')
Ye perfumed flowers, break from your fragile stems
And deck my hair !
Ye perfumed flowers, break from your fragile stems
And deck my hair !
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
Only the blood which inundated the
soil swelled into a mighty torrent, and like the waves of
the sea beat against the mound, and through all the roar
of the hurrying shock the Young Man caught the word :
No ! The snowy clouds of women made no reply, but
when the flood rolled back, they knelt, and raised their
15*
lyo THE "FRAGMENTS
infants in their arms: and the little voices of the children
lifted in the air cried : No ! And scarcely had the mur-
mur of the thousands of little voices risen upon the wind,
when a marvelous luminosity inundated space — and the
Young Man lifted his eyes!
And lo! above, but very, very high, at the utmost
summit of the wan dome of azure, it seemed as if two
milky-ways were descending from the celestial vault, and
they formed an immense, vast, and luminous cross, and
a Form was seen extended upon this cross, which ap-
proached ever nearer and nearer. The Arms were out-
spread above the world, and with every moment their arc
enlarged and increased its span. And upon the Brow
which pierced into the Heavens was a Crown of Thorns,
which, like heat-lightning, flashed in silence, and in the
hollows of the Hands and Feet the Young Man saw three
shining wounds, like three red moons, and from them for-
ever flowed, as it were, rainbows of blood, and each rain-
bow as it fell broke into swarms of stars, which scattered
through and illumined Space.
And thus in glory and in blood, crucified, but contin-
ually creating, the Figure floated down, ever lower, lower,
casting sunshine into the uttermost abysses, until the
milky-ways upon which it was borne grew into two im-
measurable rings of silver, encircling the horizon from the
East to the West, from the North to the South ; while
from the blood that flowed millions of stars sprang into
being, and they shrouded the Form in light, like a veil
woven of stars. The Eyes alone still pierced through,
like two living fonts of lightning, not dispersing over the
universe, but falling straight from Heaven to earth, until
they lighted in their fullness upon the Forest of the Cru-
cified !
And all the pale and bloody bodies, and all the sinking
heads and corpse-like faces, with their dying eyes, were
fully pictured in this Divine Gaze ! It seemed to the
Young Man that he saw the whole Crucified Nation float-
ing there in a sea of celestial light ! and he cried : " Too
late ! too late ! "
The vShade of Dante, kneeling upon a cloud, then said :
"Verily! verily! This is the Purgatory of the present
THE DREAM.
171
days, for each body here must endure its passion ; but
over the soul of this Nation watches the Mysterious, the
Beloved r
But as the Young Man struck his breast, wept, and re-
fused to be comforted, the Master continued : " Weep not
for these, but for those below who inhabit the world of
granite, for there is dissolution, damnation, and hell !
Here there is only grief ! Have I not told thee the spirit
resuscitates from grief? hut from infamy there is no resur-
rection /' '
The curtain of clouds fell low as he spake : and the
plain, the forest, the heavens, and the gaze of flame of
the Divine Form, — all disappeared !
The air now grew lighter, fresher, clearer. The crown
which glittered upon the brow of the Seer vanished. And
it seemed to the Young Man that he again saw the interior
of a chapel, the fields, the mountains, and the rising sun.
Stretching out his hands, he cried: '^Master! master!
Show me Heaven — it is the third — upon the earth ! "
The Shade of Dante condensed again into a form, and
appeared entire in the midst of the dawning light. But
his voice had other tones; as if already from afar, and
returning to the glory whence he had come, the Young
Man heard : "Until the present hour there have been in
your world only Hell and Purgatory. But the Spirit of the
Lord has chosen His dwelling in your bosoms ! You are
like abysses ; and in your depths also hides the blue of
Heaven ! Let Faith bathe it in its light, let your holy will
force it to external manifestation, let it surround you on
all sides, let it fill your horizon ! It is the miracle of love !
Then will Heaven begin to dawn upon the earth. But
watch with care, for no other path will lead you there:
neither blind chance, nor fatal destiny, nor the caprices
of license, nor the delusions of pride. Woe ! woe to the
centuries, should infernal violence attack the mercy of
God ! For God, your Creator, has respected you to such
a degree as to leave you free to attack even Himself; to
conquer Him through your own evil: — but conquered.
He, who is the very Being of every being, will abandon
you, and in exchange for eternal life there will only re-
main in you an eternal void, an eternal want, an eternal
172
THE '^ fragment:'
nothingness ! Watch closely, then, over the destinies of
your planet ! "
And vanishing in the glory of the light of dawn —
leaving in the air a last trace of silver — through circles
ever larger and more luminous, — like a whirlpool of agi-
tated waters — like the breath of dying winds — like a pass-
ing dream, — the figure of Dante mounted in space, — far
into the light of the sun, — then it sped on into the invisi-
ble Infinite !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
" To the accumulated errors of their ancestors they added aults un-
known to them, — Hesitation and Fear: therefore it came to pass that
they vanished from the face of the earth, and a deep silence fell upon
them. "
L'Anonyme.
" To be, or not to be, that is the question. "
Hamlet.
