--That's if ye carve my epitaph aright, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every word, No gaudy ware like Gandolf's second line-- Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his need!

And then how I shall lie through centuries, 80 And hear the blessed mutter of the ma.s.s, And see G.o.d made and eaten all day long, And feel the steady candle-flame, and taste Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!

For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, Dying in state and by such slow degrees, I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, And stretch my feet forth straight as stone can point, And let the bedclothes, for a mortcloth, drop Into great laps and folds of sculptor's-work: 90 And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange thoughts Grow, with a certain humming in my ears, About the life before I lived this life, And this life too, popes, cardinals and priests, Saint Praxed at his sermon on the mount, Your tall pale mother with her talking eyes, And new-found agate urns as fresh as day, And marble's language, Latin pure, discreet, --Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend?

No Tully, said I, Ulpian at the best! 100 Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage.

All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope My villas! Will ye ever eat my heart?

Ever your eyes were as a lizard's quick, They glitter like your mother's for my soul, Or ye would heighten my impoverished frieze, Piece out its starved design, and fill my vase With grapes, and add a vizor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx That in his struggle throws the thyrsus down, 110 To comfort me on my entablature Whereon I am to lie till I must ask "Do I live, am I dead?" There, leave me, there!

For ye have stabbed me with ingrat.i.tude To death--ye wish it--G.o.d, ye wish it! Stone-- Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares which sweat As if the corpse they keep were oozing through-- And no more lapis to delight the world!

Well go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, But in a row: and, going, turn your backs 120 --Ay, like departing altar-ministrants, And leave me in my church, the church for peace, That I may watch at leisure if he leers-- Old Gandolf, at me, from his onion-stone, As still he envied me, so fair she was!

