e solemnity
ofTclo" th Poe^Sot give too much grandeur to the scene m
which Snst is to appear.
ofTclo" th Poe^Sot give too much grandeur to the scene m
which Snst is to appear.
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
An old wife's tale !
as hollow as the rattling
Of these escutcheons. {He strikes f lie shield. ) Discus-
sions are in vain ;
I read your heart, and know its secret yearnings.
If you would really find the Infinite
Which hitherto has baffled all your search ;
If you love Truth, and would sincerely seek it ;
If you are really 7nan, created in
The image of our common brotherhood, —
And not the empty hero of a nursery song, —
Oh, list to me ! Let not these fleeting moments
Pass thus in vain ! they fly so rapidly.
Yet are the last in which you can be saved !
Man of the Past, the race renews itself,
A fid of the blood we sjicdjo-day, no trace
Will stain iif--~morrow I "
If you'afe really what you once appeared,
A niati, stand firm in all your former might,
Aid the down-trodden masses ; help the oppressed ;
Emancipate your fellow-men ; work for
The common good ; give up your false desire
Of personal glory ; quit these tottering ruins.
Which all your pride and power can never prop, —
Desert your falling house, and follow me !
Come, help to make an Eden of the Earth !
Time flies. Resolve! for the last time I speak !
Count Henty. Oh, youngest born of Satan's flatter-
ing brood !
( Visibly agitated, he paces up and down the hall, talking to
himself. )
Dreams ! Dreams ! They never can be realized !
Who has the power to mould them into fact ?
248 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
The first man, exiled, in the desert died, —
The flaming sword still guards the Eden-gates, —
Man never more re-enters Paradise ! . . .
Pancras (aside). I have him now ! Have driven the
probe to the core
Of his high heart ! Have struck the electric nerve
Of Poetry, which quivers through the base,
And is the life-chord of his complex being !
Count Henry. Eternal progress ! Human happiness !
Did I not, too, believe them possible? . . .
Here, take my head, provided that may . . ,
(He remains silent, absorbed in reverie, then raising his
head, gazes steadily at Fancras. )
The vision dies — and I can dream no more !
Two centuries ago it might have been :
Mutual accord — but now it is too late !
Accumulated wrongs on either side
Have dug a gulf of separating blood.
Nothing but murder now will satisfy !
A change of race is your necessity.
Pancras. Then join our cry: "Woe to the van-
quished ! Woe ! "
Seeker of happiness, say it but once ;
Join us, and be \\\q first among the victors !
Man's onward path lies through the People's camp !
Count Henry. You boast, but do you know the track-
less ways,
The unseen chances of the gloomy Future ?
Did Destiny at midnight visit you,
And, drawing back the curtains of your tent,
Open before you all her hidden secrets?
Placing her hand upon your scheming brain.
Did she impress on it her seal of victory?
Perchance at mid-day, when o'ercome with heat
All others slept, the pitiless Form appeared.
Assured you of your conquest over me.
That thus you threaten me with sure defeat ?
Are you not made of clay fragile as mine?
You may be victim of the first ball thrown !
The first bold sword-thrust may transfix your heart !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 249
Your life, like mine, hangs on a single hair;
Like me, you've no immunity from death !
Paticras. Dreams, idle dreams ! Be not deceived by
hopes
So baseless ! men live tmtil their work is dpne !
No bullet aimed by maTT-Trrfr^*erreach me.
No sword will pierce me, while a single one
Of all your haughty caste remains to thwart
The task it is my destiny to fulfill !
And so whate'er my final doom may be,
On its completion it will be too late
To offer you the least advantage !
{The bell of the castle strikes. )
Hark ! time flies fast, and flying, scorns us both !
If you are weary of your own sad life.
Yet save your hapless son I
Count Henry. His pure soul is
Already saved in Heaven ; on earth he must
Share in his father's fate.
{His head sinks heavily and remains for some time buried
in his hands. )
Pancras. Can you reject
All hope for him ? Doom your own son to death ?
{He pauses for an answer, but Count Henry does not speak. )
Nay, you are silent . . . hesitate . . . reflect . . .
Why, that is well . . . reflection suits the man
Who stands on brink of ruin ! . . . Save the boy !
Count Henry. Away ! away ! Back from the mysteries
Now surging through my spirit's passionate depths !
Back ! Back ! profane them not with one vain word, —
They lie beyond your sphere !
The world is yours,
The world of bodies, hungry flesh and blood !
Gorge it with meat, flood it with ruby wine.
But press not in the secrets of my soul !
Leave me, thou seeker of material bliss.
To my own thoughts ; — I fain would be alone !
Pancras. Slave of one phase of thought, chained to
one form,
The corpse of the dead Past rots in thine arms !
