Chapter CVI: Epilogue (6)

"I 'm hasting to the end. The Book, sirs--take and read!
You have my history in a nutshell,--ay, indeed!
It must off, my burden! See,--slack straps and into pit,
Roll, reach the bottom, rest, rot there--a plague on it!
For a mountain 's sure to fall and bury Bedford Town,
'Destruction'--that 's the name, and fire shall burn it down!
Oh, 'scape the wrath in time! Time 's now, if not too late.
How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate?
Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pull
Through mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful--
But it 's late in the day, I reckon: had I left years ago
Town, wife, and children dear ... Well, Christmas did, you know!--
Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel's strength
On the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length!
Have at his horns, thwick--thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof--
Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love's sake, keep aloof
Angels! I 'm man and match,--this cudgel for my flail,--
To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat's wing and serpent's tail!
A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful ding
Into the deafest ear except--hope, hope 's the thing?
Too late i' the day for me to thrid the windings: but
There 's still a way to win the race by death's short cut!
Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts?
No, straight to Vanity Fair,--a fair, by all accounts,
Such as is held outside,--lords, ladies, grand and gay,--
Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say.
And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him out
To die in the market-place--St. Peter's Green 's about
The same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with
knives,
Pricked him with swords,--I 'll swear, he 'd full a cat's nine
lives,--
So to his end at last came Faithful,--ha, ha, he!
Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see,
Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all:
He 's in, he 's off, he 's up, through clouds, at trumpet-call,
Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate-! Odds my life--
Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife?
Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab--do the same by her!
O Master Worldly-Wiseman ... that 's Master Interpreter,
Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet 's handy, close:
Forestall Last Judgment-Day! Be kindly, not morose!
There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand--
Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand!
Make haste for pity's sake! A single moment's loss
Means--Satan 's lord once more: his whisper shoots across
All singing in my heart, all praying in my brain,
'It comes of heat and beer!'--hark how he guffaws plain!
'To-morrow you 'll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hug
Your sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug!
You 've had such qualms before, time out of mind!' He 's right!
Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that night
When home we blindly reeled, and left poor humpback Joe
I' the lurch to pay for what ... somebody did, you know!
Both of us maundered then, 'Lame humpback, --never more
Will he come limping, drain his tankard at our door!
He 'll swing, while--somebody' ... Says Tab, 'No, for I 'll peach!'
'I 'm for you, Tab,' cries I, 'there 's rope enough for each!'
So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed upon
The grace of Tab's good thought: by morning, all was gone!
We laughed--'What 's life to him, a cripple of no account?'
Oh, waves increase around--I feel them mount and mount!
Hang us! To-morrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears:
One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears:
(Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o'er, the Brawl
They lead on Turner's Patch,--lads, lasses, up tails all,--
I 'm i' the thick o' the throng! That means the Iron Cage,
--Means the Lost Man inside! Where 's hope for such as wage
War against light? Light 's left, light 's here, I hold light still,
So does Tab--make but haste to hang us both! You will?"

I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouse
Squeak, such a death-like hush sealed up the old Mote House.
But when the mass of man sank meek upon his knees,
While Tab, alongside, wheezed a hoarse "Do hang us, please!"
Why, then the waters rose, no eye but ran with tears,
Hearts heaved, heads thumped, until, paying all past arrears
Of pity and sorrow, at last a regular scream outbroke
Of triumph, joy, and praise.

My Lord Chief Justice spoke,
First mopping brow and cheek, where still, for one that budged,
Another bead broke fresh: "What Judge, that ever judged
Since first the world began, judged such a case as this?
Why, Master Bratts, long since, folks smelt you out, I wis!
I had my doubts, i' faith, each time you played the fox
Convicting geese of crime in yonder witness-box--
Yea, much did I misdoubt, the thief that stole her eggs
Was hardly goosey's self at Reynard's game, i' feggs!
Yet thus much was to praise--you spoke to point, direct--
Swore you heard, saw the theft: no jury could suspect--
Dared to suspect,--I 'll say,--a spot in white so clear:
Goosey was throttled, true: but thereof godly fear
Came of example set, much as our laws intend;
And, though a fox confessed, you proved the Judge's friend.
What if I had my doubts? Suppose I gave them breath,
Brought you to bar: what work to do, ere 'Guilty, Death'
Had paid our pains! What heaps of witnesses to drag
From holes and corners, paid from out the County's bag!
Trial three dog-days long! _Amicus Curiæ_--that 's
Your title, no dispute--truth-telling Master Bratts!
Thank you, too, Mistress Tab! Why doubt one word you say?
Hanging you both deserve, hanged both shall be this day!
The tinker needs must be a proper man. I 've heard
He lies in Jail long since: if Quality's good word
Warrants me letting loose,--some householder, I mean--
Freeholder, better still,--I don't say but--between
Now and next Sessions ... Well! Consider of his case,
I promise to, at least: we owe him so much grace.
Not that--no, God forbid!--I lean to think as you,
The grace that such repent is any jail-bird's due:
I rather see the fruit of twelve years' pious reign--
Astræa Redux, Charles restored his rights again!
--Of which, another time! I somehow feel a peace
Stealing across the world. May deeds like this increase!
So, Master Sheriff, stay that sentence I pronounced
On those two dozen odd: deserving to be trounced
Soundly, and yet ... well, well, at all events dispatch
This pair of--shall I say, sinner-saints?--ere we catch
Their jail-distemper too. Stop tears, or I 'll indite
All weeping Bedfordshire for turning Bunyanite!"

So, forms were galloped through. If Justice, on the spur,
Proved somewhat expeditious, would Quality demur?
And happily hanged were they,--why lengthen out my tale?--
Where Bunyan's Statue stands facing where stood his Jail.

SECOND SERIES

"You are sick, that 's sure,"--they say:
"Sick of what?"--they disagree.
"'T is the brain,"--thinks Doctor A;
"'T is the heart,"--holds Doctor B;
"The liver--my life I 'd lay!"
"The lungs!" "The lights!"
Ah me!
So ignorant of man's whole
Of bodily organs plain to see--
So sage and certain, frank and free,
About what 's under lock and key--
Man's soul!

ECHETLOS

Here is a story, shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone,
Who breasted, beat Barbarians, stemmed Persia rolling on,
Did the deed and saved the world, for the day was Marathon!

No man but did his manliest, kept rank and fought away
In his tribe and file: up, back, out, down--was the spear-arm play:
Like a wind-whipt branchy wood, all spear-arms a-swing that day!

But one man kept no rank, and his sole arm plied no spear,
As a flashing came and went, and a form i' the van, the rear,
Brightened the battle up, for he blazed now there, now here.

Nor helmed nor shielded, he! but, a goat-skin all his wear,
Like a tiller of the soil, with a clown's limbs broad and bare,
Went he ploughing on and on: he pushed with a ploughman's share.

Did the weak mid-line give way, as tunnies on whom the shark
Precipitates his bulk? Did the right-wing halt when, stark
On his heap of slain lay stretched Kallimachos Polemarch?

Did the steady phalanx falter? To the rescue, at the need,
The clown was ploughing Persia, clearing Greek earth of weed,
As he routed through the Sakian and rooted up the Mede.

But the deed done, battle won,--nowhere to be descried
On the meadow, by the stream, at the marsh, --look far and wide
From the foot of the mountain, no, to the last blood-plashed
sea-side,--

Not anywhere on view blazed the large limbs thonged and brown,
Shearing and clearing still with the share before which--down
To the dust went Persia's pomp, as he ploughed for Greece, that
clown!

How spake the Oracle? "Care for no name at all!
Say but just this: 'We praise one helpful whom we call
The Holder of the Ploughshare.' The great deed ne'er grows small."

Not the great name! Sing--woe for the great name Miltiadés
And its end at Paros isle! Woe for Themistokles
--Satrap in Sardis court! Name not the clown like these!

CLIVE

Browning had this story from Mrs. Jameson as early as 1846, she in turn having just heard Macaulay tell it. Browning's own narrative preceded Clive's death by a week only.

I and Clive were friends--and why not? Friends! I think you laugh,
my lad.
Clive it was gave England India, while your father gives--egad,
England nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak--
"Well, Sir, you and Clive were comrades--" with a tongue thrust in
your cheek!
Very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, Clive was
man,
I was, am, and ever shall be--mouse, nay, mouse of all its clan
Sorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame;
While the man Clive--he fought Plassy, spoiled the clever foreign
game,
Conquered and annexed and Englished!

Never mind! As o'er my punch
(You away) I sit of evenings,--silence, save for biscuit crunch,
Black, unbroken,--thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old
years,
Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long-past life appears
Like an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and
rood,
Once, and well remembered still,--I 'm startled in my solitude
Ever and anon by--what 's the sudden mocking light that breaks
On me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakes
While I ask--aloud, I do believe, God help me!--"Was it thus?
Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us--"
(Us,--you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be)
"--One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see)
"Got no end of wealth and honor,--yet I stood stock-still no less?"
--"For I was not Clive," you comment: but it needs no Clive to guess
Wealth were handy, honor ticklish, did no writing on the wall
Warn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that
notice--call
Hero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words,
Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says, the land 's the
Lord's:
Louts then--what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring,
All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king?
Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot before
T' other in that dark direction, though I stand forevermore
Poor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By and by
Job grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I.
Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy,
and still
Marks a man,--God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill.
You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's
skin:
Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in!
True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass;
Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage--ah, the brute he was!
Why, that Clive,--that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving
clerk, in fine,--
He sustained a siege in Arcot ... But the world knows! Pass the
wine.

Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned
"fear"!
Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear.

We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the
orb
Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorb
Ray by ray its noontide brilliance,--friendship might, with steadier
eye
Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze--all majesty.
Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle 's new:
None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe
'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious
pile
As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile.
Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From without
Scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about
Towers--the heap he kicks now! turrets--just the measure of his
cane!
Will that do? Observe moreover--(same similitude again)--
Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade:
'T is when foes are foiled and fighting 's finished that vile rains
invade,
Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no
holes
Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles.
So Clive crumbled slow in London, crashed at last.

A week before,
Dining with him,--after trying churchyard chat of days of yore,--
Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, headpiece, foot-piece, when
they lean
Each to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between.
As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishment
By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers went
Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,--"One more throw
Try for Clive!" thought I: "Let 's venture some good rattling
question!" So--
"Come Clive, tell us"--out I blurted--"what to tell in turn, years
hence,
When my boy--suppose I have one--asks me on what evidence
I maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whit
Worth your Alexanders, Cæsars, Marlboroughs and--what said Pitt?--
Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"--I want to say--
"Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away
--In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess--
Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness!
Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wide
Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified?
(Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome
Port!)
If a friend has leave to question,--when were you most brave, in
short?"

Up he arched his brows o' the instant--formidably Clive again.
"When was I most brave? I 'd answer, were the instance half as plain
As another instance that 's a brain-lodged crystal --curse it!--here
Freezing when my memory touches--ugh!--the time I felt most fear.
Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear--anyhow,
Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now."

"Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that 's the rarer: that 's a specimen to
seek,
Ticket up in one's museum, _Mind-Freaks, Lord Clive's Fear,
Unique!_"

Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as though
Tracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long
ago.
When he spoke 't was like a lawyer reading word by word some will,
Some blind jungle of a statement,--beating on and on until
Out there leaps fierce life to fight with.

"This fell in my factor-days.
Desk-drudge, slaving at Saint David's, one must game, or drink, or
craze.
I chose gaming: and,--because your high-flown gamesters hardly take
Umbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his stake,--
I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice,
Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud of voice,
Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile
Who not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile.

"Down I sat to cards, one evening,--had for my antagonist
Somebody whose name 's a secret--you 'll know why--so, if you list,
Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel!
Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feel
Quite sufficient honor came of bending over one green baize,
I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raise
Shadow of objection should the honor stay but playing end
More or less abruptly,--whether disinclined he grew to spend
Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare
At--not ask of--lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair,--
Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!'

"I rose.
'Such the new manœuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows.
What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?'

"Never did a thunder-clap
Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap,
As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack)
Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned
black.

When he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!'

"'Well, you forced a card and cheated!'

"'Possibly a factor's brain,
Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may deem
Weighing words superfluous trouble: _cheat_ to clerkly ears may seem
Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you
see!
When a gentleman is joked with,--if he 's good at repartee,
He rejoins, as do I--Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full!
Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull
Lets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds! Choose
quick--
Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon
candle-wick!'

"'Well, you cheated!'
"Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around.
To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were
ground.
'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace!
No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space!
Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen,
Fly the sword! This clerk 's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol,
then!
Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expert
Make a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he 's alert,
Likelier hits the broader target!'

"Up we stood accordingly.
As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to try
Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out
Every spark of his existence, that,--crept close to, curled about
By that toying tempting teasing fool-forefinger's middle joint,--
Don't you guess?--the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the
point
Of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head
Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead.

"Up he marched in flaming triumph--'t was his right, mind!--up,
within
Just an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling,' chuckled Cocky with a
grin
As the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House,
repeat
That expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?'

"'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as
well.
As for me, my homely breeding bids you--fire and go to Hell!'

"Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist,
Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who
list,
I can't! God 's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No!
There 's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me,--so,
I did cheat!'

"And down he threw the pistol, out rushed--by the door
Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor,
He effected disappearance--I 'll engage no glance was sent
That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment
Swallowed up their senses: as for speaking--mute they stood as mice.

"Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice!
'Rogue and rascal! Who 'd have thought it? What 's to be expected
next,
When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretext
For ... But where 's the need of wasting time now? Naught requires
delay:
Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away
Publicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed!
Drum and fife must play the Rogue's-March, rank and file be free to
speed
Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear
--Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian,--never fear,
Mister Clive, for--though a clerk--you bore yourself--suppose we
say--
Just as would beseem a soldier?

"'Gentlemen, attention--pray!
First, one word!'

"I passed each speaker severally in review.
When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knew
Over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,--why, then--

"'Some five minutes since, my life lay--as you all saw, gentlemen--
At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raised
In arrest of judgment, not one tongue--before my powder blazed--
Ventured "Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to mark
Some irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark,
Guess at random,--still, for sake of fair play--what if for a freak,
In a fit of absence,--such things have been!--if our friend proved
weak
--What 's the phrase?--corrected fortune! Look into the case, at
least!"
Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest?
Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each,
To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech
--To his face, behind his back,--that speaker has to do with me:
Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be,
Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!'

"Twenty-five
Years ago this matter happened: and 't is certain," added Clive,
"Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breath
Breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since
his death,
For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you.
All I know is--Cocky had one chance more; how he used it,--grew
Out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again
Brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train,--
That 's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate.
Ugh--the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why
prate
Longer? You 've my story, there 's your instance: fear I did, you
see!"

"Well"--I hardly kept from laughing--"if I see it, thanks must be
Wholly to your Lordship's candor. Not that --in a common case--
When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face,
I should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve!
'T is no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve.
Fear I naturally look for--unless, of all men alive,
I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive.
Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death--the whole world
knows--
Came to somewhat closer quarters."

Quarters? Had we come to blows,
Clive and I, you had not wondered--up he sprang so, out he rapped
Such a round of oaths--no matter! I 'll endeavor to adapt
To our modern usage words he--well, 't was friendly license--flung
At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue.

"You--a soldier? You--at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick
Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,
--At his mercy, at his malice,--has you, through some stupid inch
Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,--not to flinch
--That needs courage, you 'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose
the man.
Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span
Distant from my temple,--curse him!--quietly had bade me, 'There!
Keep your life, calumniator!--worthless life I freely spare:
Mine you freely would have taken--murdered me and my good fame
Both at once--and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aim
Which permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these,
He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please?
Nay, I 'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this,
remained--
Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. If so had gained
Sleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on still
Rent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will."

"Such the turn," said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate
--No, by not one jot nor tittle,--of your act my estimate.
Fear--I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough--
Call it desperation, madness--never mind! for here 's in rough
Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace.
True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face
--None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times,
Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climes
Rub some marks away--not all, though! We poor sinners reach life's
brink,
Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think
There 's advantage in what 's left us--ground to stand on, time to
call
'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over--do not leap, that 's all!"

Oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. I caught
Something like "Yes--courage: only fools will call it fear."

If aught
Comfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard,
Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the
word
"Fearfully courageous!"--this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned.
I 'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed--we 'll hope
condoned.

MULÉYKEH

If a stranger passed the tent of Hóseyn, he cried "A churl's!"
Or haply "God help the man who has neither salt nor bread!"
--"Nay," would a friend exclaim, "he needs nor pity nor scorn
More than who spends small thought on the shore-sand, picking
pearls,
--Holds but in light esteem the seed-sort, bears instead
On his breast a moon-like prize, some orb which of night makes morn.

"What if no flocks and herds enrich the son of Sinán?
They went when his tribe was mulct, ten thousand camels the due,
Blood-value paid perforce for a murder done of old.
'God gave them, let them go! But never since time began,
Muléykeh, peerless mare, owned master the match of you,
And you are my prize, my Pearl: I laugh at men's land and gold!'

"So in the pride of his soul laughs Hóseyn--and right, I say.
Do the ten steeds run a race of glory? Outstripping all,
Ever Muléykeh stands first steed at the victor's staff.
Who started, the owner's hope, gets shamed and named, that day.
'Silence,' or, last but one, is 'The Cuffed,' as we use to call
Whom the paddock's lord thrusts forth. Right, Hóseyn, I say, to
laugh!"

"Boasts he Muléykeh the Pearl?" the stranger replies: "Be sure
On him I waste nor scorn nor pity, but lavish both
On Duhl the son of Sheybán, who withers away in heart
For envy of Hóseyn's luck. Such sickness admits no cure.
A certain poet has sung, and sealed the same with an oath,
'For the vulgar--flocks and herds! The Pearl is a prize apart.'"

Lo, Duhl the son of Sheyban comes riding to Hoséyn's tent,
And he casts his saddle down, and enters and "Peace!" bids he.
"You are poor, I know the cause: my plenty shall mend the wrong.
'T is said of your Pearl--the price of a hundred camels spent
In her purchase were scarce ill paid: such prudence is far from me
Who proffer a thousand. Speak! Long parley may last too long."

Said Hóseyn, "You feed young beasts a many, of famous breed,
Slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of Múzennem:
There stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill.
But I love Muléykeh's face: her forefront whitens indeed
Like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. Your camels--go gaze on them!
Her fetlock is foam-splashed too. Myself am the richer still."

A year goes by: lo, back to the tent again rides Duhl.
"You are open-hearted, ay--moist-handed, a very prince.
Why should I speak of sale? Be the mare your simple gift!
My son is pined to death for her beauty: my wife prompts 'Fool,
Beg for his sake the Pearl! Be God the rewarder, since
God pays debts seven for one: who squanders on Him shows thrift,'"

Said Hóseyn, "God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives
That lamp due measure of oil: lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide
Its comfort for others to share! once quench it, what help is left?
The oil of your lamp is your son: I shine while Muléykeh lives.
Would I beg your son to cheer my dark if Muléykeh died?
It is life against life: what good avails to the life-bereft?"

Another year, and--hist! What craft is it Duhl designs?
He alights not at the door of the tent as he did last time,
But, creeping behind, he gropes his stealthy way by the trench
Half-round till he finds the flap in the folding, for night combines
With the robber--and such is he: Duhl, covetous up to crime,
Must wring from Hóseyn's grasp the Pearl, by whatever the wrench.

"He was hunger-bitten, I heard: I tempted with half my store,
And a gibe was all my thanks. Is he generous like Spring dew?
Account the fault to me who chaffered with such an one!
He has killed, to feast chance comers, the creature he rode: nay,
more--
For a couple of singing-girls his robe has he torn in two:
I will beg! Yet I nowise gained by the tale of my wife and son.

"I swear by the Holy House, my head will I never wash
Till I filch his Pearl away. Fair dealing I tried, then guile,
And now I resort to force. He said we must live or die:
Let him die, then,--let me live: Be bold--but not too rash!
I have found me a peeping-place: breast, bury your breathing while
I explore for myself! Now, breathe! He deceived me not, the spy!

"As he said--there lies in peace Hóseyn--how happy! Beside
Stands tethered the Pearl: thrice winds her headstall about his
wrist:
'T is therefore he sleeps so sound--the moon through the roof
reveals.
And, loose on his left, stands too that other, known far and wide,
Buhéyseh, her sister born: fleet is she yet ever missed
The winning tail's fire-flash a-stream past the thunderous heels.

"No less she stands saddled and bridled, this second, in case some
thief
Should enter and seize and fly with the first, as I mean to do.
What then? The Pearl is the Pearl: once mount her we both escape."
Through the skirt-fold in glides Duhl,--so a serpent disturbs no
leaf
In a bush as he parts the twigs entwining a nest: clean through,
He is noiselessly at his work: as he planned, he performs the rape.

He has set the tent-door wide, has buckled the girth, has clipped
The headstall away from the wrist he leaves thrice bound as before,
He springs on the Pearl, is launched on the desert like bolt from
bow.
Up starts our plundered man: from his breast though the heart be
ripped,
Yet his mind has the mastery: behold, in a minute more,
He is out and off and away on Buhéyseh, whose worth we know!

And Hóseyn--his blood turns flame, he has learned long since to
ride,
And Buhéyseh does her part,--they gain--they are gaining fast
On the fugitive pair, and Duhl has Ed-Dárraj to cross and quit,
And to reach the ridge El-Sabán,--no safety till that be spied!
And Buhéyseh is, bound by bound, but a horse-length off at last,
For the Pearl has missed the tap of the heel, the touch of the bit.

She shortens her stride, she chafes at her rider the strange and
queer:
Buhéyseh is mad with hope--beat sister she shall and must,
Though Duhl, of the hand and heel so clumsy, she has to thank.
She is near now, nose by tail--they are neck by croup--joy! fear!
What folly makes Hóseyn shout "Dog Duhl, Damned son of the Dust,
Touch the right ear and press with your foot my Pearl's left flank!"

And Duhl was wise at the word, and Muléykeh as prompt perceived
Who was urging redoubled pace, and to hear him was to obey,
And a leap indeed gave she, and evanished forevermore.
And Hóseyn looked one long last look as who, all bereaved,
Looks, fain to follow the dead so far as the living may:
Then he turned Buhéyseh's neck slow homeward, weeping sore.

And, lo, in the sunrise, still sat Hóseyn upon the ground
Weeping: and neighbors came, the tribesmen of Bénu-Asád
In the vale of green Er-Rass, and they questioned him of his grief;
And he told from first to last how, serpent-like, Duhl had wound
His way to the nest, and how Duhl rode like an ape, so bad!
And how Buhéyseh did wonders, yet Pearl remained with the thief.

And they jeered him, one and all: "Poor Hóseyn is crazed past hope!
How else had he wrought himself his ruin, in fortune's spite?
To have simply held the tongue were a task for boy or girl,
And here were Muléykeh again, the eyed like an antelope,
The child of his heart by day, the wife of his breast by night!"--
"And the beaten in speed!" wept Hóseyn. "You never have loved my
Pearl."

PIETRO OF ABANO

_Petrus Aponensis_--there was a magician!
When that strange adventure happened, which I mean to tell my
hearers,
Nearly had he tried all trades--beside physician,
Architect, astronomer, astrologer,--or worse:
How else, as the old books warrant, was he able,
All at once, through all the world, to prove the promptest of
appearers
Where was prince to cure, tower to build as high as Babel,
Star to name or sky-sign read,--yet pouch, for pains, a curse?

--Curse: for when a vagrant,--foot-sore, travel-tattered,
Now a young man, now an old man, Turk or Arab, Jew or Gypsy,--
Proffered folk in passing--Oh, for pay, what mattered?--
"I 'll be doctor, I 'll play builder, star I 'll name--sign read!"
Soon as prince was cured, tower built, and fate predicted,
"Who may you be?" came the question; when he answered "_Petrus
ipse_,"
"Just as we divined!" cried folk--"A wretch convicted
Long ago of dealing with the devil---you indeed!"

So, they cursed him roundly, all his labor's payment,
Motioned him--the convalescent prince would--to vacate the presence:
Babylonians plucked his beard and tore his raiment,
Drove him from that tower he built: while, had he peered at stars,
Town howled "Stone the quack who styles our Dog-star--Sirius!"
Country yelled "Aroint the churl who prophesies we take no pleasance
Under vine and fig-tree, since the year 's delirious,
Bears no crop of any kind,--all through the planet Mars!"

Straightway would the whilom youngster grow a grisard,
Or, as case might hap, the hoary eld drop off" and show a stripling.
Town and country groaned--indebted to a wizard!
"Curse--nay, kick and cuff him--fit requital of his pains!
Gratitude in word or deed were wasted truly!
Rather make the Church amends by crying out on, cramping, crippling
One who, on pretence of serving man, serves duly
Man's arch foe: not ours, be sure, but Satan's--his the gains!"

Peter grinned and bore it, such disgraceful usage:
Somehow, cuffs and kicks and curses seem ordained his like to
suffer:
Prophet's pay with Christians, now as in the Jews' age,
Still is--stoning: so, he meekly took his wage and went,
--Safe again was found ensconced in those old quarters,
Padua's blackest blindest by-street,--none the worse, nay, somewhat
tougher:
"Calculating," quoth he, "soon I join the martyrs,
Since, who magnify my lore on burning me are bent."[10]

Therefore, on a certain evening, to his alley
Peter slunk, all bruised and broken, sore in body, sick in spirit,
Just escaped from Cairo where he launched a galley
Needing neither sails nor oars nor help of wind or tide,
--Needing but the fume of fire to set a-flying
Wheels like mad which whirled you quick--North, South, where'er you
pleased require it,--
That is--would have done so had not priests come prying,
Broke his engine up and bastinadoed him beside.

As he reached his lodging, stopped there unmolested,
(Neighbors feared him, urchins fled him, few were bold enough to
follow)
While his fumbling fingers tried the lock and tested
Once again the queer key's virtue, oped the sullen door,--
Some one plucked his sleeve, cried, "Master, pray your pardon!
Grant a word to me who patient wait you in your archway's hollow!
Hard on you men's hearts are: be not your heart hard on
Me who kiss your garment's hem, O Lord of magic lore!

"Mage--say I, who no less, scorning tittle-tattle,
To the vulgar give no credence when they prate of Peter's magic,
Deem his art brews tempest, hurts the crops and cattle,
Hinders fowls from laying eggs and worms from spinning silk,
Rides upon a he-goat, mounts at need a broomstick:
While the price he pays for this (so turns to comic what was tragic)
Is--he may not drink--dreads like the Day of Doom's tick--
One poor drop of sustenance ordained mere men--that 's milk!

"Tell such tales to Padua! Think me no such dullard!
Not from these benighted parts did I derive my breath and being!
I am from a land whose cloudless skies are colored
Livelier, suns orb largelier, airs seem incense,--while, on earth--
What, instead of grass, our fingers and our thumbs cull,
Proves true moly! sounds and sights there help the body's hearing,
seeing,
Till the soul grows godlike: brief,--you front no numskull
Shaming by ineptitude the Greece that gave him birth!

"Mark within my eye its iris mystic-lettered--
That 's my name! and note my ear--its swan-shaped cavity, my emblem!
Mine 's the swan-like nature born to fly unfettered
Over land and sea in search of knowledge--food for song.
Art denied the vulgar! Geese grow fat on barley,
Swans require ethereal provend, undesirous to resemble 'em--
Soar to seek Apollo--favored with a parley
Such as, Master, you grant me--who will not hold you long.

"Leave to learn to sing--for that your swan petitions:
Master, who possess the secret, say not nay to such a suitor!
All I ask is--bless mine, purest of ambitions!
Grant me leave to make my kind wise, free, and happy! How?
Just by making me--as you are mine--their model!
Geese have goose-thoughts: make a swan their teacher first, then
coadjutor,--
Let him introduce swan-notions to each noddle,--
Geese will soon grow swans, and men become what I am now!

"That 's the only magic--had but fools discernment,
Could they probe and pass into the solid through the soft and
seeming!
Teach me such true magic--now, and no adjournment!
Teach your art of making fools subserve the man of mind!
Magic is the power we men of mind should practice,
Draw fools to become our drudges--docile henceforth, never
dreaming--
While they do our hests for fancied gain--the fact is
What they toil and moil to get proves falsehood: truth 's behind!

"See now! you conceive some fabric--say, a mansion
Meet for monarch's pride and pleasure: this is truth--a thought has
fired you,
Made you fain to give some cramped concept expansion,
Put your faculty to proof, fulfil your nature's task.
First you fascinate the monarch's self: he fancies
He it was devised the scheme you execute as he inspired you:
He in turn sets slaving insignificances
Toiling, moiling till your structure stands there--all you ask!

"Soon the monarch 's known for what he was--a ninny:
Soon the rabble-rout leave labor, take their work-day wage and
vanish:
Soon the late puffed bladder, pricked, shows lank and skinny--
'Who was its inflator?' ask we, 'whose the giant lungs'
_Petri en pulmones!_ What though men prove ingrates?
Let them--so they stop at crucifixion--buffet, ban and banish!
Peter's power's apparent: human praise--its din grates
Harsh as blame on ear unused to aught save angels' tongues.

"Ay, there have been always, since our world existed,
Mages who possessed the secret--needed but to stand still, fix eye
On the foolish mortal: straight was he enlisted
Soldier, scholar, servant, slave--no matter for the style!
Only through illusion; ever what seemed profit--
Love or lucre--justified obedience to the _Ipse dixi:_
Work done--palace reared from pavement up to soffit--
Was it strange if builders smelt out cheating all the while?

"Let them pelt and pound, bruise, bray you in a mortar!
What 's the odds to you who seek reward of quite another nature?
You 've enrolled your name where sages of your sort are,
--Michael of Constantinople, Hans of Halberstadt!
Nay and were you nameless, still you 've your conviction
You it was and only you--what signifies the nomenclature?--
Ruled the world in fact, though how you ruled be fiction
Fit for fools: true wisdom's magic you--if e'er man--had 't!

"But perhaps you ask me, 'Since each ignoramus
While he profits by such magic persecutes the benefactor,
What should I expect but--once I render famous
You as Michael, Hans, and Peter--just one ingrate more?
If the vulgar prove thus, whatsoe'er the pelf be,
Pouched through my beneficence--and doom me dungeoned, chained, or
racked, or
Fairly burned outright--how grateful will yourself be
When, his secret gained, you match your--master just before?'

"That 's where I await you! Please, revert a little!
What do folk report about you if not this--which, though chimeric,
Still, as figurative, suits you to a tittle--
That,--although the elements obey your nod and wink,
Fades or flowers the herb you chance to smile or sigh at,
While your frown bids earth quake palled by obscuration
atmospheric,--
Brief, although through nature naught resists your _fiat_,
There 's yet one poor substance mocks you--milk you may not drink!

"Figurative language! Take my explanation!
Fame with fear, and hate with homage, these your art procures in
plenty.
All 's but daily dry bread: what makes moist the ration?
Love, the milk that sweetens man his meal--alas, you lack:
I am he who, since he fears you not, can love you.
Love is born of heart not mind, _de corde natus haud de mente;_
Touch my heart and love 's yours, sure as shines above you
Sun by day and star by night though earth should go to wrack!

