University of Virginia Library

Act IV

Scene I

(The Bower of Bliss. Count Julian is discovered alone reading. Loud yells are heard without. Enter Ostenee attended by ten warriors, who seize upon him.)
Count Julian
(with great indignation)
Back Cowards! Traitors! villians that you are!
What! ten foul beaten dogs against one Man!
Ten famishing Wolves to gnaw out one Man's heart!
Oh! be ashamed! blush all your cheeks to ire!
Burn them to cinders with repentant shame!
Foul, painted Devils hot from burning Hell!
Who sent you here? What villian brought you here?
This coward Ostenee? This valiant whipt
Dog leader of his hang tail brother Dogs!
I see the choking that I gave him here
The other day, has left him rather hoarse!
How dare you come again to me, who ran
So swiftly home from me, the other day?
Untie these hands—you know their iron grasp—
And I will make you run again—whip all
These famished bloodhounds till they break their necks
Back into Hell again, where they belong!

Ostenee
(to the warriors)
Away with him! the Council shall decide
His fate!—Rejoice! for thou shalt die tonight!

Count Julian
May Hell's eternal Serpents gnaw thy soul!

(Exeunt omnes)

Scene II

(Night. The Valley of Violets. Enter Endea in search of Count Julian.)
Endea
(falling on her knees and praying to the Moon.)
Daughter of Heaven! bright Angel of the Night!
Have ye no Julian in the realms of light,
In whose bright presence ye can bask in joy?
Oh! if ye have, look down upon me now,
And from that Land where Julian says is God,
Send me some token in your hallowed beams,
How thou dost live continuing still to love—
Pale—pale with ever looking on his face—
Sister! for thine is unrequited love!
And let thy vigils teach me how to wait!
I knew that he must stand, ere long, before
The Ten fair Virgins of the Purple Hills,
And there give out his dying soul to God!
Oh! thou fair Moon! image of that sweet peace
Which never more can come to this sad heart!
Come through the Orange-scented groves of Night,
Dewy with Nature's tears—beaded with thine—
(For now I feel them falling on my cheeks—
My palid cheeks—palid as thine—more pale—)
And pour upon my heart thy healing!
Shed down from thy pale face of mild silence,
Part of the peace which thy pure heart doth know
And make my weary soul as calm as thine!
Melt from the Heaven of my poor soul, oh, Moon,
The sorrow—clouds which hang about it now,
Hiding from it the face divine of Joy—
That blue-eyed Dove of Immortality
Which flew down out of God's great Golden Throne,
And in the tender roseleaves of my heart
When Love first haunted me in heavenly Dreams,
There built its nest, until the Vulture—griefs
That nestle there, made it their inocent prey!
Or, if not melt, gild them with thy pure beams,
That I may have light, once more on my soul,
Before I go down to the narrow grave
From whence I never more shall come again!
Oh! Julian! Julian! how my heart doth beat,
Shaking my lips like roseleaves in the air,
Until I bend like Willows in the storm—
Nearly uprooted all my tree of life—
Merely to mention thy sweet, heavenly name!—
Oh! Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
Subdue this stormy sorrow of my soul!
If there is any Medicine in Heaven,
Oh! bring it down to me in thy sweet beams—
For thy mild splendor is the aid I want!
That is the Aegis that my soul requires!
For Julian says the Sun of Righteousness
Descends from Heaven with healing in its beam!
Be thou my sun of Righteousness, Oh! Moon!
Make mild this deathless fever of my heart—
Subdue this tender tumult of my soul—
With which I die—by which I love—my life—
My living death! Oh, I shall surely die!
For if it leaves me without being cured,
I shall be cold in death when it abates!
Then help, oh, Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
I go—thine eyes are weeping on me now!
My locks are wet—wet with thine own pure tears!
And all the stars seem mourning for me now!

(Exit)

Scene III

(Night. The Indian Council discovered. The four great Kings are sitting on their Beaver-mantled thrones. The ten fair Virgins crowned with beautiful Rosettes, with pendants of pure pearl in their ears, and the richest Coral around their necks, are seated on their Swan-down mantled thrones in the same circle with the Kings, having on flowing robes tipt with the down of Swans. In the center is the Council Fire, around which are seated the fifty Warriours, painted red for war, crowned with Catamount's heads, with Tiger tails hanging down their backs, all having tomahawks in their hands. Count Julian is standing on the right hand fastened to a tree, guarded by Ostenee.
Ensenore
(rising and standing on his throne)
Great Warriours! You may now begin the dance.
You know we have no Warriour here tonight,
To stretch upon the Cypress-Bier in death—
None having died—therefore, rejoice the more—
For so Areskou wills it from above.
Then we begin the Banqueting of souls,
An anual Festival we celebrate,
Commemorative of our father's deeds,
Which shall not perish to the latest time.

(Ensenore resumes his seat, when two Virgins of the Beautiful Ten, heralded by wild and joyful music, descend from their Swan-down moulted thrones, holding over their heads between their fingers, an Ossier bough, with which they dance to the front of the stage, causing the Roses, as they embrace, to meet on their bosoms, and after looking timidly between them on the Council, retire to their thrones amid shouts of applause, when two others descend and dance as they have done, until the whole ten have danced. The Warriours then arise with most exultant shouts, hopping, dancing, tumbling round the fire, until Lamorah rises from his Beaver-mantled throne, and waves his right hand over them, when they all sink down in silence on the ground again. Then the four great Kings and the ten fair Virgins sing a rapturous Paean for their own souls.)
Paean
Lord of the Stars of Night, thy love
Is ever beaming from above!
Thy name is written in the sky—
In the bright Spirit Land on high!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord! have mercy on our souls!
They are appointed to be bright,
And to make glad the Halls of Night;
And from the Chambers of the West
To beacon us away to rest!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord! have mercy on our souls!
Oh! in the fulness of thy power,
Pour on the Offering of this hour
The healing incense of thy love,
And lift our Sacrifice above!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord, have mercy on our souls!

Ensenore
(rising)
Brave Warriours! you may cease the War Dance now,
And, in the Temple of the Night, sit still,
Looking, at intervals, up at the stars,
That your High Heaven, while listening to the mute lips—
(Thanking Manito that you are not white)
To hear the trial of this faithless Dog—
Rejoice, young Man! for thou shalt die tonight!
The Dead came to me in their windingsheets
Last night, crying, “The Calumet is gone!
The Tomahawk has been dug up again,
To rust no more beneath the Tree of Peace!
Rise up, my Ensenore, avenge my wrongs!”
I rose. The pale face of my murdered friend
Stood at my door! “Speak not!” said he—
The door of Hell shall be unlocked—yes, wide!
The White-Man shall not chain me there! No-no!
The hands that thou didst chain a few short hours
Ago, will drag thee to the Desert, where
The Wolf shall fatten on thy cursed corpse—
And hungry Vultures peck thy damned eyes!

Lamorah
(rising)
When old Lamorah's father lived, he had
A daughter whom he loved above all things—
For he had made her Queen of all his Tribe.
One day, when he was gone, the White Man came,
And, throwing in the Lake of Swans, some pearls
Of magic he had brought with him—she fled—
And from that fatal hour was never seen!
The Chief of Cuscovilla's Vale returned.
The Flower of Cuscovilla's Vale was gone!
He visited the Fountain of Green Isles
Thinking that she was drowned—but she was not—
And when he prayed to Micabou, the God
Of Nature, to restore him back his child,
He said, the Wakon-bird had killed his dove,
And borne her spirit to the Land of Souls!
And he who talked like Outalissa's friend,
Mustered his mighty host upon the hills,
And laid the tall heads of our Warriors low!
Just so has “Julian” with Celuta's love!
Now, Sachems! Warriours! listen to my voice:
Before three Moons shall roll around in Heaven,
The snorting War horse will be see upon
This Isle trampling the Desert Flowers to dust!
Before, Manito, who now rules above,
This Concha—shell shall be the only sign
Of what I wish—that he shall die tonight!

(He dashes the Concha-shell down on the ground, and resumes his seat amid shouts of applause).
Ensenore
(rising as before)
A thousand years had rolled round the Oak,
And it was still the Monarch of the Woods.
It lifted its green head above the storms,
And braved the lightning's flash—the thunder's roar!
The Whirlwinds played among its cloudy moss,
Little Endea fondling with the locks of Love.
I sat beneath its shadow in my youth
When manhood's sorrow was not in my soul!
The golden birds were singing in the boughs!
I saw a little vine spring from its root,
And gently raise itself from bough to bough.
The old Oak seemed to love it as his child.
A hundred Moons had passed away in Heaven.
I saw that Oak again. But it was changed.
Its limbs began to die!—Its leaves were dead!
Autumn had come before its time! It seemed
To hang its stately glory out to die!
The little vine, that had been weaker than
The Fawn, was now the Monarch of the woods!
It twisted its insidious folds around
That tree, until it prest the life blood from
Its mighty heart! I watched the serpent vine,
And, as it hugged its Monarch with deceit
I took my tomahawk and cut it loose!
The old Oak lived! It stood again beneath
The thunderclouds of Heaven the same; and now
It wears the greeness of enduring youth!
I cannot speak the White Man's speech. I speak
Not with my tongue. I have no music in
My soul. I speak the language of my heart.
The Red Man is the Oak; the White Man is
The Vine!

Lamorah
(raising sad face)
Great Ensenore has spoken truth
Will not a drop of water taste so sweet
To one born blind as unto one who sees?
But if the White Man give him gall to drink,
Will that taste sweet as honey from my hands?
Oh, that the White Man had the Red Man's eyes!
The blood that fills Lamorah's veins is just
As dear to him as blood to other men.
I feel the same thing that the White Man feels.
I eat, sleep, live, love, hate—and have to die!
The children that I love are just as dear.
And yet the White Man does not think it so.
He acts as though all things were made for him—
The Heavens, the Earth—even Hell itself were his—
And no one lived upon the land but him!
Oh! that the White Man had the Red Man's eyes!

(Enter Ianthe running to Count Julian's arms.)
Ianthe
Oh! Julian! Julian! Are you here? But why?
Why are you here? What is the matter now?
What have you done? Why are these people here?
It cannot be that you are bound? Oh! God!
I have forebodings of what they will do!
Why are these people waiting here? Oh speak!

Count Julian
While I was sitting in our Bower today—
Reading the Sacred Oracles of Old—
Thinking no evil—fearing none from Aban—
Ten cowards came with colored Ostenee,
And rushing on me, made me fast in chains.
And bore me, captive, to this place you see.
At which they celebrate their father's deeds,
And no doubt wish to banquet on my soul.
But fools! they are as ignorant as dirt!
They know not of the Mighty Power's love!
The body they may kill—but not the soul!

Ianthe
Oh! Julian! Julian! then you have to die!
Hope not from them! They came to take your life!
How can you be so calm? Oh! cruel Fate!
A few short hours ago we were in bliss—
Now Sorrow treads upon the heels of Joy!
Why did you not stay with me in the cave?
Had you been there, you would not now be here!
Our Bower of Bliss is changed to one of wo!
Oh! God! it cannot be that you must die!
To die for what? What have you done? What crime
Have you committed, that you have to die?

Count Julian
This serpent-armor which now panoplies
These brazen Fiends from head to heel, which they
Believe make them invulnerable, I will
Inpierce with Truth's bright arrows left in Heaven
And make them vulnerable as Turtle Doves.

Ianthe
(approaching and kneeling before Lamorah)
Oh! good Lamorah! father! you can tell—
Why is my Julian doomed to die? Save! save!
Here, at your feet—here, will I kneel till death,
Until I hear you say that he shall live!
What has he done that he is doomed to die?
He would not injure you—now any one!
He is as free from guilt as Heaven from Sin!
Then tell me, father! what has Julian done?
Oh! tell me, why is he condemned to die?

Lamorah
(rising)
Well, I will tell you why he has to die.
It is the custom with our Tribe that when
A White Man has deceived us, he must die!
We have not cut the Roebuck on his thigh,
That he should make himself like one of us.
Besides, he has deceived me to my face,
And he tho puny pale-face all the while!
For this he has to die! Hear you his doom?

Ianthe
But you had done the same, had you been in
His place. This your Canondah knows right well.
It was his own Celuta brought him here!
Who is to him what she is now to you!
When she was taken captive by the Whites,
Did you not rescue her at dead of night?
You know you did, for she has told me so.
You jeopurdid your own to save her life,
Because it was more dear to you than yours!
Must Julian die for what you would have done?
This is unnatural—unjust—unwise—
A sin that good Lamorah cannot do.
He who would set his captives free in peace,
Will not in peace, make captive one to die!
No, good Lamorah cannot do this sin!

Lamorah
A full blood Indian never changed his mind,
So, put they one hand into both of mine,
And take back to your “Julian” a broken heart
And tell him that the streams run down the hills.

(Ianthe rises, returns to Julian, and hiding her face in his bosom, weeps.)
Count Julian
Look up, Ianthe! do not weep, my love!
The Moon shines brightest in the darkest night.
It nearly kills me thus to see you weep!
It hurts me more than any fear of death!
Look up, that I may look down in thine eyes—
Two crystalline wells of love reflecting Heaven—
And drink delight out of their soul-lit depths!
For they are beautiful to me tonight
As any other eyes could be by day.
Think you that if I were now doomed to die—
To be burnt up by faggots at this stake—
That you could brave the element of fire
And, like the Hindoo woman on the pyre
Of the dead husband, die with me?

Ianthe
Ay, that I could—brave all the elements
Of Heaven—which I will do to die with thee!
Should they condemn thee unto death tonight,
Which I believe they will—nay, know they will—
I cannot live! for I would rather die
A death by fire, than live a living death
Without thy more than, precious heavenly love!
For, like the Palm trees, we can only live
By growing side by side—apart—we die!

Count Julian
(very affectionately)
My Dian-luta! Hebe of my heart!
Pale, saintly Lily from the Bowers of God!
How you do make me hate the thoughts of death!
Thy very being makes me long to live.

(Enter Endea)
Endea
What! Sachems! Warriours! Virgins! are you here!
Lamorah! thou are calling down upon
Thy head the wrath of Him who never sleeps!
What! know you not that if you wound the Swan
That she will stain the waters with her blood?
So, if you touch one hair upon his head,
The Seminolian falls to rise no more!
A Dream came to me in my sleep last night,
And showed me many things to come to pass!
How Manito walking on thick clouds
In steps of thunder! Death was in his eyes
And as he passed, he seemed to say to me,
The little light that shines upon you now,
Will roll out fifty times through Heaven, when all
In Quttalaerockee's Vale shall pass away!

(Endea falls upon the earth like stone. Ostenee rushes up and bears her out.)
Lamorah
(rising as before)
Rejoice, Celuta, he shall die tonight!
Warriours! prepare the faggots for the fire!
And he who sang so sweetly in the Bower,
May now begin his own Death-song! Prepare!
(The warriours begin to pile the wood around his form.)

Ianthe
What! Warriours! have you lost your souls?
Why do ye tarry here? have ye no thought
That it is Banqueting of Souls tonight—
On which ye cannot sentence Man to death?
Look to your wives—your children—to your homes—
For lo! the Seminolian's hour is nigh!

Ensenore
(rising as before)
Great Chief! It is most true—we have no right
To sentence any Man to death upon
The Sacred Night of Banqueting of Souls!
It is against our custom—cannot be!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
What, has it come to this? no law? no right?
Shall he who braved the elements of Heaven—
Who lived for forty summers in the storms,
And passed as many Winters in the waste—
Who kissed the footsteps of his Mighty God
Walking upon the midnight storm unscared—
Suffer the puny pale-face to be lord
Above his children, while the Slave, who sings
His Cornsong, walks upon his father's bones?
No! never shall the Indian come to this,
While this proud heart within my bosom beats,
And knows that it is old Lamorah's heart!

Ensenore
(rising as before)
You know, great General! that we have no law
By which to sentence any man to death
Upon the Night of Banqueting of Souls!
It is against our custom—cannot be!
Our fathers never had nor can we have.
But that we may not differ in this thing,
Let all our votes be taken—those who love
His life, vote for his life—Who loves his death,
Vote for his death.

Lamorah
(rising as before)
(They vote, while the Virgins chant, in a wildly plaintive strain, the following supplication for his soul).
Supplication

Ensenore
There is an equal number of both kinds—
The Virgins having voted for his life;
Nor is there any one to turn the scale,
Save Endea, who was taken out for dead!

Ianthe
Yes, good Lamorah! let poor Endea vote—
Lean to the side of Mercy—let her vote!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
Talk not to me of Mercy now! Away!

Ianthe
No, by the right which I have now to speak—
Born of these very votes—I tell you, Man!
You cannot take his life upon a tie!
So, let him go, Lamorah! Let him go!
He that's not condemned is free to go!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
No; though not sentenced, yet he is not free.
He has Yanassa's garb upon his back.
How came he by that robe? Who pulled it off!
When did he take it off? Not in this life!
Therefore, he must have done it after death!
He is the murderer of Yanassa then!
A murderer cannot live! So, he must die!
Bring forth Yanassa—then he shall be free!
I give him till tomorrow morn to tell.
If, at that hour, he does not tell—he dies!—
Where is Yanassa? Julian! thou canst tell!

Count Julian
Lamorah! Where is Simighan?

Lamorah
In Hell!

Esnah
(rising, aside to Lamorah)
Let icy words hang on thy lips, even while
The fires of Hell do burn in thy heart!
The Lion steps the softest just before
He kills the Fawn! Then shake him by the hand
And smile! The Day must pass! The Night will come!
And this great Watchfire shall not blaze in vain!

(Reenter Endea)
Endea
Talk not to me of love! Oh talk not so!
What love was equal to mother's love?
She who first pillowed me upon her breast,
There, in three Desert Cones, among the flowers,
Whence came the music of the soft-tongued Winds,
To lull me into sweet repose! Alas!
How my rapt soul could love her, did she live,
Seeing it loves her so now she is dead!

Count Julian
Lamorah! look upon this orphaned girl!
For say whose infant cradle once was made
The Wind-locked branches of the flowery Beech—
Has missed father, mother—none but thee,
And great Manito! Press her to thy heart,
For Simighan is dead! Oh! generous Man!
Whose hand was big enough to slay that Man?

Lamorah
(rising as before)
My father slew him! Outalissa! son
Of Miscou! Chief in Cuscovilla's Vale,
Where rolls the mighty river of Mobile—
For so Areskou willed it from above!

Count Julian
Yes! Outalissa killed poor Simighan!
But what were his last dying words to me?
These—“Save my Endea from the savage foe,
And, after she is saved, revenge my death!”
So, last night, his blest soul came down to me,
And in the voice of the departed said,
“Remember Julian! to avenge my death!
The faithless shall receive no joy in Heaven!
And for my Endea's sake—my dear lost child!
Let vengeance fall upon Lamorah's head!”
By all the ties that bind me to this world!
By all the ties that bind me to the dead!
I swore to sacrifice my life to her!

Lamorah
What! taunt me with the curse of one in Hell?
That base Castillian from the land of Spain
Who stole my sister from the Lake of Pearls—
The fairest flower in Cuscovilla's Vale—
Now, he dares come to haunt me from the grave—
Coming to seek—Outalissa's son!
Pile up the faggots that the dog may burn—
For when the Chickaconee comes to sound
The Banqueting of Souls thou shalt behold
Thy brother Simighan in Hell!—Prepare!

Endea
Yes! when the Chickaconee comes to sound
The Banqueting of Souls thou shalt behold
God's golden Angel coming down from Heaven
To take revenge upon you all! Prepare!

Lamorah
Talk not to me of Mercy now! Away
Base traitor! thou hast spoken of my father
But if the tribe of old Lamorah falls,
The Boy, that made you tell me so, shalt die!
Prepare! she is the bride of Ostenee!

Ostenee
(approaching Endea)
Sweet Endea! thou hast heard my father's voice?

Endea
What of his mercy? What said he of the Chase?

Ostenee
The Chase—the War Dance—both are over now.
The Banqueting of Souls will soon begin—
When Julian's soul will go above the stars!

Endea
Whence thine will never go!

Ostenee
Thou didst not hear?
Lamorah says thou art the Forest Beacon.

Endea
Who did he say should have this Forest Beacon?

Ostenee
The Eagle—Ostenee—Lamorah's son.
Thou art my sister—playmate of my heart—
Who made my first tracks in the sand with me.
Thou shalt remember in an evil hour,
When the lank wolf was howling on the shore,
That being overtaken by the Night,
Wandering alone amid the Desert Caves,
Where long reed blades made music in the winds,
Responsive to the Wolf's obstreperous howl—
A furious Tiger, maddened by the Chase,
Grinned horribly in thy love-beaming eyes,
And, crouching closely to the earth, had torn
Thy lovely form in pieces, had this arm
Not laid him helpless, bleeding at thy feet!

Endea
I recollect I broke your eggs this morn—
Lying beside the threshhold of my door—
Spurning them with my foot into the dust!
I told you then, I hated you as sin!
And, now I tell you that I hate you more!
So, never pester me again! Go, mope
About through all this Isle, until the hour
Arrives when you shall be swept from earth!
But I am sorry that I broke your eggs—
Not for the owner's sake—but for the eggs—
For I have always loved the Wood Dove wild,
And would not harm her egglings for the world!

Lamorah
Where is Yanassa? Tell me where he is!

Count Julian
(insultingly)
I am Yanassa from the Land of Souls!

Lamorah
Where is my son? how came you by his garb?

Count Julian
I am Yanassa wearing my own garb!

Lamorah
(in great rage)
Pile up the faggots for his speedy death!
The villian shall not live on this Isle. Prepare!

(The Warriours pile up the faggots around his form.)
Ianthe
(sighing to him)
Tell him, dear Julian! tell him where he is!
If you do know, oh! tell him where he is!
But if you do not know, what will be done?
You cannot lie! see how they bring the wood
Piling it round your precious form to burn
You up in ashes! Oh! my God! my God!
And still you seem regardless of your fate!
What! are you so eager to go with ugly Death?
That life is loveless—hateful to your rights!
You say that your Celuta is your life—
Will you destroy your life by your own death?
Oh! my dear Julian! let me bring your Harp!
Play—sing—they cannot kill you if you sing!
And I will sing with your our Hymns to God,
And that great Resurrection Hymn of yours,
In which you speak so sweetly of our Lord—
How he was glorified, not on the Mount,
But at the Tomb of Joseph when He rose!
And that sweet heavenly Hymn, so soft, sweet,
Built on the dying words of Christ—“I thirst!”
You sang in our great Temple in the Cave—
The Church of Adonai—House of God—
There nights ago, to hear your golden voice
Roll through the labyrinthine aisles afar,
The caverns echoing—still rich and long—
Long after you had ceased to utter song—
Are hearing now—will ever who hears—
Perpetuating still the heavenly strains—
Because God will not let his praises die!
Oh! my dear Julian, let me bring your harp
And we will sing the songs that we love best,
And pray to God that he may love them too,
And they shall be our life songs—not our death!
What say you, Julian? Shall I bring your harp?

Count Julian
They would not understand us should we sing.

Ianthe
Oh! yes they will. They cannot help but hear;
And, hearing, cannot help but melt to tears;
And, melting into tears, they cannot kill!
For music is the language of the skies,
The eloquence of Heaven's High Seraphims;
The golden tongue by which they talk to God—
The silver chain that binds us unto Heaven!

Count Julian
My harp! bring it my dearest love,
Binding my raptured soul in golden chains!

Ianthe
But they will kill you ere I come again!
Behold! Behold! the Avenging Angel comes!
The Angel of poor Endea's dream! He comes! he comes!
To sweep these sinners clear from the earth!
The bright Aerial Car, vermillion toned
Like that in which Elijah rode to God,
High in the zenith, right above this Isle,
Is now descending through Heaven's Ether-sea,
Resplendent—glorious as the setting sun—
Or, like the Moon, ful-faced, just rising up;
Or, like the Morning Star, let down from Heaven
By Angels' hands!

Lamorah
(as if thunderstruck)
He comes! he comes! look up!
Look there!

Ensenore
Fly, Warriours! fly! fly for your lives!

(They all fly in utter confusion, leaving the Ten Fair Virgins, dumb with astonishment, clinging around Count Julian for protection, as the Aerial Car descends upon the Island near them. Ianthe unbinds Count Julian and embraces him with joy).
Endea
(lifting up her hands)
Thank God! thank God! now I can die in peace!

Curtain falls