Chapter XLIII: Prologue: To Pacchiarotto

Oh, the old wall here! How I could pass
Life in a long midsummer day,
My feet confined to a plot of grass,
My eyes from a wall not once away!

And lush and lithe do the creepers clothe 5
Yon wall I watch, with a wealth of green:
Its bald red bricks draped, nothing loth,
In lappets of tangle they laugh between.

Now, what is it makes pulsate the robe?
Why tremble the sprays? What life o'erbrims 10
The body--the house, no eye can probe--
Divined as, beneath a robe, the limbs?

And there again! But my heart may guess
Who tripped behind; and she sang perhaps;
So, the old wall throbbed, and its life's excess 15
Died out and away in the leafy wraps!

Wall upon wall are between us; life
And song should away from heart to heart!
I--prison-bird, with a ruddy strife
At breast, and a lip whence storm-notes start-- 20

Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing
That's spirit: though cloistered fast, soar free;
Account as wood, brick, stone, this ring
Of the rueful neighbors, and--forth to thee!

HOUSE

Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself? 25
Do I live in a house you would like to see?
Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf?
"Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key"?

Invite the world, as my betters have done?
"Take notice: this building remains on view, 30
Its suites of reception every one,
Its private apartment and bedroom too;

"For a ticket, apply to the Publisher."
No: thanking the public, I must decline.
A peep through my window, if folk prefer; 35
But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!

I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talk
In a foreign land where an earthquake chanced
And a house stood gaping, naught to balk
Man's eye wherever he gazed or glanced. 40

The whole of the frontage shaven sheer,
The inside gaped; exposed to day,
Right and wrong and common and queer,
Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay.

The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt! 45
"Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth!
What a parcel of musty old books about!
He smoked--no wonder he lost his health!

"I doubt if he bathed before he dressed.
A brasier?--the pagan, he burned perfumes! 50
You see it is proved, what the neighbors guessed:
His wife and himself had separate rooms."

Friends, the goodman of the house at least
Kept house to himself till an earthquake came;
'Tis the fall of its frontage permits you feast 55
On the inside arrangement you praise or blame.

Outside should suffice for evidence;
And whoso desires to penetrate
Deeper, must dive by the spirit-sense--
No optics like yours, at any rate! 60

"Hoity-toity! A street to explore,
Your house the exception! '_With this same key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart_,' once more!"
Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

SHOP

So, friend, your shop was all your house! 65
Its front, astonishing the street,
Invited view from man and mouse
To what diversity of treat
Behind its glass--the single sheet!

What gimcracks, genuine Japanese: 70
Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog;
Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese;
Some crush-nosed human-hearted dog:
Queer names, too, such a catalogue!

I thought, "And he who owns the wealth 75
Which blocks the window's vastitude,
--Ah, could I peep at him by stealth
Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude
On house itself, what scenes were viewed!

"If wide and showy thus the shop, 80
What must the habitation prove?
The true house with no name a-top--
The mansion, distant one remove,
Once get him off his traffic-groove!

"Pictures he likes, or books perhaps; 85
And as for buying most and best,
Commend me to these City chaps!
Or else he's social, takes his rest
On Sundays, with a lord for guest.

"Some suburb-palace, parked about 90
And gated grandly, built last year;
The four-mile walk to keep off gout;
Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer--
But then he takes the rail, that's clear.

"Or, stop! I wager, taste selects 95
Some out o' the way, some all-unknown
Retreat; the neighborhood suspects
Little that he who rambles lone
Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"

Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence 100
Fit to receive and entertain--
Nor Hampstead villa's kind defense
From noise and crowd, from dust and drain--
Nor country-box was soul's domain!

Nowise! At back of all that spread 105
Of merchandise, woe's me, I find
A hole i' the wall where, heels by head,
The owner couched, his ware behind
--In cupboard suited to his mind.

For why? He saw no use of life 110
But, while he drove a roaring trade,
To chuckle, "Customers are rife!"
To chafe, "So much hard cash outlaid
Yet zero in my profits made!

"This novelty costs pains, but--takes? 115
Cumbers my counter! Stock no more!
This article, no such great shakes,
Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore
The cheap thing--thousands to the fore!"

'Twas lodging best to live most nigh 120
(Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)
Receipt of Custom; ear and eye
Wanted no outworld: "Hear and see
The bustle in the shop!" quoth he

My fancy of a merchant-prince 125
Was different. Through his wares we groped
Our darkling way to--not to mince
The matter--no black den where moped
The master if we interloped!

Shop was shop only: household-stuff? 130
What did he want with comforts there?
"Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough,
So goods on sale show rich and rare!
'_Sell and scud home_' be shop's affair!"

What might he deal in? Gems, suppose! 135
Since somehow business must be done
At cost of trouble--see, he throws
You choice of jewels, everyone,
Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!

Which lies within your power of purse? 140
This ruby that would tip aright
Solomon's scepter? Oh, your nurse
Wants simply coral, the delight
Of teething baby--stuff to bite!

Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took 145
Your purchase, prompt your money rang
On counter--scarce the man forsook
His study of the "Times," just swang
Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang--

Then off made buyer with a prize, 150
Then seller to his "Times" returned;
And so did day wear, wear, till eyes
Brightened apace, for rest was earned;
He locked door long ere candle burned.

And whither went he? Ask himself, 155
Not me! To change of scene, I think.
Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,
Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,
Nor all his music--money-chink.

Because a man has shop to mind 160
In time and place, since flesh must live,
Needs spirit lack all life behind,
All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,
All loves except what trade can give?

I want to know a butcher paints, 165
A baker rhymes for his pursuit,
Candlestick-maker much acquaints
His soul with song, or, haply mute,
Blows out his brains upon the flute!

But--shop each day and all day long! 170
Friend, your good angel slept, your star
Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!
From where these sorts of treasures are,
There should our hearts be--Christ, how far!

HERVÉ RIEL

I

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
Did the English fight the French--woe to France!
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, 5
With the English fleet in view.

II

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
Close on him fled, great and small,
Twenty-two good ships in all; 10
And they signaled to the place,
"Help the winners of a race!
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or, quicker still,
Here's the English can and will!"

III

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on 15
board;
"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed
they;
"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and
scored,
Shall the _Formidable_ here, with her twelve and eighty guns,
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
Trust to enter--where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20
And with flow at full beside?
Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,
Not a ship will leave the bay!" 25

IV

Then was called a council straight.
Brief and bitter the debate:
"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
For a prize to Plymouth Sound? 30
Better run the ships aground!"
(Ended Damfreville his speech).
"Not a minute more to wait!
Let the Captains all and each
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 35
France must undergo her fate.

V

"Give the word!" But no such word
Was ever spoke or heard;
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
--A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate--first, second, third? 40
No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete!
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,
A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.