Chapter C: Prologue (3)

"'_Ay, sir, a miracle was worked,_
_By quite another power, I trow._
_Than ever yet in canvas lurked,_
_Or you would scarcely face me now!_
_A certain impulse did suggest_
_A certain grasp with this right-hand,_
_Which probably had put to rest_
_Our quarrel,--thus your throat once spanned!_

"'_But I remembered me, subdued_
_That impulse, and you face me still!_
_And soon a philosophic mood_
_Succeeding (hear it, if you will!)_
_Has altogether changed my views_
_Concerning Art. Blind prejudice!_
_Well may you Christians tax us Jews_
_With scrupulosity too nice!_

"'_For, don't I see,--let 's issue join!--_
_Whenever I 'm allowed pollute_
_(I--and my little bag of coin)_
_Some Christian palace of repute,--_
_Don't I see stuck up everywhere_
_Abundant proof that cultured taste_
_Has Beauty for its only care,_
_And upon Truth no thought to waste?_

"''Jew, since it must be, take in pledge
Of payment'--_so a Cardinal_
_Has sighed to me as if a wedge_
_Entered his heart_--'this best of all
My treasures!' _Leda, Ganymede_
_Or Antiope: swan, eagle, ape,_
_(Or what 's the beast of what 's the breed,)_
_And Jupiter in every shape!_

"'_Whereat if I presume to ask_
'But, Eminence, though Titian's whisk
Of brush have well performed its task,
How comes it these false godships frisk
In presence of--what yonder frame
Pretends to image? Surely, odd
It seems, you let confront The Name
Each beast the heathen called his god!'

"'_Benignant smiles me pity straight_
_The Cardinal._' 'Tis Truth, we prize!
Art 's the sole question in debate!
These subjects are so many lies.
We treat them with a proper scorn
When we turn lies--called gods forsooth--
To lies' fit use, now Christ is born.
Drawing and coloring are Truth.

"''Think you I honor lies so much
As scruple to parade the charms
Of Leda--Titian, every touch--
Because the thing within her arms
Means Jupiter who had the praise
And prayer of a benighted world?
He would have mine too, if, in days
Of light, I kept the canvas furled!'

"'_So ending, with some easy gibe._
_What power has logic! I, at once,_
_Acknowledged error in our tribe_
_So squeamish that, when friends ensconce_
_A pretty picture in its niche_
_To do us honor, deck our graves,_
_We fret and fume and have an itch_
_To strangle folk--ungrateful knaves!_

"'_No, sir! Be sure that--what 's its style,_
_Your picture?--shall possess ungrudged_
_A place among my rank and file_
_Of Ledas and what not--be judged_
_Just as a picture! and (because_
_I fear me much I scarce have bought_
_A Titian) Master Buti's flaws_
_Found there, will have the laugh flaws ought!_'

"So, with a scowl, it darkens door--
This bulk--no longer! Buti makes
Prompt glad re-entry; there 's a score
Of oaths, as the good Farmer wakes
From what must needs have been a trance,
Or he had struck (he swears) to ground
The bold bad mouth that dared advance
Such doctrine the reverse of sound!

"Was magic here? Most like! For, since,
Somehow our city's faith grows still
More and more lukewarm, and our Prince
Or loses heart or wants the will
To check increase of cold. 'T is '_Live_
_And let live! Languidly repress_
_The Dissident! In short,--contrive_
_Christians must bear with Jews: no less!_'

"The end seems, any Israelite
Wants any picture,--pishes, poohs,
Purchases, hangs it full in sight
In any chamber he may choose!
In Christ's crown, one more thorn we rue!
In Mary's bosom, one more sword!
No, boy, you must not pelt a Jew!
O Lord, how long? How long, O Lord?"