22
250
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Shame, Poet ! Warrior ! Prophet ! Scholar ! Sage !
My plastic finge rs mould the world at ivill,
1 can reduce Dotn tnSHght and form to naught,
And out of nothingness mould them, like wax, anew !
Count Henry. You cannot read my heart, follow my
thoughts,
Will never understand me, man of yesterday !
Your sires were buried in a common ditch,
Without distinctive spirit, like dead things.
And not as men of individual stamp.
{He points to the poiiraits of his ancestors. ^
Look at these pictures ! Love of country, home,
Race, kin, — feelings at war with your whole past, —
Are written in each line of their brave brows !
These things are in me as my vital breath,
Their spirit lives entire in their last heir,
Their only representative on earth !
Tell me, O man witliout ancestral graves.
Where is your natal soil, your proper country?
Each coming eve you spread your wandering tent
Upon the ruins of another's home;
Each morn you roll it up, again to unroll
At night ; where'er you pitch, anew to blight and spoil !
You have not, nor will ever find a home,
A sacred hearth, as long as valiant men
Still live to cry with me : All glory to our sires !
Pancras. Yes, glory to our sires in Heaven, on earth.
If there be aught worthy to glorify ! —
We'll test the claims of your own ancestors.
{He points to one of the portraits. )
This noble was a very famous Starost ;
He shot old women in tlie woods, like wrens.
And roasted living Jews: this other with
The inscription Chancem. or, and a great seal
In his right hand, forged acts and falsified,
Burned archives, murdered knights, and gained and
stained
His vast inheritance with blood and poison ;
And through him came your villages, serfs, i)ower !
This dark man with the flashing eye played at
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 25 1
Adultery with wives of trusting friends:
This one with Spanish cloak and Golden Fleece
Served other countries with his own in danger!
This lady pale, with long curled raven locks,
Intrigued with her handsome page,— they murdered him !
This charming woman with the lustrous braids,
Reading a letter from her loving gallant.
Smiles archly,— well she may, for night is near—
And love is bold — and husband trustful, absent \
This timid beauty with the deep-blue eyes
And golden curls, that clasps a Roman hound
In her round arms, where ruby bracelets glow,
Was mistress of a king, and soothed his softer hours.
I like this fellow with a jolly face.
In shooting suit of green ; he ne'er was sober,
Amused himself all day drinking with friends,
And sent his serfs to hunt the tall, red deer.
With hounds for company !
Such is the true account of your most pure,
Unsullied line ! Oppression everywhere !
The noble deemed the serfs' stupidity
His own best safety ; thus he gave the world
Convincing proof of his own intellect !
The Day of Judgment breaks in gloom upon you ;
I promise you not one of your great sires
Shall be forgotten in the dark award 1
Count Henry. Son of the people, you deceive your-
self!
You and your brethren never could have lived
Had not the nobles given you their bread,
Defended you, and for you shed their blood ;
Like beasts, you would have perished on the earth !
When famine came, they gave you grain ; and when
The plague swept over you with breath of death,
They found you nurses, built you hospitals,
And had physicians schooled to snatch you from the
grave.
When they, from unformed brutes, had nurtured you
To human beings, they built churches, schools,
And shared all with you save the battle-field,
For fierce encounter, fiery shock, they knew
252
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
You were not formed to bear !
As lances sharp of pagan warriors
Were wont, shattered and riven, to recoil
From the bright armor of my ancestors.
So fall your idle words, flung quickly back
By dazzling record of their glorious deeds,
Disturbing not the dust that sleeps in fame!
Like howls of rabid dog that froths and snaps,
Until he's driven from the human pale,
Your accusations die in their insanity!
( The castle bell again strikes. )
'Tis almost dawn — and time you should depart
From my ancestral halls. In safety pass
From this old home, my guest !
Pancras. Farewell, until we meet again upon
The ramparts of the Holy Trinity !
And when your powder, shot, and men are gone ? . . .
Count Henry. Then we must draw within sword's
length ! Farewell !
Pancras. We are twin Eagles, but your soaring nest
Is shattered by the lightning !
{^He takes np his scarlet cap and ivraps his cloak about him. ^
In passing from your threshold, I must leave
The curse due to decrepitude : I doom
Yourself, your son, to swift destruction !
Count Henry. Jacob, hola ! (^Enter Jacob. ') Call up
the guards ! Conduct
This man in safety through our outmost post.
Jacob. So help me God, the Lord !
{E. veunt Pancras and Jacob. )
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 253
FIFTH PERIOD.
" Bottomless perdition. "
Milton.
Perched like an eagle, high among the rocks,
Stands the old fortress, " Holy Trinity.
Now from its bastions nothing can be seen,
To right, to left, in front, or in the rear.
But morning mists, unbroken, limitless;
A spectral image of that Deluge wrath ^
Which, as its wild waves rose to sweep o er earth.
