)
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry).
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry).
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
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. . . .
Neophyte. We must withdraw.
Count Henry. No. I will dream this dream out to
its end !
Neophyte {aside'). Jehovah, hear ! Doom him to swift
destruction !
{To Count Henry. ) Leonard will surely know me. See
you not
The dreadful knife that glitters on his breast?
Count Henry. There, hide thee, Jew, beneath my
mantle's folds.
Know you the women dancing round the man
Whom you call Leonard ?
Neophyte. All I know by name.
The Avives of princes, counts, who have forsaken
Their former lords, and then embraced our faith.
234
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Count Henry. Women I once deemed angels ! idol-
ized ! . . .
The crowd surrounds and hides him from my sight,
But as the music ever fainter grows,
He must be moving from us with his train.
Jew, follow me ! We can see better here !
i^He climbs the pa7-apet of a wall. ')
Neophyte. Woe ! woe ! here every one will surely know
us !
Count Henry. I see him now ; but other female forms,
Convulsive, pale, and haggard, throng around.
I see the son of the philosopher ;
He foams and gestures, brandishes his dagger.
They reach the northern tower, dance round the wreck,
Trample the ruins, rend the Gothic shrines.
Throw fire upon the holy prostrate altars,
The sacred pictures and the broken crosses !
The fire blazes, — clouds of smoke arise
That darken all before me !
Anathema on these blasphemers ! Woe !
Leonard. Woe ! woe to men who still bow lowly
down.
In adoration to a lifeless God !
Count Henry. The blackening masses of the People
turn —
They drive upon us now !
Neophyte. Oh, Abraham !
Count Henry. Eagle of glory ! this is not mine hour !
Neophyte. We're lost. Escape is none.
Leonard (stopping theni). Who are you, brother, with
that haughty face ?
Why are you not with us ?
Count Henry. But yesterday
I of your final revolution heard.
And hastened from afar to lend my aid.
I'm an assassin of the Spanish club.
Leofiard. Who is this man who hides his face beneath
Your ample cloak?
Count Henry. My younger brother, who
Has sworn an oath never to show his face
Until he kills a noble !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 235
Leonard. Whom can j'^z^
Boast to have killed ? ^ef^rrl=,v
Count Henry. It was but yesterday
My brothers consecrated me to murder
Leonard. Whom will you strike the first ?
Count Henry. The greatest tyrant ;-
Yourself, should you prove false !
Z. ^;/a/Y/. Here, brother, take
My dagger for such use !
{Hands it to him? ,
Count Henfy {drawing his own). My own is sharp
FnniiPh to strike a traitor to the heart ! , „ , ,
Zt r«V«. Hurrah for Leonard ! for the People s
Other VoZs. ' Long live the assassin of the Spanish
Leonard Meet me to-morrow in our General's tent.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We here salute thee, friend, in Freedom's name, ^
Within thy hands thou bear'st our safety s pledge ,
Who fights unceasingly, assassmates
Without misgiving, never yields to doubt
Of victory— such one is sure to conquer.
CHORUS OF PHILOSOPHERS.
We have at last awaked the human race
From long and childTsh dreams, unveiled Truth s face,
We've drLged her from the Darkness into Light ;-
Go thou to kill, to die, to exalt her might !
Son of the Philosopher {to Count Henry). Comrade and
friend, out of this hollow skull
Of ancient saint, I drink to your good health.
{He flings away the skull.
)
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry). Wilt kill King
John for me ? ^ . tt .
Another For me. Count Henry !
aZ^n. Bring us some nobles' heads : we want new
balls !
236 THE UNDIVJNE COMEDY.
Other Children. Good fortune guide your daggers to
their hearts !
CHORUS OF ARTISTS.
We'll build our church upon these Gothic ruins;
No images shall stand within its walls.
Sharp pikes and blades shall form its vaulted arch.
The pillars borne upon eight human heads,
Thick locks of hair shall form the capitals,
Seeming to gush with crimson streams of blood !
Our altar shall be white as new-fallen snow,
Our only God will rest upon the stone : —
The scarlet cap of Liberty ! Hurrah !
,Other Voices. On! on! the morning dawn already
breaks.
Neophyte. They'll surely hang us, Count, on yonder
gallows.
