Semiramis and Other Plays Part 59

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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l! 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 gla.s.s) You will?... No! (Puts gla.s.s 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 sh.o.r.es of dream man strides a G.o.d!... (Pours another gla.s.s) 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 h.e.l.l let us be merry about it.