Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz A Spasmodic Tragedy |
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 | Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz |  |
31
SCENE III.
A Tavern.—Alphonzo D'Aguilar, Garcia Perez, Alonzo Olivarez, and Firmilian.PEREZ.
You take it far too hotly, D'Aguilar—
All men are fanciful in love, and beauty
Is as abundant as the open air
In every region of this bounteous world.
You stand for Spanish beauty—what's your type?
Dark hair, vermilion lips, an olive tint,
A stately carriage, and a flashing eye.
Go northward: there's your Dutchman—he prefers
Blonde tresses, dove-like glances, and a form
Of most enticing plumpness. Then the Dane
Is all for red and blue; the brighter colour
Pertaining chiefly to the lady's hair,
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I love variety.
D'AGUILAR.
And so do I,
Within its proper bounds. No grander show
Could poet fancy in his liveliest dreams,
Than a great tournament of Europe's knights,
The free, the strong, the noble, and the brave,
Splintering their lances in a guarded list,
Before a balcony of Europe's dames.
Oh, could I sound a trump and bring them here,
In one vast troop of valour and renown!
The gay light-hearted chivalry of France,
The doughty English, and the hardy Scot,
The swart Italian, and the ponderous Swede,
With those who dwell beside the castled Rhine.
Nor they alone, but with them all the flowers
That send their odour over Christendom—
The fair and blushing beauties of the lands
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By him of Compostella! 'twere a field
Wherein a noble might be proud to die.
FIRMILIAN.
I am not noble, and I'd rather die
At peace in my own bed. But, D'Aguilar,—
Are you not too exclusive? I have read—
For I have been a student of romance,
And pored upon the tomes of chivalry—
How, ere the days of mighty Charlemagne
The South did glorious battle with the North,
And Afric's atabals were heard to clang
Among the thickets by the turbid Seine.
Yea, I have heard of knights of old descent,
Cross-hilted warriors, Paladins indeed,
Who would have bartered all the boasted charms
Of Europe's beauties, for one kindly glance
Shot from the eyelids of a Paynim maid.
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Firmilian, thou blasphemest! Never knight
To whom the stroke of chivalry was given,
Could stoop to such an utter infamy!
FIRMILIAN.
Your pardon, Count! When English Richard bore
Upon his bosom the Crusader's sign,
And fought in Palestine, he laid his sword
Upon the shoulder of a Moslem chief,
And dubbed him knight.
D'AGUILAR.
The greater villain he!
I've heard of that same Richard as a most
Malignant child of Luther.
FIRMILIAN.
Have you so?
Nay, then, chronology must do him wrong:
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All beauty from that tournament of yours
Which did not appertain to Christendom?
D'AGUILAR.
Doubt you the answer of a Christian peer,
Within whose veins the blood of old Castile,
Undimmed by peasant or mechanic mud,
Flows bright as ruby? Ha! what mean you, sir,
By asking such a question?
PEREZ.
Soft you now!
There's no offence. Let's hear Firmilian.
FIRMILIAN.
I knew a poet once; and he was young,
And intermingled with such fierce desires
As made pale Eros veil his face with grief,
And caused his lustier brother to rejoice.
He was as amorous as a crocodile
In the spring season, when the Memphian bank,
Receiving substance from the glaring sun,
Resolves itself from mud into a shore.
And—as the scaly creature wallowing there,
In its hot fits of passion, belches forth
The steam from out its nostrils, half in love,
And half in grim defiance of its kind;
Trusting that either, from the reedy fen,
Some reptile-virgin coyly may appear,
Or that the hoary Sultan of the Nile
May make tremendous challenge with his jaws,
And, like Mark Anthony, assert his right
To all the Cleopatras of the ooze—
So fared it with the poet that I knew.
And intermingled with such fierce desires
As made pale Eros veil his face with grief,
And caused his lustier brother to rejoice.
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In the spring season, when the Memphian bank,
Receiving substance from the glaring sun,
Resolves itself from mud into a shore.
And—as the scaly creature wallowing there,
In its hot fits of passion, belches forth
The steam from out its nostrils, half in love,
And half in grim defiance of its kind;
Trusting that either, from the reedy fen,
Some reptile-virgin coyly may appear,
Or that the hoary Sultan of the Nile
May make tremendous challenge with his jaws,
And, like Mark Anthony, assert his right
To all the Cleopatras of the ooze—
So fared it with the poet that I knew.
He had a soul beyond the vulgar reach,
Sun-ripened, swarthy. He was not the fool
To pluck the feeble lily from its shade
When the black hyacinth stood in fragrance by.
The lady of his love was dusk as Ind,
Her lips as plenteous as the Sphinx's are,
And her short hair crisp with Numidian curl.
She was a negress. You have heard the strains
That Dante, Petrarch, and such puling fools
As loved the daughters of cold Japhet's race,
Have lavished idly on their icicles:
As snow meets snow, so their unhasty fall
Fell chill and barren on a pulseless heart.
But, would you know what noontide ardour is,
Or in what mood the lion, in the waste,
All fever-maddened, and intent on cubs,
At the oasis waits the lioness—
That shall you gather from the fiery song
Which that young poet framed, before he dared
Invade the vastness of his lady's lips.
Sun-ripened, swarthy. He was not the fool
To pluck the feeble lily from its shade
When the black hyacinth stood in fragrance by.
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Her lips as plenteous as the Sphinx's are,
And her short hair crisp with Numidian curl.
She was a negress. You have heard the strains
That Dante, Petrarch, and such puling fools
As loved the daughters of cold Japhet's race,
Have lavished idly on their icicles:
As snow meets snow, so their unhasty fall
Fell chill and barren on a pulseless heart.
