Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

THE WOMAN OF THE WRITERS.

BY MARY COWDEN CLARKE.

No. I.-CHAUCER.

object in view will stimulate us with hope of its glorious issue.

Since every woman would fain live well in the esteem of those she esteems, it will form an interesting subject of investigation to see how To begin, then, with Chaucer, the Father of woman fares in the pages of those intellects best English Poesy. We shall find him the flower capable of judging her, and of setting her forth of all gentleness and chivalry; full of all for the judgment of posterity. It will be no courtesy and kindliness towards womanhood. unprofitable, certainly no unentertaining task to A bit of a rogue, nevertheless, in his sly revelaexamine whether those who have had the power, tions, his inuendoes, his hints at her foibles and have had likewise the justice, to depict us faith-frailties; but none the less pleasant, it must be fully and truly; to see whether their discern- owned. We forgive him his waggeries, for the ment has been equalled by their candour; their sake of the sweet earnestness of his words when force of perception by their impartiality; and he seriously speaks in her behalf. Had he their ability to delineate by their wish honestly never written anything else than the story of to represent. It is of moment to ascertain how Griselda, womanhood would still have owed him we are "written down" by those who have uni- undying obligation. The wonder is, that, in an versal readers; and of no slight import to know age when license of speech was not only tohow far we have the good word of those whose lerated, but admired-when the utmost freedom lightest word will endure so long as language of allusion was not merely permitted, but apitself shall exist. It will be valuable, no less plauded as wit-Chaucer should have written than curious, to trace how we women rate in the with so much delicacy, with such refinement, estimation, and appear in the representation of grace, and purity of sentiment, in drawing the such writers as Chaucer, Spenser, Tasso, Cer- character here cited. In the eight or nine vantes, Molière, Milton, Pope, Steele, Addison, speeches she utters in the course of the taleFielding, Richardson, Jean Paul, Goethe, &c., for this Poet is often essentially dramatic in con&c.; men who speak to the world, as well as to struction, as well as in touches of his story-Gritheir several countrymen, whose genius sways selda expresses herself with signal discretion; the verdict of posterity, as well as of their own in a style forcible from its very simplicity and age, and who can confer immortality on the quiet straightforwardness. She uses few words; subjects of their pen, as well as obtain it for but they are characteristically expressive of pathemselves. It will be advantageous, besides tience, with sedate and steadfast purpose. They being entertaining profitable no less than are pertinent, but entirely unornate; just such amusing, to observe, whether the Poet, in ren- as a peasant girl of excellent common sense dering us poetically, as his ideals of woman- might use. The poet has not failed to bring hood, has faithfully preserved a verisimilitude her manner yet more present to us, by noting with Nature; the Dramatist, in making us act her "benign voice" when she speaks. The and speak dramatically, has yet made us behave tender deprecation of her appeal to the man naturally; the Romancist, in drawing us roman- commissioned by her lord to take away her little tically, has withal depicted us true flesh-and- daughter, even while she meekly submits to the blood women, not mere heroines. To note sentence itself, is full of maternal feeling; but whether-while wit, humour, and satire, join to the most eloquent of her speeches is the one bring our follies and weaknesses into ridicule, she makes to her husband, when he puts her to denounce our defects, and censure our errors away, sending her back to her father's cottage, -sentiment, refinement, and good taste are at under the pretence that his people would have the same time active in pointing out our good him take another and a worthier wife. There is qualities, advocating our merits, and demon- a subtlety of reproach in its excess of nonstrating the peculiar attributes of feminine ex- reproach in this speech, which is profoundly cellence. Some of these writers have been pre- true to the nature of such womanly gentleness eminently gifted with insight into the subtleties of temperament as Griselda's. In the depth of of womanly character. We shall see how they her humility, avowing that she held herself have used their 66 so potent art;" and if its ex- ever-through all the height of position to which ercise, and the sum of its discoveries and com- he had raised her-nowise worthy of her exaltamentaries, have been calculated to raise or de- tion, undeserving to be his wife, or yet his press womankind in the regard of her fellow- handmaiden, never deeming herself lady misbeings. We would fain believe, that the result tress of the house, but always humble servant of the search will redound to our honour. At to his worthiness, there is a covert implication any rate, its pursuit will afford us pleasure; the of his lordly cruelty which could thus impress mere revival of our acquaintance with such her into subjection, which is perfectly characwriters will be an agreeable diversion, while the teristic of the woman. It is to be remembered

that Griselda was the daughter of one of her husband's vassals; that she was born and bred in the feudal creed: her speeches, therefore, which to our senses appear almost more than subservient, are, for one in her position, and previous relation to her lord, greatly dignified, and even self-asserting. The reply which she makes (in this same speech) to his bitter taunt respecting the portionless state in which she came to him—

