No More Learning

Count Henry. Beloved, be calm !

Countess. When one is Poet, life cannot be long !

{She faints. ^
Count Henry. Help ! Help ! Send the jDhysician
quickly here !
{Many ivomcn enter, followed by the wife of the physician. ')
Wife of the Physician. Pills ! Powders ! No ; she
cannot swallow them.
Run, Margaret, run quickly ; find the Doctor !
{To the Count. ) This is your fault, sir ; you have made

her ill.
My husband will be very angry with me, sir !
Countess. Henry, farewell !

Wife of the Physician. Then you, sir, are the Count ?
Count Henry. Mary ! Mary !
{Takes her in his arms, covering her with caresses. )
Countess. Darling, I'm well ! I die upon thy heart !

{Her head falls. )
Wife of the Physician. Her face is flushed ! The blood

o'erfloods her brain !
Count Henry. There is no danger, none! This will
be nothing. . . .
{The Physician enters and stands by the couch. )
Physician. Your words are truth, — for there is no-
thing here !
All's over ! She is dead !



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 197



THIRD PERIOD.

" Gemisch von Koth und Feuer. "
(" Compound of clay and fire. ")

Faust: Goethe.

Oh, child ! why lie thy toys neglected round thee? *

Why never leap astride a cane for horse

And gallop off? Why not impale the bright

Winged butterflies, enjoy their dying glitter?

Why never sport upon the grass, turn somersaults.

Steal sugar-plums, rob apple-trees, and wet

Thy alphabet, from A to Z, with tears?

Thou king of rabbits, dogs, bees, flies, and moths,

Of cowslips, daisies, marbles, kites, and tops ;

Thou royal friend of birds, of Punch, and puppets ;

Outlaw of petty mischiefs, — why resign

Thy kingdom? Poet's son, oh, wherefore art

Thou sad, — so like an angel in thy guise?

What meanings haunt the depths of thy blue eyes ?
Why do they seek the ground, as if weighed down
By drooping lashes, mournful memories.
Though they have only watched the violets
Of a few springs? Why heavily sinks thy head
Upon thy small white hands ? . . .
Like snow-drops burdened with the dews of night
Thy brow seems bent with weight of mystic thought.

And when thy pale cheek floods with sudden flush,

Red as a rose amidst its hundred leaves.

And, tossing back thy golden curls, thou gazest

* This Invocation is addressed to the son of the Count. This child,
whose father was the lover of phantoms, is himself but a phantom ; one
of those frail beings in whom the excessive development of internal
life exhausts and consumes the ext ernal envelj jpe. His soul, even before
quitting the body, Ts almost free from its ties with the body, and already
visits the invisible world. Two moral maladies, too common in our time,
are seen in the characters of the father and son. In the first, the per-
ception of the ideal is falsified and distorted ; in the second, it is exag-
gerated. The Count is a dreamer ; the son a clairvoyant. — Revue.



198



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



Into the skies, — tell me, what seest thou there,
What hearest, and with whom thou holdest converse?
For then the light and quivering wrinkles weave
Their living mesh across thy blue-veined brow
From distaff all unseen ; from viewless coils.
Like silken threads, the changeful web is wrought,
While in thine eyes still gleams an unknown flame,
Which none can ever trace or understand.
Thy nurse may call ; thou seemest not to hear ;
She vainly weeps, deeming thou lovest her not.
Thy cousins, friends, then cry to thee unheard.
And think thou dost not wish to recognize them.
Thy father speaks not, but observes thee closely,
Gloomy and silent, while the gathering tears
Swell 'neath his eyelids, — soon to disappear —
Perchance to fall upon his heart !

When the physician comes, he feels thy pulse,

Says thou art nervous as he counts its throbs.

The old godfather brings thee sugar-plums.

And pats thee on thy shoulder, saying : " George,

Thou' It be a statesman in thy native land ! "

The learned professor takes thee, runs his hand

Among thy ringlets, says thou wilt possess

A talent for the exact sciences !

The beggar, whom thou never pass'st without

Casting a coin into his tattered hat.

Foresees a lovely wife, a heavenly crown for thee.

The crippled soldier, tossing thee in air,

Declares thou art to be a general.

The wandering gypsy scans thy tender face.

Traces the lines upon thy little hands,

Seeking in vain to read thy destiny.

Looks sadly at thee, sighs and turns away.

And will not take the gold-piece offered her.

The magnetizer strokes thy sunny curls, _

And makes his passes round thy wondering face,

But stops affrighted as he feels that he,

Listead of thee, is falling into sleep.

And Father Benjamin, preparing thee

For thy confession, felt like kneeling down



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 199

Before thee as before a holy image.
A painter caught thee in a heady rage,
Stamping thy tiny feet upon the floor,
And in his picture of the Judgment Day
He painted thee among the infant demons :
A rebel cherub !

Meanwhile, thou grow'st apace,
More and more beautiful each passing hour !
Not in the childish bloom of rose and snow,
But in the spiritual loveliness
Of thoughts far and mysterious, which seem
To come to thee from unseen worlds.
And though thy cheek is sometimes pale, thine eyes
With saddened gaze droop wearily their fringes.
Thy breast contracted, — all who meet thee stop
To gaze, exclaim : " How beautiful ! an angel ! "
If some frail flower, already fading, had
A breath from Heaven and a glittering soul ;
And if on every leaf bending towards earth.
In place of dew-drop hung an angel's thought,
Infant ! such flower would most resemble thee !

Perchance such blossoms bloomed in Paradise
Before the fall of Adam !

SCENE I. (Count Henry and George in a grave-yard,
seated near a Gothic tomb. ~)

Count Henry. Take off thy hat, my son, and pray for rest
To thy dead mother's soul !

George. Hail Mary, full of grace !

Hail, Queen, who scent'st the flowers, fringest the
streams . . .

Couftt Henry. Hast thou forgot the words, that thus
thou chang'st the prayer?
Pray for thy mother, George, who died so young :
Died at this very hour ten years ago.

George. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,
And the angels bless !

Ah ! when thou glid'st across the sky, each plucks
Bright rainbow plumage from his sparkling wings.



200 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

And casts it at thy feet ! Thou floatest on,
As though the ocean waves bore thee along !

Count Hefiry. George ! George !

George. Do not be angry with me, father !

When these words come to me, they hurt my head.
And I must say them.

Count Henry. Rise, George ! Such prayers will never
reach our God.
Thou hast no memory of thy mother ; so
Thou canst not love her. . . .

George. I often see mamma.

Count Henry. Thou seest mamma ! Where dost thou
see her, George ?

George. In dreams, — not quite in dreams, — before I
sleep !
I saw her yesterday.

Count Henry. What say'st thou, boy?

George. She looked so pale and thin.

Count Henry. But did she speak?

George. It seemed to me she wandered up and down
Alone in a vast Dark ; but she was white.
She sang to me last night ; I know the song :
Say, shall I sing it, Father ?

(Sings. ) "I wander through the Universe,

I search through infinite sjjace,
I pass through chaos, darkness.

To bring thee light and grace:
I listen to the angel's song.

To catch the heavenly tone ;
Seek every form of beauty.

To bring to thee, mine own !

" I seek from highest spirits,

From those of lower might,
Rainbow colors, depths of shadow.

Burning contrasts, dark and bright ;
Rhythmed tones and hues from Eden

Hoating through the heavenly bars,
Sages' wisdom, seraphs' loving,

Mystic glories from the stars ;



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 20I

That thou mayst be a poet, richly gifted from above,
To win thy father's inmost heart, and ever keep his love. "

Thou seest my mother dear does speak to me ;
That I remember all she ever says !

Count Henry {leaning against one of the pillars of the tomU).

Mary, wilt thou destroy thine own fair child,
And crush me 'neath the weight of two such sepulchres?
*******

I rave ! she is as safe and calm in Heaven

As she was sweet and pure upon the earth I . . .

My poor boy dreams ! , . .

George. I hear her now, but cannot see mamma !

Count He firy. Where? . . . Whence comes the voice?

George. It seems to come

From yon two cypress-trees, now glittering in
The sun's last rays :

(Sings. ') "I pour through thy spirit

Music and might ;
I wreathe thy pale forehead

With halos of light ;
E'en if blind, I would show thee

Blest forms from above,
Floating far through the spaces

Of infinite love,
Which the angels in Heaven, and men on the earth
Know as Beauty. I've sought since the day of thy birth
To waken thy spirit,

My darling, my own,
That the hopes of the father

May rest on his son !
That his love warm and glowing

Unchanging may shine ;
And his heart, infant poet,

Forever be thine ! "

Count Henry. Do the last thoughts of dying mortals live
And torture them in their eternal homes?
Can blessed spirits still be mad in Heaven,

18



202 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

And take tlieir place among Thy angels, God ?
Insanity make part of immortality?

