PART III.
'Il fut administé, parceque le niais demandait un prètre, puis pende à la satisfaction generale,' etc, etc.—Rapport du citoyen Gaillot, commissaire de la sixième chambre, an III., 5 prairial.
'The sacraments were administered to him, because the fool demanded a priest; he was hung to the general satisfaction.'—Report of citizen Gaillot, commissary of the sixth session, 3d year, 5th prairial.
A song! a new song!
Who will begin it? Who will end it?
Give me the Past, clad in steel, barbed with iron, floating in knightly plumes! With magic power I would invoke before you gothic towers and castellated turrets, bristling barbacans and mighty arches, baronial halls and clustered shafts; I would throw around you the giant shadows of vaulted domes and of revered cathedrals: but it may not be; all that is with the Past: the Past is never to return!
Speak, whosoever thou mayst be, and tell me in what thou believest! It is easier to lose thy life than to invent a faith; to awaken any belief in it!
Shame upon you all, great and small, for all things pursue their own course in defiance of your schemes! You may be mean and wretched, without hearts and without brains, yet the world hastens to its allotted destiny; it hurries you on whether you will or no, throws you in the dust, tosses you into wild confusion, or whirls you in resistless circles, which cease not until they grow into dances of Death! But the world rolls on—on; clouds and storms arise and vanish; then it grows slippery—new couples join the dance of Death—they totter—fall—lost in an abyss of blood—for it is slippery-blood-human blood is gushing everywhere, as if the path to peace led through a charnel house!
Behold the crowds of people thronging the gates of the cities, the hills, the valleys, and resting beneath the shadows of the trees! Tents are spread about, long boards are placed on the trunks of fallen trees or on pikes and sticks to serve as tables; they are covered with meat and drink, the full cups pass from hand to hand, and, as they touch the eager mouth, threats, oaths, and curses press forth from the hot lips. Faster and faster fly the cups from hand to hand, beaded, bubbling, glittering, always filling, striking, tinkling, ringing, as they circle among the millions: Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy!
How fiercely they are agitated; how impatiently they wait! They murmur, they break into riotous noise!
Poor wretches! scarcely covered with their miserable rags, the seal of weary labors deeply stamped upon their sunburnt faces set with uncombed, bristling hair, the sweat starting from their rugged brows, their strong and horny hands armed with scythes, axes, hammers, hatchets, spades!
Look at that broad youth with the pickaxe; at the slight one with the sword. Here is one who holds aloft a glittering pike; another who brandishes a massive club with his brawny arm! There under the willows a boy crams cherries into his mouth with the one hand, and with the other punches the tree with a long, sharp awl. Women are also there, wives, mothers, daughters, poor and hungry as the men, Not a single trace of womanly beauty, of healthful freshness upon them; their hair is disordered and sprinkled with the dust of the highways, their tawny bodies scarcely covered with unsightly rags, their gloomy eyes seem fading into their sockets, only half open as if gluing together in very weariness: but they will soon be quickened, for the full cup flies from lip to lip, they quaff long draughts: Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy!
Hark! a noise and rustling among the masses! Is it joy, or is it grief? Who can read the meaning of a thing so monstrously multiform!
A man arrives, mounts a table, harangues and sways the multitude. His voice drags and grates upon the ear, but hacks itself into sharp, strong words, clearly heard and easily understood; his gestures are slow and light, accompanying his words as music, song. His brow is high and strong, his head is entirely bald; thought has uprooted its last hair. His skin is dull and tawny, the blood never tinges its dingy pallor, no emotion ever paints its secrets there, yellow wrinkles form and cross between the bones and muscles of his face, and a dark beard, like a black wreath, encircles it from temple to temple. He fastens a steady gaze upon his hearers, no doubt or hesitation ever clouds his clear, cold eye. When he raises his arm and stretches it out toward the people, they bow before him, as if to receive, prostrate, the blessing of a great intellect, not that of a great heart! Down, down with the great hearts! Away, away with old prejudices! Hurrah! hurrah! for the words of consolation! Hurrah for the license to murder!
This man is the idol of the people, their passion, the ruler of their souls, the stimulator of their enthusiasm. He promises them bread and money, and their cries rise like the rushing of a storm, widening and deepening in every direction: 'Long live Pancratius! Hurrah! Bread and money! Bread for us, our wives, our children! Hurrah! hurrah!'
At the feet of the speaker, leaning against the table on which he stands, rests his friend, companion, and disciple. His eye is dark and oriental, shadowed by long and gloomy lashes, his arms hang down, his limbs bend under him, his body is badly formed and distorted, his mouth is sensual and voluptuous, his expression is sharp and malicious, his fingers are laden with rings of gold—he joins the tumult, crying with a rough, hoarse voice: 'Long live Pancratius!' The speaker looks at him carelessly for a moment, and says: 'Citizen, Baptized, hand me a handkerchief!'
Meantime the uproar continues; the cries become more and more tumultuous: 'Bread for us! Bread! bread! Long live Pancratius! Death to the nobles! to the merchants! to the rich! Bread! bread! Bread and blood! Hurrah! hurrah!'
A tabernacle. Lamps. An open book lies on a table. Baptized Jews.
The Baptized. My wretched brethren; my revenge-seeking, beloved brethren! let us suck nourishment from the pages of the Talmud, as from the breast of our mother; it is the breast of life from which strength and honey flow for us, bitterness and poison for our enemies.
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Jehovah is our God, and ours alone; therefore has He scattered us in every land!
Like the coiled folds of an enormous serpent, He has wreathed us everywhere round and through the adorers of the cross; our lithe and subtile rings pass round and through our foolish, proud, unclean rulers.
Let us thrice spew them forth to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
The Baptized. Rejoice, my brethren! the Cross of our Great Enemy is already more than half hewn down; it is rotting to its fall; it is only standing on a root of blood: if it once plunge into the abyss it will never rise again. Hitherto the nobles have been its sole defence, but they are ours! ours!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Our work, our long, long work of centuries, our sad, ardent, painful work is almost done!
Death to the nobles—let us thrice spew them forth to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
The Baptized. The might of Israel shall be built upon a liberty without law or order, upon a slaughter without end, upon the pride of the nobility, the folly of the masses. The nobles are almost destroyed; we must drive the few still left into the abyss of death, and scatter over their livid corpses the ruins of the shattered cross in which they trusted!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. The cross is now our holy symbol; the water of baptism has reunited us with men; the scorning repose upon the love of the scorned!
The freedom of men is our cry; the welfare of the people our aim; ha! ha! the eons of Christ trust the sons of Caiaphas!
Centuries ago our fathers tortured our Great Enemy to death; we will again torture him to death this very day—but He will never rise more from the grave which we prepare for Him!
The Baptized. Yet a little space, a little time, a few drops of poison, and the whole world will be our own, my brethren!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Jehovah is the God of Israel, and of it alone.
Let us thrice spew forth the nations to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
Knocking is heard at the door.
The Baptized. Take up your work, brethren! And thou, Holy Book, away from sight—no unclean look shall soil thy spotless leaves! Who is there?
