Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  Come, one good grapple, I with all the world!

  Dying in cold blood is the desperate thing;

  The angry heart explodes, bears off in blaze

  The indignant soul, and I’m combustion-ripe.

  Why, you intend to do your worst with me!

  That’s in your eyes! You dare no more than death,

  And mean no less. I must make up my mind!

  So Pietro, — when I chased him here and there,

  Morsel by morsel cut away the life

  I loathed, — cried for just respite to confess

  And save his soul: much respite did I grant!

  Why grant me respite who deserve my doom?

  Me — who engaged to play a prize, fight you,

  Knowing your arms, and foil you, trick for trick,

  At rapier-fence, your match and, may be, more.

  I knew that if I chose sin certain sins,

  Solace my lusts out of the regular way

  Prescribed me, I should find you in the path,

  Have to try skill with a redoubted foe;

  You would lunge, I would parry, and make end.

  At last, occasion of a murder comes:

  We cross blades, I, for all my brag, break guard,

  And in goes the cold iron at my breast,

  Out at my back, and end is made of me.

  You stand confessed the adroiter swordsman, — ay,

  But on your triumph you increase, it seems,

  Want more of me than lying flat on face:

  I ought to raise my ruined head, allege

  Not simply I pushed worse blade o’ the pair,

  But my antagonist dispensed with steel!

  There was no passage of arms, you looked me low,

  With brow and eye abolished cut-and-thrust

  Nor used the vulgar weapon! This chance scratch,

  This incidental hurt, this sort of hole

  I’ the heart of me? I stumbled, got it so!

  Fell on my own sword as a bungler may!

  Yourself proscribe such heathen tools, and trust

  To the naked virtue: it was virtue stood

  Unarmed and awed me, — on my brow there burned

  Crime out so plainly, intolerably, red,

  That I was fain to cry — ”Down to the dust

  “With me, and bury there brow, brand and all!”

  Law had essayed the adventure, — but what’s Law?

  Morality exposed the Gorgon-shield!

  Morality and Religion conquer me.

  If Law sufficed would you come here, entreat

  I supplement law, and confess forsooth?

  Did not the Trial show things plain enough?

  “Ah, but a word of the man’s very self

  “Would somehow put the keystone in its place

  “And crown the arch!” Then take the word you want!

  I say that, long ago, when things began,

  All the world made agreement, such and such

  Were pleasure-giving profit-bearing acts,

  But henceforth extra-legal, nor to be:

  You must not kill the man whose death would please

  And profit you, unless his life stop yours

  Plainly, and need so be put aside:

  Get the thing by a public course, by law,

  Only no private bloodshed as of old!

  All of us, for the good of every one,

  Renounced such licence and conformed to law:

  Who breaks law, breaks pact, therefore, helps himself

  To pleasure and profit over and above the due,

  And must pay forfeit, — pain beyond his share:

  For pleasure is the sole good in the world,

  Any one’s pleasure turns to some one’s pain,

  So, let law watch for everyone, — say we,

  Who call things wicked that give too much joy,

  And nickname the reprisal, envy makes,

  Punishment: quite right! thus the world goes round.

  I, being well aware such pact there was,

  Who in my time have found advantage too

  In law’s observance and crime’s penalty, —

  Who, but for wholesome fear law bred in friends,

  Had doubtless given example long ago,

  Furnished forth some friend’s pleasure with my pain,

  And, by my death, pieced out his scanty life, —

  I could not, for that foolish life of me,

  Help risking law’s infringement, — I broke bond,

  And needs must pay price, — wherefore, here’s my head,

  Flung with a flourish! But, repentance too?

  But pure and simple sorrow for law’s breach

  Rather than blunderer’s-ineptitude?

  Cardinal, no! Abate, scarcely thus!

  ‘Tis the fault, not that I dared try a fall

  With Law and straightway am found undermost,

  But that I fail to see, above man’s law,

  God’s precept you, the Christians recognise?

  Colly my cow! Don’t fidget, Cardinal!

  Abate, cross your breast and count your beads

  And exorcise the devil, for here he stands

  And stiffens in the bristly nape of neck,

  Daring you drive him hence! You, Christians both?

  I say, if ever was such faith at all

  Born in the world, by your community

  Suffered to live its little tick of time,

  ‘Tis dead of age now, ludicrously dead;

  Honour its ashes, if you be discreet,

  In epitaph only! For, concede its death,

  Allow extinction, you may boast unchecked

  What feats the thing did in a crazy land

  At a fabulous epoch, — treat your faith, that way,

  Just as you treat your relics: “Here’s a shred

  “Of saintly flesh, a scrap of blessed bone,

  “Raised King Cophetua, who was dead, to life

  “In Mesopotamy twelve centuries since,

  “Such was its virtue!” — twangs the Sacristan,

  Holding the shrine-box up, with hands like feet

  Because of gout in every finger-joint:

  Does he bethink him to reduce one knob,

  Allay one twinge by touching what he vaunts?

  I think he half uncrooks fist to catch fee,

  But, for the grace, the quality of cure, —

  Cophetua was the man put that to proof!

  Not otherwise, your faith is shrined and shown

  And shamed at once: you banter while you bow!

  Do you dispute this? Come, a monster-laugh,

  A madman’s laugh, allowed his Carnival

  Later ten days than when all Rome, but he,

  Laughed at the candle-contest: mine’s alight,

  ‘Tis just it sputter till the puff o’ the Pope

  End it to-morrow and the world turn Ash.

  Come, thus I wave a wand and bring to pass

  In a moment, in the twinkle of an eye,

  What but that — feigning everywhere grows fact,

  Professors turn possessors, realise

  The faith they play with as a fancy now,

  And bid it operate, have full effect

  On every circumstance of life, to-day,

  In Rome, — faith’s flow set free at fountain-head!

  Now, you’ll own, at this present when I speak,

  Before I work the wonder, there’s no man

  Woman or child in Rome, faith’s fountain-head,

  But might, if each were minded, realise

  Conversely unbelief, faith’s opposite —

  Set it to work on life unflinchingly,

  Yet give no symptom of an outward change:

  Why should things change because men disbelieve?

  What’s incompatible, in the whited tomb,

  With bones and rottenness one inch below?

  What saintly act is done in Rome to-day

  But
might be prompted by the devil, — ”is”

  I say not, — ”has been, and again may be,” —

  I do say, full i’ the face o’ the crucifix

  You try to stop my mouth with! Off with it!

  Look in your own heart, if your soul have eyes!

  You shall see reason why, though faith were fled,

  Unbelief still might work the wires and move

  Man, the machine, to play a faithful part.

  Preside your college, Cardinal, in your cape,

  Or, — having got above his head, grown Pope, —

  Abate, gird your loins and wash my feet!

  Do you suppose I am at loss at all

  Why you crook, why you cringe, why fast or feast?

  Praise, blame, sit, stand, lie or go! — all of it,

  In each of you, purest unbelief may prompt,

  And wit explain to who has eyes to see.

  But, lo, I wave wand, make the false the true!

  Here’s Rome believes in Christianity!

  What an explosion, how the fragments fly

  Of what was surface, mask, and make-believe!

  Begin now, — look at this Pope’s-halberdier

  In wasp-like black and yellow foolery!

  He, doing duty at the corridor,

  Wakes from a muse and stands convinced of sin!

  Down he flings halbert, leaps the passage-length,

  Pushes into the presence, pantingly

  Submits the extreme peril of the case

  To the Pope’s self, — whom in the world beside? —

  And the Pope breaks talk with ambassador,

  Bids aside bishop, wills the whole world wait

  Till he secure that prize, outweighs the world,

  A soul, relieve the sentry of his qualm!

  His Altitude the Referendary, —

  Robed right, and ready for the usher’s word

  To pay devoir, — is, of all times, just then

  ‘Ware of a master-stroke of argument

  Will cut the spinal cord . . . ugh, ugh! . . . I mean,

  Paralyse Molinism for evermore!

  Straight he leaves lobby, trundles, two and two,

  Down steps, to reach home, write if but a word

  Shall end the impudence: he leaves who likes

  Go pacify the Pope: there’s Christ to serve!

  How otherwise would men display their zeal?

  If the same sentry had the least surmise

  A powder-barrel ‘neath the pavement lay

  In neighbourhood with what might prove a match,

  Meant to blow sky-high Pope and presence both —

  Would he not break through courtiers, rank and file,

  Bundle up, bear off and save body so,

  O’ the Pope, no matter for his priceless soul?

  There’s no fool’s-freak here, nought to soundly swinge,

  Only a man in earnest, you’ll so praise

  And pay and prate about, that earth shall ring!

  Had thought possessed the Referendary

  His jewel-case at home was left ajar,

  What would be wrong in running, robes awry,

  To be beforehand with the pilferer?

  What talk then of indecent haste? Which means,

  That both these, each in his degree, would do

  Just that, — for a comparative nothing’s sake,

  And thereby gain approval and reward —

  Which, done for what Christ says is worth the world,

  Procures the doer curses, cuffs, and kicks.

  I call such difference ‘twixt act and act,

  Sheer lunacy unless your truth on lip

  Be recognised a lie in heart of you!

  How do you all act, promptly or in doubt,

  When there’s a guest poisoned at supper-time

  And he sits chatting on with spot on cheek?

  “Pluck him by the skirt, and round him in the ears,

  “Have at him by the beard, warn anyhow!”

  Good, and this other friend that’s cheat and thief

  And dissolute, — go stop the devil’s feast,

  Withdraw him from the imminent hell-fire!

  Why, for your life, you dare not tell your friend

  “You lie, and I admonish you for Christ!”

  Who yet dare seek that same man at the Mass

  To warn him — on his knees, and tinkle near, —

  He left a cask a-tilt, a tap unturned,

  The Trebbian running: what a grateful jump

  Out of the Church rewards your vigilance!

  Perform that self-same service just a thought

  More maladroitly, — since a bishop sits

  At function! — and he budges not, bites lip, —

  “You see my case: how can I quit my post?

  “He has an eye to any such default.

  “See to it, neighbour, I beseech your love!”

  He and you know the relative worth of things,

  What is permissible or inopportune.

  Contort your brows! You know I speak the truth:

  Gold is called gold, and dross called dross, i’ the Book:

  Gold you let lie and dross pick up and prize!

  — Despite your master of some fifty monks

  And nuns a-maundering here and mumping there,

  Who could, and on occasion would, spurn dross,

  Clutch gold, and prove their faith a fact so far, —

  I grant you! Fifty times the number squeak

  And gibber in the madhouse — firm of faith,

  This fellow, that his nose supports the moon,

  The other, that his straw hat crowns him Pope:

  Does that prove all the world outside insane?

  Do fifty miracle-mongers match the mob

  That acts on the frank faithless principle,

  Born-baptised-and-bred Christian-atheists, each

  With just as much a right to judge as you, —

  As many senses in his soul, or nerves

  I’ neck of him as I, — whom, soul and sense,

  Neck and nerve, you abolish presently, —

  I being the unit in creation now

  Who pay the Maker, in this speech of mine,

  A creature’s duty, spend my last of breath

  In bearing witness, even by my worst fault

  To the creature’s obligation, absolute,

  Perpetual: my worst fault protests, “The faith

  “Claims all of me: I would give all she claims,

  “But for a spice of doubt: the risk’s too rash:

  “Double or quits, I play, but, all or nought,

  “Exceeds my courage: therefore, I descend

  “To the next faith with no dubiety —

  “Faith in the present life, made last as long

  “And prove as full of pleasure as may hap,

  “Whatever pain it cause the world.” I’m wrong?

  I’ve had my life, whate’er I lose: I’m right?

  I’ve got the single good there was to gain.

  Entire faith, or else complete unbelief, —

  Aught between has my loathing and contempt,

  Mine and God’s also, doubtless: ask yourself,

  Cardinal, where and how you like a man!

  Why, either with your feet upon his head,

  Confessed your caudatory, or at large

  The stranger in the crowd who caps to you

  But keeps his distance, — why should he presume?

  You want no hanger-on and dropper-off,

  Now yours, and now not yours but quite his own,

  According as the sky looks black or bright.

  Just so I capped to and kept off from faith —

  You promised trudge behind through fair and foul,

  Yet leave i’ the lurch at the first spit of rain.

  Who holds to faith whenever rain begins?

  What does the father when his son lies dead,

  The merchant when hi
s money-bags take wing,

  The politician whom a rival ousts?

  No case but has its conduct, faith prescribes:

  Where’s the obedience that shall edify?

  Why, they laugh frankly in the face of faith

  And take the natural course, — this rends his hair

  Because his child is taken to God’s breast,

  That gnashes teeth and raves at loss of trash

  Which rust corrupts and thieves break through and steal,

  And this, enabled to inherit earth

  Through meekness, curses till your blood runs cold!

  Down they all drop to my low level, ease

  Heart upon dungy earth that’s warm and soft,

  And let who will, attempt the altitudes.

  We have the prodigal son of heavenly sire,

  Turning his nose up at the fatted calf,

  Fain to fill belly with the husks we swine

  Did eat by born depravity of taste!

  Enough of the hypocrites. But you, Sirs, you —

  Who never budged from litter where I lay,

  And buried snout i’ the draff-box while I fed,

  Cried amen to my creed’s one article —

  “Get pleasure, ‘scape pain, — give your preference

  “To the immediate good, for time is brief,

  “And death ends good and ill and everything:

  “What’s got is gained, what’s gained soon is gained twice,

  “And, — inasmuch as faith gains most, — feign faith!”

  So did we brother-like pass word about:

  — You, now, — like bloody drunkards but half-drunk,

  Who fool men yet perceive men find them fools,

  And that a titter gains the gravest mouth, —

  O’the sudden you must needs re-introduce

  Solemnity, must sober undue mirth

  By a blow dealt your boon companion here

  Who, using the old licence, dreamed of harm

  No more than snow in harvest: yet it falls!

  You check the merriment effectually

  By pushing your abrupt machine i’ the midst,

  Making me Rome’s example: blood for wine!

  The general good needs that you chop and change!

  I may dislike the hocus-pocus, — Rome,

  The laughter-loving people, won’t they stare

  Chap-fallen! — while serious natures sermonise

  “The magistrate, he beareth not the sword

  “In vain; who sins may taste its edge, we see!”

  Why my sin, drunkards? Where have I abused

  Liberty, scandalised you all so much?

  Who called me, who crooked finger till I came,

  Fool that I was, to join companionship?

  I knew my own mind, meant to live my life,

  Elude your envy, or else make a stand,

  Take my own part and sell you my life dear:

  But it was “Fie! No prejudice in the world