Frederick Philip Grove
LEGENDS & OTHER NARRATIVES
(IM 29-31)

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e-Edition by Gaby Divay
© August 2007

University of Manitoba Libraries	FPG & FrL Collections	University of Manitoba Archives

THE LEGEND OF THE PLANET MARS[44] by Frederick Philip Grove 1915 He spoke His fiat; and there lived a race Of searchers after truth on some dim star. It ever seemed to them they had come far From some world sunk, some Eden lost in space. That Eden ever sought they with their soul And pictured it, a garden passing fair; There they had lived, they thought, not knowing care; And now it gleamed across their dreams, a goal. Much they debated, and they doubted more And strove for faith where knowledge was denied Till many taught that memory still espied That land unknown where they had lived before. These boldly averred theirs was a twofold cast: A mould of matter, with a core of soul; The mould could break and leave its contents whole, Yes, set it free to fly into its past. None of them yet had died; the race was young And very perfect from the hands of God; Nor did they dream as yet of mounds of sod To cover those who had done, thought, or sung. Then one of them, grey-bearded, deemed it best-- Yea, in their plight, deemed it imperative: For without knowledge who would care to live?-- That some one dared to make the final test; And rose at last himself to try it out. And all assembled as he stood prepared For his great flight, his limbs and bosom bared; Yet, as they stood, they shook in fear and doubt. But he upraised his hand with hammer armed And spoke to them and cried with steady voice. "Brethren, do not shed tears! This is my choice. "Here shall we part; but I go unalarmed. "This token will I leave: you know as I "That this mould, broken, writhes with its pain. "So watch it closely: I shall come again "If I find not what we to find must try. "But if I find it, I shall not return; "For who would, having found the blessed shores, "Leave them and that which to true life restores? "And after three days' watching you shall burn "These clayey remnants which I leave behind. "You shall fell trees and pile a decent pyre "And on it place my sherds and kindle a fire "Which will consume them; they are but the rind. "And do not doubt but that what they contained "Has reached the land of which our memory tells, "The land of perfect things, where knowledge dwells "And happiness by no more doubt constrained. "And these my ashes gather in an urn "To be an emblem for our striving youth "Who cherish life; an emblem of the truth "That we must die if we would homeward turn." Down came his hammer; and with might he smote His brittle mould which shivered into sherds. The doubters groaned; but like the song of birds, Triumphant, rose the faithfuls' cheering note. And forward surged they the remains to touch And loving crouched about the broken corpse. Deserted were their hamlets and their thorpes, Such was their press, their eager crowding such. But as night came, they lay about the hill, Lighted by torches stuck into the glades. Behind them, in the woods, up rose the shades And furnished fearful souls with many a thrill. Then, as in eastern realms of glowing skies Day broke and sober reasonings restored, The doubtful stretched and yawned as deeply bored, And turned as to their daily tasks to rise. They looked with scorn at those who still crouched low And watched the corpse which mystifies and awes; Then, shrugging, went away.                                             And thus it was Another day; a third day it was so. At last had lapsed the thrice recounted hours: The remnants of the martyr had not stirred! Then was a shout through vale and forest heard Such as shook ancient hills and new-built towers. Back came the doubtful, keen to see the throng As they felled trees and heaped the funeral pile; Into the forest they had cut an aisle And still were dragging brush and logs along. There, on a neighbour ridge, the doubters stood And sneered and scoffed, a loudly clamouring group. Derisive gestures flung they at the troop Of willing workers glowing for the good And cried, "He broke his shell; that is the end "Of such as he and you! We know full well "There is no life beyond that of the shell! "End it, end all! The marred we cannot mend!" Thus they implanted doubt in many a mind That stopped to ponder. Was it true perhaps? Did, with the body's life, all living lapse? Did death, from blear-eyed, make us wholly blind? Yet, with the fall of dusk, up flared the pyre And threw its flames into red-glowing clouds Of steam and smoke which, like celestial shrouds, Reflected upward, onward, starry fire. Below, there knelt the reverent multitude Whose shadows leapt, behind, among the trees. They called and prayed, bowed over aching knees, And sobbed, exulting, in the witness' mood. For who could say that he whose body flames Reduced to ashes there was impotent To turn back into life? The firmament Held many blazing stars with godly names Of which one or the other might well be That half-remembered other-world abode Whence they had come when into life they rode On moon-beams or across some ghostly sea. Thus was their ebbing faith greatly renewed; And they sang hymns, in ecstasy conceived; They felt consoled and of their fears relieved, Yes, with new virtue as from heaven endued. Assembled stayed they throughout all the night When long the pyre had into embers sunk; But slept not.                      For, with faith and promise drunk, A few fanatics urged them on to fight. There were the scoffers in the towns and thorpes Who had refused to share the mysteries; Loud had their words been with rank blasphemies, Denying homage to the sacred corpse. The faithful, weak in their own quaking faith, Lent ear to listen till, profoundly swayed By impulses weird and never to be stayed, They thought themselves called by the martyr's wraith Which rose and beckoned in misty forest dales And lured them to the threading of their aisles And to the search through narrow hill defiles, The haunts of plover, thrushes, cranes, and quails. As day broke o'er the star, the hunt was on; With hue and cry they flooded plain and dell And drove the doubters over field and fell. These fled and shrank who had been bold anon Till they were cornered 'twixt pursuing ranks And double inlets of the fearful sea; Where they surrendered.                                      