Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses :: :: University of Virginia Library

Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses

By the Earl of Lytton

Lytton, Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton (1831-1891)

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GLENAVERIL;

VOL. I.

BOOK THE FIRST. THE ORPHANS.

BOOK THE SECOND. FATALITY.

BOOK THE THIRD. THE ALPS.

II.

VOL. II.

BOOK THE FOURTH THE GUARDIANS

BOOK THE FIFTH. THE LOVERS.

BOOK THE SIXTH. CORDELIA.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

BOOK THE FOURTH THE GUARDIANS

CANTO I. THE DILEMMA.

I

All sparkling fresh, and fanned by sweetest air,
Spring half-way up the snowy hill-tops stood;
Waved her glad hand, and wakened everywhere
A prescient joy in some approaching good;
But, like a wounded bird that, here and there
Seeking with broken wing its slaughtered brood,
Flutters and limps along a bloodstained path,
Forlornly wandered Father Edelrath.

II

Alas, poor Father Edelrath! Of all
Thy simple life's few innocent luxuries,
The sociablest, and most habitual,
Upon thee sprung the cruellest surprise!
That intimate gossip whom thou didst install
At thine own hearth, and whose trite gossipries
To thee were Delphic Sayings, that diurnal
Familiar guest of thine—thy favourite journal,

III

In whose reports thou hadst so oft admired
The floods of eloquence that nightly flow
Thro' Parliament in torrents never tired,
And laws, unanswerable speeches show
To be by all so urgently required,
That thou didst innocently wonder how
The world, before it ever heard about them,
Had managed to exist at all without them—

IV

That combination of benevolence
And wisdom, for life's guidance thro' the maze
Of human error, whose unfailing sense
Of public welfare justified the ways
(Such as they were) of men to Providence—
That manna in the desert of thy days,
That feeder of a faith forever vernal,
That harbinger of joy—thy favourite journal,

V

Thy favouring fondness ill returned! Beneath
Its unsuspected talk did treason dwell,
Like a sharp dagger in a silken sheath;
And the false friend that seemed incapable
Of ever so abusing thy good faith
As to occasion thee, whate'er befell,
The least emotion, by one felon blow
Most treacherously wrought thine overthrow!

VI

Struck foully at the heart, and on the head,
Thee from thine easy leathern old arm-chair
The traitor tumbled, flung thee on thy bed
Prostrate and powerless, and then left thee there
Gnawed to the marrow by an ague bred
From the fell wound its malice dealt thee, where
This paragraph thro' thy torn brain and heart
Went burningly, like an envenomed dart:—

VII

‘We learn from Chamouni with deep regret
‘The fearful death of a young English peer,
‘Whose fate a host of mourners will beget.
‘The victim, Lord Glenaveril, was, we hear
‘Just twenty-three; and all that's known as yet
‘Of the disaster indicates, we fear,
‘That an imprudence was, to some extent,
‘The cause of this deplorable event.

VIII

‘His lordship, disregarding the advice
‘Of both his guides, who urged the risk he ran,
‘Had climbed, it seems, a dangerous precipice
‘Without assistance, in his zeal to scan
‘The whole circumference of the Sea of Ice;
‘But the unfortunate young nobleman,
‘When trying to descend, was dashed to death
‘Against the edge of a moraine beneath.

IX

‘A warning this catastrophe should be
‘To inexperienced Alpine travellers.
‘The titles of Glenaveril and Lea
‘The untimely death of the deceased transfers
‘To a collateral of remote degree,
‘With the estates attached. Report avers
‘That a young Heidelberg Licentiate,
‘Emanuel Müller, shared the dreadful fate

X

‘Of the lamented nobleman. P.S.
‘Further particulars which come to hand
‘This moment only, as we go to press,
‘About the accident in Switzerland,
‘Affirm that in complete unconsciousness
‘Young Müller lives yet; but we understand
‘He cannot long survive (it is believed)
‘The fatal injuries he has received.’

XI

When this grim paragraph the old man read
With consternation, it was not until
The ghastly news on which it commented
Was some weeks old. From an insidious chill,
That with rheumatic fever to his bed
Till then had bound him, he was suffering still.
‘Pack up my things!’ to Agatha anon
He shouted, ‘and make haste! I must begone!’

XII

But the next moment, tottering, on the floor
With a faint groan he fell. Long while he lay
Clawed by the shrivelling fever's clutch once more:
When he was half recovered, Agatha
Brought him his letters: there was one that bore
The seal and signature of Matthew Grey,
Reporting his dismissal by the new
Earl of Glenaveril. So all was true;

XIII

Ivor was dead; and silence, bleak and bare
As death, revealed Emanuel's fate to him.
Both hope and memory thus together were
Ingulfed in one abyss that to the brim
Was filled with desolation and despair!
Of what is man's soul made that grief so grim,
And pain so keen it can support, yet be
So at the mercy of all misery?

XIV

Edelrath would not, without proof, put faith
In his own sorrow. It sufficed him not
To know that Reason, on the side of Death,
Commended resignation to his lot,
Which was the lot of all who dwell beneath
The curse of life, dying piecemeal in what
Life cherishes, to lose it soon or late.
He craved worse evidence of his worst fate;

XV

So, with the fever clinging to him still,
He set forth on his way to Chamouni;
Where, of the death of Lord Glenaveril
And of Emanuel's disappearance, he,
Having learned those details which left him ill
Instructed, and worse helped, was forced to be
Contented with the incomplete success
Of getting—not Herr Eckermann's address,

XVI

But the Swiss Vetturino's, who alone
Could tell him whither he had driven away
That still-mysterious merchant. Whereupon
The Vetturino's house without delay
He sought, and found there that the man was gone,
On an engagement got the previous day,
A party of French travellers to take
Through Martigny to the Maggiore lake.

XVII

The Vetturino's son, who knew no more,
Furnished him chaise and horses to pursue
The southward-faring pilgrims; but, before
His zigzag course was done, he missed the clue;
For these fatigues, confronted at threescore,
In feeble health, so shattered him anew
That, reaching Sesto, there, in grievous case,
He lost all consciousness of time and place.

XVIII

A wretched wanderer in an unknown land:
Not only from his home, but from his mind,
A wretched wanderer, he! How long, alone,
Exploring the hag-haunted caverns blind
Of fever, and its scorching deserts, on
From pain to pain, he lingered thus, confined
To a small chamber, and a narrow bed,
Yet roaming worlds of torment in his head,

XIX

Edelrath knew not. But, when, thanks at last
To the skilled nursing of a sisterhood
Of neighbouring nuns, his fever from him passed,
Around him all was, like himself, renewed
And altered. For, with steps that travelled fast,
The Southern Spring that alpine neighbourhood
Had reached; and April, with a face as bland
And bright as May's, was lord of all the land.

XX

From Sesto, then, having been dosed and bled,
And blistered, he resumed the broken quest,
And reached Baveno less alive than dead:
There, finding all night long no moment's rest
From thought and grief, he left a sleepless bed
At early dawn; and, with a soul possessed
By a monotonous disquietude,
Along the lake his aimless path pursued.

XXI

Morn's youngest Hour upon her own glad face,
Mirrored in beaming dimples by that lake,
Gazed, giving smile for smile; in azure space
The lark sang loud; from many a glossy brake
Warm myrtle buds gleamed white; a tenderer grace,
A deeper tone, the hills began to take
From happy influences hovering
About the cradle of the new-born Spring;

XXII

By those sweet influences Edelrath
Was vaguely touched; his unobservant eye
Scared not an Oread from her azure bath;
But Presences of blissful augury,
Hovering, breathed about the old man's path
A sense of youth; and, without knowing why,
To him it seemed that his Glenaveril
And his Emanuel must be living still.

XXIII

Unconsciously he coasted, as he went,
A little rivulet that wound about
Where thick above its stony channel bent
Large flowering weeds; it shook them with a shout
Of elfin laughter, as it leapt, unpent
By stalks or stones, and, bustling in and out,
Hurried to reach the lake with garrulous stories
Of snowy hills, and golden alpine glories;

XXIV

Downward the way was of the rivulet,
As Edelrath's was upward; but they kept
Together from the moment that they met,
And side by side one wanderer slowly stepped
As fast the other ran. Thro' thickets wet
With fragrant dews, where in the long grass slept
Light scents his footstep scattered as he passed,
Roaming, he reached an open mound at last;

XXV

It was the smooth knee of a mountain lawn;
Behind it hung a copse of chestnut wood;
Deep in a dimple of the hill withdrawn,
The white walls of a rose-girt villa stood,
Fronting the lake, and gleaming to the dawn.
Here, for the first time, in less mournful mood,
Edelrath paused, and from this open mound
Gazed on the scene before him and around;

XXVI

The broad lake lay beneath him blue and bright,
The apocalyptic sapphire's nameless hue,
Divinely coloured by ethereal light;
And, basking dreamlike on its bosom blue,
The Borromean islets with their white
Clusters of terraces, dark-plumed by yew
And cypress spires, their myrtle-girt alcoves,
And grottoes glimmering among citron groves;

XXVII

Clear from the chestnut copse there came a song,
The song of peasants at some light task singing
Together in the sweet Italian tongue;
And, from a mountain campanile swinging,
A bell note chimed. Here Nature seemed so young,
So fresh, yet with such classic memories clinging
To every sound and every sight, that all
Was like a sweet Virgilian Pastoral.

XXVIII

The wanderer fell into a reverie,
Which was not sad; for, in the dream he dreamed,
The past of his own life had ceased to be
A thing remembered; the World's Past, which teemed
With tears forgot, ingulfed it as a sea
Ingulfs a rill; and phantom ages streamed
In misty pomp, and movement undefined,
Athwart the impassive mirror of his mind:

XXIX

So to the edge of noon unreckoned came
His dreamful hours; and there, the impersonal spell
Was broken by the sound of his own name
Called gladly by a voice that he knew well.
His life leapt up within him, like a flame
That on a beacon springs aloft to tell
Good tidings from afar. With a faint cry,
Trembling, he turned. The rest was ecstasy;

XXX

For Ivor's arms were round him, Ivor's breast
Beating against his own, so strong, so fast,
So loud, and with such jubilant unrest!
‘Thee, thee, my child!’ the old man sobbed, ‘at last!
‘At last, thank God!’ His tears said all the rest.
‘My friend! my father! tell me why thou hast
‘Lingered so long, and left unanswered still
‘All my poor letters?’ cried Glenaveril.

XXXI

‘And when I had such need of thee! such need!
‘Good heavens! so much to ask thee, and to tell,
‘And not know where to find thee! O, indeed,
‘These days of doubt were scarce endurable,
‘Whilst still thy silent absence took no heed
‘Of their unanswered cries! But all is well
‘Now thou art here at last, where day by day
‘Thou hast been wanted more than words can say!’

XXXII

Edelrath had, without transition, got
From grief to joy. Happiness is the smile
Of Egotism; and the Fates allot
To it the power even Virtue to beguile
So well that with its will she struggles not.
It lasts a moment only; but meanwhile
Over that little moment, as it flits,
The despot's rule no rival claim permits;

XXXIII

And it is ever its first sovereign act
To banish each remembrance, doubt, or fear
That threatens its dominion to distract.
Glenaveril lived: Glenaveril was here:
And there was no room left beside this fact
For any other: confirmation clear
It gave the faith which had so long denied
Glenaveril's death: what mattered all beside?

XXXIV

Living, from him Glenaveril had gone:
Living, to him Glenaveril came back:
These certainties, uniting, became one,
Solid and perfect without flaw or crack:
And if, 'twixt now and then, things had been done
And suffered, they had left behind no track
That to remembrance more substantial seemed
Than what remains of dreams that have been dreamed.

XXXV

Nevertheless, even reality
Is but a dream; and, when out of what is
We waken up to what is not, good-bye
To those five fools, the senses! So was this
Brief moment of delight without alloy
A dream, tho' a reality, of bliss;
And Edelrath, as from it he awaked,
Fell into a great faintness, tottered, quaked,

XXXVI

And would have fallen, but that Ivor's arm
Sustained him. Brief was that awakening,
Brief as had been the momentary charm
Of the dream's self, whose loss left everything
Thrown into vague confusion and alarm.
About Glenaveril's presence on faint wing
Hovered Emanuel's absence. ‘Ah,’ he said
With a bewildered look, ‘Who, then, is dead?’

XXXVII

No need had Ivor to translate the pain
Which his own countenance expressed so well.
‘'Tis he, then!’ murmured Edelrath again
Faintly, ‘Emanuel! my Emanuel!’
‘Alas,’ said Ivor, ‘then I wrote in vain!
‘My letters reached thee not? and all's to tell
‘Which I thought told! Follow me, Edelrath,
‘'Tis but a step, and easy is the path;

XXXVIII

‘Beyond the chestnuts, underneath the wall
‘Of yonder villa, there's a quiet seat
‘Where we may sit till I have told thee all.
‘Come! for, O friend, of thine assistance great
‘And sore my need is!’ With mechanical
Submission Edelrath to that retreat
Let Ivor lead him, and along the way
Nothing to one another did they say;

XXXIX

When they were seated, Ivor told the tale
Of all that, since their parting, had occurred;
Edelrath's face grew paler, and more pale,
But not a tear escaped him, nor a word.
What could he say? Words were of no avail,
Nor tears. When all at last was said and heard,
Still he sat silent, and made no reply.
Glenaveril broke the silence with a sigh;

XL

And, drawing tenderly the old man's hand
Into his own, he murmured, ‘Ah, too late,
(‘Too late, and all too well!) I understand
‘How wise thy warning, not to deviate
‘A hair's breadth from the truth! We may command
‘The first step, but the next belongs to Fate.
‘Yet this time, Edelrath, both he and I
‘Were honest in our little comedy;

XLI

‘We acted it together in good faith,
‘And with good reason, tho' Fate turned it all,
‘By my dear only brother's dreadful death,
‘To a catastrophe so tragical!
‘As for myself, long had I held my breath
‘In fear lest from my lips should ever fall
‘Some idle word, by prudence unapproved,
‘To pain the proud heart of the man I loved;

XLII

‘Nature had given to Emanuel
‘A spirit statelier than mine, whilst me
‘Fortune had placed upon a pinnacle
‘That made me seem above him. I and he,
‘Who loved each other more than words can tell,
‘(God knows I loved him more than all save thee!)
‘Were thus unable to clasp hands, except
‘Across a barrier never overstepped;

XLIII

‘Tho' built by circumstance, that barrier
‘Was not so permanently built, I knew,
‘That circumstance, which changes oftener
‘Than sentiment, was powerless to undo
‘What it had done. 'Tis easy to transfer
‘The gifts of fortune, and, indeed, how few
‘Can keep them! 'Twas not circumstance, but pride,
‘That stood between us—not upon my side!

XLIV

‘That pride was natural. I understood,
‘I honoured it, but trembled all the more
‘Lest by some casual word or attitude
‘Even I might wound it unawares. I bore
‘A title, which Emanuel lacked; it would,
‘I knew, just suit him till our tour was o'er,
‘And so I lent it to him, as I'd lend
‘My horse to any badly-mounted friend;

XLV

‘But there were other reasons. I felt sure,
‘And still feel sure, that it was good to make
‘This trial of the only chance to cure
‘Emanuel's moral ailment. For his sake
‘I urged it. Strange disgust of his obscure
‘Lineage and lot with a continual ache
‘Was gnawing at his heart. In that condition
‘The one thing needed was a changed position;

XLVI

‘Finding himself in an entirely new
‘Relation to the world, he would have seen
‘The same things from a different point of view,
‘And have despised that barrier between
‘His pride and his affection, when he knew
‘How blindly the whole force of it had been
‘Based on a misconception of the worth
‘Of the most vulgar prejudice on earth.

XLVII

‘Hadst thou but seen with what a natural grace
‘He bore his borrowed title, and how well
‘It sat upon him! Then, in the next place,
‘This pact between me and Emanuel
‘Was made before, in quite another case,
‘Thy disapproval so severely fell
‘On our exchange of names, and we were both
‘Pledged to fulfil it by a solemn oath;

XLVIII

‘Nevertheless, I own that thy reproof
‘About that letter to Cordelia
‘Which thou thyself didst burn, for the behoof
‘Of all concerned, before we went away,
‘Would have induced me still to keep aloof
‘From this poor masquerade (altho' the play
‘Seemed innocent enough) if only he
‘Had been disposed to let the matter be;

XLIX

‘But, with a bitter jest, when we set out
‘From Heidelberg, he claimed the most exact
‘Fulfilment of it. It was all, no doubt,
‘Fatality, from first to last, that pact!
‘And now a miracle has come about,
‘For, though incredible, 'tis still a fact,
‘That letter, which thou didst so justly blame—
‘My letter, written in Emanuel's name—

L

‘That letter, thou didst burn before mine eyes—
‘Cordelia has received it!’ To his feet
Edelrath sprang in vehement surprise.
‘How dost thou know that?’ he exclaimed: and, sweet
As sunbeams flashing over April skies,
The light in Ivor's face, as from the seat
He pointed, with a soft mysterious air,
Towards the villa, whispering ‘She is there!’

LI

The old man sank upon the bench again
Without a sound, and sat confounded quite
By those three words; while in ecstatic strain,
Not noticing the miserable plight
Which his poor friend was powerless to explain,
Ivor went on. ‘Yes, she is there! Love's might
‘Works miracles; and, call it dream, romance,
‘I care not, it hath conquered circumstance!

LII

‘O Edelrath, my friend, my father, heart
‘To heart, one thought was able to unite
‘Two lives an ocean could not keep apart,
‘And she is come! is here! and O delight,
‘She loves me! loves me! Ah, thou well may'st start,
‘For I am blest beyond belief! in spite
‘Of Fortune's fiat, and Fate's bitterest
‘Bereavement, I am blest, supremely blest!

LIII

‘Blest more than I deserve! yet none the less
‘Punished, and punished more than I can bear,
‘By the conditions of a happiness
‘That's a remorse which nothing can repair!
‘This love of hers, what right have I to press
‘Its solace to my heart? What power to tear
‘My heart away from it? In Heaven I dwell
‘Pursued forever by the pangs of Hell!

LIV

‘Ah, couldst thou guess what an accursèd maze
‘Of irremediable mystery
‘Is all around me! Right, or left, all ways,
‘Along which every footstep seems a lie,
‘Turn where I will, still open to my gaze
‘No issue from the labyrinth where I
‘Find in each gossamer thread an iron fetter
‘That chains me, fast as truth, to that false letter!

LV

‘I am become the guilty-innocent
‘Guardian of what, tho' misassigned to me,
‘Can never be another's. He, she meant
‘The blest possessor of that gift to be,
‘Would have rejected it. Blind instrument
‘Of Fate, from this dilemma nought can free
‘My fettered anguish. To destroy her faith
‘Were to destroy her life. Truth would be death.

LVI

‘Her death! And I must either lie or kill!
‘And I must be, in either case, accurst!
‘Do murder, or else go on lying still?
‘O can there be a worse beyond this worst?’
Edelrath gazed upon Glenaveril,
Feeling as if his swollen heart must burst
With what was in it, and said mournfully
‘Child, if there's anyone to blame, 'tis I.’

LVII

‘Thou?’ cried Glenaveril, in amazement. ‘Yes,’
He sighed, ‘my fault it is, and mine alone,
‘That letter has arrived at its address.
‘Listen!’ and he explained the error known
Too late to be repaired. As his distress
Augmented, Ivor's vanished; in a tone
Of infinite relief, he cried, elate,
‘Ah, 'twas predestined! 'Tis the will of Fate.

LVIII

‘Thou seest that nothing could have altered it,
‘And nought can now undo what has been done!
‘I understand, and to Fate's will submit;
‘Clearly she said to me, “Of two things, one
‘“I give thee: both together were unfit:
‘“Thine may be either by itself alone;
‘“Love, or a name: the name is for the dead,
‘“The love, for life: choose!” That is what Fate said,

LIX

‘And made my choice is! Say not I deceive.
‘Faith from its object separate who can!
‘Who can believe in God yet not believe?
‘Never did God say to the Mussulman,
‘“Jehovah is My Name!” From dawn to eve
‘All Islam, ever since its faith began,
‘Calling on Allah, worships God, the same
‘As we who call Him by another name;

LX

‘And be the worship to Jehovah given,
‘Or given to Allah, not on any one
‘Of all the names men's worship wafts to Heaven,
‘But on the men themselves, and them alone,
‘Hindu, Jew, Christian, Mussulman, or even
‘The savage who, poor soul, adores a stone
‘Rather than not adore at all, be sure
‘Faith's truth depends. I know that mine is pure!

LXI

‘Cordelia loves me. If Emanuel still
‘The name whereby she loves me chance to be,
‘'Tis mine—more mine than is Glenaveril!
‘And I will own no other. Love to me
‘This name hath given. When by the gardener's skill
‘A peach is grafted on an almond-tree,
‘Men call that tree a peach-tree; branch and root,
‘'Tis named and known henceforward by its fruit;

LXII

‘So with my name and love! Heaven hath ordained
‘That, by a miracle, earth's fairest flower
‘Henceforth by my life's stem shall be sustained,
‘With my love's essence filled from hour to hour,
‘On my heart's substance grafted and engrained,
‘And to disjoin it, death alone hath power!
‘If the world's herbal is deranged thereby,
‘That is the world's affair. Who cares? not I!’

LXIII

More frightened by Glenaveril's vehemence
Than by his reasoning influenced (and afraid
That he might only render more intense
The undesired impression he had made,
If he opposed the disputable sense
Of all that Ivor in his joy had said)
Edelrath sought by indirect reflections
To insinuate suggestions and objections;

LXIV

'Twould not be easy to keep unsuspected
For long, he said, the strange equivocation
Which accident had until now protected;
And then he dwelt upon the wealth and station,
Glenaveril needs must lose if he rejected
His name and title; with an admiration
Meant to discourage what it seemed to prize,
He urged the grandeur of the sacrifice;

LXV

But ‘Sacrifice!’ cried Ivor, fierce almost,
‘And canst thou speak of sacrifice to me,
‘Who am the cause of all that she hath lost?
‘Think! at a word from one who loved her, she
(‘In faith sublime that worth the price it cost,
‘The love which he professed for her would be)
‘Stripped herself of the millions she possessed!
‘Vast wealth was hers; and all, at love's behest,

LXVI

‘She sacrificed—for what? To satisfy
‘Another's whim! And I, the plunderer
‘Of her whole fortune, must forsooth deny
‘To Duty what she grudged not to confer
‘On Love, without a murmur! Heavens! that I,
‘For whom earth holds nought to compare with her,
‘Should stake her love, her faith, her life itself,
‘Against a miserable heap of pelf!

LXVII

‘No! by the grave of my dead mother, no!
‘No, by all human truth! Whate'er I be,
‘I am, thank God, incapable I know
‘Of such unutterable villany!
‘And as for this unhappy secret, O
‘To whom can it be known but thee and me?
‘Is not the grave forever closed on it?
‘Dumb are the shut jaws of the charnel pit!

LXVIII

‘In the next place, consider’ ... ‘Hush! no more!’
Said Edelrath. ‘Thou hast not understood.
‘I needed not to be convinced before,
‘Nor need I fresh conviction now, how good
‘And true, is Ivor's heart; but mine is sore
‘And troubled; such an unknown multitude
‘Of thronging thoughts, so dim and thick with doubt,
‘O'ercome me! Give me time to think them out.

LXIX

‘Surely nought presses. Saidst thou she is there?
‘Well, let me see her, Ivor! I believe
‘Thou canst not doubt my succour in whate'er
‘May best my dear boy's happiness achieve.
‘Lead me to her on whom thou dost declare
‘That happiness depends. I shall perceive
‘Better, when I too know her as thou dost,
‘What may be best for both of you, I trust.’

LXX

‘O, as to that, I can already tell
‘That thou, when thou hast known her as I do,
‘Wilt call me, as she does, Emanuel!’
Said Ivor, smiling. And between the two,
With thoughts evasive of each article
That it contained, and pledges but half true,
This armistice was signed, as others are
When peace is all that has been gained by war.

LXXI

When Edelrath, with Ivor, passed the gate
Into the garden of the house close by,
He saw approaching him, with looks elate,
A girl whose form, in its simplicity
Of beauty, justified at any rate
The young man's passion to the old man's eye.
She held out both her hands; and with a glowing
Enchanting smile her face was overflowing,

LXXII

As ‘Welcome,’ she exclaimed, ‘long-waited friend!
‘Too late it is to make acquaintance now,
‘Let us begin, then, where we needs must end
‘Sooner or later, for full well I know
‘Friends we must be, nor is time left to spend
‘On being less.’ She said this with a low
Sweet laugh, and looks, words, tones, and gestures, all
Were gracefully and nobly natural.

LXXIII

The poor Professor's attitude just then
Was more embarrassed, and less frank, no doubt;
His hand he had lifted to his hat; but, when
He saw those two white hands to his stretched out,
He gave up that politeness, changed again
His posture, and began to set about
Pulling his gloves off, with a desperate jerk;
This was, however, tediously tough work,

LXXIV

And unsuccessful; overcome thereby,
He failed in the attempt to formulate
Some sort of civil suitable reply;
And, in this singularly awkward state
Of mind and body, 'twas in vain to try
A fourth form of politeness. But the great
Cause of the trouble that perplexed and harassed him,
Was in his eyes, whose conduct much embarrassed him.

LXXV

Those eyes kept gazing on the young girl's face,
As hers on his. There was in her regard
No shyness and no coquetry—no trace
Of anything affected, forced, or hard,
Or vulgarly familiar. In like case
What should a man's arms do? they are debarred
From seeing and from hearing what goes on;
Their part therein is a forgotten one;

LXXVI

And, at the last, impatient of suppressed
Activity in such a crisis, they
(By sudden curiosity possessed)
Invariably fly open; in this way
They leave imprudently exposed the breast
Which they are there to guard as best they may;
Then, suddenly, they both become aware
Of something that has slid between them there;

LXXVII

And, in surprise returning to their post,
They find already occupied the place
They left defenceless, for a minute at most;
Too late their captive do they then enlace;
The heart they should have guarded hath been lost
And this is how it happens, folks embrace,
And happens too, that thus embracing, they
Their hearts wide open to each other lay.

