University of Virginia Library

Scene II:

—St. Olaf's Hall, Christianstadt. Upon a catafalque, a little lower than the platform and in front of it, the bodies of King Christian and Magnus are displayed. A continuous stream of people passes slowly before the catafalque to view the bodies. A throne stands near the centre of the platform, and on a table at hand a cushion lies with the regalia of Thule. The area of the hall is occupied by the nobles, the clergy, and the wealthy people of Thule, the galleries are filled with the representatives of the middle and working classes. The Mayor with Tamberskelver and the other Inceptors of the Teutonic Religion are seated in the area near the front. Ribolt and the Neo-Pagans, Crawford and the Reformers sit upon the steps on either side of the platform. Soldiers keep the gangways. A noise of conversation and discussion fills the hall. There are three doors: two entering upon the platform, and one into the hall.
When the scene begins Gottlieb, Anselm and several of the clergy near the centre of the area, having risen, whisper together earnestly. They then leave their places and press forward to the catafalque.
Gottlieb
[uncovering the bodies].
You see—three savage blows; and the young Prince
Hacked like a butcher's block!

A Priest.
A madman's work!

Anselm.
Some one must act, some one must warn the world,
Or ere we know these overwhelming deeds,
Interpreted by Mammon's subtle tongue,
Will clothe him with romance, and horror pass
Unnoted in a cloak of darkness woven
By magic eloquence.

A Priest.
All's so monstrous, so
Unheard-of!

Anselm.
Speak, lord Abbot!

A Priest.
Ay, and speak out!

Gottlieb.
I must;—I must;—God's proxy, I must speak.
[There is a crush about the catafalque and the gangways are blocked. People stand up on the seats; expressions of grief and horror are heard on all sides. The soldiers look at each other in perplexity, until at last one of them ascends the platform and goes out by the door on the right.
Ladies and Lords of Thule, brethren in Christ,
My people and the children of my soul,
I supplicate no favour; I demand
A patient hearing in the name of God.
I bid you all be silent while I speak:
Be seated there; and you that press to view
These murderous wounds, stand still: let every one
Lay hold upon his mind, and ponder well
The dreadful meaning of the things I say.
[The noise dies down; those who had risen resume their seats, and the pressure ceases about the catafalque.
Nothing in Thule's history or the world's,
Nor in the process of the newest states,
Exhibits any precedent or guide:
The doings of the night, our meeting here
Defy conception and astound our hearts,
As if some giant power of fabulous times,
Delivered from a sealed and sunken urn,
Had come, transcending law, to exercise
An unaccountable, remorseless will.

Mammon, attended by Florimond and other ministers and courtiers, enters at the back of the platform.
Oswald, with the officers of his staff, enters on the right.
Anselm.
Lord Abbot—

Gottlieb.
Hush! not now!

Anselm.
But look behind!

Gottlieb
[turns to Mammon].
O monster, come to gloat upon your work!
[To the audience.]
This is that will, that soulless, godless thing,
Let loose in Thule to raven and destroy!

[Shouts, cries and groans break from the overwrought audience.
Mammon
[whispering with Oswald].
You fall in my regard.

Oswald.
What have I done?

Mammon.
Why are the bodies placed beneath? I said,
Upon the platform.

Oswald.
I thought—

Mammon.
You never thought!
Humanity, the nightmare of the bold,
Plebeian pathos, overrode your mind.
Beside the throne the bodies should have lain:
So did I see this scene; so order it.

Oswald.
I feared for you: by many treacherous signs
Murder itself betrays the murderer.
His bosom bled—the Prince's bosom bled.

Mammon.
At your approach?

Oswald.
I helped the mutes to dress
The bodies:—twenty things at once were doing;
I saw to all:—these in their stereoed craft
Would ne'er be done: I urged them; lent a hand;
And at my touch ('twas half to prove my courage)
His wounds, they seemed to mutter, and his paps
Were seethed in blood.

Mammon.
The motion of the dressing:
This fable bleeds to death; your hand was guiltless.

Oswald.
But I consented in the Prince's—

Mammon.
You!
Consented! Pious bridles, bits and curbs
Wherewith your mystagogues and psychopomps
Lead people by the nose: the soul's the nose,
(So; you can laugh!) a thing that dullards follow.

Oswald.
What must I do?

Mammon.
My will! We work by force:
Too swift, too violent you cannot be;
Nor too successful: make the means suffice.

Oswald.
Must I remove the bodies, their wounds exposed?

Mammon.
No; let them be. But build our triumph sure.
You are new to power: use it and learn that men
Who do and never doubt accomplish all
They undertake. I'll hold the hall here. Fill
The square with arms and guard the doors, the ways.
Remember our achievement: we uplift
The christened world from out that sepulchre
Where for two thousand years, inhumed alive,
Shrouded it lay, tormented and tormenting.—
Send me a message when the guards are set,
The hall surrounded, and a squadron flung
Within the lofty bezel of the square—
The signet of my heart, the arms of Thule,
To print my crimson seal upon the age.

Oswald, with the officers of his staff, goes out.
Mammon
[raises his hand, and the hall becomes quiet].
Lord Abbot, make an end of your discourse.

[Sits upon the throne.
Gottlieb.
God give me inspiration, give me power!
Murder:—murder:—murder! My voice is theirs,
King Christian's and his son's. Late in the night,
A mournful cry arose, “King Christian's dead!”
So gentle with his people, so august
Before the world, so great against his foes,
So humble in the presence of his God,
Our good Christian dead! It smote our hearts
As if they had been worn upon our sleeves,
And struck at ruthlessly by passers-by.
Next came a loathsome voice, a mumbling tongue,
That whispered in the dark, “He killed himself.”
I say, a lie, gigantic as the crime
That laid King Christian low—the triple crime,
For thrice the murderer drove determined death
Deep in his father's heart.

Ribolt
[to Rolf].
Superb! A god!
All gods are parricides—the Christian God
Excepted, he who killed his son instead.

Gottlieb.
No man could deal himself three deadly wounds:
There sits the thing that took King Christian's life.—
Stifle your groans, and let your leaping hearts
Grow great with agony till all is known:
Then rend these walls with outcry, blast his soul
Who thought himself immune, but trembles now
Dazzled and dumb with fear.

Mammon.
I tremble not.
I marvel at the noxious fantasies
Malignant piety can forge so well.
Proceed, Lord Abbot.

Gottlieb.
You shall be broken yet;
Passed underneath the harrow of your deeds,
And in reverberant flames of conscious guilt
A seven times heated penance suffer long.
People of Thule, watch him while I speak;
Fix on him potent looks, and set your hearts
To bend his stubborn will and break his pride.—
This other mangled corpse:—the noblest Prince
That ever heired a crown, his bosom trenched
And furrowed like a carrion clawed by beasts;
His innocent life dug out with eager blades,
That fought each other in his heart to win
The horrible distinction of his death:—
What was the cry of this? “An accident:
He fell upon some swords.” Where were the swords?
Do clusters grow of naked scimitars
On palace-floors from rugs and carpets sprung?
Will ghostly weapons, firmly clamped in air,
Upon some astral swivel turn about
Their tempered points for men to crash against?
No, by the furnace and the anvil, no!
The swords Prince Magnus stumbled on were held
In hands suborned by him that sits behind me,
Pallid and terrible and terrified,
The murderer of his father and his brother.
But speech is wasted: time it is to act.
More treacherous than murder, on our hands—

Mammon.
I gave you leave to speak, but not to act.
I wish to talk now.

Gottlieb.
I have not finished yet.

Mammon.
Get to your place, lord Abbot.

Larum.
Obey the King!

Gottlieb.
Give him no hearing! From the jaws of Hell
Expect the scent of roses, hope for songs
From cannon-mouths, and wine on icebergs grown,
Rather than truth from him! You sit there silent,
His hideous handiwork beholding! Up,
And tear him limb-meal! This is he who says
God is not, he who would destroy the law.
If deeds are wanting now, he with his army,
His puissant person and his kingly power
Will set up irreligion, and decree
The righteousness of sin. At such a crisis
We cannot choose the means. In God's great name
Come after me!