Hides the Talmud.
Voice (without). A friend. Open in the name of freedom.
The Baptized. Quick to your hammers and looms, my brethren!
He opens the door.
Enter Leonard.
Leonard. Well done, citizens. You watch, I see, and whet your swords for to-morrow.—(Approaching one of the men:) What are you making here in this corner?
One of the Baptized. Ropes.
Leonard. You are right, citizen, for he who falls not by iron must hang!
The Baptized. Citizen Leonard, is the thing really to come off to-morrow?
Leonard. He who thinks, feels, and acts with the most force among us, has sent me to you to appoint an interview. He will himself answer your question.
The Baptized. I go to meet him. Brethren, remain at work. Look well to them, citizen Yankel.
Exit with Leonard.
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Ye ropes and daggers, ye clubs and bills, the works of our hands, ye wilt go forth to destroy them!
The people will kill the nobles upon the plains, will hang them in the forests, and then, having none to defend them, we will kill and hang the people! The Despised will arise in their anger, will array themselves in the might of Jehovah: His Word is Redemption and Love for His people Israel, but scorn and fury for their enemies!
Let us thrice spew them forth to destruction: threefold curses fall upon them!
A tent. A profusion of flasks, cups, and flagons. Pancratius alone.
Pancratius. The mob howled in applause but a moment ago, shouted in loud hurrahs at every word I uttered. But is there a single man among them all who really understands my ideas, or who comprehends the end and aim of that path upon which we have entered, or where the reforms will terminate which have been so loudly inaugurated within the last hour? 'Ah! fervidum imitatorum pecus!'
Enter Leonard and the Baptized Jew.
Do you know Count Henry?
The Baptized. I know him well by sight, great citizen, but I am not personally acquainted with him. I remember once when I was approaching the Lord's Supper, he cried to me, 'Out of the way!' and looked down upon me with the arrogant look peculiar to the nobles—for which I vowed him a rope in my soul.
Pancratius. Prepare to visit him early to-morrow morning, and announce to him that it is my wish to confer with him alone.
The Baptized. How many men will you send with me on this embassy? I do not think it would be safe to undertake it without a guard.
Pancratius. You must go alone, my name will be sufficient guard, and the gallows on which you hung the baron yesterday, your shield.
The Baptized. Woe is me!
Pancratius. Tell him I will visit him to-morrow night.
The Baptized. And if he should put me in chains or order me to be hung?
Pancratius. You would die a martyr for the freedom of the people!
The Baptized. I will sacrifice all for the freedom of the people.—(Aside.) Woe is me!—(Aloud.) Good night, citizen.
Exit the Baptized.
Leonard. Pancratius, why this delay, these half measures, these contracts, this strange interview? When I swore to honor and obey you, it was because I believed you to be a hero of extremes, an eagle flying even in the face of the sun directly to its aim; a brave man ready to venture all upon the cast of a die.
Pancratius. Silence, child!
Leonard. Everything is ready; the baptized Jews have forged arms and woven ropes; the masses clamor for immediate orders. Speak but the word now, and the electric sparks will fly, the millions flash into forked lightnings, kindle into flame, and consume our enemies!
Pancratius. You are young, and the blood mounts rapidly into your brain; but will the hour of combat find you more resolute than myself?
Leonard. Think well what you are doing. The nobles, weak and exhausted, have fled for refuge to the famous fortress of the Holy Trinity,[1] and await our arrival, as men wait the knife of the guillotine.
Forward, citizen, attack them without delay, and it is over with them forever!
Pancratius. It can make no difference; they have lost the old energy of their caste in luxury and idleness. To-morrow or the next day they must fall, what matter which?
Leonard. What and whom do you fear, and why do you delay?
Pancratius. I fear nothing. I act but in accordance with my own will.
Leonard. And am I to trust it blindly?
Pancratius. Yes. Blindly.
Leonard. You may betray us, citizen!
Pancratius. Betrayal rings forever from your lips like the refrain of an old song.
But hush! not so loud—if any one should hear us ...
Leonard. There are no spies here; and what if some one should hear us?
Pancratius. Nothing; only five balls in your heart for having ventured to raise your voice a tone too high in my presence. (Approaching close to him.) Leonard, trust me, and be tranquil!
Leonard. I confess I have been too hasty, but I fear no punishment. If my death could help the cause of the down-trodden masses, I would cheerfully die.
Pancratius. You are full of life, hope, faith. Happiest of men, I will not rob you of the bliss of existence.
Leonard. What do you say, citizen?
Pancratius. Think more; speak less; the time will come when you will fully understand me!
Have you collected the provisions for the carousal of the millions?
Leonard. They have all been sent to the arsenal under guard.
Pancratius. Has the contribution from the shoemakers been received?
Leonard. It has. Every one gave with the greatest eagerness; it amounts to a hundred thousand.
Pancratius. They must all be invited to a general festival to-morrow.
Have you heard nothing of Count Henry?
Leonard. I despise the nobles too deeply to credit what I hear of him. The dying race have no energy left; it is impossible they should dare or venture aught.
Pancratius. And yet it is true that he is collecting and training his serfs and peasants, and, confiding in their devotion and attachment to himself, intends leading them to the relief of the fortress of the Holy Trinity.
Leonard. Who can oppose us? The ideas of our century stand incorporated in us!
Pancratius. I am determined to see Count Henry, to gaze into his eyes, to read the very depths of his brave spirit, to win him over to the glorious cause of the people.
Leonard. An aristocrat, body and soul!
Pancratius. True: but also a Poet!
Good night, Leonard, I would be alone.
Leonard. Have you forgiven me, citizen?
Pancratius. Sleep in peace: if I had not forgiven you, you would ere this have slept the eternal sleep.
Leonard. And will nothing take place to-morrow?
Pancratius. Good night, and pleasant dreams!
Leonard is retiring.
Ho, Leonard!
Leonard. Citizen general?
Pancratius. You will accompany me day after morrow on my visit to Count Henry.
Leonard. I will obey.
Exit Leonard.
Pancratius. How is it that this man, Count Henry, still dares to resist and defy me, the ruler of millions? His forces will bear no comparison with mine; indeed he stands almost alone, although it is true that some hundred or two of peasants, confiding blindly in his word and clinging to him as the dog clings to his master, still cluster round him—but that is all folly, and can amount to nothing. Why, then, do I long to see him, long to win him to our side? Has my spirit for the first time encountered its equal? Can it progress no farther in the path in which he stands to oppose me? His resistance is the last obstacle to be overcome—he must be overthrown—and then? ... and then! ...
O my cunning intellect! Canst thou not deceive thyself as thou hast deceived others?...
Shame! thou shouldst know thine own might! Thou art thought, the intelligence and reason of the people—the ruler of the masses—thou controllest the millions, so that their will and giant force is one with thine—all authority and government are incarnated and concentrated in thee alone—all that would be crime in others is in thee fame and glory—thou hast given name and place to unknown and obscure men—thou hast given faith and eloquence to beings who had been almost robbed of moral sentiment—thou hast created a new world in thine own image, and art thyself its god! and yet ... and yet ... thou art wandering in unknown wastes, and fearest to be lost thyself—to go astray!
