Mine Enemy.
If he could stand against me now,
With other eyes and an alien brow;
If I could break the spell that still
My will entangles with his will;
If he could laugh the while I weep;
If I could wake, and he asleep;
Could I uncoil the mystery
Where he is I, and I am he:
Then might I hide me from his face;
Or strike him down within his place;
And so, at last, my life be free
From his tormenting company.
But no; his blush my forehead burns,
His the pallor my pale cheek turns,
And when he sees the thing I do,
'Tis mine own eyes that he looks through.
When I would hate this tiresome mate,
He teaches me the way to hate;
When from his presence I would flee,
He, taunting, flies along with me.
But best I like his baser slips,
His angry eyes and impious lips;
For then, half-wrenched away from me,
Almost it seems he leaves me free.
'Tis then I raise aloft my cry:
St. Michael, to the rescue fly!
'Tis then almost my foot is prest
Upon the monster's struggling breast;
'Tis then I feel my shoulders glow
With hints of wings they yet may know,
And breathe as slaves pant, wild and sweet,
Whose chains are falling to their feet!
'Tis then I nestle, safely bound
By wings of angels circling round,
And feel the drawing of the cord
That holds my anchor in the Lord!
And most I fear when cunningly
He crouches, hidden from mine eye,
And breathes into the pipes whose keys
Hold all my spirit's melodies.
When I his hiding would betray,
He holds the lamp, and leads the way;
When I would break his hardihood,
He wields the lash that draws my blood.
So deep his guile, I scarce can know
From whose intent my actions grow;
So brightly do his tear-drops shine,
I oft mistake his grief for mine.
When veiled emotions, swift and strong,
Run all my trembling nerves along,
If 'tis his sigh or mine whose swell
Upheaves my breast, I cannot tell.
When friendship frowns, I turn to see
My foe's eyes beaming tenderly;
When friendship harshly speaks, I hear
His dulcet tones wooing mine ear.
When God is slow to hear my cry,
Behold th' insidious list'ner nigh!
When thirst has parched my vitals up,
His hand presents the sparkling cup.
If I would reason with my foe,
He lets the high-piled logic grow,
And lowly bends, in humble guise,
With silent mouth and drooping eyes.
But as, o'erflowing with content,
I view my stately monument,
Nor guess the thoughts lie side to side
In subtle, weak cement of pride,
With sudden flash of mocking wit
He plays about and shatters it,
Or some volcanic underthrust
Levels my structure with the dust.
And straight, ere I can speak for pain,
He builds my chang'd thoughts up again
In airy stretches, bright or dim,
With flower-woven cornice-rim;
With domes that melt into the sky,
Like piles of snowy cumuli;
And pinnacles where fancy sees
Stars cling and swim, like golden bees;
With long-drawn wings whose cloudy tips
The sunset kisses with red lips;
And cloudy-curtained windows bright,
Whence pours a flood of rosy light.
And with it come bewildering tunes,
Where heavenly airs bear hellish runes;
And, calling sweet and calling clear,
The voice that most I long to hear.
But if, lured by this temple fair,
Dazzled, I seek to enter there,
It clings, and burns with lurid light,
Like Glauce's bridal-garment white.
Then since my foe so potent is,
And I so weak, lest I be his,
Some friend I need, stronger than he,
To stand and keep my heart for me.
And since, though driven forth with pain,
Ever he stealeth back again,
More need have I of heavenly light
To make his lurking-places bright.
And since I stand unarmed, indeed,
Before his wrath, great is the need
I should invoke, with prayerful word,
Saint Michael of the fiery sword!
That night and day I still should cling
Beneath my hovering angel's wing;
And ne'er let slip the golden cord
That holds my anchor in the Lord!
Translated From The Revue Du Monde Catholique.
Flaminia.
By Alexandre De Bar.
Concluded.
