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Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

Page 238

by Robert Browning


  Of desert-people from their dragon-foe;

  When all the swarthy race press round to kiss

  His feet, and choose him for their king, and yield

  Their poor tents, pitched among the sand-hills, for

  His realm: and he points, smiling, to his scarf

  Heavy with riveled gold, his burgonet

  Gay set with twinkling stones — and to the East,

  Where these must be displayed!

  Festus.

  Good: let us hear

  No more about your nature, “which first shrank

  “From all that marked you out apart from men!”

  Paracelsus.

  I touch on that; these words but analyse

  The first mad impulse: ‘t was as brief as fond,

  For as I gazed again upon the show,

  I soon distinguished here and there a shape

  Palm-wreathed and radiant, forehead and full eye.

  Well pleased was I their state should thus at once

  Interpret my own thoughts: — ”Behold the clue

  “To all,” I rashly said, “and what I pine

  “To do, these have accomplished: we are peers.

  “They know and therefore rule: I, too, will know!”

  You were beside me, Festus, as you say;

  You saw me plunge in their pursuits whom fame

  Is lavish to attest the lords of mind,

  Not pausing to make sure the prize in view

  Would satiate my cravings when obtained,

  But since they strove I strove. Then came a slow

  And strangling failure. We aspired alike,

  Yet not the meanest plodder, Tritheim counts

  A marvel, but was all-sufficient, strong,

  Or staggered only at his own vast wits;

  While I was restless, nothing satisfied,

  Distrustful, most perplexed. I would slur over

  That struggle; suffice it, that I loathed myself

  As weak compared with them, yet felt somehow

  A mighty power was brooding, taking shape

  Within me; and this lasted till one night

  When, as I sat revolving it and more,

  A still voice from without said — ”Seest thou not,

  “Desponding child, whence spring defeat and loss?

  “Even from thy strength. Consider: hast thou gazed

  “Presumptuously on wisdom’s countenance,

  “No veil between; and can thy faltering hands,

  “Unguided by the brain the sight absorbs,

  “Pursue their task as earnest blinkers do

  “Whom radiance ne’er distracted? Live their life

  “If thou wouldst share their fortune, choose their eyes

  “Unfed by splendour. Let each task present

  “Its petty good to thee. Waste not thy gifts

  “In profitless waiting for the gods’ descent,

  “But have some idol of thine own to dress

  “With their array. Know, not for knowing’s sake,

  “But to become a star to men for ever;

  “Know, for the gain it gets, the praise it brings,

  “The wonder it inspires, the love it breeds:

  “Look one step onward, and secure that step!”

  And I smiled as one never smiles but once,

  Then first discovering my own aim’s extent,

  Which sought to comprehend the works of God,

  And God himself, and all God’s intercourse

  With the human mind; I understood, no less,

  My fellows’ studies, whose true worth I saw,

  But smiled not, well aware who stood by me.

  And softer came the voice — ”There is a way:

  “‘T is hard for flesh to tread therein, imbued

  “With frailty — hopeless, if indulgence first

  “Have ripened inborn germs of sin to strength:

  “Wilt thou adventure for my sake and man’s,

  “Apart from all reward?” And last it breathed —

  “Be happy, my good soldier; I am by thee,

  “Be sure, even to the end!” — I answered not,

  Knowing him. As he spoke, I was endued

  With comprehension and a steadfast will;

  And when he ceased, my brow was sealed his own.

  If there took place no special change in me,

  How comes it all things wore a different hue

  Thenceforward? — pregnant with vast consequence,

  Teeming with grand result, loaded with fate?

  So that when, quailing at the mighty range

  Of secret truths which yearn for birth, I haste

  To contemplate undazzled some one truth,

  Its bearings and effects alone — at once

  What was a speck expands into a star,

  Asking a life to pass exploring thus,

  Till I near craze. I go to prove my soul!

  I see my way as birds their trackless way.

  I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,

  I ask not: but unless God send his hail

  Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,

  In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:

  He guides me and the bird. In his good time!

  Michal.

  Vex him no further, Festus; it is so!

  Festus.

  Just thus you help me ever. This would hold

  Were it the trackless air, and not a path

  Inviting you, distinct with footprints yet

  Of many a mighty marcher gone that way.

  You may have purer views than theirs, perhaps,

  But they were famous in their day — the proofs

  Remain. At least accept the light they lend.

  Paracelsus.

  Their light! the sum of all is briefly this:

  They laboured and grew famous, and the fruits

  Are best seen in a dark and groaning earth

  Given over to a blind and endless strife

  With evils, what of all their lore abates?

