Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

Home > Fantasy > Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series > Page 228
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 228

by Robert Browning

Up, heads, your proudest — out, throats, your loudest —

  “Somerset’s Pym!”

  Strafford from the block, Eliot from the den,

  Foes, friends, shout “Pym, our citizen!”

  Wail, the foes he quelled, — hail, the friends he held,

  “Tavistock’s Pym!”

  Hearts prompt heads, hands that ply the pen

  Teach babes unborn the where and when

  — Tyrants, he braved them, — patriots, he saved them —

  “Westminster’s Pym!”

  FUST AND HIS FRIENDS.

  AN EPILOGUE.

  [Inside the House of Fust, Mayence, 1457.

  FIRST FRIEND.

  Up, up, up — next step of the staircase

  Lands us, lo, at the chamber of dread! SECOND FRIEND.

  Locked and barred? THIRD FRIEND.

  Door open — the rare case! FOURTH FRIEND.

  Ay, there he leans — lost wretch!

  FIFTH FRIEND.

  His head

  Sunk on his desk ‘twixt his arms outspread!

  SIXTH FRIEND.

  Hallo, — wake, man, ere God thunderstrike Mayence

  — Mulct for thy sake who art Satan’s, John Fust!

  Satan installed here, God’s rule in abeyance,

  Mayence some morning may crumble to dust.

  Answer our questions thou shalt and thou must!

  SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Softly and fairly! Wherefore a-gloom?

  Greet us, thy gossipry, cousin and sib!

  Raise the forlorn brow, Fust! Make room —

  Let daylight through arms which, enfolding thee, crib

  From those clenched lids the comfort of sunshine! FIRST FRIEND.

  So glib

  Thy tongue slides to “comfort” already? Not mine!

  Behoves us deal roundly: the wretch is distraught

  — Too well I guess wherefore! Behoves a Divine

  Such as I, by grace, boast me — to threaten one caught

  In the enemy’s toils, — setting “comfort” at nought.

  SECOND FRIEND.

  Nay, Brother, so hasty? I heard — nor long since —

  Of a certain Black Artsman who, — helplessly bound

  By rash pact with Satan, — through paying — why mince

  The matter? — fit price to the Church, — safe and sound

  Full a year after death in his grave-clothes was found.

  Whereas ‘t is notorious the Fiend claims his due

  During lifetime, — comes clawing, with talons aflame,

  The soul from the flesh-rags left smoking and blue:

  So it happed with John Faust; lest John Fust fare the same, —

  Look up, I adjure thee by God’s holy name!

  For neighbours and friends — no foul hell-brood flock we!

  Saith Solomon “Words of the wise are as goads:”

  Ours prick but to startle from torpor, set free

  Soul and sense from death’s drowse.

  FIRST FRIEND.

  And soul, wakened, unloads

  Much sin by confession: no mere palinodes!

  — ”I was youthful and wanton, am old yet no sage:

  When angry I cursed, struck and slew: did I want?

  Right and left did I rob: though no war I dared wage

  With the Church (God forbid!) — harm her least ministrant —

  Still I outraged all else. Now that strength is grown scant,

  I am probity’s self” — no such bleatings as these!

  But avowal of guilt so enormous, it baulks

  Tongue’s telling. Yet penitence prompt may appease

  God’s wrath at thy bond with the Devil who stalks

  — Strides hither to strangle thee! FUST.

  Childhood so talks.

  Not rare wit nor ripe age — ye boast them, my neighbours! —

  Should lay such a charge on your townsman, this Fust

  Who, known for a life spent in pleasures and labours

  If freakish yet venial, could scarce be induced

  To traffic with fiends. FIRST FRIEND.

  So, my words have unloosed

  A plie from those pale lips corrugate but now? FUST.

  Lost count me, yet not as ye lean to surmise. FIRST FRIEND.

  To surmise? to establish! Unbury that brow!

  Look up, that thy judge may read clear in thine eyes! SECOND FRIEND.

  By your leave, Brother Barnabite! Mine to advise!

