Statue and the Bust, The

The Riccardi Palace in Florence is the scene of the story told in this poem. A lady who has just been married to the head of the noble Riccardi house notices one who rides past her window with a “royal air.” The bridesmaids whisper that it is the great Duke Ferdinand; who in his turn directs his glance at the bride the head of the house of Riccardi had that day brought home. As he looked at the woman and she at the man, her past was a sleep—her life that day only began. That night there was a feast in the house of the bride, and the Grand Duke was present. The lovers stood face to face a minute. In accordance with the courtly custom of the time, he was privileged to ki the bride. Whether a word was spoken or not cannot be said. The husband, who stood by, however, saw or heard something which mortally offended him; and when, at night, he led his bride to her chamber, he told her calmly that the door which was then shut on her was closed till her body should be taken thence for burial. She could watch the world from the window, which faced the east, but could never more pa the door. The bride as calmly a ented: “Your window and its world suffice,” she said. It would be easy, she thought, to fly to the Duke, who loved her: it would only be nece ary to disguise herself as a page, and she would save her soul. She reflected, however, that next day her father was to ble her new condition; and she must tarry for a day, consoling herself with the reflection that she should certainly see the Duke ride past. And so she turned on her side, and went to sleep. That night the Duke resolved to ruin body and soul, if need might be, for the sake of this beautiful woman; and on the morrow he addre ed the bridegroom, whose duties at court brought him into his presence, suggesting that he, with his wife, should visit him at his country seat at Petraja. The bridegroom quietly declined the invitation, giving as his reason that the state of his lady’s health did not permit her to quit the palace, the wind from the A pennines being particularly dangerous for her. The Duke was foiled in his project; but promised himself it should not be long before he met the bride again, yet he must wait a night, for the envoy from France was to visit him. He too reflects that he shall see the lady as he rides past her palace. They saw each other, and each resolved that next day they would do more than glance at a distance; but next day and the next pa ed, and as constantly was the project of union deferred; the weeks grew months, the years pa ed by, till age crept on, and each perceived they had been dreaming. One day the lady had to confe that her beauty was fading: her hair was tinged with grey, her mouth was puckered, and she was haggard-cheeked; and as she beheld herself in her gla she bade her servants call a famous sculptor to fix the remains of her beauty, so that it should no more fade. Della Robbia must make her a face on her window waiting, as ever, to watch her lover pa in the square below. But long before the artist’s work was finished, and the cornice in its place, the Duke had sighed over the escape of his own youth; and he too set John of Douay to make an equestrian statue of him, and to place it in the square he had cro ed so often, so that men should admire him when he had gone to his tomb. The figure looks straight at one of the windows of the Riccardi Palace: the attitude suggests love for the lady and contempt of her husband. In connection with all this the poet reflects on the condition of the spirits of these two awaiting the Last Judgment. Do they reflect on the greatne of the gift of life—how they had seen the proper object of their lives, and yet had mi ed it? “But,” the poet hears us object, “their end was a crime, and delay was best.” The test, however, of our use of life can be as well attained by a crime as a virtue. A game can be played without money: where a button answers, it would be vain to use a sovereign. Whether we play with counters or coins, we must do our best to win:— “If you choose to play!—is my principle, Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life’s set prize, be it what it will.” These people as surely lost their counter as if it were lawful coin. This moral has been much disputed by Browning students. So far as society was concerned the lady and the Duke did well: so far as their own souls were concerned they undoubtedly did ill. The Duke would have been more manly and the woman truer to her human instincts if he and she had let love have its way. Both dwarfed and withered their souls by looking and longing and pining for what they had not courage to grasp. The sin in each case was as great in the sight of God. It was simply prudence and conventionality which restrained the lovers; and these things count for nothing with the poet-psychologist. But conventionality counts for a great deal in our conduct of life. It may have been “the crowning disaster to mi life” for the man and woman: if so, it was a sacrifice justly due to human society. If every woman flew to the arms of the man whom she liked better than her own husband, and if every governor of a city felt himself at liberty to steal another man’s wife merely to complete and perfect the circle of his own delights, society would soon be thrown back into barbarism. The sacrifice to conventionality and the self-restraint these persons practised may have atoned for much that was defective in their lives. “ Pecca for titer ” (sin bravely), said Luther; but it would be difficult to defend the doctrine on any principle of ethics. Many readers have found difficulties in understanding this poem. One such wrote to an American paper to inquire: “(1) When, how, and where did it happen? Browning’s divine vaguene lets one gather only that the lady’s husband was a Riccardi. (2) Who was the lady? who the Duke? (3) The magnificent house where Florence lodges her Préfet is known to all Florentine ball-goers as the Palazzo Riccardi. It was bought by the Riccardi from the Medici in 1659. From none of its windows did the lady gaze at her more than royal lover. From what window, then, if from any? Are the statue and the bust still in their original positions?” These queries fell into the hands of Mr. Wise, who forwarded them to Mr. Browning, who sent the following answer:—“Jan. 8th, ’87. Dear Mr. Wise ,—I have seldom met with such a strange inability to understand what seems the plainest matter po ible. ‘Ball-goers’ are probably not history readers; but any guide-book would confirm what is sufficiently stated in the poem. I will append a note or two, however. (1) ‘This story the townsmen tell’: ‘when, how, and where’ constitutes the subject of the poem. (2) The lady was the wife of Riccardi, and the Duke—Ferdinand, just as the poem says. (3) As it was built by and inhabited by the Medici till sold, long after, to the Riccardi, it was not from the Duke’s palace, but a window in that of the Riccardi, that the lady gazed at her lover riding by. The statue is still in its place, looking at the window under which is ‘now the empty shrine.’ Can anything be clearer? My ‘vaguene ’ leaves what to be ‘gathered’ when all these things are put down in black and white? Oh, ‘ball-goers’!—Yours very sincerely, Robert Browning .” The Medicean palace in the Via Larga, now called the Via Cavour, is meant as the duke’s palace. See articles on this question in Poet Lore , vol. iii., pp. 284 and 648. It is an error to suppose that but one palace is referred to in the poem. The Piazza dell a Annunziata in Florence is the square referred to in the first verse. The Church of the Annunciation of the Ble ed Virgin was built in 1250, and adorned at the expense of Pietro de’ Medici from the designs of Michelozzi. The loggia of the church forms the north side. On the east is the Foundling Hospital, Spedale degli Innocent i , dating from the year 1421. In the centre of the square is an equestrian statue of Ferdinand I., cast from cannon taken by the Knights of St. Stephen from the Turks. Notes. —“ Great Duke Ferdinand ”: Ferdinand I. was Grand Duke of Florence, an honour first conferred on Cosimo (dei Medici) I. by Pope Pius V., who conferred the patent and crown upon him in Rome. Ferdinand was a cardinal from the age of fourteen, but he had never taken holy orders. He was an amiable and capable ruler, and Tuscany flourished under his government. He was thirty-eight years old when, in 1587, he succeeded his brother on the throne. Riccardi : a noble family of Florence. “The Palazzo Riccardi, a proud and stately residence, was begun in 1430 by Cosimo dei Medici. It remained in the po e ion of the family till 1659, when they sold it to Gabriele Riccardi; but towards the end of the last century it was bought by the Grand Duke, and is now employed as a species of Somerset House, partly for literary purposes and partly for government offices. It is a noble building, and is most imposing in appearance. The window-sills are by Michael Angelo” (see Murray’s Handbook to North Italy ). Via Larga : this was overshadowed by the Medici Palace, symbolical of the shadow cast by the crime of its owners in destroying the liberties of the city. Encolure (Fr.): the neck and shoulders of a horse. Emprise : undertaking, enterprise. “ Cosimo and his cursed son ”: Cosimo dei Medici was called “the father of his country,” his grandson was “Lorenzo the Magnificent.” Arno : the river which flows through Florence. Petraja : a suburban residence near Florence. A pennine : the mountain range in the valley of which Florence is seated. “ Robbia’s craft ,” “ Robbia’s cornice ”: Della Robbia is the name of a family of great distinction in the art history of Florence. “Robbia’s craft” would seem to be a term applied to the kind of work done, and does not refer to the artist himself, as the last famous Della Robbia (Girolamo) died in 1566. The work called Robbia ware was terra-cotta relief covered with enamel. John of Douay (1524-1608), usually called Giovanni da Bologna: a celebrated sculptor of Italy. “ stamp of the very Guelph ”: English money of our time, our royal family being Guelfs. “ de te fabula ”: the fable is told concerning yourself.