SCENE I.—The end of the Yew-tree Avenue under MILDRED'S Window.A light seen through a central red paneEnter TRESHAM through the treesAgain here! But I cannot lose myself.The heath—the orchard—I have traversed gladesAnd dells and bosky paths which used to leadInto green wild-wood depths, bewilderingMy boy's adventurous step. And now they tendHither or soon or late; the blackest shadeBreaks up, the thronged trunks of the trees ope wide,And the dim turret I have fled from, frontsAgain my step; the very river putIts arm about me and conducted meTo this detested spot. Why then, I'll shunTheir will no longer: do your will with me!Oh, bitter! To have reared a towering schemeOf happiness, and to behold it razed,Were nothing: all men hope, and see their hopesFrustrate, and grieve awhile, and hope anew.But I... to hope that from a line like oursNo horrid prodigy like this would spring,Were just as though I hoped that from these oldConfederates against the sovereign day,Children of older and yet older sires,Whose living coral berries dropped, as nowOn me, on many a baron's surcoat once,On many a beauty's whimple—would proceedNo poison-tree, to thrust, from hell its root,Hither and thither its strange snaky arms.Why came I here? What must I do?[A bell strikes.]A bell?Midnight! and 'tis at midnight... Ah, I catch—Woods, river, plains, I catch your meaning now,And I obey you! Hist! This tree will serve.[He retires behind one of the trees. After a pause,enter MERTOUN cloaked as before.]MERTOUN. Not time! Beat out thy last voluptuous beatOf hope and fear, my heart! I thought the clockI' the chapel struck as I was pushing throughThe ferns. And so I shall no more see riseMy love-star! Oh, no matter for the past!So much the more delicious task to watchMildred revive: to pluck out, thorn by thorn,All traces of the rough forbidden pathMy rash love lured her to! Each day must seeSome fear of hers effaced, some hope renewed:Then there will be surprises, unforeseenDelights in store. I'll not regret the past.[The light is placed above in the purple pane.]And see, my signal rises, Mildred's star!I never saw it lovelier than nowIt rises for the last time. If it sets,'Tis that the re-assuring sun may dawn.[As he prepares to ascend the last tree of the avenue,TRESHAM arrests his arm.]Unhand me—peasant, by your grasp! Here's gold.'Twas a mad freak of mine. I said I'd pluckA branch from the white-blossomed shrub beneathThe casement there. Take this, and hold your peace.TRESHAM. Into the moonlight yonder, come with me!Out of the shadow!MERTOUN. I am armed, fool!TRESHAM. Yes,Or no? You'll come into the light, or no?My hand is on your throat—refuse!—MERTOUN. That voice!Where have I heard... no—that was mild and slow.I'll come with you.[They advance.]TRESHAM. You're armed: that's well. DeclareYour name: who are you?MERTOUN. (Tresham!—she is lost!)TRESHAM. Oh, silent? Do you know, you bear yourselfExactly as, in curious dreams I've hadHow felons, this wild earth is full of, lookWhen they're detected, still your kind has looked!The bravo holds an assured countenance,The thief is voluble and plausible,But silently the slave of lust has crouchedWhen I have fancied it before a man.Your name!MERTOUN. I do conjure Lord Tresham—ay,Kissing his foot, if so I might prevail—That he for his own sake forbear to askMy name! As heaven's above, his future wealOr woe depends upon my silence! Vain!I read your white inexorable face.Know me, Lord Tresham![He throws off his disguises.]TRESHAM. Mertoun![After a pause.]Draw now!MERTOUN. Hear meBut speak first!TRESHAM. Not one least word on your life!Be sure that I will strangle in your throatThe least word that informs me how you liveAnd yet seem what you seem! No doubt 'twas youTaught Mildred still to keep that face and sin.We should join hands in frantic sympathyIf you once taught me the unteachable,Explained how you can live so and so lie.With God's help I retain, despite my sense,The old belief—a life like yours is stillImpossible. Now draw!MERTOUN. Not for my sake,Do I entreat a hearing—for your sake,And most, for her sake!TRESHAM. Ha, ha, what should IKnow of your ways? A miscreant like yourself,How must one rouse his ire? A blow?—that's prideNo doubt, to him! One spurns him, does one not?Or sets the foot upon his mouth, or spitsInto his face! Come! Which, or all of these?MERTOUN. 