THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC AND OTHER POEMS THE BURGLAR OF THE KPT>I^C AND OTHER POEMS NEW HAVEN YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXVIII Copyright. 1918 By Yale University Press First published, March, 1918 The author wishes to extend his thanks to the following for allowing him to reprint here such of these poems as have already appeared in their pages: Reedy' s Mirror, The Century Magazine, and The Sundial (New York Evening Sun). TO LAURA AND STEPHEN To win to our old cottage through my mind. First there's a clearing, then a forest-patch All dark low boughs that writhe and claw to snatch My cloak away ; and then it is I find The gliding path that threads the thickets blind Till, veiled in drizzle, juts a dripping thatch; A mossed green door shines through its silver latch. This I lift swiftly, knowing you behind. Yes, there you are, — one all a silken shimmer Of rainbow fancies in her elfin gown, — One arm-chair sprawled, mumbling of sword and jewel, With glasses gleaming ! The rich old room's a glimmer With dancing firelight, crimson on the brown. It's black night out. Hello! I've brought some fuel . . / You leap up laughing, both of you. Well now. Look out! I'm drenched! . . These are but faggots here. Soggy at that — yet they may serve to cheer, Once dried. I've come to see you, anyhow. Where have I been? Oh, lashed behind the plough In the world's pasture. So I reappear To you, old boy, — to you, my very dear ! I missed your hearty grin, your musing brow. [ vii ] TO LAURA AND STEPHEN Let's draw up chairs, serve supper, talk between Of fairies and chimaeras, ogres, elves. Life's whirligig, the tourneys you yourselves Have splintered lance in. . . Ah, the enchanted scene, The healing of the old speech and laughter, blending To tunes, to dreams, to love of you unending ! [ vui ] TABLE OF CONTENTS The Singing Skyscrapers • 1 The Quick-lunch Counter . 6 Films . 11 First Film: Down Along the Mountain 12 Second Film: Devil's Blood . 23 Third Film: The Bohemian Barber-shop 32 Smoke .... 38 Green Turtles 40 The Suffrage Procession 46 On Sunday 49 Night-motoring 54 The Asylum 57 The Blackamoor's Pantomime 59 Mad Blake 86 Jaldabaoth 87 How to Catch Unicorns 98 The Horse Thief 100 The Burglar of the Zodiac 106 Alexander, the Crap King 118 The Seventh Pawn, 1809 121 [ ix] THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS This was after midnight. Thus it befell. The city that is Heaven, The city that is Hell, Blinded by its dazzle Woke me aware Of its tall titanic towers Singing in the air. From Madison Square Hidden in the mist Save for its pharos A blaze of amethyst Swimming in the mist, The Metropolitan, Singularly ringing Through steel and stone. Softly began In monotone The singing: "To Enoch in the Land of Nod I cry, Aeons away. Forgotten by our day, But rebuilded in the night. Every stone, [ 1 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Spectrally on high Where cloud drives by And the moon illumes the grey Ghosts of cities in the sky Thickly sown; Majestic phantom cities that move above our slumber Hung aloft in air — Cities beyond number. Towers beyond number !" And over the Avenue And Broadway, lying still. The Flatiron Building answered With every floor athrill : "Thebes, I invoke thee, — Tadmor in the Wilderness Conceived of Solomon, — Memphis, Alexandria, Cyprian Paphos Sacred to Astarte, — Overthrown, tragical. Blank blue ruins magical Under the moon! With sistrum and cymbal Cozen me a tune From this night air nimble !" And from far to the South I heard the Woolworth Tower Reply from the sky: [ 2 1 THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS "Aye, cities of power, Each a granite flower Stamened to unfold With towers of ivory, Towers of gold. Towers of brass And towers of iron. Towers all as many as the hours that environ The years of our servitude. Our steel and iron yoke. In the deep blue skies They stand like smoke ! Pavia the hundred-towered, Shining over Italy, The Greek Heliopolis, The City of the Sun, — Phoenician Sidon, Persian Persepolis, The Vale of Siddim's cities By sins undone ! There the strong rampires Of Troy flare fires. There like spears stand spires. Priceless citadels Pulsate with their paean Aeon after aeon: ^ 'We are the eternal. Your frames but shells! We are your sires. The frozen fierce desires [31 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Of Man made immortal By temple-miracles !' " And the Singer Building, As I seemed to know, Resounded through the town From its station far below. It sang of the City of the Violet Crown. It sang Rome risen and Rome gone down. It sang like a seraph Tremendous in the dark; And the million-windowed Plaza Up by Central Park Echoed from afar, Intoning to a star. Nineveh they sang, New York they sang! In surcoats of stone Like huge knights at vigil, Each alone Sealed with the sigil Of the glories of the Throne That wakes this Memnonian Music eternal In the clay and the compost. The steel, the stone. So above our shining towers To my eyes was given [4 ] THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS A last great vision Of a wall great and high ; Twelve gates, twelve angels. And, descending out of heaven. The Celestial City Blinding in the sky ! It lay foursquare To what winds might pass. Jasper was the wall. And like clear glass Pure gold was that city Blazing in the air ; And sapphire, chalcedony, Emerald, sardonyx. Chrysolite, topaz. Jacinth and amethyst Garnished its foundations; And the wild salvations Of the risen nations Made a glory there ! Night flowed away from it. The River and the Throne Blinded my eyes. My heart fell prone. But my brain was ringing, ringing With vast anthems from afar. And the Towers, the Towers were singing To the Bright and Morning Star! [ 5 ] THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER I seize a little cardboard slip On entering, and sight a chair To hold — if I can steer it there — On one flat arm, some humorous food. A good day this for going nude! The seething street — the stifling glare ! Thick-beaded brow and cheek and lip Attest it well. I cross the floor, Slouchingly stand to mix once more With lunch-time's hasty fellowship. And scan the sign-board bill-of-fare. Clerks crunch a roll or two. Pimpled salesmen spread Raw mustard on their bread. Small tradesmen, with a bowl or two Of milk and crackers floating. Scan scare-heads black and gloating. And guttural foreign voices Dispute 'mid other noises A dozen fruitless themes. . . Meanwhile his bow Apollo poises, Loosing swift-gleaming dreams: Pellucid peacock-colored ripples The plangent sunlight strikes along [ 6 1 THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER To shallows where leaf-shadow stipples The idling, sidling silver ripples With dust of gold, as down the Tigris The caliph's boatmen send a song. I sip cool sherbets winy-clear And melting on the tongue like snow In gardens of the grand vizier Where your lute tinkled, long ago! "Well, gents, what's yours?" . . Swab, swab the marble, — dip the soup. Sling out the sandwich, — punch ! — it's done. Some delicate dessert allures? . . "Pie? . . Cake? . . Some crullers, son?" . . "One Com-bo!" (shouted) . . To a group Of seeming gun-men, "Salad? Hey?" Then, bawled, "Two French fries on the way ! . . Naw! Make that owe/" Clash, clang. . . "One scrambled . . make it two!" "Here y'are, sir ! . . Ye-es, that's Irish stew !" Clink, clash, swab. . . Then a sharp command. And, starting up, I take in hand My share of thick white china, holding Limp bread some limper ham enfolding. Brown doughnuts, and a liquid less so. (They call it "coffee." Well, I guess so!) Pellucid peacock-colored lights Your eyes have borrowed from the stream. [ 7 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The jasmine of Arabian nights Steals round you from the dusk hareem. Sharper than Haroun's Samsamah, Sword of the caliph. Love can pierce; No leopard's black and gold more fierce. No steed of all Arabia More swift! — and, as the ezzan floats Summoning the faithful through the throats Of your strange criers from the skies. So have the glances of your eyes Summoned my soul, Zobiede! . . There is no more to sing or say! What all the wealth of camel-trains Tinkling across the tawny plains. The spoils of every Eastern vine Or dainties snared from either blue. The sky or sea, — whenas your lute Falls again faint-toned, — and I pray, — 'Mid pyramids of golden fruit. Pomegranates scarlet gleaming through, j With scented wine like bitter brine On my parched lips unhealed of yours, — Can only pray my strength endures To slay my love, Zobiede! . . By Heaven, that headline looks like war ! To send him to the chair at dawn. . . Shoots two . . strange suicide . . Before Fate's fingers reach for me, her pawn, [ 8 ] THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER And I pass through the same dark door Whither all breathing men are drawn, — Well, let me sip my lethe'd dream, Hoping things are not what they seem! Ices of cool translucent green, Syrops of amber, pungent spice. Rosy-fleshed melons filled with ice. Bowls of rich Shiraz, howls between Of Kismische, — and yet the least Dog of a Giaour doth rarer feast. Since Hwixt us twain with each new day. Shines Honor's sword, and points the way! The sefy takes the antelope — But not the hooded bird or blind! Fetters of fealty bind my hope. The Caliph murders, to be kind! So sigheth Giafar, the good vizier, A princedom may not satisfy Since Haroun's daughter, bending near, Eclipsed all glories from his sky He takes the long road that he must. He serves one only, dubbed "The Just." Alas, he can no other way Than crush his brittle heart of clay In his hot breast! Zohiede, There is no more to sing or say! [ 9 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Brush off the crumbs . . and now what comes? A glass of water? Clean? Well, I suppose so. Who knows so? Cool, anyway! . . "Hey there, your check!" A j ar of toothpicks pushed my way, A pink and puffy female hand Scraping the nickels I produce Across her counter (while her neck Glistens with — "perspiration" say). Behind me the screen-door flacks loose. The high gods hover when they choose. I made an excellent lunch today! [ 10] FILMS "Ding-dang-dang !" the electric piano, the electric piano jangled through the dimness. Down hissed a ray from the wizard's eye, imprisoned in his little black box on high, And a magic circle on the taut white sheet wavered to focus all the gayness, grimness, And mystery of life's long winding street, for its slaves 'twixt death and birth on earth. . . "Ding-dang-dang!" rang the tinny piano, rippling with the echoes of a world's wild mirth. Let us stumble down in the odorous dark And squeeze into seats along the aisle. Your mind is "enlightened." With scorn you mark The frown and smile of the rank and file. Their musty moralities leave you cold. These obvious "heart-throbs" are so old ! What is there here that is worth one's while .^ . . "Is it their humor, is it their tears. Their maudlin mess of hopes and fears. Blind to all proud insurgent art And the subtle nobilities of the heart ?" . . Yes ! Here is the pith of all budded theme, Man's glamorous fundamental dream ! Sit through a couple of films and feel Your lugubrious soul in every reel ! [ 11 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC "Ding-dang-dang!" the electric piano, the electric piano tinkle-tankles faster A popular tune banal and bright . . and from over our heads a stream of light Wakes a magic trade-mark swift and clear, to usher in a story of delight or disaster By a crowing rooster, or a spinning sphere. . . Then a picture flickers on our eyes' surprise, "Strum-a-strum-strum!" The piano ceases. And we rush into a region where the fool turns wise ! First Film: Down Along the Mountain Waving his blue serape, the wild vaquero wind Whooped o'er the purple mountain, the herds of Spring behind. His silver-mounted saddle, his chinking bridle- chains. Glittered between the live-oaks as he flashed to find the plains. Down along the mountain A cowboy Came riding, Down along the mountain, Down along the mountain, O'er the deep-cut canyons. Through the high hill-meadows; But his heart was swept of shadows And it gushed a golden fountain. As his hard-braced little horse's legs [ 13 ] FILMS Went jolting, Went sliding — With hitches, twists and slithers, Humped-up rump and sunken withers — While the pebbles spun along; And the loosed water-courses In his soul foamed to his riding. Red-roaring, fervid forces Thundered "Spring!" through every vein; And the clouds above the mountain in the blue of love abiding Caught the glory of his song With its braggart refrain: "Hang your spurs On the back-door of the rainbow! Bow to Gawd In the great big sky corral ! Hitch your britches, and amble to the ranch-house! Sail in, Davy — sail in, Davy — Sail in, Davy! You're bound to get that gal !" Silken and orange poppies, lupin in blinding blue. Painted the billowed foothills, and pure as a globe of dew [ 13] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The meadow-lark's lyric bubble purled out of silver oats. And song from the orange orchards trilled from throb- bing vireo throats. Dreaming in the meadow Goldilocks lay sleeping. Shaggy "Shep/' beside her. His nose on his paws, Watched the distant valley With its sprawly ranch-roofs peeping, Lolled his tongue at blackbirds — Skimming red-winged blackbirds — Curled his lip at blackbirds And a crow's far caws. He saw the blue serape of the wild vaquero wind Stream o'er the purple mountain, the herds of Spring behind. Silver-mounted saddle and chinking bridle-chains Glittered between the live-oaks as he flashed to find the plains. "Shep" rose trembling, But dissembling All his awe — And raised a paw. Took a step, (Romantic "Shep!") And then, beyond the oaks, he saw. As from hiding [ 14 ] FILMS A cowboy Come riding Down along the mountain, Down along the mountain. Singing strong at a song — For his heart in the Spring Gushed a golden fountain, And he simply had to sing ! "I'm the fellah you was waiting for, M-y-y-y dear ! I'm the fellah you was waiting for. And I'm here on my hawse before your door. So what will you do with a fellah like that ? Take down your shawl, pin on your hat, M-y-y-y dear — And come on, come on — we're goin' On a ride To the moon!" Goldilocks, the rancher's daughter. Had a laugh like a fairy. Had a smile the angels taught her, (Though her real true name was Mary.) And I think they must have brought her In a pearl and ivory car When she came to Bar-X-Bar. ******** Look out, look out for squirrel-holes. When sunshine makes you drowse ! [ 15 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Spring will daze a cayuse, and a dog's bark make him jump. Don't fool along through live-oak groves Where Spring is keeping house ! You'll slip sidewise and you'll stumble, and go grass- ward with a bump — And the surest-footed cayuse prove a triple-plated chump. That was how it happened — thump! Goldilocks Sprang from sleep. And a cowboy, in a heap, Scrambled up, and then uncovered, (When he saw his pony stood Quivering, snorting, but all sound). And bowed low to the ground In a gay Lothario mood. Spring in their veins Thrilled and tingled. Spring in their brains Throbbed and mingled. Her cloud of gold hair. Like an aureole. Breezes tossed — to snare His heart and soul. Breezes swept its strands To a maze of light Till he clenched his hands [ 16 1 FILMS And stared at the sight. And his heart sang loud for delight: "You came out of the sunset to me Long ago, long ago — Riding a cayuse the color of night And whirling a lariat of diamond light! The hoods of your stirrups were gold And the horn of your saddle was pearl, Little girl! And you told What you know Of the range that lies way past the planets. Just starlight to mortals below ! "Come up on my pony with me And we'll ride For that range. Raising a dust on the white milky way. Bucking through space like a bronco at play! We'll weave up to heaven with a whoop and set the gold streets in a whirl. Little girl ! I will loop, For a change. All the stars with the slack of my rope. And bust every wild steer on that range !'* "Shep" growled once, then wagged beside him. Mary stood aloof and eyed him, [ 17 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC In her figured calico Looking like a princess lost. And the ranch-house far below Spired a thin blue smoke toward cloudland . . Then the cowboy laughed, and tossed His Stetson high in air, And he said, "Miss, I swear, As you stand there. You just strike me like a cyclone, till I want to buck and r'ar !" "How did you," said Mary, "Come so far? The cows out here are tame. Me and Par Herds our few; But sheep — There's a heap. Down there's the siding, by the marshes. You can see a cattle-car." "Where did I come from?'* Said he. "Round by Arizone — That's me ! Loped it on my lone — And Mexico. I've wrastled from Cheyenne to San Antone — That's so !" [ 18 1 FILMS "Seems we're shif'less here/' Said she. "An'— oh dear! Par is gettin' queer. Mar is dead. An' as fer me, I'm — oh well, This life is Hell— Baked-bread hills, and sky, and sky . . ! Sometimes I think that I might just as well Die!" "What? Your Said he. "You that raked your spurs Into me First time I laid eyes on That hair o' yern?" Down toward the west's hill-filled horizon The sloping sun began to redly burn. Mary flushed — could not speak — But a sparkle on her cheek Tattled of a tear. "Miss," he said, "my dear, I'll be gone from here Just like that — or, if you say so, I'll stand pat and wait a year. If your Pap is queer, [ 19 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC You won't make no sudden hike — Not the girl that you look like. There's a feller in the Bible^ A sky-pilot told me of Oncet, that worked fer fourteen years Fer his girl. They tried to fool him In between times — but he stuck. / would chuck — Well, ye know it kinder skeers When I think what I would do Just to sit acrost from you At the table, and corral Hopes and fears — and damn the luck ! — With you fer everlasting pal." "Hush!" said she. "Are you — are you — Oh!" she whispered. "Do you mean you're fonda me.'