HALL OF A TOWER IN THE PALACE OF EGERIUS.
SCENE I.
LUIS and POLONIA
LUIS. Yes, Polonia, yes, for he
Who betrays inconstancy
Has no reason for complaining
That another love is gaining
On his own; that fault will be
Ever punished so. For who
Proudly soars that doth not fall?
Therefore 'tis that I forestall
Philip's love howe'er so true.
He is nobler to the view,
As one nobly born may be;
But in that nobility,
Which one's self can win and wear,
I with justice may declare
I am nobler far than he;
I more honour have obtained
Than on Philip's cradle rained:
Let the fact excuse the boast,
For this land from coast to coast
Rings with victories I have gained.
Three years is it since I came
To these isles (it seems a day);
Three swift years have rolled away
Since I made it my chief aim
Thee to serve -- my highest fame.
Trophies numerous as the sand,
Mars might envy, has my hand
Won for thy great sire and thee --
Being the wonder of the sea,
And th' amazement of the land.
POLONIA. Luis, yes, thy gallant bearing,
Or inherited or acquired,
Has within my breast inspired
A strange fear, a certain daring,--
Ah, I know not if, declaring
This, 'tis love, for blushes rise
At perceiving with surprise
That at last hath come the hour,
When my heart must own the power
Of a deity I despise.
This alone I'll say, that here
Long thy hope had been fruition,
But that I the disposition
Of the king, my father, fear,
But still hope and persevere.
* * * * *
SCENE II.
PHILIP. -- THE SAME.
PHILIP [aside]. If to find my death I come,
Why precipitate my doom?
But so patient who could be
As to not desire to see
What impends, how dark its gloom?
LUIS. Then, what pledge may I demand
Of your faith?
POLONIA. This hand.
PHILIP. Not so,
How to hinder it I shall know;
More of this I must withstand.
POLONIA. Woe is me!
PHILIP. Wilt give thy hand
to this outcast of the wave?
And, oh thou, to whom pride gave
The presumption to aspire
To a sun's celestial fire,
Knowing that thou wert my slave,
Why thus dare to come between
Me and mine?
LUIS. Because I dare
Be what now I am, nor care
More to be what I have been.
It is true that I was seen
Once your slave: for who, indeed,
Can the fickle wheel control?
But in nobleness of soul
The best blood of all your breed
I can equal, nay, exceed.
PHILIP. Exceed ME? Vile homicide!
Wretch . . . .
LUIS. In having thus replied
You have made a slight mistake.
PHILIP. No.
LUIS. If such you did not make,
You've done worse.
PHILIP. Say, what?
LUIS. You've lied!
PHILIP. Villain! traitor
[Strikes him in the face.
POLONIA. Oh, ye skies!
LUIS. For so many injuries
Why not instant vengeance take,
When volcanic fires awake
In my breast, and hell-flames rise?
[They draw their swords.
* * * * *
SCENE III.
EGERIUS and soldiers. -- THE SAME.
KING. What is this?
LUIS. A lasting woe,
A misfortune, an abuse,
A sharp pain, a fiend let loose
From the infernal pit below.
Let no one presume to go
'Twixt me and revenge. Reflect,
Fury breathes immortal breath,
Vengeance has no fear of death,
Nor for any man respect.
I my honour must protect.
KING. Seize him.
LUIS. Let the man who sighs
For his death obey! You'll see
How the boldest fares, for he,
Even before your very eyes,
Shall be slain.
KING. That this should rise!--
Follow him.
LUIS. In desperate mood,
Plunging headlong in red blood,
Like a sea both wide and deep,
Thus courageously I leap,
Seeking Philip through the flood.
[All enter fighting.
* * * * *
SCENE IV.
KING. I but wanted this alone
After what I've heard, that he
Who escaped from slavery,
And to distant Rome had flown,
Now with purpose too well known,
Has to Ireland come again,
Where proclaiming the new reign
Of the faith, he has enticed
Many to believe in Christ,
Rending all the world in twain.
A magician he must be,
Since condemned, so rumour saith,
By some other kings to death,
He though tied upon the tree
In an instant set him free,
With such prodigies of wonder
That the earth (within whose womb
The dead lie as in a tom
Trembled, the air groaned in thunder,
Dark eclipse the sun lay under,
Deigning not a single glance
Of his radiant countenance
To the moon: from which I see
That this Patrick, for 'tis he,
Lords it over fate and chance;
Awe-struck by the prodigy,
Fearing they may punished be,
Crowds attend him on his way.
And 'tis said that he to-day
Comes to try his spells on me.
