Max. Mexicans! Long live Mexico!

(CURTAIN)



ACT V.

Scene I: Audience chamber, the Tuileries. Louis Napoleon alone.

Lou. Succeed or fail! However men may run The goal is marked. Yet will we race with Fate In forgone match. Some free of foot and hand, Some stumbling with huge empires on our backs Less certain than the overburdened ant Housing a winter crumb.... Victoire!

(Enter Secretary)

Sec. My lord.

Lou. If any dispatch from the West arrives Bring it at once.

Sec. Yes, sire. (Exit)

Lou. America! Thou strange, new power where each man is a king, I have obeyed thy will. Pulled down my empire, Built up that France might the Atlantic stride And stand firm-footed in two worlds. This slap Upon the cheek imperial insults All monarchy, yet Europe shrugs and smiles, When she should blush to ruddy rage of war. ... The West must go ... but here I'll be supreme. Austria and Prussia I urge again to conflict, And promise aid to each, but in my dream They both are doomed and France shall reign alone.

(Enter Chamberlain)

Chamb. Your majesty, the Marechal Bazaine.

Lou. Bazaine! Admit him.

(Exit Chamberlain)

'Tis penance night with us, And this man is the mirror of our conscience, Showing its foulest spots.

(Enter Bazaine)

Baz. Sire, I salute you. Now Paris is the star that all eyes seek. The Exposition draws the world to you, Who glitter here as you were made for heaven.

Lou. Ay, Here we would shine that none may see our star I' the West grow dark!... Now Maximilian?

Baz. He will be shot.

Lou. No jests! I ask you, sir, What terms he may arrange for freedom.

Baz. None.

Lou. You speak not to a fool.

Baz. I trust not, sire.

Lou. You know the Mexicans. Tell me the truth.

Baz. I know the Mexicans. He will be shot.

Lou. God, no! That noble man!

Baz. Pray, sir, what fate Had you in mind for Maximilian When finding him too true to Mexico For your proud aims, you sent such covered word To one Bazaine he could but read therein A revolution and the Emperor's fall?

Lou. I would have spared his life.

Baz. (Taking out paper) Then what means this? (Reads) 'France weeps no death that brings her better fortune.'

Lou. You'd spy a warrant in the alphabet Did you but wish to find one! Think you that Meant—death?

Baz. (Closer) I know it.

Lou. What dare you?

Baz. Anything— With this safe in my pocket. (Puts up paper)

Lou. Beware, Bazaine!

Baz. When one so mighty as your Majesty Is my protector?

Lou. You—

(Enter Chamberlain)

Chamb. The Count von Ostein Beseeches word with you.

Lou. He's welcome to it.

(Exit Chamberlain)

Adieu, le marechal.

Baz. My lord—

Lou. Adieu, Le marechal. (Exit Bazaine)

Prussia's ambassador. Now for our role of cheat and crowned dissembler. O for a throne where Truth might keep her head!

(Enter the Prussian Minister)

Welcome, my lord.

Prus. Most gracious majesty, The foreign ministers have come in body To speak congratulations and confirm The triumph of the Exposition.

Lou. They have our truest thanks. But first, my lord, A word in private with you. Is 't Prussia's wish That we withhold our aid from Mexico?

Prus. A question, sire. You know that Austria threatens. Is France in this the friend or enemy To Prussia? There's not an inch of middle ground To stand on. If our foe, then pour your strength To Mexico. If friend, keep it at home, Ready for Prussia's need.

Lou. To be your friend May cost some blood to France.

Prus. I've heard it said The left bank of the Rhine is a fair country, And worth a little blood.

Lou. Enough, my lord. Let Prussia know she has a friend in France, And with your sanction cover our retreat From Mexico.

(Enter Chamberlain)

Chamb. Pardon, your majesty. The Empress of Mexico begs audience.

Lou. Carlotta? No!

Chamb. She presses urgently To enter.

Lou. Here?... We sent our word to her At Miramar!... And yet—she comes—she's here. ... Admit the deputation, and summon, too, Our Empress.

Chamb. The Empress comes. (Enter Eugenie attended. Exit Chamberlain. Enter guards)

Eug. I hear the ministers Have come to us with state congratulations, And though unbidden, I'll not leave my chair— The co-seat of imperial dignity— Vacant at such a time.

Lou. Welcome, Eugenie. We were about to summon you.

Eug. Thanks even For tardy courtesy.

Lou. But we have more Than compliments to hear. Carlotta waits Our audience.

Eug. Carlotta! I can not see her! (Rises)

Lou. Nay, it was you first cast ambitious eye To Mexico. Now see the end.

Eug. My lord—

Lou. Be seated, madam.

Eug. You command me, sir?

Lou. We do.

Eug. (Going) Come, ladies!

Lou. (To guards) Let no one pass out!

Eug. France, sir, shall know this outrage!

Lou. When you wish To make it known.

(Enter ambassadors, Austrian, Russian, Italian, Belgian, and others)

Rus. Most glorious Majesty!

Belg. Mighty France!

It. Italy's savior!

Aus. Christendom's king!

Lou. I thank you, my good lords; but we're too sad To smile at compliments; Carlotta comes To beg our power to uphold her throne, Though Heaven has decreed her empire's fall. We ask you hear our open clear defence, And help set forth our duty, that the Empress May see our wisdom through our tears.

It. We'll lend Your Majesty what voice we can.

Lou. I thank you. (Aside to Austrian) My lord, a word. The Prussian talons creep Toward Austria. France is your friend.

Aus. O, sire!

Lou. If you would have her strong pray that no sword Of hers be lost in Mexico.

Aus. I will, My lord.

(Enter Carlotta, attended by Count Charles, Count de Bombelles, her priest, and women. She goes to Louis and would kneel. He takes her hand)

Lou. An Empress must not kneel.

Car. I'm still An Empress, sir?

Lou. Once to have worn a crown Is always to be queen.

Car. Sire, mock me not. Didst mean no more than that?

Lou. Lady, you come To beg your empire?

Car. I do not beg, Napoleon. I come to ask you keep your sacred oath, But do not make a beggar of me, sir, Who was a princess in my cradle.

Lou. Nay, Royal Carlotta, if beggar here must be, See one in us who sue your gentle patience. While strength was ours to give we gave it you, But now is France grown needy of her troops, With Europe surging to a conflict round her.

Car. My lord—

Lou. America turns baying on us. Should we make war on one who twice o'ercame Our island neighbors when she was but child To what she now is grown?

Prus. Your majesty, 'T would be a folly for a clown, not king.

Car. America? Easier to stop her now Than it will be when she wears Mexico Like sword at her right side. Austria, Prussia, Strike you no more at neighbor throats, but come And win a fight for God. Napoleon, come! There lies a world that's worth the price of war. Whose swelling breasts pour milk of paradise, Whose marble mountains wait the carver's hand, Whose valley arms ne'er tire with Ceres' load, Whose crownless head awaits the diadem That but divine, ancestral dignity May fix imperishably upon it! A bride For blessed Rome! And will you give her up To ravishers? To enemies of the Church? To unclean hands ne'er dipped in holy chrism?

Aus. The time's not ripe for our united swords To ransom her.

Car. The time is always ripe For a good deed. Napoleon, you will come! And though you fail, failure will be majestic. Withdraw like frightened schoolboy and you make Your throne a penance stool whereon you sit For laughter of the nations. But come, and though You fail, when time has brought America To her full, greedy strength, these scornful kings Will then unite in desperate endeavor To give your great conception form and face, And at your tomb they'll lift their shaken crowns And beg a pardon from your heart of dust!

Prus. (Aside) He'll yield to her!... Most noble lady, we—

Car. I speak, sir, to Napoleon.

Lou. What help Can Austria give?

Aus. Sire, she has many troubles. The clouds of war threat her with scarlet flood, And little strength has she to spare abroad When foes besiege at home.

Car. And Austria's chief Is Maximilian's brother! It was not so That day at Miramar when three proud crowns Took oath to serve him in an hour like this. Austria powerless! And Belgium—dead. But France—Ah, France, she will prove noble, loyal To God and honor!

Lou. My honor, dearest lady, Permits me not to risk my country's life That you may wear a crown in Mexico. I can not save your empire.

Car. Then let it fall, But save—my husband's life!

(Astonishment and silence)

Lou. You speak but madly. America has sent us guaranties She will demand that Maximilian Be held but as a prisoner of war. The Mexicans dare not proceed against him Contrary to the mighty government That is sole friend unto their scarce born state.

Car. America demands with paper words That can be torn and laughed at. Would she save him? Let her demand his life with cannon turned Upon his murderers. Then, sire, I'll trust To their obedience. Till then I'll plead With you. All hope is here.

Lou. Not so, dear lady. Italy, Austria, and your Belgium, Have sent their ablest counsel to defend him.

Car. Troops, troops, my lord, not wordy men of law, Are his sole need. Should God send angels there He'd choose but those who bear the flaming sword. ... Here, here, my lords! Look here! His guaranties, In his own hand set down! Here he vows faith To Maximilian—and to Heaven! Hear! 'I, Louis Napoleon, take solemn oath Upon the honor of a man and king—' Shall I go on, my lord? Have you forgot? Then let my tongue be as a burning pen To write it new upon your heart!

Lou. No! no! In God's name, no!

Aus. Dear lady, this is torture.

Car. Torture for you?—for him? Then what is it For me, my lord?

Prus. Wouldst have his majesty False to his country to be true to you?

Aus. The oath he took was, by the courtesy Of nations, subject to the change that time Visits on countries as on men.

Car. You'd win His sword from me that you may use it! Sirs, He plays you 'gainst each other as the eagle Sets ospreys in contention over prey That he may filch the prize!

Lou. Carlotta!

Car. Be warned! He'll know no ease till in your capitals He has re-crowned the great Napoleon!

Lou. Nay—

Car. Stop me not! Here you shall stand as bare To these men's eyes as you do to my own!

Lou. My lords, you will not let her troubled mind Weaken your trust in me?

Prus. Your majesty, We know you noble.

Car. Noble! Napoleon, This wondrous city is aflame with joy, The blazing fires now dart aloft and write In golden light your name upon the skies, But in your heart will burn a torch of hell Unquenchable, if you deny me aid!

Lou. Dear madam, pray believe that I am helpless.

Car. You are as strong as France, Eugenie, help me! If e'er you held a dear head on your breast— You have!—for you've both son and husband! Ah, I have no child. My lord is all to me. O put your two in one and you will know What now I plead for! By the kisses dropped Upon your baby's cheek, and by the hope That you will see him grow up at your side, Another self with heart-strings round your own, I pray you, lady, soften that stone heart! I kneel to you, an empress though my crown Has fallen, as yours I pray will not, And at your footstool beg my husband's life!

(Eugenie rises)

By your child's love, I beg you for one word! Help me, Eugenie, or the day will come When you will know a crown is but a band Of metal cold, and one warm kiss more dear Than all such circling glory! When you will grow Mad with the longing but to touch the hand Now lies in yours as it would never part, Strain for the face whose beauty fed you once Until your madness builds it out of air To gaze with sweet unhuman pity on you Yet come not near for kisses! O, even now I look through sealed up time unto a night When sleep will fly from your woe-drowned eyes, And you will cry to Heaven for blessed death To lead you from the midnight desolation! Eugenie, save thyself! For thy own sake Show pity unto me, and in that hour Receive the mercy that thou now dost give!

Eug. (Going) Help me! I'm ill! (Her women assist her out)

Car. Gone! Gone? And yet a woman! Ah, there's a God will suffer not this wrong! ... Napoleon—

Lou. Nay, madam, we've said all. I can not cast my country into war. You but fatigue yourself.

Car. O Heaven! Fatigue! Canst think of that when Maximilian Is facing bayonets for honor's sake?

Lou. Believe me, he is safe!

Car. I tell you no! To-day the guns from Mont Valerien Pealed out your glory! Your arm was in the arm Of Prussia's monarch, and Waterloo forgot! You laughed with Austria's chief, as though the duke Of Reichstadt were not dead! The bloody snows Of Moscow melt in Alexander's smile! Edward's in France, St. Helena's a myth! And all the world is trooping here to feed Your monstrous vanity! But let the morn Bring news of Maximilian's death, These kings will shudder from you as from plague, The conscious earth refuse your feet a base For shame to bear you! Then will begin your fall. Down, down you'll creep to an unpitied death, And winds that shriek around your exile bed Will cry me prophetess!

Lou. (After a silence) Your audience Is over. Pray go and rest. You need much sleep.

Car. A woman sleeps not till her heart is safe. My eyes shall not be closed till I've your answer.

Lou. You have it, lady, and we beg you leave us.

Car. Leave! leave! O sir, it is a lie I hear! (Falls at his feet) You did not say it! See! I kiss your feet! O sir—

Lou. (Withdrawing) You put us to discourtesy. Since you will not withdraw, we leave you.

Car. (Leaping up) Coward! Then, Louis Napoleon, Emperor of France! Thou art a murderer, and I have kissed The devil's hoof! (Exit Napoleon)

(Carlotta stands dazed, looking after Napoleon. Puts her hand over her eyes. Count Charles goes to her)

Char. Dear madam, come with me. (She looks about bewildered)

One of her women. Your majesty, We pray you come.

Car. (Strangely) Yes—yes— I'll go. Away!

(Exit with her attendants)

Aus. A gloomy business, truly.

Prus. 'T has wrought upon me.

(Re-enter Napoleon)

Lou. My lords, believe me grateful for your help In this most wretched business.

(Enter Secretary)

Sec. A dispatch, sire, from Mexico.

Lou. We'll hear it. All here should share this news with me.

Sec. 'Tis short, Your majesty.

Lou. The sooner read. We wait.

Sec. (Reads) 'By order of Juarez, the Austrian duke, Ferdinand Maximilian, has been shot.'

(Silence. Napoleon groans)

It. It can't be true!

Bel. 'Tis false! I'll not believe it!

Prus. Grieve not, your Majesty. This is a mock Dispatch.

Aus. A noble archduke! Bound by ties Of blood and love to every court of Europe! Believe this not, my lord!

Sec. Your Majesty, This second message from America Confirms the other.

Lou. 'Tis true! My God, 'tis true!

It. Carlotta! Who will tell her?

Lou. None shall do it! She must not know.

Rus. Pardon me, sire, she must.

Lou. Then his death bullet has not stopped its flight. 'T will end but in her heart.

(Re-enter Count Charles. Napoleon silently gives him the despatch, which he reads with great agitation)

Char. (To himself) O terrible! And yet No news to me—to me.

Lou. You'll tell her, sir?

Char. There is no need, my lord. Her reason's fled. She's mad.

Bel. 'Tis Heaven's mercy!

It. Unhappy woman!

Char. She is not wild, but gentle, and thinks, my lord, You've granted her request.

Lou. Noble Carlotta! My lords, forbear awhile. I'd be alone.

It. God grant you rest.

(All go out but Napoleon)

Lou. These kings I've called here to a dance must lead A funeral. What can I say to them? To Austria—his brother! England—his own cousin! To Belgium—her brother! Spain— O, all The world, that loved him!... An Emperor—and shot.

(Musical procession passes in street. Shouts of 'Vive l'empereur! Vive l'empereur!')

He too heard shouts like those—saw fires ascend To write his triumph—ay—and he is cold— Quite cold—shot dead.... Carlotta! prophetess! I feel—I know—thy oracle's from God!

(Falls at the foot of the imperial chair)

(CURTAIN)

Scene II: Miramar. A balcony overlooking the sea. Lady Maria alone.

