Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  The husband gets unruly, breaks all bounds

  When he encounters some familiar face,

  Fashion of feature, brow and eyes and lips

  Where he least looked to find them, — time to fly!

  This bastard then, a nest for him is made,

  As the manner is of vermin, in my flesh —

  Shall I let the filthy pest buzz, flap, and sting,

  Busy at my vitals and, nor hand nor foot

  Lift, but let be, lie still and rot resigned?

  No, I appeal to God, — what says Himself,

  How lessons Nature when I look to learn?

  Why, that I am alive, am still a man

  With brain and heart and tongue and right-hand too —

  Nay, even with friends, in such a cause as this,

  To right me if I fail to take my right.

  No more of law; a voice beyond the law

  Enters my heart, Quis est pro Domino?

  Myself, in my own Vittiano, told the tale

  To my own serving-people summoned there:

  Told the first half of it, scarce heard to end

  By judges who got done with judgment quick

  And clamoured to go execute her ‘hest —

  Who cried “Not one of us that dig your soil

  “And dress your vineyard, prune your olive-trees,

  “But would have brained the man debauched our wife,

  “And staked the wife whose lust allured the man,

  “And paunched the Duke, had it been possible,

  “Who ruled the land, yet barred us such revenge!”

  I fixed on the first whose eyes caught mine, some four,

  Resolute youngsters with the heart still fresh,

  Filled my purse with the residue o’ the coin

  Uncaught-up by my wife whom haste made blind,

  Donned the first rough and rural garb I found,

  Took whatsoever weapon came to hand,

  And out we flung and on we ran or reeled

  Romeward, I have no memory of our way,

  Only that, when at intervals the cloud

  Of horror about me opened to let in life,

  I listened to some song in the ear, some snatch

  Of a legend, relic of religion, stray

  Fragment of record very strong and old

  Of the first conscience, the anterior right,

  The God’s-gift to mankind, impulse to quench

  The antagonistic spark of hell and tread

  Satan and all his malice into dust,

  Declare to the world the one law, right is right.

  Then the cloud re-encompassed me, and so

  I found myself, as on the wings of winds,

  Arrived: I was at Rome on Christmas Eve.

  Festive bells — everywhere the Feast o’ the Babe,

  Joy upon earth, peace and good will to man!

  I am baptised. I started and let drop

  The dagger. “Where is it, His promised peace?”

  Nine days o’ the Birth-Feast did I pause and pray

  To enter into no temptation more.

  I bore the hateful house, my brother’s once,

  Deserted, — let the ghost of social joy

  Mock and make mouths at me from empty room

  And idle door that missed the master’s step, —

  Bore the frank wonder of incredulous eyes,

  As my own people watched without a word,

  Waited, from where they huddled round the hearth

  Black like all else, that nod so slow to come —

  I stopped my ears even to the inner call

  Of the dread duty, heard only the song

  “Peace upon earth,” saw nothing but the face

  O’ the Holy Infant and the halo there

  Able to cover yet another face

  Behind it, Satan’s which I else should see.

  But, day by day, joy waned and withered off:

  The Babe’s face, premature with peak and pine,

  Sank into wrinkled ruinous old age,

  Suffering and death, then mist-like disappeared,

  And showed only the Cross at end of all,

  Left nothing more to interpose ‘twixt me

  And the dread duty, — for the angel’s song,

  “Peace upon earth,” louder and louder pealed

  “O Lord, how long, how long be unavenged?”

  On the ninth day, this grew too much for man.

  I started up — ”Some end must be!” At once,

  Silence: then, scratching like a death-watch-tick,

  Slowly within my brain was syllabled,

  “One more concession, one decisive way

  “And but one, to determine thee the truth, —

  “This way, in fine, I whisper in thy ear:

  “Now doubt, anon decide, thereupon act!”

  “That is a way, thou whisperest in my ear!

  “I doubt, I will decide, then act,” said I —

  Then beckoned my companions: “Time is come!”

  And so, all yet uncertain save the will

  To do right, and the daring aught save leave

  Right undone, I did find myself at last

  I’ the dark before the villa with my friends,

  And made the experiment, the final test,

  Ultimate chance that ever was to be

  For the wretchedness inside. I knocked — pronounced

  The name, the predetermined touch for truth,

  “What welcome for the wanderer? Open straight — ”

  To the friend, physician, friar upon his rounds,

  Traveller belated, beggar lame and blind? —

  No, but — ”to Caponsacchi!” And the door

  Opened.

  And then, — why, even then, I think,

  I’ the minute that confirmed my worst of fears,

  Surely, — I pray God that I think aright! —

  Had but Pompilia’s self, the tender thing

  Who once was good and pure, was once my lamb

  And lay in my bosom, had the well-known shape

  Fronted me in the door-way, — stood there faint

  With the recent pang, perhaps, of giving birth

  To what might, though by miracle, seem my child, —

  Nay more, I will say, had even the aged fool

  Pietro, the dotard, in whom folly and age

  Wrought, more than enmity or malevolence,

  To practise and conspire against my peace, —

  Had either of these but opened, I had paused.

  But it was she the hag, she that brought hell

  For a dowry with her to her husband’s house,

  She the mock-mother, she that made the match

  And married me to perdition, spring and source

  O’ the fire inside me that boiled up from heart

  To brain and hailed the Fury gave it birth, —

  Violante Comparini, she it was,

  With the old grin amid the wrinkles yet,

  Opened: as if in turning from the Cross,

  With trust to keep the sight and save my soul,

  I had stumbled, first thing, on the serpent’s head

  Coiled with a leer at foot of it.

  There was the end!

  Then was I rapt away by the impluse, one

  Immeasurable everlasting wave of a need

  To abolish that detested life. ‘Twas done:

  You know the rest and how the folds o’ the thing,

  Twisting for help, involved the other two

  More or less serpent-like: how I was mad,

  Blind, stamped on all, the earth-worms with the asp,

  And ended so.

  You came on me that night,

  Your officers of justice, — caught the crime

  In the first natural frenzy of remorse?

  Twenty miles off, sound sleeping as a child

  On a cloak i’ the straw which promised shelter first,

  With the bl
oody arms beside me, — was it not so?

  Wherefore not? Why, how else should I be found?

  I was my own self, had my sense again,

  My soul safe from the serpents. I could sleep:

  Indeed and, dear my lords, I shall sleep now,

  Spite of my shoulder, in five minutes’ space,

  When you dismiss me, having truth enough!

  It is but a few days are passed, I find,

  Since this adventure. Do you tell me, four?

  Then the dead are scarce quiet where they lie,

  Old Pietro, old Violante, side by side

  At the church Lorenzo, — oh, they know it well!

  So do I. But my wife is still alive,

  Has breath enough to tell her story yet,

  Her way, which is not mine, no doubt at all.

  And Caponsacchi, you have summoned him, —

  Was he so far to send for? Not at hand?

  I thought some few o’ the stabs were in his heart,

  Or had not been so lavish, — less had served.

  Well, he too tells his story, — florid prose

  As smooth as mine is rough. You see, my lords,

  There will be a lying intoxicating smoke

  Born of the blood, — confusion probably, —

  For lies breed lies — but all that rests with you!

  The trial is no concern of mine; with me

  The main of the care is over: I at least

  Recognise who took that huge burthen off,

  Let me begin to live again. I did

  God’s bidding and man’s duty, so, breathe free;

  Look you to the rest! I heard Himself prescribe,

  That great Physician, and dared lance the core

  Of the bad ulcer; and the rage abates,

  I am myself and whole now: I prove cured

  By the eyes that see, the ears that hear again,

  The limbs that have relearned their youthful play,

  The healthy taste of food and feel of clothes

  And taking to our common life once more,

  All that now urges my defence from death.

  The willingness to live, what means it else?

  Before, — but let the very action speak!

  Judge for yourselves, what life seemed worth to me

  Who, not by proxy but in person, pitched

  Head-foremost into danger as a fool

  That never cares if he can swim or no —

  So he but find the bottom, braves the brook.

  No man omits precaution, quite neglects

  Secrecy, safety, schemes not how retreat,

  Having schemed he might advance. Did I so scheme?

  Why, with a warrant which ‘tis ask and have,

  With horse thereby made mine without a word,

  I had gained the frontier and slept safe that night.

  Then, my companions, — call them what you please,

  Slave or stipendiary, — what need of one

  To me whose right-hand did its owner’s work?

  Hire an assassin yet expose yourself?

  As well buy glove and then thrust naked hand

  I’ the thorn-bush. No, the wise man stays at home,

  Sends only agents out, with pay to earn:

  At home, when they come back, — he straight discards

  Or else disowns. Why use such tools at all

  When a man’s foes are of his house, like mine,

  Sit at his board, sleep in his bed? Why noise,

  When there’s the acquetta and the silent way?

  Clearly my life was valueless.

  But now

  Health is returned, and sanity of soul

  Nowise indifferent to the body’s harm.

  I find the instinct bids me save my life;

  My wits, too, rally round me; I pick up

  And use the arms that strewed the ground before,

  Unnoticed or spurned aside: I take my stand,

  Make no defence. God shall not lose a life

  May do Him further service, while I speak

  And you hear, you my judges and last hope!

  You are the law: ‘tis to the law I look.

  I began life by hanging to the law,

  To the law it is I hang till life shall end.

  My brother made appeal to the Pope, ‘tis true,

  To stay proceedings, judge my cause himself

  Nor trouble law, — some fondness of conceit

  That rectitude, sagacity sufficed

  The investigator in a case like mine,

  Dispensed with the machine of law. The Pope

  Knew better, set aside my brother’s plea

  And put me back to law, — referred the cause

  Ad judices meos, — doubtlessly did well.

  Here, then, I clutch my judges, — I claim law —

  Cry, by the higher law whereof your law

  O’ the land is humbly representative, —

  Cry, on what point is it, where either accuse,

  I fail to furnish you defence? I stand

  Acquitted, actually or virtually,

  By every intermediate kind of court

  That takes account of right or wrong in man,

  Each unit in the series that begins

  With God’s throne, ends with the tribunal here.

  God breathes, not speaks, his verdicts, felt not heard,

  Passed on successively to each court I call

  Man’s conscience, custom, manners, all that make

  More and more effort to promulgate, mark

  God’s verdict in determinable words,

  Till last come human jurists — solidify

  Fluid result, — what’s fixable lies forged,

  Statute, — the residue escapes in fume,

  Yet hangs aloft, a cloud, as palpable

  To the finer sense as word the legist welds.

  Justinian’s Pandects only make precise

  What simply sparkled in men’s eyes before,

  Twitched in their brow or quivered on their lip,

  Waited the speech they called but would not come,

  These courts then, whose decree your own confirms, —

  Take my whole life, not this last act alone,

  Look on it by the light reflected thence!

  What has Society to charge me with?

  Come, unreservedly, — favour nor fear, —

  I am Guido Franceschini, am I not?

  You know the courses I was free to take?

  I took just that which let me serve the Church,

  I gave it all my labour in body and soul

  Till these broke down i’ the service. “Specify?”

  Well, my last patron was a Cardinal.

  I left him unconvicted of a fault —

  Was even helped, by way of gratitude,

  Into the new life that I left him for,

  This very misery of the marriage, — he

  Made it, kind soul, so far as in him lay —

  Signed the deed where you yet may see his name.

  He is gone to his reward, — dead, being my friend

  Who could have helped here also, — that, of course!

  So far, there’s my acquittal, I suppose.

  Then comes the marriage itself — no question, lords,

  Of the entire validity of that!

  In the extremity of distress, ‘tis true,

  For after-reasons, furnished abundantly,

  I wished the thing invalid, went to you

  Only some months since, set you duly forth

  My wrong and prayed your remedy, that a cheat

  Should not have force to cheat my whole life long.

  “Annul a marriage? ‘Tis impossible!

  “Though ring about your neck be brass not gold,

  “Needs must it clasp, gangrene you all the same!”

  Well, let me have the benefit, just so far,

  O’ the fact announced, — my wife then is my wife,

&
nbsp; I have allowance for a husband’s right.

  I am charged with passing right’s due bound, — such acts

  As I thought just, my wife called cruelty,

  Complained of in due form, — convoked no court

  Of common gossipry, but took her wrongs —

  And not once, but so long as patience served —

  To the town’s top, jurisdiction’s pride of place,

  To the Archbishop and the Governor.

  These heard her charge with my reply, and found

  That futile, this sufficient: they dismissed

  The hysteric querulous rebel, and confirmed

  Authority in its wholesome exercise,

  They, with directest access to the facts.

  “ — Ay, for it was their friendship favoured you,

  “Hereditary alliance against a breach

  “I’ the social order: prejudice for the name

  “Of Franceschini!” — So I hear it said:

  But not here. You, lords, never will you say

  “Such is the nullity of grace and truth,

  “Such the corruption of the faith, such lapse

  “Of law, such warrant have the Molinists

  “For daring reprehend us as they do, —

  “That we pronounce it just a common case,

  “Two dignitaries, each in his degree

  “First, foremost, this the spiritual head, and that

  “The secular arm o’ the body politic,

  “Should, for mere wrongs’ love and injustice’ sake,

  “Side with, aid and abet in cruelty

  “This broken beggarly noble, — bribed perhaps

  “By his watered wine and mouldy crust of bread —

  “Rather than that sweet tremulous flower-like wife

  “Who kissed their hands and curled about their feet

  “Looking the irresistible loveliness

  “In tears that takes man captive, turns” . . . enough!

  Do you blast your predecessors? What forbids

  Posterity to trebly blast yourselves

  Who set the example and instruct their tongue?

  You dreaded the crowd, succumbed to the popular cry,

  Or else, would nowise seem defer thereto

  And yield to public clamour though i’the right!

  You riddled your eye of my unseemliness,

  The noble whose misfortune wearied you, —

  Or, what’s more probable, made common cause

  With the cleric section, punished in myself

  Maladroit uncomplaisant laity,

  Defective in behaviour to a priest

  Who claimed the customary partnership

  I’ the house and the wife. Lords, any lie will serve!

  Look to it, — or allow me freed so far!

  Then I proceed a step, come with clean hands

  Thus far, re-tell the tale told eight months since.

  The wife, you allow so far, I have not wronged,