No More Learning

_Arn. _ He is
More lovely than the last. How beautiful!

_Stran. _ Such was the curled son of Clinias;--wouldst thou
Invest thee with his form?

_Arn. _ Would that I had
Been born with it! But since I may choose further,
I will _look_ further. [_The shade of Alcibiades disappears_.

_Stran. _ Lo! behold again!

_Arn. _ What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr,
With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect,
The splay feet and low stature! [214] I had better 220
Remain that which I am.

_Stran. _ And yet he was
The earth's perfection of all mental beauty,
And personification of all virtue.
But you reject him?

_Arn. _ If his form could bring me
That which redeemed it--no.

_Stran. _ I have no power
To promise that; but you may try, and find it
Easier in such a form--or in your own.

_Arn. _ No. I was not born for philosophy,
Though I have that about me which has need on't.
Let him fleet on.

_Stran. _ Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker! 230
[_The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises_.

_Arn. _ What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard
And manly aspect look like Hercules,[215]
Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus
Than the sad purger of the infernal world,
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,[216]
As if he knew the worthlessness of those
For whom he had fought.

_Stran. _ It was the man who lost
The ancient world for love.

_Arn. _ I cannot blame him,
Since I have risked my soul because I find not
That which he exchanged the earth for.

_Stran. _ Since so far 240
You seem congenial, will you wear his features?

_Arn. _ No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult.
If but to see the heroes I should ne'er
Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore,
Whence they float back before us.

_Stran. _ Hence, Triumvir,
Thy Cleopatra's waiting.
[_The shade of Antony disappears: another rises_.

_Arn. _ Who is this?
Who truly looketh like a demigod,
Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature,
If not more high than mortal, yet immortal
In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, 250
Which he wears as the Sun his rays--a something
Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing
Emanation of a thing more glorious still.
Was _he e'er human only? _[217]

_Stran. _ Let the earth speak,
If there be atoms of him left, or even
Of the more solid gold that formed his urn.

_Arn. _ Who was this glory of mankind?

_Stran. _ The shame
Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war--
Demetrius the Macedonian, and
Taker of cities.

_Arn. _ Yet one shadow more. 260

_Stran. _ (_addressing the shadow_). Get thee to Lamia's lap!
[_The shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes: another rises_.
I'll fit you still,
Fear not, my Hunchback: if the shadows of
That which existed please not your nice taste,
I'll animate the ideal marble, till
Your soul be reconciled to her new garment

_Arn. _ Content! I will fix here.

_Stran. _ I must commend
Your choice. The godlike son of the sea-goddess,
The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks
As beautiful and clear as the amber waves
Of rich Pactolus, rolled o'er sands of gold, 270
Softened by intervening crystal, and
Rippled like flowing waters by the wind,
All vowed to Sperchius[218] as they were--behold them!
And _him_--as he stood by Polixena,
With sanctioned and with softened love, before
The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride,
With some remorse within for Hector slain
And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion
For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand
Trembled in _his_ who slew her brother. So 280
He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as
Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant
Ere Paris' arrow flew.

_Arn. _ I gaze upon him
As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon
Envelope mine.

_Stran. _ You have done well. The greatest
Deformity should only barter with
The extremest beauty--if the proverb's true
Of mortals, that Extremes meet.

_Arn. _ Come! Be quick!
I am impatient.

_Stran. _ As a youthful beauty
Before her glass. _You both_ see what is not, 290
But dream it is what must be.

_Arn. _ Must I wait?

_Stran. _ No; that were a pity. But a word or two:
His stature is twelve cubits; would you so far
Outstep these times, and be a Titan? Or
(To talk canonically) wax a son
Of Anak?

_Arn. _ Why not?

_Stran. _ Glorious ambition!
I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal of
Philistine stature would have gladly pared
His own Goliath down to a slight David:
But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show 300
Rather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged,
If such be thy desire; and, yet, by being
A little less removed from present men
In figure, thou canst sway them more; for all
Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt
A new-found Mammoth; and their cursed engines,
Their culverins, and so forth, would find way
Through our friend's armour there, with greater ease
Than the Adulterer's arrow through his heel
Which Thetis had forgotten to baptize 310
In Styx.

_Arn. _ Then let it be as thou deem'st best.

_Stran. _ Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou seest,
And strong as what it was, and----

_Arn. _ I ask not
For Valour, since Deformity is daring. [219]
It is its essence to o'ertake mankind
By heart and soul, and make itself the equal--
Aye, the superior of the rest. There is
A spur in its halt movements, to become
All that the others cannot, in such things
As still are free to both, to compensate 320
For stepdame Nature's avarice at first.
They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune,
And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar,[220] win them.

_Stran. _ Well spoken! And thou doubtless wilt remain
Formed as thou art. I may dismiss the mould
Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to incase
This daring soul, which could achieve no less
Without it.

_Arn. _ Had no power presented me
The possibility of change, I would
Have done the best which spirit may to make 330
Its way with all Deformity's dull, deadly,
Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain,
In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders--
A hateful and unsightly molehill to
The eyes of happier men. I would have looked
On Beauty in that sex which is the type
Of all we know or dream of beautiful,
Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh--
Not of love, but despair; nor sought to win,
Though to a heart all love, what could not love me 340
In turn, because of this vile crooked clog,
Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne
It all, had not my mother spurned me from her.
The she-bear licks her cubs into a sort
Of shape;--my Dam beheld my shape was hopeless.
Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ere
I knew the passionate part of life, I had
Been a clod of the valley,--happier nothing
Than what I am. But even thus--the lowest,
Ugliest, and meanest of mankind--what courage 350
And perseverance could have done, perchance
Had made me something--as it has made heroes
Of the same mould as mine. You lately saw me
Master of my own life, and quick to quit it;
And he who is so is the master of
Whatever dreads to die.

_Stran. _ Decide between
What you have been, or will be.

_Arn. _ I have done so.
You have opened brighter prospects to my eyes,
And sweeter to my heart. As I am now,
I might be feared--admired--respected--loved 360
Of all save those next to me, of whom I
Would be beloved. As thou showest me
A choice of forms, I take the one I view.
Haste! haste!

_Stran. _ And what shall _I_ wear?

_Arn. _ Surely, he
Who can command all forms will choose the highest,
Something superior even to that which was
Pelides now before us. Perhaps _his_
Who slew him, that of Paris: or--still higher--
The Poet's God, clothed in such limbs as are
Themselves a poetry.

_Stran. _ Less will content me; 370
For I, too, love a change.

_Arn. _ Your aspect is
Dusky, but not uncomely. [221]

_Stran. _ If I chose,
I might be whiter; but I have a _penchant_
For black--it is so honest, and, besides,
Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear;
But I have worn it long enough of late,
And now I'll take your figure.

_Arn. _ Mine!

_Stran. _ Yes. You
Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha,
Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes;
You have yours--I mine.

_Arn. _ Despatch! despatch!

_Stran. _ Even so. 380

[_The Stranger takes some earth and moulds it
along the turf, and then addresses
the phantom of Achilles_.

Beautiful shadow
Of Thetis's boy!
Who sleeps in the meadow
Whose grass grows o'er Troy:
From the red earth, like Adam,[222]
Thy likeness I shape,
As the Being who made him,
Whose actions I ape.
Thou Clay, be all glowing,
Till the Rose in his cheek 390
Be as fair as, when blowing,
It wears its first streak!
Ye Violets, I scatter,
Now turn into eyes!
And thou, sunshiny Water,
Of blood take the guise!
Let these Hyacinth boughs
Be his long flowing hair,
And wave o'er his brows,
As thou wavest in air! 400
Let his heart be this marble
I tear from the rock!
But his voice as the warble
Of birds on yon oak!
Let his flesh be the purest
Of mould, in which grew
The Lily-root surest,
And drank the best dew!
Let his limbs be the lightest
Which clay can compound, 410
And his aspect the brightest
On earth to be found!
Elements, near me,
Be mingled and stirred,
Know me, and hear me,
And leap to my word!
Sunbeams, awaken
This earth's animation! [dc]
'Tis done! He hath taken
His stand in creation! 420

[ARNOLD _falls senseless; his soul passes into the shape
of Achilles, which rises from the ground; while
the phantom has disappeared, part by part,
as the figure was formed from the earth_.

_Arn. _ (_in his new form_). I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh, life!
At last I feel thee! Glorious Spirit!

_Stran. _ Stop!
What shall become of your abandoned garment,
Yon hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness,
Which late you wore, or were?

_Arn. _ Who cares? Let wolves
And vultures take it, if they will.

_Stran. _ And if
They do, and are not scared by it, you'll say
It must be peace-time, and no better fare
Abroad i' the fields.

_Arn. _ Let us but leave it there;
No matter what becomes on't.

_Stran. _ That's ungracious; 430
If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be,
It hath sustained your soul full many a day.

_Arn. _ Aye, as the dunghill may conceal a gem
Which is now set in gold, as jewels should be.

_Stran. _ But if I give another form, it must be
By fair exchange, not robbery. For they[223]
Who make men without women's aid have long
Had patents for the same, and do not love
Your Interlopers. The Devil may take men,[dd]
Not make them,--though he reap the benefit 440
Of the original workmanship:--and therefore
Some one must be found to assume the shape
You have quitted.

_Arn. _ Who would do so?

_Stran. _ That I know not,
And therefore I must.

_Arn. _ You!

_Stran. _ I said it ere
You inhabited your present dome of beauty.

_Arn. _ True. I forget all things in the new joy
Of this immortal change.

_Stran.
_ In a few moments
I will be as you were, and you shall see
Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow.

_Arn. _ I would be spared this.

_Stran. _ But it cannot be. 450
What! shrink already, being what you are,
From seeing what you were?

_Arn. _ Do as thou wilt.

_Stran. _ (_to the late form of_ ARNOLD, _extended on the earth_).
Clay! not dead, but soul-less!
Though no man would choose thee,
An Immortal no less
Deigns not to refuse thee.
Clay thou art; and unto spirit
All clay is of equal merit.
Fire! _without_ which nought can live;
Fire! but _in_ which nought can live, 460
Save the fabled salamander,
Or immortal souls, which wander,
Praying what doth not forgive,
Howling for a drop of water,
Burning in a quenchless lot:
Fire! the only element
Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm,
Save the Worm which dieth not,
Can preserve a moment's form,
But must with thyself be blent: 470
Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughter:
Fire! Creation's first-born Daughter,
And Destruction's threatened Son,
When Heaven with the world hath done:
Fire! assist me to renew
Life in what lies in my view
Stiff and cold!
His resurrection rests with me and you!
One little, marshy spark of flame--[224]
And he again shall seem the same; 480
But I his Spirit's place shall hold!

[_An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood and rests
on the brow of the body. The Stranger
disappears: the body rises_.

_Arn. _ (_in his new form_). Oh! horrible!

_Stran. _ (_in_ ARNOLD'S _late shape_). What! tremblest thou?

_Arn. _ Not so--
I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape
Thou lately worest?

_Stran. _ To the world of shadows.
But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou?

_Arn. _ Must thou be my companion?

_Stran. _ Wherefore not?
Your betters keep worse company.

_Arn. _ _My_ betters!

_Stran. _ Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form:
I'm glad of that. Ungrateful too! That's well;
You improve apace;--two changes in an instant, 490
And you are old in the World's ways already.
But bear with me: indeed you'll find me useful
Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce
Where shall we now be errant?

_Arn. _ Where the World
Is thickest, that I may behold it in
Its workings.

_Stran. _ That's to say, where there is War
And Woman in activity. Let's see!
Spain--Italy--the new Atlantic world[225]--
Afric with all its Moors. In very truth,
There is small choice: the whole race are just now 500
Tugging as usual at each other's hearts.

