 | Witchcraft |  |
SCENE I.
—A Chamber in the House of Ambla.Enter Gideon Bodish.
Gideon.
I'm not a man of fears, but when the giant woods
Shake thicker blackness on me than belongs
To them—when though I close mine ears to any
But familiar sounds, the mischievous night-winds
Talk like women in the air,—when all I see,
Or hear, or feel, hath a mysterious motion in it—
The night sits, ruler, in this gloomy heart—
Part of the silent fixedness of things;
He breaks the mighty calm wherein he paused,
Slow-striding down the steepy mountain-side,
Swifter and darker, as he nears us, we regard him,
Flashing and red, wo's living thunder-cloud—
And now, and now, he grimly bends above us,
Dusk murder in the very person of itself—
So creeps this hideous witchcraft on me,
So gains and overmasters spirit and limb:
They called her witch—or was 't a whispering
Of the wind—I think my hearing thickens,
That in these sad distracted times, I know not
What I hear, what not. She tarried, I know,
Later than is her use, last night, an hour,
To drink the fatal shining of the moon.
Here comes my mother! There 's surely something
In her look and walk, of more than this
Mortality; and, yonder approaches
The eager magistrate. Oh may she pass
From questioning untainted, and a mother still.
Enter Ambla Bodish, followed by Justice Fisk and Pudeater, with writing materials, D. F.
Justice F.
Few words will answer the matter, Mistress Bodish; who threatens a chain for Goodman Topsfield's limbs, and Braybrook's?
Ambla.
They run about the country—are these the men—
Spreading reports, and haling aged womanhood
Before the courts?
These are serviceable men, what answer make you?
Gideon.
Mother, let silence be your sole rejoinder.
Ambla.
Gideon, speech is yet mine! Write, the chain
Is needed.
Pudeater.
[Aside.]
A fearful woman! She shines as if she were the great church lighted up o' Thanksgiving night.
Justice F.
Well, well—know you, Mistress, that Deacon Gidney hath felt an invisible noose about his neck of late, and, though got clear before it throttled him, know you, there were the red marks as of a finger and thumb near it?
Ambla.
Ha! ha! The air-hangwoman knows not her work;
She boggles, when well she might go on. Is 't that
You do complain of? A word, good Justice!—
If there be familiar spirits, and I
Into their ears could breathe, with power, ne'er would
That noble Deacon seize again poor women,
And drag them to their ruin—I'd teach them
To work more skillfully than thus allow
One hypocritic bigot to escape.
Gideon.
[Aside.]
Oh, fearfully she sells away her soul
And buys in its everlasting ruin.
Pudeater.
[Looking at Gideon.]
Gideon Bodish 's a ghost, that 's clear; he 's pale as a piece of air, as if he was turning into it.
Justice F.
I am told, you threaten me, too, Mistress? Give out that you will pinch my flesh, 'till it cry out with spasms, and my great toe with gout-pains you mean to rack?
You 've earned an hundred acres of the town,
By holding of its offices, and when
You have eaten the hundred, in all
Its beeves and wheaten loaves, and drunken up
Its currant wines, and ciders—
Justice F.
Enough; write down, Master Pudeater, that she admits the charge, in all its fulness and great depth.
Pudeater.
[Aside.]
I would I was in County Street, with little Cephas on my knee! There 's a piece of flesh there 's no mistaking—he weighed fifteen pounds and odd, the day he was born, and keeps on,—this is spectre-land.
Justice F.
And that poor girl, Susanna Peache, what do you with her, that she pines for this, your Gideon—and goes about all day in melancholy plight, dewing the young grass with her foolish tears. Pudeater, what ails you?
Pudeater.
I feel some twinges, sir; uncommon twitchings of the legs, as if I 'd be away.
Justice F.
See, she makes motions in the air—we'll be brief, Master Pudeater—do you stand firm, there! Where was I? You understand, Mistress Bodish, will you answer?
Pudeater.
She 's struck dumb, your worship, with the wonderful great truths you speak.
Justice F.
And now, for the next. Goodwife Prawl complains that you afflict her so at times, she cannot open her jaw, but sits a whole morning, with a mouthful of ready words and is not let to slip a single one. Answer, on your peril, yes, on your peril, Mistress.
Ambla.
You shall be answered plainly—Had I
A power perpetual, as 't is pertinent,
Lock-jawed, as long as stone.
[Cross to L. H.
Justice F.
Note you that, Pudeater—write that down.
Pudeater.
I cannot write, sir, she 's put a spell upon me, and I spatter my ink like rain.
Justice F.
Close up your blotted books, sir,
[sternly]
with all dispatch, and we'll put forth ere further befall
us. Pudeater, keep by my side.
Pudeater.
I am here, sir.
[Exeunt Justice Fisk and Pudeater, D. F.
Ambla.
My son, you saw I mocked them to their faces.
Gideon.
Mocked them! I would mine eyes had been sealed up
In the eternal grave, ere I had seen
The mockery. Mother, you know not, oh!
You know not what you do.
Ambla.
Are these my masters, that I to them should
Answer for my soul, in all its silent
Sessions, calm or perplexed?
[Cross to R.
Gideon.
You snare yourself,
In a black toil you cannot break, and change,
Spirit and person, from that you were.
Ambla.
I am not changed, but Gideon, you are changed.
Look in mine eyes, my son, they shine upon you,
The same light, as when they broke, the first day
Of days, for you, a thing too small and frail
For anything but mother's love.
Gideon.
Turn them the other way!
You fright me, when you wear that awful smile
Of magical appeal.
Oh, spare me, Gideon, nor drive thy mother
Afar, beyond the reach of reason's power;
Your words are wild, and oh, how cruel!
Forbear, my child—those looks will kill me,
My cup of misery is full—bitter, oh bitter!
[Exit Ambla, L.
Gideon.
Great Powers! Must I then know my mother thus?
She, who hath walked the constellations free
As their inhabitant, who owned the qualities
Of plants and flowers, the blowing of the wind
Before it blew, and guessed the light and knew
Its day and hour of diminution
And of growth, has lost herself in her strange
Knowledge—lost, oh lost I fear, forever!
And yet I hope—though hope be not my friend!
[Exit Gideon, R.
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