Poems, Victor Hugo [highly recommended books TXT] 📗

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.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“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.

XV.

THE OUBLIETTES.

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.

XVI.

WHAT THEY ATTEMPT BECOMES DIFFICULT.

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