The Saint's Tragedy Part 30

1st Monk. Once too often for him. His face is too, too like Abel's in the chapel-window. Ut sis vitalis metuo, puer!

Ger. Hail, fathers. I have asked permission of the prior to minister your refection, and bring you thereby the first news of the pageant.

1st Monk. Blessings on thee for a good boy. Give us the trenchers, and open thy mouth while we open ours.

2d Monk. Most splendid all, no doubt?

Ger. A garden, sir, Wherein all rainbowed flowers were heaped together; A sea of silk and gold, of blazoned banners, And chargers housed; such glorious press, be sure, Thuringen-land ne'er saw.

2d Monk. Just hear the boy!

Who rode beside the bier?

Ger. Frederic the Kaiser, Henry the Landgrave, brother of her husband; The Princesses, too, Agnes, and her mother; And every n.o.ble name, sir, at whose war-cry The Saxon heart leaps up; with them the prelates Of Treves, of Coln, and Maintz--why name them all?

When all were there, whom this our fatherland Counts worthy of its love.

1st Monk. 'Twas but her right.

Who spoke the oration?

Ger. Who but Conrad?

2d Monk. Well-- That's honour to our house.

1st Monk. Come, tell us all.

2d Monk. In order, boy: thou hast a ready tongue.

Ger. He raised from off her face the pall, and 'Lo!'

He cried, 'that saintly flesh which ye of late With sacrilegious hands, ere yet entombed, Had in your superst.i.tious selfishness Almost torn piecemeal. Fools! Gross-hearted fools!

These limbs are G.o.d's, not yours: in life for you They spent themselves; now till the judgment-day By virtue of the Spirit embalmed they lie-- Touch them who dare. No! Would you find your Saint, Look up, not down, where even now she prays Beyond that blazing orb for you and me.

Why hither bring her corpse? Why hide her clay In jewelled ark beneath G.o.d's mercy-seat-- A speck of dust among these boundless aisles, Uprushing pillars, star-bespangled roofs, Whose colours mimic Heaven's unmeasured blue, Save to remind you, how she is not here, But risen with Him that rose, and by His blaze Absorbed, lives in the G.o.d for whom she died?

Know her no more according to the flesh; Or only so, to brand upon your thoughts How she was once a woman--flesh and blood, Like you--yet how unlike! Hark while I tell ye.'

2d Monk. How liked the mob all this? They hate him sore.

Ger. Half awed, half sullen, till his golden lips Entranced all ears with tales so sad and strange, They seemed one life-long miracle: bliss and woe, Honour and shame--her daring--Heaven's stern guidance, Did each the other so outblaze.

1st Monk. Great signs Did wait on her from youth.

2d Monk. There went a tale Of one, a Zingar wizard, who, on her birthnight, He here in Eisenach, she in Presburg lying, Declared her natal moment, and the glory Which should befall her by the grace of G.o.d.

Ger. He spoke of that, and many a wonder more, Melting all hearts to worship--how a robe Which from her shoulders, at a royal feast, To some importunate as alms she sent, By miracle within her bower was hung again: And how on her own couch the Incarnate Son In likeness of a leprous serf, she laid: And many a wondrous tale till now unheard; Which, from her handmaid's oath and attestation, Siegfried of Maintz to far Perugia sent, And sainted Umbria's labyrinthine hills, Even to the holy Council, where the Patriarchs Of Antioch and Jerusalem, and with them A host of prelates, magnates, knights, and n.o.bles, Decreed and canonised her sainthood's palm.

1st Monk. Ma.s.s, they could do no less.

Ger. So thought my master-- For 'Thus,' quoth he, 'the primates of the Faith Have, in the bull which late was read to you, Most wisely ratified the will of G.o.d Revealed in her life's splendour; for the next count-- These miracles wherewith since death she shines-- Since ye must have your signs, ere ye believe, And since without such tests the Roman Father Allows no saints to take their seats in heaven, Why, there ye have them; not a friar, I find, Or old wife in the streets, but counts some dozens Of blind, deaf, halt, dumb, palsied, and hysterical, Made whole at this her tomb. A corpse or two Was raised, they say, last week: Will that content you?

Will that content her? Earthworms! Would ye please the dead, Bring sinful souls, not limping carcases To test her power on; which of you hath done that?

Has any glutton learnt from her to fast?

Or oily burgher dealt away his pelf?

Has any painted Jezebel in sackcloth Repented of her vanities? Your patron?

Think ye, that spell and flame of intercession, Melting G.o.d's iron will, which for your sakes She purchased by long agonies, was but meant To save your doctors' bills? If any soul Hath been by her made holier, let it speak!'

2d Monk. Well spoken, Legate! Easier asked than answered.

Ger. Not so, for on the moment, from the crowd Sprang out a gay and gallant gentleman Well known in fight and tourney, and aloud With sobs and blushes told, how he long time Had wallowed deep in mire of fleshly sin, And loathed, and fell again, and loathed in vain; Until the story of her saintly grace Drew him unto her tomb; there long prostrate With bitter cries he sought her, till at length The image of her perfect loveliness Transfigured all his soul, and from his knees He rose new-born, and, since that blessed day, In chastest chivalry, a spotless knight, Maintains the widow's and the orphan's cause.

1st Monk. Well done! and what said Conrad?

Ger. Oh, he smiled, As who should say, ''Twas but the news I looked for.'

Then, pointing to the banners borne on high, Where the sad story of her nightly penance Was all too truly painted--'Look!' he cried, ''Twas thus she schooled her soft and shuddering flesh To dare and suffer for you!' Gay ladies sighed, And stern knights wept, and growled, and wept again.

And then he told her alms, her mighty labours, Among G.o.d's poor, the schools wherein she taught; The babes she brought to the font, the hospitals Founded from her own penury, where she tended The leper and the fever-stricken serf With meanest office; how a dying slave Who craved in vain for milk she stooped to feed From her own bosom. At that crowning tale Of utter love, the dullest hearts caught fire Contagious from his lips--the Spirit's breath Low to the earth, like dewy-laden corn, Bowed the ripe harvest of that mighty host; Knees bent, all heads were bare; rich dames aloud Bewailed their cushioned sloth; old foes held out Long parted hands; low murmured vows and prayers Gained courage, till a shout proclaimed her saint, And jubilant thunders shook the ringing air, Till birds dropped stunned, and pa.s.sing clouds bewept With crystal drops, like sympathising angels, Those wasted limbs, whose sainted ivory round Shed Eden-odours: from his royal head The Kaiser took his crown, and on the bier Laid the rich offering; dames tore off their jewels-- Proud n.o.bles heaped with gold and gems her corse Whom living they despised: I saw no more-- Mine eyes were blinded with a radiant mist-- And I ran here to tell you.

1st Monk. Oh, fair olive, Rich with the Spirit's unction, how thy boughs Rain balsams on us!

2d Monk. Thou didst sell thine all-- And bought'st the priceless pearl!

1st Monk. Thou holocaust of Abel, By Cain in vain despised!

2d Monk. Thou angels' playmate Of yore, but now their judge!

Ger. Thou alabaster, Broken at last, to fill the house of G.o.d With rich celestial fragrance!

[Etc. etc., ad libitum.]

SCENE II

A room in a convent at Mayence. Conrad alone.

Con. The work is done! Diva Elizabeth!

And I have trained one saint before I die!

Yet now 'tis done, is't well done? On my lips Is triumph: but what echo in my heart?

Alas! the inner voice is sad and dull, Even at the crown and shout of victory.

Oh! I had hugged this purpose to my heart, Cast by for it all ruth, all pride, all scruples; Yet now its face, that seemed as pure as crystal, Shows fleshly, foul, and stained with tears and gore!

We make, and moil, like children in their gardens, And spoil with dabbled hands, our flowers i' the planting.

And yet a saint is made! Alas, those children!

Was there no gentler way? I know not any: I plucked the gay moth from the spider's web; What if my hasty hand have smirched its feathers?

Sure, if the whole be good, each several part May for its private blots forgiveness gain, As in man's tabernacle, vile elements Unite to one fair stature. Who'll gainsay it?

The whole is good; another saint in heaven; Another bride within the Bridegroom's arms; And she will pray for me!--And yet what matter?

Better that I, this paltry sinful unit, Fall fighting, crushed into the nether pit, If my dead corpse may bridge the path to Heaven, And d.a.m.n itself, to save the souls of others.

A n.o.ble ruin: yet small comfort in it; In it, or in aught else---- A blank dim cloud before mine inward sense Dulls all the past: she spoke of such a cloud-- I struck her for't, and said it was a fiend-- She's happy now, before the throne of G.o.d-- I should be merry; yet my heart's floor sinks As on a fast day; sure some evil bodes.

Would it were here, that I might see its eyes!

The future only is unbearable!

We quail before the rising thunderstorm Which thrills and whispers in the stifled air, Yet blench not, when it falls. Would it were here!

[Pause.]

I fain would sleep, yet dare not: all the air Throngs thick upon me with the pregnant terror Of life unseen, yet near. I dare not meet them, As if I sleep I shall do--I again?