University of Virginia Library

THE VICTIM.

. . . . [High in the parching sun, where Ganges old
Sweeps by the jungles, and broad billows scatters
Upon the burning shores of Hindostan,
Rose a great temple; in no puny age
Fashioned, but built, like Babel, 'gainst the skies.
Based on a rock, and cut in granite stone,
Its pillars and Titanian capitals
Heaved their enormous bulks, till each o'erlooked
Wide India. To some God, whose name is lost,
This wilderness of stone was dedicate.
Millions of quick-eyed slaves, with dusky brows,
All wreathed in white, came here in the old time,
And on the prostrate marble bent, and swore
Allegiance to A Name! Then, amidst storms
Of blood and tears, 'rose Siva, at whose feet
Widows were slain; maidens, whose hearts were warm
With summer love, old age and infancy,
Shrank in his blazing altars, and left gold
Unto the temple's saints for priestly prayers.
Then prayed the priests; and then, while darkness lay
On the dull world, the fierce-eyed Saivans did
Mysterious rites, and their nocturnal songs
Went sounding through the long stone-carvèd aisles
Of Elephanta to brute Juggernaut.
And soon this superstition far outspread:
From Oude to the Deccan; over black Bahar;
From the Arab Seas, across to rank Bengal,
It sprang and flourished; and wherever else
Base human folly crouched to baser guile,
It reigned and made its martyrs. . . . There is one
Far famous in its stories, from whose life,
And from whose death, and from whose after fame,
Some learn a lesson. When the droughts are great,
And their squat idols sit unmoved, the priests
Call on the saintly Muttra. To please him,
They burn a virgin, and scream loose love songs,
And curse the Rajah, Dhur-Singh, long since dead.
He, while he lived, wise prince, did good towards all:
He lived, untouched by grief, for many years;
And, when he died, left children virtuous,
A happy land, which owned his rule was just,
And slumbered in the Indian's Paradise.] . . . .

SCENE I.

—A Garden, near the Ganges.
Rhaida waiting.
RHAIDA.
The sun has set, and now should Meignoun come,
My dear, dear shepherd! All day long he leaves
My soul to wander; but at dark he comes,
Lovelier than night, to his poor Hindoo maid.
Look! On the holy altars flames the fire,
Which holy priests now feed with myrrh and flowers:
That is his signal—hark! he comes, he comes!
No,—no: O, faithless shepherd! 'tis the rush
Of the great Ganges, who doth love her lord
(Her ocean husband) more than thou lov'st me.
Fond fool, he will not come; yet, soft!—he's here!
He is here, and I wrong him. O Meignoun!

Meignoun enters.
MEIGNOUN.
My heart! my dear one!

RHAIDA.
My—my own! (falls into his arms.)
You're come?

MEIGNOUN.
Ay, but I soon must leave thee, sweet Hindoo!
With scarce a kiss from thy rich lip, must I
Seek the great City. Even now, my friends
Are waiting for me on the river banks;
And I must sigh—farewell!

RHAIDA.
Go,—go: farewell!

MEIGNOUN.
To-morrow I will come to thee betimes;
And I will bring with me the nuptial lamp,
And the bright bridal jewels—

RHAIDA.
Come thyself.
O thou, who art beyond all gems to me!
Bring me thyself; or (if thou wilt aught else),
E'en bring one lotus lily for my breast,
And swear upon't that thou wilt love me ever.

MEIGNOUN.
I'll do't, thou jealous girl; yet I have sworn,
A thousand times already, 'neath the stars,
To love,—and I do love thee.

RHAIDA.
Swear't again.
Never too often can a lover vow:
So once more vow, and I will list to thee
With ears more greedy than the mother owns,
When on her first-born's stammering words she hangs,
And thanks sweet Heaven for Music. Wilt thou love me?

MEIGNOUN.
I love thee now.

RHAIDA.
But ever, ever love me?

