University of Virginia Library

Scene I.—Night. Interior of a subterranean Cellar; filthy, and ill-lighted by a lanthorn swung from the vaulting. Along the walls pistols and cutlasses suspended. On the floor broken wine-flasks and empty barrels strewn about. In the midst, under the lanthorn, a rude table. Thereon a greasy volume open: pens, ink in a broken wine-glass, and a large earthen bowl smeared over the edges with blood. On a sort of altar, a skeleton gorgeously robed and crowned. Tapers burning before it. Between the altar and the table a small high platform, covered with crimson cloth, and canopied in black. On the platform is seated the President of the Secret Society of The Avengers. Before him, at the foot of the platform, a Novice, kneeling, with hands bound, breast bare, and marks of blood upon it. The rest of the Brotherhood is grouped around the Novice.
The President.
And to maintain inviolate secrecy.

The Novice.
I swear. So help me God!

President.
Citizen Novice,
Thy tongue trips. Have a care. There is no God.
We have deposed him. He was in our way,
For, being a tyrant, he made common cause
With the other tyrants. Bring the symbol forth
Of brutish Superstition.

(One of the brethren brings forward a crucifix.)
Novice.
Citizen Atheist, I obey.

President.
Remove it.
He hath saved his throat.

The Brother.
Back to thy tomb, defunct
Divinity!

The President.
To spare not man, nor woman,
Against whose life the edict hath gone forth.

Novice.
I swear.

President.
To execute, without remorse,
Without reluctance, and without delay,
Whatever order shall be given to thee.

Novice.
I swear.

The President.
Upon all persons, old or young,
Or high or low, or great or small, or here
Or elsewhere, nobles, prelates, princes, kings,
Or those that do adhere to the same.

Novice.
I swear.

President.
And to observe the aforesaid laws to the death.

Novice.
I swear.

President.
He hath pass'd the triple ordeal.
Enter his name upon the Books.

A Brother
(writing).
Josiah
Cobble. Eyes grey, small. Hair red. Stature low.
Age four and twenty years. Former condition,
Maker of boots and shoes in the employ
Of the Enemies of Human Freedom. Sworn
A Brother of the Secret Philosophical
And Philanthropical Society
Of the Avengers: sitting in this city
On the First Day of the Second Month o' the Year
One, of the General Emancipation.
Enter'd.

President.
Unbind his hands. Give him the bowl.
Rise, Brother, and embrace thy brethren. Drink.

Chorus of the United Brotherhood.
Press the grapes of the vintage of vengeance. Thine,
Young vintager, now is the vineyard gate.
And drink, Son of Freedom, the blood and the wine:
The wine of the wanton, the blood of the great!
Fallen thy bonds are. Behold, we have burst them.
Laugh! Not on nectar the old gods nurst
The growth of the young gods, who have disperst them:
And stronger than nectar, to quench our thirst,
Is the cup of the curses wherewith we have curst them
By whom we were curst.
Feed on the flesh of the princes of earth.
Let it fatten thee now, as our own fatten'd them.
There be plenty of bones, and of blood no dearth:
And these dishes are garnisht with gold and gem.
Sign'd are the lintels, and sharpen'd the daggers.
The powerless strikes, and the powerful staggers.
The halters are spun.
Judged are the judges: rod-beaten the lictors:
Tried the tribunals: and vanquisht the victors:
The heads are all reckon'd: the headsman is beckon'd:
Our work hath begun.

(A knocking without.)
President.
Back to your places, all of you! Remove
Those weapons. Each man to his work again.
Who knocks?

A Voice Outside.
A friend, and Freedom's Son.

President.
His name?

The Voice.
Lucius Junius.

President.
'Tis the Modern Brutus!
Salute him, Brothers. Open in the name
Of Liberty. Hail to thee, Lucius Junius!

(The Modern Brutus enters.)
Omnes.
Brutus, thy brethren here, in thee, salute
The soul of Rome's best Roman.

Brutus.
Good, friends, good!
I see that you are sharpening your knives
Ready for use. Good, good! Be all prepared.
What art thou making, Brother Citizen?

One of the Brethren.
A hempen rope.

Brutus.
Good! He that 'scapes the steel
Must hang by the cord. And thou?

Another.
I stole this knife
Out of the kitchen of an old Archbishop.
And it has sliced him many an ortolan.
I am giving it a new handle, and an edge.

Brutus.
Good, good! Some throats are easier cut than capons.
And thou?

A Third.
This is the fowling-piece with which
The keeper of my lord shot my boy, Jack,
For having stolen a hare. The man had this
When, last night, I shot him. I took it from him.
It is a keepsake. I am giving it
A new lock.

Brutus.
Good, good! There be other vermin
Than hares that now need thinning. Keep the gun.

President.
But tell us, Brother Citizen, is the day
Fixt yet?

Brutus.
Oh patience, Citizen President!
I want a man of you. Which is the idlest?
Or which the boldest?

President.
There's a novice here
That hath not yet been tried. Wilt thou have him?
He took the oath but even now.

Brutus.
Good, good!
Follow me, Brother Novice.

Novice.
I obey.