Dreams the
twilight
is the dawn !
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
Who is that blocks the way !
He falls
upon
His knees, he lifts his hands, and, groaning, speaks.
Neophyte. He is the son of our philosopher.
Leonard. What wouldst thou, Herman?
Herman. Pontiff, I would ask
For consecration as a murderer:
27^^^^7v/nTairt-m6TTieml, the poniard, and the poison !
With this, the sacred oil once used to anoint
Earth's kings, I consecrate thee to their murder!
I put into thy hands the ancient arms
Of knights and nobles, — use them for their death!
I hang upon thy breast this flask of poison.
That where the sword can never reach, it may
Corrode, and burn the bowels of our tyrants !
Go ! thou art consecrated to destroy
Despots in every quarter of the globe !
Count Henry. He goes. He heads his bands of mur-
derers !
They climb the hill,— they surely come to us, —
Leonard is at their head. . . .
Neophyte. We must withdraw.
Count Henry. No. I will dream this dream out to
its end !
Neophyte {aside'). Jehovah, hear ! Doom him to swift
destruction !
{To Count Henry. ) Leonard will surely know me. See
you not
The dreadful knife that glitters on his breast?
Count Henry. There, hide thee, Jew, beneath my
mantle's folds.
Know you the women dancing round the man
Whom you call Leonard ?
Neophyte. All I know by name.
The Avives of princes, counts, who have forsaken
Their former lords, and then embraced our faith.
234
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Count Henry. Women I once deemed angels ! idol-
ized ! . . .
The crowd surrounds and hides him from my sight,
But as the music ever fainter grows,
He must be moving from us with his train.
Jew, follow me ! We can see better here !
i^He climbs the pa7-apet of a wall. ')
Neophyte. Woe ! woe ! here every one will surely know
us !
Count Henry. I see him now ; but other female forms,
Convulsive, pale, and haggard, throng around.
I see the son of the philosopher ;
He foams and gestures, brandishes his dagger.
They reach the northern tower, dance round the wreck,
Trample the ruins, rend the Gothic shrines.
Throw fire upon the holy prostrate altars,
The sacred pictures and the broken crosses !
The fire blazes, — clouds of smoke arise
That darken all before me !
Anathema on these blasphemers ! Woe !
Leonard. Woe ! woe to men who still bow lowly
down.
In adoration to a lifeless God !
Count Henry. The blackening masses of the People
turn —
They drive upon us now !
Neophyte. Oh, Abraham !
Count Henry. Eagle of glory ! this is not mine hour !
Neophyte. We're lost. Escape is none.
Leonard (stopping theni). Who are you, brother, with
that haughty face ?
Why are you not with us ?
Count Henry. But yesterday
I of your final revolution heard.
And hastened from afar to lend my aid.
I'm an assassin of the Spanish club.
Leofiard. Who is this man who hides his face beneath
Your ample cloak?
Count Henry. My younger brother, who
Has sworn an oath never to show his face
Until he kills a noble !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 235
Leonard. Whom can j'^z^
Boast to have killed ? ^ef^rrl=,v
Count Henry. It was but yesterday
My brothers consecrated me to murder
Leonard. Whom will you strike the first ?
Count Henry. The greatest tyrant ;-
Yourself, should you prove false !
Z. ^;/a/Y/. Here, brother, take
My dagger for such use !
{Hands it to him? ,
Count Henfy {drawing his own). My own is sharp
FnniiPh to strike a traitor to the heart ! , „ , ,
Zt r«V«. Hurrah for Leonard ! for the People s
Other VoZs. ' Long live the assassin of the Spanish
Leonard Meet me to-morrow in our General's tent.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We here salute thee, friend, in Freedom's name, ^
Within thy hands thou bear'st our safety s pledge ,
Who fights unceasingly, assassmates
Without misgiving, never yields to doubt
Of victory— such one is sure to conquer.
CHORUS OF PHILOSOPHERS.
We have at last awaked the human race
From long and childTsh dreams, unveiled Truth s face,
We've drLged her from the Darkness into Light ;-
Go thou to kill, to die, to exalt her might !
Son of the Philosopher {to Count Henry). Comrade and
friend, out of this hollow skull
Of ancient saint, I drink to your good health.
{He flings away the skull. )
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry). Wilt kill King
John for me ? ^ . tt .
Another For me. Count Henry !
aZ^n. Bring us some nobles' heads : we want new
balls !
236 THE UNDIVJNE COMEDY.
Other Children. Good fortune guide your daggers to
their hearts !
CHORUS OF ARTISTS.
We'll build our church upon these Gothic ruins;
No images shall stand within its walls.
Sharp pikes and blades shall form its vaulted arch.
The pillars borne upon eight human heads,
Thick locks of hair shall form the capitals,
Seeming to gush with crimson streams of blood !
Our altar shall be white as new-fallen snow,
Our only God will rest upon the stone : —
The scarlet cap of Liberty ! Hurrah !
,Other Voices. On! on! the morning dawn already
breaks.
Neophyte. They'll surely hang us, Count, on yonder
gallows.
Count Henry. They follow Leonard ; us they heed no
longer . . .
This time, — the last, I see with my own eyes,
Embrace with my own thought the wildering future,
The chaos quickening in the womb of Time,
The black abyss that menaces destruction
To me, my brothers, all the reverend Past.
I gaze once mote — ere it engulf me !
Driven by despair, urged on by bitter grief.
My soul awakens to new energy.
O God ! give me again the fiery power
Which Thou of old wert wont not to refuse me, —
And I will in one burning word reveal.
Incorporate this new and monstrous world,
Which does not know itself, its destiny,
And this Word will become the Poetry
Of all the future years !
Voice in the air. Thou chantest a Drama !
Count Henry. Thanks for the information — friend or
foe!
The desecrated ashes of my sires
Shall be avenged ! . . .
Anathema on these new generations !
^y^
237
THE Um)IVINE COMEDY.
Their whirlpool seethes around me, but it shall
Not draw me in its ever swifter course,
The widening circles of its mad abyss.
Eagle ! my Eagle ! keep thy promise now !
Jew, I am ready to descend the Pass,
Neophyte. Behold the dawn : I may no farther go.
Count Henry. Put me upon the path ; I will release you.
Neophyte. Ah ! why thus drag me on through fog and
briers.
O'er embers, ruins ? I pray you, let me go !
Count Henry. On ! on ! descend with me !
The last mad songs
Of that bewildered people die behind us;
Their scattered lights scarce glimmer through the gloom !
Under these hoary trees, through this pale fog,
I see the giant shadows of the Past. . . .
Do you not hear those melancholy chants?
Neophyte. All things are shrouded in the curdling
mists ;
At every step still deeper we descend.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS IN THE FOREST.
Weep ! weep for Christ, — the exiled, suffering Lord !
Where is our Holy Church ? Where is our God ?
Count Henry. Unsheathe the sword ! quick to the
combat ! I
Will give Him back to you ! Will crucify
His enemies on thousand, thousand crosses !
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
Day and night we watched the altar,
Guarded all the saintly graves:
Bearing on our wings sweet echoes,
High along the vaulted naves,
Vesper bell, or matin chiming
Falling on the faithful ear.
Swelling tones of pealing organ.
Which the angels stooped to hear; —
In the gleaming of the storied,
Heaven-hued, rainbow window panes,
Haloed heads and virgins sainted;
In the shadows of the fanes ;
238 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the holy golden glitter
Of the world's redeeming cup ;
In the whiteness of the wafer
Which the blessing Priest held up;
In Consecration, Benediction, —
Centred all our happy life :
Ai ! A'i ! who can aid us ?
Who will end this wretched strife ?
Where shall we now seek for shelter?
Altar, incense, priest, are gone 1
Man now deems himself Creator !
Dreams the twilight is the dawn !
Count Henry. Day breaks ! Their shadowy forms dis-
solve ! they melt
In the red rays of morn !
Neophyte. Here lies your way.
We've reached the entrance to the Pass at last.
. Count Henry {calling). Hola ! Hola ! Our Lord, and
my own sword !
{He tears off the Liberty cap, throws it upon the groimd, and
casts pieces of silver in it. ')
For memory, take the thing and emblem ! they
Belong together.
Neophyte. You have pledged your word ;
He shall be safe who visits you to-night?
Count Henty. A noble ne'er repeats, — nor breaks a
promise, — go !
Hail ! Jesus and my sword !
Voices from the Pass. Long live our Lord !
Our swords and Mary !
Count Hcn)y {to Neophyte). Citizen, adieu !
To me, my faithful ! Jesus, Mary, aid !
SCENE IV. Trees and bushes. Pancras, Leonard,
and attendants.
Pancras {to his attendants^. Lie on this spot, your faces
to the turf;
Be quiet, beat no signal, light no fires ;
If you should hear my pistol, fly to me !
If not, you must not stir till dawn of day.
TFTE UMDIVINE COMEDY.
239
Leonard. Once more, I must implore you, Citizen !
Pancras. Rest at the foot of this tall pine, and sleep !
Leonard. Let me go with you ! Should you trust
your life
To this Count Henry, this aristocrat?
Pancras {inotioning him to remain). The nobles rarely
break a plighted word !
SCENE V. Night. A vast feudal hall in the castle of
Coimt Henry. Blazons, atid pictures of knights and
ladies hang along the walls. A pillar is seen in the back-
ground bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family.
The Count is seated at a marble table, upon which are
placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, ajewel-hilted
sword, a pair of pistols, an hour-glass, and clock. On
the opposite side stands another table with silver pitchers,
decanters, and massive goblets.
Count Henry. Midnight ! It was at this same solemn
hour.
Surrounded by like perils and like thoughts,
The latest Brutus met his Evil Genius :
And such an apparition I await !
A man who has no name, no ancestors,
Who has no guardian angel, faith, nor God,
Whose mission is destruction to the past.
Will yet — unless I'm strong enough to hurl ■
Him back into his primal nothingness —
Destroy society, its laws and faith ;
Found a new era in the fate of man !
Such is the modern Caesar I await !
* i(i "--id -ip. if. -^ if.
Eagle of glory, hear ! Souls of my sires,
Inspire me with that fiery force which made
You rulers of the world. Oh, give to me
The lion heart which throbbed within your breasts !
Your austere majesty gird round my brow !
Rekindle in my soul your burning, blind.
Unconquerable faith in Christ, His Church,
The inspiration of your deeds on earth, i
Your hopes in Heaven ! Light it again in me,
And I will scathe our foes with fire and sword,
240 THE UN DIVINE COMEDY.
Will conquer and destroy all who oppose me,
The myriads of the children of the dust.
I, the last son of hundred generations,
Sole heir of all your virtues, thoughts, and faults !
( The bell of the castle strikes. ')
It is the appointed hour: — I am prepared.
Efiter Jacob {an old servant fully armed).
Jacob. Your Excellence, the man you wait is here.
Count Henry. Admit him, Jacob. {Exit Jacob. )
{He reapj^ears, announces Pancras, and again retires. )
Fano-as {entering). I salute you. Count.
Yet that word Cotint sounds strangely on my lips.
{He seats hiniself takes off his cloak and scarlet cap, and
fixes his eye upo7i the pillar on which the armorial bear-
ings hang. )
Count Henry. I thank you for the ready confidence
Placed in the honor of this ancient House.
Faithful to our old rites, I drink your health.
{He fills a goblet and hands to Pancras. )
Pancras {still looking at the pillar). If I am not mistaken,
noble Count,
This blue and scarlet shield was called a coat
Of arms in the lost language of the dead ;
But all such trifles vanish rapidly
Forever from the surface of the earth.
Count Henry. God aiding, they will shortly reappear ! "
Pancras. Commend me to the old nobility !
You answer like a chip of the old block.
A nobleman learns nothing from the times.
Always confiding in himself, high, bold,
Though without money, credit, arms, or men.
Proud, obstinate, and hoping 'gainst all hope,
E'en like the corpse in the fable, threatening
The driver of the hearse with vengeance dire
At very gate of fatal charnel-house !
Trusting in God — at least pretending trust —
When trust in self is found impossible !
Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
241
Of all the lightnings God keeps stored above
For your especial benefit, to blast
Me and my thronging millions ! Show me one,
Bnt one of all the hosts who fill the sky ;
One of the mighty angels who are soon
To encamp upon your side, and in whose force
You trust to win the victory over me,
And, without loss, subdue the human race !
{He empties the goblet. )
Count Henry. Chief of the People, you are pleased to
jest ;
But atheism is an ancient formula,
And I hoped something new, from the New Men,
Pancras. Laugh if you will, Sir Count, at your own wit ;
My faith is far more firmly based than yours,
My formulas far wider than your own.
My central dogma is most holy, true :
The emancipation of humdmfy !
' itiTa5~its-smM=ee-Tmrild, despairing cries
Forever rising to the throne of God
From weary hearts of millions of oppressed :
The famine of degraded artisans ;
The poverty of peasants, woes of serfs;
The desecration of their daughters, wives ;
The general degradation of the race ;
The unjust laws, the brutal prejudice !
My dogmas spring from infinite agonies ;
Such woes give me the aid of all our race !
I am resolved to establish my new creed.
Written by God upon all human hearts !
Men know He made them equal, gave them all
A birthright; right to happiness, to ease;
- Possession of the earth, and liberty !
This is my power ! These thoughts, my God ! A God
Pledged to give rest, bread, glory, bliss to man !
This creed proclaimed, oh, what can stay its course ?
{He fills and empties the goblet. ^
Count Henry. The God who gave all former ' power
and rule
To my strong sires !
21*
242
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Pancras. And canjiv/^ trust Him still,
When He has given you as a plaything to
The devil all your life ? A jest for friends ?
But let us leave discussions such as these
To theologians, should there linger still
Such fossils upon earth. To facts ! stern facts !
Count Henry. Redeemer of the People, Citizen God !
What can you seek from me ? why visit me ?
Pancras. In the first place, because I wished to know
you:
And in the next, because I wished to save you.
Count Henry. Thanks for the first ; and for the second,
trust my sword !
Pancras. Your God ! Your sword ! Vain phantoms
of the brain !
Look at the dread realities about you !
The curses of the myriads are upon you.
Millions of brawny arms already raised
To hurl you down to death ! Of all the Past
You so much vaunt, nothing remains to you
Save a few feet of earth 3 scarcely enough
To ofi"er you a grave !
The Castle of tlie Holy Trinity,
Your last poor fortress, only can hold out
A few days more. You know you have no men,
Artillery, appliances of war.
Nor powder, shot, nor food for garrison.
Your men xn^xy Jight, but will not stance, and will
Desert you in the hour of utmost need.
I speak the truth ; you know as well as I,
There's nothing left on which to hang a hope !
If I were in your place, heroic Count,
I know what I would do.
Count Henry. Speak on. You see
How patiently I hear. What would you do?
Pancras. Were I Count Henry, I would say to Pan-
cras :
" You speak the truth ; there's not a single hope.
I will dismiss my troops ; my few poor serfs,
Nor seek to hold the ' Holy Trinity,' —
For this, I will retain my title, lands.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 243
And you will* pledge your honor to the deed,
As guarantee of that agreed upon ! "
How old are you, Count Henry ?
Count Henry. Thirty-six.
Fancras. No more? Then fifteen years of life are
all
You have a just right to expect, for men
Of temperaments like yours always die young.
Your son is nearer to the grave than to
Maturity. A sirigle case like yours
Could do no serious harm to our Great Whole.
Remain, then, where you are, last of the Counts;
Rule while you live in your ancestral home ;
Have, if you will, the portraits all retouched ;
The armorial bearings of your line renewed ;
And think no more of that most wretched remnant
Of your fallen order, which deserves to fall !
You know the People have been long oppressed ;
Stay not the sword of justice as it falls
On their oppressors ! Here's a health ! I drink,
The last of all the Counts !
(Zr<? Jills and drinks another goblet of wine. ^
Count Henry. Cease ! cease ! Each word you utter
breathes new insult !
Can you suppose, to save a wretched life,
I would submit myself to be enslaved,
And dragged in chains behind your car of triumph?
Desert the nobles, whom I have sworn to aid?
No more ! no more ! I can endure no more !
I cannot answer as my spirit prompts ;
You are my guest, and shall be sheltered from
All insult 'neath the shadow of my roof!
My Lares guard you ; plighted my knightly honor !
Pancras. "Plighted and knightly honor" in our
days
Swing oft upon a gallows ! You unfurl
A tattered banner, whose worn, faded rags
Seem out of place among the brilliant flags.
The joyous symbols of humanity
And universal progress. Flaunt it no more !
244 ^-^^ UNDIVINE COMEDY.
I know your generous spirit, and protest »
Against your course, self-sacrificing Count !
Still full of life and manly vigor, you
Would bind your heart to putrefying corpses,
Cling to a vain belief in privilege,
In worn-out relics, and in dead men's bones,
Mouldering escutcheons, and the word of country !
Yet in your inmost soul you're forced to own
Your brother-nobles have deserved their doom,
And that forgetfulness for them were mercy !
Count Henry. You, Pancras, and your noisy followers,
Tell me what you deserve !
Pancras. Life ! Victory !
For we acknowledge but one living right,
One ceaselessjaw ;_li__t he /aw of eternal progress /"
This fatal lawseals your deatT>\varrant. Hark !
Through my just lips it cries to you and yours :
"Mouldering and rotten aristocracy,
Full crammed with meat and wine torn from your serfs.
Effete with luxury, worn out with ease, —
Give place to the young, the strong, the hungry, poor,
Whose vigorous blood will found a nobler race !
upon
His knees, he lifts his hands, and, groaning, speaks.
Neophyte. He is the son of our philosopher.
Leonard. What wouldst thou, Herman?
Herman. Pontiff, I would ask
For consecration as a murderer:
27^^^^7v/nTairt-m6TTieml, the poniard, and the poison !
With this, the sacred oil once used to anoint
Earth's kings, I consecrate thee to their murder!
I put into thy hands the ancient arms
Of knights and nobles, — use them for their death!
I hang upon thy breast this flask of poison.
That where the sword can never reach, it may
Corrode, and burn the bowels of our tyrants !
Go ! thou art consecrated to destroy
Despots in every quarter of the globe !
Count Henry. He goes. He heads his bands of mur-
derers !
They climb the hill,— they surely come to us, —
Leonard is at their head. . . .
Neophyte. We must withdraw.
Count Henry. No. I will dream this dream out to
its end !
Neophyte {aside'). Jehovah, hear ! Doom him to swift
destruction !
{To Count Henry. ) Leonard will surely know me. See
you not
The dreadful knife that glitters on his breast?
Count Henry. There, hide thee, Jew, beneath my
mantle's folds.
Know you the women dancing round the man
Whom you call Leonard ?
Neophyte. All I know by name.
The Avives of princes, counts, who have forsaken
Their former lords, and then embraced our faith.
234
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Count Henry. Women I once deemed angels ! idol-
ized ! . . .
The crowd surrounds and hides him from my sight,
But as the music ever fainter grows,
He must be moving from us with his train.
Jew, follow me ! We can see better here !
i^He climbs the pa7-apet of a wall. ')
Neophyte. Woe ! woe ! here every one will surely know
us !
Count Henry. I see him now ; but other female forms,
Convulsive, pale, and haggard, throng around.
I see the son of the philosopher ;
He foams and gestures, brandishes his dagger.
They reach the northern tower, dance round the wreck,
Trample the ruins, rend the Gothic shrines.
Throw fire upon the holy prostrate altars,
The sacred pictures and the broken crosses !
The fire blazes, — clouds of smoke arise
That darken all before me !
Anathema on these blasphemers ! Woe !
Leonard. Woe ! woe to men who still bow lowly
down.
In adoration to a lifeless God !
Count Henry. The blackening masses of the People
turn —
They drive upon us now !
Neophyte. Oh, Abraham !
Count Henry. Eagle of glory ! this is not mine hour !
Neophyte. We're lost. Escape is none.
Leonard (stopping theni). Who are you, brother, with
that haughty face ?
Why are you not with us ?
Count Henry. But yesterday
I of your final revolution heard.
And hastened from afar to lend my aid.
I'm an assassin of the Spanish club.
Leofiard. Who is this man who hides his face beneath
Your ample cloak?
Count Henry. My younger brother, who
Has sworn an oath never to show his face
Until he kills a noble !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 235
Leonard. Whom can j'^z^
Boast to have killed ? ^ef^rrl=,v
Count Henry. It was but yesterday
My brothers consecrated me to murder
Leonard. Whom will you strike the first ?
Count Henry. The greatest tyrant ;-
Yourself, should you prove false !
Z. ^;/a/Y/. Here, brother, take
My dagger for such use !
{Hands it to him? ,
Count Henfy {drawing his own). My own is sharp
FnniiPh to strike a traitor to the heart ! , „ , ,
Zt r«V«. Hurrah for Leonard ! for the People s
Other VoZs. ' Long live the assassin of the Spanish
Leonard Meet me to-morrow in our General's tent.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We here salute thee, friend, in Freedom's name, ^
Within thy hands thou bear'st our safety s pledge ,
Who fights unceasingly, assassmates
Without misgiving, never yields to doubt
Of victory— such one is sure to conquer.
CHORUS OF PHILOSOPHERS.
We have at last awaked the human race
From long and childTsh dreams, unveiled Truth s face,
We've drLged her from the Darkness into Light ;-
Go thou to kill, to die, to exalt her might !
Son of the Philosopher {to Count Henry). Comrade and
friend, out of this hollow skull
Of ancient saint, I drink to your good health.
{He flings away the skull. )
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry). Wilt kill King
John for me ? ^ . tt .
Another For me. Count Henry !
aZ^n. Bring us some nobles' heads : we want new
balls !
236 THE UNDIVJNE COMEDY.
Other Children. Good fortune guide your daggers to
their hearts !
CHORUS OF ARTISTS.
We'll build our church upon these Gothic ruins;
No images shall stand within its walls.
Sharp pikes and blades shall form its vaulted arch.
The pillars borne upon eight human heads,
Thick locks of hair shall form the capitals,
Seeming to gush with crimson streams of blood !
Our altar shall be white as new-fallen snow,
Our only God will rest upon the stone : —
The scarlet cap of Liberty ! Hurrah !
,Other Voices. On! on! the morning dawn already
breaks.
Neophyte. They'll surely hang us, Count, on yonder
gallows.
Count Henry. They follow Leonard ; us they heed no
longer . . .
This time, — the last, I see with my own eyes,
Embrace with my own thought the wildering future,
The chaos quickening in the womb of Time,
The black abyss that menaces destruction
To me, my brothers, all the reverend Past.
I gaze once mote — ere it engulf me !
Driven by despair, urged on by bitter grief.
My soul awakens to new energy.
O God ! give me again the fiery power
Which Thou of old wert wont not to refuse me, —
And I will in one burning word reveal.
Incorporate this new and monstrous world,
Which does not know itself, its destiny,
And this Word will become the Poetry
Of all the future years !
Voice in the air. Thou chantest a Drama !
Count Henry. Thanks for the information — friend or
foe!
The desecrated ashes of my sires
Shall be avenged ! . . .
Anathema on these new generations !
^y^
237
THE Um)IVINE COMEDY.
Their whirlpool seethes around me, but it shall
Not draw me in its ever swifter course,
The widening circles of its mad abyss.
Eagle ! my Eagle ! keep thy promise now !
Jew, I am ready to descend the Pass,
Neophyte. Behold the dawn : I may no farther go.
Count Henry. Put me upon the path ; I will release you.
Neophyte. Ah ! why thus drag me on through fog and
briers.
O'er embers, ruins ? I pray you, let me go !
Count Henry. On ! on ! descend with me !
The last mad songs
Of that bewildered people die behind us;
Their scattered lights scarce glimmer through the gloom !
Under these hoary trees, through this pale fog,
I see the giant shadows of the Past. . . .
Do you not hear those melancholy chants?
Neophyte. All things are shrouded in the curdling
mists ;
At every step still deeper we descend.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS IN THE FOREST.
Weep ! weep for Christ, — the exiled, suffering Lord !
Where is our Holy Church ? Where is our God ?
Count Henry. Unsheathe the sword ! quick to the
combat ! I
Will give Him back to you ! Will crucify
His enemies on thousand, thousand crosses !
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
Day and night we watched the altar,
Guarded all the saintly graves:
Bearing on our wings sweet echoes,
High along the vaulted naves,
Vesper bell, or matin chiming
Falling on the faithful ear.
Swelling tones of pealing organ.
Which the angels stooped to hear; —
In the gleaming of the storied,
Heaven-hued, rainbow window panes,
Haloed heads and virgins sainted;
In the shadows of the fanes ;
238 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the holy golden glitter
Of the world's redeeming cup ;
In the whiteness of the wafer
Which the blessing Priest held up;
In Consecration, Benediction, —
Centred all our happy life :
Ai ! A'i ! who can aid us ?
Who will end this wretched strife ?
Where shall we now seek for shelter?
Altar, incense, priest, are gone 1
Man now deems himself Creator !
Dreams the twilight is the dawn !
Count Henry. Day breaks ! Their shadowy forms dis-
solve ! they melt
In the red rays of morn !
Neophyte. Here lies your way.
We've reached the entrance to the Pass at last.
. Count Henry {calling). Hola ! Hola ! Our Lord, and
my own sword !
{He tears off the Liberty cap, throws it upon the groimd, and
casts pieces of silver in it. ')
For memory, take the thing and emblem ! they
Belong together.
Neophyte. You have pledged your word ;
He shall be safe who visits you to-night?
Count Henty. A noble ne'er repeats, — nor breaks a
promise, — go !
Hail ! Jesus and my sword !
Voices from the Pass. Long live our Lord !
Our swords and Mary !
Count Hcn)y {to Neophyte). Citizen, adieu !
To me, my faithful ! Jesus, Mary, aid !
SCENE IV. Trees and bushes. Pancras, Leonard,
and attendants.
Pancras {to his attendants^. Lie on this spot, your faces
to the turf;
Be quiet, beat no signal, light no fires ;
If you should hear my pistol, fly to me !
If not, you must not stir till dawn of day.
TFTE UMDIVINE COMEDY.
239
Leonard. Once more, I must implore you, Citizen !
Pancras. Rest at the foot of this tall pine, and sleep !
Leonard. Let me go with you ! Should you trust
your life
To this Count Henry, this aristocrat?
Pancras {inotioning him to remain). The nobles rarely
break a plighted word !
SCENE V. Night. A vast feudal hall in the castle of
Coimt Henry. Blazons, atid pictures of knights and
ladies hang along the walls. A pillar is seen in the back-
ground bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family.
The Count is seated at a marble table, upon which are
placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, ajewel-hilted
sword, a pair of pistols, an hour-glass, and clock. On
the opposite side stands another table with silver pitchers,
decanters, and massive goblets.
Count Henry. Midnight ! It was at this same solemn
hour.
Surrounded by like perils and like thoughts,
The latest Brutus met his Evil Genius :
And such an apparition I await !
A man who has no name, no ancestors,
Who has no guardian angel, faith, nor God,
Whose mission is destruction to the past.
Will yet — unless I'm strong enough to hurl ■
Him back into his primal nothingness —
Destroy society, its laws and faith ;
Found a new era in the fate of man !
Such is the modern Caesar I await !
* i(i "--id -ip. if. -^ if.
Eagle of glory, hear ! Souls of my sires,
Inspire me with that fiery force which made
You rulers of the world. Oh, give to me
The lion heart which throbbed within your breasts !
Your austere majesty gird round my brow !
Rekindle in my soul your burning, blind.
Unconquerable faith in Christ, His Church,
The inspiration of your deeds on earth, i
Your hopes in Heaven ! Light it again in me,
And I will scathe our foes with fire and sword,
240 THE UN DIVINE COMEDY.
Will conquer and destroy all who oppose me,
The myriads of the children of the dust.
I, the last son of hundred generations,
Sole heir of all your virtues, thoughts, and faults !
( The bell of the castle strikes. ')
It is the appointed hour: — I am prepared.
Efiter Jacob {an old servant fully armed).
Jacob. Your Excellence, the man you wait is here.
Count Henry. Admit him, Jacob. {Exit Jacob. )
{He reapj^ears, announces Pancras, and again retires. )
Fano-as {entering). I salute you. Count.
Yet that word Cotint sounds strangely on my lips.
{He seats hiniself takes off his cloak and scarlet cap, and
fixes his eye upo7i the pillar on which the armorial bear-
ings hang. )
Count Henry. I thank you for the ready confidence
Placed in the honor of this ancient House.
Faithful to our old rites, I drink your health.
{He fills a goblet and hands to Pancras. )
Pancras {still looking at the pillar). If I am not mistaken,
noble Count,
This blue and scarlet shield was called a coat
Of arms in the lost language of the dead ;
But all such trifles vanish rapidly
Forever from the surface of the earth.
Count Henry. God aiding, they will shortly reappear ! "
Pancras. Commend me to the old nobility !
You answer like a chip of the old block.
A nobleman learns nothing from the times.
Always confiding in himself, high, bold,
Though without money, credit, arms, or men.
Proud, obstinate, and hoping 'gainst all hope,
E'en like the corpse in the fable, threatening
The driver of the hearse with vengeance dire
At very gate of fatal charnel-house !
Trusting in God — at least pretending trust —
When trust in self is found impossible !
Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
241
Of all the lightnings God keeps stored above
For your especial benefit, to blast
Me and my thronging millions ! Show me one,
Bnt one of all the hosts who fill the sky ;
One of the mighty angels who are soon
To encamp upon your side, and in whose force
You trust to win the victory over me,
And, without loss, subdue the human race !
{He empties the goblet. )
Count Henry. Chief of the People, you are pleased to
jest ;
But atheism is an ancient formula,
And I hoped something new, from the New Men,
Pancras. Laugh if you will, Sir Count, at your own wit ;
My faith is far more firmly based than yours,
My formulas far wider than your own.
My central dogma is most holy, true :
The emancipation of humdmfy !
' itiTa5~its-smM=ee-Tmrild, despairing cries
Forever rising to the throne of God
From weary hearts of millions of oppressed :
The famine of degraded artisans ;
The poverty of peasants, woes of serfs;
The desecration of their daughters, wives ;
The general degradation of the race ;
The unjust laws, the brutal prejudice !
My dogmas spring from infinite agonies ;
Such woes give me the aid of all our race !
I am resolved to establish my new creed.
Written by God upon all human hearts !
Men know He made them equal, gave them all
A birthright; right to happiness, to ease;
- Possession of the earth, and liberty !
This is my power ! These thoughts, my God ! A God
Pledged to give rest, bread, glory, bliss to man !
This creed proclaimed, oh, what can stay its course ?
{He fills and empties the goblet. ^
Count Henry. The God who gave all former ' power
and rule
To my strong sires !
21*
242
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Pancras. And canjiv/^ trust Him still,
When He has given you as a plaything to
The devil all your life ? A jest for friends ?
But let us leave discussions such as these
To theologians, should there linger still
Such fossils upon earth. To facts ! stern facts !
Count Henry. Redeemer of the People, Citizen God !
What can you seek from me ? why visit me ?
Pancras. In the first place, because I wished to know
you:
And in the next, because I wished to save you.
Count Henry. Thanks for the first ; and for the second,
trust my sword !
Pancras. Your God ! Your sword ! Vain phantoms
of the brain !
Look at the dread realities about you !
The curses of the myriads are upon you.
Millions of brawny arms already raised
To hurl you down to death ! Of all the Past
You so much vaunt, nothing remains to you
Save a few feet of earth 3 scarcely enough
To ofi"er you a grave !
The Castle of tlie Holy Trinity,
Your last poor fortress, only can hold out
A few days more. You know you have no men,
Artillery, appliances of war.
Nor powder, shot, nor food for garrison.
Your men xn^xy Jight, but will not stance, and will
Desert you in the hour of utmost need.
I speak the truth ; you know as well as I,
There's nothing left on which to hang a hope !
If I were in your place, heroic Count,
I know what I would do.
Count Henry. Speak on. You see
How patiently I hear. What would you do?
Pancras. Were I Count Henry, I would say to Pan-
cras :
" You speak the truth ; there's not a single hope.
I will dismiss my troops ; my few poor serfs,
Nor seek to hold the ' Holy Trinity,' —
For this, I will retain my title, lands.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 243
And you will* pledge your honor to the deed,
As guarantee of that agreed upon ! "
How old are you, Count Henry ?
Count Henry. Thirty-six.
Fancras. No more? Then fifteen years of life are
all
You have a just right to expect, for men
Of temperaments like yours always die young.
Your son is nearer to the grave than to
Maturity. A sirigle case like yours
Could do no serious harm to our Great Whole.
Remain, then, where you are, last of the Counts;
Rule while you live in your ancestral home ;
Have, if you will, the portraits all retouched ;
The armorial bearings of your line renewed ;
And think no more of that most wretched remnant
Of your fallen order, which deserves to fall !
You know the People have been long oppressed ;
Stay not the sword of justice as it falls
On their oppressors ! Here's a health ! I drink,
The last of all the Counts !
(Zr<? Jills and drinks another goblet of wine. ^
Count Henry. Cease ! cease ! Each word you utter
breathes new insult !
Can you suppose, to save a wretched life,
I would submit myself to be enslaved,
And dragged in chains behind your car of triumph?
Desert the nobles, whom I have sworn to aid?
No more ! no more ! I can endure no more !
I cannot answer as my spirit prompts ;
You are my guest, and shall be sheltered from
All insult 'neath the shadow of my roof!
My Lares guard you ; plighted my knightly honor !
Pancras. "Plighted and knightly honor" in our
days
Swing oft upon a gallows ! You unfurl
A tattered banner, whose worn, faded rags
Seem out of place among the brilliant flags.
The joyous symbols of humanity
And universal progress. Flaunt it no more !
244 ^-^^ UNDIVINE COMEDY.
I know your generous spirit, and protest »
Against your course, self-sacrificing Count !
Still full of life and manly vigor, you
Would bind your heart to putrefying corpses,
Cling to a vain belief in privilege,
In worn-out relics, and in dead men's bones,
Mouldering escutcheons, and the word of country !
Yet in your inmost soul you're forced to own
Your brother-nobles have deserved their doom,
And that forgetfulness for them were mercy !
Count Henry. You, Pancras, and your noisy followers,
Tell me what you deserve !
Pancras. Life ! Victory !
For we acknowledge but one living right,
One ceaselessjaw ;_li__t he /aw of eternal progress /"
This fatal lawseals your deatT>\varrant. Hark !
Through my just lips it cries to you and yours :
"Mouldering and rotten aristocracy,
Full crammed with meat and wine torn from your serfs.
Effete with luxury, worn out with ease, —
Give place to the young, the strong, the hungry, poor,
Whose vigorous blood will found a nobler race !
