Bitter-Sweet: A Poem Part 10

I cannot paint the horrors of that night.

My heart, till then serene, and safely kept In Trust's strong citadel, quaked all night long, As tower and bastion fell before the rush Of fierce convictions; and the tumbling walls Boomed with dull throbs of ruin through my brain.

And there were palaces that leaned on this-- Castles of air, in long and glittering lines, Which melted into air, and pierced the blue That marks the star-strewn vault of heaven;--all fell, With a faint crash like that which scares the soul When dissolution shivers through a dream Smitten by nightmare,--fell and faded all To utter nothingness; and when the morn Flamed up the East, and with its crimson wings Brushed out the paling stars that all the night In silent, slow procession, one by one, Had gazed upon me through the open sash, And pa.s.sed along, it found me desolate.

The stupid dreamer at my side awoke, And with such helpless anguish as they feel Who know that they are weak as well as vile.

I saw, through all his forward promises, Excuses, prayers, and pledges that were oaths (What he, poor boaster, thought I could not see), That he was shorn of will, and that his heart Was as defenseless as a little child's;-- That underneath his fair good fellowship He was debauched, and dead in love with sin;-- That love of me had made him what I loved,-- That I could only hold him till the wave Of some overwhelming impulse should sweep in, To lift his feet and bear him from my arms.

I felt that morn, when he went trembling forth, With bloodshot eyes and forehead hot with woe, That henceforth strife would be 'twixt h.e.l.l and me-- The odds against me--for my husband's soul.

_Grace_.

Poor dove! Poor Mary! Have you suffered thus?

You had not even pride to keep you up.

Were he my husband, I had left him then-- The ingrate!

_Mary_.

Not if you had loved as I; Yet what you know is but a bitter drop Of the full cup of gall that I have drained.

Had he left me unstained,--had I rebelled Against the influence by which he sought To bring me to a compromise with him,-- To make my shrinking soul meet his half way, It had been better; but he had an art, When appet.i.te or pa.s.sion moved in him, That clothed his sins with fair apologies, And smoothed the wrinkles of a haggard guilt With the good-natured hand of charity.

He knew he was a fool, he said, and said again; But human nature would be what it was, And life had never zest enough to bear Too much dilution; those who work like slaves Must have their days of frolic and of fun.

He doubted whether G.o.d would punish sin; G.o.d was, in fact, too good to punish sin; For sin itself was a compounded thing, With weakness for its prime ingredient.

And thus he fooled a heart that loved him well; And it went toward his heart by slow degrees, Till Virtue seemed a frigid anchorite, And Vice, a jolly fellow--bad enough, But not so bad as Christian people think.

This was the cunning work of months--nay, years; And, meantime, Edward sank from bad to worse.

But he had conquered. Wine was on his board, Without my protest--with a gla.s.s for me!

His boon companions came and went, and made My home their rendezvous with my consent.

The doughty oath that shocked my ears at first, The doubtful jest that meant, or might not mean, That which should set a woman's brow aflame, Became at last (oh, shame of womanhood!) A thing to frown at with a covert smile; Anything to smile at with a decent frown; A thing to steal a grace from, as I feigned The innocence of deaf unconsciousness.

And I became a jester. I could jest In a wild way on sacred things and themes; And I have thought that in his better moods My husband shrank with horror from the work Which he had wrought in me.

I do not know If, during all these downward-tending years, Edward kept well his faith with me. I know He used to tell me, in his boastful way, How he had broke the hearts of pretty maids.

And that if he were single--well-a-day!

The time was past for thinking upon that!

And I had heart to toss the badinage Back in his teeth, with pay of kindred coin; And tell him lies to stir his b.e.s.t.i.a.l mirth; And make my boast of conquests; and pretend That the true heart I had bestowed on him Had flown, and left him but an empty hand.

I had some days of pain and penitence.

I saw where all must end. I saw, too well, Edward was growing idle,--that his form Was gathering disgustful corpulence,-- That he was going down, and dragging me To shame and ruin, beggary and death.

But judgment came, and overshadowed us; And one quick bolt shot from the awful cloud Severed the tie that bound two worthless lives.

What G.o.d hath joined together, G.o.d may part:-- Grace, have you thought of that?

_Grace_.

You scare me, Mary!

Nay! Do not turn on me with such a look!

Its dread suggestion gives my heart a pang That stops its painful beating.

_Mary_.

Let it pa.s.s!

One morn we woke with the first flush of light, Our windows jarring with the cannonade That ushered in the nation's festal day.

The village streets were full of men and boys, And resonant with rattling mimicry Of the black-throated monsters on the hill,-- A crashing, crepitating war of fire,-- And as we listened to the fitful feud, Dull detonations came from far away, Pulsing along the fretted atmosphere, To tell that in the ruder villages The day had noisy greeting, as in ours.

I know not why it was, but then, and there, I felt a sinking sadness, pa.s.sing tears-- A dark foreboding I could not dissolve, Nor drive away. But when, next morn, I woke In the sweet stillness of the Sabbath day, And found myself alone, I knew that hearts Which once have been G.o.d's temple, and in which Something divine still lingers, feel the throb Along the lines that bind them to the Throne When judgment issues; and, though dumb and blind, Shudder and faint with prophecies of ill.

