No More Learning

Now our shameful work is done ;
Brothers, drink in the light of the sun !

Count Henry. Whose are the voices harsher than the
rest,
More savage, from the mound upon our left ?

Neophyte. The Butchers meet, and sing their chorus
there.

CHORUS OF BUTCHERS.

The cleaver and axe are our weapons ;

In the slaughter-house pass we our lives;
We love the blood-hue, and we care not

What we strike with our keen-bladed knives :
Aristocrats, calves, lambs, or cattle.

All die when our blade slits the throat.

The children of slaughter and vigor.

To cut quickly the whole of our knowledge ; —

He who has need of us has us ;

We can kill without going through college !

For the nobles, we'll slaughter fat cattle ;
For the People, we'll slaughter the nobles !



2 24 ^-^^ UNDIVINE COMEDY.

The cleaver and axe are our weapons,

In the slaughter-house pass we our lives ;
We love the blood-hue, and we care not
If cattle or nobles fall under our knives.

Hurrali for the shambles, the shambles !
Hurrah for the bright hue of blood !
Hurrah for the butchers, who fear not
To stand in the crimson, hot flood !

Count Henry. Why, that is well ! At least there's no
pretense
Of honor and philosophy. But who
Comes here ? Good-evening, Madame !

Neophyte. You forget !

Your Excellency ought to say : " Woman
Of freedom, citizeness. "

Woman. What do you mean

By that word, "Madame"? Fie! You smell of
mould !

Count Henry. I pray you, pardon me, fair citizeness !

Woman. I am as free as you ; as free as air ;
I freely give my love to the community
Which has emancipated me. My right
To lavish it in my own way is now
Acknowledged by the world !

Count Henry. Oh, wise new world !

Did the community give you those rings.
That purple necklace of rich amethyst ?
Thrice generous and kind community !

Woman. No. They are not from the community.
My husband gave them when I was his wife ;
I seized and kept them when I was made free.
You know my husband w\q. '\Vl% my ene/ny ;
The enemy of female liberty-. - '
He held me longtjnskrvcd ; now I am free !

Count Henry. Good-eve ! A pleasant walk, free citi-
zeness !

i^TJiey pass ofi. )
Who is that curious warrior leaning on
A two-edged sword, a death's head on his cap.
One on his badge, another on his breast ?



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 225

Is it the famous soldier, Bianchetti,*
Now hired by ihe people for the combat,
As he was wont to be by kings and nobles,
To lead the condottieri ? Is it he ?

Neophyte. It is. He joined our forces recently.

Count Henry. (^To Bianchetti. ) What is it you ex-
amine with such care.
Brave Bianchetti? Can you see the foe?

Bianchetti. Look through this narrow opening in the
woods,
You'll see a Fortress on that mountain crest ;
With this strong glass I scan the ramparts, walls,
And the four bastions, brother Citizen.

Count Henry. I see it now. It will be hard to take.

Bianchetti. By all the devils ! No. It can be mined,
Surrounded first by covered galleries . . .
. Neophyte. Citizen General . . .

(^He makes a sign to Bianchetti. )

Count Henry {in a whisper to the Neophyte). Look
'neatly my cloak —
My pistol's cock is raised !

Neophyte {aside. ) My curse on thee !

{To Bianchetti. ) How would you deem it best to plan
the siege ?

Bianchetti. In freedom you're my brother. Citizen ;
But not my confidant in strategy !
After the capture, all shall know my plans.

Count Henry {to Neophyte). Take my advice, Jew,
strike him dead at once ;
Such men begin all aristocracies !

A weaver. Curses ! curse them ! Ay, I curse them all !

Coufit Henry. What are you doing here, poor fellow,
'neath
This tree ? Why do you look so pale and wild ?

Weaver. Curses upon the manufacturers !
Curses upon the merchants ! my best years



* Bianchetti is the type of those cosmopolitan warriors who are ready to
draw their swords in any cause whatever, ])rovided il pays. All countries
passing through a revolution (especially Poland) are familiar with such
military adventurers.



2 26 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

Of life, when other men make love to maids,
Or walk abroad, and meet their fellow-men
On pleasant plains, or sail upon the seas, —
The sky above, around, fresh air to breathe, —
I've passed in gloom, in dark and stifling dens,
Chained to a silk-loom, like a galley-slave !

Count Henry. Drink down the wine you hold in your
thin hands ;
Empty the cup — you're faint — it will revive you !

Weaver. I've no strength left to bear it to my lips.
I am so weak I scarcely could crawl here,
Although it is the promised Day of Freedom !
Too late ! too late ! it comes too late for me !

{He falls and gasps. )
Food ! wine ! rest ! sunshine ! all too late for me !
Curses upon the merchants who buy silks !
Upon the manufacturers who make them !
Upon the nobles ! all who wear them, curses !
{He writhes on the ground, and dies. )

Count Henry. Heavens ! what a ghas^y corpse ! Pol-
troon of freedom,
Baptized Jew, look at that lifeless head
Lit by the blood-red rays of setting sun !
What now to him are all your promises,
Your sounding words that bear no heart within ;
Perfectibility, equality.
The universal bliss of free humanity?

Neophyte {aside). May such a death soon seize your-
self, proud Count, —
And dogs tear off the flesh from the rotting corpse !
{Aloud. ) I humbly beg you will dismiss me now;
I must give answer on my embassy.

Count Henry. Are you afraid ? Say that, believing you
To be a spy, I forcibly detained you.

{Looking around him. )
The tumult of this orgie dies away
Behind us, while before, there's nothing save
Great firs and pines which wave in crimson rays
Of sunset. Lurid, ominous, that light !

Neophyte. Clouds gather thick and fast above the trees :
A storm will soon be on us, — hear the wind !



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 227

You should return to your attendants, who
Have waited long for you within the Pass
Of Saint Ignatius. ^, r, r u

Count Henry. Oh, I'm safe enough,

I do not fear the storm. I thank thee, Jew,
For so much loving care. But back, sir, back !
I choose to see these citizens to-night.

VOICES UNDER THE TREES.

Good-night, old Sun ! Ham's children say : Good-night !

Here's to thy health, old enemy ! Hurrah !

Thou long hast driven us on to unpaid work.

Awaked us early to unceasing toil :

To-morrow thou wilt find thy slaves asleep, —

Not caring whether thou get'st up or not, —

Or eating, drinking, full of flesh and wine !

A Peasant {throwing away his glass). Off to the devil,

empty glass ! Hurrah !
Neophyte. These bands of peasants will obstruct our

way.
Count Henry. You shall not leave me ! Stand behind
this tree ;
And if you value life, be silent, Jew !

CHORUS OF PEASANTS.

On ! on ! to meet our brothers
Under the white tents' row,
Or 'neath the giant shadows

The great oaks throw below !
To pleasant sunset greetings,
To rest, to sleep, to wake ;
The girl we love is waiting
Our hand in hers to take !
We've killed the fattest cattle

With which we used to plough.
They are waiting us to eat them, —
No weary labor now !
A Voice. I drag and pull him on with all my strength ;
He will not come — he turns — defends himself.
Come on, old fool ! {strikes him. ) Down ! down among the
dead !



2 28 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

Voice of the dying Noble. My children, pity ! pity!

Second Voice. Why, yoic had 7ione /

Come chain me to your land, and make me work
Again for nothing, will you?

Third Voice. My only son

You lashed to death ! Now wake him from the dead.
Or die and join him !

Fourth Voice. The children of Ham drink thy health,
old Lord !
They kneel to thee, — pray for forgiveness, old Lord !

CHORUS OF PEASANTS {passing out of sight).
A vampire sucked our blood, and lived upon our strength ;
We caught him with his bloody lips, — he's ours at length !

As is a great Lord's due, we swear thou shalt swing high ;
Yes, far above us all, by the devil, thou shalt die !

To every noble, death ! the tyrants ! they must fall !
Drink, food and rest for us ; they've starved and wronged
us all !

For shelter, meat, and land, and wine we mean to have;
Though naked, we are men ! Off, vampires, to the grave !

OTHER PEASANTS.
Your bodies shall lie as thick as the sheaves

On our fields ; and the drifting wrecks
Of your castles shall fly like the chaff beneath

The flail, as we twist your necks !
They shall perish as bundles of straw in the flames,

While the children of Ham by the light
Will wnrm themselves by the great bonfire.
And merrily dance all night !
Count Henry. I cannot see the murdered noble's face.
The crowd has grown so dense!

Neophyte. Perhaps he was

A friend of yours, a cousin. Count.

Count Henry. No more !

Him I despise ; you I detest ! Bah ! Bah !
And yet, perchance, may poetry some day
Gild even this wild horror I Forward, Jew !

( TJiey disappear among the trees. )



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 229

Another part of the forest. A mound, upon which fires are
burning. A procession of men bearing torches.

Count Henry appears at the base of the mound with the
Neophyte.

Count Henry. The thorns have torn my scarlet cap to
tatters !
What lurid flames are those, like fires of hell,
That rise among the trees and fringe with light
The gloomy forest's long and darkening aisles?

Neophyte. We lost our way in seeking for the Pass.
We must retrace our steps into the wood,
For Leonard here will celebrate to-night
The rites of this New Faith. I pray you, back !
To advance is death !

Count Henry. I am resolved to try ;

This is precisely what I wished to see.
Fear nothing, Jew; no one will recognize us.

Neophyte. Be prudent ! here our lives hang on a breath !
Count Henry. What monstrous ruins strew the ground
about us !
There lies the dying world ; colossal form.
Which lasted centuries before it fell !
Columns and capitals, and fretted roofs,
And slender shafts, and statues, cornices _ A

With golden bands, rose windows and stained glass,
Upturned and broken, crashing 'neath my feet !
Painting and sculpture, relics, bas-reliefs
Upheaved in ruin ! . . . Heaven ! is that the face
Of God's dear Mother shining in this gloom?
'Tis gone ! There gleams a cherub's head ; a shrine
With railing carved in bronze ; — Ha ! by yon torch
I see a knight in armor sleeping on
An upturned tomb ! Crosses and monuments
As thick as flakes of snow ! . . . Where am I, Jew?

Neophyte. We cross the grave-yard of the latest church
Of the Old Faith. For forty days and nights
We labored to destroy it ; built it seemed
To last eternal ages !

Count Henry. Ye New Men,

Your songs, your hymns, grate harshly on my ears !



230



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



Before me and behind, on every side,

Dark forms are moving ; fitful shadows, lights,

Are driven to and fro by soughing gusts,

And float, like clouds of spirits, midst the throng!

A Passer-by. I greet you. Citizen, in the name of Free-
dom.

Another. I greet you in the slaughter of the nobles.

Third Passer-by. The praise of Freedom's chanted by
the priests;
Why haste ye not to join the chorus?

Neophyte. Fliglit

Is now impossible ; we must advance !

Count Henry. And who is that young man who stands
in front
Upon the ruins of an ancient altar?
Three flames are burning at his feet; his face
Shines strangely through the crimsoning fire and smoke.
His gestures wild, excited, while his voice
Rings like a maniac's shriek?

Neophyte. 'Tis Leonard, young,

Inspired proj)het of our liberty. *
Philosopliers and jioets, artists, priests.
Stand round him with their daughters and their loves.

Count Henry. I understand, — your aristocracy !
Point out the man who sent to me to seek
An interview.

Neophyte. I do not see him here.

Leonard. Fly to my arms ! Come, let our burning lips
Cling to each other till our breath grows flame !
My beautiful, my love ! Come, fly to me.
Disrobed of veils, of antique prejudices, —
My chosen 'mid the daughters of the free !

Voice of a Girl. I come, I fly to thee, my well beloved !

Second Girl. Look upon me ! I stretch to thee my
hands,
But in the frenzy of the rapturing bliss,

* In Leonard is personified the impotence of a man who desires to
found a rclij;ion t>)roiigh hiinsclf JiTone". -Tht-worslitp wliicTi'lie^eaches
is a monstrous chaos. It is supiioscd the Poet intended to reunite in this
character traits common to several mo dern Ut opians. — Revue des Deux
Moiides. '



THE UN DIVINE COMEDY.



231



I faint and fall, beloved, at thy feet !
I cannot rise, — can only turn to thee !

Third Girl. Look, Prophet, look ! I have outstripped
them all,
Through cinders, ashes, flame and fire and smoke !
I clasp thy feet, beloved, to my heart 1

Count Hemy. Her long dark hair floats far upon the
wind.
With heaving breast she leaps upon the altar.

Neophyte, Thus is it every night with our young

priest.
Leonard. To me, my bliss ! Come, child of freedom,
come !
Thou tremblest with divinest inspiration.
Lend me a share that I may teach my brethren !
Prophetic words thrill through my quivering lips !

Count Henry. Her head is bowed, she falls as in con-
vulsion.
Leonard. Ye People, look on us ! We offer you
An image of the race from trammels freed.
We stand upon the ruins of the Past.
To us be honor, glory ! We have trampled
All into dust, the God of old is dead !
His limbs are torn asuTT^CTTaiKl our'mind
Is borne triumphant to his seat, whence falls
His spirit to eternal nothingness !

CHORUS OF WOMEN.

Happy and blest is the loved of the Prophet :
We stand at her feet, and we envy her lot !

Leonard. A new world give I you ; to a new God
I give the heavens, — a God of freedom, bliss,
'W\t_People'' s God I Let every tyrant's corpse
His fittiligintafl)e ! The pile would reach
The sky ! A sea of blood will flow, and sweep
Away the pangs of past humanity !
Our tears all shed, we will inaugurate
Perpetual happiness; the Day of Freedom !
Damnation and the gallows be to him ^

)3n30jwourd~reofganizeTlie l^ast, conspire
Againstl:Tie^pertect^otlierhood~ofTiian !



232



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



CHORUS OF MEN.



The towers of superstition, tyranny,
Have fallen ! fallen !

Death and damnation be to him who'd save
One stone from that old, crumbling edifice !
Neophyte {aside). Blasphemers of Jehovah, thrice I
spew
You forth to swift destruction !

Count Henry. Keep but thy promise, Eagle, I will build
A temple to the glorious Son of God
On their bowed necks, and on this very spot !

A confused cry of Voices. Freedom ! Equality ! and
perfect bliss !

CHORUS OF THE NEW PRIESTS.

Where are the lords, and where the haughty kings,
Who ruled with cruel pride, and walked the earth
Adorned with crown and sceptre? Where are they ?

Voices. Gone ! Gone ! forever gone ! Hurrah !
Hurrah !

An Assassin. I killed King Alexander.

Another Assassin. I, King John.

Third Assassin. I murdered King Emmanuel. Hurrah!

Leonard. March without fear ! Murder without re-
morse !
Ye are the elect of the elect, the sons
Of that God whom the People have elected !
Martyrs and heroes of our liberties !

CHORUS OF ASSASSINS.

We glide in the darkness of niglit,

We move in the gloom of the shadow;
Dagger and sword in the clutch of our might,
We strike for the good of qur brothers !
Leonard {to the young girl). Rouse thee, my love !
(A loud clap of thunder is heard. )
{To the throng. ) Answer this living God who speaks in

thunder !
Ye vigorous sons of freedom, follow me !
Sing hymns, and let us once more trample down



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 233

The dead God's Church.

Awake, beloved ! lift up thy drooping head !

Girl I glow with love to thee, and to thy God !
Oh, I would share my love with all mankind,
With the great universe ! I glow ! I glow !

Count Henry. 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. . .