[Footnote A: In the edition of 1842 the following footnote is given by Wordsworth,
"This biographical Sonnet, if so it may be called, together with the Epistle that follows, have been long suppressed from feelings of personal delicacy."
The "Epistle" was that addressed to Sir George Beaumont in 1811.--Ed.]
This little property at Applethwaite now belongs to Mr. Gordon Wordsworth, the grandson of the poet. It is a "sunny dell" only in its upper reaches, above the spot where the cottage--which still bears Wordsworth"s name--is built. This sonnet, and Sir George Beaumont"s wish that Wordsworth and Coleridge should live so near each other, as to be able to carry on joint literary labour, recall the somewhat similar wish and proposal on the part of W. Calvert, unfolded in a letter from Coleridge to Sir Humphry Davy.--Ed.
VAUDRACOUR AND JULIA
Composed 1804.--Published 1820
The following Tale was written as an Episode, in a work from which its length may perhaps exclude it. [A] The facts are true; no invention as to these has been exercised, as none was needed.--W. W. 1820.
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Faithfully narrated, though with the omission of many pathetic circ.u.mstances, from the mouth of a French lady, [B] who had been an eye-and-ear witness of all that was done and said. Many long years after, I was told that Dupligne was then a monk in the Convent of La Trappe.--I. F.]
This was included among the "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed.
O happy time of youthful lovers (thus My story may begin) O balmy time, In which a love-knot on a lady"s brow Is fairer than the fairest star in heaven!
To such inheritance of blessed fancy 5 (Fancy that sports more desperately with minds Than ever fortune hath been known to do) The high-born Vaudracour was brought, by years Whose progress had a little overstepped His stripling prime. A town of small repute, 10 Among the vine-clad mountains of Auvergne, Was the Youth"s birth-place. There he wooed a Maid Who heard the heart-felt music of his suit With answering vows. Plebeian was the stock, Plebeian, though ingenuous, the stock, 15 From which her graces and her honours sprung: And hence the father of the enamoured Youth, With haughty indignation, spurned the thought Of such alliance.--From their cradles up, With but a step between their several homes, 20 Twins had they been in pleasure; after strife And petty quarrels, had grown fond again; Each other"s advocate, each other"s stay; And, in their happiest moments, not content, If more divided than a sportive pair [1] 25 Of sea-fowl, conscious both that they are hovering Within the eddy of a common blast, Or hidden only by the concave depth Of neighbouring billows from each other"s sight.
Thus, not without concurrence of an age 30 Unknown to memory, was an earnest given By ready nature for a life of love, For endless constancy, and placid truth; But whatsoe"er of such rare treasure lay Reserved, had fate permitted, for support 35 Of their maturer years, his present mind Was under fascination;--he beheld A vision, and adored the thing he saw.
Arabian fiction never filled the world With half the wonders that were wrought for him. 40 Earth breathed in one great presence of the spring; Life turned the meanest of her implements, Before his eyes, to price above all gold; The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine; Her chamber-window did surpa.s.s in glory 45 The portals of the dawn; all paradise Could, by the simple opening of a door, Let itself in upon him:--pathways, walks, Swarmed with enchantment, till his spirit sank, Surcharged, within him, overblest to move 50 Beneath a sun that wakes a weary world To its dull round of ordinary cares; A man too happy for mortality!
So pa.s.sed the time, till whether through effect Of some unguarded moment that dissolved 55 Virtuous restraint--ah, speak it, think it, not!
Deem rather that the fervent Youth, who saw So many bars between his present state And the dear haven where he wished to be In honourable wedlock with his Love, 60 Was in his judgment tempted to decline To perilous weakness, [2] and entrust his cause To nature for a happy end of all; Deem that by such fond hope the Youth was swayed, And bear with their transgression, when I add 65 That Julia, wanting yet the name of wife, Carried about her for a secret grief The promise of a mother.
To conceal The threatened shame, the parents of the Maid 70 Found means to hurry her away by night, And unforewarned, that in some distant spot She might remain shrouded in privacy, Until the babe was born. When morning came, The Lover, thus bereft, stung with his loss, 75 And all uncertain whither he should turn, Chafed like a wild beast in the toils; but soon Discovering traces of the fugitives, Their steps he followed to the Maid"s retreat.
Easily may the sequel be divined--[3] 80 Walks to and fro--watchings at every hour; And the fair Captive, who, whene"er she may, Is busy at her cas.e.m.e.nt as the swallow Fluttering its pinions, almost within reach, About the pendent nest, did thus espy 85 Her Lover!--thence a stolen interview, Accomplished under friendly shade of night.
I pa.s.s the raptures of the pair;--such theme Is, by innumerable poets, touched In more delightful verse than skill of mine 90 Could fashion; chiefly by that darling bard Who told of Juliet and her Romeo, And of the lark"s note heard before its time, And of the streaks that laced the severing clouds In the unrelenting east.--Through all her courts 95 The vacant city slept; the busy winds, That keep no certain intervals of rest, Moved not; meanwhile the galaxy displayed Her fires, that like mysterious pulses beat Aloft;--momentous but uneasy bliss! 100 To their full hearts the universe seemed hung On that brief meeting"s slender filament!
They parted; and the generous Vaudracour Reached speedily the native threshold, bent On making (so the Lovers had agreed) 105 A sacrifice of birthright to attain A final portion from his father"s hand; Which granted, Bride and Bridegroom then would flee To some remote and solitary place, Shady as night, and beautiful as heaven, 110 Where they may live, with no one to behold Their happiness, or to disturb their love.
But _now_ of this no whisper; not the less, If ever an obtrusive word were dropped Touching the matter of his pa.s.sion, still, 115 In his stern father"s hearing, Vaudracour Persisted openly that death alone Should abrogate his human privilege Divine, of swearing everlasting truth, Upon the altar, to the Maid he loved. 120
"You shall be baffled in your mad intent If there be justice in the court of France,"
Muttered the Father.--From these words the Youth [4]
Conceived a terror; and, by night or day, Stirred nowhere without weapons, that full soon 125 Found dreadful provocation: for at night [5]
When to his chamber he retired, attempt Was made to seize him by three armed men, Acting, in furtherance of the father"s will, Under a private signet of the State. 130 One the rash Youth"s ungovernable hand Slew, and as quickly to a second gave [6]
A perilous wound--he shuddered to behold The breathless corse; then peacefully resigned His person to the law, was lodged in prison, 135 And wore the fetters of a criminal.
Have you observed [7] a tuft of winged seed That, from the dandelion"s naked stalk, Mounted aloft, is suffered not to use Its natural gifts for purposes of rest, 140 Driven by the autumnal whirlwind to and fro Through the wide element? or have you marked The heavier substance of a leaf-clad bough, Within the vortex of a foaming flood, Tormented? by such aid you may conceive 145 The perturbation that ensued; [8]--ah, no!
Desperate the Maid--the Youth is stained with blood; Unmatchable on earth is their disquiet! [9]
Yet [10] as the troubled seed and tortured bough Is Man, subjected to despotic sway. 150
For him, by private influence with the Court, Was pardon gained, and liberty procured; But not without exaction of a pledge, Which liberty and love dispersed in air.
He flew to her from whom they would divide him--155 He clove to her who could not give him peace-- Yea, his first word of greeting was,--"All right Is gone from me; my lately-towering hopes, To the least fibre of their lowest root, Are withered; thou no longer canst be mine, 160 I thine--the conscience-stricken must not woo The unruffled Innocent,--I see thy face, Behold thee, and my misery is complete!"
"One, are we not?" exclaimed the Maiden--"One, For innocence and youth, for weal and woe?" 165 Then with the father"s name she coupled words Of vehement indignation; but the Youth Checked her with filial meekness; for no thought Uncharitable crossed his mind, no sense Of hasty anger rising in the eclipse [11] 170 Of true domestic loyalty, did e"er Find place within his bosom.--Once again The persevering wedge of tyranny Achieved their separation: and once more Were they united,--to be yet again 175 Disparted, pitiable lot! But here A portion of the tale may well be left In silence, though my memory could add Much how the Youth, in scanty s.p.a.ce of time, Was traversed from without; much, too, of thoughts 180 That occupied his days in solitude Under privation and restraint; and what, Through dark and shapeless fear of things to come, And what, through strong compunction for the past, He suffered--breaking down in heart and mind! 185
Doomed to a third and last captivity, His freedom he recovered on the eve Of Julia"s travail. When the babe was born, Its presence tempted him to cherish schemes Of future happiness. "You shall return, 190 Julia," said he, "and to your father"s house Go with the child.--You have been wretched; yet The silver shower, whose reckless burthen weighs Too heavily upon the lily"s head, Oft leaves a saving moisture at its root. 195 Malice, beholding you, will melt away.
