 | Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses |  |
BOOK THE FIFTH. THE LOVERS.
CANTO I. A HOME MINISTER.
I
If thy tired mind, pursued by thought's vexation,O reader of this salutary song,
Doth crave release from the preöccupation
Of cares which thinking serves but to prolong;
If thy heart quivers from an oscillation,
Bewilderingly vehement and strong,
In that magnetic index of the soul
That, trembling, points to duty as its pole;
II
If in thy jaded spirit thou wouldst feelOne hour of pure repose, and with repose
A careless joy;—go, join some family meal!
How calm, and full of cheerfulness, life grows
Where, round one board, the commonplace appeal
Of Daily Habit hath assembled those
Who dwell within its kind familiar fold
In unison together, young and old!
112
III
What sparkling expectation fills with lightThe children's eyes! How softly, one by one,
From each parental forehead out of sight
Fade the smoothed puckers, as the meal goes on!
How sociability aids appetite
To improve the charm which it bestows upon
Plain wholesome dishes that are ‘not too good
‘And bright for human nature's daily food!’
IV
Getting the stimulus for which they pined,The Bodily Organs gratefully provide
A welcome relaxation for the Mind;
And, while around it all are occupied
So fast, that thinker is surprised to find
Its toilful self, not only unemployed,
But even unimportant, in relation
To the importance of the situation.
V
Obliged, and secretly well pleased, to beThe inert spectator of the careless play
Of forces from its tired control set free,
Like a schoolmaster on a holiday,
When forth from school with an exuberant glee
His pupils pour, the pedant steals away,
Unmissed, to some still corner of the brain,
Till the relentless schoolbell sounds again.
113
VI
The Mind, whate'er its hunger be, declinesTo eat and drink; with a superb conceit,
To its Gross Bodily Organs it assigns
The gross performance of that daily feat;
Yet tho', itself, the ascetic never dines,
Its friends it does to dinner oft entreat;
And more intelligently practical
Than its intelligence is, after all,
VII
The work of their Gross Organs, and its own,On such occasions. O'er a glass of Moët,
The meek-eyed Miss, the Dame who leads the Town,
The Hero, the Philosopher, the Poet,
The Wit, the Statesman, once they settle down
To this performance, tho' they do not know it,
Are, thro' those organs, solving with success
Problems not one has had a mind to guess.
VIII
And, if the Organs to the Mind should cry‘Tell us, O Teacher, all about this trout!’
What to the Organs could the Mind reply?
‘A trout's a vertebrate: its blood, no doubt,
‘Tho' red, is cold; and it has gills whereby
‘It breathes, and fins whereby it swims about
‘In mountain streams and lakes.’ To which again
Might not the Organs answer, ‘Well, what then?
114
IX
‘What is the use of all this information‘Wide of the point? What matters it to know
‘Whether this trout's original habitation
‘Was in a lake, or stream? If you'd learn how
‘To appreciate a trout's true destination,
‘Make its acquaintance only when, as now,
‘The trout inhabits a Dutch sauce. 'Tis thus
‘Alone its qualities can interest us;
X
‘Thus only a good trout deserves, and gets,‘Mankind's good word. Cooking is Character.
‘Then, this roast beef! What do you know of its
‘Good qualities? A ruminant mammifer,
‘That has four stomachs—is that all your wits
‘Can find out, all your wisdom can aver,
‘About this gifted creature, after all?
‘Four stomachs? What a noble animal!
XI
‘You, at your service, have but one, and that‘You manage badly. Better even than you,
‘An ox can ruminate. And ruminate what?
‘Delicious things! fresh grass, and flowers, and dew!
‘The things you ruminate, you are puzzled at,
‘And saddened by. And, like an ox, you too
‘A yoke must bear. But then, the difference is
‘That with serenity the ox bears his.
115
XII
‘Head-work for both! But his is, after all,‘The usefullest, and also the best done.
‘Graceful, and grave, and nude, and classical,
‘As a Greek athlete carved in bronze or stone,
‘He foots the furrow, where behind him fall
‘The gifts Demeter from her rural throne
‘Full-handed flings. Enough! This venison taste,
‘Steeped in wild savours from the heathy waste!
XIII
‘And now, these tender vegetables try!‘They, in their youth, were flowers not long ago.
‘And now, these fruits! the loving legacy
‘Of Autumn, whose last effort was to throw
‘These gifts to us, and whisper with a sigh
‘“Remember me!” Ah, frown not on us so,
‘Thou melancholy master of us all!
‘Relent, stern Mind, and join our festival!
XIV
‘Let us enjoy ourselves a little while!‘Let us be merry with the young ones here,
‘And teach the old ones' silence how to smile!
‘Take all the rest of life, and be severe
‘To other hours! Let this, at least, beguile
‘Even thy sombre self! To mirth give ear!
‘Suffer the impatient pen awhile to wait!
‘Bid not the tired hand push away the plate!
116
XV
‘Reproach us not, nor quarrel with us thus!‘If thee we banter, 'tis for thine own good.
‘We know thy value, and by none of us
‘Is thy supremacy misunderstood;
‘But why despise us? We are emulous
‘To serve thee well. And, if our simple food
‘Fit nourishment for thee thou dost not think,
‘Thou need'st not eat of it, but only drink.
XVI
‘See, here is wine! Ah! scarcely doth it pass‘Our lips to reach thee, ere we all can tell
‘Thou art no more morose! Another glass!
‘Another! and another! That is well,
‘Now we are reconciled! But why, alas,
‘Till now estranged? O thus forever dwell
‘Blithe in our midst, companion kind and dear!
‘Be thou our president, and rule our cheer!
XVII
‘Nothing are we, without thee! with thee, all!‘Light our blind instincts by thy brightening wit
‘Correct our course! our wandering wills recall!
‘And our low mirth, by taking part in it,
‘Up to thyself exalt! Thou canst not fall
‘In helping us to rise, and who so fit
‘To be our lord?’—This reconciliation
Takes place, without the least premeditation,
117
XVIII
Between the Bodily Organs and the Mind,During the progress of the family meal.
Ah, gentle hour, the blithest and most kind
Of all the day! how sweetly didst thou steal
From Edelrath the doubts whence he could find
No issue clear, and for Glenaveril heal
The pangs of a remorse that scorched like fire
The pained fulfilment of his heart's desire!
XIX
The children's rippling prattle, that promotesThe parents' grave unruffled gaiety,
Like rivulets revelling along flowery moats
Into calm rivers, they enrich thereby:
Chance questions, light replies: gay anecdotes,
Laughter, not loud, but full of innocent joy:
The gurgling bottle, and the clinking glass;
And little jokes that jostle as they pass:
XX
The multifarious mirthfulness of theseInterfluent sounds continued hovering
Around that table, like the restless bees
That haunt the honied banquets of the Spring,
And, in exchange for sweets and essences,
Music and movement to the blossoms bring,
As, coming, going, humming, glowing, they
From flower to flower inquisitively stray.
118
XXI
And, thro' a mist of pleasantly confoundedSensations, Edelrath, each time he viewed
Cordelia's quiet image thus surrounded,
Was more and more delightfully subdued
By the repose with which its charm abounded.
She sat, like one whose customary mood
Is less to talk than listen, her calm face
A little stooped, with an attentive grace;
XXII
Her body leaning backward in her chair;And her arms folded o'er her chest. She took
In all the conversation round her there,
More by the animation of her look
Than by her utterance, which was brief and rare,
A part that, written down into a book,
Would have seemed nothing, and yet was the soul,
The living source, and essence, of the whole.
XXIII
Now, welcoming with just a glance or toneOf instantaneous subtle recognition
Some touching word, too timid all alone
To prosecute an unencouraged mission;
Thus to another's utterance, by her own
Unuttered, yet expressive, intuition,
Giving the sweetness and lucidity
That rose at once to her responsive eye;
119
XXIV
Now, with a graceful movement of the head,Wafting approval to some passing truth
Which, in its passage, else had fallen dead.
And all the while about her mobile mouth
That subtle curve continually played,
Whose magic neither beauty nor yet youth
Can to the beautiful and young impart,
Without a mystic mandate from the heart;
XXV
Only one painter in the world knew howTo draw it, and with Leonardo died
The secret granted no one else to know;
'Twixt smiles and tears that curve, to both allied,
Hovers and flits, like the diaphanous bow
That's born of beams and dews; and seems to hide
The source celestial, and yet feminine,
Of Virginal Maternity Divine.
XXVI
She was not silent, tho' her words were fewAnd sober. But her presence served instead
Of speech; and o'er the conversation threw
A charm all felt, whilst no one could have said
What cause it was attributable to.
Perhaps it was, that every heart and head
Grew conscious in her presence that its mood
Of feeling or of thought was understood.
120
XXVII
Her attitude diffused a soothing senseOf gentle power in undisturbed repose.
'Twas not the posture of indifference;
Nor did the calm contour of it disclose
The rigid wariness that fears offence.
As to the bent in which its beauty grows
A windblown flower incessantly recurs,
So to that natural attitude of hers
XXVIII
Cordelia, if forced out of it by chance,Always relapsed, in outlines backward thrown,
That slanted to a slight predominance
Her figure's pure profile from throat to zone;
Her earnest face, with softly-listening glance,
Over her bosom bent a little down,
And her arms folded; arms whose perfect mould
Revealed no angle in their rounded fold!
XXIX
The strange intelligence that seemed to teachNot her eyes only, but the whole of her,
To be responsive to the gaze or speech
Of those around her, in its character
Had combinations which escaped the reach
Of Edelrath's endeavour to refer
The indefinite impressions they combined
To any marked exertion of the mind;
121
XXX
Patience was in them, without condescension,And interest, free from curiosity;
They were suffused with that unstrained attention
Which is not of the ear, nor of the eye,
But of the temperament; without pretension,
Or effort, they were able to imply—
‘Dismiss the interpreter! we need him not,
‘Sympathy's native tongue is polyglot.’
XXXI
One of those listeners was Cordelia,Whose listening, as it were, completes, and sums
Up to its highest power, what others say.
The poem, to such listeners read, becomes
Poetry: what to them musicians play,
Turns into music: wandering thoughts find homes
Built for them by such listeners, where they tarry,
And with their wealthier kindred intermarry:
XXXII
Words, for such listeners, always mean the best:Wit's point is never blunted, Humour's wing
Never is broken, in appeals addressed
To their reception: and their listening
Imparts to tenderness the tenderest
Of its expressions: the most trivial thing
Assumes significance, and truth, and grace,
If in their fertile presence it takes place.
122
XXXIII
Of all the gifts of genius, none so rareAs that by genius to such listeners given.
Clumsy the most effective talkers are,
Compared to them. The greatest writers even
Their noblest flights, perchance, could never dare
Without imagining, at least, that Heaven
Will help the tidings they proclaim to find
At last some destined listener of this kind.
XXXIV
The note, or verse, that, breathed to other ears,Moved timidly, with the constrained unrest
Of a shy stranger who, faint-hearted, fears
To be received like an unbidden guest,
And shrinks, mistaking even smiles for sneers,
Her mute regard could all at once invest
With such a sweet assurance, that its whole
Expression changed; into a breathing soul
XXXV
The soulless sound surprisingly dilated,And said forthwith what it was meant to say.
To all around her she communicated
So much of her own self in this still way—
Her sunny gaiety, her unabated
Serenity and confidence—that they
Seemed like impersonations of her, all,
While she, herself, appeared impersonal.
123
XXXVI
O supernatural gift! mysterious dowerOf woman's sex! which those who most have striven
Against thine influence most revere! Strange power
Once in her life to every woman given,
If given her only for a single hour,
And by some women unrelinquished even
In that still-beautiful old age of theirs,
Whose beauty dwells in wrinkles and grey hairs!
