Susan A poem of degrees. By the author of "Dorothy: a country story in elegiac verse," "Vulgar verses," etc. [i.e. A. J. Munby] |
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 | Susan |  |
Ere long, they left each foreign sight and sound,
And came to England; where upon the way
She show'd her husband, one eventful day,
Deep in the dim recesses of her box,
Her servant's clothes complete: aprons and frocks
And caps, and brushes too, and suchlike gear
As maids like her may want, for work or wear.
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I brought 'em unbeknown;
For why, I thought you'd maybe chance to own
What I are really, in my proper dress:
But that would ha' bin too much happiness!’
36
She show'd her husband, one eventful day,
Deep in the dim recesses of her box,
Her servant's clothes complete: aprons and frocks
And caps, and brushes too, and suchlike gear
As maids like her may want, for work or wear.
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I brought 'em unbeknown;
For why, I thought you'd maybe chance to own
What I are really, in my proper dress:
But that would ha' bin too much happiness!’
Ah surely now, such happiness may come:
Here in old England, speeding on toward home,
Fair Cinderella in the flying train
Doffs her gay garments, and appears again
In her own guise, a simple country maid.
‘Theer now!’ she cries, ‘I've done wi' this grand trade
An' all them ladies' things you bought for me:
An' gloves—I winna weer your gloves no more;
I are a servant, like I was afore.
Let me go on, an' take the luggage too;
Lord! I can heave it, what I used to do
When I was maid-of-all-work. Many a day,
You know yourself, when lodgers went away,
I had to heave their luggage to the fly.
They often give me shillins, on the sly,
For that, an' for to have a kiss o' me—
What they could never get, though; no—ye see,
Master, my kisses all was kept for thee.
Let me go on, then; you can stop behind
Till I ha' got things ready to your mind,
An' clean'd all up: gie me a day or two,
An' I shall make the places fit for you.’
Here in old England, speeding on toward home,
Fair Cinderella in the flying train
Doffs her gay garments, and appears again
In her own guise, a simple country maid.
‘Theer now!’ she cries, ‘I've done wi' this grand trade
An' all them ladies' things you bought for me:
An' gloves—I winna weer your gloves no more;
I are a servant, like I was afore.
Let me go on, an' take the luggage too;
Lord! I can heave it, what I used to do
When I was maid-of-all-work. Many a day,
You know yourself, when lodgers went away,
I had to heave their luggage to the fly.
They often give me shillins, on the sly,
For that, an' for to have a kiss o' me—
What they could never get, though; no—ye see,
Master, my kisses all was kept for thee.
Let me go on, then; you can stop behind
Till I ha' got things ready to your mind,
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An' I shall make the places fit for you.’
So said, so done; and when her lord was gone,
The servant with the luggage went alone
Back to her place. But he, the banish'd spouse
Of such a wife whom common work could rouse
To larger energy and keener joy
Than all the Alps from Gothard to Savoy,
He, lingering sadly and unsatisfied,
Set forth ere long to join his stalwart bride;
And chiding much that tedious tardy road,
Regain'd at last the door of his abode.
'Twas open'd—surely by the blackest drudge
That ever crawl'd and clean'd in kitchen sludge!
Black was her face; and black her lusty arms;
A crust of soot and coaldust hid her charms,
If charms she had; and soak'd in liquid dirt
Appear'd her sacking apron, her coarse skirt,
And the rude bonnet that conceal'd her hair.
She was a loathly figure—fit to scare
The roughest sweetheart. With indignant stare
The master gazed at her: whence had she come,
So foul a servant, to disgrace his home?
The thing before him saw his stern surprise;
Dropp'd a meek curtsy, and with sparkling eyes
Whose beauty shone through even that dark disguise,
Look'd straight at his; and murmur'd ‘Oh my life,
This hideous creature is your own poor wife!’
‘My wife!’ said he; ‘Oh Susan, is it you?
I half suspected—yet I scarcely knew
Your fair blue eyes in such a face as this,
Nor the soft lips that I had hoped to kiss!’
‘Aye—but,’ she said, ‘you canna kiss 'em now;
You canna touch me; I'm a deal too low,
A deal too dirty, to be kiss'd by thee,
My master an' my husband! Look at me—
Inna my face as black as any sweep's?
An' these here spots o' whitewash, how they steeps
The black in white, an' makes me uglier!
Well—I ha' done it all o' purpose, Sir:
O' purpose for to show you what I are,
An' what I wish to be. Why, this is far
Far more delightful nor them ladies' rooms,
Wheer I had naught to do wi' pails an' brooms,
But sat as mum as any moniment,
An' couldna reekon what their talkin meant,
Nor come to have a notion o' their ways.
You've had your will wi' me, a many days,
An' now I've my will. Oh, my master dear,
I winna be a lady, never fear—
I will be this!’ In self-abasement sweet
Sudden she flung herself upon his feet,
Caressing them in Love's divine embrace:
Love, the more noble that it seem'd so base.
But he, transported with a passionate shame,
Raised her at once, and clasp'd her quivering frame
In faithful arms still stronger than her own.
Flesh of his flesh she was, bone of his bone:
And recklessly he kiss'd her, till her lips
Again grew ruddy from their black eclipse,
And the bright blushing roses of her cheeks
Peep'd out once more, in intermittent streaks
Glowing and glistening through their sable shroud
Like a red sunset 'neath a thunder-cloud.
Surprised, at first she suffer'd his embrace;
Then quick remembering her disfigured face
And all the sordid stains of her rude dress,
She thrust him off, affrighted at the stress
Of his untimely ardour, and exclaim'd,
‘Dear heart alive! My darling, I are shamed
An' bash'd, to think o' you a-doin this!
Yo've paid a pretty penny for your kiss—
Blackin yourself all over, I declare,
Welly as black as me!’ ‘How can I care,’
Said he, ‘for blackness, since you love me so?
But why should you degrade yourself so low,
And tell your love in such a servile way,
And be so dirty as you are to-day?’
‘Eh, lad!’ she said, ‘I'd be as rough as rough,
As low as low—theer's nothin seems enough
To tell you by—I'd be I carena what,
If ony I may show my love like that,
An' not i' your way, like I did abroad.
Why, I'll upho'd it, you ha' never know'd,
Nor never seed, nor never thought to see,
A wench as noggan an' as rough as me!
Well then—in service, when I clean'd the steps,
Or filled the scuttles an' the cinderskeps
Wi' coals I'd gather'd in my bare hard hands,
I used to think, What odds? He understands
An' likes it too, this dirty work o' mine;
He knows as all I do is just a sign
To show my love, an' what I are to him—
One as can serve him both wi' life an' limb,
But not with edication. Aye, that's it:
I are no good in parlours—not a bit.
Eh, what a difference! Would they smile an' bow,
Or reckon me to be a lady, now?
Or would they call me Ma'am, like them folks did
I' foreign countries, when my hands was hid
An' I was drest as fine as anything?
Not they—they'd shun me, like a burying
After a wedding: an' I tell you true,
It's me as mun be buried, an' not you.
Nay, never wince! I dunna want to die,
I ony want a buryin. An' for why?
Well—'cause I winna be your equal, then!
I mun be took away from gentlemen
An' ladies too; an' I mun have a home
Down i' your kitchen, wheer they canna come.’
The servant with the luggage went alone
Back to her place. But he, the banish'd spouse
Of such a wife whom common work could rouse
To larger energy and keener joy
Than all the Alps from Gothard to Savoy,
He, lingering sadly and unsatisfied,
Set forth ere long to join his stalwart bride;
And chiding much that tedious tardy road,
Regain'd at last the door of his abode.
'Twas open'd—surely by the blackest drudge
That ever crawl'd and clean'd in kitchen sludge!
Black was her face; and black her lusty arms;
A crust of soot and coaldust hid her charms,
If charms she had; and soak'd in liquid dirt
Appear'd her sacking apron, her coarse skirt,
And the rude bonnet that conceal'd her hair.
She was a loathly figure—fit to scare
The roughest sweetheart. With indignant stare
The master gazed at her: whence had she come,
So foul a servant, to disgrace his home?
The thing before him saw his stern surprise;
Dropp'd a meek curtsy, and with sparkling eyes
Whose beauty shone through even that dark disguise,
Look'd straight at his; and murmur'd ‘Oh my life,
This hideous creature is your own poor wife!’
‘My wife!’ said he; ‘Oh Susan, is it you?
I half suspected—yet I scarcely knew
38
Nor the soft lips that I had hoped to kiss!’
‘Aye—but,’ she said, ‘you canna kiss 'em now;
You canna touch me; I'm a deal too low,
A deal too dirty, to be kiss'd by thee,
My master an' my husband! Look at me—
Inna my face as black as any sweep's?
An' these here spots o' whitewash, how they steeps
The black in white, an' makes me uglier!
Well—I ha' done it all o' purpose, Sir:
O' purpose for to show you what I are,
An' what I wish to be. Why, this is far
Far more delightful nor them ladies' rooms,
Wheer I had naught to do wi' pails an' brooms,
But sat as mum as any moniment,
An' couldna reekon what their talkin meant,
Nor come to have a notion o' their ways.
You've had your will wi' me, a many days,
An' now I've my will. Oh, my master dear,
I winna be a lady, never fear—
I will be this!’ In self-abasement sweet
Sudden she flung herself upon his feet,
Caressing them in Love's divine embrace:
Love, the more noble that it seem'd so base.
But he, transported with a passionate shame,
Raised her at once, and clasp'd her quivering frame
In faithful arms still stronger than her own.
Flesh of his flesh she was, bone of his bone:
And recklessly he kiss'd her, till her lips
Again grew ruddy from their black eclipse,
39
Peep'd out once more, in intermittent streaks
Glowing and glistening through their sable shroud
Like a red sunset 'neath a thunder-cloud.
Surprised, at first she suffer'd his embrace;
Then quick remembering her disfigured face
And all the sordid stains of her rude dress,
She thrust him off, affrighted at the stress
Of his untimely ardour, and exclaim'd,
‘Dear heart alive! My darling, I are shamed
An' bash'd, to think o' you a-doin this!
Yo've paid a pretty penny for your kiss—
Blackin yourself all over, I declare,
Welly as black as me!’ ‘How can I care,’
Said he, ‘for blackness, since you love me so?
But why should you degrade yourself so low,
And tell your love in such a servile way,
And be so dirty as you are to-day?’
‘Eh, lad!’ she said, ‘I'd be as rough as rough,
As low as low—theer's nothin seems enough
To tell you by—I'd be I carena what,
If ony I may show my love like that,
An' not i' your way, like I did abroad.
Why, I'll upho'd it, you ha' never know'd,
Nor never seed, nor never thought to see,
A wench as noggan an' as rough as me!
Well then—in service, when I clean'd the steps,
Or filled the scuttles an' the cinderskeps
Wi' coals I'd gather'd in my bare hard hands,
I used to think, What odds? He understands
40
He knows as all I do is just a sign
To show my love, an' what I are to him—
One as can serve him both wi' life an' limb,
But not with edication. Aye, that's it:
I are no good in parlours—not a bit.
Eh, what a difference! Would they smile an' bow,
Or reckon me to be a lady, now?
Or would they call me Ma'am, like them folks did
I' foreign countries, when my hands was hid
An' I was drest as fine as anything?
Not they—they'd shun me, like a burying
After a wedding: an' I tell you true,
It's me as mun be buried, an' not you.
Nay, never wince! I dunna want to die,
I ony want a buryin. An' for why?
Well—'cause I winna be your equal, then!
I mun be took away from gentlemen
An' ladies too; an' I mun have a home
Down i' your kitchen, wheer they canna come.’
Thus saying, she drew up to its full height
Her stately figure; whose attractive might,
Black as she was, and meanly clad, and coarse,
Had still enough of beauty and of force
To charm the casual gazer: how much more
Him who so loved her, and whose name she bore!
He look'd at her: a Juno carved in coal,
With lustrous eyes and firm devoted soul;
Goddess within, beneficent and brave,
Yet outwardly a negress and a slave!
He look'd at her, but answer made he none.
She, his beloved and his only one,
So comely and so beautiful; who late
Hung proudly on his arm, a queenlike mate,
The envy of the women, the despair
Of men, who wonder'd at that lady fair
And turn'd admiring, as she pass'd them by—
She, once the cynosure of every eye—
Now sunk again to servitude and toil,
And so defiled, her merest touch must soil
The husband who embraced her! She was still
Comely as ever: 'twas her own strong will,
Her own pure act, that thus degraded her
Down to the level of a labourer.
Her stately figure; whose attractive might,
Black as she was, and meanly clad, and coarse,
Had still enough of beauty and of force
To charm the casual gazer: how much more
Him who so loved her, and whose name she bore!
He look'd at her: a Juno carved in coal,
With lustrous eyes and firm devoted soul;
Goddess within, beneficent and brave,
Yet outwardly a negress and a slave!
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She, his beloved and his only one,
So comely and so beautiful; who late
Hung proudly on his arm, a queenlike mate,
The envy of the women, the despair
Of men, who wonder'd at that lady fair
And turn'd admiring, as she pass'd them by—
She, once the cynosure of every eye—
Now sunk again to servitude and toil,
And so defiled, her merest touch must soil
The husband who embraced her! She was still
Comely as ever: 'twas her own strong will,
Her own pure act, that thus degraded her
Down to the level of a labourer.
That was her own old level: She knew well
Its humble joys and duties; she could tell
The dear delight of labour, to an arm
As stout as hers, and the peculiar charm
To a meek spirit, of obscurity.
Who would be curious about such as she?
To live unpraised, unnoticed, and unknown,
And yet a life that was indeed her own;
With none to criticise, and none to care
How she was drest or how she hid her hair—
None, save the sweetheart who would never fail
To like her cap, her frock, her broom, her pail;
Because he loved her, and because by these
She acted out his favourite theories,—
That was the life she had resolved to live:
And oh, what freedom such a life could give
To the strong love that spends itself in deeds
And not in words! to which her lover's needs,
His lowest needs, his common daily wants,
Are just the food for which her nature pants—
The food of service and self-sacrifice.
Yes: such a love is folly to the wise,
And baseness to the dainty and the proud.
Its humble joys and duties; she could tell
The dear delight of labour, to an arm
As stout as hers, and the peculiar charm
To a meek spirit, of obscurity.
Who would be curious about such as she?
To live unpraised, unnoticed, and unknown,
And yet a life that was indeed her own;
With none to criticise, and none to care
How she was drest or how she hid her hair—
None, save the sweetheart who would never fail
To like her cap, her frock, her broom, her pail;
Because he loved her, and because by these
She acted out his favourite theories,—
That was the life she had resolved to live:
And oh, what freedom such a life could give
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And not in words! to which her lover's needs,
His lowest needs, his common daily wants,
Are just the food for which her nature pants—
The food of service and self-sacrifice.
Yes: such a love is folly to the wise,
And baseness to the dainty and the proud.
These were his thoughts—and hers: not told aloud,
Not whisper'd even. He was too refined,
And she too simple, to express his mind
In terms of hers, or hers in terms of his.
Yet in a moment, with one single kiss,
The lofty bridegroom and the rough black bride
Standing together, yet apart how wide!
Found each the other's meaning, and confess'd
A kindred purpose in each other's breast.
‘I know what you're a-thinkin on,’ she said,
And turn'd from side to side her graceful head
As if to see herself; ‘when I'm got clean
(For now, I are too dirty to be seen)
Yo'll ring for me, an' us can talk of it.
So, let me goo downstairs, an' rest a bit,
An' tell my fellow-servants as you're here.
They know I've bin a-cleanin; but, oh dear!
To think as I should gie myself such airs
To meet my master on the best front stairs,
An' even take to answerin' the door—
Such a big fright as I are!’
Not whisper'd even. He was too refined,
And she too simple, to express his mind
In terms of hers, or hers in terms of his.
Yet in a moment, with one single kiss,
The lofty bridegroom and the rough black bride
Standing together, yet apart how wide!
Found each the other's meaning, and confess'd
A kindred purpose in each other's breast.
‘I know what you're a-thinkin on,’ she said,
And turn'd from side to side her graceful head
As if to see herself; ‘when I'm got clean
(For now, I are too dirty to be seen)
Yo'll ring for me, an' us can talk of it.
So, let me goo downstairs, an' rest a bit,
An' tell my fellow-servants as you're here.
They know I've bin a-cleanin; but, oh dear!
To think as I should gie myself such airs
To meet my master on the best front stairs,
An' even take to answerin' the door—
Such a big fright as I are!’
To the floor
She curtsy'd low, and smiled like any dame;
Then vanish'd toward the kitchen whence she came.”
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Then vanish'd toward the kitchen whence she came.”
| Susan | |