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The Maid-Martyr.

by Jean Ingelow

Only you'd have me speak.

Whether to speak

Or whether to be silent is all one;

Whether to sleep and in my dreaming front

Her small scared face forlorn; whether to wake

And muse upon her small soft feet that paced

The hated, hard, inhospitable stone -

I say all's one. But you would have me speak,

And change one sorrow for the other. Ay,

Right reverend father, comfortable father,

Old, long in thrall, and wearied of the cell,

So will I here - here staring through the grate,

Whence, sheer beneath us lying the little town,

Her street appears a riband up the rise;

Where 't is right steep for carts, behold two ruts

Worn in the flat, smooth, stone.

That side I stood;

My head was down. At first I did but see

Her coming feet; they gleamed through my hot tears

As she walked barefoot up yon short steep hill.

Then I dared all, gazed on her face, the maid

Martyr and utterly, utterly broke my heart.

Her face, O! it was wonderful to me,

There was not in it what I look'd for - no,

I never saw a maid go to her death,

How should I dream that face and the dumb soul?

Her arms and head were bare, seemly she walked

All in her smock so modest as she might;

Upon her shoulders hung a painted cape

For horrible adornment, flames of fire

Portrayed upon it, and mocking demon heads.

Her eyes - she did not see me - opened wide,

Blue-black, gazed right before her, yet they marked

Nothing; and her two hands uplift as praying,

She yet prayed not, wept not, sighed not. O father,

She was past that, soft, tender, hunted thing;

But, as it seemed, confused from time to time,

She would half-turn her or to left or right

To follow other streets, doubting her way.

Then their base pikes they basely thrust at her,

And, like one dazed, obedient to her guides

She came; I knew not if 't was present to her

That death was her near goal; she was so lost,

And set apart from any power to think.

But her mouth pouted as one brooding, father,

Over a lifetime of forlorn fear. No,

Scarce was it fear; so looks a timid child

(Not more affrighted; ah! but not so pale)

That has been scolded or has lost its way.

Mother and father - father and mother kind,

She was alone, where were you hidden? Alone,

And I that loved her more, or feared death less,

Rushed to her side, but quickly was flung back,

And cast behind o' the pikemen following her

Into a yelling and a cursing crowd.

That bristled thick with monks and hooded friars;

Moreover, women with their cheeks ablaze,

Who swarm'd after up the narrowing street.

Pitiful heaven! I knew she did not hear

In that last hour the cursing, nor the foul

Words; she had never heard like words, sweet soul,

In her life blameless; even at that pass,

That dreadful pass, I felt it had been worse,

Though nought I longed for as for death, to know

She did. She saw not 'neath their hoods those eyes

Soft, glittering, with a lust for cruelty;

Secret delight, that so great cruelty,

All in the sacred name of Holy Church,

Their meed to look on it should be anon.

Speak! O, I tell you this thing passeth word!

From roofs and oriels high, women looked down;

Men, maidens, children, and a fierce white sun

Smote blinding splinters from all spears aslant.

Lo! next a stand, so please you, certain priests

(May God forgive men sinning at their ease),

Whose duty 't was to look upon this thing,

Being mindful of thick pungent smoke to come,

Had caused a stand to rise hard by the stake,

Upon its windward side.

My life! my love!

She utter'd one sharp cry of mortal dread

While they did chain her. This thing passeth words,

Albeit told out for ever in my soul.

As the torch touched, thick volumes of black reek

Rolled out and raised the wind, and instantly

Long films of flaxen hair floated aloft,

Settled alow, in drifts upon the crowd.

The vile were merciful; heaped high, my dear,

Thou didst not suffer long. O! it was soon,

Soon over, and I knew not any more,

Till grovelling on the ground, beating my head,

I heard myself, and scarcely knew 't was I,

At Holy Church railing with fierce mad words,

Crying and craving for a stake, for me.

While fast the folk, as ever, such a work

Being over, fled, and shrieked 'A heretic!

More heretics; yon ashes smoking still.'

And up and almost over me came on

A robed - ecclesiastic - with his train

(I choose the words lest that they do some wrong)

Call him a robed ecclesiastic proud.

And I lying helpless, with my bruised face

Beat on his garnished shoon. But he stepped back,

Spurned me full roughly with them, called the pikes,

Delivering orders, 'Take the bruised wretch.

He raves. Fool! thou'lt hear more of this anon.

Bestow him there.' He pointed to a door.

With that some threw a cloth upon my face

Because it bled. I knew they carried me

Within his home, and I was satisfied;

Willing my death. Was it an abbey door?