Mar. Here they went out together—arm in arm,— Sweet, healing spirits to a bleeding land. Down yonder terrace to the sea they passed,— He unto death, and she—to—(Sighs deeply)

Car. (Without) Cousin!

Mar. Ah!

(Turns smiling to greet Carlotta who enters carrying flowers)

So early out? What treasures have you there?

Car. The sweetest flowers that ever peeped up head. They grow along the path in that dear wood Where Maximilian took me gypsying When we grew weary of the world.

Mar. I'm sure That was not often.

Car. True. We loved too well Our work among the people to hide ourselves In little corners of delight. But oh, those times! How he would catch me as I ran and say His little wild-girl with her flower crown Was dearer than his princess ermine-gowned. And so I'll wreathe these buds into my hair, And meet him as he loved me best.

(Goes to edge of the balcony and looks to sea)

To-day! This blessed, beauteous day our eyes shall see him!

(Drops flowers in trance of happiness)

Mar. Sweet Empress—

Car. Empress? No! To-day I am His little wild-girl with her wreath of flowers. O, I must make my crown! Now, now, how careless!

(Picks up flowers, sits and weaves them)

You see this flower?

Mar. 'Tis very beautiful. What is it?

Car. I've seen it only in our wood. Maximilian says it grows but for my hair. (Sings)

In a young, sweet hour of Spring I sat 'neath an old tree to sing Of love, only love! The little brook took up my tune And to his soft green banks did croon, The green grass rippled to the tree And every leaf shook melody Of love, only love! And then the birds that flitted by Told it the clouds that told the sky, And all the world to song did start With what I sang but to my heart! Ay, all the world sang back to me A little maiden 'neath a tree Of love, only love!

(Puts down flowers and goes to Lady Maria)

Ah, cousin, do you think he'll be delayed?

Mar. Dear madam, I fear me so.

Car. These ships! these ships! How slow their wings when they do bear our loved ones! The wandering treasures of our empty arms! The western waters must have sirens too, And will not let him pass.

Mar. Indeed they would not, Did they but know what majesty is in him.

Car. (Embracing her) O help me love him, dear. My heart's too small.

(Enter Count Charles)

Char. A message.

Car. Oh! a message! I do not want A message.

Char. The admiral of the port has word The Emperor's ship's delayed.

Car. Why, we'll not weep.... 'Tis but a day.... (Goes forward, looking out) To-morrow, then—to-morrow! (To Lady Maria) Why do you weep? A day's not worth a tear. See, I can smile!... But my poor flowers will fade. I plucked them all.... No more grow by the path.... (Suddenly) Cousin, why wear you black?

Mar. (Confused) I—madam—I—

Car. Such sable hues for this so rosy day? Go dress your body like our happy hearts! Dost think a coffin comes across the sea? A coffin—(Shudders) Go! I can not bear this black!

(Exit Lady Maria)

I am displeased. Have I not reason, Charles? 'Twas very wrong of her to dress in black When Maximilian comes. I will go in. I'm tired—but I am very happy. Ah! (Exit)

Char. O wounded heart! Thus every day she hopes, And every day begins her hope anew. It is my penance now to watch her sorrow, To guard perfection's wreck in her sad body, And hear the name of Maximilian fall Each moment from her lips. O, God, remember When once I am in hell, I've suffered here!

(Re-enter Carlotta)

Car. I can not stay away. This is my place. Here will I catch the first light on his sail. O Charles, dear Charles, to-morrow we shall see him! Look in his noble eyes,—ah me, what eyes! Dost not remember? Talk of him, cousin. It brings him faster to me. My heart! my heart! This waiting breaks it though 'tis but a day! An hour that keeps him from me lengthens like The drawn out ages 'tween the ends of time! But oh, to-morrow! Let me think of that! Then will the small globe of mine eye contain The wide and complete world of my desires! ... Have you forgot Aseffa? You do not speak; But you have not forgot. She said—Oh, cruel!— That he, my Maximilian, should lie cold While yet my arms were warm and reaching for him. How could she say it? But you stood by him—you— His faithful friend. You knew 't would ne'er be true! ... Do you remember, Charles, the winter day He climbed to Valtelina's ice-bound huts To bear the starving people food?

