Clarel/Part 4/Canto 13

13. The Church of the Star
They rise, and for a little space In farewell Agath they detain, Transferred here to a timelier train Than theirs. A work-day, passive face He turns to Derwent's Luck to thee! No slight he means--'tis far from that But, schooled by the inhuman sea, He feels 'tis vain to wave the hat In God-speed on this mortal strand; Recalling all the sailing crews Destined to sleep in ocean sand, Cheered from the wharf with blithe adieus. Nor less the heart's farewell they say, And bless the old man on his way.

Led by a slender monk and young, With curls that ringed the shaven crown, Courts now and shrines they trace. That thong Ascetic which can life chastise Down to her bleak necessities, They mark in coarse serge of his gown, And girdling rope, with cross of wood For tag at end; and hut-like hood Superfluous now behind him thrown; And sandals which expose the skin Transparent, and the blue vein thin Meandering there: the feet, the face Alike in lucid marble grace.

His simple manners self-possessed Both saint and noble-born suggest; Yet under quietude they mark The slumbering of a vivid spark-- Excitable, if brought to test. A Tuscan, he exchanged the charm Val d'Arno yields, for this dull calm Of desert. Was his youth self-given In frank oblation unto heaven? Or what inducement might disarm This Isaac when too young to know?

Hereon they, pacing, musc till, lo, The temple opens in dusk glades Of long-drawn double colonnades: Monoliths two-score and eight. Rolfe looked about him, pleased in state: "But this is goodly! Here we rove As down the deep Dodona grove: Years, years and years these boles have stood!-- Late by the spring in idle mood My will I made (if ye recall), Providing for the Inn of Trees: But ah, to set out trunks like these In harbor open unto all For generations!" So in vein

Rolfe free descanted as through fane They passed. But noting now the guide In acquiescence by their side, He checked himself: "Why prate I here? This brother--I usurp his sphere."

They came unto a silver star In pavement set which none do mar By treading. Here at pause remained The monk; till, seeing Rolfe refrained, And all, from words, he said: "The place, Signori, where that shining grace Which led the Magi, stood; below,

The Manger is." They comment none Not voicing everything they know, In cirque about that silver star They quietly gaze thereupon. But, turning now, one glanced afar Along the columned aisles, and thought Of Baldwin whom the mailed knights brought While Godfrey's requiem did ring, Hither to Bethlehem, and crowned His temples helmet-worn, with round Of gold and velvet--crowned him king-- King of Jerusalem, on floor Of this same nave august, above The Manger in its low remove Where lay, a thousand years before, The Child of awful worshiping, Destined to prove all slights and scorns And a God's coronation--thorns. Not Derwent's was that revery; Another thing his heart possessed, The clashing of the East and West, Odd sense of incongruity; He felt a secret impulse move To start a humorous comment slant Upon the monk, and sly reprove. But no: I'll curb the Protestant And modern in me--at least here For time I'll curb it. Perish truth If it but act the boor, in sooth, Requiting courtesy with jeer; For courteous is our guide, with grace Of a pure heart. Some little trace, May be, of Derwent's passing thought The Tuscan from his aspect caught; And turned him: "Pardon! but the crypt: This way, signori--follow me." Down by a rock-hewn stair they slipped, Turning by steps which winding be,

Winning a sparry chamber brave Unsearched by that prose critic keen, The daylight. Archimago's cave Was here? or that more sorcerous scene The Persian Sibyl kept within For turbaned musings? Bowing o'er, Crossing himself, and on the knee, Straight did the guide that grot adore; Then, rising, and as one set free: "The place of the Nativity." Dim pendent lamps, in cluster small Were Pleiads of the mystic hall; Fair lamps of silver, lamps of gold-- Rich gifts devout of monarchs old, Kings catholic. Rare objects beamed All round, recalling things but dreamed: Solomon's talismans garnered up, His sword, his signet-ring and cup. In further caverns, part revealed, What silent shapes like statues kneeled; What brown monks moved by twinkling shrines Like Aztecs down in silver mines.

This, this the Stable mean and poor? Noting their looks, to ward surprise, The Italian: "'Tis incrusted o'er

With marbles, so that now one's eyes Meet not the natural wall. This floor "  "But how? within a cave we stand!" "Yes, caves of old to use were put For cattle, and with gates were shut. One meets them still--with arms at hand, The keepers nigh. Sure it need be That if in Gihon ye have been, Or hereabouts, yourselves have seen The grots in question."                    They agree; And silent in their hearts confess The strangeness, but the truth no less.

Anew the guide: "Ere now we get Further herein, indulge me yet;" But paused awhile: "Though o'er this cave, Where Christ" (and crossed himself) "had birth, Constantine's mother reared the Nave Whose Greek mosaics fade in bloom, No older church in Christendom; And generations, with the girth Of domes and walls, have still enlarged And built about; yet convents, shrines, Cloisters and towers, take not for signs, Entreat ye, of meek faith submerged Under proud masses. Be it urged As all began from these small bounds, So, by all avenues and gates, All here returns, hereto redounds: In this one Cave all terminates: In honor of the Manger sole Saints, kings, knights, prelates reared the whole." He warmed. Ah, fervor bought too dear: The fingers clutching rope and cross; Life too intense; the cheek austere Deepening in hollow, waste and loss. They marked him; and at heart some knew Inklings they loved not to pursue. But Rolfe recalled in fleeting gleam The first Franciscan, richly born-- The youthful one who, night and morn, In Umbria ranged the hills in dream, And first devised the girdling cord In type that rebel senses so Should led be led like beast abroad By halter. Tuscan! in the glow And white light of thy faith's illumings, In vigils, fervent prayers and trances, Agonies and self-consumings-- Renewest thou the young Saint Francis? So inly Rolfe; when, in low tone Considerate Derwent whispered near:

"'Tis doubtless the poor boy's first year In Bethlehem; time will abate This novice-ardor; yes, sedate He'll grow, adapt him to the sphere."

Close to the Sanctum now they drew, A semicircular recess; And there, in marble floor, they view A silver sun which (friars profess) Is set in plummet-line exact Beneath the star in pavement-tract Above; and raying from this sun Shoot jasper-spikes, which so point out Argent inseription roundabout In Latin text; which thus may run: THE VIRGIN HERE BROUGHT FORTH THE SON. The Tuscan bowed him; then with air Friendly he turned; but something there In Derwent's look--no matter what-- An open levity 'twas not-- Disturbed him; and in accents clear, As challenged in his faith sincere: "I trust tradition! Here He lay Who shed on Mary's breasts the ray: SaltJator Mundi!" Turning now,

He noted, and he bade them see Where, with a timid piety A band of rustics bent them low In worship mute: "Shepherds these are, And come from pastoral hills not far Whereon they keep the night-watch wild: These, like their sires, adore the CHILD, And in same spot. But, mixed with these, Mark ye yon poor swart images In other garb? But late they fled From overJordan hither; yes, Escaping so the heinousness Of one with price upon his head.

But look, and yet seem not to peer, Lest pain ye give: an eye, an ear, A hand, is mutilate or gone: The mangler marked them for his own But Christ redeems them." Derwent here His eyes withdrew, but Ungar not While visibly the red blood shot Into his thin-skinned scar, and sent As seemed, a pulse of argument Confirming so some angry sense Of evil, and malevolence In man toward man.                  Now, lower down The cave, the Manger they descry With marble lined; and, o'er it thrown, A lustrous saint-cloth meets the eye. And suits of saint-cloths here they have Wherewith to deck the Manger brave: Gifts of the Latin princes, these-- Fair Christmas gifts, these draperies. A damask one of gold and white Rich flowered with pinks embroidered bright Was for the present week in turn The adornment of the sacred Urn. Impressive was it here to note Those herdsmen in the shaggy coat: Impressive, yet partook of dream; It touched the pilgrims, as might seem; Which pleased the monk; but in disguise Modest he dropped his damsel-eyes. Thought Derwent then: Demure in sooth! 'Tis like a maid in lily of youth Who grieves not in her core of glee By spells of grave virginity To cozen men to foolish looks While she--who reads such hearts' hid nooks?-- What now? "Signori, here, believe Where night and day, while ages run Faith in these lamps burns on and on

'Tis good to spend one's Christmas Eve; Yea, better rather than in land Which may your holly tree command, And greens profuse which ye inweave.