ELOA

or
THE SISTER OF THE ANGELS

A Mystery

"It is the serpent," she said, "I listened to him and he deceived me."
Genesis.

CANTO THE FIRST

BIRTH

An angel was born on earth at the time

When the Mediator was saving its inhabitants.
Jesus had left the walls of Bethany
With his little-known following, banished like himself.
He fled at a slow pace across the countryside;
Sometimes he stopped, praying and consoling,
Seated besides a field which he took as a symbol,
And he spoke the parable of the Samaritan,
The lost ewe, and the bad shepherd,
And the whited sepulchre compared to a hypocrite.
Following from there his peaceful way,
He listened to the request of the Canaanite woman,
And taught his ways to the maiden who had no guide,
Then laid his hands upon the children.
The man born blind saw, unable to understand it,
The leper and the deaf could be touched and heard;
And everyone devoting tears to him as a farewell,
Left the desert where God had been exiled.
Son of God, and subject to earthly ills,
He began all of them by the greatest: absence.
Abandoning his town, and undergoing the edict
To accomplish in full that which was foretold.

Now, during that time, his friends in Judea

Saw that their end was approaching which he had delayed:
Lazarus, whom he loved and no longer visited

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 Came to die, as his days were passed.
But is not the friendship of God life?
He departed in the night; his procession was followed
By the two young sisters of the deceased sick man,
Whither he had retired during his perils.
Martha and Mary were they; now Martha was the one
Who dispensed perfumes and ascribed blame to his zeal.
All were grieving; in vain Jesus said: "He is sleeping."
Seeing the shroud and the dead man, he himself
Wept. O holy tear given to friendship!
You were not abandonned to the winds!
A diamond urn, with Seraphim leaning over it,
Invisible to mortals, received it softly;
Like a marvel, astonishing even to the Heavens,
Carried you sparkling to the feet of the Eternal.
A favorable look from the ever-open eye
Touched the ineffable gift and caused it to shine,
And the Holy Spirit, pouring forth his power upon her,
Gave soul and life to the divine essence.
Just as the incense, which burns in the sun's rays,
Changes into pure fire, a brilliant cherry-red,
So was a white and growing form
Seen to go up from the heart of the dazzling urn.
A voice was heard which said: "Eloa!"
And the Angel appeared and said: "Here am I!"

All adorned in the sight of the watching Heavens

She marched towards God like a bride to the Temple,
Her beauteous brow, serene and pure like a beautiful lily,
Raised the folds of an azure veil;
Her hair, parted as with blond sprays,
Lost in the mists of the air their soft waves,
Just as a wandering comet is seen in the skies,
Blending its gracious rays in the bosom of the night;
A rose in the glimmers of the morning dawn
Lacks the virginal blush of its fresh tint;
And the moon, brightening the dense woods
Fails to attain the sweetness of even one of its sweet looks.
Her wings were of silver; under a pale robe
Her white foot by turns disclosed and hid itself,

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 And her heaving breast, scarce perceived,
Raised the contours of the heavenly film.
She was both, a woman and a charming Angel;
For the spirit people, a loving family,
Near us, for us, prays and watches ever,
Uniting pure essences in holy acts of love.
Raphael the Archangel, when he came to Earth,
Under the cradle of Eden retold this sweet mystery.
But none of these sisters whom God created for them
Brought more joy to the heaven of the ever-happy.

The burning Cherubim enveloped by six wings,

The tender Seraphim, the gods of faithful loves,
The Thrones, the Virtues, the Princes, the Fiery Ones,
The Rulers, the Guardians, the Splendors,
And the Pious Dreams, and the Holy Praises,
And all the pure Angels, and all the great Archangels,
And all that Heaven has of denizens,
All simultaneously veiled by their golden wings,
Lowered their foreheads right to her snow-white feet,
And her sisters the Virgins, joined in a procession,
Just as round the moon the evening fires are seen,
Held hands and ran to see her.
Golden harps hung from the chaste girdles;
And flowers which Nature can grow only in Heaven,
Flowers not seen of a human summer,
Abounded neath their hands like a heavy rain.