Let him come, and once for all
Wave in vain his conjuring rod!
We shall see who is this God,
Whom their God the Christians call.
By my hand must Patrick fall,
Were it but to see if he
Can escape his destiny,
Or my will subvert and master,
He this Bishop, he this Pastor,
He Pope's Legate, though he be.
* * * * *
SCENE V.
The Captain, Soldiers, LUIS a prisoner, The King.
CAPTAIN. Luis, sire, without delay
We secured; but not before
He killed three, and wounded more,
Of our company.
KING. Christian, say,
Why do you no fear display,
Seeing now in angry mood
My hand raised to shed your blood?
But in vain do I deplore,
Since he this deserves and more
Who has done a Christian good.
Gifts, not chastisement, should be
Thine to-day, for it is plain
It is I should feel the pain
For conferring good on thee.
Take him hence, and presently
Let him die; and be it known
Why from him has mercy flown.
'Tis not for his crimes or guilt
That this Christian's blood is spilt,
'Tis for Christ's belief alone.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
SCENE VI.
LUIS.
LUIS. If for this I die, to me
Thou the happiest death allottest,
Since he for his God will die,
He who dies to do Him honour.
And a man whose life is here
But a round of cares and crosses,
Should be grateful unto death
As the end of all his sorrows;
Since it comes the tangled thread
Of a wretched life to shorten,
Which to-day the evil Phoenix
Of its works that now prove mortal
Would revive amid the ashes
Of my wrong and my dishonour.
Then my life, my breath were poison,
Venom would my breast but foster,
Until I had shed in Ireland
Blood in such a copious torrent,
That though base it might wash out
The remembrance of my wronger.
Ah, my honour, low thou liest,
By a ruthless foot down trodden!--
I will die with thee, united
We two will together conquer
These barbarians. Then since little,
But a span at best, belongeth
To my life, a noble vengeance
Let this dagger take upon me!--
But, good God! what evil impulse
With demoniac instinct prompteth
Thus my hand? I am a Christian,
I've a soul, and share the godly
Light of faith: then were it right,
'Mid a crowd of Gentile mockers,
Thus the Christian faith to tarnish
By an action so improper?
What example would I give them
By a death so sad and shocking,
Save that I thus gave the lie
To the works that Patrick worketh.
Since they'd say, who worship only
Their own vices most immodest,
Who deny unto the soul
Its eternal joy or torment,
"Of what use is Patrick's preaching
That man's soul must be immortal,
If the Christian, Luis Enius,
Kills himself? He can't acknowledge
Its eternal life who'd lose it."--
Thus with actions so discordant,
He the light and I the shadow,
We would neutralize each other.
'Tis enough to be so wicked
As even now to feel no sorrow,
No repentance for past sins,
Rather a desire for others.
Yes, by God! for if escape
Fortune now my life would offer,
Europe, Africa, and Asia
I would fill with fear and horror;
First exacting here the debt
Of a vengeance so enormous,
That these islands of Egerius
Would not hold a single mortal
Who should not appease the thirst,
The insatiable longing
That I have for blood. The lightning,
When it bursts its prison portals,
Warns us in a voice of thunder,
And then 'twixt dark smoke and forked
Fires that take the shape of serpents,
Fills the trembling air with horror.
I, too, gave that thunder voice,
So that all men heard the promise,
But the lightning bolt was wanting.
Yes, ah me! it proved abortive,
And before it touched the earth
Was by dallying winds made sport of.
No, it is not death that grieves me,
Even a death of such dishonour,
'Tis because at last are ended,
In my youth's fresh opening blossom,
My offences. Life I wish for
To begin from this day forward
Greater and more dread excesses.
Heavens! 'tis for no other object.
* * * *
SCENE VII.
POLONIA. -- LUIS.
POLONIA [aside] (Now with mind made up I come.)
Luis, an occasion offers
Ever as the test and touchstone
Of true love. By certain knowledge
Have I learned the imminent danger
Of thy life. The wrath grows hotter
Of my father, and his fury
To evade is most important.
All the guards that here are with thee
Has my liberal hand suborned,
So that at the clink of gold
Have their ears grown deaf and torpid.
Fly! and that thou mayest see
How a woman's heart can prompt her,
How her honour she can trample,
How her self-respect leave prostrate,
With thee I will go, since now
It is needful that henceforward
I in life and death am thine,
For without thee life were worthless,
Thou who in my heart dost live.
I bring with me gems and money
Quite enough to the most distant
Parts of India to transport us,
Where the sun with beams and shadows
Scatters frost, or burning scorches.
At the door two steeds are standing,
I should rather call these horses
Two swift lynxes, air-born creatures,
Thoughts by liveliest minds begotten;
They so rapid are, that though
We as fugitives fly on them,
An assurance of our safety
We shall feel. At once resolve then.
Why thus ponder? what delays thee?
Time is pressing, therefore shorten
All discourse; and that mischance,
Which disturbs love's plans so often,
May not offer an obstruction
To so well-prepared a project,
First before thee I will go.
Issue, while in specious converse
I divert thy guards, and give
To thy coming forth a cover.
Even the sun our project favours,
Which amid the west waves yonder,
Sinking, dips his golden curls
To refresh his glowing forehead.
[Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE VIII.
LUIS.
LUIS. A most opportune occasion
To my hands has fortune offered;
Since Heaven knows that all the show
Of apparent love and fondness
Which I proffered to Polonia
Was assumed, it being my object
She should go with me, where I,
Seizing on the gold and costly
Gems she carries, so might issue
From this Babylonian bondage.
For although in my person
Was esteemed and duly honoured,
Still 'twas slavery after all,
And my free wild life was longing
For that liberty, heaven's best gift,
Which I had enjoyed so often.
But a great embarrassment
And a hindrance were a woman
For the end I have in view,
Since in me is love a folly
That ne'er passes appetite,
Which being satisfied, no longer
Care I for a woman's presence,
How so fair or so accomplished.
And since thus my disposition
Is so free, of what importance
Is a murder more or less?
At my hands must die Polonia
For her loving at a time
When there's no one loved or honoured.
Had she loved as others love,
Then she would have lived as others.
[Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE IX.
The Captain; then The King, PHILIP, and LEOGAIRE.
CAPTAIN. The sad sentence of his death
Have I come, by the king's orders,
Here to read to Luis Enius.--
But what's this? The door lies open,
And the tower deserted. Ha!
Soldiers! No one answers. Ho, there!
Guards, come hither, treason! treason!
[Enter The King, PHILIP, and LEOGAIRE.
KING. Why these outcries? this commotion?
What is this?
CAPTAIN. That Luis Enius
Has escaped, and from the fortress
All the guards have fled.
LEOGAIRE. My lord,
I saw entering here Polonia.
PHILIP. Heavens! beyond all doubt 'twas she
Who released him. That her lover
He dared call him, you well know.
Jealousy and rage provoke me
To pursue them. A new Troy
Will to-day be Ireland's story.
[Exit.
KING. Give me, too, a horse; in person
I these fugitives will follow.
Ah, what Christians are these two
Who with actions so discordant,
One deprives me of my rest,
And the other robs my honour?
But the twain shall feel the weight
Of my vengeful hands fall on them;
For not safe from me would be
Even their sovereign Roman Pontiff.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
SCENE X.
A WOOD, AT WHOSE EXTREMITY IS PAUL'S CABIN.
POLONIA flying wounded, and LUIS with a naked dagger in his hand.
POLONIA. Oh, hold thy bloody hand!
Though love be dead, let Christian faith command.
My honour take; but, oh, my poor life spare,
That suppliant at thy feet pours out its humble prayer.
LUIS. Hapless Polonia, since creation's hour
Beauty has ever one unvarying dower,
It brings misfortune with it, it is this
Makes beauty rarely live long time with bliss.
I, who less pity feel
Than any headsman who e'er held death's steel,
May by thy death procure
My life, since with it I will go secure.
If thee I bring where fortune's hand may guide me
I bring the witness of my woes beside me,
By whom they may pursue me,
Track me, discover me, in fact, undo me
If here I leave thee living,
I leave thee angry, vengeful, unforgiving;
Leave thee, in fact, to be
One enemy more (and what an enemy!);
Thus equally I grieve thee,
Thus evil do whether I take or leave thee;
And so 'tis better thus,
That I a wretch, cruel and infamous,
False, impious, fierce, abandoned, wicked, banned
By God and man, should slay thee by my hand,
Since buried here,
Within the rustic entrails dark and drear
Of this rude realm of stone,
My worst misfortune shall remain unknown.
My fury, too, shall gain
A novel kind of vengeance when thou'rt slain,
Remaining satisfied
That Philip, too, by the same stroke has died,
If in thy heart he lived; and then mine ire
Will need no victim more except thy sire.
Through thee first came
My first disgrace, the cause of all my shame,
And so the first of all
On thee my vengeful strokes shall furious fall.
POLONIA. Ah me! my fate pursuing,
I have but only worked my own undoing,
Like to the worm that by its subtle art
Spins its own grave. Hast thou a human heart?
LUIS. I am a demon. So to prove it, die.
Thus --
POLONIA. God of Patrick, listen to my cry!
[He stabs her several times, and she falls within.
LUIS. She fell on flowers, there sowing
Both lives and horrors in her blood outflowing.
Thus now with greater ease
I can escape, and carry o'er the seas,
In many a gem and chain,
Treasure enough to make me rich in Spain,
Until so changed by time,
Disguised by wandering in a foreign clime,
I may return to reap
My vengeance; for a wrong doth never sleep.
But whither do I stray,
Treading the shades of death in this dark way?
My path is lost: I go
Whither I do not know;
Perchance escaping from my prison bands
To fall again into my tyrant's hands.
If the dark night doth not my sight deceive,
Yonder a rustic cabin I perceive.
Yes, I am right. I'll knock; I can't much err,
They'll know the way.
[He knocks.
* * * * *
SCENE XI.
PAUL and LUCY. -- LUIS.
LUCY [within]. Who's there?
LUIS. A traveller,
Benighted, his way lost, confused, distressed,
Good worthy husbandman, disturbs thy rest.
LUCY [within]. Ho, Juan! how you snore!
Awake! there's some one knocking at the door.
PAUL [within]. Why, I am well enough here in my bed.
He knocks for you, so answer him instead.
LUCY [within]. Who's there?
LUIS. A traveller, I say.
PAUL [within]. A traveller?
LUIS. Yes.
PAUL [within]. Then travel on, I pray.
This cabin is no inn, sir, not a bit.
LUIS. I'm getting weary of this fellow's wit.
I'll try what kicking in the door will do.
[Drives in the door.
Ay, there it goes.
LUCY [within]. Why, Juan Paul, halloo!
Awake, I say, for if I don't mistake,
The door's knocked in.
PAUL [within]. Well, one eye is awake,
But underneath its lid the other's laid.--
Come with me, Lucy, for I'm sore afraid.
[Enter PAUL and LUCY.
Who's there?
LUIS. Be silent, peasants, and attend
If you would not that now your lives should end.
Lost in this woodland waste
I sought your door; and so, my friend, make haste
To tell me the best way
From this to the port, where I by break of day
May from the coast get clear.
PAUL. Go right ahead: first take the pathway here,
They left, then right again,
Rise where there's hill, descend where there's a plain,
And going thus, in short,
The port you'll reach when you have reached the port.
LUIS. 'Tis better that you come
Along with me, or by the heavens o'erhead,
Your blood shall stain the ground on which you tread.
LUCY. Were it not better, cavalier,
To pass the night here till the dawn appear?
PAUL. How very kind you are when least expected!
Are you already to this knight infected?
LUIS. Choose now, at once, I say,
To die or guide me.
PAUL. Don't be vexed, I pray;
If I without more haggling or vain clack
Select to go, and carry you on my back,
If so you chose, 'tis not that death I fear,
But just to disappoint my Lucy here.
LUIS [aside]. That he may not betray
Whither I go, to those who track my way,
Him from some cliff I'll throw
Headlong amid the icy waves below.--
[To LUCY.
You with this consolation here remain
Your husband will be with you soon again.
[Exeunt the two at one side, and she at the other.
* * * * *
SCENE XII.
The King EGERIUS, LESBIA, LEOGAIRE, The Captain;
afterwards PHILIP.
LESBIA. Not a trace of them is found;
All the mountain, hill and valley,
Leaf by leaf has been explored,
Bough by bough has been examined,
Rock by rock has been searched through,
Still no clue wherewith to track them
Can we light on.
KING. Without doubt,
To preserve them from my anger,
Has the earth engulphed the two;
For not heaven itself could guard them
From my wrath if still they lived.
LESBIA. See the sun his disentangled
Golden tresses far extends
Over mountains, groves and gardens,
Showing that the day hath come.
[Enter PHILIP.
PHILIP. Deign, your majesty, to hearken
To a tragedy more dreadful,
To a crime more unexampled
Than has time or fortune ever
Yet recorded in earth's annals.
Seeking traces of Polonia
Through these savage woods distracted
Roamed I restless all the night-time,
Till at length and amid the darkness
Half awakened rose the dawn;
Not in veils of gold and amber
Was she dressed, a robe of mourning
Formed of clouds composed her mantle,
And with discontented light
Hidden were the stars and planets,
Though for this one time alone
They were happy in their absence.
Searching there in every part,
We approached where blood was spattered
On the tender dewy flower,
And upon the ground some fragments of a woman's dress were strewn.
By these signs at once attracted,
We went on, 'till at the foot
Of a great rock overhanging,
In a fragrant tomb of roses
Lay Polonia, dead and stabbed there.
* * * * *
SCENE XIII.
POLONIA dead; and afterwards PATRICK. -- THE SAME.
PHILIP. Turn your eyes, and here you see
The young tree of beauty blasted,
Pale and sad the opening flower,
The bright flame abruptly darkened;
See here loveliness laid prostrate,
See warm life here turned to marble,
See, alas! Polonia dead.
KING. Philip, cease! proceed no farther!
For I have not resignation
To bear up with any calmness
'Gainst so many forms of wrong,
'Gainst so many shapes of sadness,
'Gainst such manifold misfortunes.
Ah, my daughter! Ah, thou hapless
Treasure fatally found for me!
LESBIA. Grief my feeling so o'ermasters
That I have not breath to mourn.
Ah! of all thy woes the partner
Let thy wretched sister be!
KING. What rude hand in ruffian anger
Raised its bloody steel against
Beauty so divinely fashioned?
Sorrow, sorrow ends my life.
PATRICK [within]. Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!
Woe to thee, unhappy people!
If with tears thou dost not water
The hard earth, and night and day
Weeping in thy bitter anguish,
Ope the golden gates of heaven
Which thy disobedience fastened.
Woe to thee, unhappy people!
Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!
KING. Heavens! what mournful tones are these?
What are these sad solemn accents
That transpierce my very heart,
That cut through me like a dagger?
Learn who thus disturbs the flowing
Of my grief's most tender channels.
Who but I should so lament?
Who but I should wail thus sadly?
LEOGAIRE. This, my lord, is Patrick, who
Having as you know, departed
From this country went to Rome,
Where the Pontiff, the great father,
Made him bishop, and a post
Of pre-eminence imparted
To him here; through all the islands
He proceedeth in this manner.
[PATRICK enters.
PATRICK. Woe to thee, unhappy people!
Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!
KING. Patrick, thou who thus my grief
Interrupted, and my sadness
Doubled with thy golden words,
Hiding false and poisonous matter,
Why thus persecute me? Wherefore
Thus disturb the hills and valleys
Of my kingdom with deceptions
And new-fangled laws and maxims?
Here we know but this alone,
We are born and die. Our fathers
Left us this, the simple doctrine
Taught by nature, and no farther
Have we sought to learn. What God
Can be this, of whom such marvels
You relate, who life eternal
Gives when temporal life departeth?
Can the soul, when it is severed
From the body, be so active
As to have another life,
Or of bale or bliss, hereafter?
PATRICK. Being loosened from the body,
And the human portion having
Given to nature, it being only
But a little dust and ashes,
Then the spirit upward rises,
To the higher sphere attracted,
Where its labours find their centre,
If it dies in grace, which baptism
First confers upon the soul,
And then penance ever after.
KING. Then this beauteous one, that here
Lies in her own blood bedabbled,
There, is living at this moment?
PATRICK. Yes.
KING. A sign, a proof, then, grant me
Of this truth.
PATRICK [aside]. Almighty Lord!
For Thy glory deign to hearken!
It behoveth Thee to show
Here Thy power by an example.
KING. What! you do not answer?
PATRICK. Heaven
Wishes for itself to answer.--
In the name of God, O corse,
[He extends his hands over the dead body of POLONIA.
Lying stiff here, I command thee
To arise and live, resuming
Thine own soul, and thus make patent
This great truth, before us preaching
The true doctrine and evangel.
POLONIA [arising]. Woe is me! Oh, save me, heaven!
Ah, what secrets are imparted
To the soul! O Lord! O Lord!
Stay the red hand of Thy anger,
Of Thy justice. Do not threaten,
'Gainst a woman weak and abject,
The dread thunders of Thy rigour,
Of Thy power the lightning's flashes.
Where, oh, where shall I conceal me
From Thy countenance, if haply
Thou art wroth? Ye rocks, he mountains,
Fall upon and overcast me.
Hating mine own self, to-day
Would that to my prayer 'twas granted
In the centre of the earth
From Thy sight to hide and mask me!
Ah, but why? if wheresoever
My unhappy fate might cast me
There I brought with me my sin?
See ye, see ye not this Atlas
Back recede, and this huge mountain
Tremble to its base? The axes
Of the firmament are loosened,
And its perfect fabric hangeth
Threatening ruin o'er my head,
With terrific pride and grandeur.
Darker grows the air around me,
Chained, my feet proceed no farther,
Even the seas retire before me.
What, here fly me not nor startle,
Are the wild beasts, which to rend me
Bit by bit come on to attack me.
Mercy, mighty Lord, oh, mercy!
Pardon, gracious Lord, oh, pardon!
Holy baptism I implore,
That in grace I may depart hence.
Mortals, hear, oh, mortals hear,
Christ is living, Christ is master,
Christ is god, the one true God!
Penance, penance, penance practice!
[Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE XIV.
THE SAME, with the exception of POLONIA.
PHILIP. How prodigious!
CAPTAIN. How stupendous!
LESBIA. What a miracle!
LEOGAIRE. What a marvel!
KING. What enchantment! what bewitchment!
Who can bear this? who can grant this?
ALL. Christ is God, the one true God.
KING. What a bold deceit is practised
Here, blind people, to deceive you,
In the making of these marvels,
Which you have not sense to see
Are in outward show but acted
And within are fraud! However,
That the truth be now established,
I will own myself convinced,
If in argument shall Patrick
Prove his case: and so attend
As the grave dispute advances.
If the soul was made immortal
It could never be inactive
Even for a single moment.
PATRICK. Yes; and every dream that passes
Proves this truth; because the dreams
That engender numerous phantoms
Are discourses of the soul
That ne'er sleeps, and as these shadows
Simulate the imperfect actions
Of the senses, a strange language
And imperfect is produced;
And 'tis thus that in their trances
Men dream things that are at once
Inconsistent and fantastic.
KING. Well, then, this being so, I ask
Was Polonia when this happened
Dead or not? For if but only
In a swoon, what mighty marvel,
Then, was done? But this I pass.
If she really had departed,
Then to one of the two places,
Heaven or hell, so named, O Patrick,
By yourself, it must have gone.
If it was in heaven, 'twas hardly
Merciful in God to send it
Back into this world, to hazard
A new chance of condemnation,
When 'twas once in grace and happy.
This is surely true. If, likewise,
It had been in hell, 'tis adverse
To strict justice, since it were not
Just that that which by its badness
Once had earned such punishment,
Should again be given the chances
Of regaining grace. It must,
I presume, be taken as granted
That God's justice and His mercy
Cannot possibly be parted.
Where, I ask then, was her soul?
PATRICK. Hear, Egerius, the answer.
I concede that for the soul,
Sanctified by holy baptism,
Heaven or hell must be its goal,
Out of which, by God's commandment,
Speaking of His usual power,
It can never more be absent.
But if of His absolute power
There is question, God could drag it
Even from hell itself; but this
Is not what we have to argue.
That the soul doth go to either
Of those places, must be granted
When 'tis severed from the body
Once for all by mortal absence
To return to it no more;
But when otherwise commanded
To it to return, it waiteth
In a certain state of passage,
And remains as 'twere suspended
In the universe, not having
Any special place allotted.
For the Almighty mind forecasting
All things, when from out His essence,
As th' exemplar, the fair pattern
Of His thought, this glorious fabric
He brought forth to light and gladness,
Saw this very incident,
And well knowing what would happen,
That this soul would here return,
Kept it for awhile inactive,
Seemingly unfixed, yet fixed.
This is the authentic answer
That theology, that sacred
Science, gives to what you have asked me.
But another point remaineth:
There are other places, mark me,
Both of glory and of pain,
Than you think; and of these latter
One is called the Purgatory,
Where the soul of him who haply
Dies in grace, is purged from stains,
Sinful stains which it contracted
In the world: for into heaven
None can pass till these are cancelled.
And thus, there 'tis purified,
Cleansed by fire from all that tarnished,
Till to God's divinest presence
Pure and clean at length it passes.
KING. So you say, and I have nothing
To confirm what you advance here
But your word. Some proof now give me,
Give me something I can handle,
Something tangible to convince me
Of this truth, that I may grasp it,
And know what it is. And since
So much power and influence have you
With your God, implore His grace,
That I may believe the faster,
Some material fact to give me,
Something that we all can grapple,
Not mere creatures of the mind.
And remember that at farthest
But an hour remains in which
You must give me sure and ample
Signs of punishment and glory,
Or you die. These mighty marvels
Of your God here let them come,
Where the truth we can examine
For ourselves. And if we neither
Heaven or hell deserve to have here,
Show us, then, this Purgatory,
Which is different from the latter,
So that here we all may know
His omnipotence and grandeur.
Mind, God's honour rests upon you,
Tell Him to defend and guard it.
[Exeunt all but PATRICK.
* * * * *
SCENE XV.
PATRICK.
