BROWNING'S ITALY (9 page)

GLIMPSES OF POLITICAL LIFE 79

Its sword still flashes — is not flung aside With the past praise, in a dark corner yet! How say you ? Tis 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 stränge mishap, mistake, ingratitude, Treachery even. Say that one of you Surmised this letter carried what might turn To härm hereafter, cause him prejudice: What would he do ?

Dom. [Hastüy.] Thank God and take revenge! Huri 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.

When Luria, having won the battle and taken Tiburzio prisoner, learns the füll measure of Florentine intention against him, he ex-claims

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 hos erdered unseen during the preceding dia-logue.] 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 teil her of the rectitude, I, from the first, told Pisa, knowing it. ToPisa!

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 —

GLIMPSES OF POLITICAL LIFE 81

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 brüte 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 brüte 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 feil,

— 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 füll power to will and do: After — it is to see. Tiburzio, thanks! Go; you are free: join Lucca! I suspend All further Operations tili 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; teil 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

GLIMPSES OF POUTICAL LIFE 83

Asks retribution: bear it as you may,

I must — the Moor — the savage, — pardon you! Puccio, my trusty soldier, see them forth!

Later he is visited by Husain, then Domizia, both urging him to take his revenge on Florence. But he is loyal even unto death.

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, 'tis well for them to wish; but him — After the exploit what were left ? Perchance A little pride lipon the swarthy brow, At having brought successf ully to bear 'Gainst Florence' seif 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 f orlorn wide world ? How stränge 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 min Florence, teach her friends mistrust,

Confirm her enemies in harsh belief,

And when she finds one day, as find she must,

The stränge 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 härm ? 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 hexe,

Found that he rose too soon, or set too late,

Gave us no vantage, or gave Pisa much —

Therefore we wronged him! Does he tum 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.

Tis sought! This was my happy triumph-morning: Florence Is saved: I drink this, and ere night, — die! Strange!

In the last act, through his proved nobility he wins the hearts and undying allegiance of his Florentines, who learn only when too late that the restitution they would make has been put by Luria, himself, beyond their power. Tiburzio and Braccio, the rival leaders, both bear witness to his worth:

Tib. I return

From Florence: I serve Pisa, and must think

By such procedura 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 modeis 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 weif are: 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 remains, — 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 härm — 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 füll success to Florence, making clear Your probity, as none eise 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! 'Tis morn approaches! Still you answer not? Sunshine succeeds the shadow passed away; Our faces, which phantasmal grew and false, Are all that feit 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!

Hu8. [Pointing to Luria 's dead body.] That is done.

Whether there ever existed in the flesh such great and noble Moors as Englishmen have liked to portray — men like Shakespeares "Othello," Scotts "Saladin," Browning^ "Luria" it is impossible to say, yet we do certainly know that the Moors possessed a refinement and culture which put Europe to shame at the time of the Crusades, and long after, and that their influence was one of the great civilizing influences of the Middle Ages in Europe, spreading from Spain into Southern France and from thence to Sicily and Italy. Striking examples of the stage they had reached is seen in the fact that in Cordova one could walk ten miles on a paved street at night lighted by lamps, seven hundred years before they had even dreamed of one street lamp in London, or in Paris that streets needed other paving than mud; and in the common schools, geography was taught with a globe, when the rest of Europe considered it blas-

phemous to regard the earth as anything but flat.

With the exception of the reference to the Duomo, Luria's mention of her "domes and towers and palaees," and the lines given at the close, this play does not show us any pictures of the Florence of that day, though be it said, it differed much from the Florence of to-day. The Ponta Vecchio, alone, with its ancient buildings shows a complete bit of the Florence of the Middle Ages.

Wide streets have been made and many of the dismal fort-like palaees have been modified. The walls no longer exist, though some of the old gates have been left standing as monuments, an illustration of one of which we give, Porto Romana, through which we may think of Luria as often passing.

If we imagine Luria to be the captain of the Pisan war of 1406, there was no Pitti Palace with its treasures, no Riccardi, no Strozzi, but if we imagine the date to be 1495, all these would have been built or building. The Ufizzi, however, would not yet be in existence. Luria might go to church in San Marco, San Lorenzo, Santa Croce, or San Michele, but evidently his devotion was given to the great Cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore which he ionged to have had com-