Chapter IV: Part IV: 'Bottomless perdition.'--Milton (1)

Fog and cloud! Nothing can be seen from the bastions of the castle of the Holy Trinity, to the right or to the left, in front or in the rear, but dense, motionless, snowy mist; a spectral image of that deluge-wrath which, as it rose to sweep o'er earth, once broke against these stern, steep cliffs and beetling peaks of rock: no trace is to be seen of the buried valley, for the ghostly waves of the cold, white sea of foam shroud it closely in their stifling veils; the glowing face of the crimson sun shines not as yet upon earth's winding sheet of silent, clinging, pallid vapor.

The tower of the castle stands upon a bold and naked granite peak. Built of the strong rock from which it soars by the giant labor of the now dying Past, it seems during the lapse of centuries to have grown up from its stony heart, as the human breast grows from the broad back of the Centaur. A single banner streams above its lofty turret, the only banner of the Cross now raised on earth; the symbol of God's mystic love alone floats high enough to pierce into the unclouded blue of the stormy sky!

The white and sleeping mist gradually awakens; the sighing and howling of the bleak winds are heard above; the vapor palpitates in the first rays of the coming sun, and a drifting ice-floe of curdling clouds drives wildly o'er this quickening sea of fog and foam.

Other voices, human voices, mingle with the wails and sobs of the passing storm: borne upward on the ghastly waves of the spectral cloud sea, they break against the walls of the granite castle.

The pallid shroud of mist is suddenly riven, and through the walls of the chasm torn through the heart of the white foam, glimpses are seen of the abyss below.

How dark it looks in the depths! A sea of heads in wild commotion surges there; the valley swarms with human life as ocean's slimy sands with creeping things that writhe and sting.

The sun! the sun! He mounts above the rocky peaks; the pallid vapors rise in blood and melt in gold, and as they roll and lift into the sky, more and more distinctly grow upon the view the threatening swarms of men still gathering below.

The quivering mist rolls into crimson clouds and scales the craggy cliffs; it dies softly away into the blue depths of the infinite sky. The valley glitters like a sea of light, throws back the dewy sunshine in a dazzling glare, for every hand is armed with sharp and sparkling blades and points of steel--and millions are seen pouring into its depths, numberless as they will pour into the vale of the Last Judgment.

* * * * *

A cathedral church in the castle of the Holy Trinity.

Lords, senators, dignitaries are seen seated on either side, each
under the banner of a king or knight. Bands of nobles stand behind
the banners. The Archbishop is in front of the high altar, a choir
of stoled Priests kneel behind and around it. The Man appears,
pauses a few moments on the threshold of the church, then advances
slowly up the aisle to the Archbishop, holding a banner in his
hand.

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. O God of our fathers! we, Thy last priests, pray in the last church of Thy Son now standing upon earth for the faith of our ancestors! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord our God!

FIRST COUNT. See with what pride Count Henry regards us.

SECOND COUNT. As if the whole universe were at his feet.

THIRD COUNT. And yet he has done nothing but cut his way through the camp of the peasants at night!

FIRST COUNT. He left one hundred, nay, it is reported, two hundred of their men dead upon the place of combat.

SECOND COUNT. Let us object to his appointment as general-in-chief.

THE MAN (_kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop_). I lay my trophy at thy feet!

ARCHBISHOP (_giving him a sword_). Gird this sword upon thee; it was once consecrated to Saint Florian!

MANY VOICES. Long live Count Henry! Vivat! vivat!

ARCHBISHOP. And thus sealing thee with the sign of the cross, I commit to thy hands the sole command of this, our last fortress and refuge upon earth.

It is the universal wish that thou shouldst assume the rank of general-in-chief.

MANY VOICES. Long live our general! Vivat! vivat!

A VOICE. I will not give my consent to the appointment!

MANY VOICES. Away with the objector! Long live Count Henry!

THE MAN. If any one present have just cause to reproach me, let him proclaim it openly, and not hide himself in the crowd!

He pauses; no one responds.

I accept this sword from thy hands, most reverend father; and may God send me an early and sudden death if I fail to deliver thee!

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Gift him with power, O God; and let Thy Holy Spirit descend upon him! Deliver us from our enemies, O Lord!

THE MAN. Let us all, princes, knights, and nobles, take a solemn oath to defend the glory and fame of our fathers!

Let us swear that though hunger and thirst may lead us to death, they shall not force us to dishonor!

Let us vow that no suffering shall induct us to capitulate, to yield one of our just rights, or to sacrifice any of the duties due to our Creator! Swear!

MANY VOICES. We swear.

The Archbishop elevates the Cross, they kneel and pledge their
faith.

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. The perjured Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!

The faint-hearted Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath, O God!

The traitor Thou wilt punish in Thy wrath O God!

THE MAN (_drawing his sword_). Keep the oath, and I promise glory--for victory, pray to God!

He leaves the church, surrounded and followed by bands of knights,
nobles, etc.

* * * * *

A courtyard in the castle of the Holy Trinity. The Man, counts,
barons, princes, noblemen.

A COUNT (_leading the Man aside_). What--is all irretrievably lost?

THE MAN. Not all, unless your courage fail before the time.

THE COUNT. Before what time?

THE MAN. Before death!

A BARON (_leading him off on the other side_). It is reported that you have seen and spoken with our dreadful foe, Count Henry. If we should fall into his hands, will he have the least compassion upon us?