Great was then the glee Among the faithful rendering barren thanks For that the wraith, their guide, into their hands Had thus delivered all the blasphemous crew Of those who had denied him homage due; And they proclaimed themselves the god's own bands. There lay they camped through one more wearing night And slept not, singing hymns and eulogies, By torches lit; listening to prophecies When hoarse their voices grew. Till came the light Of one last day and sobered reeling thought. But those fanatics, knowing what combines-- Though blind to reason, cunning--read the signs And rose to act, their will and sinew taut. And they divided all their hesitant host Into twain armies, one to watch the throng Of captives taken; one to work along The forest aisles above the sloping coast; Where they felled trees and dragged them to the plain Behind the watchers, closed by crescent hills From which, to slake their thirst, gushed mountain rills That joined their mother in the mighty main. But, knowing well the basis of their power, Well of its enemy, sun-lit thought, aware, The high-priest leaders took exceeding care Not to let thought prevail. And every hour They let the watchers those who worked replace, Till, feverish, all strove, driven by the spur Of vying zeal; the plain rang with their stir. By night a giant pyre loomed into space, High as the hills, as their foundations wide, And blotting, like a cliff, the western star. Built in, braced up, a line of jutting spars Protruded as a ladder along one side. And to the east, along the watching line, There were twelve smaller pyres of which none knew, Except the priests, what they were destined to; These they had built of resin-dripping pine. Late in the dusk they gathered countless stakes And willow withes, captive limbs to bind. Once more their zeal had drooped; they worked as blind, Or as work those in whom doubt awakes. Then was the wisdom of the leaders shown. For they to kindle the twelve smaller pyres Gave order now; up flamed twelve blazing fires And hissed and crackled as by bellows blown. Meanwhile the leaders swiftly had dispersed Throughout the double host and raised the call, "Look how our martyred brother waves his pall!" Well had they, all day long, their parts rehearsed. Up rose the host and thought they saw the wraith Stand like a summoner in the swirling smoke. And every leader groaned and sang and spoke, "This is demanded as an act of faith!" Then, like a wave, wind-driven, flooding, surged Forward the multitude; and each one brought Or stake or withe; exaltedly all thought Their fury with the martyr's will was merged. Soon was the scoffers' courage wholly downed. They fled and crouched; they begged, implored, and prayed; And fled again and were not even stayed By the deep sea; and many a one was drowned. But those who were not were securely bound, Each fastened to a stake as to a cross. Each stake two faithful ones would upward toss, On to their shoulders, rising from the ground. Hollowly rang the plain there by the coast With cries of anguish and ecstatic shouts Which pierced the air much as a geyser's spouts; Back echoed from the cliffs their clamour's ghost. Thus many thousand ruthlessly were ta'en And carried westward to the funeral pile Which darkly loomed and chill for yet awhile. But in the northward sky revolved the wain. Its pole suspended like a pointing limb; And Cassiopeia curled her starry lips And went behind a cloud into eclipse Not to behold things monstrous, stark, and grim. Within an hour one third of the whole race, Tied to stout stakes, stood bristling on the pyre. The brushwood all about was set on fire, And little flames licked upward from the base. `Then, on the plain, to passion fell a truce, A silence, vast as of abated breath. The multitude recoiled; for wholesale death, The second mystery, they had let loose; And many a one would fain the flames have stayed That, hissing, crackling, bit into the logs And inward leapt, like playful tumbling dogs That summersault, the pyre's core to invade. And upward, ever upward rose the flames; And lambent flickered their bifurcate tongues, And roared as blown by subterranean lungs Or like a lion whom no harness tames. Yet once more seemed the flames to pause and choke As if they halted of their own accord Or as if downward a cold current poured And hooded the whole scene in stifling smoke. Then was there heard a dull and ghastly moan As of one breath, breathed foul dreams to dispel. That moan was pierced by one fierce, rousing yell; And died away as a lost ghostly groan. It was second only till a flue Was opened up through the resistant air; And upward soughed the flames again, to tear White-glowing rifts from out the vaulting blue. No smoke remained to choke the leaping fire Which stood, a pillar, motionless and white, And with fierce heat scorched plain and wooded height Till, all about, the forest flamed entire. Thus were the faithful in their plain entrapped, Walled in by withering heat and by the sea. Dazed swarmed they first; then, frantic, turned to flee; But had to find that their great strength was sapped. For in their shells their flesh was shrivelling Like that of ants that from a burning log Which long has lain embedded in the bog Clamber in haste, driven by the fiery sting. As morning came, the race that knew not ruth Was quite extinct; their life had been but brief. They perished, turning search into belief: Thus had they loved, thus had they sought the truth.                           ********** Throughout the universe, from many stars, That night, were eyes strained, glued to telescopes. On earth, man flashed the message, full of hope, "Soon shall we know! They signal us from Mars!" In Memoriam 30