The Ideal and the Real

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.

Joaquin Miller

And full these truths eternal

O'er the yearning spirit steal.

That the real is the ideal.

And the ideal is the real.

he was damn'd with the dower of beauty, she
Had gold in shower by shoulder and brow.
Her feet!—why, her two blessed feet, were so small,
They could nest in this hand. How queenly, how tall,
How gracious, how grand! She was all to me,—
My present, my past, my eternity!
She but lives in my dreams. I behold her now
By shoreless white waters that flow'd like a sea
At her feet where I sat; her lips push'd out
In brave, warm welcome of dimple and pout!
'Twas aeons agone. By that river that ran
All fathomless, echoless, limitless, on.
And shoreless, and peopled with never a man,
We met, soul to soul No land; yet I think
There were willows and lilies that lean'd to drink.
The stars they were seal'd and the moons were gone.
The wide shining circles that girdled that world,
They were distant and dim. And an incense curl'd
In vapory folds from that river that ran
All shoreless, with never the presence of man.
How sensuous the night; how soft was the sound
Of her voice on the night! How warm was her breath
In that world that had never yet tasted of death
Or forbidden sweet fruit! In that far profound.
We were camped on the edges of god-land. We
Were the people of Saturn. The watery fields,
The wide-wing'd, dolorous birds of the sea.
They acknowledged but us. Our brave battle shields
Were my naked white palms; our food it was love.
Our roof was the fresco of gold belts above.
How turn'd she to me where that wide river ran,
With its lilies and willows and watery reeds.
And heeded as only your true love heeds!....
How tender she was, and how timid she was!
But a black, hoofed beast, with the head of a man,
Stole down where she sat at my side, and begun
To puff his tan cheeks, then to play, then to pause.
With his double-reed pipe; then to play and to play
As never played man since the world began.
And never shall play till the judgment day.
How he puff'd! how he play'd! Then down the dim shore.
This half-devil man, all hairy and black.
Did dance with his hoofs in the sand, laughing back
As his song died away....She turned never more
Unto me after that. She rose, and she pass'd
Right on from my sight. Then I followed as fast
As true love can follow. But ever before
Like a spirit she fled. How vain and how far
Did I follow my beauty, red belt or white star!
Through foamy white sea, unto fruit laden shore!
How long I did follow! My pent soul on fire
It did feed on itself. I fasted, I cried;
Was tempted by many. Yet still I denied
The touch of all things, and kept my desire....
I stood by the lion of St. Mark in that hour
Of Venice when gold of the sunset is roll'd
From cloud to cathedral, from turret to tower,
In matchless, magnificeut garments of gold;
Then I knew she was near; yet I had not known
Her form or her face since the stars were sown.
We two had been parted—God pity us!—when
This world was unnamed and all heaven was dim;
We two had been parted far back on the rim
And the outermost border of heaven's red bars;
We two had been parted ere the meeting of men.
Or God had set compass on spaces as yet;
We two had been parted ere God had once set
His finger to spinning the purple with stars,—
And now at the last in the sea and fret
Of the sun of Venice, we two had met.
Where the lion of Venice, with brows a-frown.
With tossed mane tumbled, and teeth in air.
Looks out in his watch o'er the watery town.
With paw half lifted, with claws half bare.
By the blue Adriatic, at her bath in the sea,—
I saw her. I knew her, but she knew not me.
I had found her at last! Why I, I had sail'd
The antipodes through, had sought, and had hail'd
All flags; I had climbed where the storm clouds curl'd.
And call'd o'er the awful arch'd dome of the world.
I saw her one moment, then fell back abash'd,
And fill'd to the throat Then I turn'd me once more,
Thanking God in my soul, while the level sun flashed
Happy halos about her Her breast!— why, her breast
Was white as twin pillows that lure you to rest.
Her sloping limbs moved like to melodies told,
As she rose from the sea, and threw back the gold
Of her glorious hair, and set face to the shore....
I knew her! I knew her, though we had not met
Since the red stars sang to the sun's first set!
How long I had sought her! I had hunger'd, nor ate
Of any sweet fruits. I had followed not one
Of all the fair glories grown under the sun.
I had sought only her, believing that she
Had come upon earth, and stood waiting for me
Somewhere by my way. But the path-ways of Fate
They had led otherwhere; the round world round.
The far North seas and the near profound
Had fail'd me for aye. Now I stood by that sea
Where she bathed in her beauty,...God, I and she!
I spake not, but caught in my breath; I did raise
My face to fair heaven to give God praise
That at last, ere the ending of Time, we had met,
Had touch'd upon earth at the same sweet place.. . .
Yea, we never had met since creation at all;
Never, since ages ere Adam's fall,
Had we two met in that hunger and fret
Where two should be one, but had wander'd through space;
Through space and through spheres, as some bird that hard fate
Gives a thousand glad Springs but never one mate.
Was it well with my love? Was she true? Was she brave
With virtue's own valor? Was she waiting for me?
Oh, how fared my love? Had she home? had she bread ?
Had she known but the touch of the warmtemper'd wave?
Was she born to this world with a crown on her head,
Or born, like myself, but a dreamer instead?
So long it had been! So long! Why, the sea—
That wrinkled and surly, old, time-temper'd slave—
Had been born, had his revels, grown wrinkled and hoar
Since I last saw my love on that uttermost shore.
Oh, how fared my love? Once I lifted my face,
And I shook back my hair and look'd out on the sea;
I press'd my hot palms as I stood in my place,
And I cried, "Oh, I come like a king to your side
Though all hell intervene! "...." Hist! she may be a bride,
A mother at peace, with sweet babes at her knee!
A babe at her breast and a spouse at her side!—
Had I wander'd too long, and had Destiny
Set mortal between us?" I buried my face
In my hands, and I moan'd as I stood in my place.
'Twas her year to be young. She was tall, she was fair—
Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ?
'Twas her year to be young. She was queenly and tall;
And I felt she was true, as I lifted my face
And saw her press down her rich robe to its place.
With a hand white and small as a babe's with a doll.
And her feet!— why, her feel in the white shining sand
Were so small, 'twas a wonder the maiden could stand.
Then she push'd back her hair with a round hand that shone
And flash'd in the light with a white starry stone.
Then my love she is rich! My love she is fair!
Is she pure as the snow on the Alps over there?
She is gorgeous with wealth! "Thank God, she has bread,"
I said to myself. Then I humbled my head
In gratitude deep. Then I question'd me where
Was her palace, her parents ? What name did she bear?
What mortal on earth came nearest her heart ?
Who touch'd the small hand til) it thrill'd to a smart ?
Twas her year to be young. She was rich, she was fair—
Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ?
Then she loosed her rich robe that was blue like the sea.
And silken and soft as a baby's new born.
And my heart it leap'd light as the sunlight at morn
At the sight of my love in her proud purity,
As she rose like a Naiad half-robed from the sea.
Then careless and calm as an empress can be
She loosed and let fall all the raiment of blue.
As she drew a white robe in a melody
Of moving white limbs, while between the two.
Like a rift in a cloud, shone her fair presence through.
Soon she turn'd, reach'd a hand; then a tall gondolier
Who had lean'd on his oar, like a long lifted spear,
Shot sudden and swift and all silently,
And drew to her side as she turn'd from the tide.
It was odd, such a thing, and I counted it queer
That a princess like this, whether virgin or bride,
Should abide thus apart as she bathed in the sea;
And I chafed and I chafed, and so unsatisfied,
That I flutter'd the doves that were perch'd close about,
As I strode up and down in dismay and in doubt.
Swift she stept in the boat on the borders of night
As an angel might step on that far wonder land
Of eternal sweet life, which men mis-name Death.
Quick I called me a craft, and I caught at my breath
As she sat in the boat, and her white baby hand
Held vestments of gold to her throat, snowy white.
Then her gondola shot,— shot sharp for the shore:
There was never the sound of a song or of oar.
But the doves hurried home in white clouds to Saint Mark,
Where the brass horses plunge their high manes in the dark.
Then I cried: "Follow fast! Follow fast! Follow fast!
Aye! thrice double fare, if you follow her true
To her own palace door!" There was plashing of oar
And rattle of rowlock....! sat peering through.
Looking far in the dark, peering out as we passed
With my soul all alert, bending down, leaning low.
But only the oaths of the fisherman's crew
When we jostled them sharp as we sudden shot through
The watery town. Then a deep, distant roar—
The rattle of rowlock; the rush of the oar.
The rattle of rowlock, the rush of the sea. . . .
Swift wind like a sword at the throat of us all!
I lifted my face, and, far, fitfully
The heavens breathed lightning; did lift and let fall
As if angels were parting God's curtains. Then deep
And indolent-like, and as if half asleep,
As if half made angry to move at all,
The thunder moved. It confronted me.
It stood like an avalanche poised on a hill,
I saw its black brows. I heard it stand still.
The troubled sea throbb'd as if rack'd with pain.
Then the black clouds rose and suddenly rode,
As a fiery, fierce stallion that knows no rein;
Right into the town. Then the thunder strode
As a giant striding from star to red star.
Then turn'd upon earth and frantically came.
Shaking the hollow heaven. And far
And near red lightning in ribbon and skin
Did seam and furrow the cloud with flame,
And write on black heaven Jehovah's name.
Then lightnings came weaving like shuttlecocks.
Weaving rent robes of black clouds for death.
And frightened doves fluttered them home in flocks,
And mantled men hied them with gather'd breath.
Black gondolas scattered as never before,
And drew like crocodiles up on the shore;
And vessels at sea stood further at sea.
And seamen haul'd with a bended knee.
And canvas came down to left and to right,
Till ships stood stripp'd as if stripp'd for fight!
Then an oath. Then a prayer. Then a gust, with rents
Through the yellow sail'd fishers. Then suddenly
Came sharp fork'd fire! Then again thunder fell
Like the great first gun! Ah, then there was rout
Of ships like the breaking of regiments.
And shouts as if hurled from an upper hell.
Then tempest! It lifted, it spun us about,
Then shot us ahead through the hills of the sea
As a great steel arrow shot shoreward in wars—
Then the storm split open till I saw the blown stars.
On! on! through the foam! through the storm! through the town!
She was gone! She was lost in that wilderness
Of leprous white palaces ... .Black distress!
I stood in my gondola. All up and all down
We pushed through the surge of the saltflood street
Above and below .... 'Twas only the beat
Of the sea's sad heart....! leaned, listened; I sat ....
'Twas only the water-rat; nothing but that;
Not even the sea-bird screaming distress.
As she lost her way in that wilderness.
I listen'd all night. I caught at each sound;
I clutch'd and I caught as a man that drown'd—
Only the sullen, low growl of the sea
Far out the flood-street at the edge of the ships;
Only the billow slow licking his lips,
A dog that lay crouching there watching for me,—
Growling and showing white teeth all the night;
Only a dog, and as ready to bite;
Only the waves with their salt-flood tears
Fretting white stones of a thousand years.
And then a white dome in the loftiness
Of cornice and cross and of glittering spire
That thrust to heaven and held the fire
Of the thunder still; the bird's distress
As he struck his wings in that wilderness,
On marbles that speak, and thrill, and inspire,—
The night below and the night above;
The water-rat building, the sea-lost dove;
That one lost, dolorous, lone bird's call,
The water-rat building,— but that was all.
Silently, slowly, still up and still down.
We row'd and we row'd for many an hour,
By beetling palace and toppling tower.
In the darks and the deeps of the watery town.
Only the water-rat building by stealth,
Only the lone bird astray in his flight
That struck white wings in the clouds of night,
On spires that sprang from Queen Adria's wealth;
Onlj' one sea dove, one lost white dove:
The blackness below, the blackness above!
Then, pushing the darkness from pillar to post,
The morning came sullen and gray like a ghost
Slow up the canal. I lean'd from the prow.
And listen'd. Not even that dove in distress
Crying its way through the wilderness;
Not even the stealthy old water-rat now,
Only the bell in the fisherman's tower,
Slow tolling at sea and telling the hour,
To kneel to their sweet Santa Barbara
For tawny fishers at sea, and to pray.
* * * * * *
High over my head, carved cornice, quaint spire.
And ancient built palaces knock'd their gray brows
Together and frown'd. Then slow-creeping scows
Scraped the walls on each side. Above me the fire
Of sudden-born morning came flaming in bars ;
While up through the chasm I could count the stars.
Oh, pity! Such ruin! The dank smell of death
Crept up the canal: I could scarce take my breath!
'Twas the fit place for pirates, for women who keep
Contagion of body and soul where they sleep ....
God's pity! A white hand now beck'd me
From an old mouldy door, almost in my reach.
I sprang to the sill as one wrecked to a beach;
I sprang with wide arms: it was she! it was she!. . . .
And in such a damn'd place! And what was her trade?
To think I had follow'd so faithful, so far
From eternity's brink, from star to white star.
To find her, to find her, nor wife nor sweet maid!
To find her a shameless poor creature of shame,
A nameless, lost body, men hardly dared name.
All alone in her shame, on that damp dismal floor
She stood to entice me I bow'd me before
All-conquering beauty. I call'd her my Queen!
I told her my love as I proudly had told
My love had I found her as pure as pure gold.
I reach'd her my hands, as fearless, as clean.
As man fronting cannon. I cried, "Hasten forth
To the sun! There are lands to the south, to the north,
Anywhere where you will. Dash the shame from your brow;
Come with me, for ever; and come with me now! "
Why, I'd have turn'd pirate for her, would have seen
Ships burn'd from the seas, like to stubble from field.
Would I turn from her now ? Why should I now yield,
When she needed me most? Had I found her a queen.
And beloved by the world,— why, what had I done?
I had woo'd, and had woo'd, and had woo'd till I won!
Then, if I had loved her with gold and fair fame.
Would not I now love her, and love her the same?
My soul hath a pride. I would tear out my heart
And cast it to dogs, could it play a dog's part!
"Don't you know me, my bride of the wide world of yore?
Why, don't you remember the white milky-way
Of stars, that we traversed the aeons be- fore ?
We were counting the colors, we were naming the seas
Of the vaster ones. You remember the trees
That sway'd in the cloudy white heavens, and bore
Bright crystals of sweets, and the sweet manna-dew?
Why, you smile as you weep, you remember, and you,
You know me! You know me! You know me! Yea,
You know me as if 'twere but yesterday!
I told her all things. Her brow took a frown;
Her grand Titan beauty, so tall, so serene,
The one perfect woman, mine own idol queen—
Her proud swelling bosom, it broke up and down
As she spake, and she shook in her soul as she said,
With her small hands held to her bent, aching head:
"Go back to the world! Go back, and alone
Till kind Death comes and makes white his own."
I said; "I will wait! I will wait in the pass
Of death, until Time he shall break his glass."
Then I cried, "Yea, here where the gods did love,
Where the white Europa was won,— she rode
Her milk-white bull through these same warm seas,—
Yea, here in the land where huge Hercules,
With the lion's heart and the heart of the dove.
Did walk in his naked great strength, and strode
In the sensuous air with his lion's skin
Flapping and fretting his knotted thews:
Where Theseus did wander, and Jason cruise,—
Yea, here let the life of all lives begin.
"Yea! Here where the Orient balms breathe life,
Where heaven is kindest, where all God's blue
Seems a great gate open'd to welcome you.
Come, rise and go forth, my empress, my wife."
Then spake her great soul, so grander far
Than I had believed on that outermost star;
And she put by her tears, and calmly she said,
With hands still held to her bended head:
" I will go through the doors of death and wait
For you on the innermost side death's gate.
"Thank God that this life is but a day's span.
But a wayside inn for weary, worn man—
A night and a day; and, to-morrow, the spell
0, darkness is broken. Now, darling, farewell!"
I caught at her robe as one ready to die—
"Nay, touch not the hem of my robe— it is red
With sins that your own sex heap'd on my head!
Now turn you, yes, turn! But remember how I
Wait weeping, in sackcloth, the while I wait
Inside death's door, and watch at the gate."
I cried yet again, how I cried, how I cried.
Beaching face, reaching hands as a drowning man might.
She drew herself back, put my two hands aside,
Half turned as she spoke, as one turned to the night:
Speaking low, speaking soft as a wind through the wall
Of a ruin where mold and night masters all;
"I shall live my day, live patient on through
The life that man hath compelled me to,
Then turn to my mother, sweet earth, and pray
She keep me pure to the Judgment Day!
I shall sit and wait as you used to do.
Will wait the next life, through the whole life through.
I shall sit all alone, I shall wait alway;
I shall wait inside of the gate for you.
Waiting, and counting the days as I wait;
Yea, wait as that beggar that sat by the gate
Of Jerusalem, waiting the Judgment Day."

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Poetry

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.

Joaquin Miller