Volume 1 — From The Month. THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS. BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D. [Concluded.] §4.
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SOUL. But hark! upon my sense Comes a fierce hubbub, which would make me fear, Could I be frighted. ANGEL. We are now arrived Close on the judgment-court; that sullen howl Is from the demons who assemble there. It is the middle region, where of old Satan appeared among the sons of God, To cast his jibes and scoffs at holy Job. So now his legions throng the vestibule, Hungry and wild, to claim their property, And gather souls for hell. Hist to their cry. SOUL. How sour and how uncouth a dissonance! DEMONS.
Low-born clods Of brute earth, To become gods, By a new birth, And a score of merits, As if ought Of the high thought, Of the great spirits, The powers blest, Of the proud dwelling Dispossessed, Who after expelling They aspire And an extra grace, Could stand in place And the glance of fire The lords by right, The primal owners And realm of light, Aside thrust, Chucked down, By the sheer might Of a despot's will, Of a tyrant's frown, Their hosts, gave, Triumphant still, And still unjust, Each forfeit crown To psalm-droners And canting groaners, To every slave, And pious cheat, And crawling knave, Who licked the dust Under his feet.
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ANGEL. It is the restless panting of their being; Like beasts of prey, who, caged within their bars, In a deep hideous purring have their life, And an incessant pacing to and fro. DEMONS.
The mind bold And independent, The purpose free, So we are told, Must not think To have the ascendant, One whose breath Before his death; Which fools adore, When life is o'er, Which rattle and stink, E'en in the flesh. No flesh hath he; Ha! ha! Afresh, afresh, As priestlings prate, And envy and hate What's a saint? Doth the air taint A bundle of bones, Ha! ha! We cry his pardon! For it hath died, 'Tis crucified Day by day, Ha! ha! That holy clay, Ha! ha! And such fudge, Is his guerdon Before the judge, And pleads and atones For spite and grudge, And bigot mood, And greed of blood.
SOUL.
How impotent they are! and yet on earth They have repute for wondrous power and skill; And books describe, how that the very face Of th' evil one, if seen, would have a force To freeze the very blood, and choke the life Of him who saw it.
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ANGEL.
In thy trial state Thou hadst a traitor nestling close at home, Connatural, who with the powers of hell Was leagued, and of thy senses kept the keys, And to that deadliest foe unlocked thy heart. And therefore is it, in respect of man, Those fallen ones show so majestical. But, when some child of grace, angel or saint, Pure and upright in his integrity Of nature, meets the demons on their raid, They scud away as cowards from the fight. Nay, oft hath holy hermit in his cell, Not yet disburdened of mortality, Mocked at their threats and warlike overtures; Or, dying, when they swarmed like flies, around, Defied them, and departed to his judge.
DEMONS.
Virtue and vice, 'Tis all the same; Of the venomous flame, Give him his price, With sordid aim, A knave's pretence. Ha! ha! A coward's plea. Saint though he be, From shrewd good sense Ha! ha! To the heaven above Not from love. Dread of hell-fire, Ha! ha! He'll slave for hire; And does but aspire Ha! ha!
SOUL.
I see not those false spirits; shall I see My dearest Master, when I reach his throne? Or hear, at least, his awful judgment-word With personal intonation, as I now Hear thee, not see thee, angel? Hitherto All has been darkness since I left the earth; Shall I remain thus sight-bereft all through My penance-time? if so, how comes it then That I have hearing still, and taste, and touch, Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense Which binds ideas in one, and makes them live?
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ANGEL.
Nor touch, nor taste, nor hearing hast thou now; Thou livest in a world of signs and types, The presentations of most holy truths, Living and strong, which now encompass thee. A disembodied soul, thou hast by right No converse with aught else beside thyself; But, lest so stern a solitude should load And break thy being, in mercy are vouchsafed Some lower measures of perception, Which seem to thee, as though through channels brought, Through ear, or nerves, or palate, which are gone. And thou art wrapped and swathed around in dreams, Dreams that are true, yet enigmatical; For the belongings of thy present state, Save through such symbols, come not home to thee. And thus thou tell'st of space and time and size, Of fragrant, solid, bitter, musical, Of fire, and of refreshment after fire; As (let me use similitude of earth, To aid thee in the knowledge thou dost ask)— As ice which blisters may be said to burn. Nor hast thou now extension, with its parts Correlative,—long habit cozens thee,— Nor power to move thyself, nor limbs to move. Hast thou not heard of those, who after loss Of hand or foot, still cried that they had pains In hand or foot, as though they had it still? So is it now with thee, who hast not lost Thy hand or foot, but all which made up man. So will it be, until the joyous day Of resurrection, when thou wilt regain All thou hast lost, new-made and glorified.— —How, even now, the consummated saints See God in heaven, I may not explicate:— Meanwhile let it suffice thee to possess Such means of converse as are granted thee, Though till the beatific vision thou art blind; For e'en thy purgatory, which comes like fire, Is fire without its light.
SOUL.
His will be done! I am not worthy e'er to see again The face of day; far less his countenance, Who is the very sun. Natheless, in life, When I looked forward to my purgatory, It ever was my solace to believe, That, ere I plunged into th' avenging flame, I had one sight of him to strengthen me.
ANGEL.
Nor rash nor vain is that presentiment; Yes,—for one moment thou shalt see thy Lord. Thus will it be: what time thou art arraigned Before the dread tribunal, and thy lot Is cast for ever, should it be to sit On his right hand among his pure elect, Then sight, or that which to the soul is sight, As by a lightning-flash, will come to thee, And thou shalt see, amid the dark profound, Whom thy soul loveth, and would fain approach, One moment; but thou knowest not, my child, What thou dost ask: that sight of the Most Fair Will gladden thee, but it will pierce thee too.
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SOUL.
Thou speakest darkly, angel; and an awe Falls on me, and I fear lest I be rash. ANGEL. There was a mortal, who is now above In the mid glory; he, when near to die, Was given communion with the Crucified,— Such, that the Master's very wounds were stamped Upon his flesh; and, from the agony Which thrilled through body and soul in that embrace, Learn that the flame of the Everlasting Love Doth burn, ere it transform. …