Was 't entrance to a palace? or a house

Of priests? I say not, nor if abbot he,

Bishop or other dignity; enough

That he so spake. 'Take in the bruised wretch.'

And I was borne far up a turret stair

Into a peak'd chamber taking form

O' the roof, and on a pallet bed they left

Me miserable. Yet I knew forsooth,

Left in my pain, that evil things were said

Of that same tower; men thence had disappeared,

Suspect of heresy had disappeared,

Deliver'd up, 't was whisper'd, tried and burned.

So be it methought, I would not live, not I.

But none did question me. A beldame old,

Kind, heedless of my sayings, tended me.

I raved at Holy Church and she was deaf,

And at whose tower detained me, she was dumb.

So had I food and water, rest and calm.

Then on the third day I rose up and sat

On the side of my low bed right melancholy,

All that high force of passion overpast,

I sick with dolourous thought and weak through tears

Spite of myself came to myself again

(For I had slept), and since I could not die

Looked through the window three parts overgrown

With leafage on the loftiest ivy ropes,

And saw at foot o' the rise another tower

In roof whereof a grating, dreary bare.

Lifetimes gone by, long, slow, dim, desolate,

I knew even there had been my lost love's cell.

So musing on the man that with his foot

Spurned me, the robed ecclesiastic stern,

'Would he had haled me straight to prison' methought,

'So made an end at once.'

My sufferings rose

Like billows closing over, beating down;

Made heavier far because of a stray, strange,

Sweet hope that mocked me at the last.

'T was thus,

I came from Oxford secretly, the news

Terrible of her danger smiting me, -

She was so young, and ever had been bred

With whom 't was made a peril now to name.

There had been worship in the night; some stole

To a mean chapel deep in woods, and heard

Preaching, and prayed. She, my betrothed, was there.

Father and mother, mother and father kind,

So young, so innocent, had ye no ruth,

No fear, that ye did bring her to her doom?

I know the chiefest Evil One himself

Sanded that floor. Their footsteps marking it

Betrayed them. How all came to pass let be.

Parted, in hiding some, other in thrall,

Father and mother, mother and father kind,

It may be yet ye know not this - not all.

I in the daytime lying perdue looked up

At the castle keep impregnable, - no foot

How rash so e'er might hope to scale it. Night

Descending, come I near, perplexedness,

Contempt of danger, to the door o' the keep

Drawing me. There a short stone bench I found,

And bitterly weeping sat and leaned my head

Against the hopeless hated massiveness

Of that detested hold. A lifting moon

Had made encroachment on the dark, but deep

Was shadow where I leaned. Within a while

I was aware, but saw no shape, of one

Who stood beside me, a dark shadow tall.

I cared not, disavowal mattered nought

Of grief to one so out of love with life.

But after pause I felt a hand let down

That rested kindly, firmly, a man's hand,

Upon my shoulder; there was cheer in it.

And presently a voice clear, whispering, low,

With pitifulness that faltered, spoke to me.

Was I, it asked, true son of Mother Church?

Coldly I answer'd 'Ay;' then blessed words

That danced into mine ears more excellent

Music than wedding bells had been were said,

With certitude that I might see my maid,

My dear one. He would give a paper, he

The man beside me. 'Do thy best endeavour,

Dear youth. Thy maiden being a right sweet child

Surely will hearken to thee; an she do,

And will recant, fair faultless heretic,

Whose knowledge is but scant of matters high

Which hard men spake on with her, hard men forced

From her mouth innocent, then shall she come

Before me; have good cheer, all may be well.

But an she will not she must burn, no power -

Not Solomon the Great on 's ivory throne

With all his wisdom could find out a way,

Nor I nor any to save her, she must burn.

Now hast thou till day dawn. The Mother of God

Speed thee.' A twisted scroll he gave; himself

Knocked at the door behind, and he was gone,

A darker pillar of darkness in the dark.

Straightway one opened and I gave the scroll.

He read, then thrust it in his lanthorn flame

Till it was ashes; 'Follow' and no more

Whisper'd, went up the giddy spiring way,

I after, till we reached the topmost door.

Then took a key, opened, and crying 'Delia,

Delia my sweetheart, I am come, I am come,'

I darted forward and he locked us in.

Two figures; one rose up and ran to me

Along the ladder of moonlight on the floor,

Fell on my neck. Long time we kissed and wept.

But for that other, while she stood appeased

For cruel parting past, locked in mine arms,

I had been glad, expecting a good end.

The cramped pale fellow prisoner; 'Courage' cried.

