i a^^H^'.^ ^^^^^ RRf PS 3531 ^^^^Fi'M^^^^^HSl-^ .E673 C8 II Kh ^P'^^^|t'?-^EH IIMHiB 1911 HI ■|^HH| Copy 1 1 ^^^^w ^imm'^'mtmmitm e,^j^^^..>v.,_^(... ^,j,^j,; v-fff— ^-;-;;; AST PERKINS Class /^^ d^xV Book ■£j^l3-^^ GopyiightN^ i?// COI'YRIGIIT DEPOSIT. COPYRIGHT. BY I'NnRK\\( M )I) ,>,: ^■^;I)EK^V001>. N, Y. A rusting- hulk of bronze and ^olil — Tlie Kaniakiira BiuidlKi. " ^^CBUCIBLLT 7 c^C* Copyright, 1911, by CONSTANTINE MaRRAST PeRKINS / (^CI.A'^I)2o:^G "It is the divine attribute of the imagination, that when the real world is shut out, it can create a world for itself, and with a necromantic power can conjure up glorious shapes and forms, and brilliant visions to make solitude populous, and irradiate the gloom of a dungeon. Sentiment has a kind of divine alchemy, rendering grief itself the source of tenderest thoughts and far - reaching desires, which the sufferer cherishes as sacred treasures, — the grains of gold in the Crucible of Dreams." FOREWORD In 1893, the author, then a lieutenant serving on the Sloop- of-War Marion, attached to the Asiatic Squadron, met near Saigon, Cochin China, Thong Vink-y, a Buddhist priest belong- ing to the Order of Dalai Lamas of Tibet. This Order was founded several centuries before the Christian era by the Abbot of the Sakya Monastery, and its members are followers of Gantama Buddha, the messiah and founder of the great Oriental religion. The disciples of this Order make their dwelling place in the fastnesses of the mountainous regions of the great plateaus of Central Asia, where they have, for many centuries, rigidly se- cluded themselves from the rest of the world. Their chief city, Lhassa, where dwells the head of the Order, is known as the home of the adepts of theosophy and mysticism, and is the Mecca of Esoteric Buddhism. Among other interesting articles in possession of the priest, was a moderate-sized brazier, or bowl of beaten brass, of antique and curious workmanship. The writer, attracted by the mys- terious symbols wrought upon it, offered to purchase the bowl. The owner refused to part with it for money, explaining that, if he did so^ he would bring upon his head a curse which he said would be incurred by any one who violated its sanctity or suf- fered it to be profaned by misuse. The vessel was regarded as sacred by the priests of the Order, and any desecration would work harm to him who disobeyed the inscription which the bowl bore. This inscription, graved in symbolic Oriental characters, may be freely translated as follows : "Stranger, whosoever thou art and M'hatsoever be thy creed, respect, O thou, this Urn of Immortality ! For here abideth the souls of Saints, dedicated to God and purified by the fires of penance. Blessed be him who reverenceth, and cursed be the hand that profaneth." The good priest, to whom the author had been privileged to be of service, offered the bowl as a gift, with the warning that the curse would be fulfilled unless the command should be strictly obeyed. In connection with the origin and use of the vessel he related the following story: The urn, known to be of very ancient origin, was taken from the mortuary crypt of the Dalai Lama Monastery at Lhassa, the forbidden city of Tibet. It was formerly used in determining the apostolic succession of the Grand Lama, or High Priest who presided over the Order, and who occupies, toward the Buddhist faith, the same position as the Papal head of the Roman Catholic Church. The succession of this ecclesiastic potentate is determined by what is known as the "Ordeal of the Golden Urn," a rite estab- lished by Tsong Kapa, the Buddhist Martin Luther, and one in which this brazier is said to have played a part. A description of this ceremony follows. When a Dalai Lama feels the approach of death, he must, in accordance with the mandates of the holy law, remain in a sitting position, Avith his legs crossed under him and his hands, palms upward in his lap, thus assuming the attitude of the meditating Buddha, with which all are familiar who have seen the great bronze image of Daibutsu, at Kamakura, Japan. Before him is placed a brazen bowl, or urn, with polished sur- face, holding burning incense, the fumes of which he must breathe as his spirit passes. This brazier is supposed to receive the departing soul, which would otherwise escape to the Buddhist purgatory. Breath having left the body, prayers for the dead are recited and other rites performed, during which the corpse is placed, as quickly as possible, still in a sitting posture, in a metal mortuary vessel which is filled with salt and sealed. It is then put in a crypt along with the mummies of his predecessors. The urn, into which it is believed the spirit of the dead Pontiff has passed, is then placed upon the temple altar and in it a sacred fire is kept perpetually burning. The method of choosing the successor to the pontifical See is curious. As heir to the dignity, his education begins in infancy and he is foreordained to the elevation of reincarnation. As is generally known, the chief tenet of the Buddhist creed is metem- psychosis, or belief in the transmigration of souls, the theory being successive higher planes of earthly existence for the spirit, until perfection is attained in freedom from sin. This is Nirvana, the Ultima Thule of the Buddhist Paradise, and to attain it every soul must undergo a purifying process through trial by fire; i.e., earthly sorrow. In the case of the Dalai Lama this ordeal is symbolized by the rite described. After the necessary purification in the burning crucible, his spirit is supposed to take up its abode in the body of some infant born shortly after the Pontiff's death. Various methods of ascertaining the identity of the infant who is chosen to represent the rebirth of the departed Lama are prac- tised. In most instances the Vedic law, written in the sacred book of Buddha, is appealed to, the official astrologers are con- suited, and it is the duty of the senior surviving high priest to interpret the traditions and occult mysteries which designate the successor. This he does by gazing upon the polished surface of the burn- ing brazier, accompanied by sorceries and incantations. Upon its gleaming brass, checkered and criss-crossed with mystic symbols and cabalistic characters, he reads the oracle re- vealed. The following poem is meant to symbolize this rite. As "High Priest of Portagas," the author offers apologies to the Grand Lama for appropriating this sacred rite to profane purposes and adapting it to the necessary modern setting. How the curse of the Enchanted Brazier has worked, the reader must discover for himself. "Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unreal and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes Are something more than fictions." C. M. P. Washington, D. C, January, 1911. "Around this inausoleiiin vvrc;ith\l Are ineni'ries of false, Hcklc queens PROLOGUE Upon my table stands a bowl Of beaten brass, in quaint de- sign: It holds the sorrows of a soul — The ashes of a heart once mine ; For, blended, here, with burnt in- cense, Are ruins of my shatter'd dreams ; — Incongr'ous, yet mute evidence Of blasted hopes and scatter'd schemes. *:y|^^''-^^ Behold yon ancient reliquary — Home of ethereal thought released, That which wert once the sanctu- Ofei Of saintly soul — the soul of priest! Wliat fateful office was its lot — The