University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.st

A Bedroom; Storm heard without. Edward, the Gambler, lyeing on the Bed, on which he has thrown himself after Midnight, in a state of halfdrunkenness, to which he is accustomed in order to drown his Thoughts; starts up, halfasleep, at the Thunderclap.
EDWARD.
O God! Hell; furies; help, or — oh! oh! oh!
(He sees himself in a glass, by the lightningsflash and starts back aghast).
'Tis there, there still, with fixed and glassy Eye,
Looking damnation, as it meant to say,
Down, down to Hell— ha, ha, ha, (hysterically)
fool, idiot, 'twas but
An idle Dream — an idle dream! e'en so;
And yet so like the life that I could swear
It real; methought I was annihilated, and
The warm, fresh, current of the blood within
My Heart was froze — that fearful thunderclap!
Plunging so madly thro' the womb of Night,
As it would rend the thickest veil of crime
And mystery, that with a blacker Night,
Hideth Man's Heart, in vain —
Methought the Voice of the Eternal God
(Shuddering and glancing fearfully round.)
Awoke my Soul, as from the cold, cold Grave,
And the vast fabric of this mighty Globe,
Like to a toppling Tower, o'erpoisëd by
The weight of boundless guilt, was swept away
Into th' abyss of dread Eternity,
And sounds as of the damned rang in my Ears!
Ha, ha, (hysteric Laugh, and echo):
the voice of the Eternal God!
Ha, ha; who laughs?— Methinks the very walls
Jabber in mockery; fool, fool, 'twas but
The echo of thy Voice, that thus unmans
Thy Cowardspirit like a sickly Girl
O'ermastered by her fears —
I ne'er believed in God, and will not now
When I've outgrown these cradlefancies, and
Know myself Man. I trembled not, nor shrank
At my own shadow, when I did it, no!
My Heart beat true, and my firm Hand was prompt
To second Head and Heart: for what then now
Should I prove false unto myself, when nought
Is near to harm?— a Thunderclap forsooth,
A little Stir up in the Air, that long
Ago has melted into Emptiness,
And a wild dream? am I not still myself?
Do I not love myself? are Head and Heart
Forsooth turned traitors to a common cause,
And to themselves? pah! mere fooleries and fumes
Of th' o'ernight's supper— and yet 'tis most strange,
I seem no longer Master of myself,
But in myself a mightier than myself,
Seems in my own despite, as tho'I were
A struggling Infant in a Giant's grasp,
To force me on unto the very face
And front of my offending, and to strip
The veil from off my Eyes, bidding me see
And loathe myself— Oh Conscience! Conscience!
There is more in that word than meets the Ear.
The grinning Devil, Sophistry, can dupe
Full well th'Intention, but when once 'tis done,
The veil is rent, and naked stands the Truth;
Before the deed Temptation's magic touch
Can gild the leaden hue of blackest crime,
And clothe the withered skeleton of cold,
Heartsickening disappointment with the shape
And form of ripe fruition — Fool, fool, fool,
The sport of idle thoughts, that bubblelike,
Toss thee upon a sea of doubt, despair:
The sickly hue of fancy, long indulged,
Will change Man's resolution to a dream.
There is no God; and guilt is but the name
With which the coward speciously conceals
His lack of Soul; or if there be a God
That thus o'erlooks the World, and guilt be guilt,
Why has the Thunderclap that's spent in air,
Not crushed me with his vengeance, as it should,
If he were provident of Right or Wrong,
And not all impotent to punish? fool!
I laugh to think how great a fool I've been
For nothing; but I'm now myself again.
Yet would I sleep no more— how a mere nought
Can all unhinge the firmset mind of Man,
And fling him from his centre, like a star
Cast from its orbit, in an airy maze
Of baseless and unending doubts! enough,
Would it were day; and yet the Day is scarce
More sweet to me than Night; for then, methinks,
The prying Eye of every idiot can
Unlock my Heart, and every casual word
That folly utters seems to point the way
To that which I would wrap in utter Night.
My fellowmen are prying fiends, and hate
Doth seem to dog my steps where'er I turn,
While sleep is but another name for Hell!
Oh I could wish a wish, and I would give
(breaks short)
What? fool, idiot! once more a greater fool
Than ever, 'tis too late! who says so? who?
The fiend, the fiend, there, there he stands for aye
Grinning damnation; ha, ha, ha;—
O God! footsteps— discovered— curse on't, who comes?

