Standard Selections Part 4

COUNT GISMOND

ROBERT BROWNING

Christ G.o.d, who savest man, save most Of men Count Gismond who saved me!

Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at length My honor, 'twas with all his strength.

And doubtlessly ere he could draw All points to one, he must have schemed!

That miserable morning saw Few half so happy as I seemed, While being dressed in queen's array To give our tourney prize away.

I thought they loved me, did me grace To please themselves; 'twas all their deed; G.o.d makes, or fair or foul, our face; If showing mine so caused to bleed My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped A word, and straight the play had stopped.

They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen By virtue of her brow and breast; Not needing to be crowned, I mean, As I do. E'en when I was dressed, Had either of them spoke, instead Of glancing sideways with still head!

But no: they let me laugh and sing My birthday song quite through, adjust The last rose in my garland, fling A last look on the mirror, trust My arms to each an arm of theirs, And so descend the castle-stairs--

And come out on the morning-troop Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, And called me queen, and made me stoop Under the canopy--(a streak That pierced it, of the outside sun, Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun)--

And they could let me take my state And foolish throne amid applause Of all come there to celebrate My queen's-day--Oh I think the cause Of much was, they forgot no crowd Makes up for parents in their shroud!

Howe'er that be, all eyes were bent Upon me, when my cousins cast Theirs down; 'twas time I should present The victor's crown, but ... there, 'twill last No long time ... the old mist again Blinds me as it did then. How vain!

See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk With his two boys: I can proceed.

Well, at that moment, who should stalk Forth boldly--to my face, indeed-- But Gauthier, and he thundered, "Stay!"

And all stayed. "Bring no crowns, I say!

"Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet About her! Let her cleave to right, Or lay herself before our feet!

Shall she who sinned so bold at night Unblushing, queen it in the day?

For honor's sake, no crowns, I say!"

I? What I answered? As I live, I never fancied such a thing As answer possible to give.

What says the body when they spring Some monstrous torture-engine's whole Strength on it? No more says the soul.

Till out strode Gismond; then I knew That I was saved. I never met His face before, but, at first view, I felt quite sure that G.o.d had set Himself to Satan; who would spend A minute's mistrust on the end?

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth With one back-handed blow that wrote In blood men's verdict there. North, South, East, West, I looked. The lie was dead, And d.a.m.ned, and truth stood up instead.

This glads me most, that I enjoyed The heart of the joy, with my content In watching Gismond unalloyed By any doubt of the event: G.o.d took that on him--I was bid Watch Gismond for my part: I did.

Did I not watch him while he let His armorer just brace his greaves, Rivet his hauberk, on the fret The while! His foot ... my memory leaves No least stamp out, nor how anon He pulled his ringing gauntlets on.

And e'en before the trumpet's sound Was finished, p.r.o.ne lay the false knight, p.r.o.ne as his lie, upon the ground: Gismond flew at him, used no sleight O' the sword, but open-breasted drove, Cleaving till out the truth he clove.

Which done, he dragged him to my feet And said, "Here die, but end thy breath In full confession, lest thou fleet From my first, to G.o.d's second death!

Say, hast thou lied?" And, "I have lied To G.o.d and her," he said, and died.

Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked --What safe my heart holds, though no word Could I repeat now, if I tasked My powers forever, to a third Dear even as you are. Pa.s.s the rest Until I sank upon his breast.

Over my head his arm he flung Against the world; and scarce I felt His sword (that dripped by me and swung) A little shifted in its belt; For he began to say the while How South our home lay many a mile.

So 'mid the shouting mult.i.tude We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued Their life, untroubled as before I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place G.o.d lighten! May his soul find grace!

Our elder boy has got the clear Great brow; though when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it ... Gismond here?

And have you brought your tercel back?

I just was telling Adela How many birds it struck since May.

THE DEATH OF ARBACES[4]

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON

In the eventful year of the eruption of Vesuvius, there lived in Pompeii a young Greek by the name of Glaucus. Heaven had given him every blessing but one; it had denied him the heritage of freedom. He was born in Athens, the subject of Rome. Succeeding early to an ample inheritance, he had indulged that inclination for travel, so natural to the young, and consequently knew much of the gorgeous luxuries of the imperial court. His ideals in life were high. At last he discovered the long-sought idol of his dreams in the person of Ione, a beautiful, young Neapolitan, also of Greek parentage, who had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,--Genius and Beauty. No wonder that the friendship of these two ripened into a higher love than that which served a theme for the idle gossip of the Roman baths, or the epicurean board of a Sall.u.s.t or a Diomede.

