University of Virginia Library

FIFTH EPOCH. MAN AND FATE.

Scene I.—Early morning. Interior of the fortress-chapel of St. John. Lofty columns, with niches, supporting the nave, on either side. In each niche is an armed statue: and the Senators and chief Ecclesiastical Dignitaries are seated, one under every statue, in their robes of state, to left and right. Behind them, through the spaces between the columns, the rest of the Nobility, armed and in dense masses, is visible. In the background, by the main altar, the Archbishop is seated in a splendid chair, gorgeously clad, and having across his knees an antique sword. Behind and around the altar is grouped the rest of the Priesthood. Orval, bareheaded, kneeling before the altar with a banner in his hand. Organ music.
A Noble in the Crowd.
Mark him! Not Lucifer, ere Heaven he lost
Could have look'd haughtier.

A Second.
Nor young Alexander
When he had conquer'd what, for all he boasts,
Lord Orval hath not conquer'd yet—the world.

A Third.
Ay. And what hath he done, this mimic Mars,
To justify the godship he puts on
So proudly?

The First.
Nothing.

The Second.
For ten foemen fallen
Beneath his sword, a hundred of his own
Have been most rashly wasted.

(Organ ceases.)
First.
Hist! the choice
Of this man to the undeserved command
Of us, men noble as himself—nay, nobler,
Is what . . .

Second.
Behoves us to prevent.

First.
My thought.

Third.
And mine.

Orval.
Here on Thine altar, Lord of Hosts,
That didst to me, Thy faithful soldier, grant
The strength to take it, kneeling, I lay down
This banner, pluckt in battle from Thy foes.

Archbishop.
Servant of God, receive this sacred sword
Which Bouillon's noble Chief in Holy Land
Made famous.

Voices.
Hail to Orval! Orval, hail!

Archbishop.
Next, with the benediction of these hands,
And by the general suffrage of thy peers,
Receive of all our armies, and of this
Renown'd and ancient citadel,—the last
Whence floats our ensign,—the supreme command:
Whom, in the name of all, I now proclaim
General-in-chief.

Voices.
Hail, Orval!

A Voice in the Crowd.
I protest.

Omnes.
Silence! away with him! Hail, Orval! hail!

Orval.
Friends, Fellow-soldiers, Princes, Senators,
If there be any one among you all
That can against mine honest name advance
Aught to disgrace the choice wherewith you grace it,
Let him stand forth, and look me in the face,
And, like a noble gentleman, lay bare
His purpose and his sword.

(Silence.)
Archbishop.
No voice disputes
Thy well-won title.

Omnes.
Hail, Lord Orval! hail!

Orval.
You do accept me for your leader, then?

Omnes.
We do! we do!

Orval.
I cannot promise you
That I will lead you all to victory:
Ask that of God: but I do pledge myself
To lead you all to glory.

Omnes.
Hail!

Orval.
Swear all,
Each on his own good sword, as thus swear I
On noble Godfrey's saintly brand, to Heaven
That hears, and our own hearts, brave gentlemen,
That, long as in our knightly hands be life,
Blood in our veins, or in our bodies breath,
We will not yield up our fair fathers' faith,
The names they won us, or the lands they left;
So swear to live, and so to die at last,
Dying unshamed, when He that gave us life
His gift recalls,—of hunger, if He will,
Hot thirst, or else what honourable men,
Losing all else save honour's self, may win,
Wounds that grace noble life with noble death;
Bequeathing, if nought else, their fathers' fame
Fair to our sons—no heritage of shame!

Omnes.
(The Archbishop raises the cross over the altar, all draw their swords and kneel.)

HYMN

(with organ music as the scene closes).
The Lord is King: and hath put on
Glorious apparelling.
Earth the footstool, Heaven the throne,
Of the Lord, our God and King!
Let God arise, and scatter'd be
All His enemies! and they
That hate Him shall before Him flee,
As smoke that vanisheth away.
Lord, we call Thee from the deep.
Hear our cry, consider well!
Shall He slumber, shall He sleep,
He that watcheth Israel?
Scene II.—Afternoon. Platform on the ramparts.
Voices without.
Way for the wounded!

