Shall I sing and

Weep at the same time?

Your souls are suffering the pangs

Of hunger, and yet the fruit of

Knowledge is more plentiful than

The stones of the valleys.

Your hearts are withering from

Thirst, and yet the springs of

Life are streaming about your

Homes—why do you not drink?

The sea has its ebb and flow,

The moon has its fullness and

Crescents, and the Ages have

Their winter and summer, and all

Things vary like the shadow of

An unborn God moving between

Earth and sun, but Truth cannot

Be changed, nor will it pass away;

Why, then, do you endeavour to

Disfigure its countenance?

I have called you in the silence

Of the night to point out the

Glory of the moon and the dignity

Of the stars, but you startled

From your slumber and clutched

Your swords in fear, crying,

“Where is the enemy? We must kill

Him first!” At morningtide, when

The enemy came, I called to you

Again, but now you did not wake

From your slumber, for you were

Locked in fear, wrestling with

The processions of spectres in

Your dreams.

And I said unto you, “Let us climb

To the mountain top and view the

Beauty of the world.” And you

Answered me, saying, “In the depths

Of this valley our fathers lived,

And in its shadows they died, and in

Its caves they were buried. How can

We depart this place for one which

They failed to honour?”

And I said unto you, “Let us go to

The plain that gives it bounty to

The sea.” And you spoke timidly to

Me, saying, “The uproar of the abyss

Will frighten our spirits, and the

Terror of the depths will deaden

Our bodies.”

I have loved you, My Countrymen, but

My love for you is painful to me

And useless to you; and today I

Hate you, and hatred is a flood

That sweeps away the dry branches

And quavering houses.

I have pitied your weakness, My

Countrymen, but my pity has but

Increased your feebleness, exalting

And nourishing slothfulness which

Is vain to Life. And today I see

Your infirmity which my soul loathes

And fears.

I have cried over your humiliation

And submission; and my tears streamed

Like crystalline, but could not sear

Away your stagnant weakness; yet they

Removed the veil from my eyes.

My tears have never reached your

Petrified hearts, but they cleansed

The darkness from my inner self.

Today I am mocking at your suffering,

For laughter is a raging thunder that

Precedes the tempest and never comes

After it.

What do you desire, My Countrymen?

Do you wish for me to show you

The ghost of your countenance on

The face of still water? Come,

Now, and see how ugly you are!

Look and meditate! Fear has

Turned your hair grey as the

Ashes, and dissipation has grown

Over your eyes and made them into

Obscured hollows, and cowardice

Has touched your cheeks that now

Appear as dismal pits in the

Valley, and Death has kissed

Your lips and left them yellow

As the Autumn leaves.

What is it that you seek, My

Countrymen? What ask you from

Life, who does not any longer

Count you among her children?

Your souls are freezing in the

Clutches of the priests and

Sorcerers, and your bodies

Tremble between the paws of the

Despots and the shedders of

Blood, and your country quakes

Under the marching feet of the

Conquering enemy; what may you

Expect even though you stand

Proudly before the face of the

Sun? Your swords are sheathed

With rust, and your spears are

Broken, and your shields are

Laden with gaps; why, then, do

You stand in the field of battle?

Hypocrisy is your religion, and

Falsehood is your life, and

Nothingness is your ending; why,

Then, are you living? Is not

Death the sole comfort of the

Miserables?

Life is a resolution that

Accompanies youth, and a diligence

That follows maturity, and a

Wisdom that pursues senility; but

You, My Countrymen, were born old

And weak. And your skins withered

And your heads shrank, whereupon

You became as children, running

Into the mire and casting stones

Upon each other.

Knowledge is a light, enriching

The warmth of life, and all may

Partake who seek it out; but you,

My Countrymen, seek out darkness

And flee the light, awaiting the

Coming of water from the rock,

And your nation’s misery is your

Crime.… I do not forgive you

Your sins, for you know what you

Are doing.

Humanity is a brilliant river

Singing its way and carrying with

It the mountains’ secrets into

The heart of the sea; but you,

My Countrymen, are stagnant

Marshes infested with insects

And vipers.

The Spirit is a sacred blue

Torch, burning and devouring

The dry plants, and growing

With the storm and illuminating

The faces of the goddesses; but

You, My Countrymen … your souls

Are like ashes which the winds

Scatter upon the snow, and which

The tempests disperse forever in

The valleys.

Fear not the phantom of Death,

My Countrymen, for his greatness

And mercy will refuse to approach

Your smallness; and dread not the

Dagger, for it will decline to be

Lodged in your shallow hearts.

