Poems (Southey)/Volume 2/The Vision of the Maid of Orleans/Book 2
THE VISION
of
THE MAID OF ORLEANS.
THE SECOND BOOK.
She spake, and lo! celestial radiance beam'dAmid the air, such odors wafting nowAs erst came blended with the evening gale,From Eden's bowers of bliss. An angel formStood by the Maid; his wings, etherial white,Flash'd like the diamond in the noon-tide sun,Dazzling her mortal eye: all else appear'dHer Theodore.Amazed she saw: the FiendWas fled, and on her ear the well-known voiceSounded, tho' now more musically sweetThan ever yet had thrill'd her charmed soul, When eloquent Affection fondly toldThe day-dreams of delight."Beloved Maid!Lo! I am with thee! still thy Theodore!Hearts in the holy bands of Love combin'd,Death has no power to sever. Thou art mine!A little while and thou shalt dwell with meIn scenes where Sorrow is not. CheerilyTread thou the path that leads thee to the grave,Rough tho' it be and painful, for the graveIs but the threshold of Eternity.
"Favour'd of Heaven! to thee is given to viewThese secret realms. The bottom of the abyssThou treadest, Maiden! Here the dungeons areWhere bad men learn repentance; souls diseasedMust have their remedy; and where diseaseIs rooted deep, the remedy is longPerforce, and painful."Thus the Spirit spake, And led the Maid along a narrow path,Dark gleaming to the light of far-off flames,More dread than darkness. Soon the distant soundOf clanking anvils, and the lengthened breathProvoking fire are heard: and now they reachA wide expanded den where all aroundTremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stoodThe meagre form of Care, and as he blewTo augment the fire, the fire augmented scorch'dHis wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thusHe toil'd and toil'd, of toil to reap no endBut endless toil and never-ending woe.
An aged man went round the infernal vault,Urging his workmen to their ceaseless task:White were his locks, as is the wintry snowOn hoar Plinlimmon's head. A golden staffHis steps supported; powerful talisman,Which whoso feels shall never feel again The tear of Pity, or the throb of Love.Touch'd but by this, the massy gates give way,The buttress trembles, and the guarded wall,Guarded in vain, submits. Him heathens erstHad deified, and bowed the suppliant kneeTo Plutus. Nor are now his votaries few,Tho' he the Blessed Teacher of mankindHath said, that easier thro' the needle's eyeShall the huge [1]camel pass, than the rich manEnter the gates of heaven. "Ye cannot serveYour God, and worship Mammon.""Missioned Maid!"So spake the Angel, "know that these, whose hands Round each white furnace ply the unceasing toil,Were Mammon's slaves on earth. They did not spareTo wring from Poverty the hard-earn'd mite,They robb'd the orphan's pittance, they could seeWant's asking eye unmoved; and therefore these,Ranged round the furnace, still must persevereIn Mammon's service; scorched by these fierce fires,And frequent deluged by the o'erboiling ore:Yet still so framed, that oft to quench their thirstUnquenchable, large draughts of molten [2]gold They drink insatiate, still with pain renewed,Pain to destroy."So saying, her he ledForth from the dreadful cavern to a cell,Brilliant with gem-born light. The rugged wallsPart gleam'd with gold, and part with silver oreA milder radiance shone. The CarbuncleThere its strong lustre like the flamy sunShot forth irradiate; from the earth beneath, And from the roof a diamond light emits;Rubies and amethysts their glows commix'dWith the gay topaz, and the softer rayShot from the sapphire, and the emerald's hue,And bright pyropus.There on golden seats,A numerous, sullen, melancholy trainSat silent. "Maiden, these," said Theodore,Are they who let the love of wealth absorb All other passions; in their souls that viceStruck deeply-rooted, like the poison-treeThat with its shade spreads barrenness around.These, Maid! were men by no atrocious crimeBlacken'd, no fraud, nor ruffian violence:Men of fair dealing, and respectableOn earth, but such as only for themselvesHeap'd up their treasures, deeming all their wealthTheir own, and given to them, by partial Heaven,To bless them only: therefore here they sit,Possessed of gold enough, and by no painTormented, save the knowledge of the blissThey lost, and vain repentance. Here they dwell,Loathing these useless treasures, till the hourOf general restitution."Thence they past,And now arrived at such a gorgeous dome,As even the pomp of Eastern opulenceCould never equal: wandered thro' its hallsA numerous train; some with the red-swoln eye Of riot, and intemperance-bloated cheek;Some pale and nerveless, and with feeble step,And eyes lack-lustre."Maiden?" said her guide,"These are the wretched slaves of Appetite,Curst with their wish enjoyed. The epicureHere pampers his foul frame, till the pall'd senseLoaths at the banquet; the voluptuous herePlunge in the tempting torrent of delight,And sink in misery. All they wish'd on earth,Possessing here, whom have they to accuse,But their own folly, for the lot they chose?Yet, for that these injured themselves alone,They to the house of Penitence may hie,And, by a long and painful regimen,To wearied Nature her exhausted powersRestore, till they shall learn to form the wishOf wisdom, and Almighty Goodness grantsThat prize to him who seeks it."Whilst he spake, The board is spread. With bloated paunch, and eyeFat swoln, and legs whose monstrous size disgracedThe human form divine, their caterer,Hight Gluttony, set forth the smoaking feast.And by his side came on a brother form,With fiery cheek of purple hue, and redAnd scurfy-white, mix'd motley; his gross bulk,Like some huge hogshead shapen'd, as applied.Him had antiquity with mystic ritesAdor'd, to him the sons of Greece, and thineImperial Rome, on many an altar pour'dThe victim blood, with godlike titles graced,Bacchus, or Dionusus; son of Jove,Deem'd falsely, for from Folly's ideot formHe sprung, what time Madness, with furious hand,Seiz'd on the laughing female. At one birthShe brought the brethren, menial here, aboveReigning with sway supreme, and oft they holdHigh revels: mid the Monastery's gloom,Thy palace Gluttony, and oft to thee The sacrifice is spread, when the grave voiceEpiscopal, proclaims approaching dayOf visitation, or Churchwardens meetTo save the wretched many from the gripeOf eager Poverty, or mid thy hallsOf London, mighty Mayor! rich Aldermen,Of coming feast hold converse.Otherwhere,For tho' allied in nature as in blood,They hold divided sway, his brother liftsHis spungy sceptre. In the noble domesOf Princes, and state-wearied Ministers,Maddening he reigns; and when the affrighted mindCasts o'er a long career of guilt and bloodIts eye reluctant, then his aid is soughtTo lull the worm of Conscience to repose.He too the halls of country Squires frequents,But chiefly loves the learned gloom that shadesThy offspring Rhedycina! and thy walls, Granta! nightly libations there to himProfuse are pour'd, till from the dizzy brainTriangles, Circles, Parallelograms,Moods, Tenses, Dialects, and Demigods,And Logic and Theology are sweptBy the red deluge.Unmolested thereHe reigns; till comes at length the general feast,Septennial sacrifice; then when the sonsOf England meet, with watchful care to chuseTheir delegates, wise, independent men,Unbribing and unbrib'd, and cull'd to guardTheir rights and charters from the encroaching graspOf greedy Power: then all the joyful landJoin in his sacrifices, so inspir'dTo make the important choice.The observing MaidAddress'd her guide, "These Theodore, thou sayestAre men, who pampering their foul appetites,Injured themselves alone. But where are they, The worst of villains, viper-like, who coilAround the guileless female, so to stingThe heart that loves them?""Them," the spirit replied,A long and dreadful punishment awaits.For when the prey of want and infamy,Lower and lower still the victim sinks,Even to the depth of shame, not one lewd word,One impious imprecation from her lipsEscapes, nay not a thought of evil lurksIn the polluted mind, that does not pleadBefore the throne of Justice, thunder-tonguedAgainst the foul Seducer."Now they reach'dThe house of Penitence. CredulityStood at the gate, stretching her eager headAs tho' to listen; on her vacant face,A smile that promis'd premature assent;Tho' her Regret behind, a meagre Fiend,Disciplin'd sorely. Here they entered in,And now arrived where, as in study tranced,She sat, the Mistress of the Dome. Her faceSpake that composed severity, that knowsNo angry impulse, no weak tenderness,Resolved and calm. Before her lay that BookThat hath the words of Life; and as she read,Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek,Tho' heavenly joy beam'd in her eye the while.
Leaving her undisturb'd, to the first wardOf this great Lazar-house, the Angel ledThe favour'd Maid of Orleans. Kneeling downOn the hard stone that their bare knees had worn,In sackcloth robed, a numerous train appear'd:Hard-featured some, and some demurely grave;Yet such expression stealing from the eye,As tho', that only naked, all the restWas one close fitting mask. A scoffing Fiend,For Fiend he was, tho' wisely serving here Mock'd at his patients, and did often pourAshes upon them, and then bid them sayTheir prayers aloud, and then he louder laughed:For these were Hypocrites, on earth reveredAs holy ones, who did in public tellTheir beads, and make long prayers, and cross themselves,And call themselves most miserable sinners,That so they might be deem'd most pious saints;And go all filth, and never let a smileBend their stern muscles, gloomy, sullen men,Barren of all affection, and all thisTo please their God, forsooth! and therefore ScornGrinn'd at his patients, making them repeatTheir solemn farce, with keenest railleryTormenting; but if earnest in their prayer,They pour'd the silent sorrows of the soulTo Heaven, then did they not regard his mocksWhich then came painless, and HumilitySoon rescued them, and led to Penitence,That She might lead to Heaven. From thence they came,Where, in the next ward, a most wretched bandGroan'd underneath the bitter tyrannyOf a fierce Dæmon. His coarse hair was red,Pale grey his eyes, and blood-shot; and his faceWrinkled by such a smile as Malice wearsIn ecstacy. Well-pleased he went around,Plunging his dagger in the hearts of some,Or probing with a poison'd lance their breasts,Or placing coals of fire within their wounds;Or seizing some within his mighty grasp,He fix'd them on a stake, and then drew back,And laugh'd to see them writhe."These," said the Spirit,Are taught by Cruelty, to loath the livesThey led themselves. Here are those wicked menWho loved to exercise their tyrant powerOn speechless brutes; bad husbands undergoA long purgation here; the traffickersIn human flesh here too are disciplined. "Till by their suffering they have equall'd allThe miseries they inflicted, all the massOf wretchedness caused by the wars they waged,The towns they burnt, for they who bribe to warAre guilty of the blood, the widows leftIn want, the slave or led to suicide,Or murdered by the foul infected airOf his close dungeon, or more sad than all,His virtue lost, his very soul enslaved,And driven by woe to wickedness."These next,Whom thou beholdest in this dreary room,So sullen, and with such an eye of hateEach on the other scowling, these have beenFalse friends. Tormented by their own dark thoughtsHere they dwell: in the hollow of their heartsThere is a worm that feeds, and tho' thou seestThat skilful leech who willingly would healThe ill they suffer, judging of all elseBy their own evil standard, they suspect The aid be vainly proffers, lengthening thusBy vice its punishment.""But who are these,"The Maid exclaim'd, "that robed in flowing lawn,And mitred, or in scarlet, and in capsLike Cardinals, I see in every ward,Performing menial service at the beckOf all who bid them?"Theodore replied,"These men are they who in the name of ChristDid heap up wealth, and arrogating power,Did make men bow the knee, and call themselvesMost Reverend Graces and Right Reverend Lords.They dwelt in palaces, in purple clothed,And in fine linen: therefore are they here;And tho' they would not minister on earth,Here penanced they perforce must minister:For he, the lowly man of Nazareth,Hath said, his kingdom is not of the world." So Saying on they past, and now arrivedWhere such a hideous ghastly groupe abode,That the Maid gazed with half-averting eye,And shudder'd: each one was a loathly corpse,The worm did banquet on his putrid prey,Yet had they life and feeling exquisiteTho' motionless and mute."Most wretched menAre these," the angel cried. "These, JOAN, are bards,Whose loose lascivious lays perpetuateWho sat them down, deliberately lewd,So to awake and pamper lust in mindsUnborn; and therefore foul of body nowAs then they were of soul, they here abideLong as the evil works they left on earthShall live to taint mankind. A dreadful doom!Yet amply merited by that bad manWho prostitutes the sacred gift of song! And now they reached a huge and massy pile,Massy it seem'd, and yet in every blastAs to its ruin shook. There, porter fit,Remorse for ever his sad vigils kept.Pale, hollow-eyed, emaciate, sleepless wretch.Inly he groan'd, or, starting, wildly shriek'd,Aye as the fabric tottering from its base,Threatened its fall, and so expectant stillLived in the dread of danger still delayed.
They enter'd there a large and lofty dome,O'er whose black marble sides a dim drear lightStruggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp.Enthroned around, the Murderers of Mankind,Monarchs, the great! the glorious! the august!Each bearing on his brow a crown of fire,Sat stern and silent. Nimrod he was there,First King the mighty hunter; and that ChiefWho did belie his mother's fame, that soHe might be called young Ammon. In this court Cæsar was crown'd, accurst liberticide;And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain,Octavius, tho' the courtly minion's lyreHath hymn'd his praise, tho' Maro sung to him,And when Death levelled to original clayThe royal carcase, Flattery, fawning low,Fell at his feet, and worshipped the new God.[3]Titus was here, the Conqueror of the Jews, He the Delight of human-kind misnamed;Cæsars and Soldans, Emperors and Kings,Here they were all, all who for glory fought,Here in the Court of Glory reaping nowThe meed they merited.As gazing roundThe Virgin mark'd the miserable train,A deep and hollow voice from one went forth;"Thou who art come to view our punishment,Maiden of Orleans! hither turn thine eyes,For I am he whose bloody victoriesThy power hath rendered vain. Lo! I am here,The hero conqueror of Azincour,Henry of England!—wretched that I am,I might have reigned in happiness and peace,My coffers full, my subjects undisturb'd,And Plenty and Prosperity had lovedTo dwell amongst them: but mine eye beheldThe realm of France, by faction tempest-torn,And therefore I did think that it would fall An easy prey. I persecuted thoseWho taught new doctrines, tho' they taught the truth:And when I heard of thousands by the swordCut off, or blasted by the pestilence,I calmly counted up my proper gains,And sent new herds to slaughter. TemperateMyself, no blood that mutinied, no viceTainting my private life, I sent abroadMurder and Rape; and therefore am I doom'd,Like these imperial Sufferers, crown'd with fire,Here to remain, till Man's awaken'd eyeShall see the genuine blackness of our deeds,And warn'd by them, till the whole human race,Equalling in bliss the aggregate we caus'dOf wretchedness, shall form one brotherhood,One universal Family of Love."
- ↑ In the former edition I had substituted cable instead of camel. The alteration would not be worth noticing were it not for the circumstance which occasioned it. Facilius elephas per foramen acus, is among the Hebrew adages collected by Drusius; the same metaphor is found in two other Jewish proverbs, and this appears to determine the signification of καμηλος. Matt. 19. 24.
- ↑ The same idea, and almost the same words are in an old play by John Ford. The passage is a very fine one:I wrote this passage when very young, and the idea, trite as it is, was new to me. It occurs I believe in most descriptions of hell, and perhaps owes its origin to the fate of Crassus.After this picture of horrors, the reader may perhaps be pleased with one more pleasantly fanciful:Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretched,Almost condemn’d alive! There is a place,(List daughter!) in a black and hollow vault,Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,But flaming horror of consuming fires;A lightless sulphur, choak’d with smoaky foggsOf an infected darkness. In this placeDwell many thousand thousand sundry sortsOf never-dying deaths; there damned soulsRoar without pity, there are gluttons fed With toads and adders; there is burning oilPour'd down the drunkard's throat, the usurerIs forced to sup whole draughts of molten gold;There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,Yet can he never die; there lies the wantonOn racks of burning steel, whilst in his soulHe feels the torment of his raging lust.'Tis Pity she's a Whore.O call me home again dear Chief! and put meTo yoking foxes, milking of he-goats,Pounding of water in a mortar, lavingThe sea dry with a nutshell, gathering allThe leaves are fallen this autumn—making ropes of sand,Catching the winds together in a net,Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms, allThat Hell and you thought exquisite torments, ratherThan stay me here a thought more. I would soonerKeep fleas within a circle, and be accomptantA thousand year which of ’em, and how farOutleap’d the other, than endure a minuteSuch as I have within.B. Jonson. The Devil is an Ass.
- ↑ During the siege of Jerusalem, “the Roman commander, with a generous clemency, that inseparable attendant on true heroism, laboured incessantly, and to the very last moment, to preserve the place. With this view, he again and again intreated the tyrants to surrender and save their lives. With the same view also, after carrying the second wall the siege was intermitted four days: to rouse their fears, prisoners, to the number of five hundred, or more were crucified daily before the walls; till space, Josephus says, was wanting for the crosses, and crosses for the captives.”
From the Bampton Lectures of Ralph Churton.
If any of my readers should enquire why Titus Vespasian, the Delight of Mankind, is placed in such a situation,—I answer, for “his generous clemency, that inseparable attendant on true heroism!