SCENE III.—The summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

The Moon is rising broad, and round, and bright; And here on snows, where never human foot[139] Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread, And leave no traces: o'er the savage sea, The glassy ocean of the mountain ice, We skim its rugged breakers, which put on The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, Frozen in a moment[140]—a dead Whirlpool's image: And this most steep fantastic pinnacle, The fretwork of some earthquake—where the clouds 10 Pause to repose themselves in passing by— Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils; Here do I wait my sisters, on our way To the Hall of Arimanes—for to-night Is our great festival[141]—'tis strange they come not.

A Voice without, singing.

The Captive Usurper, Hurled down from the throne, Lay buried in torpor, Forgotten and lone; I broke through his slumbers, 20 I shivered his chain, I leagued him with numbers— He's Tyrant again! With the blood of a million he'll answer my care, With a Nation's destruction—his flight and despair![142]

Second Voice, without.

The Ship sailed on, the Ship sailed fast, But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast; There is not a plank of the hull or the deck, And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck; Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair, 30 And he was a subject well worthy my care; A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea—[143] But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me!

FIRST DESTINY, answering.

The City lies sleeping; The morn, to deplore it, May dawn on it weeping: Sullenly, slowly, The black plague flew o'er it— Thousands lie lowly; Tens of thousands shall perish; 40 The living shall fly from The sick they should cherish; But nothing can vanquish The touch that they die from. Sorrow and anguish, And evil and dread, Envelope a nation; The blest are the dead, Who see not the sight Of their own desolation; 50 This work of a night— This wreck of a realm—this deed of my doing— For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing!

Enter the SECOND and THIRD DESTINIES.

The Three.

Our hands contain the hearts of men, Our footsteps are their graves; We only give to take again The Spirits of our slaves!

First Des. Welcome!—Where's Nemesis?

Second Des. At some great work; But what I know not, for my hands were full.

Third Des. Behold she cometh.

Enter NEMESIS.

First Des. Say, where hast thou been? 60 My Sisters and thyself are slow to-night.

Nem. I was detained repairing shattered thrones— Marrying fools, restoring dynasties— Avenging men upon their enemies, And making them repent their own revenge; Goading the wise to madness; from the dull Shaping out oracles to rule the world Afresh—for they were waxing out of date, And mortals dared to ponder for themselves, To weigh kings in the balance—and to speak 70 Of Freedom, the forbidden fruit.—Away! We have outstayed the hour—mount we our clouds! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—The Hall of Arimanes.[144]—Arimanes on his Throne, a Globe of Fire,[145] surrounded by the Spirits.

Hymn of the SPIRITS.

Hail to our Master!—Prince of Earth and Air! Who walks the clouds and waters—in his hand The sceptre of the Elements, which tear Themselves to chaos at his high command! He breatheth—and a tempest shakes the sea; He speaketh—and the clouds reply in thunder; He gazeth—from his glance the sunbeams flee; He moveth—Earthquakes rend the world asunder. Beneath his footsteps the Volcanoes rise; His shadow is the Pestilence: his path 10 The comets herald through the crackling skies;[bb] And Planets turn to ashes at his wrath. To him War offers daily sacrifice; To him Death pays his tribute; Life is his, With all its Infinite of agonies— And his the Spirit of whatever is!

Enter the DESTINIES and NEMESIS.

First Des. Glory to Arimanes! on the earth His power increaseth—both my sisters did His bidding, nor did I neglect my duty!

Second Des. Glory to Arimanes! we who bow 20 The necks of men, bow down before his throne!

Third Des. Glory to Arimanes! we await His nod!

Nem. Sovereign of Sovereigns! we are thine, And all that liveth, more or less, is ours, And most things wholly so; still to increase Our power, increasing thine, demands our care, And we are vigilant. Thy late commands Have been fulfilled to the utmost.

Enter MANFRED.

A Spirit. What is here? A mortal!—Thou most rash and fatal wretch, Bow down and worship!

Second Spirit. I do know the man— 30 A Magian of great power, and fearful skill!

Third Spirit. Bow down and worship, slave!—What, know'st thou not Thine and our Sovereign?—Tremble, and obey!

All the Spirits. Prostrate thyself, and thy condemned clay, Child of the Earth! or dread the worst.

Man. I know it; And yet ye see I kneel not.

Fourth Spirit. 'Twill be taught thee.

Man. 'Tis taught already;—many a night on the earth, On the bare ground, have I bowed down my face, And strewed my head with ashes; I have known The fulness of humiliation—for 40 I sunk before my vain despair, and knelt To my own desolation.

Fifth Spirit. Dost thou dare Refuse to Arimanes on his throne What the whole earth accords, beholding not The terror of his Glory?—Crouch! I say.

Man. Bid him bow down to that which is above him, The overruling Infinite—the Maker Who made him not for worship—let him kneel, And we will kneel together.

The Spirits. Crush the worm! Tear him in pieces!—

First Des. Hence! Avaunt!—he's mine. 50 Prince of the Powers invisible! This man Is of no common order, as his port And presence here denote: his sufferings Have been of an immortal nature—like Our own; his knowledge, and his powers and will, As far as is compatible with clay, Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been such As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth, And they have only taught him what we know— 60 That knowledge is not happiness, and science[146] But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance. This is not all—the passions, attributes Of Earth and Heaven, from which no power, nor being, Nor breath from the worm upwards is exempt, Have pierced his heart; and in their consequence Made him a thing—which—I who pity not, Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine— And thine it may be; be it so, or not— 70 No other Spirit in this region hath A soul like his—or power upon his soul.

Nem. What doth he here then?

First Des. Let him answer that.

Man. Ye know what I have known; and without power I could not be amongst ye: but there are Powers deeper still beyond—I come in quest Of such, to answer unto what I seek.

Nem. What would'st thou?

Man. Thou canst not reply to me. Call up the dead—my question is for them.

Nem. Great Arimanes, doth thy will avouch 80 The wishes of this mortal?

Ari. Yea.

Nem. Whom wouldst thou Uncharnel?

Man. One without a tomb—call up Astarte.[147]

NEMESIS.

Shadow! or Spirit! Whatever thou art, Which still doth inherit[bc] The whole or a part Of the form of thy birth, Of the mould of thy clay, Which returned to the earth, 90 Re-appear to the day! Bear what thou borest, The heart and the form, And the aspect thou worest Redeem from the worm. Appear!—Appear!—Appear! Who sent thee there requires thee here!

[The Phantom of ASTARTE rises and stands in the midst.

Man. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her cheek; But now I see it is no living hue, But a strange hectic—like the unnatural red 100 Which Autumn plants upon the perished leaf.[148] It is the same! Oh, God! that I should dread To look upon the same—Astarte!—No, I cannot speak to her—but bid her speak— Forgive me or condemn me.

NEMESIS.

By the Power which hath broken The grave which enthralled thee, Speak to him who hath spoken. Or those who have called thee!

Man. She is silent, And in that silence I am more than answered. 110

Nem. My power extends no further. Prince of Air! It rests with thee alone—command her voice.

Ari. Spirit—obey this sceptre!

Nem. Silent still! She is not of our order, but belongs To the other powers. Mortal! thy quest is vain, And we are baffled also.

Man. Hear me, hear me— Astarte! my beloved! speak to me: I have so much endured—so much endure— Look on me! the grave hath not changed thee more Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me 120 Too much, as I loved thee: we were not made To torture thus each other—though it were The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. Say that thou loath'st me not—that I do bear This punishment for both—that thou wilt be One of the blessed—and that I shall die; For hitherto all hateful things conspire To bind me in existence—in a life Which makes me shrink from Immortality— A future like the past. I cannot rest. 130 I know not what I ask, nor what I seek: I feel but what thou art, and what I am; And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music—Speak to me! For I have called on thee in the still night, Startled the slumbering birds from the hushed boughs, And woke the mountain wolves, and made the caves Acquainted with thy vainly echoed name, Which answered me—many things answered me— Spirits and men—but thou wert silent all. 140 Yet speak to me! I have outwatched the stars, And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee. Speak to me! I have wandered o'er the earth, And never found thy likeness—Speak to me! Look on the fiends around—they feel for me: I fear them not, and feel for thee alone. Speak to me! though it be in wrath;—but say— I reck not what—but let me hear thee once— This once—once more!

Phantom of Astarte. Manfred!

Man. Say on, say on— I live but in the sound—it is thy voice! 150

Phan. Manfred! To-morrow ends thine earthly ills. Farewell!

Man. Yet one word more—am I forgiven?

Phan. Farewell!

Man. Say, shall we meet again?

Phan. Farewell!

