The Deformed Transformed: A Drama by Lord Byron

PART I.

SCENE I.--A Forest.

Enter ARNOLD and his mother BERTHA.

Bert. Out, Hunchback!

Arn. I was born so, Mother!

Bert. Out,Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons,The sole abortion!

Arn. Would that I had been so,And never seen the light!

Bert. I would so, too!But as thou hast--hence, hence--and do thy best!That back of thine may bear its burthen; 'tisMore high, if not so broad as that of others.

Arn. It bears its burthen;--but, my heart! Will itSustain that which you lay upon it, Mother?I love, or, at the least, I loved you: nothingSave You, in nature, can love aught like me.You nursed me--do not kill me!

Bert. Yes--I nursed thee,Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew notIf there would be another unlike thee,That monstrous sport of Nature. But get hence,And gather wood!

Arn. I will: but when I bring it,Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers areSo beautiful and lusty, and as freeAs the free chase they follow, do not spurn me:Our milk has been the same.

Bert. As is the hedgehog's,Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome damOf the young bull, until the milkmaid findsThe nipple, next day, sore, and udder dry.Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me notMother; for if I brought thee forth, it wasAs foolish hens at times hatch vipers, bySitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out![Exit BERTHA.

Arn. (solus). Oh, mother!--She is gone, and I must doHer bidding;--wearily but willinglyI would fulfil it, could I only hopeA kind word in return. What shall I do?

[ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing thishe wounds one of his hands.

My labour for the day is over now.Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;For double curses will be my meed nowAt home--What home? I have no home, no kin,No kind--not made like other creatures, orTo share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed, too,Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to earthWould rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!Or that the Devil, to whom they liken me,Would aid his likeness! If I must partakeHis form, why not his power? Is it becauseI have not his will too? For one kind wordFrom her who bore me would still reconcile meEven to this hateful aspect. Let me washThe wound.

[ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to washhis hand: he starts back.

They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me,What she hath made me. I will not look on itAgain, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretchThat I am! The very waters mock me withMy horrid shadow--like a demon placedDeep in the fountain to scare back the cattleFrom drinking therein. [He pauses.And shall I live on,A burden to the earth, myself, and shameUnto what brought me into life? Thou blood,Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let meTry if thou wilt not, in a fuller stream,Pour forth my woes for ever with thyselfOn earth, to which I will restore, at once,This hateful compound of her atoms, andResolve back to her elements, and takeThe shape of any reptile save myself,And make a world for myriads of new worms!This knife! now let me prove if it will severThis withered slip of Nature's nightshade--myVile form--from the creation, as it hathThe green bough from the forest.

[ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, withthe point upwards.

Now 'tis set,And I can fall upon it. Yet one glanceOn the fair day, which sees no foul thing likeMyself, and the sweet sun which warmed me, butIn vain. The birds--how joyously they sing!So let them, for I would not be lamented:But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell;The fallen leaves my monument; the murmurOf the near fountain my sole elegy.Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!

[As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife,his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain,which seems in motion.

The fountain moves without a wind: but shallThe ripple of a spring change my resolve?No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,Not as with air, but by some subterraneAnd rocking Power of the internal world.What's here? A mist! No more?--

[A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands gazingupon it: it is dispelled, and a tall blackman comes towards him.

Arn. What would you? Speak!Spirit or man?

Stran. As man is both, why notSay both in one?

Arn. Your form is man's, and yetYou may be devil.

Stran. So many men are thatWhich is so called or thought, that you may add meTo which you please, without much wrong to either.But come: you wish to kill yourself;--pursueYour purpose.

Arn. You have interrupted me.

Stran. What is that resolution which can e'erBe interrupted? If I be the devilYou deem, a single moment would have made youMine, and for ever, by your suicide;And yet my coming saves you.

Arn. I said notYou were the Demon, but that your approachWas like one.

Stran. Unless you keep companyWith him (and you seem scarce used to such highSociety) you can't tell how he approaches;And for his aspect, look upon the fountain,And then on me, and judge which of us twainLooks likest what the boors believe to beTheir cloven-footed terror.

Arn. Do you--dare youTo taunt me with my born deformity?

Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with thisCloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedaryWith thy Sublime of Humps, the animalsWould revel in the compliment. And yetBoth beings are more swift, more strong, more mightyIn action and endurance than thyself,And all the fierce and fair of the same kindWith thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas onlyNature's mistaken largess to bestowThe gifts which are of others upon man.

Arn. Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot,When he spurns high the dust, beholding hisNear enemy; or let me have the longAnd patient swiftness of the desert-ship,The helmless dromedary!--and I'll bearThy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.

Stran. I will.

Arn. (with surprise). Thou canst?

Stran. Perhaps. Would you aught else?

Arn. Thou mockest me.

Stran. Not I. Why should I mockWhat all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks.To talk to thee in human language (forThou canst not yet speak mine), the foresterHunts not the wretched coney, but the boar,Or wolf, or lion--leaving paltry gameTo petty burghers, who leave once a yearTheir walls, to fill their household cauldrons withSuch scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,--Now I can mock the mightiest.

Arn. Then waste notThy time on me: I seek thee not.

Stran. Your thoughtsAre not far from me. Do not send me back:I'm not so easily recalled to doGood service.

Arn. What wilt thou do for me?

Stran. ChangeShapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you;Or form you to your wish in any shape.

Arn. Oh! then you are indeed the Demon, forNought else would wittingly wear mine.

Stran. I'll show theeThe brightest which the world e'er bore, and give theeThy choice.

Arn. On what condition?

Stran. There's a question!An hour ago you would have given your soulTo look like other men, and now you pauseTo wear the form of heroes.

Arn. No; I will not.I must not compromise my soul.

Stran. What soul,Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcase?

Arn. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenementIn which it is mislodged. But name your compact:Must it be signed in blood?

Stran. Not in your own.

Arn. Whose blood then?

Stran. We will talk of that hereafter.But I'll be moderate with you, for I seeGreat things within you. You shall have no bondBut your own will, no contract save your deeds.Are you content?

Arn. I take thee at thy word.

Stran. Now then!--[The Stranger approaches the fountain, and turns to ARNOLD.

A little of your blood.

Arn. For what?

Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters,And make the charm effective.

Arn. (holding out his wounded arm). Take it all.

Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this.

[The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD'S blood in hishand, and casts it into the fountain.

Shadows of Beauty!Shadows of Power!Rise to your duty--This is the hour!Walk lovely and pliantFrom the depth of this fountain,As the cloud-shapen giantBestrides the Hartz Mountain.Come as ye were,That our eyes may beholdThe model in airOf the form I will mould,Bright as the IrisWhen ether is spanned;--Such his desire is, [Pointing to ARNOLD.Such my command!Demons heroic--Demons who woreThe form of the StoicOr sophist of yore--Or the shape of each victor--From Macedon's boy,To each high Roman's picture,Who breathed to destroy--Shadows of Beauty!Shadows of Power!Up to your duty--This is the hour!

[Various phantoms arise from the waters, and passin succession before the Stranger and ARNOLD.

Arn. What do I see?

Stran. The black-eyed Roman, withThe eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'erBeheld a conqueror, or looked alongThe land he made not Rome's, while Rome becameHis, and all theirs who heired his very name.

Arn. The phantom's bald; my quest is beauty. Could IInherit but his fame with his defects!

Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.You see his aspect--choose it, or reject.I can but promise you his form; his fameMust be long sought and fought for.

Arn. I will fight, too,But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass:His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.

Stran. Then you are far more difficult to pleaseThan Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother,Or Cleopatra at sixteen--an ageWhen love is not less in the eye than heart.But be it so! Shadow, pass on![The phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears.

Arn. And can itBe, that the man who shook the earth is gone,And left no footstep?

Stran. There you err. His substanceLeft graves enough, and woes enough, and fameMore than enough to track his memory;But for his shadow--'tis no more than yours,Except a little longer and less crookedI' the sun. Behold another! [A second phantom passes.

Arn. Who is he?

Stran. He was the fairest and the bravest ofAthenians. Look upon him well.

Arn. He isMore lovely than the last. How beautiful!

Stran. Such was the curled son of Clinias;--wouldst thouInvest thee with his form?

Arn. Would that I hadBeen born with it! But since I may choose further,I will look further. [The shade of Alcibiades disappears.

Stran. Lo! behold again!

Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr,With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect,The splay feet and low stature! I had betterRemain that which I am.

Stran. And yet he wasThe earth's perfection of all mental beauty,And personification of all virtue.But you reject him?

Arn. If his form could bring meThat which redeemed it--no.

Stran. I have no powerTo promise that; but you may try, and find itEasier in such a form--or in your own.

Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy,Though I have that about me which has need on't.Let him fleet on.

Stran. Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker![The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises.

Arn. What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beardAnd manly aspect look like Hercules,Save that his jocund eye hath more of BacchusThan the sad purger of the infernal world,Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,As if he knew the worthlessness of thoseFor whom he had fought.

Stran. It was the man who lostThe ancient world for love.

Arn. I cannot blame him,Since I have risked my soul because I find notThat which he exchanged the earth for.

Stran. Since so farYou seem congenial, will you wear his features?

Arn. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult.If but to see the heroes I should ne'erHave seen else, on this side of the dim shore,Whence they float back before us.

Stran. Hence, Triumvir,Thy Cleopatra's waiting.[The shade of Antony disappears: another rises.

Arn. Who is this?Who truly looketh like a demigod,Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature,If not more high than mortal, yet immortalIn all that nameless bearing of his limbs,Which he wears as the Sun his rays--a somethingWhich shines from him, and yet is but the flashingEmanation of a thing more glorious still.Was he e'er human only?

Stran. Let the earth speak,If there be atoms of him left, or evenOf the more solid gold that formed his urn.

Arn. Who was this glory of mankind?

Stran. The shameOf Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war--Demetrius the Macedonian, andTaker of cities.

Arn. Yet one shadow more.

Stran. (addressing the shadow). Get thee to Lamia's lap![The shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes: another rises.I'll fit you still,Fear not, my Hunchback: if the shadows ofThat which existed please not your nice taste,I'll animate the ideal marble, tillYour soul be reconciled to her new garment

Arn. Content! I will fix here.

Stran. I must commendYour choice. The godlike son of the sea-goddess,The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locksAs beautiful and clear as the amber wavesOf rich Pactolus, rolled o'er sands of gold,Softened by intervening crystal, andRippled like flowing waters by the wind,All vowed to Sperchius as they were--behold them!And him--as he stood by Polixena,With sanctioned and with softened love, beforeThe altar, gazing on his Trojan bride,With some remorse within for Hector slainAnd Priam weeping, mingled with deep passionFor the sweet downcast virgin, whose young handTrembled in his who slew her brother. SoHe stood i' the temple! Look upon him asGreece looked her last upon her best, the instantEre Paris' arrow flew.

Arn. I gaze upon himAs if I were his soul, whose form shall soonEnvelope mine.

Stran. You have done well. The greatestDeformity should only barter withThe extremest beauty--if the proverb's trueOf mortals, that Extremes meet.

Arn. Come! Be quick!I am impatient.

Stran. As a youthful beautyBefore her glass. You both see what is not,But dream it is what must be.

Arn. Must I wait?

Stran. No; that were a pity. But a word or two:His stature is twelve cubits; would you so farOutstep these times, and be a Titan? Or(To talk canonically) wax a sonOf Anak?

Arn. Why not?

Stran. Glorious ambition!I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal ofPhilistine stature would have gladly paredHis own Goliath down to a slight David:But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a showRather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged,If such be thy desire; and, yet, by beingA little less removed from present menIn figure, thou canst sway them more; for allWould rise against thee now, as if to huntA new-found Mammoth; and their curséd engines,Their culverins, and so forth, would find wayThrough our friend's armour there, with greater easeThan the Adulterer's arrow through his heelWhich Thetis had forgotten to baptizeIn Styx.

Arn. Then let it be as thou deem'st best.

Stran. Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou seest,And strong as what it was, and----

Arn. I ask notFor Valour, since Deformity is daring.It is its essence to o'ertake mankindBy heart and soul, and make itself the equal--Aye, the superior of the rest. There isA spur in its halt movements, to becomeAll that the others cannot, in such thingsAs still are free to both, to compensateFor stepdame Nature's avarice at first.They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune,And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar, win them.

Stran. Well spoken! And thou doubtless wilt remainFormed as thou art. I may dismiss the mouldOf shadow, which must turn to flesh, to incaseThis daring soul, which could achieve no lessWithout it.

Arn. Had no power presented meThe possibility of change, I wouldHave done the best which spirit may to makeIts way with all Deformity's dull, deadly,Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain,In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders--A hateful and unsightly molehill toThe eyes of happier men. I would have lookedOn Beauty in that sex which is the typeOf all we know or dream of beautiful,Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh--Not of love, but despair; nor sought to win,Though to a heart all love, what could not love meIn turn, because of this vile crookéd clog,Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borneIt all, had not my mother spurned me from her.The she-bear licks her cubs into a sortOf shape;--my Dam beheld my shape was hopeless.Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ereI knew the passionate part of life, I hadBeen a clod of the valley,--happier nothingThan what I am. But even thus--the lowest,Ugliest, and meanest of mankind--what courageAnd perseverance could have done, perchanceHad made me something--as it has made heroesOf the same mould as mine. You lately saw meMaster of my own life, and quick to quit it;And he who is so is the master ofWhatever dreads to die.

Stran. Decide betweenWhat you have been, or will be.

Arn. I have done so.You have opened brighter prospects to my eyes,And sweeter to my heart. As I am now,I might be feared--admired--respected--lovedOf all save those next to me, of whom IWould be belovéd. As thou showest meA choice of forms, I take the one I view.Haste! haste!

Stran. And what shall I wear?

Arn. Surely, heWho can command all forms will choose the highest,Something superior even to that which wasPelides now before us. Perhaps hisWho slew him, that of Paris: or--still higher--The Poet's God, clothed in such limbs as areThemselves a poetry.

Stran. Less will content me;For I, too, love a change.

Arn. Your aspect isDusky, but not uncomely.

Stran. If I chose,I might be whiter; but I have a penchantFor black--it is so honest, and, besides,Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear;But I have worn it long enough of late,And now I'll take your figure.

Arn. Mine!

Stran. Yes. YouShall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha,Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes;You have yours--I mine.

Arn. Despatch! despatch!

Stran. Even so.

[The Stranger takes some earth and moulds italong the turf, and then addressesthe phantom of Achilles.

Beautiful shadowOf Thetis's boy!Who sleeps in the meadowWhose grass grows o'er Troy:From the red earth, like Adam,Thy likeness I shape,As the Being who made him,Whose actions I ape.Thou Clay, be all glowing,Till the Rose in his cheekBe as fair as, when blowing,It wears its first streak!Ye Violets, I scatter,Now turn into eyes!And thou, sunshiny Water,Of blood take the guise!Let these Hyacinth boughsBe his long flowing hair,And wave o'er his brows,As thou wavest in air!Let his heart be this marbleI tear from the rock!But his voice as the warbleOf birds on yon oak!Let his flesh be the purestOf mould, in which grewThe Lily-root surest,And drank the best dew!Let his limbs be the lightestWhich clay can compound,And his aspect the brightestOn earth to be found!Elements, near me,Be mingled and stirred,Know me, and hear me,And leap to my word!Sunbeams, awakenThis earth's animation!'Tis done! He hath takenHis stand in creation!

[ARNOLD falls senseless; his soul passes into the shapeof Achilles, which rises from the ground; whilethe phantom has disappeared, part by part,as the figure was formed from the earth.

Arn. (in his new form). I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh, life!At last I feel thee! Glorious Spirit!

Stran. Stop!What shall become of your abandoned garment,Yon hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness,Which late you wore, or were?

Arn. Who cares? Let wolvesAnd vultures take it, if they will.

Stran. And ifThey do, and are not scared by it, you'll sayIt must be peace-time, and no better fareAbroad i' the fields.

Arn. Let us but leave it there;No matter what becomes on't.

Stran. That's ungracious;If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be,It hath sustained your soul full many a day.

Arn. Aye, as the dunghill may conceal a gemWhich is now set in gold, as jewels should be.

Stran. But if I give another form, it must beBy fair exchange, not robbery. For theyWho make men without women's aid have longHad patents for the same, and do not loveYour Interlopers. The Devil may take men,Not make them,--though he reap the benefitOf the original workmanship:--and thereforeSome one must be found to assume the shapeYou have quitted.

Arn. Who would do so?

Stran. That I know not,And therefore I must.

Arn. You!

Stran. I said it ereYou inhabited your present dome of beauty.

Arn. True. I forget all things in the new joyOf this immortal change.

Stran. In a few momentsI will be as you were, and you shall seeYourself for ever by you, as your shadow.

Arn. I would be spared this.

Stran. But it cannot be.What! shrink already, being what you are,From seeing what you were?

Arn. Do as thou wilt.

Stran. (to the late form of ARNOLD, extended on the earth).Clay! not dead, but soul-less!Though no man would choose thee,An Immortal no lessDeigns not to refuse thee.Clay thou art; and unto spiritAll clay is of equal merit.Fire! without which nought can live;Fire! but in which nought can live,Save the fabled salamander,Or immortal souls, which wander,Praying what doth not forgive,Howling for a drop of water,Burning in a quenchless lot:Fire! the only elementWhere nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm,Save the Worm which dieth not,Can preserve a moment's form,But must with thyself be blent:Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughter:Fire! Creation's first-born Daughter,And Destruction's threatened Son,When Heaven with the world hath done:Fire! assist me to renewLife in what lies in my viewStiff and cold!His resurrection rests with me and you!One little, marshy spark of flame--And he again shall seem the same;But I his Spirit's place shall hold!

[An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood and restson the brow of the body. The Strangerdisappears: the body rises.

Arn. (in his new form). Oh! horrible!

Stran. (in ARNOLD'S late shape). What! tremblest thou?

Arn. Not so--I merely shudder. Where is fled the shapeThou lately worest?

Stran. To the world of shadows.But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou?

Arn. Must thou be my companion?

Stran. Wherefore not?Your betters keep worse company.

Arn. My betters!

Stran. Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form:I'm glad of that. Ungrateful too! That's well;You improve apace;--two changes in an instant,And you are old in the World's ways already.But bear with me: indeed you'll find me usefulUpon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounceWhere shall we now be errant?

Arn. Where the WorldIs thickest, that I may behold it inIts workings.

Stran. That's to say, where there is WarAnd Woman in activity. Let's see!Spain--Italy--the new Atlantic world--Afric with all its Moors. In very truth,There is small choice: the whole race are just nowTugging as usual at each other's hearts.

Arn. I have heard great things of Rome.

Stran. A goodly choice--And scarce a better to be found on earth,Since Sodom was put out. The field is wide too;For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scionOf the old Vandals, are at play alongThe sunny shores of the World's garden.

Arn. HowShall we proceed?

Stran. Like gallants, on good coursers.What, ho! my chargers! Never yet were better,Since Phaeton was upset into the Po.Our pages too!

Enter two Pages, with four coal-black horses.

Arn. A noble sight!

Stran. And ofA nobler breed. Match me in Barbary,Or your Kochlini race of Araby,With these!

Arn. The mighty steam, which volumes highFrom their proud nostrils, burns the very air;And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies wheelAround their manes, as common insects swarmRound common steeds towards sunset.

Stran. Mount, my lord:They and I are your servitors.

Arn. And theseOur dark-eyed pages--what may be their names?

Stran. You shall baptize them.

Arn. What! in holy water?

Stran. Why not? The deeper sinner, better saint.

Arn. They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons.

Stran. True; the devil's always ugly: and your beautyIs never diabolical.

Arn. I'll call himWho bears the golden horn, and wears such brightAnd blooming aspect, Huon; for he looksLike to the lovely boy lost in the forest,And never found till now. And for the otherAnd darker, and more thoughtful, who smiles not,But looks as serious though serene as night,He shall be Memnon, from the Ethiop kingWhose statue turns a harper once a day.And you?

Stran. I have ten thousand names, and twiceAs many attributes; but as I wearA human shape, will take a human name.

Arn. More human than the shape (though it was mine once)I trust.

Stran. Then call me Cæsar.

Arn. Why, that nameBelongs to Empire, and has been but borneBy the World's lords.

Stran. And therefore fittest forThe Devil in disguise--since so you deem me,Unless you call me Pope instead.

Arn. Well, then,Cæsar thou shalt be. For myself, my nameShall be plain Arnold still.

Cæs. We'll add a title--"Count Arnold:" it hath no ungracious sound,And will look well upon a billet-doux.

Arn. Or in an order for a battle-field.

Cæs. (sings).To horse! to horse! my coal-black steedPaws the ground and snuffs the air!There's not a foal of Arab's breedMore knows whom he must bear;On the hill he will not tire,Swifter as it waxes higher;In the marsh he will not slacken,On the plain be overtaken;In the wave he will not sink,Nor pause at the brook's side to drink;In the race he will not pant,In the combat he'll not faint;On the stones he will not stumble,Time nor toil shall make him humble;In the stall he will not stiffen,But be wingèd as a Griffin,Only flying with his feet:And will not such a voyage be sweet?Merrily! merrily! never unsound,Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground!From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or fly!For we'll leave them behind in the glance of an eye.[They mount their horses, and disappear.

SCENE II.--A Camp before the walls of Rome.

ARNOLD and CÆSAR.

Cæs. You are well entered now.

Arn. Aye; but my pathHas been o'er carcasses: mine eyes are fullOf blood.

Cæs. Then wipe them, and see clearly. Why!Thou art a conqueror; the chosen knightAnd free companion of the gallant Bourbon,Late constable of France; and now to beLord of the city which hath been Earth's LordUnder its emperors, and--changing sex,Not sceptre, an Hermaphrodite of Empire--Lady of the old world.

Arn. How old? What! are thereNew worlds?

Cæs. To you. You'll find there are such shortly,By its rich harvests, new disease, and gold;From one half of the world named a whole new one,Because you know no better than the dullAnd dubious notice of your eyes and ears.

Arn. I'll trust them.

Cæs. Do! They will deceive you sweetly,And that is better than the bitter truth.

Arn. Dog!

Cæs. Man!

Arn. Devil!

Cæs. Your obedient humble servant.

Arn. Say master rather. Thou hast lured me on,Through scenes of blood and lust, till I am here.

Cæs. And where wouldst thou be?

Arn. Oh, at peace--in peace!

Cæs. And where is that which is so? From the starTo the winding worm, all life is motion; andIn life commotion is the extremest pointOf life. The planet wheels till it becomesA comet, and destroying as it sweepsThe stars, goes out. The poor worm winds its way,Living upon the death of other things,But still, like them, must live and die, the subjectOf something which has made it live and die.You must obey what all obey, the ruleOf fixed Necessity: against her edictRebellion prospers not.

Arn. And when it prospers----

Cæs. 'Tis no rebellion.

Arn. Will it prosper now?

Cæs. The Bourbon hath given orders for the assault,And by the dawn there will be work.

Arn. Alas!And shall the city yield? I see the giantAbode of the true God, and his true saint,Saint Peter, rear its dome and cross intoThat sky whence Christ ascended from the cross,Which his blood made a badge of glory andOf joy (as once of torture unto him),--God and God's Son, man's sole and only refuge!

Cæs. 'Tis there, and shall be.

Arn. What?

Cæs. The CrucifixAbove, and many altar shrines below.Also some culverins upon the walls,And harquebusses, and what not; besidesThe men who are to kindle them to deathOf other men.

Arn. And those scarce mortal arches,Pile above pile of everlasting wall,The theatre where Emperors and their subjects(Those subjects Romans) stood at gaze uponThe battles of the monarchs of the wildAnd wood--the lion and his tusky rebelsOf the then untamed desert, brought to joustIn the arena--as right well they might,When they had left no human foe unconquered--Made even the forest pay its tribute ofLife to their amphitheatre, as wellAs Dacia men to die the eternal deathFor a sole instant's pastime, and "Pass onTo a new gladiator!"--Must it fall?

Cæs. The city, or the amphitheatre?The church, or one, or all? for you confoundBoth them and me.

Arn. To-morrow sounds the assaultWith the first cock-crow.

Cæs. Which, if it end withThe evening's first nightingale, will beSomething new in the annals of great sieges;For men must have their prey after long toil.

Arn. The sun goes down as calmly, and perhapsMore beautifully, than he did on RomeOn the day Remus leapt her wall.

Cæs. I saw him.

Arn. You!

Cæs. Yes, Sir! You forget I am or wasSpirit, till I took up with your cast shape,And a worse name. I'm Cæsar and a hunch-backNow. Well! the first of Cæsars was a bald-head,And loved his laurels better as a wig(So history says) than as a glory. ThusThe world runs on, but we'll be merry still.I saw your Romulus (simple as I am)Slay his own twin, quick-born of the same womb,Because he leapt a ditch ('twas then no wall,Whate'er it now be); and Rome's earliest cementWas brother's blood; and if its native bloodBe spilt till the choked Tiber be as redAs e'er 'twas yellow, it will never wearThe deep hue of the Ocean and the Earth,Which the great robber sons of fratricideHave made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter,For ages.

Arn. But what have these done, their farRemote descendants, who have lived in peace,The peace of Heaven, and in her sunshine ofPiety?

Cæs. And what had they done, whom the oldRomans o'erswept?--Hark!

Arn. They are soldiers singingA reckless roundelay, upon the eveOf many deaths, it may be of their own.

Cæs. And why should they not sing as well as swans?They are black ones, to be sure.

Arn. So, you are learned,I see, too?

Cæs. In my grammar, certes. IWas educated for a monk of all times,And once I was well versed in the forgottenEtruscan letters, and--were I so minded--Could make their hieroglyphics plainer thanYour alphabet.

Arn. And wherefore do you not?

Cæs. It answers better to resolve the alphabetBack into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman,And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist,Philosopher, and what not, they have builtMore Babels, without new dispersion, thanThe stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze,Who failed and fled each other. Why? why, marry,Because no man could understand his neighbour.They are wiser now, and will not separateFor nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood,Their Shibboleth--their Koran--Talmud--theirCabala--their best brick-work, wherewithalThey build more----

Arn. (interrupting him). Oh, thou everlasting sneerer!Be silent! How the soldier's rough strain seemsSoftened by distance to a hymn-like cadence!Listen!

Cæs. Yes. I have heard the angels sing.

Arn. And demons howl.

Cæs. And man, too. Let us listen:I love all music.

Song of the Soldiers within.

The black bands came overThe Alps and their snow;With Bourbon, the rover,They passed the broad Po.We have beaten all foemen,We have captured a King,We have turned back on no men,And so let us sing!Here's the Bourbon for ever!Though penniless all,We'll have one more endeavourAt yonder old wall.With the Bourbon we'll gatherAt day-dawn beforeThe gates, and togetherOr break or climb o'erThe wall: on the ladder,As mounts each firm foot,Our shout shall grow gladder,And Death only be mute.With the Bourbon we'll mount o'erThe walls of old Rome,And who then shall count o'erThe spoils of each dome?Up! up with the Lily!And down with the Keys!In old Rome, the seven-hilly,We'll revel at ease.Her streets shall be gory,Her Tiber all red,And her temples so hoaryShall clang with our tread.Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!The Bourbon for aye!Of our song bear the burden!And fire, fire away!With Spain for the vanguard,Our varied host comes;And next to the SpaniardBeat Germany's drums;And Italy's lancesAre couched at their mother;But our leader from France is,Who warred with his brother.Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!Sans country or home,We'll follow the Bourbon,To plunder old Rome.

Cæs. An indifferent songFor those within the walls, methinks, to hear.

Arn. Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here comesThe general with his chiefs and men of trust.A goodly rebel.

Enter the Constable BOURBON "cum suis," etc., etc.

Phil. How now, noble Prince,You are not cheerful?

Bourb. Why should I be so?

Phil. Upon the eve of conquest, such as ours,Most men would be so.

Bourb. If I were secure!

Phil. Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of adamant,They'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery.

Bourb. That they will falter is my least of fears.That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon forTheir chief, and all their kindled appetitesTo marshal them on--were those hoary wallsMountains, and those who guard them like the godsOf the old fables, I would trust my Titans;--But now----

Phil. They are but men who war with mortals.

Bourb. True: but those walls have girded in great ages,And sent forth mighty spirits. The past earthAnd present phantom of imperious RomeIs peopled with those warriors; and methinksThey flit along the eternal City's rampart,And stretch their glorious, gory, shadowy hands,And beckon me away!

Phil. So let them! Wilt thouTurn back from shadowy menaces of shadows?

Bourb. They do not menace me. I could have faced,Methinks, a Sylla's menace; but they clasp,And raise, and wring their dim and deathlike hands,And with their thin aspen faces and fixed eyesFascinate mine. Look there!

Phil. I look uponA lofty battlement.

Bourb. And there!

Phil. Not evenA guard in sight; they wisely keep below,Sheltered by the grey parapet from someStray bullet of our lansquenets, who mightPractise in the cool twilight.

Bourb. You are blind.

Phil. If seeing nothing more than may be seenBe so.

Bourb. A thousand years have manned the wallsWith all their heroes,--the last Cato standsAnd tears his bowels, rather than surviveThe liberty of that I would enslave.And the first Cassar with his triumphs flitsFrom battlement to battlement.

Phil. Then conquerThe walls for which he conquered and be greater!

Bourb. True: so I will, or perish.

Phil. You can not.In such an enterprise to die is ratherThe dawn of an eternal day, than death.[Count ARNOLD and CÆSAR advance.

Cæs. And the mere men--do they, too, sweat beneathThe noon of this same ever-scorching glory?

Bourb. Ah!Welcome the bitter Hunchback! and his master,The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous,And generous as lovely. We shall findWork for you both ere morning.

Cæs. You will find,So please your Highness, no less for yourself.

Bourb. And if I do, there will not be a labourerMore forward, Hunchback!

Cæs. You may well say so,For you have seen that back--as general,Placed in the rear in action--but your foesHave never seen it.

Bourb. That's a fair retort,For I provoked it:--but the Bourbon's breastHas been, and ever shall be, far advancedIn danger's face as yours, were you the devil.

Cæs. And if I were, I might have saved myselfThe toil of coming here.

Phil. Why so?

Cæs. One halfOf your brave bands of their own bold accordWill go to him, the other half be sent,More swiftly, not less surely.

Bourb. Arnold, yourSlight crooked friend's as snake-like in his wordsAs his deeds.

Cæs. Your Highness much mistakes me.The first snake was a flatterer--I am none;And for my deeds, I only sting when stung.

Bourb. You are brave, and that's enough for me; and quickIn speech as sharp in action--and that's more.I am not alone the soldier, but the soldiers'Comrade.

Cæs. They are but bad company, your Highness;And worse even for their friends than foes, as beingMore permanent acquaintance.

Phil. How now, fellow!Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilegeOf a buffoon.

Cæs. You mean I speak the truth.I'll lie--it is as easy: then you'll praise meFor calling you a hero.

