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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LURIA; A TRAGEDY, by ROBERT BROWNING Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Then, you join battle in an hour? Last Line: Done. | |||
PERSONS LURIA, a Moor, Commander of the Florentine Forces. HUSAIN, a Moor, his friend. PUCCIO, the old Florentine Commander, now LURIA'S Chief Officer. BARCCIO, Commissary of the Republic of Florence. Jacopo (LAPO), his Secretary. TIBURZIO, Commander of the Pisans. DOMIZIA, a noble Florentine Lady. TIME, 14--. SCENE. LURIA'S Camp between Florence and Pisa. ACT I MORNING BRACCIO, as dictating to his Secretary; PUCCIO standing by. Braccio. [To PUCCIO.] Then, you join battle in an hour? Puccio. Not I; Luria, the captain. Brac. [To the Sec.] "In an hour, the battle." [To PUC.] Sir, let your eye run o'er this loose digest, And see if very much of your report Have slipped away through my civilian phrase. Does this instruct the Signory aright How army stands with army? Puc. [Taking the paper.] All seems here: -- That Luria, seizing with our city's force The several points of vantage, hill and plain, Shuts Pisa safe help on every side, And, baffling the Lucchese arrived too late, Must, in the battle he delivers now, Beat her best troops and first of chiefs. Brac. So sure? Tiburzio's a consummate captain too! Puc. Luria holds Pisa's fortune in his hand. Brac. [To the Sec.] "The Signory hold Pisa in their hand." Your own proved soldiership's our warrant, sir: So, while my secretary ends his task, Have out two horsemen, by the open roads, To post with it to Florence! Puc. [Returning the paper.] All seems here; Unless ... Ser Braccio, 't is my last report! Since Pisa's outbreak, and my overthrow, And Luria's hastening at the city's call To save her, as he only could, no doubt; Till now that she is saved or sure to be, -- Whatever you tell Florence, I tell you: Each day's note you, her Commissary, make Of Luria's movements, I myself supply. No youngster am I longer, to my cost; Therefore while Florence gloried in her choice And vaunted Luria, whom but Luria, still, As if zeal, courage, prudence, conduct, faith, Had never met in any man before, I saw no pressing need to swell the cry. But now, this last report and I have done: So, ere to-night comes with its roar of praise, 'T were not amiss if some one old i' the trade Subscribed with, "True, for once rash counsel's best. This Moor of the bad faith and doubtful race, This boy to whose untried sagacity, Raw valor, Florence trusts without reserve The charge to save her, -- justifies her choice; In no point has this stranger failed his friends. Now praise!" I say this, and it is not here. Brac. [To the Sec.] Write, "Puccio, superseded in the charge, By Luria, bears full witness to his worth, And no reward our Signory can give Their champion but he'll back it cheerfully." Aught more? Five minutes hence, both messengers! [PUCCIO goes. Brac. [After a pause, and while he slowly tears the paper into shreds.] I think ... (pray God, I hold in fit contempt This warfare's noble art and ordering, And, -- once the brace of prizers fairly matched, Poleaxe with poleaxe, knife with knife as good, -- Spit properly at what men term their skill! --) Yet here I think our fighter has the odds. With Pisa's strength diminished thus and thus, Such points of vantage in our hands and such, Lucca still off the stage, too, -- all's assured: Luria must win this battle. Write the Court, That Luria's trial end and sentence pass! Secretary. Patron, -- Brac. Ay, Lapo? Sec. If you trip, I fall 'T is in self-interest I speak -- Brac. Nay, nay, You overshoot the mark, my Lapo! Nay! When did I say pure love's impossible? I make you daily write those red cheeks thin, Load your young brow with what concerns it least, And, when we visit Florence, let you pace The Piazza by my side as if we talked, Where all your old acquaintances may see: You'd die for me, I should not be surprised. Now then! Sec. Sir, look about and love yourself! Step after step, the Signory and you Tread gay till this tremendous point's to pass; Which pass not, pass not, ere you ask yourself, -- Bears the brain steadily such draughts of fire, Or too delicious may not prove the pride Of this long secret trial you dared plan, Dare execute, you solitary here, With the gray-headed toothless fools at home, Who think themselves your lords, such slaves are they? If they pronounce this sentence as you bid, Declare the treason, claim its penalty, -- And sudden out of all the blaze of life, On the best minute of his brightest day, From that adoring army at his back, Through Florence' joyous crowds before his face, Into the dark you beckon Luria ... Brac. Then -- Why, Lapo, when the fighting-people vaunt, We of the other craft and mystery, May we not smile demure, the danger past? Sec. Sir, no, no, no, -- the danger, and your spirit At watch and ward? Where's danger on your part, With that thin flitting instantaneous steel 'Gainst the blind bull-front of a brute-force world? If Luria, that's to perish sure as fate, Should have been really guiltless after all? Brac. Ah, you have thought that? Sec. Here I sit, your scribe, And in and out goes Luria, days and nights; This Puccio comes; the Moor his other friend, Husain; they talk -- that's all feigned easily; He speaks (I would not listen if I could), Reads, orders, counsels: -- but he rests sometimes, -- I see him stand and eat, sleep stretched an hour On the lynx-skins yonder; hold his bared black arms Into the sun from the tent-opening; laugh When his horse drops the forage from his teeth And neighs to hear him hum his Moorish songs. That man believes in Florence, as the saint Tied to the wheel believes in God. Brac. How strange! You too have thought that! Sec. Do but you think too, And all is saved! I only have to write, "The man seemed false awhile, proves true at last; Bury it" -- so I write the Signory -- "Bury this trial in your breast forever, Blot it from things or done or dreamed about! So Luria shall receive his meed to-day With no suspicion what reverse was near, -- As if no meteoric finger hushed The doom-word just on the destroyer's lip, Motioned him off, and let life's sun fall straight." Brac. [Looks to the wall of the tent.] Did he draw that? Sec. With charcoal, when the watch Made the report at midnight; Lady Domizia Spoke of the unfinished Duomo, you remember; That is his fancy how a Moorish front Might join to, and complete, the body, -- a sketch, -- And again where the cloak hangs, yonder in the shadow. Brac. He loves that woman. Sec. She is sent the spy Of Florence, -- spies on you as you on him: Florence, if only for Domizia's sake, Is surely safe. What shall I write? Brac. I see -- A Moorish front, nor of such ill design! Lapo, there's one thing plain and positive; Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost. What? If to lead our troops, stand forth our chiefs, And hold our fate, and see us at their beck, Yet render up the charge when peace return, Have ever proved too much for Florentines, Even for the best and bravest of ourselves -- If in the struggle when the soldier's sword Should sink its point before the statist's pen, And the calm head replace the violent hand, Virtue on virtue still have fallen away Before ambition with unvarying fate, Till Florence' self at last in bitterness Be forced to own such falls the natural end, And, sparing further to expose her sons To a vain strife and profitless disgrace, Declare, "The foreigner, one not my child, Shall henceforth lead my troops, reach height by height The glory, then descend into the shame; So shall rebellion be less guilt in him, And punishment the easier task for me:" -- If on the best of us such brand she set, Can I suppose an utter alien here, This Luria, our inevitable foe, Confessed a mercenary and a Moor, Born free from many ties that bind the rest Of common faith in Heaven or hope on earth, No past with us, no future, -- such a spirit Shall hold the path from which our stanchest broke, Stand firm where every famed precursor fell? My Lapo, I will frankly say, these proofs So duly noted of the man's intent, Are for the doting fools at home, not me. The charges here, they may be true or false: -- What is set down? Errors and oversights, A dallying interchange of courtesies With Pisa's General, -- all that, hour by hour, Puccio's pale discontent has furnished us, Of petulant speeches, inconsiderate acts, Now overhazard, overcaution now; Even that he loves this lady who believes She outwits Florence, and whom Florence posted By my procurement here, to spy on me, Lest I one minute lose her from my sight -- She who remembering her whole House's fall, That nest of traitors strangled in the birth, Now labors to make Luria (poor device As plain) the instrument of her revenge! -- That she is ever at his ear to prompt Inordinate conceptions of his worth, Exorbitant belief in worth's reward, And after, when sure disappointment follows, Proportionable rage at such a wrong -- Why, all these reasons, while I urge them most, Weigh with me less than least; as nothing weigh. Upon that broad man's-heart of his, I go: On what I know must be, yet while I live Shall never be, because I live and know. Brute-force shall not rule Florence! Intellect May rule her, bad or good as chance supplies: But intellect it shall be, pure if bad, And intellect's tradition so kept up! Till the good come -- 't was intellect that ruled, Not brute-force bringing from the battlefield We lent it there to lure its grossness on; All which it took for earnest and kept safe To show against us in our market-place, Just as the plumes and tags and swordsman's-gear (Fetched from the camp where, at their foolish best, When all was done they frightened nobody) Perk in our faces in the street, forsooth, With our own warrant and allowance. No! The whole procedure's overcharged, -- its end In too strict keeping with the bad first step. To conquer Pisa was sheer inspiration? Well then, to perish for a single fault, Let that be simple justice! There, my Lapo! A Moorish front ill suits our Duomo's body: Blot it out -- and bid Luria's sentence come! (LURIA, who, with DOMIZIA, has entered unobserved at the close of the last phrase, now