Ideala

by Sarah Grand

By Mont St. Michael, on the Norman coast,
A restless river, changing oft its course,
Flows sullenly; and racehorse-like the tide,
Which, going, leaves a wilderness of sand.
Comes rushing back, a foam-topp'd, wat'ry wall;
And those who, wand'ring, 'scape the quicksand's grip,
Are often caught and drown'd ere help can come.
But fair the prospect from the Mount when bright
The sunshine falls on Avranches far away,
A white town straggling o'er a verdant hill;
And on the tree-clad country toward the west,
On apple orchards, and the fairy bloom
Of feath'ry tam'risk bushes on the shore;
Whilst high above in silent majesty
Of hue and form the floating clouds support
The far-extending vault of azure sky

Such was the shrine the lady sought, and there
In mute appeal for what she lack'd she knelt,
Not knowing what she lack'd; but finding peace
Steal o'er her soul there as she faintly heard
The slow and solemn chanting of the priests,
The mild monotony of murmured prayers,
And hush of pauses when she seemed to feel
The heart she deem'd so hard was melting fast,
And listen'd to a voice within her say—
"Love is not vain! Love all things and rejoice!"
And found warm tears were stealing down her cheeks.

The mystery of love, of love, of love,
Of hope, of joy, of life itself, she felt;
The crown of life, which she had sacrificed
In scornful pride for lust of power and place.
The lady bow'd her head, and o'er her swept
A wave of anguish, and she knew despair.
"Could I but see him once again!" she moan'd,
"See him, and beg forgiveness, and then die!"
Did the Archangel Michael, standing there
Upon her left, in shining silver, hear?
Who knows? Her prayer was answer'd like a flash;
For at that moment, clear and sweet o'er all
The mingled music of the chanting choir,
There rose a voice that thrill'd her inmost soul:
It breathed a blessing; utter'd soft a prayer.
No need to look: and yet she look'd, and saw
A hooded monk before the altar kneel,
A graceful presence, tho' in sordid dress.
And as she gazed the cowl slipp'd back and show'd
(But dimly thro' the incense-perfumed cloud)
A pure pale face, a golden tonsured head,
And blue eyes raised to heaven. Then the truth
Was there reveal'd to her that he had left
The world to watch and pray for such as she.

Out of the castled-gate she hurried forth:
What matter'd where she went, to east or west?
What matter'd peasant's warning that the sand
Was shifting ever, and the rushing tide
Gave them no quarter whom it overtook?
'Twas death she courted, and with heedless step
Onward to meet it swift the lady fled.
Death is so beautiful at such a time,
When all the land in summer sunshine lies,
And lapse of distant waves breaks pleasantly
The silence with a soothing dreamy sound,
And danger seems no nearer than the sky,
He tempts us from afar with hope of rest.
She hurried on in search of death, nor heard
That eager footsteps followed where she went.
The voice that call'd her was not real, she thought,
But a sweet portion of a strange sweet dream—
For now the terrible anguish quickly pass'd,
And sense of peace at hand was all she felt.
"O stop!"

Ah! that was real. She turn'd and saw,
Nor saw a moment till she felt his grasp
Strong and determined on her rounded arm.
"Thou shalt not die!" he cried. "What madness this?"
"Madness!" she echoed: "nay, my love, 'tis bliss—
The first my life has known—to stand here still
With thee beside me, and to wait for death.
I know my heart at last, but all too late!
I may not love thee, I another's wife;
Thou mayst not love me, thou hast wedded heaven.
We cannot be together in this world;
I cannot live alone and know thee here.
And thou art troubled! I for beneath that garb
Thy heart beats ever hot with love for me;
For love will not be quell'd by monkish vows.
But all things change in death! so let us die
Thus, hand in hand, and so together pass,
And be together thro' eternity!"

There was a struggle in the young monk's breast;
He would not meet her pleading eyes and yield,
But gazing up to heaven prayed for strength,
Strength to resist, and guidance how to act,
For death like that with her was luring—sweet—
A strong temptation, but he must resist,
And strive to save and show her how to live.
"We cannot make hereafter for ourselves,"
He answered softly; "all that we can do
Is so to live that we shall win reward
Of praise, and peace, and happy life to come.
Thy duty lies before thee; so does mine.
Let each return, and toil and watch and pray,
Knowing each other's heart is fix'd on heaven.
And do the good we can; not seeking death
Nor shunning it, but living pure and true,
With conscience clear to meet our God at last,
And win each other for our great reward."

The moving music of his words sank deep
Her alter'd heart thrill'd high to holy thoughts.
"Be thou my guide," she said. "My duty now
Shall bring me peace; so shall I toil like thee
To win the love I yearn for in the end."

It might not be. The treach'rous, working sand
Already clutched their feet, and check'd their speed;
And dancing, sparkling, like a joyful thing,
A glitt'ring, glassy wall of foam-fleck'd wave
Towards them glided with that fatal speed
You cannot mark because it is so swift.
No use to struggle now: no time to fly!
He clasp'd her to him: "God hath will'd it thus.
Courage, my sister!" "Is this death?" she cried.
"Yes, this is death." "It is not death, but joy!"
And as she spoke the spot where they were seen
Became a wat'ry waste of battling waves:
While high above the summer sun shone on—
A passing seabird hoarsely shriek'd along!
All things were changed, with that vast change which makes
It seem as tho' nought else had ever been.

"Well done, Ideala!" said Ralph, patronisingly; "you certainly have a memory, and are quite as good at patchwork as the author of 'Delysle.' I could criticise on another count, but taking into consideration time, place, circumstances, and the female intellect, I refrain. That is the generous sort of creature I am. So, without expressing my own opinion further—except to remark that, though I don't think much of either of them, personally I prefer 'Delysle.' The other is wholesomer, doubtless, for those who like a mild diet. Milk and water doesn't agree with me. But I put it to the vote. Ladies and gentlemen, do you or do you not consider that this lady has won her bet?"

"Oh, won it, most decidedly!" we all agreed.