The Princess; a medley/Canto 2

by Alfred Tennyson

II.At break of day the College Portress came:She brought us Academic silks, in hueThe lilac, with a silken hood to each,And zoned with gold; and now when these were on,And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons,She, curtseying her obeisance, let us knowThe Princess Ida waited: out we paced,I first, and following thro' the porch that sangAll round with laurel, issued in a courtCompact of lucid marbles, boss'd with lengthsOf classic frieze, with ample awnings gayBetwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers.The Muses and the Graces, group'd in threes,Enring'd a billowing fountain in the midst;And here and there on lattice edges lay Or book or lute; but hastily we past,And up a flight of stairs into the hall.

 There at a board by tome and paper sat,With two tame leopards couch'd beside her throne,All beauty compass'd in a female form,The Princess; liker to the inhabitantOf some clear planet close upon the Sun,Than our man's earth: such eyes were in her head,And so much grace and power, breathing downFrom over her arch'd brows, with every turnLived thro' her to the tips of her long hands,And to her feet. She rose her height, and said:

 'We give you welcome: not without redoundOf fame and profit unto yourselves ye come,The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime,And that full voice which circles round the grave,Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me.What! are the ladies of your land so tall?' 'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court'She answer'd, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he:'The climax of his age: as tho' there wereOne rose in all the world, your Highness that,He worships your ideal:' and she replied:'We did not think in our own hall to hearThis barren verbiage, current among men,Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.We think not of him: when we set our handTo this great work, we purposed with ourselvesNever to wed. You likewise will do well,Ladies, in entering here, to cast and flingThe tricks, which make us toys of men, that so,Some future time, if so indeed you will,You may with those self-styled our lords allyYour fortunes, justlier balanced, scale with scale.'

 At those high words, we, conscious of ourselves,Perused the matting; then an officerRose up, and read the statutes, such as these: Not for three years to correspond with home;Not for three years to cross the liberties;Not for three years to speak with any men;And many more, which hastily subscribed,We enter'd on the boards: and 'Now' she cried'Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our hall!Our statues!—not of those that men desire,Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode,Nor stunted squaws of West or East; but sheThat taught the Sabine how to rule, and sheThe foundress of the Babylonian wall,The Carian Artemisia strong in war,The Rhodope that built the pyramid,Clelia, Cornelia, with the PalmyreneThat fought Aurelian, and the Roman browsOf Agrippina. Leave us: you may go:To-day the Lady Psyche will harangueThe fresh arrivals of the week before;For they press in from all the provinces,And fill the hive.'

So saying, she bow'd and wavedDismissal: back again we crost the courtTo Lady Psyche's: as we enter'd in,There sat along the forms, like morning dovesThat sun their milky bosoms on the thatch,A patient range of pupils; she herselfErect behind a desk of satin-wood,A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed,And on the hither side, or so she look'd,Of twenty summers. At her left, a child,In shining draperies, headed like a star,Her maiden babe, a double April old,Aglaïa slept. We sat: the Lady glanced:Then Florian, but no livelier than the dameThat whisper'd 'Asses' ears' among the sedge,'My sister.''Comely too by all that's fair'Said Cyril,'O hush, hush!' and she began,

 'This world was once a fluid haze of light,Till toward the centre set the starry tides And eddied into suns, that wheeling castThe planets: then the monster, then the man;Tattoo'd or woaded, winter-clad in skins,Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate;As yet we find in barbarous isles, and hereAmong the lowest.'

Thereupon she tookA bird's-eye-view of all the ungracious past;Glanced at the legendary AmazonAs emblematic of a nobler age;Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of thoseThat lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo;Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman linesOf empire, and the woman's state in each,How far from just; till warming with her themeShe fulmined out her scorn of laws SaliqueAnd little-footed China, touch'd on MahometWith much contempt, and came to chivalry:When some respect, however slight, was paid To woman, superstition all awry:However then commenced the dawn; a beamHad slanted forward, falling in a landOf promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed,Their debt of thanks to her who first had daredTo leap the rotten pales of prejudice,Disyoke their necks from custom, and assertNone lordlier than themselves but that which madeWoman and man. She had founded; they must build:Here might they learn whatever men were taught:Let them not fear: some said their heads were less:Some men's were small; not they the least of men;For often fineness compensated size:Besides the brain was like the hand, and grewWith using; thence the man's, if more was more;He took advantage of his strength to beFirst in the field; some ages had been lost;But woman ripen'd earlier, and her lifeWas longer; and albeit their glorious namesWere fewer, scatter'd stars, yet since in truth The highest is the measure of the man,And not the Caffre, Hottentot, Malay,Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe,But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even soWith woman: and in arts of governmentElizabeth and others; arts of warThe peasant Joan and others; arts of graceSappho and others vied with any man:And she, tho' last not least, who had left her place,And bow'd her state to them, that they might growTo use and power on this Oasis, laptIn the arms of leisure, sacred from the blightOf ancient influence and scorn.'

At lastShe rose upon a wind of prophecyDilating on the future; 'everywhereTwo heads in council, two beside the hearth,Two in the tangled business of the world,Two in the liberal offices of life, Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyssOf science, and the secrets of the mind:Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, moreAnd everywhere the broad and bounteous EarthShould bear a double growth of those rare souls,Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world.'

 She ended here, and beckon'd us: the restParted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, sheBegan to address us, and was moving onIn gratulation, till as when a boatTacks, and her slacken'd sail flaps, all her voiceFaltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried'My brother!' 'Well, my sister.' 'O' she said'What do you here? and in this dress? and these?Why who are these? a wolf within the fold!A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me!A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all!''No plot, no plot,' he answer'd. 'Wretched boyHow saw you not the inscription on the gate, Let no man enter in on pain of death?'‘And if I had’ he answer’d ‘who could thinkThe softer Adams of your Academe,O sister, Sirens tho’ they be, were suchAs chanted on the blanching bones of men?''But you will find it otherwise’ she said.'You jest; ill jesting with edge-tools! I am boundTo tell her. O, she has an iron will,An axelike edge unturnable, our Head,The Princess.’ ‘Well then, Psyche, take my life,And nail me like a weasel on a grangeFor warning; bury me beside the gate,And cut this epitaph above my bones;Here lies a brother by a sister slain,All for the common good of womankind.''Let me die too’ said Cyril ‘having seenAnd heard the Lady Psyche.’

I struck in:'Albeit so mask'd, Madam, I love the truth; Receive it; and in me behold the PrinceYour countryman, affianced years agoTo the Lady Ida: here, for here she was,And thus (what other way was left) I came.'*O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none;Tf any, this; but none. Whate'er I was Disrooted, what I am is grafted here.Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe Within this vestal limit, and how should I,Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls.' 'Yet pause;' I said, 'for that inscription there, I think no more of deadly lurks therein,Than in a clapper clapping in a garth,To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be, If more and acted on, what follows? war;Your own work marr'd: for this your Academe, Whichever side be Victor, in the hallooWill topple to the trumpet down, and passWith all fair theories only made to gild A stormless summer.' 'Let the Princess judge Of that' she said; 'farewell Sir—and to you. I shudder at the sequel, but I go.'

 'Are you that Lady Psyche' I rejoin'd,'The fifth in line from that old Florian, Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall (The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, And all else fled; we point to it, and we say, The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold, But branches current yet in kindred veins.' 'Are you that Psyche' Florian added 'she With whom I sang about the morning hills, Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draughtOf fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read My sickness down to happy dreams? are youThat brother-sister Psyche, both in one?You were that Psyche, but what are you now?'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said, 'for whom1 would be that for ever which I seem,A woman, if I might sit beside your feet,And glean your scatter'd sapience.'

Then once more,'Are you that Lady Psyche' I began,'That on her bridal morn before she pastFrom all her old companions, when the kingKiss'd her pale cheek, declared that ancient tiesWould still be dear beyond the southern hills;That were there any of our people thereIn want or peril, there was one to hearAnd help them: look! for such are these and I.''Are you that Psyche' Florian ask'd 'to whom,In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawnCame flying while you sat beside the well? The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, And sobb'd, and you sobb'd with it, and the blood Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept,That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept.O by the bright head of my little niece,You were that Psyche, and what are you now?''You are that Psyche' Cyril said again,'The mother of the sweetest little maid,That ever crow'd for kisses.'

'Out upon it!' She answer'd, 'peace! and why should I not play The Spartan Mother with emotion, be The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind? Him you call great: he for the common weal, The fading politics of mortal Rome, As I might slay this child, if good need were, Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom The secular emancipation turns Of half this world, be swerved from right to save A prince, a brother? a little will I yield.Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you.O hard, when love and duty clash! I fearMy conscience will not count me fleckless; yet— Hear my conditions: promise {otherwiseYou perish) as you came to slip away,To-day, to-morrow, soon: it shall be said,These women were too barbarous, would not learn;They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all.'

 What could we else, we promised each; and she, Like some wild ereature newly-caged, commenced A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused By Florian; holding out her lily arms Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said:

 'You are grown, and yet I knew you at the first. I am very glad, and I am very vext To see you, Florian, I give thee to death My brother! it was duty spoke, not I. My needful seeming harshness, pardon it.Our mother, is she well?'

With that she kiss'dHis forehead, and a moment after clungAbout him, and betwixt them blossom'd upFrom out a common vein of memorySweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth,And far allusion, till the gracious dewsBegan to glisten and to fall: and whileThey stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice,'1 brought a message here from Lady Blanche.'Back started she, and turning round we sawThe Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood,Melissa, with her hand upon the lock,A rosy blonde, and in a college gownThat clad her like an April daffodilly(Her mother's colour) with her lips apart,And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes,As bottom agates seem to wave and floatIn crystal currents of clear morning seas,

 So stood that same fair creature at the door.Then Lady Psyche 'Ah—Melissa—you!You heard us?' and Melissa, 'O pardon me!I heard, I could not help it, did not mean:But, dearest Lady, I pray you fear me not,Nor think I bear that heart within my breast,To give three gallant gentlemen to death.''I trust you' said the other 'for we twoWere always friends, none closer, elm and vine:But yet your mother's jealous temperament—Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or proveThe Danaïd of a leaky vase, for fearThis whole foundation ruin, and I loseMy honour, these their lives.' ' Ah, fear me not'Replied Melissa 'no—I would not tell,No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness,No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard thingsThat Sheba came to ask of Solomon.''Be it so' the other 'that we may live to leadThe new light up, and culminate in peace, For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.'Said Cyril 'Madam, he the wisest manFeasted the woman wisest then, in hallsOf Lebanonian cedar: nor should you(Tho' madam you should answer, we would ask)Less welcome find among us, if e'er you cameAmong us, debtors for our lives to you, Myself for something more.' He said not what, But 'Thanks,' she answer'd 'go: we have been too long Together: keep your hoods about the face; They do so that affect abstraction here, Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.'

 We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child, And held her round the knees against his waist, And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter,While Psyche watch'd them, smiling, and the child Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh'd; And thus our conference closed.

And then we stroll'dFrom room to room: in each we sat, we heardThe grave Professor. On the lecture slateThe circle rounded under female handsWith flawless demonstration: follow'd thenA classic lecture, rich in sentiment,With seraps of thundrous Epic lilted outBy violet-hooded Doctors, elegiesAnd quoted odes, and jewels five-words-longThat on the stretch'd forefinger of all TimeSparkle for ever: then we dipt in allThat treats of whatsoever is, the state,The total chronicles of man, the mind,The morals, something of the frame, the rock,The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower,Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest,And whatsoever can be taught and known;Till like three horses that have broken fence,And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn,We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke: Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.''They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well;But when did woman ever yet invent?''Ungracious!' answer'd Florian, 'have you learnt No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talk'd The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?''O trash' he said 'but with a kernel in it. Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, Than if my brainpan were an empty hull,And every Muse tumbled a science in.A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls,And round these halls a thousand baby loves Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts,Whence follows many a vacant pang; but OWith me, Sir, enter'd in the bigger boy,The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, The long-limb'd lad that had a Psyche too; He cleft me thro' the stomacher; and now What think you of it, Florian? will it hold? Shall those three castles patch my tatter'd coat?For dear are those three castles to my wants, And dear is sister Psyche to my heart,And two dear things are one of double worth, And much I might have said, but that my zone Unmann'd me: then the Doctors! O to hear The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar,To break my chain, to shake my mane: but come, Modulate me, soul of mincing mimicry!Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, Where they like swallows coming out of time Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell For dinner, let us go!'

And in we stream'd Among the columns, pacing staid and stillBy twos and threes, till all from end to end With beauties every shade of brown and fair, In colours gayer than the morning mist,The long hall glitter'd like a bed of flowers. How might a man not wander from his wits Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own Intent upon the Princess, where she satAmong her grave Professors, scattering gemsOf Art and Science; only Lady Blanche,A double-rouged and treble-wrinkled Dame, With all her faded Autumns falsely brown,Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-catIn act to spring. At last a solemn grace Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there One walk'd reciting by herself, and oneIn this hand held a volume as to read,And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by,Or under arches of the marble bridge Hung, shadow'd from the heat: some hid and soughtIn the orange thickets: others tost a ballAbove the fountain-jets, and back againWith laughter: others lay about the lawns,Of the older sort, and murmur'd that their MayWas passing: what was learning unto them?They wish'd to marry; they could rule a house;Men hated learned women: and to us cameMelissa, hitting all we saw with shaftsOf gentle satire, kin to charity,That harm'd not: so we sat; and now when dayDroop'd, and the chapel tinkled, mixt with thoseSix hundred maidens clad in purest white,Before two streams of light from wall to wall,While the great organ almost burst his pipes,Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the courtA long melodious thunder to the soundOf solemn psalms, and silver litanies,The work of Ida, to call down from HeavenA blessing on her labours for the world.