Semiramis, and Other Plays

by Olive Tilford Dargan

Mrs. C. She will have but one more word for us—goodbye.

Hel. Can I—may— O, you must let me do something for her—for you! Do not make me miserable by saying there is nothing I can do.

Mrs. C. There is ... something. I have never begged—

Hel. Do not use such a word. It is you who give—make me happy.

Mrs. C. But I will beg this. Some linen for her last robe.

Hel. God bless you for telling me!

Poe. (Rising from his knees by Virginia) Helen, Virginia would speak to you.

Hel. O, save the precious breath! (Approaches bed) Ah ... how lovely ... I understand....

Vir. (Lifting her head) Helen ... help my Edgar. (Sinks back. Poe lays his head on her pillow. Helen stands with her arm about Mrs. Clemm. Curtain falls, and rises on same room at night. Virginia’s body lies on the bed. Poe watches alone. A candle burns on table)

Poe. (Standing by bed) ... So low in sleep, little girl?... I took thee mid thy roses. O, broken gentleness, little saint-love, move but a hand, a finger, to tell me thou art still my pleading angel!... Not one breath’s life. Still ... quite still. O, might such rest be mine! (Turns away) I ’ll write. (Goes to table) I promised. Yes ... I ’ll write. Behind the glorious chancel of the mind still swings the incense to the deathless gods!... (Sits and writes) ... No. (Rising) No rhymes—for Poesy must mourn to-night. (Goes toward bed) Too much of her is dead. (Gazes at Virginia) Cold ... cold. What art thou death? Ye demons of a mind distraught, keep ye apace till I have fathomed this!... Ha! What scene is that? (Stares as at visions) A valley laid in the foundations of darkness! The unscalable cliffs jut to heaven, and on the amethystine peaks sit angels weeping into the abyss where creatures run to and fro without escape! Some eat, some laugh, some weep, some wonder. Now they make themselves candles whose little beams eclipse the warning stars ... and in the pallid light they dance and think it sun! But on the revel creeps a serpent, fanned and crimson, with multitudinous folds lapping the dancing creatures in one heaving carnage! The candles die.... The stars cannot pierce the writhing darkness.... Above on the immortal headlands sit the angels, looking down no more, for the dismal heap no longer throbs.... I must write this! Now! While I see it! That moaning flood ebbing to silence ... those rosy promontories lit with angel wings ... and over all as large and still as heaven, the cold, unweeping eyes of God!... (Writes.... A tapping at the door. He does not hear. Another tapping. He looks up) Who ’s there?... This is my vigil. Nor devil nor angel shall share it!... (Listens. Tapping. He goes to door and throws it open) ... Nothing ... nothing ... but darkness. (Stands peering, and whispers) Lenore!... (Closes door, bolts it, returns to table and writes silently. Utter stillness, then a rattling at the window. Poe leaps up) What ’s that? (The shutter is blown open. Poe stands watching. A raven flies in and perches above door) Out, you night-wing! (He looks at raven silently) You won’t? Why, sit there then! You’re but a feather! (Sits and writes. After a moment rises and reads)