MEIGNOUN.
I love thee, and will love thee. Tush! not so
The summer nightingale shall haunt the rose:
Not Kunya (when 'mongst village maids he dwelt,
In his bright boyhood, and did woo, and win),
E'er loved as I will love. I'll bear thee hence
A bride more envied—

RHAIDA.
O thou vain, vain shepherd!

MEIGNOUN.
How?—but you chide me well: I had forgot.
I dreamt, as oft I dream, and sometimes hope.
A shepherd? that was true; yet, in past times,
The shepherd's sword hath cut its way to power.
I'll come and re-demand thee.

RHAIDA.
'Twill be vain.
And yet, if thou wouldst cast this cloak aside,
And tell us thy true name and parentage—?

MEIGNOUN.
Suppose, sweet, I should be that fierce Decoit,
Whose very name is terror to the land,
The river-robber, Kemaun?—Dost thou shrink?
Fear not: your Rajah tracks him where he lurks,
In the dark jungles. He has braved the law;
And powerful hands are on him.

RHAIDA.
Let him go.
You smile! ha! what art thou? Speak! Have I given
My whole heart to—

MEIGNOUN.
A robber? Dream not so.
Yet,—being a robber, he's a potent one;
Next to your prince in power. But I must go:
And, ere I go, one word of your fierce father:
I swore (as thou rememberest) to come back,
And from his lips force gentler words. Now, mark!
That hour is near; and, for the subtle slave
Who whispered lies in thy harsh father's ear,
I'll bring his fit reward.

RHAIDA.
He is too base—

MEIGNOUN.
[Voices are heard singing at a distance.

RHAIDA.
Must you go?

MEIGNOUN.
Dost hear the river surging 'gainst its banks?

RHAIDA.
It murmurs like a tender bride, methinks:
“Leave me not, love,” it says, “so soon this night,
When heaven looks kind on earth, and earth is happy.”

MEIGNOUN.
The storm is coming. If I more delay
We shall not 'scape the ambush. Love, farewell.

[Exit quickly.
RHAIDA.
His step grows faint,—and fainter; all is still.

[Listening.
Muttra comes out of a thicket of shrubs.
MUTTRA.
So, he is gone. Come forward; all is quiet.

The Zemindar enters.
ZEMINDAR.
Now, now, where is she? Ah, look where she stands,
The fool, still dreaming of that base Decoit,
That water robber, whom I more abhor
Than poison: but I'll wake her. Girl!

[Strikes her.
RHAIDA.
Ah, father.

MUTTRA.
Ho, ho! ho, ho!— (Aside.)
She will burn famously.
Those snaky locks, with which she snares men's hearts,
That tongue, with which she scorns them—she scorned me.

ZEMINDAR.
What, are you dumb?

MUTTRA
(aside).
Not yet: but soon she shall be.
Her ancles, silver-bound, her round soft arms,
Her bosom with his white love leaves upon it,
All shall consume: the priests are ready for her;
The flames are hungry, and my heart's ablaze
With a brave fury. (To Zemindar)
—Shall both die by fire?

ZEMINDAR.
Go in, and wait. (Rhaida exit.)
What say you? both by fire?
No; she may burn, because her blood will wash
A dark blot from my house: but he—come near!
I've dug a hole beneath my peepul trees,
And in't we'll tumble him. To-morrow night,
When his blood beats hot, we'll shut him up.

MUTTRA.
Ho, ho!
What alive? alive?

ZEMINDAR.
Ay, full of life and lust.
We'll cool his dreams, the while we quench his courage.

MUTTRA.
I love thee: good! But he will die—too soon?

ZEMINDAR.
No: I have fenced his grave all round with stone,
And pierced the lid with holes. Thro' these same holes,
The music of his screams shall soothe our ears.
Three days and nights I'll live beside his grave,
And listen—while he starves.

MUTTRA.
O brave! O brave!
Come, let us look upon this pretty place.
Come on, come on. Beneath the peepul trees?
Was it not there? This is the shortest path.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—Same place. Time, the next evening.
Muttra and the Zemindar are passing along; Kemaun meets them.
KEMAUN.
Stay, stop! a word with you.

ZEMINDAR.
What dog is here?
A Pariah? Strike him down.

KEMAUN.
'Tis not ill said;
But hard blows must be struck ere that be done.
What say you,—shall we fight?

MUTTRA
(to the ZEMINDAR).
Peace! do not touch him:
'Tis a strange fellow; very brave and honest,
But strange, as you may see. He brings me news
Of matters afar off, and (with your leave,)
I would be private with him. Farewell, now;
[Zemindar exit.
I'll follow soon. Now, then, is all prepared?

KEMAUN.
Who is that little withered, winter thing,
Whose knees go knocking by the bamboo stalks?

MUTTRA.
'Tis the Zemindar.

KEMAUN.
So!—I'll take his money
With a free heart. Nature has written dupe,
And cheat, and miser, in his reptile looks:
That's well; we'll strip him of his golden skin,
And tie him to a tree. His girl, you say—

MUTTRA.
May live; yes,—'twill be better she escape.
(Aside.)
She touched my humour, as she moved away:
Methought her walk was like an antelope's;
Her eyes are jewel-like; sweet words she has;
Soft limbs, bright ringlets, and a swan-like gait.
My mind is changed; I would not have her burn,
Till she grows old, and then—the wood may blaze.

KEMAUN.
And, if I rescue her?

MUTTRA.
And keep her for me,
I'll show thee where her father hides his gold.

KEMAUN.
Good; thou shalt have a third: that and the girl
Thou'lt fairly earn by thy bold treachery.

MUTTRA.
How, treachery?

KEMAUN.
Ay,—oh, that offends thee? Tush,
We on the river care not for such things:
We speak our minds and stab; a plain good way,
And saves a load of trouble. Now I'll leave thee.
My rogues are skulking in the thicket there,
And wait for orders. When this horn is blown,
[Gives it.
I'll come and make the priests stare.

MUTTRA.
Do not drag
Their curse on me.

KEMAUN.
Oh no. I know thou art
Half priest, and three parts saint, and all a knave.
Do I not know thee, Muttra? thou hast done—

MUTTRA.
Bad deeds, I know't, but I do mortify
My flesh with fast, and score my back with stripes;
Have I not lain on the jagged iron,—ha!
Cankered my tongue? and swung upon a hook?

KEMAUN.
Peace, you blind cheat, how dare you brag to me?
What! taunt me with your virtues?

MUTTRA.
I have done:
Let us not quarrel, who are now allies.
Retire, and wait the signal. Nay, retire.

KEMAUN
(aside).
Now let me have both gold and girl, and then—

[Exit.
MUTTRA.
The cut-throat infidel robber!—he is gone.
I breathe more freely. He will do the sin,
And I reap the sweet profit: that is right.
When all is won, I'll lead the Rajah where
The villain hides: none know where 'tis but I.

Messenger entering.
MESSENGER.
The priests are waiting for thee, holy Muttra.
The victim which you promised hath not come.
Haste! for the Rajah will be there to-day,
And sacrifice to Siva.

MUTTRA.
Say I come.
[Messenger exit.)
'Twill be a glorious day. The Rajah come?
Well, we must wait until he leave the shrine,
And then do our design. Now, what's the matter?

Kemaun, entering.
KEMAUN.
The wood's surrounded: half the Rajah's troops—

MUTTRA.
Fear not; 'tis nothing. He does sacrifice;
And all his Court attend: 'tis ever thus.
Go, hide your men; there, 'midst the underwood;
And when the Rajah's gone, I'll blow the horn.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

—A Hindoo Temple.
Priests are officiating, and votaries kneeling.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
Pour the attar,—more and more!
Flowers, and leaves, and spices heap;
Gums, and oils, and odours pour,
Lest the burning altar sleep!
Look, it sinks—the holy flame!
Why is not the victim brought?
Once, if called, the Hindoo came
Swifter than the flight of thought!

