by Thomas Moore
“‘The Lament of Tasso,’ which I sent from Florence, has, I trust, arrived: I look upon it as a ‘these be good rhymes,’ as Pope’s papa said to him when he was a boy. For the two — it and the Drama — you will disburse to me (via Kinnaird) six hundred guineas. You will perhaps be surprised that I set the same price upon this as upon the Drama; but, besides that I look upon it as good, I won’t take less than three hundred guineas for any thing. The two together will make you a larger publication than the ‘Siege’ and ‘Parisina;’ so you may think yourself let off very easy: that is to say, if these poems are good for any thing, which I hope and believe.
“I have been some days in Rome the Wonderful. I am seeing sights, and have done nothing else, except the new third Act for you. I have this morning seen a live pope and a dead cardinal: Pius VII. has been burying Cardinal Bracchi, whose body I saw in state at the Chiesa Nuova. Rome has delighted me beyond every thing, since Athens and Constantinople. But I shall not remain long this visit. Address to Venice.
“Ever, &c.
“P.S. I have got my saddle-horses here, and have ridden, and am riding, all about the country.”
From the foregoing letters to Mr. Murray, we may collect some curious particulars respecting one of the most original and sublime of the noble poet’s productions, the Drama of Manfred. His failure (and to an extent of which the reader shall be enabled presently to judge), in the completion of a design which he had, through two Acts, so magnificently carried on, — the impatience with which, though conscious of this failure, he as usual hurried to the press, without deigning to woo, or wait for, a happier moment of inspiration, — his frank docility in, at once, surrendering up his third Act to reprobation, without urging one parental word in its behalf, — the doubt he evidently felt, whether, from his habit of striking off these creations at a heat, he should be able to rekindle his imagination on the subject, — and then, lastly, the complete success with which, when his mind did make the spring, he at once cleared the whole space by which he before fell short of perfection, — all these circumstances, connected with the production of this grand poem, lay open to us features, both of his disposition and genius, in the highest degree interesting, and such as there is a pleasure, second only to that of perusing the poem itself, in contemplating.
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!
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, 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! 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.
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
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!
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.