(The wounded are carried across the stage. Nobles entering in disorder.)
A Count.
Who will surgeon me
This gash? I bleed to death. Chirurgeon ho!
Where's Orval?

A Baron.
Orval? When I saw him last
He was surrounded by our swarming foe,
But fighting still. No lion fiercer.

A Prince.
Well,
It was a desperate sortie.

The Count.
Desperate? ay,
They shambled us like sheep.

The Baron.
All's lost!

Orval
(entering, followed by Andrew and vassals).
Lost? ha!
Who said then “All is lost”? What man of you,
That in his heart hath manhood left and life,
Dare say “All's lost”?

The Prince.
What, Orval? never more
I thought to see thee amongst living men.
Welcome, brave chief! We bleed at every pore.
What's left of us? How long can we hold out?

Orval.
So long as we are living men: no longer.

The Baron.
Count, you have seen that cruel man. How say you,
If we should fall into his bloody hands,
Shall we find mercy?

Orval.
Mercy? ay, my lord!
Such shameful mercy as the hangman grants
The felon that he gibbets—a swift end.
Thy father would have scorn'd such mercy.

The Baron.
Ah,
Then nothing's left but to defend ourselves
As best we may.

Orval.
And you, Prince? What say you?

The Prince.
My lord, a word with you.
(They walk apart.)
All this is well
To put upon the crowd. But you and I
Know that we must capitulate. My lord,
After this day's disastrous end, to think
We can repulse the enemy is not
Courage, but madness.

Orval.
Hush! speak lower, Prince.

The Prince.
Wherefore?

Orval.
'Twere pity if our friends should hear
From one whose name was honourable once
Words that dishonour it. (Aloud.)
Remember, sirs,
That unto him who of surrender speaks
The punishment is death.

The Count, the Baron, and the Prince together.
The punishment
Is death to him that of surrender speaks.

Omnes.
Ay, no surrender! Death, but no surrender!

(They go out.)
Orval.
Where is my son?

Andrew.
In the north tower. He sits
All day upon the flinty step beneath
The iron door that on the dungeons opes,
Singing strange songs.

Orval.
The western bastion arm
More strongly. We are weakest on that side.
See that the wall be double mann'd: this night
They may attack us. Go, good Andrew, ere
The sun sinks from our western outlook mark
The enemy, and bring me word of him.

Andrew.
God help us! O my lord, our soldiers faint.
They are o'erwatch'd.

Orval.
There is no lack of wine
For princely tables in our cellars stored.
Broach them the best.

Andrew.
I will, my lord.

Orval.
See to it.
(Exit Andrew.) (Orval ascends the ramparts, and eyes the plain. from beside the standard of St. John, which is planted on the ramparts.)
Yonder, from his red ramparts of the west,
Into his black and cloudy coffin, sinks
The bloody sun. And yonder spreads the foe.
My day is setting. And, like thee, O sun,
I to a gory grave am going down.
I too, like thee, have travell'd the world round.
Bright be mine end as thine! When we are gone
What shall come after? On what world not ours
Still wilt thou shine, and we, thy peers, be dust,
Who, whiles we yet were living souls, to thee
No homage owed! The days are few and fast.
And soon I,—they,—all these, that keep the forms
And semblances of men, shall be dead clay.
What matter, if, while yet we are, we are
Immortal in the moment we make ours?
O solitude of sovereignty! which they
That creep, and they that soar, aspire to reach,
By no base crawling guile, nor no blind flight,
But with the firm-set footsteps of a man
Whose vision measures what his manful will
Hath made the pathway of his purposes,
I have attain'd to be this day supreme
And paramount arbiter of those that were
My seeming equals yesterday. Content!
My days haste from me, but I grasp myself.
O such as never in the time gone by
I was, when through the dark of dreamless nights
I watch'd the rising of thy nebulous star,
Thou phantom Poësy, am I, who now
Hail life's bright burning brief Reality!
What if my days be number'd, being cramm'd
With numberless delights? And we will cheat
The chary time with memorable deeds
That shall outlive him, and whiles yet he lives
Feed him on passionatest pleasures. War,
Thou grand begetter of immortal men,
Make thou this lean life big with burly lust
Of glory, and fame gotten with a gust!

Scene III.—Night. A Chamber in the Fortress, in the wall of which is an iron door. Muriel is seated on the step of the door. Another door leading to the ramparts.
Orval
(entering from the second door).
A hundred men fresh-breathed to the redoubt!
After the battle they that fought must rest.
See the south battery arm'd.

A Voice behind the Door.
God help us all!

Orval
(laying down his arms).
Dear Muriel, thou hast heard the barking mouths
Of our artillery. But fear not, son!
Our walls are stout. 'Tis not to-night, nor yet
To-morrow, they will fall.

Muriel.
Yes. I have heard
The cannon, Father; but I mind it not.
I have had other cause of fear.

Orval.
For me, lad?

Muriel.
No. For I know thine hour is not yet come.

Orval.
Mine hour! Ay, truce to care! My heart to-night
Is light and vacant. If the raven croaks,
'Tis o'er the corpses of our enemies
Which we have left to feed him in the glen.
I am all thine. Tell me thy pretty thoughts, lad,
And I will hear thee as in the old time
In our old home.

Muriel.
Follow me, Father.

Orval.
Whither?

Muriel
(opening the iron door).
Down to the Dread Tribunal.

Orval.
How, boy? Who
Hath taught thee to undo this iron door?
Hold, Muriel! hold! this gloomy stair leads down
Only to dismal subterranean dens
Where rot the bones of long-forgotten men.

Muriel.
Ay, Father. There, where thine imperial eye
No ray in the eternal midnight finds
To guide thy steps, my spirit its path discerns.
Follow. The darkness to the darkness goes.

(He descends. Orval snatches up the lamp, and follows).
Scene IV.—Vast subterranean dungeons hewn in the rock, and strewn with rusty chains, bones, and old instruments of torture. Cells in various directions barred with iron gratings. The obscurity is feebly lighted by the lamp which Orval holds at the foot of a huge rocky stone; on the top of which Muriel is standing, in a listening attitude.
Orval.
Son! son!

Muriel.
Hush, Father! hush!

Orval.
Come back! come back!

Muriel.
Dost thou not hear their voices?

Orval.
Nothing, boy,
But the eternal silence of the tomb.

Muriel.
Dost thou not see their forms?

Orval.
I can perceive
Only the giant shadows to whose shapes
This wavering flame uncertain motion lends.

Muriel.
I see them. They approach. One after one
Forth troop they from their gloomy dens, and sit
In dismal synod yonder.

Orval.
Wretched boy,
The night-damp's giddy cold doth fever thee!
Boy, wilt thou rob me of the little strength
That's left me, who now need so much? so much!

Muriel.
I see them, Father . . . pale and fearful forms
Dim-garmented, with solemn faces stern,
Assembling to the dreadful Judgment Seat;
Whereto they summon . . . ah, he comes, The Accused!

Orval.
Muriel!

Muriel.
Dost thou hear them?

Orval.
Muriel!

Voices
(faintly, out of the far darkness).
By the rights that from wrongs we have wrung,
By the power that on pain hath been nurtured,
We,—who were strangled and hung,
We,—who were fetter'd and tortured,
Limbs that were gall'd by the gyve,
Flesh that was burn'd in the fire,
Bodies once buried alive
In the midnight and mire,
We arise in the fulness of time:
And, for robes, in our wrongs we array us,
Who are judges at last of the crime
Which the sons for the fathers must pay us.
For the guilty too late is repentance
Now that we, who were victims, are fates:
And Satan our terrible sentence
To execute waits.

Orval.
What seest thou, Muriel?

Muriel.
The Accused! the Accused!

Orval.
Who is he?

Muriel.
Father! Father, 'tis thyself!

Orval.
O boy! O son! Must thou my doomsman be?

The Voices
(growing louder).
Son of a race accurst, in thee
All its crimes completed be:
All its powers united, all
Its grandeurs, grandest in thy fall:
All the passions, all the pride
Which the dead Past deified!
Of thy race the last, yet first,
Thou the greatest, thou the worst,
Highest crown'd, and deepest curst!
Fated son of fatal sires,
In whose glory flash their fires
Brightest as the flame expires!

