to work out, cost a brain,

  — In other cases, know these, warrant these,

  And then dispense with them — ’tis very well!

  Let friend trust friend, and love demand its like,

  And gratitude be claimed for benefits, —

  There’s grace in that — and when the fresh heart breaks,

  The new brain proves a martyr, what of it?

  Where is the matter of one moth the more

  Singed in the candle, at a summer’s end?

  But Florence is no simple John or James

  To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit,

  That he’s the one excepted man by fate,

  And, when fate shows him he’s mistaken there,

  Die with all good men’s praise, and yield his place

  To Paul and George intent to try their chance:

  Florence exists because these pass away;

  She’s a contrivance to supply a type

  Of Man, which men’s deficiencies refuse;

  She binds so many, that she grows out of them —

  Stands steady o’er their numbers, tho’ they change

  And pass away — there’s always what upholds,

  Always enough to fashion the great show!

  As, see, yon hanging city, in the sun,

  Of shapely cloud substantially the same!

  A thousand vapours rise and sink again,

  Are interfused, and live their life and die, —

  Yet ever hangs the steady show i’ the air

  Under the sun’s straight influence: that is well!

  That is worth Heaven to hold, and God to bless!

  And so is Florence, — the unseen sun above,

  Which draws and holds suspended all of us —

  Binds transient mists and vapours into one,

  Differing from each and better than they all.

  And shall she dare to stake this permanence

  On any one man’s faith? Man’s heart is weak,

  And its temptations many: let her prove

  Each servant to the very uttermost

  Before she grant him her reward, I say!

  Dom. And as for hearts she chances to mistake,

  That are not destined to receive reward,

  Tho’ they deserve it, did she only know!

  — What should she do for these?

  Brac. What does she not?

  Say, that she gives them but herself to serve!

  Here’s Luria — what had profited his strength,

  When half an hour of sober fancying

  Had shown him step by step the uselessness

  Of strength exerted for its proper sake?

  But the truth is, she did create that strength,

  Drew to the end the corresponding means.

  The world is wide — are we the only men?

  Oh, for the time, the social purpose’ sake,

  Use words agreed on, bandy epithets,

  Call any man, sole Great and Wise and Good!

  But shall we, therefore, standing by ourselves,

  Insult our souls and God with the same speech?

  There, swarm the ignoble thousands under Him —

  What marks us from the hundreds and the tens?

  Florence took up, turned all one way the soul

  Of Luria with its fires, and here he stands!

  She takes me out of all the world as him,

  Fixing my coldness till like ice it stays

  The fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best?

  Lur. Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the way

  To gain your good word and sincere esteem?

  Am I the baited tiger that must turn

  And fight his baiters to deserve their praise?

  Obedience has no fruit then? — Be it so!

  Do you indeed remember I stand here

  The Captain of the conquering army, — mine —

  With all your tokens, praise and promise, ready

  To show for what their names were when you gave,

  Not what you style them now you take away?

  If I call in my troops to arbitrate,

  And in their first enthusiastic thrill

  Of victory, tell them how you menace me —

  Commending to their plain instinctive sense,

  My story first, your comment afterward, —

  Will they take, think you, part with you or me?

  When I say simply, I, the man they know,

  Ending my work, ask payment, and find Florence

  Has all this while provided silently

  Against the day of pay and proving words,

  By what you call my sentence that’s to come —

  Will they sit waiting it complacently?

  When I resist that sentence at their head

  What will you do, my mild antagonist?

  Brac. I will rise up like fire, proud and triumphant

  That Florence knew you thoroughly and by me,

  And so was saved: “See, Italy,” I’ll say,

  “The need of our precautions — here’s a man

  “Was far advanced, just touched on the reward

  “Less subtle cities had accorded him —

  “But we were wiser; at the end comes this!”

  And from that minute all your strength will go —

  The very stones of Florence cry against

  The all-exacting, unenduring Luria,

  Resenting her first slight probation thus,

  As if he, only, shone and cast no shade,

  He, only, walked the earth with privilege

  Against suspicion, free from causing fear —

  So, for the first inquisitive mother’s-word,

  He turned, and stood on his defence, forsooth!

