It is as though he combined the temperament of a Thackeray with the wings of a Shelley, so exquisitely blended is his romantic sense and stern realism. So simple and straightforward is he that his style escapes notice in its absolute appropriateness, as in The Testament. There is none of the misty vagueness of Keats or Coleridge; he never follows Shelley into the intense inane.
I propose to conclude this chapter with extracts from his masterpiece, The Demon, to illustrate, if I can, the amazing achievement of this Lucifer-spirit. He opens with a description of his hero-devil ruminating over his past:
"When, thirsting for eternal knowledge,
He keenly followed through the mist
The caravans of wandering planets
Thrown into vastness; when he list—
The happy first-born of creation—
To voice of Faith and Love, and knew
No doubt or hatred; and there was
No threat of ages fruitless, dreary,
Awaiting him in even rows ..."
Now an outcast:
"He planted sin without enjoyance;
His art has never met contest,
Has quickly lost its charm and zest,
And has become a mere annoyance."
We follow him in his exile over the world through the Caucasus to Gruzia:
"A blissful, brilliant nook of Earth!
'Mid stately ancient pillared ruins,
Relucent, gurgling rivulets run
And ripple over motley pebbles;
Between them, rose-trees where the birds
Sing love-songs, while the ivy girds
The stems, and crowns the foliage-temples
Of green chinàra; and the herds
Of timid red-deer seek the boon
Of mountain eaves in sultry noon;
And sparkling life, and rustling leaves,
And hum of voices hundred-toned,
The sweetly breathing thousand plants,
Voluptuous heat of skies sun-laden,
Caressive dew of gorgeous night,
And stars—as clear as eyes of maiden,
As glance of Grùzian maiden bright!
But all this brilliancy of Nature
Awoke not in the Demon's soul
A moment's joy, nor tender feeling."
We are now introduced to the heroine, Tamàra, whose wedding feast is being prepared:
"Amid her friends, the whole day long
Tamàra spent in play and song.
The sun, behind a far-off mountain,
Is half set in a sea of gold.
The maidens in a round are sitting
And, to a lilting tune they're singing
They clap in time. Tamàra takes
Her tambourine, and nimbly shakes
It o'er her head; with fleeting motion
Now trips it lighter than a bird,
Now holds a-sudden in her dance,
And casts a shining, roguish glance
From underneath the jealous lashes;
Her eyebrow curves in coy expression,
Her lithesome shape does swift incline,
And o'er the carpet slides and flashes
Her little foot of form divine....
The Demon did behold her.... Rapture
And awe possessed him: and at once
The silent desert of his spirit
Rang suddenly with joyful tones;
And once again the sacred grandeur
Of Love and Good and Beauty shone
Within his soul....
He felt a sadness strangely new—
As if the overwhelming shower
Of feelings rang with words he knew.
Was this a sign of renovation?
Gone were the words of dread temptation,
His mind no more in guile adept.
Will he forget his past?... But God
Would never grant him this relief,
Nor he forgetfulness accept."
Tamàra's bridegroom-elect is foully done to death on his way to the wedding. The bride, fallen on her bed, sobs with a lorn and piteous feeling until she suddenly hears a voice of magic sweetness urging her to cease.