Thou knowest not thyself, nor of what thou art capable; thou rulest others, yet doubt'st thyself—thou knowest not what thou art—whither thou goest—nor whence thou earnest! No ... no.... Thou art sublime!
Sinks upon a chair in silent thought.
A forest, with a cleared hill in its midst, upon which stands a gallows; huts, tents, watchfires, barrels, tables, and crowds of men. The Man disguised in a dark cloak and red liberty cap, and holding the Baptized Jew by the hand.
The Man. Remember!
The Baptized (in a whisper). Upon my honor, I will lead your excellency aright, I will not betray you.
The Man. Give but one suspicious wink, raise but a finger, and my bullet finds its way to your heart! You may readily imagine that I attach no great value to your life when I thus lightly risk my own.
The Baptized. Oh woe! You press my hand like a vice of steel. What is it you wish me to do?
The Man. Appear to the crowd as if I were an acquaintance—treat me as a newly arrived friend.
What kind of a dance is that?
The Baptized. The dance of a free people.
Men and woman dance, leap, and sing round the gallows.
Their Chorus. Bread! meat! work! wood in winter, rest in summer! Hurrah! hurrah!
God had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
Kings had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
The nobles had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
We renounce God, kings, and nobles: Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
The Man (to a maiden). I am glad to see you look so gay, so blooming.
The Maiden. I am sure we have waited quite long enough for such a day as this! I have washed dishes and cleaned knives and forks all my life, without ever having heard a kind word spoken to me: it is high time I too should begin to eat, to dance, to make merry. Hurrah! hurrah!
The Man. Dance, citizeness!
The Baptized. For God's sake, be cautious, count! You may be recognized; let us go!
The Man. If any one should recognize me, you are lost. We will mingle with the throng.
The Baptized. A crowd of servants are sitting under the shade of this oak.
The Man. Let us approach them.
First Servant. I have just killed my first master.
Second Servant. And I am on the search for my baron. Your health, citizens!
Valet de Chambre. In the sweat of our brows, in the depths of humiliation, licking the dust from the boots of our masters, and prostrate before them, we have yet always felt our rights as men: let us drink the health of our present society!
Chorus of Servants. Here's to the health of our citizen President! one of ourselves, he will lead us to glory!
Valet de Chambre. Thanks, citizens, thanks!
Chorus of Servants. Out of dark kitchens, dressing rooms, and antechambers, our prisons of old, we rush together into freedom: Hurrah!
We know the ridiculous follies, peevishness, and perversity of our masters; we have been behind the shows and shams of glittering halls: Hurrah!
The Man. Whose voices are those I hear so harsh and wild from that little mound on our left?
The Baptized. The butchers are singing a chorus.
Chorus of the Butchers. The cleaver and axe are our weapons; our life is in the slaughter house; we know the hue of blood, and care not if we kill cattle or nobles!
Children of blood and strength, we look with indifference upon the pale and weak; he who needs us, has us; we slaughter beeves for the nobles; the nobles for the people!
The cleaver and axe are our arms; our life is in the slaughter house: Hurrah for the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house!
The Man. Come! I like the next group better; honor and philosophy are at least named in it. Good evening, madame!
The Baptized. It would be better if your excellency should say, 'citizeness,' or 'woman of freedom.'
Woman. What do you mean by the title, 'madame?' From whence did it come? Fie! fie! you smell of mould!
The Man. Pardon my mistake!
Woman. I am as free as you, I am a free woman; I give my love freely to the community, because they have acknowledged my right to lavish it where I will!
The Man. And have the community given you for it these jewelled rings, these chains of violet amethysts?... O thrice beneficent community!
The Woman. No, the community did not give them to me; but at my emancipation I took these things secretly from the casket of my husband, for he was my enemy, the enemy of freedom, and had long held me enslaved!
The Man. Citizeness, I wish you a most agreeable promenade!
They pass on.
Who is this marvellous-looking warrior leaning upon a two-edged sword, with a death's head upon his cap, another upon his badge, and a third upon his breast? Is he not the famous Bianchetti, a condottiere employed by the people, as the condottieri once were by the kings and nobles?
The Baptized. Yes, it is Bianchetti; he has been with us for the last eight or ten days.
The Man (to Bianchetti). What is General Bianchetti considering with so much attention?
Bianchetti. Look through this opening in the woods, citizen, and you will see a castle upon a hill: with my glass I can see the walls, ramparts, bastions, etc.
The Man. It will be hard to take, will it not?
Bianchetti. Kings and devils! it can be surrounded by subterranean passages, undermined, and....
The Baptized (winking at Bianchetti). Citizen general....
The Man (in a whisper to the Baptized). Look under my cloak how the cock of my pistol is raised!
The Baptized (aside). Oh woe!—(Aloud.) How do you mean to conduct the siege, citizen general?
Bianchetti. Although you are my brother in freedom, you are not my confidant in strategy. After the capitulation of the castle, my plans will be made public.
The Man (to the Baptized). Take my advice, Jew, and strike him dead, for such is the beginning of all aristocracies.
A Weaver. Curses! curses! curses!
The Man. Poor fellow! what are you doing under this tree, and why do you look so pale and wild?
The Weaver. Curses upon the merchants and manufacturers! All the best years of my life, years in which other men love maidens, meet in wide plains, or sail upon vast seas, with free air and open space around them, I have spent in a narrow, dark, gloomy room, chained like a galley slave to a silk loom!
The Man. Take some food! Empty the full cup which you hold in your hand!
Weaver. I have not strength enough left to carry it to my lips! I am so tired; I could scarcely crawl up here—it is the day of freedom! but a day of freedom is not for me—it comes too late, too late!—(He falls, and gasps out:) Curses upon the manufacturers who make silks! upon the merchants, who buy them! upon the nobles, who wear them! Curses! curses! curses!
He writhes on the ground and dies.
The Baptized. What a ghastly corpse!
The Man. Baptized Jew, citizen, poltroon of freedom, look upon this lifeless head, shining in the blood-red rays of the setting sun! Where are now your words and promises; the equality, perfectibility, and universal happiness of the human race?
The Baptized (aside). May you soon fall into a like ruin, and the dogs tear the flesh from your rotting corpse!—(Aloud.) I beg that your excellency will now permit me to return, that I may give an account of my embassy!
The Man. You may say that, believing you to be a spy, I forcibly detained you.—(Looking around him.) The tumult and noise of the carousal is dying away behind us; before us there is nothing to be seen but fir and pine trees bathed in the crimson rays of sunset.
The Baptized. Clouds are gathering thick and fast over the tops of the trees: had you not better return to your people, Count Henry, who have been waiting so long for you in the vault of St. Ignatius?
The Man. Thank you for your exceeding care of me, Sir Jew! But back! I will return and take another look at the festival of the citizens.
Voices (under the trees). The children of Ham bid good night to thee, old Sun!
Voice (on the right). Here's to thy health, old enemy! Thou hast long driven us on to unpaid work, and awaked us early to unheeded pain! Ha! ha! When thou risest upon us to-morrow, thou wilt find us with fish and flesh: now off to the devil, empty glass!
