Volume IV Part 10 (1/2)
G.o.d's judgments, peradventure, will He bare To the roots of thunder, if we kneel and sue?
From Casa Guidi windows I looked forth, And saw ten thousand eyes of Florentines Flash back the triumph of the Lombard north,-- Saw fifty banners, freighted with the signs And exultations of the awakened earth, Float on above the mult.i.tude in lines, Straight to the Pitti. So, the vision went.
And so, between those populous rough hands Raised in the sun, Duke Leopold outleant, And took the patriot's oath which henceforth stands Among the oaths of perjurers, eminent To catch the lightnings ripened for these lands.
Why swear at all, thou false Duke Leopold?
What need to swear? What need to boast thy blood Unspoilt of Austria, and thy heart unsold Away from Florence? It was understood G.o.d made thee not too vigorous or too bold; And men had patience with thy quiet mood, And women, pity, as they saw thee pace Their festive streets with premature grey hairs.
We turned the mild dejection of thy face To princely meanings, took thy wrinkling cares For ruffling hopes, and called thee weak, not base.
Nay, better light the torches for more prayers And smoke the pale Madonnas at the shrine, Being still ”our poor Grand-duke, our good Grand-duke, Who cannot help the Austrian in his line,”-- Than write an oath upon a nation's book For men to spit at with scorn's blurring brine!
Who dares forgive what none can overlook?
For me, I do repent me in this dust Of towns and temples which makes Italy,-- I sigh amid the sighs which breathe a gust Of dying century to century Around us on the uneven crater-crust Of these old worlds,--I bow my soul and knee.
Absolve me, patriots, of my woman's fault That ever I believed the man was true!
These sceptred strangers shun the common salt, And, therefore, when the general board's in view And they stand up to carve for blind and halt, The wise suspect the viands which ensue.
I much repent that, in this time and place Where many corpse-lights of experience burn From Caesar's and Lorenzo's festering race, To enlighten groping reasoners, I could learn No better counsel for a simple case Than to put faith in princes, in my turn.
Had all the death-piles of the ancient years Flared up in vain before me? knew I not What stench arises from some purple gears?
And how the sceptres witness whence they got Their briar-wood, crackling through the atmosphere's Foul smoke, by princely perjuries, kept hot?
Forgive me, ghosts of patriots,--Brutus, thou, Who trailest downhill into life again Thy blood-weighed cloak, to indict me with thy slow Reproachful eyes!--for being taught in vain That, while the illegitimate Caesars show Of meaner stature than the first full strain (Confessed incompetent to conquer Gaul), They swoon as feebly and cross Rubicons As rashly as any Julius of them all!
Forgive, that I forgot the mind which runs Through absolute races, too unsceptical!
I saw the man among his little sons, His lips were warm with kisses while he swore; And I, because I am a woman--I, Who felt my own child's coming life before The prescience of my soul, and held faith high,-- I could not bear to think, whoever bore, That lips, so warmed, could shape so cold a lie.
From Casa Guidi windows I looked out, Again looked, and beheld a different sight.
The Duke had fled before the people's shout ”Long live the Duke!” A people, to speak right, Must speak as soft as courtiers, lest a doubt Should curdle brows of gracious sovereigns, white.
Moreover that same dangerous shouting meant Some grat.i.tude for future favours, which Were only promised, the Const.i.tuent Implied, the whole being subject to the hitch In ”motu proprios,” very incident To all these Czars, from Paul to Paulovitch.
Whereat the people rose up in the dust Of the ruler's flying feet, and shouted still And loudly; only, this time, as was just, Not ”Live the Duke,” who had fled for good or ill, But ”Live the People,” who remained and must, The unrenounced and unrenounceable.
Long live the people! How they lived! and boiled And bubbled in the cauldron of the street: How the young bl.u.s.tered, nor the old recoiled, And what a thunderous stir of tongues and feet Trod flat the palpitating bells and foiled The joy-guns of their echo, shattering it!
How down they pulled the Duke's arms everywhere!
How up they set new cafe-signs, to show Where patriots might sip ices in pure air-- (The fresh paint smelling somewhat)! To and fro How marched the civic guard, and stopped to stare When boys broke windows in a civic glow!
How rebel songs were sung to loyal tunes, And bishops cursed in ecclesiastic metres: How all the Circoli grew large as moons, And all the speakers, moonstruck,--thankful greeters Of prospects which struck poor the ducal boons, A mere free Press, and Chambers!--frank repeaters Of great Guerazzi's praises--”There's a man, The father of the land, who, truly great, Takes off that national disgrace and ban, The farthing tax upon our Florence-gate, And saves Italia as he only can!”
How all the n.o.bles fled, and would not wait, Because they were most n.o.ble,--which being so, How Liberals vowed to burn their palaces, Because free Tuscans were not free to go!
How grown men raged at Austria's wickedness, And smoked,--while fifty striplings in a row Marched straight to Piedmont for the wrong's redress!
You say we failed in duty, we who wore Black velvet like Italian democrats, Who slashed our sleeves like patriots, nor forswore The true republic in the form of hats?
We chased the archbishop from the Duomo door, We chalked the walls with b.l.o.o.d.y caveats Against all tyrants. If we did not fight Exactly, we fired muskets up the air To show that victory was ours of right.
We met, had free discussion everywhere (Except perhaps i' the Chambers) day and night.
We proved the poor should be employed, ... that's fair,-- And yet the rich not worked for anywise,-- Pay certified, yet payers abrogated,-- Full work secured, yet liabilities To overwork excluded,--not one bated Of all our holidays, that still, at twice Or thrice a week, are moderately rated.
We proved that Austria was dislodged, or would Or should be, and that Tuscany in arms Should, would dislodge her, ending the old feud; And yet, to leave our piazzas, shops, and farms, For the simple sake of fighting, was not good-- We proved that also. ”Did we carry charms Against being killed ourselves, that we should rush On killing others? what, desert herewith Our wives and mothers?--was that duty? tus.h.!.+”
At which we shook the sword within the sheath Like heroes--only louder; and the flush Ran up the cheek to meet the future wreath.
Nay, what we proved, we shouted--how we shouted (Especially the boys did), boldly planting That tree of liberty, whose fruit is doubted, Because the roots are not of nature's granting!
A tree of good and evil: none, without it, Grow G.o.ds; alas and, with it, men are wanting!
O holy knowledge, holy liberty, O holy rights of nations! If I speak These bitter things against the jugglery Of days that in your names proved blind and weak, It is that tears are bitter. When we see The brown skulls grin at death in churchyards bleak, We do not cry ”This Yorick is too light,”
For death grows deathlier with that mouth he makes.
So with my mocking: bitter things I write Because my soul is bitter for your sakes, O freedom! O my Florence!
Men who might Do greatly in a universe that breaks And burns, must ever _know_ before they do.
Courage and patience are but sacrifice; And sacrifice is offered for and to Something conceived of. Each man pays a price For what himself counts precious, whether true Or false the appreciation it implies.
But here,--no knowledge, no conception, nought!
Desire was absent, that provides great deeds From out the greatness of prevenient thought: And action, action, like a flame that needs A steady breath and fuel, being caught Up, like a burning reed from other reeds, Flashed in the empty and uncertain air, Then wavered, then went out. Behold, who blames A crooked course, when not a goal is there To round the fervid striving of the games?
An ignorance of means may minister To greatness, but an ignorance of aims Makes it impossible to be great at all.
So with our Tuscans! Let none dare to say, ”Here virtue never can be national; Here fort.i.tude can never cut a way Between the Austrian muskets, out of thrall:”