Then did unequaled voices sing:

"Happy the world to which her helpful steps are offered!
When she passes among the unhappy,
A consoling spirit will spread over them.
What globe awaits her steps? What age demands her?
Will other heavens see birth, that she may command them?"

One day...(How can we give thename of "day"

To that which knows nor flight nor return?
Defying the poverty of human tongues,
Eternity conceals itself from our intelligence,
And for us to understand one of these brief instants,

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 We must seek a name for them among the Times)
One day the inhabitants of the immortal empire,
Who once were careless, united to counsel her:
"Eloa," they said, "Oh, be very careful:
An angel can fall: the most beautiful of us all
Is here no longer. Yet in his initial virtue
He was called the light-bearer;
For h
e carried love and life in every place,
He carried God's orders to the stars,
The Earth consecrated his matchless beauty
By calling the morning star Lucifer,
A radiant diamond which the Sun had placed
On his vermilion brow amidst his golden hair.
Yet now, 'tis said, he is bereft of diadem,
He groans, he is alone, none love him,
Of crime the blackness weighs upon his eyes,
No longer does he know the tongue of Heaven,
And death resides in the words of his mouth.
He burns what he sees, he withers what he touches,
He senses not evil or good deeds;
Joyless is he at the ills which he has done.
Heaven where once he lived is troubled by his memory,
No angel will dare tell you his story,
No Saint would dare ever to utter his name.
They thought that Eloa would curse him; but no,
Fear did not change at all her untroubled face,
And this was an alarming omen for Heaven.
Not to tremble was her first impulse,
But rather to draw near as it were to help;
Sadness appeared on her icy lip
As soon as a sad thought offered itself;
She learned to dream, and her innocent face
Fell blushing at this unknown trouble.
A tear shone on her eyelid.
Happy the heart whose first tear is thus shed!

This Angel had those troubles which pester oft our days
And pursue the great in their illustrious course;
But amid the banquets, among the multitude

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 A man who sighs finds solitude;
The noise of Nations, the noise made by Kings,
Nothing extinguishes in his heart a stronger voice.
Harps of Paradise, you had no wonders!
Live chariots with shining eyes
The Lord's armor, the lodges of the holy place,
The stars of the shepherds, falling from the fingers of God,
The sapphires of the censers, the gold of the heavenly dome,
The delights of the harp, the spice-boxes for cinnamon,
Your harmonious sounds, your splendors, your perfumes
Became importunate to this saddened Angel;
The holy chants troubled her revery,
For nothing satisfied her softened heart.
E'en when the Cherubim portrayed together
Either Christ's acts or those of the Saints,

And rehearsed to Heaven every new Mystery,

Which simultaneously took place on Earth,
The crib offered to the sight of the foreign Magi,
The family in the desert, the obeisance of the shepherds—
Eloa stepped back from the divine spectacle,
Away from their crowd, far from the brilliant Tabernacle,
She sought out some obscure cloud
Where she might at least freely dream.

The Angels have nights just as humans do.

There is in Heaven a pure spring
Whose sparkling water runs there on cherry-red sand;
When an Angel draws it, he sleeps, but with a sleep
Whose solitary charm the best-loved
Of earthly lovers would not forgo
Even to see again sleeping next to him
The beauty using his arm as a pillow.
But in vain Eloa bathed in those waters,
Her restless pain was too deep for them;
Constantly at night she saw in a dream
An unhappy Angel who begged her from afar.
Often the Virgins, to grasp her pain,
Uttering a prayer tacit and vain,
Surrounded her with care, adding only suffering,

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 Asked what treasures they might offer her,
What might be the price of her eternal life,
If heavenly joys failed her desire:
Why sought her gaze no longer
The countenance of an Archangel or the Seraphim.
Eloa replied in a word:
"None of them has need of him whom I console.
He is said to be a..." But, turning away,
The Virgins fled, and did not say his name.

However, alone one day, their timid companion

Looked at the heavenly fields around her,
Extended her wing, and smiled, took off, and in the air
Sought her friendly Earth, or some barren stars.

