 | Dorothy |  |
Thus while they fondly discoursed on the chances of Dorothy's birthright,
She and her lover advanced up the steep path of the hill;
Up to the top of the cliff, where the martins build in the springtime;
Up through the hazels beyond; up through the fields, to the park.
There—for already in sight the Castle appear'd in the distance—
There, with a beating heart, Dorothy falter'd and paused:
Wondering how she should look, how behave, in that terrible palace;
Vainly, with fingers untrain'd, striving—to put on her gloves!
They were too small; they were old; they were never intended for her hands:
How could her broad hard palm bend to the flexible kid?
‘Oh, Mr. Robert,’ said she, ‘it'll do if I carry 'em, won't it?
‘Gloves! They was never, I sure, meant for such creatures as me!
‘I'm not ashamed o' my hands; and if you don't want me to wear 'em—
‘These little pottering things—do let me throw 'em away!’
‘Nay, never throw 'em away; never lose a good thing when you've got it;
‘But, for your hands, Dolly dear, show 'em and welcome, for me!’
So, with the gloves in her grasp, just to prove that she own'd such a treasure,
Dorothy follow'd her swain up to that dreaded abode:
Up through the stables, and thence by the shrubbery path to the courtyard,
Where, in their splendid attire, footmen and housemaids appear'd.
Ah, how they stared! Dolly thought; and her cheeks grew as red as a rooster,
Ah, how that bold little maid toss'd up her nose in the air!
But, it was over and done—they were safe in the house, in a moment;
Safe in that solemn domain round Mrs. Jellifer's door.
She, Mrs. Jellifer, sat in her sacred though stuffy apartment,
Thinking of Robert; in doubt how to behave to his bride:
How to be friendly to him, and still show her teeth at his sweetheart:
How to be civil, and yet teach the rude hussy her place.
But, with the knock at her door, with the advent of Robert and Dolly,
All this tremendous intent vanish'd at once into air.
'Twas not the beautiful face; 'twas the curtsey poor Dorothy made her,
Which with its artless respect soften'd the heart of the dame.
Shyly then Robert began: ‘Mrs. Jellifer, this is my sweetheart;
‘Dolly, you know, at the farm; come for my Lady to see!’—
‘Oh yes, I know,’ said the dame: ‘and how do you do, Mr. Robert?
‘Nay, then—shake hands with a friend, wishes you happy, I'm sure!’
But, while she gave him her hand, and he wrung it with masculine vigour,
Dolly came into her mind: must she shake hands too with her?
Nay, that was not in the bond; and the wench wouldn't dare to expect it:
Look you, how sheepish she stands, waiting, aback o' the door!
But it was Robert's resolve, that Dorothy shouldn't be slighted:
So, with the least little wink, least little push from behind,
‘Dolly, love, don't be afeard!’ he said, ‘Mrs. Jellifer's waiting;
‘She's been a friend to us both—she's got a welcome for you.’
Honest entrapper of sneaks, courageous destroyer of vermin,
Macte virtute, my man! Woman 's outwitted, for once!
For, at his artful appeal, the housekeeper redden'd a little,
Saw she must do it, and so might as well do it with grace;
Said, with an affable air, ‘Young woman, I see you are lucky—’
‘Lucky?’ cried Robert, ‘Nay, come! surely, it's me 'at's in luck!’
‘Lucky, I say,’ quoth the dame, ‘to ha' got such an excellent husband;
‘Which there's a many, my girl, gladly 'ud stand i' your shoes!
‘Not but I wishes you well;’ and she smiled, condescending and gracious;
Smiled, and—incredible feat!—boldly extended her hand.
But, when she felt such a palm as Dorothy timidly offer'd,
Rasping her soft mottled skin e'en with its modest embrace,
Quickly she dropp'd it; and said, with a start (just a little affected),
‘You've got a hardworking place, judged by the feel o' your hand!’
‘Yes, ma'am,’ said Dolly, ‘it is; it's a hardworking place, but a good one;
‘I should be sorry to leave yet, if it wasn't for him!
‘But, Mr. Robert is kind; and Missis'll still be a neighbour;
‘I shall be always at hand, ready to help on the farm.’
‘Fool!’ thought the dame: and perhaps she had lectured the girl on her folly,
But, with a ladylike knock, somebody enter'd the room.—
Ha! 'tis my Lady herself! 'tis Βοωπις ποτνια Ηρη,
Come to observe, to assist, labouring mortals below;
Come to inspect and approve Briseis, captive and servant:
Come to behold for herself sturdy Achilles in love!
Gorgeous in afternoon dress, prepared for a drive in the carriage,
Fresh from the hands of her maid, she, the Immortal, appears:
Clad—but I dare not describe; for, before you have finish'd describing,
Out goes the fashion; and then, 'tis but a vulgar array.
Ah, what a flutter there was, when that glory of velvet and odours,
Mantled and feather'd and furr'd, enter'd the housekeeper's room!
Foolish Briseis, and fond, sought refuge behind her Achilles,
Curtseying once and again, deeper than ever before:
E'en Mrs. Jellifer's dress, that was almost as long as my Lady's,
Show'd, by its faltering folds, something was supple within;
As for bold Robin, he stood, erect yet wholly respectful;
Grave, with a manly regard, lifting a hand to his brow.