  No; I reject and spurn them utterly

  And all they teach. Shall I still sit beside

  Their dry wells, with a white lip and filmed eye,

  While in the distance heaven is blue above

  Mountains where sleep the unsunned tarns?

  Festus.

  And yet

  As strong delusions have prevailed ere now.

  Men have set out as gallantly to seek

  Their ruin. I have heard of such: yourself

  Avow all hitherto have failed and fallen.

  Michal.

  Nay, Festus, when but as the pilgrims faint

  Through the drear way, do you expect to see

  Their city dawn amid the clouds afar?

  Paracelsus.

  Ay, sounds it not like some old well-known tale?

  For me, I estimate their works and them

  So rightly, that at times I almost dream

  I too have spent a life the sages’ way,

  And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance

  I perished in an arrogant self-reliance

  Ages ago; and in that act, a prayer

  For one more chance went up so earnest, so

  Instinct with better light let in by death,

  That life was blotted out — not so completely

  But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,

  Dim memories, as now, when once more seems

  The goal in sight again. All which, indeed,

  Is foolish, and only means — the flesh I wear,

  The earth I tread, are not more clear to me

  Than my belief, explained to you or no.

  Festus.

  And who am I, to challenge and dispute

  That clear belief? I will divest all fear.

  Michal.

  Then Aureole is God’s commissary! he shall

  Be great and grand — and all for us!

  Paracel
sus.

  No, sweet!

  Not great and grand. If I can serve mankind

  ‘T is well; but there our intercourse must end:

  I never will be served by those I serve.

  Festus.

  Look well to this; here is a plague-spot, here,

  Disguise it how you may! ‘T is true, you utter

  This scorn while by our side and loving us;

  ‘T is but a spot as yet: but it will break

  Into a hideous blotch if overlooked.

  How can that course be safe which from the first

  Produces carelessness to human love?

  It seems you have abjured the helps which men

  Who overpass their kind, as you would do,

  Have humbly sought; I dare not thoroughly probe

  This matter, lest I learn too much. Let be

  That popular praise would little instigate

  Your efforts, nor particular approval

  Reward you; put reward aside; alone

  You shall go forth upon your arduous task,

  None shall assist you, none partake your toil,

  None share your triumph: still you must retain

  Some one to cast your glory on, to share

  Your rapture with. Were I elect like you,

  I would encircle me with love, and raise

  A rampart of my fellows; it should seem

  Impossible for me to fail, so watched

  By gentle friends who made my cause their own.

  They should ward off fate’s envy — the great gift,

  Extravagant when claimed by me alone,

  Being so a gift to them as well as me.

  If danger daunted me or ease seduced,

  How calmly their sad eyes should gaze reproach!

  Michal.

  O Aureole, can I sing when all alone,

  Without first calling, in my fancy, both

  To listen by my side — even I! And you?

  Do you not feel this? Say that you feel this!

  Paracelsus.

  I feel ‘t is pleasant that my aims, at length

  Allowed their weight, should be supposed to need

  A further strengthening in these goodly helps!

  My course allures for its own sake, its sole

  Intrinsic worth; and ne’er shall boat of mine

  Adventure forth for gold and apes at once.

  Your sages say, “if human, therefore weak:”

  If weak, more need to give myself entire

  To my pursuit; and by its side, all else . . .

  No matter! I deny myself but little

  In waiving all assistance save its own.

  Would there were some real sacrifice to make!

  Your friends the sages threw their joys away,

  While I must be content with keeping mine.

  Festus.

  But do not cut yourself from human weal!

  You cannot thrive — a man that dares affect

  To spend his life in service to his kind

  For no reward of theirs, unbound to them

  By any tie; nor do so, Aureole! No —

  There are strange punishments for such. Give up

  (Although no visible good flow thence) some part

  Of the glory to another; hiding thus,

  Even from yourself, that all is for yourself.

  Say, say almost to God — ”I have done all

  “For her, not for myself!”

  Paracelsus.

  And who but lately

  Was to rejoice in my success like you?

  Whom should I love but both of you?

  Festus.

  I know not:

  But know this, you, that ‘t is no will of mine

  You should abjure the lofty claims you make;

  And this the cause — I can no longer seek

  To overlook the truth, that there would be

  A monstrous spectacle upon the earth,

  Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees:

  — A being knowing not what love is. Hear me!

  You are endowed with faculties which bear

  Annexed to them as ‘t were a dispensation

  To summon meaner spirits to do their will

  And gather round them at their need; inspiring

  Such with a love themselves can never feel,

  Passionless ‘mid their passionate votaries.

  I know not if you joy in this or no,

  Or ever dream that common men can live

  On objects you prize lightly, but which make

  Their heart’s sole treasure: the affections seem

  Beauteous at most to you, which we must taste

  Or die: and this strange quality accords,

  I know not how, with you; sits well upon

  That luminous brow, though in another it scowls

  An eating brand, a shame. I dare not judge you.

