Were actively preparing 'neath his nose
Such a suffumigation as, once fired,
Had stunk the patient dead ere he could groan.
I cursed the doctor, and upset the brother;
Brushed past the conjurer; vowed that the first gust
Of stench from the ingredients just alight
Would raise a cross-grained devil in my sword,
Not easily laid; and ere an hour, the prince
Slept as he never slept since prince he was.
A day-and I was posting for my life,
Placarded through the town as one whose spite
Had near availed to stop the blessed effects
Of the doctor's nostrum, which, well seconded
By the sudary, and most by the costly smoke-
Not leaving out the strenuous prayers sent up
Hard by, in the abbey-raised the prince to life;
To the great reputation of the seer,
Who, confident, expected all along
The glad event-the doctor's recompense―
Much largess from his highness to the monks-
And the vast solace of his loving people,
Whose general satisfaction to increase,
The prince was pleased no longer to defer
The burning of some dozen heretics,
Remanded till God's mercy should be shown
Touching his sickness, as a prudent pledge
To make it surer: last of all were joined
Ample directions to all loyal folk
To swell the complement, by seizing me
Who-doubtless some rank sorcerer-had endeavoured
To thwart these pious offices, obstruct
The prince's cure, and frustrate Heaven, by help
Of certain devils dwelling in his sword.
By luck, the prince in his first fit of thanks
Had forced this bauble on me as an earnest
Of further favours. This one case may serve
To give sufficient taste of many such,
So let them pass: those shelves support a pile
Of patents, licenses, diplomas, titles,
From Germany, France, Spain, and Italy:
They authorize some honour: ne'ertheless,
I set more store by this Erasmus sent;
He trusts me; our Frobenius is his friend,
And him “I raised" (nay, read it,) "from the dead"
I weary you, I see; I merely sought
To show, there's no great wonder after all
That while I fill the class-room, and attract
A crowd to Basil, I get leave to stay;
And therefore need not scruple to accept
The utmost they can offer-if I please :
For 'tis but right the world should be prepared
To treat with favour e'en fantastic wants
Of one like me, used up in serving her.
Just as the mortal, whom the Gods in part
Devoured, received in place of his lost limb
Some virtue or other-cured disease, I think;
You mind the fables we have read together.
Fest. You do not think I comprehend a word:
The time was, Aureole, you were apt enough
To clothe the airiest thoughts in specious breath;
But surely you must feel how vague and strange
These speeches sound.
Well, then you know my hopes;
I am assured, at length, those hopes were vain ;
That truth is just as far from me as ever;
That I have thrown my life away; that sorrow
On that account is vain, and further effort
To mend and patch what's marred beyond repairing,
As useless and all this was taught to me
By the convincing, good old-fashioned method
Of force-by sheer compulsion. Is that plain?
Fest. Dear Aureole! you confess my fears were just? God wills not
Now, 'tis this I most admire
The constant talk men of your stamp keep up
Of God's will, as they style it; one would swear
Man had but merely to uplift his eye,
To see the will in question charactered
On the heaven's vault. 'Tis hardly wise to moot
Such topics: doubts are many and faith is weak.
I know as much of any will of God's,
As knows some dumb and tortured brute what Man,
His stern lord, wills from the perplexing blows
That plague him every way, and there, of course,
Where least he suffers, longest he remains—
My case; and for such reasons I plod on,
Subdued, but not convinced. I know as little
Why I deserve to fail, as why I hoped
Better things in my youth. I simply know
I am no master here, but trained and beaten
Into the path I tread; and here I stay,
Until some further intimation reach ine,
Like an obedient drudge: though I prefer
To view the whole thing as a task imposed,
Which, whether dull or pleasant, must be done-
Yet, I deny not, there is made provision
Of joys which tastes less jaded might affect;
Nay, some which please me too, for all my pride-
Pleasures that once were pains: the iron ring
Festering about a slave's neck grows at length
Part of the flesh it eats. I hate no more
A host of petty, vile delights, undreamed of
Or spurned, before; such now supply the place
Of my dead aims: as in the autumn woods
Where tall trees used to flourish, from their roots
Springs up a fungous brood, sickly and pale,
Chill mushrooms, coloured like a corpse's cheek.
Fest. If I interpret well what words I seize,
It troubles me but little that your aims,
Vast in their dawning, and most likely grown
Extravagantly since, have baffled you.
Perchance I am glad; you merit greater praise;
Because they are too glorious to be gained,
You do not bindly cling to them and die;
You fell, but have not sullenly refused
To rise, because an angel worsted you
In wrestling, though the world holds not your peer,
And though too harsh and sudden is the change
To yield content as yet-still, you pursue
The ungracious path as though 'twere rosy-strewn. 'Tis well and your reward, or soon or late,
Will come from Him whom no man serves in vain.
Par. Ah, very fine! For my part, I conceive
The very pausing from all further toil,
Which you find heinous, would be as a seal
To the sincerity of all my deeds.
To be consistent I should die at once;
I calculated on no after-life;
Yet (how crept in, how fostered, I know not)
Here am I with as passionate regret
For youth, and health, and love so vainly lost,
As if their preservation had been first
And foremost in my thoughts; and this strange fact
Humbled me wondrously, and had due force
In rendering me the more disposed to follow
A certain counsel, a mysterious warning-
You will not understand-but 'twas a man
With aims not mine, but yet pursued like mine,
With the same fervor and no more success,
Who perished in my sight; but summoned me,
As I would shun the ghastly fate I saw,
To serve my race at once; to wait no longer
Till God should interfere in my behalf,
And let the next world's knowledge dawn on this;
But to distrust myself, put pride away,
|