Then Delia lifting her fair face, the moon

Did show me its incomparable calms.

Her effluent thought needed no word of mine,

It whelmed my soul as in a sea of tears.

The warm enchantment leaning on my breast

Breathed as in air remote, and I was left

To infinite detachment, even with hers

To take cold kisses from the lips of doom,

Look in those eyes and disinherit hope

From that high place late won.

Then murmuring low

That other spake of Him on the cross, and soft

As broken-hearted mourning of the dove,

She 'One deep calleth to another' sighed.

'The heart of Christ mourns to my heart, "Endure.

There was a day when to the wilderness

My great forerunner from his thrall sent forth

Sad messengers, demanding Art thou He?

Think'st thou I knew no pang in that strange hour?

How could I hold the power, and want the will

Or want the love? That pang was his - and mine.

He said not, Save me an thou be the Son,

But only Art thou He? In my great way

It was not writ, - legions of Angels mine,

There was one Angel, one ordain'd to unlock

At my behest the doomed deadly door.

I could not tell him, tell not thee, why." Lord,

We know not why, but would not have Thee grieve,

Think not so deeply on 't; make us endure

For thy blest sake, hearing thy sweet voice mourn

"I will go forth, thy desolations meet,

And with my desolations solace them.

I will not break thy bonds but I am bound,

With thee."'

I feared. That speech deep furrows cut

In my afflicted soul. I whisper'd low,

'Thou wilt not heed her words, my golden girl.'

But Delia said not ought; only her hand

Laid on my cheek and on the other leaned

Her own. O there was comfort, father,

In love and nearness, e'en at the crack of doom.

Then spake I, and that other said no more,

For I appealed to God and to his Christ.

Unto the strait-barred window led my dear;

No table, bed, nor plenishing; no place

They had for rest: maugre two narrow chairs

By day, by night they sat thereon upright.

One drew I to the opening; on it set

My Delia, kneeled; upon its arm laid mine,

And prayed to God and prayed of her.

Father,

If you should ask e'en now, 'And art thou glad

Of what befell?' I could not say it, father,

I should be glad; therefore God make me glad,

Since we shall die to-morrow!

Think not sin,

O holy, harmless reverend man, to fear.

'T will be soon over. Now I know thou fear'st

Also for me, lest I be lost; but aye

Strong comfortable hope doth wrap me round,

A token of acceptance. I am cast

From Holy Church, and not received of thine;

But the great Advocate who knoweth all,

He whispers with me.

O my Delia wept

When I did plead; 'I have much feared to die,'

Answering. (The moonlight on her blue-black eyes

Fell; shining tears upon their lashes hung;

Fair showed the dimple that I loved; so young,

So very young.) 'But they did question me

Straitly, and make me many times to swear,

To swear of all alas, that I believed.

Truly, unless my soul I would have bound

With false oaths - difficult, innumerous, strong,

Way was not left me to get free.

But now,'

Said she, I am happy; I have seen the place

Where I am going.

I will tell it you,

Love, Hubert. Do not weep; they said to me

That you would come, and it would not be long.

Thus was it, being sad and full of fear,

I was crying in the night; and prayed to God

And said, "I have not learned high things;" and said

To the Saviour, "Do not be displeased with me,

I am not crying to get back and dwell

With my good mother and my father fond,

Nor even with my love, Hubert - my love,

Hubert; but I am crying because I fear

Mine answers were not rightly given - so hard

Those questions. If I did not understand,

Wilt thou forgive me?" And the moon went down

While I did pray, and looking on the floor,

Behold a little diamond lying there,

So small it might have dropped from out a ring.

I could but look! The diamond waxed - it grew -

It was a diamond yet, and shot out rays,

And in the midst of it a rose-red point;

It waxed till I might see the rose-red point

Was a little Angel 'mid those oval rays,

With a face sweet as the first kiss, O love,

You gave me, and it meant that self-same thing.

Now was it tall as I, among the rays

Standing; I touched not. Through the window drawn,

This barred and narrow window, - but I know

Nothing of how, we passed, and seemed to walk

Upon the air, till on the roof we sat.

It spoke. The sweet mouth did not move, but all

The Angel spoke in strange words full and old,

It was my Angel sent to comfort me

With a message, and the message, "I might come,

And myself see if He forgave me." Then

Deliver'd he admonition, "Afterwards

I must return and die." But I being dazed,

Confused with love and joy that He so far

Did condescend, "Ay, Eminence," replied,

"Is the way great?" I knew not what I said.

The Angel then, "I know not far nor near,

But all the stars of God this side it shine."

