This is a modern-English version of The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 2, originally written by Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron.
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.
Scroll to the bottom of this page and you will find a free ePUB download link for this book.
The Works
OF
LORD BYRON.
A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
Poetry. Vol. II.
Edited by
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,
HON. F.R.S.L.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1899.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
The source code for this HTML page contains only Latin-1 characters, but it directs the browser to display some special characters. The original work contained a few phrases or lines of Greek text. These are represented here as Greek letters, for example Λιακυρα. If the mouse is held still over such phrases, a transliteration in Beta-code pops up. Aside from Greek letters, the only unusual characters are ā (a with macron), ī (i with macron), and ē (e with macron).
The source code for this HTML page only includes Latin-1 characters, but it tells the browser to show some special characters. The original work had a few phrases or lines in Greek. These are shown here as Greek letters, for instance Λιακυρα. If you hover the mouse over these phrases, a transliteration in Beta-code appears. Besides Greek letters, the only unusual characters are ā (a with macron), ī (i with macron), and ē (e with macron).
An important feature of this edition is its copious notes, which are of three types. Notes indexed with both a number and a letter, for example [4.B.], are end-notes provided by Byron or, following Canto IV, by J. C. Hobhouse. These end-notes follow each Canto.
An important feature of this edition is its extensive notes, which come in three types. Notes marked with both a number and a letter, for instance [4.B.], are end-notes supplied by Byron or, after Canto IV, by J. C. Hobhouse. These end-notes appear after each Canto.
Both the verse and the end-notes have footnotes, which are indicated by small raised keys in brackets; these are links to the footnote's text. Footnotes indexed with arabic numbers (e.g. [17], [221]) are informational. Footnotes indexed with letters (e.g. [c], [bf]) document variant forms of the text from manuscripts and other sources.
Both the verse and the end-notes have footnotes, which are indicated by small raised keys in brackets; these are links to the footnote's text. Footnotes indexed with Arabic numbers (e.g. [17], [221]) are informational. Footnotes indexed with letters (e.g. [c], [bf]) document different versions of the text from manuscripts and other sources.
In the original, footnotes were printed at the foot of the page on which they were referenced, and their indices started over on each page. In this etext, footnotes have been collected following each canto or block of end-notes, and have been numbered consecutively throughout. Text in footnotes and end-notes in square brackets is the work of Editor E. H. Coleridge. Text not in brackets is by Byron or Hobhouse. In certain notes on variant text, the editor showed deleted text struck through with lines, for example deleted words.
In the original, footnotes were printed at the bottom of the page where they were mentioned, and their numbering restarted on each page. In this e-text, footnotes have been gathered after each canto or block of end-notes and have been numbered consecutively throughout. Text in footnotes and end-notes in square brackets is the work of Editor E. H. Coleridge. Text not in brackets is by Byron or Hobhouse. In certain notes on variant text, the editor displayed deleted text struck through with lines, for example deleted words.
Navigation aids are provided as follows. Page numbers are displayed at the right edge of the window. To jump directly to page nn, append #Page_nn to the document URL. To jump directly to the text of footnote xx, either search for [xx] or append #Footnote_xx to the document URL.
Navigation aids are provided as follows. Page numbers are shown at the right edge of the window. To jump directly to page nn, add #Page_nn to the document URL. To go directly to the text of footnote xx, either search for [xx] or add #Footnote_xx to the document URL.
Within the blocks of footnotes, numbers in braces such as {321} represent the page number on which following notes originally appeared. These numbers are also preserved as HTML anchors of the form Note_321. To find notes originally printed on page nn, either search for the string {nn} or append #Note_nn to the document URL.
Within the blocks of footnotes, numbers in braces like {321} indicate the page number where the following notes originally appeared. These numbers are also kept as HTML anchors in the format Note_321. To locate notes that were originally printed on page nn, either search for the string {nn} or add #Note_nn to the document URL.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND VOLUME.
The text of the present edition of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage is based upon a collation of volume i. of the Library Edition, 1855, with the following MSS.: (i.) the original MS. of the First and Second Cantos, in Byron's handwriting [MS. M.]; (ii.) a transcript of the First and Second Cantos, in the handwriting of R. C. Dallas [D.]; (iii.) a transcript of the Third Canto, in the handwriting of Clara Jane Clairmont [C.]; (iv.) a collection of "scraps," forming a first draft of the Third Canto, in Byron's handwriting [MS.]; (v.) a fair copy of the first draft of the Fourth Canto, together with the MS. of the additional stanzas, in Byron's handwriting. [MS. M.]; (vi.) a second fair copy of the Fourth Canto, as completed, in Byron's handwriting [D.].
The text of this edition of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage is based on a comparison of volume I of the Library Edition, 1855, with the following manuscripts: (i.) the original manuscript of the First and Second Cantos in Byron's handwriting [MS. M.]; (ii.) a typed version of the First and Second Cantos in R. C. Dallas's handwriting [D.]; (iii.) a typed version of the Third Canto in Clara Jane Clairmont's handwriting [C.]; (iv.) a collection of "scraps" that form a first draft of the Third Canto in Byron's handwriting [MS.]; (v.) a clean copy of the first draft of the Fourth Canto, along with the manuscript of the additional stanzas, in Byron's handwriting. [MS. M.]; (vi.) a second clean copy of the completed Fourth Canto in Byron's handwriting [D.].
The text of the First and Second Cantos has also been collated with the text of the First Edition of the [vi] First and Second Cantos (quarto, 1812); the text of the Third and of the Fourth Cantos with the texts of the First Editions of 1816 and 1818 respectively; and the text of the entire poem with that issued in the collected editions of 1831 and 1832.
The text of the First and Second Cantos has also been compared with the text from the First Edition of the [vi] First and Second Cantos (quarto, 1812); the text of the Third and Fourth Cantos with the texts from the First Editions of 1816 and 1818 respectively; and the text of the entire poem with that published in the collected editions of 1831 and 1832.
Considerations of space have determined the position and arrangement of the notes.
Considerations of space have influenced the position and layout of the notes.
Byron's notes to the First, Second, and Third Cantos, and Hobhouse's notes to the Fourth Canto are printed, according to precedent, at the end of each canto.
Byron's notes for the First, Second, and Third Cantos, along with Hobhouse's notes for the Fourth Canto, are included, as tradition dictates, at the end of each canto.
Editorial notes are placed in square brackets. Notes illustrative of the text are printed immediately below the variants. Notes illustrative of Byron's notes or footnotes are appended to the originals or printed as footnotes. Byron's own notes to the Fourth Canto are printed as footnotes to the text.
Editorial notes are placed in square brackets. Notes that illustrate the text are printed right below the variants. Notes that explain Byron's notes or footnotes are added to the originals or printed as footnotes. Byron's own notes for the Fourth Canto are printed as footnotes to the text.
Hobhouse's "Historical Notes" are reprinted without addition or comment; but the numerous and intricate references to classical, historical, and archæological authorities have been carefully verified, and in many instances rewritten.
Hobhouse's "Historical Notes" are reprinted without any additions or comments; however, the many complex references to classical, historical, and archaeological authorities have been thoroughly checked and, in several cases, rewritten.
In compiling the Introductions, the additional notes, and footnotes, I have endeavoured to supply the reader with a compendious manual of reference. With the subject-matter of large portions of the three distinct poems which make up the five hundred stanzas of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage every one is more or less [vii] familiar, but details and particulars are out of the immediate reach of even the most cultivated readers.
In putting together the Introductions, additional notes, and footnotes, I've tried to give readers a concise reference guide. Many people are somewhat familiar with the content of the three separate poems that comprise the five hundred stanzas of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, but the specifics and details are often beyond the immediate grasp of even the most educated readers.
The poem may be dealt with in two ways. It may be regarded as a repertory or treasury of brilliant passages for selection and quotation; or it may be read continuously, and with some attention to the style and message of the author. It is in the belief that Childe Harold should be read continuously, and that it gains by the closest study, reassuming its original freshness and splendour, that the text as well as Byron's own notes have been somewhat minutely annotated.
The poem can be approached in two ways. It can be seen as a collection of outstanding lines for selection and quotation, or it can be read straight through, paying close attention to the author’s style and message. It’s believed that Childe Harold should be read continuously and that it benefits from detailed study, regaining its original vibrancy and brilliance. This is why the text and Byron's own notes have been annotated in detail.
In the selection and composition of the notes I have, in addition to other authorities, consulted and made use of the following editions of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage:—
In choosing and putting together the notes I have, I've also referred to and used the following editions of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage:—
i. Édition Classique, par James Darmesteter, Docteur-ès-lettres. Paris, 1882.
i. Classic Edition, by James Darmesteter, Doctor of Letters. Paris, 1882.
ii. Byron's Childe Harold, edited, with Introduction and Notes, by H. F. Tozer, M.A. Oxford, 1885 (Clarendon Press Series).
ii. Byron's Childe Harold, edited, with Introduction and Notes, by H. F. Tozer, M.A. Oxford, 1885 (Clarendon Press Series).
iii. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, edited by the Rev. E.C. Everard Owen, M.A. London, 1897 (Arnold's British Classics).
iii. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, edited by Rev. E.C. Everard Owen, M.A. London, 1897 (Arnold's British Classics).
Particular acknowledgments of my indebtedness to these admirable works will be found throughout the volume.
Specific acknowledgments of my gratitude for these exceptional works can be found throughout the book.
I have consulted and derived assistance from Professor Eugen Kölbing's exhaustive collation of the text of the two first cantos with the Dallas Transcript in [viii] the British Museum (Zur Textüberlieferung von Byron's Childe Harold, Cantos I., II. Leipsic, 1896); and I am indebted to the same high authority for information with regard to the Seventh Edition (1814) of the First and Second Cantos. (See Bemerkungen zu Byron's Childe Harold, Engl. Stud., 1896, xxi. 176-186.)
I have consulted and received help from Professor Eugen Kölbing's thorough compilation of the text from the first two cantos with the Dallas Transcript in [viii] the British Museum (Zur Textüberlieferung von Byron's Childe Harold, Cantos I., II. Leipsic, 1896); I also owe the same expert for information regarding the Seventh Edition (1814) of the First and Second Cantos. (See Bemerkungen zu Byron's Childe Harold, Engl. Stud., 1896, xxi. 176-186.)
I have again to record my grateful acknowledgments to Dr. Richard Garnett, C.B., Dr. A. S. Murray, F.R.S., Mr. R. E. Graves, Mr. E. D. Butler, F.R.G.S., and other officials of the British Museum, for constant help and encouragement in the preparation of the notes to Childe Harold.
I want to express my heartfelt thanks again to Dr. Richard Garnett, C.B., Dr. A. S. Murray, F.R.S., Mr. R. E. Graves, Mr. E. D. Butler, F.R.G.S., and other staff members at the British Museum for their ongoing help and support in putting together the notes for Childe Harold.
I desire to express my thanks to Dr. H. R. Mill, Librarian of the Royal Geographical Society; Mr. J. C. Baker, F.R.S., Keeper of the Herbarium and Library of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew; Mr. Horatio F. Brown (author of Venice, an Historical Sketch, etc.); Mr. P. A. Daniel, Mr. Richard Edgcumbe, and others, for valuable information on various points of doubt and difficulty.
I want to thank Dr. H. R. Mill, the Librarian of the Royal Geographical Society; Mr. J. C. Baker, F.R.S., the Keeper of the Herbarium and Library at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew; Mr. Horatio F. Brown (author of Venice, an Historical Sketch, etc.); Mr. P. A. Daniel, Mr. Richard Edgcumbe, and others for their valuable insights on various points of uncertainty and difficulty.
On behalf of the Publisher, I beg to acknowledge the kindness of his Grace the Duke of Richmond, in permitting Cosway's miniature of Charlotte Duchess of Richmond to be reproduced for this volume.
On behalf of the Publisher, I want to express gratitude to His Grace the Duke of Richmond for allowing Cosway's miniature of Charlotte, Duchess of Richmond, to be reproduced in this volume.
I have also to thank Mr. Horatio F. Brown for the right to reproduce the interesting portrait of "Byron at Venice," which is now in his possession.
I also want to thank Mr. Horatio F. Brown for allowing me to reproduce the fascinating portrait of "Byron at Venice," which he currently owns.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
April, 1899.
April 1899.
INTRODUCTION TO
THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS OF
CHILDE HAROLD.
The First Canto of Childe Harold was begun at Janina, in Albania, October 31, 1809, and the Second Canto was finished at Smyrna, March 28, 1810. The dates were duly recorded on the MS.; but in none of the letters which Byron wrote to his mother and his friends from the East does he mention or allude to the composition or existence of such a work. In one letter, however, to his mother (January 14, 1811, Letters, 1898, i. 308), he informs her that he has MSS. in his possession which may serve to prolong his memory, if his heirs and executors "think proper to publish them;" but for himself, he has "done with authorship." Three months later the achievement of Hints from Horace and The Curse of Minerva persuaded him to give "authorship" another trial; and, in a letter written on board the Volage frigate (June 28, Letters, 1898, i. 313), he announces to his literary Mentor, R. C. Dallas, who had superintended the publication of English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, that he has "an imitation of the Ars Poetica of Horace ready for Cawthorne." Byron landed in England on July 2, and on the 15th Dallas "had the pleasure of shaking hands with him at Reddish's Hotel, St. James's Street" (Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 103). There was a crowd of visitors, says Dallas, and no time for conversation; but the Imitation was placed in his hands. He took it home, read it, and was disappointed. Disparagement was out of the question; but the next morning at breakfast Dallas ventured to express some surprise that he had written nothing else. An admission or [x] confession followed that "he had occasionally written short poems, besides a great many stanzas in Spenser's measure, relative to the countries he had visited." "They are not," he added, "worth troubling you with, but you shall have them all with you if you like." "So," says Dallas, "came I by Childe Harold. He took it from a small trunk, with a number of verses."
The First Canto of Childe Harold was started in Janina, Albania, on October 31, 1809, and the Second Canto was finished in Smyrna on March 28, 1810. The dates were recorded on the manuscript; however, in none of the letters Byron wrote to his mother and friends from the East does he mention or refer to the creation or existence of this work. In one letter to his mother (January 14, 1811, Letters, 1898, i. 308), he tells her that he has manuscripts that might help prolong his memory if his heirs and executors "decide to publish them;" but for him, he has "finished with being an author." Three months later, the success of Hints from Horace and The Curse of Minerva encouraged him to give "being an author" another shot; and in a letter written aboard the Volage frigate (June 28, Letters, 1898, i. 313), he informs his literary mentor, R. C. Dallas, who oversaw the publication of English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, that he has "an imitation of the Ars Poetica by Horace ready for Cawthorne." Byron arrived in England on July 2, and on the 15th, Dallas "had the pleasure of shaking hands with him at Reddish's Hotel, St. James's Street" (Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 103). According to Dallas, there was a crowd of visitors, leaving no time for conversation; but the Imitation was handed to him. He took it home, read it, and was let down. Criticism was off the table; however, the next morning at breakfast, Dallas cautiously mentioned that he was surprised Byron hadn’t written anything else. Byron admitted that "he had occasionally written short poems, along with many stanzas in Spenser's style, related to the places he had visited." "They're not," he added, "worth troubling you with, but I can give you everything if you want." “So,” says Dallas, “that’s how I got Childe Harold. He took it from a small trunk, along with several verses."
Dallas was "delighted," and on the evening of the same day (July 16)—before, let us hope, and not after, he had consulted his "Ionian friend," Walter Rodwell Wright (see Recollections, p. 151, and Diary of H.C. Robinson, 1872, i. 17)—he despatched a letter of enthusiastic approval, which gratified Byron, but did not convince him of the extraordinary merit of his work, or of its certainty of success. It was, however, agreed that the MS. should be left with Dallas, that he should arrange for its publication and hold the copyright. Dallas would have entrusted the poem to Cawthorne, who had published English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, and with whom, as Byron's intermediary, he was in communication; but Byron objected on the ground that the firm did not "stand high enough in the trade," and Longmans, who had been offered but had declined the English Bards, were in no case to be approached. An application to Miller, of Albemarle Street, came to nothing, because Miller was Lord Elgin's bookseller and publisher (he had just brought out the Memorandum on Lord Elgin's Pursuits in Greece), and Childe Harold denounced and reviled Lord Elgin. But Murray, of Fleet Street, who had already expressed a wish to publish for Lord Byron, was willing to take the matter into consideration. On the first of August Byron lost his mother, on the third his friend Matthews was drowned in the Cam, and for some weeks he could devote neither time nor thought to the fortunes of his poem; but Dallas had bestirred himself, and on the eighteenth was able to report that he had "seen Murray again," and that Murray was anxious that Byron's name should appear on the title-page.
Dallas was "delighted," and on the evening of the same day (July 16)—before, let us hope, and not after, he had talked to his "Ionian friend," Walter Rodwell Wright (see Recollections, p. 151, and Diary of H.C. Robinson, 1872, i. 17)—he sent out a letter of enthusiastic approval, which pleased Byron, but didn't convince him of the exceptional quality of his work or its guaranteed success. It was, however, agreed that the manuscript should stay with Dallas, who would arrange for its publication and hold the copyright. Dallas would have handed the poem over to Cawthorne, who had published English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, and with whom, as Byron's go-between, he was in contact; but Byron objected because the firm didn’t “stand high enough in the trade,” and Longmans, who had been offered but declined English Bards, were not to be approached at all. An approach to Miller, of Albemarle Street, went nowhere because Miller was Lord Elgin's bookseller and publisher (he had just published the Memorandum on Lord Elgin's Pursuits in Greece), and Childe Harold criticized and condemned Lord Elgin. But Murray, of Fleet Street, who had already shown interest in publishing for Lord Byron, was willing to consider it. On August 1, Byron lost his mother, and on the third, his friend Matthews drowned in the Cam, so for a few weeks, he couldn't dedicate time or thought to his poem's future; however, Dallas had taken action, and on the eighteenth, he was able to report that he had "seen Murray again," and that Murray was eager for Byron's name to appear on the title page.
To this request Byron somewhat reluctantly acceded (August 21); and a few days later (August 25) he informs Dallas that he has sent him "exordiums, annotations, etc., [xi] for the forthcoming quarto," and has written to Murray, urging him on no account to show the MS. to Juvenal, that is, Gifford. But Gifford, as a matter of course, had been already consulted, had read the First Canto, and had advised Murray to publish the poem. Byron was, or pretended to be, furious; but the solid fact that Gifford had commended his work acted like a charm, and his fury subsided. On the fifth of September (Letters, 1898, ii. 24, note) he received from Murray the first proof, and by December 14 "the Pilgrimage was concluded," and all but the preface had been printed and seen through the press.
To this request, Byron somewhat reluctantly agreed (August 21); and just a few days later (August 25), he tells Dallas that he has sent him "introductions, notes, etc., [xi] for the upcoming book," and has written to Murray, insisting that he should absolutely not show the manuscript to Juvenal, who is Gifford. But Gifford had already been consulted as a matter of course, had read the First Canto, and had advised Murray to publish the poem. Byron was, or pretended to be, furious; but the solid fact that Gifford had praised his work worked like a charm, and his anger faded. On September 5 (Letters, 1898, ii. 24, note), he received the first proof from Murray, and by December 14, "the Pilgrimage was finished," and everything except the preface had been printed and gone through the press.
The original draft of the poem, which Byron took out of "the little trunk" and gave to Dallas, had undergone considerable alterations and modifications before this date. Both Dallas and Murray took exception to certain stanzas which, on personal, or patriotic, or religious considerations, were provocative and objectionable. They were apprehensive, not only for the sale of the book, but for the reputation of its author. Byron fought his ground inch by inch, but finally assented to a compromise. He was willing to cut out three stanzas on the Convention of Cintra, which had ceased to be a burning question, and four more stanzas at the end of the First Canto, which reflected on the Duke of Wellington, Lord Holland, and other persons of less note. A stanza on Beckford in the First Canto, and two stanzas in the second on Lord Elgin, Thomas Hope, and the "Dilettanti crew," were also omitted. Stanza ix. of the Second Canto, on the immortality of the soul, was recast, and "sure and certain" hopelessness exchanged for a pious, if hypothetical, aspiration. But with regard to the general tenor of his politics and metaphysics, Byron stood firm, and awaited the issue.
The original draft of the poem, which Byron pulled out of "the little trunk" and gave to Dallas, had gone through many changes before this point. Both Dallas and Murray objected to certain stanzas that, for personal, patriotic, or religious reasons, were seen as controversial and unacceptable. They were worried not only about how the book would sell but also about the author's reputation. Byron defended his work fiercely, but eventually agreed to a compromise. He was okay with removing three stanzas about the Convention of Cintra, which had stopped being a hot topic, along with four additional stanzas at the end of the First Canto that criticized the Duke of Wellington, Lord Holland, and some others of lesser importance. A stanza about Beckford in the First Canto, and two stanzas in the second about Lord Elgin, Thomas Hope, and the "Dilettanti crew," were also taken out. Stanza ix of the Second Canto, discussing the immortality of the soul, was rewritten, changing "sure and certain" hopelessness to a pious, if speculative, hope. But regarding the overall tone of his politics and philosophy, Byron remained resolute and awaited the outcome.
There were additions as well as omissions. The first stanza of the First Canto, stanzas xliii. and xc., which celebrate the battles of Albuera and Talavera; the stanzas to the memory of Charles Skinner Matthews, nos. xci., xcii.; and stanzas ix., xcv.,xcvi. of the Second Canto, which record Byron's grief for the death of an unknown lover or friend, apparently (letter to Dallas, October 31, 1811) the mysterious Thyrza, and others (vide post, note on the MSS. of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold), [xii] were composed at Newstead, in the autumn of 1811. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, quarto, was published on Tuesday, March 10, 1812—Moore (Life, p. 157) implies that the date of issue was Saturday, February 29; and Dallas (Recollections, p. 220) says that he obtained a copy on Tuesday, March 3 (but see advertisements in the Times and Morning Chronicle of Thursday, March 5, announcing future publication, and in the Courier and Morning Chronicle of Tuesday, March 10, announcing first appearance)—and in three days an edition of five hundred copies was sold. A second edition, octavo, with six additional poems (fourteen poems were included in the First Edition), was issued on April 17; a third on June 27; a fourth, with the "Addition to the Preface," on September 14; and a fifth on December 5, 1812,—the day on which Murray "acquainted his friends" (see advertisement in the Morning Chronicle) that he had removed from Fleet Street to No. 50, Albemarle Street. A sixth edition, identical with the fifth and fourth editions, was issued August 11, 1813; and, on February 1, 1814 (see letter to Murray, February 4, 1814), Childe Harold made a "seventh appearance." The seventh edition was a new departure altogether. Not only were nine poems added to the twenty already published, but a dedication to Lady Charlotte Harley ("Ianthe"), written in the autumn of 1812, was prefixed to the First Canto, and ten additional stanzas were inserted towards the end of the Second Canto. Childe Harold, as we have it, differs to that extent from the Childe Harold which, in a day and a night, made Byron "famous." The dedication to Ianthe was the outcome of a visit to Eywood, and his devotion to Ianthe's mother, Lady Oxford; but the new stanzas were probably written in 1810. In a letter to Dallas, September 7, 1811 (Letters, 1898, ii. 28), he writes, "I had projected an additional canto when I was in the Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again, it would go on." This seems to imply that a beginning had been made. In a poem, a hitherto unpublished fragment entitled Il Diavolo Inamorato (vide post, vol. iii.), which is dated August 31, 1812, five stanzas and a half, viz. stanzas lxxiii. lines 5-9, lxxix., lxxx., lxxxi., lxxxii., xxvii. of the Second Canto of Childe Harold are imbedded; and these [xiii] form part of the ten additional stanzas which were first published in the seventh edition. There is, too, the fragment entitled The Monk of Athos, which was first published (Life of Lord Byron, by the Hon. Roden Noel) in 1890, which may have formed part of this projected Third Canto.
There were both additions and omissions. The first stanza of the First Canto, stanzas xliii and xc, which honor the battles of Albuera and Talavera; the stanzas in memory of Charles Skinner Matthews, nos. xci and xcii; and stanzas ix, xcv, and xcvi of the Second Canto, which express Byron's sorrow for the death of an unknown lover or friend, apparently (letter to Dallas, October 31, 1811) the mysterious Thyrza, along with others (see later, note on the MSS. of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold), [xii] were created at Newstead in the autumn of 1811. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, quarto, was released on Tuesday, March 10, 1812—Moore (Life, p. 157) suggests that the release date was Saturday, February 29; and Dallas (Recollections, p. 220) mentions that he got a copy on Tuesday, March 3 (but see advertisements in the Times and Morning Chronicle of Thursday, March 5, announcing upcoming publication, and in the Courier and Morning Chronicle of Tuesday, March 10, announcing first appearance)—and in three days, an edition of five hundred copies was sold. A second edition, octavo, with six extra poems (fourteen poems were included in the First Edition), came out on April 17; a third on June 27; a fourth, with the "Addition to the Preface," on September 14; and a fifth on December 5, 1812,—the day when Murray "informed his friends" (see advertisement in the Morning Chronicle) that he had moved from Fleet Street to No. 50, Albemarle Street. A sixth edition, identical to the fifth and fourth editions, was released on August 11, 1813; and on February 1, 1814 (see letter to Murray, February 4, 1814), Childe Harold made a "seventh appearance." The seventh edition was a completely new version. Not only were nine poems added to the twenty already published, but a dedication to Lady Charlotte Harley ("Ianthe"), written in the autumn of 1812, was included at the start of the First Canto, and ten additional stanzas were inserted toward the end of the Second Canto. Childe Harold, as we have it now, differs significantly from the Childe Harold that made Byron "famous" in just a day and a night. The dedication to Ianthe came from a visit to Eywood and his affection for Ianthe's mother, Lady Oxford; yet the new stanzas were likely written in 1810. In a letter to Dallas, September 7, 1811 (Letters, 1898, ii. 28), he states, "I had planned an additional canto when I was in the Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again, it would continue." This suggests that a start had been made. In a poem, an unpublished fragment titled Il Diavolo Inamorato (see later, vol. iii.), dated August 31, 1812, contains five and a half stanzas, specifically stanzas lxxiii. lines 5-9, lxxix, lxxx, lxxxi, lxxxii, xxvii of the Second Canto of Childe Harold, and these [xiii] are part of the ten additional stanzas that were first published in the seventh edition. There is also the fragment titled The Monk of Athos, which was first published (Life of Lord Byron, by the Hon. Roden Noel) in 1890, that may have been part of this planned Third Canto.
No further alterations were made in the text of the poem; but an eleventh edition of Childe Harold, Cantos I., II., was published in 1819.
No further changes were made to the text of the poem; but an eleventh edition of Childe Harold, Cantos I., II., was published in 1819.
The demerits of Childe Harold lie on the surface; but it is difficult for the modern reader, familiar with the sight, if not the texture, of "the purple patches," and unattracted, perhaps demagnetized, by a personality once fascinating and always "puissant," to appreciate the actual worth and magnitude of the poem. We are "o'er informed;" and as with Nature, so with Art, the eye must be couched, and the film of association removed, before we can see clearly. But there is one characteristic feature of Childe Harold which association and familiarity have been powerless to veil or confuse—originality of design. "By what accident," asks the Quarterly Reviewer (George Agar Ellis), "has it happened that no other English poet before Lord Byron has thought fit to employ his talents on a subject so well suited to their display?" The question can only be answered by the assertion that it was the accident of genius which inspired the poet with a "new song." Childe Harold's Pilgrimage had no progenitors, and, with the exception of some feeble and forgotten imitations, it has had no descendants. The materials of the poem; the Spenserian stanza, suggested, perhaps, by Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming, as well as by older models; the language, the metaphors, often appropriated and sometimes stolen from the Bible, from Shakespeare, from the classics; the sentiments and reflections coeval with reflection and sentiment, wear a familiar hue; but the poem itself, a pilgrimage to scenes and cities of renown, a song of travel, a rhythmical diorama, was Byron's own handiwork—not an inheritance, but a creation.
The drawbacks of Childe Harold are clear; however, it's hard for today's reader, who is used to the visuals, if not the substance, of "the purple patches," and perhaps no longer captivated or inspired by a persona that was once charming and always powerful, to recognize the true value and significance of the poem. We are "over-informed;" and just like in Nature, in Art, our vision needs to be adjusted and the layer of association removed before we can see clearly. Yet, there is one distinct aspect of Childe Harold that familiarity and associations can't obscure—its originality in design. "By what chance," asks the Quarterly Reviewer (George Agar Ellis), "has it happened that no other English poet before Lord Byron thought to use his talents on a subject so fitting for their showcase?" The only answer is that it was the gift of genius that inspired the poet with a "new song." Childe Harold's Pilgrimage had no predecessors, and aside from some weak, forgotten imitations, it has produced no successors. The materials of the poem; the Spenserian stanza, maybe inspired by Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming, along with older influences; the language, the metaphors, which are often borrowed and sometimes outright taken from the Bible, from Shakespeare, from classical works; the feelings and reflections that come from deep thought and sentiment, carry a familiar tone; but the poem itself, a journey through famous scenes and cities, a travel song, a rhythmic panorama, was entirely Byron's own—neither a legacy nor a reproduction, but a true creation.
But what of the eponymous hero, the sated and melancholy "Childe," with his attendant page and yeoman, his backward glances on "heartless parasites," on "laughing dames," on goblets and other properties of "the monastic dome"? Is [xiv] Childe Harold Byron masquerading in disguise, or is he intended to be a fictitious personage, who, half unconsciously, reveals the author's personality? Byron deals with the question in a letter to Dallas (October 31): "I by no means intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that." He adds, with evident sincerity, "I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for all the world." Again, in the preface, "Harold is the child of imagination." This pronouncement was not the whole truth; but it is truer than it seems. He was well aware that Byron had sate for the portrait of Childe Harold. He had begun by calling his hero Childe Burun, and the few particulars which he gives of Childe Burun's past were particulars, in the main exact particulars, of Byron's own history. He had no motive for concealment, for, so little did he know himself, he imagined that he was not writing for publication, that he had done with authorship. Even when the mood had passed, it was the imitation of the Ars Poetica, not Childe Harold, which he was eager to publish; and when Childe Harold had been offered to and accepted by a publisher, he desired and proposed that it should appear anonymously. He had not as yet come to the pass of displaying "the pageant of his bleeding heart" before the eyes of the multitude. But though he shrank from the obvious and inevitable conclusion that Childe Harold was Byron in disguise, and idly "disclaimed" all connection, it was true that he had intended to draw a fictitious character, a being whom he may have feared he might one day become, but whom he did not recognize as himself. He was not sated, he was not cheerless, he was not unamiable. He was all a-quiver with youth and enthusiasm and the joy of great living. He had left behind him friends whom he knew were not "the flatterers of the festal hour"—friends whom he returned to mourn and nobly celebrate. Byron was not Harold, but Harold was an ideal Byron, the creature and avenger of his pride, which haunted and pursued its presumptuous creator to the bitter end.
But what about the main character, the satisfied and melancholy "Childe," along with his page and servant, as he reflects on "heartless parasites," "laughing ladies," goblets, and the other symbols of "the monastic dome"? Is [xiv] Childe Harold Byron pretending to be someone else, or is he meant to be a fictional character who, almost unconsciously, reveals the author's personality? Byron addresses this question in a letter to Dallas (October 31): "I definitely don’t intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny any connection with him. If at times it seems I’ve drawn from my own life, believe me, it’s only in parts, and I won’t even admit to that." He adds, sincerely, "I wouldn’t want to be the kind of person I've made my hero for all the world." Again, in the preface, "Harold is the creation of imagination." This statement wasn’t the whole truth; however, it’s more accurate than it seems. He was well aware that Byron had posed for Childe Harold's portrait. He originally named his hero Childe Burun, and the few details he provides about Childe Burun's past are mainly true details from Byron's own life. He had no reason to hide anything since he was so out of touch with himself that he thought he wasn’t writing for publication and had moved on from being an author. Even when the inspiration passed, it was a version of the Ars Poetica, not Childe Harold, that he wanted to publish; and when Childe Harold was offered to and accepted by a publisher, he preferred that it be released anonymously. He wasn't ready to show "the pageant of his bleeding heart" to the public yet. However, while he avoided the obvious conclusion that Childe Harold was Byron in disguise and casually "disclaimed" any connection, it was true that he aimed to create a fictional character, someone he might have feared he could become but didn’t recognize as himself. He wasn’t satisfied, he wasn’t gloomy, and he wasn’t unlikable. He was full of youth and enthusiasm and the joy of living fully. He had left behind friends he knew weren't just "the flatterers of the festive hour"—friends he returned to mourn and celebrate nobly. Byron wasn't Harold, but Harold was an ideal version of Byron, reflecting and exacting revenge on his pride, which haunted and pursued its arrogant creator to the very end.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage was reviewed, or rather advertised, by Dallas, in the Literary Panorama for March, [xv] 1812. To the reviewer's dismay, the article, which appeared before the poem was out, was shown to Byron, who was paying a short visit to his old friends at Harrow. Dallas quaked, but "as it proved no bad advertisement," he escaped censure. "The blunder passed unobserved, eclipsed by the dazzling brilliancy of the object which had caused it" (Recollections, p. 221).
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage was reviewed, or more accurately, promoted, by Dallas in the Literary Panorama for March, [xv] 1812. To the reviewer's surprise, the article, which came out before the poem was published, was shown to Byron, who was visiting his old friends at Harrow for a short time. Dallas was nervous, but "since it turned out to be a good promotion," he avoided any backlash. "The mistake went unnoticed, overshadowed by the brilliant talent of the work that caused it" (Recollections, p. 221).
Of the greater reviews, the Quarterly (No. xiii., March, 1812) was published on May 12, and the Edinburgh (No. 38, June, 1812) was published on August 5, 1812.
Of the major reviews, the Quarterly (No. xiii., March, 1812) was released on May 12, and the Edinburgh (No. 38, June, 1812) came out on August 5, 1812.
NOTES ON THE MSS. OF
CHILDE HAROLD.
I.
The original MS. of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold, consisting of ninety-one folios bound up with a single bluish-grey cover, is in the possession of Mr. Murray.[1] A transcript from this MS., in the handwriting of R. C. Dallas, with Byron's autograph corrections, is preserved in the British Museum (Egerton MSS., No. 2027). The first edition (4to) was printed from the transcript as emended by the author. The "Addition to the Preface" was first published in the Fourth Edition.
The original manuscript of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold, which includes ninety-one folios bound in a single bluish-grey cover, is owned by Mr. Murray.[1] A copy of this manuscript, written by R. C. Dallas and with corrections in Byron's handwriting, is kept at the British Museum (Egerton MSS., No. 2027). The first edition (4to) was printed from the transcript as revised by the author. The "Addition to the Preface" was first published in the Fourth Edition.
The following notes in Byron's handwriting are on the outside of the cover of the original MS.:—
The following notes in Byron's handwriting are on the outside of the cover of the original manuscript:—
Started Oct. 31, 1809. Concluded, Canto 2d, Smyrna,
March 28, 1810. BYRON.
On the verso of the single bluish-grey cover, the lines, "Dear Object of Defeated Care," have been inscribed. They are entitled, "Written beneath the picture of J. U. D." They are dated, "Byron, Athens, 1811."
On the back of the single bluish-grey cover, the lines, "Dear Object of Defeated Care," are written. They are titled, "Written beneath the picture of J. U. D." They are dated, "Byron, Athens, 1811."
The following notes and memoranda have been bound up with the MS.:—
The following notes and memos have been included with the manuscript:—
"Henry Drury, Harrow. Given me by Lord Byron. Being his original autograph MS. of the first canto of Childe Harold, commenced at Joannina in Albania, proceeded with at Athens, and completed at Smyrna."
"Henry Drury, Harrow. Given to me by Lord Byron. This is his original handwritten manuscript of the first canto of Childe Harold, started in Joannina, Albania, continued in Athens, and finished in Smyrna."
"How strange that he did not seem to know that the volume contains Cantos I., II., and so written by Ld. B.!" [Note by J. Murray.]
"How strange that he didn’t seem to know that the book includes Cantos I., II., and so written by Ld. B.!" [Note by J. Murray.]
"Sir,—I desire that you will settle any account for Childe Harold with Mr. R. C. Dallas, to whom I have presented the copyright.
"Mr.,—I would like you to settle any accounts for Childe Harold with Mr. R. C. Dallas, to whom I have given the copyright."
"Received, April 1st, 1812, of Mr. John Murray, the sum of one hundred pounds 15/8, being my entire half-share of the profits of the 1st Edition of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 4to.
"Received, April 1st, 1812, from Mr. John Murray, the amount of one hundred pounds 15/8, which is my complete half-share of the profits from the 1st Edition of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 4to."
R. C. DALLAS.
R.C. Dallas.
£101:15:8.
£101.15.8
Mem.: This receipt is for the above sum, in part of five hundred guineas agreed to be paid by Mr. Murray for the Copyright of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."
Mem.: This receipt is for the amount listed above, as part of five hundred guineas that Mr. Murray agreed to pay for the copyright of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
The following poems are appended to the MS. of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold:—
The following poems are added to the manuscript of the First and Second Cantos of Childe Harold:—
1. "Written at Mrs. Spencer Smith's request, in her memorandum-book—
1. "Written at Mrs. Spencer Smith's request, in her memorandum book—
"'As o'er the cold sepulchral stone.'"
"'As I stand over the cold grave stone.'"
2. "Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulph, November 14, 1809."
2. "Stanzas written while passing the Ambracian Gulf, November 14, 1809."
3. "Written at Athens, January 16th, 1810—
3. "Written in Athens, January 16, 1810—
"'The spell is broke, the charm is flown.'"
"'The spell is broken, the charm is gone.'"
4. "Stanzas composed October 11, 1809, during the night in a thunderstorm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, in the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania."
4. "Stanzas written on October 11, 1809, during the night in a thunderstorm, when the guides had lost the way to Zitza, in the mountain range once known as Pindus, in Albania."
On a blank leaf bound up with the MS. at the end of the volume, Byron wrote—
On a blank page bound with the manuscript at the end of the volume, Byron wrote—
"Dear Ds.,—This is all that was contained in the MS., but the outside cover has been torn off by the booby of a binder.
"Dear Ds.,—This is everything in the manuscript, but the binder messed up and tore off the cover."
Yours ever,
Yours always,
B."
B.
The volume is bound in smooth green morocco, bordered by a single gilt line. "MS." in gilt lettering is stamped on the side cover.
The book is covered in smooth green leather, outlined by a single gold line. "MS." is stamped in gold lettering on the side cover.
II.
Collation of First Edition, Quarto, 1812,
with MS. of the First Canto.
Comparison of the First Edition, Quarto, 1812,
with the manuscript of the First Canto.
The MS. numbers ninety-one stanzas, the First Edition ninety-three stanzas.
The MS. has ninety-one stanzas, while the First Edition has ninety-three stanzas.
Omissions from the MS.
Missing info from the MS.
| Stanza vii. | "Of all his train there was a henchman page,"— |
| Stanza viii. | "Him and one yeoman only did he take,"— |
| Stanza xxii. | "Unhappy Vathek! in an evil hour,"— |
| Stanza xxv. | "In golden characters right well designed,"— |
| Stanza xxvii. | "But when Convention sent his handy work,"— |
| Stanza xxviii. | "Thus unto Heaven appealed the people: Heaven,"— |
| Stanza lxxxviii. | "There may you read with spectacles on eyes,"— |
| Stanza lxxxix. | "There may you read—Oh, Phoebus, save Sir John,"— |
| Stanza xc. | "Yet here of Vulpes mention may be made,"— |
Insertions in the First Edition.
Additions in the First Edition.
| Stanza i. | "Oh, thou! in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,"— |
| Stanza viii. | "Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood,"— |
| Stanza ix. | "And none did love him!—though to hall and bower,"— |
| Stanza xliii. | "Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief!"— |
| Stanza lxxxv. | "Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu!"— |
| Stanza lxxxvi. | "Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her Fate,"— |
| Stanza lxxxviii. | "Flows there a tear of Pity for the dead?"— |
| Stanza lxxxix. | "Not yet, alas! the dreadful work is done,"— |
| Stanza xc. | "Not all the blood at Talavera shed,"— |
| Stanza xci. | "And thou, my friend!—since unavailing woe,"— |
| Stanza xcii. | "Oh, known the earliest, and esteemed the most,"— |
The MS. of the Second Canto numbers eighty stanzas; the First Edition numbers eighty-eight stanzas.
The manuscript of the Second Canto has eighty stanzas; the First Edition has eighty-eight stanzas.
Omissions from the MS.
Missing from the MS.
| Stanza viii. | "Frown not upon me, churlish Priest! that I,"— |
| Stanza xiv. | "Come, then, ye classic Thieves of each degree,"— |
| Stanza xv. | "Or will the gentle Dilettanti crew,"— |
| Stanza lxiii. | "Childe Harold with that Chief held colloquy,"— |
Insertions in the First Edition.
Insertions in the First Edition.
| Stanza viii. | "Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be,"— |
| Stanza ix. | "There, Thou! whose Love and Life together fled,"— |
| Stanza xv. | "Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on Thee,"— |
| Stanza lii. | "Oh! where, Dodona! is thine agéd Grove?"— |
| Stanza lxiii. | "Mid many things most new to ear and eye,"— |
| Stanza lxxx. | "Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground,"— |
| Stanza lxxxiii. | "Let such approach this consecrated Land,"— |
| Stanza lxxxiv. | "For thee, who thus in too protracted song,"— |
| Stanza lxxxv. | "Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one!"— |
| Stanza lxxxvii. | "Then must I plunge again into the crowd,"— |
| Stanza lxxxviii. | "What is the worst of woes that wait on Age?"— |
| Stanza lxxxvi. | "Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved!"— |
| Stanza lxxxvii. | "Then must I plunge again into the crowd,"— |
| Stanza lxxxviii. | "What is the worst of woes that wait on Age?"— |
Additions to the Seventh Edition, 1814.
Updates to the Seventh Edition, 1814.
The Second Canto, in the first six editions, numbers eighty-eight stanzas; in the Seventh Edition the Second Canto numbers ninety-eight stanzas.
The Second Canto, in the first six editions, contains eighty-eight stanzas; in the Seventh Edition, the Second Canto has ninety-eight stanzas.
Additions.
Additions.
| The Dedication, To Ianthe. | |
| Stanza xxvii. | "More blest the life of godly Eremite,"— |
| Stanza lxxvii. | "The city won for Allah from the Giaour,"— |
| Stanza lxxviii. | "Yet mark their mirth, ere Lenten days begin,"— |
| Stanza lxxix. | "And whose more rife with merriment than thine,"— |
| Stanza lxxx. | "Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore,"— |
| Stanza lxxxi. | "Glanced many a light Caique along the foam,"— |
| Stanza lxxxii. | "But, midst the throng' in merry masquerade,"— |
| Stanza lxxxiii. | "This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece,"— |
| Stanza lxxxix. | "The Sun, the soil—but not the slave, the same,"— |
| Stanza xc. | "The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow,"— |
ITINERARY.
| 1809. | Canto I. |
| July 2. | Sail from Falmouth in Lisbon packet. (Stanza xii. Letter 125.) |
| July 6. | Arrive Lisbon. (Stanzas xvi., xvii. Letter 126.) Visit Cintra. (Stanzas xviii.-xxvi. Letter 128.) Visit Mafra. (Stanza xxix.) |
| July 17. | Leave Lisbon. (Stanza xxviii. Letter 127.) Ride through Portugal and Spain to Seville. (Stanzas xxviii.-xlii. Letter 127.) Visit Albuera. (Stanza xliii.) |
| July 21. | Arrive Seville. (Stanzas xlv., xlvi. Letters 127, 128.) |
| July 25. | Leave Seville. Ride to Cadiz, across the Sierra Morena. (Stanza li.) Cadiz. (Stanzas lxv.-lxxxiv. Letters 127, 128.) |
| Song II. | |
| Aug. 6. | Arrive Gibraltar. (Letters 127, 128.) |
| Aug. 17. | Sail from Gibraltar in Malta packet. (Stanzas xvii.-xxviii.) Malta. (Stanzas xxix.-xxxv. Letter 130.) |
| Sept. 19. | Sail from Malta in brig-of-war Spider. (Letter 131.) |
| Sept. 23. | Between Cephalonia and Zante. |
| Sept. 26. | Anchor off Patras. |
| Sept. 27. | In the channel between Ithaca and the mainland. (Stanzas xxxix.-xlii.) |
| Sept. 28. | Anchor off Prevesa (7 p.m.). (Stanza xlv.) [xxii] |
| Oct. 1. | Leave Prevesa, arrive Salakhora (Salagoura). |
| Oct. 3. | Leave Salakhora, arrive Arta. |
| Oct. 4. | Leave Arta, arrive han St. Demetre (H. Dhimittrios). |
| Oct. 5. | Arrive Janina. (Stanza xlvii. Letter 131.) |
| Oct. 8. | Ride into the country. First day of Ramazan. |
| Oct. 11. | Leave Janina, arrive Zitza ("Lines written during a Thunderstorm"). (Stanzas xlviii.-li. Letter 131.) |
| Oct. 13. | Leave Zitza, arrive Mossiani (Móseri). |
| Oct. 14. | Leave Mossiani, arrive Delvinaki (Dhelvinaki). (Stanza liv.) |
| Oct. 15. | Leave Delvinaki, arrive Libokhovo. |
| Oct. 17. | Leave Libokhovo, arrive Cesarades (Kestourataes). |
| Oct. 18. | Leave Cesarades, arrive Ereeneed (Irindi). |
| Oct. 19. | Leave Ereeneed, arrive Tepeleni. (Stanzas lv.-lxi.) |
| Oct. 20. | Reception by Ali Pacha. (Stanzas lxii.-lxiv.) |
| Oct. 23. | Leave Tepeleni, arrive Locavo (Lacovon). |
| Oct. 24. | Leave Locavo, arrive Delvinaki. |
| Oct. 25. | Leave Delvinaki, arrive Zitza. |
| Oct. 26. | Leave Zitza, arrive Janina. |
| Oct. 31. | Byron begins the First Canto of Childe Harold. |
| Nov. 3. | Leave Janina, arrive han St. Demetre. |
| Nov. 4. | Leave han St. Demetre, arrive Arta. |
| Nov. 5. | Leave Arta, arrive Salakhora. |
| Nov. 7. | Leave Salakhora, arrive Prevesa. |
| Nov. 8. | Sail from Prevesa, anchor off mainland near Parga. (Stanzas lxvii., lxviii.) |
| Nov. 9. | Leave Parga, and, returning by land, arrive Volondorako (Valanidórakhon). (Stanza lxix.) |
| Nov. 10. | Leave Volondorako, arrive Castrosikia (Kastrosykia). |
| Nov. 11. | Leave Castrosikia, arrive Prevesa. |
| Nov. 13. | Sail from Prevesa, anchor off Vonitsa. |
| Nov. 14. | Sail from Vonitsa, arrive Lutraki (Loutráki). (Stanzas lxx., lxxii., Song "Tambourgi, Tambourgi;" stanza written in passing the Ambracian Gulph. Letter 131.) |
| Nov. 15. | Leave Lutraki, arrive Katúna. |
| Nov. 16. | Leave Katúna, arrive Makalá (? Machalas). [xxiii] |
| 1809. | |
| Nov. 18. | Leave Makalá, arrive Guriá. |
| Nov. 19. | Leave Guriá, arrive Ætolikon. |
| Nov. 20. | Leave Ætolikon, arrive Mesolonghi. |
| Nov. 23. | Sail from Mesolonghi, arrive Patras. |
| Dec. 4. | Leave Patras, sleep at Han on shore. |
| Dec. 5. | Leave Han, arrive Vostitsa (Oegion). |
| Dec. 14. | Sail from Vostitsa, arrive Larnáki (? Itea). |
| Dec. 15. | Leave Larnáki (? Itea), arrive Chrysó. |
| Dec. 16. | Visit Delphi, the Pythian Cave, and stream of Castaly. (Canto I. stanza i.) |
| Dec. 17. | Leave Chrysó, arrive Arakhova (Rhakova). |
| Dec. 18. | Leave Arakhova, arrive Livadia (Livadhia). |
| Dec. 21. | Leave Livadia, arrive Mazee (Mazi). |
| Dec. 22. | Leave Mazee, arrive Thebes. |
| Dec. 24. | Leave Thebes, arrive Skurta. |
| Dec. 25. | Leave Skurta, pass Phyle, arrive Athens. (Stanzas i.-xv., stanza lxxiv.) |
| Dec. 30. | Byron finishes the First Canto of Childe Harold. |
| 1810. | |
| Jan. 13. | Visit Eleusis. |
| Jan. 16. | Visit Mendeli (Pentelicus). (Stanza lxxxvii.) |
| Jan. 18. | Walk round the peninsula of Munychia. |
| Jan. 19. | Leave Athens, arrive Vari. |
| Jan. 20. | Leave Vari, arrive Keratéa. |
| Jan. 23. | Visit temple of Athene at Sunium. (Stanza lxxxvi.) |
| Jan. 24. | Leave Keratéa, arrive plain of Marathon. |
| Jan. 25. | Visit plain of Marathon. (Stanzas lxxxix., xc.) |
| Jan. 26. | Leave Marathon, arrive Athens. |
| Mar. 5. | Leave Athens, embark on board the Pylades (Letter 136.) |
| Mar. 7. | Arrive Smyrna. (Letters 132, 133.) |
| Mar. 13. | Leave Smyrna, sleep at Han, near the river Halesus. |
| Mar. 14. | Leave Han, arrive Aiasaluk (near Ephesus). |
| Mar. 15. | Visit site of temple of Artemis at Ephesus. (Letter 132.) |
| Mar. 16. | Leave Ephesus, return to Smyrna. (Letter 132.) [xxiv] |
| Mar. 28. | Byron finishes the Second Canto of Childe Harold. |
| April 11. | Sail from Smyrna in the Salsette frigate. (Letter 134.) |
| April 12. | Anchor off Tenedos. |
| April 13. | Visit ruins of Alexandria Troas. |
| April 14. | Anchor off Cape Janissary. |
| April 16. | Byron attempts to swim across the Hellespont, explores the Troad. (Letters 135, 136.) |
| April 30. | Visit the springs of Bunarbashi (Bunarbási). |
| May 1. | Weigh anchor from off Cape Janissary, anchor eight miles from Dardanelles. |
| May 2. | Anchor off Castle Chanak Kalessia (Kale i Sultaniye). |
| May 3. | Byron and Mr. Ekenhead swim across the Hellespont (lines "Written after swimming," etc.). |
| May 13. | Anchor off Venaglio Point, arrive Constantinople. (Stanzas lxxvii.-lxxxii. Letters 138-145.) |
| July 14. | Sail from Constantinople in Salsette frigate. |
| July 18. | Byron returns to Athens. |
Note to "Itinerary."
Note to "Travel Plans."
[For dates and names of towns and villages, see Travels in Albania, and other Provinces of Turkey, in 1809 and 1810, by the Right Hon. Lord Broughton, G.C.B. [John Cam Hobhouse], two volumes, 1858. The orthography is based on that of Longmans' Gazetteer of the World, edited by G. G. Chisholm, 1895. The alternative forms are taken from Heinrich Kiepert's Carte de l'Épire et de la Thessalie, Berlin, 1897, and from Dr. Karl Peucker's Griechenland, Wien, 1897.]
[For dates and names of towns and villages, see Travels in Albania, and other Provinces of Turkey, in 1809 and 1810, by the Right Hon. Lord Broughton, G.C.B. [John Cam Hobhouse], two volumes, 1858. The spelling is based on that of Longmans' Gazetteer of the World, edited by G. G. Chisholm, 1895. The alternative forms are taken from Heinrich Kiepert's Carte de l'Épire et de la Thessalie, Berlin, 1897, and from Dr. Karl Peucker's Griechenland, Wien, 1897.]
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
| Preface to Vol. II. of the Poems | v |
| Introduction to the First and Second Cantos | ix |
| Notes on the MSS. of the First and Second Cantos | xvi |
| Itinerary | xxi |
| Preface to the First and Second Cantos | 3 |
| To Ianthe | 11 |
| Canto One | 15 |
| Notes | 85 |
| Canto 2 | 97 |
| Notes | 165 |
| Introduction to Canto the Third | 211 |
| Canto III | 215 |
| Notes | 291 |
| Introduction to Canto the Fourth | 311 |
| Original Draft, etc., of Canto the Fourth | 316 |
| Dedication | 321 |
| Canto Four | 327 |
| Historical Notes by J. C. Hobhouse | 465 |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
| 1. Ianthe (Lady Charlotte Harley), from an engraving by W. Finden, based on a drawing by R. Westall, R.A. | Frontispiece |
| 2. The Duchess of Richmond, from a miniature by Richard Cosway, owned by His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Gordon, K.G. | To face p. 228 |
| 3. Portrait of Lord Byron in Venice, from an oil painting by Ruckard, owned by Horatio F. Brown, Esq. | 326 |
| 4. The Horses of St. Mark, from a Photo by Alinari | 338 |
| 5. S. Pantaleon, from a woodcut published in Cremona in 1493. | 340 |
| 6. The Dying Gaul, from the Original in the Museum of the Capitol | 432 |
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
A ROMAUNT.
"L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont reconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues."—Le Cosmopolite, ou, le Citoyen du Monde, par Fougeret de Monbron. Londres, 1753.
"L'univers est une sorte de livre dont on n'a lu que la première page lorsqu'on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté pas mal, et je les ai tous trouvés mauvais. Cet examen ne m'a pas été inutile. Je détestais ma patrie. Toutes les idioties des différents peuples parmi lesquels j'ai vécu m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Même si je n'avais retiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je ne regretterais ni les frais ni les efforts."—Le Cosmopolite, ou, le Citoyen du Monde, par Fougeret de Monbron. Londres, 1753.
PREFACE
[a]
[TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.]
The following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts[b] to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two cantos are merely experimental.
The following poem was mostly written in the locations it tries to describe. It started in Albania, and the sections about Spain and Portugal were based on the author's observations in those countries. It's important to mention this for the accuracy of the descriptions. The scenes illustrated are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. For now, the poem ends here; its reception will decide whether the author can take readers to the capital of the East through Ionia and Phrygia: these two sections are just experiments.
A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretension to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value,[c]—that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim—Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated.
A made-up character is introduced to create some connection to the piece, which doesn’t claim to follow any strict format. Friends, whose opinions I really value,[c]—have suggested that with this fictional character, "Childe Harold," I might be seen as referring to a real person. I want to clarify right now—Harold is purely a product of my imagination, for the reasons I mentioned.
It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation "Childe,"[2] as "Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," etc., is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The "Good Night" in the beginning of the first Canto, was suggested by Lord Maxwell's "Good Night"[3] in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott.
It’s almost unnecessary to point out that the term "Childe," [2] like "Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," etc., is used because it fits better with the old style of verse that I’ve chosen. The "Good Night" at the start of the first Canto was inspired by Lord Maxwell's "Good Night" [3] in the *Border Minstrelsy*, edited by Mr. Scott.
The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most [5] successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation:—
The stanza of Spenser, as noted by one of our most [5] successful poets, allows for every kind. Dr. Beattie points out:—
"Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition."[5] Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition;[g] satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.
“Not long ago, I started a poem in the style and format of Spenser, where I plan to fully express my creativity, whether that means being funny or serious, descriptive or emotional, tender or sarcastic, depending on my mood; because, if I'm not mistaken, the form I’ve chosen is suitable for all these types of writing.[5] Strengthened in my belief by such authority and by the example of some of the greatest Italian poets, I won’t apologize for attempting similar variations in the following work;[g] confident that, if they don’t succeed, it will be due to the execution rather than the idea, which is supported by the practices of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.”
London, February, 1812.
London, February 1812.
ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.
I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object; it would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point alone I shall venture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the "vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth.[6] Now it so happens that the good old [6] times, when "l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique," flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69.[7] The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The "Cours d'Amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtoisie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland[8] on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye.
I have now waited until almost all our journals have shared their usual critiques. I have nothing to complain about regarding the general nature of their criticisms; it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to argue with their mild disapproval when, perhaps, if they had been a bit harsher, they might have been more honest. So, I want to sincerely thank them all for their generosity, but I’ll make one comment. Among the many valid criticisms of the rather lackluster character of the "vagrant Childe" (who, despite various suggestions to the contrary, I still insist is a fictional character), it has been pointed out that, aside from the anachronism, he is quite unknightly, as the era of the Knights was supposed to be characterized by Love, Honor, and the like.[6] Now, it just so happens that the good old times, when "l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique," thrived, were actually the most debauched of all centuries. Those who have doubts about this can check Sainte-Palaye, passim, especially vol. ii. p. 69.[7] The pledges of chivalry were no better kept than any other promises; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent and were certainly much less refined than those of Ovid. The "Cours d'Amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtoisie et de gentilesse" had much more love than courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland[8] on the same topic as Sainte-Palaye.
Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes—"No waiter, but a knight templar."[9][7] By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights, "sans peur," though not "sans réproche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Marie-Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honour lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.[10]
Whatever other objections may be made about that unpleasant character Childe Harold, he was definitely knightly in his qualities—"No waiter, but a knight templar."[9][7] By the way, I worry that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot weren't much better, even though they were very poetic characters and true knights, "without fear," but not "without blame." If the story of the creation of the "Garter" isn't just a myth, the knights of that order have been wearing the badge of a Countess of Salisbury for several centuries, who's not exactly well-remembered. So much for chivalry. Burke didn't have to mourn its end, even though Marie-Antoinette was just as virtuous as most of those honored by shattering lances and knocking knights off their horses.[10]
Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks[11] (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times) few exceptions will be found to this statement; and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.
Before the time of Bayard, and up until the era of Sir Joseph Banks[11] (the most pure and renowned of both ancient and modern times), there are hardly any exceptions to this statement; and I worry that a bit of exploration will show us that we shouldn’t miss these ridiculous spectacles of the Middle Ages.
I now leave "Childe Harold" to live his day such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of [8] past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the Poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon,[12] perhaps a poetical Zeluco.[13]
I now leave "Childe Harold" to live his life as he is; it would have been easier and definitely more agreeable to create a likable character. It would have been simple to gloss over his flaws, to make him do more and say less, but he was never meant to be a role model, other than to demonstrate that an early twist of mind and morals leads to boredom with past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauty of nature and the excitement of travel (except for ambition, the most powerful motivator) are meaningless to a soul that’s flawed or misguided. If I had continued with the poem, this character would have become more complex as it approached its end; because the outline I originally intended to develop for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetic Zeluco.[13]
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
CANTO THE FIRST.
TO IANTHE. [h] [14]
Though Beauty has long been considered unmatched, Not in those visions that reveal to the heart Forms that it longs for but has only imagined,
Has anything like you seemed real or imagined:
Nor, after seeing you, will I search in vain To capture those charms that changed as they shined—
[12] To those who do not see you, my words were weak; To those who look at you, what words could they find?
Nor does it break the promise of your Spring—
As beautiful in appearance, as warm yet sincere in spirit,
Love's image on earth without his wing,[15]
And innocent beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely the one who now lovingly raises Your youth, in you, is shining brighter every hour, Looks upon the Rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly colors all sorrow fades away.
My years already double yours;[16]
My cold, unfeeling gaze can look at you, And safely watch your growing beauty shine; Happy, I will never see them in decline; Happier, that while all younger hearts will ache,
I will escape the doom your eyes assign. To those whose admiration will prevail,
But mixed with the pain of Love's even most beautiful moments.
Now brightly bold or gracefully shy,
It wins as it moves around, shines wherever it stays,[17]
Take a look at this page, and don't dismiss my poem. That smile for which my heart might hopelessly long Could I ever be more than just a friend to you? Please agree to this, dear Maid, and don’t ask why. To someone so young, I would recommend my effort,
But ask me to combine my wreath with a unique Lily.
As long as friendly eyes cast a glance[i]
On Harold's page, Ianthe is honored here. Shall thus be first seen, forgotten last: My days were once numbered—if this tribute is to the past Bring your enchanting fingers close to the Lyre.[14] Of him who called you the most beautiful, just as you were—
That's all my memory can wish for; While more than just Hope can be claimed, could Friendship demand any less? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
A romance.
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.[19]
Since often embarrassed by later songs on earth,[l][20]
Mine does not dare to call you from your sacred Hill: Yet there I've wandered by your famous stream;[m]
Yes! He sighed over Delphi's long-abandoned shrine, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[16] Where everything is quiet, except for that weak fountain; Nor shall my shell awaken the tired Nine To add elegance to such a simple story—this humble tale of mine.
II.
Who took pleasure in the ways of Virtue; But spent his days in wild and disorderly ways,
And annoyed with laughter, the sleepy ear of Night. Oh man! Honestly, he was a shameless guy, Sorrow brought on by partying and wicked joy;[n]
Few things in the world pleased him[o]
Save girlfriends and hookups,
And showing off revelers from all walks of life.[21]
III.
And it's not appropriate for me to talk about my ancestry; It's enough to say that maybe they were famous,
And had been magnificent in another time:
But one sad loser tarnishes a name forever,[23]
But powerful in ancient times;
Nor all that heralds scrape from buried earth,
No elaborate language or sweet lies of poetry,[q]
Can proclaim wicked actions or sanctify a crime.
IV.
Hanging out there just like any other fly;[18] Nor considered before his short life was over. A single blast could plunge him into despair.
But long before hardly a third of his time had gone by, Worse than adversity, the child experienced; He felt completely satisfied:
Then he hated to live in his homeland,
Which felt to him even lonelier than the sad cell of an hermit.
V.
Nor did he make amends when he went wrong,
He had sighed too often, even though he loved only one,[t][24]
And that loved one, unfortunately, could never be his.
Ah, how lucky she is! to escape from him whose kiss Had been pollution to anything so pure; Who soon traded her allure for ordinary happiness,
And ruined her beautiful lands to decorate his wasteland,
Nor had calm domestic peace ever chosen to experience.
VI.
And he would run away from his fellow Bacchanals;[19] It's said that sometimes a gloomy tear would fall,
But Pride solidified the feeling inside him:[25]
He walked alone in a joyless daydream,[v]
And from his homeland decided to leave,
And check out the hot places across the ocean;[26]
With pleasure intoxicated, he almost craved sorrow,
And even to change the scenery, I would look for the shadows below.
VII.
It was a large and historic building; So old, it seemed like it just wouldn't fall, Yet strength was anchored in each solid aisle.
Monastic dome! doomed to disgraceful purposes![w]
Where superstition once had its lair Paphian girls were known for their singing and smiles; [x]
And monks might think their time had come again,[27]
If ancient stories are true, then these holy men are not mistaken.
VIII. [y]
[21] As if the memory of some fatal rivalry Or disappointed feelings lurked below:
But no one knew this, nor probably cared to know; For his soul was neither open nor naive. That finds relief by letting sorrow go, He didn't seek out a friend for advice or comfort,
Whatever this grief may be, which he could not control.
IX.[aa]
He gathered partygoers from near and far,
[22] He recognized those who flatter during the celebration, The relentless Parasites of today bring joy.
Yeah! No one loved him—not even his beloved—[ab][29]
But beauty and status are all that concern women,
And where there is light, Eros finds a companion;[30]
Young women, like moths, are always attracted to bright lights,
And money finds success where angels might lose hope.
X.
Even though he avoided leaving that mother; A sister he loved but never saw __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Before his tiring journey began:
If he had friends, he said goodbye to none.[ad]
But don't think of his heart as one of steel:[ae][32]
You, who have known what it is to be infatuated with Some cherished items will feel sadness. Such goodbyes break the heart that it hopes to mend.
XI.
The laughing women he enjoyed,[ag]
Whose big blue eyes, fair hair, and pale hands, Could shake the sanctity of a hermit,
And for a long time, it had satisfied his youthful cravings;
His goblets were filled with every expensive wine,
And all that encourages luxury to invite,
Without a word, he left to cross the sea,
And cross the shores of Paynim, and go beyond the middle of the Earth.[ah][33]
XII.
As happy to send him away from his hometown; And quickly, the white rocks disappeared from his sight, And soon got lost in the surrounding foam:
And then, maybe, he wants to wander. He regretted it, but deep down, he still held onto it[34]
[25] The quiet thought didn’t come from his lips either. One word of sorrow, while others feasted and cried, And the wild winds kept howling in a weak, pathetic way.
XIII.
When he thought no one was eavesdropping: And now he ran his fingers over it,
And adjusted his goodbye in the fading light; As the ship soared on her snowy wings, And the fleeting shores disappeared from his view,
So he said his final "Good Night" to the elements.[35]
CHILDE HAROLD'S GOOD NIGHT.
1.
And screams the wild seagull. The sun that sets over the sea We follow in his path; Goodbye for now to him and you,
My homeland—Good Night!
2.
To give birth to Morrow;
And I will praise the ocean and the skies,
But not my mother Earth. My own good Hall is deserted,
Its fireplace is empty; Wild weeds are growing on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
3.
4.
5.
Yet didn’t complain much;
But my mother will deeply sigh. Till I return again.'—
"That's enough, my little guy!
Such tears fill your eye;
If I had your honest heart,
Mine won't be dry.
6.
Why do you look so pale?
Do you fear a French enemy? Or shiver in the wind?"—
Do you think I'm afraid for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not that weak;
But thinking about a wife who's not here
Will make a loyal cheek pale.
7.
8.
9.
10.
Across the foaming sea; Nor do I care what land you take me to,
So not again for me.
Welcome, welcome, dark-blue waves!
And when you leave my sight,
Welcome, you deserts, and you caves!
My homeland—Good Night!"
XIV.
And the winds are rough in Biscay's restless bay.
Four days have passed, but with the fifth, soon, Newly seen shores make everyone cheerful; And Cintra's mountain__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ welcomes them on their journey,
And Tagus rushing forward to the Deep,
His legendary golden tribute__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ was offered to pay; And soon aboard the Lusian, the pilots jump, And navigate between productive shores where only a few country folks harvest.[ap]
XV.
What fragrant fruits blush on every tree!
What beautiful views stretch over the hills!
But humans would tarnish them with a disrespectful hand:
And when the Almighty raises his most powerful punishment Against those who most violate his high command, With triple vengeance, his fiery arrows will drive Gaul's locust swarm, and the earth from the most ruthless enemies cleanse[ar]
XVI.
Her image drifting on that noble tide,
Which poets foolishly cover with golden sands,[at]
But now where a thousand ships used to sail Of great strength, since Albion joined forces,
And she offered her help to the Lusians:
[33] A nation filled with ignorance and arrogance,[44]
Who kisses but hates the hand that wields the sword[au]
To protect them from the anger of Gaul's merciless ruler.
XVII.
That, shining brightly, appears to be heavenly,
Heartbroken will wander back and forth,
Amid many things that are unappealing to strange eyes;[av]
Huts and palaces look equally dirty:[aw]
The dirty inhabitants are raised in filth;[ax]
No matter the rank of a person, whether high or low, Cares about the cleanliness of their overcoat or shirt,
Though afflicted by Egypt's plague, untidy, unwashed, unharmed.
XVIII.
Why, Nature, do you waste your wonders on such people?[34] Look! Cintra's glorious paradise intervenes[45]
In the diverse maze of mountains and valleys.
Oh, woe is me! What hand can steer a pencil or a pen, To follow half of what the eye sees Through views more dazzling to mortal perception[ay]
Than those that the Bard talks about,
Who opened the gates of Elysium to the amazed world?
XIX.
The ancient cork trees that cover the rough hillside, The mountain moss darkened by the blazing sky,
The sunken valley, where the shadowy shrubs must be mourning, The gentle blue__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ of the calm ocean,
The orange hues that brighten the lushest branches,
The rushing waters that jump from the cliff to the valley,[ba]
The vine up high, the willow branch down low,
Blended into one powerful scene, shining with diverse beauty.
XX.
And often pause to stay for a moment as you leave, From higher rocks, take in new beauty,
And take a break at "Our Lady's house of Woe;"__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Where thrifty monks display their small relics,
And various stories tell the stranger:
Here, wicked people have been punished, and look!
Deep in that cave, Honorius lived for a long time,
Hoping to earn a place in Heaven by turning Earth into a Hell.
XXI.
Yet do not consider these as Devotion's offering—
These are fragile memorials of lethal anger:
For wherever the screaming victim has Spilled his blood under the assassin's knife,
A hand stands up a cross made of decaying lath; And groves and valleys with a thousand like them are abundant In this purple land, where the Law does not guarantee life. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XXII.
Are domes where once kings would find refuge;
[37] But now the wildflowers around them only breathe:
Yet the remnants of grandeur are still present there.
And over there stands the beautiful Prince's palace:
There you are too, Vathek! England's richest son,[bb][50]
Once you created your Paradise, not realizing When reckless Wealth has accomplished her greatest actions,[bc]
Meek Peace's tempting charms were always something she avoided.
XXIII.
Your fairy home is just as lonely as you!
[38] Here, huge weeds barely allow a passage. To empty halls, with wide-open doors: New insights for the thoughtful mind, how The pleasures on earth are in vain;[be]
Caught up in wreckage soon by Time's harsh flow!
XXIV.
Oh! dome that is unpleasing to the British eye!
With the crown called Foolscap, look! a Fiend, A little demon that can’t stop mocking,
There sits in a parchment robe, dressed up, and by[bf]
He has a seal and a black scroll hanging by his side,
Where bright names of knights are proudly displayed,[bg]
Various signatures grace the roll,[bh]
Then the Urchin points and laughs with all his might.[bi]
XXV.
That thwarted the knights in Marialva's dome:
He deceived them with their intellect (if they had any). And changed a nation’s shallow happiness to sadness.
[40] Here Folly rushed to the ground with the victor's feather,
And Policy regained what weapons had lost:
[41] For leaders like ours, it's pointless for laurels to bloom!
Woe to the conquering, not the defeated group,
Since confused Triumph hangs low on Lusitania's coast.
XXVI.
Britannia is suffering, Cintra! just hearing your name; People in office become anxious at the mention of __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
And they would gladly blush if they were able to, out of shame. How will future generations recognize the action!
Will our own country and other nations not mock, To see these champions denied their glory,
By enemies defeated in battle, yet here as winners, Where will Scorn point her finger in the years to come?
XXVII.
More restless than a swallow in the sky: [bk]
Though he stayed here for a while and learned to reflect on morals, For meditation focused on him at specific times; And conscious Reason whispered to look down on His early youth, wasted on the wildest fancies; But as he looked at the truth, his tired eyes became dull.[52]
XXVIII.
A peaceful scene, though comforting to his spirit:[bl]
Once more, he shakes off his gloomy moods,
But don't look for the prostitute and the bowl now.[bm]
He flies onward, but he hasn't set a destination yet. Where he will take a break on his journey;[43] And many changing scenes must pass over him Before his desire to travel can be satisfied,[bn]
Either he will calm his mind, or he will gain wise experience.
XXIX.
Where the unfortunate queen of the Lusians lived long ago;[bo][54]
And Church and Court mixed their display,
And Mass and celebration were seen alternately;[44] Nobles and brothers—mismatched bunch, I believe!
But here the Babylonian Whore has built A dome, where she displays herself in such glorious shine,
That men forget the blood she has shed,
And kneel to the Pomp that enjoys covering up guilt.
XXX.
Where to look brings joy to the eye, Childe Harold travels through many beautiful places.[bp]
Though lazy people think it's just a pointless pursuit, And men should get up from their comfortable chairs,
The difficult path and the long, long distance to cover, Oh! There's a sweetness in the mountain air,
And Life, that inflated Comfort can never expect to share.
XXXI.
Vast plains stretch endlessly!
As far as the eye can see, without end,
Spain's lands are where her shepherds take care Flocks, whose valuable wool the trader is well aware of—
The pastor must now protect his lambs:
For Spain is surrounded by relentless enemies,
And everyone must protect their whole self, or face the troubles of submission.
XXXII.
What do you think separates the rival kingdoms?[br]
Before the envious Queens of Nations meet, Does Tayo interrupt his powerful wave? Or do dark Sierras stand tall in rugged pride? Or a barrier of art, like China's Great Wall?—
No barrier wall, no river deep and wide,
Not horrifying cliffs, nor dark and towering mountains, Rise like the rocks that separate Hispania from Gaul:[55]
XXXIII.
Although rival kingdoms crowd its lush slopes:
Here rests the lazy shepherd on his staff,
And empty on the shimmering waves does appear,
That calmness between the fiercest enemies flows; For every peasant is as proud as the noblest duke:
The Spanish deer knows the difference well. Between him and the Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XXXIV.
Dark Guadiana flows with his strength along In gloomy waves, whispering and immense,
Noted ancient roundelays among.[bt]
Once upon his banks, legions gathered. Of Moor and Knight, dressed in shining armor:
Here the swift stopped their race, here the strong sank; The Paynim turban and the Christian emblem
Mixed in the bleeding stream, overwhelmed by floating crowds.[57]
XXXV.
Where is that standard__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ that Pelagio carried,[bu]
When Cava's traitor father first summoned the group Did you stain your mountain streams with Gothic blood? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Where are those damn Banners from the past? Waved over your sons, triumphant in the wind,[47] And finally drove the raiders back to their shore?[59]
The Cross shone bright red, and the pale Crescent faded away,[bv]
While Africa's echoes resonated with the cries of Moorish women.
XXXVI.
Ah! such, unfortunately! the hero's greatest destiny!
When granite melts and when records disappear,
A peasant's complaint extends his uncertain deadline.[bw]
Pride! lower your gaze from Heaven to your situation,
Watch how the Mighty turn into a song!
Can Volume, Pillar, Pile keep you safe? Or must you trust Tradition's straightforward words,
When Flattery gets close to you, and History misrepresents you?
XXXVII.
Behold! Chivalry, your ancient Goddess, calls out,
But doesn't wield, like she used to, her thirsty lance,
Nor does she shake her crimson feathers in the skies:
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts, she soars,
And speaks in thunder through that engine's roar:
[48] In every call she makes—"Wake up! Get up!"
Is her voice weaker than it used to be, When her war song echoed on the shores of Andalusia?
XXXVIII.
Nor did you save your brothers before they sank below Tyrants and their slaves?—the flames of Death,
The bonfires blaze up high—from rock to rock![bx]
Each volley indicates that thousands stop breathing; Death rides on the fiery Siroc,[61]
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the impact.
XXXIX.
His blood-red hair getting darker in the sunlight,
With a deadly weapon shining in his fiery hands,
And an eye that burns everything it looks at;
It rolls restlessly, sometimes steady, and then again. Flashing in the distance, —and at his metal feet[49] Destruction hides, to acknowledge what actions are taken;
This morning, three powerful nations are coming together,
To offer the blood he considers the most precious at his Shrine.
XL.
(For someone who has no friend, no brother there)
Their rival scarves with mixed embroidery,[by]
Their different weapons that shine in the air!
What brave War-hounds wake them from their den,
And they gnash their teeth, shouting loudly for the prey!
Everyone joins the chase, but few share in the triumph; [63]
The grave will take the greatest prize away,
And Havoc can barely count their numbers for joy.
XLI.
The cries are France, Spain, Britain, Victory!
The Enemy, the Victim, and the Caring Ally
That fights for everyone, but always battles in vain,[65]
Are met—as if they couldn't die at home—
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,
And fertilize the field that each claims to cultivate.
XLII.
Yes, Honor decorates the ground that surrounds their clay![66]
Vain reasoning! Here are the tools,[ca]
The broken tools that tyrants discard
[51] In countless numbers, when they take the risk to carve their path
With human hearts—what for?—just a dream. Can dictators achieve anything that supports their power?[cb]
Or call one stretch of land their own with honesty,
Save that in the end they fall apart, piece by piece?
XLIII.
As the Pilgrim rode across your plain, Who could predict you'd be here, in such a short time,
A scene where rivals come together to brag and fight![cd]
Peace to those who have passed! May the warrior's reward __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ And tears of joy extend their reward![cf]
Until others fall where different leaders guide Your name will spread among the eager crowd,
And shine in pointless verses, the subject of fleeting songs.[cg][68]
XLIV.
Fame that will hardly bring their remains back to life,
Though thousands fall, they do so for a single name. Indeed, it would be sad to hinder their noble goal. Who strikes, blessed workers! for their country's benefit,[ch]
And die, so that living wouldn't have revealed her shame; Maybe they died in some family dispute,
Or within a smaller scope, the path of reckless plunder was followed.[ci]
XLV.
Is she really free? The target that the Spoiler has longed for!
Soon, soon the fiery foot of Conquest will invade,
Darkening her beautiful domes with coarse marks. Inevitable hour! To struggle against fate Where Desolation raises her hungry offspring
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might still endure,
And let virtue overcome everything, and let murder stop flourishing.
XLVI.
The feast, the music, and the celebration are everywhere; We pass the time with odd ways of having fun,
Nor let these patriots suffer from their country's wounds:
Neither the call of War nor the sound of Love's music __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ is heard; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ Here, Folly still captivates his followers; And young-eyed Lewdness makes her rounds at midnight:[cm]
Surrounded by the hidden wrongs of cities,
Even until the end, vice clings to the crumbling walls.
XLVII.
He should not see his vineyard in ruins,
Blasted beneath the harsh, hot breath of War.
No longer under the gentle star of evening's approval Fandango twirls his cheerful castanet:[72]
[54] Ah, Monarchs! Could you feel the joy you ruin,
You won't worry about the struggles of glory; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The rough, muted drum would rest, and people would still find happiness!
XLVIII.
As he used to cheer the leagues, His fast bells were jingling wildly on the way? No! As he races by, he shouts "Long live the King!" __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
And checks his song to curse Godoy,
The royal wittol Charles, and damn the day When Spain's queen first saw the black-eyed boy,
And the treachery, with a twisted grin, emerged from her corrupted happiness.
XLIX.
[55] Spread-out hoofprints dent the injured ground;
And, burned by fire, the grassy area’s darkened surface It says that the enemy was a guest in Andalusia:
Here was the camp, the watchfire, and the army,
Here, the brave peasant charged into the Dragon's lair; He still points it out with a triumphant boast,
And points to those cliffs over there, which have often been fought over and changed hands.
L.
He wears a red badge on his cap,
Which tells you who to avoid and who to welcome: __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Woe to the person who walks in public view
Without loyalty, this token is not genuine:
The knife is sharp, and the strike is sudden; And the Gallic enemy would deeply regret,
If hidden daggers are tucked under the cloak,
Could dull the sword's sharpness or clear the cannon's smoke.
LI.
The mountain howitzer, the damaged road,[56] The sharp palisade and the overflowing moat,
The stationed bands, the always-present watch,[co]
The magazine was kept in a rocky place, The strengthened horse under the thatched roof,
The pyramid of balls, the constantly burning match, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LII.
He pauses for a moment before lifting the rod; A brief moment is willing to pause: Soon his legions will sweep through their path; The West needs to claim the Scourger of the world.[cp]
Ah! Spain! How sorrowful will be your day of reckoning,
When Gaul's Vulture flies high with his wings spread,[cq]
And you will see your sons tossed into Hades in crowds.
LIII.
To inflate one corrupt Chiefs' unhealthy rule?[75]
Is there no step between submission and death?
The rise of Rapine and the decline of Spain?
[57] And does the Power that man worships ordain Will they ignore their fate and not listen to the plea of the one asking for help? Is all that desperate bravery in vain? And wise advice, along with patriotic passion—
The Veteran's experience—Youth's passion—and Manhood's strength of steel?
LIV.
And, all unsexed, the Anlace__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ has united in marriage,
Sang the loud song and challenged the act of war? And she, who once had the appearance of a scar Shocked, the owlet's alarm filled the air with fear,[77]
Now see the column-scattering bayonet jar,[cr]
The falchion flashed, and over the still warm dead Stalks with Minerva's grace where Mars might hesitate to walk.
LV.
Oh! if you had known her during her more gentle moments,
[58] Highlighted her black eye that taunts her coal-black veil,
I heard her cheerful, lively voice in the lady's garden, Seen her long hair that challenges the painter's skill,
Her fairy form, radiating more than just feminine grace,
You would hardly consider that Saragoza's tower Saw her smile in the dangerous Gorgon face,
Narrow the tight formation and lead in the frightening pursuit of Glory.
LVI.
Her chief is dead—she takes his dangerous position;
Her friends run away—she assesses their main path; The enemy is retreating—she leads the attacking force:
Who can soothe a lover's ghost like she can?
Who can avenge a leader's downfall so effectively? What does a maid find when a man's hopes are dashed? Who clings so strongly to the flying Gaul, Stopped by a woman's hand, in front of a damaged wall? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LVII.
But created for all the enchanting skills of love: Though they strive to match her sons in battle, And in the terrifying formation, dare to advance,
It's just the gentle intensity of the dove,
Pecking at the hand that hovers over her partner:
In both softness and firmness, far beyond. Distant women, known for their annoying chatter; Her mind is definitely more noble, and her charms might be just as impressive.
LVIII.
Shows how soft that chin is, which receives his touch: __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Her lips, whose kisses are poised to leave their place, A man should be brave before he deserves that:
Her gaze is incredibly beautiful! How much Has Phoebus tried in vain to fade her beauty, Which shines even brighter from his loving grip!
Who would travel north to seek out lighter-skinned women? How pitiful their shapes look! So tired, pale, and fragile![78]
LIX.
Match me with those Houries, whom you hardly permit To feel the breeze in case Love should travel on the wind,
With Spain's dark-eyed daughters—take a moment to understand,
There we find the Paradise of your wise Prophet,
His black-eyed maids of Heaven, unbelievably kind.
LX.
Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye,
Not in the legendary scenery of a lay,[cu]
But flying high through your native sky, In the grand beauty of the mountains!
What a wonder it is if I try to sing like this! The most humble of your travelers passing by
Would happily charm your Echoes with his strings,
Though from your heights no more will a Muse wave her wing.
LXI.
And now I see you—it’s, unfortunately, with shame That I must worship in the weakest voices. When I talk about your worshippers from the past
I tremble, and can only kneel;
Nor raise my voice, nor foolishly attempt to rise, But look beneath your cloudy cover I'm silently thrilled to finally see You![80]
LXII.
Whose fate has limited their lives to faraway places,
Should I stand unmoved and gaze at the sacred scene,
Which others praise, even though they don't realize it? Though Apollo no longer visits his Grotto here,
And you, the Muses' seat, are now their grave,
[62] Some gentle spirit still fills the place,
Sighs in the wind, stays quiet in the Cave,
And glides smoothly with a glassy foot over that melodious wave.[cv]
LXIII.
Forget the land, the sons, and the daughters of Spain; Her fate, precious to every freeborn heart; And hailed you, perhaps not without a tear.
Now to my topic—but from your sacred retreat Let me carry a reminder, a memory;[cw]
Give me a leaf from Daphne's immortal plant,
Don't think of your devotee's hope as an empty boast.
LXIV.
Look around your massive base at a brighter choir,[81]
Nor did Delphi ever, when her Priestess sang The Pythian hymn with greater than human passion,
Check out a train that's more likely to inspire.
The love song, than the maidens of Andalusia,
[63] Nurtured in the warm embrace of gentle Desire:
Ah! that to these were granted such peaceful shades As Greece can still give, even though Glory has left her fields.
LXV.
But Cadiz, rising on the far-off coast,[82]
Evokes a kinder, though unworthy, admiration.
Ah, Vice! how gentle are your indulgent ways!
While youthful blood is rising, who can escape[cx]
The captivation of your enchanting gaze? A Cherub-Hydra is staring at us, And shape yourself to fit every preference, your beloved deceptive form.
LXVI.
The Queen who conquers everything must submit to you—
The pleasures left, but they sought a warmer place; And Venus, true to her home Sea,
To nothing else constant, here I chose to escape,
And set up her shrine inside these white walls:
[64] Though she is not confined to one dome, she Her worship, however, dedicated to her ritual,
A thousand altars stand, always shining bright.[83]
LXVII.
People are blushing among the laughing crew of the Revel, The song is played, the pink garland is worn;
Quirky devices and new adventures,
Step on each other's toes.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ A long goodbye
He calls for a serious joy that stays here: Nothing stops the chaos, but instead __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
True devotion burns like monkish incense,
And Love and Prayer come together, or take turns guiding the moment.[cz]
LXVIII.
What makes it sacred on this Christian land? Look! It is dedicated to a serious Feast:
Hey! Didn't you hear the roar of the king of the forest? Slamming the lance, he extinguishes the pouring blood
Of man and horse, thrown down beneath his horn; The crowded arena shakes with cheers for more; The crazy crowd shouts over freshly torn entrails,
Neither does the female eye flinch, nor does it pretend to grieve.
LXIX.[86]
London! You know well that it's a day of prayer:
Then your stylish citizen, polished craftsman,
And the smug apprentice gulps down their weekly dose of air:
Your hired carriage, whiskey,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ one-horse cart,
[66] And the simplest ride through various suburbs spins,[da]
To fix up Hampstead, Brentford, and Harrow; Until the weary jade forgets to spin the wheel,
Provoking jealous comments from every rude passerby.[db]
LXX.
Others zip along the safer turnpike; Some go up Richmond Hill, while others hurry to Ware,
And many head up the steep hill of Highgate.
Ask, Boeotian Shades! Why is that? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
It's for the worship of the solemn Horn,[88]
[67] Held in the sacred hand of Mystery,
In whose terrifying name both men and women are pledged, And seal the oath with a drink, and dance until morning.
LXXI.
Fair Cadiz, soaring above the dark blue sea![89]
As soon as the morning bell chimes nine,
Your Saint-worshippers count the Rosary:
The Virgin is often teased to set them free. (I truly believe I’m the only virgin here) From crimes as many as her followers are; Then they head to the packed circus: Young or old, rich or poor, everyone enjoys the same entertainment.
LXXII.
Thousands upon thousands are gathered around;[68] Long before the first loud trumpet sound is heard,
No available space for late weight is found:
Here, there are lots of Dons, Grandees, but mostly Dames. Skilled at catching the attention of a mischievous glance, But always willing to heal the wound;
None through their cold indifference are destined to perish,
As lovesick poets lament, caught by Love's sorrowful arrows.
LXXIII.
With a milk-white crest, golden spur, and a lance held lightly, Four knights get ready for adventurous tasks,
And humbly bending, we move forward to the challenges;[69] Their scarves are luxurious, and their horses prance elegantly: If they stand out in the deadly game today,
The crowd's loud cheer and the ladies' beautiful looks,
Best reward for good deeds! They take it away,
And all that kings or leaders ever earn pays back their efforts.
LXXIV.
But all set, the light-footed Matador
Stands in the center, ready to invade. The lord of lowing herds; but not before The ground is carefully walked on, In case anything hidden might interfere with his speed: With his arms like a dart, he fights from a distance, no more. Can a person succeed without a friendly horse—
Unfortunately, he's often judged too harshly to endure and suffer.
LXXV.
The den grows larger, and Expectation stays quiet. Looks around at the populated walls of the quiet circle. Bounds with one fierce leap the powerful beast,
And, glaring wildly, kicks with a resounding foot, The sand doesn't blindly rush at its enemy:
Here and there, he directs his menacing gaze to fit His first attack, swinging back and forth His furious tail; his eyes glow red and wide.
LXXVI.
Go away, you careless boy! Get the spear ready: Now is your time, to perish, or show off
The skill that might still control his reckless path!
With perfectly timed turns, the agile horses change direction; The Bull rides the waves, but not without injuries; Streams from his side the clear crimson flow: He soars, he spins, caught up in his struggles; Dart follows dart—lance, lance—loud cries express his troubles.
LXXVII.
His bloody chest reveals the source of life's struggles; Though weakened by death, he still raises his frail body; Staggering, but carrying all of it, he bears his Lord unharmed.
LXXVIII.
In the center stands the Bull at bay,
With deep wounds, and gripping darts, and broken lances,[92]
And enemies disabled in the brutal battle:
And now the Matadores__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ play around him, Shake the red cloak and hold the ready weapon: Once again, he charges through with his thunderous presence—
Futile anger! the cloak leaves the crafty hand,
He closes his fierce eye—it's over—he collapses onto the sand![dd]
LXXIX.
Hidden within him lies the deadly weapon. He pauses—he begins—refusing to decline:
He falls slowly, surrounded by triumphant cheers,
Dies without a groan, without a struggle. The fancy car appears—above The corpse is stacked—an appealing view for ordinary eyes—[de][94]
[72] Four horses that reject the reins, as quick as they are timid,
Throw the dark mass along, barely visible as it rushes by.
LXXX.
The Spanish maid, and celebrates the Spanish young man.
Raised in violence from an early age, his heart finds joy In revenge, taking pleasure in someone else's suffering.
What private conflicts are tarnishing the troubled village? Though now a united force should face the enemy,
Enough, unfortunately! In modest homes stay,
To meditate against the secret attack from a friend,
For a small reason to be angry, from which Life's warm flow must emerge.[95]
LXXXI.
And everything that makes the generous soul resist,[df]
Which the strict old man thought he could capture,
[73] Have moved into darkness with the lost time. Who was as carefree as Spanish girls were seen, (Before the war erupted in his fiery rage,) With braided hair bouncing over the green, While at the gay dance, who illuminated the night with her love-filled presence?
LXXXII.
Or dreamed he was in love, since Rapture is like a dream;
But now his restless heart was unchanged,
For he had not yet drunk from the stream of Lethe;
And lately he had learned to truly believe Love has no gift as appreciative as his wings:
No matter how fair, how youthful, or how soft he appears, Filled to the brim with the delightful waters of joy's springs[dg]
Some bitterness spreads its bubbling poison over the flowers. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LXXXIII.
Though now it affects him like it does the wise; Not that Philosophy on such a mind Ever deigned to lower her chaste and terrible eyes: But Passion either calms herself__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ to rest, or takes off; And Vice, that digs her own pleasure-filled grave,
[74] He had long buried his hopes, never to rise again:[dh]
Pleasure's faded, life-hating gloom Wrote on his wrinkled forehead cursed Cain's endless punishment.[98]
LXXXIV.
Yet once he fought against the Demon's control,
And as he sat thoughtfully in Beauty's bower,
Delivered his spontaneous verse,
To charms as beautiful as those that comforted his happier days.
TO INEZ. [99]
1.
Sadly, I can't smile again:
Yet heaven forbid that you ever Should we cry, and maybe cry for no reason.
2.
A pang, can’t you even help to ease it?
3.
Nor low ambition's honors lost,[76] That makes me dislike my current situation,
And escape from everything I valued the most:
4.
5.
But cannot expect to rest before.
6.
7.
And never—at least not like me—awake!
8.
Whatever happens, I've seen the worst.
9.
Out of compassion from the search, hold back:
Keep smiling—don't reveal your true self
Man's heart, and see the Hell that's there.
Jan. 25. 1810.—[MS.]
Jan. 25, 1810.—[MS.]
LXXXV.
Who can forget how well your walls have held up? When everyone was changing, you alone were true,
First to be free and last to be conquered;[102]
And if in the middle of a scene, a sudden shock, Some native blood was seen to stain your streets,
A traitor was the only one who fell victim to the feud: __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Here everyone was noble except for the nobility; No one embraced a Conqueror's chain except for fallen Chivalry!
LXXXVI.
They fight for freedom who have never been free,
A leaderless community for an unfeeling condition;[103]
Her vassals fight when their Chieftains run away,
True to the very slaves of Treachery: Attached to a land that offered them nothing but life,
Pride shows the way to freedom;
Back to the struggle, confused in the conflict,
War, war is still the demand, "War to the bitter end!" __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LXXXVII.
Go, read whatever is written about the bloodiest battles:[79] Whatever sharp Revenge drove against the foreign enemy Can act, is acting there against human life:
[80] From a flashing sword to a hidden knife,
War shapes each weapon to its purpose—
So may he protect the sister and the wife,
May he make every cursed oppressor bleed—
So maybe such enemies deserve the most ruthless act!
LXXXVIII.[104]
Look at the hands stained red with the blood of women; Then let the dogs take the unburied dead, Then let each corpse remain for the vulture. Even though it’s not worthy of the predator bird's beak; Let their bleached bones and the stain of their blood remain,
Long observe the battlefield with terrifying dread:
Only then can our sons imagine the scenes we witnessed!
LXXXIX.
It goes even deeper, the work has barely started,
No one can see the distant end. Fallen nations look to Spain; if she is free, she sets others free. More than her, Pizarros once imprisoned:
Weird retribution! now Columbia's ease
Fixes the injustices that the sons of Quito experienced,[105]
While in the homeland, murder roams freely.
XC.
Not all the wonders of Barossa's battle,
Not Albuera luxurious for the dead,
Have won for Spain her clearly established right.
When will her Olive Branch be free from disease? When will she take a breath from her hard work? How many uncertain days will end in night,
Before the Frank robber takes his loot from him, And let Freedom's unique tree grow naturally from the ground![106]
XCI.
Bursts from my heart and mixes with the strain—
[83] Had the sword brought you down low like the mighty, Pride may even prevent Friendship from complaining:
But to come down without any accolades is pointless,
Forgotten by everyone, except for the lonely heart,
And blend the uninjured with the celebrated fallen,
While Glory adorns so many lesser crowns!
What have you done to fall so peacefully asleep?
XCII.
Dear to a heart where nothing was left so precious![dm]
Though my days of despair seem permanently lost, In dreams, don't deny me the chance to see you here! And morning in secret will refresh the tear Of consciousness awakening to her troubles,
And Fancy hovers over your lifeless coffin,[dn]
Until my fragile body returns to where it came from,
And the mourners and the one they mourn for lie together in rest.
XCIII.
[84] You'll find some news on a future page,
If the one who rhymes now can write more. Is this too much? stern Critic! Don't say that:
Be patient! and you will hear what he saw. In other countries, where he was fated to go:
Lands that hold the monuments of Eld,
Before Greece and its arts were suppressed by barbaric hands.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "The first and second cantos of Childe Harold were written in separate portions by the noble author. They were afterwards arranged for publication; and when thus arranged, the whole was copied. This copy was placed in Lord Byron's hands, and he made various alterations, corrections, and large additions. These, together with the notes, are in his Lordship's own handwriting. The manuscript thus corrected was sent to the press, and was printed under the direction of Robt. Chas. Dallas, Esq., to whom Lord Byron had given the copyright of the poem. The MS., as it came from the printers, was preserved by Mr. Dallas, and is now in the possession of his son, the Rev. Alex. Dallas."
[1] "The first and second cantos of Childe Harold were written separately by the esteemed author. They were later organized for publication, and once arranged, a complete copy was made. This copy was given to Lord Byron, who made various changes, corrections, and significant additions. These, along with the notes, are in his Lordship's own handwriting. The corrected manuscript was then sent to the press and printed under the supervision of Robt. Chas. Dallas, Esq., to whom Lord Byron had assigned the copyright of the poem. The manuscript, as it was received from the printers, was kept by Mr. Dallas, and is now in the possession of his son, the Rev. Alex. Dallas."
[See Dallas Transcript, p. 1. Mus. Brit. Bibl. Egerton, 2027. Press 526. H. T.]
[See Dallas Transcript, p. 1. Mus. Brit. Bibl. Egerton, 2027. Press 526. H. T.]
[b] Professes to describe.—[MS. B.M.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Claims to describe.—[MS. B.M.]
[c] ——that in the fictitious character of "Childe Harold" I may incur the suspicion of having drawn "from myself." This I beg leave once for all to disclaim. I wanted a character to give some connection to the poem, and the one adopted suited my purpose as well as any other.—[MS. B.M.]
[c] ——that in the made-up character of "Childe Harold" I might come off as having drawn "from myself." I want to clarify that this isn't the case. I needed a character to connect the poem, and the one I chose worked for my purpose just like any other would.—[MS. B.M.]
[e] My readers will observe that where the author speaks in his own person he assumes a very different tone from that of
[e] My readers will notice that when the author speaks for himself, he takes on a much different tone than that of
at least, till death had deprived him of his nearest connections.
at least, until death took away his closest connections.
I crave pardon for this Egotism, which proceeds from my wish to discard any probable imputation of it to the text.—[MS. B.M.]
I apologize for this self-centeredness, which comes from my desire to avoid any possible accusation of it in the text.—[MS. B.M.]
[2] ["In the 13th and 14th centuries the word 'child,' which signifies a youth of gentle birth, appears to have been applied to a young noble awaiting knighthood, e.g. in the romances of Ipomydon, Sir Tryamour, etc. It is frequently used by our old writers as a title, and is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Faërie Queene"—(N. Eng. Dict., art. "Childe").
[2] ["In the 13th and 14th centuries, the term 'child,' which refers to a youth of noble birth, seems to have been used for a young nobleman waiting to be knighted, as seen in the romances of Ipomydon, Sir Tryamour, and others. It's often employed by our early writers as a title and is repeatedly used for Prince Arthur in the Faërie Queene"—(N. Eng. Dict., art. "Childe").
Byron uses the word in the Spenserian sense, as a title implying youth and nobility.]
Byron uses the word in the Spenserian context, as a title suggesting youth and nobility.]
[3] [John, Lord Maxwell, slew Sir James Johnstone at Achmanhill, April 6, 1608, in revenge for his father's defeat and death at Dryffe Sands, in 1593. He was forced to flee to France. Hence his "Good Night." Scott's ballad is taken, with "some slight variations," from a copy in Glenriddel's MSS.—Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1810, i. 290-300.]
[3] [John, Lord Maxwell, killed Sir James Johnstone at Achmanhill on April 6, 1608, to avenge his father's defeat and death at Dryffe Sands in 1593. He had to escape to France. That's the meaning behind his "Good Night." Scott's ballad is adapted, with "some slight variations," from a copy found in Glenriddel's manuscripts.—Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1810, i. 290-300.]
[4] [Amongst others, The Battle of Talavera, by John Wilson Croker, appeared in 1809; The Vision of Don Roderick, by Walter Scott, in 1811; and Portugal, a Poem, by Lord George Grenville, in 1812.]
[4] [Among others, The Battle of Talavera by John Wilson Croker was published in 1809; The Vision of Don Roderick by Walter Scott came out in 1811; and Portugal, a Poem by Lord George Grenville was released in 1812.]
[f] Some casual coincidence.—[MS. B.M.]
[g] Satisfied that their failure.—[MS. B.M.]
[6] [See Quarterly Review, March, 1812, vol. vii. p. 191: "The moral code of chivalry was not, we admit, quite pure and spotless, but its laxity on some points was redeemed by the noble spirit of gallantry which courted personal danger in the defence of the sovereign ... of women because they are often lovely, and always helpless; and of the priesthood.... Now, Childe Harold, if not absolutely craven and recreant, is at least a mortal enemy to all martial exertion, a scoffer at the fair sex, and, apparently, disposed to consider all religions as different modes of superstition." The tone of the review is severer than the Preface indicates. Nor does Byron attempt to reply to the main issue of the indictment, an unknightly aversion from war, but rides off on a minor point, the licentiousness of the Troubadours.]
[6] [See Quarterly Review, March, 1812, vol. vii. p. 191: "We acknowledge that the moral code of chivalry wasn't completely pure and flawless, but its weaknesses in some areas were balanced by the noble spirit of bravery that risked personal safety to defend the sovereign... of women, because they are often beautiful and always vulnerable; and of the clergy... Now, Childe Harold, if not entirely cowardly and traitorous, is at least fundamentally opposed to all military action, mocks women, and seems inclined to view all religions as just different kinds of superstition." The review's tone is harsher than the Preface suggests. Byron also doesn't address the primary accusation of an unknightly aversion to war, instead focusing on a minor issue, the promiscuity of the Troubadours.]
[7] {6} [See Mémoires sur l'Ancienne Chevalerie, par M. De la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781: "Qu'on lise dans l'auteur du roman de Gérard de Roussillon, en Provençal, les détails très-circonstanciés dans lesquels il entre sur la réception faite par le Comte Gérard à l'ambassadeur du roi Charles; on y verra des particularités singulières qui donnent une etrange idée des moeurs et de la politesse de ces siècles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans" (ii. 69). See, too, ibid., ante, p. 65: "Si l'on juge des moeurs d'un siècle par les écrits qui nous en sont restés, nous serons en droit de juger que nos ancêtres observèrent mal les loix que leur prescrivirent la décence et l'honnêteté."]
[7] {6} [See Memoirs on the Ancient Chivalry, by M. De la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781: "One should read the author of the novel of Gérard de Roussillon, in Provençal, for the very detailed account he provides about the reception given by Count Gérard to the ambassador of King Charles; there, one will find unique details that offer a strange insight into the customs and politeness of those centuries, which were as corrupt as they were ignorant" (ii. 69). See also ibid., ante, p. 65: "If we judge the customs of a century by the writings that remain to us, we will be justified in concluding that our ancestors did not follow the rules prescribed by decency and honesty."]
[8] [See Recherches sur les Prérogatives des Dames chez les Gaulois sur les Cours d'Amours, par M. le Président Rolland [d'Erceville], de l'Académie d'Amiens. Paris, 1787, pp. 18-30, 117, etc.]
[8] [See Research on the Privileges of Women Among the Gauls in the Courts of Love, by Mr. President Rolland [d'Erceville], of the Academy of Amiens. Paris, 1787, pp. 18-30, 117, etc.]
[9] [The phrase occurs in The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement (Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, 1854, p. 199), by J. Hookham Frere, a skit on the "moral inculcated by the German dramas—the reciprocal duties of one or more husbands to one or more wives." The waiter at the Golden Eagle at Weimar is a warrior in disguise, and rescues the hero, who is imprisoned in the abbey of Quedlinburgh.]
[9] [The phrase appears in The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement (Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, 1854, p. 199), by J. Hookham Frere, a satire on the "moral taught by the German dramas—the mutual responsibilities of one or more husbands to one or more wives." The waiter at the Golden Eagle in Weimar is a warrior in disguise and saves the hero, who is locked up in the abbey of Quedlinburgh.]
[11] [Passages relating to the Queen of Tahiti, in Hawkesworth's Voyages, drawn from journals kept by the several commanders, and from the papers of Joseph Banks, Esq. (1773, ii. 106), gave occasion to malicious and humorous comment. (See An Epistle from Mr. Banks, Voyager, Monster-hunter, and Amoroso, To Oberea, Queen of Otaheite, by A.B.C.) The lampoon, "printed at Batavia for Jacobus Opani" (the Queen's Tahitian for "Banks"), was published in 1773. The authorship is assigned to Major John Scott Waring (1747-1819).]
[11] [Passages about the Queen of Tahiti, in Hawkesworth's Voyages, based on journals kept by various commanders, and from the papers of Joseph Banks, Esq. (1773, ii. 106), sparked both malicious and humorous commentary. (See An Epistle from Mr. Banks, Voyager, Monster-hunter, and Lover, To Oberea, Queen of Otaheite, by A.B.C.) The satire, "printed in Batavia for Jacobus Opani" (the Queen's Tahitian name for "Banks"), was released in 1773. The authorship is credited to Major John Scott Waring (1747-1819).]
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen."]
[13] [John Moore (1729-1802), the father of the celebrated Sir John Moore, published Zeluco. Various views of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic, in 1789. Zeluco was an unmitigated scoundrel, who led an adventurous life; but the prolix narrative of his villanies does not recall Childe Harold. There is, perhaps, some resemblance between Zeluco's unbridled childhood and youth, due to the indulgence of a doting mother, and Byron's early emancipation from discipline and control.]
[13] [John Moore (1729-1802), the father of the famous Sir John Moore, published Zeluco: Various Views of Human Nature, Taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic, in 1789. Zeluco was a complete scoundrel who lived an adventurous life; however, the lengthy account of his misdeeds doesn't remind anyone of Childe Harold. There might be some similarities between Zeluco's wild childhood and youth, attributed to the pampering of a loving mother, and Byron's early freedom from discipline and control.]
[14] [The Lady Charlotte Mary Harley, second daughter of Edward, fifth Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, was born 1801. She married, in 1823, Captain Anthony Bacon (died July 2, 1864), who had followed "young, gallant Howard" (see Childe Harold, III. xxix.) in his last fatal charge at Waterloo, and who, subsequently, during the progress of the civil war between Dom Miguel and Maria da Gloria of Portugal (1828-33), held command as colonel of cavalry in the Queen's forces, and finally as a general officer. Lady Charlotte Bacon died May 9, 1880. Byron's acquaintance with her probably dated from his visit to Lord and Lady Oxford, at Eywood House, in Herefordshire, in October-November, 1812. Her portrait, by Westall, which was painted at his request, is included among the illustrations in Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, ii. See Gent. Mag., N.S., vol. xvii. (1864) p. 261; and an obituary notice in the Times, May 10, 1880, See, too, letter to Murray, March 29, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 200).]
[14] [Lady Charlotte Mary Harley, the second daughter of Edward, the fifth Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, was born in 1801. She married Captain Anthony Bacon in 1823 (who died on July 2, 1864), a man who followed "young, gallant Howard" (see Childe Harold, III. xxix.) during his last fatal charge at Waterloo. Later, during the civil war between Dom Miguel and Maria da Gloria in Portugal (1828-33), he served as the colonel of cavalry for the Queen's forces and eventually rose to the rank of general officer. Lady Charlotte Bacon passed away on May 9, 1880. Byron probably met her during his visit to Lord and Lady Oxford at Eywood House in Herefordshire in October-November 1812. Her portrait, painted by Westall at Byron's request, is included among the illustrations in Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron, ii. See Gent. Mag., N.S., vol. xvii. (1864) p. 261; and an obituary notice in the Times, May 10, 1880. Also, refer to a letter to Murray from March 29, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 200).]
[15] {12} [The reference is to the French proverb, L'Amitié est l'Amour sans Ailes, which suggested the last line (line 412) of Childish Recollections, "And Love, without his pinion, smil'd on youth," and forms the title of one of the early poems, first published in 1832 (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 106, 220).]
[15] {12} [The reference is to the French proverb, Friendship is Love without Wings, which inspired the last line (line 412) of Childish Recollections, "And Love, without his wings, smiled on youth," and is the title of one of the early poems, first published in 1832 (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 106, 220).]
Essay on Criticism, line 240.
Essay on Criticism, line 240.
Ibid., line 198.]
Ibid., line 198.
[18] [Ianthe ("Flower o' the Narcissus") was the name of a Cretan girl wedded to one Iphis (vid. Ovid., Metamorph., ix. 714). Perhaps Byron's dedication was responsible for the Ianthe of Queen Mab (1812, 1813), who in turn bestowed her name on Shelley's eldest daughter (Mrs. Esdaile, d. 1876), who was born June 28, 1813.]
[18] [Ianthe ("Flower of the Narcissus") was the name of a Cretan girl who married a man named Iphis (see Ovid., Metamorph., ix. 714). Byron's dedication may have influenced the Ianthe in Queen Mab (1812, 1813), who in turn gave her name to Shelley's eldest daughter (Mrs. Esdaile, died 1876), born on June 28, 1813.]
A glance at my page, that name honored
Will you be first seen, forgotten last.—[MS.]
[19] {15} [The MS. does not open with stanza i., which was written after Byron returned to England, and appears first in the Dallas Transcript (see letter to Murray, September 5, 1811). Byron and Hobhouse visited Delphi, December 16, 1809, when the First Canto (see stanza lx.) was approaching completion (Travels in Albania, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 199).]
[19] {15} [The manuscript doesn't start with stanza i., which was written after Byron got back to England. It first appears in the Dallas Transcript (see letter to Murray, September 5, 1811). Byron and Hobhouse visited Delphi on December 16, 1809, when the First Canto (see stanza lx.) was nearly finished (Travels in Albania, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 199).]
[k] Oh, thou of yore esteemed——.—[D.]
With partners——.—[MS.]
No earthly possessions——.—[D.]
[21] ["We [i.e. Byron and C.S. Matthews] went down [April, 1809] to Newstead together, where I had got a famous cellar, and Monks' dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven or eight, ... and used to sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and what not, out of the skull-cup, and all sorts of glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual garments" (letter to Murray, November 19, 1820. See, too, the account of this visit which Matthews wrote to his sister in a letter dated May 22, 1809 [Letters, 1898, i. 150-160, and 153, note]). Moore (Life, p. 86) and other apologists are anxious to point out that the Newstead "wassailers" were, on the whole, a harmless crew of rollicking schoolboys "—were, indeed, of habits and tastes too intellectual for mere vulgar debauchery." And as to the "alleged 'harems,'" the "Paphian girls," there were only one or two, says Moore, "among the ordinary menials." But, even so, the "wassailers" were not impeccable, and it is best to leave the story, fact or fable, to speak for itself.
[21] ["We [meaning Byron and C.S. Matthews] went down [in April 1809] to Newstead together, where I had an impressive cellar and Monks' costumes from a masquerade shop. We had a group of about seven or eight of us, ... and we would stay up late in our friars' outfits, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and other drinks, using the skull-cup and all sorts of glasses, joking and goofing around the house in our convent-like clothes" (letter to Murray, November 19, 1820. Also see the account of this visit that Matthews wrote to his sister in a letter dated May 22, 1809 [Letters, 1898, i. 150-160, and 153, note]). Moore (Life, p. 86) and other defenders want to emphasize that the Newstead "wassailers" were generally a harmless bunch of carefree schoolboys—indeed, they had tastes and habits too refined for simple drunkenness." As for the "alleged 'harems,'" the "Paphian girls," there were only one or two, according to Moore, "among the regular staff." But even so, the "wassailers" weren't perfect, and it's best to let the story, whether true or not, speak for itself.
[22] {17} ["Hight" is the preterite of the passive "hote," and means "was called." "Childe Harold he hight" would be more correct. Compare Spenser's Faërie Queene, bk. i. c. ix. 14. 9, "She Queene of Faeries hight." But "hight" was occasionally used with the common verbs "is," "was." Compare The Ordinary, 1651, act iii. sc. 1—
[22] {17} ["Hight" is the past tense of the passive "hote," meaning "was called." "Childe Harold was his name" would be more accurate. See Spenser's Faërie Queene, bk. i. c. ix. 14. 9, "She Queen of Faeries was called." However, "hight" was sometimes used with the common verbs "is," "was." See The Ordinary, 1651, act iii. sc. 1—
Dodsley (ed. Hazlitt), xii. 253.]
Dodsley (ed. Hazlitt), p. 253.
[p] Childe Burun———.—[MS.]
[23] [William, fifth Lord Byron (the poet's grand-uncle), mortally wounded his kinsman, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel which was fought, without seconds or witnesses, at the Star and Garter Tavern, Pall Mall, January 29, 1765. He was convicted of wilful murder by the coroner's jury, and of manslaughter by the House of Lords; but, pleading his privilege as a peer, he was set at liberty. He was known to the country-side as the "wicked Lord," and many tales, true and apocryphal, were told to his discredit (Life of Lord Byron, by Karl Elze, 1872, pp. 5, 6).]
[23] [William, the fifth Lord Byron (the poet's grand-uncle), fatally injured his relative, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel that took place, without anyone else present, at the Star and Garter Tavern, Pall Mall, on January 29, 1765. He was found guilty of willful murder by the coroner's jury and of manslaughter by the House of Lords; however, he claimed his rights as a peer and was released. He was known in the local area as the "wicked Lord," and many stories, both true and fictional, were told to discredit him (Life of Lord Byron, by Karl Elze, 1872, pp. 5, 6).]
[r] Childe Burun———.—[MS.]
[t] Had courted many——.—[MS. erased.]
[u] ——Childe Burun——.—[MS.]
Forbid the tears from falling."]
Now Paphian nymphs——.—[D. pencil.]
[27] [The brass eagle which was fished out of the lake at Newstead in the time of Byron's predecessor contained, among other documents, "a grant of full pardon from Henry V. of every possible crime ... which the monks might have committed previous to the 8th of December preceding (Murdris, per ipsos post decimum nonum Diem Novembris, ultimo præteritum perpetratis, si quæ fuerint, exceptis)" (Life, p. 2, note). The monks were a constant source of delight to the Newstead "revellers." Francis Hodgson, in his "Lines on a Ruined Abbey in a Romantic Country" (Poems, 1809), does not spare them—
[27] [The brass eagle that was pulled from the lake at Newstead during Byron's predecessor's time included, among other documents, "a full pardon from Henry V. for any crimes... that the monks might have committed before December 8th of the preceding year (Murdris, per ipsos post decimum nonum Diem Novembris, ultimo præteritum perpetratis, si quæ fuerint, exceptis)" (Life, p. 2, note). The monks were a constant source of amusement for the Newstead "revellers." Francis Hodgson, in his "Lines on a Ruined Abbey in a Romantic Country" (Poems, 1809), does not hold back in his criticism—
And greetings to you, hills, and whispering waterfalls, Where her head is still held high by the ruined Abbey. No longer does the morning bell toll,
Echoing loudly through the wooded clearing,
Calls the overweight abbot from his sleepy cell,
And warns the maid to run away, if she is still a maid.
The festive bowl no longer goes around, Nor do monks get drunk to honor their God.
A boy with dark eyes who cared for his master well; And often his playful chatter would keep you entertained. Harold's
Childe Burun's ear, when his proud heart swelled
With dark thoughts that he refused to share.
Alwin Then he would smile at him, just as Rupert smiled,
Robin
When anything that playfully came from his young lips Harold's
The dark film from Burun's eye captivated;
And gladly the Child appeared, nor was the boy scorned. And happily, for a moment, the sorrowful Child appeared. } He took only him and one other yeoman. To travel east to a distant country;
And even though the boy was sad to leave the lake
On whose strong banks he grew up from childhood,
Soon his little heart beat happily. With the hope of foreign nations to see,
And many amazing things to see, boasting Our travelers, who often tell tales,
From Mandeville's works and similar writings. or, In books filled with illustrations for those with money ... sold In many books as genuine as Mandeville's from the past. }
[z] ——Childe Burun——.—[MS.]
A wicked smile that almost looks like a sneer
He knew they were the sycophants of the celebration. Curled on his lip The ruthless Parasites of today celebrate,
As if And considered no mortal being his equal
Yeah! Nobody loved him, not even his beloved. He could be even less dear to gentle ladies
Were anything But show and power alone are a woman's concern
But where these are, no Possessor should be afraid. The people are enslaved Young women, like moths, are always drawn to the light
Love diminishes in the brilliant glare of Mammon
And money That Demon succeeds where Angels might lose hope.
[28] The "trivial particular" which suggested to Byron the friendlessness and desolation of the Childe may be explained by the refusal of an old schoolfellow to spend the last day with him before he set out on his travels. The friend, possibly Lord Delawarr, excused himself on the plea that "he was engaged with his mother and some ladies to go shopping." "Friendship!" he exclaimed to Dallas. "I do not believe I shall leave behind me, yourself and family excepted, and, perhaps, my mother, a single being who will care what becomes of me" (Dallas, Recollections, etc., pp. 63, 64). Byron, to quote Charles Lamb's apology for Coleridge, was "full of fun," and must not be taken too seriously. Doubtless he was piqued at the moment, and afterwards, to heighten the tragedy of Childe Harold's exile, expanded a single act of negligence into general abandonment and desertion at the hour of trial.
[28] The "trivial detail" that made Byron feel the loneliness and isolation of Childe might stem from an old schoolmate's refusal to spend his last day before travelling. The friend, possibly Lord Delawarr, turned him down, claiming he was busy shopping with his mother and some ladies. "Friendship!" Byron exclaimed to Dallas. "I doubt I’ll leave behind anyone, except you and your family, and maybe my mother, who will actually care about what happens to me" (Dallas, Recollections, etc., pp. 63, 64). Byron, to borrow Charles Lamb's defense of Coleridge, was "full of fun," so he shouldn't be taken too seriously. He was likely annoyed at that moment, and later, to amplify the tragedy of Childe Harold's exile, he turned one neglectful act into a story of complete abandonment during a tough time.
[30] "Feere," a consort or mate. [Compare the line, "What when lords go with their feires, she said," in "The Ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine" (Percy's Reliques, 1812, iii. 416), and the lines—
[30] "Feere," a partner or companion. [Compare the line, "What when lords go with their partners, she said," in "The Ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine" (Percy's Reliques, 1812, iii. 416), and the lines—
"And the father of that pure, dishonored woman."
Titus Andronicus, act iv. sc. 1.
Titus Andronicus, act iv. sc. 1.
Compare, too, "That woman and her fleshless Pheere" (The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere, line 180 of the reprint from the first version in the Lyrical Ballads, 1798; Poems by S. T. Coleridge, 1893, App. E, p. 515).]
Compare, too, "That woman and her fleshless Pheere" (The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere, line 180 of the reprint from the first version in the Lyrical Ballads, 1798; Poems by S. T. Coleridge, 1893, App. E, p. 515).
[31] [In a suppressed stanza of "Childe Harold's Good Night" (see p. 27, var. ii.), the Childe complains that he has not seen his sister for "three long years and moe." Before her marriage, in 1807, Augusta Byron divided her time between her mother's children, Lady Chichester and the Duke of Leeds; her cousin, Lord Carlisle; and General and Mrs. Harcourt. After her marriage to Colonel Leigh, she lived at Newmarket. From the end of 1805 Byron corresponded with her more or less regularly, but no meeting took place. In a letter to his sister, dated November 30, 1808 (Letters, 1898, i. 203), he writes, "I saw Col. Leigh at Brighton in July, where I should have been glad to have seen you; I only know your husband by sight." Colonel Leigh was his first cousin, as well as his half-sister's husband, and the incidental remark that "he only knew him by sight" affords striking proof that his relations and connections were at no pains to seek him out, but left him to fight his own way to social recognition and distinction. (For particulars of "the Hon. Augusta Byron," see Letters, 1898, i. 18, note.)]
[31] [In a rarely mentioned stanza of "Childe Harold's Good Night" (see p. 27, var. ii.), the Childe expresses his frustration at not having seen his sister for "three long years and more." Before her marriage in 1807, Augusta Byron split her time between her mother's children, Lady Chichester and the Duke of Leeds; her cousin, Lord Carlisle; and General and Mrs. Harcourt. After marrying Colonel Leigh, she lived in Newmarket. From late 1805, Byron wrote to her fairly regularly, but they never met. In a letter to his sister, dated November 30, 1808 (Letters, 1898, i. 203), he says, "I saw Col. Leigh at Brighton in July, where I would have loved to see you; I only know your husband by sight." Colonel Leigh was both his first cousin and his half-sister's husband, and the casual comment that "he only knew him by sight" is strong evidence that his relatives and connections weren't interested in finding him, leaving him to carve out his own path to social recognition and success. (For details about "the Hon. Augusta Byron," see Letters, 1898, i. 18, note.)]
[ah] ——where brighter sunbeams shine.—[MS. erased.]
[33] "Your objection to the expression 'central line' I can only meet by saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial" (letter to Dallas, September 7, 1811; see, too, letter to his mother, October 7, 1808: Letters, 1898, i. 193; ii. 27).
[33] "I can only respond to your concern about the term 'central line' by saying that before Childe Harold left England, he fully planned to travel through Persia and return via India, which he couldn’t have done without crossing the equator" (letter to Dallas, September 7, 1811; see also letter to his mother, October 7, 1808: Letters, 1898, i. 193; ii. 27).
[ai] The sails are filled——.—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ The sails are full——.—[MS.]
[34] He experienced no such emotion on the resumption of his Pilgrimage in 1816. With reference to the confession, he writes (Canto III. stanza i. lines 6-9)—
[34] He felt no such emotion when he resumed his Pilgrimage in 1816. Regarding the confession, he writes (Canto III. stanza i. lines 6-9)—
I don’t know where I’m going; but the hour has passed, "When Albion's diminishing shores could either sadden or please my eye."
I can't stay here any longer; I have no friends or enemies,
But wishes me gone.
What I've done out of lack of will,
I can never remember; I hope you’re all still my friends. Good night, and may happiness be with you all."]
Our best greyhound can barely fly.—[D. erased.]
[ak] Here follows in the MS. the following erased stanza:—
[ak] The following erased stanza is included in the manuscript:—
She says my wild partying brings shame
On my entire family history. I once had a sister, I believe. Whose tears might flow;
But I haven't seen her beautiful face. For three long years and more.
[38] {28} [William Fletcher, Byron's valet. He was anything but "staunch" in the sense of the song (see Byron's letters of November 12, 1809, and June 28, 1810) (Letters, 1898, i. 246, 279); but for twenty years he remained a loyal and faithful servant, helped to nurse his master in his last illness, and brought his remains back to England.]
[38] {28} [William Fletcher, Byron's valet. He was not at all "staunch" in the way the song suggests (see Byron's letters from November 12, 1809, and June 28, 1810) (Letters, 1898, i. 246, 279); however, for twenty years, he was a loyal and dedicated servant, took care of his master during his final illness, and brought his remains back to England.]
All this is easy to say;
But if I were in your shoes I’d laugh to escape.—[MS. erased, D.]
Or even a married partner Even though her blue eyes were streaming with tears,
And ripped her blonde hair?—[MS.]
[39] ["I leave England without regret—I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation, but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab" (letter to F. Hodgson, Falmouth, June 25, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 230). If this Confessio Amantis, with which compare the "Stanzas to a Lady, on leaving England," is to be accepted as bonâ fide, he leaves England heart-whole, but for the bitter memory of Mary Chaworth.]
[39] ["I leave England without regret—I will return to it with no joy. I feel like Adam, the first person sentenced to exile, but I have no Eve, and I've eaten only apples that were as sour as a crab" (letter to F. Hodgson, Falmouth, June 25, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 230). If this Confessio Amantis, compared to the "Stanzas to a Lady, on leaving England," is to be taken as bonâ fide, he leaves England emotionally intact, except for the painful memory of Mary Chaworth.]
And be a cheerful young man again
With a dear friend. Since I was young, I can hardly remember a time
Without hate or hurt Except sometimes in the lady's bower,
Or when I finish the bowl.
[40] ["I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the 'Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Argus we know to be a fable" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 44).
[40] ["I don't intend to replace the ninth line of the 'Good Night.' I have no reason to think my dog is any better than other animals, including humans; and we know that Argus is just a myth" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 44).
Byron was recalling an incident which had befallen him some time previously (see letter to Moore, January 19, 1815): "When I thought he was going to enact Argus, he bit away the backside of my breeches, and never would consent to any kind of recognition, in despite of all kinds of bones which I offered him." See, too, for another thrust at Argus, Don Juan, Canto III. stanza xxiii. But he should have remembered that this particular Argus "was half a wolf by the she side." His portrait is preserved at Newstead (see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 280, Edition de Luxe).
Byron was remembering an incident that happened to him a while back (see letter to Moore, January 19, 1815): "When I thought he was going to play the part of Argus, he bit the backside of my pants and never agreed to acknowledge me, despite all the bones I offered him." Also, check out another jab at Argus in Don Juan, Canto III, stanza xxiii. But he should have remembered that this specific Argus "was half a wolf on the she side." His portrait is kept at Newstead (see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 280, Edition de Luxe).
For the expression of a different sentiment, compare The Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog (first published in Hobhouse's Imit. and Transl., 1809), and the prefatory inscription on Boatswain's grave in the gardens of Newstead, dated November 16, 1808 (Life, p. 73).]
For a different sentiment, check out The Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog (first published in Hobhouse's Imit. and Transl., 1809) and the introductory inscription on Boatswain's grave in the gardens of Newstead, dated November 16, 1808 (Life, p. 73).
[42] [Compare Ovid, Amores, i. 15, and Pliny, Hist. Nat., iv. 22. Small particles of gold are still to be found in the sands of the Tagus, but the quantity is, and perhaps always was, inconsiderable.]
[42] [See Ovid, Amores, i. 15, and Pliny, Hist. Nat., iv. 22. You can still find small bits of gold in the sands of the Tagus, but the amount is small and probably always has been.]
[43] ["Lisboa is the Portuguese word, consequently the very best. Ulissipont is pedantic; and as I have Hellas and Eros not very long before, there would be something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wish to avoid" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 44. See, too, Poetical Works, 1883, p. 5).]
[43] ["Lisboa is the Portuguese term, and therefore the best choice. Ulissipont is overly formal; and since I used Hellas and Eros not long ago, it would feel like an unnecessary use of Greek words, which I want to avoid" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 44. See also, Poetical Works, 1883, p. 5).]
[as] Ulissipont, or Lisbona.—[MS. pencil.]
Which poets scatter golden sands.—[MS. pencil.]
Which talented poets—[D. pencil.]
To protect them, etc.—[MS. D.]
To protect them, etc.—[MS. pencil.]
[aw] ——smelleth filthily.—[MS. D.]
[ax] ——dammed with dirt.—[MS. erased.]
[45] {34} [For a fuller description of Cintra, see letter to Mrs. Byron, dated August 11, 1808 (Life, p. 92; Letters, 1898, i. 237). Southey, not often in accord with Byron, on his return from Spain (1801) testified that "for beauty all English, perhaps all existing, scenery must yield to Cintra" (Life and Corr. of R. Southey, ii. 161).]
[45] {34} [For a more detailed description of Cintra, check the letter to Mrs. Byron, dated August 11, 1808 (Life, p. 92; Letters, 1898, i. 237). Southey, who didn't always agree with Byron, stated upon his return from Spain in 1801 that "for beauty, all English scenery, and maybe all existing scenery, pales in comparison to Cintra" (Life and Corr. of R. Southey, ii. 161).]
"Our first object was the convent of Nossa Senhora da Penha, the little romantic pile of white building I had seen glittering from afar when I first sailed by the coast of Lisbon. From this pyramidical elevation the view is boundless; you look immediately down upon an immense expanse of sea.
"Our first destination was the convent of Nossa Senhora da Penha, the charming little white building I had spotted shining from a distance when I first cruised along the coast of Lisbon. From this high point, the view is limitless; you can look straight down at a vast stretch of ocean."
... A long series of detached clouds of a dazzling whiteness suspended low over the waves had a magic effect, and in pagan times might have appeared, without any great stretch of fancy, the cars of marine divinities, just risen from the bosom of their element."—Italy, etc., p. 249.
... A long line of fluffy, bright white clouds hanging low over the waves created a magical scene, and in ancient times, they might have looked, without much imagination, like the chariots of sea gods just emerging from their watery home."—Italy, etc., p. 249.
"Before the entrance, formed by two ledges of ponderous rock, extends a smooth level of greensward.... The Hermitage, its cell, chapel, and refectory, are all scooped out of the native marble, and lined with the bark of the cork tree. Several of the passages are not only roofed, but floored with the same material ... The shrubberies and garden-plots dispersed amongst the mossy rocks ... are delightful, and I took great pleasure in ... following the course of a transparent rill, which was conducted through a rustic water-shoot, between bushes of lavender and roses, many of the tenderest green."—Ibid., p. 250.
"Before the entrance, formed by two ledges of heavy rock, stretches a smooth area of green grass.... The Hermitage, with its cell, chapel, and dining area, is all carved out of the natural marble and lined with the bark of the cork tree. Some of the passages are not only covered but also floored with this same material ... The shrubs and garden plots scattered among the mossy rocks ... are lovely, and I really enjoyed ... following the path of a clear stream, which flowed through a rustic water channel, between bushes of lavender and roses, many with the softest green."—Ibid., p. 250.
The inscription to the memory of Honorius (d. 159, æt. 95) is on a stone in front of the cave—
The inscription in memory of Honorius (d. 159, age 95) is on a stone in front of the cave—
And so he rises again with God in heaven."]
[The crosses made no impression upon Hobhouse, who, no doubt, had realized that they were nothing but guideposts. For an explanation, see letter of Mr. Matthew Lewtas to the Athenæum, July 19, 1873: "The track from the main road to the convent, rugged and devious, leading up to the mountain, is marked out by numerous crosses now, just as it was when Byron rode along it in 1809, and it would appear he fell into the mistake of considering that the crosses were erected to show where assassinations had been committed."]
[The crosses didn’t seem to affect Hobhouse, who likely understood they were just guideposts. For an explanation, see the letter from Mr. Matthew Lewtas to the Athenæum, July 19, 1873: "The path from the main road to the convent, rough and winding, leading up the mountain, is marked by numerous crosses now, just like it was when Byron rode along it in 1809, and it seems he mistakenly thought the crosses were placed to indicate where assassinations had taken place."]
[49] [Beckford, describing the view from the convent, notices the wild flowers which adorned "the ruined splendour." "Amidst the crevices of the mouldering walls ... I noticed some capillaries and polypodiums of infinite delicacy; and on a little flat space before the convent a numerous tribe of pinks, gentians, and other Alpine plants, fanned and invigorated by the fresh mountain air."—Italy, etc., 1834, p. 229.
[49] [Beckford, looking out from the convent, spots the wildflowers that decorated "the ruined grandeur." "In the cracks of the decaying walls ... I saw some delicate capillaries and polypodiums; and on a small flat area in front of the convent, there was a large group of pinks, gentians, and other Alpine plants, refreshed and energized by the cool mountain air."—Italy, etc., 1834, p. 229.
The "Prince's palace" (line 5) may be the royal palace at Cintra, "the Alhambra of the Moorish kings," or, possibly, the palace (vide post, stanza xxix. line 7) at Mafra, ten miles from Cintra.]
The "Prince's palace" (line 5) could refer to the royal palace in Cintra, called "the Alhambra of the Moorish kings," or maybe the palace (see below, stanza xxix. line 7) in Mafra, which is ten miles from Cintra.
[50] [William Beckford, 1760 (?1759)-1844, published Vathek in French in 1784, and in English in 1787. He spent two years (1794-96) in retirement at Quinta da Monserrate, three miles from Cintra. Byron thought highly of Vathek. "I do not know," he writes (The Giaour, l. 1328, note), "from what source the author ... may have drawn his materials ... but for correctness of costume ... and power of imagination, it surpasses all European imitations.... As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his happy valley will not bear a comparison with the 'Hall of Eblis.'" In the MS. there is an additional stanza reflecting on Beckford, which Dallas induced him to omit. It was afterwards included by Moore among the Occasional Pieces, under the title of To Dives: a Fragment (Poetical Works, 1883, p. 548). (For Beckford, see Letters, 1898, i. 228, note 1; and with regard to the "Stanzas on Vathek," see letter to Dallas, September 26, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 47.)]
[50] [William Beckford, 1760 (?1759)-1844, published Vathek in French in 1784 and in English in 1787. He spent two years (1794-96) in retirement at Quinta da Monserrate, three miles from Sintra. Byron thought highly of Vathek. "I do not know," he writes (The Giaour, l. 1328, note), "where the author got his materials ... but in terms of accuracy of detail ... and creative power, it surpasses all European imitations.... As an Eastern story, even Rasselas must bow to it; his happy valley can't compete with the 'Hall of Eblis.'" In the manuscript, there’s an extra stanza reflecting on Beckford, which Dallas persuaded him to leave out. It was later included by Moore among the Occasional Pieces, titled To Dives: a Fragment (Poetical Works, 1883, p. 548). (For more on Beckford, see Letters, 1898, i. 228, note 1; and regarding the "Stanzas on Vathek," see the letter to Dallas from September 26, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 47.)]
We must avoid the tempting allure of a false peace. —[MS.]
You are a beacon for those who stray. [MS. D.]
[bf] ——yclad, and by.—[MS. D.]
[bi] The following stanzas, which appear in the MS., were excluded at the request of Dallas (see his letter of October 10, 1811, Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, pp. 173-187), Letters, 1898, ii. 51:—
[bi] The following stanzas, which are in the manuscript, were left out at Dallas's request (see his letter from October 10, 1811, Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, pp. 173-187), Letters, 1898, ii. 51:—
First on the list is someone named "Junot;"
Then we come across some other impressive names,
(Which rhyme compels me to include below:)
Uninspired winners! Confused by an defeated opponent,
Persuaded by the clever words of deserved praise,
Stand, deserving of one another in a line—
Mr. Arthur, Mr. Harry, and the dizzard Hew
Dalrymple, foolish person, is an easy target for the other two.
That let down the knights in Marialva's dome:
If they had any brains, he fooled them,
And changed a nation's fleeting happiness into sadness.
Because I know well, when the news first arrived
The field of Vimiera by Gaul was lost,
The paper for the paragraph barely had any space,
So many praises filled the air for our victorious team,
In Courier, Chronicle, and also in Morning Post.
Mayor, Aldermen, set down the raised fork;
The Bishops' Bench almost forgot to snore;
Stern Cobbett, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ — who held back for an entire week
To question anything, once again with excitement jumped,
And bit his wicked pen again, and swore
With enemies, such a treaty should never be honored. While the obvious Beast roared, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and roared, and raged, and—slept!!
It was decided that before our Generals were forgiven,
An inquiry should be conducted regarding the matter.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ But Mercy covered the babies under her wing; And just as they showed mercy to our enemies, we showed mercy to them; (Where was the compassion of our ancestors for Byng?)[C]
But the law should condemn wrongdoers, not fools;
So live, you brave Knights! and praise your Judges' calmness!
[A] [Sir Hew Dalrymple's despatch on the so-called Convention of Cintra is dated September 3, and was published in the London Gazette Extraordinary, September 16, 1808. The question is not alluded to in the Weekly Political Register of September 17, but on the 24th Cobbett opened fire with a long article (pp. 481-502) headed, "Conventions in Portugal," which was followed up by articles on the same subject in the four succeeding issues. Articles iii., iv., v., vi., of the "Definitive Convention" provided for the restoration of the French troops and their safe convoy to France, with their artillery, equipments, and cavalry. "Did the men," asks Cobbett (September 24), "who made this promise beat the Duke d'Abrantés [Junot], or were they like curs, who, having felt the bite of the mastiff, lose all confidence in their number, and, though they bark victory, suffer him to retire in quiet, carrying off his bone to be disposed of at his leisure? No, not so; for they complaisantly carry the bone for him." The rest of the article is written in a similar strain.]
[A] [Sir Hew Dalrymple's dispatch about the so-called Convention of Cintra is dated September 3 and was published in the London Gazette Extraordinary on September 16, 1808. The issue isn’t mentioned in the Weekly Political Register of September 17, but on the 24th, Cobbett launched a lengthy article (pp. 481-502) titled "Conventions in Portugal," which was followed by more articles on the same topic in the next four issues. Articles iii., iv., v., vi., of the "Definitive Convention" aimed to restore the French troops and ensure their safe transport back to France, along with their artillery, equipment, and cavalry. "Did the people," asks Cobbett (September 24), "who made this promise defeat Duke d'Abrantés [Junot], or were they like dogs that, having felt the bite of the mastiff, lose all confidence in their pack and, even while barking victory, let him retreat quietly, taking his bone to do with as he pleases? No, not at all; for they are dutifully carrying the bone for him." The rest of the article continues in a similar tone.]
[*] [Spenser (Faërie Queene, bk. vi. cantos iii. 24; xii. 27, sq.) personifies the vox populi, with its thousand tongues, as the "blatant beast."]
[*] [Spenser (Faërie Queene, bk. vi. cantos iii. 24; xii. 27, sq.) represents the vox populi, with its many voices, as the "blatant beast."]
[**][In The History and Adventures of an Atom (Smollett's Works, 1872, vi. 385), Foksi-Roku (Henry Fox, the first Lord Holland) passes judgment on the populace. "The multitude, my lords, is a many-headed monster, it is a Cerberus that must have a sop; it is a wild beast, so ravenous that nothing but blood will appease its appetite; it is a whale, that must have a barrel for its amusement; it is a demon, to which we must offer human sacrifice.... Bihn-Goh must be the victim—happy if the sacrifice of his single life can appease the commotions of his country." Foksi-Roku's advice is taken, and Bihn-Goh (Byng) "is crucified for cowardice."]
[**][In The History and Adventures of an Atom (Smollett's Works, 1872, vi. 385), Foksi-Roku (Henry Fox, the first Lord Holland) critiques the public. "The crowd, my lords, is a many-headed monster; it's like Cerberus that needs to be fed; it's a wild beast so hungry that only blood will satisfy its hunger; it's a whale that needs a barrel to play with; it’s a demon to which we must offer a human sacrifice.... Bihn-Goh must be the sacrifice—fortunate if the loss of his single life can calm the unrest of his country." Foksi-Roku's advice is followed, and Bihn-Goh (Byng) "is crucified for cowardice."]
[***][Horace, Odes, II. xiii. 34: "Bellua centiceps."]
[***][Horace, Odes, II. xiii. 34: "The beast with a hundred heads."]
[C]"By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been shot, but that Byng [Admiral John Byng, born 1704, was executed March 14, 1757] might have been spared; though the one suffered and the others escaped, probably for Candide's reason 'pour encourager les autres.'"[****]—[MS.]
[C]"This question isn’t suggesting that our incompetent generals should have been executed, but rather that Byng [Admiral John Byng, born 1704, was executed March 14, 1757] could have been spared; although one paid the price and the others got away, likely for Candide's reason 'to encourage the others.'"[****]—[MS.]
[51] {39} [On August 21, 1808, Sir Harry Burrard (1755-1813) superseded in command Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had, on the same day, repulsed Junot at Vimiera. No sooner had he assumed his position as commander-in-chief, than he countermanded Wellesley's order to give pursuit and make good the victory. The next day (August 22) Sir Hew Dalrymple in turn superseded Burrard, and on the 23rd, General Kellerman approached the English with certain proposals from Junot, which a week later were formulated by the so-called Convention of Cintra, to which Kellerman and Wellesley affixed their names. When the news reached England that Napoleon's forces had been repulsed with loss, and yet the French had been granted a safe exit from Portugal, the generals were assailed with loud and indiscriminate censure. Burrard's interference with Wellesley's plans was no doubt ill-judged and ill-timed; but the opportunity of pursuit having been let slip, the acceptance of Junot's terms was at once politic and inevitable. A court of inquiry, which was held in London in January, 1809, upheld both the armistice of August 22 and the Convention; but neither Dalrymple nor Burrard ever obtained a second command, and it was not until Talavera (July 28, 1809) had effaced the memories of Cintra that Wellesley was reinstated in popular favour.]
[51] {39} [On August 21, 1808, Sir Harry Burrard (1755-1813) took over command from Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had just defeated Junot at Vimiera on the same day. As soon as he became commander-in-chief, he canceled Wellesley's order to pursue and secure the victory. The next day (August 22), Sir Hew Dalrymple replaced Burrard, and on the 23rd, General Kellerman approached the British with proposals from Junot that were formalized a week later in the so-called Convention of Cintra, which Kellerman and Wellesley signed. When news reached England that Napoleon's forces had been pushed back with losses but that the French had been allowed a safe exit from Portugal, the generals faced severe and widespread criticism. Burrard's intervention in Wellesley's strategy was clearly poorly judged and poorly timed; however, since the chance to pursue was lost, accepting Junot's terms was both strategic and unavoidable. A court of inquiry held in London in January 1809 supported both the armistice of August 22 and the Convention; however, neither Dalrymple nor Burrard ever received a second command, and it wasn’t until Talavera (July 28, 1809) that Wellesley regained public approval.]
[52] [With reference to this passage, while yet in MS., an early reader (?Dallas) inquires, "What does this mean?" And a second (?Hobhouse) rejoins, "What does the question mean? It is one of the finest stanzas I ever read."]
[52] [In relation to this passage, while still in manuscript form, an early reader (?Dallas) asks, "What does this mean?" And another reader (?Hobhouse) responds, "What does the question mean? It's one of the best stanzas I've ever read."]
[53] [Byron and Hobhouse sailed from Falmouth, July 2, 1809; reached Lisbon on the 6th or 7th; and on the 17th started from Aldea Galbega ("the first stage from Lisbon, which is only accessible by water") on horseback for Seville. "The horses are excellent—we rode seventy miles a day" (see letters of August 6 to F. Hodgson, and August 11, 1809, to Mrs. Byron; Letters, 1898, i. 234, 236).]
[53] [Byron and Hobhouse left Falmouth on July 2, 1809; arrived in Lisbon on the 6th or 7th; and on the 17th departed from Aldea Galbega ("the first destination from Lisbon, which is only reachable by water") on horseback headed for Seville. "The horses are great—we rode seventy miles a day" (see letters from August 6 to F. Hodgson, and August 11, 1809, to Mrs. Byron; Letters, 1898, i. 234, 236).]
[54] [Her luckless Majesty went subsequently mad; and Dr. Willis, who so dexterously cudgelled kingly pericraniums, could make nothing of hers. (For the Rev. Francis Willis, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 416.)
[54] [Her unfortunate Majesty eventually lost her mind; and Dr. Willis, who skillfully handled royal skulls, couldn't do anything for hers. (For the Rev. Francis Willis, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 416.)
Maria I. (b. 1734), who married her uncle, Pedro III., reigned with him 1777-86, and, as sole monarch, from 1786 to 1816. The death of her husband, of her favourite confessor, Ignatio de San Caetano, who had been raised by Pombal from the humblest rank to the position of archbishop in partibus, and of her son, turned her brain, and she became melancholy mad. She was only queen in name after 1791, and in 1799 her son, Maria José Luis, was appointed regent. Beckford saw her in 1787, and was impressed by her dignified bearing. "Justice and clemency," he writes, "the motto so glaringly misapplied on the banner of the abhorred Inquisition, might be transferred, with the strictest truth, to this good princess" (Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal, 1834, p. 256). Ten years later, Southey, in his Letters from Spain, 1797, p. 541, ascribes the "gloom" of the court of Lisbon to "the dreadful malady of the queen." When the Portuguese royal family were about to embark for Brazil in November, 1807, the queen was once more seen in public after an interval of sixteen years. "She had to wait some while upon the quay for the chair in which she was to be carried to the boat, and her countenance, in which the insensibility of madness was only disturbed by wonder, formed a striking contrast to the grief which appeared in every other face" (Southey's History of the Peninsular War, i. 110).]
Maria I. (b. 1734), who married her uncle, Pedro III, reigned with him from 1777 to 1786, and as the sole monarch from 1786 to 1816. The deaths of her husband, her favorite confessor, Ignatio de San Caetano, who Pombal had elevated from the lowest rank to the position of archbishop in partibus, and her son drove her to madness, and she became melancholy. After 1791, she was only queen in name, and in 1799 her son, Maria José Luis, was named regent. Beckford saw her in 1787 and was struck by her dignified presence. "Justice and clemency," he writes, "the motto so glaringly misapplied on the banner of the abhorred Inquisition, might be transferred, with the strictest truth, to this good princess" (Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal, 1834, p. 256). Ten years later, Southey, in his Letters from Spain, 1797, p. 541, attributes the "gloom" of the court in Lisbon to "the dreadful malady of the queen." When the Portuguese royal family was about to leave for Brazil in November 1807, the queen was seen in public again after a gap of sixteen years. "She had to wait some time on the quay for the chair in which she was to be carried to the boat, and her expression, where the insensibility of madness was only broken by wonder, formed a striking contrast to the grief that was evident on every other face" (Southey's History of the Peninsular War, i. 110).
And distant lands at the edge of the horizon show up.—[MS. erased.]
[55] The Pyrenees.—[MS.]
[56] [If, as stanza xliii. of this canto (added in 1811) intimates, Byron passed through "Albuera's plain" on his way from Lisbon to Seville, he must have crossed the frontier at a point between Elvas and Badajoz. In that case the "silver streamlet" may be identified as the Caia. Beckford remarks on "the rivulet which separates the two kingdoms" (Italy, etc., 1834, p. 291).]
[56] [If, as stanza xliii. of this canto (added in 1811) suggests, Byron passed through "Albuera's plain" while traveling from Lisbon to Seville, he must have crossed the border at a point between Elvas and Badajoz. In that case, the "silver streamlet" can be identified as the Caia. Beckford notes "the rivulet that separates the two kingdoms" (Italy, etc., 1834, p. 291).]
[57] [Compare Virgil, Æneid, i. 100—
[58] [The standard, a cross made of Asturian oak (La Cruz de la Victoria), which was said to have fallen from heaven before Pelayo gained the victory over the Moors at Cangas, in A.D. 718, is preserved at Oviedo. Compare Southey's Roderick, XXV.: Poetical Works, 1838, ix. 241, and note, pp. 370, 371.]
[58] [The standard, a cross made of Asturian oak (La Cruz de la Victoria), is said to have fallen from heaven before Pelayo won the battle against the Moors at Cangas in A.D. 718, and it is kept in Oviedo. See Southey's Roderick, XXV.: Poetical Works, 1838, ix. 241, and see the notes on pp. 370, 371.]
[bu] —which Pelagius bore.—[MS. D.]
[bv] ——waxed the Crescent pale.—[MS. erased.]
[bw] ——thy little date.—[MS. erased.]
Conflicts arise from fragments clashing.—[MS. erased, D.]
[61] "The Siroc is the violent hot wind that for weeks together blows down the Mediterranean from the Archipelago. Its effects are well known to all who have passed the Straits of Gibraltar."—[MS. D.]
[61] "The Siroc is a fierce, hot wind that blows down the Mediterranean from the Archipelago for weeks on end. Its effects are familiar to anyone who has traveled through the Straits of Gibraltar."—[MS. D.]
[62] {49} [The battle of Talavera began July 27, 1809, and lasted two days. As Byron must have reached Seville by the 21st or 22nd of the month, he was not, as might be inferred, a spectator of any part of the engagement. Writing to his mother, August 11, he says, "You have heard of the battle near Madrid, and in England they would call it a victory—a pretty victory! Two hundred officers and five thousand men killed, all English, and the French in as great force as ever. I should have joined the army, but we have no time to lose before we get up the Mediterranean."—Letters, i. 241.]
[62] {49} [The battle of Talavera started on July 27, 1809, and lasted for two days. Since Byron likely arrived in Seville by the 21st or 22nd of the month, he wasn’t, as one might assume, a witness to any part of the battle. Writing to his mother on August 11, he says, "You’ve heard about the battle near Madrid, and in England, they’d call it a victory—a nice victory! Two hundred officers and five thousand men killed, all British, and the French as strong as ever. I should have joined the army, but we can’t waste any time getting up the Mediterranean."—Letters, i. 241.]
[65] [In a letter to Colonel Malcolm, December 3, 1809, the Duke admits that the spoils of conquest were of a moral rather than of a material kind. "The battle of Talavera was certainly the hardest fought of modern days.... It is lamentable that, owing to the miserable inefficiency of the Spaniards, ... the glory of the action is the only benefit which we have derived from it.... I have in hand a most difficult task.... In such circumstances one may fail, but it would be dishonourable to shrink from the task."—Wellington Dispatches, 1844, iii. 621.]
[65] [In a letter to Colonel Malcolm, December 3, 1809, the Duke acknowledges that the rewards of victory were more about moral values than physical gains. "The battle of Talavera was definitely the toughest fought in recent times.... It’s unfortunate that, due to the terrible incompetence of the Spaniards, ... the glory of the event is the only advantage we've gained from it.... I have a very challenging task ahead of me.... In such situations, one might fail, but it would be shameful to back away from the responsibility."—Wellington Dispatches, 1844, iii. 621.]
How honor adorns the ground that covers their remains!
Liars, go away!——.—[MS.]
[66] Two lines of Collins' Ode, "How sleep the brave," etc., have been compressed into one—
[66] Two lines from Collins' Ode, "How sleep the brave," etc., have been combined into one—
"To bless the ground that covers their clay."
[cc] ——glorious sound of grief.—[D.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ —beautiful sound of sorrow.—[D.]
[67] [The battle of Albuera (May 16, 1811), at which the English, under Lord Beresford, repulsed Soult, was somewhat of a Pyrrhic victory. "Another such a battle," wrote the Duke, "would ruin us. I am working hard to put all right again." The French are said to have lost between 8000 and 9000 men, the English 4158, the Spaniards 1365.]
[67] [The battle of Albuera (May 16, 1811), where the English, led by Lord Beresford, pushed back Soult, was kind of a Pyrrhic victory. "Another battle like this," wrote the Duke, "would destroy us. I'm working hard to set everything right again." The French reportedly lost between 8,000 and 9,000 men, the English 4,158, and the Spaniards 1,365.]
[cj] To Harold turn we as——.—[MS. erased.]
[69] [In this "particular" Childe Harold did not resemble his alter ego. Hobhouse and "part of the servants" (Joe Murray, Fletcher, a German, and the "page" Robert Rushton, constituted his "whole suite"), accompanied Byron in his ride across Spain from Lisbon to Gibraltar. (See Letters, 1898, i. 224, 236.)]
[69] [In this specific version, Childe Harold wasn’t like his alter ego. Hobhouse and some of the servants (Joe Murray, Fletcher, a German guy, and the page Robert Rushton) made up his entire entourage as he rode from Lisbon to Gibraltar. (See Letters, 1898, i. 224, 236.)]
[ck] Where proud Sevilha——.—[MS. D.]
[70] {53} [Byron, en route for Gibraltar, passed three days at Seville at the end of July or the beginning of August, 1809. By the end of January, 1810, the French had appeared in force before Seville. Unlike Zaragoza and Gerona, the pleasure-loving city, "after some negotiations, surrendered, with all its stores, foundries, and arsenal complete, and on the 1st of February the king [Joseph] entered in triumph" (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, ii. 295).]
[70] {53} [Byron, on his way to Gibraltar, spent three days in Seville at the end of July or the beginning of August, 1809. By the end of January, 1810, the French had shown up in force outside Seville. Unlike Zaragoza and Gerona, the fun-loving city, "after some discussions, surrendered, with all its supplies, foundries, and arsenal intact, and on February 1st, the king [Joseph] entered in triumph" (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, ii. 295).]
[cm] And dark-eyed Lewdness——.—[MS. erased.]
[73] [The scene is laid on the heights of the Sierra Morena. The travellers are looking across the "long level plain" of the Guadalquivir to the mountains of Ronda and Granada, with their "hill-forts ...perched everywhere like eagles' nests" (Ford's Handbook for Spain, i. 252). The French, under Dupont, entered the Morena, June 2, 1808. They stormed the bridge at Alcolea, June 7, and occupied Cordoba, but were defeated at Bailen, July 19, and forced to capitulate. Hence the traces of war. The "Dragon's nest" (line 7) is the ancient city of Jaen, which guards the skirts of the Sierras "like a watchful Cerberus." It was taken by the French, but recaptured by the Spanish, early in July, 1808 (History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 71-80).]
[73] [The scene is set in the Sierra Morena mountains. The travelers are looking across the "long level plain" of the Guadalquivir to the mountains of Ronda and Granada, with their "hill-forts ... perched everywhere like eagles' nests" (Ford's Handbook for Spain, i. 252). The French, led by Dupont, entered the Morena on June 2, 1808. They stormed the bridge at Alcolea on June 7 and occupied Cordoba, but were defeated at Bailen on July 19 and forced to surrender. This is why there are remnants of war. The "Dragon's nest" (line 7) refers to the ancient city of Jaen, which watches over the outskirts of the Sierras "like a watchful Cerberus." It was taken by the French but recaptured by the Spanish in early July 1808 (History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 71-80).]
[cp] The South must own——.—[MS. D.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ The South must own——.—[MS. D.]
[cq] When soars Gaul's eagle——.—[MS. D.]
[75] [As time went on, Byron's sentiments with regard to Napoleon underwent a change, and he hesitates between sympathetic admiration and reluctant disapproval. At the moment his enthusiasm was roused by Spain's heroic resistance to the new Alaric, "the scourger of the world," and he expresses himself like Southey "or another" (vide post, Canto III., pp. 238, 239).]
[75] [As time passed, Byron's feelings about Napoleon shifted, and he found himself torn between sympathetic admiration and hesitant disapproval. At this moment, he was inspired by Spain's brave resistance to the new Alaric, "the scourge of the world," and he expresses himself like Southey "or someone else" (see later, Canto III., pp. 238, 239).]
To hear a night scream.
Her soft chin shows how gentle his touch is:
Her lips, where kisses create a sensual nest.—[MS. erased.]
[78] [Writing to his mother (August 11, 1809), Byron compares "the Spanish style" of beauty to the disadvantage of the English: "Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear olive complexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be conceived by an Englishman ... render a Spanish beauty irresistible" (Letters, 1898, i. 239). Compare, too, the opening lines of The Girl of Cadiz, which gave place to the stanzas To Inez, at the close of this canto—
[78] [Writing to his mother (August 11, 1809), Byron compares "the Spanish style" of beauty to the shortcomings of the English: "Long black hair, dark, dreamy eyes, clear olive skin, and figures that move with a grace that no Englishman can imagine ... make a Spanish beauty irresistible" (Letters, 1898, i. 239). Also, consider the opening lines of The Girl of Cadiz, which are followed by the stanzas To Inez, at the end of this canto—
"About the northern regions and British women."
But in Don Juan, Canto XII. stanzas lxxiv.-lxxvii., he makes the amende to the fair Briton—
But in Don Juan, Canto XII. stanzas lxxiv.-lxxvii., he makes the amende to the fair Briton—
Or Andalusian girl coming back from mass.
Even though the soil may require your time and effort, If well cultivated, it will yield double."]
——a player's promise.—[MS.]
[79] [The summit of Parnassus is not visible from Delphi or the neighbourhood. Before he composed "these stanzas" (December 16), (see note 13.B.) at the foot of Parnassus, Byron had first surveyed its "snow-clad" majesty as he sailed towards Vostizza (on the southern shore of the Gulf of Corinth), which he reached on the 5th, and quitted on the 14th of December. "The Echoes" (line 8) which were celebrated by the ancients (Justin, Hist., lib. xxiv. cap. 6), are those made by the Phædriades, or "gleaming peaks," a "lofty precipitous escarpment of red and grey limestone" at the head of the valley of the Pleistus, facing southwards.—Travels in Albania, i. 188, 199; Geography of Greece, by H. F. Tozer, 1873, p. 230.]
[79] [You can't see the top of Parnassus from Delphi or the surrounding area. Before he wrote "these stanzas" (December 16), (see note 13.B.) at the base of Parnassus, Byron first took in its "snow-covered" grandeur as he sailed toward Vostizza (on the southern shore of the Gulf of Corinth), which he arrived at on the 5th and left on the 14th of December. "The Echoes" (line 8) praised by the ancients (Justin, Hist., lib. xxiv. cap. 6), are those produced by the Phædriades, or "shining peaks," a "tall steep cliff of red and gray limestone" at the head of the valley of the Pleistus, facing south.—Travels in Albania, i. 188, 199; Geography of Greece, by H. F. Tozer, 1873, p. 230.]
[80] {61} ["Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi (Castri) in 1809, I saw a flight of twelve eagles (Hobhouse said they were vultures—at least in conversation), and I seized the omen. On the day before, I composed the lines to Parnassus [in Childe Harold] and, on beholding the birds, had a hope that Apollo had accepted my homage. I have, at least, had the name and fame of a poet during the poetical period of life (from twenty to thirty). Whether it will last is another matter; but I have been a votary of the deity and the place, and am grateful for what he has done in my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the past" (B. Diary, 1821).]
[80] {61} ["While in Parnassus, visiting the Delphi fountain (Castri) in 1809, I observed a group of twelve eagles (Hobhouse claimed they were vultures—at least in conversation), and I took it as a sign. The day before, I had written lines about Parnassus [in Childe Harold], and seeing the birds gave me hope that Apollo had acknowledged my tribute. At least I’ve earned the name and recognition of a poet during the peak of my poetic life (from twenty to thirty). Whether this will last is another story; but I have devoted myself to the god and the site, and I’m thankful for what he has done for me, leaving the future in his hands, just as I did with the past" (B. Diary, 1821).]
Please grant my request for a wonderful thought.—[MS. erased, D.]
[81] ["Parnassus ... is distinguished from all other Greek mountains by its mighty mass. This, with its vast buttresses, almost fills up the rest of the country" (Geography of Greece, by H.F. Tozer, 1873, p. 226).]
[81] ["Parnassus ... stands out from all other Greek mountains due to its impressive size. Its enormous supports almost occupy the entire surrounding landscape" (Geography of Greece, by H.F. Tozer, 1873, p. 226).]
The hidden temptations of your captivating gaze.—[MS. erased.]
[84] [Compare Milton's Paradise Lost, i.—
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Compare Milton's Paradise Lost, i.—
He fell by noon, from noon to the early evening.
[85] [It was seldom that Byron's memory played him false, but here a vague recollection of a Shakespearian phrase has beguiled him into a blunder. He is thinking of Hamlet's jibe on the corruption of manners, "The age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe" (act v. sc. 1, line 150), and he forgets that a kibe is not a heel or a part of a heel, but a chilblain.]
[85] [It was rare for Byron to misremember things, but here a vague recollection of a line from Shakespeare has led him to make a mistake. He is thinking of Hamlet's remark about the decline of manners, "The age is so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so close to the heel of the courtier, he rubs his sore" (act v. sc. 1, line 150), and he forgets that a kibe is not a heel or a part of a heel, but a chilblain.]
The hours wasted, and everything comes down to Love or Prayer.——
[MS. deleted.]
[86] {65} [As he intimates in the Preface to Childe Harold, Byron had originally intended to introduce "variations" in his poem of a droll or satirical character. Beattie, Thomson, Ariosto, were sufficient authorities for these humorous episodes. The stanzas on the Convention of Cintra (stanzas xxv.-xxviii. of the MS.), and the four stanzas on Sir John Carr; the concluding stanzas of the MS., which were written in this lighter vein, were suppressed at the instance of Dallas, or Murray, or Gifford. From a passage in a letter to Dallas (August 21, 1811), it appears that Byron had almost made up his mind to leave out "the two stanzas of a buffooning cast on London's Sunday" (Letters, 1898, i. 335). But, possibly, owing to their freedom from any compromising personalities, or because wiser counsels prevailed, they were allowed to stand, and continued (wrote Moore in 1832) to "disfigure the poem."]
[86] {65} [As he mentions in the Preface to Childe Harold, Byron initially planned to include "variations" in his poem that were funny or satirical. Beattie, Thomson, and Ariosto were enough of an inspiration for these humorous sections. The stanzas about the Convention of Cintra (stanzas xxv.-xxviii. of the manuscript) and the four stanzas about Sir John Carr; the final stanzas of the manuscript, which were written in this lighter style, were removed at the request of Dallas, or Murray, or Gifford. A passage in a letter to Dallas (August 21, 1811) suggests that Byron had nearly decided to exclude "the two stanzas with a mocking tone about London's Sunday" (Letters, 1898, i. 335). However, probably due to their lack of any controversial personalities, or because wiser opinions prevailed, they were allowed to remain, and continued (as Moore wrote in 1832) to "disfigure the poem."]
[db] And droughty man alights and roars for "Roman Purl."[*]—[MS. D.]
[db] And the thirsty man lands and shouts for "Roman Purl."[*]—[MS. D.]
[*] A festive liquor so called. Query why "Roman"? [Query if "Roman"? "'Purl Royal,' Canary wine with a dash of the tincture of wormwood" (Grose's Class. Dict.).]
[*] A festive drink known as. Wonder why it's called "Roman"? [Is it really "Roman"? "'Purl Royal,' Canary wine with a splash of wormwood tincture" (Grose's Class. Dict.).]
----for Punch or Purl.—[D.]
for Punch or Purl
[88] [Hone's Everyday Book (1827, ii. 80-87) gives a detailed account of the custom of "swearing on the horns" at Highgate. "The horns, fixed on a pole of about five feet in length, were erected by placing the pole upright on the ground near the person to be sworn, who is requested to take off his hat," etc. The oath, or rather a small part of it, ran as follows: "Take notice what I am saying unto you, for that is the first word of your oath—mind that! You must acknowledge me [the landlord] to be your adopted father, etc.... You must not eat brown bread while you can get white, except you like the brown best. You must not drink small beer while you can get strong, except you like the small best. You must not kiss the maid while you can kiss the mistress, but sooner than lose a good chance you may kiss them both," etc. Drovers, who frequented the "Gate House" at the top of the hill, and who wished to keep the tavern to themselves, are said to have been responsible for the rude beginnings of this tedious foolery.]
[88] [Hone's Everyday Book (1827, ii. 80-87) provides a detailed description of the custom of "swearing on the horns" at Highgate. "The horns, attached to a pole about five feet long, were set up by standing the pole upright on the ground near the person taking the oath, who is asked to remove their hat," etc. The oath, or at least part of it, went like this: "Take notice of what I’m saying to you, for that is the first word of your oath—remember that! You must acknowledge me [the landlord] as your adopted father, etc.... You must not eat brown bread when you can get white, unless you prefer the brown. You must not drink small beer when you can have strong, unless you prefer the small. You must not kiss the maid when you can kiss the mistress, but rather than miss a good opportunity, you can kiss them both," etc. Drovers, who visited the "Gate House" at the top of the hill and wanted to keep the tavern for themselves, are said to have been behind the crude beginnings of this tedious nonsense.]
[89] {67} [M. Darmesteter quotes a striking passage from Gautier's Voyage en Espagne (xv.), in appreciation of Cadiz and Byron: "L'aspect de Cadix, en venant du large, est charmant. A la voir ainsi étincelante de blancheur entre l'azur de la mer et l'azur du ciel, on dirait une immense couronne de filigrane d'argent; le dôme de la cathédrale, peint en jaune, semble une tiare de vermeil posée au milieu. Les pots de fleurs, les volutes et les tourelles qui terminent les maisons, varient à l'infini la dentelure. Byron a merveilleusement caractérisé la physionomie de Cadix en une seule touche:
[89] {67} [M. Darmesteter quotes a striking passage from Gautier's Voyage en Espagne (xv.), in appreciation of Cadiz and Byron: "The view of Cadiz from the sea is breathtaking. Seeing it shining in white between the blue of the sea and the blue of the sky, it looks like a huge crown made of silver filigree; the dome of the cathedral, painted yellow, resembles a gilded tiara placed in the center. The flower pots, scrollwork, and turrets that top the houses add endless variety to the lace-like outline. Byron brilliantly captured the essence of Cadiz in a single stroke:
"Brillante Cadix, qui t'élèves vers le ciel du milieu du bleu foncé de la mer."]
"Brilliant Cadiz, you rise toward the sky from the deep blue of the sea."
[90] [The actors in a bull-fight consist of three or four classes: the chulos or footmen, the banderilleros or dart-throwers, the picadores or horsemen, the matadores or espadas the executioners. Each bull-fight, which lasts about twenty minutes, is divided into three stages or acts. In the first act the picadores receive the charge of the bull, defending themselves, but not, as a rule, attacking the foe with their lances or garrochas. In the second act the chulos, who are not mounted, wave coloured cloaks or handkerchiefs in the bull's face, and endeavour to divert his fury from the picadores, in case they have been thrown or worsted in the encounter. At the same time, the banderilleros are at pains to implant in either side of the bull's neck a number of barbed darts ornamented with cut paper, and, sometimes, charged with detonating powder. It is de rigeur to plant the barbs exactly on either side. In the third and final act, the protagonist, the matador or espada, is the sole performer. His function is to entice the bull towards him by waving the muleta or red flag, and, standing in front of the animal, to inflict the death-wound by plunging his sword between the left shoulder and the blade. "The teams of mules now enter, glittering with flags and tinkling with bells, whose gay decorations contrast with the stern cruelty and blood; the dead bull is carried off at a rapid gallop, which always delights the populace."—Handbook for Spain, by Richard Ford, 1898, i. 67-76.]
[90] [The participants in a bullfight are divided into three or four groups: the chulos or footmen, the banderilleros or dart-throwers, the picadores or horsemen, and the matadores or espadas, the executioners. Each bullfight, which lasts about twenty minutes, is divided into three parts or acts. In the first act, the picadores face the bull's charge, defending themselves but generally not attacking the bull with their lances or garrochas. In the second act, the chulos, who are not on horseback, wave colorful cloaks or handkerchiefs in front of the bull to distract it from the picadores, in case they have been thrown or beaten during the encounter. At the same time, the banderilleros make an effort to place a series of barbed darts, decorated with cut paper and sometimes filled with explosive powder, into either side of the bull's neck. It’s expected that the barbs are placed exactly on either side. In the third and final act, the main performer, the matador or espada, takes center stage. His role is to lure the bull towards him by waving the muleta or red flag, and then, standing in front of the animal, to deliver the fatal blow by driving his sword between the left shoulder and the blade. "The teams of mules now enter, adorned with flags and jingling with bells, their bright decorations a stark contrast to the harsh brutality and blood; the dead bull is swiftly carried away, a sight that always pleases the crowd."—Handbook for Spain, by Richard Ford, 1898, i. 67-76.]
[91] {70} "The croupe is a particular leap taught in the manège."—[MS.] [Croupe, or croup, denotes the hind quarters of a horse. Compare Scott's ballad of "Young Lochinvar"—"So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung." Here it is used for "croupade," "a high curvet in which the hind legs are brought up under the belly of the horse" (N. Eng. Dict., art. "Croupade.")]
[91] {70} "The croupe is a specific jump taught in the riding arena."—[MS.] [Croupe or croup refers to the back end of a horse. See Scott's ballad of "Young Lochinvar"—"So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung." Here, it's used for "croupade," which is "a high jump where the hind legs are brought up under the horse's belly" (N. Eng. Dict., article "Croupade.")]
[93] [One bull-fight, one matador. In describing the last act Byron confuses the chulos or cloak-waving footmen, who had already played their part, with the single champion, the matador, who is about to administer the coup de grâce.]
[93] [One bullfight, one matador. In describing the final act, Byron mixes up the chulos, or cloak-waving helpers, who have already done their part, with the lone champion, the matador, who is about to deliver the coup de grâce.]
or, The body is lifted—shining, the chariot speeds by.—[MS. M.]
[94] [Compare Virgil, Æneid, viii. 264—
[96] [Byron's "orthodoxy" of the word "centinel" was suggested by the Spanish centinela, or, perhaps, by Spenser's "centonell" (Faërie Queene, bk. i. c. ix. st. 41, line 8).]
[96] [Byron's interpretation of the word "centinel" was likely influenced by the Spanish centinela, or possibly by Spenser's "centonell" (Faërie Queene, bk. i. c. ix. st. 41, line 8).]
Which old fool thought he could trap.—[MS. erased.]
Some bitterness comes to the surface, and even on roses it hurts.—[MS.]
High on dull pleasure! Life-hating gloom
Wrote on his worn forehead cursed Cain's restless fate.—[MS. erased.]
Buried there.—[MS. D.]
[98] [Byron's belief or, rather, haunting dread, that he was predestined to evil is to be traced to the Calvinistic teaching of his boyhood (compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxx. lines 8, 9; and Canto IV. stanza xxxiv. line 6). Lady Byron regarded this creed of despair as the secret of her husband's character, and the source of his aberrations. In a letter to H. C. Robinson, March 5, 1855, she writes, "Not merely from casual expressions, but from the whole tenour of Lord Byron's feelings, I could not but conclude he was a believer in the inspiration of the Bible, and had the gloomiest Calvinistic tenets. To that unhappy view of the relation of the creature to the Creator, I have always ascribed the misery of his life.... Instead of being made happier by any apparent good, he felt convinced that every blessing would be 'turned into a curse' to him. Who, possessed by such ideas, could lead a life of love and service to God or man? They must in a measure realize themselves. 'The worst of it is, I do believe,' he said. I, like all connected with him, was broken against the rock of predestination."]
[98] [Byron's belief, or rather his deep fear, that he was destined for evil stems from the Calvinistic teachings of his childhood (see Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxx. lines 8, 9; and Canto IV. stanza xxxiv. line 6). Lady Byron saw this belief in despair as the key to her husband's character and the reason for his struggles. In a letter to H. C. Robinson, dated March 5, 1855, she writes, "Not only from random comments but from the overall nature of Lord Byron's feelings, I couldn't help but conclude he believed in the inspiration of the Bible and held the most pessimistic Calvinistic beliefs. I've always blamed that unfortunate perspective on the relationship between the creature and the Creator for the misery in his life... Instead of being made happier by any apparent good, he was convinced that every blessing would be 'turned into a curse' for him. Who could live a life of love and service to God or humanity with such thoughts? They are bound to become a reality in some way. 'The worst of it is, I do believe,' he said. I, like everyone connected to him, was shattered against the rock of predestination."]
[99] {75} "Stanzas to be inserted after stanza 86th in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, instead of the song at present in manuscript."-[MS. note to "To Inez."] [The stanzas To Inez are dated January 25, 1810, on which day Byron and Hobhouse visited Marathon. Most likely they were addressed to Theresa Macri, the "Maid of Athens," or some favourite of the moment, and not to "Florence" (Mrs. Spencer Smith), whom he had recently (January 16) declared emerita to the tune of "The spell is broke, the charm is flown." A fortnight later (February 10), Hobhouse, accompanied by the Albanian Vasilly and the Athenian Demetrius, set out for the Negroponte. "Lord Byron was unexpectedly detained at Athens" (Travels in Albania, i. 390). (For the stanzas to The Girl of Cadiz, which were suppressed in favour of those To Inez, see Poetical Works, 1891, p. 14, and vol. iii. of the present issue.)]
[99] {75} "Stanzas to be added after the 86th stanza in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, instead of the song currently in the manuscript." -[MS. note to "To Inez."] [The stanzas To Inez are dated January 25, 1810, the day Byron and Hobhouse visited Marathon. They were likely addressed to Theresa Macri, the "Maid of Athens," or some other favorite of the time, not to "Florence" (Mrs. Spencer Smith), whom he had recently (January 16) described as emerita to the tune of "The spell is broke, the charm is flown." Two weeks later (February 10), Hobhouse, along with the Albanian Vasilly and the Athenian Demetrius, set out for Negroponte. "Lord Byron was unexpectedly held up in Athens" (Travels in Albania, i. 390). (For the stanzas to The Girl of Cadiz, which were omitted in favor of those To Inez, see Poetical Works, 1891, p. 14, and vol. iii. of the current issue.)]
[101] [Compare Prior's Solomon, bk. iii. lines 85, 86—
[101] [Compare Prior's Solomon, bk. iii. lines 85, 86—
Sure to confront that worst of evils—thought.
[103] {78} [Charles IV. abdicated March 19, 1808, in favour of his son Ferdinand VII.; and in the following May, Charles once more abdicated on his own behalf, and Ferdinand for himself and his heirs, in favour of Napoleon. Thenceforward Charles was an exile, and Ferdinand a prisoner at Valençay, and Spain, so far as the Bourbons were concerned, remained "kingless," until motives of policy procured the release of the latter, who re-entered his kingdom March 22, 1814.]
[103] {78} [Charles IV abdicated on March 19, 1808, in favor of his son Ferdinand VII. Then, in May, Charles abdicated again, this time for himself and Ferdinand, in favor of Napoleon. From that point on, Charles was in exile, and Ferdinand was a prisoner in Valençay. Spain, as far as the Bourbons were concerned, remained "kingless" until political reasons led to Ferdinand's release, allowing him to return to his kingdom on March 22, 1814.]
Sights, Saints, Antiques, Arts, Anecdotes, and War,
Go quickly to Paternoster Row—
Are they not recorded in the Book of Carr, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Green Erin's Knight and Europe's roaming star!
So listen, Readers, to the Man of Ink,
Listen to what he did, looked for, and wrote from a distance;
All of them are confined within the boundaries of one Quarto,
Borrow it, steal it—don’t buy it—and let us know your thoughts.
As if they intended to colonize there,
How many troops crossed the laughing sea
That never saw the mentioned return again:
How many buildings are in that place,
How many leagues is it from here to that plain,
How many relics does each cathedral have,
And where Giralda is located on her massive base.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
So that my prophetic words may not be wrong[D]
Everything that was said, or sung, and gained, or lost,
By praising Wellesley or by mistakenly criticizing Frere,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The person who wrote half of the "Needy Knife-Grinder,"[F]
So poetry paves the way to greatness—__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Who wouldn't prefer such diplomats? But stop, my Muse, your speed needs a break, Let the envoys handle the House, and the armies rest in their graves.
Who created wise laws for the Junta,
They were taught to lead before they were followed:
Definitely, a teacher has authority because
His Socratic soul doesn’t intimidate Xantippe;
Blessed with a Lady nurtured in the embrace of virtue,—
Let her silent admiration take a moment!—
Faithful to her second husband and her first:
On such unwavering fame, let Satire do its worst.
[A] "Porphyry said that the prophecies of Daniel were written after their completion, and such may be my fate here; but it requires no second sight to foretell a tome; the first glimpse of the knight was enough."—[MS.]
[A] "Porphyry mentioned that the prophecies of Daniel were written after the events happened, and that might be my situation here; but it doesn't take any special insight to predict a volume; just the first sight of the knight was enough."—[MS.]
["I have seen Sir John Carr at Seville and Cadiz, and, like Swift's barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would not put me into black and white" (letter to Hodgson, August 6, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 235, note).]
["I have seen Sir John Carr in Seville and Cadiz, and, like Swift's barber, I have gotten down on my knees to ask him not to put me in print" (letter to Hodgson, August 6, 1809, Letters, 1898, i. 235, note).]
[B] "I presume Marquis and Mr. and Pole and Sir A. are returned by this time, and eke the bewildered Frere whose conduct was canvassed by the Commons."—[MS.]
[B] "I assume that the Marquis, Mr. Pole, and Sir A. have returned by now, as well as the confused Frere, whose behavior was discussed by the Commons."—[MS.]
[A motion which had been brought forward in the House of Commons, February 24, 1809, "to inquire into the causes ...of the late campaign in Spain," was defeated, but the Government recalled J. Hookham Frere, British Minister to the Supreme Junta, and nominated the Marquis Wellesley Ambassador Extraordinary to Seville. Wellesley landed in Spain early in August, but a duel which took place, September 21, between Perceval and Canning led to changes in the ministry, and, with a view to taking office, he left Cadiz November 10, 1809. His brother, Henry Wellesley (1773-1847, first Baron Cowley), succeeded him as Envoy Extraordinary. If "Mr." stands for Henry Wellesley, "Pole" may be William Wellesley Pole, afterwards third Earl of Mornington.]
[A motion that was brought forward in the House of Commons on February 24, 1809, "to inquire into the causes ...of the recent campaign in Spain," was defeated, but the Government called back J. Hookham Frere, the British Minister to the Supreme Junta, and appointed the Marquis Wellesley as Ambassador Extraordinary to Seville. Wellesley arrived in Spain early in August, but a duel that occurred on September 21 between Perceval and Canning resulted in changes in the ministry, and with the intention of taking office, he left Cadiz on November 10, 1809. His brother, Henry Wellesley (1773-1847, first Baron Cowley), took over as Envoy Extraordinary. If "Mr." refers to Henry Wellesley, "Pole" might be William Wellesley Pole, who later became the third Earl of Mornington.]
[C][The base of the Giralda, the cathedral tower at Seville, is a square of fifty feet. The pinnacle of the filigree belfry, which surmounts the original Moorish tower, "is crowned with El Girardillo, a bronze statue of La Fé, The Faith.... Although 14 feet high, and weighing 2800 lbs., it turns with the slightest breeze."—Ford's Handbook for Spain, i. 174.]
[C][The base of the Giralda, the cathedral tower in Seville, is a square that measures fifty feet on each side. The top of the intricate belfry, which sits on the original Moorish tower, is topped with El Girardillo, a bronze statue of La Fé, The Faith.... Even though it stands 14 feet tall and weighs 2800 lbs., it moves with the slightest breeze."—Ford's Handbook for Spain, i. 174.]
[F] "The Needy Knife-grinder," in the Anti-Jacobin, was a joint production of Messrs. Frere and Canning.
[F] "The Needy Knife-grinder," in the Anti-Jacobin, was a collaboration between Messrs. Frere and Canning.
As many in our Senate did assert.—[MS. erased.]
[H] Yet surely Vulpes merits some applause.—[MS. erased.]
[H] Yet surely Vulpes deserves some recognition.—[MS. erased.]
[J] [Henry Richard Vassall Fox, second Lord Holland (1773-1840), accompanied Sir David Baird to Corunna, September, 1808, and made a prolonged tour in Spain, returning in the autumn of 1809. He suggested to the Junta of Seville to extend their functions as a committee of defence, and proposed a new constitution. His wife, Elizabeth Vassall, the daughter of a rich Jamaica planter, was first married (June 27, 1786) to Sir Godfrey Webster, Bart. Sir Godfrey divorced his wife July 3, 1797, and three days later she was married to Lord Holland. She had lived with him for some time previously, and before the divorce had borne him a son, Charles Richard Fox (1796-1873), who was acknowledged by Lord Holland.]
[J] [Henry Richard Vassall Fox, the second Lord Holland (1773-1840), traveled with Sir David Baird to Corunna in September 1808 and took a lengthy tour of Spain, returning in the fall of 1809. He proposed to the Junta of Seville that they broaden their role as a defense committee and suggested a new constitution. His wife, Elizabeth Vassall, the daughter of a wealthy Jamaican planter, was first married (June 27, 1786) to Sir Godfrey Webster, Bart. Sir Godfrey divorced her on July 3, 1797, and just three days later, she married Lord Holland. She had lived with him for some time before the divorce and had given birth to a son, Charles Richard Fox (1796-1873), who was acknowledged by Lord Holland.]
[105] [Francisco Pizarro (1480-1541), with his brothers, Hernando, Juan Gonzalo, and his half-brother Martin de Alcantara, having revisited Spain, set sail for Panama in 1530. During his progress southward from Panama, he took the island of Puna, which formed part of the province of Quito. His defeat and treacherous capture of Atuahalpa, King of Quito, younger brother of Huascar the Supreme Inca, took place in 1532, near the town of Caxamarca, in Peno (Mod. Univ. History, 1763, xxxviii. 295, seq.). Spain's weakness during the Napoleonic invasion was the opportunity of her colonies. Quito, the capital of Ecuador, rose in rebellion, August 10, 1810, and during the same year Mexico and La Plata began their long struggle for independence.]
[105] [Francisco Pizarro (1480-1541), along with his brothers Hernando, Juan Gonzalo, and his half-brother Martin de Alcantara, returned to Spain and then set off for Panama in 1530. As he traveled south from Panama, he captured the island of Puna, which was part of the province of Quito. His defeat and treacherous capture of Atahualpa, the King of Quito and younger brother of Huascar the Supreme Inca, happened in 1532 near the town of Cajamarca, in Peru (Mod. Univ. History, 1763, xxxviii. 295, seq.). Spain's vulnerability during the Napoleonic invasion provided an opportunity for its colonies. Quito, the capital of Ecuador, rebelled on August 10, 1810, and during that same year, Mexico and La Plata began their long fight for independence.]
[106] {82} [During the American War of Independence (1775-83), and afterwards during the French Revolution, it was the custom to plant trees as "symbols of growing freedom." The French trees were decorated with "caps of Liberty." No such trees had ever been planted in Spain. (See note by the Rev. E.C. Everard Owen, Childe Harold, 1897, p. 158.)]
[106] {82} [During the American War of Independence (1775-83), and later during the French Revolution, it became common to plant trees as "symbols of growing freedom." The trees in France were adorned with "caps of Liberty." No similar trees had ever been planted in Spain. (See note by the Rev. E.C. Everard Owen, Childe Harold, 1897, p. 158.)]
Explosions from my heart,{ to lose strength in no matter how slight my burden, always light the——.—[D.]
Had the sword struck you down, with the powerful, fallen low
Pride had prevented me from your downfall to plainness.—[MS. D.]
[108] [With reference to this stanza, Byron wrote to Dallas, October 25, 1811 (Letters, 1898, ii. 58, 59), "I send you a conclusion to the whole. In a stanza towards the end of Canto I. in the line,
[108] [In relation to this stanza, Byron wrote to Dallas on October 25, 1811 (Letters, 1898, ii. 58, 59), "I'm sending you a conclusion to the whole. In a stanza near the end of Canto I, in the line,
I shall alter the epithet to 'esteemed the most.'"]
I will change the title to 'esteemed the most.'
[dn] And fancy follow to——.—[MS. D.]
[109] "Fytte" means "part."—[Note erased.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ "Fytte" means "part."—[Note erased.]
NOTES
TO
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
CANTO I.
1.
Stanza i. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
The little village of Castri stands partially on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock:—"One," said the guide, "of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement.
The small village of Castri is located partly on the site of Delphi. Along the mountain path from Chrysso, you can see the remains of graves carved into the rock:—"This one," the guide said, "belongs to a king who broke his neck while hunting." His majesty definitely picked the perfect spot for such an unfortunate event.
A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cowhouse.
A short distance above Castri, there's a deep cave, believed to be the Pythian, with a paved upper section that now serves as a cowhouse.
On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain; probably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descend the fountain and the "Dews of Castalie."
On the other side of Castri, there's a Greek monastery; a bit higher up is a split in the rock, with a series of caves that are hard to climb and seem to lead into the mountain's interior; likely to the Corycian Cave mentioned by Pausanias. From this area flow the fountain and the "Dews of Castalie."
[Byron and Hobhouse slept at Crissa December 15, and visited Delphi December 16, 1809.—Travels in Albania, i. 199-209.]
[Byron and Hobhouse stayed at Crissa on December 15 and visited Delphi on December 16, 1809.—Travels in Albania, i. 199-209.]
2.
Stanza xx. line 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 4.
The convent of "Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Señora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some [86] distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view.—[Note to First Edition.] Since the publication of this poem, I have been informed [by W. Scott, July 1, 1812] of the misapprehension of the term Nossa Señora de Pena. It was owing to the want of the tilde, or mark over the ñ, which alters the signification of the word: with it, Peña signifies a rock; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. I do not think it necessary to alter the passage; as, though the common acceptation affixed to it is "Our Lady of the Rock," I may well assume the other sense from the severities practised there.—[Note to Second Edition.]
The convent of "Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Señora de Pena, is perched on top of the rock. Down below, at some [86] distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius created his den, and above it is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea enhances the beauty of the view.—[Note to First Edition.] Since the release of this poem, I have been informed [by W. Scott, July 1, 1812] about the misunderstanding of the term Nossa Señora de Pena. It was due to the absence of the tilde, or mark over the ñ, which changes the meaning of the word: with it, Peña means a rock; without it, Pena takes on the meaning I used. I don’t think it's necessary to change the passage; while the common interpretation given to it is "Our Lady of the Rock," I can easily adopt the other meaning based on the harshness practiced there.—[Note to Second Edition.]
3.
Stanza xxi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__. line 9.
It is a well-known fact that in the year 1809, the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen; but that Englishmen were daily butchered: and so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend: had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have "adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal; in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished!
It’s a well-known fact that in 1809, the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and nearby areas weren’t limited to Portuguese citizens; Englishmen were killed on a daily basis. Instead of getting help, we were asked not to intervene if we saw one of our own defending himself against his allies. Once, while I was on my way to the theater at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were no busier than usual, I was stopped in front of an open shop while in a carriage with a friend. If we hadn’t fortunately been armed, I have no doubt that we would be part of a story instead of telling one. The crime of assassination isn’t limited to Portugal; in Sicily and Malta, people are killed on a regular basis, and not a single Sicilian or Maltese ever faces justice!
4.
Stanza xxiv. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders; he has perhaps changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessor.
The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. The recent achievements of Lord Wellington have overshadowed the mistakes of Cintra. He has truly accomplished remarkable things; he may have altered the identity of a nation, brought together opposing beliefs, and outsmarted an enemy who never backed down against his predecessor.
["The armistice, the negotiations, the convention, the execution of its provisions, were commenced, conducted, [87] concluded, at the distance of thirty miles from Cintra, with which place they had not the slightest connection, political, military, or local. Yet Lord Byron has sung that the convention was signed in the Marquis of Marialva's house at Cintra" (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 161). The "suspension of arms" is dated "Head Quarters of the British Army, August 22, 1808." The "Definitive Convention for the Evacuation of Portugal by the British Army" is dated "Head Quarters, Lisbon, August 30, 1808." (See Wordsworth's pamphlet Concerning the Relations of Great Britain, Spain, and Portugal, etc., 1809, App. pp. 199-201. For sentiments almost identical with those expressed in stanzas xxiv., xxv., see ibid., p. 49, et passim.)]