"You will not be surprised to see that Flaminia was ignorant of the veritable nature of the affection that she felt for Albert; but you will be astonished to learn that he shared entirely her ignorance, although he had seen much of life. Yet think that it is to know nothing of the most impetuous passion of our soul if we have only learnt the theory; for as to know the world we must have lived in the world, so to know the heart one must have lived by the heart; if such has not been one's experience, all is obscurity and one takes a false route. Now, Albert had lived out of the world, and had not yet loved aught but a glorious renown. Besides all this, if you will look back upon that fair time of youth which has now fled from us, you will remember that the descent which allures us is often so gentle that we follow it without attention; until the day when an unforeseen event, and often even an unimportant circumstance, arouses us, and permits us by a glance to see the road that we have already glided down. Albert, too, descended that charming declivity, gathering the perfumed flowers which hung on the shrubs, and intoxicating himself with perfumes, with light and songs. His soul happy, his heart pure, dazzled by the celestial gleams which irradiated him, how could he see where all this was conducting him? This is how he first became aware of his position: There was at the bottom of the gardens of the palace Balbo a long alley, that was covered by the thick foliage of the vines, whose stems, black and distorted, clung to and spread up the stone pillars on each side. Here and there the jasmines displayed the silver stars of their flowers, which shone out of the deep shade of their leaves. From that alley the eye gazed upon a vast horizon, bounded by two large sheets of azure, the sea and sky, between which the mountains lifted their imposing masses, gilded by the rays of the setting sun. It was in this perfumed gallery that, each evening, Albert was conducted by his hosts, as soon as the refreshing breeze of evening blew across the sea. Often it was the arm of Flaminia that aided his yet feeble steps in this exercise. How many charming hours thus passed for them during the calm of those evenings, when the noises of the day ceased one by one, until the ear brought but the sound of the whispering breeze, pure and sweet as the breath of a sleeping child, to the touched and softened soul! One day, the fever seemed struggling to regain its power over the form of Albert; his wounds were scarcely closed, and the emotions that he experienced reacted most powerfully upon his health. Sir, man is born for suffering, and not for joy. His body can support an immense weight of sorrow and pain without giving way; but it is worn out by pleasure, and joy kills it. Giovanni, uneasy about his friend, strictly forbade his leaving his room, and that evening the family went alone to their walk. Albert returned sadly to the saloon, become more desert for him than the sands of Sahara, in company with Giovanni, who, in the hope of distracting his loneliness, talked to him of battles and of victories; although had he known how far the mind of his friend was from all such subjects, he might have given himself far less trouble with an equally good result. Little caring then for glory, Albert's heart was with Flaminia under the perfumed shade of the vines and jasmines. At their return, Flaminia held out to Albert a spray of jasmine covered with flowers, saying to him: 'You like these flowers, so I bring you them.' When Albert had retired to his own room, he took this bouquet and covered it with kisses: he listened with delight to the voice that issued from those flowers and that told him such sweet words. A flame seemed to mingle with their perfumes that carried a new life to his heart; but it carried there also the light. Another voice made itself heard and showed him the truth, and he fell from the regions of happiness where his dream had carried him, into the implacable reality; for he then discovered with what sort of an affection they were both animated. And he a knight of the Order of Malta! If absence could have given the repose of forgetfulness to Flaminia, Albert would not have hesitated to have left her at once. But if there exist attachments so slight that the simple absence of their object is sufficient to cure them, so there are others which may be likened to those long-lived plants that extend their roots in all directions and all depths; so that one cannot tear them from the soil in which they have once gained a hold. Such affections as these resist all human efforts, and absence but serves to render their wounds more poignant and more lively. Albert understood too well the character of Flaminia not to know that their destiny was irrevocably fixed. Divine Providence seemed to have drawn them together in this world but to make them merit, by a sacrifice of their affections, the happiness that was destined for them in the next. The ordinary remedy of absence would have been useless in their case. Albert understood this, and the idea of getting himself absolved from his vows of knighthood came to him. This thought he repelled. It was not that he believed the success of such a measure impossible, but that he saw in it a desertion of his duty; he felt that his conscience would not be in tranquillity, and that it would perpetually remind him that one cannot thus break his engagements with God. He knelt down piously, and that which passed in his soul during that cruel night, and that which he suffered during that struggle, ever rested a secret between him and God. For you, scholar of the eighteenth century, it is an unpardonable weakness that of placing one's self humbly on one's knees before the Divine Majesty. Yet, thanks only to this weakness, Albert, in all the force of youth, resisted without failing before the most impetuous, the most irresistible of all our passions, and came forth victorious out of the rudest combat that he had ever given. He loved, passionately, Flaminia: Flaminia, beautiful, rich in heart and soul, full of all the merits, of all the virtues, that can entrance at the same time the heart, the soul, and the senses; Flaminia, who loved him with an equal ardor, and who confided herself to him absolutely and without reserve. He had over her an absolute power, and, far from using it, he subdued his passion, and, directing by a determined will the tumultuous waves of his heart, he traversed without shipwreck those tempests that are more ungovernable than the rage of the ocean. The strength with which he aided himself was that same weakness which makes you smile. Had he trusted only in himself, he would have fallen, because he was but a man; he implored the aid of him who is strength itself, and he vanquished. Faith was for him what the fortifying oil was with which the athletes rubbed their bodies before the struggle; and, not content with aiding him to overcome himself, she knew also how to dry his tears by the blessed aid of hope. For, at the same time that she showed him in all their barrenness the painful paths of duty, she let him see at the end of the journey, and as the price of his victory, that eternal union of souls which time itself is powerless to break. I know you to be prejudiced, my dear Frederick, on all that which touches religious questions; but, at the same time, I know you to be of too good faith not to acknowledge that there is truly something superhuman in a doctrine which gives such victories; neither shall I insist on the detail of the events which occurred during the six months that Albert yet passed by the side of Flaminia, for they would have no value in my recital. It would not, perhaps, be without a certain interest to follow the developments of that affection, so completely purified from all earthly thoughts; but, as there are certain situations where a look, a smile, takes the proportions of a veritable event, it would be necessary for me to enter into the very slightest points of its psychology. On learning the gravity of the wounds of his brother, Adolph Shraun had come in all haste to the palace Balbo. Antonia failed not to produce in his heart an impression as profound, but more decisive, than that which Flaminia had already aroused in his brother. As he knew that the project of an alliance would be joyfully received in the two families, Antonia was not long without knowing the sentiments which she had enkindled. The frank, impetuous, and lively character of Adolph had already predisposed her in his favor, so that she quickly shared the same sentiments and hopes as himself. Joy renders us much more disposed to confidence than does sorrow, and Antonia did not fail to feel the need of confiding to some one both her secret and her love. This need caused her to seek in Flaminia for sympathy, and the reciprocal confidence which was due between these two young hearts, so well formed to love and sustain each other, was then established for ever. The naïve confidences of her sister enlightened Flaminia on her own sentiments, and carried into her soul the light that she had but caught glimpses of before. She then understood the nature of her destiny, and, like Albert, she accepted it without a murmur. She took refuge in the consoling thought that their union would be accomplished in those celestial regions where only reign the eternal laws of love; and thus placing her hopes upon a sure basis, she resigned herself to her cross, prayed, and awaited God's will. I think that I have quite sufficiently instructed you upon the state of these noble hearts; so that I can arrive at that which is the object of my story—namely, to tell you how it was that my great-grandfather, Adolph, saw, one day, two souls." The Baron Frederick could not here repress a deep sigh of satisfaction, and the count, who noticed nothing, continued: "The hours, which their separation was soon to render so long, passed away with a cruel rapidity; the moment approached when Albert ought to leave Flaminia, that he might report himself to the Grand-Master Coroner, who was then preparing an expedition directed against Napoli of Roumania, and the few days they had yet to pass together made them feel still more strongly the happiness that they were about to lose. Giovanni had announced his intention of following his friend, and their approaching departure had cast a shade of sadness on that household, lately so joyous that it had seemed a nest hidden from the world, where alone happiness dwelt. One evening, when, according to their usual custom, they were all grouped together under the shadow of the vines, the conversation took a melancholy form, and the fear that reigned in all their hearts expressed itself by words: they were talking of death. 'Come, come,' said the Prince Balbo, after a few minutes of discussion on the subject, 'what is the use of these fears? When duty calls, we must obey, not only by action, but in heart, and without regret. Besides,' he added, 'the hour of our death is not in our own choice; and none are protected from his stroke when God calls the angel of death and says, "Strike!" I have, like you, my children, incurred many perils in my life, and yet sixty winters have whitened my head; and how many have I not seen of those whose life was peaceable—of flourishing youth—sheltered from all harm, who have been struck down before their time! Let us confide in God, my children; let us resign ourselves beforehand to his will, which is always just, always good—since he is eternally just and good.'
"Flaminia, crushed by the grief of a separation that snatched away from her for ever the half of her soul, had, until these last words of her father, remained silent; but then, lifting her head and leaning slightly toward Albert, said to him in a tone that was audible only to him, 'Yes, happily, one dies at every age.'
"Albert understood her thought.
"'Do you not, then, think on the grief of those who are left?' answered he, in a voice of low reproach.