DIPSYCHUS CONTINUED.A FRAGMENT.

[An interval of thirty years.]

Dipsychus.O God! O God! and must I still go onDoing this work—I know not, hell’s or thine;And these rewards receiving—sure not thine;The adulation of a foolish crowd,Half foolish and half greedy; upright judge—Lawyer acute—the Mansfield and the HaleIn one united to bless modern Courts.O God! O God! According to the law,With solemn face to solemn sentence fit,Doing the justice that is but half just;Punishing wrong that is not truly wrong!Administering, alas, God! not Thy law.(Knock at the door.)What? Is the hour already for the Court?Come in. Now, Lord Chief Justice, to thy work.(Enter a Servant.)Serv.My lord, a woman begging to be seen.Di.A woman begging to be seen? What’s this?’Tis not the duty of your post, my friend,To give admittance on the busy daysOf a hard labourer in this great worldTo all poor creatures begging to be seen.Something unusual in it? Bid her waitIn the room below, I’ll see her as I pass.Is the horse there?Serv.He’s coming round, my lord.Di.Say I will see her as I pass. (Exit Servant.)I have but one way left; but that one way,On which once entered, there is no return;And as there’s no return, no looking back,Amidst the smoky tumult of this fieldWhereon, enlisted once, in arms we stand,Nor know, nor e’en remotely can divineThe sense, or purport, or the probable end,One only guide to our blind work we keep,To obey orders, and to fight it out.Some hapless sad petitioner, no doubt,With the true plaintiveness of real distress,Twisting her misery to a marketable lie,To waste my close-shorn interval of rest.Shecame upon me in my weaker thoughts,Those weaker thoughts that still indeed recur,But come, my servants, at a word to go.(Enter Woman.)What is it? what have you to say to me?Who are you?Wom.Once you knew me well enough.Di.Oh, you! I had been told that you were dead.Wom.So your creatures said;But I shall live, I think, till you die too.Di.What do you want? Money, subsistence, bread?Wom.I wanted bread, money, all things, ’tis true,But wanted, above all things, to see you.Di.This cannot be. What has been done is o’er.You have no claim or right against me more;I have dealt justly with you to the uttermost.Wom.I did not come to say you were unjust—I came to see you only.Di.Hear me now.Remember, it was not the marriage vow,Nor promise e’er of chaste fidelity,That joined us thirty years ago in a tieWhich I, I think, scarce sought. It was not IThat took your innocence; you spoiled me of mine.And yet, as though the vow had been divine,Was I not faithful? Were you so to me?Had you been white in spotless purity,Could I have clung to you more faithfully?I left you, after wrongs I blush with shameE’en now through all my fifty years to name.I left you; yet I stinted still my ease,—Curtailed my pleasures—toil still extra toil,—To repay you for what you never gave.Is it not true?Wom.Go on, say all and more.Upon this body, as the basis, liesThe ladder that has raised you to the skies.Di.Is that so much? am I indeed so high?Am I not ratherThe slave and servant of the wretched world,Liveried and finely dressed—yet all the sameA menial and lacquey seeking placeFor hire, and for his hire’s sake doing work?Wom.I do not know; you have wife and child I knowDomestic comfort and a noble name,And people speak in my ears too your praise.O man, O man! do you not know in your heartIt was for this you came to me—It was for this I took you to my breast?O man, man, man!You come to us with your dalliance in the street,You pay us with your miserable gold,You do not know how in the——Di.(looks at his watch). You must go now. Justicecalls me elsewhere;Justice—might keep you here.You may return again; stay, let me see—Six weeks to-morrow you shall see me again;Now you must go. Do you need money? here,It is your due: take it, that you may live;And see me, six weeks from to-morrow, elsewhere.Wom.I will not go;You must stay here and hear me, or I shall die!It were ill for you that I should.Di.What! shall the nation wait?Woman, if I have wronged you, it was for good—Good has come of it. Lo, I have done some work.Over the blasted and the blackened spotOf our unhappy and unhallowed deedI have raised a mausoleum of such actsAs in this world do honour unto me,But in the next to thee.Wom.Hear me, I cannot go!Di.It cannot be; the court, the nation waits.Is not the work, too, yours?Wom.I go, to die this night!Di.I cannot help it. Duty lies here. Depart!Wom.Listen; before I die, one word! In old timesYou called me Pleasure—my name now is Guilt.

Dipsychus.O God! O God! and must I still go on

Doing this work—I know not, hell’s or thine;

And these rewards receiving—sure not thine;

The adulation of a foolish crowd,

Half foolish and half greedy; upright judge—

Lawyer acute—the Mansfield and the Hale

In one united to bless modern Courts.

O God! O God! According to the law,

With solemn face to solemn sentence fit,

Doing the justice that is but half just;

Punishing wrong that is not truly wrong!

Administering, alas, God! not Thy law.

(Knock at the door.)

What? Is the hour already for the Court?Come in. Now, Lord Chief Justice, to thy work.

What? Is the hour already for the Court?

Come in. Now, Lord Chief Justice, to thy work.

(Enter a Servant.)

Serv.My lord, a woman begging to be seen.

Di.A woman begging to be seen? What’s this?’Tis not the duty of your post, my friend,To give admittance on the busy daysOf a hard labourer in this great worldTo all poor creatures begging to be seen.Something unusual in it? Bid her waitIn the room below, I’ll see her as I pass.Is the horse there?

Di.A woman begging to be seen? What’s this?

’Tis not the duty of your post, my friend,

To give admittance on the busy days

Of a hard labourer in this great world

To all poor creatures begging to be seen.

Something unusual in it? Bid her wait

In the room below, I’ll see her as I pass.

Is the horse there?

Serv.He’s coming round, my lord.

Di.Say I will see her as I pass. (Exit Servant.)I have but one way left; but that one way,On which once entered, there is no return;And as there’s no return, no looking back,Amidst the smoky tumult of this fieldWhereon, enlisted once, in arms we stand,Nor know, nor e’en remotely can divineThe sense, or purport, or the probable end,One only guide to our blind work we keep,To obey orders, and to fight it out.Some hapless sad petitioner, no doubt,With the true plaintiveness of real distress,Twisting her misery to a marketable lie,To waste my close-shorn interval of rest.Shecame upon me in my weaker thoughts,Those weaker thoughts that still indeed recur,But come, my servants, at a word to go.

Di.Say I will see her as I pass. (Exit Servant.)

I have but one way left; but that one way,

On which once entered, there is no return;

And as there’s no return, no looking back,

Amidst the smoky tumult of this field

Whereon, enlisted once, in arms we stand,

Nor know, nor e’en remotely can divine

The sense, or purport, or the probable end,

One only guide to our blind work we keep,

To obey orders, and to fight it out.

Some hapless sad petitioner, no doubt,

With the true plaintiveness of real distress,

Twisting her misery to a marketable lie,

To waste my close-shorn interval of rest.

Shecame upon me in my weaker thoughts,

Those weaker thoughts that still indeed recur,

But come, my servants, at a word to go.

(Enter Woman.)

What is it? what have you to say to me?Who are you?

What is it? what have you to say to me?

Who are you?

Wom.Once you knew me well enough.

Di.Oh, you! I had been told that you were dead.

Wom.So your creatures said;But I shall live, I think, till you die too.

Wom.So your creatures said;

But I shall live, I think, till you die too.

Di.What do you want? Money, subsistence, bread?

Wom.I wanted bread, money, all things, ’tis true,But wanted, above all things, to see you.

Wom.I wanted bread, money, all things, ’tis true,

But wanted, above all things, to see you.

Di.This cannot be. What has been done is o’er.You have no claim or right against me more;I have dealt justly with you to the uttermost.

Di.This cannot be. What has been done is o’er.

You have no claim or right against me more;

I have dealt justly with you to the uttermost.

Wom.I did not come to say you were unjust—I came to see you only.

Wom.I did not come to say you were unjust—

I came to see you only.

Di.Hear me now.Remember, it was not the marriage vow,Nor promise e’er of chaste fidelity,That joined us thirty years ago in a tieWhich I, I think, scarce sought. It was not IThat took your innocence; you spoiled me of mine.And yet, as though the vow had been divine,Was I not faithful? Were you so to me?Had you been white in spotless purity,Could I have clung to you more faithfully?I left you, after wrongs I blush with shameE’en now through all my fifty years to name.I left you; yet I stinted still my ease,—Curtailed my pleasures—toil still extra toil,—To repay you for what you never gave.Is it not true?

Di.Hear me now.

Remember, it was not the marriage vow,

Nor promise e’er of chaste fidelity,

That joined us thirty years ago in a tie

Which I, I think, scarce sought. It was not I

That took your innocence; you spoiled me of mine.

And yet, as though the vow had been divine,

Was I not faithful? Were you so to me?

Had you been white in spotless purity,

Could I have clung to you more faithfully?

I left you, after wrongs I blush with shame

E’en now through all my fifty years to name.

I left you; yet I stinted still my ease,—

Curtailed my pleasures—toil still extra toil,—

To repay you for what you never gave.

Is it not true?

Wom.Go on, say all and more.Upon this body, as the basis, liesThe ladder that has raised you to the skies.

Wom.Go on, say all and more.

Upon this body, as the basis, lies

The ladder that has raised you to the skies.

Di.Is that so much? am I indeed so high?Am I not ratherThe slave and servant of the wretched world,Liveried and finely dressed—yet all the sameA menial and lacquey seeking placeFor hire, and for his hire’s sake doing work?

Di.Is that so much? am I indeed so high?

Am I not rather

The slave and servant of the wretched world,

Liveried and finely dressed—yet all the same

A menial and lacquey seeking place

For hire, and for his hire’s sake doing work?

Wom.I do not know; you have wife and child I knowDomestic comfort and a noble name,And people speak in my ears too your praise.O man, O man! do you not know in your heartIt was for this you came to me—It was for this I took you to my breast?O man, man, man!You come to us with your dalliance in the street,You pay us with your miserable gold,You do not know how in the——

Wom.I do not know; you have wife and child I know

Domestic comfort and a noble name,

And people speak in my ears too your praise.

O man, O man! do you not know in your heart

It was for this you came to me—

It was for this I took you to my breast?

O man, man, man!

You come to us with your dalliance in the street,

You pay us with your miserable gold,

You do not know how in the——

Di.(looks at his watch). You must go now. Justicecalls me elsewhere;Justice—might keep you here.You may return again; stay, let me see—Six weeks to-morrow you shall see me again;Now you must go. Do you need money? here,It is your due: take it, that you may live;And see me, six weeks from to-morrow, elsewhere.

Di.(looks at his watch). You must go now. Justice

calls me elsewhere;

Justice—might keep you here.

You may return again; stay, let me see—

Six weeks to-morrow you shall see me again;

Now you must go. Do you need money? here,

It is your due: take it, that you may live;

And see me, six weeks from to-morrow, elsewhere.

Wom.I will not go;You must stay here and hear me, or I shall die!It were ill for you that I should.

Wom.I will not go;

You must stay here and hear me, or I shall die!

It were ill for you that I should.

Di.What! shall the nation wait?Woman, if I have wronged you, it was for good—Good has come of it. Lo, I have done some work.Over the blasted and the blackened spotOf our unhappy and unhallowed deedI have raised a mausoleum of such actsAs in this world do honour unto me,But in the next to thee.

Di.What! shall the nation wait?

Woman, if I have wronged you, it was for good—

Good has come of it. Lo, I have done some work.

Over the blasted and the blackened spot

Of our unhappy and unhallowed deed

I have raised a mausoleum of such acts

As in this world do honour unto me,

But in the next to thee.

Wom.Hear me, I cannot go!

Di.It cannot be; the court, the nation waits.Is not the work, too, yours?

Di.It cannot be; the court, the nation waits.

Is not the work, too, yours?

Wom.I go, to die this night!

Di.I cannot help it. Duty lies here. Depart!

Wom.Listen; before I die, one word! In old timesYou called me Pleasure—my name now is Guilt.

Wom.Listen; before I die, one word! In old times

You called me Pleasure—my name now is Guilt.

