DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Treasure "Room 
 
Q 
 fa 
 
 O 
 
 fa 
 
 H 
 
 Q 
 fa 
 
 « 
 
 o 
 fa 
 fa 
 
 Q 
 
 w 
 
 M 
 
 pq i-, 
 
 03 
 
 s 
 
 o3 
 
 Q 
 
 o 
 
 i-H 
 
 • *> . . -*-> 
 
 T3 ^- CO 
 
 S CM m 
 
 oo -3 
 
 lH T-H O 
 
 O -(-> 
 
 «+H -" « 
 
 & o > 
 
 H J ^ 
 
 <u \ cd 
 
 E 
 
 § B 
 
 Q m ™ 
 
 S o § 
 
 *^ 
 
 ffi § 
 
 bo ; 
 
 si 
 
 UK* 
 > s 
 
 44 
 G 
 
 3 
 
 -a 
 
 •4-1 «3 
 
 O g 
 
 CO *» 
 
 (U 
 
 ^i O 
 »s; co 
 
 .5 -^ 
 
 '53 
 42 
 
 CD G 
 
 > 43 
 
 q -a 
 
 a 
 
 o o 
 
 «-m *» CO 
 
 03 
 
 °1 
 
 bo ^ 
 
 „ o 
 
 ho " 
 
 
 fcuO 
 
 (U 43 
 
 i— i i 
 
 .-£ G 
 
 h £ 
 
 cd 
 
 CO 
 
 ■ ■ 4T * 
 rt G cu 
 
 cu T) G 
 rt 
 
 CD 
 
 43 
 
 M-l 
 O 
 
 Ih 
 
 CD 
 
 43 
 
 s 
 
 3 
 
 G 
 
 CD 
 
 43 
 
 CD ^ 
 
 ■J-> CD 
 
 co -2; 
 
 CD s — ' 
 
 *d 
 G 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 O *+H 
 
 O CD 
 
 CD 43 
 
 1-t +-> 
 
 ft g 1 
 
 & 5 
 
 ^ 
 
 rt 
 
 CD 
 
 > 
 
 CD 
 
 CXI 
 
 oj 
 
 00 k" 
 
 oo !3q 
 
 -* 44 
 . G 
 
 ft j3 
 
 ft jQ 
 
 co 
 
 CD 
 CO 
 U 
 CD 
 > 
 CD 
 Vh 
 
 J* 
 G 
 
 ,G 
 
 o 
 
 CD 
 U 
 
 a 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 o 
 
 B 
 
 CD 
 P 
 
 s 
 
 o 
 
 •• s 
 
 G O 
 
 .2 ^ 
 
 ■4-J >. 
 
 U 
 
 ft rt 
 
 •-S 
 
 CO +3 
 
 ft 43 n ^ 
 
 ^ rt 
 
 03 T3 
 
 cd G 
 
 43 03 
 
 CD "tf 
 
 o 
 
 00 *T3 
 00 ^ 
 
 43 
 
 a 
 
 G 
 G 
 
 CD 
 
 43 
 +-> 
 
 -d 
 
 03 
 CD 
 
 43 
 
 *d 
 
 jS 43 
 
 « y 
 
 CD ™ 
 ft » 
 
 Ih CO 
 
 CO CD 
 "* CD 
 
 -G ^ 
 G co 
 
 'ft^ 
 
 I'm 
 
 43 © 
 
 bjo rt 
 .5 co 
 
 ^5 
 
 ON ^ 
 
 ft ^ 
 
 co ^ 
 
 G 
 
 -4-J 
 
 rt 
 
 G 
 
 .Sb 
 
 '55 
 
 o 
 
 G 
 
 CD 
 
 CD CD 
 
 4-j ^j *G *G 
 
 
 CD 
 
 >,44 
 
 G 
 
 O 
 
 •T3 ™ 
 
 ^ s g 
 
 co S B 
 § So > 
 
 ft G I* 
 
 ^S § 
 
 IT o 
 
 ^ ^ 03 
 
 l-i cd 43 
 
 <" G l 
 
 c^S « 
 
 ft & 
 
 42 t; ft 
 
 o3 o3 nj 
 ±1 "3 43 
 
 .I -S CO' 
 
 O 
 CD 
 
 43 
 
 ft 
 
 CD CD 
 
 E.S 
 
 QJ IT) 
 
 -2 fe .S ft x 
 
 G C 00 
 
 a rt cd 
 
 43 r3 
 
 .° Ih ti 
 
 -iS o co 
 
 ^ ^ 5; 
 
 G rt 
 
 tQ 
 
 •"CO CO CD CD 
 
 CO O) 'H H - 
 
 ■<-> CD r 
 
 00 
 
 "G G cd • ° 
 
 Jo O bo Liu 
 
 1 ' - ^ CD 
 
 G <u 
 r 43 
 
 
 ft „. 
 
 2 CD o ft 
 
 rt ,1, o k +j 
 
 CU H -73 
 
 i 6 U o •? 
 
 
 CD CD 
 
 »H -t" 1 
 
 CD 
 
 co 
 
 ^ Vh G 
 
 o G -G cd 
 
 <+-, CO 2 Ih 
 
 3 -° 9 G 
 
 S o3 b/3 -£J 
 
 <D co 
 
 <a G 
 S O 
 
 a 
 
 H G 
 
 CO 
 ^J CO 
 •^ l-H 
 hi - 
 
 CD .^>3 
 
 G . 
 
 ^^ 
 co CX) 
 
 ^ CD 
 co J3 
 
 "G w 
 *^ G 
 
 ■m 43 
 
 CD 4-> ,_H 
 
 Ih CO C 
 
 ft.« G > 
 
 CD g^ffi ol 
 
 - 3 a 2 
 
 G »- *=i "S 
 
 G cd o r w 
 
 4, O 43 >->fc 
 
 -M *H "ti 
 
 TO 4h O <+h T3 
 
 Ih , . O *> 
 
 rt *d G w h-j 
 
 ftJi "* «? 43 
 
 cd G3 . ^ +-> *td 
 
 +-> ^d 
 
 _ ^ S rt 
 
 CO CD K -u 
 
 S CD _W •— i 
 
 J? CD CD 
 
 •> a 43 
 
 n, j> H 
 
 CD 
 43 
 
 H 
 
 * -g "€ 43 
 
 ft s e^ 
 a o £ -a I § 
 
 43 i! t3 G < ft 
 
 fe 3 i 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://archive.org/details/deformedtransfor02byro 
 
THE 
 
 DEFORMED TRANSFORMED; 
 
 A DRAMA. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY C. n. REYNELL, BHOAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE. 
 
THE 
 
 DEFORMED TRANSFORMED ; 
 
 A DRAMA. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON. 
 
 LONDON, 1824: 
 PRINTED FOR J. AND H. L. HUNT, 
 
 BOND STREET, AND TA.VISTOCK STREET. 
 »«4 
 

 3G655^ 
 
 IH 
 
This production is founded partly on the story of a 
 Novel called " The Three Brothers," published many 
 years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's " Wood Demon" 
 was also taken — and partly on the " Faust" of the great 
 Goethe. The present publication contains the two first 
 Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The rest 
 may perhaps appear hereafter. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Stranger, afterwards C/esar. 
 
 Arnold. 
 
 Bourbon. 
 
 Philibert. 
 
 Cellini. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Olimpia. 
 
 Spirits, Soldiers, Citizens of Rome, Priests, Peasants, &c. 
 
THE 
 
 DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. 
 
 PART I. SCENE I. 
 
 A Forest. 
 
 Enter Arnold and his mother Berth A. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Out, hunchback! 
 
 ARNOLD, 
 
 I was born so, mother ! 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Out! 
 Thou Incubus ! Thou Nightmare ! Of seven sons 
 The sole abortion ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Would that I had been so, 
 And never seen the light ! 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 I would so too ! 
 But as thou hast — hence, hence — and do thy best. 
 That back of thine may bear its burthen ; 'tis 
 More high, if not so broad as that of others. 
 
10 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 It bears its burthen ; — but, my heart ! Will it 
 Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother ? 
 I love, or at the least, I loved you : nothing, 
 Save you, in nature, can love aught like me. 
 You nursed me — do not kill me ! 
 
