The Norton Anthology of English literature. Volume 2

IOO I know both what I want and what might gain, And yet how profitless to know, to sigh "Had I been two, another and myself, Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt. Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth

105 The Urbinate9 who died five years ago. ('Tis copied,' George Vasari sent it me.) Well, I can fancy how he did it all, Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,

110 Above and through his art�for it gives way; That arm is wrongly put�and there again� A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, Its body, so to speak: its soul is right, He means right�that, a child may understand.

115 Still, what an arm! and I could alter it: But all the play, the insight and the stretch� Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, We might have risen to Rafael, I and you!

7. Probably the artist Michelangelo (1475�1564). 1. In saying that the painting is a copy, Andrea 8. A mountain peak outside Florence. may perhaps be concerned to prevent Lucrezia 9. Raphael (1483-1520), or Raffaello Sanzio, from selling it. born at Urbino.

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ANDREA DEL SARTO / 1283

120 Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think� More than I merit, yes, by many times. But had you�oh, with the same perfect brow, And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird

125 The fowler's pipe,2 and follows to the snare� Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind! Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged "God and the glory! never care for gain. The present by the future, what is that?

130 Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo!� Michelangelo Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" I might have done it for you. So it seems: Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. Reside, incentives come from the soul's self;

135 The rest avail not. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo? In this world, who can do a thing, will not; And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat0�somewhat, too, the power� of some importance

HO And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. 'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, That I am something underrated here. Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth.

145 I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. The best is when they pass and look aside; But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all. Well may they speak! That Francis,3 that first time,

150 And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, In that humane great monarch's golden look� One finger in his beard or twisted curl

155 Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile, One arm about my shoulder, round my neck, The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, I painting proudly with his breath on me, All his court round him, seeing with his eyes,

160 Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts� And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond, This in the background, waiting on my work, To crown the issue with a last reward!

165 A good time, was it not, my kingly days? And had you not grown restless . . . but I know� 'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said;

2. Whistle or call used by hunters to lure wildfowl painting. On returning to Florence, however, into range. Andrea is reputed to have stolen some funds 3. King Francis 1 of France (1494�1547; reigned entrusted to him by Francis; and to please Lucrezia I 51 5�47) had invited Andrea to his court at Fon-he built a house with the money. Now he is afraid tainebleau and warmly encouraged him in his of being insulted by "Paris lords" on the streets.

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1284 / ROBERT BROWNING

Too live the life grew, golden and not gray, And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt

170 Out of the grange0 whose four walls make his world. farmhouse How could it end in any other way? You called me, and I came home to your heart. The triumph was�to reach and stay there; since I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost?

17? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! "Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; The Roman's is the better when you pray, But still the other's Virgin was his wife�"

180 Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows My better fortune, I resolve to think. For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, Said one day Agnolo, his very self,

185 To Rafael .. . I have known it all these years . . . (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts Upon a palace wall for Rome to see, Too lifted up in heart because of it) "Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub

190 Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, Who, were he set to plan and execute As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!" To Rafael's�And indeed the arm is wrong.