 | Washington |  |
Scene 1.
—A Room in Governor Arnold's House, at Westpoint.Arnold,
alone.
They have disgraced me, publicly, condemned me,
Abused me for the bondage of my debts,
Charged me with fraud, tried me, and punished me
The Commandant of Philadelphia
Who kept such generous state, and at such cost,
By open shame and formal reprimand
From Washington's own mouth before the Congress!
I will not bear it,—I will be revenged.
What,—had they all so speedily forgotten
How often I their hero, Benedict Arnold,
Led them to Victory?—witness my great deeds,
Ticonderoga, Champlain, and Lake George,
Crownpoint, Quebec, St. John's and Montreal!
Testify, Saratoga and my wounds,
Testify, graceless Philadelphia!
What? only shame, ruin, ingratitude
For such exploits—and me? I'll have revenge.
No longer shall this calm cold Washington,
This cruel mouthpiece of America,
Reap what I sow of great and glorious deeds.
Benedict Arnold shall be bought for gold,
Seeing they charge him fraudulent for gold;
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Seeing they dare despise him as a patriot.
It shall be done,—revenge. Ho, sister, sister!
She enters.
Arnold.
How? still in tears, as ever,—since the day
I bade you think no more of Major André:
Come, cheerily; I have good news for you,
I bid you seek him out, and bring him hither.
Mary.
O joy, O wonder!—but the peril, brother,—
And why? O for what cause? he is thy foe,
Thou wilt not do him harm?
Arnold.
Tut, silly girl,
I beckon him to me to do us good.
Mary.
But wherefore? how?—and still the peril, brother.
Arnold.
There is no peril: I will tell thee how;
The why is mine own secret: bring him hither,
Disguised as I shall counsel, at the time,
And to the place, and in the way I bid you.
Mary.
Thy will, my too stern brother, as of old,
Is for my woman's weakness overstrong;
I must obey; yet give one scruple hearing,—
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I seem to feel I dare not yet obey
If what thou willest is—I cannot speak
What yet is readable from those fierce eyes—
Is—shall I say?—of ill intent,—my brother.
Arnold.
That is my business, child: obey at once:
Bring André here: henceforth he is my friend;
Fear nothing from my sometime enmity,
He shall be now my brother as before
And I will give thee to him as his wife.
Mary.
O joy, O wonder—yet—
Arnold.
Not one word more:
I now command: here take him this sealed letter
(he has been writing and now seals it)
Of full particulars for his private eye;
Mark: not one word to any living soul:
Silence, and secrecy; bring André here,
As I have bade him.
Mary.
One word, Benedict:
Rachel, my maid, goes with me: not alone,
For this would ill become me,—and thy sister;
I cannot visit at the camp alone,—
It were not seemly so, for honour's sake
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Honour! both men and women mouth that name
And mean but seeming by it; seemly, true,
Honour is nought but seeming; in the dark
White is as black, and honour just like shame.
However, be it so: going to the camp
Seeming must carry it; take your maid with you;
But, not one word that I have sent you both
Thus to the British quarters; let her think
You meet your ancient lover there, and she
May like to find a new one; not one word
Of me, or of the letter, or disguise.
Mary.
Brother, I go—in fear, and yet—O hope,
O wonder!
Exit.
Arnold,
alone.
So, I'll take the enemy's bribe,—
This welcome thirty thousand offered me
For yielding up the stronghold in my trust.
O needful gold, O gladly welcome gold
More welcome than to pay those shabby debts
Because it buys me to revenge myself.
Look out, forsworn America! look out
Calmvisaged gentlemanly Washington!
Benedict Arnold shall be master yet
And none shall steal his honour but himself:
Benedict Arnold shall achieve the fame
What though it be—of Judas?—for Revenge!
Exit.
| Washington | |