AND LAST, WHEREIN THE SUBLIME DREAM OF SATAN IS UNFOLDED
Climbing the seven steep terraces which rise up from the bed of the
Ganges to the temples muffled in creepers, the five angels reached, by
half-obliterated paths, the wild garden filled with perfumed clusters of
grapes and chattering monkeys, and, at the far end thereof, they
discovered him whom they had come to seek. The archangel lay with his
elbow on black cushions embroidered with golden flames. At his feet
crouched lions and gazelles. Twined in the trees, tame serpents turned
on him their friendly gaze. At the sight of his angelic visitors his
face grew melancholy. Long since, in the days when, with his brow
crowned with grapes and his sceptre of vine-leaves in his hand, he had
taught and comforted mankind, his heart had many times been heavy with
sorrow; but never yet, since his glorious downfall, had his beautiful
face expressed such pain and anguish.
Zita told him of the black standards assembled in crowds in all the
waste places of the globe; of the deliverance premeditated and prepared
in the provinces of Heaven, where the first revolt had long ago been
fomented.
"Prince," she went on, "your army awaits you. Come, lead it on to
victory."
"Friends," replied the great archangel, "I was aware of the object of
your visit. Baskets of fruit and honeycombs await you under the shade of
this mighty tree. The sun is about to descend into the roseate waters of
the Sacred River. When you have eaten, you will slumber pleasantly in
this garden, where the joys of the intellect and of the senses have
reigned since the day when I drove hence the spirit of the old Demiurge.
To-morrow I will give you my answer."
Night hung its blue over the garden. Satan fell asleep. He had a dream,
and in that dream, soaring over the earth, he saw it covered with angels
in revolt, beautiful as gods, whose eyes darted lightning. And from pole
to pole one single cry, formed of a myriad cries, mounted towards him,
filled with hope and love. And Satan said:
"Let us go forth! Let us seek the ancient adversary in his high abode."
And he led the countless host of angels over the celestial plains. And
Satan was cognizant of what took place in the heavenly citadel. When
news of this second revolt came thither, the Father said to the Son:
"The irreconcilable foe is rising once again. Let us take heed to
ourselves, and in this, our time of danger, look to our defences, lest
we lose our high abode."
And the Son, consubstantial with the Father, replied:
"We shall triumph under the sign that gave Constantine the victory."
Indignation burst forth on the Mountain of God. At first the faithful
Seraphim condemned the rebels to terrible torture, but afterwards
decided on doing battle with them. The anger burning in the hearts of
all inflamed each countenance. They did not doubt of victory, but
treachery was feared, and eternal darkness had been at once decreed for
spies and alarmists.
There was shouting and singing of ancient hymns and praise of the
Almighty. They drank of the mystic wine. Courage, over-inflated, came
near to giving way, and a secret anxiety stole into the inner depths of
their souls. The archangel Michael took supreme command. He reassured
their minds by his serenity. His countenance, wherein his soul was
visible, expressed contempt for danger. By his orders, the chiefs of the
thunderbolts, the Kerûbs, grown dull with the long interval of peace,
paced with heavy steps the ramparts of the Holy Mountain, and, letting
the gaze of their bovine eyes wander over the glittering clouds of
their Lord, strove to place the divine batteries in position. After
inspecting the defences, they swore to the Most High that all was in
readiness. They took counsel together as to the plan they should follow.
Michael was for the offensive. He, as a consummate soldier, said it was
the supreme law. Attack, or be attacked,--there was no middle course.
"Moreover," he added, "the offensive attitude is particularly suitable
to the ardour of the Thrones and Dominations."
Beyond that, it was impossible to obtain a word from the valiant chief,
and this silence seemed the mark of a genius sure of himself.
As soon as the approach of the enemy was announced, Michael sent forth
three armies to meet them, commanded by the archangels Uriel, Raphael,
and Gabriel. Standards, displaying all the colours of the Orient, were
unfurled above the ethereal plains, and the thunders rolled over the
starry floors. For three days and three nights was the lot of the
terrible and adorable armies unknown on the Mountain of God. Towards
dawn on the fourth day news came, but it was vague and confused. There
were rumours of indecisive victories; of the triumph now of this side,
now of that. There came reports of glorious deeds which were dissipated
in a few hours.
The thunderbolts of Raphael, hurled against the rebels, had, it was
said, consumed entire squadrons. The troops commanded by the impure Zita
were thought to have been swallowed up in the whirlwind of a tempest of
fire. It was believed that the savage Istar had been flung headlong into
the gulf of perdition so suddenly that the blasphemies begun in his
mouth had been forced backwards with explosive results. It was popularly
supposed that Satan, laden with chains of adamant, had been plunged once
again into the abyss. Meanwhile, the commanders of the three armies had
sent no messages. Mutterings and murmurs, mingling with the rumours of
glory, gave rise to fears of an indecisive battle, a precipitate
retreat. Insolent voices gave out that a spirit of the lowest category,
a guardian angel, the insignificant Arcade, had checked and routed the
dazzling host of the three great archangels.
There were also rumours of wholesale defection in the Seventh Heaven,
where rebellion had broken out before the beginning of Time, and some
had even seen black clouds of impious angels joining the armies of the
rebels on Earth. But no one lent an ear to the odious rumours, and
stress was laid on the news of victory which ran from lip to lip, each
statement readily finding confirmation. The high places resounded with
hymns of joy; the Seraphim celebrated on harp and psaltery Sabaoth, God
of Thunder. The voices of the elect united with those of the angels in
glorifying the Invisible and at the thought of the bloodshed that the
ministers of holy wrath had caused among the rebels, sighs of relief and
jubilation were wafted from the Heavenly Jerusalem towards the Most
High. But the beatitude of the most blessed, having swelled to the
utmost limit before due time, could increase no more, and the very
excess of their felicity completely dulled their senses.
The songs had not yet ceased when the guards watching on the ramparts
signalled the approach of the first fugitives of the divine army;
Seraphim on tattered wing, flying in disorder, maimed Kerûbs going on
three feet. With impassive gaze, Michael, prince of warriors, measured
the extent of the disaster, and his keen intelligence penetrated its
causes. The armies of the living God had taken the offensive, but by one
of those fatalities in war which disconcert the plans of the greatest
captains, the enemy had also taken the offensive, and the effect was
evident. Scarcely were the gates of the citadel opened to receive the
glorious but shattered remnants of the three armies, when a rain of fire
fell on the Mountain of God. Satan's army was not yet in sight, but the
walls of topaz, the cupolas of emerald, the roofs of diamond, all fell
in with an appalling crash under the discharge of the electrophores. The
ancient thunderclouds essayed to reply, but the bolts fell short, and
their thunders were lost in the deserted plains of the skies.
Smitten by an invisible foe, the faithful angels abandoned the ramparts.
Michael went to announce to his God that the Holy Mountain would fall
into the hands of the demon in twenty-four hours, and that nothing
remained for the Master of the Heavens but to seek safety in flight. The
Seraphim placed the jewels of the celestial crown in coffers. Michael
offered his arm to the Queen of Heaven, and the Holy Family escaped from
the palace by a subterranean passage of porphyry. A deluge of fire was
falling on the citadel. Regaining his post once more, the glorious
archangel declared that he would never capitulate, and straightway
advanced the standards of the living God. That same evening the rebel
host made its entry into the thrice-sacred city. On a fiery steed Satan
led his demons. Behind him marched Arcade, Istar, and Zita. As in the
ancient revels of Dionysus, old Nectaire bestrode his ass. Thereafter,
floating out far behind, followed the black standards.
The garrison laid down their arms before Satan. Michael placed his
flaming sword at the feet of the conquering archangel.
"Take back your sword, Michael," said Satan. "It is Lucifer who yields
it to you. Bear it in defence of peace and law." Then letting his gaze
fall on the leaders of the celestial cohorts, he cried in a ringing
voice:
"Archangel Michael, and you, Powers, Thrones, and Dominations, swear all
of you to be faithful to your God."
"We swear it," they replied with one voice.
And Satan said:
"Powers, Thrones, and Dominations, of all past wars, I wish but to
remember the invincible courage that you displayed and the loyalty which
you rendered to authority, for these assure me of the steadfastness of
the fealty you have just sworn to me."
The following day, on the ethereal plain, Satan commanded the black
standards to be distributed to the troops, and the winged soldiers
covered them with kisses and bedewed them with tears.
And Satan had himself crowned God. Thronging round the glittering walls
of Heavenly Jerusalem, apostles, pontiffs, virgins, martyrs, confessors,
the whole company of the elect, who during the fierce battle had enjoyed
delightful tranquillity, tasted infinite joy in the spectacle of the
coronation.
The elect saw with ravishment the Most High precipitated into Hell, and
Satan seated on the throne of the Lord. In conformity with the will of
God which had cut them off from sorrow they sang in the ancient fashion
the praises of their new Master.
And Satan, piercing space with his keen glance, contemplated the little
globe of earth and water where of old he had planted the vine and formed
the first tragic chorus. And he fixed his gaze on that Rome where the
fallen God had founded his empire on fraud and lie. Nevertheless, at
that moment a saint ruled over the Church. Satan saw him praying and
weeping. And he said to him:
"To thee I entrust my Spouse. Watch over her faithfully. In thee I
confirm the right and power to decide matters of doctrine, to regulate
the use of the sacraments, to make laws and to uphold purity of morals.
And the faithful shall be under obligation to conform thereto. My Church
is eternal, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Thou art
infallible. Nothing is changed."
And the successor of the apostles felt flooded with rapture. He
prostrated himself, and with his forehead touching the floor, replied:
"O Lord, my God, I recognise Thy voice! Thy breath has been wafted like
balm to my heart. Blessed be Thy name. Thy will be done on Earth, as it
is in Heaven. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
And Satan found pleasure in praise and in the exercise of his grace; he
loved to hear his wisdom and his power belauded. He listened with joy to
the canticles of the cherubim who celebrated his good deeds, and he
took no pleasure in listening to Nectaire's flute, because it celebrated
nature's self, yielded to the insect and to the blade of grass their
share of power and love, and counselled happiness and freedom. Satan,
whose flesh had crept, in days gone by, at the idea that suffering
prevailed in the world, now felt himself inaccessible to pity. He
regarded suffering and death as the happy results of omnipotence and
sovereign kindness. And the savour of the blood of victims rose upward
towards him like sweet incense. He fell to condemning intelligence and
to hating curiosity. He himself refused to learn anything more, for fear
that in acquiring fresh knowledge he might let it be seen that he had
not known everything at the very outset. He took pleasure in mystery,
and believing that he would seem less great by being understood, he
affected to be unintelligible. Dense fumes of Theology filled his brain.
One day, following the example of his predecessor, he conceived the
notion of proclaiming himself one god in three persons. Seeing Arcade
smile as this proclamation was made, he drove him from his presence.
Istar and Zita had long since returned to earth. Thus centuries passed
like seconds. Now, one day, from the altitude of his throne, he plunged
his gaze into the depths of the pit and saw Ialdabaoth in the Gehenna
where he himself had long lain enchained. Amid the everlasting gloom
Ialdabaoth still retained his lofty mien. Blackened and shattered,
terrible and sublime, he glanced upwards at the palace of the King of
Heaven with a look of proud disdain, then turned away his head. And the
new god, as he looked upon his foe, beheld the light of intelligence and
love pass across his sorrow-stricken countenance. And lo! Ialdabaoth was
now contemplating the Earth and, seeing it sunk in wickedness and
suffering, he began to foster thoughts of kindliness in his heart. On a
sudden he rose up, and beating the ether with his mighty arms, as though
with oars, he hastened thither to instruct and to console mankind.
Already his vast shadow shed upon the unhappy planet a shade soft as a
night of love.
And Satan awoke bathed in an icy sweat.
Nectaire, Istar, Arcade, and Zita were standing round him. The finches
were singing.
"Comrades," said the great archangel, "no--we will not conquer the
heavens. Enough to have the power. War engenders war, and victory
defeat.
"God, conquered, will become Satan; Satan, conquering, will become God.
May the fates spare me this terrible lot; I love the Hell which formed
my genius. I love the Earth where I have done some good, if it be
possible to do any good in this fearful world where beings live but by
rapine. Now, thanks to us, the god of old is dispossessed of his
terrestrial empire, and every thinking being on this globe disdains him
or knows him not. But what matter that men should be no longer
submissive to Ialdabaoth if the spirit of Ialdabaoth is still in them;
if they, like him, are jealous, violent, quarrelsome, and greedy, and
the foes of the arts and of beauty? What matter that they have rejected
the ferocious Demiurge, if they do not hearken to the friendly demons
who teach all truths; to Dionysus, Apollo, and the Muses? As to
ourselves, celestial spirits, sublime demons, we have destroyed
Ialdabaoth, our Tyrant, if in ourselves we have destroyed Ignorance and
Fear."
And Satan, turning to the gardener, said:
"Nectaire, you fought with me before the birth of the world. We were
conquered because we failed to understand that Victory is a Spirit, and
that it is in ourselves and in ourselves alone that we must attack and
destroy Ialdabaoth."
THE END
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| Transcriber's Notes |
| |
| Page 74: "Madame des Aubel's" amended to "Madame des |
| Aubels'" |
| Page 170: "clomb" _sic_ (archaic; past tense of _climb_). |
| Page 210: "befel" _sic_ (archaic). |
| Page 230: "Bouchette" amended to "Bouchotte" |
| Page 234: "befel" _sic_ (archaic). |
| Page 259: "cetain" amended to "certain" |
| Page 278: "youself" amended to "yourself" |
| Page 284: "wistaria" _sic_; alternative spelling. |
| Page 309: "Bergundy" amended to "Burgundy" |
| |
| Accents and hyphenation have generally been standardised. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+