Chapter 4

But I had no such honeymoon as yours. A few brief days of happiness, and then The dream was over. I had married one Who was the sport of vagrant impulses. We had not been a fortnight wed, when he Came home to me with brandy in his brain-- A maudlin fool--for love like mine to hide As if he were an unclean beast. O Grace! I cannot paint the horrors of that night. My heart, till then serene, and safely kept In Trust's strong citadel, quaked all night long, As tower and bastion fell before the rush Of fierce convictions; and the tumbling walls Boomed with dull throbs of ruin through my brain. And there were palaces that leaned on this-- Castles of air, in long and glittering lines, Which melted into air, and pierced the blue That marks the star-strewn vault of heaven;--all fell, With a faint crash like that which scares the soul When dissolution shivers through a dream Smitten by nightmare,--fell and faded all To utter nothingness; and when the morn Flamed up the East, and with its crimson wings Brushed out the paling stars that all the night In silent, slow procession, one by one, Had gazed upon me through the open sash, And passed along, it found me desolate.

The stupid dreamer at my side awoke, And with such helpless anguish as they feel Who know that they are weak as well as vile. I saw, through all his forward promises, Excuses, prayers, and pledges that were oaths (What he, poor boaster, thought I could not see), That he was shorn of will, and that his heart Was as defenseless as a little child's;-- That underneath his fair good fellowship He was debauched, and dead in love with sin;-- That love of me had made him what I loved,-- That I could only hold him till the wave Of some overwhelming impulse should sweep in, To lift his feet and bear him from my arms. I felt that morn, when he went trembling forth, With bloodshot eyes and forehead hot with woe, That henceforth strife would be 'twixt Hell and me-- The odds against me--for my husband's soul.

_Grace_.

Poor dove! Poor Mary! Have you suffered thus? You had not even pride to keep you up. Were he my husband, I had left him then-- The ingrate!

_Mary_.

Not if you had loved as I; Yet what you know is but a bitter drop Of the full cup of gall that I have drained. Had he left me unstained,--had I rebelled Against the influence by which he sought To bring me to a compromise with him,-- To make my shrinking soul meet his half way, It had been better; but he had an art, When appetite or passion moved in him, That clothed his sins with fair apologies, And smoothed the wrinkles of a haggard guilt With the good-natured hand of charity. He knew he was a fool, he said, and said again; But human nature would be what it was, And life had never zest enough to bear Too much dilution; those who work like slaves Must have their days of frolic and of fun. He doubted whether God would punish sin; God was, in fact, too good to punish sin; For sin itself was a compounded thing, With weakness for its prime ingredient. And thus he fooled a heart that loved him well; And it went toward his heart by slow degrees, Till Virtue seemed a frigid anchorite, And Vice, a jolly fellow--bad enough, But not so bad as Christian people think.

This was the cunning work of months--nay, years; And, meantime, Edward sank from bad to worse. But he had conquered. Wine was on his board, Without my protest--with a glass for me! His boon companions came and went, and made My home their rendezvous with my consent. The doughty oath that shocked my ears at first, The doubtful jest that meant, or might not mean, That which should set a woman's brow aflame, Became at last (oh, shame of womanhood!) A thing to frown at with a covert smile; Anything to smile at with a decent frown; A thing to steal a grace from, as I feigned The innocence of deaf unconsciousness. And I became a jester. I could jest In a wild way on sacred things and themes; And I have thought that in his better moods My husband shrank with horror from the work Which he had wrought in me.

I do not know If, during all these downward-tending years, Edward kept well his faith with me. I know He used to tell me, in his boastful way, How he had broke the hearts of pretty maids. And that if he were single--well-a-day! The time was past for thinking upon that! And I had heart to toss the badinage Back in his teeth, with pay of kindred coin; And tell him lies to stir his bestial mirth; And make my boast of conquests; and pretend That the true heart I had bestowed on him Had flown, and left him but an empty hand.

I had some days of pain and penitence. I saw where all must end. I saw, too well, Edward was growing idle,--that his form Was gathering disgustful corpulence,-- That he was going down, and dragging me To shame and ruin, beggary and death. But judgment came, and overshadowed us; And one quick bolt shot from the awful cloud Severed the tie that bound two worthless lives. What God hath joined together, God may part:-- Grace, have you thought of that?

_Grace_.

You scare me, Mary! Nay! Do not turn on me with such a look! Its dread suggestion gives my heart a pang That stops its painful beating.

_Mary_.

Let it pass! One morn we woke with the first flush of light, Our windows jarring with the cannonade That ushered in the nation's festal day. The village streets were full of men and boys, And resonant with rattling mimicry Of the black-throated monsters on the hill,-- A crashing, crepitating war of fire,-- And as we listened to the fitful feud, Dull detonations came from far away, Pulsing along the fretted atmosphere, To tell that in the ruder villages The day had noisy greeting, as in ours.

I know not why it was, but then, and there, I felt a sinking sadness, passing tears-- A dark foreboding I could not dissolve, Nor drive away. But when, next morn, I woke In the sweet stillness of the Sabbath day, And found myself alone, I knew that hearts Which once have been God's temple, and in which Something divine still lingers, feel the throb Along the lines that bind them to the Throne When judgment issues; and, though dumb and blind, Shudder and faint with prophecies of ill. How--by what cause--calamity should come, I could not guess; that it was imminent Seemed just as certain as the morning's dawn. We were to have a gala day, indeed. There were to be processions and parades; A great oration in a mammoth tent, With dinner following, and toast and speech By all the wordy magnates of the town; A grand balloon ascension afterwards; And, in the evening, fireworks on the hill. I knew that drink would flow from morn till night In a wild maelstrom, circling slow around The village rim, in bright careering waves, But growing turbulent, and changed to ink Around the village center, till, at last, The whirling, gurgling vortex would engulf A maddened multitude in drunkenness. And this was in my thought (the while my heart Was palpitating with its nameless fear), As, wrapped in vaguest dreams, and purposeless, I laced my shoe and gazed upon the sky. Then strange determination stirred in me; And, turning sharply on my chair, I said, "Edward, where'er you go to-day, I go!" If I had smitten him upon the face, It had not tingled with a hotter flame. He turned upon me with a look of hate-- A something worse than anger--and, with oaths, Raved like a fiend, and cursed me for a fool. But I was firm; he could not shake my will; So, through the morning, until afternoon, He stayed at home, and drank and drank again, Watching the clock, and pacing up and down, Until, at length, he came and sat by me, To try his hackneyed tricks of blandishment. He had not meant, he said, to give offense; But women in a crowd were out of place. He wished to see the aeronauts embark, And meet some friends; but there would be a throng Of boys and drunken boors around the car, And I should not enjoy it; more than this, The rise would be a finer spectacle At home than on the ground. I gave assent, And he went out. Of course, I followed him; For I had learned to read him, and I knew There was some precious scheme of sin on foot.

The crowd was heavy, and his form was lost Quick as it touched the mass; but I pressed on, Wild shouts and laughter punishing my ears, Till I could see the bloated, breathing cone, As if it were some monster of the sky Caught by a net and fastened to the earth-- A butt for jeers to all the merry mob. But I was distant still; and if a man In mad impatience tore a passage from The crowd that pressed upon him, or a girl, Frightened or fainting, was allowed escape, I slid like water to the vacant space, And thus, by deftly won advances, gained The stand I coveted.

We waited long; And as the curious gazers stood and talked About the diverse currents of the air, And wondered where the daring voyagers Would find a landing-place, a young man said, In words intended for a spicy jest, A man and woman living in the town Had taken passage overland for hell!

Then at a distance rose a scattering shout That fixed the vision of the multitude, Standing on eager tiptoe, and afar I saw the crowd give way, and make a path For the pale heroes of the crazy hour. Hats were tossed wildly as they struggled on, And the gap closed behind them, till, at length, They stood within the ring. Oh, damning sight! The woman was a painted courtezan; The man, my husband! I was dumb as death. My teeth were clenched together like a vise, And every heavy heart-throb was a chill. But there I stood, and saw the shame go on. They took their seats; the signal gun was fired; The cords were loosed; and then the billowy bulk Shot toward the zenith!

Never bent the sky With a more cloudless depth of blue than then; And, as they rose, I saw his faithless arm Slide o'er her shoulder, and her dizzy head Drop on his breast. Then I became insane. I felt that I was struggling with a dream-- A horrid phantasm I could not shake off. The hollow sky was swinging like a bell; The silken monster swinging like its tongue; And as it reeled from side to side, the roar Of voices round me rang, and rang again, Tolling the dreadful knell of my despair.

At the last moment I could trace his form, Edward leaned over from his giddy seat, And tossed out something on the air. I saw The little missive fluttering slowly down, And stretched my hand to catch it, for I knew, Or thought I knew, that it would come to me. And it did come to me--as if it slid Upon the cord that bound my heart to his-- Strained to its utmost tension--snapped at last. I marked it as it fell. It was a rose. I grasped it madly as it struck my hand, And buried all its thorns within my palm; But the fierce pain released my prisoned voice, And, with a shriek, I staggered, swooned, and fell.

That night was brushed from life. A passing friend Directed those who bore me rudely off; And I was carried to my home, and laid Entranced upon my bed. The Sabbath morn That followed all this din and devilry Swung noiseless wide its doors of yellow light, And in the hallowed stillness I awoke. My heart was still; I could not stir a hand. I thought that I was dying, or was dead.-- That I had slipped through smooth unconsciousness Into the everlasting silences. I could not speak; but winning strength, at last, I turned my eyes to seek for Edward's face, And saw an unpressed pillow. He was gone!

