 | The Witness |  |
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SCENE II.
The gate of the town, as in the first scene of the first act.Isbel and Ariette.
Ariet.
Lo, there the haggard Beldam moody sits,
Gather'd with thought, as 'twere, into a knot;
Her visage pressing on her clench'd right hand,
While with the left she draws the elbow in,
Nor rests it on her cross'd and cramped knee.
There's no remorse in that grim attitude.
But I will speak to her. How my heart fails!
She hath a look so witchlike and so wild,
That I would shun the glimpsing of her eyes
With fears I know not wherefore. Hapless wretch.
How strangely hideous, o'er that dark attire,
Her loose grey hair in snaky wreathes descends,
Veiling her breast, whose dried and wither'd lean
Contains no fostering for tender pity.
Isb.
Who, or what art thou, that, so lovely pale,
Dost wear the garb and semblance of the earth,
With such a mild and heavenly gracious mien?
Draw near sweet thing—Why dost thou shrink away?
Give me thy hand, and let me see thy face—
Ha! Glanville's daughter! Wherefore comes she here?
Would'st thou entreat me? Art thou not indeed
The tempting devil, and hath ta'en the form
Of that fair maid, to mar the work of Heaven,
That I am call'd to do? away, avaunt.
Justice, Justice! Look up! Seest thou nought there?
Ariet.
The sun is there.
Isb.
It is the eye of God.
Would'st thou seduce me in his orbed sight?
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Ariet.
O thou most cruel, thou ill-minded woman,
Surely some demon, hatch'd by an eclipse
Of ev'ry blessing and benignant star,
Hath turn'd thy thoughts to mischief and to sin,
That thou dost think so wickedly of me.
What direful Incubus, averse to truth,
Hath gain'd possession of thy hideous self?
For madness never, in its desp'rate dreams,
Thought aught so monstrous and fantastical,
As that of which thou hast accus'd my father;
And now thou 'dst do another bolder sin,
Aghast recoiling with well feign'd affright,
To doom me innocent to stake and flame.
Isb.
What would'st thou here, if thou art as thou sayest?
Ha! thou incarnated, what would'st thou here?
Ariet.
O look not on me with such eyes of dread.
Stand not avaunt, nor with such horrent stare,
Believe thou gazest on the sire of sin.
Alas, I am indeed, that Glanville's child,
Whom the foul imps, that prompt malicious thoughts,
Have made thee in thine anger charge with murder.
Isb.
Be she the Ill, she hath no power on me;
I am a tried and chosen instrument
To work high purposes of Providence.
As righteous Job was tried, I have been tried,
And patient all the sore probation stood:
I was a wife, a fondly cherish'd wife,
I was a mother, and my smiling babes
Hung like a garland wreathing me around:
The birds sung merrily, my heart was glad,
And glow'd to heav'n with silent thankfulness;
When suddenly in that most happy hour,
The solemn angel of destruction pass'd,
And from the winnowing of his dreadful wings
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And laid them in the dust. My eyes would weep,
But the Lord gives and the Lord takes away:
I knelt and prais'd his name. Then, even then,
Did the dark Glanville strike the secret blow,
That left me here a lonely childless widow,—
But he that gives may freely take away:
Blest be his awful name. Year after year,
On this selected day, new sorrow came,
Till all forsook me, and I found myself
Brought to the last, the utmost verge of want.
Think'st thou that this was but in casualty?
And Heaven was studious to assay me so,
Without some holy purpose?
Ariet.
Heav'n forbid.
But why, O why dost thou so wildly think
That purpose should be to destroy my father?
A man the most unlike, yea most unfit,
To do a deed so terrible as murder?
Isb.
I hold no questioning with Providence,
In whose eternal universe of things,
All ill is but th'unseemly root of good.
Yes: that which to our narrow mortal scan
Appears so shapeless, knotty, and obscene,
With writhing worms and crawling grubs astir,
Is the life's treasury of some fair tree,
Whose fragrant boughs give shade and sheltering,
Off'ring obsequiously their beauteous fruit.
Ariet.
What good can spring from my dear father's woe?
Ah me, what bounty from my breaking heart?
Is he not innocent? Thou know'st he is,—
And but in anger made the accusation.
O haste, recall the ill which thou hast said.
Isb.
It is a bloodhound that hath waited long
Scenting its prey, and will not be recall'd.
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What proof, what witness hast thou to adduce?
Isb.
He that commission'd through the gloomy void,
The glorious angel, from whose wings of flame
Were shook the stars that light the universe,
Will send a witness to avouch the truth.
Hear me, and then away. At ev'ry crime,
Heaven hath two witnesses.
Ariet.
Ah, what are they?
Isb.
The injur'd and the guilty. Bloody here,
Aghast with death, and looking up to Heaven,
Lay the informing witness of the crime:
The other is the murderer himself;
And he will verify the dead man's charge.
But see, they beckon me to the tribunal.
[Exeunt.
| The Witness | |