Czytaj książkę: «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1», strona 9

SCENE V.—Lord Seaford's house; Lady Gertrude's room. LADY GERTRUDE lying on a couch; LILIA seated beside her, with the girl's hand in both hers

 
  Lady Gertrude.
  How kind of you to come! And you will stay
  And be my beautiful nurse till I grow well?
  I am better since you came. You look so sweet,
  It brings all summer back into my heart.
 
 
  Lilia.
  I am very glad to come. Indeed, I felt
  No one could nurse you quite so well as I.
 
 
  Lady Gertrude.
  How kind of you! Do call me sweet names now;
  And put your white cool hands upon my head;
  And let me lie and look in your great eyes:
  'Twill do me good; your very eyes are healing.
 
 
  Lilia.
  I must not let you talk too much, dear child.
 
 
  Lady Gertrude.
  Well, as I cannot have my music-lesson,
  And must not speak much, will you sing to me?
  Sing that strange ballad you sang once before;
  'Twill keep me quiet.
 
 
  Lilia.
                   What was it, child?
 
 
  Lady Gertrude.
                                    It was
  Something about a race—Death and a lady—
 
 
  Lilia.
  Oh! I remember. I would rather sing
  Some other, though.
 
 
  Lady Gertrude.
                     No, no, I want that one.
  Its ghost walks up and down inside my head,
  But won't stand long enough to show itself.
  You must talk Latin to it—sing it away,
  Or when I'm ill, 'twill haunt me.
 
 
  Lilia.
                       Well, I'll sing it.
 

SONG

 
      Death and a lady rode in the wind,
      In a starry midnight pale;
      Death on a bony horse behind,
      With no footfall upon the gale.
 
 
      The lady sat a wild-eyed steed;
      Eastward he tore to the morn.
      But ever the sense of a noiseless speed,
      And the sound of reaping corn!
 
 
      All the night through, the headlong race
      Sped to the morning gray;
      The dew gleamed cold on her cold white face—
      From Death or the morning? say.
 
 
      Her steed's wide knees began to shake,
      As he flung the road behind;
      The lady sat still, but her heart did quake,
      And a cold breath came down the wind.
 
 
      When, Lo! a fleet bay horse beside,
      With a silver mane and tail;
      A knight, bareheaded, the horse did ride,
      With never a coat of mail.
 
 
      He never lifted his hand to Death,
      And he never couched a spear;
      But the lady felt another breath,
      And a voice was in her ear.
 
 
      He looked her weary eyes through and through,
      With his eyes so strong in faith:
      Her bridle-hand the lady drew,
      And she turned and laughed at Death.
 
 
      And away through the mist of the morning gray,
      The spectre and horse rode wide;
      The dawn came up the old bright way,
      And the lady never died.
 
 
  Lord Seaford
  (who has entered during the song).
  Delightful! Why, my little pining Gertrude,
  With such charm-music you will soon be well.
  Madam, I know not how to speak the thanks
  I owe you for your kindness to my daughter:
  She looks as different from yesterday
  As sunrise from a fog.
 
 
  Lilia.
                      I am but too happy
  To be of use to one I love so much.
 

SCENE VI.—A rainy day. LORD SEAFORD walking up and down his room, murmuring to himself

 
      Oh, my love is like a wind of death,
      That turns me to a stone!
      Oh, my love is like a desert breath,
      That burns me to the bone!
 
 
      Oh, my love is a flower with a purple glow,
      And a purple scent all day!
      But a black spot lies at the heart below,
      And smells all night of clay.
 
 
      Oh, my love is like the poison sweet
      That lurks in the hooded cell!
      One flash in the eyes, one bounding beat,
      And then the passing bell!
 
 
      Oh, my love she's like a white, white rose!
      And I am the canker-worm:
      Never the bud to a blossom blows;
      It falls in the rainy storm.
 

SCENE VII.—JULIAN reading in his room

 
"And yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me."
 

[He closes the book and kneels.]

SCENE VIII.—Lord Seaford's room. LILIA and LORD SEAFORD. Her hand lies in his

 
  Lilia.
  It may be true. I am bewildered, though.
  I know not what to answer.
 
 
  Lord S.
                            Let me answer:—
  You would it were so—you would love me then?
 

[A sudden crash of music from a brass band in the street, melting away in a low cadence.]

 
Lilia (starting up). Let me go, my lord!
 
 
  Lord S.
  (retaining her hand).
  Why, sweetest! what is this?
 
 
  Lilia
  (vehemently, and disengaging her hand).
  Let me go. My husband! Oh, my white child!
 

[She hurries to the door, but falls.]

 
Lord S. (raising her). I thought you trusted me, yes, loved me, Lilia!
 
