THE WORKS OF ALEISTER CROWLEY Vol. III, part 2 of 3 ASCII VERSION November 21, 1993 e.v. key entry by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O. January 29, 1994 e.v. proofed and conformed to the "Essay Competition Copy" edition of 1907 e.v. by Bill Heidrick T.G. of O.T.O. File 2 of 3. Copyright (c) O.T.O. O.T.O. P.O.Box 430 Fairfax, CA 94978 USA (415) 454-5176 ---- Messages only. This work was originally published in two parallel columns. Where such columns are found in the original, they have been rendered as a single text with "A" or "B" added to the page number at the end of each column: A = end page left column. B = end page right column. On many pages a prefatory paragraph or a concluding group of sentences is full across the page. These instances are noted in curly brackets. Pages in the original are marked thus at the bottom: {page number} or {page number A} and {page number B}. 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Not for "share-ware" distribution or inclusion in any commercial enterprise. ************************************************************************ 1906 A DRAMATIC VERSION<<1>> OF R. L. STEVENSON'S STORY THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR ("Written in collaboration with" GERALD KELLY) {columns resume} <<1. This play has been publicly performed within the United Kingdom. It is entered at Stationers' Hall. All rights reserved.>> SCENE I. "The" SIRE DE MALETROIT "sitting before the fire. A chime of bells -- eleven." ALAIN. 'Leven 'o the clock! Plague take these lovers! What? do they make a Maletroit wait? ["Picks up letter from table -- reads"] "Mademoiselle" -- um, um, -- "my words might show that love which I cannot declare in writing" -- very likely -- "nor raise a blush on that alabaster brow" -- um! um! ah! -- "embrace of the eyes" -- is the fellow an octopus? -- "Tho' you do not respond to my letters" -- ah! -- "yet I would not have you leave me" -- I daresay not -- "Pity me, moon-like queen" -- moonlike? um! -- "Leave the postern door ajar" -- well, it is ajar -- "that I may speak with your beauty on the stairs" -- um -- can't meet him there. Cold! cold! ["Sniffs."] A pretty letter. ["Throws it aside."] Andrew! some more logs. ["Enter" ANDREW.] I expect company. ["Chuckles long."] The old Burgundy, Andrew. ["Exit" ANDREW.] I propose to squeeze Duke Charles' grapes, though fate and my age forbid me a smack at his forces -- "neu sinas Medos equitare inultos" -- but our good King is no Augustus. ["Strikes gong. Enter" PRIEST "quietly and quickly." ALAN "does not turn round." Good evening, father. All is ready? PRIEST. All, my lord. {68A} ALAIN. It is near the time. She has remained in her room? PRIEST. All the day. ALAIN. Has she attempted no message? eh? PRIEST. Sir, she --- ALAIN. ["Interrupts."] She has not succeeded, at least? PRIEST. I am still Father Jerome. ["Pause." ALAIN. She is ready dressed as I ordered? And now praying in the Chapel? [ALAN "gets up and can now see" PRIEST. PRIEST. As you ordered, my lord. ALAIN. Content? [PRIEST "puts out his hands with the gesture 'hardly.'" PRIEST. Young maids are wilful, my lord. {68B} ALAIN. Let her be resigned to the will of Heaven. ["The" PRIEST "smiles subtly." ALAIN "perceives it."] And "my" will. ["Strikes gong twice."] You may retire, father. [PRIEST "bows and retires. Enter" CAPTAIN "and stands at salute."] Ah, Captain, you have your fifty men in readiness? CAPTAIN. Yes, my lord. ["Salutes."] ALAIN. Let them be drawn up behind yon door. When I clap my hands you will raise the arras, but let no man move. And let 'em be silent -- the man I hear I hang. [CAPTAIN "salutes."] You may go. [CAPTAIN "salutes, and exit." ALAIN "reaches to a tome on the table."] Now, Flaccus, let us spend this night together as we have spent so many. The crisis of my life -- my brother's trust, God rest his soul! ["crosses himself and mutters silently in prayer"] -- shall not find Alain de Maletroit unready or disturbed. SCENE CLOSES SCENE II.<<1>> <<1. The play may be presented in a single scene, by omitting this Scene, and joining Scenes I. and III. by the noise of a banging door.>> "A narrow dirty street in Paris, fifteenth century. Night pitch black. Passers-by with lanterns." FIRST PASSER-BY "stumbles into" SECOND. SECOND PASSER-BY. Zounds, man! have a care with thy goings. FIRST PASSER-BY. Stand, or I strike. Who but a thief goes lanternless o'nights? {69A} SECOND PASSER-BY. The saints be praised, 'tis my good gossip Peter Halse. What, knowest thou not thy old friend? [FIRST PASSER-BY "lifts his lantern to the other's face." FIRST PASSER-BY. Martin Cloche, by the Mass! SECOND PASSER-BY. Ay, Martin Cloche! And his lantern hath gone out, and his heart faileth him somewhat. But these be troublous times. ["Enter" FLORIMOND "and waits." FIRST PASSER-BY. The town is full of these drunken English men-at-arms. SECOND PASSER-BY. The English be bad, but God save us from the Burgundians! Their own cousin-germans be we, and for that they are but bitterer. FLORIMOND. Devil take them! What, will they stand here gossiping all night? FIRST PASSER-BY. 'Tis a cold night: I would be home. SECOND PASSER-BY. Light me, prithee, to my door: it lieth as thou knowest, but a stone's-throw from St. Yniold's. FIRST PASSER-BY. Well, let us be going. ["Exeunt." FLORIMOND. Now for the moment I have longed for this three months! Blanche! Blanche! I shall see thee, touch thee -- who knows what {69B} maiden love may work on maiden modesty? Ah, fall deeper, ye blessed shadows! Ye are light enough for Florimond de Champdivers to move toward his bliss! ["Noise of clashing armour, ribald laughter, &c. Enter the Watch," R., "drunk." A WATCHMAN. Ho, boys! a gay night for thieves. FLORIMOND. Curse the sots! ["Crouches back in the shadow." SECOND WATCHMAN. ("Sings") The soldier's life is short and merry, His mistress' lips are ripe as a cherry, Then drink, drink! The guns roar out and the swords flash clean, And the soldier sleepeth under the green, Oh, the soldier's life for me! But a scurvy night it is, comrades, when the streets are slippery, and the wine cold in a man's belly, and never a little white rabbit of a woman scuttling along in the dark. THIRD WATCHMAN. What ho! my lads! Here's a scurvy Frenchman skulking along. What, will you make your lass attend you, master? FLORIMOND. Loose me, knave, I am for England, and a Captain in your army, or rather that of Burgundy -- if you will be precise. FIRST WATCHMAN. What do you here, without a lantern, scaring honest folk? FLORIMOND. Honesty is no word for to-night. Will you the loyal man's word? {70A} SECOND WATCHMAN. That's it, my gallant cock! The word! FLORIMOND. Burgundy and freedom. THIRD WATCHMAN. So! Give a crown to the poor watchmen then to drink your Excellency's health, and luck to your honour's love. Ah! we're gay when we're young -- I've a sweetheart myself. FLORIMOND. And now be off! ["Gives money. Exeunt." Cold! -- the devil! Ah! but to-night -- at last I shall touch my Blanche. May Blanche warm me well with a hearty kiss! The little white cat! Three months! And I've not so much as exchanged a word. There must be an end to all that. Faith, but she makes me think of Biondetta, that I knew in the Italian campaign. O my Blanche! One moment, and I am in thine arms! Blanche! Sweet, sweet Blanche. O little white-faced rose of France. A soldier's heart is thine -- a soldier's arms shall be round thee in a moment! 'Tis a fine thing this love -- the strong true abiding love of a brave man. How like little Florise her voice is when she sings! ["By this fool's talk he loses his opportunity. Enter" DENYS. DENYS. Cold is my word for it. ["Shudders."] Where the devil have I got to now? Had I but vowed St. Denys a candle and put the same in my pocket, I would not now be in the dark. Here was a lane, and the folk had called it Wolf's Throat, and now here's a door and devil a name to it. Fool I was to stay winebibbing with Cousin Henri, and triple knave he to send me forth without a boy and a light. True! he was under the table -- and seven times fool was I not to join him there. {70B} FLORIMOND. O this miserable sot! ["Crouches again," DENYS "sees him." DENYS. O thank God! Here's another poor devil, a gentleman by his clothes, and a thief by his manner, and I daresay a good fellow. ["Goes to" FLORIMOND "and slaps him on the back."] Sir, do you know this cursed Paris? My inn, which I have lost, is the Sign of the Green Grass -- I should say the Field o' Spring -- and 'tis hard by the Church of St. Anselm, that is hard by the river, and the hardest of all is that neither church, inn, nor river can I find this devil of a night. ["Catches" FLORIMOND "and shakes him by the shoulder." FLORIMOND. Know you are speaking to a captain in the army of Duke Charles! Moderate thy drunkenness, man, or I will call the watch. DENYS. Know me for a captain in the army of His Majesty King Charles of France, whom God preserve! FLORIMOND. What, traitor? DENYS. Traitor in thy teeth! I have a safe-conduct from your pinchbeck duke. Oh, the devil! 'twill serve me but ill these Paris nights -- a fool am I! Well, sir, I ask your pardon, and throw myself on your kindness. FLORIMOND. Ha! St. Gris! Then I have you, my fine cock. Watch, ho! A traitor! I will pay you your insolence. ["Calls." {71A} DENYS. Oh then, to shut your mouth. ["Draws." [FLORIMOND "tries to draw, gets the flat of" DENYS' "sword on his shoulder, and runs away. Exit" DENYS "pursuing and" FLORIMOND "calling out. Distant shouts. Re-enter" DENYS, "L." DENYS. Oh, my inn! my inn! What a fool am I! Where can I hide? The air is full of noises. I would change my safe-conduct for a pair of wings. I must steal back the way I came, and St. Denys lend me prudence the next fool I meet. What a night! O my God! "Enter" WATCH, "r., running and shouting." Well, for France, then! My back to the door, and my sword to the foeman's breast! ["Puts his back to the door."] My father's son could never have died otherwise! ["Enter" WATCH.] St. Denys for Beaulieu! The door's open. May the luck turn yet! ["Slides backwards gently through door." WATCH "cross stage stumbling, cursing, and crying, "A traitor, a traitor!"" ["Stage being clear for a little, suddenly the door bangs violently." DENYS. ["Inside."] What the devil was that? The door! "Re-enter" FLORIMOND, "R." FLORIMOND. At last! ["Goes to door and pushes it."] The devil take all women! After all, the door is shut. Laugh, thou light little fool, laugh now. One day thou shalt moan upon the stones, and Florimond de Champdivers shall shut his door to thee. Damn and damn and damn! What served love shall serve hate: 'tis a poor game that only works one way. ["Curtain." {71B} SCENE III. "The" SIRE DE MALETROIT "as in Scene I. He is standing alert and intent, listening. From below are growls and muttered curses; then a sharp sound like the snapping of a sword." ALAIN. "Amat janua limen!" ["Closes book."] Now, my friend, whoever you are -- for your charming letter does not mention your honourable name -- we shall very soon have the pleasure of seeing you. "Embrace of the eyes," eh? You distrust my door, already, eh? Why do you knock so? ["Great noise below."] No honester craftsman ever built a door -- you waste time! Why so reluctant to move from the cold night to the "blush of an alabaster brow," and the rest of your accursed troubabour's jargon, to a bliss you little expect. "Gratia cum Nmphis geminisque sororibus audet ducere nuda choros." But your "choros," Blanche, is but your old uncle, who perhaps loves you better than you think just now. ["A sound of suppressed sobbing from the Chapel."] Ah! you may weep if you will -- but what choice have you left me? And Lord! Lord! what could a loving heart ask more? ["Stumbling on steps, and a muttering, "Perdition catch the fool who invented these circular stairs.] Ha! He seems a little uncertain of the stair. Hush! ["Enter" DENYS, "who remains behind arras." ALAIN "sits." DENYS. ["Stumbles and swears."] O these stairs! They go round and round, or "seem" to go round -- faith! I have seen an entire castle do as much -- and lead nowhere. ["Pushes against arras and is seen by audience. He hastily withdraws."] Oh, they do though! Shall I knock? Shall I go in? Shall I stay here till morning? There are three {72A} fools there, and I have a poor choice: to knock is polite, to wait is polite, and to introduce my charming self is the politest of all. ["Peeps in."] Can't see anybody! It's clearly a gentleman's house -- and a fool he is to leave his postern door ajar. Whoever he is, he can hardly blame me for a misadventure -- and a curious tale is a passport the world over. Well, let me go in! To go in boldly is to slap Luck the courtezan on the shoulder, and 'tis Venus o' the dice-box to an ace and a deuce but she call me a tall fellow of my hands and bid me sit to supper. Warily now! . . . ["Pushes past arras." ALAIN. Good evening, good evening, my dear young friend. Welcome, very welcome! Come to the fire, man, and warm yourself. "Jam satis terris nivis," -- if you know your Horace as you know your Ovid, we shall get along splendidly. [DENNYS "stands stupefied." ALAIN "waits." DENYS. I fear, sir, I don't know my Ovid. ["With the air of one primed to repeat a lesson."] I beg a thousand pardons, Monsieur. ALAIN. Don't apologise, don't apologise. I've been expecting you all the evening. DENYS. Excuse me, sir, there is some mistake -- ! ALAIN. No! No! There is no mistake. Be at ease, my young friend. DENYS. ["Shrugs his shoulders."] But I had no wish to be here -- er -- er! -- Nothing was further from my thoughts than this most unwarrantable intrusion. {72B} ALAIN. Well, well, that's all right. Here you are, which is the great thing after all, isn't it? Sit down, my dear young friend [DENYS "uncomfortably and slowly takes a chair"], and we shall -- er -- arrange our little affair. You arrive uninvited, but believe me, most welcome. DENYS. Sir, you persist in error. I am a stranger: Denys de Beaulieu is my name, and I am here under a safe-conduct. That you see me in your house is only owing to -- your door. ALAIN. Ah! my door -- a hospitable fancy of mine! DENYS. I don't understand. I did not wish . . . oh! ALAIN. My dear sir, we old gentlemen expect this reluctance from young bloods. ["With bitter irony."] We bear it. But ["flaming out"] if the matter touchers one's honour -- ["rises and looks sternly at" DENYS]. DENYS. Your "honour?" [DENYS "is amazed out of all measure." ALAIN. We try to find some means of overcoming such modesty. DENYS. Is this Ovid or Horace? ALAIN. To business, then, if you will affect ignorance. ["Strikes gong; enter" PRIEST, "who gives" DENYS "a long keen glance and speaks in an undertone to" ALAIN.] Is she in a better frame of mind? {73A} PRIEST. She is more resigned, my lord. ALAIN. Now a murrain o' these languishing wenches in their green-sickness! By 'r Lady, she is hard to please. A likely stripling, not ill-born, and the one of her own choosing. Why, what more would she have? PRIEST. The situation is not usual to a young damsel, and somewhat trying to her blushes. ALAIN. She should have thought of that before. This devil's dance is not to my piping, but since she is in it, by 'r Lady, she shall carry it through. ["Motions" PRIEST "to retire. Exit" PRIEST, "with a low reverence to" ALAIN "and a courteous bow to" DENYS. DENYS. ["Rises and clears his throat."] Sir, let me -- explain that --- ALAIN. Don't explain. May I beg you to be seated, my "dear" young friend. We've been expecting you all night: the lady is ready, though I believe a little tearful: a bride has so much to fear, you know -- "et corde et genibus tremit" -- eh, my Gaetulian lion? DENYS. ["Raises his hand authoritatively to check speech."] Sir! this misunderstanding, for such I am convinced it is, must go no further. I am a stranger here -- ALAIN. Well, well, you'll get to know the old place in time. Blanche -- {73B} DENYS. Sir! pray let me speak. I know you not -- ALAIN. "We" know "you." DENYS. ["Ironically."] I am too honoured. ALAIN. Well? DENYS. You speak of a lady to me. You mistake me --- ALAIN. I hope so. DENYS. Do not entrust a stranger with your family secrets, is my advice -- as a man of the world. ALAIN. But my nephew! -- DENYS. I do not even know your lordship's honourable nephew. ALAIN. I may yet show you a sneaking rascal in his person. DENYS. This really cannot go on. I must beg you, sir, to allow me to go from your house. I came here by an ill chance enough -- though it saved my life in sooth. ALAIN. And secured you a splendid marriage. DENYS. ["Aside."] Never, never again will I mix my drinks. [ALAN "syrveys" DENYS "from had to foot, emitting satisfied chuckles at" {74A} "irregular intervals, while" DENYS "clears throat repeatedly. This continues long," DENYS fidgeting more and more. DENYS, "politely:"] The wind has gone down somewhat. [ALLAIN "falls into a fit of silent laughter." DENYS "rises and puts on his hat with a flourish." DENYS. Sir, if you are in your wits, I find you insolent: if not, I will not stand here parleying with a madman. ALAIN. I must apologise, no doubt, but the circumstances are peculiar. Is it your custom to steal into the houses of gentlemen after midnight, and accuse the owners of lunacy? ["Chuckles."] Well -- let us be polite if we cannot be friendly. DENYS. Then, sir, you will permit me to explain my intrusion. ALAIN. ["Laughing."] Ha! Ha! a fine story, I wager. 'Twill interest me much, i' faith. [DENYS "shows signs of impatience;" ALAIN "begins to look a little doubtful. With sudden interest:"] Well, how "did" you come here? DENYS. ["With much quaint lively gesture -- his story-telling powers are much in request by his mess, and he is very proud of them."] Aye, sir! by 'r Lady, when I think of it, 'tis a curious adventure enough. ["Pause to collect thoughts. Then dashes off lively:"] Lost my way in this cursed town -- night like hell's mouth -- groped about your dirty little black narrow streets -- no lantern -- quarrelled with an officer -- I draw -- captain bolts -- up run guard -- see open door -- your door, sir! -- in I go! and then all of a sudden bangs to the door and I am caught like a rat in a {74B} trap. I break my sword on the old beast -- give it up -- up come stairs -- ah! stair come up -- I mean "I come" -- a murrain on these courtly phrases! and here I stand ["rises and bows"], Denys de Beaulieu, Damoiseau de Beaulieu, in the Province of Normandy, at your lordship's service. ALAIN. That is you way of looking after the lady's reputation. Hear mine! Allow me first to introduce myself as Alain de Maletroit, Sire de Maletroit, and Warden of the Marches under his Majesty King Charles -- DENYS. Whom God preserve! ["Waves his broken sword." ALAIN. What excellent sentiments, and what an unfortunate omen -- dear, dear me! And I have the honour to offer you the hand -- I presume you already possess the heart -- of the Lady Blanche de Maletroit. DENYS. You -- what? ALAIN. Tut! Tut! The marriage, if you please, will take place in an hour. DENYS. ["Aside."] Oh, he is mad after all! ["Aloud."] What nightmare is this? ALAIN. You are not very polite to the lady -- not as polite as your letter. DENYS. My letter? [ALAIN "takes up letter from table and reads." {75A} ALAIN ("reads"). "O white-bosomed Blanche! I am pale and wan with suffering for thy love. Pity me, moonlike queen. Leave to-night the postern door" -- my postern door -- "ajar that I may speak with your beauty on the stairs" -- my stairs. "Beware of thy lynx-eyed uncle" -- me -- ah! yes? DENYS. Sir, do you take me for the pernicious idiot that wrote that stuff? ALAIN. Sir, I know that there is a lady and a letter and a door and -- a marriage. ["Indicating the appropriate four quarters of the universe." DENYS. And a sword. If it "be" broken -- ALAIN. "Integer vitae scel" -- DENYS. I know "that" tag at least. [ALAIN "claps his hands, walks toward door behind" DENYS. "The arras swings back and armed men appear." ALAIN. "O maior tandem parcas, insane, minori." DENYS. A truce to all this theatrical folly, Monsieur de Maletroit. Let me do you the honour to take your words seriously. I decline this marriage. I demand free passage from your house. ALAIN. I regret infinitely that I cannot comply with Monsieur's most moderate demands -- at least ["quickly"] in the sense he means. {75B} DENYS. I am a prisoner then? ALAIN. I state the facts, and leave the inference to Monsieur's indulgence. But before you altogether decline this marriage, it would be perhaps properer did I present you to the lady. DENYS. ["Sees that he must humour his strange host; rises and bows in acquiescence with inane smile and phrase."] Ah, Monsieur, you make me too happy! ["This speech is not ironical but conventional and absurd." ALAIN "strikes the gong. Enter" PRIEST "and bows." ALAIN. Require the presence of the Lady Blanche de Maletroit, if you please, father. PRIEST ("bows"). My Lord. ["Retires. Enter" BLANCHE "in a bridal dress, very shy and ashamed, with downcast eyes." DENYS. ["Aside."] Ah! but she is beautiful! ALAIN. Mademoiselle de Maletroit, allow me to present you to the Damoiseau Denys de Beaulieu. Monsieur Denys, my niece. [BLANCHE "hears the strange name and is shocked, looks up and only sees the back of" DENYS' "head, so low is he bowing. She understands that he has given another name and regains her self- possession."] Forgive the formality of this introduction, but, after all, your previous acquaintance -- [DENYS "stares wildly."] Under the circumstances, Blanche, I think I should give your little {76A} hand to kiss. ["A pause"] It is necessary to be polite, my niece. [BLANCHE, "tormented beyond endurance, rises up as if to strike her uncle, sees" DENYS, "screams, covers her face with her hands, and sinks on the floor." BLANCHE. That is not the man! -- my uncle -- that is not the man! ALAIN. ["Chuckles."] So? Of course not. I expected as much. I was so unfortunate you could not remember his name. BLANCHE. This is not the man. ALAIN. "A" man, niece. ["Turns airily to" DENYS.] "Tempestiva sequi viro," Monsieur Denys. BLANCHE. Indeed, indeed, I have never seen this person till this moment. ["Turns to" DENYS "imploringly."] Sir, if you are a gentleman, you will bear me out. Have I seen you -- have you ever seen me -- before this accursed hour? DENYS. I have never had that pleasure. ["Turns to" ALAIN.] This is the first time, my lord, that I have ever met your engaging niece. ["Aside".] But he doesn't care, he's mad -- by 'r Lady, perhaps I'm mad myself. ["Goes off into silent laughter." ALAIN checks him sternly. ALAIN. Sir, you will find I mean no jest. DENYS. Mademoiselle, I ask you a thousand pardons for this scene -- none of my making, but of my strange fortune's. {76B} ALAIN. This gentleman drank a little too much for dinner. DENYS. Nay, by St. Denys, not enough, else had I been now along under Cousin Henri's table, and not in this house of maniacs and men-at-arms, and beauties in distress. Oh, pardon me, I am rude. ["With lively gallantry."] Mademoiselle! I wrong myself when I forget myself: what I would say is that if the arm or brain of Denys de Beaulieu can save you, it is at your disposal ["starts: but serious, struck"] -- I mean -- ["Aside".] St. Denys, what a coil is here! Is it possible that I love her? ["He stands back, aside, amazed. His attitude vibrates between tender pitiful courtesy, lighted with love, and ironical appreciation of his own dilemma." ALAIN. I will leave you to talk alone. ["Turns to leave." BLANCHE. ["Jumps up, and flings her arms around him. He repulses her not ungently. She clasps his knees, and he for the first time appears a little awkward and at a loss."] Uncle, you cannot be in earnest. Why, I'll kill myself first -- the heart rises at it -- God forbids such marriages. Will you dishonour your white hair? ALAIN. Nay, mistress, I will save my brother's memory from shame. BLANCHE. O sir, pity me. There is not a woman in the world but would prefer death to such an union. Is it possible ["falters"] that you still think this ["points to" DENYS, "who stands embarrassed and ashamed"] to be the man? {77A} ALAIN. Frankly, I do. But let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Maletroit, my way of thinking about this affair. ["Sternly".] When you took it upon yourself to dishonour my family [BLANCHE "slides to floor and sobs"] and the name I have borne stainless in peace and war for more than threescore years, you forfeited not only the right to question my designs, but that of look me in the face. I am a tenderer man than your father -- he would have spat on you and thrust you from his door. But married you shall be, and that to-night. ["Turns to" DENYS.] And you, Monsieur, will best serve her if you save her. What devil have I saddled your life with that you look at me so black? ["Turns on his heel and exit. A short silence of embarrassment." BLANCHE. ["Turns on" DENYS "with flashing eyes."] And what, sir, may be the meaning of all this? DENYS. God knows; I am a prisoner in this house, which seems full of mad people. But I understand one thing, ["doubtfully"] I "think:" that you are to be married to me, and that your wishes are to be consulted as little as mine. BLANCHE. Monsieur, I blame myself cruelly for the position I have place you in. DENYS. Mademoiselle, I have at least the delicacy to refrain from asking any answer to these riddles. But -- BLANCHE. O how my head aches! It is only fair to you to tell you -- {77B} DENYS. A moment, of your grace, Mademoiselle. Do not think that I am some obscure fortune-hunter who will jump at the chance so strangely offered him. My name is as noble as your own -- ay! were things otherwise, I would still spare you. As it is, I have but to do as my duty and my interest -- any yours -- demand. We will see if Monsieur de Maletroit can cage me here for ever. ["Looks at sword meditatively."] That is unfortunate. BLANCHE. I am so afraid, sir: I know my uncle well: but -- thank you, -- thank you! DENYS. Is Monsieur de Maletroit at hand? BLANCHE. There is a servant within call. ["Strikes gong thrice." ["A pause. Enter" ANDREW. DENYS. Ask Monsieur the Sire de Maletroit to honour us with his presence. [ANDREW "bows and exit." BLANCHE. Monsieur, I don't know what we -- you -- will do, but thank you -- thank you. DENYS. ["Draw himself up."] Ah! Mademoiselle, trust me, all will be well. ["Enter" ALAIN "and ironically bow.s" DENYS. ["Grandly."] Messire, I suppose that I am to have some say in the matter of this marriage, so let me tell you without further ado, I will be no party to forcing the inclinations of this lady. [ALAN "smiles," DENYS "pauses."] I -- er -- you understand me, sir? [ALAIN "still smiles."] Had it been {78A} freely offered to me, I should have been proud to accept her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful [ALAIN "still similes"], but as things are -- er -- I have the honour, Messire, of refusing [ALAIN "smiles more and more"] -- I -- er -- er -- [ALAIN'S "smile become positively insupportable." BLANCHE "smiles through her tears in gratitude and is secretly tickled at his confusion." DENYS "gets annoyed, and swings away on his heel with an expression of disgust." ALAIN. I am afraid, Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not perfectly understand -- the alternative. Follow me, I beseech you, to this window. ["They cross to the window," DENYS "shrugging his shoulders."] Look out! [DENYS "looks out into the blackness." ALAIN "points to just below."] Here are hooks. Iron hooks. Fastened into the wall. Strong. ["They turn back into room."] And there ["points"} is the Lady Blanche. And so, Monsieur Denys de Beaulieu, Damoiseau de Beaulieu, in the province of Normandy, I do myself the honour to inform you that unless you are married to my niece in an hour's time, from these hooks you will hang. [BLANCHE "screams aloud, and falls half fainting into a chair."] I trust your good sense will come to your aid, for of course it is not at all your death that I desire, but my niece's establishment in life. Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way, but if you sprang from Charlemagne you should not refuse the hand of a Maletroit with impunity -- not if she had been as common as the Paris road, not if she were as hideous as the gargoyles on my roof. Neither my niece, nor you, nor my own private feelings move me in this matter. The honour of my house has been compromised: I believe you to be the guilty person: at least you are now in the secret; and though it will be no satisfaction to me {78B} to have your interesting relics kicking their heels from my battlements ["jerks his thumb toward the window"], if I cannot wipe out the dishonour, I shall at least stop the scandal. DENYS. Frankly, sir, I think your troubles must have turned your brain; there are other ways of settling such imbroglios among gentlemen. ALAIN. Alas, sir! I am old. When I was younger I should have been delighted to honour you; but I am the sole male member of my ancient house. Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I were a fool did I not employ the strength I have. DENYS. Oh, hang me now, and have done with it! ALAIN. No haste. An hour of life is always -- an hour. And though one half that time is nigh lapsed already, yet -- if you will give me your word of honour to do nothing desperate, and to await my return before you fling yourself from the window, -- or, as I guess, -- on the pikes of my retainers, I will withdraw myself and them that you may talk in greater privacy with the Lady Blanche. I fought at Arcy, and know what wonders may happen in an hour. [DENYS "turns bitterly, almost savagely, toward" BLANCHE.] You will not disfigure your last hour by want of politeness to a lady? [DENYS "flushes, accepts the rebuke, bows to both and says simply:" DENYS. I give you my word of honour. ["His decision is not uncoloured by the pathetic petitioning of the mute" BLANCHE. {79A} ALAIN. I thank you sir; then I will leave you. ["Turns to go, stops."] Sir, you are young, you think me a hard man, and perhaps a coward. Remember, pray, that the tears of age are frozen at the heart ere they can spring to the eyes. You may yet think better of the lonely old Sire de Maletroit, and the honour of his house may one day be your own. ["Exit." [BLANCHE "comes over to" DENYS, "who remains leaving heavily on the table." BLANCHE. Oh, sir, how cruelly have I done in my girl's folly, to being a gallant gentleman to such a pass. DENYS. Ah! life is a little thing, fair lady. ["Sighs, gradually getting pleased with himself as a martyr."] My mother is married again -- she needs neither my arm nor my affection; my brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs, and unless I am mistaken, that will console him amply for my death; as for my father -- why, I go to join him in an hour. Ay! lady, we are soon forgotten. It is barely ten years since he fell, fighting desperately, with many noble gentlemen around him, and -- to-day -- I doubt me if the very name of the battle lingers in men's minds! I go to join him in an hour. BLANCHE. ["Sighs."} Ay! sir, you speak sad, but you speak true. DENYS. Will there be memory "there?" [DENYS "now fancies himself as a philosopher."] For I would not marry you -- nay! not though I loved you with my soul. In an hour you will be rid of me. {79B} BLANCHE. Oh, sir, do not be more cruel than our fate itself -- to speak as if I could think so. DENYS. ["Pities himself."] You will perhaps sigh once -- I hope you will sigh once! -- and then you will forget, and laugh, and go back to your old life. Ah! what can I think of all this? BLANCHE. I know what you must think, Monsieur de Beaulieu; you dare not say it -- but you wrong me. Oh! before God, you wrong me. DENYS. ["Distressed."} Don't! Don't! BLANCHE. Do yield: do marry me! Let me tell you how it all came about -- you are so brave and young and handsome -- I will not have you die. DENYS. You seem to think I stand in great fear of death. BLANCHE. ["Flushes at this boyish rudeness."] But "I" will not have you die. I "will" marry you. ["With determination." DENYS. ["Aside."] Here is love's language -- and Lord knows who's meaning. ["Aloud."] What you are too generous to refuse I may be too proud to accept. BLANCHE. ["Controls her indignation."] O sir! listen! I have no mother -- no father. I am very lonely -- how can I tell you? ["Goes over and crouches on chair half-sobbing."] Three months {80A} ago a young man began to stand near me in church. I -- I could see I pleased him -- and that pleased me; so I listened, when, as I went down the aisle, he whispered me such words as I passed -- like poetry, they were so beautiful. I didn't know it was any harm -- I let him write me letters, I was so glad that any one should love me. And yesterday he asked me to meet him on the stairs, so that he might tell me with his own voice; but Uncle Alain found the letter, and oh! oh! ["Cries."] DENYS. Poor child! ["Aside."] By heaven, I do love her. Was ever a man so ill-placed to win a woman? BLANCHE. I would not have answered it -- oh! Monsieur, I swear to you. I thought no wrong. But uncle shut me up in the chapel, and said I was to be married to-morrow -- and -- and -- set a trap for you. DENYS. Mademoiselle, I never thought ill of you, believe me! BLANCHE. Then oh, sir! marry me! You shall never see me again, and I will -- yes! I will -- kill myself, and you shall be free and happy again. It can't hurt you much to say a few words in the chapel with me -- and then go back. But pray for me when I am dead. DENYS. ["Struggling long with emotion, stops himself from crying and gives a forced laugh."] Here's romance, if ever there was any. Dog that I am! To laugh when your pale sweet little body is all shaken with weeping. Mademoiselle -- Blanche -- listen to me, and do not talk such wild nonsense. I will not {80B} marry you. I do not love you, or you me. ["Aside."] Half a lie is better than no truth. ["Aloud."] I will not ruin your life -- and I can commit suicide by merest idleness, a talent I am master of, and one most agreeable to my nature. BLANCHE. Oh! Monsieur Denys, but I love you. ["Comes and clings to his knees."] I do! I do! I will not kill myself, but I will make you love me --- DENYS. A harder task than you think, little one. BLANCHE. Or tolerate me at least. ["Cries." DENYS. O bother! I shall cry too in a minute. BLANCHE. You are very unkind. I hate you. DENYS. How much of all this is truth? What with pity and drawing-room manners and so on, truth is the kernel of a devilish hard nut. They say she lives at the bottom of a well -- where one is drowned. ["Looks down, craning, as if into a well."] St. Denys grant I may find her at the end of a rope -- where one is hanged. ["With gesture appropriate."] [BLANCHE "curls herself up in chair and sobs bitterly." DENYS "goes to window and looks gloomily out." ["Mimics" ALAIN.] Hooks. Iron hooks. Fastened into the wall. Strong. H'm! and there is the Lady Bl-- oh! cursed luck -- do you clap me on the shoulder like a good comrade? No! you get round my neck like a lover! Oh! was ever gallant {81A} in such a scrape before? But dawn cannot be far off: I shall -- swing myself lightly out of it. BLANCHE. ["Sobbing."] Monsieur Denys! Monsieur Denys! DENYS. She has my name pat enough. O poor little girl! If only I didn't love her, with what a good will would I marry her. The nearer one comes to it, the clearer one sees that death is a dark and dusty corner, where a man lies hidden and forgotten till the archangel's -- broom. I have few friends now: Once I am dead I shall have none. BLANCHE. ["Falters."] You forget Blanche de Maletroit. DENYS. You have a sweet nature, Mademoiselle, and you are pleased to estimate a little service far beyond its worth. BLANCHE. No, sir, I say more: I recognise in you a spirit that should not give the "pas" to the noblest man in France. DENYS. And yet here I die in a mousetrap -- with no more noise about it than my own squeaking. ["A pause." BLANCHE. I cannot have my champion think so meanly of himself. DENYS. ["Aside."] Ah! could I forget that I was asked in pity and not in love! ["Advances, checks himself, swings round and goes to window." {81B} BLANCHE. I know how you must despise me -- oh! you are right. I am too poor a creature to occupy one thought of your mind. Alas! although you must die for me to-morrow -- ["She stops short, and waits for him to respond, but" DENYS "is indeed thinking of something else."] What! You are too proud to link yourself with the dishonoured house of Maletroit? I too have my pride: and now -- and now -- I would no more marry you than I would marry my uncle's groom. ["Stamps her foot." DENYS "turns round and looks at her inquiringly. He has not heard what she has been saying; he becomes again absorbed in his own thoughts." BLANCHE "gets angrier and angrier, stamps again, and, not attracting his attention, falls into the chair and cries petulantly." BLANCHE. It's too hard. To ask and be refused -- I, a Maletroit. [DENYS "comes back into the room and faces her. She rises and strikes him across the face with her glove."] Cowardly boy! [DENYS "turns furiously red, catches her suddenly in his arms and kisses her, flings her away, drops to the floor and groans in an agony of shame and love."] Double coward! ["She reels away as if he had struck her: comes back to where he crouches, bends over him and strokes his hair."] Denys! Monsieur Denys! I am so sorry. You are going to die so soon and I am rude to you -- when it is all my fault. [DENYS "rises and stands facing her manfully."] DENYS. Die! Not I! Blanche, when I kissed you I loved you: I loved you when I saw you in the doorway, and I know you love me now. {82A} BLANCHE. Sir! I do not love you. How dare you speak to me so? DENYS. You love me. ["Laughing."] Why, you "said" so! BLANCHE. You pass my patience, sir. I was acting, acting for your own safety. I made the most shameful declaration a maid can make for your sake -- and you fling it in my teeth. [DENYS "knows his triumph, and proceeds to enjoy it with laughing speech, as one with a petulant child." DENYS. I fail to see that my safety is any the more assured now -- without it. Yes, Monsieur de Maladroit, {sic} I accept your offer with be best will in the world. BLANCHE. O you despicable coward! I will kill you at the very altar-steps. DENYS. Yours is a wonderful strong family for killing, little one. BLANCHE. Mademoiselle de Maletroit is my name. DENYS. For half-an-hour -- nay! barely that. [BLANCHE "stamps here foot and turns away angry. Breaks down and kneels in chair, crying." DENYS "follows and stands above her." DENYS. O Blanche! Blanche! Do you not see how ever tear is like a drop of poisonous {82B} dew falling on my heart? You have seen whether I fear death. No love worth Love's name ever yet needed to be asked. And yet -- in words! If you care for me at all, do not let me lose my life in a misapprehension! Tho' I would die for your blithely, faith, I had rather live on -- in your service. Can you love me a little? Fool! Fool! Ay, there's a pair of us -- why do we wait here and let our happiness stand in the cold and knock at our door all night? BLANCHE. Don't! Don't make me more miserable and hopeless than I am. [DENYS "determines to make a general advance." DENYS. ["Tenderly."] Little fool! ["He waits. She struggles in herself; and at last rueful and pouting, gets up and stands before him downcast, rubbing her eyes. He takes full advantage of his position." ["With mock severity."] Aren't you ashamed of yourself? BLANCHE. ["Sobbing."] After all you have heard? {83Atop} DENYS. ["With double entendre."] I have heard nothing. ["He opens his arms to her. She still stands about to sob again, breaks down, but this time flings herself on him and sobs on his breast. Enter" ALAIN "unseen." ["Softly."] My darling! [BLANCHE "raises her face." DENYS "goes to kiss her, but she draws back." BLANCHE. The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers. DENYS. I did not hear it. ["A pause."] Blanche, will you kiss me? ["They take one long look and then tenderly and very deliberately kiss. They remain so, silently delighting in each other." ALAIN. ["Comes forward with a chuckle."] Good morning, nephew! ["They leap up covered with confusion, recover their self-possession, and curtsey and bow respectfully, hand in hand." {83Btop} {full page below} CURTAIN. GARGOYLES BEING STRANGELY WROUGHT IMAGES OF LIFE AND DEATH 1907 {columns resume, but there is an upper section and a lower} TO L. BENTROVATA. Nec tamen illa mihi dextra deducta paterna Fragrantem Assyrio venit odore domum Set furtiva dedit muta munuscula nocte. GO sunnily through my garden of flowers, dear maiden o'mine, and once in a while you shall come upon some grotesque Chinese dragon with huge and hideous eyes leering round the delight of the daffodils; or it may be some rude Priapus looking over the calm rock-shadowed beauty of the lake; or even, hanging amid the glory of elm or beech, an human skeleton, whose bones shall rattle in the breeze, and from whose eyeless sockets shall glare I dare not bid you guess what evil knowledge. Then, an you be wise, you shall know that a wise gardener wisely put them there. For {84Atop} Every garden is the world; and in the world these are. So every cathedral is the world, and the architect of Notre Dame deserved his heaven. To me life and death have most often appeared in majesty and beauty, in solemnity and horror; in emotions, to be brief, so great that man had no place therein. But there are moods, in which the heights are attained indirectly, and through man's struggle with the elemental powers. In these poems you shall hear the laughter of the gods and of the devils; understand their terrors and ecstasies; live in their heavens and hells. But I not only heard and understood and lived; I sounded and imposed and begat: you must also do both, or the universe will still be a mystery to you as to the others. {84Btop, columns end for next line only.} IMAGES OF LIFE PROLOGUE. VIA VITAE. I. MY head is split. The crashing axe Of the agony of things shears through The stupid skull: out spurt the brains. The universe revolves, then cracks, Then roars in dissolution due; And I am counting up the gains And losses of a life afire With dust of thought and dulled desire. II. So, all is over. I admit Futility the lord of will. Life was an episode, for me {84Abottom} As for the meanest monad, knit To man by mightier bonds than skill Of subtle-souled psychology May sever. Aim in chaos? None. The soul rolls senseless as the sun. III. Existence, as we know it, spins A fatal warp, a woof of woe. There is no place for God or soul. Works, hopes, prayers, sacrifices, sins Are jokes. The cosmos happened so: Innocent all of guide or goal. Else, what were man's appointed term? To feed God's friend, the coffin-worm! {84Bbottom} IV. Laugh, thou immortal Lesbian! Thy verse runs down the runic ages. Where shalt thou be when sun and star, My sun, my star, the vault that span, Rush in their rude, impassive rages Down to some centre guessed afar By mindless Law? Their death-embrace A simple accident of space? V. Where is thy fame, when million leagues Of flaming gas absorb the roll Of many a system ruinous hurled With infinite pains and dire fatigues To build another stupid soul For fools to call another world? Where than thy fame, O soul sublime? Where then thy victory over Time? VI. Wilt thou seek deeper than the fact? Take refuge in a city of mind? Build thee an house, and call it heaven? Rush on! there foams the cataract, Sole devil herald of the seven Thy garnished halls should house, O Christ, Thou being dead, thou sacrificed VII. Not for atonement, not for bliss; Truly for nothing: so it was. Nay, friends, think well! Renounce the dream! Seek not some mystery in the kiss, Some virtue in the chrysopras, Some nymph or undine in the stream. Things as we know them should be enough To glut our misery and our love. VIII. Why must despair to madness drive The myriad fools that fear to die? God's but a fervid phantom drawn Out of the hasty-ordered hive Of thoughts that battle agony In the melancholy hours of dawn. When vital force at lowest ebbs Anaemic nerves weave frailest webs. {8bA} IX. So, be content! Should science cleave The veil of things and show us peace, Well: -- but by wild imagining Think not a golden robe to weave! Such moulder. By fantastic ease Ye come not well to anything. Work and be sober: dotage thinks By worth of words to slay the Sphinx. X. Things as they are -- of these take hold, Their heart of wonder throb to thine! All things are matter and force and sense, No two alone. All's one: the gold Of truth is no reward divine Of faith, but wage of evidence. The clod, the God, the spar, the star Mete in thy measure, as they are! XI. So lifts the agony of the world From this mine head, that bowed awhile Before the terror suddenly shown. The nameless fear for self, far hurled By death to dissolution vile, Fades as the royal truth is known: Though change and sorrow range and roll There is no self -- there is no soul! XII. As man, a primate risen high Above his fellows, work thou well As man, an incident minute And dim in time's eternity, Work well! As man, no toy for hell And heaven to wrangle for, be mute! Let empty speculation stir The idle fool, the craven cur! XIII. Myself being idle for an hour I dare one thing to speculate: Namely, that life hath cusps yet higher On this our curve: a prize, a power Lies in our grasp: unthinking Fate Shall build a brain to nestle nigher Unto the ultimate Truth: I burn To live that later lives may learn. {85B} XIV. Simple to say; to do complex! That we this higher type of man May surely generate, o' nights Our lesser brains we vainly vex. Our knowledge lacks; we miss the plan. Fools hope our luck will set to rights Our skill that's baulked. Yet now we know At least the way we wish to go. XV. This task assume! Colossal mind And toil transcending, concentrate Not on the metaphysic wild; Not on the deserts vast and blind Of dark Religion; not on Fate, The barren ocean; but the Child Shows us a beacon in the night; A lens to lure and lend the light. XVI. Wisdom and Love, intenser glow! Beauty and Strength, increase and burn! Be brothers to the law of life! Things as they are -- their nature know! Act! Nor for faith nor folly turn! The hour is nigh when man and wife, Knowing, shall worship face to face, Beget and bear the royal race. THE WHITE CAT. HAIL, sweet my sister! hail, adulterous spouse, Gilded with passionate pomp, and gay with guilt: Rioting, rioting in the dreary house With blood and wine and roses splashed and spilt About thy dabbling feet, and aching jaws Whose tongue licks mine, twin asps like moons that curl, Red moons of blood! Whose catlike body claws, Like a white swan raping a jet-black girl, {86A} Mine, with hysteric laughter! O white cat! O windy star blown sideways up the sky! Twin cat, twin star, 'tis night; the owl and bat Hoot, scream; 'tis us they call -- to love or die. Twin cat, our broomsticks wait: we'll fly afar! We'll blaze about the unlighted sky, twin star! ALI AND HASSAN. FROM THE ALF LAYLAH WA LAYLAH. ALI bade Hassan to his house to sup. They ate, passed round the full forbidden cup, Till, in the interval of dance and song, Hassan forgot his manners -- loud and long. Struck with confusion, forth he fares, takes ship To utmost Ind and far-off Serendip. Full forty years he there abides: at last, Rich and respected, he contemns the past: -- "If I declare myself, there's hope, I wot, Hassan's remembered, and his fault forgot! --" Determines to revisit home. Sweet airs Accomplishing the voyage, he repairs Unto the barber. "Tell me of the state! Haroun still holds the royal Caliphate?" "Nay," said the barber, "long ago he passed Where all delights are 'stinguished at the last, And all good things forgotten, wallahy! He died -- aha now! -- no -- yes -- let me see! Ten years, three months, four days, as I'm a sinner, Since Hassan let the -- shame -- at Ali's dinner." AL MALIK A GHAZAL OF AL QAHAR. AL MALIK the magnificent Was sitting in his silken tent. But when he saw the boy Habib I wis his colour came and went. {86B} Quoth he: By Allah, 'tis a star Struck from the azure firmament! Habib: I pour the wine of love For Al Awaz the excellent. The king: I envy him thy shape, Thy voice, thy colour, and thy scent. Habib: In singing of his slave Hath Al Awaz grown eminent. The king: But I, to taste thy lip, My kingdom willingly had spent. Habib: Asylum of the World! My master bade me to present My loveliness to thee, whose brows Like to a Scythian bow are bent. The king accepted him to bear His cup of wine, and was content. Let Al Qahar their praises sing: Three souls, one love, one element.<<1>> <<1. This poem is very much taboo in Persia, as it is supposed to be little better than a pamphlet in favour of Christianity. The later work of Al Qahar, and especially his master-piece, the Bagh-i-muattar, are, however, if not quite above suspicion, so full of positive piety of the Sufi sort that even the orthodox tolerate what the mystic and the ribald silently or noisily admire. WEH NOTE: Of course, Al Qahar = Aleister Crowley.>> SONG. I. DANCE a measure Of tiniest whirls! Shake out your treasure Of cinnamon curls! Tremble with pleasure, O wonder of girls! {87A} II. Rest is bliss, And bliss is rest, Give me a kiss If you love me best! Hold me like this With my head on your breast! ANICCA. HE who desires desires a change. Change is the tale of life and death. Matter and motion rearrange Their endless coils; the Buddha saith: "Cease, O my sons, to desire! Change is the whole that we see By the light of a chaos on fire. Cease to desire -- you are free!" Your words, good Gotama, are brave and true; Easy to say, but difficult to do! TARSHITERING. NEPALI LOVE-SONG.<<1>> <<1. Possibly the original of the well-known Hindustani song: -- "Thora thairo, Tenduk! thora thairo, tum! Thora thairo, thairo thora, thora thairo tum!" A. C.>> O KISSABLE Tarshitering! the wild bird calls its mate -- and I? Come to my tent this night of May, and cuddle close and crown me king! Drink, drink our full of love at last -- a little while and we shall die, O kissable Tarshitering! Droop the long lashes: close the eyes with eyelids like a bettle's wing! Light the slow smile, ephemeral as ever a painted butterfly, Certain to close into a kiss, certain to fasten on me and sting! Nay? Are you coy? Then I will catch your hips and hold you wild and shy Until your very struggles set your velvet buttocks all a-swing, Until their music lulls you to unfathomable ecstasy, O kissable Tarshitering! {87B} A FRAGMENT.<<1>> <<1. Intended as the prologue to a history of an initiate in semi-dramatic form.>> "In the midst of the desert of Libya, on a mound of sand, lieth a young man alone and naked. Nightfall." NIGHT the voluptuous, night the chaste Spreads her dark limbs, a vaulted splendour, Above the intolerable waste. Night the august one, night the tender Queens it and brides it unto me. I am the soul serenely free; I dare to seek the austere ordeal That drags the hoodwink of the Real Back from the Maker's livid eyes Lustred with hate. At noon I came Blind in the desert, saw the sun Leap o'er the edge, a fury of flame Shouting for rapture over his prize, The maiden body of earth. Outrun The violent rays; the dawn is dashed In one swift moment into dust. Long lies the land with sunlight splashed, Brutally violate to his lust. Alone and naked I watched through The appalling hours of noon; I parched; I blistered: all the ghastly crew Of mind's sick horror mocked me; arched The flaming vault of hell and pressed Its passionate murder in my breast. Seven times I strove to slay me: filled My mouth with sand to choke my breath. In vain! No loftier purpose willed The iron miracle of death. So, blind and strangled, I survive. So, with my skin a single scar, I hail the night, the night alive With Hathor for the evening star. O beauty! See me broken, burned Lone on the languorous Lybian plain! I there one lesson to be learned From this my voluntary pain, My dread initiation, long Desired and long deferred? The Master -- Is he the secret of the song, Portent of triumph or disaster {88A} The night wind breathes upon the air Still shimmering from the fearful heat? Can I still trust who have learned to dare? All others I have known effete, Bid them await. Who knows to-day The purpose of the dread essay? Surely I, earlier, further fared! I knew the deed that closes clay, Division's sword by sense unbared, A living lie. The deep delusion! Dividuality -- confusion! These I unmasked of yore. To-day The hideous blue, the hideous gold Of sky and sand their wrath unrolled, Their agony and hate proclaimed. Is it that night shall kiss to peace The furious carnival that flamed Its ruinous ardour from the sun! Nay, let all light, all things, but cease! Sense is the seal of double rule. The million oracles that run Out of the mouth of God the fool Are not myself. To nothing turn! To nothing look! Then, then! -- discern Nothing, that one may one remain. So I am paid the horrible pain That these my brothers ordered me. I look upon their brows -- I see Signs many and deep of torture past; A star, yon star, true peace at last. ("There approacheth an aged man, riding upon an ass, with a led ass, and a Nubian servant.") "The Adept." In the name of God, the One, the Great, Merciful and compassionate, Acclaim the perfect period Of ordeal past! "The Neophyte." There is no God! "A." Rise! in the name of obscure Fate, Ruthless and uncompassionate. "N." Of endless life, of toil and woe I am the burned and branded foe. I came to this torture to endure That I might make my freedom sure. "A." No soul is free. {88B} N. There is no soul. See yonder gleams the starry shoal Of orbs incalculably vast. They are not present: they are past, Since the long march of shuddering light Made years the servants of its might. There is no soul. "A." These star thou seest Are but the figuring of thy brain. "N." Then of all things the soul were freest. "A." Move then the centre of thy pain! "N." 'Tis done. "A." A trick to cheat a child. "N." It is the truth that I am nought. Hear what I have gathered in the wild, Flowers of imperishable thought With glory and with rapture clothed. This being, thinking, loved or loathed, Hath attributes. This sand is gold: -- Deem'st thou a gilder lurks within The atom? What should Nature hold Of aureate save a mind begin Colour-conception? Then we win To think our thought itself a chance Grafted upon the circumstance Of cerebrin and lethicin. "A." Ill fares the rifleman that holds The muzzle to his eye. Yon gold's Mental: enough! the mind is all. "N." No: this is but a slave in thrall To matter's motion. We deny A causeless cause, an entity Beyond experience, that tricks Our folly with its idle claim To be because we feel it. "A." Sticks The reason there? "N." We choose a name To cover all the host of facts Comprised in thought. "A." ("aside") The elixir acts. Then backward work; the name becomes With pomp of metaphysic drums A "causa causans" -- God, soul, truth. So raves the riot, age and youth, The cart before the horse. Revered And reverend master, is your beard Darwin's survival of some tail? {89A} Who rants of soul were best to saddle His face, his arms the ass to straddle, Since for his voice the part thus bare Would serve as well to scent the air. "A." Where reverence ceases, ribald jest Breaks forth, the wise allow the rest. The perfect master stands confessed. "N." Why! I supposed your wrath would burst; My name and number stand accurst In the great Order of the West! "A." Nay: Buddha smiles; 'twas Jesus wept! Arise, O brother and adept! "N." Master! "A." The torture-hours are past. "N." The peace of pain is mine at last. "A." Ere the moon rise, the brethren meet. Come, let us turn toward the South. "N." Lord, I embrace thy holy feet. "A." Nay, let me kiss thee on the mouth. "Desunt cetera." THE STUMBLING-BLOCK. I ALMOST wonder if I ought To hymn this height of human pain: To enter into Jones's thought I'd have to work with Jones's brain. Terrestrial speech is wholly vain To carry meaning as it ought: -- To enter into Jones's thought I'd have to work with Jones's brain. This is the High God's cruel sport: To enter into Jones's thought And make its inner meaning plain, I'd have to work with Jones's brain. WOODCRAFT. THE poet slept. His fingers twine In his wife's hair. He dreams. Divine His dream! Nay then, I'll tell you it. He wandered in a forest dim. A wood cutter encountered him Where a felled oak required his wit. {89B} This man with a light axe did lop The little branches at the top. Then said the poet: Thus why tax Your force? This double-handed axe Were better laid to the tree-trunk." "Friend, are you natural, or drunk?" Replied the woodsman; "leaf and twig Divert the impact of the big Axe; chop them first, the trunk is fit For a fair aim, a certain hit. How do your work yourself?" He spoke To empty space -- the poet woke; And catching up a caring-knife He slit the weasand of his wife. A NUGGET FROM A MINE. A MINER laboured in a mine. (The poet dreamed) By coarse and fine He shovelled dust into a trolley. "But this" (the poet said) "is folly! Take up your pick, engage in shock At the foundation of the rock!" The miner swore. "You --- fool! You clever --- ! go to school And college and be --- ! Strike you! There ain't no sense in forty like you! If I don't clear this muck, the pick Will foul and jam, slip, swerve, or stick. Clear off the chips, the blow goes true. Now, mister, off, my --- to you!" The last oath faded in the air. The poet woke and was aware Of property and children. Claims His breech a vesta.<<1>> Up the flames Leap; he stalks forth, free among men, With just a notebook and a pen. <<1. WEH NOTE: A vesta is a type of match. The kids set fire to his pants.>> AU CAVEAU DES INNOCENTS. "Oct." 28, 1904. NIGHT, like a devil, with lidless eyes, Stands avenging over the Halls. Sleep there is none, for day awaits Tokens of toil; there is none that dies, {90A} Death being rest; there is none that calls, Voice being human; only the Fates Rattle the dice at a sombre game, Game without goal of peace or fame. Sinister, sombre, horrors and hates Lurk in the shadows, under the walls. Light deceives, and the darkness lies. Love there is none; he is child of peace: Joy there is none; she is bride of force: Thought there is none; it is birth: -- there fell Ages ago all hope of these. Lust is awake, and its friend remorse. Crime we snatch, between spell and spell. Man is aglare, and is off unheard. Woman hath speech, of a single word. Hell may be heaven, for earth is hell! So do I laugh, and the hideous coarse Peals like applause re-echo and cease. Here in the close and noisome cave, Drunk on the breath of the thieves and whores Close as they cram in the maw of the pit, Sick with the stench of the kisses that rave Round me, surfeiting sense, in scores; Mad with their meaning, I smoke and sit Rhyming at random through my teeth, Grey with the mire of the slough beneath, Deep in the hearts that revel in it, Drowned in the breath of the hell that pours In the heart of Paris its infamous wave. Damning the soul of God, I rise, Stumble among the dissolute bands, Grope to the steep inadequate stairs Scrawled with villainous names. My eyes Loathe the flare of the flickering brands. Out I climb through the greasy airs Into the cold and desolate road. Horror is sure of a safe abode Here in this heart, too pale for prayers, While over the Halls avenging stands Night, like a devil, with lidless eyes. {90B} ROSA INFERNI.<<1>> <<1. Being the necessary sequal to Rosa Mundi. -- A. C.>> "Ha ha! John plucketh now at his rose To rid himself of a sorrow at heart. Lo, -- petal on petal, fierce rays unclose; Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart; And with blood for dew, the bosom boils; And a gust of sulphur is all its smell: And lo, he is horribly in the toils Of a coal-black giant flower of hell!" -- BROWNING, "Heretic's Tragedy," ix. I. ROSE of the world! Ay, love, in that warm hour Wet with your kisses, the bewitching bud Flamed in the starlight; then our bed your bower Heaved like the breast of some alluring flood Whereon a man might sleep for ever, until Death should surprise him, kiss his weary will Into the last repose, profounder power Than life could compass. Now I tax my skill To find another holier name, some flower Still red, but red with the ecstasy of blood. Dear love, dear wife, dear mother of the child Whose fair faint features are a match for mine, Lurks there no secret where your body smiled, No serpent in the generous draught of wine? Did I guess all, who guessed your life well given Up to my kiss? Aha! the veil is riven! Beneath the smiling mask of a young bride Languorous, luscious, melancholy-eyed; Beneath the gentle raptures, hints celestial Of holy secrets, kisses like soft dew, Beneath the amorous mystery, I view The surer shape, a visage grim and bestial, A purpose sly and deadly, a black shape, A tiger snarling, or a grinning ape Resolved by every devilish device Upon my murder. This I clearly see Now you are -- for an hour -- away from me. I see it once; no need to tell me twice! {91A} II. Some Yankee yelled -- I tag it to a rime -- "You can't fool all the people all the time." So he of politics; so I of love. I am a-many folk (let Buddha prove!) And many a month you fooled the lot of us -- Your spell is cracked within the ring! Behold How Christ with clay worth more than any gold Cleared the man's eyes! So the blind amorous Is blinded with the horror of the truth He sees this moment. Foolish prostitute! You slacked you kiss upon the sodden youth In some excess of confidence, decay Of care to hold him -- can I tell you which? Down goes the moon -- one sees the howling bitch! The salmon you had hooked in fin and gill You reel unskilfully -- he darts away. Alas! you devil, but you hold me still! III. O first and fairest of Earth's darling daughters! How could I sing you? -- you have always seemed Unto the saucy driveller as he dreamed Like a rich sunset seen on tropic waters -- (Your eyes effulgent from a thousand slaughters Looked tenderly upon me!) all the red Raving round you like a glory shed Upon the excellent wonder of your head; The blue all massed within your marvellous eyes; The gold a curtain of their harmonies As in a master canvas of de Ryn;<<1>> But ever central glowed the royal sun, A miracle cartouche upon the edge Of the opalescent waters slantwise seen. This oval sealed with grave magnificence Stamped you my queen. Thus looked your lips to one {91B} Who stood a casual on life's slippery ledge, A blind bat hanging from the tree of sense Head downward, gorged with sweet banana juice, Indifferent to -- incapable of -- aught Beyond these simple reflexes. Is thought, Even the highest thought, of any use? <<1. Rembrandt.>> IV. We are not discussing metaphysics now. I see below the beautiful low brow (Low too for cunning, like enough!) your lips, A scarlet splash of murder. From them drips This heart's blood; you have fed your fill on me. I am exhaust, a pale, wan phantom floating Aimless in air, than which I am thinner. You I see, more brilliant, of that sanguine hue (If anything be true that I can see) Full fed; you smile, a smile obscenely gloating On the voluptuous wreck your lust hath wrought. See the loose languor of precipitate thought These versicles exhale! How rude the rime! There is no melody; the tune and time Are broken. Thirteen centuries ago They would have said, "Alas! the youth! We know This devil hath from him plucked the immortal soul." "I" say: you have dulled my centres of control! V. If you were with me, I were blind to this: Ready to drain my arteries for your kiss, Feel your grasp tighten round my ribs until You crush me in the ecstasies that kill. Being away and breathing icy air I am half love, caring not to care; Half-man again -- a mere terrestrial ball Thus breaking up a spiritual thrall -- Eh, my philosophers? -- half-man may yet determine To get back manhood, shake the tree from bats: {92A} To change the trope a shade -- get rid of vermin By using William Shakespeare's "Rough on Rats."<<1>> <<1. Meaning that by study of Shakespeare he would resume higher interests, and baffle the sensual seductions of this siren.>> VI. Ah, love, dear love, sole queen of my affection, Guess you not yet what wheel of thought is spun? How out of dawn's tumultuous dejection And not from noon springs up the splendid sun? Not till the house is swept and garnished well Rises seven other devils out of hell. VII. This is the circle; as the manhood rises And laughter and rude rhyme engage my pen; As I stalk forth, a Man among mere men, The balance changes; all my wit surprises That I who saw the goblins in your face, That I who cursed you for the murderous whore Licking up life as a cat laps its milk, Now see you for a dream of youth and grace, Relume the magic aura that begirt you, Bless you for purity and life -- a store! An ever-running fountain-head of virtue To heal my soul and buckler it and harden! Your body is like ivory and silk! Your lips are like the poppies in the garden! Your face is like a wreath of flowers to crown me! Your eyes are wells wherein I long to drown me! Your hair is like a waterfall above me, A waterfall of sunset! In your bosom I hear the racing of a heart to love me. Your blood is beating like a wind-blown blossom With rapture that you mingle it in mine! Your breath is fresh as foam and keen as wine! Intoxicating glories are your glances! Your bodily beauty grips my soul and dances {92B} Its maddening measures in my heart and brain! Is it that so the wheel may whirl again, That some dull devil in my ear may show me: "For John the Baptist's head -- so danced Salome!"? VIII. Then, in God's name forbear! It does not matter. Life, death, strength, weakness, are but idle chatter. Nothing is lost or gained, we know too well. For heaven thy balance as an equal hell. We discard both; an infinite Universe Remains; we sum it up -- an infinite curse. So -- am I man? I lack my wife's embrace. Am I outworn? I see the harlot's face. Is the love better and the knowledge worse? Shall I seek knowledge and count love disgrace? Where is the profit in so idle a strife? The love of knowledge is the hate of life. DIOGENES. "ALL things are good" exclaimed the boy. Who taste the sweetmeat find it cloy. "All things are ill" the dotard sang. Who stir the serpent feel the fang. "All is a dream!" the wise man spake. Who grasp the bubble find it break. Aye, to all three the saga saith: There is no joy in life but death. There is this limit set to lust: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. O fools and blind that sickly strive To amass, to glut yourselves, to swive, To drink to acquire respect and praise: -- These visions perish as you gaze. Eternal mockery is the real; Eternal falsehood, the ideal. {93A} Choose: nay, abstain from choice of these. Go, be alone, and be at ease! Retire: renounce: the hermit's cell Hath all of earth, and nought of hell. Renouncing all, keep nought enshrined A lurking serpent is the mind. Deem not to catch some goodlier gain Than these; the goodliest prize were pain. Know that the utmost heaven is void Of aught save star or asteroid! Or, an it please thee, idly dream A God therein, a force supreme, A heart of love, a crown of light, An infinite music of delight; -- This, but no more; let fancy sway But never fix the transient ray! All things are lawful, so they be At most a marshalled imagery. Dream of Earth's glories higher and higher, Mounting the minaret, desire; Never attaining to the sky, Realization -- lest thou die. So dream, possessing all; so dream, Possessing nothing: I esteem These twain as one, since dreams they are. Thus mayst thou journey far and far And far! to climes unguessed, to seas Proud with seignorial argosies, To mountains strange with golden snows, To gardens green with many a rose, To secrets past the sense of sense, Skies virgin of experience, Untrodden avenues of mind, Things far from hurrying humankind. Thus spins out life its splendid charm: -- Live, love, enjoy yet do no harm. No rose of thought may bear or breed The poisonous thorn of word and deed. {93B} Call "homo sapiens" him who thinks; Talkers and doers -- missing links! . . . . . . . Such songs are twilight's, when I stretch My limbs, and wander down to fetch My water from the cool cascade, My wood from the enchanted glade, My berries from the rustling bough: -- Return, and eat, and sleep. Allow For me, the silence and the night; Life, peace; and death, a welcome wight. SAID. THE spears of the night at her onset Are lords of the day for a while, The magical green of the sunset, The magical blue of the Nile. Afloat are the gales In our slumberous sails On the beautiful breast of the Nile. We have swooned through the midday, exhausted By the lips -- they are whips -- of the sun, The horizon befogged and befrosted By the haze and the greys and the dun Of the whirlings of sand Let loose on the land By the wind that is born of the sun. On the water we stand as a shadow, A skeleton sombre and thin Erect on the watery meadow, As a giant, a lord of the Djinn Set sentinel over Some queen and her lover Beloved on the Gods and the Djinn. We saw the moon shudder and sink In a furnace of tremulous blue; We stood on the mystical brink Of the day as it sprang to us through The veil of the night, And the babe of the light Was begotten in the caves of the dew. {94A} My lover and I were awake When the noise of the dawn in our ears Burst out like a storm or a snake Or the rush of the Bedawi spears. Dawn of desire! But thy kiss was as fire To thy lovers and princes and peers. Then the ruin of night we beheld As the sun stormed the heights of the sky With his myriad swords, and compelled The pale tremblers, the planets, to fly. He drave from their place All the stars for a space, From their bastioned towers in the sky. Thrilled through to the marrow with heat We abode (as we glode) on the river. Every arrow he launched from his seat, From the white inexhaustible quiver, Smote us right through, Smote us and slew, As we rode on the rapturous river. Sweet sleep is perfection of love. To die into dreams of my lover, To wake with his mouth like a dove Kissing me over and over! Better sleep so Than be conscious, and know How death hath a charm to discover. Ah! float in the cool of the gloaming! Float wide in the lap of the stream With his mouth ever roving and homing To the nest where the dove is adream. Better wake so Than be thinking, and know That at best it is only a dream. So turn up thy face to the stars! In their peace be at peace for awhile! Let us pass in their luminous cars As a sob, as a sigh, as a smile! Love me and laze Through the languorous days On the breast of the beautiful Nile! "May" 1905. {94B} EPILOGUE PRAYER. THE light streams stronger through the lamps of sense. Intelligence Grows as we go. Alas; its icy glimmer Shows dimmer, dimmer The awful vaults we traverse. Were the sun Himself the one Glory of space, he would but illustrate The night of Fate. Are not the hosts of heaven in vain arrayed? Their light dismayed Before the vast blind spaces of the sky? O galaxy Of thousands upon thousands closely curled! Your golden world Incalculably small, its closest cluster Mere milky lustre Staining the infinite darkness! Base and blind Our minion mind Seeks a great light, a light sufficient, light Insufferably bright, Hence hidden for an hour: imagining This vast vain thing, We called it God, and Father. Empty hand And prayer unplanned Stretch fatuous to the void. Ah! men my friends, What fury sends This folly to intoxicate your hearts? Dread air disparts Your vital ways from these unsavoury follies, Black melancholies Sit straddled on your bended backs. The throne Of the unknown {95A} Is fit for children. We are too well ware How vain is prayer, How nought is great, since all is immanent, The vast content Of all the universe unalterable. We know too well How no one thing abides awhile at all, How all things fall, Fall from their seat, the lamentable place, Before their face, Weary and pass and are no more. So we, Since hope must be, Look to the future, to the chance minute That life may shoot Some flower at least to blossom in the night, Since vital light Is sure to fail us on the hideous way. What? Must we pray? Verily, O thou littlest babe, too weak To stir or speak, Capable hardly of a thought, yet seed Of word and deed! To thine assured fruition we may trust This weary dust. We who are old, and palsied, (and so wise!) Lift up our eyes To little children, as the storm-tossed bark Hails in the dark Some hardly visible harbour light; we hold The hours of gold To our own breasts, whose hours are iron and brass: -- So swift they pass And grind us down: -- we hold the wondrous light Our scattering sight Yet sees, the one star in a night of woe. We trust, and so Lift up our voices in the dying day Indeed to pray: "O little hands that are so soft and strong," "Lead us along!" {95B} {full page next line only} IMAGES OF DEATH PROLOGUE. PATCHOULI. LIKE memories of love they come, My perfumes in the silver vase: The fragrant root, the odorous gum, Myrrh, aloes, or olibanum: -- Anon, like memories of love, they pass! They pass, and all the wonder-web Of thought and being is unrolled. Like sombre tides there flow and ebb Wonderful things! not to be told: Beautiful things! and images of gold. The touch of brown Habiba's breast, The brimming lip, the cheek of down, The dainty dovelet in its nest: These fade, as ever a palimpsest Like autumn vanishes from gold to brown. Zuleikha, on whose marble knees My bearded head is lazily lain, Shows like some stirring of the breeze Fluctuant in the poppied grain, No more at all: the vulgar sense is slain. Of all the world alone abides The faint perfume of Patchouli, That subtle death in love; it glides Across the opening dream, derides The fetich folly, immortality. Awake, O dream! Let distant bells And vague muezzins haunt the ear, Gaunt camels kneel by dusky wells, Imagination greyly hear: Allahu akbar! Allahu kabir! Over inhospitable sands Let the simoom its columns spin! In snowy vales, untrodden lands, Let there be storm, and bearded bands Of robbers pass around the bubbling skin! {96A} Let there be caves of treasure rare Deep hidden in sepulchral seas; And birds unheard-of darken air With royal wings, like argosies Sailing beneath magnific promontories! Let Caliphs mete fantastic law And ebon eunuchs swing the sword So swift, so curved, -- let voiceless awe Sit on the palace dome, to draw Some god's destruction on its smiling lord! May many a maiden comely clad Revolve in convoluted curls, Till from each pliant pose I had (By virtue of her wondrous whirls) The illusion of a thousand dancing-girls! Let harlots robed in gold and green Sit slowly waving ivory plumes And wings of palm; the while their queen Lurks in some horror-house unseen, Damned to be smothered in divine perfumes! Let there be scenes of blood and pain, Some Slav beneath the Cossack knout, Some mother ripped, some baby slain; Let lust move silently about: -- Soft laughter hid in all, song whispering out! Then let these things of form decay, Some subtler dream dissolve their form, As I have seen a cloudlet lay Its forehead on the sea, and pray Some idle prayer to sunset, or the storm! Yea! as a cloud in worship-trance Swoons in invisible delight, Let slave and king, let death and dance Shake off their forms, and clothe their light In shrouds of sepulchre, the starless night! {96B} Let song and cry leave tune and tone, Perish uncried and die unsung! Nature, the monotonic moan Roared by the river, thunder alone: -- The Hoang-Ho, its note, the monstrous Kung!<<1>> <<1. The fundamental tone in Chinese music; supposed to be given by the Hoang-Ho river, according to Professor Rice.>> Or let Kailasha's<<1>> godded peak Summon the oread and the gnome To leave their toils, the word to speak That shakes its azure-splitting dome With the reverberation -- listen! -- Aum! <<1. Sacred mountain in the Himalaya, the abode of Shiva.>> Let olive fail, and mangostin! O'erturn the dark forbidden draught! Give me the taste, the taste unclean Of human flesh and blood that mean Some infinite horror to the light that laughed! So let the scent of lily and rose, Of jasmine, taggara,<<1>> pass away! Let patchouli, patchouli, repose My nostrils with your odour grey, Dead darlings exquisite in your decay! <<1. An eastern perfume. "Cf." Max Muller's Dhammapada.>> So, silk and velvet, fur and skin, Your sensuous touch shall quit me quite: I am at swiving strain with sin -- I'll touch the stars, the blood run thin From the torn breast of Night, my mother Night. Nor shall the mind revoke at ease These myriad cressets from the sun; Constrained in sober destinies Thought's river shall its ripples run Into the one, the one, the one, the one. {97A} Bursting the universe, a grip Girds me to god; aha! the bliss! Begone, frail tortures wrung from whip, Weak joys sucked hard from leman's lip, Ye are nought at all, are nought at all, in this! . . . . . . . But brown Habiba's fawn-wide gaze And white Zuleikha's drowsy glance Woo me to waking unto day's Delight from night's unmeasured trance: -- To drink to dally, to desire, to dance. Ah! beautiful and firm your hips, Habib! ah! coolthsome your caress, Zuleikha! soft your honey lips -- The tongue of pleasure subtly sips The wine that age distils, and calls distress. Enough! when all is ended, when The poppied pleasure purples pain -- Death -- shall I laugh or smile? Amen! I'll wake, one last fond cup to drain, And then -- to sleep again, to sleep again! KALI.<<1>> <<1. The most popular form, in Bengal, of Sakti, the Hindu Isis.>> THERE is an idol in my house By whom the sandal alway steams. Alone, I make a black carouse With her to dominate my dreams. With skulls and knives she keeps control (O Mother Kali!) of my soul. She is crowned with emeralds like leaves, And rubies flame from either eye; A rose upon her bosom heaves, Turquoise and lapislazuli. She hath a kirtle like a maid: -- Amethyst, amber, pearl, and jade! {97B} Her face is fashioned like a moon; Her breasts are tongues of pointed jet; Her belly of opal fairly hewn; And round about her neck is set The holy rosary, skull by skull, Polished and grim and beautiful! This jewelled shape of gold and bronze Is seated on my bosom's throne; She takes my mused orisons To her, to her, to her alone. Oh Kali, Kali, Kali, quell This hooded hate, O Queen of Hell! Her ruby-studded brow is calm; Her eyes shine like some sleepy flood; Her breast is oliban and balm; Her tongue lolls out, a-dripping blood; She swings my body to and fro; She breaks me on the wheel of woe! To her eternal rapture seems Mere nature; underneath the crown Of dusky emeralds there streams A river of bliss to sluice me down With blood and tears, to drown my thought, To bring my being into nought. The cruel teeth, the steady sneer, The marvellous lust of her, I bring Unto my body bright and clear (Dropped poison in a water spring!) To fill me with the utmost sense Of some divine experience. For who but she, the adulterous queen, Made earth and heaven with all its stars, The storm, the hunger epicene, The raging at invisible bars, The hideous cruelty of the whole? -- These are of Kali, O my soul! The sterile force of bronze and gold Bends to my passion, as it grips With feverish claws the metal cold, And burns upon the brazen lips That, parted like a poppy bud, Have gemmed curves like moons of blood. {98A} The mazes of her many arms Delude the eye; they seem to shift As if they spelled mysterious charms Whereby some tall grey ship should drift Out to a windless, tideless sea Motionless from eternity. This then I seek, O woman-form! O god embowelled in curves of bronze! The shuddering of a sudden storm To mix me with thy minions The lost, who wait through endless night, And wait in vain, to see the light. For I am utterly consumed In thee, in thee am broken up. The life upon my lips that bloomed Is crushed into a deadly cup, Whose devilish spirit squats and gloats Upon the thirst that rots our throats. Gape wide, O hideous mouth, and suck This heart's blood, drain it down, expunge This sweltering life of mire and muck! Squeeze out my passions as a sponge, Till nought is left of terrene wine But somewhat deathless and divine! Not by a faint and fairy tale We shadow forth the immortal way. No symbols exquisitely pale Avail to lure the secrets grey Of his endeavour who proceeds By doing to abolish deeds. Not by the pipings of a bird In skies of blue on fields of gold, But by a fierce and loathly word The abomination must be told. The holy work must twist its spell From hemp of madness, grown in hell. Only by energy and strife May man attain the eternal rest, Dissolve the desperate lust of life By infinite agony and zest. Thus, O my Kali, I divine The golden secret of thy shrine! {98B} Death from the universal force Means to the forceless universe Birth. I accept the furious course, Invoke the all-embracing curse. Blessing and peace beyond may ie When I annihilate the "I." Therefore, O holy mother, gnash Thy teeth upon my willing flesh! Thy chain of skulls wild music clash! Thy bosom bruise my own afresh! Sri Maharani!<<1>> draw my breath Into the hollow lungs of death! <<1. Holy Queen -- one of the many thousand titles of the Goddess.>> There is no light, nor any motion. There is no mass, nor any sound. Still, in the lampless heart of ocean, Fasten me down and hold me drowned Within thy womb, within thy thought, Where there is nought -- where there is nought! THE JILT. "WHO is that slinkard moping down the street, That youth -- scarce thirty -- bowed like sixty" "Oh, A woman jilted him." "Absurd!" "Conceit! Some youths take life -- are Puritans, you know!" I heard it, sitting in the window -- glowed, Rushed to my wife and kissed her. Lithe and young The rapture of some ardent madness flowed; And -- bye-and-bye -- its miracle found tongue. . . . . . . . Guess, guess the secret why I burn for you These years so cold to woman as I was! Guess why your laugh, your kiss, your touch run through My body, as it were a tuned glass! {99A} You cannot guess? -- false devil that you are! To Cruelty's add calm's analysis! You love me? Yes -- then crown me a bearded Sar Bull-breasted by my sleek Semiramis!<<1>> <<1. Queen of Assyria, famous for glory and debauchery. Sar is the royal title.>> Did you not hear those men below? They spoke Of one I think you have forgotten long; Talked of his ruined life -- half as a joke -- But I -- But I -- it is my whole heart's song! I love you when I think of his pale lips Twitching, and all his curls of gold awry; Your smile of poison as he sighs and sips; Your half-scared laughter as his heart-beats die -- Let him creep on, a shattered, ruined thing! A ship dismasted on a dreadful sea! And you -- afar -- some word of largesse fling Pitifully worded for more cruelty! His death lends savour to our passionate life; His is the heart I taste upon your tongue; His death-spasms our love-spasms, my wife; His death-songs are the love-songs that you sung! Ah! Sweet, I love you as I see him stagger On with hell's worm a-nuzzling to his heart, With your last letter, like a poisoned dagger, Biting his blood, burning his bones apart. Ah! Sweet, each kiss I drink from you is warm With the dear life-blood of a man -- a man! The scent of murder lures me, like a charm Tied by some subtlety Canidian. Ay! as you suck my life out into bliss, Its holier joy is in the deadlier thirst That drank his life out into the abyss Of torture endless, endless and accurst. {99B} I know him little; liking what I know. But you -- you offer me his flesh and blood. I taste it -- never another vintage owe, Nor bid me sup upon another food! This is our marriage; firmer than the root Of love or lust could plant our joy, my wife, We stand in this, the purple-seeded fruit Of yon youth's fair and pitiable life. . . . . . . . Do I not fear that you may treat me so? One day your passion slake itself somehow, Seek vigour from another murder? No! You harlot, for I mean to kill you -- now. THE EYES OF PHARAOH. DEAD Pharaoh's eyes from out the tomb Burned like twin planets ruby-red. Enswathed, enthroned, the halls of gloom Echo the agony of the dead. Silent and stark the Pharaoh sate: No breath went whispering, hushed or scared. Only that red incarnate hate Through pylon after pylon flared. As in the blood of murdered things The affrighted augur shaking skries Earthquake and ruinous fate of kings, Famine and desperate destinies, So in the eyes of Pharaoh shone The hate and loathing that compel In death each damned minion Of Set,<<1>> the accursed lord of Hell. <<1. The ass-headed deity of the Egyptians, slayer of Osiris.>> Yea! in those globes of fire there sate Some cruel knowledge closely curled Like serpents in those halls of hate, Palaces of the Underworld. {100A} But in the hell-glow of those eyes The ashen skull of Pharaoh shone White as the moonrays that surprise The invoking Druse on Lebanon. Moreover pylon shouldered round To pylon an unearthly tune, Like phantom priests that strike and sound Sinister sistrons at the moon. And death's insufferable perfume Beat the black air with golden fans As Turkis rip a Nubian's womb With damascened yataghans. Also the taste of dust long dead Of ancient queens corrupt and fair Struck through the temple, subtly sped By demons dominant of the air. Last, on the flesh there came a touch Like sucking mouths and stroking hands That laid their foul alluring smutch Even to the blood's mad sarabands. So did the neophyte that would gaze Into dead Pharaoh's awful eyes Start from incalculable amaze To clutch the initiate's place and prize. He bore the blistering thought aloft: It blazed in battle on his plume: With sage and warrior enfeoffed,<<1>> He rushed alone through tower and tomb. <<1. Accompanied by those sages and warriors who owed him feudal service.>> The myriad men, the cohorts armed, Are shred like husks: the ensanguine brand Leaps like a flame, a flame encharmed To fire the pyramid heaven-spanned Wherein dead Pharaoh sits and stares Swathed in the wrappings of the tomb, With eyes whose horror flits and flares Like corpse-lights glimmering in the gloom, {100B} Till all's a blaze, one roar of flame, Death universal, locked and linked: -- Aha! one names the awful Name -- The twin red planets are extinct. BANZAI! THERE lept upon a breach and laughed A royally maniac man. A bitter craft Is mine, he saith, O soldiers of Japan! I am the brothel-knave of death, The grimly courtesan. Now who will up and kiss her lips, Or grip her breast and bone? The subtle life she shears and snips Is harder gained than gone; The lover's laughter whom she clips Is but a dying groan. She lieth not on a gilded bed In the city without the city.<<1>> One kiss is hers full rank and red -- Do you sip at her lip? Hell hangs on her fangs! She loves; love laughs at pity! <<1. The prostitutes of Japan live in a city by themselves, whenever they re sufficiently numerous to make this practicable.>> Then who will up to taste her mouth? Who on her mount and ride? Look to the North, the West, the South! There is carnage vulture-eyed. Then who will suck the breath of death, The swift and glittering bride? The bride that clings as a snare with springs To the warrior's stricken side? A shudder struck the hidden men As the maniac's mouthings ceased. Then, kindling, rose a roar: "Spread, spread the furtive feast! The wine of agony pour! The fruit of valour pluck! The meat of murder suck! {101A} Sweet are the songs of her throat! Sort are the strokes of her fan! She hath love by rhyme and rote, She is subtle and quick to man! She danceth? Say she doth float! Rapture is gold in her eyes! She sigheth honey-sweet sighs Of the glory of Japan! Red are her lips and large, The delicate courtesan!" Then the officer's voice Caught in his throat for joy. Like birds in spring that rejoice, Clearly and softly the boy Whispered: "Now, let us charge!" Then leaping sheer o'er trench and mound, They rise as a single man; They bound like antelopes over the ground For the glory of Japan. With glittering steel they wheel -- they reel? They are steady again and straight! The dull brute Christians red with the weal Of the knout -- they will not wait! The ringing cries of the victors peal In, in at the captured gate! . . . . . . . Then o'er the field the maniac passed And closed the dead men's eyes. "They re sleeping close with death at last!" The wanton warrior cries. But he who saw the dead man's jaw Grind at the last was aware That the harlot's kiss was Paradise That the soldier tasted there. And beyond the magnificent joy of death Shears through the sky, as a flame Ripping the air, the lightning breath Of the nation's resonant fame. Hail! to the Hachiman<<1>> deed well done! To the virile strength of a man! To the stainless blaze of the Rising Sun The glory of Japan! {101B} <<1. Japanese God of War.>> LE JOUR DES MORTS. AT Paris upon Dead Man's Day I danced into the cemetery. The air was cool; the sun was gay; The scent of the revolving clay Made me most wondrous merry. Earth, after an agonising bout, Had swallowed up a widow clean. The issue hung for long in doubt: -- -- Oh! anybody can make out The mystery I mean. The dead were dancing with the worms; The live were laughing with their lemans; The dead-alive were making terms With God, and notaries, and germs, With house-agents and demons. All Paris keeping sacrament Of musing or of melancholy, Impatient of the next event, To spend, to barter, to be spent; -- I chuckled at the folly. "I would that I were dead and damned," Thinks every wiser human. "Corpses have room, and men are jammed; Those offer food, and these are crammed: -- And cheaper, too, is woman!" I, being neither God nor ghost, A mere caprice of matter, Hop idly in the hideous host, Content to chaff the uttermost, To cackle and to chatter. They bring their wreaths to deck the dead, As skipping-ropes that devils use them. One through the immortelles perks his head. [These sights to ghosties are as bread; The luckless living lose them.] Grotesque and grim the pageant struts; We sit a-straddle on the crosses. Our soulless missiles take for butts The passers' hats, or in their guts Distrub their dinner's process. {102A} Thus one man's work is one man's play; The melancholy help the merry. All tread the ordered stupid way At Paris, upon Dead Man's Day, In Pere Lachaise his cemetery. AVE MORS. O VIRGIN! O my sister! Hear me, death! The tainted kisses of the harlot life Sicken me; hers is foul and fevered breath, This noisome woman I have made my wife. She lies asweat, aslime. O hear me, thou! Wash with thy tears this desecrated brow! With cool chaste kisses cleanse me! Lay me out Wrapped in a spotless winding-sheet, and soothe These nerves ill nuzzled by the black swine's snout With thine eternal anodyne of truth! The foul beast grunts and snorts; but hear me, death! Thy wings are wind-white as her hoofs are dunged. Thy songs are faint and pale with honey breath, Honey and poppy! as her mouth hot-tongued Spews out its hideous list. O loathed life! Thou nameless horror of the bestial strife Of love and hate. I straitly charge thee quit This bed of nastiness, this putrid sea; For not by any amorous tricks of wit Shalt thou regain thine empire over me. O virgin, O my sister! Hear me, death! Thou hast a sleep compelling soul and mind. Thine is the sweet insufferable breath That comes like Bessarabia's twilight wind To bring a quiet coolth from day's long heat, Peace to the belly gorged with blood and meat, {102B} Stars for the sun that smote, for fire slow streams, For the simoom the zephyr's cooling kiss, Deep sleep at last from all the evil dreams, And rest, the possibility of bliss. THE MORIBUND.<<1>> <<1. A meaning maybe found for this poem by any really profound student of the Qabalah.>> I. THE Seven Wise Men of Martaban<<1>> Sate round the dying man. <<1. Gulf of Martaban, South of Burma.>> They were so still, one would have said: If he were dying, they were dead! The first was aged; in his beard He muttered never a weird. The next was beautiful and gay: He had no word to say. The third was wroth and rusty red, Yet not a word he said. The fourth was open and bold: His silence girt him like fine gold. The fifth was ruddy and fair of face; He held his tongue a space. The sixth was many-coloured, but He kept his lips well shut. The last was like a full great moon; He knew, but uttered not, his rune. II. Now when the time was fully come The dying man was dumb, But with his failing hand did make A sign: my heart doth ache. {103A} At that kingly man, the fourth, Rose up and spat against the North. Then made the dying man a sign: My head is running like strong wine. The aged man lifted his mouth And spat against the South. He clutched his throat in pang of death, As if he cried for breath. Whereat the second beat his breast And frowned upon the West. Then the man sighed, as if to say: The glow of life is gone away. At this the rusty and wroth released His eyes against the East. Then the man touched his navel, as He felt his life thence pass. Also he smote his spine; the base Of life burnt up apace. Then rose the many-coloured sage; He was right sad with age. With him arose the ruddy and fair; He was right debonair. They twain to upper air and lower Advanced the eyes of power. Ay! but above the dead man's head A lotus-flower was spread. Thence dripped the Amrita, whereby Life learneth not to die. The seventh in silence tended it Against the horror of the pit. III. Thus in a cage of wisdom lay The dead man, live as they. {103B} They hold him sacred from the sun, From death and dissolution. Within the charmed space is nought Possible unto thought. There in their equilibrium They float -- how still, how numb! There must they rest, there will they stay Innocent of the judgment day. Remote from cause, effect retires. Act slays its dams and sires. There is no hill, there is not pit. They have no mark to hit. It is enough. Closed is the sphere. There is no more to hear. They perish not; they do not thrive. They are at rest, alive, The Seven Wise Men of Martaban; And, moribund, the man. THE BEAUTY AND THE BHIKKHU: A TALE OF THE TENTH IMPURITY. ("From the Pali.") I. LISTEN! The venerable monk pursued His path with downcast eyes; his thought revolved Ever in closed coils serenely screwed About the Tenth Impurity. Dissolved All vision of his being but of one Thing only, his sun-whitened skeleton. II. A dainty lady sick of simple life, Chained to the cold couch of some vapid man, Put on her jewels, off the world of wife, Resolved to play the painted courtesan, {104A} So ran along the village path. Her laughter Wooed all the world to follow tumbling after. III. Then when she met the venerable monk Her shamelessness desired a leprous wreath Of poisonous flowers, seducing him. He shrunk Back from her smile, seeing her close white teeth. Bones! he exclaimed, and meditating that, From a mere Bhikkhu grew an Arahat. IV. Her husband found her gone, in fury followed Lashing the pale path with his purple feet, Heedless of stones and serpents. Hail! he halloaed To the new Rahan<<1>> whom he bowed to greet Kissing the earth: O holy master, say If a fair female hath passed by this way! <<1. Arahat.>> V. The Bhikkhu blessed the irritated man. Then the slow sloka<<1>> serpentine began: "Friend! neither man nor woman owns This being's high perception, owed Only to Truth; nor beams nor stones Support the Arahat's abode. Who grasps one truth, beholds one light, Becomes that truth, that light; discedes From dark and deliquescent night, From futile thoughts and fatuous deeds. Your girl, your gems, your mournful tones Irk not perfection with their goad. One thing I know -- a set of bones Is travelling on upon this road!" <<1. Stanza.>> {104B} {full page at head of next} IMMORTALITY "From this tale, Callicles, which I have heard and believe, I draw the following inferences: -- Death, if I am right, is in the first place the separation from one another of two things, soul and body; nothing else. And after they are separated they retain their several natures, as in life; the body keeps the same habit, and the results of treatment or accident are distinctly visible in it: for example, he who by nature or training or both was a tall man while he was alive, will remain as he was, after he is dead; and the fat man will remain fat; and so on; and the dead man who in life had a fancy to have flowing hair, will have flowing hair. And if he was marked with the whip and had the prints of the scourge, or of wounds in him when he was alive, you might see the same in the dead body; and if his limbs were broken or misshapen when he was alive, the same appearance would be visible in the dead. And in a word, whatever was the habit of the body during life would be distinguishable after death, either perfectly, or in a great measure and for a certain time. And I should imagine that this is equally true of the soul, Callicles; when a man is stripped of the body, all the natural or acquired affections of the soul are laid open to view." -- PLATO, "Gorgias." {columns resume} IMMORTALITY. I. I MOVED. remote from fear and pain The white worms revelled in my brain. Who travelled live may travel dead; The soul's no tenant of the head. They had hanged my body by the neck; Bang went the trap. A little speck Shot idly upon consciousness Unconscious of the head's distress When with dropped jaw the body swung So queer and limp; the purple tongue Shooting out swollen and awry. Men cheered to see the poisoner die. Not he! He grinned one visible grin, The last; then, muffled in his sin, He lived and moved unseen of those Nude souls that masquerade in clothes, Confuse the form and the sensation, And have the illusion, incarnation. I bore myself. Death was so dull. The dead are strangely beautiful To the new-comer; it wears off. II. They told me I was damned. The Shroff<<1>> Gave me ten dollars Mex. (For ease Of English souls the dead Chinese {105A} Are taxed) to pay my way in hell. On one pound sterling one lives well. For luxuries are cheaply paid Since Satan introduced Free Trade; And necessaries -- woe is me! -- Are furnished to the damned soul free. <<1. Money-changer. Mexican dollars were long the sole currency on the Chinese coast.>> III. God's hell, Earth's heaven, are not so far. Dinner brought oysters, caviar, Anchovies, truffles, curried rabbit (Bad for the apoplectic habit), While ancient brandy and champagne Washed down the dainties. Once again I seemed to haunt the Continental.<<1>> A saucy little elemental Flitted across; I heard it sneer; "You won't get water, though, I fear." That's hell all over. Good-bye, greens, Water, cold mutton, bread, and beans! They feed us well, like gentlemen, On chilis, seasoned with cayenne. Worse, one must finish every course. 'S truth, I had rather eat boiled horse! <<1. Smart restaurant in London.>> IV. My first friend was an aged monk. He fed on rice and water. Sunk His cheeks and cold his blood. You see The fool was a damned soul like me; {105B} He had starved himself on earth in hope In heaven to banquet with the Pope, With God and Christ on either hand And all the angels' choral band Playing sweet music. O the fool To treat earth as a baby's school! In hell one lives as one is wont. "Punch" said to would-be bridegrooms: Don't! Might I advise the same to those Shapeless and senseless embryos Who seek to live? Yes, God is wise Enough to set a snare for lies As well as truths. The soul content On earth in his own element Will be content from flesh released. But he who strives to be a beast Or strives to be a god; would gain Long bliss for a few hours of pain, Or struggles for no matter what, Continues. I would rather not. V. That puzzle's grief I did not share Because on earth I did not care. I met a grave philosopher -- 'Had sought most nobly not to err Probing God's Nature. See his lobes Swell with hell's torment! Still he probes The same fool's problem. I explain The simple state of things in vain. He chose to study God, and die in it. He made his bed, and he must lie in it. VI. After my dinner I debate (Urged to the task by habit's Fate) The project of a poisoning. In hell one finds that everything Is easy. Poison to my hand; A cunning potion cool and bland Fit to administer the draught: -- How like old times! I nodded, laughed, Poisoned my neighbour, a young girl Sent here for marrying an earl. Of course she did not die. But then On earth I never killed my men; {106A} They only die whom one forgets. Remember that each action sets Its mark still deeper in the mind! VII. O piteous lot of humankind Whose history repeats itself! Dinner is cleared by gnome and elf; I pay the bill, take Baal's receipt, And stroll off smoking. Soon I meet The fairest foulest whore that burns. High feeding pays: desire returns. She willing (for a copper rin)<<1>> For any ecstasy of sin Gaily embraces me. A room Starts up in the half-light, half-gloom, Perfectly purposed for debauch. In mirrors shines a wicked nautch, And on the floor Hawaian bells Rave in a hula-hula<<2>> -- Hell's! Fragonard, Rops, had lined the walls with wild indecent bacchanals, And bawdy photographs attest The Devil's taste to be the best. <<1. Japanese coin worth a small portion of a penny.>> <<2. The indecent dance of the South Seas.>> VIII. I did not sleep at all: but she: -- O face of deathless agony! O torture of hell's worm, to wrest From peace that miserable breast! Me, me she strikes in mid-delight Staggered and shattered at the sight, The moment that she slept. I laughed Thereat: the bowl I idly quaffed Was nectar: she amused me, so. You see, my friend. I did not know. I also slept at morn. Then, then, A low voice whispered in the den: "Lucky young fellow! Brave and clever! This sort of thing goes on for ever." IX. On earth I dreaded impotence, Age, death. You see, I had no sense. Best be an old man ere you die; They wish insensibility, {106B} So are their pains the duller. Hell Is managed infinitely well From the peculiar standpoint of A god who says that he is Love. X. That was the poet Crowley's point. I think "his" nose is out of joint; He bet on justice being done; And here -- it's really rather fun! -- The unlucky devil devil-spurred Writes, climbs, does Yoga like a bird; Just as he was before he "died," The ass is never satisfied. He has only been here forty days, And has already writ six plays, Made eight new passes, one new peak, Is bound to do two more this week, And as for meditation! Hard he Soars from Dhyana to Samadhi; Writes wildly sloka after sloka, Storms the Arupa-Brahma-Loka, Disdains the mundane need of Khana,<<1>> Slogs off, like Buddha, to Nibbana: -- Poor devil! <<1. Dinner.>> XI. One thing makes me weep. He was wise one way, and scorned sleep. Wherefore he sleeps not, does not hear That still small dreadful voice of fear. Therefore he realises not That this is his eternal lot. Therefore he suffers not at all. XII. Luckier is he than one, a small Wild girl, whose one desire on earth Was to -- be blunt with it! -- give birth To children. Here she's fairly in it! Pumps out her fourteen babes a minute; Her (under chloroform) the voice Bids to be gleesome and rejoice: "No sterile God balks "thine" endeavour. This sort of thing goes on for ever." {107A} XIII. I was a humorous youth enough On earth: I laughed when things were rough. Therefore, I take it, now in Hades The funny side of things -- and ladies -- Engages my attention. Well! You know enough of life in Hell. I was an altruist, my brothers! My life one long kind though for others: For me six maidens wear the willow: -- Poisoning is a peccadillo. Hence I'm disposed to give advice Simple, if possibly not nice; Shun life! an awkward task and deep. But if you cannot, then -- shun sleep! (Suppose I thus had prophesied, Gone to my wife to bed, and died!) EPILOGUE. THE KING-GHOST. THE King-Ghost is abroad. His spectre legions Sweep from their icy lakes and bleak ravines Unto these weary and untrodden regions Where man lies penned among his Might-have-beens. Keep us in safety, Lord, What time the King-Ghost is abroad! The King-Ghost from his grey malefic slumbers Awakes the malice of his bloodless brain He marshals the innumerable numbers Of shrieking shapes on the sepulchral plain. Keep us, for Jesu's sake, What time the King-Ghost is awake! {107B} The King-Ghost wears a crown of hopes forgotten; Dead loves are woven in his ghastly robe; Bewildered wills and faiths grown old and rotten And deeds undared his sceptre, sword, and globe. Keep us, O Mary maid, What time the King-Ghost goes arrayed! The Hell-Wind whistles through his plume-less pinions; Clanks all that melancholy host of bones; Fate's principalities and Death's dominions Echo the drear discord, the tuneless tones. Keep us, dear God, from ill, What time the Hell-Wind whistles shrill. The King-Ghost hath no music but their rattling; No scent but death's grown faint and fugitive; No light but this their leprous pallor batting Weakly with night. Lord, shall thee dry bones live? O keep us in the hour Wherein the King-Ghost hath his power! {108Atop} The King-Ghost girds me with his gibbering creatures, My dreams of old that never saw the sun. He shows me, in a mocking glass, their features, The twin fiends "Might-have-been" and "Should-have-done." Keep us, by Jesu's ruth, What time the King-Ghost grins the truth! The King-Ghost boasts eternal usurpature; For in this pool of tears his fingers fret I had imagined, by enduring nature, The twin gods "Thus-will-I" and "May-be-yet." God, keep us most from ill, What time the King-Ghost grips the will! Silver and rose and gold what flame resurges? What living light pours forth in emerald waves? What inmost Music drowns the clamourous dirges? -- Shrieking they fly, the King-Ghost and his slaves. Lord, let Thy Ghost indwell, And keep us from the power of Hell! Amen. {108Btop, full page follows} -------------------- Kneel down, dear maiden o'mine, and let your eyes Get knowledge with a soft and glad surprise! Who would have thought you would have had it in you? Say nothing! On the contrary, continue! {108} RODIN IN RIME 1907 AUTHOR'S NOTE AUGUSTE RODIN AND THE NOMENCLATURE OF HIS WORKS {columns resume} A STUDY IN SPITE WHEN illegitimate criticism is met with a smart swing on the point of the jaw, and has subsided into an unpleasant and unpitiful heap; when its high-well-born brother has shaken hands -- not without many years of friendly sparring -- with the new pugilist, all his family are very disappointed, for Society takes no notice of them in its (to them unseemly) adulation of the rising star. Their unfraternal feeling may even lead them to employ a sandbagger and a dark night to rid them of this dreamer Joseph. In the case of the success, in the heavy weights, of the Meudon Chicken (M. Rodin will forgive us for the lengths to which we carry our analogy), envy has given up hope even of sandbags, and is now engaged in the ridiculous task of attempting to disconcert the eye of the Fancy Boy by flipping paper pellets at him across the arena. They do not reach him, it is true; but as I, who happen to be sitting in a back row, admiring the clean, scientific sequences of rib-punchers, claret-tappers, &c., &c., recently received one of these missiles in the eye, my attention was called to the disturber. I will now do my part as a law-abiding citizen and take my boot to the offender, as a warning to him and all of his kidney. I shall not mention his name: that he would enjoy: that is perhaps what he hoped. I will merely state that he is one of those unwashed and oleaginous individuals who are a kind of Merodack-Jauneau without the Merodack, "i.e.", without the gleam of intention in their work which to the lay mind redeems even the most grotesque imbecility of technique, and the most fatuous ignorance of all subjects connected or unconnec