Bourb. Philibert!Let him alone; he's brave, and ever hasBeen first, with that swart face and mountain shoulder,In field or storm, and patient in starvation;And for his tongue, the camp is full of licence,And the sharp stinging of a lively rogueIs, to my mind, far preferable toThe gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execrationOf a mere famished sullen grumbling slave,Whom nothing can convince save a full meal,And wine, and sleep, and a few Maravedis,With which he deems him rich.

Cæs. It would be wellIf the earth's princes asked no more.

Bourb. Be silent!

Cæs. Aye, but not idle. Work yourself with words!You have few to speak.

Phil. What means the audacious prater?

Cæs. To prate, like other prophets.

Bourb. Philibert!Why will you vex him? Have we not enoughTo think on? Arnold! I will lead the attackTo-morrow.

Arn. I have heard as much, my Lord.

Bourb. And you will follow?

Arn. Since I must not lead.

Bourb. 'Tis necessary for the further daringOf our too needy army, that their chiefPlant the first foot upon the foremost ladder'sFirst step.

Cæs. Upon its topmost, let us hope:So shall he have his full deserts.

Bourb. The world'sGreat capital perchance is ours to-morrow.Through every change the seven-hilled city hathRetained her sway o'er nations, and the CæsarsBut yielded to the Alarics, the AlaricsUnto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest.Still the world's masters! Civilised, barbarian,Or saintly, still the walls of RomulusHave been the circus of an Empire. Well!'Twas their turn--now 'tis ours; and let us hopeThat we will fight as well, and rule much better.

Cæs. No doubt, the camp's the school of civic rights.What would you make of Rome?

Bourb. That which it was.

Cæs. In Alaric's time?

Bourb. No, slave! in the first Cæsar's,Whose name you bear like other curs----

Cæs. And kings!'Tis a great name for blood-hounds.

Bourb. There's a demonIn that fierce rattlesnake thy tongue. Wilt neverBe serious?

Cæs. On the eve of battle, no;--That were not soldier-like. 'Tis for the generalTo be more pensive: we adventurersMust be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think?Our tutelar Deity, in a leader's shape,Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts!If the knaves take to thinking, you will haveTo crack those walls alone.

Bourb. You may sneer, since'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for 't.

Cæs. I thank you for the freedom; 'tis the onlyPay I have taken in your Highness' service.

Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself.Look on those towers; they hold my treasury:But, Philibert, we'll in to council. Arnold,We would request your presence.

Arn. Prince! my serviceIs yours, as in the field.

Bourb. In both we prize it,And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak.

Cæs. And mine?

Bourb. To follow glory with the Bourbon.Good night!

Arn. (to CÆSAR). Prepare our armour for the assault,And wait within my tent.[Exeunt BOURBON, ARNOLD, PHILIBERT, etc.

Cæs. (solus). Within thy tent!Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence?Or that this crooked coffer, which containedThy principle of life, is aught to meExcept a mask? And these are men, forsooth!Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards!This is the consequence of giving matterThe power of thought. It is a stubborn substance,And thinks chaotically, as it acts,Ever relapsing into its first elements.Well! I must play with these poor puppets: 'tisThe Spirit's pastime in his idler hours.When I grow weary of it, I have businessAmongst the stars, which these poor creatures deemWere made for them to look at. 'Twere a jest nowTo bring one down amongst them, and set fireUnto their anthill: how the pismires thenWould scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasingFrom tearing down each other's nests, pipe forthOne universal orison! ha! ha! [Exit CÆSAR.

PART II.

SCENE I.--Before the walls of Rome.--The Assault: theArmy in motion, with ladders to scale the walls;BOURBON with a white scarf over his armour, foremost.

Chorus of Spirits in the air.

'Tis the morn, but dim and dark.Whither flies the silent lark?Whither shrinks the clouded sun?Is the day indeed begun?Nature's eye is melancholyO'er the city high and holy:But without there is a dinShould arouse the saints within,And revive the heroic ashesRound which yellow Tiber dashes.Oh, ye seven hills! awaken,Ere your very base be shaken!

Hearken to the steady stamp!Mars is in their every tramp!Not a step is out of tune,As the tides obey the moon!On they march, though to self-slaughter,Regular as rolling water,Whose high-waves o'ersweep the borderOf huge moles, but keep their order,Breaking only rank by rank.Hearken to the armour's clank!Look down o'er each frowning warrior,How he glares upon the barrier:Look on each step of each ladder,As the stripes that streak an adder.

Look upon the bristling wall,Manned without an interval!Round and round, and tier on tier,Cannon's black mouth, shining spear,Lit match, bell-mouthed Musquetoon,Gaping to be murderous soon;All the warlike gear of old,Mixed with what we now behold,In this strife 'twixt old and new,Gather like a locusts' crew.Shade of Remus! 'tis a timeAwful as thy brother's crime!Christians war against Christ's shrine:--Must its lot be like to thine?

Near--and near--and nearer still,As the Earthquake saps the hill,First with trembling, hollow motion,Like a scarce awakened ocean,Then with stronger shock and louder,Till the rocks are crushed to powder,--Onward sweeps the rolling host!Heroes of the immortal boast!Mighty Chiefs! eternal shadows!First flowers of the bloody meadowsWhich encompass Rome, the motherOf a people without brother!Will you sleep when nations' quarrelsPlough the root up of your laurels?Ye who weep o'er Carthage burning,Weep not--strike! for Rome is mourning!

Onward sweep the varied nations!Famine long hath dealt their rations.To the wall, with hate and hunger,Numerous as wolves, and stronger,On they sweep. Oh, glorious City!Must thou be a theme for pity?Fight, like your first sire, each Roman!Alaric was a gentle foeman,Matched with Bourbon's black banditti!Rouse thee, thou eternal City;Rouse thee! Rather give the torchWith thine own hand to thy porch,Than behold such hosts polluteYour worst dwelling with their foot.

Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre!Ilion's children find no Hector;Priam's offspring loved their brother;Rome's great sire forgot his mother,When he slew his gallant twin,With inexpiable sin.See the giant shadow strideO'er the ramparts high and wide!When the first o'erleapt thy wall,Its foundation mourned thy fall.Now, though towering like a Babel,Who to stop his steps are able?Stalking o'er thy highest dome,Remus claims his vengeance, Rome!

Now they reach thee in their anger:Fire and smoke and hellish clangourAre around thee, thou world's wonder!Death is in thy walls and under.Now the meeting steel first clashes,Downward then the ladder crashes,With its iron load all gleaming,Lying at its foot blaspheming!Up again! for every warriorSlain, another climbs the barrier.Thicker grows the strife: thy ditchesEurope's mingling gore enriches.Rome! although thy wall may perish,Such manure thy fields will cherish,Making gay the harvest-home;But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome!--Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish,Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish!

Yet once more, ye old Penates!Let not your quenched hearts be Atés!Yet again, ye shadowy Heroes,Yield not to these stranger Neros!Though the son who slew his motherShed Rome's blood, he was your brother:'Twas the Roman curbed the Roman;--Brennus was a baffled foeman.Yet again, ye saints and martyrs,Rise! for yours are holier charters!Mighty Gods of temples falling,Yet in ruin still appalling!Mightier Founders of those altars,True and Christian,--strike the assaulters!Tiber! Tiber! let thy torrentShow even Nature's self abhorrent.Let each breathing heart dilatedTurn, as doth the lion baited!Rome be crashed to one wide tomb,But be still the Roman's Rome!

[BOURBON, ARNOLD, CÆSAR, and others, arrive at the footof the wall. ARNOLD is about to plant his ladder.

Bourb. Hold, Arnold! I am first.

Arn. Not so, my Lord.

Bourb. Hold, sir, I charge you! Follow! I am proudOf such a follower, but will brook no leader.[BOURBON plants his ladder, and begins to mount.Now, boys! On! on![A shot strikes him, and BOURBON falls.

