Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

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Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 278

by Robert Browning


  If you had told me yesterday, “There’s one

  You needs must circumvent and practise with,

  Entrap by policies, if you would worm

  The truth out: and that one is — Mildred!” There,

  There — reasoning is thrown away on it!

  Prove she’s unchaste . . . why, you may after prove

  That she’s a poisoner, traitress, what you will!

  Where I can comprehend nought, nought’s to say,

  Or do, or think. Force on me but the first

  Abomination, — then outpour all plagues,

  And I shall ne’er make count of them.

  Enter MILDRED

  MILDRED.

  What book

  Is it I wanted, Thorold? Guendolen

  Thought you were pale; you are not pale. That book?

  That’s Latin surely.

  TRESHAM.

  Mildred, here’s a line,

  (Don’t lean on me: I’ll English it for you)

  “Love conquers all things.” What love conquers them?

  What love should you esteem — best love?

  MILDRED.

  True love.

  TRESHAM.

  I mean, and should have said, whose love is best

  Of all that love or that profess to love?

  MILDRED.

  The list’s so long: there’s father’s, mother’s, husband’s . . .

  TRESHAM.

  Mildred, I do believe a brother’s love

  For a sole sister must exceed them all.

  For see now, only see! there’s no alloy

  Of earth that creeps into the perfect’st gold

  Of other loves — no gratitude to claim;

  You never gave her life, not even aught

  That keeps life — never tended her, instructed,

  Enriched her — so, your love can claim no right

  O’er her save pure love’s claim: that’s what I call

  Freedom from earthliness. You’ll never hope

  To be such friends, for instance, she and you,

  As when you hunted cowslips in the woods,

  Or played together in the meadow hay.

  Oh yes — with age, respect comes, and your worth

  Is felt, there’s growing sympathy of tastes,

  There’s ripened friendship, there’s confirmed esteem:

  — Much head these make against the newcomer!

  The startling apparition, the strange youth —

  Whom one half-hour’s conversing with, or, say,

  Mere gazing at, shall change (beyond all change

  This Ovid ever sang about) your soul

  . . . Her soul, that is, — the sister’s soul! With her

  ‘Twas winter yesterday; now, all is warmth,

  The green leaf’s springing and the turtle’s voice,

  “Arise and come away!” Come whither? — far

  Enough from the esteem, respect, and all

  The brother’s somewhat insignificant

  Array of rights! All which he knows before,

  Has calculated on so long ago!

  I think such love, (apart from yours and mine,)

  Contented with its little term of life,

  Intending to retire betimes, aware

  How soon the background must be placed for it,

  — I think, am sure, a brother’s love exceeds

  All the world’s love in its unworldliness.

  MILDRED.

  What is this for?

  TRESHAM.

  This, Mildred, is it for!

  Or, no, I cannot go to it so soon!

  That’s one of many points my haste left out —

  Each day, each hour throws forth its silk-slight film

  Between the being tied to you by birth,

  And you, until those slender threads compose

  A web that shrouds her daily life of hopes

  And fears and fancies, all her life, from yours:

  So close you live and yet so far apart!

  And must I rend this web, tear up, break down

  The sweet and palpitating mystery

  That makes her sacred? You — for you I mean,

  Shall I speak, shall I not speak?

  MILDRED.

  Speak!

  TRESHAM.

  I will.

  Is there a story men could — any man

  Could tell of you, you would conceal from me?

  I’ll never think there’s falsehood on that lip.

  Say “There is no such story men could tell,”

  And I’ll believe you, though I disbelieve

  The world — the world of better men than I,

  And women such as I suppose you. Speak!

  [After a pause.]

  Not speak? Explain then! Clear it up then! Move

  Some of the miserable weight away

  That presses lower than the grave. Not speak?

  Some of the dead weight, Mildred! Ah, if I

  Could bring myself to plainly make their charge

  Against you! Must I, Mildred? Silent still?

  [After a pause.]

  Is there a gallant that has night by night

  Admittance to your chamber?

  [After a pause.]

  Then, his name!

  Till now, I only had a thought for you:

  But now, — his name!

  MILDRED.

  Thorold, do you devise

  Fit expiation for my guilt, if fit

  There be! ‘Tis nought to say that I’ll endure

  And bless you, — that my spirit yearns to purge

  Her stains off in the fierce renewing fire:

  But do not plunge me into other guilt!

  Oh, guilt enough! I cannot tell his name.

  TRESHAM.

  Then judge yourself! How should I act? Pronounce!

  MILDRED.

  Oh, Thorold, you must never tempt me thus!

  To die here in this chamber by that sword

  Would seem like punishment: so should I glide,

  Like an arch-cheat, into extremest bliss!

  ‘Twere easily arranged for me: but you —

  What would become of you?

  TRESHAM.

  And what will now

  Become of me? I’ll hide your shame and mine

  From every eye; the dead must heave their hearts

  Under the marble of our chapel-floor;

  They cannot rise and blast you. You may wed

  Your paramour above our mother’s tomb;

  Our mother cannot move from ‘neath your foot.