Man. One word for mercy! Say thou lovest me.

Phan. Manfred!

[The Spirit of ASTARTE disappears.

Nem. She's gone, and will not be recalled: Her words will be fulfilled. Return to the earth.

A Spirit. He is convulsed—This is to be a mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

Another Spirit. Yet, see, he mastereth himself, and makes His torture tributary to his will.[149] 160 Had he been one of us, he would have made An awful Spirit.

Nem. Hast thou further question Of our great Sovereign, or his worshippers?

Man. None.

Nem. Then for a time farewell.

Man. We meet then! Where? On the earth?— Even as thou wilt: and for the grace accorded I now depart a debtor. Fare ye well! [Exit MANFRED.

(Scene closes.)



ACT III.

SCENE I.—A Hall in the Castle of Manfred.[150]

MANFRED and HERMAN.

Man. What is the hour?

Her. It wants but one till sunset, And promises a lovely twilight.

Man. Say, Are all things so disposed of in the tower As I directed?

Her. All, my Lord, are ready: Here is the key and casket.[151]

Man. It is well: Thou mayst retire. [Exit HERMAN.

Man. (alone). There is a calm upon me— Inexplicable stillness! which till now Did not belong to what I knew of life. If that I did not know Philosophy To be of all our vanities the motliest, 10 The merest word that ever fooled the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought "Kalon," found,[152] And seated in my soul. It will not last, But it is well to have known it, though but once: It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, And I within my tablets would note down That there is such a feeling. Who is there?

Re-enter HERMAN.

Her. My Lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves[153] To greet your presence.

Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.

Abbot. Peace be with Count Manfred! 20

Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those Who dwell within them.

Abbot. Would it were so, Count!— But I would fain confer with thee alone.

Man. Herman, retire.—What would my reverend guest?

Abbot. Thus, without prelude:—Age and zeal—my office— And good intent must plead my privilege; Our near, though not acquainted neighbourhood, May also be my herald. Rumours strange, And of unholy nature, are abroad, 30 And busy with thy name—a noble name For centuries: may he who bears it now Transmit it unimpaired!

Man. Proceed,—I listen.

Abbot. 'Tis said thou holdest converse with the things Which are forbidden to the search of man; That with the dwellers of the dark abodes, The many evil and unheavenly spirits Which walk the valley of the Shade of Death, Thou communest. I know that with mankind, Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely 40 Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude Is as an Anchorite's—were it but holy.

Man. And what are they who do avouch these things?

Abbot. My pious brethren—the scared peasantry— Even thy own vassals—who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril!

Man. Take it.

Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy: I would not pry into thy secret soul; But if these things be sooth, there still is time For penitence and pity: reconcile thee 50 With the true church, and through the church to Heaven.

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply—whate'er I may have been, or am, doth rest between Heaven and myself—I shall not choose a mortal To be my mediator—Have I sinned Against your ordinances? prove and punish![154]

Abbot. My son! I did not speak of punishment,[155] But penitence and pardon;—with thyself The choice of such remains—and for the last, Our institutions and our strong belief 60 Have given me power to smooth the path from sin To higher hope and better thoughts; the first I leave to Heaven,—"Vengeance is mine alone!" So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness His servant echoes back the awful word.

Man. Old man! there is no power in holy men, Nor charm in prayer, nor purifying form Of penitence, nor outward look, nor fast, Nor agony—nor, greater than all these, The innate tortures of that deep Despair, 70 Which is Remorse without the fear of Hell, But all in all sufficient to itself Would make a hell of Heaven—can exorcise From out the unbounded spirit the quick sense Of its own sins—wrongs—sufferance—and revenge Upon itself; there is no future pang Can deal that justice on the self—condemned He deals on his own soul.

Abbot. All this is well; For this will pass away, and be succeeded By an auspicious hope, which shall look up 80 With calm assurafice to that blessed place, Which all who seek may win, whatever be Their earthly errors, so they be atoned: And the commencement of atonement is The sense of its necessity. Say on— And all our church can teach thee shall be taught; And all we can absolve thee shall be pardoned.

Man. When Rome's sixth Emperor[156] was near his last, The victim of a self-inflicted wound, To shun the torments of a public death[bd] 90 From senates once his slaves, a certain soldier, With show of loyal pity, would have stanched The gushing throat with his officious robe; The dying Roman thrust him back, and said— Some empire still in his expiring glance— "It is too late—is this fidelity?"

Abbot. And what of this?

Man. I answer with the Roman— "It is too late!"

Abbot. It never can be so, To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no hope? 100 'Tis strange—even those who do despair above, Yet shape themselves some fantasy on earth, To which frail twig they cling, like drowning men.

Man. Aye—father! I have had those early visions, And noble aspirations in my youth, To make my own the mind of other men, The enlightener of nations; and to rise I knew not whither—it might be to fall; But fall, even as the mountain-cataract, Which having leapt from its more dazzling height, 110 Even in the foaming strength of its abyss, (Which casts up misty columns that become Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,)[157] Lies low but mighty still.—But this is past, My thoughts mistook themselves.

Abbot. And wherefore so?

Man.I could not tame my nature down; for he Must serve who fain would sway; and soothe, and sue, And watch all time, and pry into all place, And be a living Lie, who would become A mighty thing amongst the mean—and such 120 The mass are; I disdained to mingle with A herd, though to be leader—and of wolves, The lion is alone, and so am I.

Abbot. And why not live and act with other men?

Man. Because my nature was averse from life; And yet not cruel; for I would not make, But find a desolation. Like the Wind, The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,[158] Which dwells but in the desert, and sweeps o'er The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast, 130 And revels o'er their wild and arid waves, And seeketh not, so that it is not sought, But being met is deadly,—such hath been The course of my existence; but there came Things in my path which are no more.

Abbot. Alas! I 'gin to fear that thou art past all aid From me and from my calling; yet so young, I still would——

Man. Look on me! there is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,[159] 140 Without the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure—some of study— Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,— Some of disease—and some insanity— And some of withered, or of broken hearts; For this last is a malady which slays More than are numbered in the lists of Fate, Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. Look upon me! for even of all these things Have I partaken; and of all these things, 150 One were enough; then wonder not that I Am what I am, but that I ever was, Or having been, that I am still on earth.

Abbot. Yet, hear me still—

Man. Old man! I do respect Thine order, and revere thine years; I deem Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain: Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself, Far more than me, in shunning at this time All further colloquy—and so—farewell. [Exit MANFRED.

Abbot. This should have been a noble creature: he 160 Hath all the energy which would have made A goodly frame of glorious elements, Had they been wisely mingled; as it is, It is an awful chaos—Light and Darkness— And mind and dust—and passions and pure thoughts Mixed, and contending without end or order,— All dormant or destructive. He will perish— And yet he must not—I will try once more, For such are worth redemption; and my duty Is to dare all things for a righteous end. 170 I'll follow him—but cautiously, though surely. [Exit ABBOT.

SCENE II.—Another Chamber.

MANFRED and HERMAN.

Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: He sinks behind the mountain.

Man. Doth he so? I will look on him. [MANFRED advances to the Window of the Hall. Glorious Orb! the idol[160] Of early nature, and the vigorous race Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons[161] Of the embrace of Angels, with a sex More beautiful than they, which did draw down The erring Spirits who can ne'er return.— Most glorious Orb! that wert a worship, ere The mystery of thy making was revealed! 10 Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladdened, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they poured[162] Themselves in orisons! Thou material God! And representative of the Unknown— Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief Star! Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth Endurable and temperest the hues And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes, 20 And those who dwell in them! for near or far, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee Even as our outward aspects;—thou dost rise, And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well! I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance Of love and wonder was for thee, then take My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been Of a more fatal nature. He is gone— I follow. [Exit MANFRED.

SCENE III.—The Mountains—The Castle of Manfred at some distance—A Terrace before a Tower.—Time, Twilight.

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other dependants of MANFRED.

Her. 'Tis strange enough! night after night, for years, He hath pursued long vigils in this tower, Without a witness. I have been within it,— So have we all been oft-times; but from it, Or its contents, it were impossible To draw conclusions absolute, of aught His studies tend to. To be sure, there is One chamber where none enter: I would give The fee of what I have to come these three years, To pore upon its mysteries.

Manuel. 'Twere dangerous; 10 Content thyself with what thou know'st already.

Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise, And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the castle— How many years is't?

Manuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth, I served his father, whom he nought resembles.

Her. There be more sons in like predicament! But wherein do they differ?

Manuel. I speak not Of features or of form, but mind and habits; Count Sigismund was proud, but gay and free,— A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not 20 With books and solitude, nor made the night A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside From men and their delights.

Her. Beshrew the hour, But those were jocund times! I would that such Would visit the old walls again; they look As if they had forgotten them.

Manuel. These walls Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen Some strange things in them, Herman.[be]

Her. Come, be friendly; 30 Relate me some to while away our watch: I've heard thee darkly speak of an event Which happened hereabouts, by this same tower.

Manuel. That was a night indeed! I do remember 'Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such Another evening:—yon red cloud, which rests On Eigher's pinnacle,[163] so rested then,— So like that it might be the same; the wind Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows Began to glitter with the climbing moon; 40 Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower,— How occupied, we knew not, but with him The sole companion of his wanderings And watchings—her, whom of all earthly things That lived, the only thing he seemed to love,— As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, The Lady Astarte, his——[164] Hush! who comes here?

Enter the ABBOT.

Abbot. Where is your master?

Her. Yonder in the tower.

Abbot. I must speak with him.

Manuel. 'Tis impossible; He is most private, and must not be thus 50 Intruded on.

Abbot. Upon myself I take The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be— But I must see him.

Her. Thou hast seen him once his eve already.

Abbot. Herman! I command thee,[bf] Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach.

Her. We dare not.

Abbot. Then it seems I must be herald Of my own purpose.

Manuel. Reverend father, stop— I pray you pause.

Abbot. Why so?

Manuel. But step this way, And I will tell you further. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—Interior of the Tower.

MANFRED alone.

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains.—Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the Night[165] Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering,—upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall,[166] 10 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and More near from out the Caesars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,[167] Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind.[168] Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 20 Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood Within a bowshot. Where the Caesar's dwelt, And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst A grove which springs through levelled battlements, And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection, While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.— 30 And thou didst shine, thou rolling Moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which softened down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not—till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the Great of old,— The dead, but sceptred, Sovereigns, who still rule 40 Our spirits from their urns. 'Twas such a night! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight Even at the moment when they should array Themselves in pensive order.

Enter the ABBOT.

Abbot. My good Lord! I crave a second grace for this approach; But yet let not my humble zeal offend By its abruptness—all it hath of ill Recoils on me; its good in the effect May light upon your head—could I say heart— 50 Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Recall a noble spirit which hath wandered, But is not yet all lost.

Man. Thou know'st me not; My days are numbered, and my deeds recorded: Retire, or 'twill be dangerous—Away!

Abbot. Thou dost not mean to menace me?

Man. Not I! I simply tell thee peril is at hand, And would preserve thee.

Abbot. What dost thou mean?

Man. Look there! What dost thou see?

Abbot. Nothing.

Man. Look there, I say, And steadfastly;—now tell me what thou seest? 60

Abbot. That which should shake me,—but I fear it not: I see a dusk and awful figure rise, Like an infernal god, from out the earth; His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form Robed as with angry clouds: he stands between Thyself and me—but I do fear him not.

Man. Thou hast no cause—he shall not harm thee—but His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. I say to thee—Retire!

Abbot. And I reply— Never—till I have battled with this fiend:— 70 What doth he here?

Man. Why—aye—what doth he here? I did not send for him,—he is unbidden.

Abbot. Alas! lost Mortal! what with guests like these Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake: Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him? Ah! he unveils his aspect: on his brow The thunder-scars are graven; from his eye[169] Glares forth the immortality of Hell— Avaunt!—

Man. Pronounce—what is thy mission?

Spirit. Come!

Abbot. What art thou, unknown being? answer!—speak! 80

Spirit. The genius of this mortal.—Come!'tis time.

Man. I am prepared for all things, but deny The Power which summons me. Who sent thee here?

Spirit. Thou'lt know anon—Come! come!

Man. I have commanded Things of an essence greater far than thine, And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence!

Spirit. Mortal! thine hour is come—Away! I say.

Man. I knew, and know my hour is come, but not To render up my soul to such as thee: Away! I'll die as I have lived—alone. 90

Spirit. Then I must summon up my brethren.—Rise![bg] [Other Spirits rise.

Abbot. Avaunt! ye evil ones!—Avaunt! I say,— Ye have no power where Piety hath power, And I do charge ye in the name—

Spirit. Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; Waste not thy holy words on idle uses, It were in vain: this man is forfeited. Once more—I summon him—Away! Away!

Man. I do defy ye,—though I feel my soul Is ebbing from me, yet I do defy ye; 100 Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath To breathe my scorn upon ye—earthly strength To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye take Shall be ta'en limb by limb.

Spirit. Reluctant mortal! Is this the Magian who would so pervade The world invisible, and make himself Almost our equal? Can it be that thou Art thus in love with life? the very life Which made thee wretched?

Man. Thou false fiend, thou liest! My life is in its last hour,—that I know, 110 Nor would redeem a moment of that hour; I do not combat against Death, but thee And thy surrounding angels; my past power Was purchased by no compact with thy crew, But by superior science—penance, daring, And length of watching, strength of mind, and skill In knowledge of our Fathers—when the earth Saw men and spirits walking side by side, And gave ye no supremacy: I stand Upon my strength—I do defy—deny— 120 Spurn back, and scorn ye!—

Spirit. But thy many crimes Have made thee—

Man. What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punished but by other crimes, And greater criminals?—Back to thy hell! Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel; Thou never shalt possess me, that I know: What I have done is done; I bear within A torture which could nothing gain from thine: The Mind which is immortal makes itself Requital for its good or evil thoughts,— 130 Is its own origin of ill and end— And its own place and time:[170] its innate sense, When stripped of this mortality, derives No colour from the fleeting things without, But is absorbed in sufferance or in joy, Born from the knowledge of its own desert. Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me; I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey— But was my own destroyer, and will be My own hereafter.—Back, ye baffled fiends! 140 The hand of Death is on me—but not yours! [The Demons disappear.

Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art—thy lips are white— And thy breast heaves—and in thy gasping throat The accents rattle: Give thy prayers to Heaven— Pray—albeit but in thought,—but die not thus.

Man. 'Tis over—my dull eyes can fix thee not; But all things swim around me, and the earth Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee well— Give me thy hand.

Abbot. Cold—cold—even to the heart— But yet one prayer—Alas! how fares it with thee? 150

Man. Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.[171] [MANFRED expires.

Abbot. He's gone—his soul hath ta'en its earthless flight; Whither? I dread to think—but he is gone.[172]

FOOTNOTES:

[106] {86}[The MS. of Manfred, now in Mr. Murray's possession, is in Lord Byron's handwriting. A note is prefixed: "The scene of the drama is amongst the higher Alps, partly in the Castle of Manfred, and partly in the mountains." The date, March 18, 1817, is in John Murray's handwriting.]

[107] [So, too, Faust is discovered "in a high—vaulted narrow Gothic chamber."]

[108] [Compare Faust, act i. sc. 1—

"Alas! I have explored Philosophy, and Law, and Medicine, And over deep Divinity have pored, Studying with ardent and laborious zeal."

Anster's Faust, 1883, p. 88.]

[ap] {86}

Eternal Agency! Ye spirits of the immortal Universe!—[MS. M.]

[aq] Of inaccessible mountains are the haunts.—[MS. M.]

[109] [Faust contemplates the sign of the macrocosm, and makes use of the sign of the Spirit of the Earth. Manfred's written charm may have been "Abraxas," which comprehended the Greek numerals 365, and expressed the all-pervading spirits of the Universe.]

[110] [The Prince of the Spirits is Arimanes, vide post, act ii. sc. 4, line 1, seq.]

[111] {87}[Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxxxiii. lines 8, 9.]

[ar] Which is fit for my pavilion.—[MS. M.]

[as] Or makes its ice delay.—[MS. M.]

[112] {89}[Compare "Creatures of clay, I receive you into mine empire."—Vathek, 1887, p. 179.]

[at] {90}The Mind which is my Spirit—the high Soul.—[MS. erased.]

[au] Answer—or I will teach ye.—[MS. M.]

[113] [So the MS., in which the word "say" clearly forms part of the Spirit's speech.]

[114] {91}[Compare "Stanzas for Music," i. 3, Poetical Works, 1900, iii 435.]

[115] [It is evident that the female figure is not that of Astarte, but of the subject of the "Incantation."]

[116] [The italics are not indicated in the MS.]

[117] N.B.—Here follows the "Incantation," which being already transcribed and (I suppose) published I do not transcribe again at present, because you can insert it in MS. here—as it belongs to this place: with its conclusion the 1st Scene closes.

[The "Incantation" was first published in "The Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems. London: Printed for John Murray, Albemarle Street, 1816." Immediately below the title is a note: "The following Poem was a Chorus in an unpublished Witch Drama, which was begun some years ago."]

[118] {92}[Manfred was done into Italian by a translator "who was unable to find in the dictionaries ... any other signification of the 'wisp' of this line than 'a bundle of straw.'" Byron offered him two hundred francs if he would destroy the MS., and engage to withhold his hand from all past or future poems. He at first refused; but, finding that the alternative was to be a horsewhipping, accepted the money, and signed the agreement.—Life, p. 375, note.]

[av] {93}I do adjure thee to this spell.—[MS. M.]

[119] {94}[Compare—

[Greek: o~) di~os ai)the , k.t.l.]

AEschylus, Prometheus Vinctus, lines 88-91.]

[120] {95}[Compare Hamlet's speech to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (Hamlet, act ii. sc. 2, lines 286, sq.).]

[121] [The germs of this and of several other passages in Manfred may be found, as Lord Byron stated, in the Journal of his Swiss tour, which he transmitted to his sister. "Sept. 19, 1816.—Arrived at a lake in the very nipple of the bosom of the Mountain; left our quadrupeds with a Shepherd, and ascended further; came to some snow in patches, upon which my forehead's perspiration fell like rain, making the same dints as in a sieve; the chill of the wind and the snow turned me giddy, but I scrambled on and upwards. Hobhouse went to the highest pinnacle. ... The whole of the Mountain superb. A Shepherd on a very steep and high cliff playing upon his pipe; very different from Arcadia, (where I saw the pastors with a long Musquet instead of a Crook, and pistols in their Girdles).... The music of the Cows' bells (for their wealth, like the Patriarchs', is cattle) in the pastures, (which reach to a height far above any mountains in Britain), and the Shepherds' shouting to us from crag to crag, and playing on their reeds where the steeps appeared almost inaccessible, with the surrounding scenery, realized all that I have ever heard or imagined of a pastoral existence:—much more so than Greece or Asia Minor, for there we are a little too much of the sabre and musquet order; and if there is a Crook in one hand, you are sure to see a gun in the other:—but this was pure and unmixed—solitary, savage, and patriarchal.... As we went, they played the 'Ranz des Vaches' and other airs, by way of farewell. I have lately repeopled my mind with Nature" (Letters, 1899, in. 354, 355).]

[122] {96}[Compare—

"Like an unbodied joy, whose race is just begun."

To a Skylark, by P. B. Shelley, stanza iii. line 5.]

[123] ["Passed whole woods of withered pines, all withered; trunks stripped and barkless, branches lifeless; done by a single winter,—their appearance reminded me of me and my family" (Letters, 1899, iii. 360).]

[124] {97}["Ascended the Wengen mountain.... Heard the Avalanches falling every five minutes nearly—as if God was pelting the Devil down from Heaven with snow balls" (Letters, 1899, in. 359).]

[aw] Like foam from the round ocean of old Hell.—[MS. M.]

[125] ["The clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of the Ocean of Hell, during a Spring-tide—it was white, and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance. The side we ascended was (of course) not of so precipitous a nature; but on arriving at the summit, we looked down the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood (these crags on one side quite perpendicular) ... In passing the masses of snow, I made a snowball and pelted Hobhouse with it" (ibid, pp. 359. 360).]

[126] [The fall of the Rossberg took place September 2, 1806. "A huge mass of conglomerate rock, 1000 feet broad and 100 feet thick, detached itself from the face of the mountain (Rossberg or Rufiberg, near Goldau, south of Lake Zug), and slipped down into the valley below, overwhelming the villages of Goldau, Busingen, and Rothen, and part of Lowertz. More than four hundred and fifty human beings perished, and whole herds of cattle were swept away. Five minutes sufficed to complete the work of destruction. The inhabitants were first roused by a loud and grating sound like thunder ... and beheld the valleys shrouded in a cloud of dust; when it had cleared away they found the face of nature changed."—Handbook of Switzerland, Part 1. pp 58, 59.]

[127] {99}[The critics of the day either affected to ignore or severely censured (e.g. writers in the Critical, European, and Gentleman's Magazines) the allusions to an incestuous passion between Manfred and Astarte. Shelley, in a letter to Mrs. Gisborne, November 16, 1819, commenting on Calderon's Los Cabellos de Absalon, discusses the question from an ethical as well as critical point of view: "The incest scene between Amon and Tamar is perfectly tremendous. Well may Calderon say, in the person of the former—

Si sangre sin fuego hiere Qua fara sangre con fuego.'

Incest is, like many other incorrect things, a very poetical circumstance. It may be the defiance of everything for the sake of another which clothes itself in the glory of the highest heroism, or it may be that cynical rage which, confounding the good and the bad in existing opinions, breaks through them for the purpose of rioting in selfishness and antipathy."—Works of P. B. Shelley, 1880, iv. 142.]

[ax] {100} ——and some insaner sin.—[MS. erased.]

[128] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza v. lines 1, 2.]

[129] {102}This iris is formed by the rays of the sun over the lower part of the Alpine torrents; it is exactly like a rainbow come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it: this effect lasts till noon. ["Before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent (7 in the morning) again; the Sun upon it forming a rainbow of the lower part of all colours, but principally purple and gold; the bow moving as you move; I never saw anything like this; it is only in the Sunshine" (Letters, 1899, iii, 359).]

[130] ["Arrived at the foot of the Mountain (the Yung frau, i.e. the Maiden); Glaciers; torrents; one of these torrents nine hundred feet in height of visible descent ... heard an Avalanche fall, like thunder; saw Glacier—enormous. Storm came on, thunder, lightning, hail; all in perfection, and beautiful.... The torrent is in shape curving over the rock, like the tail of a white horse streaming in the wind, such as it might be conceived would be that of the 'pale horse' on which Death is mounted in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor water, but a something between both; it's immense height ... gives it a wave, a curve, a spreading here, a condensation there, wonderful and indescribable" (ibid., pp. 357, 358).]

[ay] {103}Wherein seems glassed——.—[MS. of extract, February 15, 1817.]

[131] {104}[Compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxxii. lines 2, 3, note 2.]

[132] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza clxxxiv. line 3, note 2.]

[133] [Compare—

"The moving moon went up the sky."

The Ancient Mariner, Part IV. line 263.

Compare, too—

"The climbing moon."

Act iii. sc. 3, line 40.]

[134] {105}[Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanzas v.-xi.]

[135] The philosopher Jamblicus. The story of the raising of Eros and Anteros may be found in his life by Eunapius. It is well told. ["It is reported of him," says Eunapius, "that while he and his scholars were bathing in the hot baths of Gadara, in Syria, a dispute arising concerning the baths, he, smiling, ordered his disciples to ask the inhabitants by what names the two lesser springs, that were fairer than the rest, were called. To which the inhabitants replied, that 'the one was called Love, and the other Love's Contrary, but for what reason they knew not.' Upon which Iamblichus, who chanced to be sitting on the fountain's edge where the stream flowed out, put his hand on the water, and, having uttered a few words, called up from the depths of the fountain a fair-skinned lad, not over-tall, whose golden locks fell in sunny curls over his breast and back, so that he looked like one fresh from the bath; and then, going to the other spring, and doing as he had done before, called up another Amoretto like the first, save that his long-flowing locks now seemed black, now shot with sunny gleams. Whereupon both the Amoretti nestled and clung round Iamblichus as if they had been his own children ... after this his disciples asked him no more questions."—Eunapii Sardiani Vitae Philosophorum et Sophistarum (28, 29), Philostratorum, etc., Opera, Paris, 1829, p. 459, lines 20-50.]

[136] {107}[There may be some allusion here to "the squall off Meillerie" on the Lake of Geneva (see Letter to Murray, June 27, 1816, Letters, 1899, iii. 333).]

[137] [Compare the concluding sentence of the Journal in Switzerland (ibid., p. 364).]

[az] And live—and live for ever.—[Specimen sheet.]

[ba] {108}As from a bath—.—[MS, erased.]

[138] The story of Pausanias, king of Sparta, (who commanded the Greeks at the battle of Platea, and afterwards perished for an attempt to betray the Lacedaemonians), and Cleonice, is told in Plutarch's life of Cimon; and in the Laconics of Pausanias the sophist in his description of Greece.

[The following is the passage from Plutarch: "It is related that when Pausanias was at Byzantium, he cast his eyes upon a young virgin named Cleonice, of a noble family there, and insisted on having her for a mistress. The parents, intimidated by his power, were under the hard necessity of giving up their daughter. The young woman begged that the light might be taken out of his apartment, that she might go to his bed in secresy and silence. When she entered he was asleep, and she unfortunately stumbled upon the candlestick, and threw it down. The noise waked him suddenly, and he, in his confusion, thinking it was an enemy coming to assassinate him, unsheathed a dagger that lay by him, and plunged it into the virgin's heart. After this he could never rest. Her image appeared to him every night, and with a menacing tone repeated this heroic verse—

'Go to the fate which pride and lust prepare!'

The allies, highly incensed at this infamous action, joined Cimon to besiege him in Byzantium. But he found means to escape thence; and, as he was still haunted by the spectre, he is said to have applied to a temple at Heraclea, where the manes of the dead were consulted. There he invoked the spirit of Cleonice, and entreated her pardon. She appeared, and told him 'he would soon be delivered from all his troubles, after his return to Sparta:' in which, it seems, his death was enigmatically foretold." "Thus," adds the translator in a note, "we find that it was a custom in the pagan as well as in the Hebrew theology to conjure up the spirits of the dead, and that the witch of Endor was not the only witch in the world."—Langhorne's Plutarch, 1838, p. 339.

The same story is told in the Periegesis Graecae, lib. iii. cap. xvii., but Pausanias adds, "This was the deed from the guilt of which Pausanias could never fly, though he employed all-various purifications, received the deprecations of Jupiter Phyxius, and went to Phigalea to the Arcadian evocators of souls."—Descr. of Greece (translated by T. Taylor), 1794, i. 304, 305.]

[139] {109}[Compare—

"But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear Her never-trodden snow."

Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza lxxiii. lines 6, 7.

Byron did not know, or ignored, the fact that the Jungfrau was first ascended in 1811, by the brothers Meyer, of Aarau.]

[140] {110}[Compare—

"And who commanded (and the silence came) Here let the billows stiffen and have rest? * * * * * Motionless torrents! silent cataracts."

Hymn before Sunrise, etc., by S.T. Coleridge, lines 47, 48, 53.

"Arrived at the Grindenwald; dined, mounted again, and rode to the higher Glacier—twilight, but distinct—very fine Glacier, like a frozen hurricane" (Letters, 1899, iii. 360).]

[141] [The idea of the Witches' Festival may have been derived from the Walpurgisnacht on the Brocken.]

[142] [Compare—

"Freedom ne'er shall want an heir; * * * * * When once more her hosts assemble, Tyrants shall believe and tremble— Smile they at this idle threat? Crimson tears will follow yet."

Ode from the French, v. 8, 11-14. Poetical Works, 1900, iii. 435.

Compare, too, Napoleon's Farewell, stanza 3, ibid., p. 428. The "Voice" prophesies that St. Helena will prove a second Elba, and that Napoleon will "live to fight another day."]

[143] {111}[Byron may have had in his mind Thomas Lord Cochrane (1775-1860), "who had done brilliant service in his successive commands—the Speedy, Pallas, Imperieuse, and the flotilla of fire-ships at Basque Roads in 1809." In his Diary, March 10, 1814, he speaks of him as "the stock-jobbing hoaxer" (Letters, 1898, ii. 396, note 1).]

[144] {112}[Arimanes, the Aherman of Vathek, the Arimanius of Greek and Latin writers, is the Ahriman (or Angra Mainyu, "who is all death," the spirit of evil, the counter-creator) of the Zend-Avesta, "Fargard," i. 5 (translated by James Darmesteter, 1895, p. 4). Byron may have got the form Arimanius (vide Steph., Thesaurus) from D'Herbelot, and changed it to Arimanes.]

[145] [The "formidable Eblis" sat on a globe of fire—"in his hand ... he swayed the iron sceptre that causes ... all the powers of the abyss to tremble."—Vathek, by William Beckford, 1887, p. 178.]

[bb] {112}The comets herald through the burning skies.—[Alternative reading in MS.]

[146] {114}[Compare—

"Sorrow is Knowledge."

Act I. sc. 1, line 10, vide ante, p. 85.

Compare, too—

"Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! 'All that we know is, nothing can be known.'"

Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza vii. lines 1, 2, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 103.]

[147] {115}[Astarte is the classical form (vide Cicero, De Natura Deorum, iii. 23, and Lucian, De Syria Dea, iv.) of Milton's

"Mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both."

Cicero says that she was married to Adonis, alluding, no doubt, to the myth of the Phoenician Astoreth, who was at once the bride and mother of Tammuz or Adonis.]

[bc] {116}Or dost Qy?—[Marginal reading in MS.]

[148] [Compare—

" ... illume With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red."

Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza cii. lines 7-9.]

[149] {118}[Compare—

" ... a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concentered recompense."

Prometheus, iii. 55-57, vide ante, p. 51.]

[150] {119}[On September 22, 1816 (Letters, 1899, iii. 357, note 2), Byron rode from Neuhaus, at the Interlaken end of Lake Thun, to the Staubbach. On the way between Matten and Muellinen, not far from the village of Wilderswyl, he passed the baronial Castle of Unspunnen, the traditional castle of Manfred. It is "but a square tower, with flanking round turrets, rising picturesquely above the surrounding brushwood." On the same day and near the same spot he "passed a rock; inscription—two brothers—one murdered the other; just the place for it." Here, according to the Countess Guiccioli, was "the origin of Manfred." It is somewhat singular that, on the appearance of Manfred, a paper was published in the June number of the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, 1817, vol. i. pp. 270-273, entitled, "Sketch of a Tradition related by a Monk in Switzerland." The narrator, who signs himself P. F., professes to have heard the story in the autumn of 1816 from one of the fathers "of Capuchin Friars, not far from Altorf." It is the story of the love of two brothers for a lady with whom they had "passed their infancy." She becomes the wife of the elder brother, and, later, inspires the younger brother with a passion against which he struggles in vain. The fate of the elder brother is shrouded in mystery. The lady wastes away, and her paramour is found dead "in the same pass in which he had met his sister among the mountains." The excuse for retelling the story is that there appeared to be "a striking coincidence in some characteristic features between Lord Byron's drama and the Swiss tradition."]

[151] [The "revised version" makes no further mention of the "key and casket;" but in the first draft (vide infra, p. 122) they were used by Manfred in calling up Astaroth (Selections from Byron, New York, 1900, p. 370).]

[152] {120}[Byron may have had in his mind a sentence in a letter of C. Cassius to Cicero (Epist., xv. 19), in which he says, "It is difficult to persuade men that goodness is desirable for its own sake ([Greek: to kalo
di) au)to ai(reto
]); and yet it is true, and may be proved, that pleasure and calm are won by virtue, justice, in a word by goodness ([Greek: to~ kalo~ ])."]

[153] St. Maurice is in the Rhone valley, some sixteen miles from Villeneuve. The abbey (now occupied by Augustinian monks) was founded in the fourth century, and endowed by Sigismund, King of Burgundy.

[154] {121}[Thus far the text stands as originally written. The rest of the scene as given in the first MS. is as follows:—

Abbot. Then, hear and tremble! For the headstrong wretch Who in the mail of innate hardihood Would shield himself, and battle for his sins, There is the stake on earth—and beyond earth Eternal—

Man. Charity, most reverend father, Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace, That I would call thee back to it: but say, What would'st thou with me?

Abbot. It may be there are Things that would shake thee—but I keep them back, And give thee till to-morrow to repent. 10 Then if thou dost not all devote thyself To penance, and with gift of all thy lands To the Monastery——

Man. I understand thee,—well!

Abbot. Expect no mercy; I have warned thee.

Man. (opening the casket). Stop— There is a gift for thee within this casket. [MANFRED opens the casket, strikes a light, and burns some incense. Ho! Ashtaroth!

The DEMON ASHTAROTH appears, singing as follows:—

The raven sits On the Raven-stone,[*] And his black wing flits O'er the milk—white bone; 20 To and fro, as the night—winds blow, The carcass of the assassin swings; And there alone, on the Raven-stone, The raven flaps his dusky wings.

The fetters creak—and his ebon beak Croaks to the close of the hollow sound; And this is the tune, by the light of the Moon, To which the Witches dance their round— Merrily—merrily—cheerily—cheerily— Merrily—merrily—speeds the ball: 30 The dead in their shrouds, and the Demons in clouds, Flock to the Witches' Carnival.

Abbot. I fear thee not—hence—hence— Avaunt thee, evil One!—help, ho! without there!

Man. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn—to its peak— To its extremest peak—watch with him there From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know He ne'er again will be so near to Heaven. But harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks, Set him down safe in his cell—away with him! 40

Ash. Had I not better bring his brethren too, Convent and all, to bear him company?

Man. No, this will serve for the present. Take him up.

Ash. Come, Friar! now an exorcism or two, And we shall fly the lighter.

ASHTAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, singing as follows:—

A prodigal son, and a maid undone,[Sec.] And a widow re-wedded within the year; And a worldly monk, and a pregnant nun, Are things which every day appear.

MANFRED alone.

Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and force 50 My art to pranks fantastical?—no matter, It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens, And weighs a fixed foreboding on my soul. But it is calm—calm as a sullen sea After the hurricane; the winds are still, But the cold waves swell high and heavily, And there is danger in them. Such a rest Is no repose. My life hath been a combat, And every thought a wound, till I am scarred In the immortal part of me.—What now?] 60

[*] "Raven-stone (Rabenstein), a translation of the German word for the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and made of stone." [Compare Werner, act ii. sc. 2. Compare, too, Anster's Faust, 1883, p. 306.]

[Sec.] A prodigal son—and a pregnant nun, nun, And a widow re-wedded within the year— And a calf at grass—and a priest at mass. Are things which every day appear.—[MS. erased.]

[155] {122}[A supplementary MS. supplies the text for the remainder of the scene.]

[156] {124}[For the death of Nero, "Rome's sixth Emperor," vide C. Suet. Tranq., lib. vi. cap. xlix.]

[bd]

/ not loss of life, but To shun public death—[MS. M] the torments of a /

[157] [A reminiscence of the clouds of spray from the Fall of the Staubbach, which, in certain aspects, appear to be springing upwards from the bed of the waterfall.]

[158] {125}[Compare The Giaour, lines 282-284. Compare, too, Don Juan, Canto IV. stanza lvii. line 8.]

[159] [Here, as in so many other passages of Manfred, Byron is recording his own feelings and forebodings. The same note is struck in the melancholy letters of the autumn of 1811. See, for example, the letter to Dallas, October 11, "It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age," etc. (Letters, 1898, ii. 52).]

[160] {126}["Pray, was Manfred's speech to the Sun still retained in Act third? I hope so: it was one of the best in the thing, and better than the Colosseum."—Letter to Murray, July 9, 1817, Letters, 1900, iv. 147. Compare Byron's early rendering of "Ossian's Address to the Sun 'in Carthon.'"—Poetical Works, 1898, i. 229.]

[161] {127} "And it came to pass, that the Sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair," etc.—"There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the Sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown."—Genesis, ch. vi. verses 2 and 4.

[162] [For the "Chaldeans" and "mountain-tops," see Childe Harold, Canto III, stanza xiv. line i, and stanza xci. lines 1-3.]

[be] {129}Some strange things in these far years.—[MS. M.]

[163] [The Grosse Eiger is a few miles to the south of the Castle of Unspunnen.]

[164] The remainder of the act in its original shape, ran thus—

Her. Look—look—the tower— The tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what sound, What dreadful sound is that? [A crash like thunder.

Manuel. Help, help, there!—to the rescue of the Count,— The Count's in danger,—what ho! there! approach! [The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry approach stupifed with terror. If there be any of you who have heart And love of human kind, and will to aid Those in distress—pause not—but follow me— The portal's open, follow. [MANUEL goes in.

Her. Come—who follows? What, none of ye?—ye recreants! shiver then 10 Without. I will not see old Manuel risk His few remaining years unaided. [HERMAN goes in.

Vassal. Hark!— No—all is silent—not a breath—the flame Which shot forth such a blaze is also gone: What may this mean? Let's enter!

Peasant. Faith, not I,— Not but, if one, or two, or more, will join, I then will stay behind; but, for my part, I do not see precisely to what end. Vassal. Cease your vain prating—come.

Manuel (speaking within). 'Tis all in vain— He's dead.

Her. (within). Not so—even now methought he moved; 20 But it is dark—so bear him gently out— Softly—how cold he is! take care of his temples In winding down the staircase.

Re-enter MANUEL and HERMAN, bearing MANFRED in their arms.

Manuel. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed For the leech to the city—quick! some water there!

Her. His cheek is black—but there is a faint beat Still lingering about the heart. Some water. [They sprinkle MANFRED with water: after a pause, he gives some signs of life.

Manuel. He seems to strive to speak—come—cheerly, Count! He moves his lips—canst hear him! I am old, 30 And cannot catch faint sounds. [HERMAN inclining his head and listening.

Her. I hear a word Or two—but indistinctly—what is next? What's to be done? let's bear him to the castle. [MANFRED motions with his hand not to remove him.

Manuel. He disapproves—and 'twere of no avail— He changes rapidly.

Her. 'Twill soon be over.

Manuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should live To shake my gray hairs over the last chief Of the house of Sigismund.—And such a death! Alone—we know not how—unshrived—untended— With strange accompaniments and fearful signs— 40 I shudder at the sight—but must not leave him.

Manfred (speaking faintly and slowly). Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die. [MANFRED, having said this, expires.

Her. His eyes are fixed and lifeless.—He is gone.—

Manuel. Close them.—My old hand quivers.—He departs— Whither? I dread to think—but he is gone!

End of Act Third, and of the poem."]

[bf] {131}Sirrah! I command thee.—[MS.]

[165] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxxxvi. line 1; stanza lxxxix. lines 1, 2; and stanza xc. lines 1, 2.]

[166] ["Drove at midnight to see the Coliseum by moonlight: but what can I say of the Coliseum? It must be seen; to describe it I should have thought impossible, if I had not read Manfred.... His [Byron's] description is the very thing itself; but what cannot he do on such a subject, when his pen is like the wand of Moses, whose touch can produce waters even from the barren rock?"—Matthews's Diary of an Invalid, 1820, pp. 158, 159. (Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanzas cxxviii.-cxxxi.)]

[167] {132}[Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanzas cvi.-cix.]

[168] [For "begun," compare Don Juan, Canto II. stanza clxvii. line 1.]

[169] {133}[Compare—

" ... but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched."

Paradise Lost, i. 600.]

[bg] Summons——.-[MS. M.]

[170] {135}

["The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

Paradise Lost, i. 254, 255.]

[171] {136}[In the first edition (p. 75), this line was left out at Gifford's suggestion (Memoirs, etc., 1891, i. 387). Byron was indignant, and wrote to Murray, August 12, 1817 (Letters, 1900, iv. 157), "You have destroyed the whole effect and moral of the poem, by omitting the last line of Manfred's speaking."]

[172] [For Goethes translation of the following passages in Manfred, viz (i) Manfred's soliloquy, act 1. sc. 1, line 1 seq.; (ii) "The Incantation." act i. sc. 1, lines 192-261; (iii)Manfred's soliloquy, act ii, sc. 2 lines 164-204; (iv.) the duologue between Manfred and Astarte, act ii. sc. 4, lines 116-155; (v) a couplet, "For the night hath been to me," etc., act iii. sc. 4, lines 3, 4;—see Professor A. Brandl's Goethe-Jahrbuch. 1899, and Goethe's Werke, 1874, iii. 201, as quoted in Appendix II., Letters, 1901. v. 503-514.]



THE LAMENT OF TASSO.



INTRODUCTION TO THE LAMENT OF TASSO.

The MS. of the Lament of Tasso is dated April 20, 1817. It was despatched from Florence April 23, and reached England May 12 (see Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 384). Proofs reached Byron June 7, and the poem was published July 17, 1817.

"It was," he writes (April 26), "written in consequence of my having been lately in Ferrara." Again, writing from Rome (May 5, 1817), he asks if the MS. has arrived, and adds, "I look upon it as a 'These be good rhymes,' as Pope's papa said to him when he was a boy" (Letters, 1900, iv. 112-115). Two months later he reverted to the theme of Tasso's ill-treatment at the hands of Duke Alphonso, in the memorable stanzas xxxv.-xxxix. of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold (Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 354-359; and for examination of the circumstances of Tasso's imprisonment in the Hospital of Sant' Anna, vide ibid., pp. 355, 356, note 1).

Notices of the Lament of Tasso appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine, August, 1817, vol. 87, pp. 150, 151; in The Scot's Magazine, August, 1817, N.S., vol. i. pp. 48, 49; and a eulogistic but uncritical review in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, November, 1817, vol. ii. pp. 142-144.



ADVERTISEMENT

At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the original MSS. of Tasso's Gierusalemme[173] and of Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto, and the inkstand and chair, the tomb and the house, of the latter. But, as misfortune has a greater interest for posterity, and little or none for the cotemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariosto—at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated: the castle still exists entire; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon.[174]



THE LAMENT OF TASSO.[175]

I.

Long years!—It tries the thrilling frame to bear And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song— Long years of outrage—calumny—and wrong; Imputed madness, prisoned solitude,[176] And the Mind's canker in its savage mood, When the impatient thirst of light and air Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate, Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain, With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; 10 And bare, at once, Captivity displayed Stands scoffing through the never-opened gate, Which nothing through its bars admits, save day, And tasteless food, which I have eat alone Till its unsocial bitterness is gone; And I can banquet like a beast of prey, Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave Which is my lair, and—it may be—my grave. All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; 20 For I have battled with mine agony, And made me wings wherewith to overfly The narrow circus of my dungeon wall, And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; And revelled among men and things divine, And poured my spirit over Palestine,[177] In honour of the sacred war for Him, The God who was on earth and is in Heaven, For He has strengthened me in heart and limb. That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, 30 I have employed my penance to record How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.

II.

But this is o'er—my pleasant task is done:—[178] My long-sustaining Friend of many years! If I do blot thy final page with tears,[179] Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none. But Thou, my young creation! my Soul's child! Which ever playing round me came and smiled, And wooed me from myself with thy sweet sight, Thou too art gone—and so is my delight: 40 And therefore do I weep and inly bleed With this last bruise upon a broken reed. Thou too art ended—what is left me now? For I have anguish yet to bear—and how? I know not that—but in the innate force Of my own spirit shall be found resource. I have not sunk, for I had no remorse, Nor cause for such: they called me mad—and why? Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?[180] I was indeed delirious in my heart 50 To lift my love so lofty as thou art; But still my frenzy was not of the mind: I knew my fault, and feel my punishment Not less because I suffer it unbent. That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind, Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind; But let them go, or torture as they will, My heart can multiply thine image still; Successful Love may sate itself away; The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate 60 To have all feeling, save the one, decay, And every passion into one dilate, As rapid rivers into Ocean pour; But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

III.

Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry Of minds and bodies in captivity. And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, And the half-inarticulate blasphemy! There be some here with worse than frenzy foul, Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboured mind, 70 And dim the little light that's left behind With needless torture, as their tyrant Will Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:[181] With these and with their victims am I classed, 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have passed; 'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: So let it be—for then I shall repose.

IV.

I have been patient, let me be so yet; I had forgotten half I would forget, But it revives—Oh! would it were my lot 80 To be forgetful as I am forgot!— Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell In this vast Lazar-house of many woes? Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind, Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind; Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, And each is tortured in his separate hell— For we are crowded in our solitudes— Many, but each divided by the wall, Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods; 90 While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call— None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, Who was not made to be the mate of these, Nor bound between Distraction and Disease. Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here? Who have debased me in the minds of men, Debarring me the usage of my own, Blighting my life in best of its career, Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? Would I not pay them back these pangs again, 100 And teach them inward Sorrow's stifled groan? The struggle to be calm, and cold distress, Which undermines our Stoical success? No!—still too proud to be vindictive—I Have pardoned Princes' insults, and would die. Yes, Sister of my Sovereign! for thy sake I weed all bitterness from out my breast, It hath no business where thou art a guest: Thy brother hates—but I can not detest; Thou pitiest not—but I can not forsake. 110

V.

Look on a love which knows not to despair, But all unquenched is still my better part, Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart, As dwells the gathered lightning in its cloud, Encompassed with its dark and rolling shroud, Till struck,—forth flies the all-ethereal dart! And thus at the collision of thy name The vivid thought still flashes through my frame, And for a moment all things as they were Flit by me;—they are gone—I am the same. 120 And yet my love without ambition grew; I knew thy state—my station—and I knew A Princess was no love-mate for a bard;[182] I told it not—I breathed it not[183]—it was Sufficient to itself, its own reward; And if my eyes revealed it, they, alas! Were punished by the silentness of thine, And yet I did not venture to repine. Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, Worshipped at holy distance, and around 130 Hallowed and meekly kissed the saintly ground; Not for thou wert a Princess, but that Love Had robed thee with a glory, and arrayed Thy lineaments in beauty that dismayed— Oh! not dismayed—but awed, like One above! And in that sweet severity[184] there was A something which all softness did surpass— I know not how—thy Genius mastered mine— My Star stood still before thee:—if it were Presumptuous thus to love without design, 140 That sad fatality hath cost me dear; But thou art dearest still, and I should be Fit for this cell, which wrongs me—but for thee. The very love which locked me to my chain Hath lightened half its weight; and for the rest, Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, And look to thee with undivided breast, And foil the ingenuity of Pain.

VI.

It is no marvel—from my very birth My soul was drunk with Love,—which did pervade 150 And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth: Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, And rocks, whereby they grew, a Paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dreamed uncounted hours, Though I was chid for wandering; and the Wise Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Of such materials wretched men were made, And such a truant boy would end in woe, 160 And that the only lesson was a blow;[185]— And then they smote me, and I did not weep, But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Returned and wept alone, and dreamed again The visions which arise without a sleep. And with my years my soul began to pant With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain; And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, But undefined and wandering, till the day I found the thing I sought—and that was thee; 170 And then I lost my being, all to be Absorbed in thine;—the world was past away;— Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

VII.

I loved all Solitude—but little thought To spend I know not what of life, remote From all communion with existence, save The maniac and his tyrant;—had I been Their fellow, many years ere this had seen My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave.[bh] But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave? 180 Perchance in such a cell we suffer more Than the wrecked sailor on his desert shore; The world is all before him—mine is here, Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier. What though he perish, he may lift his eye, And with a dying glance upbraid the sky; I will not raise my own in such reproof, Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,[186] But with a sense of its decay: I see 190 Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange Demon,[187] who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to One, who long hath suffered so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but Man, But Spirits may be leagued with them—all Earth Abandons—Heaven forgets me;—in the dearth 200 Of such defence the Powers of Evil can— It may be—tempt me further,—and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved, Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved? Because I loved what not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

IX.

I once was quick in feeling—that is o'er;— My scars are callous, or I should have dashed My brain against these bars, as the sun flashed 210 In mockery through them;—- If I bear and bore The much I have recounted, and the more Which hath no words,—'t is that I would not die And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame Stamp Madness deep into my memory, And woo Compassion to a blighted name, Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim. No—it shall be immortal!—and I make A future temple of my present cell, 220 Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.[bi] While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell The ducal chiefs within thee, shall fall down, And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls, A Poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,— A Poet's dungeon thy most far renown, While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls! And thou, Leonora!—thou—who wert ashamed That such as I could love—who blushed to hear To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear, 230 Go! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed By grief—years—weariness—and it may be A taint of that he would impute to me— From long infection of a den like this, Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,— Adores thee still;—and add—that when the towers And battlements which guard his joyous hours Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, Or left untended in a dull repose, This—this—shall be a consecrated spot! 240 But Thou—when all that Birth and Beauty throws Of magic round thee is extinct—shalt have One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.[188] No power in death can tear our names apart, As none in life could rend thee from my heart.[bj] Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate To be entwined[189] for ever—but too late![190]

FOOTNOTES:

[173] {141}[A MS. of the Gerusalemme is preserved and exhibited at Sir John Soane's Museum in Lincoln's Inn Fields.]

[174] [The original MS. of this poem is dated, "The Apennines, April 20, 1817."]

[175] {143}[The MS. of the Lament of Tasso corresponds, save in three lines where alternate readings are superscribed, verbatim et literatim with the text. A letter dated August 21, 1817, from G. Polidori to John Murray, with reference to the translation of the Lament into Italian, and a dedicatory letter (in Polidori's handwriting) to the Earl of Guilford, dated August 3, 1817, form part of the same volume.]

[176] [In a letter written to his friend Scipio Gonzaga ("Di prizione in Sant' Anna, questo mese di mezzio l'anno 1579"), Tasso exclaims, "Ah, wretched me! I had designed to write, besides two epic poems of most noble argument, four tragedies, of which I had formed the plan. I had schemed, too, many works in prose, on subjects the most lofty, and most useful to human life; I had designed to unite philosophy with eloquence, in such a manner that there might remain of me an eternal memory in the world. Alas! I had expected to close my life with glory and renown; but now, oppressed by the burden of so many calamities, I have lost every prospect of reputation and of honour. The fear of perpetual imprisonment increases my melancholy; the indignities which I suffer augment it; and the squalor of my beard, my hair, and habit, the sordidness and filth, exceedingly annoy me. Sure am I, that, if she who so little has corresponded to my attachment—if she saw me in such a state, and in such affliction—she would have some compassion on me."—Lettere di Torouato Tasso, 1853, ii. 60.]

[177] {144}[Compare—

"The second of a tenderer sadder mood, Shall pour his soul out o'er Jerusalem."

Prophecy of Dante, Canto IV. lines 136, 137.]

[178] [Tasso's imprisonment in the Hospital of Sant' Anna lasted from March, 1579, to July, 1586. The Gerusalemme had been finished many years before. He sent the first four cantos to his friend Scipio Gonzaga, February 17, and the last three on October 4, 1575 (Lettere di Torquato Tasso, 1852, i. 55-117). A mutilated first edition was published in 1580 by "Orazio alias Celio de' Malespini, avventuriere intrigante" (Solerti's Vita, etc., 1895, i. 329).]

[179] [So, too, Gibbon was overtaken by a "sober melancholy" when he had finished the last line of the last page of the Decline and Fall on the night of June 27, 1787.]

[180] {145}[Not long after his imprisonment, Tasso appealed to the mercy of Alfonso, in a canzone of great beauty, ... and ... in another ode to the princesses, whose pity he invoked in the name of their own mother, who had herself known, if not the like horrors, the like solitude of imprisonment, and bitterness of soul, made a similar appeal. (See Life of Tasso, by John Black, 1810, ii. 64, 408.) Black prints the canzone in full; Solerti (Vita, etc., i. 316-318) gives selections.]

[181] {146}["For nearly the first year of his confinement Tasso endured all the horrors of a solitary sordid cell, and was under the care of a gaoler whose chief virtue, although he was a poet and a man of letters, was a cruel obedience to the commands of his prince.... His name was Agostino Mosti.... Tasso says of him, in a letter to his sister, 'ed usa meco ogni sorte di rigore ed inumanita.'"—Hobhouse, Historical Illustrations, etc., 1818, pp. 20, 21, note 1.

Tasso, in a letter to Angelo Grillo, dated June 16, 1584 (Letter 288, Le Lettere, etc., ii. 276), complains that Mosti did not interfere to prevent him being molested by the other inmates, disturbed in his studies, and treated disrespectfully by the governor's subordinates. In the letter to his sister Cornelia, from which Hobhouse quotes, the allusion is not to Mosti, but, according to Solerti, to the Cardinal Luigi d'Este. Elsewhere (Letter 133, Lettere, ii. 88, 89) Tasso describes Agostino Mosti as a rigorous and zealous Churchman, but far too cultivated and courteous a gentleman to have exercised any severity towards him proprio motu, or otherwise than in obedience to orders.]

[182] {147}[It is highly improbable that Tasso openly indulged, or secretly nourished, a consuming passion for Leonora d'Este, and it is certain that the "Sister of his Sovereign" had nothing to do with his being shut up in the Hospital of Sant' Anna. That poet and princess had known each other for over thirteen years, that the princess was seven years older than the poet, and, in March, 1579, close upon forty-two years of age, are points to be considered; but the fact that she died in February, 1581, and that Tasso remained in confinement for five years longer, is a stronger argument against the truth of the legend. She was a beautiful woman, his patroness and benefactress, and the theme of sonnets and canzoni; but it was not for her "sweet sake" that Tasso lost either his wits or his liberty.]

[183] Compare—

"I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name."

[184] {148}[Compare the following lines from the canzone entitled, "La Prima di Tre Sorelle Scritte a Madaroa Leonora d'Este ... 1567:"—

"E certo il primo di che'l bel sereno Delia tua fronte agli occhi miei s'offerse E vidi armato spaziarvi Amore, Se non che riverenza allor converse, E Meraviglia in fredda selce il seno, Ivi peria con doppia morte il core; Ma parte degli strali, e dell' ardore Sentii pur anco entro 'l gelato marmo."]

[185] {149}[Ariosto (Sat. 7, Terz. 53) complains that his father chased him "not with spurs only, but with darts and lances, to turn over old texts," etc.; but Tasso was a studious and dutiful boy, and, though he finally deserted the law for poetry, and "crossed" his father's wishes and intentions, he took his own course reluctantly, and without any breach of decorum. But, perhaps, the following translations from the Rinaldo, which Black supplies in his footnotes (i. 41. 97), suggested this picture of a "poetic child" at variance with the authorities:—

"Now hasting thence a verdant mead he found, Where flowers of fragrant smell adorned the ground; Sweet was the scene, and here from human eyes Apart he sits, and thus he speaks mid sighs."

Canto I. stanza xviii.

"Thus have I sung in youth's aspiring days Rinaldo's pleasing plains and martial praise: While other studies slowly I pursued Ere twice revolved nine annual suns I viewed; Ungrateful studies, whence oppressed I groaned, A burden to myself and to the world unknown.

* * * * *

But this first-fruit of new awakened powers! Dear offspring of a few short studious hours! Thou infant volume child of fancy born Where Brenta's waves the sunny meads adorn."

Canto XII. stanza xc.]

[bh] {150}My mind like theirs adapted to its grave.—[MS.]

[186] ["Nor do I lament," wrote Tasso, shortly after his confinement, "that my heart is deluged with almost constant misery, that my head is always heavy and often painful, that my sight and hearing are much impaired, and that all my frame is become spare and meagre; but, passing all this with a short sigh, what I would bewail is the infirmity of my mind.... My mind sleeps, not thinks; my fancy is chill, and forms no pictures; my negligent senses will no longer furnish the images of things; my hand is sluggish in writing, and my pen seems as if it shrunk from the office. I feel as if I were chained in all my operations, and as if I were overcome by an unwonted numbness and oppressive stupor."—Opere, Venice, 1738, viii. 258, 263.]

[187] [In a letter to Maurizio Cataneo, dated December 25, 1585, Tasso gives an account of his sprite (folletto): "The little thief has stolen from me many crowns.... He puts all my books topsy-turvy (mi mette tutti i libri sottosopra), opens my chest and steals my keys, so that I can keep nothing." Again, December 30, with regard to his hallucinations he says, "Know then that in addition to the wonders of the Folletto ... I have many nocturnal alarms. For even when awake I have seemed to behold small flames in the air, and sometimes my eyes sparkle in such a manner, that I dread the loss of sight, and I have ... seen sparks issue from them."—Letters 454, 456, Le Lettere, 1853, ii. 475, 479.]

[bi] {151}

/ nations yet Which shall visit for my sake.—[MS.] after days /

[188] {152}["Tasso, notwithstanding the criticisms of the Cruscanti, would have been crowned in the Capitol, but for his death," Reply to Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine (Ravenna, March 15, 1820), Letters, 1900, iv. Appendix IX. p. 487.]

[bj]

/ wrench As none in life could thee from my heart.—[MS.] wring /

[189] [Compare—

"From Life's commencement to its slow decline We are entwined."

Epistle to Augusta, stanza xvi. lines 6, 7, vide ante, p. 62.]

[190] [The Apennines, April 20, 1817.]



BEPPO:

A VENETIAN STORY.

Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a Gondola.

As You Like It, act iv, sc. I, lines 33-35.

Annotation of the Commentators. That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris is now—the seat of all dissoluteness.—S. A.[191]

[The initials S. A. (Samuel Ayscough) are not attached to this note, but to another note on the same page (see Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, 1807, i. 242).]



INTRODUCTION TO BEPPO

BEPPO was written in the autumn (September 6—October 12, Letters, 1900, iv. 172) of 1817, whilst Byron was still engaged on the additional stanzas of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. His new poem, as he admitted from the first, was "after the excellent manner" of John Hookham Frere's jeu d'esprit, known as Whistlecraft (Prospectus and Specimen of an intended National Work by William and Robert Whistlecraft, London, 1818[192]), which must have reached him in the summer of 1817. Whether he divined the identity of "Whistlecraft" from the first, or whether his guess was an after-thought, he did not hesitate to take the water and shoot ahead of his unsuspecting rival. It was a case of plagiarism in excelsis, and the superiority of the imitation to the original must be set down to the genius of the plagiary, unaided by any profound study of Italian literature, or an acquaintance at first hand with the parents and inspirers of Whistlecraft.

It is possible that he had read and forgotten some specimens of Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, which J. H. Merivale had printed in the Monthly Magazine for 1806-1807, vol. xxi. pp. 304, 510, etc., and it is certain that he was familiar with his Orlando in Roncesvalles, published in 1814. He distinctly states that he had not seen W. S. Rose's[193] translation of Casti's Animali Parlanti (first edition [anonymous], 1816), but, according to Pryse Gordon (Personal Memoirs, ii. 328), he had read the original. If we may trust Ugo Foscolo (see "Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Italians" in the Quart. Rev., April, 1819, vol. xxi. pp. 486-526), there is some evidence that Byron had read Forteguerri's Ricciardetto (translated in 1819 by Sylvester (Douglas) Lord Glenbervie, and again, by John Herman Merivale, under the title of The Two First Cantos of Richardetto, 1820), but the parallel which he adduces (vide post, p. 166) is not very striking or convincing.