Life of Lord Byron, Vol. IV | Page 6

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,