Dioclesian A dramatic poem. By Thomas Doubleday |
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Scene I.—Constantine's Palace.
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Scene I.—Constantine's Palace.
Constantine.(Alone.)
The spirit of the storm let loose his winds
And pour his squadrons of fierce rain and hail
Upon the frighted champaign, the scar'd zephyrs
Wing to-and-fro, in terror; the dim groves
Are hush'd and mute in awe; the while green Nature,
Taking complexion from the livid heaven,
Grows dark in expectation. Even so,
When Fate doth thicken, and portentous change
Lours on the nations, do the souls of men
With prophecies, and fears, and prodigies
As if the mental eye contemplated
The forward shadow of calamity.
—Such clouds are now abroad. At noon, 'tis said
The sacred sign
This marvel is chronicled as having actually happened during the reign of Queen Mary, The passage occurs in an old Book entitled “Memorial for the Learned,” a quaint collection of singular and not over well authenticated stories. It is this:— “In her second year, on the 15th day of July, there appeared in the skye a Rainbow reversed; the bow turning downwards and the two ends standing upwards.”
Stood in the sky revers'd: and there are those
Who tell that 'neath the blue, unsullied cope,
At Phœbus' height, nor blotted of a cloud,
The grey hair'd shepherds' tranquil sleep have oft
The sudden thunders broken.
We know not how nor why; across the mind
Obscure and shadowy thinkings force themselves
Which will cannot forbid—ev'n as the rack
Doth breast and countersail the restless wind,
That blows as if in strife, to beat it back
I know not. Knowing only of that dread
Which hath no tongue to speak, and on whose ear
Albeit open to the veriest breath,
No mortal voice hath dared to breathe; nor heav'n
Vouchsafes to whisper. Mine imaginings
Shift to and fro; nor to the forethought act
Doth the good angel in his former wont
Seem say “success,” in music.
Methinks, a strain of music. It swells louder
(A distant solemn Symphony and Hymn.)
It is proper to observe that this Hymn is in part derived from that of Prudentius (the proto-poet of Christianity,) on the Epiphany. The first lines are these.
“Oculos in Altum tollite,
“Illic licebit visere
“Signum perennis Gloriæ,
“Haec Stella, quæ solis rotam
“Vincit decore ac Lumine,
“Venisse terris nunciat,
“Cum carne terrestrî, Deum.”
Cathemerinon. ΨΜΝΥΣ XII.
Let them behold, to whom alone 'tis due,
The film removed, for ever, from their eyes,
To watch it 'mid yond airy kingdoms blue.
With the faint moon it doth not climb on high:
The swarth night bows, with all her shadows dun;
And fair-hair'd morn drops down th' adoring eye.
Queen of the night, o'er-peering the dim moon.
Unblenched of the angry meteors' wing;
Softer than Eve; and brighter than the Noon!
Let thy sole eye reign with unrivall'd ray.
Quit—all ye vassal orbs Heav'ns trembling cope
And into other empires shrink away.
Unto the guiding star, first seen of those
Who found their God in Bethle'm. After this,
Silence seems doubly hallow'd; as if sound,
Of human deed or thought, should hence profane
No more the blessed air—
(Hymn continued).
The shrouding clouds before Arcturus rest:
But thou smil'st ever from thy zenith's height,
Nor Ocean dares to woo thee to his breast.
Down, from the Pole, their glitt'ring cars are driven.
And Lucifer, the bright, hath fall'n from Heaven.
Day-break divine, first saw in heaven aspire;
Still follow'd of that star-awed Archimage,
Till Bethlehem bid rest the journeying Fire.
Tremble, ye Demons! spawn of night, abhorr'd!
Tremble ye faithless! for to ye that ray
Doth symbol not of Peace—but of a sword.
Day smiles: the nighted dew in vapour flies.
So melts the night that hung o'er the forlorn,
And the tears pass for ever from their eyes.
Lift up your eyes, that dwelt amid the dust.
The night hath pass'd away; and lo! our morrow!
Beam of our life, and Lode-star of our trust!
(After an agitated pause.)
Than those who breath'd it reck'd of; and mine thoughts
Disjointed until now, troublous and dim,
Arrange themselves, and put on form and hue
The prototypes of act;—arising like
The antique Thebes in music. (He pauses.)
Once more, O! Dioclesian, I will know thee
By proof of mine own eyes; and knowing aught
Thou would'st conceal,—that knowledge is the last;
That feign'd abstraction, and the weariness,
Unnatural, of Empire.—When before
Died strong ambition ever? Cleopatra
A while may mesh a Cæsar in her toils,
And seem to hold him firmly, who, the while
He wantons with her hair, doth forge fresh thoughts
Of chainless domination, which, at height,—
Her beauty stays no more.
Because the giant Oak doth stoop to earth
His huge and shadowy limbs, the lofty head
Aspires no nearer Heav'n? It cannot be.—
—Greatness may weary, but its heaviest sleep
Hath dreams beyond, which lacquey that repose
For memory i' the waking.—Yon proud man
Builded in Pride his Empire. He reck'd not
Are humbleness and love. Yea: deem'd, in scorn,
It is certain that Dioclesian and his colleague Maximian believed, or affected to believe, that they had succeeded in finally putting down the Christian Religion. Some inscriptions of the period commemorating the overthrow of the Christians, are preserved in Gruter. In this persecution, however, Dioclesian seems to have had strong misgivings. Before commencing it, he is asserted to have applied to the oracle of Apollo. “Misit Aruspicem (says Lactantius) ad Apollinem Milesium. Respondit ille ut divinæ Religionis Inimicus.” An answer which, if correctly given, is one of the best proofs of the power to which Christianity had at that time arrived. Had the Christians been less influential, it is pretty clear the reply would have been different.
That it was drown'd and smother'd in the blood
Of its own saints; and must be ever dumb,
Because their tongues were out. Vain hope! Behold
The seeming dead ariseth, and he reigns
Whom erst they crown'd with thorns. He reigns, and now
He, the Imperial enemy, doth own
Some touch of that worst madness
That Dioclesian was, for a time, deranged, Lactantius is I believe the sole testimony; and the evidence of an enemy is perhaps always to be a little suspected. Gibbon, who quotes the description of his illness, leaves out the concluding sentence in which this charge is contained. He was not likely, of all men, to credit the unsupported testimony of an adversary, because that adversary was one of the Fathers. The sentence is as follows:—
“Et ille Idibus Decembribus morte sopitus animam receperat, nec tamen totam:—Demens enim factus est, ita ut certis horis insaniret, certis resipisceret.”
De Mort: Pers. Cap. XVII.Who hate, but cannot strike.
Hispo.
Better—if well to Constantine august,
Than fate itself could make it.
Mark me, Hispo.
I need thee on the sudden. Thou art prompt.
—Dispose, without a moment's pause, two squadrons
Of chosen horse;—men on whom faith may rest
If faith be needed—to escort me hence.
And, ere I go, be sure dispatch closed orders,
To Caius Floculus and to Salinator,
To march their Legions nearer.—Hark! be sure
That they be ready;—aye, and on the sudden,
To move whereto I will.
Hispo.
I fly, my Lord—
And ere I go wait but to be informed,
That mine preparement may accord with it,
How far may point this destination?
True; thou art right.
Even to Salona. Follow me.
[Exit.
Hispo,
(remains.)
And whither then?—
Thus the once-crown'd, for ever, are beset
With Fear and Envy: nor can e'er again
Trust lean upon that bosom which hath worn
The robe imperial—tho' it wears, no more.
For as the snake that casteth off his skin
Is still a snake; e'n so th' unermined King
Can fling not off his nature, to our fears;—
And men still doubt, and dread.—
[Exit. Hispo.
| Dioclesian | |