Auteur: Giles Watson
Beschrijving:
Book: www.lulu.com/shop/giles-watson/pearl/paperback/product-20...
The story so far: The Dreamer loses his Pearl in a grassy mound - evidently her grave. He swoons with grief, and awakens in an earthly paradise, through which there runs a beautiful stream. The land on the opposite bank seems even more beautiful. He wanders further down the stream, hoping to find a bridge or a ford. Just when he starts to become afraid of the dangers that may be in store for him, he sees a young woman sitting at the foot of a crystal cliff on the opposite bank, and instantly recognises her as his lost Pearl. He hails his Pearl and expresses his relief that she still exists, but she begins to reprove him for his lack of faith. She criticises him for only believing that her soul is immortal now that he can see her, and is shocked by his suggestion that he - a mortal man - has a hope of joining her in Paradise without first experiencing death.
He tells her that for him to walk away from her now that he has found her again would be to suffer a fresh bereavement. She replies that it is divinely decreed that he cannot cross over to her. The Dreamer pleads with his Pearl to accept that his rash questions were borne out of his great grief, and asks her to describe her life in Paradise. She relents, and tells him that she is crowned Queen of Heaven, and is married to the Lamb. The Dreamer is shocked by this assertion. He says that he thought only the Virgin Mary was Queen of Heaven. Pearl replies with a description of a-semi egalitarian heaven in which all inhabitants are kings and queens, and asserts that although Mary has pre-eminence, none of those in heaven would ever question it, because she is so “courteous”. She cites the Pauline notion that the church is the body of Christ in support of her claim.
The Dreamer is even less convinced than before. He wonders how she can have been instantly crowned a Queen of Heaven when she was on the earth for less than two years. She replies at length, citing the parable of the labourers in the vineyard as justification for her rapid advancement in the kingdom of Heaven. She continues to retell the parable, and concludes by insisting that like the workers who worked less than two hours in the vineyard, she was first in line for God’s reward when she reached Heaven. The Dreamer cannot understand. Surely, he argues, those who have endured a lifetime’s pain and temptation must have precedence. She responds that those who die as children die innocent, whereas those who have lived longer are more likely to be tainted by the world, and argues that the Dreamer is underestimating the grace of God. She continues by expounding a series of Biblical texts on the theme of righteousness and justification, culminating with the scene from the gospels in which Christ welcomes the children, and reproves his disciples for attempting to repel them. She continues to expound on this theme, reminding the Dreamer that Christ insisted that one must become like a little child in order to approach him.
The Dreamer admits that she is stupendously beautiful, but wonders how she can have won the title of Queen and bride of Christ, in the face of stiff competition: all those other women who have gone to heaven. Her reply draws upon the Old Testament prophets and the Book of Revelation: the Lamb which was slain in Jerusalem will return to govern the New Jerusalem as its King, with a company of a hundred and forty-four thousand wives – one of whom is the Pearl. She describes the state of bliss experienced by all the brides of the Lamb, and the worship that is offered to him. The Dreamer asks her for a boon: he wants to see the heavenly city or fortress where she lives. She describes the spotless city of the New Jerusalem, and he is so entranced by the glory she describes that he repeats his request to be taken to see it. She grants his request, even though he will not be able to set foot inside the city, and he follows her upstream until he can see the heavenly City. At first, he cannot lift his eyes beyond the twelve tiers at its base, each one wrought of precious stones – with the exception of one, which is fashioned out of pearl. Now, he begins to look up at – and through – the City itself, awed beyond belief by its beauty. He realises that no mortal could ever enter the city and survive its sublime excess – and sees a throng of a hundred thousand and more women, all dressed and jewelled like his Pearl, approaching the throne of God in the company of the Lamb.
Pearl: Part 19
Just as the rising, marvellous moon
Drives the ebbing day-gleams down,
It shakes the very soul of man
To know this City – of rich renown –
Is thronged with retinues of women:
All virgins, wearing the same gowns,
Answering the same unseen summons
As my own bejewelled and blissful one –
And all of them are likewise crowned,
Dripping pearls, and draped in white.
In each one’s breast is firmly clasped
A blissful pearl of great delight.
In great delight they glide together
On golden, glinting, glassy roads;
A hundred thousand of them gather,
All rigged out in matching robes,
Each as radiant as the other.
The splendid Lamb before them rides
With seven horns – a lather
Of priceless pearls encrusts his clothes,
And without clamour, the virgins close
In upon the throne, their ranks all white.
Like maidens at Mass, they rise in rows,
Pouring forth with great delight.
The delight the Lamb’s coming brings
Is too intense for me to tell:
The aldermen, when he arrives,
Swoon at his feet. No pen could spell
Out how that angel-legion throngs,
With thuribles, the delightful smell
Of incense eternally on the rise,
And for that Jewel, their praises swell:
They quake the Earth and cleave Hell.
The virtuous orders of angels smite
My heart. I long to sing as well,
And lose my soul in their delight.
Delighting in the Lamb, I reel,
Rapt in wonder. Just out of reach
He seems: more regal and real
Than prophets could spell out in speech,
His garments all glorious, the seal
Of graciousness upon his face. I search
With wild eyes the wound that spills
His heart’s blood, in a great gush,
The skin so torn. I swoon and lurch,
Sick to think that sin and spite
Thrust in the spear and raised the lash.
Can men do this, and take delight?
And yet, delight is on his face
Despite that open, gushing sore:
The agony has left no trace
On his expression – an exultant stare.
Around him, his retinue of grace,
Lambent with life, enough to sear
My eyes. And there, looking utterly in-place,
My little Queen. Did she stand near
Me in that glade? Christ! I can hear
Her laughter, mingling with the mass, all white.
I must wade these waters, face my fear
With love, and longing for delight.
Late fourteenth century poem, written in a north-west midland dialect of Middle English, paraphrased by Giles Watson.
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