Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (623 page)

How they yield honey for the singing bees.

I would the whole world were as good a home.

COUNTESS LINDA.

And you are well off, Agatha ? — your friends

Left you a certain bread : is it not so ?

AGATHA.

Not so at all, dear lady. I had naught,

Was a poor orphan ; but I came to tend

Here in this house, an old afflicted pair,

Who wore out slowly ; and the last who died,

Full thirty years ago, left me this roof

And all the household stuff. It was great wealth ;

And so I had a home for Kate and Nell.

COUNTESS LINDA.

But how, then, have you earned your daily bread

These thirty years ?

AGATHA.

O, that is easy earning.

We help the neighbors, and our bit and sup.

Is never failing ; they have work for us

In house and field, all sorts of odds and ends,

Patching and mending, turning o’er the hay,

Holding sick children, — there is always work ;

And they are very good, — the neighbors are :

Weigh not our bits of work with weight and scale,

But glad themselves with giving us good shares

Of meat and drink ; and in the big farm-house

When cloth comes home from weaving, the good wife

Cuts me a piece, — this very gown, — and says :

“ Here, Agatha, you old maid, you have time

To pray for Hans who is gone soldiering :

The saints might help him, and they have much to do,

‘T were well they were besought to think of him. “

She spoke half jesting, but I pray, I pray

For poor young Hans. I take it much to heart

That other people are worse off than I, —

I ease my soul with praying for them all.

COUNTESS LINDA.

That is your way of singing, Agatha ;

Just as the nightingales pour forth sad songs,

And when they reach men’s ears they make men’s hearts

Feel the more kindly.

AGATHA,

Nay, I cannot sing :

My voice is hoarse, and oft I think my prayers

Are foolish, feeble things ; for Christ is good

Whether I pray or not, — the Virgin’s heart

Is kinder far than mine ; and then I stop

And feel I can do naught towards helping men,

Till out it comes, like tears that will not hold,

And I must pray again for all the world.

‘T is good to me, — I mean the neighbors are :

To Kate and Nell too. I have money saved

To go on pilgrimage the second time.

COUNTESS LINDA.

And do you mean to go on pilgrimage

With all your years to carry, Agatha ?

AGATHA.

The years are light, dear lady : ‘t is my sins

Are heavier than I would. And I shall go

All the way to Einsiedeln with that load :

I need to work it off.

COUNTESS LINDA.

What sort of sins,

Dear Agatha ? I think they must be small.

AGATHA.

Nay, but they may be greater than I know ;

‘T is but dim light I see by. So I try

All ways I know of to be cleansed and pure.

I would not sink where evil spirits are.

There’s perfect goodness somewhere : so I strive.

COUNTESS LINDA.

You were the better for that pilgrimage

You made before ? The shrine is beautiful,

And then you saw fresh country all the way.

AGATHA.

Yes, that is true. And ever since that time

The world seems greater, and the Holy Church

More wonderful. The blessed pictures all,

The heavenly images with books and wings,

Are company to me through the day and night.

The time ! the time ! It never seemed far back,

Only to father’s father and his kin

That lived before him. But the time stretched out

After that pilgrimage : I seemed to see

Far back, and yet I knew time lay behind,

As there are countries lying still behind

The highest mountains, there in Switzerland.

O, it is great to go on pilgrimage !

COUNTESS LINDA.

Perhaps some neighbors will be pilgrims too,

And you can start together in a band.

AGATHA.

Not from these hills : people are busy here,

The beasts want tendance. One who is not missed

Can go and pray for others who must work.

I owe it to all neighbors, young and old ;

For they are good past thinking, — lads and girls

Given to mischief, merry naughtiness,

Quiet it, as the hedgehogs smooth their spines,

For fear of hurting poor old Agatha.

‘T is pretty: why, the cherubs in the sky

Look young and merry and the angels play

On citherns, lutes, and all sweet instruments.

I would have young things merry. See the Lord !

A little baby playing with the birds ;

And how the Blessed Mother smiles at him.

COUNTESS LINDA.

I think you are too happy, Agatha,

To care for heaven. Earth contents you well.

AGATHA.

Nay, nay, I shall be called, and I shall go

Right willingly. I shall get helpless, blind,

Be like an old stalk to be plucked away :

The garden must be cleared for young spring plants.

‘T is home beyond the grave, the most are there,

All those we pray to, all the Church’s lights, , —

And poor old souls are welcome in their rags :

One sees it by the pictures. Good Saint Ann,

The Virgin’s mother, she is very old,

And had her troubles with her husband too.

Poor Kate and Nell are younger far than I,

But they will have this roof to cover them.

I shall go willingly ; and willingness

Makes the yoke easy and the burden light.

COUNTESS LINDA.

When you go southward in your pilgrimage,

Come to see me in Freiburg, Agatha.

Where you have friends you should not go to inns.

AGATHA.

Yes, I will gladly come to see you, lady.

And you will give me sweet hay for a bed,

And in the morning I shall wake betimes

And start when all the birds begin to sing.

COUNTESS LINDA.

You wear your smart clothes on the pilgrimage,

Such pretty clothes as all the women here

Keep by them for their best : a velvet cap

And collar golden-broidered ? They look well

On old and young alike,

AGATHA.

Nay, I have none, —

Never had better clothes than those you see.

Good clothes are pretty, but one sees them best

When others wear them, and I somehow thought

‘T was not worth while. I had so many things

More than some neighbors, I was partly shy

Of wearing better clothes than they, and now

I am so old and custom is so strong

‘T would hurt me sore to put on finery.

COUNTESS LINDA.

Your gray hair is a crown, dear Agatha.

Shake hands ; good-by. The sun is going down

And I must see the glory from the hill.

I stayed among those hills ; and oft heard more

Of Agatha. I liked to hear her name,

As that of one half grandame and half saint,