PATRICK. Here, mighty Lord, dart down thy searching glance,
Arm'd with the dreadful lightnings of Thine ire,
Wing'd with Thy vengeance, as the bolt with fire,
And rout the squadrons of fell ignorance:
Come not in pity to the hostile band,
Treat not as friends Thy enemies abhorr'd,
But since they ask for portents, mighty Lord,
Come with the blood-red lightnings in Thy hand.
Of old Elias asked with burning sighs
For chastisement, and Moses did display
Wonders and portents; in the self-same way
Listen, O Lord, to my beseeching cries,
And though I be not great or good as they,
Still let my accents pierce the listening skies!
Portents and chastisement, both day and night
I ask, O Lord, may from Thy hand be given,
That Purgatory, Hell and Heaven,
May be revealed unto these mortals' sight.
* * * * *
SCENE XVI.
A Good Angel at one side, and on the other a Bad Angel. -- PATRICK.
BAD ANGEL [to himself]. Fearful that the favouring skies
May accede to Patrick's prayer,
And discover to him where
Earth's most wondrous treasure lies,
Like a minister of light,
Full of scorn, I hither fly
It to chill and nullify.
Covering with my poison blight
His petition.
GOOD ANGEL. Then give o'er,
Cruel monster; for in me
His protecting angel see.
But be silent, speak no more.--
[to him.
Patrick, God has heard Thy prayer,
He has listen'd to thy vows,
And, as thou hast asked, allows
Earth's great secrets to lie bare.
Seek along this island ground
For a vast and darksome cave,
Which restrains the lake's dark wave.
And supports the mountains round;
He who dares to go therein,
Having first contritely told
All his faults, shall there behold
Where the soul is purged from sin.
He shall see, with mortal eyes,
Hell itself, where those who die
In their sins for ever lie
In the fire that never dies.
He shall see, in blest fruition,
Where the happy spirits dwell.
But of this be sure as well --
He who without due contrition
Enters there to idly try
What the cave may be, doth go
To his death; he'll suffer woe,
While the Lord doth reign on high,
Who thy soul this day shall free
From this poor world's weariness.
It is thus that God doth bless
Those who love His name like thee.
He shall grant to thee in pity,
Bliss undreamed by mortal men,
Making thee a denizen
Of His own celestial city.
He shall to the world proclaim
His omnipotence and glory,
By the wondrous Purgatory
Which shall bear thy sainted name.
Lest thou think the promise vain
Of this miracle divine,
I will take this shape malign,
Which came hither to profane
Thy devotion, and within
This dark cavern's dark abyss
Fling it,-- there to howl and hiss
In the everlasting din.
[They disappear.
PATRICK. Glory, glory unto Thee,
Mighty Lord; the heavens proclaim,
Miracles attest Thy name,
Wonders show that Thou must be.--
[Calling.
King!
* * * * *
SCENE XVII.
The King, PHILIP, LESBIA, LEOGAIRE, The Captain, People. -- PATRICK.
KING. What would'st thou?
PATRICK. Come with me
Through this mountain woodland drear,
Thou and all thy followers here,
Thou and they shall see therein
The dark place reserved for sin,
And rewards delightful sphere.
They shall have a passing view
Of a sight no tongue can tell,
An unending miracle,
To whose greatness shall be due
Their amazement ever new
Who its secrets shall unveil.
Yes, a perfect image pale
In the wonders guarded here,
Shall they see with awe and fear,
Of the realms of bliss and bale.
[Exit, followed by all.
* * * * *
SCENE XVIII.
A REMOTE PART OF THE MOUNTAIN WITH THE MOUTH OF A HORRIBLE CAVE.
THE SAME.
KING. Look, O Patrick, for you go
Turning towards a part forbidden,
Where the light of the sun is hidden
Even in the noon-tide's glow.
Through this wilderness of woe
Even the hunter in pursuit
Of his prey ne'er placed a foot
On its trackless wild walks green,
Since for ages it has been
Shunned alike by man and brute.
PHILIP. We for many and many a year,
Who have lived here from our youth,
Never dared to learn the truth
Of the secrets hidden here;
For the entrance did appear
In itself enough to make
Even the bravest heart to quake.
No one yet has dared to brave
The wild rocks that guard this cave,
Or the waters of this lake.
KING. And for auguries we heard,
Borne the troubled wind along,
Oft the sad funereal song
Of some lone nocturnal bird.
PHILIP. Be the rash attempt deferred.
PATRICK. Let not causeless fear arise;
For a treasure of the skies
Here is hidden.
KING. What is fear?
Could it ever me come near
In an earthquake's agonies?
No; for though the flames should break
As from some sulphureous lake,
And the mountains' sides run red
From the molten fires outshed,
They could ne'er my courage shake,
Never make me fear.
* * * * *
SCENE XIX.
POLONIA. -- THE SAME.
POLONIA. Oh, stay,
Wandering from the path astray,
Hapless crowd, rash, indiscreet,
Turn away your erring feet,
For misfortune lies that way.
Here from myself with hurried footsteps flying,
I dared to treat this wilderness profound,
Beneath the mountain whose proud top defying
The pure bright sunbeam is with huge rocks crowned,
Hoping that here, as in its dark grave lying,
Never my sin could on the earth be found,
And I myself might find a port of peace
Where all the tempests of the world might cease.
No polar star had hostile fate decreed me,
As on my perilous path I dared to stray,
So great its pride, no hand presumed to lead me,
And guide my silent footstep on its way.
Not yet the aspect of the place has freed me
From the dread terror, anguish and dismay,
Which were awakened by this mountain's gloom,
And all the hidden wonders of its womb.
See ye not here this rock some power secureth,
That grasps with awful toil the hill-side brown,
And with the very anguish it endureth
Age after age seems slowly coming down?
Suspended there with effort, it obscureth
A mighty cave beneath, which it doth crown;--
An open mouth the horrid cavern shapes,
Wherewith the melancholy mountain gapes.
This, then, by mournful cypress trees surrounded,
Between the lips of rocks at either side,
Reveals a monstrous neck of length unbounded,
Whose tangled hair is scantily supplied
By the wild herbs that there the wind hath grounded,
A gloom whose depths no sun has ever tried,
A space, a void, the gladsome day's affright,
The fatal refuge of the frozen night.
I wished to enter there, to make my dwelling
Within the cave; but here my accents fail,
My troubled voice, against my will rebelling.
Doth interrupt so terrible a tale.--
What novel horror, all the past excelling,
Must I relate to you, with cheeks all pale,
Without cold terror on my bosom seizing,
And even my voice, my breath, my pulses freezing?
I scarcely had o'ercome my hesitation,
And gone within the cavern's vault profound,
When I heard wails of hopeless lamentation,
Despairing shrieks that shook the walls around,
Curses, and blasphemy, and desperation,
Dark crimes avowed that would even hell astound,
Which heaven, I think, in order not to hear,
Had hid within this prison dark and drear.
Let him come here who doubts what I am telling,
Let him here bravely enter who denies,
Soon shall he hear the sounds of dreadful yelling,
Soon shall the horrors gleam before his eyes.
For me, my voice is hushed, my bosom swelling,
Pants now with terror, now with strange surprise.
Nor is it right that human tongue should dare
High heaven's mysterious secrets to lay bare.
PATRICK. This cave, O king, which here you see, concealeth
The mysteries of life as well as death:
Not, I should say, for him whose bosom feeleth
No true repentance, or no real faith;
But he who boldly enters, who revealeth
His sins, confessing them with penitent breath,
Shall see them all forgiven, his conscience clear,
And have alive his Purgatory here.
KING. And dost thou think, O Patrick, that I owe
My blood so little, as to yield to dread,
And trembling fear like a weak woman show?
Say, who shall be the first this cave to tread?
What silent! Philip?
PHILIP. Sire, I dare not go.
KING. Then, Captain, thou?
CAPTAIN. Enough to strike me dead
Is even the thought.
KING. Leogaire, thou'lt surely dare?
LEOGAIRE. The heavens, my lord, themselves exclaim forbear!
KING. O cowards, lost to every sense of shame,
Unfit to gird the warrior's sword around
Your shrinking loins! Men are ye but in name.
Well, I myself shall be the first to sound
The depths of this enchantment, and proclaim
Unto this Christian that my heart unawed
Nor dreads his incantations nor his God!
[Egerius advances to the cave, and on entering sinks into it with
much noise, flames rise from below, and many voices are heard.
POLONIA. How terrible!
LEOGAIRE. How awful!
PHILIP. What a wonder!
CAPTAIN. The earth is breathing out its central fire.
[Exit.
LEOGAIRE. The axes of the sky are burst asunder.
[Exit.
POLONIA. The heavens are loosening their collected ire.
{Exit.
LESBIA. The earth doth quake, and peals the sullen thunder.
[Exit.
PATRICK. O, mighty Lord, who will not now admire
Thy wondrous works?
[Exit.
PHILIP. Oh! who that's not insane
Will enter Patrick's Purgatory again?
[Exit.
