Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz A Spasmodic Tragedy |
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| 4. | SCENE IV. |
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 | Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz |  |
48
SCENE IV.
Cloisters.—Enter Firmilian.
This was a splendid morning! The dew lay
In amplest drops upon the loaded grass,
And filled the buttercups hard by the place
Where I expected fiery D'Aguilar.
He did not come. Well—I was there at least,
And waited for an hour beyond the time,
During which while I studied botany,
And yet my proud opponent showed no face!
Pshaw! to myself I'll be no hypocrite—
If Raymond Lully lied not, they are dead,
And I have done it!
(A pause.)
In amplest drops upon the loaded grass,
And filled the buttercups hard by the place
Where I expected fiery D'Aguilar.
He did not come. Well—I was there at least,
And waited for an hour beyond the time,
During which while I studied botany,
And yet my proud opponent showed no face!
Pshaw! to myself I'll be no hypocrite—
If Raymond Lully lied not, they are dead,
And I have done it!
How is this? My mind
Is light and jocund. Yesternight I deemed,
When the dull passing-bell announced the fate
Of those insensate and presumptuous fools,
That, as a vulture lights on carrion flesh
With a shrill scream and flapping of its wings,
Keen-beaked Remorse would settle on my soul,
And fix her talons there. She did not come;
Nay, stranger still—methought the passing-bell
Was but the prelude to a rapturous strain
Of highest music, that entranced me quite.
For sleep descended on me, as it falls
Upon an infant in its mother's arms,
And all night long I dreamed of Indiana.
What! is Remorse a fable after all—
A mere invention, as the Harpies were,
Or crazed Orestes' furies? Or have I
Mista'en the ready way to lure her down?
There are no beads of sweat upon my brow—
My clustering hair maintains its wonted curl,
Nor rises horrent, as a murderer's should.
I do not shudder, start, nor scream aloud—
Tremble at every sound—grow ghastly pale
When a leaf falls, or when a lizard stirs.
I do not wring my fingers from their joints,
Or madly thrust them quite into my ears
To bar the echo of a dying groan.
And, after all, what is there to regret?
Three fools have died carousing as they lived,
And Nature makes no special moan for them.
If I have gained no knowledge by this deed,
I have lost none. The subtle alchemist,
Whose aim is the elixir, or that stone
The touch whereof makes baser metals gold,
Must needs endure much failure, ere he finds
The grand Arcanum. So is it with me.
I have but shot an idle bolt away,
And need not seek it further. Who come here?
Is light and jocund. Yesternight I deemed,
When the dull passing-bell announced the fate
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That, as a vulture lights on carrion flesh
With a shrill scream and flapping of its wings,
Keen-beaked Remorse would settle on my soul,
And fix her talons there. She did not come;
Nay, stranger still—methought the passing-bell
Was but the prelude to a rapturous strain
Of highest music, that entranced me quite.
For sleep descended on me, as it falls
Upon an infant in its mother's arms,
And all night long I dreamed of Indiana.
What! is Remorse a fable after all—
A mere invention, as the Harpies were,
Or crazed Orestes' furies? Or have I
Mista'en the ready way to lure her down?
There are no beads of sweat upon my brow—
My clustering hair maintains its wonted curl,
Nor rises horrent, as a murderer's should.
I do not shudder, start, nor scream aloud—
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When a leaf falls, or when a lizard stirs.
I do not wring my fingers from their joints,
Or madly thrust them quite into my ears
To bar the echo of a dying groan.
And, after all, what is there to regret?
Three fools have died carousing as they lived,
And Nature makes no special moan for them.
If I have gained no knowledge by this deed,
I have lost none. The subtle alchemist,
Whose aim is the elixir, or that stone
The touch whereof makes baser metals gold,
Must needs endure much failure, ere he finds
The grand Arcanum. So is it with me.
I have but shot an idle bolt away,
And need not seek it further. Who come here?
Enter a Priest and a Graduate.
GRADUATE.
Believe me, father, they are all accurs'd!
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Which the blaspheming hand of Babylon
Hath gathered out of ruins, and hath raised
In this her dark extremity of sin;
Not in the hour when she was sending forth
Her champions to the highway and the field,
To pine in deserts and to writhe in flame—
But in the scarlet frontage of her guilt,
When, not with purple only, but with blood,
Were the priests vested, and their festive cups
Foamed with the hemlock rather than the wine!
Call them not Churches, father—call them prisons;
And yet not such as bind the body in,
But gravestones of the soul! For, look you, sir,
Beneath that weight of square-cut weary stone
A thousand workmen's souls are pent alive!
And therefore I declare them all accurs'd.
PRIEST.
Peace, son! thou ravest.
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Do I rave indeed?
So raved the Prophets when they told the truth
To Israel's stubborn councillors and kings—
So raved Cassandra, when in Hector's ear
She shrieked the presage of his coming fall.
I am a prophet also—and I say
That o'er those stones wherein you place your pride
Annihilation waves her dusky wing;
Yea, do not marvel if the earth itself,
Like a huge giant, weary of the load,
Should heave them from its shoulders. I have said it.
It is my purpose, and they all shall down!
[Exit.
PRIEST.
Alas, to see a being so distraught!
And yet there may be danger in his words,
For heresy is rife. Ha! who is this?
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Mine ancient pupil!
FIRMILIAN.
And he craves your blessing!
PRIEST.
Thou hast it, son. Now tell me—didst thou hear
The words yon Graduate uttered ere he left?
Methought his speech was levelled at the Church.
FIRMILIAN.
I heard him say all Churches should be levelled;
That they were built on souls; that earth would rise
To shake them from its shoulders; and he railed
At mother Rome, and called her Babylon.
My ears yet tingle with the impious sounds.
PRIEST.
Ha—did he so? By holy Nicholas,
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Good son Firmilian, he deviseth aught
Against the Church, or us her ministers?
FIRMILIAN.
I do suspect him very grievously.
PRIEST.
And so do I. We hold a festival
On Tuesday next, when the Inquisitor
Is certain to be present—it were best
Ere then to give him notice. Who shall say
That, like another Samson, this vile wretch
May not drag down the pillars of the Church,
And whelm us all in ruin? I am bound
To see to that. Son—Benedicite!
[Exit.
FIRMILIAN.
On Tuesday next, when the Inquisitor
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That were an opportunity too rare
To be allowed to pass! For this same priest—
He is my old preceptor, and instilled,
By dint of frequent and remorseless stripes
Applied at random to my childish rear,
Some learning into me. I owe him much,
And fain I would repay it. Ha, ha, ha!
What a dull creature was that Graduate
To blurt his folly out! If a church falls
Within the next ten years in Badajoz,
Nay, if a single stone should tumble down,
Or a stray pebble mutilate the nose
Of some old saint within a crumbling niche,
His life will pay the forfeit. As he spoke,
Methought I saw the solid vaults give way,
And the entire cathedral rise in air,
As if it leaped from Pandemonium's jaws.
But that's a serious matter. I have time
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Are dull and cheerless, and my spirit pants
For kind emotion. Let me pass from hence,
And wile away an hour with Lilian.
[Exit.
| Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz | |