Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society/II

Now for the means thereto. Ah, confidence — Keep we together or part company? This is the critical minute! "Such my end?" Certainly; how could it be otherwise? Can there be question which was the right task — To save or to destroy society? Why, even prove that, by some miracle, Destruction were the proper work to choose, And that a torch best remedies what's wrong I' the temple, whence the long procession wound Of powers and beauties, earth's achievements all. The human strength that strove and overthrew, — The human love that, weak itself, crowned strength, — The instinct crying "God is whence I came!" — The reason laying down the law "And such His will i' the world must be!" — the leap and shout Of genius "For I hold His very thoughts, The meaning of the mind of Him!" — nay, more The ingenuities, each active force That turning in a circle on itselt Looks neither up nor down but keeps the spot. Mere creature-like and, for religion, works, Works only and works ever, makes and shapes And changes, still wrings more of good from less, Still stamps some bad out, where was worst before. So leaves the handiwork, the act and deed. Were it but house and land and wealth, to show Here was a creature perfect in the kind — Whether as bee, beaver, or behemoth, What's the importance? he has done his work For work's sake, worked well, earned a creature's praise; — I say, concede that same fane, whence deploys Age after age, all this humanity, Diverse but ever dear, out of the dark Behind the altar into the broad day By the portal — enter, and, concede there mocks Each lover of free motion and much space A perplexed length of apse and aisle and nave, — Pillared roof and carved screen, and what care I? That irk the movement and impede the march, — Nay, possibly, bring flat upon his nose At some odd break-neck angle, by some freak Of old-world artistry, that personage Who, could he but have kept his skirts from grief And catching at the hooks and crooks about, Had stepped out on the daylight of our time Plainly the man of the age, — still, still, I bar Excessive conflagration in the case. "Shake the flame freely!" shout the multitude: The architect approves I stuck my torch Inside a good stout lantern, hung its light Above the hooks and crooks, and ended so. To save society was well: the means Whereby to save it, — there begins the doubt Permitted you, imperative on me; Were mine the best means? Did I work aright With powers appointed me? — since powers denied Concern me nothing.

Well, my work reviewed Fairly, leaves more hope than discouragement. First, there's the deed done: what I found, I leave, — What tottered, I kept stable: if it stand One month, without sustainment, still thank me The twenty years' sustainer! Now, observe, Sustaining is no brilliant self-display Like knocking down or even setting up: Much bustle these necessitate; and still To vulgar eye, the mightier of the myth Is Hercules, who substitutes his own For Atlas' shoulder and supports the globe A whole day, — not the passive and obscure Atlas who bore, ere Hercules was born, And is to go on bearing that same load When Hercules turns ash on Œta's top. 'T is the transition-stage, the tug and strain. That strike men: standing still is stupid-like. My pressure was too constant on the whole For any part's eruption into space Mid sparkles, crackling, and much praise of me. I saw that, in the ordinary life, Many of the little make a mass of men Important beyond greatness here and there; As certainly as, in life exceptional, When old things terminate and new commence, A solitary great man's worth the world. God takes the business into His own hands At such time: who creates the novel flower Contrives to guard and give it breathing-room: I merely tend the corn-field, care for crop, And weed no acre thin to let emerge What prodigy may stifle there perchance, — No, though my eye have noted where he lurks. Oh those mute myriads that spoke loud to me — The eyes that craved to see the light, the mouths That sought the daily bread and nothing more, The hands that supplicated exercise, Men that had wives, and women that had babes, And all these making suit to only live! Was I to turn aside from husbandry, Leave hope of harvest for the corn, my care, To play at horticulture, rear some rose Or poppy into perfect leaf and bloom When, mid the furrows, up was pleased to sprout Some man, cause, system, special interest I ought to study, stop the world meanwhile? "But I am Liberty, Philanthropy, Enhghtenment, or Patriotism, the power Whereby you are to stand or fall!" cries each: "Mine and mine only be the flag you flaunt!" And, when I venture to object "Meantime, What of yon myriads with no flag at all — My crop which, who flaunts flag must tread across?" "Now, this it is to have a puny mind!" Admire my mental prodigies: "down — down — Ever at home o' the level and the low. There bides he brooding! Could he look above, With less of the owl and more of the eagle eye, He'd see there's no way helps the little cause Like the attainment of the great. Dare first The chief emprise; dispel yon cloud between The sun and us; nor fear that, though our heads Find earlier warmth and comfort from his ray, What Hes about our feet, the multitude, Will fail of benefaction presently. Come now, let each of us awhile cry truce To special interests, make common cause Against the adversary — or perchance Mere dullard to his own plain interest! Which of us will you choose? — since needs must be Some one o' the warring causes you incline To hold, i' the main, has right and should prevail; Why not adopt and give it prevalence? Choose strict Faith or lax Incredulity, — King, Caste and Cultus — or the Rights of Man, Sovereignty of each Proudhon o'er himself, And all that follows in just consequence! Go free the stranger from a foreign yoke; Or stay, concentrate energy at home; Succeed! — when he deserves, the stranger will. Comply with the Great Nation's impulse, print By force of arms, — since reason pleads in vain, And, mid the sweet compulsion, pity weeps, — Hohenstiel-Schwangau on the universe! Snub the Great Nation, cure the impulsive itch With smartest fillip on a restless nose Was ever launched by thumb and finger! Bid Hohenstiel-Schwangau first repeal the tax On pig-tails and pomatum and then mind Abstruser matters for next century! Is your choice made? Why then, act up to choice! Leave the illogical touch now here now there I' the way of work, the tantalizing help First to this then the other opposite: The blowing hot and cold, sham policy, Sure ague of the mind and nothing more, Disease of the perception or the Will, That fain would hide in a fine name! Your choice, Speak it out and condemn yourself thereby!"

Well, Leicester-square is not the Residenz: Instead of shrugging shoulder, turning friend The deaf ear, with a wink to the police — I'll answer — by a question, wisdom's mode. How many years, o' the average, do men Live in this world? Some score, say computists. Quintuple me that term and give mankind The likely hundred, and with all my heart I'll take your task upon me, work your way, Concentrate energy on some one cause: Since, counseller, I also have my cause, My flag, my faith in its effect, my hope In its eventual triumph for the good O' the world. And once upon a time, when I Was like all you, mere voice and nothing more, Myself took wings, soared sun-ward, and thence sang "Look where I live i' the loft, come up to me, Groundlings, nor grovel longer I gain this height. And prove you breathe here better than below! Why, what emancipation far and wide Will follow in a trice! They too can soar, Each tenant of the earth's circumference Claiming to elevate humanity, They also must attain such altitude, Live in the luminous circle that surrounds The planet, not the leaden orb itself. Press out, each point, from surface to yon verge Which one has gained and guaranteed your realm!" Ay, still my fragments wander, music-fraught, Sighs of the soul, mine once, mine now, and mine For ever! Crumbled arch, crushed aqueduct, Alive with tremors in the shaggy growth Of wild-wood, crevice-sown, that triumphs there Imparting exultation to the hills! Sweep of the swathe when only the winds walk And waft my words above the grassy sea Under the blinding blue that basks o'er Rome, — Hear ye not still — "Be Italy again?" And ye, what strikes the panic to your heart? Decrepit council-chambers, — where some lamp Drives the unbroken black three paces off From where the greybeards huddle in debate, Dim cowls and capes, and midmost glimmers one Like tarnished gold, and what they say is doubt. And what they think is fear, and what suspends The breath in them is not the plaster-patch Time disengages from the painted wall Where Rafael moulderingly bids adieu, Nor tick of the insect turning tapestry To dust, which a queen's finger traced of old; But some word, resonant, redoubtable. Of who once felt upon his head a hand Whereof the head now apprehends his foot. "Light in Rome, Law in Rome, and Liberty O' the soul in Rome — the free Church, the free State! Stamp out the nature that's best typified By its embodiment in Peter's Dome, The scorpion-body with the greedy pair Of outstretched nippers, either colonnade Agape for the advance of heads and hearts!" There's one cause for you! one and only one. For I am vocal through the universe, I' the work-shop, manufactory, exchange And market-place, sea-port and custom-house O' the frontier: listen if the echoes die — "Unfettered commerce! Power to speak and hear, And print and read! The universal vote! Its rights for labour!" This, with much beside, I spoke when I was voice and nothing more, But altogether such an one as you My censors. "Voice, and nothing more, indeed!" Re-echoes round me: "that's the censure, there's Involved the ruin of you soon or late! Voice, — when its promise beat the empty air: And nothing more, — when solid earth's your stage. And we desiderate performance, deed For word, the realizing all you dreamed In the old days: now, for deed, we find at door O' the council-chamber posted, mute as mouse, Hohenstiel-Schwangau, sentry and safeguard O' the greybeards all a-chuckle, cowl to cape. Who challenge Judas, — that 's endearment's style, — To stop their mouths or let escape grimace, While they keep cursing Italy and him. The power to speak, hear, print and read is ours? Ay, we learn where and how, when clapped inside A convict-transport bound for cool Cayenne! The universal vote we have: its urn, We also have where votes drop, fingered-o'er By the universal Prefect. Say, Trade's free And Toil turned master out o' the slave it was: What then? These feed man's stomach, but his soul Craves finer fare, nor lives by bread alone. As somebody says somewhere. Hence you stand Proved and recorded either false or weak, Faulty in promise or performance: which?" Neither, I hope. Once pedestalled on earth, To act not speak, I found earth was not air. I saw that multitude of mine, and not The nakedness and nullity of air Fit only for a voice to float in free. Such eyes I saw that craved the light alone. Such mouths that wanted bread and nothing else, Such hands that supplicated handiwork, Men with the wives, and women with the babes, Yet all these pleading just to live, not die! Did I believe one whit less in belief. Take truth for falsehood, wish the voice revoked That told the truth to heaven for earth to hear? No, this should be, and shall; but when and how? At what expense to these who average Your twenty years of life, my computists? "Not bread alone" but bread before all else For these: the bodily want serve first, said I; If earth-space and the life-time help not here, Where is the good of body having been? But, helping body, if we somewhat baulk The soul of finer fare, such food's to find Elsewhere