XXXVII
Victorious even in defeat! Evaded,Only to be regretted! Shunned or sought,
Still, always felt! whose potent witchcraft aided
The conquest of the Golden Fleece, and wrought
The doom of Troy! whose smile hath oft persuaded
Embattled hosts to yield! whose sigh to naught
Hath oft reduced the mighty ones of earth!
Creator, and destroyer, of man's hearth!
XXXVIII
Eternal, and yet rarely durable!Strongest when weakest, when submissive most
Supreme! What art thou, enigmatic spell,
Unspoken yet obeyed, whose bliss hath cost
Such bale and dole, in whose delights do dwell
So many tears, and yet whose presence lost
Would be the loss of joy's main pedestal?
Thy name is Love, for one, and Charm, for all.
124
XXXIX
Edelrath shared, content, the common fateOf that glad family group within whose fold
He seemed to be already, less a late
Invited guest, than a familiar old
Established member; and, subordinate
Completely to the charm whose power controlled
Its magic circle, he, too, felt the sway
Of the sweet witchcraft of Cordelia.
XL
This much not only to himself he owned,But to Glenaveril too; when, dinner done,
Into the dreamy garden, arm enwound
In arm, the two friends wandered forth alone.
Still glowed the lingering sunset light around
The cypress allies; and, with sullen tone,
And clumsy wing, dim beetles here and there
Made sudden darts about the dusky air.
XLI
Glenaveril's heart was full. He could not rest.He felt the crisis of his life at hand,
And was resolved to know the worst or best.
Out of the garden, into the dim land
Beyond it, dragging Edelrath, he pressed
Forward; nor paused until at length his hand
Upon the young man's shoulder Edelrath
Laid heavily, and said, ‘Where leads this path?’
125
XLII
‘As far as may be,’ sighed Glenaveril,‘Away from those who must not overhear
‘The tumult of a heart I cannot still.
‘Fain would I pour into thy trusted ear
‘This growing trouble.’ ‘Pour, then, to the fill!’
Cried Edelrath, ‘for not a soul is near.
‘But I am tired. Upon this broken wall
‘Let us sit down, till thou hast told me all.’
XLIII
‘So be it,’ said the other. ‘This will do.’For round he gazed, and saw, beneath them deep,
The villa, like a glow-worm in the dew,
Lit from within, half hidden by a heap
Of dusky trees; above the hills a few
Large stars shone faintly: darkness lay, like sleep,
On the lone waters; and, save Ivor's breast,
All things in heaven and earth were hushed to rest.
126
CANTO II. THE CRISIS.
I
‘I am resolved,’ said Ivor, ‘that to-night‘This purgatorial period shall end,
‘And that the sun, on his return, shall light
‘Steps certain of the goal to which they tend.
‘That sun already, every month more bright,
‘Returning like an unreproachful friend,
‘Month after month has seemed to sanctify
‘The truth entangled in a twofold lie;
II
‘A false-named life that from a false-named death‘Is dated! How that glowing truth, the sun,
‘Laughs at the names men glory in, beneath
‘His beams that shine impartially upon
‘All who within their warmth draw living breath!
‘All names are only social fictions. None
‘Is Nature's gift. Nature, our common mother,
‘Knows us not more by one name than another.
127
III
‘Forth she hath sent us into life, endowed‘With two great gifts, a body and a soul;
‘And, for our use of these, account is owed,
‘I grant it, when, arrived at Nature's goal,
‘We to her hand restore the gifts bestowed
‘On every life, that for the Living Whole
‘Employs them well or ill. But names are not
‘The gifts her children have from Nature got;
IV
‘And she, when to her breast she summoneth‘Those children back, knows where to find them all,
‘Nameless or named. “Go,” unto each she saith,
‘“Go, child! be born, and live till I recall
‘“The life that now I give thee; then, beneath
‘“The beard of manhood, or the hoary pall
‘“Of age, thro' all disguises o'er him piled,
‘“Be sure that I shall recognise my child!”
V
Whence come to us, meanwhile, the names we bear?‘'Tis here we got them, where we cannot stay,
‘And where, altho' they may have cost us dear,
‘We needs must leave them when we pass away
‘And what, then, is a name? 'Tis what we wear,
‘Not what we are. Each name's a mask, I say,
‘So fixed to a man's face, there is no seeing
‘That what that mask hides is a human being.
128
VI
‘If here be falsehood, it is not in me;‘'Tis in the mask. Nor is this mask a lie
‘Falser than any other mask would be.
‘Once, in an hour of dreadful agony,
‘Two masks fell off. There was a struggle. He
‘That's dead took mine away with him, and I
‘Was left with his. I have not stolen it,
‘And who is injured if it chance to fit?’
VII
Edelrath sighed. ‘Sophism is, my dear‘Glenaveril, Guilt's Advocate,’ he said.
‘No one accuses thee. But ah, forbear
‘To accuse thyself by calling in the aid
‘Of such a pleader! Let us try to clear
‘This situation. My appeal is made,
‘Not to the passions of the partisan,
‘But to the conscience of an honest man.
VIII
‘Recall that letter from Cordelia. Well,‘To whom was it addressed? Ivor, reply
‘Without evasion.’ ‘To Emanuel.’
‘Who wrote the answer to that letter?’ ‘I.’
‘In whose name?’ ‘His.’ ‘And doth thy reason tell
‘Thy conscience, that was no disloyalty?’
‘Emanuel authorised the act, I say.’
‘Emanuel! yes, but did Cordelia?’
129
IX
Glenaveril was silent. ‘'Twas her lot,‘Not his, it dealt with, and I ask again,
‘That letter, was it loyal?’ ‘It was not,’
Sighed Ivor, ‘I admit it.’ ‘Then 'tis plain,’
Continued the old man, ‘that the first knot
‘In the long tangle of this fatal skein
‘Was a disloyal act. We are agreed
‘Thus far, and to the next knot I proceed.
X
‘A letter to a woman was addressed;‘'Twas signed Emanuel—a name untrue;
‘The writer of it ardently professed
‘Love for the woman it was written to;
‘But did the man who rightfully possessed
‘The name, in mockery lent by him to you,
‘Feel for that woman any one of those
‘Feelings your words would lead her to suppose?
XI
‘To ask this question is, I need not say,‘To answer it. I know, indeed, as well,
‘And so do you, as if the poor dead clay
‘Whose name you took were still alive to tell,
‘No love was ever for Cordelia
‘Felt or affected by Emanuel.
‘Thus was one falsehood in that letter used
‘To foist another on a faith abused.
130
XII
‘The feelings of Emanuel we know;‘But what were thine own feelings, Ivor, when
‘Love, for another, to another, thou
‘Didst thus profess?’ ‘Alas, I knew not then,’
Said Ivor, ‘what I felt!’ ‘And art thou now
‘Still ignorant?’ said Edelrath. Again
Glenaveril gave no answer but a sigh,
A sigh of pain. Moved by that mute reply,
XIII
The old man, too, was silent, and his heartAched with the task, on which he still was bent,
Of probing Ivor's wound in every part.
‘My child,’ he sighed at length, ‘if thou hadst sent
‘That letter, couldst thou now thank Heaven thou art
‘Guiltless of crime, and but the innocent
‘Victim of a mistake, a fatal one,
‘For which the blame is mine, and mine alone?
XIV
‘Thus my good faith, my peace of mind, in fine‘My conscience, is with thine entangled too
‘In this dilemma: and 'tis not by thine
‘Alone that I invoke thee to undo
‘The knot that's strangling us: it is by mine,
‘Which is the most committed of the two;
‘Nor yet for my sake only, but far more
‘For hers, in whom truth's self thou dost adore!
131
XV
‘For friendship's sake, for love's sake, for the sake‘Of all that's true and honest, Ivor, and
‘In her name, for no other will I take
‘To consecrate these words—give me thy hand
‘And look me in the face—I do not make
‘Any entreaty to thee—I command
‘And summon thee, as the sworn justicer
‘Of her wronged cause—avow the truth to her!’
XVI
Glenaveril bounded, breathless, from the wall.‘Impossible!’ he cried, ‘impossible!
‘You calmly bid me kill her—that is all!
‘Kill her, and be despised by her as well!
‘Justice? Good heavens, justice! Rather call
‘This murderous mandate Moloch's oracle!’
‘Hush!’ answered Edelrath, ‘thou wilt not kill,
‘Nor be despised by, her, Glenaveril.
XVII
‘Calm thyself. I have read Cordelia‘With eyes unprejudiced, nor do I fear
‘Her death. The truth, which she must know some day,
‘Will kill her not. But she will have to bear
‘A bitter suffering, and to work her way
‘Thro' a great crisis. That girl's soul is clear
‘As mountain lakes are under cloudless skies;
‘But mountain lakes, when thunderstorms chastise
132
XVIII
‘Their stillness, and search all their deeps, no doubt‘Are terrible. How will Cordelia
‘The revelation bear, when she finds out
‘That all her trust and truth have gone astray,
‘And that her fondest faith has brought about
‘Her cruellest deception? Hard to say!
‘But from this question 'tis too late to shrink;
‘And, Ivor, let me tell thee what I think.
XIX
‘I do not fear for her the overflow‘Of any violent emotion—scorn,
‘Resentment, anger, indignation. No,
‘That which my fears foresee is a forlorn
‘Flat, settled sadness; the quiescent woe
‘Of an unmurmuring resignation, born
‘Of loss of power, not loss of hope alone;
‘Not death, but life reduced to a lower tone.
XX
‘Faith, O my child, resembles nothing less‘Than the false symbol given her by mankind.
‘The anchor, by the drifting ship's distress
‘Dragged thro' the deep sea sands, at first may find
‘No durable stay; but round the carcases
‘Of other wrecks, or rocks, or reefs, 'twill bind
‘Sooner or later the tenacious grip
‘Of its toothed fluke, that lets no chances slip.
133
XXI
‘It shifts about in search of where to dwell,‘And ever, in the course of its migration,
‘What to the anchor is an obstacle
‘Is to the anchored ship her life's salvation.
‘This image, Ivor, represents not well
‘The virtue which mankind's imagination
‘Associates with it. Of all fragile things
‘Faith is the frailest, if where faith first clings
XXII
‘It cannot rest. What on this human earth‘Does faith resemble? Nothing! To explain
‘Were to distort its nature. Second birth
‘It knows not. Love may go and come again;
‘Spring every year replenishes the dearth
‘By Winter left; and leafless trees retain
‘Force for fresh leafage. But nought fructifies
‘Ever again the soil wherein faith dies.
XXIII
‘I oft have wondered, never dared to guess,‘What would a martyr feel if, after death,
‘He found that, resolute thro' all distress
‘And torment, he had died with dauntless faith
‘For an imposture? All the promises
‘Of Paradise—the amaranthine wreath,
‘The shining robe, the seat beside the throne,
‘The palms, the psalms, the harp of heavenly tone—
134
XXIV
‘All these I doubt not that, without regret,‘That soul deceived would lovingly resign,
‘Could it but find in Paradise, even yet
‘As here it found on earth, the same Divine
‘Consoler, still by woes and foes beset,
‘Still forced to drink the hyssop in the wine,
‘Still persecuted, still misunderstood,
‘And scorned, and scourged, and nailed upon the rood,
XXV
‘Yet preaching still, to Spirits that respond,‘An unrecanted gospel; pointing still
‘With smiling patientness, as firm, as fond,
‘And as unflinching under every ill,
‘To some imperishable Hope Beyond;
‘And, with a confidence no doubt can chill,
‘Still promising, altho' delayed perchance
‘For countless lives, the Soul's Deliverance.
XXVI
‘Most probably, in spite of hope deferred‘And pain prolonged, the martyr, in that case,
‘Soon as again the Master's voice he heard,
‘That voice, thro' danger, suffering, and disgrace,
‘Would follow unreproachful, undeterred,
‘From life to life, from death to death, from place
‘To place, forever; for, tho' sorely tried,
‘His faith by trial would be fortified;
135
XXVII
‘But think! if, in some vague unhopeful sphere,‘Where the unrecompensed remembrances
‘Of sorrows and afflictions suffered here
‘Must needs resign, not only promised bliss,
‘But even that final consolation drear,
‘The prospect of insensible nothingness,
‘Some Spirit, lost and desolate as his own,
‘Should sigh to him in deprecative tone,
XXVIII
‘“Brother forgive me, for I meant the best!‘“The power to keep the promises I gave
‘“I have not. I beheld man's life oppressed
‘“With suffering, and man's end a hopeless grave;
‘“The sight of so much misery filled my breast
‘“With pity, and a passionate wish to save;
‘“I took to my own heart, and made it mine,
‘“The wretchedness of all; I deemed divine
XXIX
‘“The sacrificial pang, thro' which I passed‘“That by its suffering I might recompense
‘“The sufferings of others with some vast
‘“And pure beatitude, no less immense.
‘“I loved, and I was ignorant, in the past;
‘“But, loving more than others, more intense
‘“Than theirs was my perception of that goal
‘“To seek which seemed the errand of the soul.
136
XXX
‘“I sought to comfort and to heal. I knew‘“That Hope, the everlasting comforter,
‘“Is to man's heart as to the earth heaven's dew,
‘“And I could, in exchange for Faith, confer
‘“That gift on all. That gift I gave thee, too.
‘“'Twas all I had to give. Nought heavenlier
‘“Was given to me, and I can give no other.
‘“I gave thee Hope. Dost thou resent it, brother?”
XXXI
‘Glenaveril, would that martyr, hearing this,‘Reclaim his faith? or what would he reply?
‘I know not. Ask it of the hearts whose bliss
‘Was in some trust that has been doomed to die:
‘The maiden ruined by a faithless kiss:
‘The wife abandoned by a broken tie:
‘Ask it of Fallen States that have believed
‘In Flattering Orators whose tongues deceived:
XXXII
‘Ask Timon what he did with all the gold‘By Zeus a second time to him assigned,
‘That the poor wretch might be thereby consoled
‘For having too long trusted in mankind.
‘'Tis said that it consoled him not. Faith's hold,
‘Once loosed on life, no anchorage there could find
‘And the recluse rejected with disdain
‘A wealth he never could enjoy again.
137
XXXIII
‘Cordelia has a creed whereby to live;‘And she has faith in it. Her creed we know;
‘'Tis Love Predestined. Interrogative
‘However, only, is that faith just now;
‘It asks a question to which life may give
‘A negative answer. If she finds that thou
‘Art not the man whose mission was to prove
‘Her faith well-founded in Predestined Love,
XXXIV
‘What then? This prophecy I venture on:‘Her faith its first half-opened buds may shed,
‘Frostbitten; but 'twill live and flower anon,
‘Because the roots of it will not be dead.
‘To-day's is followed by to-morrow's sun:
‘The heart has many seasons: and the bed
‘Of the March violet is securely made
‘In snowy February's coldest shade:
XXXV
‘Tho', dreamless, it perchance may sleep till then‘Beneath the snowdrift of Indifference,
‘Her heart, hereafter, will awake again,
‘Answering the Voice of Love with a new sense
‘Unstirred as yet. For, even more than men,
‘Women are born, by birth's improvidence,
‘In debt to Love, a creditor that knows
‘How to exact the most his debtor owes!
138
XXXVI
‘Glenaveril, do thy duty, as beseems‘The son of sires all noble, and all brave!
‘Cordelia loves thee. Why? Because she deems
‘Thou art the man to whom her love she gave
‘When she had seen him only in her dreams.
‘Cheat not her faith! nor steal from that man's grave
‘A love which, tho' so fanciful, is still
‘So trustful, too. Sois vrai, Glenaveril!
XXXVII
‘Tell her the truth. She may not love thee then,‘But she will owe thy love one gift, the best
‘It now can give her—power to love again,
‘With faith redeemed from error, and still blest
‘By faith's consolatory boon to men,
‘Hope in the future.’ With a fierce unrest
Glenaveril writhed; and, quivering all over,
‘Cruel!’ he cried, ‘Canst thou not see I love her?’
XXXVIII
‘Thou say'st thou lovest her,’ Edelrath replied,‘Yet to thy love of her wouldst sacrifice
‘All that is loveliest in her! ah,’ he sighed,
‘Dost thou even know what love is? Love's a vice,
‘Of every vice perchance the most allied
‘To cruelty, if, whatsoe'er the price
‘The loved one's happiness to love may cost,
‘That price love grudges lest its own be lost.
139
XXXIX
‘Remember Usinara!’ VacantlyGlenaveril murmured, ‘Never did I hear
‘That name before. What's Usinara?’ ‘Ay,’
Said Edelrath, ‘thy way would seem more clear,
‘And easier too, perchance, if thou, as I,
‘Hadst read the Mâhabhârata! Know, dear
‘Glenaveril, Usinara was a king
‘In the Far East, when time was in its spring,
XL
‘And gods, and men, and even beasts, knew how‘To understand each other better than
‘They seem to understand each other now;
‘And Usinara was, like thee, a man
‘Who thought he loved. The object, wouldst thou know,
‘Of that man's love? 'Twas justice. But who can
‘Love justly? From this story of the Dove
‘And Falcon learn, Glenaveril, how to love!’
XLI
And Edelrath, already far awayIn the Far East, thus uttered his dark saying:
‘King Usinara, at the dawn of day,
‘Was, by the sacred banks of Jumna, praying;
‘When to his breast a dove, that all the way
‘A falcon followed fast, flew down, essaying
‘To find safe refuge on that royal breast;
‘So round the bird the kind king wrapped his vest.
140
XLII
‘Then to the King the Falcon flew. Said he‘“Hail, noble King! May all that's thine be more!
‘“But something hast thou which belongs to me,
‘“Hid in thy royal robe. Great King, restore
‘“What Justice, by my voice, demands of thee!”
‘“Nay, ne'er shall Justice,” said the King, “deplore
‘“That Usinara to their foes betrayed
‘“The friendless who appealed to him for aid!”
XLIII
‘Forthwith the Falcon answered, “Far and wide‘“Is thy fidelity to duty known;
‘“Yet duty's simplest rule thou sett'st aside,
‘“When him that from thee claims what is his own
‘“Away thou sendest with his claim denied.
‘“That Dove by me was fairly hunted down;
‘“'Tis mine, not thine. My right to it is good;
‘“What right hast thou to rob me of my food?”
XLIV
‘“Great Falcon,” said the monarch, “understand‘“That pity is the duty of a king.
‘“Behold this little trembler in my hand,
‘“See how thy presence sets it fluttering!
‘“Dost thou not know, then, the divine command?
‘“Three sins there be, beyond all pardoning:
‘“A Brahmin, or a sacred cow, to slay,
‘“Or him that in thee trusteth to betray.”
141
XLV
‘Whereto the Falcon. “By their nourishment‘“All creatures live; and he that takes away
‘“From any living creature what God meant
‘“For its sustainment, doth that creature slay.
‘“If thou to me the food by Indra sent
‘“Denyest, O King, I needs must die; and they
‘“Whose lives upon mine own depend, my wife
‘“And children four, thou dost deprive of life;
XLVI
‘“Thus, to prolong one life whose hour is due‘“To nature's claim, by Indra's will decreed,
‘“Six times as many murders dost thou do,
‘“And yet to Pity dost impute the deed!
‘“Can Duty contradict herself by two
‘“Opposed commands, yet both be right? Take heed!
‘“And search thyself, lest this confusion be
‘“Not in thy kingly duty, but in thee.”
XLVII
‘“Wisely thou speakest,” said the King. “Thy words,‘“O Falcon, stir my mind, altho' my heart
‘“They leave untouched. Suparn, the King of Birds,
‘“Whose lore is more than man's, methinks thou art!
‘“I cannot answer thee. Thy speech accords
‘“With what seems just. Yet, tho' not mine the art
‘“To express it rightly, something in me, some
‘“Deep voiceless instinct, eloquently dumb,
142
XLVIII
‘“Forbids me to betray to instant death‘“This helpless creature that hath trusted me.
‘“I would not wrong thee, Falcon. Waste not breath
‘“In craving what I cannot grant. But see!
‘“Search thou my realm all round, from holt to heath,
‘“From hill to vale, from field to forest, free
‘“To choose whate'er thou wilt from herd, or drove,
‘“Or fold, or flock, in ransom for this Dove!”
XLIX
‘“Nay, neither mutton, nor yet venison,” said‘The Falcon, “is the food that I can eat;
‘“When Indra made all living things, he made
‘“The dove to be the falcon's natural meat.”
‘“Then,” cried the King, “take something else instead!
‘“I care not what. My realm is rich and great,
‘“So is my heart. I grudge not what I give.
‘“Take all thou wilt—except this fugitive!”
L
‘“See,” said the Falcon, “how one step aside‘“From simple duty, seem it ne'er so small,
‘“Leads on to errors reaching far and wide
‘“From bad to worse! My rightful due is all
‘“I ask of thee; my right thou hast denied,
‘“And thereby done me wrong: yet dost thou call
‘“All things by their wrong names, rather than do
‘“One thing that's right, if it be painful too.
143
LI
‘“Not only of my lawful nourishment‘“Thou dost defraud me, but wouldst leave me not
‘“My last right left—that robbery to resent.
‘“Sweet is the gratitude from others got
‘“For gifts bestowed; and sweet it is to vent
‘“In cheap compassion for another's lot
‘“The easy impulse of benevolence;
‘“And thou these sweets wouldst taste at my expense;
LII
‘“Thou art not just, yet generous thou wouldst be;‘“Thou robb'st me of my right, yet wouldst bestow
‘“Upon me gifts that are no use to me;
‘“Wherefore, O King? That thou may'st cheaply know
‘“(Having procured it at no cost to thee)
‘“The pleasantness of virtue's genial glow!
‘“It pleaseth thee to offer flock and herd;
‘“But it would pain thee to give up that bird;
LIII
‘“And what is pleasant to thyself thou dost,‘“By what to me is painful purchasing
‘“The lazy luxury of appearing just
‘“And generous both!” At this, the startled King,
‘Like thee, Glenaveril, finding himself thrust
‘'Twixt a dilemma's horns, began to wring
‘His hands, as thou dost, and like thee, to cry
‘“Impossible!” Then did the Falcon fly
144
LIV
‘Up to the King, and whisper in his ear‘“So be it! thou bidst me choose. I choose what's fit;
‘“And, since that Dove is to thy heart so dear,
‘“Give me, O generous King, instead of it,
‘“Of thine own flesh the Dove's full weight. I swear
‘“That I will claim no more, if thou submit
‘“To this condition.” And the King replied,
‘“Thy claim is just! It shall be satisfied.”
LV
‘Then Usinara bade his servants bring‘The balance from his treasure-house, and put
‘The Dove into one scale of it. The King
‘His bosom bared, and drew his sword, and cut
‘Flesh from the bone, and flung it quivering
‘And bleeding down into the other. But
‘The Dove outweighed the King's flesh. And again
‘He cut himself, and cut, and cut—in vain!
LVI
‘For every time that Usinara threw‘More of his flesh into one scale, the weight
‘Of the Dove heavier in the other grew,
‘Until at last, bewildered, desperate,
‘Dripping from head to foot with gory dew,
‘Into that scale's grim shambles, with a great
‘Cry of despair, the monarch leapt, and stood,
‘Trampling beneath him his own flesh and blood.
145
LVII
‘Then, from the other scale, and high above‘The head of Usinara, in the air
‘Hovering where poised the Falcon, rose the Dove;
‘And forthwith both the Dove and Falcon were
‘Transfigured; and a sudden glory clove
‘The clouds, which to its inmost heart laid bare
‘The heaven of heavens. Divinely musical
‘A voice said, “I am Indra, Lord of All,
LVIII
‘“And of My Will an Effluence Divine‘“Was yonder Dove. This earth, so said thy fame,
‘“Contained no nobler character than thine;
‘“To test that noble character we came,
‘“And well hath been accomplished our design!
‘“Weighed in our balance, we thy worth proclaim
‘“True to the test. Thy life on earth is o'er,
‘“For earthly life can teach thee nothing more;
LIX
‘“Duty's whole lesson thou hast learned at last,‘“Which in self-sacrifice begins and ends.
‘“By the rejection of thyself thou hast
‘“Regained the Infinite, whose life transcends
‘“All personality. Behold how vast
‘“The sphere to which thy spirit now extends
‘“Its flight unfettered! Usinara, rise,
‘“And take thy place among the deities!
146
LX
‘“So long as here on earth thy deed shall be‘“Remembered, and thy name to men endeared,
‘“So long in Heaven thy place by mine shall be,
‘“There by men's grateful reverence ensphered!
‘“For the gods' empire is man's memory
‘“Of what deserves by man to be revered.”’
Edelrath paused. He was, himself, affected
By his own tale. Defeated and dejected,
LXI
Glenaveril said nothing. With a sighHis Mentor in a musing tone went on,
‘Good heavens, Glenaveril! What a mockery,
‘To think that missionaries, scarcely one
‘Of whom could probably, were he to try,
‘Translate the scriptures, he relies upon
‘For his own creed, from the original text,
‘Should go forth annually unperplexed
LXII
‘To teach a people with a literature‘Like this! Observe how in this story live
‘Together as it were, and each secure,
‘The Christian sentiment which bids us strive
‘To crucify ourselves, and, plain and pure,
‘Kant's Categorical Imperative.
‘Listen to both, my child, and their advice
‘Reject not. Courage, and self-sacrifice!’
147
LXIII
As Edelrath truth's painful cause thus pleaded,Glenaveril's heart was to his own inspection
Laid bare. To vehement revolt succeeded
The lassitude of a profound dejection.
The sufferer's silent grief was not unheeded;
And with a deep compassionate affection
The old man, bending over him, went on,
‘Thee, other duties still reclaim, my son!
LXIV
‘Attribute not to Chance, the name, nor yet‘The place in life, which all at birth receive
‘From Nature's hand—as thou miscallest it,
‘Or from a Will Divine, as I believe.
‘Each to that Will Divine must needs submit;
‘None can oppose, evade it, or deceive;
‘Nature, whom thou invokest, doth pursue
‘Her course obedient to its mandate too;
LXV
‘And her own power she exercises still‘Under conditions that do bounds impose
‘On what thou vainly callest Nature's will.
‘Children of Nature, say'st thou? Who are those?
‘I know them not. Nor thou, Glenaveril.
‘One way to bring forth children Nature knows,
‘And thou and I know that she knows no other,
‘To every child a father and a mother!
148
LXVI
‘Succession is the law that regulates‘Life's course thro' every channel great or small.
‘All things on earth succeed each other, States,
‘Tribes, Families, Societies, and all
‘That force, by force replaced, which animates
‘Creation! Even the individual,
‘Transmitter and inheritor in one,
‘Still to himself succeeds as he lives on;
LXVII
‘Each is his own successor day by day.‘The day that's come is by the day that's past
‘Determined. Dream of freedom as we may,
‘This law remains inexorable. Caste
‘Was on its permanence based; and who shall say
‘A system which hath managed to outlast
‘All other systems of society,
‘Hath not more wisdom in it than the cry
LXVIII
‘That stirs to a perpetual unrest‘Our modern world, and fools the multitude
‘To which its invocation is addressed?
‘Freedom, Equality, and Brotherhood!
‘The wishes these three words in each man's breast
‘Awaken, if he rightly understood
‘Their true relation to his faculties,
‘He would reject the moment they arise.
149
LXIX
‘Already the societies upset‘By these false cries, are struggling to regain
‘That lost stability, which they regret,
‘And which societies, they scorn, retain.
‘Nobility's an institution yet
‘Permitted upon sufferance to remain;
‘And to that institution's not-unneeded
‘Defence and aid thou hast by birth succeeded.
LXX
‘'Tis, as its name implies, a noble one;‘Yet a Nobility that values not
‘The power produced by usefulness alone,
‘Only enfeebles like a morbid spot
‘The social body it remains upon.
‘And aristocracy begins to rot
‘Into a vicious, mischievous noblesse,
‘When it exchanges power for idleness;
LXXI
‘But power means duty. Instinct guarantees‘The eternity of titles. Every State,
‘Savage or civilized, abounds in these.
‘The guillotine could not decapitate
‘Either the titles or the pedigrees
‘Of French Nobility. At any rate
‘They still exist. But what exist no more
‘Are both the rights and duties they once bore.
150
LXXII
‘I have been told that in no other nation‘Are titles more innumerable than
‘In the American Confederation;
‘Where, be he Judge or General, every man
‘Is designated by his rank and station,
‘And every matron is, on the same plan,
‘Called Mrs. Something This, or Something That;
‘Moreover, what seems most to wonder at
LXXIII
‘Is that, in that free democratic land,‘The fact of being free-born satisfies
‘No one. All come, they bid you understand,
‘From the Old Knickerbocker Families,
‘Or Cavaliers, or Pilgrim Fathers, and
‘Every American I meet with tries
‘To prove to me he can his lineage trace
‘From the known head of some high English race.
LXXIV
‘I'm told that in New York, Fifth Avenue‘Despises Broadway; and, with souls exclusive,
‘They who do silken stockings sell eschew
‘Those who sell cotton stockings. So delusive
‘Are all attempts to equalize the Few
‘And Many! so tenacious, so intrusive,
‘The instinct that ascribes superiority
‘To persons who are not of the majority!
151
LXXV
‘England's Old Upper Class, whereof thou art,‘Some ruling influence still retains: and thou
‘Hast in its honourable toils a part
‘Thou canst not honourably disavow.
‘Hast thou the right, even if thou hast the heart,
‘(Thou, its born champion!) to abandon now
‘The standard of a power whose past was splendid,
‘When its last strongholds are so ill defended?
LXXVI
‘Resume thy place among the ranks of those‘Whose cause is thine! Take back thy noble name,
‘Its noble duties seek not to oppose,
‘And, with those duties nobly done, reclaim
‘The rich rewards that Duty still bestows
‘On all who tread without reproach or blame
‘Her painful paths! Nothing is yet too late.
‘Thine accident—that agitated state
LXXVII
‘In which the effects of it so long retained‘Thy faculties—the wish to hear from me—
‘All these will have sufficiently explained
‘Thy silence until now. Nor doubt that she
‘Will understand why thou hast thus refrained
‘From telling her what can no longer be
‘Without disloyal reticence suppressed.
‘Courage! Speak truth, and leave to God the rest!’
152
LXXVIII
Whilst Edelrath was to GlenaverilThus offering words of sad encouragement
To which, still silent, and dejected still,
His listener yielded a forlorn assent,
The two friends had arisen, and down the hill
Their homeward steps toward the house were bent;
Whence now, from windows comfortably lit,
And softened by dim draperies curtaining it,
LXXIX
The lamplight, glimmering, golden carpets laidBetween the shadows of the trees. All round,
Night's influence had that twofold silence made
Which seems the visible vacancy of sound;
A silence to the ear, a something said
Silently to the eye. From seas profound
And deserts vast that silence sometimes speaks,
As here it spake from the hushed mountain peaks
LXXX
That far off in the solemn stillness shone,And from the dusky cypress tops below.
Ah, blest tranquility reserved alone
To the mute witnesses of many a woe
And joy whose silence is a troubled one!
As the two friends approached it, the warm glow
That streamed towards them from the casement-door
Was darkened by a form it floated o'er;
153
LXXXI
And in that moment, with a piercing thrillOf soft, but inconsolable, despair,
Like one resigned to death, Glenaveril
Beheld Cordelia. Into the dim air
She stepped, looked round, and lingeringly still
Her image paused upon the marble stair,
Bathed in the glow the lamplight o'er it cast,
Then down into the cypress shade she passed.
LXXXII
The cypress shade—sad darkness dedicateTo death, to sorrow, and to memory!
He felt that there the angel of his fate
Was leaving him, and that futurity
Hovered in that dark shade which seemed to wait,
Like an impatient grave, for hope's last sigh.
And, while he felt all this, the spot where stood
Cordelia, had become a solitude,
LXXXIII
As if a statue from its pedestalShould vanish while the gazer looks at it!
Her disappearance summoned, like the call
Of the Last Judgment, from its sombre pit
Glenaveril's spirit to the Judgment Hall.
He started shuddering; and, with sinews knit,
Hands clenched, as one on desperate errand bent,
He plunged into the shadow where she went.
154
CANTO III. THE AVOWAL.
I
Glenaveril, near the alley's outlet, sawCordelia passing from its moon-girt shade
Into the silvered space beyond. In awe
Of his own beating heart, he paused, afraid
Either to follow her, or to withdraw.
A faintness overcame him, and he stayed
Leaning against the statue of a Faun
That stood between the alley and the lawn.
II
How feels the surgeon when he operatesFor the first time, with an unpractised knife,
Knowing that on the trial which awaits
His novice nerves depends a human life?
And knowing, too, that if he hesitates
Or trembles at the prospect of his strife
With death for life's adroit redemption, he,
Before that strife begins, must vanquished be?
155
III
How feels he when his pausing hand's aboutTo plunge thro' palpitating flesh the steel,
Which must be murderous if it miss one route
Thro' all those living fibres, that conceal
The lair it darkly searches to pluck out
Death, without injuring life? How doth he feel
When, thro' the red obscurity thus wrought
Around its path, that steel glides swift as thought?
IV
Knows he not that his skill's insidious foe,Roused to resistance by his bold attack,
With every kind of obstacle will strow
His sanguinary weapon's painful track,
Accumulating perils to o'erthrow
Safety's one only chance? and that, alack,
That chance he misses if he reaches not,
Or by a hairsbreadth overshoots, the spot
V
Where death, thro' life's deep labyrinth hunted, hidesIts power in some fine nerve or particle
Of sensitive matter? Knows he not besides
That it is insufficient to expel
Death's presence from the haunt where it resides,
But he must cut off the retreat as well
Of life, that, faint with terror, seeks to quit
The bloodstained field where he hath fought for it?
156
VI
All that the surgeon, at his first essay,Feels, knowing this, undaunted tho' untried,
Glenaveril felt in a profound dismay,
Without the surgeon's fortifying pride
In his vocation: and his strength gave way
Before a prospect which so terrified
And staggered him that, sick and faint, he flung
His arms about that statue, and there clung.
VII
From this drear trance the pressure, light yet warm,Of a soft hand (how well its touch he knew!)
Released him with a charitable charm.
Before him stood Cordelia. She drew
Gently within her own Glenaveril's arm,
And led him where the trickling moonbeam threw
Athwart a bench, between the leaves that quite
Embowered it, sprinkled drops of silver light.
VIII
There, speechless, he sat down with drooping head,And on a sandgrain sparkling in the path
His gaze mechanically riveted.
‘Your conversation with Herr Edelrath,’
Cordelia in a grave sweet accent said,
(His nerveless hand in hers still keeping) ‘hath
‘Profoundly troubled you, Emanuel,
‘And ah, I understand this trouble well!
157
IX
‘You have been talking, you and he, to-night‘Of that poor friend, so dear to both, I know,
‘Who perished in your presence, and in spite
‘Of all your efforts. And those efforts now
‘(Because the sole reward that could requite
‘Such efforts, fate vouchsafed not to bestow)
‘Revenge themselves upon their ill-success,
‘By filling memory with remorsefulness.’
X
Glenaveril groaned. ‘Hush! do not speak,’ said she.‘In silence let these troubled deeps subside,
‘And, O my friend, have confidence in me!
‘Was I a clumsy nurse when I was tried?
‘And have I not well won the right to be
‘Trusted by my dear patient? Ah,’ she sighed,
‘The soul's ache, or the body's, which is worse?
‘Which most in need of an intelligent nurse?
XI
‘'Tis my pretension that I have the skill‘To comfort both. Indulge the vanity
‘Which makes me think my friend needs nursing still,
‘And that his best and safest nurse am I.
‘Ne'er can your heart feel either well or ill,
‘And mine be ignorant of the reason why.
‘That were impossible! and well I know
‘What are the thoughts that agitate you now.’
158
XII
She said this in a tone convinced and grave;And, for sole answer to its tender boast,
Only a stifled sigh Glenaveril gave.
Her soothing words his sore heart's innermost
Recesses stabbed like daggers. ‘And I have,’
She added, ‘foremost in my little host
‘Of feminine vanities this pretension too,
‘That I am able to interpret you
XIII
‘Even to yourself. My heart's omniscient,‘And sees in yours what you, yourself, ignore.’
Glenaveril winced again. But on she went,
‘Dear sceptic, trust me, and protest no more!
‘If I forgive that gesture of dissent,
‘'Tis that it flatters my superior lore,
‘And proves I know you (so it ought to be!)
‘Already better than you yet know me.
XIV
‘Another protest! Still incredulous? Well,’She added, ‘then, dear, I will only say
‘You cannot know me yet, Emanuel,
‘Completely, as no doubt you will some day,
‘By instinct, without need of words to tell
‘Unspoken thoughts; but that is just the way
‘That I know you. There's no reproach at all
‘In this distinction. 'Tis quite natural!
159
XV
‘If o'er you I have its advantage got,‘The cause is common. 'Tis that you're a man,
‘And I, dear, am a woman. It is not
‘That, as a woman, I am wiser than
‘The dullest woman when she loves. The lot
‘Of all my sisters bounds the utmost span
‘Of all my wishes; and in every mood
‘I feel my kinship with my sisterhood.
XVI
‘To be a woman in the plainest sense‘Of that plain word is all I care to be,
‘And all I can be. There's no difference
‘Between the nature of my sex and me.
‘Being a woman, I make no pretence
‘To be peculiar in the least degree.
‘I name my sisters when myself I name:
‘Past, present, future, we are all the same:
XVII
‘And not in my name only, but theirs too,‘Do I make this—what shall I call it, now?
‘Vaunt, or confession?—Judge, and name it, you!
‘Superior as men are to us, I know,
‘In all things else, in one thing women do
‘Excel them,—I've a notion why, and how.
‘In love, the youngest of us seems to start,
‘Not with more knowledge of the human heart,
160
XVIII
‘But with a consciousness more intimate‘Of what love is,—an instinct truer than
‘Mere observation, be it ne'er so great,
‘Bestows upon the most experienced man.
‘Experience, for love's profit, comes too late;
‘Love is alive; experience dead; it can
‘Only begin where feeling ends; and not
‘By counting corpses is life's secret got;
XIX
‘'Tis in our sex I find the reason why.‘Not quite the same are man-and-woman-kind.
‘Love understands their difference perfectly,
‘And turns, in men, to passion, as the wind
‘Into the whirlwind turns, to move thereby
‘Strong trees whose strength its softer breathings find
‘No means to bend: but light, as willows move
‘To faintest airs, women respond to love;
XX
‘And so with us love deals quite otherwise.‘It breathes about us in our infancy;
‘Steals softly into us without surprise;
‘And doth, while we are little creatures, try
‘By little stages to familiarize
‘Our growing natures, imperceptibly,
‘With its own growing influence. 'Tis thus
‘Love, ere we know it, lives unguessed in us.
161
XXI
‘Strong is the whirlwind, but it cannot last,‘And woman's love is woman's life. The air
‘Wherein life's better part must needs be passed
‘Is stormless: and, that it may linger there,
‘Love, to the woman's nature clinging fast,
‘Turns into womanhood: lives everywhere
‘About her life, each household portrait frames,
‘And calls itself by all familiar names:
XXII
‘Unknown to her, it haunts from day to day‘The air she breathes, and vibrates in the tone
‘Of all she thinks and feels; she cannot stray
‘Beyond its influence; she and it are one.
‘It is her sex, her self! Turn where she may,
‘Love to a woman's life vouchsafes alone
‘A goal which is her starting point as well,
‘And if her Heaven it be not, 'tis her Hell!
XXIII
‘With love begins, and with it ends, her life,‘In this or that shape; and 'tis but a name
‘That changes, when the maid becomes a wife,
‘The wife a mother. Thro' all change the same,
‘Whether fate be with it at peace or strife,
‘The woman's nature lasts. From love it came,
‘To love it goes, and without love it dies.
‘Its childhood's plaything is its girlhood's prize,
162
XXIV
‘And the girl's prize the woman's occupation;‘Love to her youth gives charm, and to her age
‘That charm remembered still gives consolation.
‘Whate'er the objects that her thoughts engage,
‘Love to them all imparts some inspiration.
‘Lost in a sea that hath no anchorage
‘Her thoughts would wander, and be thoughts no more,
‘Did love not pilot them from shore to shore.
XXV
‘But all this happens so insensibly,‘And is so natural, that she knows it not:
‘And when, at last, some unaccustomed sigh
‘Reveals to her the love that fills her, what
‘She then discovers, and is startled by,
‘Is her own nature; whereof love hath got
‘Such full possession that it seems not hers
‘But love's—a gift, in short, which love confers.
XXVI
‘Love does not come to women, as to men;‘It does not even come to us at all,
‘For it is in us from the first; and, when
‘Our love goes forth responsive to the call
‘Of one whose coming it predicted, then
‘It but fulfills its own prophetical
‘Visions and trances; and the loved one seems
‘A being long familiar to love's dreams.
163
XXVII
‘If I have thus the right to say I know‘Emanuel better than he yet knows me,
‘Resent it not, dear! 'Tis that long ago
‘My heart divined the absent one, and he,
‘The moment we two met, had nought to do
‘But take the place that used, till then, to be
‘Filled by his own dear image in my heart,
‘Which recognised at once its counterpart.
XXVIII
‘Ah, yes! and if in me, Emanuel,‘Your heart has hailed a revelation new,
‘In you I have but known again (how well!)
‘The destined dear one I already knew.
‘To me, whose heart had been your oracle,
‘Your presence only proved the oracle true,
‘And I had nothing new to learn, except
‘That love is in foreknowledge an adept.
XXIX
‘This is the difference between women and men:‘Love is, with you, a passion that gives rise
‘To an ideal sentiment; and when
‘You love, love leads you to idealize
‘The loved one; we idealize first, and then
‘We passionately love what satisfies
‘All our ideal cravings. Passion thus,
‘Just where it ends with you, begins with us,
164
XXX
‘In sentiment! The moment when, at last,‘We really love, our love is wholly real:
‘Our need of the ideal then is passed;
‘Love takes the place of it: and that ideal
‘To you, in whom it has fulfilled its vast
‘Predictions, as true love's first hymenæal
‘Gift, we surrender; confident that you,
‘Who have fulfilled, will best preserve, it, too.
XXXI
‘Passion and sentiment would be but froth‘And fire, if either filled the heart alone;
‘And thus does love, to perfect its own growth,
‘Unite two forces in a single one.
‘'Tis like the orange-tree, that puts forth both
‘Blossom and fruit in the same season. None
‘Have truly loved, whose loving lacked the spell
‘Whereby true love performs this miracle.
XXXII
‘Without my faith in an ideal, how‘Could I, mine own Emanuel, have divined
‘And known your nature as I know it now?
‘And you? Ah, tell me, did not you, too, find
‘That for the first time you began to know
‘Your true self, your own inmost heart and mind,
‘Only when you discovered them anew,
‘Reading the first words that I wrote to you?
165
XXXIII
‘Nay, but this question needs no fresh reply!‘Long since, I know, your letter answered it.
‘How naturally, then, to-night, must I
‘Divine the thoughts of him by whom I sit,
‘When, tho' between us rolled the immensity
‘Of the vast ocean, love still gave me wit
‘To read his heart, and recognise so well
‘All that was in it, dear Emanuel!
XXXIV
‘What greater miracle than this could love‘Perform to vindicate the fearless boast
‘Of its intuitive insight? Doth that move
‘Your wonder? Well then, your own heart accost
‘Yourself, Emanuel. Its reply will prove
‘That I can see what in its innermost
‘Recesses you would still conceal perforce,
‘For what I see there now is—a remorse!’
XXXV
Up sprang Glenaveril with a cry of fear,And then with a faint sigh sank down again.
‘Ah,’ she continued, ‘Why so troubled? Dear,
‘Remorse condemns not, it but warns. In vain
‘We often strive to make our acts cohere
‘With our intents. And all such failures pain
‘The sensitive conscience most, when the intent
‘They leave defeated was most innocent.
166
XXXVI
‘If you, by chance, engaged your poor lost friend‘That fatal pilgrimage to undertake,
‘Which came, alas, to such a dreadful end,
‘What wonder is it that your heart should ache
‘For a result you neither did intend
‘Nor could foresee? You suffer, for his sake,
‘A causeless self-reproach that goes too far.
‘Good heavens! how unjust to us they are,
XXXVII
‘The sufferings our best impulses impose‘Upon us sometimes! when, for all the pain
‘Which they themselves inflict, they turn our foes,
‘And false accusers! To my heart 'tis plain
‘That yours is suffering now from one of those
‘False accusations; but it cannot stain
‘The conscience it disturbs. You writhe beneath
‘A wrong impression that for that friend's death,
XXXVIII
‘Whose life you vainly risked your own to save,‘You are responsible. Emanuel,
‘No such responsibility you have!
‘Of this be sure. Why should you shrink to tell
‘The accusation whispered by that grave
‘Against your heart, to one who knows so well
‘The innocence of the accused? Poor, dear,
‘Imaginary culprit, have no fear!
167
XXXIX
‘Come, let Cordelia be your judge! and she‘Shall pass a juster sentence than your own.
‘Does not your past, my friend, belong to me
‘Entirely, as your future? Have I known
‘Your thoughts, so well, and shall your actions be
‘From mine own thoughts of them concealed alone?
‘Ah no! To me, confession's first beginner,
‘Confess thyself, and be absolved, dear sinner!’
XL
Trembling in every limb Glenaveril rose.His face was livid with a vast despair.
‘Cordelia, this is horrible! Heaven knows
‘My punishment is more than I can bear!
‘I have deceived you. O, that in the snows
‘My wretched life, with his, had ended, ere
‘This hour!’ he gasped, as at her feet he fell.
‘Cordelia, I am not Emanuel!’
168
CANTO IV. THE REVELATION.
I
Sunk at Cordelia's feet, with that last cry,Speechless Glenaveril remained. His head
Upon her knees had fallen heavily,
And there it rested, in a nerveless dread
Of the next moment; as one doomed to die,
And waiting but to hear his sentence read,
Clings to the block, and shudderingly covers
His face beneath the axe that o'er him hovers.
II
His hands were stretched, in hopeless intercessionFor mercy, to his executioner;
But not a word acknowledged the confession
Which, from their quivering fibres torn by her,
Had left his heartstrings shattered. Its repression
Had long been stifling him, but deadlier
Was its release; and crueller than all words
The dreadful silence of thought's broken chords.
169
III
That silence gave him time to realizeIntensely what the end of it must be.
Each second of it magnified the size
Of the abyss he weltered in; yet he
Dared not abridge its dumb eternities,
That, like the unreckoned waves of some great sea,
Rolled on and on, with ever-deepening stress,
To the dark realm of absolute nothingness.
IV
His consciousness, deprived of power, becameA ghastly nightmare: and it seemed to him
That, fallen down a precipice, his frame,
To fragments shattered, lay there in a dim
Heap of destruction, helplessness, and shame;
Whence, since his fall had numbed each broken limb,
He feared the pang of being roused again
To life's intolerable sense of pain.
V
And still no sound! But the impending strokeFell not; the loaded silence by degrees,
A mystic movement thrilled; and he awoke
Slowly to a sensation of faint ease
From that dark burden, till the dead weight broke
Above him, as when timely rescue frees
From underneath an earthquake-stricken wall
The wretch its ruins buried in their fall.
170
VI
He felt upon his hand another hand,That drew it softly, with a tenderness
Its fluttered pulse could feebly understand,
To two warm lips, whose silent slow caress
Thro' all his being, like a blest command
Not to despair, went glowing: and then, ‘Yes,’
A sweet voice whispered in low accents, mild
With almost motherly love, ‘I knew it, child!’
VII
A man, awakened suddenly, remainsBetween his sleeping and his waking sense
Suspended for a moment, nor retains
In that dim moment the intelligence
Which either world, in different ways, explains
By different laws, on different evidence.
For those two states of consciousness exclude
Each other. Worlds that never yet were viewed
VIII
At the same time, by the same eyes, they are.Dissimilar themselves in everything,
Two separate senses, as dissimilar,
To dwell in either, we to each must bring;
And even to understand the one, must far
Behind us leave the other, shattering
All links between, that each in turn may seem
Intelligible to us—Fact, and Dream.
171
IX
Awaking is a shock that stupefies:The right sense of the dream-world is confused
In presence of the real-world, that lies
Beyond the sphere to which that sense is used:
The right sense of the real-world denies
(As one whose faith in fact has been abused)
Resentfully the truth of the wild tale
Told by the dying dream without avail:
X
And thus about two lies, or, it may be,Two truths, which are irreconcilable,
These disputants, unable to agree,
Appeal to one who heeds not either well:
Stunned by this conflict of sensation, he
Doubts each discordant sense, and cannot tell
What to believe. The man whose head is laid
Upon the block, beneath the axe, hears said
XI
The word of pardon: yet, while in his earsThat word is ringing, still he shrinks beneath
The axe that falls not, and still cowering fears
The blow that does not come. 'Twixt life and death;
Assailed by each; and, to the clashing spheres
Of both, a passive obstacle; with breath
And pulse suppressed, blank brain, and sightless eyes,
He rests inert, and neither lives nor dies.
172
XII
‘I knew it, child!’ In those four words were spokenGlenaveril's pardon—which effaced his crime;
And with the crime, at the same joyful token,
Vanished the whole phantasmal pantomime
Which in the silence thus so sweetly broken
Had been performed. In one swift flash of time,
The judgment seat, the scaffold,—all were gone!
The victim rested there,—unchanged, alone.
XIII
Cordelia doubtless understood how slowAnd painful the recovery must be
From a dejection thus profound: and so,
Suffering Glenaveril's forehead on her knee
To rest, where he had flung it in his woe,
She sat quite still; nor did she seek to free
Her prostrate prisoner from the fallen state
Wherein he lingered, still disconsolate.
XIV
Only, she bent down lovingly aboveThe listless head that in her lap still lay;
And he could feel her hushed hand's influence move
Soothingly, and its tender touches stray
Thro' his tossed curls: touches of such calm love
As guides a mother's hand to smoothe away
The trouble of the child that on her breast,
Lulled by those touches, sobs itself to rest.
173
XV
And, as a mother whispers to her child,To him she whispered,—little senseless things,
Which had no meaning save to appease the wild
Unrest, and calm the foolish flutterings,
Of a scared spirit still unreconciled
To the sweet cage it beat with broken wings.
Her low voice, musical with tenderness,
Had in it tones that more than words express.
XVI
The maiden's motherly instinct, haply caughtFrom childhood's lingering influence, shed round
Her half-maternal task a fondness fraught
With such quaint tricks of fancy as abound
In what, to Age, associates the thought
Of Childhood's woes with the relief they found
In fairy tales; and, like a nursery rhyme,
The murmur rippled, ‘Once upon a time—’
XVII
Silence and sound, the darkness and the light,The wavering moonbeam, and the whispering bough,
The confidences interchanged that night,
The past and present interfused, the glow
Of a great solemn gladness, and the might
Of many memories,—all were moving now
Cordelia's spirit; and melodiously
Those magic words, in a delicious sigh,
174
XVIII
Slid from her lips. But scarcely were they sighed,Ere to their old familiar formula
The gates of Poësy rolled open wide;
And all her past uprose in full array
Before her, as, to Oberon's horn, down slide
On moonbeams, and upstart from flower-bells, Fay
On Fay, till fast, in many a magic ring,
All Elfland throngs about its Faëry King.
XIX
Without resistance, to the lovelinessOf that sweet vision she surrendered all
Her fancy; and began, forthwith, to dress
In robes of faëry woof fantastical
The simple story of her girlhood. ‘Yes,
‘Listen!’ she said. ‘The tale I now recall
‘Is true, and comes from a far-distant clime
‘To tell thee all, love. Once upon a time
XX
‘There was a Princess, who was captive bound‘In an enchanted tower beside the sea:
‘And, when that Princess from her tower looked round,
‘Nothing beneath her, nor above, saw she,
‘But waves, and clouds, and birds. In their profound
‘And rocky prison, panting to be free,
‘The sea-waves heaved and tossed with ceaseless stir,
‘But never could those waves come up to her;
175
XXI
‘The clouds moved all day long across the sky,‘But down to her the clouds could never come;
‘And, 'twixt the waves and clouds, the birds went by,
‘Flapping their light wings free and frolicsome,
‘In aëry circles soaring low and high
‘About the enchanted tower which was her home,
‘And, with their little songs, as on they flew,
‘Saluting her. She thought that she was, too,
XXII
‘A bird herself. And to the birds one day‘“O sisters, take me with you far,” she sighed,
‘“Away from here!” “Put forth thy wings!” said they.
‘She spread her arms, and drooped them, and replied
‘“I cannot! Oh, for wings to fly away!
‘“Wherefore to me alone are wings denied?
‘“And wherefore was I made the only one
‘“Of mine own kind, to live and die alone?”
XXIII
‘“Princess,” a bird said to her, “thou art not‘“Of all thy kind the only one. Far, far
‘“Away from here, there is a distant spot
‘“Beyond the sea, where other birds there are,
‘“Like thee. No visible wings those birds have got,
‘“Yet have I heard them many a time declare
‘“That by a single word to them is given
‘“A power that can uplift them into Heaven.”
176
XXIV
‘“What is that word? O tell it me!” said she.‘“Tell it I can,” replied the little bird,
‘“But, if I do, 'twill be no use to thee.”
‘“And why?” the Princess asked. “Because that word
‘“Spoken by two of the same kind must be,
‘“Each to the other. I have often heard
‘“Those creatures interchanging it,” went on
‘The little bird, “and this is how 'tis done:
XXV
‘“The two that speak it hold each other's hands,‘“And gaze intently in each other's eyes;
‘“And then, as each one slowly understands
‘“That word's full meaning, with a glad surprise
‘“The face glows, and the form of both expands,
‘“And the voice trembles. And beneath the skies
‘“I roam, there's nothing I have seen that is
‘“More wonderful, or lovelier than this.”
XXVI
‘“Tell me the word!” “It is I-love-thee.” Then‘The Princess became pensive. But she muttered
‘That word I-love-thee o'er and o'er again,
‘And every time that to herself she uttered
‘The sound of it, she sighed: and strangely, when
‘She sighed, her little bosom heaved and fluttered.
‘“To none can I that sweet word breathe,” sighed she,
‘“And none will ever breathe it back to me!
177
XXVII
‘“O little bird, that word, thou sayest, brings‘“To those by whom 'tis spoken the right way
‘“The happy gift, the heavenly gift, of wings?”
‘“Nay, Princess,” said the little bird, “'Tis they
‘“Themselves that say it. In my wanderings
‘“I never yet have met them flying.” “Say,
‘“How is it, then, that they to Heaven can soar?”
‘“Ah, Princess,” said the little bird, “that's more
XXVIII
‘“Than I can tell thee! Heaven, for aught I know,‘“Comes down to them. If that's not the same thing,
‘“But little can it matter, anyhow,
‘“So long as one gets there.” And, echoing
‘The little bird, the Princess murmured low,
‘“So long as one gets there! Can one word bring
‘“Heaven down to those who utter it? Dear bird,
‘“Tell me to whom, then, should one say this word?”
XXIX
‘“That,” said the little bird, “thou first must learn‘“Of Love.” “And where is Love?” The bird replied
‘“A little everywhere. At every turn
‘“He is at hand, I think. I never tried
‘“Love's secret hiding-places to discern,
‘“For I can call him wheresoe'er he hide.”
‘“And,” said the Princess, “when thy call is heard
‘“Doth Love come always?” “Always!” said the bird.
178
XXX
‘Then did the Princess clasp her hands, and “O‘“Dear bird, sweet bird,” she said, “call Love this way!
‘“Tell him I wait for him—his will to know,
‘“His gifts to earn, his bidding to obey!
‘“And take to Love my prayer, that he may show
‘“Where I shall find my fellow-bird, and say
‘“I-love-thee, and I-love-thee hear once more,
‘“And so get wings that up to Heaven can soar!”
XXXI
‘Around the Princess lightly hovering,‘The bird said “Sit down there, and list to me!
‘“This is the song that I to Love will sing.”
‘Down sat the Princess near a myrtle tree
‘That by the sea-girt wall was blossoming.
‘Upon it perched the little bird, and he
‘Out of his little breast poured forth this flood
‘Of song, which well the Princess understood:
XXXII
‘“Come hither, hither! come from Heaven, O Love!‘“Behold this maiden, young, and pure, and fair,
‘“Whose tender sighs have had the power to move
‘“A little bird that owes to thy sweet care
‘“His tiny nest in yonder myrtle grove,
‘“Which holds a bliss so great, could song declare
‘“The greatness of the bliss in that small nest,
‘“The song he sings would burst his happy breast!
179
XXXIII
‘“O Love, thou lord of all delights! so kind‘“To every little bird whose friend thou art,
‘“Where can thy consecrating presence find
‘“A sweeter home than in this maiden's heart?
‘“The honeysuckle in the soft south wind,
‘“My song hath rocked, my wing hath brushed apart
‘“The pale rose-blossoms of the eglantine,
‘“And searched the scented darkness of the pine.
XXXIV
‘“The solemn oak my sheltered sleep hath housed,‘“The myrtle spray beneath my steps hath danced,
‘“In many a frolic bower have I caroused,
‘“Thro' many a glade of sunlit leafage glanced,
‘“The silver Aprils my spring pipe hath roused,
‘“The golden Junes my summer notes entranced,
‘“But nowhere found I home more worthy thee
‘“Than doth this child's pure spirit seem to me.
XXXV
‘“O hither, hither, Love, and here abide!‘“And I to thee shall all my debt have paid
‘“For that sweet home thou didst for me provide,
‘“Where dwells my mate within the myrtle shade.
‘“O hither, hither, come from Heaven, and glide
‘“Into the glowing heart which Heaven hath made
‘“Thine earthly temple, god of birds and flowers,
‘“And be this maiden thine, as thou art ours!
180
XXXVI
‘“O Love, what flower than this young life is fairer?‘“What bird than this young spirit hath to woo thee
‘“A purer note? O Love, what bliss is rarer
‘“Than thine shall be when hers is owed unto thee?
‘“O hither, hither, come from Heaven, and hear her,
‘“Nor let her virgin sigh unanswered sue thee!
‘“But give to her, as thou to us hast given,
‘“The happiness of Heaven, of Heaven, of Heaven!”
XXXVII
‘The bird's song quiveringly died away,‘Into that Heaven whose blessing it besought
‘Upon the maiden listening to its lay.
‘She, in a tender trance of dreamy thought,
‘Knelt hushed and awed, like children when they pray,
‘Her clasped hands pressed upon her bosom. Nought
‘The tingling silence stirred, but her thrilled ear
‘Heard a sweet whisper whispering, “I am here!”
XXXVIII
‘“Ah,” sighed the Princess to herself, “'tis Love!‘“At last, then, is he come? Thanks, thanks, dear bird!”
‘But still she did not dare to speak or move,
‘And to Love's greeting answered not a word,
‘Fearing lest Love should her delight reprove;
‘And, in the silence, still Love's voice she heard
‘Repeating, “Maiden, I am here. Of me,
‘“What wilt thou?” Then “Where art thou?” whispered she;
181
XXXIX
‘For she saw no one. And the voice replied‘“Here, in thy heart! nor canst thou see my face
‘“Save thro' another's eyes.” “But ah,” she sighed,
‘“That other, where is he? I do not trace
‘“His presence here. How shall I find him? Wide
‘“And big the world is. But from this sad place
‘“I cannot stir. I have no wings.” “Do thou
‘“Send him a message,” Love's voice answered. “How?”
XL
‘“Confide it to the little bird, whose flight‘“I then will guide.” “But he for whom 'tis meant,
‘“Will he believe, and answer it aright,
‘“Knowing not her whose heart the message sent?”
‘“If thou,” said Love, “tho' he be out of sight,
‘“Thyself canst love him thus, be thou content!
‘“So, if he loves at all, will he love thee.
‘“Doubt loves not, and love doubts not. Trust in me!”
XLI
‘So from that hour, confiding in its tone,‘The Princess to the voice of Love gave heed,
‘And all her heart yearned to the absent one.
‘Then, in the earth she planted one small seed;
‘The seed took root, and grew, and still grew on;
‘And, as from earth its tender stalk it freed,
‘It rose, and rose, and strengthening, grew and grew,
‘And every day put forth a blossom new.
182
XLII
‘“This little seed,” the Captive Princess said,‘“Hath grown up, neither seeing, nor yet knowing,
‘“In confidence complete. Its tender head
‘“So feeble was, that the wind's lightest blowing
‘“Could lay it prostrate on its earthy bed;
‘“Yet has earth been uplifted by its growing.
‘“What shame it were to me, then, did I want
‘“The trust that gave such strength to this weak plant!
XLIII
‘“Grow on, dear seed, that Love in me hath sown!‘“Fast-rooted in my heart, from hour to hour,
‘“Grow stronger, stronger, till thou art full blown,
‘“And blossom, blossom sweet, with flower on flower!”
‘And when the Princess saw her seedling grown
‘To a great plant, and blushing with its dower
‘Of purple blossoms in a palpitant glow,
‘“Now,” said the maiden to herself, “I know
XLIV
‘“Him who was born to love me, just as well‘“As if we had grown up together. See,
‘“Thus looks my lover, as my heart can tell!
‘“Filled with the fulness of my love is he,
‘“Sweet with the sweetness of my thoughts, that dwell
‘“Upon him daily, and, like this fair tree,
‘“All covered with the blossoms of my youth,
‘“And glowing with the warmth of his own truth!”
183
XLV
‘Then she recalled the little bird, and cried‘“Fill here, sweet bird, thy love-song to the brim!
‘“Then, fly away across the ocean wide,
‘“Away, away, into the distance dim!
‘“And when thou findest, on the other side
‘“Of its soul-separating waters, him
‘“Who doth this plant resemble, tell him thou
‘“That I have sent thee. He thy voice will know,
XLVI
‘“And what thou sayest he will understand.‘“Say to him that I wait for him.” Away
‘The little bird flew over sea and land,
‘And wandered far and wide. At last, one day,
‘The bird discovered, sitting hand in hand,
‘And side by side, beneath the linden spray,
‘In converse, two young Princes. Then, thought he,
‘“One of these two the one she waits may be;
XLVII
‘“But so alike they are, that who can tell‘“Which one it is? That they, themselves, shall prove!
‘“The one that, hearing, understands me well,
‘“Must be the true one.” On the boughs above
‘The bird alighted, and began to swell
‘His little throat, and sing the hymn which Love
‘Had taught him. Listening all beatified,
‘“O hearken!” one of the young Princes cried,
184
XLVIII
‘“Was ever song so heavenly sweet as this?‘“With what enchantment doth it charm the ear!”
‘“A parrot,” said the other one, “it is,
‘“That must have slipped its cage, and wandered here
‘“From the Seraglio, where these fooleries
‘“The creature, doubtless, learned; and it is clear
‘“That out of season, understanding nought,
‘“It now repeats the nonsense it was taught.”
XLIX
‘“No!” cried the first, “I recognise that song,‘“For I have heard it in my dreams before!
‘“And to its melody my whole life long
‘“Fain would I listen. Down to my heart's core,
‘“Responsive to it all my pulses throng.
‘“Sing on, sweet bird! sing thus, for evermore!”
‘Lightly he rose, and all along the wood
‘Followed the bird, whose song he understood.
L
‘Still singing all the way, from tree to tree‘The bird flew on before, until at last
‘It reached the leafless shore of the great sea.
‘Its flight the listening Prince had followed fast;
‘And, when across the rolling waters, he
‘Beheld the bird fly home, away he cast
‘His princely plume, away his golden crown
‘He tossed, and flung his jewelled mantle down.
185
LI
‘“Take them who will,” he cried, “these hindrances‘“To my desire!” and, naked, plunged among
‘The billowed deeps that, swoll'n with the full stress
‘Of the strong sea, their floods about him flung;
‘Above, to guide him thro' that wilderness
‘Of waters, forward flew, and, flying, sung
‘The little bird; and towards an unseen shore
‘He swam, and swam, until he knew no more.
LII
‘One morn, out of a cloud, the Princess heard‘The well-known voice of her winged messenger;
‘And, from a dark sky, the storm-beaten bird,
‘Wailing along the wild wind, cried to her,
‘“Princess, thy mandate hath been ministered,
‘“And answered. Now, thy promised gift confer!
‘“For he, whom thou didst call, is here; but he
‘“Hath, in his coming, suffered sorely. See!”
LIII
‘The Princess, hearing this, went forth, and found‘Him who had understood her message lying
‘All bruised and torn, and bleeding, on the ground,
‘Insensible. She stooped above him, sighing;
‘And kissed his poor pale lips; and bathed and bound
‘His bleeding wounds. And in her arms the dying
‘Prince, who for her had risked his life, regained it;
‘But understood not how, till she explained it.
186
LIV
‘“Welcome, beloved!” she cried, “the bird art thou‘“Whose coming I have waited all this while!
‘“The wings I wanted, thou hast brought me now;
‘“Hence! let us fly away from this sad isle!
‘“For thou, dear fellow-bird, wilt teach me how
‘“To use the freedom thy reviving smile
‘“To my no-longer-captived life hath given,
‘“Nay, earth is, in thy smile, already Heaven!”
LV
‘Then, when the Prince, who was but half awake,‘Heard, without understanding, what she said,
‘He feared that all had been some sad mistake,
‘And that the little bird had disobeyed
‘The mandate given him for another's sake;
‘Or that he had that little bird betrayed,
‘By claiming what for him was never meant—
‘The confident message to that other sent.
LVI
‘He dared not answer, dared not own the fear‘That tortured him. This error to retrieve
‘He wished, but knew not how. He could not bear
‘Either to disappoint, or to deceive,
‘The trusting heart that was to his so dear;
‘So he was silent, and began to heave
‘Innumerable miserable sighs.
‘The Princess watched him with compassionate eyes,
187
LVII
‘That swam with tears of perfect happiness.‘The conflict in that heart she loved so well
‘Convinced her, by its innocent distress,
‘How she herself was loved. No words can tell
‘What joy this gave her. But canst thou not guess?
‘With thankfulness and bliss unspeakable,
‘In both her hands she took his cherished head,
‘And drew it to her—as I thine—and said,
LVIII
‘“What care I, now, for all the birds in heaven,‘“And all their wings? 'Tis thou, and thou alone,
‘“To whom the message of my heart was given,
‘“For thou, beloved, hast been the only one
‘“To understand it, or to hear it even!
‘“Thou art my Prince, who hast thy princely throne,
‘“For me renounced. Thy love my freedom brings,
‘“And thou art here! I have no need of wings;
LIX
‘“For now, I have no wish to fly away.‘“This place is Heaven while thou art by me still!
‘“And where thou stayest, I with thee will stay,
‘“For where thou art, there Heaven my soul doth fill!
‘“'Tis thee I love! and, as I love to-day,
‘“I loved thee ever, and forever will!
‘“Thou art my life, and my life's lord thou art!
‘“So, for thy kingdom lost, take all my heart!”’
188
LX
These words fell, one by one, distinctly, slowly,Upon Glenaveril's listening soul, which drew
Into its depths of softened melancholy
Their blissful meaning, as sweet drops of dew,
Filled with the essences of moments holy
From stars in summer heavens, are drawn into
A thirsty land whose stricken flowers revive,
Drinking heart-deep the balmy boon they give.
LXI
And, sweeter than the sweets of all the South,Cordelia's lips on his were breathing warm!
And long and deep on her delicious mouth
His own, unsated, quaffed without alarm
The cup divine, Love filled with life and youth;
That cup, which with an ever-deepening charm
Love fills forever for his own sweet sake,
For love's a thirst which loving cannot slake.
LXII
And full with sweetness, ever sweeter growing,That cup shall be, so long as here below
The fount of sorrows and of tears is flowing;
So long as human life for human woe
Craves human sympathy,—its sweets bestowing
On all who to its source for solace go;
For all the sufferings upon earth but prove
The strength of their sublime consoler, Love!
189
CANTO V. A RIDE ON A HOBBY-HORSE.
I
Meanwhile, within the Villa Eckermann,The other members of the family were
Now clustering all their reässembled clan
Around the tea-urn: and, no sooner there
Did Ivor, with Cordelia, join them, than
Edelrath's glance his pupil's radiant air
Completely satisfied that there was now
No shadow of a cloud between the two.
II
Whereat he whispered to Glenaveril‘Fiat voluntas tua! For I see
‘My will is done!’ And Ivor answered, still
Glowing with grateful happiness, as he
Embraced the hand of his betrothed, ‘Thy will,
‘And hers, and mine, are all the same. We three
‘Have but one will now, and 'tis Heaven's as well.
‘Our wills are one and indivisible!’
190
III
So audibly he said this, that his host,By chance the catchword overhearing, cried
Across the table, ‘That's a foolish boast!
‘All the republics which, in turn, have tried
‘To make it a reality, have lost
‘Their labour, and their liberty beside;
‘Defining by it only despotism,
‘Which always in the end provokes a schism.
IV
‘Had they assumed for their device instead‘Each for his own part, and the whole for none,’
‘That would have been a less discredited
‘And truer motto.’ ‘Bless my soul! from one
‘Who is,’ said Edelrath, ‘not born and bred,
‘But by his own deliberate deed alone,
‘(Which, I presume, his preference dictates)
‘A citizen of the United States,
V
‘That's a hard saying, surely?’ ‘Go, and see!’Rejoined Herr Jonathan. ‘Experience
‘Is quite a different thing from theory,
‘And to the latter I make no pretence.
‘But each Republic is a Company
‘Of Shareholders, for working that immense
‘Gold mine, the Public Pocket. And they are
‘All, in the main, exactly similar;
191
VI
‘Each is conducted by a President‘And Council, who, in all things, great or small,
‘Are suffered, for a while, to represent
‘The omnipotence of what its courtiers call
‘(For, sir, Vox Populi's omnipotent,
‘Tho' not, alas, infallible at all!)
‘The Grace of Universal Suffrage. Ay,
‘That's an Omnipotent Fallibility!
VII
‘And they enormous dividends divide,‘If they manipulate with fair success
‘A capital, that can't be verified,
‘Its greater portion being more or less
‘Imaginary. Sir, I say, with pride,
‘I have had plenty of experiences
‘Of how to manage capital in trade,
‘And how vast profits may by those be made
VIII
‘Who guess in time what sort of things will suit‘The public taste. It matters not a pin
‘Whether the goods be cochineal and jute,
‘Or votes and measures, that you traffic in;
‘The trick's the same. You've simply to compute
‘Where public wants are likely to begin,
‘And how to satisfy them in the way
‘Most sure to make your speculation pay.
192
IX
‘Moreover, I'm a real republican,‘Since choice it is, not chance, that I obey,
‘Between ourselves,’ continued Jonathan,
‘All born republicans, the truth to say,
‘Are but miscarried monarchists.’ ‘O man
‘Of paradoxes!’ cried Glenaveril, ‘pray,
‘In that case, since 'tis such an easy thing,
‘Why do they never choose themselves a king?’
X
‘Because 'tis not,’ he answered with a sigh,‘An easy thing, but an impossible!
‘Kings are not chosen. That's the reason why.
‘The President of a Republic?—well,
‘That's what a man becomes, and all who try
‘May hope to be, without a miracle;
‘But kings are born.’ Glenaveril laughed, ‘I see!
‘And Brillat Savarin appears to me
XI
‘In a new light.’ ‘Who's he?’ exclaimed his host,But on, not pausing for reply, he went,
‘As a republican, mine uttermost
‘I certainly would spare not to prevent,
In a republic, even at any cost,
‘Such a mistake as the establishment
‘Of monarchy. Yet still, one may deplore
‘Not finding it established there before;
193
XII
‘For instance, every father must, no doubt,‘Wish that his son may have the grace to get
‘Thro' youth's temptations, charms, and snares, without
‘Youth's follies, faults, and peccadillos; yet,
‘Tho' he'd not have Young Hopeful go about
‘Sowing wild oats, 'tis not without regret
‘That he would see the boy to manhood grown
‘With every one of his wild oats unsown.’
XIII
Glenaveril, whose mind, now all at ease,Began to find in Jonathan's orations
A charm occasioned by the contrast these
Presented to the vehement sensations
Thro' which, erewhile, beneath the moonlit trees
He had been passing, laughed ‘Your illustrations,
‘Herr Jonathan, are charming! You employ,
‘However, in defence of monarchy,
XIV
‘A method which, were I a king, I know,‘Would certainly induce me to exclaim
‘“Heaven save me from my friends!” ‘That may be so,
‘But then, the friends of kings might say the same,’
Growled Jonathan, ‘for nothing can undo
‘The cause of monarchy, nor put to shame
‘Its true friends, more completely than the things
‘Done to destroy its principle by kings;
194
XV
‘When kings, for instance, stoop to take, on vile‘Conditions, as a craved almsgiving, thrown
‘By the red mob to them, and all the while
‘Dripping with blood and mud, a brother's crown,
‘Or slily aid, with fratricidal guile
‘The wreck of thrones as royal as their own!
‘When one king traffics in another's fall,
‘To serve his own, he hurts the cause of all!
XVI
‘Kings never can be made: and therefore they‘Ought never to be unmade. 'Tis, alas,
‘Just the reverse of this that every day
‘Happens around us now. And, as it was
‘Said of some combat, that it died away
‘For want of combatants, 'twill come to pass,
‘And be recorded amongst ancient things,
‘That kingdoms died away for want of kings.’
XVII
‘If all republicans were of your way‘Of thinking, we,’ said Ivor, ‘might transact
‘An interchange of paradox, and say
‘“Republics are, by reason of the fact
‘“That there are no republicans.”’ ‘You may
‘Say it at once, 'tis nearly the exact
‘Truth of the matter,’ Jonathan replied.
‘What's the Republic? I have often tried
195
XVIII
‘To find out what's the abstract principle‘Of which it is the concrete incarnation;
‘And this is all about it I can tell
‘For certain—the Republic's a negation.
‘Of every other state in which men dwell,
‘Or form, and method of administration,
‘It is the negative. And more than this,
‘Who can with certainty affirm it is?
XIX
‘When it pretends to be Fraternal Love,‘Equality, Peace, Virtue, Heaven knows what,
‘'Twere easy, nine times out of ten, to prove
‘That every one of these things it is not.
‘The only thing you can be certain of,
‘For of nought else can certain proof be got,
‘Is that it is not Monarchy, of course:
‘And in that fact lies the Republic's force.
XX
‘For there are hundreds, thousands, one might say‘The vast majority of all mankind,
‘Whom that negation flatters, in the way
‘That's most congenial to the vulgar mind.
‘“Since kings we cannot be ourselves,” say they,
‘“The next best thing to being kings we find
‘“In being, at least, able to decree
‘“That nobody at all a king shall be.”
196
XXI
‘And this consolatory power we know‘That the Republic on each citizen
‘Belonging to it does, in fact, bestow.
‘A President's authority such men
‘Resent not, because each, tho' ne'er so low,
‘Obscure, or sordid, be his native den,
‘Is flattered by the thought that he, too, may
‘Himself become a President some day.
XXII
‘“I could be, or I might be—this, or that!”‘And “what I'm not, I might have been, in short,
‘“If only that or this, no matter what,
‘“Were otherwise!” Reflections of this sort
‘(For the Subjunctive Mood's an autocrat!)
‘Not only constitute the main support
‘Of each republic, but, as you will find,
‘Command the world, and govern all mankind.
XXIII
‘“I'm but a private soldier still, no doubt,”‘Says to himself the veteran pensioner
‘As on his wooden leg he limps about,
‘“But, then, I might have been Field Officer!”
‘'Tis this Subjunctive that once put to rout
‘The hosts of Europe, did on France confer
‘Her Grande Armée, and to Napoleon gave
The world that army helped him to enslave.
197
XXIV
‘“Sir, not a farthing in the world have I!”‘Exclaims the man who begs five pounds of you,
‘“I lost my fortune in the bankruptcy
‘“Of X. Y. Z. My wife is starving too.”
‘But then, with a compensatory sigh,
‘He whispers to himself, “I might, 'tis true,
‘“Have been a millionaire!” And this, of course,
‘Is the Subjunctive that keeps up the Bourse.
XXV
‘“I never rise till nearly noon,” remarks‘A fine young gentleman. “I always go
‘“Late to my office: in the clubs and parks
‘“I pass my afternoons: and I bestow
‘“No time on study, because office-clerks
‘“And junior diplomats ought not to know
‘“More than by their official heads is known,
‘“And too much zeal might only keep me down:
XXVI
‘“I find it quite enough to be aware‘“That the best hams, and the best treaties too,
‘“Come from Westphalia: and I take care
‘“Always in what I write to make a few
‘“Misspellings—faults on the right side they are
‘“Because I've heard the Duc de Richelieu
‘“Cared not how his orthography might vary,
‘“Since that, he said, concerned his secretary:
198
XXVII
‘“If international law a little bit‘“I've studied, it is solely for the sake
‘“Of copying dispatches which are writ
‘“With the design, so far as I can make
‘“Their meaning out, of just evading it:
‘“I bet upon most questions, and I'd take
‘“Long odds that from Unpaid Attaché to
‘“Illpaid Attaché, whatsoe'er I do,
XXVIII
‘“I have but little chance to rise: and yet‘“I'm satisfied with my position,—for
‘“I might some day, if I am lucky, get
‘“Myself appointed an Ambassador!”
‘This last Subjunctive gives the State a set
‘Of brilliant youths (a decorative store
‘Of spruce young men who serve it without pay)
‘And wastes their lives in the most harmless way.’
XXIX
‘And I,’ here interposed Frau Eckermann,‘Am married to a man who loves, I see,
‘To talk, and talk, as long as talk he can:
‘But then I might, you know,’ continued she,
‘Have married quite another sort of man,
‘Who would have helped me to pass round the tea,
‘And served his guests, and done what he was told,
‘And drunk his own tea, too, before 'twas cold!’
199
XXX
‘Halt there!’ exclaimed the merchant, rubicundWith pleasure, as, above her stooping low,
About his wife's still comely waist, a fond
Caressing arm he passed, ‘I don't allow
‘Even the Subjunctive Mood to go beyond
‘Its proper sphere (a big one anyhow!)
‘And meddle with domestic matters. Here
‘The place is fully occupied, my dear,
XXXI
‘By the Imperative Mood,—and, let me add,‘Pluperfect Tense! Come then, and take thy tea,
‘Emanuel, and sit down there, my lad,
‘Beside Cor--- Where the dickens, then, is she?
‘I thought I saw her here just now. I had
‘A word to say to her. And the Professor? He
‘Was sitting yonder but a minute ago,
‘And arguing the point with me, I know.’
XXXII
‘Arguing!’ cried Frau Eckermann. ‘Well, well,‘He made but a poor fight of it, that's true!
‘Silenced his batteries, Emanuel,
‘At the first shot! Dealt him his Waterloo!
‘The victory was incontestable!
‘And so he's fled? and abdicated, too!
‘Amazing!’ Said Frau Eckermann again,
‘My dear, whenever your political vein
200
XXXIII
‘Is running, and you have the luck to find‘A listener as complaisant as our dear
‘Good Herr Emanuel, you are so blind
‘And deaf that, if just then your own cashier
‘Should diabolically be inclined
‘To steal the safe, and with it disappear,
‘I don't believe you'd ever notice it.’
‘Faith!’ laughed her husband, ‘there I'm fairly hit!
XXXIV
‘Nothing is more extraordinary than‘The pleasure everybody takes, no doubt,
‘(At least I needs must own,’ sighed Eckermann,
‘I do myself) in holding forth about
‘What no one understands. But, wife, where can
‘Cordelia be? Go, child, and find her out,
‘And tell her that tea's waiting! And our guest,
‘Look for him, too, and—’ ‘He is gone to rest;
XXXV
‘'Tis half-an-hour ago,’ triumphantlyHis wife said, smiling, ‘that he went away
‘To smoke his pipe. He lacks not company;
‘Cordelia's with him. And Cordelia
‘Has taken up his tea to him.’ ‘Ay, ay,’
Sighed Jonathan, ‘he's had a trying day!
‘I trust that he has all he wants up there.
‘Well, we must leave him in Cordelia's care.
201
XXXVI
‘I'm sorry, tho'! I should have liked to hear‘His views upon the social influence
‘Of the Subjunctive Mood. I rather fear
‘That you and I are, in a certain sense,
‘Herr Doctor—for you are, I think, my dear
‘Emanuel, a doctor?’ ‘No offence,’
Glenaveril laughed ‘I'm not a doctor, but
‘I might, you know, have been one, if—’ ‘Tut! tut!
XXXVII
‘My good Sir, the Subjunctive Mood is not‘A thing to joke about. It is, indeed,
‘More serious, I conceive, than your whole lot
‘Of Ologies and Onomies. Just heed
‘What I'm about to say—’ And, waxing hot,
The incorrigible disputant with speed
Went on, his hand on Ivor's shoulder laying,
‘Now, the Subjunctive Mood, as I was saying—’
END OF BOOK THE FIFTH.
| Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses | |