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| Souls on the Banks of Acheron by Adolf Hirémy-Hirschl, 1898 |
Whether the dead be
enclosed in sculptured
stone sarcophagi, or
sealed in the hollow of
metal or clay urns, or encased up-
right, gilded and decorated in blue,
with brain and viscera removed,
swathed in linen bands, yet will I
conduct them in a company and
guide them on their way with my
controlling wand.
We advance down a swift path
that eye of man hath not seen.
Harlots press close against virgins,
murderers against philosophers,
mothers against those that refused
to bear children, and priests against
perjurers. For they repent them
of their sins, were they those of
stone sarcophagi, or
sealed in the hollow of
metal or clay urns, or encased up-
right, gilded and decorated in blue,
with brain and viscera removed,
swathed in linen bands, yet will I
conduct them in a company and
guide them on their way with my
controlling wand.
We advance down a swift path
that eye of man hath not seen.
Harlots press close against virgins,
murderers against philosophers,
mothers against those that refused
to bear children, and priests against
perjurers. For they repent them
of their sins, were they those of
the imagination or of the deed.
And having never been free upon
earth, since they were there tram-
melled by customs and laws, or
their own beliefs, they fear isolation
and cling to each other for help.
She that slept naked in the tiled
chambers among the men is consol-
ing a young girl who died before
her nuptial eve, — yet dreaming
imperiously of her love. One that
was wont to murder on the high-
ways, his face grimed with ashes
and soot, places his hand on the
brow of a thinker who wished to
regenerate the world and preached
death. The woman who loved her
children and suffered through them
buries her face in the bosom of an
hetaira who, by intent, was without
issue. The long-robed man that
was persuaded he believed in his
God and constrained himself to
kneel often, now weeps on the
shoulder of a cynic who broke
every law of the flesh and spirit
before the eyes of the world. So
sustains the one the other along
the route, journeying under the
yoke of memory.
Then they come to the bank of
Lethe where I range them along
the shore of the silent-flowing water.
Some plunge therein their heads
containing evil thoughts, others the
hands that wrought evil. Rising
therefrom, the water of Lethe has
effaced all remembrance.
Therewith they stand aloof from
one another, and each smiles believ-
ing he is free.
Hermes psychagogos.
And having never been free upon
earth, since they were there tram-
melled by customs and laws, or
their own beliefs, they fear isolation
and cling to each other for help.
She that slept naked in the tiled
chambers among the men is consol-
ing a young girl who died before
her nuptial eve, — yet dreaming
imperiously of her love. One that
was wont to murder on the high-
ways, his face grimed with ashes
and soot, places his hand on the
brow of a thinker who wished to
regenerate the world and preached
death. The woman who loved her
children and suffered through them
buries her face in the bosom of an
hetaira who, by intent, was without
issue. The long-robed man that
was persuaded he believed in his
God and constrained himself to
kneel often, now weeps on the
shoulder of a cynic who broke
every law of the flesh and spirit
before the eyes of the world. So
sustains the one the other along
the route, journeying under the
yoke of memory.
Then they come to the bank of
Lethe where I range them along
the shore of the silent-flowing water.
Some plunge therein their heads
containing evil thoughts, others the
hands that wrought evil. Rising
therefrom, the water of Lethe has
effaced all remembrance.
Therewith they stand aloof from
one another, and each smiles believ-
ing he is free.
Hermes psychagogos.
Source:
Mimes, with a prologue and epilogue by Marcel Schwob, tr. A, Lenalie, p. Thomas B. Mosher, 1901.
