Both dwarf and giant, vulture, wolf, dog, cat,
Serpent and scorpion, yet man all the same;
Sane people soon see through the gibberish!
I just made out, you somehow lived somewhere
A life of shame — I can’t distinguish more —
Married or single — how, don’t matter much:
Shame which himself had caused — that point was clear,
That fact confessed — that thing to hold and keep.
Oh, and he added some absurdity
— That you were here to make me — ha, ha, ha! —
Still love you, still of mind to die for you,
Ha, ha — as if that needed mighty pains!
Now, foolish as ... but never mind myself
— What I am, what I am not, in the eye
Of the world, is what I never cared for much.
Fool then or no fool, not one single word
In the whole string of lies did I believe,
But this — this only — if I choke, who cares? —
I believe somehow in your purity
Perfect as ever! Else what use is God?
He is God, and work miracles He can!
Then, what shall I do? Quite as clear, my course!
They’ve got a thing they call their Labyrinth
I’ the garden yonder: and my cousin played
A pretty trick once, led and lost me deep
Inside the briery maze of hedge round hedge;
And there might I be staying now, stock-still,
But that I laughing bade eyes follow nose
And so straight pushed my path through let and stop
And soon was out in the open, face all scratched,
But well behind my back the prison-bars
In sorry plight enough, I promise you!
So here: I won my way to truth through lies —
Said, as I saw light, — if her shame be shame
I’ll rescue and redeem her, — shame’s no shame?
Then, I’ll avenge, protect — redeem myself
The stupidest of sinners! Here I stand!
Dear, — let me once dare call you so, — you said
Thus ought you to have done, four years ago,
Such things and such! Ay, dear, and what ought I?
You were revealed to me: where’s gratitude,
Where’s memory even, where the gain of you
Discernible in my low after-life
Of fancied consolation? why, no horse
Once fed on corn, will, missing corn, go munch
Mere thistles like a donkey! I missed you,
And in your place found — him, made him my love,
Ay, did I, — by this token, that he taught
So much beast-nature that I meant ... God knows
Whether I bow me to the dust enough!...
To marry — yes, my cousin here! I hope
That was a master-stroke! Take heart of hers,
And give her hand of mine with no more heart
Than now you see upon this brow I strike!
What atom of a heart do I retain
Not all yours? Dear, you know it! Easily
May she accord me pardon when I place
My brow beneath her foot, if foot so deign,
Since uttermost indignity is spared —
Mere marriage and no love! And all this time
Not one word to the purpose! Are you free?
Only wait! only let me serve — deserve
Where you appoint and how you see the good!
I have the will — perhaps the power — at least
Means that have power against the world. For time —
Take my whole life for your experiment!
If you are bound — in marriage, say — why, still,
Still, sure, there’s something for a friend to do,
Outside? A mere well-wisher, understand!
I’ll sit, my life long, at your gate, you know,
Swing it wide open to let you and him
Pass freely, — and you need not look, much less 200
Fling me a ‘ Thank you — are you there, old friend?’
Don’t say that even: I should drop like shot!
So I feel now at least: some day, who knows?
After no end of weeks and months and years
You might smile ‘I believe you did your best!’
And that shall make my heart leap — leap such leap
As lands the feet in Heaven to wait you there!
Ah, there’s just one thing more! How pale you look!
Why? Are you angry? If there’s, after all,
Worst come to worst — if still there somehow be
The shame — I said was no shame, — none! I swear! —
In that case, if my hand and what it holds, —
My name, — might be your safeguard now — at once —
Why, here’s the hand — you have the heart! Of course —
No cheat, no binding you, because I’m bound,
To let me off probation by one day,
Week, month, year, lifetime! Prove as you propose!
Here’s the hand with the name to take or leave!
That’s all — and no great piece of news, I hope!”
“Give me the hand, then!” she cries hastily.
“Quick, now! I hear his footstep!”
Hand in hand
The couple face him as he enters, stops
Short, stands surprised a moment, laughs away
Surprise, resumes the much-experienced man.
“So, you accept him?”
”Till us death do part!”
“No longer? Come, that’s right and rational!
I fancied there was power in common sense,
But did not know it worked thus promptly. Well —
At last each understands the other, then?
Each drops disguise, then? So, at supper-time
These masquerading people doff their gear,
Grand Turk his pompous turban, Quakeress
Her stiff-starched bib and tucker, — make-believe
That only bothers when, ball-business done,
Nature demands champagne and mayonnaise.
Just so has each of us sage three abjured
His and her moral pet particular
Pretension to superiority,
And, cheek by jowl, we henceforth munch and joke!
Go, happy pair, paternally dismissed
To live and die together — for a month,
Discretion can award no more! Depart
From whatsoe’er the calm sweet solitude
Selected — Paris not improbably —
At month’s end, when the honeycomb’s left wax,
— You, daughter, with a pocketful of gold
Enough to find your village boys and girls
In duffel cloaks and hobnailed shoes from May
To — what’s the phrase? — Christmas-come-never-mas!
You, son and heir of mine, shall re-appear
Ere Spring-time, that’s the ring-time, lose one leaf,
And — not without regretful smack of lip
The while you wipe it free of honey-smear —
Marry the cousin, play the magistrate,
Stand for the country, prove perfection’s pink —
Master of hounds, gay-coated dine — nor die
Sooner than needs of gout, obesity,
And sons at Christ Church! As for me, — ah me,
I abdicate — retire on my success,
Four years well occupied in teaching youth
— My son and daughter the exemplary!
Time for me to retire now, having placed
Proud on their pedestal the pair: in turn,
Let them do homage to their master! You, —
Well, your flushed cheek and flashing eye proclaim
Sufficiently your gratitude: you paid
The honorarium, the ten thousand pounds
To pur
pose, did you not? I told you so!
And you, but, bless me, why so pale — so faint
At influx of good fortune? Certainly,
No matter how or why or whose the fault,
I save your life — save it, nor less nor more!
You blindly were resolved to welcome death
In that black boor-and-bumpkin-haunted hole
Of his, the prig with all the preachments! You
Installed as nurse and matron to the crones
And wenches, while there lay a world outside
Like Paris (which again I recommend)
In company and guidance of — first, this,
Then — all in good time — some new friend as fit —
What if I were to say, some fresh myself,
As I once figured? Each dog has his day,
And mine’s at sunset: what should old dog do
But eye young litters’ frisky puppyhood?
Oh I shall watch this beauty and this youth
Frisk it in brilliance! But don’t fear! Discreet,
I shall pretend to no more recognize
My quondam pupils than the doctor nods
When certain old acquaintances may cross
His path in Park, or sit down prim beside
His plate at dinner-table: tip nor wink
Scares patients he has put, for reason good,
Under restriction, — maybe, talked sometimes
Of douche or horsewhip to, — for why? because
The gentleman would crazily declare
His best friend was — Iago! Ay, and worse —
The lady, all at once grown lunatic,
In suicidal monomania vowed,
To save her soul, she needs must starve herself!
They’re cured now, both, and I tell nobody. 300
Why don’t you speak? Nay, speechless, each of you
Can spare, — without unclasping plighted troth, —
At least one hand to shake! Left-hands will do —
Yours first, my daughter! Ah, it guards — it gripes
The precious Album fast — and prudently!
As well obliterate the record there
On page the last: allow me tear the leaf!
Pray, now! And afterward, to make amends,
What if all three of us contribute each
A line to that prelusive fragment, — help
The embarrassed bard who broke out to break down
Dumbfoundered at such unforeseen success?
‘Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot’
You begin — place aux dames! I’ll prompt you then!
‘Here do I take the good the gods allot!’
Next you, Sir! What, still sulky? Sing, O Muse!
‘Here does my lord in full discharge his shot!’
Now for the crowning flourish! mine shall be....”
“Nothing to match your first effusion, mar
What was, is, shall remain your masterpiece!
Authorship has the alteration-itch!
No, I protest against erasure. Read,
My friend!” (she gasps out). “Read and quickly read
‘Before us death do part,’ what made you mine
And made me yours — the marriage-license here!
Decide if he is like to mend the same!”
And so the lady, white to ghastliness,
Manages somehow to display the page
With left-hand only, while the right retains
The other hand, the young man’s, — dreaming-drunk
He, with this drench of stupefying stuff,
Eyes wide, mouth open, — half the idiot’s stare
And half the prophet’s insight, — holding tight,
All the same, by his one fact in the world —
The lady’s right-hand: he but seems to read —
Does not, for certain; yet, how understand
Unless he reads?
So, understand he does,
For certain. Slowly, word by word, she reads
Aloud that license — or that warrant, say.
“‘One against two — and two that urge their odds
To uttermost — I needs must try resource!
Madam, I laid me prostrate, bade you spurn
Body and soul: you spurned and safely spurned
So you had spared me the superfluous taunt
“Prostration means no power to stand erect,
Stand, trampling on who trampled — prostrate now!”
So, with my other fool-foe: I was fain
Let the boy touch me with the buttoned foil,
And him the infection gains, he too must needs
Catch up the butcher’s cleaver. Be it so!
Since play turns earnest, here’s my serious fence.
He loves you; he demands your love: both know
What love means in my language. Love him then!
Pursuant to a pact, love pays my debt:
Therefore, deliver me from him, thereby
Likewise delivering from me yourself!
For, hesitate — much more, refuse consent —
I tell the whole truth to your husband. Flat
Cards lie on table, in our gamester-phrase!
Consent — you stop my mouth, the only way.’
“I did well, trusting instinct: knew your hand
Had never joined with his in fellowship
Over this pact of infamy. You known —
As he was known through every nerve of me.
Therefore I ‘stopped his mouth the only way’
But my way! none was left for you, my friend —
The loyal — near, the loved one! No — no — no!
Threaten? Chastise? The coward would but quail.
Conquer who can, the cunning of the snake!
Stamp out his slimy strength from tail to head,
And still you leave vibration of the tongue.
His malice had redoubled — not on me
Who, myself, choose my own refining fire —
But on poor unsuspicious innocence;
And, — victim, — to turn executioner
Also — that feat effected, forky tongue
Had done indeed its office! One snake’s ‘mouth’
Thus ‘open’ — how could mortal ‘stop it’ ?
”So!”
A tiger-flash — yell, spring, and scream: halloo!
Death’s out and on him, has and holds him — ugh!
But ne trucidet coram populo
Juvenis senem! Right the Horatian rule!
There, see how soon a quiet comes to pass!
VIII
The youth is somehow by the lady’s side.
His right-hand grasps her right-hand once again.
Both gaze on the dead body. Hers the word.
“And that was good but useless. Had I lived
The danger was to dread: but, dying now —
Himself would hardly become talkative,
Since talk no more means torture. Fools — what fools
These wicked men are! Had I borne four years,
Four years of weeks and months and days and nights,
Inured me to the consciousness of life
Coiled round by his life, with the tongue to ply, —
But that I bore about me, for prompt use
At urgent need, the thing that ‘stops the mouth’
And stays the venom? Since such need was now
Or never, — how should use not follow need?
Bear witness for me, I withdraw from life
By virtue of the license — warrant, say,
That blackens yet this Album — white again,
Thanks still to my one friend who tears the page!
Now, let me write the line of supplement,
As counselled by my foe there: ‘ each a line!’“
And she does falteringly write to end.
“I die now through the villain who lies dead,
Righteously
slain. He would have outraged me,
So, my defender slew him. God protect
The right! Where wrong lay, I bear witness now.
Let man believe me, whose last breath is spent
In blessing my defender from my soul!”
And so ends the Inn Album.
As she dies,
Begins outside a voice that sounds like song,
And is indeed half song though meant for speech
Muttered in time to motion — stir of heart
That unsubduably must bubble forth
To match the fawn-step as it mounts the stair.
“All’s ended and all’s over! Verdict found
‘Not guilty’ — prisoner forthwith set free,
Mid cheers the Court pretends to disregard!
Now Portia, now for Daniel, late severe,
At last appeased, benignant! ‘This young man —
Hem — has the young man’s foibles but no fault.
He’s virgin soil — a friend must cultivate.
I think no plant called “love” grows wild — a friend
May introduce, and name the bloom, the fruit!’
Here somebody dares wave a handkerchief —
She’ll want to hide her face with presently!
Good-by then! ‘Cigno fedel, cigno fedel,
Addio!’ Now, was ever such mistake —
Ever such foolish ugly omen? Pshaw!
Wagner, beside! ‘Amo te solo, te
Solo amai!’ That’s worth fifty such!
But, mum, the grave face at the opened door!”
And so the good gay girl, with eyes and cheeks
Diamond and damask, — cheeks so white erewhile
Because of a vague fancy, idle fear
Chased on reflection! — pausing, taps discreet;
And then, to give herself a countenance,
Before she comes upon the pair inside,
Loud — the oft-quoted, long-laughed-over line —
“ ‘Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!’
Open the door!”
No: let the curtain fall!
PACCHIAROTTO, AND HOW HE WORKED IN DISTEMPER
Well-received and commercially successful, this short collection of poems was initially published in 1876, being Browning’s first collection to appear for more than twelve years. The title poem refers to the life and works of the 15th Century Italian painter Giacomo Pacchiarotti, though the poem is actually an implicit attack on Browning’s critics, with several other poems in the collection having the same purpose.
Alleged portrait of Giacomo Pacchiarotti (1474 – 1539), the ostensible subject of the title poem. Pacchiarotti was an Italian painter from Siena, whose works inspired Perugino and Signorelli.
CONTENTS
Pacchiarotto. I
Pacchiarotto. II
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 194