SATAN ABSOLVED A VICTORIAN MYSTERY
BY WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
SATAN ABSOLVED
A VICTORIAN MYSTERY
BY WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
WITH A FRONTISPIECE AFTER
GEORGE FREDERICK WATTS R.A.
LONDON AND NEW YORK
JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
1899
DEDICATED BY PERMISSION
TO MR. HERBERT SPENCER
PREFACE
In publishing this poem, the Author feels that some apology is needed. It
deals with matters of a kind not usually treated in modern verse, and
which ask to be approached, if at all, with dignity and reverence. He
trusts that he will not be found lacking on this essential point.
Nevertheless, he cannot expect but that he may wound by his plain speaking
the feelings of those among his readers who sincerely believe that
Nineteenth Century Civilisation is synonymous with Christianity, and that
the English Race, above all those in existence, has a special mission from
Heaven to subdue and occupy the Earth. The self-complacency of the
Author's countrymen on this head is too deeply seated to be attacked
without offence. He has not, however, shrunk from so attacking, and from
insisting on the truth that the hypocrisy and all-acquiring greed of
modern England is an atrocious spectacle--one which, if there be any
justice in Heaven, must bring a curse from God, as it has surely already
made the angels weep. The destruction of beauty in the name of science,
the destruction of happiness in the name of progress, the destruction of
reverence in the name of religion, these are the pharisaic crimes of all
the white races; but there is something in the Anglo-Saxon impiety
crueller still: that it also destroys, as no other race does, for its mere
vain-glorious pleasure. The Anglo-Saxon alone has in our day exterminated,
root and branch, whole tribes of mankind. He alone has depopulated
continents, species after species, of their wonderful animal life, and is
still yearly destroying; and this not merely to occupy the land, for it
lies in large part empty, but for his insatiable lust of violent
adventure, to make record bags and kill. That things are so is ample
reason for the hardest words the Author can command.
To his fellow poets and poetic critics the Author too would say a word. He
has chosen as the vehicle of his thought a metre to which in English they
are unaccustomed, the six-foot Alexandrine couplet. For some reason which
the Author has never understood, this, the classic metre in France, has
stood in disrepute with us. Yet he ventures to think that, for rhetorical
and dramatic purposes, it is infinitely preferable to our own heroic
couplet, and preferable even, in any hands but the strongest, to our
traditional blank verse. He believes, moreover, that if our skilled
dramatists would make trial of it, it would, by its extreme flexibility
and the natural break of its cesura, enable them to capture that shyest of
all shy things--success in a rhymed modern play. At least, he trusts that
they will give it their consideration, and not condemn him off-hand
because, having a rhetorical subject to deal with, he has treated it
rhetorically and in what he considers the best rhetoric form, though both
rhetoric and Alexandrines are out of fashion.
Lastly, he has to discharge, in connection with his poem, a double debt of
gratitude. The poem, unworthy as it is, is, by permission, dedicated to
the first of living thinkers, Mr. Herbert Spencer. To his reasoned and
life-long advocacy of the rights of the weak in Man's higher evolution is
due all that in the poem is intellectually worthiest, to this and to the
inspiration of much personal encouragement and sympathy received by the
Author at a moment of public excitement when it was onerous yet necessary
for the Author to speak unpopular truths.
To Mr. Spencer's great name the Author would add the name of that other
senior of the ideal world, Mr. George Frederick Watts, the first of living
painters, with whom, while the poem was in progress, it was his privilege
to spend many emotional hours in high communings on Life and Death and
the tragic Beauty of the world. He would thank him publicly here for the
leave generously given him to add to the volume its chief ornament, the
frontispiece, which is a reproduction of Mr. Watts' Angel of Pity weeping
over the dead birds' wings.
To both these heroic workers in the cause of good the Author in gratitude
inscribes himself their faithful servant, disciple, and friend.
FERNYCROFT, NEW FOREST.
_July 27th, 1899._
SATAN ABSOLVED
A Victorian Mystery
(_In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups
conversing_).
