Chapter 5
Elizabeth's Bower. Night. Lewis sleeping in an Alcove.
Elizabeth lying on the Floor in the Foreground.
Eliz. No streak yet in the blank and eyeless east-- More weary hours to ache, and smart, and shiver On these bare boards, within a step of bliss. Why peevish? 'Tis mine own will keeps me here-- And yet I hate myself for that same will: Fightings within and out! How easy 'twere, now, Just to be like the rest, and let life run-- To use up to the rind what joys God sends us, Not thus forestall His rod: What! and so lose The strength which comes by suffering? Well, if grief Be gain, mine's double--fleeing thus the snare Of yon luxurious and unnerving down, And widowed from mine Eden. And why widowed? Because they tell me, love is of the flesh, And that's our house-bred foe, the adder in our bosoms, Which warmed to life, will sting us. They must know-- I do confess mine ignorance, O Lord! Mine earnest will these painful limbs may prove. . . . . . And yet I swore to love him.--So I do No more than I have sworn. Am I to blame If God makes wedlock that, which if it be not, It were a shame for modest lips to speak it, And silly doves are better mates than we? And yet our love is Jesus' due,--and all things Which share with Him divided empery Are snares and idols--'To love, to cherish, and to obey!' . . . . . O deadly riddle! Rent and twofold life! O cruel troth! To keep thee or to break thee Alike seems sin! O thou beloved tempter,
[Turning toward the bed.]
Who first didst teach me love, why on thyself From God divert thy lesson? Wilt provoke Him? What if mine heavenly Spouse in jealous ire Should smite mine earthly spouse? Have I two husbands? The words are horror--yet they are orthodox!
[Rises and goes to the window.]
How many many brows of happy lovers The fragrant lips of night even now are kissing! Some wandering hand in hand through arched lanes; Some listening for loved voices at the lattice; Some steeped in dainty dreams of untried bliss; Some nestling soft and deep in well-known arms, Whose touch makes sleep rich life. The very birds Within their nests are wooing! So much love! All seek their mates, or finding, rest in peace; The earth seems one vast bride-bed. Doth God tempt us? Is't all a veil to blind our eyes from him? A fire-fly at the candle. 'Tis love leads him; Love's light, and light is love: O Eden! Eden! Eve was a virgin there, they say; God knows. Must all this be as it had never been? Is it all a fleeting type of higher love? Why, if the lesson's pure, is not the teacher Pure also? Is it my shame to feel no shame? Am I more clean, the more I scent uncleanness? Shall base emotions picture Christ's embrace? Rest, rest, torn heart! Yet where? in earth or heaven? Still, from out the bright abysses, gleams our Lady's silver footstool, Still the light-world sleeps beyond her, though the night-clouds fleet below. Oh that I were walking, far above, upon that dappled pavement, Heaven's floor, which is the ceiling of the dungeon where we lie. Ah, what blessed Saints might meet me, on that platform, sliding silent, Past us in its airy travels, angel-wafted, mystical! They perhaps might tell me all things, opening up the secret fountains Which now struggle, dark and turbid, through their dreary prison clay. Love! art thou an earth-born streamlet, that thou seek'st the lowest hollows? Sure some vapours float up from thee, mingling with the highest blue. Spirit-love in spirit-bodies, melted into one existence-- Joining praises through the ages--Is it all a minstrel's dream? Alas! he wakes. [Lewis rises.]
Lewis. Ah! faithless beauty, Is this your promise, that whene'er you prayed I should be still the partner of your vigils, And learn from you to pray? Last night I lay dissembling When she who woke you, took my feet for yours: Now I shall seize my lawful prize perforce. Alas! what's this? These shoulders' cushioned ice, And thin soft flanks, with purple lashes all, And weeping furrows traced! Ah! precious life-blood! Who has done this?
Eliz. Forgive! 'twas I--my maidens--
Lewis. O ruthless hags!
Eliz. Not so, not so--They wept When I did bid them, as I bid thee now To think of nought but love.
Lewis. Elizabeth! Speak! I will know the meaning of this madness!
Eliz. Beloved, thou hast heard how godly souls, In every age, have tamed the rebel flesh By such sharp lessons. I must tread their paths, If I would climb the mountains where they rest. Grief is the gate of bliss--why wedlock--knighthood-- A mother's joy--a hard-earned field of glory-- By tribulation come--so doth God's kingdom.
Lewis. But doleful nights, and self-inflicted tortures-- Are these the love of God? Is He well pleased With this stern holocaust of health and joy?
Eliz. What! Am I not as gay a lady-love As ever clipt in arms a noble knight? Am I not blithe as bird the live-long day? It pleases me to bear what you call pain, Therefore to me 'tis pleasure: joy and grief Are the will's creatures; martyrs kiss the stake-- The moorland colt enjoys the thorny furze-- The dullest boor will seek a fight, and count His pleasure by his wounds; you must forget, love, Eve's curse lays suffering, as their natural lot, On womankind, till custom makes it light. I know the use of pain: bar not the leech Because his cure is bitter--'Tis such medicine Which breeds that paltry strength, that weak devotion, For which you say you love me.--Ay, which brings Even when most sharp, a stern and awful joy As its attendant angel--I'll say no more-- Not even to thee--command, and I'll obey thee.
Lewis. Thou casket of all graces! fourfold wonder Of wit and beauty, love and wisdom! Canst thou Beatify the ascetic's savagery To heavenly prudence? Horror melts to pity, And pity kindles to adoring shower Of radiant tears! Thou tender cruelty! Gay smiling martyrdom! Shall I forbid thee? Limit thy depth by mine own shallowness? Thy courage by my weakness? Where thou darest, I'll shudder and submit. I kneel here spell-bound Before my bleeding Saviour's living likeness To worship, not to cavil: I had dreamt of such things, Dim heard in legends, while my pitiful blood Tingled through every vein, and wept, and swore 'Twas beautiful, 'twas Christ-like--had I thought That thou wert such:--
Eliz. You would have loved me still?
Lewis. I have gone mad, I think, at every parting At mine own terrors for thee. No; I'll learn to glory In that which makes thee glorious! Noble stains! I'll call them rose leaves out of paradise Strewn on the wreathed snows, or rubies dropped From martyrs' diadems, prints of Jesus' cross Too truly borne, alas!
Eliz. I think, mine own, I am forgiven at last?
Lewis. To-night, my sister-- Henceforth I'll clasp thee to my heart so fast Thou shalt not 'scape unnoticed.
Eliz [laughing] We shall see-- Now I must stop those wise lips with a kiss, And lead thee back to scenes of simpler bliss.