Larum.
Down with the Abbot! down!

Crawford.
The enemy of men!

Ribolt.
And of the gods!
Seize him and silence him!

Larum.
Stand by the King.

Gottlieb, attempting with Anselm and several of the clergy to ascend the platform, is intercepted by Ribolt and Crawford with their followers. Many in the audience seem prepared for action, but the majority are overcome with amazement. Florimond and those on the platform are too perplexed to do or say anything.
Mammon.
Trusty reformers, splendid pagans, hold
The rabid priest!

Gottlieb.
While I have voice and breath
I shall cry out against this godless man!

Ribolt and Crawford silence Gottlieb.
Mammon.
His senile frenzy incommodes our meeting.
Remove him quickly and keep him under guard.

Ribolt and Crawford hand Gottlieb to several soldiers, who take him out.
Larum.
I hope I speak for all assembled here.
We disbelieve the Abbot's accusation:
That catafalque confutes it. Who would hang
The corpses of his victims round his neck,
A felon's trophies, and confront a crowd
By choice and uncompelled? No man—nor king.

Mammon.
I thank you, Master Mayor.—I choose my people
For friend and confidant from this time forth.
The world begins to-day, and what has been
Shall be no longer:—theist nor atheist,
Christian nor antichristian, sinner nor saint;
But men and women—they shall be, at last.
I speak to men and women. I hear your hearts
In generous bosoms thunder, overcharged
With swelling sympathy and molten ire
In this tempestuous time of tragic deeds;
I see the rapid lightning in your minds
Illumine changeful vision, motive, cause,
Gilding with wonder these unknown events:
And not one heart that beats, one brain that thinks
In concord with humanity, believes
The frantic charge against me. If suspicion
Survives in any vacillating mind,
Then let the scrupulous doubter state his doubt,
Inviolably privileged to speak
Against his King for this one time and end.

A Lady.
That man is innocent!

Ribolt.
I doubt—I, Ribolt!
And my doubt is this:—Who on the stepping-stones
Of these dead men ascends the height of power?
Not I; not he; but you, the murderer. Tell
The truth.

Many Voices.
The truth! the truth! We want the truth!

Ribolt.
We want the truth! Reluctant to be God,
This is no man, but Baldur come again.
The gods supreme have often killed their sires.
Baldur, the son of Woden, reincarnate,
Murders his father in the flesh. While he,
King Christian, typifies the Christian God,
Prince Magnus stands for Christ: Father and Son
O'erthrown together by the pagan power
Returned to earth once more! A myth begun!
Confess your godhead, King!

Mammon.
If I had killed
The King, my father, and my brother Magnus,
Would I declare it, think you? The hearts of men
Are fitter to condone a parricide
Than mine to be the author of a deed
The world could never sanction.

Ribolt.
But we do!
We sanction; we condone!

Mammon.
Silence, good pagan.—
My father slew himself. Something is guessed
By all of you concerning my belief.
I ventured out of Christendom—for which,
My enemy, the Church, contrived my downfall;
And when I boarded Thule yesterday
To stop the marriage of my own betrothed
(Compelled to falsehood in the name of Christ!)
My father, wholly mad—it must be said!—
(Some eating lesion of the intellect
Or carnal perturbation) goaded on
By the remorseless Abbot, undertook
To kill me at the altar where I hung
Tied like a carcass to the crucifix.
I, being about to die, as I believed,
Began to utter in a trance the things
I mean to tell you. With spontaneous power,
Instinctive in the ecstasy of death,
I broke the fateful burden of my mind,
And so essentially revealed its thought,
That like a cloud between him and the sun
The phantom world of spirit passed away.
My father's madness, mounting in his brain,
Like heavy vapours of the vaulted earth
Instilled of old in chosen oracles,
Upon the sudden sight of the Universe
(All that immensity of power and beauty)
Transported him entirely: he cut my cords,
Imploring pardon; with convulsive strength
That madness gives the weakest, stabbed himself
Thrice in the breast before my torpid limbs,
Inured to bonds, could sense their liberty,
And, banning God and Christ and Christendom
With maniac curses, at my feet fell dead.