A HINDOO.
I am here, as soon as sought.

OTHERS.
I am here;—and I;—and I:
There are none who shrink or fly.

CHORUS.
Why doth the doomèd victim stay?
Full of sin is base delay:
Quick, or soon shall sound a curse,
Amidst the thunder of our verse.
Call her with resistless voice!

CHIEF PRIEST.
Come!

The Zemindar, Rhaida, and Muttra, are seen approaching.
CHORUS.
She comes. Rejoice, rejoice!

AIR.
Soothe her soul with song,
Like a silver shower,
Sweet, and bright, and strong:
'Tis her conquering hour!
Let the music steal,
Like a hidden river,
Through her, till she feel
Crowned and blessed for ever!

The Zemindar crowns his daughter.
RHAIDA.
Why am I brought here?—Ha! what means the crown?
I am no victim sentenced to the fire.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Come forward!

RHAIDA.
Hark, he calls on some one. Hush!

ZEMINDAR.
He calls on thee!

RHAIDA.
Ah! no, no: kill me not.

[Falls.
CHIEF PRIEST.
Whence comes this! Was she not prepared? 'twas wrong.
The Rajah will himself come here to-day,
And pray for aid in some great enterprise;
Till then we shall not stain the altar foot.
Take her aside, meantime, and counsel her.

[Rhaida is taken out.
VOICES without.
VOLICES
The Rajah comes! the Rajah!

A PRIEST.
Hear'st thou the shouts? he comes.

CHIEF PRIEST.
I hear them, brother.
The bold, freethinking Dhur-Singh, comes, I know;
But here, in our own temple, he must droop
His lion aspect and obey the law.
Hail, Maharajah!

The Rajah enters, attended.
RAJAH
(to an Officer).
See they be secure.
Health to the priests of Siva! I am come
To share your holy rites, and offer prayers,
Woods, leaves, and spices, (for I shed no blood,
Save that of foes,) before a God's great shrine.
Bring here the basket. Look, I offer these;
Myrrh, aloes, sacred oils, rich sandal-wood,
And flowers, which you confess even Siva loves:
Take them; and pray that I may free the land
(Else all at peace,) from murderous men, who've turned
Our holy Ganges to a place of spoil,
Robbed the poor peasant, slain the sucking babe,
Fired happy homes, and wheresoe'er they've been,
Left death, and violation, and despair!

[The presents are offered.
CHIEF PRIEST.
The offerings are accepted. See, they burn.
And now, great Rajah, we will sacrifice
A living creature at the altar foot,
A maid who ne'er was wooed, betrothed, nor won.
Go, fetch the victim.

[Priest goes out.
RAJAH.
Doth she wish to burn?

CHIEF PRIEST.
Her father brings her. On his house a blot
Hath dwelt for a hundred years; no good stays with him;
His acts ne'er prosper; he is loved by none;
His dreams are bad; his peasants starve; his friends—
He hath no friend; and therefore (and because
He loves great Siva) doth he this day bring
His daughter for a maiden sacrifice.

RAJAH.
Methinks himself should smart for his own sins.
And she?

CHIEF PRIEST.
She trembles. Human blood will shake,
Sometimes, in dread of the last agony;
But we will pray such fault may be forgiven,
And bid her father fast for one whole day:
She shall not die in vain.

Priest enters with Rhaida, the Zemindar, &c.
PRIEST.
The maiden's here.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Come forward. Girl, approach.

RHAIDA.
O spare me, spare me!

RAJAH
(tenderly).
Come hither, Rhaida!

RHAIDA
(screams).
Ha!—who spoke to me?

ZEMINDAR.
The Rajah spoke. (Aside.)
Methinks I know his voice.

RHAIDA.
Where? Where? The Rajah? Ha, Meignoun! 'Tis he!
I'm safe, I'm safe!

[Sinks on her knees.
RAJAH.
Did they not say this girl
Was unaffianced?

CHIEF PRIEST.
Ay, unwooed, unsought.

RAJAH.
They told thee false, and they deserve to die.
She is affianced; nay, she should have been
This night a bride.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Whose bride, O Rajah?

RAJAH.
Mine.
Come forward, Rhaida. Look! I take her hand,
And in your holy temple own her mine.
Priest, seek some other victim.

(Kemaun enters by stealth, and mixes with the crowd. The place is surrounded by troops.)
CHIEF PRIEST
(pauses).
Mighty Rajah,
I grieve that 't should be thus; but she is doomed!
The God himself, in his own voice, hath asked
A victim, and I dare not disobey:
I dare not offer one of less degree.

RAJAH.
Then must we strait do justice. Stand apart!
[Kneels.
Terrible Siva! if this maid be thine,
Devoted, and not slain by human hate,
Speak to thy servant, who now kneels before thee.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Arise! The marble hath a thousand tongues,
And might, if so it willed, now answer thee.

RAJAH.
Peace, holy man, do I not know't? The God,
Whose strong divinity is masked in stone,
Is free as air; his spirit still hath power
To will, and make his marble limbs obey,
His marble tongue to speak. Is it not so?

CHIEF PRIEST.
'Tis so.

RAJAH.
Then speak, O Siva! If thy wrath
Demand this maiden for thy altar fires,
Speak, and she comes. But, if no word of thine
Be heard in answer, I pronounce her—free!
Behold her! She was lured by falsehood hither;
And they who brought her have affronted thee,
By offering a false martyr. She is wooed,
Won, almost wed; and by thy awful law,
Is unfit for the altar. Terrible God,
If thou delightest, as 'tis said, in blood,
Yet sure thou lov'st it most when justly shed.
Know, we have now a victim fit for thee;
One who, though priest and saint, deserves to die.
Spare, then, this innocent maid!—Once more, if thou
Speak'st not, she's free. No answer? Maid, approach!
The God whom now we worship gives no sign.

CHIEF PRIEST.
The sign you call for, yesternight was made;
And I did see it.

RAJAH.
Was the victim named?

CHIEF PRIEST.
No name: a victim only.

RAJAH.
He shall have
A saintly victim, who is doomed to die;
Doomed by the law and me.

[Claps his hands. Muttra and Kemaun are secured.
PRIESTS.
This place is sacred, Prince.

RAJAH.
Peace, peace, vain men.
Justice is done in heaven; why not here?
Bring forth the prisoners. Men, stained black with crimes,
(All by confession and strong proofs made plain)
Prepare, for ye must die! Kemaun, thou hast
One lonely virtue, an undaunted mind:
For this (so much I reverence valiant hearts),
I give thee choice how thou wilt die to-day.
Speak, and begone!

KEMAUN.
The robber's death for me.
A tamer end would blot the fame I've earned:
Death and renown be mine!

RAJAH.
Take him away.
[Kemaun exit, guarded.
For thee, thou baser villain, death by fire:
That is thy doom, which none shall mitigate.
(To Officer.)
Stay thou, and see it done. He is the worst,
More base, more false, more without touch of pity,
Than ever I did think a man could be.
One more there is; her father.

OFFICER.
Must he die?

RAJAH.
No; let him live; but in a foreign land.
We will not touch a hair that's kin to her.
[Turns towards Rhaida.
And now, thou tenderest heart, and loveliest bride,
That ever made the world more beautiful,
Bright'ning with smiles the aye-recurring Spring,
What shall be done with thee? Why, thou must go
Unto a prison; look! to these fond arms;
Whilst I, thy Prince, shall feel more honoured,—more,
With thee thus near me, sweet,—than were I crowned
With garlands, red with conquest, or now hailed
By all wide India as her chosen King!