  — Who arraign thee, John Fust! What was bruited erewhile

  Now bellows through Mayence. All cry — thou hast trucked

  Salvation away for lust’s solace! Thy smile

  Takes its hue from hell’s smoulder! FUST.

  Too certain! I sucked

  — Got drunk at the nipple of sense. SECOND FRIEND.

  Thou hast ducked —

  Art drowned there, say rather! Faugh — fleshly disport!

  How else but by help of Sir Belial didst win

  That Venus-like lady, no drudge of thy sort

  Could lure to become his accomplice in sin?

  Folk nicknamed her Helen of Troy! FIRST FRIEND.

  Best begin

  At the very beginning. Thy father, — all knew,

  A mere goldsmith . . . FUST.

  Who knew him, perchance may know this —

  He dying left much gold and jewels no few:

  Whom these help to court with but seldom shall miss

  The love of a leman: true witchcraft, I wis!

  FIRST FRIEND.

  Dost flout me? ‘T is said, in debauchery’s guild

  Admitted prime guttler and guzzler — O swine! —

  To honour thy headship, those tosspots so swilled

  That out of their table there sprouted a vine

  Whence each claimed a cluster, awaiting thy sign

  To out knife, off mouthful: when — who could suppose

  Such malice in magic? — each sot woke and found

  Cold steel but an inch from the neighbour’s red nose

  He took for a grape-bunch! FUST.

  Does that so astound

  Sagacity such as ye boast, — who surround

  Your mate with eyes staring, hairs standing erect

  At his magical feats? Are good burghers unversed

  In the humours of toping? Full oft, I suspect,

  Ye, counting your fingers, call thumbkin their first,

  And reckon a groat every guilder disbursed.

  What marvel if wags, while the skinker fast brimmed

  Their glass with rare tipple’s enticement. should gloat

  — Befooled and beflustered — through optics drinkdimmed —

  On this draught and that, till each found in his throat

  Our Rhenish smack rightly as Raphal? For, note —

  They fancied — their fuddling deceived them so grossly —

  That liquor sprang out of the table itself

  Through gimlet-holes drilled there, — nor noticed how closely

  The skinker kept plying my guests, from the shelf

  O’er their heads, with the potable madness. No elf

  Had need to persuade them a vine rose umbrageous,

  Fruit-bearing, thirst-quenching! Enough! I confes

  To many such fool-pranks, but none so outrageous

  That Satan was called in to help me: excess

  I own to, I grieve at — no more and no less.

  SECOND FRIEND.

  Strange honours were heaped on thee — medal for breast,

  Chain for neck, sword for thigh: not a lord of the land

  But acknowledged thee peer! What ambition possessed

  A goldsmith by trade, with craft’s grime on his hand,

  To seek such associates?

  FUST.

  Spare taunts! Understand —

  I submit me! Of vanities under the sun,

  Pride seized me at last as concupiscence first,

  Crapulosity ever: tr
ue Fiends, everyone,

  Haled this way and that my poor soul: thus amerced —

  Forgive and forget me! FIRST FRIEND.

  Had flesh sinned the worst,

  Yet help were in counsel: the Church could absolve:

  But say not men truly thou barredst escape

  By signing and sealing . . . SECOND FRIEND.

  On me must devolve

  The task of extracting . . . FIRST FRIEND.

  Shall Barnabites ape

  Us Dominican experts?

  SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Nay, Masters, — agape

  When Hell yawns for a soul, ‘t is myself claim the task

  Of extracting, by just one plain question, God’s truth!

  Where’s Peter Genesheim thy partner? I ask

  Why, cloistered up still in thy room, the pale youth

  Slaves tongue-tied — thy trade brooks no tattling forsooth!

  No less he, thy famulus, suffers entrapping,

  Succumbs to good fellowship: barrel a-broach

  Runs freely nor needs any subsequent tapping:

  Quoth Peter “That room, none but I dare approach,

  Holds secrets will help me to ride in my coach.”

  He prattles, we profit: in brief, he assures

  Thou hast taught him to speak so that all men may hear

  — Each alike, wide world over, Jews, Pagans, Turks, Moors,

  The same as we Christians — speech heard far and near

  At one and the same magic moment! FUST.

