Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets. Lafcadio Hearn

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ despair. All these are passions peculiarly coloured by the age in which the story is supposed to happen, the age of belief in magic, in ghosts, and in hell-fire.

      I think that in nearly all civilised countries, East and West, from very old times there has been some belief in the kind of magic which this poem describes. I have seen references to similar magic in translations of Chinese books, and I imagine that it may have been known in Japan. In India it is still practised. At one time or other it was practised in every country of Europe. Indeed, it was only the development of exact science that rendered such beliefs impossible. During the Middle Ages they caused the misery of many thousands of lives, and the fear born of them weighed upon men's minds like a nightmare.

      This superstition in its simplest form was that if you wished to kill a hated person, it was only necessary to make a small statue or image of that person in wax, or some other soft material, and to place the image before a fire, after having repeated certain formulas. As the wax began to melt before the fire, the person represented by the image would become sick and grow weaker and weaker, until with the complete melting of the image, he would die. Sometimes when the image was made of material other than wax, it was differently treated. Also it was a custom to stick needles into such images, for the purpose of injuring rather than of killing. By putting the needles into the place of the eyes, for example, the person would be made blind; or by putting them into the place of the ears, he might be rendered deaf. A needle stuck into the place of the heart would cause death, slow or quick according to the slowness with which the needle was forced in.

      But there were many penalties attaching to the exercise of such magic. People convicted of having practised it were burned alive by law. However, burning alive was not the worst consequence of the practice, according to general belief; for the church taught that such a crime was unpardonable, and that all guilty of it must go to hell for all eternity. You might destroy your enemy by magic, but only at the cost of your own soul. A soul for a life. And you must know that the persons who did such things believed the magic was real, believed they were killing, and believed they were condemned to lose their souls in consequence. Can we conceive of hatred strong enough to satisfy itself at this price? Certainly, there have been many examples in the history of those courts in which trials for witchcraft were formerly held.

      Now we have the general idea behind this awful ballad. The speakers in the story are only two, a young woman and her brother, a little boy. We may suppose the girl to be twenty and the boy about five years old or even younger. The girl is apparently of good family, for she appears to be living in a castle of her own—at least a fortified dwelling of some sort. We must also suppose her to be an orphan, for she avenges herself—as one having no male relative to fight for her. She has been seduced under promise of marriage; but before the marriage day, her faithless lover marries another woman. Then she determines to destroy his life by magic. While her man of wax is melting before the fire, the parents, relatives, and newly-wedded bride of her victim come on horseback to beg that she will forgive. But forgive she will not, and he dies, and at the last his ghost actually enters the room. This is the story.

      You will observe that the whole conversation is only between the girl and this baby-brother. She talks to the child in child language, but with a terrible meaning behind each simple word. She herself will not answer the prayers of the relatives of the dying man; she makes the little brother act as messenger. So all that is said in the poem is said between the girl and the little boy. Even in the opening of the ballad there is a terrible pathos in the presence of this little baby brother. What does he know of horrible beliefs, hatred, lust, evil passion of any sort? He only sees that his sister has made a kind of wax-doll, and he thinks that it is a pretty doll, and would like to play with it. But his sister, instead of giving him the doll, begins to melt it before the fire, and he cannot understand why.

      One more preliminary observation. What is the meaning of the refrain? This refrain, in italics, always represents the secret thought of the girl, what she cannot say to the little brother, but what she thinks and suffers. The references to Mary refer to the Virgin Mary of course, but with the special mediæval sense. God would not forgive certain sins; but, during the Middle Ages at least, the Virgin Mary, the mother of God, was a refuge even for the despairing magician or witch. We could not expect one practising witchcraft to call upon the name of Christ. But the same person, in moments of intense pain, might very naturally ejaculate the name of Mary. And now we can begin the poem.

      SISTER HELEN

       "Why did you melt your waxen man,

       Sister Helen?

       To-day is the third since you began."

       "The time was long, yet the time ran,

       Little brother."

       (O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!) "But if you have done your work aright, Sister Helen, You'll let me play, for you said I might." "Be very still in your play to-night, Little brother." (O Mother, Mary Mother, Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!) "You said it must melt ere vesper-bell, Sister Helen; If now it be molten, all is well." "Even so—nay, peace! you cannot tell, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?) "Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen; How like dead folk he has dropped away!" "Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?) "See, see, the sunken pile of wood, Sister Helen, Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!" "Nay now, when looked you yet on blood, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!) "Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore, Sister Helen, And I'll play without the gallery door." "Aye, let me rest—I'll lie on the floor, Little brother." (O Mother, Mary Mother, What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) "Here high up in the balcony, Sister Helen, The moon flies face to face with me." "Aye, look and say whatever you see, Little brother." (O Mother, Mary Mother, What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) "Outside, it's merry in the wind's wake, Sister Helen; In the shaken trees the chill stars shake." "Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) "I hear a horse-tread, and I see, Sister Helen, Three horsemen that ride terribly." "Little brother, whence come the three, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

      In this last stanza the repetition of the words "little brother" indicates intense eagerness. The girl has been expecting that the result of her enchantments would force the relatives of her victim to come and beg for mercy. The child's words therefore bring to her a shock of excitement.

      "They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar,

       Sister Helen,

       And one draws nigh, but two are afar."

       "Look, look, do you know them who they are,

       Little brother?"

       (O Mother, Mary Mother, Who should they he, between Hell and Heaven?) "Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white mane on the blast." "The hour has come, has come at last, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)

      Those who come are knights, and the child can know them only by the crest or by the horses; as they are very far he can distinguish only the horses, but he knows the horse of Keith of Eastholm, because of its white mane, floating in the wind. From this point the poem becomes very terrible, because it shows us a play of terrible passion—passion all the more terrible because it is that of a woman.

      "He has made a sign and called Halloo!

       СКАЧАТЬ