Chapter 13

Two monstrous dangers; but the heedless one Babbles and smiles, and bids all care begone-- Likes lively speech--while all the poor she makes To love her, and the taxes off she takes. A life of dance and pleasure she has known-- A woman always; in her jewelled crown It is the pearl she loves--not cutting gems, For these can wound, and mark men's diadems. She pays the hire of Homer's copyists, And in the Courts of Love presiding, lists.

Quite recently unto her Court have come Two men--unknown their names or native home, Their rank or race; but one plays well the lute, The other is a troubadour; both suit The taste of Mahaud, when on summer eve, 'Neath opened windows, they obtain her leave To sing upon the terrace, and relate The charming tales that do with music mate. In August the Moravians have their fête, But it is radiant June in which Lusace Must consecrate her noble Margrave race. Thus in the weird and old ancestral tower For Mahaud now has come the fateful hour, The lonely supper which her state decrees. What matters this to flowers, and birds, and trees, And clouds and fountains? That the people may Still bear their yoke--have kings to rule alway? The water flows, the wind in passing by In murmuring tones takes up the questioning cry.

VII.

THE BANQUET HALL.

The old stupendous hall has but one door, And in the dusk it seems that more and more The walls recede in space unlimited. At the far end there is a table spread That in the dreary void with splendor shines; For ceiling we behold but rafter lines. The table is arranged for one sole guest, A solitary chair doth near it rest, Throne-like, 'neath canopy that droopeth down From the black beams; upon the walls are shown The painted histories of the olden might, The King of the Wends Thassilo's stern fight On land with Nimrod, and on ocean wide With Neptune. Rivers too personified Appear--the Rhine as by the Meuse betrayed, And fading groups of Odin in the shade, And the wolf Fenrir and the Asgard snake. One might the place for dragons' stable take. The only lights that in the shed appear Spring from the table's giant chandelier With seven iron branches--brought from hell By Attila Archangel, people tell, When he had conquered Mammon--and they say That seven souls were the first flames that day. This banquet hall looks an abyss outlined With shadowy vagueness, though indeed we find In the far depth upon the table spread A sudden, strong, and glaring light is shed, Striking upon the goldsmith's burnished works, And on the pheasants killed by traitor hawks. Loaded the table is with viands cold, Ewers and flagons, all enough of old To make a love feast. All the napery Was Friesland's famous make; and fair to see The dishes, silver-gilt and bordered round With flowers; for fruit, here strawberries were found And citrons, apples too, and nectarines. The wooden bowls were carved in cunning lines By peasants of the Murg, whose skilful hands With patient toil reclaim the barren lands And make their gardens flourish on a rock, Or mountain where we see the hunters flock. Gold fountain-cup, with handles Florentine, Shows Acteons horned, though armed and booted fine, Who fight with sword in hand against the hounds. Roses and gladioles make up bright mounds Of flowers, with juniper and aniseed; While sage, all newly cut for this great need, Covers the Persian carpet that is spread Beneath the table, and so helps to shed Around a perfume of the balmy spring. Beyond is desolation withering. One hears within the hollow dreary space Across the grove, made fresh by summer's grace, The wind that ever is with mystic might A spirit ripple of the Infinite. The glass restored to frames to creak is made By blustering wind that comes from neighboring glade. Strange in this dream-like place, so drear and lone, The guest expected should be living one! The seven lights from seven arms make glow Almost with life the staring eyes that show On the dim frescoes--and along the walls Is here and there a stool, or the light falls O'er some long chest, with likeness to a tomb. Yet was displayed amid the mournful gloom Some copper vessels, and some crockery ware. The door--as if it must, yet scarcely dare-- Had opened widely to the night's fresh air.

No voice is heard, for man has fled the place; But Terror crouches in the corners' space, And waits the coming guest. This banquet hall Of Titans is so high, that he who shall With wandering eye look up from beam to beam Of the confused wild roof will haply seem To wonder that the stars he sees not there. Giants the spiders are, that weave with care Their hideous webs, which float the joists amid, Joists whose dark ends in griffins' jaws are hid. The light is lurid, and the air like death, And dark and foul. Even Night holds its breath Awhile. One might suppose the door had fear To move its double leaves--their noise to hear.

VIII.

WHAT MORE WAS TO BE SEEN.

But the great hall of generations dead Has something more sepulchral and more dread Than lurid glare from seven-branched chandelier Or table lone with stately daïs near-- Two rows of arches o'er a colonnade With knights on horseback all in mail arrayed, Each one disposed with pillar at his back And to another vis-à-vis. Nor lack The fittings all complete; in each right hand A lance is seen; the armored horses stand With chamfrons laced, and harness buckled sure; The cuissarts' studs are by their clamps secure; The dirks stand out upon the saddle-bow; Even unto the horses' feet do flow Caparisons,--the leather all well clasped, The gorget and the spurs with bronze tongues hasped, The shining long sword from the saddle hung, The battle-axe across the back was flung. Under the arm a trusty dagger rests, Each spiked knee-piece its murderous power attests. Feet press the stirrups--hands on bridle shown Proclaim all ready, with the visors down, And yet they stir not, nor is audible A sound to make the sight less terrible.

Each monstrous horse a frontal horn doth bear, If e'er the Prince of Darkness herdsman were, These cattle black were his by surest right, Like things but seen in horrid dreams of night. The steeds are swathed in trappings manifold, The armed knights are grave, and stern, and cold, Terrific too; the clench'd fists seem to hold Some frightful missive, which the phantom hands Would show, if opened out at hell's commands. The dusk exaggerates their giant size, The shade is awed--the pillars coldly rise. Oh, Night! why are these awful warriors here?

Horses and horsemen that make gazers fear Are only empty armor. But erect And haughty mien they all affect And threatening air--though shades of iron still. Are they strange larvae--these their statues ill? No. They are dreams of horror clothed in brass, Which from profoundest depths of evil pass With futile aim to dare the Infinite! Souls tremble at the silent spectre sight, As if in this mysterious cavalcade They saw the weird and mystic halt was made Of them who at the coming dawn of day Would fade, and from their vision pass away. A stranger looking in, these masks to see, Might deem from Death some mandate there might be At times to burst the tombs--the dead to wear A human shape, and mustering ranks appear Of phantoms, each confronting other shade.

Grave-clothes are not more grim and sombre made Than are these helms; the deaf and sealed-up graves Are not more icy than these arms; the staves Of hideous biers have not their joints more strong Than are the joinings of these legs; the long Scaled gauntlet fingers look like worms that shine, And battle robes to shroud-like folds incline. The heads are skull-like, and the stony feet Seem for the charnel house but only meet. The pikes have death's-heads carved, and seem to be Too heavy; but the shapes defiantly Sit proudly in the saddle--and perforce The rider looks united to the horse! The network of their mail doth clearly cross. The Marquis' mortar beams near Ducal wreath, And on the helm and gleaming shield beneath Alternate triple pearls with leaves displayed Of parsley, and the royal robes are made So large that with the knightly harness they Seem to o'ermaster palfreys every way. To Rome the oldest armor might be traced, And men and horses' armor interlaced Blent horribly; the man and steed we feel Made but one hydra with its scales of steel. Yet is there history here. Each coat of mail Is representant of some stirring tale. Each delta-shaped escutcheon shines to show A vision of the chief by it we know. Here are the blood-stained Dukes' and Marquis' line, Barbaric lords, who amid war's rapine Bore gilded saints upon their banners still Painted on fishes' skin with cunning skill. Here Geth, who to the Slaves cried "Onward go," And Mundiaque and Ottocar--Plato And Ladisläus Kunne; and Welf who bore These words upon his shield his foes before; "Nothing there is I fear." Otho blear-eyed, Zultan and Nazamustus, and beside The later Spignus, e'en to Spartibor Of triple vision, and yet more and more As if a pause at every age were made, And Antaeus' fearful dynasty portrayed.

What do they here so rigid and erect? What wait they for--and what do they expect? Blindness fills up the helm 'neath iron brows; Like sapless tree no soul the hero knows. Darkness is now where eyes with flame were fraught, And thrice-bored visor serves for mask of naught. Of empty void is spectral giant made, And each of these all-powerful knights displayed Is only rind of pride and murderous sin; Themselves are held the icy grave within. Rust eats the casques enamoured once so much Of death and daring--which knew kiss-like touch Of banner--mistress so august and dear-- But not an arm can stir its hinges here; Behold how mute are they whose threats were heard Like savage roar--whose gnashing teeth and word Deadened the clarion's tones; the helmets dread Have not a sound, and all the armor spread, The hauberks, that strong breathing seemed to sway, Are stranded now in helplessness alway To see the shadows, still prolonged, that seem To take at night the image of a dream.

These two great files reach from the door afar To where the table and the daïs are, Leaving between their fronts a narrow lane. On the left side the Marquises maintain Their place, but the right side the Dukes retain, And till the roof, embattled by Spignus, But worn by time that even that subdues, Shall fall upon their heads, these forms will stand The grades confronting--one on either hand. While in advance beyond, with haughty head-- As if commander of this squadron dread-- All waiting signal of the Judgment Day, In stone was seen in olden sculptors' way Charlemagne the King, who on the earth had found Only twelve knights to grace his Table Round.

The crests were an assembly of strange things, Of horrors such as nightmare only brings. Asps, and spread eagles without beak or feet, Sirens and mermaids here and dragons meet, And antlered stags and fabled unicorn, And fearful things of monstrous fancy born. Upon the rigid form of morion's sheen Winged lions and the Cerberus are seen, And serpents winged and finned; things made to fright The timid foe, alone by sense of sight. Some leaning forward and the others back, They looked a growing forest that did lack No form of terror; but these things of dread That once on barons' helms the battle led Beneath the giant banners, now are still,

As if they gaped and found the time but ill, Wearied the ages passed so slowly by, And that the gory dead no more did lie Beneath their feet--pined for the battle-cry, The trumpet's clash, the carnage and the strife, Yawning to taste again their dreadful life. Like tears upon the palfreys' muzzles were The hard reflections of the metal there; From out these spectres, ages past exhumed, And as their shadows on the roof-beams loomed, Cast by the trembling light, each figure wan Seemed growing, and a monstrous shape to don, So that the double range of horrors made The darkened zenith clouds of blackest shade, That shaped themselves to profiles terrible.

All motionless the coursers horrible, That formed a legion lured by Death to war, These men and horses masked, how dread they are! Absorbed in shadows of the eternal shore, Among the living all their tasks are o'er. Silent, they seem all mystery to brave, These sphinxes whom no beacon light can save Upon the threshold of the gulf so near, As if they faced the great enigma here; Ready with hoofs, between the pillars blue To strike out sparks, and combats to renew, Choosing for battle-field the shades below, Which they provoked by deeds we cannot know, In that dark realm thought dares not to expound False masks from heaven lowered to depths profound.

IX.

A NOISE ON THE FLOOR.

This is the scene on which now enters in Eviradnus; and follows page Gasclin.

The outer walls were almost all decayed, The door, for ancient Marquises once made-- Raised many steps above the courtyard near-- Commanded view of the horizon clear. The forest looked a great gulf all around, And on the rock of Corbus there were found Secret and blood-stained precipices tall. Duke Plato built the tower and banquet hall Over great pits,--so was it Rumor said. The flooring sounds 'neath Eviradnus' tread Above abysses many. "Page," said he, "Come here, your eyes than mine can better see, For sight is woman-like and shuns the old; Ah! he can see enough, when years are told, Who backwards looks. But, boy, turn towards the glade And tell me what you see." The boy obeyed, And leaned across the threshold, while the bright, Full moon shed o'er the glade its white, pure light.

"I see a horse and woman on it now," Said Gasclin, "and companions also show." "Who are they?" asked the seeker of sublime Adventures. "Sir, I now can hear like chime The sound of voices, and men's voices too, Laughter and talk; two men there are in view, Across the road the shadows clear I mark Of horses three." "Enough. Now, Gasclin, hark!" Exclaimed the knight, "you must at once return By other path than that which you discern, So that you be not seen. At break of day Bring back our horses fresh, and every way Caparisoned; now leave me, boy, I say." The page looked at his master like a son, And said, "Oh! if I might stay on, For they are two."

"Go--I suffice alone!"

X.

EVIRADNUS MOTIONLESS.

And lone the hero is within the hall, And nears the table where the glasses all Show in profusion; all the vessels there, Goblets and glasses gilt, or painted fair, Are ranged for different wines with practised care. He thirsts; the flagons tempt; but there must stay One drop in emptied glass, and 'twould betray The fact that some one living had been here. Straight to the horses goes he, pauses near That which is next the table shining bright, Seizes the rider--plucks the phantom knight To pieces--all in vain its panoply And pallid shining to his practised eye; Then he conveys the severed iron remains To corner of the hall where darkness reigns; Against the wall he lays the armor low In dust and gloom like hero vanquished now-- But keeping pond'rous lance and shield so old, Mounts to the empty saddle, and behold! A statue Eviradnus has become, Like to the others in their frigid home. With visor down scarce breathing seemed maintained Throughout the hall a death-like silence reigned.

XI.

A LITTLE MUSIC.

Listen! like hum froth unseen nests we hear A mirthful buzz of voices coming near, Of footsteps--laughter--from the trembling trees. And now the thick-set forest all receives A flood of moonlight--and there gently floats The sound of a guitar of Inspruck; notes Which blend with chimes--vibrating to the hand-- Of tiny bell--where sounds a grain of sand. A man's voice mixes with the melody, And vaguely melts to song in harmony.

"If you like we'll dream a dream. Let us mount on palfreys two; Birds are singing,--let it seem You lure me--and I take you.

"Let us start--'tis eve, you see, I'm thy master and thy prey. My bright steed shall pleasure be; Yours, it shall be love, I say.

"Journeying leisurely we go, We will make our steeds touch heads, Kiss for fodder,--and we so Satisfy our horses' needs.

"Come! the two delusive things Stamp impatiently it seems, Yours has heavenward soaring wings, Mine is of the land of dreams.

"What's our baggage? only vows, Happiness, and all our care, And the flower that sweetly shows Nestling lightly in your hair.

"Come, the oaks all dark appear, Twilight now will soon depart, Railing sparrows laugh to hear Chains thou puttest round my heart.

"Not my fault 'twill surely be If the hills should vocal prove, And the trees when us they see, All should murmur--let us love!

"Oh, be gentle!--I am dazed, See the dew is on the grass, Wakened butterflies amazed Follow thee as on we pass.

"Envious night-birds open wide Their round eyes to gaze awhile, Nymphs that lean their urns beside From their grottoes softly smile,

"And exclaim, by fancy stirred, 'Hero and Leander they; We in listening for a word Let our water fall away.'

"Let us journey Austrian way, With the daybreak on our brow; I be great, and you I say Rich, because we love shall know.

"Let us over countries rove, On our charming steeds content, In the azure light of love, And its sweet bewilderment.

"For the charges at our inn, You with maiden smiles shall pay; I the landlord's heart will win In a scholar's pleasant way.

"You, great lady--and I, Count-- Come, my heart has opened quite, We this tale will still recount, To the stars that shine at night."

The melody went on some moments more Among the trees the calm moon glistened o'er, Then trembled and was hushed; the voice's thrill Stopped like alighting birds, and all was still.

XII.

GREAT JOSS AND LITTLE ZENO.

Quite suddenly there showed across the door, Three heads which all a festive aspect wore. Two men were there; and, dressed in cloth of gold, A woman. Of the men one might have told Some thirty years, the other younger seemed, Was tall and fair, and from his shoulder gleamed A gay guitar with ivy leaves enlaced. The other man was dark, but pallid-faced And small. At the first glance they seemed to be But made of perfume and frivolity. Handsome they were, but through their comely mien A grinning demon might be clearly seen. April has flowers where lurk the slugs between.

"Big Joss and little Zeno, pray come here; Look now--how dreadful! can I help but fear!" Madame Mahaud was speaker. Moonlight there Caressingly enhanced her beauty rare, Making it shine and tremble, as if she So soft and gentle were of things that be Of air created, and are brought and ta'en By heavenly flashes. Now, she spoke again "Certes, 'tis heavy purchase of a throne, To pass the night here utterly alone. Had you not slyly come to guard me now, I should have died of fright outright I know." The moonbeams through the open door did fall, And shine upon the figure next the wall.

Said Zeno, "If I played the Marquis part, I'd send this rubbish to the auction mart; Out of the heap should come the finest wine, Pleasure and gala-fêtes, were it all mine." And then with scornful hand he touched the thing, And made the metal like a soul's cry ring. He laughed--the gauntlet trembled at his stroke. "Let rest my ancestors"--'twas Mahaud spoke; Then murmuring added she, "For you are much Too small their noble armor here to touch."

And Zeno paled, but Joss with laugh exclaimed, "Why, all these good black men so grandly named Are only nests for mice. By Jove, although They lifelike look and terrible, we know What is within; just listen, and you'll hear The vermins' gnawing teeth, yet 'twould appear These figures once were proudly named Otho, And Ottocar, and Bela, and Plato. Alas! the end's not pleasant--puts one out; To have been kings and dukes--made mighty rout-- Colossal heroes filling tombs with slain, And, Madame, this to only now remain; A peaceful nibbling rat to calmly pierce A prince's noble armor proud and fierce."

"Sing, if you will--but do not speak so loud; Besides, such things as these," said fair Mahaud, "In your condition are not understood." "Well said," made answer Zeno, "'tis a place Of wonders--I see serpents, and can trace Vampires, and monsters swarming, that arise In mist, through chinks, to meet the gazer's eyes."

Then Mahaud shuddered, and she said: "The wine The Abbé made me drink as task of mine, Will soon enwrap me in the soundest sleep-- Swear not to leave me--that you here will keep." "I swear," cried Joss, and Zeno, "I also; But now at once to supper let us go."

XIII.

THEY SUP.