GOTTFRIED.

Yet each man shapes his destiny himself.

ROBERT.

Small soul! Dost thou too know it? Has the story
Of Force and free Volition, that, defying
The corporal Atoms and Annihilation,
Methodic guides the car of Destiny,

moned forth; and the whole surprising secret of his mission, and of the Valley which appoints it for him, is disclosed. This Friedenthal (Valley of Peace), it now appears, is an immense secret association, which has its chief seat somewhere about the roots of Mount Carmel, if we mistake not; but, comprehending

That thou, and like of thee, and ten times better
Than thou or I, can lead the wheel of Fate
One hair's-breadth from its everlasting track?
I too have had such dreams: but fearfully.
Have I been shook from sleep; and they are fled!-
Look at our Order: has it spared its thousands
Of noblest lives, the victims of its Purpose;
And has it gained this Purpose; can it gain it?
Look at our noble Molay's silvered hair:
The fruit of watchful nights and stormful days,
And of the broken yet still burning heart!
That mighty heart!-Through sixty battling years,
'T has beat in pain for nothing: his creation
Remains the vision of his own great soul;
It dies with him; and one day shall the pilgrim
Ask where his dust is lying, and not learn!

GOTTFRIED (yawning.)

But then the Christian has the joy of Heaven For recompense: in his flesh he shall see God.

ROBERT.

In his flesh ?-Now fair befal the journey!
Wilt stow it in behind, by way of luggage,
When the Angel comes to coach thee into Glory?
Mind also that the memory of those fair hours
When dinner smoked before thee, or thou usedst
To dress thy nag, or scour thy rusty harness,
And such like noble business be not left behind!-
Ha! self-deceiving bipeds, is it not enough
The carcass should at every step oppress,
Imprison you; that toothache, headache,
Gout, who knows what all,-at every moment,
Degrades the god of Earth into a beast;
But you would take this villanous mingle,
The coarser dross of all the elements,

Which, by the Light-beam from on high that visits
And dwells in it, but baser shows its baseness,—
Take this, and all the freaks which, bubble-like,
Spring forth o' th' blood, and which by such fair names
You call, along with you into your Heaven?
Well, be it so much good may't-

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of every country, extends over the whole civilized world; and has, in particular, a strong body of adherents in Paris, and indeed a subterraneous, but seemingly very commodious suite of rooms, under the Carmelite Monastery of that city. Here sit in solemn conclave the heads of the Establishment; directing from their lodge, in deepest concealment, the principal movements of the kingdom: for William of Paris, Archbishop of Sens, being of their number, the king and his other ministers, fancying within themselves the utmost freedom of action, are nothing more than puppets in the hands of this all-powerful Brotherhood, which watches, like a sort of Fate, over the interests of mankind, and by mysterious agencies, forwards, we suppose, "the cause of civil and religious liberty over all the world." It is they that have doomed the Templars; and, without malice or pity, are sending their leaders to the dungeon and the stake. That knightly Order, once a favourite minister of good, has now degenerated from its purity, and come to mistake its purpose, having taken up politics and a sort of radical reform; and so must now be broken and reshaped, like a worn implement, which can no longer do its appointed work.

Such a magnificent "Society for the Suppression of Vice" may well be supposed to walk by the most philosophical principles. These Friedenthalers, in fact, profess to be a sort of Invisible Church; preserving in vestal purity the sacred fire of religion, which burns with more or less fuliginous admixture in the worship of every people, but only with its clear sidereal lustre in the recesses of the Valley.

-Sound already?

There is a race for whom all serves as--pillow, Even rattling chains are but a lullaby.

This Robert d'Heredon, whose preaching has here such a narcotic virtue, is destined ultimately for a higher office than to rattle his chains by way of lullaby. He is ejected from the Order; not, however, with disgrace and in anger, but in sad feeling of necessity, and with tears and blessings from his brethren; and the messenger of the Valley, a strange, ambiguous, little sylph-like maiden, gives him obscure encouragement, before his departure, to possess his soul in patience; seeing, if he can learn the grand secret of Renunciation, his course is not ended, but only opening on a fairer scene. Robert knows not well what to make of this; but sails for his native Hebrides, in darkness and contrition, as one who can do no other.

In the end of the Second Part, which is represented as divided from the First by an interval of seven years, Robert is again sum

the Hoangho, Monks on the Seine. They addict themselves to contemplation, and the subtilest study; have penetrated far into the mysteries of spiritual and physical nature; they command the deep-hidden virtues of plant and mineral; and their sages can discriminate the eye of the mind from its sensual instruments, and behold, without type or material embodyment, the essence of Being. Their activity is all-comprehending and unerringly calculated: they rule over the world by the authority of wisdom over ignorance.

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In the Fifth Act of the Second Part, we are at length, after many a hint and significant note of preparation, introduced to the privacies of this philosophical Sainte Hermandad. strange Delphic cave this of theirs, under the very pavements of Paris! There are brazen folding doors, and concealed voices, and sphinxes, and naptha-lamps, and all manner of wondrous furniture. It seems, moreover, to be a sort of gala evening with them; for the "Old Man of Carmel, in eremite garb, with a long beard reaching to his girdle," is for a moment discovered "reading in a deep monoto

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nous voice." The "Strong Ones," meanwhile, are out in quest of Robert d'Heredon; who, by cunning practices, has been enticed from his Hebridean solitude, in the hope of saving Molay, and is even now to be initiated, and equipped for his task. After a due allowance of pompous ceremonial, Robert is at last ushered in, or rather dragged in; for it appears that he has made a stout debate, not submitting to the customary form of being ducked, an essential preliminary, it would seem,-till compelled by the direst necessity. He is in a truly Highland anger, as is natural: but by various manipulations and solacements, he is reduced to reason again, finding, indeed, the fruitlessness of any thing else; for when lance and sword and free space are given him, and he makes a thrust at Adam of Valincourt, the master of the ceremonies, it is to no purpose: the old man has a torpedo quality in him, which benumbs the stoutest arm; and no death issues from the baffled sword-point, but only a small spark of electric fire. With his Scottish prudence, Robert, under these circumstances, cannot but perceive that quietness is best. The people hand him, in succession, the "Cup of Strength," the "Cup of Beauty," and the "Cup of Wisdom;" liquors brewed, if we may judge from their effect, with the highest stretch of Rosicrucian art; and which must have gone far to disgust Robert d'Heredon with his natural usquebaugh, however excellent, had that fierce drink been in use then. He rages in a fine frenzy; dies away in raptures; and then, at last, "considers what he wanted and what he wants." Now is the time for Adam of Valincourt to strike in with an interminable exposition of the "objects of the society." To not unwilling, but still cautious ears, he unbosoms himself, in mystic wise, with extreme copiousness; turning aside objections like a veteran disputant, and leading his apt and courageous pupil, by signs and wonders, as well as by logic, deeper and deeper into the secrets of theosophic and thaumaturgic science. A little glimpse of this our readers may share with us; though we fear the allegory will seem to most of them but a hollow nut. Nevertheless, it is an allegory-of its sort; and we can profess to have translated with entire fidelity.

ADAM.

Thy riddle by a second will be solved,
(He leads him to the Sphinx.)

Behold this Sphinx! Half-beast, half-angel, both
Combined in one, it is an emblem to thee
Of th' ancient Mother, Nature, herself a riddle,
And only by a deeper to be master'd.
Eternal clearness in th' eternal Ferment:
This is the riddle of Existence :-read it,-
Propose that other to her, and she serves thee!

The door on the right hand opens, and, in the space behind it appears, as before, the OLD MAN OF CARMEL, sitting at a Table, and reading in a large Volume. The deep strokes of a Bell are heard.).

OLD MAN OF CARMEL (reading with a loud but still monotonous voice.)

"And when the Lord saw Phosphoros "-.

ROBERT (interrupting him.)

A story as of Baffometus?

Ha! Again

ADAM. Not so.

That tale of theirs was but some poor distortion
Of th' outinost image of our sanctuary.
Keep silence here; and see thou interrupt not,
By too bold cavilling, this mystery.