So in the forests of Louisiana,

Cradled 'neath the bamboos and long vines,
The humming bird breaks his sun-ripened egg
And leaves his flowery bed.
A green emerald crowns his head,
The purple of the wings on his back is already there,
An azure breastplate adorns his young heart,
And he departs to struggle victoriously with the breezes.
In places connected to the light he flaunts
His feathers which abhor the dust;
This daring traveler visits the palm tree,
Surprising the pigeon under its wild cover.
The perfumed plain is first to be abandoned;
Ambitious, he flits from maple to ash
And finds the desert for all his feasts
In front of the palm-tree or in the arms of the cypress;
But the woods are too big for his nascent wings,
And the flowers of the cradle of these places are not there;
He looks for them on the green savannah;
The bird-catching snakes they can hide
Scare him less than the dry forests.
The capers hidden in their chaste prisons,
The strawberries sweet-scented amid their lawns.
Similarly did Eloa, strong from birth,
Passed the white road where undying fires

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 Burned at the feet of God like a mass of altars.
Sometimes she poised on two young planets,
Sometimes she placed her feet on the surface of comets,
In order to seek out beings born elsewhere.
Then she arrived at the bottom of the lowest Heavens.

The Ether has its divisions of enormous size,

Up to the perpetual shade where Chaos begins.
As soon as an Angel flees the limitless blue,
The cupola of sapphires filled by the Trinity,
He finds a less pure air; there clouds pass by,
Vapors twist, storms writhe
Like a nimble watchman; their profundity
Extinguish for us the warmth of divinely breathèd air.
But beyond our Suns, and beneath the atmospheres
Where in strict circle hang our swaying spheres,
Space is empty, sad, dark, and furrowèd
By a black whirlwind slowly dragged along.
A pale, weak day fails to light up the mist
Beneath it is Chaos and incomprehensible night,
A bottomless, impalpable void appears.

The pure Spirits, children of light,

Reach not unto the last of these three regions,
And never would a beautiful Seraph wander
Onto those confused divisions of which Hell is last.
E'en the Cherubim, so strong and dutiful,
Fear the impure air may fail beneath their wings,
Afraid they may be forced, in this their risky flight,
To fall to th' bottom of shadowy Chaos.
What would become of such a defenseless exile?
The perpetual offense of demon laughter,
Their words, their mocking play, would redden his cheek.
Yet greater peril! Mayhap he needs must hear
Some smooth and tender farewell song,
Some celestial regret, a sad canticle,
Sung sweetly by an unhappy Angel.
His ear being touched by the sound,
He even might forget his heavenly home,
Find satisfaction in this Night, a liking

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 For the songs and pity which joined them.
Indeed, how could he ever go back to the azure vault,
Presenting to the glaring, golden light
His tousled, tarnished locks,
Drab wings; arms, neck yellowish-brown,
A pale visage strangely streaked,
Amid the serene countenances of the dwellers of the clouds?
What of the eyes whose redness betrays their having wept?
What of the feet still black with pestiferous fire?
This is why the Angels of these places,
Ever prudent, ever wise, dread those paths.

Even so, the Virgin Eloa rested there

Fearless 'neath the somber vapors:
Unflustered was she when she saw her power
And the novel good effects of her presence.
Some punished worlds appeared reprieved;
The globes stopped to hear her fly.
If perchance too in the new paths
She touched one of them with the feathers of her wings,
Their discomforts momentarily ceased.
Enemies embraced with surprise;
Daggers fell, with hate forgot.
The smiling captive marched alone, chain-free;
The criminal reentered the law-court;
One fallen from grace sate in his monarch's palace;
Restless insomnia abandoned its prey;
Tears ceased throughout, apart from tears of joy;
Split lovers joined again anent their altars
A rare, surprising thing for mortal men.