^ Waving a red serape, the wild vaquero wind Fled through the fiery sunset, with phantom herds behind. Bellowing loud and lowing with Spring's wild loco-weed The galloping herds of the sunset passed in a mad stampede! Click-flash! . . and then PART TWO, Fantastical with "derring-do"; [ 20 ] FILMS Moonlight elopement and swift pursuing, Lickety-split over mountains blue; The obstacle-race of every wooing That always follows the ring-dove-cooing, Precedes the "tender and true/' And spices the plot to a peppery-hot And highly romantic brew ! The dust puffs white, and the bullets bite. And the horses fly along the sky. Splash through the creek at hide-and-seek, — And the lovers cling and the shot-guns speak ! Aye, Movie Man ! And the poet can Delegate that to you! . . I only pretend to know THE END. Possibly this will do! ******* Down in the valley. In a ranch-house window, A yellow lamp, A little steady star mocks the sky. And down along the mountain, Down along the mountain Stream the sheep bleating From their pastures high; Shambles a cayuse. And a cowboy singing [ 21 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Lifts in his stirrups To see that window shine. Down along the mountain His voice comes ringing To where his wife stands clinging To the morning-glory vine On the porch of that ranch-house white-glimmering afar^ On the porch of the ranch-house of the Bar-X-Bar. "You're waiting, Mary — Oh, I know you're waiting, Mary — Like I always knew that it would be. Spring's comin', Mary, Summer's comin', Mary, Winter's comin', Mary? What's that to you an' me! For Spring's come truly Forever an' forever — Spring and the evenin', an' the moon. Sing the younguns off to sleep, Fer I am comin', Mary — I am comin', Mary, with a cowboy tune — Supper's on the table, an' I'm comin' soon!" ******** ''Ding-dang-dang!" the electric piano, the electric piano romps across the fading Of the last lettered legend and the last dumb show. Old eyes soften and young cheeks glow, [ 22 ] FILMS For they breathe the air of a mountain height, with a gorgeous sunset o'er the peaks parading. In this stuffy cave, with its ghastly light. The winds of the open sweep the cheap " Ding -dang- dang !" of the tinny piano to a tiny echo from a far dust-heap! Now "Thrum-thram-thram!" — the piano ceases. From a fresh reel humming, there is magic coming — All the sheaves of story, all the wizard meadows, all the fields of romance for the poor to reap! Second Film: Devil's Blood D'Artois does not love the King ! See him frown, Home from war's adventuring, In his castle o'er the town, — In the gorgeous gloom Of his turret room ! Now he smites his hands Together — and his teeth Glitter in an awful smile. . . What thought, beneath Those jetty love-locks, whispers "Death" Through his harshly-taken breath? Ah-h! He understands ! [ 23 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC He understands why Clare Is cold and pale With strange flushes. . . Swift he turns. There she stands. . . No words avail To move her doubting gaze. All day She stares, — she has gone mad, they say, Since he rode away. Nay! He knows the serpent in his Eden — Love! She loves the King. He sees them walk the garden. The King talks. Birds are a wing. Brilliantly sing. Aye, everything Is gay with flowers and song. The flowers from their stalks Salute her beauty. And, above, The summer sky is shimmering love. Her summer eyes are brimming love. She loves the King! D'Artois does not love the King. See him pace The moonlit rampart, with a cloak To hide his face ! The silver moon rides with white prow, the swift clouds race. From his wried lips the muffled curses choke. ******** [ 24 ] FILMS Through the town's twisted street, Down the long stair That is the street, a graybeard hobbles. See ! He is an ancient steeped in alchemy. He peers now here, now there . . He grasps his bundle close and hobbles to his lair. Here are strange fires. In this dim cave-like room all terrible desires Lurk in those glimmering alembics, rise In fume from those retorts, — to mock the skies And tempt the angels out of Paradise. Over a glittering brazier's crimson coals The Alchemist holds thin hands. His parchment skull white-fringed Gleams in the ruby-tinged. Green-misted light. . . His dark soul understands The hell of darkened souls. His daughter was the King's Captive, long since, — and died. He dreams of dreadful things. Who knocks so late tonight.^ In the black door Stands d'Artois, dripping with the rain. Once more The Alchemist's eyes lift from their dream of pain. The picture that he sees [25 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Dislimns. . . He bows. "I seek for my disease A cure — a stealthy cure and swift ! You know Swift powders, cunning poisons? Even so! Not for myself — ah, no! For one — But even here I fear I were undone To breathe the name !" The old man's eyes strike flame, The picture shimmers of his daughter's shame. Their faces draw together tense and white In the green ghastly light. Slow tigrish smiles play on their whispering lips. Crime's black eclipse Weds them in darkness. With thin, clawlike hands The Alchemist gestures. Yes, he understands ! He holds a little vial Of squirming flame. "Here, good Milord, — one trial — Enough!" He spurns hack d'Artois' gold. "That flask Put to its brooded use — is all I ask !" Under the great gold canopy. Stiff rustling, of his high and regal bed. In his great palace high above the town The King sleeps peacefully. D'Artois' swift, catlike tread [ 26 ] FILMS Presages naught to him. The cresset light is dim. D'Artois paces the antechamber floor, Listens without the arrassed door, Seeming unlistening, — jests his mates at cards. Would they have wine.^ Seek it! "See! D'Artois guards This door till your return !" They go. He stands With almost the achievement in his hands. He listens. He goes in. Stealthy as sin He creeps toward the curtained bed. One hand Fingers his poniard, lest the deed long-planned Somehow go wrong. The little vial shakes In his left hand. And there are foamy flakes Upon his lips. . . He leans. The time appears To pour the poison deftly in the ears. But the King hears ! The curtains move. The King's smile freezes. Eyes Meet eyes, with ghastliness and swift surmise. Then suddenly strong fingers snap the vial From d'Artois' hand. A voice to rouse espial Is all but raised. The desperate thrust is made Thrice with the poniard. Terribly afraid, D'Artois glides backward to the arrased door. [27] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The King falls forward. Blood taps on the floor. A pool forms, darkling, spreading more and more. D'Artois slips through the door. His mates are back. "Does the King sleep.'*" . . "Aye, just the old attack Of coughing — but — I soothed him. It — is late. I must inspect the guardroom at the gate !" The cards are tossed by candlelight. And then, "Look! How that shadow grows beneath the door!" "Some cresset's spilt." . . "What's this? . . Christ! Blood! — and more !" "Torches!" "Tear back that arras!" "Call your men! A dark thin stream worms through the anteroom And slides 'neath curtains out into the gloom Of the great stair of state. The white stair gleams Like polished silver in the pale moonbeams Through the great stained-glass window diamond-paned. And then that thin black trickle has attained The stair-head, and flows down the marble flight. Sinuous, swift, and on to left and right. And underneath the palace doors, and out into the night. D'Artois, in the King's deep garden o'er the Town, Plunges through shrubbery, and flings him down On a marble bench in moonlight. Horrid fear Raves like a fury at his deafened ear. [ 28 ] FILMS Only it seems — as if — his heart could h'ear A strange thin dripping sound, and a thin sound Of sluggard tricklings threading the dark ground. He starts up in the moonlight. Down the path — Is it but shadow? — steals a thread of wrath, A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels. Wet! Warm! Wily athwart his steps it steals And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels. He tears the vile shoes from him. Far he throws Them to the bushes, — runs in silken hose, Falls in the laurels — up and on — who knows Where .f* In a flash he scales an unguarded wall Of the great garden, heavily to fall On the other side, above the sleeping town. He seeks and finds a roadway. And falls down Again in moonlight. Thin and darkly red, Down the white road trickles a tortuous thread, Winding between small pebbles, curling round Obstructions, sliding, slipping o'er the ground. It meets, — and, twining, glides o'er d'Artois' hand,- Creeps up his arm, staining lace cuff and band And satin sleeve and shoulder and prone cheek. He twitches, shudders, — rises with a shriek! He tears the fabric from his shoulders, tears The doublet off, pitches the coat he wears Far through a hedge, rubs his encrimsoned hand [ ^ ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC With poulticed leaves — staggers — can hardly stand, And lurches down the road. And quietly The small red stream that scarcely eye can see Follows him down the path, still trickling sinuously. Later. Still moonlight. Down the stairs and down Of the steep street that leads into the town Leaps d'Artois crouching, seeking every shade That offers, shuddering lest some ambuscade Of prying eyes descry him; then once more Enters his own dark garden by a secret door. . . But trickling, trickling down the street's steep stairs The small thin stream of vengeance onward fares. . . And townsfolk early climbing Unto the distant chiming Of the hill-chapel's call to morning prayers See it, and point, and crowd with owlish glares. Marking its wet thread like a crimson clue Leading to d'Artois' garden, and therethrough. Amid the flowers, his awed retainers see The red thread fatefully Traverse white paths until it halts and is no more In a bright stain upon the steps of d'Artois' turret-door. Greyly in his grey tower he sits and shakes As if the floor beneath him writhed with snakes. [ 30 ] FILMS His eyes rise to the mirror. She is there, Wavering in the door. He whispers, "Clare!", — Whirls up with hands thrust backward as he leans Against the table. "You.?" . . "Dear Love!" . . "This means . . ?" "That now I know you love me ! Brokenly I say you sooth ; he snared and sorceried me. His power was from the fiend — and devil's blood Marks down his slayer!" "Mayhap mine own serpent mood Has marked me down. And yet I learned what tryst He made with her whom my dark alchemist Called daughter. Had I sought but cleaner hate . . !" "No ! A dog rots. But love returns too late Save for sweet parting! Ah, I love you well!'' "Wrapped in such flame then, what are flames of Hell? Why, look! They shrivel and shrink, Love, Love! And we Blaze through this hour into Eternity !" And now the piano Changes to gay Romping, rollicking tune. For aqua tofano And poniard-play And blood beneath the moon. And alchemists and the villain's curse, [ 31 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Are faint as the gasping sigh that stirs Through the gloom of this room that has looked on doom. Hail to the rare buffoon! "Tinklety-tink!" the gay notes race. "Here is a queer familiar place That makes a miracle of your face, A magic all have seen. Si2Z — but wouldn't you like to stop — Click ety-clich — at this barber-shop. This rare Bohemian Barber-shop.^ Sizz — well, watch the screen! Third Film: The Bohemian Barber-shop Dapper and deft, six little barbers Snick-snick together in a neat white row. Glittering with glass the bright shop harbors Six sprawled customers, languishing below The hands that grip and the clippers that clip. And the towels that slap and the razor's scrape, — All the tools that shape, from nose to nape, A man from a bruin, make a mummy glow. And fashion the features, and the hands, and the heels, Into shining beacons. So the film unreels. Noontide sunlight fills the shop. At the door, [ 33 ] FILMS Red and white, the striped pole (Heraldry that shows some soul!) Casts a shadow on the floor. Here one barber seeks his strop. At that table, hark the snore Of the fat man, where the comic papers flutter by the score ! "Flick!" and "Flack!", the crouched boot-black Slaps his cloth, and plies his brush. "Snick-snick-snick!" the scissors click. Then there falls a sudden hush. See, the barbers all are staring And the customers are craning. Who is this who enters, wearing Topper, tailcoat, and a paining Wealth of beard and hair ? Disdaining All the bows each barber tenders, Lo, he slips his coat, and stands. With peculiar long white hands. In a shirt of fearful pattern crossed by marvelous suspenders ! His trousers-wrinkles Are frightful taste. His dark hair sprinkles Down to his waist. His black beard reaches Near to his knee. [ 33 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC One barber beseeches Him volubly — With his customer finished — To have diminished That tangled cataract capillary. The stranger nods, but his eyes are wary. He seats himself, — and, once in the chair, he Seems to drowse. And from his brows The barber lifts a curling lock. Snip J . . It is like an electric shock ! Look at the mirror ! Look at the clock ! The plate-glass mirror suddenly ripples Concave, convex. The moon-faced clock is whizzing Its hands around and round. Like galvanized cripples The customers perplex The barbers with their antics. They writhe and slump and bound. The shaving mugs are fizzing. For the stranger's supple hands, Emerging from the sheet That covers him completely. Are making passes fleetly. Hypnotic, weird commands That mock the silly sunlight From the prosaic street ! [34] FILMS The mirror-flanking bottles, blue and red. Shoot up strange spills and quills that elongate And suddenly diminish, having fluffed to feathery head. And madly, at the rate Of dreams, the barbers all lay on With flashing razors, shimmering scissors. While all the chairs rotate Like demon whizzers. All daylight actuality is gone! See ! The electrical massage machine Is burr-rring like a fiend let loose. The water pours From basins on to floors, A shining sluice. And — what the deuce! — The white soiled-towel holders Disgorge long tumbling strips Of flowering towels, purple, pink, and green. That trip the feet; And from unfortunate shoulders Every tucked sheet Is whisked, — and foam and lather froths and drips Whitely across the scene. And as for hair, — Hair ? It is everywhere ! Black hair, brown hair, blonde hair and red Sprouts and curls and lengthens From every head. [35 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Even the bald pate turns beneath the eye To a capillary jungle on the sly. Over the floor, Full knee-deep now, — Out of the door Like a wild hay-mow. The hirsute horror engulfs the little shop. Stop, you devil-stranger ! Good Lord, stop ! Hippety-hop Dance the frantic crew Of barbers turned to jumping-jacks. The manicurist too Is shrieking. What avails "half-moons" politely scis- sored. When this fearful length of nails (begotten of that wizard!) Is pouring from the fingers of her "catch," like squirm- ing flails ! . . And the yellow Dandruff Cure And the fat Hirsutus bottle Their ruby streams and green Are playing on the mess ! Black magic, that is sure ! Oh swiftly, someone, throttle The author of a scene of such distress ! And then the stranger rises In his weird suspenders. Still weaving of his fingers. And the shop surrenders [ 36 ] FILMS To his further moods and tenses. Hypnotically waving His digits, he commences A master-task of shaving. For, drawing from his pocket A blade as sharp as scandal, He fits it to the socket Of an enormous handle ; And seizes one and other. And holds them in a vise. . . As bald as a billiard-ball they leave him in a trice! Staggering and stumbling Through that rolling hairy sea. With acrobatic tumbling One by one they flee, Staring eyes and beaded brow, — Till — the shop is empty now, But — all's in place again! And the eye discovers then A swift and stealthy cat, That was not there before. Slinking through the door In a black top-hat! . . And the sunlight shimmers. And a passing "cop" Gawks through the door of the deserted barber-shop. . . And the film tails out to punctures, and the loud laughs stop. [ 37 ] SMOKE Pouring up from that office-building's chimney against the blue. Clots and gouts of dense white smoke are sailing. Up and out into sun that lights them and wind that shreds them away, Blinding white, dove-gray, Acrobatic masses of smoke are swirling and tumbling and trailing And dancing over the roofs to the sky of a vivid autumn day. Black smoke is a terror and wonder, And smoke that is purple like thunder. And smoke over foundries at night Wears a weird volcanic light. The smoke of a city fire glows Like the palpitant heart of a rose. Opal is smoke at evening, when roofs are the snow's. But from these smoke forms might be sculptured great symbols of joy and peace. They bulge forth to the sun like clouds, as white as the speckless fleece Of that one dazzling cloud in the delicate blue of the dome. Shaped like a fairy alp fringed with a spectral foam. Nymphs of the air, ghosts of the gods of Greece, Surf of the sky they seem in their bright release. [38] SMOKE The cornices of the office-building's roof Are hard and cold; its outlines are hard and cold. Its windows are like the eyes of selfish and cruel men. Glory, I cry, full glory then To these billowing masses of snowy smoke, These ephemeral but wildly immaculate plumes High and aloof Tossing above the ledgers and the looms, The dusty, drab, disheartened office rooms. The thousand petty tyrannies and glooms ! Cut me a cloak. Ye traders in sweated garments_, in waists and gabar- dines. Though far beyond your means, Yet cut me a cloak from such cloud. Ye stout, purse-proud, Cigar-stupored dullards, and, lo! I will cry you aloud — Even you — for gods, you who fumble your fabrics, nor dream That the genius of steam Shames you in robes so bright Of sun-blinded immaculate white Even now from your high roofs billowing, heroic in riot astream. [39] GREEN TURTLES There was something live and stirring Past the smudgy, fly-specked glass, — Something strange and weird, averring, To the constant crowds that pass. More than what its glassy mate Shimmered on the eye. So I slowed my hurried gait As my feet went by. First I searched the further window, Happy as a child. Red tomatoes, silver fish, yellow lemons piled On a chopped ice bed; Brilliant color splashed about ! A sign in the window simply said, "Brook Trout." Then, "Corn on the Cob" I read; Saw the oyster-shells Gleam in scalloped rows — then, something else That set the doors hospitably creaking on their jambs And moved my mouth to watering: "Baked Soft Clams." But that was on a swing-board the other side the rise Of the low stone steps . . so I lifted up my eyes, [40] GREEN TURTLES And, in the Weird Window, I saw a parrot beak Nosing up the glass with its nostril-holes aseek. And I stood and I stared, with an A. D. T. And a leathern-aproned fellow. There we stood, we three. Gazing at the Turtles, with our dumbly-wondered "whys," While in deep eye-sockets rolled their dark grieved eyes. There they slopped about in a little muddy wet, Their hind-flippers shoving out a toe-claw slow, — Dreaming of the estuaries ? — trying to forget The West Indies, the Pacific, or the Gulf of Mexico? Each horny-crusted carapace had gleam and glow Of amber, polished agate, bronze or gold; and all together They nosed along the show-glass disgusted at the weather. Their flippers curved like scimetars in sheaths of var- nished leather. Their necks a web of wrinkles, — and their spirits low. "Green" is what they call them, but they are not green; They are crackled yellow lacquer, fleshy-black, and orange-shelled, — At least in shades of orange were the ones that I beheld. My blundering chelonians, that came, the waiter said. Only from Long Island. (But each searching, waving head Spoke of deep-sea beaches and of algae-meals instead!) [ 41 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Indeed they seemed a marvel, in that "Sea Food" place; They mesmerized my mind with their thrusting bulk! And I saw gigantic tortoises swimming round a hulk Sunk deep off Galapagos ; I saw the carapace Of the tortoise of the legend bear up the weighty mass Of this world, and the poet in Apollo come to pass Through a turtle's ribs and plates, till he shook the sun- rise gates With heaven-smiting harmony and song like Hippocras ! And then one turtle "turned turtle" while he sought An exit through this water that was firm and smooth and hard, And no use to struggle at, since one only tumbled flat — And back through cloudy years blew my startled thought To days by my memory silver-starred. There's a creek near the Susquehanna River Where the sunbeams dance and quiver And the mud lies caked and browned and baked. And the grasses sigh to the summer sky, And you mark, from the ooze upcraning, A shiny black head, disdaining The sky's bright blaze with its haughty gaze Of an eye like a bead; and soon indeed The sliders slip from the wet creek-lip. And then you can note on head and throat The golden stripes, as the splay-foot wipes On a reed, and the shell emerges well Of the tiny knight in his hauberk tight With his wrinkled flesh like a close black mesh [ 42 ] GREEN TURTLES Of light chain mail, and absurd toy tail. Oh red-bellied terrapin the black boys love, Up I see you heave with a hunch and a shove, Shoot your neck in its webbed elastic skin And crane with the hauteur of a mandarin. Your scarlet plastron is brave to see When one tilts you over carefully, But your black-lacquered coat would have graced, I know, , The cabinet of the Magnifico. And your hose are embroidered with brilliant thread In stripes of gleaming gold or red. What if your snappishness shows you bilious, — You are sublimely supercilious ! My grandmother's house is white With bright green shutters bowed. 'Tis a delightful, simple sight To see it from the road I And if you want some milk and rusk. Turn down the lane and tap At the side screen-door, or seek the dusk Of the parlors, each an ample lap, From the little pillared porch, that twines With morning-glory vines. Once there was a garden bright Right before her door. All box-bordered of a height ; Flower-beds many score, [ 43 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Tan-bark walks that had the smell Of Heaven and a miracle. And an arbor-gate as well! How good she was to one so small When "Nat/' the colored boy, was all My marvel ! — jit for Fame's green wreath! Why, he could whistle through his teeth And walk upon his pink-palmed hands, — And earn my Uncle's reprimands! And once, when I was rather sick, He brought me turtles from the "Crick," Those same red-bellied sliders, only Oh so small ! — and looking lonely, I thought. . . I put them in a bowl. And round they paddled, sick of soul For their sweet mud — and in the night. When small-boy eyes were sealed up tight, They hauled them up and dropped flip-flop From bowl's rim to the table-top, From table-top to matted floor. And lounged superbly out the door. And slid through grasses, proud and slick, And swaggered back into the "Crick." Bubble-throat basker, beaked fly-snapper. Prim and particular, pert and dapper, — Cumberland Valley, fail thou never Of these quaint denizens forever! * * * * -x- * * [ 44 ] GREEN TURTLES My brain floundered back again. I heard the waiter say. Flapping his napkin, — "Fine and fresh, today! Turtle steak — thirty cents ! Turtle soup — fifteen !*' I was glad they could not hear. I felt too mean ! [ 45 ] THE SUFFRAGE PROCESSION We marched in the Women's Parade. Our round yellow lanterns swayed Down the village street. Transparencies bobbed above. And along the line. The Autumn night was a thing to love. Cool and blue and divine. Ripe like wine. Our feet scuffed, beating time, To the drummers behind and before; And the foolish yellow flag I bore Was a ruddy banner rippling out to a ringing battle rhyme. As the replicating drumsticks rattled To the cymbals clashing, The stars wheeled in cohorts dense, embattled. Their bright spears flashing. " A-ruhdub-rubdub-rubadubadub, The girl I left behind me!" In the ranks of the women before us Marching silent to our whistling chorus Flashed forth the face I love, merry and kind and bright, The eyes with their sweet and loyal light Thrilled to starry brilliance, upthrusting a banner o'er us Of blinding white. [ 46 ] THE SUFFRAGE PROCESSION I marched with the men behind — And yet, hand in hand with her, On a lonely mountain height I stood, and watched cloud-chasms fill with fire And the golden phoenix all our dreams desire Struggle blazing aloft like a great and flaming flower. With a crimson shower Of scattering sparks on his darkly smouldering pyre. Lonely purple peak Snow-strewn, Magnificent under the moon. Would you could speak ! You know so well which one of us holds your lease, Reaps the superb increase Of your meadows of flowery vision. Your pastures Elysian! Yet am I inheritor Through her of your galaxies. Your God-transfixing trees, Your red sunrise door. These that returned no more When I lusted and laughed of yore Now burst on my mind like arousing and cleansing surf On a baked and scurfy shore ! Loud o'er the wrangling drum These things cry "Come !" In the merry flame of her faith my fears are dumb. [ 47 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Our silly round yellow lanterns sway On to a sword-white dawn of day Whatever the weary wise men say ! "A-rubdub-rubadub-arubadubadubf The girl . . ?" [ 48 ] ON SUNDAY What are your Sundays to you ? To me they are heaven. I do not hurry through breakfast or rise at seven. I have time to play with Jim, Who is one and a half, yellow-haired, quite a jolly viking. With this earth a lot to his liking, Fond of adventures in words and an artist in whim; The Marcelline of the infant world, with the heart of a dauntless hero. And also a dash of tears That would soften even Nero. Then, if my pen is Slow, and the jobs are done, and she says I may. And the year's too late for a swim together, I ramble off toward the bay To play at tennis. In the autumn it sets the blood leaping And clears the brain to a cool, crisp-thinking joy To swing at the ball and to charge to the net and volley. Even to race "all out" for a lob to the base-line Or fizzle a manful smash with a smack "on the wood" ! The cold sweat stings on your forehead, the tape of your racket Sticks to your hand or grinds too gritty with sand [ 49 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC In your palm; but this cannot irk one for more than an instant, The play is too hot. And shuttlecock-battledore leaps the barbarous banter Of the doubles players. The grunts and the curses and sighs Of your partner, of your opponent, of you yourself, Float up like delectable incense. And his cross-court return forever shoots at my feet! Why can I only "get in" when the serve is a fault? The shower-bath starts with a sprinkle of drops that drum On the slatted floor of the bath-house. Then swish-swish- SWISH! it is mantling your shoulders, soaking your hair, Thrusting whole sheaves of icicles under your shudder- ing skin. "Yow!" you leap. **Yow, Yow!" and yank at the handle. SWISH! The confronting bay is all cold-blue glitter. But these fields and undulant hills and rich-colored woods Are wistful with afternoon sunlight, garnet, and bronze. The smell of the stalks of milkweed and withered grass. The flaunt of chestnut and beech And oak, in Assyrian robes, set raiment on God, [ ^0 1 ON SUNDAY And throne Him on high in the ruddying afterglow That turns such an embered crimson through ash-colored clouds. He is there! Lo ! with all principalities^ angels^ and powers of the air. He is there! He careers in a chariot drawn by the blazing-eyed beasts Of St. John's Apocalypse sheer o'er the rioting sky; His face is the setting sun^ Radiant^ but sad^ irradiating life, And solemn with finer meanings, a nobler mien; A lion-like face, and mournful, with a wild and golden mane. Yet with intelligence infinite shining in love all-wise Out of brilliant, not cruel, eyes ; Love in each lineament, majesty dwarfing the skies. The God that must reign ! On Sunday night At first we got our own suppers When even more "on our uppers" Than now, and the yellow lamp cast its mellow beam On a table of picnic dream. And we both spread many a theme With verbal jam, like our toast. And now we do much the same. Save for our cook. The babies quiet down, [ 51 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The street sounds drown In darkness, the chill stars sentry the sleeping hill. Hurry and worry are still. Peace breathes through the town Like a flicker of lambent flame — Peace and good- will. We read According to mood and need To each other or alone, Remarks and laughter thrown Hit or miss in the air to echo around the lamp Our enthusiasms come out, nose around, unruffle their wings, and stamp, Shake their silvery forelocks and curvet about, and champ The golden oats of some seer's fit phrase That we feed them, some poet's blossomy, succulent bays. And then we sit and gaze Long at a picture, and think that we think instead Of merely rechewing a chewed-out cud of the last thing said. And we simply cannot haul a heavy head Up thought's frail, difficult, gleaming spider- thread. And it's time for the baby's bottle, and time — to — go — to — bed. I lie in my bed, and think of my soul, and decide I am only a mixture of animal spirits and pride [52] ON SUNDAY And conventional sleekness and sudden emotional blether^ And I don't know whether I have a soul; but I lie in my bed and see A bright-green star in a violet haze through a moon- stark tree. Whee-ee-ee ! [53] NIGHT-MOTORING . The high moon swinging before. And the big car swaying. Lifting the grade with a roar, Swerving and sliding. Leaping and purring, and playing With its insolent power, and checking and drifting and gliding ! The stare and glare of the light that scouted before us From a lip of curved shadow etched out the detail of the road Like a white, incandescent river, rippling and fleet, flow- ing to meet / Our swift tyre's muffled and crisping, monotonous chorus — - Hallelujah! the stride that we strode! The wind whipped our cheeks till all being softened and glowed Or flashed with a glacial brilliance, and throbbed in our ears A steady pulsation surmounting and merging all fears And cares in some spirit triumph beyond the years. Things lunged at us out of the night, Great masses of shadow hurled past; Yellow eyes down the road blazed bright ; [ 54 1 NIGHT-MOTORING Our horn blew a Gabriel-blast: With a fillip of dust they were gone. Our ear swayed on. Trees leaped toward our spectral light, Every leaf, in its ray, yellow-sere with some leprous blight. It seemed, every leaf-notch distinct ! Grass flowed past, of a poisonous green, Further shadows were ebony-inked; Like a painted canvas scene. Everything flashed unreal and flat to the eye. Faked, artificial, and mean. But in distance, beyond the unreeling white fences, Where the landscape moved more slowly. The moon, that absolves and dispenses, Made all things holy. The square orange windows of farms Where dark woodlands stretched slumberous arms, The surging great hills, vague and proud. The silvery curdle of cloud — All composed to a wonderful, soft-hued, visual prayer. The rich, passionate land lay bare To the nuptials of fierce white stars; and the hissing wind in our hair That started our strained eyes moist with its swift, cold kiss. Taught our swooning and leaping blood of this Strange, sorrow-begetting bliss, [ 55 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC This heartrending, ecstatic embrace Disembodied, that thrills through the tremulous air of night Stirring the thought to delirious flight Into fathomless space. Corn-shocks, close by, stood out sudden like some weird herd Of tousled beasts. Like a lion's our greeting purred. Where the road was mending, each stealthy assassin shadow Leaped alertly behind its heap of gray cut-stone. And merged in the dusk of the meadow. We flew not alone. By the side of our car its own shadow swayed And towered in the trees, ran the walls, unafraid Of the threatened raid from each ambuscade Of crouching houses or lurking hedges. Far down the road three ruby lights Appeared at its edges. We took the planks of a bridge with a rippling jar; We whirled to the heights ; And then our car Plunged through a tunnel of purple gloom. Shaking volleys of bloom From trespassing boughs and bushes, and flung in a last flight down To the glow on the sky of the thousand-tentacled town! [ 56 ] THE ASYLUM I love my asylum, My home in the skies, Splashed with splendid color. Drenched in dazzling dyes: Clouds and winds and oceans, Blue above — below. I love my asylum. . . But the other inmates.^ No! All in our asylum Are mad as can be. I stick my tongue at them. They stick their tongues at me. And purple authorities And gilded bloody gods All rule in our asylum With black whips and rods. And men cry Alleluia To hop-toads with wings ; And women love poodles ; And all love breaking things. Love swearing and peering, Love reptiles and lice. . . You see, in my asylum It isn't very nice. [ 57 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC But sometimes the windows Are burst by magic dawns, And then we see far vistas Of star-embroidered lawns Where rational angels Are laughing like fun. But, of course, in our asylum It simply isn't done! So one wears a crown. One piles his gold in rows. One balances a feather On the end of his nose. One's a sword-swallower. One mumbles One-two-three. And all in our asylum Are unhappy as can he. For, you see, the whole trouble (Though we're absolutely mad) Is, we fear a strange sensation We have sometimes had. So sometimes we huddle close And clutch at heart and brain. For I'll tell you what's the trouble: We're afraid of going — sane! [ 58 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME Personages: The Clown Introducer. The Villain of the Piece. The Lady Truth. The Watchman. The Blackamoor. The Proprietor. Interludes: The Yellow Cook, the Hobby-horse Knight, the Dragon. The Smiler and a Succession of Suitors. Start the music softly, as a delicate mist is shaken, for a thousand folded butterflies of rose and blue and brown Are tremoring on a golden gauze with stirring wings that waken in the patterns of this curtain now presented by the Clown. With his wand of intricate ivory — its tip an emerald gleam — he obsesses and distresses like the poign- ance of a dream; Stay ! Our sighs may well come after. Now Delight would dance with Laughter. Floury-faced the Clown is smiling, in his clothes of silver-cream. Crimson pompom buttons shaking, and his tall cap tinkling bells, his strutting, baggy waggishness entices and compels; [ 59 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And be certain to watch the curtain, — how its patterns shift and blend, rich and splendid till — the end — There ! They float to butterflies. What bewildering brilliant dyes flutter and whirl and waft and rise, in a breath, beyond our eyes ! Now the golden gauze but hazes, now the gaze is dazed outright By a yellow moon benignant over hills in purple night. There's a foreground drenched in white, glimmering white, that plays in mazes. Here's the House of Cards before us, in a country of delight. Oh what best of all surprises ! for the cards are mam- moth sizes, and their ebony pips and scarlet, and the heads of queens and kings Brave with color, stare and charm us; and the House would fain disarm us, with its one red-curtained window, and its thread of smoke that swings In a faint and violet spiral dim and gyral toward the canopy, and curling down and twirling makes its exit through the wings. To left of stage the House is set. A red brick wall beside Runs clean across the stage to right. The double gates are green [ 60 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME And wide. Behind them spreads a tree, high enough not to hide Their height, with iringy creepers hung dim-tinted blooms between. Beyond the garden heap the hills — blue, low, and moon-delighted. Now, from the right, a figure steals beneath the garden-wall. His doublet's pied, his sleeves are slashed, his boots are splashed. Benighted, In gilded mask, with suavest grace, he makes his bow to all. He turns his face. You see A subtle gleam of glee. Dagger-like black mustachios. Dagger-like beard has he. With a sudden savage gesture, sure to test your mental poise. He waves one arm, and over it floats his Harmony- cloak, with musical notes Twining its snow-white lining. Far that inky shadow falls Over garden, house, and walls. As a thunder-cloud deploys. . . Zing! [ 61 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC A stride. Two catlike strides that undulate, and he has reached the garden-gate. A heavy key he draws. Clicks locks without a pause. Opens the gates a crevice, whirls his arms, — one final fling. And he's inside ! "Who was he?" buzz the voices from the white and floating faces Of the audience vapor-moulded to an ocean foaming free, "Yes, who is he?" . . They are dizzy with the dubious trail he traces Through the gate of lost illusions that is called Expe- diency. "Can it be that garden guards . . ?" Hush ! The bright red shutters open in the vivid House of Cards. Like a flower afloat Her face and throat Lift agleam from her drab dark dress. Her hair is a blaze Of broad sun-rays Caught close and braided above her brows. She twines her fingers. A sad smile lingers On perfect lips. Her eyes distress [ 62 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME Dumbly seeks^ And her gesture speaks Of the gloom of her room In that tight card-house. She fades^ reappears With a sea-green gown Laid out on her arms — and shakes it down From the window-sill. It is looped and twined With flowers of every color and kind. As it sways and turns Each glows and burns And gladdens the eyes With its dew-bright dyes. . . She withdraws it then — With kisses and tears Crushes it close — and disappears. In her drab