1st Barrister.They say the Lord Chief Justice is unwell;Did you observe how, after that decisionWhich all the world admired so, suddenlyHe became pale and looked in the air and staggered,As if some phantom floated on his eyes?He is a strange man.Bar. 2.He is unwell, there is no doubt of that,But why or how is quite another question.It is odd to find so stern and strong a manGive way before he’s sixty. Many a mind,Apparently less vigorous than his,Has kept its full judicial faculty,And sat the woolsack past threescore and ten.Bar. 3.No business to be done to-day. Have you heardThe Chief Justice is lying dangerously ill?Apoplexy, paralysis, Heaven knows what—some seizure.Bar. 1.Heavens! that will be a loss indeed!Bar. 2.A lossWhich will be some one’s gain, however.Bar. 1.Not the nation’s,If this sage Chancellor give it to ——But is he really sure to die, do you think?Bar. 3.A very sudden and very alarming attack.And now you know to the full as much as I,Or, as I fancy, any lawyer here.Bar. 2.Do you know anything of his early life?Bar. 1.My father knew him at college: a reading man,The quietest of the quiet, shy and timid.And college honours past,No one believed he ever would do anything.Bar. 2.He was a moral sort of prig, I’ve heard,Till he was twenty-five; and even thenHe never entered into life as most men.That is the reason why he fails so soon.It takes high feeding and a well-taught conscienceTo breed your mighty hero of the law.So much the worse for him; so much the betterFor all expectants now.Bar. 3.For ——, for one.Bar. 2.Well, there’ll be several changes, as I think.Not that I think the shock of new promotionWill vibrate quite perceptibly down here.There was a story that I once was told,Some woman that they used to tease him with.Bar. 1.He grew too stern for teasing before long;A man with greater power of what I thinkThey call, in some new sense of the word, Repulsion,I think I never saw in all my life.Bar. 2.A most forbidding man in private life,I’ve always heard. What’s this new news?Bar. 4.The Lord Chief Justice has resigned.Bar. 1, 2, 3.Is it true?Really? Quite certain?Bar. 4.Publicly announced.You’re quite behind. Most probably ere thisTheTimeshas got it in a new edition.

1st Barrister.They say the Lord Chief Justice is unwell;

Did you observe how, after that decision

Which all the world admired so, suddenly

He became pale and looked in the air and staggered,

As if some phantom floated on his eyes?

He is a strange man.

Bar. 2.He is unwell, there is no doubt of that,But why or how is quite another question.It is odd to find so stern and strong a manGive way before he’s sixty. Many a mind,Apparently less vigorous than his,Has kept its full judicial faculty,And sat the woolsack past threescore and ten.

Bar. 2.He is unwell, there is no doubt of that,

But why or how is quite another question.

It is odd to find so stern and strong a man

Give way before he’s sixty. Many a mind,

Apparently less vigorous than his,

Has kept its full judicial faculty,

And sat the woolsack past threescore and ten.

Bar. 3.No business to be done to-day. Have you heardThe Chief Justice is lying dangerously ill?Apoplexy, paralysis, Heaven knows what—some seizure.

Bar. 3.No business to be done to-day. Have you heard

The Chief Justice is lying dangerously ill?

Apoplexy, paralysis, Heaven knows what—some seizure.

Bar. 1.Heavens! that will be a loss indeed!

Bar. 2.A lossWhich will be some one’s gain, however.

Bar. 2.A loss

Which will be some one’s gain, however.

Bar. 1.Not the nation’s,If this sage Chancellor give it to ——But is he really sure to die, do you think?

Bar. 1.Not the nation’s,

If this sage Chancellor give it to ——

But is he really sure to die, do you think?

Bar. 3.A very sudden and very alarming attack.And now you know to the full as much as I,Or, as I fancy, any lawyer here.

Bar. 3.A very sudden and very alarming attack.

And now you know to the full as much as I,

Or, as I fancy, any lawyer here.

Bar. 2.Do you know anything of his early life?

Bar. 1.My father knew him at college: a reading man,The quietest of the quiet, shy and timid.And college honours past,No one believed he ever would do anything.

Bar. 1.My father knew him at college: a reading man,

The quietest of the quiet, shy and timid.

And college honours past,

No one believed he ever would do anything.

Bar. 2.He was a moral sort of prig, I’ve heard,Till he was twenty-five; and even thenHe never entered into life as most men.That is the reason why he fails so soon.It takes high feeding and a well-taught conscienceTo breed your mighty hero of the law.So much the worse for him; so much the betterFor all expectants now.

Bar. 2.He was a moral sort of prig, I’ve heard,

Till he was twenty-five; and even then

He never entered into life as most men.

That is the reason why he fails so soon.

It takes high feeding and a well-taught conscience

To breed your mighty hero of the law.

So much the worse for him; so much the better

For all expectants now.

Bar. 3.For ——, for one.

Bar. 2.Well, there’ll be several changes, as I think.Not that I think the shock of new promotionWill vibrate quite perceptibly down here.There was a story that I once was told,Some woman that they used to tease him with.

Bar. 2.Well, there’ll be several changes, as I think.

Not that I think the shock of new promotion

Will vibrate quite perceptibly down here.

There was a story that I once was told,

Some woman that they used to tease him with.

Bar. 1.He grew too stern for teasing before long;A man with greater power of what I thinkThey call, in some new sense of the word, Repulsion,I think I never saw in all my life.

Bar. 1.He grew too stern for teasing before long;

A man with greater power of what I think

They call, in some new sense of the word, Repulsion,

I think I never saw in all my life.

Bar. 2.A most forbidding man in private life,I’ve always heard. What’s this new news?

Bar. 2.A most forbidding man in private life,

I’ve always heard. What’s this new news?

Bar. 4.The Lord Chief Justice has resigned.

Bar. 1, 2, 3.Is it true?Really? Quite certain?

Bar. 1, 2, 3.Is it true?

Really? Quite certain?

Bar. 4.Publicly announced.You’re quite behind. Most probably ere thisTheTimeshas got it in a new edition.

Bar. 4.Publicly announced.

You’re quite behind. Most probably ere this

TheTimeshas got it in a new edition.

Di.She will come yet, I think, although she saidShe would go hence and die; I cannot tell.Should I have made the nation’s business wait,That I might listen to an old sad taleUselessly iterated? Ah—ah me!I am grown weak indeed; those old black thoughtsNo more as servants at my bidding go,But as stern tyrants look me in the face,And mock my reason’s inefficient handThat sways to wave them hence.Serv.You rung, my lord?Di.Come here, my friend. The woman,A beggar-woman, whom six weeks ago,As you remember, you admitted to me,You may admit again if she returns. [Exit Servant.Will she return? or did she die? I searchedNewspaper columns through to find a traceOf some poor corpse discovered in the Thames,Weltering in filth or stranded on the shoals.‘You called me Pleasure once, I now am Guilt.’Is that her voice?—‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt—and after thisGuilt evermore.’ I hear her voice again.‘Once Guilt, but now’—I know not what it says;—Some word in some strange language, that my earsHave never heard, yet seem to long to know.‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt, and after this’—What does she say?—...

Di.She will come yet, I think, although she said

She would go hence and die; I cannot tell.

Should I have made the nation’s business wait,

That I might listen to an old sad tale

Uselessly iterated? Ah—ah me!

I am grown weak indeed; those old black thoughts

No more as servants at my bidding go,

But as stern tyrants look me in the face,

And mock my reason’s inefficient hand

That sways to wave them hence.

Serv.You rung, my lord?

Di.Come here, my friend. The woman,A beggar-woman, whom six weeks ago,As you remember, you admitted to me,You may admit again if she returns. [Exit Servant.

Di.Come here, my friend. The woman,

A beggar-woman, whom six weeks ago,

As you remember, you admitted to me,

You may admit again if she returns. [Exit Servant.

Will she return? or did she die? I searchedNewspaper columns through to find a traceOf some poor corpse discovered in the Thames,Weltering in filth or stranded on the shoals.

Will she return? or did she die? I searched

Newspaper columns through to find a trace

Of some poor corpse discovered in the Thames,

Weltering in filth or stranded on the shoals.

‘You called me Pleasure once, I now am Guilt.’Is that her voice?—‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt—and after thisGuilt evermore.’ I hear her voice again.‘Once Guilt, but now’—I know not what it says;—Some word in some strange language, that my earsHave never heard, yet seem to long to know.‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt, and after this’—What does she say?—...

‘You called me Pleasure once, I now am Guilt.’

Is that her voice?—

‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt—and after this

Guilt evermore.’ I hear her voice again.

‘Once Guilt, but now’—I know not what it says;—

Some word in some strange language, that my ears

Have never heard, yet seem to long to know.

‘Once Pleasure and now Guilt, and after this’—

What does she say?—...

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