Scene III.
—St. Peter's—The interior of the Church—The
Pope 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 founder
Of your belief renounce it, could he see
Such 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 is
The Devil, or the Devil's vicar upon earth.
Cæs.
And that's the reason: would you make a quarrel
With 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 shot strikes
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, forgive
My feebleness of arm that reached him not,
And take thy servant to thy mercy. 'Tis
A glorious triumph still; proud Babylon 's
No more; the Harlot of the Seven Hills
Hath changed her scarlet raiment for sackcloth
And ashes!
[The Lutheran dies.
Cæs.
Yes, thine own amidst the rest.
Well done, old Babel!
[The Guards defend themselves desperately, while the
Pontiff escapes, by a private passage, to the
Vatican 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 not
Seen a more comic pantomime since Titus
Took 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't
In part. I would not have his bulls abolished—
'Twere worth one half our empire: his indulgences
Demand some in return; no, no, he must not
Fall;—and besides, his now escape may furnish
A future miracle, in future proof
Of 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 return
From 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 bear
The 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 wave
Of what these creatures call Eternity,
Deeming themselves the breakers of the Ocean,
While they are but its bubbles, ignorant
That foam is their foundation. So, another!
Enter Olimpia, flying from the pursuit—She springs
upon the Altar.
Sold.
She's mine!
Another Sold.
(opposing the former).
You lie, I tracked her first: and were she
The Pope's niece, I'll not yield her.
[They fight.
3d Sold.
(advancing towards Olimpia).
You may settle
Your 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 sudden
effort, casts down the crucifix; it strikes the
Soldier, 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 slave
Would take. Great God! through thy redeeming Son,
And thy Son's Mother, now receive me as
I 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 dogs
Have 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 him
Lie there, more like a worm than man; she cast it
Upon his head.
Arn.
Even so: there is a woman
Worthy 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 hair
Of those dishevelled locks, I would have thinned
Your 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 lion
Might 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 you
First 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 who
Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements?
Soldiers.
We saw it, and we know it; yet forgive
A 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 fixed
In the Colonna palace.
Olimp.
(aside).
In my father's
House!
Arn.
(to the Soldiers).
Leave your arms; ye have no further need
Of such: the city 's rendered. And mark well
You keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a stream
As 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 down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man!
Arn.
I wish to merit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
Olimp.
No! Thou hast only sacked my native land,—
No injury!—and made my father's house
A 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
of the Altar opposite to that where Arnold stands.
Arn.
Hold! hold!
I swear.
Olimp.
Spare thine already forfeit soul
A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.
I know thee.
Arn.
No, thou know'st me not; I am not
Of 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 holy
But not less pure (pure as it left me then,
A redeeméd infant) than the holy water
The saints have sanctified!
[Olimpia waves her hand to Arnold with disdain,
and dashes 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.
If
She be so, I have nought to do with that:
The resurrection is beyond me.
Arn.
Slave!
Cæs.
Aye, slave or master, 'tis all one: methinks
Good words, however, are as well at times.
Arn.
Words!—Canst thou aid her?
Cæs.
I will try. A sprinkling
Of 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 now
In Rome.
Arn.
How pale! how beautiful! how lifeless!
Alive or dead, thou Essence of all Beauty,
I love but thee!
Cæs.
Even so Achilles loved
Penthesilea; with his form it seems
You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one.
Arn.
She breathes! But no, 'twas nothing, or the last
Faint 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 heart
I ever wished to beat with mine should vibrate
To 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?
Cæs.
As much
As 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 will
Convey 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 life
Is yet within her breast, and may revive.
Count! count! I am your servant in all things,
And this is a new office:—'tis not oft
I am employed in such; but you perceive
How 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, as
Of 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 of
Tobias' future bride (and after all
Was smoked out by some incense), I have laid
Aside intrigue: 'tis rarely worth the trouble
Of gaining, or—what is more difficult—
Getting rid of your prize again; for there's
The 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 metaphor
For Lucifer and Venus.
Arn.
To the palace
Colonna, as I told you!
Cæs.
Oh! I know
My way through Rome.
Arn.
Now onward, onward! Gently!
[Exeunt, bearing Olimpia. The scene closes.