CANTO THE SECOND

THE SEDUCTION

Often, deep and solitary, a natural well opens up,

Amid the mountains which overshadow the earth;
Water, falling from heaven, gathers there, a dark mirror,
Where by day the evening stars may be seen.
A village girl drops the fragile clay of her pot there

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 Into the water by a nimble rope.
She idles there, and long contemplates
The magic tableau of the shining stars,
Which seems to adorn the surface of the subterranean wave,
With a headband held by a queen's hair.
Likewise the Virgin thought to see other skies
At the bottom of Chaos which her lovely eyes observed.
Her vision, dazzled by countless Suns,
Saw first but shadow and abyss;
But soon she saw there wandering blue fires
Like the wavering flashes of the cold marshes;
They went, came back, then made escape again;
Every star seemed to chase a meteor;
And the Angel, smiling at the strange vision,
Followed with her eyes their circular light flight.
It soon appeared to her as if a pure harmony
Leapt out united from each flame to flame:
Such is the plaintive impact and sound vague yet clear
Of crystal balls hanging in the current of air
So that the young Italian in her palace
May sleep to the chimes of the Aeolian harp.
This distant sound became a supernatural chant
Which seemed to come near to the daughter of Heaven;
And these joined fires were like the dawn
Of unlooked for day ready to break forth.
A balmy cloud with a pink glow
Mounted languidly in the inflamed air,
Then slowly formed its ambrosial bed
Like the divans where sleeps soft Asia.
There a hazy celestial form appeared
Like a seated Angel young, sad, charming.

Sometimes a child of the foamy Clyde

Bounds across his misty mountain
And chases a swift buck surprised by his pipe.
From the glaciers of the Arven to the haze of Crona,
He spans the mossy rocks, hurls himself into the chasms;
To cross a torrent he hangs on branches,
Surefoodedly descends and opens new paths
In virgin snow untouched by human foot.

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 But soon, going astray amid the clouds,
He seeks out the paths hidden by the storms;
There under a rainbow crowning the waters—
If he sees the indistinct tartan of a wandering Scotswoman
And hears her faint voice in the echos—
He stops entranced, believing that his eyes
Have glimpsed the sister of his ancestors,
A yet amorous shade who will cause a misty harp
To reverberate 'neath her transparent fingers.
He looks then for the one whom Ossian named,
And calls on Evir-Coma, standing on his rock...
The yet distant shape of the Angel of the shades
Appeared, no less beautiful, no less indistinct,
And enchantments no less delightful
Filled the eyes of the heavenly Virgin.

Like a sleeping swan which alone, far from the bank,

Surrenders its white wing to the fleeing wave,
The unknown young man reclined softly
On this vaporous bed which glided 'neath his arms.
Purple was his robe, and opal tints,
Fiery or pale, entranced the attention.
Black was his hair, tied with a head-band,
A crown, mayhap a burden:
The gold therein was live like the mystic fires
Twisting and burning on the ancient tripods.
His wing was bent, and its weak color
Copied the pallor of the evening mist.
Many diamonds sparkled gracefully
On his delicate feet, clasped by a gold band;
His arms and all his fingers, gently surrounded
By mysterious rings, dazzled the eyes.
He waved his hand holding a golden scepter,
Like a king reviewing his Army from a mountain,
And fearing lest his vows be not fulfilled,
With an impatient gesture, addresses all his steps.
His mien is disturbed; but he lowers his gaze;
Perhaps he knows the entrancing power of the eyes,
So first he wishes only to show by degrees
Their rays caressing but yet not assured,

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 Or perhaps he fears also the unintended flame
Which can at a look open up soul to soul.
So in the forest the sweet morning breeze
Begins its sighs with an uncertain noise
Which rouses the earth and makes the wave to quake;
Raising slowly his deep, sweet voice,
And assuming an accent sad as an adieu
Thus he spake to the daughter of God:

"Whence come you, beautiful Archangel? Whither go? What path

Is taken by your silver wing through the air?
Resting at the center of a Sun, are you on your way
To guide the burning hearth of its cherry-red circle;
Or, disconcerting lovers with an ideal fear,
Display to them by night the aurora borealis?—
Or to distribute dew to the calyx of the flower,
Or bend over the mountains the seven-colored sash?
Is not your charge to watch over souls,
And speak at eventide to the heart of young wives,
Coming like a dream to bring a young son
And place him in their arms with a kiss?
Such are your sweet tasks, so I would believe,
Of your marvellous beauty and your glorious beams.
Perhaps though you are a nascent foe
Whom my over-puissant rival instructed to hate me;
Ah! Perhaps you are the one to offend my very self
By leading my Pagans beneath baptismal waters;
For constantly the enemy triumphantly opposes me
With the glance of a virgin, the voice of a child.
Mayhap I am an exile that you sought:
If so, beware the jealous God your lord;
For having loved, for having delivered,
I am unhappy and reproved.
Chaste beauty, come you to fight me or absolve?
You have come from that Heaven which sent down lightening to me
Yet so sweet to my eyes, I know not why
You come from high against me, beautiful Angel."

Thus spake the Spirit. At his caressing voice,

Persuasion prepared against an innocent soul,

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 At these sweet gleams, the magical device
Of this sweet Angel, like his brethren,
Heavenly Eloa, veiled by her wing,
Stepped back, and mounted her starry road,
As one sees a bathing girl who has spotted
A young swimmer 'neath the water flee to the reeds.
But in vain did her two feet run from the cloud
Just as the dove, in two days of flight,
Can distance herself from Aleppo, from the white tower
Whence the Sultan sends a love letter:
From his flashing look her force was broken;
And when he saw her mastered wing was bent,
The seductive foe continued quite low:

"I am he who is loved and is not known.

On man I have founded my fiery empire
In the desires of the heart, in the dreams of the soul,
In the ties of the bodies, mysterious attractions,
In the treasures of the blood, in the looks of the eyes.
I am he who makes the wife speak in her dreams;
The happy young girl learns happy lies;
I give her nights which console her days;
I am the secret King of secret loves.
I unite hearts, break strong chains,
As the butterfly on its dusty wings
Brings to the bursting lawns a parade of flowers,
Making love to them without perils and tears.
I have taken from the Creator his weak creature;
In his despite, we have carved up Nature:
I let him, proud of the noise of cherry-red day,
Hide the golden stars 'neath the sliver of a Sun;
But I am the silent shadow, giving the earth
The joys of eventide and the good things of the mystery.

"Have you come with several Angels of Heaven

To admire the delicious course of my nights?
Have you seen their treasures? Do you know what marvels
Attend the evenings of the dark Angels?

"As soon as the reddening sun, hanging

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 Under the pale horizon, leaves the lawn,
We countless Spirits fly in the shadows,
Shaking our somber locks in the air;
Then does the fragrant dew till morn
Rain on the orange trees, the lilacs and the thyme.
Nature, obedient to the laws of my empire,
Welcomes me with love, hears me, breathes me in,
I become again her soul, and for my sweet intents,
Call out my subjects from the depth of elements:
Each one a familiar of my nightly feasts
Sings as he gets ready to attend.
The eloquent nightingale is first to soar aloft
To starry welkin in the pride of flight.
His sonorous voice sings out to wave, to earth,
To cloud, the place of my dear hour;
He vaunts my arrival to the pale service trees,
Repeats it to the dewy rose-bushes.
This harmonious herald everywhere proclaims me;
All the birds of the shadows open their flaming eyes.
The worm shines; his diamond countenance
Throws back to the flowers the fires of firmament,
And vies for brightness with the meteor
Which breaks forth o'er the waters like aurora pale.
The marsh star, detachèd by my hand,
Falling, traces a luminous path in air.

"If, Virgin, you cast off mother's strings,

Disdain remorse, give up your sad illusion,
These natural brands will light up 'neath your feet,
Their clear fire will guide and not deceive you.
If your lip feels thirst, and nears the shore,
To seek a deep shell for a drinking cup,
The water will sigh and boil, and before your naked feet
Cast forth Venus' shell upon the sandy beach.
Spirits will let you see things wonderful
In groves filled with rosy scent;
You see on the grass, where their hand leads you,
Flowers whose beauty blossoms only at night:
For them the dawn of day is cruel as it will be to you;
For like you, their modest breast has its loves.

