Where ‘tis told by Suetonius, — each its highest throw.
Scarce the sportive fancy-dice I fling show “Venus:”
Still — for love of that dear land which I so oft in dreams revisit —
I have — oh, not sung! but lilted (as — between us —
Grows my lazy custom) this its legend. What the lilt?
Doctor — —
A Rabbi told me: On the day allowed
Satan for carping at God’s rule, he came,
Fresh from our earth, to brave the angel-crowd.
“What is the fault now?” “This I find to blame:
Many and various are the tongues below,
Yet all agree in one speech, all proclaim
“ ‘Hell has no might to match what earth can show:
Death is the strongest-born of Hell, and yet
Stronger than Death is a Bad Wife, we know.’
“Is it a wonder if I fume and fret — 10
Robbed of my rights, since Death am I, and mine
The style of Strongest? Men pay Nature’s debt
“Because they must at my demand; decline
To pay it henceforth surely men will please,
Provided husbands with bad wives combine
“To baffle Death. Judge between me and these!”
“Thyself shalt judge. Descend to earth in shape
Of mortal, marry, drain from froth to lees
“The bitter draught, then see if thou escape
Concluding, with men sorrowful and sage, 20
A Bad Wife’s strength Death’s self in vain would ape!”
How Satan entered on his pilgrimage,
Conformed himself to earthly ordinance,
Wived and played husband well from youth to age
Intrepidly — I leave untold, advance
Through many a married year until I reach
A day when — of his father’s countenance
The very image, like him too in speech
As well as thought and deed, — the union’s fruit
Attained maturity. “I needs must teach 30
“My son a trade: but trade, such son to suit,
Needs seeking after. He a man of war?
Tox) cowardly! A lawyer wins repute —
“Having to toil and moil, though — both which are
Beyond this sluggard. There’s Divinity:
No, that’s my own bread-winner — that be far
“From my poor offspring! Physic? Ha, we’ll try
If this be practicable. Where’s my wit?
Asleep? — since, now I come to think . . . Ay, ay!
“Hither, my son! Exactly have I hit 40
On a profession for thee. Medicus —
Behold, thou art appointed! Yea, I spit
“Upon thine eyes, bestow a virtue thus
That henceforth not this human form I wear
Shalt thou perceive alone, but — one of us
“By privilege — thy fleshly sight shall bear
Me in my spirit-person as I walk
The world and take my prey appointed there.
“Doctor once dubbed — what ignorance shall baulk
Thy march triumphant? Diagnose the gout 50
As colic, and prescribe it cheese for chalk —
“No matter! All’s one: cure shall come about
And win thee wealth — fees paid with such a roar
Of thanks and praise alike from lord and lout
“As never stunned man’s ears on earth before.
‘How may this be?’ Why, that’s my sceptic! Soon
Truth will corrupt thee, soon thou doubt’st no more!
“Why is it I bestow on thee the boon
Of recognizing me the while I go
Invisibly among men, morning, noon, 60
“And night, from house to house, and — quick or slow —
Take my appointed prey? They summon thee
For help, suppose: obey the summons! so!
“Enter, look round! Where’s Death? Know — I am he,
Satan who work all evil: I who bring
Pain to the patient in whate’er degree.
“I, then, am there: first glance thine eye shall fling
Will find me — whether distant or at hand,
As I am free to do my spiriting.
“At such mere first glance thou shalt understand 70
Wherefore I reach no higher up the room
Than door or window, when my form is scanned.
“Howe’er friends’ faces please to gather gloom,
Bent o’er the sick, — howe’er himself desponds, —
In such case Death is not the sufferer’s doom.
“Contrariwise, do friends rejoice my bonds
Are broken, does the captive in his turn
Crow ‘Life shall conquer’? Nip these foolish fronds
“Of hope a-sprout, if haply thou discern
Me at the head — my victim’s head, be sure! 80
Forth now! This taught thee, little else to learn!”
And forth he went. Folk heard him ask demure,
“How do you style this ailment? (There he peeps,
My father, through the arras!) Sirs, the cure
“Is plain as A. B. C.! Experience steeps
Blossoms of pennyroyal half an hour
In sherris. Sumat! — Lo, how sound he sleeps —
“The subject you presumed was past the power
Of Galen to relieve!” Or else, “How’s this?
Why call for help so tardily? Clouds lour 90
“Portentously indeed, Sirs! (Naught’s amiss:
He’s at the bed-foot merely.) Still, the storm
May pass averted — not by quacks, I wis,
“Like you, my masters! You, forsooth, perform
A miracle? Stand, sciolists, aside!
At ignorance blood, ne’er so cold, grows warm!”
Which boasting by result was justified,
Big as might words be: whether drugged or left
Drugless, the patient always lived, not died.
Great the heir’s gratitude, so nigh bereft 100
Of all he prized in this world: sweet the smile
Of disconcerted rivals: “Cure? — say, theft
“From Nature in despite of Art — so style
This off-hand kill-or-cure work! You did much,
I had done more: folks cannot wait awhile!”
But did the case change? was it — ”Scarcely such
The symptoms as to warrant our recourse
To your skill, Doctor! Yet since just a touch
“Of pulse, a taste of breath, has all the force
With you of long investigation claimed 110
By others, — tracks an ailment to its source
“Intuitively, — may we ask unblamed
What from this pimple you prognosticate?”
“Death!” was the answer, as he saw and named
The coucher by the sick man’s head. “Too late
You send for my assistance. I am bold
Only by Nature’s leave, and bow to Fate!
“Besides, you have my rivals: lavish gold!
How comfortably quick shall life depart
Cosseted by attentions manifold! 120
“One day, one hour ago, perchance my art
Had done some service. Since you have yourselves
Chosen — before the horse — to put the cart,
“Why, Sirs, the sooner that the sexton delves
Your patient’s grave, the better! How you stare
— Shallow, for all the deep books on your shelves!
“Fare you well, fumblers!” Do I need declare
What name and fame, what riches recompensed
The Doctor’s practice? Never anywhere
Such an adept as daily evidenced 130
Each new vaticination! Oh, not he
Like dolts who dallied with their scruples, fenced
With subterfuge, no
r gave out frank and free
Something decisive! If he said “I save
The patient,” saved he was: if “Death will be
“His portion,” you might count him dead. Thus brave,
Behold our worthy, sans competitor
Throughout the country, on the architrave
Of Glory’s temple golden-lettered for
Machaon redivivus! So, it fell 140
That, of a sudden, when the Emperor
Was smit by sore disease, I need not tell
If any other Doctor’s aid was sought
To come and forthwith make the sick Prince well.
“He will reward thee as a monarch ought.
Not much imports the malady; hut then,
He clings to life and cries like one distraught
“For thee — who, from a simple citizen,
Mayst look to rise in rank, — nay, haply wear
A medal with his portrait, — always when 150
“Recovery is quite accomplished. There!
Pass to the presence!” Hardly has he crossed
The chamber’s threshold when he halts, aware
Of who stands sentry by the head. All’s lost,
“Sire, naught avails my art: you near the goal,
And end the race by giving up the ghost.”
“How?” cried the monarch: “Names upon your roll
Of half my subjects rescued by your skill —
Old and young, rich and poor — crowd cheek by jowl
“And yet no room for mine? Be saved I will! 160
Why else am I earth’s foremost potentate?
Add me to these and take as fee your fill
“Of gold — that point admits of no debate
Between us: save me, as you can and must, —
Gold, till your gown’s pouch cracks beneath the weight!”
This touched the Doctor. “Truly a home-thrust,
Parent, you will not parry! Have I dared
Entreat that you forego the meal of dust
“ — Man that is snake’s meat — when I saw prepared
Your daily portion? Never! Just this once, 170
Go from his head, then, — let his life be spared!”
Whisper met whisper in the gruff response:
“Fool, I must have my prey: no inch I budge
From where thou see’st me thus myself ensconce.”
“Ah,” moaned the sufferer, “by thy look I judge
Wealth fails to tempt thee: what if honours prove
More efficacious? Nought to him I grudge
“Who saves me. Only keep my head above
The cloud that’s creeping round it — I’ll divide
My empire with thee! No? What’s left but — love? 180
“Does love allure thee? Well then, take as bride
My only daughter, fair beyond belief!
Save me — to-morrow shall the knot be tied!”
“Father, you hear him! Respite ne’er so brief
Is all I beg: go now and come again
Next day, for aught I care: respect the grief
“Mine will be if thy first-born sues in vain!”
“Fool, I must have my prey!” was all he got
In answer. But a fancy crossed his brain.
“I have it! Sire, methinks a meteor shot 190
Just now across the heavens and neutralized
Jove’s salutary influence: ‘neath the blot
“Plumb are you placed now: well that I surmised
The cause of failure! Knaves, reverse the bed!”
“Stay!” groaned the monarch, “I shall be capsized —
“Jolt — jolt — my heels uplift where late my head
Was lying — sure I’m turned right round at last!
What do you say now, Doctor?” Nought he said,
For why? With one brisk leap the Antic passed
From couch-foot back to pillow, — as before, 200
Lord of the situation. Long aghast
The Doctor gazed, then “Yet one trial more
Is left me” inwardly he uttered. “Shame
Upon thy flinty heart! Do I implore
“This trifling favour in the idle name
Of mercy to the moribund? I plead
The cause of all thou dost affect: my aim
“Befits my author! Why would I succeed?
Simply that by success I may promote
The growth of thy pet virtues — pride and greed. 210
“But keep thy favours! — curse thee! I devote
Henceforth my service to the other side.
No time to lose: the rattle’s in his throat.
“So, — not to leave one last resource untried, —
Run to my house with all haste, somebody!
Bring me that knobstick thence, so often plied
“With profit by the astrologer — shall I
Disdain its help, the mystic Jacob’s-Staff?
Sire, do but have the courage not to die
“Till this arrive! Let none of you dare laugh! 220
Though rugged its exterior, I have seen
That implement work wonders, send the chaff
“Quick and thick flying from the wheat — I mean,
By metaphor, a human sheaf it threshed
Flail-like. Go fetch it! Or — a word between
“Just you and me, friend! — go bid, unabashed,
My mother, whom you’ll find there, bring the stick
Herself — herself, mind!” Out the lackey dashed
Zealous upon the errand. Craft and trick
Are meat and drink to Satan: and he grinned 230
— How else? — at an excuse so politic
For failure: scarce would Jacob’s-Staff rescind
Fate’s firm decree! And ever as he neared
The agonizing one, his breath like wind
Froze to the marrow, while his eye-flash seared
Sense in the brain up: closelier and more close
Pressing his prey, when at the door appeared
— Who but his Wife the Bad? Whereof one dose,
One grain, one mite of the medicament,
Sufficed him. Up he sprang. One word, too gross 240
To soil my lips with, — and through ceiling went
Somehow the Husband. “That a storm’s dispersed
We know for certain by the sulphury scent!
“Hail to the Doctor! Who but one so versed
In all Dame Nature’s secrets had prescribed
The staff thus opportunely? Style him first
“And foremost of physicians!” “I’ve imbibed
Elixir surely,” smiled the prince, — ”have gained
New lease of life. Dear Doctor, how you bribed
“Death to forego me, boots not: you’ve obtained 250
My daughter and her dowry. Death, I’ve heard,
Was still on earth the strongest power that reigned,
“Except a Bad Wife!” Whereunto demurred
Nowise the Doctor, so refused the fee
— No dowry, no bad wife!
”You think absurd
This tale?” — the Rabbi added: “True, our Talmud
Boasts sundry such: yet — have our elders erred
In thinking there’s some water there, not all mud?”
I tell it, as the Rabbi told it me.
Pan and Luna
Si credere dignum est. — Georgic. iii. 300.
O worthy of belief I hold it was,
Virgil, your legend in those strange three lines!
No question, that adventure came to pass
One black night in Arcadia: yes, the pines,
Mountains and valleys mingling made one mass
Of black with void black heaven: the earth’s confines,
The sky’s embrace, — below, above, around,
All hardened into black without a bound.
Fill up a swart stone chalice to the brim
Wit
h fresh-squeezed yet fast-thickening poppy-juice:
See how the sluggish jelly, late a-swim,
Turns marble to the touch of who would loose
The solid smooth, grown jet from rim to rim,
By turning round the bowl! So night can fuse
Earth with her all-comprising sky. No less,
Light, the least spark, shows air and emptiness.
And thus it proved when — diving into space,
Stript of all vapour, from each web of mist
Utterly film-free — entered on her race
The naked Moon, full-orbed antagonist
Of night and dark, night’s dowry: peak to base,
Upstarted mountains, and each valley, kissed
To sudden life, lay silver-bright: in air
Flew she revealed, Maid-Moon with limbs all bare.
Still as she fled, each depth — where refuge seemed —
Opening a lone pale chamber, left distinct
Those limbs: mid still-retreating blue, she teemed
Herself with whiteness, — virginal, uncinct
By any halo save what finely gleamed
To outline not disguise her: heaven was linked
In one accord with earth to quaff the joy,
Drain beauty to the dregs without alloy.
Whereof she grew aware. What help? When, lo,
A succourable cloud with sleep lay dense:
Some pinetree-top had caught it sailing slow,
And tethered for a prize: in evidence
Captive lay fleece on fleece of piled-up snow
Drowsily patient: flake-heaped how or whence,
The structure of that succourable cloud,
What matter? Shamed she plunged into its shroud.
Orbed — so the woman-figure poets call
Because of rounds on rounds — that apple-shaped
Head which its hair binds close into a ball
Jach side the curving ears — that pure undraped
Pout of the sister paps — that . . . Once for all,
Say — her consummate circle thus escaped
With its innumerous circlets, sank absorbed,
Safe in the cloud — O naked Moon full-orbed!
But what means this? The downy swathes combine,
Conglobe, the smothery coy-caressing stuff
Curdles about her! Vain each twist and twine
Those lithe limbs try, encroached on by a fluff
Fitting as close as fits the dented spine
Its flexile ivory outside-flesh: enough!
The plumy drifts contract, condense, constringe,
Till she is swallowed by the feathery springe.
As when a pearl slips lost in the thin foam
Churned on a sea-shore, and, o’er-frothed, conceits
Herself safe-housed in Amphitrite’s dome, —
If, through the bladdery wave-worked yeast, she meets
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 207