 | The Shadow Garden |  |
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SCENE II
A deep and ancient forest. The Fiends, Lob and Hob, habited as mendicant friars, discovered in a moonlit glade.Lob:
I thought I felt them coming, but it seems
I was misled.—Some Power 's at work here, other
Than that we represent. They should have stood
Transfixed, through magic, in this ferny glade.
Now we have searched the forest, and in vain.
Something at moonrise must have interfered.
Hob:
So even we, it seems, can be misled?
Lob:
'T is strange. I never was misled before.—
Once I was certain they were near, and when
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The dim appearance did resolve itself
From moonlight into mist.
Hob:
It is some spell,
More potent than the hag's, that wrys our course.
Her witchcraft should have bound them to this spot
Until we came to lead them there to her.
Her power grows less of late, hast thou observed?—
Last year the child escaped through her; the infant,
Our pains had wheedled to her very door.—
What if it be that she repents her sins
And works against us now instead of with us?
Hob:
Then woe to her, say I!—But have no fear:
Repentance is as far from that lost soul
As we ourselves from Heaven.
Lob:
Where to seek!—
My instinct is at loss; and revelation,
That never failed my purpose heretofore,
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Hob:
Here comes a limping light, an ignis fatuus.
Lob:
Let us accost it. Haply it can tell.—
Thridding these woods 't is certain it hath seen
Those whom we seek; and, being in league with Evil,
Will lead us to the hollow tree or cave
Wherein they slumber.—Ho, thou wandering flame,
Thou Imp of Fire, come here! thy masters call.
Hob:
'T is vanished; ay, gone like a candle-flicker.—
Some power puffed it out.—No; thou 'rt to blame!
Calling it Imp. Thou should'st have spoke it softly.
Lob:
Sensitive as it is fickle, eh?—But see!—
Dolt that thou art, no Jack-o'-Lantern 't was,
But rushlight in a cabin, which the boughs,
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In yon direction—And I now remember,
A Woodcutter dwells near; his window-light
We now behold.
Hob:
No mortal flame was that.
I know a will-o'-the-wisp; I 've seen too many,
Dotting with fire the pastures of the dead.—
'T is gone again, thou seest. No rushlight that.
It turns again, and comes, fantastically,
In our direction.
Lob:
Scissors of a fiend!
Lank legs and arms! thou art grown dull indeed,
Who should be sharp to cut the tangled knot
Of thy bewilderment!—Hast thou ever heard
That wisps had feet that any one could hear?—
Thy light hath boots on. Tell me who approaches
Dangling a lanthorn there?
Hob:
Bladder-head and block!
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And all whose thoughts run grease, a Woodcutter,
As thou should'st know if fat would let thee see.
Lob:
Hard thinking makes thee lean, fork of a fiend!
But 't is a Woodcutter; and since 't is so
Put on the Priest and doff the Demon, fool.
He may have seen our prey, the chicks we seek:
Haply may house them, even, in his hut.
[Enter a Woodcutter with axe and lanthorn.
Woodcutter:
Methought I heard a calling here. And then
Fierce voices wrangling, so I brought my axe,—
For fear of ruffians,—and a light to guide.
Sounds, ay, that struck confusion in the trees
And set their boughs a-panic.—Ho! hello!
[Catching sight of the Friars.
God keep you, fathers.
Lob
(wincing):
We'll dispense with God.—
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Two little birdlings out of the same nest,
A boy and girl, blue-eyed and sunny-haired,
Wandering among these sombre woods tonight?—
They went astray, I think, at fall of dusk,
From the near village where the Bellman cried
And O Yesed them by name some hours ago.
We joined the general search;—their guardians we,
Old friends of both their parents,—heavenly folk!—
[Hypocritically clasping his hands and casting his eyes upward.
And priests, who have all innocence in care.
Our inquiries have led us to these woods
Where an old beldam (with a significant look at his companion)
told us she had seen them.
Woodcutter
(scratching his head as if perplexed):
Two such I saw; but with them was a woman;
A tall, bright damsel in a homespun gown,
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Absorbed upon her face and discourse: haply
Some fairytale she spake them, leading home.
The moonbeams lit their way; I heard their chatter
Make glad the bosky by-paths of the woods,
Like two sweet crickets chirping round a flower.—
This way they went, ay, down this very path.
