Chapter 4

Our men the angry waters that could not be turned nor checked, And they bore all straws before them in their mad impetuous way. So the town, betrayed, was captured; so the great ship had been wrecked; And with the troops in triumph I rode in upon that day.

VIII.

THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND.

When the night fell, in the palace all the lights were lit again. In the hall of silken standards and of Persia-woven mats There were women fair as houris, there were brave and handsome men; And the fish leaped up to see them from the fountain's silver vats.

Never yet so fair Eudocia, and she won the wisest praise From the aliens there assembled to behold our marriage rite; Not alone her queenly beauty; but the grace of all her ways, Drew all hearts and eyes toward her, filled like cups with pure delight.

But while yet they said the service, and ere yet I placed the ring On her tapering heart finger, all the crowd was parted wide, And I saw my friend the masker his unasked-for presence bring To the pollen of the wedding, lady-petaled on each side.

"Thus shall die the thankless traitor, whether king or beggar he!" And a dagger gleamed above us with a fierce glare at the light, Then was struck upon my bosom near the place the heart might be, And my false friend, through the people, hastened wildly in his flight.

But the mad bee gained no honey in his hurry to depart; His sting had been well pointed, but his villainy was loss, For I wore, with faith, a secret, o'er the throbbing of my heart, The symbol of a higher life, a simple silver Cross.

This had turned aside the weapon and spared me many years For one whose heart has been to me a holy pilgrim shrine, For one for whom I gave away with bitterness and tears The city of Jugurtha, my own mother Constantine.

We dwell now in a palace near the white surge of a bay; But at times my good steed wanders, and in the twilight late, I find me near my city, while the muezzin in the gray, Shouts, "To prayer, to prayer, ye people, only God is good and great!"

THE STRONG SPIDER.

I.

THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.

I was a naturalist, and had crossed the sea And come to Theodosia, to find A monstrous spider of which I had heard. The people of the town wagged doubting heads, When asked about it; but one day I met A sturdy fisherman who once had seen The spider, though he knew not his abode. He said the spider was as long as he, And that the woof whereof he wove his web, Was thick as any cordage on his boat. At night, belated 'mid the tumuli That mound the hill-side and the vernal vale, Like the raised letters of an ancient page Made for the blind gropers of to-day to read, He entered a dark tomb, and therein slept, Until the world, like some round shield upraised, Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke, He found himself ensnared in some thick web, Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through; Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.

At this recital on the slanted shore, Another joined us from the cottage near-- A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode. A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it; Like Ahab in his house of ivory Dining on sweets, the king bee here Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall; And here were yellow lilies strewn about, As though the place had been the banquet grove Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.

"This is my daughter," said the fisherman. Her head and face were covered with a scarf, But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.

(Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die, And reft of this gross vision, see at last, As the large soul, quit of the body can, Another soul set free and purified.)

The modest maid a crimson jacket wore, And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down; While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes Revealed the naked insteps of her feet. I bade her there adieu, upon the shore Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back, I thought much of the spider that I sought; But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars Which shone down in my heart; while the far space Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.

I thought to test this maiden's charity; And so, one friendly day, put on a robe Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by, I strode abruptly from behind a wall, And faced her with a face disguised, and held My hand out while I begged for some small alms. She gave abundantly from her lean purse, And with a look of tender pity, passed. It matters little who it is that asks, Or whether he deserves the alms or not; That given with free heart, is given to God, And not to him who takes.

Day after day, Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman. Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet, And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face. If painter, or if sculptor, in some dream, Could mingle Faith with Love and Charity, And give them utterance in one pure face, I know the face would be a face like hers.

Her eyes were diamond doors of her true soul, And with their silken latches softly closed, When, couched beneath his poppy parachute, Inactive Sleep came by. Her glances seemed Like gold-winged angels sent from heavenly doors. Yet she was often sad when I was near. Once, tarrying late, I told her of my life, And of the monster I had come to find; But now, lo! she around my heart had wound The close web of her love, and held me fast As any fly caught in a spider's toils.

Clothed in the sackcloth of regret, she said, She long had wept the past; but for my sake She now would cast it off, and live for me.

I said that few could exculpate the past From stormy doing with the ships of hope.

She said it made her sad to think upon Their present dwindled fortune, and the yoke Her people chafed their necks in, on the hills. Her father was a brave Circassian chief; But here he dwelt disguised, till once again He could lead on his race, and wound the heel That ground them to the dust.

Our hearts made new, We kissed good-night, and parted. As I went, A distant hill, all shadow, took new shape, And seemed a sprawling spider, while two trees That grew upon it, were his upraised arms Clutching at two red fire-flies, that were stars.

II.

THE SPIDER.

