| |
| IN Carnival we were, and supp’d that night | |
| In a long room that overlook’d the Square, | |
| When that strange matter happ’d of which you ask. | |
| We rang all pleasure’s carillon that week; | |
| Feasts and rich shows, and hunting in the woods, | 5 |
| Light love that liv’d on change, deep drinking, mirth | |
| As mad as Nero’s on the Palatine; | |
| The women were as wild as we, and, like | |
| The King’s, our money flew about in showers. | |
| They said, “The people starv’d”; it could not be; | 10 |
| We spent a million on the Carnival. | |
| And now for fifty years gone by I have heard | |
| “The people starve”—Why then do the useless beasts | |
| Gender so fast? Less mouths, more bread! For me, | |
| I do not care whether they live or die,— | 15 |
| Canaille the dunghill breeds,—but Drummond car’d, | |
| The young Scotch musketeer whose waking dream | |
| You wish to hear from me, who only live | |
| Of all our joyous company. I am old, | |
| My life burns like the thinnest flame, but then | 20 |
| It was a glorious fire, and on that night | |
| I led the feast, and roof and table rang | |
| With revelry: till at the height of noise | |
| A sudden silence fell, and while we smil’d, | |
| Waiting for whom should break it, the great clock | 25 |
| Struck three in the still air—and a hush’d sound | |
| Like coming wind pass’d by, and in its breath | |
| I thought I heard, far off, a wail and roar | |
| As if a city perish’d at one stroke; | |
| The rest heard not, but Drummond starting up | 30 |
| And muttering—“Death, Death and his troops are nigh,”— | |
| Strode to the window. Half asleep he seem’d, | |
| Pale as that madman Damiens on the day | |
| He met the torture—and across the bar | |
| He lean’d, and saw the white square in the moon. | 35 |
| Men mock’d, and let him be—they knew his mood; | |
| One of his Highland trances, so they said; | |
| But I kept watch—the grim gray North in him, | |
| Midst of our Gallic lightness, pleas’d me well. | |
| I watch’d and mark’d above his head the moon, | 40 |
| That shone like pearl amid the western heaven, | |
| Suddenly swallow’d up by a vast cloud, | |
| With edges like red lightning, but the rest | |
| Of the sky and stars was clear, and the rushing noise | |
| Now louder swell’d, like cataracts of rain. | 45 |
| And then I saw how Drummond toss’d his arms | |
| High o’er his head, and, crying “Horror, horror,” | |
| Fell like a stabb’d man prone upon the floor. | |
| We laid him on a couch and cried, “Speak—speak, | |
| What is it, what have you seen?” | 50 |
| “I have seen Death,” he said, | |
| “And Doom,”—and truly with his matted hair, | |
| And eyes which as he rose upon his hands | |
| Seem’d’ neath their cavern’d arches coals of fire, | |
| He look’d like a gaunt, shaggy mountain wolf | 55 |
| Caught in a pit, and mad with rage and fear. | |
| “You heard,” he said, “that sighing rush of wind | |
| And then the awful cry, far off, as if | |
| The world had groan’d and died—I heard, and trance | |
| Fell on my brain, and in the trance I saw | 60 |
| The square below me in the moonlight fill | |
| With nobles, dames, and maidens, pages, all | |
| The mighty names of France, and midst them walk’d | |
| The King and Queen, not ours, but those that come | |
| Hereafter, and I heard soft speech of love | 65 |
| And laughter please the night—when momently | |
| The moon went out, and from the darkness stream’d | |
| A hissing flood of rain that where it fell | |
| Changed into blood, and ’twixt the courtyard stones | |
| Blood well’d as water from a mountain moss; | 70 |
| And the gay crowd, unwitting, walk’d in it: | |
| Bubbling it rose past ankle, knee, and waist, | |
| From waist to throat; and still they walk’d as if | |
| They knew it not, until a fierce wind lash’d | |
| The crimson sea, and beat it into waves, | 75 |
| And when its waves smote on their faces, then | |
| They knew and shriek’d, but all in vain; the blood, | |
| Storming upon them, whelm’d and drown’d them all; | |
| At which a blinding lightning like a knife | |
| Gash’d the cloud’s breast, and dooming thunder peal’d. | 80 |
| I woke, and crying ‘Horror’ knew no more. | |
| I ’ve seen the fates of France; the day of God | |
| And vengeance is at hand; take heed—repent— | |
| Leave me to rest.” | |
| We laugh’d to hear him preach, | 85 |
| And left him on the couch, where like a man | |
| Drunken he slept, but when he rose, his hue | |
| Was changed, a cloud was on his eyes, his mouth | |
| Was stern. He sang, he ruffled, lov’d no more, | |
| Provok’d no man, and went about like one | 90 |
| Who—can you think it?—thought there was a God | |
| Who, midst his court, car’d how his people liv’d. | |
| We all were doom’d, he said, and France was doom’d, | |
| He would not stay! And so gave up his sword, | |
| And went to Scotland, where in some grim tower | 95 |
| He lov’d and married—fool!—a nameless girl, | |
| And made the peasants happy, I am told; | |
| But we liv’d out our life, and met no doom; | |
| And now I am old, and Louis, my good friend | |
| The Wellbelov’d, is dead long since, and soon | 100 |
| My time will come!—The people starve, they say, | |
| And curse. I know they curse and hate us! Well, | |
| We will ride down and slay the mutinous dogs; | |
| Why, yesterday my horses in the crowd | |
| Threw down a mother and a child, and splash’d | 105 |
| A hideous dwarf, who shook his fist and curs’d; | |
| I laugh’d, but as he curs’d with skill, I ask’d | |
| The ruffian’s name—“Marat,” they said, “a leech, | |
| Who physics horses and the common herd, | |
| Brute healing brute—the people’s friend, and yet | 110 |
| He takes our wages—writes us down, but keeps | |
| A place in d’Artois’ stable!” These are the scum | |
| That Drummond fear’d—Artois shall flog the man. | |
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