The Saint's Tragedy Part 9

Obedience to my will! An awful charge!

But yet, to have the training of her sainthood; To watch her rise above this wild world's waves Like floating water-lily, towards heaven's light Opening its virgin snows, with golden eye Mirroring the golden sun; to be her champion, And war with fiends for her; that were a 'quest'; That were true chivalry; to bring my Judge This jewel for His crown; this n.o.ble soul, Worth thousand prudish clods of barren clay, Who mope for heaven because earth's grapes are sour-- Her, full of youth, flushed with the heart's rich first-fruits, Tangled in earthly pomp--and earthly love.

Wife? Saint by her face she should be: with such looks The queen of heaven, perchance, slow pacing came Adown our sleeping wards, when Dominic Sank fainting, drunk with beauty:--she is most fair!

Pooh! I know nought of fairness--this I know, She calls herself my slave, with such an air As speaks her queen, not slave; that shall be looked to-- She must be pinioned or she will range abroad Upon too bold a wing; 't will cost her pain-- But what of that? there are worse things than pain-- What! not yet here? I'll in, and there await her In prayer before the altar: I have need on't: And shall have more before this harvest's ripe.

[As Conrad goes out, Elizabeth, Isentrudis, and Guta enter.]

Eliz. I saw him just before us: let us onward; We must not seem to loiter.

Isen. Then you promise Exact obedience to his sole direction Henceforth in every scruple?

Eliz. In all I can, And be a wife.

Guta. Is it not a double bondage?

A husband's will is clog enough. Be sure, Though free, I crave more freedom.

Eliz. So do I-- This servitude shall free me--from myself.

Therefore I'll swear.

Isen. To what?

Eliz. I know not wholly: But this I know, that I shall swear to-night To yield my will unto a wiser will; To see G.o.d's truth through eyes which, like the eagle's, From higher Alps undazzled eye the sun.

Compelled to discipline from which my sloth Would shrink, unbidden,--to deep devious paths Which my dull sight would miss, I now can plunge, And dare life's eddies fearless.

Isen. You will repent it.

Eliz. I do repent, even now. Therefore I'll swear.

And bind myself to that, which once being light, Will not be less right, when I shrink from it.

No; if the end be gained--if I be raised To freer, n.o.bler use, I'll dare, I'll welcome Him and his means, though they were racks and flames.

Come, ladies, let us in, and to the chapel. [Exeunt.]

SCENE IV

A Chamber. Guta, Isentrudis, and a Lady.

Lady. Doubtless she is most holy--but for wisdom-- Say if 'tis wise to spurn all rules, all censures, And mountebank it in the public ways Till she becomes a jest?

Isen. How's this?

Lady. For one thing-- Yestreen I pa.s.sed her in the open street, Following the vocal line of chanting priests, Clad in rough serge, and with her soft bare feet Wooing the ruthless flints; the gaping crowd Unknowing whom they held, did thrust and jostle Her tender limbs; she saw me as she pa.s.sed-- And blushed and veiled her face, and smiled withal.

Isen. Oh, think, she's not seventeen yet.

Guta. Why expect Wisdom with love in all? Each has his gift-- Our souls are organ pipes of diverse stop And various pitch; each with its proper notes Thrilling beneath the self-same breath of G.o.d.

Though poor alone, yet joined, they're harmony.

Besides these higher spirits must not bend To common methods; in their inner world They move by broader laws, at whose expression We must adore, not cavil: here she comes-- The ministering Saint, fresh from the poor of Christ.

[Elizabeth enters without cloak or shoes, carrying an empty basket.]

Isen. What's here, my Princess? Guta, fetch her robes!

Rest, rest, my child!

Eliz [throwing herself on a seat] Oh! I have seen such things!

I shudder still; your gay looks dazzle me; As those who long in hideous darkness pent Blink at the daily light; this room's too bright!

We sit in a cloud, and sing, like pictured angels, And say, the world runs smooth--while right below Welters the black fermenting heap of life On which our state is built: I saw this day What we might be, and still be Christian women: And mothers too--I saw one, laid in childbed These three cold weeks upon the black damp straw; No nurses, cordials, or that nice parade With which we try to balk the curse of Eve-- And yet she laughed, and showed her buxom boy, And said, Another week, so please the Saints, She'd be at work a-field. Look here--and here--

[Pointing round the room.]