  We too will somehow wear this one day out:

  But with to-morrow hastens here — the Earl!

  The youth without suspicion. Face can come

  From Heaven and heart from . . . whence proceed such hearts?

  I have dispatched last night at your command

  A missive bidding him present himself

  To-morrow — here — thus much is said; the rest

  Is understood as if ‘twere written down —

  “His suit finds favor in your eyes.” Now dictate

  This morning’s letter that shall countermand

  Last night’s — do dictate that!

  MILDRED.

  But, Thorold — if

  I will receive him as I said?

  TRESHAM.

  The Earl?

  MILDRED.

  I will receive him.

  TRESHAM [starting up].

  Ho there! Guendolen!

  GUENDOLEN and AUSTIN enter

  And, Austin, you are welcome, too! Look there!

  The woman there!

  AUSTIN and GUENDOLEN.

  How? Mildred?

  TRESHAM.

  Mildred once!

  Now the receiver night by night, when sleep

  Blesses the inmates of her father’s house,

  — I say, the soft sly wanton that receives

  Her guilt’s accomplice ‘neath this roof w
hich holds

  You, Guendolen, you, Austin, and has held

  A thousand Treshams — never one like her!

  No lighter of the signal-lamp her quick

  Foul breath near quenches in hot eagerness

  To mix with breath as foul! no loosener

  O’ the lattice, practised in the stealthy tread,

  The low voice and the noiseless come-and-go!

  Not one composer of the bacchant’s mien

  Into — what you thought Mildred’s, in a word!

  Know her!

  GUENDOLEN.

  Oh, Mildred, look to me, at least!

  Thorold — she’s dead, I’d say, but that she stands

  Rigid as stone and whiter!

  TRESHAM.

  You have heard . . .

  GUENDOLEN.

  Too much! You must proceed no further.

  MILDRED.

  Yes —

  Proceed! All’s truth. Go from me!

  TRESHAM.

  All is truth,

  She tells you! Well, you know, or ought to know,

  All this I would forgive in her. I’d con

  Each precept the harsh world enjoins, I’d take

  Our ancestors’ stern verdicts one by one,

  I’d bind myself before then to exact

  The prescribed vengeance — and one word of hers,

  The sight of her, the bare least memory

  Of Mildred, my one sister, my heart’s pride

  Above all prides, my all in all so long,

  Would scatter every trace of my resolve.

  What were it silently to waste away

  And see her waste away from this day forth,

  Two scathed things with leisure to repent,

  And grow acquainted with the grave, and die

  Tired out if not at peace, and be forgotten?

  It were not so impossible to bear.

  But this — that, fresh from last night’s pledge renewed

  Of love with the successful gallant there,

  She calmly bids me help her to entice,

  Inveigle an unconscious trusting youth

  Who thinks her all that’s chaste and good and pure,

  — Invites me to betray him . . . who so fit

  As honour’s self to cover shame’s arch-deed?

  — That she’ll receive Lord Mertoun — (her own phrase) —

  This, who could bear? Why, you have heard of thieves,

  Stabbers, the earth’s disgrace, who yet have laughed,

  “Talk not to me of torture — I’ll betray

  No comrade I’ve pledged faith to!” — you have heard

  Of wretched women — all but Mildreds — tied

  By wild illicit ties to losels vile

  You’d tempt them to forsake; and they’ll reply

  “Gold, friends, repute, I left for him, I find

  In him, why should I leave him then, for gold,

  Repute or friends?” — and you have felt your heart

  Respond to such poor outcasts of the world

  As to so many friends; bad as you please,

  You’ve felt they were God’s men and women still,

  So, not to be disowned by you. But she

  That stands there, calmly gives her lover up

  As means to wed the Earl that she may hide

  Their intercourse the surelier: and, for this,

  I curse her to her face before you all.

  Shame hunt her from the earth! Then Heaven do right

  To both! It hears me now — shall judge her then!

  [As MILDRED faints and falls, Tresham rushes out.

  AUSTIN.

  Stay, Tresham, we’ll accompany you!

  GUENDOLEN.

  We?

  What, and leave Mildred? We? Why, where’s my place

  But by her side, and where yours but by mine?

  Mildred — one word! Only look at me, then!

  AUSTIN.

  No, Guendolen! I echo Thorold’s voice.

  She is unworthy to behold . . .

  GUENDOLEN.

  Us two?

  If you spoke on reflection, and if I

  Approved your speech — if you (to put the thing

  At lowest) you the soldier, bound to make

  The king’s cause yours and fight for it, and throw

  Regard to others of its right or wrong,

  — If with a death-white woman you can help,

  Let alone sister, let alone a Mildred,

  You left her — or if I, her cousin, friend

  This morning, playfellow but yesterday,

  Who said, or thought at least a thousand times,

  “I’d serve you if I could,” should now face round

  And say, “Ah, that’s to only signify

  I’d serve you while you’re fit to serve yourself:

  So long as fifty eyes await the turn

  Of yours to forestall its yet half-formed wish,

  I’ll proffer my assistance you’ll not need —

  When every tongue is praising you, I’ll join

  The praisers’ chorus — when you’re hemmed about

  With lives between you and detraction — lives

  To be laid down if a rude voice, rash eye,

  Rough hand should violate the sacred ring

  Their worship throws about you, — then indeed,

  Who’ll stand up for you stout as I?” If so

  We said, and so we did, — not Mildred there

  Would be unworthy to behold us both,

  But we should be unworthy, both of us.

  To be beheld by — by — your meanest dog,

  Which, if that sword were broken in your face

  Before a crowd, that badge torn off your breast,

  And you cast out with hooting and contempt,

  — Would push his way thro’ all the hooters, gain

  Your side, go off with you and all your shame

  To the next ditch you choose to die in! Austin,

  Do you love me? Here’s Austin, Mildred, — here’s

  Your brother says he does not believe half —

  No, nor half that — of all he heard! He says,

  Look up and take his hand!

  AUSTIN.

  Look up and take

  My hand, dear Mildred!

  MILDRED.

  I — I was so young!

  Beside, I loved him, Thorold — and I had

  No mother; God forgot me: so, I fell.

  GUENDOLEN.

  Mildred!

  MILDRED.

  Require no further! Did I dream

  That I could palliate what is done? All’s true.

  Now, punish me! A woman takes my hand?

  Let go my hand! You do not know, I see.

  I thought that Thorold told you.

  GUENDOLEN.

  What is this?

  Where start you to?

  MILDRED.

  Oh, Austin, loosen me!

  You heard the whole of it — your eyes were worse,

  In their surprise, than Thorold’s! Oh, unless

  You stay to execute his sentence, loose

  My hand! Has Thorold gone, and are you here?

  GUENDOLEN.

  Here, Mildred, we two friends of yours will wait

  Your bidding; be you silent, sleep or muse!

  Only, when you shall want your bidding done,

  How can we do it if we are not by?

  Here’s Austin waiting patiently your will!

  One spirit to command, and one to love

  And to believe in it and do its best,

  Poor as that is, to help it — why, the world

  Has been won many a time, its length and breadth,

  By just such a beginning!

  MILDRED.

  I believe

  If once I threw my arms about your neck

  And sunk my head upon your breast, that I

  Should weep again.

  GUENDOLEN.
r />   Let go her hand now, Austin!

  Wait for me. Pace the gallery and think

  On the world’s seemings and realities,

  Until I call you.

  [Austin goes.

  MILDRED.

  No — I cannot weep.

  No more tears from this brain — no sleep — no tears!

  O Guendolen, I love you!

  GUENDOLEN.

  Yes: and “love”

  Is a short word that says so very much!

  It says that you confide in me.

  MILDRED.

  Confide!

  GUENDOLEN.

  Your lover’s name, then! I’ve so much to learn,

  Ere I can work in your behalf!

  MILDRED.

  My friend,

  You know I cannot tell his name.

  GUENDOLEN.

  At least

  He is your lover? and you love him too?

  MILDRED.

  Ah, do you ask me that, — but I am fallen

  So low!

  GUENDOLEN.

  You love him still, then?

  MILDRED.

  My sole prop

  Against the guilt that crushes me! I say,

  Each night ere I lie down, “I was so young —

  I had no mother, and I loved him so!”

  And then God seems indulgent, and I dare

  Trust him my soul in sleep.

  GUENDOLEN.

  How could you let us

  E’en talk to you about Lord Mertoun then?

  MILDRED.

  There is a cloud around me.

  GUENDOLEN.

  But you said

  You would receive his suit in spite of this?

  MILDRED.

  I say there is a cloud . . .

  GUENDOLEN.

  No cloud to me!

  Lord Mertoun and your lover are the same!

  MILDRED.

  What maddest fancy . . .

  GUENDOLEN [calling aloud.]

  Austin! (spare your pains —

  When I have got a truth, that truth I keep) —

  MILDRED.

  By all you love, sweet Guendolen, forbear!

  Have I confided in you . . .

  GUENDOLEN.

  Just for this!

  Austin! — Oh, not to guess it at the first!

  But I did guess it — that is, I divined,

  Felt by an instinct how it was: why else

  Should I pronounce you free from all that heap

  Of sins which had been irredeemable?

  I felt they were not yours — what other way

  Than this, not yours? The secret’s wholly mine!

  MILDRED.

  If you would see me die before his face . . .

  GUENDOLEN.

  I’d hold my peace! And if the Earl returns

  To-night?

  MILDRED.

  Ah Heaven, he’s lost!

  GUENDOLEN.

  I thought so. Austin!

  Enter AUSTIN

  Oh, where have you been hiding?

  AUSTIN.

  Thorold’s gone,

  I know not how, across the meadow-land.

  I watched him till I lost him in the skirts

 

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