(WRITTEN IN 1834-1835. )
Translation coUated from the version in German by R. Bafornicki, Leip-
sic, 1841 ; from the z'ersion in French in the Rcvtie dcs Deux Afondes,
Oct. I, 1846 ; and from that published by Ladislas Mickiewicz, in Paris,
1869: " CEuvres Completes dit Po'ete Anonyme. "
In this drama, or rather dramatic vision, our Author de-
sires to point out to his countrymen the two rocks which
he dreads for them : the first, is that alluring enthusiasm
which is born of the imagination rather than of the heart,
which seduces by its antique and brilliant forms, but is
powerless to understand, and consequently to create, any-
thing in the Present ; the second, is that excess of ma-
terial force which destroys without rebuilding, which
pulls down without reconstructing, because, like the base-
less idealism, it also lacks the vivifying inspiration of the
heart. These two excesses are represented in the persons
of Count Henry and Pancras. The one, led astray by
the phantoms of love and glory, sacrifices the happiness
of his family, the interests of his country, to a double chi-
173
174
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
mera ; the other, after having conquered the world by the
power of his intellect, and having multiplied ruins and
piled corpses around him, is overwhelmed by the convic-
tion of his own impotence, totters and expires in the face
of a superior power, which he, as well as the Count, had
not acknowledged. Is it necessary to name that power?
It is Christianity, which, subjecting both the imagination
and the intellect -to the heart, places its ideal in the union
of these three Divine forces. Thus not without design does
our Poet represent the Count and Pancras in mortal com-
bat, — the dreamer, whose imagination is fascinated by a
false ideal, and the thinker, whose intellect has proclaimed
to him the blind rule of force. The logical tendencies
of the two natures inevitably urge them to serve two in-
imical principles ; to arm, one in the name of the dreams
of the Past, and the other in the cause of the supposed
realities of the Present. Both are doomed to perish, and,
in their fatal duel, our Poet evinces no preference for
either champion.
Each part of "The Undivine Comedy" is preceded by
a prologue, in which the general thought is foreshadowed.
In the following invocation, our Author addresses himself
to such poets and poetry as sacrifice the heart and its
duties to a baseless imagination. We are about to see the
peace of domestic life ruined by this false enthusiasm, and
our Author indicates in this lyrical invective the principal
traits in the character of Count Henry, who represents
the fatal victory of iniag^iiiation over duty. — Revue des
Deux Mondes, ler dctobre,"T846.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. *
INVOCATION.
Stars circle round thy head, and at thy feet
Surges the sea, upon whose hurrying waves
A Rainbow glides before thee, cleaving the clouds !
Whate'er thou look'st upon is thine ! Coasts, ships,
Men, mountains, cities, all belong to thee !
Master of Heaven as earth, it seems as naught
Could equal thee in glory !
To ears which heed thy lays, thou givest joys,
Raptures ineffable ! Thou weavest hearts
Together, then untwin'st them like a wreath.
As wild caprice may guide thy flame-lit fingers !
Thou forcest tears, then driest them with a smile ;
Then scar'st away the smile from paling lips.
Perhaps but for a moment, a few hours,
Perhaps for evermore !
But thou ! — What dost thou fee/, and what create?
A living stream of beauty flows through thee.
But Beauty thou art not ! woe ! woe to thee !
The weeping child upon its mother's breast,
The field flower knowing not its perfumed gift,
More merit have before the Lord than thou !
Whence com'st thou, fleeting shadow? to the Light
Still bearing witness, though thou know'st it not,
* The appropriateness of this name must excuse its coinage. It has
been thought best not to attempt to alter the occasional irregularities in
the rhythm of this metrical translation, lest a weakening of its vigor
might be the result. — Eu.
'75
176
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Hast never seen it, nor wilt ever see !
In anger, or in mockery wert thou made?
So full of self deceit, that thou canst play
The angel to the moment when thou fall'st,
And crawlest like a reptile upon earth.
Stifled in mud, or feeding upon dust !
Thou and the woman have like origin ! *
Alas ! thou sufferest, too, although thy pangs
Bring naught to birth, nothing create, nor serve 1
The groans of the unfortunate are weighed ;
The lowest beggar's sighs counted in Heaven,
Gathered and sung upon celestial harps, —
But thy despair and sighs fall to the earth,
Where Satan gathers them ; — adds them with joy
To his own lies, illusions, mockeries !
The Lord will yet disown them, as they have
Ever disowned the Lord !
Not that I rise against thee. Poetry,
Mother of Beauty, of ideal Life !
But I must pity him condemned to dwell
Within the limits of these whirling worlds
In dying agonies, or yet to be,
Doomed to sad memories, or prophecies,
Perchance remorse, or vague presentiments, — •
Who gives himself to thee ! for everywhere
Thou ruinest wholly those who consecrate
Themselves, with all they are, to thee alone.
Who solely live the voices of thy glory !
Blessed is he in whom thou mak'st thy home,
As God dwelt in the world, concealed, unknown.
But grand and mighty in each separate part ;
The unseen God, before whom creatures bow.
And kneeling, cry : " Behold Him ! He is here ! "
A guiding star, he bears thee on his brow,
And no unfaithful word will sever him
* Imaginative and emotional : not working in the world of Actuality.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
From thy true love ! He will love men, and be
A man himself, encircled by his brothers !
From him, who keeps not with i\\tQ perfect failh,
Betrays thee to the hour, or his own needs,
Devotes thee to man's perishable joys.
Painting the sensual with thy hues divine, —
Thou turn'st away thy face, while scattering
Perchance upon his brow some fading flowers,
Of which he strives to twine a funeral crown.
Spending tiis life to weave a wreath of death !
He and the woman have one orisrin !
177
FIRST PERIOD.
" De toutes les choses serieuses, le mariage est la plus bouffonne. "!
BEAUMARCHAIS '
SCENE I. Morning. The castle of Count Henry is
seen. The Guardian Angel descends.
Guardian Angel. Peace upon earth to all men of good
will !
Among the created, blessed ever be
The man who has a heart ; he may be saved !
Wife, good'aii^ piire7~reveal thyself to him.
And a fair child be born unto their House !
{The angel vanishes. )
(Evil Spirits appear. )
CHORUS OF evil SPIRITS.
Rise, spectres, phantoms, rise ! Hover above.
Surround him !
Thou his first beloved in youth.
Buried but yesterday, come from the grave ;
Head them and lead them ever swarming on 1
In morning vapors bathe thyself anew ;
Wreathe thy dead brow with perfumed buds of spring: —
Thou, his lost love, float on before the Poet !
16
178 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Rise, Glory, rise ! forgotten Eagle kept*
For centuries in Hell, well stuffed, preserved,
Descend from thy long-crumbling perch, unfold
Thy wings gigantic, whitened in the sun,
And dazzling wave them round the Poet's head !
Come from our vaults, thou rotting masterpiece
Of Beelzebub ! Thou wildering semblance of
An earthly Eden by his pencil sketched ;
Get in thy canvas the old rents reglued,
The holes and cracks with varnish all refilled ;
Wrapping thyself in webs of rainbow clouds,
Shimmer, unroll, and float before the Poet !
Mountains and seas, wild cliffs and forests dim.
With crimson dawns and golden purpling eves,
Cradle and lull the Poet in vain dreams !
O mother nature, closely hold thy son !
SCENE II. A village. A church with toiuers. TJu
Guardian X^q-ei. floats above it.
Guardian Angel. If thou wilt keep thy oath, thou
shalt my brother be
Before the face of God, our Father !
SCENE III. Interior of the church. Wax-lights blaze
upon the altar. Many witnesses are standing round it ;
a Bride and Bridegroom kneel before it.
A Priest {giving the Nuptial Benedictiofi). Remember
well my words. . . .
The Bride afid Groom rise. The Groom kisses the hand
of the Bride and leads her to a kinsman. All leave the
church save the Groom.
Bridegroom. I have descended to an earthly marriage.
Because I've found the bride my spirit dreamed.
If I should ever cease to love her, may «
God's malediction fall upon my head!
* Not the true glory of self-sacrifice is here designated, but that of
pride and egotism.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 179
SCENE IV. A saloon filled with guests. Music, dancing,
lights, aiid flowers. The Bride, after waltzing a few
turns, accidentally meets the Bridegroom, Joins him, and
rests her head upon his shoulder.
Bridegroom. How beautiful thou art in thine ex-
haustion,
While orange flowers and pearls in soft confusion,
Fall through the wavy masses of thy hair !
Oh ! thou shalt ever be my song of love !
Bride. Yes, as my mother taught, my own heart
teaches ;
I'll ever be to thee a faithful wife ! . . .
How many guests are gathered here ! How warm
It grows ! how wearisome the noise they make !
Bridegroom. Go, join the dance again, that I may
watch
Thee as thou floatest like a spirit round ;
Thus have I seen the angels in my dreams !
Bride. I will if so thy wish ; . . . but I am tired,
And my heart throbs. . . .
Bridegroom. Dearest, I pray thee, go !
(Music and dancing. ')
SCENE V. An Evil Spirit appears in the form of a
maiden. Midnight. The castle in the distance ; a gar-
den and cemetery.
Evil Spirit. At the same hour, and in such a night,
Not long ago, I also coursed the earth.
To-day the Demons drive me forth; command
Me to assume a saintly form.
(He floats over the garden.
')
Ye perfumed flowers, break from your fragile stems
And deck my hair !
{He alights atnong the graves. )
Fresh charms of buried maids,
Scattered in air and floating o'er these graves.
Gather upon, and paint my swarthy cheeks
With roseate hues of hope and youthful love !
l8o THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Under this mossy stone a fair-haired girl
Moulders in rottenness — will soon be dust, —
Gold tresses, come ! Shadow my burning brow !
Under this fallen cross two lustrous eyes
Of heavenly blue lie in their sockets dead, —
To me ! to me ! the pure and lambent flame
Which filled them once, and glimmered through their
lashes !
A hundred torches burn within those bars
To light the worms where kings repose in state ;
They buried a young princess there to-day, —
Ye costly robes of snowy satin, come !
Fluttering like downy doves, fly through the grate ;
Leave with the dead, undraped, the virgin corpse,
And cling around my scathed and fleshless form !
And now, on ! on !
SECOND PERIOD.
^
SCENE I. Midnight. A slceping-apartmctit in the castle.
A night-lamp stands t/pon a table, and shines upon the
face of the Husband.
The Husband {dreaming'). Ha ! whence com'st thou
whom I no longer see, —
Will never see again ? What weary years !
As water softly flows, so glide thy feet,
Like two white waves of foam !
A holy calm is on thy blessed face ;
All I have dreamed or loved unites in thee !
{Awaking suddenly. )
Where am I? . . . Ha ! I'm sleeping by my wife !
( Gazing long upon her. )
That is my wife !
Ah ! once I thought thou wert
My Early Dream, — but there I was deceived :
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. igi
// has returned. Mary, thou art it not,
Nor like it ! Thou art mild, and pure, and good ;
But she . . .
My God ! what see T there ? Am I awake ?
The Fhantom. Thou hast betrayed me !
{Vanishes? )
Husband. Gone ! Stay ! stay, my Dream !
Curst be the hour in which I took a wife.
Deserted and betrayed the. Love of youth, —
Thought of my thought, myself, soul of my soul !
Wife {awaking). What is the matter? Breaks the
morn so soon ?
To-day it is we make our purchases :
Is that the coach already at the door?
Husband. No ! 'tis far from morning. Go to sleep.
Wife. I fear that you are ill. I will arise
And get some ether for you.
Husband. Nay, nay ; sleep !
Wife. My darling, tell me what the matter is !
Your voice is changed ; your cheeks with fever burn.
Husband {rising). Air ! air ! I cannot breathe ! For
God's sake, sleep !
Mary, I pray you not to follow me.
{He leaves the room. ^
SCENE 11. The church with its adjoining grave-yard.
The Husband is seen standing in the garden of the
house, lighted by the moon.
Husband. Ay, since my marriage, I've dozed life
away.
Eating and drinking in a lethargy.
And sleeping like a German artisan !
The world around me sleeps in my own image ! . . .
We've visited relations ; gone to shops ; *
And for my child, yet to be born, I've sought
A nurse. . . .
{The great bell of the church tower strikes two. ')
It is the hour when I was wont to mount
My throne. Back ! back to me, my glorious kingdom !
i6»
1 82 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Ye shadowy forms, obedient to my thoughts,
Visions and images of grandeur, grace,
Come, throng around me as in earlier days !
{He 7uaiks tip and down, cofitmlsively wringing his hands. )
In very truth, my God, dost Thou make marriage?
Dost Thou give consecration to the vows
Binding two beings " until death shall part " ?
And hast Thou surely said that nauglit shall break
The bondage blessed by Thee in highest Heaven,
Even when the souls with constant, violent shocks
Repel each other? When, to advance at all.
They must upon opposing pathways move,
While their two bodies, chained, grow stiff, and freeze
Into two corpses? . . .
{The Phantom suddenly appears. )
Thou here, Beloved ? Thou who art mine own.
Oh, take me with thee ! If thou'rt but a dream,
A child fantastic of my seething brain, —
Then, child who temp'st thy father, wait for me
Until I, too, am shadow, — one with thee !
Phantom. When, where I call, wilt swear to follow^
me?
Husband. At every moment of my life, I'm thine !
Phantom. Remember !
Husband. Stay ! Melt not like mist away !
If thy dear beauty is above all beauty.
If thought of thee above all other thought, —
Why dost thou vanish like a dream away?
{^A window i? i the house is opened. )
Voieefrom the 7vi? idow. Dear heart, the night is chill ;
you will take cold.
I fear to stay alone in this vast room ;
The curtains sway; the shadows frighten me.
Comeback, mine own !
Husband. Yes, Mary, yes. I come. . . .
Vanished the vision ! . . . But she will return : —
And then farewell my House, my Garden, Wife,
Created for such things, — but not for me !
Voieefrom the window. Henry, for God's sake, come !
it grows so cold,
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 183
Husband. My child ! Must I forsake the child ? Oh,
God!
SCENE III. A saloon in the castle richly furnished.
Candelabra sta72dvpon an open piano, at which the Wife
is seated. A cradle is near it, in which lies a sleeping
infant. The Husband reclines upon a couch, his face
buried in his hands.
Wife. I've been to Father Benjamin ; he said
He would be here at the appointed hour.
Husba7id. Thanks !
Wife. I have also ordered the confections :
The cakes will have George Stanislas upon them.
Husband. Thanks ! Thanks !
Wife. Nay, God be thanked, the rites will soon
Be all complete, and our boy quite a Christian !
The water may be poured upon his head
And yet, methinks, there may be something lacking.
I hope you have invited all our friends
To see our son baptized.
{She goes to the cradle and arranges the coveri? ig. ')
Sleep, darling, sleep ! What is it troubles thee?
Why dost thou toss the covering off thee so?
So, now, I tuck the cradle quilt around,
And cover thy bare arms. What ! off again ? .
My little baby, canst thou dream so soon ?
Lie still, my pretty George ! My baby love !
{She addresses her husband. )
I wonder why our infant cannot sleep?
{She returns to the cradle. )
My little George, my darling baby, sleep !
{She sings. )
Husband {aside). A storm approaches ! Heavens, what
stifling heat !
There strikes the lightning ! Here my own heart breaks !
( The wife seats herself at the piano, strikes a few chords,
ceases, and again begins to play, rises suddenly, and stands
beside her husba? ul. )
1 84 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Wife. You have not spoken to me once to-day,
Nor yesterday, nor during all this week ; —
God ! a month has passed since you've addressed
A word to me, save answering a question :
And all who see me think me so much changed.
Husband {aside). The hour is on me — cannot be
delayed 1
{To his wife). I do not think so. You look very well.
Wife. Ah ! that is quite indifferent to you ;
1 think you never hear, nor look at me !
soil swelled into a mighty torrent, and like the waves of
the sea beat against the mound, and through all the roar
of the hurrying shock the Young Man caught the word :
No ! The snowy clouds of women made no reply, but
when the flood rolled back, they knelt, and raised their
15*
lyo THE "FRAGMENTS
infants in their arms: and the little voices of the children
lifted in the air cried : No ! And scarcely had the mur-
mur of the thousands of little voices risen upon the wind,
when a marvelous luminosity inundated space — and the
Young Man lifted his eyes!
And lo! above, but very, very high, at the utmost
summit of the wan dome of azure, it seemed as if two
milky-ways were descending from the celestial vault, and
they formed an immense, vast, and luminous cross, and
a Form was seen extended upon this cross, which ap-
proached ever nearer and nearer. The Arms were out-
spread above the world, and with every moment their arc
enlarged and increased its span. And upon the Brow
which pierced into the Heavens was a Crown of Thorns,
which, like heat-lightning, flashed in silence, and in the
hollows of the Hands and Feet the Young Man saw three
shining wounds, like three red moons, and from them for-
ever flowed, as it were, rainbows of blood, and each rain-
bow as it fell broke into swarms of stars, which scattered
through and illumined Space.
And thus in glory and in blood, crucified, but contin-
ually creating, the Figure floated down, ever lower, lower,
casting sunshine into the uttermost abysses, until the
milky-ways upon which it was borne grew into two im-
measurable rings of silver, encircling the horizon from the
East to the West, from the North to the South ; while
from the blood that flowed millions of stars sprang into
being, and they shrouded the Form in light, like a veil
woven of stars. The Eyes alone still pierced through,
like two living fonts of lightning, not dispersing over the
universe, but falling straight from Heaven to earth, until
they lighted in their fullness upon the Forest of the Cru-
cified !
And all the pale and bloody bodies, and all the sinking
heads and corpse-like faces, with their dying eyes, were
fully pictured in this Divine Gaze ! It seemed to the
Young Man that he saw the whole Crucified Nation float-
ing there in a sea of celestial light ! and he cried : " Too
late ! too late ! "
The vShade of Dante, kneeling upon a cloud, then said :
"Verily! verily! This is the Purgatory of the present
THE DREAM.
171
days, for each body here must endure its passion ; but
over the soul of this Nation watches the Mysterious, the
Beloved r
But as the Young Man struck his breast, wept, and re-
fused to be comforted, the Master continued : " Weep not
for these, but for those below who inhabit the world of
granite, for there is dissolution, damnation, and hell !
Here there is only grief ! Have I not told thee the spirit
resuscitates from grief? hut from infamy there is no resur-
rection /' '
The curtain of clouds fell low as he spake : and the
plain, the forest, the heavens, and the gaze of flame of
the Divine Form, — all disappeared !
The air now grew lighter, fresher, clearer. The crown
which glittered upon the brow of the Seer vanished. And
it seemed to the Young Man that he again saw the interior
of a chapel, the fields, the mountains, and the rising sun.
Stretching out his hands, he cried: '^Master! master!
Show me Heaven — it is the third — upon the earth ! "
The Shade of Dante condensed again into a form, and
appeared entire in the midst of the dawning light. But
his voice had other tones; as if already from afar, and
returning to the glory whence he had come, the Young
Man heard : "Until the present hour there have been in
your world only Hell and Purgatory. But the Spirit of the
Lord has chosen His dwelling in your bosoms ! You are
like abysses ; and in your depths also hides the blue of
Heaven ! Let Faith bathe it in its light, let your holy will
force it to external manifestation, let it surround you on
all sides, let it fill your horizon ! It is the miracle of love !
Then will Heaven begin to dawn upon the earth. But
watch with care, for no other path will lead you there:
neither blind chance, nor fatal destiny, nor the caprices
of license, nor the delusions of pride. Woe ! woe to the
centuries, should infernal violence attack the mercy of
God ! For God, your Creator, has respected you to such
a degree as to leave you free to attack even Himself; to
conquer Him through your own evil: — but conquered.
He, who is the very Being of every being, will abandon
you, and in exchange for eternal life there will only re-
main in you an eternal void, an eternal want, an eternal
172
THE '^ fragment:'
nothingness ! Watch closely, then, over the destinies of
your planet ! "
And vanishing in the glory of the light of dawn —
leaving in the air a last trace of silver — through circles
ever larger and more luminous, — like a whirlpool of agi-
tated waters — like the breath of dying winds — like a pass-
ing dream, — the figure of Dante mounted in space, — far
into the light of the sun, — then it sped on into the invisi-
ble Infinite !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
" To the accumulated errors of their ancestors they added aults un-
known to them, — Hesitation and Fear: therefore it came to pass that
they vanished from the face of the earth, and a deep silence fell upon
them. "
L'Anonyme.
" To be, or not to be, that is the question. "
Hamlet.