THE MAN. To tell you the truth, such compassion as our fathers never dreamed could be shown to them: '_the gallows_!'

THE BARON. We must guard against that to the utmost of our power!

THE MAN. What says your excellency?

PRINCE. I must speak a few words alone with you, (_He draws Count Henry aside_.) It is all very well to encourage our people, but you must surely be aware that we can hold out no longer.

THE MAN. What else is left us, prince?

PRINCE. As you have been appointed chief, it is for you to propose the terms of _capitulation_.

THE MAN. Not so loud....

PRINCE. Why not?

THE MAN. Because your excellency would thus forfeit your own life! (_He turns to the men thronging around him._) He who speaks of surrender will be punished with death!

BARON, COUNT, AND PRINCE (_together_.) He who speaks of surrender will be punished with death!

ALL. With death! With death! Vivat! vivat!

EXEUNT.

* * * * *

The gallery of the tower. The Man. Jacob.

THE MAN. Where is my son, Jacob?

JACOB. He is in the north tower, seated on the threshold of the old vault and dungeon, singing strange songs of prophecy.

THE MAN. Man the Leonoren bastion as strongly as possible, stir not from the spot, and make constant use of the best glass to observe what movements are going on among the forces of the besiegers.

JACOB. So help me God the Lord!

It were well to give a glass of brandy to our troops to keep up their sinking courage.

THE MAN. If necessary, open the cellars of our counts and princes.

Exit Jacob.

THE MAN (_mounting some feet higher, and standing wider the banner upon a small terrace_). With the whole power of my eyes I trace your plans; with the concentrated hatred of my soul I surround you, my enemies! No longer with a single voice, or with a vain enthusiasm, am I to meet you; but with the sharp swords and strength of men governed by my will I seek our last encounter!

It is a noble thing to be the leader in this contest; to look even from the bed of death, if so it must be, upon the strange power added to my own single arm through the many wills subjected to my rule; and glorious to gaze thus down upon you, my enemies, lying far below in the abyss and crying up to me from the depths, as the damned cry up to heaven!

Yet a few hours more of time, and then I, with thousands of the miserable wretches who have forgotten and renounced their God, will be no more forever--but come what will, one day of life at least is left me--I will enjoy it to the utmost--I will rule--combat--live! Is this my last song?

The sun sets behind the cliffs; sinks in a long, dark shroud of vapor--on every side his rays pour blood into the valley. Foreshadow of my bloody death, I greet thee with a more sincere and faithful heart than I was wont to salute the allurements of pleasure, deception, enchantment, love, in the past days of my youth!

Not through low intrigue, through cunning skill, through laborious effort, have I attained the fulfilment of my wishes; but suddenly and unlocked for, as I have ever dreamed I would!

Ruler over those who were but yesterday my equals, I have reached the aim of my ambition: I stand on the very threshold of the eternal sleep!

* * * * *

A hall in the castle lighted with torches; George reclining upon a
bed; the Man enters, and places his weapons upon a table.

THE MAN. Let a hundred men keep guard upon the bulwarks, the remainder may repose after our long and exhausting combat!

VOICE (_without_). So help me God the Lord!

THE MAN. You must have been frightened, George, with the noise of our attack, the firing of musketry, the cries of the soldiers!

But keep up your courage, my child; we shall not be taken to-day, nor to-morrow.

GEORGE. I have indeed heard it all distinctly, but it is not that which strikes terror to my heart; the thunder of the cannon flies on and is here no longer--it is something else that haunts me, that appals me, father!

THE MAN. You fear for me, George?

GEORGE. No. I know your hour has not yet struck.

THE MAN. A heavy weight has fallen from my heart to-day, for in the plain below, scattered like autumn leaves, lie the corpses of our foes, foiled in their fierce attack.

Come, George, we are alone, come! tell me all thy thronging thoughts; I will listen to thee once more as of old in our own home!

GEORGE (_hurriedly_). Follow me, then--follow me, father! A dreadful trial--sentence--is reëchoed here every night. Oh come with me!

He goes to a door in the wall hidden by a heavy fall of tapestry,
and opens it.

THE MAN. George! where art thou going? Who has made known to thee this secret passage into endless vaults covered with eternal darkness? to this black charnel house, where moulder the bones of earlier and countless victims?

GEORGE. Where thine eye, accustomed to the sunshine, has no power to pierce, my spirit presses forward.

Gloom roll on to gloom--and darkness gather unto darkness!

He enters the door, followed by his father, and rapidly descends
into the vault.

* * * * *

A long, vaulted, subterranean dungeon. Grates, bars, chains, and
broken instruments of torture. The Man, with a torch in his hand,
stands at the base of a great block of granite, on the top of which
stands George.

THE MAN. Come down to me, George, I implore!

GEORGE. Hearest thou not these voices? Seest thou not these forms?

THE MAN. All is still as the grave--and almost as dark. The light of the torch is instantly swallowed up by the damp chill gloom around us!

GEORGE. Listen! Ever nearer! ever clearer! One after another they are slowly filing on from the depths of the narrow vaults--they are solemnly seating themselves below, far in the background; behind thee, father!

THE MAN. Thy madness is my damnation! Thy mind is wandering, my poor child; thou art destroying the strength which I now so sorely need!

GEORGE. I see their pale and stately forms as they collect for fearful judgment! I see the prisoner approach the dreadful bar, his tall form seems.... I cannot discern his features--they float and flow like morning mist! Hark!