How--by what cause--calamity should come, I could not guess; that it was imminent Seemed just as certain as the morning's dawn.

We were to have a gala day, indeed.

There were to be processions and parades; A great oration in a mammoth tent, With dinner following, and toast and speech By all the wordy magnates of the town; A grand balloon ascension afterwards; And, in the evening, fireworks on the hill.

I knew that drink would flow from morn till night In a wild maelstrom, circling slow around The village rim, in bright careering waves, But growing turbulent, and changed to ink Around the village center, till, at last, The whirling, gurgling vortex would engulf A maddened mult.i.tude in drunkenness.

And this was in my thought (the while my heart Was palpitating with its nameless fear), As, wrapped in vaguest dreams, and purposeless, I laced my shoe and gazed upon the sky.

Then strange determination stirred in me; And, turning sharply on my chair, I said, "Edward, where'er you go to-day, I go!"

If I had smitten him upon the face, It had not tingled with a hotter flame.

He turned upon me with a look of hate-- A something worse than anger--and, with oaths, Raved like a fiend, and cursed me for a fool.

But I was firm; he could not shake my will; So, through the morning, until afternoon, He stayed at home, and drank and drank again, Watching the clock, and pacing up and down, Until, at length, he came and sat by me, To try his hackneyed tricks of blandishment.

He had not meant, he said, to give offense; But women in a crowd were out of place.

He wished to see the aeronauts embark, And meet some friends; but there would be a throng Of boys and drunken boors around the car, And I should not enjoy it; more than this, The rise would be a finer spectacle At home than on the ground. I gave a.s.sent, And he went out. Of course, I followed him; For I had learned to read him, and I knew There was some precious scheme of sin on foot.

The crowd was heavy, and his form was lost Quick as it touched the ma.s.s; but I pressed on, Wild shouts and laughter punishing my ears, Till I could see the bloated, breathing cone, As if it were some monster of the sky Caught by a net and fastened to the earth-- A b.u.t.t for jeers to all the merry mob.

But I was distant still; and if a man In mad impatience tore a pa.s.sage from The crowd that pressed upon him, or a girl, Frightened or fainting, was allowed escape, I slid like water to the vacant s.p.a.ce, And thus, by deftly won advances, gained The stand I coveted.

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

Then at a distance rose a scattering shout That fixed the vision of the mult.i.tude, Standing on eager tiptoe, and afar I saw the crowd give way, and make a path For the pale heroes of the crazy hour.

Hats were tossed wildly as they struggled on, And the gap closed behind them, till, at length, They stood within the ring. Oh, d.a.m.ning sight!

The woman was a painted courtezan; The man, my husband! I was dumb as death.

My teeth were clenched together like a vise, And every heavy heart-throb was a chill.

But there I stood, and saw the shame go on.

They took their seats; the signal gun was fired; The cords were loosed; and then the billowy bulk Shot toward the zenith!

Never bent the sky With a more cloudless depth of blue than then; And, as they rose, I saw his faithless arm Slide o'er her shoulder, and her dizzy head Drop on his breast. Then I became insane.

I felt that I was struggling with a dream-- A horrid phantasm I could not shake off.

The hollow sky was swinging like a bell; The silken monster swinging like its tongue; And as it reeled from side to side, the roar Of voices round me rang, and rang again, Tolling the dreadful knell of my despair.

At the last moment I could trace his form, Edward leaned over from his giddy seat, And tossed out something on the air. I saw The little missive fluttering slowly down, And stretched my hand to catch it, for I knew, Or thought I knew, that it would come to me.

And it did come to me--as if it slid Upon the cord that bound my heart to his-- Strained to its utmost tension--snapped at last.

I marked it as it fell. It was a rose.

I grasped it madly as it struck my hand, And buried all its thorns within my palm; But the fierce pain released my prisoned voice, And, with a shriek, I staggered, swooned, and fell.

That night was brushed from life. A pa.s.sing friend Directed those who bore me rudely off; And I was carried to my home, and laid Entranced upon my bed. The Sabbath morn That followed all this din and devilry Swung noiseless wide its doors of yellow light, And in the hallowed stillness I awoke.

My heart was still; I could not stir a hand.

I thought that I was dying, or was dead.-- That I had slipped through smooth unconsciousness Into the everlasting silences.

I could not speak; but winning strength, at last, I turned my eyes to seek for Edward's face, And saw an unpressed pillow. He was gone!

I was oppressed with awful sense of loss; And, as a mother, by a turbid sea That has engulfed her fairest child, sits down And moans over the waters, and looks out With curious despair upon the waves, Until she marks a lock of floating hair, And by its threads of gold draws slowly in, And clasps and presses to her frenzied breast The form it has no power to warm again, So I, beside the sea of memory, Lay feebly moaning, yearning for a clew By which to reach my own extinguished life.

It came. A burning pain shot through my palm, And thorns awoke what thorns had put to sleep.

It all came back to me--the roar, the rush, The upturned faces, the insane hurrahs, The skyward-shooting spectacle, the shame-- And then I swooned again.

_Grace_.

But was he killed?

Did his foolhardy venture end in wreck?

Or did it end in something worse than wreck?

Surely, he came again!