(WRITTEN IN 1834-1835. )
Translation coUated from the version in German by R. Bafornicki, Leip-
sic, 1841 ; from the z'ersion in French in the Rcvtie dcs Deux Afondes,
Oct. I, 1846 ; and from that published by Ladislas Mickiewicz, in Paris,
1869: " CEuvres Completes dit Po'ete Anonyme. "
In this drama, or rather dramatic vision, our Author de-
sires to point out to his countrymen the two rocks which
he dreads for them : the first, is that alluring enthusiasm
which is born of the imagination rather than of the heart,
which seduces by its antique and brilliant forms, but is
powerless to understand, and consequently to create, any-
thing in the Present ; the second, is that excess of ma-
terial force which destroys without rebuilding, which
pulls down without reconstructing, because, like the base-
less idealism, it also lacks the vivifying inspiration of the
heart. These two excesses are represented in the persons
of Count Henry and Pancras. The one, led astray by
the phantoms of love and glory, sacrifices the happiness
of his family, the interests of his country, to a double chi-
173
174
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
mera ; the other, after having conquered the world by the
power of his intellect, and having multiplied ruins and
piled corpses around him, is overwhelmed by the convic-
tion of his own impotence, totters and expires in the face
of a superior power, which he, as well as the Count, had
not acknowledged. Is it necessary to name that power?
It is Christianity, which, subjecting both the imagination
and the intellect -to the heart, places its ideal in the union
of these three Divine forces. Thus not without design does
our Poet represent the Count and Pancras in mortal com-
bat, — the dreamer, whose imagination is fascinated by a
false ideal, and the thinker, whose intellect has proclaimed
to him the blind rule of force. The logical tendencies
of the two natures inevitably urge them to serve two in-
imical principles ; to arm, one in the name of the dreams
of the Past, and the other in the cause of the supposed
realities of the Present. Both are doomed to perish, and,
in their fatal duel, our Poet evinces no preference for
either champion.
Each part of "The Undivine Comedy" is preceded by
a prologue, in which the general thought is foreshadowed.
In the following invocation, our Author addresses himself
to such poets and poetry as sacrifice the heart and its
duties to a baseless imagination. We are about to see the
peace of domestic life ruined by this false enthusiasm, and
our Author indicates in this lyrical invective the principal
traits in the character of Count Henry, who represents
the fatal victory of iniag^iiiation over duty. — Revue des
Deux Mondes, ler dctobre,"T846.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. *
INVOCATION.
Stars circle round thy head, and at thy feet
Surges the sea, upon whose hurrying waves
A Rainbow glides before thee, cleaving the clouds !
Whate'er thou look'st upon is thine ! Coasts, ships,
Men, mountains, cities, all belong to thee !
Master of Heaven as earth, it seems as naught
Could equal thee in glory !
To ears which heed thy lays, thou givest joys,
Raptures ineffable ! Thou weavest hearts
Together, then untwin'st them like a wreath.
As wild caprice may guide thy flame-lit fingers !
Thou forcest tears, then driest them with a smile ;
Then scar'st away the smile from paling lips.
Perhaps but for a moment, a few hours,
Perhaps for evermore !
But thou ! — What dost thou fee/, and what create?
A living stream of beauty flows through thee.
But Beauty thou art not ! woe ! woe to thee !
The weeping child upon its mother's breast,
The field flower knowing not its perfumed gift,
More merit have before the Lord than thou !
Whence com'st thou, fleeting shadow? to the Light
Still bearing witness, though thou know'st it not,
* The appropriateness of this name must excuse its coinage. It has
been thought best not to attempt to alter the occasional irregularities in
the rhythm of this metrical translation, lest a weakening of its vigor
might be the result. — Eu.
'75
176
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Hast never seen it, nor wilt ever see !
In anger, or in mockery wert thou made?
So full of self deceit, that thou canst play
The angel to the moment when thou fall'st,
And crawlest like a reptile upon earth.
Stifled in mud, or feeding upon dust !
Thou and the woman have like origin ! *
Alas ! thou sufferest, too, although thy pangs
Bring naught to birth, nothing create, nor serve 1
The groans of the unfortunate are weighed ;
The lowest beggar's sighs counted in Heaven,
Gathered and sung upon celestial harps, —
But thy despair and sighs fall to the earth,
Where Satan gathers them ; — adds them with joy
To his own lies, illusions, mockeries !
The Lord will yet disown them, as they have
Ever disowned the Lord !
Not that I rise against thee. Poetry,
Mother of Beauty, of ideal Life !
But I must pity him condemned to dwell
Within the limits of these whirling worlds
In dying agonies, or yet to be,
Doomed to sad memories, or prophecies,
Perchance remorse, or vague presentiments, — •
Who gives himself to thee ! for everywhere
Thou ruinest wholly those who consecrate
Themselves, with all they are, to thee alone.
Who solely live the voices of thy glory !
Blessed is he in whom thou mak'st thy home,
As God dwelt in the world, concealed, unknown.
But grand and mighty in each separate part ;
The unseen God, before whom creatures bow.
And kneeling, cry : " Behold Him ! He is here ! "
A guiding star, he bears thee on his brow,
And no unfaithful word will sever him
* Imaginative and emotional : not working in the world of Actuality.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
From thy true love ! He will love men, and be
A man himself, encircled by his brothers !
From him, who keeps not with i\\tQ perfect failh,
Betrays thee to the hour, or his own needs,
Devotes thee to man's perishable joys.
Painting the sensual with thy hues divine, —
Thou turn'st away thy face, while scattering
Perchance upon his brow some fading flowers,
Of which he strives to twine a funeral crown.
Spending tiis life to weave a wreath of death !
He and the woman have one orisrin !
177
FIRST PERIOD.
" De toutes les choses serieuses, le mariage est la plus bouffonne. "!
BEAUMARCHAIS '
SCENE I. Morning. The castle of Count Henry is
seen. The Guardian Angel descends.
Guardian Angel. Peace upon earth to all men of good
will !
Among the created, blessed ever be
The man who has a heart ; he may be saved !
Wife, good'aii^ piire7~reveal thyself to him.
And a fair child be born unto their House !
{The angel vanishes. )
(Evil Spirits appear. )
CHORUS OF evil SPIRITS.
Rise, spectres, phantoms, rise ! Hover above.
Surround him !
Thou his first beloved in youth.
Buried but yesterday, come from the grave ;
Head them and lead them ever swarming on 1
In morning vapors bathe thyself anew ;
Wreathe thy dead brow with perfumed buds of spring: —
Thou, his lost love, float on before the Poet !
16
178 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Rise, Glory, rise ! forgotten Eagle kept*
For centuries in Hell, well stuffed, preserved,
Descend from thy long-crumbling perch, unfold
Thy wings gigantic, whitened in the sun,
And dazzling wave them round the Poet's head !
Come from our vaults, thou rotting masterpiece
Of Beelzebub ! Thou wildering semblance of
An earthly Eden by his pencil sketched ;
Get in thy canvas the old rents reglued,
The holes and cracks with varnish all refilled ;
Wrapping thyself in webs of rainbow clouds,
Shimmer, unroll, and float before the Poet !
Mountains and seas, wild cliffs and forests dim.
With crimson dawns and golden purpling eves,
Cradle and lull the Poet in vain dreams !
O mother nature, closely hold thy son !
SCENE II. A village. A church with toiuers. TJu
Guardian X^q-ei. floats above it.
Guardian Angel. If thou wilt keep thy oath, thou
shalt my brother be
Before the face of God, our Father !
SCENE III. Interior of the church. Wax-lights blaze
upon the altar. Many witnesses are standing round it ;
a Bride and Bridegroom kneel before it.
A Priest {giving the Nuptial Benedictiofi). Remember
well my words. . . .
The Bride afid Groom rise. The Groom kisses the hand
of the Bride and leads her to a kinsman. All leave the
church save the Groom.
Bridegroom. I have descended to an earthly marriage.
Because I've found the bride my spirit dreamed.
If I should ever cease to love her, may «
God's malediction fall upon my head!
* Not the true glory of self-sacrifice is here designated, but that of
pride and egotism.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 179
SCENE IV. A saloon filled with guests. Music, dancing,
lights, aiid flowers. The Bride, after waltzing a few
turns, accidentally meets the Bridegroom, Joins him, and
rests her head upon his shoulder.
Bridegroom. How beautiful thou art in thine ex-
haustion,
While orange flowers and pearls in soft confusion,
Fall through the wavy masses of thy hair !
Oh ! thou shalt ever be my song of love !
Bride. Yes, as my mother taught, my own heart
teaches ;
I'll ever be to thee a faithful wife ! . . .
How many guests are gathered here ! How warm
It grows ! how wearisome the noise they make !
Bridegroom. Go, join the dance again, that I may
watch
Thee as thou floatest like a spirit round ;
Thus have I seen the angels in my dreams !
Bride. I will if so thy wish ; . . . but I am tired,
And my heart throbs. . . .
Bridegroom. Dearest, I pray thee, go !
(Music and dancing. ')
SCENE V. An Evil Spirit appears in the form of a
maiden. Midnight. The castle in the distance ; a gar-
den and cemetery.
Evil Spirit. At the same hour, and in such a night,
Not long ago, I also coursed the earth.
To-day the Demons drive me forth; command
Me to assume a saintly form.
(He floats over the garden.
')
Ye perfumed flowers, break from your fragile stems
And deck my hair !
{He alights atnong the graves. )
Fresh charms of buried maids,
Scattered in air and floating o'er these graves.
Gather upon, and paint my swarthy cheeks
With roseate hues of hope and youthful love !
l8o THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Under this mossy stone a fair-haired girl
Moulders in rottenness — will soon be dust, —
Gold tresses, come ! Shadow my burning brow !
Under this fallen cross two lustrous eyes
Of heavenly blue lie in their sockets dead, —
To me ! to me ! the pure and lambent flame
Which filled them once, and glimmered through their
lashes !
A hundred torches burn within those bars
To light the worms where kings repose in state ;
They buried a young princess there to-day, —
Ye costly robes of snowy satin, come !
Fluttering like downy doves, fly through the grate ;
Leave with the dead, undraped, the virgin corpse,
And cling around my scathed and fleshless form !
And now, on ! on !
SECOND PERIOD.
^
SCENE I. Midnight. A slceping-apartmctit in the castle.
A night-lamp stands t/pon a table, and shines upon the
face of the Husband.
The Husband {dreaming'). Ha ! whence com'st thou
whom I no longer see, —
Will never see again ? What weary years !
As water softly flows, so glide thy feet,
Like two white waves of foam !
A holy calm is on thy blessed face ;
All I have dreamed or loved unites in thee !
{Awaking suddenly. )
Where am I? . . . Ha ! I'm sleeping by my wife !
( Gazing long upon her. )
That is my wife !
Ah ! once I thought thou wert
My Early Dream, — but there I was deceived :
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. igi
// has returned. Mary, thou art it not,
Nor like it ! Thou art mild, and pure, and good ;
But she . . .
My God ! what see T there ? Am I awake ?
The Fhantom. Thou hast betrayed me !
{Vanishes? )
Husband. Gone ! Stay ! stay, my Dream !
Curst be the hour in which I took a wife.
Deserted and betrayed the. Love of youth, —
Thought of my thought, myself, soul of my soul !
Wife {awaking). What is the matter? Breaks the
morn so soon ?
To-day it is we make our purchases :
Is that the coach already at the door?
Husband. No ! 'tis far from morning. Go to sleep.
Wife. I fear that you are ill. I will arise
And get some ether for you.
Husband. Nay, nay ; sleep !
Wife. My darling, tell me what the matter is !
Your voice is changed ; your cheeks with fever burn.
Husband {rising). Air ! air ! I cannot breathe ! For
God's sake, sleep !
Mary, I pray you not to follow me.
{He leaves the room. ^
SCENE 11. The church with its adjoining grave-yard.
The Husband is seen standing in the garden of the
house, lighted by the moon.
Husband. Ay, since my marriage, I've dozed life
away.
Eating and drinking in a lethargy.
And sleeping like a German artisan !
The world around me sleeps in my own image ! . . .
We've visited relations ; gone to shops ; *
And for my child, yet to be born, I've sought
A nurse. . . .
{The great bell of the church tower strikes two. ')
It is the hour when I was wont to mount
My throne. Back ! back to me, my glorious kingdom !
i6»
1 82 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Ye shadowy forms, obedient to my thoughts,
Visions and images of grandeur, grace,
Come, throng around me as in earlier days !
{He 7uaiks tip and down, cofitmlsively wringing his hands. )
In very truth, my God, dost Thou make marriage?
Dost Thou give consecration to the vows
Binding two beings " until death shall part " ?
And hast Thou surely said that nauglit shall break
The bondage blessed by Thee in highest Heaven,
Even when the souls with constant, violent shocks
Repel each other? When, to advance at all.
They must upon opposing pathways move,
While their two bodies, chained, grow stiff, and freeze
Into two corpses? . . .
{The Phantom suddenly appears. )
Thou here, Beloved ? Thou who art mine own.
Oh, take me with thee ! If thou'rt but a dream,
A child fantastic of my seething brain, —
Then, child who temp'st thy father, wait for me
Until I, too, am shadow, — one with thee !
Phantom. When, where I call, wilt swear to follow^
me?
Husband. At every moment of my life, I'm thine !
Phantom. Remember !
Husband. Stay ! Melt not like mist away !
If thy dear beauty is above all beauty.
If thought of thee above all other thought, —
Why dost thou vanish like a dream away?
{^A window i? i the house is opened. )
Voieefrom the 7vi? idow. Dear heart, the night is chill ;
you will take cold.
I fear to stay alone in this vast room ;
The curtains sway; the shadows frighten me.
Comeback, mine own !
Husband. Yes, Mary, yes. I come. . . .
Vanished the vision ! . . . But she will return : —
And then farewell my House, my Garden, Wife,
Created for such things, — but not for me !
Voieefrom the window. Henry, for God's sake, come !
it grows so cold,
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 183
Husband. My child ! Must I forsake the child ? Oh,
God!
SCENE III. A saloon in the castle richly furnished.
Candelabra sta72dvpon an open piano, at which the Wife
is seated. A cradle is near it, in which lies a sleeping
infant. The Husband reclines upon a couch, his face
buried in his hands.
Wife. I've been to Father Benjamin ; he said
He would be here at the appointed hour.
Husba7id. Thanks !
Wife. I have also ordered the confections :
The cakes will have George Stanislas upon them.
Husband. Thanks ! Thanks !
Wife. Nay, God be thanked, the rites will soon
Be all complete, and our boy quite a Christian !
The water may be poured upon his head
And yet, methinks, there may be something lacking.
I hope you have invited all our friends
To see our son baptized.
{She goes to the cradle and arranges the coveri? ig. ')
Sleep, darling, sleep ! What is it troubles thee?
Why dost thou toss the covering off thee so?
So, now, I tuck the cradle quilt around,
And cover thy bare arms. What ! off again ? .
My little baby, canst thou dream so soon ?
Lie still, my pretty George ! My baby love !
{She addresses her husband. )
I wonder why our infant cannot sleep?
{She returns to the cradle. )
My little George, my darling baby, sleep !
{She sings. )
Husband {aside). A storm approaches ! Heavens, what
stifling heat !
There strikes the lightning ! Here my own heart breaks !
( The wife seats herself at the piano, strikes a few chords,
ceases, and again begins to play, rises suddenly, and stands
beside her husba? ul. )
1 84 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Wife. You have not spoken to me once to-day,
Nor yesterday, nor during all this week ; —
God ! a month has passed since you've addressed
A word to me, save answering a question :
And all who see me think me so much changed.
Husband {aside). The hour is on me — cannot be
delayed 1
{To his wife). I do not think so. You look very well.
Wife. Ah ! that is quite indifferent to you ;
1 think you never hear, nor look at me !
