of CALIFORNIA SAN AUGUSTINE THE MAN AUGUSTINE TH E MAN BY AMELIE RIVES (PRINCESS TROUBETZKOY) LONDON : JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMVI W. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINl TO PIERRE AUGUSTINE THE MAN MELCARA ADEODATUS A SERVANT DRAMATIS PERSONS Afterwards Saint Augustine. His mother. A Christian, and friend of Augustine. A friend and fellow-student of Augustine, after wards baptized with him. A young Carthaginian woman, the mistress of Augustine from his early youth. The son of Augustine and Melcara. The scene is laid in Carthage, in Milan, on Lago Maggiore, and last at Tagaste, in Southern Numidia, Augustine s birthplace. I AUGUSTINE IN CARTHAGE AUGUSTINE THE MAN AUGUSTINE IN CARTHAGE SCENE. A large room with three great windows and a doorway opening on a garden overhanging the sea. From without comes the sound of a woman s laughter mingling with a child s. AUGUSTINE enters with a roll of parchment in his hands and the crown of gilded leaves, given him for his poem by the Proconsul Vindicianus, upon his head. AUGUSTINE. At least I here can be the man I feel, Not seem the man I should be Emptiness . . . Emptiness . . . emptiness . . . Could I inhale The heaven with all its stars, methinks in truth 4 AUGUSTINE THE MAN I still would seem as void unto myself As were the air without them. Crowned, my masters ! Crowned for a poem so called ... A show of words, A shadow cast by shadows, ghost of a ghost, The right apt miming of some other mimes Who in their turn have mimicked real poets. No whit, shred, gleaning of myself in it, Not even mine own peculiar emptiness, Therefore no poem : yet please you, they have crowned me. . . . Oh ! give me something real, though it be sin ! [He tosses the parchment on a table and goes to the window. Leaning out he calls to the two in the garden. Melcara ! Ho ! my Sun-bird ! Come to me, And bring thy nestling with thee. Ah, that was real, That cry of hers, as any springtime bird s Answering its mate. And real that loveliest hair Blowing before her as it fain would reach me Ere her sweet self. The little brave one too How fast he runs. Keep up, lad ! Cheerly, lad ! AUGUSTINE THE MAN 5 I m watching thee. A race ! A race ! A race ! [MELCARA rushes in breathless on the last word, followed closely by ADEODATUS, who has been driving her with a long garland of strung pomegranate flowers. She flings herself on AUGUSTINE S breast, and the child tries to climb into his father s arms also. Why, there, my Sun-bird ! there, my Honey-bird ! There there ! Calmly ! I ve news for ye great news. To-day I have been crowned the King of Carthage. ADEODATUS. Then mother is a queen, and I m a prince Oh ! it is like the stories mother tells me. I like to be a prince. Is that thy crown ? MELCARA. Nay, sweetest, not so fast, and not so free. Thou must not be so free, dear, with thy father. ADEODATUS. He likes it ... Dost thou not ? AUGUSTINE. Like it, Magician ? Who would not be ensorceled with such wiles ? 8 AUGUSTINE THE MAN MELCARA. I know I live in sin, if to love thee Be sin, dear lord : but oh ! my heart is true As any wife s. AUGUSTINE. Pure gold to match this hair. Ne er was saint haloed like my sweetest sinner. MELCARA. Alas ! thou dost but love my hair, my eyes, The way I move, the lips that sting thy blood. I am all these, yet more than all of these, Even as the song s the bird yet far, far more. Thou lovest not me, but that which houses me This garment which I wear, of flesh and youth. AUGUSTINE. My Sun-bird . . . MELCARA. Nay, we women know, dear lord. We sit within our bodies shivering While love shines hot without and doth not reach us. AUGUSTINE. Why, what is this, thou wilful woman thing ! Thou hast been thinking ! MELCARA. Oh ! thou may st mock at me ! But there s a wisdom born of ignorance Not all your schools of rhetoric can teach. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 9 Such wisdom hath a woman when she loves With real love, setting herself aside. For then she seeth clear, not what she longs for, But what must be. Ay, though she lacks the learning To comprehend the poems her lover writes, She lacks not wit to comprehend the lack Of love in him that would not read them to her! AUGUSTINE. Is that the bee that steals away my honey ? Thou who dost live with me a poem of love Jealous of empty words ? Why, dearest heart, That ode had been Astronomy to thee ! MELCARA. Yet those unlearned in Astronomy May gaze with joy upon the stars. So I Had loved the words thou wrotest because thou wrotest them. O dear my lord ! thou who dost teach so many Wilt thou not teach me more, that I having learned Thou mayest more love me? AUGUSTINE. Dear, thou teachest me. Nay, I m in earnest . . . Look not sorrowful. io AUGUSTINE THE MAN To think that underneath this golden web, [Lifting a length of her hair musingly, and caressing it while he speaks. Which I did only deem the snare of love, Thoughts buzzed and stung. Tell me, my little one, Who art so innocent wise, what god dost pray to ? MELCARA. Oh how I ve longed that thou should st show me God ! AUGUSTINE. [Bitterly] How should I show thee that I have not found ? But every woman hath some whispering god Who tells her secrets. Share thine with me, sweet. MELCARA. If thou didst laugh at this, I could not bear it. AUGUSTINE. Laughter hath never entered in my heart. That is thy dwelling place. Tell on ; fear not. MELCARA. [Gazing before her vaguely] I know not how to tell it, tis like dreams So fair in dreaming, drest in words so poor. . . . Tis something that without me yet within, Whene er I anguish o er the riddle of things AUGUSTINE THE MAN n And would, and would not, craving I know not what, Breathes soft " / know . . . / know "... Tis like a wind that kindleth fire to flame, And lo ! I am that flame and it the wind ; And when I overleap this present joy And tremble in a future bare of love, There hath it fled before me, and with wings As of a tender darkness folds me round And blends me with the night. Or sad, or glad, Ever it whispereth " / know . . . / know ..." AUGUSTINE. Now hides not any deepest-hearted flower More beauty than a woman ! Tell me more. MELCARA. [Still lost in her vague thoughts} I never saw my mother : but one there was, My nurse, long dead now, who in golden words Taught me of that fair Carthaginian god Who had no temple but the hearts of men, Melcarth the Beautiful, who loved not blood. And me she named in honour of his name, Praying his grace on me for that name s sake. Here, as I said, he had no temple, but one io AUGUSTINE THE MAN To think that underneath this golden web, \Lifting a length of her hair musingly, and caressing it while he speaks. Which I did only deem the snare of love, Thoughts buzzed and stung. Tell me, my little one, Who art so innocent wise, what god dost pray to ? MELCARA. Oh how I ve longed that thou should st show me God ! AUGUSTINE. [Bitterly} How should I show thee that I have not found ? But every woman hath some whispering god Who tells her secrets. Share thine with me, sweet. MELCARA. If thou didst laugh at this, I could not bear it. AUGUSTINE. Laughter hath never entered in my heart. That is thy dwelling place. Tell on ; fear not. MELCARA. \Gazing before her vaguely} I know not how to tell it, tis like dreams So fair in dreaming, drest in words so poor. . . . Tis something that without me yet within, Whene er I anguish o er the riddle of things AUGUSTINE THE MAN n And would, and would not, craving I know not what, Breathes soft " / know . . . / know "... Tis like a wind that kindleth fire to flame, And lo ! I am that flame and it the wind ; And when I overleap this present joy And tremble in a future bare of love, There hath it fled before me, and with wings As of a tender darkness folds me round And blends me with the night. Or sad, or glad, Ever it whispereth " / know . . . / know ..." AUGUSTINE. Now hides not any deepest-hearted flower More beauty than a woman ! Tell me more. MELCARA. [Still lost in her vague thoughts} I never saw my mother : but one there was, My nurse, long dead now, who in golden words Taught me of that fair Carthaginian god Who had no temple but the hearts of men, Melcarth the Beautiful, who loved not blood. And me she named in honour of his name, Praying his grace on me for that name s sake. Here, as I said, he had no temple, but one 12 AUGUSTINE THE MAN In far-off Tyre he had, Magnificent, Wrought by the gods to singing of the stars, But never image had he, there or here. Only two pillars there were that stayed his house One of pure gold, one like to emerald, That shone at night as with a soul of fire. Sometimes my dreams are lighted with that glow, And through the splendour of mine own spirit I walk, One with the god ... I know not how to tell it ... But oftener there doth rise and ebb in me A fountain of ineffable delight, Whose waters may not see the glare of day, Whose source lies hid in dreams, and with the tide Of life doth flow inversely, like that spring Which welling forth at Gades in his temple Inversely with the sea-tide rose and fell. . . . To this god I have prayed for thee, beloved. AUGUSTINE. And thou didst long for me to show thee God ! Thou hast but opened thy heart, and I have seen Him. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 13 AN TON I US enters by a door opening on the outer chamber. MELCARA. [Hastily withdrawing herself from AUGUSTINE S arms} There . . . there s a friend. I ll forth into the garden. \To ANTONIUS] Good-day . . . good-leave, sir, my little son awaits me. [She slips out quickly, and they hear her calling, " ADEODATUS ! ADEODATUS ! " AUGUSTINE. Antonius, man, thou fittest in my mood Like hand in hand. Welcome and welcome! ANTONIUS. Hail ! Our diademed poet . . . What a victory ! All Carthage buzzes with it like a hive. And what a poem ! AUGUSTINE. Ay, and what a poem ! Poor Virgil dipped in honey-dew and wrung out Into a thimble. Shame me not, Antonius. ANTONIUS. Shame thee ? Is the man mad, ye Muses ? 14 AUGUSTINE THE MAN AUGUSTINE. Nay, I would I had been when I writ the rubbish. Madness hath strength, they say . . . But truce, my friend. Augustine, not his poem, would claim thy mind. I am on the rack, Antonius. ANTONIUS. What is it now ? AUGUSTINE. What has it ever been? Myself, myself. Myself ... I have seen Faustus . . . talked with him. ANTONIUS. Ah! So thou hast seen Faustus! When? AUGUSTINE. For three days We have conversed together. ANTONIUS. And thou find st him ? AUGUSTINE. As empty as the trumpet a child destroys To find its music. ANTONIUS. What ! the arch Manichee ? Him you have waited for so long ? Great Faustus ? AUGUSTINE. Faustus the man, I like. He is simple, kind ; AUGUSTINE THE MAN 15 He hath a heart in his breast, and will not feign A knowledge which he hath not. But as teacher ! . . . As learned Bishop ! . . . Why, this learning, look you, Some Aristotle, a little Cicero, A very little Seneca . . . Like babes These great ones in their compressed images Toddled into his talk and out again With nursery lispings . . . Then the mighty answers He was to give my questions ! . . . Why, Antonius, I doubt he had ever asked them of himself. Thus I found Faustus and lost him. [He falls to walking up and down with excited moodiness. ANTONIUS. But thyself . . . Thou hast not lost thyself with Faustus, man. Cheerly ! . . . Thou rt ever ready to drop to Hell When thou hast failed in scaling Heaven. AUGUSTINE. In truth, I have never found myself to lose myself, Nor am I sure there is a Heaven to scale. ANTONIUS. Rightly thou sayest thou hast not found thyself, 16 AUGUSTINE THE MAN For when a man dives deep within himself And rises with that chief pearl of his being, Resolve unto the highest, he is King Of more than his sole self, and sun and moon Fight for him in their courses. So with Heaven . . . For since that possible god, man, is, God must be ; And he who finds himself finds God. AUGUSTINE. Say rather, That he who finds God finds himself. Thou knowest not Such counter-currents as my turbulent being. Thou art a staid believer ... A quiet Christian, Whose man-made God moves orderly when priests, Bishops, and Archbishops do thumb the strings, And answering prompt the cue of holy Church, Appears, divinely punctual, when summoned. . . . Antonius ! forgive me ! I am a madman Who strike my friend in striking at myself. Forgive me ! ANTONIUS. O Augustine, thou must know I am not such a friend as takes offence When one in fever rails at him. My heart AUGUSTINE THE MAN 17 Is more thine own than mine when thou dost need it. AUGUSTINE. [ Wildly, starting as from a trance] Hast thou e er thought on silence, how dread it is ? The implacable silence that answereth man s clamour And keepeth deity inviolate ? There have been moments when I could have knelt In frenzied adoration of dumb space, So more majestical it seemed to me Than any thundering of any god. Yet, Lord God ! how I have cringed and howled for answers ! Blasphemed and prayed, and turning rent myself That haply I might rend Thee dwelling in me, So Thou mightest speak to me if but to curse me ! [He pauses, walking back and forth and muttering to himself. Then speaks sud denly again. Then have come other moods, and I have thought That not within the flesh dwelt all our being ; That we had other means than of the senses c i8 AUGUSTINE THE MAN And their accustomed uses by which to know To apprehend the invisible. Might, as twere, See with our ears, hear with our eyes, and know Beyond the brain . . . Oh ! madness breathes upon me! Heed me not, dear Antonius. Patience, patience . . . [He continues to walk back and forth, while ANTONIUS watches him in anx ious, affectionate silence. AUGUSTINE suddenly stops before him and smiles, speaking in a gentle voice. " Melcarth the Beautiful, who loves not blood." Heard you a lovelier music in your life To sing a lovelier theme ? A young god s likeness, Limned by an angel on the sky of dawn. Such is her god, Melcara s . . . named for him. And her god speaks to her in tenderest wise, Saying, " I know ... I know ..." [He breaks off suddenly, growing excited again. She, innocent heart, Contents her with a god that saith " I know." But I would be that god ! I / would know ! AUGUSTINE THE MAN 19 For why, then, should one consciousness be Augus tine ! And yet another consciousness be God ? Where then is justice? ANTONIUS. Thou sinnest against thyself With these mad ravings, dear Augustine. Peace, Til reason come again. AUGUSTINE. O thou calm soul ! What dost thou know of sin ? ... I I, Augustine, Who am his dear familiar, will instruct thee That so thou mayest avoid him evermore. I have not contented me with obvious vice, For I have made me gorgeous thoughts to sin with, And used the angels of my mind as harlots ! Man, man, thou hast not sinned with thy chief essence, But with some little, outer part of thee. Thou knowest sins, not sin. ANTONIUS. Hear me, Augustine . . . AUGUSTINE. [Paying no heed to him} Thou hast not thought thyself kinsman to God, Yet stooped thy high estate to cherish demons. 20 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Thou hast not thought the fire divine burned in thee And used it but to light the torch of lust. Thou hast not cried " Truth ! Truth ! " and lived but lies. Thou hast not searched the universe for God, And found thine own dire self was god to thee ! Oh ! that a man could burst this prison of self And wake in other worlds another being ! Were I, Augustine, from Augustine free, I yet might conquer God and serve Him too ! ANTONIUS. O my Augustine, hear me ! These very throes Proclaim the good in thee that strives with ill. Thou wilt yet serve God, but He will conquer thee ; With love victorious Christ will vanquish thee, And show thee that to serve Him is to reign. AUGUSTINE. The lovely sovereignty of that fair Name Hath ever swayed the nobler man in me ; That Name thou last didst utter, Name of gold And ivory, of stars and lightnings wrought. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 21 Tender as flowers and terrible as a fire Consuming idols. And yet . . . And yet, Antonius . . . (Oh ! I ll divulge to thee my secretest self! Thou shalt love me as I am, or not at all) . . . And yet, Antonius, while my heart acclaims Him, My reason questions. I were not Augustine Were pride in intellect set underfoot, For surely God is Mind as well as Love. Wherefore then came He only to the humble, The poor in mind ? Wherefore these fishermen ? Were not great Caesar humbled, and through love, A mightier work than humble men uplifted Until they wrangled for high place in Heaven ? And why should God-as-Man scorn intellect ? Oh ! had Christ lived in Greece and talked with Plato ! There were a miracle worthy of His Godhead. All love and knowledge blent to feed the ages ! ANTONIUS. How shall I answer thee ? I am not eloquent. The cohorts of thy splendid, trampling words Beat all the mind to dust and cloud the vision. 22 AUGUSTINE THE MAN But there s a voice in me that saith not reason Shall bring a man home to the heart of being, That he who knows and knoweth not how he knows That man hath knowledge. Such an one am I, For though I cannot link it out in words Of gold and silver, I have that within Which couldst thou feel but once thyself wouldst know To be the truth of truths. But thou must feel it. Its logic is the mighty logic of fire Which doth convince by burning. In my breast Glows such a spark of wisdom, call it faith If that doth better like thee, and the years, I acquiescing in the law of fire, May fan it into light. AUGUSTINE. Not so with me. I hold if love descends with God to man, The intellect ascends with man to God ; And, like Prometheus in the ancient fable, Had rather boldly filch my fire from Heaven, Knowing its source, than in the dark to feel An unknown flame that feeds upon my reason, AUGUSTINE THE MAN 23 Leaving me naught save feeling as a witness. ANTONIUS. Yet, O my friend, if thou so longest for knowledge, Were not all means acceptable? What then, If sheer humility could show thee God, Couldst thou not strive against this pride of thine? It is what we will to will, not what we will, That makes us what we are. Strive with thy pride, Or one day it will lay thee in the dust. AUGUSTINE. I have thought on that, Antonius, often felt The future like a sword-point at my breast, And wondered whether courage would be mine To advance upon it. What sorrows wait for me ? What shames ? What trials ? And shall I wither or grow ? ANTONIUS. [Smiling sadly\ Thou lt ripen with tears like Barbary figs with rain. Ne er doubt it, my Augustine. It were strange If thou, who longest to solve all mysteries, Shouldst shirk this uttermost mystery of all. Sorrow s Initiates know the word of words 24 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Which doth unlock the kingdom of the Soul. AUGUSTINE. Ay, what if Sorrow doth reveal to man That God hath wept ? That when He did repent Him Of making man, the cause of His repentance Was the so awful woes of helpless beings Himself had ordered unto suffering ? That His immaculate justice did ordain Himself should become man and suffer manhood : That only thus could He undo His deed And expiate Creation on the Cross ? Tis a wild thought that doth appeal to me. ANTONIUS. Whence earnest thou? How art thou Monica s son And speakest such words ? AUGUSTINE. Whence came I ? Now, Antonius, I have put that question to myself ere this. Did infancy succeed some other age, And what before that life again ? Where was I ? Or was I anyone, as now we think Of being and its attributes ? Nay, truly AUGUSTINE THE MAN 25 The dignity of the soul forbids the thought That it was fashioned some few years ago, As men mould statues. Let us once admit it, And what a blasphemous vision darkens light ! Man has but to sin, and lo ! God makes a soul ! We the created create ere the Creator, And this Omnipotent Being out-sits eternity, Breathing forth souls as children breathe forth bubbles At man s behest ! No ! Tis unthinkable. ANTONIUS. I do not give my pass-word to such thoughts. My mind s the fortress that doth guard my soul, And so I bar them out. You Manichees Do drench your wits in questionings as in wine And stumble drunkenly to no conclusion, Sticking in doubt as in some viscous mud. I have heard thee like a madman rave on evil, And whence, and how, and where, and when it was. We Christians are content if we avoid it. AUGUSTINE. Oh ! I am no Manichaean from this day! 26 AUGUSTINE THE MAN That fruit bred devils in me : not an angel ! Not one, my good Antonius, lest a voice That in mine ears cries ever " Truth ! Truth ! Truth ! " Be such an one. Yet after many searchings I sometimes think that evil is the darkness On which God paints with light His Masterpiece, Of Man fulfilled to His ideal of man : That God at first did choose for man as man Had chosen for himself had he been God, Despite of evil. That Satan is more than Satan, In that he is also God s ; even as darkness Was His before He said " Let there be light ! " ANTONIUS. Oh that He would this Darkness called Augustine Kindle to light ! Thou art disorder s crown, Thy mind a vast chaotic universe, Where sun and moon and stars sweep from their orbits And mix in dazzling ruin ! Thou hast all gifts Save that of being simple. AUGUSTINE. Tis my ideas AUGUSTINE THE MAN 27 That trouble thine. The onward-rushing mind Creates a wind of thought wherein the flames Of other men s beliefs are blown and shaken, Not the fixed stars of Intellect s clear heaven. Say that these fantasies disturb the still And lucent waters of thy stored opinion As were a flight of strangely painted birds To skim across the surface of a pool Shut in a silver vessel. Thou yet mightest learn Of the unusual some usual fact, That, thus observed, would yield the hidden meaning Shut otherwise within its symbol, as man Is shut within the symbol of his body. A mighty teacher is Phantasy, believe me. For she instructs the ever watchful mind As children should be learned, by charms and spells That lure the delicate sprite Inquisitiveness, And poise her quivering on her gauzy wings Until the rainbow seems to chaunt in colour Of harmony that dwells in all things fair. No later than this morning did the glass 28 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Wherein Melcara looks to weave her hair Speak to me in the language of the sun, And hint at heavenly mysteries. There it lay, The sun for heart within its crystal breast, And cast a lovely emblem overhead, Wherein the orb reflected, seemed the flame That glows within the centre of our being ; While far above it curved a lovely arc Of iris light, symbolic of the thoughts That seem our own, our crown of consciousness Yet re-create us in their very image. ANTONIUS. Thou speakest there one of those deeper truths That other men will sometimes comprehend Even better than the man who uttered it. It is because his thoughts create the man That I do fear thy thoughts for thee, Augustine. Thy mind is like a mirror swung in space, And whirling on a thread. Now it reflecteth The heavens, and now the earth. Now doth the lightning Write hieroglyphs upon it, and anon AUGUSTINE THE MAN 29 Some deep-sea monster glooms it with his bulk. Oh, repossess thyself of thy great mind, And hold it fixed on deity ! AUGUSTINE. Thy thought Hath made a Christian of thee, so thy mind Is stayed on Christ ; but I am yet a shadow That changes with the changing of the light, And hath no stable outline. I am weary With seeking God as mariners, oft shipwrecked, Are weary of the sea, yet cannot long Abide beyond the terror of its voice. Oh, I adventured for no golden fleece Of rare philosophy to keep me warm, But on that doom-resounding outer deep, Whose waters are compact of living souls Once valiant as mine own, I flung abroad The bright sail of my thought and cast adrift The buoy of measured faith. Now will I rest me, And think on lovely things within the ken Of all whom beauty can console for all. ANTONIUS. Hast thou read Plato, and canst argue thus ? 30 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Even the Manichees teach that all things visible Have each its spirit. Wilt thou feed thy mind Upon the outer husk of hidden beauty? AUGUSTINE. Because I cannot see this mind of mine, Shall I deny my eyes their meed of beauty ? Do we love anything but the beautiful ? What is it that draws us to the things we love ? Shall ugliness in Nature then entrance us Because some hidden part of it is fair? The outer beauty we possess ; the inner Men do but guess at as they guess at God. Nay, were that very Christ thou dost adore To walk among us clothed again in flesh, Should we not bow in worship of His beauty Though He spake ne er a word ? For something potent Tells me that He was lovelier in form Than all the sons of man since Eden fell. What though they tell us he was marred by sorrow ? There are who see more grace in Sorrow s fading Than in the brightest painting of mere Joy, AUGUSTINE THE MAN 31 And for each beauty that Grief steals away She brings a fairer, jewels eyes with tears, And fans the red fire of the cheek to white. How all men dwell upon the Sorrow of Christ ! Hath none bethought him what an awful joy Must have inhabited the breast where throbbed The heart that was to shed itself like wine For man s refreshment ? O Antonius ! Could I but solve myself and conquer doubt, Not such a lover in all the world He died for Would Christ accept as in this same Augustine ! ANTONIUS. And this is he who talks of visible beauty As of a thing sufficient in itself! . . . AUGUSTINE. Soft, soft, my friend ! There was an if stood guard Between me and my saying as big as that Which severs good from ill. I tell thee, man, I am aweary of my endless quest. Let God seek me from henceforth. I am spent. ANTONIUS. Alas, Augustine ! Some day thy proud soul 32 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Will, like a beggar, crave what now it scorns. AUGUSTINE. Now bear thee like a King, O thou my soul, And I will build