Bitter-Sweet: A Poem Part 11

_Mary_.

To me, no more.

He had his reasons, and I knew them soon; But, first, the fire enkindled in my brain Burnt through long weeks of fever--burnt my frame Until it lay upon the sheet as white As the pale ashes of a wasted coal.

Then, when strength came to me, and I could sit, Braced by the double pillows that were mine, A kind friend took my hand, and told me all.

The day that Edward left me was the last He could have been my husband; for the next Disclosed his infamy and my disgrace.

He was a thief, and had been one, for years,-- Defrauding those whose gold he held in trust; And he was ruined--ruined utterly.

The very bed I sat on was not his, Nor mine, except by tender charity.

A guilty secret menacing behind, A guilty pa.s.sion burning in his heart, And, by his side, a guilty paramour, He seized upon this reckless whim, and fled From those he knew would curse him ere he slept.

My cup was filled with wormwood; and it grew Bitter and still more bitter, day by day, Changing from shame and hate, to stern revenge.

Life had no more for me. My home was lost; My heart unfitted to return to this; And, reckless of the future, I went forth-- A woman stricken, maddened, desperate.

I sought the city with as sure a scent As vultures track a carca.s.s through the air.

I knew him there, delivered up to sin, And longed to taunt him with his infamy,-- To haunt his haunts; to sting his perjured soul With sharp reproaches; and to scare his eyes-- With visions of his work upon my face.

But G.o.d had other means than my revenge To humble him, and other thought for me.

I saw him only once; we did not meet; There was a street between us; yet it seemed Wide as the unbridged gulf that yawns between The rich man and the beggar.

'Twas at dawn.

I had arisen from the sleepless bed Which my scant means had purchased, and gone forth To taste the air, and cool my burning brow.

I wandered on, not knowing where I went, Nor caring whither. There were few astir; The market wagons lumbered slowly in, Piled high with carca.s.ses of slaughtered lambs, Baskets of unhusked corn, and mint, and all The fresh, green things that grow in country fields.

I read the signs--the long and curious names-- And wondered who invented them, and if Their owners knew how very strange they were.

A corps of weary firemen met me once, Late home from service, with their gaudy car, And loud with careless curses. Then I stopped, And chatted with a frowsy-headed girl Who knelt among her draggled skirts, and scrubbed The heel-worn doorsteps of a faded house.

Then, as I left her, and resumed my walk, I turned my eyes across the street, and saw A sight which stopped my feet, my breath, my heart.

It was my husband. Oh, how sadly changed!

His bloodshot eyes stared from an anxious face; His hat was battered, and his clothes were torn And splashed with mud. His poisoned frame Had shrunk away, until his garments hung In folds about him. Then I knew it all: His life had been a measureless debauch Since his most shameless flight; and in his eye, Eager and strained, and peering down the stairs That tumbled to the anterooms of h.e.l.l, I saw the thirst which only death can quench.

He did not raise his eyes; I did not speak; There was no work for me to do on him; And when, at last, he tottered down the steps Of a dark gin-shop, I was satisfied, And half relentingly retraced my way.

I cannot tell the story of the months That followed this. I toiled and toiled for bread, And for the shelter of one stingy room.

Temptation, which the hand of poverty Bears oft seductively to woman's lips, To me came not. I hated men like beasts; Their flattering words, and wicked, wanton leers, Sickened me with ineffable disgust.

At length there came a change. One warm Spring eve, As I sat idly dreaming of the past, And questioning the future, my quick ear Caught sound of feet upon the creaking stairs, And a light rap delivered at my door.

I said, "Come in!" with half-defiant voice, Although I longed to see a human face, And needed labor for my idle hands.

But when the door was opened, and there stood A man before me, with an eye as pure And brow as fair as any little child's, Matched with a form and carriage which combined All manly beauty, dignity, and grace, A quick blush overwhelmed my pallid cheeks, And, ere I knew, and by no act of will, I rose and gave him gentle courtesy.

He took a seat, and spoke with pleasant voice Of many pleasant things--the pleasant sky, The stars, the opening foliage in the park; And then he came to business. He would have A piece of exquisite embroidery; My hand was cunning if report were true; Would it oblige him? It would do, I said, That which it could to satisfy his wish; And when he took the delicate pattern out, And spread the dainty fabric on his knees, I knew he had a wife.

He went away With kind "Good night," and said that, with my leave, He'd call and watch the progress of the work.

I marked his careful steps adown the stairs, And then, his brisk, firm tread upon the pave, Till in the dull roar of the distant streets It mingled and was lost. Then I was lost,-- Lost in a wild, wide-ranging reverie-- From which I roused not till the midnight hush Was broken by the toll from twenty towers.

This is a man, I said; a man in truth; My room has known the presence of a man, And it has gathered dignity from him.

I felt my being flooded with new life.

My heart was warm; my poor, sore-footed thoughts Sprang up full fledged through ether; and I felt Like the sick woman who had touched the hem Of Jesus' garment, when through all her veins Leaped the swift tides of youth.

He had a wife!

Why, to a wrecked, forsaken thing like me Did that thought bring a pang? I did not know; But, truth to tell, it gave me stinging pain.

If he was n.o.ble, he was naught to me; If he was great, it only made me less; If he loved truly, I was not enriched.

So, in my selfishness, I almost cursed The unknown woman, thought for whom had brought Her loving husband to me. What was I To him? Naught but a poor unfortunate, Picking her bread up at a needle's point.

He'll come and criticise my handiwork, I said, and when it is at last complete, He'll draw his purse and give me so much gold; And then, forgetting me for ever, go And gather fragrant kisses for the boon, From lips that do not know their privilege.

I could be nothing but the medium Through which his love should pa.s.s to reach its shrine; The gla.s.s through which the sun's electric beams Kindles the rose's heart, and still remains Chill and serene itself--without reward!

Then came to me the thought of my great wrong.

A man had spoiled my heart, degraded me; A wanton woman had defrauded me; I would get reparation how I could!

He must be something to me--I to him!

All men, however good, are weak, I thought; And if I can arrest no beam of love By right of nature or by leave of law, I'll stain the gla.s.s! And the last words I said, As I lay down upon my bed to dream, Were those four words of sin: "I'll stain the gla.s.s!"

_Grace_.

Mary, I cannot hear you more; your tale, So bitter and so pa.s.sing pitiful I have forgotten tears, and feel my eyes Burn dry and hot with looking at your face, Now gathers blackness, and grows horrible.

_Mary_.

Nay, you must hear me out; I cannot pause; And have no worse to say than I have said-- Thank G.o.d, and him who put away my toils!

He came, and came again; and every charm G.o.d had bestowed on me, or art could frame, I used with keenest ingenuities To fascinate the sensuous element O'er which, mistrusted, and but half asleep, His conscience and propriety stood guard.

I told with tears the story of my woe; He listened to me with a thoughtful face, And sadly sighed; and thus I won his ruth, And then I told him how my life was lost;-- How earth had nothing more for me but pain; Not e'en a friend. At this, he took my hand, And said, out of his n.o.bleness of heart, That I should have an honest friend in him; On which I bowed my head upon his arm, And wept again, as if my heart would break With the full pressure of his grat.i.tude.

He put me gently off, and read my face: I stood before him hopeless, helpless, his!

His swift soul gathered what I meant it should.

He sighed and trembled; then he crossed the floor, And gazed with eye abstracted on the sky; Then came and looked at me; then turned, As if affrighted at his springing thoughts, And, with abruptest movement, left the room.

This time he took with him the broidered thing That I had wrought for him; and when I oped The little purse that he rewarded me, I found full golden payment five times told.

Given for pity? thought I,--that alone?

Is manly pity so munificent?

Pity has mixtures that it knows not of!

It was a cruel triumph, and I speak Of it with utter penitence and shame.

I knew that he would come again; I knew His feet would bring him, though his soul rebelled; I knew that cheated heart of his would toy With the seductive chains that gave it thrall, And strive to reconcile its perjury With its own conscience of the better way, By fabrication of apologies It knew were false.

And he did come again; Confessing a strange interest in me, And doing for me many kindly deeds.

I knew the nature of the sympathy That drew him to my side, better than he; Though I could see that solemn change in him Which every face will wear, when Heaven and h.e.l.l Are struggling in the heart for mastery.

He was unhappy; every sudden sound Startled his apprehensions; from his heart Rose heavy suspirations, charged with prayer, Desire, and deprecation, and remorse;-- Sighs like volcanic breathings--sighs that scorched His parching lips and spread his face with ashes,-- Sighs born in such convulsions of the soul That his strong frame quaked like Vesuvius, Burdened with restless lava.

Day by day I marked this dalliance with sinful thought, Without a throb of pity in my heart.

I took his gifts, which brought immunity From toil and care, as if they were my right.

Day after day I saw my power increase, Until that n.o.ble spirit was a slave-- A craven, helpless, self-suspected slave.

But this was not to last--thank G.o.d and him!

One night he came, and there had been a change.

My hand was kindly taken, but not held In the way wonted. He was self-possessed; The powers of darkness and his Christian heart Had had a struggle--his the victory; And on his manly brow the benison Of a majestic peace had been imposed.

Was I to lose the guerdon of my guile?

He was my all, and by the only means Left to a helpless, reckless thing, like me: My heart made pledge the strife should be renewed.

I took no notice of his altered mood, But strove, by all the tricks of tenderness, To fan to life again the drooping flame Within his heart;--with what success, at last, The sequel shall reveal.

Strange fire came down Responsive to my call, and the quick flash That shriveled resolution, vanquished will, And with a blood-red flame consumed the crown Of peace upon his brow, taught him how weak-- How miserably imbecile--he had become, Tampering with temptation. Such a groan, Wrung from such agony, as then he breathed, Pray Heaven my ears may never hear again!

He smote his forehead with his rigid palm, And sank, as if the blow had stunned him, to his knees, And there, with face pressed hard upon his hands Gave utterance to frenzied sobs and prayers-- The wild articulations of despair.

I was confounded. He--a man--thought I, Blind with remorse by simple look at sin!

And I--a woman--in the devil's hands, Luring him h.e.l.lward with no blush of shame!

The thought came swift from G.o.d, and pierced my heart, Like a barbed arrow; and it quivered there Through whiles of tumult--quivered--and was fast.

Thus, while I stood and marked his kneeling form, Still shocked by deep convulsions, such a light Illumed my soul, and flooded all the room, That, without thought, I said, "The Lord is here!"

Then straight my spirit heard these wondrous words: "Tempted in all points like ourselves, was He-- Tempted, but sinless." Oh, what majesty Of meaning did those precious words convey!

'Twas through temptation, thought I, that the Lord-- The mediator between G.o.d and men-- Reached down the hand of sympathetic love To meet the grasp of lost Humanity; And this man, kneeling, has the Lord in him, And comes to mediate 'twixt Christ and me, "Tempted, but sinless;"--one hand grasping mine, The other Christ's.

Why had he suffered thus?