 | Susan |  |
Such was the tale I heard from Arundel;
And with such warmth he told it, I might well
Think that the strange experience was his own.
Yet, he had always seem'd to live alone:
There was no mystery in his outward life;
No female serf, no unacknowledged wife,
Clad as a servant and kept out of view,
Disgraced his household; for his friends all knew
Each corner of his hospitable home.
Incredible, that such a man should come
To love a scullion-wench! And still more strange,
That the dull creature, with her narrow range
Of interests and emotions, caring not
For men or things outside her sordid lot,
Should yet be able thus to love again
A man like him; and, all untaught, attain
Such virtue, such serene self-sacrifice!
And with such warmth he told it, I might well
Think that the strange experience was his own.
Yet, he had always seem'd to live alone:
There was no mystery in his outward life;
No female serf, no unacknowledged wife,
16
Disgraced his household; for his friends all knew
Each corner of his hospitable home.
Incredible, that such a man should come
To love a scullion-wench! And still more strange,
That the dull creature, with her narrow range
Of interests and emotions, caring not
For men or things outside her sordid lot,
Should yet be able thus to love again
A man like him; and, all untaught, attain
Such virtue, such serene self-sacrifice!
So thought I, ere I lifted up mine eyes
And look'd once more at Arundel; whose face,
All unabash'd, maintain'd the quiet grace
And self-possession of an earnest man
Ashamed of nothing. “Surely,” I began,
“Surely, a marriage such as you describe,
Where neither gives, and neither takes, the bribe
Of swift advancement to a higher grade,
Which one of them can offer, was not made
Where marriages should come from! 'Tis absurd,
And most absurd in him: who ever heard
Of men refined, yet stooping to adore
A girl whose duty is to scrub the floor,
And who enjoys such duties, and declines
To leave them at his bidding? He resigns
All that his life is worth, in loving her;
And she, poor drudge! would certainly prefer
A suitor like herself—a man whose hands
Are hard like hers, and whose coarse love expands
In rude caresses at her master's gate.
Why should blind Chance or more capricious Fate
Exalt her o'er her fellows, and condemn
One who is only fit to herd with them
To live in isolation and alone,
Despised by his folk, hated by her own;
Estranged from those whom still she counts as dear,
Yet not admitted to her husband's sphere?”
And look'd once more at Arundel; whose face,
All unabash'd, maintain'd the quiet grace
And self-possession of an earnest man
Ashamed of nothing. “Surely,” I began,
“Surely, a marriage such as you describe,
Where neither gives, and neither takes, the bribe
Of swift advancement to a higher grade,
Which one of them can offer, was not made
Where marriages should come from! 'Tis absurd,
And most absurd in him: who ever heard
Of men refined, yet stooping to adore
A girl whose duty is to scrub the floor,
And who enjoys such duties, and declines
To leave them at his bidding? He resigns
All that his life is worth, in loving her;
And she, poor drudge! would certainly prefer
A suitor like herself—a man whose hands
Are hard like hers, and whose coarse love expands
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Why should blind Chance or more capricious Fate
Exalt her o'er her fellows, and condemn
One who is only fit to herd with them
To live in isolation and alone,
Despised by his folk, hated by her own;
Estranged from those whom still she counts as dear,
Yet not admitted to her husband's sphere?”
“Ah! you admit,” said Arundel again,
“You do admit she has a husband, then!
Well, if she has, and is absorb'd in him,
Can she be lonely, sipping at its brim
From Love's full bowl, and seeing there within
Sorrow perhaps, but not a taint of sin?
And you forget her force of character:
What, is it nothing, that a maid like her,
So ignorant, so lowly, so obscure,
So utterly uncared for, and so poor,
Should feel as she did, and should carry out
Without regret or wavering or doubt,
Her strong resolve, to be the servant still,
And not the equal, of the man whose will
Had long become her own will, and whose love,
Pure as herself, had raised them both above
The very notion of equality?
Equality! why, neither he nor she
Thought of the thing: he worshipp'd her, I know;
He worshipp'd her because she was so low
And yet so lofty; she, robust in frame,
Rough-handed and red-arm'd; who felt no shame
Even in the basest toil, and no disgrace
When the fine features of her highbred face
Were all disguised with blackness and with sweat;
She, though so mere a labourer, had yet
Through some unknown ancestral blood, the gift
Of finer instincts, nobler traits, that lift
Her being toward the educated few.
She knew she had these treasures, but she knew
Scarce what they meant or what they tended to.
Within her mind they lay unused, unknown,
Unnoticed, unimproved; yet still, her own;
Waiting till he should see them at a glance,
Who had them also, by inheritance.
How could she know? To serve and to obey
The cook her master, through the livelong day,
Left her no time for thinking; and to her
Nature had given such strength, and such a stir
Of energy within, that all she did,
From the brisk scouring of a saucepan-lid
To that tremendous swilling of the yard,
Her weekly duty, seem'd to her not hard
But easy and delightful; her young soul,
Long train'd to look on labour as the goal
Of all that she was fit for, still could find
Delight in gaining credit, of a kind,
For menial tasks like these. But no one shared
Her higher instincts; not a creature cared
For her; though oft, attracted by her face,
The lordly butler left his lofty place
And brought his friends to see her, at the mouth
Of that dark den, all grimy and uncouth,
Wherein she lived and wrought. There through the door
He show'd her charms, and ran them gaily o'er
Even in her presence; for she dared not show
How much she felt the insult—being so low,
So much beneath him. For his private bliss,
He often tried to bargain for a kiss,
Spite of her humble protest; but he saw
With envious admiration and with awe,
At each attempt, this daughter of the farm
Uplift the terrors of her red right arm.
It was her sole defence; a needful one
For maids like her, who have no chaperon
Save their own virtue; and who walk alone,
Without a champion, and with scarce a friend.”
“You do admit she has a husband, then!
Well, if she has, and is absorb'd in him,
Can she be lonely, sipping at its brim
From Love's full bowl, and seeing there within
Sorrow perhaps, but not a taint of sin?
And you forget her force of character:
What, is it nothing, that a maid like her,
So ignorant, so lowly, so obscure,
So utterly uncared for, and so poor,
Should feel as she did, and should carry out
Without regret or wavering or doubt,
Her strong resolve, to be the servant still,
And not the equal, of the man whose will
Had long become her own will, and whose love,
Pure as herself, had raised them both above
The very notion of equality?
Equality! why, neither he nor she
Thought of the thing: he worshipp'd her, I know;
He worshipp'd her because she was so low
And yet so lofty; she, robust in frame,
Rough-handed and red-arm'd; who felt no shame
18
When the fine features of her highbred face
Were all disguised with blackness and with sweat;
She, though so mere a labourer, had yet
Through some unknown ancestral blood, the gift
Of finer instincts, nobler traits, that lift
Her being toward the educated few.
She knew she had these treasures, but she knew
Scarce what they meant or what they tended to.
Within her mind they lay unused, unknown,
Unnoticed, unimproved; yet still, her own;
Waiting till he should see them at a glance,
Who had them also, by inheritance.
How could she know? To serve and to obey
The cook her master, through the livelong day,
Left her no time for thinking; and to her
Nature had given such strength, and such a stir
Of energy within, that all she did,
From the brisk scouring of a saucepan-lid
To that tremendous swilling of the yard,
Her weekly duty, seem'd to her not hard
But easy and delightful; her young soul,
Long train'd to look on labour as the goal
Of all that she was fit for, still could find
Delight in gaining credit, of a kind,
For menial tasks like these. But no one shared
Her higher instincts; not a creature cared
For her; though oft, attracted by her face,
The lordly butler left his lofty place
And brought his friends to see her, at the mouth
19
Wherein she lived and wrought. There through the door
He show'd her charms, and ran them gaily o'er
Even in her presence; for she dared not show
How much she felt the insult—being so low,
So much beneath him. For his private bliss,
He often tried to bargain for a kiss,
Spite of her humble protest; but he saw
With envious admiration and with awe,
At each attempt, this daughter of the farm
Uplift the terrors of her red right arm.
It was her sole defence; a needful one
For maids like her, who have no chaperon
Save their own virtue; and who walk alone,
Without a champion, and with scarce a friend.”
| Susan | |