by John Barth
The woman had turned in his direction and raised her head. Her black hair showed no signs of soap or comb, nor had she plagued her skin overmuch with scrubbing. But what caused Ebenezer to break off in midsentence was the fact that except for her slovenliness and the open sores that even in the shadow were conspicuous on her face and arms, the swine-maiden could have passed for the girl in the Cyprian’s rigging; and but for a decade’s difference in their apparent ages, she bore a certain resemblance to the youthful whore Joan Toast.
“Am I such a sight as that?” the woman asked harshly.
“Nay, nay, forgive me!” Ebenezer begged. “ ’Tis quite the contrary: you look in some ways like a girl I knew in London—how long since!”
“Ye do not tell me! Had this wench my lovely clothes and fine complexion, and did ye show a nice concern for her maidenhead?”
“Ah, prithee, speak less sourly!” the Laureate said. “If I said aught to hurt thee, I swear ’twas not intended!”
The maid turned sullenly away. “My master’s house lies just round yonder point, a mile or two. Ye can bed there if ye’ve a mind to.” Without waiting for reply she smote the nearest hog upon its ham-butt with her stick, and the procession grunted upstream toward the point.
“She bears some likeness to Joan Toast,” Ebenezer whispered to Bertrand.
“As doth a bat to a butterfly,” the valet replied contemptuously, “that make their way through the world by the selfsame means.”
“Ah, now,” the poet protested, and the memory of his adventure on the Cyprian made him dizzy, “she’s but a swineherd and unclean, yet she hath a certain air…”
“ ’Tis that she’s windward of us, if ye should ask me.”
But Ebenezer would not be discouraged; he caught up to the woman and asked her name.
“Why, ’tis Susan Warren, sir,” she said uncordially. “I suppose ye want to hire me for your whore?”
“Dear Heavens, no! ’Twas but an idle pleasantry, I swear! D’you think a laureate poet plays with whores?”
For answer, Susan Warren only sniffed.
“Who is your master, then?” Ebenezer demanded, somewhat less gently. “ ’Twill be surpassing pleasant to meet a proper gentleman, for I’ve met no Marylander yet who was not either a rogue or a simpleton. Yet Lord Baltimore, when he wrote out my commission, made much of the manners and good breeding in his Province and charged me to write of them.”
Instead of answering, the swine-maiden, to Ebenezer’s considerable surprise, began to weep.
“Why, what is this? Said I aught to affront you?”
The procession halted, and Bertrand came up chuckling from behind. “ ’Tis that the lady hath tender feelings, sir. ’Twas boorish of ye not to hire her services.”
“Enough!” the poet commanded, and said to Susan Warren, “ ’Tis not my wont to traffic in harlotry, ma’am; forgive me if I gave you to think otherwise.”
“ ’Tis none o’ your doing, sir,” the woman replied, and resumed her pace along the path. “The truth is that my master’s such a rascal, and uses me so ill, e’en to think on’t brings the tears.”
“And how is that? Doth he beat you, then?”
She shook her head and sniffed. “If ’twere but a birching now and again I’d not complain. The rod’s but one among my grievances, nor yet a very great one.”
“He doth worse?” Ebenezer exclaimed.
“I’faith, he must be hard pressed for diversion,” said the valet, and drew a stern look from his master.
Susan Warren permitted herself another round of wails and tears, after which, heaving a sigh to Heaven and kicking in the bacon a pig that stopped before her to make water in the path, she poured out to the Laureate the whole tale of her tribulations, as follows:
“I was born Susan Smith,” she said, “and my mother died a-bearing me. My father had a small shop in London, near Puddle Dock, where he coopered casks and barrels for the ships. One day when I was eighteen and pretty as ye please, I took a stroll down Blackfriars o’er to Ludgate, and was bowed to by a handsome wight that called me Miss Williams, and asked to walk along with me. ‘Ye may not do’t,’ I told him, ‘nor is my name Miss Williams.’ ‘How’s this?’ he cried. ‘Thou’rt not Miss Elizabeth Williams from Gracechurch Street?’ ‘I am not,’ said I. ‘Then pardon me,’ said he, ‘thou’rt like as twins.’
“ ’Twas clear to me the lad spoke truly, for he was a civil gentleman and blushed at his mistake. He said he was in love with this Miss Williams, but for all she said she loved him she’d have none o’ him for her husband, and spoke of some great sin that damned her soul. Yet this Humphrey Warren (that was his name) declared he’d have her to wife with all the sins o’ man upon her conscience.
“I saw poor Humphrey often then by Ludgate, for Miss Williams grew less ardent day by day; he told me all his trials on her account, and said we looked so much alike, ’twas as if he spoke to her instead of me. For my part, I envied this Miss Williams not a little, and thought her a great fool to scorn so fine a gentleman. Dear Humphrey was not rich, but he held a decent post in the firm of a Captain Mitchell, that was Miss Williams’ older half brother, and had every other virtue that could please a woman’s heart.
“Then one day Humphrey came to Father’s shop near Puddle Dock, weeping fit to die, and said Miss Williams had done herself to death with poison! I took pity on the man, albeit at heart I had none for Miss Williams, and rejoiced when Humphrey came to see me every day. At length he said, ‘Dear Susan, thy likeness to Elizabeth is my curse and my salvation! I weep to see ye, thinking of her dead; yet I cannot think her gone, with her living image every day before me.’ And I said, ‘I could wish, sir, ye saw somewhat beyond that likeness.’
“This gave him pause, and anon he went to Father, and we two were wed. Yet for all I strove to win my Humphrey’s love, I saw ’twas but the image of Miss Williams he made love to. One night when he lay sleeping fast I kissed him, and in his sleep he said, ‘God save ye, sweet Elizabeth!’ Fool that I was, I woke him on the instant, and made him choose betwixt the two of us. ‘Elizabeth is dead,’ I said, ‘and I’m alive. Do ye love me, love myself and not my likeness, else I shan’t stay in this bed another moment!’
“Ah, God! Had I been but ten years older, or one groats-worth wiser, I’d have held my tongue! What matter what he called me, so he loved me? Why, didn’t he call me Honey and Sweetheart and a flock of names besides, as well as Susan? I cursed my speech the moment ’twas spoke, but the hurt was done. ‘Dear Susan!’ Humphrey cried. ‘Why did ye that? Would God ye had not asked me to choose!’
“All for naught then my begging and weeping; he’d not let me put by my words, but he must choose. And choose he did, though not a word he said of’t; for next morn he was too ill to rise, and died not four days after. Thus was I widowed at nineteen years…
“My father had troubles of his own, for his trade was poor, and Humphrey’s niggard funeral took his savings. He went into debt to pay for food and stock, and just when the lot was gone, and the creditors were hounding at our door, a man came in to order casks for’s vessel, which he said was bound for Maryland at month’s end. So pleased was Father to get the work, he bade me brew the man some tea. But at sight o’ me the wight turned pale and wept, for all he was a burly bearded sailor!
“ ‘What is’t?’ said I, that had been like to die of grief myself those many weeks. The captain begged forgiveness and said ’twas my likeness to his dear dead sister caused his tears. In short, we learned he was Captain William Mitchell of Gracechurch Street, the same that was half brother to Elizabeth and my Humphrey’s late employer. Had I but known then what vipers hid behind that kindly face, I had turned him out and bolted fast the door! But instead we wept together: I for my Humphrey, Captain Mitchell for his sister, and Father for the miseries of this life, wherein we lose the ones we love and cannot even mourn them fitly, for grubbing to feed the living.”
Here Susan had to interrupt her narrative for some m
oments to give expression to her grief. Tears ran as well down Ebenezer’s face, and even Bertrand was no longer hostile, but sighed in sympathy.
“Captain Mitchell then came oft to visit us,” she went on, “and Father and I being innocent of the World’s wickedness, we took him to our hearts. We had no secret he was not made privy to, though he gave us to know little of himself. Yet we guessed that he was rich, for he spoke of carrying twenty servants to Maryland, whither he sailed to take some fine post in the government.
“Then when the coopering was done and all the casks hauled over to the dock, Captain Mitchell made my father a strange proposal: he would pay off Father’s debts and leave him unencumbered for good and all, if I would sail to Maryland with Mrs. Mitchell and himself. He would treat me as his own dear sister, he declared; nay, more—’twas just that likeness had resolved him, and he meant to call me Elizabeth Williams. I was to be a sister to him, and companion to his ailing wife…
“My father wept and thanked him for his kindness, but said he could not live if I were gone, whereupon Captain Mitchell proposed at once that he sell the shop—lock, stock, and barrels—and start a new life in America. Naught would do then but we fetch our books and ledgers, almost a-swoon with joy and gratitude, and he paid our creditors in cash. ‘Surely there’s some condition to this kindness!’ Father cried, and Captain Mitchell said, ‘No more than what I stated: Miss Warren is now my sister.’
“Thus was the business done, with my consent. That night, when things were calm again, I felt odd at being Elizabeth Williams, that I had envied and despised, and wondered if I’d spoken in too great haste. Yet ’twas a kind of pleasure too, inasmuch as Humphrey had loved Elizabeth all in vain and now would have his love returned tenfold!
“On shipboard I was placed in Mrs. Mitchell’s room, while Father was placed with Captain Mitchell’s servants in the ’tween decks. Mrs. Mitchell was bedridden with some strange malady, but she was sweet to me. She called me Elizabeth, and bade me do whate’er her husband asked, because he was a great good man that she could not live without. Two times a day I gave her medicine in little phials that Captain Mitchell took from a wooden chest: if I was late ’twould drive her almost mad, but once she had her phial, she’d off to sleep at once. Captain Mitchell had a great many of these phials, and one morning he made me take one lest I get seasick.
“ ‘Thankee,’ said I, ‘but we’re eight days out and I’ve not been seasick yet.’ Captain Mitchell then came near and put his arm about my waist, right before Mrs. Mitchell’s eyes, and said, ‘Sister, ye must do as your brother says.’ And Mrs. Mitchell cried, ‘Aye, aye, Elizabeth, do as your brother says!’
“He gave a phial to me then, and to pacify them both I did as he bade me, and chewed the brown gum inside. Ah Christ, that the first bitter taste had killed me! ’Twas no medicine I took at all, but itself a malady worse than death—’twas opium I ate, sirs, all innocently that day!”
“ ’Sheart!” cried Bertrand.
“The wretch!” cried Ebenezer.
“ ’Twas opium kept Mrs. Mitchell to her bed and drove her mad when ’twas lacking! ’Twas opium led to my downfall, and my father’s, and brought me to this state ye see: a filthy trollop driving swine! God curse the hand that raised the poppy that made the opium I ate that day! Yet I thought ’twas simple medicine, belike a soporific, and bitter as it was, I ate it all. Straightway I drowsed upon my feet, and the room changed sizes; I was on the bed with Mrs. Mitchell, that grasped me by the hand, and the Captain leaning o’er the twain of us. His head had got huge; his eyes were afire. ‘Sister Elizabeth! Sister Elizabeth!’ he said…
“In my dream I rose up high o’er the ship, hand in hand with Mrs. Mitchell. The sky was blue as sapphire, and the sea beneath us looked like crepe. The ship was a wee thing, clear and bright, and straight on the horizon was the sun. Then the sun was the eye of a man, and Mrs. Mitchell said, ‘Lookee yonder, Elizabeth: that man is Christ Almighty, and ye must do what he says, as thou’rt a proper Catholic girl.’ We went up near to Christ’s great eye, and when He looked to us we stood naked for his judgment.
“ ‘Sister Elizabeth,’ he said to me, ‘I shall soon choose ye for a mighty work. I mean to get a child on ye, as my Father did on Mary!” I saw myself next in the habit of a nun, and Mrs. Mitchell called me Sister Elizabeth, the bride o’ Christ. Then Christ’s voice came like a great warm wind behind me, calling, ‘Sister! Sister! Sister!’ and while that Mrs. Mitchell held me, I was swived.
“ ’Twas all clear when I woke, for the face o’ Jesus was Captain Mitchell’s face: I saw why Elizabeth had turned in shame from Humphrey and killed herself with poison; I saw why Captain Mitchell called me his sister, in his awful wickedness, and why Mrs. Mitchell had to help him in his sin. From that day I was lost, and Captain Mitchell hid no longer his real nature. Again and again they forced the drug upon me, till I was dreaming half the day of Christ my lover. The craving got such hold on me, I’d have killed any man to get my phial. Five pounds apiece he set his fee, till I had borrowed from my father all the money Captain Mitchell had given him, and the poor man went to Maryland a pauper. After that there was naught for’t but to sell my services for the future, a month of bondage for every phial: I signed a blank indenture-bond for Captain Mitchell to count the months on, and knew I was his slave and whore for life.
“All through this time I’d not seen Father once, nor did I wish to. Captain Mitchell told him I was ill and that the money was for medicine. When all was gone the poor man near lost his mind; he begged for more money, but Captain Mitchell bade him indent himself to the captain of the ship, who then would sell the indenture-bond in port. My father sold himself at first for two years, then for four, and all the money went to Captain Mitchell for my medicine.
“One day near the end o’ the passage Captain Mitchell gave his wife two phials instead of one, and two more after that, until she died before my eyes. Inasmuch as we had no physician, and everyone knew of the lady’s illness, she was buried at sea and no questions asked. When we raised St. Mary’s City, Father’s bond was sold to a Mr. Spurdance on the Eastern Shore, and ’tis the last I’ve seen o’ him in these five years. Captain Mitchell moved into a fine large house in St. Mary’s, and no longer did I pose as Elizabeth Williams (save in bed), but was Susan Warren, his indentured servant.
“I was wont to say to myself ‘St. Mary’s City, St. Mary’s City,’ and in my opium dreams it was St. Susan’s City, that I ruled over, and Christ came down and swived me night by night. One morning Mrs. Sissly, the neighbor woman, said, ‘Miss Warren, thou’rt with child,’ and I said, ‘Mrs. Sissly, if I am with child ’twas inspired by no man, but by the Holy Ghost.’ But Mrs. Sissly thought ’twas some manservant of the town I’d lain with, and told the tale to Captain Mitchell. He fell into a rage on hearing the news, for all he was the father; he told Martha Webb, the cook, to boil me an egg next morning, and he put a horrid physic in’t, and made me eat it all. Then he put a towel round his neck and told Mrs. Webb he had physicked himself, and not to allow any visitors whilst he was a-purging. ’Twas a terrible strong physic, that had me three days purging strongly on the close-stool. It made me ill besides, and scurvied all my body; I broke out in boils and blains, and lost the hair off head and privates. Then the babe in my womb was murthered dead by’t, and I knew wherefore he’d given it me to take…
“ ‘What think ye now?’ he said. ‘Will ye try that trick again?’ And I said, ‘That child was holy, sir; ’twas fathered on me by Jesus in your person.’ And ‘Jesus Christ indeed!’ said he. ‘There is no such person, Sister, nor any Holy Ghost!’ And he said he was astonished that the world had been deluded these many years by a man and a pigeon.
“Now these blasphemies were heard by Mrs. Webb and Mrs. Sissly, that ofttimes listened outside our doors, and being both good Christian women they took the tale to the sheriff. Captain Mitchell was summoned to the next grand jury and charged with fraud, murther, adultery, fornication, blas
phemy, and murtherous intent. I did rejoice withal, despite he had the opium and my life would end with his.
“But, alas, I recked without the man’s position, and the evil o’ Maryland’s courts: Captain Mitchell was fined a sniveling five thousand pounds o’ sot-weed, whereof one third was remitted by the Governor, while I—that God knows had endured enough—I was sentenced to thirty-nine lashes on my suffering naked back, by the courthouse door, for leading a lewd course o’ life! They also took my master’s post away—not for his wickedness, but for his blasphemies—and freed me from my indenture. But little good that did me, that for my next phial must indent myself again, and take another bastinado at his hands!
“We moved then to this place in Calvert County, and my master plants tobacco. I am more wretched than e’er before, for since the physic robbed my beauty hell not have me now but once in a passing while. He courts a new girl, only lately come from London, a wee child of a thing that hath the face of Elizabeth Williams and myself, and he treats her like a queen the while I’m set to drive the swine. Yet he gives me still my phials, and I well know why: ’twill not be long ere I hold her for him, while he puts the first opium in her mouth and calls her Sister Elizabeth. I shall get no more phials after that: I will fling myself to drown in yon Patuxent and be well out of’t, and he will have his new young sister for good and all…
“God curse that man and this province!” the woman cried finally, leaning upon her staff to weep. “Would Christ I had died while yet a maiden girl, in my father’s little coopery on the Thames!”
20
The Laureate Attends the Swine-Maiden Herself
EBENEZER AND BERTRAND listened dumb struck to this tale, which done the poet cried, “Out on’t, but your master is the Devil himself! Charles, Charles! Where is the majesty of Maryland’s law, when a woman is used so ill? I would to Heav’n my baggage were here and not God alone knows where; then would I fetch up my sword, and this Captain Mitchell speak nimbly!”