Our work, our long, long work
Of anguished centuries is almost done !
Of anguished centuries is almost done !
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
Second Relation. Be silent ! Wait!
George. Mamma, thou answerest not. . . . Do not
desert me !
Physician {to the Count). My duty is to tell you the
whole truth.
Godfather. To speak the truth is a physician's duty.
Physician. Your son is threatened with insanity.
Excessive sensibility of nerves,
Combining with excitement of the brain,
Has caused this state of aberration, dream ;
Being awake, asleep at the same time !
I will explain the symptoms if you wish.
Count Henry {aside). This man, my God, would read
Thy laws to me,
Explain Thy judgments !
Physician. Give me pen and ink.
2IO THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Cerasis laurel : two grains enough.
I'll write it down.
Count Henry. In yonder room you'll find
All things required. And now, kind friends, good-night !
I fain would be alone !
Many Voices (as they retire'). Good-night ! good-night !
George {awaking). Father, how can they wish good-
night to me ?
I think 'twere better they should say, long night ;
Eternal night without a dawn !
And not ^6'6'^/-night, which means a happy night !
Count Henry. George, take my arm, and lean on me ;
I'll lead
You to your bed.
George. What does this mean, my father?
Count Henry. Cover yourself up warm ; sleep calmly,
George !
The Doctor says you will regain your sight.
George. I feel so ill. . . . Strange voices wakened
me. . . .
I saw mamma knee-deep among the lilies. . . .
{He falls asleep. ^
Count Henry. My blessing rest upon thee, blighted
boy !
Except a blessing, I can give thee nothing ;
Nor light, nor happiness, nor glory !
Alas ! I cannot give thee back thy sight !
Already strikes the hour of combat for me,
When I must lead the few against the many.
What will become of thee, O infant Poet !
Without protection, helpless, sick, and blind?
There will be none to listen to thee then.
Thou harmless little singer, with thy soul
In Heaven, yet chained to earth by thy frail body !
Thou most unfortunate of all the angels !
My son ! my son !
(He buries his head In his hands. )
Nurse {at the door). The Doctor sent me here to tell
my Lord
That he desires to see him.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 211
Count Henry. Yes, yes, I go.
Meantime, good Catherine, sit here and watch
My son.
FOURTH PERIOD.
" II fut administre, parceque le niais demandait un pretre, puis pendu
k la satisfaction generale, etc. " — Rapport du Citoyen Gaillot, Comtnis-
saire de la Sixieme Chambre, An III. , ^ prairial.
A song ! another song ! stirring and new !
Who will begin this song? Ah ! who will end it ?
Give me the Past, steel-clad and barbed with iron,
Floating with plumes and knightly bannerets !
With magic power I would invoke before you
High Gothic towers and castellated turrets,
Strong, bristling barbacans and mighty arches ;
Vast vaulted domes, and slender, clustering shafts: —
It may not be ! the Past can ne'er return !
Speak, whosoe'er thou art, tell me thy Faith !
To abandon life were task more easy far
Than to invent a Faith and then believe it.
Or call it back to life again when dead !
Shame ! shame upon you all ! Strong-minded spirits.
Or spirits weak and vain, — all miserable, —
Without or heart or brain ; in spite of you.
The world is rushing onward, ever on
To its own destinies !
It whirls you on, making wild sport of you.
Urges you forward, backward, as it will.
Planting your feet, or overturning you : —
You have no power to fuse it in your mould !
As in predestined ring the earth rolls on.
Maskers appear, vanish, and reappear,
Whirled in resistless circles round and round.
[2 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
As ways grow slippery with blood, they fall !
The Dance of Death goes on : Blood everywhere !
New couples join the ring ! Abyss of blood !
The world is crimsoning ! , . . I speak the truth.
What throngs of people seize the city gates,
Surround the hills, press through the sheltered vales 1
Beneath the shadows of the trees great tents
Are spread ; long boards are placed on pikes, on clubs,
And fallen tree-trunks ; these as tables serve.
And soon are filled with food, meat, bread, and drink.
The excited masses seat and help tliemselves ;
The full cups quickly pass from hand to hand,
And as they touch the eager, thirsty mouths.
Threats, oaths, and curses pour from heated lips.
Faster and faster fly the ruby cups.
Beaded and bubbling, ever emptying, filling,
Striking and clinking as they pass, repass.
With their metallic ring and brilliant sparkle.
Among the thirsty millions. Hurrah ! hurrah !
Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy !
Fierce and more fierce the agitation grows.
They wait impatiently; murmurs increase.
Break into riotous shouts and dangerous cries.
Poor wretches, scarcely covered even with rags.
The stamj) of weary labors deeply ploughed
Upon their sunburnt, rugged faces, set
With uncombed, shaggy, bristling, matted hair !
Great drops of sweat start from their knotted brows;
Their sinewy, horny hands are armed with spades.
With axes, hammers, shovels, scythes, and flails.
Look at that stalwart man who holds a pick ;
At that stout youth who brandishes a club ;
One holds aloft a gun with glittering pike ;
With brawny arm another hurls a hatchet.
A boy with one hand crams his mouth with cherries,
The other thrusts an awl into the tree.
Look, how their women crowd by thousands on !
Maids, wives and mothers, famished as themselves,
Faded l^efore their time, all beauty gone,
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 213
With hair disheveled, tarnished and soiled with dust.
In deep, dark sockets sunk, their rayless eyes
Gleam dead and sinister, as if they mocked
A living, human look !
But they will soon be brighter, for the cup
Flies full from lip to lip ; they quaff long draughts:—
Hurrah ! Hurrah 1 Long live the foaming bowl
Of drunkenness and joy !
Hark ! murmurs rustle through the living mass !
A cry of joy or terror ? Who can read
The meaning of a sound from myriad mouths,
Monstrously multiform ?
A man arrives, he mounts a table, speaks,
Harangues and sways the noisy multitude.
His voice drags harshly, grates upon the ear,
But hacks itself in short, strong, racy words.
Easily heard, and easily remembered.
His gestures suit his words, as music, song.
His brow is broad and high, his head quite bald j
Thought has uprooted his last hair. His skin
Is dull and tawny, and the tell-tale blood
Ne'er lights its dingy pallor ;_feeling ne'er
Painted its living secrets there. Between
The bone and muscle of his parchment face
Deep wrinkles form and weave their yellow lines.
A heavy beard, like garland black, unwreaths
The face where no emotion ever throbs.
He gazes steadily upon the crowd.
Nor doubt nor agitation ever clouds
His clear cold eye, delays his strident voice.
He lifts his arm, and holds it stiff and straight
Stretched o'er the swaying throng who lowly bow,
Ready to kneel before him to receive
The blessing of a powerful intellect.
Not that of a great heart.
Down, down with all great hearts ! Away with them !
Away with all old castes and prejudice !
Hurrah for consolation, joy, and murder !
This is the people's idol, whom they love
With passion, rage ; he is their autocrat,
19
214
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Rules all the tides of their enthusiasm ;
They swear by him ; he plays on all their stops.
He tells them they shall have bread, sports, wine, gold : —
Their cries swell like the rushing of a storm,
And echo everywhere repeats the applause :
" Hurrah for Pancras ! Bread, and wine, and gold,
For us, our children, wives ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! "
Leaning against the table where he stands,
And at his feet, is seen his servant, friend,
Disciple ; one whose dark eye, glittering through
Long, dusky lashes, marks his Orient race.
His shoulders droop, he sways from side to side.
As if his indolent limbs could scarce support his frame.
His lips are full, voluptuous, and cruel ;
His fingers gleam with rings and precious stones.
With deep and guttural voice, he also cries :
"Hurrah for Pancras! "
The orator looks down
Upon him, smiles, and says to him : " Give me
My handkerchief. Citizen Neophyte! "
Meantime, the tumult ever louder grows :
" Death to the nobles ! " " To the merchants, death 1"
" Death to the speculators ! " " Bread ! Wine ! Blood ! "
SCENE L A tabernacle. Lamps. An open book. Neo-
phytes, that is to say, Jews neioly baptized. "^
Neophyte. Humiliated, loved, degraded brethren !
From holy pages of the blessed Talmud,
As from its mother's breast a new-born child
Sucks nourishment, let us draw life and force !
* Our author here refers to a numerous sect, forming not one of the
least of the elements of trouble fermenting in the bosom of Polish society.
The Fraiikists, for such is the name of this sect, are converted Jews, con-
verted not to the spirit of Christianity, but merely to its external rites.
They arc in appearance Christians, have been baptized and go to mass,
but are still really Jews, and only await the proper moment to make use
of their cciuivocal position to gratify their implacai)le resentment. It is
the Frankists, therefore, and not tlic genuine Hebrews, whom our autlior
here depicts. — Revue des Deux Mondes.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 215
From it flow strength and honey for ourselves;
But gall and bitterness for all our enemies !
CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES.
Jehovah is our God, and only ours ;
Therefore He hath dispersed us through the earth,
To twine us, like the folds of serpent vast,
About the blind adorers of the cross.
Our coils are wound around our ignorant foes,
The haughty, weak, but still defiant nobles.
Thrice spit upon them all ! Thrice curse them, God !
Neophyte. Rejoice ! the Cross of our Great Enemy
Is more than half hewn down, rots to its fall,
Projects athwart a wild dark sea of blood.
Once fallen — it can never rise again !
The nobles are its sole defense on earth —
And they are ours !
CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES.
Our work, our long, long work
Of anguished centuries is almost done !
Death to the nobles who defend the cross !
Thrice spit upon them all ! Thrice curse them, God !
Neophyte. Upon the liberty of all disorder,
Upon this slaughter which will never end,
Upon the pride of the nobility,
The license and the madness of the mob, —
We'll build anew the strength of Israel !
First we must drive the nobles on to death,
And with their corpses hide the ruins of the cross.
CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES.
The cross is now our symbol, and the dew
Of baptism leagues us with the Christian host. . . .
The scorning trust the love of those they scortied !
The freedom of the Peoples is our cry,
Their welfare is our aim. . . . Caiaphas holds
The sons of Christ fest in his sinewy arms !
2i6 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Ages ago our fathers crucified
Our Enemy. To-day again we raise
The cross; again we nail Him there in agony:
But He will never, never more arise
From that deep grave in which we bury Him !
CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES.
Jehovah is the God of Israel,
Of it alone ! Thrice spew the Peoples forth
To ruin ! Let them perish in their sins !
May threefold curses light upon them, Lord !
{Knocking is heard at the door. ')
Neophyte. Brethren, resume your work.
{He hides the Talmud. )
Thou, Holy Book,
Away from sight, that glance of none accursed
May soil thy spotless leaves \
Reply : who knocks ?
Voice without. A friend. Ope, Brother, in the name
of freedom.
Neophyte. Quick, Brethren, to your hammers, looms,
and ropes !
Leo7iard {entering). You're working for to-morrow;
that is well ;
Whetting your swords, preparing for the fight?
{Approaching one of the men. ') What are you making in
this corner !
One of tlie Neophytes. Ropes.
Leonard. Right, friend, for he who falls not by the
sword.
Must surely hang.
Neophyte. Is it decided, then,
The affair takes place to-morrow, citizen ?
Leonard. He who among us is most powerfid
By thought and eloquence, calls you through me ;
He waits you, and will answer to your question.
Neophyte. I'll follow you to serve our citizens.
{To the 7nen. ) Quit not your work. Yankcl, take charge
of them. {Exit Leonard and Neophyte. )
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 217
CHORUS OF NEOPHYTES.
Ye ropes and daggers, clubs and hatchets, swords,
Works of our hands, ye only will appear
When needed to destroy our deadly foes !
The nobles will be strangled in the fields,
Hung in the forests, gardens, by the people.
And when their work is done, our turn will come :
Then we will hang the hangers ; strangle those
Who strangled, murder those who murdered !
The scorned will rise in judgment on the scorner,
Array themselves in thunder of Jehovah !
His word is life : His love is ours alone ;
Destruction, wrath. He pours upon our foes;
He is our refuge, blasts our enemies.
We three times spew them forth to sudden ruin !
Our threefold curses be upon their heads !
SCENE II. A tent. Flasks, cups, flagons, and bottles
scattered in confusion. Pancras alone.
Pancras. Hundreds of brutes howled here an hour
ago.
Ending with shouts thefr orgies. At each word
I uttered they would cry : Hurrah ! Hurrah !
Vivats at every gesture, — worthless praise !
Is there a single man among them all
Who really understands the aim and end
Oi that inaugurated here with such loud joy ?
Oh ! fervide iniitatorum pccus !
