No More Learning

This creed proclaimed, oh, what can stay its course ?

{He fills and empties the goblet. ^
Count Henry. The God who gave all former ' power
and rule
To my strong sires !

21*



242



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



Pancras. And canjiv/^ trust Him still,

When He has given you as a plaything to
The devil all your life ? A jest for friends ?
But let us leave discussions such as these
To theologians, should there linger still
Such fossils upon earth. To facts ! stern facts !

Count Henry. Redeemer of the People, Citizen God !
What can you seek from me ? why visit me ?

Pancras. In the first place, because I wished to know
you:
And in the next, because I wished to save you.

Count Henry. Thanks for the first ; and for the second,
trust my sword !

Pancras. Your God ! Your sword ! Vain phantoms
of the brain !
Look at the dread realities about you !
The curses of the myriads are upon you.
Millions of brawny arms already raised
To hurl you down to death ! Of all the Past
You so much vaunt, nothing remains to you
Save a few feet of earth 3 scarcely enough
To ofi"er you a grave !
The Castle of tlie Holy Trinity,
Your last poor fortress, only can hold out
A few days more. You know you have no men,
Artillery, appliances of war.
Nor powder, shot, nor food for garrison.
Your men xn^xy Jight, but will not stance, and will
Desert you in the hour of utmost need.
I speak the truth ; you know as well as I,
There's nothing left on which to hang a hope !
If I were in your place, heroic Count,
I know what I would do.

Count Henry. Speak on. You see

How patiently I hear. What would you do?

Pancras. Were I Count Henry, I would say to Pan-
cras :
" You speak the truth ; there's not a single hope.
I will dismiss my troops ; my few poor serfs,
Nor seek to hold the ' Holy Trinity,' —
For this, I will retain my title, lands.



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 243

And you will* pledge your honor to the deed,
As guarantee of that agreed upon ! "
How old are you, Count Henry ?

Count Henry. Thirty-six.

Fancras. No more? Then fifteen years of life are
all
You have a just right to expect, for men
Of temperaments like yours always die young.
Your son is nearer to the grave than to
Maturity. A sirigle case like yours
Could do no serious harm to our Great Whole.
Remain, then, where you are, last of the Counts;
Rule while you live in your ancestral home ;
Have, if you will, the portraits all retouched ;
The armorial bearings of your line renewed ;
And think no more of that most wretched remnant
Of your fallen order, which deserves to fall !
You know the People have been long oppressed ;
Stay not the sword of justice as it falls
On their oppressors ! Here's a health ! I drink,
The last of all the Counts !

(Zr<? Jills and drinks another goblet of wine. ^

Count Henry. Cease ! cease ! Each word you utter

breathes new insult !
Can you suppose, to save a wretched life,
I would submit myself to be enslaved,
And dragged in chains behind your car of triumph?
Desert the nobles, whom I have sworn to aid?
No more ! no more ! I can endure no more !
I cannot answer as my spirit prompts ;
You are my guest, and shall be sheltered from
All insult 'neath the shadow of my roof!
My Lares guard you ; plighted my knightly honor !
Pancras. "Plighted and knightly honor" in our

days
Swing oft upon a gallows ! You unfurl
A tattered banner, whose worn, faded rags
Seem out of place among the brilliant flags.
The joyous symbols of humanity
And universal progress. Flaunt it no more !



244 ^-^^ UNDIVINE COMEDY.

I know your generous spirit, and protest »
Against your course, self-sacrificing Count !
Still full of life and manly vigor, you
Would bind your heart to putrefying corpses,
Cling to a vain belief in privilege,
In worn-out relics, and in dead men's bones,
Mouldering escutcheons, and the word of country !
Yet in your inmost soul you're forced to own
Your brother-nobles have deserved their doom,
And that forgetfulness for them were mercy !

Count Henry. You, Pancras, and your noisy followers,
Tell me what you deserve !

Pancras. Life ! Victory !

For we acknowledge but one living right,
One ceaselessjaw ;_li__t he /aw of eternal progress /"
This fatal lawseals your deatT>\varrant. Hark !
Through my just lips it cries to you and yours :
"Mouldering and rotten aristocracy,
Full crammed with meat and wine torn from your serfs.
Effete with luxury, worn out with ease, —
Give place to the young, the strong, the hungry, poor,
Whose vigorous blood will found a nobler race ! "
I will idM^ you, and you alone, Count Henry !