Once broke o'er these steep cliffs, these time-worn rocks.
No glimpses can be traced of vale beneath,
Buried in ghastly waves of ice-cold sea,
Wrapping it as the shroud winds round the dead.
No crimson rays of coming sun yet light
The clammy, pallid, winding-sheet of foam.
Upon a bold and naked granite peak.
Above the spectral mist, the castle stands,
A solitary island in this sea.
Its bastions, parapets, and lofty towers
Built of the rock from which they soar, appear
During the lapse of ages to have grown
Out of its stony heart (as human breast
Springs from the centaur's back),-the giant work
Of days long past.
A single banner floats
Above the highest tower ; it is the last,
The only Banner of the Cross on earth !
A shudder stirs and wakes the sleeping mist,
The bleak winds sigh, and silence rules no more ;
The vapor surges, palpitates, and drifts
tions and mdefinue "^^^^^^1^^^^. oi the reader for tl.
e solemnity
ofTclo" th Poe^Sot give too much grandeur to the scene m
which Snst is to appear. -/? . . ^. desDeux Mondes.
22*
254
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the first rays shot by the coming sun.
The breeze is chill ; the very light seems frost,
Curdling the clouds that form and roll and drift
Above this tossing sea of fog and foam.
With Nature's tumult other sounds arise,
And human voices mingling with the storm,
Articulate their wail, as it sweeps on.
Borne on and upward by the lifting waves
Of the cloud-surge, they break against the towers,
The castle's granite walls — voices of doom !
Long golden shafts transpierce the sea of foam ;
The clinging shroud of mist is swiftly riven ;
Through vaporous walls that line the spectral chasm
Are glimpses seen of deep abyss below.
How dark it looks athwart the precipice !
Myriads of heads in wild commotion surge ;
The valley swarms with life, as ocean's sands
With writhing things that creep and twist and sting.
The sun ! the sun ! he mounts above the peaks !
The driven, tortured vapors rise in blood ;
More and more clearly grow upon the eye
The threatening swarms fast gathering below.
The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds,
It scales the craggy cliffs, and softly melts
Into the depths of the infinite blue sky.
The valley glitters like a sea of light,
Throws back the sunshine in a dazzling glare,
For every hand is armed with sharpened blade,
And bayonets and points of steel flash fire ;
Millions are pouring through the living depths, —
As numberless as they at last will throng
Into the valley of Jehoshaphat,
When called to answer on the Judgment Day.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
255
SCENE I. The cathedral in the Fort of the Trinity.
Lords, Senators, and dignitaries are seen on either side
of the nave, each seated at the foot of a statue of a king,
knight, or hero. Compact masses of Nobles stand behind
the statues. The Archbishop is seated in a chair of state, •
in front of the high altar, and holds a sivord upon his
knees. Choir of Priests around the altar.
Count Henry enters, holding a ba? iner in his hand. He
pauses a moment upon the threshold of the church, then
advances up the aisle to the Archbishop.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We, Thy last priests, in the last Church of Christ,
Implore Thee for the glory of our fathers:
Oh, save us from our enemies, our God !
First Count. See with what pride Count Henry glares
at us !
Secoiul Count. As if the universe were at his feet !
Third Count. He has done nothing yet but cut his way
Across the peasants' camp, and there has left
Two hundred of our men dead on the field.
He slaughtered but one hundred of those wretches.
Second Count. Suffer him not to be appointed chief!
Count Henry {kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop').
This flag, torn from our foe, lies at thy feet !
Archbishop. This sword, once blessed by Florian's
holy hand,
I offer thee !
Voices. Vivat ! Vivat ! Count Henry !
Archbishop {inaking the sign of the cross upon the brow of
Count Henry).
Brave Count, I seal thee with this holy sign
Commander of the castle, — our last rampart : —
In the name of all, I here proclaim thee chief.
Voices. Long live our chief!
A Voice. I must protest. . . .
Many Voices. Be silent !
Away with him ! I^ong live our chief. Count Henry !
Count Henry. If any man has aught to urge against
me.
256 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Let him come boldly forward and advance it,
Nor hide himself, thus skulking 'mid the crowd.
(yNo one 7'csponds. ^
Father, I take the sword ! God punish me
If I should fail to save thee with this blade !
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
Give him Thy might, O God !
Thy Holy Spirit pour upon him !
Save us from all our foes, Lord Jesus !
Count Henry. Swear to defend the glory of our sires,
Their faith and God ! . . . Swear that though hunger,
thirst,
May drive to death, they shall not to dishonor !
Swear that no pain shall force us to submission,
Capitulation, betrayal of our God !
All. We swear !
( The Archbishop kneels and lifts the cross. All iJien kneel. )
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
May Thy wrath strike the perjured.