Orval.
What hearest thou? what art thou gazing at?
Muriel, I charge thee, come! Unman me not.

A Voice in the darkness.
Because thou never hast loved aught, nor ever
Hast aught adored save thine own self, O soul,
Therefore the face of God shalt thou see never.
Evil thy course, Damnation be thy goal!

Orval.
Son, I see nothing. But methinks I hear
From underground, and in the gloomy air
Above me, mutterings, menaces, and moans.

Muriel.
But He now lifts his head, haughty as thine
When thou art anger'd, Father, and responds
To the dread shadows that do challenge him,
With resolute defiance, even as thou
When those whom thou despisest are not weak.

The Voices.
As we, in our wretchedness, wretchedly thou
Shalt perish unburied, unblest, unknown,
And never a tomb upon earth shall show
If the dust beneath it were once thine own.
None shall weep for thee: none shall pray for thee:
Never a parting psalm be sung,
Never a priest shall point death's way for thee,
Never a passing bell be rung.
Swift and sudden thine end shall be,
And bloody and bitter as ours hath been.
With the selfsame chain
To this rock of pain,
Yet black with the blood we have bled in vain,
As thy fathers bound us, do we bind thee,
To bleed unpitied and die unseen!

Orval.
At last I see, and know, ye, Spirits damn'd!

Muriel.
Father, advance not! In the name of Christ
I do beseech thee, Father!

Orval.
Muriel,
What seest thou yet?

Muriel.
A form.

Orval.
Whose form?

Muriel.
Thine own.
Thy second self—thine image—ghastly pale—
Chain'd—and they torture it. I hear it groan.
Forgive me, Father, but . . .

Orval.
My son!

Muriel.
This night
My Mother came, and charged me . . .

(He swoons, and falls.)
Orval.
Nothing else
Was wanting. To the threshold of Hell's Hall
Mine own son drags me. O Veronica,
Implacable Spirit! and Thou, God, to Whom
I have so oft, and so intensely, pray'd,
Is all in vain? Away! down here i' the dark
The shadows overcome me. Up! away!
Back to the light! Where I have yet to combat
With living men. When I have lost or won
That combat, let what else remains begin:
Eternal memory, and eternal pain!

(Exit, bearing Muriel in his arms.)
The Voices (fainting away.)
Because thou never hast loved aught, nor ever
Hast aught adored, but thine own self, O soul,
Therefore shalt thou the face of God see never.
Evil thy course, Damnation be thy goal!

Scene V.—Interior Court of the Fortress, crowded with the besieged nobles; old men, women, and children in various attitudes of distress. Orval in the midst, his arms folded. In front, the envoy of Panurge (an old noble and kinsman to Orval). Cries and confusion in the doors.
Orval.
No. By my son's life, by my dead wife, no!

The Women.
Pity!

Orval.
No Pity. Providence to us
Grants but the last grand general pity—death.

The Women.
Not here! not here! better the hangman's hands.
We die of fever and of famine here.
Our babes are corpses at our milkless breasts.

The Men.
'Sdeath! but we'll hear this honourable man.
Send him not back unheard. We'll hear the Envoy.
He comes commission'd from Panurge's self
To bring us terms. We'll hear him. Speak, old man!

The Kinsman.
Good citizen was I my whole life long.
Good citizen and honest is my heart.
If I have undertaken to come here,
Graced with the confidence of that great man
Who is the People's Representative,
It is because I understand my age,
And recognize its glorious mission.

Orval.
(Exit Andrew.)

A Count.
Orval, thy madness throws us all away.

Other Nobles.
Are we his vassals? 'Sdeath, he shall find out
What we are made of! We'll no more obey him.

The Prince.
This honest Envoy, this good nobleman,
Brings us, I doubt not, honourable terms.
Behoves us hear them in our own behalf.

The Others.
Keeping our lives, we'll yield the citadel.

The Envoy.
The great man who hath sent me grants your lives
To all of you, upon the just condition
That you henceforth become good citizens,
And recognize the age in which it is
Our glorious privilege to live.

Omnes.
Well spoken!
We recognize the age in which it is
Our glorious privilege to live. We wish
To be henceforth good citizens.

Orval.

Nobles
(whispering to each other).
How can we rely
Upon the promise of this renegade?
He brings no written word. Report avers
Panurge never spares when he can smite.

Others.
Ay, that's to pause at. Once in those red hands,
Who knows what worse than death may be our doom?

Others.
Dead men, though, are we now. In all our stores
There's not a crumb of bread left.

The Women.
Men, have mercy
On us, and on your children! Must we starve?
Yonder there's bread enough to feed our slaves
Till they be fat. And here we die by inches.

The Men.
We'll hear the Envoy further.

Others.
No, at once
Surrender. There's no holding out.

Others.
Surrender!
Surrender! we waste time.

The Envoy.
I promise you,
As I have said, your liberties and lives
If you surrender. Pleading for your sakes
Who, though unwise, I yet will hope, my friends,
This much have I obtain'd of that great man
Who with his confidence hath honoured me.

Orval.
(Andrew and Herman enter, with troops.)
(The Envoy runs off.)

Orval.
(Addressing his soldiers in turn.)

Soldiers.
Long live our noble master! long live Orval!

Orval.
See that whatever rests of meat and wine
Be shared among our faithful soldiers, Herman.
Then to the ramparts! Friends, this braggart foe
Shall find there is some life left in us yet.

Herman.
Wine, boys, and meat! then to the ramparts, ho!

Andrew.
The will of God be done! We are all dead men.

Soldiers.
God bless Lord Orval! Wine and meat, lads! Come!

(Exeunt soldiers.)
The Women.
Orval, we curse thee in our children's name!

Children.
God, curse this Orval, for our fathers' sake!

Men.
For our wives' sake we curse thee, Orval!

Orval.
Curse
Yourselves for cowards. To the ramparts, ho!

Scene VI.—Ramparts of St John. Corpses, dismounted cannon, and broken arms scattered over the ground. Distant artillery and shouts of victory outside. Soldiers passing rapidly across the stage. Orval in the breach. Andrew beside him.
Orval
(sheathing his sword).
To conquer danger is to conquer fate.
We have repulsed them.

Andrew.
Our last cartridges
Have served us well. But they must rally soon.
And then . . . . There's not a pound of powder left
Among us all.

Orval.
What! is all spent?

Andrew.
My lord,
No mortal man can conquer destiny.

Orval.
Bring my son to me, Andrew.

Andrew.
Ay, my lord.

Orval
(looking over the wall).
(Seats himself in the breach.)
(Andrew enters with Muriel.)

Andrew.
Even Princes, Counts, and Dukes?

Orval.
(Exit Andrew.)

Muriel.
Father, before the trumpet call'd to arms,
I heard her voice.

Orval.
What said she?

Muriel.
“Son, to-night
Thou shalt be with me.”

Orval.
Nought of me?

Muriel.
Nought else.
Only “Thou shalt be with me, son, to-night.”

Orval.

Muriel.
O Father,
Leave me not! We will go together.

Orval.
Child,
It may not be. Our ways are not the same.
Sad hath the life I gave thee been, my son,
But happiness awaits thee: and, among
Thy kindred cherubs, soon wilt thou forget
The earthly father thou shalt see no more.

Muriel.
What are those cries? I tremble. Hark! they come,
O Father, and the bellowing cannon-mouths
Proclaim it . . . the Last Hour which was foretold!

(The nobles in disorder are driven to the walls, pursued by Andrew and Herman. Firing and shouts without.)
Orval.
On, Herman! On!

A Voice in the Crowd.
You give us broken guns,
No powder and no ball, and bid us stand
Marks to be shot at!

Other Voices.
'Sdeath! How can we keep
These shatter'd walls, unarm'd, half-starved? . . Back! back!

Others.
Back! Whither art thou driving us?

Orval
(with a terrible cry).
To Death!
Son, son, one last embrace! Boy, in this kiss
Would that to thine I could unite my soul
For evermore! But I begin to see
The way that I am going. 'Tis not thine.

