Comparison of 1860 and 1867 Editions of Lucile
| Part I Canto III Verse II 1860 Chapman & Hall / Ticknor & Fields II Lucile de Nevers (if her riddle I read) Was a woman of genius: whose genius, indeed, In the abstract, nor yet in the abstract mere woman: But THE WOMAN OF GENIUS, essentially human, Yet for ever at war with her own human nature. The genius, now fused in the woman gave stature And strength to her sex; now the woman, at war Wiith the genius, impeded its flight to the star. As it is with all genius, the essence and soul Of her nature was truth. When she sought to control, Or to stifle, or palter in aught with that truth, “Twas when life seem’d to grant it no issues. -----------------------------------Her youth One occasion had known, when, if fused in another, That tumult of soul, which she now sought to smother, Finding scope within man’s larger life, and conroll’d By man’s clearer judgment perchance might have roll’d Into channels enriching the troubled existence Which it now only vex’d with an inward resistance. But that chance fell too soon, when the crude sense of power Which had been to her nature so fatal a dower, Was too fierce and unfashion’d to fuse itself yet In the life of another, and served but to fret And to startle the man it yet haunted and thrall’d; And that moment, once lost, had never been recall’d. But it left her heart sore; and to shelter her heart From approach, she then sought, in that delicate art Of concealment, those thousand adroit strategies Of feminine wit, which repel while they please, A weapon, at once, and a shield, to conceal And defend all that woman can earnestly feel. Thus, striving her instincts to hide and repress, She felt frighten'd at times by her very success: She pined for the hill-tops, the clouds, and the stars: Golden wires may annoy us as much as steel bars If they keep us behind prison-windows: impassion'd Her heart rose and burst the light cage she had fashion'd Out of glittering trifles around it. Wings of desolate flight, and soar’d up from the world. In this dual identity possibly lay The secret and charm of her singular sway Over men of the world. ‘Twas the genius, all warm With the woman, that gave to the woman a charm Indescribably strange; there appear’d in her life A puzzle, a mystery – something at strife With such men, which yet thrall’d and enchain’d them in part, And, perplexing the fancy, still haunted the heart. That intensity, earnestness, depth, or veracity, Which starward impell’d her with such pertinacity As turns to the loadstar the needle, reflected Itself upon others: she therefore affected Unconsciously, those amongst whom she was thrown, As the magnet the metals it neighbors. -------------------------------------Unknown To herself, all her instincts, without hesitation, Embraced the idea of self-immolation. Unlike man’s stern intellect, which, while it stands Aloof from the minds that it sways and commands By a power wrench’d from labor, sublimely compels All around and beneath the high sphere where it dwells To its fix’d and imperial purpose; in her The soft spirit of woman that seeks to confer Its sweet self on the loved, had her life but been blended With some man’s whose heart had her own comprehended, All its wealth at his feet would have lavishly thrown. For him she had then been ambitious alone: For him had aspired; in him had transfused All the gladness and grace of her nature; and used For him only the spells of its delicate power: Like the ministering fairy that brings from her bower To some mage all the treasures, whose use the fond elf, More enrich’d by her love, disregards for herself. But standing apart, as she ever had done, And her genius, which needed a vent, finding none In the broad fields of action thrown wide to man’s power, She unconsciously made it her bulwark and tower, And built in it her refuge, whence lightly she hurl’d Her contempt at the fashions and forms of the world. And indeed, her chief fault was this unconscious scorn Of the world, to whose usages woman is born, Not the WORLD, where that word implies all human nature, The creator’s great gift to the needs of the creature: That large heart, with its sorrow to solace, its care To assuage, and its grant aspirations to share: But the world, with encroachments that chafe and perplex, With its men against man, and its sex against sex. “Ah, what will the world say?” with her was a query Never uttered, or uttered alone with a dreary Rejection in thought of the answer before It was heard: hence the thing which she sought to ignore And escape from in thought, she encounter’d in act By the blindness with which she opposed it. -----------------------------------------In fact, Had Lucile found in life that communion which links All that woman but dreams, feels, conceives of, and thinks, With what man acts and is,-- concentrating the strength Of her genius within her affections, at length Finding woman’s full use through man’s life, by man’s skill Readapted to forms fix’d for life, the strong will And high heart which the world’s creeds now recklessly braved, From the world’s crimes the man of the world would have saved; Reconciled, as it were, the divine with the human, And, exalting the man, have completed the woman. But the permanent cause why she now miss'd and fail'd That firm hold upon life she so keenly assail'd, Was, in all those diurnal occasions that place The world and the woman opposed face to face, Where the woman must yield, she, refusing to stir, Offended the world, which in turn wounded her. For the world is a nettle; disturb it, it stings: Grasp it firmly, it stings not. On one of two things, If you would not be stung, it behoves you to settle: Avoid it, or crush it. She crush'd not the nettle; For she could not; nor would she avoid it: she tried With the weak hand of woman to thrust it aside, And it stung her. A woman is too slight a thing To trample the world without feeling its sting. - - |
Part I Canto III Verse II 1867 Chapman & Hall II Lucile de Nevers (if her riddle I read) Was a woman of genius: whose genius, indeed, - - With her life was at war. Once, but once, in that life - - - - - - - - The chance had been hers to escape from this strife In herself; finding peace in the life of another From the passionate wants she, in hers, failed to smother. - - - But the chance fell too soon, when the crude restless power Which had been to her nature so fatal a dower, - - Only wearied the man it yet haunted and thrall'd; And that moment, once lost, had been never recall'd. Yet it left her heart sore: and, to shelter her heart From approach, she then sought, in that delicate art Of concealment, those thousand adroit strategies Of feminine wit, which repel while they please, A weapon, at once, and a shield to conceal And defend all that women can earnestly feel. Thus, striving her instincts to hide and repress, She felt frighten'd at times by her very success: She pined for the hill-tops, the clouds, and the stars: Golden wires may annoy us as much as steel bars If they keep us behind prison windows: impassion'd Her heart rose and burst the light cage she had fashion'd Out of glittering trifles around it. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ----------------------------------Unknown To herself, all her instincts, without hesitation, Embraced the idea of self-immolation. The strong spirit in her, had her life been but blended With some man's whose heart had her own comprehended, All its wealth at his feet would have lavishly thrown. For him she had struggled and striven alone; - - - - - - For him had aspired; in him had transfused All the gladness and grace of her nature; and used For him only the spells of its delicate power: Like the ministering fairy that brings from her bower To some mage all the treasures, whose use the fond elf, More enrich'd by her love, disregards for herself. But standing apart, as she ever had done, And her genius, which needed a vent, finding none In the broad fields of action thrown wide to man's power, She unconsciously made it her bulwark and tower, And built in it her refuge, whence lightly she hurl'd Her contempt at the fashions and forms of the world. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - And the permanent cause why she now miss'd and fail'd That firm hold upon life she so keenly assail'd, Was, in all those diurnal occasions that place Say--the world and the woman opposed face to face, Where the woman must yield, she, refusing to stir, Offended the world, which in turn wounded her. As before, in the old-fashion'd manner, I fit To this character, also, its moral: to wit, Say--the world is a nettle; disturb it, it stings: Grasp it firmly, it stings not. On one of two things, If you would not be stung, it behoves you to settle Avoid it, or crush it. She crush'd not the nettle; For she could not; nor would she avoid it: she tried With the weak hand of woman to thrust it aside, And it stung her. A woman is too slight a thing To trample the world without feeling its sting. |
Last revised: 10 January 2012