'Twixt him and me and Mildred, Heaven be judge!Can I avoid this? Have your will, my lord![He draws and, after a few passes, falls.]TRESHAM. You are not hurt?MERTOUN. You'll hear me now!TRESHAM. But rise!MERTOUN. Ah, Tresham, say I not "you'll hear me now!"And what procures a man the right to speakIn his defence before his fellow man,But—I suppose—the thought that presentlyHe may have leave to speak before his GodHis whole defence?TRESHAM. Not hurt? It cannot be!You made no effort to resist me. WhereDid my sword reach you? Why not have returnedMy thrusts? Hurt where?MERTOUN. My lord—TRESHAM. How young he is!MERTOUN. Lord Tresham, I am very young, and yetI have entangled other lives with mine.Do let me speak, and do believe my speech!That when I die before you presently,—TRESHAM. Can you stay here till I return with help?MERTOUN. Oh, stay by me! When I was less than boyI did you grievous wrong and knew it not—Upon my honour, knew it not! Once known,I could not find what seemed a better wayTo right you than I took: my life—you feelHow less than nothing were the giving youThe life you've taken! But I thought my wayThe better—only for your sake and hers:And as you have decided otherwise,Would I had an infinity of livesTo offer you! Now say—instruct me—think!Can you, from the brief minutes I have left,Eke out my reparation? Oh think—think!For I must wring a partial—dare I say,Forgiveness from you, ere I die?TRESHAM. I doForgive you.MERTOUN. Wait and ponder that great word!Because, if you forgive me, I shall hopeTo speak to you of—Mildred!TRESHAM. Mertoun, hasteAnd anger have undone us. 'Tis not youShould tell me for a novelty you're young,Thoughtless, unable to recall the past.Be but your pardon ample as my own!MERTOUN. Ah, Tresham, that a sword-stroke and a dropOf blood or two, should bring all this aboutWhy, 'twas my very fear of you, my loveOf you—(what passion like a boy's for oneLike you?)—that ruined me! I dreamed of you—You, all accomplished, courted everywhere,The scholar and the gentleman. I burnedTo knit myself to you: but I was young,And your surpassing reputation kept meSo far aloof! Oh, wherefore all that love?With less of love, my glorious yesterdayOf praise and gentlest words and kindest looks,Had taken place perchance six months ago.Even now, how happy we had been! And yetI know the thought of this escaped you, Tresham!Let me look up into your face; I feel'Tis changed above me: yet my eyes are glazed.Where? where?[As he endeavours to raise himself, his eye catches the lamp.]Ah, Mildred! What will Mildred do?Tresham, her life is bound up in the lifeThat's bleeding fast away! I'll live—must live,There, if you'll only turn me I shall liveAnd save her! Tresham—oh, had you but heard!Had you but heard! What right was yours to setThe thoughtless foot upon her life and mine,And then say, as we perish, "Had I thought,All had gone otherwise"? We've sinned and die:Never you sin, Lord Tresham! for you'll die,And God will judge you.TRESHAM. Yes, be satisfied!That process is begun.MERTOUN. And she sits thereWaiting for me! Now, say you this to her—You, not another—say, I saw him dieAs he breathed this, "I love her"—you don't knowWhat those three small words mean! Say, loving herLowers me down the bloody slope to deathWith memories... I speak to her, not you,Who had no pity, will have no remorse,Perchance intend her... Die along with me,Dear Mildred! 'tis so easy, and you'll 'scapeSo much unkindness! Can I lie at rest,With rude speech spoken to you, ruder deedsDone to you?—heartless men shall have my heart,And I tied down with grave-clothes and the worm,Aware, perhaps, of every blow—oh God!—Upon those lips—yet of no power to tearThe felon stripe by stripe! Die, Mildred! LeaveTheir honourable world to them! For GodWe're good enough, though the world casts us out.[A whistle is heard.]TRESHAM. Ho, Gerard!Enter GERARD, AUSTIN and GUENDOLEN, with lightsNo one speak! You see what's done.I cannot bear another voice.MERTOUN. There's light—Light all about me, and I move to it.Tresham, did I not tell you—did you notJust promise to deliver words of mineTo Mildred?TRESHAM. I will bear those words to her.MERTOUN. Now?TRESHAM. Now. Lift you the body, and leave meThe head.