The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell With Introductory Notice and Memoir by John Nichol |
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| XL. |
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| XLII. | SCENE XLII. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell |  |
SCENE XLII.
The Vacant Study.Busts, books, a harp, &c. A locked writing-case on the table.
Enter Amy (her face very pale,—her hair dishevelled,—her dress disordered).
Amy.
Aye—this is the place,
This is the chamber of his nights and days.
Let me lie close. Where be these mistresses
For which his lawful wife must sit in the shade?
[Taking up the writing-case.
What are you in here?
[Shaking the case.
Do you know me, girls?
This makes the treason full; I have endured
Too long. Have I not loved him like a god?
Am I not beautiful? Is it no shame
That he should leave these limbs for harridans
That I can shake together in a box?
It must be ended—I will wait him here
And he shall do me right.
This makes the treason full; I have endured
284
Am I not beautiful? Is it no shame
That he should leave these limbs for harridans
That I can shake together in a box?
It must be ended—I will wait him here
And he shall do me right.
[Crouches down in a corner.
Enter Balder.—He stands a long time silent.
Balder.
Ye pale companions, marble counsellors,
Who for so many years have been content
To ratify my will; or in the shine
Of whose mysterious influence I have been
The unwitting creature of a power unknown
Wrought by the pitiless necessity
Of your supreme ascendant; Deities
Or Slaves,—I know not whether—but not stones!
Ye who have darkened with me as white brows
Of the invulnerable rocks with thunder,
And in my triumphs have been moved as gods
Changing unchangeable with such a truth
Of inner motion that the deferent eye
Obeyed the conscious soul and saw a change
Sweeter than mortal beauty, like the smiles
That flit and flicker in dim light about
The lips of death! Oh thou dear sanctuary,
Wherein as in a body I have dwelt
The informing spirit, finding more and more
My wish forelaid, my wants fulfilled in thee,
Till going forth from thee the plastic sense
Subserves thee, absent, and I stretch the hand
To the familiar distance, and raise vain eyes,—
As an unbodied ghost new given to air
Enfolds the immaterial arms, and strains
To lift the wonted limbs! my stringless harp,
—Poor empty skull that hadst so sweet a tongue—
Ye broken tablets;—
[Opening the case and taking forth a scroll.
Who for so many years have been content
To ratify my will; or in the shine
Of whose mysterious influence I have been
The unwitting creature of a power unknown
Wrought by the pitiless necessity
Of your supreme ascendant; Deities
Or Slaves,—I know not whether—but not stones!
Ye who have darkened with me as white brows
Of the invulnerable rocks with thunder,
And in my triumphs have been moved as gods
Changing unchangeable with such a truth
Of inner motion that the deferent eye
Obeyed the conscious soul and saw a change
Sweeter than mortal beauty, like the smiles
That flit and flicker in dim light about
The lips of death! Oh thou dear sanctuary,
Wherein as in a body I have dwelt
The informing spirit, finding more and more
285
Till going forth from thee the plastic sense
Subserves thee, absent, and I stretch the hand
To the familiar distance, and raise vain eyes,—
As an unbodied ghost new given to air
Enfolds the immaterial arms, and strains
To lift the wonted limbs! my stringless harp,
—Poor empty skull that hadst so sweet a tongue—
Ye broken tablets;—
Thou material soul,
Thou uncontained dimension, thou dead self,
Which art not I, and shalt perhaps revive
When this I am is nought; thou wondrous voice
That canst be seen and touched; thou strange parhelion
That wilt not set with me; thou Ariel
Fast in the rifted pine; thou Afreet dread
And fierce, whom, sealed by a strong sign of power,
As in a charmèd vial thus I hold
Inert and silent, so that a child's hand
May bear thee harmless, place thee here and here,
Take thee and leave thee,—thou that being loosed
Mayst leap forth like a blast of the simoom
And tear a host to tatters; thou entombed
And mummied past; thou colourless substantial
Which in a light unrisen shalt be called
A microcosm of beauty; thou dull moonstone
Dark as cold lava now—that rushing o'er
The upturned heads of nations might'st have shone
A blazing portent, troubling thrones of kings;
Thou black uncomely root; thou trifling seed;
Thou grain of poison or of antidote
So little and so much; thou extillation
And sacred concrete of the golden cloud
That filled the azure of my years, and like
The legendary water-drop that falls
On Abyssinian summit and becomes
Egyptian harvests—wert to flood the earth;
Oh thou that I have made in fear and awe
And ignorance, knowing only thou canst smite
Angels and fiends, and shake the shrines of Gods;
Thou hidden secret, master Alchemy
And cunningest composition of mine art,
Which as a fireball with this unknown hand
Approaching through the dark I thought to throw
Into the smouldering ashes of mankind
And see, with thunder like the clap of doom,
From earth to heaven—as if a pillared light
Shot up from the rent centre of the world—
The midnight of my wretched race made day
With my unthought-of glory—
Thou uncontained dimension, thou dead self,
Which art not I, and shalt perhaps revive
When this I am is nought; thou wondrous voice
That canst be seen and touched; thou strange parhelion
That wilt not set with me; thou Ariel
Fast in the rifted pine; thou Afreet dread
And fierce, whom, sealed by a strong sign of power,
As in a charmèd vial thus I hold
Inert and silent, so that a child's hand
May bear thee harmless, place thee here and here,
Take thee and leave thee,—thou that being loosed
Mayst leap forth like a blast of the simoom
And tear a host to tatters; thou entombed
And mummied past; thou colourless substantial
Which in a light unrisen shalt be called
A microcosm of beauty; thou dull moonstone
Dark as cold lava now—that rushing o'er
286
A blazing portent, troubling thrones of kings;
Thou black uncomely root; thou trifling seed;
Thou grain of poison or of antidote
So little and so much; thou extillation
And sacred concrete of the golden cloud
That filled the azure of my years, and like
The legendary water-drop that falls
On Abyssinian summit and becomes
Egyptian harvests—wert to flood the earth;
Oh thou that I have made in fear and awe
And ignorance, knowing only thou canst smite
Angels and fiends, and shake the shrines of Gods;
Thou hidden secret, master Alchemy
And cunningest composition of mine art,
Which as a fireball with this unknown hand
Approaching through the dark I thought to throw
Into the smouldering ashes of mankind
And see, with thunder like the clap of doom,
From earth to heaven—as if a pillared light
Shot up from the rent centre of the world—
The midnight of my wretched race made day
With my unthought-of glory—
[Amy, rising suddenly, approaching wildly, snatches the scroll and throws it through the open window into the moat.
Amy.
Glory? see!
Can it light up that pit down where I dwell
Out of the light of day and of the stars?
Out of the light o' the grave;—Aye, the dull earth
Below the dead is not so black with night
But the great day shall stir it! Is it well
That the dull earth below the dead hath light
And I am dark for ever? Is that well?
Is that well, husband? Husband, is it well?
Oh yes, thy glory! Yes—he must have glory,
Yes, he must have his glory; he can stand
All day in the sun, but he must have his glory!
He has walked here up in the sunshine world,
He has been in the wind and the sweet rain,
And none cried ‘Upset the cup o' the honey-time,
Upset the cup o' the honey-time,’
And I am empty and dry.
[Looks vacantly on the ground.
Can it light up that pit down where I dwell
287
Out of the light o' the grave;—Aye, the dull earth
Below the dead is not so black with night
But the great day shall stir it! Is it well
That the dull earth below the dead hath light
And I am dark for ever? Is that well?
Is that well, husband? Husband, is it well?
Oh yes, thy glory! Yes—he must have glory,
Yes, he must have his glory; he can stand
All day in the sun, but he must have his glory!
He has walked here up in the sunshine world,
He has been in the wind and the sweet rain,
And none cried ‘Upset the cup o' the honey-time,
Upset the cup o' the honey-time,’
And I am empty and dry.
Thy glory?
I pray thee, husband, tell me what it is.
Is it a god that it can set me free?
Hath it limbs to burrow? Can it reach me?
Is it any thing that I have known?
There was Love—I knew it—thou taughtest me.
How many songs hast thou not sung of love?
[Sings.
I pray thee, husband, tell me what it is.
Is it a god that it can set me free?
Hath it limbs to burrow? Can it reach me?
Is it any thing that I have known?
There was Love—I knew it—thou taughtest me.
How many songs hast thou not sung of love?
‘When first I courted thee, Amy,
The years we knew were fair and few,
I was gay as break of day,
And thou wert pure as dew.
I looked into thy face, Amy,
No word I said, no tear I shed,
My love-light true fell in thy dew,
And came back rosy-red.’
Or,
‘Love broke his golden bow, chasing thee long ago,
Then the boy cried,
Thou didst in pity turn’——
Nay not that, but,
‘Come love, and bring
Sweet hope and joy’——
The years we knew were fair and few,
I was gay as break of day,
And thou wert pure as dew.
288
No word I said, no tear I shed,
My love-light true fell in thy dew,
And came back rosy-red.’
Or,
‘Love broke his golden bow, chasing thee long ago,
Then the boy cried,
Thou didst in pity turn’——
Nay not that, but,
‘Come love, and bring
Sweet hope and joy’——
Words, words! what are they, down
Where I am? Oh, my husband, would it reach me?
Dost think that it would reach me for thy sake?
Dost think it would? And will it fetch me back?
Being thine? I do remember all things thine
Did love me. There was never dog of thine
But if I looked would run before my eyes
And bay for pleasure; if I dropped my glove
'Twould carry it, poor Pompey! Bay? Who spoke
Of Bays? Is this a time to mock me, Husband?
Yet some one hath said somewhat of the sea;
I think I heard it; Didst thou speak of the sea?
Why do I see the sea? And was it kind
That thou shouldst maunder to me of the sea?
To me? To me? Alas! the moonlight water!
Dost thou mind when we sailed together, love,
We two alone, and thou didst say the moon
Was like a silver boat,—and so the silver
Slanted—I know not how,—and I fell in
Deep, deep. But I am deeper, deeper now.
I think the sea-rocks gaped and I fell here
With all the sea between me and the wind,
And the sea-rock between me and the sea.
I strike it thus.—
Where I am? Oh, my husband, would it reach me?
Dost think that it would reach me for thy sake?
Dost think it would? And will it fetch me back?
Being thine? I do remember all things thine
Did love me. There was never dog of thine
But if I looked would run before my eyes
And bay for pleasure; if I dropped my glove
'Twould carry it, poor Pompey! Bay? Who spoke
Of Bays? Is this a time to mock me, Husband?
Yet some one hath said somewhat of the sea;
I think I heard it; Didst thou speak of the sea?
Why do I see the sea? And was it kind
That thou shouldst maunder to me of the sea?
To me? To me? Alas! the moonlight water!
Dost thou mind when we sailed together, love,
We two alone, and thou didst say the moon
289
Slanted—I know not how,—and I fell in
Deep, deep. But I am deeper, deeper now.
I think the sea-rocks gaped and I fell here
With all the sea between me and the wind,
And the sea-rock between me and the sea.
I strike it thus.—
[Striking her head against the stone wall.
Balder.
My Amy!
Amy.
Why how now?
Do not move me, but rather move it for me;
For why should I lie here out of the world?
Thou knowest not, husband, what it is to lie
With all the sea between thee and the wind,
And the sea-rock between thee and the sea.
I say why should I lie here? Out of all
The beauty of the earth, the blessed chime
Of things, the touch and furthest cast of good,
The common warmth of human kind, the voice
Of man or God? Out of the very sea
That rolls and rolls above my aching head
And will not cool these lips? Man, what have I
To do with thee? How long is't since we two
Drew near? If I am altered since we met,
What then? Have we dwelt at the further poles
For nought? Because my puppet warmed thy bed
And filled thy chair have we been side by side?
Ah, ah! didst never look in at the eye
And miss me? What, didst never hear my heart
Like a clock ticking in an empty house?
Husband? Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,— [Pauses.
Do not disbelieve.
They will scoff at thee, they will shake thy dream
Out of thy soul, they will deny, deny
This where I am, but thou hast heard a voice
Out of its depths, thou hast heard it! does it sound
Like a beloved familiar? Is there fire
Above-ground that could smelt what thou didst love
To this? Hast met it anywhere on earth
My husband? Aye, and have I frightened thee
Into my mate? Shoot out thine eyeballs more!
See! see!
[Dancing before him.
Do not move me, but rather move it for me;
For why should I lie here out of the world?
Thou knowest not, husband, what it is to lie
With all the sea between thee and the wind,
And the sea-rock between thee and the sea.
I say why should I lie here? Out of all
The beauty of the earth, the blessed chime
Of things, the touch and furthest cast of good,
The common warmth of human kind, the voice
Of man or God? Out of the very sea
That rolls and rolls above my aching head
And will not cool these lips? Man, what have I
To do with thee? How long is't since we two
Drew near? If I am altered since we met,
What then? Have we dwelt at the further poles
For nought? Because my puppet warmed thy bed
And filled thy chair have we been side by side?
Ah, ah! didst never look in at the eye
290
Like a clock ticking in an empty house?
Husband? Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,— [Pauses.
Do not disbelieve.
They will scoff at thee, they will shake thy dream
Out of thy soul, they will deny, deny
This where I am, but thou hast heard a voice
Out of its depths, thou hast heard it! does it sound
Like a beloved familiar? Is there fire
Above-ground that could smelt what thou didst love
To this? Hast met it anywhere on earth
My husband? Aye, and have I frightened thee
Into my mate? Shoot out thine eyeballs more!
See! see!
Thou canst not shut up ears and eyes.
List to my voice, my voice which I upheave
As I did force it through a dome of brass.
Mine hour is come. I will cry in thine ears
And burst in crying. Canst thou tell how deep
By the sound? Black—black—Hast a good ear for colour?
It bubbles thro' it all, up—up—I think
Thou dost not hear me, but thou shalt hear once,
Once, only once, and I will be so silent,
So silent—thou shalt not look pale at me,
Thou shalt not chatter thy long teeth at me.
Thou shalt not show out thy black beard at me.
What, does it grow so fast? What, have I scared thee?
291
Art thou a porcupine? What! Shall I dance?
Aye, husband, dance and sing; aye, hear me sing.
Hear! thou shalt hear; my voice is coming up;
Hark, hark, it comes; dyed with the dark, it comes!
Now it comes into me, now I will cry;
[She shrieks.
I am his wife! This is my murderer!
Make way, make way, this is a murderer!
I am in hell, slain, lost, robbed, murdered, mad,
He did it, he!
Balder.
He knows it.
Amy.
Mad, mad, mad.
[Sinking in his arms in a swoon.
Balder.
Now, now, my soul! it must be ere she wake.
I will bear this alone; she shall not know
The hand that strikes—This hand! Nor man nor fiend
Would do thee harm but me! Now—now—yet oh!
That it must be now. That it had been while
The fire of madness burned her, and she swelled
And blackened like a burning house, once home,
Now but a house in flames. For home is not
The stone that holds it; and the elements
That once were Amy, and which marked thy place
And made thee visible, were neither thou
Nor all thou wert to me, nor all thou art,
Lying this moment here, here as of old,
And with no sign in heaven or earth to say
That thou canst never waken as of old.
Yet one more kiss which thou canst not return.
