 | Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses |  |
203
BOOK THE SIXTH. CORDELIA.
205
CANTO I. LOVE'S METAMORPHOSES.
I
The maiden and her youngest friend, the old man,Were pacing with slow steps the chamber, where
Erewhile the Royalist-Republican
Had, to his guest's confusion and despair,
So eagerly developed his great plan
For reëstablishing, about a pair
As blest as our first parents ere Cain's birth,
All the delights of Paradise on earth.
II
Within the Scholar's arm CordeliaHad wound her own; and, clasping over it
Her two hands in the most caressing way,
About that favoured arm of his she knit
The prettiest Gordian knot that could delay
A conqueror, and induce him to admit
All sorts of reasons why he should not try
A violent solution of its tie.
206
III
Her attitude, which the Subjunctive MoodReplaced by a conjunction, plainly meant
That the Conditional (altho', for good
Or ill, it claims to be omnipotent
O'er human intercourse) was understood
To be dethroned by mutual consent
In this completely-confidential stage
Of good relations between Youth and Age.
IV
‘I now have given you,’ to his young allySaid Edelrath, ‘a key that's sure to fit
‘The few locks of this long-shut mystery
‘Not yet unfastened by your own fine wit.
‘Tho' you, its innocentest victim, I
‘Feared to see fall a sacrifice to it,
‘Glenaveril's sufferings worse than yours have proved,
‘And that is just. He wronged you, tho' he loved.
V
‘But you, Cordelia, have not indicated‘The Ariadne from whose hand you got
‘The clue that safe thro' such an iron-gated
‘Death-haunted labyrinth led you. Was it not
‘Your Guardian's correspondents (for he stated
‘That he had correspondents on the spot—
‘I mean, at Heidelberg) who first disclosed
‘Cause for—’ But here Cordelia interposed;
207
VI
‘Dear, excellent Jonathan!’ she laughed, ‘ill able‘To hold, unbroken, Ariadne's thread,
‘Unless she spun it thick as a ship's cable,
‘His hands would be! The Minotaur might lead
‘A life still safe and undiscoverable,
‘If Jonathan were Theseus. No,’ she said,
‘No need of art or artifice had I
‘To penetrate Glenaveril's mystery;
VII
‘Its author put into my hands the clue,‘Himself, unconsciously, against his will.’
‘I understand,’ said Edelrath. ‘'Tis true,
‘Nature hath given to dear Glenaveril
‘An air of such distinction, that in you,
‘Whose eye reads character with natural skill,
‘His high-bred aspect failed not to awaken
‘Suspicions of the truth’—‘Again mistaken,’
VIII
Replied Cordelia. ‘No, I saw no more,‘When first I saw him, than his eyes. Those two
‘Letters, wherein we both had met before,
‘Then changed themselves into two looks. And, tho'
‘So brief, so silent, and so swiftly o'er,
‘That second meeting, he, who was, you know,
‘Assured, as well he might be till that day,
‘That I had never left America,
208
IX
‘Knew me the moment that we met. Since then,‘He oft has told me so. But, as for me,
‘Who there had come to seek Emanuel, when
‘I saw him, no surmise had I that he
‘Was not the man I sought. I felt again,
‘Even more strongly than before, that we
‘Were born to understand each other well;
‘Yet doubted not he was Emanuel.
X
‘Thrice blessèd be the generous inspiration‘That prompted Ivor to insist upon
‘An interchange of title, name, and station,
‘Which Fate has since confirmed! For I anon
‘Owed to this second error my salvation
‘From the deception of the previous one;
‘And, thanks to it, Emanuel's name to me
‘Became not, what it else had proved to be,
XI
‘The fatal sail whose sable hue deceived‘The sire of Theseus. 'Twas by slow degrees
‘My heart its knowledge of the truth achieved;
‘And the slow pace of its discoveries
‘The shock of their collective force relieved,
‘When, wincing underneath the weight of these
‘Revealed deceits, where'er I turned I found
‘My footstep slipping upon loosened ground.
209
XII
‘The utterances of delirium‘In this resemble those of poësy—
‘That both of them impetuously come,
‘And neither of them pauses to employ
‘Explanatory phrases. Travelling from
‘A greater distance—where their sources lie
‘In the remoter deeps of feeling—each
‘Says less, and yet means more, than common speech:
XIII
‘Involuntary cries, whose fitful strain‘Is intermittent as the news they bear,
‘They reach us from an unseen battle plain
‘With intimations of the strife which there
‘Is going on. And far that vexed domain
‘Of nature lies beyond our vision, where,
‘Save for such intimations, we know nought
‘About the battle that is being fought.
XIV
‘All those who watch the fever of the mind,‘Or body, with indifferent ears and eyes,
‘Can only in its fervid language find
‘An incoherent chaos of wild cries:
‘Poets and sick men need the self-same kind
‘Of divination; for their speech implies
‘More than it says, and is but hints dispersed;
‘To understand them, you must love them first.
210
XV
‘What struck me most, as night by night I sat,‘To the long wild delirious wanderings
‘Of my poor patient listening hushed, was that
‘Emanuel's name and mine, like rival kings,
‘The whole confusion seemed to dominate
‘In different ways. All dreadful thoughts and things
‘One image summoned, and the other banished,
‘As each in turn the tumult crossed and vanished.
XVI
‘The voice that called upon Emanuel‘Was full of terror, as of tenderness
‘The voice that called Cordelia. I knew well
‘Whence came the last. And with what tearful bliss
‘I heard that troubled heart the healing spell
‘Of mine thus all unconsciously confess
‘Upon eternity's dim brink! But whence
‘Its other cry's importunate vehemence?
XVII
‘Why should he call himself by his own name?‘Why should he call himself at all? And why
‘Seemed it as if this invocation came
‘Out of the depths of some great agony?
‘Nobody calls himself (I mused) the same
‘Familiar word that others call him by:
‘And why, indeed, should anybody call
‘Himself by any vocative at all?
211
XVIII
‘Since a man's self's the only thing a man‘Cannot get rid of, try the most he may,
‘What can (I thought), be more unnatural than
‘That any man to his own self should say
‘“Come hither”? Easier understand I can
‘That he should to himself say “go away!”
‘Especially if to himself he were
‘An object of such horror or despair.
XIX
‘This was a flash of lightning, but it lit‘Abysmal darkness only. 'Tis not you,
‘Whose erudition hath ransacked that pit,
‘The Past, wherein death stores, to keep it true,
‘The truth of life, whose treasure bit by bit
‘Research extracts, and analyses too,—
‘It is not you, who need be told what I
‘Then found—that there is no reality
XX
‘In Fiction's academic artifice,‘When it permits the tragedy's fifth act
‘To employ delirious sleep as a device
‘Of conscience, for disclosing some dark fact
‘In utterance explicit and precise.
‘Such sleep's real utterance is a cataract
‘Of incoherent vehemences—moans,
‘And sobs, and sighs, and inarticulate tones!
212
XXI
‘But, ah! when, seated by the sufferer's bed,‘Brooding on all his movements with an eye
‘That care, and vigil long, have rimmed with red,
‘Seizing the tear that turns into a sigh,
‘And watching lips that move with words unsaid,
‘You take your own part in the tragedy,
‘Then will you know the patient better than
‘You otherwise could ever know the man!
XXII
‘We say of those who at death's door have been,‘When they recover, that they were far gone:
‘And that is true. Dim regions lie between
‘The border-lands of Life and Death, and zone
‘The distant frontiers of a world unseen;
‘The vexed and wandering spirits that alone
‘Those regions roam, whence rarely they return,
‘Can only send across their cloudy bourne
XXIII
‘Brief, broken, agitated messages,‘Which in their passage often go astray;
‘And we, to understand such news, must guess
‘From gap to gap our hesitating way.
‘Yet what these cries unconsciously confess
‘Is full of meaning; and I now can say
‘That there's in Ivor's character no fold
‘Which doth from me one hidden thought withhold.
213
XXIV
‘I know him better than himself he knows;‘And both his best and worst, love equally.
‘A Tree of Knowledge in Love's Eden grows.
‘The fruit Eve plucked, whate'er she lost thereby,
‘Gave her, at least, the power to share his woes
‘Who with her tasted it. Her child am I,
‘And, whatsoe'er it cost me, I would still
‘Take, with love's good unstinted, all its ill.
XXV
‘Some personal interest must the listener move‘To interpret right delirium's ravings drear;
‘But, let the sufferer be the man you love,
‘And then from deep to deep the call grows clear.
‘The stricken one whose bed I bent above
‘Was not Emanuel. From the pain and fear
‘Emanuel's name evoked, this fact stood out
‘Beyond the possibility of doubt.
XXVI
‘But then, if not Emanuel, who was he?‘He could but be one other; and I knew
‘That, being not Emanuel, he must be
‘Emanuel's friend, the English Noble, who,
‘Until that drear discovery, had to me
‘Been but a name and nothing more. The two
‘Must have changed names and characters. But why?
‘What was the meaning of this travesty?
214
XXVII
‘Was it caprice, or was it accident?‘That such a substitution had dictated
‘The cherished answer to my letter sent,
‘Did not at first occur to me. Love dated
‘Remembrance from that last supreme event,
‘Our second meeting, which to looks translated
‘All by the pen first told—that I was loved.
‘How could the answer's truth be better proved?
XXVIII
‘Moreover, all the care the sick man's state‘Exacted every moment at my hands,
‘Left to my thoughts no time to meditate
‘On past or future, until such demands
‘Became less constant and importunate.
‘To smooth the pillows, change the blood-soaked bands,
‘And minister the potions to his pain,
‘Dreading lest all I did be all in vain;
XXIX
‘These tasks, and the attention they required,‘My thoughts of him by day and night possessed;
‘And, with these tasks, the interest each inspired
‘Drew me towards him; and the woman's zest
‘In nursing, thus insensibly acquired,
‘Coöperated with that interest
‘To silence all suspicions that denied
‘My title to be sitting at his side.
215
XXX
‘But when I fully realized at last‘That the poor sufferer, I still watched above,
‘Was not the man to whom my life's whole past
‘Had vowed its future—my predestined love,
‘The son of her to whom my father's vast
‘Devotion now all fruitless seemed to prove,
‘And the dear faith it to my love had given,
‘A faith defeated and insulted even;
XXXI
‘Then—then—I own, the terror of that thought‘Changed love itself to an immense dismay.
‘Such pain and shame the revelation wrought,
‘That my first instinct was to shrink away,
‘Anywhere—from myself—from him—from aught
‘That yet remained of all which till that day
‘Had been my universe; tho' refuge none
‘Was left me. God himself from Heaven seemed gone.
XXXII
‘The one sensation uppermost in me‘Was, so to speak, the wreck of all sensation.
‘Conscious, in some vague way, I seemed to be;
‘But conscious only of annihilation.
‘Had I not been o'erwhelmed so utterly
‘Beneath the shelter of its indignation
‘I might, perhaps, have then contrived to place
‘Love's cowardice, and bury my disgrace
216
XXXIII
‘No matter where, if only out of sight,‘Under the ruins of my happiness.
‘Most fortunately Ivor's perilous plight
‘Pleaded his cause, and forced me to confess
‘That duty even still prohibited flight.
‘Fate of his life had made me arbitress;
‘To leave him as he was would be, I knew it,
‘Like signing his death-warrant. Could I do it?
XXXIV
‘Place for revenge there was not in my mind;‘All that I felt was shame and impotence.
‘They who can in revenge a refuge find
‘Have still a past and future left—a sense
‘Of something which, before them or behind,
‘Remains, amidst life's ruins, for defence
‘Or else attack, to rally energy
‘And hope. But no such stimulant had I.
XXXV
‘On whom should I revenge myself? Alas,‘I only knew that I had been betrayed,
‘I knew not even who my betrayer was!
‘I saw the shrines where I had knelt and prayed,
‘The mystic chalice that contained the mass,
‘The altars upon which my life had laid
‘Its holiest offering, and the trophied staves
‘Whose banners sheltered consecrated graves,
217
XXXVI
‘All these—I saw them shattered by a blow‘Which seemed to leave, not my poor love alone,
‘But all love, menaced by the only foe
‘Love cannot overcome—the only one
‘Whose least assaults leave love no weapons, no
‘Asylum even—a lie! My own had none,
‘And all unarmed it had to fight. For I
‘Could neither shun the strife, nor from it fly.
XXXVII
‘“Heavens!” I exclaimed, “can Youth deceive? If Youth‘“Be insincere, where else, then, may Love find
‘“Sincerity on earth? And where can Truth
‘“From the humiliation of mankind
‘“Her face conceal? Is it not enough, forsooth,
‘“That men should traffic in all else? what kind
‘“Of trade in counterfeit is theirs whose dealings
‘“With Truth are forgeries of Truth's own feelings?”
XXXVIII
‘I to my side had called a brother—yes,‘A brother—for we both could trace our birth
‘From martyrs perfect in devotedness
‘To the divinest feeling upon earth.
‘“Brother,” I cried, “thro' us, let Heaven redress
‘“The wrong that, life from life, and hearth from hearth,
‘“Our parents parted; and their souls, above
‘“Their graves, unite in our predestined love!”
218
XXXIX
‘How stood the case? Heaven owed a solemn debt‘To both our parents, and 'twas still unpaid;
‘For in their hearts its covenant it set,
‘When “Love, and trust my loving care,” it said,
‘“Your love to bless!” They loved and trusted: yet
‘Heaven's promise earth's resistance to it made
‘Abortive; and, by loveless fate defeated,
‘Heaven had from love's deserted cause retreated;
XL
‘Whilst all that had from them been claimed by Heaven‘As the condition of its blessing, still
‘Their faithful hearts without reserve had given,
‘Loving and trusting wholly. Ill on ill
‘In vain against their love and trust had striven,
‘But not, it seemed, in vain against Heaven's will
‘On their behalf. Away from earth they passed,
‘Heaven's promise unaccomplished to the last;
XLI
‘Their claim on it was still unsatisfied;‘Its debt to them, still owing, thus remained
‘Their children's heritage. That undenied,
‘Yet still unsettled, claim had now attained
‘To vast proportions. What a rich and wide
‘Inheritance of bliss to be regained,
‘If we, its true-born heirs, now understood
‘The means to make our title to it good!
219
XLII
‘And so, to him whom I believed to be‘My heart's co-heir in this great heritage,
‘I made appeal—“Come, brother! and, with me,
‘“Firm, against Fate, before Heaven's chancery, wage
‘“The cause of Dispossessed Humanity!”
‘Two men, both young, dealt with this embassage
‘From a girl's faith. One of them disbelieved me,
‘The other one, believing, had deceived me.
XLIII
‘Contèmplating my heart's catastrophe,‘Stronger I felt my indignation grow.
‘“No!” I exclaimed, “unsullied still shall be
‘“The shrine whereof I am the priestess. No!
‘“'Tis not my faith's insulted ark, but he
‘“Whose sacrilegious hand its overthrow
‘“Attempted, that shall here be overthrown;
‘“And may this hour's disgrace be all his own!
XLIV
‘“Unchanged be still our places, his and mine,‘“Unchanged our parts! till, with despairing eyes,
‘“The avenged divinity of Truth's wronged shrine
‘“The wronger hath been forced to recognise.
‘“Then, recognising Truth, her power divine
‘“He shall adore; and, as his soul's best prize,
‘“Desire to be, himself, her priest elected,
‘“Only to find his sacrifice rejected!”
220
XLV
‘And, draping round me the offended pride‘Of all my vestal dignity, again
‘I took, and kept, my watchful place beside
‘The bed where, moaning feebly in his pain,
‘Lay the poor culprit who on me relied
‘Unconsciously (tho' not, thank Heaven, in vain!)
‘For the hard rescue of a life that's grown
‘Since then far dearer to me than my own.’
XLVI
Cordelia paused and sighed. She seemed besetBy some supreme remembrance that subdued
All her sensations to a dream, and set
Around that dream a sudden solitude.
Her eyes were drooped, and their long lashes wet
With a soft brilliance. In this musing mood
She murmured, ‘Ah, 'tis hard to comprehend,
‘And harder still to explain, oneself, dear friend!
XLVII
‘Full of self-contradictions, I confess,‘A woman's nature is. Its strength is made
‘Out of innumerable weaknesses,
‘And it is boldest when 'tis most afraid;
‘Caprice is hid in its devotedness,
‘And pride in its humility displayed.
‘I had to bend my head, and bend it low,
‘A suppliant for the right to lift it now.’
221
XLVIII
She said this with a little haughty smile,That seemed an answer to some voice unheard
In her own heart. And silent for awhile
They both remained; for Edelrath, who feared
Either to interrupt, or to beguile
Her thoughts away from what to him appeared
Their solemn searching of a beautiful soul,
Said nothing. Presently, she turned her whole
XLIX
Sweet face upon him, filled with serious lights.‘How can I ever make this clear?’ said she,
‘It seems impossible! In those long nights
‘I saw mine own Ideal come to me.
‘This is no figure, but a fact. Some sights
‘There are, which by a second sight we see,
‘Yet not on that account are they less real;
‘'Twas thus I really saw mine own Ideal.
L
‘The silentness of night; the dimness there,‘That with its droplike sounds significant
‘The ticking timepiece filled; the tepid air
‘Of the sick chamber, steeped in stimulant
‘And sedative aromas, floating, rare
‘And faint, from cups and phials: the low pant
‘Of a pained slumber sighing in my ear;
‘All these diffused a mystic atmosphere;
222
LI
‘An atmosphere that mirrored, as they rose,‘In its mirage the visions of the mind;
‘Phantasmal panoramas! such as those
‘Which, far away in Araby or Ind,
‘The desert's dreaming solitude bestows
‘On fervid heavens unfanned by any wind:
‘And this fine, sensitive atmosphere—this breath
‘Of a life hovering on the verge of death,
LII
‘All hushed and dim with soft solemnities,‘Was to the nature, soft and solemn too,
‘Of mine Ideal, as his native skies,
‘Regained, are to some delicate sufferer who,
‘Sent back to his own clime to die there, dies
‘At least a painless death, and breathes anew
‘An easier sigh, and smiles a happier smile,
‘Smiling and sighing farewell all the while.
LIII
‘With all about it in that silent room‘Its image made itself familiar—moved
‘Majestically through the perfumed gloom,
‘Between the priestess and the victim—roved
‘Around the altar like its god, in whom
‘Alone was lodged the power, with unreproved
‘Assurance, to pronounce the victim's fate,
‘And to the priestess all her task dictate.
223
LIV
‘I felt that, from the influence of my will,‘This image, all emancipated now,
‘Was passed away: but I could even still
‘Its looks interpret, and I seemed to know,
‘With a mysterious melancholy thrill,
‘That it to me was whispering, “Since thou
‘“No longer needest me, altho' in fact
‘“I still exist, I for myself will act.”
LV
‘Night after night renewed the visitation:‘Greeting me, careless, as one greets an old
‘Acquaintance without formal salutation,
‘It slid between the dim bed-curtain's fold,
‘By Ivor's pillowed cheek assumed its station,
‘Seemed with his dreams mute conference to hold,
‘And to him, as it faded from my sight,
‘Gave something of itself—night after night.
LVI
‘It was as when a dying man, before‘He dies, disposes of his property:
‘Nor, till these nightlong interviews were o'er
‘With Ivor, did the image, fleeting by,
‘Deign to bestow on me a smile once more;
‘A smile that, half made up of mockery
‘And half of sadness, still was suppliant,
‘Tender, and searchingly significant.
224
LVII
‘At last, one night,—returning thus,—to me‘The form of mine Ideal more ethereal,
‘And more indefinite, appeared to be;
‘In its deep gaze was a sad light sidereal,
‘Solemn, and distant; and I seemed to see
‘Its motions thro' some vision less material;
‘Slower than ever they had fallen yet,
‘Its footsteps lingered, slackened by regret.
LVIII
‘In a profound sweet slumber Ivor lay;‘Above the sleeper's brow the image bowed,
‘Kissed it, and, passing silently away
‘Forever, like a disappearing cloud
‘That cannot be recalled, (for night or day
‘Never again, from its sepulchral shroud
‘To me hath come my dear Ideal back)
‘It vanished, leaving only in its track
LIX
‘The never-lost remembrance of a sweet‘Grave gesture, that just indicated where
‘With him, across whose sleep we seemed to meet
‘For the last time, the gifts it gave him were.
‘Ere it could sigh farewell, it faded fleet;
‘And its fond lips the word unspoken there
‘Left open, parted by a painless sigh,
‘Like wings unclasped and just about to fly.
225
LX
‘On him, whom mine Ideal had, by this‘Farewell, bequeathed to me, I gazed: and now
‘From his closed lids, to thank that parting kiss,
‘A tear had started, and was trickling slow
‘Down his thin cheek. O'er that poor tear of his
‘I bent; and, kneeling down beside him, low
‘I breathed a vow which binds to his the heart
‘That vowed it,—never, nevermore, to part!’
LXI
Again Cordelia paused: again went on:‘As one love to another then gave place,
‘I knew at last that the departing one
‘Was self-love only. Yet it had the grace
‘With which a sculptor clothes the shapeless stone
‘His art endows with human form and face;
‘And the significance, to fervour wrought,
‘With which a poet fills the shapeless thought;
LXII
‘Nor can I think of it ungratefully.‘As to the sculptor is the statue, as
‘The poem to the poet, so was my
‘Ideal to myself. Its beauty was
‘My own creation; its utility
‘Survived in what its influence brought to pass,
‘For my requital when its task was done—
‘A real love with a diviner tone!
226
LXIII
‘That real love, whose paths it had made straight,‘And whose approach along the desert years
‘Its voice proclaimed, it lived to inaugurate
‘And bless; and, bearing from the vale of tears
‘Its parting baptism, my heart, elate,
‘Unhindered, and unhurt by doubts or fears,
‘Went forth upon the mission it received,
‘In love believing, and by love believed.’
LXIV
Edelrath pressed a cordial kiss uponCordelia's trembling hand. ‘You have,’ said he,
‘By conquering yourself, sublimely won
‘What was already yours. But pardon me,’
He added in a fondly anxious tone,
‘A fear lest all that now you feel should be
‘Only the old Ideal—still the same,
‘Tho' in another form, with a new name;
LXV
‘I mean, the same enthusiasm, still‘Related but remotely to life's facts;
‘From whose illusions sweet, your heart is ill
‘Defended by the faith on which it acts.
‘You think you know by heart Glenaveril,
‘From what you have well called “wild cataracts
‘“Of incoherent vehemence”—revelations
‘Only of a sick man's disturbed sensations.
227
LXVI
‘But life's not fever. O my child, take care!‘Is not this also an ideal creed?
‘Of its ideal promises beware!
‘I do not counsel you to pay no heed
‘To such outpourings as reveal the rare
‘And precious amiabilities that plead
‘For recognition of the rich contents
‘Of Ivor's nature; but, at all events,
LXVII
‘The actual life of day by day no more‘All these fine qualities without alloy
‘Can use, than unadulterated ore
‘The goldsmiths can commercially employ.
‘Glenaveril, the sick man at death's door,
‘You know: but I, Glenaveril, man and boy,
‘Have known in the full healthy exercise
‘Of all his ordinary faculties:
LXVIII
‘Excellent faculties, I grant, they are;‘Nor are they common ones. Of purest gold
‘His nature is; the worth of it is rare
‘In its refinement, rich in manifold
‘Merits. It has but one fault, I declare;
‘There's no alloy in it. But then, I hold,
‘All is too-much. All pure simplicity,
‘And unalloyed benevolence, is he!’
228
LXIX
‘Add,’ said Cordelia, ‘all unselfishness!‘All confidence! With but a rotten root
‘To cling to, when into death's dark abyss
‘Friendship, not pausing even to compute
‘The danger, flings itself, what more than this
‘Can Love exact from its most resolute
‘Disciple, in the way of guarantees
‘For all conceivable contingencies?
LXX
‘Yes,’ she went on, ‘believe me, it is not‘Upon the sick man at death's door, nor yet
‘On secrets only from delirium got,
‘That its well-founded faith my heart has set;
‘Nor was it from that visionary grot
‘Where, sepulchred in robe and coronet,
‘Reposed love's Dead Ideal, that at last
‘New light flashed o'er the future and the past;
LXXI
‘This time, at least, 'twas no imagination,‘But fact, both positive and palpable,
‘To which I owed the welcome revelation.
‘And that reminds me I have yet to tell,
‘When first I learned from his own perturbation
‘That the sick man was not Emanuel,
‘What pains I took to work this problem out
‘By proofs that put the truth beyond a doubt.
229
LXXII
‘My Guardian from the first had deemed it best‘To search the papers of the sufferer, whom
‘He still believes to be Emanuel, lest
‘Their purport should require him to assume
‘Some duty in Emanuel's interest;
‘But nothing that demanded, or left room
‘For, any special action of that kind
‘Did Eckermann in Ivor's papers find;
LXXIII
‘All that he found there was—besides my own‘Poor letter to Emanuel—some few bills
‘With pencil notes upon them jotted down;
‘A circular note from Lord Glenaveril's
‘Bankers; and, loose among these papers thrown,
‘A long report, on farms, and mines, and mills,
‘Signed ‘Matthew Grey,’ whom we supposed to be
‘The late Earl's agent. All these papers he
LXXIV
‘Transmitted to the authorities at Berne.‘Their being in Emanuel's pocket book,
‘The confidential, secretarial, turn
‘Which his relations with his dead friend took
‘Sufficiently explained, and we could learn
‘No more. For me, I never cared to look
‘Beyond this explanation, till each word
‘That from the sick man's fevered lips I heard
230
LXXV
‘Had justified my right to investigate‘A mystery of which I seemed to see
‘Myself the victim,—and to learn my fate
‘From every source accessible to me.
‘I knew that in that pocket-book, whose late
‘Contents had been disposed of, there could be
‘No papers save of the most common kind,
‘From which I neither hoped, nor sought, to find
LXXVI
‘The smallest secret. But I knew, no less,‘That I should find there all I cared to know—
‘The truth at which it sickened me to guess!
‘And so it was. I had no need to go
‘In search of truth's unconscious witnesses:
‘For in each scrap there, to my shame and woe,
‘The writing of that letter, which till then
‘Had filled my heart with pride, I found again.
LXXVII
‘Among these papers there was one—I think‘It must have been a leaflet torn away
‘From some small note-book—written in pale ink,
‘Much blotted,—and the words I read there—they,
‘When I seemed tottering, dizzy, on the brink
‘Of an abyss, my rescue wrought—But stay!’
And here Cordelia from her bosom took,
And, with a tremulous voice, and tender look,
231
LXXVIII
Read out, as o'er her treasure-trove she bent,These words—“Mem. Grey—Consult with valuer—
“Accumulated surplus to be spent
“In founding—it shall bear the name of Her—
“Good Educational Establishment
“(Endowed with fund sufficient to confer
“Dowry on well-conducted when they wed)
“For penniless maidens.” ‘When this note,’ she said;
LXXIX
‘I conned, on these words too, scarce legible,‘In pencil-marks across it traced, I came—
‘“How he would jeer me, dear Emanuel,
‘“Were I to tell him that Cordelia's name
‘“Had lent the benediction of its spell
‘“To this design!” My friend, you need not blame
‘My poor Ideal, if, when I perused
‘Those lines, mine eyes were all with tears suffused.
LXXX
‘'Twas not, you see, ideal dreams alone,‘But fact's significance, that undertook
‘My heart's conversion. And in every one
‘Of the contents of that most precious book
‘Some welcome word I found, that led me on
‘More trustfully and gratefully to look
‘Into the thoughts of him whose heart had known
‘How to respond so richly to my own.’
232
LXXXI
‘I ask no better,’ Edelrath replied,‘Cordelia, than to be disarmed by you;
‘And to convert me wholly to your side
‘There rests but little more for you to do;
‘But I confess—forgive me, child,’ he sighed,
‘That of my previous scruples one or two
‘Restrain me still. How much I disapprove,
‘Whether it be in friendship, or in love,
LXXXII
‘Of the least want of frankness, need I say?‘A first refusal of the reverence due
‘To scrupulous truth sufficed to lead astray
‘A noble heart; the second, tho' 'tis true
‘I cannot censure it in the same way,
‘Since 'twas a fair incognito, and few
‘Have ever had a worthier inspiration,
‘Still, rendered more confused the situation;
LXXXIII
‘But until now the fault, if fault there were,‘Was all on one side only, and Heaven knows
‘That was enough! Child, child, when once aware
‘Of the clear truth, how could you tolerate those
Continued torments of a heart laid bare
‘To your inspection, conscious they arose
‘Out of a situation false, which you,
‘Its dupe no longer, knew to be untrue?
233
LXXXIV
‘How could you, by a silence that proclaimed‘A falsehood, make yourself the associate
‘Of the deception you had justly blamed,
‘And, thus inverting, still perpetuate
‘The fraud which else had died as soon as named?
‘Why, having shunned so narrowly the fate
‘Of that fraud's victim, on yourself confer
‘The function of the executioner?
LXXXV
‘Glenaveril, tangled in the meshes dread‘Which fate had woven around him—crushed between
‘Conflicting duties—stricken, heart and head,
‘On every side, and torn with torments keen,
‘Suffered atrociously. His thoughts you read,
‘And all his sufferings by you were seen;
‘One word from you the meshes would have broken,
‘Yet on your lip that word remained unspoken;
LXXXVI
‘You hushed it, if it rose, and in your heart‘You hid it, with a courage of repression
‘Almost miraculous! And, for my part,
‘Much as I must admire such self-possession,
‘I could not wish to have acquired the art
‘Of exercising it. In this confession
‘No premature reproach would I imply,
‘Only a wondering curiosity.’
234
LXXXVII
At that abrupt severe apostrophe,Cordelia, until then so confident,
And calmly self-assured, appeared to be
Profoundly troubled. She stood still, and bent
Her head, but answered not. Both he and she
Had ceased to pace the chamber; and she leant,
Silent, against the wall; her arms close crossed
Upon her breast, as in reflection lost.
235
CANTO II. THE TEACHER TAUGHT.
I
Edelrath, too, was silent; and he gazedUpon Cordelia with searching eyes.
Her reticence distressed him, and amazed.
She did not seem to notice his surprise.
Still on the floor her looks remained, unraised;
And the sole gesture whence you could surmise
Her inward agitation was a mute
Monotonous tapping movement of one foot.
II
This silence lasted even after sheHad gradually lifted up her head,
Unlocked her arms, and, standing wistfully
At arms' length from him, on his shoulders laid
Both hands. In that position, archly free
To scan, in turn, the puzzled face he made,
She eyed him with a curious gaze, that blent
Looks of ingenuous astonishment
236
III
And pained contrition. Thus, awhile she waited,Not answering otherwise; as tho' she deemed
That into language plain this gaze translated
The thoughts with which its mixed expression gleamed;
But absolutely unilluminated
By its unspoken answer still he seemed;
And at the last she said, ‘Stern friend, thou art
‘Indeed a ruthless searcher of the heart!’
IV
‘But you,’ said Edelrath, ‘who read so clear‘The hearts of others, surely need no guide
‘To explore the secrets of your own, my dear?’
Cordelia hung her head. ‘Alas,’ she sighed,
‘Your question proves the contrary, I fear!
‘The test to my self-knowledge it applied
‘Hath shown me my self-ignorance, and I
‘Owe to its inquest this discovery:
V
‘That hidden chambers in the heart there be,‘Which, when we into our own selves descend
‘Guided by our own conscience only, we
‘Never completely penetrate. Ah, friend,
‘To search out those recesses, and to see
‘What lurks obscurely at their further end,
‘The guidance of another's hand we need,
‘By unaccustomed ways our steps to lead.
237
VI
‘Yours has to me this service rendered now;‘Showing me, in my heart, an unsuspected
‘And ugly inmate, as I must allow.
‘You, who the presence of it had detected
‘In what you censure, can conceive not how
‘It startles me to find myself infected
‘By an intriguing spirit—for I admit
‘There seems to be no other name for it.
VII
‘I had, myself, been deeply mystified;‘And I suppose it was by instinct I
‘Thus to reverse the operation tried.
‘Is that it?’ Edelrath, at this reply,
Could not quite check a little glance of pride
Appropriate to the triumphant eye
Of the shrewd judge who has in solemn session
Extracted from the accused a full confession;
VIII
But such a triumph his kind heart's sincereBenevolence withheld him from enjoying;
And soothingly he answered, ‘Too severe
‘Upon yourself you are, in thus employing
‘A word that quite exaggerates what is, here
‘In your case, nothing more than the alloying
‘Particle human nature in all hearts
‘To the most golden sentiments imparts.
238
IX
‘You have, I think, correctly recognised,‘But not correctly designated, what
‘Induced you to prolong a mystery prized
‘For its dramatic interest. 'Twas not
‘The Spirit of Intrigue that thus devised
‘The fifth act of the drama's painful plot,
‘But rather that of Poësy. We are
‘All of us poets on occasions rare,
X
‘And in relation to the influence‘Of feelings which to our own mental eye
‘Present ourselves in some pathetic sense;
‘But in ourselves the Spirit of Poësy,
‘To be effectual, must have evidence
‘Of its effect on others. That is why
‘Poets, no doubt, the world at large invite
‘To read the egotisms they indite.
XI
‘The poem whereby each is most affected‘The drama of his own life needs must be:
‘Grieve as he may, to see its course directed
‘Towards a tragical catastrophe,
‘Still, for the natural harmony detected
‘In the unfolding of its action, he
‘A secret admiration entertains,
‘In spite of all anxieties or pains:
239
XII
‘And, as with awe, when seated at the play,‘We contemplate Macbeth's impending fate,
‘But let the piece the poet's art display,
‘Nor interrupt its progress, to relate
‘To him whom it concerns the dreadful way
‘In which Macduff was born, or intimate
‘The cause why Birnam Wood appears to go
‘With Siward's force to Dunsinane; even so,
XIII
‘There's an artistic sentiment that ties‘Our tongues, suspends our wills, and weighs upon
‘The normal action of our faculties,
‘When we ourselves are caught and carried on,
‘In their development, by destinies
‘Of whose dread drama we are, not alone
‘Spectators, but alas performers too,
‘With parts that take from other parts their cue.
XIV
‘What is that sentiment, whose whispered call‘Reduces us to silence? Is it not
‘A reverence, innate and natural,
‘For the Great Author of this Human Plot,
‘Who both created and controls it all?
‘To Him, whose will doth to each act allot
‘An end that by its actor is unknown,
‘We abdicate the guidance of our own!’
240
XV
‘Dear friend,’ Cordelia answered with a smileJoyously grateful, tho' the pleasant sound
Of her soft voice had in it all the while
The faintest tone of some slight underground
Of innocent satire, ‘What could reconcile
‘Your patient to the smarting of a wound
‘Inflicted purely for her benefit,
‘More sweetly than the balms you pour on it?
XVI
‘If aught to health itself can be preferred,‘It must be the recovery, as I deem,
‘From loss of health; and the most soothing word
‘Is that which gives us back our self-esteem;
‘The consciousness of having only erred
‘Thro' faults that common to our nature seem,
‘Is better than the pride to which we may
‘Be tempted by their absence to give way.
XVII
‘So, thanks to your consoling exposition‘Of how the artistic sentiment affects
‘Conduct, in that excusable condition
‘Of feeling which its influence directs
‘Without the action of our own volition,
‘I now am reconciled in all respects
‘To the dramatic harmony that's shown
‘Throughout this little drama of my own;
241
XVIII
‘The fifth act was the natural carrying out‘Of the first four of its well-managed plot;
‘And all, by their observance strict, no doubt,
‘Of the dramatic law which suffers not
‘The actors to concern themselves about
‘The justice of the piece, or how the lot
‘Of each upon the other may depend,
‘Have brought the play to a successful end.
XIX
‘That's greatly to their credit, I must say!‘A little to my own too, may I boast?
‘Oh, I am quite enchanted with the way
‘In which your goodness has contrived the most
‘Kind and indulgent explanation,—nay
‘The most ingenious too (it never crossed
‘My own imagination) of my share
‘In keeping up the mystery, I declare!
XX
‘In quite a new, and most redeeming, light,‘This generously-offered explanation
‘Presents my conduct now to my own sight;
‘And I confess your stern interrogation
‘Had thrown my conscience into a sad plight,
‘Which sorely needed rehabilitation.
‘How shall I thank you for the unexpected
‘Self-reconcilement you have thus effected?
242
XXI
‘If Monsieur Jourdain was amazed to find‘He, without knowing it, had spoken prose,
‘Judge what a grateful wonder in my mind
‘Is waked by your discovery, which shows
‘That, thro' an ignorance much of the same kind,
‘I have conducted to a happy close
‘A drama mainly made by my own part,
‘As it appears, a masterpiece of art!
XXII
‘Nevertheless, truth forces me to own‘That I had, consciously, no such design;
‘And if from Ivor I still kept unknown
‘The knowledge which had made his secret mine,
‘The motive of my silence was alone
‘A deep reluctance to disturb the fine
‘And sensitive development of feelings
‘Whose very reservations were revealings.
XXIII
‘All those revealings by their loveliness‘So fascinated my delighted eyes,
‘That now I fear I may have failed to guess
‘The full depth of unmerited miseries
‘He suffered, under the tormenting stress
‘Of scruples I could but in part surmise.
‘I thought it due to him, I thought it best
‘For his own struggling heart's eventual rest,
243
XXIV
‘The issue of its struggle to await‘In patience—and let him be first to break
‘A silence which prepared, perchance, some great
‘Unprompted confidence, whence I should take
‘All worth away did I precipitate
‘Disclosures, he might hesitate to make
‘For reasons utterly unknown to me.
‘For, after all, what did I know? Just see,
XXV
‘Dear friend, how much of what I seemed to know‘Was inference, and how little I could call
‘True knowledge: and then say, was I too slow
‘In acting upon scattered hints so small?
‘How could I risk, upon one reckless throw
‘Of these light dice, the forfeiture of all
‘That was, for both of us, at stake in such
‘A chance between Too-little and Too-much?
XXVI
‘This is the tale I to myself made out‘By guesswork from the only fact I knew:—
‘My letter to Emanuel, no doubt,
‘Had found him sceptical; most likely too,
‘Contemptuously unconcerned about
‘Its truth; Glenaveril believed it true;
‘Of this I felt quite sure; he must have got
‘(But how, or why, my guesses told me not)
244
XXVII
‘From his indifferent friend impatient leave‘To answer it, and in Emanuel's name;
‘This thought, at first, 'twas sickening to receive;
‘It filled me with disgust, and scorn, and shame;
‘Yet was it destined mainly to achieve
‘My rescued self-esteem; for, when I came
‘Better to understand the wounded man
‘Beside me, my own wounded pride began
XXVIII
‘To find a solace in the thought that he‘Had understood my letter from the first,
‘And, thro' that letter understanding me,
‘Had yearned, with longings dearer than he durst
‘Acknowledge to himself, himself to be
‘All his poor friend refused to be. I nursed
‘This knowledge as a widowed mother would
‘Nurse a weak child. What now is understood
XXIX
‘I knew not then, of Ivor's fond design‘Me from his own abundance to requite
‘For his friend's scornful sacrifice of mine.
‘But why he had consented to indite
‘Such a request I did in part divine;
‘Suspecting he had been induced to write
‘What caused him afterwards such keen contrition,
‘In deference to another's harsh condition.
245
XXX
‘And, knowing by the general report‘That Lord Glenaveril's fortune was immense;
‘Knowing, moreover, by a sweeter sort
‘Of more indisputable evidence,
‘(The evidence of mine own eyes, in short)
‘That Ivor's love for me was no pretence;
‘Without exactly guessing all that now
‘You have yourself enabled me to know,
XXXI
‘I felt that to a man in his position,‘Who probably set no great store upon
‘The wealth which roused Emanuel's ebullition
‘Of pride in poverty (a natural one!)
‘The harshness of that sceptical condition
‘A different standard of comparison
‘Would make less obvious than Emanuel
‘Meant it to be, and more forgivable.
XXXII
‘I guessed that the one feeling prevalent‘In Ivor's heart, to the complete exclusion
‘Of every other thought or sentiment,
‘(When, all his being in a sweet confusion,
‘He wrote the answer to my letter sent)
‘Was an inebriate love, that no intrusion
‘On the delights of its inebriation
‘Vouchsafed to sober-minded calculation.
246
XXXIII
‘Most likely, had the letter, he believed‘Your hands had burned, upon Emanuel's
‘Behalf, the aim he wrote it with achieved,
‘And had Emanuel lived, and all things else
‘Followed their natural courses, nor reprieved
‘By unanticipated miracles
‘A love that lighted its own funeral flame,
‘He never would have known by its true name
XXXIV
‘The nature of the sentiment which I‘Had touched him with, by uttering my own.
‘That headlong and spontaneous sympathy,
‘(By other feelings bridled and kept down)
‘Must then have been constrained the tasks to ply,
‘Friendship and Honour would have sternly thrown
‘Upon its service. But Emanuel died,
‘The victim of his own incredulous pride;
XXXV
‘He died, and he was ignorant of all‘That most concerned him, to the last. Then came
‘Our meeting. Prompt in answer to the call
‘Which he had uttered in another's name,
‘Ivor beheld me come. The general
‘Impression, and my own, were then the same,
‘That Ivor was Emanuel; and he
‘Knew that Emanuel had ceased to be:
247
XXXVI
‘Emanuel had no longer any choice‘To make between belief and disbelief:
‘No fates depended on his silenced voice:
‘The wrong which he had done me, past relief
‘By him remained. My love could not rejoice,
‘Nor my scorn punish, him. My shame and grief
‘Could send no message of reproach or blame
‘To the dead man. And Ivor bore his name!
XXXVII
‘For whom, and, as I deemed, at whose request,‘My wealth I had renounced, that there might be
‘No obstacle between us. The behest
‘On which I acted had been made to me
‘Thro' Ivor, by Emanuel. The rest
‘I knew not. This was all I knew, you see,
‘And this was why, well knowing that he knew
‘As much and more, I thought, “What will he do?”
XXXVIII
‘That was an obvious question, to which I,‘Who asked it inly, could anticipate
‘By no impatient promptings the reply
‘Both pride and love compelled me to await.
‘But what, of course, I knew not then, was why
‘He, who still fancied that, at any rate,
‘You had destroyed his letter's loving treason,
‘Was quite unable (for that natural reason)
248
XXXIX
‘To understand my presence at his side;‘And that on his part too was much to know,
‘As yet unknown, ere he felt justified
‘In breaking silence. I was, any how,
‘By his reserve admonished to abide
‘A revelation which, however slow,
‘Must come from Ivor, if it came at all.
‘In this, admit that I was logical.’
XL
‘Very!’ said Edelrath, ‘exactly what‘A student always is in his third year,
‘Extremely strong in theory.’ ‘By that
‘You mean,’ replied Cordelia, ‘I fear,
‘Extremely weak in practice. I am at
‘An end, however, of my theories. Hear
‘Their practical result, in any case,
‘Ere you condemn it. I must now retrace
XLI
‘My course a little. I've before you set‘Exactly what the situation was
‘When you arrived. But I've to tell you yet
‘More of the situation which, alas,
‘Ivor's slow convalescence brought with it,
‘And with what lingering steps he seemed to pass
‘Out of his long delirious darkness, thro'
‘A world of twilight, ere himself he knew.
249
XLII
‘The self-consuming fever had expired:‘Its bodily pains and mental terrors all
‘Slept like gorged reptiles; and their victim, tired,
‘Faint, prostrate, stunned by many a desperate fall
‘In life's blind struggle for his undesired
‘Release from death, lay there, too weak to call
‘Returning Reason to the rescued throne
‘From which for many a month she had been gone.
XLIII
‘My presence, at the first, surprised him not;‘It mingled with impressions left behind
‘By his last dreams. But dreams, like wounds, have got
‘A closing tendency. The two disjoined
‘Ends of reality, above the spot
‘Where they were severed, reuniting, bind
‘Themselves together firmly, as sound flesh
‘Over healed gashes forms itself afresh;
XLIV
‘And, just as, when the new skin thickens o'er‘Some cicatrice, thro' all its closed abyss
‘The blood's checked current circulates once more,
‘So, when the dream's strong interruption is
‘Suppressed, Remembrance hastens to restore
‘Thought's old associations, which dismiss
‘Ideas haply of a later date,
‘Belonging to a different mental state.
250
XLV
‘This rally of life's forces, this alert‘Sounded by Convalescence to each sense
‘That still unvanquished, tho' not all unhurt,
‘Responds, yet panting from the vehemence
‘Of its last desperate struggle to assert
‘Life's cause,—all this is the glad evidence
‘Which Gaiety for Life's return provides,
‘To show that o'er its triumph she presides;
XLVI
‘It is the lark that sweetly sings in heaven‘O'er the red furrows of the battle-field.
‘How often, sitting watchful, morn and even,
‘By the hushed couch where my poor sufferer, healed
‘But helpless still (a conqueror who had striven
‘With giants!) now to all around appealed,
‘Childlike, with wondering eyes and questionings
‘Renewed, for knowledge of the simplest things—
XLVII
‘How often, in such moments, have I smiled‘To watch the embarrassed, disconcerted, air
‘Of Ivor's memories, unreconciled
‘To their surroundings, wondering where they were,
‘In unremembered places! Like a child
‘Away from home, that longs, but does not dare,
‘To touch each unfamiliar thing it sees
‘Within its reach (as, gathering by degrees,
251
XLVIII
‘And one by one, they all arrived in turn)‘Each, full at first of curiosity,
‘Was garrulous, and inquisitive to learn
‘All about everything; but, presently
‘Discouraged, it withdrew, and seemed to yearn
‘For something which it found not. By and by,
‘Another took its place, but fared no better;
‘And so they came and went. That fatal letter,
XLIX
‘Which Ivor must have thought you had destroyed,‘He did not seem the least surprised to see
‘Safe in my hands; nor did he look annoyed
‘When called Emanuel. The fact is, he
‘Had wandered far; and from those dismal, void,
‘And distant realms whence he at last was free,
‘Returning tired, the rest for which he pined,
‘He sought in the first inn that he could find;
L
‘To him it mattered little where he lay,‘So long as he lay quiet; the inn's sign
‘And the host's name, he asked not. Thus, one day
‘Seeing the letter in my hands, “'Tis mine!”
‘He cried, “My letter!” Back, and far away
‘His thoughts then strayed. “It was beneath a fine
‘“Old tree,” he murmured, “that I wrote to you
‘“That letter. Ah yes, and the birds sang, too!
252
LI
‘“And all the while that I was writing it‘“Mine eyes were on your portrait. 'Twas the one
‘“You sent me. That is how each word was writ.
‘“A lovely portrait! exquisitely done!
‘“And what a striking likeness! How it hit
‘“So accurately the peculiar tone
‘“Of your expression is incredible;
‘“The painter of it must have known you well;
LII
‘“I also knew you by it perfectly‘“The very moment we first met at—where,
‘“Where was it?” “But, Emanuel,” said I,
‘“I never sent my portrait to you.” Then
‘He gazed at me with an astonished eye,
‘And sighed, “You never sent it? I declare
‘“'Twas in your letter, tho'—where am I?—stay!
‘“I fancied—are you not Cordelia?”
LIII
‘“Yes, dear,” I answered, “I, indeed, am she:‘“And I so long and well have known you, too,
‘“That of no portrait had I need, to be
‘“In that same moment just as sure 'twas you,
‘“When in the breakfast-room at Chamouni
‘“We met, and each at once the other knew.
‘“Do you forget, we found you travelling still
“‘With that ill-fated Lord Glenaveril?”
253
LIV
‘I saw that, when I answered thus, he took‘My presence for a vision. For he sighed
‘Doubtfully, and besought me with a look
‘Of piteous apprehension that implied
‘The terror of a child who cannot brook
‘The darkness, not to leave him yet. I tried
‘To reassure him, as in mine I clasped
‘One of his hands. Thereat he flushed, and gasped,
LV
‘And trembled; and then timidly put out‘His other hand in an irresolute way
‘Towards my arm, as tho' he were about
‘To try if it were solid, and would stay
‘Beneath his touch. But to resolve that doubt
‘He did not dare; and, sinking back, he lay
‘Thinking, and puzzled what to understand
‘From my reply, while still I held his hand.
LVI
‘After a while, he turned, and said, “Just now‘“I heard you say that I was travelling still
‘“With some one—'twas a name I think I know.
‘“Who was it?” “It was Lord Glenaveril,”
‘I answered, “your ill-fated friend.” And low
‘He muttered, “in a tone that made me thrill,
‘“Glenaveril, my ill-fated friend! I was
‘“Travelling with him? Are you quite sure?” “Alas,
254
LVII
‘“Yes!” I replied, “quite sure.” And Ivor fell‘“Into a reverie; then asked again,
‘“Why did you say alas?” “Emanuel,
‘“I ought perhaps,” I answered, “to refrain
‘“From talking to you, for you are not well;
‘“You have been many months in dreadful pain,
‘“And still are very feeble; but I know
‘“That you, thank God, are out of danger now;
LVIII
‘“And tho' the cruel hurts which you received‘“In that stupendous effort, when your skill
‘“And desperate courage, dear, almost achieved
‘“Your lost friend's rescue, must be painful still,
‘“I do not doubt your mind will be relieved
‘“By talking of this poor Glenaveril.”
‘And “Poor Glenaveril!” he vaguely said,
‘“Why poor Glenaveril? Is he, too, dead?”
LIX
‘The sad significance of that word too‘I made as tho' I had not marked. I feared
‘To leave his mind in silence to pursue
‘The thoughts which troubled it; for it appeared
‘As if it were preparing to renew
‘Its dismal wanderings. And so I reared
‘His crumpled cushion, propped it to his brow,
‘And went on talking to him—any how.
255
LX
‘“Dearest,” I said, “you must not be downcast;‘“All that one man could do to save another
‘“You did, and more. What courage to the last,
‘“What coolness, what resource! You mourn a brother
‘“I never knew; but, since he shared your past,
‘“I mourn him too. No more in silence smother
‘“Thoughts that from utterance crave relief, no doubt;
‘“And him you loved so, let us talk about.
LXI
‘“You think that I speak lightly of sad things?‘“Well, that is true. Sad things have had their day
‘“Too long with you; and these light chatterings
‘“Of mine may haply help to chase away
‘“The gloom that silence o'er remembrance flings.
‘“Think this, and nothing more, of all I say;
‘“Call me a chatterbox, or what you will!
‘“And tell me, now, this Lord Glenaveril?
LXII
‘“Who was he? You were brought up, he and you,‘“Together, like two brothers, were you not?
‘“And born the same day, and the same hour too?
‘“I've heard that. Strange, with such a different lot
‘“For each! And yet I know how warm and true
‘“The love you bore each other. Tell me what
‘“Your friend was like. I should have loved him well,
‘“If he was like my dear Emanuel.
256
LXIII
‘“Like you, I know that he in childhood lost‘“Father and mother—was an only son—
‘“And I suppose he must have held a most
‘“Exalted rank, and been by every one
‘“Much honoured, in his lifetime; for the cost
‘“And pomp of his interment was upon
‘“A scale which shocked, I own, by its misplaced
‘“Display of homage, my plebeian taste.
LXIV
‘“Once, I remember, dear Emanuel,‘“I saw, and followed to his lowly grave
‘“The funeral of a beggar. None could tell
‘“The dead man's name, nor aught about him, save
‘“That they, one morning, by the wayside well,
‘“Dead in his rags, had found him where, to crave
‘“An alms, at sunset, he last sat. He died
‘“A nameless vagrant, on the bare roadside;
LXV
‘“But all the village, none the less, turned out‘“To follow with respect that pauper's bier.
‘“The dead should have no difference made about
‘“Death's common dignity. In life, I fear,
‘“Complete Equality, beyond a doubt,
‘“Would lower the whole level. But 'tis clear,
‘“Is it not, that, with all that equalizes
‘“Our reverence for the dead, the level rises?
257
LXVI
‘“And at the burial of the young, in truth,‘“Lugubrious pomp seems doubly out of place.
‘“It is so beautiful to die in youth!
‘“Your poor friend was the last of a great race,
‘“I have been told. I heard on every mouth
‘“The praises of his goodness, charm, and grace;
‘“And surely, in whatever sphere they dwell,
‘“Such souls are their own Heavens, Emanuel.
LXVII
‘“Had yours, my dearest, been the life Death took‘“That dreadful day, there would not then have been
‘“So many fine folks flocking forth to look,
‘“So many staves and banners to be seen;
‘“For High Birth has not in her Golden Book
‘“Inscribed your name; which, like my own, is mean;
‘“But one poor widow, who was ne'er a wife,
‘“Would for your funeral have wept all her life!
LXVIII
‘“You see, dear, I can speak of Death, and all‘“That Death makes sad, not lightly, but at least
‘“Without a shudder; and, whate'er befall,
‘“I neither hate nor fear that dark High Priest
‘“Of Nature's mysteries, whose solemn call
‘“Takes from us, to preserve for love, increased
‘“By every grave love's tears are wept above,
‘“The heavenliest part of what belongs to love.
258
LXIX
‘“Is it not so? and you, Emanuel,‘“Do you not feel it, also?” “Yes,” he said,
‘Sighingly, and almost inaudible,
‘“Of course I feel it, since I, too, am dead.”
‘And, while he looked at me, his eyelids fell,
‘Fatigued, and with a smile he turned his head
‘Upon the cushion, sighed again one deep
‘Sigh of relief, and softly fell asleep.
LXX
‘Little by little, as from day to day‘His recollections strengthened, and grew more
‘Complete and clear, in a circuitous way
‘He asked a thousand questions o'er and o'er;
‘Taking immense precautions not to say
‘One word that could reveal, what I forbore
‘To notice, tho' I could not fail to see,
‘Their secret object, which was plain to me.
LXXI
‘He soon, no doubt, acquired the certitude‘That, just so long as nobody who knew
‘His face by sight approached our neighbourhood,
‘He by the world as dead, and buried too,
‘Would be regarded; and he seemed to brood
‘With satisfaction on that dreary view
‘Of his position, and with desperate
‘Tenacity to cling to such a fate.
259
LXXII
‘Under the influence, as I could see,‘Of these ideas, he in pleading tone,
‘Complained that the hotel at Chamouni
‘Was an uncomfortably noisy one,
‘And piteously entreated he might be
‘Taken away by us to some more lone
‘And quiet spot. He viewed with undisguised
‘Alarm the risk of being recognised;
LXXIII
‘And I divined that, with a resolute‘Persistence, he was meditating now
‘Some project difficult to execute.
‘The trouble that he suffered, I avow,
‘So troubled me, who sadly watched his mute
‘Endurance of it, and could see it grow,
‘That I myself was almost, every day,
‘Upon the point of fairly giving way,
LXXIV
‘Abandoning my own resolve, confessing‘All that I knew, and making him aware
‘That I was not the dupe of that distressing
‘Mystification. Why I did not dare
‘To indulge an impulse day by day more pressing,
‘Was that, on his account, I feared to bare
‘My heart too soon, and force on a solution
‘Not brought about by his own free conclusion
260
LXXV
‘It seemed to me, for his own peace of mind‘And self-respect in all the time to come,
‘Essential this embarrassment should find
‘A natural crisis, brought about thro' some
‘Solution of it by himself designed;
‘That his own conscience should feel quite at home
‘In his own part; the part itself be fine,
‘And not a part subordinate to mine;
LXXVI
‘And therefore was it that I feared to stir‘Without a signal from him to proceed;
‘Lest some last trial of his character,
‘Some effort, or some test, his soul might need,
‘Thro' perfected self-knowledge to confer
‘On love itself a better guaranteed
‘And surer future, might, by my mistake,
‘Be lost to him who suffered for my sake.’
LXXVII
At this remark, Cordelia's narrativeBy Edelrath was interrupted; and
(Like one whose mind is suddenly alive
To some new truth) with an emphatic hand
Striking his forehead, as if thus to drive
The thought he had begun to understand
Home to the hilt, ‘Cordelia!’ he said,
‘You have, indeed, with usury repaid
261
LXXVIII
‘The little lesson which from me you took,‘When I was vain enough to give it you!
‘Good heavens!’ he cried, with an admiring look,
‘To think, dear child, that I am sixty-two,
‘That life to me has been a lesson-book,
‘That, with it, all my age has had to do
‘Was to instruct the young,—yet here am I
‘By you, a young girl, unexpectedly
LXXIX
‘Instructed, for the first time, in a truth‘The simplest, and the most important too!
‘What wondrous intuitions are in youth,
‘When youth is genius, as it is in you!
‘Yes! I receive this lesson from your mouth,
‘With all the reverence that to truth is due—
‘To aid the will too much, is to pervert
‘Its nature, and, instead of helping, hurt.
LXXX
‘What is it, child, what is it, this fine sense‘Of human nature's secret ways, by Heaven
‘Bestowed on women in such opulence,
‘And to us men a gift so rarely given?
‘Whate'er it be, its value is immense,
‘And, upon great occasions, it is even
‘A safer guide than reason to the soul,
‘Whose search for truth so oft mistakes the goal!’
262
LXXXI
A village maid, who daily moves aboutBare-footed, with unconscious grace and ease,
If in some fine, stiff, gold brocade dressed out,
Becomes at once embarrassed; and by these
Superlatives of praise, altho', no doubt,
They were sincere, the Scholar failed to please
His Pupil-Teacher, who upon him bent
A wistful gaze of blank bewilderment.
263
CANTO III. THE LAST METAMORPHOSIS.
I
‘Far off from shore, upon a moonless night,‘The fisher boy,’ Cordelia said, ‘can steer
‘His boat safe homeward by the guiding light
‘That from his mother's cottage twinkles clear;
‘And, without either chart or compass, right
‘Around the dusky foreland, free from fear
‘He pilots his small craft, companionless,
‘Trusting one simple sense, we all possess:
II
‘We all possess it, and it guides us all;‘Each feels it, haply, in a different way;
‘But what we feel we by the same word call,
‘And with the same faith follow; I dare say,
‘As I in mine, each individual
‘In his or her way, too, its guidance may
‘Unconsciously adopt; which does but prove
‘That life is not more natural than love.’
264
III
With this remark on it, she put asideThe genuine, tho' gorgeous, compliment
To her surprised simplicity applied
By Edelrath: and then (as if intent
On showing him that he was justified,
At least, in trusting to her provident
Perception of the wants which others feel
In ways they do not venture to reveal)
IV
She crossed the room, and silently took down,From where upon the mantelpiece it lay,
His much-missed pipe; replenished with her own
White hand its bowl; in the same quiet way
Stripped from a journal, on the table thrown,
A paper spill; and, lighting it, in gay
Mock gravity of rebuke, without a word,
On her encomiast his heart's wish conferred.
V
This ceremony over, ‘Now,’ she said,‘Let me, as novelists were wont to write
‘After a platitude, “resume the thread
‘“Of my narration.”’ Half withdrawn from sight,
Like Zeus, in curling clouds, his misty head
Edelrath nodded with serene delight,
And she went on. ‘Ivor, in this unrest,
‘By two pre-occupations was possessed;
265
VI
‘One of them was to tell the truth to you;‘The other one, to hide it still from me;
‘Daily more tyrannous became these two
‘Alternate torments; and 'twas sad to see
‘How each in turn brought aggravation new
‘To his discomfort. The first moment he
‘Could hold a pen he wrote to you; this done,
‘Part of the trouble on his mind seemed gone;
VII
‘And with my guardian he forthwith began‘To hold long conversations. Every day
‘I heard him questioning Herr Jonathan,
‘With feverish eagerness, about the way
‘Whereby a fairly-educated man
‘Might fastest prosper in America;
‘Questioned as eagerly, in turn, about
‘His own intentions, he seemed much put out.
VIII
‘Jonathan asked him if, with the intent‘Of turning to advantage over there
‘His studies in theology, he meant
‘To adopt the ecclesiastical career;
‘And, to evade an answer, he gave vent
‘To a whole volley of remarks severe
‘On the commercial character allowed
‘The Clergy of a Church that's unendowed;
266
IX
‘He said that nothing could, he thought, excuse‘The Minister of God who seeks to make
‘A traffic in the rental of church pews;
‘Nor would he to such subterfuges take
‘As biblical bazaars, and fairs; nor use
‘The sacred songs of Zion for the sake
‘Of sanctifying concerts planned to squeeze
‘Pence from the public upon pious pleas.
X
‘All this my Guardian, as you may suppose,‘Took eagerly as grist to his own mill.
‘I saw that he was bursting to disclose
‘His plans to our disguised Glenaveril,
‘Whose natural temperament is not, Heaven knows,
‘Less suited to the pulpit than the till;
‘And whose strong predilection was with zest
‘For agricultural enterprise expressed.
XI
‘The drift of Ivor's questions proved to me‘That he, at last, had quite made up his mind
‘To the assumption of what seemed to be
‘A part he was sincerely more inclined
‘To play than to renounce. This part, you see,
‘(At first suggested only by a kind
‘Caprice, and then imposed by a severe
‘Fatality) had to his heart grown dear;
267
XII
‘For Love into the place of Fate had stepped,‘Or had his own place taken by Fate's side;
‘Love and Fate pointed the same way, and kept
‘The same course, too. Each sigh that he had sighed,
‘Murmuring my name—each tear that he had wept,
‘Mourning Emanuel—now sanctified
‘What, in a future of all else bereft,
‘To him appeared life's highest duty left:
XIII
‘The duty of endeavouring to repair‘A wrong resulting from that reckless pact,
‘Whose instigator's death had left him there,
‘Confronted with its victim: and, in fact,
‘Ivor, to make amends for his own share
‘In that wrong's only reparable act,
‘Had reckoned on a time reserved for some
‘Surrender of his wealth. This time was come;
XIV
‘And now the sacrifice of all appeared,‘Not only the least painful reparation
‘Owed to a woman for whom love endeared
‘The utmost suffered, but a light taxation
‘Which (levied on it by his dead friend) cleared
‘From an else undischargeable obligation
‘The heritage of love, Emanuel's death
‘Was, at that price, permitted to bequeath.
268
XV
‘And so it was, I think, Glenaveril came‘To what I could not doubt was a decision
‘That gave him ease—the sacrifice of name
‘And title, and, in short, the whole position
‘Due to the hereditary power and fame
‘Of his Ancestral House—without suspicion
‘That there was anything at all heroic
‘In being such an unackowledged stoic.
XVI
‘All these he would renounce without regret,‘(Or even the poor recompense it might
‘Have been to him to feel, in doing it,
‘That I, at least, who could alone requite
‘The sacrifice on which his heart was set,
‘Would ever know it) and in life's hard fight
‘For means to live enroll himself anew,
‘Under the feigned name which his faith made true.
XVII
‘He told me this, himself, to-night, and said‘That nothing shall divert him from it now.’
Edelrath, with a voice that seemed afraid
Of what it uttered in hoarse accents low,
As on Cordelia's arm his hand he laid,
Anxiously interrupted her—‘But you,
‘Cordelia! what have you to say to this
‘Extravagantly wild resolve of his?’
269
XVIII
‘Wild, or extravagant, whate'er it be,’She answered, ‘I approve it.’ And, with voice
And look still more uncomfortable, he
Replied, ‘Yes, yes! one may approve the choice
‘Made by another—one may even see
‘In all its motives reason to rejoice
‘That he should make it—and yet view the case
‘Quite differently, were one in his place.’
XIX
‘In his place,’ said Cordelia, ‘I would do‘As he does.’ ‘Ah, but that's not what I mean!’
He answered her impatiently, ‘for you,
‘My dear, are not in his place; and, between
‘Ourselves, you've not the smallest right, you know,
‘To choose for him. I think you have not seen
‘The drift of my enquiry. I am loth
‘To say it, but this choice concerns you both
XX
‘Most vitally! Too much so, I must think,‘For either of you with impartial eyes
‘To examine its conditions. On the brink
‘Of quite unfathomable destinies
‘I see you standing, and I dare not shrink
‘From the necessity to scrutinize
‘Closely a choice which, with its sequels all,
‘When once 'tis taken, nothing can recall.
270
XXI
‘I know your absolute sincerity;‘I know you'll not endeavour to evade
‘A question plainly asked, by a reply
‘Ingeniously to miss its meaning made;
‘And, knowing this, the one thing more that I
‘Desire to know, Cordelia, by your aid,
‘About this choice of Ivor's, is the light
‘In which it strikes your own clear sense of right;
XXII
‘In other words, the thing I want to know‘Is how you look upon it—not as one
‘Whose personal feelings it concerns—nor how
‘You'd have Glenaveril act, if 'twere alone
‘His heart, or yours, he had to think of now,
‘In estimating what is to be done;
‘But reckoning, too, the duties that arise
‘From an inheritance of centuries;
XXIII
‘Each orb that decks Glenaveril's coronet‘Some mandate to its owner doth insphere;
‘Under those five fixed stars, whose beams beget
‘One constellation, he was born; and, ere
‘His life began, those stars its course had set.
‘Consider then, and frankly say, my dear,
‘How you judge Ivor's choice in its relation
‘To the fair force of that consideration.’
271
XXIV
Cordelia hesitated. ‘It is much‘To ask,’ she answered, ‘of a woman.’ ‘Yes,’
Sighed Edelrath, with a despondent touch
Of sadness in his tone, ‘and I confess
‘'Tis much to ask, too, of a man. To such
‘A question, if himself it more or less
‘Concerned, there is not any man, I must
‘Confess, whose answer I could wholly trust.
XXV
‘But in your own intuitively true‘Perception of what's right, and in your rare
‘And singular unselfishness, I do
‘Put confidence. Moreover, I declare
‘I need to know what, from this point of view,
‘Your sentiments and inclinations are,
‘On more than one account: their aid I need
‘Towards a twofold object to proceed:
XXVI
‘The situation I would probe, to me‘Is full of features new; nor need I say,
‘Now that Glenaveril's part in it is free
‘At least from all deception, every way
‘This single fact has altered it, I see,
‘Materially; and much that yesterday
‘I should have disapproved without a doubt,
‘To-night I needs must hesitate about;
272
XXVII
‘And, therefore, I require to know your own‘Impressions of a case in which I feel
‘Your voice must be decisive, not alone
‘To judge of it, but (let my love and zeal
‘On dear Glenaveril's behalf atone
‘For this more personal ground of my appeal)
‘To judge of you.’ ‘'Tis just!’ the girl replied.
‘She paused, and wistfully the old man eyed;
XXVIII
He was a judge whose summons she felt boundTo acquiesce in. ‘You,’ she sighed at last,
‘Enforce a duty, not indeed disowned,
‘But which, instinctively, these three months past,
‘My thoughts have shunned. Upon such delicate ground
‘I venture, I avow it, with a vast
‘Misgiving, and timidity; but still,
‘I shall endeavour to obey your will.
XXIX
‘And this assize was due! I know that Fear‘Is a bad counsellor; and I know, too,
‘That Truth is certain, soon or late, to appear
‘In front of us, whatever we may do
‘To avoid the meeting. Better, when we hear
‘Her steps approaching, for the interview
‘Prepare at once, and meet her face to face!
‘As I will try to do, in any case.
273
XXX
‘Well, then—But, O my dear good friend, just think‘How hard the task is, you have set to me!
‘I cannot fancifully thus unlink
‘My life from Ivor's; cannot cease to be
‘A woman in whose heart there's not a chink
‘Or crevice from his love's dear influence free;
‘Nor can I from his life strip off his love,
‘And what remains then calmly pore above,
XXXI
‘Perusing its chilled features, pale and grey,‘With an impartially indifferent mind!
‘Would you, to form a judgment, let us say,
‘Of some disputed picture's value, find
‘That the best course is first to wipe away
‘Its colours—the bare drawing (left behind,
‘Hueless and hard) the better to inspect,
‘Uninfluenced by the colouring's effect?
XXXII
‘Alas, dear friend, but when a picture hath‘Of all its colour, and a life of all
‘Its love, been stripped, what sort of ghostly wraith
‘Remains of either?’ ‘Nay, I do not call
‘For Love's exclusion,’ answered Edelrath,
‘From his fair place in Reason's Judgment Hall.
‘To what but love did Solomon appeal,
‘A claimed life's rightful claimant to reveal?’
274
XXXIII
‘You reassure me!’ said Cordelia.‘The moment that a power to countermand
‘The sword, by Argument unsheathed to slay
‘My heart's disputed offspring, in Love's hand
‘Is graciously permitted still to stay,
‘Serene before the Judgment Seat I stand;
‘Not doubting that sagacious Solomon
‘To the true mother will restore her son;
XXXIV
‘And, knowing well that Love is on my side,‘To Reason, upon yours, I can afford
‘Fearlessly this avowal to confide—
‘That wealth to me is not an empty word;
‘That noble birth, and the inherited pride
‘Of an illustrious ancestry, whose sword
‘Hath carved its name on a remembered past,
‘I reverence as a right to be held fast;
XXXV
‘Nor would I yield those gifts to any claim‘On their surrender, save the claim of that
‘Which, lost to keep them, takes from noble name
‘And lofty rank the consciousness of what
‘'Tis theirs to represent and to proclaim—
‘Honour, so haughtily immaculate
‘That, for an acorn pledged, 'twould give away
‘A forest, rather than its pledge gainsay!
275
XXXVI
‘And more than this; for I do not deny‘That it would sadden me, and even pain,
‘To see a proud young cedar, from some high
‘Ethereal peak, its natural domain,
‘Lopped down, that common carpenters may try
‘To manufacture out of its fine grain
‘A woodman's hatchet. I concede to you
‘All this; and, as you feel, I feel it too.
XXXVII
‘But is this all that I, for Ivor's sake,‘Am bound to think of? Is it even what he
‘Is, by the Voice of Honour, called to make
‘His chief consideration? Let us see!
‘'Tis not Glenaveril's Earldom that's at stake,
‘For that refilled already seems to be;
‘It is Glenaveril's Earl; and this the test—
‘What for his own life's happiness is best?
XXXVIII
‘Do not imagine that by happiness‘I mean a self-indulgent disregard
‘Of duty or of honour. Nought can bless
‘The abandonment of either; nought so hard
‘To bear, as the discomfort, more or less
‘Incessant, of those sybarites who discard
‘Even the poor restraints of prejudice,
‘When these conflict with passion or caprice.
276
XXXIX
‘I know all this: and I believe the least‘High-minded woman, when she loves a man,
‘Has so far, by mere force of loving, ceased
‘From all self-seeking, that she never can
‘Think her own happiness in aught increased
‘By his dishonour. Its best guardian
‘And sentinel his self-respect, perchance,
‘Will find in her love's sensitive vigilance.
XL
‘Let us imagine, then, that Ivor, Lord‘Glenaveril, from his recent grave exhumed,
‘Resuscitated, and anon restored
‘To all his rightful honours, has resumed
‘That place the world will hasten to accord
‘To its returning owner. He is doomed,
‘However, to return accompanied
‘To this high place by a plebeian bride.
XLI
‘To Cæsar thus is rendered Cæsar's due,‘And Cæsar is content. Are you so sure?
‘That small great world, composed of just a few
‘Indigenous grandeurs whose descent is pure,
‘Gives to Glenaveril's Earl a welcome new;
‘But with what sentiment will it endure
‘The presence of Glenaveril's Countess? Here
‘The case (admit!) becomes by no means clear.
277
XLII
‘To which of the two mothers shall be given‘The child both claim? For recollect, Love's Right
‘(Revered by Solomon!) is a Cæsar even
‘More jealous than the other one, and quite
‘As resolute to wring from earth and heaven
‘All that is owed it, down to the last mite.
‘Ah, here's the crux! And what will happen now
‘You guess? The claimed life will be split in two.
XLIII
‘There'll be two camps: the folks in one will say,‘“He hath done well, for charming is his bride!”
‘Those in the other camp will answer, “Nay,
‘“He hath done ill, for he is misallied!”
‘Between the twain what will, from day to day,
‘Be his position? mine I put aside.
‘Will it not be a most ambiguous one?
‘With such positions what is to be done?
XLIV
‘For my part, I admit them not at all,‘If I am called upon to plan out life,
‘Into the rightful or the natural
‘Conditions of it. For what mean they? Strife
‘Ill-matched between the Individual
‘And Universal! Battle to the knife
‘Waged by a pygmy, every day and hour,
‘Against a giant of stupendous power!
278
XLV
‘Woman or man, it matters not—the strain‘Of such positions, and the weight and heat
‘Of their defence, no life can long sustain;
‘Those who accept them must aspire to beat
‘The world, and that's an aspiration vain;
‘The only way we can escape defeat
‘Is not to court it, as detours you make
‘To turn a fortress which you cannot take.
XLVI
‘If, when 'tis raining, you would not be wet,‘Then stay at home! That is my recipe.
‘Reject it, and a soaking you will get,
‘However great a personage you may be:
‘Your garments you may dry again, and yet
‘Never again be able to get free
‘From the tormenting rheumatism, got
‘By going out of doors when you should not.’
XLVII
Here Edelrath, however, interposed.‘In these anticipative tears,’ he said,
‘You have, my child, unconsciously disclosed
‘Your German origin. You need not dread
‘A world where even vulgarity, when hosed
‘In cloth of gold, is treated as well bred.
‘The English Aristocracy, my dear,
‘Is not fastidious. Many a British Peer
279
XLVIII
‘Has, let me tell you, a plebeian wife;‘And many a British Peeress have I known
‘Whose parentage was in a sphere of life
‘From every point of view beneath your own;
‘The Fashionable World, I'm told, is rife
‘In England with fair parvenues, full-blown
‘By its benignant smiles; and there, they say,
‘Your countrywomen bear the palm away.’
XLIX
‘And if,’ Cordelia answered, ‘this be so,‘What does it prove? that High Society
‘Is there decaying, and has fallen below
‘The standard you have set before mine eye,
‘As that to which the nobly-born still owe
‘A noble duty. There's no reason why
‘Ivor's identity should pay the cost
‘Of keeping up a caste whose own is lost;
L
‘And as for the examples you have cited,‘'Twas surely not for thus plebeianizing
‘Patrician manners, that you first invited
‘Attention to the lofty claims arising
‘From each of those five orbs, by birth united
‘Into a constellation symbolizing
‘Only the natural, unperverted, bent
‘Of a still pure patrician sentiment?
280
LI
‘But tell me, you who know it, of that sphere‘Wherein Glenaveril's natal planets move!
‘Hearsay mysteriously avers that there
‘A world exists which in a different groove
‘From mine revolves, nor can the two cohere
‘Or intermingle. There, they tell me “love”
‘Is called “alliance,” and Society
‘Is shocked by all that's individual. Why?’
LII
‘Because,’ said he, ‘Society, in fact,‘Is there, itself, an individual;
‘One homogeneous entity, compact,
‘And self-consistent; its constituents all
‘The same in sentiment, the same in act.
‘In that world only, a perpetual
‘Equality presides. By wrecking it,
‘Democracy, in her destructive fit,
LIII
‘Deems she can such equality erect,‘Upon its levelled ruins, in her own.’
‘Folly!’ exclaimed Cordelia, ‘in a sect
‘Whose members are but few, and all well known
‘To one another, intercourse select
‘Permits equality, but there alone,
‘Where all one common standard have embraced
‘Of principles, and sentiments, and taste;
281
LIV
‘In our promiscuous world, where no man's sure‘About his neighbour's character, where each
‘(By each opposed) is struggling to procure
‘What all are wanting, where the strugglers reach
‘Across each other, and must needs endure
‘A contact with competitors who teach
‘And learn reciprocal mistrust—there can
‘Be no such intercourse 'twixt man and man.
LV
‘In this world, all things change from day to day!’‘In that,’ said he, ‘they last from age to age:
‘There History, time's lame traveller, whose slow way
‘Is all in little steps, at every stage
‘Uncertain of her course, doth longest stay;
‘For there, to check her fitful pilgrimage,
‘A Territorial Nobility
‘Stands, like a mountain joining earth and sky;
LVI
‘And each one of this mountain's many stones‘Can say “the mountain, that is I!” For all
‘The great rock is made up of little ones,
‘A multitudinous individual!
‘Whole centuries of numbered names at once
‘Does every child that's born to it recall;
‘In cradles, there, remembrances are rife,
‘And babes begin not, but continue, life!’
282
LVII
‘You see, then,’ cried Cordelia, ‘that, between‘That world and mine, dissimilar sentiments,
‘Ideas, and traditions, intervene!
‘The People (in my land, at all events)
‘Is Sovereign; but in no land hath it been,
‘Nor can it e'er be, Noble. Pure descents
‘Do to the past perpetual tribute pay:
‘The Kingdom of the People is To-day;
LVIII
Its children from their birthday date their past,‘Which at their death they, with themselves, inter;
‘And, when they die, their ended lives are cast
‘Into the great crowd's common sepulchre;
‘Of their own lineage they are first and last;
‘Nothing do they receive, nor aught confer,
‘By being born; the stored results of merit
‘Neither do they bequeath nor yet inherit.’
LIX
‘These views,’ said Edelrath, ‘I cannot share!‘I think you wrong your own world; for to me
‘It seems that you, yourself, an instance are
‘Of worth inherited’—‘I spoke,’ said she,
‘Not of inherited worth, but (what's more rare)
‘The stored results of it, whate'er they be,
‘Continued in one family, and passed on,
‘Without dispersion, safe from sire to son.
283
LX
‘A pure Democracy prohibits all‘Prolonged accumulations; and thereby
‘Disintegrates that family pedestal
‘Which forms the base of Aristocracy.
‘In my world, with the individual
‘All things begin and end. But think not I
‘My world despise. Far from it! Ne'er on earth
‘Breathed there a woman prouder of her birth.
LXI
‘The People's Child am I! nor can I be‘Of any parentage above mine own
‘Reborn. I do not wish, I would not see
‘Without regret, Nobility o'erthrown,
‘More than the moss beneath the forest tree
‘Would wish the forest tree to be cut down;
‘Nor do I think that it should abdicate
‘The prejudices proper to its state;
LXII
‘Such self-abasement would be suicide,‘A thing contemptible! The situation,
‘However, which for Ivor and his bride
‘Would, in that world, avenge his abdication
‘Of all such prejudices (signified
‘By his deliberate perpetuation
‘Of the Glenaveril title, name, and race,
‘Thro' a plebeian marriage) could he face?
284
LXIII
‘Yes, he could face it, he is brave enough!‘But at what cost? A cold politeness might
‘Disguise the natural disapproval of
‘His equals. Scorn is painfully polite.
‘But they would not forgive him his rebuff
‘Of all the laws that govern and unite
‘That world to which such marriages are treasons.
‘And for resentment they would have good reasons;
LXIV
‘Class-sentiment, the first; the next, because,‘Being themselves in some respects affected
‘Uncomfortably by the social laws
‘Whereto their own lives still remain subjected,
‘To see another caring not three straws
‘For the authority of such respected
‘And venerable institutes, would be
‘An aggravating sight, we must agree;
LXV
‘And lastly, Ivor having gone the way‘They would have gone, if they had dared to go,
‘And having, to their envy and dismay,
‘By doing what they lack the heart to do,
‘Gained for himself a happiness which they
‘Have known not even how to seek, altho'
‘Blaming him rightly, they would feel, with shame,
‘That they were wrong to envy what they blame.’
285
LXVI
‘But I repeat,’ said Edelrath, ‘that now,‘In England, the society which all
‘To be the choicest and the best, allow,
‘Is just as mixed, and just as general,
‘As any in America.’ ‘And how
‘Does this,’ she answered, ‘justify your call
‘On Ivor to uphold a cause, its own
‘Hereditary leaders thus let down?’
LXVII
‘'Tis just because of this!’ he sighed. ‘The few‘High-minded men who still its claims revere,
‘Should to each other, all the more, be true.’
‘Yes!’ she rejoined, ‘and what concerns me here
‘Is their opinion. How will such men view
‘Glenaveril's marriage? What will it appear,
‘When it is judged by those who constitute
‘The sole court competent to try this suit?’
LXVIII
Blushing she paused, and ‘O strong friend, forgive‘A desperate combatant, nor take amiss
‘My words,’ she said, ‘tho’ argumentative
‘And captious be their tone! Remember this,
‘The weakest little bird will fiercely strive
‘With beak and claw, and every force that is
‘By nature given her, to defend her nest;
‘And I for mine am fighting, sorely pressed!’
286
LXIX
With this appeal, she laid a pleading handIn Edelrath's, and turned upon him eyes
Moist with emotion. ‘Nay, I understand,’
He answered, ‘and, what's more, I sympathise;
‘Trust my unprejudiced affection, and
‘Frank as my questions were, be your replies!’
He pressed the hand she gave him, and anon
Cordelia, thereby reassured, went on,
LXX
‘You see, then, that by thus reëntering it‘Glenaveril with that world of his would have
‘Completely broken. Were it not more fit
‘For him and all concerned (however brave
‘His love may be) that he should not thus pit
‘Against such odds, and in a cause so grave,
‘The happiness and dignity of life,
‘By quarrelling with the world about his wife?
LXXI
‘I think that such a life would be a hell;‘And Hell's the only price which none can pay
‘For Heaven. We both of us (I know it well!)
‘Should suffer silent torments every day,
‘Not in our love, whose force such pangs would swell,
‘But, thro' our love, in the most sensitive way,
‘Each for the other's pride. Could fate worse ill
‘Inflict on Ivor, Lord Glenaveril?
287
LXXII
‘Enough of him! Now for his substitute,‘Successor, saviour, and destroyer too,
‘Ivor-Emanuel! How will he suit
‘The nature of his new life, or his new
‘Life's nature suit his own? What sort of fruit
‘Will come of this seed's sowing? I eschew
‘No counter-proof that is available.
‘And first, who is this New Emanuel?
LXXIII
‘I mean, what is his nature? what the bent‘Of its distinctive tendencies? what kind
‘Of sources or conditions of content
‘Have nourished hitherto his heart and mind?
‘What was congenial to his temperament,
‘In that great world he now must leave behind?’
Cordelia paused again, and ‘Friend, that I
‘May to your own more perfectly reply,
LXXIV
‘Suffer me now,’ she said, ‘to ask of you‘Some questions. Well you knew Emanuel;
‘I mean the dead Emanuel Müller, who
‘Was born (as I, myself, of course know well)
‘A simple village pastor's son—trained, too,
‘From childhood, for his father's peaceable
‘And pure vocation. Tell me, if you please,
‘Was he contented? Was his mind at ease?
288
LXXV
‘Did he regret to be what he was born?‘What was there in his character allied
‘To that of either Mary Haggerdorn,
‘Or Gottfried Müller? Did it chafe his pride
‘To take a gift from Ivor? Was he torn
‘By no desires for destinies denied?’
Edelrath, with a startled emphasis,
Cried, ‘How, Cordelia, could you guess all this?
LXXVI
‘Yes, it is true. Emanuel was not‘Happy in his own sphere. His heart was proud,
‘His spirit high, and to his lowly lot,
‘And peaceful calling, great, tho' unavowed,
‘Was his repugnance. What has all this got
‘To do, however, when its truth's allowed,
‘With Ivor's future?’ ‘Stay!’ Cordelia cried,
‘Why was Emanuel dissatisfied?
LXXVII
‘Life does, I know, revenge itself upon‘The happiness of persons who neglect
‘Its duties. Of such persons was he one?’
‘No,’ replied Edelrath. ‘Severe respect
‘He paid to duty, and neglected none
‘That he inherited.’ ‘Then the defect,’
Cordelia said, ‘which marred his happiness,
‘Was a mistaken choice, you must confess!
289
LXXVIII
‘The life he led so dutifully was‘A life ill-chosen, and its duties all
‘Unsuited to his character. Alas,
‘This, I suspect, is the most general
‘(Tho' least acknowledged) cause of life's vast mass
‘Of well-meant failures—a mistaken call!
‘And O how rarely we avoid mistake,
‘When for another's life the choice we make!
LXXIX
‘But suffer me to ask you one or two‘More questions still. Emanuel's nature, say
‘Was it a loving one?’ ‘'Twas not.’ ‘I know,’
With sparkling eyes resumed Cordelia,
‘What Ivor's nature is! But tell me now
‘Of its relation to his past, I pray!
‘In that great world we spoke of, did he find
‘Pleasure, or charm, or even peace of mind?’
LXXX
‘Edelrath sighed, ‘I fear not.’ ‘Did he take‘An active part in its pursuits, however?’
‘Alas, no! When I urged the boy to make
‘His maiden speech, I failed in that endeavour.’
‘But in the Landed Interest a great stake
‘Glenaveril's Earl had, surely? did he never
‘Attend to local matters—his estates,
‘Scotch, English, Quarter Sessions, roads, and rates?’
290
LXXXI
‘I must confess,’ said Edelrath, ‘that he‘Was more indifferent, in his generous way,
‘About such matters than 'twas right to be;
‘But all details he left to Matthew Grey,
‘(His Agent, a most worthy man!) and me.’
‘If that be so,’ replied Cordelia,
‘What are the duties which will be undone
‘Unless he does them? Can you name me one?
LXXXII
‘I speak not of enjoyments. 'Twould appear‘That these he found not in that station high
‘He must relinquish, or resume, 'tis clear;
‘But what, I ask, was the activity
‘His powers put forth, the personal career,
‘The salutary forces whose employ
‘On him depended? What will cease to act,
‘If from his world his presence you subtract?
LXXXIII
‘His place in Parliament remains, unhurt‘By the withdrawal of an occupant
‘Who rarely filled it. His estates revert
‘To one whose vigilance they will not want.
‘But when I look for traces that assert
‘Such a connection 'twixt the soil and plant
‘That either of them will the other miss,
‘I find them not. And I take note of this.’
291
LXXXIV
‘That may be so,’ sighed Edelrath, ‘but still—’‘Still?’ she exclaimed, ‘but in all else I find
‘Abundant evidence Glenaveril
‘Has a rich soul, an energetic mind,
‘A glowing heart! And, answer how you will
‘This question, long ago its answer shined
‘In on mine own heart like a flash of light
‘From heaven, illumining a starless night—
LXXXV
‘Why was it that my letter at a glance‘Was understood by Ivor, only sneered
‘And laughed at by Emanuel? Was that chance?
‘Why was it that its record so endeared
‘To Ivor's fancy every circumstance
‘Whereby Emanuel's parentage appeared
‘In a new light to him, and strangely thrown
‘Into a sweet connection with my own?
LXXXVI
‘I say, it was because he is the true‘Emanuel, and not the man that's dead!’
Edelrath started wistfully, and threw
‘Upon Cordelia a look which said,
‘What can you mean?’ ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘that you,
‘If you approach the question by the aid
‘Of all these facts, will own that Nature meant
‘Ivor to be what some strange accident
292
LXXXVII
‘Of circumstance prevented for a while:‘That hindrance gone, he now regains the right
‘To be what—he has always been! You smile?
‘Ah, how explain? What causes our delight
‘In Art's supreme achievements? the skilled style?
‘No, but the truth (else hidden from our sight)
‘Which Art reveals to us when she reflects
‘What Nature meant, redeemed from all defects;
LXXXVIII
‘Defects which chance or accident create,‘By interference with the working out
‘Of Nature's Will. But Art, the most ornate,
‘Would, lacking Sentiment, be flesh without
‘A soul; and Sentiment, whose truth puts straight
‘What Circumstance perverts, here brings about
‘Nature's recovery of her own true son,
‘Thro' the World's loss of its adopted one!
LXXXIX
‘So, too, tho' in the unfolding of my love‘The real took at last the ideal's place,
‘Both loves, combined in Ivor's image, prove
‘Each love the same; since each its source can trace
‘To the intention of a Power above
‘The reach of accident. In Ivor's case,
‘Tho' Chance misnamed, yet its defeated spell
‘Could not disguise, the True Emanuel.
293
XC
‘The Nominal Emanuel was the son‘Of Nature's usurpation by some still
‘Unknown mistake. I leave him, and pass on.
‘My Unglenaverilled Glenaveril,
‘Into the True Emanuel anon
‘By True Love's magic metamorphosed, will
‘One false position lose. But this alone
‘Secures him not against another one;
XCI
‘That's to consider now. And here, I say‘At once that of the loss of wealth I think
‘More seriously than probably you may
‘Imagine from the fact I did not shrink,
‘When Ivor summoned me to throw away
‘Mine own, for fear its weight should snap the link
‘Between our lives. I'm not indifferent
‘To all the charms wealth does, no doubt, present;
XCII
‘They are delightful. I enjoy them. Wealth‘Is to our moral, what the soft warm air
‘Of this sweet South is to our physical, health;
‘Pleasant, but enervating. In its fair
‘And soothing clime, that puts to sleep by stealth,
‘One after one within their languid lair,
‘Our unused energies, the artistic sense
‘Expands and flourishes at their expense.
294
XCIII
‘Round every human being seems to lie‘A world of things good and enjoyable;
‘But only such good things can each enjoy
‘As are to his own nature suited well;
‘And, to enjoy them, he must willingly
‘The rest renounce. Capacity to tell
‘What such things are, I take to be the best
‘Gift of self-knowledge, and its surest test.
XCIV
‘I do not think that Ivor has enjoyed‘The wealth he is about to part with now.
‘His manlier faculties, long unemployed
‘In its soft atmosphere, will doubtless grow
‘Stronger in that hard air, which, tho' devoid
‘Of sensuous charm, keen relish can bestow
‘Upon the well-used gifts of youth and health.
‘I never once have missed my own lost wealth;
XCV
‘Its unrepented sacrifice, however‘Was not Glenaveril's own requirement. He
‘Would, in Emanuel's place, I think, have never
‘Conceived that thought, which at his age could be
‘Natural only when the harsh endeavour
‘To reconcile those foes who ne'er agree
‘About their victim, Poverty and Pride,
‘The sap of youth's spontaneous trust has dried.
295
XCVI
‘A man of birth, who happens to be poor,‘May well accept a fortune from his wife,
‘I fancy, and his self-respect endure
‘No loss thereby, if in his sphere of life
‘Wealth's absence be an accident; but sure
‘Am I, that he whose pride, exempt from strife
‘For recognition, can thus act, his class
‘Must rank by what he is, not what he has.
XCVII
‘Such things, a proud plebeian cannot do;‘Without, at least, appearing to deny
‘The filial reverence from their children due
‘To those stern parents, Toil and Poverty:
‘The lordship, which he lacks abroad, is so
‘Essential to him in his home, that, by
‘Subjecting this to the last compromise,
‘He loses dignity in his own eyes.
XCVIII
‘In classes, as in races too, you get‘Generic characters; that's why I read
‘Without surprise a postscript which I set
‘Down to Emanuel, and interpreted
‘By these reflections. What an oubliette
‘A postscript is! Women, I know, are said
‘To thrust herein, as things forgotten quite,
‘The most important parts of what they write.
296
XCIX
‘Well, it was just this little feminine touch‘That charmed me! Its avowed forgetfulness
‘Of the extreme severity of such
‘A first condition pleased me, I confess,
‘By quietly restoring to it much
‘Of what was taken from it by the stress
‘Of its harsh terms—I mean, that tender grace
‘Which all throughout the letter I could trace.
C
‘Still, Ivor was the means of stripping me‘Of all my fortune: but the crime, I own, is
‘Atoned for by the manner in which he
‘Interprets now the stern lex talionis.
‘To indemnify my sacrifice would be
‘A vulgar act (indemnity alone is
‘No real redress of injury or crime)
‘But O, to imitate it, is sublime!
CI
‘Was it not Alexander who is said,‘When thirsting, to have thrown away the drink
‘Of water which he might have shared instead
‘With him who offered all of it? I think
‘That sacrifice can only be repaid
‘By sacrifice. Such payment is a link
That heart to heart makes fast for ever, leaving
‘No difference between giving and receiving.
297
CII
‘Now for the Future! 'Tis a land unknown,‘And who can think of it quite free from qualms?
‘Yet Youth and Love with cohorts of their own
‘Approach it, not as beggars asking alms,
‘But bold invaders come to claim its crown,
‘And pitch their conquering tents beneath its palms.
‘And tho' I gave (Love's bidding to obey)
‘Mine unmissed wealth, without reserve, away,
CIII
‘Life's choicest treasure, when that wealth was gone,‘Still mine remained. A story once I read,
‘Of that heroic Prince of Macedon
‘Who, when he had his lands distributed
‘Amongst his comrades, for himself alone
‘One kingdom kept; its name was Hope, he said;
‘So I. My good old Guardian nods and winks,
‘Brimful of schemes, by me unguessed, he thinks;
CIV
‘But I divine them, and believe the plan‘Concocted for Emanuel's benefit,
‘And mine, by our benevolent Jonathan
‘(Whatever else may some day come of it)
‘Is, on the whole, the best that Ivor can
‘First follow. Its adoption may permit
‘Love to regain, in time, what Pride at random
‘Renounced, in haste.’ ‘Quod erat demonstrandum!’
298
CV
Cried Edelrath, and stretched his hands to seize‘Cordelia's, with a glowing approbation.
‘Quod erat demonstrandum! you must please
‘To pardon my scholastic observation,
‘Which means, my dear, that’—‘I'm no Heloïse,
‘But I can understand without translation,’
Cordelia laughed, ‘another little bit
‘Of Latin, which I much prefer to it.’
CVI
‘Latin!’ said he, ‘Well, you may knock me down‘With Cicero de Officiis, if you will!
‘But I declare, Cordelia, your own
‘Philosophy's as good, and better still.’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘the only Latin known
‘To me, is this—I shall pronounce it ill,
‘And that, your ear must not be too much hurt at;
‘But here it is—Quod Deus bene vertat!’
CVII
Glenaveril, just in time to catch that word,Here entered, all his face suffused with bliss.
‘Quod Deus bene vertat! thou hast heard?’
Cried Edelrath, ‘let thy device be this
‘Henceforth, dear Ivor, and the one conferred
‘Upon thee by thy birth we shall not miss.
‘Come, then, and from the sweet lips of thy wife
‘Receive the watchword of thy future life!’
299
CVIII
So saying, in the young man's arms he placedCordelia, who her own round Ivor threw.
Glenaveril stooped, and tenderly embraced
The lips no more denied him. In the New
Emanuel the Old Ivor seemed effaced
Miraculously, all at once. He drew
His head up proudly, and upon his brow
The eyes of Edelrath detected now
CIX
Serene self-confidence, not there before.A marvellous metamorphosis was wrought
In these two men. The old man half a score
Of years had lost, or so you would have thought
From the alert, brisk, look his features wore;
Whilst to the young man's mien the change had brought
As many years of added manliness.
‘No!’ he exclaimed, ‘for Heaven, I know, will bless,
CX
‘Without a Latin invocation now,‘The future it, with her, hath given me! No,
‘I know a motto you must both allow
‘To be a more becoming one; and so
‘I mean to make it mine, and mean to vow
‘And swear by it, and never to let go
‘The faith I have in it!’ ‘What's that?’ said she,
And ‘Ce que femme veut Dieu le veut!’ said he.
300
CANTO IV. DAWN.
I
The night was far spent when, at last alone,O'er all the strange results of his long quest,
And all that he that day had undergone,
Edelrath (far too tired to sleep or rest)
Mused in his silent chamber. There was one,
And one doubt only, lingering in his breast;
But round it, rousing and yet soothing him,
Streamed restless swarms of recollections dim.
II
Often and often, in the years gone by,That doubt had flitted thro' his mind, tho' there
It then could rest not, for instinctively
His will had combated the vain despair
Its coming carried with it. But a high
And solemn comfort now, on wings as fair
As those of Faith, to many a mournful thought,
And many a sorrowing memory, it brought.
301
III
The old man to the window turned, undidThe casement, on the balcony stept out,
And leaned above the balustrade. There slid
A low, uncertain, shuddering sound about
The black trees, as beneath night's coverlid
Earth in light slumber stirred; and, like a doubt
That strengthens to conviction, everywhere
Dawn's influence hovered on the sensitive air;
IV
An influence rather felt than seen; for stillThe land lay dark, albeit a sallow light
Was simmering in the starless heavens, and hill,
And tower, and tree grew slowly into sight,
Spotting the grey. ‘Who was Glenaveril?’
This question on the Scholar's mind that night
Had taken hold; and now, no more afraid
Of prompt dismissal, for its answer staid.
V
‘Who was Glenaveril?’ A question thou,Sagacious student of this ended tale,
Hast, doubtless, often asked thyself ere now,
Or him that tells it, asked. Without avail!
Since how to answer it, he doth not know;
And, did he try to answer, he would fail
Both in discretion and trustworthiness,
Knowing no more than thou; nay, even less!
302
VI
For thou, who readest what he writes, hast foundAmong these pages (so he trusts, at least)
Much more than he himself is either bound
To find, or fit to seek. In his own breast
He keeps no truth untold, no clue unwound,
No scrap of revelation unreleased;
All that to him was given, he gives to thee,
And more he cannot. But he is not free;
VII
He may not pause, as thou dost, here and there,From page to page, with penetrative eyes,
To search out truth, or error; nor compare
This point with that, and probe, and analyse,
And draw conclusions. In oracular air
A Presence, that admits of no replies
To its commands, stands o'er him, when the nights
Are wistful, and the morns aware. He writes
VIII
As some unseen dictatress (who but staysTill all is said, impatient to be gone)
Her strong injunction on his spirit lays:
What she reveals not, is to him unknown,
And only what she bids him say, he says.
Nought may he add thereto, that is his own;
Nor stop, as he delivers them, to guess
The sense of her imperious messages.
303
IX
But all the images thou dost beholdReflected here, whate'er they seem to be,
Are Life's reflections. And Life leaves untold
The greater part of all she does: for she,
Ever propounding problems manifold,
Keeps in her own unopened hand their key.
Even Law, herself, declines the impossible task
Of answering the question thou wouldst ask;
X
Declaring prudently that ‘Pater estQuem justæ nuptiæ denunciant.’
Then how imprudent were it to suggest,
Without the least authority, a want
Of confidence in what was deemed the best
Conclusion on a case, which we must grant
Suggestive of a substitution heinous,
By wise Justinian and Trebonianus!
XI
If, on the birthday which with one anotherEmanuel and Ivor shared, 'twas so
Contrived by Chance that on each foster-brother
Life did her gifts mistakenly bestow,
Giving to each the father and the mother
That to the other one belonged,—altho'
Both Life and Death the unconscious fraud concealed,
Nature the wrong thus done her had revealed.
304
XII
And if that substitution did take place,'Twould justify Cordelia's faith in love
Predestined: a supposititious case,
However, which there are no means to prove.
Of such a change, if it occurred, no trace
Survived its swift occurrence, save what strove
For recognition in the character
Of the two changelings—changelings if they were.
XIII
Think what thou wilt, then, Reader! For my part,There is no theory about love, I care
To prove, or disprove. Theories we may start
As many as we please, the wear and tear
Of practice spoils them all. The human heart
Is not consistent, as our theories are
About it. It admits them every one
Without distinction, but it follows none.
XIV
If thou art superstitious, thou may'st findA moral here that will support, perchance,
A superstition softening to thy mind
The harshness of untoward circumstance:
If to be sceptical thou art inclined,
Nothing compels thee to give countenance
To such a fanciful elucidation
Of an imaginary complication.
305
XV
All that I know, and all that I can tell,Is that to Edelrath—as there he stood,
In dawn's dim air, beneath the two-fold spell
Of night and morning—it seemed sweet and good
To think that Ivor and Emanuel,
Not by chance only, but by birth and blood,
Possessed the names which now at last they bore;
Regaining thus what they could lose no more.
XVI
The chance direction of a word, thrown outThat evening by Cordelia, had at first
Revived this faint, and oft rejected, doubt;
Which, since, by memory and reflection nursed
To fond conviction, now diffused about
The old man's mind a creeping light, that burst,
Like an unclouded sunrise, clear at last
O'er the undarkening problems of the past.
XVII
The boys, he knew, had on the self-same dayBegun the fatal malady of life,
Together, in a house where doubt, dismay,
Terror, confusion, and distress were rife:
And he had heard the vexed physician say,
With self-reproaches, that the peasant's wife,
Who had not bargained for two babes to nurse,
Was frightened, foolish, peevish, and perverse.
306
XVIII
What less unlikely, than that she had beenThe unconscious cause of all that contradiction,
Which afterwards revealed itself between
Their fates and characters? In this conviction
Edelrath, with a pity more serene
And less perplexed, recalled each predilection
That in his pupils, growing with their growth,
So oft had pained him on behalf of both.
XIX
Cordelia's cry of triumph echoed thro'The recollections which it comforted,
And he, too, murmured ‘Ivor is the true
Emanuel, and not the man that's dead!’
Wondrous it seemed to him, and lovely too,
That a discovery, which his own wise head
Had missed for years, should, without help received
From aught save love, have been by her achieved;
XX
Achieved, too, with no knowledge on her partOf its achievement! For the girl was still
Unconscious that the inference of her heart
About Emanuel and Glenaveril
(Just as the instinctive truth of Tragic Art
Sometimes anticipates the historian's skill)
Could claim, from actual fact, corroboration
Of the correctness of its divination.
307
XXI
The curse of the Glenaverils—violent death,Seemed, by its last fulfilment, to attest
The dead man's right to that proud tomb, beneath
Whose pompous record now was laid to rest
The embittered life that, from its earliest breath
To its last groan, had never once possessed
Aught by that tomb's unconscious truth proclaimed
As his who there alone was rightly named:
XXII
And this thought reconciled the old man's senseOf justice, without further protestation,
To what it had till then with violence
Resisted—the spontaneous resignation
By Ivor of that heritage immense,
Which was but an unnatural usurpation,
If his hypothesis were once admitted—
That Accident had Nature's will outwitted.
XXIII
So, on the past peace rested in his mind,And on the future, promise. That device
Of Ivor's fancy, with its undesigned
Effect, seemed now no more a mere caprice,
But a blest inspiration. Thus resigned
To Emanuel's death, and Ivor's sacrifice,
Edelrath raised to heaven his looks. And lo,
The rosy mountain-tops were all aglow!
308
XXIV
Over the cold, steel-coloured, lake still hungWhite lingering vapours. Night had rallied there
Her routed darknesses; which faintly clung
About the low shores, seeking their last lair
Under the vast and solemn shadows flung
From shining summits in a golden air;
And there, as if dawn took them by surprise,
A few faint lamps still winked their drowsy eyes;
XXV
But, near the horizon, streaked with daffodilThe waters gleamed. And ever and anon
Up from the little town below the hill
Came sounds of life: the cock's alarum lone,
The chime of matin bells, and, made more shrill
By intervening silence, the sharp tone
Of some dog's wandering bark, or boatman's shout,
From quays whence market-boats were putting out;
XXVI
High up in heaven, a realm of radiant snowAnd gorgeous colour, with surprises swift
Thro' solemn transformations passing now,
In spacious pageantry began to lift
Its sunrise-coronalled capacious brow,
And over its mysterious shoulders shift
A mantle vast of ever-varying hue,
Purple, and crimson, and aërial blue.
309
XXVII
Uplifted by the exhilarating sight,As on these splendid summits dipped in day
Edelrath gazed, he felt his soul grow light
And buoyant. Underneath and round him, lay
A lower land, of wooded slopes, and slight
Acclivities, and streams whose sparkling way
Flashed in the sunrise here and there, and made
A rambling light through depths of dewy shade;
XXVIII
Not far away, above that roadside wall,All gapped, and broken, and with weeds o'ergrown,
Where he had sat with Ivor, rose a small,
Smooth, shrubless hill; whose bare unbroken crown
Against the amber-lighted welkin, all
Steeped in the steadfast darkness of its own
Broad shadow (still impervious to the smile
Of the slow sunrise) stamped its black profile;
XXIX
And on its edge (distinct against the sun)Stood two young human figures, hand in hand,
Gazing into the glory; which anon,
From peak to peak, down all the lower land
Poured its blithe triumph, revelling on, and on,
And taking irresistible command
Of heaven and earth. They, like himself, no doubt,
To end a sleepless night had wandered out;
310
XXX
Restless with happiness; and knowing, too,That dreams, the sweetest, could but imitate
The real, waking, sweetness of the true
Elysium they had found. At length, elate,
The invincible sunrise stormed and overthrew
The darkness camped there. All in glittering state,
Its golden spears, and rosy pennons, gleamed
Across the ridge, and down the hillside streamed;
XXXI
And, for a moment, while with pensive gazeHe watched them, those two forms were lost to sight,
Merged in a rich translucency of rays
That splendidly enwrapped them with the light
Of the first day of a new life; whose days,
The old man felt, must be in all things quite
Unlike the days that were. He knew that he
His children's Canaan should, like Moses, see
XXXII
Only far off, nor ever enter it.To earth no portion in the Promised Land
Of his own pilgrimage did Heaven permit.
On this lone Pisgah he laid down his wand.
Meanwhile, emerging from the glow that lit
Her image still, Cordelia, hand in hand
With Ivor, turned; and, lingeringly, they
Along the purple upland passed away.
| Glenaveril, or The Metamorphoses | |