Festus · Scene 28 (2/2) (1/2)
Festus Alone. The last high upward slant of sun on the trees, Like a dead soldier’s sword upon his pall, Seems to console earth for the glory gone. Oh! I could weep to see the day die thus; The death-bed of a day, how beautiful! Linger, ye clouds, one moment longer there; Fan it to slumber with your golden wings! Like pious prayers ye seem to soothe its end. It will wake no more till the all-revealing day; When, like a drop of water, greatened bright Into a shadow, it shall show itself With all its little tyrannous things and deeds, Unhomed and clear. The day hath gone to God⁠— Straight, like an infant’s spirit, or a mocked And mourning messenger of grace to man. Would it had taken me too on its wing! My end is nigh. Would I might die outright! And slip the coil without waiting its unwind. Who that hath lain lonely on a high hill, In the imperious silence of full noon, With nothing but the clear dark sky about him, Like God’s hand laid upon the head of earth⁠— But hath expected that some natural spirit Should start out of the universal air⁠— And gathering his cloudy robe around him, As one in act to teach mysterious things, Explain that he must die?⁠—that having got As high as earth can lift him up⁠—as far Above that thing, the world, as flesh can mount⁠— Over the tyrant wind, and the clouded lightning, And the round rainbow⁠—and that having gained A loftier and a more mysterious beauty Of feeling⁠—something like a starry darkness Seizing the soul⁠—say he must die⁠—and vanish? Who hath not, at such moments, felt as now I feel, that to be happy we must die? And here I rest⁠—above the world and its ways; The wind, opinion⁠—and the rainbow, beauty⁠— And the thunder, superstition⁠—I am free Of all:⁠—save death, what want I to be happy? And shall I leave no trace, then, of my life? The soul begetteth shadows of itself Which do outlive their author: and are more Substantial than all nature, and the red Realities of flesh and blood, as echo Is longer, louder, further than the voice Of man can thunder, or his ear report. And oft the world hath Deified its echoes. A year!⁠—and who shall find them? Can it be The mind’s works have been deathless⁠—not the mind? Or will the world’s immortals die with me?⁠— The sages, and the heroes, and the bards⁠— Whose verse set to the thunder of the seas, Seems as immortal as their ceaseless music! O God! I fain would deem Thou livest not: And that this world hath sprung up from chance seed, Unknown to thee; and is not reckoned on. Hell solves all doubts.⁠—Come to me, Lucifer!
Lucifer Lo! I am here: and ever prompt when called for. How speed thy general pleasures?
Festus Bravely! joys Are bubble-like⁠—what makes them, bursts them, too. And, like the milky way, there! dim with stars, The soul that numbers most will shine the less.
Lucifer No matter⁠—mind it not!
Festus Yet, joys of earth! That ye should ruin spirits is too hard. Who can avoid ye? who can say ye nay? Or take his eyes from off ye? who so chaste?
Lucifer They have well-nigh unimmortalized myself.
Festus Yet have they nought to sate the pining spirit Which doth enamour immortality. No! they are all base, impure, ruinous⁠— The harlots of the heart. Forgive me, God! I am getting too forlorn to live⁠—too waste. Aught that I can or do love, shoots by me, Like a train upon an iron road. And yet I need not now reproach mine arm or aim; For I have winged each pleasure as it flew, How swift or high soever in its flight. We cannot live alone. The heart must have A prop without, or it will fall and break. But nature’s common joys are common cheats. As he who sails southwards, beholds, each night, New constellations rise, all dear, and fair; So, o’er the waters of the world, as we Reach the mid zone of life, or go beyond, Beauty and bounty still beset our course; New beauties wait upon as every where; New lights enlighten and new worlds attract. Bat I have seen and I have done with all. Friendship hath passed me like a ship at sea; And I have seen no more of it. I had A friend with whom, in boyhood, I was wont To learn, think, laugh, weep, strive, and love, together; For we were alway rivals in all things⁠— Together up high springy hills, to trace A runnel to its birthplace⁠—to pursue A river⁠—to search, haunt old ruined towers, And muse in them⁠—to scale the cloud-clad hills While thunders murmured in our very ear; To leap the lair of the live cataract, And pray its foaming pardon for the insult; To dare the broken tree-bridge across the stream; To crouch behind the broad white waterfall, Tongue of the glen, like to a hidden thought⁠— Dazzled, and deafened, yet the more delighted; To reach the rock which makes the fall and pool; There to fee safe, or not to care if not; To fling the free loot over my native hills, Which seemed to breathe the bracing breeze we loved The more it lifted up our loosened locks, That nought might be between us and the skies; Or, hand in hand, leap, laughing, with closed eyes, In Trent’s death-loving deeps; yet was she kind Ever to us; and bare us buoyant up, And followed our young strokes, and cheered us on⁠— Even as an elder sister bending above A child, to teach it how to order its feet⁠— As quick we dashed, in reckless rivalry, To reach, perchance, some long green floating flag⁠— Just when the sun’s hot lip first touched the stream, Reddening to be so kissed; and we rejoiced, As breasting it on we went over depth and death, Strong in the naked strife of elements, Toying with danger in as little fear As with a maiden’s ringlets. And oft, at night, Bewildered and bewitched by favorite stars, We would breathe ourselves amid unfooted snows, For there is poetry where aught is pure; Or over the still dark heath, leap along, like harts, Through the broad moonlight; for we felt where’er We leapt the golden gorse, or lowly ling, We could not be from home.⁠—That friend is gone. There’s the whole universe before our souls. Where shall we meet next? Shall we meet again? Oh! might it be in some far happy world, That I might light upon his lonely soul, Hard by some broad blue stream, where high the hills, Wood-bearded, sweep to its brink⁠—musing, as wont, With love-like sadness, upon sacred things; For much in youth we loved and mused on them. To say what ought to be to human wills, And measure mortals sternly; to explore The bearings of men’s duties and desires; To note the nature and the laws of mind; To balance good with evil; and compare The nature and necessity of each; To long to see the ends and end of things; Or, if no end there be, the endless, then, As suns look into space; these were our joys⁠— Our hopes⁠—our meditations⁠—our attempts. And, if I have enjoyed more love than others, It is but superior suffering, and is more Than balanced by the loss of one we love. And love, itself, hath passed. One fond fair girl Remains; one only, and she loves me still. But it is not love I feel: it is pore kindness. How shall I find another like my last? The golden and the gorgeous loveliness⁠— A sunset beauty! Ah! I saw it set. My heart, alas! set with it. I have drained Life of all love, as doth an iron rod The Heaven’s of lightning; I have done with it, And all its waking woes, and dreamed-of joys. No more shall beauty star the air I live in; And no more will I wake at dead of night, And hearken to the roaring of the wind, As though it came to carry one away⁠— Claiming for sin. Ah! I am lost forever. To earn the world’s delights by equal sins. Seems the great aim of life⁠—the aim succeeds. Here it is madness, and perdition there. And, but for thee, I had renounced these joys⁠— These cursed joys my soul now writhes among, Like to a half-crushed reptile on a rose:⁠— Ay, but for thee, I might have now been happy!
Lucifer Why charge, why wrong me thus? When first I knew thee, I deemed it thine ambition to be damned. Thine every thought, almost, had gone from good, As far as finite is from infinite; And then thou wast as near to me as now. Thou hadst declined in worship, and in wish To please thy God; nor wouldst thou e’er repent. What more need I to justify attempt? Have I shrunk back from granting aught I promised? Thy love of knowledge⁠—is that satisfied?
Festus It is. Yet knowledge is a doubtful boon⁠— Root of all good and fruit of all that’s bad. I have caused face to face with elements, Yea, learned the luminous language of the skies, And the angelic kindred of high Heaven; The bright articulations of all spheres⁠— Impetuous hearted orbs, and mountain-maned, Aye circling onwards breathless through the air⁠— And wisest stars which speak themselves in signs Too sacred to be explicable here; And now what better am I?⁠—nearer God? When the void finds a voice mine answer know.
Lucifer What better or what worse thou canst not tell. For, good and evil! Wherein differ they? Do they not both accrue from the same cause⁠— As ripeness and decay? Light, light alone Of hues, how contrary soever, is The common cause.
Festus Distracter of God’s truth! Shall not His word suffice the living world?
Lucifer Thou canst not have lacked joys?
Festus We seek them oft Among our own delusions, pains and follies.
Lucifer Hath not care perished from thy heart, as did The viper flung from the apostle’s hand?
Festus Ay; and, like that, all care will cease in fire. Dark wretched thoughts like ice-isles in a stream, Choke up my mind and clash;⁠—and to no end. In spite of all we suffer and enjoy, There comes this question, over and over again, Driven into the brain as a pile is driven⁠— What shall become of us hereafter? what Is it we shall do? how feel, how be? And there are times when burning memory flows In on the mind, that saving it would slay, As did the lava-floods which choked of yore The Cyclopean cities⁠—brimming up Brasslike their mighty moulds. And shall the past Thus ruinously perfect aye remain; Or present, past, and coming, all be one, In natural mystery? Like snow, which lies Down-wreathed round the lips of some black pit, Thoughts which obscure the truth accumulate, And those which solve it in it lose themselves; And there is no true knowledge till descent, Nor then till after. What shall make the truth Visible? Through the smoky glass of sense The blessed sun would never know himself. All truth is one. All error is alike. The shadow of a mountain hath no more Substance than hath a dead and moss-mailed pine’s; But only more gigantic impotence.
Lucifer Hast thou not had thine every quest?
Festus Save one.
Lucifer I proffer now the power which thou dost long for. Say but the word, and thou shalt press a throne But less than mine⁠—the scarcely less than God’s;⁠— A throne, at which earth’s puny potentates May sue for slavedoms⁠—and be satisfied.
Festus I have had enough of the infinities: I am moderate now. I will have the throne of earth.
Lucifer Thou shalt. Yet, mind!⁠—with that, the world must end.
Festus I can survive.
Lucifer Nay, die with it must thou.
Festus Why should I die? I am egg-full of life: And life’s as serious a thing as death. The world is in its first young quarter yet; I dare not, cannot credit it shall die. I will not have it, then.
Lucifer It matters not; I know thou wilt never have ease at heart Until thou hast thy soul’s whole, fall desire; Whenever that may happen, all is done.
Festus Well, then⁠—be it now! I live but for myself⁠— The whole world but for me. Friends, loves, and all I sought, abandon me. It is time to die. I am yet young; yet have I been deserted, And wronged, by those whom most I have loved and served. Sun, moon, and stars! may they all fall on me, When next I trust another⁠—man or woman. Earth rivals Hell too often, at the best. All hearts are stronger for the being hollow. And that was why mine was no match for theirs. The pith is out of it now.⁠—Lord of the world! It will not directly perish?
Lucifer Not, perhaps.⁠— Thou wilt have all fame, while thou livest, now.
Festus I care not: fame is folly: for, it is, sure, Far more to be well known of God than man. With all my sins I feel that I am God’s.
Lucifer Farewell, then, for a time!