Part 7 (1/2)

He took my face between his hands and said-- His face all dark between me and the stars-- ”What's love, Celeste, but this dear face of truth Upturned to heaven.”

He left me, and I heard, Some twelve hours later, that this man whose soul Was dedicate to Truth, was threatened now With torture, if his lips did not deny The truth he loved.

I tell you all these things Because to help him, you must understand him; And even you may doubt him, if you hear Only those plausible outside witnesses Who never heard his heart-beats as have I.

So let me tell you all--his quest for truth, And how this hate began.

Even from the first, He made his enemies of those almost-minds Who chanced upon some new thing in the dark And could not see its meaning, for he saw, Always, the law illumining it within.

So when he heard of that strange optic-gla.s.s Which brought the distance near, he thought it out By reason, where that other hit upon it Only by chance. He made his telescope; And O, how vividly that day comes back, When in their gorgeous robes the Senate stood Beside him on that high Venetian tower, Scanning the bare blue sea that showed no speck Of sail. Then, one by one, he bade them look; And one by one they gasped, ”a miracle.”

Brown sails and red, a fleet of fis.h.i.+ng boats, See how the bright foam bursts around their bows!

See how the bare-legged sailors walk the decks!

Then, quickly looking up, as if to catch The vision, ere it tricked them, all they saw Was empty sea again.

Many believed That all was trickery, but he bade them note The colours of the boats, and count their sails.

Then, in a little while, the naked eye Saw on the sky-line certain specks that grew, Took form and colour; and, within an hour, Their magic fleet came foaming into port.

Whereat old senators, wagging their white beards, And plucking at golden chains with stiff old claws Too feeble for the sword-hilt, squeaked at once: ”This gla.s.s will give us great advantages In time of war.”

War, war, O G.o.d of love, Even amidst their wonder at Thy world, Dazed with new beauty, gifted with new powers, These old men dreamed of blood. This was the thought To which all else must pander, if he hoped Even for one hour to see those dull eyes blaze At his discoveries.

”Wolves,” he called them, ”wolves”; And yet he humoured them. He stooped to them.

Promised them more advantages, and talked As elders do to children. You may call it Weakness, and yet could any man do more, Alone, against a world, with such a trust To guard for future ages? All his life He has had some weanling truth to guard, has fought Desperately to defend it, taking cover Wherever he could, behind old fallen trees Of superst.i.tion, or ruins of old thought.

He has read horoscopes to keep his work Among the stars in favour with his prince, I tell you this that you may understand What seems inconstant in him. It may be That he was wrong in these things, and must pay A dreadful penalty. But you must explore His mind's great ranges, plains and lonely peaks Before you know him, as I know him now.

How could he talk to children, but in words That children understand? Have not some said That G.o.d Himself has made His glory dark For men to bear it. In his human sphere My father has done this.

War was the dream That filmed those old men's eyes. They did not hear My father, when he hinted at his hope Of opening up the heavens for mankind With that new power of bringing far things near.

My heart burned as I heard him; but they blinked Like owls at noonday. Then I saw him turn, Desperately, to humour them, from thoughts Of heaven to thoughts of warfare.

Late that night My own dear lord and father came to me And whispered, with a glory in his face As one who has looked on things too beautiful To breathe aloud, ”Come out, Celeste, and see A miracle.”

I followed him. He showed me, Looking along his outstretched hand, a star, A point of light above our olive-trees.

It was the star called Jupiter. And then He bade me look again, but through his gla.s.s.

I feared to look at first, lest I should see Some wonder never meant for mortal eyes.

He too, had felt the same, not fear, but awe, As if his hand were laid upon the veil Between this world and heaven.

Then . . . I, too, saw, Small as the smallest bead of mist that clings To a spider's thread at dawn, the floating disk Of what had been a star, a planet now, And near it, with no disk that eyes could see, Four needle-points of light, unseen before.

”The moons of Jupiter,” he whispered low, ”I have watched them as they moved, from night to night; A system like our own, although the world Their fourfold lights and shadows make so strange Must--as I think--be mightier than we dreamed, A t.i.tan planet. Earth begins to fade And dwindle; yes, the heavens are opening now.

Perhaps up there, this night, some lonely soul Gazes at earth, watches our dawning moon, And wonders, as we wonder.”

In that dark We knelt together . . .

Very strange to see The vanity and fickleness of princes.

Before his enemies had provoked the wrath Of Rome against him, he had given the name Of Medicean stars to those four moons In honour of Prince Cosmo. This aroused The court of France to seek a lasting place Upon the map of heaven. A letter came Beseeching him to find another star Even more brilliant, and to call it _Henri_ After the reigning and most brilliant prince Of France. They did not wish the family name Of Bourbon. This would dissipate the glory.

No, they preferred his proper name of Henri.

We read it together in the garden here, Weeping with laughter, never dreaming then That this, this, this, could stir the little hearts Of men to envy.

O, but afterwards, The blindness of the men who thought themselves His enemies. The men who never knew him, The men that had set up a thing of straw And called it by his name, and wished to burn Their image and himself in one wild fire.

Men? Were they men or children? They refused Even to look through Galileo's gla.s.s, Lest seeing might persuade them. Even that sage, That great Aristotelian, Julius Libri, Holding his breath there, like a fractious child Until his cheeks grew purple, and the veins Were bursting on his brow, swore he would die Sooner than look.

And that poor monstrous babe Not long thereafter, kept his word and died, Died of his own pent rage, as I have heard.

Whereat my lord and father shook his head And, smiling, somewhat sadly--oh, you know That smile of his, more deadly to the false Than even his reasoning--murmured, _”Libri, dead, Who called the moons of Jupiter absurd!

He swore he would not look at them from earth, I hope he saw them on his way to heaven.”_ Welser in Augsburg, Clavius at Rome, Scoffed at the fabled moons of Jupiter, It was a trick, they said. He had made a gla.s.s To fool the world with false appearances.

Perhaps the lens was flawed. Perhaps his wits Were wandering. Anything rather than the truth Which might disturb the mighty in their seat.

”Let Galileo hold his own opinions.

I, Clavius, will hold mine.”

He wrote to Kepler; ”You, Kepler, are the first, whose open mind And lofty genius could accept for truth The things which I have seen. With you for friend, The abuse of the mult.i.tude will not trouble me.

Jupiter stands in heaven and will stand, Though all the sycophants bark at him.