Part 2
As a literary curiosity, and, still more, as a lesson to genius, never to rest satisfied with imperfection or mediocrity, but to labour on till even failures are converted into triumphs, I shall here transcribe the third Act, in its original shape, as first sent to the publisher:--
## ACT III.--SCENE I.
A Hall in the Castle of Manfred.
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.
_Man._ It is well: Thou may'st 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, The merest word that ever fool'd the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought 'Kalon,' found, 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 To greet your presence.
_Enter the_ ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.
_Abbot._ Peace be with Count Manfred!
_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?
[_Exit_ HERMAN.
_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, And busy with thy name--a noble name For centuries; may he who bears it now Transmit it unimpair'd.
_Man._ Proceed,--I listen.
_Abbot._ 'Tis said thou boldest 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 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 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 sinn'd Against your ordinances? prove and punish![1]
_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 wouldst 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. 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; To and fro, as the night-winds blow, The carcass of the assassin swings; And there alone, on the raven-stone[2], 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, speeds the ball: 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!
_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, 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 My art to pranks fantastical?--no matter, It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens, And weighs a fix'd 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 scarr'd In the immortal part of me--What now?
_Re-enter_ 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![3] the idol Of early nature, and the vigorous race Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons 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 reveal'd! Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd 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, 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 II.
_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; 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 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 these few years.[4]
_Her._ Come, be friendly; 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, 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; 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--
_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, stupified 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 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 that, 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; 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, 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-- 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!
[Footnote 1: It will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the third Act has been retained.]
[Footnote 2: "Raven-stone (Rabenstein), a translation of the German word for the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and made of stone."]
[Footnote 3: This fine soliloquy, and a great part of the subsequent scene, have, it is hardly necessary to remark been retained in the present form of the Drama.]
[Footnote 4: Altered in the present form, to "some strange things in them, Herman."]
* * * * *
LETTER 278. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Rome, May 9. 1817.
"Address all answers to Venice; for there I shall return in fifteen days, God willing.
"I sent you from Florence 'The Lament of Tasso,' and from Rome the third Act of Manfred, both of which, I trust, will duly arrive. The terms of these two I mentioned in my last, and will repeat in this, it is three hundred for each, or _six_ hundred guineas for the two--that is, if you like, and they are good for any thing.
"At last one of the parcels is arrived. In the notes to Childe Harold there is a blunder of yours or mine: you talk of arrival at _St. Gingo_, and, immediately after, add--'on the height is the Château of Clarens.' This is sad work: Clarens is on the _other_ side of the Lake, and it is quite impossible that I should have so bungled. Look at the MS.; and at any rate rectify it.
"The 'Tales of my Landlord' I have read with great pleasure, and perfectly understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive in the very erroneous persuasion that they must have been written by me. If you knew me as well as they do, you would have fallen, perhaps, into the same mistake. Some day or other, I will explain to you _why_--when I have time; at present, it does not much matter; but you must have thought this blunder of theirs very odd, and so did I, till I had read the book. Croker's letter to you is a very great compliment; I shall return it to you in my next.
"I perceive you are publishing a Life of Raffael d'Urbino: it may perhaps interest you to hear that a set of German artists here allow their _hair_ to grow, and trim it into _his fashion_, thereby drinking the cummin of the disciples of the old philosopher; if they would cut their hair, convert it into brushes, and paint like him, it would be more '_German_ to the matter.'
"I'll tell you a story: the other day, a man here--an English--mistaking the statues of Charlemagne and Constantine, which are _equestrian_, for those of Peter and Paul, asked another _which_ was Paul of these same horsemen?--to which the reply was,--'I thought, sir, that St. Paul had never got on _horseback_ since his _accident_?'
"I'll tell you another: Henry Fox, writing to some one from Naples the other day, after an illness, adds--'and I am so changed, that my _oldest creditors_ would hardly know me.'
"I am delighted with Rome--as I would be with a bandbox, that is, it is a fine thing to see, finer than Greece; but I have not been here long enough to affect it as a residence, and I must go back to Lombardy, because I am wretched at being away from Marianna. I have been riding my saddle-horses every day, and been to Albano, its Lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to Frescati, Aricia, &c. &c. with an &c. &c. &c. about the city, and in the city: for all which--vide Guide-book. As a whole, ancient and modern, it beats Greece, Constantinople, every thing--at least that I have ever seen. But I can't describe, because my first impressions are always strong and confused, and my memory _selects_ and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct. There must be a sense or two more than we have, us mortals; for * * * * * where there is much to be grasped we are always at a loss, and yet feel that we ought to have a higher and more extended comprehension.
"I have had a letter from Moore, who is in some alarm about his poem. I don't see why.
"I have had another from my poor dear Augusta, who is in a sad fuss about my late illness; do, pray, tell her (the truth) that I am better than ever, and in importunate health, growing (if not grown) large and ruddy, and congratulated by impertinent persons on my robustious appearance, when I ought to be pale and interesting.
