Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  Let speed the special service, — and I sped

  Till, at the dead between midnight and morn,

  There was I at the goal, before the gate,

  With a tune in the ears, low leading up to loud,

  A light in the eyes, faint that would soon be flare,

  Ever some spiritual witness new and new

  In faster frequence, crowding solitude

  To watch the way o’ the warfare, — till, at last,

  When the ecstatic minute must bring birth,

  Began a whiteness in the distance, waxed

  Whiter and whiter, near grew and more near,

  Till it was she: there did Pompilia come:

  The white I saw shine through her was her soul’s,

  Certainly, for the body was one black,

  Black from head down to foot. She did not speak,

  Glided into the carriage, — so a cloud

  Gathers the moon up. “By San Spirito,

  “To Rome, as if the road burned underneath!

  “Reach Rome, then hold my head in pledge, I pay

  “The run and the risk to heart’s content!” Just that,

  I said, — then, in another tick of time,

  Sprang, was beside her, she and I alone.

  So it began, our flight thro’ dusk to clear,

  Through day and night and day again to night

  Once more, and to last dreadful dawn of all.

  Sirs, how should I lie quiet in my grave

  Unless you suffer me wring, drop by drop,

  My brain dry, make a riddance of the drench

  Of minutes with a memory in each,

  Recorded motion, breath or look of hers,

  Which poured forth would present you one pure glass,

  Mirror you plain, — as God’s sea, glassed in gold,

  His saints, — the perfect soul Pompilia? Men,

  You must know that a man gets drunk with truth

  Stagnant inside him! Oh, they’ve killed her, Sirs!

  Can I be calm?

  Calmly! Each incident

  Proves, I maintain, that action of the flight

  For the true thing it was. The first faint scratch

  O’ the stone will test its nature, teach its worth

  To idiots who name Parian, coprolite.

  After all, I shall give no glare — at best

  Only display you certain scattered lights

  Lamping the rush and roll of the abyss —

  Nothing but here and there a fire-point pricks

  Wavelet from wavelet: well!

  For the first hour

  We both were silent in the night, I know:

  Sometimes I did not see nor understand.

  Blackness engulphed me, — partial stupor, say —

  Then I would break way, breathe through the surprise,

  And be aware again, and see who sat

  In the dark vest with the white face and hands.

  I said to myself — ”I have caught it, I conceive

  “The mind o’ the mystery: ‘tis the way they wake

  “And wait, two martyrs somewhere in a tomb

  “Each by each as their blessing was to die;

  “Some signal they are promised and expect,

  “When to arise before the trumpet scares:

  “So, through the whole course of the world they wait

  “The last day, but so fearless and so safe!

  “No otherwise, in safety and not fear,

  “I lie, because she lies too by my side.”

  You know this is not love, Sirs, — it is faith,

  The feeling that there’s God, he reigns and rules

  Out of this low world: that is all; no harm!

  At times she drew a soft sigh — music seemed

  Always to hover just above her lips

  Not settle, — break a silence music too.

  In the determined morning, I first found

  Her head erect, her face turned full to me,

  Her soul intent on mine through two wide eyes.

  I answered them. “You are saved hitherto.

  “We have passed Perugia, — gone round by the wood,

  “Not through, I seem to think, — and opposite

  “I know Assisi; this is holy ground.”

  Then she resumed. “How long since we both left

  “Arezzo?” — ”Years — and certain hours beside.”

  It was at . . . ah, but I forget the names!

  ‘Tis a mere post-house and a hovel or two, —

  I left the carriage and got bread and wine

  And brought it her. — ”Does it detain to eat?”

  “ — They stay perforce, change horses, — therefore eat!

  We lose no minute: we arrive, be sure!”

  She said — I know not where — there’s a great hill

  Close over, and the stream has lost its bridge,

  One fords it. She began — ”I have heard say

  “Of some sick body that my mother knew,

  “‘Twas no good sign when in a limb diseased

  “All the pain suddenly departs, — as if

  “The guardian angel discontinued pain

  “Because the hope of cure was gone at last:

  “The limb will not again exert itself,

  “It needs be pained no longer: so with me,

  “ — My soul whence all the pain is past at once:

  “All pain must be to work some good in the end.

  “True, this I feel now, this may be that good,

  “Pain was because of, — otherwise, I fear!”

  She said, — a long while later in the day,

  When I had let the silence be, — abrupt —

  “Have you a mother?” — ”She died, I was born.”

  “A sister then?” — ”No sister.” — ”Who was it —

  “What woman were you used to serve this way,

  “Be kind to, till I called you and you came?”

  I did not like that word. Soon afterward —

  “Tell me, are men unhappy, in some kind

  “Of mere unhappiness at being men,

  “As women suffer, being womanish?

  “Have you, now, some unhappiness, I mean,

  “Born of what may be man’s strength overmuch,

  “To match the undue susceptibility,

  “The sense at every pore when hate is close?