  That’s clear!

  Said he — how?

  SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Is it like he was licensed to learn?

  Who doubts but thou dost this by aid of the Fiend?

  Is it so? So it is, for thou smilest! Go, burn

  To ashes, since such proves thy portion, unscreened

  By bell, book and candle! Yet lately I weened

  Balm yet was in Gilead, — some healing in store

  For the friend of my bosom. Men said thou wast sunk

  In a sudden despondency: not, as before,

  Fust gallant and gay with his pottle and punk,

  But sober, sad, sick as one yesterday drunk!

  FUST.

  Spare Fust, then, thus contrite! — who, youthful and healthy,

  Equipped for life’s struggle with culture of mind,

  Sound flesh and sane soul in coherence, born wealthy,

  Nay, wise — how he wasted endowment designed

  For the glory of God and the good of mankind!

  That much were misused such occasions of grace

  Ye well may upbraid him, who bows to the rod.

  But this should bid anger to pity give place —

  He has turned from the wrong, in the right path to plod,

  Makes amends to mankind and craves pardon of God.

  Yea, friends, even now from my lips the “ Heureka —

  Soul saved!” was nigh bursting — unduly elate!

  Have I brought Man advantage, or hatched — so to speak — a

  Strange serpent, no cygnet? ‘T is this I debate

  Within me. Forbear, and leave Fust to his fate!

  FIRST FRIEND.

  So abject, late lofty? Methinks I spy respite.

  Make clean breast, discover what mysteries hide

  In thy room there! SECOND FRIEND.

  Ay, out with them! Do Satan despite

  Remember what caused his undoing was pride! FIRST FRIEND.

  Dumb devil! Remains one resource to be tried!

  SECOND FRIEND.

  Exorcize! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Nay, first — is there any remembers

  In substance that potent “Ne pulvis” — a psalm

  Whereof some live spark haply lurks mid the embers

  Which choke in my brain. Talk of “Gilead and balm”?

  I mind me, sung half through, this gave such a qualm

  To Asmodeus inside of a Hussite, that, queasy,

  He broke forth in brimstone with curses. I’m strong

  In — at least the commencement: the rest should go easy,

  Friends helping. “Ne pulvis et ignis” . . . SIXTH FRIEND.

  All wrong! FIFTH FRIEND.

  I’ve conned till I captured the whole. SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Get along!

  “Ne pulvis et cinis superbe te geras,

  Nam fulmina” . . . SIXTH FRIEND.

  Fiddlestick! Peace, dolts and dorrs!

  Thus runs it “Ne Numinis fulmina feras” —

  Then “Hominis perfidi justa sunt sors

  Fulmen et grando et horrida mors.”

  SEVENTH FRIEND.

  You blunder. “Irati ne” . . . SIXTH FRIEND.

  Mind your own business! FIFTH FRIEND.

  I do not so badly, who gained the monk’s leave

  To study an hour his choice parchment. A dizziness

  May well have surprised me. No Christian dares thieve,

  Or I scarce had returned him his treasure. These cleave:

  “Nos pulvis et cinis, trementes, gementes,

  Venimus” — some such word — ”ad te, Domine.

  Da lumen, juvamen, ut sancta sequentes

  Cor . . . corda . . .” Plague take it! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  — ”erecta sint spe:”

  Right text, ringing rhyme, and ripe Latin for me! SIXTH FRIEND.

  A Canon’s self wrote it me fair: I was tempted

  To part with the sheepskin. SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Didst grasp and let go

  Such a godsend, thou Judas? My purse had been emptied

  Ere part with the prize! FUST.

  Do I dream? Say ye so?

  Clouds break, then! Move, world! I have gained my “Pou sto”!

  I am saved: Archimedes, salute me!

  OMNES.

  Assistance!

  Help, Angels! He summons . . . Aroint thee! — by name,

  His familiar! FUST.

  Approach! OMNES.

  Devil, keep thy due distance! FUST.

  Be tranquillized, townsmen! The knowledge ye claim

  Behold, I prepare to impart. Praise or blame, —

  Your blessing or banning whatever betide me,

  At last I accept The slow travail of years,

  The long-teeming brain’s birth — applaud me, deride me, —

  At last claims revealment. Wait! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Wait till appears

  Uncaged Archimedes cooped-up there?

  SECOND FRIEND.

  Who fears?

  Here’s have at thee! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Correctly now! “Pulvis et cinis” . . . FUST.

  The verse ye so value, it happens I hold

  In my memory safe from initium to finis.

  Word for word, I produce you the whole, plain enrolled,

  Black letters, white paper — no scribe’s red and gold!

  OMNES.

  Aroint thee! FUST.

  I go and return.

  [He enters the inner room.

  FIRST FRIEND.

  Ay, ‘t is “ibis”

  No doubt: but as boldly “redibis” — who’ll say?

  I rather conjecture “in Orco peribis!”

  SEVENTH FRIEND.

  Come, neighbours! SIXTH FRIEND.

  I’m with you! Show courage and stay

  Hell’s outbreak? Sirs, cowardice here wins the day!

  FIFTH FRIEND.

  What luck had that student of Bamberg who ventured

  To peep in the cell where a wizard of note

  Was busy in getting some black deed debentured

  By Satan? In dog’s guise there sprang at his throat

  A flame-breathing fury. Fust favours, I note,

  An ugly huge lurcher! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  If I placed reliance

  As thou, on the beads thou art telling so fast,

  I’d risk just a peep through the keyhole. SIXTH FRIEND.

  Appliance

  Of ear
might be safer. Five minutes are past.

  OMNES.

  Saints, save us! The door is thrown open at last!

  FUST

  (re-enters, the door closing behind him).

  As I promised, behold I perform! Apprehend you

  The object I offer is poison or pest?

  Receive without harm from the hand I extend you

  A gift that shall set every scruple at rest!

  Shrink back from mere paper-strips? Try them and test!

  Still hesitate? Myk, was it thou who lamentedst

  Thy five wits clean failed thee to render aright

  A poem read once and no more? — who repentedst

  Vile pelf had induced thee to banish from sight

  The characters none but our clerics indite?

  Take and keep! FIRST FRIEND.

  Blessed Mary and all Saints about her! SECOND FRIEND.

  What imps deal so deftly, — five minutes suffice

  To play thus the penman?

  THIRD FRIEND.

  By Thomas the Doubter,

  Five minutes, no more! FOURTH FRIEND.

  Out on arts that entice

  Such scribes to do homage! FIFTH FRIEND.

  Stay! Once — and now twice —

  Yea, a third time, my sharp eye completes the inspection

  Of line after line, the whole series, and finds

  Each letter join each — not a fault for detection!

  Such upstrokes, such downstrokes, such strokes of all kinds

  In the criss-cross, all perfect! SIXTH FRIEND.

  There’s nobody minds

  His quill-craft with more of a conscience, o’erscratches

  A sheepskin more nimbly and surely with ink,

  Than Paul the Sub-Prior: here’s paper that matches

  His parchment with letter on letter, no link

  Overleapt — underlost! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  No erasure, I think —

  No blot, I am certain! FUST.

  Accept the new treasure! SIXTH FRIEND.

  I remembered full half! SEVENTH FRIEND.

  But who other than I

  (Bear witness, bystanders!) when he broke the measure

  Repaired fault with “fulmen”? FUST.

  Put bickerings by!

  Here’s for thee — thee — and thee, too: at need a supply

  [distributing Proofs.

  For Mayence, though seventy times seven should muster!

  How now? All so feeble of faith that no face

  Which fronts me but whitens — or yellows, were juster?

  Speak out lest I summon my Spirits! OMNES.

  Grace — grace!

  Call none of thy — helpmates! We’ll answer apace!

  My paper — and mine — and mine also — they vary

  In nowise — agree in each tittle and jot!

  Fust, how — why was this? FUST.

  Shall such “Cur” miss a “quare”?

  Within, there! Throw doors wide! Behold who complot

 

‹ Prev