 . BERTHA. 
 
 Yes — I nursed thee, 
 Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not 
 If there would be another unlike thee, 
 That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence, 
 And gather wood ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I will : but when I bring it, 
 Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are 
 So beautiful and lusty, and as free 
 As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me : 
 Our milk ha& been the same. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 As is the hedgehog's, 
 Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam 
 Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds 
 The nipple next day sore and udder dry. 
 Call not thy brothers brethren ! Call me not 
 Mother ; for if I brought thee forth, it was 
 As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by 
 Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out ! 
 
 [Exit Bertha. 
 Arnold (solm). 
 Oh mother J She is gone, and I must do 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 11 
 
 Her bidding ; — wearily but willingly 
 
 I would fulfil it, could I only hope 
 
 A kind word in return. What shall I do ? 
 
 [Arnold begins to cut wood: in doing this he 
 wounds one of his hands. 
 My labour for the day is over now. 
 Accursed be this blood that flows so fast ; 
 For double curses will be my meed now 
 At home. — What home ? I have no home, no kin, 
 No kind — not made like other creatures, or 
 To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too 
 Like them ? Oh that each drop which falls to earth 
 Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me ! 
 Or that the devil, to whom they liken me, 
 Would aid his likeness ! If I must partake 
 His form, why not his power ? Is it because 
 I have not his will too ? For one kind word 
 From her who bore me, would still reconcile me 
 Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash 
 The wound. 
 
 [Arnold goes to a spring and stoops to wash his 
 hand : he starts back. 
 They are right ; and Nature's mirror shows me 
 What she hath made me. I will not look on it 
 Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretch 
 That I am ! The very waters mock me with 
 My horrid shadow — like a demon placed 
 Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle 
 From drinking therein. [He pauses. 
 
 And shall I live on, 
 
12 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, pAUt i. 
 
 A burthen to the earth, myself, and shame 
 Unto what brought me into life ? Thou blood* 
 Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me 
 Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream 
 Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself 
 On earth, to which I will restore at once" 
 This hateful compound of her atoms, and 
 Resolve back to her elements, and take 
 The shape of any reptile save myself, 
 And make a world for myriads of new worms ! 
 This knife ! now let me prove if it will sever 
 This withered slip of nature's nightshade — my 
 Vile form — from the creation, as it hath 
 The green bough from the forest. 
 
 [Arnold places the knife in the ground, with the 
 
 point upwards. 
 
 Now 'tis set, 
 And 1 can fall upon it. Yet one glance 
 On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like 
 Myself, and the sweet sun, which warmed me, but 
 In vain. The birds — how joyously they sing ! 
 So let them, for I would not be lamented : 
 But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell ; 
 The falling leaves my monument ; the murmur 
 Of the near fountain my sole elegy. 
 Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall ! 
 
 [As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his 
 
 eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, 
 
 which seems in motion. 
 The fountain moves without a wind : but shall 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. ' 13 
 
 The ripple of a spring change my resolve ? 
 
 No. Yet it moves again ! The waters stir, 
 
 Not as with air, but by some subterrane 
 
 And rocking power of the internal world. 
 
 What's here ? A mist ! No more ? — 
 
 [A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands 
 gazing upon it : it is dispelled, and a tall 
 black man comes towards him. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What would you ? Speak 1 
 Spirit or man ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 As man is both, why not 
 Say both in one ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Your form is man's, and yet 
 You may be devil. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 So many men are that 
 Which is so called or thought, that you may add me 
 To which you please, without much wrong to either. 
 But come : you wish to kill yourself; — pursue 
 Your purpose. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 You have interrupted me. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 What is that resolution which can e'er 
 
 Be interrupted ? If I be the devil 
 
 You deem, a single moment would have made you 
 
 Mine, and for ever, by your suicide ; 
 
 And yet my coming saves you. 
 
14 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, parti. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I said not 
 You were the demon, but that your approach 
 Was like one. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Unless you keep company 
 With him (and you seem scarce used to such high 
 Society) you can't tell how he approaches ; 
 And for his aspect, look upon the fountain, 
 And then on me, and judge which of us twain 
 Look likest what the boors believe to be 
 Their cloven-footed terror. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Do you — dare you 
 To taunt me with my born deformity ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Were I to taunt a buffalo with this • 
 
 Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary 
 
 With thy sublime of humps, the animals 
 
 Would revel in the compliment. And yet 
 
 Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty 
 
 In action and endurance than thyself, 
 
 And all the fierce and fair of the same kind 
 
 With thee. Thy form is natural : 'twas only 
 
 Nature's mistaken largess to bestow 
 
 The gifts which are of others upon man. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot, 
 When he spurns high the dust, beholding his 
 Near enemy ; or let me have the long 
 And patient swiftness of the desart-ship, 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 A DRAMA. 15 
 
 The helm-less dromedary ;— and I'll bear 
 Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I will. 
 
 Arnold {with surprise). 
 Thou canst ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Perhaps. Would you aught else ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thou mockest me. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Not I. Why should I mock 
 What all are mocking? That's poor sport methinks. 
 To talk to thee in human language (for 
 Thou canst not yet speak mine) the forester 
 Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar, 
 Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game 
 To petty burghers, who leave once a year 
 Their walls, to fill their household cauldrons with 
 Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee, — 
 Now J can mock the mightiest. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Then waste not 
 Thy time on me : I seek thee not. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Your thoughts 
 Are not far from me. Do not send me back : 
 I am not so easily recalled to do 
 Good service. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What wilt thou do for me ? 
 
16 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part r. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Change 
 Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you ; 
 Or form you to your wish in any shape. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Oh ! then you are indeed the demon, for 
 Nought else would wittingly wear mine. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I'll show thee 
 The brightest which the world ere bore, and give thee 
 Thy choice. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 On what condition ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 There's a question ! 
 An hour ago you would have given your soul 
 To look like other men, and now you pause 
 To wear the form of heroes. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 No ; I will not. 
 I must not compromise my soul. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 What soul, 
 Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcase ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement 
 
 In which it is mislodged. But name your compact : 
 
 Must it be signed in blood ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Not in your own. 
 
scenet. A DRAMA. 17 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Whose blood then ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 We will talk of that hereafter. 
 But I'll be moderate with you, for I see 
 Great things within you. You shall have no bond 
 But your own will, no contract save your deeds. 
 Are you content ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I take thee at thy word. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Now then ! — 
 
 [The Stranger approaches the fountain, and 
 turns to Arnold. 
 A little of your blood. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 For what ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 To mingle with the magic of the waters, 
 And make the charm effective. * 
 
 Arnold (holding out his wounded arm.) 
 - Take it all. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. 
 
 [The Stranger takes some of Arnold's blood in his 
 hand, and casts it into the fountain. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Shadows of beauty ! 
 
 Shadows of power ! 
 Rise to your duty — 
 
 This is the hour ! 
 
18 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Walk lovely and pliant 
 
 From the depth of this fountain, 
 As the cloud-shapen giant 
 
 Bestrides the Hartz mountain.* 
 Come as ye were, 
 
 That our eyes may behold 
 The model in air 
 
 Of the form I will mould, 
 Bright as the Iris 
 
 When ether is spanned ; — 
 Such his desire is, [Pointing to Arnold. 
 
 Such my command ! 
 Demons heroic — 
 
 Demons who wore . . 
 The form of the Stoic 
 
 Or Sophist of yore — 
 Or the shape of each Victor, 
 
 From Macedon's boy 
 To each high Roman's picture, 
 
 Who breathed to destroy — 
 Shadows of Beauty ! 
 
 Shadows of Power ! 
 Up to your duty — 
 
 This is the hour ! 
 { Various Phantoms arise from the waters, and pass 
 in succession before the Stranger and Arnold. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What do I see ? 
 
 * This is a well known German superstition — a gigantic shadow 
 produced by reflection on the Brock en. 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 19 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 The black-eyed Roman, with 
 The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er 
 Beheld a conqueror, or looked along 
 The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became 
 His, and all their's who heired his very name. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 The Phantom's bald ; my quest is beauty. Could I 
 Inherit but his fame with his defects ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs. 
 You see his aspect — choose it or reject. 
 I can but promise you his form ; his fame 
 Must be long sought and fought for. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I will fight too, 
 But not as a mock Caesar. Let him pass ; 
 His aspect may be fair, but suits me not. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Then you are far more difficult to please 
 Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother, 
 Or Cleopatra at sixteen* — an age 
 When love is not less in the eye than heart. 
 But be it so ! Shadow, pass on ! 
 
 [The Phantom of Julius C&sar disappears. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And can it 
 Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone 
 And left no footstep ? 
 
20 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 There you err. His substance 
 Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame 
 More than enough to track his memory ; 
 But for his shadow, 'tis no more than yours, 
 Except a little longer and less crooked 
 P the sun. Behold another ! 
 
 [A second Phantom passes. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Who is he ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 He was the fairest and the bravest of 
 Athenians. Look upon him well. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 He is 
 Mbre lovely than the last. How beautiful ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Such was the curled son of Clinias ; — would'st thou 
 Invest thee with his form .? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Would that I had 
 Been born with it ! But since I may choose further, 
 I will look further. 
 
 [The Shade of Alribiades disappears. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Lo ! Behold again ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What ! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr, 
 With the wide nostrils and Silenus* aspect, 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 21 
 
 The splay feet and low stature ! I had better 
 Remain that which I am. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 And yet he was 
 The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, 
 And personification of all virtue. 
 But you reject him ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 If his form could bring me 
 That which redeemed it — no. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 1 have no power 
 To promise that ; but you may try, and find it 
 Easier in such a form, or in your own. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 No. I was not born for philosophy, 
 
 Though I have that about me which has need on't. 
 
 Let him fleet on. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Be air, thou hemlock-drinker ! 
 [The Shadow of Socrates disappears : another rises. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard 
 
 And manly aspect look like Hercules, 
 
 Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus 
 
 Than the sad Purger of the infernal world, 
 
 Leaning dejected on his club of conquest, 
 
 As if he knew the worthlessness of those 
 
 For whom he had fought. 
 
22 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 It was the man who lost 
 The ancient world for love. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I cannot blame him, 
 Since I have risked my soul because I find not 
 That which he exchanged the earth for. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Since so far 
 You seem congenial, will you wear his features ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Hence, Triumvir ! 
 Thy Cleopatra's waiting. 
 
 [The Shade of Anthony disappears: another rises. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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, 
 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? 2 
 
SCENE i. 
 
 A DRAMA. 23 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Let the earth speak, 
 If there be atoms of him left, or even 
 Of the more solid gold that formed his urn. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Who was this Glory of mankind ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 The shame 
 Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war- — 
 Demetrius the Macedonian and 
 Taker of cities. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Yet one shadow more. 
 stranger (addressing the Shadow.) 
 Get thee to Lamia's lap ! 
 
 {The Shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes 
 another rises. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Content \ I will fix here. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I must commend 
 Your choice. The god-like son of the Sea-goddess, 
 The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks 
 As beautiful and clear as the amber waves 
 
24 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Of rich Pactolus rolled o'er sands of gold, 
 
 Softened by intervening chrystal, and 
 
 Rippled like flowing waters by the wind, 
 
 All vowed to Sperchius 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 
 
 He stood i' the temple ! Look upon him as 
 
 Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant 
 
 Ere Paris' arrow flew. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I gaze upon him 
 As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon 
 Envelope mine. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 You have done well. The greatest 
 Deformity should only barter with 
 The extremest beauty, if the proverb's true 
 Of mortals, that extremes meet. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Come ! Be quick I 
 I am impatient. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 As a youthful beauty 
 Before her glass. You- both see what is not, 
 But dream it is what must be. 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 25 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Must I wait? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 No ; that were 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? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Why not? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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, would'st soar a show 
 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 baptise 
 In Styx. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Then let it be as thou deem'st best. 
 
26. THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part- i. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou see'st, 
 And strong as what it was, and— h 
 arnold. 
 
 I ask not 
 For Valour, since Deformity is daring. 
 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 
 For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. 
 They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune, 
 And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar, win them. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Well spoken ! And thou doubtless wilt remain 
 Formed as thou art. I may dismiss the mould 
 Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to encase 
 This daring soul, which could achieve no less 
 Without it? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Had no Power presented me 
 The possibility of change, I would 
 Have done the best which Spirit may, to make 
 Its way, with all Deformity's dull, deadly, 
 Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain, 
 In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders — ■ 
 An hateful and unsightly molehill to 
 
SCENfi I. 
 
 A DRAMA. 27 
 
 The eyes of happier man. 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 
 
 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 
 
 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. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Decide between 
 What you have been, or will be. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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 
 Of all save those next to me, of whom I 
 
28 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Would be beloved. As thou showest me 
 A choice of forms, I take the one I view. 
 Haste ! haste ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 And what shall J wear ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Less will content me ; 
 For I too love a change. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Your aspect is 
 Dusky, but not uncomely. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Mine! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Yes. You 
 Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 A DRAMA. 29 
 
 Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes ; 
 You have yours — I mine. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Dispatch ! dispatch ! 
 
 STRANGER, 
 
 Even so. 
 [The Stranger takes some earth and moulds it along the 
 turf. And then addresses the Phantom of Achilles. 
 
 Beautiful Shadow 
 
 OfThetis'sboy! 
 Who sleeps in the meadow 
 
 Whose grass grows o'er Tr6y : 
 From the red earth, like Adam,* 
 
 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 
 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, 
 
 * Adam means " red earth," from which the first man was formed. 
 
30 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 And wave o'er bis brows, 
 
 As thou wavest in air ! 
 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 ! 
 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 ! 
 Tis done ! He hath taken 
 
 His stand in Creation ! 
 [Arn old 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. 
 
 Arnold (in his new form.) 
 I love, and I shall be beloved ! Oh life ! 
 At last I feel thee ! Glorious spirit ! 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 31 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Stop! 
 What shall become of your abandoned garment, 
 You hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, 
 Which late you wore, or were? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Who cares ! Let wolves 
 And vultures take it, if they will. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Let us but. leave it there, 
 No matter what becomes on 't. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 That's ungracious, 
 If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be, 
 It hath sustained your soul full, many a day. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Aye, as the dunghill may conceal a gem 
 Which is now set in gold, as jewels should be. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 But if I give another form, it must be 
 By fair exchange, not robbery. For they 
 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, 
 
32 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Not make them, — though he reap the benefit 
 Of the original workmanship : — and therefore 
 Some one must be found to assume the shape 
 You have quitted. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Who would do so ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 That I know not, 
 And therefore I must. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 You! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I said it ere 
 You inhabited your present dome of beauty. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 True. I forget all things in the new joy 
 Of this immortal change. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 In a few moments 
 I will be as you were, and you shall see 
 Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I would be spared this. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 But it cannot be. 
 What ! shrink already, being what you are, 
 From seeing what you were ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Do as thou wilt. 
 
;ene i. A DRAMA. 33 
 
 stranger (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, 
 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 : 
 
 Firei 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 : 
 
 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 vies in my view 
 Stiff and cold ! 
 
 His resurrection rests with me and you ! 
 
 c 
 
34 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part r. 
 
 One little, marshy spark of flame — 
 And he again shall seem the same ; 
 
 But I his spirit's place shall hold ! 
 [An Ignis-fatuus fits through the wood, and rests 
 on the brow of the body. The Stranger dis- 
 appears : the body rises. 
 Arnold (in his new form.) 
 Oh ! horrible ! 
 
 the stranger (in Arnold's late shape.) 
 What ! tremblest thou 1 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Not so — 
 I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape 
 Thou lately worest ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 To the world of shadows. 
 But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Must thou be my companion ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Wherefore not ? 
 Your betters keep worse company. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 My betters ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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, 
 And you are old in the world's ways already. 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 35 
 
 But bear with me : indeed you'll find me useful 
 Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce 
 Where shall we now be errant ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Where the world 
 Is thickest, that I may behold it in 
 Its workings. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 That's to say, where there is War 
 And Woman in activity. Let's see ! 
 Spain — Italy — the new Atlantic world — 
 Afric with all its Moors. In very truth, 
 There is small choice : the whole race are just now 
 Tugging as usual at each other's hearts. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I have heard great things of Rome. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 How 
 
 Shall we proceed? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Like gallants, on good coursers. 
 What ho ! my chargers ! Never yet were better, 
 
36 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Since Phaeton was upset into the Po. 
 Our Pages too ! 
 
