The Farmer's Bride
Charlotte Mew 1869 - 1928
Three summer's since I chose a maid,
Too young may be - but more's to do
At harvest time than bide and woo.
When us was wed she turned afraid
Of love and me and all things human;
Like the shut of a winter's day.
Her smile went out, and 'twasn't a woman-
More like a little frightened fay.
One night, in the fall, she runned away.
"Out 'mong the sheep, her be," they said,
Should properly have been abed;
But sure enough she wasn't there
Lying awake with her wide brown stare.
So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down
We chased her, flying like a hare
Before our lanterns. To Church-town
All in a shiver and a scare
We caught her, fetched her home at last
And turned the key upon her fast.
She does the work about the house,
As well as most, but like a mouse:
Happy enough to chat and play
With birds and rabbits and such as they,
So long as men-folk keep away.
"Not near, Not near," her eyes beseech
When one of us comes within reach.
The women say that beasts in stall
Look round like children at her call.
I've hardly heard her speak at all.
Shy as a leveret, swift as he,
Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
To her wild self. But what to me ?
The short days shorten and the oaks are brown,
The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky,
One leaf in the still air falls slowly down,
A magpie's spotted feathers lie
On the black earth spread white with rime,
The berries redden up to Christmas- time.
What's Christmas-time without there be
Some other in the house but we.
She sleeps up in the attic there
Alone, poor maid. 'Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh! My God! the down,
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her - her eyes, her hair ! her hair !
(1916)
CHARLOTTE MEW LIVED all her life in Central London. Small, with doll-like hands and feet, she was a strange and difficult woman, known for her eccentricities and her fierce independence. Born in 1869 she was the second of 7 siblings of which two died early and three inherited the family mental illness.
The family was not rich and Charlotte - Lotti - began to write short stories for publication whilst Anne, her only surviving sister, took up bird and flower painting. They lived together in Camden, caring for their frail and elderly mother, and living precariously on her small widow's annuity.
In 1894 Charlotte had a short story accepted by the infamous "Yellow Book;" a new magazine now remembered mainly for its drawings by Aubrey Beardsley. The Yellow Book was popular - although scandalous - and Lotti's work was in demand. At the end of the century she joined the Art Nouveau set of artists and writers, cutting her hair and striding about London in tailored clothes, swearing and smoking. She fell in love with Ella D'Arcy, an editorial assistant at The Yellow Book who was amoral, artistic - and strictly heterosexual, who spurned Lotto's declaration of affection.
After the demise of The Yellow Book Lotti began to write more poetry and was often invited to read her work at Salon's in artistic London. In 1913 she fell in love with May Sinclair, successful writer of popular fiction, also seriously heterosexual - again Lotti was rebuffed.
Later in 1913 Lotti was drawn into The Poetry Workshop run by Harold Monro, on the edges of Bloomsbury, who published her first poetry Volume "The Farmer's Bride" in 1916. The next ten years were to be the most successful time of her life, she became a minor celebrity in artistic London. Ottoline Morrell invited her to Garsington, Edith Sitwell, Yeats, Robert Bridges and Joseph Conrad were amongst many friends.
But on the death of their mother in the early 1920s Anne and Lotti sank further into poverty and the health of both began to fail. A pension of £75 a year for Lotti from the Civil list came too late, in 1927 Anne died of cancer. A year later in 1928 Lotti took her own life by swallowing Lysol.
She is buried with her sister in Fortune Green Cemetery in North London; the headstone can still be seen.
Thanks to "Charlotte Mew & her Friends" by Penelope Fitzgerald.
From Old Dyke 6, November 2000
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