Count Hen7-y. No more ! I will not brook your haughty
pity !
I know you too, and your new riotous world ;
I've seen your camp at night, and looked upon
The swarms upon whose necks you ride to power !
I saw it all ; detected the (? A/ crimes,
l>ut thinly veiled by newer draperies,
Far wilder and more savage than of yore ; —
I saw oLi vices . shin i ng t h Yo\ y^^\new shams,
Whirling to strange new tunes, voluptuous dance, —
The robes were changed, but the old ends were there.
The same which they have been for centuries,
And will forever be while man is man, —
Adultery and theft, murder and license !
I did not see you there I You were not with
Your guilty children, whom you know you scorn;
And if you do not soon go mad with horror
'Mid the wild riots of the cruel people,



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY.



245



You will despise and hate yourself, Great Citizen !
Oh, torture me no more ! . . .

{^He rises, moves hurriedly to and fro, then seats himself
under his escutcheon. )

Pancras. 'Tis true my world is in its infancy,
Unformed and undeveloped ; it needs food,
Rest, ease and pleasure ; but the Giant grows.
Grows rai)idly ; the time is coming fast
When it will its maturity attain,
{lie rises, approaches the Count, and leans against the

armorial pillar. )
The consciousness of its all-powerful strength,
When it shall say in giant tones : I am !
And there will be no other voice on earth
Able to answer : Lo ! I also am !

Count Henry. And then ?

Pancras. Then from the masses quickening 'neath my
breath, •

Of whom I am the representative,
A stronger race will sjiring, higher than aught
The earth has yet produced. They will be free,
Lords of the globe from frozen pole to pole ;
A blooming garden will they make of earth,
Redeem the desert, tame the wilderness.
The sea will gleam with floating palaces.
With argosies of wealth and varied commerce ;
The exchange of all commodities will bear
Desires of mutual recognition on.
While civilization speeds from clime to clime.
And loving hands stretch far across the waves
To clasp each other !
Cities will cluster upon every height,
Bearing rich blessings over every plain.
The sons of earth will all find happy homes,
Her helpful daughters move in active bliss.
The world will be one vast united house,
Of joyous industry, creative art.

Count Henry. Pancras, your words and tones dissemble
well,
But I am not deceived. Your rigid face



246 THE UNDIl'INE COMEDY.

Struggles in vain to assume the generous glow,
The love of good, your cold soul cannot feel.

Pancras. Nay, interrupt me not ! for men have begged
Such prophecies from me on bended knees,
And I would not vouchsafe them to their prayers !
The coining world \v\\\ yet possess a God
Whose highest fact will not be death, defeat,
And agony upon a helpless cross !
This God, the People, by their power and skill,
Will force to unveil his face ; the children whom
He once in anger scattered o'er the earth,
Will tear him from the infinite recess
Of the dim heavens in which he loves to hide !
Babel will be no more. Nations and tribes
Will meet and understand their mutual wants;
A universal language will unite
All in the bonds of charity and peace.
The children having reached majority.
Assert their right to see their Maker's face ;
They loudly claim the just inheritance
Due from a common Father to His Sons :
''The right to knoiv all truth /"
The God of the humanity at last
Reveals Himself to man !

Count Henry. Yes. He revealed Himself some centu-
ries ago !
Humanity through Him already is redeemed!

Pancras. Let it deliglit in bliss of such redemption /
Let it rejoice in all the agonies
Endured by His disciples night and day,
And vainly crying to Him for relief
Through twice a thousand years which have elapsed
Since his inglorious defeat and death !

Count Henry. Blasphemer, cease ! I've seen His
sacred cross,
The holy symbol of His mystic love,
Stand in the heart of Rome, eternal Rome !
Ruins of former ])owers, greater than yours.
Were crumbling into dust around its base :
Hundreds of gods, stronger than those you trust,
Were lying prostrate on the haunted ground ;



THE UNDIVINE COMEDY. 247

Trampled by careless feet, they did not dare

To raise their crushed and wounded heads to gaze

Upon the Crucified \ . . . It stood upon

The seven hills, the mighty arms outstretched

From east to west, as if to embrace the world ;

The golden sunshine lit the Holy Brow,

The perfect calm in utter agony

Told man that Love was still the Conqueror, —

All hearts acknowledged Him Lord of the world !

Pancras. 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!