{Enter Leonard and the Neophyte. )
{To Neophyte'). Know you Count Henry?
Neophyte. Citizen, by sight
I well remember that I met him once.
On Corpus Christi, as I went to mass ;
He cried, " Out of my way ! " and glared at me
With that proud look peculiar to the nobles, —
For which I in my soul vowed him a rope !
Pancras. Seek him to-morrow at the break of day ;
Tell him I wish to visit him at night, alone.
Neophyte. How many men are to accomi)any me?
19*
2i8 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Without an escort, 'twould be dangerous !
Pancras. The mission secret, you must go alone ;
My name will be an all-sufficient escort.
The lantern post to which you yesterday
Hung up the Baron, doubtless will support you.
Neophyte. A'i ! Ai !
Pancras. Tell him that two days hence I'll leave my
camp,
To visit him at midnight, and alone.
Neophyte. And if he keeps me bound — and tortures
me?
Pancras. A martyr in the people's cause you'd die !
Neophyte. All for the people, yes ! {Aside. ) A'i! Ai !
Pancras. Good-night ! and tarry not upon the way !
(^Exit Neophyte. )
Leonard. Why, Pancras, these half-measures, inter-
views ?
Mark, when I swore to honor and obey you,
I deemed you hero in extremities,
An eagle flying straight unto his aim,
A man who stakes upon one throw his fate
And that of others; stout of heart and brain !
Pancras. Hush, child !
Leonard. All things are ready. Sturdy arms
Have forged our weapons, spun our ropes ; our men
Are drilled, the eager millions but await
The lightning of your word to burst in flame.
Consume our enemies.
Paticras. You're very young,
And through your brain the heated blood pours fire,
But when the hour of combat comes, will you
Be found more resolute than I? Restraint
You've never known ; — rashness is not true courage !
Leonard. Think what you do ! The exhausted nobles
now
Are driven for refuge to their last stronghold.
The Fortress of the Holy Trinity,
Where they await us as men wait the rope
Or guillotine suspended o'er their heads.
Attack without delay — and they are yours !
Paficras. Of what importance is the hour we strike?
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 219
They've lost their corporal strength in luxury ;
Wasted their mental powers in idleness ;
To-morrow, or the next day, they imist fall !
Leonard. Whom do you fear ? What can arrest your
force ?
Pancras. No one and nothing. My own will alone.
Leona? -d. Must I obey it blindly ?
Pancras. You have said it :
Blindly.
Leonard. Should you betray us ?
Pancras. Betrayal winds
Up all your sentences, like quaint refrain
Of some old song. Lower ! for one might hear us. . . .
Leonard. Here are no spies. What if I should be heard ?
Pancras. Nothing, . . . save perhaps a dozen balls
Fired at your heart for having raised your voice
Too high when in my presence !
( Coming close to Leonard. ^ Cease to torment yourself, and
trust me, Leonard.
Leonard. I will, I do ; I've been too hasty, Pancras.
But I've no fear of punishment ; and if
My death avails to serve our cause — then take my life !
Pancras {aside). He is so full of life, of faith, of hope ;
The happiest of men, he loves and trusts !
I do not wish his death.
Leonard. What do you say ?
Pancras. Think more ; speak less ; in time you'll un-
derstand me !
Have you the powder for the cartridges?
Leonard. Deyitz conveys the stores, his escort's strong.
Pancras. The contribution from the shoemakers.
Has it been yet collected ?
Leonard. Yes. They gave
With right good will, — one hundred thousand florins.
Pancras. I will invite them to our feast to-morrow.
Have you heard nothing new about Count Henry?
Leonard. Nay, I despise the nobles far too much
To credit what I hear of him. I know
It is impossible the dying race
Should summon energy to cope with us.
Pancras. Yet it is true that he collects and trains
220 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Friends, peasants, serfs, and drills them for the fight ;
And trusting their devotion to himself,
Will lead them to the very jaws of death.
He has intrenched himself within the walls
Of the old fortress, " Holy Trinity. "
Leonard. Who can resist us, when incarnate live
In us the ideas of our century?
Pancras. I am resolved to see him, read his eyes,
And penetrate the secrets of his soul, —
Win him to join our cause !
Leonard. A born aristocrat !
Pancras. True, but a poet still ! Leonard, good-night.