And I forgetful wholly for this thing

My soul did pant in - a rapture and a pain,

So great as they would melt it quite away

To a vanishing like mist when sultry rays

Shot from the daystar reckon with it - I

Said in my simpleness, "But is there time?

For in three days I am to burn, and O

I would fain see that he forgiveth first.

Pray you make haste." "I know not haste," he said;

"I was not fashioned to be thrall of time.

What is it?" And I marvelled, saw outlying,

Shaped like a shield and of dimensions like

An oval in the sky beyond all stars,

And trembled with foreknowledge. We were bound

To that same golden holy hollow. I

Misdoubted how to go, but we were gone.

I set off wingless, walking empty air

Beside him. In a moment we were caught

Among thick swarms of lost ones, evil, fell

Of might, only a little less than gods,

And strong enough to tear the earth to shreds,

Set shoulders to the sun and rend it out

O' its place. Their wings did brush across my face,

Yet felt I nought; the place was vaster far

Than all this wholesome pastoral windy world.

Through it we spinning, pierced to its far brink,

Saw menacing frowns and we were forth again.

Time has no instant for the reckoning ought

So sudden; 't was as if a lightning flash

Threw us within it, and a swifter flash,

We riding harmless down its swordlike edge,

Shot us fast forth to empty nothingness.

All my soul trembled, and my body it seemed

Pleaded than such a sight rather to faint

To the last silence, and the eery grave

Inhabit, and the slow solemnities

Of dying faced, content me with my shroud.

And yet was lying athwart the morning star

That shone in front, that holy hollow; yet

It loomed, as hung atilt towards the world,

That in her time of sleep appeared to look

Up to it, into it.

We, though I wept,

Fearing and longing, knowing not how to go,

My heart gone first, both mine eyes dedicate

To its all-hallowed sweet desir'd gold,

We on the empty limitless abyss

Walked slowly. It was far;

And I feared much,

For lo! when I looked down deep under me

The little earth was such a little thing,

How in the vasty dark find her again?

The crescent moon a moor'd boat hard by,

Did wait on her and touch her ragged rims

With a small gift of silver.

Love! my life!

Hubert, while I yet wept, O we were there.

A menai of Angels first, a swarm of stars

Took us among them (all alive with stars

Shining and shouting each to each that place),

The feathered multitude did lie so thick

We walked upon them, walked on outspread wings,

And the great gates were standing open.

Love!

The country is not what you think; but oh!

When you have seen it nothing else contents.

The voice, the vision was not what you think -

But oh! it was all. It was the meaning of life,

Excellent consummation of desires

For ever, let into the heart with pain

Most sweet. That smile did take the feeding soul

Deeper and deeper into heaven. The sward

(For I had bowed my face on it) I found

Grew in my spirit's longed for native land -

At last I was at home.'

And here she paused:

I must needs weep. I have not been in heaven,

Therefore she could not tell me what she heard,

Therefore she might not tell me what she saw,

Only I understood that One drew near

Who said to her she should e'en come, 'Because,'

Said He, 'My Father loves Me. I will ask

He send, a guiding Angel for My sake,

Since the dark way is long, and rough, and hard,

So that I shall not lose whom I love - thee.'

Other words wonderful of things not known,

When she had uttered, I gave hope away,

Cried out, and took her in despairing arms,

Asking no more. Then while the comfortless

Dawn till night fainted grew, alas! a key

That with abhorr'd jarring probed the door.

We kissed, we looked, unlocked our arms. She sighed

'Remember,' 'Ay, I will remember. What?'

'To come to me.' Then I, thrust roughly forth -

I, bereft, dumb, forlorn, unremedied

My hurt for ever, stumbled blindly down,

And the great door was shut behind and chained.

The weird pathetic scarlet of day dawning,

More kin to death of night than birth of morn,

Peered o'er yon hill bristling with spires of pine.

I heard the crying of the men condemned,

Men racked, that should be martyr'd presently,

And my great grief met theirs with might; I held

All our poor earth's despairs in my poor breast,

The choking reek, the faggots were all mine.

Ay, and the partings they were all mine - mine.

Father, it will be very good methinks

To die so, to die soon. It doth appease

The soul in misery for its fellows, when

There is no help, to suffer even as they.

Father, when I had lost her, when I sat

After my sickness on the pallet bed,

My forehead dropp'd into my hand, behold

Some one beside me. A man's hand let down

With that same action kind, compassionate,

Upon my shoulder. And I took the hand

Between mine own, laying my face thereon.

I knew this man for him who spoke with me,

Letting me see my Delia. I looked up.

Lo! lo! the robed ecclesiastic proud,

He and this other one. Tell you his name?

Am I a fiend? No, he was good to me,

Almost he placed his life in my hand.

Father,

He with good pitying words long talked to me,

'Did I not strive to save her?' 'Ay,' quoth I.

'But sith it would not be, I also claim

Death, burning; let me therefore die - let me.

I am wicked, would be heretic, but, faith,

I know not how, and Holy Church I hate.

She is no mother of mine, she slew my love.'

What answer? 'Peace, peace, thou art hard on me.

Favour I forfeit with the Mother of God,

Lose rank among the saints, foresee my soul

Drenched in the unmitigated flame, and take

My payment in the lives snatched at all risk

From battling in it here. O, an thou turn

And tear from me, lost to that other world

My heart's reward in this, I am twice lost;

Now have I doubly failed.'

Father, I know

The Church would rail, hound forth, disgrace, try, burn,

Make his proud name, discover'd, infamy,

Tread underfoot his ashes, curse his soul.

But God is greater than the Church. I hope

He shall not, for that he loved men, lose God.

I hope to hear it said 'Thy sins are all

Forgiven; come in, thou hast done well.'

For me

My chronicle comes down to its last page.

'Is not life sweet?' quoth he, and comforted

My sick heart with good words, 'duty' and 'home.'

Then took me at moonsetting down the stair

To the dark deserted midway of the street,

Gave me a purse of money, and his hand

Laid on my shoulder, holding me with words

A father might have said, bad me God speed,

So pushed me from him, turned, and he was gone.

There was a Pleiad lost; where is she now?

None knoweth, - O she reigns, it is my creed,

Otherwhere dedicate to making day.

The God of Gods, He doubtless looked to that

Who wasteth never ought He fashion'd.

I have no vision, but where vision fails

Faith cheers, and truly, truly there is need,

The god of this world being so unkind.

O love! My girl for ever to the world

Wanting. Lost, not that any one should find,

But wasted for the sake of waste, and lost

For love of man's undoing, of man's tears,

By envy of the evil one; I mourn

For thee, my golden girl, I mourn, I mourn.

He set me free. And it befell anon

That I must imitate him. Then 't befell

That on the holy Book I read, and all,

The mediating Mother and her Babe,

God and the Church, and man and life and death,

And the dark gulfs of bitter purging flame,

Did take on alteration. Like a ship

Cast from her moorings, drifting from her port,

Not bound to any land, not sure of land,

My dull'd soul lost her reckoning on that sea

She sailed, and yet the voyage was nigh done.

This God was not the God I had known; this Christ

Was other. O, a gentler God, a Christ -

By a mother and a Father infinite -

In distance each from each made kin to me.

Blest Sufferer on the rood; but yet, I say

Other. Far gentler, and I cannot tell,

Father, if you, or she, my golden girl,

Or I, or any aright those mysteries read.

I cannot fathom them. There is not time,

So quickly men condemned me to this cell.

I quarrell'd not so much with Holy Church

For that she taught, as that my love she burned.

I die because I hid her enemies,

And read the Book.

But O, forgiving God,

I do elect to trust thee. I have thought,

What! are there set between us and the sun

Millions of miles, and did He like a tent

Rear up yon vasty sky? Is heaven less wide?

And dwells He there, but for His wing'd host,

Almost alone? Truly I think not so;

He has had trouble enough with this poor world

To make Him as an earthly father would,

Love it and value it more.

He did not give

So much to have us with Him, and yet fail.

And now He knows I would believe e'en so

As pleaseth Him, an there was time to learn

Or certitude of heart; but time fails, time.

He knoweth also 't were a piteous thing

Not to be sure of my love's welfare - not

To see her happy and good in that new home.

Most piteous. I could all forego but this.

O let me see her, Lord.

What, also I!

White ashes and a waft of vapour - I

To flutter on before the winds. No, no.

And yet for ever ay - my flesh shall hiss

And I shall hear 't. Dreadful, unbearable!

Is it to-morrow?

Ay, indeed, indeed,

To-morrow. But my moods are as great waves

That rise and break and thunder down on me,

And then fall'n back sink low.

I have waked long

And cannot hold my thoughts upon th' event;

They slip, they wander forth.

How the dusk grows.

This is the last moonrising we shall see.

Methought till morn to pray, and cannot pray.

Where is mine Advocate? let Him say all

And more was in my mind to say this night,

Because to-morrow - Ah! no more of that,

The tale is told. Father, I fain would sleep.

Truly my soul is silent unto God.