[As they have half raised MERTOUN, he turns suddenly.]MERTOUN. I knew they turned me: turn me not from her!There! stay you! there![Dies.]GUENDOLEN [after a pause]. Austin, remain you hereWith Thorold until Gerard comes with help:Then lead him to his chamber. I must goTo Mildred.TRESHAM. Guendolen, I hear each wordYou utter. Did you hear him bid me giveHis message? Did you hear my promise? I,And only I, see Mildred.GUENDOLEN. She will die.TRESHAM. Oh no, she will not die! I dare not hopeShe'll die. What ground have you to think she'll die?Why, Austin's with you!AUSTIN. Had we but arrivedBefore you fought!TRESHAM. There was no fight at all.He let me slaughter him—the boy! I'll trustThe body there to you and Gerard—thus!Now bear him on before me.AUSTIN. Whither bear him?TRESHAM. Oh, to my chamber! When we meet there next,We shall be friends.[They bear out the body of MERTOUN.]Will she die, Guendolen?GUENDOLEN. Where are you taking me?TRESHAM. He fell just here.Now answer me. Shall you in your whole life—You who have nought to do with Mertoun's fate,Now you have seen his breast upon the turf,Shall you e'er walk this way if you can help?When you and Austin wander arm-in-armThrough our ancestral grounds, will not a shadeBe ever on the meadow and the waste—Another kind of shade than when the nightShuts the woodside with all its whispers up?But will you ever so forget his breastAs carelessly to cross this bloody turfUnder the black yew avenue? That's well!You turn your head: and I then?—GUENDOLEN. What is doneIs done. My care is for the living. Thorold,Bear up against this burden: more remainsTo set the neck to!TRESHAM. Dear and ancient treesMy fathers planted, and I loved so well!What have I done that, like some fabled crimeOf yore, lets loose a Fury leading thusHer miserable dance amidst you all?Oh, never more for me shall winds intoneWith all your tops a vast antiphony,Demanding and responding in God's praise!Hers ye are now, not mine! Farewell—farewell!
SCENE II.—MILDRED'S ChamberMILDRED aloneHe comes not! I have heard of those who seemedResourceless in prosperity,—you thoughtSorrow might slay them when she listed; yetDid they so gather up their diffused strengthAt her first menace, that they bade her strike,And stood and laughed her subtlest skill to scorn.Oh, 'tis not so with me! The first woe fell,And the rest fall upon it, not on me:Else should I bear that Henry comes not?—failsJust this first night out of so many nights?Loving is done with. Were he sitting now,As so few hours since, on that seat, we'd loveNo more—contrive no thousand happy waysTo hide love from the loveless, any more.I think I might have urged some little pointIn my defence, to Thorold; he was breathlessFor the least hint of a defence: but no,The first shame over, all that would might fall.No Henry! Yet I merely sit and thinkThe morn's deed o'er and o'er. I must have creptOut of myself. A Mildred that has lostHer lover—oh, I dare not look uponSuch woe! I crouch away from it! 'Tis she,Mildred, will break her heart, not I! The worldForsakes me: only Henry's left me—left?When I have lost him, for he does not come,And I sit stupidly... Oh Heaven, break upThis worse than anguish, this mad apathy,By any means or any messenger!TRESHAM [without]. Mildred!MILDRED. Come in! Heaven hears me![Enter TRESHAM.]You? alone?Oh, no more cursing!TRESHAM. Mildred, I must sit.There—you sit!MILDRED. Say it, Thorold—do not lookThe curse! deliver all you come to say!What must become of me? Oh, speak that thoughtWhich makes your brow and cheeks so pale!TRESHAM. My thought?MILDRED. All of it!TRESHAM. How we waded years—ago—After those water-lilies, till the plash,I know not how, surprised us; and you daredNeither advance nor turn back: so, we stoodLaughing and crying until Gerard came—Once safe upon the turf, the loudest too,For once more reaching the relinquished prize!How idle thoughts are, some men's, dying men's!Mildred,—MILDRED. You call me kindlier by my nameThan even yesterday: what is in that?TRESHAM. It weighs so much upon my mind that IThis morning took an office not my own!I might... of course, I must be glad or grieved,Content or not, at every little thingThat touches you. I may with a wrung heartEven reprove you, Mildred; I did more:Will you forgive me?MILDRED. Thorold? do you mock?Oh no... and yet you bid me... say that word!TRESHAM. Forgive me, Mildred!—are you silent, Sweet?MILDRED [starting up]. Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night?Are you, too, silent?