Chapter 40

ARNOLD _and_ CÆSAR.

_Cæs._ You are well entered now.

_Arn._ Aye; but my path Has been o'er carcasses: mine eyes are full[dg] Of blood.

_Cæs._ Then wipe them, and see clearly. Why! Thou art a conqueror; the chosen knight And free companion of the gallant Bourbon, Late constable of France[230]; and now to be Lord of the city which hath been Earth's Lord Under its emperors, and--changing sex, Not sceptre, an Hermaphrodite of Empire-- _Lady_ of the old world[231].

_Arn._ How _old?_ What! are there 10 _New_ 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 dull And 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. 20

_Cæs._ And where wouldst thou be?

_Arn._ Oh, _at_ peace--_in_ peace!

_Cæs._ And where is that which is so? From the star To the winding worm, all life is motion; and In life _commotion_ is the extremest point Of life. The planet wheels till it becomes A comet, and destroying as it sweeps The 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 subject Of something which has made it live and die. 30 You must obey what all obey, the rule Of fixed Necessity: against her edict Rebellion 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 giant Abode of the true God, and his true saint, Saint Peter, rear its dome and cross into That sky whence Christ ascended from the cross, 40 Which his blood made a badge of glory and Of 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 Crucifix Above, and many altar shrines below. Also some culverins upon the walls, And harquebusses, and what not; besides The men who are to kindle them to death Of other men.

_Arn._ And those scarce mortal arches,[232] Pile above pile of everlasting wall, 50 The theatre where Emperors and their subjects (Those subjects _Romans_) stood at gaze upon The battles of the monarchs of the wild And wood--the lion and his tusky rebels Of the then untamed desert, brought to joust In the arena--as right well they might, When they had left no human foe unconquered-- Made even the forest pay its tribute of Life to their amphitheatre, as well As Dacia men to die the eternal death 60 For a sole instant's pastime, and "Pass on To a new gladiator!"--Must it fall?

_Cæs._ The city, or the amphitheatre? The church, or one, or all? for you confound Both them and me.

_Arn._ To-morrow sounds the assault With the first cock-crow.

_Cæs._ Which, if it end with The evening's first nightingale, will be Something new in the annals of great sieges; For men must have their prey after long toil.

_Arn._ The sun goes down as calmly, and perhaps 70 More beautifully, than he did on Rome On the day Remus leapt her wall.

_Cæs._ I saw him.

_Arn._ You!

_Cæs._ Yes, Sir! You forget I am or was Spirit, till I took up with your cast shape, And a worse name. I'm Cæsar and a hunch-back Now. Well! the first of Cæsars was a bald-head, And loved his laurels better as a wig (So history says) than as a glory.[233] Thus The world runs on, but we'll be merry still. I saw your Romulus (simple as I am) 80 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 cement Was brother's blood; and if its native blood Be spilt till the choked Tiber be as red As e'er 'twas yellow, it will never wear The deep hue of the Ocean and the Earth, Which the great robber sons of fratricide Have made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter, For ages.

_Arn._ But what have these done, their far 90 Remote descendants, who have lived in peace, The peace of Heaven, and in her sunshine of Piety?

_Cæs._ And what had _they_ done, whom the old Romans o'erswept?--Hark!

_Arn._ They are soldiers singing A reckless roundelay, upon the eve Of 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. I Was educated for a monk of all times, 100 And once I was well versed in the forgotten Etruscan letters, and--were I so minded-- Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than Your alphabet.

_Arn._ And wherefore do you not?

_Cæs._ It answers better to resolve the alphabet Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman, And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist, Philosopher, and what not, they have built More Babels, without new dispersion, than The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze, 110 Who failed and fled each other. Why? why, marry, Because no man could understand his neighbour. They are wiser now, and will not separate For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood, Their Shibboleth--their Koran--Talmud--their Cabala--their best brick-work, wherewithal They build more----

_Arn._ (_interrupting him_). Oh, thou everlasting sneerer! Be silent! How the soldier's rough strain seems Softened by distance to a hymn-like cadence! Listen!

_Cæs._ Yes. I have heard the angels sing. 120

_Arn._ And demons howl.

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

_Song of the Soldiers within_.

The black bands came over The Alps and their snow; With Bourbon, the rover, They passed the broad Po. We have beaten all foemen, We have captured a King[234], We have turned back on no men, And so let us sing! 130 Here's the Bourbon for ever! Though penniless all, We'll have one more endeavour At yonder old wall. With the Bourbon we'll gather At day-dawn before The gates, and together Or break or climb o'er The wall: on the ladder, As mounts each firm foot[dh], 140 Our shout shall grow gladder, And Death only be mute[235]. With the Bourbon we'll mount o'er The walls of old Rome, And who then shall count o'er[di] The 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. 150 Her streets shall be gory, Her Tiber all red, And her temples so hoary Shall clang with our tread. Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon[236]! The Bourbon for aye! Of our song bear the burden! And fire, fire away! With Spain for the vanguard, Our varied host comes; 160 And next to the Spaniard Beat Germany's drums; And Italy's lances Are 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. 170

_Cæs._ An indifferent song For those within the walls, methinks, to hear.

_Arn._ Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here comes The general with his chiefs and men of trust[dj]. 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. 180

_Bourb._ That they will falter is my least of fears. That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon for Their chief, and all their kindled appetites To marshal them on--were those hoary walls Mountains, and those who guard them like the gods Of 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 earth And present phantom of imperious Rome[dk] 190 Is peopled with those warriors; and methinks They flit along the eternal City's rampart, And stretch their glorious, gory, shadowy hands, And beckon me away!

_Phil._ So let them! Wilt thou Turn 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 eyes Fascinate mine. Look there!

_Phil._ I look upon 200 A lofty battlement.

_Bourb._ And there!

_Phil._ Not even A guard in sight; they wisely keep below, Sheltered by the grey parapet from some Stray bullet of our lansquenets, who might Practise in the cool twilight.

_Bourb._ You are blind.

_Phil._ If seeing nothing more than may be seen Be so.

_Bourb._ A thousand years have manned the walls With all their heroes,--the last Cato[237] stands And tears his bowels, rather than survive The liberty of that I would enslave. 210 And the first Cassar with his triumphs flits From battlement to battlement.

_Phil._ Then conquer The 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 rather The dawn of an eternal day, than death. [_Count_ ARNOLD _and_ CÆSAR _advance_.

_Cæs._ And the mere men--do they, too, sweat beneath The 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, 220 And generous as lovely. We shall find Work 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 labourer More forward, Hunchback!

_Cæs._ You may well say so, For _you_ have seen that back--as general, Placed in the rear in action--but your foes Have never seen it.

_Bourb._ That's a fair retort, For I provoked it:--but the Bourbon's breast Has been, and ever shall be, far advanced 230 In danger's face as yours, were you the _devil_.

_Cæs._ And if I were, I might have saved myself The toil of coming here.

_Phil._ Why so?

_Cæs._ One half Of your brave bands of their own bold accord Will go to him, the other half be sent, More swiftly, not less surely.

_Bourb._ Arnold, your Slight crooked _friend's_ as snake-like in his words As 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. 240

_Bourb._ You are brave, and _that's_ enough for me; and quick In 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 being More permanent acquaintance.

_Phil._ How now, fellow! Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege Of a buffoon.

_Cæs._ You mean I speak the truth. I'll lie--it is as easy: then you'll praise me For calling you a hero.

_Bourb._ Philibert! 250 Let him alone; he's brave, and ever has Been 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 rogue Is, to my mind, far preferable to The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration Of a mere famished sullen grumbling slave,[dl] Whom nothing can convince save a full meal, And wine, and sleep, and a few Maravedis, 260 With which he deems him rich.

_Cæs._ It would be well If the earth's princes asked no more.

_Bourb._ Be silent!

_Cæs._ Aye, but not idle. Work yourself with words![dm] 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 enough To think on? Arnold! I will lead the attack To-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 daring Of our too needy army, that their chief Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's First step.

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

_Bourb._ The world's Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow.[dn] Through every change the seven-hilled city hath Retained her sway o'er nations, and the Cæsars But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest. Still the world's masters! Civilised, barbarian, Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus Have been the circus of an Empire. Well! 'Twas _their_ turn--now 'tis ours; and let us hope That 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 demon In that fierce rattlesnake thy tongue. Wilt never Be serious?

_Cæs._ On the eve of battle, no;-- That were not soldier-like. 'Tis for the general To be more pensive: we adventurers Must 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 have To 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 only 300 Pay 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 service Is 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! 310 Think'st thou that I pass from thee with my presence? Or that this crooked coffer, which contained Thy principle of life, is aught to me Except a mask? And these are men, forsooth! Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards! This is the consequence of giving matter The 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: 'tis 320 The Spirit's pastime in his idler hours. When I grow weary of it, I have business Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem Were made for them to look at. 'Twere a jest now To bring one down amongst them, and set fire Unto their anthill: how the pismires then Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing From tearing down each other's nests, pipe forth One universal orison! ha! ha! [_Exit_ CÆSAR.