I hate you, My Countrymen, because

You hate glory and greatness. I

Despise you because you despise

Yourselves. I am your enemy, for

You refuse to realize that you are

The enemies of the goddesses.

BEHIND THE GARMENT

RACHEL woke at midnight and gazed intently at something invisible in the sky of her chamber. She heard a voice more soothing than the whispers of Life, and more dismal than the moaning call of the abyss, and softer than the rustling of white wings, and deeper than the message of the waves.… It vibrated with hope and with futility, with joy and with misery, and with affection for life, yet with desire for death. Then Rachel closed her eyes and sighed deeply, and gasped, saying, “Dawn has reached the extreme end of the valley; we should go toward the sun and meet him.” Her lips were parted, resembling and echoing a deep wound in the soul.

At that moment the priest approached her bed and felt her hand, but found it as cold as the snow; and when he grimly placed his fingers upon her heart, he determined that it was as immobile as the ages, and as silent as the secret of his heart.

The reverend father bowed his head in deep despair. His lips quivered as if wanting to utter a divine word, repeated by the phantoms of the night in the distant and deserted valleys.

After crossing her arms upon her bosom, the priest looked toward a man sitting in an obscured corner of the room, and with a kind and merciful voice he said, “Your beloved has reached the great circle of light. Come, my brother, let us kneel and pray.”

The sorrowful husband lifted his head; his eyes stared, gazing at the unseen, and his expression then changed as if he saw understanding in the ghost of an unknown God. He gathered the remnants of himself and walked reverently toward the bed of his wife, and knelt by the side of the clergyman who was praying and lamenting and making the sign of the cross.

Placing his hand upon the shoulder of the grief-stricken husband, the Father said quietly, “Go to the adjoining room, brother, for you are in great need of rest.”

He rose obediently, walked to the room and threw his fatigued body upon a narrow bed, and in a few moments he was sailing in the world of sleep like a little child taking refuge in the merciful arms of his loving mother.

The priest remained standing like a statue in the center of the room, and a strange conflict gripped him. And he looked with tearful eyes first at the cold body of the young woman and then through the parted curtain at her husband, who had surrendered himself to the allure of slumber. An hour, longer than an age and more terrible than Death, had already passed, and the priest was still standing between two parted souls. One was dreaming as a field dreams of the coming Spring after the tragedy of Winter, and the other was resting eternally.

Then the priest came close to the body of the young woman and knelt as if worshipping before the altar; he held her cold hand and placed it against his trembling lips, and looked at her face that was adorned with the soft veil of Death. His voice was at the same time calm as the night and deep as the chasm and faltering as with the hopes of man. And in voice he wept, “Oh Rachel, bride of my soul, hear me! At last I am able to talk! Death has opened my lips so that I can now reveal to you a secret deeper than Life itself. Pain has unpinioned my tongue and I can disclose to you my suffering, more painful than pain. Listen to the cry of my soul, Oh Pure Spirit, hovering between the earth and the firmament. Give heed to the youth who waited for you to come from the field, gazing upon you from behind the trees, in fear of your beauty. Hear the priest, who is serving God, calling to you unashamed, after you have reached the City of God. I have proved the strength of my love by concealing it!”

Having thus opened his soul, the Father leaned over and printed three long, warm, and mute kisses upon her forehead, eyes and throat, pouring forth all his heart’s secret of love and pain, and the anguish of the years. Then he suddenly withdrew to the dark corner and dropped in agony upon the floor, shaking like an Autumn leaf, as if the touch of her cold face had awakened within him the spirit to repent; whereupon he composed himself and knelt, hiding his face with his cupped hands, and he whispered softly, “God.… Forgive my sin; forgive my weakness, Oh Lord. I could no longer resist disclosing that which You knew. Seven years have I kept the deep secrets hidden in my heart from the spoken word, until Death came and tore them from me. Help me, Oh God, to hide this terrible and beautiful memory which brings sweetness from life and bitterness from You. Forgive me, My Lord, and forgive my weakness.”

Without looking at the young woman’s corpse, he continued suffering and lamenting until Dawn came and dropped a rosy veil upon those two still images, revealing the conflict of Love and Religion to one man; the peace of Life and Death to the other.

PEACE

THE TEMPEST calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of the lightning, but now silence prevailed over all, as if Nature’s war had never been fought.

At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, “Oh Lord, bring him hon fely to me. I have exhausted my tears and can offer no more, oh Lord, full of love and mercy. My patience is drained and calamity is seeking possession of my heart.