No More Learning

Aid me, O God !

n* * 'F SP 5|C ^ 5jC



THE LAST. '•^__:_l . ; 483

Ah ! useless efforts ! I am growing Aveak,

My sight is reeling and my blood flows fast,

My chains clash without brealciRg ! No one comes !

No one in all the world will ^t/^r "come to aid me !

Silence and immobility return

To float forever o'er this dark, still hell !

Where are you? Where? . . . Ah ! can it really be,

They have been here, my Brothers have been here,

And have abandoned me, — left me to rot

With felons, murderers, and parricides.

In the very hour of national Resurrection !

XXXIII.

Are you my. Brothers ? . . . No ! My exeeutioners !

You've robbed me of my poor remains of life !

But who can say ? . . . Perhaps in younger days

I did indeed commit some dreadful crime;

Murdered my father, mother, brother, sister,

And now have quite forgot it in this grave?

Bat they, my Brothers, knew it all too well,

And so have left me in perdition's gulf!

Nay, none of those were crimes by me committed ;

We'll seek some other possible offense !

Who is it driving daggers in my head ?

Who rakes my brains with talons, pincers, hooks?

Nothing is left me but to drag myself

Over these stones, and gnash and grind my teeth

As grinds my chain into my naked bones !

What horror grapples thus my inmost being?

I know ! I understand ! I feel it now !

My senses leave me ! I am growing mad !

XXXIV.

Where am I ? . . . In my cell ? . . . Yes . . . the same

lamp
Casts the same sickly light . . . round the dim flame.
Naught save the eternal Dark of the Sepulchre !
Here the same sleepless bed, . . . and nothing, nothing

more I
And Thou ! Where art Thoii, God? I do not know !



484 THE LAST.

I look . . . but cannot find Thee in this gloom !

I only know I must die here alone;

Die like a dog ! Nay, it may be, far worse !

To whom do I owe thanks in this blank world?

I've lived, and I must die, in the Czar's House 1 —

Other protection I have never known !

God ! Must I hate all I once loved and trusted ?

My will no longer o'er my body rules.

My eyelids press my eyes so heavily !

XXXV.

Remember, God, after such earthly woes,

I do not wish to keep my soul alive

For other, it may be, eternal pangs !

There is no love within, without, this world;

But irony immense as immensity !

God is no Father 1 Nor the angels. Brothers !

On earth, in Heaven, the same deceptions rule !

God ! I renounce my immortality !

What can it do but change my present grief

Into another woe ! And I am tired ! . . .

I've had enough of anguish, misery !

Give me annihilation ; for I seek

Deliverance ! Forget me, my Creator !

After long years, which were for me a hell,

Hearken the only prayer I breathe at death :

Let me not go where universal life

Blazes with glory !

Let my soul lose itself
Without a trace in Thy eternity.
As they have lost all memory of me !
Alas ! in Poland they will never know
The horrors of this living sepulchre,
My agonies, deserted by my Brothers,
That no fraternal clasp e'er came to press
My dying hand, bid me a last Farewell !

xxxvi.

Poland ! . . . What, Poland risen from the grave ?
Oh, is it true, my God? My country now
No longer waits death still enchained, like me?



THE LAST. 485

Father ! Pardon all a child's despair,

Who, wrung to sudden madness, dared blaspheme !

It was not love of self inflamed my soul ;

No, I loved Thee and Poland ! Pardon, my God !

She lives on earth ; as Thou dost in the skies !

And with her name and Thine upon the lips

So soon to be forever mute — I die !

Holy Thy will ! Holy my long captivity !

Holy the horrors of my lonely death, —

Since as I die, my fathers' land is free !

XXXVII.

1 thank Thee, that in vision I have seen

My happy country, Lord ! I give Thee thanks,

That Thou hast shown me those who serve her cause I

Thou deignest to permit I here should close

The endless vaults of Polish cemeteries !

Tliai I . should be-tlie/^i:/ of Polish corpses

Buried alive in dungeons of the Czars 1

I bless Tliee, Lord ! Alas ! I cannot rise !

