Chapter IX: Apocalypse of the being who was once called Caillaux

We said a few words of the apostle of Mapah and promised to follow him to his isle of Patmos and to give some idea of his apocalypse. We will keep our word. It was no easy matter to find this apocalypse, my reader may judge; it had been published at the trouble and expense of Hetzel, under the title of _Arche de la nouvelle Alliance._ Not that Hetzel was in the very least a follower of the Evadian religion--he was simply the compatriot and friend of _him who was Caillaux_, to which twofold advantages he owed the honour of dining several times with the god Mapah and his disciple. It is more than likely that Hetzel paid for the dinners himself.

ARCHE DE LA NOUVELLE ALLIANCE

"I have not come to say to the people, 'Render to Cæsar
the things that are Cæsar's and to God the things that are
God's,' but I have come to tell Cæsar to render to God
the things that belong to God! 'What is God?--God, is the
People!--The _Mapah._' At the hour when shadows deepen I saw
the vision of the last apostle of a decaying religion and I
exclaimed--

I

"'Why dost thou grieve, O king! and why dost thou moan over
thy ruined crown? Why rise up against those who dethroned
thee? If thou fallest to-day, it is because thy hour has
come: to attempt to prolong it for a day, is but to offer
insult to the Majesty in the heavens.

II

"'Everything that exists here below has it not its phases of
life and of death? Does the vegetation of the valleys always
flourish? After the season of fine days does it not come to
pass that some morning the autumn wind scatters the leaves
of the beeches?

III

"'Cease, then, O King! thy lamentation and do not be
perturbed in thy loneliness! Be not surprised if thy road is
deserted and if the nations keep silence during thy passing
as at the passing of a funeral cortège: thou hast not failed
in thy mission; simply, thy mission is done. It is destiny!

IV

"'Dost thou not know that humanity only lives in the future?
What does the present care about the oriflamme of Bouvines?
Let us bury it with thy ancestors lying motionless beneath
their monuments; another banner is needed for the men of
to-day.

V

"'And when we have sealed with a triple seal the stone
which covers up past majesty, let us do obeisance as did
the people of Memphis before the silence of their pyramids,
those mute giants of the desert; but like them do not let us
remain with our foreheads in the dust, but from the ruins of
ancient creeds let us spring upwards towards the Infinite!
Thus did I sing during the dawn of my life. A poet, I have
ever pitied noble misfortune; as son of the people, I have
never abjured renown. At that time this world appeared to
me to be free and powerful under heaven, and I believed
that the last salute of the universe to the phantom of
ancient days would be its first aspiration towards future
splendours. But it was nothing of the kind. The past, whilst
burying itself under the earth, had not drawn all its
procession of dark shades with it. Now I went to those bare
strands which the ocean bleaches with its foam. The seagulls
hailed the rocks of the coast with their harsh cries, and
the mighty voice of the sea sounded more sweetly to my ear
than the language of men ...'"

Then follows the apostle's feelings under the influence of the great aspects of Nature; he stays a year far from Paris; then at last his vocation recalls him among men.

"Now, the very night of my return from my wanderings, I
walked a dreamer in the midst of the roar of that great
western city, my soul more than ever crushed beneath
the weight of its ruin. I beheld myself as during my
happiest years when I was full of confidence in God and
the future; and then I turned my glance upon myself, the
man of the present moment, for ever tossed between hope
and fear, between desire and remorse, between calm and
discouragement. When I had well contemplated myself thus,
and had by thought stirred up the mud of the past and had
considered the good and evil that had emanated from me, I
raised in inexpressible anger my fist towards heaven, and
I said to God: 'To whom, then, does this earth belong?' At
the same moment, I felt myself hustled violently, and by
an irresistible movement I lowered my arm to strike--in
striking the cheek of him who was jostling me, I felt I was
smiting the world. Oh! what a surprise! my hand, instead of
beating his face, encountered his hand; a loving pressure
drew us together, and in grave and solemn tones he said:
'The water, the air, the earth and fire belong to none--they
are God's!' Then, uncovering the folds of the garment
which covered my breast, he put a finger on my heart and a
brilliant flame leapt out and I felt relief. Overcome with
amazement, I exclaimed--

"'Who art thou, whose word strengthens and whose touch
regenerates?'

'Thou shalt know, this very night!' he replied, and went on
his way.

"I followed and examined him at leisure: he was a man of the
people, with a crooked back and powerful limbs; an untrimmed
beard fell over his breast, and his bare and nearly bald
head bore witness to hard work and rude passions. He carried
a sack of plaster on his back which bowed him down beneath
its weight. Thus bent he passed through the crowd...."

The disciple then followed the god; for this man who had comforted him was the Mapah; he followed him to the threshold of his studio, into which he disappeared. It was the same studio to which Chaudesaigues had taken me, on the quai Bourbon, in the Ile Saint Louis. The door of the studio soon reopened and the apostle entered and was present at the revelation, which the Mapah had promised him. But, first of all, there was the discovery of the Mapah himself.

"Meanwhile, the owner of this dwelling had none of the
bearing of a common working-man. He was, indeed, the man of
the sack of plaster, and the uncut beard, and torn blouse,
who had accosted me in such an unexpected fashion; he had
exactly the same powerful glance, the same breadth of
shoulders, the same vigorous loins, but on that furrowed
brow, and in those granite features and that indescribable
personality of the man there hovered a rude dignity before
which I bowed my head.

"I advanced towards my host, who was laid on a half-broken
bed, lighted up by a night lamp in a pot of earth. I said--

"'Master, you whose touch heals and whose words restore, who
are you?'

"Lifting his eyes to me, he replied simply, 'There is no
master now; we are all children of God: call me brother.'

"'Then,' I replied, 'Brother, who then are you?'

"'I am _he who is._ Like the shepherd on the tops of the
cliffs I have heard the cry of the multitude; it is like
the moan of the waves at the winter equinox; that cry has
pierced my heart and I have come.'

"Motioning me to come nearer, he went on--

"'Son of doubt, who art sowing sorrow and reaping anguish,
what seekest thou? The sun or darkness? Death or life? Hope
or the grave?'

"'Brother, I seek after truth,' I replied. 'I have hailed
the past, I have questioned its abysmal depths whence came
the rumours that had reached me: the past was deaf to my
cries.'

"'The past was not to hear you. Every age has had its own
prophets, and each country its monuments; but prophets
and monuments have vanished like shadows: what was life
yesterday is to-day but death. Do not then evoke the past,
let it fall asleep in the darkness of its tombs in the dust
of its solitary places.'

"I went on--'I questioned the present amidst the flashes and
deceptions of this century, but it did not hear me either.'

"'The present was not to hear you; its flashes do but
precede the storm, and its law is not the law of the future.'

"'Brother, what then is this law? What are the showers that
make it blossom, and what sun sheds light upon it?'

"'God will teach thee.'

"Pointing to me to be seated near to him, he added:

'Sit down and listen attentively, for I will declare the
truth unto you. I am he who crieth to the people, "Watch at
the threshold of your dwelling and sleep not: the hour of
revelation is at hand ..."'

"At that moment the earth trembled, a hurricane beat against
the window panes, belfries rang of themselves; the disciple
would fain flee, but fear riveted him to the master's side.
He continued--

"I foreboded that something strange would take place before
me, and indeed as the knell of the belfry rang out on the
empty air, a song which had no echo in mortal tongue,
abrupt, quick and laden with indefinable mockery, answered
him from under the earth, and rising from note to note,
from the deepest to the shrillest tones, it resounded and
rebounded like some wounded snake, and grated like a saw
being sharpened; finally, ever decreasing, ever-growing
feebler, until it was lost at last in space. And this is the
burden of the song--

"'Behold the year '40, the famous year '40 has come! Ah!
ah! ah! What will it bring forth? What will it produce? An
ox or an egg? Perhaps one, perhaps the other! ah! ah! ah!
Peasants turn up your sleeves! And you wealthy, sweep your
hearthstones. Make way, make way for the year '40! The year
'40 is cold and hungry and in need of food; and no wonder!
Its teeth chatter, its limbs shiver, its children have
no shoes, and its daughters possess not even a ribbon to
adorn their locks on Sunday; they have not even a beggarly
dime lying idle in their poverty-stricken pockets to buy
drink wherewith to refresh themselves and their lovers! Ah!
ah! what wretchedness! Were it not too dreadful it would
seem ludicrous. Did you come here, gossip, to see this
topsy-turvy world? Come quickly, there is room for all....
Stay, you raven looking in at the window, and that vulture
beating its wings. Ah! ah! ah! The year '40 is cold, is an
hungered, in need of food! What will it bring forth ...?'

"And the song died away in the distance, and mingled with
the murmur of the wind which was wailing without....

"Then began the apparitions. There were twelve of them, all
livid and weighted with chains and bleeding, each holding
its dissevered head in its hand, each wrapped in a shroud,
green with the moss of its sepulchre, each carrying in front
of it the mark of the twelve great passions, the mystic
link which unites man to the Creator. They advanced as some
dark shadow of night falls upon the mountains. It was one
of those terrifying groups, which one sees in the days of
torment, in the midst of the cross-roads of the seething
city; the citizens question one another by signs, and ask
each other--

"'Do you see those awful faces down there? Who on earth are
those men, and how come they to wander spectre-like among
the excited crowd?'

"And on the head of the one who walked first, like that of
an over-thrown king, so splendid was its pallor and its
regal lips scornful, a crown of fire was burning with this
word written in letters of blood, '_Lacenairisme!_' Dumb
and led by the figure who seemed to be their king, the
phantoms grouped themselves in a semi-circle at the foot of
the dilapidated bed, as though at the foot of some seat of
justice; and _he who is_, after fixing his earnest glance
upon them for some moments questioned them in the following
terms--

"'Who are you?'

"'Sorrow's elect, apostles of hunger.'

"'Your names?'

"'A mysterious letter.'

"'Whence come you?'

"'From the shades.'

"'What do you demand?'

"'Justice.'

"The echoes repeated, 'Justice!'

"And at a signal from their king, the phantoms intoned a
ringing hymn in chorus ..."

It had a kind of awful majesty in it, a sort of grand
terror, but we will reserve our space for other quotations
which we prefer to that. The apostle resumed--

"The pale phantoms ceased, their lips became motionless and
frozen, and round the accursed brows of these lost children
of the grave, there seemed to hover indistinctly the bloody
shadow of the past. Suddenly from the base to the top of
this mysterious ladder issued a loud sound, and fresh faces
appeared on the threshold.... A red shirt, a coarse woollen
cap, a poor pair of linen trousers soiled with sweat and
powder; at the feet was a brass cannon-ball, in its hands
were clanking chains; these accoutrements stood for the
symbols of all kinds of human misfortunes. As if they had
been called up by their predecessors, they entered and bowed
amicably to them. I noticed that each face bore a look
of unconcern and of defiance, each carefully hid a rusty
dagger beneath its vestments, and on their shoulders they
bore triumphantly a large chopping-block still dyed with
dark stains of blood. And on this block leant a man with
a drunken face and tottering legs, grotesquely supporting
himself on the worn-out handle of an axe. And this man,
gambolling and gesticulating, mumbled in a nasal tone, a
kind of lament with this refrain--

"'Voici l'autel et le bedeau!
À sa barbe faisons l'orgie;
Jusqu'à ce que sur notre vie,
Le diable tire le rideau,
Foin de l'autel et du bedeau!'

"And his companions took up the refrain in chorus to the
noise of their clashing chains. Which perceiving _he who is_
spread his hands over the dreadful pageant. There took place
a profound silence; then he said--

"'My heart, ocean of life, of grief and of love, is the
great receptacle of the new alliance into which fall its
tears and sweat and blood; and by the tears which have
watered, by the sweat which has dropped, by the blood which
has become fertile, be blessed, my brothers, executed
persons, convicts and sufferers, and hope--the hour of
revelation is at hand!'

'What!' I exclaimed in horror; 'hast thou come to preach the
sword?'

'I do not come to preach it but to give the word for it.'

"And _he who is_ replied--

"'Passions are like the twelve great tables of the law of
laws, LOVE. They are when in unison the source of all good
things; when subverted they are the source of all evils.'

"Silence again arose, and he added--

"'Each head that falls is one letter of a verb whose
meaning is not yet understood, but whose first word stands
for protestation; the last, signifies integral passional
expansion. The axe is a steel; the head of the executed,
a flint; the blood which spurts from it, the spark; and
society a powder-horn!'

"Silence was renewed, and he went on a third time--

"'The prison is to modern society what the circus was to
ancient Rome: the slave died for individual liberty; in our
day, the convict dies for passional integral liberty.'

"And again silence reigned, but after a while a mild
Voice from on high said to the sorry cortège which stood
motionless at one corner of the pallet-bed---

"'Have hope, ye poor martyrs! Hope! for the hour
approaches!'"

"Then three noble figures came forward--those of the
mechanic, the labourer and the soldier. The first was
hungry: they fought with him for the bread he had earned.
The second was both hungry and cold; they haggled for the
corn he had sown and the wood he had cut down. The third
had experienced every kind of human suffering; furthermore,
he had hoped and his hope had withered away, and he was
reproached for the blood that had been shed. All three
bore the history of their lives on their countenances; all
felt ill at ease in the present and were ready to question
God concerning His doings; but as the hour approached and
their cry was about to rise to the Eternal, a spectre rose
up from the limbs of the past: his name was _Duty._ Before
him they recoiled affrighted. A priest went before them,
his form wrapped in burial clothes; he advanced slowly with
lowered eyes. Strange contrast! He dreamed of the heavens
and yet bent low towards the earth! On his breast was the
inscription: _Christianity!_ Beneath: _Resignation._

"'Here they come! Behold them!' cried the apostle; they are
advancing to _him who is._ What will be the nature of their
speech and how will they express themselves in his presence?
Will their complaint be as great as their sadness? Not so,
their uncertainty is too great for them to dare to formulate
their thoughts: besides, doubt is their real feeling.
Perhaps, some day, they may speak out more freely. Let us
listen respectfully to the hymn that falls from their lips;
it is solemnly majestic, but less musical than the breeze
and less infinite than the Ocean. Hear it--

HYMNE

"Du haut de l'horizon, du milieu des nuages
Où l'astre voyageur apparut aux trois rois,
Des profondeurs du temple où veillent tes images,
O Christ! entends-tu notre voix?
Si tu contemples la misère
De la foule muette au pied de tes autels,
Une larme de sang doit mouiller ta paupière.
Tu dois te demander, dans ta douleur austère,
S'il est des dogmes éternels!"

LE PRÊTRE

"O Christ! j'ai pris longtemps pour un port salutaire
Ta maison, dont le toit domine les hauts lieux;
Et j'ai voulu cacher au fond du sanctuaire,
Comme sous un bandeau, mon front tumultueux."

LE SOLDAT

"O Christ! j'ai pris longtemps pour une noble chaîne
L'abrutissant lien que je traîne aujourd'hui;
Et j'ai donné mon sang à la cause incertaine
De cette égalité dont l'aurore avait lui."

LE LABOUREUR

"O Christ! j'ai pris longtemps pour une tâche sainte
La rude mission confiée à mes bras,
Et j'ai, pendant vingt ans, sans repos et sans plainte,
Laissé sur les sillons la trace de mes pas."

L'OUVRIER

"O Christ! j'ai pris longtemps pour œuvre méritoire
Mes longs jours consumés dans un labeur sans fin;
Et, maintes fois, de peur d'outrager ta mémoire,
J'ai plié ma nature aux douleurs de la faim."

LE PRÊTRE

"La foi n'a pas rempli mon âme inassouvie!"

LE SOLDAT

"L'orage a balayé tout le sang répandu!"

LE LABOUREUR

"Où je semais le grain, j'ai récolté l'ortie!"

L'OUVRIER

"Hier, J'avais un lit mon maître l'a vendu!"

"Silence! Has the night wind borne away their prayer on its
wings? or have their voices ceased to question the heavens?
Are they perchance comforted? Who can tell? God keeps the
enigma in His own mighty hands, the terrible enigma held
aloft over the borders of two worlds--the present and the
future. But they will not be forsaken on their way where
doubt assails them, where resignation fells them. Children
of God, they shall have their share of life and of sunshine.
God loves those who seek after Him.... Then the priest and
soldier and artizan and labourer gave place to others, and
the apostle went on--

"And after two women, one of whom was dazzlingly and boldly
adorned, and the other mute and veiled, there followed a
procession in which the grotesque was mingled with the
terrible, the fantastic with the real; all moved about the
room together, which seemed suddenly to grow larger to make
space for this multitude, whilst the retiring spectres,
giving place to the newcomers, grouped themselves silently
at a little distance from their formidable predecessors.
And _he who is_, preparing to address a speech to the fresh
arrivals, one of their number, whom I had not at first
noticed, came forward to answer in the name of his acolytes.
Upon the brow of this interpreter, square built, with
shining and greedy lips and on his glistening hungry lips, I
read in letters of gold the word _Macairisme!_

"And _he who is_ said--

"'Who are you?'

