Collected Poems (10 page)

G
UIDO
(
watching him disappear
). I think I’d almost like to go with him.

D
AVID
.    That’s not Emmaus road. He’ll not meet God.

G
UIDO
.    Isn’t it strange how God is easy to

    Forget? And to remember too! Whole days

    I go so brimful of the bliss of things

    I never think of Him. And then He comes,

    Quite naturally, and not at all displeased —

    Perhaps a summer night scattered with stars,

    Or far off in the dusk a sweet song heard,

    Or when you’re lonely and you want someone

    To kiss you, to hold you close, and let you cry;

    Or sometimes when the splendors seem to rain

    And sunset skies quiver and rock with gold,

    And voices call you and you hear your own

    Answering back, swearing to go crusading,

    Or to a hermit’s cell, or on some quest.

    
It’s strange … But He doesn’t worry me a bit!

D
AVID
.    I hope you always find Him so, Guido.

    But you’ve not sworn to go on the crusades?

G
UIDO
.    Not truly sworn, just to myself.

    Zounds! what a knightly quest! Worth all the blood

    Spilled, and the failures! Let’s go together, David.

D
AVID
.    Not worth, I swear, the life of one good man,

    Although it won the Sepulchre.

G
UIDO
.    By all the saints! I don’t believe you think that!

                                                  (D
AVID
is silent
.)

    ’Tis natural we should revere His tomb —

    Unless you have no faith that He is God?

    David, do you, perchance, know other gods

    Besides the old ones of the Trinity?

D
AVID
.    No. Do you?

G
UIDO
.    Lots of ’em! Only listen!

    Pallas, Persephone, Olympian Zeus,

    Hermes, Artemis, Ganymede, —

D
AVID
.    And what became of them? Crucified too?

G
UIDO
.    Oh, no; somehow they were forgotten.

D
AVID
.    You jest.

    I thought you’d found, perhaps, another hope.

G
UIDO
.    I’ll tell you just the way I learned of them.

    You see, the Emperor wished his pages taught

    All wisdom of all countries and all times

    So they might adepts in delightfulness

    Become, to grace the earthly paradise

    He’d made his court. I was his favorite page.

    Oh, it was fairy stuff, that life of ours!

    We’d sit or lie or sprawl about the fountain

    In Monreale’s high-built orange-court,

    
A score of laughing pages, olive-hued,

    And gold-haired Enzio, the Emperor’s son.

    ’Twould be sun-splashed up there, not hot nor cool,

    But always thick with perfume from the trees,

    And dim with water sounds and litanies

    That friars pacing in the cloisters told.

    And, morning long, an Arab sage would read

    The precious parchments from Byzantium.

    You’ve seen, David, some arch half hid in flowers

    That winds and butterflies and birds blow through —

    Well, such an arch I’ve always been till now,

    With all the fragrance, rapture, melody

    Of all the world just blowing through, lightly.

    From those old parchments we young pages learned

    Of men long dead who seemed to us ourselves,

    Only more wise and radiant and fair,

    Who lived in Greece once, loved with their whole strength

    The earth and sun, and offered up their prayers

    To many cool-eyed gods with rippling names.

    But placid gods they were that never worked!

D
AVID
.    Forgotten gods in books to me are nothing.

G
UIDO
.    For everyday they’re not as good as Christ.

    They are just beautiful; you pray to them,

    They hardly hear; you’d never make them weep.

    Of course you go to Christ when you are hurt,

    Or when you feel — like a young tree in bloom!

D
AVID
.    Do you feel that way all the time?

G
UIDO
(
laughing
).                         Mostly!

(
Goes up on a parapet. The sunset is cloudless — transparencies of intense color
.)

    
God, God, how beautiful Your world is! Sometimes

    It seems to me I should do something noble,

    Some deed You’d love, to truly show my thanks …

    David, this riding up and down the world

    In scarlet hose is not enough, think you?

    Others leave all they love to fight for Christ,

    Or take the sea to find new lands for Him,

    Or quit the dear society of men

    To seek for angels in the wilderness.

    They say that in the north, whole villages

    Are sometimes struck with the wild thought of God,

    And careless of their personal, sharp needs,

    Give up their all to build Him palaces

    Of blue and emerald glass and marble lace.

    I’d hate another man to have

    A goodlier soul than I! …

    But how diversely we are lovable!