May Thy wrath strike tlie craven soul.
May Thy wrath strike the traitor,
O Lord, our God !
All. We swear !
Count Henry (drawing his sword from its scabbard).
And 1 — I promise to you, glory !
For victory — yourselves must pray to God !
SCENE IL A court-yard in the castle of the Holy Trinity.
Count Henry, Princes, Counts, Barons, Nobles, Priests.
A Count {leading Count Henry aside). What ! is all lost ?
Count Henry. No. Unless courage fail !
IVie Count. How long must courage last ?
Count Henry. Even unto Death !
A Baron {leadiiig him off on the other side). Count, it
is said you've seen our dreadful foe;
If we sliould fall alive into his hands,
Will he have i)ity on us?
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 257
Count Henry. Such pity as
Our fathers never dreamed that men could dare
To show to tliem : the gallows /
The Baron. Naught then's left
But to defend ourselves to our last breath !
Count Henry. What say you, Prince?
Prince. A word with you alone.
(^He draws Count Henry aside. ')
All you have said does well to soothe the crowd,
But you must kno7i> we can hold out no longer !
Count Henry. What else is left us, Prince ?
Prince. You are our chief;
It is for you to arrange the proper terms,
Capitulate . . .
Count Hc7iry. Hush ! not so loud !
Prince. Why not ?
Count Henry. Your Excellency thus would forfeit life !
{He turns to the men thronging around him. )
Who names surrender will be put to death !
Baron, Count, and Prince {together). Who names sur-
render will be put to death !
AIL Punished with death ! with death ! Vivat ! Vivat !
{Exeunt. )
SCENE III. The gallery of the tower. Count Henry.
Jacob.
Cou7it Henry. Jacob, where is my son ?
Jacob. In the north tower,
Seated upon the threshold of the vault,
Before the grate that opens on the dungeons,
Chanting wild songs and uttering prophecies.
Count Henry. Put more men on the bastion-Eleanore,
And move not from this spot. Use your best glass.
And watch the movements of the rebel camp.
Jacob. So help us God! Meanwhile our troops are faint;
Some brandy might restore them to new life.
Count He my. Open the cellars of our princes, counts ;
Give wine to all who stand upon the walls.
{Exit Jacob. )
( Count Heniy mounts some feet higher, and stands under the
bafiner upon a small terrace. )
258 ^^^-^ UN DT VINE COMEDY.
At last I see you, hated enemies !
With my whole power I trace your cunning plans,
Surround you with my scorn. No more we meet
Within th e rea lm of idle words, of poetry,
But HfThe' ;ra/ world of deadly combat.
Sharp sword to swOfd, the rattling hail of bullets
Winged by the concentration of my hate !
No more with single arm and voice I meet you ;
The strength of many centres in my will :
*******
It is a joyous thing to govern, rule,
Even were it solely at the price of death :
To feel myself the sovereign arbiter.
The master of so many wills and lives ;
To see there at my feet my enemies.
Leaping and howling at me from the abyss,
But all bereft of power to reach me here :
So like the Damned, who vainly lift their heads
Toward Heaven !
I know . . . I know a few hours more of time,
And I and thousands of yon craven wretches
Who have forgot their fothers and their God,
Will be no more forever ! Be it so !
At least I have a few days more of life
To satiate myself with joy of combat.
The ecstasy of full command o'er others,
The giddy daring, struggle, victory, loss!
Tliou, my last song, swell to a chant of triumph,
For death's the latest foe a man can conquer !
*******
The sun sets fi\st behind the needled cliffs,
Sinks in a darksome cloud of threatening vapors;
His crimson rays light luridly the valley. —
Precursor of the bloody death before mc,
I greet you with a fuller, gladder heart
Than I have e'er saluted ye, vain hopes
And promises of joy or blissful love !
*******
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 259
Not through intrigue, through base or cunning skill,
Have I attained the aim of my desires ;
But by a sudden bound I've leaped to fame,
As my persistent dreams told me I must.
Ruler o'er those but yesterday my equals.
Conqueror of death, since willingly I seek hmi,
I stand upon the brink :— Eternal life, or sleep !
SCENE IV. A hall in the castle lighted by torches.
George seated upon a bed. Count Henry enters, and
lays down his arms upon a table.
Count Henry. A hundred fresh men place upon the
ramparts !
After so fierce<i fight my troops need rest.
Jacob {without). So help me God, the Lord !
Count Henry {to George). Thou must have heard
The musketry, the noise of battle, George ?
Keep up thy courage, boy ; we perish not
To-dav, no, nor to-morrow !
George. I heard it all ;
It is not that strikes terror through my heart.
The cannon-ball flies on, and leaves no trace, —
There's something else that makes me shiver, father !