This skeleton body has no strength to kneel 1

But my heart kneels ! I fold my trembling hands

In symbol of Thy Cross upon my breast 1

On which side is the sky? It is so dark,

So long since I came here, I cannot tell.

Ha ! sudden inspiration wakes my heart !

I must pray, pray, pray ever for my Poland !

XXXVIII.

Since Thou hast to thy martyr given, O Lord,

The sceptre of true power, aid her to conquer that

Which has been still invincible on earth !

That which no Rulers ever have accomplished.

Nor emperors, nor kings, nor nobles, nor

The middle classes, nor the various Peoples, —

All tyrants differing only in their names.

But the same despots when possessed of power, —

Lord, let Thy martyr conquer it for all !

Floating aloft on archangelic wings,

Above the temptations and the snares of pride.

Above the abysses which corrupt our times, —



486 THE LAST.

Let her bring back to man, drunk with his brother's blood,

Holy Fraternity ! The strength of Love,
Which is immortal, cannot be exhausted /
And as triumjihant she has left tlie grave,
So grant her, Lord, to triumph over death !
No, she will not go out in smoke and ashes.
As stolen states kneaded of dust and blood ;
For in her breast she'll bear Thy Virtue, Wisdom,
The elements of Victory and Power !
May all the nations of the earth still bless her,
Because she joys in all the nations' bliss !
Oh, may Thy Christ be glorified in her.
And manifest Himself in every human act !
And may through her Thy Kingdom come on earth !

My forces sink ! . . . Perhaps this may be Death !
Thanks, Lord !

XXXIX.

A white light scintillates before my eyes !

Licffable well-being fills my breast !

All painful recollections, one by one,

Of my sad life fade from my memory !

The air vibrates with the full tones of harps :

The human ear ne'er heard such harmonies !

Ah ! Yes ! These are the angels ! They announce

The good, good news !

Each moment, less of sadness — less of pain !

O Poland, my Beloved ! . . . My raptured soul,

Delivered from all evil, rushes on

To the Infinite ! Hosanna ! O Hosanna,

Forever and forever ! . . .



TEMPTATION.



FKrasinski published a short tale in Paris under this title, at the close
of which is found the " sole cry' which he ever suffered to escape his lips
on his own situation. It is also believed a real event is figured therein : a
meetinsT between the Poet and the Emperor Nicholas. , . , ^ , . , .

The students of Lithuania resolved to reprint the tale, which had indeed
appeared in a journal of that countrv, stamped with the vupnmaUir ol the
censor who had not understood the manuscript. But information soon
came from St. Petersburg, and several hundred young men were thereupon
exiled to Siberia i Thev were the flower of young manhood, and heart-
rending was the grief of the bereaved families. Imagine the despair of
the tortured Poet. — Tr. ]



Thick, crimsoned with blood, and swollen with tears ever falling,

Our life-waves run gloomily on I .

From the whirlpools and depths of the stormful and gathering currents,

Rises the moan of anguish eternal !

Behind, roars the abvss, fathomless, heavily shrouded

In black mists, tossed and piled, streaming up from the pangs of the \ ast !

Before, lies the far-off Heaven ; its blue blazing with flames red as blood ;

Around, struggle onward the swimmers, in surges so cold, hopeless, murky,

That fierce agony wrenches from each as ho floats the wild cry :

" Woe I Woe ! the old curse is uroN me 1"

Mother, many times murdered! Unhappy mother!
with the long and countless blades of thy ever green
grasses, Avith "the waving stems of thy grain-fields, thou
wilt bind our undying memories closely to thee, but hence-
forth must thy sons wander and suffer, as they love thee.
Behind them, from sea to sea, is the Grave; before them,
wheresoever they may roam, the sunset; while monarchs
and merchants curse the endless progression !

The Living cannot understand those reared on the bosom
of the Dead— human faces grow pale at the approach of
the spectres— at the echo of their footsteps the home-fires
slimmer and flicker low on the hearthstone— the mother
^ 487



488 TEMPTA TION.

hides her child — the wife leads away the husband that he
may not clasp hands with the wandering exile,-^the even-
ing star alone, the star of graves, smiles from Heaven on
them !

