life-waves!
From the depths and whirlpools of the stormful currents sounds the
moan of eternal sorrow!
Behind roars the bottomless abyss, black with the gloomy mists rising
from the woes of the Past:
Before lies the far-off Heaven, burning and blazing with flames red
as of blood:
Around struggle the swimmers, in surges so cold, hopeless,
and murky,
That from each as he floats onward is forced the cry; 'WOE! THE
CURSE IS UPON ME!'
Mother, many times murdered! Unhappy mother! with the long and countless
blades of thy ever-green grasses, with the waving stems of thy grain
fields, thou wilt bind our undying memories closely to thee, but
henceforth must thy sons wander and suffer, as they love thee. Behind
them, from sea to sea, is the Grave; before them, wheresoever they may
roam, the Sun set; while monarchs and merchants curse the endless
progression!
The Living cannot understand those reared on the bosom of the
Dead--human faces grow pale at the approach of the spectres--at the echo
of their footsteps the home-fires glimmer and flicker low on the
hearthstone--the mother hides her child--the wife leads away the husband
that he may not clasp hands with the wandering exile,--the evening star
alone, the star of graves, smiles from Heaven on them!
* * * * *
Was not the silence of the forests holy? When the wind swept over the
Pines, did not the mystic murmurs, sacred as the prayers of the Priest,
say to you: 'Nowhere there will you find your God!' The spaces are
filled with the giant skeletons torn from the dim woods; they are
chained and clamped with iron and fed with steam; the eagles soar not in
the air above them, nor do the glad birds twitter in the swaying
branches; none among you may mount the strong horse of the desert and
fly afar over the boundless steppes, rejoicing in his arrowy
swiftness;--you are alone in the midst of the world!
* * * * *
As you wander on, poor exiles, your very gratitude is half disdain! When
they lead you into cities without castles or temples, where trade and
commerce rule; among whitewashed houses where the spirit of Beauty is
not, and the green window-shutters are the sole adornment--murmur ye:
THE DEAD!
* * * * *
On the shores of the seas when you dwell with Jews, Armenians, and
Greeks, quarrelling forever over their vile profits; seeing not the
heavens, nor hearing the thunder as it booms over the waves--murmur ye:
THE DEAD!
* * * * *
When women in rich attire move around you, and you feel that the faint
fluttering of the silken robe is far more spiritual than the life-breath
of their souls--murmur ye: THE DEAD!
* * * * *
Float on, then, like the sacred whispers from the unhewn forests! The
world will not know you, because you are of the race sprung from
coffins; born and cradled in coffins; but as you rise from the grave,
strew upon the ground beneath your feet the mouldering rags of your
shrouds--and _he_, seated on the verge of the abyss, on the steep and
slippery declivity; _he_, robed in the royal purple of power, will not
survive your Resurrection--but must himself descend into the coffin!
I saw imaged before me, as in a wondrous vision, the varied scenes and
changes as it were of a long life--rising, progressing, and vanishing,
as if bound in a single day, beginning with the morning and fleeting
away with the evening shadows.
It seemed to me in my vision that the morning was strangely transparent.
No clouds dulled the ether above. Far over the wide green space rose the
sun, and in front of the House on the Hill stood a horse already
saddled, impatiently wounding the velvety grass with his iron hoofs, and
snuffing with wide nostrils the fresh breeze from the valley. Near him
stood his young master. The light in his blue eye was bright as the
young beam of the day. He had one foot in the stirrup, and the other on
the soft home-turf; with one hand caressing the long waving mane of the
steed, and the other clasped in the grasp of the man from whom he was
taking leave--they knew not for how long, but yet felt it was not
forever. Words were pouring from the heart of the one into the heart of
the other. The elder, he who stood on the ground and was to move on on
foot, kept his gaze steadily fixed on the rocks and forests lying beyond
the smooth green turf. The younger, with raised eyes, gazed into the
sky, as if absorbing its light in the blue lustrous pupils; and when he
spoke, his voice was like the fresh breath of spring. The elder spoke
more slowly, almost sternly, as though advising, warning, beseeching--as
if he loved deeply, yet doubted, feared; but the younger had no fear, no
doubts--he pledged himself and vowed--threw himself first into the arms
of his friend, then leaped into his saddle. He pushed his horse rapidly
on, swift as the arrow skims the plain, or the mountain stream plunges
below. A cloud of servants poured forth from the halls of the ancient
House, and followed their young Lord.
He who remained behind, knelt; and fragments of his prayer were brought
me by the wind, 'O Heavenly Father! let not this blooming soul wither
away upon this arid earth! Lead it not into the temptation of human
servitude; remove from it all sinful stain! Let it serve Thee alone!
Thee and the many times murdered Mother!'
He continued kneeling, although sunk in silence, as if wrapped in deep
meditation, scarcely knowing whether to indulge in the dim prophecies
then surging his soul, or to prolong his prayers. Then I saw him start,
clasp his hands forcibly together--and again his words were borne to me
by the wind.
'O Heavenly Father! I ask Thee not to sweeten the bitter cup of life for
my friend; I know that all who live must suffer; but, O merciful God,
spare him the blush of shame, the infamy of weakness!'
Then I saw the Wanderer rise from his knees, descend the hill, and make
his way on foot through the forest to the distant rocks.
* * * * *
About high noon of the same day they met again before the gate of a
great city. The young man was still on his horse, his fair brow already
darkened by the heat of the sun; the dew from the fresh home-turf was
quite dry upon his stirrups, and the glitter of the steel dimmed with
rust. The horse gladly stopped, as if wearied with his rapid flight
through the distant space, but the blue eye of the youth still sparkled
with its early fire.
The elder, gray from head to foot with the dust of the road, seated
himself on a stone by the wayside. The youth jumped lightly to the
earth, and threw himself into the arms of his friend. I saw him give his
horse in charge to his servants, take the arm of his companion, enter
the gate of the great city, and lead him to the imperial Palace. In one
of the inner chambers they sat down together to rest. They conversed
however in whispers, as if they feared the ear of the enemy even through
the massive stone walls. Stretching himself on the soft Persian carpet,
the younger raised the cup of wrought silver to his thirsty lip. But
when he handed it to the elder, he refused to taste the wine from the
rich goblet. Nor would he look upon the tapestried walls, or the objects
of luxury lying profusely scattered around the room, even when pointed
out to him by his young companion. At last he rose, and taking the hand
of the youth, led him to a window, from which the entire city was seen
lying below, with the moving crowds of the populous nation. The immense
city, wonderfully monotonous in its whitewashed walls! the immense
nation, wonderfully monotonous in its black garments! The young man
looked on curiously; the wanderer sighed, and said: 'When they shall
lead you into cities without castles or temples, where the spirit of
freedom is chained, murmur ye: THE DEAD!'
But the younger continued to gaze with ever-growing interest. Carriages
filled with women dressed in brilliant hues were rapidly driving by,
drawn by strong, fleet horses. He saw one drive aside from the throng,
the snowy veil and white draperies of the fair one within fluttering and
floating far on, the breeze, as if the flying chariot were borne onward
by the outspread sails. The Wanderer sighed, and said: 'When women in
rich attire move around you, and you feel that the faint fluttering of
the snowy robe is more spiritual than the life-breath of their
souls--murmur ye: THE DEAD!'
The young man seemed not to hear the words of his friend. Heavy masses
of lurid clouds gathered from every direction, and obscured the face of
the sky. How different the hour of the gloomy noon from that of the
fresh, transparent morning!
The men before whom the People of the Black Nation kneel and prostrate
themselves now began to move through the streets. Their short garments
glittered with gold, and were richly embroidered in gorgeous colors.
They wore long thin swords at their sides, and thick tufts of plumes on
their heads. Shouting with harsh voices, they passed on in power,
striking the children who were lingering in the road as they moved
forward. The children cried and wept; the crowd drew back and fled; and
they remained alone upon the Great Square. More and more of them were
ever thronging there; more and more courteously they ever bowed to one
another, and lower and lower grew their salutes, until at last One rode
forward on a steed richly caparisoned--and then they all fell down with
their faces upon the ground--as if he were the Lord of Life and Death.
Then said the Wanderer: 'He is already on the verge of the abyss, on the
slope of the steep and slippery declivity; he, robed in the purple of
Power, must himself descend into the coffin!'
But the young man riveted his gaze on the magnificence of the rider, as
if absorbing the diamond glitter into the lustrous pupils of his eyes,
as in the morning they had absorbed and reflected the clear blue of the
skies. He seemed not to hear the words of his friend. When they were
earnestly repeated to him, he covered his face with his hands, and
tenderly uttered the holy name of the murdered Mother, as if the love of
childhood were upon his heart. The Wanderer pressed him to his breast,
and said: 'Look not upon them! Look not upon them!'
'Never! never!' he replied, as he again threw himself down to rest upon
the Persian carpet.
As the Wanderer rose to depart, I heard the prayer again rising to God
from his divining soul:
'O Heavenly Father! even at the burning noon of this bitter trial, I
implore Thee for him whom I love! O God! I now entreat Thee to work a
miracle in his behalf--to sweeten the bitter cup of life for this young,
eager, thirsting soul! Deliver it from the temptations with which Thou
hast seen good to surround the strong on this earth, led like him into
these snares! Let him not fall, I beseech Thee, as did even the mighty
and beautiful angels round Thy Throne, when the thirst for power was
upon them. Save him, O God!'
The young man remained alone, utterly alone, in the midst of the great
city, and was soon forced to seek companionship with his fellow beings.
It was strange, meanwhile, how black the heavens grew, as if the whole
sky were sheeted with a curtain of lead. I saw him now constantly in the
streets, the rooms, and in the midst of the people: he fascinated my
gaze as if I saw only him. Under the calm of a tranquil face, he
concealed bitter torment, intense suffering. Evil thoughts are winding
through him, like swarms of black and poisonous worms, while the good
are also thronging near him, like clouds of bright blue fireflies. The
worms crawl over his heart, boring and bleeding it as they writhe; the
fireflies would burn out the black congested gore, and cure the
festering wounds, but new swarms of reptiles are forever sliming into
life, and ever deeper and more gangrened are the wounds they make.
Everywhere danger, everywhere torment; there is no human being whom he
may trust! He too must learn to deceive in turn, to betray even women
and children; must learn to lie as the masterpiece of art. He attains
skill in the profession, and can command looks, smiles, tears, emotions;
but alas! the light in his clear eye, once rivalling the young beam of
day, no longer flashes from his pupils. Pity him, O God! his very
garments become a lie; he throws aside the costume of his nation, in
which he once rode so freely over the boundless steppe. He mounts on his
head the tall tufts of plumes; he girds the thin sword to his side; and
I saw in my dream that the people began to fall back before him, and
bow as he drew near.
But I saw that the steed of the desert refused to recognize his master
when he entered the courtyard of the Palace. In vain he pats, with his
own hand, the wavy silken mane: no neigh of joy now answers his caress;
he strives to leap upon him as in the morning of this eventful day, but
the haughty charger rears, stands erect upon his hind legs, and refuses
to be mounted. Enraged beyond control, he thrusts his long sword into
the glossy flanks. The startled animal breaks away, spurns the
blood-sprinkled soil, and flies thundering afar, rattling and clashing
his iron hoofs on the pavement, marking his track with a long line of
glittering sparks, flashing but to die in the dying light of evening!
The hour of twilight is already on the earth!
* * * * *
Again, for the third time in that day of life, met the Wanderer and his
friend. They stood together in a Church, which was without the gates,
and the cross on its towers was different from those on the Basilicas
within the walls of the city. The altar was without adornment, and, as
well as the walls and ceilings, was shrouded in the deepest mourning.
Three tapers only were upon it, and they struggled vainly with the
surrounding gloom.
I saw the Wanderer take one of these lights, and gaze, with a look of
woe, upon the face of his friend. The young man was silent, he found no
utterance, he had lost the secret of revealing, by honest words, the
depths of the soul. But the bitter truth was expressed in the long wild
cry which burst spasmodically from his lips. In it might be read the
seduction and destruction of a young spirit, not consenting to its own
shame and ruin!
He laid his head on the strong shoulder of his friend, and closed his
heavy eyelids, as if he dreamed, in this trying moment, it would be
possible for him thus to close them forever. But the Wanderer, suddenly
calling him back to consciousness, said: 'Follow me! follow me, that
thou mayst remember forever the Form of the murdered Mother!'
So saying, he led the young man to a low door which opened behind the
Great Altar. A whirlwind, as if from plains of ice, blew upon them from
the subterranean passages below, and the flame of the taper streamed
upon the blast, swaying and torn into a line of dying sparks. And thus
they commenced the plunge into the very bosom of night, descending ever
lower and lower, exploring depth after depth, until at last they had
worked their way through the narrow and winding passages, and stood in
the sublime silence of the immensity of space.
Their taper had long ago gone out, but they needed not its flickering
light. The swamp-fires of the night, the corpse-lights, the
will-o'-the-wisps, sometimes fell like falling stars; sometimes rose
like rising moons. Countless cemeteries seemed moving on in this weird
light, one solemnly following the other, and on the dark gate of each
glittered, as if graved in frosted silver, the name of the Murdered
Nation, and on the white crosses gleaming within, the names of her
martyred children. Vast piles of skeletons, of bones and skulls, lay in
the path of the young man, and as he advanced he read the glorious
inscriptions.
It now seemed to him that the ghosts of the buried were also moving on
before him, increasing constantly in number, and all moaning as they
sped on, until at last they seemed to condense into a murky vapor like a
trailing storm-cloud, growing ever more and more pervading, and
murmuring with thousands upon thousands of sad, but spirit-stirring
national songs. The air gleamed with the flashing of sabres and wild
waving of standards; conflagrations and flames filled the intervening
spaces, like vivid flashes of restless lightning, now gleaming, now
sinking into the bosom of the cloud. Faster and faster, farther and
farther whirls the cloud of spirits. Then in my dream I saw them
suddenly descend, driven over the earth like the withered leaves of
autumn--beaten low upon the ground and drifting on like the summer's
dust--while a strong cry burst from the driven shadows: 'O God, have
mercy upon us!'
The Wanderer stopped before the gate of an open sepulchre, on which was
graven the name of the many times Murdered. The letters blazed with a
soft lambent flame, and he fell reverently upon his knees. Penetrated
with mystic awe, he quivered from head to foot when he arose, and wept
tenderly as he crossed the threshold.
A soft light, like that of an evening late in autumn, dimly illumined
the space within. I saw the holy Coffin as it lay on the gentle slope of
a hill; a giant Pine stood at its head, and in its topmost branches
perched the Eagle, pierced to the heart and sleeping in its own blood.
Within the coffin lay the sacred Form, with the cross on her breast, the
veil on her face, the fetters on her hands, and the crown upon her
forehead. I saw six such hills rising one after the other, separated
from one another by the long grass, through which, in place of sunny
brooks, flowed crimson streams of human gore. Hilts and shivered
fragments of broken swords, overgrown with weeds and covered with rust,
were lying scattered in every direction through the rank grass. On each
of the six hills lay the same Coffin; the same Form. But always more and
more strongly surged the streams of human blood; heavier and heavier
grew the chains on the hands of the Dead; and paler and paler the dim
autumnal light. At the foot of the last hill it was dark, and bitter
cold; the currents of blood were frozen; the icicles hung from the
branches of the Pine; the Eagle lay in his congealed gore; and in place
of the veil, the face of the six times murdered Mother was closely
covered with a sheet of snow.
When the young man reached this spot of gloom, he fell with his face
upon the frozen earth, and cursed his life! In the distance sounded the
moans of the shadows left at the gate of the sepulchre; he bowed his
head and wept. He heard them ask: 'Is the six times Murdered really
dead? will she rise no more to deliver her faithful children from mortal
anguish?'
The Wanderer replied not, but looked with eyes of melancholy love upon
his friend who had thrown himself upon the frozen earth, and gently
raised him in his strong arms.
Then rose the wail of all the armies of the grave; they broke the
silence of death with loud and fearful cries: 'O Heavenly Father, Thou
hast betrayed us! Thou hast delivered us up to Hell, for our Saint is
really dead!'
The Wanderer answered the cry, and his voice pealed like distant
thunder. 'Blaspheme not! Our Saint yet breathes! I see her lying in her
last coffin on the hill of ice--there is no seventh beyond it--from it
comes the Resurrection!' The wails and sobs of the spirits suddenly
ceased, and a murmuring chant of the Mother's was entoned, low and sweet
as the first sigh of a germing hope.
The young man now perceived, for hitherto he had not seen it, the
illimitable space beyond the coffin. Afar over the infinite blue broke
the growing splendor of the early dawn--the clash and clamor of battles
yet unborn broke through the veil of Time--and above it all he heard the
Mother's ancient hymn of victory!
The young dawn shone but for a moment, the clash of battle ceased, the
song of triumph died upon the ear--the gloomy silence of the twilight
was again upon them, and frost and cold upon the earth. The two friends
reverently pressed their lips upon the still feet of the fettered Form;
together listened to the faint breathing from the icy lips, catching it
even through the veil of snow shrouding the sacred face; together they
ascended the frozen hill, bowing their heads in their hands to hide
their tears.
I saw them again as they were returning by the same road, and overheard
them binding themselves with fearful oaths. The Wanderer took leave of
the young man at the entrance of the church, saying with wonderfully
tender and conjuring tones: 'Be not deceived by those who would fain
ruin thy soul, and blot out thy name from the number of honorable sounds
on earth! Remember, whatsoever the splendor of the things thou shalt
this night see, they are but deceptions from the lowest Hell! Then
placing his hand on the heart of the young man, he prayed: 'O Heavenly
Father! have mercy upon him and upon me, for if he withstands not this
terrible Temptation, Thou knowest we shall both have lived in vain, and
our part on earth is done forever! After this they parted, and went
their way on different routes.
* * * * *
It was already night in the great city. Innumerable throngs were
crowding the streets, all moving in the same direction, to the palace
lighted with a thousand lamps, sounding with music, and gay with the
dance. Old and young, men and women thronged the brazen stairs leading
to the upper saloons; hurrying on as eagerly, as unceasingly as if
ascending into Heaven!
The hours of the night passed slowly by, seeming longer to me than the
whole of the preceding day. It was almost one o'clock before I again saw
the young man, and the traces of the oaths he had taken were cunningly
hidden under smiles. Groups of servants stood around him; he carelessly
threw them his cloak, and climbed with the rest the brazen stairs. He
was richly dressed; the magnificent guest was worthy of the splendor of
the wedding feast. He entered gracefully, and gazed curiously on the
thousands who were dancing around him. His eyes fell upon the rich and
varied spoils overhanging the Hall; broken swords were wrought into the
walls like mosaics; the flags of the conquered nations were draped in
their varied hues across the vaulted ceiling; but as he looked on all
these trophies of power, I saw him suddenly turn pale with rage, and
bite his lips until the blood followed the pressure of his teeth; but
then the whirling crowds caught him in their midst--violins, harps,
flutes and horns poured the reeling air into his dizzied brain--clouds
of incense intoxicated his senses--piled and mossy carpets luxuriously
yielded to the pressure of his feet--rainbow hues shifted gayly before
his dazzled eyes--until giddy, fascinated, stimulated, he sank upon a
pile of cushions, resting his hot temples in his burning palms, dreaming
of snowy hands and taper fingers, of azure eyes and cheeks like rose
leaves.
As he thus rested, I heard the bell heavily toll one; I felt that this
long night was in its darkest hour!
When he raised his eyes, he saw, through the long vista of the
illuminated apartments, the Throne of the Splendor of the Sun. It stood
above the moving sea of dancers; upon it sat the Autocrat of Life and
Death; and above him waved the canopy of flags torn from the dying
nations. The young man started, for he saw one among them dyed in gore,
and tattered into rags, and from its torn streamers, drop by drop, the
blood was ever falling; but no one saw or heeded it save himself. When
this sight fell upon his reeling gaze, he determined to repel with all
his force the allurements of temptation, and again his eye gleamed blue
and pure as it had done in the early morning.
A movement now began in the crowd. It dispersed, divided, and formed
into long lines upon the right and the left, leaving a wide, open
pathway through the whole length of the long vista of the apartments.
The Lord of the Palace descended from his Throne, and moved through the
living walls as if he were a God, while all prostrated themselves as he
passed along. He turned not aside, but went directly to the spot where
the young man was seated. Nearer and nearer he approached, wondrously
beautiful and strong. The young man rose and looked boldly into his
eyes. The Master of Life and Death did not frown upon him, but said
gently: 'Come, let us take a stroll together; I will show you the
wonders of my Palace!'
The youth stood as if transfixed to the spot, but the Lord of Life and
Death drew closer to him, stooped and pressed a kiss on his brow, and
led him away with easy grace.