  “It hurts us if a baby hides its face

  “Or child strikes at us punily, calls names

  “Or makes a mouth, — much more if stranger men

  “Laugh or frown, — just as that were much to bear!

  “Yet rocks split, — and the blow-ball does no more,

  “Quivers to feathery nothing at a touch;

  “And strength may have its drawback, weakness scapes.”

  Once she asked, “What is it that made you smile,

  “At the great gate with the eagles and the snakes,

  “Where the company entered, ‘tis a long time since?”

  “ — Forgive — I think you would not understand:

  “Ah, but you ask me, — therefore, it was this.

  “That was a certain bishop’s villa-gate,

  “I knew it by the eagles, — and at once

  “Remembered this same bishop was just he

  “People of old were wont to bid me please

  “If I would catch preferment: so, I smiled

  “Because an impulse came to me, a whim —

  “What if I prayed the prelate leave to speak,

  “Began upon him in his presence-hall

  “ — ’What, still at work so grey and obsolete?

  “‘Still rocheted and mitred more or less?

  “‘Don’t you feel all that out of fashion now?

  “‘I find out when the day of things is done!’ “

  At eve we heard the angelus: she turned —

  “I told you I can neither read nor write.

&
nbsp; “My life stopped with the play-time; I will learn,

  “If I begin to live again: but you —

  “Who are a priest — wherefore do you not read

  “The service at this hour? Read Gabriel’s song,

  “The lesson, and then read the little prayer

  “To Raphael, proper for us travellers!”

  I did not like that, neither, but I read.

  When we stopped at Foligno it was dark.

  The people of the post came out with lights:

  The driver said, “This time to-morrow, may

  “Saints only help, relays continue good,

  “Nor robbers hinder, we arrive at Rome.”

  I urged, — ”Why tax your strength a second night?

  “Trust me, alight here and take brief repose!

  “We are out of harm’s reach, past pursuit: go sleep

  “If but an hour! I keep watch, guard the while

  “Here in the doorway.” But her whole face changed,

  The misery grew again about her mouth,

  The eyes burned up from faintness, like the fawn’s

  Tired to death in the thicket, when she feels

  The probing spear o’ the huntsman. “Oh, no stay!”

  She cried, in the fawn’s cry, “On to Rome, on, on —

  “Unless ‘tis you who fear, — which cannot be!”

  We did go on all night; but at its close

  She was troubled, restless, moaned low, talked at whiles

  To herself, her brow on quiver with the dream:

  Once, wide awake, she menaced, at arms’ length

  Waved away something — ”Never again with you!

  “My soul is mine, my body is my soul’s:

  “You and I are divided ever more

  “In soul and body: get you gone!” Then I —

  “Why, in my whole life I have never prayed!

  “Oh, if the God, that only can, would help!

  “Am I his priest with power to cast out fiends?

  “Let God arise and all his enemies

  “Be scattered!” By morn, there was peace, no sigh

  Out of the deep sleep.

  When she woke at last,

  I answered the first look — ”Scarce twelve hours more,

  “Then, Rome! There probably was no pursuit,

  “There cannot now be peril: bear up brave!

  “Just some twelve hours to press through to the prize —

  “Then, no more of the terrible journey!” “Then,

  “No more o’ the journey: if it might but last!

  “Always, my life-long, thus to journey still!

  “It is the interruption that I dread, —

  “With no dread, ever to be here and thus!

  “Never to see a face nor hear a voice!

  “Yours is no voice; you speak when you are dumb;

  “Nor face, I see it in the dark. I want

  “No face nor voice that change and grow unkind.”

  That I liked, that was the best thing she said.

  In the broad day, I dared entreat, “Descend!”

  I told a woman, at the garden-gate

  By the post-house, white and pleasant in the sun,

  “It is my sister, — talk with her apart!

  “She is married and unhappy, you perceive;

  “I take her home because her head is hurt;

  “Comfort her as you women understand!”

  So, there I left them by the garden-wall,

  Paced the road, then bade put the horses to,

  Came back, and there she sat: close to her knee,

  A black-eyed child still held the bowl of milk,

  Wondered to see how little she could drink,

  And in her arms the woman’s infant lay.

  She smiled at me “How much good this has done!

  “This is a whole night’s rest and how much more!

  “I can proceed now, though I wish to stay.

  “How do you call that tree with the thick top

  “That holds in all its leafy green and gold

  “The sun now like an immense egg of fire?”

  (It was a million-leaved mimosa.) “Take

  “The babe away from me and let me go!”

  And in the carriage, “Still a day, my friend;

  “And perhaps half a night, the woman fears.

  “I pray it finish since it cannot last.

  “There may be more misfortune at the close,

  “And where will you be? God suffice me then!”

  And presently — for there was a roadside-shrine —

  “When I was taken first to my own church

  “Lorenzo in Lucina, being a girl,

  “And bid confess my faults, I interposed,

  “‘But teach me what fault to confess and know!’

  “So, the priest said — ’You should bethink yourself:

  “‘Each human being needs must have done wrong!’

  “Now, be you candid and no priest but friend —

  “Were I surprised and killed here on the spot,

  “A runaway from husband and his home,

  “Do you account it were in sin I died?

  “My husband used to seem to harm me, not . . .

  “Not on pretence he punished sin of mine,

  “Nor for sin’s sake and lust of cruelty,

  “But as I heard him bid a farming-man

  “At the villa take a lamb once to the wood

  “And there ill-treat it, meaning that the wolf

  “Should hear its cries, and so come, quick be caught,

  “Enticed to the trap: he practised thus with me

  “That so, whatever were his gain thereby,

  “Others that I might become prey and spoil.

  “Had it been only between our two selves, —

  “His pleasure and my pain, — why, pleasure him

  “By dying, nor such need to make a coil!

  “But this was worth an effort, that my pain

  “Should not become a snare, prove pain threefold

  “To other people — strangers — or unborn —

  “How should I know? I sought release from that —

  “I think, or else from, — dare I say, some cause

  “Such as is put into a tree, which turns

  “Away from the northwind with what nest it holds, —

  “The woman said that trees so turn: now, friend,

  “Tell me, because I cannot trust myself!

  “You are a man: what have I done amiss?”

  You must conceive my answer, — I forget —

  Taken up wholly with the thought, perhaps,

  This time she might have said, — might, did not say —

  “You are a priest.” She said, “my friend.”

  Day wore,

  We passed the places, somehow the calm went,

  Again the restless eyes began to rove

  In new fear of the foe mine could not see:

  She wandered in her mind, — addressed me once

  “Gaetano!” — that is not my name: whose name?

  I grew alarmed, my head seemed turning too:

  I quickened pace with promise now, now threat:

  Bade drive and drive, nor any stopping more.

  “Too deep i’ the thick of the struggle, struggle through!

  “Then drench her in repose though death’s self pour

  “The plenitude of quiet, — help us, God,

  “Whom the winds carry!”

  Suddenly I saw

  The old tower, and the little white-walled clump

  Of buildings and the cypress-tree or two, —

  “Already Castelnuovo — Rome!” I cried,

  “As good as Rome, — Rome is the next stage, think!

  “This is where travellers’ hearts are wont to beat.

  “Say you are saved, sweet lady!” Up she woke.

  The sky was fierce with colour from the sun

  Se
tting. She screamed out “No, I must not die!

  “Take me no farther, I should die: stay here!

  “I have more life to save than mine!”

  She swooned.

  We seemed safe: what was it foreboded so?

  Out of the coach into the inn I bore

  The motionless and breathless pure and pale

  Pompilia, — bore her through a pitying group

  And laid her on a couch, still calm and cured

  By deep sleep of all woes at once. The host

  Was urgent “Let her stay an hour or two!

  “Leave her to us, all will be right by morn!”

  Oh, my foreboding! But I could not choose.

  I paced the passage, kept watch all night long.

  I listened, — not one movement, not one sigh.

  “Fear not: she sleeps so sound!” they said — but I

  Feared, all the same, kept fearing more and more,

  Found myself throb with fear from head to foot,

  Filled with a sense of such impending woe,

  That, at first pause of night, pretence of grey,

  I made my mind up it was morn. — ”Reach Rome,

  “Lest hell reach her! A dozen miles to make,

  “Another long breath, and we emerge!” I stood

  I’ the court-yard, roused the sleepy grooms. “Have out

  “Carriage and horse, give haste, take gold!” — said I.

  While they made ready in the doubtful morn, —

  ‘Twas the last minute, — needs must I ascend

  And break her sleep; I turned to go.

  And there

  Faced me Count Guido, there posed the mean man

  As master, — took the field, encamped his rights,

  Challenged the world: there leered new triumph, there

  Scowled the old malice in the visage bad

  And black o’ the scamp. Soon triumph suppled the tongue

  A little, malice glued to his dry throat,

  And he part howled, part hissed . . . oh, how he kept

  Well out o’ the way, at arm’s length and to spare! —

  “My salutation to your priestship! What?

  “Matutinal, busy with book so soon

  “Of an April day that’s damp as tears that now

  “Deluge Arezzo at its darling’s flight? —

  “‘Tis unfair, wrongs feminity at large,

  “To let a single dame monopolize

  “A heart the whole sex claims, should share alike:

  “Therefore I overtake you, Canon! Come!

  “The lady, — could you leave her side so soon?

  “You have not yet experienced at her hands

  “My treatment, you lay down undrugged, I see!

  “Hence this alertness — hence no death-in-life

  “Like what held arms fast when she stole from mine.

  “To be sure, you took the solace and repose