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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Treason and Death of Benedict Arnold, by
+John Jay Chapman
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Treason and Death of Benedict Arnold
+       A Play for a Greek Theatre
+
+Author: John Jay Chapman
+
+Release Date: December 31, 2008 [EBook #27670]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREASON, DEATH OF BENEDICT ARNOLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicholas Tomaiuolo and Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TREASON & DEATH
+
+OF
+
+BENEDICT ARNOLD
+
+
+A PLAY FOR A GREEK THEATRE
+
+
+BY
+
+JOHN JAY CHAPMAN
+
+
+
+
+MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
+
+1910
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1911
+
+By John Jay Chapman
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+
+BENEDICT ARNOLD.
+
+JOSHUA SMITH.
+
+MAJOR ANDRE.
+
+MRS. ARNOLD.
+
+WILLIAM ARNOLD, _A Boy of Eight, Son to Benedict_.
+
+FATHER HUDSON.
+
+CHORUS OF WAVES (_Men_).
+
+CHORUS OF CLOUDS (_Women_).
+
+CHORUS-LEADER OF MEN.
+
+CHORUS-LEADER OF WOMEN.
+
+TREASON.
+
+DEATH.
+
+TWO PICKETS.
+
+A SERVANT.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE
+
+ACT I. THE SHORE OF THE HUDSON NEAR WEST POINT.
+
+ACT II. SITTING-ROOM OF BENEDICT ARNOLD IN ENGLAND IN 1801.
+
+
+
+  _The Acts are Separated by
+  a Short Vocal Intermezzo._
+
+
+
+
+TREASON AND DEATH
+
+OF BENEDICT ARNOLD
+
+
+ACT I
+
+_The margin of the Hudson at West Point.  Fort Putnam and the Highlands
+in the distance.  A flag is fluttering on the fort.  The orchestra
+represents the level of the river shore, upon which level the_ Chorus
+_will enter.  The characters of the drama appear on a bank or platform,
+slightly raised above the orchestra and_ Chorus.  _At the opening of
+the play_ Father Hudson _is upon the scene.  He reclines in the centre
+of the stage in the attitude of a river-god.  The nook or couch in
+which he rests is situated between the two levels, as it were in an
+angle of the river bank.  His position is such that he can, by turning
+his head, either watch the personages on the stage, or address the_
+Chorus _on the river margin.  He is so painted and disposed as not to
+attract attention when the play opens, but to appear rather as a part
+of the scenery and decoration._
+
+
+_First Picket_.  Uneasy has been my watch.  Dark have been my
+forebodings, standing first on one foot and then on the other, through
+the night hours, preyed upon by visions, holding my eyelids open by my
+will, while strange thoughts like vultures over their carrion, wheeling
+about above me, assail me, tear me with their beaks and talons.  Dark
+looms the cloud bank through the black portals of the river.  The fog
+holds the bleared eyes of the morning.  And I, stiff with watching,
+suspect some evil.  Some foul play is in the mountains, stalking in the
+shadows of the dawn.  Would God the releasing trumpet would blow and
+the flag flutter on the mountain side, and that I might find all well!
+General Washington is on a journey.  Would God he were returned!  [_The
+sound of a bugle is heard._]  Blow, blessed bugle!  Blow to the rising
+Sun!  Blow to the dayspring of Liberty, to the new nation rising calmly
+above the dangers that beset her dawn.  Blow bugle, and scatter the
+night-thoughts of terror!
+
+[_Enter the relieving_ Picket.] Who goes there?
+
+_Second Picket_.  A friend and thy relief.
+  Our post is changed;
+  The pickets are extended up the hills,
+  And this low post abandoned.
+
+_First Picket_.          That is strange,
+  To leave the river front without a watch!
+  If we expect attack, attack must come
+  Along the river,----
+
+_Second Picket_.     Comrade, spare your brains,
+  And take your orders.  [_Exeunt_ Pickets.]
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Daughters of the sky, ye clouds of the morning,
+  Replenishers of my veins, ye purple, wandering clouds!
+  And you, ye waves that lap my feet, far-traveling,
+      restless, endlessly moving!
+  Thralls of the circling ocean, waves of the sea--
+  Attend your Father Hudson, the Ageless, the Majestic!
+  Calling to you, his sons and daughters, summoning you at his need.
+  Stoop, daughters of ether, ye clouds of the mountains!
+  Rise, sons of the sea, most ancient retainers,
+  Flow towards your father's need! the River calls--
+  Father Hudson summons his children.
+
+[_Enter simultaneously_ Chorus of Waves, (_men_) _on one side, and on
+the other,_ Chorus of Clouds (_women_).  _They flock slowly into the
+orchestra, approaching each other, and sing as they assemble._]
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Father Hudson, we are coming, we are streaming,
+      we are foaming
+  From the sky and from the earth,
+    Down the mountains,
+    Through the fountains,
+  We are streaming, steaming forth;
+    We, the children of your will,
+    Born to serve you, and to fill
+  All your banks and all your margin
+    With the fulness of enlarging,
+    With the plentitude of rivers,
+    We, the generous water-givers,
+  Overflowing, bubbling, swelling,
+  Feed you with our rich upwelling.
+
+_Chorus of Men_.  From Monadnock and Mount Washington--
+  And where the haughty deer on Hudson's Bay
+  Sniffs the north wind, We bring you Mist.
+
+_Chorus of Women_.  From the rank lowlands of the Delaware,
+  And from the even margin of low sand,
+  Where the Atlantic smites the continent, We bring you Salt.
+
+_Chorus of Men_.  From Sicily and the Cumaean Cave,
+  And from the mountains where Apollo's shafts
+  Whitened the hillsides once, We bring you Thought.
+
+_Chorus of Women_.  From the dark heart of man that scorns the light,
+  From Wisdom, found in Meekness through Despair, We bring you Grief.
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Haste to where our father dwells!
+  We the movers, we the rovers,
+  Come to your eternal dwelling.
+  Ancient father, we will bring
+  News and thought of everything,
+  From the mossy citadels,
+  And the cities of the sea;
+  Timeworn tales of prophecy
+  We are bringing in our singing
+  To your newer Majesty.
+  To your destiny belated,
+  Young and unsophisticated,
+  We, the children of the ages,
+  Bring the solemn heritages,--
+  Force and Woe and Human Fate,--
+  Embittering your god-like state.
+  Bitter is life!
+  Bitter, bitter even to the gods, is life!
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Sons and daughters, sole feeders of my life,
+  By these new-coming white men I am destroyed.
+  My feet are burned in Manhattan, my thighs in the Mohawk,
+  While in the Adirondacks they blaze enduring ruin.
+
+[_The leaders speak, not sing, except as otherwise noted._]
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Alas! little knows he that his kingdom is of nothing
+but of change and pain.
+
+_Leader of Women_.  Foolish god that must await the baptism of humanity!
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Father! these things must be: therefore endure.  Lo,
+thy old trees are as grass; thy ancient summits as fresh ant-hills.