    We must be quite a pleasure to our Lord.

A
voice screaming
. Son of David, have mercy on me!

G
UIDO
    (
terribly startled
). What was that cry!

D
AVID
.    The madman’s scream.

    They burned out both his eyes for some old crime

    And he went mad. His cell is under us.

    Sometimes he screams like that.

G
UIDO
.    (
horrified
). Then there are other prisoners in this place?

D
AVID
.    From that bright room of yours you never see

    The ghastly crew that I am captain of.

    But there are those beneath your very feet

    In dungeon after dungeon, who will die

    And never see the sun. This is a hive

    Of misery. You only heard one buzz.

G
UIDO
.    They never come up here?

D
AVID
.    Only for you I break the prison’s rules.

G
UIDO
.    Who are they, down — down there?

D
AVID
.    Thieves, politicians, murderers, and such.

    Mostly they die. Two only have been here

    For many years.

G
UIDO
.               What crimes did they commit?

D
AVID
.    One’s a pirate, that roars and sings and curses;

    Hugo by name. He begs to tell me his adventures.

G
UIDO
.    I’d listen till he’d told me the last one!

    I’d like to see that pirate … and the other?

D
AVID
.    A heretic.

G
UIDO
    (
laughing
). So’s the Emperor!

D
AVID
.    His is the deepest dungeon of them all,

    No sun, no breath of air, just slime and stench.

    Ten years ago when first they flung him there

    His tongue was brash and peppery, they say,

    His body broad and big, a fighting man’s.

    But he has rotted in that stinking hole.

    I shade my lantern when I bring his food.

G
UIDO
.    Horrible! Horrible! Does he cry out?

D
AVID
.    No.… Though he is heretic, he has

    A God whose name he praises and whose strength

    Implores. To me he never makes complaint;

    But once he asked,

    “Has Albi’s faith yet spread to Italy?”

G
UIDO
.    Albi! The home of heretics!

D
AVID
.    And once, “Is Simon dead?”

G
UIDO
.    David, let’s give a holiday to him

    And to my pirate,

    And bring them here to talk to us.

D
AVID
.    You could not stand the sight of him; his flesh

    Is crumbled off, or fetid, white and stale.

    They gave him for his faith the lepers’ cell.

G
UIDO
.    God! God! Leave him down there!

D
AVID
.    Yet I could hide him in a dead monk’s cowl,

    And, while the guards are absent, let them both

    Come here to breathe the light and air once more.

    You could guard one while I’d go fetch the other.

G
UIDO
.    If both must come, bring up the pirate first,

    So I may be alone with him — not with that other!

D
AVID
.    But
could
you guard the pirate? He’s strong and —

G
UIDO
    (
indignant
). By God! Could I? Because I dress in silk,

    And sing a snatch, mayhap, and speak of birds

    And blossoms and such amorous, frail things,

    Thou thinkest me weakling!

    With one good broadsword and a mind to it,

    I’d guard secure a host of pirates! … ‘Swounds!

                                                  (
Sees a sword lying on the bench
.)

    Lend me that sword! … On guard! … Now, all your skill!

(
They fence. A sudden twist, and
G
UIDO
catches
D
AVID
’
S
sword with his, whirling it into the air.
G
UIDO
in high spirits runs up to the battlement
.)

G
UIDO
.    That old Sicilian trick!

    Now who is master here? Free, free, O world!

    Now could I cut the gold-haired jailer’s head off

    And steal his keys and rush out to the road,

    And lark it down to Sicily again.

D
AVID
    (
repressing his admiration
). I’d love to be your battle brother once,

    And, standing by your side, strike down a hundred!

G
UIDO
.    David, you almost angered me. Bring up the prisoners!

(
Exit
D
AVID
. G
UIDO
sits with his feet hanging over the parapet and sings
.)

               O, shall I sail the rough, bright sea,

                         And on some glittering morn

               Blow with the wind that blows so free,

               Up to a strange and a fair countree,

                         And wind on my silver horn?

               Or shall I loosen my long, grey lance,

                         Leap my stallion astride,

               And down the mottled wood-paths prance

               To capture the city of romance

                         That the golden cloud-banks hide?

               Sing heigh, sing ho! The bliss of being,

                         The glory of days that rush,

               So much to be doing, hearing, seeing,

               With spring foaming up, and winter a-fleeing,

                         And the rose of youth in blush!

(
Enter
D
AVID
with
H
UGO
,
enormous, red-bearded, this side of middle age
. D
AVID
goes out
.)

G
UIDO
.    Men say you have been in your day

    The fearfulest rover of the seas.

H
UGO
.    They said not half. My soul can count

    More dreadful deeds than the Old Man of the Mountain,

    And more are yet to do.

G
UIDO
.    You’ve sailed, perhaps, the western sea?

H
UGO
.    Western and eastern, Pontic and Caspian!

G
UIDO
.    And seen the marvels of the world’s grey edge?

H
UGO
.    All of them. Once for twenty days I sailed

    Beyond the gateways of the world into the west.

    The winds had voices like the damned,

    There was no sun; the sea was like —

G
UIDO
.    The flameless, grey, upheaving boundaries of hell

    Where drift those truckling spirits who in life

    Shunned the affray.

H
UGO
.    A-hem! Have you been there?

G
UIDO
.    Well, as it were … Go on. As you roved up

    The heliotrope, soft sea of Greece

    Did you, perchance, catch glimpses of

    The women of the sea?

H
UGO
.    A many a one.

G
UIDO
.    How looked they?

H
UGO
.    Sleek and bosomed high.

G
UIDO
.    What color were their eyes?

H
UGO
.    I noted not their eyes.

G
UIDO
.    Blind fool! But never mind, I know.

(D
AVID
enters with the heretic, who wears the white habit of a monk, the cowl over his head hiding his face. He can hardly walk
; D
AVID
supports him. He pauses, dazed by the late sunlight, then sits on the bench at back center, silently
.)

G
UIDO
    (
nervously covering the embarrassment of their entrance
).

    David, this man hath seen the women of the sea,

    And found them fair.

H
UGO
.                                        But not as fair by half

    As those of earth. Jesu, no sight of one

    For these damned years I’ve rotted here;

    And there’s a many a town on many a shore

    Where lasses weep and beat their breasts for me.

G
UIDO
.    Hast thou adventured in the further south

    Where spicier seas

    Break on the carven shores of lovelier lands,

    Where women, sultry-hued as summer’s myrtle,

    With half-closed, tawny eyes that never close,

    Await far sails of vaster glittering

    That bear superbly to their attared arms

    More bright-haired, iron-chested lovers

    Out of the north?

H
UGO
.                                        To the neighboring isles,

    And there I’ll harbor on my next adventure.

G
UIDO
.    I love thee, Hugo.

    Thou art the most heroicalest liar

    Leewards of greedy hell.

H
UGO
.    A man must be to keep apace with you.

    But you, I swear, are not a common jailer.

    What is your land and lineage?

G
UIDO
.    My home, Palermo; my estate, the Emperor’s love.

H
UGO
.    A courtly knight! A silken squire of dames!

    I wager you are served with jades a-plenty.

D
AVID
.    Do you know love, real love, Guido?

G
UIDO
.    The gods have not vouchsafed me that transmuting test,

    But I have longed for Circe and,

    Remembering her sties, still longed.

H
UGO
.    Who may that lady be?

G
UIDO
.    A witch of qualities.

H
UGO
.    As?

G
UIDO
.    Shadow robes that cling, and shadow eyes,

    Warm, tulip-tinted mouth, all else Carrara whiteness.

    The prodigal son was hireling to her, and forgot

    Even his father, eating of her husks.

D
AVID
.    Is she the lady, Guido, has a house

    In Florence, where the other jailers now

    Drink of her wine and — eat her husks?

G
UIDO
.    The same, the same! I’m glad you’re here, David.

    It’s easy to forget they’re husks in April;

    Then lechery is iridescent-winged,

    Mere throbbing up of leafy sun-drawn sap;

    Mere clinging of frail lips; mere mockery

    Of light-intoxicated eyes,

    That thrill together under lowered lids —

    Half irresistible and wholly sweet.

    And yet — I’m glad we’re here, David.

H
UGO
.    If I were free this afternoon,

    I know a harlot’s house in Florence —

G
UIDO
.    Ah, there it is! Always the same!

    There’s nothing this side love but vileness;

    And without either there’s such rapture i’ the world.

    Let’s keep it so, O jailer of my heart.

    Forget the sirens for a while, thou bearded beast,

    And tell us brackish tales of the wild sea.

H
UGO
.    I have no notion who the sirens be,

    Nor Circe, nor what means

    That womanish, springtime talk of yours.