Count Henry. They follow Leonard ; us they heed no
longer . . .
This time, — the last, I see with my own eyes,
Embrace with my own thought the wildering future,
The chaos quickening in the womb of Time,
The black abyss that menaces destruction
To me, my brothers, all the reverend Past.
I gaze once mote — ere it engulf me !
Driven by despair, urged on by bitter grief.
My soul awakens to new energy.
O God ! give me again the fiery power
Which Thou of old wert wont not to refuse me, —
And I will in one burning word reveal.
Incorporate this new and monstrous world,
Which does not know itself, its destiny,
And this Word will become the Poetry
Of all the future years !
Voice in the air. Thou chantest a Drama !
Count Henry. Thanks for the information — friend or
foe!
The desecrated ashes of my sires
Shall be avenged ! . . .
Anathema on these new generations !
^y^
237
THE Um)IVINE COMEDY.
Their whirlpool seethes around me, but it shall
Not draw me in its ever swifter course,
The widening circles of its mad abyss.
Eagle ! my Eagle ! keep thy promise now !
Jew, I am ready to descend the Pass,
Neophyte. Behold the dawn : I may no farther go.
Count Henry. Put me upon the path ; I will release you.
Neophyte. Ah ! why thus drag me on through fog and
briers.
O'er embers, ruins ? I pray you, let me go !
Count Henry. On ! on ! descend with me !
The last mad songs
Of that bewildered people die behind us;
Their scattered lights scarce glimmer through the gloom !
Under these hoary trees, through this pale fog,
I see the giant shadows of the Past. . . .
Do you not hear those melancholy chants?
Neophyte. All things are shrouded in the curdling
mists ;
At every step still deeper we descend.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS IN THE FOREST.
Weep ! weep for Christ, — the exiled, suffering Lord !
Where is our Holy Church ? Where is our God ?
Count Henry. Unsheathe the sword ! quick to the
combat ! I
Will give Him back to you ! Will crucify
His enemies on thousand, thousand crosses !
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
Day and night we watched the altar,
Guarded all the saintly graves:
Bearing on our wings sweet echoes,
High along the vaulted naves,
Vesper bell, or matin chiming
Falling on the faithful ear.
Swelling tones of pealing organ.
Which the angels stooped to hear; —
In the gleaming of the storied,
Heaven-hued, rainbow window panes,
Haloed heads and virgins sainted;
In the shadows of the fanes ;
238 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the holy golden glitter
Of the world's redeeming cup ;
In the whiteness of the wafer
Which the blessing Priest held up;
In Consecration, Benediction, —
Centred all our happy life :
Ai ! A'i ! who can aid us ?
Who will end this wretched strife ?
Where shall we now seek for shelter?
Altar, incense, priest, are gone 1
Man now deems himself Creator !
Dreams the twilight is the dawn !
Count Henry. Day breaks ! Their shadowy forms dis-
solve ! they melt
In the red rays of morn !
Neophyte. Here lies your way.
We've reached the entrance to the Pass at last.
. Count Henry {calling). Hola ! Hola ! Our Lord, and
my own sword !
{He tears off the Liberty cap, throws it upon the groimd, and
casts pieces of silver in it. ')
For memory, take the thing and emblem ! they
Belong together.
Neophyte. You have pledged your word ;
He shall be safe who visits you to-night?
Count Henty. A noble ne'er repeats, — nor breaks a
promise, — go !
Hail ! Jesus and my sword !
Voices from the Pass. Long live our Lord !
Our swords and Mary !
Count Hcn)y {to Neophyte). Citizen, adieu !
To me, my faithful ! Jesus, Mary, aid !
SCENE IV. Trees and bushes. Pancras, Leonard,
and attendants.
Pancras {to his attendants^. Lie on this spot, your faces
to the turf;
Be quiet, beat no signal, light no fires ;
If you should hear my pistol, fly to me !
If not, you must not stir till dawn of day.
TFTE UMDIVINE COMEDY.
239
Leonard. Once more, I must implore you, Citizen !
Pancras. Rest at the foot of this tall pine, and sleep !
Leonard. Let me go with you ! Should you trust
your life
To this Count Henry, this aristocrat?
Pancras {inotioning him to remain). The nobles rarely
break a plighted word !
SCENE V. Night. A vast feudal hall in the castle of
Coimt Henry. Blazons, atid pictures of knights and
ladies hang along the walls. A pillar is seen in the back-
ground bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family.
The Count is seated at a marble table, upon which are
placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, ajewel-hilted
sword, a pair of pistols, an hour-glass, and clock. On
the opposite side stands another table with silver pitchers,
decanters, and massive goblets.
Count Henry. Midnight ! It was at this same solemn
hour.
Surrounded by like perils and like thoughts,
The latest Brutus met his Evil Genius :
And such an apparition I await !
A man who has no name, no ancestors,
Who has no guardian angel, faith, nor God,
Whose mission is destruction to the past.
Will yet — unless I'm strong enough to hurl ■
Him back into his primal nothingness —
Destroy society, its laws and faith ;
Found a new era in the fate of man !
Such is the modern Caesar I await !
* i(i "--id -ip. if. -^ if.
Eagle of glory, hear ! Souls of my sires,
Inspire me with that fiery force which made
You rulers of the world. Oh, give to me
The lion heart which throbbed within your breasts !
Your austere majesty gird round my brow !
Rekindle in my soul your burning, blind.
Unconquerable faith in Christ, His Church,
The inspiration of your deeds on earth, i
Your hopes in Heaven ! Light it again in me,
And I will scathe our foes with fire and sword,
240 THE UN DIVINE COMEDY.
Will conquer and destroy all who oppose me,
The myriads of the children of the dust.
I, the last son of hundred generations,
Sole heir of all your virtues, thoughts, and faults !
( The bell of the castle strikes. ')
It is the appointed hour: — I am prepared.
Efiter Jacob {an old servant fully armed).
Jacob. Your Excellence, the man you wait is here.
Count Henry. Admit him, Jacob. {Exit Jacob. )
{He reapj^ears, announces Pancras, and again retires. )
Fano-as {entering). I salute you. Count.
Yet that word Cotint sounds strangely on my lips.
{He seats hiniself takes off his cloak and scarlet cap, and
fixes his eye upo7i the pillar on which the armorial bear-
ings hang. )
Count Henry. I thank you for the ready confidence
Placed in the honor of this ancient House.
Faithful to our old rites, I drink your health.
{He fills a goblet and hands to Pancras. )
Pancras {still looking at the pillar). If I am not mistaken,
noble Count,
This blue and scarlet shield was called a coat
Of arms in the lost language of the dead ;
But all such trifles vanish rapidly
Forever from the surface of the earth.
Count Henry. God aiding, they will shortly reappear ! "
Pancras. Commend me to the old nobility !
You answer like a chip of the old block.
A nobleman learns nothing from the times.
Always confiding in himself, high, bold,
Though without money, credit, arms, or men.
Proud, obstinate, and hoping 'gainst all hope,
E'en like the corpse in the fable, threatening
The driver of the hearse with vengeance dire
At very gate of fatal charnel-house !
Trusting in God — at least pretending trust —
When trust in self is found impossible !
Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
241
Of all the lightnings God keeps stored above
For your especial benefit, to blast
Me and my thronging millions ! Show me one,
Bnt one of all the hosts who fill the sky ;
One of the mighty angels who are soon
To encamp upon your side, and in whose force
You trust to win the victory over me,
And, without loss, subdue the human race !
{He empties the goblet. )
Count Henry. Chief of the People, you are pleased to
jest ;
But atheism is an ancient formula,
And I hoped something new, from the New Men,
Pancras. Laugh if you will, Sir Count, at your own wit ;
My faith is far more firmly based than yours,
My formulas far wider than your own.
My central dogma is most holy, true :
The emancipation of humdmfy !
' itiTa5~its-smM=ee-Tmrild, despairing cries
Forever rising to the throne of God
From weary hearts of millions of oppressed :
The famine of degraded artisans ;
The poverty of peasants, woes of serfs;
The desecration of their daughters, wives ;
The general degradation of the race ;
The unjust laws, the brutal prejudice !
My dogmas spring from infinite agonies ;
Such woes give me the aid of all our race !
I am resolved to establish my new creed.
Written by God upon all human hearts !
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. . . .
Neophyte. We must withdraw.
Count Henry. No. I will dream this dream out to
its end !
Neophyte {aside'). Jehovah, hear ! Doom him to swift
destruction !
{To Count Henry. ) Leonard will surely know me. See
you not
The dreadful knife that glitters on his breast?
Count Henry. There, hide thee, Jew, beneath my
mantle's folds.
Know you the women dancing round the man
Whom you call Leonard ?
Neophyte. All I know by name.
The Avives of princes, counts, who have forsaken
Their former lords, and then embraced our faith.
234
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Count Henry. Women I once deemed angels ! idol-
ized ! . . .
The crowd surrounds and hides him from my sight,
But as the music ever fainter grows,
He must be moving from us with his train.
Jew, follow me ! We can see better here !
i^He climbs the pa7-apet of a wall. ')
Neophyte. Woe ! woe ! here every one will surely know
us !
Count Henry. I see him now ; but other female forms,
Convulsive, pale, and haggard, throng around.
I see the son of the philosopher ;
He foams and gestures, brandishes his dagger.
They reach the northern tower, dance round the wreck,
Trample the ruins, rend the Gothic shrines.
Throw fire upon the holy prostrate altars,
The sacred pictures and the broken crosses !
The fire blazes, — clouds of smoke arise
That darken all before me !
Anathema on these blasphemers ! Woe !
Leonard. Woe ! woe to men who still bow lowly
down.
In adoration to a lifeless God !
Count Henry. The blackening masses of the People
turn —
They drive upon us now !
Neophyte. Oh, Abraham !
Count Henry. Eagle of glory ! this is not mine hour !
Neophyte. We're lost. Escape is none.
Leonard (stopping theni). Who are you, brother, with
that haughty face ?
Why are you not with us ?
Count Henry. But yesterday
I of your final revolution heard.
And hastened from afar to lend my aid.
I'm an assassin of the Spanish club.
Leofiard. Who is this man who hides his face beneath
Your ample cloak?
Count Henry. My younger brother, who
Has sworn an oath never to show his face
Until he kills a noble !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 235
Leonard. Whom can j'^z^
Boast to have killed ? ^ef^rrl=,v
Count Henry. It was but yesterday
My brothers consecrated me to murder
Leonard. Whom will you strike the first ?
Count Henry. The greatest tyrant ;-
Yourself, should you prove false !
Z. ^;/a/Y/. Here, brother, take
My dagger for such use !
{Hands it to him? ,
Count Henfy {drawing his own). My own is sharp
FnniiPh to strike a traitor to the heart ! , „ , ,
Zt r«V«. Hurrah for Leonard ! for the People s
Other VoZs. ' Long live the assassin of the Spanish
Leonard Meet me to-morrow in our General's tent.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We here salute thee, friend, in Freedom's name, ^
Within thy hands thou bear'st our safety s pledge ,
Who fights unceasingly, assassmates
Without misgiving, never yields to doubt
Of victory— such one is sure to conquer.
CHORUS OF PHILOSOPHERS.
We have at last awaked the human race
From long and childTsh dreams, unveiled Truth s face,
We've drLged her from the Darkness into Light ;-
Go thou to kill, to die, to exalt her might !
Son of the Philosopher {to Count Henry). Comrade and
friend, out of this hollow skull
Of ancient saint, I drink to your good health.
{He flings away the skull.
)
A Girl {dancing up to Count Henry). Wilt kill King
John for me ? ^ . tt .
Another For me. Count Henry !
aZ^n. Bring us some nobles' heads : we want new
balls !
236 THE UNDIVJNE COMEDY.
Other Children. Good fortune guide your daggers to
their hearts !
CHORUS OF ARTISTS.
We'll build our church upon these Gothic ruins;
No images shall stand within its walls.
Sharp pikes and blades shall form its vaulted arch.
The pillars borne upon eight human heads,
Thick locks of hair shall form the capitals,
Seeming to gush with crimson streams of blood !
Our altar shall be white as new-fallen snow,
Our only God will rest upon the stone : —
The scarlet cap of Liberty ! Hurrah !
,Other Voices. On! on! the morning dawn already
breaks.
Neophyte. They'll surely hang us, Count, on yonder
gallows.