 Enter two Pages, with four coal-black Horses. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 A noble sight ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 And of 
 A nobler breed. Match me in Barbary, 
 Or your Kochlani race of Araby, 
 With these ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Mount, my Lord ; 
 They and I are your servitors. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And these, 
 Our dark-eyed pages — what may be their names ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 You shall baptise them. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What ! in holy water ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Why not ! The deeper sinner, better saint. 
 
SCENE 1. 
 
 A DRAMA. 37 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 True j the Devil's always ugly ; and your beauty 
 Is never diabolical. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I'll call him 
 Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright 
 And blooming aspect, Huon; 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, 
 But looks as serious though serene as Night, 
 He shall be Memnon, from the Ethiop king 
 Whose statue turns a harper once a day. 
 And you ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I have ten thousand names, and twice 
 As many attributes ; but as I wear 
 A human shape, will take a human name. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 More human than the shape (though it was mine once) 
 I trust. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Then call me Ceesar. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Why, that name 
 Belongs to empires, and has been but borne 
 By the World's Lords. 
 
38 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 And therefore fittest for 
 The Devil in disguise — since so you deem nie, 
 Unless you call me Pope instead. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Well then, 
 Caesar thou shalt be. For myself, my name 
 Shall be plain Arnold still. 
 
 CESAR, 
 
 We'll add a title— 
 " Count Arnold :" it hath no ungracious sound, 
 And will look well upon a billet-doux. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Or in an order for a battle-field. 
 
 csisar sings. 
 To horse I to horse ! my coal-black steed 
 Paws the ground and snuffs the air I 
 There's not a foal of Arab's breed 
 
 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, 
 
 Time nor toil shall make him humble ; 
 
ene ii. A DRAMA. 39 
 
 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 Cesar. 
 
 C.3ESAR. 
 
 You are well entered now. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Aye ; but my path 
 Has been o'er carcases : mine eyes are full 
 Of blood. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 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 ; and now to be 
 Lord of the city which hath been Earth's lord 
 
40 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 Under its Emperors, and — changing sex, 
 Not sceptre, an hermaphrodite of empire — 
 Lady of the Old World. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 How old? What! are there 
 New Worlds ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I'll trust them. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Do ! They will deceive you sweetly, 
 And that is better than the bitter truth. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Dog! 
 
 Man! 
 
 Devil! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Your obedient, humble servant. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Say Master rather. Thou hast lured me on, 
 Through scenes of blood and lust, till I am here. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And where would'st thou be ? 
 
scene II. A DRAMA. 41 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Oh, at peace — in peace ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 You must obey what all obey, the rule 
 
 Of fixed Necessity : against her edict 
 
 Rebellion prospers not. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And when it prospers — '■ — 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 'Tis no rebellion. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Will it prosper now ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 The Bourbon hath given orders for the assault, 
 And by the dawn there will be work. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 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, 
 
42 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 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.) 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 'Tis there, and shall be. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And those scarce mortal arches, 
 Pile above pile of everlasting wall, 
 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 desart, 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 
 For a sole instant's pastime, and " Pass on 
 To a new gladiator !"— Must it fall ? 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 A DRAMA. 43 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 The city or the amphitheatre ? 
 
 The church, or one, or all ? for you confound 
 
 Both them and me. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 To-morrow sounds the assault 
 With the first cock-crow. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 The Sun goes down as calmly, and perhaps 
 More beautifully, than he did on Rome 
 On the day Remus leapt her wall. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 I saw him. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 You ! 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Yes, sir. You forget I am or was 
 Spirit, till I took up with your cast shape 
 And a worse name. I'm Caesar and a hunch-back 
 Now. Well ! the first of Caesars was a bald-head, 
 And loved his laurels better as a wig 
 (So history says) than as a glory. Thus 
 The world runs on, but we'll be merry still. 
 I saw your Romulus (simple as I am) 
 Slay his own twin, quick-born of the same womb, 
 
44 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, . part i 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 But what have these done, their far 
 Remote descendants, who have lived in peace, 
 The peace of heaven, and in her sunshine of 
 Piety? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And what had they, done, whom the old 
 Romans o'erswept ? — Hark ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 They are soldiers singing 
 A reckless roundelay, upon the eve 
 Of many deaths, it may be of their own. 
 
 CjESAR. 
 
 And why should they not sing as well as swans ? 
 They are black ones, to be sure. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 So, you are learned, 
 I see, too. 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 In my grammar, certes. I 
 Was educated for a monk of all times, 
 
scene ii. A DRAMA. 45 
 
 And once I was well versed in the forgotten 
 Etruscan letters, and — were I so minded — 
 Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than 
 Your alphabet. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And wherefore do you not? 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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, 
 
 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 — 
 
 Arnold (interrupting him.} 
 
 Oh, thou everlasting Sneerer ! 
 Be silent ! How the soldiers' rough strain seems 
 Softened by distance to a hymn-like cadence ! 
 Listen ! 
 
 C.SESAR. 
 
 Yes. I have heard the Angels sing. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And Demons howl. 
 
46 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part r. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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 past the broad Po. 
 We have beaten all foemen, 
 
 We have captured a king, 
 We have turned back on no men, 
 
 And so let us sing ! 
 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, 
 Our shout shall grow gladder, 
 
 And death only be mute. 
 With the Bourbon we'll mount o'er 
 
 The walls of old Rome, 
 And who then shall count o'er 
 
scene ii. A DRAMA. 47 
 
 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. 
 Her streets shall be gory, 
 
 Her Tyber all red, 
 And her temples so hoary 
 
 Shall clang with our tread. 
 Oh, the Bourbon ! the Bourbon ! 
 
 The Bourbon for aye ! 
 Of our song bear the burthen ! 
 
 And fire, fire away ! 
 With Spain for the vanguard, 
 
 Our varied host comes ? 
 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. 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 An indifferent song 
 For those within the walls, methinks, to hear. 
 
48 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here comes 
 The General with his Chiefs and Men of trust. 
 A goodly rebel ! 
 
 Enter tJie Constable Bourbon, " cum suis," fyc. fyc. fyc. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 How now, noble Prince, 
 You are not cheerful ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Why should I be so ? 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 Upon the eve of conquest, such as ours, 
 Most men would be so. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 If I were secure ! 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of adamant, 
 They'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 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 — 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 They are but men who war with mortals. 
 
scene ir. A DRAMA. 49 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 True : but those walls have girded in great ages, 
 
 And sent forth, mighty spirits. The past earth 
 
 And present Phantom of imperious Rome 
 
 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 ! 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 So let them! Wilt thou 
 Turn back from shadowy menaces of shadows ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 I look upon 
 A lofty battlement. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 And there ! 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 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. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 You are blind. 
 
50 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, . partj. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 If seeing nothing more than may be seen 
 Be so. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 A thousand years have manned the walls 
 With all their heroes, — the last Cato stands 
 And tears his bowels, rather than survive 
 The liberty of that I would enslave. 
 And the first Caesar with his triumphs flits 
 From battlement to battlement. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 Then conquer 
 The walls for which he conquered, and be greater ! 
 
 bourbon. 
 True : so I will, or perish. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 You can not. 
 In such an enterprise to die is rather 
 The dawn of an eternal day, than death. 
 
 Count Arnold and Cjesar advance. 
 
 C^SAB. 
 
 And the mere men — do they too sweat beneath 
 The noon of this same ever-scorching glory ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Ah! 
 Welcome the bitter Hunchback ! and his Master, 
 The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous, 
 And generous as lovely. We shall find 
 Work for you both ere morning. 
 
scene rr. A DRAMA. 51 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 You will find, 
 So please your Highness, no less for yourself. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 And if I do, there will not be a labourer , 
 More forward, Hunchback! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 That's a fair retort, 
 For I provoked it : — but the Bourbon's breast 
 Has been, and ever shall be, far advanced 
 In danger's face as yours, were you the Devil. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 And if I were, I might have saved myself 
 The toil of coming here. 
 
 PH1LIBERT. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Arnold, your 
 Slight crooked friend's as snake-like in his words 
 As his deeds- 
 
52 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Your Highness much mistakes me. 
 The first snake was a flatterer — I am none ; 
 And for my deeds, I only sting when stung. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 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 a soldier, but the soldiers' 
 Comrade. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 They are but bad company, your Highness ; 
 And worse even for their friends than foes, as being 
 More permanent acquaintance. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 How now, fellow ! 
 Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege 
 Of a buffoon. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 You mean, I speak the truth. 
 I'll lie — it is as easy : then you'll praise me 
 For calling you a hero. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Philibert ! 
 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 
 
scene a. A DRAMA. 53 
 
 Of a mere famished, sullen, grumbling slave, 
 Whom nothing can convince save a full meal, 
 And wine, and sleep, and a few maravedis, 
 With which he deems him rich. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 It would be well 
 If the Earth's princes asked no more. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Be silent ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Aye, but not idle. Work yourself with words ! 
 You have few to speak. 
 
 PHILIBERT. 
 
 What means the audacious prater ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 To prate, like other prophets. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Philibert! 
 Why will you vex him ? Have we not enough 
 To think on ? Arnold ! I will lead the attack 
 To-morrow. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I have heard as much, my Lord. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 And you will follow ? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Since I must not lead. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 'Tis necessary for the further daring 
 
64 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part 
 
 Of our too needy army, that their chief 
 Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder's 
 First step. 
 
 cesar. 
 Upon its topmost, let us hope : ' 
 So shall he have his full deserts. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 The world's 
 Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow. 
 Through every change the seven-hilled city hath 
 Retained her sway o'er nations, and the Caesars 
 But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics 
 Unto the Pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or Priest, 
 Still the world's masters ! Civilized, 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. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 No doubt, the camp's the school of civic rights. 
 What would you make of Rome ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 That which it was. 
 
 CAESAR. 
 
 In Alaric's time ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 No, slave ! In the first Caesar's, 
 Whose name you bear like other curs. 
 
scene ii. A DRAMA. 55 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 And kings. 
 Tis a great name for bloodhounds. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 There's a demon 
 In that fierce rattle-snake thy tongue. Wilt never 
 Be serious ?. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 You may sneer, since 
 'Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for't. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 I thank you for the freedom ; 'tis the only 
 Pay I have taken in your Highness' service. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 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. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Prince ! my service 
 Is yours, as in the field. 
 
56 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part i. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 In both, we prize it, 
 And yours will be a post of trust at day-break. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And mine ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 To follow glory with the Bourbon. 
 Good night ! 
 
 ARNOLD (to C^SAR.) 
 
 Prepare our armour for the assault, 
 And wait within my tent. 
 
 [Exeunt Bourbon, Arnold, Phillbert, fyc. 
 cesar (solus.) 
 
 Within thy tent ! 
 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 
 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 ant hill : how the pismires then 
 
scene ii. A DRAMA. 57 
 
 Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing 
 From tearing down each others' nests, pipe forth 
 One universal orison ! Ha! ha! [Exit Cesar. 
 
 END OF PART FIRST. 
 
58 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part SB 
 
 PART II. SCENE I. 
 
 Before the Walls of Rome. The assault ; the army in 
 motion, with ladders to scale the walls ; Bourbon, 
 with a white scarf over his armour, foremost. 
 
 Chorus of Spirits in the air. 
 
 1. 
 
 Tis the morn, but dim and dark. 
 Whither flies the silent lark ? 
 Whither shrinks the clouded sun ? 
 Is the day indeed begun ? 
 Nature's eye is melancholy 
 O'er the city high and holy : 
 But without there is a din 
 Should arouse the Saints within, 
 And revive the heroic ashes 
 Round which yellow Tiber dashes. 
 Oh ye seven hills ! awaken, 
 Ere your very base be shaken ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Hearken to the steady stamp ! 
 Mars is in their every tramp ! 
 Not a step is out of tune, 
 As the tides obey the moon ! 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 59 
 
 On they march, though to self-slaughter, 
 Regular as rolling water, 
 Whose high waves o'ersweep the border 
 Of huge moles, but keep their order, 
 Breaking only rank by rank. 
 Hearken to the armour's clank ! 
 Look down o'er each frowning warrior, 
 How he glares upon the barrier : 
 Look on each step of each ladder, 
 As the stripes that streak an adder. 
 
 3. 
 
 Look upon the bristling wall, 
 Manned without an interval ! 
 Round and round, and tier on tier, 
 Cannon's black mouth, shining spear, 
 Lit match, bell-mouthed musquetoon, 
 Gaping to be murderous soon. 
 All the warlike gear of old, 
 Mixed with what we now behold, 
 In this strife 'twixt old and new, 
 Gather like a locusts' crew. 
 Shade of Remus ! 'Tis a time 
 Awful as thy brother's crime ! 
 Christians war against Christ's shrine : — 
 Must its lot be like to thine ? 
 
 4. 
 
 Near — and near — nearer still, 
 As the earthquake saps the hill, 
 
60 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part ii. 
 
 First with trembling, hollow motion, 
 Like a scarce-awakened ocean, 
 Then with stronger shock and louder, 
 Till the rocks are crushed to powder,— 
 Onward sweeps the rolling host ! 
 Heroes of the immortal boast ! 
 Mighty Chiefs ! Eternal Shadows ! 
 First flowers of the bloody meadows 
 Which encompass Rome, the mother 
 Of a people without brother ! 
 Will you sleep when nations' quarrels 
 Plough the root up of your laurels ? 
 Ye who wept o'er Carthage burning, 
 Weep not — strike! for Rome is mourning!* 
 
 Onward sweep the varied nations ! 
 Famine long hath dealt their rations. 
 To the wall, with Hate and Hunger, 
 Numerous as wolves, and stronger, 
 On they sweep. Oh ! glorious city, 
 Must thou be a theme for pity ! 
 Fight, like your first sire, each Roman ! 
 Alaric was a gentle foeman, 
 Matched with Bourbon's black banditti ! 
 Rouse thee, thou eternal City ! 
 
 * Scipio, the second Africanus, is said to have repeated a verse of 
 Homer and wept o'er the burning of Carthage. He had better have 
 granted it a capitulation. 
 
A DRAMA. 61 
 
 Rouse thee ! Rather give the torch 
 With thy own hand to thy porch, 
 Than behold such hosts pollute 
 Your worst dwelling with their foot. 
 
 6. 
 Ah ! behold yon bleeding Spectre ! 
 Ilion's children find no Hector ; 
 Priam's offspring loved their brother ; 
 Roma's sire forgot his mother, 
 When he slew his gallant twin, 
 With inexpiable sin. 
 See the giant Shadow stride 
 O'er the ramparts high and wide ! 
 When he first o'erleapt thy wall, 
 Its foundation mourned thy fall. 
 Now, though towering like a Babel, 
 Who to stop his steps are able ? 
 Stalking o'er thy highest dome, 
 Remus claims his vengeance, Rome ! 
 
 Now they reach thee in their anger : 
 Fire, and smoke, and hellish clangor 
 Are around thee, thou World's Wonder ! 
 Death is in thy walls and under. 
 Now the meeting steel first clashes ; 
 Downward then the ladder crashes, 
 With its iron load all gleaming, 
 Lying at its foot blaspheming ! 
 
62 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, patvt ir. 
 
 Up again ! for every warrior 
 Slain, another climbs the barrier. 
 Thicker grows the strife : thy ditches 
 Europe's mingling gore enriches. 
 Rome ! Although thy wall may perish, 
 Such manure thy fields will cherish, 
 Making gay the harvest-home ; 
 But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome I— 
 Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish, 
 Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish ! 
 
 Yet once more, ye old Penates ! 
 
 Let not your quenched hearths be Ate's ! 
 
 Yet again, ye shadowy heroes, 
 
 Yield not to these stranger Neros ! 
 
 Though the Son who slew his mother, 
 
 Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother : 
 
 'Twas the Roman curbed the Roman ; — 
 
 Brennus was a baffled foemah. 
 
 Yet again, ye Saints and Martyrs, 
 
 Rise ! for yours are holier charters. 
 
 Mighty Gods of temples falling, 
 
 Yet in ruin still appalling ! 
 
 Mightier founders of those altars, 
 
 True and Christian,— strike the assaulters ! 
 
 Tyber ! Tyber ! let thy torrent 
 
 Show even Nature's self abhorrent. 
 
 Let each breathing heart dilated 
 
 Turn, as doth the lion baited ! 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 63 
 
 Rome be crushed to one wide tomb, 
 But be still the Roman's Rome ! 
 
 Bourbon, Arnold, C^isar, and others, arrive at the 
 foot of the wall. Arnold is about to plant his ladder. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Hold, Arnold ! I am first. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Not so, my Lord. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Hold, sir, I charge you ! Follow ! I am proud 
 Of such a follower, but will brook no leader. 
 
 [Bourbon plants his ladder, and begins to mount. 
 Now, boys ! On ! on ! 
 
 [A shot strikes him, and Bo hub on falls. 
 
 CffiSAR. 
 
 And off! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Eternal Powers ! 
 The host will be appalled. — But vengeance ! vengeance ! 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 'Tis nothing — lend me your hand. 
 
 [Bourbon takes Arnold by the hand and rises ; 
 but as he puts his foot on the step, falls again. 
 bourbon. 
 
 Arnold ! I am sped . 
 Conceal my fall — all will go well — conceal i t ! 
 Fling my cloak o'er what will be dust anon ; 
 Let not the soldiers see it. 
 
64 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part ir. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 You must be 
 Removed ; the aid of — 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 No, my gallant boy ; 
 Death is upon me. But what is one life ? 
 The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still. 
 Keep them yet ignorant that I am but clay, 
 Till they are conquerors — then do as you may. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 Would not your Highness choose to kiss the cross ? 
 We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword 
 May serve instead : — it did the same for Bayard. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Thou bitter slave ! to name him at this time ! 
 But I deserve it. 
 
 ARNOLD (tO CESAR). 
 
 Villain, hold your peace ! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 What, when a Christian dies ? Shall I not offer 
 A Christian " Vade in pace V 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Silence! Oh! 
 Those eyes are glazing, which o'erlooked the world, 
 And saw no equal. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Arnold, should'st thou see 
 France — -^-Buthark! hark! the assault grows warmer— 
 
 Oh! 
 For but an hour, a minute more of life 
 
scene i. A DRAMA. 65 
 
 To die within the wall ! Hence, Arnold, hence ! 
 You lose time— they will conquer Rome without thee. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And without thee ! 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Not so ; I'll lead them still 
 In spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe not 
 That I have ceased to breathe. Away ! and be 
 Victorious \ 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 But I must not leave thee thus. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 You must — rfarewell — Up ! up ! the world is winning. 
 
 [Bourbon dies. 
 
 CESAR (to ARNOLD.) 
 
 Come, Count, to business. 
 
 ARNOLD, 
 
 True. I'll weep hereafter. 
 [Arnold covers Bourbon's body with a mantle, and 
 
 mounts the ladder, crying 
 The Bourbon ! Bourbon ! On boys ! Rome is ours ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Good night, Lord Constable ! thou wert a man. 
 
 [Cesar follows Arnold ; they reach the battlement ; 
 Arnold and Cesar are struck down. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 A precious somerset! Is your Countship injured? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 No. [Remounts the ladder. 
 
66 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part ir. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated ! 
 And 'tis no boy's play. Now he strikes them down I 
 His hand is on the battlement — he grasps it 
 As though it were an altar ; now his foot 
 
 Is on it, and What have we here, a Roman ? 
 
 [J. man falls. 
 The first bird of the covey! he has fallen 
 On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow ? 
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN. 
 
 A drop of water ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Blotfd's the only liquid 
 Nearer than Tiber. 
 
 WOUNDED MAN. 3 
 
 I have died for Rome. [Dies. 
 
 . CJESAR, 
 
 And so did Bourbon, in another sense. 
 Oh these immortal men ! and their great motives ! 
 But I must after my young charge. He is 
 By this time i' the forum. Charge ! charge ! 
 
 [Cesar mounts the ladder ; the scene closes. 
 
A DRAMA. 67 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The City. — Combats between the Besiegers and Besieged in 
 the streets. Inhabitants flying in confusion. 
 
 Enter Cjesar. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 I cannot find my hero; he is mixed 
 
 With the heroic crowd that now pursue 
 
 The fugitives, or battle with the desperate. 
 
 What have we here ? A Cardinal or two 
 
 That do not seem in love with martyrdom. 
 
 How the old red-shanks scamper! Gould they doff 
 
 Their hose as they have doffed their hats, 'twould be 
 
 A blessing, as a mark the less for plunder. 
 
 But let them fly, the crimson kennels now 
 
 Will not much stain their stockings, since the mire 
 
 Is of the self-same purple hue. 
 
 Enter a party fighting — Arnold at the head of the 
 Besiegers. 
 
 He comes, 
 Hand in hand with the mild twins — Gore and Glory. 
 Holla! hold, Count! 
 
68 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part h. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Away! they must not rally. 
 
 C^SAE. 
 
 I tell thee, be not rash ; a golden bridge 
 
 Is for a flying enemy. I gave thee 
 
 A form of beauty, and an 
 
 Exemption from some maladies of body, 
 
 But not of mind, which is not mine to give. 
 
 But though I gave the form of Thetis' son, 
 
 I dipt thee not in Styx ; and 'gainst a foe 
 
 I would not warrant thy chivalric heart 
 
 More than Pelides' heel ; why then, be cautious, 
 
 And know thyself a mortal still. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And who 
 With aught of soul would combat if he were 
 Invulnerable? That were pretty sport. 
 Think'st thou I beat for hares when lions roar ? 
 
 [Arnold rushes into the combat. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 A precious sample of humanity! 
 
 Well, his blood's up, and if a little's shed, 
 
 'Twill serve to curb his fever. 
 
 [Arnold engages with a Roman, who retires 
 towards a portico. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Yield thee, slave ! 
 I promise quarter. 
 
 ROMAN. 
 
 That's soon said. 
 
scene ii. A DRAMA. 69 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And done — 
 My word is known. 
 
 ROMAN. 
 
 So shall be my deeds. 
 [ They re-engage . C m s a r comes forward. ■ 
 
 CMSATL. 
 
 Why, Arnold ! Hold thine own ; thou hast in hand 
 A famous artizan, a cunning Sculptor ; 
 Also a dealer in the sword and dagger. 
 Not so, my musqueteer ; 'twas he who slew 
 The Bourbon from the wall. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 . Aye, did he so ? 
 Then he hath carved his monument. 
 
 ROMAN. 
 
 I yet 
 May live to carve your betters. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 Well said, my man of marble ! Benvenuto, 
 Thou hast some practice in both ways ; and he 
 Who slays Celling rw^4wt«eworked as hard 
 As e'er thou didst upon Carrar^s blocks. 
 [Arn old/ 'disarms and wounds Cellini, but slightly; 
 the latter draws a pistol and Jires ; then retires 
 and disappears through the portico. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 How rarest thou ? Thou hast a tastf, methinks, 
 Of red Bellona's banquet. 
 
 V 
 
70 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part it. 
 
 Arnold (staggers.) , 
 'Tis a scratch. 
 Lend me thy scarf. He shall not 'scape me thus. 
 
 CjESAH. 
 
 Where is it? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 In the shoulder, riot the sword arm — 
 And that's enough. I am thirsty : would I had 
 A helm of water ! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 That's a liquid now 
 In requisition, but by no means easiest 
 To come at. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And my thirst encreases ;— but 
 I'll find a way to quench it. 
 
 CIESAR. 
 
 Or be quenched 
 Thyself? 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 The chance is even ; we will throw 
 The dice thereon. But I lose time in prating; 
 Prithee be quick. [Cjesar binds on the scarf. 
 
 And what do'st thou so idly ? 
 Why dost not strike ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Your old philosophers 
 Beheld mankind, as mere spectators of 
 The Olympic games. When I behold a prize 
 Worth wrestling for, I may be found a Milo. 
 
scene ir. A DRAMA. 71 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 Aye, 'gainst an oak. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 A forest, when it suits me. 
 I combat with a mass, or not at all. 
 Meantime, pursue thy sport as I do mine : 
 Which is just now to gaze, since all these labourers 
 Will reap my harvest gratis. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thou art still 
 A Fiend ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And thou — a man. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Why, such I fain would show me. 
 
 CjESAR. 
 
 True — as men are. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And what is that ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Thou feelest and thou see'st. 
 [Exit Arnold, joining in the combat which still con- 
 tinues between detached parties. The scene closes. 
 
72 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part h. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 St. Peter's. The Interior of the Church. The Pope at 
 the Altar. Priests, fyc. crowding in confusion, and 
 Citizens flying for refuge, pursued by Soldiery. — 
 Enter Cjssar. 
 
 A SPANISH SOLDIER. 
 
 Down with them, comrades ! seize upon those lamps ! 
 Cleave yon bald-pated shaveling to the chine ! 
 His rosary's of gold ! 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 Revenge ! Revenge ! 
 Plunder hereafter, but for vengeance now — 
 Yonder stands Anti-Christ ! 
 
 cjesar (interposing.) 
 
 How now, Schismatic ! 
 What would'st thou ? 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 In the holy name of Christ, 
 Destroy proud Anti-Christ. 1 am a Christian. 
 
 CAESAR. 
 
 Yea, a disciple that would make the Founder 
 
 Of your belief renounce it, could he see 
 
 Such proselytes. Best stint thyself to plunder. 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 I say he is the Devil. 
 
SCENE HI. 
 
 A DRAMA. 73 
 
 C^SAR. 
 
 Hush ! keep that secret, 
 Lest he should recognize you for his own. 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 Why would you save him ? I repeat he is 
 The Devil, or the Devil's Vicar upon Earth. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And that's the reason ; would you make a quarrel 
 With your best friends ? You had far best be quiet ; 
 His hour is not yet come. 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 That shall be seen ! 
 [The Lutheran Soldier rushes forward ; a shot strikes 
 him from one of the Pope's Guards, and he falls 
 at the foot of the Altar. 
 
 CESAR {to the LUTHERAN.) 
 
 I told you so. 
 
 LUTHERAN SOLDIER. 
 
 And will you not avenge me ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Not I ! You know that " Vengeance is the Lord ? s :" 
 You see he loves no interlopers. 
 
 Lutheran {dying.) 
 Oh! 
 Had I but slain him, I had gone on high, 
 Crowned with eternal glory ! Heaven, forgive 
 My feebleness of arm that reached him not, 
 And take thy servant to thy mercy. 'Tis 
 A glorious triumph still ; proud Babylon's 
 No more : the Harlot of the Seven Hills 
 
74 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part m. 
 
 Hath changed her scarlet raiment for sackcloth 
 
 And ashes ! [The Lutheran dies. 
 
 CAESAR. 
 
 Yes, thine own amidst the rest. 
 Well done, old Babel ! 
 
 {The Guards defend themselves desperately, while the 
 Pontiff escapes, by a private passage, to the 
 Vatican and the Castle of St. Angelo. 
 
 C.ESAR. 
 
 Ha ! right nobly battled ! 
 Now, Priest ! now> Soldier ! the two great professions, 
 Together by the ears and hearts ! I have not 
 Seen a more comic pantomime since Titus 
 Took Jewry. But the Romans had the best then ; 
 Now they must take their turn. 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 He hath escaped ! 
 Follow! • " 
 
 ANOTHER SOLDIER. 
 
 They have barred the narrow passage up, 
 And it is clogged with dead even to the door. 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 I am glad he hath escaped : he may thank me for't 
 In part. I would not have his Bulls abolished — 
 'Twere worth one half our empire : his Indulgences 
 Demand some in return ; — no, no, he must not 
 Fall ; — and besides, his now escape may furnish 
 A future miracle, in future proof 
 Of his infallibility. [To the Spanish Soldiery. 
 
 Well, Cut-throats ! 
 What do you pause for ? If you make not haste, 
 
SCENE HI. 
 
 A DRAMA. 75 
 
 There will not be a link of pious gold left. 
 And you too, Catholics ! Would ye return 
 From such a pilgrimage without a relic ? 
 The very Lutherans have more true devotion : 
 See how they strip the shrines ! 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 By holy Peter \ 
 He speaks the truth; the heretics will bear 
 The best away. 
 
 C3ESAR. 
 
 And that were shame ! Go to ! 
 Assist in their conversion. 
 [The Soldiers disperse; many quit the Church, others enter. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 They are gone, 
 And others come : so flows the wave on wave 
 Of what these creatures call eternity, 
 Deeming themselves the breakers of the ocean, 
 While they are but its bubbles, ignorant 
 That foam is their foundation. So, another ! 
 
 Enter Olimpia, flying from the pursuit — She spring* 
 upon the Altar. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 She's mine. 
 
 another soldier -(opposing the former.) 
 
 You lie, I tracked her first ; and, were she 
 The Pope's niece, I'll not yield her. [They fight. 
 
 third soldier (advancing towards olimpia.) 
 
 You may settle 
 
76 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part u 
 
 Your claims ; I'll make mine good. 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 Infernal slave ! 
 You touch me not alive. 
 
 THIRD SOLDIER. 
 
 Alive or dead ! 
 olimpia (embracing a massive crucifix.) 
 Respect your God ! 
 
 THIRD SOLDIER. 
 
 Yes, when he shines in gold. 
 Girl, you but grasp your dowry. 
 
 [As he advances, Olimpia, with a strong mid 
 sudden effort, casts down the crucifix; it 
 strikes the Soldier, who falls. 
 
 THIRD SOLDIER. 
 
 Oh, great God ! 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 Ah ! now you recognize him. 
 
 THIRD SOLDIER. 
 
 My brain's crushed ! 
 Comrades, help ho ! All's darkness ! [He dies. 
 
 other soldiers {coming up.) 
 Slay her, although she had a thousand lives : 
 She hath killed our comrade. 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 Welcome such a death ! 
 You have no life to give, which the worst slave 
 Would take. Great God! through thy redeeming Son, 
 And thy Son's Mother, now receive me as 
 I would approach thee, worthy her, and him, and thee ! 
 
scene m. A DRAMA. 77 
 
 Enter Arnold. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 What do I see ? Accursed Jackalls ! 
 Forbear ! 
 
 cjesar (aside, and laughing.) 
 Ha ! ha ! here's equity ! The dogs 
 Have as much right as he. But to the issue ! 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 Count, she hath slain our comrade. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 With what weapon ? 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 The cross, beneath which he is crushed ; behold him 
 Lie there, more like a worm than man ; she cast it 
 Upon his head. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Even so ; there is a woman 
 Worthy a brave man's liking. Were ye such, 
 Ye would have honoured her. But get ye hence, 
 And thank your meanness, other God you have none, 
 For your existence. Had you touched a hair 
 Of those dishevelled locks, I would have thinned 
 Your ranks more than the enemy. Away! 
 Ye Jackalls ! gnaw the bones the lion leaves, 
 But not even these till he permits. 
 
 a soldier (murmuring.) 
 
 The Lion 
 Might conquer for himself then. 
 
 Arnold (cuts him down.) 
 
 Mutineer ! 
 
78 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part n. 
 
 Rebel in Hell — you shall obey on earth ! 
 
 [The Soldiers assault Arnold. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Come on ! I'm glad on't ! I will show you, slaves, 
 How you should be commanded, and who led you 
 First o'er the wall you were as shy to scale, 
 Until I waved my banners from it's height, 
 As you are bold within it. 
 
 [Arnold mows down the foremost; the rest 
 throw down their amis. 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 Mercy! mercy! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Then learn to grant it. Have I taught you who 
 Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements ? 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 We saw it, and we know it ; yet forgive 
 A moment's error in the heat of conquest — 
 The conquest which you led to. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Get you hence ! 
 Hence to your quarters ! you will find them fixed 
 In the Colonna palace. 
 
 oLiMPiA (aside). 
 In my Father's 
 House ! 
 
 Arnold (to the Soldiers). 
 Leave your arms ; ye have no further need 
 Of such : the City's rendered. And mark well 
 You keep your hands clean, Or I'll find out a stream, 
 As red as Tyber now runs, for your baptism. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 A DRAMA. 79 
 
 soldiers (deposing their arms and departing.) 
 We obey! 
 
