Nowise performed here, therefore never willed.
What follows but that God, who could the best,
Has willed the worst, — while man, with power to match
Will with performance, were deservedly
Hailed the supreme — provided . . . here’s the touch
That breaks the bubble . . . this concept of man’s
Were man’s own work, his birth of heart and brain,
His native grace, no alien gift at all.
The bubble breaks here. Will of man create?
No more than this my hand which strewed the beans
Produced them also from its finger-tips.
Back goes creation to its source, source prime
And ultimate, the single and the sole.”
“How reconcile discordancy, — unite
Notion and notion — God that only can
Yet does not, — man that would indeed
But just as surely cannot, — both in one?
What help occurs to thy intelligence?”
“Ah, the beans, — or, — example better yet, —
A carpet-web I saw once leave the loom
And lie at gorgeous length in Ispahan!
The weaver plied his work with lengths of silk
Dyed each to match some jewel as it might,
And wove them, this by that. ‘How comes it, friend,’ —
(Quoth I) — ’that while, apart, this fiery hue,
That watery dimness, either shocks the eye,
So blinding bright, or else offends again
By dulness, — yet the two, set each by each,
Somehow produce a colour born of both,
A medium profitable to the sight?’
‘Such medium is the end whereat I aim,’ —
Answered my craftsman: ‘there’s no single tinct
Would satisfy the eye’s desire to taste
The secret of the diamond: join extremes,
Results a serviceable medium-ghost,
The diamond’s simulation. Even so
I needs must blend the quality of man
With quality of God, and so assist
Mere human sight to understand my Life,
What is, what should be, — understand thereby
Wherefore I hate the first and love the last, —
Understand why things so present themselves
To me, placed here to prove I understand.
Thus, from beginning runs the chain to end,
And binds me plain enough. By consequence,
I bade thee tolerate, — not kick and cuff
The man who held that natures did in fact
Blend so, since so thyself must have them blend
In fancy, if it take a flight so far.”
“A power, confessed past knowledge, nay, past thought,
— Thus thought thus known!”
“To know of, think about —
Is all man’s sum of faculty effects
When exercised on earth’s least atom, Son!
What was, what is, what may such atom be?
No answer! Still, what seems it to man’s sense?
An atom with some certain properties
Known about, thought of as occasion needs,
— Man’s — but occasions of the universe?
Unthinkable, unknowable to man.
Yet, since to think and know fire through and through
Exceeds man, is the warmth of fire unknown,
Its uses — are they so unthinkable?
Pass from such obvious power to powers unseen,
Undreamed of save in their sure consequence:
Take that, we spoke of late, which draws to ground
The staff my hand lets fall: it draws, at least —
Thus much man thinks and knows, if nothing more.”
“Ay, but man puts no mind into such power!
He neither thanks it, when an apple drops,
Nor prays it spare his pate while underneath.
Does he thank Summer though it plumped the rind?
Why thank the other force — whate’er its name —
Which gave him teeth to bite and tongue to taste
And throat to let the pulp pass? Force and force,
No end of forces! Have they mind like man?”
“Suppose thou visit our lord Shalim-Shah,
Bringing thy tribute as appointed. ‘Here
Come I to pay my due!’ Whereat one slave
Obsequious spreads a carpet for thy foot,
His fellow offers sweetmeats, while a third
Prepares a pipe: what thanks or praise have they?
Such as befit prompt service. Gratitude
Goes past them to the Shah whose gracious nod
Set all the sweet civility at work;
But for his ordinance, I much suspect,
My scholar had been left to cool his heels
Uncarpeted, or warm them — likelier still —
With bastinado for intrusion. Slaves
Needs must obey their master: ‘force and force,
No end of forces,’ act as bids some force
Supreme o’er all and each: where find that one?
How recognize him? Simply as thou didst
The Shah — by reasoning ‘Since I feel a debt,
Behoves me pay the same to one aware
I have my duty, he his privilege.’
Didst thou expect the slave who charged thy pipe
Would serve as well to take thy tribute-bag
And save thee further trouble?”
“Be it so!
The sense within me that I owe a debt
Assures me — somewhere must be somebody
Ready to take his due. All comes to this —
Where due is, there acceptance follows: find
Him who accepts the due! and why look far?
Behold thy kindred compass thee about!
Ere-thou wast born and after thou shalt die,
Heroic man stands forth as Shahan-Shah.
Rustem and Gew, Gudarz and all the rest,
How come they short of lordship that’s to seek
Dead worthies! but men live undoubtedly
Gifted as Sindokht, sage Sulayman’s match,
Valiant like Kawah: ay, and while earth lasts
Such heroes shall abound there — all for thee
Who profitest by all the present, past,
And future operation of thy race.
Why, then, o’erburdened with a debt of thanks,
Look wistful for some hand from out the clouds
To take it, when, all round, a multitude
Would ease thee in a trice?”
“Such tendered thanks
Would tumble back to who craved riddance, Son!
— Who but my sorry self? See! stars are out —
Stars which, unconscious of thy gaze beneath,
Go glorifying, and glorify thee too
— Those Seven Thrones, Zurah’s beauty, weird Parwin!
Whether shall love and praise to stars be paid
Or — say — some Mubid who, for good to thee
Blind at thy birth, by magic all his own
Opened thine eyes, and gave the sightless sight,
Let the stars’ glory enter? Say his charm
Worked while thyself lay sleeping: as he went
Thou wakedst: ‘What a novel sense have I!
Whom shall I love and praise?’ ‘The stars, each orb
Thou standest rapt beneath,’ proposes one:
‘Do not they live their life, and please themselves,
And so please thee? What more is requisite?’
Make thou this answer: ‘If indeed no mage
Opened my eyes and worked a miracle,
Then let the stars thank me who apprehend
That such an one is white, such other blue!
But for my apprehension both were blank.
Cannot I close my eyes and bid my brain
Make whites and blues, conceive without stars’ help,
New qualities of colour? were my sight
Lost or misleading, would yon red — I judge
A ruby’s benefaction — stand for aught
But green from vulgar glass? Myself appraise
Lustre and lustre; should I overlook
Fomalhaut and declare some fen-fire king,
Who shall correct me, lend me eyes he trusts
No more than I trust mine? My mage for me!
I never saw him: if he never was,
I am the arbitrator!’ No, my Son!
Let us sink down to thy similitude:
I eat my apple, relish what is ripe —
The sunny side, admire its rarity
Since half the tribe is wrinkled, and the rest
Hide commonly a maggot in the core, —
And down Zerdusht goes with due smack of lips:
But — thank an apple? He who made my mouth
To masticate, my palate to approve,
My maw to further the concoction — Him
I thank, — but for whose work, the orchard’s wealth
Might prove so many gall-nuts — stocks or stones
For aught that I should think, or know, or care.”
“Why from the world,” Ferishtah smiled, “should thanks
Go to this work of mine? If worthy praise,
Praised let it be and welcome: as verse ranks,
So rate my verse: if good therein outweighs
Aught faulty judged, judge justly! Justice says:
Be just to fact, or blaming or approving:
But — generous? No, nor loving!
“Loving! what claim to love has work of mine?
Concede my life were emptied of its gains
To furnish forth and fill work’s strict confine,
Who works so for the world’s sake — he complains
With cause when hate, not love, rewards his pains.
I looked beyond the world for truth and beauty:
Sought, found and did my duty.”
EPILOGUE.
Oh , Love — no, Love! All the noise below, Love,
Groanings all and moanings — none of Life I lose!
All of Life’s a cry just of weariness and woe, Love —
”Hear at least, thou happy one!” How can I, Love, but choose?
Only, when I do hear, sudden circle round me
— Much as when the moon’s might frees a space from cloud —
Iridescent splendours: gloom — would else confound me —
Barriered off and banished far — bright-edged the blackest shroud!
Thronging through the cloud-rift, whose are they, the faces
Faint revealed yet sure divined, the famous ones of old?
“What” — they smile — ”our names, our deeds so soon erases
Time upon his tablet where Life’s glory lies enrolled?
“Was it for mere fool’s-play, make-believe and mumming,
So we battled it like men, not boylike sulked or whined?
Each of us heard clang God’s ‘Come!’ and each was coming:
Soldiers all, to forward-face, not sneaks to lag behind!
“How of the field’s fortune? That concerned our Leader!
Led, we struck our stroke nor cared for doings left and right:
Each as on his sole head, failer or succeeder,
Lay the blame or lit the praise: no care for cowards: fight!”
Then the cloud-rift broadens, spanning earth that’s under
Wide our world displays its worth, man’s strife and strife’s success:
All the good and beauty, wonder crowning wonder,
Till my heart and soul applaud perfection, nothing less.
Only, at heart’s utmost joy and triumph, terror
Sudden turns the blood to ice: a chill wind disencharms
All the late enchantment! What if all be error —
If the halo irised round my head were, Love, thine arms?
Palazzo Giustinian-Recanati, Venice: December 1, 1883.
PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY
CONTENTS
PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY
APOLLO AND THE FATES.
WITH BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE.
WITH DANIEL BARTOLI.
WITH CHRISTOPHER SMART.
WITH GEORGE BUBB DODINGTON.
WITH FRANCIS FURINI.
WITH GERARD DE LAIRESSE.
WITH CHARLES AVISON.
FUST AND HIS FRIENDS.
AN EPILOGUE.
PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE IN THEIR DAY
IN MEMORIAM J. MILSAND OBIIT IV. SEPT. MDCCCLXXXVI.
Absens absentem auditque videtque .
1887.
APOLLO AND THE FATES.
A PROLOGUE.
APOLLO.
[From above.
Flame at my footfall, Parnassus! Apollo,
Breaking a-blaze on thy topmost peak,
Burns thence, down to the depths — dread hollow —
Haunt of the Dire Ones. Haste! They wreak
Wrath on Admetus whose respite I seek.
THE FATES.
[Below. Darkness.
Dragonwise couched in the womb of our Mother,
Coiled at thy nourishing heart’s core, Night!
Dominant Dreads, we, one by the other,
Deal to each mortal his dole of light
On earth — the upper, the glad, the bright.
CLOTHO.
Even so: thus from my loaded spindle
Plucking a pinch of the fleece, lo, “Birth”
Brays from my bronze lip: life I kindle:
Look, ‘t is a man! go, measure on earth
The minute thy portion, whatever its worth!
LACHESIS.
Woe-purfled, weal-prankt, — if it speed, if it linger, —
Life’s substance and show are determined by me,
Who, meting out, mixing with sure thumb and finger,
Lead life the due length: is all smoothness and glee,
All tangle and grief? Take the lot, my decree!
ATROPOS.
— Which I make an end of: the smooth as the tangled
My shears cut asunder: each snap shrieks “One more
Mortal makes sport for us Moirai who dangled
The puppet grotesquely till earth’s solid floor
Proved film he fell through, lost in Nought as before.”
CLOTHO.
I spin thee a thread. Live, Admetus! Produce him! LACHESIS.
Go, — brave, wise, good, happy! Now chequer the thread!
He is slaved for, yet loved by a god. I unloose him
A goddess-sent plague. He has conquered, is wed,
Men crown him, he stands at the height, — ATROPOS.
He is . . . APOLLO.
[Entering: Light.
“Dead?”
Nay, swart spinsters! So I surprise you
Making and marring the fortunes of Man?
Huddling — no marvel, your enemy eyes you —
Head by head bat-like, blots under the ban
Of daylight earth’s blessing since time began!
THE FATES.
Back to thy blest earth, prying Apollo!
Shaft upon shaft transpierce with thy beams
Earth to the centre, — spare but this hollow
Hewn out of Night’s heart, where our mystery seems
Mewed from day’s malice: wake earth from her dreams!
APOLLO.
Crones, ‘t is your dusk selves I startle from slumber:
Day’s god deposes you — queens Night-crowned!
— Plying your trade in a world ye encumber,
Fashioning Man’s web of life — spun, wound,
Left the length ye allot till a clip strews the ground!
Behold I bid truce to your doleful amusement —
&nb
sp; Annulled by a sunbeam! THE FATES.
Boy, are not we peers? APOLLO.
You with the spindle grant birth: whose inducement
But yours — with the niggardly digits — endears
To mankind chance and change, good and evil? Your shears . . .
ATROPOS.
Ay, mine end the conflict: so much is no fable.
We spin, draw to length, cut asunder: what then?
So it was, and so is, and so shall be: art able
To alter life’s law for ephemeral men? APOLLO.
Nor able nor willing. To threescore and ten
Extend but the years of Admetus! Disaster
O’ertook me, and, banished by Zeus, I became
A servant to one who forbore me though master:
True lovers were we. Discontinue your game,
Let him live whom I loved, then hate on, all the same!
THE FATES.
And what if we granted — law flouter, use-trampler —
His life at the suit of an upstart? Judge, thou —
Of joy were it fuller, of span because ampler?
For love’s sake, not hate’s, end Admetus — ay, now —
Not a gray hair on head, nor a wrinkle on brow!
For, boy, ‘t is illusion: from thee comes a glimmer
Transforming to beauty life blank at the best.
Withdraw — and how looks life at worst, when to shimmer
Succeeds the sure shade, and Man’s lot frowns — confessed
Mere blackness chance-brightened? Whereof shall attest
The truth this same mortal, the darling thou stylest,
Whom love would advantage, — eke out, day by day,
A life which ‘t is solely thyself reconcilest
Thy friend to endure, — life with hope: take away
Hope’s gleam from Admetus, he spurns it. For, say —
What’s infancy? Ignorance, idleness, mischief:
Youth ripens to arrogance, foolishness, greed:
Age — impotence, churlishness, rancour: call this chief
Of boons for thy loved one? Much rather bid speed
Our function, let live whom thou hatest indeed!
Persuade thee, bright boy-thing! Our eld be instructive! APOLLO.
And certes youth owns the experience of age.
Ye hold then, grave seniors, my beams are productive
— They solely — of good that’s mere semblance, engage
Man’s eye — gilding evil, Man’s true heritage?
THE FATES.
So, even so! From without, — at due distance
If viewed, — set a-sparkle, reflecting thy rays, —
Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,
The counterfeit goes, the reality stays —
An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb. APOLLO.
What craze
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 218