George. Her voice grows ever fainter and more faint :
Father, it dies behind the grave-yard wall.
Father, down there ! . . .
Mamma is still rej)eating as she goes :

"That his love warm and glowing
Unchanging may shine;
And his heart, little poet,
Forever be thine ! "

Cojnit JTcjiry {kneeling). O God, have pity on our in-
nocent child !
Hast Thon predestinated hivi in wrath
To sickness, madness, to an early death?
Oh, rob him not of reason ! Leave not void
The sanctuary Thou hast built, O God,
In Thine own Image for a holy temple !
Look down upon my restless agony !
Yield not this angel to the fiends in Hell !
I pray not for myself, for Thou hast given
Me strength to bear the weight of passions, thoughts;
But pity him ! poor fragile little being !
One thought would snap his slender thread of life !
O God ! my God !

For ten long years I've known no hour of peace !
Many have envied me my happiness ;
They did not know how fast as cutting hail.
Tempests of agony Thou'st driven on me;
Gloomy presentiments, illusions, woes!
My reason Thou hast left, but Thou hast stricken,
Hardened my heart ! Thy benefits have been
All for my mind ; none for my freezing soul.
God ! suffer me to love my son in peace !
And let a covenant be made between
The Creator and His creature. . . .

* * * + * (^Rises. )

My son, now cross thyself, and come with me.
Eternal rest be with ihy mother's soul !

{^Exit with George. )



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 203

SCENE II. A public square. Ladies and gentlemen
walking about. A Philosopher. Count Henry.

Philosopher. I must repeat it, and it is in me
An absolute, intuitive conviction,
The time is near for the emancipation
Of negroes and of women.

Count Henry. You are right.

Philosopher. And from a social transformation, both
In general and particular, I deduce
A greai regeneration of our race,
TbfOtt^v-Uloodiihed, and dc:struction of old forms !
Count Henry. YoIftTunk so ?
Philosopher. As on its axis oscillates

Our globe, lifting itself and sinking, by a course
Of sudden evolutions, we . . . • , •,

Count Henry. See you this rotten tree standmg beside

us?
Philosopher. With the young leaves upon its branches ?
Coimt Henry. Yes.

How long do you suppose it still will stand ?

Philosopher. How can I know ? Perhaps a year or two.
Count Henry. Although its roots are dead, it still puts
forth
A few green leaves.

Philosopher. What does that prove ?

Count Henry. Nothing, except that it will surely fall,
Be cast into the fire, because not fit
To bear the moulder's chisel, rotten at heart.

Philosopher. I cannot see how that concerns our sub-
ject.
Count Henry. I pray you pardon me : it is your image.
As that of your disciples, theories.
And of our century. . . . {They pass out of sight. )

SCENE III. A gorge in the midst of the mountains.
Count Henry alone.

Count Henry. I've sought through many weary years to

find
The last word of all science, feelings, thoughts,
To solve the problem of our destiny ;



204



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



And in the depths of my own heart I've found

The tomb's dark nothingness !

I know the names of all the human feelings,

But \feel nothing !

Nor faith, desire, nor love throbs in my soul !

Some dim presentiments still haunt its desert :

I know my son will soon be wholly blind ;

That this society in which I live

Is even now in pangs of dissolution :

And I am wretched as our God is happy;

That is to say in me, and for myself alone.

Voice of the Guat'dian Angel. Comfort thy hungry and

despairing brothers !

Love thy poor neighbor as thou dost thyself!

And thus thou shalt be saved.

Count Henry. Who was it spoke ?

Mephistophelcs {passing). Your very humble servant.

Sometimes I

Amuse myself by drawing the attention

Of travelers by a gift I hold from nature.

I'm a ventriloquist.

Count Henry {touching his hat with his hafid^. It seems

to me

That I have somewhere seen that face before :

In an old picture, or a print.

Mephistopheles {aside). The Count

Has a good memory.

Count Henry. May God be praised*

Forever and for evermore ! Amen.

