Festus · Scene 19 (2/2) (1/2)
Festus* and Helen*.
Helen Come to the light, love! Let me look on thee! Let me make sure I have thee. Is it thou? Is this thy hand? Are these thy velvet lips⁠— Thy lips so lovable? Nay, speak not yet! For oft as I have dreamed of thee, it was Thy speaking woke me. I will dream no more. Am I alive? And do I really look Upon these soft and sea-blue eyes of thine, Wherein I half believe I can espy The riches of the sea? These dark rolled looks! Oh God! art Thou not glad, too, he is here!⁠— Where hast thou been so long? Never to hear, Never to see, nor see one who had seen thee⁠— Come now, confess it was not kind to treat Me in this manner.
Festus I confess, my love, But I have been where neither tongue, nor pen, Nor hand could give thee token where I was; And seen, but ’tis enough! I see thee now. I would rather look upon thy shadow there, Than Heaven’s bright thrones for ever.
Helen Where hast been?
Festus Say, am I altered?
Helen Nowise.
Festus It is well. Then in the resurrection we may know Each other. I have been among the worlds, Angels and spirits bodiless.
Helen Great God! Can it be so?
Festus It is:⁠—and that both here And elsewhere. When the stars come, thou shalt see The track I travelled through the light of night; Where I have been, and whence my visitors.
Helen And thou hast been with angels all the while, And still dost love me?
Festus Constantly as now. But for the time I did devote my soul To their divine society, I knew Thou wouldst forgive, yet dared not trust myself To see thee, or to pen one word, for fear Thy love should overpower the plan conceived, And acting, in my mind, of visiting The spirits in their space-embosomed homes.
Helen Forgive thee! ’tis a deed which merits love. And should I not be proud, too, who can say, For me he left all angels?
Festus I forethought So thou wouldst say; but with an offering Came I provided, even with a trophy Of love angelic, given me for thee; For angel bosoms know no jealousy.
Helen Show me.
Festus It is of jewels I received From one who snatched them from the richest wreck Of matter ever made, the holiest And most resplendent.
Helen Why, what could it be? Jewels are baubles only; whether pearls From the sea’s lightless depths, or diamonds Culled from the mountain’s crown, or chrysolith, Cat’s eye or moonstone, toys are they at best. Jewels are not of all things in my sight Most precious.
Festus Nor in mine. It is in the use Of which they may be made their value lies; In the pure thoughts of beauty they call up, And qualities they emblem. So in that Thou wearest there, thy cross;⁠—to me it is Suggestive of bright thoughts and hopes in Him Whose one great sacrifice availeth all, Living and dead, through all Eternity. Not to the wanderer over southern seas Rises the constellation of the Cross More lovelily o’er sky and calm blue wave, Than does to me that bright one on thy breast. As diamonds are purest of all things, And but embodied light which fire consumes And renders back to air, that nought remains⁠— And as the cross is symbol of our creed, So let that ornament signify to thee The faith of Christ, all purity, all light, Through fervency resolving into Heaven. Each hath his cross, fair lady, on his heart. Never may thine be heavier or darker Than that now on thy breast, so light and bright, Rising and falling with its bosom-swell.
Helen I thank thee for that wish, and for the love Which prompts it⁠—the immeasurable love I know is mine, and I with none would share. Forgive me; I have not yet felt my wings. Now have I not been patient? Let me see My promised present.
Festus Look, then⁠—they are here; Bracelets of chrysoprase.
Helen Most beautiful!
Festus Come, let me clasp them, dearest, on thine arms; For these of those are worthy, and are named In the foundation stones of the bright city, Which is to be for the immortal saved, Their last and blest abode; and such their hue, The golden green of Paradisal plains Which lie about it boundlessly, and more Intensely tinted with the burning beauty Of God’s eye, which alone doth light that land, Than our earth’s cold grass garment with the sun; Though even in the bright, hot, blue-skied East, Where he doth live the life of light and Heaven; Where, o’er the mountains, at midday is seen The morning star, and the moon tans at night The cheek of careless sleeper. Take them, love. There are no nobler earthly ornaments Than jewels of the city of the saved.