But, for the Goddess herself, just come from a luncheon of nectar,
Down to these commonplace folks, purely from motives of love,
Can we sufficiently praise her majestic matronly manner?
Can we—ah, never, alas!—fully express it in words?
No! we must leave that to you, intelligent exquisite reader,
You, who have fed on the sweets, lain in the lilies, of life;
You, who can quite understand the vast, the incredible distance
Which in a world like ours, orderly, proper, and proud,
Spreads from my Lady on high, the Earl's daughter, the queen of the county,
Down to poor Dolly the maid, following horses at plough!
Distance! Her ladyship's dress—her velvet and furs, and her odours,
Jewels and feathers and lace, cambric, diminutive gloves—
Oh, what a contrast, you say, to Dolly's short frock and straw bonnet,
And to her old plaid shawl, and to her bare rugged hands!
Yes; but the contrast indeed, the antipodean exemplar,
Is not alone in the dress—is in the wearers themselves;
One, a strange marvel of art and civilization and culture,
Wrought till the natural ground hardly again shall appear;
As for the other, she has common-sense and simplicity only;
Nature and Labour alone went to the making of her.
But there is somebody else—there is somebody else in the background;
Not unattended, it seems, Herè descends from above:
Who can this deity be, with the glossy and tutor'd moustaches,
Eyeglass, and soldierly air?—Colonel St. Quentin, by Jove!
Rather surprising, it is, when the great Parliamentary Colonel
Swoops from his Liberal bench down to a housekeeper's room!
So Mrs. Jellifer thought; though she didn't quite put it in that way:
‘As for my Lady,’ she thought, ‘why, it is all very well;
‘But for the Colonel to come prying after a couple o' sweethearts,
‘That is uncommonly odd, very demeaning to him!’
Robert, however, was glad; he had often attended the Colonel,
Often been handsomely tipp'd—ay, and deservedly too;
And, with a natural pride, he thought, ‘He has heard, from the master,
‘And, like a gentleman, comes kindly a-wishing us well.’
As for our Dolly, she stared; she did not remember the Colonel;
Curtsey'd and trembled and stared, wondering who it might be:
Thinking that one was enough, and two was sadly too many:
‘Gentlefolks coming down here, just to make fun o' poor me!’
Simpleton! Little she knew of βοωπις ποτνια Ηρη,
Little could she understand how the Immortals behave!
They were as foreign to her as they will be, ere long, to her betters;
When o'er the studies of Youth, Science is voted supreme—
When we have done with the past, and its accurate elegant wisdom;
When in all English schools Greek is for ever taboo'd.
She and her lover advanced up the steep path of the hill;
Up to the top of the cliff, where the martins build in the springtime;
Up through the hazels beyond; up through the fields, to the park.
There—for already in sight the Castle appear'd in the distance—
There, with a beating heart, Dorothy falter'd and paused:
Wondering how she should look, how behave, in that terrible palace;
Vainly, with fingers untrain'd, striving—to put on her gloves!
They were too small; they were old; they were never intended for her hands:
How could her broad hard palm bend to the flexible kid?
‘Oh, Mr. Robert,’ said she, ‘it'll do if I carry 'em, won't it?
‘Gloves! They was never, I sure, meant for such creatures as me!
‘I'm not ashamed o' my hands; and if you don't want me to wear 'em—
‘These little pottering things—do let me throw 'em away!’
‘Nay, never throw 'em away; never lose a good thing when you've got it;
‘But, for your hands, Dolly dear, show 'em and welcome, for me!’
So, with the gloves in her grasp, just to prove that she own'd such a treasure,
Dorothy follow'd her swain up to that dreaded abode:
68
Where, in their splendid attire, footmen and housemaids appear'd.
Ah, how they stared! Dolly thought; and her cheeks grew as red as a rooster,
Ah, how that bold little maid toss'd up her nose in the air!
But, it was over and done—they were safe in the house, in a moment;
Safe in that solemn domain round Mrs. Jellifer's door.
She, Mrs. Jellifer, sat in her sacred though stuffy apartment,
Thinking of Robert; in doubt how to behave to his bride:
How to be friendly to him, and still show her teeth at his sweetheart:
How to be civil, and yet teach the rude hussy her place.
But, with the knock at her door, with the advent of Robert and Dolly,
All this tremendous intent vanish'd at once into air.
'Twas not the beautiful face; 'twas the curtsey poor Dorothy made her,
Which with its artless respect soften'd the heart of the dame.
Shyly then Robert began: ‘Mrs. Jellifer, this is my sweetheart;
‘Dolly, you know, at the farm; come for my Lady to see!’—
‘Oh yes, I know,’ said the dame: ‘and how do you do, Mr. Robert?
‘Nay, then—shake hands with a friend, wishes you happy, I'm sure!’
But, while she gave him her hand, and he wrung it with masculine vigour,
Dolly came into her mind: must she shake hands too with her?
Nay, that was not in the bond; and the wench wouldn't dare to expect it:
Look you, how sheepish she stands, waiting, aback o' the door!
But it was Robert's resolve, that Dorothy shouldn't be slighted:
So, with the least little wink, least little push from behind,
‘Dolly, love, don't be afeard!’ he said, ‘Mrs. Jellifer's waiting;
‘She's been a friend to us both—she's got a welcome for you.’
Honest entrapper of sneaks, courageous destroyer of vermin,
Macte virtute, my man! Woman 's outwitted, for once!
For, at his artful appeal, the housekeeper redden'd a little,
Saw she must do it, and so might as well do it with grace;
Said, with an affable air, ‘Young woman, I see you are lucky—’
‘Lucky?’ cried Robert, ‘Nay, come! surely, it's me 'at's in luck!’
69
‘Which there's a many, my girl, gladly 'ud stand i' your shoes!
‘Not but I wishes you well;’ and she smiled, condescending and gracious;
Smiled, and—incredible feat!—boldly extended her hand.
But, when she felt such a palm as Dorothy timidly offer'd,
Rasping her soft mottled skin e'en with its modest embrace,
Quickly she dropp'd it; and said, with a start (just a little affected),
‘You've got a hardworking place, judged by the feel o' your hand!’
‘Yes, ma'am,’ said Dolly, ‘it is; it's a hardworking place, but a good one;
‘I should be sorry to leave yet, if it wasn't for him!
‘But, Mr. Robert is kind; and Missis'll still be a neighbour;
‘I shall be always at hand, ready to help on the farm.’
‘Fool!’ thought the dame: and perhaps she had lectured the girl on her folly,
But, with a ladylike knock, somebody enter'd the room.—
Ha! 'tis my Lady herself! 'tis Βοωπις ποτνια Ηρη,
Come to observe, to assist, labouring mortals below;
Come to inspect and approve Briseis, captive and servant:
Come to behold for herself sturdy Achilles in love!
Gorgeous in afternoon dress, prepared for a drive in the carriage,
Fresh from the hands of her maid, she, the Immortal, appears:
Clad—but I dare not describe; for, before you have finish'd describing,
Out goes the fashion; and then, 'tis but a vulgar array.
Ah, what a flutter there was, when that glory of velvet and odours,
Mantled and feather'd and furr'd, enter'd the housekeeper's room!
Foolish Briseis, and fond, sought refuge behind her Achilles,
Curtseying once and again, deeper than ever before:
E'en Mrs. Jellifer's dress, that was almost as long as my Lady's,
Show'd, by its faltering folds, something was supple within;
As for bold Robin, he stood, erect yet wholly respectful;
Grave, with a manly regard, lifting a hand to his brow.
But, for the Goddess herself, just come from a luncheon of nectar,
Down to these commonplace folks, purely from motives of love,
70
Can we—ah, never, alas!—fully express it in words?
No! we must leave that to you, intelligent exquisite reader,
You, who have fed on the sweets, lain in the lilies, of life;
You, who can quite understand the vast, the incredible distance
Which in a world like ours, orderly, proper, and proud,
Spreads from my Lady on high, the Earl's daughter, the queen of the county,
Down to poor Dolly the maid, following horses at plough!
Distance! Her ladyship's dress—her velvet and furs, and her odours,
Jewels and feathers and lace, cambric, diminutive gloves—
Oh, what a contrast, you say, to Dolly's short frock and straw bonnet,
And to her old plaid shawl, and to her bare rugged hands!
Yes; but the contrast indeed, the antipodean exemplar,
Is not alone in the dress—is in the wearers themselves;
One, a strange marvel of art and civilization and culture,
Wrought till the natural ground hardly again shall appear;
As for the other, she has common-sense and simplicity only;
Nature and Labour alone went to the making of her.
But there is somebody else—there is somebody else in the background;
Not unattended, it seems, Herè descends from above:
Who can this deity be, with the glossy and tutor'd moustaches,
Eyeglass, and soldierly air?—Colonel St. Quentin, by Jove!
Rather surprising, it is, when the great Parliamentary Colonel
Swoops from his Liberal bench down to a housekeeper's room!
So Mrs. Jellifer thought; though she didn't quite put it in that way:
‘As for my Lady,’ she thought, ‘why, it is all very well;
‘But for the Colonel to come prying after a couple o' sweethearts,
‘That is uncommonly odd, very demeaning to him!’
Robert, however, was glad; he had often attended the Colonel,
Often been handsomely tipp'd—ay, and deservedly too;
And, with a natural pride, he thought, ‘He has heard, from the master,
‘And, like a gentleman, comes kindly a-wishing us well.’
71
Curtsey'd and trembled and stared, wondering who it might be:
Thinking that one was enough, and two was sadly too many:
‘Gentlefolks coming down here, just to make fun o' poor me!’
Simpleton! Little she knew of βοωπις ποτνια Ηρη,
Little could she understand how the Immortals behave!
They were as foreign to her as they will be, ere long, to her betters;
When o'er the studies of Youth, Science is voted supreme—
When we have done with the past, and its accurate elegant wisdom;
When in all English schools Greek is for ever taboo'd.
| Dorothy | |