The Poems of Sidney Lanier Part 28

Not, mark, by robust swelling of the thews, But puffed and flabby large with gross increase Of wine-fat, plague-fat, dropsy-fat.

O shame, Thou Pope that cheatest G.o.d at Avignon, Thou that shouldst be the Father of the world And Regent of it whilst our G.o.d is gone; Thou that shouldst blaze with conferred majesty And smite old l.u.s.t-o'-the-Flesh so as by flame; Thou that canst turn thy key and lock Grief up Or turn thy key and unlock Heaven's Gate, Thou that shouldst be the veritable hand That Christ down-stretcheth out of heaven yet To draw up him that fainteth to His heart, Thou that shouldst bear thy fruit, yet virgin live, As she that bore a man yet sinned not, Thou that shouldst challenge the most special eyes Of Heaven and Earth and h.e.l.l to mark thee, since Thou shouldst be Heaven's best captain, Earth's best friend, And h.e.l.l's best enemy -- false Pope, false Pope, The world, thy child, is sick and like to die, But thou art dinner-drowsy and cannot come: And Life is sore beset and crieth 'help!'

But thou brook'st not disturbance at thy wine: And France is wild for one to lead her souls; But thou art huge and fat and laggest back Among the remnants of forsaken camps.

Thou'rt not G.o.d's Pope, thou art the Devil's Pope.

Thou art first Squire to that most puissant knight, Lord Satan, who thy faithful squireship long Hath watched and well shall guerdon.

Ye sad souls, So faint with work ye love not, so thin-worn With miseries ye wrought not, so outraged By strokes of ill that pa.s.s th' ill-doers' heads And cleave the innocent, so desperate tired Of insult that doth day by day abuse The humblest dignity of humblest men, Ye cannot call toward the Church for help.

The Church already is o'erworked with care Of its dyspeptic stomach.

Ha, the Church Forgets about eternity.

I had A vision of forgetfulness.

O Dream Born of a dream, as yonder cloud is born Of water which is born of cloud!

I thought I saw the moonlight lying large and calm Upon the unthrobbing bosom of the earth, As a great diamond glittering on a shroud.

A sense of breathlessness stilled all the world.

Motion stood dreaming he was changed to Rest, And Life asleep did fancy he was Death.

A quick small shadow spotted the white world; Then instantly 'twas huge, and huger grew By instants till it did o'ergloom all s.p.a.ce.

I lifted up mine eyes -- O thou just G.o.d!

I saw a spectre with a million heads Come frantic downward through the universe, And all the mouths of it were uttering cries, Wherein was a sharp agony, and yet The cries were much like laughs: as if Pain laughed.

Its myriad lips were blue, and sometimes they Closed fast and only moaned dim sounds that shaped Themselves to one word, 'Homeless', and the stars Did utter back the moan, and the great hills Did bellow it, and then the stars and hills Bandied the grief o' the ghost 'twixt heaven and earth.

The spectre sank, and lay upon the air, And brooded, level, close upon the earth, With all the myriad heads just over me.

I glanced in all the eyes and marked that some Did glitter with a flame of lunacy, And some were soft and false as feigning love, And some were blinking with hypocrisy, And some were overfilmed by sense, and some Blazed with ambition's wild, unsteady fire, And some were burnt i' the sockets black, and some Were dead as embers when the fire is out.

A curious zone circled the Spectre's waist, Which seemed with strange device to symbol Time.

It was a silver-gleaming thread of day Spiral about a jet-black band of night.

This zone seemed ever to contract and all The frame with momentary spasms heaved In the strangling traction which did never cease.

I cried unto the spectre, 'Time hath bound Thy body with the fibre of his hours.'

Then rose a mult.i.tude of mocking sounds, And some mouths spat at me and cried 'thou fool', And some, 'thou liest', and some, 'he dreams': and then Some hands uplifted certain bowls they bore To lips that writhed but drank with eagerness.

