Poe. You may! Stay here with me till she comes! I know she will

come. She can not let me go without one word. It would be

too terrible. She can not! Stay till she comes. Talk to

me. Do not let me think!

Mrs. Del.

I'll make myself comfortable then, and we'll have a

good chat. You know I've been told that I talk my best

between two and three in the morning.

(Takes pillow from couch to make herself cosy in chair)

Poe. Do not touch that pillow!

Mrs. Del. (Dropping into chair) Well!

Poe. Do not sit in that chair!

Mrs. Del. (Rising) May I stand on the carpet, or shall I take

off my slippers before the burning bush of your love?

Poe. Forgive me! Don't you see that I have lost her?

Mrs. Del.

Well, you _were_ out of your senses to come here and

think Helen would understand it.

Poe. I was not! She did understand! The vision that led me to

her feet was as clear as an archangel's! It is now that I

am mad, and see everything gross and darkened with earth

and flesh! (Overcome, sinks on couch. She hastily brings

wine)

Mrs. Del.

Drink it. You must.

Poe. No! You offer me hell! And you know it. Put it down. If

you want to help me, go to her and bring me one word.

Mrs. Del.

Drink this for me, and I will.

Poe. (Taking glass) You will?... No! (Puts glass down)

Mrs. Del.

My dear boy, you are too weak to stand! It's that old

habit of not eating. I don't believe you have tasted food

for days.

Poe. True ... but.... (Faints. Mrs. Delormis gives him wine. He

rouses)

Mrs. Del.

Now will you kill me?

Poe. (Brightening) No. You were right. 'Twas what I needed. 'T

will keep life in me till she comes. Go to her now. Tell

her I will leave her--I will go away for a year--a

thousand years--if she will only say I may come back some

day. I will live in a desert and pray myself to the bone!

Bring me one word from her--a curse--anything!

Mrs. Del. (Pouring wine) A little more of this then, so I shall

be sure to find you alive when I return.

Poe. (Drinks eagerly) 'Tis life! Life! I've drunk of Cretan

wines against whose fragrant tide the Venus-rose poured

all her flood in vain, but never thrilled my lips till now

with drop so ravishing! And you brought it to me! Helen

left me to die ... cruel ... cruel ... cruel.... (Sits on

couch, taking his head in his hands. Looks up) Florimel!

Mrs. Del.

My Calidore!

Poe. You are a very beautiful devil.

Mrs. Del. (Pouring wine) Thanks. I'm glad you like my style.

(Sips wine) It _is_ good, isn't it?

Poe. 'Tis an enchantment to pilot grief to new and festal

worlds! Another cup! (Drinks) O, 'tis a drink to rouse the

drooping soul for warrier quest till on the conquered

shores of dream man strides a god!... (Pours another

glass) Again? No ... no more!... (Sinks down) O, my bird

of Heaven, come quickly, or I am lost!... Florimel!

Mrs. Del.

My knight of Normandy!

Poe. Since we are going to hell let us be merry about it.

Mrs. Del.

At last you are sensible.

Poe. Wine! wine!

Mrs. Del. (Holding glass) I mean to have my price for this.

Poe. Take my soul!

Mrs. Del.

Something better--a kiss!

Poe. 'Tis yours! (Kisses her) Why not? For but a kiss did Jove

forsake the skies, and jeopard his high realm!

Mrs. Del.

For but a kiss did Dian leave her throne and waste her

goddess dower on shepherd lips! (Sits by him) Now you are

going to tell me something. Why did you fly from Normandy,

and not a word, not a word to me? Come, my Calidore! Why

did you fly from me?

Poe. (Momentarily sober) Because--a woman shall never become

less holy than God made her through me. (Rises and walks

away) Helen ... my amaranth, I may not pluck thee!...

(Staggers) One cup more ... one.... (Pours wine, and holds

up glass apostrophizing as Roger and Helen enter unnoticed)

O, little ruby ocean that can drown all mortal sighs! Call

buried hope to put life's garland on, and limping woes to

trip like Nereids on a moonlit shore! For thee, frail

sickness casts her pallid chrysalis and blooms a rosy

angel! For thee, Death breaks his scythe and owns Life

conqueror! (Drinks) Were this Antonius' cup.... Ha! Are

you there, my devil? Another kiss, sweetheart! (Throws

his arm about Mrs. Delormis. Helen cries out. Poe turns

and faces her)

Hel. (To Poe, speaking slowly and mechanically) I came, sir, to

ask you to forgive me. (Turns to Roger) It is to you,

Roger, that I make my plea.

(Poe looks at her helplessly, then understands, and with a

terrible face, turns and leaps through the open window.

Helen, with a sob, droops, and Roger takes her in his

arms)

(CURTAIN)

ACT II.

Scene: Lawn in front of Clemm cottage, near Richmond. Bony and Tat

on a side porch shelling peas.

Tat. Sho' Mars Edgah come in good time! Pea-vines jes a hangin'

low, an' sweet as honey!

Bony. Mars Edgah hab peas ebry day wha' he came f'om! Big city

hab ebryting!

Tat. Dey can't hab ebryting when it don' grow!

Bony. Sho', dey hab it when it don' grow same lak when he do

grow!

Tat. You nebah did hab no sense!

Bony. I ain't got no sense? Take dat, Tatermally Clemm! (Strikes

at her. They scuffle and bring Zurie to side door)

Zu. Dem chillun' jes kill me! Why de Lawd make ol' Zurie bring

dem two twins to dis heah worl' she nebah could tell! Dey

haint shell 'nuf fo' a hummin' bird's stomach, an' de pot

bilin' mad fo' 'm dis minute! Wha' yo' do, yo' black

niggahs? Come in heah! I make yo' sit still an' do nuffin'

an' yo' ol' mammy wu'kin' hussef to def! (Picks up basket

and drives children into the kitchen. Calls after them

beamingly) Wha' yo' reckon yo' ol' mammy cookin' in dat

ubbin fo' two little no 'count niggahs?

Children. (Within, scampering with delight) Cherry cobblah!

Cherry cobblah!

Zu. (Shutting the door) Don' want dat wind blowin' on my poun'

cake! It'll fall sho'!

(Virginia comes out at the front door of cottage, and

walks across the lawn to the shade of a bay tree where Poe

lies in a hammock as if asleep. A book on the ground. She

goes up softly and sits on a garden chair near him. He

opens his eyes)

Vir. O, I have waked you!

Poe. No, little houri. I was not asleep. I would not give one

breath of this sweet world to cold, unconscious sleep.

Vir. You are happy, cousin Edgar?

Poe. No, Virginia. This is all too delicious to be called

happiness. Too calm, like the stilling of a condor's wings

above sea-guarding peaks. He flies when he is happy. When

more than happy, it is enough to pause in the blue and

breathe wonders.

Vir. Is it wonderful here, Edgar? It has always seemed so to

me, but I have been afraid to tell anyone. It seems like a

great fairy house with God in it. Is it wonderful, cousin?

Poe. _You_ are wonderful.

Vir. O, no, no, no! I want to tell you too, Edgar, I have never

felt that I quite belong here. It is all too good for

me--so beautiful, and I am not beautiful.

Poe. (Rising) Why, my little aspiring Venus, let me tell you

something. I have wandered somewhat in life--at home and

over sea--and I have never looked upon a woman fairer than

yourself.

Vir. (Springing up in delight) O, I am so happy! You would not

flatter me! You are the soul of truth!

Poe. It is no flattery, little maid, as the world will soon

teach you.

Vir. I have nothing to do with that world, Edgar. My world is

the circuit of our mocking-bird's wing. O, where is he?

(Calls) Freddy! Freddy! He is not near or he would come.

But he never goes farther than the orchard. Freddy!... He

has not sung to me this morning. You haven't heard his

finest song yet. O, 'tis sweeter than--

Poe. (Picking up book) Than Spenser?

Vir. Yes--than Spenser. Though he makes music too, and we were

just coming to the siren's song. Shall I read?

Poe. Do! I knew not how to love him till he warbled from your

tongue.

Vir. 'Tis where the mermaid calls the knight.

(Reads)

O, thou fair son of gentle faery,

That art in mighty arms most magnifyde

Above all knights that ever battle tried,

O, turn thy rudder hetherward awhile!

Here may the storm-bett vessel safely ride;

This is the port of ease from troublous toil,

The world's sweet inn from pain and wearisome turmoyle!

Poe. No more--no more!

Vir. Why, cousin?

Poe. I shall have the water about my ears presently. I thought

I was drowning on a mermaid's bosom. Read no more,

Virginia. One nibble at a time is enough of Spenser. He

ought to be made into a thousand little poems. Then we

should have a multitude of gems instead of a great granite

mountain that nobody can circuit without weariness.

Vir. You know so much, Edgar. Will you teach me while you are

here, if I try very hard to learn?

Poe. (Plucking a flower) My little girl, what lore would you

teach this bud? God makes some people so. Be happy that

you are a beautiful certainty and not a struggling

possibility.

Vir. But the rose has no soul, Edgar--no heart, as I have. It

does not sigh to see you look so pale, and read these

lines of suffering here, (touching his brow) but I--it

kills me, cousin! (He hides his face) Forgive me! O, I am

so unkind!

(Mrs. Clemm comes out of cottage and crosses to them. She

gently takes Poe's hand from his face and kisses him)

Mrs. C. My dear boy!

Poe. (Seizing her hand and holding it) Don't--don't be so kind

to me, aunt! It tells too much of what has never been

mine. Curious interest--passing friendship--love born in a

flash and dead in an hour--these I have had, while my

heart was crying from its depths for the firmly founded

love that shakes but with the globe itself.

Mrs. C. (Taking his head on her breast) My dear Edgar! You will

be my son--Virginia's brother!

Poe. (Lifting his face smiling) I _will_ be happy! No more of

that solitude lighted only by the eyes of ghouls! Here I

have come into the light. I have found the sun. I see what

my work should be--what Art is. She is beauty and joy. Her

light should fall on life like morning on the hills. The

clouds of passion and agony should never darken her face.

O, I can paint her now ready for the embrace of the soul!

Mrs. C. I can not see things with your rapturous eyes, Edgar,

but I know that your work will be noble, and I love you.

Poe. O, aunt, you and this little wonder-witch have enchanted

me back to happiness. I promise you never again shall you

see a tear on my face or a frown on my brow. (Virginia,

looking toward the road, bows as to some one passing)

Poe. Blushing, cousin? Who is worth such a rosy flag? (Stands

up and looks down the road) Brackett! I do believe!

Mrs. C. You know him, Edgar? He is staying with my

brother-in-law, Nelson Clemm, for a short time, and has

asked to call on us--on Virginia, I mean, for of course I

don't count, now that my little girl is suddenly turned

woman.

Poe. Don't for Heaven's sake!

Mrs. C. You don't like him, Edgar?

Poe. Like him! We were at West Point together. He refused to

accept a challenge after slandering me vilely, and I was

obliged to thrash him. That's all. (Turns suddenly to

Virginia) And you were blushing for him!

Vir. It was not because I like him, Edgar.

Poe. (Looking into her eyes) You are a wise little piece.

Mrs. C. This is painful, Edgar. Of course he must not call.

Poe. Call! Let him but look toward the house again, and I'll

give him a drubbing that will make him forget the first

one! The coward! He wouldn't meet me--after--

Vir. How about the frowns, Edgar?

Poe. (Smiling) Let him go!

Mrs. C. You should not make such bitter enemies at the beginning

of life, my boy.

Poe. He can not touch me. He is not of my world.

Mrs. C. We are all of one world, Edgar, and never know when we

may lap fortunes with our foes. Mr. Brackett is going into

literature too.

Poe. Yes. The trade and barter part of it. I shall be in the

holy temple while he keeps a changer's table on the steps.

(Shrugging) Brackett! Pah!... But goodbye for half an

hour. I'm going to the orchard to take counsel with the

birds on my new philosophy. (Starts away) Come, (turning

to Virginia) my mocking bird, there won't be a quorum

without you! (Virginia goes to him. Zurie puts her head

out of a window and calls.)

Mum Zurie.

Mars Nelson comin' up de lane!

Mrs. C. Come back, Virginia, you must see your uncle. Edgar,

won't you wait and meet him?

Poe. Thank you aunt, but I don't think it would give him any

pleasure. (Exit)

Vir. (Coming back reluctantly) O mama, we _will_ make him

happy!

Mrs. C. We'll try, my dear. But you must get ready for the picnic.

The girls will be here soon. Is Edgar going with you?

Vir. No, mother. He said he would go to a picnic only with

nymphs and naiads.

Mrs. C. Here is uncle.

(Enter, from the road, Nelson Clemm)

Mr. C. How d' do, Maria! Howdy, girl! Go get your hat.

Mrs. C. What now, Nelson?

Mr. C. Nothin'. Only I'm tired o' foolin' and talkin' about that

girl's education. I've come to take her this time.

Vir. To send me to school?

Mr. C. High time, ain't it? I couldn't make up my mind before

whether 'twas to be the seminary at Bowville or Maryburg.

But I had a letter this morning which settled it for

Bowville. Suits me exactly--suits me _exactly_. So get

your hat and come along. I drove across the ridge and left

my trap at Judge Carroll's.

Mrs. C. Her clothes, Nelson! There's nothing ready--

Mr. C. You mean to say! When we've been talkin' this thing a

whole year? And you a thrifty woman tell me her clothes

ain't ready? Well, she'll come without 'em, that's all.

You can send 'em along afterwards. I've got it all

fixed up, I tell you. My brother's child shall have her

chance--she shall have her chance, so long as I've got

a dollar in my pocket and she walks exactly to please

me--walks _exactly_ to please me. It's for you to say,

Maria, whether you'll stand in the way o' your own flesh

and blood or not.

Mrs. C. Of course, Nelson, I am very grateful, and do not dream

of depriving Virginia of this opportunity, only--

Mr. C. That's all there is to it then. No onlys about it. Go get

your hat, girl. (Virginia goes slowly into the house. At

the door she meets Zurie who turns back and goes in with

her)

Mrs. C. Now, Nelson?

Mr. C. It's just this. My brother's child shan't stay another

hour in the same house with Edgar Poe. That's the plain

tale of it, Maria.

Mrs. C. Nelson Clemm!

Mr. C. O, I've been hearin' things--I've been hearin'! He didn't

cover all his tracks at West Point--or New York either!

Mrs. C. Lies! All lies! Every one of them! He is the soul of

honor! Already Virginia loves him like a brother! I trust

her instinct! I trust my own!

Mr. C. O, I'm not arguin', I'm just doin'. You can't turn him

out, of course. Wouldn't do it myself. Nobody'll ever say

Nelse Clemm was an inhospitable dog! But I can look out

for Virginia, and I will. She goes with me now, or I'm

done with you and yours--and you know that mortgage ain't

paid off yet.

Mrs. C. Yes, she shall go. She ought to be in school and again

I thank you for helping us. But you are wronging my

nephew,--one of the noblest of men. You don't know him!

Mr. C. It's plain enough _you_ don't!

Mrs. C. Has Mr. Brackett--

Mr. C. Mr. Brackett is a guest in my house. Now, Maria, say what

you please. (Virginia comes out of cottage carrying a

small satchel) That's a good girl! We'll fix up a fine

trunk and send it after her, won't we, mother?

Vir. (Putting her arms about her mother's neck) He--wasn't in

the orchard, mama. Won't you say goodbye to him for me?

Mr. C. Come, come now! (Leads her away) Don't worry, Maria. I'll

drive you over to Bowville every Sunday Doctor Barlow

doesn't preach. (Half turning) By the by, I saw him down

the lane at the widow Simson's. Reckon he'll be along here

pretty soon. Seems to be on his widow's route to-day. Good

morning! (Exeunt)

Mrs. C. (Looking after them) I shall go to her myself to-morrow.

My little daughter! A stately woman now, but always my

little daughter! (Starts into the house, pausing on steps)

Poor Edgar! How he is misjudged! (Goes in)

(Zurie, Tat following, comes out of the side door and sets

to work digging up a shrub)

Zu. (Muttering) Wha' Mis' Clemm gwine ter say ter all dem

young ladies comin' heah fo' de picnic? An' who gwine ter

eat dem pies Zurie been two days makin'? An' sech a poun'

cake! It ought to be a weddin' cake, deed it ought! (Bony

comes out of kitchen with a knife in his hand) Heah,

niggah, gimme up dat knife an' don' be so slow-back! Dis

heah bush done grow an' bloom till yo' get heah!

(Enter Poe, left, singing)

Old winter is a lie

As every spring doth prove,

And care is born to die

If we but let in love--

Hey Mum Zurie, what are you doing?

Zu. I's diggin', honey.

Poe. That rosebay is the most graceful shrub in the yard. You

kill one leaf of it, if you dare!

Zu. Miss Virginia she say how her bru'r Edgah lub dis heah

tree, an' she want it under her window.

Poe. Oh! Can't I help you, Zurie? Tenderly now!

Zu. Miss Babylam' ax me to move it yistiddy but I don't git no

time, an' I ain' gwine to leab it now jes cause she's gone

away.

Poe. Gone away?

Zu. O Lawd, I forgot you don' know! Why, honey, Mars Nelson he

come jes now an' frisk her off to school. Zip! an'

Babylam' gone! An' law, ef you seen dat po' chile cryin'!

Poe. She cried, Zurie?

Zu. Deed she did, and she ax me twenty hundred times to tell

her bru'r Edgah goodbye.

Poe. Virginia gone?

Zu. I done tol' yo, Mars Edgah! Sho' yo' don't think ol' Zurie

know how ter tell lies, does yo', honey?

Poe. No, Zurie, I know she is gone. The birds have all stopped

singing.

Zu. Law, Mars Edgah, dey jes be a chipperin'! Heah dat now?

Poe. That is not a song, Zurie. It is a wail from Stygian

boughs.

Zu. O, yo' go way!

Poe. Gone! I'll not permit it! My aunt must bring her back!

(Hurries into house)

Zu. Wha' make him ac' so now? An' wha' make Miss Babylam' cry

hussef sick when she's gwine away ter be a fine lady? Mars

Nelson he mighty good to gib her eddication, but true fo'

sho he might jes' well gib it to my Tatermally fer all de

thanks he's gittin'. Ol' Zurie reckon it a sin to cry ober

de goodness ob God!

(Mrs. Clemm and Poe come out of cottage, both disturbed)

Poe. But, aunt, how are we going to live without her?

Mrs. C. My dear Edgar, we must not let our affections root so

deep in mortal things.

Poe. Mortal? Virginia mortal! She is a sister to Psyche,

immortal as the breath that blew her into beauteous bloom!

Mrs. C. While I am glad, my son, to see you so devoted to your

sister--

Poe. Sister! Thank Heaven she is not my sister! Aunt, Virginia

must be my wife!

Mrs. C. (Bewildered) Are you mad, Edgar?

Poe. No. Sane at last. I have been mad until now. I have drunk

loneliness and death. Here I breathe, grateful, glad as a

flower! My breast swells and falls as a bird's throat with

happy song! O, aunt, help me to accept this fair new

life--the only real life! Do not drive me back to gloom

and the devils! Give me your Virginia!

Mrs. C. A child, Edgar! A child!

Poe. To you--only to you. She has her full dower of

beauty--womanhood's portion.

Mrs. C. She has a right to her education. I can not wrong my

child.

Poe. I will teach her--teach her more than she will ever learn

at the great mess table of knowledge where the genius must

take his treacle and the blacksmith his ambrosia! O, aunt,

you will give her to me?

Mrs. C. Edgar, I love you dearly,--but--my little girl--my

Virginia--

Poe. (Bitterly) There is a difference then. She is yours, I am

not.

Mrs. C. Do not be cruel. I am a distracted mother!

Poe. My dear aunt!

(Virginia runs into yard and flings her arms about her

mother)

Vir. O, mama, uncle had to stop at Judge Carroll's and they got

into an argument and Mrs. Carroll said they would be at it

for hours--she knew by the way the judge was filling his

pipe--and told me to run back if I wanted to--Mama! Edgar!

What is the matter?

Mrs. C. Edgar does not want you to leave home, dear.

Poe. Tell her all, aunt. (Mrs. Clemm is silent. Poe takes

Virginia's hand)

Poe. Virginia, you who have the face of a houri, the form of a

sylph, and the heart of an angel, will you be my wife?

Mrs. C. Edgar!

Poe. My gentle one, can I not teach you to love me?

Vir. Teach me? Ah, I love you now, Edgar!

Mrs. C. Virginia!

Vir. I do! I do, mama! And oh, what happiness beyond my

dream--to be--his wife!

(Poe embraces her gently and draws her toward the garden,

right. They go out slowly. Mrs. Clemm turns toward the

cottage, weeping. At the step she hesitates, looks toward

the garden, and slowly goes after them, murmuring

distractedly)

Zu. (Who has observed the scene with growing horror) Fo' de

Lawd, fo' de Lawd, bless dem two babies! O, de signs am

all wrong! Miss Babylam' came back when she done start

away! An' Freddy bird hop right on my ol' wool dis

mawnin', kase why, he want tell me sumpin gwine happen to

Babylam'. An', oh, dis po' ol' niggah is kilt, kase dis is

de day Miss Babylam's fadder done die! De missus she go

'bout cryin' dis mawnin, an' I allus 'member she do dat

dis bery day! Wha' make Mars Nelson come fo' Babylam'? O,

fo de Lawd, fo de Lawd! (Tat and Bony stare at their

mother in terror as she proceeds) I see de black hawk what

flies outen de dead swamp! Ooo! I see knives a drippin'

an' guns a poppin'! Oooooooo! I see de coffin, de

coffin--an' it's all dark night, an' de rain comin' down

de chimney--an' de wind--de wind--it say "Ooooooooooo!"

(Bends her knees and body, and stares moaning. Tat and

Bony cling to her skirts. She turns on them with a scream,

at which they tumble to the ground) Wha' yo' doin' heah,

yo' black no 'count niggahs?

(Enter from the gate the old minister, Doctor Barlow)

Doctor B.

Good morning, Mum Zurie. You seem to be agitated. Can

I help you?

Zu. Lawd, no! beg yo' pahdon, sah! I's jes so mighty tickled!

Dese heah two niggahs so comicky like! Lawd, no, I wasn't

alligated at all, beg yo' pahdon, sah!

Doctor B.

I'm glad to hear it, Zurie. Is your mistress at home?

Zu. Yes, sah. Dey all be in de gahden.

Doctor B.

I'll just take a walk in there then.

(Exit, right)

Zu. Wha' make me le'm go in de gahden? My brain it jes all

wool and no sense at all! Wha' now he fin' Mars Edgah

kissin' Miss Babylam'? Well, ain't dey gwine ter be

married? Married! O, lawd! (Throws her apron over her head

and sits on the ground. Re-enter Mrs. Clemm and Doctor

Barlow. He carries his hat in one hand and mops his brow

with the other)

Doctor B.

Well, well, well! Upon my word! Your nephew--pardon

me--is possessed of a rather impetuous spirit--rather

impetuous, pardon me!

Mrs. C. O, Doctor Barlow, what must I do? You heard him! He

wants to be married now--this hour!

Doctor B.

Trust me, Mrs. Clemm, I shall perform no ceremony

without your full consent.

Mrs. C. O, I am sure of that! But must I consent? If I refuse

him he may take her away from me. And Nelson will make

trouble if we wait. Edgar will let no one oppose him.

Doctor B.

_I_ should not attempt it, Mrs. Clemm.

Mrs. C. If it _is_ to be, it is better to let it be now. What

makes me so helpless is the fact that Virginia is against

me. She loves him.

Doctor B.

Naturally, Mrs. Clemm, naturally.

(They enter the cottage)

Zu. Wha' dat man talk so now? He better quit preachin' ef he

can't hep folks no more 'n dat! Sho', ol' Zurie hussef

know dat much!

(Enter from the road a swarm of girls. They wear graceful

organdie gowns, and large ricestraw hats trimmed with bows

and streamers. Some carry baskets, which they drop, and

all troop about the yard)

Gertrude.

Where's Virginia, Mum Zurie?

Zu. (Hesitating) She wa' in de house 'bout so long ago.

Ger. I'll see!

Zu. Wait a minute! Mis' Clemm she an' de minister talkin' on

impo'tant business. Maybe it's dat mortgage, I dunno!

(Grimaces)

Ger. We'll go into the garden then. (All start, right)

Zu. Law, you jes oughter see dat cherry tree hangin' full by

de back gate!

Girls. O! O! O! (They rush off, disappearing behind the cottage.

Re-enter Poe and Virginia from the garden as Mrs. Clemm

appears at the front door)

Vir. O, 'tis too sweet to be true! How have I won you, Edgar?

Poe. By beauty, that speaks loudest when most silent. (Mrs.

Clemm meets them) God bless you, aunt. I see 'yes' in your

eyes. You could not deny me.

Mrs. C. No.

Poe. Run, Virginia, and put on your fairy's dress! I want you

to look as if you were leaping out of a flower into my

heart! (Virginia goes in) O this beautiful world! Just to

live, my aunt! Is it not enough? Literature is disease!

The sick-robe of the soul! Who can write that does not

_live_--and who that _lives_ would write! But I must do

it--I must work for her. Not a wind shall blow upon my

Virginia! I will find the fairy paths for her feet! Not a

satyr shall leer from the wood! She will be ready soon. I

shall wait for her in the orchard. I would not see her

again until she is mine--all mine!

(Exit, left, singing)

'Come, Apollo's pipes are merry--'

(Mrs. Clemm goes in)

Zu. (Rising) I don' reckon it make no difference 'bout dis

heah bush now! (Goes to side door and sits on step

disconsolately. The girls come running back)

Mabel. Here's the finest cherry on the tree for the prettiest

mouth! Open, who gets it! (Girls open their mouths. Mabel

eats cherry)

Gertrude.

O, vanity!

Mab. No, I just took it for Virginia.

Annie. Let's play _Ant'ny Over_ while we're waiting! Where's a

ball? Bony, get a ball!

Bony. Can't do it, missis! Y'all los' it las' time yo's all

here!

Dora. _Marlow Bright_ then! Half with me and half with Mabel!

(Girls divide, the two companies taking opposite bases

some distance apart)

Dora. Marlow, marlow, marlow bright!

How many miles to the old turnpike?

Mab. Three score and ten!

Dora. Can we get there by candle light?

Mab. Yes, if your toes are tripping light!

Dora. Any robbers on the way?

Mab. Three blind witches, so they say,

And Robin Hood with all his _men_!

(With the last word the girls exchange bases, the

travellers, with Dora, trying to reach the opposite

base without being caught by the robbers with Mabel.

Virginia comes to the door of cottage)

Annie. There's Virginia! (Girls stop playing as Virginia joins

them)

Gert. How pretty you look!

Mab. You're a _real_ nymph!

Annie. Come, let's be off now! (Picks up a basket)

Vir. Girls--I--there isn't going to be any picnic.

Girls. No picnic!

Vir. But a wedding.

Girls. A wedding! Where? Where?

Vir. Right here--under the bay tree.

Girls. Who? Who?

Vir. Why--cousin Edgar--and--

Girls. You! you! (All talk at once in excited babble. Virginia

breaks from them and runs into the house. Girls keep

tumultuous talk partly distinguishable)

Gert. He's so handsome!

Sallie. He's a prince!

Annie. Too young to be married!

Ethel. He's twenty!

Gladys. Older!

Mab. No!

Mamie. Virginia is a baby!

Alma. She's taller than any of us!

Annie. But younger!

Sallie. Yonder's Allie Kirby!

Mamie. Won't she be surprised! I wasn't one bit!

Annie. Nor I!

Other Girls.

Nor I! Nor I!

Ethel. I'll tell her!

Annie. No, let me!

Other Girls.

I will! I will!

(As Allie enters all the girls rush to her and talk at

once, trying to tell her the news. Mrs. Clemm and Virginia

come out of the house and join them)

Mrs. C. My little yard never held so many flowers before.

Allie. Is it true, Mrs. Clemm?

Annie. Of course it is! But you're not going to let him take her

away from us!

Mrs. C. No, my dears. She will be one of you still.

Vir. Where is Edgar?

Bony. 'Deed, he wah in de orchard 'bout two drecklys ago.

Vir. He doesn't know I'm ready. I'll go tell him!

Girls. Do! do!

Mrs. C. Daughter!

Girls. Do let her go, Mrs. Clemm!

Mab. We'll all go! What fun!

Gert. We'll play 'hunt the bridegroom!'

(Girls run off, disappearing in various directions)

Mrs. C. What will Doctor Barlow think? (Goes in. Allie, the last

of the girls, pauses as she passes to the side door where

Zurie is sitting)

Allie. Why, Mum Zurie, you look as if Miss Virginia were going to

be buried instead of married.

Zu. (Jumping at the word 'buried') Sho' now, can't Zurie hab

de toothache wheneber she please, missus?

Allie. Toothache? O, I'm sorry, Mum Zurie.

Zu. Mars Edgah he's a mighty fine young man! Yo' won't see no

sech grow up roun' _heah_!

Allie. But what a pity he isn't rich!

Zu. Rich? Wha' fo' Mars Edgah want to be rich? All he got to

do is jes scribble, scribble on a piece o' papah, an' de

gol' come rollin' down de chimney! Rich! Yo' better say

yo' prayers yo' get a Mars Edgah too!

Allie. I'll get you to pray for me, Mum Zurie.

(Runs away laughing)

Zu. Wha' fo' now she say I look lak Miss Babylam' gwine ter be

buried? O, de good Lawd hep ol' Zurie!

(Goes in. Enter Poe, left. He is moody and disturbed)

Poe. I feel it--a wind from out that solitude. It calls me back

... it calls me back....

Vir. (Without, calling) Edgar!

Poe. Sweet voice from the fields of the sun! (Prays) Jehovah,

guide thou me! (Virginia peers around a shrub) Who could

lock life's door on such a face? It is God's gift. I take

it. (Virginia comes to him slowly. He takes her in his

arms. Mrs. Clemm and the minister come out of the house

and pause on the steps looking at them. The girls come

rushing back laughing and shouting, and at sight of Poe

and Virginia become suddenly silent)

(CURTAIN)

ACT III.

Scene I: Interior of Clemm cottage. A large room simply furnished.

Low fire burning in fireplace. Poe at table writing. Suddenly

drops pen and picks up two letters)

Poe. I must destroy these. She must not know.... My wife....

(drops letters absentmindedly) ... Married. Married? What

spirit so subtly fine can mingle here?... Back, back, ye

troops of devils damned or angels blest--I know not which

to call ye--summoning me to those lone regions of the mind

where none may follow! None?... Helen could tread those

airy worlds with me!... Helen!... Far, far as zenith stars

that ride the blue meridian thou art, and I, deep, deep,

to nadir sink! (Drops his head to the table)

Virginia. (Without) Edgar! (He lifts his head smiling as she

enters)

Vir. (Holding out a book) O, I know the alphabet! I can say it

all! (Gives him the book) Watch now, and see if I make a

mistake!

Edgar. (Smiling.) I'll hardly need the book, dear.

Vir. (Pouting.) O, I forget that you know everything!

Poe. Not everything. (Taking her face between his hands as she

sits on his knee, the book falling at their feet) I do not

know how to be happy when this beautiful face is gone. My

wife is the fairest lady in all the world.

Vir. Then what does it matter about this old Greek, Edgar?

(Touching book with her foot)

Poe. Just this. You can not always be young and beautiful, and

when you are no longer the fairest I want you to be the

wisest.

Vir. And if I am you will love me always?

Poe. Always.

Vir. Give me the book! (Picks it up) O, I will eat Greek! I

will breakfast with the heroes, dine with the bards, and

sup with the gods! But what a pity one must begin with the

alphabet to end with--what were those lovely lines I found

in your book yesterday?

And Helen on the walls rose like a star,

And every Trojan said 'she's worth our blood,'

And every Greek ploughed new his way to her--

Go on, Edgar! I'm sure you know them!

(As she repeats the lines he presses her head to his

shoulder and puts his hand over her eyes. His face is full

of agony, but there is only sweetness in his voice.)

Poe. Not now, my little wife. Some other time.

Vir. Helen is such a beautiful name. I wish I had been named

Helen.

Poe. Thank God you are not!

Vir. (Looking up hastily) Why--

Poe. I mean that I want you to be just as you are--my

Virginia--nothing else!

Vir. (Seeing he is troubled) I am keeping you from your work.

You should have sent me away. I'll be angry with you,

Edgar, if you let me disturb you. Now I'm going to find

the last rose of summer for you.

Poe. But you haven't said your lesson.

Vir. O! (begins) Alpha, beta,--now if I say them right you are

to give me a kiss for reward!

Poe. And if you miss one, I'll give you a kiss for

encouragement.

Vir. (Seeing letter) O, a letter from New York! You've made me

your secretary, you know, and of course I must read your

letters! (Picks it up and glances at it) He says Mr.

Willis will certainly give you a place on his paper.

(Drops letter and looks at him quietly) It is your chance

for fortune.

Poe. I am not going, love.

Vir. If you go now it means success, if you wait failure.

Poe. I shall not go, Virginia.

Vir. If you were not married you would go.

Poe. Then I am glad I can not go.

Vir. But you _can_ go, Edgar.

Poe. My darling, I will never take you away from your mocking

birds and roses. Don't you think any more about it. Run

away now and find me a flower. You will have to look sharp

under the leaves, for the wind is whistling to-day. Our

little sham winter has begun to bluster. (Exit Virginia)

She shall not suffer. She shall not! Though my heart

surges like a prisoned sea hers shall not move her bosom's

alabaster!... Why didn't I burn that letter. (Throws it

into the fire. Take up the other one) I must keep the

lawyer's. I shall need it. (Puts it in his pocket) Now

work--work--work--(Resumes writing) '_The Kingdom of the

Sun is peopled with beings whose distinguishing attribute

is color instead of form as with us. This color varies

with each thought of the spirit that it invests, and also

with the eye that beholds it. There is no need to pellet

the ear with rude words, for the most refined meanings and

emotions are conveyed by these subtle variations of color

coming and going like breathing light. Were--_' (Enter

Mrs. Clemm)

Mrs. C. Edgar, dear, your breakfast has been waiting two hours.

Poe. O, thank you, aunt. Don't trouble about me this morning. I

shall want nothing.

Mrs. C. But, Edgar, my son, I must speak. You do not sleep and

eat as people should who wish to live long for those who

love them.

Poe. Dear aunt, pray--we'll talk about it some other time. I

_must_ work now!

Mrs. C. I am sorry to disturb you, love, but there is one question

I must ask you. Have you heard from the lawyer? (Poe is

silent) A letter came. I thought you would tell me, and

not force me to ask about what I must know. Is the place

sold?

Poe. No.

Mrs. C. But it will be? We must lose our home?

Poe. No, darling mother! I am going to pay off everything! This

very article I am writing will bring me fame if I finish

it. So please help me by not worrying one bit, and don't

let our Virginia suspect anything.

Mrs. C. It would kill her! O, Edgar, I have been wanting to tell

you how grateful I am to you for your gentleness to her.

Though she looks so strong, she has been frail from her

birth. I know that she must die early. I ought to have

told you--that day--but I could think of nothing. You will

forgive me, Edgar? She is such a child. I wonder at your

patience. But you will never be impatient with her, Edgar?

Poe. If I am, may God that moment end my villain's life! Go

now, sweet mother, for I must work, and remember that you

are to be troubled about nothing. (Exit Mrs. Clemm, right,

rear) Goodbye, Art! Thou pure chrystalline dream! I must

turn my brain into a mint and coin money! O, Poesy, thou

only divine mistress given to man, some day I will return

to thee! (Writes) '_Were zephyrs made visible by means of

ever changing hues--_' (Bony and Tat rush into the room.

Poe glares at them with a face of fury. They turn to fly

panic-stricken. Tat trips on a chair and lies moaning. Poe

goes to her)

Poe. (Gently) Are you hurt, Tatsy?

Bony. (At door, turning back, suddenly impudent at sound of

Poe's softened voice) She jes sullin', Mars Edgah. She

play possum like dat wid me!

Poe. Get out, you little imp! (Bony vanishes) Where are you

hurt, Tatsy? (She moans bitterly) Poor little girl! Her

foot is twisted. A sprain perhaps. (Picks her up and

carries her to sofa) Never mind! I've got a fairy in a

bottle will cure that in a jiffy. Just rub it on, and ho,

Tatsy is well again!

(Enter Zurie, Bony clinging to her)

Zu. Wha' my chile? Lawdy God, my chile sho' 'nuf hurt! (Goes

to Tatsy)

Poe. It's the foot, Zurie. Be careful!

Zu. Yas, I's seen dat foot befoh! (Gives foot a yank) Dat's

her ol' trick, Mars Edgah. She jes foolin' yo'! Don' yo'

be so soft hearted next time. Yo' jes take her by de back

ob de neck and wring her head off!

Poe. I certainly will!

(Exit Zurie, drawing Tat. Poe goes back to his work.

Groans, and looks with desperation at his manuscript)

Poe. O, if this eludes me! I must not lose it now! (Writes)

'_In this Kingdom of the Sun there is a central creating

light that plays upon these color-beings with its own

transmuting--_'

(Re-enter Mrs. Clemm, bearing a tray)

Mrs. C. My dear, I've brought you some toast and an egg.

Poe. (Jumping up and staring at her) They don't eat toast and

eggs in the Kingdom of the Sun!

Mrs. C. Edgar!

Poe. Forgive me! It's just something I'm writing here. But for

God's sake take the stuff away!

(Mrs. Clemm turns to go, the tray trembling in her hands.

Poe runs to her and kisses her) You sweetest and best of

mothers, don't you see that if I eat this I'll spend the

next two hours digesting toast and eggs, and if I don't

eat it I'll be making our fortune, putting a roof over our

heads, and keeping our Virginia happy!

Mrs. C. I only meant to be kind, Edgar.

Poe. I know you did, and you're my darling mother,--but don't

be kind any more.

(Exit Mrs. Clemm. Poe sits despairingly at table. Enter

Ethel and Annie)

Eth. O, Edgar, where is Virginia? We want her to go nutting

with us.

Annie. We shall have her now! You shan't keep her all to yourself

just because you've married her!

Poe. Take her by all means!

Eth. You needn't be vicious about it. Where is she?

Poe. I don't know,--and pardon if I say that just at this

moment I don't care!

(Gathers up papers and goes toward stairway in corner of

room)

Annie. You needn't run from us. I'm sure we're glad to go. I'll

find Virginia.

Eth. And I'll write that note to Gladys while you're gone.

(Seats herself in Poe's chair. Exit Annie, left, rear)

Come back, if you want to, Edgar. You won't disturb me at

all. (Writes. Poe pauses on stairway and looks at her.

Ethel lifts her eyes) You needn't look so far to see me.

I'm not the North Pole! What _are_ you thinking of, Edgar?

Poe. Of what Anacreon said to a fly that lighted on his brow

when he was composing an ode to Venus.

Ethel. O! What was it?

Poe. Away, thou rude and slight impertinence,

That with thy puny and detested bill

Dost think to feed on immortality.

(Goes upstairs)

Ethel. Beast! (Writes) Virginia spoils him. If I had him now I'd

soon make a nice comfortable husband out of him!... An

envelope?... Yes.... (Takes one) Stamp?... Yes.... (Takes

one) I'll get Bony to mail this for me.

(Exit, right, rear. Poe comes down stairway)

Poe. Gone? Deliverance! It's too chilly for work upstairs.

(Coughs) What shall I do here this winter with only one

comfortable room in the house? Keep warm by the fire in my

brain, I suppose. (Sits and writes. Virginia is heard

without, humming a song. She enters, left, front, with a

rose in her hand)

Vir. Darling, I found it deep under the leaves--Oh! (Starts out

softly. Poe writes on without looking up. At the door she

turns and throws the rose towards him. It falls onto the

table and upsets ink over papers)

Poe. (Leaping up) By every fiend in hell!

(Mrs. Clemm rushes in, followed by Zurie, Tat and Bony)

Mrs. C. My son, what is the matter?

Poe. See what that child has done!

Mrs. C. (With dignity) Your wife, Edgar.

Poe. My wife! Great God! O, Helen! Helen! (Rushes from the

room, left rear)

Bony. I tol' yo' he wah mad! I done tol' yo' Mars Edgah gone

mad! He look at me jes so! (Mimics)

Tat. (Looking through window) Dah he go now troo de orchard jes

a runnin'!

Bony. Obah de fence!

Tat. An' no hat on!

Zu. Stop yo' mouf an' come out o' heah, yo' wussless niggahs!

I make yo' know wha' yo' b'longs!

(Takes them out)

Mrs. C. O, Virginia! What an hour for you!

Vir. What an hour for _him_, mamma!

Mrs. C. Strange child! Not to think of yourself!

Vir. How can I, when he is suffering so?

Mrs. C. My angel daughter!

Vir. (Kissing her) We will be brave, my mother. I hear the

girls. Go to them one moment--do! (Exit Mrs. Clemm) ...

Helen! Dear God above! (Drops on her knees by a chair.

After a moment of agony, rises, goes to table and looks at

papers) What is it I have ruined? (Reads silently) O, what

beauty!... I think I can make this out and copy it for

him. But now he may never finish it. The heavenly moment

is gone ... and I robbed him of it.... I, who should guard

him and keep the world away. That is my little part--too

little, God knows! O, if I could really help him!

(Enter Ethel and Annie)

Eth. O, Virginia, now that we're rid of that troublesome

husband let's have one of our good old-fashioned times!

We'll sit by the fire and tell tales. It's too cold anyway

to go to the woods.

Vir. (Absently) Edgar is there.

Annie. And there let him stay! I'm sure it's better for both of

you. You hang about him too much, Virginia. He'll quit

loving you, mamma says he will, if you're not more

sensible. Help me draw up this sofa, Ethel. (They pull

sofa to the fire. Annie settles herself comfortably) I

feel just like giving you a lecture, Virginia. You must

make Edgar go out more. Anybody will get queer shut up

here. The other day when mamma asked him to come to our

party he wasn't more than half polite when he refused, and

we were going to have Mr. Melrose Libbie to meet him too.

Said his work would keep him at home! Now you know,

Virginia, that poetry isn't work. It's just dash off a

line now and then, and there you are! Mr. Libbie said so.

O, he had the sweetest thing on the woman's page in last

Sunday's paper! Did you see it? You'd better call Edgar's

attention to it. Mamma read it to all of us at the

breakfast table, and--

Eth. O, stop your chatter, Annie, and let Virginia tell us one

of her fairy stories just as she used to do. We'll forget

all about Edgar and make believe she isn't married at all.

Vir. (Painfully) Forgive me, dear girls, but I've some work

that I must do to-day.

Mabel. Must do! Who ever heard the like?

Vir. I was wrong. It is some work that I choose to do--that it

will be my happiness to do.

Ethel. For Edgar?

Vir. Yes.

Annie. You are a little fool!

Vir. Yes ... I am a little fool.

Ethel. O, there's help for you if you know it!

Vir. If I were not a little fool I could be of more help to

Edgar.

Ethel and Annie.

Oh!

Annie. (Jumping up) Then we can't stay to-day!

Vir. I am so sorry--but--

Annie. O, we might as well give you up first as last!

(Exeunt girls)

Vir. (Sits at table and stares at the papers) ... A little fool

... a little fool.

(CURTAIN)

Scene II: Same room as before. Night. Virginia sits motionless in

the dim firelight. Mrs. Clemm comes softly down the stairs)

Mrs. C. Virginia?

Vir. Naughty mamma! You said you would sleep. What a story to

tell your little girl!

Mrs. C. (Advancing) The rain--wakes me. (Comes to fire) Did Edgar

take his cloak, dear?

Vir. No, mother.

Mrs. C. Are you not cold in that dress, darling?

Vir. O no--quite comfortable--and Edgar likes me in white, you

know. (A window rattles. Both look anxiously toward the

door)

Mrs. C. What a gust!... I wonder what winter is like at the north.

(Virginia looks at her quickly, and both drop their eyes)

... To think of him out on a night like this! And he has

not been well lately. Had he no purpose? Did he say

_nothing_ when he went out?

Vir. He said he was going to seek Truth.

Mrs. C. And what does he mean by truth, Virginia?

Vir. O, I don't know. When he is talking I understand, but when

he is gone it all fades and I know nothing about it.

Mrs. C. Nor does Edgar, mark me, dear. He is trying to know things

that the wise God decreed should remain unknown to mortals.

That is what makes him so unhappy.... Did he eat his

breakfast this morning, Virginia?

Vir. No, mamma.

Mrs. C. Did he take any food yesterday?... Tell me, daughter. I

can not help you if I do not know. (Virginia begins to

sob) There! there, darling! A little patience and we'll

get him over this.

Vir. O, mother!

Mrs. C. Come here, my little girl. (Takes Virginia in her arms)

Now tell me! Don't let the heart go heavy when mother ears

are waiting.

Vir. He ... goes out at night ... and I follow him because it

kills me to think of him wandering alone. We were on

Burney hill last night.

Mrs. C. Five miles!... Then that is what these pale cheeks and

dark eyes mean! And Edgar let you go!

Vir. No! I _go_! I am not a child, mother. Ah, I knew you would

not understand!

Mrs. C. Yes, yes, I do, Virginia. I know he suffers, but you--

Vir. Don't speak of me! You shame me! Were I to lie down on

those coals my torture would be less than his. Remember

that, mother. When you doubt, as you surely will, remember

that I told you, and I know. His mind is a _living_ thing,

throbbing through his body and leaving him no shield of

flesh. O, mamma, help him! Promise me! You will never

forsake him?

Mrs. C. Never, my love.

Vir. I would not have told you, but my strength is gone, and

somebody must know,--somebody who is strong. (A gust

shakes the window) O, my darling! Out in that blackness

alone! And if I were there I could say nothing. That is

the pity of it, mamma. I have no words, and thought

without tongue is nothing so long as we are mortal and

wear these bodies. Some day it may be enough just to _be_

a soul, but not now--not now!

Mrs. C. O, my daughter!

Vir. Promise me, mamma, that if I die you will find Helen.

_She_ could help him!

Mrs. C. (Rising) Virginia, if you say another word like that I

shall think you are mad--or I am! (Bursts into weeping)

Vir. Darling, darling mother! Now I have given you all my

burdens you will grow weak under them, and I want

strength, strength by my side!

Mrs. C. (Calm) You must go to bed, dear. I will wait for Edgar.

Vir. No, no!

Mrs. C. I will coax him to eat something.

Vir. (Smiling sadly) Coax him, mamma?

Mrs. C. Yes, dear. Go now.

Vir. I can not.

Mrs. C. I command you, my daughter.

Vir. Please do not command me. You have never had to pardon

disobedience in me.

Mrs. C. Nor shall I have cause now. Obey me, Virginia.

Vir. Would you send me into hell, mother?

Mrs. C. Daughter!

Vir. That is what a bed is to me when Edgar is out like this.

Mrs. C. You make too much of these wanderings. Night and day are

alike to him.

Vir. Ah, it is not the night that I fear!... Go, mamma! It is

you who must rest. O, how we need these strong arms--this

clear head! I shall nod in my chair for the thought of you

getting your needed rest will bring the winks to my own

eyes. Come! (Draws her toward stairway) I promise you that

I will sleep in the big chair as snug and tight as kitty

herself. (Kisses her)

Mrs. C. (On the stairs) I can not leave my sick child to watch.

You ask me to do an inhuman thing, Virginia. I will not

go.

Vir. Mother!... Do not let me hurt you ... the dearest, the

most unselfish of mothers ... but it is better for me to

meet my husband alone.

(Mrs. Clemm turns and goes slowly upstairs. Virginia goes

back to fire)

Vir. Watch and pray! I can but watch and pray!... He said 'twas

love he wanted ... and I brought him that ... love that

shakes but with the globe itself. But it does not help ...

'twas all wrong ... all wrong! (Weeps. Rises, and busies

herself about an oven on the hearth) Three times I have

prepared his supper that it might be fresh enough to tempt

him. But now ... I am so tired. I must try to keep this

warm. The sight of it may make him angry ... but I must

try. (Arranges some clothes on a chair) He will be so wet

with the rain. Ah, I can do nothing ... nothing. (Looks

toward door) He is coming! Strength, strength. O my God!

(Poe throws door open. Turns and speaks as if to

companions outside)

Poe. Goodnight, goodnight, brave Beauty's fearless angels!

(Comes in) Well, Dame Venus, what thoughts for your

hobbling Vulcan?

Vir. (Brightly) My Hermes, you mean. I'm sure you're

feather-footed, you go so far and fast.

Poe. Why, sweet-mouth, a kiss for that! (Kisses her)

Vir. O, my love, you are dripping with the rain.

Poe. Well, and so are the trees. Not a leaf out there but is

shaking her pearls. Who flies from Nature but man? Let her

be terrible, glorious, worthy of his eyes and his heart,

and forthwith he takes to his hole.

Vir. I hate her to-night. She kept me from following you.

Poe. Virginia! (Seizes her hands, crushing them in his, and

gazing at her with fierce earnestness) Never do that

again! Never again! (Lets her hands fall, and turns toward

door as if he must go out. Her eyes follow him eagerly,

but she tries to speak carelessly)

Vir. Here are your dry things, dear, and I've kept something

hot for your supper.

Poe. (Turning) Yes ... this is a very valuable skin of mine.

Make it comfortable. But what of me, Virginia? That

something here burning with fires that would brighten

Olympos' head! Have you no welcome for me? (Virginia is

silent) Why are you so pale? Light all the lamps! You

should not sit in the dark. There are no stars in this

den!

Vir. (Hurriedly lighting lamp) I'm sorry, love, but last night

you wanted the dark--don't you remember?

Poe. No, I don't remember. Memory is a hyena, always scratching

up our dead selves! You must not remember, Virginia!

Vir. Yes, dear.

Poe. Forgive me, love. O, I am driving myself mad! Selling

myself to the devil of prose that I may bring in that

fool's litter--money, money, money--and for what? That we

may feed the flesh that devours our souls, and hang such

rubbish as this on our backs! (Sweeps garments from chair)

O, Virginia, if you were brave enough we would forget

these rags of the body and go like spirits to meet our

brothers of the night! They are all out there! Will you go

with me, my bride?

Vir. O, Edgar!

Poe. Ha! You would rather ask them in to have something dry and

something hot! But I must have the air! (Throws door open.

Lightning flashes on falling rain. Virginia shrinks from

the wind) Hear those winds! Gathering lost souls to the

bosom of Night! Feel those drops! Every one of them the

tear of a fallen god! O, is it nothing but rain? Ha! ha!

ha! (Virginia coughs. Poe closes the door hastily. She

coughs again)

Poe. Don't, Virginia!

Vir. Yes, dear.

Poe. My angel! (Embraces her. She coughs) O, it is these wet

clothes! (Throws off coat, picks up dressing gown from the

door and puts it on hurriedly)

Vir. (Eagerly) Your slippers too, dear!

Poe. Yes, yes, my slippers! (Puts them on. Sits in big chair,

taking her on his knee, and embracing her tenderly) What

made you cough, Virginia?

Vir. O, 'twas nothing, dear. 'Tis all right now. Everything is

all right.

Poe. Is it, little wisdom? O, ye gods!

Vir. (Concealing anxiety) Darling?

Poe. What, my beautiful earth-bird?

Vir. You will take your supper now?

Poe. (Impatiently) No, no! Is there any wine in the house?

Vir. Yes, love, but--

Poe. I must have it! Quick! I shall faint.

Vir. (Rising) No, Edgar. It is food you need.

Poe. (Rising) Where is it?

Vir. O, my dearest!

Poe. Tell me, Virginia! (Goes toward a closet)

Vir. (Getting before him) If you were reaching for a cup of

poison, Edgar, I would risk my life, ay, risk your love,

to dash it from you. And wine is your poison. I can not

let you drink death.

Poe. Death! It is all the life that is left to me, and you deny

it!

Vir. Be quiet, love. You will wake our mother.

Poe. Down, gods, and let the lady sleep!

Vir. She is not well, Edgar.

Poe. But she will be well to-morrow, and I--I am immortally

sick and you deny me a drop of wine.

Vir. O, my poor boy! I'm so sorry for you!

Poe. And is that all, O Heaven? I'm her poor boy, and she is so

sorry for me! Why, here's a heart that loosens in its

throbs the birth-song of new stars! Come, strike thy chime

with mine, and though all bells upon the planet jingle, in

us will still be music!

Vir. O, Edgar!

Poe. Well?

Vir. I can not speak.

Poe. Virginia, Virginia! I pour out my soul to you! I keep back

no drop of its sea! From the infinite, shrouded sources of

life I rush to you in a thousand singing rivers, only to

waste, to burn, to die on the sands of silence! (She

remains motionless, her head bowed) ... It is so still

upon the eternal peaks. Will you not come up with me and

be the bride of my dreams? You need not speak ... you need

not say a word. Only put the light of poesy in your eyes

and let me _see_ that through the channel of their beauty

course the mysteries that begin with God and end not with

time! (She looks at him. He gazes into her eyes) ... Tears

... only tears. (Turns away) Can a soul's _eyes_ be dumb?

(She sits, weeping silently) ... Come then ... talk of

what you will. Only talk! You have read a little Byron

to-day? The new magazine came? And you have made me a

handkerchief? (She sobs. He looks at her remorsefully,

crosses the room, gets her harp and brings it to the

fireside) Come ... sing to me, Virginia. You can do that.

Vir. (Taking harp) What shall I sing, dear?

Poe. Something to charm the very heart of AEolus! That will turn

a tempest into a violet's breath!

Vir. Ah, my love!

Poe. O, sing--sing anything!

Vir. (Sings)

Great and calm, cool-bosomed blue,

Take me to the heart of you!

Not where thy blue mystery

Sweeps the surface of the sea,

Leaving in a dying gleam

Living trouble of a dream;

Not where loves of heaven lie

Rosy 'gainst the upper sky

Burning with an ardent touch

Where an angel kissed too much;

But where sight and sound come not,

All of life and love forgot,

All of Heaven forfeited

For thy deep Nirvana bed.

Wide and far enfolding blue,

Take me to the heart--

(Her voice breaks suddenly)

Poe. Virginia! (She coughs) Don't! (Her cough increases. She

puts her handkerchief to her lips. Poe takes it from her

hand and looks at it.) Blood! (Throws handkerchief into

the fire, and stands as if paralyzed, gazing at Virginia.

Falls at her feet and begins kissing her skirt) My angel!

my angel! I have killed my little bride!

Vir. (Urging him gently up) No, dear. I was marked for this

from birth. My doom was written by Heaven, not you.

Poe. Not doom, my Virginia! (Rising) I will save you, my

darling! You shall have everything! With the sickle of a

wish you shall harvest the earth! We will sail southern

seas! We will follow the Spring as she flies! I will knock

at the orient gates and bring thee the health of morning!

I'll make the world so bright for thee, Hyperion's self

shall wear new gold and shame remembered suns from

chronicle! Spring from perfection's heart shall pluck her

buds, and set such gloss on Nature she may laud her old

self in one violet's requiem! O, I'll sing the world into

a flower for thy bosom! My love, my love, my love! (She

coughs restrainedly. He hides his face till she stops)

Even the senseless oak velvets its rude sides to the

tender vine! But I--a man--O, beast too vile for hell! too

low to be damned!

Vir. Edgar!

Poe. Do not touch me! is not the mark here? (Touching his brow)

O, where shall I hide it?

Vir. (Drawing him to her) On my bosom, Edgar. (Presses him to

the large chair and sits on the arm of it, caressing him)

This forehead is as pure as heaven-lit ivory of angels'

brows!

Poe. O, golden heart! (Kisses her over her heart) I will work

so hard, Virginia! We shall be rich, and I will take you

to some wonderful land where beauty can not die! Will you

forgive me then when you are bright and strong in some

happy isle of roses?

Vir. I will forgive you now, dearest, if you will do one thing

for me.

Poe. O, what, my darling?

Vir. Eat the poor little supper I have cooked for you.

Poe. Yes--yes--I'll eat it though it be hell's coals!

Vir. Now that's a compliment to your cook, isn't it? (Takes

food from oven and puts it on table. Poe eats, at first

reluctantly, then hungrily)

Poe. It is late--so late! O, my Lenore, you kept up for me!

Your weary eyes would not close until they had found their

lover! O, can you forgive me, and take me back to your

heart? You will love me again?

Vir. Ah, Edgar, if love were enough we should always be happy.

Poe. Love me, love me, dear! I want no more! And this cough ...

we shall stop all that, darling! O, how weary you must be,

and you tried to have everything so beautiful for me! How

pretty your dress is! You look like a Naiad smiling out of

a lily. But it's too cold! Here, I will wrap you! (Puts

shawl about her) Ah, little wife, little wife, what evil

power locked your gentle heart with mine? Bear with me,

love. It will all be different soon. I shall try so hard

the gods for pity will not let me fail! See how I have

eaten! You may give me more, love. You did not cook this,

I know. You stole it from Jove's kitchen.

Vir. (Getting food) Yes, I did, and Jove caught me, but he let

me go when I told him it was for a poet.

Poe. Little witch! (Kisses her) How happy we shall be,

Virginia, as soon as I have money. I shall go to New York

for a year. It will take only a year. Then I shall come

back bringing the lady Fame with me, and you must not be

jealous of her.

Vir. (Slowly) You--would not--take me?

Poe. Why, the north-wind would blow the Spring from my little

girl's cheek! Just a year! That is the first step--a cruel

one--but we shall be happy when it is over. Just a year,

sweetheart! I must take no chances now! I _must_ win!

Vir. You shall not leave me! A year will not hurt me, Edgar!

But it would kill me to be left here ... and not know ...

every minute....

Poe. Do you care so much, Lenore? Then we will both stay here.

It will take longer, but I will work harder--

Vir. Enough for to-night. We are too happy for to-morrows,

Edgar. Now you must have a long, long sleep--

Poe. No, no! No bed for me to-night! I must work!

Vir. No bed, indeed! I did not say bed, my lord! You are going

to sit down here (Places him on footstool) and I shall sit

here, (settles in chair) and your head in my lap--my hands

on your head--and the crooningest of little songs will

bring you the sweetest snatch of sleep that you ever, ever

had!

Poe. O, 'tis heaven, Virginia! But you are too tired, my angel.

_You_ must sleep.

Vir. And so I shall when my lord shows me the way.

(Poe drops his head on her lap. She turns down light. He

falls asleep as she sings softly)

Like a fallen star on the breast of the sea

My lover rests on the heart of me;

The lord of the tempest hies him down

From his billow-crest to his cavern-throne,

And 'tis peace as wide as the eye can see

When my lover rests on the heart of me.

(Silence. Virginia droops in sleep. No light but dull red

coals.)

(CURTAIN)

ACT IV.

Scene I: An old bookstore, New York. Bookseller arranging books.

Helen at one side looking over shelves. Poe enters. He wears a

military cloak and jaunty cap. Throws book on table and whistles

carelessly.

Bookseller. (Looking book over doubtfully)

Forty cents.

Poe. (Loudly) Forty devils! (Helen turns and recognizes him. He

does not see her) Look at that binding. You can't get a

Shelley put up like that for less than ten dollars.

Hel. (Aside) My book!

Bookseller.

It's badly marked.

Poe. Marked! Of course it's marked. And every mark there worth

its dollar. In ten years you'll wish the marks were as

thick as the letters.

Bookseller.

Say fifty, and strike off. Not a cent more.

Poe. Take it.

Hel. To sell my book! (Moves slowly to door) How pale he is!

But he is neatly dressed. He can not need fifty cents. To

sell my book! I'll speak to him and see if he is past

shame. (Steps before Poe as he turns to go out)

Hel. Mr. Poe! Don't you remember me? 'Tis delightful to meet an

old friend.

Poe. (Bowing low) Mrs....

Hel. Yes, I am Mrs. Bridgmore.

Poe. My dear Mrs. Bridgmore! The pleasure of years gathers in

this happy moment. Are you making holiday purchases?

Hel. No ... just poking about. I love these old stores. I see

you've made a sale. 'Tis a relief to get rid of old books

when we've lost our love for them, isn't it? They take up

good room on our shelves pretty much as people do in our

lives long after we have ceased to care for their

friendship. But what one is weary of another is ready to

take up. (To bookseller) May I see the book the gentleman

has just disposed of? (To Poe) Anything you have liked

will be sure to please me.

Poe. O, you are mistaken! I am simply leaving the book to be

duplicated if possible for a friend of mine who has taken

a fancy to my copy. (Gesticulates to bookseller) One

glance, Mrs. Bridgmore, will tell you that the book is not

for sale.

Hel. Ah ... of course not. Pardon the mistake. It seems to be

my fate to blunder where you are concerned. (Icily) Good

morning, Mr. Poe.

(As she is going out she drops her purse. Poe hastens to

pick it up and restores it to her with a bow. In doing so

he forgets his shabby coat and throws back his cloak over

his arm, exposing a badly worn sleeve. He becomes suddenly

conscious of her observation, and straightens up in his

most dignified fashion)

Hel. Thank you. (Goes out)

Poe. (Turning to bookseller) Here! Take your damned silver!

Give me my book!

Bookseller.

A bargain's a bargain, sir.

Poe. Bargain! bargain! Do you call that theft a bargain? You

parasite! you bookgnat! You insect feeding on men's

brains! You worm in the corpse of genius! My book, I say,

or by Hector I'll tear your goose-liver from your body,

you pocket-itching Jacob!

Bookseller.

Here! take it!

Poe. There's your Judas' blood! (Throws down money and starts

out with the book. Enter Brackett)

Brackett. (Stopping Poe) Mr. Poe, I believe.

Poe. Right, sir. And Brackett, I think your name was when I

knew you.

Bra. Quite right, Mr. Poe. I saw you coming in here, and though

you have changed somewhat with the help of years I was

sure it was you.

Poe. And how, Mr. Brackett, may that knowledge be of interest

to you?

Bra. Well, perhaps it does concern you more than myself.

Poe. Kindly tell me in what way that I may regret it.

Bra. Your pen has been supplying matter for _The Comet_, I

believe.

Poe. If you have any doubt of it a perusal of that magazine's

issues for the past two years will satisfy you.

Bra. The returns therefrom have contributed somewhat to your

comfort, I suppose.

Poe. Do you?

Bra. Ah, I am mistaken? Then I have less hesitation to tell you

that the articles recently submitted are unavailable.

Poe. _You_ tell me! What have you to do with it? Who are you?

Bra. I am the present editor of _The Comet_.

Poe. You!

Bra. I! You see I am in a position to speak with

authority,--and it is only just to tell you that your

articles will meet with no further recognition in that

quarter.

Poe. Brackett ... I have been very ill. I wrote those things on

what I believed to be my death bed. My wife....

Bra. I should say then that you are in great need of money.

Poe. God help me, I am! You know I am not one to beg!

Bra. But it's beg or starve with you, eh? (Poe looks at him

silently) Well, I should advise you to make application

without loss of time to some one who does not know you

quite so well as the new editor of _The Comet_. Good

morning.

Poe. (Calling to him as he stands in door) I say, Brackett!

(Brackett turns) _I_ should advise _you_ to change the

name of _The Comet_ as well as its editor. Suppose you

call it _The Falling Star_? Ha! ha! (Exit Brackett) Curse

me for a whining dog--but Virginia--

(Goes out)

Bookseller. (Arranging books) Queer chap. We public men get to

know all sorts. That book will be mine yet. It's a good

seller at ten dollars, and blest if I wouldn't like to

help the wretch out with fifty cents. He'll be back.

(Enter Helen)

Hel. I wish to buy the book the gentleman has just left with

you.

Bookseller.

Why ma'am, he's gone and took it with him.

Hel. Took it with him?

Bookseller.

Yes, ma'am, and thereby I've lost time and trade.

(Aside) She'd give fifteen!

Hel. He needed money?

Bookseller.

Well, I should _guess_ so, ma'am. That's the last

book he had. He told me about it before. He's been

bringin' them all here. I _think_ he'll be back, ma'am,

and I'll keep the book for you.

Hel. Thank you. (Turns to go. Sees letter on the floor and

picks it up) Why, 'tis ... he dropped it! I wonder if I

may ... he is suffering ... that shabby coat ... and he is

so proud. I think I ought to read it. I must know where to

find him. (Looks at letter) Fordham! (Reads)

My Dear Son: One last prayer the mother of your

Virginia makes to you. She is dying. Come and sit by

her and she will carry a smile to her grave. Do not

stay away because you can not bear to witness her

suffering,--because you have nothing to give her.

Come, and by your loving presence lessen her pain.

God bless you! Your devoted mother,

MARIA CLEMM.

(Helen stands trembling and holding the letter) ...

And I hurt him ... I hurt him....

(CURTAIN)

Scene II: Poe's cottage, Fordham. A room almost bare. Virginia

sleeping on bed. Poe's cloak over her. Mrs. Clemm kneeling in

prayer beside her. Poe enters, carrying a bundle of broken sticks

which he lays down softly, one by one, on the hearth, looking

anxiously toward the bed. Mrs. Clemm rises and comes to the fire)

Mrs. C. My child, you have been out in the snow without your

cloak! (Brushes snow from his shoulders)

Poe. Could I take the least warmth from yon shivering angel?

Mrs. C. You forget that you, too, are ill. O, my boy, be careful,

or I shall soon be childless in the world. One is already

lost....

Poe. Not lost. See how she sleeps! She is better. I know she is

better.

Mrs. C. Since you came. We will hope so, dear.

Poe. If she would only speak to us! O, why does she not speak?

Not once to-day.

Mrs. C. She is very weak, my son.

Poe. I could bear it so long as she could tell us there was no

pain ... but now she only looks at us.... Oh--

Mrs. C. You will control yourself for her sake.

Poe. Yes, yes, for her sake.

Mrs. C. It will take her last breath to see you disturbed.

Poe. I know! I know! Have no fear, mother. I am strong now.

Vir. Edgar! (He flies to the bed)

Poe. My darling!

Vir. I am better, dear. Mamma! (Mrs. Clemm goes to her) I feel

so rested, mamma.

Poe. I told you! She is better! And you will sit up a little

now, dear? I will carry you to the fire.

Mrs. C. My boy!

Poe. O, mother, don't you see how well she is? Look at her

cheeks--her eyes--how beautiful!

Vir. (Smiling) Hear him, mamma! How proud he is! He must always

have it that his wife is beautiful.

Poe. But it is so true, my dearest!

Vir. Let me believe it, for it is sweet to think that I have

been that, at least, to you.

Poe. O, my darling, you have been everything!

Vir. You think so now, dear, and I love to hear you say it.

Poe. And you will get well for me?

Vir. No, O no! That would bring all your troubles back. You

will live a great life, Edgar, when you have left this

little care-bundle of a wife behind you.

Poe. O, don't, Virginia! I shall do nothing without you!

Vir. You will do everything. I am the wise one now, Edgar. And,

dear, while I can talk ... I must ask you ... must beg you

... I must hear you say that you forgive me.

Poe. Forgive you!

Vir. Yes, dear. I was so young ... I thought I could help you

... and so I let you marry me. I did not know. I thought

because I loved you so much that I could make you happy.

But women who can only love are not the women who help.

They must be wise and strong too, and oh, so many other

wonderful things. If they are not, then all the love only

hurts and makes things go wrong.

Poe. O, little angel!

Vir. Yes ... little angel ... when I ought to have been a

brave, great angel who could bear heaven on her wings.

Long ago I knew it, Edgar. When the truth came I looked

every way and there was no help. Then when I found I was

to die, it seemed that God had pitied and helped me. For

that was the only way.... O, these little women who can do

nothing but love! I wish I could take them all with me.

These tears are for them, not for myself, darling. O, I am

happy, but they must wait ... they can not die. How you

shiver! You must take your cloak. I am warm now. Indeed, I

am quite comfortable.... Don't--don't weep. You must be

happy because I am. Let us smile the rest of the time,

darling,--it--is such a little while.

Poe. (Brokenly) Yes ... yes.... O little flower, little flower,

dropping back to God's bosom, how have I dared to touch

thee!

Vir. (Rubbing her hand on his arm) 'Tis damp! You have been

out? O, my dear, you must, must take your cloak! I am

quite, quite warm! See, feel my hands! (Smiling)

Poe. (Taking her hands) Little icicles!

Vir. You have been out! O, save yourself for the great things

... now I am going out of your way. Don't let my death be

as vain as my life. Let that count for something, Edgar.

O, promise me you will live for your genius' sake, you

will be true to your heavenly gift! Kneel by me and

promise!

Poe. I ... promise.

Vir. Dear husband ... I.... (faints)

Mrs. C. O, she is gone!

Poe. No! She faints! My beautiful idol! O, some wine! Heaven

and earth for some wine!

Mrs. C. She looks at us! My daughter!

Poe. O, do not try to speak! Let your beautiful eyes do all the

talking!

Mrs. C. She looks toward the fire. She would have you go, Edgar,

and try to keep warm. Come, dear. (Poe kisses Virginia

gently, and goes to fireside, looking back adoringly) Do

not look at her, and she will sleep again.

Poe. Ah, God! It will take more than sleep to help her. And I

can give her nothing--nothing!

Mrs. C. Don't, Edgar! Remember your terrible illness--how you

worked for her when fever was burning your brain--until

your pen fell from your hand.

Poe. I brought her to this land of ice and snow!

Mrs. C. No. Destiny brought her. We lost our home. Your work was

here--and she would not stay behind you.

Poe. A _man_ would have saved her!

Mrs. C. O, my boy, do not take this burden on your soul! For

once spare yourself!

Poe. I can not even give her food!

Mrs. C. (Restraining him) My son, she sleeps.

Poe. Yes ... sleep ... let me not rob her of that too! Be quiet

... just be quiet ... while she dies. (Seats himself with

strange calmness) Come, mother, let us be cheerful. Take

this chair. Let us be rational. Let us think. Death is

strange only because we do not think enough. God must

breathe. Life is the exhalation, death the inhalation of

deity. He breathes out, and the Universe flames forth with

all her wings--her suns and clusters of suns--down to her

mote-like earth, the butterfly of space, trimmed with its

gaudy seasons, and nourishing on its back the parasitical

ephemeran, Man!

Mrs. C. My love--

Poe. Be calm, mother. Be calm. Then the great inbreathing

begins. The creative warmth no longer goes out. The

parasites vanish first, then the worlds on which they

ride, and last the mighty suns,--all sink into the still,

potential unity, and await the recurrent breath which may

bear another universe, unlike our own, where the animate

may control the inanimate, the organic triumph over the

inorganic,--(rising) ay, man himself may dominate nature,

control the relentless ecliptic, and say to the ages of

ice and fire 'Ye shall not tread on me!'

Mrs. C. Edgar!

Poe. I beg your pardon. We must be calm. (Resumes his seat) But

God will not stop breathing (with bitter sarcasm) though

your daughter--and my wife--is dying. (Mrs. Clemm weeps.

He turns to the window) Do you know that elephants once

nibbled boughs out there where the snow is falling? They

ran a mighty race--and died--but no tears were shed. In

the records of the cosmos, if man is written down at all,

I think he will be designated as the 'weeping animal.'

Mrs. C. Are you human?

Poe. I regret that I belong to that feeble and limited variety

of creation, but with the next self-diffusion of the

concentrated Infinite I may be the Sun himself!

Mrs. C. O, my mother-heart!

Poe. Think a little more and you will forget it. The heart

makes the being there on the bed your daughter--my

wife--but the mind makes her a part of the divine force

which has chosen her shape for its visible flower. The

heart is wrung by the falling of the bloom, for it is

endeared to that only, but the mind rejoices in its

reunited divinity. Come.... (Moves a step toward the bed)

I can look on her now ... and be quiet. Sweet rose, I can

watch your petals fall. But they fall early ... they fall

early ... blasted in the May. Not by the divine breath

drawing you home, but by my mortal, shattering hand! I

promised you sun and dew.... I have given you frost and

shadows. O God! O God! let me _not_ think! Keep me a

little, weeping child!

Mrs. C. Dear son, cast out this bitterness. Only your love and

devotion have kept her alive so long.

Poe. No! I touched her like a wing of doom, and she fell

blasted! (She tries to soothe him) No, no! Call devils

from hell to curse me!

(A knock at the door. Mrs. Clemm opens it and a basket is

delivered to her. Poe, deep in agony, does not notice. She

takes things from the basket)

Mrs. C. O, Edgar! Wine, and soft blankets!

(He looks up, and rushes across to her)

Poe. Wine! wine! O, spirit that bendest from pitying clouds, a

mortal thanks thee! Quick, mother, these drops of strength

will give her back to us!

Mrs. C. She sleeps, my son, which is ease more precious than

these drops can give.

Poe. (Taking bottle) Give it to me!

Mrs. C. Edgar, Edgar, do not wake her!

Poe. Lenore, Lenore, out of thy dream, though 't were the

fairest ever blown to mortal from Elysium! This will put

thee to such smiles that dreams--

Mrs. C. Be quiet, for God's sake!

Poe. Quiet! 'Tis a word for clods and stones! You'd hold me

from her when my hand brings life? (Rushes to cupboard and

gets a glass which he fills)

Mrs. C. Just a little, Edgar. Too much would--

Poe. She shall drink it all, by Heaven! I will save her!

(Mrs. Clemm sinks to a chair, helpless and sobbing. A

knock at the door which neither hears. Enter Helen. As Poe

turns to approach the bed he faces her, stares, and lets

the glass drop shivering)

Poe. You!

Hel. I, Edgar. You see I can remember my friends--and I've come

to scold you for not--letting me know--

Poe. It was you who sent--

Hel. Some blankets soft as summer clouds for the most beautiful

lady in the world? And wine delicate enough for a fairy's

throat? I knew you would not have it else. (Turns to Mrs.

Clemm) You do not know me, but--

Mrs. C. (Taking her hand) I know you are a good woman reaching a

hand to me in my sorrow.

Hel. (Embracing her) No ... my arms!

(Poe goes to bed and kneels by Virginia. Speaks softly to

her, then rises and brings a little wine)

Poe. Just a drop, dear,--a butterfly's portion.

(Virginia drinks)

Hel. (To Mrs. Clemm) How is she?

Mrs. C. She will have but one more word for us--goodbye.

Hel. Can I--may-- O, you must let me do something for her--for

you! Do not make me miserable by saying there is nothing I

can do.

Mrs. C. There is ... something. I have never begged--

Hel. Do not use such a word. It is you who give--make me happy.

Mrs. C. But I will beg this. Some linen for her last robe.

Hel. God bless you for telling me!

Poe. (Rising from his knees by Virginia) Helen, Virginia would

speak to you.

Hel. O, save the precious breath! (Approaches bed) Ah ... how

lovely ... I understand....

Vir. (Lifting her head) Helen ... help my Edgar. (Sinks back.

Poe lays his head on her pillow. Helen stands with her arm

about Mrs. Clemm. Curtain falls, and rises on same room at

night. Virginia's body lies on the bed. Poe watches alone.

A candle burns on table)

Poe. (Standing by bed) ... So low in sleep, little girl?... I

took thee mid thy roses. O, broken gentleness, little

saint-love, move but a hand, a finger, to tell me thou art

still my pleading angel!... Not one breath's life. Still

... quite still. O, might such rest be mine! (Turns away)

I'll write. (Goes to table) I promised. Yes ... I'll

write. Behind the glorious chancel of the mind still

swings the incense to the deathless gods!... (Sits and

writes) ... No. (Rising) No rhymes--for Poesy must mourn

to-night. (Goes toward bed) Too much of her is dead.

(Gazes at Virginia) Cold ... cold. What art thou death? Ye

demons of a mind distraught, keep ye apace till I have

fathomed this!... Ha! What scene is that? (Stares as at

visions) A valley laid in the foundations of darkness! The

unscalable cliffs jut to heaven, and on the amethystine

peaks sit angels weeping into the abyss where creatures

run to and fro without escape! Some eat, some laugh, some

weep, some wonder. Now they make themselves candles whose

little beams eclipse the warning stars ... and in the

pallid light they dance and think it sun! But on the revel

creeps a serpent, fanned and crimson, with multitudinous

folds lapping the dancing creatures in one heaving

carnage! The candles die.... The stars cannot pierce the

writhing darkness.... Above on the immortal headlands sit

the angels, looking down no more, for the dismal heap no

longer throbs.... I must write this! Now! While I see it!

That moaning flood ebbing to silence ... those rosy

promontories lit with angel wings ... and over all as

large and still as heaven, the cold, unweeping eyes of

God!... (Writes.... A tapping at the door. He does not

hear. Another tapping. He looks up) Who's there?... This

is my vigil. Nor devil nor angel shall share it!...

(Listens. Tapping. He goes to door and throws it open) ...

Nothing ... nothing ... but darkness. (Stands peering, and

whispers) Lenore!... (Closes door, bolts it, returns to

table and writes silently. Utter stillness, then a

rattling at the window. Poe leaps up) What's that? (The

shutter is blown open. Poe stands watching. A raven flies

in and perches above door) Out, you night-wing! (He looks

at raven silently) You won't? Why, sit there then! You're

but a feather! (Sits and writes. After a moment rises and

reads)

Out--out are the lights--out all!

And over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm--

And the angels all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling affirm

That the play is the tragedy 'Man!'

And its hero the Conqueror Worm!

Ah! the thought pales from these lines like light from

dying cinders. Poetry is but ashes telling that a fire has

passed. (Sits gloomily. Suddenly remembers the raven,

turns and stares at it) You bird of damnation, leave me in

peace with my dead!... O, dreaming fool, 'tis nothing....

My mind's a chaos that surges up this fancy. (Tries to

write, stops, goes on, trembles, and looks up) ... Can I

know fear? I, the very nursling of dreams? Who have lived

in a world more tenanted with ghosts than men? I can not

be afraid.... (Tries to write. Drops pen. Shudders,

looking with furtive fear at the raven) ... I am ... I am

afraid.... Virginia! (Creeps toward bed) Stay with me,

little bride. My little rose-bride! (Fingers along

coverlet, looking at raven) Do not leave me. Quick, little

love! Give me life in a kiss! (Touches her hand, shrinks,

and springs up) Dead!... (Leans against foot of bed,

wildly facing the raven) Speak, fiend! From what dim

region of unbodied souls hast come? What hell ungorged

thee for her messenger? What sentence have the devils

passed upon me? To what foul residence in some blasted

star am I condemned? Speak! By every sigh that poisons

happy breath!--by every misery that in me rocks and

genders her swart young!--by yonder life that now in

golden ruin lies!--I charge thee speak! How long shall I

wander without rest? How long whirl in the breath of

unforgiving winds? Or burn in the refining forges of the

sun? When will the Universe gather me to her heart and

give me of her still, unthrobbing peace? Speak! When--O

when will this driven spirit be at home?

(Silence. Poe listens with intense expectation and fear.

The raven flies out) It spoke! (Hoarsely) It spoke! I

heard it! (Whispers) Nevermore! (He falls in a swoon.

Candle flickers in the wind and goes out. Darkness)

(CURTAIN)

ACT V.

Scene I: Poe's lodging, Baltimore. Small room. Cot, table, and one

chair. Poe writing)

Poe. (Pressing his temples) Throb--throb--but you shall finish

this. (Writes) You, too, rebel, old pen? On, on like a

lusty cripple, and we'll scratch out of this hole.

(Lifting pen) Why, old fellow, this will buy bread. O,

bread, bread, bread, for one sweet crumb of thee to feed

an angel here! (Touching his forehead) Gordon will not

fail me. His letter will come to-day. And with his help

I'll get on good ground once more. And _then_!... (Writes.

Drops pen with a groan) ... Gordon's letter _must_ come

to-day. O, I would live, would live, for seeds are

gendering in my mind that might their branches throw above

the clouds and shake immortal buds to this bare earth!...

(Looks at writing) Words! Ye are but coffins for

imagination! No more of you! (Crushes paper) Eternity's in

labor with this hour! (Leaps up) I could make Time my page

to carry memories from star to star! O Heaven, wouldst

thou vouchsafe thy visions to these eyes, then fill them

with cold clay? Pour to these ears thine own philosophies,

then send the crawling worm to pluck their treasure out?

(Falls to chair. Enter Mrs. Schmidt)

Mrs. S. (Holding out letter) Here it is, sir.

Poe. (Rousing) What, Smidgkin?

Mrs. S. The letter's come, sir.

Poe. Thank you. (Takes letter. Mrs. Schmidt waits expectantly)

If you will be so good, Smidgkin--I mean if you will be so

cruel as to bereave me of your presence while I break this

very personal seal--very personal, I assure you--

Mrs. S. No, sir. I stay to see what's inside o' that!

Poe. Since you desire it, madam. (Starts to open letter and

hesitates) I--hope you are well, my good Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always am. Hadn't you better see what's in it?

Poe. To be sure.... I hope you have a good fire in your room

this chilly weather, Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always do. I'll break it for you, Mr. Poe.

Poe. O, no, no! I couldn't think of troubling you. The rain

beats very heavily. I hope your-er-roof will not be

injured.

Mrs. S. Law me, I had every leaf tinkered up them sunny days

last week. I believe in preparin' for a rainy day, _I_ do,

Mr. Poe.

Poe. Indeed, yes,--if only we were all so wise, but, alas, my

dear Smidgkin, some of us build so high that the angels

have to come down and tinker our roofs ... and when they

won't, Smidgkin ... when they won't (Lays letter on the

table) ... I hope you have no errands to take you from

your cheerful fireside in weather like this, Mrs.

Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. My name is Schmidt, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Pardon me, madam.

Mrs. S. Air you a goin' to open that letter or air you not?

Poe. Why, good woman, to be sure I am. I did not know you were

particularly interested. Excuse me. Here goes--and God

mend the devil's work. (Opens letter and reads) 'I have

talked with Brackett--' Brackett! (Drops letter and sits

dumb)

Mrs. S. He sent you the ten dollars, hey? Where is it, hey?

Seems to me that's white paper with mighty few marks on

it! Not much like a ten dollar bill! Where is it, I say?

Lost in the mailbags, I reckon! It will come by next post!

You're certain--quite certain, Smidgkin! I tell you, Mr.

Poe, this is once too often!

Poe. A bare, unfurnished room like this--

Mrs. S. Is worth just a dollar a week to me, which is exactly a

dollar more than you can pay!

Poe. Mrs. Smidgkin, there is a legend in the world that pity

never wholly leaves the breast of woman.

Mrs. S. Shame to your tongue, Mr. Poe, that says I haven't been

as kind to you as your own mother--sister! Haven't you had

this room nigh to a month since I've seen a cent for it?

Didn't I give you stale bread a whole week, an' coffee a

Sunday mornin'? An' you dare say I'm not a Christian,

merciful woman? You come out o' here, or I'll put hands on

you, I will!

Poe. Mrs. Smidgkin, Mrs. Smidgkin, are you aware that the rain

pours outside like the tears of the Danaides on their

wedding night? And speaking of weddings, Smidgkin--

Mrs. S. Schmidt! As you'll find on my good man's tombstone, an'

some day on my own, bless God!

Poe. O, don't talk so, I beg you!

Mrs. S. Why now, Mr. Poe! Law me, who'd a thought you could be

so softhearted--about a tombstone, too!

Poe. As I said, my dear madam--speaking of weddings--pray take

this chair. 'Tis all I have to offer. Gladly will I stand

before you, though I am but slightly bolstered within for

the attitude. Speak to me, madam. Let one thought fly from

thy caging brow to me a beggar vile.

Mrs. S. O, Mr. Poe!

Poe. Thanks for the burden of those syllables.

Mrs. S. My dear Mr. Poe!

Poe. Again? You overwhelm me? Dare I speak? You have suspected?

You know why I linger in this dear room--dear as the

barrier that staves off guttery death? This kindness is

sincere? I may trust it and speak?

Mrs. S. You may, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Well then, sweet Smidgkin, will you open the broad gates

of genial widowhood to admit a fallen wretch to the warmth

of your bosom and hearthstone--particularly the latter?

Mrs. S. (With dignity) I presume, Mr. Poe, that I am addressed

by an offer of marriage. I have had offers before, Mr.

Poe,--one an undertaker who drove a good business, but he

looked for all the world like one of his own corpses an'

what is business says I to a woman in good circumstances

with a longin' heart? I don't mind sayin' it, Mr. Poe, a

nice lookin' man always did take my eye, an' you'll be a

pretty figure when you're plumped out a bit, indeed you

will, but your addresses of this offer is somewhat

unusual, an' if you'll give me time--

Poe. The weather, madam, will admit of no delay. Since you are

so determined, I must give up hope and seek shelter under

Jove's great canopy.

Mrs. S. O, don't go there, Mr. Poe--it's a bad place, that Canpy

house, an' I've heard Jove talked about for a vile

barkeep! I guess since you're so impetus I'll say yes to

these addresses of marriage, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. S. What do you mean, Mr. Poe? My dear Eddie, I should say!

Poe. I mean, madam, that death loves a joke.

Mrs. S. O, my sweet Eddie, don't be talkin' about death. You're

so pale I don't wonder--and a'most starved out I'll

venture my word for it. But you won't know yourself in a

week. I've got the sweetest room downstairs--all in blue

an' white, with a bed three feet o' feathers, soft as a

goosebreast, I warrant, an' I'll tuck you in an' bring you

a toddy that'll warm you to your toes, it will, an'--

Poe. Ha! ha! ha! Well, why not? I seize this wretched plank or

sink with all that in me is. Men have done it. But not

Edgar Poe! Sell my soul for a broth-dish--a saucepan--a

feather-bed--

Mrs. S. O, he's out of his mind, sure he is! My sweet Eddie, he's

loved me distracted!

Poe. Can this be woman?

Mrs. S. Law me!

Poe. The sex that knew a Virginia--that knows a Helen? No!

there are men, women ... and angels!

Mrs. S. Look here, Mr. Poe, don't you mention no women 'round me!

O, Eddy, my Eddy! (Offers to caress him)

Poe. Away! You wench from Venus' kitchen! (Going) This weather

... once I could have braved it with the wildest wing that

ever flew. But now.... (coughs wretchedly)

Mrs. S. No rent an' no husband either!

Poe. Up, heart, we go! Henceforth I live by spirit-bread! Lead

me, ye unseen comrades, to immortal feasts! (Exit)

(CURTAIN)

Scene II: An hour later. A bar-room. Door in center, rear. Four

men at table, left, rear, playing cards.

Haines. Was afraid you wouldn't show up to-night, Juggy.

Juggers.

Nothing like a stormy night for a good game. Never miss

one. Rain brings me luck.

Black. Then, by Jacks, you'll have it all your way to-night. It's

pouring hogsheads. Your deal, Sharp. (They play in

silence. Poe enters, rear, walks uncertainly across the

room and takes a seat, right, front. There seems to be

life only in his eyes, their burning light revealing a

soul struggling free from a corpse. He sits unnoticed for

a short time)

Sharp. (To barkeeper) Say, Thomas, I thought this was a

gentleman's house. What's that in the corner? Looks like a

coffin might 'a' spilt it on the way to the graveyard.

Bark. (In lower tone) He's one o' these writin' fellers in hard

luck. I've let him hang around here a good deal, for he's

always quiet and gives me no show for kickin' him out. But

say the word and he goes.

Haines. Looks more like a sick man than a bum.

Sharp. Bah! He can drink till he wets his boots. I know that sort

of a face.

Bark. Never drinks anything 'round here.

Sharp. Good reason. You don't wear a charity medal.

Jug. Let him stay for luck.

Sharp. Whose luck? You're doing all the winning to-night,

Juggers. He's a Jonah for the rest of us. I want his eye

off me, I say.

Black. O, let him alone. I'd ask a burglar to have a seat in my

house a night like this--'pon honor, I would. Play up.

(They play on)

Poe. What a noble palace is here! How the gleaming vault

reaches to heaven and mocks the stars! What resplendent

lights! As though the master had taken burning planets for

his candles! How far they throw their beams--around the

world and into the nether sea!

Jug. (To Haines, who is looking at Poe) Mind your play there,

Haines.

Poe. I know this place. It is the poet's house of dream that

all my life I've sought to reach. I am dying now, and they

let me in, because I have been true to them. The master

will read it in my face. I have not eaten of the

flesh-pots! I have beggared my body, but I have not

beggared my soul!

Sharp. Curse it, Juggers! It's yours again!

Haines. Take your medicine, Sharp. A man must know how to lose

as well as win.

Poe. Yonder is the master, arrayed all in white and gold and

sapphire. Those angels that attend him are poets wrapped

in fires of love. They talk about me now, and ask if I am

worthy to come in. O, I have loved ye well, immortal dead!

Through noons that burnt the world I've tracked your dewy

shadows! No day died in my eyes but ye were whispering

priests! And midnight stars have learned your names of me!

Sharp. (Throwing down cards) It's that hoodoo in the corner!

Poe. How wonderful their voices! They speak a strange language,

but I can interpret it.

Sharp. I'll not play another card until he goes!

Poe. He says that by the trembling of the planet-lights an

earth-soul come this way. He sees me!

Black. Well, by Jacks, I've got a dollar for his supper and bed.

Poe. He says that 'tis a strange creature carrying a burning

brand in his bosom.

Sharp. You can afford to be a fool. You've helped Juggers rake

in.

Poe. Not a brand, he says, but an immortal star.

Sharp. Thomas, set that oil painting outside, will you?

Poe. They ask the master if they may come to meet me.

(Barkeeper approaches Poe) Ah, the master comes himself,

for I am one of the chosen.

Barkeeper.

Get out o' this!

Poe. (Rising slowly) Thou mighty one, thy servant hears thee!

Bark. Eh?

Poe. I'll be the humblest round thy throne.

Bark. Look here, I was a little soft about you, but now you just

shove along!

Poe. I beg your pardon,--may I ask the name of this planet?

Bark. Eh?

Poe. Is it--the earth?

Bark. (Shaking him) None o' your squibs!

Poe. (Recognizing and throwing him off with momentary strength)

Do not touch me, George Thomas. I will go.

Black. (Flinging him a piece of silver, which falls to the floor)

There's a bed for you.

Poe. I dare not touch it, sir, lest I be infected, for the

angels who look upon us know that I shall be in health

when fever shall sit on your bones and agues make their

bed in your marrow!

Jug. A gentleman can't stand that jaw. Kick him out, Thomas, or

I will.

Poe. Do not touch me! You walking clay! who button your coats

about three meals a day and think you have belted in the

universe! Go listen to the sea lapping rock and bone to

her oblivious mill, and know your hearts shall sleep as

sand within her shells! By the dead worlds that drift in

yonder void, and long have sung the swan-song of their

deities, this too shall pass, and ere it passes flesh

shall learn its impotence! Grey stalkers from the past

shall clutch the throat of days! All wrongs shall rise and

gather their revenge! And man--

Sharp. Here you crazy Tom! That's just enough!

(Tries to take hold of Poe)

Poe. Off! See what I see! The Conqueror Worm! Fold on fold the

red-fanged monster creeps! Look! your doom, ye swine with

sodden eyes fast shut against sublimities! Ye--

Jug. (Taking Poe by the throat) I'll stop your croaking!

(Haines and Black pull Juggers from Poe, who falls to seat

utterly exhausted)

Haines. Can't you keep your hands off a sick man?

Jug. Sick! He's the devil!

Haines. Then you might as well make his acquaintance.

Poe. 'Tis here ... death ... and all is yet to say. O, I have

chattered as a babe! Now, I could speak, and dust is in my

mouth!... Helen, you told me to be content with the

letters.... I have tried to read ... to steal God's book.

He has punished ... but death pays my bond. Soon I shall

read with His eyes and be at peace. Peace! (Gives a dying

shudder) Nevermore!... (Rises, staggers to door and opens

it wide) O, Night, with thy minstrel winds, blow gently on

me dead ... for I have been thy lover! (Looks back at the

men who are gazing at him intently, and speaks lowly,

erect and godlike) In His own image created He man!...

(Turns and steps into the darkness.)

(CURTAIN)

End of Project Gutenberg's Semiramis and Other Plays, by Olive Tilford Dargan