Arbaces, the legal guardian of Ione, was a subtle, crafty, cunning Egyptian, whose conscience was solely of the intellect awed by no moral laws. His great wealth and learning, and his reputation as a magician gave him great power and influence over not only the superst.i.tious worshipers, but also the priesthood of Isis. Shrouding the deceit and vices of a heathen metaphysical philosophy in a brilliant and imposing ceremonial, Arbaces was the better able to gratify his own desires and work out his diabolical scheme.

As Ione just ripened into beautiful womanhood, Arbaces determined to claim her life and her love for himself alone; but his first overture not only met with rebuff, but revealed the fact that she already loved Glaucus. Angered by a fate which not even his dark sorcery could remove, and which the prophecy of the stars had foretold, he is further enraged by the violent opposition of Apaecides, the brother of Ione, who on his own account threatens and has prepared to expose the lewd deceits and hypocrisy of the worship of Isis. Arbaces murders Apaecides, imprisons the priest Calenus, the only witness of the deed, and with great cunning weaves a convicting net of circ.u.mstantial evidence around Glaucus, his hated rival. Glaucus is tried, convicted and doomed to be thrown to the lion.

The day of the sports of the amphitheater had come. The gladiatorial fights and other games were completed. "Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said the editor. Glaucus had been placed in that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals of the arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears shot along the walls.

"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear voice.

"The lion awaits thee."

"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Worthy officer, I attend you."

When he came into the air its breath, which, though sunless, was hot and arid, smote witheringly upon him. They anointed his body, placed the stylus in his hand, and led him into the arena.

And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and tens of thousands upon him, he no longer felt that he was mortal. All evidence of fear--all fear itself--was gone. A red and haughty flush spread over the paleness of his features--he towered aloft to the fullness of his glorious stature. In the elastic beauty of his limbs and form, in his intent but unfrowning brow, in the high disdain, and in the indomitable soul, which breathed visibly, which spoke audibly, from his att.i.tude, his lip, his eye, he a.s.sumed the very incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of the valor of his land--of the divinity of its worship--at once a hero and a G.o.d.

The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime, which had greeted his entrance, died into the stillness of involuntary admiration and half-compa.s.sionate respect; and with a quick and convulsive sigh, that seemed to move the whole ma.s.s of life as if it were one body, the gaze of the spectators turned from the Athenian to a dark uncouth object in the center of the arena. It was the grated den of the lion. Kept without food for twenty-four hours, the animal had, during the whole morning, testified a singular and restless uneasiness, which the keeper had attributed to the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of fear than of rage; its roar was painful and distressed; it hung its head--snuffed the air through the bars--then lay down--started again--and again uttered its wild and far-reaching cries.

The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he looked anxiously around--hesitated--delayed; the crowd became impatient. Slowly he gave the sign; the keeper, who was behind the den, cautiously removed the grating, and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and glad roar of release. The keeper retreated hastily through the grated pa.s.sage leading from the arena, and left the lord of the forest--and his prey.

Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion, with his small and shining weapon raised high, in the faint hope that one well directed thrust might penetrate through the eye to the brain of his grim foe.

At the first moment of its release the lion halted in the arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air with impatient sighs; then suddenly sprang forward, but not on the Athenian. At half speed it circled around and around the arena; once or twice it endeavored to leap up the parapet that separated it from the audience. At length, as if tired of attempting to escape, it crept with a moan into its cage, and once more laid itself down to rest.

The first surprise of the a.s.sembly at the apathy of the lion soon grew into resentment at its cowardice; and the populace already merged their pity for the fate of Glaucus into angry compa.s.sion for their own disappointment. The editor called the keeper.

"How is this? Take the goad, p.r.i.c.k him forth, and then close the door of the den."

As the keeper, with some fear, but more astonishment, was preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the entrances of the arena; there was a confusion--a bustle--voices of remonstrance suddenly breaking forth, and suddenly silenced at the reply. All eyes turned in wonder at the interruption, toward the quarter of disturbance; the crowd gave way, and suddenly Sall.u.s.t appeared on the senatorial benches, his hair disheveled,--breathless--half exhausted. He cast his eyes hastily round the ring. "Remove the Athenian," he cried. "Haste,--he is innocent.

Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian. He is the murderer of Apaecides."