black dress she is seen again Framed in the window's strict dark square, And, leaning forth, she turns and sees The round moon's beacon beyond that tree's Sweep of bough. Lovely despair Clutches her now. Her desperateness Bids her stretch arms to the moon up there. Dimly at first, in lines of light Like cloudy fringe that trails and lightens [ 63 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Across its sphere, the moon's orb brightens Into a Face — of no mere creature — The countenance of some angel jester In God's white courts. . . It grows more bright. Good for our lady ! The moon has guessed her Plight, — and so now its largest feature — That smiling mouth — is suddenly split Crimson and wide by a laughing-fit Which wrinkles its eyes closed. . . Jest? Deep earnest ! Out of that broad grin redly-furnaced Suddenly swarms {like moths against A glowing lamp benign and spherical) A fluttering flight of elves, dispensed From heaven's store-house of things chimcerical . . And immediately our mazed eyes find Dazzling streams of silver beams Which the moon has spread to the dusk behind That garden-wall! All spangled white An elf -troop descends those roads of light! Moon's mouth claps shut on that sudden dawn. In a wink each silver beam's withdrawn. And still, as we all watch deep in thrall Of the miracle, — see, how the garden wall Suddenly buds with those silver caps Feathered with blue! Gay-faced, if queer. There they appear. The glistening chaps. One — six — a dozen, in satin silk-wear [ 64 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME With pale blue facings, — the pages' suits Of some audience hall in the Faraway That they and their ilk wear ! Now they display With utter rapture — these antic mutes — Looped from their hands in glistering strands A silken-woven steel-strong ladder. (Ah, how the lady's face grows gladder !) They swing it and dance atop the wall Then leap down lightly one and all, Bow with politeness, and, tip-toe reaching. Toss its gold cord to her rapt beseeching. She has it now. She draws it in, Flinging them kisses. They whirl a glad Saraband, — leap the wall like mad, And, as the Moon's face once more bursts To a second triumphant grin, they scamper Swift up its beams — like leaf-dry thirsts Absorbed in a wine-cask, or mice in a hamper. Ah, how she fondles her gift from the Moon, Pressing its silk against her cheek! Her eyes grow large and bright. Sweet tune Plays on her lips. If she could but speak! . To a peg in the window-niche she loops The golden cord, and the ladder droops Over the window-sill. And still She lingers (as every darer will). And, as she lingers and chin-on-hand Leans toward the garden, — that garden Tree [ 65 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Lights at once from within, mysteriously; Spreads broad ablaze (as a D jinn's command Had waked its splendor!). Each branch bears Golden apples or silver pears In sheaves of jewelled emerald leaves, And, like honey dripping among wild roses, Sweet notes of bird-song grow to warbling Wilder and trillier, more melodious Than ever was heard. . . Why, the nightingale One's yearning supposes in Arno's vale Amid oleanders and Tuscan marbling, To this were cacophonous and odious ! And the twiggy tips of the branches seem {Enveined with life by this gorgeous dream) To twist to letters — a fringy fire In fading outline above the tree, A wraith-like script that curiously Seemed to write "ROMANCE/' when its seething glitter ate Into the dark — did it not obliterate Even more swiftly! Our lady smiles Stilly, bewildered. Then the birds Burst into brighter cascades of words. The gems of bird-poetry — far too clear To be understood of the mortal ear, — Wafture on wafture of brilliant song In rapid ripples bestrewn with gems [ 66 1 THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME From a thousand goblin diadems Emerges in surges from the tree. . . And there, in the background, suddenly Two other hid trees shoot up and burst Ablaze with flowers and fruits like jewels And flickers of flame as from fairy fuels — In all the grandeur of the first. Golden-hair, in her card-board attic, Claps her white hands, and goes ecstatic. Farther and farther forth she strains And twists, in her drab black dress. As though she struggled in heavy chains . . Until . . a bearded face — no less ! — Suddenly pushes and disengages Itself from the fruit of the foremost tree, — A face that palely and balefully Yet wrinkles in smiles — and a gleam of glee. Proud and patrician shines his nose. Dagger-like black mustachios. Dagger-like heard has he! Two black-cloaked arms thrust forth. The hands Undulate in a rhythm of passes. Golden-hair stares. Her bright smile glasses. What has this new strange fear to do With her brief swift joy.^ She understands Nothing, and sinks her aching forehead Before that devil's gestures horrid. . . [67 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And all the crimson and golden flames Of all three trees, at a Name of Names Whispered beneath her breath, — burn blue! First Interlude The blue light spreads and shimmers, and the large green double gateway Of the garden straightway glimmers in a spotlight fierce and white. Trees and house are thrown in shade, all else fades, — the sight is centred On those gates wherethrough first entered in our Villain of a Night. Now they softly swing ajar. Silver-glinting like a star. Though his armor's only pasteboard, from peaked shoe to vizor-bar. Out there bounces — with the flounces of his Hobby- horse a shaking — Aye, with helmet, spear, and plume, from that garden's inner gloom, A mediaeval warrior . . and few the steps he's taking Ere a Cook, all costumed yellow from his chef-like cap aflap to his apron, — yes, a fellow of much culi- nary art, — Follows quickly, smiling sickly, with his black-browed eyes a snap, and his hand upon his heart. [ 68 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME In his left hand — such a deft hand ! — while his face in mock-disgust Wrinkles strangling^ he is dangling, well — for bear the sight you must ! — One green fsh, as dead's a nail, Though he makes it flap its tail By a twitch Of his wrist, . . As the knight goes strutting by It is swung against his open helm, and slaps him in the eye, — which Beastly candor fires the dander of Sir Knight indeed. Oh, Lord, There he draws his pasteboard sword ! . . But the Cook, his fish back-snatching, through a magnifying glass Scans its scales, and once more scans . . while the Knight, in ire a prance. Makes an ineffective pass. Then the Knight more strongly pounces. . . On the flounces chintzy-gay With which his Hobby's hung Small bright-ribboned sachet-bags bearing many curious tags Like "Sweetness," "Pureness," "Sentiment," are mar- velously strung. As that livid fish he catches on his spear-point, in the fray. Some of these he quickly snatches to his pommel. Kneeling down [69] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC (While Cook goggles like a clown) See, he lays the fish away All embalmed in bright sachet, In those bags of bright sachet ! Then he rises to pursue The Cook, and through the gateway straightway both elude the view! And now our lovely Lady in her open card-house case- ment Floats bach within our vision. She is starting, half- awake. But the Tree's deep branches shake And the Villain — it is he! — Makes more passes, one, two, three . . With her sobs her shoulders shake And she shudders to abasement. . . Second Interlude Once again the radiance leaves her, and the spot-light centres low On the garden gates, — once more Opening just enough to show A green dragon who comes crawling through their gap, — and, as before. Forth there plunges with wild lunges at this beast, as it emerges. That same pasteboard Knight, who urges His valanced, piebald pony Until the combat surges [70] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME And clatters. They have scuflBed A space, when — quite unruffled, And staggering up — the dragon, (As if some ribald crony- Were beseeching) swiftly reaching In his coils, — waves forth a flagon — A frosty-beaded flagon! And the Knight Drops his point. Shakes with joy in every joint And succumbs before the Tempter, quite forgetting to "aroint." Yes, that pure chivalric seeker Thrusts up vizor — drains the beaker! And it takes him with the colic As it should do — for of course This is equally symbolic! . . Dragon overtilts his horse, Smiles a wide and toothy smile to the audience, and straightway By the heels yanks Knight and Hobby-horse within the closing gateway ! Yet Her trance seems but the brighter, as again the scene grows lighter And the trees blaze forth once more twice as brilliant as before [ 71 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And that devil from the tree^ with his weird agility, Leaps down lightly on the wall, footing mute a sprightly dance, — See, our Lady rises slowly, grasps the woven silken ladder. Steps with grace upon the sill . . (Is she bending to his will. She, the far-withheld and holy?) Ah, his cloak is blowing, showing the false black har- monics twined On the silk with which it's lined! It is waving in a madder Far more evil weaving fashion! . . In his hand a gold guitar Glitters now, as down he leaps. Like blacJc wings his cloak downsweeps! Light he strolls beneath her window, thrumming, hum- ming half a bar. Down the silken strands she trembles, step by step, a fallen star! She wavers. In his gratitude He strikes a sprightly attitude. Much old romantic platitude He genuflects and gestures. Then, swiftly and in passion — And a very different fashion — He hurls his music from him, he sweeps in all her ves- tures [ 72 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME The Lady from the ladder to his shoulder. Swift as light He's before the gateS;, within them, and they close upon the sight, — Till, as swift, and past our hoping, Lo, he reappears alone ! From a pocket of his cloak he turns in the locks A big brass key. . . Then up he leaps and rocks With green evil silent mirth on the wall's white coping Of moon-washed stone ! His tongue licks his cheek, an index-finger steals Pointing to the Card House, as he kicks his heels. With laughter he is weak. He counts in pantomime Coins into his palm. (More crime? More crime?) He streams shadow-money through his fingers, yards and yards; And he gestures toward the cellar of the moonlit House of Cards. As I feared. He's disappeared Down behind the wall. And now the jewelled proud Trees in the background are extinguished. Like a shroud The houghs of the hig tree burn with only dim Blue lights. The Moon's face, in heaven high a swim. Takes a wan pained look, through a scud of murky cloud. [ 73 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Third Interlude From the right, in a litter of shoddy glitter and cheap gimcrackery, borne by lackeys, Beneath the wall — funereal — enter The Smiler, stout and bland! In a high silk hat and a cream-colored vest with a great gold chain, he lolls in his nest Of rugs and cushions ; and, like a sack, he's creased and protuberant. Each fat hand Sticks up from billows of sofa-pillows and soft suave cushions. How ringed they are With jewels! Each holds a black cigar winking at tip with a faint red star. . . They set him down before the gates, and each lackey bows — and each lackey waits. His heavy jowls, his flabby lips, his whole small soul in complete eclipse. His little swine eyes and his puffy chins — must conjure forth sighs as well as grins. And slowly out of the wings defile a foredoomed crew to face his — Smile. First comes the Poet, black- velvet clad in doublet and hose, with ink-horn swung At girdle, — a tow-headed likely lad of ruddy cheeks and a smile still young. He bows to the Smiler, unrolls his scroll, and declaims — in silence — his passionate ire. Reshaping the world to his soul's desire. . . [ 74 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME The Smiler shakes through all his girth and swings his cigar to his rhythmic mirth. The Poet starts back in hot despair, swears blue murder and tears his hair. And passes on . . Next comes the Preacher Round-collared in black. He points above, He bangs on a book, — his every feature works with a passionate plea for love. The Smiler motions him brusquely to pass, with a silent guffaw at his pale "Alas !" Third of the Suitors, a man with sacks of soil. He plunges one hand in each. And holds them high. The one word "Tax" flares black from his smock. In lieu of speech. He shakes two green sods in the Smiler's face. But the other simply doubles in glee. And at last, controlling one mad grimace, jabs "On!", with his thumb, to number Three. And now a fourth Suitor meets the sight, with firm strong features and eyes alight. He presents a small white platform set with many a dream-tower's minaret. But based on the close-knit stones of fact. Offhand he salutes with more zest than tact The plethoric Smiler, — and displays his model white dream, shows the many ways [ 75 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Each ceiling and floor and window and door works in that house — how every cell Of the caravansery takes the sun — and a thousand smaller details as well. Indeed,, as you see him rate and list 'em, from State- ownership to the plumbing-system, It all seems very neatly done. "But the Smiler simply bellows with mirth, and promptly orders him off the Earth. So, suddenly next, with a smoky torch furious crimson, and fit to scorch Earth and sky, — and a rolling eye and naked torso and maniac cry. With a red scarf knotted about his head and overalls splashed and streaked with red. In rushes — no Suitor! — but some man-brute, or some devil arraigning his hoggish tutor. . . Yet the Smiler simply claps hand on hand, chuckling, and at that quick command Two coal-black slaves each tall as a tower, one hung with coins, one crowned with power. Leap on the rebel from the rear, tread out his torch, and then, with a leer Shackle him fast. . . The lackeys raise their litter. . . The Smiler rocks and sways Kissing his hand. All disappear. [76] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME And now, with a ding, with a ding-dong-dang. Soft and afar we hear a bell's harangue: Mellow clang- clang- clang From a bell, coming nearer. It is clearer. It ceases, and a faint voice swells Sing-song, like the bell's — if bells but sang. Oyez, oyez, oyez, — a-all's we-el! Oyez, oyez, oyez, — a-all's well! Hear it swell, nearer, clearer, — swell on widening vibrant swell ! From the right, beneath the wall, a figure ambles with a lantern. It casts an orange circle on before. His shoe-buckles glitter and his cocked hat glistens. He raises a finger, and he stops and listens. He smiles very wisely as he tries and tests the latches Of the garden-door. He hums a bit by snatches. . . His great-coat is bulging with yellow parchment packets. They flutter from his pockets and bristle from his j ackets. All sealed with red sealing-wax. Of jackets half a score And his great-coat and his hat he divests himself, and rests him On this rolled impromptu cushion by the garden-door. [ 77 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The chimney of the House of Cards is shaking with the ague. The smoke no longer drifts from it. A head and shoulders rise So darkly from it suddenly, so inchoate and vague, you Have hardly rubbed your eyes, when a figure of sur- prise Worms forth erect, with bottle-brush, and crouches on the ridgepole And listens. Then, cautiously, all black, see him lean. Slide inkily the sloping roof and drop before the scene. Let my words declare his wrong, in The Blackamoor's Silent Song I am wedged in the dark, in the dim. In the dust, in the heat. You have said "Apple-blossoms are sweet", But they are not for him ! You tell me that sunsets are splendid. They have not befriended My work in the deep-layered grime As the chimney I climb. The chimney of Time In your delicate, beautiful house. Your gay-colored retreat. And, if chimneys let out on the skies. With the filth in my eyes [ 78 1 THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME Late at night, — with the soot in my ears And my eyes full of tears, Stars are blurred, they are dizzy for me. They are cruel to see. . . Oh ye fortunate, hearken the poor Stifled song of a sad Blackamoor ! In the filth, in the soot, in the grime, I am sin, I am crime; And you feed me the billowing smoke Of your dreams, while I choke; And you say that the chimney must he — So I see. So I see ! But foul chimneys are frantic to cure The despair of a poor Blackamoor! But our fires must be kindled, you say, — Our meals cooked every day, Our dreams dreamed in the selfish old way,- Man, the world is gay — gay! Man, have faith, — oh, be humble, repine Not for jewel or vine, — Clean our chimney, and sweat, and be sure God remembers a poor Blackamoor! But — I point to that moon, and I swear By tonight's fragrant air, I shall sit in her Ivory Chair. Since your joy is my bitter despair, [ 79 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC I shall rend, I shall strive, I shall dare ! Card-House folk, have a care ! All the dirtiness man may endure Has been fed to this poor Blackamoor ! He is a limber lad indeed, for all the soot he shows. He capers in the moonlight, sets a finger by his nose. And steals to where the sleeping watchman snores in golden doze. He tries the door. 'Tis locked. But is his venture blocked } Ah no! He filches craftily, while the sleeper twitches dreamfully, his ponderous and golden key. He turns it in the channels. Right! The gate swings inward on — the night! Black velvet night, with whispering leaves. . . But what is this we see? To the tall and moon-etched trunk of that overhanging tree. As the gates are opened wide. For the first time and the last, And the spotlight seeks and finds her — there's our golden girl — bound fast. Hair dishevelled — there — inside! And the web-work that enwinds her is a maze of colored ribbons tightly bound, but strong as steel. They are twisted neck to ankles. Round the trunk they wrap and reel. [ 80 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME Down the Blackamoor drops, distraught, On his knees; and, frenzied then, In the agony of his thought. Leaps outside and in again, — Fears to touch her, — suddenly Clasps his arms around — the tree, And uproots it! In an instant (here the kettledrums should thunder) Pale blue flames shoot up from under and the branches wither blackly. Yet, though ribbon-bonds fall slackly, — prone our Lady sinks, a faint. Then the Blackamoor, anguish-shaken, easing down the withered tree. Wildly and amazedly Bends and listens o'er his saint. Rushes forth by wit forsaken. Cracks his knuckles furiously, And, as now he gestures madder. Suddenly sights the silken ladder From the open Card-House window — scuds across and climbs its strands Jerking nervous feet and hands. Rubs his chin And enters in. . . The red shutters clap behind him . . and the caterwauls begin! Inner riot shakes those shutters. [ 81 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Watchman wakens all a pout. Sits up slowly, blinks in doubt, Listens, raises both his eyebrows as to say, "What's this about?". And carefully and prayerfully puts on his many jackets. And stolidly and solidly restores his red-taped packets To each capacious pocket, takes his lantern, throws the chest of him — Or his hummock of a stomach that projects beyond the rest of him — And, waddling with dignity, he reaches up and raps At those shutters. Immediate each scarlet shutter claps Widely open. In striped night-cap and a wildly whiskered face The Proprietor appears, furious crimson to the ears, — And he holds the Blackamoor by a clutch both fierce and sure In disgrace! Oh their gestures and grimaces, oh the faces that they make ! If they only were to talk it, every soul would start awake In that strange and eerie country. Ah, but see! While still they wrangle. Bicker and objurgate and jangle. Quite revived, our lovely Lady suddenly lifts her golden head [82 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME In the garden. Next — she's sped Through the gates. . . Each garden-bed — Circles, oblongs, squares or crescents — Weirdly writhes with phosphorescence; And she just has time to start Against one wall, with arms outspread. When — the Villain comes prancing out With green baleful looks that dart. And behold ! beneath his cloak Close he hugs — the Bags of Gold From the well-stored Card House cellar (Oh it's time that you were told!) But he pales with horrid doubt In a fit that seems to choke, Which is lovely to behold! From the window, mouthing vainly and insanely, fever-shooJc, See the Blackamoor — pointing, panting. Then at last — at last they look! But the watchman's hardly agile, and a woman's grip is fragile. Our dagger-bearded Villain plunges snarling from the scene. Though he drops a tithe of treasure, what he takes is past all measure. So at least thinks night-capped Father by his show of frantic spleen ! [83 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The Watchman is nonplussed. He gapes and he feels For all of his packets in all of his pockets. He studies their text^ and he studies their seals. He turns to the law on Purloining of Lockets. He turns to the ordinance, penalties stating For Eating and Sleeping by those without rating In one of the Blue Books. He turns to the section Of Forfeits and Fines for a Mood of Dejection. And at last he draws forth his old pair of horn glasses And sits down to read, open-minded and bland, The procedure laid down by the law of the land, Quite remote and unmoved by dull time as it passes, But grumbling perforce at the mad "lower classes." The Blackamoor, freed by the Father grown frantic. Has slid down the ladder. . . He bends on one knee To the Girl still quite wan with her struggle upon The escape of the Villain. And yet she's romantic Enough, 'spite her tactical grasp of the practical. Brightly to blush at his beautiful plea. He has won her at once. Did he not set her free? From that prisoning tree? Oh rapture ! Rej oice ! And now, finding his voice. For the one word spoken On-stage — the whole weird silence is broken By the Blackamoor's "Pouf!", as he whirls, and flings A fist toward the House of Cards. [ 84 ] THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME The night-capped Proprietor's head disappears. The whole bright structure totters and swings, And flatly about his astonished ears Tumbles to gaudy shards. Only the chimney, that drove right through That edifice gilded and builded askew Upthrusts in the moonlight staunch and black. And, bowing again, the Chimney- jack Points to its fire-place base, which seems (In this land of dreams) like a golden door That opens inward. . . Out of the core Of the chimney-hreast, a Beautiful Thing In soft silver drest, and with either wing Of glittering, dazzling pearl. Suddenly stands With outstretched hands And becJcons the happy BlacJcamoor To enter in through that shining door With his glorious golden girl! [ 85 ] MAD BLAKE Blake saw a treefull of angels at Peckham Rye^ And his hands could lay hold on the tiger's terrible heart. Blake knew how deep is Hell, and Heaven how high. And could build the universe from one tiny part. Blake heard the asides of God, as with furrowed brow He sifts the star-streams between the Then and the Now, In vast infant sagacity brooding, an infant's grace Shining serene on his simple, benignant face. Blake was mad, they say, — and Space's Pandora-box Loosed its wonders upon him — devils, but angels indeed. I, they say, am sane, but no key of mine unlocks One lock of one gate wherethrough Heaven's glory is freed. And I stand and I hold my breath, daylong, yearlong. Out of comfort and easy dreaming evermore starting awake, — Yearning beyond all sanity for some echo of that Song Of Songs that was sung to the soul of the madman, Blake! [ 86 ] JALDABAOTH [There is a third person in a Gnostic Creation legend from which the name of my demiurge is derived. The true legend — a snake-worshipping one — has it that Darkness, the Father of all, begot a daughter, the Wisdom of God, who knew Life; the son of her agony being Jaldavaoth, the god who creates. He creates the world of the body, a clumsy imitation of the world of the Spirit, etc. But the only borrowing from this legend has been the name of my protagonist. This is an entirely dissimilar imaginative attempt.] In a yeast of fire-flecked mist Beyond the paths of the planets Strove Jaldabaoth, the strong Angel, the son of Chaos. In that terrible, trembling abyss of the Divine Nature In whose pleroma the sage Heracleon Saw emanating aeons — assigned and ordered Subordinate gods — Time was but faint effulgence, Scarcely a tremor in the ether. Psyche, the sensuous soul. Was lost in the palpitant pneuma That quivered like heat round a flame, where Jaldabaoth Wrestled with Chaos, Kneading and shaping and moulding And working and welding a world Out of the ether, [ 87 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC From the negation of matter, Alone in the wreathing, seething, monstrous mist. Alone. Terrible trembling and shuddering shook the abyss, Like the rumbling hollow drums of brute barbarians Thudded instant in repetition, purring to thunder. Breaking and booming and roaring high to a crepitant crash And a dazzling lightning flash. With billows of purple smoke, rolling to inky storm. Following after. Then far and faint came laughter, Tricklings of infinite laughter. Thin streams of molten silver scattering down Through the heavy heaven of cloud, — Remote and ironic laughter. Yet still strove Jaldabaoth, demiurge divine. The strong Angel, the son of Chaos, — Grappling the clotted and fluid cloud to his breast. Gripping with bulging-muscled enormous thighs The cloud-stuff to him — striving and struggling with cloud Even as Ixion, saith legend, begat the centaurs When Juno slipped from her white and cumulous sem- blance Back to the shining gates. Back to the laughter-clanging golden gates [ 88] JALDABAOTH Leaving her bronze-thewed lover frenziedly clinging her image, Clasping celestial cheat. Horns in the heaven. Flaring horns of scorn from the corners of heaven Wound wire-cruel sound And i5erce flagellation Round the soul of Jaldabaoth. But in his arms As clay is kneaded and worked A world took form. Then the strong Angel Stooped 'neath his feet for a fiery sun, Shattered it 'twixt the gripe of his fingers, let fall The glistering, glowing fragments in midst of his world, Strewing the shards as a man sows seed, — Scattering them. And again. And again He kneaded and worked his world between his knees Till his eyes were blind with sweat. Jaldabaoth Flung forth one arm, and snatched a golden web Of glimmering stars out of the misty abyss. And crushed them to paste against the arch of his thigh [ 89] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And powdered them to fine dust beneath his heel And mixed them into the spinning maelstrom of his world, And his world quickened and twirled and shaped toward a sphere. His world convulsed, and flickered with gaseous fumes. And flared into flame. And Jaldabaoth drenched it with hissing mist. His world flung off planet on planet Like smoke-rings or bubbles blown. They spun in eccentric orbits. . . Centring them all The coagulate matter dwindled and dwindled to throb- bing pulses Of rosy or crimson embers, And so diminished Into a central sun Of quivering heat and light. And that first sun cooled, and the planets clanged in anger. And hissed in mist — and another glowing sun Swam forth, and other orbits ellipsed its Space. Jaldabaoth was resting. He squatted on sinewy heels above his world Of little silver planets and golden suns — [ 90 ] JALDABAOTH And infinitesimal gems of sapphire water Winking back from some turning sphere. He had not yet made Man. His agate eyes were full of the lack . . but behind him Came God, as one walks in a garden, and laid his touch On his shoulder. And the flame-haired head flung back And Jaldabaoth looked into the eyes of God. And God breathed on his Angel's world. Making Man. And God drew blue skies like the folds of a cloak about his face And trod once more on his rounds of Eternity To the next white outpost of the next demiurge. Then languor and idleness came on that strong Angel. Centuries passed as he slowly turned on his side And stretched luxuriously, For he was weary. And then first on his eyes he was 'ware of a prickling and tingling And then a tremor that startled through all his being, A tremor he could not still. His lazy lids opened. He peered through cloud on his world. It spun in its Space like small and rhythmic sound. [ 91 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Yet something like a fizzing of very tiny flies Perturbed its whirl. And again the pricking and tingling through the being Of Jaldabaoth. For upon its smallest of planets, on one of the tiniest islands. The first, fur-skinned, flint-axed Doubter had whispered "Why?" Then Jaldabaoth was wroth, and he sent a plague and an earthquake. And the voice was still. And the Angel sank back, and slumbered, and centuries passed. Again the prickling and tingling. More irritant now, more and more insistent. . . Cities were spread on one planet. In one of the cities A scientist in an infinitesimal laboratory Laid his weary forehead down 'mid a stench of bubbling test-tubes And shuddered "Why?" And out of the alleys of cities Oppression and extortion and filth and famine Fumed upward "Why?" — and in a house of healing [ 93 ] JALDABAOTH A surgeon with baffled scalpel above a twisted wreck half-human, That his work had saved to life, cursed coldly, "Why ?'* A farmer's wife scanning an empty prairie Echoed his thought. A clerk at his desk, a doughty general dying. In half-delirium, played with the answerless question. Youth and age and houses of death and birth And camp and court and land and sea unceasing Reiterated the word in many tongues. "Is there a God.> Who is our God, and Why? What is this life.^ And Why?" Jaldabaoth, rousing, gazed at his world With wild new wonder . . And, as he gazed, his gaze Grew microscopic, and centred upon one city Set in the midst of a planet, and on one house Set in the midst of that city, and on one room In the house, and the smiling face of the man in that room. The smile was not good to see. The man sat at a desk littered with papers, A pen in his hand. The man's lip curled, as he said: "God or no God, I had made a better world. God or no God, I defy you, I blaspheme you. [ 93 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC All has been taken from me except one thing My hate of you. Your priesthood is great — for all men are afraid. But I am not afraid. I am the least of atoms in your bad universe, Urged to obey your laws. Fed with fancies, creating superstitions, Cheating and killing each other. Juggling their Justice and Sunday Righteousness, Clutching, snarling and denying. Your 'children' swarm on this planet, and crawl to Fear. But I am not afraid. Visit me now with sudden and visible torture, Kill me slowly in one of your sweet and infinite Tortures reserved for the brave. Shred me between your fingers now or soon. After your high and holy Godlike fashion; Set me riddles, and kill that I cannot solve them. Damn the brain and the heart you made to beat Out of your infinite mercy. . . I am not afraid. I hate you, I blaspheme you!" The earth-creature's brain sucked down the very soul Of Jaldabaoth, and laughed and mocked in its light. And the son of Chaos looked on his son of chaos And saw no fear. Then Jaldabaoth was afraid. [ 94 ] JALDABAOTH With a vast and terrible wrench he freed his eyes And his soul from the eyes and soul of the earthly brain. . . And the form of the man on earth swayed in his chair And sprawled to the floor in death. But fixed in the being of Jaldabaoth, he became A troubling mote^, a stinging vexation of spirit. So the strong Angel rose, and staggered, and reeled Through the terrible, trembling abyss of the Divine Nature, To find God. But God was with His Angel as a vast and invisible power That knew his questions : "Why have You made us then To make such toys ?" and "These toys are terrible, A vengeance, a sharp disaster !" and, worst of all, "I have miscreated! Fiends, we are fiends, we are fiends !" The eyes of the Angel dilated and diminished With blazing torture, the ether shuddered around him. He whirled on his steps as if to strive with God. But God was both near and remote, and could not be grasped. Then down in utter agony, Jaldabaoth Sank, and the darkness was sick with his horrible tears. [ 95 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And over and over again "What is this Life we have played with!" he sobbed and sobbed. "What is this Life— and Why?" Then speaking in perfect silence God answered, saying: "You too are only a thought within my brain, A figment of my fancy, A thing contrived. But that which is created in my fancy, A part of my thought. Can never die, but must have eternal life. For I am eternal, awfully eternal. And there is no end. But my thought had pity on me, And it made for me metes and bounds, and anger and tears. And joy and sorrow . . And aeons, and angels, and men to rejoice and despair. I am the father of all, unutterably lonely. Save for my thoughts that are ye. Ye all are stored in my memory that is Heaven, There shall ye rest. But while ye are my thoughts ye can have no rest. For my Thought is forever the drudge of timeless time. . . But when my own thought sickens, I seek for a new Mood and manner of thought. . . Therefore come rest in my memory, Jaldabaoth. This mood of my thought is done." [96] JALDABAOTH And the voice ceased, and the void reeled, and the strong Angel Basked in the retrospect of the infinite brain. [ 97 ] HOW TO CATCH UNICORNS Its cloven hoofprint on the sand Will lead you — where? Into a phantasmagoric land — Beware ! There all the bright streams run up-hill. The birds on every tree are still. But from stocks and stones clear voices come That should be dumb. If you have taken along a net, A noose, a prod, You'll be waiting in the forest yet . . Nid — nod ! In a virgin's lap the beast slept sound, They say . . but I — but I — I think (Is anyone around?) That's just a lie! If you have taken a musketoon To flinders 'twill flash 'neath the wizard moon. So I should take browned batter-cake. Hot-buttered inside, like foam to flake. [ 98 ] HOW TO CATCH UNICORNS And I should take an easy heart And a whimsical face, And a tied-up lunch of sandwich and tart. And spread a cloth in the open chase. And then I should pretend to snore. And I'd hear a snort, and I'd hear a roar. The wind of a mane and a tail, and four Wild hoofs prancing the forest-floor. And I'd open my eyes on a flashing horn — And see the Unicorn ! Paladins fierce and virgins sweet . . But he's never had anything to eat! Knights have tramped in their iron-mong'ry . , But nobody thought — that's all! — he's hungry! Addendum Really hungry ! Good Lord deliver us, The Unicorn is not carnivorous! [ 99 ] THE HORSE THIEF There he moved, cropping the grass at the purple canyon's lip. His mane was mixed with the moonlight that silvered his snow-white side, For the moon sailed out of a cloud with the wake of a spectral ship. I crouched and I crawled on my belly, my lariat coil looped wide. Dimly and dark the mesas broke on the starry sky. A pall covered every color of their gorgeous glory at noon. I. smelt the yucca and mesquite, and stifled my heart's quick cry. And wormed and crawled on ray belly to where he moved against the moon! Some Moorish barb was that mustang's sire. His lines were beyond all wonder. From the prick of his ears to the flow of his tail he ached in my throat and eyes. Steel and velvet grace! As the prophet says, God had "clothed his neck with thunder." Oh, marvelous with the drifting cloud he drifted across the skies ! [ 100 ] THE HORSE THIEF And then I was near at hand — crouched, and balanced, and cast the coil; And the moon was smothered in cloud, and the rope through my hands with a rip ! But somehow I gripped and clung, with the blood in my brain a boil, — With a turn round the rugged tree-stump there on the purple canyon's lip. Right into the stars he reared aloft, his red eye rolling and raging. He whirled and sunfished and lashed, and rocked the earth to thunder and flame. He squealed like a regular devil horse. I was haggard and spent and aging — Roped clean, but almost storming clear, his fury too fierce to tame. And I cursed myself for a tenderfoot moon-dazzled to play the part. But I was doubly desperate then, with the posse pulled out from town. Or I'd never have tried it. I only knew I must get a mount and a start. The filly had snapped her foreleg short. I had had to shoot her down. So there he struggled and strangled, and I snubbed him around the tree. I 101 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Nearer, a little nearer — hoofs planted, and lolling tongue — Till a sudden slack pitched me backward. He reared right on top of me. Mother of God — that moment! He missed me . . and up I swung. Somehow, gone daft completely and clawing a bunch of his mane, As he stumbled and tripped in the lariat, there I was — up and astride And cursing for seven counties! And the mustang? Just insane! Crack-bang! went the rope; we cannoned off the tree — then — gods, that ride ! A rocket — that's all, a rocket ! I dug with my teeth and nails. Why, we never hit even the high spots (though I hardly remember