I was oppressed with awful sense of loss; And, as a mother, by a turbid sea That has engulfed her fairest child, sits down And moans over the waters, and looks out With curious despair upon the waves, Until she marks a lock of floating hair, And by its threads of gold draws slowly in, And clasps and presses to her frenzied breast The form it has no power to warm again, So I, beside the sea of memory, Lay feebly moaning, yearning for a clew By which to reach my own extinguished life. It came. A burning pain shot through my palm, And thorns awoke what thorns had put to sleep. It all came back to me--the roar, the rush, The upturned faces, the insane hurrahs, The skyward-shooting spectacle, the shame-- And then I swooned again.

_Grace_.

But was he killed? Did his foolhardy venture end in wreck? Or did it end in something worse than wreck? Surely, he came again!

_Mary_.

To me, no more. He had his reasons, and I knew them soon; But, first, the fire enkindled in my brain Burnt through long weeks of fever--burnt my frame Until it lay upon the sheet as white As the pale ashes of a wasted coal. Then, when strength came to me, and I could sit, Braced by the double pillows that were mine, A kind friend took my hand, and told me all.

The day that Edward left me was the last He could have been my husband; for the next Disclosed his infamy and my disgrace. He was a thief, and had been one, for years,-- Defrauding those whose gold he held in trust; And he was ruined--ruined utterly. The very bed I sat on was not his, Nor mine, except by tender charity. A guilty secret menacing behind, A guilty passion burning in his heart, And, by his side, a guilty paramour, He seized upon this reckless whim, and fled From those he knew would curse him ere he slept.

My cup was filled with wormwood; and it grew Bitter and still more bitter, day by day, Changing from shame and hate, to stern revenge. Life had no more for me. My home was lost; My heart unfitted to return to this; And, reckless of the future, I went forth-- A woman stricken, maddened, desperate. I sought the city with as sure a scent As vultures track a carcass through the air. I knew him there, delivered up to sin, And longed to taunt him with his infamy,-- To haunt his haunts; to sting his perjured soul With sharp reproaches; and to scare his eyes-- With visions of his work upon my face.

But God had other means than my revenge To humble him, and other thought for me. I saw him only once; we did not meet; There was a street between us; yet it seemed Wide as the unbridged gulf that yawns between The rich man and the beggar.

'Twas at dawn. I had arisen from the sleepless bed Which my scant means had purchased, and gone forth To taste the air, and cool my burning brow. I wandered on, not knowing where I went, Nor caring whither. There were few astir; The market wagons lumbered slowly in, Piled high with carcasses of slaughtered lambs, Baskets of unhusked corn, and mint, and all The fresh, green things that grow in country fields. I read the signs--the long and curious names-- And wondered who invented them, and if Their owners knew how very strange they were. A corps of weary firemen met me once, Late home from service, with their gaudy car, And loud with careless curses. Then I stopped, And chatted with a frowsy-headed girl Who knelt among her draggled skirts, and scrubbed The heel-worn doorsteps of a faded house. Then, as I left her, and resumed my walk, I turned my eyes across the street, and saw A sight which stopped my feet, my breath, my heart. It was my husband. Oh, how sadly changed! His bloodshot eyes stared from an anxious face; His hat was battered, and his clothes were torn And splashed with mud. His poisoned frame Had shrunk away, until his garments hung In folds about him. Then I knew it all: His life had been a measureless debauch Since his most shameless flight; and in his eye, Eager and strained, and peering down the stairs That tumbled to the anterooms of hell, I saw the thirst which only death can quench. He did not raise his eyes; I did not speak; There was no work for me to do on him; And when, at last, he tottered down the steps Of a dark gin-shop, I was satisfied, And half relentingly retraced my way.

I cannot tell the story of the months That followed this. I toiled and toiled for bread, And for the shelter of one stingy room. Temptation, which the hand of poverty Bears oft seductively to woman's lips, To me came not. I hated men like beasts; Their flattering words, and wicked, wanton leers, Sickened me with ineffable disgust. At length there came a change. One warm Spring eve, As I sat idly dreaming of the past, And questioning the future, my quick ear Caught sound of feet upon the creaking stairs, And a light rap delivered at my door. I said, "Come in!" with half-defiant voice, Although I longed to see a human face, And needed labor for my idle hands. But when the door was opened, and there stood A man before me, with an eye as pure And brow as fair as any little child's, Matched with a form and carriage which combined All manly beauty, dignity, and grace, A quick blush overwhelmed my pallid cheeks, And, ere I knew, and by no act of will, I rose and gave him gentle courtesy.

He took a seat, and spoke with pleasant voice Of many pleasant things--the pleasant sky, The stars, the opening foliage in the park; And then he came to business. He would have A piece of exquisite embroidery; My hand was cunning if report were true; Would it oblige him? It would do, I said, That which it could to satisfy his wish; And when he took the delicate pattern out, And spread the dainty fabric on his knees, I knew he had a wife.

He went away With kind "Good night," and said that, with my leave, He'd call and watch the progress of the work. I marked his careful steps adown the stairs, And then, his brisk, firm tread upon the pave, Till in the dull roar of the distant streets It mingled and was lost. Then I was lost,-- Lost in a wild, wide-ranging reverie-- From which I roused not till the midnight hush Was broken by the toll from twenty towers. This is a man, I said; a man in truth; My room has known the presence of a man, And it has gathered dignity from him. I felt my being flooded with new life. My heart was warm; my poor, sore-footed thoughts Sprang up full fledged through ether; and I felt Like the sick woman who had touched the hem Of Jesus' garment, when through all her veins Leaped the swift tides of youth.

He had a wife! Why, to a wrecked, forsaken thing like me Did that thought bring a pang? I did not know; But, truth to tell, it gave me stinging pain. If he was noble, he was naught to me; If he was great, it only made me less; If he loved truly, I was not enriched. So, in my selfishness, I almost cursed The unknown woman, thought for whom had brought Her loving husband to me. What was I To him? Naught but a poor unfortunate, Picking her bread up at a needle's point. He'll come and criticise my handiwork, I said, and when it is at last complete, He'll draw his purse and give me so much gold; And then, forgetting me for ever, go And gather fragrant kisses for the boon, From lips that do not know their privilege. I could be nothing but the medium Through which his love should pass to reach its shrine; The glass through which the sun's electric beams Kindles the rose's heart, and still remains Chill and serene itself--without reward! Then came to me the thought of my great wrong. A man had spoiled my heart, degraded me; A wanton woman had defrauded me; I would get reparation how I could! He must be something to me--I to him! All men, however good, are weak, I thought; And if I can arrest no beam of love By right of nature or by leave of law, I'll stain the glass! And the last words I said, As I lay down upon my bed to dream, Were those four words of sin: "I'll stain the glass!"

_Grace_.

Mary, I cannot hear you more; your tale, So bitter and so passing pitiful I have forgotten tears, and feel my eyes Burn dry and hot with looking at your face, Now gathers blackness, and grows horrible.

_Mary_.

Nay, you must hear me out; I cannot pause; And have no worse to say than I have said-- Thank God, and him who put away my toils! He came, and came again; and every charm God had bestowed on me, or art could frame, I used with keenest ingenuities To fascinate the sensuous element O'er which, mistrusted, and but half asleep, His conscience and propriety stood guard. I told with tears the story of my woe; He listened to me with a thoughtful face, And sadly sighed; and thus I won his ruth, And then I told him how my life was lost;-- How earth had nothing more for me but pain; Not e'en a friend. At this, he took my hand, And said, out of his nobleness of heart, That I should have an honest friend in him; On which I bowed my head upon his arm, And wept again, as if my heart would break With the full pressure of his gratitude. He put me gently off, and read my face: I stood before him hopeless, helpless, his! His swift soul gathered what I meant it should. He sighed and trembled; then he crossed the floor, And gazed with eye abstracted on the sky; Then came and looked at me; then turned, As if affrighted at his springing thoughts, And, with abruptest movement, left the room.

This time he took with him the broidered thing That I had wrought for him; and when I oped The little purse that he rewarded me, I found full golden payment five times told. Given for pity? thought I,--that alone? Is manly pity so munificent? Pity has mixtures that it knows not of!

It was a cruel triumph, and I speak Of it with utter penitence and shame. I knew that he would come again; I knew His feet would bring him, though his soul rebelled; I knew that cheated heart of his would toy With the seductive chains that gave it thrall, And strive to reconcile its perjury With its own conscience of the better way, By fabrication of apologies It knew were false.

And he did come again; Confessing a strange interest in me, And doing for me many kindly deeds. I knew the nature of the sympathy That drew him to my side, better than he; Though I could see that solemn change in him Which every face will wear, when Heaven and Hell Are struggling in the heart for mastery. He was unhappy; every sudden sound Startled his apprehensions; from his heart Rose heavy suspirations, charged with prayer, Desire, and deprecation, and remorse;-- Sighs like volcanic breathings--sighs that scorched His parching lips and spread his face with ashes,-- Sighs born in such convulsions of the soul That his strong frame quaked like Vesuvius, Burdened with restless lava.

Day by day I marked this dalliance with sinful thought, Without a throb of pity in my heart. I took his gifts, which brought immunity From toil and care, as if they were my right. Day after day I saw my power increase, Until that noble spirit was a slave-- A craven, helpless, self-suspected slave.