thee palaces of thought And bring thee beauty to thy bride and Queen : Thou shalt clothe thee in the Tyrian of the sea, And crown thee with the golden rings of Saturn As with a triple diadem. Bright youth Shall be thy sceptre, Music all thy law ; On hearts of poets thou shalt take thy state. The winds shall be thy harpers, stars thy gems ; When thou wouldst cherish folly, Love thy fool. I will descend to Hades, and bring back All fairest women that have lived and loved To wait upon thee. Thou shalt take thy pleasure Where gods have taken theirs, and thy regalia Be wrought from the insignia of all gods. And brighter uses shalt thou find for them, With the caduceus drive refulgent day-dreams, And with Astarte s cestus girdle Fate. Even sins that are not lovely thou shalt banish, And all thy crimes be exquisite as angels, AUGUSTINE THE MAN 33 Thine archetype some fair, perverted rose That flowers green while all its leaves are red ! ANTONIUS. O thou who hast so oft wept Dido slain, How canst thou thus destroy thyself, and weep not? But thou art like a man who, bent on war, Doth rush into the middle of the fight Only to tread upon a snake, and die Not by the enemy s sword, but his own act. Yet as I love thee better than thyself Canst love thyself, I also know thee better. This mood will pass. Not so Antonius. Thou lt always find him when thou needest him. Until that time farewell, and peace come to thee. AUGUSTINE. Farewell, Antonius. I do count on thee As on ... As on Antonius ! All is said. Farewell for this time. II AUGUSTINE IN MILAN II AUGUSTINE IN MILAN SCENE. An antechamber looking upon a garden. ALYPIUS is seated with the book he has been reading closed upon his finger, and gazes anxiously at AUGUSTINE who sits near him, sunk in a trance-like gloom. PONTITIANUS has just left them. ALYPIUS. Thus hath he sate since Pontitianus left us. His sight bent inward ; all his body listening As to some voice that speaks within his soul. I fear for him : so violent are his passions, That even toward God he moves as in a whirlwind. What new assault is here ? What darkling battle Now wageth he against himself? . . . Augustine ! What eyes he turns on me ! Hath he seen God? 38 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Or Satan ? . . . Dear Augustine, speak ! . . . Augustine ! AUGUSTINE. [Starting suddenly to his feet, wild- eyed and altered} What aileth us? What is it ? What heardest thou ? The ignorant rise up, take heaven by storm, Cry " Peace ! " and lo ! she cometh at their call ! While we, with learning yet without a heart, Lo ! where we crouch submissive, bound like slaves, In the prison of the flesh . . . Are we ashamed To follow where we may not lead, nor shamed By this same shame which doth not let us follow ? Oh, I am come to that high place in life Wherefrom if headlong I cast not my pride, My pride will hurl down me to deathless darkness ! I am a divided kingdom ... Or I conquer, Or fall amidst the ruins of myself! [He rushes out like a madman. ALYPIUS. O thou great soul, how greatly art thou tortured ! Yet in the very largeness of thy woe I see the promise of a larger joy. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 39 I will follow him . . . but presently, . . . not now. A man should keep a compact with himself, Nor strip himself quite bare save unto God ; And in this stress he might too much divulge Even unto me, who love him next to God. But I can pray for thee, O my Augustine. Now be my prayers his guardian angels, Lord ! [He rests the book upon the table by which they had been sitting, and bows his head upon it. SCENE II. A garden. AUGUSTINE enters like one fleeing from himself. AUGUSTINE. Where shall I hide me from myself, O God? Where er I turn, there do I see before me My hideous soul, until I cry for blindness As babes for sleep. Thus, thus might Satan peer Into some lake of fire, and there beholding His so-abhorrent image, smite all Hell 40 AUGUSTINE THE MAN To darkness, lest in terror of himself He might destroy himself, and so serve God. Lo ! how I babble like the babes I spake of. Each man is Satan, and within him Hell ! O thou abysmal depth wherein I gaze, Thou art myself, and with this self I digged thee ! Out of thee digged the gold that was my virtue, The precious jewels of my intellect, To cast them unto swine ! Now there is left me Naught but this dark, immeasurable void, Where once shone all the treasures of the soul ! Lord God ! I would not hide myself from Thee. Only from mine own eyes let me be hidden ! I cannot bear the sight . . . Lord God ! have mercy ! . . . . . . Yet I must bear it yea, and worse, for now Doth come my child-self, and with piteous eyes Gazes upon me, saying with piteous voice : " Lo ! now, Augustine, what hast thou done to me, Whose angel did behold the face of God ? AUGUSTINE THE MAN 41 With what dark visions hast thou brimmed those eyes, Once filled with Deity ? How fouled with soot From lust s black flame that once so whitest soul ? thou who once wast I, how hast thou used me ? 1 am thyself s own ghost, and will forever Haunt thee, thou murderer of Innocence ! " Now woe to thee, most miserable Augustine ! For thou didst strangle Purity, and now When she might save thee, she is but a corpse ! Oh, is not this the utmost pang of sin, To know thyself destroyed by thine own act ! Lo ! on a sudden how the void boils o er With scarlet mists that wreathe and cling about me. They are the phantoms of my delicate vices. Red-ghosts of sins long dead . . . Oh, ye are realer Than flesh and blood to others ! I am your maker ; Ye have my life in ye, abominable And beauteous as ye are ! Oh, I have sinned With the vermilion paintings on the wall 42 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Of mine imagination, like Aholibah, And now they rise and hail me their creator, And offer me their sweet and venomous worship- Poisonous, yet fair as Marsh-flowers of Tagaste. I am blown like flame upon a wind of loves Unspeakable . . . The shrilling of the voice Of all desire thrills through my spirit s ear Unto the quick of being . . . Sin, thou art fair Above all daughters of the sons of Bel ! Who sayest that thou art vile to look upon Hath never seen thee . . . When thou comest thus Clothed on with fire of thought and shod with music Of pleasant memories, thou art Sin indeed, And, with a different beauty, fair as Seraphs ! Now change the shapes ; like winged serpents they dart And gleam about me, still abhorredly lovely. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 43 But now now now they shed their glancing wings, They dim they fall about my feet they knot And writhe on viscid bellies I am man ! Shall not my heel be set upon their heads ? Oh, I am but a man ! Their venom slays me, Or worser, slays my will ! O God ! God ! God ! Shall I command my hand, my foot, my body, And they obey me, and my mind rebel ? I will that all my will shall bow to Thine, Yet doth that will rise up like Satan armoured, Saying, " O thou who hast served but me till now, Thou shalt not bow to any god but me ! " Now comest thou in thy true likeness, Sin ! Who saith thou art not hideous ne er hath served thee! Oh, that to part with thee should be more bitter Than twere to part with life ! Yet we die not. Our bodies die ; we scape not from ourselves Though through a thousand bodies we should flee And bodiless whirl at last through countless Aeons ! In transformation lies our only hope. How shall I change this horrible self of mine ? 44 AUGUSTINE THE MAN How re-beget myself? By what huge striving Die into life ? Yet these my very throes Acquaint me of some imminent destiny Wherein I still shall know that I am I Yet other. Thus might that which was to be Adam, have felt the kneading of its clay Ere yet the living soul was breathed upon it. Again they rise about me lull my spirit As with the magic perfumes of the Spring, And weight mine eyelids with forbidden beauty ; And one voice crieth as though a falling star Did sing of Heaven lost : " Wilt thou no more, No more forever share delight with me ? Nor with the delicate wine of double joy Enchant thy body ? Thou art young, Augustine, Oh, thou art young to say no more to pleasure!" . . . But hark ! Another voice, as though Earth, Air, Fire and the deeps of Ocean clarioned forth : " Thou fool ! The body wherein thou dost dwell Is not a pleasure-house, but Deity s temple ! " AUGUSTINE THE MAN 45 Descend ! Descend, Lord Christ ! and cleanse Thy temple ; Cast out these barterers of lust, my passions, Yea, even the doves of earthly tenderness Take hence, and send the pure dove of Thy Spirit To brood alone o er this tumultuous heart ! O Truth of Truth, pierce to the quick of my soul As with a glaive of light. Sunder my darkness, Divide me from myself and in the void Where that dark self did dwell, shine Thou and burn, O Light of very light, most holiest fire, Consuming even the shadow of my sins, Those memories of evil, unto which Though I consent not, yet they do compel me, Saying, " Thou lovedst me once, and me ! and me ! Thou shalt not now forget us ! "... O Lord Christ, Come seek me in the dark land where I dwell Far from Thee in the region of Unlikeness, And let my homing soul find rest in Thee ! Lord, I will drink from any cup of anguish That thou mayest offer me, but O my God ! 46 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Grant that this cup which I myself have brimmed With loathliness, pass from me ! . . . [He flings himself face down on the grass in agony. A VOICE. Tolle . . . lege! Tolle . . . lege ! AUGUSTINE. [Whispering] What voice was that ? ... A child s ? The spirit of a child s ? . . . Too exquisite frail Its lovely crystal to ring forth from flesh . . . My God ! . . . keep madness from me . . . THE VOICE. Tolle . . . lege ! AUGUSTINE. Again ! . . . I heard it with these ears of flesh, Yet not of earth that sound . . . What meaning hath it? Is it a voice from Heaven ? . . . Am I commanded ? THE VOICE. Tolle . . . lege ! Tolle . . . lege ! Tolle . . . lege ! AUGUSTINE. "Take . . . read," it saith . . . What must I take and read ? What book ? Enlighten me, O Christ my Lord, If this Voice come from Thee! . AUGUSTINE THE MAN 47 \He kneels in silence for a moment, covering his face with his hands. Then suddenly starts up. The Scripture of Paul ! . . . The volume I was reading in this noon ! I do recall now how Saint Anthony Was thus converted, hearing what was read, By chance as spoken to him . . . What then if I, Even I, Augustine, should be thus enlightened, Opening that holy book and reading there, As writ for me, what first my eye doth light on ? Lord ! Lord ! Dost thou command me? THE VOICE. Tolls . . . lege ! [AUGUSTINE rushes to the place where he had left the volume of Scripture, and taking it into his trembling hands, pauses a moment, looking up in desperate appeal. AUGUSTINE. O Christ, thou Lover of Souls, guide now my soul ! [He opens the book and reads slowly in a low voice. " Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chamber- 48 AUGUSTINE THE MAN ing and wantonness, not in strife and envying : but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof." [He kisses the words with passionate ecstasy, then cries out with a great sob . . . My God ! My God ! I thank Thee ! . . . Thou hast shined Within my heart, and all my night is day ! SCENE II. A chamber in the house in Milan. Day is breaking. Through the open windows can be seen the fogs rising and the immensity of the Lombard sky. A small bronze lamp with double-neck burns on a table by which MONICA is kneeling before a leaden crucifix, which she holds in both hands, her elbows supported on the table. On a low pallet lies MELCARA, covered with a large cloak. She moves restlessly now and then, and mutters in her sleep. MONICA. Lord, must it ever be that when Thou answerest AUGUSTINE THE MAN 49 The prayer of one, another s heart is broken ? Lord, Lord ! I have but done my duty, and yet The mother s heart in me bleeds for this mother. Oh comfort her ! Oh turn her heart to Thee ! That wild and passionate heart which only pants For human happiness . . . Console her, Lord. Teach her to see Thy love in lovelessness, To find her will in Thine . . . her all in Thee ! MELCARA. [ Tossing and murmuring in her sleep\ No ! No ! . . . the red flowers, not the white . . . He loves them Wound thus along my hair . . . Give me the poppies . . . MONICA. Poor girl ! The poppy-drink that I did mix her Brings dreams as well as sleep. . . . How long it was Ere she would take it ! ... But else she had gone mad. . . . Tis piteous . . . piteous . . . MELCARA. There ! . . . My mirror now. . . . The little ivory one with bells around it. E 50 AUGUSTINE THE MAN He wrote a poem on it once. . . . How went it ? [She sits up, staring about her with unseeing eyes. MONICA. Lie down, poor child. . . . Calm thee. . . . Lie down again. . . . MELCARA. I know it, I tell thee. . . . Thou shalt hear me say it. Think you I would forget his words ? . . . his words ? Be quiet, and I will say it to thee. ... So ... " Melcara s conscience thou, fair glass ! . . . When ordered are those golden threads That bind my heart, and in thy depth She sees no blur that beauty dreads. Content as any flower is she, And cries All s well . . . all s well with me! " It hath been much commended. . . . Dost thou like it ? Now I will sleep a little ere he comes. I am very tired . . . but wake me when he comes. [She sinks back> still muttering to herself. As she does so, AUGUSTINE appears in the doorway ghastly pale, his eyes red AUGUSTINE THE MAN 51 with weeping. He comes softly over beside his mother, and whispers hoarsely. AUGUSTINE They have come for her ... those who re to journey with her. . . . MONICA. My dear, dear son ! . . . AUGUSTINE. [With a wild burst} Oh! say no word to me ! . . . . . . Even thou, my mother, say no word to me ! [At the sound of his voice MELCARA starts up again. MELCARA. My lord, if the boy coughs, give him this syrup. . . . My old nurse mixed it for him long ago, When he was but a baby . . . [She fumbles in the folds of her dress Nay, I had it ... I had it here. . . . {Suddenly she wakes fully, and getting to her feet rushes and flings herself upon his breast, My lord ! my lord ! Thou art come. . . . Oh I have had a dream so horrible 52 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Thou lt not believe it! ... Feel how wet my hair is. ... Comfort me ... kiss me ... tell me thou lovest me. . . . [AUGUSTINE holds her in silence, trembling. As he does not speak she draws back in his arms, and putting her hands against his breast gazes up into his face. MELCARA. [Whispering] Thou dost not say a word . . . Thou art weeping . . . Why ? Why art thou weeping ? . . . Augustine ! Speak to me! . . . Wilt thou not say one word ? . . . Oh who has been here? . . . What have they done to thee ? . . . Am I still dreaming ? [She turns her head wildly, and sees MONICA standing by the table. What ! She . . . she . . . here? O God ! then I m awake ! . . . Awake for all my life to horror and woe ! I recollect it all now . . all ... all ... all ... AUGUSTINE THE MAN 53 [Piteously to MONICA. Oh, wilt thou not this little one last time Leave us together, lady ? Thy God will bless thee. He who was kind to Magdalen will bless thee For being kind to me . . . Wilt thou not leave us ? MONICA. O child, if thou wouldst only turn to Him, Thou dst find thy joy in Him, like Magdalen ! MELCARA. [Softly\ Nay, lady . . . She repented of her sin, And since my sin s the love I bear my lord, How then shall I repent, who must forever Love him ? . . . My sin is all that you have left me. Your God can take my life, but not my love. Wilt thou not leave us ? MONICA. \_Going out sadly\ Christ have mercy on thee ! [As she goes out, MELCARA turns to AUGUSTINE and gently, almost timidly, puts her hand on his arm, as he stands with his face hidden from her. MELCARA. See, dear my lord, ... be not afraid of me. 54 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Look up, and see how quiet I am and gentle . . . Wilt thou not say some last kind words to me, That I can make my prayers through all the years ? AUGUSTINE. Melcara ! O Melcara ! MELCARA. Why, there, dear lord . . . To hear thee say my name with so much anguish Gives me a sorrowful joy I would not part with For all the gladness of the whole glad world. For oh ! thou lovedst me once ! . . . AUGUSTINE. I love thee now ! . . . Canst thou not see when souls are crucified, Because they have not blood as bodies have ? MELCARA. Oh that I could bear everything for thee! Beloved ! Beloved ! Yet no ... didst thou not suffer Thou ne er hadst loved me. [She changes suddenly, crying out wildly, I am glad thou sufferest ! . . . I am glad . . . glad . . . glad ! . . . Dost hear, Augustine ? . . . Glad ! . . . AUGUSTINE THE MAN 55 . . . No, no ! ... I did not mean it ... I am calm again. But let me hear thy voice . . . Speak thou to me ! . . . AUGUSTINE. I cannot ! I cannot ! . . . [MELCARA gazes sadly out of the window for some moments, then begins again very softly. MELCARA. What wilt thou tell the boy ? He loves me, dear my lord. What wilt thou tell him? AUGUSTINE. Melcara! MELCARA. Wilt thou let him think me dead ? Twere best that way . . . And oh ! be careful with him. Watch him thyself. . . He is not strong, Augustine . . . I have a vial here . . . here in my breast . . . \Shefinds it, and holds it out to him. It is a syrup that I always give him When he doth cough in winter. Take it now, And give it to him thyself . . . AUGUSTINE. \Casting himself down by the table, and catching his head in both hands\ Lord God ! I am flesh . $6 AUGUSTINE THE MAN I cannot bear this . . . MELCARA. Why, I am bearing it, And have no God to help me. AUGUSTINE. Christ have mercy ! MELCARA. \Dreamily\ Thy Christ hath slain all other gods, mine with them Melcarth the Beautiful, who loves not blood. Dost thou remember ? It was that same day I did foretell to thee this very hour . . . . . . Thy God loves blood . . . His only Son s required To wash the world in ... I am all ignorant, But cruel as Moloch He appears to me, With this one, only difference : to that god Children were sacrificed, while unto this Mothers are offered up ... Oh let me die ! I lied ! . . . I said that I could bear it ! ... I lied ! [She crouches in an ecstasy of sobbing at his feet. AUGUSTINE bends and lifts her, as MONICA enters again and comes towards them. MONICA. [ Weeping herself ~\ God knoweth how sore my heart is for ye both. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 57 God in His infinite mercy give ye strength ! Alas! I have bitter words to speak . . . Tis time . . . The time has come to go ... MELCARA. Where is my son ? Our son . . . our son, Augustine ! . . . Where is he, lady? Oh ! bring him quickly ! I am dying, I think . . . . . . Help me, my lord ! . . . [She dings blindly to AUGUSTINE, who holds her up. AUGUSTINE. [Fiercely to his mother} Why dost thou not speak, mother ? Where is the boy ? . . . Go bring him . . . MONICA. [Softly, addressing MELCARA] He is sleeping . . . So peacefully . . . He is smiling in his sleep. Shall I awaken him ? MELCARA. No ! no ! no ! no ! I was mad ... I had forgotten . . . O lady, thou Thou art a mother thyself . . . Let him not know . . . Oh, this one whiter lie than any truth That shows his mother s shame, thy God will pardon. 58 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Tell him that I am dead . . . Oh, tell him that ! Let him not know ! . . . My little, only son ! . . . . . . Come, take me quickly, draw the knife quite out, So that the life may follow . . . AUGUSTINE. [Clasping her passionately to his breast] Not yet ! . . . Not yet ! . . . One kiss, though I do lose my soul in it ! Melcara ! My Melcara ! [A servant appears at the door. SERVANT. [To MONICA] They who wait Below stairs, lady, say the hour is past ; They dare not tarry longer, or the ship Will sail without them. MONICA. Say that we come at once. [ The servant goes out. AUGUSTINE. [Staring stonily down at MELCARA, who has swooned in his arms] Now have I tasted death . . . and she is dead Here on the heart that killed her. MONICA. She is not dead, But swooning. So ... by little and little she wakes. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 59 Here ... let me guide her hence while yet she drowses In merciful dullness . . . Nay, fear not my son, I will be tender with her as though she were My very daughter . . . Oh, that she could have been ! [She goes out supporting MELCARA. As they disappear ADEODATUS runs into the room, looking dazedly about him. ADEODATUS. Where is my mother? ... I dreamed that she was dead ? AUGUSTINE. My son, my son ! Come to thy father . . . ADEODATUS. Nay, Where is my mother ? . . . She is not in her chamber. I dreamed that she was dead . . . [AUGUSTINE tries to soothe him, but he breaks away, and runs from the room calling " Mother ! Mother ! " AUGUSTINE. O Thou who wast in all points tempted even As we are, look with pity on Augustine ! Christ ! By the lovely hair Thou ne er didst touch, 60 AUGUSTINE THE MAN By the dear eyes that never mirrored Thine, By the sweet lips Thou only taughtst to pray, By the one woman Thou as Man didst love, As God didst teach to love but God in Thee, Have mercy upon her and me ! . . . Have mercy ! Ill AUGUSTINE AT CASSICIACUM Ill AUGUSTINE AT CASSICIACUM SCENE. The grounds about the Villa Verecundus. It is Springtime. A radiant dawn is over sky and earth. The grass, even of the lawns, is lovely with wild flowers. Great chestnuts grow on every side, above rise the hills, still higher the summits of Monte Rosa. Far below shines Lago Maggiore. Some cypresses jut upward here and there. The Villa is out of sight behind the trees. Sloping down toward the lake are terraced vineyards shining with dew. A mountain stream can be heard rushing downward in a series of cascades, and plunging into a great pool below. AUGUSTINE has just come up from bathing in this pool, and from his early meditation in a sequestered portion of the grounds. He is alone. 64 AUGUSTINE THE MAN AUGUSTINE. How fair, my God, to walk with holy thoughts Where lustral winds lave the bright wings of Dawn ! How sweeter than all sweetness thus to read Love, like a word of azure in all the sky, The sunlight like a golden Writ of Thine Emblazoning earth, air, and that fair lake Gleaming below me like the limpid Soul Of this most loveliest land, that to its deeps Hath drawn down heaven, until I seem to stand Between two heavens, and Thee above, below, Without me as within, to apprehend. Oh how all Nature openeth her heart, Unto the man who hath cast sin from his ! Then doth she seem Thy Messenger whose feet Are beautiful upon the hills of hope. For when we clasp some dark, ignoble secret, Loathing and loving it with sundered heart, To look upon a flower can bring us shame Yea, every grass blade seems to point at us, Crying with scorn : " In us thou hast no part ! AUGUSTINE THE MAN 65 Holy are we whereon thy feet are set ! " " Away, thou foulness ! " Now, dear Lord, how changed ! My transformation hath transformed the World. All things as brothers greet me ... From all flowers, All winds, all waters, voices speak to me, Hail me with love, revealing that on earth The very silence doth interpret heaven. Who that hath known it not shall comprehend ? O never doth a man shut out a sin From his heart s inmost chamber, but rushes in Through the still closing door, some Seraph of light. ... I have known pleasure, and delight I have known, But never joy till now, for I possess An immortality wherein to grow The less Augustine yet the more myself. There is no death but that which we do bring Upon ourselves while yet we seem to live. 66 AUGUSTINE THE MAN But oh, my God ! if language may not tell The joy of those who do inherit the earth In purity, what words may tell the rapture Of that deep region where thoughts wear not words Merged in that Word which is Itself all thought And yet unutterable, that holy vast Wherein the sun remembered seems as darkness, And all the being to clothe itself in light Nay, to become light, so that when the eyes Open again on things material A man doth wonder that his praying hands Shine not with prayer transfused ? . . . Yet oh! how more Than any prayer, that upward violence Of the transplendent Soul ablaze with love And shouting " Yea ! " to all Thine ordinance ! Not all the regents of a million stars, Not they who rule where all the stars are suns, Not Angels nor Archangels, no, nor Seraphim Clad in the golden armour of Thy Presence, Dissolve with such a terrible joy as man AUGUSTINE THE MAN 67 Ascending above man toward Thy Splendour, Yea, touching but Thy garment s hem of glory ! Yet temper Thou Thy very glory, Lord, Unto my passionate Soul, lest it exult, As might a conscious flame, in its own essence, And humbleness become a holy pride In being humble . . . For our grosser faults Being cast aside, temptations more ethereal Hasten to lure us from our way, and virtues, Like spiritual wantons, woo us to remain Rapt in their beauty, when toward Thee we strive Who art the source of beauty. O my God, Teach me the secret of simplicity ! Mine be the star-like right of serving Thee In exquisite silence, who with sounding words Have sought to serve men and for praise to serve them. Or shouldst Thou need my intellect as servant, Grant that Thy Spirit like a mighty wind Blow through my mind and kindle it to flame, 68 AUGUSTINE THE MAN Until my radiant thoughts shall mount like Seraphs, Choiring Thy glory unto heaven and earth. [ADEODATUS is seen coming slowly up from the pool and gazing about him at the Spring earth. AUGUSTINE. [Seeinghim} How gently dost Thou deal with me, dear Lord, Who was so hard to Thee . . . There doth he come Who was the son of my enchanting sin, Now of my penitence reborn to me In Thy pure likeness . . . Yet so frail he is, His intellect so high above his years, That fear doth poison love. How fair his face ! As on the far horizon of the plains The sky doth mingle with the earth, so heaven And earth are blended in his countenance. But there is more of heaven . . . Oh mystery, Supremest mystery of earthly pain, When thus the Angel of deep, human love Troubles the pool of tears, and we are glad AUGUSTINE THE MAN 69 That in such wise we can be sorrowful . . . . . . Adeodatus ! ADEODATUS. [Running to him] Oh ! is it thou, my father ? I was drawn to thee as though a spirit led me, For indeed I saw thee not. AUGUSTINE. [Laying his hand on his head] What wast thou thinking As thou didst walk so wrapt ? ADEODATUS. [Dreamily, a look of his mother coming over his face ] It came to me That our most Blessed Lord was once a boy Even as I am, and that even as I He loved sweet flowers, and how when He did walk Through the fair fields of Nazareth, He had felt The little blossoms tap against His feet As if to greet Him, even as they did on mine While I walked toward thee through the dewy grass. AUGUSTINE. My own Adeodatus! Well I named thee! Thou art doubly mine, since I to Him have given thee. 70 AUGUSTINE THE MAN But what is this ? . . . Thy feet are bare ! What folly ! Is this my son ? . . . I heard thee cough last night . . . ADEODATUS. {Pleadingly} Alypius walks bare footed in the frost, And now tis warm. Forbid me not, dear father. AUGUSTINE. Thou art not Alypius, but a delicate boy. I do forbid thee . . . Dost thou hear, my son ? Take care lest pride entrap thee by such acts. Thou didst not think of my anxiety, But how to be the equal of Alypius. ADEODATUS. {Kneeling beside AUGUSTINE and throwing his arms about him. As he does so his white woollen robe falls back from, his shoulder and discloses the red marks of a scourge} Oh, be not angry with me, dearest father ! AUGUSTINE. [Starting in horror} And this . . . this . . . this ! . . . Oh, what is this, my son ? What are these cruel marks upon thy flesh ? Oh, thou hast scourged thy father s heart ! ADEODATUS. But hear me . AUGUSTINE THE MAN 71 AUGUSTINE. Thou babe in Christ! What shouldst thou know of scourges And scorpions and the bite of hidden fire ? Wilt thou use whips of flame to rule thy manhood Who thus thy boyish frame dost dare acquaint With the dark mystery of ecstatic pain ? Thou whose most deadly sin were amply punished Did thy pet blackbird, plucking from thy lips Some dainty, draw the blood ! . . . ADEODATUS. My father, hear me ! ... For Christ s sake, hear me ! . . . AUGUSTINE. Oh ! if thou hadst loved me, Thou hadst not done this violence to thyself! Thy body now is all too thin a cup To hold thy spirit s fire, yet thou must use it As though twere adamant . . . ADEODATUS. Hear me, my father ! AUGUSTINE. Speak, then . . . Say quickly all thou hast to say. ADEODATUS. [Hiding his face in his hands and whispering} Last night the nightingales . . . the nightingales . . . 72 AUGUSTINE THE MAN All night they sang ... I could not sleep for it. And something seemed to answer in my heart And drew me that I followed where they sang, And listened, praying not, but rapt away Into a Paradise unknown to Christ, For I was there alone . . . AUGUSTINE. Ah ! ADEODATUS. . . . And anon Came the young Roman poet through the night, Singing of mortal love in lovely words Set to the music of the nightingales . . . And then ... oh, then I took the little scourge I had made me, as a memory of my Lord, And scourged myself till He remembered me Who had forgotten Him . . . AUGUSTINE. [Catching him in his arm] And thou didst well ; Beloved, thou didst well ! [Aside] Lord Christ ! Who am I That I should guide an innocent child to Thee? Lo ! Thou hast set him in our midst that he Might lead us, we being very humble, Lord, AUGUSTINE THE MAN 73 And I did dare rebuke him! [To ADEODATUS] Weep no more . . . Thou didst do well. Tis past. Think on it no more, My little son, my brave Adeodatus. [A s he is speaking the Young Roman passes along the road below the vineyard, his arm about a peasant girl, singing [ The Poet sings ] : The sea is in love with the inland, and yearns for her flowers : O sea, thou hast pearls to thy kiss, but the rose is the wind s ! Thou hast death to thy call, but King Love, King of Death, is our King ! ADEODATUS. Father ! . . . . AUGUSTINE. All s well, beloved . . . Heed it not. [ The Poet sings] : O be in mine arms as the dark in the curve of the moon, 74 AUGUSTINE THE MAN As the moon in the heart of the lake, as the lake in the hills ! . . . . . As the stars in the flame of the morning, oh, melt thou in me ! ADEODATUS. O father, let us go! Let us go quickly ! . . . IV AUGUSTINE AT TAGASTE IV AUGUSTINE AT TAGASTE SCENE. The little chamber that has been set apart for ADEODATUS in the house which AUGUSTINE formerly owned, and in which he now lives with his friends as a monk. The window opens on a scene familiar to his boyhood. It is sunset, and a red glow fills the room. ADEODATUS lies on his bed in one of the unconscious intervals of the fever. About him priests are gathered, adminis tering the last offices. As the ceremony is ended, the friends of AUGUSTINE begin to chant a solemn hymn as they did when MONICA was dying. AUGUSTINE stands a little apart, his face hidden, supported by ALYPIUS. As the priests file slowly from the room, AUGUSTINE whispers brokenly to ALYPIUS. 78 AUGUSTINE THE MAN AUGUSTINE. I would be alone with him, Alypius. They will understand . . . tell them . . . And oh, my friend ! Even thou . . . even thou . . . ALYPIUS. Fear nothing, my Augustine. We will go and pray for him and thee without. [He speaks to the others^ and softly with bent heads they leave the chamber. AUGUSTINE. [Kneeling beside the bed and gazing upon the boy s unconscious face] Thou wast too fair a pearl for me to wear All sin-grimed as I am . . . O loveliest jewel, The setting whence thou art taken is my heart, And bleeds . . . and bleeds . . . [His sobs interrupt him. ADEODATUS. [Opening his eyes, wild with fever, and starting up in bed.~\ " And I will light a candle in thy heart . . ." Who said that?... God?... Oh, He hath lighted one Here in my heart . . . and in my head another . . . AUGUSTINE THE MAN 79 They burn ! ... I am burning up ! ... Lord Christ, have mercy ! AUGUSTINE. He will, beloved ! . . . Oh, He will ! He will ! Hear him, Thou pitiful Saviour . . . ADEODATUS. Water ! . . . water ! . . . AUGUSTINE. [Giving him water] Patience, sweet soul . . . but yet a little while, And from its source thou shalt drink the living water . . . ADEODATUS. Oh, could I sleep a little ! ... I am so tired. . . . I am so tired. . . . Hark to the nightingales ! They will not let me sleep . . . the nightingales ! The nightingales ! How dark and sweet the garden ! Dear Lord, where art Thou ? O forsake me not ! Leave me not with the nightingales alone ! AUGUSTINE. He will never leave thee nor forsake thee, dearest. He is here beside thee . . . close beside thee . . . ADEODATUS. Hark ! 8o AUGUSTINE THE MAN Is that an angel singing? . . . Hear you not ? " Oh, be in mine arms as the dark in the curve of the moon ! " Oh, no ! no ! no ! ... The scourge . . . the scourge . . . the scourge ! . . . AUGUSTINE. Adeodatus ! Oh, my little son, Awake ! Awake ! . . . These are but evil dreams. See, I am near thee . . . Only I, thy father . . . Oh, say but " Father " once ! ADEODATUS. Mother ! O mother ! They told me thou wast dead . . . Come to me, mother ! . . . I ne er believed them. . . . Twas a sin ... a sin ... But I could not believe . . . Christ will forgive me, He loved His mother. . . . AUGUSTINE. O my God ! my God ! Wilt Thou forsake us both ? ADEODATUS. When He was dying His mother was beside Him. . . . AUGUSTINE. Lord, have mercy ! AUGUSTINE THE MAN 81 ADEODATUS. Wilt thou not come ?....! know thou art not dead. . . . Wilt thou not come, my own, own dearest mother ? There are things that I would tell thee as I used to When I was little . . . things I cannot tell him, My father ... He is a saint . . . He walks with God . . . Twould too much grieve him even to hear of sin. But mothers pardon all before they hear . . . Oh come, and let me tell thee ere I die ! When thou st forgiven me, Christ will seem more near . . . AUGUSTINE. Adeodatus! Oh, my son, my son! ADEODATUS. I think if thou wouldst come and give me water In thy two hands as when I was a child, And we played by the fountain I do think That then I would not be so thirsty, mother. AUGUSTINE. My punishment is more than I can bear . . . ADEODATUS. [Turning suddenly to his father} Who art thou ? . . . Where is my father ? . . . Send him here. G 82 AUGUSTINE THE MAN He will know where she is. AUGUSTINE. [Groaning aloud in his anguish] Oh! ADEODATUS. Go ! ... go quickly ! There is no time to lose . . . Quickly, I say ! AUGUSTINE. Adeodatus ! Look upon my face . . . Give me thy hands . . . look close . . . I / am thy father ! ADEODATUS. Art thou? . . . Then do not let them write it down All that I m saying, in the books . . . My head, My head is heavy ... I would not have these words Set in the books ... I have not thought them out . . . AUGUSTINE. Lord God ! Thou dost not break my heart, but rendest it ! ADEODATUS. [Mysteriously] Hush ! . . . Listen ! ... I have just heard a mighty secret. Bend down thine ear . . . This is God s deepest secret. He saveth even those who are not baptized. And loveth even those who love Him not . . . O I did know I would see my mother again ! [He dies. AUGUSTINE THE MAN 83 AUGUSTINE. Adeodatus ! Stay yet a little with me ! . . . No breath ... No motion . . . Wilt thou leave me thus? Into Thy hands, dear Lord, into Thy hands ! . . . Oh, poor Melcara ! How art thou avenged ! Thinking but of myself, I took him from thee, And he hath left me, thinking but of thee ! RECENT POETRY THE SONG OF SONGS, WHICH IS SOLOMON S. A Lyrical Folk-Play of the Ancient Hebrews arranged in Seven Scenes. By FRANCIS COUTTS. With Illustrations by HENRY OSBORNE. THE COMING OF LOVE : Rhona Boswell s Story (a Sequel to " Aylwin ") and other Poems. Seventh and Revised Edition, with a Photogravure Portrait of the Author after Rossetti, and a Preface by the Author. Crown 8vo, 5-r. net. SONGS TO A SINGER. By ROSA NEWMARCH. Crown 8vo, 5-r. net. THE COLLECTED POEMS OF ERNEST DOW SON, with Illustrations, etc. Cover design by AUBREY BEARDSLEY, a Portrait by WILLIAM ROTHENSTEIN, and a Memoir by ARTHUR SYMONS. Crown 8vo, 5-r. net. LOVE S TESTAMENT : A SONNET SEQUENCE By G. CONSTANT LOUNSBERY. Uniform with "An Iseult Idyll and other Poems." Crown 8vo, 3/. gd. net. SELECTED POEMS OF JOHN DAVIDSON. Fcap. 8vo. Bound in cloth, price 3-r. 6d. net. Bound in leather, price 5-r. net. THE WORKS OF FRANCIS COUTTS THE REVELATION OF ST. LOVE THE DIVINE. Price 3J-. 6d. net. Square i6mo. Price $1.00. THE ALHAMBRA AND OTHER POEMS. Price 3-r. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25. THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS: A Poem. Price 3-r. 6d. net. Square i6mo. Price $1.00. THE POET S CHARTER; or, THE BOOK OF JOB. Price 3.1-. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25. POEMS. [Out of print. MUSA VERTICORDIA : Poems. Price 3J-. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25 net. SOME PRESS OPINIONS. THE ACADEMY." The reader feels behind this verse always a brave and tender spirit, a soul which has at any rate beat its music out ; which will not compromise ; which cannot lie ; which is in love with the highest that it sees." LITERATURE. " It is not every writer who is master, as was quite truly said of Mr. Coutts some years ago, of the rare and difficult art of clothing thought in the true poetic language." ST. JAMES S GAZETTE. "All who know Mr. Coutts other poems already will have much joy of this volume and look eagerly for more to follow it, and those who do not yet know them may well begin with this and go back to its predecessors." RECENT POETRY THE POEMS OF WILLIAM WATSON Edited and arranged, with an Introduction, By J. A. SPENDER. In 2 Volumes. With Portrait and many new Poems. Crown 8vo. Price 9^. net. TIMES. "William Watson is, above all things, an artist who is proud of his calling and conscientious in every syllable that he writes. To appreciate his work you must take it as a whole, for he is in a line with the high priests of poetry, reared, like Ion, in the shadow of Delphic presences and memories, and weighing every word of his utterance before it is given to the world." ATHENAEUM. "His poetry is a criticism of life, and viewed as such, it is magnificent in its lucidity, its elegance, its dignity. We revere and admire Mr. Watson s pursuit of a splendid ideal ; and we are sure that his artistic self- mastery will be rewarded by a secure place in the ranks of our poets. . . . We may express our belief that Mr. Watson will keep his high and honourable station when many showier but shallower reputations have withered away, and must figure in any representative anthology of English poetry. Wordsworth s Grave, in our judgment, is Mr. Watson s masterpiece ... its music is graver and deeper, its language is purer and clearer than the frigid droning and fugitive beauties of the Elegy in a Country Churchyard. " WESTMINSTER GAZETTE." It is remarkable that when Mr. Watson s poetry directly invites comparison with the poetry of preceding masters his equality always, his incomparable superiority often, becomes instantly apparent. . . . No discerning critic could doubt that there are more elements of permanence in Mr. Watson s poems than in those of any of his present contemporaries. . . A very treasury of jewelled aphorisms, as profound and subtle in wisdom and truth as they are consummately felicitous in expression." BOOKMAN. "From the very first in these columns we have pleaded by sober argument, not by hysterical praise, Mr. Watson s right to the foremost place among our living poets. The book is ... a collection of works of art, like a cabinet of gems." SPECTATOR. "The two volumes will be joyfully welcomed by the poet s numerous admirers. There is a pleasure in the possession of a complete edition of a great writer s works. . . . We must apologise for quoting so copiously, but the book is so full of beautiful things that in his pleasure at seeing them all together the critic is irresistibly tempted to take them out and remind his readers of them separately." ST. JAMES S GAZETTE. "The publication of these volumes confers a distinct benefit on contemporary thought, contemporary poetry, and on English literature in a wider sense." MR. WILLIAM ARCHER (in the MORNING LEADER). "Among the critics of the nineties enamoured of this or that phase of eccentricity, affectation, or excess, Mr. Watson had to pay dearly for his austere fidelity to his ideal of pure and perfect form. But these days are past ; detraction now hides its diminished head ; the poet . . . is clearly seen to be of the great race." DAILY NEWS. " He takes the large language of high poetry and the classic spirit, and moulds them with royal authority to the modern thought." THE POETRY OF STEPHEN PHILLIPS PAOLO AND FRANCESCA : A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Price 4/. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25 net. MR. W. L. COURTNEY (in the DAILY TELEGRAPH). l "Wc possess in Mr. Stephen Phillips one who redeems our age from its comparative barrenness in the higher realms of poetry." MR. WILLIAM ARCHER (in the DAILY CHRONICLE). " A thing of exquisite poetic form, yet tingling_ from first to last with intense dramatic life. Mr. Phillips has achieved the impossible. Sardou could not have ordered the action more skilfully, Tennyson could not have clothed the passion in words of purer loveliness." ULYSSES : A Drama. In a PROLOGUE AND THREE ACTS. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Crown 8vo., 45. 6d. net. MR. JAMES DOUGLAS (in the STAR)." Ulysses is a splendid shower of dazzling jewels flung against gorgeous tapestries that are shaken by the wind of passion. Mr. Stephen Phillips is the greatest poetic dramatist we have had since Elizabethan times." DAILY CHRONICLE. " Mr. Phillips is, in the fullest sense of the word, a dramatic poet." DAILY TELEGRAPH." It is a grateful task to discover in the new volume many indications of that truly poetic insight, that vigorous expression of idea, that sense of literary power and mastery which have already made Mr. Stephen Phillips famous." HEROD : A Tragedy. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Price 4-r. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25 net. TIMES. " Here, then, is a noble work of dramatic imagination dealing greatly with great passions ; multicoloured and exquisitely musical. Mr. Stephen Phillips is not only a poet, and a rare poet, but that still rarer thing, a dramatic poet." MR. WILLIAM ARCHER (in the WORLD). " The elder Dumas ipeaking with the voice of Milton." ATHENAEUM. "Hot unworthy of the author of The Duchess of Main. " POEMS. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Price 4-r. 6d. net. Crown 8vo. Price $1.25 net. TIMES. "Mr. Phillips is a poet, one of the half-dozen men of the younger generation, whose writings contain the indefinable quality which makes for permanence." SPECTATOR. "In his new volume Mr. Stephen Phillips more than fulfils the promise made by his Christ in Hades : here is real poetic achievement the veritable gold of song." LITER A TURE. " No such remarkable book of verse as this has appeared for several years."