Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  For service to, and service you would style —

  And did style — godlike, scarce an hour ago!

  Fool, there again, yet not precisely there

  First-rate in folly: since the hand you kissed

  Did pick you from the kennel, did plant firm

  Your footstep on the pathway, did persuade

  Your awkward shamble to true gait and pace,

  Fit for the world you walk in. Once a-strut

  On that firm pavement which your cowardice

  Was for renouncing as a pitfall, next

  Came need to clear your brains of their conceit

  They cleverly could distinguish who was who,

  Whatever folk might tramp the thoroughfare.

  Men, now — familiarly you read them off,

  Each phyz at first sight! O you had an eye!

  Who couched it? made you disappoint each fox

  Eager to strip my gosling of his fluff

  So golden as he cackled ‘Goose trusts lamb?’

  ‘Ay, but I saved you — wolf defeated fox —

  Wanting to pick your bones myself!’ then, wolf

  Has got the worst of it with goose for once.

  I, penniless, pay you ten thousand pounds

  ( — No gesture, pray! I pay ere I depart!)

  And how you turn advantage to account

  Here’s the example! Have I proved so wrong

  In my peremptory ‘debt must be discharged’?

  O you laughed lovelily, were loth to leave

  The old friend out at elbows — pooh, a thing

  Not to be thought of! I must keep my cash,

  And you forget your generosity!

  Ha ha, I took your measure when I laughed

  My laugh to that! First quarrel — nay, first faint

  Pretence at taking umbrage — ’Down with debt,

  Both interest and principal! — The Club,

  Exposure and expulsion! — stamp me out!’

  That’s the magnanimous magnificent

  Renunciation of advantage! Well,

  But whence and why did you take umbrage, Sir?

  Because your master, having made you know

  Somewhat of men, was minded to advance,

  Expound you women, still a mystery!

  My pupil pottered with a cloud on brow,

  A clod in breast: had loved, and vainly loved:

  Whence blight and blackness, just for all the world

  As Byron used to teach us boys. Thought I —

  ‘Quick rid him of that rubbish! Clear the cloudy

  And set the heart a-pulsing!’ — heart, this time:

  ‘Twas nothing but the head I doctored late

  For ignorance of Man; now heart’s to dose,

  Palsied by over-palpitation due

  To Woman-worship — so, to work at once

  On first avowal of the patient’s ache!

  This morning you described your malady, —

  How you dared love a piece of virtue — lost

  To reason, as the upshot showed: for scorn

  Fitly repaid your stupid arrogance;

  And, parting, you went two ways, she resumed

  Her path — perfection, while forlorn you paced

  The world that’s made for beasts like you and me.

  My remedy was — tell the fool the truth!

  Your paragon of purity had plumped

  Into these arms at their first outspread — ’fallen

  My victim,’ she prefers to turn the phrase —

  And, in exchange for that frank confidence,

  Asked for my whole life present and to come —

  Marriage: a thing un covenanted for!

  Never so much as put in question! Life —

  Implied by marriage — throw that trifle in

  And round the bargain off, no otherwise

  Than if, when we played cards, because you won

  My money you should also want my head!

  That, I demurred to: we but played ‘for love’ —

  She won my love; had she proposed for stakes

  ‘Marriage’ — why, that’s for whist, a wiser game.

  Whereat she raved at me, as losers will,

  And went her way. So far the story’s known,

  The remedy’s applied, no farther — which

  Here’s the sick man’s first honorarium for —

  Posting his medicine-monger at the Club!

  That being, Sir, the whole you mean my fee —

  In gratitude for such munificence

  I’m bound in common honesty to spare

  No droplet of the draught: so, — pinch your nose,

  Pull no wry faces! — drain it to the dregs! 100

  I say ‘She went off’ — ’went off,’ you subjoin,

  ‘Since not to wedded bliss, as I supposed,

  Sure to some convent: solitude and peace

  Help her to hide the shame from mortal view,

  With prayer and fasting,’ No, my sapient Sir!

  Far wiselier, straightway she betook herself

  To a prize-portent from the donkey-show

  Of leathern long-ears that compete for palm

  In clerical absurdity: since he,

  Good ass, nor practises the shaving-trick,

  The candle-crotchet, nonsense which repays

  When you’ve young ladies congregant, — but schools

  The poor, — toils, moils and grinds the mill nor means

  To stop and munch one thistle in this life

  Till next life smother him with roses: just

  The parson for her purpose! Him she stroked

  Over the muzzle; into mouth with bit,

  And on to back with saddle, — there he stood,

  The serviceable beast who heard, believed

  And meekly bowed him to the burden, — borne

  Off in a canter to seclusion — ay,

  The lady’s lost! But had a friend of mine

  — While friend he was — imparted his sad case

  To sympathizing counsellor, full soon

  One cloud at least had vanished from his brow.

  ‘Don’t fear!’ had followed reassuringly —

  ‘The lost will in due time turn up again,

  Probably just when, weary of the world,

  You think of nothing less than settling-down

  To country life and golden days, beside

  A dearest best and brightest virtuousest

  Wife: who needs no more hope to hold her own

  Against the naughty-and-repentant — no,

  Than water-gruel against Roman punch!’

  And as I prophesied, it proves! My youth, —

  Just at the happy moment when, subdued

  To spooniness, he finds that youth fleets fast,

  That town-life tires, that men should drop boy’s-play,

  That property, position have, no doubt,

  Their exigency with their privilege,

  And if the wealthy wed with wealth, how dire

  The double duty! — in, behold, there beams

  Our long-lost lady, form and face complete!

  And where’s my moralizing pupil now,

  Had not his master missed a train by chance?

  But, by your side instead of whirled away,

  How have I spoiled scene, stopped catastrophe,

  Struck flat the stage-effect I know by heart!

  Sudden and strange the meeting — improvised?

  Bless you, the last event she hoped or dreamed!

  But rude sharp stroke will crush out fire from flint —

  Assuredly from flesh. ‘‘Tis you?’ ‘Myself.’

  ‘Changed?’ ‘Changeless.’ ‘Then, what’s earth to me?’ ‘To me

  What’s heaven?’ ‘So, — thine!’ ‘And thine!’ ‘And likewise mine!’

  Had laughed ‘Amen’ the devil, but for me

  Whose intermeddling hinders this hot haste,

  And bids y
ou, ere concluding contract, pause —

  Ponder one lesson more, then sign and seal

  At leisure and at pleasure, — lesson’s price

  Being, if you have skill to estimate,

  — How say you? — I’m discharged my debt in full!

  Since paid you stand, to farthing uttermost,

  Unless I fare like that black majesty

  A friend of mine had visit from last Spring.

  Coasting along the Cape-side, he’s becalmed

  Off an uncharted bay, a novel town

  Untouched at by the trader: here’s a chance!

  Out paddles straight the king in his canoe,

  Comes over bulwark, says he means to buy

  Ship’s cargo — being rich and having brought

  A treasure ample for the purpose. See!

  Four dragons, stalwart blackies, guard the same

  Wrapped round and round: its hulls, a multitude, —

  Palm-leaf and cocoa-mat and goat’s-hair cloth

  All duly braced about with bark and board, —

  Suggest how brave, ‘neath coat, must kernel be!

  At length the peeling is accomplished, plain

  The casket opens out its core, and lo

  — A brand-new British silver sixpence — bid

  That’s ample for the Bank, — thinks majesty!

  You are the Captain; call my sixpence cracked

  Or copper; ‘what I’ve said is calumny;

  The lady’s spotless!’ Then, I’ll prove my words,

  Or make you prove them true as truth — yourself,

  Here, on the instant! I’ll not mince my speech,

  Things at this issue. When she enters, then,

  Make love to her! No talk of marriage now —

  The point-blank bare proposal! Pick no phrase —

  Prevent all misconception! Soon you’ll see

  How different the tactics when she deals

  With an instructed man, no longer boy

  Who blushes like a booby. Woman’s wit!

  Man, since you have instruction, blush no more!

  Such your five minutes’ profit by my pains,

  ‘Tis simply now — demand and be possessed!

  Which means — you may possess — may strip the tree

  Of fruit desirable to make one wise!

  More I nor wish nor want: your act’s your act,

  My teaching is but — there’s the fruit to pluck

  Or let alone at pleasure. Next advance 200

  In knowledge were beyond you! Don’t expect

  I bid a novice — pluck, suck, send sky-high

  Such fruit, once taught that neither crab nor sloe

  Falls readier prey to who but robs a hedge,

  Than this gold apple to my Hercules.

  Were you no novice but proficient — then,

  Then, truly, I might prompt you — Touch and taste,

  Try flavour and be tired as soon as I!

  Toss on the prize to greedy mouths agape,

  Betake yours, sobered as the satiate grow,

  To wise man’s solid meal of house and land,

  Consols and cousin! but my boy, my boy,

  Such lore’s above you!

  Here’s the lady back!

  So, Madam, you have conned the Album-page

  And come to thank its last contributor?

  How kind and condescending! I retire

  A moment, lest I spoil the interview,

  And mar my own endeavour to make friends —

  You with him, him with you, and both with me!

  If I succeed — permit me to inquire

  Five minutes hence! Friends bid good-bye, you know.”

  And out he goes.

  VII

  She, face, form, bearing, one

  Superb composure —

  ”He has told you all?

  Yes, he has told you all, your silence says —

  What gives him, as he thinks the mastery

  Over my body and my soul! — has told

  That instance, even, of their servitude

  He now exacts of me? A silent blush!