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 There follows silence; everything sleeps deeply.
The shade harkens to a mystery, meditating.
The winds, the nearby meadows, bring ambrosia
To the sylvan bed the lover has chosen.
Soon two young voices murmur endearments
Which enliven the repose of copses mute.
At the bottom of the leafy elm whose shade greets them,
The aroused bird sings and rustles the leaves.
A voluptuous hymn thrills the air,
The trees have their songs, the bushes their concerts,
And on the edge of water, sighing, flowing by,
The dove of night warbles languidly.

"Here for your inspection are the 'Evildoer's' works;

This accusèd rogue in truth is a Consoler.
He bewails the slave, and takes him from his lord,
Saves him lovingly from the sorrows of his state,
And burièd himself in the common ill,
Grants him a little charm—and oft nepenthe."

Thrice amid these words the new-born angel's

Budding cheek was colored red,
And three times combatting his impure gaze,
A golden eyelid veiled her azure eyes.

CANTO THE THIRD

THE FALL

Whence come you, Shame, O noble dread, O sphinx,

Whose birth the earth beheld when but a child?
O flow'r of first days, which sprouts among us,
Rose of Paradise, Shame, whence come you?
Only you can replace Innocence
For Eden's forbidden tree gave you birth,
Your charm doth equal virtues' charms and yet
You are as well to evil the first step;
Your bosom is adorned with a chaste veil,
But ere the serpent, Eve had no such thing.
And though a pure veil enhance your dress,

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 It is still a veil, and the guilt is yours.
Everything bothers you, a glance offends your eyelid,
But the child fears nothing, and seeks the light.
'Neath this new power the Virgin was bending,
Indeed she was already fallen, for she blushed.
Already half submitted to the somber Spirit's yoke,
She goes down, comes up, and goes down again in the shade.
Just so you see the partridge flutter and glide
On some broken ears of wheat which she would glean,
For her entire nest awaits; in her risky flight
She cannot escape the observation of the one watching her...
The hunting dog, that somber observer,
Follows her, ever follows her with fixed and brilliant gaze.

Oh, the ineffable delight of moments of love!

Heart responds to heart like air to the lyre.
Just as a young lover, adored teacher,
Expounds the desire inspired by himself,
And helping his beloved against Shame,
Dragging off her charmed weakness in his arms,
All drunk with hope, more than half victor,
Declares the vows which she makes in her heart,
The Prince of Spirits, in a suffocated voice,
Expounded the thought of the timid Virgin.
Eloa, without speaking, said: "I am yours":
And the Angel of the shadows said aloud: "Be mine!

"Be mine, be my sister, for I myself belong to you;

I have deserved you and loved you for a long time,
For one day I saw you. Through the threads of the air
I mingled, veiled like a winter Sun.
I saw once more the ineffable region
Of the luminous peoples of the azure fatherland,
Where fear always abides among the gods.
You alone appeared to me like a young star
Which well away from the vast night pierces the veil;
You alone appeared to me as what people ever seek,
That which man pursues in the shadow of his days,
The God who alone knows the mystery of happiness,
And the Queen whom my lonely throne awaits.

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 Finally, through your presence so able to charm me,
It was revealed to me that I could love.

Either your eyes, veiled by a shadow of sadness

Had sensed mine which sought them unceasingly,
Or your origin, as sweet as yourself,
Had made a country for you a little closer to me,
I do not know—but from the hour I saw you born,
I thought I recognized you in each created thing;
Three times I passed weeping through the Universe;
I sought you everywhere, in a whisper of the air,
In a ray fallen from the disk of the moon,
In a star fleeing importunate heaven,
In the rainbow, the path familiar to the Angels,
Or on the mellow bed of the glacier snows;
I breathed in the trace of the perfumes of your flight;
In vain I questioned the globes of space,
I obscured the axle trees of the chariot of the stars,
I veiled their rays to draw your eyes.
Emboldened by my new delight, I even dared
To touch the golden strings of the heavenly lyre:
But you heard nothing, you did not see me.
I returned to Earth, and slid my steps
Under the shade of man where you found birth.
I thought I might find you protecting innocence,
At the swinging cradle of a sleeping babe,
Refreshing her lip with a friendly whisper;
Or else, using your wing like a curtain,
And as a timid sentinel guarding against me
The slumber of a virgin by the side of her sister,
Who, dreaming on her bosom, presses her gently.
But I returned alone to my beautiful house,
I wept there like here, I moaned there, until the hour
That your flight moved me, made me tremble,
Like a priest who feels that his god is about to speak.

He spoke; and soon like a young Queen

Who blushes with pleasure at the name "sovran"
And makes a gracious gesture to her subjects
Or responds to their rapture with a glance of her eyes,

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 Eloa, raising the veil from her head
Got ready to speak to him with a sweet smile,
Went down closer to him, bent over, and gently
Contemplated with pride her immortal lover.
Her beautiful bosom, like a wave dissolving on the shore,
For the first time rose and sighed;
Her arm, like a white lily floating on a lake,
Stretched out, fearlessly approached.
Her perfumed mouth as it parted seemed to burst open
Like a new rose at the behest of dawn,
When morning spills on her a fresh liquor,
And the gleam of the day enters her heart.
She spoke, and her voice mellifluously assembled
All that the sweetest sounds might blend together:
A lyre harmonizing with flutes in the woods,
A bird's plaintive cry for the very first time,
The sea as its waves reach up to the shore,
Evening chants at the steps of a dreaming traveler,
The wind playing with the bells of the hamlets,
Or making the rushes sigh from the flow of the waters:
"Since you are handsome, good you needs must be.
For when a soul quits Heaven,
Like a holy vestment we see its goodness
Give it eternal beauty entering.
Yet...wherefore does your speech instill dread in me?
Why is your brow impressed with so much sadness?
How could you come down from the Holy Place?
And how, not loving God, can you love me?

Troubled looks, the grace of decency

Accompanied these words, strong in innocence;
They fell from her mouth, as sweet, as pure
As winter snows on dark slopes;
Since the Angels are nourished by the prime essence,
They have at their heart sources of light.
While she spoke, her wings round about,
Her bosom and her arms lit up the day:
So does a diamond sparkle in the shadows.
This terrified the Archangel; 'neath his somber hair
He sought a thick refuge for his dazzled eyes;

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 He thought how at the end of vanished time
He will thus see his Master!
How a glance from God may shatter him;
Also he remembered all he suffered
When he tempted Jesus in the desert.
He trembled; o'er his heart where Hell was recommencing
He threw his enormous wing like a somber cloak,
And wanted to flee. Terror displayed all its ills.

On the mountain snows, the crown of the hamlets,

A Spaniard has wounded the Asturian eagle,
Whose flight threatens its white sheep pens;
The wounded bird has left, its blood rains down;
Toward the sky it flies, swift as the light therefrom,
Looks at his Sun, breathes in through open beak,
Believing he can recover life from that flaming empire;
Powerfully he swims through the golden fluid,
And hovers for a moment 'mid the rays.
But the man has shot him with too sure a reach;
He feels the lead pursuing sink into his wound.
His wing is shed, and his royal mantle
Flies like a fleece giving way to the shearer's knife.
Deprived of air, his weight now casts him down;
Thrust into the mountain snow, he twitches,
And the terrestrial ice has closed that powerful eye
From the Sun in a heavy sleep.

So retrieving past ills from the depth of his memory,

The accursed Angel tilted up his black mop of hair,
And imbued with infernal agony thus did speak:
"Oh, how sad the love of sin! How dark the desires of evil!
How immense the thoughts of knowledge!
How came I to know your senseless ardor?
Cursed be the time that I stood up to God;
Oh, the simplicity of heart to which I bade adieu!
I tremble before you, yet I adore you still;
I am less the criminal, since I still love you:
But into my withered heart you will come nevermore!
I'm far from what I was, yea, so many steps I've ta'en
And now so great the distance from myself to me

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 That I can grasp no longer what innocence has to say.
I suffer, and my spirit, battered by evil,
No longer can attain such heights of virtue.
What has become of you, O peaceful, heavenly days
When, first among the modest Angels, I went forth
To genuflect before the ancient Law,
And thought of nothing beyond faith?
Eternity opened before me like a feast,
With flowers in my hands, a diadem on my head,
I smiled, I was...Perhaps I could have loved!"

The Tempter himself was almost charmed;

He had forgot his wiles and his victim,
And for a moment he drew back from his crime.
Quite low he repeated, with his brow in his hands:
"O human tears, would that I had known you!"

Ah, if in that moment the Virgin could have heard him,

Had he grasped repentant, ready to mount again,
The heavenly hand she would venture to stretch out to him...
Who knows? Perhaps evil had ceased to exist.
But when she detected on his pensive head
The writhing pain of Hell,
She raised her eyes astounded and a-trembling;
Strenthening herself, she seemed to recall the Heavens,
And twice raised up her silvery wings,
Half-opening her enchanted lips to sigh,
Just as a young child tangled up in weeds
Utters weak, strangled cries 'neath the water.
Seeing her ready to flee to the Heavens of light,
Like a roused tiger leaping in the dust,
So, finding in himself—with ever-increasing force—
That dark spirit which never flags,
That spirit of evil which is irritated by innocence,
He blushed at having doubted his own power,
Reset complacency on his radiant countenance,
Lit up forthwith his eyes' audacious sparkle,
And long regarded quietly contemplating
The victim from Heaven whom he has destined for his temple.
As it were, he would show her that she resists in vain,

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 Thus strengthening himself against this divine vision.
He considered the place of the wounds he would inflict
Bereft of love, without remorse, from the depths of an icy heart.
Just as the warrior, purposely calm, seeks out
The chinks in his foe's armor to smite his breast,
He tailors his traits to the desires of the Angel;
Everything changes, his air, his voice, his gestures, his stature,
Crocodile tears, not from the heart, straightway appear at his eyes' edge.
In heaven the Virgin had not seen tears.
She stops; a sigh increases her alarm.
He weeps bitterly like an exile,
Like a widow over her sacrificed son;
His untied hair is scattered; nothing stops
The sobs of his breast which raise his head.
Eloa comes and weeps; they converse thus:

"What have I done to you then? What's wrong? I'm here."

"You want to run from me, perhaps for ever.
How you punish me for having got to know you!"
"I would prefer to stay; but the Lord awaits me.
I want to speak up for you, often He listens to us."
"He can do nothing for me. My lot cannot be changed.
You alone are the god who can save an Angel."
"What can I do? Alas, tell me, must I stay?"
"Yes, come down to me, because I cannot come up."
"But what gift do you want?" "The finest: ourselves.
Come." "Exile myself from Heaven?" "What does it matter, if you love me?
Touch my hand. Soon with equal scorn
Good and evil will be confounded for us.
You have never understood the charm to be found
In offering one's breast to hide there the tears of another.
Come. There is a happiness which I alone can teach you.
You will open your soul, and I will broaden it there;
Just as the dawn and the setting moon
Blend their rays, and as the dew
In a single pearl unites two of its tears
In order to be imprinted with the balm exhaled by flowers,
As a double torch joins its two beams
No less strictly shall we join our souls."
"I love you. I'll go down. But what will Heaven say?"

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 At that moment, in the air, far from their eyes, there passed
One of the heavenly choirs, where, among the praises,
Could be heard these words which the Angels repeated:
"Glory in the Universe, and the Times, to one
Who sacrifices herself for the benefit of another!"
It seemed as if the Heavens spoke. It was enough for her.

Yet twice raising her faithless eyelid,

Looking around, irresolute yet,
She looked for her Heavens, which she could no longer see.

Some Angels were going to drag some worlds to Chaos.

Passing with terror through these deep plains,
While fulfiling the messages of God,
They saw a cloud of fire fall.
Cries of pain, cruel responses,
Mixed together in the flame to the flapping of wings.

"Where are you taking me, beautiful Angel?" "Come on."

"How sad is your voice, and somber your talk!
Is not Eloa removing your chain?
I thought I had saved you." "No, it is I who am dragging you off."
"If we are together, I don't care where it is!
Call me then your Sister or your God!"
"I carry off my slave, I have my victim."
"You seemed so good! Oh, what have I done?" "A crime."
"Will you at least be happier, are you content?"
"Sadder than ever." "Who are you, then?" "Satan."

Written in 1823, in Les Vosges.

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