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 ("Qu'est-ce que Sigismond et Ladislas ont dit.") 
 {Bk. XV. iii. 1.} 

 What was it Sigismond and Ladisläus said? 
 I know not if the rock, or tree o'erhead, 
 Had heard their speech;—but when the two spoke low, 
 Among the trees, a shudder seemed to go 
 Through all their branches, just as if that way 
 A beast had passed to trouble and dismay. 
 More dark the shadow of the rock was seen, 
 And then a morsel of the shade, between 
 The sombre trees, took shape as it would seem 
 Like spectre walking in the sunset's gleam. 
 It is not monster rising from its lair, 
 Nor phantom of the foliage and the air, 
 It is not morsel of the granite's shade 
 That walks in deepest hollows of the glade. 
 'Tis not a vampire nor a spectre pale 
 But living man in rugged coat of mail. 
 It is Alsatia's noble Chevalier, 
 Eviradnus the brave, that now is here. 
 The men who spoke he recognized the while 
 He rested in the thicket; words of guile 
 Most horrible were theirs as they passed on, 
 And to the ears of Eviradnus one— 
 One word had come which roused him. Well he knew 
 The land which lately he had journeyed through. 
 He down the valley went into the inn 
 Where he had left his horse and page, Gasclin. 
 The horse had wanted drink, and lost a shoe; 
 And now, "Be quick!" he said, "with what you do, 
 For business calls me, I must not delay." 
 He strides the saddle and he rides away. 
 Eviradnus was growing old apace, 
 The weight of years had left its hoary trace, 
 But still of knights the most renowned was he, 
 Model of bravery and purity. 
 His blood he spared not; ready day or night 
 To punish crime, his dauntless sword shone bright 
 In his unblemished hand; holy and white 
 And loyal all his noble life had been, 
 A Christian Samson coming on the scene. 
 With fist alone the gate he battered down 
 Of Sickingen in flames, and saved the town. 
 'Twas he, indignant at the honor paid 
 To crime, who with his heel an onslaught made 
 Upon Duke Lupus' shameful monument, 
 Tore down, the statue he to fragments rent; 
 Then column of the Strasburg monster bore 
 To bridge of Wasselonne, and threw it o'er 
 Into the waters deep. The people round 
 Blazon the noble deeds that so abound 
 From Altorf unto Chaux-de-Fonds, and say, 
 When he rests musing in a dreamy way, 
 "Behold, 'tis Charlemagne!" Tawny to see 
 And hairy, and seven feet high was he, 
 Like John of Bourbon. Roaming hill or wood 
 He looked a wolf was striving to do good. 
 Bound up in duty, he of naught complained, 
 The cry for help his aid at once obtained. 
 Only he mourned the baseness of mankind, 
 And—that the beds too short he still doth find. 
 When people suffer under cruel kings, 
 With pity moved, he to them succor brings. 
 'Twas he defended Alix from her foes 
 As sword of Urraca—he ever shows 
 His strength is for the feeble and oppressed; 
 Father of orphans he, and all distressed! 
 Kings of the Rhine in strongholds were by him 
 Boldly attacked, and tyrant barons grim. 
 He freed the towns—confronting in his lair 
 Hugo the Eagle; boldly did he dare 
 To break the collar of Saverne, the ring 
 Of Colmar, and the iron torture thing 
 Of Schlestadt, and the chain that Haguenau bore. 
 Such Eviradnus was a wrong before, 
 Good but most terrible. In the dread scale 
 Which princes weighted with their horrid tale 
 Of craft and violence, and blood and ill, 
 And fire and shocking deeds, his sword was still 
 God's counterpoise displayed. Ever alert 
 More evil from the wretched to avert, 
 Those hapless ones who 'neath Heaven's vault at night 
 Raise suppliant hands. His lance loved not the plight 
 Of mouldering in the rack, of no avail, 
 His battle-axe slipped from supporting nail 
 Quite easily; 'twas ill for action base 
 To come so near that he the thing could trace. 
 The steel-clad champion death drops all around 
 As glaciers water. Hero ever found 
 Eviradnus is kinsman of the race 
 Of Amadys of Gaul, and knights of Thrace, 
 He smiles at age. For he who never asked 
 For quarter from mankind—shall he be tasked 
 To beg of Time for mercy? Rather he 
 Would girdle up his loins, like Baldwin be. 
 Aged he is, but of a lineage rare; 
 The least intrepid of the birds that dare 
 Is not the eagle barbed. What matters age, 
 The years but fire him with a holy rage. 
 Though late from Palestine, he is not spent,— 
 With age he wrestles, firm in his intent. 
 If in the woodland traveller there had been 
 That eve, who lost himself, strange sight he'd seen. 
 Quite in the forest's heart a lighted space 
 Arose to view; in that deserted place 
 A lone, abandoned hall with light aglow 
 The long neglect of centuries did show. 
 The castle-towers of Corbus in decay 
 Were girt by weeds and growths that had their way. 
 Couch-grass and ivy, and wild eglantine 
 In subtle scaling warfare all combine. 
 Subject to such attacks three hundred years, 
 The donjon yields, and ruin now appears, 
 E'en as by leprosy the wild boars die, 
 In moat the crumbled battlements now lie; 
 Around the snake-like bramble twists its rings; 
 Freebooter sparrows come on daring wings 
 To perch upon the swivel-gun, nor heed 
 Its murmuring growl when pecking in their greed 
 The mulberries ripe. With insolence the thorn 
 Thrives on the desolation so forlorn. 
 But winter brings revenges; then the Keep 
 Wakes all vindictive from its seeming sleep, 
 Hurls down the heavy rain, night after night, 
 Thanking the season's all-resistless might; 
 And, when the gutters choke, its gargoyles four 
 From granite mouths in anger spit and pour 
 Upon the hated ivy hour by hour. 
 As to the sword rust is, so lichens are 
 To towering citadel with which they war. 
 Alas! for Corbus—dreary, desolate, 
 And yet its woes the winters mitigate. 
 It rears itself among convulsive throes 
 That shake its ruins when the tempest blows. 
 Winter, the savage warrior, pleases well, 
 With its storm clouds, the mighty citadel,— 
 Restoring it to life. The lightning flash 
 Strikes like a thief and flies; the winds that crash 
 Sound like a clarion, for the Tempest bluff 
 Is Battle's sister. And when wild and rough, 
 The north wind blows, the tower exultant cries 
 "Behold me!" When hail-hurling gales arise 
 Of blustering Equinox, to fan the strife, 
 It stands erect, with martial ardor rife, 
 A joyous soldier! When like yelping hound 
 Pursued by wolves, November comes to bound 
 In joy from rock to rock, like answering cheer 
 To howling January now so near— 
 "Come on!" the Donjon cries to blasts o'erhead— 
 It has seen Attila, and knows not dread. 
 Oh, dismal nights of contest in the rain 
 And mist, that furious would the battle gain, 
 'The tower braves all, though angry skies pour fast 
 The flowing torrents, river-like and vast. 
 From their eight pinnacles the gorgons bay, 
 And scattered monsters, in their stony way, 
 Are growling heard; the rampart lions gnaw 
 The misty air and slush with granite maw, 
 The sleet upon the griffins spits, and all 
 The Saurian monsters, answering to the squall, 
 Flap wings; while through the broken ceiling fall 
 Torrents of rain upon the forms beneath, 
 Dragons and snak'd Medusas gnashing teeth 
 In the dismantled rooms. Like armored knight 
 The granite Castle fights with all its might, 
 Resisting through the winter. All in vain, 
 The heaven's bluster, January's rain, 
 And those dread elemental powers we call 
 The Infinite—the whirlwinds that appall— 
 Thunder and waterspouts; and winds that shake 
 As 'twere a tree its ripened fruit to take. 
 The winds grow wearied, warring with the tower, 
 The noisy North is out of breath, nor power 
 Has any blast old Corbus to defeat, 
 It still has strength their onslaughts worst to meet. 
 Thus, spite of briers and thistles, the old tower 
 Remains triumphant through the darkest hour; 
 Superb as pontiff, in the forest shown, 
 Its rows of battlements make triple crown; 
 At eve, its silhouette is finely traced 
 Immense and black—showing the Keep is placed 
 On rocky throne, sublime and high; east, west, 
 And north and south, at corners four, there rest 
 Four mounts; Aptar, where flourishes the pine, 
 And Toxis, where the elms grow green and fine; 
 Crobius and Bleyda, giants in their might, 
 Against the stormy winds to stand and fight, 
 And these above its diadem uphold 
 Night's living canopy of clouds unrolled. 
 The herdsman fears, and thinks its shadow creeps 
 To follow him; and superstition keeps 
 Such hold that Corbus as a terror reigns; 
 Folks say the Fort a target still remains 
 For the Black Archer—and that it contains 
 The cave where the Great Sleeper still sleeps sound. 
 The country people all the castle round 
 Are frightened easily, for legends grow 
 And mix with phantoms of the mind; we know 
 The hearth is cradle of such fantasies, 
 And in the smoke the cotter sees arise 
 From low-thatched but he traces cause of dread. 
 Thus rendering thanks that he is lowly bred, 
 Because from such none look for valorous deeds. 
 The peasant flies the Tower, although it leads 
 A noble knight to seek adventure there, 
 And, from his point of honor, dangers dare. 
 Thus very rarely passer-by is seen; 
 But—it might be with twenty years between, 
 Or haply less—at unfixed interval 
 There would a semblance be of festival. 
 A Seneschal and usher would appear, 
 And troops of servants many baskets bear. 
 Then were, in mystery, preparations made, 
 And they departed—for till night none stayed. 
 But 'twixt the branches gazers could descry 
 The blackened hall lit up most brilliantly. 
 None dared approach—and this the reason why. 
 When died a noble Marquis of Lusace 
 'Twas custom for the heir who filled his place 
 Before assuming princely pomp and power 
 To sup one night in Corbus' olden tower. 
 From this weird meal he passed to the degree 
 Of Prince and Margrave; nor could ever he 
 Be thought brave knight, or she—if woman claim 
 The rank—be reckoned of unblemished fame 
 Till they had breathed the air of ages gone, 
 The funeral odors, in the nest alone 
 Of its dead masters. Ancient was the race; 
 To trace the upward stem of proud Lusace 
 Gives one a vertigo; descended they 
 From ancestor of Attila, men say; 
 Their race to him—through Pagans—they hark back; 
 Becoming Christians, race they thought to track 
 Through Lechus, Plato, Otho to combine 
 With Ursus, Stephen, in a lordly line. 
 Of all those masters of the country round 
 That were on Northern Europe's boundary found— 
 At first were waves and then the dykes were reared— 
 Corbus in double majesty appeared, 
 Castle on hill and town upon the plain; 
 And one who mounted on the tower could gain 
 A view beyond the pines and rocks, of spires 
 That pierce the shade the distant scene acquires; 
 A walled town is it, but 'tis not ally 
 Of the old citadel's proud majesty; 
 Unto itself belonging this remained. 
 Often a castle was thus self-sustained 
 And equalled towns; witness in Lombardy 
 Crama, and Plato too in Tuscany, 
 And in Apulia Barletta;—each one 
 Was powerful as a town, and dreaded none. 
 Corbus ranked thus; its precincts seemed to hold 
 The reflex of its mighty kings of old; 
 Their great events had witness in these walls, 
 Their marriages were here and funerals, 
 And mostly here it was that they were born; 
 And here crowned Barons ruled with pride and scorn; 
 Cradle of Scythian majesty this place. 
 Now each new master of this ancient race 
 A duty owed to ancestors which he 
 Was bound to carry on. The law's decree 
 It was that he should pass alone the night 
 Which made him king, as in their solemn sight. 
 Just at the forest's edge a clerk was met 
 With wine in sacred cup and purpose set, 
 A wine mysterious, which the heir must drink 
 To cause deep slumber till next day's soft brink. 
 Then to the castle tower he wends his way, 
 And finds a supper laid with rich display. 
 He sups and sleeps: then to his slumbering eyes 
 The shades of kings from Bela all arise. 
 None dare the tower to enter on this night, 
 But when the morning dawns, crowds are in sight 
 The dreamer to deliver,—whom half dazed, 
 And with the visions of the night amazed, 
 They to the old church take, where rests the dust 
 Of Borivorus; then the bishop must, 
 With fervent blessings on his eyes and mouth, 
 Put in his hands the stony hatchets both, 
 With which—even like death impartially— 
 Struck Attila, with one arm dexterously 
 The south, and with the other arm the north. 
 This day the town the threatening flag set forth 
 Of Marquis Swantibore, the monster he 
 Who in the wood tied up his wife, to be 
 Devoured by wolves, together with the bull 
 Of which with jealousy his heart was full. 
 Even when woman took the place of heir 
 The tower of Corbus claimed the supper there; 
 'Twas law—the woman trembled, but must dare. 
 Niece of the Marquis—John the Striker named— 
 Mahaud to-day the marquisate has claimed. 
 A noble dame—the crown is hers by right: 
 As woman she has graces that delight. 
 A queen devoid of beauty is not queen, 
 She needs the royalty of beauty's mien; 
 God in His harmony has equal ends 
 For cedar that resists, and reed that bends, 
 And good it is a woman sometimes rules, 
 Holds in her hand the power, and manners schools, 
 And laws and mind;—succeeding master proud, 
 With gentle voice and smile she leads the crowd, 
 The sombre human troop. But sweet Mahaud 
 On evil days had fallen; gentle, good, 
 Alas! she held the sceptre like a flower; 
 Timid yet gay, imprudent for the hour, 
 And careless too. With Europe all in throes, 
 Though twenty years she now already knows, 
 She has refused to marry, although oft 
 Entreated. It is time an arm less soft 
 Than hers—a manly arm—supported her; 
 Like to the rainbow she, one might aver, 
 Shining on high between the cloud and rain, 
 Or like the ewe that gambols on the plain 
 Between the bear and tiger; innocent, 
 She has two neighbors of most foul intent: 
 For foes the Beauty has, in life's pure spring, 
 The German Emp'ror and the Polish King. 
 The difference this betwixt the evil pair, 
 Faithless to God—for laws without a care— 
 One was the claw, the other one the will 
 Controlling. Yet to mass they both went still, 
 And on the rosary told their beads each day. 
 But none the less the world believed that they 
 Unto the powers of hell their souls had sold. 
 Even in whispers men each other told 
 The details of the pact which they had signed 
 With that dark power, the foe of human kind; 
 In whispers, for the crowd had mortal dread 
 Of them so high, and woes that they had spread. 
 One might be vengeance and the other hate, 
 Yet lived they side by side, in powerful state 
 And close alliance. All the people near 
 From red horizon dwelt in abject fear, 
 Mastered by them; their figures darkly grand 
 Had ruddy reflex from the wasted land, 
 And fires, and towns they sacked. Besides the one, 
 Like David, poet was, the other shone 
 As fine musician—rumor spread their fame, 
 Declaring them divine, until each name 
 In Italy's fine sonnets met with praise. 
 The ancient hierarch in those old days 
 Had custom strange, a now forgotten thing, 
 It was a European plan that King 
 Of France was marquis, and th' imperial head 
 Of Germany was duke; there was no need 
 To class the other kings, but barons they, 
 Obedient vassals unto Rome, their stay. 
 The King of Poland was but simple knight, 
 Yet now, for once, had strange unwonted right, 
 And, as exception to the common state, 
 This one Sarmatian King was held as great 
 As German Emperor; and each knew how 
 His evil part to play, nor mercy show. 
 The German had one aim, it was to take 
 All land he could, and it his own to make. 
 The Pole already having Baltic shore, 
 Seized Celtic ports, still needing more and more. 
 On all the Northern Sea his crafts roused fear: 
 Iceland beheld his demon navy near. 
 Antwerp the German burnt; and Prussias twain 
 Bowed to the yoke. The Polish King was fain 
 To help the Russian Spotocus—his aid 
 Was like the help that in their common trade 
 A sturdy butcher gives a weaker one. 
 The King it is who seizes, and this done, 
 The Emp'ror pillages, usurping right 
 In war Teutonic, settled but by might. 
 The King in Jutland cynic footing gains, 
 The weak coerced, the while with cunning pains 
 The strong are duped. But 'tis a law they make 
 That their accord themselves should never break. 
 From Arctic seas to cities Transalpine, 
 Their hideous talons, curved for sure rapine, 
 Scrape o'er and o'er the mournful continent, 
 Their plans succeed, and each is well content. 
 Thus under Satan's all paternal care 
 They brothers are, this royal bandit pair. 
 Oh, noxious conquerors! with transient rule 
 Chimera heads—ambition can but fool. 
 Their misty minds but harbor rottenness 
 Loathsome and fetid, and all barrenness— 
 Their deeds to ashes turn, and, hydra-bred, 
 The mystic skeleton is theirs to dread. 
 The daring German and the cunning Pole 
 Noted to-day a woman had control 
 Of lands, and watched Mahaud like evil spies; 
 And from the Emp'ror's cruel mouth—with dyes 
 Of wrath empurpled—came these words of late: 
 "The empire wearies of the wallet weight 
 Hung at its back—this High and Low Lusace, 
 Whose hateful load grows heavier apace, 
 That now a woman holds its ruler's place." 
 Threatening, and blood suggesting, every word; 
 The watchful Pole was silent—but he heard. 
 Two monstrous dangers; but the heedless one 
 Babbles and smiles, and bids all care begone— 
 Likes lively speech—while all the poor she makes 
 To love her, and the taxes off she takes. 
 A life of dance and pleasure she has known— 
 A woman always; in her jewelled crown 
 It is the pearl she loves—not cutting gems, 
 For these can wound, and mark men's diadems. 
 She pays the hire of Homer's copyists, 
 And in the Courts of Love presiding, lists. 
 Quite recently unto her Court have come 
 Two men—unknown their names or native home, 
 Their rank or race; but one plays well the lute, 
 The other is a troubadour; both suit 
 The taste of Mahaud, when on summer eve, 
 'Neath opened windows, they obtain her leave 
 To sing upon the terrace, and relate 
 The charming tales that do with music mate. 
 In August the Moravians have their fête, 
 But it is radiant June in which Lusace 
 Must consecrate her noble Margrave race. 
 Thus in the weird and old ancestral tower 
 For Mahaud now has come the fateful hour, 
 The lonely supper which her state decrees. 
 What matters this to flowers, and birds, and trees, 
 And clouds and fountains? That the people may 
 Still bear their yoke—have kings to rule alway? 
 The water flows, the wind in passing by 
 In murmuring tones takes up the questioning cry. 
 The old stupendous hall has but one door, 
 And in the dusk it seems that more and more 
 The walls recede in space unlimited. 
 At the far end there is a table spread 
 That in the dreary void with splendor shines; 
 For ceiling we behold but rafter lines. 
 The table is arranged for one sole guest, 
 A solitary chair doth near it rest, 
 Throne-like, 'neath canopy that droopeth down 
 From the black beams; upon the walls are shown 
 The painted histories of the olden might, 
 The King of the Wends Thassilo's stern fight 
 On land with Nimrod, and on ocean wide 
 With Neptune. Rivers too personified 
 Appear—the Rhine as by the Meuse betrayed, 
 And fading groups of Odin in the shade, 
 And the wolf Fenrir and the Asgard snake. 
 One might the place for dragons' stable take. 
 The only lights that in the shed appear 
 Spring from the table's giant chandelier 
 With seven iron branches—brought from hell 
 By Attila Archangel, people tell, 
 When he had conquered Mammon—and they say 
 That seven souls were the first flames that day. 
 This banquet hall looks an abyss outlined 
 With shadowy vagueness, though indeed we find 
 In the far depth upon the table spread 
 A sudden, strong, and glaring light is shed, 
 Striking upon the goldsmith's burnished works, 
 And on the pheasants killed by traitor hawks. 
 Loaded the table is with viands cold, 
 Ewers and flagons, all enough of old 
 To make a love feast. All the napery 
 Was Friesland's famous make; and fair to see 
 The dishes, silver-gilt and bordered round 
 With flowers; for fruit, here strawberries were found 
 And citrons, apples too, and nectarines. 
 The wooden bowls were carved in cunning lines 
 By peasants of the Murg, whose skilful hands 
 With patient toil reclaim the barren lands 
 And make their gardens flourish on a rock, 
 Or mountain where we see the hunters flock. 
 Gold fountain-cup, with handles Florentine, 
 Shows Acteons horned, though armed and booted fine, 
 Who fight with sword in hand against the hounds. 
 Roses and gladioles make up bright mounds 
 Of flowers, with juniper and aniseed; 
 While sage, all newly cut for this great need, 
 Covers the Persian carpet that is spread 
 Beneath the table, and so helps to shed 
 Around a perfume of the balmy spring. 
 Beyond is desolation withering. 
 One hears within the hollow dreary space 
 Across the grove, made fresh by summer's grace, 
 The wind that ever is with mystic might 
 A spirit ripple of the Infinite. 
 The glass restored to frames to creak is made 
 By blustering wind that comes from neighboring glade. 
 Strange in this dream-like place, so drear and lone, 
 The guest expected should be living one! 
 The seven lights from seven arms make glow 
 Almost with life the staring eyes that show 
 On the dim frescoes—and along the walls 
 Is here and there a stool, or the light falls 
 O'er some long chest, with likeness to a tomb. 
 Yet was displayed amid the mournful gloom 
 Some copper vessels, and some crockery ware. 
 The door—as if it must, yet scarcely dare— 
 Had opened widely to the night's fresh air. 
 No voice is heard, for man has fled the place; 
 But Terror crouches in the corners' space, 
 And waits the coming guest. This banquet hall 
 Of Titans is so high, that he who shall 
 With wandering eye look up from beam to beam 
 Of the confused wild roof will haply seem 
 To wonder that the stars he sees not there. 
 Giants the spiders are, that weave with care 
 Their hideous webs, which float the joists amid, 
 Joists whose dark ends in griffins' jaws are hid. 
 The light is lurid, and the air like death, 
 And dark and foul. Even Night holds its breath 
 Awhile. One might suppose the door had fear 
 To move its double leaves—their noise to hear. 
 But the great hall of generations dead 
 Has something more sepulchral and more dread 
 Than lurid glare from seven-branched chandelier 
 Or table lone with stately daïs near— 
 Two rows of arches o'er a colonnade 
 With knights on horseback all in mail arrayed, 
 Each one disposed with pillar at his back 
 And to another vis-à-vis. Nor lack 
 The fittings all complete; in each right hand 
 A lance is seen; the armored horses stand 
 With chamfrons laced, and harness buckled sure; 
 The cuissarts' studs are by their clamps secure; 
 The dirks stand out upon the saddle-bow; 
 Even unto the horses' feet do flow 
 Caparisons,—the leather all well clasped, 
 The gorget and the spurs with bronze tongues hasped, 
 The shining long sword from the saddle hung, 
 The battle-axe across the back was flung. 
 Under the arm a trusty dagger rests, 
 Each spiked knee-piece its murderous power attests. 
 Feet press the stirrups—hands on bridle shown 
 Proclaim all ready, with the visors down, 
 And yet they stir not, nor is audible 
 A sound to make the sight less terrible. 
 Each monstrous horse a frontal horn doth bear, 
 If e'er the Prince of Darkness herdsman were, 
 These cattle black were his by surest right, 
 Like things but seen in horrid dreams of night. 
 The steeds are swathed in trappings manifold, 
 The armed knights are grave, and stern, and cold, 
 Terrific too; the clench'd fists seem to hold 
 Some frightful missive, which the phantom hands 
 Would show, if opened out at hell's commands. 
 The dusk exaggerates their giant size, 
 The shade is awed—the pillars coldly rise. 
 Oh, Night! why are these awful warriors here? 
 Horses and horsemen that make gazers fear 
 Are only empty armor. But erect 
 And haughty mien they all affect 
 And threatening air—though shades of iron still. 
 Are they strange larvae—these their statues ill? 
 No. They are dreams of horror clothed in brass, 
 Which from profoundest depths of evil pass 
 With futile aim to dare the Infinite! 
 Souls tremble at the silent spectre sight, 
 As if in this mysterious cavalcade 
 They saw the weird and mystic halt was made 
 Of them who at the coming dawn of day 
 Would fade, and from their vision pass away. 
 A stranger looking in, these masks to see, 
 Might deem from Death some mandate there might be 
 At times to burst the tombs—the dead to wear 
 A human shape, and mustering ranks appear 
 Of phantoms, each confronting other shade. 
 Grave-clothes are not more grim and sombre made 
 Than are these helms; the deaf and sealed-up graves 
 Are not more icy than these arms; the staves 
 Of hideous biers have not their joints more strong 
 Than are the joinings of these legs; the long 
 Scaled gauntlet fingers look like worms that shine, 
 And battle robes to shroud-like folds incline. 
 The heads are skull-like, and the stony feet 
 Seem for the charnel house but only meet. 
 The pikes have death's-heads carved, and seem to be 
 Too heavy; but the shapes defiantly 
 Sit proudly in the saddle—and perforce 
 The rider looks united to the horse! 
 The network of their mail doth clearly cross. 
 The Marquis' mortar beams near Ducal wreath, 
 And on the helm and gleaming shield beneath 
 Alternate triple pearls with leaves displayed 
 Of parsley, and the royal robes are made 
 So large that with the knightly harness they 
 Seem to o'ermaster palfreys every way. 
 To Rome the oldest armor might be traced, 
 And men and horses' armor interlaced 
 Blent horribly; the man and steed we feel 
 Made but one hydra with its scales of steel. 
 Yet is there history here. Each coat of mail 
 Is representant of some stirring tale. 
 Each delta-shaped escutcheon shines to show 
 A vision of the chief by it we know. 
 Here are the blood-stained Dukes' and Marquis' line, 
 Barbaric lords, who amid war's rapine 
 Bore gilded saints upon their banners still 
 Painted on fishes' skin with cunning skill. 
 Here Geth, who to the Slaves cried "Onward go," 
 And Mundiaque and Ottocar—Plato 
 And Ladisläus Kunne; and Welf who bore 
 These words upon his shield his foes before; 
 "Nothing there is I fear." Otho blear-eyed, 
 Zultan and Nazamustus, and beside 
 The later Spignus, e'en to Spartibor 
 Of triple vision, and yet more and more 
 As if a pause at every age were made, 
 And Antaeus' fearful dynasty portrayed. 
 What do they here so rigid and erect? 
 What wait they for—and what do they expect? 
 Blindness fills up the helm 'neath iron brows; 
 Like sapless tree no soul the hero knows. 
 Darkness is now where eyes with flame were fraught, 
 And thrice-bored visor serves for mask of naught. 
 Of empty void is spectral giant made, 
 And each of these all-powerful knights displayed 
 Is only rind of pride and murderous sin; 
 Themselves are held the icy grave within. 
 Rust eats the casques enamoured once so much 
 Of death and daring—which knew kiss-like touch 
 Of banner—mistress so august and dear— 
 But not an arm can stir its hinges here; 
 Behold how mute are they whose threats were heard 
 Like savage roar—whose gnashing teeth and word 
 Deadened the clarion's tones; the helmets dread 
 Have not a sound, and all the armor spread, 
 The hauberks, that strong breathing seemed to sway, 
 Are stranded now in helplessness alway 
 To see the shadows, still prolonged, that seem 
 To take at night the image of a dream. 
 These two great files reach from the door afar 
 To where the table and the daïs are, 
 Leaving between their fronts a narrow lane. 
 On the left side the Marquises maintain 
 Their place, but the right side the Dukes retain, 
 And till the roof, embattled by Spignus, 
 But worn by time that even that subdues, 
 Shall fall upon their heads, these forms will stand 
 The grades confronting—one on either hand. 
 While in advance beyond, with haughty head— 
 As if commander of this squadron dread— 
 All waiting signal of the Judgment Day, 
 In stone was seen in olden sculptors' way 
 Charlemagne the King, who on the earth had found 
 Only twelve knights to grace his Table Round. 
 The crests were an assembly of strange things, 
 Of horrors such as nightmare only brings. 
 Asps, and spread eagles without beak or feet, 
 Sirens and mermaids here and dragons meet, 
 And antlered stags and fabled unicorn, 
 And fearful things of monstrous fancy born. 
 Upon the rigid form of morion's sheen 
 Winged lions and the Cerberus are seen, 
 And serpents winged and finned; things made to fright 
 The timid foe, alone by sense of sight. 
 Some leaning forward and the others back, 
 They looked a growing forest that did lack 
 No form of terror; but these things of dread 
 That once on barons' helms the battle led 
 Beneath the giant banners, now are still, 
 As if they gaped and found the time but ill, 
 Wearied the ages passed so slowly by, 
 And that the gory dead no more did lie 
 Beneath their feet—pined for the battle-cry, 
 The trumpet's clash, the carnage and the strife, 
 Yawning to taste again their dreadful life. 
 Like tears upon the palfreys' muzzles were 
 The hard reflections of the metal there; 
 From out these spectres, ages past exhumed, 
 And as their shadows on the roof-beams loomed, 
 Cast by the trembling light, each figure wan 
 Seemed growing, and a monstrous shape to don, 
 So that the double range of horrors made 
 The darkened zenith clouds of blackest shade, 
 That shaped themselves to profiles terrible. 
 All motionless the coursers horrible, 
 That formed a legion lured by Death to war, 
 These men and horses masked, how dread they are! 
 Absorbed in shadows of the eternal shore, 
 Among the living all their tasks are o'er. 
 Silent, they seem all mystery to brave, 
 These sphinxes whom no beacon light can save 
 Upon the threshold of the gulf so near, 
 As if they faced the great enigma here; 
 Ready with hoofs, between the pillars blue 
 To strike out sparks, and combats to renew, 
 Choosing for battle-field the shades below, 
 Which they provoked by deeds we cannot know, 
 In that dark realm thought dares not to expound 
 False masks from heaven lowered to depths profound. 
 This is the scene on which now enters in 
 Eviradnus; and follows page Gasclin. 
 The outer walls were almost all decayed, 
 The door, for ancient Marquises once made— 
 Raised many steps above the courtyard near— 
 Commanded view of the horizon clear. 
 The forest looked a great gulf all around, 
 And on the rock of Corbus there were found 
 Secret and blood-stained precipices tall. 
 Duke Plato built the tower and banquet hall 
 Over great pits,—so was it Rumor said. 
 The flooring sounds 'neath Eviradnus' tread 
 Above abysses many. 
 "Page," said he, 
 "Come here, your eyes than mine can better see, 
 For sight is woman-like and shuns the old; 
 Ah! he can see enough, when years are told, 
 Who backwards looks. But, boy, turn towards the glade 
 And tell me what you see." 
 The boy obeyed, 
 And leaned across the threshold, while the bright, 
 Full moon shed o'er the glade its white, pure light. 
 "I see a horse and woman on it now," 
 Said Gasclin, "and companions also show." 
 "Who are they?" asked the seeker of sublime 
 Adventures. "Sir, I now can hear like chime 
 The sound of voices, and men's voices too, 
 Laughter and talk; two men there are in view, 
 Across the road the shadows clear I mark 
 Of horses three." 
 "Enough. Now, Gasclin, hark!" 
 Exclaimed the knight, "you must at once return 
 By other path than that which you discern, 
 So that you be not seen. At break of day 
 Bring back our horses fresh, and every way 
 Caparisoned; now leave me, boy, I say." 
 The page looked at his master like a son, 
 And said, "Oh! if I might stay on, 
 For they are two." 
 "Go—I suffice alone!" 
 And lone the hero is within the hall, 
 And nears the table where the glasses all 
 Show in profusion; all the vessels there, 
 Goblets and glasses gilt, or painted fair, 
 Are ranged for different wines with practised care. 
 He thirsts; the flagons tempt; but there must stay 
 One drop in emptied glass, and 'twould betray 
 The fact that some one living had been here. 
 Straight to the horses goes he, pauses near 
 That which is next the table shining bright, 
 Seizes the rider—plucks the phantom knight 
 To pieces—all in vain its panoply 
 And pallid shining to his practised eye; 
 Then he conveys the severed iron remains 
 To corner of the hall where darkness reigns; 
 Against the wall he lays the armor low 
 In dust and gloom like hero vanquished now— 
 But keeping pond'rous lance and shield so old, 
 Mounts to the empty saddle, and behold! 
 A statue Eviradnus has become, 
 Like to the others in their frigid home. 
 With visor down scarce breathing seemed maintained 
 Throughout the hall a death-like silence reigned. 
 Listen! like hum froth unseen nests we hear 
 A mirthful buzz of voices coming near, 
 Of footsteps—laughter—from the trembling trees. 
 And now the thick-set forest all receives 
 A flood of moonlight—and there gently floats 
 The sound of a guitar of Inspruck; notes 
 Which blend with chimes—vibrating to the hand— 
 Of tiny bell—where sounds a grain of sand. 
 A man's voice mixes with the melody, 
 And vaguely melts to song in harmony. 
 "If you like we'll dream a dream. 
 Let us mount on palfreys two; 
 Birds are singing,—let it seem 
 You lure me—and I take you. 
 "Let us start—'tis eve, you see, 
 I'm thy master and thy prey. 
 My bright steed shall pleasure be; 
 Yours, it shall be love, I say. 
 "Journeying leisurely we go, 
 We will make our steeds touch heads, 
 Kiss for fodder,—and we so 
 Satisfy our horses' needs. 
 "Come! the two delusive things 
 Stamp impatiently it seems, 
 Yours has heavenward soaring wings, 
 Mine is of the land of dreams. 
 "What's our baggage? only vows, 
 Happiness, and all our care, 
 And the flower that sweetly shows 
 Nestling lightly in your hair. 
 "Come, the oaks all dark appear, 
 Twilight now will soon depart, 
 Railing sparrows laugh to hear 
 Chains thou puttest round my heart. 
 "Not my fault 'twill surely be 
 If the hills should vocal prove, 
 And the trees when us they see, 
 All should murmur—let us love! 
 "Oh, be gentle!—I am dazed, 
 See the dew is on the grass, 
 Wakened butterflies amazed 
 Follow thee as on we pass. 
 "Envious night-birds open wide 
 Their round eyes to gaze awhile, 
 Nymphs that lean their urns beside 
 From their grottoes softly smile, 
 "And exclaim, by fancy stirred, 
 'Hero and Leander they; 
 We in listening for a word 
 Let our water fall away.' 
 "Let us journey Austrian way, 
 With the daybreak on our brow; 
 I be great, and you I say 
 Rich, because we love shall know. 
 "Let us over countries rove, 
 On our charming steeds content, 
 In the azure light of love, 
 And its sweet bewilderment. 
 "For the charges at our inn, 
 You with maiden smiles shall pay; 
 I the landlord's heart will win 
 In a scholar's pleasant way. 
 "You, great lady—and I, Count— 
 Come, my heart has opened quite, 
 We this tale will still recount, 
 To the stars that shine at night." 
 The melody went on some moments more 
 Among the trees the calm moon glistened o'er, 
 Then trembled and was hushed; the voice's thrill 
 Stopped like alighting birds, and all was still. 
 Quite suddenly there showed across the door, 
 Three heads which all a festive aspect wore. 
 Two men were there; and, dressed in cloth of gold, 
 A woman. Of the men one might have told 
 Some thirty years, the other younger seemed, 
 Was tall and fair, and from his shoulder gleamed 
 A gay guitar with ivy leaves enlaced. 
 The other man was dark, but pallid-faced 
 And small. At the first glance they seemed to be 
 But made of perfume and frivolity. 
 Handsome they were, but through their comely mien 
 A grinning demon might be clearly seen. 
 April has flowers where lurk the slugs between. 
 "Big Joss and little Zeno, pray come here; 
 Look now—how dreadful! can I help but fear!" 
 Madame Mahaud was speaker. Moonlight there 
 Caressingly enhanced her beauty rare, 
 Making it shine and tremble, as if she 
 So soft and gentle were of things that be 
 Of air created, and are brought and ta'en 
 By heavenly flashes. Now, she spoke again 
 "Certes, 'tis heavy purchase of a throne, 
 To pass the night here utterly alone. 
 Had you not slyly come to guard me now, 
 I should have died of fright outright I know." 
 The moonbeams through the open door did fall, 
 And shine upon the figure next the wall. 
 Said Zeno, "If I played the Marquis part, 
 I'd send this rubbish to the auction mart; 
 Out of the heap should come the finest wine, 
 Pleasure and gala-fêtes, were it all mine." 
 And then with scornful hand he touched the thing, 
 And made the metal like a soul's cry ring. 
 He laughed—the gauntlet trembled at his stroke. 
 "Let rest my ancestors"—'twas Mahaud spoke; 
 Then murmuring added she, "For you are much 
 Too small their noble armor here to touch." 
 And Zeno paled, but Joss with laugh exclaimed, 
 "Why, all these good black men so grandly named 
 Are only nests for mice. By Jove, although 
 They lifelike look and terrible, we know 
 What is within; just listen, and you'll hear 
 The vermins' gnawing teeth, yet 'twould appear 
 These figures once were proudly named Otho, 
 And Ottocar, and Bela, and Plato. 
 Alas! the end's not pleasant—puts one out; 
 To have been kings and dukes—made mighty rout— 
 Colossal heroes filling tombs with slain, 
 And, Madame, this to only now remain; 
 A peaceful nibbling rat to calmly pierce 
 A prince's noble armor proud and fierce." 
 "Sing, if you will—but do not speak so loud; 
 Besides, such things as these," said fair Mahaud, 
 "In your condition are not understood." 
 "Well said," made answer Zeno, "'tis a place 
 Of wonders—I see serpents, and can trace 
 Vampires, and monsters swarming, that arise 
 In mist, through chinks, to meet the gazer's eyes." 
 Then Mahaud shuddered, and she said: "The wine 
 The Abbé made me drink as task of mine, 
 Will soon enwrap me in the soundest sleep— 
 Swear not to leave me—that you here will keep." 
 "I swear," cried Joss, and Zeno, "I also; 
 But now at once to supper let us go." 
 With laugh and song they to the table went. 
 Said Mahaud gayly: "It is my intent 
 To make Joss chamberlain. Zeno shall be 
 A constable supreme of high degree." 
 All three were joyous, and were fair to see. 
 Joss ate—and Zeno drank; on stools the pair, 
 With Mahaud musing in the regal chair. 
 The sound of separate leaf we do not note— 
 And so their babble seemed to idly float, 
 And leave no thought behind. Now and again 
 Joss his guitar made trill with plaintive strain 
 Or Tyrolean air; and lively tales they told 
 Mingled with mirth all free, and frank, and bold. 
 Said Mahaud: "Do you know how fortunate 
 You are?" "Yes, we are young at any rate— 
 Lovers half crazy—this is truth at least." 
 "And more, for you know Latin like a priest, 
 And Joss sings well." 
 "Ah, yes, our master true, 
 Yields us these gifts beyond the measure due." 
 "Your master!—who is he?" Mahaud exclaimed. 
 "Satan, we say—but Sin you'd think him named," 
 Said Zeno, veiling words in raillery. 
 "Do not laugh thus," she said with dignity; 
 "Peace, Zeno. Joss, you speak, my chamberlain." 
 "Madame, Viridis, Countess of Milan, 
 Was deemed superb; Diana on the mount 
 Dazzled the shepherd boy; ever we count 
 The Isabel of Saxony so fair, 
 And Cleopatra's beauty all so rare— 
 Aspasia's, too, that must with theirs compare— 
 That praise of them no fitting language hath. 
 Divine was Rhodope—and Venus' wrath 
 Was such at Erylesis' perfect throat, 
 She dragged her to the forge where Vulcan smote 
 Her beauty on his anvil. Well, as much 
 As star transcends a sequin, and just such 
 As temple is to rubbish-heap, I say, 
 You do eclipse their beauty every way. 
 Those airy sprites that from the azure smile, 
 Peris and elfs the while they men beguile, 
 Have brows less youthful pure than yours; besides 
 Dishevelled they whose shaded beauty hides 
 In clouds." 
 "Flatt'rer," said Mahaud, "you but sing 
 Too well." 
 Then Joss more homage sought to bring; 
 "If I were angel under heav'n," said he, 
 "Or girl or demon, I would seek to be 
 By you instructed in all art and grace, 
 And as in school but take a scholar's place. 
 Highness, you are a fairy bright, whose hand 
 For sceptre vile gave up your proper wand." 
 Fair Mahaud mused—then said, "Be silent now; 
 You seem to watch me; little 'tis I know, 
 Only that from Bohemia Joss doth come, 
 And that in Poland Zeno hath his home. 
 But you amuse me; I am rich, you poor— 
 What boon shall I confer and make secure? 
 What gift? ask of me, poets, what you will 
 And I will grant it—promise to fulfil." 
 "A kiss," said Joss. 
 "A kiss!" and anger fraught 
 Amazed at minstrel having such a thought— 
 While flush of indignation warmed her cheek. 
 "You do forget to whom it is you speak," 
 She cried. 
 "Had I not known your high degree, 
 Should I have asked this royal boon," said he, 
 "Obtained or given, a kiss must ever be. 
 No gift like king's—no kiss like that of queen!" 
 Queen! And on Mahaud's face a smile was seen. 
 But now the potion proved its subtle power, 
 And Mahaud's heavy eyelids 'gan to lower. 
 Zeno, with finger on his lip, looked on— 
 Her head next drooped, and consciousness was gone. 
 Smiling she slept, serene and very fair, 
 He took her hand, which fell all unaware. 
 "She sleeps," said Zeno, "now let chance or fate 
 Decide for us which has the marquisate, 
 And which the girl." 
 Upon their faces now 
 A hungry tiger's look began to show. 
 "My brother, let us speak like men of sense," 
 Said Joss; "while Mahaud dreams in innocence, 
 We grasp all here—and hold the foolish thing— 
 Our Friend below to us success will bring. 
 He keeps his word; 'tis thanks to him I say, 
 No awkward chance has marred our plans to-day. 
 All has succeeded—now no human power 
 Can take from us this woman and her dower. 
 Let us conclude. To wrangle and to fight 
 For just a yes or no, or to prove right 
 The Arian doctrines, all the time the Pope 
 Laughs in his sleeve at you—or with the hope 
 Some blue-eyed damsel with a tender skin 
 And milkwhite dainty hands by force to win— 
 This might be well in days when men bore loss 
 And fought for Latin or Byzantine Cross; 
 When Jack and Rudolf did like fools contend, 
 And for a simple wench their valor spend— 
 When Pepin held a synod at Leptine, 
 And times than now were much less wise and fine. 
 We do no longer heap up quarrels thus, 
 But better know how projects to discuss. 
 Have you the needful dice?" 
 "Yes, here they wait 
 For us." 
 "Who wins shall have the Marquisate; 
 Loser, the girl." 
 "A noise I hear?" 
 "Only the wind that sounds like some one near— 
 Are you afraid?" said Zeno. 
 "Naught I fear 
 Save fasting—and that solid earth should gape. 
 Let's throw and fate decide—ere time escape." 
 Then rolled the dice. 
 "'Tis four." 
 'Twas Joss to throw. 
 "Six!—and I neatly win, you see; and lo! 
 At bottom of this box I've found Lusace, 
 And henceforth my orchestra will have place; 
 To it they'll dance. Taxes I'll raise, and they 
 In dread of rope and forfeit well will pay; 
 Brass trumpet-calls shall be my flutes that lead, 
 Where gibbets rise the imposts grow and spread." 
 Said Zeno, "I've the girl and so is best," 
 "She's beautiful," said Joss. 
 "Yes, 'tis confess'd." 
 "What shall you do with her?" asked Joss. 
 "I know. 
 Make her a corpse," said Zeno; "marked you how 
 The jade insulted me just now! Too small 
 She called me—such the words her lips let fall. 
 I say, that moment ere the dice I threw 
 Had yawning Hell cried out, 'My son, for you 
 The chance is open still: take in a heap 
 The fair Lusace's seven towns, and reap 
 The corn, and wine, and oil of counties ten, 
 With all their people diligent, and then 
 Bohemia with its silver mines, and now 
 The lofty land whence mighty rivers flow 
 And not a brook returns; add to these counts 
 The Tyrol with its lovely azure mounts 
 And France with her historic fleurs-de-lis; 
 Come now, decide, what 'tis your choice must be?' 
 I should have answered, 'Vengeance! give to me 
 Rather than France, Bohemia, or the fair 
 Blue Tyrol, I my choice, O Hell! declare 
 For government of darkness and of death, 
 Of grave and worms.' Brother, this woman hath 
 As marchioness with absurdity set forth 
 To rule o'er frontier bulwarks of the north. 
 In any case to us a danger she, 
 And having stupidly insulted me 
 'Tis needful that she die. To blurt all out— 
 I know that you desire her; without doubt 
 The flame that rages in my heart warms yours; 
 To carry out these subtle plans of ours, 
 We have become as gypsies near this doll, 
 You as her page—I dotard to control— 
 Pretended gallants changed to lovers now. 
 So, brother, this being fact for us to know 
 Sooner or later, 'gainst our best intent 
 About her we should quarrel. Evident 
 Is it our compact would be broken through. 
 There is one only thing for us to do, 
 And that is, kill her." 
 "Logic very clear," 
 Said musing Joss, "but what of blood shed here?" 
 Then Zeno stooped and lifted from the ground 
 An edge of carpet—groped until he found 
 A ring, which, pulled, an opening did disclose, 
 With deep abyss beneath; from it there rose 
 The odor rank of crime. Joss walked to see 
 While Zeno pointed to it silently. 
 But eyes met eyes, and Joss, well pleased, was fain 
 By nod of head to make approval plain. 
 If sulphurous light had shone from this vile well 
 One might have said it was a mouth of hell, 
 So large the trap that by some sudden blow 
 A man might backward fall and sink below. 
 Who looked could see a harrow's threatening teeth, 
 But lost in night was everything beneath. 
 Partitions blood-stained have a reddened smear, 
 And Terror unrelieved is master here. 
 One feels the place has secret histories 
 Replete with dreadful murderous mysteries, 
 And that this sepulchre, forgot to-day, 
 Is home of trailing ghosts that grope their way 
 Along the walls where spectre reptiles crawl. 
 "Our fathers fashioned for us after all 
 Some useful things," said Joss; then Zeno spoke: 
 "I know what Corbus hides beneath its cloak, 
 I and the osprey know the castle old, 
 And what in bygone times the justice bold." 
 "And are you sure that Mahaud will not wake?" 
 "Her eyes are closed as now my fist I make; 
 She is in mystic and unearthly sleep; 
 The potion still its power o'er her must keep." 
 "But she will surely wake at break of day?" 
 "In darkness." 
 "What will all the courtiers say 
 When in the place of her they find two men?" 
 "To them we will declare ourselves—and then 
 They at our feet will fall." 
 "Where leads this hole?" 
 "To where the crow makes feast and torrents roll 
 To desolation. Let us end it now." 
 These young and handsome men had seemed to grow 
 Deformed and hideous—so doth foul black heart 
 Disfigure man, till beauty all depart. 
 So to the hell within the human face 
 Transparent is. They nearer move apace; 
 And Mahaud soundly sleeps as in a bed. 
 "To work." 
 Joss seizes her and holds her head 
 Supporting her beneath her arms, in his; 
 And then he dared to plant a monstrous kiss 
 Upon her rosy lips,—while Zeno bent 
 Before the massive chair, and with intent 
 Her robe disordered as he raised her feet; 
 Her dainty ankles thus their gaze to meet. 
 And while the mystic sleep was all profound, 
 The pit gaped wide like grave in burial ground. 
 Bearing the sleeping Mahaud they moved now 
 Silent and bent with heavy step and slow. 
 Zeno faced darkness—Joss turned towards the light— 
 So that the hall to Joss was quite in sight. 
 Sudden he stopped—and Zeno, "What now!" called, 
 But Joss replied not, though he seemed appalled, 
 And made a sign to Zeno, who with speed 
 Looked back. Then seemed they changed to stone indeed. 
 For both perceived that in the vaulted hall 
 One of the grand old knights ranged by the wall 
 Descended from his horse. Like phantom he 
 Moved with a horrible tranquillity. 
 Masked by his helm towards them he came; his tread 
 Made the floor tremble—and one might have said 
 A spirit of th' abyss was here; between 
 Them and the pit he came—a barrier seen; 
 Then said, with sword in hand and visor down, 
 In measured tones that had sepulchral grown 
 As tolling bell, "Stop, Sigismond, and you, 
 King Ladisläus;" at those words, though few, 
 They dropped the Marchioness, and in such a way 
 That at their feet like rigid corpse she lay. 
 The deep voice speaking from the visor's grate 
 Proceeded—while the two in abject state 
 Cowered low. Joss paled, by gloom and dread o'ercast, 
 And Zeno trembled like a yielding mast. 
 "You two who listen now must recollect 
 The compact all your fellow-men suspect. 
 'Tis this: 'I, Satan, god of darkened sphere, 
 The king of gloom and winds that bring things drear, 
 Alliance make with my two brothers dear, 
 The Emperor Sigismond and Polish King 
 Named Ladisläus. I to surely bring 
 Aid and protection to them both alway, 
 And never to absent myself or say 
 I'm weary. And yet more—I, being lord 
 Of sea and land, to Sigismond award 
 The earth; to Ladisläus all the sea. 
 With this condition that they yield to me 
 When I the forfeit claim—the King his head, 
 But shall the Emperor give his soul instead.'" 
 Said Joss, "Is't he?—Spectre with flashing eyes, 
 And art thou Satan come to us surprise?" 
 "Much less am I and yet much more. 
 Oh, kings of crimes and plots! your day is o'er, 
 But I your lives will only take to-day; 
 Beneath the talons black your souls let stay 
 To wrestle still." 
 The pair looked stupefied 
 And crushed. Exchanging looks 'twas Zeno cried, 
 Speaking to Joss, "Now who—who can it be?" 
 Joss stammered, "Yes, no refuge can I see; 
 The doom is on us. But oh, spectre! say 
 Who are you?" 
 "I'm the judge." 
 "Then mercy, pray." 
 The voice replied: "God guides His chosen hand 
 To be th' Avenger in your path to stand. 
 Your hour has sounded, nothing now indeed 
 Can change for you the destiny decreed, 
 Irrevocable quite. Yes, I looked on. 
 Ah! little did you think that any one 
 To this unwholesome gloom could knowledge bring 
 That Joss a kaiser was, and Zeno king. 
 You spoke just now—but why?—too late to plead. 
 The forfeit's due and hope should all be dead. 
 Incurables! For you I am the grave. 
 Oh, miserable men! that naught can save. 
 Yes, Sigismond a kaiser is, and you 
 A king, O Ladisläus!—it is true. 
 You thought of God but as a wheel to roll 
 Your chariot on; you who have king's control 
 O'er Poland and its many towns so strong. 
 You, Milan's Duke, to whom at once belong 
 The gold and iron crowns. You, Emperor made 
 By Rome, a son of Hercules 'tis said; 
 And you of Spartibor. And your two crowns 
 Are shining lights; and yet your shadow frowns 
 From every mountain land to trembling sea. 
 You are at giddy heights twin powers to be 
 A glory and a force for all that's great— 
 But 'neath the purple canopy of state, 
 Th' expanding and triumphant arch you prize, 
 'Neath royal power that sacred veils disguise, 
 Beneath your crowns of pearls and jewelled stars, 
 Beneath your exploits terrible and wars, 
 You, Sigismond, have but a monster been, 
 And, Ladisläus, you are scoundrel seen. 
 Oh, degradation of the sceptre's might 
 And swords—when Justice has a hand like night, 
 Foul and polluted; and before this thing, 
 This hydra, do the Temple's hinges swing— 
 The throne becomes the haunt of all things base 
 Oh, age of infamy and foul disgrace! 
 Oh, starry heavens looking on the shame, 
 No brow but reddens with resentful flame— 
 And yet the silent people do not stir! 
 Oh, million arms! what things do you deter— 
 Poor sheep, whom vermin-majesties devour, 
 Have you not nails with strong desiring power 
 To rend these royalties, that you so cower? 
 But two are taken,—such as will amaze 
 E'en hell itself, when it on them shall gaze. 
 Ah, Sigismond and Ladisläus, you 
 Were once triumphant, splendid to the view, 
 Stifling with your prosperity—but now 
 The hour of retribution lays you low. 
 Ah, do the vulture and the crocodile 
 Shed tears! At such a sight I fain must smile. 
 It seems to me 'tis very good sometimes 
 That princes, conquerors stained with bandits' crimes, 
 Sparkling with splendor, wearing crowns of gold, 
 Should know the deadly sweat endured of old, 
 That of Jehoshaphat; should sob and fear, 
 And after crime th' unclean be brought to bear. 
 'Tis well—God rules—and thus it is that I 
 These masters of the world can make to lie 
 In ashes at my feet. And this was he 
 Who reigned—and this a Caesar known to be! 
 In truth, my old heart aches with very shame 
 To see such cravens with such noble name. 
 But let us finish—what has just passed here 
 Demands thick shrouding, and the time is near. 
 Th' accursed dice that rolled at Calvary 
 You rolled a woman's murder to decree 
 It was a dark disastrous game to play; 
 But not for me a moral to essay. 
 This moment to the misty grave is due, 
 And far too vile and little human you 
 To see your evil ways. Your fingers lack 
 The human power your shocking deeds to track. 
 What use in darkness mirror to uphold? 
 What use your doings to be now retold? 
 Drink of the darkness—greedy of the ill 
 To which from habit you're attracted still, 
 Not recognizing in the draught you take 
 The stench that your atrocities must make. 
 I only tell you that this burdened age 
 Tires of your Highnesses, that soil its page, 
 And of your villanies—and this is why 
 You now must swell the stream that passes by 
 Of refuse filth. Oh, horrid scene to show 
 Of these young men and that young girl just now! 
 Oh! can you really be of human kind 
 Breathing pure air of heaven? Do we find 
 That you are men? Oh, no! for when you laid 
 Foul lips upon the mouth of sleeping maid, 
 You seemed but ghouls that had come furtively 
 From out the tombs; only a horrid lie 
 Your human shape; of some strange frightful beast 
 You have the soul. To darkness I at least 
 Remit you now. Oh, murderer Sigismond 
 And Ladisläus pirate, both beyond 
 Release—two demons that have broken ban! 
 Therefore 'tis time their empire over man 
 And converse with the living, should be o'er; 
 Tyrants, behold your tomb your eyes before; 
 Vampires and dogs, your sepulchre is here. 
 He pointed to the gulf so near. 
 All terrified upon their knees they fell. 
 "Oh! take us not in your dread realm to dwell," 
 Said Sigismond. "But, phantom! do us tell 
 What thou wouldst have from us—we will obey. 
 Oh, mercy!—'tis for mercy now we pray." 
 "Behold us at your feet, oh, spectre dread!" 
 And no old crone in feebler voice could plead 
 Than Ladisläus did. 
 But not a word 
 Said now the figure motionless, with sword 
 In hand. This sovereign soul seemed to commune 
 With self beneath his metal sheath; yet soon 
 And suddenly, with tranquil voice said he, 
 "Princes, your craven spirit wearies me. 
 No phantom—only man am I. Arise! 
 I like not to be dreaded otherwise 
 Than with the fear to which I'm used; know me, 
 For it is Eviradnus that you see!" 
 As from the mist a noble pine we tell 
 Grown old upon the heights of Appenzel, 
 When morning freshness breathes round all the wood, 
 So Eviradnus now before them stood, 
 Opening his visor, which at once revealed 
 The snowy beard it had so well concealed. 
 Thin Sigismond was still as dog at gaze, 
 But Ladisläus leaped, and howl did raise, 
 And laughed and gnashed his teeth, till, like a cloud 
 That sudden bursts, his rage was all avowed. 
 "'Tis but an old man after all!" he cried. 
 Then the great knight, who looked at both, replied, 
 "Oh, kings! an old man of my time can cope 
 With two much younger ones of yours, I hope. 
 To mortal combat I defy you both 
 Singly; or, if you will, I'm nothing loth 
 With two together to contend; choose here 
 From out the heap what weapon shall appear 
 Most fit. As you no cuirass wear, I see, 
 I will take off my own, for all must be 
 In order perfect—e'en your punishment." 
 Then Eviradnus, true to his intent, 
 Stripped to his Utrecht jerkin; but the while 
 He calmly had disarmed—with dexterous guile 
 Had Ladisläus seized a knife that lay 
 Upon the damask cloth, and slipped away 
 His shoes; then barefoot, swiftly, silently 
 He crept behind the knight, with arm held high. 
 But Eviradnus was of all aware, 
 And turned upon the murderous weapon there, 
 And twisted it away; then in a trice 
 His strong colossal hand grasped like a vice 
 The neck of Ladisläus, who the blade 
 Now dropped; over his eyes a misty shade 
 Showed that the royal dwarf was near to death. 
 "Traitor!" said Eviradnus in his wrath, 
 "I rather should have hewn your limbs away, 
 And left you crawling on your stumps, I say,— 
 But now die fast." 
 Ghastly, with starting eyes, 
 The King without a cry or struggle dies. 
 One dead—but lo! the other stands bold-faced, 
 Defiant; for the knight, when he unlaced 
 His cuirass, had his trusty sword laid down, 
 And Sigismond now grasps it as his own. 
 The monster-youth laughed at the silv'ry beard, 
 And, sword in hand, a murderer glad appeared. 
 Crossing his arms, he cried, "'Tis my turn now!" 
 And the black mounted knights in solemn row 
 Were judges of the strife. Before them lay 
 The sleeping Mahaud—and not far away 
 The fatal pit, near which the champion knight 
 With evil Emperor must contend for right, 
 Though weaponless he was. And yawned the pit 
 Expectant which should be engulfed in it. 
 "Now we shall see for whom this ready grave," 
 Said Sigismond, "you dog, whom naught can save!" 
 Aware was Eviradnus that if he 
 Turned for a blade unto the armory, 
 He would be instant pierced—what can he do? 
 The moment is for him supreme. But, lo! 
 He glances now at Ladisläus dead, 
 And with a smile triumphant and yet dread, 
 And air of lion caged to whom is shown 
 Some loophole of escape, he bends him down. 
 "Ha! ha! no other club than this I need!" 
 He cried, as seizing in his hands with speed 
 The dead King's heels, the body lifted high, 
 Then to the frightened Emperor he came nigh, 
 And made him shake with horror and with fear, 
 The weapon all so ghastly did appear. 
 The head became the stone to this strange sling, 
 Of which the body was the potent string; 
 And while 'twas brandished in a deadly way, 
 The dislocated arms made monstrous play 
 With hideous gestures, as now upside down 
 The bludgeon corpse a giant force had grown. 
 "'Tis well!" said Eviradnus, and he cried, 
 "Arrange between yourselves, you two allied; 
 If hell-fire were extinguished, surely it 
 By such a contest might be all relit; 
 From kindling spark struck out from dead King's brow, 
 Batt'ring to death a living Emperor now." 
 And Sigismond, thus met and horrified, 
 Recoiled to near the unseen opening wide; 
 The human club was raised, and struck again * * * 
 And Eviradnus did alone remain 
 All empty-handed—but he heard the sound 
 Of spectres two falling to depths profound; 
 Then, stooping o'er the pit, he gazed below, 
 And, as half-dreaming now, he murmured low, 
 "Tiger and jackal meet their portion here, 
 'Tis well together they should disappear!" 
 Then lifts he Mahaud to the ducal chair, 
 And shuts the trap with noiseless, gentle care; 
 And puts in order everything around, 
 So that, on waking, naught should her astound. 
 "No drop of blood the thing has cost," mused he, 
 "And that is best indeed." 
 But suddenly 
 Some distant bells clang out. The mountains gray 
 Have scarlet tips, proclaiming dawning day; 
 The hamlets are astir, and crowds come out— 
 Bearing fresh branches of the broom—about 
 To seek their Lady, who herself awakes 
 Rosy as morn, just when the morning breaks; 
 Half-dreaming still, she ponders, can it be 
 Some mystic change has passed, for her to see 
 One old man in the place of two quite young! 
 Her wondering eyes search carefully and long. 
 It may be she regrets the change: meanwhile, 
 The valiant knight salutes her with a smile, 
 And then approaching her with friendly mien, 
 Says, "Madam, has your sleep all pleasant been?" 


Poem by Victor Hugo
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