Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz A Spasmodic Tragedy |
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| 6. | SCENE VI. |
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 | Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz |  |
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SCENE VI.
Exterior of the Cathedral of St Nicholas.—Choir heard chaunting within.Enter Firmilian.
How darkly hangs yon cloud above the spire!
There's thunder in the air—
There's thunder in the air—
What if the flash
Should rend the solid walls, and reach the vault,
Where my terrestrial thunder lies prepared,
And so, without the action of my hand,
Whirl up those thousand bigots in its blaze,
And leave me guiltless, save in the intent?
Should rend the solid walls, and reach the vault,
Where my terrestrial thunder lies prepared,
And so, without the action of my hand,
Whirl up those thousand bigots in its blaze,
And leave me guiltless, save in the intent?
That were a vile defraudment of my aim.
A petty larceny o' the element,
An interjection of exceeding wrong!
Let the hoarse thunder rend the vault of heaven,
Yea, shake the stars by myriads from their boughs,
As Autumn tempests shake the fruitage down;—
Let the red lightning shoot athwart the sky,
Entangling comets by their spooming hair,
Piercing the zodiac belt, and carrying dread
To old Orion, and his whimpering hound;—
But let the glory of this deed be mine!
A petty larceny o' the element,
An interjection of exceeding wrong!
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Yea, shake the stars by myriads from their boughs,
As Autumn tempests shake the fruitage down;—
Let the red lightning shoot athwart the sky,
Entangling comets by their spooming hair,
Piercing the zodiac belt, and carrying dread
To old Orion, and his whimpering hound;—
But let the glory of this deed be mine!
ORGAN and CHOIR.
Sublimatus ad honorem
Nicholai presulis:
Pietatis ante rorem
Cunctis pluit populis:
Ut vix parem aut majorem
Habeat in seculis.
FIRMILIAN.
Yet I could weep to hear the wretches sing!
There rolls the organ anthem down the aisle,
And thousand voices join in its acclaim.
All they are happy—they are on their knees;
Round and above them stare the images
Of antique saints and martyrs. Censers steam
With their Arabian charge of frankincense,
And every heart, with inward fingers, counts
A blissful rosary of pious prayer!
Why should they perish, then? Is't yet too late?
There rolls the organ anthem down the aisle,
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All they are happy—they are on their knees;
Round and above them stare the images
Of antique saints and martyrs. Censers steam
With their Arabian charge of frankincense,
And every heart, with inward fingers, counts
A blissful rosary of pious prayer!
Why should they perish, then? Is't yet too late?
O shame, Firmilian, on thy coward soul!
What! thou, the poet!—thou, whose mission 'tis
To send vibration down the chord of time,
Unto its junction with eternity,—
Thou, who hast dared and pondered and endured,
Gathering by piecemeal all the noble thoughts
And fierce sensations of the mind—as one
Who in a garden culls the wholesome rose,
And binds it with the deadly nightshade up;
Flowers not akin, and yet, by contrast, kind,—
Thou, for a touch of what these mundane fools
Whine of as pity, to forego thine aim,
And never feel the gnawing of remorse,
Like the Promethean vulture on the spleen,
That shall instruct thee to give future voice
To the unuttered agonies of Cain!
Thou, to compare, with that high consequence
The breath of some poor thousand knights and knaves,
Who soaring, in the welkin, shall expire!
Shame, shame, Firmilian! on thy weakness, shame!
What! thou, the poet!—thou, whose mission 'tis
To send vibration down the chord of time,
Unto its junction with eternity,—
Thou, who hast dared and pondered and endured,
Gathering by piecemeal all the noble thoughts
And fierce sensations of the mind—as one
Who in a garden culls the wholesome rose,
And binds it with the deadly nightshade up;
Flowers not akin, and yet, by contrast, kind,—
Thou, for a touch of what these mundane fools
Whine of as pity, to forego thine aim,
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Like the Promethean vulture on the spleen,
That shall instruct thee to give future voice
To the unuttered agonies of Cain!
Thou, to compare, with that high consequence
The breath of some poor thousand knights and knaves,
Who soaring, in the welkin, shall expire!
Shame, shame, Firmilian! on thy weakness, shame!
ORGAN and CHOIR.
Auro dato violari
Virgines prohibuit:
Far in fame, vas in mari
Servat et distribuit:
Qui timebant naufragari
Nautis opem tribuit.
FIRMILIAN.
A right good saint he seems, this Nicholas!
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Which these, his votaries, quaver as his claim.
Yet it is odd he should o'erlook the fact
That underneath this church of his are stored
Some twenty barrels of the dusky grain,
The secret of whose framing, in an hour
Of diabolic jollity and mirth,
Old Roger Bacon wormed from Beelzebub!
He might keep better wardship for his friends;
But that to me is nothing. Now's the time!
Ha! as I take the matchbox in my hand,
A spasm pervades me, and a natural thrill
As though my better genius were at hand,
And strove to pluck me backwards by the hair.
I must be resolute. Lose this one chance,
Which bears me to th'Acropolis of guilt,
And this, our age, foregoes its noblest song.
I must be speedy—
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A defunctis suscitatur
Furtum qui commiserat:
Et Judæus baptizatur
Furtum qui recuperat:
Illi vita restauratur,
Hic ad fidem properat.
FIRMILIAN.
No more was needed to confirm my mind!
That stanza blows all thoughts of pity off,
As empty straws are scattered by the wind!
For I have been the victim of the Jews,
Who, by vile barter, have absorbed my means.
Did I not pawn—for that same flagrant stuff,
Which only waits a spark to be dissolved,
And, having done its mission, must disperse
As a thin smoke into the ambient air—
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What! would they venture to baptise the Jew?
The cause assumes a holier aspect, then;
And, as a faithful son of Rome, I dare
To merge my darling passion in the wrong
That is projected against Christendom!
Pity, avaunt! I may not longer stay.
[Exit into the vaults. A short pause, after which he reappears.
'Tis done! I vanish like the lightning bolt.
ORGAN and CHOIR.
Nicholai sacerdotum
Decus, honor, gloria:
Plebem omnem, clerum totum—
[The Cathedral is blown up.
| Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz | |