Having a delayed publication date, so as not to compromise the sales of the popular collection Jocoseria, reviews were generally mixed, with some critics complaining of its didactic nature, while others praised its handling of Oriental themes, much in vogue at the time. Due to this latter aspect, the book was a commercial success, though it has since become one of Browning’s least anthologised works.
Browning, close to the time of publication
CONTENTS
FERISHTAH’S FANCIES.
PROLOGUE.
THE EAGLE.
THE MELON-SELLER
SHAH ABBAS.
THE FAMILY.
THE SUN.
MIHRAB SHAH.
A CAMEL-DRIVER.
TWO CAMELS.
CHERRIES.
PLOT-CULTURE.
A PILLAR AT SEBZEVAR.
A BEAN-STRIPE: ALSO, APPLE-EATING.
EPILOGUE.
FERISHTAH’S FANCIES.
1884.
“His genius was jocular, but, when disposed, he could be very serious.”
— Article “Shakespear,” Jeremy Collier’s Historical &c . Dictionary , 2nd edition, 1701.
“You, Sir, I entertain you for one of my Hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments: you will say they are Persian: but let them be changed.”
— King Lear , act iii. sc. 6.
PROLOGUE.
Pray , Reader, have you eaten ortolans
Ever in Italy?
Recall how cooks there cook them: for my plan’s
To — Lyre with Spit ally.
They pluck the birds, — some dozen luscious lumps,
Or more or fewer, —
Then roast them, heads by heads and rumps by rumps,
Stuck on a skewer.
But first, — and here’s the point I fain would press, —
Don’t think I’m tattling! —
They interpose, to curb its lusciousness,
— What, ‘twixt each fatling?
First comes plain bread, crisp, brown, a toasted square:
Then, a strong sage-leaf:
(So we find books with flowers dried here and there
Lest leaf engage leaf.)
First, food — then, piquancy — and last of all
Follows the thirdling:
Through wholesome hard, sharp soft, your tooth must bite
Ere reach the birdling.
Now, were there only crust to crunch, you’d wince:
Unpalatable!
Sage-leaf is bitter-pungent — so’s a quince:
Eat each who’s able!
But through all three bite boldly — lo, the gust!
Flavour — no fixture —
Flies, permeating flesh and leaf and crust
In fine admixture.
So with your meal, my poem: masticate
Sense, sight and song there!
Digest these, and I praise your peptics’ state,
Nothing found wrong there.
Whence springs my illustration who can tell?
— The more surprising
That here eggs, milk, cheese, fruit suffice so well
For gormandizing.
A fancy-freak by contrast born of thee,
Delightful Gressoney!
Who laughest “Take what is, trust what may be!”
That’s Life’s true lesson, — eh?
Maison Delapierre, Gressoney St. Jean, Val d’ Aosta. September 12, 83.
THE EAGLE.
Dervish — (though yet un-dervished, call him so
No less beforehand: while he drudged our way,
Other his worldly name was: when he wrote
Those versicles we Persians praise him for,
— True fairy-work — Ferishtah grew his style) —
Dervish Ferishtah walked the woods one eve,
And noted on a bough a raven’s nest
Whereof each youngling gaped with callow beak
Widened by want; for why? beneath the tree
Dead lay the mother-bird. “A piteous chance!
“How shall they ‘scape destruction?” sighed the sage
— Or sage about to be, though simple still.
Responsive to which doubt, sudden there swooped
An eagle downward, and behold he bore
(Great-hearted) in his talons flesh wherewith
He stayed their craving, then resought the sky.
“Ah, foolish, faithless me!” the observer smiled,
“Who toil and moil to eke out life, when lo
Providence cares for every hungry mouth!”
To profit by which lesson, home went he,
And certain days sat musing, — neither meat
Nor drink would purchase by his handiwork.
Then, — for his head swam and his limbs grew faint, —
Sleep overtook the unwise one, whom in dream
God thus admonished: “Hast thou marked my deed?
Which part assigned by providence dost judge
Was meant for man’s example? Should he play
The helpless weakling, or the helpful strength
That captures prey and saves the perishing?
Sluggard, arise: work, eat, then feed who lack!”
Waking, “I have arisen, work I will,
Eat, and so following. Which lacks food the more,
Body or soul in me? I starve in soul:
So may mankind: and since men congregate
In towns, not woods, — to Ispahan forthwith!”
Round us the wild creatures, overhead the trees,
Underfoot the moss-tracks, — life and love with these!
I to wear a fawn-skin, thou to dress in flowers:
All the long lone Summer-day, that greenwood life of ours!
Rich-pavilioned, rather, — still the world without, —
Inside — gold-roofed silk-walled silence round about!
Queen it thou on purple, — I, at watch and ward
Couched beneath the columns, gaze, thy slave, love’s guard!
So, for us no world? Let throngs press thee to me!