LXXVIII

This must, at least, suffice for the excuse
Of Father Edelrath, to whom so quick
It happened, that he had no time to choose
What he should do, or not do, nor to pick
The expressions it were best for him to use;
Those which came first in Feeling's throng, that thick
And throbbing, rushed like spirits from their spheres,
He took without a choice, and they were tears;

LXXIX

So fast he fell a-weeping like a child.
‘Ah, this is well, and as I knew 'twould be!’
Cordelia murmured, lifting eyes that smiled
Thro' sunny dews; for still the first was she
To speak. And Edelrath, scarce reconciled
To his own boldness, stammered, ‘Pardon me!’
For all, when placed in such a situation,
Seek to explain what least needs explanation;

LXXX

‘Pardon me,’ he continued, ‘Mademoiselle!’
‘No, not the Mademoiselle, not that!’ replied
Cordelia. ‘That is unforgivable.
‘I am your daughter, and—ah see,’ she cried,
‘Here comes my Guardian! He, I know full well,
‘Is come to capture you, for he has spied
‘Your presence, and since he expected you
Long since, he will not loose you soon, I know.”

LXXXI

Then, turning to Herr Eckermann, whose tread
Now sounded briskly on the gravel path,
And whose broad countenance gleamed moist and red,
As if emerging from a vapour bath,
‘Our friend, thou seest, is come at last,’ she said.
‘And I present to thee Herr Edelrath.
‘Take care of him!’ The ex-merchant was ‘enchanted
‘To meet et cætera.’ He puffed, and panted,

LXXXII

‘Your chamber, Herr Professor, has long been
‘Prepared for your arrival, and—Dear me,
‘Here comes my wife!’ (Frau Eckermann between
Her two girls joined the group). ‘My dear,’ said he,
‘Our much esteemed and honoured friend—I mean
‘The Herr Professor Edelrath,—is free,
‘I trust, to make with us a lengthened stay.
‘You cannot be in haste to go away?’

LXXXIII

He added, turning quickly to his guest;
And then, without awaiting a reply,
‘No, no, you have no cause, Sir, to be pressed,
‘You are not married, have no family.
‘Freedom of movement is a bachelor's best
‘Of compensations. In the lottery
‘Of marriage, Sir, it is not every one
‘That draws out the gros lot, as I have done!’

LXXXIV

And, as he guided Edelrath away
Pantingly down the cypress alley, thro'
The garden, to the rose-girt loggia,
‘Ah,’ he continued, ‘if you only knew
‘How great a blessing to me, every day,
‘That wife of mine is! After twenty-two
‘Years of it, I affirm that a good wife
‘Is all pure profit to a man's whole life;

LXXXV

‘And look you, Sir, with women it is not
‘As with all other kinds of merchandise;
‘With them, there is no profit to be got
‘From doing business in large quantities;
‘They are indeed worth little in the lot.
‘But pick and choose, and if you get a prize
‘Make much of it, say I! And, Sir, I guess
‘That there's a management in happiness;

LXXXVI

‘Happy and honest, if a man would be,
‘His dealings let him strictly regulate
‘With his own heart and conscience, just as he
‘From time to time would overhaul the state
‘Of his transactions in gamboge, or tea,
‘Or coffee; keep his balance-sheet quite straight,
‘Know what he owes, and what he has to get;
‘Sure that his credit still exceeds his debt.

LXXXVII

‘As for myself, if in life's balance-sheet
‘My happiness stands wholly to the good,
‘I owe that to two persons. I repeat,
‘My wife's an angel! this is understood;
‘But, next to her, I owe it (as 'tis meet
‘That you should know) to the solicitude
‘Of the dear father of Cordelia.
‘Ah, what a man! A genuine man, I say!

LXXXVIII

‘Had you but known him as I knew, and know!
‘No matter! Of all this we'll talk anon;
‘We've time enough; you must be weary now;
‘You look so. Well, our little walk is done,
‘And yonder window that we stand below,
‘There is your chamber! It looks out upon
‘The lake, you see. A fine view, and fresh air!
‘This way! Allow me to conduct you there.’

LXXXIX

‘Most willingly!’ with a contented smile,
Said Edelrath. ‘At least, on one condition;
‘That you, good Sir, will honour me meanwhile
‘With mine host's company, and his permission
‘To think that I its walls shall not defile,
‘If in that room a place I requisition
‘For this old friend.’ And, without more ado,
Forth from his pocket a long pipe he drew.

XC

‘With all my heart!’ exclaimed Herr Eckermann.
‘What! 'tis the good old porcelain pipe? The true,
‘The genuine, German! Ah, my friend, I can
‘Regale you with tobacco such as you
‘Might seek in vain from Beersheba to Dan,
‘Pure Porto Rico! I'm a smoker too,
‘And know what's what. A fig for your cigars!
‘Wait till you've tested my tobacco-jars!’

XCI

So saying, in the brimful jollity
Of a hard worker who has earned repose,
Enjoys it thoroughly, and loves to see
His own good humour fully shared by those
Around him, wheresoever he may be,
With a contented snorting of the nose
And twinkling of the eye, the good man led
His guest upstairs. ‘Ah, here we are!’ he said,

XCII

And open wide he flung the chamber door.
The tired guest hailed that chamber's welcome sight,
As a spent swimmer hails the sheltering shore.
The walls, the chairs, the sofas, all were white
And amber, as the amber-spiked white core
Of a cool lily. In a soothed delight
Edelrath sank upon a sofa there,
And Eckermann beside it drew his chair.

CANTO II. JOHN STEEL.

I

The character of Jonathan Eckermann,
(Whom all his friends, and many friends had he
In many countries, called Herr Jonathan)
Was, like his fortune, in no small degree
A happy product of American
Shrewdness, combined with German honesty,
And something else, which in a special sense
Was all his own—a brisk benevolence.

II

For Edelrath, who now began to feel
By no means indisposed to break his fast,
Frau Eckermann, with hospitable zeal,
Already had prepared a light repast;
And when due honour to this welcome meal
His guest had done, and guest and host at last
Had lighted each his pipe, Herr Jonathan
Thus with Herr Edelrath his talk began.

III

‘Believe me, Herr Professor, when I say
‘That I have long desired this interview.
‘We to each other, Sir, have much to say,
‘Much that concerns us both, about these two
‘Children of ours—children in every way,
‘Children in years, and (between me and you)
‘In innocence almost incredible.
‘And first of all, now, there's Emanuel,

IV

‘What's to become of him? The youngster has
‘Nor kith, nor kin, you see, nor staff nor scrip;
‘The late catastrophe that put, alas,
‘So sad an end to his relationship
‘With that young English nobleman, who was
‘Beloved by both of you, has helped to strip
‘All his life's props from it. So you and I
‘To prop it now by other means must try.

V

‘I say, Sir, you and I, because, no doubt,
‘The loss of your almost-adopted son
‘Must deepen your solicitude about
‘All of him that is left to you in one
‘Who was his more than second self, without
‘Speaking, moreover, of the brave deed done
‘By poor Emanuel, when that fatal day
‘Snatched, with his friend's life, half his own away.

VI

‘No more of that! It is a long-felt need
‘That I relieve in opening my whole mind
‘To one whose wit and judgment far exceed
‘My narrow common sense. You are inclined,
‘Your face assures me, to give friendly heed
‘To what I have to say, and I shall find
‘In you a wise confederate I know—
‘But if I speak too freely, tell me so!’

VII

Edelrath grasped, in prompt and warm reply,
The hand held out to him. ‘Dear Sir,’ he said,
‘Your frankness but anticipates what I
‘Would else have asked. But do not deem me led
‘By merely idle curiosity
‘In first soliciting, at least, some shred
‘Of information about all that passed
‘Before you met’—he paused, with eyes downcast,

VIII

And faltered, checked by his disinclination
To make himself a partner in the plan
He disapproved, of that impersonation
Which every moment more and more began
To embarrass him throughout this conversation.
But unsuspiciously, Herr Jonathan
Went on. ‘You mean,’ he said, ‘before we met
‘Emanuel?’ ‘Yes, yes! ere I forget,’

IX

Said Edelrath, ‘allow me to explain
‘That I am here to-day by accident.
‘'Tis true I sought Emanuel,’ (he was fain
To energize this statement, for it meant
No more than the strict truth) ‘but all in vain!
‘The letters which, I since have heard, were sent
‘To Heidelberg had reached me not, and by
‘The merest chance it was I met’—‘Ay, ay,

X

‘A providential chance it was, no doubt!’
Said Eckermann, ‘he told me that just now.
‘Ever since he, poor boy, could get about—
‘(For I must tell you, if you do not know,
‘He has been desperately ill—without
‘Cordelia's aid, which saved him, Heaven knows how,
‘He must have died)—but ever since the day
‘He without crutches could make any way,

XI

‘Emanuel has been wandering everywhere
‘Around this neighbourhood in search of you,
‘Now wild with hope, now wilder with despair;
‘His letters must have missed you—that he knew;
‘Still, he felt sure that he should find you there
‘Sooner or later. And most strangely, too,
‘Has his conviction now been justified.
‘'Tis Providence, not Chance, that was your guide!’

XII

‘You see,’ said Edelrath, ‘what interest deep
‘I needs must feel in all that you alone
‘Can tell me. In suspense no longer keep
‘So good a listener. Speak to me as one
‘Who knows no more than that there rests, to weep
‘With him the loss of what from both is gone,
‘One only now of the two dear young hearts
‘That halved his own, for theirs were equal parts.’

XIII

A gleam of lively satisfaction lit
The eyes of Eckermann. The chance to vent
His heart of what had long been bursting it
With big discourse, for lack of listeners pent,
Kindled within his garrulous soul a fit
Of that self-laudatory sentiment
Which doubtless filled with unacknowledged joy
The pious hero of the Fall of Troy,

XIV

When his infandum (with feigned hesitation)
Regina jubes renovare he
Poured forth so glibly for the delectation
Of Dido; tho' the truth would seem to be
That of that classical expostulation
Eckermann's knowledge equalled in degree
The simulating hero's want of will
To talk so well of what he did so ill;

XV

But, for his audience, it must here be said
The famous Founder of the Italian Race
On that occasion was not comforted
By the attention of a keener face
Than his for whom this tale's unclassic thread
Was spun, with neither dignity nor grace,
By one whose triremes and exploits were known
To the Exchange and Custom House alone.

XVI

‘Well you must know, then,’ said Herr Jonathan,
('Twas by this formula that his narration
The worthy merchant artlessly began)
‘The reason of that intimate relation
‘You find between Cordelia and a man
‘Who, like myself, is not by education
‘Or character what you'd expect to see
‘The Guardian, Sir, of such a girl as she;

XVII

‘But, Sir, her father's oldest clerk was I;
‘The oldest and most trusted of them all.
‘And what a man was he! Were I to try
‘To give you an idea, however small,
‘Of his stupendous enterprises, why
‘I should be months about it, and still fall
‘Short of the mark. All difficulties were
‘Trifles to him; he played with them, I swear,

XVIII

‘As jugglers play with cup and ball. Altho'
‘I do not mean that Johann Stahl was ever
‘A gambler, or a speculator. No,
‘I mean that without visible endeavour
‘He did what nobody but he could do,
‘Invariably succeeding in whatever
‘He undertook. The envious used to say
‘(Envy can always explain worth away)

XIX

‘“'Twas all his luck.” His luck! I'll tell you what,
‘His luck, Sir, was himself! 'Twas intellect,
‘Genius, and courage. Not a doubt of that!
‘Everywhere, folks see only the effect;
‘The cause of it they never will be at
‘The trouble to discover. They detect
‘A little earth-mound somewhere; that's the whole
‘Of what they see; and they exclaim, “A mole!”

XX

‘A mole? Good Lord! that's not so very hard
‘To find out, is it? Yet, in spite of this,
‘The mole's not there; the mole is many a yard
‘Away; not one of them knows where he is.
‘To right? to left? in front? behind? The sward
‘Shows nothing but that little mound of his,
‘To make which what long tunnels have there been,
‘What burrowings incessant and unseen!

XXI

‘And so it is with those, Sir, who in trade
‘Or commerce, or industrial affairs,
‘Have by their genius and their patience made
‘Colossal fortunes. Palaces are theirs,
‘They never dance in: tables richly laid
‘For feasts, the man who gives them seldom shares.
‘If you would find these fortune—makers, go,
‘Seek them where they are working. Ah, but no!

XXII

‘None ever seeks them where they may be found:
‘All see their work's result: the world says, “Pray,
‘“Whose is that fine estate?” and I'll be bound
‘Some Puss-in-Boots is always by to say,
‘Purring for pride, with scrapes and bows profound,
‘(Such is those creatures' customary way!)
‘“That is my master's, the most noble lord
‘“Marquess of Carabas, upon my word!”

XXIII

‘Ay! the possessor of such palaces
‘And parks is always, as I chance to know,
‘A little of a marquess. But it is
‘Not near enough to be a little, no,
‘Nor yet a deal, of all the marquesses
‘That ever were, to do what these men do—
‘The great commercial Carabases, they
‘Who thro' Trade's Fairyland, have won their way!

XXIV

‘No, Sir! Such men must have an iron will,
‘And heads and hands of iron. And that's not
‘Enough, even then. 'Tis necessary still,
‘That all this iron should be heated hot
‘To a white heat, and hissing plunged, until
‘Its strength has to the finest temper got,
‘In ice-cold water. Iron by degrees
‘Thus turns to steel—then, call it how you please!

XXV

‘Cordelia's father such a man I call.
‘A man of steel, but steel of temper rare!
‘His German name was little, if at all,
‘Known in America: men everywhere
‘Called him John Steel, and, Sir, we never shall
‘See such a man again! Beyond compare
‘The greatest, noblest, man I ever knew,
‘As strong as steel, as polished, and as true!

XXVI

‘Nothing cared he for profit or for gain.
‘The invention, the discovery, the plan,
‘The projects vast of his creative brain,
‘These were what wholly occupied the man.
‘At work you should have seen him! and again
‘You should have seen him in repose! I can
‘No more tell when I most admired John Steel,
‘Than you could tell—the price of cochineal!

XXVII

‘In all he was, and did, he seemed to tower
‘Immeasurably above other men:
‘His huge activity, his giant power
‘Of work, his sovereign hand and searching ken,
‘These were apparent to the crowd of lower
‘Existences, and weaker wills, that, when
‘He chose it, his magnetic touch could stir
‘With an imparted strength of character;

XXVIII

‘But none could sound the depth of tenderness
‘In that strong heart—how deeply it could feel
‘For others, and how softly, none could guess,
‘Who with his daughter had not seen John Steel.
‘And to be sure, Cordelia is no less
‘Above all women (ay, Sir, and a deal
‘Above the best!) than, I affirm again,
‘Cordelia's father was above all men.

XXIX

‘Sir, you have seen her: have you ever seen
‘Her equal among women? Every one
‘Who meets her feels in presence of a Queen,
‘And what a Queen! In all the world is none
‘To be compared to her. Face, figure, mien,
‘Voice, manners, every gesture, every tone,
‘And above all, heart, character, and mind,
‘In all, she is the flower of womankind!

XXX

‘And just to think, Sir, that this queenly creature
‘Should be the child of a mere working-man
‘And a mere working-woman! Truly, Nature
‘Is full of mysteries! None greater than
‘Those children in whose every trait and feature
‘She wins a race their parents never ran,
‘And crowns a dynasty of which, gaze round her
‘Where'er you will, you cannot find the founder!

XXXI

‘Cordelia, Sir, is not a work of art,
‘Nor is she Nature's common growth. In all
‘She is supreme: from all she stands apart:
‘Nothing is studied, nothing casual,
‘About her: as her face is, so her heart:
‘Both have a charm that's purely natural,
‘Yet most uncommon: it is not acquired,
‘Nor is it copied: it appears inspired.

XXXII

‘I've watched her from her cradle. She has grown,
‘But has not changed. Before her birth, before
‘Her father's marriage, before Steel was known
‘By that surpassing opulence, he bore
‘As a born king the burden of a crown
‘That's light to him, I was, I may say, more
‘Than his mere confidential clerk. And so
‘The story of Cordelia's birth I know.

XXXIII

‘I knew her mother—rest her soul with God!
‘And where else should that gentle spirit be?
‘This earth no meeker creature ever trod,
‘Tho' as for brains, not much of those had she!
‘Her life seemed one mute waiting on the nod
‘Of her protector. You must know that he
‘Had from her parents rescued her, they say,
‘Body and soul; and, heavens, what parents they!

XXXIV

‘We will not speak of them. When this occurred
‘She was a child. She could not read, or write,
‘Or even count her fingers. In a word,
‘She seemed to be almost, Sir, if not quite,
‘An idiot. Poor young creature! I have heard
‘That a somnambulist is one whose sight
‘And hearing, speech and motion, all fulfil
‘The mandate of some other person's will;

XXXV

‘I never wished to see, nor ever saw,
‘Any such thing. All cases, I confess,
‘Of aberrations from the wholesome law
‘Of human nature's common course, distress
‘My mind with feelings, not so much of awe,
‘As of disgust at their unnaturalness;
‘And that is why I never without pain
‘Can call to mind the image of poor Jane.

XXXVI

‘You would have said that all she did was done
‘By an automaton; as if her mind
‘Out of her body somewhere else had gone,
‘While her mechanical life remained behind.
‘Those with whom Steel had placed her (for alone
‘She could not live with him, and they were kind)
‘Averred that in her sleep the child became
‘So altered, they scarce knew her for the same;

XXXVII

‘Soon as sleep closed her eyes (altho' they were
‘Beautiful eyes) her face, they said, would take
‘In slumber a more animated air
‘Than it retained while she was still awake,
‘And her lips moved. The woman in whose care
‘She lived, once having tried in vain to break
‘The child's unslumbrous sleep, began to feel
‘Alarmed, and sent a message to John Steel;

XXXVIII

‘He came; they led him to her room; he stayed
‘Beside her several hours; and what took place
‘During that time I never knew. 'Twas said
‘That in her sleep (and I've been told the case
‘Tho' rare is not unknown) this little maid,
‘If questioned, would reply with a strange grace
‘Of language, and a quite uncommon sense,
‘Wholly beyond a child's intelligence;

XXXIX

‘All that I know is, shortly after this
‘(And, as you may suppose, to the no small
‘Astonishment of his acquaintances)
‘Jane Hope became Steel's wife. But what I call
‘The most surprising thing about it, is
‘That she herself showed no surprise at all.
‘She thro' the marriage ceremony went
‘As if quite unconcerned in that event;

XL

‘And from the look of her you would have said
‘That into church the girl had strolled that day
‘Only to see some other person wed.
‘After her marriage, just in the same way,
‘She led the life that she had always led:
‘Her constant occupation (and they say
‘That in such handiwork, at least, poor thing!
‘She had no equal) was embroidering.

XLI

‘Steel treated her with a profound respect,
‘Which never showed the slightest variation;
‘No sovereign of a court the most select
‘Could be approached with more consideration,
‘No mistress more unchided, more unchecked,
‘No pontiff less exposed to disputation,
‘Than John Steel's wife. Yet in her silent cell
‘Never did nun, more closely-cloistered, dwell;

XLII

‘Nor could her spouse, if sick of household strife,
‘Have oftener left her; but she did not don
‘Those airs resigned of a long-suffering wife,
‘Some worthy women with less cause put on:
‘She knew that his must be a busy life,
‘And hers a life comparatively lone:
‘Both seemed to find in each what each required:
‘And nothing more by either was desired.

XLIII

‘Before Cordelia's birth, her mother made
‘A baby wardrobe for the unborn child;
‘Rare broidery of intricatest braid
‘On all the little frocks and caps she piled;
‘And, as she worked it, quietly she said,
‘(And, as she said it, quietly she smiled)
‘This broidery was with hieroglyphics sown,
‘Concerning her child's future and her own;

XLIV

‘She said that, in the broidered emblems there,
‘'Twas written (and it happened certainly
‘Just as she said) the child she was to bear
‘Would be a girl, and she herself would die
‘When the child's life was in its second year.
‘With no disease, no struggle, scarce a sigh,
‘In John Steel's arms, she passed away from earth
‘One year and nine months after the child's birth.

XLV

‘Far oftener than to church he ever went,
‘Henceforth his wont was at her grave to pray;
‘Each time, too, with a look of strange content
‘And deep serenity, he came away,
‘As from a shrine to which the sick are sent
‘For cures miraculous. In fact, there lay
‘In John Steel's vigorous nature, after all,
‘A something dreamy and fantastical;

XLVI

‘That he was superstitious—well, that's more
‘Than I should like to say. But I could see
‘He had peculiar notions on the score
‘Of certain influences—things that we
‘Call supernatural,—tho' he forebore
‘From ever speaking of such things to me;
‘Indeed, he spoke of them, I think, to none,
‘Unless it were Cordelia alone;

XLVII

‘And it is my belief that even to her
‘Her father was, and wisely, more or less
‘Reserved on that side of his character;
‘Only, Cordelia has the power to guess
‘And understand, miraculously, Sir,
‘Whatever, in the innermost recess
‘Of their own hearts, those round her think and feel;
‘And John Steel's daughter knew by heart John Steel.

XLVIII

‘From his ideas, and from his alone,
‘(For this, at least, could come from no one else)
‘Cordelia has inherited her own,
‘That 'tis her destiny and Emanuel's
‘To realize the love which Fortune's frown
‘And Fate's accumulated obstacles
‘Forbade their parents, who conceived it first,
‘To cherish save in visions vainly nursed.

XLIX

‘I might as well have tried, I must confess,
‘To open oyster-shells without a knife,
‘As, from my knowledge of them both, to guess
‘The part by Jane Hope played in John Steel's life;
‘But trust a woman for clear-sightedness
‘In all affairs of sentiment! My wife
‘Explained it all to me; for she, Sir, who
‘Knows how to put together two and two,

L

‘Observed that in Jane Hope (that poor forlorn
‘Half-witted sufferer, as to me she seemed!)
‘John Steel imagined that a Seeress born
‘Was sent him; all whose sayings he esteemed
‘As messages from Mary Haggerdorn;
‘Poor Jane asserting that the dreams she dreamed
‘Maintained in close communion with each other
‘Cordelia's father and Emanuel's mother.

LI

‘In short, it was John Steel's belief (strange fad
‘In one so practical and sensible!)
‘That this Jane Hope from Heaven a mission had
‘To be his wife, and bear to him as well
‘A girl, while Mary's boy was yet a lad,
‘So that Cordelia and Emanuel
‘Should reunite the tie, which fate had torn,
‘Between himself and Mary Haggerdorn.

LII

‘Her mission ended with her daughter's birth.
‘And then, without a pang of any kind,
‘Jane Hope passed quietly away from earth.
‘Is it not, Sir, astonishing to find
‘Beliefs like this, which would provoke to mirth
‘All men of even average strength of mind,
‘In intellectual giants? Search the range
‘Of your experience, and confess 'tis strange!’

LIII

‘Strange, yes,’ said Edelrath, ‘yet not so rare
‘Are such reactions as they seem to you:
‘Richelieu with kittens played, and the stars were
‘By Wallenstein consulted: one or two
‘Grains of his childhood every man, whate'er
‘His character may be, keeps hid from view
‘Safe at the core of it; and now and then
‘The power of childhood they assert again:

LIV

‘Of this, indeed, those men the world calls great
‘Furnish examples, which astonish us
‘Because such incongruities create
‘In characters that are conspicuous
‘The most impressive contrasts. To your late
‘Much-gifted friend, whose character was thus
‘Distinctly marked, his boyhood's love remained
‘An Eden unforgot and unregained;

LV

‘And, like the Father of the Human Race,
‘He lived between two curses, turned almost
‘Into two blessings by the saving grace
‘Of Custom, which defrays the daily cost
‘Of human life,—the salt sweat of his face,
‘And the still-sweet remembrance of his lost
‘But unforgotten Paradise. These grand
‘Self-contradictions I can understand;

LVI

‘But what I do not understand so well
‘Is that John Steel, who cherished, as you say,
‘Important projects for Emanuel—
‘A young man destined to become, some day,
‘(If he believed that deathbed oracle)
‘His daughter's husband,—should have found no way
‘To adopt, or by some other means to bring
‘The boy beneath his own paternal wing.’

LVII

‘O, as to that,’ replied Herr Jonathan,
‘It happens that I can enlighten you,
‘And much more satisfactorily than
‘About his other notions. For I too,
‘Surprised that he should have laid down no plan
‘In his own mind as proper to pursue
‘About Emanuel, questioned him, and I
‘Was forcibly impressed by his reply.

LVIII

‘“Such plans,” he said, “would be what he should call
‘“Playing at Providence. Fate is not free
‘“On one side or the other side to fall;
‘“Sentiment stronger than all else must be,
‘“If sentiment be anything at all.
‘“Friend, I believe in miracles,” said he,
‘“And I believe in chemistry as well;
‘“I from the alembic crave no miracle,

LIX

‘“And Providence I ask not to prevent
‘“The copper plates on any ship of mine
‘“From being injured by the element
‘“That oxidizes copper. If, in fine,
‘“Emanuel can such a love content
‘“As, finding me unworthy its divine
‘“Accomplishment, the Heavenly Will, that made
‘“My heart its birthplace, to my life forbade,

LX

‘“Then, just as sure as you and I now are
‘“Concerned about a youth we know not yet,
‘“Soon as Love lights the signal, from afar
‘“He will pursue it with a faith firm-set,
‘“As did the Magian kings the Bethlem star:
‘“If, on the other hand, his soul can get
‘“From such a love no guidance, my control
‘“Would but beguile him from his natural goal.

LXI

‘“As for the rest, I am not ignorant
‘“Of aught that I as yet require to know
‘“About Emanuel. For whate'er I want
‘“To learn about him I have means; and so,
‘“Watchful, I wait the growth of this young plant.
‘“Where God hath planted it, there let it grow!
‘“All in good time. Well satisfied am I
‘“The boy is in safe hands, and by and by—”

LXII

‘By and by, what—I never knew. For there,
‘John Steel invariably would turn away
‘With an abrupt and peremptory air,
‘That said, more plainly than all words could say,
‘“I mean to tell you nothing more. Forbear
‘“To ask me further.” But I think you may
‘Be certain (I, at least, have not a doubt)
‘That well John Steel knew what he was about.

LXIII

‘The affections of that man, Sir, were profound
‘As his abilities were vast. The extent
‘Of these in those its counterpart had found,
‘Each furnishing the other's measurement;
‘As if you, by the mountain's height, could sound
‘The valley's depth. Upon mankind he spent
‘The treasures of his genius, on his child
‘The treasures of his golden heart were piled;

LXIV

‘And only see what the results have been!
‘There, the wide influence of a natural king,
‘Here the sweet majesty of a natural queen!
‘And how Cordelia has in everything
‘Her father's love requited! Sir, between
‘Ourselves, I think some strange foreshadowing
‘Of such requital prompted him to say
‘His daughter's name should be Cordelia.

LXV

‘I've seen the piece from which he took that name;
‘And, when the old king, weeping over her,
‘Upon the stage with his dead daughter came,
‘(You'll laugh at me when I confess it, Sir,
‘But always it affects me just the same)
‘I felt obliged to leave the theatre.
‘I couldn't stand it. John Steel's happiness
‘To me so well explained King Lear's distress!’

LXVI

Here, with a long-drawn breath, Herr Jonathan
Puffed at his pipe; but found that it was out,
Just like this Canto. Grunting, he began
To knock the ashes from it all about;
And while its emptied bowl that worthy man
Replenished, Edelrath, who was no doubt
By all he had been hearing deeply stirred,
Mused with shut eyes, and uttered not a word.

CANTO III. JOHN STEEL'S DAUGHTER.

I

‘Yes,’ resumed Eckermann, as soon as he
His pipe had filled. ‘Cordelia to John Steel
‘Was all a child can to a parent be:
‘To think as he thought, as he felt to feel,
‘An impulse so intuitive had she,
‘That from her heart his own full heart's appeal
‘Got, by anticipation, even ere yet
‘'Twas spoken, the response it craved to get.

II

‘For him, I often think when I recall
‘The past, what consolation and delight
‘It must have been to ease his soul of all
‘Its inmost thoughts to one who, with the right
‘To claim his trust, possessed such magical
‘Endowment its outpourings to requite,
‘By understanding them. His hopes betrayed,
‘His faith unshaken,—all, her own she made!

III

‘And 'tis thro' having from her childhood known
‘The depth and grandeur of her father's heart,
‘That into all the fibres of her own
‘The ideal of a love that stands apart
‘From every other with her growth has grown.
‘The common Cupid with his casual dart
‘Will never touch her. What she sees in love
‘Is life's most sacred mission from above;

IV

‘A mission to which few are called perchance,
‘And fewer still are chosen, to effect
‘The revelation and deliverance
‘Of a sublime evangel, whose elect
‘Evangelists each worldly circumstance
‘That contradicts its truth must needs reject.
‘But there's no use in my attempting, Sir,
‘To probe so singular a character;

V

‘How should I know what passes in the high
‘Ethereal regions of which souls like hers
‘Are the inhabitants? Such regions lie
‘Beyond my reach, where Earth with Heaven confers!
‘Yet, tho' I cannot comprehend them, I
‘The more revere those wondrous characters
‘Whose lives bestow on all the human race
‘A higher dignity, a grander grace;

VI

‘And in that girl I humbly recognise
‘One of those rare surpassing souls whose glow
‘Gladdens the world with beautiful surprise,
‘Like great creative poets. Well I know
‘That I, with all my business faculties,
‘Shrewdness and common sense, am far below
‘Such spirits, and can never hope to be
‘Their equal. So sublime they seem to me!’

VII

This language from the mouth of Eckermann,
Who seemed, so far as his appearance went,
The very last and most unlikely man
To set such value upon sentiment,
So startled Edelrath that he began
To doubt his ears; and his surprise found vent
In exclamations which elicited
From his strange host fresh snorts. ‘Dear me,’ he said,

VIII

‘There's nothing wonderful in what I say
‘In this, Sir, as in everything, I go
‘By my own common sense. America
‘You never visited? Well, you must know
‘That in the great wild West there, far away
‘Where the immense primæval forests grow,
‘Vast tracts of savage territory lie,
‘Whose occupiers are queer company;

IX

‘As savage as the soil is, are the men!
‘Rough customers—a most forbidding lot
‘All of them, as the Devil said, Sir, when
‘He saw the Ten Commandments; yet there's not
‘A man among them but can now and then,
‘If there's occasion for it, from a sot
‘And ruffian, change himself into a stoic,
‘Intrepid, patient, sober, and heroic:

X

‘We call them pioneers: Civilisation
‘Sends them to search thro' regions that ignore her
‘For treasures she ignores, and their vocation
‘Is, at all costs, to clear her way before her.
‘Full credit be to them, say I! Privation
‘And peril is the lot of each explorer,
‘And doubtful his reward. The Heroes they
‘Of Muscles, be their motives what they may!

XI

‘But there are other kinds of heroes, ay,
‘And higher ones! and when a man I see
‘With lofty brow and penetrative eye,
‘Whose genius opens out for you and me
‘Regions remote, and rugged, that defy
‘The mind's invasion, with what needs must be
‘Obscurities more formidable far
‘Than those of our primæval forests are,

XII

‘I recognise with a profound respect
‘The Pioneer of Thought, who clears the way
‘Onward and upward for man's intellect:
‘These men I value most: the Heroes they
‘Of Brains: and on mankind such men reflect
‘More honour than mankind to them can pay.
‘But, in the name of common sense, are we
‘Nothing but brains and muscles? What would be

XIII

‘The athlete, better than a powerful beast,
‘The savant, better than a thought-machine,
‘But for the heart? the heart, that to the least
‘Of its explorers opens what a mine
‘Of mysteries, and provides, too, what a feast
‘Of pleasures for its humblest owner! Mine
‘Has been, upon the whole, a pleasant life:
‘I have a happy home, a worthy wife,

XIV

‘Children I love, good health, good appetite,
‘I eat well, sleep well, and am well-to-do:
‘If in these blessings I had no delight,
‘A brute I should be, and an idiot too:
‘But how could I enjoy them, were I quite
‘Without that faculty, which gives the hue
‘And tone to all? For 'tis the heart alone
‘That gives to all things else their hue and tone.

XV

‘Well, but this happiness, which you may call
‘Humdrum without offence (for what am I?
‘A humdrum man!) has it exhausted all
‘The wonderful and precious things that lie
‘In Feeling's treasure-house? Or can my small
‘Experience measure the immensity
‘Of those illimitable realms that rest
‘By me untraversed in the Heart's Far West?

XVI

‘No! there, my common sense convinces me,
‘Vast elevations more sublime than are
‘The Rocky Mountains, and wide tracts, must be,
‘Richer, more varied, and more fertile far,
‘Than any earthly soil that's known to me;
‘There, doubtless, many an undiscovered star,
‘And many a region, none yet penetrates,
‘Feeling's predestined pioneer awaits;

XVII

‘Ah, what awaits in turn the pioneer?
‘Easy to guess! sufferings beyond the lot
‘Of other mortals, struggles more severe,
‘And victories by vaster efforts got!
‘How should one know such souls when they appear?
‘I know, and pity those that know them not!
‘As, by the brawny arm, or lofty brow,
‘Heroes of Muscles, or of Brains, we know,

XVIII

‘So may these Heroes of the Heart be known
‘By other signs: I cannot name them all,
‘Nor are they to be named, but felt alone:
‘I feel them when I find them, and could fall
‘Upon my knees before them. There is one
‘Familiar name I know them by; I call
‘That name Cordelia; and I'd follow her
‘Blindfold across the world without demur!

XIX

‘Blindfold, without demur,—for if, some day,
‘She showed me not, and helped me not to see,
‘Something like Paradise Regained,—why, may
‘The Old Gen—’ But there, whether it was that he
Perceived that what he was about to say
Would altogether more appropriate be
To Paradise Lost, or whether it was merely
That language failed to express his feelings clearly,

XX

The worthy Jonathan behind a vast
And many-coloured pocket-handkerchief
Hid all his face, and blew a nasal blast,
Which seemed at once to give him much relief.
This tribute paid to sentiment, at last
With more composure he went on, ‘In brief
‘Cordelia is Cordelia. I was still
‘At Hamburg when her father died. His will,

XXI

‘And mine, recalled me to his daughter's side;
‘And then it was that from her lips I learned
‘Her resolution forthwith to confide
‘To Mary Müller's son what, I discerned
(‘From all her language on this point implied)
‘Were my lost friend's last wishes. He had yearned,
‘I knew, for the arrival of that day
‘Which came at last just as he passed away;

XXII

‘The day, Sir, when Emanuel's education
‘At Heidelberg was ended. Then it was
‘John Steel had meant to make the revelation
‘So long withheld. My poor friend's death, alas,
‘Rendered impossible the slow gradation
‘Of steps by which it would have come to pass
‘Under his guiding hand, had he but lived
‘To carry out the project he contrived:

XXIII

‘Cordelia's frank, straightforward character
‘Spurned the precautions which to me seemed better
‘Than none at all, and which I urged on her
‘For prudence' sake: nor could I even get her
‘The trial of Emanuel to defer
‘Till she at least knew more of him: her letter
‘Reached Europe, as she meant that it should do,
‘By the same boat that bore its writer too:

XXIV

‘She might have written it from Hamburg, where
‘With us she then was staying: but I guess
‘She feared that, if Emanuel were aware
‘That he was within reach of her address,
‘That knowledge might precipitate the affair.
‘Her wish was that his answer, no, or yes,
‘To so deliberate an invocation
‘Should not be made without deliberation.

XXV

‘“The experiment to which her hand she set
‘“Was to decide her fate,” she said, “and prove
‘“Whether two persons who had never met
‘“Could love each other with an ardent love,
‘“Intenser than the senses can beget,
‘“A rapt communion of two souls, above
‘“The need and aid of sight and touch, those springs
‘“Of passion that fan open Love's shut wings:

XXVI

‘“She stood upon the shore of Life's great sea,
‘“And saw Love walking on the waves,” she said;
‘“Love, with stretched hand, called to her, Follow me!
‘“And follow him she would, nor fear to tread
‘“That unsubstantial path. Such faith had she
‘“In the sublime sustaining Power that led!”
‘“But if,” said I, “this singular faith of yours
‘“Unshared should be?” She answered, “Faith endures,

XXVII

‘“Shared, or unshared. From Love, for Love, my heart
‘“Religiously received a sacred treasure;
‘“My mandate is to find its counterpart,
‘“And not to place it save where in full measure
‘“Its like is found. Guideless I do not start
‘“On this great errand, which vouchsafes no leisure
‘“To palter with its purpose. If, however,
‘“The message I am given to deliver

XXVIII

‘“Is not received where 'tis addressed, be sure
‘“My heart will keep what to my heart was given
‘“In trust for Love, still safe, and whole, and pure,
‘“Till Love recalls to its own source in Heaven
‘“What earth rejected. Faith will still endure
‘“Unshaken, though unshared. I shall have striven,
‘“Faithful, as strove my father, to fulfil
‘“Love's purpose here; and, like my father, still

XXIX

‘“Must wait resigned till it is better known
‘“Beyond.” “But, ah, the danger is,” said I,
‘“Lest such a faith as yours be overthrown
‘“Not by rejection, but by treachery!
‘“What, if the heart to which you trust your own,
‘“Should give you, in return for truth, a lie?”
‘Scarce uttered was that warning, ere I would
‘Have instantly recalled it if I could;

XXX

‘From head to foot Cordelia trembled. She
‘Had turned death-white. Far braver than most men
‘I knew she was, but never did I see,
‘And may Heaven grant I never see again,
‘Such terror in a woman's face! I'm free
‘To own that I could answer nothing, when
‘She cried, “Hush! do not tempt me to believe
‘“That this is possible! Can God deceive?”

XXXI

‘How could I answer that appeal, or make
‘Objections to the faith that it implied?
‘You might as well insist, for safety's sake,
‘On getting the Four Gospels certified
‘Before a magistrate empowered to take
‘Evidence upon oath. I simply tried
‘To unsay what I had said, and could have bitten
‘My tongue off. So the letter, Sir, was written;

XXXII

‘Written, and sent! And what that letter said
‘I cannot say. To me she did not care
‘To show it. Naturally! But I read
‘(Read, and good heavens, Sir, how it made me stare!)
‘The answer it from him elicited:
‘Stiff, as I read that answer, all my hair
‘Stood with a horror I can still recall.
‘Twenty lines, and a postscript—that was all!

XXXIII

‘The twenty lines, in twenty thousand ways,
‘Said twenty thousand times the same word, “yes!”
‘Love's language may, as everybody says
‘It is, be universal: but I guess
‘As many dialects as the year has days,
‘And more—as many as couples more or less
‘In love, there be—that language must have got;
‘Each gibberish to those that speak it not!

XXXIV

‘This wonderful epistle, anyhow,
‘Was not to my address; and no offence
‘Is to its writer meant when I avow
‘That upon me its flowers of eloquence
‘Made no impression. But I must bestow
‘Full justice on his genius to condense
‘Multum in parvo. For I'm bound to say
‘His postscript fairly took my breath away.’

XXXV

As Eckermann this observation made,
Edelrath heaved a sigh so audible
That, startled by it, the good merchant said,
‘What is the matter? You appear unwell.
‘And all this talk fatigues you, I'm afraid.
‘I should have thought of that!’ Upon the bell
He laid his hand. ‘At seven o'clock we dine.
‘Meanwhile, a sandwich and a glass of wine!

XXXVI

‘Nay, do! A biscuit, then, at least, I trust?
‘What, is it really, absolutely no?
‘Well by a wave of the hand, Sir, you have just
‘Declined a biscuit with no more ado
‘Than that superb postscriptum (for I must
‘Call it superb) declined—by one or two
‘Strokes of the pen—and with as cool an air—
‘The fortune of our greatest millionnaire!

XXXVII

‘Ah, yes, indeed!’ continued Eckermann
Attracted by, and misinterpreting,
The grief of Edelrath (who here began
With a despairing groan his hands to wring)
‘'Tis, as you say, incredible! I can,
‘No more than you, account for such a thing,
‘Nor reconcile myself to it at all.
‘I try to do so, but I never shall!

XXXVIII

‘And more than this! Refuse the wealth immense
‘She offered him,—well, that might pass; but no,
‘Nothing by halves the fine indifference
‘Of our young prince, Sir, is content to do!
‘And he invites Cordelia to dispense
‘With her whole fortune, for her own self too,
‘Just as he might have said, “My dear Miss Steel,
‘“Let me relieve you of your shawl! you'll feel

XXXIX

‘“Better without it, 'tis so hot to-day!”
‘But what is harder still to be believed,
‘Is the delighted, the enraptured, way
‘In which Cordelia, for her part, received
‘This cool proposal. Nothing I could say
‘To change her mind, the least success achieved;
‘She said that this was what most proved how well
‘Her rede was riddled by Emanuel.

XL

‘You may conceive, Sir, my embarrassment.
‘My guardianship is purely nominal;
‘This sacrifice of fortune to prevent,
‘Steel's will had given me no power at all;
‘And yet how could I cheerfully consent
‘To see the child I loved and cherished fall,
‘Thro' a capricious boy's infatuation,
‘From boundless wealth to absolute privation?

XLI

‘But 'tis impossible in every case
‘To struggle with the sort of women who
‘Never say “must” or “shall,” Sir! They replace
‘Commonplace self-assertions, such as “do”
‘And “don't,” by simply smiling in your face,
‘And seeming not to understand what you
‘Repeat with pains so idly spent about it,
‘That you yourself at last begin to doubt it;

XLII

‘And forthwith that unconquerable smile
‘Gets round you; and, before you quite know how,
‘You find yourself applauding what erewhile
‘You disapproved. That was my case, I know;
‘And I passed over, in the usual style
‘Of converts, with an irrepressible glow
‘Of changed conviction, to the other side.
‘You wonder? Yes, but I was sorely tried,

XLIII

‘And there is one fact that contributed
‘To my conversion more than all the rest;
‘To admit it with reluctance I was led,
‘And to withstand it long I did my best;
‘But it is certain all Cordelia said,
‘In furtherance of Emanuel's request,
‘Would by the father she so dearly loved
‘(Strange as that fact may seem) have been approved.

XLIV

‘Yet what a bitter thing it was, to see
‘That noble fortune all dispersed and gone!
‘A fortune, Sir, that was indeed to me
‘An endless joy and wonder! Not alone
‘Because I knew its vast extent to be
‘Unequalled, but because there was not one
‘Of its details I did not know by heart.
‘That fortune was to me a work of art;

XLV

‘A work of art and genius! I had watched
‘The growth of it, and knew how it was made.
‘As precious as the masterpiece unmatched
‘Of some surpassing artist, lately dead,
‘Is to the connoisseur who was attached
‘To the dead master, and had often stayed
‘Beside him while beneath his hand it grew,
‘To me that fortune was. Its worth I knew;

XLVI

‘And never, I assure you, did I pass
‘A night as wretched as the night when I
‘Completed what appeared to me, alas,
‘Much like the first act of the tragedy
‘To which Cordelia owes her name. It was
‘With heavy heart, and eyes by no means dry,
‘I handed her, for her self-spoliation,
‘The deed I had devised of a donation,

XLVII

‘Of which—I shall have more to say anon!
‘It was dispatched about six weeks ago
‘To the United States; and everyone
‘Of its provisions will be soon, I know,
‘In course of execution. When 'twas done,
‘“And now,” said I, “what are you going to do
‘“Without your fairy gold, my Fairy Queen?
‘“One has to live, you know! at least I mean,

XLVIII

‘“Life being given, one must keep it going
‘“Somehow or other.” “Certainly,” said she,
‘“That's all provided for.” And, with a knowing
‘Curtsey and an arch smile, she handed me
‘A little slip of printed paper, showing
‘Where she had marked it. Sir, there seemed to be
‘No end to the surprises, I may say,
‘That I was doomed to undergo that day;

XLIX

‘Her printed slip was an advertisement
‘Which I myself had put into the press,
‘Not long before this unforeseen event,
‘Of my requirement of a governess
‘Well recommended, and both competent
‘And willing (for board, lodging, all but dress,
‘Provided, and a hundred pounds a year)
‘To teach my daughters—you have seen them here,

L

‘One eight, the other ten. “What! you, a Queen,
‘“A Princess Born!” I cried. “Good heavens, reflect!
‘“What are you doing? Do you really mean
‘“To tell me you've the patience to correct
‘“Themes, on the important difference between
‘“Virtue and vice, by children I suspect
‘“Of generally spelling with two p's
‘“The word papa?” “And why not, if you please?”

LI

‘Replied Cordelia. “Mind what you are at,
‘“Or I shall raise my terms, and ask you, Sir,
‘“Fifty pounds more per annum.” “As to that,
‘“Five hundred, if you will,” I cried to her,
‘“A thousand! anything! no matter what!”
‘“Bah! no false bargains! As for character,
‘“No reference is needed,” she went on,
‘“And, for acquirements, I have every one

LII

‘“That this, your own advertisement demands;
‘“The terms that here are specified apply
‘“To any governess who understands
‘“How to teach history, geography,
‘“French, English, music. Here, then, to your hands
‘“Is just the person you require, for I
‘“Can do all this. Painting and singing, too,
‘“I'm willing to teach gratis. What say you?”

LIII

‘I could have gathered to my own that brave
‘And noble heart, to teach mine how to beat
‘More manfully! But as she only gave
‘To my embrace (with such a smile! so sweet,
‘And so bewitchingly half-arch, half-grave!)
‘Her dainty finger tips, a kiss discreet
‘I placed upon them; and, well pleased to yield
‘All her conditions, thus the bargain sealed.

LIV

‘But there was no occasion to install
‘That dear new governess in her command;
‘She had so long been governing us all,
‘I might have capped the phrase by Talleyrand
‘For Louis the Eighteenth, on the recall
‘Of the French Bourbons, so adroitly planned;
‘Nothing was changed here, all was as before;
‘There was not even a governess the more!

LV

‘A few days after this, I chanced to hear,
‘From persons there who correspond with me,
‘That our young friend had finished his career
‘At Heidelberg, and taken his degree,
‘And gone away, with a young English peer,
‘To Switzerland, where I was told that we
‘Most probably should find him travelling still
‘With his companion, Lord Glenaveril.

LVI

‘To Switzerland forthwith we took our way;
‘And the sole stipulation on my side,
‘(With which, to my relief, Cordelia
‘Immediately and cheerfully complied)
‘Was that she should on no account betray
‘Her name to her betrothed till time had tried,
‘By, at the least, some weeks of intercourse,
‘Her first impressions, whatsoe'er their force.

LVII

‘I felt that, if I had too easily
‘Sanctioned the sacrifice of that great prize,
‘Cordelia's fortune, I was bound to be
‘All the more careful not to jeopardize,
‘So far as this depended still on me,
‘Her peace of heart. A land of no great size
‘Is Switzerland, and regulated all,
‘From an hotel-book to a waterfall,

LVIII

‘For the convenience of the traveller;
‘I knew 'twould not be difficult to find
‘In such a well-conducted country, Sir,
‘The man we were in search of. Chance was kind,
‘However, and our first appeal to her
‘Conducted us at once, with undesigned
‘Selection, to the very same hotel,
‘At Chamouni, where lodged Emanuel;

LIX

‘Chance, in the person of the waiter, too,
‘That served our breakfast, told us who he was,
‘By calling out to a young man there, who
‘Was seated near, and whom he had to pass,
‘“My lord Glenaveril wants his keys of you,
‘“Herr Müller.” He got up: and in a glass
‘Close by, his image, with observant eyes,
‘I watched without betraying my surprise.

LX

‘The face there quite surpassed in every way
‘The notion I had formed of it. I knew
‘Already by report, before that day,
‘Emanuel was well-made, good-looking too,
‘Studious, and thoughtful, and, I had heard say,
‘Somewhat reserved in manner. And 'tis true
‘All these he seemed to be. But how much more
‘That I had had no notion of before!

LXI

‘What would you take him for, if unaware
‘Of all we know of him? Emanuel
‘Is a poor student,—name and title, Herr
‘Müller. That's all. And that's all very well,
‘But Sir, I say, Emanuel has an air,
‘A something—how describe it? Truth to tell,
‘It seems scarce credible that he and I,
‘By birth at least, are equals. Tell me why!’

LXII

Edelrath did not answer, but he cast
Upon the worthy merchant a sly glance
Half flattered, half satiric. ‘All this passed,’
Herr Eckermann, with glowing countenance,
Continued, not observing it, ‘so fast
‘That we had barely time to look askance
‘At one another. Upon my good dame,
‘And me, and all, the impression was the same

LXIII

‘But 'twas Cordelia that you should have seen!
‘That moment so transfigured her that I,
‘Tho' long familiar with her face and mien,
‘Felt as if then she stood before mine eye
‘For the first time, and less like a young queen
‘Than a young goddess just about to fly.
‘And yet her manner, after this, was all
‘Calmer if possible than usual;

LXIV

‘Only, it unmistakably displayed
‘The quiet proud serenity of one
‘Who, bravely, on behalf of some gainsaid
‘And long contested truth, stood out alone,
‘When unexpected proof of it has made
‘By all acknowledged what till then by none
‘Had been believed. I whispered to her, “Yes,
‘“Cordelia, you were right, I must confess,

LXV

‘“And I, who doubted your presentiments,
‘“Have been an ass! But you have second-sight!
‘“What I've now seen such certainty presents,
‘“My doubts were wrong, and your convictions right,
‘“That I, to make amends at all events,
‘“Release you from your pledges; I am quite
‘“Prepared to go and find him, and, indeed,
‘“To tell him all at once.” “There is no need,”

LXVI

‘She answered in her calmly-confident way.
‘“He recognised me, and will come unsought;
‘“I know he will come back to us to-day.”
‘And back he came, that's true! But how, Sir? Brought
‘Upon the wretched litter, where he lay
‘A bleeding cripple, to the bed I fought
‘My way to find, across a cackling crowd
‘That round about it gaped and gossiped loud!

LXVII

‘And then, to have to purchase the possession
‘Of that poor piece of life, scarce living now,
‘By tricks and subterfuges in succession!
‘To watch the dubious doctor's ominous brow
‘With fainting hope, and nurse the long progression
‘Towards recovery, so uncertain, slow
‘And painful! If Emanuel lives to-day,
‘He owes his life, Sir, to Cordelia!

LXVIII

‘Long while he lay unconscious. Self-possessed,
‘And only very pale and still, was she.
‘She never left his side for food or rest,
‘And always seemed instinctively to be
‘Aware of what he needed, what was best
‘To do for him, and how to do it. He
‘Opened at last his eyes on her, and low
‘He whispered gazing at her, “Do not go!”

LXIX

‘Poor boy! He fancied he was dreaming yet,
‘And was reluctant from his dream to wake.
‘Little by little he began to get
‘Stronger, and seemed, at intervals, to take
‘In the new faces that his gaze now met
‘A puzzled interest. Often would he make
‘Faint efforts to recall what had occurred,
‘And, sighing, fail. His memory still was blurred.

LXX

‘He asked Cordelia o'er and o'er to tell
‘Things told before, and how it was he came
‘To be with strangers who were friends as well;
‘And everything surprised him; his own name
‘The most of all. In fact, Emanuel
‘Seemed doubtful if he were himself the same,
‘Where all things else had undergone such change,
‘So jarred was his self-consciousness! 'Tis strange!

LXXI

‘As for that letter he had written to
‘Cordelia, when she mentioned it, he vowed
‘It had been burned by Michael Angelo
‘In the Last Judgment. Then, Sir, when she showed
‘The letter to him, it was worse. “Just so!
‘“'Tis as I told you. Look!” he cried aloud,
‘“That's not a letter. See what wings it hath!
‘“'Tis the bird Phœnix, caught by Edelrath,

LXXII

‘“And burned by Michael Angelo, yet there
‘“'Tis still alive, as well I knew 'twould be!
‘“Ah, let it fly back to the forest, where
‘“I found it first beneath an old elm-tree!
‘“Edelrath caught it by a Samian snare,
‘“Exclaiming, Two and two make five! You see
‘“That was a talisman. But I believe
‘“The bird escaped, and in a witch's sieve

LXXIII

‘“Sailed safe across the sea, before he found
‘“His matches, stolen by some Elfin thief;
‘“And then, it lost its way, and wandered round
‘“The world, until it reached the Sioux Chief;
‘“He, the Swift Lizard, had just captive bound
‘“The Moonwhite Maiden; and 'tis my belief
‘“That you are she; my bird, for your release,
‘“Lighted the Lizard's calumet of peace.

LXXIV

‘“Now to King David we must tell all this,
‘“And he, perhaps, will make a psalm of it.
‘“Ah, did you ever hear those psalms of his?
‘“There are words in them that appear to fit
‘“All that has ever happened. But it is
‘“A pity such fine poems should be writ
‘“All in Chinese. Chinese? No, no, that's wrong!
‘“That comes from China, and it is not strong,

LXXV

‘“It would not do! I had forgotten that!
‘“'Tis all in cups and saucers, brittle ware!
‘“As easily broken as that luckless hat
‘“Of Edelrath's, which brought on all this care
‘“And trouble, when it tumbled off. That's what
‘“Was the beginning of it all, I swear!
‘“Had they been made of china, well I know
‘“The Psalms would have been broken long ago!

LXXVI

‘“Broken as Marietta's needle was,
‘“Broken like—ah, where are we? Where is he?
‘“All broken! broken! broken!” So, alas,
‘He wandered on, quite incoherently,
‘For days and weeks together, and would pass
‘In his wild talk out of what seemed to be
‘One dream into another. He appeared
‘Not to remember who he was. I feared

LXXVII

‘His brain was permanently injured, Sir.
‘Cordelia was the only one, in fact,
‘Who never once lost hope; and he to her
‘Clung like a child. With what a marvellous tact
‘She tended him! As soon as he could stir,
‘Hoping that change of air might counteract
‘The symptoms I have just described to you,
‘We thought it best to try what that could do;

LXXVIII

‘And hither by slow stages we conveyed
‘Our wounded hero. But, to my despair,
‘His convalescence still no progress made,
‘And months went by before Cordelia's care
‘Of her poor patient was at last repaid
‘By his improved condition. I declare
‘What brought about this welcome change was due
‘Mainly to his intense regard for you.

LXXIX

‘Prëoccupied his mind had long appeared
‘(On your account, as it has since turned out)
‘By some great trouble, and when first he heard
‘That, since that fatal accident, about
‘Four months had passed, I more than ever feared
‘The effect of this discovery, which no doubt
‘Was startling. Like a wounded animal,
‘He moaned, and beat his head against the wall,

LXXX

‘And he, at any risk and any cost,
‘Must write to you immediately, he said.
‘That was impossible. We were almost
‘At our wits' end to calm him. We essayed
‘To assure him, Sir, that by the earliest post
‘We would not fail to write to you instead.
‘That only made him worse, and threw him quite
‘Into a raging fever. None must write

LXXXI

‘Except himself, and write he must, he cried,
‘Without delay. We promised him (and by
‘That promise he at last was pacified)
‘That in three days, if he till then would try
‘To nurse his strength, he should not be denied
‘The means to write to you. With a deep sigh
‘He closed his eyes, and fell asleep at length.
‘These paroxysms had worn out his strength.

LXXXII

‘The third day after this he was so weak,
‘We thought him sinking fast; and I, for one,
‘Was equally afraid to keep or break
‘The promise given him. By the aid alone
‘Of stimulants, though he could scarcely speak,
‘He wrote you a few lines. When they were done,
‘He sealed them up himself; then swooned away.
‘Yet was it from that moment, strange to say,

LXXXIII

‘That he began to mend. 'Twas daily then
‘He wrote to you, and most impatiently
‘Waited the answer to his letters. When
‘However, weeks, months, passed without reply,
‘He fell into that feverish state again
‘From which your presence here will, by and by,
‘I trust, relieve him. But Emanuel
‘Is still, believe me, very far from well.’

LXXXIV

As this remark he made, Herr Jonathan
Assumed a gravely confidential mien.
‘You ought to know it,’ he again began,
‘Even eyes less exercised than mine have been
‘Could scarcely fail, in watching that young man,
‘To see there's some great trouble still between
‘His memory and his mind, some unrevealed
‘Source of distress he tries to keep concealed.

LXXXV

‘I sometimes think that it perhaps may be
‘Connected with his poor friend's dreadful fate;
‘For it is singularly strange that he
‘Has never once, altho' so intimate
‘With all of us, (and, if reserved to me,
‘Still to Cordelia, at any rate,
‘Eager to pour his thoughts out in profusion)
‘Made to Glenaveril's fate the least allusion;

LXXXVI

‘Nay, he has never once spontaneously
‘Mentioned the name of Lord Glenaveril;
‘And, in our intercourse with him, we try
‘Never to mention it ourselves. It still
‘Seems to disturb his mind profoundly. I
‘Heard him pronounce your name, when he was ill
‘And raving, and Cordelia's, and, what is
‘Most strange, his own: never that friend's of his!

LXXXVII

‘And yet I know that they like brothers were
‘To one another. 'Tis Cordelia (O,
‘What a superb physician, I declare,
‘That girl would make!) who seemed alone to know
‘And understand, (as if she had laid bare
‘His poor distracted brain, and made it show
‘What in its troubled cells was going on)
‘The cause of this most strange phenomenon;

LXXXVIII

‘And she explained it all. “Observe,” she said,
‘“That in those moments when he seems to be
‘“Calling himself, his voice is choked with dread
‘“And horror. Doubtless, the last sound that he
‘“Was conscious of keeps ringing thro' his head;
‘“And that was his friend's cry of agony,
‘“Calling on him, before his senses all
‘“Were cancelled by the shock of his own fall;

LXXXIX

‘“'Tis evident that voice still haunts his brain,
‘“And that he hears its lingering echoes there;
‘“And, since in fever o'er and o'er again
‘“The sufferers are the actors, as it were,
‘“Of their own dreams, no further to explain
‘“Emanuel's ravings need you search. Compare
‘“His voice when on himself he seems to call,
‘“With other times. These cries are echoes all!”’

XC

But here Herr Jonathan at last detected
That Edelrath had risen from his seat,
And, springing from his own, he cried, ‘Respected
‘And honoured friend, your pardon I entreat!
‘I did not see how much you were affected.’
For Edelrath had suddenly, in great
Emotion, which to show he did not care,
Gone to the window, and was standing there,

XCI

His back to Eckermann. His soul was stirred
To fervid heat by thoughts he could not tell.
Tho' cruel the details that he had heard,
And deep the love he bore Emanuel,
Yet all the old man's heart had long conferred
Its hopes, its duties, and its pride as well,
Upon the care of what was left him still,
The life of Ivor, Lord Glenaveril;

XCII

And Ivor's nature from the analysis
Of all those terrible details had now
Emerged victorious, as from an abyss
Of Purgatory, in so sweet a glow
Of purity, that with a proud fond bliss
Edelrath's heart began to overflow;
And he was quite unable to restrain
The tender tumult of its happy pain.

XCIII

He in that moment would have torn in two
The stifling web that round a truth so dear
Fatality had woven, but that he knew
The least imprudent word might, with it, tear
To fragments the one solitary clue
Which from the labyrinth, whose enclosure drear
Was round him clasped, still offered the best chance
Of his Glenaveril's deliverance;

XCIV

So he stood silent. For he dared not speak.
Only a few soft tears, unwitnessed, stole
Down the worn channels of his wrinkled cheek;
And they were silent offerings to the soul
Of her who had entrusted to his weak
But loving hands, for guidance to its goal,
The pure young spirit whose innocent sufferings
Had thus enriched the radiance of its wings.

CANTO IV. UTOPIA.

I

Edelrath from his pious ecstasy
Was startled by the crystal clink and clatter
Of glasses, carried most unsteadily
By Eckermann upon a silver platter.
It was that good man's custom to apply,
When anything was with himself the matter,
One remedy; to which his thoughts reverted
On seeing how his guest was disconcerted;

II

To fetch it he had slipped unseen away,
And now returned, breathless, and overcome
By trying to maintain, upon the tray
His two hands grasped, an equilibrium
'Twixt bottle, glasses, plates in piled array,
And salted viands heaped around a dome
Of cavernous cheese. At all which things he glanced
Anxiously, as in zigzags he advanced,

III

Slow-footed, like a Juggler at a Fair,
Who poises on his nose, with bandaged eyes,
A peacock's feather. ‘There!’ he grunted, ‘there!’
As down he set them safe. ‘That port's a prize.
‘Eighteen Fifteen its date is, I can swear!
‘I got it from a palace of the Paez
‘Myself, at Lisbon. Cases by the score
‘Of this grand wine were piled there on the floor,

IV

‘And the great house had fall'n into decay,
‘Like the great family itself; because,
‘Although the Paez were once, Sir, in their day
‘A wealthy clan, by the late liberal laws
‘Of Portugal, which have contrived a way
‘Of subdividing down to the last straws
‘All Portuguese estates, some fifteen heirs
‘In the Paez Property hold equal shares,

V

‘And all, of course, are paupers. And for this
‘Destruction, which is going forward yet,
‘Of its old families, no creature is
‘In all that country better off, I'll bet!
‘What wonder that Old Europe goes amiss,
‘When any catchword's able to upset
‘Its equilibrium? No nearer gets
‘Old Age to Youth by turning somersets!

VI

‘I've been in many countries, and in all
‘Have noticed, Sir, that the most asinine
‘Of asses is the ass that people call
‘Enlightened Progress. Try this noble wine!
‘The old nobility of Portugal
‘That glass contains, still pure, with all its fine
‘And generous strength. Do you remember, Sir,
‘The words of Portugal's great minister,

VII

‘After the earthquake? Well, as Pombal said
‘During the scare of Seventeen Fifty Five,
‘“Now that we've piously interred our dead,
‘“Let us look after those who are alive!”’
Edelrath sorrowfully shook his head,
And, feeling his embarrassments revive,
‘The saddest duty was the first,’ sighed he,
‘But the most difficult the last will be!’

VIII

‘And therefore we,’ said Eckermann, ‘had best
‘Begin it now as soon as possible.’
‘Have you discussed this subject,’ said his guest,
‘With—’ There he stopped. The name, Emanuel,
Stuck in his throat. Then, having paused in quest
Of some expression that might serve as well,
‘With our young friend?’ he faltered. ‘Bless me, no!’
Replied the merchant, ‘that would never do.

IX

‘No man will ever learn, Sir, on dry land
‘By talking of the water, how to swim;
‘To push him in is all the friendliest hand
‘Can do for him.’ ‘And this is what for him
‘You mean to do, then, do I understand?’
Said Edelrath. ‘Such help seems rather grim.’
‘No,’ said his host, ‘'Twere crueller, I think,
‘To keep the poor boy shivering on the brink.’

X

‘And if he drowns?’ ‘At twenty years of age
‘Nobody drowns, nor yet at forty!’ ‘Friend!’
Said Edelrath, ‘what is it you engage
‘My hand to help? and how do you intend
‘To bring our novice safe thro' the first stage
‘Of such a lesson? I nor see your end,
‘Nor guess your means. Be good enough to state
‘What are the projects that you meditate.’

XI

‘If,’ said the merchant, ‘I had more than one,
‘All would be worthless. But the worst's the best
‘When there's no other, for 'tis this or none.’
‘And may I learn,’ said Edelrath, oppressed
By his determination to have done
With these perplexing confidences, lest
He should betray the truth, ‘this excellent
‘Bad project upon which your mind is bent?’

XII

‘Of course!’ replied Herr Jonathan, ‘your aid
‘Is indispensable to its success,
‘Of which, indeed, I'm not the least afraid,
‘If you'll but promise to support it.’ ‘Yes,
‘I promise, but on one condition,’ said
Herr Edelrath. ‘Then that's enough! I guess
‘What your condition is; and, for my part,
‘Sir, I agree to it with all my heart.’

XIII

‘In that case I've no need to mention it.’
‘None. I will mention it myself; and, Sir,
‘It is a fair condition and a fit;
‘Namely, that in its aim, its character,
‘And its details, the project I submit
‘Be one in which your judgment can concur.’
Edelrath bowed, with a sedate assent;
‘When a man has,’ he said, ‘the sentiment

XIV

‘Of duty in himself, Sir, he translates
‘Intuitively, as by divination,
‘What to another's conduct it dictates.’
‘That is,’ said Eckermann, ‘an intimation
‘That you and I, in what associates
‘Our duty with Emanuel's situation,
‘Shall understand each other perfectly.
‘I will explain my project by and by;

XV

‘But let us first impartially review
‘The case before us, ere we deal with it.
‘Emanuel, to live, must now pursue
‘Some calling. For what calling is he fit?
‘What can he do? What has he learned to do?
‘That's the first question I have to submit.
‘Theology has been his study. Good!
‘How will it help him to a livelihood?’

XVI

Herr Jonathan here blew his nose again:
And, as Herr Edelrath made no reply,
After a pause he thus continued, ‘When
‘It happens that the inn, Sir, can supply
‘Only one bed, for which a hundred men
‘Are applicants, it is a certainty,
‘If for one man the bed be not too wide,
‘That ninety-nine of them must sleep outside;

XVII

‘But what are all our Public Services?
‘Inns that have one bed only. And that bed,
‘We all know what a narrow one it is!
‘Yet daily, hoping there to lay their head,
‘From Europe's hundred universities
‘Come troops of travellers; and our sons are bred
‘And trained, and crammed, and educated yet,
‘To live by what scarce one of them can get.

XVIII

‘Yes, Sir, that's it! We teach them Latin, Greek,
‘Ologies, Onomies, and Heaven knows what!
‘We teach them how to write, and how to speak,
‘And how to fuss about, and fumble at,
‘What no one wants. But we forget to eke
‘The course out by one science, Sir, and that
‘Is how to die of hunger by and by.
‘Emanuel has learnt theology:

XIX

‘How is he now to live by it?’ ‘Nay, nay,’
Cried Edelrath, well satisfied to see
Theology from the order of the day
At once excluded. ‘You may reckon me
‘As one already quite of your own way
‘Of thinking on that question. There can be
‘No use in proving what is understood;
‘Theology is not a livelihood.’

XX

‘Good!’ said Herr Jonathan, and waved his hand,
‘Of the Three Pillars of the State—the Priest,
‘The Soldier, and the Tiller of the Land,
‘There goes the first! This simplifies at least
‘The question that we have to deal with, and
‘As for the second—’ ‘Pass it!’ with increased
Impatience, cried his guest. ‘A soldier? pooh!
‘Absurd! impossible!’ ‘Well, there go two!’

XXI

Rejoined Herr Jonathan. ‘Two pillars gone
‘Out of the three; and, since there are not four—’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Edelrath, ‘not one
‘Will do, of course! This much was plain before,
‘So to your project pray at once pass on.’
‘Pass?’ cried the merchant, ‘But there's nothing more
‘To pass to! We're arrived, you understand.’
‘Arrived at what?’ ‘The Tiller of the Land.’

XXII

‘But, Sir,’ gasped Edelrath, ‘to cultivate
‘The land, a man must first, I apprehend,
‘Some land possess. And where's the land? I wait
‘With curiosity to learn, my friend,
‘Where you have found the farm, and at what rate
‘Of interest any bank you know will lend
‘Without security the capital
‘With which to farm it, be it ne'er so small!’

XXIII

Then, visibly dilating with the pride
Of one who has successfully designed
Some great surprise, Herr Jonathan replied,
‘A little farm, Sir? Nothing of the kind!
‘No, Sir! a princely property, as wide
‘And broad as any property you'll find
‘In England, Hungary, or Austria,
‘That's what I mean! And now what do you say?’

XXIV

‘I say,’ said Edelrath, ‘and mean it too,
‘That you will most obligingly complete
‘My knowledge of geography, if you
‘Can point me out the country (I repeat
‘'Twill be the kindest thing that you can do,
‘And, if it be a secret, I'm discreet)
‘Where such a property is to be got
‘By asking for it.’ ‘Certainly, why not?’

XXV

Laughed Eckermann. ‘And 'tis allowed to be
‘The richest country in the world. We call
‘That country, Sir, the Future.’ ‘Ah, I see!
‘A rather distant country!’ ‘Not at all!
‘'Tis but a step to get to it. Dear me,
‘You thought to push me, did you, to the wall?
‘No, no, Sir! that is more than any man
‘Has ever done to Brother Jonathan!

XXVI

‘And, Sir, the time is come to tell you now
‘That, when I had Cordelia's ships in charge
‘To burn for her, I managed, you must know,
‘To keep one plank of safety. 'Tis not large,
‘But it is large enough, Sir, anyhow,
‘For us to fashion out of it a barge
‘That, if well managed, will suffice to bear
‘Safe to the Promised Land our shipwrecked pair.

XXVII

‘In drawing up, Sir, for Cordelia
‘The Deed of Transfer which is past recall,
‘I had before mine eyes, as I may say,
‘The example of that gallant General
‘Who, when he saw his own troops giving way,
‘Into the enemy's ranks, before them all,
‘His baton flung; and, followed by his men,
‘Spurred where it fell, to fetch it back again.

XXVIII

‘Cordelia's fortune, you must understand,
‘Is now invested, every cent, in buying
‘Enormous tracts of waste but fertile land,
‘By Congress sold upon the far-outlying
‘And sparsely-peopled frontiers that expand
‘Westward, beneath the wings of the wide-flying
‘American Eagle; and in founding there
‘A Colony like nothing known elsewhere,

XXIX

‘My own conception,—of which more anon!
‘Meanwhile, Sir, the Trustees of this Dotation
‘Have carefully been chosen, every one.
‘Here, then, the Founders of a Future Nation
‘May all start fair. The soil requires alone
‘For its remunerative cultivation
‘Patience, Sobriety, and Honesty,
‘Virtues which Germany can best supply:

XXX

‘To every German settler the Trustees
‘Of the Concession, free of rent, will let,
‘On lease, as many acres, out of these
‘Waste lands whereon our Settlement is set,
‘As he (with his relations, if they please
‘To form a little Company,) can get
‘In five years' time completely cleaned and ploughed:
‘No sort of wage-paid labour is allowed:

XXXI

‘The Board of Management to each will give
‘Free passage first of all, then tools, and seed,
‘And household furniture: but each must drive
‘His own plough, build his own house: as the need
‘Arises later, each, too, will receive
‘Machinery, and everything indeed
‘That he requires, on credit, from the Board:
‘But money, never. There, Sir! in a word,

XXXII

‘That's how I mean to teach folks how to swim!
‘“But if a man's unteachable, then what
‘“Are we to do,” you ask? Get rid of him!
‘As Nature does. The Board looks into that.
‘After five years—his land is in good trim,
‘The Inspector to the Board reports? Thereat,
‘The man's lease is renewed for five years more,
‘Rent free, on the same footing as before:

100

XXXIII

‘Or else, the Board then finds, let us suppose,
‘The land's neglected? Easy, Sir, to guess
‘That, in that case, the man was one of those
‘Who, from stupidity or laziness,
‘Would rather drown than swim: and out he goes!
‘The Board resumes the land: anon, some less
‘Neglectful farmer takes the lost one's place,
‘And cultivation thus proceeds apace.

XXXIV

‘The idle and the unintelligent
‘Are not allowed to linger on the land
‘In permanent indebtedness, but sent
‘About their business. Thus, you understand,
‘Due means have been provided to prevent
‘A pauper peasantry, upon one hand,
‘And, on the other, the accumulation
‘Of wealth unearned. In this Confederation

XXXV

‘Of Individual Labour, every man
‘Shall have full freedom to increase his store,
‘And grow as rich and prosperous as he can:
‘And none shall be allowed, Sir, to grow poor.
‘Our system thus proceeds on Nature's plan:
‘The weak go to the wall, and to the door
‘The idle. Testamentary Bequest
‘Will be, however free, like all the rest:

101

XXXVI

‘No man toils only for himself: work done
‘For others is the best: man's present state
‘Is nourished by his future: every one
‘Who has achieved would fain perpetuate
‘The fruits of his achievement, and in none
‘Is that wish stronger than the good and great:
‘And therefore each may to his children leave
‘All he himself was able to achieve:

XXXVII

‘But their retention of it will depend
‘On their capacity, alone: they may
‘By their own thrift and industry extend,
‘Or lose by their own idleness, what they
‘Have thus inherited. The Board will send,
‘Every five years, Inspectors; who away
‘From one will take, and to another give,
‘The land on which he can, or cannot, live.

XXXVIII

‘Equality, which will not coëxist
‘With freedom, in our programme has no place.
‘All may acquire what will by some be missed,
‘By others won: but free shall be the race,
‘As fair the start: no mill shall get more grist
‘Than it can grind, nor less: in every case
‘Justice shall to the land by every one
‘Be perfectly and punctually done:

102

XXXIX

‘The man who fails his land to cultivate,
‘His land shall lose: and no one, man or clan,
‘Keeping the land in an impoverished state,
‘Shall linger on it. Nature's Gift to Man,
‘Which blesses all men who appreciate
‘The use of it, our laws assert there can,
‘And shall, be no political excuse
‘For ruining by man's prolonged misuse:

XL

‘And, be the Settlers upon this Plantation
‘Two, or two thousand, at the first, they'll be
‘The living nucleus of a Great New Nation,
‘Founded upon a Great New Theory
‘Under the title—’ There, in hesitation,
Eckermann for the first time paused, as he
Musingly added, ‘Never mind the name!
‘Call it whate'er you please. The fact's the same.

XLI

‘Why not,’ suggested Father Edelrath,
‘Call it, at once, Utopia?’ ‘As you will!’
Rejoined Herr Jonathan. ‘Utopia hath
‘At all times been, and so it must be still,
‘The world's name for each new untrodden path
‘Into the future. 'Twas the name, until
‘To these new ways the world accustomed was,
‘Of Electricity, and Steam, and Gas.

103

XLII

‘Utopia, Sir, will have a President.
‘The first Utopian President will be
‘The earliest settler on the vast extent
‘Of those prolific territories he,
‘Or his successors in the government,
‘Will rule hereafter with a rule, tho' free,
‘Yet just as firm as any king's on earth.
‘From the first anniversary of the birth

XLIII

‘Of the Utopian Confederation
‘Its Presidents will be elected. Now,
‘The leader of the earliest emigration
‘Is indicated, and his name we know;
‘In short, here lies Emanuel's vocation!
‘Better than priest, or soldier, you'll allow?
‘Tho', since with Nature he must fight, and preach
‘Labour's new gospel, 'tis akin to each.

XLIV

‘First President, and President for life,
‘By choice of suffrage, and by right of date!
‘If, aided, as he will be, by his wife
‘And those I can with him associate
‘On equal terms, Emanuel, in a strife
‘With circumstance by no means desperate,
‘Is not victorious—if he does not eat
‘The bread he makes himself, and find it sweet—

104

XLV

‘If game and venison from his own estate
‘Deck not his board, and poultry from his own
‘Farmyard—if unreplenished be his plate
‘With mutton from the pastures he hath grown—
‘If his fresh dairies be not filled with great
‘Fat cheeses, and his orchards bending down
‘With rosy apples, and his gardens glowing
‘With simple flowers and fruits of his own sowing—

XLVI

‘If, having been Utopia's earliest
‘Settler, and her first President thereby,
‘He is not re-elected, as the best
‘Of her community, to hold that high
‘Position still in trust for all the rest—
‘And if thenceforward, universally
‘Beloved and honoured, both his wife and he
‘Utopia's popular sovereigns fail to be—

XLVII

‘If, when this couple travel up and down
‘Their smiling realms, where idleness, distress,
‘And indigence, and misery, are unknown,
‘They do not find, Sir, in the happiness
‘Of others a delight that's all their own—
‘Ay! if, in that republic, theirs be less
‘Than rule the royallest that's known to men,
‘And the most enviable—then, why then,

105

XLVIII

‘I'll take to learning Greek, and Latin too,
‘And all the Ologies and Onomies!
‘And you shall teach Emanuel to pursue,
‘If that be possible, by means of these,
‘The purpose which we both must have in view
‘On his behalf—not only, if you please,
‘To earn his bread, but to redeem some day
‘That noble fortune he has thrown away!’

XLIX

With this remark, transported by the flow
Of his own eloquence, Herr Jonathan
Got up, and paced the chamber to and fro.
Exuberant applause of his pet plan
To such a climax grew, that, all aglow,
Clapping his hands, and cheering, he began,
‘Long live Emanuel the First! Long live
‘His Queen, Cordelia the Superlative!’

L

This outburst over, pantingly he dropped
Into his chair; forth his bandana drew;
Dumpled it up; and, with the dumpling, mopped
The moisture from his face. A tear or two
Seized the occasion, ere this process stopped,
To mingle with the indiscriminate dew
That shiningly suffused with a coarse grace
Of genuine kindness his brown beaming face.

106

LI

Edelrath had been sitting all this while
Ill at his ease. The part of diplomat,
Whose function is to listen and to smile,
Evading this point, and suggesting that,
(Unsuited to his nature, and his style
Of conversation) kept him chafing at
A character which grew, with each fresh scene,
Harder to play than it at first had been;

LII

And yet his resolution to suppress
That character as soon as possible
Gave him no comfort; for, to his distress,
He felt that he, meanwhile, must play it well,
Or gravely jeopardize the happiness,
Not only of the false Emanuel,
But of the true Cordelia, whose full part
Was hers already in the old man's heart.

LIII

It seemed to him unjust, and puerile too,
In fact pure folly, that Glenaveril
Should sacrifice to a mere quid pro quo
The grand position he was called to fill
In his own country, lest his wife should know
(And, if she knew it, haply take it ill)
That her lord's name, and birth, and fortune, were
All three as noble as his character;

107

LIV

And yet, in spite of this conviction, he,
Who neither was by birth, nor any tie
But that of friendship, in the least degree
Connected with the social hierarchy
That claimed Glenaveril, seemed to breathe more free
In that Utopia, thro' whose hazy sky
Humanitarian aspirations swarmed,
And to winged life their vague ideals warmed.

LV

In this divided and confused condition
Of all his sentiments, the most intense
And least resisted was the recognition
Of his host's genuine benevolence;
He had no heart to chill the ebullition
Of an enthusiasm so immense,
By hinting at what seemed the unpractical
And visionary nature of it all;

LVI

So, grasping Eckermann's right hand, he cried,
‘My friend, (for friends we must be, I and you!)
‘The questions you have broached are much too wide
‘And serious for quick answer; but we two
‘Are closely in the self-same cause allied,
‘And in the self-same spirit. We'll renew
‘This subject by and by. It claims reflection.
‘And first of all, if you have no objection,

108

LVII

‘Ere I can come to any clear result
‘In my own mind about your plans, I fain
‘Would, on some features of the case, consult
‘With—our young friend. He must, himself, 'tis plain,
‘Decide on his own course. 'Twere difficult
‘The course that's best for him to ascertain
‘Without his knowing it. Utopia
‘Must wait, meanwhile, till’—‘Dinner's served, papa!’

LVIII

The tap of a child's hand on the shut door
Accompanied this pleasant intimation;
And Edelrath, on hearing it, forebore
From any further sort of explanation.
‘Dinner is served!’ the child's voice cried once more,
And the new friends broke off their conversation.
Their next step led them, in the nick of time,
Down safely to the soup from the sublime.