Go!--"tis a town where both of us were born; None will reproach you, for our truth is known; And if, amid those once-bright bowers, our fate Remain unpitied, pity is not in man. 200 With ornaments--the prettiest, nature yields Or art can fashion, shall you deck our [12] boy, And feed his countenance with your own sweet looks Till no one can resist him.--Now, even now, I see him sporting on the sunny lawn; 205 My father from the window sees him too; Startled, as if some new-created thing Enriched the earth, or Faery of the woods Bounded before him;--but the unweeting Child Shall by his beauty win his grandsire"s heart 210 So that it shall be softened, and our loves End happily, as they began!"
These gleams Appeared but seldom; oftener was he seen Propping a pale and melancholy face 215 Upon the Mother"s bosom; resting thus His head upon one breast, while from the other The Babe was drawing in its quiet food.
--That pillow is no longer to be thine, Fond Youth! that mournful solace now must pa.s.s 220 Into the list of things that cannot be!
Unwedded Julia, terror-smitten, hears The sentence, by her mother"s lip p.r.o.nounced, That dooms her to a convent.--Who shall tell, Who dares report, the tidings to the lord 225 Of her affections? so they blindly asked Who knew not to what quiet depths a weight Of agony had pressed the Sufferer down: The word, by others dreaded, he can hear Composed and silent, without visible sign 230 Of even the least emotion. Noting this, When the impatient object of his love Upbraided him with slackness, he returned No answer, only took the mother"s hand And kissed it; seemingly devoid of pain, 235 Or care, that what so tenderly he pressed Was a dependant on [13] the obdurate heart Of one who came to disunite their lives For ever--sad alternative! preferred, By the unbending Parents of the Maid, 240 To secret "spousals meanly disavowed.
--So be it!
In the city he remained A season after Julia had withdrawn To those religious walls. He, too, departs--245 Who with him?--even the senseless Little-one.
With that sole charge he pa.s.sed the city-gates, For the last time, attendant by the side Of a close chair, a litter, or sedan, In which the Babe was carried. To a hill, 250 That rose a brief league distant from the town, The dwellers in that house where he had lodged Accompanied his steps, by anxious love Impelled;--they parted from him there, and stood Watching below till he had disappeared 255 On the hill top. His eyes he scarcely took, Throughout that journey, from the vehicle (Slow-moving ark of all his hopes!) that veiled The tender infant: and at every inn, And under every hospitable tree 260 At which the bearers halted or reposed, Laid him with timid care upon his knees, And looked, as mothers ne"er were known to look, Upon the nursling which his arms embraced.
This was the manner in which Vaudracour 265 Departed with his infant; and thus reached His father"s house, where to the innocent child Admittance was denied. The young man spake No word [14] of indignation or reproof, But of his father begged, a last request, 270 That a retreat might be a.s.signed to him Where in forgotten quiet he might dwell, With such allowance as his wants required; For wishes he had none. To a lodge that stood Deep in a forest, with leave given, at the age 275 Of four-and-twenty summers he withdrew; And thither took with him his motherless Babe, [15]
And one domestic for their common needs, An aged woman. It consoled him here To attend upon the orphan, and perform 280 Obsequious service to the precious child, Which, after a short time, by some mistake Or indiscretion of the Father, died.-- The Tale I follow to its last recess Of suffering or of peace, I know not which: 285 Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine!
From this time forth he never shared a smile With mortal creature. An Inhabitant Of that same town, in which the pair had left So lively a remembrance of their griefs, 290 By chance of business, coming within reach Of his retirement, to the forest lodge Repaired, but only found the matron there, [16]
Who told him that his pains were thrown away, For that her Master never uttered word 295 To living thing--not even to her.--Behold!
While they were speaking, Vaudracour approached; But, seeing some one near, as on the latch Of the garden-gate his hand was laid, he shrunk--[17]
And, like a shadow, glided out of view. 300 Shocked at his savage aspect, from the place The visitor retired.
Thus lived the Youth Cut off from all intelligence with man, And shunning even the light of common day; 305 Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through France Full speedily resounded, public hope, Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs, Rouse him: but in those solitary shades His days he wasted, an imbecile mind! 310
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
And strangers to content if long apart, Or more divided ... 1820.]
[Variant 2: