Chapter 16

Scene: Room in the Truelord House. Helen lies on a couch before large windows, rear, reading by light from a small lamp on table near couch. She wears a loose robe over night-dress.

A light knock is heard at door, left centre.

Hel. (Sitting up) Mamma?

Voice. Yes, dear.

Hel. (Kissing book and closing it) Good-bye, my poet! (Drops book on couch and goes to door)

Voice, as Helen opens door. I saw your light. (Enter Mrs. Truelord) Forgive me, love. I could not rest. (Helen is closing door) No! Kate is coming.

Mrs. Delormis. (In door) Yes, I'm here, too, Helen.

Hel. Come in, Cousin Catherine.

(All three advance)

Mrs. Del. Madela had a feminine version of the jim-jams--tea-nerves, you know--so must get us both up.

Hel. (Drawing forward a huge chair for Mrs. Truelord while Mrs. Delormis takes a smaller one) I was not in bed.

Mrs. Tru. (Looking toward bed in alcove, right) But you have been! You could not sleep either. Ah!

(Sighs deeply)

Hel. (Goes to couch) Now, mamma!

Mrs. Tru. (Embarrassed by Helen's straightforward look) Helen--I--I've just got to have it out to-night. You are only my step-daughter, but I've loved you like my own.

Hel. (Quaintly) Yes.

Mrs. Tru. Haven't I always treated you as if you were my daughter born?

Hel. (Slowly) You have indeed!

Mrs. Tru. And I can't bear for you to--to--O, I just can't bear it, I say!

Hel. Bear what, mamma?

Mrs. Tru. This--this man--

Mrs. Del. Edgar Poe, Helen.

Mrs. Tru. You are going to give up Roger--Roger who has worshipped you since you were a baby, who has lived under the same roof and been a brother to you since you were two years old--you are going to give him up for a strange man--a man without a penny--a man you have seen but once--(Almost shrieking)--but once--(Rising)

Hel. (Crosses, and stands before her, speaking calmly) We know angels at first sight, mamma.

Mrs. Tru. (Grabbing Helen by the shoulders and staring at her) You have done it already! (Falls to chair as if fainting)

Hel. Soothe her, Catherine. I will get some wine. (Exit)

Mrs. Tru. (Sitting up, at once recovered) She's made up her mind. When her eyes shine like that it's no use to argue. And all of Roger's fortune in Mr. Truelord's hands! We've considered it a family resource for years!

Mrs. Del. What a fool Roger was to bring Edgar Poe to the house!

Mrs. Tru. He's crazy about the man. Says he's a genius, and all that stuff.

Mrs. Del. Well, he is. But to introduce him to a girl like Helen! They'll be off before morning!

Mrs. Tru. Oh-h! Don't, Kate! Roger actually wants me to ask him to stay in the house.

Mrs. Del. Idiot! He deserves to lose her.... But your guest! (Laughs) Poor Madela! How he would upset your nice, comfortable theories of life! Why, you couldn't hand him a cup of tea without feeling the planet quake.

Mrs. Tru. But what are we to do? Kate, you _must_ help me.

Mrs. Del. I'm going to. You can't tell her father, because Helen must be persuaded, not opposed. And don't speak about the money. If she loved a beggar she would trudge barefoot behind him.

Mrs. Tru. (Despairingly) O, don't I know it?

Mrs. Del. Now you leave this to me, Madela. I will say a few things to Helen about meeting Mr. Poe in Europe--and--you know--

Mrs. Tru. (Kissing her violently) O, Kate! Tell her all--and more, if necessary! Don't think about your reputation if you can save Roger's fortune--

Mrs. Del. Sh!--

(Enter Helen, with wine and a glass)

Mrs. Tru. (Feebly) Thank you, dear, but I'm better now. (Rising) I'll try to rest. (Goes to door)

Hel. I would see you to your room, mamma, but I'm sure you would rather have Catherine. (Mrs. Delormis makes no move to go)

Mrs. Tru. O, I am quite well--I mean--I need no one--no one at all! Goodnight, my dears! (Exit)

Hel. (Politely) And is there anything which you must have out to-night, cousin Catherine?

Mrs. Del. Sit down, Helen. (Helen takes a chair) You have never loved me, but I have always had a warm heart for you, little girl. And you will take a warning from me in good part, won't you?

Hel. A good warning, yes.

Mrs. Del. I told you about meeting Mr. Poe last summer in Normandy. But--I did not tell you how often I met him. (Helen rises, then Mrs. Delormis rises) Helen, I prove my love for you by saying what it is so hard to utter to your pure self. My life has not been--all you would wish it to be--and Mr. Poe knows more about it than any other man.

Hel. You lie! I have seen his soul!

(She goes to door and opens it for Mrs. Delormis to pass out. Mrs. Delormis sweeps through with an attempt at majesty)

Hel. (Motionless with clenched hands) Wicked, wicked woman!... (Goes to window, rear, opens it, draws long breaths as if stifling, and turns back into room) Edgar! My love! I was a thing of clay. One look from your eyes has made me a being of fire and air.... (Lies down on couch and takes up her book) ... I can not read ... or sleep ... or pray. There's too much whirling in my heart for prayer.... (Starts) What moan is that?... (Rises, takes light from table, goes to window, leans out, casting the rays down) Nothing.... I'm fanciful.... The moon is rising. (Goes back, putting light on table) O, Edgar! God help me to be what love must be to thee. Love that can look on miracles and be sane. What a face when he said goodnight! Like an angel's whose immortality is his wound.... Poor Roger!... What will my father say?... (Moonlight floods the window) Welcome, soft nurse of dreams! (Extinguishes lamp) A little rest.... Ah, I know _he_ does not sleep.... (She lies on couch in the moonlight, her eyes closed. Poe enters by window, gazes at her, and throws up his arms in gesture of prayer)

Hel. (Looking up, and springing to her feet) Edgar! My God, you must not come here!

Poe. Is this love's welcome?

Hel. Go! go!

Poe. I was dying out there.

Hel. Leave me!

Poe. Life was passing from my veins. Only your eyes could draw back the ebbing flood.

Hel. I will light the lamp! (Turns hastily)

Poe. And put out Heaven's! (She drops her hand)

Hel. Go, O go at once!

Poe. Again I am alone! The twin angel who put her hand in mine is flown!

Hel. Edgar, be calm!

Poe. Calm! With such a look from you burning me as if I were a devil to be branded? Such words from you hissing like snakes through my brain?

Hel. O, I beg you--

Poe. I would but touch the hand that soothes my blood--look in the eyes that wrap my soul in balm--and you cry out as though some barbarous infidel had trampled you at prayers!

Hel. My father--Roger--they will not understand.

Poe. O, you would bring the world in to say how and when we shall love! Take note of the hour, and kiss by the clock! Great love is like death, Helen. It knows no time of day. If a man were dying at your gates would you keep from him because 'twas midnight and not noon, and you were robed for sleep? It was your soul I sought. Must you array that to receive me? O, these women! On Resurrection day they'll not get up unless their clothes are called with them from the dust! 'Excuse me, God, and send a dressmaker!' Ha! ha! ha! (Walks the floor in maniac humor)

Hel. Edgar, for love's sake hear me!

Poe. Speak loud if you would drown the winds!

Hel. Listen!

Poe. (Turning upon her) If my body bled at your feet you would stoop to me, but when my spirit lies in flames you cry 'Don't writhe! Don't be a spectacle!'

Hel. (Putting her hands on his shoulders and speaking steadily) The spirit does not murmur. Only the body cries.

Poe. (Calming) Forgive me, Helen!

Hel. Yes, love. (Draws him to couch and sits by him soothingly) ... O, your forehead is on fire.

Poe. No wonder, when I have just come out of hell.... Keep your cool hand over my eyes.... O, this is peace!... (Takes her hand from his forehead and holds it) I made you a song out there, in the darkness. I was fainting for one gleam of light when you opened the window and stood as beautiful as Psyche leaning to the god of love. Listen ... and believe that my heart was as pure as the lines. (Sings softly)

Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore That gently o'er a perfumed sea The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, An agate lamp within thy hand,-- Ah! Psyche, from the regions which Are holy-land!

(Drops his head to her hand and kisses it gently)

Hel. Edgar, my life shall be my song to thee. (They are silent for a second. His hand touches her book)

Poe. A book! Who could write for such an hour? (Holds book in moonlight) Shelley! Lark of the world! You would know!... You will give me this book, Helen?

Hel. It is precious. You will love it?

Poe. Always! (Kisses book, and puts it inside his coat. Taking her hand) O, all our life shall be a happy wonder! Wilt lie with me on summer hills where pipings of dim Arcady fall like Apollo's mantle on the soul? Dost know that silence full of thoughts?--and then the swelling earth--the throbbing heaven? Canst be a pulse in Nature's very body? (Leaping up) Take forests in thy arms, and feel the little leaf-veins beat thy blood?

Hel. (Rising) Yes--yes--I know. Come to the window, love. The soft Spring air begins to stir.

(They move to window)

Poe. O, what a night! 'Tis like a poem flowing to the sea. Here I shake death from my garments. Oh, had my soul a tongue to trumpet thought, men from yon planets now would stare and lean to earth with listening ears!... Hark! 'Tis music!

Hel. (Looking down) A serenade.

Poe. Canst call it that? I hear nothing that comes not from the stars. 'Tis Israfel! The angel whose lute is his own heart!

If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than his might swell From my lyre within the sky!

Some day we shall live there, Helen, and then I will sing to thee!