[Dashing his mantle aside, and pointing to his scabbard,which is empty.]Ah, this speaks for you!You've murdered Henry Mertoun! Now proceed!What is it I must pardon? This and all?Well, I do pardon you—I think I do.Thorold, how very wretched you must be!TRESHAM. He bade me tell you...MILDRED. What I do forbidYour utterance of! So much that you may tellAnd will not—how you murdered him... but, no!You'll tell me that he loved me, never moreThan bleeding out his life there: must I say"Indeed," to that? Enough! I pardon you.TRESHAM. You cannot, Mildred! for the harsh words, yes:Of this last deed Another's judge: whose doomI wait in doubt, despondency and fear.MILDRED. Oh, true! There's nought for me to pardon! True!You loose my soul of all its cares at once.Death makes me sure of him for ever! YouTell me his last words? He shall tell me them,And take my answer—not in words, but readingHimself the heart I had to read him late,Which death...TRESHAM. Death? You are dying too? Well saidOf Guendolen! I dared not hope you'd die:But she was sure of it.MILDRED. Tell GuendolenI loved her, and tell Austin...TRESHAM. Him you loved:And me?MILDRED. Ah, Thorold! Was't not rashly doneTo quench that blood, on fire with youth and hopeAnd love of me—whom you loved too, and yetSuffered to sit here waiting his approachWhile you were slaying him? Oh, doubtlesslyYou let him speak his poor confused boy's-speech—Do his poor utmost to disarm your wrathAnd respite me!—you let him try to giveThe story of our love and ignorance,And the brief madness and the long despair—You let him plead all this, because your codeOf honour bids you hear before you strike:But at the end, as he looked up for lifeInto your eyes—you struck him down!TRESHAM. No! No!Had I but heard him—had I let him speakHalf the truth—less—had I looked long on himI had desisted! Why, as he lay there,The moon on his flushed cheek, I gathered allThe story ere he told it: I saw throughThe troubled surface of his crime and yoursA depth of purity immovable,Had I but glanced, where all seemed turbidestHad gleamed some inlet to the calm beneath;I would not glance: my punishment's at hand.There, Mildred, is the truth! and you—say on—You curse me?MILDRED. As I dare approach that HeavenWhich has not bade a living thing despair,Which needs no code to keep its grace from stain,But bids the vilest worm that turns on itDesist and be forgiven,—I—forgive not,But bless you, Thorold, from my soul of souls![Falls on his neck.]There! Do not think too much upon the past!The cloud that's broke was all the same a cloudWhile it stood up between my friend and you;You hurt him 'neath its shadow: but is thatSo past retrieve? I have his heart, you know;I may dispose of it: I give it you!It loves you as mine loves! Confirm me, Henry![Dies.]TRESHAM. I wish thee joy, Beloved! I am gladIn thy full gladness!GUENDOLEN [without]. Mildred! Tresham![Entering with AUSTIN.]Thorold,I could desist no longer. Ah, she swoons!That's well.TRESHAM. Oh, better far than that!GUENDOLEN. She's dead!Let me unlock her arms!TRESHAM. She threw them thusAbout my neck, and blessed me, and then died:You'll let them stay now, Guendolen!AUSTIN. Leave herAnd look to him! What ails you, Thorold?GUENDOLEN. WhiteAs she, and whiter! Austin! quick—this side!AUSTIN. A froth is oozing through his clenched teeth;Both lips, where they're not bitten through, are black:Speak, dearest Thorold!TRESHAM. Something does weigh downMy neck beside her weight: thanks: I should fallBut for you, Austin, I believe!—there, there,'Twill pass away soon!—ah,—I had forgotten:I am dying.GUENDOLEN. Thorold—Thorold—why was this?TRESHAM. I said, just as I drank the poison off,The earth would be no longer earth to me,The life out of all life was gone from me.There are blind ways provided, the fore-doneHeart-weary player in this pageant-worldDrops out by, letting the main masque defileBy the conspicuous portal: I am through—Just through!GUENDOLEN. Don't leave him, Austin! Death is close.TRESHAM. Already Mildred's face is peacefuller,I see you, Austin—feel you; here's my hand,Put yours in it—you, Guendolen, yours too!You're lord and lady now—you're Treshams; nameAnd fame are yours: you hold our 'scutcheon up.Austin, no blot on it! You see how bloodMust wash one blot away: the first blot cameAnd the first blood came. To the vain world's eyeAll's gules again: no care to the vain world,From whence the red was drawn!AUSTIN. No blot shall come!TRESHAM. I said that: yet it did come. Should it come,Vengeance is God's, not man's. Remember me![Dies.]GUENDOLEN [letting fall the pulseless arm].Ah, Thorold, we can but—remember you!
The End