Canto 114The Dwarf Napoleon
Book 16. Part Seven - Pondicherry Circa 1927 – 1947
(Hitler. October 1939)
Behold, by Maya’s fantasy of will
A violent miracle takes sudden birth,
The real grows one with the incredible.
5In the control of her magician wand
The small achieves things great, the base things grand.
This puny creature would bestride the earth
Even as the immense colossus of the past.
Napoleon’s mind was swift and bold and vast,
10His heart was calm and stormy like the sea,
His will dynamic in its grip and clasp.
His eye could hold a world within its grasp
And see the great and small things sovereignly.
A movement of gigantic depth and scope
15He seized and gave coherence to its hope.
Pondicherry, c. 1927–1947
Far other this creature of a nether clay,
Void of all grandeur, like a gnome at play,
Iron and mud his nature’s mingled stuff,
20A little limited visionary brain
Cunning and skilful in its narrow vein,
A sentimental egoist poor and rough,
Whose heart was never sweet and fresh and young,
A headlong spirit driven by hopes and fears,
25Intense neurotic with his shouts and tears,
Violent and cruel, devil, child and brute,
This screaming orator with his strident tongue,
This prophet of a scanty fixed idea,
Plays now the leader of our human march;
30His might shall build the future’s triumph arch.
Now is the world for his eating a ripe fruit.
His shadow falls from London to Corea.
Cities and nations crumble in his course.
A terror holds the peoples in its grip:
35World-destiny waits upon that foaming lip.
A Titan Power upholds this pigmy man,
The crude dwarf instrument of a mighty Force.
Hater of the free spirit’s joy and light,
Made only of strength and skill and giant might,
40A Will to trample humanity into clay
And unify earth beneath one iron sway,
Insists upon its fierce enormous plan.
Trampling man’s mind and will into one mould
Docile and facile in a dreadful hold,
45It cries its demon slogans to the crowd.
But if its tenebrous empire were allowed,
That mastery would prepare the dismal hour
When the Inconscient shall regain its right,
And man who emerged as Nature’s conscious power,
50Shall sink into the deep original night
Sharing like all her forms that went before
The doom of the mammoth and the dinosaur.
It is the shadow of the Titan’s robe
That looms across the panic-stricken globe.
55In his high villa on the fatal hill
Alone he listens to that sovereign Voice,
Dictator of his action’s sudden choice,
The tiger leap of a demoniac skill.
An energy his body cannot invest, —
60Too small and human for that dreadful guest,
A tortured channel, not a happy vessel, —
Drives him to think and act and cry and wrestle.
Thus driven he must stride on conquering all,
Threatening and clamouring, brutal, invincible,
65Until he meets upon his storm-swept road
A greater devil — or thunderstroke of God.