 ARNOLD (to OLIMPIA). 
 
 Lady ! you are safe. 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 I should be so, 
 Had I a knife even ; but it matters not — 
 Death hath a thousand gates ; and on the marble, 
 Even at the altar foot, whence I look down 
 Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed, 
 Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man! ' 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 I wish to merit his forgiveness, and 
 
 Thine own, although I have not injured thee, 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 No ! Thou hast only sacked my native land, — 
 No injury ! — and made my father's house 
 A den of thieves — No injury! — this temple — 
 Slippery with Roman and holy gore. . 
 No injury ! And now thou would preserve me, 
 To be — but that shall never be ! 
 
 [She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her, 
 and prepares to dash herself down on the side of 
 the Altar opposite to that where ^.rnold stands. 
 
 .. ARNOLD. 
 
 Hold! hold! 
 I swear. 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 Spare thine already forfeit soul 
 
 A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee. 
 
 I know thee. 
 
80 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part ii. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 No, thou know'st me not ; I am not 
 Of these men, though — 
 
 OLIMPIA. 
 
 I judge thee by thy mates ; 
 It is for God to judge thee as thou art. 
 I see thee purple with the blood of Rome ; 
 Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shalt have of me ! 
 And here, upon the marble of this temple, 
 Where the baptismal font baptised me God's, 
 I offer him a blood less holy 
 But not less pure (pure as it left me then, 
 A redeemed infant) than the holy water 
 The Saints have sanctified ! 
 
 [Olimpia waves her hand to Arnold with disdain, 
 and dashes herself on the pavement from the Altar. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Eternal God ! 
 I feel thee now ! Help ! help ! She's gone. 
 C.PESAR {approaches.) 
 
 I am here. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thou ! but oh, save her ! 
 
 CiESAR (assisting him to raise olimpia.) 
 She hath done it well ; 
 The leap was serious. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Oh ! she is lifeless ! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 If 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 A DRAMA. 81 
 
 She be so, I have nought to do with that : 
 The resurrection is beyond me. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Slave ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Aye, slave or master, 'tis all one : methinks 
 Good words however are as well at times. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Words ! — Canst thou aid her? 
 
 CffiSAR. 
 
 I will try. A sprinkling 
 Of that same holy water may be useful. 
 
 [He brings some in his helmet from the font. 
 
 ARNOLD. . 
 
 'Tis mixed with blood. 
 
 There is no cleaner now 
 In Rome. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 How pale ! how beautiful ! how lifeless ! 
 Alive or dead, thou essence of all beauty, 
 I love but thee ! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 Even so Achilles loved 
 Penthesilea ; with his form it seems 
 You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 She breathes ! But no, 'twas nothing, or the last 
 Faint flutter life disputes with death. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 She breathes. 
 
82 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part ii. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thou say'st it ? Then 'tis truth. 
 
 C^SSAR. 
 
 You do me right — 
 The Devil speaks truth much oftener than he's deemed : 
 He hath an ignorant audience. 
 
 Arnold {without attending to him.) 
 
 Yes ! her heart beats. 
 Alas ! that the first beat of the only heart 
 I ever wished to beat with mine, should vibrate 
 To an assassin's pulse. 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 A sage reflexion, 
 But somewhat late i'the day. Where shall we bear her ? 
 I say she lives. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 And will she live ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 As much 
 As dust can. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Then she is dead ! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 Bah ! bah ! You are so, 
 And do not know it. She will come to life — 
 Such as you think so, such as you now are ; 
 But we must work by human means. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 We will 
 Convey her unto the Colonna palace, 
 Where I have pitched my banner. 
 
scene mi. A DRAMA; 83 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 Come then ! raise her up ! 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Softly ! 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 As softly as they bear the dead, 
 Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 But doth she live indeed ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Nay, never fear ! 
 But, if you rue it after, blame not me. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Let her but live ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 The spirit of her life 
 Is yet within her breast, and may revive. 
 Count ! Count ! I am your servant in all things, 
 And this is a new office : — 'tis not oft 
 I am employed in such ; but you perceive 
 How stanch a friend is what you call a fiend. 
 On earth you have often only fiends for friends ; 
 Now I desert not mine. Soft ! bear her hence, 
 The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit ! 
 I am almost enamoured of her, as 
 Of old the Angels of her earliest sex. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Thou! 
 
 CJESAR. 
 
 I. But fear not. I'll not be your rival. 
 
84 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part n. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Rival ! 
 
 CffiSAR. 
 
 I could be one right formidable ; 
 But since I slew the seven husbands of 
 Tobias' future bride (and after all 
 'Twas sucked out by some incense) I have laid 
 Aside intrigue : 'tis rarely worth the trouble 
 Of gaining, or — what is more difficult — 
 Getting rid of your prize again ; for there's 
 The rub ! at least to mortals. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Prithee, peace ! 
 Softly ! methinks her lips move, her eyes open ! 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Like stars, no doubt ; for that's a metaphor 
 For Lucifer and Venus. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 To the palace 
 Colonna, as I told you ! 
 
 C-ffiSAR. 
 
 Oh ! I know 
 My way through Rome. 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 Now onward, onward ! Gently ! 
 [Exeunt, bearing Olimpia. — The Scene closes. 
 
 END OF PART SECOND 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 A DRAMA. 85 
 
 PART III. SCENE I. 
 
 A Castle in the Apennines, surrounded by a wild but 
 smiling country. Chorus of Peasants singing before 
 the Gates. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 ]. 
 
 The wars are over, 
 
 The spring is come ; 
 The bride and her lover 
 Have sought their home : 
 They are happy, we rejoice ; 
 Let their hearts have an echo in every voice ! 
 
 2. 
 
 The spring is come ; the violet's gone, 
 The first-born child of the early sun ; 
 With us she is but a winter's flower, 
 The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower, 
 And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue 
 To the youngest sky of the self-same hue. 
 
86 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, part hi. 
 
 3. 
 
 And when the spring comes with her host 
 Of flowers, that flower beloved the most 
 Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse 
 Her heavenly odour and virgin hues. 
 
 4. 
 
 Pluck the others, but still remember 
 
 Their Herald out of dim December — 
 
 The morning star of all the flowers, 
 
 The pledge of day-light's lengthened hours ; 
 
 Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget 
 
 The virgin, virgin Violet. 
 
 Enter Caesar. 
 
 cassAE (singing). 
 The wars are all over, 
 
 Our swords are all idle, 
 
 The steed bites the bridle, 
 The casque's on the wall. 
 There's rest for the Rover ; 
 
 But his armour is rusty, 
 
 And the veteran grows crusty, 
 As he yawns in the hall. 
 He drinks — but what's drinking ? 
 A mere pause from thinking ! 
 No bugle awakes him with life-and-death-call. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But the hound bayeth loudly, 
 The Boar's in the wood, 
 
A DRAMA. 87 
 
 And the Falcon longs proudly 
 
 To spring from her hood : 
 On the wrist of the Noble 
 
 She sits like a crest, 
 And the air is in trouble 
 
 With birds from their nest. 
 
 CMSAB.. 
 
 Oh ! Shadow of glory ! 
 
 Dim image of war ! 
 But the chace hath no story, 
 
 Her hero no star, 
 Since Nimrod, the Founder 
 
 Of empire and chace, 
 Who made the woods wonder 
 
 And quake for their race. 
 When the Lion was young, 
 
 In the pride of his might, 
 Then 'twas sport for the strong 
 
 To embrace him in fight ; 
 To go forth, with a pine 
 
 For a spear, 'gainst the Mammoth, 
 Or strike through the ravine 
 
 At the foaming Behemoth ; 
 While man was in stature 
 
 As towers in our time, 
 The first born of nature, 
 
 And, like her, sublime ! 
 
88 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. part hi. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But the wars are over, 
 The spring is come ; 
 The bride and her lover 
 Have sought their home ; 
 They are happy, and we rejoice ; 
 Let their hearts have an echo from every voice ! 
 
 [Exeunt the Peasantry, singing. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY C. H. REYNEIX, RROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.