Chapter 23

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