Hopes, the Joys, the Griefs, the Tears, The Aspirations — Loves ; — what not? The secrets of three thousand fi'kt J, f f'cj^^^d -^nd, destined, too, to perish, yoke //F^'^^^^feO With them my cherish'd hopes and dreams ; — To see them, each, dissolve in smoke. Whose curling column vaguely teems With Loves that I have fondled — kissed : I watch their dying ghosts arise And slowly dissipate in mist — To nothingness, before my eyes ! I seek surcease in solace — smoke — That anodyne^ a good cigar, — As, idly — rashly — I invoke The slumb'ring Genii of this jar; I ponder sadly o'er the Past While meditating on my sin. And conjure from the shadows vast Visions of what might have been. >^^^l Visions fair— roseate— enwreath'd Witli Cuba's perfume and bou quet ; — Of Lotus bloom and incense breath'd — Inhaled from true leucothoe: In Smokers' Paradise, elate — Elysian and rose-empearl'd — I fling the gauntlet down to Fate And dream within my Wonder World. M«w.-->«^ ^ ~«»t<5m„.iSo ^^ ^^r^'^^^.^r:^^^^'' I So, sitting m my silent room I Alone with Memory, to-night, I I trace weird shadows from the I gloom I 4 By fitful gleam of fire-light; I* And watch them as they form and grow. With mocking bow, or grimac'd I frown ; — Grim spectres of the Long Ago, Like Banquo's Ghost, that will not down! ^ '^M^^ ^j f 5i^,7) With artist's brush of vagrant ^^5|^^'l whim y^sW-^!^ And inspiration from tobacco, ~'^^i Dark pictures of the Past I limn And portents of the Future — blacker : Sketched with Satanic master- stroke, Are gargoyles, grotesque and bizarre. On canvas clouds of curling smoke — The spiral wreaths of my cigar. e^ A \\\ !t; 'f 1 >'¥/ \!kp. '--i^/:.. . ., j^ji ''^V-^Ss^^'^1,. Herein reposed departed souls Of ancient Lamas claimed by death. Ascending from the burning coals Each waits the solemn Shibbo- leth Which summons it to renewed birth, Released from realms of Pur- gatory,— Reincarnated, here, on Earth Through endless aeons of ages hoary. K-^^^^^^^ -^^i'^^^^ *^-"^ ^^^%.v^..4,£ ^^^ ■'^ vS?^' 'I The magic of thy art I feel, Thou brazen thing of evil '■\^ x.,v;i^ V _ f. T-li^'iy""' **" '"'*' — l>->ri|,iiii[iiiiT^ It thralls me as it seems to steal Upon me, now, at midnight hour! What dismal destiny hath brought Thee from the shrouded tomb of Time To east thy shadow o'er my heart With ])ortent — augury of crime ? c- A riddle for three thousand years. Ominous oracle of the Past! ^J Which knows Life's tragic tales and tears, — Where slumber shadows vague and vast: Some witch's caldron, or retort From ancient, mystic lab'ra- tory ;— What dark and fearful spells were wrought Therein, if thou couldst tell the story ! ■'^I^N,<;^^^^::-N<-"<®25v;*^ A riddle like the Sphinx, unread — Unfathomable mystery ! O'er thee the cycles came and sped , — Forgot — unknown — thy historj Though Tubal Cain might have de- signed Thee, thou'rt so curious outre, Yet no soothsayer could have di- vined That thou'dst be thus profaned to-day ! %M Time must, methinks, be out of joint Which finds thee, here, in ple- beian role: And /, at whom Fate's hand doth point, Doom'd to reincarnate my soul? Anachronism of an age Of superstition — priestcraft — seers — Turned back an ^on on Time's page When thou wert wrought — three thousand years. 0^ K^^»fi^seanMetiS;sas!fJ^'ep^£r'^ -^!,#^.=_, ^ What elixir vitae once was brew'd — Or secret of Philos'pher's Stone, From serpents, bats, or vipers stew'd Within thy womb, could it be known ! Once used by Delphian Sibyl Turk— By Priest of Isis, or of Ptha, Their philtres, potions, — charms, to work — And now, — the ash of my cigar ! What is thy storied history? What incantations, long re- hearsed, Once worked with awful mystery. Hath made thee evil, — thing ac- curst? If thou couldst speak, what tales were thine; — What sorceries of occult art Are woven in that strange design That holds the riddle of thy heart ? '^^.^ 1- « \ «^ 1 1X^1% V'/ p.t -^ ■ ^^^-.^^^-^ What alchemy of evil flings f^ Its spell around thy weird de- ^ sign ? Filched from the tombs of long- dead kings, What mystery, unsolved, is thine ? What necromancy dost thou boast — What secrets, dark, dost thou impris'n That, from thy brazen depths, a ghost Looms in the clouds of vapor ris'n? ^-"■^^-^ ,^=«^, V— ^^^Z'^ '-/^ of old. With solemn invocation — ^"i V / / yj^ Where burned incense by Priest, (ft &^M^j^ prayer. Perverted, now, thou'rt used to hold The ashes of a dead I ^■. ^x5?r 5 ^. cigar The scraps — the odds-and-ends — refuse Of this and that ; — what strange contrast ! Thou wert not meant for such a use, Archaic relic of the Past! V {fv r ^-^^ 'W^j'^jf a A "Turkish Trophy" cigarette — A broken, ivory poker-chip — There, side by side, reproachful, yet Reminders of my treasure ship ; "Forget-me-nots," — capricious flowers ! — Tied with a bow of baby- blue: Souvenirs of happier hours — Perished ! — dead ! — a love un- true! -'M >^J^'^j:-'ji i\ /rpT"^^^^ W X The fragments of her photograph, Tlie reeking stub of a tigar, — Like echoes of a mocking laugh. Discordant, on my feelings jar; A pressed and faded "Beauty" rose That once so radiantly bloomed — The debris of my wrecked "Cha- teaux En Espagne," crumbled and consumed V.^^ -^/y Til €. ^^ -^ *" ' jfcT i Ta&u — ^3^^ ^\>A A leap-year favor, soiled and torn, A ringlet of soft, chestnut hair; An amulet that I have worn Near to my heart; now it is there ! Each but a trifle — ah, but then, 'Tis trifles make the universe ; For, are we not but puppet-men. Each, in the drama we re- hearse ? rifiv An envelope — a ring returned, A crumpled note, beginning, "Sir!": A love rejected — jilted — spurned ; — Burnt offerings of a worship- per! A subtle fragrance of perfume Still lingers 'round the note there flung And floats into the silent room. Like incense from a censer swung. f'^i $^'[ \ i^m; Mfr 'fflv- i 1 ».^'i i, ^'-iA >V '' 'i^/l Ax Still redolent of her presence rare, It perfumes ev'ry dying coal: It sweetens the pervading air And lingers, yet, around the bowl. Those cruel words their shadows cast Upon a heart they coldly spurn, Which, shrouded in the gloomy Past, Finds sepulchre in this grim urn. Wrecks — ruins of my rainbows — themes, Each conjured from "Per- fectos" smoked; The residue of vanish'd dreams, The kiss of Goddess I invoked: All find a grave within this urn; My ships are sunk, my castles crash : Behind me all my bridges burn — I watch them fall, a heap of ash. '^^■^^^h*: i/f;A ,i&^' Xa^»-1L^^ > ?'.-«< Each gleaming ember pales dies; Each cinder is extinguish'd — grey; And, faintly, from the ash arise Their ghostly wraiths and float away. There seem to hover o'er the vase P'antastic, phantom forms that haunt Me; first a winsome, smiling face. And, then, a death's head — grim and gaunt! >-^ Aladdin-like, vague, threat'ning swarms Of Genii from the Under-world, Writhe — twine, in weird, fantastic forms 'Mid clouds of vapor, upward- curl'd. 'Neath swathed shroud, or hooded cowl. Fierce, forbidding features stare ; Hideous shapes of evil scowl ; Skulls, whose sightless sockets glare. im% if S ^ i tS — --- Relentless, — stern and grim — each face; Diaphanous, unreal, each wraith ; While ashen vapor from the vase Pales each spectre hue of death ! ***** And, thus, I keep my secret trysts With loves — each one a mocking ghost, — In low'ring clouds or murky mists; They are my guests and I — their host! '^4$rV^i ■• gip-^'^;^ Etched on thy bronze, that "triple tau" — Symbolic circle, counter- crossed — Hath dragged my soul within thy maw, There to be damned ! — forever lost! Humiliated — hurt, my pride, — With crushed Ambition — scorned Desire, — Another heart scourged — cruci- Nineveh and Another record add to those Of vain ambition — stifl'd hope. Whose tragic fate thou doth dis- close Upon thy dismal horo- scope ! Another soul is sacrificed — Is chastened — purified by fire— With crown of thorns, like that of Christ, In embers of my funeral pyre For love — for human love, I yearn, Like child that's crying in the dark: My raven and my dove return. With weary wings, to drifting Ark. * * * * * Across a page — a turned-down page— I've written "Failure" — not "Succeed" ; Though Time may heal, my grief assauge. My wounds still bleed — my wounds still bleed! ,r-'^^'i^%v. }^%-^< '1//^"^,!? ' '^^ There, in the murky, volumed cloud, I seem to see, pass in review, Presentiments of Princes proud — Of History and Legend, too: Each Mogul, Caliph, Sultan, Shah, Maharajah and Emperor — Traced in the smoke of my cigar — Proud heroes, all, of every war. ?f^- "^^^^^^Ss^ Upon thy brazen surface gleams The countenance of Kubla Khan; Then comes, as vagaries in dreams, Attila, grim barbarian : Swarm 'round him from within that urn His hosts of Huns, with bran- dish'd spears, And swiftly pass, each in its turn. The epochs of three thousand years. Round, — Briton, Saxon, Norman, Norse — William the Conqueror, laurel- crown'd, Armed cap-a-pie from helm to horse : Valois the Valiant, Charles the Bold, "St. George-for-England" Chev- aliers ; Louis the Grand, with Cloth of Gold— The chivalry of three thousand years. ^'^s^:^^^' ■^1^ •'^^-^a^e^.. ;~tO, „ J?^ \,=« .^nt^^r-^-,^ Godfrey, Richard Coeur-de- Lion, Who, still, with fervid fires burn : "Vive VEmpereur Napoleon!" — Imperial and taciturn. Pagan, paladin, Christiah saint, — With aid thy occult arts in- voke : — The pageant of the Past, I paint On canvas clouds of swirling smoke. o ^ -5 c =^ ;S' o £ . c o =" ■f < :2 h •_^i?S««^*^^3Vw,f' "Ah, see! What dreadful vision o'er rue, What wealth of glory greets mine eye! What length of bloody train's be- fore me In slow succession passes by!" lit by the glare of Conquest's torch, A mighty host of horsemen comes ; Majestic its triumphal march. And strewn with slain — to muf- fl'd drums. .~ji -s ' ? ' -'^'\t) ■'^^ ^^^^*^ phlanx, boot to boot, " '"""" Ki A splendid Sabaoth, it nears — ^J 'Twixt ghastly ranks which line its route — The warriors of three thousand They ride with peal of trumpets clanging, Triumphing o'er the prostrate dead ; — But still'd each tongue that, once haranguing, Stirr'd on to fields ensanguined red. mws^m:-/A ''^-x<^\^"\i i^xalt your torches, raise your eagles \ e Caesars ! — for your days are brief — " \\ hen Death is Conqueror, all that's regal's But vain as perishable leaf! Above Damocles' head sus- pended. High hung in air a naked sword ; Their days are gone, their sways are ended — Have passed away that conquer- ing horde. .y^s^ Helmet 'd Hun and turban'd Turk, Marauding Viking from the North: Behind each leader legions lurk And wait his word to sally forth. Red Eric, the Dane, and Charle- magne, Don Juan of Austria — stalwart, stern : — Like frost upon a window pane Each phantom sweeps across the urn. The Spartan band, the Persian hosts — Trojan and Carthaginian, And all the legendary ghosts — Egyptian and Athenian, From Pharaoh in princely pride To White Plum'd Henry of Na- varre — Rank upon serried rank, they glide Across the smoke of my cigar I ;i That picture fades; another — Proud Cleopatra, Egypt's queen. In royal barge of filigree, 'Neath purple sails of silken sheen : Marc Antony her smiles beguile And languishes a captive slave, To dark enchantress of the Nile Whose kisses lure him to his grave. mwv Ah, what avails a kingly palace When Death's dark Angel's wing enfold? — The crown of gems, the crystal chalice ? — The pomp of power, the glint of gold ? And mortal man, ambition driven, Creeps crownless 'neath en- twined thorns: Pearls are but wounds that once were given ; Hope's but the grave that, open, yawns. '<'^:%5^ -_ "'9BP*V^£S^-HKfti(^ >*mlJ»»,5!«'t»WW*' rw, ,„^-^' V "Then, down from throne of glit- t'ring splendor. The monarch will his sceptre lay ; He falls, and Sovereign Rome shall render Her homage to Usurper's sway." And I, though humble, I shall fol- low That ghostly caravan thou'st known : The dreams I've cherished — empty, hollow. As kingly crown — imperial throne ! ***** llfim I shudder as I seize the urn And cast its contents in the grate ; So, perish every memory! — burn! Each ling'ring hope incin- erate ! ***** Reflected on its polished brass The flick'ring firelight faintly gleams : — The Past is dead !— empty, alas, The brazen bowl that held my dreams ! ^''V :' .^^0' ^fi0k%Hf ,^ _ ~Ww*^SMt— «**B ' '^^. '-^(L tt, i <■ -4 Dost thou possess that cursed spell — Black art of Mephistopheles; The magic of the Prince of HeU, Brought here across the Seven Seas? Thou, who hast been from dark- ness hurl'd, — Damned by Mephistophelian art, — L pon this Twentieth Century world, To crucify my tortured heart ? m m M.-' Art thou the silent., brooding Sphinx Who gazes into endless Time; Who. mould'ring Past and Pres- ent, links — With wisdom — countenance sub- lime? From out those ashes, cold and grev. Can. Phcenix-like; my hopes re- turn: The castles — dreams of Yester- day — Or are they buried in that bourn r ^^z-'^^?^^^^'^'^^^"^"''^*'''^^""'^'^'*''^^^^ ■", \ ■*,>, ■!> \i. \ Speak, melancholy Oracle ! — I ask of thee — abjure — implore ! Thou, who hast lore historical, Peer through the Future's dark- en'd door! Tell me, can they return to me — The dreams — the hopes of Yes- terday, Or dead for all Eternity These senseless ashes, cold and greyi T^\ yT%\% X -% 'J These were my playthings — treas- ures, toys, And, here, they lie, all smoul- d'ring ash ! Vain, evanescent, fleeting joys — But empty dross — a heap of trash ! Vv e, who are grown up men and women, Are we not mere children, all. With heart-burnings and eyes brimming For — just a broken, sawdust doll? ^i-;.-^.s*,^; ^ 1 fi '' ^ }m^^ % ;■§=§" ^^^, ^^53S ^ / ■m^A .^^ X i And, so, thy spell clings to thee still, And, henceforth, must, forever- more ; — Thy destiny thou dost fulfil, Thou Thing accurst, of mystic lore! I've dabbl'd with thy evil cult — The curse Black Art hath o'er thee cast, — And met the fate that waits insult — Damned relic of unhallow'd Past! Ah, sad indeed it is to keep Reminder grim of jo\s once To know those brooding phantoms sleep Within that bowl of quaint de- sign; Yet, its enchantment holds me still And binds me to that gloomy jar — I feel its magic thrall and thrill Whene'er I smoke a good *a«(«ew(*=*?Siw:P- "WFT'^SS,. EPILOGUE Long years have pass'd : I now return. And still that horror in my sight! I contemplate that shrouded urn — The dreadful emblem of Time's might. Again her image, — See! 'tis there! — There, in the polish'd brass, it gleams ! The glossy ripples of her hair — Such glorious hair ! — See how it streams ! I peer again with anxious stare; — A death's head, fleshless, now it seems ! * * * * * Begone! No more! — I cannot bear It, cursed Crucible of Dreams ! An eyeless socket, yawning dull. Where once the lamp of life did burn; — The hid'ous grinning of a skull; — A vapor from my funeral urn! JUL 31 JSJI On, "^Py del. to Cat. Div. "" S, ,3,,