Hel. But now--my love--you must rest--you must sleep.

Poe. Sleep! Nothing sleeps but mortality!

Hel. And you are mortal, Edgar.

Poe. I! Nay, thy love has given me kinship with the deities! Sleep? Ay, when Nature naps, and God looks for a bed! When yonder moon forgets her starry whirl and nodding falls from heaven! When Ocean's giant pulse is weary and grows still! When Earth heaves up no seasons with their buds! No, no, we will not sleep! But see--there gleams the river--and yonder rise the hills touched new with Spring! Wilt go there with me, Helen? Now!

Hel. Now?

Poe. To-night!

Hel. To-night?

Poe. Why not? You say it as though night and day were not the same to the soul--except that night is more beautiful! Why not go?

Hel. I will tell you, love. (Drawing him back to the large chair) Come, listen. (She sits in chair, and he kneels by her, the moonlight covering them) Because I love you more than you love beauty, God or night, and you must live for me. And to live means--rest--sleep--

Poe. Do you love me so much? O, 'tis like cool waters falling about me to hear you say it.

Hel. I will help you, Edgar. Already I feel my strength. Where I may serve you I'll not meekly go, but go exultant. The thorns and stones so harsh to human feet, I'll press as they were buds, and leave my blood for kisses.

Poe. Oh, go on.

Hel. Yes, I've more to tell you. It is--that you must help me, too. To-day--before you looked at me the first time--I was dying. Ah, more,--I was about to set the seal of death on my soul. My mother, who died at sea when I was born, gave me a heritance with winds and waves and stars. But I was nursed by hands through whose clay ran no immortal streams. Cradled in convention, fed on sophistries, I wove a shroud about my soul, and within that hardening chrysalis it was dying away when you called it forth in time to live--dear God, in time to live! Now you see how much you are to me, Edgar. I must not lose you. But you must be careful and patient with me, for my newly-bared soul shrinks from the wonders so familiar to you, and I may fly back to my chrysalis to escape the pain.

Poe. I am not afraid. Would a mother leave her babe? And I am a child now, Helen. This strange, new rest you give me is like a gentle birth. I have been old all my life. Now the longing comes for a little of the childhood that was never mine. The years fall from me, and I have no wish but to lie on a mother's bosom and hear her voice prattling above me.

Hel. (Archly, leaning over him as he sits at her feet) Does my little boy want a story?

Poe. (Smiling) About the fairies, mama?

Hel. About the fairies--and a big giant--and a little girl lost in a wood--

Poe. And a little boy too?

Hel. Yes, a little boy, too! And the little girl was crying--

Poe. And the little boy found her?

Hel. Yes, and he told her not to cry, that he could kill the big giant, and he hid the little girl in a cave--

Poe. Was it a dark cave, mama?

Hel. No-_o-o_! It was a cave--with--windows in it! And by and by he heard the giant coming--

Poe. Oh! (Hides his face on her breast. She holds him to her, her hands on his hair) And when the little boy heard the leaves rustling closer and closer he climbed a great tree--

Poe. (Lifting his head) But he wasn't afraid, mama?

Hel. O, _no-o_!

Poe. Because that little boy was me!

Hel. Yes. And when you got to the top of the tree--

Poe. O, what did I do then?

Hel. Why, you see this was the biggest giant that _e-v-e-r_ lived--and his head was just as high as the top of the tree--so when he came by--

Poe. I know! I know! I just out with my sword, and off went his head!

Hel. So it did! And then you climbed down from the tree--

Poe. And the little girl came out of the cave--

Hel. And you went off together happy ever after!

Poe. What was that little girl's name, mama?

Hel. Why, I don't think you ever told me that, did you?

Poe. I was just thinking--

Hel. What, darling?

Poe. That I wish you weren't my mama, so you could be that little girl!

Hel. O, I can, dear. For there were the fairies. We forgot the fairies. They gave me this pretty ring, so that when I put it on I can be whoever I please, and I please to be just whoever my little boy likes best.

Poe. (Rises, and speaks in his own manner) Madonna, Oh, Madonna! You will save me. (Kisses her forehead) Good-night. To-morrow I will tell you about my work--our work. There are miracles yet to be. And Poesy shall speak them.

Hel. But do not try to write out all your soul, Edgar. That cannot be. Poetry is but one gate. The soul goes out by a thousand ways.

Poe. True. And we will find those ways together, Helen. We will gather truth in every path,--truth that flowers out of the struggle and carnage of life like the bloom of song on the crimson of war.

Hel. But we may not know all. Man's greatest knowledge is but the alphabet of the eternal book. We must be content with the letters, and not unhappily strive to read.

Poe. I will remember. But what mortal can attain shall be mine. Already thoughts that fled my agony come to me as gently as the alighting of birds. Truths open about me like the unfolding of roses yet warm with God's secret. Good-night. (Takes her hand) I am not the greatest genius, Helen, for I can not stand alone. (Drops her hand and goes to window. Hesitates and turns back) One kiss. (Kisses her) O, look at me! I lose divinity when you close your eyes! Look at me, and I can not fall for Heaven bears me up!

Hel. (In sudden alarm) I hear a step!

Poe. (Looking at her reproachfully) Listen better, you will hear God's footfall.

Hel. Some one is up.

Poe. And do you care? Would you put a stain upon this hour? This flower of love blown perfect from the skies?

Hel. Ah, it is gone.

Poe. (Wildly) O, you will leave me, Helen! You can not stay! For I will play the madman to thy sense when I am sanest, and like a shivering Atlas shake thy world when most thou wouldst be still. This body wraps more lives then one, my girl. When I was born no pitying angel dipped my spirit-fire in Lethe. I weep with all the dead as they my brothers were, and haunt the track of time to shudder with his ghosts. Wilt fare with me, brave Helen? Wilt tread the nadir gloom and golden paths of suns? Canst gaze with me into the fearful, grey infinitude--

Hel. That grey infinitude is yet the circle of your being. The mind can not leave itself. You are always in your own country. Why should you fear?

Poe. The mind that can not leave itself knows nothing. Not the 'I am' but 'Thou art' is God. O, there is a realm of which imagination is but a shadow--where the mind is burnt away in His vision's fire, and thought becomes celestial angel of itself! And you turn back with the first step--already I am alone--

Hel. No! I, too, have hung upon the boundaries of the world to catch God's flying dreams! O, trust me! Thou shalt fling no lance but I will cast it on to gleam in a farther sun! Bring me roses from Jupiter, I'll bring thee lilies from Uranus! O,--

Poe. Mine, by Heaven! (Catches her to him) Here we'll begin the immortal pilgrimage! We need not wait for death! From world to world--

Hel. (Springing from him) It _is_ a step! Go, Edgar! Go!

Poe. No! By the god in my bosom, you are mine from this moment!

Hel. My father! my father! He will tear me from you--You do not know him!

Poe. I know he's mortal. Heaven could not part us. I will not move!

(He is standing in the window. She hastily draws the curtain before him)

Hel. Then keep your word!

(A knock at the door. Helen is silent)

Voice. Helen?

Hel. It is you, Roger? Come in.

(Roger enters, carrying a lamp. Looks about and sees Helen.)

Rog. I heard voices.... Who was with you, Helen?... I could not be mistaken.... (puts lamp on a table, and comes nearer Helen.) Look at me, Helen.... I am your brother. Who was here?... I know that Love has laid his mighty hand upon you, but yet you are an angel. I thought--it was--his voice.... Tell me what this means.... _He_ was not here! O, I shall die when I learn that you are but a woman!

Poe. (Leaping out) I am here, sir, to defend that lady's honor!

Rog. (Staggers back, regains composure, and bows ironically) I rejoice to hear it, sir, for you alone can do it. It is wholly in your keeping. (Turns to go)

Hel. Roger!

Rog. Madam.

Hel. You forsake me?

Rog. You have forsaken yourself.

Hel. Oh! (Swoons. Poe bends over her wildly affectionate. Roger stands apart, proud and despairing)

Poe. Helen! Speak! Speak to me!

Hel. Leave me! Leave me!

Poe. It is I, Helen! Your lover! Edgar!

Hel. You, you, I mean! (Rising) Thou wing of hell across my life! Away from me!

(Poe stands back speechless with bewilderment. Roger goes to Helen, takes her hand, and leads her from the room)

Poe. Lost! lost! lost! (Looks about the room) This place!... O, I was mad to come here!... She will never forgive me! (Falls on the couch and lies motionless. After a moment enter Mrs. Delormis.)

Mrs. Del. Where is the wild man?... Oh, he has fainted! The wine! (Goes to the table and pours wine)

Poe. Oh!

(Mrs. Delormis turns to him. He rises ceremoniously, with effort) Well?

Mrs. Del. Well, indeed! Here I am to your rescue, and you reward me with a 'well' (mimicking) up to ceiling.

Poe. What are they saying to her? I must go to her! I must!

Mrs. Del. Must _not_! Listen! (Grasps his arm to detain him)

Poe. (Releasing his arm and bowing stiffly) Mrs. Delormis.

Mrs. D. (Copying his manner) Mr. Poe!... Mr. Truelord has not yet been roused. No one will wake him unless you choose to do it yourself by increasing the hubbub. Roger defends you to Mrs. Truelord--says you are ill--out of your senses--and other complimentary things. Both of them are soothing and mothering Helen, and--(dropping into tenderness) I wanted you to have a little mothering, too--

Poe. Do you really want to help me?

Mrs. Del. O, if you would only let me be your friend!

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)