Up and down amid men, heart by heart fare we!
Welcome squalid vesture, harsh voice, hateful face!
God is soul, souls I and thou: with souls should souls have place.
THE MELON-SELLER
Going his rounds one day in Ispahan, —
Half-way on Dervishhood, not wholly there, —
Ferishtah, as he crossed a certain bridge,
Came startled on a well-remembered face.
“Can it be? What, turned melon-seller — thou?
Clad in such sordid garb, thy seat yon step
Where dogs brush by thee and express contempt?
Methinks, thy head-gear is some scooped-out gourd!
Nay, sunk to slicing up, for readier sale,
One fruit whereof the whole scarce feeds a swine?
Wast thou the Shah’s Prime Minister, men saw
Ride on his right-hand while a trumpet blew
And Persia hailed the Favourite? Yea, twelve years
Are past, I judge, since that transcendency,
And thou didst peculate and art abased;
No less, twelve years since, thou didst hold in hand
Persia, couldst halve and quarter, mince its pulp
As pleased thee, and distribute — melon-like —
Portions to whoso played the parasite,
Or suck — thyself — each juicy morsel. How
Enormous thy abjection, — hell from heaven,
Made tenfold hell by contrast! Whisper me!
Dost thou curse God for granting twelve years’ bliss
Only to prove this day’s the direr lot?”
Whereon the beggar raised a brow, once more
Luminous and imperial, from the rags.
“Fool, does thy folly think my foolishness
Dwells rather on the fact that God appoints
A day of woe to the unworthy one,
>
Than that the unworthy one, by God’s award,
Tasted joy twelve years long? Or buy a slice,
Or go to school!”
To school Ferishtah went;
And, schooling ended, passed from Ispahan
To Nishapur, that Elburz looks above
— Where they dig turquoise: there kept school himself,
The melon-seller’s speech, his stock in trade.
Some say a certain Jew adduced the word
Out of their book, it sounds so much the same.
In Persian phrase,
“Shall we receive good at the hand of God
And evil not receive?” But great wits jump.
Wish no word unspoken, want no look away!
What if words were but mistake, and looks — too sudden, say!
Be unjust for once, Love! Bear it — well I may!
Do me justice always? Bid my heart — their shrine —
Render back its store of gifts, old looks and words of thine
— Oh, so all unjust — the less deserved, the more divine?
SHAH ABBAS.
Anyhow , once full Dervish, youngsters came
To gather up his own words, ‘neath a rock
Or else a palm, by pleasant Nishapur.
Said someone, as Ferishtah paused abrupt,
Reading a certain passage from the roll
Wherein is treated of Lord Ali’s life:
“Master, explain this incongruity!
When I dared question ‘It is beautiful,
But is it true?’ — thy answer was ‘In truth
Lives beauty.’ I persisting — ’Beauty — yes,
In thy mind and in my mind, every mind
That apprehends: but outside — so to speak —
Did beauty live in deed as well as word,
Was this life lived, was this death died — not dreamed?’
‘Many attested it for fact’ saidst thou.
‘Many!’ but mark, Sir! Half as long ago
As such things were, — supposing that they were, —
Reigned great Shah Abbas: he too lived and died
— How say they? Why, so strong of arm, of foot
So swift, he stayed a lion in his leap
On a stag’s haunch, — with one hand grasped the stag,
With one struck down the lion: yet, no less,
Himself, that same day, feasting after sport,
Perceived a spider drop into his wine,
Let fall the flagon, died of simple fear.
So all say, — so dost thou say?”
“Wherefore not?”
Ferishtah smiled: “though strange, the story stands
Clear-chronicled: none tells it otherwise:
The fact’s eye-witness bore the cup, beside.”
“And dost thou credit one cup-bearer’s tale,
False, very like, and futile certainly,
Yet hesitate to trust what many tongues
Combine to testify was beautiful
In deed as well as word? No fool’s report
Of lion, stag and spider, but immense
With meaning for mankind, — thy race, — thyself?”
Whereto the Dervish: “First amend, my son,
Thy faulty nomenclature, call belief
Belief indeed, nor grace with such a name
The easy acquiescence of mankind
In matters nowise worth dispute, since life
Lasts merely the allotted moment. Lo —
That lion-stag-and-spider tale leaves fixed
The fact for us that somewhen Abbas reigned,
Died, somehow slain, — a useful registry, —
Which therefore we — ’believe’? Stand forward, thou,
My Yakub, son of Yusuf, son of Zal!
I advertise thee that our liege, the Shah
Happily regnant, hath become assured,
By opportune discovery, that thy sires,
Son by the father upwards, track their line
To — whom but that same bearer of the cup
Whose inadvertency was chargeable
With what therefrom ensued, disgust and death
To Abbas Shah, the over-nice of soul?
