Had confessed to the Bishop that he had wrecked Not only his OWN soul, but had lost The VERY FIRST CHRISTIAN SOUL that crossed The sacred threshold: and all, in fine, For that very beautiful design Of the wonderful choir They were pleased to admire.
And really, he must be allowed to say--To speak in a purely business way--That, taking the ruling market prices Of souls and churches, in such a crisis It would be shown--And his Grace must own--It was really a BARGAIN for Cologne!
Such was the tale That turned cheeks pale With the thought that the enemy might prevail, And the church doors snap With a thunderclap On a Christian soul in that devil's trap.
But a wiser few, Who thought that they knew Cologne's Archbishop, replied, "Pooh, pooh!
Just watch him and wait, And as sure as fate, You'll find that the Bishop will give checkmate."
One here might note How the popular vote, As shown in all legends and anecdote, Declares that a breach Of trust to o'erreach The devil is something quite proper for each.
And, really, if you Give the devil his due In spite of the proverb--it's something you'll rue.
But to lie and deceive him, To use and to leave him, From Job up to Faust is the way to receive him, Though no one has heard It ever averred That the "Father of Lies" ever yet broke HIS word, But has left this position, In every tradition, To be taken alone by the "truth-loving" Christian!
Bom! from the tower!
It is the hour!
The host pours in, in its pomp and power Of banners and pyx, And high crucifix, And crosiers and other processional sticks, And no end of Marys In quaint reliquaries, To gladden the souls of all true antiquaries;
And an Osculum Pacis (A myth to the masses Who trusted their bones more to mail and cuirasses)--All borne by the throng Who are marching along To the square of the Dom with processional song, With the flaring of dips, And bending of hips, And the chanting of hundred perfunctory lips;
And some good little boys Who had come up from Neuss And the Quirinuskirche to show off their voice:
All march to the square Of the great Dom, and there File right and left, leaving alone and quite bare A covered sedan, Containing--so ran The rumor--the victim to take off the ban.
They have left it alone, They have sprinkled each stone Of the porch with a sanctified Eau de Cologne, Guaranteed in this case To disguise every trace Of a sulphurous presence in that sacred place.
Two Carmelites stand On the right and left hand Of the covered sedan chair, to wait the command Of the prelate to throw Up the cover and show The form of the victim in terror below.
There's a pause and a prayer, Then the signal, and there--Is a WOMAN!--by all that is good and is fair!
A woman! and known To them all--one must own TOO WELL KNOWN to the many, to-day to be shown As a martyr, or e'en As a Christian! A queen Of pleasance and revel, of glitter and sheen;
So bad that the worst Of Cologne spake up first, And declared 'twas an outrage to suffer one curst, And already a fief Of the Satanic chief, To martyr herself for the Church's relief.
But in vain fell their sneer On the mob, who I fear On the whole felt a strong disposition to cheer.
A woman! and there She stands in the glare Of the pitiless sun and their pitying stare,--A woman still young, With garments that clung To a figure, though wasted with passion and wrung With remorse and despair, Yet still passing fair, With jewels and gold in her dark shining hair, And cheeks that are faint 'Neath her dyes and her paint.
A woman most surely--but hardly a saint!
She moves. She has gone From their pity and scorn;
She has mounted alone The first step of stone, And the high swinging doors she wide open has thrown, Then pauses and turns, As the altar blaze burns On her cheeks, and with one sudden gesture she spurns Archbishop and Prior, Knight, ladye, and friar, And her voice rings out high from the vault of the choir.
"O men of Cologne!
What I WAS ye have known;
What I AM, as I stand here, One knoweth alone.
If it be but His will I shall pass from Him still, Lost, curst, and degraded, I reckon no ill;
If still by that sign Of His anger divine One soul shall he saved, He hath blessed more than mine.
O men of Cologne!
Stand forth, if ye own A faith like to this, or more fit to atone, And take ye my place, And God give you grace To stand and confront Him, like me, face to face!"
She paused. Yet aloof They all stand. No reproof Breaks the silence that fills the celestial roof.
One instant--no more--She halts at the door, Then enters! . . . A flood from the roof to the floor Fills the church rosy red.
She is gone!
But instead, Who is this leaning forward with glorified head And hands stretched to save?
Sure this is no slave Of the Powers of Darkness, with aspect so brave!
They press to the door, But too late! All is o'er.
Naught remains but a woman's form prone on the floor;
But they still see a trace Of that glow in her face That they saw in the light of the altar's high blaze On the image that stands With the babe in its hands Enshrined in the churches of all Christian lands.
A Te Deum sung, A censer high swung, With praise, benediction, and incense wide-flung, Proclaim that the CURSE IS REMOVED--and no worse Is the Dom for the trial--in fact, the REVERSE;
For instead of their losing A soul in abusing The Evil One's faith, they gained one of his choosing.
Thus the legend is told:
You will find in the old Vaulted aisles of the Dom, stiff in marble or cold In iron and brass, In gown and cuirass, The knights, priests, and bishops who came to that Mass;
And high o'er the rest, With her babe at her breast, The image of Mary Madonna the blest.
But you look round in vain, On each high pictured pane, For the woman most worthy to walk in her train.
Yet, standing to-day O'er the dust and the clay, 'Midst the ghosts of a life that has long passed away, With the slow-sinking sun Looking softly upon That stained-glass procession, I scarce miss the one That it does not reveal, For I know and I feel That these are but shadows--the woman was real!
THE TALE OF A PONY
Name of my heroine, simply "Rose;"
Surname, tolerable only in prose;
