University of Virginia Library

I.HOW THE EMPEROR PICKED UP WHAT THE DEVIL LET FALL.

Thereafter, met for mischief and debate
Morose, within a certain intricate
Small chamber, plann'd for plotting, with slant glooms
In glooms, beyond a maze of banquet rooms,
Muzufer and his liege lord up and down
Were pacing leopard-like. Meanwhile, the town
Mutter'd outside the porphyry porches all
Like souls perturb'd in Purgatorial
Abysses paced by lamentable throngs;
As to and fro i' the streets with surly songs
Among his myrmidons the headsman strode,
Beckoning in turn from each condemn'd abode
(So to appease the Emperor's discontent
Of his own creatures for that morn's event)
Some terror-stricken wretch whose mangled limb,
—Lopp'd foot or hand,—must serve ere dark to trim

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4

Arch, column, obelisk, and cornice, where
Already sallow-visaged slaves prepare
The midnight banquet, o'er great gardens gay
With placid statues, and the luminous play
Of perfumed waters, leaping pure upon
Lipp'd lavers large of black obsidian
Or alabaster fill'd with filmy light.
For 'mid his Court the Emperor sups to-night.
And in that chamber dim where these debate,
O'er the low bronzen door elaborate,
Some old Greek sculptor (dead an age ago
Ere Pisa yet brought forth her wondrous Two,
For Florence' sake, and all the world's, to impart
New sweetness to his barbarous Christian art)
Had wrought in monstrous imagery, bold,
Uncouth, and drear despite of paint and gold,
Christ tempted of the Devil upon the Mount:
Varying the tale the Evangelists recount
After the manner of the artist's mind.
Colossal forms! the Saviour of mankind,
And Tempter,—not alluring he, but grim
As the grim Middle Age imagined him;
Satan; that ancient hodman of the souls
That God forgets; in corners, dens, and holes
Where'er Sin squats, taking what he can find,
He rakes earth's offal for that hod behind
His hateful back; God's scavenger is he;
Who here, with obscene gesture coarse and free,

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5

Hell's twy-prong in his claw-bunch-fingers clutch'd,
Picks from the rubbish at his shoulder hutch'd,
And proffers to the Son of Man, a crown.

Now, while these two were pacing up and down
In moody talk, and Muzufer began
To praise and pity much that day's marr'd plan,
As being shrewdly plotted,—righteous, too,
If rightly look'd at . . . . “For, Sir Emperor, who
Disputes the right of Christian Emperors
To slay the infidel ambassadors
Of Moslem monarchs, that by nature stand
Outside the law of every Christian land?
Yet Christians that, unchristianly, oppose
Your Christian Majesty, are, certes, foes
More formidable, therefore worse by far,
Than merely Ottoman and Moslem are.
Meanwhile, they have escaped us. We have fail'd.
Which is a pity. Fifty slaves impaled
Will poorly, poorly at the best, replace
Those eight Frank heads which we had hoped should grace
This evening's banquet. For altho' we preach
Thereby a wholesome homily to each
Incipient traitor, and altho', indeed,
These cravens merit death, methinks you feed
On your own limbs thus—prey on your own power,
Devour'd the more, the more that you devour.”

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6

—He speaking thus, against the bronzen door
Alexius struck his fist fierce-clench'd, and swore
An angry oath that neither Heaven nor Hell
Should mar that evening's merriment.

“Omen ill!”
Mused Muzufer. “Hell's Monarch's clutch is not
So sure but it lets go what it hath got.”
Alexius, laughing, answer'd quick “Not so.
Nor is it the first time I have stoop'd as low
To get,—nor, gotten, thank'd the Devil for
This glittering hoop.” And “Ay, Sir Emperor!”
With mimic mirth laugh'd Muzufer. Within
His dusky niche a sympathetic grin
The wrinkled visage of the Father Fiend
Emitted, till his coarse brows seem'd thick-vein'd,
And dull eye seem'd to wink with dismal glee.
So all together laugh'd that Wicked Three,
While Day, to reach the West's red innermost
With lurid foot the lucid pavement crost.

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7

Then at the casement Muzufer cried “Hark!
The butchery has begun before 'tis dark.
One . . two . . three . . four . . five wretches? how they twist
On those spiked staves! Sure, that's a woman's wrist
And hand there, with the fluttering fingers? Phew!
We must not sup to windward of this stew,
Or you will find the hippocrass smell strong.
Burn, burn benzoin! How heavily hums along
Yon beetle, caring nothing for it all,
—Fool, and it sets me talking!”