THE NEW TEMPTATION OF ST. ANTHONY.

BY JOHN W. N. SULLIVAN.

(The time is the present day. St. Anthony is discovered seated on the ground outside his hut. The cross stands in its accustomed place, erect before him; and the great panorama, of which he is now weary, lies below him. He has changed but slightly with the years; something of his old immobility has disappeared. He occasionally shrugs his shoulders when speaking, and he often accompanies his reflections with slight gestures of the hands.)

Anthony (thinking). I have attained peace. Those troubling visions have disappeared. Never for an instant have I departed from grace since the Saviour’s face appeared to me in its shining disc of gold. The burning days and solemn nights pass noiselessly. Rare tempests mutter unnoticed about me. Nothing has power to disturb my beatific monotony; nor hope, nor fear, nor love, nor regrets. I have triumphed over all temptations. The devil has left me. (He sighs.) That journey through space, upborne on his wings! (Stars commence to shine: the daylight lingers.) I have resisted all the seductions of the flesh. I value not the riches of the mind. (He starts, and looks fixedly at a vague light which advances across the desert.) It seems as if——. But that cannot be: I have already sustained all assaults.

(The light approaches rapidly. It is rose-coloured; within it a figure is dimly visible. With a thunderous noise it rolls to within ten paces of the saint. The air shakes and for an instant the stars are obscured. This passes: the light fades, and the form of a woman is perceived, upright, robed in white, her face stern and majestic. The sleeves of her garment are very wide, reaching to the ground.)

The Woman (slightly raising her right arm). I have need of you.

Anthony (stammering). What mean you?

The Woman. I am your creator. Much study and great gifts came together for your making. They also were my children. My best blood flows in your veins. My name must mean everything to you, for you are wholly a product of my essence. I am called La France.

Anthony (pales and gazes fixedly at his visitor). I belong to God.

The Woman (sternly). Do you deny that you are French? (Anthony blushes and averts his gaze. He becomes sulky.) What existence have you had apart from France? Would the world still hold you, you and your temptations, apart from——

Anthony (starting up and with outstretched hands). Say not that name! Say it not! (He places his fingers in his ears and then, observing that the woman’s lips do not move, lowers his hands.) Speak! but avoid that name. I can endure aught else.

The Woman (speaks, her arms hanging by her sides. Her head is thrown slightly back. Her words come slowly. Her voice is as the sound of a solemn sea plunging in distant caverns). The hour of my agony is upon me. I am beset. My strength is great, my courage greater, and my pride reaches to the stars. But I have mighty foes, skilled in all cruel arts. I suffer. I dwell in the shadow of pain. My woes increase and the issue is doubtful. (She stretches her hands towards Anthony.) Can you remain aloof?

Anthony (frowning). This touches me not.

The Woman (with irony). Have you, then, purified your heart of all compassion? (Anthony shrugs his shoulders with a gesture of indifference.) Are you, indeed, amongst the noblest of my offspring? My sons have sacrificed life for me: they have been content to forgo their ardent curiosities for my sake. What holds you back?

Anthony (with great dignity). I seek union with God. The Devil himself tempted me for many days. He failed. How, then, can you succeed? (Softly.) You cannot, even if you be he.

The Woman (flinging her arms apart, and letting them drop heavily). Shame cannot move you. But he who aids me receives great rewards. I will show you visions.

(She waves her hand. A cloud descends, swaying slowly in the air. It unwinds in sluggish masses till it fills the horizon. It glows with pale fire. Upon it are cities and wide plains. It is a very clean, neat, and precise land. Rivers wind gently between ploughed fields, red and brown. The cloud surges nearer, and presently Anthony discerns an immense temple shining in the sun. It approaches more quickly, its crystalline walls sending innumerable shafts of light before it. Anthony and his companion are enveloped in an insupportable radiance, and the next instant they find they are within the building. Facing them is a great altar, its gold shining dully in the light of a thousand lighted candles. The flags of France droop motionless about the altar; upon it the carved figure of a soldier lies prone. The pavement of the temple is invisible under the feet of the silent crowd. Mighty columns rush upward and are lost in the sweep of the dim roof. The air begins to pulsate with the heavy notes of an organ. Anthony and The Woman are floating above the heads of the multitude. None have observed them.)

The Woman (motioning to the crowd). Here are assembled rich and poor, wise men and fools; judges, statesmen, poets, the criminal and the peasant. All France is here, united in a common gratitude.

Anthony. What do they?

The Woman. They honour the dead. (She points to the prone figure on the altar.) The soldiers who saved France.

(A trumpet note is heard and the air rustles with the inclining of a myriad heads. A sweet singing arises behind the altar. A procession slowly passes before it. The first to pass is a man beyond middle age, with a grave, bearded face, a broad white forehead and serene eyes. He kneels for an instant and passes on.)

The Woman. The Philosophy of France. (A young man, with a dark, keen face, and a very penetrating look, follows. Each figure, on arriving before the altar, kneels and passes on.) The Science of France.

(Then follow the Literature of France, an old man, very harmoniously dressed; the Music and Painting of France, two smaller figures; the Statesmanship and Laws of France, superb men, but badly clothed. There follow priests, merchants, scribes, criminals and courtesans. Anthony and his companion begin to soar higher. The music fades; the bowed heads of the people become indistinct. There is a period of darkness, and Anthony finds himself back on his rock. Before him stands The Woman. The great cloud has utterly vanished.)

The Woman. You have seen the greatness of France.

Anthony (thoughtfully). It is a land not without merit.

The Woman. Many have died for it. Many more must die for it, or it will be a stricken land. Is it worth dying for?

Anthony (who has grown more argumentative with the years, hesitates. Then:) That depends! (He faces The Woman with a stern and questioning look.) Much knowledge and beauty lie within the borders of your land, but no man should die for knowledge or beauty. A man’s life belongs to God alone. Do your great ones serve God? Do they use their wisdom more fully to understand His counsels? Do they create beauty to glorify His praise? (The Woman does not answer.) I will die for you if my death serves God. I will not die to extend your borders, to add beauty to your palaces, to make you more skilled in wisdom. Will my death bring you nearer to God?

The Woman (regards Anthony sadly). You ask me hard questions. Are there not many ways of serving God? I worship God in His creation. I meditate on the laws of His universe. I reveal to the world the beauty of His handiwork. Do I not therefore serve God?

Anthony (drily). Does that heresy still flourish? God is not His creation.

The Woman. Is knowledge to vanish from the earth? Must none seek after beauty?

Anthony (raising his right hand and speaking with deliberation). None may seek knowledge for the sake of wisdom. None may seek beauty for the sake of happiness. These things are but the raiment of God. Your great ones count the threads in God’s garment, but do they seek God? (He delicately shrugs his shoulders.) Does France worship clothes?

The Woman (sad and bewildered). I do not understand.

Anthony (regards her long and then speaks gently). You will never understand, for you are La France. You cannot see without eyes, nor hear without ears. You are the cleverest and most limited of God’s children.

The Woman (stands still, her arms hanging limp, her head bowed. Suddenly she raises her head). But I suffer!

(The air grows dim and a cold wind rises. The stars vanish. In the valley, mysteriously visible, Anthony sees a road. It is cumbered with dead and wounded men, lying in all attitudes, some as if asleep, head resting on arm, and some contorted hideously. Anthony notes the curious attitude of one man who seems to have his legs drawn right up under him; until presently he sees that he has no legs. A dead man sits propped against a gun. The whole of his tongue is visible, hanging downwards; the lower jaw is shot away. Presently one of the black shapes starts to flounder clumsily. In the mysterious light comes the glint of steel; the black shape is trying to fix the end of a bayonet in the ground. In one of his clumsy attempts the man reveals the fact that he has but one arm. For some minutes he struggles and finally the bayonet is fixed. The man lies still. Then he raises himself awkwardly on his one arm till the bayonet point touches his chest; he flings his arm straight out and falls with his whole weight on the point. A long red finger points up from his back.

The Woman waves her arm and the scene vanishes, to be replaced by another. A soldier, young, and with a look of bright intelligence, is saying farewell to his mother at the door of a cottage. The old woman’s face is lined; her hands tremble. Her eyes peer up anxiously at the young man, as she fondles the sleeve of his tunic. He speaks confidently and cheerfully, and after a final embrace walks briskly away. The old woman enters the cottage and sits there, in silence and alone. She picks up a book the young man had been reading and very carefully places it in a drawer.)

The Woman. An only child, and she a widow.

Anthony (looks very thoughtful). What of her son?

The Woman. His agony is greater. He feels all her grief and his own. She feels but her own, for his leave-taking deceived her, and she believes he has joy in battle.

Anthony (as if musing). Will men do so much to keep France?

The Woman (softly). They do much more. They know the issue is doubtful. They sacrifice so much, knowing the sacrifice may be in vain. (Anthony raises his head and looks very intently at The Woman; she continues, her eyes glowing.) For years you have suffered on your rock. You suffer to save yourself. Jesus, your master, suffered to save the world. (She stretches out her arms and her voice rings with triumph.) I offer you greater suffering. He who suffers for me knows not the fruit of his suffering. I offer you the opportunity of the greatest sacrifice: the sacrifice of all, knowing that your all may be in vain.

(The Woman pauses, her arms outspread. Anthony presses his hands to his head, and remains silent for a long time. Then, taking a step forward, he places his right hand in that of The Woman. They slowly leave the ground. As they mount in the air the few retarded rays of light utterly vanish, and blackest night confounds the jutting rock with the starless heaven.)