Fest. What is your purpose, Aureole?
There is no lack of precedents in a case
Like mine; at least, if not precisely mine,
The case of men cast off by those they sought
To benefit ...
They really cast you off?
I only heard a vague tale of some priest,
Cured by your skill, who wrangled at your claim,
Knowing his life's worth best; and how the judge
The matter was referred to, saw no cause
To interfere, nor you to hide your full
Contempt of him; nor he, again, to smother
His wrath thereat, which raised so fierce a flame
That Basil soon was made no place for you.
Par. The affair of Liechtenfels? the shallowest cause, The last and silliest outrage-mere pretence !
I knew it, I foretold it from the first,
How soon the stupid wonder you mistook
For genuine loyalty a cheering promise
Of better things to come-would pall and pass;
word comes true. Saul is among
every
The prophets! Just so long as I was pleased
To play off the mere marvels of my art—
Fantastic gambols leading to no end—
I got huge praise; but one can ne'er keep down
Our foolish nature's weakness: there they flocked,
Poor devils, jostling, swearing, and perspiring,
Till the walls rang again; and all for me!
I had a kindness for them, which was right;
But then I stopped not till I tacked to that
A trust in them and a respect-a sort
Of sympathy for them: I must needs begin
To teach them, not amaze them; "to impart
"The spirit which should instigate the search
"Of truth: "just what you bade me! I spoke out.
Forthwith a mighty squadron, in disgust,
Filed off" the sifted chaff of the sack," I said,
Redoubling my endeavours to secure
The rest; when lo! one man had stayed thus long
Only to ascertain if I supported
This tenet of his, or that; another loved
To hear impartially before he judged,
And having heard, now judged; this bland disciple
Passed for my dupe, but all along, it seems,
Spied error where his neighbours marvelled most:
That fiery doctor who had hailed me friend,
Did it because my by-paths, once proved wrong
And beaconed properly, would commend again.
The good old ways our sires jogged safely o'er,
Though not their squeamish sons; the other worthy
Discovered divers verses of St. John,
Which, read successively, refreshed the soul,
But, muttered backwards, cured the gout, the stone,
The colic, and what not:-quid multa? The end
Was a clear class-room, with a quiet leer
From grave folk, and a sour reproachful glance
From those in chief, who, cap in hand, installed
The new professor scarce a year before;
And a vast flourish about patient merit
Obscured awhile by flashy tricks, but sure
Sooner or later to emerge in splendour—
Of which the example was some luckless wight
Whom my arrival had discomfited,
But now, it seems, the general voice recalled
To fill my chair, and so efface the stain
Basil had long incurred. I sought no better-
Nought but a quiet dismissal from my post;
While from my heart I wished them better suited,
And better served. Good night to Basil, then!
But fast as I proposed to rid the tribe
Of my obnoxious back, I could not spare them
The pleasure of a parting kick.
Despise them as they merit!
'Tis with as very contempt as ever turned
Flesh into stone: this courteous recompense!
This grateful . . . Festus, were your nature fit
To be defiled, your eyes the eyes to ache
At gangrened blotches, eating poisonous blains,
The ulcered barky scurf of leprosy
Which finds—a man, and leaves- -a hideous thing
That cannot but be mended by hell fire,
-I say that, could you see as I could show,
I would lay bare to you these human hearts
Which God cursed long ago, and devils make since
Their pet nest and their never-tiring home.
O, sages have discovered we are born
For various ends-to love, to know has ever
One stumbled, in his search, on any signs
Of a nature in him formed to hate? To hate?
If that be our true object which evokes
Our powers in fullest strength, be sure 'tis hate!
Fest. But I have yet to learn your purpose, Aureole
Par. What purpose were the fittest now for me?
Decide! To sink beneath such ponderous shame-
To shrink up like a crushed snail-undergo
In silence and desist from further toil,
And so subside into a monument
Of one their censure blasted; or to bow
Cheerfully as submissively-to lower
My old pretensions even as Basil dictates-
To drop into the rank her wits assign me,
And live as they prescribe, and make that use
Of my poor knowledge which their rules allow—
Proud to be patted now and then, and careful
To practise the true posture for receiving
The amplest benefit from their hoofs' appliance,
When they shall condescend to tutor me.
Then one may feel resentment like a flame,
Prompting to deck false systems in Truth's garb,
And tangle and entwine mankind with error,
And give them darkness for a dower, and falsehood
For a possession: or one may mope away
Into a shade through thinking; or else drowse
Into a dreamless sleep, and so die off:
But I, but I-now Festus shall divine!
-Am merely setting out in life once more,
Embracing my old aims !-What thinks he now?
Fest. Your aims? the aims?-to know? and where is
The aims-not the old means. You know what made me A laughing-stock; I was a fool; you know
The when and the how: hardly those means again!
Not but they had their beauty-who should know
Their passing beauty, if not I? But still
They were dreams, so let them vanish: yet in beauty,
If that may be. Stay-thus they pass in song!
Heap cassia, sandal-buds, and stripes
Of labdanum, and aloe-balls
Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes
From out her hair: (such balsam falls
Down seaside mountain pedestals,
From summits where tired winds are fain,
Spent with the vast and howling main,
To treasure half their island-gain.)
And strew faint sweetness from some old
Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud,
Which breaks to dust when once unrolled;
|