Mephistopheles {disappearing among the rocks). Curses

on thee, and thy stupidity !

Count Henry. Poor child ! condemned to an eternal

blindness

Because thy father sinned, thy mother lost her senses :

Being without a passion, incomplete.

Living but in wild dreams and visions, thou

Art never destined to maturity !

Thou shadow of an angel thrown on earth,

IJ)riven by illusions, suffering infinite sorrow !
******

* Form of salutation common in Poland.



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



205



Ha ! what a monstrous eagle rises there,*
Just where the stranger vanished by the rock !

The Eagle. All Hail ! All Hail !

Count Henry. He flies to me. I hear

The whirrings of his great black wings ; they stir
Me like the hail of musketry in fight.

Eagle. The sword once wielded by thy ancestors,
Draw from its sheath ! Maintain their glory, power!

Count Henry. His black wings circle me and fire my
blood !
He plunges in my eye his gaze of basilisk !
Ha ! now I understand thee !

Eagle. Never yield,

Never retreat, despair ; and thus thy foes,
Thy craven foes, conquered, shall bite the dust !

Count Hemy. What, gone ? Then I salute thee from
the rocks
Which witnessed our encounter ! Come what may, —
Whether the Future be or true or false.
Or triumph, or defeat, — I trust in thee,
Herald of glory ! Genius of the Past,
Come to my aid ! And even if thy breath
Into God's bO'Som has returned, let it
Detach itself, descend in me, become
Thought, force, and action !

(^Crushing a viper with his foot. )
Go, reptile, go ! And as no sigh for thee
Will heave from nature's heart as thou liest crushed,
Thus shall they all too plunge in the abyss,
Nor leave regret, nor fame, nor memory !
Not one of all yon hurrying clouds will pause
A moment in its flight o'er heaven, to look
In pity on the army of earth's sons
Whom I will wrap in general destruction.

******
First they will perish . . . afterwards myself!

******



* The eagle is the symbol of ambjtion, evoked, as it will be remem-
bered, by the demons in the first period of Ihe Drama.

iS*



2o6 THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.

Oh, boundless azure of aerial blue,

Cradling the earth : she, new-born infant, wails.

Weeps, sobs ; but thou, ever impassible.

Nor hear'st, nor heed'st — whatever be her moan, —

Rolling forever toward the infinite !

Farewell, O mother nature ! . . . I must go,

Become a man, take arms against ray Brothers !



SCENE IV. A chajtibcr in the castle. Count Henry,
George, and a Physician.

Coiait Henry. All science yet has failed. My last
hope rests
In you alone.

Physician. You honor me too much.

Coufit Henry. Speak, George, and tell us how and
what you feelj

George. I cannot see you, father ; cannot see
The gentleman to whom I hear you speak.
Bright sparks, black threads, pass and repass before
My eyes unceasingly. Sometimes it is
As if a shining snake crawled out of them,
Sometimes a golden cloud. This cloud will rise,
Or fall ; a rainbow then will seem upon it ;
Sometimes they disappear — and all is dark.
I do not suffer, father ; they give no pain.

Physician. Come, George, beneath the shadow of this
arch !
How old are you ? {He examines his eyes. )

Count Henry. Almost fifteen.

Physician. Now turn

Your eyes directly to the light !

Count Henry. What hope ?

Physician. The lids are sound ; the white of the eye
is clear ;
The nerves and muscles not at all enfeebled ;
The blue is deep ; the veins are as they should be.

( To George. ^ Be not uneasy ; you will soon be cured ;

(^To Count Henry, aside. ) There is no hope ! look at
the pupils, Count;



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 207

There's no susceptibility to light :
The optic nerve is wholly paralyzed.

George. A black cloud seems to shroud all things
around me !

Count Henry {aside). It is too true ! his lids are raised,
his eyes
Are opened wide and gazing at the light,
But they see nothing ! blue and lifeless — dead !

George. But when my lids are shut, I can see more
Than when they're open, father !

Physician. Have a care ;

His mind has killed his body ! we must guard
The boy from catalepsy.

Count Henry. Save him, Doctor !

The half of my estate shall be your own.

Physician. That which has perished cannot be revived !
{He takes his hat and cane. )
Accept my sympathy ! I cannot stay,
I've an engagement with a lady, Count,
To couch a cataract. Farewell !

Count Henry. For Heaven's sake, stay!