Helen But how are these of that bright city? I Am eager for their history.
Festus They are Thereof prophetically, and have been⁠— What I will show thee presently, when I Relate the story of the angel who Gave them to me.
Helen Well; I will wait till then, Or any time thou choosest: ’tis enough That I believe thee always;⁠—but would know, If not in me too curious to ask, How came about these miracles? Hast thou raised The fiend of fiends, and made a compact dark, Sealed with thy blood, symbolic of the soul, Whereby all power is given thee for a time, All means, all knowledge, to make more secure Thy spirit’s dread perdition at the end? I of such awful stories oft have heard, And the unlawful lore which ruins souls. Myself have charms, foresee events in dreams; Can prophesy, prognosticate, know well The secret ties between many magic herbs And mortal feelings, nor condemn myself For knowing what is innocent; but thou! Thy helps are mightier far and more obscure. Was it with wand and circle, book and scull, With rites forbid and backward-jabbered prayers, In cross-roads or in churchyard, at full moon, And by instruction of the ghostly dead, That thou hast wrought these wonders, and attained Such high transcendent powers and secrets? Speak! Or is man’ mastery over spirits not Of such a vile and vulgar consequence?
Festus Were not my heart as guiltless of all mirth As is the oracle of an extinct god Of its priest-prompted answer, I might smile To list such askings. Mind’s command o’er mind, Spirit’s o’er spirit, is the dear effect And natural action of an inward gift, Given of God, whereby the incarnate soul Hath power to pass free out of earth and death To immortality and Heaven, and mate With beings of a kind, condition, lot, All diverse from his own. This mastery Means but communion, the power to quit Life’s little globule here, and coalesce With the great mass about us. For the rest, To raise the Devil were an infant’s task To that of raising man. Why, every one Conjures the Fiend from Hell into himself When Passion chokes or blinds him. Sin is Hell.
Helen How dost thou bring a spirit to thee, Festus?
Festus It is my will which makes it visible.
Helen What are those like whom thou hast seen?
Festus They come, The denizens of other worlds, arrayed In diverse form and feature, mostly lovely; In limb and wing ethereal finer far Than an ephemeris’ pinion; others, armed With gleaming plumes, that might o’ercome an air Of adamantine denseness, pranked with fire. All are of different offices and strengths, Powers, orders, tendencies, in like degrees As men, with even more variety; Of different glories, duties, and delights. Even as the light of meteor, satellite, Planet and comet, sun, star, nebula, Differ, and nature also, so do theirs. With them is neither need, nor sex, nor age, Nor generation growth, decay, nor death; Or none whom I have known; there may be such. Mature they are created and complete, Or seem to be. Perfect from God they come. Yet have they different degrees of beauty, Even as strength and holy excellence. Some seem of milder and more feminine Nature than others, Beauty’s proper sex, Shown but by softer qualities of soul, More lovable than awful, more devote To deeds of individual piety, And grace, than mighty missions fit to task Sublimest spirits, or the toil intense Of cultivating nations of their kind; Or working out from the problem of the world The great results of God⁠—result, sum, cause. These ofttimes charged with delegated powers, Formative or destructive; those, in chief, Ordained to better and to beautify Existence as it is; with careful love To tend upon particular worlds or souls; Warning and training whom they love, to tread The soft and blossom-bordered, silvery paths, Which lead and lure the soul to Paradise, Making the feet shine which do walk on them; While each doth God’s great will alike, and both With their whole nature’s fullness love His works. To love them lifts the soul to Heaven.
Helen Let me, then! Whence come they?
