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The speaker's ideal entertainments

Chapter 87: Nell.
By George M. Vickers
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Plays/Films/DramasTeaching & Education

About This Book

A curated anthology of recitations, dialogues, and short dramas compiled for use in home, church, and school entertainments, accompanied by practical annotations on gesture, dramatic poses, and delivery. Selections include newly obtained manuscripts and engraved illustrations, and introductory guidance defines a system of hand positions and movement directions to shape expressive action. Hints on staging, tasteful modulation, and the distinctions between emphatic and conversational gestures aim to help novices and trained elocutionists alike, making the collection a hands-on resource for developing vocal technique and coordinated physical expression.

Nell.

You’re a kind[671] woman, Nan! Ay, kind and true![672]
God[673] will be good to faithful folk like you!
You knew my Ned?
A better,[674] kinder lad never drew breath.
We loved each other true, and we were wed
In church, like some who took him to his death;[675]
A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost[676]
His senses when he took a drop too much.
Drink[677] did it all—drink made him mad when cross’d—
He was a poor man, and they’re hard[678] on such.
O Nan! that night! that night!
When I was sitting in this[679] very chair,
Watching and waiting in the candle-light,
And heard[680] his foot come creaking up the stair,
And turned and saw him standing yonder,[681] white
And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair!
And when I caught[682] his arm and called in fright,
He pushed[683] me, swore, and to the door[684] he pass’d
To lock and bar[685] it fast.
Then down he drops[686] just like a lump of lead,
Holding his brow,[687] shaking, and growing whiter,
And—Nan!—just then the light[688] seem’d growing brighter,
And I could see the hands[689] that held his head,
All red![690] all bloody red!
What could I do but scream? He groaned to hear,
Jump’d to his feet, and gripped[691] me by the wrist;
“Be still,[692] or I shall kill thee, Nell!” he hiss’d.
And I was still for fear.
“They’re after[693] me—I’ve knifed a man!” he said,
“Be still![694]—the drink—drink did it!—he is dead!”[695]
Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn’t weep;
All I could do was cling[696] to Ned and hark,[697]
And Ned was cold,[698] cold, cold, as if asleep,
But breathing hard and deep.
The candle[699] flicker’d out—the room grew dark[700]
And—Nan!—although my heart[701] was true and tried—
When all grew cold[702] and dim,
I shuddered[703]—not for fear of them outside,[704]
But just afraid to be alone with him.[705]
“Ned! Ned!”[706] I whisper’d—and he moan’d and shook,
But did not heed or look!
“Ned! Ned![707] speak, lad! tell me[708] it is not true!”
At that he raised his head and look’d so wild;
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw
His arms around[709] me, crying like a child,
And held me close—and not a word was spoken,
While I clung tighter to his heart and press’d him,
And did not fear him, though my heart was broken,
But kiss’d his poor stain’d hands, and cried, and bless’d[710] him!
Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold
With sound[711] of falling rain—
When I could see his face,[712] and it look’d old,
Like the pinch’d face of one that dies[713] in pain;
Well, though we heard folk stirring[714] in the sun,
We never thought to hide away or run,
Until we heard those voices[715] in the street,
That hurrying of feet,
And Ned leap’d up,[716] and knew that they had come.
“Run, Ned!”[717] I cried, but he was deaf and dumb;
“Hide, Ned!”[718] I scream’d, and held him; “Hide thee, man!”[719]
He stared with blood-shot eyes and hearken’d, Nan!
And all the rest[720] is like a dream—the sound
Of knocking[721] at the door—
A rush of men—a struggle on the ground[722]—
A mist—a tramp—a roar;
For when I got my senses back again,
The room was empty,[723] and my head[724] went round!
God[725] help him? God will help him! Ay, no fear![726]
It was the drink,[727] not Ned[728]—he meant no wrong;
So kind! So good!—and I am useless[729] here,
Now he is lost that loved me true and long.
… That night before he died,
I didn’t cry—my heart[730] was hard and dried;
But when the clocks[731] went “one,” I took my shawl
To cover up my face, and stole away,
And walk’d[732] along the silent streets, where all
Look’d cold[733] and still and gray,
And on[734] I went, and stood in Leicester Square,
But just as “three” was sounded close at hand
I started and turn’d east,[735] before I knew,
Then down Saint Martin’s Lane, along the Strand,
And through the toll-gate on to Waterloo.
Some men and lads went by,
And turning round, I gazed,[736] and watch’d ’em go,
Then felt that they were going to see him die,[737]
And drew my shawl[738] more tight, and follow’d slow.[739]
More people pass’d me, a country cart with hay
Stopp’d close beside[740] me, and two or three
Talk’d about it![741] I moan’d, and crept[742] away!
Next came a hollow sound[743] I knew full well,
For something gripped[744] me round the heart!—and then
There came the solemn tolling[745] of a bell!
O God! O God![746] how could[747] I sit close by,
And neither scream nor cry?
As if I had been stone, all hard and cold,
I listen’d,[748] listen’d, listen’d, still and dumb,
While the folk murmur’d, and the death-bell[749] toll’d,
And the day brighten’d,[750] and his time had come.
… Till, Nan!—all else was silent[751] but the knell
Of the slow bell![752]
And I could only wait, and wait, and wait,
And what I waited for[753] I couldn’t tell—
At last there came a groaning deep and great—
St. Paul’s struck “eight”[754]—
I scream’d, and seem’d to turn to fire and fell![755]
God[756] bless him, live or dead!
He never meant no wrong, was kind and true.
They’ve wrought their fill of spite[757] upon his head.
Why didn’t they be kind, and take me[758] too?
And there’s the dear old things[759] he used to wear,
And there’s[760] a lock of hair.
And Ned, my Ned! is fast asleep,[761] and cannot hear me call.
God bless you,[762] Nan, for all you’ve done and said!
But don’t mind me, my heart[763] is broke, that’s all![764]
—Robert Buchanan.

Gestures.