And some played curious viols, shaped like hearts And stringed with loves, to light and ribald tunes, And other hands slit throats with knives, And others patted all the painted cheeks In reach, and others stole what others had Unseen, or boldly s.n.a.t.c.hed at alien rights, And some o' the heads did vie in a foolish game OF WHICH COULD HOLD ITSELF THE HIGHEST, and OF WHICH ONE'S NECK WAS STIFF THE LONGEST TIME.

And then the sea in silence wove a veil Of mist, and breathed it upward and about, And waved and wound it softly round the world, And meshed my dream i' the vague and endless folds, And a light wind arose and blew these off, And I awoke.

The many heads are priests That have forgot eternity: and Time Hath caught and bound them with a withe Into a f.a.got huge, to burn in h.e.l.l.

-- Now if the priesthood put such shame upon Your cry for leadership, can better help Come out of knighthood?

Lo! you smile, you boors?

You villeins smile at knighthood?

Now, thou France That wert the mother of fair chivalry, Unclose thine eyes, unclose thine eyes, here, see, Here stand a herd of knaves that laugh to scorn Thy gentlemen!

O contumely hard, O bitterness of last disgrace, O sting That stings the coward knights of lost Poictiers!

I would --" but now a murmur rose i' the crowd Of angry voices, and the friar leapt From where he stood to preach and pressed a path Betwixt the ma.s.s that way the voices came.

Chapter III.

Lord Raoul was riding castleward from field.

At left hand rode his lady and at right His fool whom he loved better; and his bird, His fine ger-falcon best beloved of all, Sat hooded on his wrist and gently swayed To the undulating amble of the horse.

Guest-knights and huntsmen and a noisy train Of loyal-stomached flatterers and their squires Clattered in retinue, and aped his pace, And timed their talk by his, and worked their eyes By intimation of his glance, with great And drilled precision.

Then said the fool: "'Twas a brave flight, my lord, that last one! brave.

Didst note the heron once did turn about, And show a certain anger with his wing, And make as if he almost dared, not quite, To strike the falcon, ere the falcon him?

A foolish d.a.m.nable advised bird, Yon heron! What? Shall herons grapple hawks?

G.o.d made the herons for the hawks to strike, And hawk and heron made he for lords' sport."

"What then, my honey-tongued Fool, that knowest G.o.d's purposes, what made he fools for?"

"For To counsel lords, my lord. Wilt hear me prove Fools' counsel better than wise men's advice?"

"Aye, prove it. If thy logic fail, wise fool, I'll cause two wise men whip thee soundly."

"So: 'Wise men are prudent: prudent men have care For their own proper interest; therefore they Advise their own advantage, not another's.

But fools are careless: careless men care not For their own proper interest; therefore they Advise their friend's advantage, not their own.'

Now hear the commentary, Cousin Raoul.

This fool, unselfish, counsels thee, his lord, Go not through yonder square, where, as thou see'st Yon herd of villeins, crick-necked all with strain Of gazing upward, stand, and gaze, and take With open mouth and eye and ear, the quips And heresies of John de Rochetaillade."

Lord Raoul half turned him in his saddle round, And looked upon his fool and vouchsafed him What moiety of fastidious wonderment A generous n.o.bleness could deign to give To such humility, with eye superb Where languor and surprise both showed themselves, Each deprecating t'other.

"Now, dear knave, Be kind and tell me -- tell me quickly, too, -- Some proper reasonable ground or cause, Nay, tell me but some shadow of some cause, Nay, hint me but a thin ghost's dream of cause, (So will I thee absolve from being whipped) Why I, Lord Raoul, should turn my horse aside From riding by yon pitiful villein gang, Or ay, by G.o.d, from riding o'er their heads If so my humor serve, or through their bodies, Or miring fetlocks in their nasty brains, Or doing aught else I will in my Clermont?

Do me this grace, mine Idiot."

"Please thy Wisdom An thou dost ride through this same gang of boors, 'Tis my fool's-prophecy, some ill shall fall.

Lord Raoul, yon ma.s.s of various flesh is fused And melted quite in one by white-hot words The friar speaks. Sir, sawest thou ne'er, sometimes, Thine armorer spit on iron when 'twas hot, And how the iron flung the insult back, Hissing? So this contempt now in thine eye, If it shall fall on yonder heated surface May bounce back upward. Well: and then? What then?