The Baptized. The bands of peasants are coming this way.
The Man. You shall not leave me. Place yourself behind this tree trunk, and be silent!
Chorus of Peasants. Forward, forward, under the white tents to meet our brethren! Forward, forward, under the green shade of the beeches, to rest, to sleep, to pleasant sunset greetings!
Our maidens there await us; there await us our slaughtered oxen, the old teams of our ploughs!
A Voice. I am pulling and dragging him on with all my strength—now he turns and defends himself—down! down among the dead!
Voice of the Dying Noble. My children, pity! pity!
Second Voice. Chain me to your land and make me work without pay again—will you!
Third Voice. My only son fell under the blows of your lash, old lord; either wake him from the dead, or die to join him!
Fourth Voice. The children of Ham drink thy health, old lord! they beg thee for forgiveness, lord!
Chorus of Peasants (passing on out of sight). A vampire sucked our blood, and lived upon our strength:
We have caught the vampire, he shall escape no more!
By Satan, thou shalt hang as high as a great lord should!
By Satan, thou shalt die high, high above us all!
Death to the nobles; tyrants were they all!
Drink, food, and rest for us; poor, weary, hungry, thirsty, naked!
Your bodies shall lie like sheaves upon our fields; the ruins of your castles fly like chaff beneath the flail of the thresher!
Voice. The children of Ham will dance merrily round their bonfires!
The Man. I cannot see the face of the murdered noble, they throng so thickly round him.
The Baptized. It is in all probability a friend or relation of your excellency!
The Man. I despise him, and hate you!
Poetry will sweeten all this horror hereafter. Forward, Jew, forward!
They disappear among the trees.
Another part of the forest. A mound upon which watchfires are burning. A procession of people bearing torches.
The Man (appearing among them with the Baptized). These drooping branches have torn my liberty cap into tatters.
Ha! what hell of flame is this throwing its crimson light into the gloom, and leaping through these heavily fringed walls of the forest?
The Baptized. We have wandered from our way while seeking the pass of St. Ignatius. We must retrace our steps immediately, for this is the spot in which Leonard celebrates the solemnities of the New Faith!
The Man. Forward, in the name of God! I must see these solemnities. Fear nothing, Jew, no one will recognize us.
The Baptized. Be prudent; our lives hang on a breath!
The Man. What enormous ruins are these scattered around us! This ponderous pile must have lasted centuries before it fell!
Pillars, pedestals, capitals, fallen arches—ha! I am treading upon the broken remnants of an escutcheon. Bas-reliefs of exquisite sculpture are scattered about upon the earth! Heavens! that is the sweet face of the Virgin Mother shining through the heart of the darkness! The light flickers, I can see it no more. Here are the slight-fluted shafts of a shrine, panes of colored glass with cherub heads, a carved railing of bronze, and now, in the light of yonder torch, I see the half of a monumental figure of a reclining knight in armor thrown upon the burnt and withered grass: Where am I, Jew?
The Baptized. You are passing through the graveyard of the last church of the Old Faith; our people labored forty days and forty nights without intermission to destroy it; it seemed built for eternal ages.
The Man. Your songs and hymns, ye new men, grate harshly on my ears!
Dark forms are moving forward in every direction, from before us, behind us, and from either side; lights and shadows, driven to and fro by the wind, float like living spirits through the throng.
A Passer-by. I greet you, citizens, in the name of freedom!
Second Passer-by. I greet you in the name of the slaughter of the nobles!
Third Passer-by. The priests chant the praise of freedom; why do you not hasten forward?
The Baptized. We cannot resist the pressure of the throng; they drive us on from every side.
The Man. Who is this young man standing in front of us, mounted upon the ruins of the shrine? Three flames burn beneath him, his face shines from the midst of fire and smoke, his voice rings like the shriek of a maniac; and his gestures are rapid and eager?
The Baptized. That is Leonard, the inspired and enthusiastic prophet of freedom. Our priests, our philosophers, our poets, our artists, with their daughters and loved ones, are standing round him.
The Man. Ha, I understand; your aristocracy! Point out to me the man who sent you to seek an interview with me.
The Baptized. He is not here.
Leonard. Fly to my arms; cling to my lips; come to me, my beautiful bride! Independent, free, stripped of the veils of hypocrisy, full of love, untrammelled from the chilling fetters of prejudice, come to me, thou chosen one of the lovely daughters of freedom!
Voice of a Maiden. I fly to thee, beloved one!
Second Maiden. Look upon me! I stretch forth my arms to thee, but have sunk fainting among the ruins; I cannot rise, and have only strength left to turn to thee, beloved!
Third Maiden. I have outstripped them all; through cinders and ashes, flame and smoke, I fly to thee, beloved!
The Man. With long, dishevelled hair far floating on the wind, with snowy bosom panting with wild excitement, she clambers up the smoking ruins to his arms!
The Baptized. Thus is it every night.
Leonard. To me! to me! my bliss, my rapture! Lovely daughter of freedom, thou tremblest with delicious, god-like madness!
Inspiration, flood my soul! Listen to me, all ye people, for now will I prophesy unto you!
The Man. Her head sinks on his bosom; she faints in his arms.
Leonard. Look upon us, ye people! we offer you an image of the human race, freed from trammels, and risen into new life from the death of forms. We stand upon the ruins of old dogmas, of old gods; yea, glory unto us, for we have torn the old gods limb from limb!
They have rotted into dust; our spirits have conquered theirs; their very souls have fallen into the abyss of nothingness!
Chorus of Women. Happy among women is the bride of the prophet: we stand below and envy her glory!
Leonard. I announce to you a new world; to a new god I have given the heavens; to the god of freedom and of bliss, the god of the people; every offering of their vengeance, the piled corpses of their oppressors, be his fitting altar! The old tears and agonies of humanity will be forever swept away in an ocean of blood!
We now inaugurate the perpetual happiness of men; freedom and equality belong of right to all!
Damnation and the gallows to him who would reorganize the Past; to him who would conspire against the common fraternity!
Chorus of Men. The towers of superstition, of tyranny, of pride, have fallen, have fallen! To him who would save one stone from the old buildings—damnation and death!
The Baptized (aside). Ye blasphemers of Jehovah, I thrice spew you forth to destruction!
The Man. Keep but thy promise, Eagle, and I will build on this very spot and upon their bowed necks a new temple to the Son of God, the Merciful!
A Confused cry from mingling Voices. Freedom! Equality! Bliss! Hurrah! hurrah!
Chorus of the New Priests. Where are the lords, where are the kings, who lately walked the earth with crown and sceptre, ruled with pride and scorn?
First Murderer. I killed King Alexander.
Second Murderer. I stabbed King Henry.
Third Murderer. I murdered King Immanuel!
Leonard. Go on without fear; murder without a sting of conscience!
Remember that you are the Elect of the Elect; the Holy among the Holy; the brave heroes and blessed martyrs of equality and freedom!
Chorus of Murderers. We go in the darkness of night; we move in the gloom of the shadow! With the dagger firmly clutched in our unsparing hands, we go, we go!
Leonard (to the Maiden). Arouse thee, my beautiful and free!
A loud clap of thunder is heard.
Reply to the living god of thunder: raise high the hymn of strength! Follow me all, all! Let us once more trample under our feet the ruined temple of the dead God!
The Maiden. I glow with love to thee and to thy god! I will share my love with the whole world: I glow! I glow!
The Man. Some one blocks the way; he falls upon his knees, raises his joined hands, struggles, sighs, sobs....
The Baptized. He is the son of a famous philosopher.
Leonard. What do you demand, Herman?
Herman. High priest, give me the Sacrament of Murder!
Leonard (to the Priests). Give me the oil, the dagger, and the poison!—(To Herman.) With the sacred oil once used to anoint kings, I now anoint thee to their destruction!
The arm once used by knights and nobles, I give thee now for their destruction!
I hang upon thy breast this flask of poison, that where the sword cannot reach, it may gnaw, corrode, and burn the bowels of the tyrants!
Go, and destroy the old race in all parts of the world!
The Man. He is gone! I see him, at the head of a band of assassins, crossing the crest of the nearest hill.
The Baptized. They turn, they approach us, we must move out of their way!
The Man. No. I will dream this dream to its end!
The Baptized (aside). I thrice spew thee forth to destruction!—(To the Man). Leonard might recognize me, your excellency. Do you not see the knife glittering upon his breast?
The Man. Wrap yourself up in my cloak. What ladies are those dancing before him you call Leonard?
The Baptized. Princesses and countesses who have forsaken their husbands.
The Man. Once my angels!!
The people now surround him on every side, I can see him no longer, I only know by the retreating music that he is going farther from us. Follow me, Jew, we can see him better up here!
He clambers up the parapet of a wall.
The Baptized. Woe! woe! We will certainly be discovered.
The Man. There, now I can see him again! Ha! other women are with him now, pale, confused, trembling, following him convulsively; the son of the philosopher foams and brandishes his dagger; they are stopping by the ruins of the North Tower.
They remain standing for a moment, they climb upon the ruins, they tear them down, they pull the shrine apart, they throw coals upon the prostrate altars, the votive wreaths, the holy pictures; the fire kindles, columns of smoke darken all before me: Woe to the destroyers! Woe!
Leonard. Woe to the men who still bow down before the dead God!
The Man. Dark masses of the people turn and drive upon us.
The Baptized. O Father Abraham!
The Man. Old Eagle of glory, is it not true that my hour is not yet come?
The Baptized. We are lost!
Leonard (stopping immediately in front of Count Henry). Who are you with that haughty face, citizen, and why do you not join in the solemnities?
The Man. I hastened here when I heard of the revolution; I am a murderer of the Spanish league, and have only arrived to-day.
Leonard. Who is that man hiding himself in the folds of your mantle?
The Man. He is my younger brother. He has taken an oath to show his face to no one, until he has at least killed a baron.
Leonard. Of whose murder can you yourself boast?
The Man. My elder brothers consecrated me only two days before my departure, and....
Leonard. Whom do you think of killing?
The Man. You in the first place, if you should prove false to us!
Leonard. For this use, brother, take my dagger!
Hands it to him.
The Man. For such use my own will suffice me, brother!
Many Voices. Long live Leonard! Long live the Spanish murderer!
Leonard. Meet me to-morrow in the tent of Pancratius, our citizen general.
Chorus of Priests. We greet thee, stranger, in the name of the Spirit of Liberty: we intrust to thy hand a share of our emancipation!
To men who combat without cessation, who kill without pity or weakness, who work for freedom by day, and dream of it by night, will be at last the victory!
They pass on out of sight.
Chorus of Philosophers. We have wakened the human race, and torn them away from the days of childhood! We have found truth, and brought it to light from the womb of darkness! Combat, murder, and die for it, brethren!
The Son of the Philosopher (to the Man). Brother and friend, I drink your health out of the skull of an old saint! May we soon meet again!
A Maiden (dancing). Kill Prince John for me!
Second Maiden. Count Henry for me!
Children. Bring us back the head of a noble for a ball.
Other Voices. Good fortune guide your daggers home!
Chorus of Artists. On these sublime old ruins we build no temples more; we paint no pictures, mould no statues for forgotten shrines; our arches shall be formed of pointed pikes and naked blades; our pillars built of ghastly piles of human skulls; the capitals of human hair dyed in gushing streams of crimson blood; our altar shall be white as snow, our god will rest upon it, the cap of liberty: Hurrah! hurrah!
Other Voices. On! on! the morning dawn already breaks!
The Baptized. They will soon catch and hang us; we are but one step from the gallows.
The Man. Fear nothing, Jew, they follow Leonard, and observe us no longer. I see with my own eyes, I understand with my own mind, and for the last time before it engulfs me, the chaos now generating in the abyss of Time, in the womb of Darkness, for my own destruction, for the annihilation of my brethren!
Driven on by madness, stung by despair, my thoughts awake in all their strength....
O God! give me again the power which Thou didst not of old deny me, and I will condense this new and fearful world, which does not understand itself, into one burning word, but which one word will be the Poetry of the entire Past!
Voice in the Air. Poet, thou chant'st a drama!
The Man. Thanks for thy good counsel!
Revenge for the desecrated ashes of my fathers—malediction upon the new races! their whirlpool is around me, but it shall not draw me into the giddying and increasing circles of its abyss! Keep but thy promise, Eagle; Eagle of glory!
Jew, I am ready now for the vault of St. Ignatius!
The Baptized. The day dawns; I can go no farther.
The Man. Lead me on until we strike the right path; I will then release you!
The Baptized. Why do you drag me on through mist, through thorns and briers, through ashes and embers, over heaps of ruins? Let me go, I entreat!
The Man. Forward! forward! and descend with me!
The last songs of the people are dying away behind us; a few torches here and there just glimmer through the gloom!
Ha! under those hoary trees drooping with the night dew, and through this curdling, whitening vapor, see you not the giant shadow of the dead Past? Hark! hear you not that wailing chant?
The Baptized. Everything is shrouded in the thickening mist; at every step we descend, deeper, deeper!
Chorus of Wood Spirits. Let us weep for Christ, the persecuted, martyred Jesus!
Where is our God; where is His church?
The Man. Unsheathe the sword—to arms! to arms!
I will restore Him to you; upon thousands and thousands of crosses will I crucify His enemies!
Chorus of Spirits. We kept guard by day and night around the altar and the holy graves; upon untiring wings we bore the matin chime and vesper bell to the ear of the believer; our voices floated on the organ's peal! In the glitter of the stained and rainbow panes, the shadows of the vaulted domes, the light of the holy chalice, the blessed consecration of the Body of our Lord—was our whole life centred!
Woe! woe! what will become of us?
The Man. It is growing lighter; their dim forms fade and melt into the red of morn!
The Baptized. Here lies your way: this is the entrance to the Pass.
The Man. Hail! Christ Jesus and my sword! (He tears off the liberty cap, throws it upon the ground, and casts pieces of silver upon it.) Take together the Thing and the Image for a remembrance!
The Baptized. You pledge your word to me for the honorable treatment of him who will visit you at midnight?
The Man. An old noble never repeats or breaks a promise!
Hail! Christ Jesus and our swords!
Voices (from the depths of the Pass). Mary and our swords! Long live our lord, Count Henry!
The Man. My faithful followers, to me—to me!
Aid me, Mary, and Christ Jesus!
Night. Trees and shrubbery. Pancratius, Leonard, and attendants.
Pancratius (to his attendants). Lie upon this spot with your faces to the turf, remain perfectly still, kindle no fires, beat no signals, and, unless you hear the report of firearms, stir not until the dawn of day!
Leonard. I once more conjure you, citizen!
Pancratius. Lean against this tall pine, Leonard, and pass the night in reflection.
Leonard. I pray you, Pancratius, take me with you! Remember, you are about to intrust yourself alone with an aristocrat, a betrayer, an oppressor....
Pancratius (interrupting him, and impatiently gesturing to him to remain behind). The old nobles seldom broke a plighted promise!
A vast feudal hall in the castle of Count Henry. Pictures of knights and ladies hang upon the walls. A pillar is seen in the background bearing the arms and escutcheons of the family. The Count is seated at a marble table upon which are placed an antique lamp of wrought silver, a jewel-hilted sword, a pair of pistols, an hourglass, and clock. Another table stands on the opposite side, with silver pitchers, decanters, and massive goblets.
The Man. At the same hour, surrounded by appalling perils, agitated by foreboding thoughts, the last Brutus met his Evil Genius.
I await a like apparition. A man without a name, without ancestors, without a faith or guardian angel; a man who is destroying the Past, and who will, in all probability, establish a new era, though himself sprung from the very dust, if I cannot succeed in casting him back into his original nothingness—is now to appear before me!
Spirit of my forefathers! inspire me with that haughty energy which once rendered you the rulers of the world! Give me the lion heart which erst throbbed in your dauntless breasts! Give me your peerless dignity, your noble and chivalric courtesy!
Rekindle in my wavering soul your blind, undoubting, earnest faith in Christ and in His church: at once the source of your noblest deeds on earth, your brightest hopes in heaven! Oh, let it open for me, as it was wont to do for you; and I will struggle with fire and sword against its enemies! Hear me, the son of countless generations, the sole heir of your thoughts, your courage, your virtues, and your faults!
The castle bell sounds twelve.
It is the appointed hour: I am prepared!
An old and faithful servant, Jacob, enters, fully armed.
Jacob. My lord, the person whom your excellency expects is in the castle.
The Man. Admit him here.
Exit Jacob.
He reappears, announcing Pancratius, and again retires.
Pancratius. Count Henry, I salute you! The word 'count' sounds strangely on my lips.
He seats himself, throws off his cloak and liberty cap, and fastens his eyes on the pillar on which hang the arms and shield.
The Man. Thanks, guest, that you have confided in the honor of my house! Faithful to our ancient forms, I pledge you in a glass of wine. Your good health, guest!
He takes a goblet, fills, tastes, and hands it to Pancratius.
Pancratius. If I am not mistaken, this red and blue shield was called a coat of arms in the language of the Dead; but such trifles have vanished from the face of the earth.
He drinks.
The Man. Vanished? With the aid of God, you will soon look upon them by thousands!
Pancratius. Commend me to the old noble! always confident in himself, though without money, arms, or soldiers; proud, obstinate, and hoping against all hope; like the corpse in the fable, threatening the driver of the hearse at the very door of the charnel house, and confiding in God, or at least pretending to confide in Him, when confidence in himself is no longer even possible!
Pray, Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse of the lightning which is to be sent from heaven, for your especial benefit, to blast me and my millions; or show me at least one angel of the thousands of the heavenly hosts, who are to encamp on your side, and whose prowess is so speedily to decide the combat in your favor!
He empties the goblet.
The Man. You are pleased to jest, leader of the people; but atheism is quite an old formula, and I looked for something new from the new men!
Pancratius. Laugh, if you will, at your own wit, but my faith is wider, deeper, and more firmly based than your own. Its central dogma is the emancipation of humanity. It has its source in the cries of despair which rise unceasingly to heaven from the hearts of tortured millions, in the famine of the operatives, the grinding poverty of the peasants, the desecration of their wives and daughters, the degradation of the race through unjust laws and debasing and brutal prejudices—from all this agony spring my new formulas, the creed which I am determined to establish: 'Man has a birthright of happiness.' These thoughts are my god, a god which will give bread, rest, bliss, glory to man!
He fills, drinks, and casts and goblet from him.
The Man. I place my trust in that God who gave power and rule, into the hands of my forefathers!
Pancratius. You trust Him still, and yet through your whole life you have been but a plaything in the hands of the Devil!
But let us leave such discussions to the theologians, if any such still linger upon earth:—to business, Count Henry, to stern facts!
The Man. What do you seek from me, redeemer of the people, citizen-god?
Pancratius. I sought you, in the first place, because I wished to know you; in the second, because I desire to save you.
The Man. For the first, receive my thanks; for the second, trust my sword!
Pancratius. Your God! your sword! vain phantoms of the brain! Look at the dread realities of your situation! The curses of the millions are upon you; myriads of brawny arms are already raised to hurl you to destruction! Of all the vaunted Past nothing remains to you save a few feet of earth, scarcely enough to offer you a grave. Even your last fortress, the castle of the Holy Trinity, can hold out but a few days longer. Where is your artillery? Where are the arms and provisions for your soldiers? Where are your soldiers? and what dependence can you place on the few you still retain? You must surely know there is nothing left you on which to hang a single hope!
If I were in your place, Count Henry, I know what I would do!
The Man. Speak! you see how patiently I listen!
Pancratius. Were I Count Henry, I would say to Pancratius: 'I will dismiss my troops, my few retainers; I will not go to the relief of the Holy Trinity—and for this I will retain my title and my estates; and you, Pancratius, will pledge your own honor to guarantee me the possession of the things I require.'
How old are you, Count Henry?
The Man. I am thirty-six years old, citizen.
Pancratius. Then you have but about fifteen years of life to expect, for men of your temperament die young; your son is nearer to the grave than to maturity. A single exception, such as yours, can do no harm to the great whole. Remain, then, where you are, the last of the counts. Rule, as long as you shall live, in the house of your fathers; have your family portraits retouched, your armorial bearings renewed, and think no more of the wretched remnant of your fallen order. Let the justice of the long-injured people be fulfilled upon them! (He fills for himself another cup.) Your good health, Henry, the last of the counts!
The Man. Every word you utter is a new insult to me! Do you really believe that, to save a dishonored life, I would suffer myself to be enslaved and dragged about, chained to your car of triumph?
Cease! cease! I can endure no longer! I cannot answer as my spirit dictates, for you are my guest, sheltered from all insult while under my roof by my plighted honor!
Pancratius. Plighted honor and knightly faith have, ere this, swung from a gallows! You unfurl a tattered banner whose faded rags seem strangely out of place among the brilliant flags and joyous symbols of universal humanitarian progress. Oh, I know you, and protest against your course! Full of life and generous vigor, you bind to your heart a putrefying corpse! You court your own destruction, clinging to a vain belief in privileged orders, in worn-out relics, in the bones of dead men, in mouldering escutcheons and forgotten coats of arms—and yet in your inmost heart you are forced to acknowledge that your brother nobles have deserved their punishment, that forgetfulness were mercy for them!
The Man. You, Pancratius, and your followers, what do you deserve?
Pancratius. Victory and life! I acknowledge but one right, I bow to but one law, the law of perpetual progress, and this law is your death warrant. It cries to you through my lips: 'Worm-eaten, mouldering aristocracy! full of rottenness, crammed with meat and wine, satiated with luxury—give place to the young, the strong, the hungry!'
But I will save you, and you alone!
The Man. Cease! I will not brook your arrogant pity!
I know you, and your new world; I have visited your camp at night, and looked upon the restless swarms upon whose necks you ride to power! I saw all: I detected the old crimes peering through the thin veils of new draperies, shining under new shams, whirling to new tunes, circling in new dances—but the end was ever the same which it has been for centuries, which it will forever be: adultery, license, theft, gold, blood!
But I saw you not there; you were not with your guilty children; you know you despise them in the depths of your soul; and if you do not go mad yourself in the mad dances of the blood-thirsty and blood-drunken people, you will soon scorn and despise yourself!
Torture me no more!
He rises, moves hurriedly to and fro, then seats himself under his escutcheon.
Pancratius. It is true my world is in its infancy, unformed and undeveloped; it requires food, ease, material gratifications; but it is growing, and the time will come—(He rises from his chair, approaches the count, and leans against the pillar supporting the escutcheons)—the time will come when my world will arrive at maturity, will attain the consciousness of its own strength, when it will say, I am; and there will be no other voice on earth able to reply, 'I also am!'
The Man. And then?
Pancratius. A race will spring from the generation I am now quickening and elevating, stronger, higher, and nobler than any the world has yet produced; the earth has never yet seen such men upon her bosom. They will be free, lords of the globe from pole to pole; the earth will be a blooming garden, every part of her surface under the highest culture; the sea will be covered with floating palaces and argosies of wealth and commerce; a universal exchange of commodities will carry civilization, mutual recognition, and comfort to every clime; prosperous cities will crown every height, and expand their blessings of refinement and culture o'er every plain; earth will then offer happy and tranquil homes to all her children, she will be one vast and united house of blissful industry and highest art!
The Man. Your words and voice dissemble well, but your pale and rigid features in vain struggle to assume the generous glow of a noble enthusiasm, which your soul cannot feel.
Pancratius. Interrupt me not! Men have begged on bended knees before me for such prophecies.
The world of the Future will possess a god whose highest fact will not be his own defeat and death upon a cross; a god whom the people, by their own power and skill, will force to unveil his face to them; a god who will be torn by the very children whom he once scattered over the face of the earth in his anger, from the infinite recesses of the distant heavens in which he loves to hide! Babel will be no more, all tribes and nations will meet and understand their mutual wants, and, united by a universal language, his scattered children, having attained their majority, assert their right to know their creator, and claim their just inheritance from a common father: 'the full possession of all truth!'
The god of humanity at last reveals himself to man!
The Man. Yes, He revealed Himself some centuries ago; through Him is humanity already redeemed.
Pancratius. Alas! let the redeemed delight in the sweetness of such redemption! let them rejoice in the multiplied agonies which have in vain cried to a Redeemer for relief during the three thousand years which have elapsed since His defeat and death!
The Man. Blasphemer, cease! I have seen the Cross, the holy symbol of His mystic love, standing in the heart of the eternal city, Rome; the ruins of a power far greater than thine were crumbling into dust around It; hundreds of gods such as those you trust in, were lying prostrate on the ground, trampled under careless feet, not even daring to raise their crushed and wounded heads to gaze upon the Crucified. It stood upon the seven hills, stretching its mighty arms to the east and to the west, its holy brow glittering in the golden sunshine; men wistfully gazed upon its perfect lesson of self-abnegating Love; it won all hearts, it RULED THE WORLD!
Pancratius. An old wife's tale, hollow as the rattling of these vain escutcheons! (He strikes the shield.) These discussions are in vain, for I have read all the secrets of your yearning heart! If you really wish to find the infinite which has so long baffled your search; if you love the truth, and are willing to suffer for it; if you are a man, created in the image of our common humanity, and not the impossible hero of an old nursery song—listen to me! Oh, let not these rapidly fleeting moments, the last in which you can possibly be saved, pass in vain! The race renews itself, man of the Past; and of the blood we shed to-day, no trace will be found to-morrow! For the last time I conjure you, if you are what you once appeared to be, A MAN, rise in your former might, aid the down-trodden and oppressed people, help to emancipate and enlighten your fellow men, work for the common good, forsake your false ideas of a personal glory, quit these tottering ruins which all your pride and power cannot prevent from crumbling o'er you, desert your falling house, and follow me!
The Man. O youngest born of Satan's brood!—(He paces up and down the hall, speaking to himself:) Dreams, dreams, beautiful dreams—but their realization is impossible! Who could achieve them? Adam died in the desert—the flaming sword still guards the gates—we are never more to enter Paradise! In vain we dream!
Pancratius (aside). I have driven the probe to the core of his heart; I have struck the electric nerve of Poetry, which quivers through the very base of his complicated being!
The Man. Progress of humanity; universal happiness; I once believed them possible! There—there—take my head—my life—if that were possi—.... (He sighs, and is silent for a moment.) It is past! two centuries ago it might have been—but now.... But now I have seen and know there will be nothing but assassination and murder—murder on either side—nothing can satisfy now but an unceasing war of mutual extermination!
Pancratius. Woe then to the vanquished! Falter not, seeker of universal happiness! Cry but once with us: 'Woe to the oppressors of the people!' and stand preëminent o'er all, the First among the Victors!
The Man. Have you already explored all the paths in the dark and unknown country of the Future? Did Destiny, withdrawing at midnight the curtains of your tent, stand visibly before you, and, placing her giant hand upon your scheming brain, impress upon it the mystic seal of victory? or in the heat of midday, when the world slept, and you alone were watching, did she glide pale, pitiless, and stern before you, and promise conquest, that you thus threaten me with defeat and ruin? You are but a man of clay as fragile as my own, and may be the victim of the first well-aimed ball, the first sharp thrust of the sword! Your life, like mine, hangs on a single thread, and you have no immunity from death!
Pancratius. Dreams! idle dreams! Oh do not deceive yourself with hopes so vain, for no bullet aimed by man will reach me, no sword will pierce me, while a single member of your haughty caste remains capable of resisting the task which it is my destiny to fulfil. And what doom soever may befall me, after its completion, count, will be too late to offer you the least advantage. (The clock strikes.) Hark! time flies—and scorns us both!
If you are weary of your own life, save at least your unfortunate son!
The Man. His pure soul is already saved in heaven: on earth he must share the fate of his father.
His head sinks heavily, and remains for some time buried in his hands.
Pancratius. You reject too all hope for him?... (Pauses.) Nay—you are silent—you reflect—it is well: reflection becomes him who stands upon the brink of the grave!
The Man. Away! away! Back from the passionate mysteries now surging through the depths of my soul! Profane them not with a word; they lie beyond your sphere!
The rough, wide world belongs to you; feed it with meat; flood it with wine; but press not into the holy secrets of my heart! Away! away from me, framer of material bliss!
Pancratius. Shame upon you, warrior, scholar, poet, and yet the slave of one idea and its dying forms! Thought and form are wax beneath my plastic fingers!
The Man. In vain would you seek to follow my thoughts; you will never understand me, for all your forefathers were buried in a common ditch, as dead things, not as men of individual character and bold distinctive spirit. (He points to the portraits of his ancestors.) Look upon these pictures! Love of country, of family, of the home hearth, feelings at war with all your ideas, are written in every line of their firm brows—their spirit lives entire in me, their last heir and representative. Tell me, O man without ancestors, where is your natal soil? You spread your wandering tent each coming eve Upon the ruins of another's home, every morning roll it up again that it may be unrolled anew at night to blight and spoil! Yon have not yet found a home, a hearth, and you will never find one as long as a hundred men live to cry with me: 'Glory to our fathers!'
Pancratius. Yes, glory to your fathers in heaven and upon earth; but it will repay us to look at them a little more closely. (He points to one of the portraits.) This gentleman was a famous Starost; he shot old women in the woods, and roasted the Jews alive: this one with the inscription, 'Chancellor,' and the great seal in his right hand, falsified and forged acts, burned archives, stabbed knights, and sullied the inheritance with poison; through him came your villages, your income, your power. That dark man played at adultery with the wife of his friend. This one, with the golden fleece on his Spanish cloak, served in a foreign land, when his own country was in danger.
This pale lady with the raven ringlets carried on an intrigue with a handsome page. That one with the lustrous braids is reading a letter from her gallant; she smiles, as well she may, for night approaches, and love is bold.
This timid beauty with the deep blue eyes and golden curls, clasping a Roman hound in her braceleted arm, was the mistress of a king, and soothed his softer hours.
Such is the true history of your unbroken, ancient, and unsullied line! But I like this jolly fellow in the green riding jacket; he drank and hunted with the nobles, and employed the peasants to run down the tall deer with the hounds. Indeed, the ignorance, stupidity, and wretchedness of the serf were the strength of the noble, and give convincing proof of his own intellect.
But the Day of Judgment is approaching: I promise you that none of your vaunted ancestors, that nought of their fame shall be forgotten in the dark award.
The Man. You deceive yourself, son of the people! Neither you nor your brethren could have preserved existence, had not our noble ancestors nourished you with their bread, and defended you with their blood. In times of famine, they gave you grain, and when the plague swept over you with its hot breath of death, they built hospitals to receive you, found nurses to take care of you, and educated physicians to save you from the grave. When from a herd of unformed brutes they had nurtured you into human beings, they built schools and churches for you, sharing everything with you save the dangers of the battle field, for war they knew you were not formed to bear. As the sharp lance of the pagan was wont to recoil, shattered and riven, from the glittering armor of my fathers, so recoil your vain words as they strike the dazzling record of their long-consecrated glory. They disturb not the repose of their sacred ashes. Like the howlings of a mad dog, who froths, bites, and snaps as he runs, until he is driven out of the pale of humanity, so fall your accusations, dying out in their own insanity.
But it is almost dawn, and time you should depart from the halls of my ancestors! Pass in safety and in freedom from their home, my guest!
Pancratius. Farewell then, until we meet again upon the ramparts of the Holy Trinity. And when your powder and ball shall be utterly exhausted?
The Man. We will then approach within the length of our swords. Farewell!
Pancratius. We are twin Eagles, but your nest is shattered by the lightning! (He takes up his cloak and liberty cap.) In passing from your threshold, I leave the curse, due to decrepitude, behind me. I devote you and your son to destruction!
The Man. Ho! Jacob!
Enter Jacob.
Conduct this man in safety through my last post on the hill!
Jacob. So help me God the Lord!
Exit Jacob with Pancratius.
DEATH IN LIFE.
In some dull hour of doubt or pain,
Who has not felt that life is slain—
And while there yet remain
Long years, perhaps, of joyless mirth,
Ere earth shall claim its kindred earth,
Such years were nothing worth
But that some duty still demands
The sweating brow, the weary hands?
And so Existence stands
With an appeal we cannot shun,
To make complete what Life begun,
With toil from sun to sun.
And so we keep the sorry tryst,
With all its fancied sweetness missed—
Consenting to exist
When Life has fled beyond recall,
And left us to its heir in thrall,
With chains that will not fall.
Belated stars were waning fast
As through an open gate I passed,
And crossed a meadow vast—
And, still descending, followed still
The path that wound adown the hill
And by the ruined mill—
Till in its garden I espied
The cottage by the river side
Where dwelt my promised bride.
Beneath the porch no lantern flared,
No watch dog kept his faithful ward,
The window blinds were barred.
Entering with eager eye and ear,
And ushered by the phantom Fear,
I stood beside the bier
Of one who, passing hence away,
Left something more than lifeless clay,
As twilight lingers after day,
The pulseless heart, the pallid lips,
The eyes just closed in death's eclipse,
The fairy finger tips
So lightly locked across the breast,
Seemed to obey the sweet behest
By angels whispered—Rest!
That beauty had been mine alone,
Those hands had fondly pressed my own,
Those eyes in mine had shone.
The open door was banged about,
As wailing winds went in and out
With sigh and groan and shout.
And darkly ran the river cold,
Whose swollen waters, as they rolled,
A tale of sorrow told.
I could not choose but seek that stream,
Whose sympathetic moan did seem
The music of a dream.
O River, that unceasing lay
Charms each fair tree along thy way,
Until it falls thy prey!
O endless moan within my heart,
Thy constancy has made me part
Of what thou wert and art!
And while I stood upon the brink,
And tried to think, but could not think,
Nor sight with reason link—
A form I had not seen before
Came slowly down the dismal shore;
A sombre robe she wore,
And in her air and on her face
There was a sterner kind of grace,
Heightened by time and place—
A sort of conscious power and pride,
A soul to substance more allied—
Than that of her who died.
With scarce a semblance of design,
Toward me her steps she did incline,
And raised her eyes to mine
So sweetly, so imploringly,
I scarcely wished, and did not try,
To put their pleading by,
And, ere a movement I had made,
Her hand upon my arm she laid,
And whispered: I obeyed.
While one into the darkness sped,
I followed where the other led;
Yet often turned my head,
As one who fancies that he hears
His own name ringing in his ears
Shouted from far-off spheres.
Oh! bliss misplaced is misery!
I love the life I've lost, but, see!
The life that's here loves me.
And while I seem her willing slave,
My heart is hid in weeds that wave
Above a distant grave.