Manfred — Act 3
_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 scaréd 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 Cæsars' 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 Cæsars 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 Cæsar'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?