Why, if thou cause thy folk to crop some villein's ears, So, evil falls, and a fool foretells the truth.

Or if some erring crossbow-bolt should break Thine unarmed head, shot from behind a house, So, evil falls, and a fool foretells the truth."

"Well," quoth Lord Raoul, with languid utterance, "'Tis very well -- and thou'rt a foolish fool, Nay, thou art Folly's perfect witless man, Stupidity doth madly dote on thee, And Idiocy doth fight her for thy love, Yet Silliness doth love thee best of all, And while they quarrel, s.n.a.t.c.heth thee to her And saith 'Ah! 'tis my sweetest No-brains: mine!'

-- And 'tis my mood to-day some ill shall fall."

And there right suddenly Lord Raoul gave rein And galloped straightway to the crowded square, -- What time a strange light flickered in the eyes Of the calm fool, that was not folly's gleam, But more like wisdom's smile at plan well laid And end well compa.s.sed. In the noise of hoofs Secure, the fool low-muttered: "'Folly's love!'

So: 'Silliness' sweetheart: no-brains:' quoth my Lord.

Why, how intolerable an a.s.s is he Whom Silliness' sweetheart drives so, by the ear!

Thou languid, lordly, most heart-breaking Nought!

Thou b.a.s.t.a.r.d zero, that hast come to power, Nothing's right issue failing! Thou mere 'pooh'

That Life hath uttered in some moment's pet, And then forgot she uttered thee! Thou gap In time, thou little notch in circ.u.mstance!"

Chapter IV.

Lord Raoul drew rein with all his company, And urged his horse i' the crowd, to gain fair view Of him that spoke, and stopped at last, and sat Still, underneath where Gris Grillon was laid, And heard, somewhile, with languid scornful gaze, The friar putting blame on priest and knight.

But presently, as 'twere in weariness, He gazed about, and then above, and so Made mark of Gris Grillon.

"So, there, old man, Thou hast more brows than legs!"

"I would," quoth Gris, "That thou, upon a certain time I wot, Hadst had less legs and bigger brows, my Lord!"

Then all the flatterers and their squires cried out Solicitous, with various voice, "Go to, Old Rogue," or "Shall I brain him, my good Lord?"

Or, "So, let me but chuck him from his perch,"

Or, "Slice his tongue to piece his leg withal,"

Or, "Send his eyes to look for his missing arms."

But my Lord Raoul was in the mood, to-day, Which craves suggestions simply with a view To flout them in the face, and so waved hand Backward, and stayed the on-pressing sycophants Eager to buy rich praise with bravery cheap.

"I would know why," -- he said -- "thou wishedst me Less legs and bigger brows; and when?"

"Wouldst know?

Learn then," cried Gris Grillon and stirred himself, In a great spasm of pa.s.sion mixed with pain; "An thou hadst had more courage and less speed, Then, ah my G.o.d! then could not I have been That piteous gibe of a man thou see'st I am.

Sir, having no disease, nor any taint Nor old hereditament of sin or shame, -- But, feeling the brave bound and energy Of daring health that leaps along the veins -- As a hart upon his river banks at morn, -- Sir, wild with the urgings and hot strenuous beats Of manhood's heart in this full-sinewed breast Which thou may'st even now discern is mine, -- Sir, full aware, each instant in each day, Of motions of great muscles, once were mine, And thrill of tense thew-knots, and stinging sense Of nerves, nice, capable and delicate: -- Sir, visited each hour by pa.s.sions great That lack all instrument of utterance, Pa.s.sion of love -- that hath no arm to curve; Pa.s.sion of speed -- that hath no limb to stretch; Yea, even that poor feeling of desire Simply to turn me from this side to that, (Which brooded on, into wild pa.s.sion grows By reason of the impotence that broods) Balked of its end and unachievable Without a.s.sistance of some foreign arm, -- Sir, moved and thrilled like any perfect man, O, trebly moved and thrilled, since poor desires That are of small import to happy men Who easily can compa.s.s them, to me Become mere hopeless Heavens or actual h.e.l.ls, -- Sir, strengthened so with manhood's seasoned soul, I lie in this d.a.m.ned cradle day and night, Still, still, so still, my Lord: less than a babe In powers but more than any man in needs; Dreaming, with open eye, of days when men Have fallen cloven through steel and bone and flesh At single strokes of this -- of that big arm Once wielded aught a mortal arm might wield, Waking a prey to any foolish gnat That wills to conquer my defenceless brow And sit thereon in triumph; hounded ever By small necessities of barest use Which, since I cannot compa.s.s them alone, Do snarl my helplessness into mine ear, Howling behind me that I have no hands, And yelping round me that I have no feet: So that my heart is stretched by tiny ills That are so much the larger that I knew In bygone days how trifling small they were: -- Dungeoned in wicker, strong as 'twere in stone; -- Fast chained with nothing, firmer than with steel; -- Captive in limb, yet free in eye and ear, Sole tenant of this puny h.e.l.l in Heaven: -- And this -- all this -- because I was a man!

