No More Learning

Count Henry. Jacob, hola ! (^Enter Jacob. ') Call up
the guards ! Conduct
This man in safety through our outmost post.
Jacob. So help me God, the Lord !

{E. veunt Pancras and Jacob. )



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 253



FIFTH PERIOD.

" Bottomless perdition. "

Milton.

Perched like an eagle, high among the rocks,

Stands the old fortress, " Holy Trinity.

Now from its bastions nothing can be seen,

To right, to left, in front, or in the rear.

But morning mists, unbroken, limitless;

A spectral image of that Deluge wrath ^

Which, as its wild waves rose to sweep o er earth.

Once broke o'er these steep cliffs, these time-worn rocks.

No glimpses can be traced of vale beneath,

Buried in ghastly waves of ice-cold sea,

Wrapping it as the shroud winds round the dead.

No crimson rays of coming sun yet light

The clammy, pallid, winding-sheet of foam.

Upon a bold and naked granite peak.

Above the spectral mist, the castle stands,

A solitary island in this sea.

Its bastions, parapets, and lofty towers

Built of the rock from which they soar, appear

During the lapse of ages to have grown

Out of its stony heart (as human breast

Springs from the centaur's back),-the giant work

Of days long past.

A single banner floats
Above the highest tower ; it is the last,
The only Banner of the Cross on earth !

A shudder stirs and wakes the sleeping mist,

The bleak winds sigh, and silence rules no more ;

The vapor surges, palpitates, and drifts

tions and mdefinue "^^^^^^1^^^^. oi the reader for tl. e solemnity
ofTclo" th Poe^Sot give too much grandeur to the scene m
which Snst is to appear. -/? . . ^. desDeux Mondes.

22*



254



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



In the first rays shot by the coming sun.
The breeze is chill ; the very light seems frost,
Curdling the clouds that form and roll and drift
Above this tossing sea of fog and foam.

With Nature's tumult other sounds arise,

And human voices mingling with the storm,

Articulate their wail, as it sweeps on.

Borne on and upward by the lifting waves

Of the cloud-surge, they break against the towers,

The castle's granite walls — voices of doom !

Long golden shafts transpierce the sea of foam ;
The clinging shroud of mist is swiftly riven ;
Through vaporous walls that line the spectral chasm
Are glimpses seen of deep abyss below.
How dark it looks athwart the precipice !
Myriads of heads in wild commotion surge ;
The valley swarms with life, as ocean's sands
With writhing things that creep and twist and sting.
The sun ! the sun ! he mounts above the peaks !
The driven, tortured vapors rise in blood ;
More and more clearly grow upon the eye
The threatening swarms fast gathering below.

The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds,

It scales the craggy cliffs, and softly melts

Into the depths of the infinite blue sky.

The valley glitters like a sea of light,

Throws back the sunshine in a dazzling glare,

For every hand is armed with sharpened blade,

And bayonets and points of steel flash fire ;

Millions are pouring through the living depths, —

As numberless as they at last will throng

Into the valley of Jehoshaphat,

When called to answer on the Judgment Day.



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



255



SCENE I. The cathedral in the Fort of the Trinity.
Lords, Senators, and dignitaries are seen on either side
of the nave, each seated at the foot of a statue of a king,
knight, or hero. Compact masses of Nobles stand behind
the statues. The Archbishop is seated in a chair of state, •
in front of the high altar, and holds a sivord upon his
knees. Choir of Priests around the altar.

Count Henry enters, holding a ba? iner in his hand. He
pauses a moment upon the threshold of the church, then
advances up the aisle to the Archbishop.

CHORUS OF PRIESTS.

We, Thy last priests, in the last Church of Christ,
Implore Thee for the glory of our fathers:
Oh, save us from our enemies, our God !

First Count. See with what pride Count Henry glares

at us !
Secoiul Count. As if the universe were at his feet !
Third Count. He has done nothing yet but cut his way
Across the peasants' camp, and there has left
Two hundred of our men dead on the field.
He slaughtered but one hundred of those wretches.
Second Count. Suffer him not to be appointed chief!
Count Henry {kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop').
This flag, torn from our foe, lies at thy feet !

Archbishop. This sword, once blessed by Florian's
holy hand,
I offer thee !

Voices. Vivat ! Vivat ! Count Henry !

Archbishop {inaking the sign of the cross upon the brow of

Count Henry).
Brave Count, I seal thee with this holy sign
Commander of the castle, — our last rampart : —
In the name of all, I here proclaim thee chief.
Voices. Long live our chief!
A Voice. I must protest. . . .

Many Voices. Be silent !

Away with him ! I^ong live our chief. Count Henry !
Count Henry. If any man has aught to urge against
me.



256 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

Let him come boldly forward and advance it,
Nor hide himself, thus skulking 'mid the crowd.

(yNo one 7'csponds. ^
Father, I take the sword ! God punish me
If I should fail to save thee with this blade !

CHORUS OF PRIESTS.

Give him Thy might, O God !
Thy Holy Spirit pour upon him !
Save us from all our foes, Lord Jesus !

Count Henry. Swear to defend the glory of our sires,
Their faith and God ! . . . Swear that though hunger,

thirst,
May drive to death, they shall not to dishonor !
Swear that no pain shall force us to submission,
Capitulation, betrayal of our God !

All. We swear !
( The Archbishop kneels and lifts the cross. All iJien kneel. )

CHORUS OF PRIESTS.

May Thy wrath strike the perjured.
May Thy wrath strike tlie craven soul.
May Thy wrath strike the traitor,
O Lord, our God !

All. We swear !

Count Henry (drawing his sword from its scabbard).
And 1 — I promise to you, glory !
For victory — yourselves must pray to God !

SCENE IL A court-yard in the castle of the Holy Trinity.
Count Henry, Princes, Counts, Barons, Nobles, Priests.

A Count {leading Count Henry aside). What ! is all lost ?

Count Henry. No. Unless courage fail !

IVie Count. How long must courage last ?

Count Henry. Even unto Death !

A Baron {leadiiig him off on the other side). Count, it
is said you've seen our dreadful foe;
If we sliould fall alive into his hands,
Will he have i)ity on us?



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 257

Count Henry. Such pity as

Our fathers never dreamed that men could dare
To show to tliem : the gallows /

The Baron. Naught then's left

But to defend ourselves to our last breath !

Count Henry. What say you, Prince?

Prince. A word with you alone.

(^He draws Count Henry aside. ')
All you have said does well to soothe the crowd,
But you must kno7i> we can hold out no longer !

Count Henry. What else is left us, Prince ?

Prince. You are our chief;

It is for you to arrange the proper terms,
Capitulate . . .

Count Hc7iry. Hush ! not so loud !

Prince. Why not ?

Count Henry. Your Excellency thus would forfeit life !
{He turns to the men thronging around him. )
Who names surrender will be put to death !

Baron, Count, and Prince {together). Who names sur-
render will be put to death !

AIL Punished with death ! with death ! Vivat ! Vivat !

{Exeunt. )

SCENE III. The gallery of the tower. Count Henry.
Jacob.
Cou7it Henry. Jacob, where is my son ?
Jacob. In the north tower,

Seated upon the threshold of the vault,
Before the grate that opens on the dungeons,
Chanting wild songs and uttering prophecies.

Count Henry. Put more men on the bastion-Eleanore,
And move not from this spot. Use your best glass.
And watch the movements of the rebel camp.

Jacob. So help us God! Meanwhile our troops are faint;
Some brandy might restore them to new life.

Count He my. Open the cellars of our princes, counts ;
Give wine to all who stand upon the walls.

{Exit Jacob. )
( Count Heniy mounts some feet higher, and stands under the
bafiner upon a small terrace. )



258 ^^^-^ UN DT VINE COMEDY.

At last I see you, hated enemies !

With my whole power I trace your cunning plans,

Surround you with my scorn. No more we meet

Within th e rea lm of idle words, of poetry,

But HfThe' ;ra/ world of deadly combat.

Sharp sword to swOfd, the rattling hail of bullets

Winged by the concentration of my hate !

No more with single arm and voice I meet you ;

The strength of many centres in my will :

*******

It is a joyous thing to govern, rule,
Even were it solely at the price of death :
To feel myself the sovereign arbiter.
The master of so many wills and lives ;
To see there at my feet my enemies.
Leaping and howling at me from the abyss,
But all bereft of power to reach me here :
So like the Damned, who vainly lift their heads
Toward Heaven !



I know . . . I know a few hours more of time,

And I and thousands of yon craven wretches

Who have forgot their fothers and their God,

Will be no more forever ! Be it so !

At least I have a few days more of life

To satiate myself with joy of combat.

The ecstasy of full command o'er others,

The giddy daring, struggle, victory, loss!

Tliou, my last song, swell to a chant of triumph,

For death's the latest foe a man can conquer !
*******

The sun sets fi\st behind the needled cliffs,

Sinks in a darksome cloud of threatening vapors;

His crimson rays light luridly the valley. —

Precursor of the bloody death before mc,

I greet you with a fuller, gladder heart

Than I have e'er saluted ye, vain hopes

And promises of joy or blissful love !

*******



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 259

Not through intrigue, through base or cunning skill,
Have I attained the aim of my desires ;
But by a sudden bound I've leaped to fame,
As my persistent dreams told me I must.
Ruler o'er those but yesterday my equals.
Conqueror of death, since willingly I seek hmi,
I stand upon the brink :— Eternal life, or sleep !

SCENE IV. A hall in the castle lighted by torches.
George seated upon a bed. Count Henry enters, and
lays down his arms upon a table.

Count Henry. A hundred fresh men place upon the
ramparts !
After so fierce<i fight my troops need rest.
Jacob {without). So help me God, the Lord !
Count Henry {to George). Thou must have heard
The musketry, the noise of battle, George ?
Keep up thy courage, boy ; we perish not
To-dav, no, nor to-morrow !

George. I heard it all ;

It is not that strikes terror through my heart.
The cannon-ball flies on, and leaves no trace, —
There's something else that makes me shiver, father !
Count Henry. Thou fear'st forme? Is' t that makes

thee so pale ?
George. No, for I know thine hour is not yet come.
Count Henry. My heart is solaced for to-day at least.
I've seen the foe driven from their attack.
Their ghastly corpses scattered o'er the plain.
We are alone ; come, tell me all thy thoughts
'As if we were once more in our old home,
And I will listen thee.

George {hurriedly). Oh, father, come !

A dreadful' trial is prepared, rehearsed,
Re-echoed every night within these walls !

{He goes to a door hidden in the wall, a? id opens it. )
Count Henry. George ! George ! Come back ! Where
art thou going, George?
Who showed thee this dim passage into vaults



26o THE UN DIVINE COMEDY,

Hung with eternal darkness, damp with death?
This dismal charnel-house of mouldering bones,
Of ancient victims stricken in days long past?

George. There where thine eye cannot perceive the
light.
My spirit knows the way. Follow me, father !
Gloom roll to gloom — and darkness unto darkness.
{^He enters the door, folknved by his father, atid deseends
into the vault. ^



SCENE V. Subterranean galleries and dungeons ; iron
bars, grated doors, chains, handcuffs and broken instru-
ments of torture. T/ie Count holds a torch at the foot
of a great block of granite upon which George is stand-
ing.

Count Henry. Return ! I beg you, George, come back

to me !
George. Dost thou not hear their voices, see their

forms ?
Cotint Henry. The silence of the grave surrounds us,
George,
Almost its darkness, so this torchlight flickers;
Its feeble rays fail to dispel the gloom.

George. They're coming nearer. . . . Now I see
them, father. . . . *
I see them one by one file slowly on
From the far depths of these long narrow vaults,
Tiirough broken grates, through cells witli iron tloors, . . .
They seat themselves so solemnly below . . .

Count Henry. Thy mind is wandering, my poor boy.
Alas !
// makes the things, thou only dream' st thou seest !
Nor voices, forms are here ! Unman me not
When I have utmost need of all my force !



* The Count is_pjjxushed_l)y the two victims of liis own folly, his wife
and son. TTc'lTas already bceii "punTslicd by the death of his wife for the
sacrifice of liis domestic duties to a false ideal ; tlie vision of his son is
alxjut to punish him for the sacrifice of true patriotism to a false ambi-
tion. — Revue des Deux Mondes. "



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 261

George. I see their pallid forms, grave and severe,
Collecting to pronounce a fearful judgment — ■
The culprit comes before the dreadful bar —
I cannot see his face — his features float and flow,
Sad as a winter's mist. . . . Hark, father, hark!

CHORUS OF VOICES.

In the name of the right and the strength which once
forced upon us

Our manifold agonies, we, the beaten, immured,

The broken 'neath irons, the tortured, the fed upon
poisons.

The prisoned, the living built up in the tombs of the
walls: —

The time for our vengeance is here : — in our turn we will
torture,

Probe, judge, and condemn, — and Satan is our execu-
tioner !

Cotint Henry. What seest thou, George ?

George. I see the prisoner.

He wrings and clasps his hands. Oh, father ! father !

Count Henry. Who is he, George?

George. My father? . . . . Oh ! my father . . .

A Voice. In thee the race accursed hath reached its
close !
It has in thee united all its strength,
Its wildest passions, all its selfish pride, —
Only to perish utterly in thee 1

CHORUS OF VOICES,

Because thou hast loved nothing but thyself;

—-Revered thyself nlone, and thine own thoughts;

Thou art condenmed. ,rrriiamned to eternity !

Count Henry. I can see nothing, but on every side.
Above, below me, I hear sobs and wails,^
Judgment and threatening, and eternal doom !

George. The prisoner ! he lifts his haughty head
As thou dost, father, when one angers thee ! . . .
He answers with proud words, as thou dost, father,
^Vhcn thou scornest ! . . .

23



262 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

CHORUS OF VOICES.

In vain ! in vain ! what use of pleading?

Hope will wake for him no more !
In earth or Heaven, there's no salvation : —

Close the trial, — all is o'er !

A Voice. A {^vi more days of vain and passing glory,
Of which your sires robbed us in life, in story,
And then your name shall vanish from the earth !
You perish, but shall have no burial proud ;
No tolling bell your death-hour peals aloud ;
No tears of kinsmen fall, no train of friends
Bears your escutcheoned coffin to the grave,
Nor pride, nor courage will avail to save.
Sad, desolate as ours your death will be,
Transfixed on the same rock of agony !

Count Henry. Spirits accursed ! . . . at last I recog-
nize you !

(^ffe advances into the darkness. ')

George. My father ! go no farther ! I adjure
You in the name of Christ ! Oh, father, stay !

Count Henry (he stops). Speak, George! quick! tell
me what you see below !

George. The prisoner . . .

Count Henry. Who is it, George?

George. Father !

AnotherJatli£r_I_,:_;_^_it^js_thy'self . . . O father !
It is as white as snow . . . heavy with chains . . .
And now they torture thee . . . I hear thy cries . . .

(He falls upon his knees. )

Forgive me, father ! . . . but my mother comes . . .
She lights the Dark . . . she orders me . . .

(^He falls in a fainting ft. )

Count Henry (catching the falling boy in his arms). Ay,

this last blow alone was wanting still !
My only child must lead me to the brink of Hell I
Mary, inexorable spirit ! . . .