CHORUS OF VOICES. We, once chained, beaten, tormented, choked with dust and broken with stones, through the Power now given to our hands, proceed in our turn to sentence!

We too will judge and torture; try and condemn; Satan himself will delight to assume the execution of our sentence.

THE MAN. George, what dost thou see?

George. The prisoner! the prisoner, father! He wring his hands--O father! father!

A VOICE. With thee dies out the accursed race; all its power, all its passions, all its pride, have joined in thee to perish!

CHORUS OF VOICES. _Because thou hast loved nothing--revered nothing save thyself and thine own thoughts--thou art condemned--art damned to all eternity!_

THE MAN. I see nothing, but I hear from every side--above--below--sighs and wails--judgment, threatening, and eternal doom!

GEORGE. The prisoner! he raises his haughty head as thou dost, father, when thou art angered! He answers with proud words, as thou dost, when thou scornest--father!

CHORUS OF VOICES. In vain! thou plead'st in vain! there is no redemption for him more, in earth or heaven!

A VOICE. Yet another day of passing earthly glory, of all share in which thine ancestors have robbed me and my brethren--and then thou fallest forever--thou, with thy brethren!

Your burials will be, as once were ours, without the toll of holy knells, without tears, sobs, or wailing mourners, without friends, without relations, and you will die transfixed upon the same rock of universal human pain!

THE MAN. I know you, wretched ghosts! wandering stars amid the angelic hosts!

He goes forward into the darkness.

GEORGE. Father! go not into that fearful gloom! Father! in the name of Jesus Christ--I implore--I conjure thee--father!

THE MAN (_turning toward his son_). Whom do you see below? Speak, and tell me truly, George!

GEORGE. The prisoner--he is thyself, my father!

He is white as snow--gagged--chained--they drag him on--they torture thee, my father!

I hear thy gasping breath--thy groans--thy sobs! (_He falls upon his knees._) Forgive me, father! My mother shines through the dark--and commands me to....

He falls back in a fainting fit.

THE MAN (_catching the falling boy in his arms_). This alone was wanting! Ha! my own, my only child has led me to the brink of hell!

Mary--inexorable spirit! God!!

And thou, second Mary, to whom I have so often prayed!

Here then is the beginning of eternal darkness, eternal torture!...

Back! back into life! one day of glory is at least still left me! First must I combat with my fellow men--and then for my eternal struggle!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS (_dying away in the distance_). _Because thou hast loved nothing, revered nothing, save thyself and thine own thoughts--thou art, damned to all eternity!_

* * * * *

A large hall in the castle of the Holy Trinity; arms and armor hang
upon the walls, with various Gothic ornaments. The Man; women,
children, some old men, and nobles are kneeling at his feet. The
Godfather stands in the centre of the hall, and crowds of men are
in the background.

THE MAN. No, no. By my son--by the memory of my wife--never! never!

VOICES OF WOMEN. Have mercy upon us! Hunger gnaws our bowels; our children die of famine; fear is upon us day and night; have pity upon us!

VOICES OF MEN. It still is time! Listen to the herald--dismiss not the envoy!

GODFATHER. I regard not your reproaches, Count Henry, for my whole life has been that of a good citizen.

If I have assumed the office of ambassador, which I am at this moment fulfilling, it is because I understand the age in which we live, and estimate our times aright.

Pancratius is, if I may so express myself, the representative of the people....

THE MAN. Out of my sight, old man!--(_Aside to Jacob._) Bring a detachment of soldiers hither!

Exit Jacob.

The women rise from their knees weeping and sobbing, and the men
draw back a few paces.

A BARON.--We are all lost, and through you alone, Count Henry!

SECOND BARON. We renounce all further obedience.

A PRINCE. Let us arrange for ourselves the terms of the surrender of this castle with the worthy envoy!

GODFATHER. The great man who sent me here secures life to you all, if you will enter into a league with him and acknowledge the justice of the struggle of the century.

MANY VOICES. We acknowledge it.

THE MAN. You have sworn to me, and I have sworn to you, to die upon these walls; I intend to keep my oath, and you shall be true to yours. You are all to die with me!

Ha! can you indeed still wish to live?

Ha! ask the spirits of your fathers why, when living, they were guilty of such continuous oppression, and why they ruled with so much cruelty!--(_To a Count._) Why have you, count, oppressed your serfs?--(_To another._) Why have you passed your youth in cards and dice, and your life in the land of the stranger?--(_To another._) Why have you crept before the great, and scorned the lowly?-(_To one of the women._) Why did you not bring up your sons to defend you? As knights and soldiers, they might then have served you now; but you have preferred dealings with Jews and lawyers: call upon them, then, for life and safety.--(_He rises and extends his arms toward them._) Why hasten ye thus to shame? why wrap your last hours in shrouds of infamy?

On with me, ye knights and nobles! On, where bayonets glitter, swift balls whistle!

Oh seek not the accursed gallows prepared for you by the New Men; believe me, the masked and silent hangman stands waiting to throw the rope of shame around your high-born throats!

A VOICE. He speaks the truth--to our bayonets!

ANOTHER VOICE. We die of hunger; there is no more food!

VOICES OF WOMEN. Our children! Your children! Mercy!

GODFATHER. I promise you safety--safety of life and limb....

THE MAN (_approaching the Godfather, and seizing him y the shoulder_). Sacred person of the herald, go! Go, and hide thy gray hairs in the tents of Jews and low mechanics, that I may not dye them in thine own base blood!