and afterward — all indicates. Even this self-same fact that soul can starve Yet body still exist its twenty years: While, stint the body, there's an end at once O' the revel in the fancy that Rome's free. And superstition's fettered, and one prints Whate'er one pleases and who pleases reads The same, and speaks out and is spoken to. And divers hundred thousand fools may vote A vote untampered with by one wise man, And so elect Barabbas deputy In lieu of his concurrent. I who trace The purpose written on the face of things, For my behoof and guidance — (whoso needs No such sustainment, sees beneath my signs, Proves, what I take for writing, penmanship, Scribble and flourish with no sense for me O' the sort I solemnly go spelling out, — Let him! there 's certain work of mine to show Alongside his work: which gives warranty Of shrewder vision in the workman — judge!) I who trace Providence without a break I' the plan of things, drop plumb on this plain print Of an intention with a view to good, That man is made in sympathy with man At outset of existence, so to speak; But in dissociation, more and more, Man from his fellow, as their lives advance In culture; still humanity, that's born A mass, keeps flying off, fining away Ever into a multitude of points, And ends in isolation, each from each: Peerless above i' the sky, the pinnacle, — Absolute contact, fusion, all below At the base of being. How comes this about? This stamp of God characterizing man And nothing else but man in the universe — That, while he feels with man (to use man's speech) I' the little things of life, its fleshly wants Of food and rest and health and happiness, Its simplest spirit-motions, loves and hates, Hopes, fears, soul-cravings on the ignoblest scale, O' the fellow-creature, — owns the bond at base, — He tends to freedom and divergency In the upward progress, plays the pinnacle When life's at greatest (grant again the phrase! Because there's neither great nor small in life.) "Consult thou for thy kind that have the eyes To see, the mouths to eat, the hands to work, Men with the wives, and women with the babes!" Prompts Nature. "Care thou for thyself alone I' the conduct of the mind God made thee with! Think, as if man had never thought before! Act, as if all creation hung attent On the acting of such faculty as thine, To take prime pattern from thy masterpiece!" Nature prompts also: neither law obeyed To the uttermost by any heart and soul We know or have in record: both of them Acknowledged blindly by whatever man We ever knew or heard of in this world. "Will you have why and wherefore, and the fact Made plain as pikestaff?" modern Science asks. "That mass man sprung from was a jelly-lump Once on a time; he kept an after course Through fish and insect, reptile, bird and beast, Till he attained to be an ape at last Or last but one. And if this doctrine shock In aught the natural pride". . . Friend, banish fear, The natural humility replies! Do you suppose, even I, poor potentate, Hohenstiel-Schwangau, who once ruled the roast, — I was born able at all points to ply My tools? or did I have to learn my trade, Practise as exile ere perform as prince? The world knows something of my ups and downs: But grant me time, give me the management And manufacture of a model me. Me fifty-fold, a prince without a flaw, — Why, there's no social grade, the sordidest, My embryo potentate should blink and scape. King, all the better he was cobbler once, He should know, sitting on the throne, how tastes Life to who sweeps the doorway. But life's hard, Occasion rare; you cut probation short, And, being half-instructed, on the stage You shuffle through your part as best you may, And bless your stars, as I do. God takes time. I like the thought He should have lodged me once I' the hole, the cave, the hut, the tenement. The mansion and the palace; made me learn The feel o' the first, before I found myself Loftier i' the last, not more emancipate From first to last of lodging, I was I, And not at all the place that harboured me. Do I refuse to follow farther yet I' the backwardness, repine if tree and flower, Mountain or streamlet were my dwelling-place Before I gained enlargement, grew mollusc? As well account that way for many a thrill Of kinship, I confess to, with the powers Called Nature: animate, inanimate. In parts or in the whole, there's something there Man-like that somehow meets the man in me. My pulse goes altogether with the heart O' the Persian, that old Xerxes, when he stayed His march to conquest of the world, a day I' the desert, for the sake of one superb Plane-tree which queened it there in solitude: Giving her neck its necklace, and each arm Its armlet, suiting soft waist, snowy side. With cincture and apparel. Yes, I lodged In those successive tenements; perchance Taste yet the straitness of them while I stretch Limb and enjoy new liberty the more. And some abodes are lost or ruinous; Some, patched-up and pieced out, and so transformed They still accommodate the traveller His day of life-time. O you count the links, Descry no bar of the unbroken man? Yes, — and who welds a lump of ore, suppose He likes to make a chain and not a bar. And reach by link on link, link small, link large, Out to the due length — why, there's forethought still Outside o' the series, forging at one end. While at the other there's — no matter what The kind of critical intelligence Believing that last link had last but one For parent, and no link was, first of all, Fitted to anvil, hammered into shape. Else, I accept the doctrine, and deduce This duty, that I recognize mankind, In all its height and depth and length and breadth. Mankind i' the main have little wants, not large: I, being of will and power to help, i' the main, Mankind, must help the least wants first. My friend, That is, my foe, without such power and will, May plausibly concentrate all he wields, And do his best at helping some large want, Exceptionally noble cause, that's seen Subordinate enough from where I stand. As he helps, I helped once, when like himself. Unable to help better, work more wide; And so would work with heart and hand to-day, Did only computists confess a fault, And multiply the single score by five, Five only, give man's life its hundred years. Change life, in me shall follow change to match! Time were then, to work here, there, everywhere, By turns and try experiment at ease! Full time to mend as well as mar: why wait The slow and sober uprise all around O' the building? Let us run up, right to roof. Some sudden marvel, piece of perfectness, And testify what we intend the whole! Is the world losing patience? "Wait!" say we: "There's time: no generation needs to die Unsolaced; you've a century in store!" But, no: I sadly let the voices wing Their way i' the upper vacancy, nor test Truth on this solid as I promised once. Well, and what is there to be sad about? The world's the world, life's life, and nothing else. 'T is part of life, a property to prize. That those o' the higher sort engaged i' the world, Should fancy they can change its ill to good. Wrong to right, ugliness to beauty: find Enough success in fancy turning fact. To keep the sanguine kind in countenance And justify the hope that busies them: Failure enough, — to who can follow change Beyond their vision, see new good prove ill I' the consequence, see blacks and whites of life Shift square indeed, but leave the chequered face Unchanged i' the main, — failure enough for such. To bid ambition keep the whole from change, As their best service. I hope naught beside. No, my brave thinkers, whom I recognize, Gladly, myself the first, as, in a sense, All that our world's worth, flower and fruit of man! Such minds myself award supremacy Over the common insignificance, When only Mind's in question, — Body bows To quite another government, you know. Be Kant crowned king o' the castle in the air! Hans Slouch, — his own, and children's mouths to feed I' the hovel on the ground, — wants meat, nor chews "The Critique of Pure Reason" in exchange. But, now, — suppose I could allow your claims And quite change life to please you, — would it please? Would life comport with change and still be life? Ask, now, a doctor for a remedy: There's his prescription. Bid him point you out Which of the five or six ingredients saves The sick man. "Such the efficacity? Then why not dare and do things in one dose Simple and pure, all virtue, no alloy Of the idle drop and powder?" What's his word? The efficacity, neat, were neutralized: It wants dispersing and retarding, — nay Is put upon its mettle, plays its part Precisely through such hindrance everywhere, Finds some mysterious give and take i' the case, Some gain by opposition, he foregoes Should he unfetter the medicament. So with this thought of yours that fain would work Free in the world: it wants just what it finds — The ignorance, stupidity, the hate, Envy and malice and uncharitableness That bar your passage, break the flow of you Down from those happy heights where many a cloud Combined to give you birth and bid you be The royalest of rivers: on you glide Silverly till you reach the summit-edge, Then over, on to all that ignorance. Stupidity, hate, envy, bluffs and blocks. Posted to fret you into foam and noise. What of it? Up you mount in minute mist, And bridge the chasm that crushed your quietude, A spirit-rainbow, earthborn jewelry Outsparkling the insipid firmament Blue above Terni and its orange-trees. Do not mistake me! You, too, have your rights! Hans must not burn Kant's house above his head, Because he cannot understand Kant's book: And still less must Hans' pastor bum Kant's self Because Kant understands some books too well. But, justice seen to on this little point, Answer me, is it manly, is it sage To stop and struggle with arrangements here It took so many lives, so much of toil, To tinker up into efficiency? Can't you contrive to operate at once, — Since time is short and art is long, — to show Your quality i' the world, whatever you boast, Without this fractious call on folks to crush The world together just to set you free, Admire the capers you will cut perchance, Nor mind the mischief to your neighbours?