Part 74 (1/2)

Hel. (To Mrs. Clemm) How is she?

Mrs. C. She will have but one more word for us--goodbye.

Hel. Can I--may-- O, you must let me do something for her--for you! Do not make me miserable by saying there is nothing I can do.

Mrs. C. There is ... something. I have never begged--

Hel. Do not use such a word. It is you who give--make me happy.

Mrs. C. But I will beg this. Some linen for her last robe.

Hel. G.o.d bless you for telling me!

Poe. (Rising from his knees by Virginia) Helen, Virginia would speak to you.

Hel. O, save the precious breath! (Approaches bed) Ah ... how lovely ... I understand....

Vir. (Lifting her head) Helen ... help my Edgar. (Sinks back.

Poe lays his head on her pillow. Helen stands with her arm about Mrs. Clemm. Curtain falls, and rises on same room at night. Virginia's body lies on the bed. Poe watches alone.

A candle burns on table)

Poe. (Standing by bed) ... So low in sleep, little girl?... I took thee mid thy roses. O, broken gentleness, little saint-love, move but a hand, a finger, to tell me thou art still my pleading angel!... Not one breath's life. Still ... quite still. O, might such rest be mine! (Turns away) I'll write. (Goes to table) I promised. Yes ... I'll write. Behind the glorious chancel of the mind still swings the incense to the deathless G.o.ds!... (Sits and writes) ... No. (Rising) No rhymes--for Poesy must mourn to-night. (Goes toward bed) Too much of her is dead.

(Gazes at Virginia) Cold ... cold. What art thou death? Ye demons of a mind distraught, keep ye apace till I have fathomed this!... Ha! What scene is that? (Stares as at visions) A valley laid in the foundations of darkness! The unscalable cliffs jut to heaven, and on the amethystine peaks sit angels weeping into the abyss where creatures run to and fro without escape! Some eat, some laugh, some weep, some wonder. Now they make themselves candles whose little beams eclipse the warning stars ... and in the pallid light they dance and think it sun! But on the revel creeps a serpent, fanned and crimson, with mult.i.tudinous folds lapping the dancing creatures in one heaving carnage! The candles die.... The stars cannot pierce the writhing darkness.... Above on the immortal headlands sit the angels, looking down no more, for the dismal heap no longer throbs.... I must write this! Now! While I see it!

That moaning flood ebbing to silence ... those rosy promontories lit with angel wings ... and over all as large and still as heaven, the cold, unweeping eyes of G.o.d!... (Writes.... A tapping at the door. He does not hear. Another tapping. He looks up) Who's there?... This is my vigil. Nor devil nor angel shall share it!...

(Listens. Tapping. He goes to door and throws it open) ...

Nothing ... nothing ... but darkness. (Stands peering, and whispers) Lenore!... (Closes door, bolts it, returns to table and writes silently. Utter stillness, then a rattling at the window. Poe leaps up) What's that? (The shutter is blown open. Poe stands watching. A raven flies in and perches above door) Out, you night-wing! (He looks at raven silently) You won't? Why, sit there then! You're but a feather! (Sits and writes. After a moment rises and reads)

Out--out are the lights--out all!

And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm-- And the angels all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling affirm That the play is the tragedy 'Man!'

And its hero the Conqueror Worm!

Ah! the thought pales from these lines like light from dying cinders. Poetry is but ashes telling that a fire has pa.s.sed. (Sits gloomily. Suddenly remembers the raven, turns and stares at it) You bird of d.a.m.nation, leave me in peace with my dead!... O, dreaming fool, 'tis nothing....

My mind's a chaos that surges up this fancy. (Tries to write, stops, goes on, trembles, and looks up) ... Can I know fear? I, the very nursling of dreams? Who have lived in a world more tenanted with ghosts than men? I can not be afraid.... (Tries to write. Drops pen. Shudders, looking with furtive fear at the raven) ... I am ... I am afraid.... Virginia! (Creeps toward bed) Stay with me, little bride. My little rose-bride! (Fingers along coverlet, looking at raven) Do not leave me. Quick, little love! Give me life in a kiss! (Touches her hand, shrinks, and springs up) Dead!... (Leans against foot of bed, wildly facing the raven) Speak, fiend! From what dim region of unbodied souls hast come? What h.e.l.l ungorged thee for her messenger? What sentence have the devils pa.s.sed upon me? To what foul residence in some blasted star am I condemned? Speak! By every sigh that poisons happy breath!--by every misery that in me rocks and genders her swart young!--by yonder life that now in golden ruin lies!--I charge thee speak! How long shall I wander without rest? How long whirl in the breath of unforgiving winds? Or burn in the refining forges of the sun? When will the Universe gather me to her heart and give me of her still, unthrobbing peace? Speak! When--O when will this driven spirit be at home?

(Silence. Poe listens with intense expectation and fear.

The raven flies out) It spoke! (Hoa.r.s.ely) It spoke! I heard it! (Whispers) Nevermore! (He falls in a swoon.

Candle flickers in the wind and goes out. Darkness)

(CURTAIN)

ACT V.

Scene I: Poe's lodging, Baltimore. Small room. Cot, table, and one chair. Poe writing)

Poe. (Pressing his temples) Throb--throb--but you shall finish this. (Writes) You, too, rebel, old pen? On, on like a l.u.s.ty cripple, and we'll scratch out of this hole.

(Lifting pen) Why, old fellow, this will buy bread. O, bread, bread, bread, for one sweet crumb of thee to feed an angel here! (Touching his forehead) Gordon will not fail me. His letter will come to-day. And with his help I'll get on good ground once more. And _then_!... (Writes.