"And thilkè [that same] dower that ye broughten

me,

Take it again; I grant it of my grace”—

the young beauty. Griselda, after replying with
her usual meekness and sweet temper, adds:-
"One thing beseech I you and warn also,
That ye no prick with no tormenting
For she is fostered in her nourishing
This tender maiden as you have done mo; [me]
More tenderly, and to my supposing
She mightè not adversity endure
As could a porè fostered creature."

The poet has shown us this charming exemplar
of womanly gentleness, no less by her bearing
than by her speech. The first description of
her, in her cottage life, is quite in Chaucer's
exquisite style of simple grace. He tells us:-

is singularly spirited in the midst of its modest
submission. It conveys sharpest rebuke by" But for to speak of virtuous beauty,
means of its very purity, and sweetness, and un-
resisting obedience. It is precisely the appeal
best calculated to strike reproof to the heart of
a man of any feeling; exactly the sort of defence
which an ultra gentle woman would permit her-
self to use. We pray the reader to mark the
beauty of the sudden break in the speech-that
burst of touching recollection, which we have
put in italics; it is just one of those unstudied
aids which spring to a woman's lips instinctively
at such a moment, strengthening her cause with
him to whom she pleads, even while it subdues
and vanquishes herself with its own rush of

Then was she one the fairest under sun;"
and quaintly adds:-

"Well ofter of the well than of the tun she drank."

emotion :

"But there as ye me proffer such dowaire [dower]
As I first brought, it is well in my mind
It were my wretched clothes, nothing faire, [fairer]

The which to me were hard now to find.
O good God! how gentle and how kind
Ye seemed by your speech and your visage
The day that maked was our marriage!
But sooth is said, algate I find it true,
For in effect it proved is on me,
Love is not old as when that it is new.
But certes, lord, for none adversity
To-dien in this case, it shall not be
That ever in word or work I shall repent
That I you gave mine heart in whole intent."

And nothing can surpass the loving delicacy of
her closing words, reminding him that no more
than her maiden faith, beauty, and innocence
did she bring him as her dower; and beseech-
ing, that, while she strips her of her rich attire,
her jewels, and all else belonging to him, he will
yet, of his grace, permit her to retain the simple
under raiment she wears, that the mother of his
children may not be exposed to the people's
gaze. There is a Biblical simplicity, a divine
whiteness of plain truth in this passage, which
makes it too sacred to quote.

Very beautifully consistent with the holy patience of the character, is the scene in which at last she is restored to joy, to her husband, and to her children; her first words being an exclamation of thanks to the Almighty.

In her breast, he says:

"There was enclosed sad [serious] and ripe courage;
And in great reverence and charity
A few sheep spinning on the field she kept;
Her old poor father fostered she:
She would not been idle till she slept.
And when she homeward came she would bring
Wortès and other herbès timès oft,

The which she shred and seeth'd for her living,
And made her bed full hard and nothing soft;
And ay she kept her father's life on loft [sustained]
That child may do to father's reverence."
With every obeisance and diligence

The account of her sage and discreet conduct
during her period of eminence, bringing peace,
and good understanding amongst her hus
band's people, is in accordance with the rest-
full of strong native sense :-

"So wise and ripe wordès had she,
And judgment of so great equity,
That she from heaven sent was, as inen wend
[weened, thought]
People to save, and every wrong to amend.”
In her downfall she is drawn no less harmo-
niously :-

"Thus with her father for a certain space
Dwelleth this flower of wifely patience,
Before the folk, nor eke in their absence,
That neither by her wordès nor her face,
Nor showed she that her was done offence,
Nor of her high estate no remembrance,
Nor had she as by her countenance."

When her husband sends for her, these few
words describe her patient cheer:-
"She with humble heart and glad visage,
Nor with no swollen thought in her courage,
Came at his hest." [command].

There is one other instance of that subtlety of With such exquisite hints as the above, does the reproach in unreproachfulness, which we have poet, throughout, let us know, that not in simunoted as so strictly in keeping with such a cha-lation only is this gentle creature "the flower of racter as Griselda's; it is where her husband, in cruel sportiveness, presents to her his proposed new bride, asking her what she thinks of

wifely patience" she appears. By one lovely touch he shows us the pity and interest she inspires in others, while she herself is all uncom

plaining submission. On her return to her father's house, bare-headed, bare-footed, the people follow her, weeping; while she passes on, uttering no word, no murmur, shedding no tear for herself.

