Life of Lord Byron, Vol. IV | Page 8

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 Chateau 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,