+Chaldea sends thee this message, father; Egypt salutes thee; Greece
+sends thee this song; a song of tribulation.  For there is no short cut
+to Antiquity: therefore endure.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Woe, woe, woe is me!
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Untutored God!  Mind ragged as thy hills, thou must
+accept the refining pain.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Woe, woe, woe is me!
+
+_Leader of Women_.  Peace, Father!  Do not whine.  Because thou hast
+been spared thou art soft-minded.  Because thou wast spared thou art a
+child.
+
+_Leader of Men_.  When thy hills shall have been steeped for a thousand
+years in history, then thou wilt be patient.
+
+_Leader of Women_.  What thou feelest is not the axe nor the
+fire-brand, but the Spirit of Man moving in thy demesnes.
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Lo, where it comes!  Lo, where the shadow falls!
+
+[_Enter_ Benedict Arnold.  _He is in the Uniform of an American
+General.  He limps._]
+
+_Both Choruses_.  A light thing is man and his suffering very little.
+
+If he can but endure for a short time, death saves him.  Lo, his
+release cometh and his happiness is long.
+
+Fame forever follows in the steps of the just man: an unending life
+springs up behind him.
+
+Children follow him: a good father's life is a lamp that burns in the
+heart of the son.
+
+How short is the struggle of the greatest hero, and how long his fame!
+Save me from pride and from the expectation of praise from men.
+
+_Arnold_.  He may not come.--
+  What if it were a ruse to capture me?--
+  The whole proceeding cloaked in infamy,
+  And no faith in the matter?
+  Andre should be here.  Andre is a man
+  Of sterling honor, and will keep his faith.
+  My secret's in his hand.--My change of heart
+  Must to His Majesty have long been known,
+  And he will praise me for it.  Civil war
+  Knows no such thing as treason; change of sides,
+  The victory of reason in the heart,
+  Makes Loyalist turn Whig.  Montgomery,
+  Richard Montgomery, was honor's darling;
+  And when his body fell, scaling Quebec,
+  Down the sheer rock it left a track of light
+  Which sped in opposition towards the stars
+  Bearing his fame.  He was an officer
+  In the King's army ere he found our own.
+  Did conscience fret the gallant Irishman
+  To think what uniform was on his back
+  When he so died?  What if in that assault
+  I had died too, my name had ranked with his
+  In song and monument; unfading laurels
+  Had shed their brazen lustre o'er our brows,
+  And we, like demigods, had lived forever.
+  Was it enough for _him_, to scale the sky
+  Against the slippery adamant of Fame,
+  And, giving youth, give all?  I have done more.
+  All of his early prowess was mine too:
+  In everything I match him; and to me
+  Remains the hell of glory on the Lakes,
+  When with my hand I stopped the British fleet,--
+  Stayed them a year: they dreaded to come on.
+  And I had done it.  There remain my fights
+  At Ridgefield, and those shortened days
+  At Saratoga, when the fit came on
+  And I knew nothing but the act of war,
+  And victory coming down, Victory, Victory!
+  'Twas I that saved them!  Yes, 'twas I that saved you--
+  Ye little wranglers with the name of war!
+  I beat Burgoyne, I saved the continent,
+  The Continental Army and the Cause,
+  Washington, Congress, and the whole of you,
+  I saved ye,--saved ye,--and I had for it--
+  It chokes me still to say it--had for it--
+  It wakes me in the night with leaping hatred,--
+  Out of my bed I leap to think of it,--
+  Hitting me in my sleep the poison comes
+  And fangs my heart.--I had a _Reprimand_!
+  I, reprimanded by a sorry crew
+  Of politicians--I, I, I----!
+  Thus, in my heart for sixteen months of hurt,
+  Burns the injustice, clamors the revenge.
+  No, no revenge! but justice,
+  Nothing but justice--I'll have justice!
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Foolish is the man who thinks upon his wrongs though
+they be great.  The sting is in him; the poison is in himself.
+
+Lo, he accuses others, and the deed of his death is done with his own
+hand.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  What is the man disturbed about, my children?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  He is a hero and a battle-god:
+  The spoils and the rewards he justly won,
+  Others have seized, and left his haughty heart
+  A withered laurel.
+
+_Father Hudson_.    Surely it was wrong;
+  The hero should receive the hero's meed.
+
+_Leader of Men_.  The gods that made him hero had left out
+  The drop of meekness which preserves the rest
+  From self-destruction.
+
+_Father Hudson_.     Will he kill himself?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  More than a suicide.--
+  A living death
+  Takes up its habitation in his heart.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Little I understand, but greatly pity.
+  You, who have mastered all philosophy,
+  Can surely soothe him.
+
+_Leader of Men_.      None can reach the man.
+  He is beyond the boundaries of speech,
+  And goes the paths of blindness.
+  Would'st thou, O Father, see the invisible,
+  And know what agitates your placid mind?
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Show me: I can receive it.
+
+[_The following Invocation is sung by the_ Leader of the Women _in a
+clear contralto voice._]
+
+_Leader of Women_.  Spirit of the unseen habitation,
+  Walking distress,
+  Blighting presence, Nemesis, Evil,
+  Good-in-Darkness,
+  Passing from breast to breast,
+  Reaching easily all men,
+  And the vine in the orchard,
+  And the thick clusters of the grape,
+  And the bending branches of the young peach trees,
+  When the south wind blows death upon their pride,--
+  O intimate undoing!  In what form walkest thou here?
+
+_Treason_.  [_Without._]       Who calls?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  One who knows thee well enough: thou need'st not hide.
+
+[_Enter_ Treason.]
+
+_Leader of Men_.  [_To_ Father Hudson.]
+  Behold the unsleeping fiend that lives in him!
+  His name is Treason.
+
+_Treason_.  Art thou there, Benedict?
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Aside._]  Why not?  'Tis Fame,
+  Reward, wealth, power, revenge and simple justice
+  All at a clap.  They'll make a Lord of me,--
+  Pacificator of the Colonies,--
+  Restorer of an erring people's love
+  To their forgiving Sovereign.  At a clap!
+  The key to all of this is in my hand,--
+  West Point; and in my other hand,
+  Sir Henry's promises,--money in sums,
+  To weigh the unweighed treasures I have sunk
+  For these damned ingrates.
+
+_Treason_.  Art thou there, Benedict?
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Still aside._] They took my all,
+  Engulfed my freely-given wealth, paid out
+  For their salvation; now they count the cost,
+  File my accounts and give me promises,--
+  Hopes for next year.  Twas not in coin like that
+  I paid at Saratoga!
+
+_Treason_.             Benedict!
+
+_Arnold._  Who art thou, spirit of the inner world?
+  I cannot see thee.
+
+_Treason_.        And yet you called me.
+
+_Arnold_.  No, I called thee not.  I called to mind
+  My bullet-shattered thigh, and the hot thirst
+  Of fever.  Did not Washington himself
+  Send me the sword-knots he received from France,
+  And Congress vote a horse caparisoned
+  To bear me proudly?
+
+_Treason_.              Ay; they kept back that
+  Which all out-weighed the rest.
+
+_Arnold_.                My rank!
+  My rank!
+  Five brigadiers promoted over me!
+
+_Treason_.  They paid with compliment.
+
+_Arnold_.                A soldier's rank
+  Is, as his guiding genius in the sky,
+  A holy thing.  That rank which I had earned
+  They gave to striplings.
+
+_Treason_.               Pay them well for it!
+
+_Arnold_.  Leave me: I do desire to be alone.
+
+_Treason_.  Without me, Arnold, thou art not alone.
+  I am beside thee till thy dying breath:
+  When Treason leaves, he hands thee unto Death.
+
+_Arnold_.  It is not treason to preserve one's life
+  Among wild beasts; nor treason to demand
+  The reasonable payment of a debt;
+  Nor treason for the savior of a land--
+  Listen:--There was a stripling in the town
+  Where I was born; and this rash vigorous boy
+  Seized by the nose a bull, that in a fright
+  Had rushed aboard a crowded ferry-boat,
+  And held him through his plunges till he fell,
+  Subdued by pain.  The boy for no reward,
+  But for the devil in him, did the thing.
+  But had he been a man, and sought reward,
+  Had he been banged about this rocking world
+  As I have, holding terror by the horns,
+  Could he not ask a pittance?--Leave me, friend.
+  I am exhausted, taking all the brunt
+  And getting kicks for pay.  Nay, leave me, Sir,
+  The argument is over.  Let me rest.
+
+[_Sits down and tries to sleep._]
+
+_Treason_.  I'll watch beside thee.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Can ye not calm him somewhat in his sleep?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  [_To_ Treason.]  Will you not leave the man and let
+him rest?
+
+_Treason_.  His sleep is mine.  When waking let him rest.
+
+
+_Father Hudson_.  [_To_ Treason.] This is a cruel fate ye mete him out.
+
+_Treason_.  Be it your province to be merciful.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  When will ye leave the man, thou empty ghost?
+
+_Treason_.  When Treason in the flesh shall come to meet him.
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Surely it is a good thing for a hero to die in his
+youth; for then is he perfect.  The bark is not broken on the wand nor
+the neck worn by the yoke.
+
+Surely young men are better than old; and we praise them deservedly.
+This man, a few years since, could endure reverse; but now he is broken
+and worn away: his soul bows down; he cannot hold out longer.
+
+It is a good thing when a young hero dies; for so is he safe.  His
+immortality is meted to him.  O spare us a trial like this man's who is
+on the brink of great misfortune.
+
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Starting up._]  They have betrayed me!  Who goes there?
+
+[_Enter_ Joshua Smith.  _Exit_ Treason.]
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  A friend!
+
+_Arnold._                  His name?
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  Joshua Smith.  And yours?
+
+_Arnold_.  Arnold, my man.  Good God! you startled me.  I must have
+slept.  What news?  Will Andre come?
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  He's just behind me.
+  All is as we planned.
+  The British sloop-of-war hangs in the tide.
+  The _Vulture_ brought him, and she waits for him
+  Not two miles to the south.  I boarded her.  With every point
+  Raised in your letters Andre is agreed;
+  And back of him, Sir Henry Clinton stands;
+  And back of _him_,--ye'll hear it now?--King George!
+  Packt, stamped upon, agreed, and understood,
+  The bargain's struck.  Your hand, my Lord!  Sir Benedict!
+  Lord Ruler Benedict, The Lord Protector of the Colonies,
+  And Duke of,--what you will.  Young Andre follows.
+  I chased ahead to find you.  Put it high!
+  You'll put the figure high?--I'm out of breath--
+
+_Arnold_.  I'll put it high enough to help a friend.--
+  No fear of that, my lad.  Go rest awhile:
+  Stand sentinel upon the shore below.
+
+[_Exit_ Smith.  _As he goes out he indicates_ Arnold _to_ Andre _by a
+gesture.  Enter_ Andre.  _His slender, refined, almost girlish youth is
+in contrast with_ Arnold's _battle-worn, gigantic figure._]
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Aside._]  At last my arrows strike!
+      [_To_ Andre.] What!  Major Andre!
+  This is a crazy meeting,--somewhat strange
+  After your jigging nights in Philadelphia,--
+  A _Mischianza_, where we play a masque,
+  And act a drama fraught with consequence
+  More serious than any since the Duke
+  Brought back King Charles.  Two true-born Englishmen,
+  If you'll accept my hand, shall this day place
+  A jewel in old England's diadem,
+  Which some rash spirits would shake out of it.
+
+_Andre_.  Have you the papers ready?
+
+_Arnold_.                They are here;
+  The plans of all the out-posts to the dot,
+  And every man on duty in the Fortress.
+
+_Andre_.  The general is in Hartford?
+
+_Arnold_.                  And returns
+  Not for some days.  Our garrison I'll post
+  Distributively on the distant hills;
+  While from the _Vulture_ half a thousand men
+  Land in the darkness.  Thus without a blow,
+  But with the magic of a countersign,
+  West Point becomes your own.
+
+_Andre_.                        Is there some house
+  Or tavern, where with more deliberate mind
+  We may o'erlook the papers, and make note
+  Of our exacter meanings?
+
+_Arnold_.                 Close at hand,
+  The mansion of my agent, Joshua Smith.
+
+_Andre_.   Good, we'll go there.  O Arnold, death is nothing;
+  Our lives are forfeit to our country's cause.
+  Which of us would not quit the world in peace
+  After some act that scaled the walls of time,
+  And stood on the rampart?
+
+_Arnold_.  Right, and bravely said!  I've given my life
+  As many times as I have mounted horse
+  To reconnoitre--
+
+_Andre_.           But this is different, Arnold.
+
+_Arnold_.   Different, ay different! it saves men's lives:
+  Without a drop of blood it ends a war.
+
+_Andre_.  You are a veteran, and know the feel
+  Of imminent death.  I could die bravely, too.
+
+_Arnold_.  Of course you could.  All fear is bookish talk
+  Cooked up by writers out of literature,
+  To give the shudder to dyspeptic girls.
+  Dying is easy.  Come along, my friend!
+  A glass of port shall cure us of such fears;
+  Moments like this make mirth in after years.
+
+[_Exeunt_ Arnold _and_ Andre.]
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Is there no way to stop them; can ye not
+  Bring pause to these excited rushing men?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Pause is unknown, as to your moving waters,
+  That take their God-directed, downward course,
+  Deaf to beseechment.
+
+_Father Hudson_.      'Tis most pitiful.
+
+_Both Choruses_.  No, not to mirth can my voice be tuned, while these
+two men converse.  Often their story comes to me in the night, and
+causes weeping.
+
+One, the young troubadour, the boy poet, beloved by all, burning for
+fame; and, in his innocence, he performs the mean work of a spy.
+
+And the other, the old hero, seven times baptized with
+immortality-in-action, who betrays his country out of foolishness.
+
+To the first, death by hanging: to the second, one and twenty years of
+dishonored life.
+
+Which of them shall have most of pity?  Which of them could we see
+again with gladness, or greet with a gay demeanor?
+
+The fate of the young man I deem the better; because he is young, and
+because death took him in his beauty.
+
+Strange it is what souls are woven together by destiny; and out of what
+substance life is wrought.
+
+All men become something incredible to themselves; for they are unwound
+like a cocoon, and know not which way the thread doth run.
+
+They dance like motes in the sunbeam for a moment, and then are
+illumined no more.  Legend takes some of them, and they become
+pictures; and the rest, it would seem, enter again into nothingness.
+
+Grant me to know the desire of mine own heart beforehand; that I may
+not be deceived.  Give me not much, but a true thing, and one that
+lasts forever.
+
+[_The distant sound of cannonading is heard._]
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Surely I hear a sound disquieting--
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Wait: you shall know the cause.
+
+
+[_Enter hurriedly, and meeting,_ Arnold _and_ Andre _on one side,_
+Joshua Smith _on the other._]
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  General Arnold!  Major Andre!
+
+_Arnold_.  What is it?  What has happened?
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  Colonel Livingston's redoubts on the eastern bank.  He
+has fired on the _Vulture_.  They are exchanging shots; and the
+_Vulture_ is dropping down stream.  She cannot bear the fire.
+
+_Major Andre_.  We are lost!
+
+_Arnold_.  No, no, no; not lost, not lost.  You have only to drop down
+stream also.  Mr. Smith goes with you; and you shall be put aboard the
+vessel a few miles below.  Eh, Smith?
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  Not for the world, General!  It is daylight now, and
+if I should be seen taking this gentleman to the _Vulture_, the Yankees
+would shoot both of us.
+
+_Arnold_.  Some truth in that.  But what can we do?
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  Go the other way, General.  You must give a pass to
+both Major Andre and me, allowing us to cross the river, and so on to
+New York.  I'll go with the Major till we reach the British lines.
+It's a plain road to safety.
+
+_Andre_.  But my uniform--
+
+_Arnold_.  It is a case for a change of coats.
+
+_Andre_.   But the countrymen are swarming in every highway--
+
+_Joshua Smith_.  They are all my friends.  Every rebel is my
+friend;--and--harkee,--every Tory is my friend--from Peekskill to New
+York!  You'll be as safe as the General himself,--and much more
+comfortable,--till you reach the British Headquarters.
+
+_Arnold_.  [_To_ Andre.]  He's right, Andre, he's right.  It's a safer
+way than the other when all's said.  He knows every lane in the
+country.  [_More firing._] Here, take the papers.  And God bless you!
+There's no time to lose.  This pass covers all routes.  The patriots
+know my hand and respect it.  Off with you to King's Ferry, Peekskill,
+and White Plains!  Off with you both!  Smith has mounts for both of
+you; and you'll be in the city in twelve hours.  All the words have
+been said: the rest is action.
+
+_Andre_.  [_Shaking hands with_ Arnold.]  Till we meet again.
+
+_Arnold_.  [_With a gesture._]  There in the fort!
+      Sir Henry on his horse,
+  And Andre like a Genius at his side,
+  Guiding the host!  That flag shall fall
+  When next we meet: up run the British colors!
+  England forever!  Heart, take heart, my lad!
+  We cannot fail.  The rest is counting gains.
+
+_Andre_.  I think this exploit shall make England glad
+  When I'm in the grave.
+
+_Arnold_.  Odso!  Our names shall chronicle the hills,
+  And school-boys learn us.  Go in haste, good Andre!
+  Keep your mouth shut.  Let Smith do all the talking.
+  These papers make you seem some Britisher,
+  An agent or a spy.  You will be safe.
+  In every war are trusted underlings
+  Who pass from camp to camp like contraband;
+  Always suspected and yet always safe.
+
+_Andre_.  I like not such protection.  Must I creep
+  Beneath so mean a shelter,--seem a spy?
+  I would to Heaven my purposes were known
+  To every noble nature in the earth!
+
+_Arnold_.  Off!  And the nearest way!
+
+[Smith _changes_ Andre's _coat._]
+
+Success is virtue; and we mean to win.
+
+[_Exit_ Andre _and _Smith.]
+
+[_Aside._] If we should fail, good youth, for history's eye,
+  They'd write us up,--the traitor and the spy.
+  Would God some power to telescope the hours
+  Were lent me now!  With Andre in New York
+  I am revenged, rich, powerful, respected, everything
+  My enemies begrudge.  It cannot fail.
+  O for a battle now to dry this sweat
+  Of simple waiting!  Sure, he cannot miss!
+  My passes run the river up and down;
+  And every day some messenger of mine
+  Reaches New York; then why not he?
+  If they should take him?  But they _will_ not take him.
+  All these long months of waiting,--
+  And not a soul to speak to; I could roar,--
+  Sound it against the mountains,--that these peaks
+  Should bandy my intentions back and forth;
+  Or tell it to the talking cataracts
+  To ease my need of speech.  An hour's patience,
+  Which seems as long as the preceding year,
+  And I shall know.  [_He sits down and
+falls into a contemplation; then into a doze.  As he falls asleep,
+enter quietly_ Treason.]
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Speaking as if out of his sleep._]
+      Leave me alone.  Thou thing of little might!
+  Thou painted bogey!  I am conscience-proof,
+  And care no more what names I may be called.
+  If thou cans't make this hour glide more swift,
+  With idle chat of owls and haunted men,
+  I'll take thee for a gossip.  Sit you there
+  And hide the hour-glass.  There was a time
+  In early boyhood, when a thing like thee
+  Seemed horrible, but now my mouth is dry
+  With other terror.  Thou art a cap and bells:
+  Play me a ditty on a tambourine.
+  [_Starting up._] Who goes there?
+  [_Rushes to_ Smith, _who enters._]
+  Tell me that he is safe!
+
+Joshua Smith.       Within the lines,--
+  Almost within the lines,--I left the youth.
+  He's safe in British hands; and by his time,
+  Is telling his adventures to Sir Henry.
+
+_Arnold_.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!  Is it not a joke, Joshua?
+  Ha, ha, ha!
+  This is a joke that shall run crackling through
+  America, like Samson's burning foxes.
+  Ha, ha, ha!--Andre is in New York!
+  A spasm of joy; and yet it pains my leg.
+  Your hand, my friend.  The laughter comes again--
+  Ha, ha, ha!  Now let them vote!  Brigadier Generals
+  May rain on this accursed land of pain
+  As fast as Congress spawns them!  Now, ye rats!
+  Who shall squirm last, I ask ye?
+  [_To_ Smith.]                   Safe, you say?
+  You saw him with the British?
+
+_Smith_.                     Not quite so;
+  But at their outposts.
+
+_Arnold_.             It will take a day
+  Before I can believe it.  I am drunk
+  With the intoxication of revenge,
+  Sweeter than wine.  A day of jubilee
+  Shall follow all our torments, Joshua Smith.
+  Out on ye, pack of curs!  I have ye now,
+  Where ye'll not yelp so freely.--Ha, ha, ha--
+  Ha, ha, ha, ha!--And God I thank thee, too.
+  Justice is in the world.
+  Help me to the fortress.  Mercy, how it pains!
+  Justice!  Revenge!  And, Joshua,--what a joke!
+
+[_Exeunt_ Arnold _and_ Smith.]
+
+
+_Father Hudson_.  My heart is moved with sorrow: the sins of men enter
+into me and I am constrained.  Why was this man chosen for suffering;
+and what balm is there for his seed?
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Fear God and seek not thine own advantage.  Pluck not
+the grape thyself; for who knows whether it be intended for thee?
+
+I will weep freely and lift up my voice for the sorrows of men.  There
+is none that shall comfort me.
+
+Come, Father, let us weep together and add our tears to thy streams;
+for so only can the medicine of this grief flow down to the children of
+men.
+
+
+
+
+INTERMEZZO
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Is it finished?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  No; it is begun.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  His pain enters into me.  I must endure these things.
+Woe is me that ever I was born of the brooks or received by the
+meadows!  The pains of new birth get hold on me, and I see that life is
+sorrow.  Why could ye not let me alone, ye pangs of knowledge; or go by
+on the other side, ye piercings of understanding?  Must I be bound up
+forever with sin, and feel the hand of unevenness on my loins?
+
+_Both Choruses_.  So it is with all creatures of a deep spirit.  They
+are caught with the net; they are frozen in the ice of God; they are
+very helpless, and cry for relief day and night.
+
+Accept thy pains, for they are good.  Reason not against fate but lay
+down thy will in earnest.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Will the man come again?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Once more shalt thou see him, and remember him
+forever.  Lo, now he comes as the wounded lion, as the tiger bereft of
+his prey and wounded by the hunter.  [_Enter_ Arnold, _a pistol in one
+hand, a letter clutched in the other.  During this speech he crosses
+the stage._] His plot has failed and his iniquity is as a broken toy.
+Wrecked is all his life.  He flees like a robber from his own land.
+Hills look your last upon Benedict!  Ye Highlands, filled with clouds,
+and ye little streams that jet along the crags, this is your general.
+Will he remember you in his dreams, think you, or find himself back
+among you in his reveries?  In his lone island, in his long years of
+silence, ye will return to him.  Bid him adieu without bitterness, thou
+rocky castle!  For his punishment shall be within himself day by day.
+[_Exit_ Arnold.]  Behold, [_Shades his eyes with his hand as if
+observing_ Arnold] he is on the shore; his barge of eight oars obeys
+the signal; he stands in the prow; the rowers smite the water.  With
+fury they row, for he commands them; with fury and terrible ire they
+row, for they fear the man.  He has drawn a white handkerchief from his
+breast, though his pistol never leaves his hand.  The prow of the
+British sloop of war looms above his barge.  They see his signal.  They
+are letting down the gangway.  They are taking him up into the British
+vessel.
+
+_Chorus of Men_.  So down the torrent of infamy,
+  So into the bosom of Hell,
+  O _Vulture_, thou bearest him!
+
+_Chorus of Women_.  Naught brings he in hand to his captors;
+  Naught but the coin of his soul;
+  Empty-handed goeth he.
+
+_Chorus of Men_.  The great cheater here is cheated;
+  The great traitor here betrayed:
+  Where is his bargain?
+
+_Chorus of Women_.  Bare life he saves by the purchase,
+  Merely the breath of life;
+  Merely the fountain of pain.
+
+_Chorus of Men_.  Yea, out of the lips of aversion,
+  Yea, out of the hand of contempt,
+  He receiveth his price.
+
+_Chorus of Women_.  Pride is the hero's undoing,
+  Pride is the sin of the great.
+  Lo, he licketh the crumbs!
+
+_Both Choruses_.  So down the torrent of infamy,
+  So into the bosom of Hell;
+  O _Vulture_, thou bearest him!
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Is all treason punished like this among men?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Father, thou askest things no man can answer.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  If these things could be known, what man would follow
+his own desires?  Fear overtaketh me in thinking of them.  I thank the
+gods that my channel is laid, I cannot change it.  The man seems to me
+like one who should place a lake on a hilltop and cry to it, Stay
+there!  He hath wrestled against thunder.  He would lift the rocks with
+his back; and he lies crushed beneath them.  Can he not repent?  Shall
+he never find out that fire is hot?  Must he die still unapprised of
+his own foolishness?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  The future is a hard thing to know.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Are there not charms that open mountain sides,
+  And show what shall come forth?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  All things to come
+  Are come already,--save the power to see them.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Would I might know the ending of that man,
+  Whose fate and story clinging to my name
+  Do make me human!
+
+_Leader of Men_.    Human was his end,
+  And very moving.  Wouldst thou wait awhile,
+  Or see the story now?
+
+_Father Hudson_.     Now, now, my son!
+
+_Invocation_.  [_Sung in contralto voice, as before,
+      by the_ Leader of Women.]
+  Storm-shadowed, precipitous valley,
+  And ye threatening towers of stone that hold back the mountains,
+  Letting the dark stream pass; Storm King, and Donderberg,
+      homes of reverberant thunder;
+  Thou steep theatre, where his story trod its stage,
+  And where the circling thought of it returns
+  With ever profounder, ever accumulating echoes,
+  Calling to Humanity, compelling attention, provoking the
+      unexpected tear,--
+  Open yet once again your treasured legend;
+  Out of the encrusted box, the precious parchment,
+  Out of the vestment-chambers, the hallowed rags.
+
+[_As the verse now changes its form, the music also slightly changes
+character._]
+
+  Lo, now, our holiday calls on the past for its lessons,
+    Lo, while the flame of the frost-bite fingers the dale,
+  Lo, in the lambent blaze of autumnal quiescence,
+    Flows Father Hudson, at peace, through his populous vale.
+
+  Fruit trees garland his margins,--vines, and the brazen
+    Hillocks of billowy rye o'er the undulous deep
+  Stretch to the Berkshires, proclaiming the conquering season;
+    Dash on the Catskills, repulsed by the envious steep.
+
+  Woe, royal river!  In grief I gaze on thy harvest,
+    Anxious to me my thought as thy riches unroll.
+  Mortal, beware lest in riotous plenty thou starvest!
+    Give me the fruits of the spirit, the songs of the soul.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  A sweet voice but sad,--trembling sad.
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Hush, it invokes the craggy wilderness,
+  And seeks an entrance for its piercing cry.
+
+_Leader of Women_.  [_Sings.  The music again changing with the metre._]
+  Give up the scene, give up, ye sordid rocks,
+  The last of Arnold in his English home,
+  Which in your bosom lives for evermore,
+  A deathless picture; England cast it out
+  Not being English, and it shivered on,
+  Coiling about the world, till it was caught
+  And locked into your rocky fastnesses
+  Where it lives ever; and your mountain ribs
+  Ache with the imposition.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+
+[_The centre of the stage slowly opens, disclosing a sitting-room.  A
+writing-table covered with letters.  Somewhere in the foreground a sofa
+or low couch: An engraved portrait of George III.  _Arnold_ is sitting
+at the table, but his arm-chair is turned away.  He is in a profound
+reverie, gazing at the floor.  He is dressed in the uniform of a
+British officer.  His hair is gray and his face worn.  At the back of
+the stage at one side of the door, sits _Treason_, somewhat in the
+attitude of a sheriff's officer keeping guard._]
+
+_Treason_.  [_To_ Arnold.]
+  What are you muttering, comrade?  Go to sleep!
+  And yet sleep not too sound; there's work ahead!
+  With all the world against us.  What of that?
+  We ne'er were beaten yet.  Get money first:
+  A fortune in your fist.  With honest luck,
+  Your hand against the world!  But money first.
+  [_Aside._] He breaks apace, and I await each day
+  The knock of Death--
+  [_Knocking_.]           No, no, not yet, Sir Death!
+  There's life in him and, mayhap, years of grief.
+  Leave me to tousle him.  He's strong as hemp
+  And bears his ragging well.
+  [_More knocking._]      Not yet, not yet!
+
+[_Enter_ Death.]
+
+_Treason_.  You are unjust to come before the time.
+
+_Death_.  The moment and myself are on the stroke.
+
+_Treason_.  Thou deemest that this man is soon to die?
+
+_Death_.  Death is already in him.
+
+_Treason_.            Yea, his body.--
+  His mind is brighter than it was before.
+
+_Death_.  My shadow lights his mind; but it is Death.
+
+_Treason_.  How hast thou entered him without a struggle?
+
+_Death_.  The struggle was thy work.
+
+_Treason_.      Give me some moments.
+
+_Death_.  [_Pointing to the door with great dignity._]
+  The man is mine.  Hence!  Silence!  Obey!
+
+[_Exit_ Treason.  Death_ takes _Treason's_ place by the door._]
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Waking._] They deny me the opportunity of honorable death.
+  This is the twentieth year of sodden waiting.
+  Fighting by land and sea and soldier's work,
+  As hot as heart could wish,--boy generals,--
+  Wars on all hands, in Holland, France, and Spain,
+  With military honors falling thick;--
+  And I, a Tantalus set in a lake of thirst,
+  Up to my neck in battles all about,
+  Without the power to reach them!
+
+[_Enter_ Mrs. Arnold.  _She has a youthful face, and her hair is
+prematurely white.  She passes by_ Death _without seeing him.  A
+gesture of surprise and pity as she sees _Arnold_.  She kisses him on
+his forehead, and sits down next him on a lower chair._]
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Surely, my husband you have not been forth!
+  After the sullen fever you have had
+  'Twas most unwise.--
+  [_Pause._]
+  You have been grieved, and wear the ashen look.
+
+_Arnold_.  Age, and the chafing of a few stern thoughts.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Have I not earned the right to know them?
+
+_Arnold_.  Indeed, thou hast!  An angel from the sky
+  Accepting the bad bargain of a man,
+  Could not have found a worse.  You took me up
+  A battered piece of ordnance, broken in spirit,
+  Accursed to myself and to my kind;
+  And underneath me thou hast held an arm
+  Sustaining as the seraph's upward look
+  Askance against Apollyon.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.        Benedict!
+  You shall not talk so.--
+
+_Arnold_.           Next, your mother's heart
+  Became the mother to my three grown boys,
+  Giving them such devotion and such love
+  As rarely flows from out a mother's hope
+  To her own children.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Benedict, your words
+  Cut me like knives.  Why, why this catalogue?
+
+_Arnold_.  Something compels me.--
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Where have you been?
+  Has some insulting taunt
+  Cast by a coward in a public place
+  Where you could not resent it, stung your patience?
+  These are the pebbles small men throw at great.
+
+_Arnold_.  No.  'Tis the season for my wounds to ache;
+  And with them aches the rest.--
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Where have you been?
+
+_Arnold_.  Three hours in his Lordship's ante-room.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  The War Office?  And what has been decided?
+
+_Arnold_.  I could not see his Lordship. Three hours late.
+  They sent me word his Lordship was not in.
+  It is the iteration wears me down.
+  Year after year,--year after leaden year,--
+  Kicking my heels in England's ante-rooms,
+  Where proud men pass me by: and now and then
+  I catch a glimpse of some American,--
+  A former pal, a former enemy;--
+  It is the same, both pal and enemy
+  Give me a fit of trembling.  'Twas not so;
+  Yet as the years decline our nerves grow sick:
+  I dread it more and more.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.          O Benedict,
+  This is the mood that kills us.  Have we not
+  A thousand times resolved it, made all plain?
+  You in your right of conscience chose a course
+  Beside your King, recanting many errors,
+  And following the only light you knew.
+  The king himself accepted your return
+  And raised you with his hand.
+
+_Arnold_.  [_Very quietly._]      I was a traitor.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  [_With great vehemence._]  No, no, no!
+  You were the noblest hero of them all!
+
+_Arnold_.  And now they do not trust me.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Is there a soldier in the British Isles
+  That has a list of battles like your own?
+
+_Arnold_.  It may be not.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Then make allowances for jealousy.
+  To Englishmen, their battles are a sport,
+  With every post of danger dearly prized,
+  Like the crack stations in the shooting field,--
+  Never enough for all.  They bribe and jockey,--
+  Knife their own brothers to get near the spoil.
+  And would they not repel a foreigner,--
+  One they had cause to envy?  Englishmen
+  Are very unforgiving of defeat.
+  It is your glory, the impediment:
+  So gluttonous are soldiers of reward--
+  So sporting-keen are Englishmen for fame.
+
+_Arnold_.  It may be so.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Your temperament is of colossal mould,
+  And sees too simply.
+
+_Arnold_.           I was a traitor.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Are you a man to take the common talk,
+  And be its dupe?  How often have we spoke
+  Of the returning wars that shall restore
+  The lustred fame and power that is your due?
+  Belated are they; yet to reason's eye
+  Certain to come.  God keeps such eminence
+  As in your soul exists, to show mankind
+  The height of heroes.
+
+_Arnold_.           Error: it is gone out.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Never such light goes out!  No smoke of the world--
+  Sin, error, evil, anguish, touch it not.
+  It burns forever with ethereal force
+  Beyond pollution.  I can see your soul;
+  And never has its aspect been more bright
+  Than on this morn.
+
+_Arnold_.  You are not used to talk to me like this.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Nor you to tell me that you are a traitor.
+
+_Arnold_.  Perhaps some change is coming over us.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  It may be freedom from the load of thought.
+
+_Arnold_.  It may be death.
+
+[_She kneels by him in silent anguish._]
+
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Surely truth is not born except through pain; and the
+long delay increaseth it.
+
+It is a happiness for a young man to see his error.  But for an old,
+only death remains.  He hath no strength for new things.  Let him die
+in his old ways, yea, though they be evil.
+
+Very sad is repentance when it is too late; when the blight has fallen,
+and no fruit cometh thereafter.  Very sad is the grief of an old man.
+I cannot lay hold of it.  There is no comfort to be given him, for he
+knoweth the world.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  What causes the man to see these things now?
+
+_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._]
+
+"... conscious of the rectitude of my intentions.... that I may be
+restored to the favor of my most Gracious Sovereign--... cheerfully
+cast myself at his feet imploring his Royal Grace and Protection....
+the unalterable attachment to the Person, Family, and Interests of my
+Sovereign, and to the Glory of his reign.--..."
+
+[_He throws the letter quietly on the table.  To_ Mrs. Arnold.]
+
+  West Point I did deliberately betray:
+  I begged the post intending to betray it.
+  All was conceived before I married you.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  [_As before._]  God have mercy upon us!
+
+_Arnold_.       They must pet me then,
+  To show that loyal treason reaps reward.
+  'Twas policy, not liking for my face,
+  That made King George so sweet.
+  What in this world of savage Englishmen,
+  Strange monsters that they are, have you and I
+  Found of a country?  Friends, good hearts and true;
+  But alien as the mountains of the moon,
+  More unrelated than the Polander,
+  Are Englishmen to us.  They are a race,
+  A selfish, brawling family of hounds,
+  Holding a secret contract on each fang,
+  'For us,' 'for us,' 'for us.'  They'll fawn about;
+  But when the prey's divided;--Keep away!
+  I have some beef about me and bear up
+  Against an insolence as basely set
+  As mine own infamy; yet I have been
+  Edged to the outer cliff.  I have been weak,
+  And played too much the lackey.  What am I
+  In this waste, empty, cruel, land of England,
+  Save an old castaway,--a buccaneer,--
+  The hull of derelict Ambition,--
+  Without a mast or spar, the rudder gone,
+  A danger to mankind!
+
+[_He sits down upon the couch._  Mrs. Arnold _throws herself on his
+knees and sobs convulsively._]
+
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Who shall praise a woman, save He that made her, save
+God that understandeth all things?
+
+I will sing a song of woman, and magnify the wife of a man's soul.  His
+goodness she has discerned when no man else can find it: his crimes are
+known to her, yet is he not in them: she seeketh his soul among many.
+
+She divineth salvation out of hell; and bringeth water from the desert.
+Who shall praise a woman save He that made her; save God who
+understandeth all things?
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Sorrow is erecting a tomb for this man in my heart.
+Whence comes the peculiar pang, my children?  Whence comes this pity
+that will not be denied, but bedews your faces?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  From the greatness of the man, comes it Father; and
+from his ignorance of himself.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Is it true that he was a hero?
+
+_Leader of Men_.  Such a hero as antiquity can show, towering,
+magnificent, made of cloud and thunder, made of lightning and glory, a
+god among fighting men, a Hector or Mars appearing from the bosom of
+the sky on the day of battle, bringing victory.
+
+No one had seen his like before; nor since him has one like him come.
+To his country he gave the column of his strength.  In her need he
+sustained her.  He planted her high.  His name became bulwark: many
+times gave he his strength.  Yea, his life also grudged he not.
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Would he had died in his glory, would he had been
+struck down and died long ago!  So had he been spared this humiliation.
+On my shores he belongs: the memory of his infamy and of his fame
+covers me: Saratoga knew him, and West Point acknowledges him.  No tomb
+shall he have; yet shall the hills remember him.  His glory is eaten up
+in shame; and yet shall mercy say her word.  See, he begins again.
+What new anguish will he reveal?
+
+Arnold.  [_He has now recovered his composure._]
+  Where are the boys?  If death be soon to come
+  I'd gladly see them.  Is it not most strange
+  That one possessing nothing to bequeath
+  Of all those things men covet for their sons,
+  Should have so many?  For what rank or name,
+  Honor or fatherland, or worldly goods,
+  All that men sweat for,--have I here to leave?
+  Country I've none.  My land was over there
+  Where my first honors sprouted.  And my boys
+  Are foreigners,--young Englishmen--brought up
+  Upon King George's bounty.  When he bought
+  My loyalty he took my children, too.
+  Ben, he is dead, my eldest,--he was killed
+  In the West Indies, fighting for the King.
+  Sir Grenville Temple brought me back his sword.
+  (God bless him for it!)  Send and fetch down Ben's sword.
+
+[Mrs. Arnold _rings.  Enter servant.  She speaks to servant in
+dumb-show.  Exit servant._]
+
+  Richard and Henry, your two foster sons,
+  Settled in Canada on royal grants.
+  And our four sons,--your Edward, Robert, George
+  And little William,--are all pensioners,
+  Assisted servants of the English crown.
+  Where are they?  I must see them.  It is strange
+  That I, remembering them, can yet not think
+  Quite plainly where they are.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.         My dearest Lord
+  There's fever in your cheek.  The day's distress
+  Has worked some downfall to your shattered brain,
+  You're very sick.--
+
+_Arnold_.            The boys, I asked about--
+  Are they away, or here?
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.          The elder three
+  At school and college, and our little Will
+  Just home from school.
+
+_Arnold_.             I pray you let him come;
+  My blessings on them all must fall through him;
+  Nor will they wait: the passage of an hour
+  May find me gone.--Stay; there is yet one son.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  No, Benedict, you have described them all.
+
+_Arnold_.  Ay, but there is one, born in Canada,
+  My natural son, whose mother is no more;
+  And yet my son,--and brother to the rest,
+  And ever at my cost I've brought him up.
+  I cannot leave him out.  He is of age
+  And elder than your boys.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.               A son of yours--
+
+_Arnold_.  A natural son of mine, whose bringing up
+  Is at my charge.  I cannot cut him off.
+  Though of my name I scanted him the curse,
+  I ever sent him help.
+
+[_Gives her a paper._]
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.      You have done right
+  To count him in; and I accept him,
+  And will provide a portion like the rest
+  Though at my children's cost.
+
+_Arnold_.                    Send William here:
+  The time grows short.
+
+[_Enter servant bringing the sword which_ Mrs. Arnold _takes and gives
+to_ Arnold.]
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  [_To servant._]  Send Master William here.
+
+[_Exit servant.  Enter_ William Arnold, _a boy of eight._]
+
+_Arnold_.  William, you are a soldier:--
+  This old sword
+  Was once your brother Ben's,--my eldest boy.
+  He served his God, his Country, and his King,
+  And found a soldier's death.  It is a record
+  We may be proud of in the family.
+  You and your brothers, Edward, George, and Robert,
+  Are dedicated soldiers to the King.
+  England, to all of you, is generous
+  To overflowing: See ye pay her back
+  In overflowing measure with your lives.
+  You are a soldier, Sir, and understand
+  The duties of a soldier; when you grow
+  A little older you will read, perhaps,
+  Something about your father; for his name
+  Is written on a page of history;
+  You cannot miss it.  When you find it there,
+  Remember only all the soldier part;
+  The soldier part he leaves you: all the rest
+  Was something suffered, that was meant for him
+  But not for you.  There, go my boy; good-bye.
+  You must to all your brothers tell this news,
+  And say I blessed them.  They will understand,
+  Each in his measure, on the appointed day,
+  My message to them.  See you bear it safe.
+  It is a charge of honor and becomes you.
+
+[Arnold _kisses the little boy, and gives him the sword with which he
+walks toward the door.  The child feels that something very serious is
+happening, although he does not entirely understand it.  When near the
+door he turns, runs back and embraces the old man again; and then
+exit._]
+
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Now will I say that children add to life a glory not
+belonging to it; and a pang beyond the pain of this world.
+
+In them is pain; in their birth, danger; and in their tender years, a
+care; thereafter, sorrow or joy, too keen, too keen, too poignant, too
+sharp,--cutting the heart in twain.
+
+Happy are they who know it not.  Happy are the childless; for the great
+sufferings are kept from them.  Blessed are they: I will praise and
+envy them always.
+
+
+_Arnold_.  Now is my burden lightened.
+  One adieu,--
+  The worst, remains; and then,--I know not what,--some relaxation
+  Or sweetness of the grave.
+  [_To_ Mrs. Arnold.]  Good-bye, great soul;
+  I leave thee sorrows, many-pointed cares,
+  The stress of growing sons and straightening means;
+  Yet one great blackness passes from your life,
+  Unshadowing you all.  I see ye stand
+  Safe in the port,--as on a margent shore
+  Clustered in sunlight,--while my bark moves on.
+  I am not of ye; I am far away
+  And long ago; one of those Argonauts
+  That in the western seas, with sturdy oar,
+  Urging their venturesome and sacred bark,
+  Steered a new course,--a band, a brotherhood,--
+  And, though a Judas, I was one of them.
+  Get me my uniform.  I wore it last
+  On that last day on which my sun went down.
+  And I, descending now to seek the sun,
+  Must put it on.
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  Dear Benedict, your uniform?
+  You have it on.
+
+_Arnold_.      No, no! not this, not this!
+  Ring; call a servant!
+
+_Mrs. Arnold_.  [_Rings.  To servant._]
+  Whate'er he asks for, get it quickly for him,
+  But make no questions.
+
+[Arnold _speaks to servant in dumb-show.  Exit servant._]
+
+_Arnold_.  The very coat I did the treason in,
+  By accident preserved, and then,--and then--
+  I could not cast it off: it clung to me--
+  Waiting this day.  It lay there like a dog,
+  Patient against a master's drunkenness,
+  Watching his face.
+
+[_Enter servant with the coat of the American uniform, and the
+sword-knots._]
+
+  Thou one unbroken link with all the men
+  I walked with on the mountain heights of youth,
+  When glory shone, and trumpets heralded,
+  And drums were rolling!  We were patriots then,
+  Warren, and Putnam, Lincoln, Knox, and Schuyler,
+  Morgan, and Stark, Montgomery, Sullivan--
+  And scores of faces burnished by the winds,
+  That shone with glory--
+
+[_He takes off the coat of his British uniform, the servant assisting,
+and puts on the coat of his old American uniform._]
+
+                Never weep, dear wife.
+  I seek the truth you teach me.  It is thus
+  Your thoughts do guide me;--and I must go back
+  To where I lost the way.
+  [_Showing sword-knots._]  That ornament
+  Washington gave me,--with such words of praise
+  As must preserve it till the judgment day
+  Against corruption.  Should I meet that man,
+  Will his reluctant and offended shade
+  Pass sadly on?  Or will he greet me there,--
+  There, but not here.  There, there, but never here!
+  On toward that shadowy spot I blindly go,
+  Claiming the past.
+
+[_He lies down on the couch, and_ Mrs. Arnold _kneels by his side.
+Exit_ Death.]
+
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Surely the past must be allowed to all men; and not
+to him alone.  What good there was in us cannot be lost.
+
+God forgets not the virtue of those who have failed; and why should man
+seek to judge them?  Verily all courage is immortal: the man himself
+cannot kill it.
+
+Lo, what great things are done through even bad men; and this man had
+in him much goodness.
+
+[_A pause.  Distant military music.  Four young boys dressed in white,
+and bearing tall spears with little banners attached to the tips, enter
+and stand each at one corner of the couch.  The arrangement suggests a
+medieval church tomb, of which_ Mrs. Arnold's _kneeling figure forms a
+part._]
+
+
+_Both Choruses_.  Not on the shores of America--
+  Not on our shuddering strand,
+    Can Arnold's tomb be laid.
+
+  Nor in his land of illusions--
+  Britain's contemptuous Isle,
+    Can stone be added to stone.
+
+  Yet in a corner of Memory,
+  Hallowed by terrible pain,
+    Stand the stones of his grave.
+
+  There, his trophies of victory,
+  Piled in marshal array,
+    Gorgeous, perennial--
+
+  Spoils, heroic, tumultuous,
+  Emblems, worthy remembrance--
+    Marking a hero's grave.
+
+
+[_While this is being sung there enters a procession of youths dressed
+in white, each carrying a gigantic wreath, inscribed with one of_
+Arnold's _victories:--The Maine Wilderness, Quebec, Valcour's Island,
+St. John's, Ridgefield, Bemis Heights, Saratoga, etc.  They circle the
+group, and pile the wreaths about the couch, then stand about in
+symmetry._]
+
+_Father Hudson_.  Enough, my children, I understand.  Leave me awhile.
+Let there be no loud praises.  Go silently.
+
+[_A dead march is played._  Father Hudson _resumes the plastic,
+immobile, and almost invisible attitude which he occupied at the
+opening of the play.  The_ Choruses _file silently out, one on each
+side of the orchestra._]
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Books by John Jay Chapman
+
+
+EMERSON AND OTHER ESSAYS
+
+CAUSES AND CONSEQUENCES
+
+PRACTICAL AGITATION
+
+FOUR PLAYS FOR CHILDREN
+
+THE MAID'S FORGIVENESS, a play
+
+A SAUSAGE FROM BOLOGNA, a play
+
+LEARNING AND OTHER ESSAYS
+
+THE TREASON AND DEATH OF BENEDICT ARNOLD, a play for a Greek theatre
+
+
+Moffat, Yard & Co.,
+
+NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Treason and Death of Benedict
+Arnold, by John Jay Chapman
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