  The rules of right and wrong thus set aside,

  There ‘s no alternative — I own you one

  Of higher order, under other laws

  Than bind us; therefore, curb not one bold glance!

  ‘T is best aspire. Once mingled with us all . . .

  Michal.

  Stay with us, Aureole! cast those hopes away,

  And stay with us! An angel warns me, too,

  Man should be humble; you are very proud:

  And God, dethroned, has doleful plagues for such!

  — Warns me to have in dread no quick repulse,

  No slow defeat, but a complete success:

  You will find all you seek, and perish so!

  Paracelsus.

  [after a pause]

  Are these the barren firstfruits of my quest?

  Is love like this the natural lot of all?

  How many years of pain might one such hour

  O’erbalance? Dearest Michal, dearest Festus,

  What shall I say, if not that I desire

  To justify your love; and will, dear friends,

  In swerving nothing from my first resolves.

  See, the great moon! and ere the mottled owls

  Were wide awake, I was to go. It seems

  You acquiesce at last in all save this —

  If I am like to compass what I seek

  By the untried career I choose; and then,

  If that career, making but small account

  Of much of life’s delight, will yet retain

  Sufficient to sustain my soul: for thus

  I understand these fond fears just expressed.

  And first; the lore you praise and I neglect,

  The labours and the precepts of old time,

  I have not lightly disesteemed. But, friends,

  Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise

  From outward things, whate’er you may believe.

  There is an inmost centre in us all,

  Where truth abides in fulness; and around,

  Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,

  This perfect, clear perception — which is truth.

  A baffling and perverting carnal mesh

  Binds it, and makes all error: and to know

  Rather consists in opening out a way

  Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,

  Than in effecting entry for a light

  Supposed to be without. Watch narrowly

  The demonstration of a truth, its birth,

  And you trace back the effluence to its spring

  And source within us; where broods radiance vast,

  To be elicited ray by ray, as chance

  Shall favour: chance — for hitherto, your sage

  Even as he knows not how those beams are born,

  As little knows he what unlocks their fount:

  And men have oft grown old among their books

  To die case-hardened in their ignorance,

  Whose careless youth had promised what long years

  Of unremitted labour ne’er performed:
/>   While, contrary, it has chanced some idle day,

  To autumn loiterers just as fancy-free

  As the midges in the sun, gives birth at last

  To truth — produced mysteriously as cape

  Of cloud grown out of the invisible air.

  Hence, may not truth be lodged alike in all,

  The lowest as the highest? some slight film

  The interposing bar which binds a soul

  And makes the idiot, just as makes the sage

  Some film removed, the happy outlet whence

  Truth issues proudly? See this soul of ours!

  How it strives weakly in the child, is loosed

  In manhood, clogged by sickness, back compelled

  By age and waste, set free at last by death:

  Why is it, flesh enthrals it or enthrones?

  What is this flesh we have to penetrate?

  Oh, not alone when life flows still, do truth

  And power emerge, but also when strange chance

  Ruffles its current; in unused conjuncture,

  When sickness breaks the body — hunger, watching,

  Excess or languor — oftenest death’s approach,

  Peril, deep joy or woe. One man shall crawl

  Through life surrounded with all stirring things,

  Unmoved; and he goes mad: and from the wreck

  Of what he was, by his wild talk alone,

  You first collect how great a spirit he hid.

  Therefore, set free the soul alike in all,

  Discovering the true laws by which the flesh

  Accloys the spirit! We may not be doomed

  To cope with seraphs, but at least the rest

  Shall cope with us. Make no more giants, God,

  But elevate the race at once! We ask

  To put forth just our strength, our human strength,

  All starting fairly, all equipped alike,

  Gifted alike, all eagle-eyed, true-hearted —

  See if we cannot beat thine angels yet!

  Such is my task. I go to gather this

  The sacred knowledge, here and there dispersed

  About the world, long lost or never found.

  And why should I be sad or lorn of hope?

  Why ever make man’s good distinct from God’s,

  Or, finding they are one, why dare mistrust?

  Who shall succeed if not one pledged like me?

  Mine is no mad attempt to build a world

  Apart from his, like those who set themselves

  To find the nature of the spirit they bore,

  And, taught betimes that all their gorgeous dreams

  Were only born to vanish in this life,

  Refused to fit them to its narrow sphere,

  But chose to figure forth another world

  And other frames meet for their vast desires, —

  And all a dream! Thus was life scorned; but life

  Shall yet be crowned: twine amaranth! I am priest!

  And all for yielding with a lively spirit

 

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