SATAN
To-day is the Lord's "day." Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old-world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child (_laughs_).
I have come to make my peace, to crave a full "amaun,"
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers-drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil-doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth I foresaw
When he must needs create that simian "in His own
Image and likeness." Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
(_Certain Angels approach_). But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud. What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion?
ANGELS
Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.
SATAN
Ye have in truth good cause.
ANGELS
And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.
We have no heart to serve without instructions new.
SATAN
Ye have made a late discovery.
ANGELS
There is no rain, no dew,
No watering of God's grace that can make green Man's heart,
Or draw him nearer Heaven to play a godlier part.
Our service has grown vain. We have no rest nor sleep;
The Earth's cry is too loud.
SATAN
Ye have all cause to weep
Since you depend on Man. I told it and foretold.
ANGELS
Truly thou didst.
SATAN
Dear fools! But have ye heart to hold
Such plaint before the Lord, to apprise Him of this thing
In its full naked fact and call your reckoning?
ANGELS
We dare not face his frown. He lives in ignorance.
His pride is in His Earth. If He but looks askance
We tremble and grow dumb.
SATAN
And ye will bear it then?
ANGELS
We dare not grieve His peace. He loves this race of men.
SATAN
The truth should hardly grieve.
ANGELS
He would count it us for pride.
He holds Mankind redeemed, since His Son stooped and died.
We dare not venture.
SATAN
See, I have less than you to lose.
Give me your brief.
ANGELS
Ay, speak. Thee He will not refuse.
Mayhap thou shalt persuade Him.
SATAN
And withal find grace.
The Lord is a just God. He will rejudge this case,
Ay, haply, even mine. O glorious occasion!
To champion Heaven's whole right without shift or evasion
And plead the Angels' cause! Take courage, my sad heart,
Thine hour hath come to thee, to play this worthiest part
And prove thy right, thine too, to Heaven's moralities,
Not worse than these that wait, only alas more wise!
ANGELS
Hush! Silence! The Lord God! (_Entereth the Lord God, to
whom the Angels minister. He taketh His seat upon the throne_).
THE LORD GOD
Thank ye, my servants all.
Thank ye, good Seraphim. To all and several,
Sons of the House, God's blessing--who ne'er gave God pain.
Impeccable white Spirits, tell me once again
How goeth it with the World, my ordered Universe,
My Powers and Dominations? Michael, thou, rehearse
The glory of the Heavens. Tell me, star and star,
Do they still sing together in their spheres afar?
Have they their speech, their language? Are their voices heard?
MICHAEL
All's well with the World. Each morn, as bird to answering bird,
The Stars shout in Thy glory praise unchanged yet new.
They magnify Thy name.
THE LORD GOD
Truth's self were else untrue.
Time needs be optimist nor foul its own abode.
Else were Creation mocked--and haply I not God.
In sooth all's well with the World. And thou my Raphael,
How fare the Spirit hosts? Say, is _thy_ world, too, well?
RAPHAEL
All's well with the World. We stand, as aye, obedient.
We have no thought but Thee, no asking, no intent
More than to laud and worship, O most merciful,
Being of those that wait.
SATAN (_aside_)
The contemplative rule
Out-ministers the active. These have right to boast,
Who stand aye in His presence, beyond the Angel host.
THE LORD GOD
And none of ye grow weary?
RAPHAEL
Nay in truth.
THE LORD GOD
Not one?
SATAN (_aside_)
God is a jealous God. He doubteth Thee.
RAPHAEL
Nay, none.
We are not as the Angels.
THE LORD GOD
These have their devoirs,
The search, the novelty. Ye drowse here in your choirs,
Sleep-walkers all,--while these, glad messengers, go forth
Upon new joyous errands, Earthwards, South and North,
To visit men and cities. What is strange as Man?
What fair as his green Globe in all Creation's plan?
What ordered as his march of life, of mind, of will?
What subtle as his conscience set at grips with ill?
Their service needs no sleep who guide Man's destinies.
Speak, Gabriel, thou the last. Is Man grown grand and wise?
Hath he his place on Earth, prince of Time's fashionings,
Noblest and fairest found, the roof and crown of things?
Is the World joyful all in his most perfect joy?
Hath the good triumphed, tell, o'er pain and Time's annoy,
Since Our Son died, who taught the way of perfect peace?
Thou knowest it how I love these dear Humanities.
Is all quite well with Man?
GABRIEL
All's well with the World, ay well.
All's well enough with Man.
SATAN (_aside_)
Alas, poor Gabriel.
THE LORD GOD
How meanest thou "enough"? Man holdeth then Earth's seat,
Master of living things. He mild is and discreet,
Supreme in My Son's peace. The Earth is comforted
With its long rest from toil, nor goeth aught in dread,
Seeing all wars have ceased, the mad wars of old time.
The lion and the lamb lie down in every clime.
There is no strife for gold, for place, for dignities,
All holding My Son's creed! The last fool hath grown wise.
He hath renounced his gods, the things of wood and stone!
GABRIEL
The Christian name prevaileth. Its dominion
Groweth in all the lands. From Candia to Cathay
The fear of Christ is spread, and wide through Africa.
THE LORD GOD
The fear and not the love?
GABRIEL
Who knoweth Man's heart? All bow,
And all proclaim His might. The manner and the how
It were less safe to argue, since some frailties be.
We take the outward act to prove conformity.
All's well enough with Man--most well with Christendom.
THE LORD GOD
Again thou sayest "enough." How fareth it in Rome?
Hath My vicegerent rest?
GABRIEL
He sitteth as of old
Enthroned in Peter's chair with glories manifold.
He sang a mass this morning and I heard his prayer.
THE LORD GOD
For Peace?
GABRIEL
And Power on Earth.
THE LORD GOD
And were the monarchs there,
The great ones in their place? Did all pray with one breath?
GABRIEL
Some priests and poor I saw,
SATAN (_aside_)
The poor he always hath.
GABRIEL
His guards, his chamberlains.
THE LORD GOD
The mighty ones, the proud,
Do they not kneel together daily in one crowd?
Have they no common counsel?
GABRIEL
Kings have their own needs,
Demanding separate service.
SATAN (_aside_)
Ay, and their own creeds.
One cause alone combines them, and one service--mine.
THE LORD GOD
Thou sayest?
GABRIEL
Man still is Man.
THE LORD GOD
We did redeem his line
And crown him with new worship. In the ancient days
His was a stubborn neck. But now he hath found grace,
Being born anew. His gods he hath renounced, sayest thou?
He worshippeth the Christ? What more?
GABRIEL
Nay, 'tis enow.
He is justified by faith. He hath no fear of Hell
Since he hath won Thy grace. All's well with Man,--most well.
THE LORD GOD
"All's well"! The fair phrase wearieth. It hath a new false ring.
Truce, Gabriel, to thy word fence. Mark my questioning.
Or rather no--not thou, blest Angel of all good,
Herald of God's glad tidings to a world subdued,
Thou lover tried of Man. I will not question thee,
Lest I should tempt too sore and thou lie cravenly.
Is there no other here, no drudge, to do that task
And lay the secret bare, the face behind the mask?
One with a soul less white, who loveth less, nay hates;
One fit for a sad part, the Devil's advocate's;
One who some wrong hath done, or hath been o'erborne of ill,
And so hath his tongue loosed? O for Soul with will!
O for one hour of Satan!
SATAN
He is here, Lord God,
Ready to speak all truths to Thy face, even "Ichabod,
Thy glory is departed," were _that_ truth.
THE LORD GOD
Thou? Here?
SATAN
A suppliant for Thy pardon, and in love, not fear,
One who Thou knowest doth love Thee, ay, and more than these.
THE LORD GOD
That word was Peter's once.
SATAN
I speak no flatteries;
Nor shall I Thee deny for this man nor that maid,
Nor for the cock that crew.
THE LORD GOD
Thou shalt not be gainsaid.
I grant thee audience. Speak.
SATAN
Alone?
THE LORD GOD
'Twere best alone.
Angels, ye are dismissed. (_The angels depart._) Good Satan, now say on.
SATAN (_alone with_ THE LORD GOD)
Omnipotent Lord God! Thou knowest all. I speak
Only as Thy poor echo, faltering with words weak,
A far-off broken sound, yet haply not unheard.
Thou knowest the Worlds Thou madest, and Thine own high word
Declaring they were good. Good were they in all sooth
The mighty Globes Thou mouldedst in the World's fair youth,
Launched silent through the void, evolving force and light.
Thou gatheredst in Thy hand's grasp shards of the Infinite
And churnedst them to Matter; Space concentrated,
Great, glorious, everlasting. The Stars leaped and fled,
As hounds, in their young strength. Yet might they not withdraw
From Thy hand's leash and bond. Thou chainedst them with law.
They did not sin, those Stars, change face, wax proud, rebel.
Nay, they were slaves to Thee, things incorruptible.
I might not tempt them from Thee.
THE LORD GOD
And the reason?
SATAN
Hear.
Thou gavest them no mind, no sensual atmosphere,
Who wert Thyself their soul. Though thou should drowse for aye,
They should not swerve, nor flout Thee, nor abjure Thy way,
Not by a hair's breadth, Lord.
THE LORD GOD
Thou witnessest for good.
SATAN
I testify for truth. In all that solitude
Of spheres involved with spheres, of prodigal force set free,
There hath been no voice untrue, no tongue to disagree,
No traitor thought to wound with less than perfect word.
Such was Thy first Creation. I am Thy witness, Lord.
'Twas worthy of Thyself.
THE LORD GOD
And of the second?
SATAN
Stop.
How shall I speak of it unless Thou give me hope;
I who its child once was, though daring to rebel;
I who Thine outcast am, the banished thief of Hell,
Thy too long reprobate? Thou didst create to Thee
A world of happy Spirits for Thy company,
For Thy delight and solace, as being too weary grown
Of Thy sole loneliness--'twas ill to be alone.
And Thou didst make us pure, as Thou Thyself art pure.
Yet was there seed of ill--What Spirit may endure
The friction of the Spirit? Where two are, Strife is.
Thou gavest us mind, thought, will; all snares to happiness.
THE LORD GOD
Unhappy blinded one. How sinnedst thou? Reveal.
SATAN
Lord, through my too great love, through my excess of zeal.
Listen. Thy third Creation....
THE LORD GOD
Ha! The Earth! Speak plain.
Now will I half forgive thee. What of the Earth, of men?
Was that not then the best, the noblest of the three?
SATAN
Ah, glorious Lord God! Thou hadst Infinity
From which to choose Thy plan. This plan, no less than those,
Was noble in conception, when its vision rose
Before Thee in Thy dreams. Thou deemedst to endow
Time with a great new wonder, wonderful as Thou,
Matter made sensitive, informed with Life, with Soul.
It grieved Thee the Stars knew not. Thou couldst not cajole
Their music into tears, their beauty to full praise.
Thou askedst one made conscious of Thy works and ways,
One dowered with sense and passion, which should feel and move
And weep with Thee and laugh, one that alas, should love.
Thus didst thou mould the Earth. We Spirits, wondering, eyed
Thy new-born fleshly things, Thy Matter deified.
We saw the sea take life, its myriad forms all fair.
We saw the creeping things, the dragons of the air,
The birds, the four-foot beasts, all beautiful, all strong,
All brimming o'er with joyaunce, new green woods among,
Twice glorious in their lives. And we, who were but spirit,
Envied their lusty lot, their duplicated merit,
Their feet, their eyes, their wings, their physical desires,
The anger of their voices, the fierce sexual
dating russian