The Inn Album/III

III

Now, as the elder lights the fresh cigar Conducive to resource, and saunteringly Betakes him to the left-hand backward path,— While, much sedate, the younger strides away To right and makes for—islanded in lawn And edged with shrubbery—the brilliant bit Of Barry's building that's the Place,—a pair Of women, at this nick of time, one young, One very young, are ushered with due pomp Into the same Inn-parlour—"disengaged  Entirely now!" the obsequious landlord smiles, "Since the late occupants—whereof but one  Was quite a stranger!"—(smile enforced by bow) "Left, a full two hours since, to catch the train,  Probably for the stranger's sake!" (Bow, smile, And backing out from door soft closed behind.) Woman and girl, the two, alone inside, Begin their talk: the girl, with sparkling eyes— "Oh, I forewent him purposely! but you, Who joined at—journeyed from the Junction here— I wonder how he failed your notice. Few Stop at our station: fellow-passengers Assuredly you were—I saw indeed His servant, therefore he arrived all right. I wanted, you know why, to have you safe Inside here first of all, so dodged about The dark end of the platform; that's his way— To swing from station straight to avenue And stride the half a mile for exercise. I fancied you might notice the huge boy. He soon gets o'er the distance; at the house He'll hear I went to meet him and have missed; He'll wait. No minute of the hour's too much Meantime for our preliminary talk: First word of which must be—O good beyond Expression of all goodness—you to come!"

The elder, the superb one, answers slow.

"There was no helping that. You called for me, Cried, rather: and my old heart answered you. Still, thank me! since the effort breaks a vow— At least, a promise to myself."

"I know! How selfish get you happy folks to be! If I should love my husband, must I needs Sacrifice straightway all the world to him, As you do? Must I never dare leave house On this dread Arctic expedition, out And in again, six mortal hours, though you— You even, my own friend for evermore, Adjure me—fast your friend till rude love pushed Poor friendship from her vantage—just to grant The quarter of a whole day's company And counsel? This makes counsel so much more Need and necessity. For here's my block Of stumbling: in the face of happiness So absolute, fear chills me. If such change In heart be but love's easy consequence, Do I love? If to marry mean—let go All I now live for, should my marriage be?"

The other never once has ceased to gaze On the great elm-tree in the open, posed Placidly full in front, smooth bole, broad branch, And leafage, one green plenitude of May. The gathered thought runs into speech at last.

"O you exceeding beauty, bosomful Of lights and shades, murmurs and silences, Sun-warmth, dew-coolness,—squirrel, bee and bird, High, higher, highest, till the blue proclaims  'Leave earth, there's nothing better till next step  Heavenward!'—so, off flies what has wings to help!"

And henceforth they alternate. Says the girl—

"That's saved then: marriage spares the early taste."

"Four years now, since my eye took note of tree!"

"If I had seen no other tree but this My life-long, while yourself came straight, you said, From tree which overstretched you and was just One fairy tent with pitcher-leaves that held Wine, and a flowery wealth of suns and moons, And magic fruits whereon the angels feed— I looking out of window on a tree Like yonder—otherwise well-known, much-liked, Yet just an English ordinary elm— What marvel if you cured me of conceit My elm's bird bee and squirrel tenantry Was quite the proud possession I supposed? And there is evidence you tell me true, The fairy marriage-tree reports itself Good guardian of the perfect face and form, Fruits of four years' protection! Married friend, You are more beautiful than ever!"

"Yes— I think that likely. I could well dispense With all thought fair in feature, mine or no, Leave but enough of face to know me by— With all found fresh in youth except such strength As lets a life-long labour earn repose Death sells at just that price, they say; and so, Possibly, what I care not for, I keep."

"How you must know he loves you! Chill, before, Fear sinks to freezing. Could I sacrifice— Assured my lover simply loves my soul— One nose-breadth of fair feature? No, indeed! Your own love..."

"The preliminary hour— Don't waste it!"

"But I can't begin at once! The angel's self that comes to hear me speak Drives away all the care about the speech. What an angelic mystery you are— Now—that is certain! when I knew you first, No break of halo and no bud of wing! I thought I knew you, saw you, round and through, Like a glass ball; suddenly, four years since, You vanished, how and whither? Mystery! Wherefore? No mystery at all: you loved, Were loved again, and left the world of course,— Who would not? Lapped four years in fairyland, Out comes, by no less wonderful a chance, The changeling, touched athwart her trellised bliss Of blush-rose bower by just the old friend's voice That's now struck dumb at her own potency. I talk of my small fortunes? Tell me yours— Rather! The fool I ever was—I am, You see that: the true friend you ever had, You have, you also recognize. Perhaps, Giving you all the love of all my heart, Nature, that's niggard in me, has denied The after-birth of love there's someone claims, —This huge boy, swinging up the avenue; And I want counsel—is defect in me, Or him who has no right to raise the love? My cousin asks my hand: he's young enough, Handsome,—my maid thinks,—manly's more the word: He asked my leave to  'drop'  the elm-tree there, Some morning before breaktast. Gentleness Goes with the strength, of course. He's honest too, Limpidly truthful. For ability— All's in the rough yet. His first taste of life Seems to have somehow gone against the tongue: He travelled, tried things—came back, tried still more— He says he's sick of all. He's fond of me After a certain careless-earnest way I like: the iron's crude,—no polished steel Somebody forged before me. I am rich— That's not the reason, he's far richer: no, Nor is it that he thinks me pretty,—frank Undoubtedly on that point! He saw once The pink of face-perfection—oh, not you— Content yourself, my beauty!—for she proved So thoroughly a cheat, his charmer ... nay, He runs into extremes, I'll say at once, Lest you say! Well, I understand he wants. Someone to serve, something to do: and both Requisites so abound in me and mine That here's the obstacle which stops consent— The smoothness is too smooth, and I mistrust The unseen cat beneath the counterpane. Therefore I thought—'Would she but judge for me,  Who, judging for herself, succeeded so!'  Do I love him, does he love me, do both Mistake for knowledge—easy ignorance? Appeal to the proficient in each art! I got rough-smooth through a piano-piece, Rattled away last week till tutor came, Heard me to end, then grunted '''Ach, mein Gott!  Sagen Sie "easy"? Every note is wrong!'' ''All thumped mit wrist: we'll trouble fingers now!  The Fraulein will please roll up Raff again '' And exercise at Czerny for one month!' Am I to roll up cousin, exercise At Trollope's novels for a month? Pronounce!"