(Muriel falls, struck by a ball, and dies.)
Voice in the air.
To me, my Son's pure Spirit!

Orval.
(The enemy begins to appear over the battlements.)
(Exit, followed by all tumultuously.)

Scene VII.—Another part of the platform.
Nobles
(rushing past in disorder).
The Red Flag waves over the Western Fort.
Fly! they are on us.

Forces of the Enemy in pursuit.
Freedom, and No Quarter!

The Envoy
(of Scene V.)
That is the chief lieutenant of Lord Orval.
You know me, all, an honest citizen.
The scoundrel beat, and did misuse me vilely,
When for the People's Cause I pleaded here.
'Tis a blood-thirsty knave. I say, he beat me.
Down with him, honest citizens!

Andrew.
Ha, fox!
The old dog hath a tooth left in his head.

(Wounds the Envoy.)
The Envoy.
The wretch will kill me. Help, good citizens!

Citizens.
That man shot Ralph. We saw him on the wall.
Down with the greybeard! Freedom, and No Quarter!

(Fighting. Andrew falls. They pass on.)
Orval
entering, covered with blood, his sword drawn).
This way they follow'd when those cowards fled.
Who's here? What, Andrew? Art thou down, old friend?
Thou bleedest?

Andrew.
Ay, to death.

Orval.
O brave, and true!
O my old faithful servant!

Andrew.
Let me be.
I am a dying man.

Orval.
I'll leave thee not.

Andrew.
Go, get you gone. I am dying.

Orval.
All that's left
Of Orval, gallant soldier, I give thee
In these true tears. There's no one left on earth
To shed such tears for me.

Andrew.
Then keep thy tears.

Orval.
I'll help thee hence.

Andrew.
I am past help of all
Save the great God into whose hand I fall.
Look to thyself. There's that upon thy soul
I would not have on mine for all the glory
Of all the kingdoms of the world.

(Dies.)
Orval
(flinging his sword over the wall).
(Looks round.)
(Shouting from the wall.)
(He mounts the wall, and gazesover the precipice beneath.)
(He leaps from the wall, and disappears into the abyss beneath.)

Scene VIII.—Interior Court of the Fortress. Flourish of Trumpets. The conquered Nobles, with their wives and children, are led in, chained. After them, Panurge, the Modern Brutus, General Castrocaro (see Epoch IV., Scene III.), and other Revolutionary Chiefs. With them, the Envoy.
Panurge
(addressing the prisoners).
Thy name?

First Prisoner.
Enulphus, Seignior of Beaurain.

Panurge.
A name that shall be heard on earth no more.
Thine?

Second Prisoner.
Guy de Malpas, Lord of Montmirail.

Panurge.
Thou hast pronounced it the last time. And thine?

Third Prisoner.
Pons, Prince of Arden.

Panurge.
Thine?

Fourth Prisoner.
John, Duke of Orm.

Panurge.
Struck from the list of living men, John, Pons!

Castrocaro.
These rascals have our forces held in check
Nigh four whole months: and you see here with what:
Some dozen guns, and obsolete parapets!

Brutus.
How many more of them remain?

Panurge.
Oh, take them!
They are not worth our reckoning. Take them hence,
And make examples of them all . . . save one—
Whatever one of all of them can tell
Where we shall find this Orval.

Several Voices.
When the trump
That call'd our troops in, sounded victory,
Sudden he disappear'd. Till then, we saw him
Here, there, and everywhere, from wall to wall.

The Envoy.
Citizen President, suffer me to speak
As intercessor for these prisoners' lives.
'Tis they, Great Citizen, that did erewhile
(Upon my urging what the love I bear
The People's Cause gave eloquence to urge)
Into my hands deliver up the keys
Of this strong place, where else we had not stood
Triumphant now. Which conduct, I opine,
Deserves the praise of all good citizens,
And proves they are good citizens themselves.

Panurge.
Be silent, citizen! I recognize
No intercessor 'twixt mine own right hand
And my decrees. Thyself shall see them hang'd.
I charge thee with the expedition of it.

Envoy.
Good citizen, my life long, have I been.
The proofs are patent. But I did not serve
The People's Cause to see my kinsmen kill'd
Like common felons . . .