Three or four times in the course of the story, Chaucer, in his own vehemently earnest way, ludicrous in its very bluntness and gravity, takes occasion to express his disapproval of the over-trials to which "this marquis" thinks fit to subject his wife :

"He had assayed her enough before

And found her ever good: what needeth it
Her for to tempt, and alway more and more?
Though some men praise it for a subtle wit,
But as for me, I say that evil it sit

To assay a wife when that it is no need,

And putten her in anguish and in drede." [dread].

Subsequently, he indignantly says:—

"But wedded men ne connen [know] no remorse When that they find a patient creature.'

And again afterwards:

-

[ocr errors]

"But there be folk of such condition,
That when they have a certain purpose take,
They cannot stint of their intention;
But right as they were bounden to a stake,
They will not of their first purpose slake."

relax].

[slack,

"But one word, lordings, hearken ere I go;
It were full hard to finden nowadays
In all a town Griselda's three or two;
For if that they were put to such assays,
The gold of them hath now so bad allays [alloy]
It would rather brast [burst, break] in two than
With brass, that though the coin be fair at eye,
plie. [bend].

*

Griseld is dead, and eke her patience,
And both at once buried in Itaille; [Italy]
For which I cry in open audience,
No wedded man so hardy be to assail
His wife's patience, in trust to find
Griselda's, for in certain he shall fail."

And then the prologue to the next tale, told by the merchant, contains a doleful confession of unhappy wedlock. He says:

"I have a wife the worstè that may be ;
For though the fiend to her ycoupled were,
She would him overmatch, I dare well swear."

The poet opens the tale itself with a flaming
laudation upon marriage:

"And certainly, as sooth as God is king,
To take a wife it is a glorious thing!"

But soon after demurely rejoins:-
"And yet some clerkès say it is not so;
Of which he Theophrast is one of tho." [those].
Then he proceeds to curse Theophrast in no
measured terms, beseeching the reader to "defy
Theophrast and hearken me;" and again resumes
his playful irony of eulogium. Once he bursts
forth in affected rapture :—

As an instance of the serious way in which
Chaucer enters into his subject, and warmly
feels all that he describes, he throughout the
story, while Griselda's husband pursues his
course of ruthless probation, calls him "this"A wife? ah! Saint Mary, benedicite!
marquis," and "this lord;" but when he ulti- How might a man have any adversity
mately does her justice, the poet calls him by That hath a wife? Certes, I cannot say.”
his Christian name-Walter:-

"Walter her gladdeth, and her sorrow slaketh;
She riseth up abashed from her trance,
And every night her joy and feastè maketh,
Till she hath caught again her countenance.
Walter her doth so faithfully pleasaunce,
That it was dainty for to see the cheer

And goes on to praise women, with an exquisite
impudence of gravity, for their uniform duty
and obedience towards their liege lords :-
"If he be poor, she helpeth him to swink; [labour]
She keepeth his good, and wasteth never a deal;
All that her husband doth, her liketh well;
She saith not once nay, when he saith yea;

Betwixt them two since they be met in ferc." [to- Do this, saith he; all ready, sir, saith she."

gether].

As a counterbalance to this tale of womanly excellence, the rogue of a poet follows it up by an epilogue abounding in sly hits, and ironical advice to women not to follow the example of Griselda. Among the former occurs this:→

The whole of this mock panegyric is written with delightful humour and playfulness. But we are trenching upon our allotted space, and have scarcely glanced at more than one of Chaucer's woman characters. The rest must be for another paper.

ON MRS. BROWNING.

BY MARIA

There is a fancied shape that haunts my dreams
Large-eyed and pensive, wearing on the brow
A starry circlet, whose clear radiance seems
Serenely from the light within to flow.
Serious yet sweet the expression of the face
Answering the modulations of the lyre,

NORRIS.

Songs brimming o'er with tenderness and fire.
These lyrics oft have moved my inmost heart;
Like minor music fall they on the ear,
With dying cadence lingering while they part,
As loath to leave me to the silence drear.
Still be that Unknown Friend about my way,

Which 'neath her hands gives out with mournful Her Songs my dreams by night, my spirit-food by

[blocks in formation]

A LESSON OF LIFE.

CHAP. I.

THE PARTING.

(An American Fragment.)

BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.

"I feel the shadow on my brow,
The sickness at my heart-
Alas! I look on those I love,
And 'tis so hard to part."

-

Among our acquaintances the travelling fever, this particular season, seemed contagious. Miss Barnard, as we have before said, visited Niagara, as did the Jacksons and the Jordens, joining a party made up by the uncle of the Jordens, Livingston Carroll, Esq. Adeline Mitchell had passed several weeks with a married sister who resided in Dutchess county, and the Hardens went as far as Stockbridge, in quite an opposite The summer passed as summers had done in ber found all once more at home, and fall house direction. But the summer was over; Septem Rivertown for the last ten years at least. There cleanings rapidly progressing. Mrs. Henry was one evening party, two pic-nics, and a wed- Jorden was packing, or rather covering fur ding to vary the monotony. Two families, the niture; Adeline Mitchell could not guess what Bays and the Barnards, visited Niagara, to the for, until it was reported that the house was to scandal of those who wondered how they could be shut up in October, and the Jordens were to afford it, and Miss Seymour joined the party of pass the ensuing winter with their brother at a relative residing in New York, and passed two Baltimore. Mr. Jorden had business at Washweeks at Newport. Miss Seymour became, for ington, which would detain him most of the a while, quite the rage, for she had dined with time, and thus the arrangement became not only Daniel Webster, on which occasion the distin-pleasant, but admirable. guished authoress, Mrs. her, and Senator S. was pointed out after dinner. sat opposite to Miss Seymour did not usually mention that this was at the "ladies' ordinary" of the Revere House; probably she thought this was for them to know." But if she was not a "not lion herself, she had seen lions, and consequently had innumerable calls and visits shortly after

her return.

Then a family from New York had been boarding at the "Rivertown House," and their outcomings and ingoings offered some relief. Moreover, the Forresters, from Albany, had passed two months at their country-house, a mile or two below the town, and several times their carriage, with its liveried coachman, had gathered its crowd of admirers at the street corners and shop windows. Not a few Rivertonians visited their country relatives in July and August, and others among the first circle paid similar family visits in New England or the middle states. Journeys that from henceforth became data-" the year that I went to Connecticut,' the spring we were getting ready to go to New Jersey," being often and particularly alluded to.

or

66

Rivertonians, in general, were not a migratory people; one trip to New York city, and two as far as Albany, often sufficing for life-time adventures. Many of the oldest inhabitants could never be persuaded to "court peril" in the wake of the rushing locomotive, and not a few had never set foot upon a steam-boat, though numberless were the elegant vessels that passed their wharves daily, preferring the more tardy, but in their eyes far safer conveyance of a did occasion require them to visit the metro"sloop," polis.

continue to call it airs and extravagance, while Yet Mrs. Smith and Miss Mitchell would Mrs. Folger wondered "if they would pay board; if not, it was a saving." Mrs. Jackson paratively, a stranger in Rivertown, as they had alone regretted the change. She was still, comresided there but a few years. She had never been particularly fond of the place or the people, lutely necessary near his large and flourishing and but that Mr. Jackson's presence was absomanufactory, would never have consented to even in a measure, worn away, as she came to know a temporary residence there. This feeling had, and appreciate the warm hearts of those who won her own by their friendly courtesy; and at the time of her sister's marriage she began to look with something like satisfaction upon Rivertown as a home.

the evening before their departure; "Mary and It will be very lonely, Marian," said she, yourself both away-but I know it will be pleasanter for you, and I will try to be as happy as possible without you.'

[ocr errors]

consequence to be missed," and, laughingly
Mrs. Jorden" rejoiced that she was of enough
Harden and Mrs. Folger, will still be with you,
added, "but then your particular friends, Mrs.
bourly."
and I have no doubt Mrs. Smith will be neigh-

turned her sister. "I have been strangely trou-
"Do not jest to-night, Marian," sadly re-
bled from the time Mary proposed this long
separation. You know I have no faith in pre-
sentiments, but I have felt as if we should never
meet again; or, if we did, not happily. Some-
be taken from me; but that thought is too
times I think Archie, my precious one, may
terrible. If I should die this winter, Marie, be

as a sister and a mother to the dear ones I must leave."

66

My best of sisters, pray do not say such horrid things," was the reply. "Are you not as well as ever? And Archie I never saw in better spirits."

Mrs. Jackson called the noble little fellow to her, and parting the thick waves of his hair, looked long and earnestly into his deep blue eyes; so earnestly that the boy was alarmed, and begged to go back to Uncle Henry, who had promised to let him ride upon Nero; and Marian said, “Yes, run away, pet; mamma is not well. Dear sister, do not frighten us all by these dismal forebodings."

There is nothing more desolate than the street of a small country town, in a northern latitude, at the close of the fall. The sidewalks carpeted with withered leaves that rustle to the footsteps of the few passers-by; a cloud of dust obscures the vision, while the slowly creaking signs and flapping shutters, are in melancholy and discordant union. Little children hurry to and from school, with well worn dinner-baskets and faded hoods; the solitary strips of red flannel or dark broadcloth, that have taken the place of the merchant's flaunting display of summer fabrics, shiver in the chill blast; and the few baskets of withered apples and dark-coated chestnuts, that still linger around the doors of Mrs. Jackson felt that it was selfish thus to the various provision-stores, grow darker and obtrude sad thoughts on their parting; and, to more shrunken as the week slips slowly by. tell the truth, the shadow passed as the firm The mellow radiance of the Indian summer has tread and manly tone of her husband gave departed, the morning sun has scarcely power warning of his approach. So the last evening to dissolve the last night's frost, and the wayside glided away in mirth and song; for Mr. Jack-pools are skirted with a brittle coating of ice. son was never known to be more brilliant than Now and then a large farm-waggon creaks now, pouring out sparkling anecdotes and un- slowly down the street; once or twice through studied bon mots, without thought or effort. the day the whirl of a lighter vehicle tells you Archie was allowed to stay up long past his that the physician is speeding on his errand of usual bed-time, as he was an especial favourite mercy; but otherwise the silence is rarely diswith "Uncle Harry," and Mrs. Jackson sang turbed. The sky grows dark as evening draws old songs they had long known and loved. on, not with heaped and threatening clouds, but a leaden, heavy, impenetrable pall sweeps slowly over the horizon.

Yes, it was a very merry evening; and yet, when Mrs. Jackson bade them good night, and came back to the warmly lighted parlour, a strange chill darted like an ice-bolt through her heart, and she leaned her head upon her husband's shoulder and wept.

He chided her gently, even while he drew her more closely to his heart, for she told him it was not simple sorrow at their transient separation. And then he led her to the couch where her child slumbered peacefully, and bade her mark how ruddy was the glow upon his cheek, and how gently the drapery about him was stirred by the quiet heaving of his little form.

"What can come to disturb the happiness of our little household," said her husband fondly; but even as she smiled through her tears, the echo in her heart whispered " Death !”

CHAP. II.

"She is leaning back now languid,
And her cheek is white;

Only on the drooping eyelash
Glistens tearful light.
Cold, sunshine, hours are gone,
Yet the lady watches on."

L. E. L.

For several weeks after the departure of Mrs. Jorden, nothing occurred to realize even the lightest of Mrs. Jackson's sad forebodings. The gorgeous autumn landscape slowly cast aside its wealth of golden and crimson foliage, the summits of the Catskills became more sharply defined against the clear blue sky, and so winter was at the very door ere his approach | was suspected.

It was on such a day as this that Mrs. Jackson turned shiveringly from the door-step of her comfortable and peaceful home. She had accompanied her husband a little way on his morning walk, and had parted with a fond pressure of the hand, and a glance that told him how dearer than life he had become. Archie was playfully careering round the room with the hearth-brush for a steed, and the kitten purred in undisturbed repose before the glowing grate.

She drew her work-basket toward her, and, lying on the piles of snowy linen, found an unopened letter, received in her absence. It was from Marian, and bore the impress of her joyous spirit in every line. They were all so happy, and needed but her presence to make that happiness complete. Mr. Carroll grew daily more fond of his adopted daughter, who had already won for herself hosts of new friends. They were to go to Washington in January, and Marian descanted at length on the pleasures she expected to enjoy.

Mrs. Jackson allowed the letter to fall upon the carpet, as she mused over its contents. "How can people plan for the future?" thought she; and then vexed at herself for her own gloomy mood, she called Archie to her, and resolutely threw it aside as she listened to his childish prattle. Mr. Jackson very rarely returned until nightfall, these short, cold days, as the manufactory was a mile or two distant, upon a small stream that paid its gentle tribute to their beautiful river. So the mid-day meal was solitary; and after it was over, Mrs. Miller paid a friendly visit of an hour or two, and they chatted together of the absent ones. The cold, grey clouds were already veiling the setting sun as her visitor took leave,

« AnteriorContinuar »