Whence he appoints thee, — such his clemency, —
Not death, thy due, but just a double tax
To pay, on thy particular bed of reeds
Which flower into the brush that makes a broom
Fit to sweep ceilings clear of vermin. Sure,
Thou dost believe the story nor dispute
That punishment should signalize its truth?
Down therefore with some twelve dinars! Why start,
— The stag’s way with the lion hard on haunch?
‘Believe the story?’ — how thy words throng fast! —
‘Who saw this, heard this, said this, wrote down this,
That and the other circumstance to prove
So great a prodigy surprised the world?
Needs must thou prove me fable can be fact
Or ere thou coax one piece from out my pouch!’ “
“There we agree, Sir: neither of us knows,
Neither accepts that tale on evidence
Worthy to warrant the large word — belief.
Now I get near thee! Why didst pause abrupt,
Disabled by emotion at a tale
Might match — be frank! — for credibility
The figment of the spider and the cup?
— To wit, thy roll’s concerning Ali’s life,
Unevidenced — thine own word! Little boots
Our sympathy with fiction! When I read
The annals and consider of Tahmasp
And that sweet sun-surpassing star his love,
I weep like a cut vine-twig, though aware
Zurah’s sad fate is fiction, since the snake
He saw devour her, — how could such exist,
Having nine heads? No snake boasts more than three!
I weep, then laugh — both actions right alike.
But thou, Ferishtah, sapiency confessed,
When at the Day of Judgment God shall ask
‘Didst thou believe?’ — what wilt thou plead? Thy tears?
(Nay, they fell fast and stain the parchment still)
What if thy tears meant love? Love lacking ground
— Belief, — avails thee as it would avail
My own pretence to favour since, forsooth,
I loved the lady — I, who needs must laugh
To hear a snake boasts nine heads: they have three!”
“Thanks for the well-timed help that’s born, behold,
Out of thy words, my son, — belief and love!
Hast heard of Ishak son of Absal? Ay,
The very same we heard of, ten years since,
Slain in the wars: he comes back safe and sound, —
Though twenty soldiers saw him die at Yezdt, —
Just as a single mule-and-baggage boy
Declared ‘t was like he some day would, — for why?
The twenty soldiers lied, he saw him stout,
Cured of all wounds at once by smear of salve,
A Mubid’s manufacture: such the tale.
Now, when his pair of sons were thus apprised
Effect was twofold on them. ‘Hail!’ crowed This:
‘Dearer the news than dayspring after night!
The cure-reporting youngster warrants me
Our father shall make glad our eyes once more,
For whom, had outpoured life of mine sufficed
To bring him back, free broached were every vein!’
‘Avaunt, delusive tale-concocter, news
Cruel as meteor simulating dawn!’
Whimpered the other: ‘Who believes this boy
Must disbelieve his twenty seniors: no,
Return our father shall not! Might my death
Purchase his life, how promptly would the dole
Be paid as due!’ Well, te
n years pass, — aha,
Ishak is marching homeward, — doubts, not he,
Are dead and done with! So, our townsfolk straight
Must take on them to counsel. ‘Go thou gay,
Welcome thy father, thou of ready faith!
Hide thee, contrariwise, thou faithless one,
Expect paternal frowning, blame and blows!’
So do our townsfolk counsel: dost demur?”
“Ferishtah like those simpletons — at loss
In what is plain as pikestaff? Pish! Suppose
The trustful son had sighed ‘So much the worse!
Returning means — retaking heritage
Enjoyed these ten years, who should say me nay?’
How would such trust reward him? Trustlessness
— O’ the other hand — were what procured most praise
To him who judged return impossible,
Yet hated heritage procured thereby.
A fool were Ishak if he failed to prize
Mere head’s work less than heart’s work: no fool he!’
“Is God less wise? Resume the roll!” They did.
You groped your way across my room i’ the dear dark dead of night;
At each fresh step a stumble was: but, once your lamp alight,
Easy and plain you walked again: so soon all wrong grew right!
What lay on floor to trip your foot? Each object, late awry,
Looked fitly placed, nor proved offence to footing free — for why?
The lamp showed all, discordant late, grown simple symmetry.
Be love your light and trust your guide, with these explore my heart!
No obstacle to trip you then, strike hands and souls apart!
Since rooms and hearts are furnished so, — light shows you, — needs love start?
THE FAMILY.
A certain neighbour lying sick to death,
Ferishtah grieved beneath a palm-tree, whence
He rose at peace: whereat objected one
“Gudarz our friend gasps in extremity.
Sure, thou art ignorant how close at hand
Death presses, or the cloud, which fouled so late
Thy face, had deepened down not lightened off.”
“I judge there will be respite, for I prayed.”
“Sir, let me understand, of charity!
Yestereve, what was thine admonishment?
‘All-wise, all-good, all-mighty — God is such!’
How then should man, the all-unworthy, dare
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 213