"Stage by stage you lift me--kiss by kiss I hallow
Whose but your dear hand my helper, punctual as at each new impulse
I approach my aim? Shell chipped, the eaglet callow
Needs a parent's pinion-push to quit the eyrie's edge:
But once fairly launched forth, denizen of ether,
While each effort sunward bids the blood more freely through each
limb pulse,
Sure the parent feels, as gay they soar together,
Fully are all pains repaid when love redeems its pledge!"

Then did Peter's tristful visage lighten somewhat,
Vent a watery smile as though inveterate mistrust were thawing.
"Well, who knows?" he slow broke silence. "Mortals--come what
Come there may--are still the dupes of hope there 's luck in store.
Many scholars seek me, promise mounts and marvels:
Here stand I to witness how they step 'twixt me and clapper-clawing!
Dry bread,--that I 've gained me: truly I should starve else:
But of milk, no drop was mine! Well, shuffle cards once more!"

At the word of promise thus implied, our stranger--
What can he but cast his arms, in rapture of embrace, round Peter?
"Hold! I choke!" the mage grunts. "Shall I in the manger
Any longer play the dog? Approach, my calf, and feed!
_Bene_ ... won't you wait for grace?" But sudden incense
Wool-white, serpent-solid, curled up--perfume growing sweet and
sweeter
Till it reached the young man's nose and seemed to win sense
Soul and all from out his brain through nostril: yes, indeed!

Presently the young man rubbed his eyes. "Where am I?
Too much bother over books! Some reverie has proved amusing.
What did Peter prate of? 'Faith, my brow is clammy!
How my head throbs, how my heart thumps! Can it be I swooned?
Oh, I spoke my speech out--cribbed from Plato's tractate,
Dosed him with 'the Fair and Good,' swore--Dog of Egypt--I was
choosing
Plato's way to serve men! What 's the hour? Exact eight!
Home now, and to-morrow never mind how Plato mooned!

"Peter has the secret! Fair and Good are products
(So he said) of Foul and Evil: one must bring to pass the other.
Just as poisons grow drugs, steal through sundry odd ducts
Doctors name, and ultimately issue safe and changed.
You 'd abolish poisons, treat disease with dainties
Such as suit the sound and sane? With all such kickshaws vain you
pother!
Arsenic 's the stuff puts force into the faint eyes,
Opium sets the brain to rights--by cark and care deranged.

"What, he 's safe within door?--would escape--no question--
Thanks, since thanks and more I owe, and mean to pay in time
befitting.
What most presses now is--after night's digestion,
Peter, of thy precepts!--promptest practice of the same.
Let me see! The wise man, first of all, scorns riches:
But to scorn them must obtain them: none believes in his permitting
Gold to lie ungathered: who picks up, then pitches
Gold away--philosophizes: none disputes his claim.

"So with worldly honors: 't is by abdicating,
Incontestably he proves he could have kept the crown discarded.
Sulla cuts a figure, leaving off dictating:
Simpletons laud private life? 'The grapes are sour,' laugh we.
So, again--but why continue? All 's tumultuous
Here: my head 's a-whirl with knowledge. Speedily shall be rewarded
He who taught me! Greeks prove ingrates? So insult you us?
When your teaching bears its first-fruits, Peter--wait and see!"

As the word, the deed proved; ere a brief year's passage,
Fop--that fool he made the jokes on--now he made the jokes for,
_gratis:_
Hunks--that hoarder, long left lonely in his crass age--
Found now one appreciative deferential friend:
Powder-paint-and-patch, Hag Jezebel--recovered,
Strange to say, the power to please, got courtship till she cried
_Jam satis!_
Fop be-flattered. Hunks be-friended, Hag be-lovered--
Nobody o'erlooked, save God--he soon attained his end.

As he lounged at ease one morning in his villa,
(Hag's the dowry) estimated (Hunks' bequest) his coin in coffer,
Mused on how a fool's good word (Fop's word) could fill a
Social circle with his praise, promote him man of mark,--
All at once--"An old friend fain would see your Highness!"
There stood Peter, skeleton and scarecrow, plain writ
_Phi-lo-so-pher_
In the woe-worn face--for yellowness and dryness,
Parchment--with, a pair of eyes--one hope their feeble spark.

"Did I counsel rightly? Have you, in accordance,
Prospered greatly, dear my pupil? Sure, at just the stage I find
you,
When your hand may draw me forth from the mad war-dance
Savages are leading round your master--down, not dead.
Padua wants to burn me: balk them, let me linger
Life out--rueful though its remnant--hid in some safe hold behind
you!
Prostrate here I lie: quick, help with but a finger
Lest I house in safety's self--a tombstone o'er my head!

"Lodging, bite and sup, with--now and then--a copper
--Alms for any poorer still, if such there be,--is all my asking.
Take me for your bedesman,--nay, if you think proper,
Menial merely,--such my perfect passion for repose!
Yes, from out your plenty Peter craves a pittance
--Leave to thaw his frozen hands before the fire whereat you 're
basking!
Double though your debt were, grant this boon--remittance
He proclaims of obligation: 't is himself that owes!"

"Venerated Master--can it be, such treatment
Learning meets with, magic fails to guard you from, by all
appearance?
Strange! for, as you entered,--what the famous feat meant,
I was full of,--why you reared that fabric, Padua's boast.
Nowise for man's pride, man's pleasure, did you slyly
Raise it, but man's seat of rule whereby the world should soon have
clearance
(Happy world) from such a rout as now so vilely
Handles you--and hampers me, for which I grieve the most.

"Since if it got wind you now were my familiar,
How could I protect you--nay, defend myself against the rabble?
Wait until the mob, now masters, willy-nilly are
Servants as they should be: then has gratitude full play!
Surely this experience shows how unbefitting
'T is that minds like mine should rot in ease and plenty. Geese may
gabble,
Gorge, and keep the ground: but swans are soon for quitting
Earthly fare--as fain would I, your swan, if taught the way.

"Teach me, then, to rule men, have them at my pleasure!
Solely for their good, of course,--impart a secret worth rewarding,
Since the proper life's--prize! Tantalus's treasure
Aught beside proves, vanishes, and leaves no trace at all.
Wait awhile, nor press for payment prematurely!
Over-haste defrauds you. Thanks! since,--even while I
speak,--discarding
Sloth and vain delights, I learn how--swiftly, surely--
Magic sways the sceptre, wears the crown and wields the ball!

"Gone again--what, is he? 'Faith, he 's soon disposed of!
Peter's precepts work already, put within my lump their leaven!
Ay, we needs must don glove would we pluck the rose--doff
Silken garment would we climb the tree and take its fruit.
Why sharp thorn, rough rind? To keep unviolated
Either prize! We garland us, we mount from earth to feast in heaven,
Just because exist what once we estimated
Hindrances which, better taught, as helps we now compute.

"Foolishly I turned disgusted from my fellows!
Pits of ignorance--to fill, and heaps of prejudice--to level--
Multitudes in motley, whites and blacks and yellows--
What a hopeless task it seemed to discipline the host!
Now I see my error. Vices act like virtues
--Not alone because they guard--sharp thorns--the rose we first
dishevel,
Not because they scrape, scratch--rough rind--through the dirt-shoes
Bare feet cling to bole with, while the half-mooned boot we boast.

"No, my aim is nobler, more disinterested!
Man shall keep what seemed to thwart him, since it proves his true
assistance,
Leads to ascertaining which head is the best head,
Would he crown his body, rule its members--lawless else.
Ignorant the horse stares, by deficient vision
Takes a man to be a monster, lets him mount, then, twice the
distance
Horse could trot unridden, gallops--dream Elysian!--
Dreaming that his dwarfish guide's a giant,--jockeys tell 's."

Brief, so worked the spell, he promptly had a riddance:
Heart and brain no longer felt the pricks which passed for
conscience-scruples:
Free henceforth his feet,--_Per Bacco_, how they did dance
Merrily through lets and checks that stopped the way before!
Politics the prize now,--such adroit adviser.
Opportune suggester, with the tact that triples and quadruples
Merit in each measure,--never did the Kaiser
Boast as subject such a statesman, friend, and something more!

As he, up and down, one noonday, paced his closet
--Council o'er, each spark (his hint) blown flame, by colleagues'
breath applauded,
Strokes of statecraft hailed with "_Salomo si nôsset!_"
(His the nostrum)--every throw for luck come double-six,--
As he, pacing, hugged himself in satisfaction,
Thump--the door went. "What, the Kaiser? By none else were I
defrauded
Thus of well-earned solace. Since 't is fate's exaction,--
Enter, Liege my Lord! Ha, Peter, you here? _Teneor vix!_"

"Ah, Sir, none the less, contain you, nor wax irate!
You so lofty, I so lowly,--vast the space which yawns between us!
Still, methinks, you--more than ever--at a high rate
Needs must prize poor Peter's secret since it lifts you thus.
Grant me now the boon whereat before you boggled!
Ten long years your march has moved--one triumph--(though _e_ 's
short)--_hactēnus_,
While I down and down disastrously have joggled
Till I pitch against Death's door, the true _Nec Ultra Plus_.

"Years ago--some ten 't is--since I sought for shelter,
Craved in your whole house a closet, out of all your means a
comfort.
Now you soar above these: as is gold to spelter
So is power--you urged with reason--paramount to wealth.
Power you boast in plenty: let it grant me refuge!
House-room now is out of question: find for me some stronghold--some
fort--
Privacy wherein, immured, shall this blind deaf huge
Monster of a mob let stay the soul I 'd save by stealth!

"Ay, for all too much with magic have I tampered!
--Lost the world, and gained, I fear, a certain place I 'm to
describe loth!
Still, if prayer and fasting tame the pride long pampered,
Mercy may be mine: amendment never comes too late.
How can I amend beset by cursers, kickers?
Pluck this brand from out the burning! Once away, I take my
Bible-oath,
Never more--so long as life's weak lamp-flame flickers--
No, not once I 'll tease you, but in silence bear my fate!"

"Gently, good my Genius, Oracle unerring!
Strange now! can you guess on what--as in you peeped--it was I
pondered?
You and I are both of one mind in preferring
Power to wealth, but--here 's the point--what sort of power, I ask?
Ruling men is vulgar, easy, and ignoble:
Rid yourself of conscience, quick you have at beck and call the fond
herd.
But who wields the crozier, down may fling the crow-bill:
That 's the power I covet now; soul's sway o'er souls--my task!