"'The favourites of luxury, the apostles of joy.'

"'Whence come you?'

"'From wealth.'

"'Where do you go?'

"'To pleasure.'

"'What has made you so well favoured?'

"'Infamy.'

"'What makes you so happy?'

"'Impunity.'"

The strange procession which then unfolded itself before the apostle's eyes can be imagined: first the dazzling woman in the bold attire, the prostitute; the mute, veiled woman was the adulteress; then came stock-jobbers, sharpers, business men, bankers, usurers,--all that class of worms, reptiles and serpents which are spawned in the filth of society.

"One twirled a great gold snuff-box between his fingers,
upon the lid of which were engraved these words: _Powdered
plebeian patience_; and he rammed it into his nostrils with
avidity. Another was wrapped in the folds of a great cloak
which bore this inscription: _Cloth cut from the backs
of fools._ A third, with a narrow forehead, yellow skin
and hollow cheeks, was leaning lovingly upon his abdomen,
which was nothing less than an iron safe, his two hands,
the fingers of which were so many great leeches, twisting
and opening their gaping tentacles, as though begging for
food. Several of the figures had noses like the beaks of
vultures, between their round and wild eyes: noses which
cut up with disgusting voracity a quarter of carrion held
at arm's length by a chain of massive gold, resembling
those which shine on the breasts of the grand dignitaries
of various orders of chivalry. In the middle of all was one
who shone forth in brilliant pontifical robes, with a mitre
on his head shaped like a globe, sparkling with emeralds
and rubies. He held a crozier in one hand upon which he
leant, and a sword in the other, which seemed at a distance
to throw out flames; but on nearer approach the creaking of
bones was heard beneath the vestments, and the figure turned
out to be only a skeleton painted, and the sword and the
crozier were but of fragile glass and rotten wood. Finally,
above this seething, deformed indescribable assembly, there
floated a sombre banner, a gigantic oriflamme, a fantastic
labarum, the immense folds of which were being raised by
a pestilential whistling wind; and on this banner, which
slowly and silently unfurled like the wings of a vulture,
could be read, _Providential Pillories._ And the whole
company talked and sang, laughed and wept, gesticulated
and danced and performed innumerable artifices. It was
bewildering! It was fearful!"

Here followed the description of a kind of revel beside which _Faust's_ was altogether lacking in imagination. But, when he thought they had all talked, sung, laughed, wept, gesticulated and danced long enough, _he who is_ made a sign and all those voices melted into but two voices, and all the figures into but two, and all the heads into but two. And two human forms appeared side by side, looking down at their feet, which were of clay. Then, suddenly, out of the clay came forth a seven-headed hydra and each of its heads bore a name. The first was called Pride; the second, Avarice; the third, Luxury; the fourth, Envy; the fifth, Gluttony; the sixth, Anger; the seventh, Idleness. And, standing up to its full height, this frightful hydra, with its thousand folds, strangled the writhing limbs of the colossus, which struggled and howled and uttered curses and lamentations towards the heavens: each of the seven jaws of the monster impressed horrible bites in his flesh, one in his forehead, another in his heart, another in his belly, another in his mouth, another in his flanks and another in his arms.

"'Behold the past!' said _he who is._

"'Brother,' I cried, 'and what shall then the future be
like?'

"'Look,' he said. The hydra had disappeared and the two
human forms were defined again, intertwined, full of
strength and majesty and love against the light background
of the hovel, and the feet of the colossus were changed
into marble of the most dazzling whiteness. When I had
well contemplated this celestial form, _he who is_ again
held out his hands and it vanished, and the studio became
as it was a few moments previously. The three great orders
of our visitors were still there, but calm now and in holy
contemplation. Then _he who is_ said--

"'Whoever you may be, from whatever region you come, from
sadness or pleasure, from a splendid east or the dull west,
you are welcome brothers, and to all I wish good days, good
years! To the murdered and convicts, brothers! innocent
protestors, gladiators of the circus, living thermometers
of the falsity of social institutions, Hope! the hour of
your restoration is at hand!... And you poor prostitutes,
my sisters! beautiful diamonds, bespattered with mud and
opprobrium, Hope! the hour of your transformation is
approaching!... To you, adulteresses, my sisters, who weep
and lament in your domestic prison, fair Christs of love
with tarnished brows, Hope! the hour of liberty is near!...
To you, poor artisans, my brothers, who sweat for the master
who devours you, who eat the scraps of bread he allows
you, when he does leave you any, in agony and torments for
the morrow! What ought you to become? Everything! What are
you now? Nothing! Hope and listen: Oppression is impious;
resignation is blasphemy!... To you, poor labouring men and
farmers, brothers, who toil for the landlord, sow and reap
the corn for the landlord of which he leaves you only the
bran, Hope! the time for bread whiter than snow is coming!
... To you, poor soldiers, my brothers, who fertilise the
great furrow of humanity with your blood, Hope! the hour
for eternal peace is at hand!... And you, poor priests, my
brothers, who lament beneath your frieze robes and heat your
foreheads at the sides of your altars! Hope! the hour of
toleration is at hand!'

"After a moment's silence, _he who is_ went on--

"'I not forget you, either, you the happy ones of the
century, those elected for joy. You, too, have your mission
to fulfil; it is a holy one, for from the glutted body of
the old world will issue the transformed universe of the
future.... Be welcome, then, brothers; good wishes to you
all!'

"Then all those who were present, who had listened to him,
departed from the garret in silence, filled with hope; and
their footsteps echoed on the steps of the interminably long
staircase. And the same cry which had already rung in my
ears resounded a second time--'The year '40 is cold, it is
hungry! The year '40 needs food! What will it bring forth?
What will it produce? Ah! ah! ah!'

"I turned to _him who is._ The night had not run a third of
its course, and the flame of the lamp still burnt in its
yellow fount, and I exclaimed--

"'Brother! in whose name wilt thou relieve all these
miseries?'

"'In the name of my mother, the great mother who was
crucified!' replied _he who is._

"He continued: 'At the beginning all was well and all women
were like the one single woman, _Eve_, and all men like one
single man, _Adam_, and the reign of _Eve and Adam_, or of
primitive unity, flourished in Eden, and harmony and love
were the sole laws of this world.'

"He went on: 'Fifty years ago appeared a woman who was more
beautiful than all others--her name was _Liberty_, and she
took flesh in a people--that people called itself _France._
On her brow, as in ancient Eden, spread a tree with green
boughs which was called the _tree of liberty._ Henceforward
France and Liberty stand for the same thing, one single
identical idea!' And, giving me a harp which hung above
his bed, he added. 'Sing, prophet!' and the Spirit of God
inspired me with these words--

I

"Why dost thou rise with the Sun, O France! O Liberty! And
why are thy vestments scented with incense? Why dost thou
ascend the mountains in early morn?

II

"Is it to see reapers in the ripened cornfields, or the
gleaner bending over the furrows like a shrub bowed down by
the winds?

III

"Or is it to listen to the song of the lark or the murmur of
the river, or to gaze at the dawn which is as beautiful as a
blue-eyed maiden?

IV

"If you rise with the sun, O France! O Liberty! it is not to
watch the reapers in the cornfields or the bowed gleaners
among the furrows.

V

"Nor to listen to the song of the lark or murmur of the
river, nor yet to gaze at the dawn, beauteous as a blue-eyed
maiden.

VI

"Thou awaitest thy bridegroom to be: thy bridegroom of the
strong hands, with lips more roseate than corals from the
Spanish seas, and forehead more polished than Pharo's marble.

VII

"Come down from thy mountains, O France! O Liberty! Thou
wilt not find thy bridegroom there. Thou wilt meet him in
the holy city, in the midst of the multitude.

VIII

"Behold him as he comes to thee, with proud steps, his
breast covered with a breastplate of brass; thou shalt slip
the nuptial ring on his finger; at thy feet is a crown that
has fallen in the mud; thou shalt place it on his brow and
proclaim him emperor. Thus adorned thou shalt gaze on him
proudly and address him thus--

IX

'My bridegroom thou art as beauteous as the first of men.
Take off the Phrygian cap from my brow, and replace it by
a helmet with waving plumes; gird my loins with a flaming
sword and send me out among the nations until I shall have
accomplished in sorrow the mystery of love, according as it
has been written, that I am to crush the serpent's head!'

X

"And when thy bridegroom has listened to thee, he will
reply: 'Thy will be done, O France! O Liberty!' And he will
urge thee forth, well armed, among the nations, that God's
word may be accomplished.

XI

"Why is thy brow so pale, O France! O Liberty! And why is
thy white tunic soiled with sweat and blood? Why walkest
thou painfully like a woman in travail?

XII

"Because thy bridegroom gives thee no relaxation from thy
task, and thy travail is at hand.

XIII

"Dost thou hear the wind roaring in the distance, and the
mighty voice of the flood as it groans in its granite
prison? Dost thou hear the moaning of the waves and the cry
of the night-birds? All announce that deliverance is at hand.

XIV

"As in the days of thy departure, O France, O Liberty!
put on thy glorious raiment; sprinkle on thy locks the
purest perfumes of Araby; empty with thy disciples the
farewell goblet, and take thy way to thy Calvary, where the
deliverance of the world must be sealed.

XV

"'What is the name of that hill thou climbest amidst the
lightning flashes?'

"'The hill is Waterloo.'

"'What is that plain called all red with thy blood?'

"'It is the plain of the Belle-Alliance!'

"'Be thou for ever blessed among women, among all the
nations, O France! O Liberty!'

"And when _he who is_ had listened to these things, he
replied--

"'Oh, my mother, thou who told me "Death was not the tomb;
but the cradle of an ampler life, of more infinite Love!"
thy cry has reached me. O mother! by the anguish of thy
painful travail, by the sufferings of thy martyrdom in
crushing the serpent's head and saving Humanity!'

"Then turning to me he added: 'Child of God, what art thou
looking for? Light or darkness? Death or life? Hope or
despair?'

"'Brother,' I replied, 'I am looking for Truth!'

"And he replied, 'In the name of primeval unity,
reconstructed by the grand blood of France, I hail thee
apostle of _Eve-Adam!_'

"And _he who is_ called forth to the abyss which opened out
at his voice--

"'Child of God,' he said, 'listen attentively, and look!'

"And I looked and saw a great vessel, with a huge mast
which terminated in a mere hull, and one of the sides of
the vessel looked west and the other east. And on the
west it rested upon the cloudy tops of three mountains
whose bases were plunged in a raging sea. Each of these
mountains bore its name on its blood-red flank: the first
was called Golgotha; the second, Mont-Saint-Jean; the
third, Saint-Helena. In the middle of the great mast,
on the western side, a five-armed cross was fixed, upon
which a woman was stretched, dying. Over her head was this
inscription--

"FRANCE
18 _June_ 1815
Good Friday

"Each of the five arms of the cross on which she was
stretched represented one of the five parts of the world;
her head rested over Europe and a cloud surrounded her. But
on the side of the vessel which looked towards the east
there were no shadows; and the keel stayed at the threshold
of the city of God, on the summit of a triumphal arch which
the sun lit up with its rays. And the same woman reappeared,
but she was transfigured and radiant; she lifted up the
stone of a grave on which was written--

"RESTORATION, DAYS OF THE TOMB
29 _July_ 1830
Easter

"And her bridegroom held out his arms, smiling, and together
they sprang upwards to the skies. Then, from the depths of
the arched heavens, a mighty voice spake--

"'The mystery of love is accomplished--all are called! all
are chosen! all are re-instated!' Behold this is what I saw
in the holy heavens and soon after the abyss was veiled, and
_he who is_ laid his hands upon me and said--

"'Go, my brother, take off thy festal garments and don the
tunic of a working-man; hang the hammer of a worker at thy
waist, for he who does not go with the people does not side
with me, and he who does not take his share of labour is the
enemy of God. Go, and be a faithful disciple of unity!'

"And I replied: 'It is the faith in which I desire to live,
which I am ready to seal with my blood? When I was ready to
set forth, the sun began to climb above the horizon.

"_He who was_ CAILLAUX
_"July_ 1840"

Such was the apocalypse of the chief, and we might almost say, the only apostle of the Mapah. I began with the intention of cutting out three-quarters of it, and I have given nearly the whole. I began, my pen inclined to scoff, but my courage has failed me; for there is beneath it all a true devotion and poetry and nobility of thought. What became of the man who wrote these lines? I do not know in the least; but I have no doubt he did not desert _the faith in which he desired to live, and that he remained ready to seal it with his blood._ ... Society must be in a bad state and sadly out of joint and disorganised for men of such intelligence to find no other method of employment than to become self-constituted gods--or apostles!