  That’s well, though better would white ignorance

  Beseem your brow, undesecrate before —

  Ay, when I left you! I too learn at last

  — Hideously learned as I seemed so late —

  What sin may swell to. Yes, — I needed learn

  That, when my prophet’s rod became the snake

  I fled from, it would, one day, swallow up

  — Incorporate whatever serpentine

  Falsehood and treason and unmanliness

  Beslime earth’s pavement: such the power of Hell,

  And so beginning, ends no otherwise

  The Adversary! I was ignorant,

  Blameworthy — if you will; but blame I take

  Nowise upon me as I ask myself

  — You — how can you, whose soul I seemed to read

  The limpid eyes through, have declined so deep

  Even with him for consort? I revolve

  Much memory, pry into the looks and words

  Of that day’s walk beneath the College wall,

  And nowhere can distinguish, in what gleams

  Only pure marble through my dusky past,

  A dubious cranny where such poison-seed

  Might harbor, nourish what should yield to-day

  This dread ingredient for the cup I drink.

  Do not I recognize and honor truth

  In seeming? — take your truth and for return,

  Give you my truth, a no less precious gift?

  You loved me: I believed you. I replied

  — How could I other? ‘ I was not my own,’

  — No longer had the eyes to see, the ears

  To hear, the mind to judge, since heart and soul

  Now were another’s. My own right in me,

  For well or ill, consigned away — my face

  Fronted the honest path, deflection whence

  Had shamed me in the furtive backward look

  At the late bargain — fit such chapman’s phrase! —

  As though — less hasty and more provident —

  Waiting had brought advantage. Not for me

  The chapman’s chance! Yet while thus much was true,

  I spared you — as I knew you then — one more

  Concluding word which, truth no less, seemed best

  Buried away forever. Take it now

  Its power to pain is past! Four years — that day —

  Those lines that make the College avenue!

  I would that — friend and foe — by miracle,

  I had, that moment, seen into the heart

  Of either, as I now am taught to see!

  I do believe I should have straight assumed

  My proper function, and sustained a soul,

  Nor aimed at being just sustained myself

  By some man’s soul — the weaker woman’s-want!

  So had I missed the momentary thrill

  Of finding me in presence of a god,

  But gained the god’s own feeling when he gives

  Such thrill to what turns life from death before.

  ‘Gods many and Lords many,’ says the Book:

  You would have yielded up your soul to me

  — Not to the false god who has burned its clay

  In his own image. I had shed my love

  Like Spring dew on the clod all flowery thence,

  Not sent up a wild vapor to the sun

  that drinks and then disperses. Both of us

  Blameworthy, — I first meet my punishment —

  And not so hard to bear. I breathe again!

  Forth from those arms’ enwinding leprosy

  At last I struggle — uncontaminate:

  Why must I leave you pressing to the breast

  That’s all one plague-spot? Did you love me once?

  Then take love’s last and best return! I think,
>
  Womanliness means only motherhood;

  All love begins and ends there, — roams enough,

  But, having run the circle, rests at home.

  Why is your expiation yet to make?

  Pull shame with your own hands from your own head

  Now, — never wait the slow envelopment

  Submitted to by unelastic age!

  One fierce throe frees the sapling: flake on flake

  Lull till they leave the oak snow-stupefied.

  Your heart retains its vital warmth — or why

  That blushing reassurance? Blush, young blood!

  Break from beneath this icy premature

  Captivity of wickedness — I warn

  Back, in God’s name! No fresh encroachment here!

  This May breaks all to bud — No Winter now!

  Friend, we are both forgiven! Sin no more!

  I am past sin now, so shall you become!

  Meanwhile I testify that, lying once,

  My foe lied ever, most lied last of all.

  He, waking, whispered to your sense asleep

  The wicked counsel, — and assent might seem;

  But, roused, your healthy indignation breaks

  The idle dream-pact. You would die — not dare

  Confirm your dream-resolve, — nay, find the word 100

  That fits the deed to bear the light of day!

  Say I have justly judged you! then farewell

  To blushing — nay, it ends in smiles, not tears!

  Why tears now? I have justly judged, thank God!”

  He does blush boy-like, but the man speaks out,

  — Makes the due effort to surmount himself.

  “I don’t know what he wrote — how should I? Nor

  How he could read my purpose which, it seems,

  He chose to somehow write — mistakenly

  Or else for mischief’s sake. I scarce believe

  My purpose put before you fair and plain

  Would need annoy so much; but there’s my luck —

  From first to last I blunder. Still, one more

  Turn at the target, try to speak my thought!

  Since he could guess my purpose, won’t you read

  Right what he set down wrong? He said — let’s think!

  Ay, so! — he did begin by telling heaps

  Of tales about you. Now, you see — suppose

  Any one told me — my own mother died

  Before I knew her — told me — to his cost! —

  Such tales about my own dead mother: why,

  You would not wonder surely if I knew,

  By nothing but my own heart’s help, he lied,

  Would you? No reason’s wanted in the case.

  So with you! In they burnt on me, his tales,

  Much as when madhouse-inmates crowd around,

  Make captive any visitor and scream

  All sorts of stories of their keeper — he’s