OLD MAN (reading.)

"And when the Lord saw Phosphoros his pride,
Being wroth thereat, he cast him forth,
And shut him in a prison called LIFE;
And gave him for a Garment, earth and water,
And bound him straitly in four Azure Chains,
And pour'd for him the bitter Cup of Fire.

The Lord moreover spake: Because thou hast forgotten
My will I yield thee to the Element,

And thou shalt be his slave, and have no longer
Remembrance of thy birthplace or ny name.
And sithence thou hast sinn'd against me by
Thy prideful Thought of being One and Somewhat,
leave with thee that thought to be thy whiph
And this thy weakness for a Bit and Bridle;
Till once a Saviour from the waters rise,
Who shall again baptize thee in my bosom,
That so thou may'st be Nought and All.

"And when the Lord had spoken, he drew back
As in a mighty rushing; and the Element
Rose up round Phosphoros, and tower'd itself
Aloft to Heav'n; and he lay stunn'd beneath it.

"But when his first-born Sister saw his pain,
Her heart was full of sorrow, and she turn'd her
To the Lord; and with veil'd face, thus spake Mylitta
Pity my Brother, and let me console him!

"Then did the Lord in pity rend asunder
A little chink in Phosphoros his dungeon,
That so he might behold his Sister's face :
And when she silent peep'd into his Prison,
She left with him a Mirror for his solace,
And when he look'd therein, his earthly Garment
Pressed him less; and, like the gleam of morning,
Some faint remembrance of his Birthplace dawn'd

"But yet the Azure Chains she could not break,
The bitter Cup of Fire not take from him.
Therefore she pray'd to Mythras, to her Father,
To save his younger-born: and Mythras went
Up to the footstool of the Lord, and said:
Take pity on my Son!-Then said the Lord;
Have I not sent Mylitta that he may

Behold his Birthplace ?-Wherefore Mythras answer'd
What profits it? The chains she cannot break,
The bitter Cup of Fire not take from him.
So will I, said the Lord, the Salt be given him.
That so the bitter Cup of Fire be softened;
But yet the Azure Chains must lie on him
Till once a Saviour rise from out the Waters.—{
And when the Salt was laid on Phosphor's tongue
The Fire's piercing ceased; but th' Element
Congeal'd the Salt to Ice, and Phosphoros
Lay there benumb'd, and had not power to move.
But Isis saw him, and thus spake the mother:
"Thou who art Father, Strength and Word and

Light:

Shall be my last-born grandchild lie for ever
In pain, the down-press'd thrall of his. rude Brother?
Then had the Lord compassion, and he sent him
The Herald of the Saviour from the Waters;
The cup of Fluidness, and in the Cup-
The drops of Sadness and the drops of Longing.
And then the Ice was thawed, the Fire grew cool,
And Phosphoros again had room to breathe.
But yet the earthy Garment cumber'd him,
The Azure chains still gall'd, and the Remembrance
Of the Name, the Lord's, which he had lost, was wan:-
ing.

"Then the Mother's heart was moved with pity,
She beckoned the Son to her, and said:
Thou who art more than I, and yet my nursling,

*Mylitta, in the old Persian mysteries, was the nam of the Moon; Mythras that of the Sun.

But Phosphoros look'd up to him, and said:
Thou art sent hither to redeem from Sin,
Yet art thou not the Saviour from the Waters.-
Then spake the Word: The Saviour from the Waters
I surely am not; yet when thou hast drunk
The Cup of Fluidness, I will Redeem thee.
Then Phosphor drank the Cup of Fluidness,
Of Longing, and of Sadness; and his Garment
Did drop sweet drops; wherewith the Messenger
Of the Word wash'd all his Garment, till its folds
And stiffness vanish'd, and it'gan grow light.
And when the Prison LIFE she touch'd, straightway
It wax'd thin and lucid like to crystal.
But yet the Azure Chains she could not break.--
Then did the Word vouchsafe him the Cup of Faith,
And having drunk it, Phosphoros look'd up,
And saw the Saviour standing in the Waters.

But he fled.

on such extravagances, we have fancied we could discern in this apologue some glimmerings of meaning, scattered here and there like weak lamps in the darkness; not enough to interpret the riddle, but to show that by possibility it might have an interpretation,-was a typical vision, with a certain degree of significance in the wild mind of the poet, not an inane fever-dream. Might not Phosphoros, for example, indicate generally the spiritual essence of a man, and this story be an emblem of his history? He longs to be "One and Somewhat; that is, he labours under the very common complaint of egotism; cannot, in the grandeur of Beauty and Virtue, forget his own so beautiful and virtuous Self; but, amid the glories of the majestic All, is still haunted and blinded by some shadow of his own little Me. For this reason he is punished; imprisoned in the "Element" (of a material body,) and has the "four Azure Chains" (the four principles of matter) bound round him; so that he can neither think nor act, except in a

"So Phosphoros was grieved in heart: But yet the Word spake comfort, giving him The Pillow Patience, there to lay his head. And having rested, he rais'd his head, and said: Wilt thou redeem me from the Prison too?

It may be nine, until thy hour shall come.
And Phosphor answer'd, Lord, thy will be done!

"Which when the mother Isis saw, it grieved her;
She called the Rainbow up, and said to him:
Go thou and tell the Word that he forgive
The Captive these seven moons! And Rainbow flew
Where he was sent; and as he shook his wings
There dropt from them the Oil of Purity:
And this the Word did gather in a Cup,
And cleansed with it the Sinner's head and bosom.
Then passing forth into his Father's Garden,
He breathed upon the ground, and there arose
A flow'ret out of it, like milk and rose-bloom;
Which having wetted with the dew of Rapture,
He crown'd therewith the Captive's brow; then grasp'd

him

With his right hand, the Rainbow with the left;
Mylitta likewise with the Mirror came,
And Phosphoros looked into it, and saw
Wrote on the Azure of Infinity

The long-forgotten NAME, and the REMEMBRANCE
OF HIS BIRTHPLACE, gleaming as in light of gold.

Then fell there as if scales from Phosphor's eyes,
He left the Thought of being One and Somewhat,
His nature melted in the mighty All;
Like sighings from above came balmy healing,
So that his heart for very bliss was bursting.
For Chains and Garment cumber'd him no more:
The Garment he had changed to royal purple,
And of his Chains were fashion'd glancing jewels.
True, still the Saviour from the Waters tarried;
Yet came the Spirit over him; the Lord
Turn'd towards him a gracious countenance,
And Isis held him in her mother-arms.
"This is the last Evangile.

'The door closes, and again conceals the OLD MAN OF CARMEL.)

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of mythologic poetry; in which, if he cannot behold the "Name," and has forgotten his own "Birthplace," both of which are blotted out and hidden by the "Element," he finds some spiritual solace, and breathes more freely. Still, however, the "Cup of Fire" tortures him; till the "Salt" (intellectual culture?) is vouchsafed; which, indeed, calms the raging of that furious bloodthirstiness and warlike strife, but leaves him, as mere culture of the understanding may be supposed to do, frozen into irrelithe "Name" and his "Own Original" than gion and moral inactivity, and farther from ever. Then is the "Cup of Fluidness" a more merciful disposition? and intended, with " "the Drops of Sadness and the Drops of Longing," to shadow forth that wo-struck, desolate, yet softer and devouter state in which mankind displayed itself at the coming of the "Word," at the first promulgation of the Christian religion? Is the "Rainbow" the modern poetry of Europe, the Chivalry, the new form of Stoicism, the whole romantic feeling of these later days? But who or what the "Heiland aus den Wassern" (Saviour from the Waters) may be, we need not hide our entire ignorance; this being apparently a secret of the Valley, which Robert d'Heredon, and Werner, and men of like gifts, are in due time to show the world, but unhappily have not yet succeeded in bringing to light. Perhaps, indeed, our whole interpretation may be thought little better than lost labour; a reading of what was only scrawled and flourished, not written; a shap ing of gay castles and metallic palaces from the sunset clouds, which, though mountainlike, and purple and golden of hue, and towered together as if by Cyclopean arms, are but