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Christ in Flanders...............................................................................................................................................1

Honore de Balzac .....................................................................................................................................1

At a dimly remote period in the history of Brabant, communication between the Island of Cadzand and the

Flemish coast was kept up by a boat which carried passengers from one shore to the other. Middelburg, the

chief town in the island, destined to become so famous in the annals of Protestantism, at that time only

numbered some two or three hundred hearths; and the prosperous town of Ostend was an obscure haven, a

straggling village where pirates dwelt in security among the fishermen and the few poor merchants who lived

But though the town of Ostend consisted altogether of some score of houses and three hundred cottages, huts

or hovels built of the driftwood of wrecked vessels, it nevertheless rejoiced in the possession of a governor, a

garrison, a forked gibbet, a convent, and a burgomaster, in short, in all the institutions of an advanced

Who reigned over Brabant and Flanders in those days? On this point tradition is mute. Let us confess at once

that this tale savors strongly of the marvelous, the mysterious, and the vague; elements which Flemish

narrators have infused into a story retailed so often to gatherings of workers on winter evenings, that the

details vary widely in poetic merit and incongruity of detail. It has been told by every generation, handed

down by grandames at the fireside, narrated night and day, and the chronicle has changed its complexion

somewhat in every age. Like some great building that has suffered many modifications of successive

generations of architects, some sombre weatherbeaten pile, the delight of a poet, the story would drive the

commentator and the industrious winnower of words, facts, and dates to despair. The narrator believes in it,

as all superstitious minds in Flanders likewise believe; and is not a whit wiser nor more credulous than his

audience. But as it would be impossible to make a harmony of all the different renderings, here are the

outlines of the story; stripped, it may be, of its picturesque quaintness, but with all its bold disregard of

historical truth, and its moral teachings approved by religiona myth, the blossom of imaginative fancy; an

allegory that the wise may interpret to suit themselves. To each his own pasturage, and the task of separating

The boat that served to carry passengers from the Island of Cadzand to Ostend was upon the point of

departure; but before the skipper loosed the chain that secured the shallop to the little jetty, where people

embarked, he blew a horn several times, to warn late lingerers, this being his last journey that day. Night was

falling. It was scarcely possible to see the coast of Flanders by the dying fires of the sunset, or to make out

upon the hither shore any forms of belated passengers hurrying along the wall of the dykes that surrounded

Just at that moment a man appeared a few paces from the jetty, to the surprise of the skipper, who had heard

no sound of footsteps. The traveler seemed to have sprung up from the earth, like a peasant who had laid

himself down on the ground to wait till the boat should start, and had slept till the sound of the horn

awakened him. Was he a thief? or some one belonging to the customhouse or the police?

As soon as the man appeared on the jetty to which the boat was moored, seven persons who were standing in

the stern of the shallop hastened to sit down on the benches, so as to leave no room for the newcomer. It was

the swift and instinctive working of the aristocratic spirit, an impulse of exclusiveness that comes from the

rich man's heart. Four of the seven personages belonged to the most aristocratic families in Flanders. First

among them was a young knight with two beautiful greyhounds; his long hair flowed from beneath a jeweled

cap; he clanked his gilded spurs, curled the ends of his moustache from time to time with a swaggering grace,

and looked round disdainfully on the rest of the crew. A highborn damsel, with a falcon on her wrist, only

spoke with her mother or with a churchman of high rank, who was evidently a relation. All these persons

made a great deal of noise, and talked among themselves as though there were no one else in the boat; yet

close beside them sat a man of great importance in the district, a stout burgher of Bruges, wrapped about with

a vast cloak. His servant, armed to the teeth, had set down a couple of bags filled with gold at his side. Next

to the burgher came a man of learning, a doctor of the University of Louvain, who was traveling with his

clerk. This little group of folk, who looked contemptuously at each other, was separated from the passengers

The belated traveler glanced about him as he stepped on board, saw that there was no room for him in the

stern, and went to the bows in quest of a seat. They were all poor people there. At first sight of the

bareheaded man in the brown camlet coat and trunkhose, and plain stiff linen collar, they noticed that he

wore no ornaments, carried no cap nor bonnet in his hand, and had neither sword nor purse at his girdle, and

one and all took him for a burgomaster sure of his authority, a worthy and kindly burgomaster like so many a

Fleming of old times, whose homely features and characters have been immortalized by Flemish painters.

The poorer passengers, therefore, received him with demonstrations of respect that provoked scornful

tittering at the other end of the boat. An old soldier, inured to toil and hardship, gave up his place on the

bench to the newcomer, and seated himself on the edge of the vessel, keeping his balance by planting his feet

against one of those traverse beams, like the backbone of a fish, that hold the planks of a boat together. A

young mother, who bore her baby in her arms, and seemed to belong to the working class in Ostend, moved

aside to make room for the stranger. There was neither servility nor scorn in her manner of doing this; it was

a simple sign of the goodwill by which the poor, who know by long experience the value of a service and the

warmth that fellowship brings, give expression to the openheartedness and the natural impulses of their

souls; so artlessly do they reveal their good qualities and their defects. The stranger thanked her by a gesture

full of gracious dignity, and took his place between the young mother and the old soldier. Immediately

behind him sat a peasant and his son, a boy ten years of age. A beggar woman, old, wrinkled, and clad in

rags, was crouching, with her almost empty wallet, on a great coil of rope that lay in the prow. One of the

rowers, an old sailor, who had known her in the days of her beauty and prosperity, had let her come in "for

"Thank you kindly, Thomas," the old woman had said. "I will say two Paters and two Aves for you in my

The skipper blew his horn for the last time, looked along the silent shore, flung off the chain, ran along the

side of the boat, and took up his position at the helm. He looked at the sky, and as soon as they were out in

the open sea, he shouted to the men: "Pull away, pull with all your might! The sea is smiling at a squall, the

witch! I can feel the swell by the way the rudder works, and the storm in my wounds."

The nautical phrases, unintelligible to ears unused to the sound of the sea, seemed to put fresh energy into the

oars; they kept time together, the rhythm of the movement was still even and steady, but quite unlike the

previous manner of rowing; it was as if a cantering horse had broken into a gallop. The gay company seated

in the stern amused themselves by watching the brawny arms, the tanned faces, and sparkling eyes of the

rowers, the play of the tense muscles, the physical and mental forces that were being exerted to bring them

for a trifling toll across the channel. So far from pitying the rowers' distress, they pointed out the men's faces

to each other, and laughed at the grotesque expressions on the faces of the crew who were straining every

muscle; but in the fore part of the boat the soldier, the peasant, and the old beggar woman watched the sailors

with the sympathy naturally felt by toilers who live by the sweat of their brow and know the rough struggle,

the strenuous excitement of effort. These folk, moreover, whose lives were spent in the open air, had all seen

the warnings of danger in the sky, and their faces were grave. The young mother rocked her child, singing an

"If we ever get there at all," the soldier remarked to the peasant, "it will be because the Almighty is bent on

"Ah! He is the Master," said the old woman, "but I think it will be His good pleasure to take us to Himself.

Just look at that light down there . . ." and she nodded her head as she spoke towards the sunset.

Streaks of fiery red glared from behind the masses of crimsonflushed brown cloud that seemed about to

unloose a furious gale. There was a smothered murmur of the sea, a moaning sound that seemed to come

from the depths, a low warning growl, such as a dog gives when he only means mischief as yet. After all,

Ostend was not far away. Perhaps painting, like poetry, could not prolong the existence of the picture

presented by sea and sky at that moment beyond the time of its actual duration. Art demands vehement

contrasts, wherefore artists usually seek out Nature's most striking effects, doubtless because they despair of

rendering the great and glorious charm of her daily moods; yet the human soul is often stirred as deeply by

For a moment no one spoke on board the boat. Every one watched that sea and sky, either with some

presentiment of danger, or because they felt the influence of the religious melancholy that takes possession of

nearly all of us at the close of the day, the hour of prayer, when all nature is hushed save for the voices of the

bells. The sea gleamed pale and wan, but its hues changed, and the surface took all the colors of steel. The

sky was almost overspread with livid gray, but down in the west there were long narrow bars like streaks of

blood; while lines of bright light in the eastern sky, sharp and clean as if drawn by the tip of a brush, were

separated by folds of cloud, like the wrinkles on an old man's brow. The whole scene made a background of

ashen grays and halftints, in strong contrast to the balefires of the sunset. If written language might borrow

of spoken language some of the bold figures of speech invented by the people, it might be said with the

soldier that "the weather has been routed," or, as the peasant would say, "the sky glowered like an

executioner." Suddenly a wind arose from the quarter of the sunset, and the skipper, who never took his eyes

"The skipper is right," said Thomas coolly. A great wave caught up the boat, carried it high on its crest, only

to plunge it, as it were, into the trough of the sea that seemed to yawn for them. At this mighty upheaval, this

sudden outbreak of the wrath of the sea, the company in the stern turned pale, and sent up a terrible cry.

As he spoke, the clouds immediately above their heads were torn asunder by the vehemence of the wind. The

gray mass was rent and scattered east and west with ominous speed, a dim uncertain light from the rift in the

sky fell full upon the boat, and the travelers beheld each other's faces. All of them, the noble and the wealthy,

the sailors and the poor passengers alike, were amazed for a moment by the appearance of the last comer. His

golden hair, parted upon his calm, serene forehead, fell in thick curls about his shoulders; and his face,

sublime in its sweetness and radiant with divine love, stood out against the surrounding gloom. He had no

contempt for death; he knew that he should not die. But if at the first the company in the stern forgot for a

moment the implacable fury of the storm that threatened their lives, selfishness and their habits of life soon

"How lucky that stupid burgomaster is, not to see the risks we are all running! He is just like a dog, he will

He had scarcely pronounced this highly judicious dictum when the storm unloosed all its legions. The wind

blew from every quarter of the heavens, the boat span round like a top, and the sea broke in.

"Oh! my poor child! my poor child! . . . Who will save my baby?" the mother cried in a heartrending voice.

The thrilling tones of that voice went to the young mother's heart and brought hope with them; she heard the

gracious words through all the whistling of the wind and the shrieks of the passengers.

"Holy Virgin of Good Help, who art at Antwerp, I promise thee a thousand pounds of wax and a statue, if

thou wilt rescue me from this!" cried the burgher, kneeling upon his bags of gold.

"The Virgin is no more at Antwerp than she is here," was the doctor's comment on this appeal.

"'Tis the devil!" exclaimed the servant. "He is scoffing at the Virgin of Antwerp."

"Let us have no more of your Holy Virgin at present," the skipper cried to the passengers. "Put your hands to

the scoops and bail the water out of the boat.And the rest of you," he went on, addressing the sailors, "pull

with all your might! Now is the time; in the name of the devil who is leaving you in this world, be your own

Providence! Every one knows that the channel is fearfully dangerous; I have been to and fro across it these

He stood at the helm, and looked, as before, at his boat and at the sea and sky in turn.

"Will God leave us to perish along with those wretched creatures?" asked the haughty damsel of the

"No, no, noble maiden. . . . Listen!" and he caught her by the waist and said in her ear, "I can swim, say

nothing about it! I will hold you by your fair hair and bring you safely to the shore; but I can only save you."

The girl looked at her aged mother. The lady was on her knees entreating absolution of the Bishop, who did

not heed her. In the beautiful eyes the knight read a vague feeling of filial piety, and spoke in a smothered

"Submit yourself to the will of God. If it is His pleasure to take your mother to Himself, it will doubtless be

for her happinessin another world," he added, and his voice dropped still lower. "And for ours in this," he

The girl felt the longing for life in her heart, and for love that spoke through the handsome adventurer, a

young miscreant who haunted churches in search of a prize, an heiress to marry, or ready money. The Bishop

bestowed his benison on the waves, and bade them be calm; it was all that he could do. He thought of his

concubine, and of the delicate feast with which she would welcome him; perhaps at that very moment she

was bathing, perfuming herself, robing herself in velvet, fastening her necklace and her jeweled clasps; and

the perverse Bishop, so far from thinking of the power of Holy Church, of his duty to comfort Christians and

exhort them to trust in God, mingled worldly regrets and lover's sighs with the holy words of the breviary. By

the dim light that shone on the pale faces of the company, it was possible to see their differing expressions as

the boat was lifted high in air by a wave, to be cast back into the dark depths; the shallop quivered like a

fragile leaf, the plaything of the north wind in the autumn; the hull creaked, it seemed ready to go to pieces.

