on before him, the young man accompanied the Monarch. His arm trembled
with the quick beating of his boiling blood as it lay on the hard one of
the Autocrat, who, thunder as he might to the bowing throng prostrating
themselves before him, continued to speak in soft tones and with a
noble, courteous air to his present companion. He spoke of the past, he
uttered without trembling even the name of the murdered Mother, as if
her assassination did not weigh upon his conscience. He did not seem to
have the least doubt that she was really dead, vanished forever from the
face of the earth. He artfully pointed out to the young man another
immense future,[10] graven, as he said, in the Book of Fate. He painted
it in the most alluring colors, awakening his young desires for its
attainment; he spared no promises, and as if he held himself to be one
of God's prophets, he parodied inspiration. The unhappy young man turned
his eyes toward the ground, away from the handsome face, as though it
had been that of Antichrist. Each word of the Tempter fell like a drop
of poison on his heart, engendering and hatching the worms within. They
walked together through the long ranges of apartments, the close ranks
of men prostrating themselves as they passed, until they struck with
their foreheads the malachites wrought into the tessellated floor.
When they arrived at the other end of the Palace, the gates of bronze
upon the order of the Master were suddenly thrown open, while the mass
behind, lifting their heads from the ground, looked enviously after
them.
'Behold, this is my Treasury,' said the Monarch. 'Look, and have faith
in the extent of my power!'
The young man looked before him. He was standing at the portals of deep
mines of wealth, endlessly extended. Alas! the glowing splendor from the
hills and valleys burned into the blue eyes of the young man; his pupils
rapidly absorbed the molten torrents of gold and silver; circles of
light from amethyst, opal, and emerald, bent like rainbows round the
azure orbs. The subterranean flames roared and crackled; the hills were
shaken to their centre; the caves were heaving in their depths, and
fresh, glittering, golden, diamantine lumps came ever gushing from the
fused and seething mass.
But strange sounds were ever and anon heard amidst the hissing and
sputtering of the boiling metals. Long cries came up as if from men in
the agonies of death; a clatter as of chains sounded from the abyss;
muttered curses; and bent and wretched human figures were seen moving
over swards of diamonds and precious stones, like the dark stains
passing athwart the bright face of the moon. The eye of the Monarch then
flamed with wrath. Sometimes clanging their chains as they moved their
fettered limbs, these melancholy figures raised to him their suppliant
hands, begging with anguished cries for one drop of water, for one
moment of respite to breathe the free air of heaven. He vouchsafed to
them no answer, and with every moment the wretched and emaciated shadows
fell from utter exhaustion into the molten metals seething in the depths
of the mine. But what mattered that, since with every instant, new bands
of living shadows, equally fettered, doomed, and wretched, arrived to
fill the vacant places? The young man thought he had seen some of these
melancholy faces before in the high places of the earth, that the noble
traits once had been dear to him, but the flashes of lightning blinded
him, and the features were rapidly lost in the depths of the succeeding
gloom. The roar of the seething, fusing metals deafened the sound of the
groans from the chained and broken-hearted miners. And as I gazed, an
all-pervading splendor, like the golden calm of the Desert, settled over
all, covering with glittering veil the anguish which had been revealed.
As this light overflowed the scene with its brilliant haze, the gates of
bronze clapped to with heavy clang. The Master of Life and Death took
leave of the young man, and as he departed, said: When the great bell
again strikes, be in the Hall of the Throne; thy seat at my Banquet is
next my own.
As the young man turned to move away, the throng greeted him with shouts
and cheers. Many knelt to kiss his hand, because it had touched the hand
of the Master. They asked him what music he would hear, and when his
choice was made, the grand orchestra rolled it forth in massive waves of
sound. They bore him luscious wines in jewelled vases, kneeling as he
took the cup. He marvelled, and at first scorned the homage, but again I
saw him look proudly round him, and assume an air of command.
