And I will never look at anything."
[Pg 161]
They made a vaulted tomb beneath the earth,
And he was lowered into it; the hole
Above his head was closed; but in the tomb
Cain saw the eye still sternly fixed on him.
Eviradnus
When John the Striker, lord of Lusace, died,
Leaving his kingdom to his gentle niece,
Mahaud, great joy there was in all the land;
For she was beautiful, and sweet and young,
Kind to the people, and beloved by them.
But Sigismund, the German emperor,
And Ladislas of Poland were not glad.
Long had they coveted the wide domains
Of John the Striker; and Eviradnus,
The tall, white-haired Alastian warrior,
Home from his battles in the Holy Land,
Heard, as he wandered through the castle grounds,
Strange talk between two strangers�a lute-player
And troubadour�who with their minstrelsy
Had charmed the lovely lady of Lusace.
And she was taking them with her that night
To Corbus Castle�an old ruined keep
From which her race was sprung. Ere she was crowned,
An ancient custom of the land required
Mahaud to pass the night in solitude
At Corbus, where her ancestors reposed,
Amid the silence of the wooded hills
On which the stronghold stands. Being afraid
Of the ordeal, Mahaud took with her
The two strange minstrels, so that they might make
Music and mirth until she fell asleep.
An old priest, cunning in the use of herbs,
Came with her to the border of the wood,
And gave her a mysterious wine to drink
[Pg 162]
To make her slumber till the break of day,
When all the people of Lusace would come
And wake her with their shouts, and lead her forth
To the cathedral where she would be crowned.
To enter Corbus on this solemn night,
Or linger in the woods encircling it,
Was death to any man. Eviradnus
Did not fear death. Opening the castle gate
He strode into the chamber where Mahaud
Would have to pass the night. Two long, dim lines
Of armed and mounted warriors filled the hall,
Each with his lance couched ready for the shock,
And sternly silent. Empty panoplies
They were, in which the lords of old Lusace
Had lived and fought and died, since the red days
When Attila, from whom their race was sprung,
Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies
Of the great war-horses they loved and rode,
Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes
Gaped in their visors, black and terrible.
Seizing the leader of this spectral host,
Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down,
And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse.
And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance
Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed
Into an iron statue, like the rest,
As through the open window came the sound
Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song
Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear:
Come, and let us dream a dream!
Mount with me, and ride away,
By the winding moonlight stream,
Through the shining gates of day!
[Pg 163]
Come, the stars are bright above!
All the world is in our scope.
We have horses�joy and love!
We have riches�youth and hope!
Mount with me, and ride away,
Through the greenness and the dew;
Through the shining gates of day,
To the land where dreams come true!
"Look!" cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall
With the two minstrels. "It is terrible!
Sooner would I have lost my crown than come
Alone at midnight to this dreadful place."
"Does this old iron," said the troubadour,
Striking the armour of Eviradnus,
"Frighten you?" "Leave my ancestors in peace!"
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them." The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends."
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night."
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content?"
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet."
"Revenge is sweeter!" cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me!' Those were her words.
Neither as queen nor empress shall she reign!
I swore it when she flouted me. She dies!"
"I cannot kill her," said the lute-player,
"I love her." "So do I!" the other said.
[Pg 164]
"I love her and hate her. If she lived,
There would be war between us two. She dies!
We love her; we must kill her." As he spoke
The troubadour pulled at a ring, and raised
A flagstone in the floor. "I know this place,"
He said. "A lord of Lusace had this trap
Made for his enemies. 'Twill serve our need!
Help me to lift her. All the land is yours."
"Look!" screamed the lute-player. "Oh, God! Oh, God!"
The troubadour turned round, and his knees shook.
One of the iron images had leapt
Down from its lifeless horse, and with drawn sword
And clank of armour, it now drove at them.
"King Ladislas and Emperor Sigismund!"
It shouted in a terrible voice that fell
Upon them like a judgment from on high.
They grovelled at its iron feet, and shrieked,
"Mercy! Oh, mercy!" And Eviradnus,
Doffing his helmet and cuirass, exclaimed,
"I am a man and not an iron ghost!
It sickens me to see such cowardice
In the two greatest conquerors of the age.
Look! I have taken all my armour off;
Meet me like men, and use what arms you will."
"'Tis only an old man," said Ladislas.
"Hold him in front, while I strike from behind."
Eviradnus laid down his sword, to loose
The last piece of his armour, and the Pole
Ran at him with a dagger; with one hand
The old man gripped the little king, and shook
The life out of him. Then, as Sigismund
Snatched up his sword, and left him still unarmed,
Eviradnus stooped, and, seizing the dead king,
He whirled him by the feet, like a huge club.
Stricken with terror, Sigismund recoiled
Into the open trap. Eviradnus
[Pg 165]
Flung his strange weapon after him, and they fell,
The living emperor, and the lifeless king,
Into the dark abyss. Closing the stone,
Eviradnus put on his mail, and set
The hall in order. And when he had placed
The iron image on its horse, the dawn
Gleamed through the windows, and the noise
And murmur of the people of Lusace
Coming with branches of green broom to greet
Their lady, filled the air. Mahaud awoke.
"Where is my troubadour and lute-player?"
She said. Eviradnus bent over her,
His old grey eyes shining with tenderness.
"Lady," he said, "I hope that you slept well?"
The Temple of the Captives
The high-priest said unto the King of Kings:
"We need a temple to commemorate
Your glorious victories." The King of Kings
Called unto him the captives he had made,
And bade them build the temple, and he asked:
"Is there a man among you who can plan
And raise this monument unto my fame?"
"No," said they. "Kill a hundred of these slaves!"
The King of Kings exclaimed. And this was done.
One of the captives promised then to build
A temple on the mountain looking down
Upon the city of the King of Kings.
Loaded with chains, the prisoners were dragged
Along the streets and up the mountain track,
And there they toiled with grim and angry eyes,
Cutting a building in the solid rock.
"'Tis but a cavern!" said the King of Kings.
"We found a lion's lair," the captive said,
"And fashioned it into your monument.
[Pg 166]
Enter, O King of Kings, and see the work
Your slaves have built for you!" The conqueror
And captive entered. To a royal throne
The King of Kings was led, that he might view
The temple; and the builder flung himself
Face downwards at his feet. Then, suddenly,
The throne began to sink below the floor.
"Where are we going?" said the King of Kings.
"Down the deep pit into the inner hall!"
The captive said. A sound like thunder rang
Above them, and the King of Kings exclaimed:
"What noise was that?" "The block of stone
That covers in this pit," the captive said,
"Has fallen in its place!" The King of Kings
Groped in the darkness, and with trembling voice
He asked: "Is there no way out of this pit?"
"Surely," the captive said, "the King of Kings,
Whose hands are swift like lightning, and whose feet
Tread down all nations, can find out a way?"
"There is no light, no sound, no breath of air!"
Cried out the King of Kings. "Why is it dark
And cold within the temple to my fame?"
"Because," the captive said, "it is your tomb!"
Jean Chouan
The work of pacifying Brittany
Was going on; and children, women, men,
Fled from the revolutionary troops
In wild disorder. Over a bare plain
And up a hill, swept by the guns of France,
They ran, and reached the shelter of a wood.
There they re-formed�the peasant royalists.
And then Jean Chouan, who was leading them,
Cried: "Is there any missing?" "No," they said,
Counting their numbers. "Scatter along the wood!"
[Pg 167]
Jean Chouan cried again. The women caught
Their babies to their breasts, and the old men
Tottered beside the children. Panic, fear
Possessed the broken, flying peasantry.
Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch
The movements of the enemy. He stood
Silent in prayer below the sheltering hill;
A tall, wild figure, with his long, loose hair
Streaming upon the wind. And suddenly,
A cry rang shrill and keen above the roar
Of the French guns. A woman's cry it was;
And, looking from the hill, Jean Chouan saw
A woman labouring, with bare, torn feet,
And haggard, terror-stricken face, to reach
A refuge in the forest. Up the hill,
Swep by the French artillery, she toiled,
And the shells burst around her. "She is lost!"
Jean Chouan murmured. "She will be destroyed
Before she reaches shelter. Oh, the brutes,
To mass their fire upon a woman's head!"
Then on the height that overlooked the plain,
Jean Chouan sprang, and stood against the sky,
Fearless and proud, superb and motionless,
And cried, "I am Jean Chouan!" The French troops
Gazed for a moment in astonishment
At his tall figure. "Yes, it is the chief!"
They said to one another, as they turned
Their guns upon him. "Save yourself!" he cried,
"My sister, save yourself!" as, mad with fright,
The woman stumbled onward. Like a pine
Too strongly rooted in the rock to bend
Or break beneath the fury of the storm,
He towered amid the hurricane of death
That roared and flamed around him. "I will wait
Until you gain the forest!" he exclaimed.
The woman hastened. Over the hill she crept,
[Pg 168]
And staggered down the valley. "Is she safe?"
Jean Chouan shouted, as a bullet passed
Right through his body. Standing still erect,
He waited, with a smile upon his lips,
The answer. When some voices in the wood
Cried, "Jeanne is safe. Return!" Jean Chouan said,
"Ave Maria!" and then fell down dead.
Civil War
"Kill him!" the mob yelled. "Kill him!" as they surged
In fury round their prisoner. Unmoved
And unafraid he stood: a constable
Of Paris, captured by the Communards.
His hands were black with gunpowder; his clothes
Were red with blood. A simple, fearless man,
Charged with the task of carrying out the law,
He gave no quarter, and he asked for none.
All the day he had fought against the mob
That swept with sword and flame along the streets
Of Paris, while the German conqueror
Battened on France. A woman sprang at him,
And shrieked, "You have been killing us!" "That's true,"
The man replied. "Come, shoot him here!" she screamed.
"No! Farther on! At the Bastille!" "No! Here!"
And while the crowd disputed, the man said:
"Kill me just where you like; but kill me quick."
"Yes!" cried the woman, "shoot him where he stands.
He is a wolf!" "A wolf that has been caught,"
The prisoner said, "by a vile pack of curs!"
"The wretch insults us!" yelled the furious mob.
"Down with him! Death! Death! Death!" And with clenched fists
[Pg 169]
They struck him on the face. An angry flame
Gleamed in his eyes, but, silent and superb,
He marched along the street amid the howls
Of the ferocious, maddened multitude!
God! How they hated him! To shoot him seemed
Too light a sentence, as he calmly strode
Over the corpses of their comrades strewn
Along the street. "How many did you kill?"
They shrieked at him. "Murderer! Traitor! Spy!"
He did not answer; but the waiting mob
Heard a small voice cry: "Daddy!" and a child
Of six years' age ran from a house close by,
And struggled to remain and clasped his knees,
Saying, "He is my daddy. Don't hurt him!
He is my daddy�" "Down with the cursed spy!
Shoot him at once!" a hundred voices said;
"Then we can get on with our work!" Their yells,
The clangour of the tocsin, and the roar
Of cannon mingled. 'Mid the dreadful noise,
The child, still clinging to his father's knees,
Cried, "I tell you he's my daddy. Let him go!"
Pale, tearful, with one arm thrown out to shield
His father, and the other round his leg,
The child stood. "He is pretty!" said a girl.
"How old are you, my little one?" The child
Answered, "Don't kill my daddy!" Many men
Lowered their eyes, and the fierce hands that gripped
The prisoner began to loose their hold.
"Send the kid to its mother!" one man cried,
"And end this job!" "His mother died last month,"
The prisoner said. "Do you know Catherine?"
He asked his little boy. "Yes," said the child,
"She lives next door to us." "Then go to her,"
He said, in grave, calm, kindly tones. "No! No!
I cannot go without you!" cried his son.
"They're going to hurt you, daddy, all these men!"
The father whispered to the Communards
[Pg 170]
That held him. "Let me say good-bye to him,
And you can shoot me round the corner-house;
Or where you will!" They loosed their prisoner