Jacob enters with a division of armed men.

Take aim at this brow, furrowed with the folds of idle learning! Aim at this liberty cap, which trembles on the brainless head before every breath from the lips of a man!

The Godfather escapes.

ALL _cry, with one breath_: Bind Count Henry! Deliver him up to Pancratius!

THE MAN. Wait but a single moment, lords! (_He goes from one soldier to another._) Do you remember when we climbed a mountain's rocky slope, a savage wild beast closely tracked our steps, and when you, frightened, fell into a yawning chasm, I rescued you, and saved your life? You were most grateful then. Have you forgotten it?--Jerome, we once were cast away upon the Danube's craggy shore; we braved the waves, and saved our lives; we were bold swimmers, and we helped each other well!--Christophe, Hieronymus, you sailed with me upon the wild Black Sea; we were young sailors then!--(_To others._) When the fire destroyed your homes, who built your cottages anew?--(_To others._) You fled to me from cruel lords, and I redressed your wrongs.--(_Addressing himself to the men generally._) Reflect, and choose!... Speak! will you arm with me to battle for our rights, or will you leave me here to die alone--with haughty smiles upon my stiffening lips, because, among so many men, I found no single _man_?

THE MEN. Long live Count Henry! we desert him not--vivat!

THE MAN. Let the remaining meat and brandy be shared among them; then upon the walls!

SOLDIERS. Meat and brandy, and then upon the walls!

THE MAN. Go with them, Jacob, and in an hour be ready to renew the fight!

JACOB. So help me God the Lord.

WOMEN. We curse thee, Count Henry, in the name of our innocent children!

OTHER VOICES. We, for our fathers!

OTHER VOICES. We, for our wives!

THE MAN. And I breathe curses on all craven souls!

* * * * *

The wall of the fortress of the Holy Trinity. Troops are lying
scattered about. Broken rocks and stones strew the ground, mingled
with pikes and guns; soldiers are running to and fro; the Man leans
against a bulwark, and Jacob stands beside him.

THE MAN (_putting his sword into its sheath_). There can be no greater pleasure than to play at danger when we always win; and when the time comes to lose, one cast of the die, and all is over!

JACOB. Our last broadside has driven them back for the moment, but I see them below there, gathering to renew the storm; however, all is vain, for since the world a world was, no one has ever escaped his destiny!

THE MAN. Are there any cartridges left?

JACOB. Neither balls nor grapeshot: everything has its end!

THE MAN. Bring then my son to me; I would embrace him once more!

Exit Jacob.

The smoke from the powder has dimmed my eyes; it seems to me as if the valley were swelling up to my feet, and again sinking back to its place; the socks crack, and cross each other at a thousand angles, and my thoughts wander, flicker, quiver in the most fantastic forms. (_Seats himself upon a wall._) It is not worth the trouble to be a man--nor even an angel; the highest archangel must feel, after some centuries of existence, as we do after a few years of our fleeting life, utter weariness in his soul, and long, as we do, for mightier powers! Either one must be God--or nothing....

Enter Jacob with George.

Take some of the men with you, go through the castle, and drive all before you upon the walls!

JACOB. Counts, princes, bankers?

Exit Jacob.

THE MAN. Come to me, my dearest son! place thy thin hands in mine, while I press my lips upon thy pure forehead; thy mother's brow was once as white and smooth!

GEORGE. Before thy men took up their arms to-day, I heard mamma's voice; her words came floating to me as soft and sweet as perfumed air; she said to me: '_George, thou wilt come to me this very evening, and sit down beside me_.'

THE MAN. Did she name me to thee?

GEORGE. She said: '_This very evening I expect my son_.'

THE MAN (_aside_). Is my strength to fail me, when I have almost reached the end of the weary way? No, God will not permit it! For one moment's fiery madness, I will be thy prisoner to all eternity!--(_Aloud_). Oh, my son! forgive--forgive the fatal gift of life! We part; and knowest thou for how long a time?

GEORGE. Take me with thee, father, and leave me not! I love thee; oh, leave me not, my father--and I will draw thee on with me!

THE MAN. Our paths are widely sundered. Amid the choirs of happy angels thou wilt forget thy father--thou wilt bring me down no drop of cooling dew. O George! George! my son! my son!

GEORGE. What dreadful cries! I tremble, father. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer comes the thunder of the cannon; the last hour--the prophesied--draws near!

THE MAN. Jacob! quick--quick--here!

A band of counts and princes cross the courtyard. Jacob follows
with the soldiers.

A VOICE. You give us broken arms, and force us to the combat!

ANOTHER VOICE. Henry, have mercy on thyself!

THIRD VOICE. Weak, wearied, famished, drive us not upon the walls!

FOURTH VOICE. Where do they drive us? where?

THE MAN. To death!--(_To George, folding him in his arms._) With this embrace I would fain bind thee to my heart forever, George! Alas! I know our paths are widely sundered: it may not be, my son! my son!

Struck by a ball, George sinks dying in his arms.

VOICE (_from above_). To me! to me! pure spirit! Up to me, my son!

THE MAN. Ha! to my aid, soldiers! (_He draws his sword, and holds it before the lips of the wounded boy._) The blade is crystal clear; no moisture dims the cold and glittering steel! Breath and life already gone! O George, my son!

Ha! they are upon me! On I on! They are at last but a sword's length from me! Back! Back! into the abyss, ye sons of freedom. Back!

Rushing on of man, confusion, struggle.

* * * * *

Another part of the wall of the castle. Men in the distance in line
of battle. Jacob is seen stretched out upon the wall: the Man,
sprinkled with blood, hastily approaches him.

THE MAN. Faithful old man, what has happened to you?

JACOB. May the devil reward you in hell for your obstinacy, and my dying agonies!

So help me God the Lord!

Dies.

THE MAN (_throwing away his sword_). I will need thee no longer, sword of my fathers! My son is in heaven--the very last of my retainers lies dead at my feet--the craven nobles have deserted their cause; already they kneel before the victor, and sue and howl for mercy! (_Looking in every direction around him._) There still is time; as yet the enemy are not upon me! I will steal a moment's rest before....

Ha! the New Men scale the northern tower; they shout 'Count Henry'--they seek him in every direction!

Here I am! here I am! here I am! But you are not to pronounce sentence upon me; the dead have already given in their verdict. I go to meet the judgment and justice of my God! (_He clambers up a steep cliff jutting out over the abyss._) I see thee, my eternity, as thou rapidly floatest on to meet me, black with the shadows of eternal night! shoreless, limitless, infinite! And in the midst of thy rayless gloom, like a burning sun, eternally shining, but illumining nothing, I see my God! (_He takes some steps forward, and stands on the brink of the precipice._) Ha! they run, the New Men--they see me now! Jesus! Mary! O Poetry! be cursed by me, as I shall be to all eternity! Up, ye strong arms! cut through these waves of air!

He springs into the abyss.

* * * * *

The courtyard of the castle. Pancratius, Leonard; Bianchetti stands
at the head of a regiment of soldiers. The remaining princes and
counts, accompanied by their wives and children, file in before
Pancratius.

PANCRATIUS. Your name?

A COUNT. Christopher von Volsagen.

PANCRATIUS. You have pronounced it for the last time! And yours?

A PRINCE. Wladislaus, Lord of Schwarzwald.

PANCRATIUS. It shall be heard on earth no more! And yours?

A BARON. Alexander von Godalberg.

PANCRATIUS. It is already erased from the list of the living. Go!

BIANCHETTI (_to Leonard_). They have repulsed us for two long months; their arms are wretched, and their accoutrements utterly worthless.

LEONARD. Are there many of them left?

PANCRATIUS. They are all given over to you for execution, that their blood may flow as an example to the world. But if there is one among them who can tell me where Count Henry hides, he shall have his life for his information!

MANY VOICES. He vanished from our sight at last.

THE GODFATHER. Great Pancratius, I appear as mediator between you and your prisoners; spare these citizens of noble birth, because they have given up to you the keys and strongholds of the castle of the Holy Trinity!

PANCRATIUS. I have conquered by my own strength, and need no mediator. You will yourself take charge of their immediate execution!

THE GODFATHER. My whole life has been that of a good citizen. I have frequently given proof of true patriotism. When I joined your cause, Pancratius, it was not with the intention of leading my own noble brethren to--....

PANCRATIUS (_interrupting him_). Seize the old pedant! away with him! let him join his _noble_ brethren!

The soldiers surround the Godfather and the prisoners.

Where is Count Henry? Has no one seen him, dead or living? A purse of gold for Henry, if only for his corpse!

A division of soldiers descend the wall from above.

THE LEADER OF THE DIVISION. Citizen general! by the command of General Bianchetti, I stationed myself with my detachment, on the west side of the bulwark; upon our entrance into the fort on the third bastion to the left, I observed a man standing, unarmed, but bleeding and wounded, by a dead body. I cried immediately to my men: 'Hasten your steps, we must reach him!' but before we could approach him, he ascended a steep cliff overhanging the valley, stood for a moment on a sharp and jutting point of rock, and fixed his haggard eyes upon the depths below. I saw him, then, extend his arms like a swimmer about to make a sudden plunge; he threw himself forward with all his force; I saw him a moment in the air, and we all heard the noise made by the fall of the body as it pitched and fell from rock to rock into the abyss below.

This is the sword which we found but a few steps from the spot on which we first observed him.

He hands a sword to Pancratius.

PANCRATIUS (_examining the sword_). Drops of blood stain the handle, but here are the arms of his house! It is the sword of Count Henry!

He alone among you all has kept his plighted faith; to him be endless glory--to you, traitors, the guillotine!

General Bianchetti, you will see that the fortress of the Holy Trinity is razed to the ground, and will also superintend the execution of the prisoners!

Leonard!

He withdraws with Leonard.

A bastion on the north tower. Pancratius, Leonard.

LEONARD. You require repose after so many sleepless nights; you look wearied and exhausted with ceaseless labor.

PANCRATIUS. The hour of rest has not yet struck for me, and the last sigh of the last of my enemies marks the completion of but half my task. Look upon these heavy mists, these swamps, these desert plains; they stand between me and the realization of my plans. Every waste on earth must be peopled, rocks removed, lakes and rivers everywhere connected; a portion of the soil must be awarded to every human being; the teeming hosts of the living must far outnumber the multitudes who have perished; life and universal prosperity must fill the place of death and ruin, before our work of general destruction can be at all atoned for. If we are not to inaugurate an era of social and widespread happiness, our work of havoc and devastation will have been worse than vain!

LEONARD. The God of Freedom will give us power for gigantic tasks.

PANCRATIUS. What! _You_ speak of _God!_ Do you not see that it is crimson and slippery here--that we are standing deep in human gore?

Whose blood is this beneath our feet?

There is nothing behind us save the court of the castle; no one is near us. I know that we are quite alone, and yet, Leonard, I feel there is another here!

LEONARD. I see nothing but this bloody corpse.

PANCRATIUS. It is the corpse of his faithful old servant--that is only a dead body; but a spirit haunts this spot, and stands beside me; this cap--see, _his_ arms are embroidered upon it; Count Henry's shield; look, Leonard! there is the jutting rock o'erhanging the abyss--upon this very spot _his_ great heart broke!

LEONARD. How pale you grow, Pancratius!

PANCRATIUS. Look up! IT is there! above you! Do you not see it?

LEONARD. I see nothing but a broken mass of clouds drifting down, and surging o'er the top of yonder craggy peak o'erhanging the abyss, which is turning crimson in the setting sun.

PANCRATIUS. A fearful symbol burns upon it!

LEONARD. Lean upon me! How ghastly pale you grow!

PANCRATIUS. Millions of men obeyed my will; where are they now?

LEONARD. Do you not hear their cries? They ask for you, their saviour.

Look not on yon steep cliff; your eyes are dying in their sockets as you gaze upon it!

PANCRATIUS. HE stands there, motionless; three nails are driven in HIM; three stars; His outstretched arms are lightning flashes!

LEONARD. Who? Where! Revive!

PANCRATIUS. GALILÆE VICISTI!

He falls dead in the arms of Leonard.

SELF-SACRIFICE.

That for which man offers up his blood or his property, must be more valuable than they. A good man does not fight with half the courage for his own life that he shows in the protection of another's. The mother, who will hazard nothing for herself, will hazard all in the defence of her child; in short, only for the nobility within us--only for virtue--will man open his veins and offer up his spirit; but this nobility--this virtue--presents different phases: with the Christian martyr, it is faith; with the savage, it is honor; with the republican, it is liberty.--ANALECT.

SHANGHAI: ITS STREETS, SHOPS, AND PEOPLE.

China has always been looked upon by Europeans and described in both ancient and modern works as 'the unchanging country,' and it is a common fallacy that the China of to-day is exactly what it was a thousand years ago; that foreign trade and intercourse have had and can have no effect upon the manners or ideas of the people, and that the descriptions we read of Chinese towns and their inhabitants, written twenty years ago, would answer for the same places to-day. In a measure this is true, but it is not true of the cities which have been opened to foreign trade, or in fact of any of the Chinese cities where foreigners have been settled since the war of 1857 and treaties of 1858.

Since that time the progress of Shanghai, Foo-Chow, Amoy, and Hong-Kong (which last, however, is purely a British colony) has been amazing, and men who visited China ten years ago would not recognize these places. Indeed, it is not unlikely, with the rapid extension of Chinese trade, and the removal of the prejudices of the people, that the history of Chinese cities, like those of the Western States and California, will have to be rewritten every ten years to be at all correct.

This is peculiarly the case in respect to Shanghai, which, from an insignificant place, almost unknown in the western world, has sprung up to an importance in trade surpassing that of any city on the China coast. It has, from its proximity to the tea district, and easy communication with the vast country watered by the Yang-tze river, taken almost without an effort the great trade that once centred in Canton, and every year shows a greater amount of tonnage in the Woosung river, and larger exports of tea, silk, and cotton.

Approaching the entrance to the Woosung river from the Pacific, the waters of the Yang-tze are plainly discernible at sixty to seventy miles from its mouth, and when near the point where the ship's head is turned from the broad current of the great river into that of the Woosung, a thick, yellow mud rolls out with the tide, and discolors the water as far as the eye can reach. It is like the waters of the Nile or the Mississippi, turbulent in the great tideways, and heavy with the coloring matter of the soil it has washed for thousands of miles. It is evident that we are approaching a great commercial city, although for miles we can see only a low coast, well cultivated, but without signs of a town. The number of ships and steamers passing in and out on a fine day would remind a New Yorker of the fleet that is always beating through the Narrows, or is to be seen from the heights of Neversink. In the three hours it took us to run from the light-ship to the anchorage at Woosung, no less than seven large steamers passed us, outward bound.

The tide in the Yang-tze and its branch, the Woosung, runs with tremendous force, having a rise and fall of eighteen feet at spring tides, and few ships are able to proceed beyond Woosung with a single tide, Shanghai lying twelve miles above. They anchor among a fleet of native junks from the trading places on the Yang-tze, bound to the same port, and awaiting a change of tide, which the Chinese sailors celebrate by a great hubbub on the poops of their unwieldy-looking vessels, with tom-toms and other instruments of the same nature. This fleet of junks and sampans is a curious sight to the stranger approaching the China coast for the first time, and, with a ramble through the filthy village of Woosung, occupies the time which the tides compel him to spend there.

The junks give proof that if there have been great changes in the trade of China and in the appearance of the cities where foreigners have established themselves, there certainly has been none in the mode of ship building, and in the thousand curious and uncouth ways of working, acting, and living which have been for generations handed down from father to son, and which are at the present time in no ways altered from what they were a thousand years ago. No people in the world are slower in admitting the ideas of foreign nations, or in taking advantage of the most obvious improvements daily before their eyes; and, although the improvements introduced by English and Americans in steamers and vessels adapted for the navigation of their rivers are so far acknowledged by them as to lead to the discontinuance of junk building to a marked extent, yet the vessels they now build are of the same uncouth, clumsy, and expensive shape as the first they ever put on the stocks.

