Semiramis and Other Plays Part 75

Mrs. S. Shame to your tongue, Mr. Poe, that says I haven't been as kind to you as your own mother--sister! Haven't you had this room nigh to a month since I've seen a cent for it?

Didn't I give you stale bread a whole week, an' coffee a Sunday mornin'? An' you dare say I'm not a Christian, merciful woman? You come out o' here, or I'll put hands on you, I will!

Poe. Mrs. Smidgkin, Mrs. Smidgkin, are you aware that the rain pours outside like the tears of the Danaides on their wedding night? And speaking of weddings, Smidgkin--

Mrs. S. Schmidt! As you'll find on my good man's tombstone, an'

some day on my own, bless G.o.d!

Poe. O, don't talk so, I beg you!

Mrs. S. Why now, Mr. Poe! Law me, who'd a thought you could be so softhearted--about a tombstone, too!

Poe. As I said, my dear madam--speaking of weddings--pray take this chair. 'Tis all I have to offer. Gladly will I stand before you, though I am but slightly bolstered within for the att.i.tude. Speak to me, madam. Let one thought fly from thy caging brow to me a beggar vile.

Mrs. S. O, Mr. Poe!

Poe. Thanks for the burden of those syllables.

Mrs. S. My dear Mr. Poe!

Poe. Again? You overwhelm me? Dare I speak? You have suspected?

You know why I linger in this dear room--dear as the barrier that staves off guttery death? This kindness is sincere? I may trust it and speak?

Mrs. S. You may, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Well then, sweet Smidgkin, will you open the broad gates of genial widowhood to admit a fallen wretch to the warmth of your bosom and hearthstone--particularly the latter?

Mrs. S. (With dignity) I presume, Mr. Poe, that I am addressed by an offer of marriage. I have had offers before, Mr.

Poe,--one an undertaker who drove a good business, but he looked for all the world like one of his own corpses an'

what is business says I to a woman in good circ.u.mstances with a longin' heart? I don't mind sayin' it, Mr. Poe, a nice lookin' man always did take my eye, an' you'll be a pretty figure when you're plumped out a bit, indeed you will, but your addresses of this offer is somewhat unusual, an' if you'll give me time--

Poe. The weather, madam, will admit of no delay. Since you are so determined, I must give up hope and seek shelter under Jove's great canopy.

Mrs. S. O, don't go there, Mr. Poe--it's a bad place, that Canpy house, an' I've heard Jove talked about for a vile barkeep! I guess since you're so impetus I'll say yes to these addresses of marriage, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. S. What do you mean, Mr. Poe? My dear Eddie, I should say!

Poe. I mean, madam, that death loves a joke.

Mrs. S. O, my sweet Eddie, don't be talkin' about death. You're so pale I don't wonder--and a'most starved out I'll venture my word for it. But you won't know yourself in a week. I've got the sweetest room downstairs--all in blue an' white, with a bed three feet o' feathers, soft as a goosebreast, I warrant, an' I'll tuck you in an' bring you a toddy that'll warm you to your toes, it will, an'--

Poe. Ha! ha! ha! Well, why not? I seize this wretched plank or sink with all that in me is. Men have done it. But not Edgar Poe! Sell my soul for a broth-dish--a saucepan--a feather-bed--

Mrs. S. O, he's out of his mind, sure he is! My sweet Eddie, he's loved me distracted!

Poe. Can this be woman?

Mrs. S. Law me!

Poe. The s.e.x that knew a Virginia--that knows a Helen? No!

there are men, women ... and angels!

Mrs. S. Look here, Mr. Poe, don't you mention no women 'round me!

O, Eddy, my Eddy! (Offers to caress him)

Poe. Away! You wench from Venus' kitchen! (Going) This weather ... once I could have braved it with the wildest wing that ever flew. But now.... (coughs wretchedly)

Mrs. S. No rent an' no husband either!

Poe. Up, heart, we go! Henceforth I live by spirit-bread! Lead me, ye unseen comrades, to immortal feasts! (Exit)

(CURTAIN)

Scene II: An hour later. A bar-room. Door in center, rear. Four men at table, left, rear, playing cards.

Haines. Was afraid you wouldn't show up to-night, Juggy.

Juggers.

Nothing like a stormy night for a good game. Never miss one. Rain brings me luck.

Black. Then, by Jacks, you'll have it all your way to-night. It's pouring hogsheads. Your deal, Sharp. (They play in silence. Poe enters, rear, walks uncertainly across the room and takes a seat, right, front. There seems to be life only in his eyes, their burning light revealing a soul struggling free from a corpse. He sits unnoticed for a short time)

Sharp. (To barkeeper) Say, Thomas, I thought this was a gentleman's house. What's that in the corner? Looks like a coffin might 'a' spilt it on the way to the graveyard.

Bark. (In lower tone) He's one o' these writin' fellers in hard luck. I've let him hang around here a good deal, for he's always quiet and gives me no show for kickin' him out. But say the word and he goes.

Haines. Looks more like a sick man than a b.u.m.

Sharp. Bah! He can drink till he wets his boots. I know that sort of a face.

Bark. Never drinks anything 'round here.

Sharp. Good reason. You don't wear a charity medal.

Jug. Let him stay for luck.

Sharp. Whose luck? You're doing all the winning to-night, Juggers. He's a Jonah for the rest of us. I want his eye off me, I say.

Black. O, let him alone. I'd ask a burglar to have a seat in my house a night like this--'pon honor, I would. Play up.

(They play on)

Poe. What a n.o.ble palace is here! How the gleaming vault reaches to heaven and mocks the stars! What resplendent lights! As though the master had taken burning planets for his candles! How far they throw their beams--around the world and into the nether sea!

Jug. (To Haines, who is looking at Poe) Mind your play there, Haines.

Poe. I know this place. It is the poet's house of dream that all my life I've sought to reach. I am dying now, and they let me in, because I have been true to them. The master will read it in my face. I have not eaten of the flesh-pots! I have beggared my body, but I have not beggared my soul!