Selections From The Poems And Plays Of Robert Browning Part 31

SCENE.--_A large, mean, airy chamber. A girl_, PIPPA, _from the silk-mills, springing out of bed_.

Day!

Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last; Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim Where spurting and suppressed it lay, 5 For not a froth-flake touched the rim Of yonder gap in the solid gray Of the eastern cloud, an hour away; But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, 10 Rose, reddened, and its seething breast Flickered in bounds, grew gold, than overflowed the world.

Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee, A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, The least of thy gazes or glances 15 (Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure), One of thy choices or one of thy chances, (Be they tasks G.o.d imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) --My Day, if I squander such labor or leisure, Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me! 20

Thy long blue solemn hours serenely flowing, Whence earth, we feel, gets steady help and good-- Thy fitful suns.h.i.+ne-minutes, coming, going, As if earth turned from work in gamesome mood-- All shall be mine! But thou must treat me not 25 As prosperous ones are treated, those who live At hand here, and enjoy the higher lot, In readiness to take what thou wilt give, And free to let alone what thou refusest; For, Day, my holiday, if thou ill-usest 30 Me, who am only Pippa--old-year's sorrow, Cast off last night, will come again tomorrow; Whereas, if thou prove gentle, I shall borrow Sufficient strength of thee for new-year's sorrow.

All other men and women that this earth 35 Belongs to, who all days alike possess, Make general plenty cure particular dearth, Get more joy one way, if another, less; Thou art my single day, G.o.d lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven-- 40 Sole light that helps me through the year, thy sun's!

Try now! Take Asolo's Four Happiest Ones-- And let thy morning rain on that superb Great haughty Ottima; can rain disturb Her Sebald's homage? All the while thy rain 45 Beats fiercest on her shrub-house windowpane, He will but press the closer, breathe more warm Against her cheek; how should she mind the storm?

And, morning past, if midday shed a gloom O'er Jules and Phene--what care bride and groom 50 Save for their dear selves? 'Tis their marriage-day; And while they leave church and go home their way, Hand clasping hand, within each breast would be Sunbeams and pleasant weather spite of thee.

Then, for another trial, obscure thy eve 55 With mist--will Luigi and his mother grieve-- The lady and her child, unmatched, forsooth, She in her age, as Luigi in his youth, For true content? The cheerful town, warm, close, And safe, the sooner that thou art morose, 60 Receives them. And yet once again, outbreak In storm at night on Monsignor, they make Such stir about--whom they expect from Rome To visit Asolo, his brothers' home, And say here ma.s.ses proper to release 65 A soul from pain--what storm dares hurt his peace?

Calm would he pray, with his own thoughts to ward Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' guard.

But Pippa--just one such mischance would spoil Her day that lightens the next twelve-month's toil 70 At wearisome silk-winding, coil on coil!

And here I let time slip for naught!

Aha, you foolhardy sunbeam, caught With a single splash from my ewer!

You that would mock the best pursuer, 75 Was my basin over-deep?

One splash of water ruins you asleep, And up, up, fleet your brilliant bits Wheeling and counterwheeling, Reeling, broken beyond healing-- 80 Now grow together on the ceiling!

That will task your wits.

Whoever it was quenched fire first, hoped to see Morsel after morsel flee As merrily, as giddily ... 85 Meantime, what lights my sunbeam on, Where settles by degrees the radiant cripple?

Oh, is it surely blown, my martagon?

New-blown and ruddy as St. Agnes' nipple, Plump as the flesh-bunch on some Turk bird's poll! 90 Be sure if corals, branching 'neath the ripple Of ocean, bud there, fairies watch unroll Such turban-flowers; I say, such lamps disperse Thick red flame through that dusk green universe!

I am queen of thee, floweret! 95 And each fleshy blossom Preserve I not--safer Than leaves that embower it, Or sh.e.l.ls that embosom-- From weevil and chafer? 100 Laugh through my pane then; solicit the bee; Gibe him, be sure; and, in midst of thy glee, Love thy queen, wors.h.i.+p me!

--Wors.h.i.+p whom else? For am I not, this day, Whate'er I please? What shall I please today? 105 My morn, noon, eve, and night--how spend my day?

Tomorrow I must be Pippa who winds silk, The whole year round, to earn just bread and milk.

But, this one day, I have leave to go, And play out my fancy's fullest games; 110 I may fancy all day--and it shall be so-- That I taste of the pleasures, am called by the names Of the Happiest Four in our Asolo!

See! Up the hillside yonder, through the morning, Someone shall love me, as the world calls love; 115 I am no less than Ottima, take warning!

The gardens, and the great stone house above, And other house for shrubs, all gla.s.s in front, Are mine; where Sebald steals, as he is wont, To court me, while old Luca yet reposes; 120 And therefore, till the shrub-house door uncloses, I--what now?--give abundant cause for prate About me--Ottima, I mean--of late, Too bold, too confident she'll still face down The spitefullest of talkers in our town. 125 How we talk in the little town below!

But love, love, love--there's better love, I know!

This foolish love was only day's first offer; I choose my next love to defy the scoffer; For do not our Bride and Bridegroom sally 130 Out of Possagno church at noon?

Their house looks over Orcana valley-- Why should not I be the bride as soon As Ottima? For I saw, beside, Arrive last night that little bride-- 135 Saw, if you call it seeing her, one flash Of the pale snow-pure cheek and black bright tresses, Blacker than all except the black eyelash; I wonder she contrives those lids no dresses!

So strict was she, the veil 140 Should cover close her pale Pure cheeks--a bride to look at and scarce touch, Scarce touch, remember, Jules! For are not such Used to be tended, flower-like, every feature, As if one's breath would fray the lily of a creature? 145 A soft and easy life these ladies lead!