things), But I heard a monstrous booming like a thunder of flapping sails When he spread — well, call me a liar! — when he spread those wings, those wings ! So white that my eyes were blinded, thick-feathered and wide unfurled. They beat the air into billows. We sailed, and the earth was gone. [ 102 ] THE HORSE THIEF Canyon and desert and mesa withered below, with the world. And then I knew that mustang; for I — was Bellero- phon! Yes, glad as the Greek, and mounted on a horse of the elder gods. With never a magic bridle or a fountain-mirror nigh ! My chaps and spurs and holster must have looked it? What's the odds? I'd a leg over lightning and thunder, careering across the sky! And forever streaming before me, fanning my forehead cool, Flowed a mane of molten silver; and just before my thighs (As I gripped his velvet-muscled ribs, while I cursed myself for a fool). The steady pulse of those pinions — their wonderful fall and rise! The bandanna I bought in Bowie blew loose and whipped from my neck. My shirt was stuck to my shoulders and ribboning out behind. The stars were dancing, wheeling and glancing, dipping with smirk and beck. The clouds were flowing, dusking and glowing. We rode a roaring wind. [ 103 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC We soared through the silver starlight to knock at the planets' gates. New shimmering constellations came whirling into our ken. Red stars and green and golden swung out of the void that waits For man's great last adventure; the Signs took shape — and then I knew the lines of that Centaur the moment I saw him come ! The musical box of the heavens all around us rolled to a tune That tinkled and chimed and trilled with silver sounds that struck you dumb, As if some archangel were grinding out the music of the moon. Melody-drunk on the Milky Way, as we swept and soared hilarious. Full in our pathway, sudden he stood — the Centaur of the Stars, Flashing from head and hoofs and breast ! I knew him for Sagittarius. He reared, and bent and drew his bow. He crouched as a boxer spars. Flung back on his haunches, weird he loomed — then leapt — and the dim void lightened. Old White Wings shied and swerved aside, and fled from the splendor-shod. [ 104 ] THE HORSE THIEF Through a flashing welter of worlds we charged. I knew why my horse was frightened. He had two faces — a dog's and a man's — that Baby- lonian god! Also, he followed us real as fear . Ping ! went an arrow past. My broncho buck- jumped^ humping high. We plunged . . I guess that's all ! I lay on the purple canyon's lip^ when I opened my eyes at last — Stiff and sore and my head like a drum, but I broke no bones in the fall. So you know — and now you may string me up. Such was the way you caught me. Thank you for letting me tell it straight, though you never could greatly care. For I took a horse that wasn't mine ! . . But there's one the heavens brought me. And I'll hang right happy, because I know he is waiting for me up there. From creamy muzzle to cannon-bone, by God, he's a peerless wonder! He is steel and velvet and furnace-fire, and death's supremest prize; And never again shall be roped on earth that neck that is "clothed with thunder" . . String me up, Dave ! Go dig my grave ! I rode him across the shies! [ 105 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC From Tenderloin to Barbary Coast "Red" Leary made^ and backed, his boast. From Jersey City to The Loop He reefed the leathers or used "the soup." Safe-cracker, dipper, climber, yegg. He was one thorough rotten egg The cops and flatties could not catch. Plain-clothes-men knew him for their match. The English bobbies failed to grapple With what he plotted in Whitechapel. Paris Apaches in their cellar Called him the French for "reglar feller." But footloose he must ever be. And so he wandered far and free. Marked on the Little Black Book's page By name and alias, deeds and age. He never "brassed up" on a dollar And seemed chimaerical to collar. Even bull-buster on occasion, When they had needed swift persuasion, Though he'd been mugged in youth, and measured, (A high distinction that he treasured !) His stretch in Stir should never be — "Sooner, Cell 99 !" swore he. [ 106 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC One summer, after lying low, He rather took a shine to go Abroad once more, and, with this notion, "Stowed" over the Atlantic Ocean. After adventures smooth as syrup He found himself afoot through "Yirrup" Glad as a lad; then, growing dreamier. Lost himself somewhere in Bohemia. Now in that kingdom there's a town Which no geographies have down. An old lost town, given to amazing Black art, and star- and crystal-gazing. A magic circle hems it round, (Perhaps that's why 'tis still unfound!) And still 'tis ruled the rumor tells us By those who once knew Paracelsus. "There be twelve houses in the skies," Say these graybeards, toothy-wise. Each wagging beard and fumbling globe Hid in his scorpion-spangled robe, "Twelve houses in the heavens that rise Wherethrough the Seven Planets move, — Venus that is the Queen of Love, Saturn, whose spinning rings wake whirring tunes, Uranus, circled with revolving moons, Neptune, three billion miles away From Earth's dim and dismal day, [ 107 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Banded Jupiter, red Mars, — Mercury, youngest of the stars. And we be those can shape from these Water and fire and air's triplicities. The balm of friends, the curse of enemies. Health, wealth, fortune or estate. Marriage, love, and mischief great. By orbs and intercepted signs. Aspects, degrees, and peregrines. "Six houses East, six houses West, And the ephemeris gives the rest. And hues there be, and gems, and functions Of each great star in its conjunctions On the glittering stellar track With symbols of the Zodiac Where Lion or Ram or Goat appear Or Crab or Archer rise anear. All as the months make up the year. Last — there's a Golden Man on high. Stretched on the starscape of the sky. The first house hath his face, the second The ruler of his neck is reckoned, The third hath shoulders, arms, and hands, — Each of the others some part commands. The tenth rules downward from his thighs, Eleventh to where his ankles rise. And the twelfth completes his span At the feet of the Golden Man !" [ 108 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Such was their lore, with volumes more, As who — and why — was king-to-be, Beggar or tyrant, drunkard, dreamer. Philosopher or busy schemer. Hermit or sailor on the sea. By the stars they knew it well. And so each graybeard swung his bell, "Fortunes to tell ! Fortunes to tell !" And then with them there came to dwell Our very modern son of fury Who laughed at law and judge and jury. Ragged, and roving with his grudge, One violet evening, through a haze Of golden dust, they saw him trudge Up on their ancient cobbled ways. "Say! Pipe dis burg!" they heard him mutter. As he sat down above a gutter. They marked him, keen to tell his fortune. Rustling they gathered to importune His leave to cast a horoscope And read i' the stars the gibbet-rope That dangled for him. ''Hunh?" he said. He scanned them well. He shook his head. "De whole push beats it! See?" he said. They saw. They gabbled off to bed. [ 109 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC In the astrologers' old town The roofs peaked up, the moon blazed down. A shop-sign creaked, a hinge made plaint. The shadows lay like purple paint. All were long abed and snoring. Save in the gutter, rags aflutter, "Red" Leary raised his eyes, imploring The moon some oracle to utter. He heard the whine and clap of a shutter Unfastened — but he heard the din That noisy noses made within. He shook his fist. For he had robbed A king's palace, a thieves' kitchen, — Been postered, trailed, and almost jobbed, — House-climbed, house-broke, been starved — and rich — in A hundred cities. So now he sobbed To think that here he sat this ditch in Simply flat bored by plate or purse. Grievously he began to curse. "Front Office nor de Eyes can't catch me. Aint no new steer me bean kin hatch me. Me, wot's de icin' on de cake, Bawlin' 'sif me heart 'd break ! Got dem all buffaloed wit' each new string O' dope, — aint no hand-painted shoestring At dat! But O, dis enny-wee! O me aunt's cat, — O dearie me, It's fierce !" He fumbled in his rags Producing two fat-stomached bags. [ 110 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC He pulled their strings and let them litter The muddy gutter with chinking glitter. "All kinds o' coin!" he said, and sighed. "What's-it, when I hev lost me pride .^ Hully-chee, fer a job ter do!" "Yoo-hoo!" he yawned. " A-yay-yoo-hoo !" So it began That the Golden Man Glimmered out of the heavens on him. Sudden as flame The vision came And all the sky around was dim. In outline huge Past subterfuge He saw those massive limbs that span All stellar roads, And the twelve abodes From forehead to feet of the Golden Man. Have you ever traced the Greater Bear Or Orion with his Belt, up there .^ This shimmering shape On the vast starscape Shone clearer far through that dazzled air. The thief was aware it bristled his hair. Softly it faded. There alone, Lit like a star, With doors ajar, Atwinkle the Twelve High Houses shone ! [ 111 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Atwinkle one instant. They faded too. His hot stare drew through a gulf of blue. Loud in his brain the rumbling grew Of some momentous event that neared. The Seven Candlesticks of lights Those wandering fires of heaven, shone bright. Phalanx on phalanx filled the height With stars accoutred and silver-speared. Till, as though (as the ancient spells require!) He had cast in a greenish sea-coal fire The herb centaury, — filled with desire To see all the stars ride atilt on high, — They trembled and seemed to begin a tourney Madly, and he a momentous journey. Tick of the instant — no time to mourn! — he Suddenly rose through the Eastern shy. Up, up, up from the roofs and steeples. Astrologers and snoring peoples, He rose like a planet, yes, seemed to sweep else- where with a comet's fizzling trail. On the Eastern horizon then, aglimmer. He stretched his arms like a diving swimmer, — Gasping, plunged, and grew much dimmer, — In fact in a flick he was past all hail ! Where did he get to ? Well, what he thought it Was, was a downhill street. God wrought it Of clouds like cobblestones. Unbesought, it [ 112 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Gleamed underfoot. He was feeling great ! All night was before him. His "drag" and "buster" Would set him to rights as a claim-adjuster With — see those Houses? "Them parties muster Been hittin' de hay since ha' pass eight !" "So-o, easy does it ! I got me creepers, An' dem in dere's like de Seven Sleepers. Bet dere's plate an' stuff ter bug yer peepers !" He eyed the twelve abodes in a row Adown their long foggy road defiling. Then pushed up a sash — at its creak reviling — And — that was the last of his easy smiling. Let me make it clear why this was so: Heaven's orb, they say, has four divisions, Four quadrants, each strict as a mathematician's, Marked out by astrologer precisians From where overhead in a perfect arc Th' Prime Vertical their code supposes Encircles space. Each quadrant shows us Three subdivisions. Thus Night incloses Our world in diagrammed Delphic dark. And, horizon to nadir, (while Man has slumbered) From the East, under Earth, these skies they've num- bered To the West, to the zenith. Not houses cumbered With walls and windows — but still a span Of symbolic "houses," for sun and moon [ 113 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And the constellations^ late or soon. To traverse majestical, night and noon, From meridian to meridian. Was the star-men's spell upon their guest Who had scorned them so lately? His new house-quest Really circled the sky from East to West, For the window he'd pried to those first strange halls Was the "cusp" to the house of the Ram's bright sign. Hot and luxurious, fumed with wine, Where a hangdog Saturn sate to dine Satellite-crowned against crimson walls ! And, "Copped out!" yelped our thief, in this hall of fire Lit by ruddy Mars' own wrathful ire. "Red" whirled for an exit, found his desire. And pelted therefrom in mad career. But only into — the House of Taurus Succedent, — and there heard a bellowed chorus From Mars and Jupiter: "Bring before us — Hey, boy ! Bring white Queen Venus here !" So thence through Mercury's home diurnal He fled on the wings of a fate infernal. Where the Twins of Gemini seemed to burn, all Silver, on hot aerial blue, — Till Nethermost Heaven, of Cancer's ruling, Surrounded him next with watery, cooling. Glimmering halls, — pale moonlight pooling Floors and dais with pearlbright dew. [ 114 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And from this Fifth House, most eerily yelling, He soared through the "Part of Fortune's" dwelling,- (That astrological symbol, telling Of money, property, gain or loss,) Leo's house, in the West's ascendant angle Where the Sun, his beard in a golden tangle, Watched Venus in Libra softly wrangle With Mercury, playing at pitch and toss. He caught their expressions, — that gleaming flagon Sol tilted up, — and the Tail of the Dragon Curled through the door, — yet could not lag on His wild house-breaking. . . Through silken suites Sacred to Venus — and overheated! — He flip-flopped then, while his brain repeated "Watch yer step !" — as, Subway-seated, He remembered the guards call the different streets. Then the darkness hissed. Cold, damp, nocturnal Was Scorpio's home, and deceits infernal Crawled on its walls ; and there eternal The shield of Mars hung in ruddy rust, Norsemen and pirates ruling of olden. . . Then the Archer's abode of Jove rose golden. The thief flashed through it, — no longer bold, — in A cyclone of kicked-up stellar dust. Next two cold Houses, where, white beard flashing, Capricornus the Goat met his eyes, abashing Leary, who sprawled and came down crashing [ 115 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Through Saturn's best mirror — and dodged away With a leap through the sash of one window dimmer With violet light. . . White, white and aglimmer There the Moon's throne rose. Through pale green shimmer Aquarius swam like a fish at play. So on to the Twelfth, and the Cadent, dwelling Of finny Pisces, madly pellmelling Our burglar plunged. There remains for telling Only the Head of the Dragon there, Which yawned at him wide — white teeth like planets. I do not believe a giant could span its Jaws, dripping sunsets. A grin, it ran its Tongue of black midnight around its lair. Yet now, on completing this sky-rotation, Strangely Leary shook with vexation — Or was it terror ? An alteration Was plain in lax mouth and bulging eye. And — what was that, that ominous roaring? He dove down the Eastern sky, imploring The gods for rescue. . . But down came pouring Behind him, all heaven in hue and cry ! "Stop thief!" they shouted. With 'vestments surging And hair astream, leapt Virgo the Virgin Waving the Scales, the weird chase urging, Followed by Scorpio, Capricorn, Sagittarius and Aquarius, [ 116 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The Ram, Bull, Crab, and both hilarious Gemini — each with weapons various, Fishnet or quiver, claw or horn. And then, the Planets ! Ah well. Of course he fell Sheer through the chimneypots, flop to the moonlit street. But what he said I think I shall not tell. His language was too luscious to repeat. However, from where he listened through his shuttered Window, the Chief Star-Gazer giggled, muttered In crafty bliss, and scraped each parchment hand Over the other. "He'll never understand It was not moonlight madness, dreams, or heat Evolved that dark adventure in defeat. They say, 'Revenge is sweet.' Certes, it is ! He made a bad beginning With us, so soothly I have sent him spinning This night the circuit of an old chart of birth Portioned to rascals — showing Heaven and Earth — !" The Voice died out again, quite silver-toned. Down in the gutter Great Leary stirred and groaned. [ 117 ] ALEXANDER, THE CRAP KING Anyone dat hones Fo' a tas'e uh Heaven, A lil tas'e uh Heaven, Watch me roll-a de bones, (Come seben, come 'leben!) Watch me roll-a de bones ! Guess I'se bad! Dat so? Dat so, sho nuff? Ah call you-all's bluff ! (Dat's de stuff, dat's de stuff!) Lak a houn'-dawg take 'm, Wharsoare de flea be, Yo j es watch me break 'm ! SpeaJc to muh, Phoebe! Ee-yah-yah ! An' out de back do' ! Eight, dat's mah p'int; ah sho' is po' ! Say, anyone dat hones (Natchul fo'm, bones!) Roll me jes a few, (Yassuh, you too!) Jine mah rebel (Oo! Up jump de debbil!) In a r'ally roUin', In a riley rolling'. In a rolly-roUin' De bo-ones ! [ 118] ALEXANDER, THE CRAP KING Down on de lebbee, sunset soon, Co'n-pone en chick-en, en de risin moon! Heah de Yankees talk: Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk! (Not a smile en de city all de miles yo' gotta walk, No mo' possum, no mo' pones !) All ah got is de bones. All ah got is de bones, — So ef anybody hones Fo' ter roll me jes' er lil, ah kin mek 'm sick. (Get his bill. Big Dick!) Ya-as, wid deseyeah lil' stones Ah kin skin 'm putty slick. (On de re-boun', bones!) Nine's mah p'int — ninety days de jedge gave 'm. An' a fo' — an' a five — out de calaboose ter save 'm. (Got de baabeh's itch, so de baabeh couldn' shave 'm!) In a r'ally roUin' de bones. Hebben's mah desiah, an' de Glohry street. Youairil heah de pattah ob de angels' feet, Jes' like Hell done cotch afiah, — Ya-as, an' you'll yell Whassamattah? But befo' de sky-cops scattah All de folks aroun' 'm An de cop commandah yell "Pinch 'm an' impoun' 'ml" Why, you'll know it's Alexandah, An' be glad you foun' 'm ! Ah'U be rollin' de bones, Ah'll be rollin' de bones, Ah'U be tossin' 'm de fus' time on de glohry stones. [ 119 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC (Six — it — stays ! Flock o' trays, flock o' trays !) Ah'll be rollin' 'm fer hyahps an' fer deseyeah rings Wot dey weahs roun' dey haid, deseyeah roreyoley things. (Nebbah on de money — an' leben fus' time!) De spots all knows me. Dah goes yo' dime I Ya-ah, de luck'll nebbah lose me; See de seben ray fuse me! Come a runnin', Mistah Richud, — Sho! It sutt'nly am a crime When ah's r'ally rollin', when ah's riley-roUin', when ah's rolly-rollin' De bo-ones ! Lashins er graby, an' a chick-en j'int, — But lil', lil' Phoebe's mah faveright p'int! Nebbah had a wife. Lazy all mah life, Ah kin play de fiddle, ah kin play de fife. Ah kin jump Jim Crow, ah kin shuck an' hoe, — Knows all de conjuhs wot de voodoos know, — But mos'v all ah hones To be rollin' de bones, — To be r'ally rollin' (Whassat? Ah's bleedge ter stop?) To be riley rollin' (Matchyuh, Mistah Cop!) To be roley-oley-oley-oley-oley-oley-olin'. To be rolly-rollin' de bones. . . Dah's so! [ 120 1 THE SEVENTH PAWN 1809 "This summer day is well-nigh over !" Grated the corncrake in the clover. And the messenger's mare, whose neck nid-nodded. On the hot white road half-drowsing plodded. "Oh for a vintner's bush and sign, A long churchwarden, a stoup of wine !" Mused the man who blinked through dusty lashes, With dust on his beard and his brown mustaches, Dust on his hat with its Quaker cock, Dust on his neckcloth, an ill-creased stock, Dust from his cloak to his boots, white dust Coating him quite, like a cake's thin crust. He had made haste, a haste unmanning, On a mission of Mr. Canning's planning; And the sloop awaited him, under Dover, 'Spite of Bonaparte to sneak him over To Walcheren. Ah, hut that fragrant clover! Nodded the thistle and shimmered the corn, And all was as still as a sabbath morn At half-past four of that afternoon. Deep-tranced hedge-birds essayed no tune. "Oh for an alehouse I" he quavered. "Soon!" [ 121 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And an alehouse rose, as they sometimes will, Over the brow of a little hill. Where a chequer-board hung with device well-drawn Asserting "The Sign of the Seventh Pawn." A whimsical sign, and that is flat, — But all signs are queer, for the matter of that. So our man dismounted and knocked rat-tat At the green half-door, and he doffed his hat To a crisp little wisp of a curtseying dame Who bade him enter ; so in he came ! I wonder if you have ever seen Flaxman's chessmen; the king, the queen. The knight, the bishop, and all the rest Carved so quaintly, so quaintly dressed? What called them to mind was that alehouse room With its settles and pewter and rose-leaf gloom And its deep-carved tables. It doesn't matter If you don't play chess — but all of the latter Were with chessmen set like the hosts of Aurelian, Chessmen of red and of white carnelian, Chessmen of ivory, ebony. And shining boxwood — a sight to see ! For every piece, whether pawn or rook. Was carved so it could not be mistook. Fashioned in character, almost breathing, 'Neath the herb-hung rafters, where blue smoke wreath- ing Told of a pipe smoked not far distant ; And then, to the little dame's chirp insistent, [ 123 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN Came bowing out from behind the bar The strangest "Mine Host" found near or far. His peas-cod bellied doublet seemed Of a satin some draper must have dreamed. His peach-colored stockings and stuffed trunk-hose Deeply slashed and embroidered with pearls in rows, His Catanian nostril and proud though still lip Took one back to the time of weak King Philip Or thereabout in Iberian history. His bronze-carved profile increased the mystery! Tobacco he smoked, and between each puff Of his long churchwarden the man took snuff From a silver snuff-box enchased with griffins That grimaced oddly to ape his sniffin's. (Perhaps that was purely imagination; But our hero saw it with perturbation !) Soon enough, over wine of a golden color To thrill even reformers whose sense is duller, In such weighty matters, than dull gray lead, — When cooled with this draught, and divinely fed On a cream-tart of strawberries richly red, — This mysterious host to the messenger said In English quite pat but inflected droUy, "You must play me a game, by all that's holy !" (Invoking the spirit of Dacciesole Who, as you know, a Dominican friar, Wrote us first on chess — or call Caxton liar !) '"Tis the game of all games that quaintest is, [ 123 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC By the boudoir of Queen Semiramis ! Quaintest and chastest, and played they say By Louis le Gros, and by Rabelais When he delved in Galen at Montpellier; Played in court and in camp by Charlemagne, Saladin, Bajazet, and Tamburlaine, An imperial motley how rich and rare ! Wife, set us a board!" And the board was there. Pieces were chosen with special care. And the upshot was that the two began The mightiest game yet known to man. The messenger, studying knight and king, Could not but marvel at such a thing, How each was carved in such human guise That you almost expected them — small surprise! — To shrug their shoulders or roll their eyes. The mitred bishops with croziers borne. The knights with mace upon saddle-horn. The queens with tiaras and netted hair. The castles with ramparts and winding stair! Then he offered a pawn. His hope waxed stronger Soon — and the candle-snuffs waxed longer ; And outside the alehouse his white mare dreamed By the close-cropped grass, while a pale moon gleamed. For sunset came and went like flame. Night closed in on the silent game; And the hostess hied her to bedside prayers Leaving glimmering tapers to light the players. [ 124. ] THE SEVENTH PAWN A struggle ; and then the Spaniard won. "But allow me to show you how it is done ! Here is, for an instance, the Devil's Counter!" He cried, "The Queen's worth the whole amount. Her Move is a lion disguised as a lamb. It Is plotted by Queen's Pawn Counter-Gambit ; But first— Pawn to King's Fourth!" He moved the piece, And weirdly — would wonders never cease! — In five more moves, we need not state. Achieved another swift check-mate. Then back he leaned, and his pointed beard Lifted aloft as he kindly leered. The nonplussed messenger scratched his head. "You are a foreigner, sir," he said. "Long have I loved the ranks and files And have sometimes pondered this game for miles On my travels — but never, o'er wine and victual. Have I seen so much, — aye, and learned so little. Why you have chosen to masquerade In clothes of an antique cut and shade, — Your quaintness too easily mistook For a figure stepped from a story-book Whose colored pictures thrill happy children, — I don't understand. It is all bewild'ring. And I have passed on this road before Never perceiving this alehouse door. And, by all the gods, I freely confess I have never seen such a game of chess ! [ 125 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Where did you learn it ? Near or far, you Could best them all. Why, good Lord, who are you? Rare old Ruy Lopez himself would gasp At your 'Devil's Gambit' ! Your hand to clasp !" The Spaniard extended thin sinewy fingers, And about his lips such a smile as lingers On the summer sea when it swoons with dawn Played for a moment. "Dear sir, a pawn Of fortune," he murmured, "The Seventh Pawn!" "Eh.?" said the other. "Such mystery blinks Under the eyelids of the Sphinx, And far more befitting there to awe The pilgrim who stands on her great stone paw — But from Oedipus, with all due apology, I cannot reckon my genealogy. Pray explain your allusion!" The Spaniard, "Why, Since you press me so closely, I shall try ! Chess is a life-game, life a chess-game, A strategic duello, a plan-and-guess game. Are we but pawns .? Or with every move Betray we the knight's or the bishop's groove? As for applications — the bishops there Never leaving the color of their square — They might symbolize Faith, how religion strives Straight on, crossed by currents of all our lives. Do you see what I drive at ? Simply at first I revolved such thoughts, and then there burst A light on me, in my youth, at last. [ 126 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN Why, this chess is rooted as far in the past As Egypt. Greeks, Romans, Hindoos, Chinese, Have played their variants, if you please; And the game takes hold of the roots of wars, — Yes, leaps thence to the secrets of the stars, And thence . . my young eyes bulged from my head In Salamanca when first I read A seer's words that lightened its penetralia ! Your humor rises? Your doubts assail you? Yet I tell you truly it is the key To the chart of God, to the mystery Of Heaven and Hell ! Its every plan Explains a purpose and use of man. And sudden the whole articulate scheme Blazed through my brain!" In dizzy dream The other stared, while the Spaniard wove A web of words his listener strove But feebly to break. It caught in mesh Every riddle of spirit and flesh, Wandered, meandered, and interwound Through metaphysics, o'erleaped the bound Of philosophy, transcended symbol. Yet regained the clue — lost worse than a thimble In the proverbial haystack — swept Through mysteries like some fiend adept, Himg on a metaphor, leaped the abysm And galloped off on a syllogism. Returned on the wings of an epigram. And grew in mad skill till star-swarms swam [ 127 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Through the messenger's bewildered wit As he gaped and goggled opposite. "Know more/' his swarthy host continued, Grasping his wrist in a clutch steel-sinewed. "Little elixir have I needed With Albertus Magnus, to find what he did. Nor Trismosius' Magisterium To a longer life ! I have struck them dumb. All the alchemists and the spells they cast. All the spirits that hover about the Vast. For my knowledge quickly enabled me To cheat Hell, with Heaven, eternally !" And the other stared on as the Spaniard cried, "Yes, I live, I live — I have never died! "Your day is appointed — and mine — ^but I Saw too many moves ahead to die. Every beat of the pulse, every tick of the clock Is a move — ^but intelligent keys unlock The solution. And I have discerned the whole! Does God's hand set forth for bliss or dole One more piece? Does the Devil's black claw show As he marshals another in his row.^ 'Twixt both I have played the game as taught. Sudden as lightning, and swift as thought, — But now . . !" (And the lisping voice so near Sank so wearily, almost a tear Seemed to stand and gleam in the darkening eye !) "But now — ah, they will not let me die!" [ 138 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN The room was quite still for a gasping-space, And the other gazed into a haggard face. "They will not . . for once I became aware, I created a country in the air. My imagination took with a surge The potencies of a demiurge From that Perfect Knowledge . . and yet, the power To bring me sweet death at any hour Lies in the hands of the phantom queen Of that region no mortal man has seen. That is the loophole the Powers have left me Before their subtle revenge bereft me So suddenly of all my pride. But — they knew, they knew I should be denied ! For the queen I breathed into ghostly being, Why, hers is almost marvelous seeing. And she knows her realm, with my death, would be Naught — thinnest air — lost utterly, To the last pawn ! I plead and plead When I visit there, and my earth-days bleed Unheeded down before her crown. Ah God, my relentless years would drown A stone in tears ! You — you marked my dress. Then, how old do you think me ? Come, confess !" The blue smoke eddied, and through it swam That wax-pale face. "Dear Sir, I am," [ 129 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC The Spaniard grinned, with dry lips curled back, "A miracle, fleshly and cardiac!" That gleam of teeth such as a she-wolf suckles Made the other grip with whitened knuckles An edge of the heavy-carven table. He could only stammer, with brain unstable, "Ha, ha ! That's good — good enough — dare swear ! Excellent, excellent !" "Have a care!" And across the hidalgo's face a flare Of sudden malice like green flame blew. "Fool!" said the Iberian. "I'll prove it you!" Like a lean black cat with a rapier tail He lounged to the fire ; then flicked forth a veil Of spangled iridescent stuff. Full ten yards long, from beneath his ruff; Span it in his hands to a whirling maze Of fabric flying in rainbow blaze; And— "There !" he cried, as he let it fall On the licking flames, "goes Bathsheba's shawl !'* "And here," he cried, as he drew from his leg A crystalline globe, "is a real Roc's eggl" Over his shoulder he tossed it lightly. Crackle-smash it fell. The fire so brightly Blazed on the instant, the other's eyes Went almost blind with his shocked surprise, But it seemed that one moment he saw arise From a golden core of streaming light A vast grotesque bird, with infinite [ 130 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN Spread of wing and a great hooked beak. "So ! So !" cried the Spaniard, and turned, to tweak From thin air a flask with a ruby glow, "Now I pour the elixir of life — and — so!" Suddenly next to his very feet That other felt the floor rock and beat, Burst up like kindling, and reveal A proud-horsed knight, from head to heel One portentous dazzle of brilliant steel. This was white magic to behold. The charger tossed his crest of gold, 'Neath purple and crimson caparison. Pawed, and his rider sate thereon With beaked visor pushed above his eyes Revealing a ruddy face and wise. Thick brown-bearded. Then sudden he Opened his lips, and thunderously Roared, "Caissa !" and shook his lance, Its rippling pennon with gold a glance; And then in a great voice deep and strong Shook the rafters with this wild song: "I am Sir Lionel Perceforest, Uthyr Pendragon's bastard son. A wyvern azure is my crest. I win all kingdoms that are won. I leap to battle when crossbows hail Their quarrels that rattle on coats of mail. My broadsword whirls from East to West. I spur amain with lance in rest. [ 131 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal! My sword is mighty. It shall prevail ! "Say Theseus had a woman's wrist, Call Alexander a fool foredone, Dub Lord -Slneas what things ye list, — I win all kingdoms that are won ! I ride the forest in moonlight white. Soul, that abhorrest the nets of night. In thy adventure when woods are whist I spur amain through leprous mist. Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal ! My sword is valiant. It shall prevail ! "Deep in the dragon darkness quail Chimaeras like Bellerophon's. The starlight strikes each gleaming scale To peacock colors and flashing bronze. Through thickets I thrust to front the cave. Beasts bite the dust before my glaive. My sword is terrible to prevail. Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal ! Christ on the Rood and Mary Pale, Hell for the Paynim, and hail the Grail !" With that the chimney seemed to choke And the room was filled with a waft of smoke Cloudier and bluer than indeed Had eddied ere this from Virginian weed. Through its swirls the messenger half -perceived [ 132 1 THE SEVENTH PAWN Other clashing knights, cuirassed and greaved, Mane and tail of other chargers bold Interplaited with threads of gold, And the glitter of spiked steel o'er all From gleaming chanfrain and bright poictral. How in Heaven's name could that small inn-room Inclose such hordes as its guest saw loom For a moment, to charge the chimney-breast With pennon fluttering, lance in rest, And leap with the shower of sparks they smote Sudden-sucked up the draught of the chimney-throat? What airy bugle thrilled wildly winding? . . The floor was a furnace, the smoke was blinding! With one arm flung over his smarting eyes The reeling messenger tried to rise. Then a strong arm steadied his deadly fear. The Spaniard's voice was in his ear: "Leap!" And he leapt through shrivelling flame To a void of darkness, lost breath, and came To his senses again and opened his eyes On a tempest of stars and tossing skies Through which he bored with a rocket's flight While planets poured past to the pit of night. Upward — upward! He cried aghast As the deeps of heaven bombarded past. Upward — upward — and still he knew By his side that the Spaniard was flying too. His lids squeezed tight, as he whirled and hurdled And somersaulted. His blanched blood curdled. [ 133 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC One last fearful hurl, when his doom seemed sealed, And head-foremost he slid through a soft green field I Harsh as a file his first breath rasped back, Each limb felt as limp as an empty sack. His head was a tight-stretched resonant drum. And then that same merciless voice said "Come!" — And, with throat tight-gagged in hammering fright. He opened his eyes on — life and light! Who shall describe those thick-flowered meads Where knights curvetted on their prancing steeds, Where silken damask pavilions lay Crowned with their arms and ribboned gay? Heralds in vivid coats were seen Strutting proudly across the green; Squires with cushioned helms or glaives And men-at-arms with fair white staves. All blazed and bustled as if the intent Were this day for a royal tournament. Pages ran, great chargers reared to ramp. One bee-hive hum filled the whole great camp. And inexorably before our friend Whisked in such strange wise through the whole world's end To this chivalric and antic heaven, The Spaniard stood. The numeral Seven Blazed from front and back of a tabard sheathing His peacock pride ! The messenger's breathing Came slower and softer. A grinning serf [ 134 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN Beckoned them over the soft rich turf. They followed. As the tents drew near The bright sun glittered on many a spear. One squire in a silver basin splashed And through dripping beard laughed unabashed. Down the tent-lane tramped with a great to-do Two kettle-drummers in crimson and blue. And a pompous herald met the beholders, A parchment fluttering from his shoulders On which, inscribed in black-letter script With capitals flaming from quills well-dipped In crimson, a speech ran on this wise: "Hear ye, hear ye what doth devise Our sovereign, supreme, and glorious queen Caissa Celestia ! Be it seen That all her subjects throng to her banner From every place and in every manner Since the cruel Chinese potentate Chaturanga is at our gate With ships and elephants roundly cursed By our brave Scaccophilus the First, King of Arch-chequerboard — orchard and vine, Valley and mountain, thy land and mine ! Hear ye, hear ye ! For our fair queen Let us chase and deliver our strokes with dene For today, as our annual tournament Was blithely preparing in many a tent. Came couriers breathless and faint with fear [ 135 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Who cried, 'The Mongolian host draws near Mixed with the Persians, — on gilded gongs Clanging and banging, in silk-robed throngs And armor of steel and bronze and gold, A terrible army to behold!' . . Japan's small fighters in masks agrin And horned headdresses redouble the din With short and long swords clashing and rattling, Bows and arrows tossed, horse and foot embattling In lacquer that envy of every bonze stirs Pictured with dragons and birds and monsters ; And their daimyos' litters with jewels aglitter — Four milk-white mules to every litter With head-harness ringing a thousand bells And housings scarlet and gold, or else Purple and silver, direct the throng! White and grey elephants shamble along With great painted howdahs wherein Fong-lee, Yoo-fow, and such princes of high degree Ply their chop-sticks and drink their tea While almond-eyed girls touch the tinkling lute And the bright hues blaze from each silken suit And the coiled black queues entangle the sky. And each squatting celestial is fain to ply Bright curious fans, such as wizards chase. Their ivory sticks carved fine as lace. Their rich silk spread embroidered with Wonderful legend and marvelous myth ! So with shoguns, mikados, and tramping battalions ; Elephants, camels, and zebra-stallions, [ 136 1 THE SEVENTH PAWN With match-lock and pole-axe, o'er mountain and valley Chaturanga approaches! . . Ho, knights, to the rally! Rally, rally ! Forth we must sally To meet the foe in yon chequered valley Whereon we have ever stood, and smitten. And won for Caissa — as it is written !" The herald stood striking an attitude Till the messenger read the last word. Ensued More sights of the camp. Before one tent A huge smith over a bellows bent, Fanning a forge. His big broad back Was turned, but his habit showed a black Numeral Two. They stood apart. The Spaniard explaining, "You see, his art Is fashioning saddle, bridle, and spur For his knight. And does it not yet occur To you that these numbers denominate us Our Queen's eight pawns ? To leap the hiatus Back to plain life, 'tis in Chaucer you'll find The supposed resemblance of every kind Of piece to the mortal whom it suits. So all of us have our attributes. I am the Courier. And today. If a last hope fail me, I'll try a -way . . !" He recovered his smile. "But come, confess How like you my phantast's Land of Chess .^" [ 13T ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC Then, waiting no answer, with quicker pace He led round a pavilion. The other's face Worked with dumb questions. But when they stopped Once clear of the camp, his jaw down-dropped. For into his eyes swam the larger view. Mountains ringed them, mountains of blue. Or were they mountains or moving cloud? However, beneath them stretched a proud Sweep of river and plain, like a dazzling shield; Aye, beneath them indeed! For here the field Dropped sheer from a rock-ridge, a rock-ridge crowned With a castle whose ramparts might well astound. A wide fosse lay deep round its plainward plan Over which a great chained drawbridge ran. It crouched upon the beetling crag Turreted high like an antlered stag. Its keep rose clear, its outer wall Beyond the base-court began the fall Of the cliff face. It inclosed enisled Magnificent castellations, piled With turrets (O pledge of knightly farings !) Emblazoned with rich armorial bearings. Within rose din. Above flew forth Long twining pennants to west and north. They crossed the bridge. They climbed the deep Steep steps within the round-tower keep, Entered a doorway whose great arch shone With a horse-head carved on its transom-stone. And — were led to the stair by the Seneschal. [ 138 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN Right through the thickness of the wall That dark stair rose, ignoring doors » With glimpses of the different floors — Ladies with framed embroidery, Curled pages bending silken knee. Great stone chimneys, oak panellings, Dark tall portraits of queens and kings. They came to the summit of the tower. A sight to sap an Emperor's power With majesty! Tree over tree The forest clomb under them thunderously To lap at the base of their barbican. Whence, winding down, a great causey ran Lost in the wood below. But — strange ! — The mapped fields beneath took on a change. As far they spread their pattern appeared A giant chequer-board, spaced and cleared. From wood to mountain (or cloud) that far On the horizon . . showed glints of war Even now approaching! Yes! For the tall Eighth Pawn — who else but the Seneschal ! — Now pointed and shook his keys at the foe. "That is his army moving below, — Chaturanga's Mongolian evil. Friends of the fiends and spawn of the Devil! Look you, they hold nine files instead Of eight — and how are their pieces spread? Along lines, not squares, — and placed for guile [ 139 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC At the intersections of rank and file ! Bah! And they keep an open space Between fifth and sixth ranks from either base; The River, they call it ! . . Yet they may Bid their Cannon thunder their worst today And their Councillors plot, for — by my Ferse ! — This rabble of idolaters, Dogs of unbelievers, paynims confessed. Shall by our Caissa be clean outchessed !" Such spleen mazed the messenger. Down they ran And across a courtyard. The puzzled man Groped in the words of that stern official Still wondering what was so prejudicial In the foe that came — only catching glints Of all these matters, and sidewise hints. And now, in the great main hall and court. What bustle there was ! Of every sort Was the armor that clanked and clattered and blazed. Lance and sword of the horsemen grazed Poleaxe and estoc of footmen fleet Cap-a-pie from heads to feet. Some with pavises, some with targes. Some with morning-stars (whose stroke enlarges The range of brains), — with morion Cuirasse, heaume, and habergeon. Pike, spontoon, bascinet, and partizan, (That one for sport hurled over a bartizan) Halbert, gisarm, every manner [ 140 1 ' THE SEVENTH PAWN Of metal that ever danced to a banner Or fabric that ever upholstered metal Or leather or wood — in splendid fettle The men-at-arms milled in the great stone hall Before a dais, imposing on all Reverence perforce. The stranger knew There stood Caissa the Queen on view, And then he saw. She shone fuU-stoled With ermine, gowned in cloth of gold. One instant he had to visualize her Through the throng. The Bishop, her adviser, Though more like a judge of many pleas With a great tome open upon his knees. Sat at her right — on her left another Legal potentate, this Bishop's brother. "One reads criminal, one the civil law!" The Spaniard whispered. The traveller saw Next, as the throng a little shifted, Headdresses passed, and nearer he drifted, — He saw the King. But the dark Queen kept her Hawk eyes fixed on his golden sceptre. And, in purple robes, he shook as with cold. The golden apple twitched in the hold Of his trembling fingers. Before his face Stood to defend him with sword and mace. In helm and hauberk, two knights of the throne. One the proud Queen's and one his own. And now, through the crowd, to a murmur of "Look, Hither they move ! Yes, yon's a Rook." Two figures advanced as legates should, [ 141 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC With staff and mantle and minever hood, And passed in close converse. A glimpse of the throne Again, and our friend saw the Queen alone But the Spaniard approaching. He plead. She said: (The messenger caught the words) "What? Dead? Why, if dead . . ! No, no ! For the last time, No ! Who created Us? Fool! We shall keep it so!" Off his host rushed cursing. And then, afar, Some trumpet blew shrill points of war; And out to the courtyard, out to the causey All swept. Without a single pause he — The messenger — ran, great bound on bound, While horse-hoofs struck sparks from all around In deafening din; and other racing Men-at-arms and maids made such a chasing With varlets and Pawns (for such they must be) Naught could, because of the haste and the dust, be Well discerned, — but only neighing And puffing and shouting and jolting and swaying And hurling and laughing and clashing and praying. He ran in the mob, and could not fall Since the speed and the weight of the mass held all Closely erect; he ran until All life seemed an avalanche down a hill With banners tossing and trumpets tooting, — And then — in the flick of an eye — went shooting Through trees that darkly and vaguely reared Out on the plain, where a space was cleared. [ 143 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN All scattered and swarmed toward different places. He followed the crowd and watched their faces. Where was the Spaniard? But, to a cry "The Army !", eight marching Pawns came by, Upon their flag a device you guess : "We are the very soul of Chess !" There was the smith they had seen ere this, And Number One, who a woodsman is With hatchet in girdle ; and close in tread, With a great quill pen upraised instead Of a lance, came Number Three, the Clerk, With inkhorn swung and damp hair dark. Four? Four shook a pair of scales; for shield he Wagged before him a large unwieldy Bolt of cloth — a Merchant verily ! And Five, with a razor trod right merrily — Spicer, apothecary, surgeon. And then, as solemn as a sturgeon Stepped Six, the Taverner, tankard- j angling ; And last, the Spaniard, strangely wrangling Now with the Seneschal. In one hand The former bore a packet planned For courier-delivery. The Seneschal wielded a big brass key. They marched, and the crowd spread back and back As the two Throne-knights rode on their track. The Legates and the Bishops passed Amid acclamations ; and so, at last, The proud stout Queen and the small pale King. [ 143] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC But soon all saw a daunting thing, As the small chess-host of Caissa spread Over the plain, — for forms of dread Had drawn right near in the interim And the whole horizon was splendid and dim With tossing howdahs and swaying hills And whanging music with shrills and trills Shot through, — and grotesque hordes in mail, And beasts one lollop from head to tail ! Suddenly out of that swarm there streamed Red rockets which burst into stars that gleamed In rainbow colors, and wept toward earth; And a fusillade of firecrackers rattled into birth. Gongs swung wildly. Lo and behold. From the first fierce ranks this war-song rolled: Aie! Aie! Aie! . . A proud and purple King Reigned in India the olden. To the seal upon his ring His subjects were beholden; And there came to pass a thing That in words of blood is told in The tomes of the Yellow Nations. Their salvations thus we sing! Wise Kajah and Brahmin Descried him bloat with power And sought to bring him calm in An anguished evil hour. [ 144 1 THE SEVENTH PAWN They came with prayer and psalm in To the throne-room of his tower. "Thy people all are dying!" They came crying to the King. Aie! Aiel A'le! "Thou hast forgot thy land, All that its peace and war meant ; Thou rend'st it in each hand As one might rend a garment. Thou rul'st with wild command!" And he said, "Die, dogs, in torment!" And had them all beheaded Did that dreaded evil King. But Sissa, Daher's son. Who saw his land so broken. Hissed low, "The King dreams on; Yet shall his sleep be woken!" To the Silence hath he gone To brood,— saith, "I have spoken!" What snare is he inventing For that unrelenting King? Aie! Aie! Aiel . . The princes tributary Saw his people's love divided. In secret woxe they merry And their hour of power they bided, For they saw a kingly quarry [ H5 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC And the bloody wrong his pride did To the souls of a people stricken Who must sicken of their King. Then Brahmin Sissa's thought Evolved a Game of Glory And soon the folk were taught Its rules and skill and story, And the Brahmin soon was brought Before that tyrant gory Who growled, "Strange rumors reach me. Thou shalt teach me of this thing !" Aie! Aie! Aie! They played most secretly. And Sissa, to astound him, Showed the King in Chess to be The sport of foes that bound him — Stripped of might and empery Did his folk not rally round him. *'For his strength is in his people. Ponder deep all this, oh King! "Alone this King is naught But a spoil for ravenous foemen. And Love — can Love be bought With the sword } Nay ! Love must show men Warm true heart and word and thought !" . . And he understood the omen; His heart was moved; his nation Gained salvation through their King! [ 146 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN It ululated like weird shrill mirth Of hidden meaning. It sang the birth Of Chess from the East . . a thing to appal Those of the faith of the Seneschal, Who roared at once, "High blasphemy! Thracian Caissa, this is She The Bright Undying, beloved of Mars, Whose strength victorious sways our stars ! He from Love's brother, Euphron, sought The First Chess Board, — by Euphron's thought Designed, and for Caissa's kiss. Dastard recalcitrants, this is The Faith we hold, our hope of Bliss ! Ye unbelieving dogs, we fight For our Caissa, Truth, and Right! Degenerate Sissains, 'ware of us Who rend your ranks idolatrous !" Crowds tossed about the messenger. And scarcely he could see or stir Till a squire lent him stirrup and hand. Then, over their heads he gazed, and scanned A space of the endless chequered plain Cleared, and enclosed by the gorgeous train Of Chaturanga, across the sward, — And here, by Caissa's clamorous horde. But of all the knights who had taken shield Only two stood forth. The squire revealed The reason, explaining genially This first conventional tilt to be, [ 147 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC As one might say, a formality, A try-out for the coming war In which, when arrayed, an army-corps Should be reckoned one piece, squadrons of horse Wheel for one knight, and a serried force Of footmen, spears, and bows march on To represent a single pawn. Meanwhile (though in earnest) there preluded This fight of Thirty-two. But if feud did Ever engage more desperate souls. It is not written on Heaven's rolls. And there on Chaturanga's side Stood Cannon and Elephants of pride And Councillors all ranged arow In the nomenclature the East doth know. And suddenly out between the forces Ambled two envoys on armored horses From either side. After swift debating They each read out (strictly translating) The governing laws of the combat, clause And codicil, to the end. A pause. First Move became Caissa's right. Chaturanga answered. A bright Throne-knight Trotted out to a turfy plat, averred By the crowd to be King's Bishop's Third. . . But the messenger wearied. He wished to stroll Through the throng. And he happened upon a scroll Outrolled on a table, whereover sat The Master Manoeuvrer, wise and fat. [ 148 ] THE SEVENTH PAWN 'Twixt him and the field ran pages gay As he scribbled instructions for each new play. And ever he fumed in tart vexation As he reconnoitred the situation. His wild gaze showed that he rolled his eyes on Strategic and tactical horizon, Attack and support, topographic key, And points of impenetrability. With muttering mumble and growls and groans He burbled of hypothetic zones, And gabbled a jargon worse than a mystic's Freighted with Lesser and Greater Logistics. (Doubtless his Oriental fellow Served Chaturanga.) But what a bellow Of rage and hate assaulted the skies Suddenly! It appeared from their cries On a left oblique that a certain Pawn Through the enemy's host had deftly gone And, winning the farthest rank, was made A Councillor. But here he betrayed In a moment all hopes. He was acting queerly. And rushed at his own Throne-knight, who nearly Succumbed to his stroke. Yes ! It seemed quite clear That he was a traitor, or very near Running amok! And then a figure Bobbed out on the field in a crazy jig, — your Chinese director of movements and tacticals ! Bright on his nose danced his big horn spectacles. [ 149 ] THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC But his claw fingers waved on high, to the gapers. What — lo and behold! — but The Secret Papers! "Then it was the Courier !" a great gasp rose. And now, no mistake, he led their foes In a Councillor's robes of flapping blue And a crescent sword, and an uncoiled queue. His identity — but of course you've guessed it. 'Twas the Seventh Pawn who, unarrested. Overrode the ranks that reeled in confusion, — 'Twas the Spaniard's face, to their disillusion That gleamed such a wild-cat grin ! And behind Flashed acres of swords. With a sudden blind Burst of thunder crashed drum on drum. Heavily the elephants lumbered up to come. Yes, at double-quick, far-aligned battalions. Dromedaries, leopards, and zebra-stallions. Lacquered Samurai, yellow Asiatics, Black-bearded Persians, Indian fanatics Poured in hordes through the shattered chess game, With lightning speed beyond all guess came Bearing down on Caissa's vassals Whose great mass shuddered, gabbled "The Castle's Round-tower — make for the Tower !" and madly Turned to run. They were frightened badly J Like a leaf on a wave was the messenger whirled, And again commotion swallowed his world. But in one last glimpse he beheld the queues Of the jewelled celestials, like coiled lassos, [ 150 1 THE SEVENTH PAWN Spinning out and settling all around Over neck of knight and knave homebound. And above the rout wound a high weird cry: "Still I live, I live! Can I never die?" A dark veil dropped. Rain began to pour. Struggling^ wrenched, he was tossed once more Shoulder-high. Turning his head half back He saw all the heavens bulging black With thunder. Asunder one jagged flash On that instant ripped them. Then, with a crash Of stunning violence, down shot A huge vast hand, like a mighty blot On the plain. It closed, immense, completely Over the Spaniard — just as he sweetly Swung his scimetar at the messenger's head ! Why, what rubbish ! There was the moon instead With a thousand silver rays to shed From that rich blue sky so thick with stars. A thin hand crept where the beard was sparse And rubbed a thin cheek. And the messenger rose Reeling. Where was he? Do you suppose That Adept had died then ? But all was dream ! Well, where — by the powers we all blaspheme — Was the Inn ? Or was there no Inn, forsooth ! There was not. Near by, like the jagged tooth Of some dark old crone, the black field thrust forth [ 151 1 THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC A milestone. The white road wound from the north And west. And then he heard a whicker Beyond it, and caught the ghostly flicker Of his white mare. When he came that cropper Or slid down in sleep, with none to stop her She had strayed quite a bit. But he must ride. Or that waiting sloop would miss the tide! With a sinking heart he remembered his mission. Dreams! At this hour, with all perdition Loose in the person of Bonaparte! God, he must certainly mount and start! Yet — he plunged in his pockets — his book? Where was . . ? And then he perceived it on the grass. Picked it up, all damp with the dew, and flipped The fly-leaf open in the moonlight. Stripped Of rhetoric, it read no less Than thus, as follows: "Studies in Chess; Containing Caissa, a Scacchic Poem By Sir William Jones." (And, after that proem,) "Pilidor's Parties — New Combinations — Don Pedro Carrera's Situations; With Other Matter condensed and sprightly For Wits desiring to play Chess rightly." [ 153 1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Jan 25 '50^' 3 NS .5\M^*' 200ec 51L\J *>'?'' LD 21-100m-9,*48(B399sl6)476 U C BERKELEY LIBRARIES CDS7^3iat3D / 389452 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY