The Sisters' Tragedy

The Sisters' Tragedy

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

A. D. 1670

AGLAE, a widow
MURIEL, her unmarried sister.

IT happened once, in that brave land that lies
For half the
twelvemonth wrapt in sombre skies,
Two sisters loved one man. He
being dead,
Grief loosed the lips of her he had not wed,
And
all the passion that through heavy years
Had masked in smiles
unmasked itself in tears.
No purer love may mortals know than
this,
The hidden love that guards another's bliss.
High in a
turret's westward-facing room,
Whose painted window held the
sunset's bloom,
The two together grieving, each to each

Unveiled her soul with sobs and broken speech.

Both still were young, in life's rich summer yet;
And one
was dark, with tints of violet
In hair and eyes, and one was
blond as she
Who rose--a second daybreak--from the sea,

Gold-tressed and azure-eyed. In that lone place,
Like dusk and
dawn, they sat there face to face.

She spoke the first whose strangely silvering hair
No wreath
had worn, nor widow's weed might wear,
And told her blameless
love, and knew no shame--
Her holy love that, like a vestal
flame
Beside the sacred body of some queen
Within a guarded
crypt had burned unseen
From weary year to year. And she who
heard
Smiled proudly through her tears and said no word,
But,
drawing closer, on the troubled brow
Laid one long kiss, and that
was words enow!

MURIEL.

Be still, my heart! Grown patient with thine ache,
Thou
shouldst be dumb, yet needs must speak, or break.
The world is
empty now that he is gone.

AGLAE.

Ay, sweetheart!

MURIEL.

None was like him, no, not one.
From other men he stood
apart, alone
In honor spotless as unfallen snow.
Nothing all
evil was it his to know;
His charity still found some germ, some
spark
Of light in natures that seemed wholly dark.
He read
men's souls; the lowly and the high
Moved on the self-same level
in his eye.
Gracious to all, to none subservient,
Without
offence he spake the word he meant--
His word no trick of tact or
courtly art,
But the white flowering of the noble heart.

Careless he was of much the world counts gain,
Careless of self,
too simple to be vain,
Yet strung so finely that for
conscience-sake
He would have gone like Cranmer to the stake.

I saw--how could I help but love? And you--

AGLAE.

At this perfection did I worship too . . .
'Twas this that
stabbed me. Heed not what I say!
I meant it not, my wits are
gone astray,
With all that is and has been. No, I lie--
Had
he been less perfection, happier I!

MURIEL.

Strange words and wild! 'Tis the distracted mind
Breathes
them, not you, and I no meaning find.

AGLAE.

Yet 'twere as plain as writing on a scroll
Had you but eyes
to read within my soul.--
How a grief hidden feeds on its own
mood,
Poisons the healthful currents of the blood
With
bitterness, and turns the heart to stone!
I think, in truth,
'twere better to make moan,
And so be done with it. This many a
year,
Sweetheart, have I laughed lightly and made cheer,

Pierced through with sorrow!

Then the widowed one
With sorrowfullest eyes beneath the
sun,
Faltered, irresolute, and bending low
Her head, half
whispered,

Dear, how could you know?
What masks are faces!--yours,
unread by me
These seven long summers; mine, so placidly

Shielding my woe! No tremble of the lip,
No cheek's quick pallor
let our secret slip!
Mere players we, and she that played the
queen,
Now in her homespun, looks how poor and mean!
How
shall I say it, how find words to tell
What thing it was for me
made earth a hell
That else had been my heaven! 'Twould blanch
your cheek
Were I to speak it. Nay, but I will speak,
Since
like two souls at compt we seem to stand,
Where nothing may be
hidden. Hold my hand,
But look not at me! Noble 'twas, and
meet,
To hide your heart, nor fling it at his feet
To lie
despised there. Thus saved you our pride
And that white honor
for which earls have died.
You were not all unhappy, loving
so!
I with a difference wore my weight of woe.
My lord was
he. It was my cruel lot,
My hell, to love him--for he loved me
not!

Then came a silence. Suddenly like death
The truth flashed
on them, and each held her breath--
A flash of light whereby they
both were slain,
She that was loved and she that loved in
vain!