With day-break came a knuckle at my door; I rose, and opened, and upon the porch, His face like strange death's, and his dark eyes wide With some vague horror, stood the fisherman. "Come, hasten with me," were his only words. We ran our best along the barren shore, And gained his silent cottage. Entering, He led me to his daughter's vacant couch. The room had but one window, and the sash Was raised. I looked out to the ground beneath. A vine crept up, and with long fingers made Abode secure upon the cottage side, And o'er the window threw a leafy scarf. But what was this, that fastened to the ledge Trailed to the ground? A glutinous rope Twisted with five strands. This the fisherman Saw with new horror, while between white lips He gasped, "The Spider!"

What was best to do? We saw strange foot-prints on the moistened beach, But these were lost soon in a wooded dell Where all trace had an end. The long day through We sought among the tombs, up from the dell; But unrewarded, when the sun was quenched, Sat down to weep. So darkness dropped, And like an awful spider, o'er the earth Crawled with gaunt legs of shadow. Then our homes We sadly sought, to meet again at morn.

The night was warm, and with my window raised, I sat and mourned, and wrung my hopeless hands. No light was in the house. I half reclined-- My back toward the window. Something shut The puny sheen of starlight from the room. The Thing, a monstrous shape, was with me there, And two hard arms were thrown about my waist. For very terror I was hushed, nor moved To cast my foe off. I was in the arms Of the strong spider. As we went, I grew Glad, for I thought that now I should be brought To the great spider's web, and there, mayhap, Learn the sad fate of her I loved so well. Up a stark cliff we went, then crossed the web Just as the red moon bloomed upon the hills And silvered all the Panticapean vale. The funnel of the web was in the mouth Of a vast tomb, whose outside, hewn on rock, Outlined a Gorgon's face with jaws agape-- Some stern Medusa, Stheno, or Euryale, Changed to the stone that in the elder days She changed the sons of men who looked on her. We passed the funnel, entering the tomb. About my arms the spider threw his cords, And shackled them. I dared not move, but lay Upon the smooth stone floor, inured to fear. I fancied now that I was safe till dawn. If I could use my hands I then might find Some weapon of defense, some club, or stone, And so resist with some small chance for life. The thought bred strength. I slowly drew my arms Upon my sides, and, with persistence, gained Their freedom; though about the wrists, the flesh Was bruised and harrowed, and my blood made wet The spider's cord wherewith I had been bound.

The night seemed endless. As it came to dawn, A faint moan woke an echo in the tomb. The echo seemed a cry of pity, sent For solace to the moan. As light grew strong, I saw, not far from where I had been laid, A maiden sitting. All her hair set free, She made of it a pillow as she leaned Against the painted wall. My heart threw wide To her my arms, his hospitable doors; The guest within, at once the doors were shut.

The sun came up, and spread a cloth of gold Over the sea. We saw the vale beneath, And there the town, and fancied where, among The trees upon the shore, her cottage stood; Then hoped 'gainst hope to enter it again. Two thousand years ago, this distant sea Teemed with the thrifty commerce of the world. When Athens was, and when her scholars cut, With thoughts of iron, their own deathless names Into the stone page of fame, this vale beneath Held a great city. These, its tombs, endure. There is no better scoff at the parade And vanity of life, than that a tomb suggests.

While we looked forth on the historic view, We saw the subtle spider throw his cord Over an eagle tangled in the web. The eagle fought, not mildly overcome, And spread his wings, and darted his sharp beak. At last the spider caught him by the neck, With his serrated claws that grew like horns, And killed him; then plucked the vanquished plumes, And sucked the warm blood from the sundered ends. From this we knew the monster brought us here To serve a hideous banquet, and that one Must need be near, and see the other slain.

The web was like the sail of some large ship, And reached forth from the Gorgon's open mouth, On either side, to boughs of blighted trees. Birds were caught in it, and about the place Wherein the spider hid to watch for prey, Their bones lay bleaching in the sun and rain. Upon the web the winds laid violent hands, And tugged at it, but lacked the sinewed strength To tear it or divorce it from its place. The rain left on it when the sun came up, Dyed the vast cloth with all prismatic hues, And made it glitter like the silken sail Of Cleopatra's barge.

We felt quite sure The eagle's death bequeathed new lease of life. We cast about at once, in hope to find Some object for defense. The tomb was strange. Alone the spider could have known of it. A rich sarcophagus stood in the midst, Of deftly inlaid woods, or carved, or bronzed. Within, a skeleton, its white skull crowned With gold bestarred with diamonds, chilled my blood. A bronze lamp, cast to represent the beast Slain by Bellerophon, the Chimæra, Was on the floor; and from its lion's mouth The flame had issued, like the flame of life That flickered and went out with him gold-crowned. A target stood near by, and on it clashed Griffon and stag, adverse as right and wrong. About, lay cups of onyx set in gold. On conic jars were bacchanalian scenes,-- Nude chubby Bacchi, grotesque leering fauns, All linked 'neath vines that grew important grapes; And in the jars were rings and flowers of gold. We found twin ear-drops cut from choicest stone, Metallic mirrors, and a statuette Of amorous Dido naked to the waist. Life is a harp, and all its nervous strings, Touched by the fingers of the fear of death, Jar with pathetic music. Having found No trusty implement to bar the way Of threatening peril, we embraced, And kissed with silent kisses mixed with tears, And waited for the end.

When no more, Hope, like an eagle in the mountain air, Soars in time's future, it mounts up with wings Toward the unmapped city walled by death. Thither the eagle of our hope took flight.

The sun was in the zenith. His back Toward us, crouched the spider, at the mouth Of our strange prison on the towering cliff. The spider's shape was full a fathom long. Two parts it had, the fore part, head and breast; The hinder part, the trunk. The first was black, But all the last was covered with short hair, Yellow and fine. Eight sprawling legs adhered To his tough breast. Eight eyes were in his head, Two in the front, and three on either side; They had no eyelids, and were never closed, Protected by a strong transparent nail. His pincers grew between his foremost eyes-- Were toothed like saws, were venomous, and sharp, With claws on either end. Two arms stretched out From his mailed shoulders, and with these he caught His tangled prey, or guided what he spun. Slowly the monster turned, and glared at us, Working his arms, and opening his claws, Then moved toward us fiercely for attack. We ran to gain the limit of the tomb Where darkness was; there as we crouched with dread, My foot struck some hard substance. In despair I grasped at it, and with great joy upheld An ancient sword!--surely, a sharp, bold tooth To bite the spider. I would sink it deep, Up to the gum of the crossed guard. Alert, I sprang upon the monster as he came, And with one blow cut off his brutish head. He writhed awhile with pain, but in the end, Drew up the eight long legs and two thick arms, And rolling over on his useless back, Died with a pang.

So we issued forth, And the green earth seemed happy to be free, And glad the sky cloud-frescoed 'gainst the blue. We sought the sea-side cottage, where the chief Clasped once again his daughter to his breast. Down from the hill we fetched the spider slain, And I to science gave these simple facts: Spiders have no antennæ, therefore rank Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills Beneath the body, they possess a heart. The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us, And we who loved were wed one golden day; And the great Czar hearing our story told, Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.

GRACE BERNARD.

I know the drift and purpose of the years; The will, which is the magnet of the soul, Shall yet attain new powers, and man Be something more than man. The husks fall off; Old civilizations pass, the new come on.

I.

There are two farms which, smiling in the sun, Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live. One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine; And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes, Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.

Three years ago, my father followed her Who gave me birth home to his narrow house. I was at college when death's summons came, And all the grief fell on me, crushing me; And all my heart cried out in bitterness, Moaning to cease with its wet language,--tears. Then with my prospects of professional life Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm-- I came back to the love of Grace Bernard. She was the dove that on the flood of grief Brought to my window there love's olive spray. From college to the farm-house where I dwelt I took my books, friends who are never cold, With fragile instruments of chemistry, And cabinets of mineral and rock With limestone encrinites; asterias Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore; Tarentula and scarabee I brought, And, too, I brought my diamond microscope Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's, And gives me sights in water and in air The naturalists have not yet touched upon. Over my fields I wander frequently, Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks For special specimens to fill my home; But find my footsteps always thither tend, Toward the farm-house of the other farm, Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.

When first I took the hand of her I love, And held it only as a stranger might, Some unseen mentor whispered in my ear, _You twain are strands which Destiny shall braid_, And then a numb misgiving, not explained, Settled with chilly dampness on my heart. My Grace Bernard in Grace was not misnamed, There was a soft Madonna look about her eyes; The long thick lash, the drooping-petal lid, Wrought on her face all love and tenderness. Her lips were of that deep intensest red The cherry, red rose, and columbine wear. Her golden hair was sunshine changed to silk, Which fell below her waist, and was a thing Perhaps some lover, braver far than I, Might dare to mesh his hands in, or to kiss.

II.

The Spring has come and brought her affluent days, But in the air a rumor runs of death-- A pestilence is half across the sea. The presses blare its probable approach, And poverty and wealth alike forebode. The cholera it is whispered, Asia-born, May leave more vacant chairs about our hearths Than the red havoc of internal war. There is no foot it may not overtake; There is no cheek which may not blanch for it. It is Filth's daughter, and where the low Huddle in impure air in narrow rooms, There it must come. As all forms of life, Animate and inanimate, originate In seeds and eggs, so all infection does. The floating gases in the atmosphere Acting on particles which from filth arise, Mingle with foul wedlock--germinate, And bear their seed like grain, or breed like flies. This product, scattered on the spotless air, And hurried on the currents of the wind, Is breathed by human beings, near and far; And planted in the system, the disease Ripens and grows, until the sufferer dies. Yellow fever is vegetable disease Because the sharp frost kills it. Cholera Is animal in origin, and survives The utmost cold of long, dark winter days.

I pray that if the cholera must come, It will not touch my Grace who is so dear; But that we twain may at the altar stand, And outlive many a trouble in the air, And gather many a day of happiness and peace.

III.

Down by the brook which separates the farms, Is a great rock that leans above the stream, And seems some monster of the Saurian day, That coming to the water's edge to drink, Was petrified, and so is leaning still. Upon its back a week ago I sat, And dreamed of Grace Bernard, and watched the brook; And while I dreamed there came within the dream A premonition of what yet would be. The future's face, forever turned away, Now seemed reverted, and its backward look Was bent on me.

They took a faulty cast Of Shakespeare's features after he was dead. I, seeing the future's face, make here my cast.

And this the premonition that was mine-- A perfect premonition full and clear-- And as I know the persons it concerns, I cannot think it all improbable, So write it down, that when the time has passed, I may compare the facts with what is here. And yet I scarcely should have written this, Had I not seen his haunting face to-day-- That face which I had never seen before, Except in my one dream upon the rock That leans, athirst, above the brimming stream.

The soldier, when he goes to meet the foe, May darkly understand that death is near, Yet bravely marches on to destiny. I too behold a shadow in my path; I too go on, nor waver in my way.

THE PREMONITION.

I.

Far off, across the turbulence of waves, I seem to see a wife upon her knees, Her supplicating hands outstretched to one Who strikes her with coarse blows on cheek and breast. He is her husband, and he leaves her there, And takes her jewels and her only purse, And in a ship embarks for other shores. His is the face that I have seen to-day-- A handsome face whatever be its sins: A firm mouth, with large wandering black eyes, A bearded under-lip, and snowy teeth; Long, fine black hair, which idly falls about Shoulders that stoop from labor over books; Withal a high and intellectual brow, Not broad enough to hold a generous soul.

II.

I see the farm-house where my Grace abides; The afternoon is clear, the grass is green; And Grace comes forth and walks toward the brook. Beside its bank, which is a slope of moss, I see the face intent upon the scene. Now Grace draws near, and starting back to find A stranger in the dell she loves the most, Is half attracted by his cultured mien, And half repelled by inconsistent fears. He rises, bowing low, and begs to speak: He has not seen such beauty in his life; He craves to touch a finger of her hand, To judge if she be of the earth, or one Upon some holy mission from that land Whereto, with fastings and with many prayers, Through God's good grace he hopes yet to attain.

Then John Bernard, who has been working near, Seeding the furrows for his empty barns, This stranger and my Grace puts hand in hand. I see her smile in answer to his smiles. She makes her ears his cells for honeyed speech; And yet she seems to fear him for some cause. Now, as the slow sun tarries on the hills, I see them parting at the farm-house door-- The wide half-door which now is opened half-- And as he passes down the bordered path, His kiss still lingering upon her hand, She leans out from the door, and watches him Until he vanishes between the trees. I seem to see her face, a trouble sweet Dwelling upon it, even though the light Sets it in glory, with a slender ring Above the white brow and the golden hair.

III.

I see them riding down the village street: He on a horse as black and strong as iron, She on her snowy palfrey, robed in green, Slack reins in hand; the horses side by side. Even as I see and write, my heart grows cold-- Cold as a bird that on a winter's day Breasts the bleak wind, high in the biting air.

IV.

I see a city with a concourse vast Of gas-lit streets and buildings, and above, Its dear face buried in its cloudy hands, The Night bends over, weeping. In the street I see the face again I saw to-day.

I see him writing in a narrow room. I read the words: _To-night I end my life. The river says "Embrace, I offer rest." The world and I have grappled in fair fight, And I am beaten. Having found defeat, I long to go down to its lowest depths. I only ask, that those who find these words, Will send them to my people past the sea; To-night I cross a wider: so, adieu._ MICHAEL GIANNI.

This is his true name, And afterward he writes his wife's address. He leaves the paper foldless on a stand, And then goes forth; but not to end his life. He dreams that now his life is but begun. He sees my Grace in all his coming days; He sees the large old farm-house where she dwells, And therein hopes to happily pass the years, Living in peace and plenty till he dies.