I saw no such things there; and yet they lived.

Our wanton accidents take root, and grow To vaunt themselves G.o.d's laws, until our clothes, Our gems, and gaudy books, and cus.h.i.+oned litters Become ourselves, and we would fain forget There live who need them not. [Guta offers to robe her.]

Let be, beloved-- I will taste somewhat this same poverty-- Try these temptations, grudges, gnawing shames, For which 'tis blamed; how probe an unfelt evil?

Would'st be the poor man's friend? Must freeze with him-- Test sleepless hunger--let thy crippled back Ache o'er the endless furrow; how was He, The blessed One, made perfect? Why, by grief-- The fellows.h.i.+p of voluntary grief-- He read the tear-stained book of poor men's souls, As I must learn to read it. Lady! lady!

Wear but one robe the less--forego one meal-- And thou shalt taste the core of many tales Which now flit past thee, like a minstrel's songs, The sweeter for their sadness.

Lady. Heavenly wisdom!

Forgive me!

Eliz. How? What wrong is mine, fair dame?

Lady. I thought you, to my shame--less wise than holy.

But you have conquered: I will test these sorrows On mine own person; I have toyed too long In painted pinnace down the stream of life, Witched with the landscape, while the weary rowers Faint at the groaning oar: I'll be thy pupil.

Farewell. Heaven bless thy labours and thy lesson.

[Exit.]

Isen. We are alone. Now tell me, dearest lady, How came you in this plight?

Eliz. Oh! chide not, nurse-- My heart is full--and yet I went not far-- Even here, close by, where my own bower looks down Upon that unknown sea of wavy roofs, I turned into an alley 'neath the wall-- And stepped from earth to h.e.l.l.--The light of heaven, The common air, was narrow, gross, and dun; The tiles did drop from the eaves; the unhinged doors Tottered o'er inky pools, where reeked and curdled The offal of a life; the gaunt-haunched swine Growled at their christened playmates o'er the sc.r.a.ps.

Shrill mothers cursed; wan children wailed; sharp coughs Rang through the crazy chambers; hungry eyes Glared dumb reproach, and old perplexity, Too stale for words; o'er still and webless looms The listless craftsmen through their elf-locks scowled; These were my people! all I had, I gave-- They s.n.a.t.c.hed it thankless (was it not their own?

Wrung from their veins, returning all too late?); Or in the new delight of rare possession, Forgot the giver; one did sit apart, And s.h.i.+vered on a stone; beneath her rags Nestled two impish, fleshless, leering boys, Grown old before their youth; they cried for bread-- She chid them down, and hid her face and wept; I had given all--I took my cloak, my shoes (What could I else? 'Twas but a moment's want Which she had borne, and borne, day after day), And clothed her bare gaunt arms and purpled feet, Then slunk ashamed away to wealth and honour.

[Conrad enters.]

What! Conrad? unannounced! This is too bold!

Peace! I have lent myself--and I must take The usury of that loan: your pleasure, master?

Con. Madam, but yesterday, I bade your presence, To hear the preached word of G.o.d; I preached-- And yet you came not.--Where is now your oath?

Where is the right to bid, you gave to me?

Am I your ghostly guide? I asked it not.

Of your own will you tendered that, which, given, Became not choice, but duty.--What is here?

Think not that alms, or lowly-seeming garments, Self-willed humilities, pride's decent mummers, Can raise above obedience; she from G.o.d Her sanction draws, while these we forge ourselves, Mere tools to clear her necessary path.

Go free--thou art no slave: G.o.d doth not own Unwilling service, and His ministers Must lure, not drag in leash; henceforth I leave thee: Riot in thy self-willed fancies; pick thy steps By thine own will-o'-the-wisp toward the pit; Farewell, proud girl. [Exit Conrad.]

Eliz. O G.o.d! What have I done?

I have cast off the clue of this world's maze, And, like an idiot, let my boat adrift Above the waterfall!--I had no message-- How's this?

Isen. We pa.s.sed it by, as matter of no moment Upon the sudden coming of your guests.