There was a strange difference between the behavior of the folk in the bows and that of the rich or great

people at the other end of the boat. The young mother clasped her infant tightly to her breast every time that a

great wave threatened to engulf the fragile vessel; but she clung to the hope that the stranger's words had set

in her heart. Each time that the eyes turned to his face she drew fresh faith at the sight, the strong faith of a

helpless woman, a mother's faith. She lived by that divine promise, the loving words from his lips; the simple

creature waited trustingly for them to be fulfilled, and scarcely feared the danger any longer.

The soldier, holding fast to the vessel's side, never took his eyes off the strange visitor. He copied on his own

rough and swarthy features the imperturbability of the other's face, applying to this task the whole strength of

a will and intelligence but little corrupted in the course of a life of mechanical and passive obedience. So

emulous was he of a calm and tranquil courage greater than his own, that at last, perhaps unconsciously,

something of that mysterious nature passed into his own soul. His admiration became an instinctive zeal for

this man, a boundless love for and belief in him, such a love as soldiers feel for their leader when he has the

power of swaying other men, when the halo of victories surrounds him, and the magical fascination of genius

"Ah! miserable wretch that I am! Have I not suffered enough to expiate the sins of my youth? Ah! wretched

woman, why did you leave the gay life of a frivolous Frenchwoman? why did you devour the goods of God

with churchmen, the substance of the poor with extortioners and fleecers of the poor? Oh! I have sinned

indeed!Oh my God! my God! let me finish my time in hell here in this world of misery."

"Be comforted, mother. God is not a Lombard usurer. I may have killed people good and bad at random in

"Ah! master Lancepesade, how happy those fair ladies are, to be so near to a bishop, a holy man! They will

get absolution for their sins," said the old woman. "Oh! if I could only hear a priest say to me, 'Thy sins are

"May God reward you, good sir," she answered. "If what you say is true, I will go on pilgrimage barefooted

The two peasants, father and son, were silent, patient, and submissive to the will of God, like folk whose

wont it is to fall in instinctively with the ways of Nature like cattle. At the one end of the boat stood riches,

pride, learning, debauchery, and crimehuman society, such as art and thought and education and worldly

interests and laws have made it; and at this end there was terror and wailing, innumerable different impulses

all repressed by hideous doubtsat this end, and at this only, the agony of fear.

Above all these human lives stood a strong man, the skipper; no doubts assailed him, the chief, the king, the

fatalist among them. He was trusting in himself rather than in Providence, crying, "Bail away!" instead of

"Holy Virgin," defying the storm, in fact, and struggling with the sea like a wrestler.

But the helpless poor at the other end of the wherry! The mother rocking on her bosom the little one who

smiled at the storm; the woman once so frivolous and gay, and now tormented with bitter remorse; the old

soldier covered with scars, a mutilated life the sole reward of his unflagging loyalty and faithfulness. This

veteran could scarcely count on the morsel of bread soaked in tears to keep the life in him, yet he was always

ready to laugh, and went his way merrily, happy when he could drown his glory in the depths of a pot of beer,

or could tell tales of the wars to the children who admired him, leaving his future with a light heart in the

hands of God. Lastly, there were the two peasants, used to hardships and toil, labor incarnate, the labor by

which the world lives. These simple folk were indifferent to thought and its treasures, ready to sink them all

in a belief; and their faith was but so much the more vigorous because they had never disputed about it nor

analyzed it. Such a nature is a virgin soil, conscience has not been tampered with, feeling is deep and strong;

repentance, trouble, love, and work have developed, purified, concentrated, and increased their force of will a

hundred times, the willthe one thing in man that resembles what learned doctors call the Soul.

The boat, guided by the wellnigh miraculous skill of the steersman, came almost within sight of Ostend,

when, not fifty paces from the shore, she was suddenly struck by a heavy sea and capsized. The stranger with

He stood upright, and walked with a firm step upon the waves. The young mother at once took her child in

her arms, and followed at his side across the sea. The soldier too sprang up, saying in his homely fashion,

"Ah! nom d'un pipe! I would follow you to the devil;" and without seeming astonished by it, he walked on the

water. The wornout sinner, believing in the omnipotence of God, also followed the stranger.

The two peasants said to each other, "If they are walking on the sea, why should we not do as they do?" and

they also arose and hastened after the others. Thomas tried to follow, but his faith tottered; he sank in the sea

more than once, and rose again, but the third time he also walked on the sea. The bold steersman clung like a

remora to the wreck of his boat. The miser had had faith, and had risen to go, but he tried to take his gold

with him, and it was his gold that dragged him down to the bottom. The learned man had scoffed at the

charlatan and at the fools who listened to him; and when he heard the mysterious stranger propose to the

passengers that they should walk on the waves, he began to laugh, and the ocean swallowed him. The girl

was dragged down into the depths by her lover. The Bishop and the older lady went to the bottom, heavily

laden with sins, it may be, but still more heavily laden with incredulity and confidence in idols, weighted

The faithful flock, who walked with a firm step high and dry above the surge, heard all about them the

dreadful whistling of the blast; great billows broke across their path, but an irresistible force cleft a way for

them through the sea. These believing ones saw through the spray a dim speck of light flickering in the

window of a fisherman's hut on the shore, and each one, as he pushed on bravely towards the light, seemed to

hear the voice of his fellow crying, "Courage!" through all the roaring of the surf; yet no one had spoken a

When they were all seated near the fisherman's fire, they looked round in vain for their guide with the light

about him. The sea washed up the steersman at the base of the cliff on which the cottage stood; he was

clinging with might and main to the plank as a sailor can cling when death stares him in the face; the MAN

went down and rescued the almost exhausted seaman; then he said, as he held out a succoring hand above the

He took the skipper on his shoulders, and carried him to the fisherman's door; knocked for admittance for the

exhausted man; then, when the door of the humble refuge opened, the Saviour disappeared.

The Convent of Mercy was built for sailors on this spot, where for long afterwards (so it was said) the

footprints of Jesus Christ could be seen in the sand; but in 1793, at the time of the French invasion, the monks

carried away this precious relic, that bore witness to the Saviour's last visit to earth.

There at the convent I found myself shortly after the Revolution of 1830. I was weary of life. If you had

asked me the reason of my despair, I should have found it almost impossible to give it, so languid had grown

the soul that was melted within me. The west wind had slackened the springs of my intelligence. A cold gray

light poured down from the heavens, and the murky clouds that passed overhead gave a boding look to the

land; all these things, together with the immensity of the sea, said to me, "Die today or die tomorrow, still

must we not die?" And thenI wandered on, musing on the doubtful future, on my blighted hopes. Gnawed

by these gloomy thoughts, I turned mechanically into the convent church, with the gray towers that loomed

like ghosts though the sea mists. I looked round with no kindling of the imagination at the forest of columns,

at the slender arches set aloft upon the leafy capitals, a delicate labyrinth of sculpture. I walked with careless

eyes along the side aisles that opened out before me like vast portals, ever turning upon their hinges. It was

scarcely possible to see, by the dim light of the autumn day, the sculptured groinings of the roof, the delicate

and cleancut lines of the mouldings of the graceful pointed arches. The organ pipes were mute. There was

no sound save the noise of my own footsteps to awaken the mournful echoes lurking in the dark chapels. I sat

down at the base of one of the four pillars that supported the tower, near the choir. Thence I could see the

whole of the building. I gazed, and no ideas connected with it arose in my mind. I saw without seeing the

mighty maze of pillars, the great rose windows that hung like a network suspended as by a miracle in air

above the vast doorways. I saw the doors at the end of the side aisles, the aerial galleries, the stained glass

windows framed in archways, divided by slender columns, fretted into flower forms and trefoil by fine

filigree work of carved stone. A dome of glass at the end of the choir sparkled as if it had been built of

precious stones set cunningly. In contrast to the roof with its alternating spaces of whiteness and color, the

two aisles lay to right and left in shadow so deep that the faint gray outlines of their hundred shafts were

scarcely visible in the gloom. I gazed at the marvelous arcades, the scrollwork, the garlands, the curving

lines, and arabesques interwoven and interlaced, and strangely lighted, until by sheer dint of gazing my

perceptions became confused, and I stood upon the borderland between illusion and reality, taken in the snare

set for the eyes, and almost lightheaded by reason of the multitudinous changes of the shapes about me.

Imperceptibly a mist gathered about the carven stonework, and I only beheld it through a haze of fine golden

dust, like the motes that hover in the bars of sunlight slanting through the air of a chamber. Suddenly the

stone lacework of the rose windows gleamed through this vapor that had made all forms so shadowy. Every

moulding, the edges of every carving, the least detail of the sculpture was dipped in silver. The sunlight

kindled fires in the stained windows, their rich colors sent out glowing sparks of light. The shafts began to

tremble, the capitals were gently shaken. A light shudder as of delight ran through the building, the stones

were loosened in their setting, the wall spaces swayed with graceful caution. Here and there a ponderous

pier moved as solemnly as a dowager when she condescends to complete a quadrille at the close of a ball. A

few slender and graceful columns, their heads adorned with wreaths of trefoil, began to laugh and dance here

and there. Some of the pointed arches dashed at the tall lancet windows, who, like ladies of the Middle Ages,

wore the armorial bearings of their houses emblazoned on their golden robes. The dance of the mitred arcades

In another moment every stone in the church vibrated, without leaving its place; for the organpipes spoke,

and I heard divine music mingling with the songs of angels, and unearthly harmony, accompanied by the

deep notes of the bells, that boomed as the giant towers rocked and swayed on their square bases. This

strange Sabbath seemed to me the most natural thing in the world; and I, who had seen Charles X. hurled

from his throne, was no longer amazed by anything. Nay, I myself was gently swaying with a seesaw

movement that influenced my nerves pleasurably in a manner of which it is impossible to give any idea. Yet

in the midst of this heated riot, the cathedral choir felt cold as if it were a winter day, and I became aware of a

multitude of women, robed in white, silent, and impassive, sitting there. The sweet incense smoke that arose

from the censers was grateful to my soul. The tall wax candles flickered. The lectern, gay as a chanter undone

Then I knew that the whole cathedral was whirling round so fast that everything appeared to be undisturbed.

The colossal Figure on the crucifix above the altar smiled upon me with a mingled malice and benevolence

that frightened me; I turned my eyes away, and marveled at the bluish vapor that slid across the pillars,

lending to them an indescribable charm. Then some graceful women's forms began to stir on the friezes. The

cherubs who upheld the heavy columns shook out their wings. I felt myself uplifted by some divine power

that steeped me in infinite joy, in a sweet and languid rapture. I would have given my life, I think, to have

prolonged these phantasmagoria for a little, but suddenly a shrill voice clamored in my ears:

A withered woman took my hand in hers; its icy coldness crept through every nerve. The bones of her face

showed plainly through the sallow, almost olivetinted wrinkles of the skin. The shrunken, icecold old

woman wore a black robe, which she trailed in the dust, and at her throat there was something white, which I

dared not examine. I could scarcely see her wan and colorless eyes, for they were fixed in a stare upon the

heavens. She drew me after her along the aisles, leaving a trace of her presence in the ashes that she shook

from her dress. Her bones rattled as she walked, like the bones of a skeleton; and as we went I heard behind

me the tinkling of a little bell, a thin, sharp sound that rang through my head like the notes of a harmonica.

We came out of the church; we went through the dirtiest streets of the town, till we came at last to a dingy

dwelling, and she bade me enter in. She dragged me with her, calling to me in a harsh, tuneless voice like a

Together we went up a winding staircase. She knocked at a door in the darkness, and a mute, like some

familiar of the Inquisition, opened to her. In another moment we stood in a room hung with ancient, ragged

I shuddered with horror; for just then, by the light of a tall torch and two altar candles, I saw distinctly that

this woman was fresh from the graveyard. She had no hair. I turned to fly. She raised her fleshless arm and

encircled me with a band of iron set with spikes, and as she raised it a cry went up all about us, the cry of

We were sitting before the hearth, the ashes lay cold upon it; the old shrunken woman grasped my hand so

tightly in hers that I could not choose but stay. I looked fixedly at her, striving to read the story of her life

from the things among which she was crouching. Had she indeed any life in her? It was a mystery. Yet I saw

plainly that once she must have been young and beautiful; fair, with all the charm of simplicity, perfect as

"Ah! ah!" I cried, "now I know thee! Miserable woman, why hast thou prostituted thyself? In the age of thy

passions, in the time of thy prosperity, the grace and purity of thy youth were forgotten. Forgetful of thy

heroic devotion, thy pure life, thy abundant faith, thou didst resign thy primitive power and thy spiritual

supremacy for fleshly power. Thy linen vestments, thy couch of moss, the cell in the rock, bright with rays of

the Light Divine, was forsaken; thou hast sparkled with diamonds, and shone with the glitter of luxury and

pride. Then, grown bold and insolent, seizing and overturning all things in thy course like a courtesan eager

for pleasure in her days of splendor, thou hast steeped thyself in blood like some queen stupefied by empery.

Dost thou not remember to have been dull and heavy at times, and the sudden marvelous lucidity of other

moments; as when Art emerges from an orgy? Oh! poet, painter, and singer, lover of splendid ceremonies and

protector of the arts, was thy friendship for art perchance a caprice, that so thou shouldst sleep beneath

magnificent canopies? Was there not a day when, in thy fantastic pride, though chastity and humility were

prescribed to thee, thou hadst brought all things beneath thy feet, and set thy foot on the necks of princes;

when earthly dominion, and wealth, and the mind of man bore thy yoke? Exulting in the abasement of

humanity, joying to witness the uttermost lengths to which man's folly would go, thou hast bidden thy lovers

walk on all fours, and required of them their lands and wealth, nay, even their wives if they were worth aught

to thee. Thou hast devoured millions of men without a cause; thou hast flung away lives like sand blown by

the wind from West to East. Thou hast come down from the heights of thought to sit among the kings of men.

Woman! instead of comforting men, thou hast tormented and afflicted them! Knowing that thou couldst ask

and have, thou hast demanded blood! A little flour surely should have contented thee, accustomed as thou

hast been to live on bread and to mingle water with thy wine. Unlike all others in all things, formerly thou

wouldst bid thy lovers fast, and they obeyed. Why should thy fancies have led thee to require things

impossible? Why, like a courtesan spoiled by her lovers, hast thou doted on follies, and left those undeceived

who sought to explain and justify all thy errors? Then came the days of thy later passions, terrible like the

love of a woman of forty years, with a fierce cry thou hast sought to clasp the whole universe in one last

"Then old men succeeded to thy young lovers; decrepitude came to thy feet and made thee hideous. Yet, even

then, men with the eagle power of vision said to thee in a glance, 'Thou shalt perish ingloriously, because

thou hast fallen away, because thou hast broken the vows of thy maidenhood. The angel with peace written

on her forehead, who should have shed light and joy along her path, has been a Messalina, delighting in the

circus, in debauchery, and abuse of power. The days of thy virginity cannot return; henceforward thou shalt

be subject to a master. Thy hour has come; the hand of death is upon thee. Thy heirs believe that thou art rich;

they will kill thee and find nothing. Yet try at least to fling away this raiment no longer in fashion; be once

"Is not this thy story?" so I ended. "Decrepit, toothless, shivering crone, now forgotten, going thy ways

without so much as a glance from passersby! Why art thou still alive? What doest thou in that beggar's garb,

uncomely and desired of none? Where are thy riches?for what were they spent? Where are thy

At this demand, the shriveled woman raised her bony form, flung off her rags, and grew tall and radiant,

smiling as she broke forth from the dark chrysalid sheath. Then like a butterfly, this diaphanous creature

emerged, fair and youthful, clothed in white linen, an Indian from creation issuing her palms. Her golden hair

rippled over her shoulders, her eyes glowed, a bright mist clung about her, a ring of gold hovered above her

And suddenly I saw, afar off, many thousands of cathedrals like the one that I had just quitted; but these were

covered with pictures and with frescoes, and I heard them echo with entrancing music. Myriads of human

creatures flocked to these great buildings, swarming about them like ants on an antheap. Some were eager to

rescue books from oblivion or to copy manuscripts, others were helping the poor, but nearly all were

studying. Up above this countless multitude rose giant statues that they had erected in their midst, and by the

gleams of a strange light from some luminary as powerful as the sun, I read the inscriptions on the bases of

The light died out. Again I faced the young girl. Gradually she slipped into the dreary sheath, into the ragged

cerecloths, and became an aged woman again. Her familiar brought her a little dust, and she stirred it into

the ashes of her chafingdish, for the weather was cold and stormy; and then he lighted for her, whose

palaces had been lit with thousands of waxtapers, a little cresset, that she might see to read her prayers

In such a perilous plight did I behold the fairest and the greatest, the truest and most lifegiving of all

"Wake up, sir, the doors are just about to be shut," said a hoarse voice. I turned and beheld the beadle's ugly

countenance; the man was shaking me by the arm, and the cathedral lay wrapped in shadows as a man is

"Belief," I said to myself, "is Life! I have just witnessed the funeral of a monarchy, now we must defend the