Poems (May)/Maddalena's confession
POEMS.
MADDALENA'S CONFESSION.
The Bride of Christ! oh, at those words there swept Bright glories through my spirit! I was deaf To the deep anthem. Prelate and stoled priest, The dim cathedral walls, the kneeling crowd, The lattice where the black-robed nuns looked through All passed away from mine enraptured eyes. I saw no more thy bowed form, oh, my mother! Nor his who stood far down the aisle of columns Hiding his bent brow with his mantle's fold.
It seems not long since I, a little child, Trod yon cathedral floors, and in deep awe,First crossed my forehead with the holy water. It seems not long, Jacopo, since we twain Prayed, kneeling at one shrine, together sent Our mated voices like paired larks to heaven, Or, hand in hand, walked where the garden fountains Cleft the grim lion mouths.Cleft the grim lion mouths.Have patience, father! For I am worn with fasting and much prayer, And tears flow readily. How many days Have I lain prostrate at the altar's foot, The marble striking death into my heart, Speaking no word, partaking of no food Save water and the crust that gave me strength To move my lips in prayer! How oft till morn, My forehead pressed against His icy feet Who hangs upon the cross, have I lain here With but one grim companion. Even thou,Symbol of death, gaunt prophet of the tomb,That in thy cavernous eyes dost hold the night, Glaring beside my rosary and missal!
Thou knowest well my father was a noble.That he lived gayly, making his great wealth The slave of pleasure. I remember still Revels where wine flowed free, and festal times That filled our lone, vast palace by the sea With guests and music. Then, at early twilight, There ever came a young, bright girl who took Me, the weak child, within her gentle hold,Smiling so softly while my faint hands passed Over the roses in her hair, the pearls Clasped on her throat and round, pure, dewy arms. Ginevra! oh, I loved to speak her name! I loved my nurse to bear me to the window Where, lying on her shoulder, I could mark My sister's white robes floating through the trees, My sister as she spake, or walked, or rode,Great nobles at her side, who smiled and bent Their plumed heads to catch her lightest word.
But this was for a season; many months The palace was deserted. Then, alone,We wandered freely through the vacant rooms, I, and my nurse Giuseppa. She would pause Sometimes by pictures of worn saints and martyrs, St. Lawrence in the flames, his lifted face Full of sublime forgetfulness of pain, Or Stephen stoned and prone; perchance to mark Pale hermits watching in their forest caves With lamp and book, the inner darkness shapen Into black fiends; or sometimes, oh, my soul! An Ecce Homo with dim eyes upraised, And red drops trickling from the crown of thorns! All these Giuseppa scanned with reverent face; I, in her arms held level with the canvas,Looked on in childish fear. Looked on in childish fear.There came a message That said Ginevra, weary of the court,Returned to us alone. Returned to us alone.'Twas early noon. I, over-wearied, dreamed upon my couch; And when I woke my sister stood beside me. Ginevra? no!—ah heaven! was that Ginevra Who quivered at my fear, and in the sunlight Stood shivering ere she bent and faintly pressed Her lips upon my brow! Her lips upon my brow!I never knew What sorrow like a tearful angel rent The veil between my sister's heart and God. Her brow was as the forehead of a saint, Bearing the marks of thorns, and on her face None looked except to breathe a sigh that tracked Some upwinged thought to Heaven. Oh, to my sense, Her beauty was unreal; whether she prayed Kneeling beneath the altar lights, a glory Tremulous in her hair, whether we twain Paced the long galleries where ranged silver sconces,Studding the walls, cast down before our feet Black shades like chasms, whether to her voice I listened while the stealthy-footed night Passed by unchallenged! As a captive stands Vacantly gazing at the world without Through his barred prison windows, all his heart Busy with other scenes, so looked the soul Through her blue holy eyes. I loved her well! I stopped my play to look if she passed by,Or if she mused beside the gallery windows As was her wont, I, stealing to her side, Stood tiptoe that my arms might clasp her waist, And sometimes cloistered in her chamber, there We read and talked till purple twilight stains Sank through the marble pavement. In that room There hung a copy of a rare old picture, The marriage of St. Catherine. The marriage of St. Catherine.I remember That she grew farther from me, day by day, I guessed not wherefore. Over her blue eyes The lids drooped heavily, as lilies loll Against the swell of waves. No echo tracked Her footstep through the vaulty corridors,And often in the night I saw her rise To gaze upon St. Catherine's blessed face,Or prone before the crucifix, lie there Praying till dawn. Praying till dawn.Once more Ginevra stood Flower-crowned and jewelled, but beneath the light Of tall cathedral tapers. From the crowd Quick sobs burst audibly; the very priests Looked with sad eyes; nuns to the lattice pressed And blenched away, but she unconscious stood With folded hands, and looks upcast as though The vacant space were legible to her gazing. Then my fair haughty mother cowered for fear, My father's gay lips whitened. My father's gay lips whitened.There are some Still in these cloisters who remember well An angel on whose lip meek mortal prayer Had changed to saintly praise. For week on week, The searching lamp of the confessional Shining athwart the fair page of her soul Showed blot nor blur. They say her Heaven-linked voice Chanting, the Gloria outsped the choir So far, the calm-browed nuns, uplifting eyes Dim with the haze of revery, made her notes A golden ladder where their souls went up Into God's presence; and 'twas whispered low, That when, all through the midnight, from the toll Of the last Angelus to the hour of prime, She knelt before the Sacrament, a sound Of voices pierced the silence. Then, perchance, The wakeful guardian stationed at her side Revealed himself. Joyful, and sorrowful, And glorious mysteries meekly she had told Upon her rosary of years, when death Garnered her sweet soul. Mass nor prayer was said; For those there be who swear a hovering crown Rained on her brow faint glory, and around Crept music and rich odours, while awed priest And kneeling abbess with rapt upraised looks Sang the Te Deum Laudamus! Sang the Te Deum Laudamus!So she passed! I bear upon my breast the cross that wore Its outline upon hers. Its outline upon hers.Thou, earnest, Jacopo, Playmate and friend! Playmate and friend!Do you remember now How, while you twined the vine leaves in my hair, I told you saintly legends? When we saw Fair pictures in the clouds, you made them limn Chariots and battling horsemen, but to me Came trooping angels. Came trooping angels.Still my sister's chamber Seemed hallowed by her presence. Crumbling wreaths Dropped from the crucifix. Her favourite books, Their pages' blistered by her frequent tears, Lay open as she left them, marked with flowers,Or pencilled down the margin by her hand. But most I loved the picture of St. Catherine,She kneeling, while the holy child whose touch The Virgin guided, on her finger placed The marriage ring, his face in lovely wonder Raised questioning to his mother's. Raised questioning to his mother's.To that place I crept at noonday. There I treasured all Linked with Ginevra's memory. 'Twas nowA garland we had woven, now a kerchief That kept the faint rose odour she had loved. I vexed my childish brain with pondering o'er The books she prized; these, histories of Saints, Temptations, miracles, and martyrdoms. I peopled all the dark nooks of the palace With phantoms of their raising. There, concealed All through the slumberous noontide, first I read Of Augustine, who heard the voice of God Speak to him in the garden; and of her, Holy Teresa, who stood face to face With Mary's Son, and carried to the tomb Remembrance of the vision. When I read How, laying down love, wealth, the pride of birth, Bowing her shoulders for the cross, this one Frail Nun obtained a Saint's repute, becoming Founder of monasteries, and of a host The spiritual mother, all my soul Thrilled with the rapturous history. I could dream Only of mysteries; or, if light shapes Beckoned me to the world, there slid between Visions of her who o'er, an open book Hung pondering steadfastly; one pale, fair hand Outspread upon the page, and one that held Her brow within its hollow. Womanhood Came, and my heart's betraying echoes scarce Answered her loitering footfall. Life grew vague. Nothing approached me nearly. Nothing approached me nearly.The first star Was a true prophet of thy step, Jacopo! My visions fled when up the flinty paths His courser's hoof struck flashes. With a smile My father greeted him; my mother gave Her white hand freely, while her laughter mixed With their gay talk; and I, a space apart, Smiled him glad welcome, with my every pulse Answering the cordial music of his voice. Oh, he was changed! I dared no longer chide If his bold mirth trod heedlessly too close To holy things. I stood with eyes abased; Rebuke awed into silence. He had sprung Suddenly to full manhood. In his words There was an athlete's sinew, though they played With great things carelessly, as a fresh wind Provokes the sea to laughter, and his pride Ever seemed well placed, like a castle set Upon a mountain. All my womanhood Did homage to his strength. The life that coiled Lazily at my heart, leapt through my veins With crest uplift, if mid the halls I heard His footfall ring. Oh, father, when he left,Gone was the smile from sweet St. Catherine's lip! And the grave saints frowned on me; and my thoughts, Shapen to prayer, put on unholy guise, Mocking my vain devotion! Marvel not! I was a child. Ginevra fled the 'world, Like a chased dove that calms its panting heart Under green forest boughs. Life stood unmasked, And pleasure mocked her, like a garland twined Round a drained wine cup. As a vine that grows Over some marble urn, a bird that builds Under the cornice of some shattered temple,Making its ruin echo with delight, So to her heart, rent, filled with bitter dust;Came one bright hope. Alas! my thrilling soul Still quivered in the bended bow of life! Youth was too mighty. I grew faint. My heart Leapt at a quick word, and light tremors ran Painfully through my limbs. My brain waxed dizzy Over my books, and I would ponder hours Ere I could wrest its meaning from the page I strove to read. Or, if I knelt to pray,My aimless thoughts went wandering blindly on,The prayer I said suspended. Outward things Unchallenged touched my senses, that dull stupor Muffled like sleep. I stood within St. Peter's, And heard the Miserere. Through the twilight Burned thirteen starry tapers. One by one, Amid the chanting of the Lamentations, These vanished, till the last and brightest, Christ, Sank into darkness. With that Hope's extinction,Like a retreating wave, the chant withdrew Beneath the cave-like shadows. Rippling echoes Tracked it to silence. Father, on my lips The stillness pressed as a remorseless hand! Above, the gray-winged twilight, like a moth Clung to the arches. I did strive to pray,And through my soul the slow-paced, cloistered thoughts Trod, saying "Miserere!" Deep the pause That from the shores of that hushed music stretched Like a black-throated chasm. I grew sick Hearing the echoes sound it! While I gasped,As 'twere a bird borne over an abyss On one bruised wing, athwart the chapel roof Fluttered a voice so sad, my panting heart Breathed in one gush of tears. I doubt not, Priest! White angels standing in God's presence then Leant on their harps and wept! The low notes failed Exhaustedly, But as they ceased, oh Heaven! As 'twere a scimitar quick bared, a shaft Hurled by a giant, a prolonged, loud shriek Leapt through the gloom, and like a dart rebounding Fell, shivered into echoes! Holy Mary! My every pulse thrilled with a separate pain! All through the crowd a light electric shiver Passed like a link. All dimly from mine eyes Fled the dark forms of priest and cardinal And Heaven's vicegerent in his pontiff robes! I must have fallen, but for one steadfast arrd Girding my waist like iron. Scarce I marked How the whole choir, with thick, sore sobs, bewailed Christ's death. I know not what of sudden brightness Rushed o'er my dazzled sense. Dispute it not! I saw the darkness cloven by wings that took Light like a prism, and when the rifted gloom Closed on their upward flight, my senses, prone, Met its returning pressure. Met its returning pressure.This was April, And ere my dumb soul spoke again, the grape Was purple on the hills. Oh, I was weak As a young child! Jacopo in his arms, Would bear me to the sea-shore, where I sat Long, vacant hours, numbering the waves,Counting the drifting clouds. They sang me songs.The music pleased me, but the married words My dull ear noted not. Yet every day Lifted my prostrate faculties. At last The old life came to me again, and I Lived with my books and memories. Lived with my books and memories.Yet, oh heaven! The dense gloom of the Roman chapel seemed Stifling my soul. A horror brooded o'er me. To my weak brain most dark forebodings came, As night-birds haunt a ruin. As one left In a dense labyrinth seeks in vain the outlet As a lost bird that beats its wings against The black roof of a cavern, so my thought,Conscious of light, pursued it. Pleasure came, And Fear uplifting with unsteady hand Her wan lamp, by its shifting rays transformed The siren to a spectre. Did I stoop To pluck a joy that seemed to common eyes Dewy with innocence, lo, underneath, There coiled some black temptation! The wide world Was all a paradise where every tree Held fruit forbidden. Whither could I fly? Into dim solitudes, through trooping crowds, Horror pursued me with extended arms. Trembling I lingered in Ginevra's chamber, There forcibly impelled, there paralyzed By the cold, haunting presence of the dead. Oh, God! I heard her footsteps track the floor! Oh, God! I wakened from my sleep to feel That I had scared away some brooding thing! And once—believe it, father!—in the moonlight I saw her in her death-robes stand and point Her white, still finger to the pictured bridal!
They said that I grew like her, like the novice Some still remembered; she who smiled farewell,Thrusting her white hands through the convent grating!Like the pale saint who, with the crucifix Betwixt her palms, spake softly as she trod The solitary chambers, with her prayers Coupling the moments; not like her, the bright Aurora of my childhood, on whose knee I have lain listless, through my fingers slipping Pearl chains for rosaries! Pearl chains for rosaries!Still if I walked, One step kept pace with mine; or if reclining Mid the cleft rocks, I heard the sea rehearse Its ancient song of chaos, every wave Rhyming its fellow, still my heart took note Of a timed footfall on the upper shore Advancing and retreating. If I read,And from my book glanced suddenly, I thrilled, Knowing who stood apart, and on my face Looked with a strange intentness. Looked with a strange intentness.Oh, thou world! Thy warm arms clave to me, thy painted lips Cheated my senses! To my sleep came fiends That mocked me with his smile, put on his shape,Spake with his voice, till, starting from my couch,Thy name, Jacopo, first upon my lip, I feared to speak God's after! Then came prayers, Fasts, and harsh penances. There was a chamber Ginevra loved; a dim, square, lofty room, Crossed and re-crossed by arches, paven with marbles Stained in sea hues. One silver shining lamp That burned behind a column, brake the night "With its still radiance. There, when midnight came,Crept I as stealthily, with naked feet Treading the corridors. There my faint soul Staggered beneath its cross! The niched saints, only,Might hear my heart shriek as I walled it in! The marble where my forehead lay kept not Count of my tears;—and there, when fasts prolonged Vanquished my sense, while life, the jailor, slept, Came angels that unlocked the prison doors And bade my soul go free. Athwart my brain Flash and withdraw into the cloud of sense That holds them captive, memories too bright For human keeping, dumb, sweet dreams that passed With finger laid on lip. Oh, gracious father,Great is my faith in penance, that chains down The senses in their cells, scourges the passions Into meek virtues, and converts the house Where worldly guests held revel, to a cloister Trod by pure visions and up-glancing prayers!
There came release. 'Twas midnight, and I seemed In dreams to kneel as kneels the Bride of Christ. Yet, not Madonna, but my sister guided The hand that placed the marriage ring on mine. While yet I slept, a sound of many wings Filled all the air, and at my ear a voice Chanted a cradle-hymn. Then I awoke And heard the echoes keep one lingering note!
They told me 'twas a dream, but felt I not The constant pressure of the bridal ring? And knew I not, though dim to human eyes,How bright 'twould shine hereafter? Up to God I sped my fresh hopes, that, wing-wearied, turned To earth's most blessed shelter. Priest, as pure As Catherine, the first nun, I wedded Heaven! The tresses they have shorn were ne'er unbound By love's light hand; the beauty that I laid, As 'twere a blossom, on His holy shrine, Kept sacred, all, from love's profaning touch!
Last fled I here. With many tears, my mother, Wouldst thou have stayed me, and Jacopo,—nay, I was appalled to look on his white lips! Once, I remember, in my brief novitiate When by the convent wall, I paused to mark The singing of a bird, and from above There dropped a written scroll. Oh saints, what wild, Idolatrous words defaced its blotted page! I dared not look upon the writer's name. 'Twas sin to read, I know, for all the morn There was that ringing through my unquiet soul That outvoiced organ, chorister, and priest!