In a recess of the most exquisite beauty, veiled by groves of perfumed
flowers, he meets resplendent groups of married women, blooming clusters
of budding maidens. They surround him as he enters, greeting him with
lovely smiles; and scattering rose leaves o'er him. His cheeks flame as
with fever; his blood boils in his veins; he grows giddy, faint:--alas,
he feels at last that he might find happiness in the Palace of the
mortal enemy of his Mother! This feeling falls upon him like a
thunderbolt, and scathes his heart. He turns to fly, but they pursue,
the perfumed wind bearing onward and wafting around him the full drapery
of their floating trains of luxury. Their long ringlets kiss his cheeks,
and weave their nets around him.
Through two long hours of this fitful night I watched him with the
keenest interest. I saw him struggle, confused, bewildered, reeling,
giddy, dazzled, sometimes almost yielding to temptation, sometimes
earnestly imploring the Heavenly Father for strength to resist delusion.
As if in despair, I saw him hurrying through the long suite of
apartments in search of a sword to pierce his weak, vacillating heart,
but no arms were here to be found. Sometimes I saw him rush to meet the
alluring Circes of the Palace, as if seeking their fascinations; then,
suddenly turning upon them, he would curse and insult the seductive
Sirens. I saw him tear from them their veils of snow, rend them asunder,
and trample the costly fragments under his feet. They knelt, wept, and
humiliated themselves before him. They prayed for love, saying: 'Once,
only once, we implore thee, confess that thou lovest!' Utter madness
came upon him; electric flashes fired his veins; rapture tingled through
every fibre of his young frame; and in the voluptuous delirium of the
moment he wildly cried: 'I love! I love!'
As he spake, he caught in his arms the Houri of the foreign race; he
fastened his burning lips upon her rosebud mouth; and by the magic of
her breath she drew him on to the Hall of the Throne!
There sat the Master of Life and Death, with the flags and standards of
the conquered nations floating around and above him. As the youth and
maiden entered, I again heard the great bell toll the hour. Throngs of
courtiers stood around the Throne. Slowly the curtain of inwrought
tapestry rose from the platina door. Those who had been waiting beyond
its threshold for admittance, were summoned by the Heralds to appear.
Ambassadors from the Kings of the East and the Kings of the West entered
the Presence Chamber. On they filed in long and solemn procession. They
all bowed as they passed the Throne, each one depositing an urn of pure
gold at the feet of the Monarch. The urns were filled with the ashes of
those who had fallen in battle, heroes killed in holy causes, patriots
and martyrs from different parts of the world. The Grand Duke entered
last in the train, he was clad in the ermine only worn by Princes, and
as he bowed his head, he placed the last urn on the floor. The young man
started--the name of the murdered Mother was deeply graven on the
sculptured swells. Then all grew dark before him, he saw neither the
Throne of the Monarch, nor the fair girl still clinging to his arm. But
his ear quickened as his eye grew dim, and the question of the Monarch
rang loudly through his brain: 'Are they all really dead, and will they
rise from the grave no more?'
And as if with one voice answered the Ambassadors: 'They are all surely
dead, and will rise no more forever.' At a sign from the Monarch, the
courtiers approached, took up the urns, and solemnly deposited them upon
the columns of black marble ranged on either side of the Hall. Flaming
torches were then handed by the attendants, taken by those high in the
favor of the court, and held over the open crypt of the urn. The ashes
within kindled, and burned with a dim, bluish flame. The pale smoke rose
from the shrine, spread through the air, and wafted the smell of Death
to the nostrils of the Lord!
It now seemed to the young man as if all he had seen at the hour of
twilight was but a dream; he looked upon these throngs as the sole
masters of the world, and on their Monarch as omnipotent and eternal. At
this moment the table of festival rose in the Hall, everywhere
surrounded by the blazing funereal urns. The maiden begged the
bridegroom to take his seat at the banquet; the Master, descending from
his Throne, placed his arm in his, and led him to the place of honor, at
his side. The great bell again tolled the hour. The guests also took
their places at the feast.
Directly in front of the young man stood the column of black marble
bearing the urn containing the ashes of his Mother. And whenever he saw
her holy name, his long lashes veiled his sinking eyes; but his bride
constantly recalled his attention to the blue flames of the crypt.
More and more madly, fiercely, fearfully, his reeling and wretched soul
struggled to regain its ancient faith, to return to its early hopes; but
temptation was around him; his brain was bewildered; his understanding
darkened; and madness within.
Healths poisonous to his heart went round, and he was forced to drain
them in honor of the Master. An inward shivering disjointed his members,
unstrung his nerves, heart and frame fainted into weakness, a dew cold
as death covered his temples, and his head fell wearily upon his
breast--the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the men, the burning urns,
danced, reeled, and tottered in wild confusion before him. The murmuring
voices, the buzz of sound, the swell of the triumphant music, the
strange words of the foreign bride, mingled and boomed like the roar of
the sea in the ears of the swooning man--and so the last hours passed
away!
He still lived, if life be measured by the wild throbs of the heart.
Like the clap of doom the last hour struck upon his ear. He opened his
heavy eyelids, the blue flames from the urns were dying out. The Master
of Life and Death, graciously smiling and courteously inclining toward
him, said: 'Guest of my Banquet, the hour has struck in which thou art
to swear to serve me; in which thou must abjure thine ancient faith and
name.'
As he spake, he threw to him across the table jewelled orders and
diamond crosses, saying: 'Wear these in memory of me!' The Herald then
drew near, and read to him from the Black Book the form of abjuration.
The agonizing and swooning man mechanically repeated the words one by
one after him, not even hearing the sound of his own voice. His head had
fallen on the bosom of his bride, his lips still moved, but his eyes
were glaring in the whiteness of death--and so he uttered all the
prescribed words until the very last was said!
Scarcely had he finished, when the Master of Life and Death arose and
said: 'Servant of my servants art thou now--beware! shouldst thou prove
false to thy oath, the rope of the hangman surely awaits thee.' Then he
broke into a loud, coarse laugh of triumph!
The unfortunate man raised his wretched head, and his first look fell
upon the urn of his murdered Mother. In place of her name of glory
another word was standing now: 'INFAMY!' 'Infamy,'--he looked
again; he shrieked aloud, 'Infamy;' and started from his seat with the
last effort of his failing strength. 'Infamy!' shouted the thousands
from before, behind, from either side. 'Infamy' sounded from the
ceilings of the Palace, the Hall of the Throne, the deep mines and
limitless Treasury! Some among the crowd hastened to greet him by his
new name, while others fastened to his garments the glittering orders
and diamond crosses. Some commanded him to bow before them, while others
ordered him to trample under foot the still smouldering ashes of his
Mother!
That thought sent the blood back in hot torrents to his heart. He broke
through the surrounding throng, rushed on, fled from the Presence
Chamber, eagerly looking for his bride. He saw her leaning on the arm of
another, mocking and jeering with the rest. He glides on behind the
statues, steals along the recesses, is discovered, and again flies
before the enemy. The Palace winds before him into countless
labyrinths--nowhere is shelter to be found sneers, menaces, insults, are
everywhere around him--but worse than all, _the curse is now within his
soul_!
Then he suddenly turns to meet his enemies; he baffles them at first,
but countless numbers are upon him. They hurl him to the ground, trample
him under foot, and pass on singing a song from the land of his Mother.
As he rises, fresh numbers assail him, he bids defiance to them all,
struggles, advances, until foaming, bleeding, sinking, he is again
driven back, again forced to seek an outlet from the Palace. Thus
fighting, running, falling, fainting, he makes his way until the first
dim dawn of day, and as it breaks, he falls heavily down the brazen
staircase, and rolls below into the court of the Palace. Here strong
arms seize him, and bear him rapidly away to the steps of the
church--the same church which he had left in the evening twilight.
It is the hour of the young dawn, but the sun of this earth will never
rise for him again! Light will awake the world, but it will shine into
his blue eyes no more!
He awakes to consciousness on the steps of the church, and finds himself
face to face alone with the Wanderer. He is mute in his despair. The
Wanderer, regarding him sternly, says: 'In other times and scenes thou
mightst perchance have been a hero, but the Fates doomed thee to heavy
trial, and thou wert not strong enough to preserve thy virtue! The
_visible reality_ prevailed with thee above the _invisible_, _holy_, and
_eternal truth_! Alas, thou art lost!'
'Give me back my horse!' cried the young man, as life again began to
flow through his veins. 'Give me the free dress of the steppes, give me
my arms, and thou shalt see that I know how to revenge the wrongs
inflicted on my brethren, to redress my own infamy!'