But, would you know what noontide ardour is,
Or in what mood the lion, in the waste,
All fever-maddened, and intent on cubs,
At the oasis waits the lioness—
That shall you gather from the fiery song
Which that young poet framed, before he dared
Invade the vastness of his lady's lips.
D'AGUILAR.
Spawn of Mahound! wouldst thou pollute mine ears
With thy lewd ditties? There!
(Strikes him).
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For once, of a true noble, on thy cheek;
And what the hand has done, it will defend.
PEREZ.
This is too much! Nay, D'Aguilar, you're wrong!
Alonzo Olivarez—rouse thee, man!
Lay down the wine-pot for a moment's space,
There's a brawl here!
OLIVAREZ.
I wish you fellows would keep quiet, and not interrupt
drinking. It is a very disagreeable thing
for a sober man to be disturbed over his liquor. I
suppose you are quite aware that I can throw the
whole of you over the window in a minute. My
opinion is that you are a couple of bloody fools.
I don't know what you are quarrelling about, but
I won't stand any nonsense.
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You struck me, sir!
D'AGUILAR.
I did.
FIRMILIAN.
And you're aware,
Of course, of what the consequence must be,
Unless you tender an apology?
D'AGUILAR.
Of course I am.
FIRMILIAN.
Madman! wouldst thou provoke
The slide o' the avalanche?
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I wait its fall
In perfect calmness.
FIRMILIAN.
O thou rash young lord!
Beware in time! A hurricane of wrath
Is raging in my soul—If it burst forth,
'Twere better for thee that within the waste
Thou met'st a ravening tigress, or wert bound
In a lone churchyard where hyænas prowl!
I may forget myself!
D'AGUILAR.
Small chance of that.
Words are your weapons, and you wield them well;
But gentlemen, when struck, are not in use
To rail like muleteers. You wear a sword, sir!
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Are you mad, D'Aguilar, to court a brawl
Within the college precincts! Olivarez—
Set down the flagon, and bestir thee, man;
This must not be!
FIRMILIAN.
Nay, Perez, stand thou back—
He hath provoked his fate, and he must die.
(Draws.)
OLIVAREZ.
I'll score the first man that makes a thrust, over
the costard with this pint-pot! If you needs
must fight, fight like gentlemen in the open air,
and at a reasonable hour. What right has either
of you to disturb the conviviality of the evening?
FIRMILIAN.
A blow—a blow! I have received a blow—
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Come not between the lion and his prey.
OLIVAREZ.
To the devil with your lions! I suppose you think
it safe enough to roar now? Once for all, if you
can't settle this matter without fighting, fix some
hour to-morrow morning, and take your fill of it.
But here you shall not fight. What say you, Alphonzo?
D'AGUILAR.
He hath the blow, so let him speak the first.
FIRMILIAN.
Agreed! Until to-morrow, then, I'll keep
My rage unsated. Let the hour be eight;
The place, the meadow where the stream turns round
Beside the cork-trees; and for witnesses,
Perez and Olivarez. D'Aguilar—
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Perpetual shame and infamy be mine!
D'AGUILAR.
Agreed! And I rejoice to hear thee speak
So manfully. If I have done thee wrong,
I'll give thee satisfaction with my sword:
You show at least a nobler temper now.
FIRMILIAN.
Fail you not, D'Aguilar—I shall not fail.
OLIVAREZ.
Well—all that is comfortably adjusted, and just
as it should be. Let's have some more wine—this
talking makes a man thirsty.
PEREZ.
No more for me.
44
Your pardon—I'd provided
(Not dreaming of this hot dispute to-night),
Some flasks of rarest wine—'Tis Ildefronso,
Of an old vintage. I'll not leave them here
To be a perquisite unto our host;
And, lest our early parting hence should breed
Suspicion of to-morrow, let us stay
And drink another cup. You, D'Aguilar,
Whose sword must presently be crossed with mine,
Will not refuse a pledge?
D'AGUILAR.
Not I, in faith!
Now you have shown your mettle, I regard you
More than I did before.
FIRMILIAN.
Fill then your cups.
Nay, to the brim—the toast requires it, sirs.
Here's to the King!
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The King!
FIRMILIAN.
Fill up again—
'Tis my last pledge.
OLIVAREZ.
Why don't you help yourself? The wine is
capital.
FIRMILIAN.
My goblet's full. Drink to another King,
Whose awful aspect doth o'erawe the world—
The conqueror of conquerors—the vast
But unseen monarch to whose sceptre bow
The heads of kings and beggars!
PEREZ
That's the Pope!
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No—not the Pope—but he that humbleth Popes.
Drink to King Death!—You stare, and stand amazed—
O, you have much mista'en me, if you think
That some slight spurting of Castilian blood,
Or poet's ichor, can suffice to lay
The memory of to-night's affront asleep!
Death hath been sitting with us all the night,
Glaring through hollow eye-holes—to the doomed
He is invisible, but I have seen him
Point with his fleshless finger! But no more—
Farewell!—I go: and if you chance to hear
A passing-bell—be it a comfort to you!
At eight to-morrow I shall keep my time.
See you are there!
[Exit.
PEREZ.
I think the fellow's mad!
I held him ever as a mere poltroon;
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'Twas wrong in you to give it—hath prevailed,
Like steel against a flint. He shows some fire,
And seems in deadly earnest—what's the matter?
D'AGUILAR.
Don't ask—I'm sick and faint.
OLIVAREZ.
I'm not drunk, I am sure—but I have the
strangest throbbing in my temples. Do you think
you could get a waiter or two to carry me home?
I feel as cold as a cucumber.
PEREZ.
My brain swims too. Hark! what is that without?
[The Passing-bell tolls, and Monks are heard chaunting the Penitential Psalms. Slow and wailing music as the scene closes.]
| Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz | |