The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No. 6, December 1864

Still with his hand resting upon the bolt as these reflections passed through his mind, Sergius glanced keenly at Leta, as though possessed with some dim suspicion that she had meant her words to be overheard. Then, feeling reassured by her composed attitude, he turned away, muttered something to himself the import of which she could not catch, dropped his hand from the undrawn bolt to his side, stood for a moment in a kind of maze of confusion, and finally left the prison, and staggered through the garden to the house.

CHAPTER XVII

Stunned and confused by her sudden exclusion, and naturally believing that it was the result of deliberate action upon her husband's part, Ænone now felt all her sudden inspiration of courage deserting her, and sank half fainting against the outside wall. For a moment it seemed to her like a dream. She could realize suspicion, harsh language, and even cruel treatment within a certain limit, for these were all within the scope of her late experience; but it was hard to comprehend this unlooked-for and apparently deliberate excess of degradation. But gradually the mist cleared away from her bewildered mind, and she recognized the reality of what had befallen her. Still, however, her thoughts could not at once grapple with the overwhelming sense of the indignity and suffering cast upon her. She could not doubt that she had been expelled from her lord's house—cast out unprotected and friendless in the midst of night, with undeserved reproaches. But, for all that, a delusive hope clung to her. He could not mean that this should last. It was but an impulse of sudden anger. He would repent of it in a moment, and would call upon her to return to him. He would shed tears of bitter shame, perhaps, and would beg that she would forgive him. And she would be foolish enough to do so, she felt, at the very first pleading word from him; though at the same time feeling that her own self-respect should prompt her to show more lasting resentment. If thus easily forgot the past, what security could she feel that, in some future transport of rage, he might not repeat the act? But for all that, she felt that she would weakly too soon forgive him.

Sliding her trembling hand down the damp wall, she found along its foot a ledge of stone more or less projecting in different sections, in accordance with the architectural requirements of the building. Seating herself upon the widest portion of this ledge, she now waited to hear the key again turned in the lock and the door swung open upon its creaking hinges, and to see loving arms extended with repentant words of self-reproach. Once or twice she fancied that she heard the key softly fitted into its place, but it was only the abrasion of two contiguous branches of a plane tree overhead. Once again she felt certain that she heard the sound of persons approaching through the garden, but it was the voice of men in the street—two slaves coming around the corner and drawing near, speaking some harsh northern dialect which she knew not. As the men approached, she endeavored to shrink out of sight behind a perpendicular projection of the wall, and nearly succeeded. They had passed, indeed, before they noticed her. Then they turned and gazed curiously at her; and one of them made some remark, apparently of a jesting nature, for they both laughed. Then again they turned and moved on out of sight without attempting further molestation.

But the incident alarmed her, and caused her to realize yet more vividly than before the exceeding unprotectedness of her situation. These men had not sought to injure her, but how could she answer for the next who might approach? It was a lonely, dark street, narrow, and comparatively seldom used, and but little built upon, being mainly flanked by garden walls. Upon the side where she sat there were no buildings at all, excepting low prison houses for slaves, similar to that belonging to the Vanno palace—for the street ran along an inner slope of the Cœlian Mount and parallel to the Triumphal Way, and thus naturally served as a rear boundary to the gardens of the palaces and villas which fronted upon the latter avenue. This very loneliness, therefore, added to her insecurity; for though it was possible that no one else might pass by for hours, there was the equal chance that if any one came with evil intent, she might be murdered before help could be summoned. And at a time when the broadest streets were never entirely safe even for armed men, a weak woman, with tempting jewelry upon her person, might well shudder at being left alone in a narrow alley.

Slowly and painfully—for the night was cool, and she had now been sitting long in one position—Ænone raised herself and stood up, looking hither and thither for some place of refuge. She had now waited more than an hour, and if her husband had been inclined to recall her from her exclusion, his repentance would scarcely have tarried so long. His anger was generally fierce, but of short duration; could it be that in this case his sense of injury was so great as to make him more unreasoning than usual? Her heart sank yet lower with a new weight of despair; but again hope whispered alleviation. He had been drinking deeply—she said to herself—and had not clearly comprehended what he had done. And afterward he had probably forgotten all about it, and had fallen off into sleep. Upon the morrow he would be himself again. Perhaps he would not then remember the outrage he had committed against her. Certainly his anger would not still burn when corrected by returning reason. She must therefore endeavor to gain access again to the palace, and there avoid his presence, until the morrow brought to him fresher reflection and a better inclination to listen to explanation.

And accordingly she commenced her departure from her hiding place, and slowly crept along the blank flanking wall of the little street, hoping soon to gain the palace front. At first it seemed a very easy thing to do so. Though she had never before been in that portion of the city, she knew enough of its geography to feel certain that if she followed the street in either direction, she could not fail to come to some intersecting alley, through which she could reach the Triumphal Way. Once there, the route was familiar to her, and she could arrive at her home in a few minutes. But as she advanced, she found that what had appeared to be an easy stroll, seemed converted into a toilsome and perplexing journey. Confused and terrified, the coolness necessary to pursue in safety even so short a route began to fail her. At times she imagined that she heard strangers approaching, and then it became needful to conceal herself again, as well as she could, behind projections or in recesses of the wall. Then, when once more venturing out, the shadows of the wall itself or of neighboring buildings would terrify her into seeking other concealments. And once, after having resumed her course, she discovered that she had mistaken the direction, and was retracing her steps.

At last, after a journey of nearly an hour, during which she had only advanced as far as a resolute person might have gone in a few minutes, she reached an intersecting street leading to the Triumphal Way. It was a wider passage than that which she was leaving, and this fact added to her dismay. For though she had at first feared the narrower street for its loneliness, yet now that she had so far glided through it in safety, she had begun to feel somewhat reassured, and in turn dreaded the more open channels, since they would naturally be more frequented. It was, therefore, with new trepidation that, upon turning the corner, she saw, in the broader street before her, signs of movement and life. The street happened to be a favorite thoroughfare from the Triumphal Way, across the Cœlian Mount, and, in consequence, was never, perhaps, entirely deserted. Now that the whole city was throbbing with anticipations of the morrow's festivities, there were more persons wakeful and wandering about with feverish expectation than usual. Moreover, it was a street which abounded with drinking shops, and these were now all open, in spite of the lateness of the hour, and appeared to be thronged with customers. One of these shops stood upon the corner where Ænone had halted. A faint light burned over the doorway to mark the locality; and through the open passage she could see a crowd of ill-conditioned, rough-looking men, appearing, in the dim light, more rough and uncouth than they really were. Here were mingled together artisans of the lower orders, slaves and professional gladiators, all drinking and singing together in close fraternity. For a moment Ænone paused and hesitated, not daring to pass on. If she could reach the farther side without attracting observation, it would be but one step gained, for there were many other drinking shops glimmering in the distance along the whole street, and each one had its special crowd of noisy customers. To escape one peril seemed only to run into another. Then, as she deliberated and alternately put her foot forward and withdrew it again in a fruitless attempt to muster courage to run the gauntlet, two men emerged from the wine shop, and staggered toward her—a slave and a gladiator, linked arm in arm, and singing a wild song in discordant keys. Both appeared to be under the influence of wine, though in different degrees; for while the former had set no bounds to his license, the latter had somewhat restrained his propensities, in view of the demands upon his strength which the morrow's work would surely make. Seeing these men reel toward her, Ænone turned and fled, without knowing, or, for the moment, caring, in which direction she went. The men had not at first seen her, but, as they now caught sight of her flying figure, they set up a drunken whoop, and attempted to follow. All in vain; for ere they had advanced many paces, their weakened limbs betrayed them, and they sank powerless upon the ground, and, forgetting the pursuit, rolled over lovingly in each other's arms. Meanwhile, Ænone, not daring to look back, and not knowing that the chase had ended, still fled in wild terror, until at last her breath failed her, and she tottered helpless into the shade of the nearest wall.

She was now lost indeed. How long she had been running, or in which direction, how many divergences she had taken, or how many narrow alleys threaded, she knew not. She simply realized that she was in a portion of the city where she had never been before, and from which extrication seemed impossible, so dark and narrow and winding seemed the passages in every direction. Far narrower and darker, indeed, than the lane behind the palace, and without its protecting solitude. In place of high garden walls, the whole route seemed lined with miserable tenements, the refuge of the lowest of the Roman population. There, crowded together in close communication, were the rabble of poorer slaves and beggars, all equally marked with rags and filth.

In all this there was one comfort. However thronged the tenements along the side might be, the street itself seemed deserted, nor could Ænone any longer hear the sound of pursuit. That, at least, she had escaped, and now again she took partial courage as she reflected that with moderate caution she might yet be able to extricate herself. There must be some outlet to that neighborhood of squalid misery; and take whichever way she might, she could scarcely fail, at the end, to emerge into some more reputable region.

Again the sound of two persons approaching restrained her, and caused her to shrink into a corner until they might pass. Unlike the others, these men had not been drinking, but advanced gravely and steadily, with a slow, deliberate pace, indicative of weighty reflection. These, also, were slaves; and before they emerged into sight from the surrounding darkness, Ænone could distinctly mark the low, plotting whisper with which they spoke, occasionally rising, from excess of emotion, into a louder key. As they came opposite to her, they paused—not seeing her, but simply seeming to be arrested by the vehemence of their debate; and again their words sank nearly into a whisper.

'Tell me why I should not do so?' hissed the nearest, a man of gigantic proportions and development of strength. 'Why should I not leap out of the arena where these men place me to play a fool's part; and scrambling over the ranges of seats, plunge this dagger into his heart? Ye gods! were I once to begin to clamber up, no force could stop me from reaching him, were he at the very topmost range! And I will—why not?'

'You would gain but an instant's revenge,' said the other, striving to soothe him, 'and you would lose—'

'What? My life, would you say?' retorted the first. 'I know it. I know well, that before I could strike him thrice, I would myself be beaten down, a corpse. But one blow from me would be sufficient for him. Ay, though I used not my knife at all, but only my hardened fist. Would it not be a fine revenge, say you, thus to kill him? It was on account of my strength of arm that he laid toils for my capture, and for that alone he most valued me. Why not, then, prove its quality upon himself? With a single blow I could crush in his proud head like an egg shell. Then let them kill me—I care not.'

'And yet the life once lost by you cannot be gained again,' responded the other.

'O feeble-minded!' said the first, with disdain. 'Have I ever so dearly cared for life that I should thus guard it at the expense of honor? While I was a free man, in my native Rhodes, with my wife and children around me, did I not then risk my life among the very first? And am I likely to value it the more now that I am a slave, with wife torn from me and sent I know not where, with children slain one by one, as the only means of capturing me, with the accursed livery of the arena placed upon me that I may administer to their gaping appetite for blood? Can all this make me love my life more than I have ever loved it before?'

'But wait—only wait. There will come a time—'

'Ay, ay; there will come a time is what all say, and will continue to say, and yet the time comes not. There is never any time like the present. All around me are thousands of men, once free and now chained into slavery—and chained, perhaps, more through their own indolence than by the power of their masters; and yet they lie supine, and call upon each other to wait! And to-morrow there will be a thousand such in the arena, and instead of rising up together in their strength, they will fight only with each other. What might not that thousand accomplish, were they to act together in brave and earnest revolt? What chance would a few hundred pampered pretorians have of staying the flood? There, seated in fancied security upon their benches, will be the emperor, the court, the nobles, and the most wealthy of the empire. In one hour of action, we could sweep these away like chaff, together with all else that is held most worthy of place and power in the whole empire! And yet these thousand slaves will not rise up together with me, and it will not be done!'

The head of the Hercules dropped upon his chest with a gesture of despair.

'You say truly,' responded the other. 'It will not be done, for they will not act with you. And what can you do alone?'

'Nothing—nothing; I see it all. I am powerless,' murmured the first. 'Well, I will be patient, and dissimulate. I will do as you request, Gorgo. I will restrain myself. As for this man—this imperator—why should I there wreak my vengeance upon him? It would only be giving to the rest of the people an unlooked-for sight—a newer pleasure, that is all. I will therefore act the part of a good and faithful slave—will kiss the rod held over me—and will duly serve my master by slaying my adversary, whoever he may be, and thus winning that store of gold pieces which have been laid out as the stake of my life. And then—then I will go home to my kennel and my bones. But this I swear, by the immortal gods! that I will follow this man from house to forum, wherever he may go, until I find a proper chance to strike him down in secret like a dog. You were right. I must not lose my life to kill him, when I can so easily slay him and yet live to slay other men as bad as he. My life is for other things. And when the time comes that I can raise the standard of insurrection, will you then—'

'Then I will be with you heart and soul forever, until our freedom is built up on the ruins of this accursed Rome!' cried the other, striking his hand responsively into the outstretched palm before him. And the two men again took up their walk, and passed on until they were swallowed up in the darkness and their voices, growing more and more indistinct, were finally hushed.

THE VISION

INSCRIBED TO TEACHERS TO CONTRABANDS IN THE SOUTH

Lo! a picture came before meOf a million broken chains,Lying cankered with old blood-dropsWhich had oozed from tortured veins,Reddening the fleecy cottonSnowed upon the Southern plains.And the picture's tints grew deeper,Redder, blacker, as I gazed,And my weak knees smote together,And my eyes grew dim and glazed,At the vision's spectred horrorsFrom the graves of vengeance raised.For, where liveoaks and magnoliasGloom the earth with densest shades,Where the snake and alligatorLurk in endless everglades,Where the cloud-lace-fretted sunsetLingering, longest night evades,Where the eagle builds his eyrieNearest to the fervid skies,Where the buzzard swoops to fattenOn the prey that lingering dies,Where the bloodhound's hellish bayingStills the hunted bondman's cries,There uprose, all ghostly shadowed,Hosts of wasted, haggard forms;And their wild eyes glared and glitteredLike heaven's fire in dark-browed storms,And with outstretched arms toward meThey came rushing in thick swarms.And I saw upon their foreheadsLetters where the irons burned,And their backs left gashed and harrowedWhere the lash for life-blood yearned,And their lank limbs, fester-eaten,Showed where gnawing shackles turned.There were gaunt and frenzied mothersWith wan children in their arms,There were youths, and there were maidens,Curses, tears, and wild alarms,There were auction blocks and hammersWhere were bartered beauty's charms.Ah! my heart grew chill within me,And my 'frighted blood congealed,As my soul's eye raised the shadowsWhich like curtains half concealedDeeper horrors, depths of anguishLeft till God's day unrevealed!And my soul went up in sighingTo God's ear: 'And Thou dost know,High and Holy! men are devils,Earth, like hell, is drowned in woe?'Came an answer: 'Hark! my war-blastDealing sin a staggering blow!''Father! though the chains be broken,'Cried my soul, 'the wounds remain,Deeper than the irons wore them,'Neath the brow within the brain,'Neath the body in the spirit!Peals Thy war-blast not in vain?'How shall knowledge, how shall virtueDwell with ignorance and sin?Where is found that earthly saintshipCan consort with devils' din?Who the saintly self-denyingThrough bell's door would look within'E'en to save the devil's victims,Snatch them from the cooling flames,Kiss with love their long-charred spirits,Breathe new souls into their names,Wing them to the climes supernal,And to angels' loud acclaims?'Then came answer: 'Lo! I call them,Ministers of love, I call!'Then I waited in the silence,With God waited over all,Till I knew how He forgettethNo one worthy, great or small.For I saw from where the oceanDrifts its rhythms to the beach,From where mountain snows eternalFar toward heaven as stainless reach,From where gold and russet harvestsOf God's 'whelming bounty teach,From where all are always freemen,From where colleges and schoolsFree the mind from Old-World trammels,Unfit men for tyrants' tools,From where firesides and altarsGovern hearts with golden rules,Came, as flowers come in spring-timeDropt from Winter's icy hand,Came to cheer, to teach, to brighten—God's commissioned, shining band;Came with hands and hearts o'erflowingTo renew the Southern land!And I watched how spirit-anguishSongs and smiles soon soothed, allayed,And how soul-wounds touched by kindness,As by Christ, could heal and fade,And how darkness fled affrightedWhere these angels wept and prayed.And my soul went up in praisingTo God's ear: 'Yea, Thou dost know,High and Holy! men are devils,Earth, like hell, is drowned in woe;But Thy war-blast, in Thy mercy,Hath dealt sin a staggering blow!'

THE UNDIVINE COMEDY—A POLISH DRAMA

Dedicated to Mary

PART IV

'Bottomless perdition.'—Milton.

Fog and cloud! Nothing can be seen from the bastions of the castle of the Holy Trinity, to the right or to the left, in front or in the rear, but dense, motionless, snowy mist; a spectral image of that deluge-wrath which, as it rose to sweep o'er earth, once broke against these stern, steep cliffs and beetling peaks of rock: no trace is to be seen of the buried valley, for the ghostly waves of the cold, white sea of foam shroud it closely in their stifling veils; the glowing face of the crimson sun shines not as yet upon earth's winding sheet of silent, clinging, pallid vapor.

The tower of the castle stands upon a bold and naked granite peak. Built of the strong rock from which it soars by the giant labor of the now dying Past, it seems during the lapse of centuries to have grown up from its stony heart, as the human breast grows from the broad back of the Centaur. A single banner streams above its lofty turret, the only banner of the Cross now raised on earth; the symbol of God's mystic love alone floats high enough to pierce into the unclouded blue of the stormy sky!

The white and sleeping mist gradually awakens; the sighing and howling of the bleak winds are heard above; the vapor palpitates in the first rays of the coming sun, and a drifting ice-floe of curdling clouds drives wildly o'er this quickening sea of fog and foam.

Other voices, human voices, mingle with the wails and sobs of the passing storm: borne upward on the ghastly waves of the spectral cloud sea, they break against the walls of the granite castle.

The pallid shroud of mist is suddenly riven, and through the walls of the chasm torn through the heart of the white foam, glimpses are seen of the abyss below.

How dark it looks in the depths! A sea of heads in wild commotion surges there; the valley swarms with human life as ocean's slimy sands with creeping things that writhe and sting.

The sun! the sun! He mounts above the rocky peaks; the pallid vapors rise in blood and melt in gold, and as they roll and lift into the sky, more and more distinctly grow upon the view the threatening swarms of men still gathering below.

The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds and scales the craggy cliffs; it dies softly away into the blue depths of the infinite sky. The valley glitters like a sea of light, throws back the dewy sunshine in a dazzling glare, for every hand is armed with sharp and sparkling blades and points of steel—and millions are seen pouring into its depths, numberless as they will pour into the vale of the Last Judgment.

A cathedral church in the castle of the Holy Trinity.

Lords, senators, dignitaries are seen seated on either side, each under the banner of a king or knight. Bands of nobles stand behind the banners. The Archbishop is in front of the high altar, a choir of stoled Priests kneel behind and around it. The Man appears, pauses a few moments on the threshold of the church, then advances slowly up the aisle to the Archbishop, holding a banner in his hand.

Chorus of Priests. O God of our fathers! we, Thy last priests, pray in the last church of Thy Son now standing upon earth for the faith of our ancestors! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord our God!

First Count. See with what pride Count Henry regards us.

Second Count. As if the whole universe were at his feet.

Third Count. And yet he has done nothing but cut his way through the camp of the peasants at night!

First Count. He left one hundred, nay, it is reported, two hundred of their men dead upon the place of combat.

Second Count. Let us object to his appointment as general-in-chief.

The Man (kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop). I lay my trophy at thy feet!

Archbishop (giving him a sword). Gird this sword upon thee; it was once consecrated to Saint Florian!

Many Voices. Long live Count Henry! Vivat! vivat!