advances.) Luria. And Luria, Luria, what of Luria now? Brac. Ah, you so close, sir? Lady Domizia too? I said it needs must be a busy moment For one like you; that you were now i' the thick Of your duties, doubtless, while we idlers sat ... Lur. No -- in that paper, -- it was in that paper What you were saying! Brac. Oh -- my day's despatch! I censure you to Florence: will you see? Lur. See your despatch, your last, for the first time? Well, if I should, now? For in truth, Domizia, He would be forced to set about another, In his sly cool way, the true Florentine, To mention that important circumstance. So, while he wrote I should gain time, such time! Do not send this! Brac. And wherefore? Lur. These Lucchese Are not arrived -- they never will arrive! And I must fight to-day, arrived or not, And I shall beat Tiburzio, that is sure: And then will be arriving his Lucchese, But slowly, oh so slowly, just in time To look upon my battle from the hills, Like a late moon, of use to nobody! And I must break my battle up, send forth, Surround on this side, hold in check on that. Then comes to-morrow, we negotiate, You make me send for fresh instructions home -- Incompleteness, incompleteness! Brac. Ah, we scribes Why, I had registered that very point, The non-appearance of our foes' ally, As a most happy fortune; both at once Were formidable: singly faced, each falls. Lur. So, no great battle for my Florentines No crowning deed, decisive and complete, For all of them, the simple as the wise, Old, young, alike, that do not understand Our wearisome pedantic art of war, By which we prove retreat may be success, Delay -- best speed, -- half loss, at times, -- whole gain: They want results: as if it were their fault! And you, with warmest wish to be my friend, Will not be able now to simply say "Your servant has performed his task -- enough! You ordered, he has executed: good! Now walk the streets in holiday attire, Congratulate your friends, till noon strikes fierce, Then form bright groups beneath the Duomo's shade!" No, you will have to argue and explain, Persuade them, all is not so ill in the end, Tease, tire them out! Arrive, arrive, Lucchese! Domizia. Well, you will triumph for the past enough, Whatever be the present chance; no service Falls to the ground with Florence: she awaits Her savior, will receive him fittingly. Lur. Ah, Braccio, you know Florence! Will she, think you, Receive one ... what means "fittingly receive"? -- Receive compatriots, doubtless - I am none: And yet Domizia promises so much! Brac. Kind women still give men a woman's prize. I know not o'er which gate most boughs will arch, Nor if the Square will wave red flags or blue. I should have judged, the fullest of rewards Our state gave Luria, when she made him chief Of her whole force, in her best captain's place. Lur. That, my reward? Florence on my account Relieved Ser Puccio? -- mark you, my reward! And Puccio's having all the fight's true joy -- Goes here and there, gets close, may fight, himself, While I must order, stand aloof, o'ersee. That was my calling, there was my true ! I should have felt, in some one over me, Florence impersonate, my visible head. As I am over Puccio, -- taking life Directly from her eye! They give me you: But do you cross me, set me half to work? I enjoy nothing -- though I will, for once! Decide, shall we join battle? may I wait? Brac. Let us compound the matter; wait till noon: Then, no arrival, -- Lur. Ah, noon comes too fast! I wonder, do you guess why I delay Involuntarily the final blow As long as possible? Peace follows it! Florence at peace, and the calm studious heads Come out again, the penetrating eyes; As if a spell broke, all's resumed, each art You boast, more vivid that it slept awhile. 'Gainst the glad heaven, o'er the white palace-front The interrupted scaffold climbs anew; The walls are peopled by the painter's brush; The statue to its niche ascends to dwell. The present noise and trouble have retired And left the eternal past to rule once more; You speak its speech and read its records plain, Greece lives with you, each Roman breathes your friend: But Luria -- where will then be Luria's place? Dom. Highest in honor, for that past's own sake, Of which his actions, sealing up the sum By saving all that went before from wreck, Will range as part, with which be worshipped too. Lur. Then I may walk and watch you in your streets, Lead the smooth life my rough life helps no more, So different, so new, so beautiful -- Nor fear that you will tire to see parade The club that slew the lion, now that crooks And shepherd-pipes come into use again? For very lone and silent seems my East In its drear vastness: still it spreads, and still No Braccios, no Domizias anywhere -- Not ever more! Well, well, to-day is ours! Dom. [To BRAC.] Should he not have been one of us? Lur. Oh, no! Not one of you, and so escape the thrill Of coming into you, of changing thus, -- Feeling a soul grow on me that restricts The boundless unrest of the savage heart! The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there and buries its tumultuous strength; Horror, and silence, and a pause awhile: Lo, inland glides the gulf-stream, miles away, In rapture of assent, subdued and still, 'Neath those strange banks, those unimagined skies. Well, 't is not sure the quiet lasts forever! Your placid heads still find rough hands new work; Some minute's chance -- there comes the need of mine: And, all resolved on, I too hear at last. Oh, you must find some use for me, Ser Braccio! You hold my strength; 't were best dispose of it: What you created, see that you find food for -- I shall be dangerous else! Brac. How dangerous, sir? Lur. There are so many ways, Domizia warns me, And one with half the power that I possess, -- Grows very formidable! Do you doubt? Why, first, who holds the army ... Dom. While we talk, Morn wears; we keep you from your propen place, The field. Lur. Nay, to the field I move no more; My part is done, and Puccio's may begin: I cannot trench upon his province longer With any face. -- You think yourselves so safe? Why, see -- in concert with Tiburzio, now -- One could ... Dom. A trumpet! Lur. My Lucchese at last! Arrived, as sure as Florence stands! Your leave! [Springs out. Dom. How plainly is true greatness charactered By such unconscious sport as Luria's here, Strength sharing least the secret of itself! Be it with head that schemes or hand that acts, Such save the world which none but they could save, Yet think whate'er they did, that world could do. Brac. Yes: and how worthy note, that these same great ones In hand or head, with such unconsciousness And all its due entailed humility, Should never shrink, so far as I perceive, From taking up whatever tool there be Effects the whole world's safety or mishap, Into their mild hands as a thing of course! The statist finds it natural to lead The mob who might as easily lead him -- The captain marshals troops born skilled in war -- Statist and captain verily believe! While we poor scribes ... you catch me thinking now, That I shall in this very letter write What none of you are able! To it, Lapo! [DOMIZIA goes This last worst all-affected childish fit Of Luria's, this be-praised unconsciousness, Convinces me; the past was no child's play: It was a man beat Pisa, -- not a child. All's mere dissimulation -- to remove The fear, he best knows we should entertain. The utmost danger was at hand. Is 't written? Now make a duplicate, lest this should fail, And speak your fullest on the other side. Sec. I noticed he was busily repairing My half-effacement of his Duomo sketch, And, while he spoke of Florence, turned to it, As the Mage Negro king to Christ the babe. I judge his childishness the mere relapse To boyhood of a man who has worked lately, And presently will work, so, meantime, plays: Whence, more than ever I believe in him. Brac. [After a pause.] The sword! At best, the soldier, as he says, In Florence -- the black face, the barbarous name, For Italy to boast her show of the age, Her man of men! -- To Florence with each letter! ACT II NOON Dom. Well, Florence, shall I reach thee, pierce thy heart Through all its safeguards? Hate is said to help -- Quicken the eye, invigorate the arm; And this my hate, made up of many hates, Might stand in scorn of visible instrument, And will thee dead: yet do I trust it not. Nor man's devices nor Heaven's memory Of wickedness forgot on earth so soon, But thy own nature, -- hell and thee I trust, To keep thee constant in that wickedness, Where my revenge may meet thee. Turn aside A single step, for gratitude or shame, -- Grace but this Luria, -- this wild mass of rage I have prepared to launch against thee now, -- With other payment than thy noblest found, -- Give his desert for once its due reward, -- And past thee would my sure destruction roll. But thou, who mad'st our House thy sacrifice, It cannot be thou wilt except this Moor From the accustomed fate of zeal and truth: Thou wilt deny his looked-for recompense, And then -- I reach thee. Old and trained, my sire Could bow down on his quiet broken heart, Die awe-struck and submissive, when at last The strange blow came for the expected wreath; And Porzio passed in blind bewilderment To exile, never to return, -- they say, Perplexed in his frank simple honest soul, As if some natural law had changed, -- how else Could Florence, on plain fact pronouncing thus, Judge Porzio's actions worthy such reward? But Berto, with the ever-passionate pulse, -- Oh that long night, its dreadful hour on hour, In which no way of getting his fair fame From their inexplicable charges free, Was found, save pouring forth the impatient blood To show its color whether false or no! My brothers never had a friend like me Close in their need to watch the time, then speak, -- Burst with a wakening laughter on their dream, Cry, "Florence was all falseness, so, false here!" And show them what a simple task remained -- To leave dreams, rise, and punish in God's name The city wedded to the wickedness. None stood by them as I by Luria stand. So, when the stranger cheated of his due Turns on thee as his rapid nature bids, Then, Florence, think, a hireling at thy throat For the first outrage, think who bore thy last, Yet mutely in forlorn obedience died! He comes -- his friend -- black faces in the camp Where moved those peerless brows and eyes of old. (Enter LURIA and HUSAIN.) Well, and the movement -- is it as you hope? 'T is Lucca? Lur. Ah, the Pisan trumpet merely! Tiburzio's envoy, I must needs receive. Dom. Whom I withdraw before; though if I lingered You could not wonder, for my time fleets fast. The overtaking night brings such reward! And where will then be room for me? Yet praised, Remember who was first to promise praise, And envy those who also can perform! [Goes Lur. This trumpet from the Pisans? -- Husain. In the camp, A very noble presence -- Braccio's visage On Puccio's body -- calm and fixed and good; A man I seem as I had seen before: Most like, it was some statue had the face. Lur. Admit him! This will prove the last delay. Hus. Ay, friend, go on, and die thou going on! Thou heard'st what the grave woman said but now: To-night rewards thee. That is well to hear; But stop not therefore: hear it, and go on! Lur. Oh, their reward and triumph and the rest They round me in the ears with, all day long? All that, I never take for earnest, friend! Well would it suit us, -- their triumphal arch Or storied pillar, -- thee and me, the Moors! But gratitude in those Italian eyes -- That, we shall get? Hus. It is too cold an air. Our sun rose out of yonder mound of mist: Where is he now? So, I trust none of them. Lur. Truly? Hus. I doubt and fear. There stands a wall 'Twixt our expansive and explosive race And those absorbing, concentrating men. They use thee. Lur. And I feel it, Husain! yes, And care not -- yes, an alien force like mine Is only called to play its part outside Their different nature; where its sole use seems To fight with and keep off an adverse force, As alien, -- which repelled, mine too withdraws: Inside, they know not what to do with me. Thus I have told them laughingly and oft, But long since am prepared to learn the worst. Hus. What is the worst? Lur. I will forestall them, Husain, Will speak the destiny they dare not speak -- Banish myself before they find the heart. I will be first to say, "The work rewards! I know, for all your praise, my use is over, So may it prove! -- meanwhile 't is best I go, Go carry safe my memories of you all To other scenes of action, newer lands." -- Thus leaving them confirmed in their belief They would not easily have tired of me. You think this hard to say? Hus. Say or not say, So thou but go, so they but let thee go! This hating people, that hate each the other, And in one blandness to us Moors unite -- Locked each to each like slippery snakes, I say, Which still in all their tangles, hissing tongue And threatening tail, ne'er do each other harm; While any creature of a better blood, They seem to fight for, while they circle safe And never touch it, -- pines without a wound, Withers away beside their eyes and breath. See thou, if Puccio come not safely out Of Braccio's grasp, this Braccio sworn his foe, As Braccio safely from Domizia's toils Who hates him most! But thou, the friend of all, ... Come out of them! Lur. The Pisan trumpet now! Hus. Breathe free -- it is an enemy, no friend! [Goes. Lur. He keeps his instincts, no new culture mars Their perfect use in him; just so the brutes Rest not, are anxious without visible cause, When change is in the elements at work, Which man's trained senses fail to apprehend. But here, -- he takes the distant chariot-wheel For thunder, festal flame for lightning's flash, The finer traits of cultivated life For treachery and malevolence: I see! (Enter TIBURZIO.) Lur. Quick, sir, your message! I but wait your message To sound the charge. You bring no overture For truce? -- I would not, for your General's sake, You spoke of truce: a time to fight is come, And, whatsoe'er the fight's event, he keeps His honest soldier's-name to beat me with, Or leaves me all himself to beat, I trust! Tiburzio. I am Tiburzio. lur. You? 'T is -- yes ... Tiburzio! You were the last to keep the ford i' the valley From Puccio, when I threw in succors there! Why, I was on the heights -- through the defile Ten minutes after, when the prey was lost! You wore an open skull-cap with a twist Of water-reeds -- the plume being hewn away; While I drove down my battle from the heights, I saw with my own eyes! Tib. And you are Luria Who sent my cohort, that laid down its arms In error of the battle-signal's sense, Back safely to me at the critical time -- One of a hundred deeds. I know you! Therefore To none but you could I ... Lur. No truce, Tiburzio! Tib. Luria, you know the peril imminent On Pisa, -- that you have us in the toils, Us her last safeguard, all that intercepts The rage of her implacablest of foes From Pisa: if we fall to-day, she falls. Though Lucca will arrive, yet, 't is too late. You have so plainly here the best of it, That you must feel, brave soldier as you are, How dangerous we grow in this extreme, How truly formidable by despair. Still, probabilities should have their weight: The extreme chance is ours, but, that chance failing, You win this battle. Wherefore say I this? To be well apprehended when I add, This danger absolutely comes from you. Were you, who threaten thus, a Florentine ... Lur. Sir, I am nearer Florence than her sons I can, and have perhaps obliged the State, Nor paid a mere son's duty. Tib. Even so. Were you the son of Florence, yet endued With all your present nobleness of soul, No question, what I must communicate Would not detach you from her. Lur. Me, detach! Tib. Time urges. You will ruin presently Pisa, you never knew, for Florence' sake You think you know. I have from time to time Made prize of certain secret missives sent From Braccio here, the Commissary, home: And knowing Florence otherwise, I piece The entire chain out, from these its scattered links. Your trial occupies the Signory; They sit in judgment on your conduct now. When men at home inquire into the acts Which in the field e'en foes appreciate ... Brief, they are Florentines! You, saving them, Seek but the sure destruction saviors find. Lur. Tiburzio! Tib. All the wonder is of course I am not here to teach you, nor direct, Only to loyally apprise -- scarce that. This is the latest letter, sealed and safe, As it left here an hour ago. One way Of two thought free to Florence, I command. The duplicate is on its road; but this, -- Read it, and then I shall have more to say. Lur. Florence! Tib. Now, were yourself a Florentine, This letter, let it hold the worst it can, Would be no reason you should fall away. The mother city is the mother still, And recognition of the children's service Her own affair; reward -- there's no reward! But you are bound by quite another tie. Nor nature shows, nor reason, why at first A foreigner, born friend to all alike, Should give himself to any special State More than another, stand by Florence' side Rather than Pisa; 't is as fair a city You war against, as that you fight for -- famed As well as she in story, graced no less With noble heads and patriotic hearts: Nor to a stranger's eye would either cause, Stripped of the cumulative loves and hates Which take importance from familiar view, Stand as the right and sole to be upheld. Therefore, should the preponderating gift Of love and trust, Florence was first to throw, Which made you hers, not Pisa's, void the scale, -- Old ties dissolving, things resume their place, And all begins again. Break seal and read! At least let Pisa offer for you now! And I, as a good Pisan, shall rejoice, Though for myself I lose, in gaining you, This last fight and its opportunity; The chance it brings of saving Pisa yet, Or in the turn of battle dying so That shame should want its extreme bitterness. Lur. Tiburzio, you that fight for Pisa now As I for Florence ... say my chance were yours! You read this letter, and you find ... no, no! Too mad! Tib. I read the letter, find they purpose When I have crushed their foe, to crush me: well? Lur. You, being their captain, what is it you do? Tib. Why, as it is, all cities are alike; As Florence pays you, Pisa will pay me. I shall be as belied, whate'er the event, As you, or more: my weak head, they will say Prompted this last expedient, my faint heart Entailed on them indelible disgrace, Both which defects ask proper punishment. Another tenure of obedience, mine! You are no son of Pisa's: break and read! Lur. And act on what I read? What act were fit? If the firm-fixed foundation of my faith In Florence, who to me stands for mankind, -- If that break up and, disimprisoning From the abyss ... Ah friend, it cannot be! You may be very sage, yet -- all the world Having to fail, or your sagacity, You do not wish to find yourself alone! What would the world be worth? Whose love be sure? The world remains: you are deceived! Tib. Your hand! I lead the vanguard. -- If you fall, beside, The better: I am left to speak! For me, This was my duty, nor would I rejoice If I could help, it misses its effect; And after all you will look gallantly Found dead here with that letter in your breast. Lur. Tiburzio -- I would see these people once And test them ere I answer finally! At your arrival let the trumpet sound: If mine return not then the wonted cry It means that I believe -- am Pisa's! Tib. Well! [Goes. Lur. My heart will have it he speaks true! My blood Beats close to this Tiburzio as a friend. If he had stept into my watch-tent, night And the wild desert full of foes around, I should have broke the bread and given the salt Secure, and, when my hour of watch was done, Taken my turn to sleep between his knees Safe in the untroubled brow and honest cheek. Oh world, where all things pass and naught abides, Oh life, the long mutation -- is it so? Is it with life as with the body's change? -- Where, e'en though better follow, good must pass, Nor manhood's strength can mate with boyhood's grace, Nor age's wisdom, in its turn, find strength, But silently the first gift dies away, And though the new stays, never both at once. Life's time of savage instinct o'er with me, It fades and dies away, past trusting more, As if to punish the ingratitude With which I turned to grow in these new lights, And learned to look with European eyes. Yet it is better, this cold certain way, Where Braccio's brow tells nothing, Puccio's