The Continental Monthly, Vol 6, No 5, November 1864
TekstTHE UNDIVINE COMEDY-A POLISH DRAMA
Dedicated to Mary
PART III
'Il fut administé, parceque le niais demandait un prètre, puis pende à la satisfaction generale,' etc, etc.—Rapport du citoyen Gaillot, commissaire de la sixième chambre, an III., 5 prairial.
'The sacraments were administered to him, because the fool demanded a priest; he was hung to the general satisfaction.'—Report of citizen Gaillot, commissary of the sixth session, 3d year, 5th prairial.
A song! a new song!
Who will begin it? Who will end it?
Give me the Past, clad in steel, barbed with iron, floating in knightly plumes! With magic power I would invoke before you gothic towers and castellated turrets, bristling barbacans and mighty arches, baronial halls and clustered shafts; I would throw around you the giant shadows of vaulted domes and of revered cathedrals: but it may not be; all that is with the Past: the Past is never to return!
Speak, whosoever thou mayst be, and tell me in what thou believest! It is easier to lose thy life than to invent a faith; to awaken any belief in it!
Shame upon you all, great and small, for all things pursue their own course in defiance of your schemes! You may be mean and wretched, without hearts and without brains, yet the world hastens to its allotted destiny; it hurries you on whether you will or no, throws you in the dust, tosses you into wild confusion, or whirls you in resistless circles, which cease not until they grow into dances of Death! But the world rolls on—on; clouds and storms arise and vanish; then it grows slippery—new couples join the dance of Death—they totter—fall—lost in an abyss of blood—for it is slippery-blood-human blood is gushing everywhere, as if the path to peace led through a charnel house!
Behold the crowds of people thronging the gates of the cities, the hills, the valleys, and resting beneath the shadows of the trees! Tents are spread about, long boards are placed on the trunks of fallen trees or on pikes and sticks to serve as tables; they are covered with meat and drink, the full cups pass from hand to hand, and, as they touch the eager mouth, threats, oaths, and curses press forth from the hot lips. Faster and faster fly the cups from hand to hand, beaded, bubbling, glittering, always filling, striking, tinkling, ringing, as they circle among the millions: Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy!
How fiercely they are agitated; how impatiently they wait! They murmur, they break into riotous noise!
Poor wretches! scarcely covered with their miserable rags, the seal of weary labors deeply stamped upon their sunburnt faces set with uncombed, bristling hair, the sweat starting from their rugged brows, their strong and horny hands armed with scythes, axes, hammers, hatchets, spades!
Look at that broad youth with the pickaxe; at the slight one with the sword. Here is one who holds aloft a glittering pike; another who brandishes a massive club with his brawny arm! There under the willows a boy crams cherries into his mouth with the one hand, and with the other punches the tree with a long, sharp awl. Women are also there, wives, mothers, daughters, poor and hungry as the men, Not a single trace of womanly beauty, of healthful freshness upon them; their hair is disordered and sprinkled with the dust of the highways, their tawny bodies scarcely covered with unsightly rags, their gloomy eyes seem fading into their sockets, only half open as if gluing together in very weariness: but they will soon be quickened, for the full cup flies from lip to lip, they quaff long draughts: Hurrah! hurrah! Long live the cup of drunkenness and joy!
Hark! a noise and rustling among the masses! Is it joy, or is it grief? Who can read the meaning of a thing so monstrously multiform!
A man arrives, mounts a table, harangues and sways the multitude. His voice drags and grates upon the ear, but hacks itself into sharp, strong words, clearly heard and easily understood; his gestures are slow and light, accompanying his words as music, song. His brow is high and strong, his head is entirely bald; thought has uprooted its last hair. His skin is dull and tawny, the blood never tinges its dingy pallor, no emotion ever paints its secrets there, yellow wrinkles form and cross between the bones and muscles of his face, and a dark beard, like a black wreath, encircles it from temple to temple. He fastens a steady gaze upon his hearers, no doubt or hesitation ever clouds his clear, cold eye. When he raises his arm and stretches it out toward the people, they bow before him, as if to receive, prostrate, the blessing of a great intellect, not that of a great heart! Down, down with the great hearts! Away, away with old prejudices! Hurrah! hurrah! for the words of consolation! Hurrah for the license to murder!
This man is the idol of the people, their passion, the ruler of their souls, the stimulator of their enthusiasm. He promises them bread and money, and their cries rise like the rushing of a storm, widening and deepening in every direction: 'Long live Pancratius! Hurrah! Bread and money! Bread for us, our wives, our children! Hurrah! hurrah!'
At the feet of the speaker, leaning against the table on which he stands, rests his friend, companion, and disciple. His eye is dark and oriental, shadowed by long and gloomy lashes, his arms hang down, his limbs bend under him, his body is badly formed and distorted, his mouth is sensual and voluptuous, his expression is sharp and malicious, his fingers are laden with rings of gold—he joins the tumult, crying with a rough, hoarse voice: 'Long live Pancratius!' The speaker looks at him carelessly for a moment, and says: 'Citizen, Baptized, hand me a handkerchief!'
Meantime the uproar continues; the cries become more and more tumultuous: 'Bread for us! Bread! bread! Long live Pancratius! Death to the nobles! to the merchants! to the rich! Bread! bread! Bread and blood! Hurrah! hurrah!'
A tabernacle. Lamps. An open book lies on a table. Baptized Jews.
The Baptized. My wretched brethren; my revenge-seeking, beloved brethren! let us suck nourishment from the pages of the Talmud, as from the breast of our mother; it is the breast of life from which strength and honey flow for us, bitterness and poison for our enemies.
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Jehovah is our God, and ours alone; therefore has He scattered us in every land!
Like the coiled folds of an enormous serpent, He has wreathed us everywhere round and through the adorers of the cross; our lithe and subtile rings pass round and through our foolish, proud, unclean rulers.
Let us thrice spew them forth to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
The Baptized. Rejoice, my brethren! the Cross of our Great Enemy is already more than half hewn down; it is rotting to its fall; it is only standing on a root of blood: if it once plunge into the abyss it will never rise again. Hitherto the nobles have been its sole defence, but they are ours! ours!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Our work, our long, long work of centuries, our sad, ardent, painful work is almost done!
Death to the nobles—let us thrice spew them forth to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
The Baptized. The might of Israel shall be built upon a liberty without law or order, upon a slaughter without end, upon the pride of the nobility, the folly of the masses. The nobles are almost destroyed; we must drive the few still left into the abyss of death, and scatter over their livid corpses the ruins of the shattered cross in which they trusted!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. The cross is now our holy symbol; the water of baptism has reunited us with men; the scorning repose upon the love of the scorned!
The freedom of men is our cry; the welfare of the people our aim; ha! ha! the eons of Christ trust the sons of Caiaphas!
Centuries ago our fathers tortured our Great Enemy to death; we will again torture him to death this very day—but He will never rise more from the grave which we prepare for Him!
The Baptized. Yet a little space, a little time, a few drops of poison, and the whole world will be our own, my brethren!
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Jehovah is the God of Israel, and of it alone.
Let us thrice spew forth the nations to destruction! Threefold curses light upon them!
Knocking is heard at the door.
The Baptized. Take up your work, brethren! And thou, Holy Book, away from sight—no unclean look shall soil thy spotless leaves! Who is there?
Hides the Talmud.
Voice (without). A friend. Open in the name of freedom.
The Baptized. Quick to your hammers and looms, my brethren!
He opens the door.
Enter Leonard.
Leonard. Well done, citizens. You watch, I see, and whet your swords for to-morrow.—(Approaching one of the men:) What are you making here in this corner?
One of the Baptized. Ropes.
Leonard. You are right, citizen, for he who falls not by iron must hang!
The Baptized. Citizen Leonard, is the thing really to come off to-morrow?
Leonard. He who thinks, feels, and acts with the most force among us, has sent me to you to appoint an interview. He will himself answer your question.
The Baptized. I go to meet him. Brethren, remain at work. Look well to them, citizen Yankel.
Exit with Leonard.
Chorus of Baptized Jews. Ye ropes and daggers, ye clubs and bills, the works of our hands, ye wilt go forth to destroy them!
The people will kill the nobles upon the plains, will hang them in the forests, and then, having none to defend them, we will kill and hang the people! The Despised will arise in their anger, will array themselves in the might of Jehovah: His Word is Redemption and Love for His people Israel, but scorn and fury for their enemies!
Let us thrice spew them forth to destruction: threefold curses fall upon them!
A tent. A profusion of flasks, cups, and flagons. Pancratius alone.
Pancratius. The mob howled in applause but a moment ago, shouted in loud hurrahs at every word I uttered. But is there a single man among them all who really understands my ideas, or who comprehends the end and aim of that path upon which we have entered, or where the reforms will terminate which have been so loudly inaugurated within the last hour? 'Ah! fervidum imitatorum pecus!'
Enter Leonard and the Baptized Jew.
Do you know Count Henry?
The Baptized. I know him well by sight, great citizen, but I am not personally acquainted with him. I remember once when I was approaching the Lord's Supper, he cried to me, 'Out of the way!' and looked down upon me with the arrogant look peculiar to the nobles—for which I vowed him a rope in my soul.
Pancratius. Prepare to visit him early to-morrow morning, and announce to him that it is my wish to confer with him alone.
The Baptized. How many men will you send with me on this embassy? I do not think it would be safe to undertake it without a guard.
Pancratius. You must go alone, my name will be sufficient guard, and the gallows on which you hung the baron yesterday, your shield.
The Baptized. Woe is me!
Pancratius. Tell him I will visit him to-morrow night.
The Baptized. And if he should put me in chains or order me to be hung?
Pancratius. You would die a martyr for the freedom of the people!
The Baptized. I will sacrifice all for the freedom of the people.—(Aside.) Woe is me!—(Aloud.) Good night, citizen.
Exit the Baptized.
Leonard. Pancratius, why this delay, these half measures, these contracts, this strange interview? When I swore to honor and obey you, it was because I believed you to be a hero of extremes, an eagle flying even in the face of the sun directly to its aim; a brave man ready to venture all upon the cast of a die.
Pancratius. Silence, child!
Leonard. Everything is ready; the baptized Jews have forged arms and woven ropes; the masses clamor for immediate orders. Speak but the word now, and the electric sparks will fly, the millions flash into forked lightnings, kindle into flame, and consume our enemies!
Pancratius. You are young, and the blood mounts rapidly into your brain; but will the hour of combat find you more resolute than myself?
Leonard. Think well what you are doing. The nobles, weak and exhausted, have fled for refuge to the famous fortress of the Holy Trinity,1 and await our arrival, as men wait the knife of the guillotine.
Forward, citizen, attack them without delay, and it is over with them forever!
Pancratius. It can make no difference; they have lost the old energy of their caste in luxury and idleness. To-morrow or the next day they must fall, what matter which?
Leonard. What and whom do you fear, and why do you delay?
Pancratius. I fear nothing. I act but in accordance with my own will.
Leonard. And am I to trust it blindly?
Pancratius. Yes. Blindly.
Leonard. You may betray us, citizen!
Pancratius. Betrayal rings forever from your lips like the refrain of an old song.
But hush! not so loud—if any one should hear us …
Leonard. There are no spies here; and what if some one should hear us?
Pancratius. Nothing; only five balls in your heart for having ventured to raise your voice a tone too high in my presence. (Approaching close to him.) Leonard, trust me, and be tranquil!
Leonard. I confess I have been too hasty, but I fear no punishment. If my death could help the cause of the down-trodden masses, I would cheerfully die.
Pancratius. You are full of life, hope, faith. Happiest of men, I will not rob you of the bliss of existence.
Leonard. What do you say, citizen?
Pancratius. Think more; speak less; the time will come when you will fully understand me!
Have you collected the provisions for the carousal of the millions?
Leonard. They have all been sent to the arsenal under guard.
Pancratius. Has the contribution from the shoemakers been received?
Leonard. It has. Every one gave with the greatest eagerness; it amounts to a hundred thousand.
Pancratius. They must all be invited to a general festival to-morrow.
Have you heard nothing of Count Henry?
Leonard. I despise the nobles too deeply to credit what I hear of him. The dying race have no energy left; it is impossible they should dare or venture aught.
Pancratius. And yet it is true that he is collecting and training his serfs and peasants, and, confiding in their devotion and attachment to himself, intends leading them to the relief of the fortress of the Holy Trinity.
Leonard. Who can oppose us? The ideas of our century stand incorporated in us!
Pancratius. I am determined to see Count Henry, to gaze into his eyes, to read the very depths of his brave spirit, to win him over to the glorious cause of the people.
Leonard. An aristocrat, body and soul!
Pancratius. True: but also a Poet!
Good night, Leonard, I would be alone.
Leonard. Have you forgiven me, citizen?
Pancratius. Sleep in peace: if I had not forgiven you, you would ere this have slept the eternal sleep.
Leonard. And will nothing take place to-morrow?
Pancratius. Good night, and pleasant dreams!
Leonard is retiring.
Ho, Leonard!
Leonard. Citizen general?
Pancratius. You will accompany me day after morrow on my visit to Count Henry.
Leonard. I will obey.
Exit Leonard.
Pancratius. How is it that this man, Count Henry, still dares to resist and defy me, the ruler of millions? His forces will bear no comparison with mine; indeed he stands almost alone, although it is true that some hundred or two of peasants, confiding blindly in his word and clinging to him as the dog clings to his master, still cluster round him—but that is all folly, and can amount to nothing. Why, then, do I long to see him, long to win him to our side? Has my spirit for the first time encountered its equal? Can it progress no farther in the path in which he stands to oppose me? His resistance is the last obstacle to be overcome—he must be overthrown—and then? … and then! …
O my cunning intellect! Canst thou not deceive thyself as thou hast deceived others?…
Shame! thou shouldst know thine own might! Thou art thought, the intelligence and reason of the people—the ruler of the masses—thou controllest the millions, so that their will and giant force is one with thine—all authority and government are incarnated and concentrated in thee alone—all that would be crime in others is in thee fame and glory—thou hast given name and place to unknown and obscure men—thou hast given faith and eloquence to beings who had been almost robbed of moral sentiment—thou hast created a new world in thine own image, and art thyself its god! and yet … and yet … thou art wandering in unknown wastes, and fearest to be lost thyself—to go astray!
Thou knowest not thyself, nor of what thou art capable; thou rulest others, yet doubt'st thyself—thou knowest not what thou art—whither thou goest—nor whence thou earnest! No … no.... Thou art sublime!
Sinks upon a chair in silent thought.
A forest, with a cleared hill in its midst, upon which stands a gallows; huts, tents, watchfires, barrels, tables, and crowds of men. The Man disguised in a dark cloak and red liberty cap, and holding the Baptized Jew by the hand.
The Man. Remember!
The Baptized (in a whisper). Upon my honor, I will lead your excellency aright, I will not betray you.
The Man. Give but one suspicious wink, raise but a finger, and my bullet finds its way to your heart! You may readily imagine that I attach no great value to your life when I thus lightly risk my own.
The Baptized. Oh woe! You press my hand like a vice of steel. What is it you wish me to do?
The Man. Appear to the crowd as if I were an acquaintance—treat me as a newly arrived friend.
What kind of a dance is that?
The Baptized. The dance of a free people.
Men and woman dance, leap, and sing round the gallows.
Their Chorus. Bread! meat! work! wood in winter, rest in summer! Hurrah! hurrah!
God had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
Kings had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
The nobles had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
We renounce God, kings, and nobles: Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
The Man (to a maiden). I am glad to see you look so gay, so blooming.
The Maiden. I am sure we have waited quite long enough for such a day as this! I have washed dishes and cleaned knives and forks all my life, without ever having heard a kind word spoken to me: it is high time I too should begin to eat, to dance, to make merry. Hurrah! hurrah!
The Man. Dance, citizeness!
The Baptized. For God's sake, be cautious, count! You may be recognized; let us go!
The Man. If any one should recognize me, you are lost. We will mingle with the throng.
The Baptized. A crowd of servants are sitting under the shade of this oak.
The Man. Let us approach them.
First Servant. I have just killed my first master.
Second Servant. And I am on the search for my baron. Your health, citizens!
Valet de Chambre. In the sweat of our brows, in the depths of humiliation, licking the dust from the boots of our masters, and prostrate before them, we have yet always felt our rights as men: let us drink the health of our present society!
Chorus of Servants. Here's to the health of our citizen President! one of ourselves, he will lead us to glory!
Valet de Chambre. Thanks, citizens, thanks!
Chorus of Servants. Out of dark kitchens, dressing rooms, and antechambers, our prisons of old, we rush together into freedom: Hurrah!
We know the ridiculous follies, peevishness, and perversity of our masters; we have been behind the shows and shams of glittering halls: Hurrah!
The Man. Whose voices are those I hear so harsh and wild from that little mound on our left?
The Baptized. The butchers are singing a chorus.
Chorus of the Butchers. The cleaver and axe are our weapons; our life is in the slaughter house; we know the hue of blood, and care not if we kill cattle or nobles!
Children of blood and strength, we look with indifference upon the pale and weak; he who needs us, has us; we slaughter beeves for the nobles; the nobles for the people!
The cleaver and axe are our arms; our life is in the slaughter house: Hurrah for the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house!
The Man. Come! I like the next group better; honor and philosophy are at least named in it. Good evening, madame!
The Baptized. It would be better if your excellency should say, 'citizeness,' or 'woman of freedom.'
Woman. What do you mean by the title, 'madame?' From whence did it come? Fie! fie! you smell of mould!
The Man. Pardon my mistake!
Woman. I am as free as you, I am a free woman; I give my love freely to the community, because they have acknowledged my right to lavish it where I will!
The Man. And have the community given you for it these jewelled rings, these chains of violet amethysts?… O thrice beneficent community!
The Woman. No, the community did not give them to me; but at my emancipation I took these things secretly from the casket of my husband, for he was my enemy, the enemy of freedom, and had long held me enslaved!
The Man. Citizeness, I wish you a most agreeable promenade!
They pass on.
Who is this marvellous-looking warrior leaning upon a two-edged sword, with a death's head upon his cap, another upon his badge, and a third upon his breast? Is he not the famous Bianchetti, a condottiere employed by the people, as the condottieri once were by the kings and nobles?
The Baptized. Yes, it is Bianchetti; he has been with us for the last eight or ten days.
The Man (to Bianchetti). What is General Bianchetti considering with so much attention?
Bianchetti. Look through this opening in the woods, citizen, and you will see a castle upon a hill: with my glass I can see the walls, ramparts, bastions, etc.
The Man. It will be hard to take, will it not?
Bianchetti. Kings and devils! it can be surrounded by subterranean passages, undermined, and....
The Baptized (winking at Bianchetti). Citizen general....
The Man (in a whisper to the Baptized). Look under my cloak how the cock of my pistol is raised!
The Baptized (aside). Oh woe!—(Aloud.) How do you mean to conduct the siege, citizen general?
Bianchetti. Although you are my brother in freedom, you are not my confidant in strategy. After the capitulation of the castle, my plans will be made public.
The Man (to the Baptized). Take my advice, Jew, and strike him dead, for such is the beginning of all aristocracies.
A Weaver. Curses! curses! curses!
The Man. Poor fellow! what are you doing under this tree, and why do you look so pale and wild?
The Weaver. Curses upon the merchants and manufacturers! All the best years of my life, years in which other men love maidens, meet in wide plains, or sail upon vast seas, with free air and open space around them, I have spent in a narrow, dark, gloomy room, chained like a galley slave to a silk loom!
The Man. Take some food! Empty the full cup which you hold in your hand!
Weaver. I have not strength enough left to carry it to my lips! I am so tired; I could scarcely crawl up here—it is the day of freedom! but a day of freedom is not for me—it comes too late, too late!—(He falls, and gasps out:) Curses upon the manufacturers who make silks! upon the merchants, who buy them! upon the nobles, who wear them! Curses! curses! curses!
He writhes on the ground and dies.
The Baptized. What a ghastly corpse!
The Man. Baptized Jew, citizen, poltroon of freedom, look upon this lifeless head, shining in the blood-red rays of the setting sun! Where are now your words and promises; the equality, perfectibility, and universal happiness of the human race?
The Baptized (aside). May you soon fall into a like ruin, and the dogs tear the flesh from your rotting corpse!—(Aloud.) I beg that your excellency will now permit me to return, that I may give an account of my embassy!
The Man. You may say that, believing you to be a spy, I forcibly detained you.—(Looking around him.) The tumult and noise of the carousal is dying away behind us; before us there is nothing to be seen but fir and pine trees bathed in the crimson rays of sunset.
The Baptized. Clouds are gathering thick and fast over the tops of the trees: had you not better return to your people, Count Henry, who have been waiting so long for you in the vault of St. Ignatius?
The Man. Thank you for your exceeding care of me, Sir Jew! But back! I will return and take another look at the festival of the citizens.
Voices (under the trees). The children of Ham bid good night to thee, old Sun!
Voice (on the right). Here's to thy health, old enemy! Thou hast long driven us on to unpaid work, and awaked us early to unheeded pain! Ha! ha! When thou risest upon us to-morrow, thou wilt find us with fish and flesh: now off to the devil, empty glass!
The Baptized. The bands of peasants are coming this way.
The Man. You shall not leave me. Place yourself behind this tree trunk, and be silent!
Chorus of Peasants. Forward, forward, under the white tents to meet our brethren! Forward, forward, under the green shade of the beeches, to rest, to sleep, to pleasant sunset greetings!
Our maidens there await us; there await us our slaughtered oxen, the old teams of our ploughs!
A Voice. I am pulling and dragging him on with all my strength—now he turns and defends himself—down! down among the dead!
Voice of the Dying Noble. My children, pity! pity!
Second Voice. Chain me to your land and make me work without pay again—will you!
Third Voice. My only son fell under the blows of your lash, old lord; either wake him from the dead, or die to join him!
Fourth Voice. The children of Ham drink thy health, old lord! they beg thee for forgiveness, lord!
Chorus of Peasants (passing on out of sight). A vampire sucked our blood, and lived upon our strength:
We have caught the vampire, he shall escape no more!
By Satan, thou shalt hang as high as a great lord should!
By Satan, thou shalt die high, high above us all!
Death to the nobles; tyrants were they all!
Drink, food, and rest for us; poor, weary, hungry, thirsty, naked!
Your bodies shall lie like sheaves upon our fields; the ruins of your castles fly like chaff beneath the flail of the thresher!
Voice. The children of Ham will dance merrily round their bonfires!
The Man. I cannot see the face of the murdered noble, they throng so thickly round him.
The Baptized. It is in all probability a friend or relation of your excellency!
The Man. I despise him, and hate you!
Poetry will sweeten all this horror hereafter. Forward, Jew, forward!
They disappear among the trees.
Another part of the forest. A mound upon which watchfires are burning. A procession of people bearing torches.
The Man (appearing among them with the Baptized). These drooping branches have torn my liberty cap into tatters.
Ha! what hell of flame is this throwing its crimson light into the gloom, and leaping through these heavily fringed walls of the forest?
The Baptized. We have wandered from our way while seeking the pass of St. Ignatius. We must retrace our steps immediately, for this is the spot in which Leonard celebrates the solemnities of the New Faith!
The Man. Forward, in the name of God! I must see these solemnities. Fear nothing, Jew, no one will recognize us.
The Baptized. Be prudent; our lives hang on a breath!
The Man. What enormous ruins are these scattered around us! This ponderous pile must have lasted centuries before it fell!
Pillars, pedestals, capitals, fallen arches—ha! I am treading upon the broken remnants of an escutcheon. Bas-reliefs of exquisite sculpture are scattered about upon the earth! Heavens! that is the sweet face of the Virgin Mother shining through the heart of the darkness! The light flickers, I can see it no more. Here are the slight-fluted shafts of a shrine, panes of colored glass with cherub heads, a carved railing of bronze, and now, in the light of yonder torch, I see the half of a monumental figure of a reclining knight in armor thrown upon the burnt and withered grass: Where am I, Jew?
The Baptized. You are passing through the graveyard of the last church of the Old Faith; our people labored forty days and forty nights without intermission to destroy it; it seemed built for eternal ages.
The Man. Your songs and hymns, ye new men, grate harshly on my ears!
Dark forms are moving forward in every direction, from before us, behind us, and from either side; lights and shadows, driven to and fro by the wind, float like living spirits through the throng.
A Passer-by. I greet you, citizens, in the name of freedom!
Second Passer-by. I greet you in the name of the slaughter of the nobles!
Third Passer-by. The priests chant the praise of freedom; why do you not hasten forward?
The Baptized. We cannot resist the pressure of the throng; they drive us on from every side.
The Man. Who is this young man standing in front of us, mounted upon the ruins of the shrine? Three flames burn beneath him, his face shines from the midst of fire and smoke, his voice rings like the shriek of a maniac; and his gestures are rapid and eager?
The Baptized. That is Leonard, the inspired and enthusiastic prophet of freedom. Our priests, our philosophers, our poets, our artists, with their daughters and loved ones, are standing round him.
The Man. Ha, I understand; your aristocracy! Point out to me the man who sent you to seek an interview with me.
The Baptized. He is not here.
Leonard. Fly to my arms; cling to my lips; come to me, my beautiful bride! Independent, free, stripped of the veils of hypocrisy, full of love, untrammelled from the chilling fetters of prejudice, come to me, thou chosen one of the lovely daughters of freedom!
Voice of a Maiden. I fly to thee, beloved one!
Second Maiden. Look upon me! I stretch forth my arms to thee, but have sunk fainting among the ruins; I cannot rise, and have only strength left to turn to thee, beloved!
Third Maiden. I have outstripped them all; through cinders and ashes, flame and smoke, I fly to thee, beloved!
The Man. With long, dishevelled hair far floating on the wind, with snowy bosom panting with wild excitement, she clambers up the smoking ruins to his arms!
The Baptized. Thus is it every night.
Leonard. To me! to me! my bliss, my rapture! Lovely daughter of freedom, thou tremblest with delicious, god-like madness!