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diff --git a/27670-8.txt b/27670-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d88f23d --- /dev/null +++ b/27670-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1994 @@ +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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 ANDRÉ. + +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? + André should be here. André 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 André 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 André 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 André 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_ André _by a +gesture. Enter_ André. _His slender, refined, almost girlish youth is +in contrast with_ Arnold's _battle-worn, gigantic figure._] + +_Arnold_. [_Aside._] At last my arrows strike! + [_To_ André.] What! Major André! + 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. + +_André_. 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. + +_André_. 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. + +_André_. 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. + +_André_. 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-- + +_André_. But this is different, Arnold. + +_Arnold_. Different, ay different! it saves men's lives: + Without a drop of blood it ends a war. + +_André_. 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_ André.] + +_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_ André _on one side,_ +Joshua Smith _on the other._] + +_Joshua Smith_. General Arnold! Major André! + +_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 André_. 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 André 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. + +_André_. But my uniform-- + +_Arnold_. It is a case for a change of coats. + +_André_. 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_ André.] He's right, André, 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. + +_André_. [_Shaking hands with_ Arnold.] Till we meet again. + +_Arnold_. [_With a gesture._] There in the fort! + Sir Henry on his horse, + And André 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. + +_André_. 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 André! + 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. + +_André_. 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_ André's _coat._] + +Success is virtue; and we mean to win. + +[_Exit_ André _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 André 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!--André 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREASON, DEATH OF BENEDICT ARNOLD *** + +***** This file should be named 27670-8.txt or 27670-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/6/7/27670/ + +Produced by Nicholas Tomaiuolo and Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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