Panurge.
This old Doctrinaire
Is wearisome. Gag him, and hang him tight.
March. Where is Orval? Who can bring us to him?
A sack of gold for Orval dead or alive!
(Enter a Lieutenant).
What news? Hast thou seen Orval?

Lieutenant.
Citizen Chief,
By order of the General Castrocaro
I, with my men, the western ramparts storm'd.
There, as we enter'd, by the parapet
Of the third bastion, we beheld a man
Alone amid the dying and the dead.
“Seize him!” I cried. And at the word our troops
Had well nigh scaled the bastion, when the man
Sprang to the outer rock—there paused—and seem'd
With searching glance to sound the abyss beneath him:
Then spread his arms, and, as a swimmer drops
Into the sea, he plunged. We saw no more:
But heard the body bound from stone to stone
Over the precipice. His sword we found
Under the parapet. Behold it here.

Panurge.
(To Castrocaro.)
(Exeunt all but the Modern Brutus, who approaches Panurge. They seat themselves on the bastion.)

Brutus.
Yon sun that now is setting fast
Shall rise to-morrrow on an alter'd world!
Thou hast watch'd long, and needest rest. Dear Master,
Incessant care hath stol'n a march on age,
And mark'd thy forehead first.

Panurge.
The hour of rest
Is not for me, boy, yet. The last death-groan
Of my grand foe completes but half my task.
Nothing's done yet. All, all remains to do.
From Orval's death my life begins. Look forth.
See yonder plains whose dark immensity,
Beneath us, stretches 'twixt my thoughts and me;
The yet untraversed field of my designs!
Those smouldering homesteads must be palaces:
Those deserts we must people: pierce yon rocks:
With golden harvests clothe those arid tracts:
Dry up those marshes: plant yon barren heath:
Channel this valley, and that waste redeem,
Unite those lakes, and give to each his part
And profit of the soil our swords have won:
Until the living be the dead twice told
In number, and the new world's opulence
Outshine the old world's riches. Until then
We have not justified our first dread deed,
Destruction's drear necessity.

Brutus.
To achieve
Those giant tasks, the God of Liberty
Will give us strength.

Panurge.
What say'st thou of a God?
Here, our foot slips in human blood. That blood
Was once a living thing, which thought, spake, acted.
What is it now? Behind me I can see
Nothing but these dismantled fortress walls;
Before me, nothing but yon wasted plain;
And yet I feel as though, besides us two,
Some one were here.

Brutus.
Why here's what was, indeed,
Some one an hour ago, but nothing now.
See how his corpse is mangled!

Panurge.
Not so much
But I can recognize his face. It was
Lord Orval's faithful servant. That man's name,
I think, was Andrew. But that man is dead,
And has no name now. Or, at least, no name
That we can guess. Yet there's a Spirit here,
A living Spirit (hath It any name?)
A dreadful Spirit of I know not Whom,
And know not What, seems hovering over us.
Mark, Brutus, yon black boulder jutting out
From the steep precipice. There's blood on it.
What if 'twere Orval's? There's no special hue
Of redness to distinguish one man's blood
From any other man's. Yet men's blood differs.
'Tis there he must have fallen.

Brutus.
O my Chief,
Why dost thou tremble?

Panurge.
See'st thou yonder, boy?

Brutus.
Ay.

Panurge.
What?

Brutus.
Why, nothing but the setting sun
Reddening the cloud on yonder mountain peak.
What's to be mark'd in that?

Panurge.
A sign! a sign!
I know it. I have seen it in bad dreams.

Brutus.
Lean upon me. Thy face is white as death.

Panurge.
Millions of men obey me. Multitudes,
Nations in arms. Where is my People?

Brutus.
Hark!
Their cry is yet upon the air beneath us.
Thy People call thee. In their name, and mine,
Pluck those changed eyes from yonder reddening rock!

Panurge.
He stands there, still! Pierced with three nails, which are
Three stars. His arms are stretch'd across the world.
We cannot pass them.

Brutus.
Master, I see nothing.
Away! away!

Panurge.
Vicisti, Galileë!

(He dies.)