For, in the battle -- ha, thou know'st, pale-face!

When that the four great English hors.e.m.e.n bore So bloodily on thee, I leapt to front To front of thee -- of thee -- and fought four blades, Thinking to win thee time to s.n.a.t.c.h thy breath, And, by a rearing fore-hoof stricken down, Mine eyes, through blood, my brain, through pain, -- Midst of a dim hot uproar fainting down -- Were 'ware of thee, far rearward, fleeing! Hound!"

Chapter V.

Then, as the pa.s.sion of old Gris Grillon A wave swift swelling, grew to highest height And snapped a foaming consummation forth With salty hissing, came the friar through The ma.s.s. A stillness of white faces wrought A transient death on all the hands and b.r.e.a.s.t.s Of all the crowd, and men and women stood, One instant, fixed, as they had died upright.

Then suddenly Lord Raoul rose up in selle And thrust his dagger straight upon the breast Of Gris Grillon, to pin him to the wall; But ere steel-point met flesh, tall Jacques Grillon Had leapt straight upward from the earth, and in The self-same act had whirled his bow by end With mighty whirr about his head, and struck The dagger with so featly stroke and full That blade flew up and hilt flew down, and left Lord Raoul unfriended of his weapon.

Then The fool cried shrilly, "Shall a knight of France Go stabbing his own cattle?" And Lord Raoul, Calm with a changing mood, sat still and called: "Here, huntsmen, 'tis my will ye seize the hind That broke my dagger, bind him to this tree And slice both ears to hair-breadth of his head, To be his b.l.o.o.d.y token of regret That he hath put them to so foul employ As catching villainous breath of strolling priests That mouth at knighthood and defile the Church."

The knife . . . . . [Rest of line lost.]

To place the edge . . . [Rest of line lost.]

Mary! the blood! it oozes sluggishly, Scorning to come at call of blade so base.

Sathanas! He that cuts the ear has left The blade sticking at midway, for to turn And ask the Duke "if 'tis not done Thus far with nice precision," and the Duke Leans down to see, and cries, "'tis marvellous nice, Shaved as thou wert ear-barber by profession!"

Whereat one witling cries, "'tis monstrous fit, In sooth, a shaven-pated priest should have A shaven-eared audience;" and another, "Give thanks, thou Jacques, to this most gracious Duke That rids thee of the life-long dread of loss Of thy two ears, by cropping them at once; And now henceforth full safely thou may'st dare The powerfullest Lord in France to touch An ear of thine;" and now the knave o' the knife Seizes the handle to commence again, and saws And . . ha! Lift up thine head, O Henry! Friend!

'Tis Marie, walking midway of the street, As she had just stepped forth from out the gate Of the very, very Heaven where G.o.d is, Still glittering with the G.o.d-shine on her! Look!

And there right suddenly the fool looked up And saw the crowd divided in two ranks.

Raoul pale-stricken as a man that waits G.o.d's first remark when he hath died into G.o.d's sudden presence, saw the cropping knave A-pause with knife in hand, the wondering folk All straining forward with round-ringed eyes, And Gris Grillon calm smiling while he prayed The Holy Virgin's blessing.