Selections From The Poems And Plays Of Robert Browning Part 35

Some unsuspected isle in far-off seas!

_Talk by the way, while_ PIPPA _is pa.s.sing from Orcana to the Turret.

Two or three of the Austrian Police loitering with_ BLUPHOCKS, _an English vagabond, just in view of the Turret._

_Bluphocks._ So, that is your Pippa, the little girl who pa.s.sed us singing? Well, your Bishop's Intendant's money shall be honestly earned:--now, don't make me that sour face because I bring the Bishop's name into the business; we know he can have nothing to do with such 5 horrors; we know that he is a saint and all that a bishop should be, who is a great man beside. _Oh, were but every worm a maggot, Every fly a grig, Every bough a Christmas f.a.ggot, Every tune a jig!_ In fact, I have abjured all religions; but the last I inclined to was the Armenian: for 10 I have traveled, do you see, and at Koenigsberg, Prussia Improper (so styled because there's a sort of bleak hungry sun there), you might remark over a venerable house-porch a certain Chaldee inscription; and brief as it is, a mere glance at it used absolutely to change the mood of 15 every bearded pa.s.senger. In they turned, one and all; the young and lightsome, with no irreverent pause, the aged and decrepit, with a sensible alacrity: 'twas the Grand Rabbi's abode, in short. Struck with curiosity, I lost no time in learning Syriac--(these are vowels, you dogs--follow 20 my stick's end in the mud--_Celarent, Darii, Ferio!_) and one morning presented myself, spelling-book in hand, a, b, c--I picked it out letter by letter, and what was the purport of this miraculous posy? Some cherished legend of the past, you'll say--"_How Moses hocus-pocussed_ 25 _Egypt's land with fly and locust_"--or, "_How to Jonah sounded harshish, Get thee up and go to Tarshish_"--or, "_How the angel meeting Balaam, Straight his a.s.s returned a salaam._" In no wise! "_Shackabrack--Boach--somebody or other--Isaach, Re-cei-ver, Pur-cha-ser, and_ 30 _Ex-chan-ger of--Stolen Goods!_" So, talk to me of the religion of a bishop! I have renounced all bishops save Bishop Beveridge--mean to live so--and die--_As some Greek dog-sage, dead and merry, h.e.l.lward bound in Charon's wherry with food for both worlds, under and_ 35 _upper, Lupine-seed and Hecate's supper, and never an obolus._ (Though thanks to you, or this Intendant through you, or this Bishop through his Intendant--I possess a burning pocketful of _zwanzigers_) _To pay Stygian Ferry!_

_1st Policeman._ There is the girl, then; go and deserve 40 them the moment you have pointed out to us Signor Luigi and his mother. [_To the rest._] I have been noticing a house yonder, this long while--not a shutter unclosed since morning!

_2nd Policeman._ Old Luca Gaddi's, that owns the silk-mills 45 here: he dozes by the hour, wakes up, sighs deeply, says he should like to be Prince Metternich, and then dozes again, after having bidden young Sebald, the foreigner, set his wife to playing draughts. Never molest such a household; they mean well. 50

_Bluphocks._ Only, cannot you tell me something of this little Pippa I must have to do with? One could make something of that name. Pippa--that is, short for Felippa--rhyming to _Panurge consults Hertrippa--Believest thou, King Agrippa?_ Something might be done 55 with that name.

_2nd Policeman._ Put into rhyme that your head and a ripe muskmelon would not be dear at half a _zwanziger_!

Leave this fooling, and look out; the afternoon 's over or nearly so. 60

_3rd Policeman._ Where in this pa.s.sport of Signor Luigi does our Princ.i.p.al instruct you to watch him so narrowly? There? What's there beside a simple signature?

(That English fool's busy watching.)

_2nd Policeman._ Flourish all round--"Put all possible 65 obstacles in his way"; oblong dot at the end--"Detain him till further advices reach you"; scratch at bottom--"Send him back on pretense of some informality in the above"; ink-spirt on right-hand side (which is the case here)--"Arrest him at once." Why and wherefore, I 70 don't concern myself, but my instructions amount to this: if Signor Luigi leaves home tonight for Vienna--well and good, the pa.s.sport deposed with us for our visa is really for his own use, they have misinformed the Office, and he means well; but let him stay over tonight--there 75 has been the pretense we suspect, the accounts of his corresponding and holding intelligence with the Carbonari are correct, we arrest him at once, tomorrow comes Venice, and presently Spielberg. Bluphocks makes the signal, sure enough! That is he, entering the 80 turret with his mother, no doubt.

III.--EVENING

SCENE.--_Inside the Turret on the Hill above Asolo._ LUIGI _and his_ Mother _entering._

_Mother._ If there blew wind, you'd hear a long sigh, easing The utmost heaviness of music's heart.

_Luigi._ Here in the archway?

_Mother._ Oh, no, no--in farther, Where the echo is made, on the ridge.

_Luigi._ Here surely, then.

How plain the tap of my heel as I leaped up! 5 Hark--"Lucius Junius!" The very ghost of a voice Whose body is caught and kept by--what are those?

Mere withered wall flowers, waving overhead?

They seem an elvish group with thin bleached hair That lean out of their topmost fortress--look 10 And listen, mountain men, to what we say, Hand under chin of each grave earthy face.

Up and show faces all of you!--"All of you!"

That's the king dwarf with the scarlet comb; old Franz, Come down and meet your fate? Hark--"Meet your fate!" 15

_Mother._ Let him not meet it, my Luigi--do not Go to his City! Putting crime aside, Half of these ills of Italy are feigned: Your Pellicos and writers for effect, Write for effect. 20

_Luigi._ Hush! Say A writes, and B.

_Mother._ These A's and B's write for effect, I say.

Then, evil is in its nature loud, while good Is silent; you hear each petty injury, None of his virtues; he is old beside, Quiet and kind, and densely stupid. Why 25 Do A and B not kill him themselves?

_Luigi._ They teach Others to kill him--me--and, if I fail, Others to succeed; now, if A tried and failed, I could not teach that: mine's the lesser task.

Mother, they visit night by night--

_Mother._ --You, Luigi? 30 Ah, will you let me tell you what you are?

_Luigi._ Why not? Oh, the one thing you fear to hint, You may a.s.sure yourself I say and say Ever to myself! At times--nay, even as now We sit--I think my mind is touched, suspect 35 All is not sound; but is not knowing that What const.i.tutes one sane or otherwise?

I know I am thus--so, all is right again.

I laugh at myself as through the town I walk, And see men merry as if no Italy 40 Were suffering; then I ponder--"I am rich, Young, healthy; why should this fact trouble me, More than it troubles these?" But it does trouble.

No, trouble's a bad word; for as I walk There's springing and melody and giddiness, 45 And old quaint turns and pa.s.sages of my youth, Dreams long forgotten, little in themselves, Return to me--whatever may amuse me, And earth seems in a truce with me, and heaven Accords with me, all things suspend their strife, 50 The very cicala laughs, "There goes he, and there!

Feast him, the time is short; he is on his way For the world's sake: feast him this once, our friend!"

And in return for all this, I can trip Cheerfully up the scaffold-steps. I go 55 This evening, mother!

_Mother._ But mistrust yourself-- Mistrust the judgment you p.r.o.nounce on him!

_Luigi._ Oh, there I feel--am sure that I am right!

_Mother._ Mistrust your judgment, then, of the mere means To this wild enterprise. Say you are right-- 60 How should one in your state e'er bring to pa.s.s What would require a cool head, a cold heart, And a calm hand? You never will escape.

_Luigi._ Escape? To even wish that would spoil all.

The dying is best part of it. Too much 65 Have I enjoyed these fifteen years of mine, To leave myself excuse for longer life: Was not life pressed down, running o'er with joy, That I might finish with it ere my fellows Who, sparelier feasted, make a longer stay? 70 I was put at the board-head, helped to all At first; I rise up happy and content.

G.o.d must be glad one loves his world so much.

I can give news of earth to all the dead Who ask me:--last year's sunsets, and great stars 75 Which had a right to come first and see ebb The crimson wave that drifts the sun away-- Those crescent moons with notched and burning rims That strengthened into sharp fire, and there stood, Impatient of the azure--and that day 80 In March, a double rainbow stopped the storm-- May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit summer nights-- Gone are they, but I have them in my soul!

_Mother._ (He will not go!)

_Luigi._ You smile at me? 'Tis true-- Voluptuousness, grotesqueness, ghastliness, 85 Environ my devotedness as quaintly As round about some antique altar wreathe The rose festoons, goats' horns, and oxen's skulls.

_Mother._ See now: you reach the city, you must cross His threshold--how?

_Luigi._ Oh, that's if we conspired! 90 Then would come pains in plenty, as you guess-- But guess not how the qualities most fit For such an office, qualities I have, Would little stead me, otherwise employed, Yet prove of rarest merit only here. 95 Everyone knows for what his excellence Will serve, but no one ever will consider For what his worst defect might serve; and yet Have you not seen me range our coppice yonder In search of a distorted ash?--I find 100 The wry spoilt branch a natural perfect bow.

Fancy the thrice-sage, thrice-precautioned man Arriving at the palace on my errand!

No, no! I have a handsome dress packed up-- White satin here, to set off my black hair; 105 In I shall march--for you may watch your life out Behind thick walls, make friends there to betray you; More than one man spoils everything. March straight-- Only, no clumsy knife to fumble for.

Take the great gate, and walk (not saunter) on 110 Through guards and guards--I have rehea.r.s.ed it all Inside the turret here a hundred times Don't ask the way of whom you meet, observe!

But where they cl.u.s.ter thickliest is the door Of doors; they'll let you pa.s.s--they'll never blab 115 Each to the other, he knows not the favorite, Whence he is bound and what's his business now.

Walk in--straight up to him; you have no knife: Be prompt, how should he scream? Then, out with you!

Italy, Italy, my Italy! 120 You're free, you're free! Oh, mother, I could dream They got about me--Andrea from his exile, Pier from his dungeon, Gualtier from his grave!

_Mother._ Well, you shall go. Yet seems this patriotism The easiest virtue for a selfish man 125 To acquire: he loves himself--and next, the world-- If he must love beyond--but naught between: As a short-sighted man sees naught midway His body and the sun above. But you Are my adored Luigi, ever obedient 130 To my least wish, and running o'er with love; I could not call you cruel or unkind.

Once more, your ground for killing him!--then go!

_Luigi._ Now do you try me, or make sport of me?

How first the Austrians got these provinces-- 135 (If that is all, I'll satisfy you soon) --Never by conquest but by cunning, for That treaty whereby--

_Mother._ Well?

_Luigi._ (Sure, he's arrived, The telltale cuckoo; spring's his confidant, And he lets out her April purposes!) 140 Or--better go at once to modern time, He has--they have--in fact, I understand But can't restate the matter; that's my boast: Others could reason it out to you, and prove Things they have made me feel.

_Mother._ Why go tonight? 145 Morn's for adventure. Jupiter is now A morning-star. I cannot hear you, Luigi!

_Luigi._ "I am the bright and morning-star," saith G.o.d-- And, "to such an one I give the morning-star."

The gift of the morning-star! Have I G.o.d's gift 150 Of the morning-star?

_Mother._ Chiara will love to see That Jupiter an evening-star next June.