Hob:
Who could she be?—The babes are ours!—'T is surely
Some wench, some forester's daughter who hath found
And shelters them beneath her thatch of straw.
Lob:
If so, this good man here, no doubt, can tell us,
And will direct us to her dwelling-place.
Woodcutter:
Mine is the only hut in all these woods
For many miles around. I know her not;
But I 've a mind to know her if I may.
Hob:
Thou should st have spoken her whenas she passed.—
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Her beauty so usurped my sense of seeing
No other sense had I.
Hob
(with sinister laughter, half aside):
The dolt 's in love!
Come; we must search them out. What profits it
To wait on supposition and suggestion?
They lead to naught. Midnight is almost past.
The sands of our agreement run apace.
Lob:
True.—We must on.—This is the path, my man,
Thou saw'st them take?—Then we will follow it.
Woodcutter:
This path, good fathers; but an hour agone.
'T is a straight path and leads into a dell.—
Would'st have my lanthorn to make light your way?
Lob:
Nay, nay; we need no light. But thou wilt need.
[With a significant smile.
Our eyes are used to seeing in the dark.
Our habitation hath few windows in it.
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And may I ask, what manner of Friars are you?
Hob:
Why, we are of that ancient Brotherhood,—
The largest in the world, and eke most famous,—
The Brotherhood of Erebus; that is
Beelzebub, to speak correctly; close
Affiliated and related with
The good Franciscans and Dominicans.
Woodcutter:
'T is a great satisfaction and a privilege
To speak with fathers of your honorable standing.
Lob
(with a sanctimonious leer):
It is indeed. Thou comprehendest little
Of what it means to thee,—thy heavenly chances.—
After to-night we will be closer friends.
Woodcutter
(profoundly impressed):
Nothing would suit me better. Come to me.
My cabin 's open always to your worships.
And if you find your charge to-night, or find not,
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And a good meal, and bed for both to lie in.
Hob:
We'll not forget.—But night drives on apace.
We must resume our search and find our charge.
Woodcutter:
Yon is the way—downward into the dell.
Lob:
That sounds familiar—like the path to—what?
Woodcutter
(laughing foolishly and shuddering away):
You spoke that strangely. I grow cold and hot.—
Fathers, good night; and may your search end well.—
The path you mentioned darker is I wot. ...
[Exit Woodcutter muttering to himself.
Hob
(scowling after him):
Dark as thy fool's mind.—Well, let us get on.
Lob:
Listen; I hear a footstep.
Hob.
I, a voice.
A Voice
(very near and approaching from
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Look, my belovèd, how the wild-flowers stand,
Tiptoe as if in expectation here
Of your sweet passing; gazing all they can
At your fair faces and your starlike eyes.
The moonlight has aroused them with its touch,
And each seems eager to explain itself,
The poetry of its being beautiful,
The inner secret of its happiness
And absolute purity.—My little ones,
Know that the flowers are the dear concern
Of the good Faeries that I told you of
An hour agone when seeking out this dell.
As evidence, behold this hammock swung,
A gossamer web, between these briony stalks
That speaks an Elf's possession.—There 's a blossom,
To please a Faery's fancy, hangs a jewel,
A dew-drop, in her cowslip ear. My! my!
The vanity of these flowers!—And look there—
The carcanet of rain-pearls this wild rose
Hath laced her throat with, like a very queen,
To captivate some butterfly-wingéd Fay.—
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But what pollutes the air and vitiates,
Charging its purity with pestilence,
As a clear cup with poison?—What are they?
Those night-cowled shapes?—The sons of darkness!—Fiends,
Vested as is Religion, Holiness!—
Through whose habiliments my eyes can pierce
And see their blackened bodies flicker with scars,
Branded in flame, the stigma-marks of Hell.—
Evil, what would you here?—Bar not my way!—
Lob:
Is that a threat? or merely a request?—
She seems an angel walking with two cherubs.
Hob:
Angel or mortal, she must yield to us.
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Ay!—So we 've found our little loves at last.
[As Hob and Lob speak they approach with blandishing smiles the children and their protectress, who encircles the shoulders of the boy and girl with her arms.
The Boy:
Sister, who are those men?—Are they the priests
Who prayed for father and mother when they died?—
Why did you speak so roughly?—Are they bad?
Young Woman:
Yes, they are evil men.—But do not fear.
The Girl:
How wild they look.—Sister, I am afraid.
Young Woman:
Fear not. They can not harm you. I am here.
[During the conversation the Young Woman has never removed her eyes from the faces of the Fiends, who approach her and the children with conciliatory looks and gestures. During the dialogue that follows, the Woman keeps her gaze steadily fastened on the eyes of Lob and Hob.
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I am afraid.—See how their eyeballs shine!
The Boy:
Drive them away. Their mouths are like red wounds,
And when they smile their long teeth frighten me.
Lob:
Be not afraid.—We are your friends, sweet lambs.
Hob:
Your guardians and protectors, whom the Church
And Court appointed since your parents died.—
Poor, orphan babes, will you not come with us?
Lob:
Come; we will take you to a lovely home,
Where you can have the prettiest clothes to wear.
Hob:
And dainty things to eat: and many toys:
And everything that childhood's heart desires.
The Girl:
Nice things to wear? and dainty things to eat?
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Ay, little one, things that all girls adore.
The Boy:
And toys and storybooks and—everything?
Hob:
Ay, little one, all that a boy holds dear.
The Girl:
But you must let our sister come with us;
Our big, new sister, who 's so beautiful.
We could not part with her now.—Could we, brother?
The Boy:
Oh, no! Our sister here must come with us.
[The Young Woman smiles down upon the two children for an instant, and then raises her eyes to the eyes of the Fiends again and speaks with authority.
Young Woman:
No; you shall never leave me; never! never!—
God sent me here and gave you in my charge.
These can not have you.—Get ye behind me, Evil!
Hob
(malignantly, still endeavouring hard to conceal the Fiend under the hood of the
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God or the Devil, all is one to us!
The babes are ours. Render them up to us,
Or fear our wrath. We are two stalwart men.
Lob
(sinisterly, with suggestive leers):
Why, let her come with us. We'll warrant her
Such entertainment as no maid before
Hath ever had.—'T is a fine company
We'll make thee gossip to, my buxom wench,
Such fellows as ourselves, such pleasant Friars,
And young Nuns too, whose blood is full of flame.—
We'll warm thy veins with something better than talk;
Thy body too, which is, I'll swear, snow-cold,
Judging by that ice-look within thy eyes.
The Girl:
Will you come with us, sister?—Will you come?
The Boy:
Say you will come with us and these good priests.
You, too, will have nice things to eat and wear.
Young Woman:
And are you tempted, sweethearts?—Listen, dears,
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For those material blessings, as you think,
That in the end turn curses, pass away:
Believe me, these dark beings here that tempt you,
Your untried souls with gewgaws, would betray
Your tenderness to torture, infamy,
And something diabolic.—You are mine;
And mine you shall remain while God permits.
Hob
(fiercely with flashing eyes):
Out of our way, thou Woman!—Out! I say!
Else we will blast thee with the curse of curses.
Lob
(with a threatening gesture):
And rend thee limb from limb and burn to ashes!—
Out of our way! It is the Church that speaks!
Young Woman
(gradually towering and glowing with supernatural glory):
Thou blasphemy!—This only was required,
This arrogance and masquerade of virtue
Most sacerdotal.—Know that I have power
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These souls are mine!—Lay but a finger on
Their innocent bodies and God's thunderbolts,
That wait my word, the wingéd hounds of Heaven,
Shall hunt you to the fires from which you sprang.
Lob:
Who and what art thou with thy vaunt of God?
Hob:
Some wild girl, whom religion hath made mad.—
But we are tired of folly.—Stand aside.
Unarm the children—
Lob:
Or prepare to perish.
[The Woman gradually becomes transfigured and glorified: her wretched raiment emits a silvery effulgence, burning into flowing white, and her form and features demonstrate her to be one of the elect of Heaven, the Spirit of Good.
Spirit:
These two are mine! my own particular charge.—
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The bright destruction of His look, that blasts,
Lightens through space at lifting of this hand,
And plunges you in torment.—Hence! Away!
[The Spirit lifts her hand: a flash of lightning and thunder follow. The two Fiends shrink cringing away, covering their dazzled eyes with their arms.
| The Shadow Garden | |