"Now, place each in the right position first, Adviser and advised one! I perhaps Am three—nay, four years older; am, beside, A wife: advantages—to balance which, You have a full fresh joyous sense of life That finds you out life's fit food everywhere, Detects enjoyment where I, slow and dull, Fumble at fault. Already, these four years, Your merest glimpses at the world without Have shown you more than ever met my gaze; And now, by joyance you inspire joy,—learn While you profess to teach, and teach, although Avowedly a learner. I am dazed Like any owl by sunshine which just sets The sparrow preening plumage! Here's to spy —Your cousin! You have scanned him all your life, Little or much; I never saw his face. You have determined on a marriage—used Deliberation therefore—I'll believe No otherwise, with opportunity For judgment so abounding! Here stand I— Summoned to give my sentence, for a whim, (Well, at first cloud-fleck thrown athwart your blue) On what is Strangeness' self tome,—say  'Wed!'  Or  'Wed not!'  whom you promise I shall judge Presently, at propitious lunch-time, just While he carves chicken! Sends he leg for wing? That revelation into character And conduct must suffice me! Quite as well Consult with yonder solitary crow That eyes us from your elm-top!"

"Still the same! Do you remember, at the library We saw together somewhere, those two books Somebody said were notice-worthy? One Lay wide on table, sprawled its painted leaves For all the world's inspection; shut on shelf Reclined the other volume, closed, clasped, locked— Clear to be let alone. Which page had we Preferred the turning over of? You were, Are, ever will be the locked lady, hold Inside you secrets written,—soul absorbed, My ink upon your blotting-paper. I— What trace of you have I to show in turn? Delicate secrets! No one juvenile Ever essayed at croquet and performed Superiorly but I confided you The sort of hat he wore and hair it held. While you? One day a calm note comes by post—  'I am just married, you may like to hear.'  Most men would hate you, or they ought; we love What we fear,—I do!  'Cold'  I shall expect My cousin calls you. I—dislike not him, But (if I comprehend what loving means) Love you immeasurably more—more—more Than even he who, loving you his wife, Would turn up nose at me impertinent, Frivolous, forward—loves that excellence Of all the earth he bows in worship to! And who's this paragon of privilege? Simply a country parson: his the charm That worked the miracle! Oh, too absurd— But that you stand before me as you stand! Such beauty does prove something, everything! Beauty's the prize-flower which dispenses eye From peering into what has nourished root— Dew or manure: the plant best knows its place. Enough, from teaching youth and tending age And hearing sermons,—haply writing tracts,— From such strange love-besprinkled compost, lo, Out blows this triumph! Therefore love's the soil Plants find or fail of. You, with wit to find, Exercise wit on the old friend's behalf, Keep me from failure! Scan and scrutinize This cousin! Surely he's as worth your pains To study as my elm-tree, crow and all, You still keep staring at! I read your thoughts!"

"At last?"

"At first! Would, tree, a-top of thee I winged were, like crow perched moveless there, And so could straightway soar, escape this bore, Back to my nest where broods whom I love best— The parson o'er his parish—garish—rarish— Oh I could bring the rhyme in if I tried: The Album here inspires me! Quite apart From lyrical expression, have I read The stare aright, and sings not soul just so? " "Or rather so? Cool comfortable elm That men make coffins out of,—none for me At thy expense, so thou permit I glide Under thy ferny feet, and there sleep, sleep, Nor dread awaking though in heaven itself!"

The younger looks with face struck sudden white. The elder answers its inquiry.

"Dear, You are a guesser, not a  'clairvoyante,'  I'll so far open you the locked and shelved Volume, my soul, that you desire to see, As let you profit by the title-page—"

"Paradise Lost?"

"Inferno!—All which comes Of tempting me to break my vow. Stop here! Friend, whom I love the best in the whole world, Come at your call, be sure that I will do At your requirement—see and say my mind. It may be that by sad apprenticeship I have a keener sense: I'll task the same. Only indulge me—here let sight and speech Happen—this Inn is neutral ground, you know! I cannot visit the old house and home, Encounter the old sociality Abjured for ever. Peril quite enough In even this first—last, I pray it prove— Renunciation of my solitude! Back, you, to house and cousin! Leave me here, Who want no entertainment, carry still My occupation with me. While I watch The shadow inching round those ferny feet, Tell him A school-friend wants a word with me Up at the inn: time, tide and train won't wait: I must go see her—on and off again— You'll keep me company? Ten minutes' talk, With you in presence, ten more afterward With who, alone, convoys me station-bound, And I see clearly—to say honestly To-morrow: pen shall play tongue's part, you know! Go—quick! for I have made our hand-in-hand Return impossible. So scared you look,— If cousin does not greet you with  'What ghost Has crossed your path?' I set him down obtuse."

And after one more look, with face still white, The younger does go, while the elder stands Occupied by the elm at window there.