Ribolt.
Truth evident! How could a likelihood
Pass for a moment in the Abbot's lie!
King Christian's suicide, like some predicted
Planet, appears at last to fill the mythic
Order: we had a god who slew his father;
The Church adores a God who slew his Son;
And now we have a god who slays himself!

Mammon.
Forbear these heathen fancies, and be still.

Ribolt.
The legend creams, fermenting in the tun:
Fancy's a brewer, and a ripened head
Rises upon the malt.

Mammon.
No legend this:
Alas, I would it were! My brother, Magnus,
Loving and loved, for we were friends as well,
Snared in the mesh of this conspiracy,
Was last night married, against his choice and hers,
To my betrothed, the Princess of the Isles.
The Abbot's doing; yet, my father's will
Went with it; and I cannot, dare not doubt,
When the stained windows and the censer smoke
Hiding the Universe were burst and blown
By my apocalypse, that the despair,
In which he seized so validly on death,
Became then only irresistible
As the recoil of ours, whom he had doomed
By holy rites to most unholy lives,
Enringed his conscience with a burning lash.
Had he but known!—Impulsively I sought
The room where Magnus and the Princess lodged.
There went along with me the royal guard;
For corridors should ne'er be unpatrolled
At midnight in a hostile, treacherous court,
Where scarcely sons escape their father's knives.
Finding the door unlocked I entered: there,
Still unatoned, the bride and bridegroom stood,
Lamenting the decree that made them one.
My brother, most averse though winning victim
In the state-lottery of this base cabal,
O'erwhelmed with shame and horror to be caught
By the imagined loser banking the proceeds,
(Which yet he feared to put to usury)
Rushed headlong from the room, and spilt his life
Against the ready swords the sentinels
Held in the half-light for my enemies.
Thus died these two to my eternal grief;
And thus am I your King in weal and woe.

Florimond.
Long live the King!

A Few Voices.
Long live the King!

Mammon.
You doubt?
You disbelieve?

Tamberskelver.
In this assembly, King,
Unhappy thoughts prevail. Were you to touch
The bodies, many an undecided mind,
Devout and honest, might accept the test.

Mammon.
But by that test merely the murderer's presence
Suffices for the bleeding of the corpse.
Their wounds are naked, and they have not bled.

Tamberskelver.
The test is incomplete unless the accused
Handles the body.

Many Voices.
Let him touch the bodies!

Mammon.
Bodies will bleed although no murderer—

Many Voices.
The test! the test!

Mammon
[to himself].
Through with it tightly, coward!
[To Tamberskelver.]
So be it, then. Select your witnesses.
[To himself.]
This has me by the throat! What's Oswald doing?

[Descends to the catafalque.
Larum, urged by Tamberskelver, steps upon the catafalque, while Tamberskelver and the other Inceptors of the Teutonic Religion stand about it. Ribolt and the Neo-pagans, Crawford and the Reformers come close also.
Mammon.
My father killed himself; my brother died
By accident: I had no hand at all
In either death.

[As he is about to touch his father's body, he staggers and falls against the catafalque. The crown drops from his head.
Ribolt picks up the crown.
Larum
[supporting Mammon].
You faint, King Mammon!

Tamberskelver.
They bleed!
The bodies bleed!

Jan Rykke
[to Tamberskelver].
I see no blood.

Tamberskelver
[to Rykke].
Nor I:
But others will.

Larum.
Why, so they do! King Mammon?
I put no faith in this:—to pacify
The simpler souls we meant it:—but they bleed!

Mammon.
I stumbled, and I shook the catafalque.

Larum.
Would innocence have stumbled? The bodies bleed;
The murderer is here!

Florimond
[having descended to the catafalque with other ministers, to Larum].
Go down, my lord.

Larum
[surrendering Mammon, who is almost unconscious, to Florimond].
Murder:—murder:—murder:—the Abbot's cry!
We have a godless murderer for king!

[Leaves the catafalque.]
The hall is now filled with noise.
Mammon.
Something to drink before my tongue takes fire!

Florimond
[to an Attendant who goes out].
Bring wine and water quickly.

Ribolt
[whispering as he crowns Mammon].
Murderer!

Mammon.
I am no murderer.

Ribolt.
Will you be our God?

Mammon.
There is no God.

Ribolt.
Or God or murderer: choose.

Florimond and others assist Mammon to regain the platform.
An Aide-de-Camp enters upon the platform.
Mammon.
From Oswald? from the Duke? Speak in my ear.

Aide-de-Camp.
The Duke of Christianstadt commanded me
To tell the King the bezel of his ring
Is jewelled and ready for the crimson seal.

Mammon.
The Duke's discreet and strong. Attend me closely.

The Attendant re-enters with wine and water.
Mammon.
My mouth is like a desert.

The Attendant offers wine.
Mammon.
Give me. ... Red?
A murderer's draught! Pour out some water—slowly.

The Attendant fills a glass with water.
Mammon.
Yes:—yes:—my soul's as clean as that: I swear it!
[Drinks; then looks down upon the bodies.
The wounds are as they were! They do not bleed!
Now, I remember; the knave who pressed the thing
Took umbrage in the morning at my rebuke!
Look, Florimond!

Florimond.
Too far for my old sight.

Mammon.
Jugglery of the senses.

Florimond.
A crowd will see
By instigation things that are not.

Mammon.
Yes;
And folk will stare and stare, beholding still
No true appearance unless an interest wake
Discernment. Wounds, like that, look so;
And seem, with scrutiny, more murderous,
Bloodier and deadlier. I'll speak of this.
But first, to tell the news I came to tell,
And cleave the world in two.—People of Thule—

[The uproar in the hall which had gradually decreased breaks out again upon Mammon's attempt to speak. Meanwhile Anselm, having consulted with Larum and others, ascends the catafalque and secures silence.
Mammon
[to himself].
Machine guns on our platforms to take the chair!
I'll have one in and turn the crank myself!

Many Voices.
Anselm! Anselm!

Mammon.
Another orator!

Anselm.
I take the Abbot's place. I stand for God.
What shall become of Thule and of us
Disturbs no longer righteous-hearted men;
The issue lies with Heaven: God's will be done!
Yet prayer is not the whole: the Church can act.
[To Mammon.]
By the authority of Almighty God,
The Three in One, and of the undefiled
Mother and patroness of our Saviour Christ,
The Virgin Mary; by the authority
Of all celestial virtues, angels, thrones,
And of the innocents who behold the Lamb
Singing the new song heard in Heaven only;
By the authority of all the saints,
Of all the holy and elect of God,
I excommunicate the King of Thule,
You, Christian, Mammon, to whichever name
You answer. From the threshold of the Church
Sequestered, you are now delivered up,
Unless it shall repent you, to be quenched
As fire is quenched in water, and your light
To be put out for ever with those who cry,
“Depart from us, O Lord; we scorn thy ways!”
May God the Father curse you, God the Son,
The Holy Spirit, the eternal Virgin,
And all the host of Heaven, in all your thoughts,
In all your deeds, in body, mind and soul,
Unless you do repent. Amen.

Many Voices.
Amen.

Anselm.
All those who stand for God will leave this place,
And shake the dust of it from off their feet.

[Descends from the catafalque.
Larum.
I join the legate!

Ribolt.
I also! Any God
Rather than godless worlds and soulless men!

Crawford.
And I come too! This is the broil I want!
The Church, which is the workman and the slave—
The Power against the Kingdom and the Glory.

Mammon
[to the Aide-de-Camp].
Tell Christianstadt to seize this treasonous legate.
And for my signet ring:—Say to the Duke
I love him; say, the wax is in the flame;
Say, when the molten moment comes my seal
Must delve into the bosom of the age.

Aide-de-Camp.
Will the Duke know this cypher message, King?

Mammon.
He'll pluck the meaning from the seething words.
Go, and return not till the stamp's affixed.

The Aide-de-Camp goes out.
Anselm, as he leaves the hall, begins to chant the hundred and fortieth psalm, “Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man.” The clergy, the bulk of the people in the galleries, and many of those in the area join in the psalm, and go out after the legate.
Mammon
[to Florimond].
Let no unedited report get wing.
Be rigorous with our journals.
[Tears a curtain from one of the doors of the platform and gives it to an attendant.
Cover the bodies.
[While the attendant spreads the curtain over the catafalque, the chant uninterrupted hitherto, and still heard faintly from the square, ceases suddenly and a noise of tumult breaks out.
I meant so differently! The Abbot thrust
A precipice athwart my tidal wave;
And now the voyage leaps it—headlong down
As deep as the unfathomable grave!
[The shattering repercussive fire of a machine-gun is heard, accompanied by a great outcry, and succeeded by profound silence.
The crash of blood! a cataract of blood
Upon the pavement plunging! Secular change
At every period is sprinkled so;
Nor could the portal of the world I make
Escape the crimson baptism.—Still as death:—
The pressure and the imprint of my seal
Reaches the heart of Thule:—like a cloud
At break of day the ruddy mangled mass
Begins to smoulder: soon its golden light
Will wreathe my brow with chaplets of the dawn,
So potently does psychic alchemy
Transmute barbaric deeds in great careers
To destined matter of eternal fame!

Oswald, with the Aide-de-Camp and a company of soldiers, enters the area of the hall. Soldiers appear also in the galleries; class, mass and mob pour into all parts of the hall.
Mamm.
You look like one who from some deed of doom,
As ineluctable as death itself,
Comes conquering horror with a steadfast mind.

Oswald.
Oh, King, though I discourage in myself
Revolted nature, I would sooner die
Than do again what I have done to-day!

Mammon.
If this that you lament was done for me,
The burden's mine. Did you, as I desired,
Detain the legate?

Oswald.
Not without slaughter, King.

Mammon.
Is Anselm dead?

Oswald.
Oh, no! the legate waits
Your pleasure, with the Abbot, under guard.

Mammon.
Let them be parted and securely kept.—
I heard the peal of the organ-pipes of war.
What struck the keynote of a fugue of death?

Oswald.
Those westland men that worship Woden hung
About the legate like a retinue,
And blindly thrust and smote with ancient swords.
Weapons appeared in other hands besides
When the delirious crowd assailed the troops—
Who beat them off like playmates, unused to fight
Their countrymen. A rabble, then, flung up
Like apparitions, or unearthly things,
From urban nether worlds, savage and lewd,
Began a hoarse incendiary cry
That lit the lawless impulse of the rest.
Against the crown, against the King they yelled:
Some towards the palace turned to tear it down;
Others against the hall here madly surged.
No one obeyed me, soldier or citizen;
Wherefore upon rebellion swithe I loosed
With my own hand the reservoir of death.

Mammon.
Most resolute, most noble, most my friend!

Oswald.
The soldiers knew their duty then; the mob
Dispersed like huddled shadows; and loyal folk
Returned with us to hail our rightful king.
Long live the King!

All the Soldiers.
Long live the King!

Mammon.
That shout
Undoes the treachery that marred the day!
I am indeed your king, and greater: I
(Until the world, transmuted, understands
That men—that you, and she—are more than God,
As much as substance more than shadow is)
Shall be in Thule like a deity,
Inspiring, making, moulding greatness: greatness,
Which all your creeds have taught you to ascribe
To something not yourselves. Oh flesh and blood,
Oh gallant sex of men, sweet sex of women,
High hearts and brains of power, not anywhere
Is there a breath, a mote, that is not you!
I would I stood upon Mount Everest
And could be heard by every son of man!
The parasites that in our bodies burrow;
The lily and the rose whose passionate breath
Perfumes our love-thoughts with the scent of love;
The tawny brutes whose anguished roar appals
The desert and the jungle—they that suck
The steaming blood and tear the shuddering flesh
Of timid, browsing beasts; the timid beasts
Themselves; the birds that lace the summer winds
With music; houses, harvests, merchandise;
The woodland and the mountain and the sea;
The myriad suns that pave the Milky Way;
The furthest star, and all the stars of Heaven;
The vapours, metals, earths; their energies;
The lightning and the light; ethereal space:
All these—all that, is us, is you and me,
The conscience of the infinite Universe.
No supernatural thought must cloud your minds:
You have been told for twenty centuries
That that which is behind the Universe,
Its maker, God, or some obscurant will,
Transcends substantial things; and psychic powers,
Imagination, thought—the essences
Material of matter—have squandered craft
Enough to make another Universe
In building up nonentity, miscalled
The world of spirit! There is no such world:—
I speak to minds of every calibre,
And would be understood:—no spirit world;
No world but this, which is the Universe,
The whole, great, everlasting Universe.
And you are it—you, there, that sweep the streets,
You that make music, you that make the laws,
You that bear children, you that fade unloved.
Oh, if there be one here despised and mean,
Oppressed with self-contempt and cursed with fear,
I say to him:—Not anywhere at all
Is there a greater being than you—just you:
You are the lustre of a million suns—
The fuel of their fires, your flesh and blood;
And all the orbs that strew ethereal space
Are less than you, for you can feel, can know,
Can think, can comprehend the sum of things:
You are the infinite Universe itself
Become intelligent and capable.
Grasp it and hold it in your heart of hearts,
That nothing lies behind, nothing at all,
Except the ether woven from bourne to bourne—
If there be spatial bournes—continually
Evolving lightning, chrysosperm of space,
Electric lust for ever unconsumed,
Twisexed fertility that begets and breeds
The divers elements whereof we are,
And all the suns and all the galaxies:
Nothing of thought or oversoul behind,
About, above; but you and I in front,
The intellect, the passion and the dream,
The flower and perfume of the Universe.
You have been told for twenty centuries
That man upon a transient isthmus stands
Between the oceans of eternity;
And that the earth is but an academe
Where the poor human acolyte prepares
For joy in Heaven or penal fires of Hell,
Or here begins consecutive rebirths
That shall in other worlds perfection gain.
I say the earth itself is Heaven and Hell,
That every heart-beat is the crack of doom,
And every passing moment the judgment-day;
That here and now we have eternity.
Time is not; never was: a juggling trick,
A very simple one, of three tossed balls,
The sun, the moon, the earth, to cheat our sense
With day and night and seasons of the year.
This is eternity: here once in space
The Universe is conscious in you and me;
And if the earth and all that is therein
Were now to end, the task, the pain, the woe,
The travail of the long millennial tides
Since life began, would like a pleasant fancy
Fade in the thoughtless memory of matter;
Because in me the infinite Universe
Achieves at last entire self-consciousness,
And could be well content to sleep again
For ever, still evolving in its sleep
Systems and constellations and tracts of suns.
But I would have you all even as I am!
I want you to begin a world with me,
Not for posterity, but for ourselves.
Prophets have told that there has seized on us
An agony of labour and design
For those that shall come after such as no age
Endured before. I, Mammon, tell you, No!
We have come after! We are posterity!
And time it is we had another world
Than this in which mankind excreted soul,
Sexless and used and immaterial,
Upon the very threshold of the sun,
To wonder why the earth should stink so! Men
Belov'd, women adored, my people, come,
Devise with me a world worth living in—
Not for our children and our children's children,
But for our own renown, our own delight!
All lofty minds, all pride, all arrogance,
All passion, all excess, all craft, all power,
All measureless imagination, come!
I am your King; come, make the world with me!

[The older people regard each other dubiously; but the soldiers and the young folk raise a great shout as the curtain falls.