the golden threshold-第1部分

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The　Golden　Threshold



by　Sarojini　Naidu








WITH　AN　INTRODUCTION　BY　ARTHUR　SYMONS











DEDICATED　TO　EDMUND　GOSSE　WHO　FIRST　SHOWED　ME　THE　WAY　TO　THE

GOLDEN　THRESHOLD　

London；　1896　Hyderabad；　1905　



CONTENTS



FOLK　SONGS



Palanquin…Bearers　　

Wandering　Singers　　

Indian　Weavers　　

Coromandel　Fishers　　

The　Snake…Charmer　

Corn…Grinders　

Village…Song　

In　Praise　of　Henna　

Harvest　Hymn　

Indian　Love…Song　

Cradle…Song　

Suttee



SONGS　FOR　MUSIC



Song　of　a　Dream　

Humayun　to　Zobeida　

Autumn　Song　Alabaster　

Ecstasy　

To　my　Fairy　Fancies



POEMS



Ode　to　H。　H。　the　Nizam　of　Hyderabad　

In　the　Forest　

Past　and　Future　Life　

The　Poet's　Love…Song　

To　the　God　of　Pain　

The　Song　of　Princess　Zeb…un…nissa　

Indian　Dancers　

My　Dead　Dream　

Damayante　to　Nala　in　the　Hour　of　Exile　

The　Queen's　Rival　

The　Poet　to　Death　

The　Indian　Gipsy　

To　my　Children　

The　Pardah　Nashin　

To　Youth　

Nightfall　in　the　City　of　Hyderabad　

Street　Cries　

To　India　

The　Royal　Tombs　of　Golconda　

To　a　Buddha　seated　on　a　Lotus



　

INTRODUCTION



It　is　at　my　persuasion　that　these　poems　are　now　published。　　The

earliest　of　them　were　read　to　me　in　London　in　1896；　when　the

writer　was　seventeen；　the　later　ones　were　sent　to　me　from　India

in　1904；　when　she　was　twenty…five；　and　they　belong；　I　think；

almost　wholly　to　those　two　periods。　　As　they　seemed　to　me　to　have

an　individual　beauty　of　their　own；　I　thought　they　ought　to　be

published。　　The　writer　hesitated。　　〃Your　letter　made　me　very

proud　and　very　sad；〃　she　wrote。　　〃Is　it　possible　that　I　have

written　verses　that　are　'filled　with　beauty；'　and　is　it　possible

that　you　really　think　them　worthy　of　being　given　to　the　world？　

You　know　how　high　my　ideal　of　Art　is；　and　to　me　my　poor　casual

little　poems　seem　to　be　less　than　beautifulI　mean　with　that

final　enduring　beauty　that　I　desire。〃　　And；　in　another　letter；

she　writes：　〃I　am　not　a　poet　really。　　I　have　the　vision　and　the

desire；　but　not　the　voice。　　If　I　could　write　just　one　poem　full

of　beauty　and　the　spirit　of　greatness；　I　should　be　exultantly

silent　for　ever；　but　I　sing　just　as　the　birds　do；　and　my　songs

are　as　ephemeral。〃　　It　is　for　this　bird…like　quality　of　song；　it

seems　to　me；　that　they　are　to　be　valued。　　They　hint；　in　a　sort　of

delicately　evasive　way；　at　a　rare　temperament；　the　temperament　of

a　woman　of　the　East；　finding　expression　through　a　Western

language　and　under　partly　Western　influences。　　They　do　not

express　the　whole　of　that　temperament；　but　they　express；　I　think；

its　essence；　and　there　is　an　Eastern　magic　in　them。



Sarojini　Chattopadhyay　was　born　at　Hyderabad　on　February　13；

1879。　　Her　father；　Dr。　Aghorenath　Chattopadhyay；　is　descended

from　the　ancient　family　of　Chattorajes　of　Bhramangram；　who　were

noted　throughout　Eastern　Bengal　as　patrons　of　Sanskrit　learning；

and　for　their　practice　of　Yoga。　　He　took　his　degree　of　Doctor　of

Science　at　the　University　of　Edinburgh　in　1877；　and　afterwards

studied　brilliantly　at　Bonn。　　On　his　return　to　India　he　founded

the　Nizam　College　at　Hyderabad；　and　has　since　laboured

incessantly；　and　at　great　personal　sacrifice；　in　the　cause　of

education。



Sarojini　was　the　eldest　of　a　large　family；　all　of　whom　were

taught　English　at　an　early　age。　　〃I；〃　she　writes；　〃was　stubborn

and　refused　to　speak　it。　　So　one　day　when　I　was　nine　years　old　my

father　punished　methe　only　time　I　was　ever　punishedby

shutting　me　in　a　room　alone　for　a　whole　day。　　I　came　out　of　it　a

full…blown　linguist。　　I　have　never　spoken　any　other　language　to

him；　or　to　my　mother；　who　always　speaks　to　me　in　Hindustani。　　I

don't　think　I　had　any　special　hankering　to　write　poetry　as　a

little　child；　though　I　was　of　a　very　fanciful　and　dreamy　nature。　

My　training　under　my　father's　eye　was　of　a　sternly　scientific

character。　　He　was　determined　that　I　should　be　a　great

mathematician　or　a　scientist；　but　the　poetic　instinct；　which　I

inherited　from　him　and　also　from　my　mother　（who　wrote　some　lovely

Bengali　lyrics　in　her　youth）　proved　stronger。　　One　day；　when　I

was　eleven；　I　was　sighing　over　a　sum　in　algebra：　it　WOULDN'T　come

right；　but　instead　a　whole　poem　came　to　me　suddenly。　　I　wrote　it

down。



〃From　that　day　my　'poetic　career'　began。　　At　thirteen　I　wrote　a

long　poem　a　la　'Lady　of　the　Lake'1300　lines　in　six　days。　　At

thirteen　I　wrote　a　drama　of　2000　lines；　a　full…fledged　passionate

thing　that　I　began　on　the　spur　of　the　moment　without　forethought；

just　to　spite　my　doctor　who　said　I　was　very　ill　and　must　not

touch　a　book。　　My　health　broke　down　permanently　about　this　time；

and　my　regular　studies　being　stopped　I　read　voraciously。　　I

suppose　the　greater　part　of　my　reading　was　done　between　fourteen

and　sixteen。　　I　wrote　a　novel；　I　wrote　fat　volumes　of　journals；　I

took　myself　very　seriously　in　those　days。〃



Before　she　was　fifteen　the　great　struggle　of　her　life　began。　　Dr。

Govindurajulu　Naidu；　now　her　husband；　is；　though　of　an　old　and

honourable　family；　not　a　Brahmin。　　The　difference　of　caste　roused

an　equal　opposition；　not　only　on　the　side　of　her　family；　but　of

his；　and　in　1895　she　was　sent　to　England；　against　her　will；　with

a　special　scholarship　from　the　Nizam。　　She　remained　in　England；

with　an　interval　of　travel　in　Italy；　till　1898；　studying　first　at

King's　College；　London；　then；　till　her　health　again　broke　down；

at　Girton。　　She　returned　to　Hyderabad　in　September　1898；　and　in

the　December　of　that　year；　to　the　scandal　of　all　India；　broke

through　the　bonds　of　caste；　and　married　Dr。　Naidu。　　〃Do　you　know

I　have　some　very　beautiful　poems　floating　in　the　air；〃　she　wrote

to　me　in　1904；　〃and　if　the　gods　are　kind　I　shall　cast　my　soul

like　a　net　and　capture　them；　this　year。　　If　the　gods　are

kindand　grant　me　a　little　measure　of　health。　　It　is　all　I　need

to　make　my　life　perfect；　for　the　very　'Spirit　of　Delight'　that

Shelley　wrote　of　dwells　in　my　little　home；　it　is　full　of　the

music　of　birds　in　the　garden　and　children　in　the　long　arched

verandah。〃　　There　are　songs　about　the　children　in　this　book；　they

are　called　the　Lord　of　Battles；　the　Sun　of　Victory；　the

Lotus…born；　and　the　Jewel　of　Delight。



〃My　ancestors　for　thousands　of　years；〃　I　find　written　in　one　of

her　letters；　〃have　been　lovers　of　the　forest　and　mountain　caves；

great　dreamers；　great　scholars；　great　ascetics。　　My　father　is　a

dreamer　himself；　a　great　dreamer；　a　great　man　whose　life　has　been

a　magnificent　failure。　　I　suppose　in　the　whole　of　India　there　are

few　men　whose　learning　is　greater　than　his；　and　I　don't　think

there　are　many　men　more　beloved。　　He　has　a　great　white　beard　and

the　profile　of　Homer；　and　a　laugh　that　brings　the　roof　down。　　He

has　wasted　all　his　money　on　two　great　objects：　to　help　others；

and　on　alchemy。　　He　holds　huge　courts　every　day　in　his　garden　of

all　the　learned　men　of　all　religionsRajahs　and　beggars　and

saints　and　downright　villains　all　delightfully　mixed　up；　and　all

treated　as　one。　　And　then　his　alchemy！　　Oh　dear；　night　and　day

the　experiments　are　going　on；　and　every　man　who　brings　a　new

prescription　is　welcome　as　a　brother。　　But　this　alchemy　is；　you

know；　only　the　material　counterpart　of　a　poet's　craving　for

Beauty；　the　eternal　Beauty。　　'The　makers　of　gold　and　the　makers

of　verse；'　they　are　the　twin　creators　that　sway　the　world's

secret　desire　for　mystery；　and　what　in　my　father　is　the　genius　of

curiositythe　very　essence　of　all　scientific　geniusin　me　is

the　desire　for　beauty。　　Do　you　remember　Pater's　phrase　about

Leonardo　da　Vinci；　'curiosity　and　the　desire　of　beauty'？〃



It　was　the　desire　of　beauty　that　made　her　a　poet；　her　〃nerves　of

delight〃　were　always　quivering　at　the　contact　of　beauty。　　To

those　who　knew　her　in　England；　all　the　life　of　the　tiny　figure

seemed　to　concentrate　itself　in　the　eyes；　they　turned　towards

beauty　as　the　sunflower　turns　towards　the　sun；　opening　wider　and

wider　until　one　saw　nothing　but　the　eyes。



She　was　dressed　always　in　clinging　dresses　of　Eastern　silk；　and

as　she　was　so　small；　and　her　long　black　hair　hung　straight　down

her　back；　you　might　have　taken　her　for　a　child。　　She　spoke

little；　and　in　a　low　voice；　like　gentle　music；　and　she　seemed；

wherever　she　was；　to　be　alone。



Through　that　soul　I　seemed　to　touch　and　take　hold　upon　the　East。　

And　first　there　was　the　wisdom　of　the　East。　I　have　never　known

any　one　who　seemed　to　exist　on　such　〃large　draughts　of

intellectual　day〃　as　this　child　of　seventeen；　to　whom　one　could

tell　all　one's　personal　troubles　and　agitations；　as　to　a　wise　old

woman。　　In　the　East；　maturity　comes　early；　and　this　child　had

already　lived　through　all　a　woman's　life。　　But　there　was

something　else；　something　hardly　personal；　something　which

belonged　to　a　consciousness　older　than　the　Christian；　which　I

realised；　wondered　at；　and　admired；　in　her　passionate

tranquillity　of　mind；　before　which　everything　mean　and　trivial

and　temporary　caught　fire　and　burnt　away　in　smoke。　　Her　body　was

never　without　suffering；　or　her　heart　without　conflict；　but

neither　the　body's　weakness　nor　the　heart's　violence　could

disturb　that　fixed　contemplation；　as　of　Buddha　on　his

lotus…throne。



And　along　with　this　wisdom；　as　of　age　or　of　the　age　of　a　race；

there　was　what　I　can　hardly　call　less　than　an　agony　of　sensation。　

Pain　or　pleasure　transported　her；　and　the　whole　of　pain　or

pleasure　might　be　held　in　a　flower's　cup　or　the　imagined　frown　of

a　friend。　　It　was　never　found　in　those　things　which　to　others

seemed　things　of　importance。　　At　the　age　of　twelve　she　passed　the

Matriculation　of　the　Madras　University；　and　awoke　to　find　herself

famous　throughout　India。　　〃Honestly；〃　she　said　to　me；　〃I　was　not

pleased；　such　things　did　not　appeal　to　me。〃　　But　here；　in　a

letter　from　Hyderabad；　bidding　one　〃share　a　March　morning〃　with

her；　there　is；　at　the　mere　contact　of　the　sun；　this　outburst：　

〃Come　and　share　my　exquisite　Ma