Count Henry. Thou fear'st forme? Is' t that makes
thee so pale ?
George. No, for I know thine hour is not yet come.
Of these escutcheons. {He strikes f lie shield. ) Discus-
sions are in vain ;
I read your heart, and know its secret yearnings.
If you would really find the Infinite
Which hitherto has baffled all your search ;
If you love Truth, and would sincerely seek it ;
If you are really 7nan, created in
The image of our common brotherhood, —
And not the empty hero of a nursery song, —
Oh, list to me ! Let not these fleeting moments
Pass thus in vain ! they fly so rapidly.
Yet are the last in which you can be saved !
Man of the Past, the race renews itself,
A fid of the blood we sjicdjo-day, no trace
Will stain iif--~morrow I "
If you'afe really what you once appeared,
A niati, stand firm in all your former might,
Aid the down-trodden masses ; help the oppressed ;
Emancipate your fellow-men ; work for
The common good ; give up your false desire
Of personal glory ; quit these tottering ruins.
Which all your pride and power can never prop, —
Desert your falling house, and follow me !
Come, help to make an Eden of the Earth !
Time flies. Resolve! for the last time I speak !
Count Henty. Oh, youngest born of Satan's flatter-
ing brood !
( Visibly agitated, he paces up and down the hall, talking to
himself. )
Dreams ! Dreams ! They never can be realized !
Who has the power to mould them into fact ?
248 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
The first man, exiled, in the desert died, —
The flaming sword still guards the Eden-gates, —
Man never more re-enters Paradise ! . . .
Pancras (aside). I have him now ! Have driven the
probe to the core
Of his high heart ! Have struck the electric nerve
Of Poetry, which quivers through the base,
And is the life-chord of his complex being !
Count Henry. Eternal progress ! Human happiness !
Did I not, too, believe them possible? . . .
Here, take my head, provided that may . . ,
(He remains silent, absorbed in reverie, then raising his
head, gazes steadily at Fancras. )
The vision dies — and I can dream no more !
Two centuries ago it might have been :
Mutual accord — but now it is too late !
Accumulated wrongs on either side
Have dug a gulf of separating blood.
Nothing but murder now will satisfy !
A change of race is your necessity.
Pancras. Then join our cry: "Woe to the van-
quished ! Woe ! "
Seeker of happiness, say it but once ;
Join us, and be \\\q first among the victors !
Man's onward path lies through the People's camp !
Count Henry. You boast, but do you know the track-
less ways,
The unseen chances of the gloomy Future ?
Did Destiny at midnight visit you,
And, drawing back the curtains of your tent,
Open before you all her hidden secrets?
Placing her hand upon your scheming brain.
Did she impress on it her seal of victory?
Perchance at mid-day, when o'ercome with heat
All others slept, the pitiless Form appeared.
Assured you of your conquest over me.
That thus you threaten me with sure defeat ?
Are you not made of clay fragile as mine?
You may be victim of the first ball thrown !
The first bold sword-thrust may transfix your heart !
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 249
Your life, like mine, hangs on a single hair;
Like me, you've no immunity from death !
Paticras. Dreams, idle dreams ! Be not deceived by
hopes
So baseless ! men live tmtil their work is dpne !
No bullet aimed by maTT-Trrfr^*erreach me.
No sword will pierce me, while a single one
Of all your haughty caste remains to thwart
The task it is my destiny to fulfill !
And so whate'er my final doom may be,
On its completion it will be too late
To offer you the least advantage !
{The bell of the castle strikes. )
Hark ! time flies fast, and flying, scorns us both !
If you are weary of your own sad life.
Yet save your hapless son I
Count Henry. His pure soul is
Already saved in Heaven ; on earth he must
Share in his father's fate.
{His head sinks heavily and remains for some time buried
in his hands. )
Pancras. Can you reject
All hope for him ? Doom your own son to death ?
{He pauses for an answer, but Count Henry does not speak. )
Nay, you are silent . . . hesitate . . . reflect . . .
Why, that is well . . . reflection suits the man
Who stands on brink of ruin ! . . . Save the boy !
Count Henry. Away ! away ! Back from the mysteries
Now surging through my spirit's passionate depths !
Back ! Back ! profane them not with one vain word, —
They lie beyond your sphere !
The world is yours,
The world of bodies, hungry flesh and blood !
Gorge it with meat, flood it with ruby wine.
But press not in the secrets of my soul !
Leave me, thou seeker of material bliss.
To my own thoughts ; — I fain would be alone !
Pancras. Slave of one phase of thought, chained to
one form,
The corpse of the dead Past rots in thine arms !
22
250
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Shame, Poet ! Warrior ! Prophet ! Scholar ! Sage !
My plastic finge rs mould the world at ivill,
1 can reduce Dotn tnSHght and form to naught,
And out of nothingness mould them, like wax, anew !
Count Henry. You cannot read my heart, follow my
thoughts,
Will never understand me, man of yesterday !
Your sires were buried in a common ditch,
Without distinctive spirit, like dead things.
And not as men of individual stamp.
{He points to the poiiraits of his ancestors. ^
Look at these pictures ! Love of country, home,
Race, kin, — feelings at war with your whole past, —
Are written in each line of their brave brows !
These things are in me as my vital breath,
Their spirit lives entire in their last heir,
Their only representative on earth !
Tell me, O man witliout ancestral graves.
Where is your natal soil, your proper country?
Each coming eve you spread your wandering tent
Upon the ruins of another's home;
Each morn you roll it up, again to unroll
At night ; where'er you pitch, anew to blight and spoil !
You have not, nor will ever find a home,
A sacred hearth, as long as valiant men
Still live to cry with me : All glory to our sires !
Pancras. Yes, glory to our sires in Heaven, on earth.
If there be aught worthy to glorify ! —
We'll test the claims of your own ancestors.
{He points to one of the portraits. )
This noble was a very famous Starost ;
He shot old women in tlie woods, like wrens.
And roasted living Jews: this other with
The inscription Chancem. or, and a great seal
In his right hand, forged acts and falsified,
Burned archives, murdered knights, and gained and
stained
His vast inheritance with blood and poison ;
And through him came your villages, serfs, i)ower !
This dark man with the flashing eye played at
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 25 1
Adultery with wives of trusting friends:
This one with Spanish cloak and Golden Fleece
Served other countries with his own in danger!
This lady pale, with long curled raven locks,
Intrigued with her handsome page,— they murdered him !
This charming woman with the lustrous braids,
Reading a letter from her loving gallant.
Smiles archly,— well she may, for night is near—
And love is bold — and husband trustful, absent \
This timid beauty with the deep-blue eyes
And golden curls, that clasps a Roman hound
In her round arms, where ruby bracelets glow,
Was mistress of a king, and soothed his softer hours.
I like this fellow with a jolly face.
In shooting suit of green ; he ne'er was sober,
Amused himself all day drinking with friends,
And sent his serfs to hunt the tall, red deer.
With hounds for company !
Such is the true account of your most pure,
Unsullied line ! Oppression everywhere !
The noble deemed the serfs' stupidity
His own best safety ; thus he gave the world
Convincing proof of his own intellect !
The Day of Judgment breaks in gloom upon you ;
I promise you not one of your great sires
Shall be forgotten in the dark award 1
Count Henry. Son of the people, you deceive your-
self!
You and your brethren never could have lived
Had not the nobles given you their bread,
Defended you, and for you shed their blood ;
Like beasts, you would have perished on the earth !
When famine came, they gave you grain ; and when
The plague swept over you with breath of death,
They found you nurses, built you hospitals,
And had physicians schooled to snatch you from the
grave.
When they, from unformed brutes, had nurtured you
To human beings, they built churches, schools,
And shared all with you save the battle-field,
For fierce encounter, fiery shock, they knew
252
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
You were not formed to bear !
As lances sharp of pagan warriors
Were wont, shattered and riven, to recoil
From the bright armor of my ancestors.
So fall your idle words, flung quickly back
By dazzling record of their glorious deeds,
Disturbing not the dust that sleeps in fame!
Like howls of rabid dog that froths and snaps,
Until he's driven from the human pale,
Your accusations die in their insanity!
( The castle bell again strikes. )
'Tis almost dawn — and time you should depart
From my ancestral halls. In safety pass
From this old home, my guest !
Pancras. Farewell, until we meet again upon
The ramparts of the Holy Trinity !
And when your powder, shot, and men are gone ? . . .
Count Henry. Then we must draw within sword's
length ! Farewell !
Pancras. We are twin Eagles, but your soaring nest
Is shattered by the lightning !
{^He takes np his scarlet cap and ivraps his cloak about him. ^
In passing from your threshold, I must leave
The curse due to decrepitude : I doom
Yourself, your son, to swift destruction !
Count Henry. Jacob, hola ! (^Enter Jacob. ') Call up
the guards ! Conduct
This man in safety through our outmost post.
Jacob. So help me God, the Lord !
{E. veunt Pancras and Jacob. )
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 253
FIFTH PERIOD.
" Bottomless perdition. "
Milton.
Perched like an eagle, high among the rocks,
Stands the old fortress, " Holy Trinity.
Now from its bastions nothing can be seen,
To right, to left, in front, or in the rear.
But morning mists, unbroken, limitless;
A spectral image of that Deluge wrath ^
Which, as its wild waves rose to sweep o er earth.
Once broke o'er these steep cliffs, these time-worn rocks.
No glimpses can be traced of vale beneath,
Buried in ghastly waves of ice-cold sea,
Wrapping it as the shroud winds round the dead.
No crimson rays of coming sun yet light
The clammy, pallid, winding-sheet of foam.
Upon a bold and naked granite peak.
Above the spectral mist, the castle stands,
A solitary island in this sea.
Its bastions, parapets, and lofty towers
Built of the rock from which they soar, appear
During the lapse of ages to have grown
Out of its stony heart (as human breast
Springs from the centaur's back),-the giant work
Of days long past.
A single banner floats
Above the highest tower ; it is the last,
The only Banner of the Cross on earth !
A shudder stirs and wakes the sleeping mist,
The bleak winds sigh, and silence rules no more ;
The vapor surges, palpitates, and drifts
tions and mdefinue "^^^^^^1^^^^. oi the reader for tl.
e solemnity
ofTclo" th Poe^Sot give too much grandeur to the scene m
which Snst is to appear. -/? . . ^. desDeux Mondes.
22*
254
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
In the first rays shot by the coming sun.
The breeze is chill ; the very light seems frost,
Curdling the clouds that form and roll and drift
Above this tossing sea of fog and foam.
With Nature's tumult other sounds arise,
And human voices mingling with the storm,
Articulate their wail, as it sweeps on.
Borne on and upward by the lifting waves
Of the cloud-surge, they break against the towers,
The castle's granite walls — voices of doom !
Long golden shafts transpierce the sea of foam ;
The clinging shroud of mist is swiftly riven ;
Through vaporous walls that line the spectral chasm
Are glimpses seen of deep abyss below.
How dark it looks athwart the precipice !
Myriads of heads in wild commotion surge ;
The valley swarms with life, as ocean's sands
With writhing things that creep and twist and sting.
The sun ! the sun ! he mounts above the peaks !
The driven, tortured vapors rise in blood ;
More and more clearly grow upon the eye
The threatening swarms fast gathering below.
The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds,
It scales the craggy cliffs, and softly melts
Into the depths of the infinite blue sky.
The valley glitters like a sea of light,
Throws back the sunshine in a dazzling glare,
For every hand is armed with sharpened blade,
And bayonets and points of steel flash fire ;
Millions are pouring through the living depths, —
As numberless as they at last will throng
Into the valley of Jehoshaphat,
When called to answer on the Judgment Day.
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
255
SCENE I. The cathedral in the Fort of the Trinity.
Lords, Senators, and dignitaries are seen on either side
of the nave, each seated at the foot of a statue of a king,
knight, or hero. Compact masses of Nobles stand behind
the statues. The Archbishop is seated in a chair of state, •
in front of the high altar, and holds a sivord upon his
knees. Choir of Priests around the altar.
Count Henry enters, holding a ba? iner in his hand. He
pauses a moment upon the threshold of the church, then
advances up the aisle to the Archbishop.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
We, Thy last priests, in the last Church of Christ,
Implore Thee for the glory of our fathers:
Oh, save us from our enemies, our God !
First Count. See with what pride Count Henry glares
at us !
Secoiul Count. As if the universe were at his feet !
Third Count. He has done nothing yet but cut his way
Across the peasants' camp, and there has left
Two hundred of our men dead on the field.
He slaughtered but one hundred of those wretches.
Second Count. Suffer him not to be appointed chief!
Count Henry {kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop').
This flag, torn from our foe, lies at thy feet !
Archbishop. This sword, once blessed by Florian's
holy hand,
I offer thee !
Voices. Vivat ! Vivat ! Count Henry !
Archbishop {inaking the sign of the cross upon the brow of
Count Henry).
Brave Count, I seal thee with this holy sign
Commander of the castle, — our last rampart : —
In the name of all, I here proclaim thee chief.
Voices. Long live our chief!
A Voice. I must protest. . . .
Many Voices. Be silent !
Away with him ! I^ong live our chief. Count Henry !
Count Henry. If any man has aught to urge against
me.
256 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.
Let him come boldly forward and advance it,
Nor hide himself, thus skulking 'mid the crowd.
(yNo one 7'csponds. ^
Father, I take the sword ! God punish me
If I should fail to save thee with this blade !
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
Give him Thy might, O God !
Thy Holy Spirit pour upon him !
Save us from all our foes, Lord Jesus !
Count Henry. Swear to defend the glory of our sires,
Their faith and God ! . . . Swear that though hunger,
thirst,
May drive to death, they shall not to dishonor !
Swear that no pain shall force us to submission,
Capitulation, betrayal of our God !
All. We swear !
( The Archbishop kneels and lifts the cross. All iJien kneel. )
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
May Thy wrath strike the perjured.
May Thy wrath strike tlie craven soul.
May Thy wrath strike the traitor,
O Lord, our God !
All. We swear !
Count Henry (drawing his sword from its scabbard).
And 1 — I promise to you, glory !
For victory — yourselves must pray to God !
SCENE IL A court-yard in the castle of the Holy Trinity.
Count Henry, Princes, Counts, Barons, Nobles, Priests.
A Count {leading Count Henry aside). What ! is all lost ?
Count Henry. No. Unless courage fail !
IVie Count. How long must courage last ?
Count Henry. Even unto Death !
A Baron {leadiiig him off on the other side). Count, it
is said you've seen our dreadful foe;
If we sliould fall alive into his hands,
Will he have i)ity on us?
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 257
Count Henry. Such pity as
Our fathers never dreamed that men could dare
To show to tliem : the gallows /
The Baron. Naught then's left
But to defend ourselves to our last breath !
Count Henry. What say you, Prince?
Prince. A word with you alone.
(^He draws Count Henry aside. ')
All you have said does well to soothe the crowd,
But you must kno7i> we can hold out no longer !
Count Henry. What else is left us, Prince ?
Prince. You are our chief;
It is for you to arrange the proper terms,
Capitulate . . .
Count Hc7iry. Hush ! not so loud !
Prince. Why not ?
Count Henry. Your Excellency thus would forfeit life !
{He turns to the men thronging around him. )
Who names surrender will be put to death !
Baron, Count, and Prince {together). Who names sur-
render will be put to death !
AIL Punished with death ! with death ! Vivat ! Vivat !
{Exeunt. )
SCENE III. The gallery of the tower. Count Henry.
Jacob.
Cou7it Henry. Jacob, where is my son ?
Jacob. In the north tower,
Seated upon the threshold of the vault,
Before the grate that opens on the dungeons,
Chanting wild songs and uttering prophecies.
Count Henry. Put more men on the bastion-Eleanore,
And move not from this spot. Use your best glass.
And watch the movements of the rebel camp.
Jacob. So help us God! Meanwhile our troops are faint;
Some brandy might restore them to new life.
Count He my. Open the cellars of our princes, counts ;
Give wine to all who stand upon the walls.
{Exit Jacob. )
( Count Heniy mounts some feet higher, and stands under the
bafiner upon a small terrace. )
258 ^^^-^ UN DT VINE COMEDY.
At last I see you, hated enemies !
With my whole power I trace your cunning plans,
Surround you with my scorn. No more we meet
Within th e rea lm of idle words, of poetry,
But HfThe' ;ra/ world of deadly combat.
Sharp sword to swOfd, the rattling hail of bullets
Winged by the concentration of my hate !
No more with single arm and voice I meet you ;
The strength of many centres in my will :
*******
It is a joyous thing to govern, rule,
Even were it solely at the price of death :
To feel myself the sovereign arbiter.
The master of so many wills and lives ;
To see there at my feet my enemies.
Leaping and howling at me from the abyss,
But all bereft of power to reach me here :
So like the Damned, who vainly lift their heads
Toward Heaven !
I know . . . I know a few hours more of time,
And I and thousands of yon craven wretches
Who have forgot their fothers and their God,
Will be no more forever ! Be it so !
At least I have a few days more of life
To satiate myself with joy of combat.
The ecstasy of full command o'er others,
The giddy daring, struggle, victory, loss!
Tliou, my last song, swell to a chant of triumph,
For death's the latest foe a man can conquer !
*******
The sun sets fi\st behind the needled cliffs,
Sinks in a darksome cloud of threatening vapors;
His crimson rays light luridly the valley. —
Precursor of the bloody death before mc,
I greet you with a fuller, gladder heart
Than I have e'er saluted ye, vain hopes
And promises of joy or blissful love !
*******
THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 259
Not through intrigue, through base or cunning skill,
Have I attained the aim of my desires ;
But by a sudden bound I've leaped to fame,
As my persistent dreams told me I must.
Ruler o'er those but yesterday my equals.
Conqueror of death, since willingly I seek hmi,
I stand upon the brink :— Eternal life, or sleep !
SCENE IV. A hall in the castle lighted by torches.
George seated upon a bed. Count Henry enters, and
lays down his arms upon a table.
Count Henry. A hundred fresh men place upon the
ramparts !
After so fierce<i fight my troops need rest.
Jacob {without). So help me God, the Lord !
Count Henry {to George). Thou must have heard
The musketry, the noise of battle, George ?
Keep up thy courage, boy ; we perish not
To-dav, no, nor to-morrow !
George. I heard it all ;
It is not that strikes terror through my heart.
The cannon-ball flies on, and leaves no trace, —
There's something else that makes me shiver, father !
Count Henry. Thou fear'st forme? Is' t that makes
thee so pale ?
George. No, for I know thine hour is not yet come.