Return? And hast thou given thy last? Oh, Amy,
Wake, wake! My last? And taken as the others? [Bows his head into his hand.
Accursed coward, and is this thy love?
Poor slaughtered innocent, thou hadst good right
To scorn me! Closer, closer to my heart,
There thou didst find the bane, and shouldst receive
The final counterpoison.
[Begins to divest her.
I will bear this alone; she shall not know
The hand that strikes—This hand! Nor man nor fiend
Would do thee harm but me! Now—now—yet oh!
That it must be now. That it had been while
The fire of madness burned her, and she swelled
And blackened like a burning house, once home,
Now but a house in flames. For home is not
The stone that holds it; and the elements
That once were Amy, and which marked thy place
And made thee visible, were neither thou
Nor all thou wert to me, nor all thou art,
Lying this moment here, here as of old,
And with no sign in heaven or earth to say
That thou canst never waken as of old.
292
Return? And hast thou given thy last? Oh, Amy,
Wake, wake! My last? And taken as the others? [Bows his head into his hand.
Accursed coward, and is this thy love?
Poor slaughtered innocent, thou hadst good right
To scorn me! Closer, closer to my heart,
There thou didst find the bane, and shouldst receive
The final counterpoison.
Heaving breast,
How oft have I undone thy weeds as now,
And very softly, very silently
As now—and not more tenderly, no not
More tenderly, no, on thy bridal night,
No, not more tenderly. But oh, you heavens,
Wherefore and wherefore?
How oft have I undone thy weeds as now,
And very softly, very silently
As now—and not more tenderly, no not
More tenderly, no, on thy bridal night,
No, not more tenderly. But oh, you heavens,
Wherefore and wherefore?
Here, under her bosom,
It cannot fail here. Hide thee, hide thee, Heart;
Poor fluttering bird, why wilt thou stir the lilies?
Dost thou not know me who I am? Soft, soft;
Thou hast so often struggled in mine arms
Asleep, and I have wakened thee with kisses,
I pray thee do not struggle now, my child,
I cannot rouse thee from this dream.
It cannot fail here. Hide thee, hide thee, Heart;
Poor fluttering bird, why wilt thou stir the lilies?
Dost thou not know me who I am? Soft, soft;
Thou hast so often struggled in mine arms
Asleep, and I have wakened thee with kisses,
I pray thee do not struggle now, my child,
I cannot rouse thee from this dream.
Oh God,
If she should clasp her hands upon her breast
And moan! If she should feel through this thin trance
The cold steel ere it pierce and call on me
For help!—but I will hold thee fast, my child,
Fast in these arms altho' thou start and cry,
And shield thee from myself! If I strike ill
The first stroke, and she wake and strive for life;
If she should ope her eyes but once too late
And go forth to believe for evermore
I struck unkindly—
[Throws a kerchief over her face.
If she should clasp her hands upon her breast
And moan! If she should feel through this thin trance
The cold steel ere it pierce and call on me
293
Fast in these arms altho' thou start and cry,
And shield thee from myself! If I strike ill
The first stroke, and she wake and strive for life;
If she should ope her eyes but once too late
And go forth to believe for evermore
I struck unkindly—
No, she shall not see me.
And now thy living face is gone for ever,
And I have murdered thee before thy time.
Nor God nor Demon could have wrung from me
This moment, this last moment, only thou,
Oh, only thou.—
[Frantically lifts the kerchief.
And now thy living face is gone for ever,
And I have murdered thee before thy time.
Nor God nor Demon could have wrung from me
This moment, this last moment, only thou,
Oh, only thou.—
Amy!
Thou, thou, all thou!
Help me, my child. Aye, look so beautiful.
'Tis well; if there be heaven this is not
To kill thee.—Now.
Thou, thou, all thou!
Help me, my child. Aye, look so beautiful.
'Tis well; if there be heaven this is not
To kill thee.—Now.
| The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell | |