 | An English Tragedy |  |
Scene 4.
A room in Winthrop's house. Anne sitting by the window, Mary watching her.ANNE.
The shadow has crept on.
MARY.
Why do you watch it so?
You have scarcely turn'd your eyes for the last half-hour;
What do you see?
ANNE.
Oh, is it half-an-hour?
The light is almost swallow'd up by the shade.
MARY.
What light? what shade? Say, love, what are you watching?
ANNE.
The evening sun upon the gravel walk,
And the shadow of that yew tree.
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What do you start at?
ANNE.
Come here and look.
MARY.
What is't? ah! now I see.
ANNE.
Did you see that shadow?
MARY.
Yes, my brother's shadow.
Is this why every day, as the sun goes down,
You sit at this window, straining your poor eyes;
Is it to see his shadow as he walks?
ANNE.
Methinks, each evening, it stoops more and more,
Inclining to the grave I have dug for him.
Oh! if the light could only shine there still,
And he still walk, and I still see his shadow!
But the sun is almost set. Mary, does he walk
After sunset ever?
MARY.
Oh, yes, till after midnight
He oft continues pacing up and down.
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Oh! if I could but hear his feet on the ground
After the darkness takes away his shadow!
I am too bold to dare to wish so much;
Do you not think so?
MARY.
No, dear; let me smooth
This pillow underneath your cheek; how fares it?
ANNE.
Dying—dying; thou shalt soon, O thou sweet saint!
Minister to my misery no more.
For thy compassion and humility
In tending one so vile, God will requite thee.
My lips have lost the power to speak blessings.
The shadow eats the light up, inch by inch;
Ah, cruel, cruel!
MARY.
Lay your head down,—so;
You can still watch the sunset. You grow paler;
Art worse?
ANNE.
No, but the warmth about my heart
Seems dying out with that departing light.
'Tis gone; never again! never again!
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This is the time when you are wont to sleep:
Come, shut those eyes up, that they drop no tears.
Come, I will sing to you.
ANNE.
Thy song shall be
My dirge: let it be solemn, slow, and sad;
On earth I shall never hear sweet music more.
MARY.
Do you lie easily?
ANNE.
Yes: I shall slide
Even from this very chair into my grave.
Is it dug deep? will it hide my sin and shame?
Sing, seraph, sing, while I sink down into it.
Sleep holds me; I do think I shall not wake.
MARY
(sings).
Sleep, do not dream—dream not, but only rest,
Poor weary heart! forget thou art alive.
God's mercy holds thee as a mother's breast.
Cease, thou sad soul, to suffer and to strive.
Dream not, but sleep—sleep through the dismal night:
Beloved, when thou wak'st it shall be light.
[MARY.]
Fast! fast! how pale! how thin! oh, misery!
How changed! she surely is about to die.
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That sweet young wife that he did dote on so!
Shall he see her body carried out from the door,
But never her? Oh, I will fetch him hither!
He'll surely, surely come to see her once—
But once before she dies. Oh, what a life
Has mine become! who thus, from day to day,
Stand here between them both, watching them waste
And waste with sorrow; all mine own poor hopes
Wreck'd on the treacherous coast of a light love;
And the summer morning of my happiness
Covered with weeping clouds and darkness.
ANNE.
Husband!
MARY.
It is the first time she has spoke that word.
Call'st thou upon him, poor heart, in thy sleep,
Whom waking thou dost almost quake to think on?
Yea—he shall come once more to answer thee,
Once more to hear thee speak; soft—soft—no noise.
[Exit Mary.
[Music plays while Anne sleeps.
ANNE.
Sweet music! heavenly strains! my soul is borne
Upon your gentle stream away—away.
There is forgiveness for the broken spirit.
Thou Merciful! forgive—forgive—forgive—
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MARY.
Lean on me, do—do—while you tremble so.
Gently; don't wake her; she is yet asleep;
Do not go near to her. Oh, pray!
WINTHROP.
Sin—sin—
Could there be any death else?
MARY.
O brother!
Now you are here, I fear what I have done.
Begone again before she wakes.
WINTHROP.
So young!
But one short draught of life, and so much bitter;
And now the cup is rudely snatch'd from thee,
And dust thrust in thy mouth!
MARY.
Come, come away,
If she does wake, the sudden sight of you
Will kill her.
WINTHROP.
In a little while this body,
The temple once of beauty, oh, how rare!
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Shall be hid in the earth; they'll lay her i' the ground,
And I shall walk upon it still, and feel
The sun.
MARY.
O brother! if she wakes, have pity!
Be kind to her!
WINTHROP.
Be kind to her! O God!
MARY.
Hush! hush!
WINTHROP.
I have done this—I've murder'd her!
I, that must covet this fair flower, and snatch it
Out from the sunny garden where it grew,
To wither in an old man's wintry bosom!
That could not see, but push'd her tottering steps
Even to the dizzy verge of steep temptation.
But, oh! but, oh! she seem'd to me so excellent,
I did not recollect that she was mortal.
MARY.
Peace, she awakes! Stand from her sight awhile.
How is it, sweet? has thy sleep cheer'd thee?
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Yes.
My spirit stands a tip-toe to begone;
Accursed fear has fled away for ever;
I am at peace. To have seen my husband once—
Once to have heard him utter ‘I forgive thee—’
WINTHROP.
I do forgive thee, wife! I do forgive thee!
So Heaven have mercy on me, as I do
Forgive thee with all my soul!
[Anne falls from her chair.
MARY.
You have been too sudden;
Her spirit hath hurried all affrighted hence.
[Winthrop raises her.
ANNE.
Oh, bless thee, bless thee, noble heart!
WINTHROP.
And thou,
Forgive thou me for having married thee
Unto conditions so unlike thine own.
Forgive my having thrust thee to the brink
And desperate precipice of thy temptation.
Forgive my sternness, and unyielding temper,
And all the rugged harshness of my nature.
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Death, the divorcer, marries us anew.
When I am cold, and carried to that bed
That knows no fellowship, upon my hand
Put thou once more my wedding-ring—i' the church—
Put it upon my finger once again.
WINTHROP.
I will.
MARY.
Footsteps draw near; one knocks.
JAMES
(without).
'Tis I!
MARY.
O Heaven!
ANNE.
That is James Forrester; let him come in.
MARY.
No! no!
ANNE.
Let him come in.
WINTHROP
(opens the door).
Come in; you're welcome
To this solemn house, where death, with icy hands,
Is slackening all our dearest knots of life.
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To such a house come I a fitting guest.
Behold my sable garb, and hear the sum
Of my great loss in few poor words: my brother
Is dead.
MARY.
Alas!
WINTHROP.
Sorrow comes thick on sorrow!
We shall be stripp'd.
JAMES.
Of the manner of the death,
Which leaves me lonely in the world, I'll tell ye
Anon; a devil—that devil Alford—slew him;
And yet I am his murderer.
MARY.
Hold! hold!
These news have stunn'd her; why, how pale, how still!
Brother, raise your arm, her head has fallen on it;
She sleeps.
WINTHROP.
Yes, the cold sleep; she will not wake
Till the dead wake, for she is dead.
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O Heaven!
WINTHROP.
Two of the jewels of my life are gone;
The one, most precious, flaw'd, and stolen from me;
The other, seized, and rudely cast away.
Both by one hand—may God requite its dealings.
What now remains, but that I take my last,
And giving that away—like to a beggar
Whose scrip is empty, and whose alms are spent,
Stretch out my limbs, and die.
MARY.
Oh, brother! brother!
Are these the words with which you give me forth
To my new fortunes? Miserable maiden!
What joy shall ever smile upon my fate,
Whose earliest hours of love, and of betrothment,
Are spent amidst sights of death and sounds of mourning?
WINTHROP.
No, my sweet Mary—no, my darling child!
I am to blame, to blame, but bear with me;
And in the embers of my heart I'll rake,
And find some warmth there yet, to bless thee with.
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Nor shall a pall o'erhang thy bridal bed;
Let pass these days of mourning, and again,
Before I die, I'll smile to bid thee joy.
JAMES.
Cheer thee, dear love! comfort, my gentle Mary!
WINTHROP.
Come and live with me, here, until I die;
You are my heiress, all is here your own.
The waters of my life have run to bitterness,
And the failing fountain trickles cold and slow.
Let its last ebbing drops fall in the sunshine
Of your sweet love and holy happiness.
| An English Tragedy | |