Count Henry. They follow Leonard ; us they heed no
longer . . .
This time, — the last, I see with my own eyes,
Embrace with my own thought the wildering future,
The chaos quickening in the womb of Time,
The black abyss that menaces destruction
To me, my brothers, all the reverend Past.
I gaze once mote — ere it engulf me !
Driven by despair, urged on by bitter grief.
My soul awakens to new energy.
O God ! give me again the fiery power
Which Thou of old wert wont not to refuse me, —
And I will in one burning word reveal.
Incorporate this new and monstrous world,
Which does not know itself, its destiny,
And this Word will become the Poetry
Of all the future years !
Voice in the air. Thou chantest a Drama !
Count Henry. Thanks for the information — friend or
foe!
The desecrated ashes of my sires
Shall be avenged ! . . .
Anathema on these new generations !
^y^
237
THE Um)IVINE COMEDY.
Their whirlpool seethes around me, but it shall
Not draw me in its ever swifter course,
The widening circles of its mad abyss.
Eagle ! my Eagle ! keep thy promise now !
Jew, I am ready to descend the Pass,
Neophyte. Behold the dawn : I may no farther go.
Count Henry. Put me upon the path ; I will release you.
Neophyte. Ah ! why thus drag me on through fog and
briers.
O'er embers, ruins ? I pray you, let me go !
Count Henry. On ! on ! descend with me !
The last mad songs
Of that bewildered people die behind us;
Their scattered lights scarce glimmer through the gloom !
Under these hoary trees, through this pale fog,
I see the giant shadows of the Past. . . .
Do you not hear those melancholy chants?
Neophyte. All things are shrouded in the curdling
mists ;
At every step still deeper we descend.
CHORUS OF SPIRITS IN THE FOREST.
Weep ! weep for Christ, — the exiled, suffering Lord !
Where is our Holy Church ? Where is our God ?
Count Henry. Unsheathe the sword ! quick to the
combat ! I
Will give Him back to you ! Will crucify
His enemies on thousand, thousand crosses !
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
Day and night we watched the altar,
Guarded all the saintly graves:
Bearing on our wings sweet echoes,
High along the vaulted naves,
Vesper bell, or matin chiming
Falling on the faithful ear.
Swelling tones of pealing organ.
Which the angels stooped to hear; —
In the gleaming of the storied,
Heaven-hued, rainbow window panes,
Haloed heads and virgins sainted;
In the shadows of the fanes ;
238 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the holy golden glitter
Of the world's redeeming cup ;
In the whiteness of the wafer
Which the blessing Priest held up;
In Consecration, Benediction, —
Centred all our happy life :
Ai ! A'i ! who can aid us ?
Who will end this wretched strife ?
Where shall we now seek for shelter?
Altar, incense, priest, are gone 1
Man now deems himself Creator !
Dreams the twilight is the dawn !
Count Henry. Day breaks ! Their shadowy forms dis-
solve ! they melt
In the red rays of morn !
Neophyte. Here lies your way.
We've reached the entrance to the Pass at last.
. Count Henry {calling). Hola ! Hola ! Our Lord, and
my own sword !
{He tears off the Liberty cap, throws it upon the groimd, and
casts pieces of silver in it. ')
For memory, take the thing and emblem ! they
Belong together.
Neophyte. You have pledged your word ;
He shall be safe who visits you to-night?
Count Henty. A noble ne'er repeats, — nor breaks a
promise, — go !
Hail ! Jesus and my sword !
Voices from the Pass. Long live our Lord !
Our swords and Mary !
Count Hcn)y {to Neophyte). Citizen, adieu !
To me, my faithful ! Jesus, Mary, aid !
SCENE IV. Trees and bushes. Pancras, Leonard,
and attendants.
Pancras {to his attendants^. Lie on this spot, your faces
to the turf;
Be quiet, beat no signal, light no fires ;
If you should hear my pistol, fly to me !
If not, you must not stir till dawn of day.
TFTE UMDIVINE COMEDY.
239
Leonard. Once more, I must implore you, Citizen !
Pancras. Rest at the foot of this tall pine, and sleep !
Leonard. Let me go with you ! Should you trust
your life
To this Count Henry, this aristocrat?
Pancras {inotioning him to remain). The nobles rarely
break a plighted word !
SCENE V. Night. A vast feudal hall in the castle of
Coimt Henry. Blazons, atid pictures of knights and
ladies hang along the walls. A pillar is seen in the back-
ground bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family.
The Count is seated at a marble table, upon which are
placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, ajewel-hilted
sword, a pair of pistols, an hour-glass, and clock. On
the opposite side stands another table with silver pitchers,
decanters, and massive goblets.
Count Henry. Midnight ! It was at this same solemn
hour.
Surrounded by like perils and like thoughts,
The latest Brutus met his Evil Genius :
And such an apparition I await !
A man who has no name, no ancestors,
Who has no guardian angel, faith, nor God,
Whose mission is destruction to the past.
Will yet — unless I'm strong enough to hurl ■
Him back into his primal nothingness —
Destroy society, its laws and faith ;
Found a new era in the fate of man !
Such is the modern Caesar I await !
* i(i "--id -ip. if. -^ if.
Eagle of glory, hear ! Souls of my sires,
Inspire me with that fiery force which made
You rulers of the world. Oh, give to me
The lion heart which throbbed within your breasts !
Your austere majesty gird round my brow !
Rekindle in my soul your burning, blind.
Unconquerable faith in Christ, His Church,
The inspiration of your deeds on earth, i
Your hopes in Heaven ! Light it again in me,
And I will scathe our foes with fire and sword,
240 THE UN DIVINE COMEDY.
Will conquer and destroy all who oppose me,
The myriads of the children of the dust.
I, the last son of hundred generations,
Sole heir of all your virtues, thoughts, and faults !
( The bell of the castle strikes. ')
It is the appointed hour: — I am prepared.
Efiter Jacob {an old servant fully armed).
Jacob. Your Excellence, the man you wait is here.
Count Henry. Admit him, Jacob. {Exit Jacob. )
{He reapj^ears, announces Pancras, and again retires. )
Fano-as {entering). I salute you. Count.
Yet that word Cotint sounds strangely on my lips.
{He seats hiniself takes off his cloak and scarlet cap, and
fixes his eye upo7i the pillar on which the armorial bear-
ings hang. )
Count Henry. I thank you for the ready confidence
Placed in the honor of this ancient House.
Faithful to our old rites, I drink your health.
{He fills a goblet and hands to Pancras. )
Pancras {still looking at the pillar). If I am not mistaken,
noble Count,
This blue and scarlet shield was called a coat
Of arms in the lost language of the dead ;
But all such trifles vanish rapidly
Forever from the surface of the earth.
Count Henry. God aiding, they will shortly reappear ! "
Pancras. Commend me to the old nobility !
You answer like a chip of the old block.
A nobleman learns nothing from the times.
Always confiding in himself, high, bold,
Though without money, credit, arms, or men.
Proud, obstinate, and hoping 'gainst all hope,
E'en like the corpse in the fable, threatening
The driver of the hearse with vengeance dire
At very gate of fatal charnel-house !
Trusting in God — at least pretending trust —
When trust in self is found impossible !
Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
241
Of all the lightnings God keeps stored above
For your especial benefit, to blast
Me and my thronging millions ! Show me one,
Bnt one of all the hosts who fill the sky ;
One of the mighty angels who are soon
To encamp upon your side, and in whose force
You trust to win the victory over me,
And, without loss, subdue the human race !
{He empties the goblet. )
Count Henry. Chief of the People, you are pleased to
jest ;
But atheism is an ancient formula,
And I hoped something new, from the New Men,
Pancras. Laugh if you will, Sir Count, at your own wit ;
My faith is far more firmly based than yours,
My formulas far wider than your own.
My central dogma is most holy, true :
The emancipation of humdmfy !
' itiTa5~its-smM=ee-Tmrild, despairing cries
Forever rising to the throne of God
From weary hearts of millions of oppressed :
The famine of degraded artisans ;
The poverty of peasants, woes of serfs;
The desecration of their daughters, wives ;
The general degradation of the race ;
The unjust laws, the brutal prejudice !
My dogmas spring from infinite agonies ;
Such woes give me the aid of all our race !
I am resolved to establish my new creed.
Written by God upon all human hearts !