mouth, Domizia's eyes reject the searcher: yes! For on their calm sagacity I lean, Their sense of right, deliberate choice of good, Sure, as they know my deeds, they deal with me. Yes, that is better -- that is best of all! Such faith stays when mere wild belief would go. Yes -- when the desert creature's heart, at fault Amid the scattering tempest's pillared sands, Betrays its step into the pathless drift -- The calm instructed eye of man holds fast By the sole bearing of the visible star, Sure that when slow the whirling wreck subside, The boundaries, lost now, shall be found again, -- The palm-trees and the pyramid over all. Yes: I trust Florence: Pisa is deceived. (Enter BRACCIO, PUCCIO, and DOMIZIA.) Brac. Noon's at an end: no Lucca? You must fight. Lur. Do you remember ever, gentle friends, I am no Florentine? Dom. It is yourself Who still are forcing us, importunately, To bear in mind what else we should forget. Lur. For loss! -- for what I lose in being none! No shrewd man, such as you yourselves respect, But would remind you of the stranger's loss In natural friends and advocates at home, Hereditary loves, even rivalships With precedent for honor and reward. Still, there's a gain, too! If you take it so, The stranger's lot has special gain as well. Do you forget there was my own far East I might have given away myself to, once, As now to Florence, and for such a gift, Stood there like a descended deity? There, worship waits us: what is it waits here? [Shows the letter. See! Chance has put into my hand the means Of knowing what I earn, before I work. Should I fight better, should I fight the worse, With payment palpably before me? See! Here lies my whole reward! Best learn it now Or keep it for the end's entire delight? Brac. If you serve Florence as the vulgar serve, For swordsman's-pay alone, -- break seal and read! In that case, you will find your full desert. Lur. Give me my one last happy moment, friends! You need me now, and all the graciousness This letter can contain will hardly balance The after-feeling that you need no more. This moment ... oh, the East has use with you! Its sword still flashes -- is not flung aside With the past praise, in a dark corner yet! How say you? 'T is not so with Florentines -- Captains of yours: for them, the ended war Is but a first step to the peace begun: He who did well in war, just earns the right To begin doing well in peace, you know: And certain my precursors, -- would not such Look to themselves in such a chance as mine, Secure the ground they trod upon, perhaps? For I have heard, by fits, or seemed to hear, Of strange mishap, mistake, ingratitude, Treachery even. Say that one of you Surmised this letter carried what might turn To harm hereafter, cause him prejudice: What would he do? Dom. [Hastily.] Thank God and take revenge! Hurl her own force against the city straight! And, even at the moment when the foe Sounded defiance ... (TIBURZIO'S trumpet sounds in the distance. Lur. Ah, you Florentines! So would you do? Wisely for you, no doubt! My simple Moorish instinct bids me clench The obligation you relieve me from, Still deeper! [To PUC.] Sound our answer, I should say, And thus: -- [Tearing the paper.] -- The battle! That solves every doubt. ACT III AFTERNOON PUCCIO, as making a report to JACOPO. Puc. And here, your captain must report the rest; For, as I say, the main engagement over And Luria's special part in it performed, How could a subaltern like me expect Leisure or leave to occupy the field And glean what dropped from his wide harvesting? I thought, when Lucca at the battle's end Came up, just as the Pisan centre broke, That Luria would detach me and prevent The flying Pisans seeking what they found, Friends in the rear, a point to rally by. But no, more honorable proved my post! I had the august captive to escort Safe to our camp; some other could pursue, Fight, and be famous; gentler chance was mine -- Tiburzio's wounded spirit must be soothed! He's in the tent there. Jacopo. Is the substance down? I write -- "The vanguard beaten and both wings In full retreat, Tiburzio prisoner" -- And now, -- "That they fell back and formed again On Lucca's coming." Why then, after all, 'T is half a victory, no conclusive one? Puc. Two operations where a sole had served. Jac. And Luria's fault was --? Puc. Oh, for fault -- not much! He led the attack, a thought impetuously, -- There's commonly more prudence; now, he seemed To hurry measures, otherwise well judged. By over-concentrating strength at first Against the enemy's van, both wings escaped: That's reparable, yet it is a fault. (Enter BRACCIO.) Jac. As good as a full victory to Florence, With the advantage of a fault beside -- What is it, Puccio? -- that by pressing forward With too impetuous ... Brac. The report anon! Thanks, sir -- you have elsewhere a charge, I know. [PUCCIO goes. There's nothing done but I would do again; Yet, Lapo, it may be the past proves nothing, And Luria has kept faithful to the close. Jac. I was for waiting. Brac. Yes: so was not I. He could not choose but tear that letter -- true! Still, certain of his tones, I mind, and looks: -- You saw, too, with a fresher soul than I. So, Porzio seemed an injured man, they say! Well, I have gone upon the broad, sure ground. (Enter LURIA, PUCCIO, and DOMIZIA.) Lur. [To PUC.] Say, at his pleasure I will see Tiburzio! All's at his pleasure. Dom. [To LUR.] Were I not forewarned You would reject, as you do constantly, Praise, -- I might tell you how you have deserved Of Florence by this last and crowning feat: But words offend. Lur. Nay, you may praise me now. I want instruction every hour, I find, On points where once I saw least need of it; And praise, I have been used to slight perhaps, Seems scarce so easily dispensed with now. After a battle, half one's strength is gone; The glorious passion in us once appeased, Our reason's calm cold dreadful voice begins. All justice, power and beauty scarce appear Monopolized by Florence, as of late, To me, the stranger: you, no doubt, may know Why Pisa needs must bear her rival's yoke. And peradventure I grow nearer you, For I, too, want to know and be assured. When a cause ceases to reward itself, Its friend seeks fresh sustainments; praise is one, And here stand you -- you, lady, praise me well. But yours -- (your pardon) -- is unlearned praise. To the motive, the endeavor, the heart's self, Your quick sense looks: you crown and call aright The soul o' the purpose, ere 't is shaped as act. Takes flesh i' the world, and clothes itself a king. But when the act comes, stands for what 't is worth, -- Here's Puccio, the skilled soldier, he's my judge! Was all well, Puccio? Puc. All was ... must be well: If we beat Lucca presently, as doubtless ... -- No, there's no doubt, we must -- all was well done. Lur. In truth? Still you are of the trade, my Puccio! You have the fellow-craftsman's sympathy. There's none cares, like a fellow of the craft, For the all unestimated sum of pains That go to a success the world can see: They praise then, but the best they never know -- While you know! So, if envy mix with it, Hate even, still the bottom-praise of all, Whatever be the dregs, that drop's pure gold! -- For nothing's like it; nothing else records Those daily, nightly drippings in the dark Of the heart's blood, the world lets drop away Forever -- so, pure gold that praise must be! And I have yours, my soldier! yet the best Is still to come. There's one looks on apart Whom all refers to, failure or success; What's done might be our best, our utmost work, And yet inadequate to serve his need. Here's Braccio now, for Florence -- here's our service -- Well done for us, seems it well done for him? His chosen engine, tasked to its full strength Answers the end? Should he have chosen higher? Do we help Florence, now our best is wrought? Brac. This battle, with the foregone services, Saves Florence. Lur. Why then, all is very well! Here am I in the middle of my friends, Who know me and who love me, one and all. And yet ... 't is like ... this instant while I speak Is like the turning-moment of a dream When ... Ah, you are not foreigners like me! Well then, one always dreams of friends at home; And always comes, I say, the turning-point When something changes in the friendly eyes That love and look on you ... so slight, so slight ... And yet it tells you they are dead and gone, Or changed and enemies, for all their words, And all is mockery and a maddening show. You now, so kind here, all you Florentines, What is it in your eyes ... those lips, those brows ... Nobody spoke it, yet I know it well! Come now -- this battle saves you, all's at end, Your use of me is o'er, for good, for ill, -- Come now, what's done against me, while I speak, In Florence? Come! I feel it in my blood, My eyes, my hair, a voice is in my ears That spite of all this smiling and soft speech You are betraying me! What is it you do? Have it your way, and think my use is over -- Think you are saved and may throw off the mask -- Have it my way, and think more work remains Which I could do, -- so, show you fear me not! Or prudent be, or daring, as you choose, But tell me -- tell what I refused to know At noon, lest heart should fail me! Well? That letter? My fate is sealed at Florence! What is it? Brac. Sir, I shall not deny what you divine. It is no novelty for innocence To be suspected, but a privilege: The after certain compensation comes. Charges, I say not whether false or true, Have been preferred against you some time since, Which Florence was bound, plainly, to receive And which are therefore undergoing now The due investigation. That is all. I doubt not but your innocence will prove Apparent and illustrious, as to me, To them this evening, when the trial ends. Lur. My trial? Dom. Florence, Florence to the end, My whole heart thanks thee! Puc. [To BRAC.] What is "trial," sir? It was not for a trial, -- surely, no -- I furnished you those notes from time to time? I held myself aggrieved -- I am a man -- And I might speak, -- ay, and speak mere truth, too, And yet not mean at bottom of my heart What should assist a -- trial, do you say? You should have told me! Dom. Nay, go on, go on! His sentence! Do they sentence him? What is it? The block -- wheel? Brac. Sentence there is none as yet, Nor shall I give my own opinion now Of what it should be, or is like to be. When it is passed, applaud or disapprove! Up to that point, what is there to impugn? Lur. They are right, then, to try me? Brac. I assert, Maintain and justify the absolute right Of Florence to do all she can have done In this procedure, -- standing on her guard, Receiving even services like yours With utmost fit suspicious wariness. In other matters, keep the mummery up! Take all the experiences of all the world, Each knowledge that broke through a heart to life, Each reasoning which, to reach, burnt out a brain, -- In other cases, know these, warrant these, And then dispense with these -- 't is very well! Let friend trust friend, and love demand love's like, And gratitude be claimed for benefits, -- There's grace in that, -- and when the fresh heart breaks, The new brain proves a ruin, what of them? Where is the matter of one moth the more Singed in the candle, at a summer's end? But Florence is no simple John or James To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit That he's the one excepted man by fate, And, when fate shows him he's mistaken there, Die with all good men's praise, and yield his place To Paul and George intent to try their chance! Florence exists because these pass away. She's a contrivance to supply a type Of man, which men's deficiencies refuse; She binds so many, that she grows out of them -- Stands steady o'er their numbers, though they change And pass away -- there's always what upholds, Always enough to fashion the great show. As see, you hanging city, in the sun, Of shapely cloud substantially the same! A thousand vapors rise and sink again, Are interfused, and live their life and die, -- Yet ever hangs the steady show i' the air, Under the sun's straight influence: that is well, That is worth heaven should hold, and God should bless! And so is Florence, -- the unseen sun above, Which draws and holds suspended all of us, Binds transient vapors into a single cloud Differing from each and better than they all. And shall she dare to stake this permanence On any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak, And its temptations many: let her prove Each servant to the very uttermost Before she grant him her reward, I say! Dom. And as for hearts she chances to mistake, Wronged hearts, not destined to receive reward, Though they deserve it, did she only know, -- What should she do for these? Brac. What does she not? Say, that she gives them but herself to serve! Here's Luria -- what had profited his strength, When half an hour of sober fancying Had shown him step by step the uselessness Of strength exerted for strength's proper sake? But the truth is, she did create that strength, Draw to the end the corresponding means. The world is wide -- are we the only men? Oh, for the time, the social purpose' sake, Use words agreed on, bandy epithets, Call any man the sole great wise and good! But shall we therefore, standing by ourselves, Insult our souls and God with the same speech? There, swarm the ignoble thousands under him: What marks us from the hundreds and the tens? Florence took up, turned all one way the soul Of Luria with its fires, and here he glows! She takes me out of all the world as him, Fixing my coldness till like ice it checks The fire! So, Braccio, Luria, which is best? Lur. Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the way To gain your good word and sincere esteem? Am I the baited animal that must turn And fight his baiters to deserve their praise? Obedience is mistake then? Be it so! Do you indeed remember I stand here The captain of the conquering army, -- mine -- With all your tokens, praise and promise, ready To show for what their names meant when you gave, Not what you style them now you take away? If I call in my troops to arbitrate, And dash the first enthusiastic thrill Of victory with this you menace now -- Commend to the instinctive popular sense, My story first, your comment afterward, -- Will they take, think you, part with you or me! If I say -- I, the laborer they saw work, Ending my work, ask pay, and find my lords Have all this while provided silently Against the day of pay and proving faith, By what you call my sentence that's to come Will friends advise I wait complacently? If I meet Florence half-way at their head, What will you do, my mild antagonist? Brac. I will rise up like fire, proud and triumphant That Florence knew you thoroughly and by me, And so was saved. "See, Italy," I'll say, "The crown of our precautions! Here's a man Was far advanced, just touched on the belief Less subtle cities had accorded long; But we were wiser: at the end comes this!" And from that minute, where is Luria? Lost! The very stones of Florence cry against The all-exacting, naught-enduring fool, Who thus resents her first probation, flouts As if he, only, shone and cast no shade, He, only, walked the earth with privilege Against suspicion, free where angels fear: He, for the first inquisitive mother's-word, Must turn, and stand on his defence, forsooth! Reward? You will not be worth punishment! Lur. And Florence knew me thus! Thus I have lived, -- And thus you, with the clear fine intellect, Braccio, the cold acute instructed mind, Out of the stir, so calm and unconfused, Reported me -- how could you otherwise! Ay? -- and what dropped from you, just now moreover? Your information, Puccio? -- Did your skill, Your understanding sympathy approve Such a report of me? Was this the end? Or is even this the end? Can I stop here? You, lady, with the woman's stand apart, The heart to see with, past man's brain and eyes, ... I cannot fathom why you should destroy The unoffending one, you call your friend -- Still, lessoned by the good examples here Of friendship, 't is but natural I ask -- Had you a further aim, in aught you urged, Than your friend's profit -- in all those in stances Of perfidy, all Florence wrought of wrong -- All I remember now for the first time? Dom. I am a daughter of the Traversari, Sister of Porzio and of Berto both. So, have foreseen all that has come to pass. I knew the Florence that could doubt their faith, Must needs mistrust a stranger's -- dealing them Punishment, would deny him his reward. And I believed, the shame they bore and died, He would not bear, but live and fight against -- Seeing he was of other stuff than they. Lur. Hear them! All these against one foreigner! And all this while, where is, in the whole world, To his good faith a single witness? Tib. [Who has entered unseen during the preceding dialogue.] Here! Thus I bear witness, not in word but deed. I live for Pisa; she's not lost to-day By many chances -- much prevents from that! Her army has been beaten, I am here, But Lucca comes at last, one happy chance! I rather would see Pisa three times lost Than saved by any traitor, even by you; The example of a traitor's happy fortune Would bring more evil in the end than good; -- Pisa rejects the traitor, craves yourself! I, in her name, resign forthwith to you My charge, -- the highest office, sword and shield! You shall not, by my counsel, turn on Florence Your army, give her calumny that ground -- Nor bring one soldier: be you all we gain! And all she'll lose, -- a head to deck some bridge, And save the cost o' the crown should deck the head. Leave her to perish in her perfidy, Plague-stricken and stripped naked to all eyes, A proverb and a by-word in all mouths! Go you to Pisa! Florence is my place -- Leave me to tell her of the rectitude, I, from the first, told Pisa, knowing it. To Pisa! Dom. Ah my Braccio, are you caught? Brac. Puccio, good soldier and good citizen, Whom I have ever kept beneath my eye, Ready as fit, to serve in this event Florence, who clear foretold it from the first -- Through me, she gives you the command and charge She takes, through me, from him who held it late! A painful trial, very sore, was yours: All that could draw out, marshal in array The selfish passions 'gainst the public good -- Slights, scorns, neglects, were heaped on you to bear: And ever you did bear and bow the head! It had been sorry trial, to precede Your feet, hold up the promise of reward For luring gleam; your footsteps kept the track Through dark and doubt: take all the light at once! Trial is over, consummation shines; Well have you served, as well henceforth command! Puc. No, no ... I dare not! I am grateful, glad; But Luria -- you shall understand he's wronged: And he's my captain -- this is not the way We soldiers climb to fortune: think again! The sentence is not even passed, beside! I dare not: where's the soldier could? Lur. Now, Florence -- Is it to be? You will know all the strength O' the savage -- to your neck the proof must go? You will prove the brute nature? Ah, I see! The savage plainly is impassible -- He keeps his calm way through insulting words, Sarcastic looks, sharp gestures -- one of which Would stop you, fatal to your finer sense, But if he stolidly advance, march mute Without a mark upon his callous hide, Through the mere brushwood you grow angry with, And leave the tatters of your flesh upon, -- You have to learn that when the true bar comes, The murk mid-forest, the grand obstacle, Which when you reach, you give the labor up, Nor dash on, but lie down composed before, -- He goes against it, like the brute he is: It falls before him, or he dies in his course. I kept my course through past ingratitude: I saw -- it does seem, now, as if I saw, Could not but see, those insults as they fell, -- Ay, let them glance from off me, very like, Laughing, perhaps, to think the quality You grew so bold on, while you so despised The Moor's dull mute inapprehensive mood, Was saving you: I bore and kept my course. Now real wrong fronts me: see if I succumb! Florence withstands me? I will punish her. At night my sentence will arrive, you say. Till then I cannot, if I would, rebel -- Unauthorized to lay my office down, Retaining my full power to will and do: After -- it is to see. Tiburzio, thanks! Go; you are free: join Lucca! I suspend All further operations till to-night. Thank you, and for the silence most of all! [To BRAC.] Let my complacent bland accuser go Carry his self-approving head and heart Safe through the army which would trample him Dead in a moment at my word or sign! Go, sir, to Florence; tell friends what I say -- That while I wait my sentence, theirs waits them! [To DOM.] You, lady, -- you have black Italian eyes! I would be generous if I might: oh, yes -- For I remember how so oft you seemed Inclined at heart to break the barrier down Which Florence finds God built between us both. Alas, for generosity! this hour Asks retribution: bear it as you may, I must -- the Moor -- the savage, -- pardon you Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth! ACT IV EVENING Enter PUCCIO and JACOPO. Puc. What Luria will do? Ah, 't is yours, fair sir, Your and your subtle-witted master's part, To tell me that; I tell you what he can. Jac. Friend, you mistake my station: I observe The game, watch how my betters play, no more. Puc. But mankind are not pieces -- there's your fault! You cannot push them, and, the first move made, Lean back and study what the next shall be, In confidence that, when't is fixed upon, You find just where you left them, blacks and whites: Men go on moving when your hand's away. You build, I notice, firm on Luria's faith This whole time, -- firmlier than I choose to build, Who never doubted it -- of old, that is -- With Luria in his ordinary mind. But now, oppression makes the wise man mad: How do I know he will not turn and stand And hold his own against you, as he may? Suppose he but withdraw to Pisa -- well, -- Then, even if all happen to your wish, Which is a chance ... Jac. Nay -- 't was an oversight, Not waiting till the proper warrant came: You could not take what was not ours to give. But when at night the sentence really comes, Our city authorizes past dispute Luria's removal and transfers the charge, You will perceive your duty and accept? Puc. Accept what? muster-rolls of soldiers' names? An army upon paper? I want men, The hearts as well as hands -- and where's a heart But beats with Luria, in the multitude I come from walking through by Luria's side? You gave them Luria, set him thus to grow, Head-like, upon their trunk; one heart feeds both, They feel him there, live twice, and well know why. -- For they do know, if you are ignorant, Who kept his own place and respected theirs, Managed their sweat, yet never spared his blood. All was your act: another might have served -- There's peradventure no such dearth of heads -- But you chose Luria: so, they grew one flesh, And now, for nothing they can understand, Luria removed, off is to roll the head; The body's mine -- much I shall do with it! Jac. That's at the worst. Puc. No -- at the best, it is! Best, do you hear? I saw them by his side. Only we two with Luria in the camp Are left that keep the secret? You think that? Hear what I know: from rear to van, no heart But felt the quiet patient hero there Was wronged, nor in the moveless ranks an eye But glancing told its fellow the whole story Of that convicted silent knot of spies Who passed through them to Florence; they might pass -- No breast but gladlier beat when free of such! Out troops will catch up Luria, close him round, Bear him to Florence as their natural lord, Partake his fortune, live or die with him. Jac. And by mistake catch up along with him Puccio, no doubt, compelled in self despite To still continue second in command! Puc. No, sir, no second nor so fortunate! Your tricks succeed with me too well for that! I am as you have made me, live and die To serve your end -- a mere trained fighting-hack, With words, you laugh at while they leave your mouth, For my life's rule and ordinance of God! I have to do my duty, keep my faith, And earn my praise, and guard against my blame, As I was trained. I shall accept your charge, And fight against one better than myself, Spite of my heart's conviction of his worth -- That, you may count on! -- just as hitherto I have gone on, persuaded I was wronged, Slighted, insulted, terms we learn by rote, -- All because Luria superseded me -- Because the better nature, fresh-inspired, Mounted above me to its proper place! What mattered all the kindly graciousness, The cordial brother's-bearing? This was clear -- I, once the captain, now was subaltern, And so must keep complaining like a fool! Go, take the curse of a lost soul, I say! You neither play your puppets to the end, Nor treat the real man, -- for his realness' sake Thrust rudely in their place, -- with such regard As might console them for their altered rank. Me, the mere steady soldier, you depose For Luria, and here's all your pet deserves! Of what account, then, is your laughing-stock? One word for all: whatever Luria does, -- If backed by his indignant troops he turn, Revenge himself, and Florence go to ground, -- Or, for a signal everlasting shame, He pardon you, simply seek better friends, Side with the Pisans and Lucchese for change -- And if I, pledged to ingrates past belief, Dare fight against a man such fools call false, Who, inasmuch as he was true, fights me, -- Whichever way he win, he wins for worth, For every soldier, for all true and good! Sir, chronicling the rest, omit not this! (As they go, enter LURIA and HUSAIN.) Hus. Saw'st thou? -- For they are gone The world lies bare Before thee, to be tasted, felt and seen Like what it is, now Florence goes away! Thou livest now, with men art man again! Those Florentines were all to thee of old; But Braccio, but Domizia, gone is each, There lie beneath thee thine own multitudes! Saw'st thou? Lur. I saw. Hus. Then, hold thy course, my king! The years return. Let thy heart have its way: Ah, they would play with thee as with all else, Turn thee to use, and fashion thee anew, Find out God's fault in thee as in the rest? Oh watch, oh listen only to these fiends Once at their occupation! Ere we know, The free great heaven is shut, their stifling pall Drops till it frets the very tingling hair, So weighs it on our head, -- and, for the earth, Our common earth is tethered up and down, Over and across -- "here shalt thou move," they cry! Lur. Ay, Husain? Hus. So have they spoiled all beside! So stands a man girt round with Florentines, Priests, graybeards, Braccios, women, boys and spies, All in one tale, all singing the same song, How thou must house, and live at bed and board, Take pledge and give it, go their every way, Breathe to their measure, make thy blood beat time With theirs -- or, all is nothing -- thou art lost -- A savage, how shouldst thou perceive as they? Feel glad to stand 'neath God's close naked hand! Look up to it! Why, down they pull thy neck, Lest it crush thee, who feel'st it and wouldst kiss, Without their priests that needs must glove it first, Lest peradventure flesh offend thy lip. Love woman! Why, a very beast thou art! Thou must ... Lur. Peace, Husain! Hus. Ay, but, spoiling all, For all, else true things, substituting false, That they should dare spoil, of all instincts, thine! Should dare to take thee with thine instincts up, Thy battle-ardors, like a ball of fire, And class them and allow them place and play So far, no farther -- unabashed the while! Thou with the soul that never can take rest -- Thou born to do, undo, and do again, And never to be still, -- wouldst thou make war? Oh, that is commendable, just and right! "Come over," say they, "have the honor due In living out thy nature! Fight thy best: It is to be for Florence, not thyself! For thee, it were a horror and a plague; For us, when war is made for Florence, see, How all is changed: the fire that fed on earth Now towers to heaven!" -- Lur. And what sealed up so long My Husain's mouth? Hus. Oh friend, oh lord -- for me, What am I? -- I was silent at thy side, Who am a part of thee. It is thy hand, Thy foot that glows when in the heart fresh blood Boils up, thou heart of me! Now, live again, Again love as thou likest, hate as free! Turn to no Braccios nor Domizias now, To ask, before thy very limbs dare move, If Florence' welfare be concerned thereby! Lur. So clear what Florence must expect of me? Hus. Both armies against Florence! Take revenge! Wide, deep -- to live upon, in feeling now, -- And, after live, in memory, year by year -- And, with the dear conviction, die at last! She lies now at thy pleasure: pleasure have! Their vaunted intellect that gilds our sense, And blends with life, to show it better by, -- How think'st thou? -- I have turned that light on them! They called our thirst of war a transient thing; "The battle-element must pass away From life," they said, "and leave a tranquil world." -- Master, I took their light and turned it full On that dull turgid vein they said would burst And pass away; and as I looked on life, Still everywhere I tracked this, though it hid And shifted, lay so silent as it thought, Changed shape and hue yet ever was the same. Why, 't was all fighting, all their nobler life! All work was fighting, every harm -- defeat, And every joy obtained -- a victory! Be not their dupe! -- Their dupe? That hour is past! Here stand'st thou in the glory and the calm: All is determined. Silence for me now! [HUSAIN goes. Lur. Have I heard all? Dom. [Advancing from the background.] No, Luria, I remain! Not from the motives these have urged on thee, Ignoble, insufficient, incomplete, And pregnant each with sure seeds of decay, As failing of sustainment from thyself, -- Neither from low revenge, nor selfishness, Nor savage lust of power, nor one, nor all, Shalt thou abolish Florence! I proclaim The angel in thee, and reject the sprites Which ineffectual crowd about his strength, And mingle with his work and claim a share! Inconsciously to the augustest end Thou hast arisen: second not in rank So much as time, to him who first ordained That Florence, thou art to destroy, should be. Yet him a star, too, guided, who broke first The pride of lonely power, the life apart, And made the eminences, each to each, Lean o'er the level world and let it lie Safe from the thunder henceforth 'neath then tops; So the few famous men of old combined, And let the multitude rise underneath, And reach them and unite -- so Florence grew: Braccio speaks true, it was well worth the price But when the sheltered many grew in pride And grudged the station of the elected ones, Who, greater than their kind, are truly great Only in voluntary servitude -- Time was for thee to rise, and thou art here. Such plague possessed this Florence: who can tell The mighty girth and greatness at the heart Of those so perfect pillars of the grove She pulled down in her envy? Who as I, The light weak parasite born but to twine Round each of them and, measuring them, live? My light love keeps the matchless circle safe, My slender life proves what has passed away. I lived when they departed; lived to cling To thee, the mighty stranger; thou wouldst rise And burst the thraldom, and avenge, I knew. I have done nothing; all was thy strong bole. But a bird's weight can break the infant tree Which after holds an aery in its arms, And't was my care that naught should warp thy spire From rising to the height; the roof is reached O' the forest, break through, see extend the sky! Go on to Florence, Luria! 'T is man's cause! Fail thou, and thine own fall were least to dread: Thou keepest Florence in her evil way, Encouragest her sin so much the more -- And while the ignoble past is justified, Thou all the surelier warp'st the future growth, The chiefs to come, the Lurias yet unborn, That, greater than thyself, are reached o'er thee Who giv'st the vantage-ground their foes require, As o'er my prostrate House thyself wast reached! Man calls thee, God requites thee! All is said, The mission of my House fulfilled at last: And the mere woman, speaking for herself, Reserves speech -- it is now no woman's time. [DOMIZIA goes. Lur. Thus at the last must figure Luria, then! Doing the various work of all his friends, And answering every purpose save his own. No doubt, 't is well for them to wish; but him -- After the exploit what were left? Perchance A little pride upon the swarthy brow, At having brought successfully to bear 'Gainst Florence' self her own especial arms, -- Her craftiness, impelled by fiercer strength From Moorish blood than feeds the northern wit. But after! -- once the easy vengeance willed, Beautiful Florence at a word laid low -- (Not in her domes and towers and palaces, Not even in a dream, that outrage!) -- low, As shamed in her own eyes henceforth forever, Low, for the rival cities round to laugh, Conquered and pardoned by a hireling Moor! -- For him, who did the irreparable wrong, What would be left, his life's illusion fled, -- What hope or trust in the forlorn wide world? How strange that Florence should mistake me so! Whence grew this? What withdrew her faith from me? Some cause! These fretful-blooded children talk Against their mother, -- they are wronged, they say -- Notable wrongs her smile makes up again! So, taking fire at each supposed offence, They may speak rashly, suffer for their speech: But what could it have been in word or deed Thus injured me? Some one word spoken more Out of my heart, and all had changed perhaps. My fault, it must have been, -- for, what gain they? Why risk the danger? See, what I could do! And my fault, wherefore visit upon them, My Florentines? The notable revenge I meditated! To stay passively, Attend their summons, be as they dispose! Why, if my very soldiers keep the rank, And if my chieftains acquiesce, what then? I ruin Florence, teach her friends mistrust, Confirm her enemies in harsh belief, And when she finds one day, as find she must, The strange mistake, and how my heart was hers, Shall it console me, that my Florentines Walk with a sadder step, in graver guise, Who took me with such frankness, praised me so, At the glad outset? Had they loved me less, They had less feared what seemed a change in me. And after all, who did the harm? Not they! How could they interpose with those old fools I' the council? Suffer for those old fools' sake -- They, who made pictures of me, sang the songs About my battles? Ah, we Moors get blind Out of our proper world, where we can see! The sun that guides is closer to us! There -- There, my own orb! He sinks from out the sky! Why, there! a whole day has he blessed the land, My land, our Florence all about the hills, The fields and gardens, vineyards, olive-grounds, All have been blest -- and yet we Florentines, With souls intent upon our battle here, Found that he rose too soon, or set too late, Gave us no vantage, or gave Pisa much -- Therefore we wronged him! Does he turn in ire To burn the earth that cannot understand? Or drop out quietly, and leave the sky, His task once ended? Night wipes blame away. Another morning from my East shall spring And find all eyes at leisure, all disposed To watch and understand its work, no doubt. So, praise the new sun, the successor praise, Praise the new Luria and forget the old! [Taking a phial from his breast. -- Strange! This is all I brought from my own land To help me: Europe would supply the rest, All needs beside, all other helps save one! I thought of adverse fortune, battle lost, The natural upbraiding of the loser, And then this quiet remedy to seek At end of the disastrous day. [He drinks. 'T is sought! This was my happy triumph-morning: Florence Is saved: I drink this, and ere night, -- die! Strange! ACT V NIGHT LURIA and PUCCIO Lur. I thought to do this, not to talk this: well, Such were my projects for the city's good, To help her in attack or by defence. Time, here as elsewhere, soon or late may take Our foresight by surprise through chance and change; But not a little we provide against -- If you see clear on every point. Puc. Most clear. Lur. Then all is said -- not much, if you count words, Yet to an understanding ear enough; And all that my brief stay permits, beside. Nor must you blame me, as I sought to teach My elder in command, or threw a doubt Upon the very skill, it comforts me To know I leave, -- your steady soldiership Which never failed me: yet, because it seemed A stranger's eye might haply note defect That skill, through use and custom, overlooks -- I have gone into the old cares once more, As if I had to come and save again Florence -- that May -- that morning! 'T is night now. Well -- I broke off with? ... Puc. Of the past campaign You spoke -- of measures to be kept in mind For future use. Lur. True, so ... but, time -- no time! As well end here: remember this, and me! Farewell now! Puc. Dare I speak? Lur. South o' the river -- How is the second stream called ... no, -- the third? Puc. Pesa. Lur. And a stone's-cast from the fording-place, To the east, -- the little mount's name? Puc. Lupo. Lur. Ay! Ay -- there the tower, and all that side is safe! With San Romano, west of Evola, San Miniato, Scala, Empoli, Five towers in all, -- forget not! Puc. Fear not me! Lur. -- Nor to memorialize the Council now, I' the easy hour, on those battalions' claim, Who forced a pass by Staggia on the hills, And kept the Sienese at check! Puc. One word -- Sir, I must speak! That you submit yourself To Florence' bidding, howsoe'er it prove, And give up the command to me -- is much, Too much, perhaps: but what you tell me now, Even will affect the other course you choose -- Poor as it may be, perils even that! Refuge you seek at Pisa: yet these plans All militate for Florence, all conclude Your formidable work to make her queen O' the country, -- which her rivals rose against When you began it, -- which to interrupt, Pisa would buy you off at any price! You cannot mean to sue for Pisa's help, With this made perfect and on record? Lur. I -- At Pisa, and for refuge, do you say? Puc. Where are you going, then? You must decide On leaving us, a silent fugitive, Alone, at night -- you, stealing through our lines, Who were this morning's Luria, -- you escape To painfully begin the world once more, With such a past, as it had never been! Where are you going? Lur. Not so far, my Puccio, But that I hope to hear, enjoy and praise (If you mind praise from your old captain yet) Each happy blow you strike for Florence! Puc. Ay, But ere you gain your shelter, what may come? For see -- though nothing's surely known as yet, Still -- truth must out -- I apprehend the worst. If mere suspicion stood for certainty Before, there's nothing can arrest the step Of Florence toward your ruin, once on foot. Forgive her fifty times, it matters not! And having disbelieved your innocence, How can she trust your magnanimity? You may do harm to her -- why then, you will! And Florence is sagacious in pursuit. Have you a friend to count on? Lur. One sure friend. Puc. Potent? Lur. All-potent. Puc. And he is apprised? Lur. He waits me. Puc. So! -- Then I, put in your place, Making my profit of all done by you, Calling your labors mine, reaping their fruit, To this, the State's gift, now add yours beside -- That I may take as my peculiar store These your instructions to work Florence good. And if, by putting some few happily In practice, I should both advantage her And draw down honor on myself, -- what then? Lur. Do it, my Puccio! I shall know and praise! Puc. Though so, men say, "mark what we gain by change -- A Puccio for a Luria!" Lur. Even so! Puc. Then, not for fifty hundred Florences Would I accept one office save my own, Fill any other than my rightful post Here at your feet, my captain and my lord! That such a cloud should break, such trouble be, Ere a man settle, soul and body, down Into his true place and take rest forever! Here were my wise eyes fixed on your right hand, And so the bad thoughts came and the worse words, And all went wrong and painfully enough, -- No wonder, -- till, the right spot stumbled on, All the jar stops, and there is peace at once! I am yours now, -- a tool your right hand wields! God's love, that I should live, the man I am, On orders, warrants, patents and the like, As if there were no glowing eye i' the world To glance straight inspiration to my brain, No glorious heart to give mine twice the beats! For, see -- my doubt, where is it? -- fear? 't is flown! And Florence and her anger are a tale To scare a child! Why, half-a-dozen words Will tell her, spoken as I now can speak, Her error, my past folly -- and all's right, And you are Luria, our great chief again! Or at the worst -- which worst were best of all -- To exile or to death I follow you! Lur. Thanks, Puccio! Let me use the privilege You grant me: if I still command you, -- stay! Remain here, my vicegerent, it shall be, And not successor: let me, as of old, Still serve the State, my spirit prompting yours -- Still triumph, one for both. There! Leave me now! You cannot disobey my first command? Remember what I spoke of Jacopo, And what you promised to concert with him! Sent him to speak with me -- nay, no farewell! You shall be by me when the sentence comes. [PUCCIO goes. So, there's one Florentine returns again! Out of the genial morning company, One face is left to take into the night. (Enter JACOPO.) Jac. I wait for your command, sir. Lur. What, so soon? I thank your ready presence and fair word. I used to notice you in early days As of the other species, so to speak, Those watchers of the lives of us who act -- That weigh our motives, scrutinize our thoughts. So, I propound this to your faculty As you would tell me, were a town to take ... That is, of old. I am departing hence Under these imputations; that is naught -- I leave no friend on whom they may rebound, Hardly a name behind me in the land, Being a stranger: all the more behooves That I regard how altered were the case With natives of the country, Florentines On whom the like mischance should fall: the roots O' the tree survive the ruin of the trunk -- No root of mine will throb, you understand. But I had predecessors, Florentines, Accused as I am now, and punished so -- The Traversari: you know more than I How stigmatized they are and lost in shame. Both served them and succeeded, in due time; He knows the way, holds proper documents, And has the power to lay the simple truth Before an active spirit, as I count yours: And also there's Tiburzio, my new friend, Will, at a word, confirm such evidence, He being the great chivalric soul we know. I put it to your tact, sir -- were't not well, -- A grace, though but for contrast's sake, no more, -- If you who witness, and have borne a share Involuntarily in my mischance, Should, of your proper motion, set your skill To indicate -- that is, investigate The right or wrong of what mischance befell Those famous citizens, your countrymen? Nay, you shall promise nothing: but reflect, And if your sense of justice prompt you -- good! Jac. And if, the trial past, their fame stand clear To all men's eyes, as yours, my lord, to mine -- Their ghosts may sleep in quiet satisfied! For me, a straw thrown up into the air, My testimony goes for a straw's worth. I used to hold by the instructed brain, And move with Braccio as my master-wind; The heart leads surelier: I must move with you -- As greatest now, who ever were the best. So, let the last and humblest of your servants Accept your charge, as Braccio's heretofore, And tender homage by obeying you! [JACOPO goes. Lur. Another! -- Luria goes not poorly forth. If we could wait! The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow! (Enter DOMIZIA.) Lur. Ah, you once more? Dom. Domizia, whom you knew, Performed her task, and died with it. 'T is I, Another woman, you have never known. Let the past sleep now! Lur. I have done with it. Dom. How inexhaustibly the spirit grows! One object, she seemed erewhile born to reach With her whole energies and die content, -- So like a wall at the world's edge it stood, With naught beyond to live for, -- is that reached? -- Already are new undreamed energies Outgrowing under, and extending farther To a new object; there's another world. See! I have told the purpose of my life; 'T is gained: you are decided, well or ill -- You march on Florence, or submit to her -- My work is done with you, your brow declares. But -- leave you? -- More of you seems yet to reach: I stay for what I just begin to see. Lur. So that you turn not to the past! Dom. You trace Nothing but ill in it -- my selfish impulse, Which sought its end and disregarded yours? Lur. Speak not against your nature: best, each keep His own -- you, yours -- most, now that I keep mine, -- At least, fall by it, having too weakly stood God's finger marks distinctions, all so fine, We would confound: the lesser has its use, Which, when it apes the greater, is foregone. I, born a Moor, lived half a Florentine; But, punished properly, can end, a Moor. Beside, there's something makes me understand Your nature: I have seen it. Dom. Aught like mine? Lur. In my own East ... if you would stoop and help My barbarous illustration! It sounds ill; Yet there's no wrong at bottom: rather, praise. Dom. Well? Lur. We have creatures there, which if you saw The first time, you would doubtless marvel at For their surpassing beauty, craft and strength. And though it were a lively moment's shock When you first found the purpose of forked tongues That seem innocuous in their lambent play, Yet, once made know such grace requires such guard, Your reason soon would acquiesce, I think, In wisdom which made all things for the best -- So, take them, good with ill, contentedly, The prominent beauty with the latent sting. I am glad to have seen you wondrous Florentines: Yet ... Dom. I am here to listen. Lur. My own East! How nearer God we were! He glows above With scarce an intervention, presses close And palpitatingly, his soul o'er ours: We feel him, nor by painful reason know! The everlasting minute of creation Is felt there; now it is, as it was then; All changes at his instantaneous will, Not by the operation of a law Whose maker is elsewhere at other work. His hand is still engaged upon his world -- Man's praise can forward it, man's prayer suspend, For is not God all-mighty? To recast The world, erase old things and make them new, What costs it Him? So, man breathes nobly there. And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient -- comes, and lo, is gone -- While Northern thought is slow and durable, Surely a mission was reserved for me, Who, born with a perception of the power And use of the North's thought for us of the East, Should have remained, turned knowledge to account, Giving thought's character and permanence To the too transitory feeling there -- Writing God's message plain in mortal words. Instead of which, I leave my fated field For this where such a task is needed least, Where all are born consummate in the art I just perceive a chance of making mine, -- And then, deserting thus my early post, I wonder that the men I come among Mistake me! There, how all had understood, Still brought fresh stuff for me to stamp and keep, Fresh instinct to translate them into law! Me, who ... Dom. Who here the greater task achieve, More needful even: who have brought fresh stuff For us to mould, interpret and prove right, -- New feeling fresh from God, which, could we know O' the instant, where had been our need of it? -- Whose life re-teaches us what life should be, What faith is, loyalty and simpleness, All, once revealed but taught us so long since That, having mere tradition of the fact, -- Truth copied falteringly from copies faint, The early traits all dropped away, -- we said On sight of faith like yours, "So looks not faith We understand, described and praised before." But still, the feat was dared; and though at first It suffered from our haste, yet trace by trace Old memories reappear, old truth returns, Our slow thought does its work, and all's reknown. Oh noble Luria! What you have decreed I see not, but no animal revenge, No brute-like punishment of bad by worse -- It cannot be, the gross and vulgar way Traced for me by convention and mistake, Has gained that calm approving eye and brow! Spare Florence, after all! Let Luria trust To his own soul, he whom I trust with mine! Lur. In time! Dom. How, Luria? Lur. It is midnight now, And they arrive from Florence with my fate. Dom. I hear no step. Lur. I feel one, as you say. (Enter HUSAIN.) Hus. The man returned from Florence! Lur. As I knew. Hus. He seeks thee. Lur. And I only wait for him. Aught else? Hus. A movement of the Lucchese troops Southward -- Lur. Toward Florence? Have out instantly ... Ah, old use clings! Puccio must care henceforth. In -- quick -- 't is nearly midnight! Bid him come! (Enter TIBURZIO, BRACCIO, and PUCCIO.) Lur. Tiburzio? -- not at Pisa? Tib. I return From Florence: I serve Pisa, and must think By such procedure I have served her best. A people is but the attempt of many To rise to the completer life of one; And those who live as models for the mass Are singly of more value than they all. Such man are you, and such a time is this, That your sole fate concerns a nation more Than much apparent welfare: that to prove Your rectitude, and duly crown the same, Imports us far beyond to-day's event, A battle's loss or gain: man's mass re mains, -- Keep but God's model safe, new men will rise To take its mould, and other days to prove How great a good was Luria's glory. True -- I might go try my fortune as you urged, And, joining Lucca, helped by your disgrace, Repair our harm -- so were to-day's work done; But where leave Luria for our sons to see? No, I look farther. I have testified (Declaring my submission to your arms) Her full success to Florence, making clear Your probity, as none else could: I spoke, And out it shone! Lur. Ah -- until Braccio spoke! Brac. Till Braccio told in just a word the whole -- His lapse to error, his return to knowledge: Which told ... Nay, Luria, I should droop the head, I whom shame rests with! Yet I dare look up, Sure of your pardon now I sue for it, Knowing you wholly. Let the midnight end! 'T is morn approaches! Still you answer not? Sunshine succeeds the shadow passed away; Our faces, which phantasmal grew and false, Are all that felt it: they change round you, turn Truly themselves now in its vanishing. Speak, Luria! Here begins your true career: Look up, advance! All now is possible, Fact's grandeur, no false dreaming! Dare and do! And every prophecy shall be fulfilled Save one -- (nay, now your word must come at last) -- That you would punish Florence! Hus. [Pointing to LURIA'S dead body.] That is done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DE GUSTIBUS' by ROBERT BROWNING A DEATH IN THE DESERT by ROBERT BROWNING A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL by ROBERT BROWNING A LOVER'S QUARREL by ROBERT BROWNING A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S by ROBERT BROWNING A WOMAN'S LAST WORD by ROBERT BROWNING ANDREA DEL SARTO (CALLED THE FAULTLESS PAINTER) by ROBERT BROWNING APPARENT FAILURE by ROBERT BROWNING |
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