Leader of Men. What causes thy waters to pour down in March, or the leaf upon your banks to sprout in April? It is because the season fulfils itself; and what is to be, cometh forth, and no one may stop it.
Both Choruses. Now may I say that no man is made of iron, or lives beyond the stroke of reproach.
The arrows strike him when he shows it not. The scornful glance of a friend reaches his quick. He suffers very much.
In his last days he betrayeth the havoc. In his fall his wounds are laid bare. The secret of his heart becomes an open book, and a child may read it.
Arnold. I would not speak; but the sea-bottom of me
Is being raked to the surface. Hold you still;
You are the daughter of good Tory folk,
And common talk on King and loyalty
Had in your ears a meaning and a place
Quite strange to mine. For my Rhode Island stock,
Grown far afield, and long acclimated,
Had dropped all meanings for the name of King,
Of Church, of mother country. Such appeals
Were like a tinsel fringe of superstition,
Alien imposture. It was all a fraud.
[He walks across the room, takes the portrait of George III and throws it, not savagely, but with deliberate contempt, into the corner, where it lies shattered. Mrs. Arnold remains on her knees and raises her hands in helpless supplication.]
There lies the dog that bit me. Now desist:
It is not easy; yet it must come out.
A letter that I wrote to this same King,
Or to his secretary, George Germain,—
Imploring favors for my villainy—
If I appear unmanned, it's physical,
And needs no moment's thought—The letter's here,
[Takes a letter from his pocket.]
And through its hell of shame as through a gate
I see Elysian fields, peopled with comrades.
Mrs. Arnold. [Aside.] God have mercy upon us!
Arnold. I'll not read all, but phrases here and there.
[Arnold reads from the letter with some difficulty and with pauses—but very distinctly.]