  Reward? You will not be worth punishment! />
  Lur. And Florence knew me thus! Thus I have lived, —

  And thus you, with the clear fine intellect,

  Braccio, the cold acute instructed mind,

  Out of the stir, so calm and unconfused,

  Reported me — how could you otherwise!

  Ay? — and what dropped from you, just now, more-over?

  Your information, Puccio? — Did your skill

  And understanding sympathy approve

  Such a report of me? Was this the end?

  Or is even this the end? Can I stop here —

  You, Lady, with the woman’s stand apart,

  The heart to see with, not those learned eyes,

  . . . I cannot fathom why you should destroy

  The unoffending man, you call your friend —

  So, looking at the good examples here

  Of friendship, ‘tis but natural I ask

  Had you a further end, in all you spoke,

  Than profit to me, in those instances

  Of perfidy from Florence to her chiefs —

  All I remember now for the first time?

  Dom. I am a daughter of the Traversari,

  Sister of Porzio and of Berto both.

  I have foreseen all that has come to pass.

  I knew the Florence that could doubt their faith,

  Must needs mistrust a stranger’s — holding back

  Reward from them, must hold back his reward.

  And I believed, the shame they bore and died,

  He would not bear, but live and fight against —

  Seeing he was of other stuff than they.

  Lur. Hear them! All these against one Foreigner!

  And all this while, where is in the whole world

  To his good faith a single witness?

  Tiburzio [who has entered during the preceding

  dialogue.] Here!

  Thus I bear witness to it, not in word

  But deed. I live for Pisa; she’s not lost

  By many chances — much prevents from that!

  Her army has been beaten, I am here,

  But Lucca comes at last, one chance exists.

  I rather had see Pisa three times lost

  Than saved by any traitor, even by you.

  The example of a traitor’s happy fortune

  Would bring more evil in the end than good.

  Pisa rejects such: save yourself and her!

  I, in her name, resign forthwith to you

  My charge, — the highest of her offices.

  You shall not, by my counsel, turn on Florence

  Her army, give her calumny that ground —

  Nor bring it with you: be you all we gain,

  And all she’ll lose, a head to deck some bridge,

  And save the crown’s cost that should deck the head.

  Leave her to perish in her perfidy,

  Plague-stricken and stripped naked to all eyes,

  A proverb and a by-word in all mouths!

  Go you to Pisa — Florence is my place —

  Leave me to tell her of the rectitude,

  I, from the first, told Pisa, knowing it.

  To Pisa!

  Dom. Ah, my Braccio, are you caught?

  Brac. Puccio, good soldier and selected man,

  Whom I have ever kept beneath my eye,

  Ready, as fit, to serve in this event

  Florence, who clear foretold it from the first —

  Thro’ me, she gives you the command and charge

  She takes, thro’ me, from him who held it late!

  A painful trial, very sore, was yours:

  All that could draw out, marshal in array

  The selfish passions ‘gainst the public good —

  Slights, scorns, neglects, were heaped on you to bear:

  And ever you did bear and bow the head!

  It had been sorry trial, to precede

  Your feet, hold up the promise of reward

  For luring gleam; your footsteps kept the track

  Thro’ dark and doubt: take all the light at once!

  Trial is over, consummation shines;

  Well have you served, as well henceforth command!

  Puc. No, no. . . . I dare not. . . . I am grateful, glad;

  But Luria — you shall understand he’s wronged —

  And he’s my Captain — this is not the way

  We soldiers climb to fortune: think again!

  The sentence is not even passed, beside!

  I dare not. . . . where’s the soldier could?

  Lur. Now, Florence —

  Is it to be? — You will know all the strength

  Of the savage — to your neck the proof must go?

  You will prove the brute nature? Ah, I see!

  The savage plainly is impassible —

  He keeps his calm way thro’ insulting words,

  Sarcastic looks, sharp gestures — one of which

  Would stop you, fatal to your finer sense:

  But if he steadily advances, still

  Without a mark upon his callous hide,

  Thro’ the mere brushwood you grow angry with,

  And leave the tatters of your flesh upon,

  — You have to learn that when the true bar comes,

  The thick mid forest, the real obstacle,

  Which when you reach, you give the labour up,

  Nor dash on, but lie down composed before,

  — He goes against it, like the brute he is!

  It falls before him, or he dies in his course!

  I kept my course thro’ past ingratitude —

  I saw — it does seem, now, as if I saw,

  Could not but see, those insults as they fell,

  — Ay, let them glance from off me, very like,

  Laughing, perhaps, to think the quality

  You grew so bold on, while you so despised

  The Moor’s dull mute inapprehensive mood,

  Was saving you; I bore and kept my course:

  Now real wrong fronts me — see if I succumb!

  Florence withstands me? — I will punish her!

  At night my sentence will arrive, you say!

  Till then I cannot, if I would, rebel —

  — Unauthorised to lay my office down,

  Retaining my full power to will and do:

  After — is it to see. Tiburzio, thanks!

  Go you are free — join Lucca. I suspend

  All further operations till to-night.

  Thank you, and for the silence most of all!

  [To Brac.] Let my complacent bland accuser go,

  And carry his self-approving head and heart

  Safe thro’ the army which would trample him

  Dead in a moment at my word or sign!

  Go, Sir, to Florence; tell friends what I say —

  That while I wait their sentence, theirs waits them!

  [To Dom.] You, Lady, — you have black Italian eyes!

  I would be generous if I might. . . . Oh, yes —

  For I remember how so oft you seemed

  Inclined at heart to break the barrier down

  Which Florence makes God build between us both.

  Alas, for generosity! this hour

  Demands strict justice — bear it as you may!

  I must — the Moor, — the Savage, — pardon you!

  [To Puc.] Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth! —

  Act IV

  EVENING

  Enter PUCCIO and JACOPO

  Puc. What Luria will do? Ah, ‘tis yours, fair Sir,

  Your and your subtle-witted master’s part,

  To tell me that; I tell you what he can.

  Jac. Friend, you mistake my station! I observe

  The game, watch how my betters play, no more.

  Puc. But mankind are not pieces — there s your fault!

  You cannot push them, and, the first move made,

  Lean back to study what the next should be,

  In confidence that when ‘
tis fixed upon,

  You’ll find just where you left them, blacks and whites:

  Men go on moving when your hand’s away.

  You build, I notice, firm on Luria’s faith

  This whole time, — firmlier than I choose to build,

  Who never doubted it — of old, that is —

  With Luria in his ordinary mind:

  But now, oppression makes the wise man mad —

  How do I know he will not turn and stand

  And hold his own against you, as he may?

  Suppose that he withdraws to Pisa — well, —

  Then, even if all happens to your wish,

  Which is a chance. . . .

  Jac. Nay — ’twas an oversight,

  Not waiting till the proper warrant came:

  You could not take what was not ours to give.

  But when at night the sentence really comes,

  And Florence authorizes past dispute

  Luria’s removal and your own advance,

  You will perceive your duty and accept?

  Puc. Accept what? muster-rolls of soldiers’ names?

  An army upon paper? — I want men,

  Their hearts as well as hands — and where’s a heart

  That’s not with Luria, in the multitude

  I come from walking thro’ by Luria’s side?

  You gave him to them, set him on to grow,

  Head-like, upon their trunk, one blood feeds both,

  They feel him there, and live, and well know why!

  — For they do know, if you are ignorant,

  Who kept his own place and respected theirs,

  Managed their ease, yet never spared his own.

  All was your deed: another might have served —

  There’s peradventure no such dearth of men —

  But you chose Luria — so they grew to him

  And now, for nothing they can understand,

  Luria s removed, off is to roll the head —

  The body’s mime — much I shall do with it!

  Jac. That’s at the worst!

  Puc. No — at the best, it is!

  Best, do you hear? I saw them by his side;

  Only we two with Luria in the camp

  Are left that know the secret? You think that?

  Hear what I saw: from rear to van, no heart

  But felt the quiet patient hero there

  Was wronged, nor in the moveless ranks an eye

  But glancing told its fellow the whole story

  Of that convicted silent knot of spies

  Who passed thro’ them to Florence; they might pass —

  No breast but gladlier beat when free of them!

  Our troops will catch up Luria, close him round,

  Lead him to Florence as their natural lord,

  Partake his fortunes, live or die with him!

  Jac. And by mistake catch up along with him

  Puccio, no doubt, compelled in self-despite

  To still continue Second in Command!