The Saint's Tragedy Part 18

That's some pet.i.tioner.

Go to--I will not hear them: why should I work, When he is dead? Alas! was that my sin?

Was he, not Christ, my lodestar? Why not warn me?

Too late! What's this foul dream? Dead at Otranto-- Parched by Italian suns--no woman by him-- He was too chaste! Nought but rude men to nurse!-- If I had been there, I should have watched by him-- Guessed every fancy--G.o.d! I might have saved him!

[A servant-man bursts in.]

Servant. Madam, the Landgrave gave me strict commands--

Isen. The Landgrave, dolt?

Eliz. I might have saved him!

Servant [to Isen.] Ay, saucy madam!-- The Landgrave Henry, lord and master, Freer than the last, and yet no waster, Who will not stint a poor knave's beer, Or spin out Lent through half the year.

Why--I see double!

Eliz. Who spoke there of the Landgrave? What's this drunkard?

Give him his answer--'Tis no time for mumming--

Serv. The Landgrave Henry bade me see you out Safe through his gates, and that at once, my Lady.

Come!

Eliz. Why--that's hasty--I must take my children Ah! I forgot--they would not let me see them.

I must pack up my jewels--

Serv. You'll not need it-- His Lords.h.i.+p has the keys.

Eliz. He has indeed.

Why, man!--I am thy children's G.o.dmother-- I nursed thy wife myself in the black sickness-- Art thou a bird, that when the old tree falls, Flits off, and sings in the sapling?

[The man seizes her arm.]

Keep thine hands off-- I'll not be shamed--Lead on. Farewell, my Ladies.

Follow not! There's want to spare on earth already; And mine own woe is weight enough for me.

Go back, and say, Elizabeth has yet Eternal homes, built deep in poor men's hearts; And, in the alleys underneath the wall, Has bought with sinful mammon heavenly treasure, More sure than adamant, purer than white whales' bone, Which now she claims. Lead on: a people's love shall right me.

[Exit with Servant.]

Guta. Where now, dame?

Isen. Where, but after her?

Guta. True heart!

I'll follow to the death. [Exeunt.]

SCENE II

A street. Elizabeth and Guta at the door of a Convent. Monks in the porch.

Eliz. You are afraid to shelter me--afraid.

And so you thrust me forth, to starve and freeze.

Soon said. Why palter o'er these mean excuses, Which tempt me to despise you?

Monks. Ah! my lady, We know your kindness--but we poor religious Are bound to obey G.o.d's ordinance, and submit Unto the powers that be, who have forbidden All men, alas! to give you food or shelter.

Eliz. Silence! I'll go. Better in G.o.d's hand than man's.

He shall kill us, if we die. This bitter blast Warping the leafless willows, yon white snow-storms, Whose wings, like vengeful angels, cope the vault, They are G.o.d's,--We'll trust to them.

[Monks go in.]

Guta. Mean-spirited!

Fair frocks hide foul hearts. Why, their altar now Is blazing with your gifts.

Eliz. How long their altar?

To G.o.d I gave--and G.o.d shall pay me back.

Fool! to have put my trust in living man, And fancied that I bought G.o.d's love, by buying The greedy thanks of these His earthly tools!

Well--here's one lesson learnt! I thank thee, Lord!

Henceforth I'll straight to Thee, and to Thy poor.

What? Isentrudis not returned? Alas!

Where are those children?

They will not have the heart to keep them from me-- Oh! have the traitors harmed them?

Guta. Do not think it.

The dowager has a woman's heart.

Eliz. Ay, ay-- But she's a mother--and mothers will dare all things-- Oh! Love can make us fiends, as well as angels.

My babies! Weeping? Oh, have mercy, Lord!

On me heap all thy wrath--I understand it: What can blind senseless terror do for them?

Guta. Plead, plead your penances! Great G.o.d, consider All she has done and suffered, and forbear To smite her like a worldling!

Eliz. Silence, girl!

I'd plead my deeds, if mine own character, My strength of will had fathered them: but no-- They are His, who worked them in me, in despite Of mine own selfish and luxurious will-- Shall I bribe Him with His own? For pain, I tell thee I need more pain than mine own will inflicts, Pain which shall break that will.--Yet spare them, Lord!

Go to--I am a fool to wish them life-- And greater fool to miscall life, this headache-- This nightmare of our gross and crude digestion-- This fog which steams up from our freezing clay-- While waking heaven's beyond. No! slay them, traitors!

Cut through the channels of those innocent breaths Whose music charmed my lone nights, ere they learn To love the world, and hate the wretch who bore them!

[Weeps.]

Guta. This storm will blind us both: come here, and s.h.i.+eld you Behind this b.u.t.tress.

Eliz. What's a wind to me?

I can see up the street here, if they come-- They do not come!--Oh! my poor weanling lambs-- Struck dead by carrion ravens!

What then, I have borne worse. But yesterday I thought I had a husband--and now--now!

Guta! He called a holy man before he died?

Guta. The Bishop of Jerusalem, 'tis said, With holy oil, and with the blessed body Of Him for whom he died, did speed him duly Upon his heavenward flight.

Eliz. O happy bishop!