| 'A LETTER from my love to-day! | |
| Oh, unexpected, dear appeal!' | |
| She struck a happy tear away, | |
| And broke the crimson seal. | |
| |
| 'My love, there is no help on earth, | 5 |
| No help in heaven; the dead-man's bell | |
| Must toll our wedding; our first hearth | |
| Must be the well-paved floor of hell.' | |
| |
| The colour died from out her face, | |
| Her eyes like ghostly candles shone; | 10 |
| She cast dread looks about the place, | |
| Then clenched her teeth and read right on. | |
| |
| 'I may not pass the prison door; | |
| Here must I rot from day to day, | |
| Unless I wed whom I abhor, | 15 |
| My cousin, Blanche of Valencay. | |
| |
| 'At midnight with my dagger keen, | |
| I'll take my life; it must be so. | |
| Meet me in hell to-night, my queen, | |
| For weal and woe.' | 20 |
| |
| She laughed although her face was wan, | |
| She girded on her golden belt, | |
| She took her jewelled ivory fan, | |
| And at her glowing missal knelt. | |
| |
| Then rose, 'And am I mad?' she said: | 25 |
| She broke her fan, her belt untied; | |
| With leather girt herself instead, | |
| And stuck a dagger at her side. | |
| |
| She waited, shuddering in her room, | |
| Till sleep had fallen on all the house. | 30 |
| She never flinched; she faced her doom: | |
| They two must sin to keep their vows. | |
| |
| Then out into the night she went, | |
| And, stooping, crept by hedge and tree; | |
| Her rose-bush flung a snare of scent, | 35 |
| And caught a happy memory. | |
| |
| She fell, and lay a minute's space; | |
| She tore the sward in her distress; | |
| The dewy grass refreshed her face; | |
| She rose and ran with lifted dress. | 40 |
| |
| She started like a morn-caught ghost | |
| Once when the moon came out and stood | |
| To watch; the naked road she crossed, | |
| And dived into the murmuring wood. | |
| |
| The branches snatched her streaming cloak; | 45 |
| A live thing shrieked; she made no stay! | |
| She hurried to the trysting-oak— | |
| Right well she knew the way. | |
| |
| Without a pause she bared her breast, | |
| And drove her dagger home and fell, | 50 |
| And lay like one that takes her rest, | |
| And died and wakened up in hell. | |
| |
| She bathed her spirit in the flame, | |
| And near the centre took her post; | |
| From all sides to her ears there came | 55 |
| The dreary anguish of the lost. | |
| |
| The devil started at her side, | |
| Comely, and tall, and black as jet. | |
| 'I am young Malespina's bride; | |
| Has he come hither yet?' | 60 |
| |
| 'My poppet, welcome to your bed.' | |
| 'Is Malespina here?' | |
| 'Not he! To-morrow he must wed | |
| His cousin Blanche, my dear!' | |
| |
| 'You lie, he died with me to-night.' | 65 |
| 'Not he! it was a plot' ... 'You lie.' | |
| 'My dear, I never lie outright.' | |
| 'We died at midnight, he and I.' | |
| |
| The devil went. Without a groan | |
| She, gathered up in one fierce prayer, | 70 |
| Took root in hell's midst all alone, | |
| And waited for him there. | |
| |
| She dared to make herself at home | |
| Amidst the wail, the uneasy stir. | |
| The blood-stained flame that filled the dome, | 75 |
| Scentless and silent, shrouded her. | |
| |
| How long she stayed I cannot tell; | |
| But when she felt his perfidy, | |
| She marched across the floor of hell; | |
| And all the damned stood up to see. | 80 |
| |
| The devil stopped her at the brink: | |
| She shook him off; she cried, 'Away!' | |
| 'My dear, you have gone mad, I think.' | |
| 'I was betrayed: I will not stay.' | |
| |
| Across the weltering deep she ran; | 85 |
| A stranger thing was never seen: | |
| The damned stood silent to a man; | |
| They saw the great gulf set between. | |
| |
| To her it seemed a meadow fair; | |
| And flowers sprang up about her feet | 90 |
| She entered heaven; she climbed the stair | |
| And knelt down at the mercy-seat. | |
| |
| Seraphs and saints with one great voice | |
| Welcomed that soul that knew not fear. | |
| Amazed to find it could rejoice, | 95 |
| Hell raised a hoarse, half-human cheer. | |