    I doubt me if ye know a broadsword from a dirk.

    You could not understand a lively man’s adventures.

G
UIDO
.    David, I think we hold in vile captivity

    The fieriest brigand that ever slew — with words,

    The doughtiest sailor that ever sailed — by breath.

    Of course, he may have pulled a harbor yawl,

    Or held for ransom valiantly a capture of sardines.

    Nay, more, I grant, with faithful henchmen by,

    
He may have subjugated, cheese and all,

    An irate granny-dame, sail set for market.

H
UGO
.    Body of Christ!

    Shall flesh and blood endure this popinjay,

    This thing of silk, this — Before you came,

    A red worm thing into the bellowing world,

    I’d waded knee-deep in fresh human blood,

    Slain Greeks a hundred, sacked the vizier’s harem,

    Gathered a hamper full of sacred bones,

    And, drunk on sacramental wine, sailed back

    To Venice with two span of iron horses.

G
UIDO
    (
delighted
). You on the gorgeous Byzantine crusade?

    Did you not catch the tale from other lips

    When you were linkboy on the Grand Canal?

H
UGO
.    These very hands, thou saucy innocent,

    Have purpled with imperial bastards’ blood;

    These eyes saw Dandolo’s fleet assault the walls,

    The Greeks’ vermilion tent and molten oil,

    The mangonels and catapult and bridge.

    When André of Urboise dashed through the breach

    I followed, and ‘twas I first lit the torch

    That fired a thousand houses, where old men

    And slattern women howled and cursed and burned!

    That was a real crusade! Gold, wine

    And women whose consent the sword could always win.

    These are dull times! Hey, silent monk!

    Preach Christ and war against the infidel!

    That’s the brave life! With heathen gold

    And heathen concubines, who would not fight

    For Christ?

D
AVID
.    Now would you be crusader, Guido?

G
UIDO
.    The beast!

H
UGO
(
in high fettle
). Then I’ve another crusade tale for you.

    Sweet Christ! ’Twas a divine burlesque!

    Of all that crossed the sea not one returned

    Save me, their leader.

G
UIDO
.                                 Your lies grow wearisome.

D
AVID
(
with premonition and repression
). Say on, say on!

H
UGO
.    It was in France, near such a day as this;

    We idled in the southern harbor there,

    Our seven empty hulls against the quays.

    I do remember well, ’twas afternoon.

    On deck we slept beneath the sails or diced

    And wished the night would come. Then suddenly,

    From the hill crest where the wide street came down,

    We heard a shout, and, looking up, beheld —

    You’ll know I’m lying now — it looked a dream —

    A thousand children

                                                  (D
AVID
leaps up and stands white and taut
.)

                                                  with flowers on their heads

    And crosses in their hands and wreaths and banners;

    And when they saw us or the sea or something,

    They fell upon their knees with prayers and cries,

    Kissed one another, wept, went mad with joy.

    While we, chap-fallen, watched their antics, up

    They sprang, broke into hymns to Jesus and

    Came down the sloping street right to the sea.

G
UIDO
.                                                  But why?

H
UGO
.    Baccho! It was the Crusade of the Children,

    And they were marching with their songs and flowers

    To take Christ’s Sepulchre!

G
UIDO
.                                          What’s in Jerusalem?

H
UGO
.    Yea, verily.

G
UIDO
.               But that was France!

H
UGO
.    They came to us and said, “We’re almost there;

    Dear friends, we know, for we have marched so long;

    And Christ has sent you here with seven ships

    To ferry us across the sea.” Whereon,

    They knelt to us and called us, “Brothers in Christ,”

    “Seamen of God,” “Our Lady’s mariners.”

    It had astounded you.

G
UIDO
.             But so you were!

    You took them to the Holy Tomb of Christ?

H
UGO
.    Thou fool! That night we spent apart in council.

    Next day, our scheme complete, we went to them

    And swore to bear them to the Sepulchre.

G
UIDO
.    I knew you would, our Lady’s mariner!

H
UGO
.    We herded them aboard our seven ships

    And sailed for Alexandria — a golden freight!

G
UIDO
.    Why there, and not unto Jerusalem?

H
UGO
.    Children are precious to the infidel!

    We sold the last one to the Turk; not one returned!

    And there they do remain to this good hour,

    Their slaves and concubines!