*******

Was not the silence of the forests holy? When the
wind swept over the pines, did not the mystic murmurs,
sacred as the prayers of the priest, say to you: "Nowhere
th€7-e will you find your God "? The spaces are filled with
the giant skeletons torn from the dim woods; they are
chained and clamped with iron and fed with steam; the
eagles soar not in the air above them, nor do the glad
birds twitter in the swaying branches; none among you
may mount the strong horse of the desert and fly aflir over
the boundless steppes, rejoicing in his arrowy swiftness; —
you are alone in the midst of the world!

******:)£

As you wander on, poor exiles, your very gratitude is
half disdain! When they lead you into cities without
castles or temples, where trade and commerce rule; among
whitewashed houses where the spirit of Beauty is not, and
the green window-shutters are the sole adornment — mur-
mur ye: The Dead!

*******

On the shores of the seas when you dwell with Jews,
Armenians, and Greeks, quarreling forever over their vile
profits; seeing not the heavens, nor hearing the thunder
as it booms over the waves — murmur ye: The Dead!
*******

When women in rich attire move around you, and you
feel that the faint fluttering of the silken robe is far more
spiritual than the life-breath of their souls — murmur ye:
The Dead !

*******

Float on, then, like the sacred whispers from the un-
hewn forests!
The world will not know you, because you
are of the race sprung from coffins; born and cradled in
coffins; but as you rise from the grave, strew upon the
ground beneath your feet the mouldering rags of your



TEMPTA TION.



489



shrouds, — and he, seated on the verge of the abyss, on the
steep and slippery declivity ; he, robed in the royal purple
of power, will not survive your Resurrection — but must
himself descend into the coffin!

I saw imaged before me, as in a wondrous vision, the
varied scenes and changes, as it were, of a long life, —
rising, progressing, and vanishing, as if bound in a single
day, beginning with the morning and fleeting away with
the evening shadows.

It seemed to me in my vision that the morning was
strangely transparent. No clouds dulled the ether above.
Far over the wide green space rose the sun, and in front
of the House on the Hill stood a horse already saddled,
impatiently wounding the velvety grass with his iron hoofs,
and snuffing with wide nostrils the fresh breeze from the
valley. Near him stood his young master. The light in
his blue eye was bright as the young beam of the day.
He had one foot in the stirrup, and the- other on the soft
home-turf; with one hand caressing the long waving mane
of the steed, and the other clasped in the grasp of the
man from whom he was taking leave — they knew not for
how long, but yet felt it was not forever. Words were
pouring from the heart of the one into the heart of the
other. The elder, he who stood on the ground and was
to move on on foot, kept his gaze steadily fixed on the
rocks and forests lying beyond the smooth green turf.
The younger, with raised eyes, gazed into the sky, as if
absorbing its light in the lustrous pupils; and when he
spoke his voice was like the fresh breath of spring. The
elder spoke more slowly, almost sternly, as though ad-
vising, warning, beseeching, — as if he loved deeply, yet
doubted, feared; but the younger had no fear, no doubts,
— he pledged himself and vowed — threw himself first into
the arms of his friend, then leaped into his saddle. He
pushed his horse rapidly on, swift as the arrow skims the
plain, or the mountain stream plunges below. A cloud
of servants poured forth from the halls of the ancient
House, and followed their young Lord.

He who remained behind, knelt; and fragments of his
prayer were brought me by the wind. "O Heavenly

42



49©



TEMPTATION.



Father! let not that' blooming soul wither away upon
this arid ear{h ! Lead it not into the tem])tation of
human servitude; remove from it all sinful stain! Let
it serve Thee alone! Thee and the many times murdered
Mother! "

He continued kneeling, although sunk in silence, as if
wrapped in deep meditation, scarcely knowing whether to
indulge in the dim prophecies then surging his soul, or to
prolong his prayers. Then I saW him start, clasp his
hands forcibly together — and again his words were borne
to me by the wind.

"O Heavenly Father! I ask Thee not to sweeten the
bitter cup of life for my friend; I know that all who live
must suffer; but, O merciful God, spare him the blush of
shame, the infamy of weakness! "

Then 1 saw the Wanderer rise from his knees, descend

the hill, and make his way on foot through the forest to

the distant rocks.

*******

About high noon of the same day they met again before
the gate of a great city. The young man was still on his
horse, his fair brow already darkened by the heat of the
sun ; the dew from the fresh home-turf was quite dry upon
his stirrups, and the glitter of the steel dimmed with rust.
The horse gladly stopped, as if wearied with his rapid
flight through the distant space, but the blue eye of the
youth still si)arklcd with its early fire.

The elder, gray from head to foot with the dust of the
road, seated himself on a stone by the wayside. The
youth jumped lightly to the earth, and threw himself into
the arms of his friend. I saw him give his horse in charge
to his servants, take the arm of his companion, enter the
gate of the great city, and lead him to the imperial Palace.
In one of the inner chambers they sat down together to
rest. They conversed, however, in whispers, as if they
feared the ear of the enemy even through the massive
stone walls. Stretching himself on the soft Persian carpet,
the younger raised the cup of wrought silver to his thirsty
lip. But when he handed it to the elder he refused to
taste the wine from the rich goblet. Nor would he look
upon the tapestried walls, nor the objects of luxury lying



TEMPTATION.



491



profusely scattered around the room, even when pointed
out to him by his young companion. At. hist he rose,
and, taking the hand of the youth, led him to a window,
from which the entire city was seen lying below, with the
moving crowds of the populous nation. The immense
city, wonderfully monotonous in its whitewashed walls!
the immense nation, wonderfully monotonous in its black
garments! The young man looked on curiously; the
Wanderer sighed, and said: "When they shall lead you
into cities without castles or temples, where the spirit of
freedom is chained, murmur ye: The Dead! "

But the younger continued to gaze with ever-growing
interest. Carriages filled witli women dressed in brilliant
hues were rapidly driving by, drawn by strong, fleet horses.
He saw one drive aside from the throng, the snowy veil
and white draperies of the fair one within fluttering and
floating far on the breeze, as if the flying chariot were
borne onward by the outspread sails. The Wanderer
sighed, and said: "When women in rich attire move
around you, and you feel that the faint fluttering of the
snowy robe is more spiritual than the life-breath of their
souls — murmur ye: The Dead! "

The young man seemed not to hear the words of his
friend. Heavy masses of lurid clouds gathered from every
direction, and obscured the face of the sky. How differ-
ent ths hour of the gloomy noon from that of the fresh,
transparent morning!

Tlie men before whom the People of the Black Nation
kneel and prostrate themselves, now began to move through
the streets. Their garments glittered with gold, and were
richly embroidered in gorgeous colors. Tiiey wore long
thin swords at their sides, and thick tufts of plumes on
their heads. Shouting with harsh voices, they passed on
in power, striking the children who were lingering in the
road as they moved forward. The children cried and
wept; the crowd drew back and fled; and they remained
alone upon the Great Square. More and more of them
were ever thronging there; more and more courteously
they ever bowed to one another, and lower and lower
grew their salutes, until at last One rode forward on a
steed richly caparisoned, — and then they all fell down with



492



TEMPTATION.



their faces upon the ground — as if he were the Lord of
Life and Death.

Then said the Wanderer: "He is already on the verge
of the abyss, on the slope of the steep and slippery de-
clivity; he, robed in the purple of power, must himself
descend into the coffin! "

But the young man riveted his gaze on the mngnifi-
cence of the rider, as if absorbing the diamond glitter
into the lustrous pupils of his eyes, as in the morning
they had absorbed and reflected the clear blue of the
skies. He seemed not to hear the words of his friend.
When they were earnestly repeated to him, he covered his
face with his hands, and tenderly uttered the holy name
of the murdered Mother, as if the love of childhood
were upon his heart. The Wanderer pressed him to his
breast, and said: "Look not upon them ! Look not upon
them! "

"Never! never! " he replied, as he again threw himself
down to rest upon the Persian carpet.

As the Wanderer rose to depart, I heard the prayer
again rising to God from his divining soul:

"O Heavenly Father ! even at the burning noon of
this bitter trial, I implore Thee for him whom I love! O
God ! I now entreat Thee to work a miracle in his behalf,
— to sweeten the bitter cup of life for this young, eager,
thirsting soul ! Deliver it from the temptations witli, which
Thou hast seen good to surround the strong on tliis earth,
led like him into these snares! Let him not fall, I beseech
Thee, as did even the mighty and beautiful angels round
Thy Throne, when the thirst for power was upon them.
Save him, O God! "

The young man remained alone, utterly alone, in the
midst of the great city, and was soon forced to seek com-
panionship with his fellow-beings. It was strange, mean-
while, how black the heavens grew, as if the whole sky
were sheeted with a curtain of lead. I saw him now
constantly in the streets, the rooms, and in the midst of
the people: he fascinated my gaze as if I saw only him.
Under the calm of a tranquil face, he concealed bitter
torment, intense suffering. Evil thoughts are winding
through him like swarms of black and poisonous worms,



TEMPTATION.



493



while the good are also thronging near him like clouds of
bright fireflies. The worms crawl over his heart, boring
and bleeding it as they writhe; the fireflies would burn
out the black congested gore, and cure the festering
wounds, but new swarms of reptiles are forever sliming
into life, and ever deeper and more gangrened are the
wounds they make. Everywhere danger, everywhere tor-
ment; there is no human being whom he may trust! He
too must learn to deceive in turn, to betray even women
and children; must learn to lie as the masterpiece of art.
He attains skill in the profession, and can command looks,
smiles, tears, emotions; but alas! the light in his clear
eve, once rivaling the young beam of day, no longer
flashes from his pupils. Pity him, O God! his very gar-
ments become a lie; he throws aside the costume of his
nation, in which he once rode so freely over the boundless
steppe. He mounts on his head the tall tufts of plumes;
he girds the thin sword to his side; and I saw in my
dream that the people began to fall back before him, and
bow as he drew near.

But I saw that the steed of the desert refused to recog-
nize his master when he entered the courtyard of the
Palace. In vain he jjats, vi'ith his own hand, the wavy
silken mane: no neigh of joy now answers his caress; he
strives to leap upon him as in the morning of this event-
ful day, but the haughty charger rears, stands erect upon
his hind legs, and refuses to be mounted. Enraged be-
yond control, he thrusts iiis long sword into the glossy
flanks. The startled animal breaks away, spurns the
biootl-sprinkled soil, and flies thundering ai'iir, rattling
and clashing his iron hoofs on the pavement, marking his
track with a long line of glittering sparks, flashing but to
die in the dying light of evening !

The hour of twilight is already on the earth !

^: * * ^ * * *

Again, for the third time in that day of life, met the
Wanderer and his friend. They stood together in a
Church, which was without the gates, and the cross on
its towers was different from those on the Basilicas within
the walls of the city. 'I'he altar was without adornment,
and, as well as the walls and ceilings, was shrouded in the

42*



494



TEMPTATION.



deepest mourning. Three tapers only were upon it, and
they struggled vainly with the surrounding gloom.

I saw the Wanderer take one of the lights, and gaze,
with a look of woe, ui)on the face of his friend. The young
man was silent, he found no utterance, he had lost the
secret of revealing, by honest words, the depths of the
soul. But the bitter truth was expressed in the long wild
cry which burst spasmodically from his lips. In it might
be read the seduction and destruction of a young spirit,
not consenting to its own shame and ruin !

He laid his head on the strong shoulder of his friend,
and closed his heavy eyelids, as if he dreamed, in this
trying moment, it would be possible for him thus to close
them forever. But the Wanderer, suddenly calling him
back to consciousness, said : " Follow me ! follow me, that
thou mayst remember forever the Form of the murdered
Mother! "

So saying, he led the young man to a low door which
opened behind the Great Altar. A whirlwind, as if from
plains of ice, blew upon them from the subterranean pas-
sages below, and the flame of the taper streamed upon the
blast, swaying and torn into a line of dying sparks. And
thus they commenced the plunge into the very bosom of
night, de. scending ever lower and lower, exploring depth
after depth, until at last they had worked their way
through the narrow and winding passages, and stood in
the sublime silence of the immensity of space.

Their taper had long ago gone out, but they needed
not its flickering light. The swamp-fires of the night,
the corpse-lights, the will-o'-the-wisps, sometimes fell like
falling stars ; sometimes rose like rising moons. Count-
less cemeteries seemed moving on in this weird light, one
solemnly following the other, and on the dark gate of
each glittered, as if graved in frosted silver, the name of
the Murdered Nation, and on the white crosses gleaming
within, the names of her martyreti children. Vast piles
of skeletons, of bones and skulls, lay in the path of the
young man, and as he advanced he read the glorious in-
scriptions.

It now seemed to him that the ghosts of the buried
were also moving on before him, increasing constantly in



TEMP TA TION. 49 5

number, and all moaning as they sped on, until at last
they seemed to condense into a murky vapor like a trail-
ing storm-cloud, growing ever more and more pervading,
and murmuring with myriad voices sad, but spirit-stirring
national songs. The air gleamed with the flashing of
sabres and wild waving of standards; conflagrations and
flames filled the intervening spaces, like vivid flashes of
restless lightning, now gleaming, now sinking into the
bosom of the cloud. Faster and faster, farther and farther
whirled the cloud of spirits. Then in my dream I saw
them suddenly descend, driven over the earth like the
withered leaves of autumn, — beaten low upon the ground
and drifting on like the summer's dust, — while a strong
cry burst from the hunted shadows : " O God, have mercy
upon us ! "

The Wanderer stopped before the gate of an open sep-
ulchre, on which was graven the name of the many times
Murdered. The letters blazed with a soft, lambent flame,
and he fell reverently upon his knees. Penetrated with
mystic awe, he quivered from head to foot when he arose,
and wept tenderly as he crossed the threshold.

A soft light, like that of an evening late in autumn,
dimly illuniined the space within. I saw the holy Coffin
as it lay on the gentle slope of a hill ; a giant pine stood
at its head, in whose topmost branches perched an Eagle,
pierced to the heart and sleeping in its own blood.
Within the Coffin lay the sacred Form, with the cross on
her breast, the veil on her face, the fetters on her hands,
and the crown upon her head. I saw six such hills rising
one after the other, sejurated from one another by the
long grass, through which, in place of sunny brooks,
flowed crimson streams of human gore. Hilts and shiv-
ered fragments of broken swords, overgrown with weeds
and covered with rust, were lying scattered in every di-
rection through the rank grass. On each of the six hills
lay the same "Coffin ; the same Form. But always more
and more strongly surged the streams of human blood ;
heavier and heavier grew the chains on the hands of* the
Dead; and paler and i)aler the dim autumnal light. At
the foot of the last hill it was dark, and bitter cold ; the
currents of blood were frozen ; the icicles hung from the



49 6 TEMP TA TION.

branches of the pine ; the Eagle lay in his congealed
gore; and in place of the veil, the face of the six times
murdered Mother was closely covered with a sheet of snow.

When the young man reached this spot of gloom, he
fell with his face upon the frozen earth, and cursed his
life ! In the distance sounded the moans of the shadows
left at the gate of the sepulchre ; he bowed his head and
wept. He heard them ask: "Is the six times Murdered
really dead? will she rise no more to deliver her faithful
children from mortal anguish? "

The Wanderer replied not, but looked with eyes of
melancholy love upon his friend who had thrown himself
upon the frozen earth, and gently raised him in his strong
arms.

Then rose the wail of all the armies of the grave; they
broke the silence of death with loud and fearful cries : " O
Heavenly Father, Thou hast betrayed us ! Thou hast de-
livered us up to Hell, for our Saint is really dead ! "

The Wanderer answered the cry, and his voice pealed
like distant thunder. " Blaspheme not ! Our Saint yet
breathes 1 I see her lying in her last coffin on the hill of
ice, — there is no seventh beyond it — from it comes the
Resurrection ! " The wails and sobs of the spirits suddenly
ceased, and a murmuring chant of the Mother's was'en-
toned, low and sweet as the first sigh of a germing hope.

The young man now perceived, for hitherto he had not
seen it, the illimitable space beyond the coffin. Afar
over the infinite blue gleamed the growing splendor of
the early dawn, — the clash and clamor of battles yet un-
born broke through the veil of Time, — ^and above it all he
heard the Mother's ancient hymn of victory !

The young dawn shone but for a moment, the clash of
battle ceased, the song of triumph died upon the ear, — the
gloomy silence of the twilight was again around them,
and frost and cold u])on the earth. The two friends rev-
erently pressed their lips upon the still feet of the fettered
Form; together listened to the faint breathing from the
icy lips, catching it even through tiie veil of snow shroud-
ing the sacred face; together tliey ascentled the frozen
hill, bowing their heads in their hands to hide their tears.

I saw them again as they were returning by the same



TEMP TA TION. 497

road, and overheard them Vjinding themselves with fear-
ful oaths. 'J'he Wanderer took leave of the young man at
the entrance of the church, saying with wonderfully tender
and conjuring tones: "Be not deceived by those who
would fain ruin thy soul, and blot out thy name from the
number of honorable sounds on earth ! Remember, what-
soever the splendor of the things thou shalt this night see,
they are but deceptions from the lowest Hell! " Then
placing his hand on the heart of the young man, he
prayed: "O Heavenly Father! have mercy upon him
and upon me, for if he withstands not this terrible Temp-
tation, Thou knowest we shall both have lived in vain, and
our part on earth is done forever ! " After this they parted,
and went their way on different routes.

It was already night in the great city. Innumerable
throngs were crowding the streets, all moving in the same
direction, to the palace lighted with a thousand lamps,
sounding with music, and gay with the dance. Old and
young, men and women, thronged the brazen stairs
leading to the upper rooms; hurrying on as eagerly, as
unceasingly, as if ascending into Heaven !

The hours of the night passed slowly by, seeming longer
to me than the wdiole of the preceding day. It was
almost one o'clock before I again saw the young man,
and the traces of the oaths he had taken were cunningly
hidden under smiles. Groups of servants stood around
him ; he carelessly threw them his cloak, and climbed with
the rest the brazen stairs. He was richly dressed ; the
magnificent guest was worthy of the splendor of the wed-
ding feast. He entered gracefully, and gazed curiously
on the thousands who were dancing around him. His
eyes fell upon the rich and varied spoils overhanging the
Hall ; broken swords were wrought into the walls like
mosaics ; the flags of the conquered nations were draped
in their varied hues across the vaulted ceiling; but as he
looked on all these trophies of power, I saw him suddenly
turn pale with rage, and bite his lips until the blood fol-
lowed the pressure of his teeth ; but then the whirling
crowds caught him in their midst — violins, harps, flutes,
and horns poured the reeling air into his dizzied brain —



498 TEMPTATION.

clouds of incense intoxicated his senses — piled and mossy
carpets luxuriously yielded to the pressure of his feet —
rainbow hues shifted gayly before his dazzled eyes — until
giddy, fascinated, stimulated, he sank upon a pile of
cushions, resting his hot temples in his burning palms,
dreaming of snowy hands and tajjcr fingers, of azure eyes
and cheeks like rose-leaves.

As he thus rested, I heard the bell heavily toll one ; I
felt that tliis long night was in its darkest hour !

When he raised his eyes, he saw, through the long vista
of the illuminated apartments, the Throne of the Splendor
of the Sun. It stood above the moving sea of dancers;
upon it sat the Autocrat of Life and Death; and above
him waved the canopy of flags torn from the dying nations.
The young man started, for he saw one among them dyed
in gore, and tattered into rags, and from its torn stream-
ers, drop by drop, the blood was ever falling ; but no one
saw or heeded it save himself. When this sight fell upon
his reeling gaze, he determined to repel with all his force
the allurements of temptation ; and again his eye gleamed
blue and pure as it had done in the early morning.

A movement now began in the crowd. It dispersed,
divided and formed into long lines upon the right and
the left, leaving a wide, open pathway through the whole
length of the long vista of the apartments. The Lord of
the Palace descended from his Throne, and moved through
the living walls as if he were a God, while all prostrated
themselves as he passed along. He turned not aside, but
went directly to tlie spot where the young man was seated.
Nearer and nearer he approached, wondrously beautiful
and strong. The young man rose, and looked boldly into
his eyes. The Master of Life and Death did not frown
upon him, but said gently: "Come, let us take a stroll
together; I will show you the womlers of mv Palace ! "

The youth stood as if transfixed to the spot, but the Lord
of Life and Death drew closer to him, stooped and pressed
a kiss on his brow, and led him away with easy grace.

Although he seemed to see the coffin of the murdered
Mother ever winding on before him, the young man ac-
companied the Monarch. His arm trembled with the
quick beating of his boiling blood as it lay on the hard



TEMPTA TION. 499

one of the Autocrat, who, thunder as he might to the bow-
ing throng prostrating themselves before him, continued
to sjjeak in soft tones and with a noble, courteous air to
his present companion. He spoke of the past, he uttered
without trembling even the name of the murdered Mother,
as if her assassination did not weigh upon his conscience.
He did not seem to have the least doubt that she was
really dead, vanished forever from the face of the earth.
He artfully pointed out to the young man another im-
mense future,* graven, as he said, in the Book of Fate.
He painted it in the most alluring colors, awakening his
young desires for its attainment; he spared no promises,
and as if he held himself to be one of God's prophets, he
parodied inspiration. The unhappy young man turned
his eyes toward the ground, away from the handsome face,
as though it had been that of Antichrist. Each word of
the Tempter fell like a drop of poison on his heart, en-
gendering and hatching the worms within. They walked
together through the long ranges of apartments, the close
ranks of men prostrating themselves as they passed, until
they struck with their foreheads the malachites wrought
into the tesselated floor.

When they arrived at the other end of the Palace, the
gates of bronze upon the order of the Master were sud-
denly thrown open, while the mass behind, lifting their
heads from the ground, looked enviously after them.

"Behold, this is my Treasury," said the Monarch.
" Look and have faith in the extent of my power ! "

The young man looked before him. He was standing
at the portals of deep mines of wealth, endlessly extended.
Alas ! the glowing splendor from the hills and valleys
burned into the blue eyes of the young man ; his pupils
rapidly absorbed the molten torrents of gold and silver;
circles of light from amethyst, opal, and emerald, bent
like rainbows round the azure orbs. The subterranean
flames roared and crackled ; the hills were shaken to their
centre ; the caves were heaving in their depths, and fresh,
glittering, golden, diamantine hmips came ever gushing
from the fused and seething mass.



♦ Pansclavism ?



500



TEMPTATION.



But strange sounds were ever and anon heard amidst the
hissing and sputtering of the boiling metals. Long cries
came up as if from men in the agonies of death ; a clatter as
of chains sounded from tlie abyss ; muttered curses; and
bent and wretched human figures were seen moving over
swards of diamonds and precious stones, like the dark stains
passing athwart the bright face of the moon. The eye of
the Monarch then flamed with wrath. Sometimes clanging
their chains as they moved their fettered limbs, these
melancholy figures raised to him their suppliant hands,
begging with anguished cries for one drop of water, for
one moment of respite to breathe the free air of heaven.
He vouchsafed to them no answer, and with every mo-
ment the wretched and emaciated shadows fell from utter
exhaustion into the molten metals seething in the depths
of the mine. But what mattered that, since with every
instant, new bands of living shadows, equally fettered,
doomed, and wretched, arrived to fill the vacant places ?