University of Virginia Library

Scene VI.—Noon. Within the Church. Veronica, priest, sponsors, nurse, and child. Guests, kinsmen, and retainers, &c.—Organ music.
A Guest.
So hotly bidden, and so coldly thank'd!
Strange, that Lord Orval comes not!

Another.
Strange, if he
Were not strange! Doubtless, he is all this while
Penning some page of an immortal poem,
Resolved that nothing but the end of the world,
Which some folks think at hand, shall interrupt him,
And break off his best strophe.

A Third.
Hush! Look yonder.
How woeful white our hostess. . . .

The First.
Ay! she seems
In pain, poor lady. What a wretched face!

The Second.
She has not spoken yet to any of us.

The First.
And what strange eyes!

The Third.
Eyes! do you call them eyes?
They glow like pits of fire where nameless things,
That died unblest, are being burn'd away.

The First.
What finely-carven features!

The Second.
Yes, but carved
From some clear stuff, not like a woman's flesh,
And colour'd like half-faded white-rose leaves.
'Tis all too thin, and wan, and wanting blood,
To take my taste. No fulness, and no flush!
A watery half-moon in a wintry sky
Looks less uncomfortably cold. And . . . . well,
I never in the eyes of a sane woman
Saw such a strange unsatisfied regard.

A Fourth.
Humph! this begins to look less festival
Than funeral. Or, if a feast, a strange one,
Like Timon's last . . . a putting a good face

The Second.
On a bad case.

The Fourth.
And I that (pity me!)
Declined a breakfast with an epicure
Just to please Orval!

The First.
Listen!

The Priest.
Muriel, wilt thou
Receive the holy baptism of Christ?

Sponsors.
I will.

First Guest.
Look! look! how those wild eyes wax wide,
And flash with formidable intensity!

The Second.
She stretches out her arms toward the child.
What is she muttering? Mark her. She will speak.
But . . . . Gracious heavens!

The Fourth.
Aha! did I not say it,
‘There's something here amiss’?

First.
She staggers.

Third.
Marquis,
Your arm! You are the nearest of us. Quick,
Or she will fall!

Priest.
Muriel, dost thou renounce
The devil and all his works? dost thou renounce
The pomps and vanities of this wicked world,
And all the sinful lusts of the flesh?

Sponsors.
I do.

Fourth Guest.
'Faith, that's a large concession!

First.
Hush! Those lips
Struggle . . . that white face twitches. What is she saying?

Veronica.
Muriel, receive her blessing, who unblest
Hath given to thee, what unto her was given
To grieve for, got—the bitter gift of life!
For I, that did in sorrow bear thee, most
Do sorrow that thou must much sorrow bear.
Yet one thing is reveal'd, which comforts me:
Begot in Sorrow, shalt thou Song beget.
So shall thy father scorn thee not, as me
He scorns,—for songless sadness: and so God
Shall hear thy voice among the morning stars,
And in between the palms of Paradise,
And where the singing of those Spirits sounds
To whom God listens,—and forget thee not,
As me He hath forgotten. Powers shall be
About thee, cohorts through a perilous land,
And cloud by day, and fire by night. . . .
Ha, fiends!
Can all the sworded Seraphs and sentinel Saints,
That stand on guard by this baptismal font,
Not keep those plucking fingers from their prey?
Son, have the Black Ones got thee? Touch him not!
The sign is on his forehead. Know your lord.
This is God's crownèd Poet!

Sponsors.
What wild words
Are these? and art thou mad, Veronica?
Revere these solemn precincts, nor insult
God's House, thyself, and us.

Veronica.
They hold him not.
Wings hath he, like a dove's, to flee away
And be at rest. God gave him those dove's wings.
He is God's gracious bird, that sang to us
A little while, before the morning light
Was quench'd in cloud. But he is fled away.
God hides him safe.

Priest.
Lady, this violent speech
Wastes all our minds in fearful wonder; frights
From her chaste cells, whose incensed masonry
Is dim with the pure breath of pious thoughts,
The solemn echo that inhabits here,
Unused to answer sinful cries; plucks down
The heavenward wings of holy prayer; and kills
The startled soul of sanctity.
Hell's power
Shall not prevail against this sign. Behold!
Satan, I charge thee by the Name I serve,
Come out of her! Let every Christian soul
Pray for her peace. Woman . . . you do forego
The reverence owed yourself, to outrage thus
Our sacred office, and the temple of God.
Anathema Sathanas! Vade retro!

Relations
(muttering).
Indecent! . . . Scandalous! . . . Intolerable!
She hath disgraced us all. . . Where's Orval? . . . Shame!
Drag her away! . . . What devil hath got into her? . .
Can no one shut those lips? . . .

Veronica.
Remember, Muriel!
Remember, or my curse be on thee, son!
For the black wings are buzzing after us.
If the black fingers catch thee by the hair,
I know where they will drag thee. Higher yet!
Fly higher yet! Show them the crown God girt
About thy forehead. How I pray'd for that!
And now it glitters clear . . . a crown of stars,
And every star with mystic music fill'd!
Show them thy crown, O Poet, and they will crouch,
And so we shall escape them. Fly! fly! fly!
Farewell, my dove. I cannot follow thee.
Thou hast such nimble wings, thou bird of God.
And Heaven is so far off. Ah, turn! they throng
Faster and faster. Save me!

Guests.
Look to her!
Oh miserable lady!

(Veronica falls insensible.)
First Guest.
Come away!
Something hath happen'd in the House of Orval
Which never should have been.

Fourth.
Ah, said I not
‘Something is here amiss’?

Second.
In any case,
Our presence, I conceive, will be less thank'd
Than our departure. After you, my lord.

First.
Your Excellency first.

Second.
Nay, then, indeed,
If you insist . . .

Third.
Marquis!

Fourth.
Ten thousand thanks.
Exquisite flavour! How do you call this snuff?

Third.
I had it from the old king: and he's a judge.
Well, friend, you may be, after all, in time
To eat your breakfast with your epicure.

First.
Come, gentlemen. Unwilling, have we been,
As unwisht, witnesses of this sad scene.