 
  Lilia.
  Peace! that name is his! Speak it again—I rave.
  He thought I loved him—and I did—I do.
  Open the door, my lord!
 

[He hesitates. She draws herself up erect, with flashing eyes.]

 
Once more, my lord—
Open the door, I say.
 

[He still hesitates. She walks swiftly to the window, flings it wide, and is throwing herself out.]

 
  Lord S.
                         Stop, madam! I will.
 

[He opens the door. She leaves the window, and walks slowly out. He hears the house-door open and shut, flings himself on the couch, and hides his face.]

Enter LADY GERTRUDE.

 
  Lady Gertrude.
  Dear father, are you ill? I knocked
  three times; You did not speak.
 
 
  Lord S.
                   I did not hear you, child.
  My head aches rather; else I am quite well.
  Lady Gertrude.
  Where is the countess?
 
 
  Lord S.
                      She is gone. She had
  An urgent message to go home at once.
  But, Gertrude, now you seem so well, why not
  Set out to-morrow? You can travel now;
  And for your sake the sooner that we breathe
  Italian air the better.
 
 
  Lady Gertrude.
                         This is sudden!
  I scarcely can be ready by to-morrow.
 
 
  Lord S.
  It will oblige me, child. Do what you can.
  Just go and order everything you want.
  I will go with you. Ring the bell, my love;
  I have a reason for my haste. We'll have
  The horses to at once. Come, Gertrude, dear.
 

SCENE IX.—Evening. Hampstead Heath. LILIA seated

 
  Lilia.
  The first pale star! braving the rear of Day!
  And all heaven waiting till the sun has drawn
  His long train after him! then half creation
  Will follow its queen-leader from the depths.
  O harbinger of hope! O star of love!
  Thou hast gone down in me, gone down for ever;
  And left my soul in such a starless night,
  It has not love enough to weep thy loss.
  O fool! to know thee once, and, after years,
  To take a gleaming marsh-light for thy lamp!
  How could I for one moment hear him speak!
  O Julian! for my last love-gift I thought
  To bring that love itself, bound and resigned,
  And offering it a sacrifice to thee,
  Lead it away into the wilderness;
  But one vile spot hath tainted this my lamb;
  Unoffered it must go, footsore and weary,
  Not flattering itself to die for thee.
  And yet, thank God, it was one moment only,
  That, lapt in darkness and the loss of thee,
  Sun of my soul, and half my senses dead
  Through very weariness and lack of love,
  My heart throbbed once responsive to a ray
  That glimmered through its gloom from other eyes,
  And seemed to promise rest and hope again.
  My presence shall not grieve thee any more,
  My Julian, my husband. I will find
  A quiet place where I will seek thy God.
  And—in my heart it wakens like a voice
  From him—the Saviour—there are other worlds
  Where all gone wrong in this may be set right;
  Where I, made pure, may find thee, purer still,
  And thou wilt love the love that kneels to thee.
  I'll write and tell him I have gone, and why.
  But what to say about my late offence,
  That he may understand just what it was?
  For I must tell him, if I write at all.
  I fear he would discover where I was;
  Pitiful duty would not let him rest
  Until he found me; and I fain would free
  From all the weight of mine, that heart of his.
 

[Sound of a coach-horn.]

 
  It calls me to rise up and go to him,
  Leading me further from him and away.
  The earth is round; God's thoughts return again;
  And I will go in hope. Help me, my God!
 

SCENE X.—Julian's room. JULIAN reading

A letter is brought in. He reads it, turns deadly pale, and leans his arms and head on the table, almost fainting. This lasts some time; then starting up, he paces through the room, his shoulders slightly shrugged, his arms rigid by his sides, and his hands clenched hard, as if a net of pain were drawn tight around his frame. At length he breathes deep, draws himself up, and walks erect, his chest swelling, but his teeth set

 
Julian. Me! My wife! Insect, didst thou say my wife?
 

[Hurriedly turning the letter on the table to see the address.]

 
  Why, if she love him more than me, why then
  Let her go with him!—Gone to Italy!
  Pursue, says he? Revenge?—Let the corpse crush
  The slimy maggot with its pulpy fingers!—
  What if I stabbed—
 

[Taking his dagger, and feeling its point.]

 
                  Whom? Her—what then?—Or him—
  What yet? Would that give back the life to me?
  There is one more—myself! Oh, peace! to feel
  The earthworms crawling through my mouldering brain!—
  But to be driven along the windy wastes—
  To hear the tempests, raving as they turn,
  Howl Lilia, Lilia—to be tossed about
  Beneath the stars that range themselves for ever
  Into the burning letters of her name—
  'Twere better creep the earth down here than that,
  For pain's excess here sometimes deadens pain.
 

[He throws the dagger on the floor.]

 
  Have I deserved this? Have I earned it? I?
  A pride of innocence darts through my veins.
  I stand erect. Shame cannot touch me. Ha!
  I laugh at insult. I? I am myself—
 
 
  Why starest thou at me? Well, stare thy fill;
  When devils mock, the angels lend their wings:—
  But what their wings? I have nowhere to fly.
  Lilia! my worship of thy purity!
  Hast thou forgotten—ah! thou didst not know
  How, watching by thee in thy fever-pain,
  When thy white neck and bosom were laid bare,
  I turned my eyes away, and turning drew
  With trembling hand white darkness over thee,
  Because I knew not thou didst love me then.
  Love me! O God in heaven! Is love a thing
  That can die thus? Love me! Would, for thy penance,
  Thou saw'st but once the heart which thou hast torn—
  Shaped all about thy image set within!
  But that were fearful! What rage would not, love
  Must then do for thee—in mercy I would kill thee,
  To save thee from the hell-fire of remorse.
  If blood would make thee clean, then blood should flow;
  Eager, unwilling, this hand should make thee bleed,
  Till, drop by drop, the taint should drop away.
  Clean! said I? fit to lie by me in sleep,
  My hand upon thy heart!—not fit to lie,
  For all thy bleeding, by me in the grave!
 

[His eye falls on that likeness of Jesus said to be copied from an emerald engraved for Tiberius. He gazes, drops on his knees, and covers his face; remains motionless a long time; then rises very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes filled with tears.]

 
  O my poor Lilia! my bewildered child!
  How shall I win thee, save thee, make thee mine?
  Where art thou wandering? What words in thine ears?
  God, can she never more be clean? no more,
  Through all the terrible years? Hast thou no well
  In all thy heaven, in all thyself, that can
  Wash her soul clean? Her body will go down
  Into the friendly earth—would it were lying
  There in my arms! for there thy rains will come,
  Fresh from the sky, slow sinking through the sod,
  Summer and winter; and we two should lie
  Mouldering away together, gently washed
  Into the heart of earth; and part would float
  Forth on the sunny breezes that bear clouds
  Through the thin air. But her stained soul, my God!
  Canst thou not cleanse it? Then should we, when death
  Was gone, creep into heaven at last, and sit
  In some still place together, glory-shadowed.
  None would ask questions there. And I should be
  Content to sorrow a little, so I might
  But see her with the darling on her knees,
  And know that must be pure that dwelt within
  The circle of thy glory. Lilia! Lilia!
  I scorn the shame rushing from head to foot;
  I would endure it endlessly, to save
  One thought of thine from his polluting touch;
  Saying ever to myself: this is a part
  Of my own Lilia; and the world to me
  Is nothing since I lost the smiles of her:
  Somehow, I know not how, she faded from me,
  And this is all that's left of her. My wife!
  Soul of my soul! my oneness with myself!
  Come back to me; I will be all to thee:
  Back to my heart; and we will weep together,
  And pray to God together every hour,
  That he would show how strong he is to save.
  The one that made is able to renew—
  I know not how.—I'll hold thy heart to mine,
  So close that the defilement needs must go.
  My love shall ray thee round, and, strong as fire,
  Dart through and through thy soul, till it be cleansed.—
  But if she love him? Oh my heart—beat! beat!
  Grow not so sick with misery and life,
  For fainting will not save thee.—Oh no! no!
  She cannot love him as she must love me.
  Then if she love him not—oh horrible!—oh God!
 

[He stands in a stupor for some minutes.]

 
  What devil whispered that vile word, unclean?
  I care not—loving more than that can touch.
  Let me be shamed, ay, perish in my shame,
  As men call perishing, so she be saved.
  Saved! my beloved! my Lilia!—Alas,
  Would she were here! oh, I would make her weep,
  Till her soul wept itself to purity!
  Far, far away! where my love cannot reach.
  No, no; she is not gone!
 

[Starting and facing wildly through the room.]

 
                                  It is a lie—
  Deluding blind revenge, not keen-eyed love.
  I must do something.—
 

[Enter LILY.]

 
  Ah! there's the precious thing
  That shall entice her back.
 

[Kneeling and clasping the child to his heart.]

 
  My little Lily,
  I have lost your mother.
 
 
  Lily.
                Oh!
 

[Beginning to weep.]

 
  She was so pretty,
  Somebody has stolen her.
 
 
  Julian.
                   Will you go with me,
  And help me look for her?
 
 
  Lily.
                        O yes, I will.
 

[Clasping him round the neck.]

 
But my head aches so! Will you carry me?
 
 
  Julian.
  Yes, my own darling. Come, we'll get your bonnet.
 
 
  Lily.
  Oh! you've been crying, father. You're so white!
 

[Putting her finger to his cheek.]