Whiteness in us were wonderful indeed.

Oh, save that brow its virgin dimness, Keep that foot its lady primness, Let those ankles never swerve 150 From their exquisite reserve, Yet have to trip along the streets like me, All but naked to the knee!

How will she ever grant her Jules a bliss So startling as her real first infant kiss? 155 Oh, no--not envy, this!

--Not envy, sure!--for if you gave me Leave to take or to refuse, In earnest, do you think I'd choose That sort of new love to enslave me? 160 Mine should have lapped me round from the beginning; As little fear of losing it as winning; Lovers grow cold, men learn to hate their wives, And only parents' love can last our lives.

At eve the Son and Mother, gentle pair, 165 Commune inside our turret; what prevents My being Luigi? While that mossy lair Of lizards through the wintertime is stirred With each to each imparting sweet intents For this new-year, as brooding bird to bird 170 (For I observe of late, the evening walk Of Luigi and his mother, always ends Inside our ruined turret, where they talk, Calmer than lovers, yet more kind than friends), Let me be cared about, kept out of harm, 175 And schemed for, safe in love as with a charm; Let me be Luigi! If I only knew What was my mother's face--my father, too!

Nay, if you come to that, best love of all Is G.o.d's; then why not have G.o.d's love befall 180 Myself as, in the palace by the Dome, Monsignor?--who tonight will bless the home Of his dead brother; and G.o.d bless in turn That heart which beats, those eyes which mildly burn With love for all men! I tonight at least, 185 Would be that holy and beloved priest.

Now wait!--even I already seem to share In G.o.d's love: what does New-year's hymn declare?

What other meaning do these verses bear?

_All service ranks the same with G.o.d:_ 190 _If now, as formerly he trod_ _Paradise, his presence fills_ _Our earth, each only as G.o.d wills_ _Can work--G.o.d's puppets, best and worst,_ _Are we; there is no last nor first._ 195

_Say not "a small event!" Why "small"?_ _Costs it more pain that this, ye call_ _A "great event," should come to pa.s.s,_ _Than that? Untwine me from the ma.s.s_ _Of deeds which make up life, one deed_ 200 _Power shall fall short in or exceed!_

And more of it, and more of it!--oh yes-- I will pa.s.s each, and see their happiness, And envy none--being just as great, no doubt, Useful to men, and dear to G.o.d, as they! 205 A pretty thing to care about So mightily, this single holiday!

But let the sun s.h.i.+ne! Wherefore repine?

--With thee to lead me, O Day of mine, Down the gra.s.s path gray with dew, 210 Under the pine-wood, blind with boughs, Where the swallow never flew Nor yet cicala dared carouse-- No, dared carouse! [_She enters the street_

I. MORNING

SCENE.--_Up the Hillside, inside the Shrub-house._ LUCA'S _wife,_ OTTIMA, _and her paramour, the German_ SEBALD.

_Sebald_ [_sings_].

_Let the watching lids wink!

Day's ablaze with eyes, think!

Deep into the night, drink!_

_Ottima._ Night? Such may be your Rhineland nights, perhaps; But this blood-red beam through the shutter's c.h.i.n.k 5 --We call such light the morning: let us see!

Mind how you grope your way, though! How these tall Naked geraniums straggle! Push the lattice Behind that frame!--Nay, do I bid you?--Sebald, It shakes the dust down on me! Why, of course 10 The slide-bolt catches. Well, are you content, Or must I find you something else to spoil?

Kiss and be friends, my Sebald! Is 't full morning?

Oh, don't speak then!

_Sebald._ Aye, thus it used to be.

Ever your house was, I remember, shut 15 Till midday; I observed that, as I strolled On mornings through the vale here; country girls Were noisy, was.h.i.+ng garments in the brook, Hinds drove the slow white oxen up the hills; But no, your house was mute, would ope no eye. 20 And wisely; you were plotting one thing there, Nature, another outside. I looked up-- Rough white wood shutters, rusty iron bars, Silent as death, blind in a flood of light, Oh, I remember!--and the peasants laughed 25 And said, "The old man sleeps with the young wife."

This house was his, this chair, this window--his!

_Ottima._ Ah, the clear morning! I can see St. Mark's; That black streak is the belfry. Stop: Vicenza Should lie--there's Padua, plain enough, that blue! 30 Look o'er my shoulder, follow my finger!

_Sebald._ Morning?

It seems to me a night with a sun added.

Where's dew, where's freshness? That bruised plant, I bruised In getting through the lattice yestereve, Droops as it did. See, here's my elbow's mark 35 I' the dust o' the sill.

_Ottima._ Oh, shut the lattice, pray!

_Sebald._ Let me lean out. I cannot scent blood here, Foul as the morn may be.

There, shut the world out!

How do you feel now, Ottima? There, curse The world and all outside! Let us throw off 40 This mask: how do you bear yourself? Let's out With all of it.

_Ottima._ Best never speak of it.

_Sebald._ Best speak again and yet again of it.

Till words cease to be more than words. "His blood,"

For instance--let those two words mean "His blood" 45 And nothing more. Notice, I'll say them now, "His blood."

_Ottima._ a.s.suredly if I repented The deed--

_Sebald._ Repent? Who should repent, or why?

What puts that in your head? Did I once say That I repented?

_Ottima._ No; I said the deed-- 50

_Sebald._ "The deed" and "the event"--just now it was "Our pa.s.sion's fruit"--the devil take such cant!

Say, once and always, Luca was a wittol, I am his cutthroat, you are--