NOTES

"The Bishop orders his Tomb" This half-delirious pleading of the dying prelate for a tomb which shall gratify his luxurious artistic tastes and personal rivalries, presents dramatically not merely the special scene of the worldly old bishop's petulant struggle against his failing power, and his collapse, finally, beneath the will of his so-called nephews, it also ill.u.s.trates a characteristic gross form of the Renaissance spirit enc.u.mbered with Pagan survivals, fleshly appet.i.tes, and selfish monopolizings which hampered its development.-- "It is nearly all that I said of the Central Renaissance--its worldliness, inconsistency, pride, hypocrisy, ignorance of itself, love of art, of luxury, and of good Latin--in thirty pages of the 'Stones of Venice,' put into as many lines, Browning's being also the antecedent work" (Ruskin). The Church of St.Praxed is notable for the beauty of its stone-work and mosaics, one of its chapels being so extraordinarily rich that it was called , or the Garden of Paradise; and so, although the bishop and his tomb there are imaginary, it supplies an appropriate setting for the poetic scene.1. Vanity, saith the preacher: Ecclesiastes 1.2.21. Epistle-side: the right-hand side facing the altar, where the epistle is read by the priest acting as celebrant, the gospel being read from the other side by the priest acting as a.s.sistant.25. Basalt: trap-rock, leaden or black in color.31. Onion stone: for the Italian , a kind of greenish-white marble splitting into coats like an onion, ; hence so called.41. Olive-frail: a basket made of rushes, used for packing olives.42. Lapis lazuli: a bright blue stone.46. Frascati: near Rome, on the Alban hills.48. G.o.d the Father's globe: in the group of the Trinity adorning the altar of Saint Ignatius at the church of Il Gesu in Rome.51. Weaver's shuttle: Job 7.6.54. Antique-black: Nero antico. Browning gives the English equivalent for the name of this stone.58. Tripod: the seat with three feet on which the priestess of Apollo sat to prophesy, an emblem of the Delphic oracle.Thyrsus: the ivy-coiled staffer spear stuck in a pine-cone, symbol of Bacchic orgy. These, with the other Pagan tokens and pictures, mingle oddly but significantly with the references to the Saviour, Saint Praxed, and Moses. See also line 92, where Saint Praxed is confused with the Saviour, in the mind of the dying priest. Saint Praxed, the virgin daughter of a Roman Senator and friend of Saint Paul, in whose honor the Bishop's Church is named, is again brought forward in lines 73-75 in a queer capacity which pointedly ill.u.s.trates the speaker and his time.66. Travertine: see note "Pictor Ignotus," 67.68. jasper: a dark green stone with blood-red spots, susceptible of high polish.77. Tully's: Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-46 B. C.).79. Ulpian: a Roman jurist (170-228 A. D.), belonging to the degenerate age of Roman literature.99. : he was ill.u.s.trious; formed from , an inceptive verb from : in post cla.s.sic Latin.102. Else I give the Pope my villas: perhaps a threat founded on the custom of Julius II and other popes, according to Burckhardt, of enlarging their power "by making themselves heirs of the cardinals and clergy . . . Hence the splendor of tile tombs of the prelates . . . a part of the plunder being in this way saved from the hands of the Pope."108. A vizor and a Term: a mask, and a bust springing from a square pillar, representing the Roman G.o.d Terminus, who presided over boundaries.BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY 1855 No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.A final gla.s.s for me, though: cool, i' faith!We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.It's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes, Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere; It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?These hot long ceremonies of our church 10 Cost us a little--oh, they pay the price, You take me--amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.No deprecation--nay, I beg you, sir!Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know, I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out, We'd see truth dawn together?--truth that peeps Over the gla.s.ses' edge when dinner's done, And body gets its sop and holds its noise And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time: 20 Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.And if I say, "despise me"--never fear!1 know you do not in a certain sense-- Not in my arm-chair, for example: here, I well imagine you respect my place (, worldly circ.u.mstance) Quite to its value--very much indeed: --Are up to the protesting eyes of you In pride at being seated here for once-- You'll turn it to such capital account! 30 When somebody, through years and years to come, Hints of the bishop--names me--that's enough: "Blougram? I knew him"--(into it you slide) "Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day, All alone, we two; he's a clever man: And after dinner--why, the wine you know-- Oh, there was wine, and good!--what with the wine . . .'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen Something of mine he relished, some review: 40 He's quite above their humbug in his heart, Half-said as much, indeed--the thing's his trade.I warrant, Blougram 's sceptical at times: How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!", my dear sir, as we say at Rome, Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take; You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths: The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.Thus much conceded, still the first fact stays-- You do despise me; your ideal of life 50 Is not the bishop's: you would not be I.You would like better to be Goethe, now, Or Buonaparte, or, bless me, lower still, Count D'Orsay--so you did what you preferred, Spoke as you thought, and, as you cannot help, Believed or disbelieved, no matter what, So long as on that point, whate'er it was, You loosed your mind, were whole and sole yourself.--That, my ideal never can include, Upon that element of truth and worth 60 Never be based! for say they make me Pope-- (They can't--suppose it for our argument!) Why, there I'm at my tether's end, I've reached My height, and not a height which pleases you: An unbelieving Pope won't do, you say.It's like those eerie stories nurses tell, Of how some actor on a stage played Death, With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart, And called himself the monarch of the world; Then, going in the tire-room afterward, 70 Because the play was done, to shift himself, Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly, The moment he had shut the closet door, By Death himself. Thus G.o.d might touch a Pope At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, And whose part he presumed to play just now.Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true!So, drawing comfortable breath again, You weigh and find, whatever more or less I boast of my ideal realized 80 Is nothing in the balance when opposed To your ideal, your grand simple life, Of which you will not realize one jot.I am much, you are nothing; you would be all, I would be merely much: you beat me there.No, friend, you do not beat me: hearken why!The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is--not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be--but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair 90 Up to our means: a very different thing!No abstract intellectual plan of life Quite irrespective of life's plainest laws, But one, a man, who is man and nothing more, May lead within a world which (by your leave) Is Rome or London, not Fool's-paradise.Embellish Rome, idealize away, Make paradise of London if you can, You're welcome, nay, you're wise.A simile!We mortals cross the ocean of this world 100 Each in his average cabin of a life; The best's not big, the worst yields elbow-room.Now for our six months' voyage--how prepare?You come on shipboard with a landsman's list Of things he calls convenient: so they are!An India screen is pretty furniture, A piano-forte is a fine resource, All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf, The new edition fifty volumes long; And little Greek books, with the funny type 110 They get up well at Leipsic, fill the next: Go on! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes!And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add!'T were pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow Hang full in face of one where'er one roams, Since he more than the others brings with him Italy's self--the marvellous Modenese!-- Yet was not on your list before, perhaps.--Alas, friend, here's the agent . . . is 't the name?The captain, or whoever's master here-- 120 You see him screw his face up; what's his cry Ere you set foot on shipboard? "Six feet square!"If you won't understand what six feet mean, Compute and purchase stores accordingly-- And if, in pique because he overhauls Your Jerome, piano, bath, you come on board Bare--why, you cut a figure at the first While sympathetic landsmen see you off; Not afterward, when long ere half seas over, You peep up from your utterly naked boards 130 Into some snug and well-appointed berth, Like mine for instance (try the cooler jug-- Put back the other, but don't jog the ice!) And mortified you mutter "Well and good; He sits enjoying his sea-furniture; 'Tis stout and proper, and there's store of it; Though I've the better notion, all agree, Of fitting rooms up. Hang the carpenter, Neat ship-shape fixings and contrivances-- I would have brought my Jerome, frame and all!" 140 And meantime you bring nothing: never mind-- You've proved your artist-nature: what you don't You might bring, so despise me, as I say.Now come, let's backward to the starting-place.See my way: we're two college friends, suppose.