"You tell me that George Byron has got a son, and Augusta says, a daughter; which is it?--it is no great matter: the father is a good man, an excellent officer, and has married a very nice little woman, who will bring him more babes than income; howbeit she had a handsome dowry, and is a very charming girl;--but he may as well get a ship.
"I have no thoughts of coming amongst you yet awhile, so that I can fight off business. If I could but make a tolerable sale of Newstead, there would be no occasion for my return; and I can assure you very sincerely, that I am much happier (or, at least, have been so) out of your island than in it.
"Yours ever.
"P.S. There are few English here, but several of my acquaintance; amongst others, the Marquis of Lansdowne, with whom I dine to-morrow. I met the Jerseys on the road at Foligno--all well.
"Oh--I forgot--the Italians have printed Chillon, &c. a _piracy_,--a pretty little edition, prettier than yours--and published, as I found to my great astonishment on arriving here; and what is odd, is, that the English is quite correctly printed. Why they did it, or who did it, I know not; but so it is;--I suppose, for the English people. I will send you a copy."
* * * * *
LETTER 279. TO MR. MOORE.
"Rome, May 12. 1817.
"I have received your letter here, where I have taken a cruise lately; but I shall return back to Venice in a few days, so that if you write again, address there, as usual. I am not for returning to England so soon as you imagine; and by no means at all as a residence. If you cross the Alps in your projected expedition, you will find me somewhere in Lombardy, and very glad to see you. Only give me a word or two beforehand, for I would readily diverge some leagues to meet you.
"Of Rome I say nothing; it is quite indescribable, and the Guide-book is as good as any other. I dined yesterday with Lord Lansdowne, who is on his return. But there are few English here at present; the winter is _their_ time. I have been on horseback most of the day, all days since my arrival, and have taken it as I did Constantinople. But Rome is the elder sister, and the finer. I went some days ago to the top of the Alban Mount, which is superb. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's, the Vatican, Palatine, &c. &c.--as I said, vide Guide-book. They are quite inconceivable, and must _be seen_. The Apollo Belvidere is the image of Lady Adelaide Forbes--I think I never saw such a likeness.
"I have seen the Pope alive, and a cardinal dead,--both of whom looked very well indeed. The latter was in state in the Chiesa Nuova, previous to his interment.
"Your poetical alarms are groundless; go on and prosper. Here is Hobhouse just come in, and my horses at the door, so that I must mount and take the field in the Campus Martius, which, by the way, is all built over by modern Rome.
"Yours very and ever, &c.
"P.S. Hobhouse presents his remembrances, and is eager, with all the world, for your new poem."
* * * * *
LETTER 280. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Venice, May 30. 1817.
"I returned from Rome two days ago, and have received your letter; but no sign nor tidings of the parcel sent through Sir C. Stuart, which you mention. After an interval of months, a packet of 'Tales,' &c. found me at Rome; but this is all, and may be all that ever will find me. The post seems to be the only sure conveyance; and _that only for letters_. From Florence I sent you a poem on Tasso, and from Rome the new third Act of 'Manfred,' and by Dr. Polidori two portraits for my sister. I left Rome and made a rapid journey home. You will continue to direct here as usual. Mr. Hobhouse is gone to Naples: I should have run down there too for a week, but for the quantity of English whom I heard of there. I prefer hating them at a distance; unless an earthquake, or a good real irruption of Vesuvius, were ensured to reconcile me to their vicinity.
"The day before I left Rome I saw three robbers guillotined. The ceremony--including the _masqued_ priests; the half-naked executioners; the bandaged criminals; the black Christ and his banner; the scaffold; the soldiery; the slow procession, and the quick rattle and heavy fall of the axe; the splash of the blood, and the ghastliness of the exposed heads--is altogether more impressive than the vulgar and ungentlemanly dirty 'new drop,' and dog-like agony of infliction upon the sufferers of the English sentence. Two of these men behaved calmly enough, but the first of the three died with great terror and reluctance. What was very horrible, he would not lie down; then his neck was too large for the aperture, and the priest was obliged to drown his exclamations by still louder exhortations. The head was off before the eye could trace the blow; but from an attempt to draw back the head, notwithstanding it was held forward by the hair, the first head was cut off close to the ears: the other two were taken off more cleanly. It is better than the oriental way, and (I should think) than the axe of our ancestors. The pain seems little, and yet the effect to the spectator, and the preparation to the criminal, is very striking and chilling. The first turned me quite hot and thirsty, and made me shake so that I could hardly hold the opera-glass (I was close, but was determined to see, as one should see every thing, once, with attention); the second and third (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow indifferent), I am ashamed to say, had no effect on me as a horror, though I would have saved them if I could. Yours," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 281. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Venice, June 4. 1817.