University of Virginia Library

On the soft cushion of my sleeve, I laid
Her willing hand: 'twas wonderfully clean—
Clean as the hand of labour can be made
By effort; but dark lines indelible
Cross'd like a map the broad and callous palm,
Significant of coal. I mark'd them well,
And so did she; considerately calm,
She first survey'd her own impressive hand,
Then look'd at me, as one who understood
That I respected what I keenly scann'd.
But, as for me, in meditative mood
I thought of far Verona, and the praise
Of that Italian Juliet: not more fair,
But oh how different in her life and ways,
Her mould, her nature, and her outward air,
From this laborious maiden! My fair friend
Needed no vows to the inconstant moon,
Nor ever own'd the wherewithal to spend
On gloves to touch her cheek with, nor the boon
Of female service and surveillance dear.
True, she was wakeful at the noon of night—
But not for dalliance, not for love or fear:
Alone, unhonour'd, far from all delight,
She in perpetual darkness would be found
All swink'd and blacken'd by her honest toil,
Five hundred fathom deep beneath the ground.
“Ah, what a contrast, what a hideous foil
“To gentle Shakespeare's women!”—Not at all:
I would that Shakespeare's self had but been there,
To see that contrast, and to see how small
The loss in mere refinement, and how rare
The gain in strength of body and of soul,
In my poor Juliet, measured by his own.
But she, whose thoughts were now of cleaving coal
(A thing more useful and more widely known
Than Shakespeare or Verona) when she saw
How long I held her hand and studied it,
Look'd on me with a kind of puzzled awe:
And “Monsieur sees,” she said, “that in the pit
I have wrought long; my hand is big and hard,
For I have been a traineuse many a year;
But now, I am a sinker by the yard;
I and this other man, my comrade here,
Are in the nightshift gang.” I look'd about
And saw that other man: a creature he
Of far less lusty carriage, far less stout,
Nor yet so tall and vigorous, as she.
“Why, friend,” said I, “you scarcely are a mate
For Cary Juliet; she could knock you down,
Or crush you to a jelly with her weight!”
He growl'd—she laugh'd: the ruder sex, I own,
Are jealous of the fairer; but 'twas good
To see two labourers together thus,
And one, the maid, for all her womanhood
More manly than the man. “Inglorious,
Unfeminine distinction!” cries the crowd.
Ah well—you have not seen her: if you had,
In such a cause you would not speak so loud.
But while we thus discoursed, the good and bad
Of collier-life comparing, from behind
We heard the signal bell, and saw the cage
Shoot up in air, then settle to it's mind
Down to the brow upon the iron stage.
Juliet and I shook hands; and with her mate
She strode away in silence o'er the brow,
I following. Great was the noise, and great
Among that group of girls the bustle now,
Whom I had left so quiet: every lass
Was at her waggon, from the cage withdrawn
By her own hands; and swiftly did it pass
With iron wheels across that iron lawn,
Thrust by the strong arms of two sturdy maids
Right to the summit of the kecking place.
Louise helps Victorine, and Marie aids
Fair Angélique, in that exciting race,
Each well abreast of other. But meanwhile,
More calmly couraged, Cary Juliet stands
Beside the shaft; and with a lofty smile
Surveys their little labours. In her hands
She holds her can, her davy, and her tools:
And waits the Gaffer's orders to descend.
She thinks those four black maidens are but fools,
To work above ground; yet she is their friend—
As the large dog is friendly with the small.
For none of them, not even Victorine,
Strong as they are, is so robust and tall
As she is; and she knows it, as a queen
Knows that her ladies are but ladies still,
And she their sovereign. Now the time was come
To do her proper part: and with a skill
Not learnt in courts or any palace home,
She crept into the emptied cage, and sat
Among the other colliers, on her heels.
In such a place, one can but crouch and squat;
Yet in that posture Cary Juliet feels
As much herself, as regal and composed,
As if she sat upon a carbon throne
With those rude males to worship her. Enclosed
Within an iron cage, she sat alone
Coop'd up and prison'd with those other men,
Who were not female and who were not fair:
She was but one stout labourer; but then
She was the best—the only woman there.