(Gasping and leaning on a chair; enters his sister with a light, who has heard him paceing up and down, she appears in Undress.)
SISTER
SPEAKS.
Dear brother! at this hour, and dressed? your looks
Are haggard and distracted— oh what ails you?
Come tell me— let us have no secrets now
I pray; you know I love you, do I not?

EDWARD
SPEAKS.
Yes, sister, and such love as yours might well
Demand a greater sacrifice; but still
Another time, dear, we will talk of that
Which now disturbs my Mind. I came to rest,
Overfatiguëd with a Day of toil,
And layd me down undressed; but the worn Mind,
When o'erexcited by its fretting thoughts,
Rests not itself, nor lets the body rest.
This, with the jarring storm, has quite untuned
My Spirit's harmony, of which the strings
Are rudely fingered by a thousand wild,
Discordant fancies, and no less a hand
Than thine can set it right again.

(He walks away from her, and speaks apart, muttering to himself.)
EDWARD
SPEAKS.
(He draws near, takes her hand, and speaks aloud.)
Sister, how fair this hand,
From Spot or Speck quite free! look now at this.
Seest thou nought on it?— 'tis no more the same
As that, with which in early Infancy
I culled for thee the Flowers that we loved!
(He shrinks from her touch, and lets her hand drop. Then starts aside and speaks apart, while she leans on a Chair and watches him in Astonishment.)
Avaunt, thou Fiend of lieing memory!
Why wilt thou rack my Heart beyond all Power
Of Man's Endurance? I was innocent,
As the unborn babe, and now black, black as Hell!
My life has but two epochs, two dread points
Of dire collision, and my heart between
Is ground to dust with agony; I am;
I was — but there is still a dread, to be,
From which my glance shrinks withered up, as tho'
The nerve were firetouched: the Hell to come,
Tho' blacker than the hell of now 'tis not,
Is yet more dread in apprehension; thus
E'en in this life our crimes themselves do scourge,
And in the next vengeance exacts her due.
Thus the foul fiend doth mould us to his will,
Making us tools unto ourselves and him,
And is the first to turn and taunt us with
The crime he prompted to! as if 'twere not
Enough to sin, but we must foolëd be,
E'en in the depth of our most boasted lore,
Like shallow novices, and bear the scorn
Of sneering fiends; and last, yet worst of all,
Feel that we've laid the snare for our own feet,
And own it just; while yet we curse the chance,
The chance! my heart belies the empty word:
There's more of Providence in this same chance;
Than my fears dare to credit: if 'twere chance,
And Guilt were but an idle name, why then
To kill a cat should wake as much remorse,
As to outrage in Man the Deity
Who stamped him in his Image! oh that thought
Should ever thus be at the Heels of action,
Damning with Afteradmonition still,
Like sickness after surfeit! But enough;
Peace for the present thou most fearful voice,
That ringest like a sentence in my ear,
And leave me master of myself once more.
Avaunt! (Aloud, and rousing himself at last as his Sister, who has been watching him at a distance in wonder and terror, and has in vain accosted him several times, ultimately succeeds in calling his attention.)
— His Sister clasping him.
Speak, speak, my dearest Edward, speak,
Say but one word, to break this dreadful, deep,
Inexplicable mystery, which weighs
Like death upon one.

EDWARD.
—Nay, my dearest Girl,
Be but a moment calm, and all is well;
I did but wander. I felt ill: sick, sick,
Here at the heart— But now 'tis gone, 'tis gone,
And I am still thine own, own Edward; too,
Too happy in so kind a Sister.

SISTER.
Oh Edward,
Your words have more than meet the Ear, and like
Some straynote of a broken tune, they wake
In the stirred heart a throng of blended thoughts,
Wild and confused, yet meaning much, and full
Of feelings which we cannot body forth,
Whose vagueness tortures the racked breast the more.
For the last moment I have watched thy face,
(While thy Lips moved, and muttered broken words)
Varying each instant, like a cloudy Day,
Now dark, now still, now allobscured, now wrung
And writhing, as each separate Sinew had
An individual Life— while from thine eye
Thoughts flashed, like lightninggleams, which vaguely hint
At the fierce elements within, that will
Not vent themselves, yet cannot allconceal
Their wild intensity— nay dearest, nay
Such griefs as these do weigh too heavy for
A single Breast, let me but share a part,
And we shall both be happier.—

EDWARD.
It may
Not be; thou know'st not what thou ask'st, yet still
I'll think upon it, and meanwhile, adieu,
I am too worn for further converse, and
Would fain repose awhile — once more farewell.
(She departs, and he looks after her.)
She's gone! the Past, the innocent Past, awhile
Like a sweet vision, rose before my eyes,
As she stood by me; but dread solitude,
Like a chill deathshroud, wraps my soul once more.
My Heart is stirred: the thoughts of early days
Are on me, and I fain would pray — «O God» —
(Kneels, then breaks short.)
I cannot; how should I extend to Him,
These bloodstained hands in prayer? where find
The words of Grace, when Hell is in my breast?
If I should say, «our Father which art in Heaven,»
I call down Vengeance on myself; if thus,
«Do unto others as thou wouldst be done
Unto.» I do pronounce on mine own head,
Damnation everlasting: in mine ear
A voice is ringing like a damnëd knell,
And it saith «Blood doth cry up unto Heaven,»
«It will not sink into the Earth.» But hark!
My God! what noise is that upon the stairs?
'Tis as of many feet! if it should be?
The— the— my Heart misgives me sadly; is
There no escape? this Window is too high.
(goes to the Window.)
A hand is on the Doorlock! God in Heaven!
'Tis they! a Deathdamp gathers on my brow;
Oh that I could now shrink up into nought.

(Leans on a Chairback, looking in terrorstruck Expectation at the Door, which opens, and four Policeofficers armed, enter.)
FIRST POLICEOFFICER.
Look to the Door that he escapes not.

SECOND POLICEOFFICER,
DRAWING OUT A POLICEWARRANT.
You are my Prisoner, Sir.

EDWARD.
Upon what charge?

(violently agitated.)
SECOND POLICEOFFICER.
Neither more nor less than: Murder!

(Edward sinks into a chair, while the Officers handcuff him, without resistance, he being quite stupified; his Mother and Sister rush into the room only halfdressed, it being very early morning.)
THE MOTHER.
Almighty God! what do I see with these
Old, feeble Eyes? am I reserved for this?
What has he done; how called down on his Head
The vengeance of the Laws? a playdebt, some
Unhappy brawl, or public Misdemeanour?
Speak, say what he has done, thus to disgrace
My grey old Hairs? speak, gentlemen, I pray ye;

EDWARD
(whispering in agony.)
Say debt— brawl — anything, but that one word.
For her sake then, if not for mine.

THIRD OFFICER.
Madam, we
Do but our Duty, tho' unwillingly.

MOTHER.
But, but, kind gentlemen, in mercy speak;
Break not my Heart, I will pay all I have
To bail him, are ye sure that there is no
Mistake? let pity for these old grey Hairs
Move ye—ye too have Mothers! ye have sons!
Feel for them then in me!

(all keep a dead silence.)
MOTHER.
— Will no one speak?

SECOND POLICEOFFICER.
(His sister hearing this, faints, remenbering her conversation just before with him, and feeling all her suspicions confirmed. In the confusion, while two of the Officers raise her into a Chair, and the two others hold the Prisoner, his Mother seizes the Warrant on the Table, and with a Horrorshriek, reads

And drops senseless: various domesticks make their appearance, and as the scene drops, he is led out.)