_Arn. _ I have heard great things of Rome.

_Stran. _ A goodly choice--
And scarce a better to be found on earth,
Since Sodom was put out. The field is wide too;
For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scion
Of the old Vandals, are at play along
The sunny shores of the World's garden.

_Arn. _ How
Shall we proceed?

_Stran. _ Like gallants, on good coursers.
What, ho! my chargers! Never yet were better,
Since Phaeton was upset into the Po[226]. 510
Our pages too!

_Enter two Pages, with four coal-black horses_.

_Arn. _ A noble sight!

_Stran. _ And of
A nobler breed. Match me in Barbary,
Or your Kochlini race of Araby[de][227],
With these!

_Arn. _ The mighty steam, which volumes high
From their proud nostrils, burns the very air;
And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies wheel
Around their manes, as common insects swarm
Round common steeds towards sunset.

_Stran. _ Mount, my lord:
They and I are your servitors.

_Arn. _ And these
Our dark-eyed pages--what may be their names? 520

_Stran. _ You shall baptize them.

_Arn. _ What! in holy water?

_Stran. _ Why not? The deeper sinner, better saint.

_Arn. _ They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons.

_Stran. _ True; the devil's always ugly: and your beauty
Is never diabolical.

_Arn. _ I'll call him
Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright
And blooming aspect, _Huon_;[228] for he looks
Like to the lovely boy lost in the forest,
And never found till now. And for the other
And darker, and more thoughtful, who smiles not, 530
But looks as serious though serene as night,
He shall be _Memnon_[229], from the Ethiop king
Whose statue turns a harper once a day.
And you?

_Stran. _ I have ten thousand names, and twice
As many attributes; but as I wear
A human shape, will take a human name.

_Arn. _ More human than the shape (though it was mine once)
I trust.

_Stran. _ Then call me Caesar.

_Arn. _ Why, that name
Belongs to Empire, and has been but borne
By the World's lords.

_Stran. _ And therefore fittest for 540
The Devil in disguise--since so you deem me,
Unless you call me Pope instead.

_Arn. _ Well, then,
Caesar thou shalt be. For myself, my name
Shall be plain Arnold still.

_Caes. _ We'll add a title[df]--
"Count Arnold:" it hath no ungracious sound,
And will look well upon a billet-doux.

_Arn. _ Or in an order for a battle-field.

_Caes. _ (_sings_).
To horse! to horse! my coal-black steed
Paws the ground and snuffs the air!
There's not a foal of Arab's breed 550
More knows whom he must bear;
On the hill he will not tire,
Swifter as it waxes higher;
In the marsh he will not slacken,
On the plain be overtaken;
In the wave he will not sink,
Nor pause at the brook's side to drink;
In the race he will not pant,
In the combat he'll not faint;
On the stones he will not stumble, 560
Time nor toil shall make him humble;
In the stall he will not stiffen,
But be winged as a Griffin,
Only flying with his feet:
And will not such a voyage be sweet?
Merrily! merrily! never unsound,
Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground!
From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or fly!
For we'll leave them behind in the glance of an eye.
[_They mount their horses, and disappear_.


SCENE II. --_A Camp before the walls of Rome_.

ARNOLD _and_ CAESAR.

_Caes. _ You are well entered now.

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

_Caes. _ 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?

_Caes. _ 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.

_Caes. _ Do! They will deceive you sweetly,
And that is better than the bitter truth.

_Arn. _ Dog!

_Caes. _ Man!

_Arn. _ Devil!

_Caes. _ Your obedient humble servant.

_Arn. _ Say _master_ rather. Thou hast lured me on,
Through scenes of blood and lust, till I am here. 20

_Caes. _ And where wouldst thou be?

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

_Caes. _ 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----

_Caes. _ 'Tis no rebellion.

_Arn. _ Will it prosper now?

_Caes. _ 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!

_Caes. _ 'Tis there, and shall be.

_Arn. _ What?

_Caes. _ 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?

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