Festus Many of them come from orbs Wherein the rudest matter is more worth And fair than queenly gem; the dullest dust Beneath their feet is rosy diamond:⁠— Others, direct from Heaven; but all in high And serious love towards those to whom they come. None but the blest are free to visit where They choose. The lost are slaves for ever; here Never but on their Master’s merciless Business, nor elsewhere. Still sometimes with these Dark spirits have I held communion, And in their soul’s deep shadow, as within A mountain cavern of the moon, conversed With them, and wormed from them the gnawing truth Of their extreme perdition; marking oft Nature revealed by torture, as a leaf Unfolds itself in fire and writhes the while, Burning, jet unconsumed. Others there are Come garlanded with flowers unwithering, Or crowned with sunny jewels, clad in light, And girded with the lightning, in their hands Wands of pure rays or arrowy starbeams; some Bright as the sun self-lit, in stature tall, Strong, straight and splendid as the golden reed Whereby the height, and length, and breadth, and depth, Of the descendant city of the skies, In which God sometime shall make glad with man, Were measured by the angel; (the same reed Wherewith our Lord was mocked that angel found Close by the Cross and took; God made it gold, And now it makes the sceptre of His Son Over all worlds; the sole bright rule of Heaven, The measure of immortal life, the scale Of power, love, bliss, and glory infinite):⁠— Some gorgeous and gigantic, who with wings Wide as the wings of armies in the field Drawn out for death, sweep over Heaven, and eyes Deep, dark as sea-worn caverns, with a torch At the end, far back, glaring. Some with wings Like an unfainting rainbow, studded round With stones of every hue and excellence, Writ o’er with mystic words which none may read, But those to whom their spiritual state Gives correlative meaning, fit thereto. Some of these visit me in dreams; with some Have I made one in visions, in their own Abodes of brightness, blessedness, and power: And know moreover I shall joy with them, Ere long their sacred guest, through ages yet To come, in worlds not now perhaps create, As they have been mine here: and some of them In unimaginable splendours I Have walked with through their winged worlds of light, Double and triple parti-coloured suns, And systems circling each the other, clad In tints of light and air, whereto this earth Hath nothing like, and man no knowledge of:⁠— Orbs heaped with mountains, to the which ours are Mere grave-mounds, and their skies flowered with stars, Violet, rose or pearl-hued, or soft blue, Golden or green, the light now blended, now Alternate; many moons and planets, full, Crescent, or gibbous-faced, illumining In periodic and intricate beauty, At once those strange and most felicitous skies.
Helen How I should love to visit other worlds, Or see an angel!
Festus Wilt thou now?
Helen I dare not. Not now at least. I am not in the mood. Ere I behold a spirit I would pray.
Festus Light as a leaf thy step, or arrowy Footing of breeze upon a waveless pool; Sudden and soft, too, like a waft of light, The beautiful immortals come to me; Oh, ever lovely, ever welcome they!
Helen But why art thou, of all men, favoured thus? To say there is a mystery in this Or aught is only to confess God. Speak!
Festus It is God’s will that I possess this power, Thus to attract great spirits to mine own, As steel magnetically charged draws steel; Himself the magnet of the universe, Bound whom all spirits tremble, and towards whom All tend.
Helen If as thou sayest, it is good:⁠— May it be an immortal good to thee.
Festus There is no keeping back the power we have. He hath no power who hath not power to use. Some of these bodies whom I speak of are Pure spirits, others bodies soulical: For spirit is to soul as wind to air. They give me all I seek, and at a wish Would furnish treasures, thrones, or palaces; But all these things have I eschewed, and chosen Command of mind alone, and of the world Unbodied and all-lovely.
Helen Is not this Pleasure too much for mortal to be good?
Festus All pleasure is with Thee, God! elsewhere, none. Not silver-ceiled hall nor golden throne, Set thick with priceless gems, as Heaven with stars, Or the high heart of youth with its bright hopes;⁠— Nor marble gleaming like the white moonlight, As ’twere an apparition of a palace Inlaid with light as is a waterfall;⁠— Not rainbow-pinions coloured like yon cloud, The sun’s broad banner o’er his western tent, Can match the bright imaginings of a child Upon the glories of his coming years; How equal, then, the full-assured faith Of him to whom the Saviour hath vouchsafed The Heaven of His bosom? What can tempt In its performance equal to that promise? My soul stands fast to Heaven as doth a star; And only God can move it who moves all. There are who might have soared to what I spurned; And like to heavenly orders human souls; Some fitted most for contemplation, some For action, these for thrones, and those for wheels.
Helen Tell me what they discourse upon, these angels?