Act 1
Scene 1
MANFRED alone.--Scene, a Gothic Gallery.--Time, Midnight.
manfred: The lamp must be replenished, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essayed, and in my mind there is
A power to make these subject to itself--
But they avail not: I have done men good,
And I have met with good even among men--
But this availed not: I have had my foes,
And none have baffled, many fallen before me--
But this availed not:--Good, or evil, life,
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,
Have been to me as rain unto the sands,
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,
Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth.
Now to my task.--
Mysterious Agency!
Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe,
Whom I have sought in darkness and in light--
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell
In subtler essence--ye, to whom the tops
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,
And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things--
I call upon ye by the written charm
Which gives me power upon you--Rise! appear!
[A pause.]
They come not yet.--Now by the voice of him
Who is the first among you--by this sign,
Which makes you tremble--by the claims of him
Who is undying--Rise! appear!--Appear!
[A pause.]
If it be so.--Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,
Which had its birthplace in a star condemned,
The burning wreck of a demolished world,
A wondering hell in the eternal space;
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,
The thought which is within me and around me,
I do compel ye to my will.--Appear!
[A star is seen at the darker end of the gallery: it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing]
first spirit: Mortal! to thy bidding bowed,
From my mansion in the cloud,
Which the breath of twilight builds,
And the summer's sunset gilds
With the azure and vermilion
Which is mixed for my pavilion;
Though thy quest may be forbidden,
On a star-beam I have ridden;
To thine adjuration bowed;
Mortal--be thy wish avowed!
second spirit: Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
They crowned him long ago
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.
Around his waist are forests braced,
The Avalanche in his hand;
But ere it fall, that thundering ball
Must pause for my command.
The Glacier's cold and restless mass
Moves onward day by day;
But I am he who bids it pass,
Or with its ice delay.
I am the spirit of the place,
Could make the mountain bow
And quiver to his caverned base--
And what with me wouldst Thou?
third spirit: In the blue depth of the waters,
Where the wave hath no strife,
Where the wind is a stranger,
And the sea-snake hath life,
Where the Mermaid is decking
Her green hair with shells;
Like the storm on the surface
Came the sound of thy spells;
O'er my calm Hall of Coral
The deep echo rolled--
to the Spirit of Ocean
Thy wishes unfold!
fourth spirit: Where the slumbering earthquake
Lies pillowed on fire,
And the lakes of bitumen
Rise boilingly higher;
Where the roots of the Andes
Strike deep in the earth,
As their summits to heaven
Shoot soaringly forth;
I have quitted my birthplace,
Thy bidding to bide--
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!
fifth spirit: I am the Rider of the wind,
The Stirrer of the storm;
The hurricane I left behind
Is yet with lightning warm;
To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea
I swept upon the blast:
The fleet I met sailed well, and yet
'Twill sink ere night be past.
sixth spirit: My dwelling is the shadow of the night,
Why doth thy magic torture me with light?
seventh spirit: The star which rules thy destiny
Was ruled, ere earth began, by me:
It was a world as fresh and fair
As e'er revolved round sun in air;
Its course was free and regular,
And the wisp on the morass;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answered owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.
Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
There are shades which will not vanish,
There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone;
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
Thou art gathered in a cloud;
And forever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell.
Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turned around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.
From thy false tears I did distill
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatched the snake,
For there it coiled as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathomed gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art
Which passed for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' pain,
And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!
And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote thee to this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die,
Shall be in thy destiny;
Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;
Lo! the spell now works around thee,
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together
Hath the word been passed--now wither!
Scene 2
The Mountain of the Jungfrau.--Time, Morning--MANFRED alone upon the Cliffs.
manfred: The spirits I have raised abandon me,
The spells which I have studied baffle me,
The remedy I recked of tortured me;
I lean no more on superhuman aid,
It hath no power upon the past, and for
The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness,
It is not of my search.--My mother Earth!
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight--thou shin'st not on my heart.
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed
To rest forever--wherefore do I pause?
I feel the impulse--yet I do not plunge;
I see the peril--yet do not recede;
And my brain reels--and yet my foot is firm.
There is a power upon me which withholds,
And makes it my fatality to live;
If it be life to wear within myself
This barrenness of spirit, and to be
My own soul's sepulcher, for I have ceased
To justify my deeds unto myself--
The last infirmity of evil. Ay,
Thou winged and cloud cleaving minister,
[An eagle passes.]
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me--I should be
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above,
With a pervading vision.--Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will,
Till our mortality predominates,
And men are--what they name not to themselves,
And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,
[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard.]
The natural music of the mountain reed--
For here the patriarchal days are not
A pastoral fable--pipes in the liberal air,
Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;
My soul would drink those echoes.--Oh, that I were
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,
A living voice, a breathing harmony,
A bodiless enjoyment--born and dying
With the blessed tone which made me!
Enter from below a CHAMOIS HUNTER.
chamois hunter:Even so
This way the chamois leaped: her nimble feet
Have baffled me; my gains today will scarce
Repay my breakneck travail.--What is here?
Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reached
A height which none even of our mountaineers,
Save our best hunters, may attain: his garb
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air
Proud as a freeborn peasant's, at this distance--
I will approach him nearer.
manfred: [not perceiving the other]. To be thus--
Gray-haired with anguish, like these blasted pines,
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay--
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrowed o'er
With wrinkles, plowed by moments, not by years
And hours--all tortured into ages--hours
Which I outlive!--Ye toppling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; buy ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live;
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut
And hamlet of the harmless villager.
chamois hunter: The mists begin to rise from up the valley;
I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance
To lose at once his way and life together.
manfred: The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell,
Whose every wave breaks on a living shore
Heaped with the damned like pebbles.--I am giddy.
chamois hunter: I must approach him cautiously; if near,
A sudden step will startle him, and he
Seems tottering already.
manfred:Mountains have fallen,
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up
The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters;
Damming the rivers with a sudden dash,
Which crushed the waters into mist, and made
Their fountains find another channel--thus,
Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg--
Why stood I not beneath it?
chamois hunter:Friend! have a care,
Your next step may be fatal!--for the love
Of him who made you, stand not on that brink!
manfred: [not hearing him]. Such would have been for me a fitting tomb;
My bones had then been quiet in their depth;
They had not then been strewn upon the rocks
In this one plunge.--Farewell, ye opening heavens!
Look not upon me thus reproachfully--
Ye were not meant for me--Earth! take these atoms!
[As MANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp.]
chamois hunter: Hold, madman!--though aweary of thy life,
Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood!
Away with me--I will not quit my hold.
manfred: I am most sick at heart--nay, grasp me not--
I am all feebleness--the mountains whirl
Spinning around me--I grow blind--What art thou?
chamois hunter: I'll answer that anon.--Away with me!
The clouds grow thicker--there--now lean on me--
Place your foot here--here, take this staff, and cling
A moment to that shrub--now give me your hand,
And hold fast by my girdle--softly--well--
The Chalet will be gained within an hour--
Come on, We'll quickly find a surer footing,
And something like a pathway, which the torrent
Hath washed since winter.--Come, 'tis bravely done;
You should have been a hunter.--Follow me.
As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.]
Scene 1
MANFRED alone.--Scene, a Gothic Gallery.--Time, Midnight.
manfred: The lamp must be replenished, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essayed, and in my mind there is
A power to make these subject to itself--
But they avail not: I have done men good,
And I have met with good even among men--
But this availed not: I have had my foes,
And none have baffled, many fallen before me--
But this availed not:--Good, or evil, life,
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,
Have been to me as rain unto the sands,
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,
Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth.
Now to my task.--
Mysterious Agency!
Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe,
Whom I have sought in darkness and in light--
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell
In subtler essence--ye, to whom the tops
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,
And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things--
I call upon ye by the written charm
Which gives me power upon you--Rise! appear!
[A pause.]
They come not yet.--Now by the voice of him
Who is the first among you--by this sign,
Which makes you tremble--by the claims of him
Who is undying--Rise! appear!--Appear!
[A pause.]
If it be so.--Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,
Which had its birthplace in a star condemned,
The burning wreck of a demolished world,
A wondering hell in the eternal space;
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,
The thought which is within me and around me,
I do compel ye to my will.--Appear!
[A star is seen at the darker end of the gallery: it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing]
first spirit: Mortal! to thy bidding bowed,
From my mansion in the cloud,
Which the breath of twilight builds,
And the summer's sunset gilds
With the azure and vermilion
Which is mixed for my pavilion;
Though thy quest may be forbidden,
On a star-beam I have ridden;
To thine adjuration bowed;
Mortal--be thy wish avowed!
second spirit: Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
They crowned him long ago
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.
Around his waist are forests braced,
The Avalanche in his hand;
But ere it fall, that thundering ball
Must pause for my command.
The Glacier's cold and restless mass
Moves onward day by day;
But I am he who bids it pass,
Or with its ice delay.
I am the spirit of the place,
Could make the mountain bow
And quiver to his caverned base--
And what with me wouldst Thou?
third spirit: In the blue depth of the waters,
Where the wave hath no strife,
Where the wind is a stranger,
And the sea-snake hath life,
Where the Mermaid is decking
Her green hair with shells;
Like the storm on the surface
Came the sound of thy spells;
O'er my calm Hall of Coral
The deep echo rolled--
to the Spirit of Ocean
Thy wishes unfold!
fourth spirit: Where the slumbering earthquake
Lies pillowed on fire,
And the lakes of bitumen
Rise boilingly higher;
Where the roots of the Andes
Strike deep in the earth,
As their summits to heaven
Shoot soaringly forth;
I have quitted my birthplace,
Thy bidding to bide--
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!
fifth spirit: I am the Rider of the wind,
The Stirrer of the storm;
The hurricane I left behind
Is yet with lightning warm;
To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea
I swept upon the blast:
The fleet I met sailed well, and yet
'Twill sink ere night be past.
sixth spirit: My dwelling is the shadow of the night,
Why doth thy magic torture me with light?
seventh spirit: The star which rules thy destiny
Was ruled, ere earth began, by me:
It was a world as fresh and fair
As e'er revolved round sun in air;
Its course was free and regular,
And the wisp on the morass;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answered owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.
Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
There are shades which will not vanish,
There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone;
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
Thou art gathered in a cloud;
And forever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell.
Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turned around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.
From thy false tears I did distill
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatched the snake,
For there it coiled as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathomed gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art
Which passed for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' pain,
And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!
And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote thee to this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die,
Shall be in thy destiny;
Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;
Lo! the spell now works around thee,
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together
Hath the word been passed--now wither!
Scene 2
The Mountain of the Jungfrau.--Time, Morning--MANFRED alone upon the Cliffs.
manfred: The spirits I have raised abandon me,
The spells which I have studied baffle me,
The remedy I recked of tortured me;
I lean no more on superhuman aid,
It hath no power upon the past, and for
The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness,
It is not of my search.--My mother Earth!
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight--thou shin'st not on my heart.
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed
To rest forever--wherefore do I pause?
I feel the impulse--yet I do not plunge;
I see the peril--yet do not recede;
And my brain reels--and yet my foot is firm.
There is a power upon me which withholds,
And makes it my fatality to live;
If it be life to wear within myself
This barrenness of spirit, and to be
My own soul's sepulcher, for I have ceased
To justify my deeds unto myself--
The last infirmity of evil. Ay,
Thou winged and cloud cleaving minister,
[An eagle passes.]
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me--I should be
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above,
With a pervading vision.--Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will,
Till our mortality predominates,
And men are--what they name not to themselves,
And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,
[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard.]
The natural music of the mountain reed--
For here the patriarchal days are not
A pastoral fable--pipes in the liberal air,
Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;
My soul would drink those echoes.--Oh, that I were
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,
A living voice, a breathing harmony,
A bodiless enjoyment--born and dying
With the blessed tone which made me!
Enter from below a CHAMOIS HUNTER.
chamois hunter:Even so
This way the chamois leaped: her nimble feet
Have baffled me; my gains today will scarce
Repay my breakneck travail.--What is here?
Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reached
A height which none even of our mountaineers,
Save our best hunters, may attain: his garb
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air
Proud as a freeborn peasant's, at this distance--
I will approach him nearer.
manfred: [not perceiving the other]. To be thus--
Gray-haired with anguish, like these blasted pines,
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay--
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrowed o'er
With wrinkles, plowed by moments, not by years
And hours--all tortured into ages--hours
Which I outlive!--Ye toppling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; buy ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live;
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut
And hamlet of the harmless villager.
chamois hunter: The mists begin to rise from up the valley;
I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance
To lose at once his way and life together.
manfred: The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell,
Whose every wave breaks on a living shore
Heaped with the damned like pebbles.--I am giddy.
chamois hunter: I must approach him cautiously; if near,
A sudden step will startle him, and he
Seems tottering already.
manfred:Mountains have fallen,
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up
The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters;
Damming the rivers with a sudden dash,
Which crushed the waters into mist, and made
Their fountains find another channel--thus,
Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg--
Why stood I not beneath it?
chamois hunter:Friend! have a care,
Your next step may be fatal!--for the love
Of him who made you, stand not on that brink!
manfred: [not hearing him]. Such would have been for me a fitting tomb;
My bones had then been quiet in their depth;
They had not then been strewn upon the rocks
In this one plunge.--Farewell, ye opening heavens!
Look not upon me thus reproachfully--
Ye were not meant for me--Earth! take these atoms!
[As MANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp.]
chamois hunter: Hold, madman!--though aweary of thy life,
Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood!
Away with me--I will not quit my hold.
manfred: I am most sick at heart--nay, grasp me not--
I am all feebleness--the mountains whirl
Spinning around me--I grow blind--What art thou?
chamois hunter: I'll answer that anon.--Away with me!
The clouds grow thicker--there--now lean on me--
Place your foot here--here, take this staff, and cling
A moment to that shrub--now give me your hand,
And hold fast by my girdle--softly--well--
The Chalet will be gained within an hour--
Come on, We'll quickly find a surer footing,
And something like a pathway, which the torrent
Hath washed since winter.--Come, 'tis bravely done;
You should have been a hunter.--Follow me.
As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.]
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