Char. Yes—yes! 'Tis my sole virtue to remember his!

Car. And when the flooding Ambro left her banks, Rolling a very sea o'er farm and town, Who was the first to ride the dangerous waves, A rescuing angel saving man and child?

Char. 'Twas Maximilian!

Car. Yes, our Maximilian. I feared the Mexicans would take his life. Was not that foolish, cousin? I should have known God could not spare him from His world. Hast heard The men of Licio tell how he was first To bring them aid when all their silkworms died And silence struck the looms that gave them food? This man will say 'I have a son alive Because of Maximilian!' And that will say 'I have a daughter now to tend my age, Because the Lombard governor brought bread Unto her cradle.'... And he is coming back. ... Beautiful Miramar! We'll never leave thee, Though stars should beckon to a golden world! To-morrow he'll come! Maximilian!

(Holds out her arms toward the sea, looking radiantly into distance)

Charles! (Turns suddenly, laying her hand on his arm) Look! What men are those? Do you not see them?

Char. There's nothing, cousin,—nothing but the sea.

Car. Oh, look! They wear the Mexican dress!

Char. Come in, Sweet princess!

Car. Ah yes, they're Mexicans.

Char. Come! You've had some fever. 'Tis a sick-room vision.

Car. No, no! I'm well! Ah, never in such health! I see like God! O look! A score of them! Moving but silent as death! Where are they marching? The sun gleams on their guns! O see, Charles, see! There is a prisoner! Poor man! poor man! I can not see his face. He walks most sadly,— And proudly too! An upright soul, I know!

Char. Dear cousin, come away!

Car. He's humbly dressed, And but for that I'd think he might be royal, Ah, royal as Maximilian! O Charles, I am so glad he's safe upon the sea! Safe—safe—and coming to me!

Char. (Most pleadingly) Come, wait within, Dear princess! Come!

Car. I will not leave him! No! The poor, sad prisoner! Those cruel weapons! I fear—I fear—he is condemned to die. ... Perhaps he has a wife. Ah me, I pray not. Then would be tears! He is a noble man,— But still his face is from me.... They reach the field. The soldiers halt and lift their guns. O how they gleam! ... I can not see.... Why is the face so dim? Will no one save him? Let us pray for him! We can do that! Down on our knees and pray! O men, men, men! What sin beneath the sun Can give excuse for such a deed as this? O, Heaven, are you looking too? A man So noble! Oh, he turns—he turns—his breast Is to the weapons! Now they fire! He falls! His face! (Gives a wild cry) Oh God! 'tis Maximilian!

(Falls forward on her face)

(CURTAIN)



THE POET

ACT I.

SCENE 1. Helen's room, Truelord house, New York.

ACT II.

SCENE 1. Exterior of Clemm cottage, near Richmond.

ACT III.

SCENE 1. Interior of Clemm cottage. SCENE 2. The Same.

ACT IV.

SCENE 1. An old book store, New York. SCENE 2. Poe's cottage, Fordham.

ACT V.

SCENE 1. Poe's lodging, Baltimore. SCENE 2. A bar-room.



CHARACTERS

EDGAR ALLAN POE VIRGINIA CLEMM MRS. MARIA CLEMM HELEN TRUELORD MRS. TRUELORD ROGER BRIDGMORE NELSON CLEMM MRS. DELORMIS DOCTOR BARLOW MRS. SCHMIDT GEORGE THOMAS, Barkeeper HAINES, JUGGERS, SHARP, BLACK, gamblers BOOKSELLER MUM ZURIE, TAT, BONY, servants at Clemm cottage.

Gertrude, Mabel, Annie, Sallie, Dora, Gladys, Ethel, Alma, Allie, friends of Virginia.



THE POET



ACT I.

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)



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.