Their anchors are still of wood, and occupy the greater part of the vessel before the foremast; and, instead of cables, they still have immense coils of rough rope like a hair lariat. The sails are still of bamboo mats, although occasionally a piece of good American or English duck is to be seen, stretched on bamboos in the style of the old-fashioned square sail, and once, on the river Min, we saw a native pilot-boat rigged with the regular fore-and-aft cut, her sails having evidently been fashioned by a foreign hand.

Out of hundreds of junks moored in the Woosung river it was impossible to find one without the great staring eye under what is called, by courtesy, the bows, and not a few of them had the open mouth of a dragon, with ugly teeth, painted under it, near the water-line, the corners being drawn down, and the eye (from their desire that it should see 'all ways at once') having a horrid squint. This gave to the boat a lugubrious expression--if such a term may be allowed--ludicrous in the extreme; and with fifty or a hundred junks drawn up in squadrons, squinting and making faces at each other, nothing more thoroughly Chinese could well be imagined.

Conspicuous among this fleet were the timber vessels, which were so loaded as to be able to move only with the tide. The art with which their lading was tied to the vessels, so as to preserve their shape while stretching far over the water on either side, was admirable; and, out of fifty timber junks, all seemed to be loaded in precisely the same manner. This was accomplished by laying the ends of the poles, tied in fagots, toward the bows, while their smooth, round butts were exposed to the action of the tide. The sticks being of uniform length and thickness, tapering evenly, and about twenty feet long, it was easy to arrange their fagots so as to give them the swelling lines of a ship, and enable the junk to breast the storms of the coast without damage to her cargo.

Woosung, itself, is a place of no interest whatever--a filthy village, with a market place on the river; the remains of old forts in its neighborhood, and extensive rice and cotton fields about it, presenting the only points worthy of note.

There is an old Joss house on the outskirts of the village, occupied by the French as a barracks, or 'garrison of occupation for the protection of the coast,' as a cadaverous old soldier told us, manned by twenty-six soldiers, without earthworks or protection of any kind. They constitute the 'foreign population' of Woosung, and might as well be drafted to some more healthy locality for any good that they can do. Such as we saw looked like men just recovering from cholera or yellow fever.

While lying at Woosung waiting for the tide to change, we were frequently reminded that we could not be far from a great commercial entrepôt of the world, by seeing five or six large ships, of one thousand tons each, rush past with the tide in as many hours, tea-laden and bound to Europe; but none of our company were prepared for what we saw as we first rounded the point where a good view of Shanghai is obtained, and saw, in the brilliant light of a harvest moon, the dense forest of masts that filled the river. I have seen the mass of shipping in the Pool at London, and in the Mersey at Liverpool, in the East river at New York, and the Delaware at Philadephia, in Boston and San Francisco harbors, and in all the other ports of China, and among them all Shanghai holds no mean rank. The summer of 1863, from peculiar circumstances, the dullness of freights elsewhere, and the depredations of the Alabama and other piratical cruisers, called to the China coast, and especially to Shanghai, as fine a fleet of clippers as was to be found in any port of the world; and on that bright mid-summer night we found them anchored in three parallel rows, crossing the channel of a river half a mile wide, and stretching for a mile and a half, if not two miles, up and down before Shanghai.

Interspersed among these ships of all nations whose flags are known on the seas, were steamers of all sizes, from the little tugboat to the large steamers, like the Poyang of fifteen hundred tons, plying on the Yang-tze and between the ports on the China sea, the Yellow sea, and in Japan. Of these, no less than seventy-one belong to or trade with Shanghai, and at that time there could not have been less than forty in port.

Beyond the vessels at anchor in the stream, the space to the very banks of the river was filled up and covered by a cloud of Chinese junks, sampans, and river boats of every class and name.

We were before one of the great cities of the world, or one that is yet to be known as among its most flourishing. The moonlight was reflected from a long row of stately buildings, palaces in extent and noble proportions, which lined the bank of the river for more than a mile. These were the residences and mercantile houses of the merchants, the public buildings, and the 'foreign concessions' in general, as they are called. Beyond them could be seen the dim, turreted outlines of the Chinese city, now closed and hushed for the night, but seemingly of vast extent. The first and overruling impression here, as in all European settlements on the China coast, except Canton and Swatow, was the grand scale on which everything was done. The residences or hongs of the merchants seemed planned by liberal minds, and executed by as liberal hands. Space and money are not spared, and to obtain coolness and comfort in so hot a climate, the ceilings of rooms are made very high, few of the houses having more than two stories. Generally the material is the small, over-baked and dark-colored brick of the Chinese, overlaid with stucco; but occasionally a house is seen built of stone, one or two of the largest and most valuable being entirely of granite. Generally these hongs stand in spacious enclosures, or _compounds_, filled with rare tropical trees and the bamboo so common in China.

The finest residences are on the river bank or Bund, as it is commonly called; but the city stretches for several squares back from the river, being densest in the English Concession. The American quarter, Hong-Que, although not as well filled with fine houses, is the next in importance, while the French Concession, nearest to the great city within the walls, is meanly built, and has more of the native element than either of the others. For, although it is contrary to Chinese law for any native to hold property in any of the foreign possessions, in practice large numbers of Chinamen rent tenements from their foreign owners, and even own them, the property standing, for convenience' sake, in the name of some foreign resident in trust. Thus there has gradually grown up around and upon the concessions a large Chinese city, believed by many to contain almost as large a population as the city within the walls. This is not incredible when we consider that the excesses of the Tae-Pings in Soo-Chow, a large city about thirty miles from Shanghai, have driven vast numbers of its inhabitants to the latter place, which, being already densely crowded, has overflowed its walls, and, as the presence of Europeans has made Shanghai, as it were, a city of refuge for the exiles, they have naturally crowded around the foreign settlement. In this manner the population of Shanghai and its environs has been prodigiously augmented within the last two years, and from a place of six hundred thousand inhabitants, it has become one of more than a million of people. It is extremely difficult to obtain even an approximate estimate of the population of a Chinese city. The estimates of the Chinese are totally unreliable, varying sometimes in the most ridiculous manner, and generally being preposterously exaggerated, while the estimates of strangers or foreigners, unacquainted with the marvellous abundance of human life in very small spaces, as it is seen in China, are very rarely correct. For instance, it is not uncommon to find that residents of this city differ as much as a million of people in their views of its population, their estimates ranging from nine hundred thousand to two million. It is not unlikely that a medium between these two extremes will prove to be correct, the figure twelve hundred thousand appearing to be the favorite at present among those conversant with the great changes of the last year.[1]

Unfortunately this vast increase in so short a period has led to great mortality among the Chinese, from the dense crowding it has occasioned, and in the summer months they are severe sufferers from Asiatic cholera, which rages among them with shocking mortality. The air, even of the foreign concessions, becomes tainted by the foul miasma rising from the Chinese city, and no part of Shanghai can be esteemed healthy in the months of July and August. A more perfect system of drainage in the foreign concessions will probably lessen the mortality among Europeans, and it is pleasing to note that this matter is now receiving the attention which should have been given to it years ago; but no system of laws or attempts at organizing better sanitary arrangements can seemingly be successful among the Chinese themselves. Large sums of money are now appropriated annually for these purposes, according to their own account, but the mandarins embezzle it, the work is left undone, and the filth and horrible stench of a Chinese city is indescribable; it is something monstrous. Europeans and Americans, accustomed to their own cleanly cities, cannot conceive of it. New York streets have an unenviable notoriety on the Western continent for their dirty condition, but New York is a garden of roses compared with a genuine Chinese city, such as Shanghai within the walls. Even the Chinese, who might be supposed to be accustomed to it, carry little bags of musk to their noses as they ride through in their sedans; and half the Chinese women one meets in Shanghai hold the nostril with the forefinger and thumb, with a grace and dexterity only acquired by long practice.

Mr. Fortune, the celebrated botanist[1] and indefatigable Chinese traveller, gives to Tient-sin the glory of being the filthiest and most noisome of Chinese cities, although he mentions Shanghai with high honor. Canton, from which Europeans have mainly derived their ideas of China, is comparatively a clean and neat place, far superior to the more northern cities.

To descend from generalities to particulars. The smells are a horrible compound, worse than in Coleridge's 'City of Cologne.' First and foremost are the sewers, which are all open, the deposits of the night-soil of the city, with convenient wells at every corner and in niches in the walls. At these are to be found, at all hours, men with buckets slung on bamboos, filling them for transportation in these primitive open vessels to the farmers, who use the compost on their fields. These wretches, with their vile burdens, are met at every turn, and pass through the streets and roads in long files, loading the air with abominations. No attention is paid to the wells and sewers until they overflow, and, as chance may direct, the coolies take their loads from the most convenient.

This is a terrible nuisance, but it is hardly worse than the odors which arise from the innumerable cook shops, and from the peripatetic bakeries at every corner. What they are cooking, no man knows, but if not dog chow-chow, it is sure to be fried in some vegetable oil that sends up a mighty vapor, hiding the cooks and rolling into the narrow street, where it scarcely finds vent between the overhanging eaves of the houses. The sickening smell of the castor bean seems everywhere. Occasionally the sight and powerful odor of hard-boiled and rotten goose eggs, split open to show that they are either rotten or half hatched, attract the Chinese epicure. The oily cakes and crullers that the wandering baker is frying for a group of children, powerfully offend European olfactories, although so tempting to the half-naked brats. Many different and offensive odors come from these greasy cook shops, but the offence in almost every instance can be traced home to the vegetable oils, greasy and rancid, which seem to pervade all Chinese cookery, as it is seen in the streets of the cities. Many of the dishes, but for this oil, would be quite tempting; and such, as have tasted them in the houses of the rich, assure us that they are not so bad as they smell. The much-talked-of edible bird's-nest soup is really a fine dish. The substance, after it is prepared, all the dirt and feathers being separated from it, is as clean and pure as isinglass, which it greatly resembles in appearance. Great care is taken to make it pure before it is sold for use, and in the shops at Canton it may be seen in every stage of manufacture. Their ducks and geese are fine birds, and, with excellent pork, and their never-failing rice, are the favorite dishes of such as can afford them; which, by the way, they really know how to cook--an art that is very little understood in England or America.

Dog chow-chow, kittens, rats, and mice, with crickets and locusts, are only eaten by the vilest of the vile--poor wretches, who must support themselves and families on a pittance of about fifteen or twenty dollars a year.