He grasped the hand of his friend, and threw himself into his arms,
quivering with rage. Far more sadly than before, the Wanderer replied:
'The hour for bold and open defiance is not yet near. It is the time for
silent sacrifice. But even shouldst thou live until the Day of Judgment,
the hour of Resurrection, thy brethren will always number thee among
those who have renounced the Mother. Hark! thy enemies are in pursuit of
thee, already near. Should they capture thee, thou must be the slave of
their wills, the partner of their crimes, the sport and butt of all
their bitter jests throughout the remnant of thy wretched life. One only
refuge remains for thee!' And as he spoke, he drew his glittering sword.
The young man understood his meaning. With dauntless courage he tore
aside the covering from his breast.
'Strike!' he exclaimed. 'I die as a true son of the many times murdered
Mother--honor to her holy name forever and ever!'
The Wanderer groaned from the depths of his soul. He plunged the sharp
cold steel into the young naked heart. The unfortunate victim fell
without a moan. He fell in the first rays of the rising sun, and in the
same hour in which but yesterday, full of strength and hope, he had
mounted his swift horse from the green home-turf, urging him down the
hill to push eagerly over the broad steppe of life.
He fell in silence, but his dying eye again flashed forth a light
rivalling the young beam of Day.
The Wanderer knelt beside him, and lifting his clasped hands to Heaven,
said: 'O Heavenly Father! Thou knowest that I loved him better than
aught else on earth! As long as it was possible, I shielded him from the
Temptation of Hell, and in the first moment of his fall, I tore his soul
out from the grasp of the enemy, and sent it back to Thee! Save it in
eternity, merciful Father! Let the crimson tide poured out by me, be
joined to that sea of innocent blood which is ever wailing and moaning
at the foot of Thy Throne! Let it with that sea fall upon the head of
the Tempters!'
After these words I saw him, with the point of the same sword, draw
blood from under his own heart, and write with the sharp red blade on
the stone above the head of the dead: SENT HOME BY THE HAND OF A
FRIEND!
The echoing steps and voices of the pursuers fell loudly on the ear;
they were close at hand. The Wanderer arose, and rapidly disappeared
from my eyes in the sanctuary of the ancient church.
Thus passed and ended that one day of my vision!
O Mother, many times murdered! When thou shalt waken from thy long
sleep, and again rest on the long grass of the home turf, again hear the
holy whispers of thy unhewn forests green from sea to sea, again feel
thy youth returning upon thee, thou wilt remember thy long night of
death, the terrible phantoms of thy protracted agonies. Weep not then, O
Mother! weep not for those who fell in glorious battle, nor for those
who perished on alien soil--although their flesh was torn by the vulture
and devoured by the wolf, they were still happy! Neither weep for those
who died in the dark and silent dungeon underground by the hand of the
executioner, though the dismal prison-lamp was their only star, and the
harsh words of the oppressor the last farewell they heard on earth--they
too were happy!
But drop a tear, O Mother! One tear of tender pity for those who were
deceived by thy Murderers, misled by their tissues of glittering
falsehood, blinded by misty veils woven of specious deceptions, when the
command of the tyrant had no power to tear their true hearts from thee!
Alas, Mother, these victims have suffered the most of all thy martyred
children! Deceitful hopes, born but to die, like blades of naked steel,
forever pierced their breasts! Thousands of fierce combats, unknown to
fame, were waging in their souls, combats fuller of bitter suffering
than the bloody battles thundering on in the broad light of the sun,
clashing with the gleam of steel, and booming with the roar of
artillery. No glory shone on the dim paths of thy deceived sons; thy
reproachful phantom walked ever beside them, as part of their own
shadow! The glittering eye of the enemy lured them to the steep slopes
of ice, down into the abyss of eternal snow, and at every step into the
frozen depths, their tears fell fast for thee! They waited until their
hearts withered in the misery of hope long deferred; until their hands
sank in utter weariness; until they could no longer move their emaciated
limbs in the fetters of their invisible chain; still conscious of life,
they moved as living corpses with frozen hearts--alone amidst a hating
People--alone even in the sanctuary of their own homes--alone forever on
the face of the earth!
My Mother! When thou shalt again live in thy olden glory, shed a tear
over their wretched fate, over the agony of agonies, and whisper upon
their dark and silent graves, the sublime word: PARDON!
MADAGASCAR
The 'Last Travels' of Ida Pfeiffer, published in London in 1861, called
the public attention to an island which had been excluded from
civilization for more than a quarter of a century. The great Island of
Madagascar, situated in the path of all the commerce of Europe with the
East, for reasons we are about to explain, has again attracted the
notice of diplomatists, and threatens to become a second Eastern
question. We propose to sketch the history of the island and to explain
the cause of its sudden importance.
Though discovered in 1506 by the Portuguese, and partially colonized at
times by the Dutch, French, and English, it has, up to this time,
preserved an independent government; or rather, the native tribes have
been allowed to fight and enslave each other without much aid or
hindrance from Europeans.
When England, early in the present century, began the task of subduing
the East, she found in her conquests of Mauritius and Bourbon the
natural and important links in her chain of posts. As a recent writer
has well pointed out, she has a succession of fortified posts,
Gibraltar, St. Helena, the Cape of Good Hope, Mauritius, and Ceylon,
reaching from London to Calcutta and Singapore. The commerce of the
world, as it sweeps by the Cape of Good Hope, is forced to pursue a
track in which her strongholds are situated. But for the blindness of
her former rulers, she would be the mistress of the Eastern seas. Two
points, however, have been left unguarded. In some trading convention,
some congress of nations, England made the great mistake of restoring to
France the Island of Bourbon, surrendering one of the keys to the
impregnable position she held. Other reasons have prevented the
acquisition of Madagascar, and it is not yet too late to render this
mistake fatal to her supremacy. It is true that in case of war, her
armed steamers may start with the assurance of a secure coaling station
at the end of every ten days' journey, but from the Cape eastward she is
dependent upon her maintenance of Mauritius.
France has made the most of the opportunity given to her, by holding
Bourbon as a military colony, and maintaining a powerful fleet there. It
is, however, for us to regard the interests of the United States, and to
see if any foothold can be gained for our protection. Had war been the
result of the _Trent_ affair, what would have become of our immense
fleet of merchant ships which was then afloat in Indian waters? Manila
and Batavia were the only two neutral ports to which they could have
fled for safety; and neither Spain nor Holland would have dared to
permit our cruisers to refit or to coal in their ports. The American
flag would have been driven from those seas without the slightest
difficulty.
And yet the means for avoiding this disgraceful state of affairs in the
future lie open to us now. The fertile Island of Madagascar, abounding
in safe harbors, lies as near the track of commerce as do Mauritius and
Bourbon. It has innumerable advantages over either of these islands, and
it is especially adapted to our wants. Mauritius must be weak in time of
war, because it is so entirely an artificial colony. A mere dot on the
map, only some thirty miles in diameter, it has a population of over
three hundred thousand, wholly devoted to the cultivation of sugar. This
product has been the source of immense wealth to the island, but it has
necessitated the abandonment of every other branch of agriculture. These
three hundred thousand inhabitants are literally dependent for their
daily food on the kindness of the elements in time of peace, and on the
naval supremacy of England in time of war. There is not enough grain
raised there to supply the colonists with food for twenty-four hours,
and there is rarely a supply in reserve to last them for two months.
Their rice is brought from India, their cattle from Madagascar. Let the
free intercourse with these countries be suspended, and a famine is
inevitable. The noble harbor of Port Louis, with its fortifications, its
dockyards, and coal sheds, is a source of strength to England only so
long as she can prevent her enemies from establishing themselves in
Madagascar.
France is striving to rival and surpass England. At Bourbon, already
strongly fortified, immense artificial docks are projected, perhaps
commenced. The colony has annually a deficit in its accounts to be made
good from the national treasury, but extension rather than retrenchment
is its policy. France has acquired the Mayotte or Comoro Islands, and
several ports on the north of Madagascar. She has also the sympathy of
all the creoles of Mauritius, in whose minds the English occupation of
fifty years has been unable to stifle the instinct of nationality.
Thus the two great Western powers stand, nominally allies at home,
jealous and active enemies abroad.