Cæs. And off!

Arn. Eternal powers!The host will be appalled,--but vengeance! vengeance!

Bourb. 'Tis nothing--lend me your hand.

[BOURBON takes ARNOLD by the hand, and rises; butas he puts his foot on the step, falls again.

Arnold! I am sped.Conceal my fall--all will go well--conceal it!Fling my cloak o'er what will be dust anon;Let not the soldiers see it.

Arn. You must beRemoved; the aid of----

Bourb. No, my gallant boy!Death is upon me. But what is one life?The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still.Keep them yet ignorant that I am but clay,Till they are conquerors--then do as you may.

Cæs. Would not your Highness choose to kiss the cross?We have no priest here, but the hilt of swordMay serve instead:--it did the same for Bayard.

Bourb. Thou bitter slave! to name him at this time!But I deserve it.

Arn. (to CÆSAR). Villain, hold your peace!

Cæs. What, when a Christian dies? Shall I not offerA Christian "Vade in pace?"

Arn. Silence! Oh!Those eyes are glazing which o'erlooked the world,And saw no equal.

Bourb. Arnold, shouldst thou seeFrance----But hark! hark! the assault grows warmer--Oh!For but an hour, a minute more of life,To die within the wall! Hence, Arnold, hence!You lose time--they will conquer Rome without thee.

Arn. And without thee.

Bourb. Not so; I'll lead them stillIn spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe notThat I have ceased to breathe. Away! and beVictorious.

Arn. But I must not leave thee thus.

Bourb. You must--farewell--Up! up! the world is winning.[BOURBON dies.

Cæs. (to ARNOLD). Come, Count, to business.

Arn. True. I'll weep hereafter.

[ARNOLD covers BOURBON'S body with a mantle,mounts the ladder, crying

The Bourbon! Bourbon! On, boys! Rome is ours!

Cæs. Good night, Lord Constable! thou wert a Man.

[CÆSAR follows ARNOLD; they reach the battlement;ARNOLD and CÆSAR are struck down.

Cæs. A precious somerset! Is your countship injured?

Arn. No. [Remounts the ladder.

Cæs. A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated!And 'tis no boy's play. Now he strikes them down!His hand is on the battlement--he grasps itAs though it were an altar; now his footIs on it, and----What have we here?--a Roman?The first bird of the covey! he has fallen [A man falls.On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow?

Wounded Man. A drop of water!

Cæs. Blood's the only liquidNearer than Tiber.

Wounded Man. I have died for Rome. [Dies.

Cæs. And so did Bourbon, in another sense.Oh, these immortal men! and their great motives!But I must after my young charge. He isBy this time i' the Forum. Charge! charge![CÆSAR mounts the ladder; the scene closes.

SCENE II.--The City.--Combats between the Besiegersand Besieged in the streets. Inhabitants flying in confusion.

Enter CÆSAR.

Cæs. I cannot find my hero; he is mixedWith the heroic crowd that now pursueThe fugitives, or battle with the desperate.What have we here? A Cardinal or twoThat do not seem in love with martyrdom.How the old red-shanks scamper! Could they doffTheir hose as they have doffed their hats, 'twould beA blessing, as a mark the less for plunder.But let them fly; the crimson kennels nowWill not much stain their stockings, since the mireIs of the self-same purple hue.

Enter a Party fighting--ARNOLD at the head of the Besiegers.

He comes,Hand in hand with the mild twins--Gore and Glory.Holla! hold, Count!

Arn. Away! they must not rally.

Cæs. I tell thee, be not rash; a golden bridgeIs for a flying enemy. I gave theeA form of beauty, and anExemption from some maladies of body,But not of mind, which is not mine to give.But though I gave the form of Thetis' son,I dipped thee not in Styx; and 'gainst a foeI would not warrant thy chivalric heartMore than Pelides' heel; why, then, be cautious,And know thyself a mortal still.

Arn. And whoWith aught of soul would combat if he wereInvulnerable? That were pretty sport.Think'st thou I beat for hares when lions roar?[ARNOLD rushes into the combat.

Cæs. A precious sample of humanity!Well, his blood's up; and, if a little's shed,'Twill serve to curb his fever.

[ARNOLD engages with a Roman, who retirestowards a portico.

Arn. Yield thee, slave!I promise quarter.

Rom. That's soon said.

Arn. And done----My word is known.

Rom. So shall be my deeds.[They re-engage. CÆSAR comes forward.

Cæs. Why, Arnold! hold thine own: thou hast in handA famous artisan, a cunning sculptor;Also a dealer in the sword and dagger.Not so, my musqueteer; 'twas he who slewThe Bourbon from the wall.

Arn. Aye, did he so?Then he hath carved his monument.

Rom. I yetMay live to carve your better's.

Cæs. Well said, my man of marble! Benvenuto,Thou hast some practice in both ways; and heWho slays Cellini will have worked as hardAs e'er thou didst upon Carrara's blocks.

[ARNOLD disarms and wounds CELLINI, hit slightly:the latter draws a pistol, and fires; thenretires, and disappears through the portico.

Cæs. How farest thou? Thou hast a taste, methinks,Of red Bellona's banquet.

Arn. (staggers). 'Tis a scratch.Lend me thy scarf. He shall not 'scape me thus.

Cæs. Where is it?

Arn. In the shoulder, not the sword arm--And that's enough. I am thirsty: would I hadA helm of water!

Cæs. That's a liquid nowIn requisition, but by no means easiestTo come at.

Arn. And my thirst increases;--butI'll find a way to quench it.

Cæs. Or be quenchedThyself.

Arn. The chance is even; we will throwThe dice thereon. But I lose time in prating;Prithee be quick. [CÆSAR binds on the scarf.And what dost thou so idly?Why dost not strike?

Cæs. Your old philosophersBeheld mankind, as mere spectators ofThe Olympic games. When I behold a prizeWorth wrestling for, I may be found a Milo.

Arn. Aye, 'gainst an oak.

Cæs. A forest, when it suits me:I combat with a mass, or not at all.Meantime, pursue thy sport as I do mine;Which is just now to gaze, since all these labourersWill reap my harvest gratis.

Arn. Thou art stillA fiend!

Cæs. And thou--a man.

Arn. Why, such I fain would show me.

Cæs. True--as men are.

Arn. And what is that?

Cæs. Thou feelest and thou see'st.

[Exit ARNOLD, joining in the combat which stillcontinues between detached parties. Thescene closes.

SCENE III.--St. Peter's--The interior of the Church--ThePope at the Altar--Priests, etc., crowding in confusion,and Citizens flying for refuge, pursued by Soldiery.

Enter CÆSAR.

A Spanish Soldier. Down with them, comrades, seize upon those lamps!Cleave yon bald-pated shaveling to the chine!His rosary's of gold!

Lutheran Soldier. Revenge! revenge!Plunder hereafter, but for vengeance now--Yonder stands Anti-Christ!

Cæs. (interposing). How now, schismatic?What wouldst thou?

Luth. Sold. In the holy name of Christ,Destroy proud Anti-Christ. I am a Christian.

Cæs. Yea, a disciple that would make the founderOf your belief renounce it, could he seeSuch proselytes. Best stint thyself to plunder.

Luth. Sold. I say he is the Devil.

Cæs. Hush! keep that secret,Lest he should recognise you for his own.

Luth. Sold. Why would you save him? I repeat he isThe Devil, or the Devil's vicar upon earth.

Cæs. And that's the reason: would you make a quarrelWith your best friends? You had far best be quiet;His hour is not yet come.

Luth. Sold. That shall be seen!

[The Lutheran Soldier rushes forward: a shotstrikes him from one of the Pope's Guards,and he falls at the foot of the Altar.

Cæs. (to the Lutheran). I told you so.

Luth. Sold. And will you not avenge me?

Cæs. Not I! You know that "Vengeance is the Lord's:"You see he loves no interlopers.

Luth. Sold. (dying). Oh!Had I but slain him, I had gone on high,Crowned with eternal glory! Heaven, forgiveMy feebleness of arm that reached him not,And take thy servant to thy mercy. 'TisA glorious triumph still; proud Babylon'sNo more; the Harlot of the Seven HillsHath changed her scarlet raiment for sackclothAnd ashes! [The Lutheran dies.

Cæs. Yes, thine own amidst the rest.Well done, old Babel!

[The Guards defend themselves desperately, while thePontiff escapes, by a private passage, to theVatican and the Castle of St. Angelo.

Cæs. Ha! right nobly battled!Now, priest! now, soldier! the two great professions,Together by the ears and hearts! I have notSeen a more comic pantomime since TitusTook Jewry. But the Romans had the best then;Now they must take their turn.

Soldiers. He hath escaped!Follow!

Another Sold. They have barred the narrow passage up,And it is clogged with dead even to the door.

Cæs. I am glad he hath escaped: he may thank me for'tIn part. I would not have his bulls abolished--'Twere worth one half our empire: his indulgencesDemand some in return; no, no, he must notFall;--and besides, his now escape may furnishA future miracle, in future proofOf his infallibility. [To the Spanish Soldiery.Well, cut-throats!What do you pause for? If you make not haste,There will not be a link of pious gold left.And you, too, Catholics! Would ye returnFrom such a pilgrimage without a relic?The very Lutherans have more true devotion:See how they strip the shrines!

Soldiers. By holy Peter!He speaks the truth; the heretics will bearThe best away.

Cæs. And that were shame! Go to!Assist in their conversion.[The Soldiers disperse; many quit the Church, others enter.

Cæs. They are gone,And others come: so flows the wave on waveOf what these creatures call Eternity,Deeming themselves the breakers of the Ocean,While they are but its bubbles, ignorantThat foam is their foundation. So, another!

Enter OLIMPIA, flying from the pursuit--Shesprings upon the Altar.

Sold. She's mine!

Another Sold. (opposing the former).You lie, I tracked her first: and were sheThe Pope's niece, I'll not yield her. [They fight.

3d Sold. (advancing towards OLIMPIA). You may settleYour claims; I'll make mine good.

Olimp. Infernal slave!You touch me not alive.

3d Sold. Alive or dead!

Olimp. (embracing a massive crucifix). Respect your God!

3d Sold. Yes, when he shines in gold.Girl, you but grasp your dowry.

[As he advances, OLIMPIA, with a strong and suddeneffort, casts down the crucifix; it strikes theSoldier, who falls.

3d Sold. Oh, great God!

Olimp. Ah! now you recognise him.

3d Sold. My brain's crushed!Comrades, help, ho! All's darkness! [He dies.

Other Soldiers (coming up).Slay her, although she had a thousand lives:She hath killed our comrade.

Olimp. Welcome such a death!You have no life to give, which the worst slaveWould take. Great God! through thy redeeming Son,And thy Son's Mother, now receive me asI would approach thee, worthy her, and him, and thee!

Enter ARNOLD.

Arn. What do I see? Accurséd jackals! Forbear!

Cæs. (aside and laughing). Ha! ha! here's equity! The dogsHave as much right as he. But to the issue!

Soldiers. Count, she hath slain our comrade.

Arn. With what weapon?

Sold. The cross, beneath which he is crushed; behold himLie there, more like a worm than man; she cast itUpon his head.

Arn. Even so: there is a womanWorthy a brave man's liking. Were ye such,Ye would have honoured her. But get ye hence,And thank your meanness, other God you have none,For your existence. Had you touched a hairOf those dishevelled locks, I would have thinnedYour ranks more than the enemy. Away!Ye jackals! gnaw the bones the lion leaves,But not even these till he permits.

A Sold. (murmuring). The lionMight conquer for himself then.

Arn. (cuts him down). Mutineer!Rebel in hell--you shall obey on earth![The Soldiers assault ARNOLD.

Arn. Come on! I'm glad on't! I will show you, slaves,How you should be commanded, and who led youFirst o'er the wall you were so shy to scale,Until I waved my banners from its height,As you are bold within it.[ARNOLD mows down the foremost; the rest throw down their arms.

Soldiers. Mercy! mercy!

Arn. Then learn to grant it. Have I taught you whoLed you o'er Rome's eternal battlements?

Soldiers. We saw it, and we know it; yet forgiveA moment's error in the heat of conquest--The conquest which you led to.

Arn. Get you hence!Hence to your quarters! you will find them fixedIn the Colonna palace.

Olimp. (aside). In my father'sHouse!

Arn. (to the Soldiers). Leave your arms; ye have no further needOf such: the city's rendered. And mark wellYou keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a streamAs red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism.

Soldiers (deposing their arms and departing). We obey!

Arn. (to OLIMPIA). Lady, you are safe.

Olimp. I should be so,Had I a knife even; but it matters not--Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,Even at the altar foot, whence I look downUpon destruction, shall my head be dashed,Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man!

Arn. I wish to merit his forgiveness, andThine own, although I have not injured thee.

Olimp. No! Thou hast only sacked my native land,--No injury!--and made my father's houseA den of thieves! No injury!--this temple--Slippery with Roman and with holy gore!No injury! And now thou wouldst preserve me,To be----but that shall never be!

[She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her,and prepares to dash herself down on the side ofthe Altar opposite to that where ARNOLD stands.

Arn. Hold! hold!I swear.

Olimp. Spare thine already forfeit soulA perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.I know thee.

Arn. No, thou know'st me not; I am notOf these men, though----

Olimp. I judge thee by thy mates;It is for God to judge thee as thou art.I see thee purple with the blood of Rome;Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shalt have of me,And here, upon the marble of this temple,Where the baptismal font baptized me God's,I offer him a blood less holyBut not less pure (pure as it left me then,A redeeméd infant) than the holy waterThe saints have sanctified!

[OLIMPIA waves her hand to ARNOLD with disdain, anddashes herself on the pavement from the Altar.

Arn. Eternal God!I feel thee now! Help! help! she's gone.

Cæs. (approaches). I am here.

Arn. Thou! but oh, save her!

Cæs. (assisting him to raise OLIMPIA). She hath done it well!The leap was serious.

Arn. Oh! she is lifeless!

Cæs. IfShe be so, I have nought to do with that:The resurrection is beyond me.

Arn. Slave!

Cæs. Aye, slave or master, 'tis all one: methinksGood words, however, are as well at times.

Arn. Words!--Canst thou aid her?

Cæs. I will try. A sprinklingOf that same holy water may be useful.[He brings some in his helmet from the font.

Arn. 'Tis mixed with blood.

Cæs. There is no cleaner nowIn Rome.

Arn. How pale! how beautiful! how lifeless!Alive or dead, thou Essence of all Beauty,I love but thee!

Cæs. Even so Achilles lovedPenthesilea; with his form it seemsYou have his heart, and yet it was no soft one.

Arn. She breathes! But no, 'twas nothing, or the lastFaint flutter Life disputes with Death.

Cæs. She breathes.

Arn. Thou say'st it? Then 'tis truth.

Cæs. You do me right--The Devil speaks truth much oftener than he's deemed:He hath an ignorant audience.

Arn. (without attending to him). Yes! her heart beats.Alas! that the first beat of the only heartI ever wished to beat with mine should vibrateTo an assassin's pulse.

Cæs. A sage reflection,But somewhat late i' the day. Where shall we bear her?I say she lives.

Arn. And will she live?

Cas. As muchAs dust can.

Arn. Then she is dead!

Cæs. Bah! bah! You are so,And do not know it. She will come to life--Such as you think so, such as you now are;But we must work by human means.

Arn. We willConvey her unto the Colonna palace,Where I have pitched my banner.

Cæs. Come then! raise her up!

Arn. Softly!

Cæs. As softly as they bear the dead,Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting.

Arn. But doth she live indeed?

Cæs. Nay, never fear!But, if you rue it after, blame not me.

Arn. Let her but live!

Cæs. The Spirit of her lifeIs yet within her breast, and may revive.Count! count! I am your servant in all things,And this is a new office:--'tis not oftI am employed in such; but you perceiveHow staunch a friend is what you call a fiend.On earth you have often only fiends for friends;Now I desert not mine. Soft! bear her hence,The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit!I am almost enamoured of her, asOf old the Angels of her earliest sex.

Arn. Thou!

Cæs. I! But fear not. I'll not be your rival.

Arn. Rival!

Cæs. I could be one right formidable;But since I slew the seven husbands ofTobias' future bride (and after allWas smoked out by some incense), I have laidAside intrigue: 'tis rarely worth the troubleOf gaining, or--what is more difficult--Getting rid of your prize again; for there'sThe rub! at least to mortals.

Arn. Prithee, peace!Softly! methinks her lips move, her eyes open!

Cæs. Like stars, no doubt; for that's a metaphorFor Lucifer and Venus.

Arn. To the palaceColonna, as I told you!

Cæs. Oh! I knowMy way through Rome.

Arn. Now onward, onward! Gently![Exeunt, bearing OLIMPIA. The scene closes.

PART III.

SCENE I.--A Castle in the Apennines, surrounded by a wild butsmiling Country. Chorus of Peasants singing before the Gates.

Chorus.

The wars are over,The spring is come;The bride and her loverHave sought their home:They are happy, we rejoice;Let their hearts have an echo in every voice!

The spring is come; the violet's gone,The first-born child of the early sun:With us she is but a winter's flower,The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower,And she lifts up her dewy eye of blueTo the youngest sky of the self-same hue.

And when the spring comes with her hostOf flowers, that flower beloved the mostShrinks from the crowd that may confuseHer heavenly odour and virgin hues.

Pluck the others, but still rememberTheir herald out of dim December--The morning star of all the flowers,The pledge of daylight's lengthened hours;Nor, midst the roses, e'er forgetThe virgin--virgin Violet.

Enter CÆSAR.

Cæs. (singing).The wars are all over,Our swords are all idle,The steed bites the bridle,The casque's on the wall.There's rest for the rover;But his armour is rusty,And the veteran grows crusty,As he yawns in the hall.He drinks--but what's drinking?A mere pause from thinking!No bugle awakes him with life-and-death call.

Chorus.

But the hound bayeth loudly,The boar's in the wood,And the falcon longs proudlyTo spring from her hood:On the wrist of the nobleShe sits like a crest,And the air is in troubleWith birds from their nest.

Cæs.Oh! shadow of Glory!Dim image of War!But the chase hath no story,Her hero no star,Since Nimrod, the founderOf empire and chase,Who made the woods wonderAnd quake for their race.When the lion was young,In the pride of his might,Then 'twas sport for the strongTo embrace him in fight;To go forth, with a pineFor a spear, 'gainst the mammoth,Or strike through the ravineAt the foaming behemoth;While man was in statureAs towers in our time,The first born of Nature,And, like her, sublime!

Chorus.

But the wars are over,The spring is come;The bride and her loverHave sought their home:They are happy, and we rejoice;Let their hearts have an echo from every voice![Exeunt the Peasantry, singing.

FRAGMENT OF THE THIRD PART OF THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED.

Chorus.

When the merry bells are ringing,And the peasant girls are singing,And the early flowers are flingingTheir odours in the air;And the honey bee is clingingTo the buds; and birds are wingingTheir way, pair by pair:Then the earth looks free from troubleWith the brightness of a bubble:Though I did not make it,I could breathe on and break it;But too much I scorn it,Or else I would mourn it,To see despots and slavesPlaying o'er their own graves.

Enter COUNT ARNOLD.

{Mem. Jealous--Arnold of Cæsar.{Olympia at first not liking Cæsar{--then?--Arnold jealous of himself{under his former figure, owing to{the power of intellect, etc., etc., etc.

Arnold. You are merry, Sir--what? singing too?

Cæsar. It isThe land of Song--and Canticles you knowWere once my avocation.

Arn. Nothing moves you;You scoff even at your own calamity--And such calamity! how wert thou fallenSon of the Morning! and yet LuciferCan smile.

Cæs. His shape can--would you have me weep,In the fair form I wear, to please you?

Arn. Ah!

Cæs. You are grave--what have you on your spirit!

Arn. Nothing.

Cæs. How mortals lie by instinct! If you askA disappointed courtier--What's the matter?"Nothing"--an outshone Beauty what has madeHer smooth brow crisp--"Oh, Nothing!"--a young heirWhen his Sire has recovered from the Gout,What ails him? "Nothing!" or a Monarch whoHas heard the truth, and looks imperial on it--What clouds his royal aspect? "Nothing," "Nothing!"Nothing--eternal nothing--of these nothingsAll are a lie--for all to them are much!And they themselves alone the real "Nothings."Your present Nothing, too, is something to you--What is it?

Arn. Know you not?

Cæs. I only knowWhat I desire to know! and will not wasteOmniscience upon phantoms. Out with it!If you seek aid from me--or else be silent.And eat your thoughts--till they breed snakes within you.

Arn. Olimpia!

Cæs. I thought as much--go on.

Arn. I thought she had loved me.

Cæs. Blessings on your Creed!What a good Christian you were found to be!But what cold Sceptic hath appalled your faithAnd transubstantiated to crumbs againThe body of your Credence?

Arn. No one--but--Each day--each hour--each minute shows me moreAnd more she loves me not--

Cæs. Doth she rebel?

Arn. No, she is calm, and meek, and silent with me,And coldly dutiful, and proudly patient--Endures my Love--not meets it.

Cæs. That seems strange.You are beautiful and brave! the first is muchFor passion--and the rest for Vanity.

Arn. I saved her life, too; and her Father's life,And Father's house from ashes.

Cæs. These are nothing.You seek for Gratitude--the Philosopher's stone.

Arn. And find it not.

Cæs. You cannot find what is not.But found would it content you? would you oweTo thankfulness what you desire from Passion?No! No! you would be loved--what you call loved--Self-loved--loved for yourself--for neither health,Nor wealth, nor youth, nor power, nor rank, nor beauty--For these you may be stript of--but belovedAs an abstraction--for--you know not what!These are the wishes of a moderate lover--And so you love.

Arn. Ah! could I be beloved,Would I ask wherefore?

Cæs. Yes! and not believeThe answer--You are jealous.

Arn. And of whom?

Cæs. It may be of yourself, for JealousyIs as a shadow of the Sun. The OrbIs mighty--as you mortals deem--and toYour little Universe seems universal;But, great as He appears, and is to you,The smallest cloud--the slightest vapour ofYour humid earth enables you to lookUpon a Sky which you revile as dull;Though your eyes dare not gaze on it when cloudless.Nothing can blind a mortal like to light.Now Love in you is as the Sun--a thingBeyond you--and your Jealousy's of Earth--A cloud of your own raising.

Arn. Not so always!There is a cause at times.

Cæs. Oh, yes! when atoms jostle,The System is in peril. But I speakOf things you know not. Well, to earth again!This precious thing of dust--this bright Olimpia--This marvellous Virgin, is a marble maid--An Idol, but a cold one to your heatPromethean, and unkindled by your torch.

Arn. Slave!

Cæs. In the victor's Chariot, when Rome triumphed,There was a Slave of yore to tell him truth!You are a Conqueror--command your Slave.

Arn. Teach me the way to win the woman's love.

Cæs. Leave her.

Arn. Where that the path--I'd not pursue it.

Cæs. No doubt! for if you did, the remedyWould be for a disease already cured.

Arn. All wretched as I am, I would not quitMy unrequited love, for all that's happy.

Cæs. You have possessed the woman--still possess.What need you more?

Arn. To be myself possessed--To be her heart as she is mine.