["The armistice, the negotiations, the agreement, and the implementation of its terms started, were carried out, and wrapped up thirty miles from Cintra, with no real connection to that place, whether political, military, or local. Still, Lord Byron claimed that the agreement was signed in the Marquis of Marialva's house in Cintra" (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 161). The "suspension of arms" is dated "Head Quarters of the British Army, August 22, 1808." The "Definitive Convention for the Evacuation of Portugal by the British Army" is dated "Head Quarters, Lisbon, August 30, 1808." (See Wordsworth's pamphlet Concerning the Relations of Great Britain, Spain, and Portugal, etc., 1809, App. pp. 199-201. For sentiments almost identical to those expressed in stanzas xxiv., xxv., see ibid., p. 49, et passim.)]
5.
Stanza xxix. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The extent of Mafra is prodigious; it contains a palace, convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration: we did not hear them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to their splendour. Mafra is termed the Escurial of Portugal.
The size of Mafra is impressive; it features a palace, a convent, and a stunning church. The six organs are the most beautifully decorated I've ever seen: we didn't get to hear them, but we were told their sounds match their beauty. Mafra is known as the Escurial of Portugal.
[Mafra was built by D. João V. The foundation-stone was laid November 7, 1717, and the church consecrated October 22, 1730. (For descriptions of Mafra, see Southey's Life and Correspondence, ii. 113; and Letters, 1898, i. 237.)]
[Mafra was constructed by D. João V. The foundation stone was laid on November 7, 1717, and the church was consecrated on October 22, 1730. (For descriptions of Mafra, see Southey's Life and Correspondence, ii. 113; and Letters, 1898, i. 237.)]
6.
Stanza xxxiii. lines 8 and 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 8 and 9.
As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterised them. That they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident.
As I encountered the Portuguese, that's how I've described them. It's clear that they've improved, at least in terms of bravery.
[The following "Note on Spain and Portugal," part of the original draft of Note 3 (p. 86), was suppressed at the instance of Dallas: "We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lately, and their gallantry. Pray Heaven it continue; yet 'would it were bed-time, Hal, and all were well!' They must fight a great many hours, by 'Shrewsbury clock,' before the number [88] of their slain equals that of our countrymen butchered by these kind creatures, now metamorphosed into 'Caçadores,' and what not. I merely state a fact, not confined to Portugal; for in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished! The neglect of protection is disgraceful to our government and governors; for the murders are as notorious as the moon that shines upon them, and the apathy that overlooks them. The Portuguese, it is to be hoped, are complimented with the 'Forlorn Hope,'—if the cowards are become brave (like the rest of their kind, in a corner), pray let them display it. But there is a subscription for these θρασύδειλοι[110] (they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the Spartans); and all the charitable patronymics, from ostentatious A. to diffident Z., and £1 1s. 0d. from 'An Admirer of Valour,' are in requisition for the lists at Lloyd's, and the honour of British benevolence. Well! we have fought, and subscribed, and bestowed peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes; and, lo! all this is to be done over again! Like Lien Chi (in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World), as we 'grow older, we grow never the better.' It would be pleasant to learn who will subscribe for us, in or about the year 1815, and what nation will send fifty thousand men, first to be decimated in the capital, and then decimated again (in the Irish fashion, nine out of ten), in the 'bed of honour;' which, as Serjeant Kite says [in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, act i. sc. 1], is considerably larger and more commodious than 'the bed of Ware.' Then they must have a poet to write the 'Vision of Don Perceval,'[111] and generously bestow the profits of the well and widely printed quarto, to rebuild the 'Backwynd' and the 'Canongate,' or furnish new kilts for the half-roasted Highlanders. Lord Wellington, however, has enacted marvels; and so did his Oriental brother, whom I saw charioteering over the French flag, and heard clipping bad Spanish, after listening to the speech of a patriotic cobler of Cadiz, on the event of his own entry [89] into that city, and the exit of some five thousand bold Britons out of this 'best of all possible worlds' [Pangloss, in Candide]. Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of Talavera; and a victory it surely was somewhere, for everybody claimed it. The Spanish despatch and mob called it Cuesta's, and made no great mention of the Viscount; the French called it theirs[1] (to my great discomfiture,—for a French consul stopped my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris Gazette, just as I had killed Sebastiani'[112] 'in buckram,' and King Joseph 'in Kendal green'),—and we have not yet determined what to call it, or whose; for, certes, it was none of our own. Howbeit, Massena's retreat [May, 1811] is a great comfort; and as we have not been in the habit of pursuing for some years past, no wonder we are a little awkward at first. No doubt we shall improve; or, if not, we have only to take to our old way of retrograding, and there we are at home."—Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, pp. 179-185.]
[The following "Note on Spain and Portugal," part of the original draft of Note 3 (p. 86), was suppressed at the request of Dallas: "We've been hearing great things about the Portuguese lately, particularly their bravery. I hope it lasts; yet 'I wish it were bedtime, Hal, and everything was alright!' They have to fight for many hours, by 'Shrewsbury clock,' before their death toll matches that of our countrymen slaughtered by these kind creatures, who are now transformed into 'Caçadores,' and so on. I'm just stating a fact, which isn’t limited to Portugal; in Sicily and Malta, we’re being attacked at a commendable average every night, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever held accountable! The lack of protection is shameful for our government and leaders; the murders are as obvious as the moon shining above, and the indifference that ignores them. I hope the Portuguese are given the 'Forlorn Hope'—if the cowards have indeed become brave (like the rest of their kind when backed into a corner), let them show it. But there’s a subscription for these cowards[110] (they need not be embarrassed by the term once used for the Spartans); and all the charitable names, from showy A. to shy Z., and £1 1s. 0d. from 'An Admirer of Valour,' are being collected for the lists at Lloyd's, and for the sake of British generosity. Well! we have fought, and donated, and given out peerages, and buried those killed by both our allies and enemies; and, lo! all of this is about to happen again! Like Lien Chi (in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World), as we 'grow older, we grow never the better.' It would be nice to see who will subscribe for us, around the year 1815, and which country will send fifty thousand men, first to be thinned out in the capital, and then thinned out again (in the Irish way, nine out of ten), in the 'bed of honour;' which, as Serjeant Kite says [in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, act i. sc. 1], is significantly larger and more comfortable than 'the bed of Ware.' Then they’ll need a poet to write the 'Vision of Don Perceval,'[111] and generously give the profits from the well and widely printed quarto to rebuild the 'Backwynd' and the 'Canongate,' or to provide new kilts for the half-cooked Highlanders. Lord Wellington, however, has done wonders; and so did his Eastern counterpart, who I saw driving over the French flag, and heard speaking poor Spanish, after listening to a patriotic cobbler from Cadiz, on the occasion of his own arrival in that city, alongside the exit of about five thousand bold Britons from this 'best of all possible worlds' [Pangloss, in Candide]. We were greatly confused about how to handle that same victory at Talavera; and it surely was a victory somewhere since everyone claimed it. The Spanish report and mob called it Cuesta's, and barely mentioned the Viscount; the French called it theirs [to my great distress,—for a French consul silenced me in Greece with a pestilent Paris Gazette, just as I had taken down Sebastiani'[112] 'in buckram,' and King Joseph 'in Kendal green'),—and we still haven’t figured out what to name it, or whose; because, certainly, it was not our own. Nevertheless, Massena's retreat [May, 1811] is quite a relief; and since we haven't been in the habit of pursuing for several years, it’s no wonder we're a bit clumsy at first. Without a doubt, we’ll get better; or, if not, we can just revert to our old routine of retreating, and there we are at home."—Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, pp. 179-185.]
7.
That stained your mountain streams with Gothic blood.
Stanza xxxv. lines 3 and 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 3 and 4.
Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Grenada.
Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius maintained his independence in the rugged mountains of Asturias, and his followers' descendants eventually finished their struggle by conquering Granada after several centuries.
[Roderick the Goth violated Florinda, or Caba, or Cava, daughter of Count Julian, one of his principal lieutenants. In revenge for this outrage, Julian allied himself with Musca, the Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, and countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans commanded by Tarik, from whom Jebel Tarik, Tarik's Rock, that is, Gibraltar, is said to have been named. The issue was the defeat and death of Roderick and the Moorish occupation of Spain. A Spaniard, according to Cervantes, may call his dog, but not his daughter, Florinda. (See Vision of Don Roderick, by Sir W. Scott, stanza iv. note 5.)]
[Roderick the Goth assaulted Florinda, also known as Caba or Cava, the daughter of Count Julian, one of his top lieutenants. In retaliation for this wrongdoing, Julian teamed up with Musca, the Caliph’s lieutenant in Africa, and supported the invasion of Spain by a group of Saracens and Africans led by Tarik, from whom Jebel Tarik, or Tarik's Rock, that is, Gibraltar, is said to be named. The outcome was the defeat and death of Roderick and the Moorish occupation of Spain. According to Cervantes, a Spaniard can call his dog, but not his daughter, Florinda. (See Vision of Don Roderick, by Sir W. Scott, stanza iv. note 5.)]
8.
Stanza xlviii. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
"Vivā el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old King Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them: some of the airs are beautiful. Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, etc., etc. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country.
"Long live King Ferdinand!" is the chorus of most Spanish patriotic songs. They mainly criticize the old King Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I've heard many of them; some of the melodies are beautiful. Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, from an old but weakened family, was born in Badajoz, on the border of Portugal, and originally served in the Spanish guards until his appearance caught the queen's attention, which elevated him to the dukedom of Alcudia, and so on. This man is universally blamed by the Spaniards for the downfall of their country.
[Manuel de Godoy (1767-1851) received the title of Principe de la Paz, Prince of the Peace, in 1795, after the Treaty of Basle, which ceded more than half St. Domingo to France. His tenure of power, as prime minister and director of the king's policy, coincided with the downfall of Spanish power, and before the commencement of the Peninsular War he was associated in the minds of the people with national corruption and national degradation. He was, moreover, directly instrumental in the betrayal of Spain to France. By the Treaty of Fontainebleau, October 27, 1807, Portugal was to be divided between the King of Etruria and Godoy as Prince of the Algarves, Portuguese America was to fall to the King of Spain, and to bring this about Napoleon's troops were to enter Spain and march directly to Lisbon. The sole outcome of the treaty was the occupation of Portugal and subsequent invasion of Spain. Before Byron had begun his pilgrimage, Godoy's public career had come to an end. During the insurrection at Aranjuez, March 17-19, 1808, when Charles IV. abdicated in favour of his son Ferdinand VII., Godoy was only preserved from the fury of the populace by a timely imprisonment. In the following May, by which time Ferdinand himself was a prisoner in France, he was released at the instance of Murat, and ordered to accompany Charles to Bayonne, for the express purpose of cajoling his master into a second abdication in favour of Napoleon. The remainder of his long life was passed, first at Rome, and afterwards at Paris, in exile and dependence. The execration of Godoy, "who was really a mild, good-natured man," must, in Napier's judgment, be attributed to Spanish venom and [91] Spanish prejudice. The betrayal of Spain was, he thinks, the outcome of Ferdinand's intrigues no less than of Godoy's unpatriotic ambition. Another and perhaps truer explanation of popular odium is to be found in his supposed atheism and well-known indifference to the rites of the Church, which many years before had attracted the attention of the Holy Office. The peasants cursed Godoy because the priests triumphed over his downfall (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 8; Southey's Peninsular War, i. 85 note, 93, 215, 280).]
[Manuel de Godoy (1767-1851) was granted the title of Principe de la Paz, or Prince of the Peace, in 1795, after the Treaty of Basle, which transferred more than half of St. Domingo to France. His time in power, as prime minister and the king's policy director, coincided with the decline of Spanish power, and before the start of the Peninsular War, people associated him with national corruption and degradation. He was also directly responsible for betraying Spain to France. According to the Treaty of Fontainebleau on October 27, 1807, Portugal was to be divided between the King of Etruria and Godoy as Prince of the Algarves, Portuguese America was to be given to the King of Spain, and to achieve this, Napoleon's troops were to invade Spain and march directly to Lisbon. The sole result of this treaty was the occupation of Portugal and the subsequent invasion of Spain. Before Byron had started his journey, Godoy's public career had ended. During the insurrection at Aranjuez, from March 17-19, 1808, when Charles IV abdicated in favor of his son Ferdinand VII, Godoy was only saved from the mob's anger by being imprisoned at the right moment. By the following May, by which time Ferdinand was a prisoner in France, he was released at Murat's request and ordered to accompany Charles to Bayonne, specifically to persuade his master into a second abdication in favor of Napoleon. The rest of his long life was spent, first in Rome, then in Paris, in exile and dependence. The hatred towards Godoy, "who was really a mild, good-natured man," must, in Napier's opinion, be attributed to Spanish bitterness and [91] Spanish bias. The betrayal of Spain, he believes, resulted from Ferdinand's schemes as much as from Godoy's unpatriotic ambition. Another, perhaps more accurate reason for the public loathing can be found in his alleged atheism and known indifference to Church rituals, which had drawn the attention of the Holy Office many years earlier. The peasants cursed Godoy because the priests celebrated his downfall (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 8; Southey's Peninsular War, i. 85 note, 93, 215, 280).]
9.
Stanza l. lines 2 and 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 2 and 3.
The red cockade, with "Fernando Septimo" in the centre.
The red cockade, featuring "Fernando Septimo" in the center.
10.
Stanza li. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile through which I passed in my way to Seville.
All who have seen a battery will remember the pyramid shape in which shot and shells are stacked. The Sierra Morena was fortified at every pass I took on my way to Seville.
11.
Stanza lvi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valour elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. When the author was at Seville, she walked daily on the Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command of the Junta.
Such were the achievements of the Maid of Saragoza, who through her bravery rose to the highest status among heroines. When the author was in Seville, she walked daily on the Prado, adorned with medals and honors, at the request of the Junta.
[The story, as told by Southey (who seems to have derived his information from The Narrative of the Siege of Zaragoza, by Charles Richard Vaughan, M.B., 1809), is that "Augustina Zaragoza (sic), a handsome woman of the lower class, about twenty-two years of age," a vivandiere, in the course of her rounds came with provisions to a battery near the Portello gate. The gunners had all been killed, and, as the citizens held back, "Augustina sprang over the dead and dying, snatched a match from the hand of a dead artilleryman, and fired off a twenty-six pounder; then, [92] jumping upon the gun, made a solemn vow never to quit it alive during the siege."
[The story, as told by Southey (who seems to have derived his information from The Narrative of the Siege of Zaragoza, by Charles Richard Vaughan, M.B., 1809), is that "Augustina Zaragoza (sic), a beautiful woman from the lower class, around twenty-two years old," a vivandiere, during her rounds came with supplies to a battery near the Portello gate. The gunners had all been killed, and as the citizens held back, "Augustina jumped over the dead and dying, grabbed a match from the hand of a dead artilleryman, and fired off a twenty-six pounder; then, [92] jumping onto the gun, made a serious vow never to leave it alive during the siege."
After the retreat of the French, "a pension was settled upon Augustina, and the daily pay of an artilleryman. She was also to wear a small shield of honour, embroidered upon the sleeve of her gown, with 'Zaragoza' inscribed upon it" (Southey's Peninsular War, ii. 14, 34).
After the French pulled back, "a pension was arranged for Augustina, along with the daily pay of an artilleryman. She was also to wear a small honor shield, embroidered on the sleeve of her dress, with 'Zaragoza' written on it" (Southey's Peninsular War, ii. 14, 34).
Napier, "neither wholly believing nor absolutely denying these exploits," which he does not condescend to give in detail, remarks "that for a long time afterwards, Spain swarmed with Zaragoza heroines, clothed in half-uniforms, and theatrically loaded with weapons."
Napier, "neither fully believing nor completely denying these exploits," which he doesn't bother to explain in detail, notes "that for a long time afterward, Spain was full of Zaragoza heroines, dressed in half-uniforms, and dramatically armed with weapons."
A picture of "The Defence of Saragossa," painted by Sir David Wilkie, which contained her portrait, was exhibited in the Royal Academy in 1829, and was purchased by the king (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 45; Life of Sir D. Wilkie, by John W. Mollett, 1881, p. 83). Compare, too, The Age of Bronze, vii. lines 53-56—
A painting of "The Defence of Saragossa," created by Sir David Wilkie, which featured her portrait, was shown at the Royal Academy in 1829 and was bought by the king (Napier's History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 45; Life of Sir D. Wilkie, by John W. Mollett, 1881, p. 83). Also, check The Age of Bronze, vii. lines 53-56—
Of Saragossa, the most powerful in her downfall; The man gathered his courage, and the woman "Waving her sword that was more than Amazonian."
12.
Stanza lviii. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
"Remnants show softness."
Aul. Gel.
Aul. Gel.
[The quotation does not occur in Aulus Gellius, but is a fragment in iambic metre from the Papia papæ περὶ ἐγκωμίων of M. Terentius Varro, cited by the grammarian Nonius Marcellus (De Comp. Doct., ii. 135, lines 19-23). Sigilla is a variant of the word in the text, laculla, a diminutive of lacuna, signifying a dimple in the chin. Lacullum is not to be found in Facciolati. (Vide Riese, Varro. Satur. Menipp. Rel., 1865, p. 164.)]
[The quotation doesn't appear in Aulus Gellius, but is a fragment in iambic meter from the Papia papæ on praises of M. Terentius Varro, cited by the grammarian Nonius Marcellus (De Comp. Doct., ii. 135, lines 19-23). Sigilla is a variant of the word in the text, laculla, which is a diminutive of lacuna, meaning a dimple in the chin. Lacullum is not found in Facciolati. (Vide Riese, Varro. Satur. Menipp. Rel., 1865, p. 164.)]
13.
Stanza lx. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Parnassus, now called Λιακυρα (Liakura), Dec. [16], 1809.
These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Parnassus, now called Λιακυρα (Liakura), Dec. [16], 1809.
14.
Stanza lxv. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans.
Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans.
15.
Stanza lxx. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best situation for asking and answering such a question; not as the birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Boeotia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved.
This was written in Thebes, which was the perfect place for asking and answering such a question; not as Pindar's birthplace, but as the capital of Boeotia, where the first riddle was posed and answered.
[Byron reached Thebes December 22, 1809. By the first riddle he means, of course, the famous enigma of Oedipus—the prototype of Boeotian wit.]
[Byron arrived in Thebes on December 22, 1809. By the first riddle, he is referring to the well-known mystery of Oedipus—the original example of Boeotian cleverness.]
16.
Stanza lxxxii. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
"Something bitter rises even in the very flowers."
Lucr., iv. 1133.
Lucr., IV. 1133.
17.
Stanza lxxxv. line 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 7.
Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the governor of Cadiz, in May, 1808.
Alluding to the actions and death of Solano, the governor of Cadiz, in May 1808.
[The Marquis of Solano, commander-in-chief of the forces at Cadiz, was murdered by the populace. The "Supreme Junta" of Seville had directed him to attack the French fleet anchored off Cadiz, and Admiral Purvis, acting in concert with General Spencer, had offered to co-operate, but Solano was unwilling to take his orders "from a self-constituted authority, and hesitated to commit his country in war with a power whose strength he knew better than the temper of his countrymen." "His abilities, courage, and unblemished character have never been denied."—Napier's War in the Peninsula, i. 20, 21.]
[The Marquis of Solano, the commander-in-chief of the forces in Cadiz, was killed by the local population. The "Supreme Junta" of Seville had ordered him to attack the French fleet that was anchored off Cadiz, and Admiral Purvis, working with General Spencer, had offered to help, but Solano was reluctant to take orders "from a self-appointed authority, and he hesitated to drag his country into a war with a power whose strength he understood better than the mindset of his fellow countrymen." "His skills, bravery, and impeccable character have never been questioned."—Napier's War in the Peninsula, i. 20, 21.]
18.
Stanza lxxxvi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
"War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French general at the siege of Saragoza.
"War to the end." Palafox's response to the French general during the siege of Saragoza.
[Towards the close of the first siege of Zaragoza, August 5, 1808, Marshal Lefebvre (1755-1820), under the impression that the city had fallen into his hands, "required Palafox to surrender in these words: 'Quartel-general, Santa Engracia. La Capitulation!' ['Head-quarters, St. Engracia. Capitulation']. The reply was, 'Quartel-general, Zaragoza. Guerra al cuchillo' ['Head-quarters, Zaragoza. War at the knife's point']." Subsequently, December, 1808, when Moncey (1754-1842) again called upon him to surrender, he appealed to the people of Madrid. "The dogs," he said, "by whom he was beset scarcely left him time to clean his sword from their blood; but they still found their grave at Zaragoza." Southey notes that "all Palafox's proclamations had the high tone and something of the inflection of Spanish romance, suiting the character of those to whom it was directed" (Peninsular War, ii. 25; iii. 152; Narrative of the Siege, by C. R. Vaughan, 1809, pp. 22, 23). Napier, whose account of the first siege of Zaragoza is based on Caballero's Victoires et Conquètes des Français, and on the Journal of Lefebvre's Operations (MSS.), does not record these romantic incidents. He attributes the raising of the siege to the "bad discipline of the French, and the system of terror established by the Spanish leaders." The inspirers and proclaimers of "war even to the knife" were, he maintains, Tio or Goodman Jorge (Jorge Ibort) and Tio Murin, and not Palafox, who was ignorant of war, and who, on more than one occasion, was careful to provide for his own safety (History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 41-46).]
[Towards the end of the first siege of Zaragoza, August 5, 1808, Marshal Lefebvre (1755-1820), believing that the city had fallen under his control, "demanded Palafox’s surrender with these words: 'Quartel-general, Santa Engracia. La Capitulation!' ['Head-quarters, St. Engracia. Capitulation']. The response was, 'Quartel-general, Zaragoza. Guerra al cuchillo' ['Head-quarters, Zaragoza. War at the knife's point']." Later, in December 1808, when Moncey (1754-1842) again urged him to surrender, he appealed to the people of Madrid. "The dogs," he said, "surrounding me hardly left me time to clean my sword from their blood; yet they still found their graves at Zaragoza." Southey notes that "all Palafox's proclamations had a grand tone and reflected the style of Spanish romance, which suited the character of those it was directed at" (Peninsular War, ii. 25; iii. 152; Narrative of the Siege, by C. R. Vaughan, 1809, pp. 22, 23). Napier, whose account of the first siege of Zaragoza is based on Caballero's Victoires et Conquètes des Français and the Journal of Lefebvre's Operations (MSS.), does not mention these romantic events. He attributes the lifting of the siege to the "poor discipline of the French and the system of terror established by the Spanish leaders." He claims that the instigators and proclaimers of "war even to the knife" were, in fact, Tio or Goodman Jorge (Jorge Ibort) and Tio Murin, not Palafox, who was inexperienced in warfare and who, on more than one occasion, made sure to secure his own safety (History of the War in the Peninsula, i. 41-46).]
19.
Stanza xci. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The Honourable John Wingfield, of the Guards, who died of a fever at Coimbra (May 14, 1811). I had known him ten years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine. In the short space of one month I have lost her who gave me being, and most of those who had made [95] that being tolerable. To me the lines of Young are no fiction—
The Honorable John Wingfield, of the Guards, who passed away from a fever in Coimbra (May 14, 1811). I had known him for ten years, which is the best part of his life and the happiest part of mine. In just one month, I have lost her who brought me into this world and most of those who made that existence bearable. For me, Young's lines are not just a figment of imagination—
Your arrow flew three times, and three times my peace was destroyed,
"And three times before three times that moon had filled her horn."
Night Thoughts: The Complaint, Night i.
(London, 1825, p. 5).
Night Thoughts: The Complaint, Night i.
(London, 1825, p. 5).
I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was acquired; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority. [To an objection made by Dallas to this note, Byron replied, "I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I loved Wingfield better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability—ah! you did not know Matthews,!"—Letters, 1898, ii. 8. [For Charles Skinner Matthews, and the Honourable John Wingfield, see Letters, 1898, i. 150 note, 180 note. See, too, "Childish Recollections," Poems, 1898, i. 96, note.]
I should have written a verse in memory of the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, if he weren't so far beyond any praise I could give. His intellectual abilities, demonstrated by earning greater honors against the strongest candidates than any graduate on record at Cambridge, have firmly established his reputation in the very place he achieved it. Meanwhile, his gentler qualities are remembered by friends who cared for him too much to feel envy over his excellence. [When Dallas objected to this note, Byron replied, "I was so sincere in my note about the late Charles Matthews, and I feel so completely unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must remain for the very reason you are critiquing it. To me, all the men I ever knew were nothing compared to him. He was an intellectual giant. It's true I loved Wingfield more; he was my earliest and dearest friend, and one of the few I could never regret loving: but in terms of ability—ah! you didn't know Matthews!"—Letters, 1898, ii. 8. [For Charles Skinner Matthews and the Honourable John Wingfield, see Letters, 1898, i. 150 note, 180 note. Also, "Childish Recollections," Poems, 1898, i. 96, note.]
FOOTNOTES:
[111] [In a letter to J. B. S. Morritt, April 26, 1811, Sir Walter Scott writes, "I meditate some wild stanzas referring to the Peninsula; if I can lick them into any shape, I hope to get something handsome from the booksellers for the Portuguese sufferers: 'Silver and gold have I none, but that which I have I will give unto them.' My lyrics are called The Vision of Don Roderick." —Lockhart's Mem. of the Life of Sir W. Scott, 1871, p. 205.]
[111] [In a letter to J. B. S. Morritt, April 26, 1811, Sir Walter Scott writes, "I’m thinking about some creative verses related to the Peninsula; if I can shape them well, I hope to earn something nice from the publishers for the Portuguese victims: 'Silver and gold I don't have, but what I do have, I will give to them.' My poems are titled The Vision of Don Roderick." —Lockhart's Mem. of the Life of Sir W. Scott, 1871, p. 205.]
[112] {89} [François Horace Bastien Sebastiani (1772-1851), one of Napoleon's generals, defeated the Spanish at Ciudad Real, March 17, 1809. In his official report he said that he had sabred more than 3000 Spaniards in flight. At the battle of Talavera, July 27, his corps suffered heavily; but at Almonacid, August 11, he was again victorious over the Spanish.]
[112] {89} [François Horace Bastien Sebastiani (1772-1851), one of Napoleon's generals, defeated the Spanish at Ciudad Real on March 17, 1809. In his official report, he stated that he had cut down more than 3,000 Spaniards who were retreating. His corps faced significant losses at the battle of Talavera on July 27, but he achieved victory over the Spanish again at Almonacid on August 11.]
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
Canto 2.
Canto 2. Byron. Joannina, Albania.
Started Oct. 31, 1809.
Finished Canto 2. Smyrna.
March 28, 1810. [MS. D.]
CANTO THE SECOND
I.[113]
Have you never inspired a single mortal song—
[100] Goddess of Wisdom! Here was your temple,
And is, despite war and destructive fire, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
And years, that urged your worship to come to an end:
But worse than steel, fire, and the passing of time, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Is the feared scepter and grim rule Of men who have never experienced the sacred glow That you and yours are the inspiration behind beautiful bodies.
II.
Where are your strong men? Your noble souls? Gone—shining through the dream of what once was:[dp]
First in the race that led to Glory's goal,
They won and then passed away—is that all there is?
A schoolboy's story, the marvel of an hour!
[101] The Warrior's weapon and the Sophist's stole[114]
Are searched for in vain, and over each crumbling tower,
Faded by the passage of time, the shadow of power appears gray. [dq]
III.
Come—but don't disturb that defenseless Urn: Look at this place—a nation's tomb!
Home of the Gods, whose temples no longer burn.[dr]
Even gods must give way—religions have their time.
'It's Jove's—it's Mahomet's—and other Creeds
Will rise with other years, until humanity learns
His incense rises in vain, while his victim bleeds; Unfortunate child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is based on fragile supports.[ds]
IV.
Isn't it enough, unhappy thing! to know
Who are you? Is this a gift given with such kindness,
If that's the case, you would go again and leave,[102] You don’t know, and you don’t care which region, so[115]
No longer on Earth, but blended with the skies? Will you still dream about future joy and sorrow?[dt]
Consider and evaluate that dust before it disperses:
That little urn says more than a thousand sermons.
V.
He fell, and the nations in decline mourned all around; But now not a single one of the grieving thousands cries, Neither does the warlike worshipper keep his vigil. Where demi-gods showed up, as the records say.[du][116]
Take that skull away from the scattered piles:
Is that a temple where a God can live? Even the worm eventually rejects its broken shell!
VI.
Its rooms are empty and its doors are dirty:
Yes, this used to be Ambition's grand hall,
The Dome of Thought, the Palace of the Soul:
[103] Look through each dull, empty eye socket,
The LGBTQ+ corner of Knowledge and Humor[117]
And the host of Passion, who never accepted control: Can any saint, sage, or philosopher ever write, Is this lonely tower, this renovated apartment building, for real?
VII.
"All we know is that nothing can be known."
Why should we avoid what we can't escape? Each has its pain, but weak sufferers moan. With their own twisted dreams of Evil. Follow what Chance or Fate says is best; Peace awaits us on the shores of Acheron:
No well-fed guest makes demands for a feast,
But Silence lays out the sofa of always welcome Rest.
VIII.[119]
A realm of Souls beyond that dark shore,
[104] To criticize the beliefs of the Sadducees
And Sophists, extremely proud of questionable knowledge; How nice it would be to worship together in harmony. With those who made our earthly work easier!
To listen to each voice we were afraid to hear again!
Look at each powerful shadow brought to light,
The Bactrian, Samian philosopher, and everyone who taught what is right!
IX.[120]
Have left me here to love and live without purpose—
[105] Connected to my heart, how can I consider you gone? When a busy memory pops into my mind? Well, I will dream that we can meet again,
And invite the vision to my empty heart:
If any of young Remembrance still exists,
Regardless of Futurity's command,[dw]
For me, it would be enough joy to know your blessed spirit!
X.
Strongest of many like this! So let me follow The hidden magnificence of your home.
It might not be: nor can even the imagination's eye[106] Restore what time has worked to erase.
Yet these proud Pillars do not acknowledge a passing sigh; Unmoved, the Muslim sits while the cheerful Greek songs play nearby.
XI.
Up high—where Pallas stayed, reluctant to leave The most recent reminder of her ancient rule—
Who was the final, most disappointing spoiler? [dx]
Blush, Caledonia! Your son could be like this!
England! I’m glad no child was yours:
Your free-born men should protect what once was free; Yet they could desecrate each heartbreaking shrine,
And listen to these altars over the long-unwilling waves. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XII.
To take what the Goths, Turks, and Time have left behind: __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[107] Cold as the cliffs on his home coast,
His mind was empty and his heart was tough,
He is the one whose mind envisioned, whose hand crafted. Anything to replace Athenæ's poor remains:
Her sons are too weak to protect the sacred shrine,
They still felt some of their mother's pain, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
And I never realized, until that moment, the burden of the tyrant's chains.
XIII.
Albion was content in Athena's tears?
[108] Though the slaves were suffering in your name,
Don't let Europe's blushing ears hear about the deed; The Ocean Queen, the free Britannia, carries
The final desperate loot from a wounded land:
Yes, she, whose generous help makes her name beloved,
Tore down those remnants with a Harpy's hand,
Which jealous elders held back, while tyrants were allowed to remain. [ea]
XIV.
Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Where is Peleus' son? whom Hell tried to capture in vain.
His ghost from Hades on that terrifying day Shining brightly in a chaotic display!
What! Couldn't Pluto give the Chief one more chance,
To frighten a second robber away from his target?
He aimlessly walked along the dark shore,
But now he no longer protects the walls he once loved to defend.
XV.
Nor do lovers feel the same over the dust of their love;[110] The eye that doesn't cry to see is dull. Your walls are damaged, your decaying shrines are gone. By British hands, which it would have been best to __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ To protect those relics that can never be restored:—
Cursed be the hour when they left their island, And once again your unfortunate heart was pierced, And took your fearful gods to the dreaded northern lands![123]
XVI.
No friend extended a parting hand, Before the cold Stranger moved on to other places:
It’s tough to find someone whose heart can’t be captivated by charms; But Harold didn’t feel the same as he had before,
And left the land of War and Crimes without a sigh.
XVII.
There have been times, I believe, when I have seen a truly beautiful sight,[111] When the fresh breeze is as pleasant as a breeze can be,
The white sail is set, the brave frigate is ready—
Masts, spires, and shore moving to the right,
The magnificent ocean stretching over the horizon,
The Convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,
The most boring sailor is bravely wearing now—
The waves curl joyfully in front of each bold ship.
XVIII.
The well-roped cannons, the netted top, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The raspy order, the constant buzzing noise,
When, at a signal, the heights are occupied: Listen to the Boatswain's call, the exciting shout!
As the sailor's hand guides the rigging; Or schoolboy Midshipman who, standing by, He plays his shrill pipe as good or bad events happen, And the obedient crew that the skilled Urchin leads.[ed]
XIX.
Where on the watch the serious Lieutenant walks:
Look at that part which is still sacred[ee]
For the solitary Chieftain, who moves with great majesty,
Quiet and feared by everyone—not often does he speak. With anything beneath him, if he wants to keep[112] That strict restraint, when broken, always holds you back. Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely deviate. From the law, no matter how strict, which gives them the strength to endure __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
XX.
Until the bright Sun dims his fading light: Then the Pennant-bearer must lower the sail,
That slowing barks might take their time. [125]
Ah! deep complaint, and endless tedious wait,
To let the best breeze go to waste on slow ships!
What leagues are vanished before the break of day,
So, lingering thoughtfully on the welcoming seas, The sail was pulled down to stop for logs like these!
XXI.
Long beams of light stretch over the dancing waves; Now guys on shore might sigh, and girls might believe__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__:
This is our fate when we get back to land!
[113] In the meantime, a rough hand of Arion's is restless __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Awakens the lively tune that sailors enjoy; A group of cheerful listeners stands there. Or skillfully move to some well-known measure,
Carefree, as if they were still free to wander on land.
XXII.
Europe and Africa look at each other![126]
Lands of the dark-eyed girl and the dark-skinned Moor
They looked on under the pale light of Hecate: How softly she plays on the Spanish shore![127]
Revealing rock, sloping ground, and brown forests,[128]
[114] Distinct, yet growing darker as her phase decreases; But Mauritania's giant shadows frown,
From the mountain cliffs to the coast, descending gloomily down.
XXIII.
We once loved, even though Love has ended:
The Heart, solitary in its confused passion,[ej]
Though it has no friends now, it will dream of having one. Who, burdened by years, would want to stoop, When does youth itself outlast young love and joy? Unfortunately, when connected souls forget to unite,
Death has taken almost everything from him!
Ah! Happy days! Who wouldn’t want to be a boy again? [ek]
XXIV.
The Soul forgets her plans of Hope and Pride,[em]
And flies unaware over each past year;
[115] No one is so alone that they don't have something precious,[en]
Dearer than oneself, has or had A thought, and it deserves the tribute of a tear; A sudden jolt! that the tired heart Would still, even though it's pointless, the heavy heart let go.
XXV.[eo][129]
To gradually explore the forest's shady setting,
[116] Where things that are not under Man's control exist,
And human foot has never or rarely been; To climb the uncharted mountain without being seen,
With the untamed flock that never needs to be corralled;
Alone on steep slopes and by raging waterfalls; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
This isn't Solitude—it's just to hold
Talk to Nature's wonders and discover her treasures revealed.
XXVI.
And wander on, the weary inhabitant of the world,
With no one to bless us, and no one we can bless; Minions of Splendour retreating from trouble![130]
None that are imbued with a shared awareness, If we weren't, it would seem like we smiled less,
Of everyone who flattered, followed, sought, and pursued: This is being alone—This, this is solitude![eq]
XXVII.[131]
On lonely Athos, one can be seen,
[117] Watching in the evening from the Giant Height,
Which looks over waves so blue, skies so clear,
That he who was there at such an hour has been I will nostalgically stay at that sacred place; Then gently pull him away from the 'witching scene,
Let out a sigh wishing that had been his fate,
Then he began to hate a world he had nearly forgotten.
XXVIII.
And every well-known whim of the waves and wind; Let's share the joys and sorrows that sailors experience,
Trapped in their winged sea-surrounded fortress;[118] The bad—the good—the opposite—the nice—
As breezes come and go and waves grow, Until one cheerful morning—look, land! And everything is fine!
XXIX.
The sister tenants of the middle deep; There is still a Haven smiling for the weary,
Though the fair Goddess has long stopped crying,
And on her cliffs, keeping a pointless watch For someone who dared to choose a mortal bride:
Here, too, his son attempted the terrifying jump. Stern Mentor urged from high to that distant shore; While both were thus deprived, the Nymph-Queen sighed even more deeply.[132]
XXX.
But don't trust this; naive youth, be careful!
A mortal queen sits on her perilous throne,
And you might find a new Calypso there.
Sweet Florence__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ could anyone else ever share
This wandering, unloving heart, it would belong to you:
[119] But held back by every constraint, I might not have the courage To throw a worthless gift at your shrine,
Don't ask such a precious heart to feel even a little pain for mine.
XXXI.
Save admiration, glancing harmlessly by:
Love remained distant, though not too far away,
Who knew his follower often lost and found, But no longer knew him as his Worshipper,
And never again did the Boy seek his heart:
Since he now foolishly urged him to worship, Well regarded, the little God had dominion over his ancient power.
XXXII.
Someone who, it was said, still sighed at everything he saw,
Stay strong and unshaken by the brilliance of her gaze,
Which others greeted with genuine or fake awe,
Their hope, their downfall, their punishment, their law; All that beautiful gayness is claimed by her servants:
[120] And she was very surprised that a young man so inexperienced Neither felt nor pretended, at least, the frequently mentioned flames,
Although they sometimes frown, they rarely make women angry.
XXXIII.
Wasn't lacking in the art of spoiling,
And spread its traps for pleasure far and wide;[134]
Nor had they deviated from their lowly pursuit,
As long as anything was worth pursuing:
But Harold no longer depended on such skills; And did he love those blue eyes so much,
But he would never join the whiny group of lovers.
XXXIV.
Who believes that a careless thing is gained through sighs;
[121] What does she care about hearts once she has them? Give proper respect to your Idol's eyes; But not too modestly, or she'll look down on you. You and your case, though expressed in compelling ways: Hide even your gentleness, if you’re smart; Brisk Confidence is still the best when it comes to dealing with women:[er]
Tease her and then comfort her—before long, Passion will fulfill your dreams.
XXXV.
And those who know it best, regret it the most;
When everything is achieved that everyone wants to pursue,
The small prize isn’t really worth the cost:
Young lives wasted—Minds degraded—Honor lost—[es]
These are your rewards, successful Passion! These![135]
If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crossed,
It still bothers me until the end, a disease,
Not being healed when Love itself stops being enjoyable.
XXXVI.
For we have many mountain paths to walk,
[122] And many different shores to sail along,
Led by thoughtful sadness, not by fiction—
The climate, beautiful as ever for any human head[et]
Envisioned in its small plans of thought;[eu]
Before new Utopias took shape,[136]
To show people what they could be or what they should be—
If that messed-up thing could ever be taught.
XXXVII.
Although always changing, she appears gentle; From her bare chest, let me take my fill,
Her child that was never weaned, even though he wasn't her favorite. [ev]
Oh! she is the most beautiful with her wild features,
Where nothing refined would dare to dirty her path:
To me, she always smiled, whether it was day or night. Though I have marked her when no one else has,
And pursued her increasingly, loving her most when angry.[137]
XXXVIII.[123]
The theme of youth and the guiding light of wisdom,[139]
[124] And he shares a name with someone whose often frustrated enemies Shrunk from his acts of brave adventure:
Land of Albania! Let me gaze upon you __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
To you, tough Nurse of wild men!
The Cross comes down, your Minarets go up,
And the pale Crescent shines in the valley,
Through many cypress groves within each city's view.
XXXIX.
Where sad Penelope gazed at the waves; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[125] And onward he looked at the mountain, not forgotten yet,
The Lover's refuge and the Lesbian's grave.
Dark Sappho! Could not immortal verse save
That breast filled with such eternal passion? Could she not live who gave eternal life? If eternal life awaits the lyre,
That is the only Heaven that Earth's children can hope for.[141]
XL.
Actium—Lepanto—fatal Trafalgar; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Mark them as unmoved, for he would not take pleasure (Born under a distant, unremarkable star)[142]
In themes of bloody battles or heroic fights,
But I hated the thug's profession and scoffed at the warrior's strength.[ew]
XLI.
And praised the final refuge of unrequited love, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
He felt, or thought he felt, no shared warmth:
As the elegant ship moved slowly[143]
Under the shadow of that ancient mountain,
He observed the sad movement of the waves,
And, although he was deep in thought as usual,[ex]
His eye appeared calmer, and his pale face was smooth.
XLII.
Dark Suli's rocks and the peak of Pindus inland,[144]
[127] Draped in fog and glistening with snowy streams, Dressed in various shades of brown and purple, Get up; and as the clouds along them clear, Reveal the home of the mountaineer:
Here roams the wolf—the eagle sharpens its beak—
Birds, predators, and wilder people show up,
And gathering storms shake the end of the year.
XLIII.
Which everyone admires, but many are afraid to see:
His chest was protected against fate, and his wants were few. He didn't seek danger, but never backed down from facing it:
The scene was brutal, but it was fresh; This made the endless effort of traveling enjoyable,
Fend off Winter's chill and embrace Summer's warmth.
XLIV.
Though sadly mocked by those who are circumcised,[128] Forgets that Pride is dear to a pampered priesthood; Religious leaders and followers alike despised. Foul Superstition! however disguised,
Idol—Saint—Virgin—Prophet—Crescent—Cross—
For whatever symbol you are valued, You gain as a priest, but everyone else loses!
Who can separate your impurities from the gold of true worship?
XLV.
In that shimmering bay, their naval force Did many a Roman leader and Asian king __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
To uncertain conflict, bring certain death:
Check out where the second Caesar's trophies were erected!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Now, like the hands that raised them, fading: Imperial Anarchs, increasing human suffering![ez]
God! Was your world made for such wins and losses?
[129]XLVI.
Even to the center of Illyria's valleys, Childe Harold crossed over many majestic mountains,
Through regions seldom mentioned in historical stories:
Yet in famous Attica, there are such beautiful valleys. Are rarely seen; nor can beautiful Tempe claim A charm they don't know; beloved Parnassus falls,
Though classic ground and most consecrated, To match some areas that hide along this declining coast.
XLVII.
And left the original city of the land,
And his journey continued onward __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
To greet the Chief of Albania, whose terrifying authority __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Is lawless law; because with a bloody hand He influences a country—restless and daring: Yet here and there, some bold mountain group Disregard his power, and from their rocky grip Cast their defiance wide, and don’t give in, unless it’s for gold. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XLVIII.
You small, but cherished piece of sacred land!
[130] Wherever we look—around—above—below,—
What colorful hues, what enchanting spells are discovered!
Rock, river, forest, mountain—all are plentiful,
And blue skies that bring everything together:
Below, the distant rush of the Torrent can be heard. Indicates where the massive waterfall flows Between those hanging rocks, there's a mixture of shock and beauty that stirs the soul.
XLIX.
Could easily be considered dignified,
The convent's white walls shine brightly above: Here lives the monk, and he is not rude, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Not stingy with his good cheer; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the passerby He is still welcome; he won't run away carelessly. From now on, if he enjoys the beauty of nature.
L.
Fresh is the greenery under those old trees;
Here, the softest winds will caress his chest,[fa]
He can breathe in the air right from Heaven itself:
The plain is far below—oh! let him take Pure enjoyment while he can; the blazing sun Here, no one is harmed, infected with illness: Then let the wandering pilgrim rest for a while, And look, without getting tired, at the Morning—the Afternoon—the Evening fading away.
LI.
Nature's volcanic amphitheater, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Chimæra's Alps stretch from left to right:
Below, a vibrant valley appears to come alive; Flocks play, trees sway, streams flow, the mountain fir Nodding above; look at black Acheron! __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Once dedicated to the tomb.
Pluto! If this is Hell that I'm seeing,
Once the gates of Elysium are shut, my spirit will look for no one__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
LII.
Hidden by the hills: here, there are few people,
Meager is the village, few are the isolated houses:
However, looking down from each cliff, the goat[fc]
He browses and, lost in thought about his scattered flock, The young shepherd in his white cape __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Leans his boyish body against the rock,
Or in his cave, he waits for the brief impact of the storm.[fd]
LIII.
Prophetic source and divine oracle?[133] Which valley echoed Jove's reply?
What remains of the Thunderer's shrine? Everything is forgotten—will humanity lament? That his weak ties to temporary life are broken?[152]
Stop, fool! The fate of the gods could very well be yours:
Would you prefer to survive the marble or the oak?
When countries, languages, and worlds have to fall under the blow!
LIV.
Weary from staring up for so long, the tired eye[134] Reclines happily on a smooth valley As always, Spring dressed in green grass: [154]
Even on a plain, there are no modest beauties. Where a bold river cuts through the vast stretch,
And the trees along the banks are swaying gently, Whose shadows dance in the smooth waters,
Or with the moonlight sleep in Midnight's serious trance.
LV.
And Laos came rushing through, wide and fierce; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The usual night was starting to settle in,
As I cautiously make my way down the steep banks, Childe Harold observed, like meteors in the sky,[155]
The shining minarets of Tepalen,
Whose walls overlook the stream; and getting closer,
He heard the busy buzz of warrior-men
Puffing through the breeze that sighed along the stretching valley.
LVI.
Where everyone around declared his greatness.
Without any grand display, the ruler sat, As preparations caused a stir in the court, Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ are waiting;[fe]
Inside, a palace, and outside, a fort:
Here, men from all over come together.
LVII.
Circled the expansive court below; Strange groups decorated the corridor above; And often through the area's echoing door A tall Tartar urged his horse forward:
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, Here mixed in their colorful variety,
As the sound of the deep war-drum signaled the end of the day.[ff]
LVIII.
With a shawl-wrapped head and a decorated gun, And beautifully embroidered garments, pleasing to the eye; The red-scarfed men of Macedon;
The Delhi with his cap of terror on, And crooked glaive—the lively, flexible Greek And the mutilated son of Nubia; The bearded Turk who hardly ever bothers to talk, Master of everything, too powerful to be submissive,
LIX.
Looking at the diverse scene all around; There are some serious Muslims who dedicate themselves to worship,
And some who smoke, and some who play, are found;[137] Here the Albanian walks the ground with pride; Half-whispering there, the Greek can be heard talking; Listen! From the Mosque comes the nightly solemn sound,
The Muezzin's call shakes the minaret,
"There is no god but God!—let's pray—look! God is great!"
LX.
Throughout the long day, it continued its penance: But when the lingering twilight passed, Revelry and feasting took charge once more:
Now everything was busy, and the servant group Set and laid out the abundant table; The empty Gallery now felt pointless,
But from the chambers came the loud noise,
As the page and servant were going in and out. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[138]LXI.
And rarely allowed, protected, concealed, to move,[fg]
She gives her body and her heart to one person, Tamed to her cage, nor does she have a desire to wander: For she wasn't unhappy in her Master's love,[fh]
And happy in a mother's softest care,
Blessed worries! All other emotions are far beneath! She raises the baby she carries more lovingly. Who never gives up on breastfeeding—shares no lesser desire.
LXII.
Whose bubbling brought a cheerful freshness, And soft, plush couches invited relaxation,
Ali lay back, a man of conflict and troubles:[160]
Yet in his features, you can't see,
As Gentleness casts her softer light __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Along that aged, venerable face,
The actions that hide below and shame him with dishonor.
[139]LXIII.
Love conquers age—so Hafiz has stated,
So sings the Teian, and he sings truthfully__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—
But crimes that disregard the gentle call for compassion,[fj][163]
It annoys all men, but mostly the man[140] Over the years, I've marked him with a tiger's tooth;
Blood runs thick, and throughout their lifetime,
Those who start with violence end with more violence.[fk][164]
LXIV.
The Pilgrim rested his tired feet here,
And looked around at Muslim luxury,
Until soon, exhausted from that large seat
Of wealth and indulgence, the preferred getaway Of fulfilled greatness from the city's noise:
If it were more humble, it would truly be sweet; But Peace hates fake pleasures,
And Pleasure, teamed up with Pomp, destroys the joy of both.
LXV.
Those weren't virtues; they were more developed qualities. Where is the enemy who has ever turned their back? Who can endure the hardships of War so well? Their native strongholds are no more secure Than they in uncertain times of trouble and need:
Their anger is fierce, but their friendship is strong,
When Gratitude or Valor tells them to bleed,
Unwaveringly charging forward wherever their Leader may go.
LXVI.
Rushing to War in glory and triumph;
And after seeing them, when it was within their power, For a while, he was a victim of distress; That sad time when wicked people push harder: But these gave him shelter under their roof,
When fewer barbarians would have cheered him less,
And fellow citizens have stayed away— __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
In anything that tests the heart, how few can hold up!
LXVII.
[142] When everything around was barren and gloomy;
Landing was dangerous, staying even more so;
For a while, the sailors held back, It's hard to trust where betrayal might be hiding:
At last, they set out, though they were filled with doubt. That those who hate both the Frank and the Turk Might once again revive their age-old slaughtering practices.
LXVIII.
Nicer than well-mannered slaves, but not so dull,
And stacked up the firewood, and squeezed their wet clothes,[143] And filled the bowl and adjusted the bright lamp,
And share their food; even if simple, it was all they had:
Such behavior has a unique mark of Philanthropy:
To give the tired a break and to comfort the unhappy,
Teaches happier people and at least shames the bad.
LXIX.
Combined marauders halfway blocked exit,
And wasted everywhere with sword and fire; So he gathered a reliable group. To explore Acarnania's vast forest,
In seasoned warfare and with weathered hands,
Until he met the white waves of Achelous,
And from his higher ground, he spotted the hills of Ætolia.[166]
LXX.
And tired waves fade away to shine in stillness,
[144] How brown the leaves of the green hill's grove, Nodding at midnight over the calm bay's surface,
As the winds gently whisper from the West,
Kissing, not disturbing, the calm of the blue deep:—
Here, Harold was welcomed as a guest; He did not remain unaffected by the gentle scene,
He could find much joy in the gentle presence of Night.
LXXI.
And he who unknowingly had gazed there With wide-eyed amazement, I stared in shock; For after the calmest, stillest hour of midnight had passed,
The local festivities of the group started; Each Palikar threw down his sabre, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
And running hand in hand, one man connected to another,
Shouting their crude funeral song, the kirtled clan danced for a long time. [168]
LXXII.
Honestly, it was not an ordinary sight to see
Their savage yet not inappropriate joy; And as the flames shimmered on their faces, Their quick gestures and sparkling dark eyes, The long wild hair that flowed down to their waists, While they performed together, it was half singing, half screaming:—__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
1.
Provides hope to the brave and a promise of battle; All the sons of the mountains rise at the sound,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!
2.
3.
[147]4.
But those blood-red scarves will be even redder before The sword is put away, and the fight is over.
5.
Will leave the long boat and oar on the beach, And follow the captive hidden on shore.
6.
And many a young girl will part from her mother.
7.
8.[148]
9.
Since the time of our Prophet, the Crescent has never seen A leader as glorious as Ali Pashaw.
10.
Let the blonde__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Giaours__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ see his horse-tail__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__ with fear;
[149] When his Delhis__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ come rushing in blood over the banks, How few will escape from the ranks of the Muscovites!
11.
You Mountains, that watch us head to the shore,
See us as Victors, or don't see us at all!
LXXIII.
Immortal, yet no longer; though defeated, still great!
Who will now lead your scattered children out,
And long accustomed captivity unmake? Not like your sons who once waited, The helpless warriors heading toward a willing doom,
In gloomy Thermopylae's dark strait— Oh! Who is that brave spirit who will take up again,
Jump from the banks of Eurotas and summon you from the grave?[180]
LXXIV.
You sat with Thrasybulus and his entourage,
Can you predict the gloomy hour that is now Does it diminish the green beauty of your Attic landscape? No longer do thirty tyrants impose the chains, But any commoner can take control of your land; Nor let your sons rise, but complain uselessly, Shaking under the punishment of the Turkish hand,
From birth to death, enslaved; in speech, in action, made less of a man.[fs]
LXXV.
Who wouldn't think their hearts are burning again? With your relentless light, lost Liberty![ft]
And many dream while the hour is near. That gives them back their fathers' legacy:
They long for foreign weapons and assistance,
Nor should one only dare to face angry hostility,
Or remove their name stained from the sorrowful history of slavery.
LXXVI.
Who wants to be free themselves must take action? The conquest must be achieved by their right arms?[181]
Will Gaul or Muscovite make it right for you? No!
True—they might bring down your proud destroyers,
But Freedom's Altars won't burn for you. Shades of the Helots! Celebrate your victory over your enemy!
Greece! Change your rulers, your situation remains the same;
Your glorious day is over, but not your years of shame.
LXXVII.
Welcome the passionate Frank, her previous guest; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Or Wahab's__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ rebel group who had the courage to take away The Prophet's tomb is a place of all its sacred treasures, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
May trace their bloody path through the West;
But freedom will never seek this fated land,
But slaves manage to survive through years of relentless effort.
LXXVIII.
The penance that their sacred rituals prepare To free Man from the burden of mortal sin,
Through daily fasting and nightly prayer; But before he wears the sackcloth of Repentance,
Some days of joy are designated for everyone,
To enjoy each person's private pleasure, Dressed in a colorful outfit to dance at the masquerade ball,
And join the fun parade of joyful Carnival.
LXXIX.[183]
Oh Stamboul! once the Queen of their empire? Although turbans now desecrate Sophia's shrine,
And Greece gazes at her altars in vain:
(Unfortunately! her troubles will continue to influence my song!)
Once, her minstrels were joyful, for her crowd was free, Everyone pretended to share the joy they all felt. I've rarely seen such a sight, nor heard such a song, It captivated the eye and excited the Bosphorus as it flowed.
LXXX.
Often music changed, but never lost her sound,
And soon responded with the measured oar,
And the flowing waters created a soothing sound:
The Queen of tides up high agreed and shone, And when a fleeting breeze blew across the wave,
It was as if she was leaping from her heavenly throne,
A brighter look reflected her shape,
Until sparkling waves appeared to brighten the banks they touch.
LXXXI.
Neither man nor woman thought of rest or home, While many tired eyes and excited hands Exchanged the glance few hearts can endure,
Or gently pressed, the pressure remained the same:
Oh Love! youthful Love! tied in your rosy bond,
Let a wise person or a cynic talk endlessly as they please,
These hours, and only these, make up for the difficult years of life![185]
LXXXII.
Even through the closest engagement__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ was it half a betrayal? To hear the soft whispers of the main Seem to repeat everything they grieve for in vain; To match the joy of the playful crowd
Is the source of misguided thoughts and harsh contempt:
How they hate the laughter that’s just too loud, And I can't wait to trade the fun attire for the burial garment!
LXXXIII.
If Greece can still claim one true-born patriot:
Not to talk a lot about war, but to hide during peace,
The bondsman's peace, who longs for everything he lost,
Yet with a smooth smile, his Tyrant can approach, And use the servile sickle, not the sword:
Ah! Greece! Those who owe you the most love you the least—
Their birth, their lineage, and that remarkable record[187]
Of the hero Sires, who shame your now degenerate group!
LXXXIV.
When Thebes' Epaminondas rises again,
When the children of Athens are blessed with kind hearts,[fu]
When Greek mothers give birth to boys,
Then you can be restored; but not until then. A thousand years hardly suffice to establish a state;
An hour can bring it to nothing: and when
Can Man restore its broken glory,
Remember its virtues, and conquer Time and Fate?
LXXXV.
Land of forgotten gods and godlike beings, you are!
Your green valleys, your snowy hills, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Declare yourself Nature's diverse favorite now:
Your shrines, your temples bow to your surface, Blending gradually with heroic earth,
Broken by the share of every farmer's plow:
So let the monuments of human creation fade away,
So let everyone perish in time, except for what is truly valuable:[188]
LXXXVI.
Above its lying companions of the cave; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Save where Tritonia's __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ airy shrine adorns Colonna's cliff,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ shines on the waves; Save over some warrior's half-forgotten grave,
Where the gray stones and untouched grass Ages go by, but not oblivion, weakly courageous; Though we are strangers, we still matter. Lingering like I do, perhaps, to look and sigh "Oh no!"
LXXXVII.
[157] Your olive is ripe just like when Minerva__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ smiled, And still his sweet riches from Hymettus__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ continue to flow;
There the happy bee builds its fragrant fortress, The free-born traveler of your mountain air; Apollo still brightens your long, long summer, Still in his spotlight, Mendeli's marbles shine:[fv]
Art, glory, and freedom may fade, but nature remains beautiful.
LXXXVIII.[194]
But one huge area of Wonder stretches all around,
All the stories of the Muse seem genuinely shared,
Until the eyes ache from staring to see The scenes our earliest dreams have focused on;
Every hill and valley, every deepening hollow and meadow Defies the power that destroyed your lost temples:
Time may wear down Athenæ's tower, but it leaves gray Marathon untouched.[195]
LXXXIX.
Unchanged in every way except for its foreign Lord,
Keeps both its limits and its endless reputation[fw]
The battlefield, where Persia's doomed crowd First bowed under the weight of Hellas' sword, Just like on the morning that brings us closer to distant Glory,
When Marathon became a buzzword; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Which, when spoken, catch the listener's attention[fx]
The camp, the host, the battle, the Conqueror's journey,[fy]
XC.
The passionate Greek, his red spear in pursuit; Mountains above—Earth's, Ocean's flat below—
Death at the front, destruction in the back!
[159] Such was the scene—what remains here now? What sacred trophy marks this revered ground,
Capturing Freedom's smile and Asia's tear?[ga]
The patterned urn, the disturbed earth,[197]
The dust kicked up by your horse's hoof, rude stranger, swirls around.
XCI.
Shall pilgrims, thoughtful but tireless, gather; The traveler will long sail with the Ionian breeze,[198]
Hail to the vibrant land of Battle and Song:
Your records will last forever, and your words will be remembered. Fill the youth of many shores with your fame; Brag of the old! Lesson for the young!
Which Sages respect and Bards admire,
As Pallas and the Muse reveal their grim story.
XCII.
If anything familiar brings joy to the welcoming home;
If you're feeling lonely—come here and wander, And look content on friendly earth.
Greece is not a cheerful place of social joy:
But the one whom Sadness comforts can stay,[160] And hardly regret the area where he was born,
While strolling leisurely by the sacred site of Delphi,
Or looking across the fields where Greeks and Persians fell.[199]
XCIII.
And move peacefully through the enchanted wasteland;
But spare its relics—let no hurried hand
Deface the scenes, they’re already so defaced!
These altars weren't set up for that purpose:
Honor the remnants that nations once respected:
So may our country's name remain untarnished,
May you succeed where you grew up, By every genuine joy of Love and Life that we cherish!
XCIV.
Soon your voice will be lost in the crowd. Of louder musicians in these recent times:
To resign oneself to the struggle for fading laurels—
Such a contest may now disturb the spirit. Which takes neither harsh criticism nor biased praise,[gc]
Since cold, every kind heart that might approve—
And there’s no one left to please when there’s no one left to love.
XCV.
Who Youth and Youth's feelings connected to me; Who did for me what no one else has done, Nor did I shrink from one, though unworthy of you. What is my existence! You have stopped being!
Nor did I pause to welcome you, my wanderer, home,
Who grieves for the hours we'll never see again—
Would they have never existed, or were never to come!
If only he had never come back to find new reasons to wander![gd][200]
XCVI.
How selfish Sorrow thinks about the past,
And holds onto thoughts that are now much better left behind!
But Time will finally pull your shadow away from me.[ge]
Everything you could have of mine, harsh Death! you have; The Parent, Friend, and now the more-than-Friend:
Never before have any of your arrows flown so fast,[201]
And sorrow continues to mix with sorrow, Has taken away the little joy that life still had to offer.
[162]XCVII.
And pursue everything that Peace looks down on? Where Revel calls, and Laughter, loudly and foolishly, Untrue to the heart, it twists the empty cheek,
To leave the flagging spirit even weaker;
Still over the features, which they must cheer, To pretend to be happy or hide the annoyance:
Smiles are the pathway to a future tear,
Or raise the twisting lip in a poorly concealed sneer.
XCVIII.
And be alone on Earth, just like I am right now.
Before the Chastener, I humbly bow, Over hearts that are torn apart and hopes that have been shattered:
Roll on, carefree days! May you flow without restraint,
Since time has taken away everything my soul cherished,[gf]
And with the troubles of my earlier years mixed in.
[Note.—The MS. closes with stanza xcii. Stanzas xciii.-xcviii. were added after Childe Harold was in the press. Byron sent them to Dallas, October 11, 1811, and, apparently, on the same day composed the Epistle to a Friend (F. Hodgson) in answer to some lines exhorting the Author to be cheerful, and to "Banish Care," and the first poem To Thyrza ("Without a stone to mark the Spot"). "I have sent," he writes, "two or three additional stanzas for both 'Fyttes.' I have been again shocked with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times; but 'I have almost forgot the taste of grief,' and 'supped full of horrors' till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered." In one respect he would no longer disclaim identity with Childe Harold. "Death had deprived him of his nearest connections." He had seen his friends "around him fall like leaves in wintry weather." He felt "like one deserted;" and in the "dusky shadow" of that early desolation he was destined to walk till his life's end. It is not without cause when "a man of great spirit grows melancholy."
[Note.—The manuscript ends with stanza xcii. Stanzas xciii.-xcviii. were added after Childe Harold went to press. Byron sent them to Dallas on October 11, 1811, and apparently wrote the Epistle to a Friend (F. Hodgson) that same day in response to some lines encouraging him to be cheerful and to "Banish Care," along with the first poem To Thyrza ("Without a stone to mark the Spot"). "I've sent," he writes, "a couple of extra stanzas for both 'Fyttes.' I've been shocked again by a death, losing someone very dear to me from happier times; but 'I've almost forgotten the taste of grief,' and I've 'had my fill of horrors' until I've become numb, with no tears left for an event that, five years ago, would have made me bow my head to the ground. It feels like I'm experiencing the greatest misery of old age in my youth. My friends are falling around me, and I'll be left a lonely tree before I wither." In one way, he no longer denies his identity with Childe Harold. "Death has taken away his closest connections." He watched his friends "fall like leaves in winter." He felt "like one abandoned;" and in the "dark shadow" of that early grief, he was destined to walk until the end of his life. It’s not without reason that "a man of great spirit falls into melancholy."
In connection with this subject, it may be noted that lines 6 and 7 of stanza xcv. do not bear out Byron's contention to Dallas (Letters, October 14 and 31, 1811), that in these three in memoriam stanzas (ix., xcv., xcvi.) he is bewailing an event which took place after he returned to Newstead. The "more than friend" had "ceased to be" before the "wanderer" returned. It is evident that Byron did not take Dallas into his confidence.]
In relation to this topic, it's important to point out that lines 6 and 7 of stanza xcv. do not support Byron's claim to Dallas (Letters, October 14 and 31, 1811), stating that in these three in memoriam stanzas (ix., xcv., xcvi.), he is mourning an event that happened after he got back to Newstead. The "more than friend" had "ceased to be" before the "wanderer" returned. It’s clear that Byron didn't share his true feelings with Dallas.
FOOTNOTES:
[113] {99} [Stanzas i.-xv. form a kind of dramatic prologue to the Second Canto of the Pilgrimage. The general meaning is clear enough, but the unities are disregarded. The scene shifts more than once, and there is a moral within a moral. The poet begins by invoking Athena (Byron wrote Athenæ) to look down on the ruins of "her holy and beautiful house," and bewails her unreturning heroes of the sword and pen. He then summons an Oriental, a "Son of the Morning," Moslem or "light Greek," possibly a Canis venaticus, the discoverer or vendor of a sepulchral urn, and, with an adjuration to spare the sacred relic, points to the Acropolis, the cemetery of dead divinities, and then once more to the urn at his feet. "'Vanity of vanities—all is vanity!' Gods and men may come and go, but Death 'goes on for ever.'" The scene changes, and he feigns to be present at the rifling of a barrow, the "tomb of the Athenian heroes" on the plain of Marathon, or one of the lonely tumuli on Sigeum and Rhoeteum, "the great and goodly tombs" of Achilles and Patroclus ("they twain in one golden urn"); of Antilochus, and of Telamonian Ajax. Marathon he had already visited, and marked "the perpendicular cut" which at Fauvel's instigation had been recently driven into the large barrow; and he had, perhaps, read of the real or pretended excavation by Signor Ghormezano (1787) of a tumulus at the Sigean promontory. The "mind's eye," which had conjured up "the shattered heaps," images a skull of one who "kept the world in awe," and, after moralizing in Hamlet's vein on the humorous catastrophe of decay, the poet concludes with the Preacher "that there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave." After this profession of unfaith, before he returns to Harold and his pilgrimage, he takes up his parable and curses Elgin and all his works. The passage as a whole suggests the essential difference between painting and poetry. As a composition, it recalls the frontispiece of a seventeenth-century classic. The pictured scene, with its superfluity of accessories, is grotesque enough; but the poetic scenery, inconsequent and yet vivid as a dream, awakens, and fulfills the imagination. (Travels in Albania, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 380; ii. 128, 129, 138; The Odyssey, xxiv. 74, sq. See, too, Byron's letters to his mother, April 17, and to H. Drury, May 3, 1810: Letters, 1898, i. 262.)]
[113] {99} [Stanzas i.-xv. act as a dramatic introduction to the Second Canto of the Pilgrimage. The overall meaning is pretty straightforward, but the unities are ignored. The scene changes multiple times, and there are layers of meaning within meanings. The poet starts by calling on Athena (Byron spelled it Athenæ) to gaze down upon the ruins of "her holy and beautiful house," lamenting her heroes of both sword and pen who will never return. He then invokes an Eastern figure, a "Son of the Morning," possibly a Muslim or "light Greek," who might be a Canis venaticus, the finder or seller of a funerary urn, and, pleading to spare the sacred artifact, gestures towards the Acropolis, the burial site of ancient gods, and then back down to the urn at his feet. "'Vanity of vanities—all is vanity!' Gods and men may come and go, but Death 'goes on forever.'" The scene shifts, and he pretends to be present at the looting of a burial mound, the "tomb of the Athenian heroes" on the plain of Marathon, or one of the isolated barrows at Sigeum and Rhoeteum, where the grand tombs of Achilles and Patroclus ("they two in one golden urn"); Antilochus, and Telamonian Ajax lie. He had already been to Marathon and noted "the vertical cut" that, at Fauvel's suggestion, was recently made into the large barrow; and he may have read about the real or claimed excavation by Signor Ghormezano (1787) of a mound at the Sigean promontory. The "mind's eye," which had envisioned "the shattered heaps," imagines a skull of someone who "kept the world in awe," and after reflecting in a Hamlet-like manner on the ironic tragedy of decay, the poet concludes with the Preacher's words "that there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave." Following this expression of doubt, before he returns to Harold and his journey, he shares a parable and curses Elgin and all his endeavors. The passage overall highlights the fundamental difference between painting and poetry. As a piece of writing, it resembles the frontispiece of a classic from the seventeenth century. The depicted scene, with its excess of elements, is quite grotesque; but the poetic imagery, disjointed yet vividly dreamlike, awakens and satisfies the imagination. (Travels in Albania, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 380; ii. 128, 129, 138; The Odyssey, xxiv. 74, sq. See also, Byron's letters to his mother, April 17, and to H. Drury, May 3, 1810: Letters, 1898, i. 262.)]
[dp] Gone—mingled with the waste——.—[MS. erased.]
[114] {101} ["Stole," apart from its restricted use as an ecclesiastical vestment, is used by Spenser and other poets as an equivalent for any long and loosely flowing robe, but is, perhaps inaccurately, applied to the short cloak (tribon), the "habit" of Socrates when he lived, and, after his death, the distinctive dress of the cynics.]
[114] {101} ["Stole," besides its limited use as a church garment, is used by Spenser and other poets to mean any long, loosely fitting robe, but is possibly inaccurately referred to the short cloak (tribon), which was Socrates' attire during his lifetime, and later, the signature outfit of the cynics.]
[118] [Socrates affirmed that true self-knowledge was to know that we know nothing, and in his own case he denied any other knowledge; but "this confession of ignorance was certainly not meant to be a sceptical denial of all knowledge." "The idea of knowledge was to him a boundless field, in the face of which he could not but be ignorant" (Socrates and the Socratic Schools, by Dr. E. Zeller, London, 1868, p. 102).]
[118] [Socrates believed that true self-awareness is realizing that we know nothing, and in his own situation, he rejected any other form of knowledge; however, "this acknowledgment of ignorance was definitely not intended as a skeptical rejection of all knowledge." "For him, the concept of knowledge represented an endless expanse, before which he could only recognize his own ignorance" (Socrates and the Socratic Schools, by Dr. E. Zeller, London, 1868, p. 102).]
[119] [Stanzas viii. and ix. are not in the MS.
[119] [Stanzas viii. and ix. are not in the manuscript.
The expunged lines (see var. i.) carried the Lucretian tenets of the preceding stanza to their logical conclusion. The end is silence, not a reunion with superior souls. But Dallas objected; and it may well be that, in the presence of death, Byron could not "guard his unbelief," or refrain from a renewed questioning of the "Grand Perhaps." Stanza for stanza, the new version is an improvement on the original. (See Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 169. See, too, letters to Hodgson, September 3 and September 13, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 18, 34.)]
The removed lines (see var. i.) took the ideas from the previous stanza to their logical conclusion. The end is silence, not a reunion with higher beings. But Dallas disagreed; and it’s possible that, when facing death, Byron couldn’t “maintain his disbelief” or stop himself from questioning the “Grand Perhaps” again. Stanza by stanza, the new version is better than the original. (See Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 169. See also letters to Hodgson, September 3 and September 13, 1811: Letters, 1898, ii. 18, 34.)
Don't search for life in places where it may never exist:
I’m not one to dismiss your imagination; You feel sorry for me, unfortunately! I envy you,
You brave explorer in uncharted waters
Of joyful islands and even happier residents there;
I request that you don’t act like a Sadducee;[*]
Still dreaming of Paradise, you don't know where,[**]
If it’s your sins, they will never allow you to share.[***]
—[MS. D. erased.]
[*]The Sadducees did not believe in the Resurrection.—[MS. D.]
[*]The Sadducees didn't believe in the Resurrection.—[MS. D.]
But look at a scene that was once beautiful.—[Erased.]
Zion's holy hill that you would think is beautiful.—[Erased.]
As those that you enjoy raising in the sky.—[Erased.]
But you love him too much to ask your misguided brother to share.—[D. erased.]
[120] {104} [Byron forwarded this stanza in a letter to Dallas, dated October 14, 1811, and was careful to add, "I think it proper to state to you, that this stanza alludes to an event which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the death of any male friend" (Letters. 1898, ii. 57). The reference is not to Edleston, as Dallas might have guessed, and as Wright (see Poetical Works, 1891, p. 17) believed. Again, in a letter to Dallas, dated October 31, 1811 (ibid., ii. 65), he sends "a few stanzas," presumably the lines "To Thyrza," which are dated October 31, 1811, and says that "they refer to the death of one to whose name you are a stranger, and, consequently, cannot be interested (sic) ... They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the conclusion of the poem." It follows from this second statement that we have Byron's authority for connecting stanza ix. with stanzas xcv., xcvi., and, inferentially, his authority for connecting stanzas ix., xcv., xcvi. with the group of "Thyrza" poems. And there our knowledge ends. We must leave the mystery where Byron willed that it should be left. "All that we know is, nothing can be known."]
[120] {104} [Byron sent this stanza in a letter to Dallas, dated October 14, 1811, and made sure to add, "I think it's important to tell you that this stanza refers to an event that happened after I got here, and not to the death of any male friend" (Letters. 1898, ii. 57). The reference is not to Edleston, as Dallas might have thought, and as Wright (see Poetical Works, 1891, p. 17) believed. Again, in a letter to Dallas, dated October 31, 1811 (ibid., ii. 65), he shares "a few stanzas," probably the lines "To Thyrza," which are dated October 31, 1811, and notes that "they refer to the death of someone whose name you don't know, and therefore, you can't be interested (sic) ... They relate to the same person I mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the end of the poem." This second statement provides Byron's confirmation of linking stanza ix. with stanzas xcv., xcvi., and, by implication, his authority for connecting stanzas ix., xcv., xcvi. with the group of "Thyrza" poems. And that's where our understanding ends. We must leave the mystery where Byron intended it to be left. "All that we know is, nothing can be known."]
Or seeing you no longer to fall into gloomy silence.—[MS. D.]
[*][See letter to Dallas, October 14, 1811.]
[*][See letter to Dallas, October 14, 1811.]
Blush Scotland, your son could be such a slave—
England! I take no joy in the fact that he was your child:
Your freeborn men respect what was once free,
Nor remove the sculpture from its sorrowful place,
Nor take the spoils across the sorrowful sea.—[MS. D. erased.]
To take what Goth and Turk, and Time have left behind:
Cold and cursed like his home coast.—[MS. D. erased]
[122] ["On the plaster wall of the Chapel of Pandrosos adjoining the Erechtheum, these words have been very deeply cut—
[122] ["On the plaster wall of the Chapel of Pandrosos next to the Erechtheum, these words are carved deeply—
The Scots did this.
(Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 299). M. Darmesteter quotes the original: "mot sur les Barberini" ("Quod non fecere Barbari, Fecere Barberini"). It may be added that Scotchmen are named among the volunteers who joined the Hanoverian mercenaries in the Venetian invasion of Greece in 1686. (See The Curse of Minerva: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 463, note 1; Finlay's Hist. of Greece, v. 189.)]
(Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 299). M. Darmesteter quotes the original: "murder by the Barberini" ("What the barbarians did not do, the Barberini did"). It’s worth noting that Scots are listed among the volunteers who joined the Hanoverian mercenaries in the Venetian invasion of Greece in 1686. (See The Curse of Minerva: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 463, note 1; Finlay's Hist. of Greece, v. 189.)
Even though in your name the slave clutched her chest,
Albion! I wouldn't want to see you like this
With achievements your generous spirit should have rejected,
From a man marked by some unusual sign,
Just like Attila the Hun was definitely horned, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Who caused destruction among divine creations:
Oh, if only Minerva's voice could lend its sharp support to mine.—[MS. D. erased.]
Even though in your name the slave clutched her chest,
Don't let it resonate in pale Europe's ears, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The Savior Queen, the free Britannia, wears
The final tragic mistake of a wounded country:
That she, whose generous help makes her name cherished,
Demolish those remnants with a Harpy's hand,
Which Envious Eld held back and Tyrants were allowed to remain standing.—[MS. D.]__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[A] Attila was horned, if we may trust contemporary legends, and the etchings of his visage in Lavater.—[M.S.]
[A] According to current legends and the sketches of his face by Lavater, Attila had horns. —[M.S.]
Dark Hamilton__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and gloomy Aberdeen,
Come take everything that the Pilgrim loves to see,
Everything that still honors the fading scene:
Ah! it would be better if you had never existed,
Neither you, nor Elgin, nor that lesser person.
The victim was upset about the vase-collecting obsession.
House-furnisher named Thomas __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ said,
Than you should carry a stone from the site of wronged Athenæ.
Now assign the task to digging Gell, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
That powerful artist capturing a bird's eye view,
How much like Nature his books reveal:
Who can expand the limits of the folio with him? With everything the Author saw, or claimed to have seen?
Who can map out or explore so well?
He's not a show-off, nor arrogant and inexperienced,
His pencil, pen, and spade, all perfect in every way.—[D. erased.]
[A] [William Richard Hamilton (1777-1859) was the son of Anthony Hamilton, Archdeacon of Colchester, etc., and grandson of Richard Terrick, Bishop of London. In 1799, when Lord Elgin was appointed Ambassador to the Sublime Porte, Hamilton accompanied him as private secretary. After the battle of Ramassieh (Alexandria, March 20, 1801), and the subsequent evacuation of Egypt by the French (August 30, 1801), Hamilton, who had been sent on a diplomatic mission, was successful in recapturing the Rosetta Stone, which, in violation of a specified agreement, had been placed on board a French man-of-war. He was afterwards employed by Elgin as agent plenipotentiary in the purchase, removal, and deportation of marbles. He held office (1809-22) as Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and as Minister at the Court of Naples (1822-25). From 1838 to 1858 he was a Trustee of the British Museum. He published, in 1809, Ægyptiaca, or Some Account of the Ancient and Modern State of Egypt; and, in 1811, his Memorandum on the Subject of the Earl of Elgin's Pursuits in Greece. (For Hamilton, see English Bards, etc., line 509; Poetical Works, 1898, i. 336, note 2.)]
[A] [William Richard Hamilton (1777-1859) was the son of Anthony Hamilton, Archdeacon of Colchester, and the grandson of Richard Terrick, Bishop of London. In 1799, when Lord Elgin was appointed Ambassador to the Sublime Porte, Hamilton went with him as a private secretary. After the Battle of Ramassieh (Alexandria, March 20, 1801), and the French evacuation of Egypt (August 30, 1801), Hamilton, who had been sent on a diplomatic mission, successfully recaptured the Rosetta Stone, which had been placed on a French warship in violation of a specific agreement. He was later employed by Elgin as a plenipotentiary agent for the purchase, removal, and deportation of marbles. He served as Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs from 1809 to 1822, and as Minister at the Court of Naples from 1822 to 1825. From 1838 to 1858, he was a Trustee of the British Museum. In 1809, he published Ægyptiaca, or Some Account of the Ancient and Modern State of Egypt; and in 1811, his Memorandum on the Subject of the Earl of Elgin's Pursuits in Greece. (For Hamilton, see English Bards, etc., line 509; Poetical Works, 1898, i. 336, note 2.)]
[B] Thomas Hope, Esqr., if I mistake not, the man who publishes quartos on furniture and costume.
[B] Thomas Hope, Esquire, if I'm not mistaken, is the guy who publishes books in quarto format about furniture and fashion.
[Thomas Hope (1770-1831) (see Hints from Horace, line 7: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 390, note 1) published, in 1805, a folio volume entitled, Household Furniture and Internal Decoration. It was severely handled in the Edinburgh Review (No. xx.) for July, 1807.]
[Thomas Hope (1770-1831) (see Hints from Horace, line 7: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 390, note 1) published a large book in 1805 called Household Furniture and Internal Decoration. It received harsh criticism in the Edinburgh Review (No. xx.) for July 1807.]
[C] It is rumoured Gell is coming out to dig in Olympia. I wish him more success than he had at Athens. According to Lusieri's account, he began digging most furiously without a firmann, but before the resurrection of a single sauce-pan, the Painter countermined and the Way-wode countermanded and sent him back to bookmaking.—[MS. D.]
[C] It's rumored that Gell is heading out to dig in Olympia. I hope he has more success than he did in Athens. According to Lusieri's account, he started digging like crazy without a permit, but before he uncovered even a single saucepan, the Painter intervened and the Way-wode stopped him and sent him back to making books.—[MS. D.]
[See English Bards, etc., lines 1033, 1034: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 379, note 1.]
[See English Bards, etc., lines 1033, 1034: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 379, note 1.]
[123] [The Athenians believed, or feigned to believe, that the marbles themselves shrieked out in shame and agony at their removal from their ancient shrines.]
[123] [The Athenians thought, or pretended to think, that the marbles themselves cried out in shame and pain at being taken from their ancient shrines.]
[124] [Byron is speaking of his departure from Spain, but he is thinking of his departure from Malta, and his half-hearted amour with Mrs. Spencer Smith.]
[124] [Byron is talking about leaving Spain, but he is actually reflecting on his departure from Malta and his half-hearted romance with Mrs. Spencer Smith.]
[ee] Save on that part——.—[MS. erased.]
[125] An additional "misery to human life!"—lying to at sunset for a large convoy, till the sternmost pass ahead. Mem.: fine frigate, fair wind likely to change before morning, but enough at present for ten knots!—[MS. D.]
[125] Another "misery to human life!"—waiting at sunset for a big convoy until the last pass ahead. Note: nice frigate, likely a change in the wind before morning, but enough right now for ten knots!—[MS. D.]
[eg] ——their melting girls believe.—[MS.]
Ply is the lively tool that sailors appreciate.—[MS. D. erased.]
[126] [Compare Coleridge's reflections, in his diary for April 19, 1804, on entering the Straits of Gibraltar: "When I first sat down, with Europe on my left and Africa on my right, both distinctly visible, I felt a quickening of the movements in the blood, but still felt it as a pleasure of amusement rather than of thought and elevation; and at the same time, and gradually winning on the other, the nameless silent forms of nature were working in me, like a tender thought in a man who is hailed merrily by some acquaintance in his work, and answers it in the same tone" (Anima Poetæ, 1895, pp. 70, 71).]
[126] [Check out Coleridge's thoughts in his diary from April 19, 1804, about entering the Straits of Gibraltar: "When I first sat down, with Europe on my left and Africa on my right, both clearly visible, I felt a rush in my veins, but it felt more like a pleasurable amusement rather than deep thought or inspiration; and at the same time, the unspoken, quiet aspects of nature gradually influenced me, like a gentle thought in a person who’s cheerfully greeted by a friend while working, and responds in kind" (Anima Poetæ, 1895, pp. 70, 71).]
[127] ["The moon is in the southern sky as the vessel passes through the Straits; consequently, the coast of Spain is in light, that of Africa in shadow" (Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, 1885, p. 232).]
[127] ["The moon is in the southern sky as the ship sails through the Straits; as a result, the coast of Spain is illuminated while the coast of Africa is in darkness" (Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, 1885, p. 232).]
[128] [Campbell, in Gertrude of Wyoming, Canto I. stanza ii. line 6, speaks of "forests brown;" but, as Mr. Tozer points out, "'brown' is Byron's usual epithet for landscape seen in moonlight." (Compare Canto II. stanza lxx. line 3; Parisina, i. 10; and Siege of Corinth, ii. 1.)]
[128] [Campbell, in Gertrude of Wyoming, Canto I, stanza ii, line 6, refers to "brown forests;" however, as Mr. Tozer notes, "'brown' is Byron's typical term for landscapes viewed in moonlight." (See Canto II, stanza lxx, line 3; Parisina, i. 10; and Siege of Corinth, ii. 1.)]
And now alone, it still dreams it had a friend.—[MS.]
or, Far from the coldness or fickleness of affection.—[MS.]
Separated greatly by luck, waves, or steel
Even though we are friendless now, we once had a friend.—
[Ms. D. erased.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {115} No one is so wretched[*] but that——.—[MS.D.]
[*] "Desolate."—[MS. pencil.]
"Desolate." —[MS. pencil.]
[129] [In this stanza M. Darmesteter detects "l'accent Wordsworthien" prior to any "doses" as prescribed by Shelley, and quotes as a possible model the following lines from Beattie's Minstrel:—
[129] [In this stanza, M. Darmesteter identifies the "Wordsworthian accent" before any "doses" suggested by Shelley and cites the following lines from Beattie's Minstrel as a possible model:—
When everything was shrouded in mist, the world below was gone,
What terrible pleasure! Standing there, so grand,
Like a shipwrecked sailor on a deserted beach,
And look at the huge waste of vapor, tossed In waves stretching out to the horizon, Now surrounded by seas, with mountains rising high! And listen to the sound of laughter and the echo of song, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the deep frost.
In felicity of expression, the copy, if it be a copy, surpasses the original; but in the scope and originality of the image, it is vastly inferior. Nor are these lines, with the possible exception of line 3—"Where things that own not Man's dominion dwell," at all Wordsworthian. They fail in that imaginative precision which the Lake poets regarded as essential, and they lack the glamour and passion without which their canons of art would have profited nothing. Six years later, when Byron came within sound of Wordsworth's voice, he struck a new chord—a response, not an echo. Here the motive is rhetorical, not immediately poetical.]
In terms of expression, the copy, if it really is a copy, outshines the original; however, in terms of the depth and originality of the image, it falls short. These lines, with the possible exception of line 3—"Where things that own not Man's dominion dwell," are not at all Wordsworthian. They lack the imaginative accuracy that the Lake poets deemed essential, and they miss the glamour and passion that their artistic standards required to have any value. Six years later, when Byron heard Wordsworth's voice, he struck a new note—a response, not just a repetition. Here, the motivation is rhetorical, not immediately poetic.
[130] [There are none to bless us, for when we are in distress the great, the rich, the gay, shrink from us; and when we are popular and prosperous those who court us care nothing for us apart from our success. Neither do they bless us, or we them.]
[130] [There’s no one to support us, because when we’re struggling, the powerful, the wealthy, and the joyful pull away from us; and when we’re popular and thriving, those who seek us only care about us for our success. They don’t support us, and we don’t support them.]
[131] [The MS. of stanza xxvii. is on the fly-leaf of a bound volume of proof-sheets entitled "Additions to Childe Harold," It was first published in the seventh edition, 1814. It may be taken for granted that Byron had seen what he describes. There is, however, no record of any visit to Mount Athos, either in his letters from the East or in Hobhouse's journals.
[131] [The manuscript of stanza xxvii is located on the fly-leaf of a hardcover volume of proof-sheets titled "Additions to Childe Harold." It was first published in the seventh edition in 1814. It's reasonable to assume that Byron experienced what he describes. However, there is no record of him visiting Mount Athos, either in his letters from the East or in Hobhouse's journals.]
The actual mount, "the giant height [6350 feet], rears itself in solitary magnificence, an insulated cone of white limestone." "When it is seen from a distance, the peninsula [of which the southern portion rises to a height of 2000 feet] is below the horizon, and the peak rises quite solitary from the sea." Of this effect Byron may have had actual experience; but Hobhouse, in describing the prospect from Cape Janissary, is careful to record that "Athos itself is said to be sometimes visible in the utmost distance (circ. 90 miles), but it was not discernible during our stay on the spot." (Murray's Handbook for Greece, p. 843; Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, p. 233; Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 103. Compare, too, the fragment entitled the Monk of Athos, first published in the Hon. Roden Noel's Life of Lord Byron, 1890.)]
The actual mountain, "the giant height [6350 feet], stands in solitary splendor, a standalone cone of white limestone." "When viewed from a distance, the peninsula [whose southern part rises to 2000 feet] is below the horizon, and the peak appears completely isolated from the sea." Byron may have personally experienced this effect; however, Hobhouse, in his description from Cape Janissary, carefully notes that "Athos itself is said to sometimes be visible in the far distance (about 90 miles), but it wasn’t visible during our time there." (Murray's Handbook for Greece, p. 843; Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, p. 233; Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 103. Compare, too, the fragment titled Monk of Athos, first published in the Hon. Roden Noel's Life of Lord Byron, 1890.)
[133] [For Mrs. Spencer Smith, see Letters, 1898, i. 244, 245, note. Moore (Life, pp. 94, 95) contrasts stanzas xxx.-xxxv., with their parade of secret indifference and plea of "a loveless heart," with the tenderness and warmth of his after-thoughts in Albania ("Lines composed during a Thunderstorm," etc.), and decides the coldness was real, the sentiment assumed. He forgets the flight of time. The lines were written in October, 1809, within a month of his departure from "Calypso's isles," and the Childe Harold stanzas belong to the early spring of 1810. "Ou sont les neiges d'antan?" Moreover, he speaks by the card. Writing at Athens, January 16, 1810, he tells us, "The spell is broke, the charm is flown."]
[133] [For Mrs. Spencer Smith, see Letters, 1898, i. 244, 245, note. Moore (Life, pp. 94, 95) compares stanzas xxx.-xxxv., with their show of secret indifference and claim of "a loveless heart," to the tenderness and warmth of his later thoughts in Albania ("Lines composed during a Thunderstorm," etc.), and concludes that the coldness was genuine, the sentiment pretended. He overlooks how much time has passed. The lines were written in October 1809, just a month after he left "Calypso's isles," and the Childe Harold stanzas are from early spring 1810. "Where are the snows of yesteryear?" Furthermore, he speaks directly. Writing from Athens on January 16, 1810, he tells us, "The spell is broken, the charm is gone."]
[134] {120} [More than one commentator gravely "sets against" this line—Byron's statement to Dallas (Corr. of Lord Byron, Paris, 1824, iii. 91), "I am not a Joseph or a Scipio; but I can safely affirm that never in my life I seduced any woman." Compare Memoirs of Count Carlo Gozzi, 1890, ii. 12, "Never have I employed the iniquitous art of seduction ... Languishing in soft and thrilling sentiments, I demanded from a woman a sympathy and inclination of like nature with my own. If she fell ... I should have remembered how she made for me the greatest of all sacrifices.... I should have worshipped her like a deity. I could have spent my life's blood in consoling her; and without swearing eternal constancy, I should have been most stable on my side in loving such a mistress."]
[134] {120} [Several commentators strongly disagree with this line—Byron's statement to Dallas (Corr. of Lord Byron, Paris, 1824, iii. 91), "I am not a Joseph or a Scipio; but I can confidently say that I have never seduced any woman in my life." Compare Memoirs of Count Carlo Gozzi, 1890, ii. 12, "I have never used the immoral art of seduction... Suffering from soft and thrilling feelings, I sought from a woman sympathy and attraction that matched my own. If she fell... I would have remembered how she made the greatest sacrifice for me... I would have worshipped her like a goddess. I could have devoted my life to comforting her; and without needing to swear eternal loyalty, I would have been completely faithful in loving such a mistress."]
[es] Youth wasted, wretches born——.—[MS. erased.]
[135] [Compare Lucretius, iv. 1121-4—
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Compare Lucretius, iv. 1121-4—
Meanwhile, things are changing, and Babylonian events are occurring:
Languid official duties and a faltering reputation are both in decline.
or, ——her most disrespectful child.—[MS. erased.]
[137] [Compare the description of the thunderstorm in the Alps (Canto III. stanzas xcii.-xcvi., pp. 273-275); and Manfred, act ii. sc. 2—
[137] [Check out the description of the thunderstorm in the Alps (Canto III, stanzas 92-96, pp. 273-275); and Manfred, act ii, sc. 2—
The challenging air at the icy mountain peak—
In them, my early strength rejoiced; or
To track the moving moon all night long,
The stars and their development; or catch "The dazzling lightning made my eyes go dim."
Beattie, who describes the experiences of his own boyhood in the person of Edwin in The Minstrel, had already made a like protestation—
Beattie, who shares his own childhood experiences through the character Edwin in The Minstrel, had already made a similar statement—
Loving every gentle and terrifying moment. In the dark and during the storm, he found joy; Not less than when on a calm ocean wave. The Southern sun spread its bright shine; "Even unfortunate changes entertained his spirit."
Kirke White, too, who was almost Byron's contemporary, and whose verses he professed to admire—
Kirke White, who was nearly a contemporary of Byron and whose poetry he claimed to admire—
"When the rough storm shook the open sky."
This love of Nature in her wilder aspects, which was perfectly genuine, and, indeed, meritorious, was felt to be out of the common, a note of the poetic temperament, worth recording, but unlikely to pass without questioning and remonstrance.]
This genuine love for Nature in her wild forms, which was truly commendable, was seen as unusual, a sign of a poetic spirit, worth mentioning, but probably not without some questioning and objections.
Rolled around her ankles, around her waist Knotted, etc.
Plutarch (Vitæ, Lipsiæ:, 1814, vi. 170) is responsible for the legend: Ὢφθη δέ ποτε καὶ δράκων κοιμωμένης τῆς Ὀλυμπιάδου παρεκτεταμένς τῷ σώματι, "Now, one day, when Olympias lay abed, beside her body a dragon was espied stretched out at full length." (Compare, too, Dryden's Alexander's Feast, stanza ii.)]
Plutarch (Vitæ, Lipsiæ:, 1814, vi. 170) is responsible for the legend: ôphthē de pote kai drákōn koimōménēs tês Olympiádou parektetaménēs tôi sōmati, "Now, one day, when Olympias was lying in bed, a dragon was seen stretched out beside her." (Compare, too, Dryden's Alexander's Feast, stanza ii.)
[139] [Mr. Tozer (Childe Harold, p. 236) takes this line to mean "whom the young love to talk of, and the wise to follow as an example," and points to Alexander's foresight as a conqueror, and the "extension of commerce and civilization" which followed his victories. But, surely, the antithesis lies between Alexander the ideal of the young, and Alexander the deterrent example of the old. The phrase, "beacon of the wise," if Hector in Troilus and Cressida (act ii. sc. 2, line 16) is an authority, is proverbial.
[139] [Mr. Tozer (Childe Harold, p. 236) interprets this line as "someone the young admire and the wise look to as a role model," highlighting Alexander's foresight as a conqueror and the "growth of trade and culture" that came after his victories. However, the contrast clearly exists between Alexander as an ideal for the young and Alexander as a cautionary tale for the old. The term "beacon of the wise," if Hector in Troilus and Cressida (act ii. sc. 2, line 16) is taken as a reference, is a well-known saying.
Surety is guaranteed; but a little doubt is called The guiding light of the wise, the tent that seeks To the depths of the worst.
The beauty, the brilliance, the glory of Alexander kindle the enthusiasm of the young; but the murder of Clytus and the early death which he brought upon himself are held up by the wise as beacon-lights to save others from shipwreck.]
The beauty, the brilliance, the glory of Alexander sparks the excitement of the young; however, the murder of Clytus and the early death he brought upon himself are pointed out by the wise as warning signs to help others avoid disaster.
[140] [Byron and Hobhouse sailed for Malta in the brig-of-war Spider on Tuesday, September 19, 1809 (Byron, in a letter to his mother, November 12, says September 21), and anchored off Patras on the night of Sunday, the 24th. On Tuesday, the 26th, they were under way at 12 noon, and on the evening of that day they saw the sun set over Mesalonghi. The next morning, September 27, they were in the channel between Ithaca and the mainland, with Ithaca, then in the hands of the French, to the left. "We were close to it," says Hobhouse, "and saw a few shrubs on a brown heathy land, two little towns in the hills scattered among trees." The travellers made "but little progress this day," and, apparently, having redoubled Cape St. Andreas, the southern extremity of Ithaca, they sailed (September 28) through the channel between Ithaca and Cephalonia, passed the hill of Ætos, on which stood the so-called "Castle of Ulysses," whence Penelope may have "overlooked the wave," and caught sight of "the Lover's refuge" in the distance. Towards the close of the same day they doubled Cape Ducato ("Leucadia's cape," the scene of Sappho's leap), and, sailing under "the ancient mount," the site of the Temple of Apollo, anchored off Prevesa at seven in the evening. Poetry and prose are not always in accord. If, as Byron says, it was "an autumn's eve" when they hailed "Leucadia's cape afar," if the evening star shone over the rock when they approached it, they must have sailed fast to reach Prevesa, some thirty miles to the north, by seven o'clock. But de minimis, the Muse is as disregardful as the Law. And, perhaps, after all, it was Hobhouse who misread his log-book. (Travels in Albania, i. 4, 5; Murray's Handbook for Greece, pp. 40, 46.)]
[140] [Byron and Hobhouse set sail for Malta on the warship Spider on Tuesday, September 19, 1809 (Byron writes in a letter to his mother on November 12 that it was September 21), and they dropped anchor off Patras on the night of Sunday, the 24th. By Tuesday, the 26th, they were underway at noon, and that evening they watched the sun set behind Mesalonghi. The next morning, September 27, they found themselves between Ithaca and the mainland, with Ithaca, then controlled by the French, to their left. "We were close to it," Hobhouse recounts, "and saw a few shrubs on brown, heath-covered land, with two small towns scattered in the hills among the trees." The travelers made "very little progress that day," and apparently, after rounding Cape St. Andreas, the southern tip of Ithaca, they sailed (September 28) through the passage between Ithaca and Cephalonia. They passed the hill of Ætos, where the so-called "Castle of Ulysses" stood, from where Penelope may have "looked out over the waves," and caught a glimpse of "the Lover's refuge" in the distance. Later that same day, they rounded Cape Ducato ("Leucadia's cape," the site of Sappho's leap) and, sailing past "the ancient mount," the location of the Temple of Apollo, anchored off Prevesa at seven in the evening. Poetry and prose don’t always match up. If, as Byron mentions, it was "an autumn evening" when they saw "Leucadia's cape from afar," and if the evening star was shining over the rock as they approached it, they must have sailed quickly to reach Prevesa, about thirty miles to the north, by seven o'clock. But de minimis, the Muse is as indifferent as the Law. And perhaps it was Hobhouse who misread his logbook. (Travels in Albania, i. 4, 5; Murray's Handbook for Greece, pp. 40, 46.)]
[141] {125} [The meaning of this passage is not quite so obvious as it seems. He has in his mind the words, "He saved others, Himself He cannot save," and, applying this to Sappho, asks, "Why did she who conferred immortality on herself by her verse prove herself mortal?" Without Fame, and without verse the cause and keeper of Fame, there is no heaven, no immortality, for the sons of men. But what security is there for the eternity of verse and Fame? "Quis custodiet custodes?"]
[141] {125} [The meaning of this passage isn’t as clear as it seems. He is thinking of the words, "He saved others, Himself He cannot save," and, applying this to Sappho, asks, "Why did she, who made herself immortal through her poetry, prove to be mortal?" Without fame, and without the poetry that creates and sustains fame, there is no afterlife, no immortality, for humanity. But what guarantee is there for the permanence of poetry and fame? "Quis custodiet custodés?"]
While Pleasure nearly smiled too——.—[MS. erased.]
[144] [By "Suli's rocks" Byron means the mountainous district in the south of the Epirus. The district of Suli formed itself into a small republic at the close of the last century, and offered a formidable resistance to Ali Pacha. "Pindus' inland peak," Monte Metsovo, which forms part of the ridge which divides Epirus from Thessaly, is not visible from the sea-coast.]
[144] [When Byron refers to "Suli's rocks," he means the mountainous area in southern Epirus. The Suli region became a small republic at the end of the last century and put up a strong fight against Ali Pacha. The "inland peak of Pindus," Monte Metsovo, which is part of the ridge separating Epirus from Thessaly, cannot be seen from the coastline.]
[145] {127} ["Shore unknown." (See Byron's note to stanza xxxviii. line 5.)]
[145] {127} ["Shore unknown." (See Byron's note to stanza xxxviii. line 5.)]
[147] [Nicopolis, "the city of victory," which Augustus, "the second Cæsar," built to commemorate Actium, is some five miles to the north of Prevesa. Byron and Hobhouse visited the ruins on the 30th of September, and again on the 12th of November (see Byron's letter to Mrs. Byron. November 12, 1809: Letters, 1898, i. 251).]
[147] [Nicopolis, "the city of victory," which Augustus, "the second Caesar," built to honor Actium, is about five miles north of Prevesa. Byron and Hobhouse visited the ruins on September 30 and again on November 12 (see Byron's letter to Mrs. Byron, November 12, 1809: Letters, 1898, i. 251).]
[149] [On the evening of October 11, as the party was approaching Zitza, Hobhouse and the Albanian, Vasilly, rode on, leaving "Lord Byron and the baggage behind." It was getting dark, and just as the luckier Hobhouse contrived to make his way to the village, the rain began to fall in torrents. Before long, "the thunder roared as it seemed without any intermission; for the echoes of one peal had not ceased to roll in the mountains before another crash burst over our heads." Byron, dragoman, and baggage were not three miles from Zitza when the storm began, and they lost their way. After many wanderings and adventures they were finally conducted by ten men with pine torches to the hut; but by that time it was three o'clock in the morning. Hence the "Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm."—Hobhouse's Travels in Albania, i. 69-71.]
[149] [On the evening of October 11, as the group was getting close to Zitza, Hobhouse and the Albanian, Vasilly, rode ahead, leaving "Lord Byron and the baggage behind." It was getting dark, and just as the luckier Hobhouse managed to reach the village, the rain started pouring down heavily. Before long, "the thunder roared continuously; the echoes of one clap had not stopped rolling in the mountains before another crash sounded above us." Byron, the dragoman, and the luggage were not three miles from Zitza when the storm hit, and they lost their way. After a lot of wandering and adventures, they were finally guided by ten men with pine torches to the hut; by that time, it was three o'clock in the morning. Hence the "Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm."—Hobhouse's Travels in Albania, i. 69-71.]
And thoughtfully watching his grazing flock.—[MS. erased.]
[151] [The site of Dodona, a spot "at the foot of Mount Tomaros" (Mount Olytsika) in the valley of Tcharacovista, was finally determined, in 1876, by excavations carried out, at his own expense, by M. Constantin Carapanos, a native of Arta. In his monograph, Dodone et ses Ruines (Paris, 1878, 4to), M. Carapanos gives a detailed description of the theatre, the twofold Temenos (I. L'Enceinte du Temple, II. Téménos, pp. 13-28), including the Temple of Zeus and a sanctuary of Aphrodite, and of the numerous ex voto offerings and inscriptions on lead which were brought to light during the excavations, and helped to identify the ruins. An accompanying folio volume of plates contains (Planches, i., ii.) a map of the valley of Tcharacovista, and a lithograph of Mount Tomaros, "d'un aspect majestueux et pittoresque ... un roc nu sillonné par le lit de nombreux torrents" (p. 8). Behind Dodona, on the summit of the many-named chain of hills which confronts Mount Tomaros, are "bouquets de chêne," sprung it may be from the offspring of the προσήγοροι δρύες (Æsch., Prom., 833), the "talking oaks," which declared the will of Zeus. For the "prophetic fount" (line 2), Servius, commenting on Virgil, Æneid, iii. 41-66, seems to be the authority: "Circa hoc templum quercus immanis fuisse dicitur ex cujus radicibus fons manebat, qui suo murmure instinctu Deorum diversis oracula reddebat" (Virgilii Opera, Leovardiæ, 1717, i. 548).
[151] [The site of Dodona, located "at the foot of Mount Tomaros" (Mount Olytsika) in the Tcharacovista valley, was finally identified in 1876 through excavations funded by M. Constantin Carapanos, a local from Arta. In his monograph, Dodone et ses Ruines (Paris, 1878, 4to), M. Carapanos provides a comprehensive description of the theater, the twofold Temenos (I. L'Enceinte du Temple, II. Téménos, pp. 13-28), which includes the Temple of Zeus and a sanctuary of Aphrodite, as well as the various ex voto offerings and lead inscriptions uncovered during the digs that helped identify the ruins. An accompanying folio book of plates contains (Planches, i., ii.) a map of the Tcharacovista valley and a lithograph of Mount Tomaros, "with a majestic and picturesque aspect ... a bare rock crisscrossed by the beds of numerous torrents" (p. 8). Behind Dodona, atop the many-named hill chain facing Mount Tomaros, are "clusters of oak," which may have sprung from the offspring of the __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ (Æsch., Prom., 833), the "talking oaks," that proclaimed the will of Zeus. As for the "prophetic spring" (line 2), Servius, while commenting on Virgil, Æneid, iii. 41-66, is the referenced source: "Around this temple, a massive oak is said to have existed, from whose roots a spring flowed, which, with its murmurs inspired by the Gods, delivered various oracles" (Virgilii Opera, Leovardiæ, 1717, i. 548).
Byron and Hobhouse, on one of their excursions from Janina, explored and admired the ruins of the "amphitheatre," but knew not that "here and nowhere else" was Dodona (Travels in Albania, i. 53-56).]
Byron and Hobhouse, during one of their trips from Janina, explored and admired the ruins of the "amphitheatre," but they didn’t realize that "here and nowhere else" was Dodona (Travels in Albania, i. 53-56).
[152] {133} [The sentiment that man, "whose breath is in his nostrils," should consider the impermanence of all that is stable and durable before he cries out upon his own mortality, may have been drawn immediately from the famous letter of consolation sent by Sulpitius Severus to Cicero, which Byron quotes in a note to Canto IV. stanza xliv., or, in the first instance, from Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata, xv. 20—
[152] {133} [The idea that humans, "whose breath is in their nostrils," should reflect on the fleeting nature of everything that seems stable and lasting before lamenting their own mortality, may have been directly influenced by the famous letter of comfort from Sulpitius Severus to Cicero, which Byron references in a note to Canto IV. stanza xliv., or, initially, from Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata, xv. 20—
The shore keeps the ruins of its greatness. Cities fall; kingdoms fall:
Cover the splendor and the pageantry, sand and grass; "Wow, what a guy to be so mad at being human!"
Compare, too, Addison's "Reflections in Westminster Abbey," Spectator, No. 26.]
Compare, also, Addison's "Reflections in Westminster Abbey," Spectator, No. 26.]
[153] [The six days' journey from Zitza to Tepeleni is compressed into a single stanza. The vale (line 3) may be that of the Kalama, through which the travellers passed (October 13) soon after leaving Zitza, or, more probably, the plain of Deropoli ("well-cultivated, divided by rails and low hedges, and having a river flowing through it to the south"), which they crossed (October 15) on their way from Delvinaki, the frontier village of Illyria, to Libokhovo.]
[153] [The six-day journey from Zitza to Tepeleni is summarized in a single stanza. The valley (line 3) might be the Kalama, which the travelers passed through (October 13) shortly after leaving Zitza, or, more likely, the plain of Deropoli ("well-cultivated, marked by fences and low hedges, with a river running through it to the south"), which they crossed (October 15) on their way from Delvinaki, the border village of Illyria, to Libokhovo.]
[155] ["During the fast of the Ramazan, ... the gallery of each minaret is decorated with a circlet of small lamps. When seen from a distance, each minaret presents a point of light, 'like meteors in the sky;' and in a large city, where they are numerous, they resemble a swarm of fireflies."—H.F. Tozer. (Compare The Giaour, i. 449-452—
[155] ["During the Ramadan fast, ... the balcony of each minaret is adorned with a ring of small lights. From afar, each minaret looks like a point of light, 'like meteors in the sky;' and in a big city, where they are many, they look like a swarm of fireflies."—H.F. Tozer. (Compare The Giaour, i. 449-452—
And flashing from every minaret.
Millions of lamps celebrated the festival. Of Bairam through the vast East."]
[fe] ——guests and vassals wait.—[MS. erased.]
[157] {136} ["We were disturbed during the night by the perpetual carousal which seemed to be kept up in the gallery, and by the drum, and the voice of the 'muezzinn,' or chanter, calling the Turks to prayers from the minaret of the mosck attached to the palace. This chanter was a boy, and he sang out his hymn is a sort of loud melancholy recitative. He was a long time repeating the Eraun. The first exclamation was repeated four times, the remaining words twice; and the long and piercing note in which he concluded his confession of faith, by twice crying out the word 'hou!' ['At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"' Giaour, i. 734] still rings in my ears."—Hobhouse's Travels in Albania, i. 95. D'Ohsonn gives the Eraun at full length: "Most high God! [four times repeated]. I acknowledge that there is no other God except God! I acknowledge that there is no other God except God! I acknowledge that Mohammed is the prophet of God! Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Come to the temple of salvation! Come to the temple of salvation! Great God! great God! There is no God except God!"—Oriental Antiquities (Philadelphia, 1788), p. 341.]
[157] {136} ["We were kept awake at night by the constant partying happening in the gallery, as well as the sound of drums and the voice of the 'muezzin,' or chanter, calling the Turks to pray from the minaret of the mosque connected to the palace. The chanter was a boy, and he sang his hymn in a loud, mournful style. He took a long time reciting the call to prayer. The first phrase was repeated four times, and the rest of the words were repeated twice; the long, piercing note with which he finished his declaration of faith, by calling out the word 'hou!' twice, still echoes in my ears."—Hobhouse's Travels in Albania, i. 95. D'Ohsonn provides the full call to prayer: "Most high God! [repeated four times]. I acknowledge that there is no other God except God! I acknowledge that there is no other God except God! I acknowledge that Mohammed is the prophet of God! Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Come to the temple of salvation! Come to the temple of salvation! Great God! great God! There is no God except God!"—Oriental Antiquities (Philadelphia, 1788), p. 341.]
[158] {137} ["The Ramazan, or Turkish Lent, which, as it occurs in each of the thirteen months in succession, fell this year in October ... Although during this month the strictest abstinence, even from tobacco and coffee, is observed in the daytime, yet with the setting of the sun the feasting commences."—Travels in Albania, i. 66. "The Ramadan or Rhamazan is the ninth month of the Mohammedan year. As the Mohammedans reckon by lunar time, it begins each year eleven days earlier than in the preceding year, so that in thirty-three years it occurs successively in all the seasons."—Imp. Dictionary.]
[158] {137} ["Ramadan, or Turkish Lent, which happens in each of the thirteen months in sequence, fell this year in October... Despite observing strict fasting during this month, even avoiding tobacco and coffee during the day, celebrations begin at sunset."—Travels in Albania, i. 66. "Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. Since Muslims follow a lunar calendar, it starts each year eleven days earlier than the previous year, so over thirty-three years, it occurs in all seasons."—Imp. Dictionary.]
[159] [The feast was spread within the courtyard, "in the part farthest from the dwelling," and when the revelry began the "immense large gallery" or corridor, which ran along the front of the palace and was open on one side to the court, was deserted. "Opening into the gallery were the doors of several apartments," and as the servants passed in and out, the travellers standing in the courtyard could hear the sound of voices.—Travels in Albania, i. 93.]
[159] [The feast was laid out in the courtyard, "in the area farthest from the house," and when the celebration started, the "huge gallery" or corridor that stretched along the front of the palace and opened on one side to the courtyard was empty. "Connecting to the gallery were the doors to several rooms," and as the servants moved back and forth, the travelers standing in the courtyard could hear voices.—Travels in Albania, i. 93.]
The bold flame of wild desire is ignited, Touched, even favored over a woman's self above,
Whose shapes match Nature's softer mistakes
All weaknesses may be forgiven except for the ones they commit.—[MS. D. erased.]
[161] [In a letter to his mother, November 12, 1809, Byron writes, "He [Ali] said he was certain I was a man of birth, because I had small ears, curling hair, and little white hands. ... He told me to consider him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me as his son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds and sugared sherbet, fruit and sweetmeats, twenty times a day." Many years after, in the first letter On Bowles' Strictures, February 7, 1821, he introduces a reminiscence of Ali: "I never judge from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by the civillest gentleman I ever met with; and one of the mildest persons I ever saw was Ali Pasha" (Life, p. 689).]
[161] [In a letter to his mother on November 12, 1809, Byron writes, "He [Ali] said he was sure I was a person of high status because I had small ears, curly hair, and delicate white hands. ... He told me to think of him as a father while I was in Turkey, saying he regarded me as his son. In fact, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds, sweetened sherbet, fruit, and candies twenty times a day." Many years later, in the first letter On Bowles' Strictures, dated February 7, 1821, he shares a memory of Ali: "I never judge by appearances, because I once had my pocket picked by the politest gentleman I ever encountered; and one of the gentlest people I ever met was Ali Pasha" (Life, p. 689).]
[162] [Anacreon sometimes bewails, but more often defies old age. (Vide Carmina liv., xi., xxxiv.)
[162] [Anacreon sometimes complains about, but more often pushes back against old age. (See Carmina liv., xi., xxxiv.)
The paraphrase "Teian Muse" recurs in the song, "The Isles of Greece," Don Juan, Canto III.]
The phrase "Teian Muse" appears multiple times in the song, "The Isles of Greece," Don Juan, Canto III.]
But in Spenser "ruth" means sorrow as well as pity, and three weeks after Childe Harold was published, Ali committed a terrible crime, the outcome of an early grief. On March 27, 1812, in revenge for wrongs done to his mother and sister nearly thirty years before, he caused 670 Gardhikiots to be massacred in the khan of Valiare, and followed up the act of treachery by sacking, plundering, and burning the town of Gardiki, and, "in direct violation of the Mohammedan law," carrying off and reducing to slavery the women and children.—Finlay's Hist. of Greece (edited by Rev. H. F. Tozer, 1877), vi. 67, 68.]
But in Spenser, "ruth" means both sorrow and pity, and three weeks after Childe Harold was published, Ali committed a terrible crime, stemming from an old grief. On March 27, 1812, in retaliation for wrongs done to his mother and sister nearly thirty years earlier, he ordered the massacre of 670 Gardhikiots at the khan of Valiare. He followed this act of betrayal by sacking, plundering, and burning the town of Gardiki and, "in direct violation of Mohammedan law," took the women and children captive and enslaved them.—Finlay's Hist. of Greece (edited by Rev. H. F. Tozer, 1877), vi. 67, 68.
[164] [This was prophetic. "On the 5th of February, 1822, a meeting took place between Ali and Mohammed Pasha.... When Mohammed rose to depart, the two viziers, being of equal rank, moved together towards the door.... As they parted Ali bowed low to his visitor, and Mohammed, seizing the moment when the watchful eye of the old man was turned away, drew his hanjar, and plunged it in Ali's heart. He walked on calmly to the gallery, and said to the attendants, 'Ali of Tepalen is dead.' ... The head of Ali was exposed at the gate of the serai."—Finlay's Hist. of Greece, 1877, vi. 94, 95.]
[164] [This was prophetic. "On February 5, 1822, a meeting took place between Ali and Mohammed Pasha.... When Mohammed got up to leave, the two viziers, being of the same rank, walked together towards the door.... As they separated, Ali bowed low to his guest, and Mohammed, taking advantage of the moment when the old man's watchful gaze was averted, drew his hanjar and stabbed it into Ali's heart. He then walked calmly to the gallery and said to the attendants, 'Ali of Tepalen is dead.' ... The head of Ali was displayed at the gate of the serai."—Finlay's Hist. of Greece, 1877, vi. 94, 95.]
But what they said isn't worth repeating;
Conversations may not have much appeal to a strange ear or eye; Although he relaxed on that spacious seat, A luxurious retreat for Muslims.—[MS. D. erased.]
He rested on that worthy seat for four days. - [MS. erased.]
[165] {141} [The travellers left Janina on November 3, and reached Prevesa November 7. At midday November 9 they set sail for Patras in a galliot of Ali's, "a vessel of about fifty tons burden, with three short masts and a large lateen sail." Instead of doubling Cape Ducato, they were driven out to sea northward, and, finally, at one o'clock in the morning, anchored off the Port of Phanari on the Suliote coast. Towards the evening of the next day (November 10) they landed in "the marshy bay" (stanza lxviii. line 2) and rode to Volondorako, where they slept. "Here they were well received by the Albanian primate of the place and by the Vizier's soldiers quartered there." Instead of re-embarking in the galliot, they returned to Prevesa by land (November 11). As the country to the north of the Gulf of Arta was up in arms, and bodies of robbers were abroad, they procured an escort of thirty-seven Albanians, hired another galliot, and on Monday, the 13th, sailed across the entrance of the gulf as far as the fortress of Vonitsa, where they anchored for the night. By four o'clock in the afternoon of November 14 they reached Utraikey or Lutraki, "situated in a deep bay surrounded with rocks at the south-east corner of the Gulf of Arta." The courtyard of a barrack on the shore is the scene of the song and dance (stanzas lxx.-lxxii.). Here, in the original MS., the pilgrimage abruptly ends, and in the remaining stanzas the Childe moralizes on the fallen fortunes and vanished heroism of Greece.—Travels in Albania, i. 157-165.]
[165] {141} [The travelers left Janina on November 3 and reached Prevesa by November 7. At noon on November 9, they set sail for Patras on one of Ali's galliots, "a vessel of about fifty tons, with three short masts and a large lateen sail." Instead of going around Cape Ducato, they were pushed out to sea to the north and finally, at 1:00 AM, anchored off the Port of Phanari on the Suliote coast. Towards the evening of the next day (November 10), they landed in "the marshy bay" (stanza lxviii. line 2) and rode to Volondorako, where they spent the night. "Here they were well received by the local Albanian leader and the Vizier's soldiers stationed there." Instead of getting back on the galliot, they returned to Prevesa overland on November 11. Since the area north of the Gulf of Arta was in turmoil and there were groups of bandits, they arranged for an escort of thirty-seven Albanians, hired another galliot, and on Monday, the 13th, sailed across the entrance of the gulf to the fortress of Vonitsa, where they anchored for the night. By 4:00 PM on November 14, they arrived at Utraikey or Lutraki, "located in a deep bay surrounded by rocks at the southeast corner of the Gulf of Arta." The courtyard of a barrack on the shore is where the song and dance take place (stanzas lxx.-lxxii.). Here, in the original manuscript, the pilgrimage abruptly ends, and in the remaining stanzas, the Childe reflects on the fallen fortunes and lost heroism of Greece.—Travels in Albania, i. 157-165.]
[166] {143} [The route from Utraikey to Gouria (November 15-18) lay through "thick woods of oak," with occasional peeps of the open cultivated district of Ætolia on the further side of the Aspropotamo, "white Achelous' tide." The Albanian guard was not dismissed until the travellers reached Mesolonghi (November 21).]
[166] {143} [The journey from Utraikey to Gouria (November 15-18) passed through "dense oak woods," with glimpses of the open farmland in Ætolia on the other side of the Aspropotamo, "the white Achelous River." The Albanian guard wasn't released until the travelers arrived in Mesolonghi (November 21).]
[167] [With this description Mr. Tozer compares Virgil, Æneid, i. 159-165, and Tasso's imitation in Gerus. Lib., canto xv. stanzas 42, 43. The following lines from Hoole's translation (Jerusalem Delivered, bk. xv. lines 310, 311, 317, 318) may be cited:—
[167] [In this description, Mr. Tozer draws a comparison between Virgil, Æneid, i. 159-165, and Tasso's adaptation in Gerus. Lib., canto xv. stanzas 42, 43. The following lines from Hoole's translation (Jerusalem Delivered, bk. xv. lines 310, 311, 317, 318) can be cited:—
Where the waves echo around the shores...
In the waves, rest peacefully and calmly; Dark forests sway above, a woodland scene!"]
[168] {144} ["In the evening the gates were secured, and preparations were made for feeding our Albanians. A goat was killed and roasted whole, and four fires were kindled in the yard, round which the soldiers seated themselves in parties. After eating and drinking, the greater part of them assembled round the largest of the fires, and, whilst ourselves and the elders of the party were seated on the ground, danced round the blaze to their own songs, in the manner before described, but with astonishing energy. All their songs were relations of some robbing exploits. One of them ... began thus: 'When we set out from Parga there were sixty of us!' then came the burden of the verse—
[168] {144} ["In the evening, the gates were locked, and we got ready to feed our Albanian soldiers. A goat was killed and roasted whole, and four fires were set up in the yard, where the soldiers gathered in groups. After eating and drinking, most of them gathered around the biggest fire, while we and the older members of the group sat on the ground, and they danced around the fire to their own songs, with incredible energy. All their songs were about their robbery adventures. One of them started like this: 'When we left Parga, there were sixty of us!' Then came the chorus—
Robbers everywhere in Parga! Thieves never sleep in Parga!
Never steal from Parga!
And as they roared out this stave, they whirled round the fire, dropped, and rebounded from their knees, and again whirled round as the chorus was again repeated."—Travels in Albania, i. 166, 167.]
And as they shouted this chant, they spun around the fire, fell to their knees, and bounced back up, then spun around again as the chorus was repeated. —Travels in Albania, i. 166, 167.]
[169] {145} [This was not Byron's first experience of an Albanian war-song. At Salakhora, on the Gulf of Arta (nine miles north-east of Prevesa), which he reached on October 1, the Albanian guard at the custom-house entertained the travellers by "singing some songs." "The music is extremely monotonous and nasal; and the shrill scream of their voices was increased by each putting his hand behind his ear and cheek, to give more force to the sound."—Travels in Albania, i. 28.
[169] {145} [This wasn’t Byron's first encounter with an Albanian war song. At Salakhora, on the Gulf of Arta (nine miles northeast of Prevesa), which he reached on October 1, the Albanian guard at the customs house entertained the travelers by "singing some songs." "The music is really monotonous and nasal; and the high-pitched scream of their voices got louder as each one put his hand behind his ear and cheek to amplify the sound."—Travels in Albania, i. 28.]
Long afterwards, in 1816, one evening, on the Lake of Geneva, Byron entertained Shelley, Mary, and Claire with "an Albanian song." They seem to have felt that such melodies "unheard are sweeter." Hence, perhaps, his petit nom, "Albè," that is, the "Albaneser."—Life of Shelley, by Edward Dowden, 1896, p. 309.]
Long after that, in 1816, one evening on Lake Geneva, Byron entertained Shelley, Mary, and Claire with "an Albanian song." They seemed to think that such melodies "unheard are sweeter." Perhaps that’s why he had the nickname "Albè," which means "the Albanian." —Life of Shelley, by Edward Dowden, 1896, p. 309.]
[171] [The camese is the fustanella or white kilt of the Toska, a branch of the Albanian, or Shkipetar, race. Spenser has the forms "camis," "camus." The Arabic quamīç occurs in the Koran, but is thought to be an adaptation of the Latin camisia, camisa.—Finlay's Hist, of Greece, vi. 39; N. Eng. Dict., art. "Camis." (For "capote," vide post, p. 181.)]
[171] [The camese is the fustanella, or white kilt, of the Toska, a branch of the Albanian, or Shkipetar, ethnic group. Spenser used the forms "camis" and "camus." The Arabic quamīç appears in the Koran but is believed to be a modification of the Latin camisia, camisa.—Finlay's Hist, of Greece, vi. 39; N. Eng. Dict., art. "Camis." (For "capote," see below, p. 181.)]
[172] [The Suliotes, after a protracted and often successful resistance, were finally reduced by Ali, in December, 1803. They are adjured to forget their natural desire for vengeance, and to unite with the Albanians against their common foe, the Russians.]
[172] [The Suliotes, after a long and often successful struggle, were ultimately defeated by Ali in December 1803. They are urged to let go of their natural desire for revenge and to join forces with the Albanians against their shared enemy, the Russians.]
[fp] ——the maid and the youth.—[MS.]
Prevesa, which, with other Venetian possessions, had fallen to the French in 1797, was taken in the Sultan's name by Ali, in October, 1798. The troops in the garrison (300 French, 460 Greeks) encountered and were overwhelmed by 5000 Albanians, on the plain of Nicopolis. The victors entered and sacked the town.]
Prevesa, which, along with other Venetian territories, had been captured by the French in 1797, was taken in the Sultan's name by Ali in October 1798. The garrison troops (300 French, 460 Greeks) faced and were defeated by 5,000 Albanians on the plain of Nicopolis. The victors then seized and looted the town.
[174] [Ali's eldest son, Mukhtar, the Pasha of Berat, had been sent against the Russians, who, in 1809, invaded the trans-Danubian provinces of the Ottoman Empire.]
[174] [Ali's oldest son, Mukhtar, the Pasha of Berat, was sent to fight against the Russians, who invaded the trans-Danubian provinces of the Ottoman Empire in 1809.]
[176] Infidel.
Infidel.
[177] The insignia of a Pacha.
The symbol of a Pasha.
[178] {149} [The literal meaning of Delhi or Deli, is, says M. Darmesteter, "fou" ["properly madmen" (D'Herbelot)], a title bestowed on Turkish warriors honoris causû. Byron suggests "forlorn hope" as an equivalent; but there is a wide difference between the blood-drunkenness of the Turk and the "foolishness" of British chivalry.]
[178] {149} [According to M. Darmesteter, the literal meaning of Delhi or Deli is "fou," which translates to "properly madmen" (D'Herbelot), a title given to Turkish warriors honoris causû. Byron proposes "forlorn hope" as a similar term; however, there is a significant difference between the bloodlust of the Turk and the "foolishness" of British chivalry.]
[179] Sword-bearer.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Swordsman.
[fr] Tambourgi! thy tocsin——.—[MS. D. erased]
[180] [Compare "The Isles of Greece," stanza 7 (Don Juan, Canto III.)—
[180] [See "The Isles of Greece," stanza 7 (Don Juan, Canto III.)—
Out of the three hundred, only three grants. To create a new Thermopylæ!
The meaning is, "When shall another Lysander spring from Laconia ('Eurotas' banks') and revive the heroism of the ancient Spartans?"]
The meaning is, "When will another Lysander emerge from Laconia ('Eurotas' banks') and bring back the bravery of the ancient Spartans?"
[ft] ——fair Liberty.—[MS. erased, D.]
[182] [The Wahabees, who took their name from the Arab sheik Mohammed ben Abd-el-Wahab, arose in the province of Nedj, in Central Arabia, about 1760. Half-socialists, half-puritans, they insisted on fulfilling to the letter the precepts of the Koran. In 1803-4 they attacked and ravaged Mecca and Medinah, and in 1808 they invaded Syria and took Damascus. During Byron's residence in the East they were at the height of their power, and seemed to threaten the very existence of the Turkish empire.]
[182] [The Wahabees, named after the Arab leader Mohammed ben Abd-el-Wahab, emerged in the Nedj region of Central Arabia around 1760. They were part social reformers and part puritans, focusing on strictly following the teachings of the Koran. In 1803-1804, they attacked and devastated Mecca and Medina, and in 1808 they invaded Syria and captured Damascus. During Byron's time in the East, they were at the peak of their influence and appeared to pose a serious threat to the very existence of the Ottoman Empire.]
[183] {152} [Byron spent two months in Constantinople (Stamboul, i.e. εἰς τὴν πόλιν)—from May 14 to July 14, 1810. The "Lenten days," which were ushered in by a carnival, were those of the second "great" Lent of the Greek Church, that of St. Peter and St. Paul, which begins on the first Monday after Trinity, and ends on the 29th of June.]
[183] {152} [Byron spent two months in Istanbul (Stamboul, i.e. to the city)—from May 14 to July 14, 1810. The "Lenten days," which started with a carnival, were during the second "great" Lent of the Greek Church, that of St. Peter and St. Paul, which begins on the first Monday after Trinity and ends on June 29.]
[184] {153} [These al-fresco festivities must, it is presumed, have taken place on the two days out of the seven when you "might not 'damn the climate' and complain of the spleen." Hobhouse records excursions to the Valley of Sweet Waters; to Belgrade, where "the French minister gave a sort of fête-champêtre," when "the carousal lasted four days," and when "night after night is kept awake by the pipes, tabors, and fiddles of these moonlight dances;" and to the grove of Fanar-Baktchesi.—Travels in Albania, ii. 242-258.]
[184] {153} [These al-fresco celebrations likely occurred on the two out of seven days when you "couldn't 'hate the weather' and complain about your mood." Hobhouse mentions trips to the Valley of Sweet Waters; to Belgrade, where "the French minister hosted a kind of fête-champêtre," which "went on for four days," and where "night after night, people were kept awake by the music, drums, and fiddles of these moonlit dances;" and to the grove of Fanar-Baktchesi.—Travels in Albania, ii. 242-258.]
[186] {154} [It has been assumed that "searment" is an incorrect form of "cerement," the cloth dipped "in melting wax, in which dead bodies were enfolded when embalmed" (Hamlet, act i. sc. 4), but the sense of the passage seems rather to point to "cerecloth," "searcloth," a plaster to cover up a wound. The "robe of revel" does but half conceal the sore and aching heart.]
[186] {154} [It has been suggested that "searment" is a mistaken version of "cerement," the fabric soaked in melting wax that wrapped dead bodies during embalming (Hamlet, act i. sc. 4), but the meaning of the passage seems to refer more to "cerecloth," or "searcloth," a type of bandage used to cover a wound. The "robe of revel" only partially hides the sore and aching heart.]
[187] [For the accentuation of the word, compare Chaucer, "The Sompnour's Tale" (Canterbury Tales, line 7631)—
[187] [For the emphasis on the word, see Chaucer, "The Sompnour's Tale" (Canterbury Tales, line 7631)—
Of any man, especially a lord."]
[188] [Compare Ecclus. xliv. 8, 9: "There be of them, that have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported. And some there be, which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been."]
[188] [Compare Ecclus. xliv. 8, 9: "Some people have left a name behind them so that their praises can be shared. Others, however, have no memory; they have disappeared as if they never existed."]
[190] [Tritonia, or Tritogenia, one of Athena's names of uncertain origin. Hofmann's Lexicon Universale, Tooke's Pantheon, and Smith's Classical Dictionary are much in the same tale. Lucan (Pharsalia, lib. ix. lines 350-354) derives the epithet from Lake Triton, or Tritonis, on the Mediterranean coast of Libya—
[190] [Tritonia, or Tritogenia, is one of the names for Athena, but its origin is unclear. Hofmann's Lexicon Universale, Tooke's Pantheon, and Smith's Classical Dictionary all tell a similar story. Lucan (Pharsalia, lib. ix. lines 350-354) traces the name back to Lake Triton, or Tritonis, located on the Mediterranean coast of Libya—
As the heat itself proves, it touched the stillness of the swamp. He saw his face in the water and placed his feet on the edge, And he spoke about the beloved Triton from the wave."]
[193] ["The wild thyme is in great abundance; but there are only two stands of bee-hives on the mountains, and very little of the real honey of Hymettus is to be now procured at Athens.... A small pot of it was shown to me as a rarity" (Travels in Albania, i. 341). There is now, a little way out of Athens, a "honey-farm, where the honey from Hymettus is prepared for sale" (Handbook for Greece, p. 500).]
[193] ["Wild thyme is plentiful, but there are only two apiaries in the mountains, and very little of the genuine honey from Hymettus can be found in Athens these days.... I was shown a small jar of it as a rarity" (Travels in Albania, i. 341). There is now, just a short distance from Athens, a "honey farm where honey from Hymettus is prepared for sale" (Handbook for Greece, p. 500).]
[fv] ——Pentele's marbles glare.—[MS. D. erased.]
[195] [Byron and Hobhouse, after visiting Colonna, slept at Keratéa, and proceeded to Marathon on January 25, returning to Athens on the following day.]
[195] [Byron and Hobhouse, after visiting Colonna, stayed overnight at Keratéa and headed to Marathon on January 25, returning to Athens the next day.]
[196] ["The plain of Marathon is enclosed on three sides by the rocky arms of Parnes and Pentelicus, while the fourth is bounded by the sea." After the first rush, when the victorious wings, where the files were deep, had drawn together and extricated the shallower and weaker centre, which had been repulsed by the Persians and the Sakæ, "the pursuit became general, and the Persians were chased to their ships, ranged in line along the shore. Some of them became involved in the impassable marsh, and there perished." (See Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, 1885, p. 253; Grote's History of Greece, iv. 276. See, too, Travels in Albania, i. 378-384.)]
[196] ["The plain of Marathon is surrounded on three sides by the rocky slopes of Parnes and Pentelicus, while the fourth side borders the sea." After the initial charge, when the victorious flanks, where the lines were deep, had come together and freed the shallower and weaker center, which had been pushed back by the Persians and the Sakæ, "the pursuit became widespread, and the Persians were chased to their ships, lined up along the shore. Some of them got stuck in the impassable marsh and died there." (See Childe Harold, edited by H. F. Tozer, 1885, p. 253; Grote's History of Greece, iv. 276. See, too, Travels in Albania, i. 378-384.)]
[197] [See note to Canto II. stanzas i.-xv., pp. 99, 100.]
[gb] Long to the remnants—.——[D.]
[gc] Which heeds nor stern reproach——.—[D.]
"To Mr. Dallas.
"Dear Mr. Dallas."
The 'he' refers to 'Wanderer' and anything is better than I I I I always I.
The 'he' refers to 'Wanderer,' and anything is better than I I I I always I.
Yours,
Yours truly,
BYRON."
BYRON.
[4th Revise B.M.]
[4th Revise B.M.]
Yet he has taken away everything my soul loved.—[D.]
[*] "To Mr. Dallas.
To Mr. Dallas.
If Mr. D. wishes me to adopt the former line so be it. I prefer the other I confess, it has less egotism—the first sounds affected.
If Mr. D. wants me to take the first approach, then fine. I admit I prefer the other one; it feels less self-centered—the first one seems pretentious.
Yours,
Best regards,
BYRON."
BYRON.
[Dallas assented, and directed the printer to let the Roll stand.]
[Dallas agreed and instructed the printer to keep the Roll as is.]
NOTES
TO
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
CANTO II.
1.
Stanza i. line 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 4.
Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a magazine during the Venetian siege.
Part of the Acropolis was damaged by the blast of an ammunition store during the Venetian siege.
[In 1684, when the Venetian Armada threatened Athens, the Turks removed the Temple of Victory, and made use of the materials for the construction of a bastion. In the autumn of 1687, when the city was besieged by the Venetians under Francesco Morosini (1618-1694; Doge of Venice, 1688), "mortars were planted ... near the north-east corner of the rock, which threw their shells at a high angle, with a low charge, into the Acropolis.... On the 25th of September, a Venetian bomb blew up a small powder-magazine in the Propylæa, and on the following evening another fell in the Parthenon, where the Turks had deposited ... a considerable quantity of powder.... A terrific explosion took place; the central columns of the peristyle, the walls of the cella, and the immense architraves and cornices they supported, were scattered around the remains of the temple. The Propylæa had been partly destroyed in 1656 by the explosion of a magazine which was struck by lightning."—Finlay's History of Greece, 1887, i. 185.]
[In 1684, when the Venetian Armada threatened Athens, the Turks took apart the Temple of Victory and used the materials to build a bastion. In the autumn of 1687, when the city was under siege by the Venetians led by Francesco Morosini (1618-1694; Doge of Venice, 1688), "mortars were set up ... near the northeast corner of the rock, which fired their shells at a high angle, with a low charge, into the Acropolis.... On September 25th, a Venetian bomb blew up a small powder magazine in the Propylæa, and the next evening, another hit the Parthenon, where the Turks had stored ... a significant amount of powder.... A massive explosion occurred; the central columns of the peristyle, the walls of the cella, and the huge architraves and cornices they held up were scattered around the ruins of the temple. The Propylæa had been partially destroyed in 1656 by the explosion of a magazine that was hit by lightning."—Finlay's History of Greece, 1887, i. 185.]
2.
Is the dreaded scepter and harsh rule.
Stanza i. lines 6, 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 6, 7.
We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with which the ruins of cities, once the capitals of empires, are beheld: the [166] reflections suggested by such objects are too trite to require recapitulation. But never did the littleness of man, and the vanity of his very best virtues, of patriotism to exalt, and of valour to defend his country appear more conspicuous than in the record of what Athens was, and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre of contention between mighty factions, of the struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the triumph and punishment of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and perpetual disturbance, between the bickering agents of certain British nobility and gentry. "The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Babylon,"[202] were surely less degrading than such inhabitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for their tyranny, and the Greeks have only suffered the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest; but how are the mighty fallen, when two painters[203] contest the privilege of plundering the Parthenon, and triumph in turn, according to the tenor of each succeeding firman! Sylla could but punish, Philip subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens; but it remained for the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to render her contemptible as himself and his pursuits. The Parthenon, before its destruction, in part, by fire during the Venetian siege, had been a temple, a church, and a mosque.[204] In each point of view it is an object of regard: it changed its worshippers; but still it was a place of worship thrice sacred to devotion: its violation is a triple sacrifice. But—
We can all feel, or imagine, the regret that comes with looking at the ruins of cities that were once the capitals of empires. The reflections inspired by these remnants are too common to rehash. Yet, the smallness of humanity and the vanity of even our best qualities—patriotism to elevate and valor to defend one's country—are more evident than ever in the story of what Athens was and the reality of what it is now. This arena of fierce competition among powerful factions, marked by the struggles of orators, the rise and fall of tyrants, and the victories and punishments of generals, has devolved into a scene of petty scheming and constant turbulence between the squabbling representatives of certain British nobility and gentry. "The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Babylon," were surely less humiliating than these inhabitants. The Turks can claim conquest as a justification for their oppression, and the Greeks have only faced the fate of war, which can happen to the bravest; but how the mighty have fallen, when two painters argue over the right to plunder the Parthenon, and each takes turns celebrating their victories according to the latest decree! Sylla could only punish, Philip could conquer, and Xerxes could burn Athens; but it has been left to the petty antiquarian and his pathetic agents to make her as contemptible as he is, along with his endeavors. The Parthenon, before being partially destroyed by fire during the Venetian siege, was a temple, a church, and a mosque. In each of these forms, it remains an object of reverence: it changed its worshippers but was still a place of worship three times sacred to devotion: its desecration is a triple sacrifice. But—
Dressed in a little bit of authority,
Plays such amazing tricks before high Heaven. "As make the angels cry."
[Shakespeare, Measure for Measure,
act ii. sc. 2, lines 117-122.]
[Shakespeare, Measure for Measure,
act ii. sc. 2, lines 117-122.]
3.[167]
Stanza v. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead; the greater Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after their decease; and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or festivals in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasidas, etc., and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his life was infamous.
It wasn't always the custom for the Greeks to burn their dead; the great Ajax, in particular, was buried whole. Most of the leaders became gods after they died, and it was rare for someone to be overlooked if their tomb didn't have annual games or festivals in their honor organized by their fellow countrymen, like Achilles, Brasidas, and eventually even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his life was infamous.
4.
Stanza x. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
The Temple of Jupiter Olympius, of which sixteen columns, entirely of marble, yet survive; originally there were one hundred and fifty. These columns, however, are by many supposed to have belonged to the Pantheon.
The Temple of Jupiter Olympius has sixteen marble columns that still stand; originally, there were one hundred and fifty. However, many believe these columns actually came from the Pantheon.
[The Olympieion, or Temple of Zeus Olympius, on the south-east of the Acropolis, some five hundred yards from the foot of the rock, was begun by Pisistratos, and completed seven hundred years later by Hadrian. It was one of the three or four largest temples of antiquity. The cella had been originally enclosed by a double row of twenty columns at the sides, and a triple row of eight columns at each front, making a hundred and four columns in all; but in 1810 only sixteen "lofty Corinthian columns" were standing. Mr. Tozer points out that "'base' is accurate, because Corinthian columns have bases, which Doric columns have not," and notes that the word "'unshaken' implies that the column itself had fallen, but the base remains."—Childe Harold, 1888, p. 228.]
[The Olympieion, or Temple of Zeus Olympius, located southeast of the Acropolis, about five hundred yards from the base of the rock, was started by Pisistratus and finished seven hundred years later by Hadrian. It was one of the three or four biggest temples of ancient times. The cella was originally surrounded by a double row of twenty columns on the sides and a triple row of eight columns at each front, making a total of one hundred and four columns; however, by 1810, only sixteen "tall Corinthian columns" remained standing. Mr. Tozer points out that "'base' is accurate because Corinthian columns have bases, which Doric columns don’t," and notes that the word "'unshaken' implies that the column itself had fallen, but the base remains."—Childe Harold, 1888, p. 228.]
5.
Stanza xi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago.
The ship was wrecked in the archipelago.
[The Mentor, which Elgin had chartered to convey to England a cargo consisting of twelve chests of antiquities, was wrecked off the Island of Cerigo, in 1803. His secretary, W. R. Hamilton, set divers to work, and rescued four chests; but the remainder were not recovered till 1805.]
[The Mentor, which Elgin had hired to transport twelve chests of antiquities to England, was wrecked off the Island of Cerigo in 1803. His secretary, W. R. Hamilton, hired divers who managed to recover four chests; however, the rest weren't retrieved until 1805.]
6.
Stanza xii. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
At this moment (January 3, 1810), besides what has been already deposited in London, an Hydriot vessel is in the Pyræus to receive every portable relic. Thus, as I heard a young Greek observe, in common with many of his countrymen—for, lost as they are, they yet feel on this occasion—thus may Lord Elgin boast of having ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first eminence, named Lusieri[205], is the agent of devastation; and like the Greek finder[206] of Verres in Sicily, who followed the same profession, he has proved the able instrument of plunder. Between this artist and the French Consul Fauvel[207], who wishes to rescue the remains for his own government, there is now a violent dispute concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel of which—I wish they were both broken upon it!—has been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint before the Waywode. Lord Elgin has been extremely happy in his choice of Signer Lusieri. During a residence of ten years in Athens, he never had the curiosity to proceed [169] as far as Sunium (now Cape Colonna),[208] till he accompanied us in our second excursion. However, his works, as far as [170] they go, are most beautiful: but they are almost all unfinished. While he and his patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little absurdities are as harmless as insect or fox-hunting, maiden-speechifying, barouche-driving, or any such pastime; but when they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and massy relics that time and barbarism have left to the most injured and most celebrated of cities: when they destroy, in a vain attempt to tear down, those works which have been the admiration of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name which can designate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge of Verres, that he had plundered Sicily, in the manner since imitated at Athens. The most unblushing impudence could hardly go farther than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of the Acropolis; while the wanton and useless defacement of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in one compartment of the temple, will never permit that name to be pronounced by an observer without execration.
At this moment (January 3, 1810), in addition to what has already been sent to London, a ship is in the Piraeus to collect every movable relic. As I heard a young Greek say, like many of his countrymen—who, despite feeling lost, are still moved by this situation—Lord Elgin can proudly claim to have ruined Athens. An Italian painter of notable talent, named Lusieri[205], is the one causing this destruction; and akin to the Greek finder[206] of Verres in Sicily, who had the same role, he has been an effective tool for looting. There's now a fierce argument between this artist and the French Consul Fauvel[207], who wants to secure the artifacts for his own government, over a cart used for their transport, the wheel of which—I wish they’d both get hurt on it!—has been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has filed a complaint with the Waywode. Lord Elgin has been very fortunate in choosing Signer Lusieri. During his ten-year stay in Athens, he never bothered to travel as far as Sunium (now Cape Colonna)[208] until he accompanied us on our second trip. However, his works, as far as they go, are truly beautiful, though nearly all of them are unfinished. While he and his clients limit themselves to enjoying medals, appreciating cameos, sketching columns, and haggling over gems, their little follies are as harmless as insect hunting, fox hunting, making maiden speeches, driving carriages, or any other pastime; but when they take away three or four shiploads of the most valuable relics left by time and barbarism to the most injured and renowned of cities: when they ruin, in a pointless attempt to dismantle, those works that have been admired for ages, I see no motivation that can justify this, no name that can define those responsible for this cowardly destruction. One of the many crimes attributed to Verres was that he plundered Sicily in a way similar to what’s been seen in Athens. The most brazen impudence could hardly exceed the act of affixing the name of its thief to the walls of the Acropolis; while the reckless and pointless destruction of an entire section of the basso-relievos in one part of the temple will ensure that name is remembered with curses.
On this occasion I speak impartially: I am not a collector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival; but I have some early prepossession in favour of Greece, and do not think the honour of England advanced by plunder, whether of India or Attica.
On this occasion, I speak without bias: I am not a collector or a fan of collections, so I have no competition; however, I do have a certain fondness for Greece and believe that England's honor is not enhanced by looting, whether it's from India or Attica.
Another noble Lord [Aberdeen] has done better, because he has done less: but some others, more or less noble, yet "all honourable men," have done best, because, after a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to the Waywode, mining and countermining, they have done nothing at all. We had such ink-shed, and wine-shed, which almost ended [171] in bloodshed![209] Lord E.'s "prig"—see Jonathan Wild for the definition of "priggism"[210]—quarrelled with another, Gropius[211] by name (a very good name too for his business), and muttered something about satisfaction, in a verbal answer to a note of the poor Prussian: this was stated at [172] table to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. The rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to make me their arbitrator.
Another noble Lord [Aberdeen] has done better because he has done less: but some others, more or less noble, yet "all honorable men," have done best because, after a lot of digging and complaining, bribery to the Waywode, mining and counter-mining, they have ended up doing nothing at all. We had such a spill of ink and wine that it nearly resulted in bloodshed![171] Lord E.'s "prig"—see Jonathan Wild for the definition of "priggism"[209]—quarreled with another, Gropius[211] by name (a very fitting name for his business), and muttered something about settling the matter in response to a note from the poor Prussian: this was mentioned at[172] the table to Gropius, who laughed but couldn't eat dinner afterward. The rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have reason to remember their argument because they wanted me to be their arbitrator.
7.
Yet they experienced some of their mother's pain.
Stanza xii. lines 7 and 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 7 and 8.
I cannot resist availing myself of the permission of my friend Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no comment with the public, but whose sanction will add tenfold weight to my testimony, to insert the following extract from a very obliging letter of his to me, as a note to the above lines:—"When the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great part of the superstructure with one of the triglyphs was thrown down by the workmen whom Lord Elgin employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe from his mouth, dropped a tear, and in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri, Τέλος!—I was present." The Disdar alluded to was the father of the present Disdar.
I can't help but take advantage of my friend Dr. Clarke's permission, whose name is well-known and needs no introduction, but whose endorsement will greatly enhance my account. I want to include an excerpt from a very gracious letter he wrote to me, as a note to the above lines:—"When the last of the Metopes was removed from the Parthenon, and during the process, a significant part of the structure along with one of the triglyphs fell due to the workers hired by Lord Elgin, the Disdar, who witnessed the damage to the building, took his pipe from his mouth, shed a tear, and said to Lusieri in a pleading voice, Finale!—I was there." The Disdar mentioned was the father of the current Disdar.
[Disdar, or Dizdar, i.e. castle-holder—the warden of a castle or fort (N. Eng. Dict., art. "Dizdar"). The story is told at greater length in Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa, by Edward Daniel Clarke, LL.D., 1810-14, Part II. sect. ii. p. 483.]
[Disdar, or Dizdar, meaning castle-holder—the person in charge of a castle or fort (N. Eng. Dict., art. "Dizdar"). The story is elaborated further in Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa, by Edward Daniel Clarke, LL.D., 1810-14, Part II. sect. ii. p. 483.]
8.
Stanza xiv. lines i and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles frightened Alaric from the Acropolis: but others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as the Scottish peer.—See Chandler.
According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles scared Alaric away from the Acropolis; however, others say that the Gothic king was almost as troublesome as the Scottish nobleman.—See Chandler.
[Zosimus, Historiæ, lib. v. cap. 6, Corp. Scr. Byz., 1837, p. 253. As a matter of fact, Alaric, King of the Visigoths, occupied Athens in A.D. 395 without resistance, and carried off the movable treasures of the city, though he did not destroy buildings or works of art.—Note by Rev. E. C. Owen, Childe Harold, 1898, p. 162.]
[Zosimus, Historiæ, lib. v. cap. 6, Corp. Scr. Byz., 1837, p. 253. Actually, Alaric, the King of the Visigoths, took over Athens in A.D. 395 without facing any opposition, and he took the movable treasures of the city, although he didn’t destroy the buildings or artworks.—Note by Rev. E. C. Owen, Childe Harold, 1898, p. 162.]
9.
Stanza xviii. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
To prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during action.
To stop blocks or splinters from falling on deck during a fight.
10.
Stanza xxix. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Goza is said to have been the island of Calypso.
Goza is believed to have been the island of Calypso.
[Strabo (Paris, 1853), lib. i. cap. ii. 57 and lib. vii. cap. iii. 50, says that Apollodorus blamed the poet Callimachus, who was a grammarian and ought to have known better, for his contention that Gaudus, i.e. Gozo, was Calypso's isle. Ogygia (Odyssey, i. 50) was
[Strabo (Paris, 1853), lib. i. cap. ii. 57 and lib. vii. cap. iii. 50, says that Apollodorus criticized the poet Callimachus, who was a grammarian and should have known better, for his claim that Gaudus, or Gozo, was Calypso's island. Ogygia (Odyssey, i. 50) was
"Where is the center of the sea, a forested island?"
It was surely as a poet, not as a grammarian, that Callimachus was at fault.]
It was definitely as a poet, not as a grammarian, that Callimachus made a mistake.
11.
Stanza xxxviii. lines 5 and 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 5 and 6.
Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alexander; and the celebrated Scanderbeg[212] (Lord Alexander) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I [174] do not know whether I am correct in making Scanderbeg the countryman of Alexander, who was born at Pella in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus to the list, in speaking of his exploits.
Albania includes parts of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish name for Alexander; and the famous Scanderbeg[212] (Lord Alexander) is mentioned in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I [174] am not sure if I'm right to consider Scanderbeg as a countryman of Alexander, who was born in Pella in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon refers to him that way and also includes Pyrrhus when discussing his achievements.
Of Albania Gibbon remarks that a country "within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of America." Circumstances, of little consequence to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country before we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions; and with the exception of Major Leake,[213] then officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gentleman very lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strong fortress, which he was then besieging: on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness's birthplace, and favourite Serai, only one day's distance from Berat; at this juncture the Vizier had made it his headquarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly followed; but though furnished with every accommodation, and escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we were nine days (on account of the rains) in accomplishing a journey which, on our return, barely occupied four. On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina in size; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier village of Epirus and Albania Proper.
Of Albania, Gibbon notes that a country "within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of America." Certain unimportant circumstances led Mr. Hobhouse and me into that country before we visited any other part of the Ottoman Empire; and except for Major Leake,[213] who was then officially in Joannina, no other Englishmen have ever ventured beyond the capital into the interior, as that gentleman recently confirmed to me. At that time (October 1809), Ali Pacha was waging war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had pushed back to Berat, a strong fortress that he was besieging. Upon our arrival in Joannina, we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness's birthplace and favorite residence, just one day's journey from Berat; at this moment, the Vizier had made it his headquarters. After spending some time in the capital, we set out; but even though we had every accommodation and were escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we took nine days (due to the rain) to complete a trip that, on our return, only took four. Along the way, we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, which seem to be nearly as large as Yanina; and no artist or writer can ever truly capture the beauty of the scenery around Zitza and Delvinachi, the border village of Epirus and Albania Proper.
On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably precede this in publication, that I as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him.[214] But some few observations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white; the spare, active form; their dialect, Celtic in its sound; and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, [175] or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes neither. Their habits are predatory—all are armed; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous;[215] the others differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in character. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople and every other part of Turkey which came within my observation; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service, are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius; the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri; the former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person to attend us; and Dervish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of Achelous, and onward to Messalonghi in Ætolia. There I took him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till the moment of my departure.
I'm not keen to elaborate on Albania and its people, as my travel companion will cover this topic much better in a book that will likely be published before mine. I don't want to follow in his footsteps or get ahead of him.[214] However, a few observations are needed for context. The Arnaouts, or Albanians, strongly reminded me of the Highlanders of Scotland, in their clothing, appearance, and way of life. Their mountains seemed similar to the Scottish Highlands, just with a milder climate. The white kilt, the lean, active bodies, their dialect which has a Celtic tone, and their rugged lifestyles all transported me back to Morven. No group is more despised and feared by their neighbors than the Albanians; the Greeks barely see them as Christians, and the Turks hardly view them as Muslims. In reality, they are a mix of both, and sometimes neither. Their lifestyle is predatory—all are armed; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes are treacherous;[215] while the others differ somewhat in clothing and significantly in character. From my own experience, I can speak positively. I was accompanied by two men, one an Infidel and the other a Muslim, throughout my journey to Constantinople and other parts of Turkey that I observed. It's rare to find anyone more loyal in danger or tireless in service. The Infidel was named Basilius; the Muslim was Dervish Tahiri; Basilius was of middle age, while Dervish was about my age. Ali Pacha personally instructed Basilius to attend to us, and Dervish was one of fifty who journeyed with us through the forests of Acarnania to the banks of Achelous, and further on to Messalonghi in Ætolia. There, I hired him for my own service, and I never had a reason to regret it until the day I left.
When, in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. Hobhouse for England, I was seized with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery.[gg] I had left my last remaining English servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have done honour to civilization. They had a variety of adventures; for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man, was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens; insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance at the Convent on the subject of his having taken a woman from the bath—whom he had lawfully bought, however—a thing quite contrary to etiquette. Basili also was extremely gallant amongst his own persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner. Yet he never passed a church [176] without crossing himself; and I remember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered, "Our church is holy, our priests are thieves:" and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first "papas" who refused to assist in any required operation, as was always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi[216] of his village. Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the Greek clergy.
When, in 1810, after my friend Mr. Hobhouse left for England, I came down with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by scaring off my doctor, threatening to cut his throat if I wasn't cured within a certain time. To this comforting promise of revenge after death, and my firm refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I owe my recovery.[gg] I had left my last English servant in Athens; my dragoman was just as sick as I was, and my poor Arnaouts took care of me with a dedication that would have honored any civilization. They experienced a range of adventures; the Muslim Dervish, being exceptionally handsome, frequently got into arguments with the husbands in Athens. In fact, four prominent Turks came to see me at the Convent to complain about him taking a woman from the bath—whom he had legally purchased, though this was against proper etiquette. Basili was also quite charming among his own people and held the church in high regard, mixed with the utmost disdain for clergymen, whom he would slap when he felt it appropriate. Nevertheless, he never passed by a church without crossing himself; I remember the risk he took entering St. Sophia in Stambol since it had once been a place of his worship. When I pointed out the contradictions in his actions, he always replied, "Our church is holy, our priests are thieves:" and then he crossed himself as usual and slapped the first "papas" who refused to help with whatever was needed, which was often the case when a priest had some influence over the Cogia Bashi[216] of his village. Indeed, there can't be a more depraved group of rogues than the lower ranks of the Greek clergy.
When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. Basili took his with an awkward show of regret at my intended departure, and marched away to his quarters with his bag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for some time he was not to be found; at last he entered, just as Signor Logotheti,[217] father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaintances, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money in his hand, but on a sudden dashed it to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour of my embarkation, he continued his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only produced this answer, "Μ'αφεινει", "He leaves me." Signer Logotheti, who never wept before for anything less than the loss of a para (about the fourth of a farthing), melted; the padre of the convent, my attendants, my visitors—and I verily believe that even Sterne's "foolish fat scullion" would have left her "fish-kettle" to sympathize with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of this barbarian.[218]
When I was getting ready to leave, my Albanian workers were called in to collect their pay. Basili took his cash with an awkward expression of regret about my departure and walked off to his quarters with his bag of coins. I asked for Dervish, but it took a while to find him; finally, he came in just as Signor Logotheti, father of the former Anglo-consul of Athens, along with some other Greek friends of mine, was visiting. Dervish took the money in his hand but suddenly threw it to the ground; raising his hands to his forehead, he rushed out of the room, crying hard. From that moment until I boarded the ship, he continued to lament, and no matter how much we tried to comfort him, he only replied with, "Μ'αφήνει", meaning, "He leaves me." Signor Logotheti, who had never cried over anything less than the loss of a small coin, was moved to tears; the padre of the convent, my attendants, my guests—and I truly believe that even Sterne's "foolish fat scullion" would have left her "fish-kettle" to join in the genuine and unexpected sorrow of this barbarian.
For my own part, when I remembered that, a short time before my departure from England, a noble and most intimate associate had excused himself from taking leave of me because he had to attend a female relation "to a milliner's,"[219] I felt no less surprised than humiliated by the present occurrence and the past recollection. That Dervish would leave me with some regret was to be expected; when master and man have been scrambling over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, they are unwilling to separate; but his present feelings, contrasted with his native ferocity, [177] improved my opinion of the human heart. I believe this almost feudal fidelity is frequent amongst them. One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my service gave him a push in some dispute about the baggage, which he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, but sat down leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, which produced the following answer:—"I have been a robber; I am a soldier; no captain ever struck me; you are my master, I have eaten your bread, but by that bread! (a usual oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog, your servant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day forward he never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow who insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, conjectured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic: be that as it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very distinct from the stupid Romaika,[220] the dull round-about of the Greeks, of which our Athenian party had so many specimens.
For my part, when I remembered that just before I left England, a close friend had skipped saying goodbye to me because he had to take a female relative "to a milliner's,"[219] I felt both surprised and humiliated by what was happening and by that earlier memory. It was expected that Dervish would leave me with some regret; after traveling through the mountains of several provinces together, it’s tough to part ways. But his feelings now, in contrast to his usual fierce nature, made me think better of the human heart. I believe this kind of loyalty is common among them. One day, while we were crossing Parnassus, an Englishman in my service pushed him during a disagreement about the baggage, which Dervish unfortunately misinterpreted as a hit. He didn’t say anything but just sat down, resting his head on his hands. Knowing how things could go, we tried to smooth over the incident, which led to his response: “I have been a robber; I am a soldier; no captain has ever hit me; you are my master, I have eaten your bread, but by that bread! (a common oath) if it had been different, I would have stabbed the dog, your servant, and gone to the mountains.” So, that was how it ended, but from that day on, he never fully forgave the careless guy who had insulted him. Dervish excelled at the dance of his country, which is thought to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic dance: regardless, it’s manly and requires incredible agility. It is very different from the silly Romaika,[220] the dull dance of the Greeks, of which our group from Athens had many examples.
The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultivators of the earth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance; and the most beautiful women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, we saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents between Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is truly theatrical; but this strut is probably the effect of the capote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory warfare is unquestionable. Though they have some cavalry amongst the Gegdes, I never saw a good Arnaout horseman; my own preferred the English saddles, which, however, they could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue.
The Albanians, in general (I’m not talking about the farmers in the provinces who also go by that name, but the mountaineers) have a striking appearance; and the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, in height and features, were fixing the road destroyed by the floods between Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their way of walking is very theatrical; but this swagger is probably due to the capote, or cloak, draped over one shoulder. Their long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their bravery in informal warfare is unquestionable. Although they have some cavalry among the Gegdes, I’ve never seen a skilled Arnaout horseman; my own preferred the English saddles, which they could never maintain. But on foot, they can’t be worn out by fatigue.
12.
Where sorrowful Penelope gazed over the waves.
Stanza xxxix. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Ithaca.
Ithaca.
13.
Stanza xl. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
Actium and Trafalgar need no further mention. The battle of Lepanto [October 7, 1571], equally bloody and considerable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Patras. Here the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand.
Actium and Trafalgar don't need any more explanation. The battle of Lepanto [October 7, 1571], which was equally bloody and significant, but less recognized, took place in the Gulf of Patras. This is where the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand.
["His [Cervantes'] galley the Marquesa, was in the thick of the fight, and before it was over he had received three gun-shot wounds, two in the breast and one on the left hand or arm." In consequence of his wound "he was seven months in hospital before he was discharged. He came out with his left hand permanently disabled; he had lost the use of it, as Mercury told him in the 'Viaje del Parnase,' for the greater glory of the right."—Don Quixote, A Translation by John Ormsby, 1885, Introduction, i. 13.]
["Cervantes' ship, the Marquesa, was right in the middle of the battle, and by the time it was over, he had been hit by three gunshot wounds—two in the chest and one in his left hand or arm." As a result of his injuries, "he spent seven months in the hospital before finally being discharged. He left with his left hand permanently impaired; he had lost the ability to use it, just like Mercury told him in the 'Viaje del Parnase,' for the greater glory of the right."—Don Quixote, A Translation by John Ormsby, 1885, Introduction, i. 13.]
14.
Stanza xli. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promontory (the Lover's Leap) Sappho is said to have thrown herself.
Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the cliff (Lover's Leap), Sappho is said to have jumped.
[Strabo (lib. x. cap. 2, ed. Paris, 1853, p. 388) gives Menander as an authority for the legend that Sappho was the first to take the "Lover's Leap" from the promontory of Leucate. Writers, he adds, better versed in antiquities ἀρχαιολογικώτεροι, prefer the claims of one Cephalus. Another legend, which he gives as a fact, perhaps gave birth to the later and more poetical fiction. The Leucadians, he says, once a year, on Apollo's day, were wont to hurl a criminal from the rock into the sea by way of expiation and propitiation. Birds of all kinds were attached to the victim to break his fall, and, if he reached the sea uninjured, there was a fleet of little boats ready to carry him to other shores. It is possible that dim memories of human sacrifice lingered in the islands, that in course of time victims were transformed into "lovers," and it is certain that poets and commentators, "prone to lie," are responsible for names and incidents.]
[Strabo (lib. x. cap. 2, ed. Paris, 1853, p. 388) cites Menander as a source for the legend that Sappho was the first person to take the "Lover's Leap" from the promontory of Leucate. He notes that scholars more knowledgeable about ancient history archaic prefer the story of one Cephalus. Another legend he presents as fact may have inspired the later, more poetic tale. According to him, the Leucadians used to throw a criminal off the rock into the sea once a year on Apollo's day as an act of atonement and to gain favor. They would attach various birds to the victim to cushion the fall, and if the person reached the sea unharmed, a fleet of small boats was ready to take him to other lands. It's possible that hazy memories of human sacrifice persisted in the islands, evolving over time so that victims became "lovers," and it's clear that poets and commentators, known for their embellishments, contributed to the names and events.]
15.
Stanza xlv. line 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 4.
It is said, that on the day previous to the battle of Actium, Antony had thirteen kings at his levee.
It is said that the day before the battle of Actium, Antony had thirteen kings at his gathering.
[Plutarch, in his Antonius, gives the names of "six auxiliary kings who fought under his banners," and mentions six other kings who did not attend in person but sent supplies. Shakespeare (Anthony and Cleopatra, act iii. sc. 6, lines 68-75), quoting Plutarch almost verbatim, enumerates ten kings who were "assembled" in Anthony's train—
[Plutarch, in his Antonius, lists the names of "six auxiliary kings who fought under his banners," and mentions six other kings who didn’t show up in person but sent supplies. Shakespeare (Anthony and Cleopatra, act iii. sc. 6, lines 68-75), quoting Plutarch almost verbatim, counts ten kings who were "assembled" in Anthony's following—
Of Cappadocia; King Philadelphos Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;
King Malchus of Arabia; king of Pont; Herod the Great; Mithridates, king Of Comagene; Polemon and Amintas, The kings of Media and Lycaonia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, With a larger list of sceptres.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Other authorities for the events of the campaign and battle of Actium (Dion Cassius, Appian, and Orosius) are silent as to "kings;" but Florus (iv. 11) says that the wind-tossed waters "vomited back" to the shore gold and purple, the spoils of the Arabians and Sabæans, and a thousand other peoples of Asia.]
Other sources on the events of the campaign and battle of Actium (Dion Cassius, Appian, and Orosius) don't mention "kings;" however, Florus (iv. 11) states that the wind-tossed waters "vomited back" gold and purple to the shore, the spoils of the Arabians and Sabæans, and countless other peoples from Asia.
16.
Stanza xlv. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. These ruins are large masses of brickwork, the bricks of which are joined by interstices of mortar, as large as the bricks themselves, and equally durable.
Nicopolis, with its extensive ruins, is located a bit away from Actium, where only a few fragments of the Hippodrome wall remain. These ruins consist of large brick structures, with the bricks connected by mortar gaps that are the same size as the bricks and just as durable.
17.
Stanza xlvii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina; but Pouqueville is always out.
According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina; but Pouqueville is always wrong.
[The lake of Yanina (Janina or Joannina) was the ancient Pambotis. "At the mouth of the gorge [of Suli], where it suddenly comes to an end, was the marsh, the Palus Acherusia, in the neighbourhood of which was the Oracle."—Geography of Greece, by H. F. Tozer, 1873, p. 121.]
[The lake of Yanina (Janina or Joannina) was the ancient Pambotis. "At the end of the gorge [of Suli], where it suddenly stops, there was a marsh, the Palus Acherusia, near which was the Oracle."—Geography of Greece, by H. F. Tozer, 1873, p. 121.]
18.
Stanza xlvii. line 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 4.
The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinary man there is an incorrect account in Pouqueville's Travels. [For note on Ali Pasha (1741-1822), see Letters, 1898, i. 246.]
The famous Ali Pacha. There is an inaccurate description of this remarkable man in Pouqueville's Travels. [For note on Ali Pasha (1741-1822), see Letters, 1898, i. 246.]
19.
Stanza xlvii. lines 7, 8, and 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 7, 8, and 9.
Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in the castle of Suli, withstood thirty thousand Albanians for eighteen years; the castle at last was taken by bribery. In this contest there were several acts performed not unworthy of the better days of Greece.
Five thousand Suliotes, hiding among the rocks and in the castle of Suli, held off thirty thousand Albanians for eighteen years; ultimately, the castle was taken through bribery. During this struggle, several deeds were done that were not unworthy of the great days of Greece.
[Ali Pasha assumed the government of Janina in 1788, but it was not till December 12, 1803, that the Suliotes, who were betrayed by their leaders, Botzaris and Koutsonika and others, finally surrendered.—Finlay's History of Greece, 1877, vi. 45-50.]
[Ali Pasha took control of Janina in 1788, but it wasn't until December 12, 1803, that the Suliotes, betrayed by their leaders, Botzaris, Koutsonika, and others, finally gave up.—Finlay's History of Greece, 1877, vi. 45-50.]
20.
Stanza xlviii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' journey from Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the Pachalick. In the valley the river Kalamas (once the Acheron) flows, and, not far from Zitza, forms a fine cataract. The situation is perhaps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acarnania and Ætolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior; as also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad: I am almost inclined to add the approach to Constantinople; but, from the different features of the last, a comparison can hardly be made.
The convent and village of Zitza are a four-hour journey from Joannina, or Yanina, the capital of the Pachalick. In the valley, the Kalamas River (formerly known as the Acheron) flows and creates a beautiful waterfall not far from Zitza. This location might be the most stunning in Greece, although the routes to Delvinachi and some parts of Acarnania and Ætolia could challenge that claim. Delphi, Parnassus, and even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti in Attica are quite inferior, as are all the views in Ionia or the Troad. I’m almost tempted to include the approach to Constantinople, but due to its different characteristics, a comparison is difficult.
21.
Stanza xlix. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
The Greek monks are so called.
The Greek monks are called that.
[Caloyer is derived from the late Greek καλόγηρος, "good in old age," through the Italian caloieso. Hence the accent on the last syllable.—N. Eng. Dict.]
[Caloyer comes from the late Greek monk, meaning "good in old age," through the Italian caloieso. That's why the emphasis is on the last syllable.—N. Eng. Dict.]
22.
Stanza li. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
The Chimariot mountains appear to have been volcanic.
The Chimariot mountains seem to be volcanic.
[By "Chimæra's Alps" Byron probably meant the Ceraunian Mountains, which are "woody to the top, but disclose some wide chasms of red rock" (Travels in Albania, i. 73) to the north of Jannina,—not the Acroceraunian (Chimariot) Mountains, which run from north to south-west along the coast of Mysia. "The walls of rock (which do not appear to be volcanic) rise in tiers on every side, like the seats and walls of an amphitheatre" (H. F. Tozer). The near distance may have suggested an amphitheatre; but he is speaking of the panorama which enlarged on his view, and uses the word not graphically, but metaphorically, of the entire "circle of the hills."]
[By "Chimæra's Alps," Byron probably meant the Ceraunian Mountains, which are "wooded to the top, but show some wide chasms of red rock" (Travels in Albania, i. 73) north of Jannina—not the Acroceraunian (Chimariot) Mountains, which stretch from north to southwest along the coast of Mysia. "The walls of rock (which don't seem to be volcanic) rise in layers on every side, like the seats and walls of an amphitheater" (H. F. Tozer). The nearby scenery may have reminded him of an amphitheater; however, he's referring to the vast view that expanded before him and uses the term not literally, but metaphorically, to describe the whole "circle of the hills."]
23.
Stanza li. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
Now called Kalamas.
Now known as Kalamas.
24.
Stanza lii. line 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 7.
Albanese cloak.
Albanese coat.
[The capote (feminine of capot, masculine diminutive of cope, cape) was a long shaggy cloak or overcoat, with a hood, worn by soldiers, etc.—N. Eng. Dict., art. "Capote."]
[The capote (feminine of capot, masculine diminutive of cope, cape) was a long, shaggy cloak or overcoat with a hood, worn by soldiers, etc.—N. Eng. Dict., art. "Capote."]
25.
Stanza lv. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Anciently Mount Tomarus.
Mount Tomarus in ancient times.
["Mount Tomerit, or Tomohr," says Mr. Tozer, "lies north-east of Tepalen, and therefore the sun could not set behind it" (Childe Harold, 1885, p. 272). But, writing to Drury, May 3, 1810, Byron says that "he penetrated as far as Mount Tomarit." Probably by "Tomarit" he does not mean Mount Tomohr, which lies to the north-east of Berat, but Mount Olytsika, ancient Tomaros (vide ante, p. 132, note 1), which lies to the west of Janina, between the valley of Tcharacovista and the sea. "Elle domine," writes M. Carapanos, "toutes les autres montagnes qui l'entourent." "Laos," Mr. Tozer thinks, "is a mere blunder for Aöus, the Viosa (or Voioussa), which joins the Derapuli a few miles south of Tepaleni, and flows under the walls of the city" (Dodone et ses Ruines, 1878, p. 8). (For the Aöus and approach to Tepeleni, see Travels in Albania, i. 91.)]
["Mount Tomerit, or Tomohr," says Mr. Tozer, "is located north-east of Tepalen, so the sun couldn't set behind it" (Childe Harold, 1885, p. 272). However, writing to Drury on May 3, 1810, Byron mentions that "he got as far as Mount Tomarit." He probably doesn't mean Mount Tomohr, which is to the north-east of Berat, but rather Mount Olytsika, the ancient Tomaros (vide ante, p. 132, note 1), which is situated to the west of Janina, between the valley of Tcharacovista and the sea. "Elle domine," writes M. Carapanos, "toutes les autres montagnes qui l'entourent." Mr. Tozer believes "Laos" is simply a mistake for Aöus, the Viosa (or Voioussa), which merges with the Derapuli a few miles south of Tepaleni and flows beneath the city's walls" (Dodone et ses Ruines, 1878, p. 8). (For the Aöus and the approach to Tepeleni, see Travels in Albania, i. 91.)]
26.
Stanza lv. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
The river Laos was full at the time the author passed it; and, immediately above Tepaleen, was to the eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least in the opinion of the author and his fellow-traveller. In the summer it must be much narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant; neither Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it in breadth or beauty.
The Laos River was overflowing when the author saw it, and just above Tepaleen, it looked as wide as the Thames at Westminster, at least according to the author and his travel companion. In the summer, it’s likely much narrower. It really is the most impressive river in the Levant; neither Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster can compare to its width or beauty.
27.
Stanza lxvi. line 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 8.
Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall.
Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall.
28.
Stanza lxxi. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and, indeed, very few of the others.
The Albanian Muslims don’t avoid wine, and in fact, very few others do either.
29.
Stanza lxxi. line 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 7.
Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from Παλικαρι [παλληκάρι], a general name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and Albanese, who speak Romaic: it means, properly, "a lad."
Palikar, shortened when talking to one person, from Hero [young man], a general term for a soldier among the Greeks and Albanians, who speak Romaic: it means, essentially, "a boy."
30.
Stanza lxxii. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
As a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the Illyric, I here insert two of their most popular choral songs, which are generally chanted in dancing by men or women indiscriminately. The first words are merely a kind of chorus without meaning, like some in our own and all other languages.
As an example of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of Illyric, I'm including two of their most popular choral songs, which are usually sung by men or women while dancing. The first words are just a type of chorus without any specific meaning, similar to some in our own and other languages.
|
1. Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Naciarura, popuso.
2. Naciarura na civil
Ha pen derini ti hin.
3. There are hidden treasures
Your wine and cheese platter.
Caliriote me surme
Ea ha pe pse dua tive.
5. Buo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Gi egem spirta esimiro.
6. Caliriote sees the funde
Ede you go, go.
Caliriote me surme
I put it and then I read it.
8. If your mother tells you to go
Si mi ri ni veti udo gia.
9. Go ahead and let it fall.
Celo more, more celo.
10. Play today in Treetown
Plu huron cia pra seti. |
1. Look, look, I'm here, I'm here;
be quiet.
2. I arrive, I dash; open the door that I can enter.
3. Open the door halfway, that I can take my turban.
4. Caliriotes __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ with the dark
eyes, open the gate that
I might come in.
5. Hey, hey, I hear you, my soul.
6. An Arnaout girl, dressed in expensive
outfit, walks with graceful pride.
7. Caliriot, maid of the dark Eyes, give me a kiss.
8. If I have kissed you, what have you gained? My soul is on fire.
9. Dance lightly, more
gently, and even more gently.
10. Don't create so much dust to ruin your embroidered tights. |
[A] The Albanese, particularly the women, are frequently termed "Caliriotes," for what reason I inquired in vain.
[A] The Albanese, especially the women, are often referred to as "Caliriotes," but I asked and could never find out why.
The last stanza would puzzle a commentator: the men have certainly buskins of the most beautiful texture, but the ladies (to whom the above is supposed to be addressed) have nothing under their little yellow boots and slippers but a well-turned and sometimes very white ankle. The Arnaout girls are much handsomer than the Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They preserve their shape much longer also, from being always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Arnaout is not a written language: the words of this song, therefore, as well as the one which follows, are spelt according to their pronunciation. They are copied by one who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens.
The last stanza would stump a commentator: the men definitely have boots made of the finest material, but the ladies (to whom the above lines are meant) have nothing under their little yellow boots and slippers except a nicely shaped and sometimes very pale ankle. The Arnaout girls are much more attractive than the Greeks, and their outfits are way more colorful. They also maintain their figure much longer because they’re always outside. It’s worth noting that Arnaout is not a written language: the words of this song, along with the one that follows, are spelled based on how they sound. They are copied by someone who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly and is a native of Athens.
|
Ndi sefda tinde ulavossa
Vettimi upri vi lofsa.
2. Ah, I will see you later.
If I cry, I will see you.
3. Uti tasa roba estante
Sitti, please say a prayer.
4. Roba stinori ssidua
I'm sorry, I can't help with that.
5. Qurmini dua civileni
Roba ti siarmi tildi eni.
6. North has a good vibe me
simi rin ti happy
I'm sorry, but that text seems to be a mix of words that doesn't form a coherent phrase in English. Could you provide a different text for me to modernize?
dendroi tiltati.
Udi vura udorini udiri
cicova cilti mora
Udorini talti hollna u ede
caimoni mora.
|
1. I am hurt by your love, and have loved but to burn myself.
You have consumed me! Ah, maid! you have hit me hard.
3. I've said I don't want any dowry, but your eyes and eyelashes.
4. The cursed dowry I want nothing but you.
5. Give me your charms, and let the portion feed the flames.
6. I have loved you, girl, with a genuine soul, but you’ve left me like a barren tree.
7. If I have put my hand on your chest, what have I gained? my hand is pulled back, but keeps the fire alive. |
I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a different measure, ought to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to the thought in the last lines was expressed [185] by Socrates, whose arm having come in contact with one of his "ὑpokolpioi," Critobulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touching them.
I think the last two stanzas, since they have a different rhythm, should belong to a different ballad. A thought kind of similar to the one in the last lines was expressed [185] by Socrates, who, after coming into contact with one of his "ὑpokolpioi," Critobulus or Cleobulus, complained of a sharp pain that went up to his shoulder for several days afterward. So, he rightly decided to teach his students from then on without touching them.
31.
Song, stanza 1, line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
These stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese songs, as far as I was able to make them out by the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic and Italian.
These stanzas are partly taken from various Albanese songs, based on what I could understand from the explanation of the Albanese in Romaic and Italian.
32.
Song, stanza 8, line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
It was taken by storm from the French [October, 1798].
It was captured by surprise by the French [October, 1798].
33.
Stanza lxxiii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the subjoined papers, pp. 187-208.
Some thoughts on this topic can be found in the attached papers, pp. 187-208.
34.
Stanza lxxiv. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable remains: it was seized by Thrasybulus, previous to the expulsion of the Thirty.
Phyle, which offers a stunning view of Athens, still has substantial remains: it was taken by Thrasybulus before the expulsion of the Thirty.
[Byron and Hobhouse caught their first glance of Athens from this spot, December 25, 1809. (See Byron's note.) "The ruins," says Hobhouse, "are now called Bigla Castro, or The Watchtower."]
[Byron and Hobhouse got their first look at Athens from this spot on December 25, 1809. (See Byron's note.) "The ruins," Hobhouse notes, "are now referred to as Bigla Castro, or The Watchtower."]
35.
Stanza lxxvii. line 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 4.
When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. See Gibbon. [From A.D. 1204 to 1261.]
When the Latins took control and held it for several years. See Gibbon. [From A.D. 1204 to 1261.]
36.
Stanza lxxvii. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing. [Vide supra, p. 151.]
Mecca and Medina were captured some time ago by the Wahabees, a sect that is growing every year. [Vide supra, p. 151.]
37.
Stanza lxxxv. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in winter.
On many of the mountains, especially Liakura, the snow never completely melts, even with the intense summer heat; however, I never saw it on the plains, not even in winter.
[This feature of Greek scenery, in spring, may, now and again, be witnessed in our own country in autumn—a blue lake, bordered with summer greenery in the foreground, with a rear-guard of "hills of snow" glittering in the October sunshine.]
[This aspect of Greek scenery in spring can occasionally be seen in our own country during autumn—a blue lake surrounded by summer greenery in the foreground, with a backdrop of "snowy hills" sparkling in the October sunshine.]
38.
Above its lying companions in the cave.
Stanza lxxxvi. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immense cave, formed by the quarries, still remains, and will till the end of time.
Of Mount Pentelicus, where the marble was mined that built the public buildings of Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An enormous cave, created by the quarries, still exists and will remain forever.
[Mendeli is the ancient Pentelicus. "The white lines marking the projecting veins" of marble are visible from Athens (Geography of Greece, by H.F. Tozer, 1873, p. 129).]
[Mendeli is the ancient Pentelicus. "The white lines marking the projecting veins" of marble are visible from Athens (Geography of Greece, by H.F. Tozer, 1873, p. 129).]
39.
Stanza lxxxix. line 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 7.
"Siste Viator—heroa calcas!" was the epitaph on the famous Count Merci;[221]—what then must be our feelings [187] when standing on the tumulus of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The principal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel: few or no relics, as vases, etc. were found by the excavator. The plain of Marathon[222] was offered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand piastres, about nine hundred pounds! Alas!—"Expende[223]—quot libras in duce summo—invenies!"—was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? It could scarcely have fetched less if sold by weight.
"Siste Viator—hero you tread on!" was the epitaph on the famous Count Merci;[221]—so what must we feel [187] when standing on the mound of the two hundred (Greeks) who died at Marathon? The main barrow was recently opened by Fauvel: few or no artifacts, like vases, etc., were found by the excavator. The plain of Marathon[222] was offered to me for sale for sixteen thousand piastres, about nine hundred pounds! Unfortunately!—"Consider[223]—how much in the highest leader—you’ll find!"—was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? It could hardly have sold for less if it were sold by weight.
Documents Cited in Note 33.
I.[224]
Before I say anything about a city of which every body, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to say something, I will request Miss Owenson,[225] when she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to somebody more of a gentleman than a "Disdar Aga" (who by the by is not an Aga), the most [188] impolite of petty officers, the greatest patron of larceny[226] Athens ever saw (except Lord E.), and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres (eight pounds sterling), out of which he has only to pay his garrison, the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I was once the cause of the husband of "Ida of Athens" nearly suffering the bastinado; and because the said "Disdar" is a turbulent husband, and beats his wife; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf of "Ida." Having premised thus much, on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida to mention her birthplace.
Before I say anything about a city that everyone, travelers included, feels the need to comment on, I ask Miss Owenson,[225] when she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to please marry her off to someone more of a gentleman than a "Disdar Aga" (who, by the way, isn’t actually an Aga), the most rude of petty officers, the biggest supporter of theft[226] Athens has ever seen (except for Lord E.), and the undeserving holder of the Acropolis, with a nice annual salary of 150 piastres (eight pounds sterling), from which he only has to pay his garrison, the most poorly organized group in the poorly organized Ottoman Empire. I mention this gently, since I was once the reason why the husband of "Ida of Athens" nearly faced the bastinado; and because this "Disdar" is a violent husband who beats his wife; so I urge and plead with Miss Owenson to seek a separate maintenance for "Ida." Having said all this, about something so important to romance readers, I can now leave Ida to talk about her birthplace.
Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those associations which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens would render it the favourite of all who have eyes for art or nature. The climate, to me at least, appeared a perpetual spring; during eight months I never passed a day without being as many hours on horseback: rain is extremely rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such superiority of climate to our own; and at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, and part of July (1810), you might "damn the climate, and complain of spleen," five days out of seven.[227]
Setting aside the allure of the name and all those associations that it would be pointless and unnecessary to go over again, the location of Athens alone makes it a favorite for anyone who appreciates art or nature. The climate, at least to me, felt like a constant spring; for eight months, I never went a day without spending several hours on horseback. Rain is extremely rare, snow never settles on the plains, and cloudy days are a pleasant rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I didn’t see any such advantage in climate compared to our own; and in Constantinople, where I spent May, June, and part of July (1810), you could "curse the climate and complain about your mood" five days out of seven.[227]
The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the moment you pass the isthmus in the direction of Megara the change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in his description of a Boeotian winter.[228]
The air in the Morea feels thick and unhealthy, but as soon as you cross the isthmus toward Megara, the difference is really noticeable. However, I worry that Hesiod's description of a Boeotian winter will still hold true.[228]
We found at Livadia an "esprit fort" in a Greek bishop, of all free-thinkers! This worthy hypocrite rallied his own religion with great intrepidity (but not before his flock), and talked of a mass as a "coglioneria."[229] It was impossible to think better of him for this; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. This phenomenon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the remains of Chæronea, the [189] plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its nominal cave of Trophonius) was the only remarkable thing we saw before we passed Mount Cithæron.
We encountered a confident mindset in a Greek bishop at Livadia, of all places! This hypocrite boldly criticized his own religion (though not in front of his followers) and referred to a mass as a "coglioneria." It was hard to view him any differently because of this; however, for someone from Boeotia, he was surprisingly lively despite his ridiculousness. This strange occurrence (aside from Thebes, the ruins of Chæronea, the plain of Plataea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its so-called cave of Trophonius) was the only noteworthy thing we saw before we went past Mount Cithæron.
The fountain of Dirce turns a mill: at least my companion (who, resolving to be at once cleanly and classical, bathed in it) pronounced it to be the fountain of Dirce,[230] and any body who thinks it worth while may contradict him. At Castri we drank of half a dozen streamlets, some not of the purest, before we decided to our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and even that had a villanous twang, probably from the snow, though it did not throw us into an epic fever, like poor Dr. Chandler.[231]
The fountain of Dirce runs a mill: at least my friend (who, wanting to be both clean and traditional, bathed in it) claimed it was the fountain of Dirce,[230] and anyone who thinks it’s worth disputing can go ahead. At Castri, we drank from half a dozen streams, some not the cleanest, before we confidently decided which was the real Castalian, and even that had a nasty aftertaste, probably from the snow, though it didn’t send us into an epic fever like poor Dr. Chandler did.[231]
From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the plain of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the Ægean, and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at once; in my opinion, a more glorious prospect than even Cintra or Istambol. Not the view from the Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount Athos, can equal it, though so superior in extent.
From Fort Phyle, where large remains still stand, you get an incredible view of the plain of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the Aegean Sea, and the Acropolis all at once; I think it’s a more spectacular sight than even Cintra or Istanbul. The view from the Troad, featuring Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount Athos, can't compare, even though it's much larger in size.
I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but excepting the view from the Monastery of Megaspelion (which is inferior to Zitza in a command of country), and the descent from the mountains on the way from Tripolitza to Argos, Arcadia has little to recommend it beyond the name.
I’ve heard a lot about the beauty of Arcadia, but aside from the view from the Monastery of Megaspelion (which doesn’t compare to Zitza in terms of the landscape), and the descent from the mountains on the route from Tripolitza to Argos, there’s not much else to suggest that Arcadia is worth visiting beyond its name.
Æneid, x. 782.
Aeneid, x. 782.
Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none but an Argive, and (with reverence be it spoken) it does not deserve the epithet. And if the Polynices of Statius, "In mediis audit duo litora campis" (Thebaidos, i. 335), did actually hear both shores in crossing the isthmus of Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a journey since.
Virgil could only have given this line to an Argive, and (with all due respect) it doesn’t truly deserve that label. And if Statius's Polynices, "In mediis audit duo litora campis" (Thebaidos, i. 335), really did hear both shores while crossing the isthmus of Corinth, he must have had ears better than anyone who's made that journey since.
"Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is still the most polished city of Greece."[232] Perhaps it may of Greece, but not of the Greeks; for Joannina in Epirus is universally allowed, amongst themselves, to be superior in the wealth, refinement, learning, and dialect of its inhabitants. The [190] Athenians are remarkable for their cunning; and the lower orders are not improperly characterised in that proverb, which classes them with the "Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont."
"Athens," says a famous geographer, "is still the most refined city in Greece."[232] Maybe it is in terms of Greece, but not when it comes to the Greeks; because Joannina in Epirus is generally recognized by them as being superior in the wealth, refinement, education, and dialect of its residents. The Athenians are known for their cleverness; and the lower classes are aptly described in that saying, which compares them to the "Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont." [190]
Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, etc., there was never a difference of opinion in their estimate of the Greek character, though on all other topics they disputed with great acrimony.
Among the different foreigners living in Athens—French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, and so on—there was never any disagreement about how they viewed the Greek character, even though they argued passionately about everything else.
M. Fauvel, the French Consul, who has passed thirty years principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an artist, and manners as a gentleman, none who have known him can refuse their testimony, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the Greeks do not deserve to be emancipated; reasoning on the grounds of their "national and individual depravity!" while he forgot that such depravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be removed by the measure he reprobates.
M. Fauvel, the French Consul, who has spent thirty years mainly in Athens, and whose skills as an artist and demeanor as a gentleman no one who has known him can deny, has often said in my presence that the Greeks don't deserve to be freed, arguing that it's due to their "national and individual depravity!" However, he overlooks the fact that such depravity is caused by factors that can only be addressed by the very actions he criticizes.
M. Roque,[233] a French merchant of respectability long settled in Athens, asserted with the most amusing gravity, "Sir, they are the same canaille that existed in the days of Themistocles!" an alarming remark to the "Laudator temporis acti." The ancients banished Themistocles; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque; thus great men have ever been treated!
M. Roque,[233] a respected French merchant who had lived in Athens for a long time, stated with the most entertaining seriousness, "Sir, they are the same canaille that existed in the days of Themistocles!" This was a shocking comment to the "Laudator temporis acti." The ancients exiled Themistocles; the moderns deceive Monsieur Roque; that's how great figures have always been treated!
In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of the Englishmen, Germans, Danes, etc., of passage, came over by degrees to their opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in England would condemn the nation by wholesale, because he was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by his washerwoman.
In short, all the Franks who are regulars, and most of the English, Germans, Danes, etc., just passing through, eventually shared their opinion for pretty much the same reasons that a Turk in England might criticize the entire nation just because he had a bad experience with his servant and was overcharged by his laundry service.
Certainly it was not a little staggering when the Sieurs Fauvel and Lusieri, the two greatest demagogues of the day, who divide between them the power of Pericles and the popularity of Cleon, and puzzle the poor Waywode with perpetual differences, agreed in the utter condemnation, "nulla virtute redemptum" (Juvenal, lib. i. Sat. iv. line 2), of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular. For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazard it, knowing as I do, that there be now in MS. no less than five tours of the first magnitude, and of the most threatening aspect, all in typographical array, by persons of wit and honour, and regular common-place books: but, if I may say this, without offence, it seems to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, as almost everybody has [191] declared, that the Greeks, because they are very bad, will never be better.
Certainly, it was quite surprising when the Sieurs Fauvel and Lusieri, the two biggest demagogues of the time, who share the power of Pericles and the popularity of Cleon, and confuse the poor Waywode with their endless disagreements, both agreed in their total condemnation, "nulla virtute redemptum" (Juvenal, lib. i. Sat. iv. line 2), of the Greeks in general, and the Athenians in particular. As for my own humble opinion, I'm reluctant to share it, knowing that there are currently at least five major critiques, all presented in print, by clever and respectable people, along with regular commonplace books: but, if I may say this without offending anyone, it seems rather unfair to state so firmly and stubbornly, as almost everyone has [191] said, that the Greeks, because they are very bad, will never improve.
The Greeks will never be independent; they will never be sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid they ever should! but they may be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies are not independent, but they are free and industrious, and such may Greece be hereafter.
The Greeks will never be independent; they will never be sovereign like they were before, and God forbid they ever should be! But they can be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies aren’t independent, but they are free and hardworking, and that's how Greece could be in the future.
At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews throughout the world, and such other cudgelled and heterodox people, they suffer all the moral and physical ills that can afflict humanity. Their life is a struggle against truth; they are vicious in their own defence. They are so unused to kindness, that when they occasionally meet with it they look upon it with suspicion, as a dog often beaten snaps at your fingers if you attempt to caress him. "They are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungrateful!"—this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis! for what are they to be grateful? Where is the human being that ever conferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks? They are to be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to the Franks for their broken promises and lying counsels. They are to be grateful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary who carries them away; to the traveller whose janissary flogs them, and to the scribbler whose journal abuses them. This is the amount of their obligations to foreigners.
Right now, like the Catholics in Ireland and Jews all over the world, along with other oppressed and unconventional groups, they endure all the moral and physical hardships that can affect humanity. Their existence is a fight against the truth; they act ruthlessly to defend themselves. They’re so unaccustomed to kindness that when they do encounter it, they regard it with distrust, much like a dog that’s been beaten snaps at your hand when you try to pet it. "They are ungrateful, notoriously, absolutely ungrateful!"—this is the common complaint. Now, for the sake of justice! what do they have to be grateful for? Where is the person who has ever done a good deed for the Greeks? Are they supposed to be thankful to the Turks for their chains and to the Franks for their broken promises and deceitful advice? Should they be grateful to the artist who depicts their ruins, and to the antiquarian who takes them away; to the traveler whose bodyguard beats them, and to the writer whose articles slander them? This sums up their debts to foreigners.
II.
Franciscan Convent, Athens, January 23, 1811.[236]
Franciscan Convent, Athens, January 23, 1811.[236]
Amongst the remnants of the barbarous policy of the earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist in different countries; whose inhabitants, however divided in religion and manners, almost all agree in oppression.
Among the remnants of the harsh policies of earlier times are the signs of slavery that still exist in various countries; whose people, despite being divided in religion and customs, almost all share in their oppression.
The English have at last compassionated their negroes, and under a less bigoted government, may probably one day release their Catholic brethren; but the interposition of foreigners alone can emancipate the Greeks, who, otherwise, appear to have as small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as the Jews have from mankind in general.
The English have finally shown compassion for their Black communities, and under a less prejudiced government, they may one day free their Catholic brothers and sisters; however, only foreign intervention can liberate the Greeks, who otherwise seem to have as little chance of freedom from the Turks as the Jews do from humanity in general.
Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough; at least the younger men of Europe devote much of their time to the study of the Greek writers and history, which would be more usefully spent in mastering their own. Of the moderns, we are perhaps more neglectful than they deserve; and while every man of any pretensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often his age, in the study of the language and of the harangues of the Athenian demagogues in favour of freedom, the real or supposed descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to the actual tyranny of their masters, although a very slight effort is required to strike off their chains.
We know quite a bit about the ancient Greeks; at least, younger people in Europe spend a lot of time studying Greek writers and history, time that would be better spent mastering their own. We are probably more neglectful of modern figures than they deserve; while anyone claiming to be educated exhausts their youth, and often their old age, studying the language and speeches of Athenian leaders advocating for freedom, the real or supposed descendants of these strong republicans are left under the actual control of their rulers, even though only a small effort is needed to break their chains.
To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising again to their pristine superiority, would be ridiculous: as the rest of the world must resume its barbarism, after reasserting the sovereignty of Greece: but there seems to be no very great obstacle, except in the apathy of the Franks, to their becoming an useful dependency, or even a free state, with a proper guarantee;—under correction, however, be it spoken, for many and well-informed men doubt the practicability even of this.
To say, like the Greeks do, that they will return to their original greatness would be laughable: as the rest of the world would have to fall back into barbarism after Greece asserts its independence again. However, it seems that the only real obstacle is the indifference of the Franks to Greece becoming a beneficial dependency or even a free state with appropriate guarantees; yet, it's worth noting that many knowledgeable people doubt even the feasibility of this.
The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they are now more divided in opinion on the subject of their probable [193] deliverers. Religion recommends the Russians; but they have twice been deceived and abandoned by that power, and the dreadful lesson they received after the Muscovite desertion in the Morea has never been forgotten. The French they dislike; although the subjugation of the rest of Europe will, probably, be attended by the deliverance of continental Greece. The islanders look to the English for succour, as they have very lately possessed themselves of the Ionian republic, Corfu excepted.[237] But whoever appear with arms in their hands will be welcome; and when that day arrives, Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans; they cannot expect it from the Giaours.
The Greeks have never lost hope, although they are now more divided in their opinions about who might come to their rescue. Religion suggests the Russians; however, they have been deceived and let down by that power twice, and the harsh lesson they learned after the Russian abandonment in the Morea is still fresh in their minds. They have a dislike for the French, even though the conquest of the rest of Europe will likely lead to the liberation of mainland Greece. The islanders are looking to the English for help, as they recently took control of the Ionian republic, except for Corfu. But anyone who shows up with weapons will be welcomed; and when that day comes, God help the Ottomans; they can't expect mercy from the infidels.
But instead of considering what they have been, and speculating on what they may be, let us look at them as they are.
But instead of thinking about what they were and wondering what they might become, let's look at them as they are now.
And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety of opinions: some, particularly the merchants, decrying the Greeks in the strongest language; others, generally travellers, turning periods in their eulogy, and publishing very curious speculations grafted on their former state, which can have no more effect on their present lot, than the existence of the Incas on the future fortunes of Peru.
And here, it's impossible to reconcile the conflicting opinions: some, especially the merchants, criticize the Greeks in the strongest terms; others, usually travelers, praise them in elaborate ways and publish intriguing theories based on their past, which can have no more impact on their current situation than the existence of the Incas can on the future of Peru.
One very ingenious person terms them the "natural allies of Englishmen;" another no less ingenious, will not allow them to be the allies of anybody, and denies their very descent from the ancients; a third, more ingenious than either, builds a Greek empire on a Russian foundation, and realises (on paper) all the chimeras of Catharine II. As to the question of their descent, what can it import whether the Mainotes[238] are the lineal Laconians or not? or the present Athenians as indigenous as the bees of Hymettus, or as the [194] grasshoppers, to which they once likened themselves? What Englishman cares if he be of a Danish, Saxon, Norman, or Trojan blood? or who, except a Welshman, is afflicted with a desire of being descended from Caractacus?
One very clever person calls them the "natural allies of Englishmen;" another equally clever insists they can't be allies of anyone and denies their descent from the ancients; a third, even more clever, creates a Greek empire on a Russian foundation and brings to life (on paper) all the dreams of Catherine II. As for their descent, what does it matter whether the Mainotes[238] are true Laconians or not? Or if the current Athenians are as indigenous as the bees of Hymettus or as the [194] grasshoppers they once compared themselves to? What Englishman cares if he has Danish, Saxon, Norman, or Trojan ancestry? Or who, except a Welshman, wishes to claim descent from Caractacus?
The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good things of this world, as to render even their claims to antiquity an object of envy; it is very cruel, then, in Mr. Thornton to disturb them in the possession of all that time has left them; viz. their pedigree, of which they are the more tenacious, as it is all they can call their own. It would be worth while to publish together, and compare, the works of Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, Eton and Sonnini; paradox on one side, and prejudice on the other. Mr. Thornton conceives himself to have claims to public confidence from a fourteen years' residence at Pera; perhaps he may on the subject of the Turks, but this can give him no more insight into the real state of Greece and her inhabitants, than as many years spent in Wapping into that of the Western Highlands.
The poor Greeks don't really have enough of the good things in life to make their ancient heritage something to be envious of. So, it’s pretty harsh for Mr. Thornton to disrupt them in holding onto what time has left them—namely, their lineage, which they are especially protective of since it's all they truly possess. It would be interesting to publish and compare the works of Mr. Thornton and De Pauw, as well as Eton and Sonnini; one side being full of contradictions and the other full of bias. Mr. Thornton believes he deserves public trust because he spent fourteen years living in Pera; he might have some insights about the Turks, but that doesn’t give him any better understanding of the real situation in Greece and its people than spending the same amount of time in Wapping would provide for the Western Highlands.
The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal;[239] and if Mr. Thornton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn than his brother merchants are accustomed to do, I should place no great reliance on his information. I actually heard one of these gentlemen boast of their little general intercourse with the city, and assert of himself, with an air of triumph, that he had been but four times at Constantinople in as many years.
The Greeks in Fanal, Constantinople; [239] and if Mr. Thornton didn’t cross the Golden Horn more often than his fellow merchants typically do, I wouldn’t trust his information very much. I actually heard one of these guys brag about their limited interactions with the city and claim, with a sense of pride, that he had visited Constantinople only four times in the last four years.
As to Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with Greek vessels, they gave him the same idea of Greece as a cruise to Berwick in a Scotch smack would of Johnny Groat's house. Upon what grounds then does he arrogate the right of condemning by wholesale a body of men of whom he can know little? It is rather a curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so lavishly dispraises Pouqueville on every occasion of mentioning the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on the Greeks, and terms him an impartial observer. Now, Dr. Pouqueville is as little entitled to that appellation as Mr. Thornton to confer it on him.
As for Mr. Thornton's trips in the Black Sea with Greek ships, they gave him the same impression of Greece as a cruise to Berwick on a Scottish boat would do for Johnny Groat's house. So on what basis does he take the right to condemn an entire group of people he knows little about? It’s quite odd that Mr. Thornton, who criticizes Pouqueville at every chance when it comes to the Turks, still turns to him as an expert on the Greeks and calls him an impartial observer. Well, Dr. Pouqueville is just as unqualified for that title as Mr. Thornton is to give it to him.
The fact is, we are deplorably in want of information on the subject of the Greeks, and in particular their literature; nor is there any probability of our being better acquainted, till our intercourse becomes more intimate, or their independence [195] confirmed. The relations of passing travellers are as little to be depended on as the invectives of angry factors; but till something more can be attained, we must be content with the little to be acquired from similar sources.[240]
The reality is, we clearly lack information about the Greeks, especially their literature; and there’s little chance we’ll know more until our interactions become closer or their independence is assured. The accounts of passing travelers are as unreliable as the rants of frustrated merchants; but until we can gather more, we have to make do with the limited information we can get from similar sources.[195] [240]
However defective these may be, they are preferable to the parodoxes of men who have read superficially of the ancients, and seen nothing of the moderns, such as De Pauw; who, when he asserts that the British breed of horses is ruined by Newmarket, and that the Spartans[241] were [196] cowards in the field,[242] betrays an equal knowledge of English horses and Spartan men. His "philosophical observations" have a much better claim to the title of "poetical." It could not be expected that he who so liberally condemns some of the most celebrated institutions of the ancient, should have mercy on the modern Greeks; and it fortunately happens, that the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers refutes his sentence on themselves.
Even if these are flawed, they're better than the misconceptions of people who have only skimmed the ancient texts and ignored the modern ones, like De Pauw. He claims that the British horse breed is ruined by Newmarket and that the Spartans were cowards in battle, showing his ignorance of both English horses and Spartan warriors. His so-called "philosophical observations" are much more deserving of the title "poetical." It’s no surprise that someone who harshly critiques some of the most respected institutions of the ancients would have no mercy for the modern Greeks. Thankfully, the ridiculousness of his theories about their ancestors disproves his judgment of them.
Let us trust, then, that, in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw, and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hope of the redemption of a race of men, who, whatever may be the errors of their religion and policy, have been amply punished by three centuries and a half of captivity.
Let’s hope that, despite De Pauw’s predictions and Mr. Thornton’s skepticism, there is still a reasonable chance for the redemption of a group of people who, regardless of the mistakes in their beliefs and policies, have already faced more than three and a half centuries of suffering and captivity.
III.[243]
Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 17, 1811.
Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 17, 1811.
Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city I received the thirty-first number of the Edinburgh Review[245] as a great favour, and certainly at this distance an acceptable one, from the captain of an English frigate off Salamis. In that number, Art. 3, containing the review of a French translation of Strabo,[246] there are introduced some remarks on the modern Greeks and their literature, with a [197] short account of Coray, a co-translator in the French version. On those remarks I mean to ground a few observations; and the spot where I now write will, I hope, be sufficient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree connected with the subject. Coray, the most celebrated of living Greeks, at least among the Franks, was born at Scio (in the Review, Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly), and besides the translation of Beccaria and other works mentioned by the Reviewer, has published a lexicon in Romaic and French, if I may trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately arrived from Paris; but the latest we have seen here in French and Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloou.[247] Coray has recently been involved in an unpleasant controversy with M. Gail,[248] a Parisian commentator and editor of some translations from the Greek poets, in consequence of the Institute having awarded him the prize for his version of Hippocrates' "Περὶ ὑδάτων," etc., to the disparagement, and consequently displeasure, of the said Gail. To his exertions, literary and patriotic, great praise is undoubtedly due; but a part of that praise ought not to be withheld from the two brothers Zosimado (merchants settled in Leghorn), who sent him to Paris and maintained him, for the express purpose of elucidating the ancient, and [198] adding to the modern, researches of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered by his countrymen equal to some who lived in the two last centuries; more particularly Dorotheus of Mitylene,[249] whose Hellenic writings are so much esteemed by the Greeks, that Meletius[250] terms him "Μετὰ τὸν Θουκυδίδην καὶ Ξενοφώντα ἄριστος Ἑλλήνων" (p. 224, Ecclesiastical History, iv.).
Some time after I returned from Constantinople to this city, I received the thirty-first issue of the Edinburgh Review[245] as a great favor, and certainly from this distance, it was a welcome one, from the captain of an English frigate off Salamis. In that issue, Article 3, which reviews a French translation of Strabo,[246] some comments on modern Greeks and their literature are included, along with a brief account of Coray, a co-translator of the French version. I intend to base a few observations on those comments; and I hope that the place where I'm writing will serve as a sufficient reason for including them in a work somewhat related to the topic. Coray, the most famous living Greek, at least among Westerners, was born in Chios (the Review states Smyrna, which I believe is incorrect), and besides translating Beccaria and other works mentioned by the Reviewer, he has published a lexicon in Modern Greek and French, if I can trust the word of some Danish travelers recently returned from Paris; but the most recent one we have here in French and Greek is by Gregory Zolikogloou.[247] Coray recently got caught up in an unpleasant dispute with M. Gail,[248] a Parisian commentator and editor of translations from Greek poets, because the Institute awarded him the prize for his version of Hippocrates' "About water," etc., which displeased Gail. He certainly deserves great praise for his literary and patriotic efforts; however, part of that praise should not be withheld from the two brothers Zosimado (merchants based in Livorno), who sent him to Paris and supported him specifically to further the ancient and modern research of his fellow countrymen. Coray, however, is not viewed by his compatriots as being on par with some who lived in the last two centuries; especially Dorotheus of Mitylene,[249] whose Hellenic writings are so highly regarded by the Greeks that Meletius[250] calls him "After Thucydides and Xenophon, the best of the Greeks." (p. 224, Ecclesiastical History, iv.).
Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenelle, and Kamarases,[251] who translated Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into French, Christodoulus,[252] and more particularly Psalida,[253] whom I have conversed with in Joannina, are also in high repute among their literati. The last-mentioned has published in Romaic and Latin a work on True Happiness, dedicated to Catherine II. But Polyzois,[254] who [199] is stated by the Reviewer to be the only modern except Coray who has distinguished himself by a knowledge of Hellenic, if he be the Polyzois Lampanitziotes of Yanina, who has published a number of editions in Romaic, was neither more nor less than an itinerant vender of books; with the contents of which he had no concern beyond his name on the title page, placed there to secure his property in the publication; and he was, moreover, a man utterly destitute of scholastic acquirements. As the name, however, is not uncommon, some other Polyzois may have edited the Epistles of Aristænetus.
Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenelle, and Kamarases,[251] who translated Ocellus Lucanus's work on the Universe into French, Christodoulus,[252] and especially Psalida,[253] whom I spoke with in Joannina, are also well-respected among their intellectuals. The last mentioned has published a work titled True Happiness in Romaic and Latin, dedicated to Catherine II. However, Polyzois,[254] who is said by the Reviewer to be the only modern, besides Coray, recognized for his knowledge of Greek, if he is indeed the Polyzois Lampanitziotes of Yanina, who has published several editions in Romaic, turned out to be nothing more than a traveling book seller; he had no involvement with the contents beyond his name on the title page, which was there to secure his ownership of the publication; and he was, in fact, a person completely lacking in academic credentials. Since the name isn’t rare, it’s possible that another Polyzois edited the Epistles of Aristænetus.
It is to be regretted that the system of continental blockade has closed the few channels through which the Greeks received their publications, particularly Venice and Trieste. Even the common grammars for children are become too dear for the lower orders. Amongst their original works the Geography of Meletius, Archbishop of Athens, and a multitude of theological quartos and poetical pamphlets, are to be met with; their grammars and lexicons of two, three, and four languages are numerous and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme. The most singular piece I have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, English, and French traveller, and the Waywode of Wallachia (or Blackbey, as they term him), an archbishop, a merchant,[255] and Cogia Bachi (or primate), in succession; to all of whom under the Turks the writer attributes their present degeneracy. Their songs are sometimes pretty and pathetic, but their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear of a Frank; the best is the famous "Δεύτε, παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων," by the unfortunate Riga.[256] But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now before me, only fifteen can be found who have touched on any theme except theology.
It’s unfortunate that the continental blockade has shut down the few ways the Greeks could access their publications, especially from Venice and Trieste. Even the basic grammar books for children have become too expensive for the lower classes. Among their original works, you can find the Geography of Meletius, Archbishop of Athens, along with many theological books and poetry pamphlets. Their grammars and dictionaries in two, three, and four languages are numerous and high quality. Their poetry is written in rhyme. One of the most unique pieces I’ve recently come across is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, an Englishman, a French traveler, and the Waywode of Wallachia (or Blackbey, as they call him), an archbishop, a merchant, and Cogia Bachi (or primate) in succession; the writer blames all of them, under the Turks, for the current decline. Their songs can be quite beautiful and moving, but their melodies are generally unpleasant to a Western ear; the best is the famous "Come on, kids of Greece," by the unfortunate Riga. However, from a list of more than sixty authors I have in front of me, only fifteen have written about topics other than theology.
I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of Athens named Marmarotouri to make arrangements, if possible, for printing in London a translation of Barthelemi's Anacharsis in Romaic, as he has no other opportunity, unless he dispatches the MS. to Vienna by the Black Sea and Danube.
I have been given a task by a Greek from Athens named Marmarotouri to arrange, if possible, for a translation of Barthelemi's Anacharsis in Romaic to be printed in London, since he has no other option unless he sends the manuscript to Vienna via the Black Sea and Danube.
The Reviewer mentions a school established at Hecatonesi,[257] and suppressed at the instigation of Sebastiani:[258] he means Cidonies, or, in Turkish, Haivali; a town on the continent, where that institution for a hundred students and three professors still exists. It is true that this establishment was disturbed by the Porte, under the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were constructing a fortress instead of a college; but on investigation, and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it has been permitted to continue. The principal professor, named Ueniamin (i.e. Benjamin), is stated to be a man of talent, but a freethinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master of Hellenic, Latin, and some Frank languages: besides a smattering of the sciences.
The Reviewer talks about a school that was started at Hecatonesi,[257] and shut down because of Sebastiani:[258] he’s referring to Cidonies, or Haivali in Turkish; a town on the mainland, where that school for a hundred students and three professors still operates. It’s true that this institution faced issues with the Porte, who claimed absurdly that the Greeks were building a fortress instead of a college; however, after some investigation and paying off some officials, it has been allowed to keep going. The head professor, Ueniamin (which means Benjamin), is said to be talented but a freethinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is fluent in Greek, Latin, and a few European languages, along with some basic knowledge of the sciences.
Though it is not my intention to enter farther on this topic than may allude to the article in question, I cannot but observe that the Reviewer's lamentation over the fall of the Greeks appears singular, when he closes it with these words: "The change is to be attributed to their misfortunes rather than to any 'physical degradation.'" It may be true that the Greeks are not physically degenerated, and that Constantinople contained on the day when it changed masters as many men of six feet and upwards as in the hour of prosperity; but ancient history and modern politics instruct us that something more than physical perfection is necessary to preserve a state in vigour and independence; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy example of the near connexion between moral degradation and national decay.
Though I don't want to dig deeper into this topic than necessary, I can't help but point out that the Reviewer's sorrow over the decline of the Greeks seems unusual, especially when he concludes with these words: "The change is to be attributed to their misfortunes rather than to any 'physical degradation.'" It may be true that the Greeks are not physically weakened and that on the day Constantinople changed hands there were just as many six-foot-tall men as during its prosperous times; however, ancient history and modern politics teach us that more than just physical strength is needed to maintain a state’s vitality and independence. The Greeks, in particular, serve as a sad example of the close link between moral decline and national deterioration.
The Reviewer mentions a plan "we believe" by Potemkin[259] for the purification of the Romaic; and I have endeavoured in vain to procure any tidings or traces of its existence. There was an academy in St. Petersburg for the Greeks; but it was suppressed by Paul, and has not been revived by his successor.
The Reviewer talks about a plan "we believe" by Potemkin[259] for cleaning up the Romaic language, but I've tried without success to find any news or evidence of it. There used to be an academy in St. Petersburg for Greeks, but it was shut down by Paul and hasn’t been brought back by his successor.
There is a slip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the pen, in p. 58, No. 31, of the Edinburgh Review, where these words occur: "We are told that when the capital of the East yielded to Solyman"—It may be presumed that this last word will, in a future edition, be altered to Mahomet II.[260] The "ladies of Constantinople," it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, "which would not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I do not know how that might be, but am sorry to say that the ladies in general, and the Athenians in particular, are much altered; being far from choice either [202]in their dialect or expressions, as the whole Attic race are barbarous to a proverb:—
There’s a mistake in the text on p. 58, No. 31, of the Edinburgh Review, where it says: "We are told that when the capital of the East yielded to Solyman"—It’s likely that this will be changed to Mahomet II. in a future edition.[260] It seems that the "ladies of Constantinople" back then spoke a dialect that "would not have disgraced the lips of an Athenian." I'm not sure how that could be, but I regret to say that both the ladies in general and the Athenians in particular have changed a lot; they are far from being picky about their dialect or expressions, as the entire Attic race has become proverbially barbaric:—
What donkeys are you feeding now? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the following sentence:—"The vulgar dialect of the city was gross and barbarous, though the compositions of the church and palace sometimes affected to copy the purity of the Attic models." Whatever may be asserted on the subject, it is difficult to conceive that the "ladies of Constantinople," in the reign of the last Cæsar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Comnena[262] wrote, three centuries before: and those royal pages are not esteemed the best models of composition, although the princess γλῶτταν εἶχεν ἈΚΡΙΒΩΕ Ἀττικιϛούσαν.[263] In the Fanal, and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken: in the latter there is a flourishing school under the direction of Psalida.
In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, there’s the following sentence:—"The common dialect of the city was crude and rough, although the writings from the church and palace sometimes pretended to imitate the elegance of the Attic models." Regardless of what may be claimed about it, it's hard to believe that the "ladies of Constantinople," during the reign of the last Cæsar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Comnena[262] wrote, three centuries earlier: and those royal writings are not considered the best examples of written style, even though the princess Language had ACRIBOE Attic.[263] In the Fanal and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken: in Yanina, there’s a thriving school led by Psalida.
There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is making a tour of observation through Greece: he is intelligent, and better educated than a fellow-commoner of most colleges. I mention this as a proof that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant among the Greeks.
There is now a student of Psalida's in Athens who is traveling around Greece to learn and observe: he is smart and better educated than most college students. I mention this as evidence that the spirit of inquiry is still alive among the Greeks.
The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright,[264] the author of the beautiful poem Horæ Ionicæ, as qualified to give details of these nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks; and also of their language: but Mr. Wright, though a good poet and an able man, has made a mistake where he states the Albanian dialect of the Romaic to approximate nearest to the Hellenic; for the Albanians speak a Romaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aberdeenshire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where, next to the Fanal, the Greek is purest,) although the capital of Ali Pacha's dominions, is not in Albania, but Epirus; and beyond Delvinachi in Albania Proper up to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen (beyond which I did not advance) they speak worse Greek than even the Athenians. I was attended for a year and a half by two of these singular mountaineers, whose mother tongue is [203] Illyric, and I never heard them or their countrymen (whom I have seen, not only at home, but to the amount of twenty thousand in the army of Vely Pacha[265]) praised for their Greek, but often laughed at for their provincial barbarisms.
The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright,[264] the author of the beautiful poem Horæ Ionicæ, as someone qualified to provide details about these so-called Romans and declining Greeks, as well as their language. However, Mr. Wright, despite being a good poet and capable individual, makes a mistake when he says that the Albanian dialect of the Romaic is closest to Hellenic. The Albanians speak a Romaic that is just as notoriously corrupt as the Scots from Aberdeenshire or the Italians from Naples. Yanina, which has the purest Greek next to the Fanal, is not in Albania but in Epirus; and from Delvinachi in Albania Proper up to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen (which is as far as I went), they speak worse Greek than even the Athenians. I was accompanied for a year and a half by two of these unique mountaineers, whose mother tongue is [203] Illyric, and I never heard them or their fellow countrymen (whom I've met, not only at home but with about twenty thousand in the army of Vely Pacha[265]) praised for their Greek. Instead, they were often laughed at for their provincial awkwardness.
I have in my possession about twenty-five letters, amongst which some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notaras, the Cogia Bachi, and others by the dragoman of the Caimacam[266] of the Morea (which last governs in Vely Pacha's absence), are said to be favourable specimens of their epistolary style. I also received some at Constantinople from private persons, written in a most hyperbolical style, but in the true antique character.
I have about twenty-five letters in my collection, including some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notaras, the Cogia Bachi, and others from the dragoman of the Caimacam[266] of the Morea (who leads in Vely Pacha's absence). These are considered good examples of their letter-writing style. I also got some in Constantinople from private individuals, written in an extremely exaggerated style, but with a classic flair.
The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the tongue in its past and present state, to a paradox (page 59) on the great mischief the knowledge of his own language has done to Coray, who, it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient Greek, because he is perfect master of the modern! This observation follows a paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the study of the Romaic, as "a powerful auxiliary," not only to the traveller and foreign merchant, but also to the classical scholar; in short, to every body except the only person who can be thoroughly acquainted with its uses; and by a parity of reasoning, our own language is conjectured to be probably more attainable by "foreigners" than by ourselves! Now, I am inclined to think, that a Dutch Tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon blood) would be sadly perplexed with "Sir Tristram,"[267] or any other given "Auchinleck MS." with or without a grammar or glossary; and to most apprehensions it seems evident that none but a native can acquire a competent, far less complete, knowledge of our obsolete idioms. We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity, but no more believe him than we do Smollett's Lismahago,[268] who maintains that the purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. That Coray may err is very possible; but if he does, the fault is in the man rather than in his mother tongue, which is, as it ought to be, of the greatest aid to the native student.—Here the Reviewer [204] proceeds to business on Strabo's translators, and here I close my remarks.
The Reviewer continues, after some comments on the language in its past and present state, to present a paradox (page 59) about the significant trouble the knowledge of his own language has caused Coray, who, it turns out, is less able to understand ancient Greek because he has mastered the modern version! This point follows a paragraph that explicitly recommends the study of Romaic as "a powerful support" not just for travelers and foreign merchants, but also for classical scholars; in fact, for everyone except the one person who could fully understand its uses. By the same logic, it is suggested that our own language is likely easier for "foreigners" to learn than for us! Now, I believe that a Dutch beginner in our language (even though he himself has Saxon ancestry) would struggle greatly with "Sir Tristram,"[267] or any other particular "Auchinleck MS." whether there's a grammar or glossary available or not; and to most people's understanding, it's clear that only a native can truly achieve a competent, let alone complete, grasp of our outdated idioms. We can appreciate the critic's cleverness, but we shouldn't believe him any more than we do Smollett's Lismahago,[268] who insists that the purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. It’s very possible that Coray makes mistakes; but if he does, the error lies with him rather than in his native language, which, as it should be, is immensely helpful to the native student.—Here the Reviewer [204] moves on to discuss Strabo's translators, and here I will conclude my remarks.
Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole,[269] and many others now in England, have all the requisites to furnish details of this fallen people. The few observations I have offered I should have left where I made them, had not the article in question, and above all the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages, which the advantage of my present situation enabled me to clear, or at least to make the attempt.
Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole, [269] and many others currently in England have all the necessary information to provide details about this fallen people. I would have left the few observations I’ve made where I originally presented them, but the article in question, and especially the place where I read it, prompted me to look back at those pages, which my current situation allowed me to revisit or at least attempt to revisit.
I have endeavoured to waive the personal feelings which rise in despite of me in touching upon any part of the Edinburgh Review; not from a wish to conciliate the favour of its writers, or to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly published, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up private resentments with a disquisition of the present kind, and more particularly at this distance of time and place.
I have tried to set aside my personal feelings that come up whenever I talk about any part of the Edinburgh Review; not because I want to win over its writers or to erase anything I've published before, but simply because I believe it's inappropriate to mix personal grievances with a discussion like this, especially given how much time and distance has passed.
Note on the Turks.
The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much exaggerated, or rather have considerably diminished, of late [205] years. The Mussulmans have been beaten into a kind of sullen civility very comfortable to voyagers.
The challenges of traveling in Turkey have been greatly overstated, or more accurately, have significantly decreased in recent years. The Muslims have been subdued into a somewhat sullen politeness that is quite pleasant for travelers. [205]
It is hazardous to say much on the subject of Turks and Turkey; since it is possible to live amongst them twenty years without acquiring information, at least from themselves. As far as my own slight experience carried me, I have no complaint to make; but am indebted for many civilities (I might almost say for friendship), and much hospitality, to Ali Pacha, his son Vely Pacha of the Morea, and several others of high rank in the provinces. Suleyman Aga, late Governor of Athens, and now of Thebes, was a bon vivant, and as social a being as ever sat cross-legged at a tray or a table. During the carnival, when our English party were masquerading, both himself and his successor were more happy to "receive masks" than any dowager in Grosvenor-square.[270]
It's risky to say too much about Turks and Turkey because you could live among them for twenty years without really learning anything directly from them. Based on my limited experience, I have no complaints; in fact, I've received a lot of kindness (I could almost call it friendship) and hospitality from Ali Pacha, his son Vely Pacha of the Morea, and several other high-ranking individuals in the provinces. Suleyman Aga, the former Governor of Athens and now of Thebes, was a true socialite, the kind of person who loved to gather around a table or a tray of food. During the carnival, when our English group was in disguise, both he and his successor were happier to "welcome masked guests" than any elderly lady in Grosvenor Square.[270]
On one occasion of his supping at the convent, his friend and visitor, the Cadi[271] of Thebes, was carried from table perfectly qualified for any club in Christendom; while the worthy Waywode himself triumphed in his fall.
On one occasion when he was having dinner at the convent, his friend and guest, the Cadi[271] of Thebes, was taken away from the table perfectly fit for any club in Christendom; while the honorable Waywode himself celebrated his downfall.
In all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the strictest honour, the highest disinterestedness. In transacting business with them, there are none of those dirty peculations, under the name of interest, difference of exchange, commission, etc., etc., uniformly found in applying to a Greek consul to cash bills, even on the first houses in Pera.
In all financial dealings with the Muslims, I found the utmost integrity and the highest level of selflessness. When conducting business with them, there are none of those shady practices, labeled as interest, exchange rates, commissions, and so on, that are typically encountered when dealing with a Greek consul to cash checks, even at the top establishments in Pera.
With regard to presents, an established custom in the East, you will rarely find yourself a loser; as one worth acceptance is generally returned by another of similar value—a horse, or a shawl.
With gifts, a common tradition in the East, you’ll usually come out ahead; a valued gift is typically matched with another of equal worth—a horse, or a shawl.
In the capital and at court the citizens and courtiers are formed in the same school with those of Christianity; but there does not exist a more honourable, friendly, and high-spirited character than the true Turkish provincial Aga, or Moslem country gentleman. It is not meant here to designate the governors of towns, but those Agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess lands and houses, of more or less extent, in Greece and Asia Minor.
In the capital and at court, the citizens and courtiers are educated in the same way as those of Christianity; however, there is no one more honorable, friendly, and spirited than the true Turkish provincial Aga, or Muslim country gentleman. This refers not to the governors of towns, but to those Agas who, through a sort of feudal system, own lands and properties of various sizes in Greece and Asia Minor.
The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as the rabble in countries with greater pretensions to civilisation. A Moslem, in walking the streets of our country-towns, would be more incommoded in England than a Frank in a similar situation in Turkey. Regimentals are the best travelling dress.
The lower classes are in as decent a state of discipline as the crowds in countries that claim to be more civilized. A Muslim walking in our small towns would face more inconvenience in England than a Westerner would in a similar situation in Turkey. Military uniforms are the best travel attire.
The best accounts of the religion and different sects of Islamism may be found in D'Ohsson's[272] French; of their manners, etc., perhaps in Thornton's English. The Ottomans, with all their defects, are not a people to be despised. Equal at least to the Spaniards, they are superior to the Portuguese. If it be difficult to pronounce what they are, we can at least say what they are not: they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, they do not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an enemy advanced to their capital. They are faithful to their sultan till he becomes unfit to govern, and devout to their God without an inquisition. Were they driven from St. Sophia to-morrow, and the French or Russians enthroned in their stead, it would become a question whether Europe would gain by the exchange. England would certainly be the loser.
The best insights into the religion and various sects of Islam can be found in D'Ohsson's[272] French work; for insights into their customs and practices, Thornton's English might be more suitable. The Ottomans, despite their flaws, are not a people to be looked down upon. They are at least equal to the Spaniards and superior to the Portuguese. While it may be hard to define exactly what they are, we can definitely say what they are not: they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, they do not burn heretics, they are not assassins, and no enemy has ever reached their capital. They are loyal to their sultan until he is no longer fit to lead, and they are devoted to their God without any inquisition. If they were to be driven from St. Sophia tomorrow, and the French or Russians were to take their place, it would raise the question of whether Europe would actually benefit from such a change. England would surely be the one that suffers.
With regard to that ignorance of which they are so generally, and sometimes justly accused, it may be doubted, always excepting France and England, in what useful points of knowledge they are excelled by other nations. Is it in the common arts of life? In their manufactures? Is a Turkish sabre inferior to a Toledo? or is a Turk worse clothed or lodged, or fed and taught, than a Spaniard? Are their Pachas worse educated than a Grandee? or an Effendi[273] than a Knight of St. Jago? I think not.
Regarding the ignorance they are often, and sometimes rightly, accused of, it's worth questioning—excluding France and England—what useful knowledge they actually lag behind other nations in. Is it in the everyday skills of life? In their manufacturing? Is a Turkish sabre really worse than a Toledo? Or are Turks worse off in terms of clothing, housing, food, or education than Spaniards? Are their Pachas less educated than a Grandee? Or an Effendi[273] compared to a Knight of St. Jago? I don’t believe so.
I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, asking whether my fellow-traveller and myself were in the upper or lower House of Parliament. Now, this question from a boy of ten years old proved that his education had not been neglected. It may be doubted if an English boy at that age knows the difference of the Divan from a College of Dervises; but I am very sure a Spaniard does not. How little Mahmout, surrounded as he had been entirely by his Turkish tutors, had learned that there was such a thing as a Parliament, it were useless to conjecture, unless we suppose that his instructors did not confine his studies to the Koran.
I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, asking whether my travel companion and I were in the upper or lower House of Parliament. This question from a ten-year-old boy showed that his education hadn’t been overlooked. It’s questionable whether an English boy his age knows the difference between the Divan and a College of Dervises; I’m pretty sure a Spaniard wouldn’t. How little Mahmout, who was entirely surrounded by his Turkish tutors, learned that there was such a thing as Parliament is hard to guess, unless we consider that his teachers didn’t limit his studies to the Koran.
In all the mosques there are schools established, which [207] are very regularly attended; and the poor are taught without the church of Turkey being put into peril. I believe the system is not yet printed (though there is such a thing as a Turkish press, and books printed on the late military institution of the Nizam Gedidd);[274] nor have I heard whether the Mufti and the Mollas have subscribed, or the Caimacan and the Tefterdar taken the alarm, for fear the ingenuous youth of the turban should be taught not to "pray to God their way." The Greeks also—a kind of Eastern Irish papists—have a college of their own at Maynooth,—no, at Haivali; where the heterodox receive much the same kind of countenance from the Ottoman as the Catholic college from the English legislature. Who shall then affirm that the Turks are ignorant bigots, when they thus evince the exact proportion of Christian charity which is tolerated in the most prosperous and orthodox of all possible kingdoms? But though they allow all this, they will not suffer the Greeks to participate in their privileges: no, let them fight their battles, and pay their haratch (taxes), be drubbed in this world, and damned in the next. And shall we then emancipate our Irish Helots? Mahomet forbid! We should then be bad Mussulmans, and worse Christians: at present we unite the best of both—jesuitical faith, and something not much inferior to Turkish toleration.
In all the mosques, there are schools set up that are regularly attended, and the poor receive education without putting the Turkish church at risk. I believe the system isn’t printed yet (even though there is a Turkish press, and there are books printed about the recent military institution of the Nizam Gedidd); nor have I heard if the Mufti and the Mollas have agreed, or if the Caimacan and the Tefterdar are alarmed, fearing that the bright young people in turbans might be taught not to "pray to God their way." The Greeks too—a sort of Eastern Irish Catholics—have their own college at Haivali; where the nonconformists get similar support from the Ottoman Empire as the Catholic college does from the English government. So who can claim that the Turks are ignorant bigots when they show a level of Christian charity that is tolerated in the most prosperous and orthodox kingdoms? But even with that, they don’t let the Greeks share in their privileges: no, they should fight their own battles, pay their haratch (taxes), be beaten in this life, and damned in the next. And shall we then free our Irish Helots? God forbid! We would then be bad Muslims and worse Christians: for now, we combine the best of both—Jesuit-like faith and something not far off from Turkish toleration.
Appendix.
Amongst an enslaved people, obliged to have recourse to foreign presses even for their books of religion, it is less to be wondered at that we find so few publications on general subjects than that we find any at all. The whole number of the Greeks, scattered up and down the Turkish empire and elsewhere, may amount, at most, to three millions; and yet, for so scanty a number, it is impossible to discover any nation with so great a proportion of books and their authors as the Greeks of the present century. "Aye," but say the generous advocates of oppression, who, while they assert [208] the ignorance of the Greeks, wish to prevent them from dispelling it, "ay, but these are mostly, if not all, ecclesiastical tracts, and consequently good for nothing." Well! and pray what else can they write about? It is pleasant enough to hear a Frank, particularly an Englishman, who may abuse the government of his own country; or a Frenchman, who may abuse every government except his own, and who may range at will over every philosophical, religious, scientific, sceptical, or moral subject, sneering at the Greek legends. A Greek must not write on politics, and cannot touch on science for want of instruction; if he doubts he is excommunicated and damned; therefore his countrymen are not poisoned with modern philosophy; and as to morals, thanks to the Turks! there are no such things. What then is left him, if he has a turn for scribbling? Religion and holy biography; and it is natural enough that those who have so little in this life should look to the next. It is no great wonder then, that in a catalogue now before me of fifty-five Greek writers, many of whom were lately living, not above fifteen should have touched on anything but religion. The catalogue alluded to is contained in the twenty-sixth chapter of the fourth volume of Meletius' Ecclesiastical History.
Among an enslaved population, forced to rely on foreign presses even for their religious texts, it's less surprising to find so few publications on general topics than to find any at all. The entire number of Greeks, scattered throughout the Turkish empire and beyond, may reach at most three million; and yet, for such a small group, it's hard to find any nation with a greater number of books and authors than the Greeks of this century. "Sure," say the well-meaning supporters of oppression, who claim that the Greeks are ignorant while trying to keep them from overcoming that ignorance, "but these are mostly, if not all, religious tracts, and therefore useless." Well! What else can they write about? It's quite easy for a European, especially an Englishman, who can criticize the government of his own country, or a Frenchman, who can attack every government except his own and feel free to discuss any philosophical, religious, scientific, skeptical, or moral subject, to mock Greek legends. A Greek can't write about politics and can't delve into science due to lack of education; if he expresses doubt, he's excommunicated and condemned; thus, his fellow countrymen are untouched by modern philosophy; and thanks to the Turks, there are no morals left. So, what is left for him, if he has a desire to write? Religion and sacred biography; and it's only natural for those who have so little in this life to focus on the next. Therefore, it's not surprising that in a list I have of fifty-five Greek writers, many of whom were recently alive, not more than fifteen addressed anything other than religion. The list mentioned is found in the twenty-sixth chapter of the fourth volume of Meletius' Ecclesiastical History.
[The above forms a preface to an Appendix, headed "Remarks on the Romaic or Modern Greek Language, with Specimens and Translations," which was printed at the end of the volume, after the "Poems," in the first and successive editions of Childe Harold. It contains (1) a "List of Romaic Authors;" (2) the "Greek War-Song," Δεῦτε, Παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων; (3) "Romaic Extracts," of which the first, "a Satire in dialogue" (vide Note III. supra), is translated (see Epigrams, etc., vol. vi. of the present issue); (4) scene from Ο Καφενὲς (the Café), translated from the Italian of Goldoni by Spiridion Vlanti, with a "Translation;" (5) "Familiar Dialogues" in Romaic and English; (6) "Parallel Passages from St. John's Gospel;" (7) "The Inscriptions at Orchomenos from Meletius" (see Travels in Albania, etc., i. 224); (8) the "Prospectus of a Translation of Anacharsis into Romaic, by my Romaic master, Marmarotouri, who wished to publish it in England;" (9) "The Lord's Prayer in Romaic" and in Greek.
[The above serves as a preface to an Appendix titled "Remarks on the Romaic or Modern Greek Language, with Specimens and Translations," which was printed at the end of the volume, following the "Poems," in the first and later editions of Childe Harold. It includes (1) a "List of Romaic Authors;" (2) the "Greek War-Song," Come, Children of the Greeks; (3) "Romaic Extracts," with the first being "a Satire in dialogue" (vide Note III. supra), translated (see Epigrams, etc., vol. vi. of the current issue); (4) a scene from The Coffee Shop (the Café), translated from the Italian of Goldoni by Spiridion Vlanti, along with a "Translation;" (5) "Familiar Dialogues" in Romaic and English; (6) "Parallel Passages from St. John's Gospel;" (7) "The Inscriptions at Orchomenos from Meletius" (see Travels in Albania, etc., i. 224); (8) the "Prospectus of a Translation of Anacharsis into Romaic, by my Romaic teacher, Marmarotouri, who wanted to publish it in England;" (9) "The Lord's Prayer in Romaic" and in Greek.]
The Excursus, which is remarkable rather for the evidence which it affords of Byron's industry and zeal for acquiring knowledge, than for the value or interest of the subject-matter, has been omitted from the present issue. The "Remarks," etc., are included in the "Appendix" to Lord Byron's Poetical Works, 1891, pp. 792-797. (See, too, letter to Dallas, September 21, 1811: Letters, ii. 43.)]
The Excursus, which is more notable for showing Byron's hard work and passion for learning than for the actual value or interest of the content, has been left out of this edition. The "Remarks," etc., are included in the "Appendix" to Lord Byron's Poetical Works, 1891, pp. 792-797. (See also the letter to Dallas, September 21, 1811: Letters, ii. 43.)
FOOTNOTES:
[204] [The Parthenon was converted into a church in the sixth century by Justinian, and dedicated to the Divine Wisdom. About 1460 the church was turned into a mosque. After the siege in 1687 the Turks erected a smaller mosque within the original enclosure. "The only relic of the mosque dedicated by Mohammed the Conqueror (1430-1481) is the base of the minaret ... at the south-west corner of the Cella" (Handbook for Greece, p. 319).]
[204] [The Parthenon was turned into a church in the sixth century by Justinian, dedicated to the Divine Wisdom. Around 1460, the church was converted into a mosque. After the siege in 1687, the Turks built a smaller mosque within the original complex. "The only remnant of the mosque established by Mohammed the Conqueror (1430-1481) is the base of the minaret ... located at the southwest corner of the Cella" (Handbook for Greece, p. 319).]
[205] {168} ["Don Battista Lusieri, better known as Don Tita," was born at Naples. He followed Sir William Hamilton "to Constantinople, in 1799, whence he removed to Athens." "It may be said of Lusieri, as of Claude Lorraine, 'If he be not the poet, he is the historian of nature.'"—Travels, etc., by E. D. Clarke, 1810-1823, Part II. sect. ii. p. 469, note. See, too, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 455.]
[205] {168} ["Don Battista Lusieri, known as Don Tita," was born in Naples. He followed Sir William Hamilton "to Constantinople in 1799, and then moved to Athens." "One could say of Lusieri, as of Claude Lorraine, 'If he is not the poet, he is the historian of nature.'"—Travels, etc., by E. D. Clarke, 1810-1823, Part II. sect. ii. p. 469, note. See also Poetical Works, 1898, i. 455.]
[206] ["Mirandum in modum (canes venaticos diceres) ita odorabantur omnia et pervestigabant, ut, ubi quidque esset, aliqua ratione invenirent" (Cicero, In Verrem, Act. II. lib. iv. 13). Verres had two finders: Tlepolemus a worker in wax, and Hiero a painter. (See Introduction to The Curse of Minerva: Poems, 1898, i. 455.)]
[206] ["They tracked everything like hunting dogs, using their sense of smell to locate things, no matter where they were" (Cicero, In Verrem, Act. II. lib. iv. 13). Verres had two finders: Tlepolemus, a wax worker, and Hiero, a painter. (See Introduction to The Curse of Minerva: Poems, 1898, i. 455.)]
[207] [M. Fauvel was born in Burgundy, circ. 1754. In 1787 he was attached to the suite of the Count Choiseul-Gouffier, French Ambassador at Constantinople, and is said to have prepared designs and illustrations for his patron's Voyage Pittoresque de la Grèce, vol. i. 1787, vol. ii. 1809. He settled at Athens, and was made vice-consul by the French Government. In his old age, after more than forty years' service at Athens, he removed finally to Smyrna, where he was appointed consul-general.—Biographic des Contemporains (Rabbe), 1834, art. "(N.) Fauvel."]
[207] [M. Fauvel was born in Burgundy, around 1754. In 1787, he joined the staff of Count Choiseul-Gouffier, the French Ambassador in Constantinople, and is believed to have created designs and illustrations for his patron's Voyage Pittoresque de la Grèce, vol. i. 1787, vol. ii. 1809. He settled in Athens and was appointed vice-consul by the French Government. In his later years, after more than forty years of service in Athens, he finally moved to Smyrna, where he was made consul-general.—Biographic des Contemporains (Rabbe), 1834, art. "(N.) Fauvel."]
[208] {169} In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna.[A] To the antiquary and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observation and design; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over "Isles that crown the Ægean deep:" but, for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's[B] shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell:—
[208] {169} In all of Attica, aside from Athens and Marathon, there’s no place more captivating than Cape Colonna.[A] For historians and artists, the sixteen columns offer endless opportunities for study and inspiration; for philosophers, it’s a welcome site linked to some of Plato’s dialogues; and travelers will be amazed by the stunning view over “Isles that crown the Ægean deep.” However, for an Englishman, Colonna holds an extra significance as the actual location of Falconer's[B] shipwreck. Pallas and Plato fade from memory in light of Falconer and Campbell:—
The sailor's shout echoed across the deep.
This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. In two journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from either side, by land, was less striking than the approach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners, subsequently ransomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: conjecturing very sagaciously, but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts at hand, they remained stationary, and thus saved our party, which was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates; there
This temple of Minerva can be seen from the sea from far away. During two trips I took, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the views from land on either side weren’t as impressive as the approach from the islands. On our second land excursion, we barely escaped a group of Mainotes hiding in the caves below. Later, one of their captives, who was later ransomed, told us that they didn’t attack us because they thought my two Albanians were part of a full guard we had with us. They guessed correctly, but it was a false assumption; they stayed put, which saved our group since we were too small to fight back effectively. Colonna attracts both painters and pirates.
And makes damaged nature beautiful.
See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, etc.[D][1809, p. 214].
See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, etc.[D][1809, p. 214].
But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. I was fortunate enough to engage a very superior German artist; and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many other Levantine scenes, by the arrival of his performances.
But there, Nature, with the help of Art, has taken care of herself. I was lucky enough to work with a really talented German artist, and I hope to reconnect with this and many other scenes from the Levant when his artwork arrives.
[A] [This must have taken place in 1811, after Hobhouse returned to England.—Travels in Albania, i. 373, note.]
[A] [This must have happened in 1811, after Hobhouse returned to England.—Travels in Albania, i. 373, note.]
[B] [William Falconer (1732-1769), second mate of a vessel in the Levant trade, was wrecked between Alexandria and Venice. Only three of the crew survived. His poem, The Shipwreck, was published in 1762. It was dedicated to the Duke of York, and through his intervention he was "rated as a midshipman in the Royal Navy." Either as author or naval officer, he came to be on intimate terms with John Murray the first, who thought highly of his abilities, and offered him (October 16, 1768) a partnership in his new bookselling business in Fleet Street. In September, 1769, he embarked for India as purser of the Aurora frigate, which touched at the Cape, but never reached her destination. See Memoir, by J. S. Clarke; The Shipwreck, 1804, pp. viii.-xlvi.]
[B] [William Falconer (1732-1769), the second mate of a ship in the Levant trade, was shipwrecked between Alexandria and Venice. Only three crew members survived. His poem, The Shipwreck, was published in 1762 and dedicated to the Duke of York, who helped him get a position as a midshipman in the Royal Navy. Whether as an author or naval officer, he became close friends with John Murray the First, who valued his skills and offered him a partnership in his new bookselling business on Fleet Street (October 16, 1768). In September 1769, he set sail for India as the purser of the Aurora frigate, which stopped at the Cape but never arrived at its destination. See Memoir, by J. S. Clarke; The Shipwreck, 1804, pp. viii.-xlvi.]
[C] Yes, at the dead of night, etc.—Pleasures of Hope, lines 149, 150.
[C] Yes, in the middle of the night, etc.—Pleasures of Hope, lines 149, 150.
[D] [The quotation is from Hodgson's "Lines on a Ruined Abbey in a Romantic Country," vide ante, Canto I., p. 20, note.]
[D] [The quote is from Hodgson's "Lines on a Ruined Abbey in a Romantic Country," see above, Canto I., p. 20, note.]
[209] {171} ["It was, however, during our stay in the place, to be lamented that a war, more than civil, was raging on the subject of Lord Elgin's pursuits in Greece, and had enlisted all the French settlers and the principal Greeks on one side or the other of the controversy. The factions of Athens were renewed."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 243.]
[209] {171} ["However, during our time there, it was unfortunate that a war, more than just a civil one, was ongoing regarding Lord Elgin's activities in Greece, drawing in all the French settlers and key Greeks on either side of the argument. The factions in Athens had reignited."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 243.]
[211] This Sr. Gropius was employed by a noble Lord for the sole purpose of sketching, in which he excels: but I am sorry to say, that he has, through the abused sanction of that most respectable name, been treading at humble distance in the steps of Sr. Lusieri.—A shipful of his trophies was detained, and I believe confiscated, at Constantinople in 1810. I am most happy to be now enabled to state, that "this was not in his bond;" that he was employed solely as a painter, and that his noble patron disavows all connection with him, except as an artist. If the error in the first and second edition of this poem has given the noble Lord a moment's pain, I am very sorry for it: Sr. Gropius has assumed for years the name of his agent; and though I cannot much condemn myself for sharing in the mistake of so many, I am happy in being one of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much pleasure in contradicting this as I felt regret in stating it.—[Note to Third Edition.]
[211] This Mr. Gropius was hired by a noble Lord specifically for the purpose of sketching, which he is great at: but I regret to say that, thanks to the misuse of that very respectable name, he has been following in the footsteps of Mr. Lusieri from a distance. A ship full of his works was held up and, I believe, confiscated in Constantinople in 1810. I’m very pleased to state now that "this was not part of his agreement;" he was hired solely as a painter, and his noble patron denies any connection with him beyond that of being an artist. If the mistake in the first and second editions of this poem caused the noble Lord any distress, I’m truly sorry for that: Mr. Gropius has for years taken on the name of his agent; and while I don’t fault myself too harshly for sharing in the mistake of many, I’m glad to be among the first to be set straight. In fact, I take as much pleasure in correcting this as I did in expressing regret over it.—[Note to Third Edition.]
[According to Bryant's Dict. of Painters, and other biographical dictionaries, Karl Wilhelm Gropius (whom Lamartine, in his Voyage en Orient, identifies with the Gropius "injustement accusé par lord Byron dans ses notes mordantes sur Athènes") was born at Brunswick, in 1793, travelled in Italy and Greece, making numerous landscape and architectural sketches, and finally settled at Berlin in 1827, where he opened a diorama, modelled on that of Daguerre, "in connection with a permanent exhibition of painting.... He was considered the first wit in Berlin, where he died in 1870." In 1812, when Byron wrote his note to the third edition of Childe Harold, Gropius must have been barely of age, and the statement "that he has for years assumed the name of his (a noble Lord's) agent" is somewhat perplexing.]
[According to Bryant's Dict. of Painters and other biographical dictionaries, Karl Wilhelm Gropius (whom Lamartine, in his Voyage en Orient, associates with the Gropius "wrongly accused by Lord Byron in his biting notes on Athens") was born in Brunswick in 1793. He traveled in Italy and Greece, creating many landscape and architectural sketches, and finally settled in Berlin in 1827, where he opened a diorama modeled after Daguerre’s, "in connection with a permanent exhibition of painting.... He was regarded as the smartest person in Berlin, where he died in 1870." In 1812, when Byron wrote his note for the third edition of Childe Harold, Gropius was likely just coming of age, and the statement "that he has for years taken on the name of his (a noble Lord's) agent" is a bit confusing.]
[212] {173} [George Castriota (1404-1467) (Scanderbeg, or Scander Bey), the youngest son of an Albanian chieftain, was sent with his four brothers as hostage to the Sultan Amurath II. After his father's death in 1432 he carried on a protracted warfare with the Turks, and finally established the independence of Albania. "His personal strength and address were such as to make his prowess in the field resemble that of a knight of romance." He died at Lissa, in the Gulf of Venice, and when the island was taken by Mohammed II., the Turks are said to have dug up his bones and hung them round their necks, either as charms against wounds or "amulets to transfer his courage to themselves." (Hofmann's Lexicon Universale; Gorton's Biog. Dict., art. "Scanderbeg.")]
[212] {173} [George Castriota (1404-1467) (Scanderbeg, or Scander Bey), the youngest son of an Albanian chieftain, was sent along with his four brothers as hostages to Sultan Amurath II. After his father's death in 1432, he engaged in a long struggle against the Turks and ultimately secured Albania's independence. "His personal strength and skill were such that his bravery in battle was reminiscent of a knight from a romantic tale." He died at Lissa, in the Gulf of Venice, and when the island was captured by Mohammed II., it's said that the Turks dug up his bones and wore them around their necks, either as charms to prevent wounds or "amulets to transfer his courage to themselves." (Hofmann's Lexicon Universale; Gorton's Biog. Dict., art. "Scanderbeg.")]
[218] [Tristram Shandy, 1775, iv. 44.]
[223] ["Expende Annibalem—quot libras," etc. (Juvenal, x. 147), is the motto of the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, which was written April 10, 1814.—Journal, 1814; Life, p. 325.]
[223] ["Weigh Hannibal—how many pounds," etc. (Juvenal, x. 147), is the motto of the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, which was written on April 10, 1814.—Journal, 1814; Life, p. 325.]
[225] [Miss Owenson (Sydney, Lady Morgan), 1783-1859, published her Woman, or Ida of Athens, in 4 vols., in 1812. Writing to Murray, February 20, 1818, Byron alludes to the "cruel work" which an article (attributed to Croker but, probably, written by Hookham Frere) had made with her France in the Quarterly Review (vol. xvii. p. 260); and in a note to The Two Foscari, act iii. sc. 1, he points out that his description of Venice as an "Ocean-Rome" had been anticipated by Lady Morgan in her "fearless and excellent work upon Italy." The play was completed July 9, 1821, but the work containing the phrase, "Rome of the Ocean," had not been received till August 16 (see, too, his letter to Murray, August 23, 1821). His conviction of the excellence of Lady Morgan's work was, perhaps strengthened by her outspoken eulogium.]
[225] [Miss Owenson (Sydney, Lady Morgan), 1783-1859, published her Woman, or Ida of Athens, in 4 vols., in 1812. Writing to Murray on February 20, 1818, Byron refers to the "cruel work" that an article (attributed to Croker but likely written by Hookham Frere) did to her France in the Quarterly Review (vol. xvii. p. 260); and in a note to The Two Foscari, act iii. sc. 1, he notes that his description of Venice as an "Ocean-Rome" had been previously mentioned by Lady Morgan in her "fearless and excellent work on Italy." The play was finished on July 9, 1821, but the work containing the phrase "Rome of the Ocean" wasn't received until August 16 (see also his letter to Murray dated August 23, 1821). His belief in the quality of Lady Morgan's work was probably reinforced by her bold praise.]
"Get sick, and curse the weather like a boss."
Pope, Imit. of Horace, Ep. 1, lines 159, 160.]
Pope, Imit. of Horace, Ep. 1, lines 159, 160.]
[229] Nonsense; humbug.
Nonsense; ridiculous.
[230] {189} [Hobhouse pronounced it to be the Fountain of Ares, the Paraporti Spring, "which serves to swell the scanty waters of the Dirce." The Dirce flows on the west; the Ismenus, which forms the fountain, to the east of Thebes. "The water was tepid, as I found by bathing in it" (Travels in Albania, i. 233; Handbook for Greece, p. 703).]
[230] {189} [Hobhouse called it the Fountain of Ares, the Paraporti Spring, "which helps to increase the limited waters of the Dirce." The Dirce flows to the west; the Ismenus, which creates the fountain, is to the east of Thebes. "The water was warm, as I discovered when I bathed in it" (Travels in Albania, i. 233; Handbook for Greece, p. 703).]
[231] [Travels in Greece, ch. lxvii.]
[235] [Cornelius de Pauw (1739-1799), Dutch historian, published, in 1787, Recherches philosophiques sur les Grecs. Byron reflects upon his paradoxes and superficiality in Note II., infra. Thomas Thornton published, in 1807, a work entitled Present State of Turkey (see Note II., infra).]
[235] [Cornelius de Pauw (1739-1799), a Dutch historian, published a book in 1787 titled Philosophical Researches on the Greeks. Byron reflects on his contradictions and superficiality in Note II., infra. Thomas Thornton published a book in 1807 called The Present State of Turkey (see Note II., infra).]
[236] {192} [The MSS. of Hints from Horace and The Curse of Minerva are dated, "Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 12 and March 17, 1811." Proof B of Hints from Horace is dated, "Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 12, 1811." Writing to Hodgson, November 14, 1810, he says, "I am living alone in the Franciscan monastery with one 'friar' (a Capuchin of course) and one 'frier' (a bandy-legged Turkish cook)" (Letters, 1898, i. 307).]
[236] {192} [The manuscripts of Hints from Horace and The Curse of Minerva are dated, "Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 12 and March 17, 1811." Proof B of Hints from Horace is dated, "Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 12, 1811." In a letter to Hodgson on November 14, 1810, he writes, "I am living alone in the Franciscan monastery with one 'friar' (a Capuchin, of course) and one 'frier' (a bandy-legged Turkish cook)" (Letters, 1898, i. 307).]
[238] [The Mainotes or Mainates, who take their name from Maina, near Cape Tænaron, were the Highlanders of the Morea, "remarkable for their love of violence and plunder, but also for their frankness and independence." "Pedants have termed the Mainates descendants of the ancient Spartans," but "they must be either descended from the Helots, or from the Perioikoi.... To an older genealogy they can have no pretension."—Finlay's History of Greece, 1877, v. 113; vi. 26.]
[238] [The Mainotes or Mainates, named after Maina near Cape Tænaron, were the Highlanders of the Morea, known for their love of violence and looting, as well as their straightforwardness and independence. Some scholars have referred to the Mainates as descendants of the ancient Spartans, but they likely have roots either in the Helots or the Perioikoi... They can't claim any connection to an older lineage."—Finlay's History of Greece, 1877, v. 113; vi. 26.]
Dr. Pouqueville tells a long story of a Moslem who swallowed corrosive sublimate in such quantities that he acquired the name of "Suleyman Yeyen" i.e. quoth the Doctor, "Suleyman the eater of corrosive sublimate." "Aha," thinks Mr. Thornton (angry with the Doctor for the fiftieth time), "have I caught you?"[B]—Then, in a note, twice the thickness of the Doctor's anecdote, he questions the Doctor's proficiency in the Turkish tongue, and his veracity in his own.—"For," observes Mr. Thornton (after inflicting on us the tough participle of a Turkish verb), "it means nothing more than 'Suleyman the eater,' and quite cashiers the supplementary 'sublimate.'" Now both are right, and both are wrong. If Mr. Thornton, when he next resides "fourteen years in the factory," will consult his Turkish dictionary, or ask any of his Stamboline acquaintance, he will discover that "Suleyma'n yeyen," put together discreetly, mean the "Swallower of sublimate" without any "Suleyman" in the case: "Suleyma" signifying "corrosive sublimate" and not being a proper name on this occasion, although it be an orthodox name enough with the addition of n. After Mr. Thornton's frequent hints of profound Orientalism, he might have found this out before he sang such pæans over Dr. Pouqueville.
Dr. Pouqueville tells a long story about a Muslim who consumed so much corrosive sublimate that he got the nickname "Suleyman Yeyen," which the Doctor translates as "Suleyman the eater of corrosive sublimate." "Aha," thinks Mr. Thornton (angry with the Doctor for the fiftieth time), "I’ve caught you!"[B]—Then, in a note that's twice the length of the Doctor's story, he questions the Doctor's skills in Turkish and his honesty. "Because," Mr. Thornton notes (after dropping on us a complicated participle of a Turkish verb), "it means nothing more than 'Suleyman the eater,' and completely leaves out the 'sublimate.'" Now both have a point and both are mistaken. If Mr. Thornton, during his next "fourteen years in the factory," refers to his Turkish dictionary or asks any of his local friends, he'll find that "Suleyma'n yeyen," when put together correctly, means "Swallower of sublimate" without any mention of "Suleyman": "Suleyma" means "corrosive sublimate" and isn’t a proper name in this case, though it could be a proper name if you add an n. After Mr. Thornton's many hints about his deep knowledge of the East, he might have figured this out before praising Dr. Pouqueville so highly.
After this, I think "Travellers versus Factors" shall be our motto, though the above Mr. Thornton has condemned "hoc genus omne," for mistake and misrepresentation. "Ne Sutor ultra crepidam," "No merchant beyond his bales." N.B. For the benefit of Mr. Thornton, "Sutor" is not a proper name.
After this, I think "Travelers versus Factors" should be our motto, even though Mr. Thornton above has condemned "this whole sort" for error and misrepresentation. "Shoemaker, stick to your last," "No merchant beyond his bales." N.B. For Mr. Thornton's benefit, "Sutor" is not a proper name.
[242] {196} [De Pauw (Rech. Phil. sur les Grecs, 1788, ii. 293), in repeating Plato's statement (Laches, 191), that the Lacedæmonians at Platæa first fled from the Persians, and then, when the Persians were broken, turned upon them and won the battle, misapplies to them the term θρασύδειλοι (Arist., Eth. Nic., iii. 9.7)—men, that is, who affect the hero, but play the poltroon.]
[242] {196} [De Pauw (Rech. Phil. sur les Grecs, 1788, ii. 293), when repeating Plato's statement (Laches, 191), that the Spartans first fled from the Persians at Plataea and then, when the Persians were defeated, turned back and won the battle, incorrectly applies the term cowards (Arist., Eth. Nic., iii. 9.7)—which refers to men who pretend to be brave but are actually cowards.]
[246] [Diamant or Adamantius Coray (1748-1833), scholar and phil-Hellenist, declared his views on the future of the Greeks in the preface to a translation of Beccaria Bonesani's treatise, Dei Delitti e delle Pene (1764), which was published in Paris in 1802. He began to publish his Bibliothèque Hellénique, in 17 vols., in 1805. He was of Chian parentage, but was born at Smyrna. Κοραη Αὐτοβιογραφια, Athens, 1891.]
[246] [Diamant or Adamantius Coray (1748-1833), a scholar and phil-Hellenist, shared his thoughts on the future of the Greeks in the preface to his translation of Beccaria Bonesani's work, Dei Delitti e delle Pene (1764), which was published in Paris in 1802. He started publishing his Bibliothèque Hellénique, in 17 volumes, in 1805. He was of Chian descent but was born in Smyrna. Korai Autobiography, Athens, 1891.]
[247] I have in my possession an excellent lexicon "τρίγλωσσον" which I received in exchange from S. G——, Esq., for a small gem: my antiquarian friends have never forgotten it or forgiven me.
[247] I have an amazing dictionary "trilingual" that I got in a trade from S. G——, Esq., for a little gem: my collector friends have never let it go or forgiven me.
[Λεξικὸν τρίγλωσσον τῆς Γαλλικῆς, Ἰταλικῆς, καὶ 'Ρωμαικῆς διαλέκτου, κ.τ.λ., 3 vols., Vienna, 1790. By Georgie Vendoti (Bentotes, or Bendotes) of Joanina. The book was in Hobhouse's possession in 1854.]
[trilingual in French, Italian and Roman dialects, etc., 3 vols., Vienna, 1790. By Georgie Vendoti (Bentotes, or Bendotes) of Joanina. The book was in Hobhouse's possession in 1854.]
[248] In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he talks of "throwing the insolent Hellenist out of the windows." On this a French critic exclaims, "Ah, my God! throw an Hellenist out of the window! what sacrilege!" It certainly would be a serious business for those authors who dwell in the attics: but I have quoted the passage merely to prove the similarity of style among the controversialists of all polished countries; London or Edinburgh could hardly parallel this Parisian ebullition.
[248] In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he mentions "throwing the arrogant Hellenist out of the window." A French critic responds, "Oh my God! Throw an Hellenist out of the window! What sacrilege!" It would definitely be a serious issue for those authors living in the attics. But I’ve quoted this passage just to highlight the similar style found among the debaters in all cultured countries; London or Edinburgh could hardly match this Parisian outburst.
[Jean Baptiste Gail (1755-1829), Professor of Greek in the Collége de France, published, in 1810, a quarto volume entitled, Réclamations de J. B. Gail, ... et observations sur l'opinion en virtu de laquelle le juri—propose de décerner un prix à M. Coray, à l'exclusion de la chasse de Xénophon, du Thucydide, etc., grec-latin-français, etc.]
[Jean Baptiste Gail (1755-1829), a Professor of Greek at the Collège de France, published a quarto volume in 1810 titled Réclamations de J. B. Gail, ... et observations sur l'opinion en vertu de laquelle le jury propose de décerner un prix à M. Coray, à l'exclusion de la chasse de Xénophon, du Thucydide, etc., grec-latin-français, etc.]
[250] Meletius of Janina (1661-1714) was Archbishop of Athens, 1703-14. His principal work is Ancient and Modern Geography, Venice, 1728, fol. He also wrote an Ecclesiastical History, in four vols., Vienna, 1783-95.
[250] Meletius of Janina (1661-1714) was the Archbishop of Athens from 1703 to 1714. His main work is Ancient and Modern Geography, published in Venice in 1728. He also wrote an Ecclesiastical History in four volumes, published in Vienna from 1783 to 1795.
[251] Panagios (Panagiotes) Kodrikas, Professor of Greek at Paris, published at Vienna, in 1794, a Greek translation of Fontenelle's Entretiens sur la Pluralite des Mondes. John Camarases, a Constantinopolitan, translated into French the apocryphal treatise, De Universi Natura, attributed to Ocellus Lucanus, a Pythagorean philosopher, who is said to have flourished in Lucania in the fifth century B.C.
[251] Panagios (Panagiotes) Kodrikas, a Greek professor in Paris, published a Greek translation of Fontenelle's Entretiens sur la Pluralite des Mondes in Vienna in 1794. John Camarases, from Constantinople, translated the apocryphal treatise De Universi Natura, which is attributed to Ocellus Lucanus, a Pythagorean philosopher believed to have lived in Lucania in the fifth century B.C.
[253] Athanasius Psalidas published, at Vienna, in 1791, a sceptical work entitled, True Felicity (Ἀληθὴς Εὐδαιμονία). "Very learned, and full of quotations, but written in false taste."—MS. M. He was a schoolmaster at Janina, where Byron and Hobhouse made his acquaintance—"the only person," says Hobhouse, "I ever saw who had what might be called a library, and that a very small one" (Travels in Albania, etc., i. 508).
[253] Athanasius Psalidas published a skeptical work titled True Felicity in Vienna in 1791 (True Happiness). "Very knowledgeable and filled with quotes, but written with poor taste."—MS. M. He was a schoolmaster in Janina, where Byron and Hobhouse met him—"the only person," says Hobhouse, "I ever met who had what could be called a library, and it was a very small one" (Travels in Albania, etc., i. 508).
[254] Hobhouse mentions a patriotic poet named Polyzois, "the new Tyrtæus," and gives, as a specimen of his work, "a war-song of the Greeks in Egypt, fighting in the cause of Freedom."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 507; ii. 6, 7.
[254] Hobhouse talks about a patriotic poet named Polyzois, "the new Tyrtæus," and provides an example of his work, "a war song of the Greeks in Egypt, fighting for Freedom."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 507; ii. 6, 7.
[256] [Constantine Rhigas (born 1753), the author of the original of Byron's "Sons of the Greeks, arise," was handed over to the Turks by the Austrians, and shot at Belgrade in 1793, by the orders of Ali Pacha.]
[256] [Constantine Rhigas (born 1753), the author of the original version of Byron's "Sons of the Greeks, arise," was turned over to the Turks by the Austrians and executed in Belgrade in 1793 on the orders of Ali Pacha.]
[257] {200} [The Hecatonnesi are a cluster of islands in the Gulf of Adramyttium, over against the harbour and town of Aivali or Aivalik. Cidonies may stand for ἡ πόλις κυδωνὶς, the quince-shaped city. "At Haivali or Kidognis, opposite to Mytilene, there is a sort of university for a hundred students and three professors, now superintended by a Greek of Mytilene, who teaches not only the Hellenic, but Latin, French, and Italian."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 509, 510.]
[257] {200} [The Hecatonnesi are a group of islands in the Gulf of Adramyttium, across from the harbor and town of Aivali or Aivalik. Cidonies may refer to The city of Kydonia, the quince-shaped city. "At Haivali or Kidognis, opposite Mytilene, there is a kind of university for a hundred students and three professors, currently run by a Greek from Mytilene, who teaches not just Greek, but also Latin, French, and Italian."—Travels in Albania, etc., i. 509, 510.]
[260] {201} In a former number of the Edinburgh Review, 1808, it is observed: "Lord Byron passed some of his early years in Scotland, where he might have learned that pibroch does not mean a bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle." Query,—Was it in Scotland that the young gentlemen of the Edinburgh Review learned that Solyman means Mahomet II. any more than criticism means infallibility?—but thus it is,
[260] {201} In an earlier issue of the Edinburgh Review, 1808, it says: "Lord Byron spent some of his early years in Scotland, where he could have learned that pibroch doesn't mean a bagpipe, just as duet doesn't mean a fiddle." Question—Was it in Scotland that the young gentlemen of the Edinburgh Review learned that Solyman means Mahomet II. any more than criticism means infallibility?—but this is how it is,
Persius, Sat. iv. 42.
Persius, Sat. 4.42.
The mistake seemed so completely a lapse of the pen (from the great similarity of the two words, and the total absence of error from the former pages of the literary leviathan) that I should have passed it over as in the text, had I not perceived in the Edinburgh Review much facetious exultation on all such detections, particularly a recent one, where words and syllables are subjects of disquisition and transposition; and the above-mentioned parallel passage in my own case irresistibly propelled me to hint how much easier it is to be critical than correct. The gentlemen, having enjoyed many a triumph on such victories, will hardly begrudge me a slight ovation for the present.
The mistake seemed like just a slip of the pen (due to the great similarity of the two words, and the total absence of error in the previous pages of the literary giant) that I would have overlooked in the text, if I hadn't noticed in the Edinburgh Review a lot of joking celebrations about such discoveries, especially a recent one, where words and syllables are topics of discussion and rearrangement; and the previously mentioned similar case in my own work made me point out how much easier it is to criticize than to correct. The gentlemen, having relished many a triumph in such victories, will hardly mind me getting a little ovation this time.
[At the end of the review of Childe Harold, February, 1812 (xix., 476), the editor inserted a ponderous retort to this harmless and good-natured "chaff:" "To those strictures of the noble author we feel no inclination to trouble our readers with any reply ... we shall merely observe that if we viewed with astonishment the immeasurable fury with which the minor poet received the innocent pleasantry and moderate castigation of our remarks on his first publication, we now feel nothing but pity for the strange irritability of temperament which can still cherish a private resentment for such a cause, or wish to perpetuate memory of personalities as outrageous as to have been injurious only to their authors."]
[At the end of the review of Childe Harold, February, 1812 (xix., 476), the editor added a heavy-handed response to this harmless and good-natured teasing: "We don’t feel inclined to trouble our readers with any reply to the noble author’s criticisms... we will just say that while we were astonished by the immense anger with which the minor poet took the light-hearted jabs and mild critiques of our comments on his first work, we now only feel pity for the unusual sensitivity that can still hold onto a personal grudge over such a trivial matter or want to keep alive the memory of personal attacks that only did harm to their authors."]
[268] [Captain Lismahago, a paradoxical and pedantic Scotchman, the favoured suitor of Miss Tabitha Bramble, in Smollett's Expedition of Humphry Clinker.]
[268] [Captain Lismahago, a complex and overly meticulous Scotsman, the preferred suitor of Miss Tabitha Bramble, in Smollett's Expedition of Humphry Clinker.]
[269] {204} [Sir William Drummond (1780?-1828) published, inter alia, A Review of the Government of Athens and Sparta, in 1795; and Herculanensia, an Archæological and Philological Dissertation containing a Manuscript found at Herculaneum, in conjunction with the Rev. Robert Walpole (see letter to Harness, December 8, 1811. See Letters, 1898, ii. 79, note 3).
[269] {204} [Sir William Drummond (1780?-1828) published, among other works, A Review of the Government of Athens and Sparta in 1795; and Herculanensia, an Archaeological and Philological Dissertation containing a Manuscript found at Herculaneum, together with the Rev. Robert Walpole (see letter to Harness, December 8, 1811. See Letters, 1898, ii. 79, note 3).
For Aberdeen and Hamilton, see English Bards, etc., line 509: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 336, note 2, and Childe Harold, Canto II. supplementary stanzas, ibid., ii. 108.
For Aberdeen and Hamilton, see English Bards, etc., line 509: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 336, note 2, and Childe Harold, Canto II. supplementary stanzas, ibid., ii. 108.
Edward Daniel Clarke, LL.D. (1769-1822), published Travels in Various Countries, 1810-1823 (vide ante, p. 172, note 7).
Edward Daniel Clarke, LL.D. (1769-1822), published Travels in Various Countries, 1810-1823 (see earlier, p. 172, note 7).
For Leake, vide ante, p. 174, note 1.
For Leake, see above, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
For Gell, see English Bards, etc., line 1034, note 1: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 379.
For Gell, see English Bards, etc., line 1034, note 1: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 379.
The Rev. Robert Walpole (1781-1856), in addition to his share in Herculanensia, completed the sixth volume of Clarke's Travels, which appeared in 1823.]
The Rev. Robert Walpole (1781-1856), along with his contribution to Herculanensia, finished the sixth volume of Clarke's Travels, which was published in 1823.
[273] ["Effendi," derived from the Greek αὐθέντης, through the Romaic ἀφέντης, an "absolute master," is a title borne by distinguished civilians.
[273] ["Effendi," coming from the Greek master, through the Romaic master, meaning "absolute master," is a title held by distinguished civilians.
The Spanish order of St. James of Compostella was founded circ. A.D. 1170.]
The Spanish Order of St. James of Compostela was founded around A.D. 1170.
A "mufti" is an expounder, a "molla" or "mollah" a superior judge, of the sacred Moslem law. The "tefterdars" or "defterdars" were provincial registrars and treasurers under the supreme defterdar, or Chancellor of the Exchequer.]
A "mufti" is an interpreter, a "molla" or "mollah" is a chief judge of the sacred Muslim law. The "tefterdars" or "defterdars" were regional registrars and treasurers under the chief defterdar, or Chancellor of the Exchequer.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
Canto Three.
"Afin que cette application vous forcât à penser à autre chose. Il n'y a en vérité de remède que celui-là et le temps."—Lettres du Roi de Prusse et de M. D'Alembert.[275] [Lettre cxlvi. Sept. 7, 1776.]
"To make sure this application makes you think about something else. Really, the only remedy is that and time."—Lettres du Roi de Prusse et de M. D'Alembert.[275] [Lettre cxlvi. Sept. 7, 1776.]
INTRODUCTION TO THE THIRD CANTO.
The Third Canto of Childe Harold was begun early in May, and finished at Ouchy, near Lausanne, on the 27th of June, 1816. Byron made a fair copy of the first draft of his poem, which had been scrawled on loose sheets, and engaged the services of "Claire" (Jane Clairmont) to make a second transcription. Her task was completed on the 4th of July. The fair copy and Claire's transcription remained in Byron's keeping until the end of August or the beginning of September, when he consigned the transcription to "his friend Mr. Shelley," and the fair copy to Scrope Davies, with instructions to deliver them to Murray (see Letters to Murray, October 5, 9, 15, 1816). Shelley landed at Portsmouth, September 8, and on the 11th of September he discharged his commission.
The Third Canto of Childe Harold was started in early May and finished at Ouchy, near Lausanne, on June 27, 1816. Byron made a clean copy of the first draft of his poem, which had been written on loose sheets, and hired "Claire" (Jane Clairmont) to create a second transcription. She finished her work on July 4. The clean copy and Claire's transcription stayed with Byron until the end of August or the beginning of September, when he handed over the transcription to "his friend Mr. Shelley" and the clean copy to Scrope Davies, with instructions to give them to Murray (see Letters to Murray, October 5, 9, 15, 1816). Shelley arrived in Portsmouth on September 8, and on September 11 he completed his task.
"I was thrilled with delight yesterday," writes Murray (September 12), "by the announcement of Mr. Shelley with the MS. of Childe Harold. I had no sooner got the quiet possession of it than, trembling with auspicious hope, ... I carried it ... to Mr. Gifford.... He says that what you have heretofore published is nothing to this effort.... Never, since my intimacy with Mr. Gifford, did I see him so heartily pleased, or give one fiftieth part of the praise, with one thousandth part of the warmth."
"I was absolutely thrilled yesterday," writes Murray (September 12), "by the announcement of Mr. Shelley with the manuscript of Childe Harold. As soon as I had it in my hands, filled with hopeful excitement, ... I took it ... to Mr. Gifford.... He said that what you've published before is nothing compared to this work.... Never, during my friendship with Mr. Gifford, have I seen him so genuinely pleased or heard him give even a fraction of this praise, with a thousand times more enthusiasm."
The correction of the press was undertaken by Gifford, not without some remonstrance on the part of Shelley, who maintained that "the revision of the proofs, and the retention or alteration of certain particular passages had been entrusted to his discretion" (Letter to Murray, October 30, 1816).
The editing of the press was done by Gifford, although Shelley voiced some objections, arguing that "the editing of the proofs and the decision to keep or change certain specific parts had been left to his judgment" (Letter to Murray, October 30, 1816).
When, if ever, Mr. Davies, of "inaccurate memory" (Letter to Murray, December 4, 1816), discharged his trust is a matter of uncertainty. The "original MS." (Byron's "fair copy") is not forthcoming, and it is improbable that Murray, who had stipulated (September 20) "for all the original MSS., copies, and scraps," ever received it. The "scraps" were sent (October 5) in the first instance to Geneva, and, after many wanderings, ultimately fell into the possession of Mrs. Leigh, from whom they were purchased by the late Mr. Murray.
When, if ever, Mr. Davies, known for his "inaccurate memory" (Letter to Murray, December 4, 1816), fulfilled his obligation is unclear. The "original manuscript" (Byron's "fair copy") is missing, and it’s unlikely that Murray, who had requested (September 20) "all the original manuscripts, copies, and scraps," ever got it. The "scraps" were initially sent to Geneva on October 5 and, after many travels, eventually ended up with Mrs. Leigh, from whom the late Mr. Murray bought them.
The July number of the Quarterly Review (No. XXX.) was still in the press, and, possibly, for this reason it was not till October 29 that Murray inserted the following advertisement in the Morning Chronicle: "Lord Byron's New Poems. On the 23d of November will be published The Prisoners (sic) of Chillon, a Tale and other Poems. A Third Canto of Childe Harold...." But a rival was in the field. The next day (October 30), in the same print, another advertisement appeared: "The R. H. Lord Byron's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.... Printed for J. Johnston, Cheapside.... Of whom may be had, by the same author, a new ed. (the third) of Farewell to England: with three other poems...." It was, no doubt, the success of his first venture which had stimulated the "Cheapside impostor," as Byron called him, to forgery on a larger scale.
The July issue of the Quarterly Review (No. XXX.) was still being printed, and maybe that's why it wasn't until October 29 that Murray placed the following ad in the Morning Chronicle: "Lord Byron's New Poems. On November 23, The Prisoners (sic) of Chillon, a Tale and other Poems will be released. A Third Canto of Childe Harold...." But there was competition. The next day (October 30), the same publication featured another ad: "The R. H. Lord Byron's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.... Printed for J. Johnston, Cheapside.... From whom you can also get a new edition (the third) of Farewell to England: with three other poems...." It was undoubtedly the success of his first project that encouraged the "Cheapside impostor," as Byron referred to him, to attempt forgery on a larger scale.
The controversy did not end there. A second advertisement (Morning Chronicle, November 15) of "Lord Byron's Pilgrimage," etc., stating that "the copyright of the work was consigned" to the Publisher "exclusively by the Noble Author himself, and for which he gives 500 guineas," precedes Murray's second announcement of The Prisoners of Chillon, and the Third Canto of Childe Harold, in which he informs "the public that the poems lately advertised are not written by Lord Byron. The only bookseller at present authorised to print Lord Byron's poems is Mr. Murray...." Further precautions were deemed necessary. An injunction in Chancery was applied for by Byron's agents and representatives (see, for a report of the case in the Morning Chronicle, November 28, 1816, Letters, vol. iv., Letter to Murray, December 9, 1816, note), and granted by the Chancellor, [213] Lord Eldon. Strangely enough, Sir Samuel Romilly, whom Byron did not love, was counsel for the plaintiff.
The controversy didn’t stop there. A second ad (Morning Chronicle, November 15) for "Lord Byron's Pilgrimage," etc., claimed that "the copyright of the work was given" to the Publisher "exclusively by the Noble Author himself, for which he receives 500 guineas." This came before Murray’s second announcement of The Prisoners of Chillon and the Third Canto of Childe Harold, where he informed "the public that the poems recently advertised are not written by Lord Byron. The only bookseller currently authorized to print Lord Byron's poems is Mr. Murray...." Additional measures were seen as necessary. An injunction in Chancery was requested by Byron's agents and representatives (see, for a report of the case in the Morning Chronicle, November 28, 1816, Letters, vol. iv., Letter to Murray, December 9, 1816, note), and was granted by the Chancellor, [213] Lord Eldon. Oddly enough, Sir Samuel Romilly, whom Byron did not like, was the counsel for the plaintiff.
In spite of the injunction, a volume entitled "Lord Byron's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, a Poem in Two Cantos. To which is attached a fragment, The Tempest," was issued in 1817. It is a dull and, apparently, serious production, suggested by, but hardly an imitation of, Childe Harold. The notes are descriptive of the scenery, customs, and antiquities of Palestine. The Tempest, on the other hand, is a parody, and by no means a bad parody, of Byron at his worst; e.g.—
In spite of the injunction, a book called "Lord Byron's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, a Poem in Two Cantos. To which is attached a fragment, The Tempest," was published in 1817. It’s a pretty boring and seemingly serious work, inspired by but not really copying Childe Harold. The notes provide descriptions of the landscapes, customs, and historical sites of Palestine. The Tempest, on the other hand, is a parody, and not a bad one, of Byron at his worst; for example—
Which sent a chill down the spine—one couldn't explain why—
But when energy returned, And ignited the dark glare into a flame,
So bright it shone, one could easily believe,
"A thousand souls were gathered there."
It is possible that this Pilgrimage was the genuine composition of some poetaster who failed to get his poems published under his own name, or it may have been the deliberate forgery of John Agg, or Hewson Clarke, or C. F. Lawler, the pseudo Peter Pindar—"Druids" who were in Johnston's pay, and were prepared to compose pilgrimages to any land, holy or unholy, which would bring grist to their employer's mill. (See the Advertisements at the end of Lord Byron's Pilgrimage, etc.)
It’s possible that this Pilgrimage was actually written by a lesser-known poet who couldn’t get his work published under his own name, or it could have been intentionally faked by John Agg, Hewson Clarke, or C. F. Lawler, the pseudo Peter Pindar—"Druids" who were working for Johnston and were willing to create pilgrimages to any place, sacred or otherwise, that would benefit their boss. (See the Advertisements at the end of Lord Byron's Pilgrimage, etc.)
The Third Canto was published, not as announced, on the 23rd, but on the 18th of November. Murray's "auspicious hope" of success was amply fulfilled. He "wrote to Lord Byron on the 13th of December, 1816, informing him that at a dinner at the Albion Tavern, he had sold to the assembled booksellers 7000 of his Third Canto of Childe Harold...." The reviews were for the most part laudatory. Sir Walter Scott's finely-tempered eulogium (Quart. Rev., No. xxxi., October, 1816 [published February 11, 1817]), and Jeffrey's balanced and cautious appreciation (Edin. Rev., No. liv., December, 1816 [published February 14, 1817]) have been reprinted in their collected works. Both writers conclude with an aspiration—Jeffrey, that
The Third Canto was released, not as announced on the 23rd, but on the 18th of November. Murray's "hopeful expectation" of success was more than met. He "wrote to Lord Byron on December 13, 1816, letting him know that during a dinner at the Albion Tavern, he had sold 7,000 copies of his Third Canto of Childe Harold...." Most of the reviews were positive. Sir Walter Scott's well-crafted praise (Quart. Rev., No. xxxi., October 1816 [published February 11, 1817]), and Jeffrey's fair and measured critique (Edin. Rev., No. liv., December 1816 [published February 14, 1817]) have been reprinted in their collected works. Both writers end with a hope—Jeffrey, that
Yet shall rise again,
"Self-raised, and reclaim its original place!"
Scott, in the "tenderest strain" of Virgilian melody—
Scott, in the "tenderest strain" of Virgilian melody—
Note on the manuscripts of the Third Canto.
[The following memorandum, in Byron's handwriting, is prefixed to the Transcription:—
[The following memo, written by Byron, is included before the Transcription:—
"This copy is to be printed from—subject to comparison with the original MS. (from which this is a transcription) in such parts as it may chance to be difficult to decypher in the following. The notes in this copy are more complete and extended than in the former—and there is also one stanza more inserted and added to this, viz. the 33d. B.
"This copy is to be printed from—subject to comparison with the original manuscript (from which this is a transcription) in any parts that might be hard to read in the following. The notes in this copy are more complete and detailed than in the previous one—and there is also one additional stanza included here, namely the 33rd. B."
Byron. July 10th, 1816.
Byron. July 10, 1816.
Diodati, near ye Lake of Geneva."
Diodati, near the Lake Geneva.
The "original MS." to which the memorandum refers is not forthcoming (vide ante, p. 212), but the "scraps" (MS.) are now in Mr. Murray's possession. Stanzas i.-iii., and the lines beginning, "The castled Crag of Drachenfels," are missing.
The "original MS." mentioned in the memorandum is not available (see above, p. 212), but the "scraps" (MS.) are now with Mr. Murray. Stanzas i.-iii., and the lines beginning with "The castled Crag of Drachenfels," are missing.
Claire's Transcription (C.) occupies the first 119 pages of a substantial quarto volume. Stanzas xxxiii. and xcix.-cv. and several of the notes are in Byron's handwriting. The same volume contains Sonnet on Chillon, in Byron's handwriting; a transcription of the Prisoners (sic) of Chillon (so, too, the advertisement in the Morning Chronicle, October 29, 1816); Sonnet, "Rousseau," etc., in Byron's handwriting, and transcriptions of Stanzas to——, "Though the day of my destiny's over;" Darkness; Churchill's Grave; The Dream; The Incantation (Manfred, act ii. sc. 1); and Prometheus.]
Claire's Transcription (C.) takes up the first 119 pages of a large quarto volume. Stanzas xxxiii. and xcix.-cv. and several notes are written in Byron's handwriting. The same volume includes Sonnet on Chillon, also in Byron's handwriting; a transcription of the Prisoners (sic) of Chillon (similarly, the advertisement in the Morning Chronicle, October 29, 1816); Sonnet, "Rousseau," etc., written by Byron, along with transcriptions of Stanzas to——, "Though the day of my destiny's over;" Darkness; Churchill's Grave; The Dream; The Incantation (Manfred, act ii. sc. 1); and Prometheus.
CANTO THE THIRD.
I.
[216] The last time I saw your young blue eyes, they were smiling,
And then we separated—not like we do now,
But with hope.—
Waking up suddenly,
The waters surge around me; and above The winds raise their voices: I'm leaving,
I don't know where to go, but the hour has passed, When Albion's shrinking shores could make me either sad or happy. [gh]
II.
And the waves crash beneath me like a horse.[217] That knows his rider.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Welcome to their roar!
May their guidance be swift, wherever it leads!
Even if the strained mast shakes like a reed,
And the rent canvas flutters in the wind,[gi]
I still have to keep going; because I'm like a weed,
Thrown from the rock, on the ocean's foam, to sail Wherever the waves may crash, and the storm's wind blows.
III.
The roaming outlaw of his own troubled mind;[279]
Once again I take up the theme, which has just begun, And hang in there with me, as the rushing wind[218] Bears the cloud forward: in that story I discover
The deep lines of prolonged reflection and dried tears,
Which, as it recedes, leaves a barren mark behind,
Over which all the traveling years weigh heavily Trudge through the final moments of life—where not a single flower blooms.
IV.
Maybe my heart and harp have lost a string—
And both might clash: it could be that it's all for nothing. I would try to sing as I have sung__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__:
Even though it's a gloomy tune, I hold onto this; So that it frees me from the tiring dream
Of selfish sorrow or joy—so it throws Forgetfulness surrounds me—it seems To me, though not to anyone else, a somewhat appreciated topic.
V.
In actions, not age,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ exploring the depths of life,
So that no surprises await him—nor below Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, struggle, Cut to his heart again with the sharp knife. Of quiet, intense endurance—he can tell
[219] Why does Thought seek shelter in solitary caves, yet is abundant? With light images and shapes that linger
Still unchanged, even though old, in the Soul's haunted space.[gk]
VI.
A being more intense that we give __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ With our stylish form, we gain as we give. The life we envision, even as I do now—
What am I? Nothing: but you're not that either,
Soul of my thoughts! with whom I journey through life,
[220] Invisible yet watching as I shine—
Combined with your spirit, intertwined with your origins,
And still feeling with you in my lack of crushed feelings.
VII.
Too long and too dark, until my mind became, In its own swirling turmoil and overwhelmed, A swirling mix of fantasy and fire:[gm]
So, without being taught as a child to control my heart, My springs of life were poisoned.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ It’s too late:
Yet I have changed; although I'm still quite the same. With strength to endure what time cannot diminish,[gn]
And eat bitter fruits without blaming Fate.
VIII.
And the spell ends with its quiet seal—[283]
[221] Long-absent Harold finally reappears; He with the heart that no longer wishes to feel, [go]
Tormented by wounds that don't kill but never heal; Yet Time, who changes everything, had transformed him. In spirit and appearance, just as with age: time takes away. Fire from the mind is like energy from the body; And life's magical cup sparkles just at the edge.
IX.
And from a cleaner source, on more sacred ground,
And thought its spring was endless—but it was in vain!
Still surrounding him was an invisible chain. Which caused persistent irritation, binding even though it wasn't visible,
And even though it clanked heavily, it didn't show; worn down by pain,
Which yearned even though it didn't speak, and became sharp, He entered with each step he took through many different scenes.
X.
Once more feeling safe with his kind, And considered his spirit now so firmly established And protected by an unbreakable mindset,
That, if there was neither joy nor sorrow hiding behind; And he, like one, could stand among the many Ignored, looking through the crowd to find Fit speculation—like in odd places
He discovered the amazing creations of God and the wonders of nature.[gq]
XI.
Nor do I believe the heart can ever truly grow old?[gs]
Who can think about Fame as the clouds clear up The star__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ that rises over her heights, should I not climb it?[223] Harold, once again inside the vortex, rolled Let's continue with the joyful circle, pursuing Time,
But with a greater purpose than during his youthful days.[gt][285]
XII.
Of men to gather with Man, with whom he associated Little in common; untrained to obey His thoughts to others, even though his spirit was subdued. In his youth, driven by his own thoughts; still unforced,
He would not give up control of his mind. To the Spirits that his own went against,
Proud even in despair—which could find A life of its own, breathing apart from humanity.
XIII.
Where the ocean rolled, that was his home;[224] Where a blue sky and bright climate stretch, He had the drive and the ability to explore; The desert, forest, cave, and ocean spray,
Woe to him for having companionship; they spoke. A shared language, clearer than the book
Of the language of his homeland, which he would often abandon For Nature's pages illuminated by sunlight on the lake.
XIV.
Until he had filled them with shining beings As their own rays; and ground, and ground-made jars,
And human weaknesses were completely forgotten:
Could he have maintained his spirit for that journey? He had been happy; but this clay will sink. Its spark is eternal, envying the light. To which it rises, as if to sever the connection
That prevents us from the heaven that calls us to its edge.[gx]
XV.
Restless and tired, and serious and exhausting,
[225] Drooped like a wild-born falcon with a clipped wing,
To whom the endless sky is the only home: Then his fit came again, which to overcome, As eagerly as the caged bird will struggle His chest and beak against his thin head Until the blood stains his feathers—so the heat His troubled soul would consume him from within.
XVI.
With no hope left—but feeling less gloomy; The very fact that he lived for nothing, That was all finished on this side of the tomb,
Had made Despair wear a smile, Which, though it may seem crazy,—like on the looted wreck When sailors would recklessly face their fate
With excessive drinking on the sinking deck,— He inspired a cheer that he refrained from stopping.
XVII.
The ruins of an earthquake are buried below!
Is the place marked without a giant statue? [287]
Is there no column decorated for a triumphant display?[226] None; but the moral's truth explains it more simply.—[gz][288]
As the ground was before, so let it be;—[ha]
How that red rain has helped the harvest thrive!
And is this all the world has gained from you,
You are the first and last of Fields! Victory that creates kings?
XVIII.
The grave of France, the fatal Waterloo![hb]
How in an hour the Power that gave cancels Its gifts also convey fleeting fame!—
In "pride of place," the Eagle flew last time, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Then ripped with bloody claws the torn land,[hc]
[227] Shot through by the arrow of divided nations; Ambition's life and efforts were all pointless—
He wears the broken links of the World's shattered chain.[hd]
XIX.
[228] Did nations fight to make One submit?
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?[he]
What! Will slavery be brought back again? The repaired Idol of enlightened times?
Should we, who brought the Lion down, should we Pay respect to the Wolf? Offering a humble gaze. And bowing down to thrones? No! show your worth before you give praise!
XX.
In vain, beautiful cheeks were streaked with hot tears. For Europe's flowers that have been rooted up for a long time before The destroyer of her vineyards; for years, it’s been in vain. Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, All have been born and shattered by the agreement. Of excited millions: everything that makes us feel closest Glory is when the myrtle crowns a sword,
Like Harmodius __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ confronted the tyrant of Athens.
XXI.
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
[229] Her beauty and her chivalry—and bright The lamps lit up beautiful women and courageous men;[hf]
A thousand hearts beat joyfully; and when
Music emerged with its rich, inviting flow,
Gentle eyes gazed affectionately at eyes that responded once more,
And everything was joyful as a wedding bell; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
But shh! Listen! A deep sound rings out like a tolling bell!
XXII.
Or the car bumping over the rocky street;
Let the dance continue! May joy have no limits; No sleep until morning, when Youth and Pleasure come together.[230] To pursue the glowing moments with swift feet—
But listen!—that loud sound chimes in again,
As if the clouds would echo it back; And closer—clearer—more dangerous than before![hg]
Arm! Arm! It's—it’s—the cannon's first blast![hh]
XXIII.
That sound was the first among the festival,
And captured its tone with Death's prophetic ear;[231] And when they smiled because he thought it was close, His heart recognized that sound all too well[hi]
Which laid his father on a blood-soaked bier,
And stirred up a vengeance that only blood could calm; He ran into the battlefield and, leading the fight, fell.
XXIV.
And collecting tears and shivers of distress,[hj]
And cheeks all pale, which was just an hour ago They blushed at the compliment about their own beauty—
And there were unexpected goodbyes, like press[hk]
The life from our young hearts, and heavy sighs Which may never be repeated; who could guess If ever more people should gaze into those shared eyes,
How could such a terrible morning follow such a sweet night? [hl]
XXV.
The gathering squadron and the noisy car,
Rushed forward with reckless speed,
And quickly gathering in the ranks of battle—
[232] And the deep thunder rolls in waves from a distance; And nearby, the sound of the warning drum Woke up the soldier before the Morning Star; While the citizens were overwhelmed with silent terror,[hm]
Or whispering with pale lips—"The enemy! They're coming! They're coming!"
XXVI.
The war song of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Her Saxon enemies have also heard, and heard again;—
How that pibroch excites in the middle of the night, Savage and loud! But with the breath that fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the climbers With the fierce bravery of the locals that inspires The powerful memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's—Donald's __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ fame resonates in every clansman's ears!
XXVII.
Moistened with nature's droplets as they move—
Grieving, if anything inanimate ever feels sorrow, Over the fallen brave,—alas!
[233] Before evening, it will be walked on like the grass. Which now is below them, but will grow above. In its next greenery, when this fiery mass Of living courage, charging at the enemy And filled with great hope, will decay cold and low.
XXVIII.
The storm clouds gather above it, and when they break The ground is heavily covered with other clay. Which her own clay will cover, piled and confined,
Rider and horse—friend and foe—combined in one red grave!
XXIX.
Partly because they mix me with his family,
And partly because I wronged his Lord,[292]
And partly that bright names will make the song sacred;[ho]
He was one of the bravest, and when he was showered[234] The death bolts are deadliest among the thinned files along,
Even where the most intense storm of War loomed, They found no more noble heart than yours, young and brave Howard![293]
XXX.
And mine were nothing if I had anything to give; But when I stood under the fresh green tree,
Which living waves where you stopped living,
And saw the vast field come to life around me. With abundant fruits and a promising spring, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Bring forth her work of joy to create,
With all her wild birds in the air,
I looked away from everything she offered to focus on those she couldn’t bring. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XXXI.
So honored but assumes a stronger, more bitter claim.
XXXII.
The tree will dry up long before it falls; The hull keeps moving, even though the mast and sail are damaged;[hp]
The roof beam lowers, but decays in the hall In thick grayness; the broken wall Stands when its weathered battlements are gone;
[236] The bars hold captive those they enchant; The day feels long even though the storms are blocking the sun;[hq]
And so the heart will break, yet continue to live on:[295]
XXXIII.
[237] A thousand images of someone who was,
The same—and even more so, the more it breaks; And so the heart will do what it does not abandon,
Living in a broken disguise; and still, and cold, And without blood, its sleepless pain aches, Yet it continues to wither until everything outside is old,
Showing no visible signs, since such things are unspoken.
XXXIV.
Vitality of poison—a quick root Which nourishes these deadly branches; for it were We didn't die for nothing; life will work out. Itself to Sorrow's most hated outcome,
Like the apples on the shore of the Dead Sea, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
All ashes to the taste: Did man calculate
Living for pleasure, and keep track of Such hours against years of life—would he say sixty?
XXXV.
They are sufficient; and if your story is true,[hr]
You, who resented him even that brief moment,[297]
More than enough, you deadly Waterloo!
[238] Millions of voices speak of you, and once again
Their children's lips will repeat them and say—
"Here, where the sword brought nations together,[hs]
Our fellow countrymen were fighting on that day!"
And this is so much—and all—that will not fade away.
XXXVI.
Whose spirit is paradoxically mixed,
One moment of the greatest strength, and again On small objects with a similar firmness; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Extreme in everything! If you had been caught in between, Your throne would still be yours, or it would never have existed; For daring led to your rise as well as your fall: you seek __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ Even now to take on the imperial demeanor,[299]
And shake the world once more, oh Thunderer of the stage!
[239]XXXVII.
She still shakes at the sound of your wild name[hv]
Has never been talked about more in people's minds than now. You are nothing but a joke to Fame,
[240] Who courted you once, your servant, and became[hw]
The one who flatters your fierceness—until you were A god to yourself; and still the same. To the amazed kingdoms all frozen in place,
Who decided for a while whatever you claimed.
XXXVIII.
Fighting against nations, fleeing the battlefield; Now you're using the necks of monarchs as your footstool, now More than your lowest-ranking soldier taught to give in; An empire you could crush, command, and rebuild,
Don't let your smallest emotions control you, nor, However deeply skilled in men's spirits, Look within yourself, and don’t hold back the desire for war,
Don't learn that tempting Fate will abandon the highest Star.
XXXIX.
It's bitter and unpleasant to an enemy.
When the entire crowd of hatred gathered close by,
To observe and ridicule you while you shrink, you've smiled[hy]
[241] With a calm and enduring gaze;—
When Fortune abandoned her spoiled and favored child,
He stood strong against the burdens that weighed on him.
XL.
Ambition pushed you too hard to reveal That habitual scorn, which could dismiss Men and their thoughts; it was wise to feel, not so To keep it always on your lips and forehead, And reject the tools you were supposed to use. Until they were turned to your downfall:
It's just a pointless world to gain or lose; So it has turned out for you and everyone else who decides that way.
XLI.
You were made to stand or fall on your own,
This disdain for humanity had helped to withstand the shock;
But men's thoughts were the steps that paved your throne,
Their admiration was your best weapon; The role of Philip's son was yours, not then (Unless your Purple had been thrown aside) Like the serious Diogenes mocking men—
For cynical rulers, the Earth was just too big of a place. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
XLII.
And that has been your downfall; there's a fire. And the movement of the Soul that won't linger In its own limited existence, but strive Beyond the suitable medium of desire;
And, once ignited, it can never be extinguished. Lures in thrilling adventures and never gets exhausted __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Of anything but rest; a fever at my core,
Deadly to him who carries it, and to everyone who has ever carried it.
XLIII.
Founders of sects and systems, to which we add
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all restless beings
Which move the hidden depths of the soul too intensely,[ib]
And they themselves are the fools to those they trick;
Envied, yet how undesirable! What a sting! Are they! One breast laid open was like a school
Which would remove from humanity the desire to shine or rule:
XLIV.
[243] And yet so nurtured and stubbornly attached to conflict,
That should be their days, surviving past dangers,
Melt into the calming twilight; they feel cloudy[ic]
With sadness and hopelessness, and then die; Even like a flame without fuel, which burns out With its own flickering, or a sword set aside,
Which consumes itself and deteriorates shamefully.
XLV.
The highest peaks are often covered in clouds and snow; Whoever surpasses or conquers humanity,
You must rise above the hate from those beneath you.[id]
Even high above the Sun of Glory shines,
And deep beneath the Earth and Ocean spread,
Around him are icy rocks, and they blow loudly
Struggling against storms on his bare head,[ie]
And so reward the efforts that led to those heights.
XLVI.
In its own creation, or in yours,
Mother Nature! for no one else is as abundant as you,[ig]
So, on the shores of your beautiful Rhine?[244] There Harold looks at a divine work,
A mix of all beautiful things; rivers and valleys,
Fruit, leaves, cliff, forest, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And leaderless castles letting out serious goodbyes From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin lives in green.[ih]
XLVII.
Worn down but not bowing to the lesser crowd,
All empty, except for the howling Wind,
Or sharing a secret connection with the Cloud
There was a day when they were young and proud; Banners raised high, and battles__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ took place below;
But those who fought are wrapped in a bloody shroud,
And those that waved are now just shredded dust,[ii]
And the gloomy battlements will not endure any future attacks.
XLVIII.
Power resided within her passions, in a proud state. Each robber chief maintained his armed hideouts,
Carrying out his wicked desires, not any less uplifted[245] Than stronger heroes from the past. What do these outlaws and conquerors want to achieve? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
But has history's paid page labeled them as great? A larger area—an elaborately decorated grave?
Their hopes were just as strong, and their spirits were just as courageous.[ik]
XLIX.
What unrecorded acts of bravery have gone unnoticed!
And Love, which gave a crest to their shields,[301]
With symbols carefully crafted by romantic pride,
Through all the iron hearts, the mail would flow; But their flame was still fierce, and drew on Intense competition and conflict nearby, And many a tower was won for some beautiful trouble,
I saw the stained Rhine flowing beneath its decay.
L.
Making your waves a blessing as they flow
Through banks whose beauty will last forever If only man could leave your brilliant creation like this, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow[il]
With the sharp blade of conflict, then to see[246] Your valley of sweet waters, where to know[302]
Earth paved like Heaven—and it seems that way to me,[im]
Even now, what does your stream want?—that it should be Lethe.
LI.
But these and half of their fame have faded away,
And slaughter piled up the chaotic masses: Their graves have disappeared, so what do they amount to? [303]
Your tide washed away the blood of yesterday,
And everything was spotless, and on your clear stream Glassed, with its shimmering light, the bright ray; [in]
But over the darkened memory's damaging dream Your waves would roll in vain, sweeping as they appear.
LII.
[247] Even though his forehead had deep, serious lines, And calm seriousness, which had taken the place Of feelings that are more intense but less harsh—
Joy wasn't always missing from his face,
But over it in such scenes would leave a fleeting mark.
LIII.
It's pointless for us to look on coldly. On such as smile upon us; the heart must Please return to kindness, even though Disgust[io]
He has separated it from all worldly people: that's how he felt,
For there was gentle memory and endearing trust. In one warm heart, where his own would blend, And in its gentler moments, it rested on his chest.[304]
LIV.
For someone like him, this mood seems strange,
The helpless expressions of a blooming infant,
Even in its earliest development, what was subdued, To change like this, a mind so deeply influenced With contempt for humanity, it doesn’t matter to know;[248] But that's how it was; and even in solitude Small power the nipped feelings have to grow,
In him this shone when everything else had stopped shining.
LV.
Which he was bound to by stronger ties Than the church connects with everything; and—though not married, That love was genuine—and clearly unmasked, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Has withstood the challenges of human conflicts
Still united, and strengthened more By danger, most feared in women's eyes;[305]
But this was steadfast, and from a distant land. Well, his absent greetings might pour into that heart![ir]
1.[249]
Frowns over the broad and twisting Rhine,
Whose chest of waters expands widely Between the banks that hold the vine,
And hills full of blooming trees,
And fields that promise corn and wine,
And scattered cities atop these,
Whose distant white walls shine along them, Have scattered a scene that I need to see
With double joy you are with me.
2.
And hands that bring early flowers,
Walk smiling over this Paradise; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves rise their gray walls; And many a rock that drops steeply, And noble arch in proud decay,
Look over this valley of old orchards; But one thing these banks of the Rhine want—
Your gentle hand to hold in mine!
3.
Though long before your hand they touch,
[250] I know that they must have withered, But don't turn them away just like that; For I have held them close to my heart,
Because they might still catch your eye,
And lead your soul to mine even here,
When you see them drooping nearby,
And you know they're gathered by the Rhine,
And I offered it from my heart to yours!
4.
The allure of this magical place,
And all its thousand twists reveal Some fresh beauty changing around: The proudest heart may have its desires limited Living life happily here; Nor could a place be found on earth. To Nature and to me, so cherished—
Could your lovely eyes follow mine Still sweeten these banks of the Rhine even more!
LVI.
At the top of the green hill; Beneath its base are the ashes of heroes hidden—
[251] Our enemy's—but let that not stop us
Honor to Marceau! over whose early tomb[is]
Tears, big tears, flowed from the tough soldier's eye, Feeling both sad and envious about such a fate,
Falling for France, whose rights he fought to reclaim.
LVII.
His mourners were two groups, his friends and enemies; And it’s fitting that the stranger staying here Pray for the peaceful rest of his brave spirit;—
For he was the Champion of Freedom, one of those, The small number of those who had not gone beyond __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ The authority to punish that she grants On those who wield her weapons; he had kept
The purity of his soul made people mourn over him. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LVIII.
Blackened by the miner's explosion, at her peak Yet she displays what she was, when shell and ball Bouncing lazily on her strength did illuminate:—
A Tower of Victory! from which the flight Baffled enemies were observed across the plain:[252] But Peace ruined what War could never taint,
And left those proud roofs exposed to the summer rain—
Where the iron rain had fallen uselessly for years.[308]
LIX.
Yours is a scene where souls are united. Or lonely thinking might wander; And can the endless vultures stop feeding[it]
On self-condemning hearts, it would be here,
Where nature is neither too serious nor too cheerful,
Wild but not disrespectful, terrible yet not harsh,[iu]
Is to the gentle Earth what Autumn is to the year.[309]
LX.
There can be no goodbye to a scene like yours;
[253] The mind is influenced by every shade of you; And if the eyes give in reluctantly Their beloved gaze on you, beautiful Rhine!
It's with a grateful look of farewell praise; More powerful places may emerge—more intense brightness,[iv]
But none come together in one connecting maze. The bright, fair, and gentle— the wonders of the past,
LXI.
Of the approaching maturity, the brightness of the white city, The flowing stream, the darkness of the cliff, The forest's growth and Gothic walls in between,—
The jagged rocks formed shapes, almost like they were towers,
In mockery of human art; and these along with A group of faces joyful like the setting,
Whose rich resources reach out to everyone,
Still flowing over your banks, even as empires nearby collapse.
LXII.
The Palaces of Nature, with their enormous walls Have reached their highest point in the clouds with their snowy peaks,[iw]
And seated Eternity in frozen halls
Of cold beauty, where shapes and descents[311]
The Avalanche—snow's thunderbolt!
Everything that elevates the spirit also terrifies, Gather around these peaks, to demonstrate
How Earth might reach up to Heaven, while leaving foolish man behind.
LXIII.
Morat! the proud, the patriotic ground! where man May look upon the eerie trophies of the fallen,
Don't be embarrassed for those who triumphed on that battlefield;
Here Burgundy left his host without a grave,
[255] A skeletal pile, enduring through the ages,
Their monument; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ — the Stygian coast
They roamed unburied and screamed like wandering ghosts. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
LXIV.
The twin names Morat and Marathon will endure; They were the pure victories of Glory,
Won by the unmotivated heart and hand[256] Of a proud, brotherly, and community-oriented group,
All unsold champions with no noble purpose Of vice-related corruption; they have no land[iy]
Condemned to lament the defiance of laws
Making the rights of kings divine through some harsh condition.
LXV.
And looks with a wild, bewildered gaze
From one turned to stone by astonishment,
But still aware; and there it is Creating something that doesn't deteriorate,
When the contemporary pride of human hands,
Aventicum has leveled and scattered its lands. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LXVI.
Julia—the daughter—the devoted—gave Her youth in Heaven; her heart, under a burden Closest to Heaven, it broke over a father's grave.
Justice is sworn against tears, and hers would beg for The life she lived in—but the Judge was fair—
[257] And then she died on him, and he couldn't save her.[iz]
Their tomb was plain and had no bust,[ja]
And in their urn was one mind—one heart—one dust. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LXVII.
And names that must not fade away, even though the Earth Forgets her empires with a natural decline,
The enslavers and the enslaved—their life and death; The breathtaking, towering beauty of Worth Should be—and will be, survivor of its troubles,
And from its immortality, gaze out In the sunlight, like that distant Alpine snow, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Eternally pure, surpassing everything beneath.
LXVIII.
The mirror where the stars and mountains reflect The stillness of their appearance in each mark Its clear depth reveals their great height and color:[jb]
There's way too much about Man here,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ to sort through.
With a healthy mind, the strength that I see;[258] But soon Loneliness will return within me. Thoughts may be hidden, but they're still just as valued as before,
Before joining the group, I found myself trapped among them.
[259]LXIX.
Not everyone is suited to engage in their struggles and labor,
Nor is it dissatisfaction to keep the mind
Deep in its source, to prevent it from overflowing[jc][316]
In the crowded heat, where we become the prize
Of our infection, until it was too late and for too long We might complain about and grapple with the mess,
In a miserable exchange of wrong for wrong In a divided world, trying to succeed where no one is powerful.[jd]
LXX.
In deadly remorse, and in the decay
[260] Let our soul turn all our blood into tears, And tint the future with shades of Night;
The race of life turns into a pointless chase
To those who walk in darkness: on the sea
The boldest steer, but only where their ports attract—
But there are wanderers across Eternity[je][318]
Whose bark keeps moving forward and will never be anchored.
LXXI.
Or the clear embrace of its nurturing Lake,
Which nurtures it like a mother who makes A fair but difficult baby, taking care of herself, Kissing its cries away as they wake;—[jf]
Isn't it better to live our lives this way, Then join the overwhelming crowd, destined to cause or suffer?
LXXII.
Of the torture of human cities: I can see[jg]
[262] There's nothing in Nature to hate, except to be[jh]
A link hesitant in a physical chain,
Ranked among beings, when the soul can escape,
And with the sky—the peak—the rolling plain[ji]
Of the ocean or the stars, mix—and not in vain.
LXXIII.
I gaze at the populated desert beyond,
As in a place of pain and struggle,
For some sin, I was thrown into Sorrow,
To take action and endure, but ultimately rise again __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
With a new perspective that I feel coming to life, Though young, I'm growing strong like the Blast Which it would handle, on joyful wing,
Rejecting the cold, lifeless ties that cling to our existence.[jk][321]
[263]LXXIV.
From what it despises in this diminished state,[jl]
Deprived of its physical existence, except for what will remain. Existing happier in the fly and worm,—
When Elements conform to Elements,
And dust is as it should be, shouldn't I? Do I feel everything I see is less dazzling but more warm? The thought without a body? The essence of every place?[jm]
Of which, even now, I still occasionally share the everlasting fate?[322]
LXXV.
Of me and my soul, just like I am of them? Isn't the love of these deep in my heart? With a genuine passion, should I not disdain All objects, when compared to these? and stem A wave of suffering, instead of giving up
[264] Such feelings for the tough and materialistic attitudes Of those whose eyes are only looking down,
Staring at the ground, with thoughts that won't shine?[jo][323]
LXXVI.
To what is urgent, and need Those who find reflection in the urn,
To gaze at One whose ash was once all fire,—
A local of the place where I breathe
The clear air for a moment—a brief visitor,
Where he became a being—whose desire It was supposed to be glorious; it was a foolish quest, He sacrificed all rest to gain and keep it.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
LXXVII.
The apostle of Affliction, the one who threw
Charm over Emotion, and from Sorrow
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first attracted[265] The breath that made him miserable; still, he knew How to make Madness beautiful and cast
Over mistaken actions and thoughts, a divine light __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they pass. The eyes that shed tears, feelingly and quickly.
LXXVIII.
Struck by lightning; with otherworldly fire
He was ignited and destroyed; because to be Therefore, he was equally infatuated.[js]
But his was not the love of a living woman,
Nor of the dead who come alive in our dreams,
But of ideal Beauty, which became In him, existence overflows and thrives. Along his scorching page, though it appears troubled.
LXXIX.
Gave her everything that’s wild and sweet; This also honored that unforgettable kiss __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Each morning, his fevered lips would greet, From hers, who would only meet him with friendship; But to that gentle touch, through mind and heart[266] The excited Spirit's passionate and intense love;[jt]
In that captivating sigh, perhaps there's more bliss. Than foolish minds can be completely consumed by everything they desire.
LXXX.
Or friends who exiled themselves;__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ for his thoughts
Had created a safe haven for suspicion and chose, For its own harsh sacrifice, the kind,[ju]
Against whom he raged with strange and blind fury. But he was frenzied; who can say why? Since the reason might be something that Skill could never uncover;[jv]
But he was driven mad by illness or sorrow,
To that worst argument of all, which puts on a facade of logic.
LXXXI.
From the Pythian's ancient mystical cave,[267] Those oracles that ignited the world,[326]
Nor did it stop burning until kingdoms fell:
Did he not do this for France? which was laid out before Have you submitted to the natural tyranny of time?[327]
Broken and shaking under the burden she carried,
Until through the voice of him and his companions, Awakened to overwhelming anger that comes from deep-rooted fears?
LXXXII.
The ruins of outdated beliefs—things that developed,[jw]
Breathed from the beginning of Time: the veil they tore, And what lies behind it, the whole world will see.[jx]
[268] But they also overturned good with evil,
Leaving only ruins to rebuild with. On the same foundation, and refresh Dungeons and thrones, which were filled again within the same hour, As before, because Ambition was determined.
LXXXIII.
Humans have recognized their strength and made sure others know it too.
They could have used it better, but, enticed With their new energy, they have dealt sternly On each other; pity stopped fading away.
With her once natural kindness. But they,
Who had lived in the darkness of oppression, They weren't eagles, fed by the daylight; What a surprise, then, at times, if they got their prey mixed up?
LXXXIV.
The heart bleeds the longest, but it heals to endure. That which spoils it; and those who fight
With their own hopes, and having been defeated, they carry Silence, but not surrender: in his hideout
Fixed Passion holds his breath until the hour Which will make up for years; no one needs to lose hope:
It has come—it is coming—and will come—the power
To punish or forgive—one of these will take us longer. [jy][328]
[269]LXXXV.
In the chaotic world I lived in, it is a matter Which warns me, through its silence, to give up Earth's troubled waters for a cleaner future. This calm sail is like a silent wing. To help me focus; once I loved
The ocean roars, but your gentle whisper Sounds sweet, like a Sister's voice scolding,
That I should ever have been so affected by such serious pleasures.
LXXXVI.
Your margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear,
Chilled out and blending together, but still clearly noticeable,
Save the shadowy Jura,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ whose towering peaks rise Steep and approaching,
A fresh scent comes from the shore,
Of flowers still fresh from childhood; on the ear Lets the light drip from the hanging oar,
The grasshopper chirps one last goodnight song.
LXXXVII.
His life is like an infancy, and he sings to his heart's content;[ka][330]
At times, a bird from the bushes Begins to speak for a moment, then stops. There’s a soft whisper in the air on the hill,
That's fancy—for the Starlight dews
All quietly let their tears of love flow,
Crying until they disappear, until they blend Deep within Nature's essence lies the spirit of her colors. [kb]
LXXXVIII.
If we could read our fate in your bright leaves
Of men and empires, it's something to forgive,
In our desire to be great,
Our destinies surpass their human condition,
And establish a connection with you; for you are A Beauty and a Mystery, and create
In us, there's a love and respect from a distance,
Fortune, Fame, Power, and Life have called themselves a Star.[331]
LXXXIX.
But breathless, just like we become when we feel the most; [332]
And quiet, as we stand in thoughts that run too deep:—
All of Heaven and Earth are quiet: From the high host
Of stars, to the calm lake and mountain shore, Everything is focused in an intense life,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is wasted,
But has a part of existence and a sense Regarding everything that is created and protected by the Creator. [333]
[272]XC.
In solitude, where we are least alone;
A truth that melts within us then, And cleanses from within: it has a quality,
The essence and origin of Music, which reveals[kd]
Endless peace, and adds a spellbinding touch
Similar to the legendary region of Cytherea,[334]
Binding everything with beauty; it would disarm The specter of Death, if it had real power to inflict harm.
XCI.
His altar the high places, and the peak[273] Of earth-gazing mountains, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ — and thus take
A well-maintained and open temple, a place to search for
The Spirit, for whom shrines are feeble Made by human hands. Come, and compare
Columns and idol homes—Goth or Greek—
In the realms of nature's worship, both earth and sky—
Don't get attached to beloved places that limit your prayers!
XCII.
And Storm, and Darkness, you are incredibly powerful,
Yet beautiful in your strength, just like the light Of a woman's dark eye!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Far ahead,
From peak to peak, the rocky cliffs among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one solitary cloud,
But every mountain has now found its voice,
And Jura replies, through her misty veil,
Back to the cheerful Alps, calling out to her!
XCIII.
You weren't sent to sleep! Just let me be.[274] A participant in your intense and distant joy,—
A part of the storm and of you![kf]
How the glowing lake shines, a phosphorescent sea,[kg]
And the heavy rain descends to the ground joyfully!
And now it's dark again,—and now, the joy The loud hills shake with their mountain joy,
As if they rejoiced over the birth of a young earthquake.[kh]
XCIV.
In hate, whose deep layers are so intertwined,
That they can't meet again, even though it breaks their hearts: Although in their souls, which thus opposed each other, Love was the true source of the passionate anger.[275] Which damaged the vitality of their life, and then left:—
Itself has ended, but leaving them with a legacy. Throughout the years, all winters fight a battle within themselves:[kj]
XCV.
The strongest of the storms has taken its stand:
Here, not just one, but many, take their turn,
And toss their thunderbolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and casting around: of all the band,
The brightest light has split through these open hills. His lightning strikes—like he knows what he's doing,
That in such gaps as Desolation created,
There, the hot shaft should destroy whatever was lurking inside.
XCVI.
With night, clouds, and thunder—and a Soul
To make these sensations and emotions felt, well, maybe Things that have kept me alert; the distant sound Of your leaving voices, is the hill[338]
Of what in me is restless—if I take a break.[276] But where are you, O Tempests! What is the goal? Are you like those inside the human heart?
Or do you, in the end, find a high nest like eagles?
XCVII.
What is deepest within me—if I could unleash My thoughts when I express them, and so I share them. Soul—heart—mind—passions—feelings—strong or weak—
Everything I would have wanted, and everything I want,
Bear, know, feel—and yet breathe—into one word,
And that one word would be Lightning, I would say; But as it stands, I live and die without anyone hearing me,
With a silent thought, concealing it like a sword.
XCVIII.
With a breath full of fragrance and cheeks full of color—
Laughing off the clouds with playful mockery,
And living as if the earth had no graves,—
And as the day begins to brighten, we can continue. The journey of our lives: and so I,
Still on your shores, beautiful Leman! may find room
And food for thought, don't overlook it. There’s a lot that can make us think if we reflect on it properly.
XCIX.
Your air is the fresh breath of passionate Thought; Your trees are rooted in Love; the snow above,[kk]
The glaciers have captured his colors,[278] And the sunset turns them into shades of pink __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
By rays that rest there affectionately: the rocks,[kl]
The lasting cliffs speak of Love here, who searched In them, a shelter from life's ups and downs,
Which stir and irritate the soul with hope that entices, then ridicules.
C.
Eternal Love, who rises to a throne here
To which the paths are mountains; where God
There is a universal Life and Light, as demonstrated[kn]
Not just on those peaks, nor alone In the quiet cave and forest; over the flower His eye is sparkling, and his breath has blown,
His gentle, summery breath, whose gentle power[ko]
Endures the power of storms in their darkest moments.
CI.
Which are his shadow above, and the loud roar[279] Of torrents, where he listens, to the vines Which slope leads his green path down to the shore,
Where the bent waters come together to meet him and worship, Kissing his feet softly and the Wood,
The cover of ancient trees, with their gray trunks,
But light departs, as youthful as joy, remains where it was,[kp]
Offering him, and those with him, a busy solitude.
CII.
And fairy-shaped and multicolored things,
Who worships him with melodies sweeter than words,[kq]
And joyfully spread their happy wings,
Fearless and full of life: the rush of springs,
And the fall of tall fountains, and the curve Of rustling branches, and the bud that blooms
The quickest idea of Beauty, here expand Connecting—and created by Love—for one great purpose.
CIII.
And turn his heart into a spirit; he who knows
[280] That gentle mystery, will love even more; For this is Love's break, where the troubles of foolish men, And the world's waste has pushed him away from those,[kr]
For it's in his nature to either move forward or die; He doesn’t stay still; he either decays or grows. Into an endless blessing, that may compete With the eternal lights, in its forever!
CIV.
Where early love freed Psyche's heart,[342]
And made it beautiful: it is lonely,
And wonderful, and deep, and has a sound,
And understanding, and the vision of sweetness; here the Rhone He has laid out a couch, and the Alps have raised a throne.
CV.
Of names that have been passed down to you; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Mortals who searched and discovered, through perilous paths,
A way to achieve lasting Fame:
[281] They had enormous intellects, and their lofty goal Was, like Titan, piling on bold doubts
Thoughts that should summon thunder and fire Of Heaven once again attacked—if Heaven, meanwhile,
Only a man and his research could do more than just smile.
CVI.
Most changeable in desires, but in thought A wit that is versatile—playful, serious, wise, or outrageous—
Historian, storyteller, philosopher, combined;[ks]
He spread himself among people,
The versatile nature of their talents: But his own[282] Breathed mostly in mockery,—which, like the wind, It blew wherever it wanted, leaving everything lying flat,—
Now to overthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.[344]
CVII.
And gaining wisdom with each year of study,
In meditation lived—through learning crafted,
And crafted his weapon with a sharp edge,
Undermining a serious belief with a serious sneer; The king of irony, that master spell,[283] This enraged his enemies, which stemmed from their fear[ku][345]
And condemned him to the zealot's quick Hell,
Which answers all doubts so eloquently.
CVIII.
If deserved, the penalty is paid;
It’s not our place to judge, let alone condemn; The time will come when these things will be made. Known to everyone— or hope and fear eased By sleeping, on a single pillow, in the dust,[kv]
Which, we are sure, must be decayed; And when it comes back to life, as we believe,[346]
It will be to be forgiven—or face what is fair.
[284]CIX.
Until it feels like it continues indefinitely.
The clouds above me lead to the white Alps, And I need to examine them and check whatever[347]
I might be allowed to do this as I adjust my steps. To their largest and expanding area, where
The earth pulls the forces of air into her embrace.
CX.
Since the fierce Carthaginian almost defeated you,
To the final circle of the Chiefs and Sages
Who glorify your sacred pages; You were the throne and grave of empires; still,[348]
[285] The source where the exhausted Mind finds relief
Her thirst for knowledge, drinking in all she could,
Flows from the everlasting source of Rome's imperial hill.
CXI.
Revitalized without any kind support:—to feel
We are not what we used to be, and to consider
We aren't who we ought to be—and to strengthen The heart against itself; and to hide,
With a proud sense of caution, whether it's love, hate, or anything else,—
Passion or emotion, intention, sorrow, or enthusiasm,—
Which is the oppressive Spirit of our thoughts,
It’s a serious challenge for the soul:—No matter, it’s something we learn.[349]
CXII.
The colors of the scenes that flash by, [kx]
I would take the opportunity, while passing by, to charm.[286] My chest, or that of others, for a bit. Fame is the desire of youth, but I am not[ky]
So young that I pay attention to whether men are frowning or smiling, As the loss or reward of a glorious fate;—
I stood and stand alone—whether remembered or forgotten.
CXIII.
Neither did I force a smile on my face, nor did I shout out loud. In celebration of an echo: in the crowd
They couldn't consider me one of those—I stood Among them, but not part of them__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—in a covering. Of thoughts that weren’t their own, yet still could,
If I hadn't disciplined my mind, which then controlled itself. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
CXIV.[287]
But let’s separate as fair enemies; I truly believe, Although I haven't found them, there might be Words are objects—hopes that won't let you down,
And virtues that are compassionate, nor intertwine Traps for the failing; I would also consider Over the griefs of others that some genuinely feel sad about—__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
That two, or one, are nearly what they appear to be,—
Goodness is not just a name, and Happiness is not merely a dream.
CXV.[352]
My daughter! This will be the end with your name!—
I don’t see you—I don’t hear you—but none I can be so wrapped up in you; You are the Friend
To those to whom the shadows of distant years reach:
Although you should never see my forehead, My voice will blend with your future visions,
And reach into your heart—when mine is cold—
A token and a tone, even from your father's style.
CXVI.
Your dawn of small joys—sitting and watching
Almost your very growth—seeing you catch Understanding of things—marvels still unknown to you!
To gently hold you on my lap, And place a parent's kiss on your soft cheek,—
It seems this wasn’t meant for me—
But this was just part of my nature:—just as it is,
I don't know what's there, but it's something like this.
CXVII.
I know you will love me, even though my name
[289] Should be closed off from you, like a spell still full With despair and a shattered promise:
Though the grave separates us, it would be the same, I know that you will love me—although to drain[354]
My blood from your existence was a goal,
And achieving that would be pointless,—
You would still love me, still hold on to that more than life itself.
CXVIII.
And raised in turmoil! Of your father These were the elements—and so were yours. There are still those around you, but your fire Will be more balanced, and your hope much greater!
May your peaceful sleep be sweet! Over the sea
And from the mountains where I now breathe,
I would gladly send such a blessing your way, As I sigh, I think about how much you could have meant to me![la]
FOOTNOTES
[275] {209} [D'Alembert (Jean-le-Rond, philosopher, mathematician, and belletrist, 1717-1783) had recently lost his friend, Mlle. (Claire Françoise) L'Espinasse, who died May 23, 1776. Frederick prescribes quelque problème bien difficile à résoudre as a remedy for vain regrets (Oeuvres de Frédéric II., Roi de Prusse, 1790, xiv. 64, 65).]
[275] {209} [D'Alembert (Jean-le-Rond, philosopher, mathematician, and writer, 1717-1783) had recently lost his friend, Mlle. (Claire Françoise) L'Espinasse, who passed away on May 23, 1776. Frederick suggests a very challenging problem to solve as a way to cope with pointless regrets (Oeuvres de Frédéric II., Roi de Prusse, 1790, xiv. 64, 65).]
[276] {215} ["If you turn over the earlier pages of the Huntingdon peerage story, you will see how common a name Ada was in the early Plantagenet days. I found it in my own pedigree in the reigns of John and Henry.... It is short, ancient, vocalic, and had been in my family; for which reasons I gave it to my daughter."—Letter to Murray, Ravenna, October 8, 1820.
[276] {215} ["If you look back at the earlier pages of the Huntingdon peerage story, you’ll notice how common the name Ada was in the early Plantagenet era. I found it in my own family history during the reigns of John and Henry.... It’s short, old, easy to pronounce, and has been in my family, which is why I chose it for my daughter."—Letter to Murray, Ravenna, October 8, 1820.
The Honourable Augusta Ada Byron was born December 10, 1815; was married July 8, 1835, to William King Noel (1805-1893), eighth Baron King, created Earl of Lovelace, 1838; and died November 27, 1852. There were three children of the marriage—Viscount Ockham (d. 1862), the present Earl of Lovelace, and the Lady Anna Isabella Noel, who was married to Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, Esq., in 1869.
The Honorable Augusta Ada Byron was born on December 10, 1815; she married William King Noel (1805-1893), the eighth Baron King and created Earl of Lovelace in 1838, on July 8, 1835; and she died on November 27, 1852. They had three children—Viscount Ockham (d. 1862), the current Earl of Lovelace, and Lady Anna Isabella Noel, who married Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, Esq., in 1869.
"The Countess of Lovelace," wrote a contributor to the Examiner, December 4, 1852, "was thoroughly original, and the poet's temperament was all that was hers in common with her father. Her genius, for genius she possessed, was not poetic, but metaphysical and mathematical, her mind having been in the constant practice of investigation, and with rigour and exactness." Of her devotion to science, and her original powers as a mathematician, her translation and explanatory notes of F. L. Menabrea's Notices sur le machine Analytique de Mr. Babbage, 1842, a defence of the famous "calculating machine," remain as evidence.
"The Countess of Lovelace," wrote a contributor to the Examiner, December 4, 1852, "was truly original, and the poet's temperament was the only thing she shared with her father. Her genius, and she certainly had one, was not poetic but more metaphysical and mathematical, as her mind had been constantly engaged in investigation with rigor and precision." Her dedication to science and her unique abilities as a mathematician are evident in her translation and notes on F. L. Menabrea's Notices sur le machine Analytique de Mr. Babbage, 1842, which is a defense of the famous "calculating machine."
"Those who view mathematical science not merely as a vast body of abstract and immutable truths, ... but as possessing a yet deeper interest for the human race, when it is remembered that this science constitutes the language through which alone we can adequately express the great facts of the natural world ... those who thus think on mathematical truth as the instrument through which the weak mind of man can most effectually read his Creator's works, will regard with especial interest all that can tend to facilitate the translation of its principles into explicit practical forms." So, for the moment turning away from algebraic formulæ and abstruse calculations, wrote Ada, Lady Lovelace, in her twenty-eighth year. See "Translator's Notes," signed A. A. L., to A Sketch of the Analytical Engine invented by Charles Babbage, Esq., London, 1843.
"People who see math not just as a huge collection of unchanging truths, but as having a deeper significance for humanity, will remember that this science is the only way we can fully express the major facts of the natural world. Those who think of mathematical truth as a tool that allows the limited understanding of humans to effectively interpret their Creator's works will be particularly interested in anything that helps translate these principles into clear, practical forms." So, momentarily shifting away from algebraic formulas and complex calculations, wrote Ada, Lady Lovelace, at the age of twenty-eight. See "Translator's Notes," signed A. A. L., to A Sketch of the Analytical Engine invented by Charles Babbage, Esq., London, 1843.
It would seem, however, that she "wore her learning lightly as a flower." "Her manners [Examiner], her tastes, her accomplishments, in many of which, music especially, she was proficient, were feminine in the nicest sense of the word." Unlike her father in features, or in the bent of her mind, she inherited his mental vigour and intensity of purpose. Like him, she died in her thirty-seventh year, and at her own request her coffin was placed by his in the vault at Hucknall Torkard. (See, too, Athenæum, December 4, 1852, and Gent. Mag., January, 1853.)]
It seems, however, that she "carried her knowledge lightly like a flower." "Her manners [Examiner], her tastes, her skills, particularly in music where she excelled, were feminine in the best sense of the word." Unlike her father in appearance or mindset, she inherited his mental strength and determination. Like him, she passed away at the age of thirty-seven, and at her request, her coffin was placed next to his in the vault at Hucknall Torkard. (See, too, Athenæum, December 4, 1852, and Gent. Mag., January, 1853.)
"Out of this somewhat forced simile," says the editor (John Wright) of Lord Byron's Poetical Works, issued in 1832, "by a judicious transposition of the comparison, and by the substitution of the more definite waves for seas, Lord Byron's clear and noble thought has been produced." But the literary artifice, if such there be, is subordinate to the emotion of the writer. It is in movement, progress, flight, that the sufferer experiences a relief from the poignancy of his anguish.]
"From this somewhat forced comparison," says the editor (John Wright) of Lord Byron's Poetical Works, published in 1832, "by wisely reshaping the analogy, and by replacing the broader term seas with the more specific waves, Lord Byron's clear and noble idea has emerged." However, any literary technique here, if it exists, takes a backseat to the writer's emotion. It's in movement, growth, and escape that the person suffering finds some relief from the sharpness of their pain.
[gi] And the rent canvass tattering——.—[C.]
[279] ["The metaphor is derived from a torrent-bed, which, when dried up, serves for a sandy or shingly path."—Note by H. F. Tozer, Childe Harold, 1885, p. 257. Or, perhaps, the imagery has been suggested by the action of a flood, which ploughs a channel for itself through fruitful soil, and, when the waters are spent, leaves behind it "a sterile track," which does, indeed, permit the traveller to survey the desolation, but serves no other purpose of use or beauty.]
[279] ["The metaphor comes from a torrent bed that, when it dries up, becomes a sandy or gravelly path."—Note by H. F. Tozer, Childe Harold, 1885, p. 257. Or, maybe the imagery is inspired by the way a flood carves a channel through fertile soil, and once the waters recede, it leaves behind "a barren path" that allows the traveler to see the devastation but has no other purpose for utility or beauty.]
[280] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 1, lines 51, 52—
[280] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 1, lines 51, 52—
It does; but actions define our time."]
[281] [It is the poet's fond belief that he can find the true reality in "the things that are not seen."
[281] [The poet firmly believes that he can discover the true reality in "the things that are not seen."
Nurtured by Immortality.
"Life is but thought," and by the power of the imagination he thinks to "gain a being more intense," to add a cubit to his spiritual stature. Byron professes the same faith in The Dream (stanza i. lines 19-22), which also belongs to the summer of 1816—
"Life is just a thought," and with the strength of his imagination, he believes he can "become a more intense being," to elevate his spiritual presence. Byron shares this belief in The Dream (stanza i. lines 19-22), which also dates back to the summer of 1816—
At this stage of his poetic growth, in part converted by Shelley, in part by Wordsworth as preached by Shelley, Byron, so to speak, "got religion," went over for a while to the Church of the mystics. There was, too, a compulsion from within. Life had gone wrong with him, and, driven from memory and reflection, he looks for redemption in the new earth which Imagination and Nature held in store.]
At this point in his poetic development, influenced partly by Shelley and partly by Wordsworth as presented by Shelley, Byron, so to speak, "found faith," and for a time, aligned himself with the Church of the mystics. There was also an inner drive. Life had taken a turn for the worse for him, and, pushed away from memory and self-reflection, he sought redemption in the new world that Imagination and Nature promised.
[282] [Compare The Dream, viii. 6, seq.—
He consumed poisons, and they had no effect,
But were a type of nutrition."]
[283] [Of himself as distinct from Harold he will say no more. On the tale or spell of his own tragedy is set the seal of silence; but of Harold, the idealized Byron, he once more takes up the parable. In stanzas viii.-xv. he puts the reader in possession of some natural changes, and unfolds the development of thought and feeling which had befallen the Pilgrim since last they had journeyed together. The youthful Harold had sounded the depth of joy and woe. Man delighted him not—no, nor woman neither. For a time, however, he had cured himself of this trick of sadness. He had drunk new life from the fountain of natural beauty and antique lore, and had returned to take his part in the world, inly armed against dangers and temptations. And in the world he had found beauty, and fame had found him. What wonder that he had done as others use, and then discovered that he could not fare as others fared? Henceforth there remained no comfort but in nature, no refuge but in exile!]
[283] [He won't say anything more about himself apart from Harold. The heavy silence hangs over his own tragedy; however, he picks up the tale of Harold, the idealized version of Byron, once again. In stanzas viii.-xv., he shares some natural changes and reveals the evolution of thought and feelings that the Pilgrim has experienced since they last traveled together. The young Harold had experienced the extremes of joy and sorrow. Humanity did not please him—neither men nor women. For a while, though, he managed to shake off this sadness. He drew renewed life from the beauty of nature and ancient stories, returning to play his part in the world, internally fortified against dangers and temptations. In the world, he discovered beauty, and fame found him. It's no surprise that he acted like others and then realized that he couldn't live like them. From then on, there was no solace except in nature, no escape but in exile!]
To take it? Who can firmly look at it.—[MS.]
[284] [The Temple of Fame is on the summit of a mountain; "Clouds overcome it;" but to the uplifted eye the mists dispel, and behold the goddess pointing to her star—the star of glory!]
[284] [The Temple of Fame is at the top of a mountain; "Clouds cover it;" but to the raised eye, the fog clears away, and look, the goddess is pointing to her star—the star of glory!]
[285] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 2, lines 50-58—
[285] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 2, lines 50-58—
Nor did he look at the earth with human eyes;
My happiness, my sorrows, my desires, and my strengths
Made me a stranger, even though I looked the same,
"I had no sympathy for living beings."
Compare, too, with stanzas xiii., xiv., ibid., lines 58-72.]
Compare, too, with stanzas xiii., xiv., ibid., lines 58-72.]
Where there was Ocean—there he felt at home.—[MS.]
——loved the stars.—[MS. erased.]
Restless and tired, cold and exhausting.—[MS.]
[288] [Stanzas xvii., xviii., were written after a visit to Waterloo. When Byron was in Brussels, a friend of his boyhood, Pryse Lockhart Gordon, called upon him and offered his services. He escorted him to the field of Waterloo, and received him at his house in the evening. Mrs. Gordon produced her album, and begged for an autograph. The next morning Byron copied into the album the two stanzas which he had written the day before. Lines 5-8 of the second stanza (xviii.) ran thus—
[288] [Stanzas xvii., xviii., were written after a visit to Waterloo. When Byron was in Brussels, a childhood friend, Pryse Lockhart Gordon, came to see him and offered his help. He took Byron to the battlefield at Waterloo and welcomed him to his home in the evening. Mrs. Gordon brought out her album and asked for an autograph. The next morning, Byron copied the two stanzas he had written the day before into the album. Lines 5-8 of the second stanza (xviii.) went like this—
Then tore with its bloody beak the deadly ground,
"Pierced by the arrows of united nations through ..."
The autograph suggested an illustration to an artist, R. R. Reinagle (1775-1863), "a pencil-sketch of a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons." Gordon showed the vignette to Byron, who wrote in reply, "Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am; eagles and all birds of prey attack with their talons and not with their beaks, and I have altered the line thus—
The autograph suggested an illustration to an artist, R. R. Reinagle (1775-1863), "a pencil-sketch of a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons." Gordon showed the vignette to Byron, who wrote back, "Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am; eagles and all birds of prey attack with their talons and not with their beaks, and I have changed the line to—
(See Personal Memoirs of Pryse Lockhart Gordon, 1830, ii. 327, 328.)]
(See Personal Memoirs of Pryse Lockhart Gordon, 1830, ii. 327, 328.)
[ha] ——and still must be.—[MS.]
[hb] ——the fatal Waterloo.—[MS.]
Then pecked with a bloody beak at the torn land.—[MS. erased.]
Then tore with bloody beak——.—[MS.]
[289] [With this "obstinate questioning" of the final import and outcome of "that world-famous Waterloo," compare the Ode from the French, "We do not curse thee, Waterloo," written in 1815, and published by John Murray in Poems (1816). Compare, too, The Age of Waterloo, v. 93, "Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo!" and Don Juan, Canto VIII. stanzas xlviii.-l., etc. Shelley, too, in his sonnet on the Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte (1816), utters a like lament (Shelley's Works, 1895, ii. 385)—
[289] [With this "persistent questioning" of the ultimate significance and outcome of "that famous Waterloo," consider the Ode from the French, "We do not curse thee, Waterloo," written in 1815, and published by John Murray in Poems (1816). Also, look at The Age of Waterloo, v. 93, "Oh, bloody and utterly pointless Waterloo!" and Don Juan, Canto VIII. stanzas xlviii.-l., etc. Shelley, too, in his sonnet on the Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte (1816), expresses a similar lament (Shelley's Works, 1895, ii. 385)—
That virtue has a more everlasting enemy. Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime,
"And damn Faith, the worst thing ever created by Time."
Even Wordsworth, after due celebration of this "victory sublime," in his sonnet Emperors and Kings, etc. (Works, 1889, p. 557), solemnly admonishes the "powers"—
Even Wordsworth, after properly celebrating this "sublime victory," in his sonnet Emperors and Kings, etc. (Works, 1889, p. 557), seriously warns the "powers"—
But the Laureate had no misgivings, and in The Poet's Pilgrimage, iv. 60, celebrates the national apotheosis—
But the Laureate had no doubts, and in The Poet's Pilgrimage, iv. 60, celebrates the national honor—
Has achieved favorable peace through just war; Not only this, but also that in every country
The fading rule of violence might come to an end.
Has there ever been a war crowned with such blessed victory! Did victory ever come with such rewards!"]
[290] [The most vivid and the best authenticated account of the Duchess of Richmond's ball, which took place June 15, the eve of the Battle of Quatrebras, in the duke's house in the Rue de la Blanchisserie, is to be found in Lady de Ros's (Lady Georgiana Lennox) Personal Recollections of the Great Duke of Wellington, which appeared first in Murray's Magazine, January and February, 1889, and were republished as A Sketch of the Life of Georgiana, Lady de Ros, by her daughter, the Hon. Mrs. J. R. Swinton (John Murray, 1893). "My mother's now famous ball," writes Lady de Ros (A Sketch, etc., pp. 122, 123), "took place in a large room on the ground-floor on the left of the entrance, connected with the rest of the house by an ante-room. It had been used by the coachbuilder, from whom the house was hired, to put carriages in, but it was papered before we came there; and I recollect the paper—a trellis pattern with roses.... When the duke arrived, rather late, at the ball, I was dancing, but at once went up to him to ask about the rumours. 'Yes, they are true; we are off to-morrow.' This terrible news was circulated directly, and while some of the officers hurried away, others remained at the ball, and actually had not time to change their clothes, but fought in evening costume."]
[290] [The most vivid and well-documented account of the Duchess of Richmond's ball, which happened on June 15, the night before the Battle of Quatrebras, in the duke's house on Rue de la Blanchisserie, can be found in Lady de Ros's (Lady Georgiana Lennox) Personal Recollections of the Great Duke of Wellington, first published in Murray's Magazine in January and February 1889, and later republished as A Sketch of the Life of Georgiana, Lady de Ros by her daughter, the Hon. Mrs. J. R. Swinton (John Murray, 1893). "My mother's now famous ball," writes Lady de Ros (A Sketch, etc., pp. 122, 123), "took place in a large room on the ground floor to the left of the entrance, connected to the rest of the house by an ante-room. It had been used by the coachbuilder, from whom the house was rented, to store carriages, but it had been wallpapered before we arrived; and I remember the pattern—a trellis with roses.... When the duke arrived, a bit late, at the ball, I was dancing, but I immediately went up to him to ask about the rumors. 'Yes, they are true; we are leaving tomorrow.' This shocking news spread quickly, and while some of the officers rushed off, others stayed at the ball, not even having time to change their clothes, and ended up fighting in evening attire."]
Get ready—here it comes—the loud blast of the cannon.—[C.]
[291] [Frederick William, Duke of Brunswick (1771-1815), brother to Caroline, Princess of Wales, and nephew of George III., fighting at Quatrebras in the front of the line, "fell almost in the beginning of the battle." His father, Charles William Ferdinand, born 1735, the author of the fatal manifesto against the army of the French Republic (July 15, 1792), was killed at Auerbach, October 14, 1806. In the plan of the Duke of Richmond's house, which Lady de Ros published in her Recollections, the actual spot is marked (the door of the ante-room leading to the ball-room) where Lady Georgiana Lennox took leave of the Duke of Brunswick. "It was a dreadful evening," she writes, "taking leave of friends and acquaintances, many never to be seen again. The Duke of Brunswick, as he took leave of me ... made me a civil speech as to the Brunswickers being sure to distinguish themselves after 'the honour' done them by my having accompanied the Duke of Wellington to their review! I remember being quite provoked with poor Lord Hay, a dashing, merry youth, full of military ardour, whom I knew very well, for his delight at the idea of going into action ... and the first news we had on the 16th was that he and the Duke of Brunswick were killed."—A Sketch, etc., pp. 132, 133.]
[291] [Frederick William, Duke of Brunswick (1771-1815), brother of Caroline, Princess of Wales, and nephew of George III, fought at Quatrebras at the front of the line and "fell almost at the start of the battle." His father, Charles William Ferdinand, born in 1735, was the author of the infamous manifesto against the army of the French Republic (July 15, 1792) and was killed at Auerbach on October 14, 1806. In the plan of the Duke of Richmond's house, published by Lady de Ros in her Recollections, the specific spot where Lady Georgiana Lennox said goodbye to the Duke of Brunswick is marked (the door of the ante-room leading to the ball-room). "It was a terrible evening," she writes, "saying goodbye to friends and acquaintances, many of whom I would never see again. The Duke of Brunswick, as he bid me farewell... made a polite comment about how the Brunswickers would surely distinguish themselves after 'the honor' of my having accompanied the Duke of Wellington to their review! I remember being quite annoyed with poor Lord Hay, a bold, cheerful young man, full of military enthusiasm, whom I knew well, for his excitement about going into action... and the first news we received on the 16th was that he and the Duke of Brunswick were killed."—A Sketch, etc., pp. 132, 133.]
And the expected revenge for a lord so cherished
As for the one who died at Jena—whom so well
His loving heart had grieved for many years. Stirred him to brave anger that nothing could calm.—[MS. erased.]
[hj] ——tremors of distress.—[MS.]
Or quietly murmuring with pale lips—"The enemy—They're coming, they're coming."—[MS.]
Or whispering with pale lips—"The Desolation has come."—[MS. erased.]
[ho] But chiefly——.—[MS.]
[293] {234} [The Hon. Frederick Howard (1785-1815), third son of Frederick, fifth Earl of Carlisle, fell late in the evening of the 18th of June, in a final charge of the left square of the French Guard, in which Vivian brought up Howard's hussars against the French. Neither French infantry nor cavalry gave way, and as the Hanoverians fired but did not charge, a desperate combat ensued, in which Howard fell and many of the 10th were killed.—Waterloo: The Downfall of the First Napoleon, G. Hooper, 1861, p. 236.
[293] {234} [The Hon. Frederick Howard (1785-1815), the third son of Frederick, the fifth Earl of Carlisle, was killed late in the evening on June 18th during a final charge of the left square of the French Guard. Vivian led Howard's hussars against the French forces. Neither the French infantry nor the cavalry retreated, and since the Hanoverians fired but did not charge, a fierce battle broke out, resulting in Howard's death and the deaths of many from the 10th.—Waterloo: The Downfall of the First Napoleon, G. Hooper, 1861, p. 236.
Southey, who had visited the field of Waterloo, September, 1815, in his Poet's Pilgrimage (iii. 49), dedicates a pedestrian stanza to his memory—
Southey, who visited the battlefield of Waterloo in September 1815, in his Poet's Pilgrimage (iii. 49), dedicates a simple stanza to his memory—
Was Howard's body carried by loyal hands; And not to be confused with the dead,
Here in a separate grave, we lay with respect,
Until then, his honored remains are over the seas "Arrived in England, where they are at peace."
[294] [Autumn had been beforehand with spring in the work of renovation.
[294] [Fall had arrived before spring in the effort of renewal.
Low pansies turned their purple toward the sun,
"And the delicate poppy bloomed on the grave."
Poet's Pilgrimage, iii. 36.
Poet's Pilgrimage, 3.36.
But the contrast between the continuous action of nature and the doom of the unreturning dead, which does not greatly concern Southey, fills Byron with a fierce desire to sum the price of victory. He flings in the face of the vain-glorious mourners the bitter reality of their abiding loss. It was this prophetic note, "the voice of one crying in the wilderness," which sounded in and through Byron's rhetoric to the men of his own generation.]
But the difference between the ongoing pace of nature and the fate of the irretrievably dead, which doesn't bother Southey much, fills Byron with a strong urge to calculate the cost of triumph. He throws in the faces of the proud mourners the harsh truth of their lasting loss. It was this prophetic tone, "the voice of one crying in the wilderness," that resonated throughout Byron's rhetoric to the people of his own time.
[295] [So, too, Coleridge. "Have you never seen a stick broken in the middle, and yet cohering by the rind? The fibres, half of them actually broken and the rest sprained, and, though tough, unsustaining? Oh, many, many are the broken-hearted for those who know what the moral and practical heart of the man is."—Anima Poetæ, 1895, p. 303.]
[295] [Similarly, Coleridge said, "Have you ever seen a stick broken in the middle but still holding together by the outer layer? The fibers, half of them actually broken and the rest strained, are tough yet unable to support? Oh, there are so many broken-hearted people because they understand what the true moral and practical heart of a person is."—Anima Poetæ, 1895, p. 303.]
[296] [According to Lady Blessington (Conversations, p. 176), Byron maintained that the image of the broken mirror had in some mysterious way been suggested by the following quatrain which Curran had once repeated to him:—
[296] [According to Lady Blessington (Conversations, p. 176), Byron claimed that the idea of the broken mirror had somehow been inspired by the following quatrain that Curran had once recited to him:—
Sits at the altar she built for sorrow,
And discovers the place where tears flow endlessly.
But, as M. Darmesteter points out, the true source of inspiration was a passage in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy—"the book," as Byron maintained, "in my opinion most useful to a man who wishes to acquire the reputation of being well-read with the least trouble" (Life, p. 48). Burton is discoursing on injury and long-suffering. "'Tis a Hydra's head contention; the more they strive, the more they may; and as Praxiteles did by his glass [see Cardan, De Consolatione, lib. iii.], when he saw a scurvy face in it, break it in pieces; but for the one he saw, he saw many more as bad in a moment; for one injury done, they provoke another cum fanore, and twenty enemies for one."—Anatomy of Melancholy, 1893, ii. 228. Compare, too, Carew's poem, The Spark, lines 23-26—
But as M. Darmesteter points out, the real source of inspiration was a passage in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy—"the book," as Byron said, "that I think is most helpful for someone who wants to seem well-read without much effort" (Life, p. 48). Burton discusses injury and long suffering. "'Tis a Hydra's head contention; the more they fight, the more they face; and just like Praxiteles did with his mirror [see Cardan, De Consolatione, lib. iii.], when he saw an ugly face in it, he smashed it; but in doing so, he saw many more equally bad in an instant; for one injury leads to another cum fanore, and twenty enemies for one."—Anatomy of Melancholy, 1893, ii. 228. Also, check out Carew's poem, The Spark, lines 23-26—
While it is whole, it only reflects one face,
But if they are cracked or broken, they are shown Many half-faces, which were originally one.
Anderson's British Poets, 1793, iii. 703.]
Anderson's British Poets, 1793, vol. 3, p. 703.]
[297] [The "tale" or reckoning of the Psalmist, the span of threescore years and ten, is contrasted with the tale or reckoning of the age of those who fell at Waterloo. A "fleeting span" the Psalmist's; but, reckoning by Waterloo, "more than enough." Waterloo grudges even what the Psalmist allows.]
[297] [The "story" or account of the Psalmist, which is a duration of seventy years, is compared to the story or account of the age of those who died at Waterloo. The Psalmist's time is a "fleeting span"; however, by Waterloo's measure, it's "more than enough." Waterloo even begrudges what the Psalmist accepts.]
I had a relative fighting on that day. —[MS.]
[298] [Byron seems to have been unable to make up his mind about Napoleon. "It is impossible not to be dazzled and overwhelmed by his character and career," he wrote to Moore (March 17, 1815), when his Héros de Roman, as he called him, had broken open his "captive's cage" and was making victorious progress to the capital. In the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, which was written in April, 1814, after the first abdication at Fontainebleau, the dominant note is astonishment mingled with contempt. It is the lamentation over a fallen idol. In these stanzas (xxxvi.-xlv.) he bears witness to the man's essential greatness, and, with manifest reference to his own personality and career, attributes his final downfall to the peculiar constitution of his genius and temper. A year later (1817), in the Fourth Canto (stanzas lxxxix.-xcii.), he passes a severe sentence. Napoleon's greatness is swallowed up in weakness. He is a "kind of bastard Cæsar," self-vanquished, the creature and victim of vanity. Finally, in The Age of Bronze, sections iii.-vi., there is a reversion to the same theme, the tragic irony of the rise and fall of the "king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave."
[298] [Byron seemed conflicted about Napoleon. "It's impossible not to be dazzled and overwhelmed by his character and career," he wrote to Moore (March 17, 1815), when his "Heroic Figure," as he called him, had broken free from his "captive's cage" and was making triumphant progress to the capital. In the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte, written in April 1814 after the first abdication at Fontainebleau, the main theme is a mix of astonishment and contempt. It is a lament for a fallen idol. In these stanzas (xxxvi.-xlv.) he acknowledges the man's inherent greatness, and, with clear reference to his own personality and career, attributes his eventual downfall to the unique traits of his genius and temperament. A year later (1817), in the Fourth Canto (stanzas lxxxix.-xcii.), he delivers a harsh judgment. Napoleon's greatness is overshadowed by weakness. He is described as a "kind of bastard Caesar," self-defeated, a product and victim of vanity. Lastly, in The Age of Bronze, sections iii.-vi., he returns to the same theme, highlighting the tragic irony of the rise and fall of the "king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave."
As a schoolboy at Harrow, Byron fought for the preservation of Napoleon's bust, and he was ever ready, in defiance of national feeling and national prejudice, to celebrate him as "the glorious chief;" but when it came to the point, he did not "want him here," victorious over England, and he could not fail to see, with insight quickened by self-knowledge, that greatness and genius possess no charm against littleness and commonness, and that the "glory of the terrestrial" meets with its own reward. The moral is obvious, and as old as history; but herein lay the secret of Byron's potency, that he could remint and issue in fresh splendour the familiar coinage of the world's wit. Moreover, he lived in a great age, when great truths are born again, and appear in a new light.]
As a student at Harrow, Byron advocated for the preservation of Napoleon's bust, always eager, despite national sentiment and biases, to honor him as "the glorious chief." However, when it came down to it, he didn’t want him here, triumphing over England. He clearly recognized, with a self-aware insight, that greatness and genius offer no appeal against pettiness and mediocrity, and that the "glory of the earthly" receives its own consequences. The lesson is clear and as old as time; yet, this was the source of Byron's power: he could reforge and present in fresh brilliance the well-known currency of the world's wisdom. Additionally, he lived in a remarkable era where significant truths are reborn and seen in a new light.
[299] [The stanza was written while Napoleon was still under the guardianship of Admiral Sir George Cockburn, and before Sir Hudson Lowe had landed at St. Helena; but complaints were made from the first that imperial honours which were paid to him by his own suite were not accorded by the British authorities.]
[299] [The stanza was written while Napoleon was still being watched over by Admiral Sir George Cockburn, and before Sir Hudson Lowe arrived at St. Helena; however, complaints started right away that the imperial honors given to him by his own entourage were not respected by the British authorities.]
Has never been more common in people's conversations than it is now.—[MS.]
[hx] Which be it wisdom, weakness——.—[MS.]
With a calm but not unfeeling gaze.—[MS. erased.]
That real habitual disdain——.—[MS.]
[id] ——the hate of all below.—[MS.]
[ie] ——on his single head.—[MS.]
[300] [For the archaic use of "battles" for "battalions," compare Macbeth, act v. sc. 4, line 4; and Scott's Lord of the Isles, vi. 10—
[300] [For the old use of "battles" meaning "battalions," see Macbeth, act v. sc. 4, line 4; and Scott's Lord of the Isles, vi. 10—
The armies of King Robert are defeated."]
[ii] ——are shredless tatters now.—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ ——are shredless rags now.—[MS.]
[ik] ——their hearts were far more brave.—[MS.]
As that valley where the vast waters converge."]
But one thing needs your stream——.—[MS.]
[303] [Compare Lucan's Pharsalia, ix. 969, "Etiam periere ruinæ;" and the lines from Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata, xv. 20, quoted in illustration of Canto II. stanza liii.]
[303] [See Lucan's Pharsalia, ix. 969, "Even the ruins have perished;" and the lines from Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata, xv. 20, mentioned to illustrate Canto II. stanza liii.]
But over the mind's troubled thoughts—though it's just a dream.—[MS.]
[304] [Two lyrics, entitled Stanzas to Augusta, and the Epistle to Augusta, which were included in Domestic Pieces, published in 1816, are dedicated to the same subject—the devotion and faithfulness of his sister.]
[304] [Two poems, titled Stanzas to Augusta and Epistle to Augusta, which were part of Domestic Pieces, published in 1816, are dedicated to the same theme—the love and loyalty of his sister.]
[iq] Yet was it pure——.—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ But was it genuine——.—[MS.]
[305] [It has been supposed that there is a reference in this passage, and again in Stanzas to Augusta (dated July 24, 1816), to "the only important calumny"—to quote Shelley's letter of September 29, 1816—"that was even ever advanced" against Byron. "The poems to Augusta," remarks Elze (Life of Lord Byron, p. 174), "prove, further, that she too was cognizant of the calumnious accusations; for under no other supposition is it possible to understand their allusions." But the mere fact that Mrs. Leigh remained on terms of intimacy and affection with her brother, when he was under the ban of society, would expose her to slander and injurious comment, "peril dreaded most in female eyes;" whereas to other calumnies, if such there were, there could be no other reference but silence, or an ecstasy of wrath and indignation.]
[305] [It's believed that this passage, as well as in Stanzas to Augusta (dated July 24, 1816), refers to "the only significant slander"—to quote Shelley's letter from September 29, 1816—"that was ever made" against Byron. Elze notes (Life of Lord Byron, p. 174) that "the poems to Augusta" further indicate that she was aware of the malicious accusations; without this understanding, their references would be puzzling. However, the fact that Mrs. Leigh maintained a close and affectionate relationship with her brother, despite him being shunned by society, would subject her to gossip and harmful commentary, "the danger most feared by women"; as for other slanders, if they existed, the only response could be silence or a surge of anger and outrage.]
——its missing feelings flow.—[MS. erased.]
[307] [Marceau (vide post, note 2, p. 296) took part in crushing the Vendean insurrection. If, as General Hoche asserts in his memoirs, six hundred thousand fell in Vendée, Freedom's charter was not easily overstepped.]
[307] [Marceau (see below, note 2, p. 296) was involved in putting down the Vendean uprising. If, as General Hoche claims in his memoirs, six hundred thousand died in Vendée, the rights of Freedom were not taken lightly.]
[it] And could the sleepless vultures——.—[MS.]
[309] [Lines 8 and 9 may be cited as a crying instance of Byron's faulty technique. The collocation of "awful" with "austere," followed by "autumn" in the next line, recalls the afflictive assonance of "high Hymettus," which occurs in the beautiful passage which he stole from The Curse of Minerva and prefixed to the third canto of The Corsair. The sense of the passage is that, as in autumn, the golden mean between summer and winter, the year is at its full, so in the varied scenery of the Rhine there is a harmony of opposites, a consummation of beauty.]
[309] [Lines 8 and 9 can be seen as a clear example of Byron's flawed technique. The pairing of "awful" with "austere," followed by "autumn" in the next line, brings to mind the painful assonance of "high Hymettus," which appears in the lovely passage he borrowed from The Curse of Minerva and added to the beginning of the third canto of The Corsair. The meaning of the passage is that just as autumn represents the perfect balance between summer and winter, when the year is at its peak, in the diverse scenery of the Rhine, there is a harmony of contrasts, a culmination of beauty.]
But none come together in a single magical gaze
The rich, beautiful, and gentle glories of the past.—[MS.]
[310] [The "negligently grand" may, perhaps, refer to the glories of old days, now in a state of neglect, not to the unstudied grandeur of the scene taken as a whole; but the phrase is loosely thrown out in order to convey a general impression, "an attaching maze," an engaging attractive combination of images, and must not be interrogated too closely.]
[310] [The "neglected grandeur" might refer to the splendor of past times, which is now overlooked, rather than the casual magnificence of the whole scene; however, the phrase is used broadly to create a general impression, "an intriguing maze," a captivating mix of images, and shouldn't be examined too closely.]
The avalanche—the snow thunderclouds.
[311] [Compare the opening lines of Coleridge's Hymn before Sunrise in the Valley of Chamouni—
[311] [Compare the opening lines of Coleridge's Hymn before Sunrise in the Valley of Chamouni—
Is he on a steep path? He seems to hold still for a long time. "On your bald, terrible head, O sovereign Blanc!"
The "thunderbolt" (line 6) recurs in Manfred, act i. sc. 1—
The "thunderbolt" (line 6) appears again in Manfred, act i. sc. 1—
"Deo Optimo Maximo.
"To the Best and Greatest God."
Inclytissimi et fortissimi Burgundiæ ducis exercitus, Moratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cæsus, hoc sui monumentum reliquit."]
Inclytissimi et fortissimi Burgundiæ ducis exercitus, Moratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cæsus, hoc sui monumentum reliquit.
[ix] Unsepulchred they roam, and shriek——[MS.]
Unburied they roam and scream——[MS.]
[313] [The souls of the suitors when Hermes "roused and shepherded them followed gibbering" (τρίζουσαι).—Od., xxiv. 5. Once, too, when the observance of the dies Parentales was neglected, Roman ghosts took to wandering and shrieking.
[313] [When Hermes "woke up and guided them, the souls of the suitors followed, chattering" (τρίζουσαι).—Od., xxiv. 5. Also, when the observance of the dies Parentales was ignored, Roman ghosts started wandering and screaming.
Ovid, Fasti, ii. lines 553, 554.
Ovid, *Fasti*, II. lines 553, 554.
The Homeric ghosts gibbered because they were ghosts; the Burgundian ghosts because they were confined to the Stygian coast, and could not cross the stream. For once the "classical allusions" are forced and inappropriate.]
The Homeric ghosts babbled because they were ghosts; the Burgundian ghosts did so because they were stuck on the Stygian shore and couldn't cross the river. For once, the "classical references" feel forced and don't fit.
[314] [Byron's point is that at Morat 15,000 men were slain in a righteous cause—the defence of a republic against an invading tyrant; whereas the lives of those that fell at Cannæ and at Waterloo were sacrificed to the ambition of rival powers fighting for the mastery.]
[314] [Byron's point is that at Morat, 15,000 men were killed fighting for a just cause—the defense of a republic against an invading tyrant; while the lives of those who fell at Cannæ and Waterloo were sacrificed to the ambitions of competing powers battling for dominance.]
[ja] And they lie simply——.—[MS. erased.]
[jb] The dear depths yield——.—[MS.]
[315] ["Haunted and hunted by the British tourist and gossip-monger, Byron took refuge, on June 10, at the Villa Diodati; but still the pursuers strove to win some wretched consolation by waylaying him in his evening drives, or directing the telescope upon his balcony, which overlooked the lake, or upon the hillside, with its vineyards, where he lurked obscure" (Dowden's Life of Shelley, 1896, p. 309). It is possible, too, that now and again even Shelley's companionship was felt to be a strain upon nerves and temper. The escape from memory and remorse, which could not be always attained in the society of a chosen few, might, he hoped, be found in solitude, face to face with nature. But it was not to be. Even nature was powerless to "minister to a mind diseased." At the conclusion of his second tour (September 29, 1816), he is constrained to admit that "neither the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and beneath me" (Life, p. 315). Perhaps Wordsworth had this confession in his mind when, in 1834, he composed the lines, "Not in the Lucid Intervals of Life," of which the following were, he notes, "written with Lord Byron's character as a past before me, and that of others, his contemporaries, who wrote under like influences:"—
[315] ["Haunted and chased by British tourists and gossipers, Byron sought refuge on June 10 at Villa Diodati; however, his pursuers continued to find some miserable comfort by ambushing him during his evening drives, or aiming their telescopes at his balcony that overlooked the lake, or at the hillside vineyards where he hid out of sight" (Dowden's Life of Shelley, 1896, p. 309). It’s also possible that sometimes, even Shelley’s company felt like a strain on his nerves and temper. The escape from memories and remorse, which couldn’t always be reached in the company of a chosen few, might, he thought, be found in solitude, facing nature. But that wasn't the case. Even nature couldn’t "heal a troubled mind." By the end of his second tour (September 29, 1816), he had to admit that "neither the music of the shepherd, the crash of the avalanche, nor the rushing water, the mountains, the glaciers, the forests, nor the clouds, have for a moment lightened the burden on my heart, nor allowed me to lose my own miserable identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and below me" (Life, p. 315). Perhaps Wordsworth thought of this confession when, in 1834, he wrote the lines, "Not in the Lucid Intervals of Life," of which he noted, "were written with Lord Byron's character as a past before me, and that of others, his contemporaries, who wrote under similar influences:"—
Prove that his hand has touched responsive chords. Nor does his gentle beauty have the power to move With true joy and passionate love
The essence of Genius, if he is brave enough to take Life's rule craved passion for passion's sake; Unaware that humility is the valued quality Of all the truly great and all the innocent. But who is truly innocent? Through divine grace,
Not in any other way, O Nature! are we yours,
Through good and evil there, in fair measure Of rational and masculine empathy.
The Works of W. Wordsworth, 1889, p. 729.
The Works of W. Wordsworth, 1889, p. 729.
Wordsworth seems to have resented Byron's tardy conversion to "natural piety," regarding it, no doubt, as a fruitless and graceless endeavour without the cross to wear the crown. But if Nature reserves her balms for "the innocent," her quality of inspiration is not "strained." Byron, too, was nature's priest—
Wordsworth seemed to hold a grudge against Byron for his late conversion to "natural piety," seeing it, undoubtedly, as a pointless and ungenuine effort that lacked the sacrifice needed to earn the reward. But if Nature saves her healing for "the innocent," her ability to inspire is not "forced." Byron, too, was a priest of nature—
Was on his way to attend.
[316] [The metaphor is derived from a hot spring which appears to boil over at the moment of its coming to the surface. As the particles of water, when they emerge into the light, break and bubble into a seething mass; so, too, does passion chase and beget passion in the "hot throng" of general interests and individual desires.]
[316] [The metaphor comes from a hot spring that seems to bubble over when it reaches the surface. Just like the water particles burst and bubble into a frothy mass when they hit the light, passion also sparks and creates more passion in the "hot crowd" of shared interests and personal desires.]
[317] [The thought which underlies the whole of this passage is that man is the creature and thrall of fate. In society, in the world, he is exposed to the incidence of passion, which he can neither resist nor yield to without torture. He is overcome by the world, and, as a last resource, he turns to nature and solitude. He lifts up his eyes to the hills, unexpectant of Divine aid, but in the hope that, by claiming kinship with Nature, and becoming "a portion of that around" him, he may forego humanity, with its burden of penitence, and elude the curse. There is a further reference to this despairing recourse to Nature in The Dream, viii. 10, seq.—
[317] [The idea behind this entire passage is that humans are at the mercy of fate. In society and the world, they face the impact of emotions that they can't fight against or submit to without suffering. They are overwhelmed by the world, and as a last option, they turn to nature and solitude. They look up to the mountains, not expecting help from a higher power, but hoping that by connecting with nature and becoming "a part of what surrounds" them, they can escape humanity and its burdens of guilt and avoid the curse. There’s another mention of this desperate turn to nature in The Dream, viii. 10, seq.—
And made him friends with the mountains and the stars. And the swift Spirit of the Universe
He hosted his discussions! and they did educate To him, the magic of their mysteries."]
[318] [Shelley seems to have taken Byron at his word, and in the Adonais (xxx. 3, seq.) introduces him in the disguise of—
[318] [Shelley appears to have believed Byron's words, and in the Adonais (xxx. 3, seq.) presents him in the guise of—
Over his living head, Heaven is bent, "An early but lasting monument."
Notwithstanding the splendour of Shelley's verse, it is difficult to suppress a smile. For better or for worse, the sense of the ludicrous has asserted itself, and "brother" cannot take "brother" quite so seriously as in "the brave days of old." But to each age its own humour. Not only did Shelley and Byron worship at the shrine of Rousseau, but they took delight in reverently tracing the footsteps of St. Preux and Julie.]
Notwithstanding the beauty of Shelley's poetry, it's hard to hold back a smile. For better or worse, the sense of the ridiculous has made its presence known, and “brother” can't be taken quite as seriously as in “the brave days of old.” But every era has its own sense of humor. Not only did Shelley and Byron admire Rousseau, but they also found joy in respectfully following the paths of St. Preux and Julie.
[319] {261} [The name "Tigris" is derived from the Persian tîr (Sanscrit Tigra), "an arrow." If Byron ever consulted Hofmann's Lexicon Universale, he would have read, "Tigris, a velocitate dictus quasi sagitta;" but most probably he neither had nor sought an authority for his natural and beautiful simile.]
[319] {261} [The name "Tigris" comes from the Persian tîr (Sanskrit Tigra), meaning "an arrow." If Byron had ever looked at Hofmann's Lexicon Universale, he would have seen, "Tigris, named for its speed just like a dart;" but it's likely he neither had nor wanted a source for his natural and beautiful comparison.]
[320] [Compare Tintern Abbey. In this line, both language and sentiment are undoubtedly Wordsworth's—
[320] [Compare Tintern Abbey. In this line, both the language and feelings are definitely Wordsworth's—
Haunted me like an obsession: the tall rock,
The mountain and the dark, shadowy forest,
Their colors and shapes were then to me
An appetite, a feeling, and a love,
"That didn't need any distant charm."
But here the resemblance ends. With Wordsworth the mood passed, and he learned
But here the similarity stops. With Wordsworth, the mood shifted, and he learned
Of careless youth; but often hearing The quiet, somber music of humanity,
Not harsh or annoying, but incredibly strong. To discipline and control.
He would not question Nature in search of new and untainted pleasure, but rests in her as inclusive of humanity. The secret of Wordsworth is acquiescence; "the still, sad music of humanity" is the key-note of his ethic. Byron, on the other hand, is in revolt. He has the ardour of a pervert, the rancorous scorn of a deserter. The "hum of human cities" is a "torture." He is "a link reluctant in a fleshly chain." To him Nature and Humanity are antagonists, and he cleaves to the one, yea, he would take her by violence, to mark his alienation and severance from the other.]
He doesn’t challenge Nature in search of new and pure pleasure, but instead finds comfort in her as a part of humanity. The secret of Wordsworth is acceptance; "the still, sad music of humanity" is the essence of his ethics. Byron, on the other hand, is in rebellion. He has the passion of a rebel, the bitter disdain of a traitor. The "hum of human cities" feels like a "torture." He is "a link unwilling in a physical chain." For him, Nature and Humanity are opponents, and he clings to the one, even violently, to emphasize his separation and disconnection from the other.
[jg] Of peopled cities——[MS.]
[ji] And with the air——[MS.]
[jj] To sink and suffer——[MS.]
[jk] ——which partly round us cling.—[MS.]
[jm] ——the Spirit in each spot.—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ ——the Spirit everywhere.—[MS.]
[322][The "bodiless thought" is the object, not the subject, of his celestial vision. "Even now," as through a glass darkly, and with eyes
[322][The "bodiless thought" is the focus, not the observer, of his heavenly vision. "Even now," as if looking through a foggy glass, and with eyes
"Provided form, color, and depth to the inner dream,"
his soul "had sight" of the spirit, the informing idea, the essence of each passing scene; but, hereafter, his bodiless spirit would, as it were, encounter the place-spirits face to face. It is to be noted that warmth of feeling, not clearness or fulness of perception, attends this spiritual recognition.]
his soul "had sight" of the spirit, the informing idea, the essence of each passing scene; but, from now on, his bodiless spirit would, in a sense, meet the place-spirits face to face. It's important to note that a warmth of feeling, rather than clarity or fullness of perception, accompanies this spiritual recognition.
[jn] [Is not] the universe a breathing part?—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Isn’t] the universe a living thing?—[MS.]
[323] [Compare Coleridge's Dejection. An Ode, iv. 4-9—
[323] [Compare Coleridge's Dejection. An Ode, iv. 4-9—
Than that lifeless cold world allowed To the struggling, loveless, constantly anxious crowd;
Ah! It must come forth from the very soul itself. A light, a glory, a beautiful glowing cloud
Wrapping the earth.
[jq] Here the reflecting Sophist——.—[MS.]
With words like sunbeams sparkling as they went by
The eye that shed deep tears over them flowed too quickly.—[MS.]
About actions and thoughts of mistake the bright color.—[MS. erased.]
[324] [As, for instance, with Madame de Warens, in 1738; with Madame d'Epinay; with Diderot and Grimm, in 1757; with Voltaire; with David Hume, in 1766 (see "Rousseau in England," Q. R., No. 376, October, 1898); with every one to whom he was attached or with whom he had dealings, except his illiterate mistress, Theresa le Vasseur. (See Rousseau, by John Morley, 2 vols., 1888, passim.)]
[324] [For example, with Madame de Warens in 1738; with Madame d'Epinay; with Diderot and Grimm in 1757; with Voltaire; with David Hume in 1766 (see "Rousseau in England," Q. R., No. 376, October 1898); and with everyone he was close to or interacted with, except his uneducated mistress, Theresa le Vasseur. (See Rousseau, by John Morley, 2 vols., 1888, passim.)]
[325] ["He was possessed, as holier natures than his have been, by an enthusiastic vision, an intoxicated confidence, a mixture of sacred rage and prodigious love, an insensate but absolutely disinterested revolt against the stone and iron of a reality which he was bent on melting in a heavenly blaze of splendid aspiration and irresistibly persuasive expression."—Rousseau, by John Morley, 1886, i. 137.]
[325] ["He was driven, like many holier souls before him, by a passionate vision, a heady confidence, a blend of sacred fury and immense love, a reckless yet completely selfless rebellion against the cold, hard reality that he was determined to transform with an inspiring fire of incredible dreams and compelling expression."—Rousseau, by John Morley, 1886, i. 137.]
[327] ["What Rousseau's Discourse [Sur l'Origine ... de l'Inégalité, etc.] meant ... is not that all men are born equal. He never says this.... His position is that the artificial differences, springing from the conditions of the social union, do not coincide with the differences in capacity springing from original constitution; that the tendency of the social union as now organized is to deepen the artificial inequalities, and make the gulf between those endowed with privileges and wealth, and those not so endowed, ever wider and wider.... It was ... [the influence of Rousseau ... and those whom he inspired] which, though it certainly did not produce, yet did as certainly give a deep and remarkable bias, first to the American Revolution, and a dozen years afterwards to the French Revolution."—Rousseau, 1888, i. 181, 182.]
[327] ["What Rousseau's Discourse [On the Origin ... of Inequality, etc.] meant ... is not that all men are born equal. He never claims this.... His view is that the artificial differences that arise from social conditions do not align with the natural differences in ability that come from our original makeup; that the current structure of social union tends to widen these artificial inequalities, increasing the divide between those with privileges and wealth and those without.... It was ... [the impact of Rousseau ... and those he inspired] which, while it certainly did not create, indeed gave a significant and notable influence, first to the American Revolution, and a dozen years later to the French Revolution."—Rousseau, 1888, i. 181, 182.]
[331] [For the association of "Fortune" and "Fame" with a star, compare stanza xi. lines 5, 6—
[331] [For the connection between "Fortune" and "Fame" with a star, see stanza xi. lines 5, 6—
The star that rises over her steep," etc.?
And the allusion to Napoleon's "star," stanza xxxviii. line 9—
And the reference to Napoleon's "star," stanza xxxviii. line 9—
Compare, too, the opening lines of the Stanzas to Augusta (July 24, 1816)—
Compare, too, the opening lines of the Stanzas to Augusta (July 24, 1816)—
And the star of my destiny has faded.
"Power" is symbolized as a star in Numb. xxiv. 17, "There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel;" and in the divine proclamation, "I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star" (Rev. xxii. 16).
"Power" is represented as a star in Numb. xxiv. 17, "A star will come from Jacob, and a Sceptre will rise from Israel;" and in the divine declaration, "I am the root and the descendant of David, and the bright and morning star" (Rev. xxii. 16).
The inclusion of "life" among star similes may have been suggested by the astrological terms, "house of life" and "lord of the ascendant." Wordsworth, in his Ode (Intimations of Immortality, etc.) speaks of the soul as "our life's star." Mr. Tozer, who supplies most of these "comparisons," adds a line from Shelley's Adonais, 55. 8 (Pisa, 1821)—
The inclusion of "life" in comparisons to stars may have been influenced by astrological terms like "house of life" and "lord of the ascendant." Wordsworth, in his Ode (Intimations of Immortality, etc.), refers to the soul as "our life's star." Mr. Tozer, who provides many of these "comparisons," adds a line from Shelley's Adonais, 55. 8 (Pisa, 1821)—
The sacred time is as quiet as a nun. Breathless with admiration.
[333] [Here, too, the note is Wordsworthian, though Byron represents as inherent in Nature, that "sense of something far more deeply interfused," which Wordsworth (in his Lines on Tintern Abbey) assigns to his own consciousness.]
[333] [Here, too, the note is reminiscent of Wordsworth, although Byron portrays as a fundamental part of Nature that "sense of something far more deeply interwoven," which Wordsworth (in his Lines on Tintern Abbey) attributes to his own awareness.]
[kd] Of a most inward music——.—[MS.]
[334] [As the cestus of Venus endowed the wearer with magical attraction, so the immanence of the Infinite and the Eternal in "all that formal is and fugitive," binds it with beauty and produces a supernatural charm which even Death cannot resist.]
[334] [Just as Venus's cestus gave its wearer magical attraction, the presence of the Infinite and the Eternal in "everything that is formal and fleeting" connects it with beauty and creates a supernatural allure that even Death cannot resist.]
[335] [Compare Herodotus, i. 131, Οἱ δὲ νομίζουσι Διἰ μὲν, ἐπὶ τὰ ὑψηλότατα τῶν οὐρέων ἀναβαίνοντες θυσίας ἕρδειν τὸν κύκλον πάντα τοῦ ὐρανο Δία καλέοντες. Perhaps, however, "early Persian" was suggested by a passage in "that drowsy, frowsy poem, The Excursion"—
[335] [Compare Herodotus, i. 131, Zeus believers, climbing to the highest mountains making sacrifices referring to the entire sky as Zeus. Maybe, though, "early Persian" was inspired by a line from "that sleepy, messy poem, The Excursion"—
Altar, image, and the surrounding walls And roofs and temples made by human hands—
To the highest heights rising, from their peaks
With a myrtle-wreathed tiara on his head,
"Offered a sacrifice to the moon and stars."
The Excursion, iv. (The Works of Wordsworth, 1889, p. 461).]
The Excursion, iv. (The Works of Wordsworth, 1889, p. 461).]
Of clear skies and starry nights; And everything that's best about darkness and light "Meet her gaze and her eyes."
[kg] ——a fiery sea.—[MS.]
[337] [There can be no doubt that Byron borrowed this metaphor from the famous passage in Coleridge's Christabel (ii. 408-426), which he afterwards prefixed as a motto to Fare Thee Well.
[337] [It's clear that Byron took this metaphor from the well-known section in Coleridge's Christabel (ii. 408-426), which he later added as a motto to Fare Thee Well.
The latter half of the quotation runs thus—
The second half of the quote goes like this—
They stood apart, the scars still visible,
Like cliffs that had been torn apart;
A gloomy sea now stretches between,
But neither heat, nor cold, nor thunder, I believe we should completely get rid of, The signs of what once was."]
[338] [There are numerous instances of the use of "knoll" as an alternative form of the verb "to knell;" but Byron seems, in this passage, to be the authority for "knoll" as a substantive.]
[338] [There are many examples of using "knoll" as a different form of the verb "to knell;" but Byron appears to be the source for using "knoll" as a noun in this passage.]
[339] [For Rousseau's description of Vevey, see Julie; ou, La Nouvelle Héloise, Partie I. Lettre xxiii., Oevres de J. J. Rousseau, 1836, ii. 36: "Tantôt d'immenses rochers pendoient en ruines au-dessus de ma tête. Tantôt de hautes et bruyantes cascades m'inondoient de leur epais brouillard: tantôt un torrent éternel ouvroit à mes côtés un abîme dont les yeux n'osoient sonder la profondeur. Quelquefois je me perdois dans l'obscurité d'un bois touffu. Quelquefois, en sortant d'un gouffre, une agréable prairie, réjouissoit tout-à-coup mes regards. Un mélange étonnant de la nature sauvage et de la nature cultivée, montroit partout la main des hommes, où l'on eût cru qu'ils n'avoient jamais pénétré: a côté d'une caverne on trouvoit des maisons; on voyoit des pampres secs où l'on n'eût cherché que des ronces, des vignes dans des terres éboullées, d'excellens fruits sur des rochers, et des champs dans des précipices." See, too, Lettre xxxviii. p. 56; Partie IV. Lettre xi. p. 238 (the description of Julie's Elysium); and Partie IV. Lettre xvii. p. 260 (the excursion to Meillerie).
[339] [For Rousseau's description of Vevey, see Julie; ou, La Nouvelle Héloise, Part I. Letter xxiii., Oeuvres de J. J. Rousseau, 1836, ii. 36: "At times, massive rocks hung in ruins above my head. At other moments, tall and noisy waterfalls drenched me in their thick mist: sometimes an eternal torrent opened an abyss beside me that my eyes dared not explore. Occasionally, I’d lose myself in the darkness of a dense forest. Other times, upon emerging from a chasm, a lovely meadow would suddenly brighten my gaze. An amazing blend of wild nature and cultivated land revealed the touch of humans everywhere, as if they had never set foot there: beside a cave, there were houses; you’d see dry vines where you’d expect only brambles, vines in eroded soil, excellent fruits on rocks, and fields in steep cliffs." See also, Letter xxxviii. p. 56; Part IV. Letter xi. p. 238 (the description of Julie's Elysium); and Part IV. Letter xvii. p. 260 (the excursion to Meillerie).
Byron infuses into Rousseau's accurate and charming compositions of scenic effects, if not the "glory," yet "the freshness of a dream." He belonged to the new age, with its new message from nature to man, and, in spite of theories and prejudices, listened and was convinced. He extols Rousseau's recognition of nature, lifting it to the height of his own argument; but, consciously or unconsciously, he desires to find, and finds, in nature a spring of imagination undreamt of by the Apostle of Sentiment. There is a whole world of difference between Rousseau's persuasive and delicate patronage of Nature, and Byron's passionate, though somewhat belated, surrender to her inevitable claim. With Rousseau, Nature is a means to an end, a conduct of refined and heightened fancy; whereas, to Byron, "her reward was with her," a draught of healing and refreshment.]
Byron brings into Rousseau's accurate and charming descriptions of scenery, if not the "glory," then "the freshness of a dream." He belonged to a new era, with its fresh message from nature to humanity, and, despite theories and biases, he listened and was convinced. He praises Rousseau's acknowledgment of nature, elevating it to the level of his own argument; however, whether he realizes it or not, he seeks to discover, and does discover, in nature a source of imagination that the Apostle of Sentiment never dreamed of. There is a significant difference between Rousseau's persuasive and gentle appreciation of Nature and Byron's passionate, though somewhat delayed, acceptance of her unavoidable claim. For Rousseau, Nature is a means to an end, a pathway to refined and enhanced creativity; whereas for Byron, "her reward was with her," offering a sip of healing and renewal.
Undying Love’s - who here has built a throne.—[MS.]
From the high peak to the flowing Rhone.—[MS. erased.]
[340] [Compare La Nouvelle Héloïse, Partie IV. Lettre xvii, Oeuvres, etc., ii. 262: "Un torrent, formé par la fonte des neiges, rouloit à vingt pas de nous line eau bourbeuse, et charrioit avec bruit du limon, du sable et des pierres.... Des forêts de noirs sapins nous ombrageoient tristement à droite. Un grand bois de chênes étoit à gauche au-delà du torrent."]
[340] [Compare The New Héloïse, Part IV. Letter xvii, Works, etc., ii. 262: "A torrent, formed by the melting snow, was flowing twenty steps away from us, carrying muddy water, and making noise with its silt, sand, and stones.... Dark pine forests cast a gloomy shadow on our right. A large oak grove was on the left, beyond the torrent."]
[341] [Compare the Pervigilium Veneris—
Quique loved you yesterday. "Let those who have never loved before, love now;
Let those who have always loved, now love even more.)
Parnell's Vigil of Venus: British Poets, 1794, vii. 7.]
Parnell's Vigil of Venus: British Poets, 1794, vii. 7.]
[343] {281} [In his appreciation of Voltaire, Byron, no doubt, had in mind certain strictures of the lake school—"a school, as it is called, I presume, from their education being still incomplete." Coleridge, in The Friend (1850, i. 168), contrasting Voltaire with Erasmus, affirms that "the knowledge of the one was solid through its whole extent, and that of the other extensive at a chief rate in its superficiality," and characterizes "the wit of the Frenchman" as being "without imagery, without character, and without that pathos which gives the magic charm to genuine humour;" and Wordsworth, in the second book of The Excursion (Works of Wordsworth, 1889, p. 434), "unalarmed" by any consideration of wit or humour, writes down Voltaire's Optimist (Candide, ou L'Optimisme), which was accidentally discovered by the "Wanderer" in the "Solitary's" pent-house, "swoln with scorching damp," as "the dull product of a scoffer's pen." Byron reverts to these contumelies in a note to the Fifth Canto of Don Juan (see Life, Appendix, p. 809), and lashes "the school" secundum artem.]
[343] {281} [In his appreciation of Voltaire, Byron was likely thinking of some criticisms from the lake school—"a school, as it is called, I assume, because their education is still incomplete." Coleridge, in The Friend (1850, i. 168), comparing Voltaire with Erasmus, notes that "the knowledge of one was solid throughout, while the other’s was mostly superficial," and describes "the wit of the Frenchman" as being "without imagery, character, or that heartfelt emotion which gives genuine humor its magic charm;" and Wordsworth, in the second book of The Excursion (Works of Wordsworth, 1889, p. 434), "unbothered" by any thoughts of wit or humor, refers to Voltaire's Optimist (Candide, ou L'Optimisme), which was accidentally found by the "Wanderer" in the "Solitary's" shed, "saturated with humid heat," as "the dull work of a scoffer's pen." Byron addresses these insults again in a note to the Fifth Canto of Don Juan (see Life, Appendix, p. 809), and criticizes "the school" secundum artem.]
Inside him was all humanity—
And laughing at their flaws revealed his own
His was ridicule, like the wind.
[344] {282} [In his youth Voltaire was imprisoned for a year (1717-18) in the Bastille, by the regent Duke of Orleans, on account of certain unacknowledged lampoons (Regnante Puero, etc.); but throughout his long life, so far from "shaking thrones," he showed himself eager to accept the patronage and friendship of the greatest monarchs of the age—of Louis XV., of George II. and his queen, Caroline of Anspach, of Frederick II., and of Catharine of Russia. Even the Pope Benedict XIV. accepted the dedication of Mahomet (1745), and bestowed an apostolical benediction on "his dear son." On the other hand, his abhorrence of war, his protection of the oppressed, and, above all, the questioning spirit of his historical and philosophical writings (e.g. Les Lettres sur les Anglais, 1733; Annales de l'Empire depuis Charlemagne, 1753, etc.) were felt to be subversive of civil as well as ecclesiastical tyranny, and, no doubt, helped to precipitate the Revolution.
[344] {282} [When he was young, Voltaire was imprisoned for a year (1717-18) in the Bastille by the regent Duke of Orleans because of some unacknowledged satirical writings (Regnante Puero, etc.); yet throughout his long life, rather than "shaking thrones," he actively sought the support and friendship of the most powerful monarchs of his time—like Louis XV., George II. and his queen, Caroline of Anspach, Frederick II., and Catherine of Russia. Even Pope Benedict XIV. accepted the dedication of Mahomet (1745) and gave an apostolic blessing to "his dear son." On the flip side, his strong dislike of war, his defense of the oppressed, and, especially, the critical nature of his historical and philosophical writings (e.g. Les Lettres sur les Anglais, 1733; Annales de l'Empire depuis Charlemagne, 1753, etc.) were seen as undermining both civil and church authority, and likely contributed to the onset of the Revolution.
The first half of the line may be illustrated by his quarrel with Maupertuis, the President of the Berlin Academy, which resulted in the production of the famous Diatribe of Doctor Akakia, Physician to the Pope (1752), by a malicious attack on Maupertuis's successor, Le Franc de Pompignan, and by his caricature of the critic Elie Catharine Fréron, as Frélon ("Wasp"), in L'Ecossaise, which was played at Paris in 1760.—Life of Voltaire, by F. Espinasse, 1892, pp. 94, 114, 144.]
The first half of the line can be illustrated by his conflict with Maupertuis, the President of the Berlin Academy, which led to the creation of the well-known Diatribe of Doctor Akakia, Physician to the Pope (1752), a mean attack on Maupertuis's successor, Le Franc de Pompignan, and by his caricature of the critic Elie Catharine Fréron, as Frélon ("Wasp"), in L'Ecossaise, which was performed in Paris in 1760.—Life of Voltaire, by F. Espinasse, 1892, pp. 94, 114, 144.]
[345] [The first three volumes of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, contrary to the author's expectation, did not escape criticism and remonstrance. The Rev. David Chetsum (in 1772 and (enlarged) 1778) published An Examination of, etc., and Henry Edward Davis, in 1778, Remarks on the memorable Fifteenth and Sixteenth Chapters. Gibbon replied by a Vindication, issued in 1779. Another adversary was Archdeacon George Travis, who, in his Letter, defended the authenticity of the text on "Three Heavenly Witnesses" (1 John v. 7), which Gibbon was at pains to deny (ch. xxxvii. note 120). Among other critics and assailants were Joseph Milner, Joseph Priestley, and Richard Watson afterwards Bishop of Llandaff. (For Porson's estimate of Gibbon, see preface to Letters to Mr. Archdeacon Travis, etc., 1790.)]
[345] [The first three volumes of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire faced criticism and objections, which the author didn't expect. The Rev. David Chetsum published An Examination of, etc. in 1772 and a revised version in 1778. Meanwhile, Henry Edward Davis published Remarks on the notable Fifteenth and Sixteenth Chapters in 1778. Gibbon responded with a Vindication that came out in 1779. Another critic was Archdeacon George Travis, who defended the authenticity of the passage on the "Three Heavenly Witnesses" (1 John v. 7), which Gibbon tried to disprove (ch. xxxvii. note 120). Other critics included Joseph Milner, Joseph Priestley, and Richard Watson, who later became Bishop of Llandaff. (For Porson's view of Gibbon, see the preface to Letters to Mr. Archdeacon Travis, etc., 1790.)]
[kv] In sleep upon one pillow——.—[MS.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Sleeping on one pillow——.—[MS.]
[346] [There is no reason to suppose that this is to be taken ironically. He is not certain whether the "secrets of all hearts shall be revealed," or whether all secrets shall be kept in the silence of universal slumber; but he looks to the possibility of a judgment to come. He is speaking for mankind generally, and is not concerned with his own beliefs or disbeliefs.]
[346] [There's no reason to think this is meant ironically. He's unsure if the "secrets of all hearts will be revealed" or if all secrets will remain hidden in the silence of universal sleep; but he considers the possibility of a judgment to come. He's speaking for humanity as a whole and isn't focused on his own beliefs or doubts.]
[347] {284} [The poet would follow in the wake of the clouds. He must pierce them, and bend his steps to the region of their growth, the mountain-top, where earth begets and air brings forth the vapours. Another interpretation is that the Alps must be pierced in order to attain the great and ever-ascending regions of the mountain-tops ("greater and greater as we proceed"). In the next stanza he pictures himself looking down from the summit of the Alps on Italy, the goal of his pilgrimage.]
[347] {284} [The poet would follow the path of the clouds. He needs to break through them and direct his journey toward where they form, at the mountaintop, where the earth produces and the air generates the vapors. Another interpretation is that the Alps must be crossed to reach the vast and ever-rising heights of the mountaintops ("greater and greater as we proceed"). In the next stanza, he imagines looking down from the summit of the Alps at Italy, the destination of his pilgrimage.]
[348] [The Roman Empire engulfed and comprehended the great empires of the past—the Persian, the Carthaginian, the Greek. It fell, and kingdoms such as the Gothic (A.D. 493-554), the Lombardic (A.D. 568-774) rose out of its ashes, and in their turn decayed and passed away.]
[348] [The Roman Empire absorbed and understood the great empires of the past—the Persian, the Carthaginian, the Greek. It eventually fell, leading to the rise of kingdoms like the Gothic (A.D. 493-554) and the Lombardic (A.D. 568-774) from its ruins, which in their turn also decayed and disappeared.]
[349] {285} [The task imposed upon his soul, which dominates every other instinct, is the concealment of any and every emotion—"love, or hate, or aught," not the concealment of the particular emotion "love or hate," which may or may not be the "master-spirit" of his thought. He is anxious to conceal his feelings, not to keep the world in the dark as to the supreme feeling which holds the rest subject.]
[349] {285} [The burden placed on his soul, which overshadows every other instinct, is to hide any and all emotions—"love, or hate, or anything else," not just the specific feelings of "love or hate," which may or may not be the driving force behind his thoughts. He is eager to hide his feelings, not to keep the world unaware of the dominant emotion that controls the rest.]
So young that they care about a frown or a smile Of crowds creating an everlasting fate.—[MS. (lines 6, 7 removed).]
[350] [Compare Shakespeare, Coriolanus, act iii. sc. 1, lines 66, 67—
[350] [Compare Shakespeare, Coriolanus, act iii. sc. 1, lines 66, 67—
"Think of me as I am, without any flattery."
[351] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 2, lines 54-57—
[351] [Compare Manfred, act ii. sc. 2, lines 54-57—
Nor gazed at the earth with human eyes; Their ambition's thirst wasn't mine,
The purpose of their existence wasn't my own."]
[352] [Byron was at first in some doubt whether he should or should not publish the "concluding stanzas of Childe Harold (those to my daughter);" but in a letter to Murray, October 9, 1816, he reminds him of his later determination to publish them with "the rest of the Canto."]
[352] [Byron was initially unsure about whether to publish the "final stanzas of Childe Harold (the ones to my daughter);" but in a letter to Murray on October 9, 1816, he mentions his later decision to include them with "the rest of the Canto."]
[353] {288} ["His allusions to me in Childe Harold are cruel and cold, but with such a semblance as to make me appear so, and to attract sympathy to himself. It is said in this poem that hatred of him will be taught as a lesson to his child. I might appeal to all who have ever heard me speak of him, and still more to my own heart, to witness that there has been no moment when I have remembered injury otherwise than affectionately and sorrowfully. It is not my duty to give way to hopeless and wholly unrequited affection, but so long as I live my chief struggle will probably be not to remember him too kindly."—(Letter of Lady Byron to Lady Anne Lindsay, extracted from Lord Lindsay's letter to the Times, September 7, 1869.)
[353] {288} ["His references to me in Childe Harold are harsh and distant, yet crafted in a way that makes me look that way and draws sympathy to him. This poem suggests that his child will be taught to hate him. I could ask everyone who has ever heard me talk about him, and especially my own heart, to confirm that I have never thought of any harm he caused me except with love and sadness. It's not my responsibility to give in to hopeless and completely unreturned feelings, but as long as I live, my main struggle will likely be not to remember him too fondly."—(Letter of Lady Byron to Lady Anne Lindsay, extracted from Lord Lindsay's letter to the Times, September 7, 1869.)
According to Mrs. Leigh (see her letter to Hodgson, Nov., 1816, Memoirs of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, ii. 41), Murray paid Lady Byron "the compliment" of showing her the transcription of the Third Canto, a day or two after it came into his possession. Most probably she did not know or recognize Claire's handwriting, but she could not fail to remember that but one short year ago she had herself been engaged in transcribing The Siege of Corinth and Parisina for the press. Between the making of those two "fair copies," a tragedy had intervened.]
According to Mrs. Leigh (see her letter to Hodgson, Nov. 1816, Memoirs of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, ii. 41), Murray "complimented" Lady Byron by showing her the transcription of the Third Canto a day or two after he received it. She probably didn't recognize Claire's handwriting, but she couldn't forget that just a year ago, she had been busy transcribing The Siege of Corinth and Parisina for publication. Between those two "fair copies," a tragedy had occurred.
[354] {289} [The Countess Guiccioli is responsible for the statement that Byron looked forward to a time when his daughter "would know her father by his works." "Then," said he, "shall I triumph, and the tears which my daughter will then shed, together with the knowledge that she will have the feelings with which the various allusions to herself and me have been written, will console me in my darkest hours. Ada's mother may have enjoyed the smiles of her youth and childhood, but the tears of her maturer age will be for me."—My Recollections of Lord Byron, by the Countess Guiccioli, 1869, p. 172.]
[354] {289} [The Countess Guiccioli stated that Byron looked forward to a time when his daughter "would know her father by his works." "Then," he said, "I will triumph, and the tears my daughter sheds then, along with the realization that she will feel the emotions tied to the different references to herself and me, will comfort me in my darkest times. Ada's mother may have enjoyed the smiles of her youth and childhood, but the tears of her adult years will be for me."—My Recollections of Lord Byron, by the Countess Guiccioli, 1869, p. 172.]
[355] [For a biographical notice of Ada Lady Lovelace, including letters, elsewhere unpublished, to Andrew Crosse, see Ada Byron, von E. Kölbing, Englische Studien, 1894, xix. 154-163.]
[355] [For a biography of Ada Lady Lovelace, including unpublished letters to Andrew Crosse, see Ada Byron, by E. Kölbing, Englische Studien, 1894, xix. 154-163.]
NOTES
TO
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
CANTO III.
1.
Stanza xviii. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
"Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight. See Macbeth, etc.—
"Pride of place" is a term from falconry that refers to the highest level of flight. See Macbeth, etc.—
"Was hunted and killed by a mousing owl."
Macbeth, act ii. sc. 4, line 12.]
Macbeth, act ii. sc. 4, line 12.]
2.
Stanza xx. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogeiton. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. Denman—
See the famous song about Harmodius and Aristogeiton. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. Denman—
[Translations chiefly from the Greek Anthology, etc., 1806, pp. 24, 25. The Scholium, attributed to Callistratus (Poetæ Lyrici Græci, Bergk. Lipsiæ, 1866, p. 1290), begins thus—
[Translations chiefly from the Greek Anthology, etc., 1806, pp. 24, 25. The Scholium, attributed to Callistratus (Poetæ Lyrici Græci, Bergk. Lipsiæ, 1866, p. 1290), begins thus—
Like Harmodius and Aristogeiton,
Ὅτε τὸν ύραννον κτανετην
Ἰσονόμους τ' Ἀθήνας ἐποιησάτην
"Hence," says Mr. Tozer, "'the sword in myrtles drest' (Keble's Christian Year, Third Sunday in Lent) became the emblem of assertors of liberty."—Childe Harold, 1885, p. 262.]
"Hence," says Mr. Tozer, "'the sword in myrtles drest' (Keble's Christian Year, Third Sunday in Lent) became the symbol of those who defend liberty."—Childe Harold, 1885, p. 262.]
3.
Stanza xxi. line 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 8.
On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels. [See notes to the text.]
On the night before the event, it’s said that there was a party in Brussels. [See notes to the text.]
4.
Stanza xxvi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant, Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five."
Sir Evan Cameron and his descendant, Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the '45.
[Sir Evan Cameron (1629-1719) fought against Cromwell, finally yielding on honourable terms to Monk, June 5, 1658, and for James II. at Killiecrankie, June 17, 1689. His grandson, Donald Cameron of Lochiel (1695-1748), celebrated by Campbell, in Lochiel's Warning, 1802, was wounded at Culloden, April 16, 1746. His great-great-grandson, John Cameron, of Fassieferne (b. 1771), in command of the 92nd Highlanders, was mortally wounded at Quatre-Bras, June 16, 1815. Compare Scott's stanzas, The Dance of Death, lines 33, sq.—
[Sir Evan Cameron (1629-1719) fought against Cromwell, ultimately surrendering on honorable terms to Monk on June 5, 1658, and for James II at Killiecrankie on June 17, 1689. His grandson, Donald Cameron of Lochiel (1695-1748), known from Campbell's Lochiel's Warning, 1802, was injured at Culloden on April 16, 1746. His great-great-grandson, John Cameron of Fassieferne (b. 1771), who led the 92nd Highlanders, was fatally wounded at Quatre-Bras on June 16, 1815. See Scott's stanzas in The Dance of Death, lines 33, sq.—]
Storm of bullets and barrier of steel,
Led Lochiel's grandson, Valiant Fassiefern.
And Morven will long tell,
And proud Ben Nevis listens in awe, How, at bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild cheers Of conquest as he fell.
Compare, too, Scott's Field of Waterloo, stanza xxi. lines 14, 15—
Compare, too, Scott's Field of Waterloo, stanza xxi. lines 14, 15—
"Die like the children of Lochiel."
5.
Stanza xxvii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Bojardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's As You Like It. It is also celebrated in Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt the name connected with nobler associations than those of mere slaughter.
The Soignies forest is thought to be a remnant of the Ardennes, which is famous in Bojardo's Orlando and immortalized in Shakespeare's As You Like It. It’s also noted by Tacitus as the site where the Germans successfully defended themselves against Roman invasions. I've decided to use a name tied to grander associations than just those of battle.
[It is a far cry from Soignies in South Brabant to Ardennes in Luxembourg. Possibly Byron is confounding the "saltus quibus nomen Arduenna" (Tacitus, Ann., 3. 42), the scene of the revolt of the Treviri, with the "saltus Teutoburgiensis" (the Teutoburgen or Lippische Wald, which divides Lippe Detmold from Westphalia), where Arminius defeated the Romans (Tacitus, Ann., 1. 60). (For Boiardo's "Ardenna," see Orlando Innamorato, lib. i. canto 2, st. 30.) Shakespeare's Arden, the "immortal" forest, in As You Like It, "favours" his own Arden in Warwickshire, but derived its name from the "forest of Arden" in Lodge's Rosalynd.]
[It's a long way from Soignies in South Brabant to the Ardennes in Luxembourg. Byron may be mixing up the "saltus quibus nomen Arduenna" (Tacitus, Ann., 3. 42), the site of the Treviri revolt, with the "saltus Teutoburgiensis" (the Teutoburg or Lippische Wald, which separates Lippe Detmold from Westphalia), where Arminius defeated the Romans (Tacitus, Ann., 1. 60). (For Boiardo's "Ardenna," see Orlando Innamorato, lib. i. canto 2, st. 30.) Shakespeare's Arden, the "immortal" forest in As You Like It, "favours" his own Arden in Warwickshire but got its name from the "forest of Arden" in Lodge's Rosalynd.]
6.
Stanza xxx. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
My guide from Mount St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees (there was a third cut down, or shivered in the battle), which stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced; the plough has been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out the different spots where Picton and other gallant men had perished; the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then still more anxious to point out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the peculiarity of the two trees above mentioned. I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of some great action, though [294] this may be mere imagination: I have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chæronea, and Marathon; and the field around Mount St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last mentioned.
My guide from Mount St. Jean across the field seemed knowledgeable and accurate. The spot where Major Howard fell was close to two tall, solitary trees (there was a third that was cut down or damaged during the battle), which stand a few yards apart by the side of a path. Beneath these trees, he died and was buried. The body has since been moved to England. A small depression currently marks where it lay, but it will likely soon be erased; the plow has been over it, and the grain has grown. After showing me the various places where Picton and other brave men had died, the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when he was wounded." I mentioned my connection to him, and he seemed even more eager to point out the exact spot and circumstances. This place is one of the most notable on the field, due to the two trees mentioned earlier. I rode over the field twice, comparing it to my memories of similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems destined to be the site of some great event, though this might just be my imagination: I have closely examined those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chæronea, and Marathon; and the area around Mount St. Jean and Hougoumont seems to need little except a better cause and that indescribable yet powerful aura that the passage of time gives to a famous location, to be as interesting as any or all of these, except perhaps the last one mentioned.
[For particulars of the death of Major Howard, see Personal Memoirs, etc., by Pryse Lockhart Gordon, 1830, ii. 322, 323.]
[For details on the death of Major Howard, see Personal Memoirs, etc., by Pryse Lockhart Gordon, 1830, ii. 322, 323.]
7.
Stanza xxxiv. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltites were said to be fair without, and, within, ashes.
The legendary apples near Lake Asphaltites were said to look beautiful on the outside but were filled with ashes on the inside.
[Compare Tacitus, Histor., lib. v. 7, "Cuncta sponte edita, aut manu sata, sive herbæ tenues, aut flores, ut solitam in speciem adolevere, atra et inania velut in cinerem vanescunt." See, too, Deut. xxxii. 32, "For their vine is of the vine of Sodom, and of the fields of Gomorrah: their grapes are grapes of gall, their clusters are bitter."
[Compare Tacitus, Histor., lib. v. 7, "Everything has grown naturally or been planted by hand, whether it's delicate herbs or flowers, they rise to their usual appearance but fade away like ashes, dark and empty." See, too, Deut. xxxii. 32, "For their vine is from the vine of Sodom and from the fields of Gomorrah: their grapes are bitter and their clusters are filled with poison."]
They are a species of gall-nut, and are described by Curzon (Visits to Monasteries of the Levant, 1897, p. 141), who met with the tree that bears them, near the Dead Sea, and, mistaking the fruit for a ripe plum, proceeded to eat one, whereupon his mouth was filled "with a dry bitter dust."
They are a type of gall-nut, as described by Curzon (Visits to Monasteries of the Levant, 1897, p. 141), who encountered the tree that produces them near the Dead Sea. Mistaking the fruit for a ripe plum, he bit into one and found his mouth filled "with a dry bitter dust."
"The apple of Sodom ... is supposed by some to refer to the fruit of Solanum Sodomeum (allied to the tomato), by others to the Calotropis procera" (N. Eng. Dict., art. "Apple").]
"The apple of Sodom is thought by some to refer to the fruit of Solanum Sodomeum (related to the tomato), and by others to the Calotropis procera" (N. Eng. Dict., art. "Apple").
8.
Stanza xli. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
The great error of Napoleon, "if we have writ our annals true," was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all community of feeling for or with them; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals; and the single expression which he is said to have used on returning to [295] Paris after the Russian winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from his cause than the destruction and reverses which led to the remark.
The major mistake of Napoleon, "if we have written our history accurately," was his constant push against people's feelings, showing that he had no real connection with them; this might have hurt human pride more than the harshness of a scared and distrustful tyranny. His speeches to both large groups and individuals reflected this. The one line he reportedly said upon returning to [295] Paris after the harsh winter in Russia had wiped out his army, while warming his hands by a fire, "This is nicer than Moscow," likely drove more people away from his cause than the defeats that led to that comment.
9.
Stanza xlviii. line 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 6.
"What wants that knave that a king should have?" was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and his followers in full accoutrements. See the Ballad.
"What does that scoundrel think a king should have?" was King James's question when he encountered Johnny Armstrong and his followers in full gear. See the Ballad.
[Johnie Armstrong, the laird of Gilnockie, on the occasion of an enforced surrender to James V. (1532), came before the king somewhat too richly accoutred, and was hanged for his effrontery—
[Johnie Armstrong, the lord of Gilnockie, during a forced surrender to James V in 1532, approached the king dressed somewhat too lavishly, and was executed for his boldness—
And that one is worth three hundred pounds—
'What does that rogue want from a king? But what about the sword of honor and the crown?
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1821, i. 127.]
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1821, i. 127.]
10.
Song, stanza 1, line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of "the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks; it is in ruins, and connected with some singular traditions. It is the first in view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the river: on this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's Castle, and a large cross, commemorative of the murder of a chief by his brother. The number of castles and cities along the course of the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situations remarkably beautiful.
The castle of Drachenfels sits atop the highest peak of "the Seven Mountains," overlooking the banks of the Rhine. It’s in ruins and linked to some interesting legends. It’s the first sight along the road from Bonn, but on the other side of the river. Almost directly across from it, on this bank, are the remains of another castle called the Jew's Castle, along with a large cross that commemorates the murder of a chief by his brother. There are many castles and towns along the Rhine on both sides, and their locations are incredibly beautiful.
[The castle of Drachenfels (Dragon's Rock) stands on the summit of one, but not the highest, of the Siebengebirge, an isolated group of volcanic hills on the right bank of the Rhine between Remagen and Bonn. The legend runs that in one of the caverns of the rock dwelt the dragon which was slain by Siegfried, the hero of the Nibelungen Lied. Hence the vin du pays is called Drachenblut.]
[The castle of Drachenfels (Dragon's Rock) sits on top of one of the Siebengebirge hills, which isn’t the tallest, part of a unique group of volcanic hills on the right bank of the Rhine, between Remagen and Bonn. According to legend, a dragon lived in one of the caves of the rock, which was killed by Siegfried, the hero from the Nibelungen Lied. This is why the local wine is called Drachenblut.]
11.
Stanza lvii. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
The monument of the young and lamented General Marceau (killed by a rifle-ball at Alterkirchen, on the last day of the fourth year of the French Republic) still remains as described. The inscriptions on his monument are rather too long, and not required: his name was enough; France adored, and her enemies admired; both wept over him. His funeral was attended by the generals and detachments from both armies. In the same grave General Hoche is interred, a gallant man also in every sense of the word; but though he distinguished himself greatly in battle, he had not the good fortune to die there: his death was attended by suspicions of poison.
The monument of the young and much-missed General Marceau (who was killed by a bullet at Alterkirchen on the last day of the fourth year of the French Republic) still stands as described. The inscriptions on his monument are a bit too long and unnecessary; his name alone was enough; France loved him, and even his enemies respected him; both mourned his loss. His funeral was attended by generals and troops from both sides. General Hoche is buried in the same grave, a brave man in every sense; but while he achieved great things in battle, he wasn’t lucky enough to die there: his death was surrounded by rumors of poisoning.
A separate monument (not over his body, which is buried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, opposite to which one of his most memorable exploits was performed, in throwing a bridge to an island on the Rhine [April 18, 1797]. The shape and style are different from that of Marceau's, and the inscription more simple and pleasing.
A separate monument (not over his body, which is buried by Marceau's) is erected for him near Andernach, across from where one of his most notable feats took place: building a bridge to an island on the Rhine [April 18, 1797]. The design and style are different from Marceau's, and the inscription is more straightforward and appealing.
to its Commander-in-Chief Hoche.
This is all, and as it should be. Hoche was esteemed among the first of France's earlier generals, before Buonaparte monopolised her triumphs. He was the destined commander of the invading army of Ireland.
This is it, just as it should be. Hoche was regarded as one of France's top early generals, before Buonaparte took all the glory. He was meant to be the commander of the invading army to Ireland.
[The tomb of François Sévérin Desgravins Marceau (1769-1796, general of the French Republic) bears the following epitaph and inscription:—
[The tomb of François Sévérin Desgravins Marceau (1769-1796, general of the French Republic) has the following epitaph and inscription:—
"Ici repose Marceau, né à Chartres, Eure-et-Loir, soldat à seize ans, général à vingtdeux ans. Il mourut en combattant pour sa patrie, le dernier jour de l'an iv. de la République française. Qui que tu sois, ami ou ennemi de ce jeune héros, respecte ces cendres."
"Ici repose Marceau, né à Chartres, Eure-et-Loir, soldat à seize ans, général à vingt-deux ans. Il mourut en combattant pour sa patrie, le dernier jour de l'an IV de la République française. Qui que tu sois, ami ou ennemi de ce jeune héros, respecte ces cendres."
A bronze statue at Versailles, raised to the memory of General Hoche (1768-1797) bears a very similar record—
A bronze statue at Versailles, dedicated to the memory of General Hoche (1768-1797), has a very similar inscription—
"A Lazare Hoche, né à Versailles le 24 juin, 1768, sergent à seize ans, général en chef à vingt-cinq, mort à vingt-neuf, pacificateur de la Vendée."]
"A Lazare Hoche, born in Versailles on June 24, 1768, sergeant at sixteen, chief general at twenty-five, died at twenty-nine, pacifier of the Vendée."
12.
Stanza lviii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Ehrenbreitstein, i.e. "the broad stone of honour," one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, was dismantled and blown up by the French at the truce of Leoben. It had been, and could only be, reduced by famine or treachery. It yielded to the former, aided by surprise. After having seen the fortifications of Gibraltar and Malta, it did not much strike by comparison; but the situation is commanding. General Marceau besieged it in vain for some time, and I slept in a room where I was shown a window at which he is said to have been standing observing the progress of the siege by moonlight, when a ball struck immediately below it.
Ehrenbreitstein, meaning "the broad stone of honor," was one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, but it was dismantled and blown up by the French during the truce of Leoben. It could only have been taken by starvation or betrayal. In this case, it fell due to the former, with a little surprise help. After seeing the fortifications of Gibraltar and Malta, it didn't impress much by comparison; however, the location is commanding. General Marceau unsuccessfully besieged it for a while, and I slept in a room where I was shown a window he supposedly stood at, watching the siege unfold by moonlight, when a cannonball struck right below it.
[Ehrenbreitstein, which had resisted the French under Marshal Boufflers in 1680, and held out against Marceau (1795-96), finally capitulated to the French after a prolonged siege in 1799. The fortifications were dismantled when the French evacuated the fortress after the Treaty of Lunéville in 1801. The Treaty of Leoben was signed April 18, 1797.]
[Ehrenbreitstein, which held off the French under Marshal Boufflers in 1680 and resisted Marceau (1795-96), eventually surrendered to the French after a long siege in 1799. The defenses were taken apart when the French left the fortress after the Treaty of Lunéville in 1801. The Treaty of Leoben was signed on April 18, 1797.]
13.
Stanza lxiii. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diminished to a small number by the Burgundian Legion in the service of France; who anxiously effaced this record of their ancestors' less successful invasions. A few still remain, notwithstanding the pains taken by the Burgundians for ages (all who passed that way removing a bone to their own country), and the less justifiable larcenies of the Swiss postilions, who carried them off to sell for knife-handles; a purpose for which the whiteness imbibed by the bleaching of years had rendered them in great request. Of these relics I ventured to bring away as much as may have made a quarter of a hero, for which the sole excuse is, that if I had not, the next passer-by might have perverted them to worse uses than the careful preservation which I intend for them.
The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones has been reduced to a few remains by the Burgundian Legion in service of France, who were eager to erase any trace of their ancestors' less successful invasions. A few bones still remain, despite the efforts made by the Burgundians over the years (with everyone who passed by taking a bone back to their own country) and the less justifiable thefts by the Swiss postilions, who took them to sell for knife-handles; a purpose for which the whiteness acquired from years of bleaching made them very sought after. I decided to take as many of these relics as would make up a quarter of a hero, and my only excuse is that if I hadn’t done so, the next passerby might have used them for something worse than the careful preservation that I plan for them.
[Charles the Bold was defeated by the Swiss at the Battle of Morat, June 22, 1476. It has been computed that more than twenty thousand Burgundians fell in the battle. At first, to avoid the outbreak of a pestilence, the bodies were [298] thrown into pits. "Nine years later ... the mouldering remains were unearthed, and deposited in a building ... on the shore of the lake, near the village of Meyriez.... During three succeeding centuries this depository was several times rebuilt.... But the ill-starred relics were not destined even yet to remain undisturbed. At the close of the last century, when the armies of the French Republic were occupying Switzerland, a regiment consisting mainly of Burgundians, under the notion of effacing an insult to their ancestors, tore down the 'bone-house' at Morat, covered the contents with earth, and planted on the mound 'a tree of liberty.' But the tree had no roots; the rains washed away the earth; again the remains were exposed to view, and lay bleaching in the sun for a quarter of a century. Travellers stopped to gaze, to moralize, and to pilfer; postilions and poets scraped off skulls and thigh-bones.... At last, in 1822, the vestiges were swept together and resepulchred, and a simple obelisk of marble was erected, to commemorate a victory well deserving of its fame as a military exploit, but all unworthy to be ranked with earlier triumphs, won by hands pure as well as strong, defending freedom and the right."—History of Charles the Bold, by J. F. Kirk, 1868, iii. 404, 405.
[Charles the Bold was defeated by the Swiss at the Battle of Morat on June 22, 1476. It's estimated that over twenty thousand Burgundians died in the battle. Initially, to prevent an outbreak of disease, the bodies were [298] thrown into pits. "Nine years later, the decaying remains were dug up and placed in a building on the shore of the lake, near the village of Meyriez.... Over the next three centuries, this site was rebuilt several times.... But the ill-fated relics were not meant to rest undisturbed. At the end of the last century, when the French Republic's armies occupied Switzerland, a regiment mainly made up of Burgundians, intending to erase an insult to their ancestors, demolished the 'bone-house' at Morat, buried the contents, and planted a 'tree of liberty' on the mound. However, the tree had no roots; the rain washed away the dirt, and once again the remains were exposed, lying in the sun for a quarter of a century. Travelers stopped to look, to reflect, and to steal; postilions and poets collected skulls and thigh bones.... Finally, in 1822, the remains were gathered and reburied, and a simple marble obelisk was erected to commemorate a victory that truly deserves its reputation as a military achievement, but it is unworthy to be compared with earlier triumphs won by hands that were both pure and strong, defending freedom and justice."—History of Charles the Bold, by J. F. Kirk, 1868, iii. 404, 405.
Mr. Murray still has in his possession the parcel of bones—the "quarter of a hero"—which Byron sent home from the field of Morat.]
Mr. Murray still has the parcel of bones—the "quarter of a hero"—that Byron sent back from the battlefield of Morat.
14.
Stanza lxv. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
Aventicum, near Morat, was the Roman capital of Helvetia, where Avenches now stands.
Aventicum, close to Morat, was the Roman capital of Helvetia, where Avenches is located today.
[Avenches (Wiflisburg) lies due south of the Lake of Morat, and about five miles east of the Lake of Neuchâtel. As a Roman colony it bore the name of Pia Flavia Constans Emerita, and circ. 70 A.D. contained a population of sixty thousand inhabitants. It was destroyed first by the Alemanni and, afterwards, by Attila. "The Emperor Vespasian—son of the banker of the town," says Suetonius (lib. viii. i)—"surrounded the city by massive walls, defended it by semicircular towers, adorned it with a capitol, a theatre, a forum, and granted it jurisdiction over the outlying dependencies....
[Avenches (Wiflisburg) is located directly south of Lake Morat, about five miles east of Lake Neuchâtel. As a Roman colony, it was known as Pia Flavia Constans Emerita, and around 70 A.D., it had a population of sixty thousand. It was first destroyed by the Alemanni and later by Attila. "The Emperor Vespasian—son of the town's banker," says Suetonius (lib. viii. i)—"surrounded the city with massive walls, fortified it with semicircular towers, embellished it with a capitol, a theater, a forum, and granted it authority over the surrounding areas....
"To-day plantations of tobacco cover the forgotten streets of Avenches, and a single Corinthian column ['the lonelier column,' the so-called Cicognier], with its crumbling arcade, [299] remains to tell of former grandeur."—Historic Studies in Vaud, Berne, and Savoy, by General Meredith Read, 1897, i. 16.]
"Today, tobacco fields cover the neglected streets of Avenches, and a solitary Corinthian column ['the lonelier column,' known as Cicognier], with its crumbling arcade, [299] stands as a reminder of its former glory."—Historic Studies in Vaud, Berne, and Savoy, by General Meredith Read, 1897, i. 16.]
15.
Stanza lxvi. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died soon after a vain endeavour to save her father, condemned to death as a traitor by Aulus Cæcina. Her epitaph was discovered many years ago;—it is thus:—"Julia Alpinula: Hic jaceo. Infelicis patris, infelix proles. Deæ Aventiæ Sacerdos. Exorare patris necem non potui: Male mori in fatis ille erat. Vixi annos XXIII."—I know of no human composition so affecting as this, nor a history of deeper interest. These are the names and actions which ought not to perish, and to which we turn with a true and healthy tenderness, from the wretched and glittering detail of a confused mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is roused for a time to a false and feverish sympathy, from whence it recurs at length with all the nausea consequent on such intoxication.
Julia Alpinula, a young priestess from Aventia, died shortly after a futile attempt to save her father, who was sentenced to death as a traitor by Aulus Cæcina. Her epitaph was found many years ago; it reads: “Julia Alpinula: Here I lie. Unfortunate daughter of an unfortunate father. Priestess of the goddess Aventia. I could not save my father from death: It was his fate to die badly. I lived for 23 years.” I don't know of any human writing as moving as this, nor a story of deeper significance. These are the names and actions that should never be forgotten, and to which we turn with genuine and heartfelt emotion, away from the miserable and dazzling details of a chaotic collection of conquests and battles, which temporarily stir the mind to a false and intense sympathy, only to return ultimately with all the nausea that follows such intoxication.
[A mutinous outbreak among the Helvetii, which had been provoked by the dishonest rapacity of the twenty-first legion, was speedily quelled by the Roman general Aulus Cæcina. Aventicum surrendered (A.D. 69), but Julius Alpinus, a chieftain and supposed ring-leader, was singled out for punishment and put to death. "The rest," says Tacitus, "were left to the ruth or ruthlessness of Vitellius" (Histor., i. 67, 68). Julia Alpinula and her epitaph were the happy inventions of a sixteenth-century scholar. "It appears," writes Lord Stanhope, "that this inscription was given by one Paul Wilhelm, a noted forger (falsarius), to Lipsius, and by Lipsius handed over to Gruterus. Nobody, either before or since Wilhelm, has even pretended to have seen the stone ... as to any son or daughter of Julius Alpinus, history is wholly silent" (Quarterly Review, June, 1846, vol. lviii. p. 61; Historical Essays, by Lord Mahon, 1849, pp. 297, 298).]
[A mutiny among the Helvetii, sparked by the greedy behavior of the twenty-first legion, was quickly put down by the Roman general Aulus Cæcina. Aventicum surrendered (A.D. 69), but Julius Alpinus, a leader and alleged mastermind, was targeted for punishment and executed. "The rest," says Tacitus, "were left to the mercy or cruelty of Vitellius" (Histor., i. 67, 68). Julia Alpinula and her epitaph were the creative inventions of a sixteenth-century scholar. "It seems," writes Lord Stanhope, "that this inscription was created by one Paul Wilhelm, a known forger (falsarius), given to Lipsius, and then passed on to Gruterus. No one, either before or after Wilhelm, has ever claimed to have seen the stone ... regarding any son or daughter of Julius Alpinus, history is completely silent" (Quarterly Review, June, 1846, vol. lviii. p. 61; Historical Essays, by Lord Mahon, 1849, pp. 297, 298).]
16.
Stanza lxvii. line 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 8.
This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc (June 3rd, 1816), which even at this distance dazzles mine.—(July 20th.) I this day observed for some time the distinct reflection of [300] Mont Blanc and Mont Argentière in the calm of the lake, which I was crossing in my boat; the distance of these mountains from their mirror is sixty miles.
This is written in the view of Mont Blanc (June 3rd, 1816), which still dazzles me from this distance.—(July 20th.) Today, I watched for a while the clear reflection of [300] Mont Blanc and Mont Argentière in the calm lake as I crossed it in my boat; these mountains are sixty miles away from their reflection.
[The first lines of the note dated June 3, 1816, were written at "Dejean's Hôtel de l'Angleterre, at Sécheron, a small suburb of Geneva, on the northern side of the lake." On the 10th of June Byron removed to the Campagne Diodati, about two miles from Geneva, on the south shore of the lake (Life of Shelley, by Edward Dowden, 1896, pp. 307-309).]
[The first lines of the note dated June 3, 1816, were written at "Dejean's Hôtel de l'Angleterre, at Sécheron, a small suburb of Geneva, on the northern side of the lake." On June 10, Byron moved to the Campagne Diodati, about two miles from Geneva, on the south shore of the lake (Life of Shelley, by Edward Dowden, 1896, pp. 307-309).]
17.
Stanza lxxi. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago.
The color of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of hue that I've never seen matched in any water, whether salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and the Archipelago.
[The blueness of the Rhone, which has been attributed to various causes, is due to the comparative purity of the water. The yellow and muddy stream, during its passage through the lake, is enabled to purge itself to a very great extent of the solid matter held in suspension—the glacial and other detritus—-and so, on leaving its vast natural filtering-bed, it flows out clear and blue: it has regained the proper colour of pure water.]
[The blue color of the Rhône, which has been linked to different reasons, is primarily because of the relatively clean water. The yellow and muddy river, while passing through the lake, gets rid of most of the solid particles it carries—like glacial debris and other sediments—so when it exits its large natural filtration system, it flows out clear and blue: it has returned to the natural color of clean water.]
18.
Stanza lxxix. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
This refers to the account, in his Confessions, of his passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St. Lambert), and his long walk every morning, for the sake of the single kiss which was the common salutation of French acquaintance. Rousseau's description of his feelings on this occasion may be considered as the most passionate, yet not impure, description and expression of love that ever kindled into words; which, after all, must be felt, from their very force, to be inadequate to the delineation; a painting can give no sufficient idea of the ocean.
This refers to the account in his Confessions of his passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St. Lambert) and his long walk every morning for the sake of a single kiss, the typical greeting among French acquaintances. Rousseau's description of his feelings during this time may be seen as the most passionate, yet pure, expression of love that has ever been put into words; which, in the end, must be acknowledged as inadequate to truly capture the depth of those feelings—like a painting that can’t fully convey the vastness of the ocean.
[Here is Rousseau's "passionate, yet not impure," description of his sensations: "J'ai dit qu'il y avoit loin de l'Hermitage à Eaubonne; je passois par les coteaux d'Andilly qui sont charmans. Je rêvois en marchant à celle que j'allois voir, à l'accueil caressant qu'elle me feroit, au baiser qui m'attendoit a mon arrivée. Ce seul baiser, ce baiser funeste avant même [301] de le recevoir, m'embrasoit le sang à tel point, que ma tête se troubloit, un éblouissement m'aveugloit, mes genoux tremblants ne pouroient me soutenir; j'étois forcé de m'arréter, de m'asseoir; toute ma machine étoit dans un désordre inconcevable; j'étois prêt à m'évanouir.... A l'instant que je la voyois, tout étoit réparé; je ne sentois plus auprès d'elle que l'importunité d'une vigueur inépuisable et toujours inutile."—Les Confessions, Partie II. livre ix.; Oeuvres Complètes de J.J. Rousseau, 1837, i. 233.
[Here is Rousseau's "passionate, yet not impure," description of his sensations: "I said it was a long way from the Hermitage to Eaubonne; I passed through the charming hills of Andilly. As I walked, I daydreamed about the one I was going to see, the warm welcome she would give me, the kiss waiting for me upon my arrival. That single kiss, that fateful kiss even before I received it, set my blood on fire to such an extent that my head became foggy, a dazzling light blinded me, my trembling knees could hardly support me; I was forced to stop, to sit down; my whole being was in a state of unimaginable disarray; I was ready to faint.... The moment I saw her, everything was restored; I felt nothing near her but the urgency of an endless and always useless vigor."—Les Confessions, Partie II. livre ix.; Oeuvres Complètes de J.J. Rousseau, 1837, i. 233.]
Byron's mother "would have it" that her son was like Rousseau, but he disclaimed the honour antithetically and with needless particularity (see his letter to Mrs. Byron, and a quotation from his Detached Thoughts, Letters, 1898, i. 192, note). There was another point of unlikeness, which he does not mention. Byron, on the passion of love, does not "make for morality," but he eschews nastiness. The loves of Don Juan and Haidée are chaste as snow compared with the unspeakable philanderings of the elderly Jean Jacques and the "mistress of St. Lambert."
Byron's mother insisted that her son was like Rousseau, but he rejected that notion emphatically and with unnecessary detail (see his letter to Mrs. Byron, and a quotation from his Detached Thoughts, Letters, 1898, i. 192, note). There was another difference that he doesn’t mention. Byron doesn’t pursue morality when it comes to love, but he avoids anything disgusting. The relationships of Don Juan and Haidée are pure as snow compared to the shocking affairs of the older Jean Jacques and the "mistress of St. Lambert."
Nevertheless, his mother was right. There was a resemblance, and consequently an affinity, between Childe Burun and the "visionary of Geneva"—delineated by another seer or visionary as "the dreamer of love-sick tales, and the spinner of speculative cobwebs; shy of light as the mole, but as quick-eared too for every whisper of the public opinion; the teacher of Stoic pride in his principles, yet the victim of morbid vanity in his feelings and conduct."—The Friend; Works of S. T. Coleridge, 1853, ii. 124.]
Nevertheless, his mother was right. There was a resemblance, and therefore a connection, between Childe Burun and the "visionary of Geneva"—described by another seer or visionary as "the dreamer of love-sick tales, and the weaver of speculative cobwebs; as shy of light as a mole, but also as quick to hear every whisper of public opinion; the teacher of Stoic pride in his beliefs, yet the victim of unhealthy vanity in his feelings and behavior."—The Friend; Works of S. T. Coleridge, 1853, ii. 124.]
19.
Stanza xci. line 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 3.
It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and impressive doctrines of the divine Founder of Christianity were delivered, not in the Temple, but on the Mount. To waive the question of devotion, and turn to human eloquence,—the most effectual and splendid specimens were not pronounced within walls. Demosthenes addressed the public and popular assemblies. Cicero spoke in the forum. That this added to their effect on the mind of both orator and hearers, may be conceived from the difference between what we read of the emotions then and there produced, and those we ourselves experience in the perusal in the closet. It is one thing to read the Iliad at Sigæum and on the tumuli, or by the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain and rivers and [302] Archipelago around you; and another to trim your taper over it in a snug library—this I know. Were the early and rapid progress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to any cause beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines (the truth or error of which I presume neither to canvass nor to question), I should venture to ascribe it to the practice of preaching in the fields, and the unstudied and extemporaneous effusions of its teachers. The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at least in the lower orders) is most sincere, and therefore impressive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and prayers, wherever they may be, at the stated hours—of course, frequently in the open air, kneeling upon a light mat (which they carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as required); the ceremony lasts some minutes, during which they are totally absorbed, and only living in their supplication: nothing can disturb them. On me the simple and entire sincerity of these men, and the spirit which appeared to be within and upon them, made a far greater impression than any general rite which was ever performed in places of worship, of which I have seen those of almost every persuasion under the sun; including most of our own sectaries, and the Greek, the Catholic, the Armenian, the Lutheran, the Jewish, and the Mahometan. Many of the negroes, of whom there are numbers in the Turkish empire, are idolaters, and have free exercise of their belief and its rites; some of these I had a distant view of at Patras; and, from what I could make out of them, they appeared to be of a truly Pagan description, and not very agreeable to a spectator.
It’s important to remember that the most beautiful and impactful teachings of the founder of Christianity were shared, not in the Temple, but on the Mount. Setting aside the topic of devotion and focusing on human expression—the most powerful and impressive speeches weren’t made within walls. Demosthenes addressed the public and popular assemblies. Cicero spoke in the forum. You can imagine how this enhanced their impact on both the speakers and their audiences, based on the difference between the emotions reported from those moments compared to what we feel when reading about them privately. It’s one thing to read the Iliad at Sigæum and amidst the burial mounds, or by the springs with Mount Ida towering above, alongside the plains and rivers and the [302] Archipelago around you; it’s another to light a candle over it in a cozy library—this I understand. If the early and rapid spread of what’s known as Methodism could be attributed to anything beyond the passionate enthusiasm of its faith and teachings (the truth or falsehood of which I won’t debate), I’d say it was due to preaching in the fields, and the spontaneous and unstudied expressions of its leaders. The Muslims, whose misguided devotion (especially among the lower classes) is deeply sincere and thus impactful, tend to recite their required prayers wherever they are, at set times—often outdoors, kneeling on a light mat (which they carry for use as a bed or cushion as needed). The ceremony lasts several minutes during which they are completely absorbed, focused solely on their supplication: nothing can distract them. To me, the straightforward and full sincerity of these people, and the spirit that seemed to move within and around them, left a much stronger impression than any formal ritual I’ve witnessed in places of worship, of which I’ve experienced those from nearly every faith under the sun; including most of our own denominations, as well as the Greek, Catholic, Armenian, Lutheran, Jewish, and Muslim traditions. Many of the black individuals, of whom there are many in the Turkish empire, are idolaters who openly practice their beliefs and rituals; I caught a glimpse of some of them in Patras, and from what I could observe, they seemed to represent a truly Pagan form of worship, which wasn’t very pleasant for a spectator.
[For this profession of "natural piety," compare Rousseau's Confessions, Partie II. livre xii. (Oeuvres Complètes, 1837, i. 341)—
[For this profession of "natural piety," compare Rousseau's Confessions, Part II, Book XII. (Oeuvres Complètes, 1837, i. 341)—
"Je ne trouve pas de plus digne hommage à la Divinité que cette admiration muette qu'excite la contemplation de ses oeuvres, et qui ne s'exprime point par des actes développés. Je comprends comment les habitants des villes, qui ne voient que des murs, des rues et des crimes, ont peu de foi; mais je ne puis comprendre comment des campagnards, et surtout des solitaires, peuvent n'en point avoir. Comment leur âme ne s'élève-t-elle pas cent fois le jour avec extase à l'Auteur des merveilles qui les frappent? ... Dans ma chambre je prie plus rarement et plus sèchement; mais à l'aspect d'un beau paysage je me sens ému sans pourvoir dire de quoi."
"I can't find a more fitting tribute to the Divine than this silent admiration sparked by the contemplation of His works, which isn't expressed through elaborate actions. I understand how city dwellers, who only see walls, streets, and crime, have little faith; but I can't grasp how country people, especially those who live in solitude, could lack it altogether. How does their souls not rise a hundred times a day in ecstasy to the Author of the wonders around them? ... In my room, I pray less often and more dryly; but in the presence of a beautiful landscape, I feel moved without being able to express why."
Compare, too, Coleridge's lines "To Nature"—
Compare, too, Coleridge's lines "To Nature"—
And the blue sky will be my stressed ceiling,
[303] And the sweet scent that the wildflower gives off,
I will offer you this incense, You alone, God! and You will not reject "Even I, the priest of this humble sacrifice."
Poetical Works, 1893, p. 190.]
Poetical Works, 1893, p. 190.
20.
Stanza xcii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The thunder-storm to which these lines refer occurred on the 13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen, among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari, several more terrible, but none more beautiful.
The thunderstorm these lines talk about happened on June 13, 1816, at midnight. I've experienced several storms that were more frightening in the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari, but none were as beautiful.
21.
Stanza xcix. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
Rousseau's Héloïse, Lettre 17, Part IV., note. "Ces montagnes sont si hautes, qu'une demi-heure après le soleil couché, leurs sommets sont éclairés de ses rayons, dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches une belle couleur de rose, qu'on aperçoit de fort loin."[356] This applies more particularly
Rousseau's Héloïse, Letter 17, Part IV., note. "These mountains are so tall that half an hour after the sun sets, their peaks are illuminated by its rays, which create a beautiful rose color on these white summits that can be seen from quite a distance."[356] This applies more particularly
to the heights over Meillerie.—"J'allai à Vévay loger à la Clef;[357] et pendant deux jours que j'y restai sans voir personne,
to the heights over Meillerie.—"I went to Vevey to stay at the Clef;[357] and for two days I was there without seeing anyone,
je pris pour cette ville un amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages, et qui m'y a fait établir enfin les héros de mon roman. Je dirois volontiers à ceux qui ont du goût et qui sont sensibles: Allez à Vévay—visitez le pays, examinez les sites, promenez-vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour une Claire,[358] et pour un St. Preux; mais ne les y cherchez pas."—Les Confessions, [P. I. liv. 4, Oeuvres, etc., 1837, i. 78].—In July [June 23-27], 1816, I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva;[359] and, as far as my own observations have led me in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his Héloïse, I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggeration. It would be difficult to see Clarens (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon, Bôveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Evian,[360] and the entrances of the Rhone) without being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to the persons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all; the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of [305] our own participation of its good and of its glory: it is the great principle of the universe, which is there more condensed, but not less manifested; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole.—If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less have belonged to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their adoption; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selection; but they have done that for him which no human being could do for them.—I had the fortune (good or evil as it might be) to sail from Meillerie[361] (where we landed for some time) to St. Gingo during a lake storm, which added to the magnificence of all around, although occasionally accompanied by danger to the boat, which was small and overloaded. It was over this very part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest. On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, I found that the wind had been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old chestnut trees on the lower part of the mountains. On the opposite height of Clarens is a château[362] [Château des Crêtes]. The [306] hills are covered with vineyards, and interspersed with some small but beautiful woods; one of these was named the "Bosquet de Julie;" and it is remarkable that, though long ago cut down by the brutal selfishness of the monks of St. Bernard (to whom the land appertained), that the ground might be enclosed into a vineyard for the miserable drones of an execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens still point out the spot where its trees stood, calling it by the name which consecrated and survived them. Rousseau has not been particularly fortunate in the preservation of the "local habitations" he has given to "airy nothings." The Prior of Great St. Bernard has cut down some of his woods for the sake of a few casks of wine, and Buonaparte has levelled part of the rocks of Meillerie in improving the road to the Simplon. The road is an excellent one; but I cannot quite agree with a remark which I heard made, that "La route vaut mieux que les souvenirs."
I developed a love for this city that has followed me on all my travels and finally led me to establish the heroes of my novel here. I would gladly say to those who appreciate beauty and have sensitivity: Go to Vevey—visit the area, explore the sights, take a stroll by the lake, and tell me if nature didn't create this beautiful land for a Julie, for a Claire, and for a St. Preux; but don’t go looking for them there."—Les Confessions, [P. I. liv. 4, Oeuvres, etc., 1837, i. 78].—In July [June 23-27], 1816, I took a trip around Lake Geneva;[359] and based on my observations, which were attentive and involved, of all the places most celebrated by Rousseau in his Héloïse, I can confidently say that there is no exaggeration in this. It would be hard to see Clarens (and the surrounding areas, Vevey, Chillon, Bôveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Evian,[360] and the entrances of the Rhone) and not be struck by how perfectly it fits the characters and events associated with it. But there’s more; the feeling that surrounds Clarens and the opposite cliffs of Meillerie is of a deeper, broader nature than just sympathy with individual passion; it’s a recognition of love in its greatest and most sublime form, and of our own experience of its goodness and glory: it’s the fundamental principle of the universe, condensed here yet fully expressed; and even though we know we are a part of it, we lose our individuality and blend into the beauty of the whole.—Even if Rousseau had never written or lived, the same associations would still belong to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his work by embracing these places; he has demonstrated his appreciation of their beauty through their selection, but these places have done more for him than any person could do for them.—I had the fortune (whether it was good or bad) to sail from Meillerie[361] (where we stopped for a while) to St. Gingo during a storm on the lake, which enhanced the magnificence of everything around, even though it sometimes posed a danger to the small, overloaded boat. It was over this very part of the lake that Rousseau sent the boat of St. Preux and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a storm. When I reached the shore at St. Gingo, I found that the wind had been strong enough to uproot some beautiful old chestnut trees on the lower slopes of the mountains. On the opposite ridge of Clarens is a château[362] [Château des Crêtes]. The hills are covered with vineyards and dotted with small, beautiful woods; one of these was called the "Bosquet de Julie;" and it’s noteworthy that even though it was long ago cut down by the selfish brutality of the monks of St. Bernard (to whom the land belonged) to turn it into a vineyard for the wretched followers of a despicable superstition, the people of Clarens still point out the spot where its trees once stood, calling it by the name that honored and outlasted them. Rousseau hasn’t been particularly lucky in preserving the "local homes" he assigned to "airy nothings." The Prior of Great St. Bernard has cut down some of his woods for a few casks of wine, and Buonaparte has leveled parts of the rocks of Meillerie while improving the road to Simplon. The road is excellent; however, I can’t quite agree with a comment I heard that "the road is better than the memories."
22.
Stanza cv. line 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 2.
Voltaire and Gibbon.
Voltaire and Gibbon.
[François Marie Arouet de Voltaire (1694-1778) lived on his estate at Fernex, five miles north of Geneva, from 1759 to 1777. "In the garden at Fernex is a long berceau walk, closely arched over with clipped horn-beam—a verdant cloister, with gaps cut here and there, admitting a glimpse of the prospect. Here Voltaire used to walk up and down, and dictate to his secretary."—Handbook for Switzerland, p. 174.
[François Marie Arouet de Voltaire (1694-1778) lived on his estate at Fernex, five miles north of Geneva, from 1759 to 1777. "In the garden at Fernex is a long berceau walk, closely arched over with clipped hornbeam—a green cloister, with gaps cut here and there, allowing a glimpse of the view. Here, Voltaire would walk up and down and dictate to his secretary."—Handbook for Switzerland, p. 174.
Previous to this he had lived for some time at Lausanne, at "Monrepos, a country house at the end of a suburb," at Monrion, "a square building of two storeys, and a high garret, with wings, each fashioned like the letter L," and [307] afterwards, in the spring of 1757, at No. 6, Rue du Grand Chêne.—Historic Studies, ii. 210, 218, 219.
Before this, he had lived for a while in Lausanne, at "Monrepos, a country house at the end of a suburb," at Monrion, "a square, two-story building with a high attic and wings, each shaped like the letter L," and [307] later, in the spring of 1757, at No. 6, Rue du Grand Chêne.—Historic Studies, ii. 210, 218, 219.
Edward Gibbon (1737-1794) finished (1788) The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire at "La Grotte, an ancient and spacious mansion behind the church of St. Francis, at Lausanne," which was demolished by the Swiss authorities in 1879. Not only has the mansion ceased to exist, but the garden has been almost entirely changed. The wall of the Hôtel Gibbon occupies the site of the famous wooden pavilion, or summer-house, and of the "berceau of plum trees, which formed a verdant gallery completely arched overhead," and which "were called after Gibbon, La Gibbonière."—Historic Studies, i. I; ii. 493.
Edward Gibbon (1737-1794) completed (1788) The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire at "La Grotte, a large historical house behind the church of St. Francis in Lausanne," which was torn down by the Swiss authorities in 1879. Not only has the house been removed, but the garden has also changed almost completely. The wall of the Hôtel Gibbon now stands where the famous wooden pavilion, or summer-house, used to be, along with the "berceau of plum trees, which created a green archway overhead," and which "was named after Gibbon, La Gibbonière." —Historic Studies, i. I; ii. 493.
In 1816 the pavilion was "utterly decayed," and the garden neglected, but Byron gathered "a sprig of Gibbon's acacia," and some rose leaves from his garden and enclosed them in a letter to Murray (June 27, 1816). Shelley, on the contrary, "refrained from doing so, fearing to outrage the greater and more sacred name of Rousseau; the contemplation of whose imperishable creations had left no vacancy in my heart for mortal things. Gibbon had a cold and unimpassioned spirit."—Essays, etc., 1840, ii. 76.]
In 1816, the pavilion was "completely rundown," and the garden was neglected, but Byron picked "a sprig of Gibbon's acacia" and some rose leaves from his garden and enclosed them in a letter to Murray (June 27, 1816). Shelley, on the other hand, "didn't do the same, worried about disrespecting the greater and more revered name of Rousseau; contemplating his timeless works left no space in my heart for earthly matters. Gibbon had a cold and unfeeling spirit."—Essays, etc., 1840, ii. 76.]
23.
Stanza cxiii. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
"For Banquo's descendants, I have focused my thoughts."
Macbeth, [act iii. sc. 1, line 64].
Macbeth, [act iii. sc. 1, line 64].
24.
Stanza cxiv. line 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 7.
It is said by Rochefoucault, that "there is always something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them."
It is said by Rochefoucault, that "there is always something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them."
["Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours quelque chose qui ne nous déplaît pas."—Appendice aux Maximes de La Rochefoucauld, Panthéon Littéraire, Paris, 1836, p. 460.]
["In the adversity of our closest friends, we always find something that doesn't bother us."—Appendice aux Maximes de La Rochefoucauld, Panthéon Littéraire, Paris, 1836, p. 460.]
FOOTNOTES:
[357] [The Clef, is now a café on the Grande Place, and still distinguished by the sign of the Key. But Vevey had other associations for Rousseau, more powerful and more persuasive than a solitary visit to an inn. "Madame Warens," says General Read, "possessed a charming country resort midway between Vevey and Chillon, just above the beautiful village of Clarens. It was situated at the Bassets, amid scenery whose exquisite features inspired some of the fine imagery of Rousseau. It is now called the Bassets de Pury. ... The exterior of the older parts has not been changed. ... The stairway leads to a large salon, whose windows command a view of Meillerie, St. Gingolph, and Bouveret, beyond the lake. Communicating with this salon is a large dining-room.
[357] [The Clef is now a café on the Grande Place, still recognized by the sign of the Key. But Vevey held deeper meanings for Rousseau, more impactful and convincing than a single visit to an inn. "Madame Warens," says General Read, "had a charming country retreat located between Vevey and Chillon, just above the lovely village of Clarens. It was situated at the Bassets, surrounded by scenery so beautiful it inspired some of Rousseau's finest imagery. It is now called the Bassets de Pury. ... The exterior of the older parts remains unchanged. ... The stairway leads to a large salon, with windows offering a view of Meillerie, St. Gingolph, and Bouveret across the lake. Next to this salon is a large dining room.
"These two rooms open to the east, upon a broad terrace. At a corner of the terrace is a large summer-house, and through the chestnut trees one sees as far as Les Crêtes, the hillocks and bosquets described by Rousseau. Near by is a dove-cote filled with cooing doves.... In the last century this site (Les Crêtes) was covered with pleasure-gardens, and some parts are even pointed out as associated with Rousseau and Madame de Warens."—Historic Sketches of Vaud, etc., by General Meredith Read, 1897, i. 433-437. There was, therefore, some excuse for the guide (see Byron's Diary, September 18, 1816) "confounding Rousseau with St. Preux, and mixing the man with the book."]
"These two rooms face east, opening onto a wide terrace. In one corner of the terrace is a large summer house, and through the chestnut trees, you can see as far as Les Crêtes, the hills and groves that Rousseau described. Nearby is a dove cote filled with cooing doves... In the last century, this area (Les Crêtes) was full of pleasure gardens, and some sections are even noted as having connections to Rousseau and Madame de Warens."—Historic Sketches of Vaud, etc., by General Meredith Read, 1897, i. 433-437. So there was some reason for the guide (see Byron's Diary, September 18, 1816) to "confuse Rousseau with St. Preux and mix the man with the book."
[359] [Byron and Shelley sailed round the Lake of Geneva towards the end of June, 1816. Writing to Murray, June 27, he says, "I have traversed all Rousseau's ground with the Héloïse before me;" and in the same letter announces the completion of a third canto of Childe Harold. He revisited Clarens and Chillon in company with Hobhouse in the following September (see extracts from a Journal, September 18, 1816, Life, pp. 311, 312).]
[359] [Byron and Shelley traveled around Lake Geneva at the end of June 1816. Writing to Murray on June 27, he states, "I have walked all of Rousseau's paths with the Héloïse in front of me;" and in the same letter, he mentions finishing the third canto of Childe Harold. He visited Clarens and Chillon again with Hobhouse the following September (see excerpts from a Journal, September 18, 1816, Life, pp. 311, 312).]
[360] [Bouveret, St. Gingolph, Evian.]
[361] {305} [Byron mentions the "squall off Meillerie" in a letter to Murray, dated Ouchy, near Lausanne, June 27, 1816. Compare, too, Shelley's version of the incident: "The wind gradually increased in violence until it blew tremendously; and as it came from the remotest extremity of the lake, produced waves of a frightful height, and covered the whole surface with a chaos of foam.... I felt in this near prospect of death a mixture of sensations, among which terror entered, though but subordinately. My feelings would have been less painful had I been alone; but I know that my companion would have attempted to save me, and I was overcome with humiliation, when I thought that his life might have been risked to preserve mine."—Letters from Abroad, etc.; Essays, by Percy Bysshe Shelley, edited by Mrs. Shelley, 1840, ii. 68, 69.]
[361] {305} [Byron mentions the "squall off Meillerie" in a letter to Murray, dated Ouchy, near Lausanne, June 27, 1816. Also, check out Shelley's version of the event: "The wind gradually picked up, blowing fiercely; and since it came from the farthest point of the lake, it created massive waves that covered the entire surface in a chaos of foam... I felt a mix of emotions in this close brush with death, including terror, although it wasn't the strongest. My feelings would have been less painful if I had been alone, but I knew that my companion would have tried to save me, and I felt humiliated at the thought that his life might have been endangered to save mine."—Letters from Abroad, etc.; Essays, by Percy Bysshe Shelley, edited by Mrs. Shelley, 1840, ii. 68, 69.]
[362] [Byron and Shelley slept at Clarens, June 26, 1816. The windows of their inn commanded a view of the Bosquet de Julie. "In the evening we walked thither. It is, indeed, Julia's wood ... the trees themselves were aged but vigorous.... We went again (June 27) to the Bosquet de Julie, and found that the precise spot was now utterly obliterated, and a heap of stones marked the place where the little chapel had once stood. Whilst we were execrating the author of this brutal folly, our guide informed us that the land belonged to the Convent of St. Bernard, and that this outrage had been committed by their orders. I knew before that if avarice could harden the hearts of men, a system of prescriptive religion has an influence far more inimical to natural sensibility. I know that an isolated man is sometimes restrained by shame from outraging the venerable feelings arising out of the memory of genius, which once made nature even lovelier than itself; but associated man holds it as the very sacrament of this union to forswear all delicacy, all benevolence, all remorse; all that is true, or tender, or sublime."—Essays, etc., 1840, ii. 75.]
[362] [Byron and Shelley stayed at Clarens on June 26, 1816. The windows of their inn offered a view of the Bosquet de Julie. "In the evening, we walked there. It truly is Julia's wood... the trees themselves were old but still strong... We returned (June 27) to the Bosquet de Julie and discovered that the exact spot was now completely gone, with a pile of stones marking where the little chapel once stood. While we were cursing the person responsible for this terrible act, our guide told us that the land belonged to the Convent of St. Bernard and that this destruction had happened on their orders. I had known before that if greed could harden people's hearts, a system of enforced religion has an influence far more harmful to natural feelings. I understand that a solitary person can sometimes be held back by shame from dishonoring the cherished memories of genius, which once made nature even more beautiful than itself; but in a group, people see it as part of their unity to reject all sensitivity, all kindness, all guilt; all that is true, or caring, or noble."—Essays, etc., 1840, ii. 75.]
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
Canto 4.
The mountain that divides, and the one that closes in. "Italy is surrounded by one sea and another."
Ariosto, Satira iv. lines 58-60.
Ariosto, Satire iv. lines 58-60.
INTRODUCTION TO THE FOURTH CANTO.
The first draft of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, which embodies the original and normal conception of the poem, was the work of twenty-six days. On the 17th of June, 1817, Byron wrote to Murray: "You are out about the Third Canto: I have not done, nor designed, a line of continuation to that poem. I was too short a time at Rome for it, and have no thought of recommencing." But in spite of this assertion, "the numbers came," and on June 26 he made a beginning. Thirty stanzas "were roughened off" on the 1st of July, fifty-six were accomplished by the 9th, "ninety and eight" by the 13th, and on July 20 he announces "the completion of the fourth and ultimate canto of Childe Harold. It consists of 126 stanzas." One stanza (xl.) was appended to the fair copy. It suggested a parallel between Ariosto "the Southern Scott," and Scott "the Northern Ariosto," and excited some misgiving.
The first draft of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, which represents the original and typical idea of the poem, took twenty-six days to complete. On June 17, 1817, Byron wrote to Murray: "You're mistaken about the Third Canto: I haven't written or planned a single line to continue that poem. I didn't spend enough time in Rome for it, and I have no intention of starting again." However, despite this statement, "the numbers came," and on June 26 he got started. Thirty stanzas were completed by July 1, fifty-six by the 9th, "ninety-eight" by the 13th, and on July 20 he announced "the completion of the fourth and final canto of Childe Harold. It has 126 stanzas." One stanza (xl.) was added to the final copy. It drew a comparison between Ariosto "the Southern Scott," and Scott "the Northern Ariosto," and raised some concerns.
In commending his new poem to Murray (July 20, August 7), Byron notes three points in which it differed from its predecessors: it is "the longest of the four;" "it treats more of works of art than of nature;" "there are no metaphysics in it—at least, I think not." In other words, "The Fourth Canto is not a continuation of the Third. I have parted company with Shelley and Wordsworth. Subject-matter and treatment are alike new."
In praising his new poem to Murray (July 20, August 7), Byron points out three ways it differs from the earlier ones: it is "the longest of the four;" "it focuses more on works of art than on nature;" and "there are no metaphysics in it—at least, I don't think so." In other words, "The Fourth Canto is not a continuation of the Third. I've moved on from Shelley and Wordsworth. Both the subject matter and the approach are completely new."
The poem as it stood was complete, and, as a poem, it lost as well as gained by the insertion of additional stanzas and groups of stanzas, "purple patch" on "purple patch," each by itself so attractive and so splendid. The pilgrim finds himself at Venice, on the "Bridge of Sighs." He [312] beholds in a vision the departed glories of "a thousand years." The "long array of shadows," the "beings of the mind," come to him "like truth," and repeople the vacancy. But he is an exile, and turns homeward in thought to "the inviolate island of the sage and free." He is an exile and a sufferer. He can and will endure his fate, but "ever and anon" he feels the prick of woe, and with the sympathy of despair would stand "a ruin amidst ruins," a desolate soul in a land of desolation and decay. He renews his pilgrimage. He passes Arquà, where "they keep the dust of Laura's lover," lingers for a day at Ferrara, haunted by memories of "Torquato's injured shade," and, as he approaches "the fair white walls" of Florence, he re-echoes the "Italia! oh, Italia!" of Filicaja's impassioned strains. At Florence he gazes, "dazzled and drunk with beauty," at the "goddess in stone," the Medicean Venus, but forbears to "describe the indescribable," to break the silence of Art by naming its mysteries. Santa Croce and the other glories "in Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine," he passes by unsung, if not unseen; but Thrasymene's "sheet of silver," the "living crystal" of Clitumnus' "gentlest waters," and Terni's "matchless cataract," on whose verge "an Iris sits," and "lone Soracte's ridge," not only call forth his spirit's homage, but receive the homage of his Muse.
The poem, as it was, felt complete, and adding more stanzas and sections meant it lost some of its charm, turning into "purple patch" upon "purple patch," each one individually captivating and beautiful. The traveler finds himself in Venice on the "Bridge of Sighs." He sees a vision of the lost glories of "a thousand years." The "long line of shadows," the "creatures of the mind," come to him "like truth," filling the emptiness. But he is an exile, and he turns his thoughts homeward to "the untouched island of the wise and free." He is both an exile and a sufferer. He can and will accept his fate, but "now and then" he feels the sting of sorrow, and with the weight of despair, he wishes to be "a ruin amidst ruins," a lonely soul in a wasteland of decay. He continues his journey. He passes Arquà, where "they keep the dust of Laura's lover," stays for a day in Ferrara, haunted by memories of "Torquato's injured spirit," and as he nears "the fair white walls" of Florence, he echoes the "Italia! oh, Italia!" from Filicaja's passionate lines. In Florence, he stares, "dazzled and drunk with beauty," at the "goddess in stone," the Medicean Venus, but refrains from attempting to "describe the indescribable," to disturb the silence of Art by naming its mysteries. He passes by Santa Croce and the other glories "in Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine," unnoticed, if not unseen; but Thrasymene's "sheet of silver," the "living crystal" of Clitumnus' "gentlest waters," and Terni's "unmatched waterfall," where "an Iris sits," along with "lone Soracte's ridge," not only earn his spirit’s respect but also receive the tribute of his Muse.
And now the Pilgrim has reached his goal, "Rome the wonderful," the sepulchre of empire, the shrine of art.
And now the traveler has reached his destination, "Rome the amazing," the burial place of an empire, the temple of art.
Henceforth the works of man absorb his attention. Pompey's "dread statue;" the Wolf of the Capitol; the Tomb of Cecilia Metella; the Palatine; the "nameless column" of the Forum; Trajan's pillar; Egeria's Grotto; the ruined Colosseum, "arches on arches," an "enormous skeleton," the Colosseum of the poet's vision, a multitudinous ring of spectators, a bloody Circus, and a dying Gladiator; the Pantheon; S. Nicola in Carcere, the scene of the Romana Caritas; St. Peter's "vast and wondrous dome,"—are all celebrated in due succession. Last of all, he "turns to the Vatican," to view the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere, the counterfeit presentments of ideal suffering and ideal beauty. His "shrine is won;" but ere he bids us farewell he climbs the Alban Mount, and as the Mediterranean once [313] more bursts upon his sight, he sums the moral of his argument. Man and all his works are as a drop of rain in the Ocean, "the image of eternity, the throne of the Invisible"!
From now on, human creations capture his focus. Pompey's "dread statue," the She-Wolf of the Capitol, the Tomb of Cecilia Metella, the Palatine Hill, the "nameless column" of the Forum, Trajan's Column, Egeria's Grotto, the ruined Colosseum—"arches upon arches," an "enormous skeleton," the Colosseum of the poet's imagination, a crowded circle of onlookers, a bloody Circus, and a dying Gladiator; the Pantheon; S. Nicola in Carcere, the scene of Roman Charity; St. Peter's "vast and wondrous dome"—are all celebrated in turn. Finally, he "turns to the Vatican" to see the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvedere, perfect representations of ideal suffering and ideal beauty. His "shrine is secured;" but before he says farewell, he climbs the Alban Mount, and as the Mediterranean bursts into view once more, he sums up the moral of his argument. Humanity and all its creations are like a raindrop in the Ocean, "the image of eternity, the throne of the Invisible!"
Byron had no sooner completed "this fourth and ultimate canto," than he began to throw off additional stanzas. His letters to Murray during the autumn of 1817 announce these successive lengthenings; but it is impossible to trace the exact order of their composition. On the 7th of August the canto stood at 130 stanzas, on the 21st at 133; on the 4th of September at 144, on the 17th at 150; and by November 15 it had reached 167 stanzas. Of nineteen stanzas which were still to be added, six—on the death of the Princess Charlotte (died November 6, 1817)—were written at the beginning of December, and two stanzas (clxxvii., clxxviii.) were forwarded to Murray in the early spring of 1818.
Byron had barely finished "this fourth and final canto" when he started adding more stanzas. His letters to Murray during the fall of 1817 reflect these ongoing extensions, but it’s hard to determine the exact order in which they were written. On August 7, the canto had 130 stanzas; by August 21, it was up to 133; on September 4, there were 144, and by September 17, it reached 150. By November 15, it had expanded to 167 stanzas. Of the nineteen stanzas still to be added, six—about the death of Princess Charlotte (who died on November 6, 1817)—were written in early December, and two stanzas (clxxvii., clxxviii.) were sent to Murray in early spring 1818.
Of these additions the most notable are four stanzas on Venice (including stanza xiii. on "The Horses of St. Mark"); "The sunset on the Brenta" (stanzas xxvii.-xxix.); The tombs in Santa Croce,—the apostrophe to "the all Etruscan three," Petrarch, Dante, Boccaccio (stanzas liv.-lx.); "Rome a chaos of ruins—antiquarian ignorance" (stanzas lxxx.-lxxxii.); "The nothingness of Man—the hope of the future—Freedom" (stanzas xciii.-xcviii.); "The Tarpeian Rock—the Forum—Rienzi" (stanzas cxii.-cxiv.); "Love, Life, and Reason" (stanzas cxx.-cxxvii.); "The Curse of Forgiveness" (stanzas cxxxv.-cxxxvii.); "The Mole of Hadrian" (stanza clii.); "The death of the Princess Charlotte" (stanzas clxvii.-clxxii.); "Nemi" (stanzas clxxiii., clxxiv.); "The Desert and one fair Spirit" (stanzas clxxvii., clxxviii.).
Of these additions, the most notable are four stanzas about Venice (including stanza xiii. on "The Horses of St. Mark"); "The sunset on the Brenta" (stanzas xxvii.-xxix.); the tombs in Santa Croce—the tribute to "the all Etruscan three," Petrarch, Dante, Boccaccio (stanzas liv.-lx.); "Rome, a chaos of ruins—antiquarian ignorance" (stanzas lxxx.-lxxxii.); "The nothingness of Man—the hope of the future—Freedom" (stanzas xciii.-xcviii.); "The Tarpeian Rock—the Forum—Rienzi" (stanzas cxii.-cxiv.); "Love, Life, and Reason" (stanzas cxx.-cxxvii.); "The Curse of Forgiveness" (stanzas cxxxv.-cxxxvii.); "The Mole of Hadrian" (stanza clii.); "The death of Princess Charlotte" (stanzas clxvii.-clxxii.); "Nemi" (stanzas clxxiii., clxxiv.); "The Desert and one fair Spirit" (stanzas clxxvii., clxxviii.).
Some time during the month of December, 1817, Byron wrote out a fair copy of the entire canto, numbering 184 stanzas (MS. D.); and on January 7, 1818, Hobhouse left Venice for England, with the "whole of the MSS.," viz. Beppo (begun October, 1817), and the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, together with a work of his own, a volume of essays on Italian literature, the antiquities of Rome, etc., which he had put together during his residence in Venice (July—December, 1817), and proposed to publish as an appendix to Childe Harold. In his preface to Historical Illustrations, [314] etc., 1818, Hobhouse explains that on his return to England he considered that this "appendix to the Canto would be swelled to a disproportioned bulk," and that, under this impression, he determined to divide his material into two parts. The result was that "such only of the notes as were more immediately connected with the text" were printed as "Historical Notes to Canto the Fourth," and that his longer dissertations were published in a separate volume, under his own name, as Historical Illustrations to the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. To these "Historical Notes" an interest attaches apart from any consideration of their own worth and importance; but to understand the relation between the poem and the notes, it is necessary to retrace the movements of the poet and his annotator.
Some time in December 1817, Byron created a clean copy of the entire canto, totaling 184 stanzas (MS. D.); and on January 7, 1818, Hobhouse left Venice for England with "the whole of the MSS.," specifically Beppo (started in October 1817) and the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, along with his own work, a collection of essays on Italian literature, the history of Rome, etc., which he had compiled during his stay in Venice (July—December 1817) and planned to release as an appendix to Childe Harold. In his preface to Historical Illustrations, [314] etc., 1818, Hobhouse explains that upon returning to England, he thought this "appendix to the Canto would be excessively huge," and with that thought in mind, he decided to split his material into two sections. As a result, "only those notes most closely related to the text" were printed as "Historical Notes to Canto the Fourth," while his longer essays were issued in a separate volume, under his own name, titled Historical Illustrations to the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. These "Historical Notes" hold an interest beyond their intrinsic value and significance; however, to grasp the connection between the poem and the notes, it is essential to revisit the movements of the poet and his annotator.
Byron and Hobhouse left the Villa Diodati, October 5, 1816, crossed the Simplon, and made their way together, via Milan and Verona, to Venice. Early in December the friends parted company. Byron remained at Venice, and Hobhouse proceeded to Rome, and for the next four months devoted himself to the study of Italian literature, in connection with archæology and art. Byron testifies (September 14, 1817) that his researches were "indefatigable," that he had "more real knowledge of Rome and its environs than any Englishman who has been there since Gibbon." Hobhouse left Rome for Naples, May 21; returned to Rome, June 9; arrived at Terni, July 2; and early in July joined Byron on the Brenta, at La Mira. The latter half of the year (July—December, 1817) was occupied in consulting "the best authorities" in the Ducal Library at Venice, with a view to perfecting his researches, and giving them to the world as an illustrative appendix to Childe Harold. It is certain that Byron had begun the fourth canto, and written some thirty or more stanzas, before Hobhouse rejoined him at his villa of La Mira on the banks of the Brenta, in July, 1817; and it would seem that, although he had begun by saying "that he was too short a time in Rome for it," he speedily overcame his misgivings, and accomplished, as he believed, the last "fytte" of his pilgrimage. The first draft was Byron's unaided composition, but the "additional stanzas" were largely due to Hobhouse's suggestions in the course of [315] conversation, if not to his written "researches." Hobhouse himself made no secret of it. In his preface (p. 5) to Historical Illustrations he affirms that both "illustrations" and notes were "for the most part written while the noble author was yet employed in the composition of the poem. They were put into the hands of Lord Byron much in the state in which they now appear;" and, writing to Murray, December 7, 1817, he says, "I must confess I feel an affection for it [Canto IV.] more than ordinary, as part of it was begot as it were under my own eyes; for although your poets are as shy as elephants and camels ... yet I have, not unfrequently, witnessed his lordship's coupleting, and some of the stanzas owe their birth to our morning walk or evening ride at La Mira." Forty years later, in his revised and enlarged "Illustrations" (Italy: Remarks made in Several Visits from the year 1816 to 1854, by the Right Hon. Lord Broughton, G.C.B., 1859, i. p. iv.), he reverts to this collaboration: "When I rejoined Lord Byron at La Mira ... I found him employed upon the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, and, later in the autumn, he showed me the first sketch of the poem. It was much shorter than it afterwards became, and it did not remark on several objects which appeared to me peculiarly worthy of notice. I made a list of these objects, and in conversation with him gave him reasons for the selection. The result was the poem as it now appears, and he then engaged me to write the notes."
Byron and Hobhouse left Villa Diodati on October 5, 1816, crossed the Simplon, and traveled together through Milan and Verona to Venice. In early December, the friends went their separate ways. Byron stayed in Venice, while Hobhouse headed to Rome, dedicating the next four months to studying Italian literature, archaeology, and art. Byron noted on September 14, 1817, that Hobhouse's efforts were "tireless," claiming he had "more genuine knowledge of Rome and its surroundings than any Englishman who's been there since Gibbon." Hobhouse left Rome for Naples on May 21, returned to Rome on June 9, reached Terni on July 2, and joined Byron on the Brenta at La Mira in early July. The latter half of the year (July—December 1817) was spent consulting "the best sources" in the Ducal Library at Venice to enhance his research and present it as an illustrative appendix to Childe Harold. It's clear that Byron had started the fourth canto and written around thirty stanzas before Hobhouse rejoined him at La Mira in July 1817. Although he initially thought he didn't spend enough time in Rome, he quickly overcame that doubt and believed he had completed the last "fytte" of his pilgrimage. The first draft came solely from Byron, but the "additional stanzas" largely resulted from Hobhouse's suggestions during conversations and possibly his written "researches." Hobhouse didn't hide this fact. In his preface (p. 5) to Historical Illustrations, he stated that both the "illustrations" and notes were mostly written while the noble author was still working on the poem. He delivered them to Lord Byron much as they now exist. In a letter to Murray on December 7, 1817, he wrote, "I must admit I have a rather unusual affection for it [Canto IV.], as part of it was created right before my eyes; for although your poets are as elusive as elephants and camels... I have often seen his lordship composing, and some of the stanzas were inspired by our morning walks or evening rides at La Mira." Forty years later, in his revised and expanded "Illustrations" (Italy: Remarks made in Several Visits from the year 1816 to 1854, by the Right Hon. Lord Broughton, G.C.B., 1859, i. p. iv.), he reflected on this collaboration: "When I reunited with Lord Byron at La Mira... I found him working on the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, and later in the autumn, he showed me the first draft of the poem. It was much shorter than it eventually became and didn't address several topics that I thought were particularly noteworthy. I made a list of these topics and discussed my reasons for choosing them with him. The result was the poem as it now stands, and he then asked me to write the notes."
As the "delicate spirit" of Shelley suffused the third canto of Childe Harold, so the fourth reveals the presence and co-operation of Hobhouse. To his brother-poet he owed a fresh conception, perhaps a fresh appreciation of nature; to his lifelong friend, a fresh enthusiasm for art, and a host of details, "dry bones ... which he awakened into the fulness of life."
As the "delicate spirit" of Shelley filled the third canto of Childe Harold, the fourth shows the influence and support of Hobhouse. He owed his fellow poet a new understanding, maybe a new appreciation of nature; to his lifelong friend, a renewed passion for art, and a wealth of details, "dry bones ... which he brought to life."
The Fourth Canto was published on Tuesday, April 28, 1818. It was reviewed by [Sir] Walter Scott in the Quarterly Review, No. xxxvii., April, 1818, and by John Wilson in the Edinburgh Review, No. 59, June, 1818. Both numbers were published on the same day, September 26, 1818.
The Fourth Canto was published on Tuesday, April 28, 1818. It was reviewed by [Sir] Walter Scott in the Quarterly Review, No. xxxvii., April, 1818, and by John Wilson in the Edinburgh Review, No. 59, June, 1818. Both issues were published on the same day, September 26, 1818.
CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO IV.
Original Draft. [MS. M.]
Original Draft. [MS. M.]
[June 26—July 19. 1817.]
[June 26—July 19, 1817.]
- Stanza i. "I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,"—
- Stanza iii.-xi. "In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,"—"The spouseless Adriatic mourns her Lord,"—
- Stanza xv. "Statues of glass—all shivered—the long file,"—
- Stanza xviii.-xxvi. "I loved her from my boyhood—she to me,"—"The Commonwealth of Kings—the Men of Rome!"—
- Stanza xxx.-xxxix. "There is a tomb in Arquà;—reared in air,"—"Peace to Torquato's injured shade! 'twas his,"—
- Stanza xlii.-xlvi. "Italia! oh, Italia! thou who hast,"—"That page is now before me, and on mine,"—
- Stanza xlviii.-l. "But Arno wins us to the fair white walls,"—"We gaze and turn away, and know not where,"—
- Stanza liii. "I leave to learnéd fingers, and wise hands,"—
- Stanza lxi.-lxxix. "There be more things to greet the heart and eyes,"—"The Niobe of nations! there she stands,"—
- Stanza lxxxiii. "Oh, thou, whose chariot rolled on Fortune's wheel,"—
- Stanza lxxxiv. "The dictatorial wreath—couldst thou divine,"—
- Stanza lxxxvii.-xcii. "And thou, dread Statue! yet existent in,"—"And would be all or nothing—nor could wait,"—
- Stanza xcix.-cviii. "There is a stern round tower of other days,"—"There is the moral of all human tales,"— [317]
- Stanza cx. "Tully was not so eloquent as thou,"—
- Stanza cxi. "Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome,"—
- Stanza cxv.-cxix. "Egeria! sweet creation of some heart,"—"And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying,"—
- Stanza cxxviii.-cxxxiv. "Arches on arches! as it were that Rome,"—"And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now,"—
- Stanza cxxxviii.-cli. "The seal is set.—Now welcome, thou dread Power!"—"The starry fable of the Milky Way,"—
- Stanza cliii.-clxvi. "But lo! the Dome—the vast and wondrous Dome,"—"And send us prying into the abyss,"—
- Stanza clxxv. "But I forget.—My Pilgrim's shrine is won,"—
- Stanza clxxvi. "Upon the blue Symplegades: long years,"—
- Stanza clxxix. "Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!"—
- Stanza clxxx. "His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields,"—
- Stanza clxxxiii.-clxxxvi. "Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form,"—"Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been,"—
Additional Verse.
- Stanza xl. "Great as thou art, yet paralleled by those,"—
(127 stanzas.)
(127 stanzas.)
Additions tied to MS. M.
- Stanza ii. "She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from Ocean,"—
- Stanza xii.-xiv. "The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns,"—(November 10, 1817.)—"In youth She was all glory,—a new Tyre,"—
- Stanza xvi. "When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse,"—
- Stanza xvii. "Thus, Venice! if no stronger claim were thine,"—
- Stanza xxvii.-xxix. "The Moon is up, and yet it is not night,"—"Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar,"—
- Stanza xlvii. "Yet, Italy! through every other land,"— [318]
- Stanza li. "Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise?"—
- Stanza lii. "Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love,"—
- Stanza liv.-lx. "In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie,"—"What is her Pyramid of precious stones?"—
- Stanza lxxx.-lxxxii. "The Goth, the Christian—Time—War—Flood, and Fire,"—"Alas! the lofty city! and alas!"—
- Stanza lxxxv. "Sylla was first of victors; but our own,"—
- Stanza lxxxvi. "The third of the same Moon whose former course,"—
- Stanza xciii.-xcvi. "What from this barren being do we reap?"—"Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be,"—
- Stanza cix. "Admire—exult—despise—laugh—weep,—for here,"—
- Stanza cxii.-cxiv. "Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place,"—"Then turn we to her latest Tribune's name,"—
- Stanza cxxiii. "Who loves, raves—'tis youth's frenzy—but the cure,"—
- Stanza cxxv.-cxxvii. "Few—none—find what they love or could have loved,"—"Yet let us ponder boldly—'tis a base,"—
- Stanza cxxxv.-cxxxvii. "That curse shall be Forgiveness,—Have I not,"—"But I have lived, and have not lived in vain,"—
- Stanza clii. "Turn to the Mole which Hadrian reared on high,"—
- Stanza clxvii.-clxxii. "Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds,"—(On the death of the Princess Charlotte, November 6, 1817.)—"These might have been her destiny—but no,"—
- Stanza clxxiii. "Lo, Nemi! navelled in the woody hills,"—
- Stanza clxxiv. "And near, Albano's scarce divided waves,"—
- Stanza clxxvii. "Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place,"—(1818.)
- Stanza clxxviii. "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,"—(1818.)
- Stanza clxxxi. "The armaments which thunderstrike the walls,"— [319]
- Stanza clxxxii. "Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee,"—
(52 stanzas.)
(52 verses.)
Additions included in MS. D.,[363] but not included MSS. M.
- Stanza xli. "The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust,"—
- Stanza xcvii. "But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime,"—
- Stanza xcviii. "Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,"—
- Stanza cxx. "Alas! our young affections run to waste,"—
- Stanza cxxi. "Oh, Love! no habitant of earth thou art,"—
- Stanza cxxii. "Of its own beauty is the mind diseased,"—
- Stanza cxxiv. "We wither from our youth, we gasp away,"—
(Seven stanzas.)
(Seven stanzas.)
to
JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ., A.M., F.R.S.,
&c., &c., &c.
Venice, January 2, 1818.
Venice, January 2, 1818.
My dear Hobhouse,
After an interval of eight years between the
composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold,
the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the
public. In parting with so old a friend,[364] it is not extraordinary
that I should recur to one still older and better,—to
one who has beheld the birth and death of the other, and
to whom I am far more indebted for the social advantages
of an enlightened friendship, than—though not ungrateful—I
can, or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour
reflected through the poem on the poet,—to one, whom I
have known long, and accompanied far, whom I have found
wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my
prosperity and firm in my adversity, true in counsel and
trusty in peril,—to a friend often tried and never found
wanting;—to yourself.
Dear Hobhouse,
After an eight-year gap between writing the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, I'm finally ready to share the conclusion of the poem with the public. As I say goodbye to such an old friend,[364] it’s only natural for me to think of someone even older and more important—someone who has seen the rise and fall of the other and to whom I owe much more in terms of the benefits of a meaningful friendship than—though I’m not ungrateful—I could ever owe Childe Harold for any public recognition it has brought to me as the poet. This person has been a long-time companion, present during my sickness and compassionate in my sorrow, celebrating my successes and standing strong in my challenges, reliable in advice and steadfast in danger—truly, a friend tested many times and always there for me;—that’s you.
In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and in dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honour. It is not [322] for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my past existence,[365] but which cannot poison my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have experienced, and no one could experience without thinking better of his species and of himself.
In doing this, I shift from fiction to reality; and by dedicating to you this complete, or at least finished, poetic work, which is the longest, most thoughtful, and comprehensive of my writings, I want to honor myself by acknowledging my many years of friendship with a knowledgeable, talented, steady, and honorable man. It's not typical for minds like ours to give or receive flattery; however, the praises of sincerity have always been allowed in the spirit of friendship. This isn't just for you, or anyone else, but to ease a heart that hasn't recently been familiar with goodwill enough to handle it well. That's why I make this effort to acknowledge your good qualities, or rather the benefits I've gained from them. Even the date of this letter, marking the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my past, can’t spoil my future as long as I have your friendship and my own abilities. From now on, this date will hold a more pleasant memory for both of us since it will remind us of my attempt to thank you for a relentless kindness few have experienced, and no one could feel without thinking better of humanity and of themselves.
It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fable—Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; and what Athens and Constantinople were to us a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied me from first to last; and perhaps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however short it may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, which I hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects.
It has been our luck to travel together, at different times, through the lands of knights, history, and stories—Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; and what Athens and Constantinople meant to us a few years ago, Venice and Rome have recently become. The poem, or the journey, or maybe both, have been with me from start to finish; and perhaps it's a bit of vanity that makes me feel pleased about a piece of work that connects me in some way to the place where it was created and the things it aims to describe. No matter how unworthy it might seem compared to those magical and unforgettable places, or how far it falls short of our distant dreams and immediate experiences, as a sign of respect for what is respected and a feeling for what is glorious, it has brought me joy in creating it, and I let it go with a kind of regret I never thought I could feel for imaginary things.
With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line which every one seemed determined not to perceive: like the Chinese in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World,[366] whom nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined that I had drawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim; and the very anxiety to preserve this difference, and disappointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon it altogether—and have done so. The opinions which have been, or may be, formed on that subject are now a matter of indifference: the work is to depend on itself, and not on the writer; and the author, who has no resources in his own mind beyond the reputation, transient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary efforts, deserves the fate of authors.
In the last part, you'll see less of the pilgrim compared to the earlier sections, and the little that remains is only slightly, if at all, distinct from the author's own voice. Honestly, I got tired of trying to draw a line that everyone seemed to ignore: like the Chinese character in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World,[366] who nobody believed was Chinese, it was pointless for me to insist that there was a difference between the author and the pilgrim; my efforts to maintain that distinction only made me more frustrated when it didn't work out, so I decided to just give up—and I did. What people think about that now doesn’t matter to me anymore: the work should stand on its own, not on the writer's name; and an author who only has his reputation, whether short-lived or lasting, based on his writing deserves whatever fate comes his way.
In the course of the following canto it was my intention, either in the text or in the notes, to have touched upon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps of manners. But the text, within the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of external objects, and the consequent reflections: and for the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to yourself,[367] and these were necessarily limited to the elucidation of the text.
In the following canto, I planned to discuss the current state of Italian literature and maybe even the culture. However, I quickly realized that the text barely accommodated the complex web of external factors and related thoughts within my proposed limits. For most of the notes, aside from a few brief ones, I owe it all to you,[367] and these were meant solely to clarify the text.
It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar; and requires an attention and impartiality which would induce us,—though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst [324] whom we have recently abode—to distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly examine our information. The state of literary, as well as political party, appears to run, or to have run, so high, that for a stranger to steer impartially between them is next to impossible. It may be enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own beautiful language—"Mi pare che in un paese tutto poetico, che vanta la lingua la più nobile ed insieme la più dolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono tentare, e che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto l'antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima." Italy has great names still—Canova,[368] Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzofanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vacca, will secure to the present generation an honourable place in most of the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres; and in some the very highest—Europe—the World—has but one Canova.
It’s also a delicate and not very rewarding task to discuss the literature and customs of such a different nation. It requires a level of attention and impartiality that might lead us—though we are probably not inattentive observers nor are we ignorant of the language or customs of the people among whom we have recently stayed—to question, or at least delay, our judgment and examine our information more closely. The state of both literary and political parties seems to have run so high that it's nearly impossible for an outsider to navigate between them without bias. It may be enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own beautiful language—"Mi pare che in un paese tutto poetico, che vanta la lingua la più nobile ed insieme la più dolce, tutte tutte le vie diverse si possono tentare, e che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto l'antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima." Italy still has great names—Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzofanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vacca—that will ensure this generation a respected place in various fields of Art, Science, and Literature; and in some of those, the very highest—Europe and the World—has only one Canova.
It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that "La pianta uomo nasce più robusta in Italia che in qualunque altra terra—e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si commettono ne [325] sono una prova." Without subscribing to the latter part of his proposition, a dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect more ferocious than their neighbours, that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heedless, who is not struck with the extraordinary capacity of this people, or, if such a word be admissible, their capabilities,[369] the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and, amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the desolation of battles, and the despair of ages, their still unquenched "longing after immortality,"[370]—the immortality of independence. And when we ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, "Roma! Roma! Roma! Roma non è più come era prima!"[371] it was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled from the London taverns, over the carnage of Mont St. Jean,[372] and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, and of the world, [326] by men whose conduct you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of the better days of our history.[373] For me,—
It has been said somewhere by Alfieri that "the Italian man is born stronger than anywhere else—and that the same brutal crimes committed there are proof of this." While I don't agree with the second part of his claim, a dangerous belief that can be disputed more convincingly—that Italians are no more savage than their neighbors—one must be willfully ignorant or blindly unaware not to notice the incredible talents of this people, or, if that word fits, their capabilities: their ease in learning, the speed of their thoughts, the passion of their creativity, their appreciation for beauty, and, despite all the hardships of ongoing revolutions, the destruction of battles, and the despair of ages, their enduring "longing for immortality"—the immortality of independence. And when we were riding around the walls of Rome and heard the simple lament of the laborers' chorus, "Roma! Roma! Roma! Roma isn't what it used to be!" it was hard not to compare this sorrowful tune with the loud celebrations still heard in London taverns, celebrating the carnage at Mont St. Jean and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, and of the world, by men whose actions you have rightly criticized in a work worthy of our history's better days. For me,—
What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, it were useless for Englishmen to enquire, till it becomes ascertained that England has acquired something more than a permanent army and a suspended Habeas Corpus;[374] it is enough for them to look at home. For what they have done abroad, and especially in the South, "Verily they will have their reward," and at no very distant period.
What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations is not something for Englishmen to inquire about until it becomes clear that England has obtained more than just a permanent army and a suspended Habeas Corpus;[374] it's enough for them to focus on their own affairs. For what they have accomplished abroad, especially in the South, "Truly they will have their reward," and it won't be too long from now.
Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreeable return to that country whose real welfare can be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its completed state; and repeat once more how truly I am ever
Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and pleasant return to that country whose true well-being is more important to you than anyone else, I dedicate this poem to you in its finished form; and I want to say again how genuinely I am always
BYRON.
CANTO THE FOURTH[375]
I.
A palace and a prison on either side:
I saw her buildings emerge from the waves. From the moment the Enchanter's wand struck:[377]
[328] A thousand years, their cloudy wings spread out Around me, a fading Glory smiles. Over the distant times, when many lands belonged to subjects Gazed at the marble structures of the winged Lion,
Where Venice sat in grandeur, sitting on her hundred islands![lb]
II.
Rising with her crown of proud towers In the distant sky, moving majestically, A ruler of the waters and their forces:
[329] And that’s exactly who she was—her daughters received their dowries. From the riches of nations, and the endless East[lc]
Poured into her lap all the gems in sparkling showers.[379]
She was dressed in purple,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and about her celebration
Kings and queens participated, believing their status was enhanced.[ld]
III.
And the songless Gondolier rows in silence;[381]
Her palaces are falling apart by the shore,
And music doesn’t always catch the ear now:
[330] Those days are over—but Beauty is still here.
Countries rise and fall—Art may fade away—but Nature never dies,
Don't forget how much Venice used to mean to us,
The delightful spot for all celebrations,[le]
The celebration of the earth—the Mask of Italy!
IV.
And Pierre,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ cannot be erased or faded—
The keystones of the Arch! even though they were all over,
For us, the once lonely shore is now populated.
[332]V.
Basically immortal, they create
And let a brighter light shine within us. And a more cherished existence:__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ that which Fate Prohibits to make life boring in our current situation[lf]
Of mortal captivity, provided by these Spirits,
First, we push away what we dislike, then we replace it; Watering the heart that has lost its early blooms,
And with new growth filling the emptiness.
VI.
The first one is from Hope, and the last one is from Vacancy;[385]
[333] And this feeling has affected many people—[lg]
And maybe what grows in front of me:[lh]
Yet there are things that have a strong reality. Outshines our fairyland; in form and colors __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
More beautiful than our amazing sky,
And the unusual constellations that the Muse Across her vast universe, she skillfully spreads:
VII.
They arrived like the truth—and vanished like dreams;
And whatever they were—are now just like this: I could replace them if I wanted to; it's still full. My mind is filled with many shapes that seem just right. Just like I was looking for, and sometimes found; Let these go as well—because waking Reason believes Such excessive fantasies are irrational,
Other voices are heard, and different sights are all around.
VIII.
Which, in itself, brings no surprise with any changes; It's neither difficult to make nor hard to find.[334] A country with—or without—people; Yet I was born in a place where people are proud to be,—
Not without reason; and if I were to leave behind[lj]
The untouched Island of the wise and independent,
And look for me a home by a distant sea,[lk]
IX.
My Spirit will take it back—if we can[ll]
Choose a sanctuary. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ I twine
I hope to be remembered in my field. In the language of my homeland: if too attached and distant These ambitions in their scope lean,—
If my Fame is meant to be as my fortunes are, Of rapid growth and decay, and the dullness of forgetting bar
[335]X.
And place the laurels on a higher head!
And let the Spartan's epitaph be on me—
"Sparta has many more deserving sons than he does."[387]
In the meantime, I don’t seek sympathy, nor do I need it—
The thorns I've gathered are from the tree
I planted, they have torn me apart, and I bleed: I should have realized what kind of fruit would come from such a seed.
XI.
And annual marriages are no longer renewed—
The Bucentaur__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lies decaying and unrepaired,
Forgotten dress of her widowhood!
[336] St. Mark still sees his Lion__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ where he stood __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Stand, but sarcastically in response to his diminished strength,
In the grand location where an Emperor sought justice,[ln][390]
And monarchs looked on and envied in that moment. When Venice was a queen with an unmatched dowry.
XII.[337]
An Emperor walks over the place where an Emperor once knelt;
Kingdoms have been reduced to provinces, and chains Clank over ruled cities; Nations dissolve
From the high peak of power, when they have experienced
The sun shines for a while, then goes down. Like Lauwine released from the mountain's grip;
Oh, to have just one hour with the blind old Dandolo!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
The eighty-year-old leader, the conqueror of Byzantium.[lo][392]
XIII.
Their golden collars sparkling in the sunlight; But hasn't Doria's threat__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ come to fruition? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Aren't they controlled?—Venice, both gained and lost,
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom are over,
Sinks, like seaweed, from where she emerged![lp][394]
[339] It's better to be overwhelmed by the waves than to avoid them, Even in the depths of destruction, her foreign enemies,[lq]
From whom Submission forces a notorious peace.
XIV.
Her very motto came from Victory,
The "Planter of the Lion,"__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ that goes through fire And she spilled blood over the lands of Earth and Sea;[340] Even while creating many slaves, She remains free,
And Europe's defense against the Ottoman Empire; [396]
Check out Troy's rival, Candia!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Go ahead, back it up, you Endless waves that witnessed the battle of Lepanto![398]
For your names can’t be tarnished by time or oppression.
XV.
Their scepter is broken, and their sword is rusty,
Have surrendered to the outsider: vacant corridors,
[341] Narrow streets, and unfamiliar features, like must Too often remind her who and what captivates, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Have thrown a gloomy cloud over Venice's beautiful walls.
XVI.
And countless people were burdened by the yoke of war,
Redemption emerged in the Attic Muse,[399]
Her voice was their only hope from a distance:[lr]
Look! as they sing the mournful song, the car
Of the overwhelmed Victor stops—the reins Fall from his hands—his idle scimitar. He tears apart his captive's chains starting at the belt, And asks him to thank the Bard for Freedom and his songs.[ls]
XVII.
Have all your proud historic deeds been forgotten—
[342] Your choral memory of the divine Bard,
Your love for Tasso should have cut the knot[lt]
Which connects you to your oppressors; and your fate It is shameful for the nations—especially, Albion! to you:__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the Ocean queen should not
Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall
Think of yours in Venice, despite your watery barrier.[lu]
XVIII.
Rising like columns of water from the ocean—
Of Joy's journey, and of Wealth's marketplace; And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, and Shakespeare's art,[lv][401]
Had left her mark on me, and even so,
[343] Even though I discovered her like this, we didn't say goodbye;[lw]
Perhaps even more cherished in her time of sorrow,
Than when she was the center of attention, a wonder, and a spectacle.
XIX.
And meditation calmed down, enough; It could be even more than I hoped for or wanted;
And of the happiest moments that were created
Within the network of my life, some
From you, beautiful Venice!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ have their colors captured:
Some feelings that Time can't numb,[lx]
Nor would torture shake, or mine would now be cold and silent.
[344]XX.
Highest on the highest and least sheltered rocks,
Rooted in emptiness, where nothing lies below
The soil holds them up against the mountain shocks. Of swirling storms; yet the trunk rises and mocks The howling storm, until its peak and structure Are worthy of the mountains made from their blocks
It emerged from dull, gray granite into life,[lz]
And it grew into a giant tree;—the mind can grow in the same way.
[345]XXI.
The camel carries the heaviest load,
And the wolf dies quietly—not granted Such an example would be pointless; if they,
Things that are dishonorable or of a wild nature,
Endure and don't diminish, we are made of finer material. May I control it to endure—it is only for a day.
XXII.
Even by the person in pain—and, in any case,
Ends:—Some, with renewed hope and lifted spirits,
Return to where they came from—with the same purpose,
[346] And spin their web again; some, hunched and stooped,
Wax gray and ghostly, withering before their time,
And die with the reed they leaned on;
Some seek loyalty—hard work—battle—justice or wrongdoing,
According to how their souls were shaped to fall or rise.
XXIII.
Rarely seen, but filled with new bitterness; And even the smallest things can bring
Back on the heart is the burden it would cast. Forever out of reach: it might be a sound—[405]
A musical tone—summer evening—or spring—[mb]
A flower—the wind—the ocean—which will hurt,
Hitting the electric chain that keeps us trapped in darkness;
[347]XXIV.
But feel the shock again, and can't erase The decay and darkness it leaves behind,
Which of the familiar, unintended things, When we least expect it, it comes into view. The Spectres that no exorcism can control,—
The cold—the altered—maybe the dead, again—
The mourned, the loved, the lost—too many! Yet how few![406]
XXV.
And is the most beautiful, and will always be The master mold of Nature's divine touch;
Where the heroic and the free were cast,—
The beautiful—the brave—the rulers of land and ocean,
XXVI.
And even since then, and now, beautiful Italy!
You are the Garden of the World, the Home
Of everything that art produces and nature can create; Even in your desert, what is like you?
Your very weeds are beautiful—your waste Richer than the fertility of other regions; Your destruction is a glory—and your downfall is adorned With a flawless charm that cannot be diminished.
XXVII.
Sunset splits the sky with her—a sea
Of glory flows along the Alpine heights. Of the blue mountains of Friuli;__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Heaven is free
From clouds, but in all colors it seems to be,—
Melted into one huge Iris of the West,—
Where the Day meets the past Eternity;
Meanwhile, on the other hand, gentle Dian's peak Drifting through the blue sky—an island of the blessed![408]
[349]XXVIII.
As Day and Night were in conflict, until
Nature reclaimed her order: gently flows The richly colored Brenta,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ where their colors blend
The fragrant purple of a newly bloomed rose,
Which flows over her stream, and reflects within it shining,
XXIX.
From the vibrant sunset to the shining star,
Their magical variety spreads: And now they change—a lighter shadow spreads Its covering over the mountains; separating Day Dies like the Dolphin, who feels every pain With a new color as it fades away—
The last beautiful moment, until—it's gone—and everything is gray.
XXX.
Resting in their sarcophagus The bones of Laura's lover: here fixed. Many who know his beautifully sung troubles,
The Pilgrims of his Genius. He got up
To elevate a language and reclaim his land. From the oppressive control of her brutal enemies:
Watering the tree that has his Lady's name__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
With his beautiful tears, he surrendered himself to Fame.
XXXI.
The mountain village where he spent his final days[352] Went down the valley of years; and it’s their pride—
A genuine pride—and may it be their honor,
To present to the passing stranger's view His mansion and his tomb—both simple[mc]
And simply uplifting—like raise A feeling more in line with his mood Than if a pyramid built his grand temple.[md]
XXXII.
Is one of those complexions that seems made for For those who have felt their mortality[412]
And looked for a refuge from their lost hopes
In the deep shadow of a green hill, Which shows a distant view far away
Of busy cities, now shown in vain,
For they can't attract any longer; and the ray[413]
A bright Sun can create a perfect holiday,
[353]XXXIII.
And shining in the noisy stream, where, Clear as it is now, the hours glide by leisurely. With a relaxed laziness that, though to the eye Idleness, it seems, has its own morality—
If we learn to live from society,[me]
Solitude should teach us how to die; It has no flatterers—Vanity can provide No empty support; alone—man must work with his God:[mf]
XXXIV.
The power of positive thinking, and pursue their goals.[354] In sad hearts—such as were Of moody nature since their earliest days,
And loved to live in darkness and distress. Considering themselves destined for disaster
Which is not one of the pains that fade away; [mg]
Turning the sun red like blood, the Earth into a grave,
The tomb is a nightmare—and Hell itself is even darker. [mh]
XXXV.
Whose symmetry wasn’t meant for being alone,
It seems like there's a curse on the Seats
Of past Sovereigns and the ancient lineage Of Este,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ which for many years prospered Its strength within your walls, and was in the past[355] Patron or Tyrant, depending on the changing mood
Driven by small ambitions, by those who wore The wreath that only Dante had worn on his head before.
XXXVI.
Listen to his song! And then take a look at his cell![417]
[356] And see how hard-earned Torquato's fame is,
And where Alfonso asked his poet to stay:
The unhappy dictator couldn't silence
He aimed to calm the offended mind and unify.[357] With the surrounding crazies, in the hell Where he had immersed it. Glory without end
Cleared the clouds away—and focus on that name
XXXVII.
Of worthless dust, which comes from your claimed lineage
Is shaken into nothing—just the link
You shape his fate and make us think Out of your petty malice, I speak your name with contempt: Alfonso! How your royal celebrations have diminished. From you! if born in a different position, [mi]
Barely suitable to be the slave of the one you made to grieve:
XXXVIII.
Even as the animals that perish—except that you If you had a fancier trough and a bigger sty:—
Hey! with a shine around his wrinkled forehead,
Which radiated then and dazzles now,
Against all his enemies, the Cruscan choir,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
[358] And Boileau, whose reckless envy could permit[mj]
No burden that embarrassed his country's tired harp,
That grind of the teeth—Monotony in wire![mk][419]
XXXIX.
[359] Every year brings its millions—but how long The tide of generations will keep rolling on,
And not the entire combined and countless crowd
Create a mind like yours? even though it all comes together[ml]
Condensed their scattered rays—they still wouldn’t create a Sun.[mm]
XL.
Your fellow countrymen, born to shine before you, The Bards of Hell and Chivalry: first emerged
The Tuscan Father's Divine Comedy;
Then, not unlike the Florentine,
The southern Scott, the minstrel who summoned A new creation made with his magical touch,
And, similar to the Ariosto of the North,[420]
Sang Lady-love and War, Romance and Chivalry.
XLI.
The iron crown of leaves that look like laurels; The threatening aspect wasn't unfair, For the real laurel wreath that Glory creates __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
No bolt of thunder strikes the tree, And the false appearance but shamed his forehead; Yet if Superstition still mourns,
Know that the lightning blesses below __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Whatever it touches; that head is doubly sacred now.
XLII.
The deadly gift of Beauty, which became
A funeral gift of current sorrows and memories of the past—
On your sweet forehead, sorrow has been carved by shame,[mn]
And records etched in characters of fire.
Oh, God! I wish you were in your nakedness. Less beautiful or more powerful, and could claim Your right, and scare the robbers away, who push To spill your blood and drink the tears of your pain;
XLIII.
Be cozy and be calm, undiscovered[mo]
[362] For your destructive charms; then, still unfazed,
The armed torrents wouldn’t be visible pouring. Through the deep Alps; nor would the enemy group Of many-nationed looters from the Po Drink blood and water; nor the stranger's sword. Be your sad weapon of defense—and so,
Victorious or defeated, you are a slave to either friend or enemy.
XLIV.
Tully's friend: as my boat did glide The bright blue waters with a gentle breeze, Megara came before me, and behind Ægina lay—Piraeus on the right,
[363] And Corinth on the left; I lay back Along the front, I saw all these come together. In ruins—even as he had witnessed the barren scene;
XLV.
Which only makes it more mourned and more cherished. The last few rays of their distant light, And the ruined remnants of their lost power.
The Roman saw these tombs in his own time,
These city tombs, which stir up[mp]
Sad wonder, and his still living page The moral lesson comes from such a journey.
XLVI.
And I am in despair: everything that was
Destruction is; and now, unfortunately!
Rome—Rome the imperial, submits to the storm,[423]
[364] In the same dust and darkness, we move on. The outline of her massive body,[424]
Wrecks from another world, whose ashes are still warm.
XLVII.
Your wrongs should echo—and will—from one side to the other;[425]
Mother of Arts! just like once of Arms! your hand Was then our Guardian, and is still our Guide; Parent of our Religion! To whom the vast Nations have bowed down for the keys to Heaven!
Europe, remorseful of her betrayal,
I will still save you, even if everything else is lost, Ride the wave of the barbarian, and seek forgiveness.
XLVIII.
Where Etrurian Athens asserts and maintains A gentler vibe for her fairy halls:
Surrounded by her theater of hills, she harvests
[365] Her corn, wine, and oil—and abundance jumps To a joyful life, with her extra Horn.
Along the shores where the cheerful Arno flows
Was the modern luxury of commerce born,[mq][426]
And buried knowledge emerged, transformed into a new dawn.
XLIX.
The air is filled with beauty—we breathe in[ms]
[366] The heavenly aspect, which, when seen, fills Part of its immortality—the veil Half of heaven is not fully revealed—within the light We stand, and in that shape and expression see What the mind can create when nature itself would fall short; And to the beloved Idolaters of the past
Admire the natural brilliance that such a soul could shape:
L.
[367] Reels with its fullness; there—for eternity there—
Tied to the chariot of victorious Art,
We are prisoners and wouldn't leave. Go away!—there's no need for words or exact terms,
The petty language of the marble market,
Where pretentiousness deceives stupidity—we can see: Blood, pulse, and heart confirm the Dardan Shepherd's prize.
LI.
Laid in your lap, his eyes looking up at you, Feeding on your sweet cheek!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ while your lips are
With lava kisses melting as they burn,
Poured over his eyelids, forehead, and mouth, like from a vase!
LII.
Their complete divinity insufficient That feeling of wanting to express or to get better—
The Gods take on human form—and human destiny[mu]
Has moments as bright as their best; but the burden The earth is pushing back against us;—let it be!
We can remember those visions and create,
From what has happened or could happen, things that grow Into your statue's form, and look like the gods below.
LIII.
Let these describe the indescribable: I wouldn't want their foul breath to disturb the stream. Where that image will always remain—
The calm reflection of the most beautiful dream
That always left the sky to shine on the deep soul.
LIV.
Ashes that make it more sacred, dust that is
Even in itself a forever,
Even though there was nothing but the past and this, The essence of those wonders Which have fallen back into chaos:—here lie Angelo's—Alfieri's__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ bones—and his, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
The starry Galileo, with his struggles;
Here Machiavelli's earth returned to where it came from. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
[370]LV.
Might inspire creation:—Italy![mv]
Time, which has wronged you with countless scars
Of your royal garment, shall deny[mw]
And has denied, to every other sky,
Spirits that rise from destruction:—your Decline
Is still filled with divinity,
Which brightens it with a refreshing light; Just like the greats of the past, Canova__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ is today.
[371]LVI.
Dante and Petrarch, and almost as much as they, The Prose Poet, imaginative Spirit! he[mx]
Of the Hundred Tales of Love—where are they now? Their bones, different from our usual clay
In death as in life? Are they turned to dust,
And does their country's pride have nothing to say? Couldn’t her quarries produce just one sculpture? Did they not entrust their motherland to her care?
LVII.
Like Scipio laid to rest by the scolding shore:__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
[372] Your factions, worse than a civil war,[436]
Banned the Bard whose name will last forever Their grandchildren would worship in vain
With the regret of centuries; and the crown__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
[373] Which Petrarch's laurel crown proudly wore,
On a distant and unfamiliar land had grown,
His life, his fame, his grave, though disturbed—not yours.[438]
LVIII.
His dust—it does not lie among her greatness,[374] With many a heartfelt and serious farewell expressed Who created the beautiful Tuscan language?[440]
That music on its own, whose sounds are melodies,
The art of spoken word? No;—even his grave Uptorn, must endure the hyena bigot's wrong,
No longer among the lesser dead find space,
Nor claim a fleeting sigh, because it revealed for whom!
LIX.
But for this need, more acknowledged, like in the past. The Cæsar's parade, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ stripped of Brutus' statue, Didn't one of Rome's best sons remind her more:
[375] Happier Ravenna! on your ancient shore,
Fortress of a crumbling Empire! honored sleep[mz]
The immortal Exile;—Arquà, too, her supply Of melodic souvenirs, it boasts and retains, While Florence desperately pleads with her exiled dead and cries.[442]
LX.
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all colors Of gem and marble, to cover the bones Of merchant-dukes?__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the fleeting dews
[376] Which, shining in the twilight stars, fill Freshness in the green grass that covers the dead,
Whose names are memorials of inspiration,
Are gently pressed with much more respectful steps Than ever walked along the slab that paves the regal head.
LXI.
There are more wonders to see—but not for me;
For I have been used to intertwine
My thoughts are with Nature, rather in the fields,
Than art in galleries: although a piece is divine Calls for my Spirit's homage, but it submits Less than it seems, because the weapon it uses
LXII.
By Lake Thrasimene,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ in the gorges
Deadly to Roman recklessness, more familiar; For there, the Carthaginian's military tricks Come back to me, as his skill enchants. The host, situated between the mountains and the shore,
When Courage dwells in her hopeless moments,[na]
And torrents, swollen to rivers with their blood,
Spread out across the hot plain, with legions scattered everywhere.
LXIII.
And so the battle raged on this day,
And so the frenzy, whose convulsions blind To everyone but Carnage, that, under the chaos, An earthquake __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ reeling away! __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
No one felt stern Nature swaying at his feet,
[378] And yawning open a grave for those who lie On their shields as a shroud—
Such is the intense hatred when fighting nations confront each other!
LXIV.
The ocean is vast, but I didn't have time to notice. The movements of their ship; Nature's law,
In them suspended, didn't care about the awe Which rules when mountains shake, and the birds Dive into the clouds for safety, and pull back[nb]
From their toppled nests; and roaring herds Stumble over rolling fields—and humanity's fear has no words.
LXV.
Her old trees stand tall as once the fallen Lie where their roots are; but a brook has taken—
A small stream with a shallow bed—
A name of blood from that day's red rain;
And Sanguinetto tells you where the dead Made the ground wet and turned the reluctant waters red.[nc]
LXVI.
Of the most vibrant crystal that ever The dwelling of the river Nymph, to look and wash Her limbs, where nothing conceals them, you do lift Your grassy banks where the white steer __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Grazes—the purest God of calm waters!
[380] And with the calmest appearance, and the clearest; Surely that stream was untouched by violence—
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters!
LXVII.
On a gentle slope of the hill,[nd]
Its memory of you; beneath it sweeps[381] Your current calmness often springs from it. The fish darting around with shiny scales,[450]
Who lives and enjoys your glassy depths; While by chance, some scattered water-lily sails[ne]
Down where the shallow wave still shares its bubbling stories.
LXVIII.
If a gentler breeze flows through the air Win to the brow, it's his; and if you trace Along his edge, a more expressive green,
If in your heart you feel the freshness of the scene
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of tired life, take a moment to wash it clean. With Nature's baptism, it’s to him you must Pray for this feeling of disgust to end.[451]
LXIX.
The flashing mass bubbles, shaking the abyss; The Hell of Waters! where they scream and spit,
And suffer in never-ending agony; while the sweat Of their intense suffering, squeezed out from this
Their Phlegethon winds around the obsidian rocks. That surrounds the gulf, encased in relentless horror,
LXX.
With its overflowing cloud of soft rain,
Is an endless April for the earth,
Making it all one emerald:—how deep[nf]
The gulf! And how the Giant Element Leaps from rock to rock with wild excitement,[ng]
Crushing the cliffs, which have been worn down and torn apart With his heavy footsteps, a terrifying echo emerges from the depths.
LXXI.
With many twists and turns through the valley:—Look back!
Look! Here it comes like an eternity,
As if to catch everything in its path,
Captivating the eye with fear—a unique waterfall,[452]
LXXII.
From side to side, under the sparkling morning,
An Iris__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ is positioned, amidst the hellish waves,
Like Hope on a deathbed, and, untouched[384] Its consistent colors, while everything else is in chaos. By the calm waters, bears are peaceful Its bright colors with all their untrimmed rays: Looking like, amidst the agony of the moment,
I love watching Madness with an unchanging expression.
LXXIII.
The baby Alps, which—if I hadn't seen before Looked at their stronger Parents, where the pine Sits on more rugged peaks, and where it roars __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ The roaring Lauwine__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—could be honored even more;
But I have seen the towering Jungfrau rise[ni]
Her untouched snow, and seen the frost Glaciers of the desolate Mont Blanc, both distant and close—
And in Chimari, they heard the Thunder-Hills of fear,
LXXIV.
For they still soared incredibly high:
I've looked at Ida with a Trojan's perspective;
Athos, Olympus, Ætna, Atlas—made These hills seem less dignified; Everyone, except for the height of lonely Soracte, showed Not now in snow, which calls for the help of the lyric Roman.
LXXV.
May he, who wants to, sift through his memories,
And quote in classic enthusiasm, and wake up The hills that echoed with Latin—I hated Too much to overcome for the sake of the poet,[455]
The boring lesson, pushed into my mind word by word
In my unpleasant youth,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ with joy to document
[387]LXXVI.
Yet such was the deep-seated stubbornness created __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Due to the impatience of my early thoughts,
That, with the freshness fading away before My mind could enjoy what it might have desired,
If I'm allowed to choose, I can't fix it now. Its health—but what it then hated, still loathes.[nl]
LXXVII.
To understand, don't let your emotions get in the way of your lyrics, To understand, but never love your verse; Although no deeper moralist rehearses Our short lives, and no poet can define his craft, No more vibrant satirist can prick the conscience,
Waking up without hurting the heart that has been affected,
Well, goodbye—it's here on Soracte's ridge that we separate.
LXXVIII.
The orphans of the heart must come to you,
Lonely Mother of fallen Empires! and control
In their closed hearts, they hold onto their small sadness. What are our troubles and suffering? Come and see. The cypress—listen to the owl—and make your way[389] Over steps of broken thrones and temples—You!
Whose struggles are the troubles of a day—
A world lies at our feet, as delicate as our clay.
LXXIX.
Without children and without a crown, in her silent sorrow;[nm]
an empty urn in her frail hands,
Whose holy dust was spread long ago; The Scipios' tomb is now empty of ashes;[457]
The tombs are empty[458]
[390] Of their heroic inhabitants: do you flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with your yellow waves, and cover her distress.[459]
LXXX.
I've reflected on the pride of the seven-hilled City;[391] She watched her glories fade away, star by star,[nn]
And up the steep hill, the barbarian kings ride,
Where the car ascended the Capitol;__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ far and wide
The temple and tower fell, leaving no trace: Chaos of ruins! Who can map out the emptiness,
Over the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, "here was, or is," where everything is double the darkness?
LXXXI.
Night's daughter, Ignorance,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ has wrapped and wrapped[392] All around us, we just feel our way to make mistakes: The ocean has its chart, the stars their map,
And Knowledge spreads them out on her abundant lap; But Rome is like the desert—where we navigate Tripping over memories; now we applaud
Our hands, and shout "Eureka!" "it’s obvious"—
When a false illusion of destruction appears nearby.
LXXXII.
The threefold hundred victories!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge exceed
The Conqueror's sword carries fame away!
Unfortunately, for Tully's voice and Virgil's work,[np]
And Livy's illustrated page!—but these will be Her revival; everything else—decay.
Unfortunately, for Earth, we will never witness That sparkle in her eye when Rome was free!
LXXXIII.
Triumphant Sylla!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ You, who conquered
[393] Your country's enemies before you would stop to realize The anger from your own mistakes, or face the consequences. Of stored-up revenge until your Eagles took flight Across fallen Asia;—you, who with your scowl Annihilated senates;—Roman as well,
With all your vices—for you did lay down With a repentant smile and a crown more divine than earthly,
LXXXIV.
[394] You more than human? And so passive By anything other than Romans, should Rome be brought down? __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
She who was called Eternal, and dressed Her warriors only aim to conquer—she who is hidden
Earth with her proud shadow, and displayed,[nr]
Until the covered horizon faded,
Her swift wings—Oh! she who was called Almighty!
LXXXV.
The wisest of usurpers, Cromwell!—he Too swept off by the senates while he carved the throne. Down to a block—immortal rebel! Look
What crimes it takes to be free for a moment,
And famous throughout all time! Yet underneath His fate lies in the moral implications of destiny; His day of dual triumph and demise
I saw him win two kingdoms and, feeling happier, take his last breath.[465]
[395]LXXXVI.
And buried him in the Earth's earlier soil.
And did not show Fortune how fame and power, And everything we find enjoyable, and take in Our souls to navigate through each difficult path,
Are her eyes less happy than the grave? If they were only so in Man's, how different would his fate be!
LXXXVII.
The most extreme form of bare majesty—
You who saw, amidst the noise of the assassins, At your bathed base, the bloody Caesar lies,
Folding his robe with a sense of dignity in his final moments—
A gift for your altar from the Queen
Of gods and men, great Nemesis! Did he die, And you, too, will you perish, Pompey? Have you been Winners of many kings, or players in a show?
LXXXVIII.
She-wolf! whose bold-shaped breasts impart The milk of victory still within the dome Where, as a monument of ancient art,
You stand:—Mother of the mighty heart,
Which the great Founder received from your wild breast,
Burned by the Roman Jove's heavenly arrow,
And your limbs are black with lightning—do you still Guard your immortal children, and don't forget your loving responsibility.
LXXXIX.
The iron men; and the world has raised Cities emerging from their graves: people bled
In imitation of the things__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ they were afraid of,
And fought and won, following the same path,
At a distant view; but so far, none have,[397] Nor could the same supremacy have come close,
Save for one conceited person who is not in the grave—
But, defeated by himself, he became a slave to his own slaves—[469]
XC.
With stronger passions but a cooler judgment,[470]
And an eternal instinct that saved The weaknesses of a heart that is gentle, yet courageous—
Alcides now appeared with the distaff. At Cleopatra's feet—he now radiated confidence,
XCI.
Who could have trained his Eagles to take flight,
[398] Like a trained falcon, at the front of the Gallic line,[472]
He truly led to Victory for a long time, With a heart that felt completely numb and never appeared to be A listener to itself was oddly designed; With just one flaw—Vanity—[nt]
Flirtatious in ambition—still he aimed—
And what? Can he prove or respond to what he claimed?[nu]
XCII.
On whom we walk: For this the victor stands tall
The Arch of Triumph! And for this, the tears. And the blood of the earth continues to flow just as it has before,
A universal flood, which appears Without an Ark for miserable humanity's home,
And it recedes only to return!—Restore your rainbow, God![nv]
XCIII.
Our senses become limited, and our reasoning weak,
Life is short, and truth is a treasure that thrives in depth,
And everything was measured by the false standards of Custom;[474]
Opinion on Omnipotence,—whose veil Covers the earth in darkness, until right Accidents are bad, and people turn pale.
So their own judgments don't become too bright,
And their independent thoughts are considered crimes, and the Earth has too much light.
XCIV.
Decaying from father to son, and from one generation to the next,[475]
[400] Proud of their crushed nature, and so they die,[nx]
Passing down their family anger To the new generation of natural-born slaves, who fight
Fight for their shackles, choosing not to be free,
Bleed like a gladiator, and still engage In the same Arena where they see
Their companions fall before them, like leaves from the same tree.
XCV.
Asserted, recognized, and seen daily, hourly—
The burden we carry is especially heavy, And the intention of Tyranny is clear,
The decree of Earth’s leaders, who have matured The apes of the one who once humbled the proud, And woke them from their sleep on the throne;
It would be too glorious if this were all that his mighty arm had accomplished.
XCVI.
And Freedom finds no Champion and no Child[476]
[401] Such as Columbia saw rise when she
Did a Pallas emerge, armed and uncategorized? Or must such minds be nurtured in the wild,
Deep in the wild forest, amidst the roar[ny]
Of cataracts, where nurturing Nature smiled On baby Washington? Does Earth have no more Such seeds in her heart, or does Europe have no shore like that?
XCVII.
And her Saturnalia have been disastrous __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
To the cause of freedom, in every era and region; Because of the deadly days we've experienced,
And wicked Ambition, that constructed a barrier between A man and his hopes are like an unyielding wall,
[402] And the main pageant__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ appeared on the scene, They have become the excuse for eternal bondage. Which cuts at Life's tree, and brings about Man's greatest misfortune—his second downfall.[478]
XCVIII.
Your trumpet voice, though now broken and fading, The loudest sounds are the ones the Tempest leaves behind; Your tree has lost its blossoms, and the bark,
Chopped by the axe, it looks rough and not very valuable,
But the sap remains—and we still find the seed. Sown deep, even in the heart of the North; A better spring will produce less bitter fruit.
XCIX.
Strong as a fortress, with its stone wall,[403] Just like an army's confused power holds things up,
Standing with only half of its battlements remaining,
And after two thousand years of ivy growing,
The garland of Eternity, where wave
The green leaves everywhere, discarded by time;—
What was this fortress of strength? inside its cave
What treasure was so hidden and locked away?—A woman's grave.[ob]
C.
Buried in a palace? Was she pure and beautiful? Is it worthy of a king's—or even more—a Roman's bed? What lineage of Chiefs and Heroes did she give birth to?
Which daughter of her beauty was the heir? How did she live—how did she love—how did she die? Was she not So honored—and clearly present,
Where lesser relics must not dare to decay,
Installed to honor a fate beyond human understanding?
CI.
Or the gentle breeze of Egypt's elegant Queen,
Overflowing with joy—or fighting against it, she did. Steadfast in virtue? Did she lean To the gentle side of the heart, or wisely caution. Love amidst her sorrows?—for that's what feelings are.[oc]
CII.
May gather around her beauty, creating a gloom In her dark eye, foreshadowing the doom Heaven grants its favorites__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—an early death—yet let go A sunset glow surrounding her, and lighting up With frantic light, the Hesperus of the dead,
Of her flushed cheeks, a red like autumn leaves.
CIII.
Charms—kindred—kids—with the silver gray
On her long hair, which could still remind, It might still be something of the day. When her hair was braided, and she looked magnificent. And your beautiful shape was envied, admired, and watched. By Rome—But where would Conjecture wander?[482]
We only know this much—Metella died,
The richest Roman's wife: Check out his love or pride!
CIV.
Forms from the floating wreck that Ruin leaves behind:
CV.
But could I get from the weathered store Where should I steer my rough boat? There was no home, no hope, and no life, except for what exists here.[oe]
CVI.
As I hear them now, in the dimming light Dim over the home of the dark bird,
Responding to one another on the Palatine,
With their big eyes, all shiny gray and bright,
And sailing pinions.—On such a shrine
What are our small sorrows?—I won’t list my own.
CVII.
Clumped and piled together—hillocks heaped
On what used to be chambers—arched ceilings collapsed, columns scattered In pieces—clogged vaults and frescos soaked In underground dampness, where the owl looked,[of]
Is it midnight: Temples, Baths, or Halls? Say the word for everyone who can: for all the knowledge gained. From her research, she discovered that these are walls—
Check out the Imperial Mount! This is where the Mighty falls. [484]
[408]CVIII.
It's just the same repetition of the past,
[409] First comes Freedom, and then Glory—when that fails,
Wealth—Vice—Corruption—Barbarism in the end.
And History, with all her extensive volumes,
Has only one page,—it's better written here,
Where beautiful tyranny has gathered like this
All treasures, all delights, that Eye or Ear, Heart and Soul could seek—Tongue could ask—Forget words! come closer,
CIX.
There is something for everyone to feel:—Human![og]
You pendulum between a smile and a tear,
Ages and realms are packed into this time,
This mountain, whose erased plan The peak of Empires, Of Glory's flashy trinkets shining in the front __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Until the Sun’s rays were filled with even more fire!
Where are its golden roofs?__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ where those who were brave enough to construct?
[410]CX.
You nameless column__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ with the hidden base!
What are the achievements that adorn Caesar's brow? Crown me with ivy from his home.
Whose arch or pillar confronts me directly,
Titus or Trajan's? No—it's that of Time:
Victory, arch, pillar, he removes them all[oi]
Scoffing; and religious statues__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ climb
To break the imperial urn, whose ashes lay peacefully,
[411]CXI.
And gazing at the stars: they had held A spirit that would find a home with these,
The last of those who ruled over the entire earth, The Roman Globe—because no one supported it after, But gave back his conquests:—he was more More than just an Alexander, and untainted With homegrown blood and wine, calmly wore We still honor the name of Trajan for his noble qualities. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
CXII.
The Promontory where the Traitor's Leap[oj]
Cured all ambition?__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Did the conquerors pile up Their rewards here? Yes; and in that field below, A thousand years of quiet groups lie dormant—
The Forum, where the timeless words shine,
And yet the eloquent spirit is alive and ignited by Cicero![ok][492]
CXIII.
Here, the passions of a proud people were expressed,
[414] From the very beginning of the Empire in its early stages To that when more worlds to conquer were unsuccessful;
But long before, Freedom's face had been covered, And Anarchy took on her traits;
Until every lawless soldier who attacked Stepped on the fearful Senate's obedient silence,
Or raised the corrupt voice of lesser prostitutes.
CXIV.
From her ten thousand oppressors, she turns to you,
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame—
The friend of Petrarch—hope of Italy—
Rienzi! Last of the Romans!__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ While the tree
The withered trunk of Freedom puts out a new leaf,
[415] Even for your tomb, let it be a garland—
The champion of the Forum and the leader of the people—
Her newborn Numa, your reign was too brief, unfortunately.
CXV.
Which found no earthly resting place so beautiful As your perfect chest; whatever you are Or were you,—a young Aurora of the air,
The nympholepsy__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ of some sweet sorrow—[ol]
Or—it could be—a Beauty of the earth,
[416] Who found a more than usual follower there
Too much adoration—regardless of your birth,
You were a beautiful thought, gently taking form.
CXVI.
[417] Of your cave-protected Spring, still youthful and unaged,
Reflects the gentle-eyed spirit of the place,
Whose green, wild border is now gone Art's creations; nor should the gentle waters rest. Trapped in marble—bubbling from the bottom
Of the split statue, with a gentle jump
The stream flows over and around, while ferns, flowers, and ivy grow.
CXVII.
Are covered with early blossoms—through the grass
The quick-eyed lizard stirs—and the bills
The summer birds sing their welcome as you pass; Vibrant flowers, fresh in color, and numerous in their kind,
Please pause for a moment and with their colors Dance in the gentle breeze in a fairy gathering; The sweetness of the Violet's deep blue eyes, Kissed by the breath of heaven, it appears to be colored by its skies.[496]
CXVIII.
Egeria! Your divine heart is pounding For the distant footsteps of your mortal lover; The purple Midnight covered that mysterious gathering
With her most starry canopy__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—and seating
Your admirer, what happened? This cave was definitely formed for the greeting. Of a lovestruck Goddess, and the cell
Haunted by divine Love—the original Oracle!
CXIX.
And love, which fades away just as it begins, in sighs,
Share in eternal delights? Could your art Make them truly immortal, and give The purity of Heaven compared to earthly pleasures,
Get rid of the poison, don’t dull the arrow—
The boring satisfaction that ruins everything—
And pull out from the soul the deadly weed that suffocates?
CXX.
Or water, but the desert! Where does it come from? But weeds of dark richness, quick-growing tares, Rank at the center, though appealing to the eyes
Flowers that release wild scents, but only bring pain,
And trees that produce poisonous sap; such are the plants
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion soars Across the wilderness of the world, and striving in vain For some heavenly fruit that's off-limits to us.
CXXI.
An unseen Seraph, we believe in you,—
A faith whose martyrs are the brokenhearted,—
But no one has seen it yet, nor will anyone ever see it. The naked eye, your form, just as it should be;[499]
The mind has created you, just as it filled Heaven,
Even with its own desired fantasy,
And to a thought shaped and formed, As the unquenched soul haunts—thirsty—tired—exhausted—and torn.
[420]CXXII.
And fevers into fake visions:—where,
Where are the shapes that the sculptor's soul has captured?
In him alone, can Nature look so beautiful? Where are the charms and qualities that we dare Think of it in your youth and chase it as adults,
The untouched Paradise of our despair,
Which provides insights to __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the pencil and the pen,
And takes over the page where it would blossom again?
CXXIII.
Reaping the consequences from the frequently stirred winds; The stubborn heart starts its transformation, The prize seems so close—richest when in the most trouble.
CXXIV.
Sick—sick; the blessing remains unfound—thirst unquenched,
Even at the very end, on the edge of our decline,
Some ghostly lures, like the ones we initially looked for—
But it's too late now, so we're doubly cursed. Love, fame, ambition, and greed—it's all the same,
Every idle—and all bad—and none the worst—
For everyone, they are meteors with a different name,[oo]
And Death, the dark smoke where the flame disappears.
CXXV.
Although accidents, random encounters, and the intense Need for love, has gone Antipathies—but to return soon,
Poisoned by irreversible harm; And Circumstance, that unspiritual God And Miscreator, creates and assists as well. Our future troubles with a crutch-like staff,[502]
Whose touch turns Hope into dust—the dust we all have walked on.
CXXVI.
The balance of things—this tough decision,
This unremovable stain of Sin,
This endless Upas, this all-destroying tree,
Whose root is Earth—whose leaves and branches are The skies that rain down their curses on people like dew—
Illness, death, captivity—all the suffering we witness,
And even worse, the troubles we don't see—that pulse through The irreparable soul,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ with fresh heartaches constantly.
CXXVII.
Abandonment of reason__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ to quit
[423] Our freedom to think—our final and only refuge
Of refuge; this, at least, will still be mine:
Though from our birth the divine Faculty Is chained and tortured—restricted, trapped, confined,
And raised in darkness,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ so that the Truth wouldn’t shine
Too brightly on the unprepared mind,
The light streams in—because Time and Skill will guide the blind.
CXXVIII.
Gathering the main awards of her lineage,
[424] Would gather all her victories under one roof,
Her Coliseum stands; __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the moonbeams shine As if it were its natural torches—for divine It should be the light that shines here—to brighten This long-explored but still endless mine
Of Reflection; and the blue darkness On an Italian night, when the deep skies take on
[425]CXXIX.
Floats over this huge and amazing monument,
And it reveals its greatness. There is given
To the things of the earth, which Time has shaped,
A spirit's emotions and where he has leaned. His hand broke his scythe, there is a power. And magic in the broken battlement,
For which the Palace of the present time Must give up its grandeur and wait until time bestows its wealth.
CXXX.
Adorner of the ruin __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—Comforter And only Healer when the heart has bled;
Time! the Corrector where our judgments are wrong,
The test of Truth, Love—our only philosopher,
Everyone around you are just sophists—because of your frugality,
[426] Which never loses even if it is delayed—
Time, the Avenger! I lift myself to you
My hands, my eyes, my heart, and my desire for you all seek a gift:
CXXXI.
And temple more divinely empty—
Among your greater offerings here are mine,
Remnants of years—though few, yet full of destiny:—
If you've ever seen me too happy,
Don't listen to me; but if I've managed to endure calmly Good, and I kept my pride in check despite the hate. Which will not overwhelm me, let me not have worn. This pain in my soul is pointless—won't they grieve?
CXXXII.
[427] Here, where the ancients once honored you for a long time— You, who called the Furies from the abyss,
And around Orestes, he told them to howl and hiss. For that unfair revenge—just,
If it had only come from less familiar hands—in this I call you back from the dust, my former kingdom!
Do you not hear my heart?—Wake up! You will, and you must.
CXXXIII.
For my family’s mistakes or my own, the wound[op]
I bleed too; and if it had been granted With a rightful weapon, it had flowed freely; But now my blood will not be absorbed into the ground—
I dedicate it to you—You shall take The revenge that will still be pursued and discovered—
Which if I haven't taken for the sake—
But let's set that aside—I sleep—but You will wake up yet.
CXXXIV.
I shy away from what’s endured: let him speak. Who has seen decline on my forehead, Or watch my mind's turmoil leave it weak; But on this page, I will look for a record. My words won't just fade away in the air,
Even if I’m just ashes, a distant time will bring consequences. The profound prophetic depth of this verse,
And stack human heads on top of the mountain of my curse!
CXXXV.
Listen to me, my mother Earth! Look at this, Heaven!—
Haven't I had to struggle with my situation? Have I not endured enough for forgiveness? Have I not had my mind burned, my heart torn,
Are hopes drained, reputation damaged, and has life’s essence been wasted? And just not to be driven to desperation,
Because not all of this clay As it seeps into the souls of those I observe.
CXXXVI.[or]
Have I not witnessed what humans are capable of? From the loud roar of bubbling accusations
To the quiet murmur of the few—
And the more subtle poison of the reptile group,
The Janus look__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ of its important eye,
[430] Learning to lie with silence might seem true—
And without saying a word, except for a shrug or a sigh, Make fun of the happy fools with your silent insults.
CXXXVII.
My mind might lose its strength, my blood its passion,
And my body will suffer even while overcoming pain; But there’s something inside me that will get tired
Torture and Time, and take a breath when I die;
Something otherworldly, which they believe is not of, Like the recalled sound of a silent lyre,
Will sink into their softened spirits and move In hearts that are now hardened, there is a lingering regret for Love.
CXXXVIII.
And grow right there—all-seeing but not seen.
CXXXIX.
Both are just stages—where the main performers decay.
CXL.
He rests his hand on his forehead—his strong brow[os]
[432] Agrees to death but overcomes pain,
And his lowered head gradually sinks down—
And through his side, the last drops are slowly trickling out. From the red cut, they fall heavily, one by one,[ot]
Like the start of a thunderstorm; and now[ou]
The arena moves around him—he's vanished,[ov]
Before the inhuman shout that celebrated the unfortunate winner died down.
CXLI.
[433] He didn’t care about the life he lost or the reward, But where his simple hut was located by the Danube—
There were his young kids all at play,
There was their Dacian mother—he, their father,
Butchered to create a Roman holiday—__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
All this rushed through his blood—Will he die? And unavenged?—Stand up! you Goths, and satisfy your anger!
CXLII.
And roared or whispered like a mountain stream
Swift or twisting as its current flows; Here, where the Roman million’s criticism or admiration Was Death or Life—the toys of a crowd—__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
My voice sounds much—and the stars' faint rays fall __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
In the empty arena—crushed seats—bent walls—
And galleries, where my footsteps echo strangely loudly.
CXLIII.
And wonder where the treasure could have come from.
[434] Has it really been looted, or just cleaned out? Unfortunately, developed, opens the decay,
As you approach the enormous fabric's shape:
It won’t shine like the light of day,
Which streams too much on everyone—years—man—have taken away.
CXLIV.
When the stars shine through the loops of Time,
And the gentle night breeze flows through the air The garland forest that the gray walls display,[pa]
Like laurels on the bald head of the first Caesar—[512]
When the light shines softly but doesn't dazzle—
Then in this magic circle, bring the dead back to life;—
Heroes have walked this ground—it's on their dust that you stand.[pb]
CXLV.
When the Coliseum falls, Rome will fall;[435] "And when Rome falls—the World." From our own land
So spoke the pilgrims over this great wall. In Saxon times, which we tend to call Ancient; and these three mortal things still exist
On their foundations, and unchanged all—
Rome and her Ruin are beyond Redemption's reach—
The world—the same vast den—of thieves, or whatever you want to call it.
CXLVI.
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
[436] From Jupiter to Jesus—spared and blessed by Time—
Seeking tranquility, while it falls or nods Arch—empire—everything around you—and Man trudges. His path through thorns to ashes—glorious Dome!
Will you not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver for you—sanctuary and home
Of Art and Piety—Pantheon!—the pride of Rome![pc]
CXLVII.
Ruined yet flawless! with your circle extends
A purity that resonates with all hearts; To create art—a model—and to the one who walks[437] Rome for the sake of ages, glory shines Her light through your only opening; to those For those who worship, here are altars for their beads—
And those who appreciate Genius can relax Their eyes are on the honored figures, whose busts surround them closely.[515]
CXLVIII.
What am I looking at? Nothing—Take another look!
[438] Two shapes gradually appear in my vision—
Two insulated phantoms of the mind:[pd]
That’s not true—I see them clearly and plainly—
An old man and a young and beautiful woman, Fresh as a new mother, in whose veins The blood is nectar:—but what is she doing there,
With her exposed neck and bare, white chest?[pe]
CXLIX.
Blessed into motherhood, in the innocent gaze, Or even the piercing cry of lips that endure[pf]
No pain and little suspense, a joy is felt[pg]
Man does not know—when from its cradled nook She watches her little bud start to grow its leaves—
What could the fruit possibly be? I don't know—Cain was Eve's.
CL.
The milk he gave her: it is her father. To whom she repays the debt of blood
Born at her birth:—No—he shall not die
[439] While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and spiritual well-being can provide
Great Nature's Nile, whose deep waters rise higher Than Egypt's river:—from that calm side
Drink—drink, and live—Old Man! Heaven's realm has no such flow.
CLI.
Your story lacks purity; it is A group of a sweeter beam,
And sacred Nature prevails even more in this Opposite of her order, then in the void
Where sparkle distant worlds:—Oh, sacred Nurse!
No drop from that clear stream will miss its way. To your father's heart, restoring its source[ph]
With life, as our liberated souls reunite with the Universe.
CLII.
Imperial imitation of the ancient Egyptian structures,
[440] Colossal copier of deformity—
Whose traveled imagination comes from the distant Nile's Huge model, doomed the artist's efforts To create for Giants and for his prideful world,
His scattered ashes uplift this Dome: How it smiles. The observer's eye with thoughtful amusement,[pi]
To see the amazing design that came from such a beginning!
CLIII.[519]
To which Diana's wonder was a cell—
[441] Christ's powerful shrine above His martyr's tomb![pk]
I have witnessed the miracle of the Ephesian—[521]
Its columns scatter across the wilderness, and reside The hyena and the jackal in their shade;[522]
[442] I have seen Sophia's bright roofs rise __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Their sparkling mass in the Sun, and have looked over __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
While the usurping Muslim prayed, its sanctuary...[523]
CLIV.
You stand alone—there's nothing like you—
Worthy of God, the Holy and the True!
Since Zion's destruction, when He Gave up his old city, whatever it was,
Of earthly structures built in His honor, Of a grander aspect? Majesty—
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty are all in aisles. In this everlasting Ark of pure worship.
CLV.
Expanded by the brilliance of the location,
Has grown huge, and can only find
A fit __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ home where appear enshrined Your hopes of immortality—and you[443] One day, if deemed worthy, as defined See your God face to face, just like you do now. His most sacred place—nor be overwhelmed by his gaze.[pn]
CLVI.
Like climbing a great mountain that still rises, Deceived by its massive beauty—
Vastness that expands, but expands to create harmony—[po]
All musical in its vastnesses; Luxurious marbles, even more extravagant paintings—places where fire[pp]
The golden lamps—and proud dome that competes In the atmosphere alongside Earth's main structures, even though their framework Sits on the solid ground—and this the clouds must take.
[444]CLVII.
To set apart reflection, the entire whole; And just like the Ocean creates many bays, That request the eye—so here focus your soul
To more immediate objects and control
Your thoughts until your mind has memorized them. Its elegant design, and unroll[pq]
In powerful stages, step by step,
The glory that didn't strike you immediately,
CLVIII.
Is simply a gradual understanding—and as it is What we have that feels the most intense Surpasses our weak expression; still, this Impressive and overwhelming building Fools our loving gaze, and greatest of the great At first, it goes against our human nature's smallness,
As it grows, we expand with it. Our spirits are as big as what we think about.
CLIX.
In such a survey than the satisfying gaze[445] Of wonder that delights, or awe that inspires admiration The reverence for the location, or simply the admiration Of art and its great masters, who could elevate What past time, skill, or thought could have planned: [ps]
The fountain of Sublimity shows
Its depth can inspire the human mind[pt]
Its golden sands, and discover what amazing ideas can. [pu]
CLX.
[446] A father's love and a mortal's pain
With an Immortal's patience blending:—Futile The struggle—futile, against the twisting pressure And complain, and deepening of the dragon's grip,
The Old Man's grip; the long poisonous chain[pv]
Rivets the living connections—the huge Asp
Enforces pain on pain, and suppresses breath on breath.[pw]
CLXI.
The God of Life, Poetry, and Light—
[447] The Sun in human arms and forehead All glowing from his victory in the battle; The arrow has just been shot—the bright arrow With an Immortal's revenge in his eye
And beautifully disdainful nostrils, and strength. And Majesty, show all your brilliance by, In that one glance, the Deity is revealed.
CLXII.
Created by a lonely Nymph, whose heart Yearned for an immortal partner from above,
And driven crazy by that vision__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—are expressed[448] All the perfect beauty has ever graced The mind in its most otherworldly state,
When every Conception was a celestial Guest—
A ray of Immortality—and stood,
Like stars, they gathered until they became like a God![px]
CLXIII.
By the one who was given the energy This poetic marble has adorned With everlasting glory—which, if created By human hands, but not of human thought—
And time itself has made it sacred, nor has it laid One curl in the dirt—nor has it caught A hint of age, but it still has the passion with which it was created.
CLXIV.
The Being who supported it throughout the past? I think he’s arriving late and staying too long.
He is no longer here—these breaths are his last—
[449] His travels over—his visions fading quickly,
And he himself as nothing:—if he was Nothing but a fantasy, and could be categorized With forms that exist and endure—let's move on—
His shadow disappears into the chaos of destruction,[py]
CLXV.
And spreads the gloomy and universal shadow Through which everything grows shadows; and the cloud Between us sinks everything that ever shone,
Until Glory herself is twilight and shows A sad halo barely allowed To linger on the edge of darkness—beams Sadder than the saddest night, because they draw the gaze away,
CLXVI.
To collect what we will become when the structure It will be resolved to something less than this—
Its miserable nature; and to dream of fame,
And wipe the dust off the unused name
We will never hear again—but never again,[450] Oh, happy thought! Can we become the same:—
It's truly enough that we have once borne These burdens__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ of the heart—the heart that sweat blood.
CLXVII.
A distant, low murmur of fear, Such happens when a nation suffers greatly.
With a deep and incurable wound;—
Through storms and darkness, the ground splits open—
The gulf is filled with spirits, but the Chief
She still seems royal, even with her crown removed,
And pale, yet beautiful, with a mother's sorrow—
She holds a baby, to whom her breast offers no comfort.
CLXVIII.
The mother of a moment, over your boy,
Death silenced that pain forever: with you left The current happiness and the joy that's promised Which filled the Imperial Isles so much it seemed overwhelming.
CLXIX.
Oh you who were so happy, so loved!
Those who don't cry for Kings will cry for you,
And Freedom's heart, feeling burdened, stops holding on Her countless sorrows for One; for she had poured
Her prayers for you, and over your head __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
I saw her Iris. You, too, lonely Lord, And empty partner—you were married in vain!
The husband for a year! The father of the deceased!
CLXX.
The fair-haired Daughter of the Isles is laid,
The love of millions! How we placed our trust Futurity to her! And, even though it has to Shade over our bones, yet cherished Our kids should listen to her child, and it's a blessing. Her and her hoped-for offspring, whose promise seemed Like stars to a shepherd's gaze: it was just a meteor that shone.[534]
CLXXI.
The unpredictable stench of popular breath,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ the tongue
Of empty advice, the fake oracle,
Since the establishment of the monarchy, it has resounded[453] Its toll in noble ears, until the over-stung Nations have armed themselves in madness—the strange fate Which falls the greatest rulers, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and has thrown Against their unchecked power a burden On the other side, which will eventually weigh down—[qa]
CLXXII.
Our hearts refuse to accept it: so young, so beautiful, Good without trying, great without an enemy; But now a Bride and Mother—and now look!
How many connections did that serious moment break!
From your father's heart to his humblest subject's heart Is connected to the electric chain of that despair,
Whose shock was like an earthquake's,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and pressed down The land that loved you so much that no one could love you better.
CLXXIII.
So far, that the raging Wind which tears The oak from his foundation, and which spills The ocean beyond its limits, and carries Its foam against the skies, hesitant remnants The oval mirror of your shiny lake;
And calm as beloved resentment, its surface shows[qb]
A deep cold settled in that nothing can shake,
All curled up and round, like a sleeping snake.
CLXXIV.
The Tiber flows, and the vast Ocean washes The Latian coast where the Epic war began,
"Arms and the Man," whose star is rising again Rose above an empire:—but under your right[540]
[455] Tully rested from Rome;—and where that bar The view is blocked by encircling mountains[qc]
The Sabine farm was cultivated, much to the tired Bard's joy.
CLXXV.
He and I have to separate—so be it—
His task and mine are almost finished; Once again, let's take a look at the Sea;
The Midland Ocean splashes against both him and me,
And now we see from the Alban Mount
Our childhood friend, the Ocean, which when we Last seen by Calpe's rock__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ open up
We followed those waves until the dark Euxine Sea surged.
CLXXVI.
It's long, but not too many—since I've done Their work involves both suffering and tears[qd]
Have left us almost back to where we started:
Yet our mortal race has not run in vain—
We have received our reward—and it is here,—
That we can still feel happy because of the Sun,
And gather joy from Earth and Sea that's almost as precious. As if there were no one to disturb what is clear.[542]
CLXXVII.
With one kind Spirit as my guide,
[457] That I could completely forget about humanity,
And, without hating anyone, love only her!
Hey elements!—in whose uplifting stir I feel uplifted—Can you not Do I really deserve such a being? Am I mistaken? In considering such a place, do many people live there? Though it’s rare for us to have the chance to talk with them.
CLXXVIII.
There's a sense of excitement on the empty shore,
There is a community where no one interferes,
By the deep sea, with music in its roar: I don't love people any less, but I love nature even more,
From these interviews, where I take From everything I might be or have been in the past,
To connect with the Universe,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ and feel
What I can’t fully express—yet can’t completely hide.
CLXXIX.
Ten thousand fleets pass over you without success;
[458] Humans leave a mark of destruction on the earth—exerting their control. Stops at the shore;—on the water's surface The wrecks are all your doing, and nothing remains A reminder of humanity's destruction, except for his own,
When, for a moment, like a raindrop, He sinks into your depths with a bubbling groan—
Without a grave—unburied, unsealed, and unrecognized.[qe]
CLXXX.
Rejecting him from your heart to the heavens—[545]
And send him, shivering in your playful spray And howling to his Gods, where he might be found His small hope for some nearby harbor or bay,
And he pushed him down to Earth again:—there let him stay.[qf][546]
[459]CLXXXI.
And kings shake in their capitals,
The giant oak Leviathans,__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ with their massive ribs create[qg]
Their clay creator takes the vain title. O Lord of you, and Judge of War—
These are your toys, and, like the snowflake,
They blend into your waves of yeast, which ruin Similar to the pride of the Armada or the treasures of Trafalgar.[548]
[460]CLXXXII.
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage—what are they?[549]
Your waters washed__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ them with power while they were free,[qh]
And many tyrants since; their shores follow The outsider, enslaved person, or wild individual; their decline
Has turned dry lands into deserts—not you, Unchangeable except for the wild waves' movement,[qi]
Time leaves no marks on your bright blue brow—
Just like the dawn of Creation witnessed, you now roll on.
CLXXXIII.
Glasses themselves in storms; through all time,
Whether calm or shaking—in a breeze, a gale, or a storm—
Icing the Pole, or in the hot climate[461] Dark, vast, and sublime—
The image of Eternity— the throne __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Of the Invisible; even from your slime[551]
The deep-sea monsters are created—each Zone
Obeys you—you go out, terrifying, unfathomable, alone.
CLXXXIV.
Of youthful sports was on your heart to be Borne, like your bubbles, onward: from a boy[552]
I wanted to be with your breakers—they mean a lot to me. Were a delight; and if the refreshing sea Made them a terror—it was a satisfying fear,
For I was like a child of yours,
And trusted in your waves both far and near,
And I placed my hand on your mane—just like I'm doing here.[553]
[462]CLXXXV.
Has faded into an echo; it is appropriate [qk]
The spell should end this long dream.
The torch will be put out that has lit My midnight lamp—and what’s written is written,—
I wish it were more deserving! But I'm not right now What I have been—and my visions shift Less visibly in front of me—and the glow Which in my spirit lived is fluttering, weak, and soft.
CLXXXVI.
A sound that makes us stay a little longer;—but—goodbye![ql]
Hey! If you have followed the Pilgrim to the location[qm]
Which is his last—if it remains in your memories[463] A thought that was once his—if on the rise A single memory—not wasted He wore his sandals and scallop shell; Goodbye! Only with him can the pain find rest,
If that were the case—with you, the Moral of his Strain.[554]
FOOTNOTES
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {321} [See Canto IV, stanza clxiv.—
I kindly ask that you allow me to say—
Wish me many returns this season,
But as few as you like of the day."]
[366] {323} [Some fancy me no Chinese, because I am formed more like a man than a monster; and others wonder to find one born five thousand miles from England, endued with common sense.... He must be some Englishman in disguise."—The Citizen of the World; or a Series of Letters from a Chinese Philosopher at London, to his Friends in the East, 1762, Letter xxxiii.]
[366] {323} [Some people think I'm not Chinese because I look more like a person than a monster; others are surprised to meet someone born five thousand miles from England who has common sense... They must think I'm some Englishman in disguise."—The Citizen of the World; or a Series of Letters from a Chinese Philosopher at London, to his Friends in the East, 1762, Letter xxxiii.]
[368] {324} [Antonio Canova, sculptor, 1757-1822; Vincenzo Monti, 1754-1828; Ugo Foscolo, 1776-1827 (see Life, p. 456, etc.); Ippolito Pindemonte, 1753-1828 (see Letter to Murray, June 4, 1817), poets; Ennius Quirinus Visconti, 1751-1818, the valuer of the Elgin marbles, archæologist; Giacomo Morelli, 1745-1819, bibliographer and scholar (the architect Cosimo Morelli, born 1732, died in 1812); Leopoldo Conte de Cicognara, 1767-1834, archæologist; the Contessa Albrizzi, 1769?-1836, authoress of Ritratti di Uomini Illustri (see Life, pp. 331, 413, etc.); Giuseppe Mezzofanti, 1774-1849, linguist; Angelo Mai (cardinal), 1782-1854, philologist; Andreas Moustoxides, 1787-1860, a Greek archæologist, who wrote in Italian; Francesco Aglietti (see Life, p. 378, etc.), 1757-1836; Andrea Vacca Berlinghieri, 1772-1826 (see Life, p. 339).
[368] {324} [Antonio Canova, sculptor, 1757-1822; Vincenzo Monti, 1754-1828; Ugo Foscolo, 1776-1827 (see Life, p. 456, etc.); Ippolito Pindemonte, 1753-1828 (see Letter to Murray, June 4, 1817), poets; Ennius Quirinus Visconti, 1751-1818, the appraiser of the Elgin marbles, archaeologist; Giacomo Morelli, 1745-1819, bibliographer and scholar (the architect Cosimo Morelli, born 1732, died in 1812); Leopoldo Conte de Cicognara, 1767-1834, archaeologist; the Contessa Albrizzi, 1769?-1836, author of Ritratti di Uomini Illustri (see Life, pp. 331, 413, etc.); Giuseppe Mezzofanti, 1774-1849, linguist; Angelo Mai (cardinal), 1782-1854, philologist; Andreas Moustoxides, 1787-1860, a Greek archaeologist, who wrote in Italian; Francesco Aglietti (see Life, p. 378, etc.), 1757-1836; Andrea Vacca Berlinghieri, 1772-1826 (see Life, p. 339).
For biographical essays on Monti, Foscolo, and Pindemonte, see "Essay on the Present Literature of Italy" (Hobhouse's Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, 1818, pp. 347, sq.). See, too, Italian Literature, by R. Garnett, C.B., LL.D., 1898, pp. 333-337, 337-341, 341-342.]
For biographical essays on Monti, Foscolo, and Pindemonte, check out "Essay on the Present Literature of Italy" (Hobhouse's Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, 1818, pp. 347, sq.). Also, look at Italian Literature, by R. Garnett, C.B., LL.D., 1898, pp. 333-337, 337-341, 341-342.]
[369] {325} [Shelley (notes M. Darmesteter), in his preface to the Prometheus Unbound, "emploie le mot sans demander pardon." "The mass of capabilities remains at every period materially the same; the circumstances which awaken it to action perpetually change." "Capability" in the sense of "undeveloped faculty or property; a condition physical or otherwise, capable of being converted or turned to use" (N. Eng. Dict.), appertains rather to material objects. To apply the term figuratively to the forces inherent in national character savoured of a literary indecorum. Hence the apology.]
[369] {325} [Shelley (notes M. Darmesteter), in his preface to the Prometheus Unbound, "uses the word without asking for forgiveness." "The amount of capabilities remains essentially the same at all times; the circumstances that bring them to life constantly change." "Capability" in the sense of "undeveloped ability or quality; a physical or other condition that can be used or put to use" (N. Eng. Dict.), applies more to physical objects. Using the term figuratively to describe the forces inherent in national character felt like a literary faux pas. Hence the apology.]
Otherwise, where does this hopeful feeling and this deep desire come from, This desire for immortality?"]
[371] [Shelley chose this refrain as the motto to his unfinished lines addressed to his infant son—
[371] [Shelley picked this refrain as the motto for his unfinished lines meant for his baby son—
Some bright spirit lived——"]
[372] [Scott commented severely on this opprobrious designation of "the great and glorious victory of Waterloo," in his critique on the Fourth Canto, Q. R., No. xxxvii., April, 1818.]
[372] [Scott harshly criticized this offensive term of "the great and glorious victory of Waterloo," in his review of the Fourth Canto, Q. R., No. xxxvii., April, 1818.]
[374] [In 1817.]
Copied, August 1817. Started on June 26. Completed on July 29. MS. M.]
[376] [Byron sent the first stanza to Murray, July 1, 1817, "the shaft of the column as a specimen." Gifford, Frere, and many more to whom Murray "ventured to show it," expressed their approval (Memoir of John Murray, i. 385).
[376] [Byron sent the first stanza to Murray on July 1, 1817, "the shaft of the column as a sample." Gifford, Frere, and many others to whom Murray "dared to show it," expressed their approval (Memoir of John Murray, i. 385).
"'The Bridge of Sighs,'" he explains (i.e. Ponte de' Sospiri), "is that which divides, or rather joins, the palace of the Doge to the prison of the state." Compare The Two Foscari, act iv. sc. 1—
"'The Bridge of Sighs,'" he explains (i.e. Ponte de' Sospiri), "is the structure that separates, or more accurately connects, the Doge's palace to the state prison." Compare The Two Foscari, act iv. sc. 1—
But no 'buts,' unless you want to skip over The bridge that few cross.
This, however, is an anachronism. The Bridge of Sighs was built by Antonio da Ponte, in 1597, more than a century after the death of Francesco Foscari. "It is," says Mr. Ruskin, "a work of no merit and of a late period, owing the interest it possesses chiefly to its pretty name, and to the ignorant sentimentalism of Byron" (Stones of Venice, 1853, ii. 304; in. 359).]
This, however, is an outdated reference. The Bridge of Sighs was constructed by Antonio da Ponte in 1597, more than a century after Francesco Foscari's death. "It is," says Mr. Ruskin, "a work of no value and from a later period, gaining interest mainly because of its charming name and the uneducated sentimentality of Byron" (Stones of Venice, 1853, ii. 304; in. 359).
[377] [Compare Mysteries of Udolpho, by Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 35, 36—
[377] [Compare Mysteries of Udolpho, by Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 35, 36—
"Its terraces crowned with airy yet majestic fabrics ... appeared as if they had been called up from the Ocean by the wand of an enchanter."]
"Its terraces topped with light yet grand fabrics ... looked as if they had been summoned from the Ocean by the wave of a magician's wand."
[378] Sabellicus, describing the appearance of Venice, has made use of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not true.—"Quo fit ut qui supernè [ex specula aliqua eminentiore] urbem contempletur, turritam telluris imaginem medio Oceano figuratam se putet inspicere." [De Venetæ Urbis situ Narratio, lib. i. Ital. Ill. Script., 1600, p. 4. Marcus Antonius Coccius Sabellicus (1436-1506) wrote, inter alia, a History of Venice, published in folio in 1487, and Rhapsodiæ Historiarum Enneades, a condito mundo, usque ad A.C. 1504. His description of Venice (vide supra) was published after his death in 1527. Hofmann does not give him a good character: "Obiit A.C. 1506, turpi morbo confectus, ætat. 70, relicto filio notho." But his Αὐτοεπιτάφιον implies that he was satisfied with himself.
[378] Sabellicus, describing what Venice looks like, has used the image above, which wouldn't be poetic if it weren't true.—"So it happens that anyone looking down from some high lookout on the city thinks they are gazing at a tower-shaped piece of land set in the middle of the ocean." [On the Situation of the City of Venice, book i. Italian Ill. Writings, 1600, p. 4. Marcus Antonius Coccius Sabellicus (1436-1506) wrote, among other things, a History of Venice, published in folio in 1487, and Rhapsodies of Histories Enneads, from the creation of the world until A.C. 1504. His description of Venice (see above) was published posthumously in 1527. Hofmann does not portray him positively: "He died A.C. 1506, afflicted by a foul disease, at the age of 70, leaving behind an illegitimate son." But his Epitaph suggests that he was content with himself.
Lexicon Universale, art. "Marcus," etc.
Universal Lexicon, art. "Marcus," etc.
Cybele (sometimes written Cybelle and Cybēle), the "mother of the Goddesses," was represented as wearing a mural crown—"coronamque turritam gestare dicitur" (Albricus Phil., De Imag. Deor., xii.). Venice with her tiara of proud towers is the earth-goddess Cybele, having "suffered a sea-change."]
Cybele (sometimes written as Cybelle and Cybēle), the "mother of the Goddesses," was depicted wearing a mural crown—"coronamque turritam gestare dicitur" (Albricus Phil., De Imag. Deor., xii.). Venice, with her tiara of proud towers, represents the earth-goddess Cybele, having "suffered a sea-change."
[379] ["Gems wrought into drinking-vessels, among which the least precious were framed of turquoise, jasper, or amethyst ... unnumbered jacinths, emeralds, sapphires, chrysolites, and topazes, and, lastly, those matchless carbuncles which, placed on the High Altar of St. Mark's, blazed with intrinsic light, and scattered darkness by their own beams;—these are but a sample of the treasures which accrued to Venice" (Villehardouin, lib. in. p. 129). (See Sketches from Venetian History, 1831, i. 161.)]
[379] ["Gems crafted into drinking vessels, where the least valuable ones were made of turquoise, jasper, or amethyst ... countless jacinths, emeralds, sapphires, chrysolites, and topazes, and finally, those incredible carbuncles which, placed on the High Altar of St. Mark's, shone with their own light and dispelled darkness with their radiance;—these are just a glimpse of the treasures that gathered in Venice" (Villehardouin, lib. in. p. 129). (See Sketches from Venetian History, 1831, i. 161.)]
[380] [After the fall of Constantinople, in 1204, "the illustrious Dandolo ... was permitted to tinge his buskins in the purple hue distinctive of the Imperial Family, to claim exemption from all feudal service to the Emperor, and to annex to the title of Doge of Venice the proud style of Despot of Romania, and Lord of One-fourth and One-eighth of the Roman Empire" (ibid., 1831, i. 167).]
[380] [After the fall of Constantinople in 1204, "the notable Dandolo ... was allowed to dye his boots in the royal purple color unique to the Imperial Family, to claim exemption from all feudal duties to the Emperor, and to add to the title of Doge of Venice the proud title of Despot of Romania, and Lord of One-fourth and One-eighth of the Roman Empire" (ibid., 1831, i. 167).]
[ld] Monarchs sate down——.—[D. erased.]
[381] [The gondoliers (see Hobhouse's note ii.) used to sing alternate stanzas of the Gerusalemme Liberata, capping each other like the shepherds in the Bucolics. The rival reciters were sometimes attached to the same gondola; but often the response came from a passing gondolier, a stranger to the singer who challenged the contest. Rogers, in his Italy, laments the silence which greeted the swan-song of his own gondolier—
[381] [The gondoliers (see Hobhouse's note ii.) used to sing alternate stanzas of the Gerusalemme Liberata, taking turns like the shepherds in the Bucolics. The competing singers were sometimes in the same gondola; but often the response came from a passing gondolier, someone who didn’t know the singer who started the contest. Rogers, in his Italy, expresses sadness over the silence that followed the last song of his own gondolier—
Back when Venice was at her peak,
Of Tancred and Erminia. On our oars We took a break, and the verse was truly divine!
We couldn't be wrong—Maybe he was the last—
For no one took up the challenge, no one answered him; And when he stopped, he left in my ear "Something like the fading voice of Venice!"
The Gondola (Poems, 1852, ii. 79).
The Gondola (Poems, 1852, p. 79).
Compare, too, Goethe's "Letters from Italy," October 6, 1786: "This evening I bespoke the celebrated song of the mariners, who chaunt Tasso and Ariosto to melodies of their own. This must actually be ordered, as it is not to be heard as a thing of course, but rather belongs to the half-forgotten traditions of former times. I entered a gondola by moonlight, with one singer before and the other behind me. They sing their song, taking up the verses alternately....
Compare, too, Goethe's "Letters from Italy," October 6, 1786: "This evening, I requested the famous song of the sailors, who sing Tasso and Ariosto to their own tunes. This really needs to be arranged, as it's not something you hear often, but rather belongs to the almost-forgotten traditions of the past. I got into a gondola under the moonlight, with one singer in front of me and the other behind. They sing their song, taking turns with the verses....
"Sitting on the shore of an island, on the bank of a canal, or on the side of a boat, a gondolier will sing away with a loud penetrating voice—the multitude admire force above everything—anxious only to be heard as far as possible. Over the silent mirror it travels far."—Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 73.]
"Sitting on the shore of an island, by a canal, or next to a boat, a gondolier will sing loudly with a strong, powerful voice—the crowd values strength above all else—eager to be heard as far as possible. It carries far over the still water."—Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 73.]
[382] {331} [The Rialto, or Rivo alto, "the middle group of islands between the shore and the mainland," on the left of the Grand Canal, was the site of the original city, and till the sixteenth century its formal and legal designation. The Exchange, or Banco Giro, was held in the piazza, opposite the church of San Giacomo, which stands at the head of the canal to the north of the Ponto di Rialto. It was on the Rialto that Antonio rated Shylock about his "usances." "What news on the Rialto?" asks Solanio (Merchant of Venice, act i. sc. 3, line 102; act iii. sc. 1, line 1). Byron uses the word symbolically for Venetian commerce.]
[382] {331} [The Rialto, or Rivo alto, "the middle group of islands between the shore and the mainland," on the left side of the Grand Canal, was where the original city was located, and it retained its official and legal designation until the sixteenth century. The Exchange, or Banco Giro, was held in the square, across from the church of San Giacomo, which is at the northern end of the canal near the Ponto di Rialto. It was on the Rialto that Antonio confronted Shylock about his "usances." "What's the news on the Rialto?" asks Solanio (Merchant of Venice, act i. sc. 3, line 102; act iii. sc. 1, line 1). Byron uses the term as a symbol for Venetian trade.]
[383] [Pierre is the hero of Otway's Venice Preserved. Shylock and the Moor stand where they did, but what of Pierre? If the name of Otway—"master of the tragic art"—and the title of his masterpiece—Venice Preserved, or The Plot Discovered (first played 1682)—are not wholly forgotten, Pierre and Monimia and Belvidera have "decayed," and are memorable chiefly as favourite characters of great actors and actresses. Genest notes twenty revivals of the Venice Preserved, which was played as late as October 27, 1837, when Macready played "Pierre," and Phelps "Jaffier." "No play that I know," says Hartley Coleridge (Essays, 1851, ii. 56), "gains so much by acting as Venice Preserved.... Miss O'Neill, I well remember, made me weep with Belvidera; but she would have done the same had she spoken in an unknown tongue." Byron, who professed to be a "great admirer of Otway," in a letter to Hodgson, August 22, 1811 (Letters, 1898, i. 339, note 1), alludes to some lines from Venice Preserved (act ii. sc. 3), which seem to have taken his fancy. Two lines spoken by Belvidera (act ii.), if less humorous, are more poetical—
[383] [Pierre is the hero of Otway's Venice Preserved. Shylock and the Moor remain in their original places, but what about Pierre? While the name of Otway—"master of the tragic art"—and the title of his masterpiece—Venice Preserved, or The Plot Discovered (first performed in 1682)—aren't completely forgotten, Pierre, Monimia, and Belvidera have "decayed," remembered mainly as beloved characters of great actors and actresses. Genest mentions twenty revivals of the Venice Preserved, which was performed as recently as October 27, 1837, when Macready played "Pierre," and Phelps played "Jaffier." "No play that I know," says Hartley Coleridge (Essays, 1851, ii. 56), "gains so much by acting as Venice Preserved.... Miss O'Neill, I remember well, made me cry with Belvidera; but she would have done the same even if she spoke in a language I didn't understand." Byron, who claimed to be a "great admirer of Otway," mentioned some lines from Venice Preserved (act ii. sc. 3) in a letter to Hodgson on August 22, 1811 (Letters, 1898, i. 339, note 1), which seemed to have impressed him. Two lines spoken by Belvidera (act ii.), if less humorous, are more poetic—
Substance, and people on its own planets
With beings brighter than ever before, and give "A breath to shapes that can outlast all flesh."
The ideal personages of the poet's creations have the promise of immortality. The ideal forms which people his imagination transfigure and supplant the dull and grievous realities of his mortal being and circumstance; but there are "things" more radiant, more enchanting still, the "strong realities" of the heart and soul—hope, love, joy. But they pass! We wake, and lo! it was a dream.]
The ideal characters in the poet's creations hold the promise of immortality. The ideal forms that fill his imagination transform and replace the dull and painful realities of his life and situation; however, there are "things" even more radiant and enchanting, the "strong realities" of the heart and soul—hope, love, joy. But they fade away! We wake up, and suddenly, it was just a dream.
"And now because I feel it becoming boring."
Don Juan, Canto XIV. stanza x.
Don Juan, Canto XIV. stanza x.
In youth the poet takes refuge, in the ideal world, from the crowd and pressure of blissful possibilities; and in age, when hope is beyond hope, he peoples the solitude with beings of the mind.]
In youth, the poet seeks solace in an ideal world, escaping from the crowd and the pressure of endless possibilities; and in old age, when hope is just out of reach, he fills his solitude with creations of the imagination.
[386] [In another mood he wrote to Murray (June 7, 1819), "I trust they won't think of 'pickling, and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall' [see The Rivals, act v. sc. 3]. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." In this half-humorous outburst he deprecates, or pretends to deprecate, the fate which actually awaited his remains—burial in the family vault at Hucknall Torkard. There is, of course, no reference to a public funeral and a grave in Westminster Abbey. In the next stanza (x. line 1) he assumes the possibility of his being excluded from the Temple of Fame; but there is, perhaps, a tacit reference to burial in the Abbey. If the thought, as is probable, occurred to him, he veils it in a metaphor.]
[386] [In a different mood, he wrote to Murray (June 7, 1819), "I hope they won't consider 'pickling me up and bringing me back home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall' [see The Rivals, act v. sc. 3]. I'm sure my bones wouldn't rest in an English grave, nor would my remains mix with that country's soil." In this somewhat humorous outburst, he downplays, or pretends to downplay, the fate that actually awaited his remains—burial in the family vault at Hucknall Torkard. There is, of course, no mention of a public funeral and a grave in Westminster Abbey. In the next stanza (x. line 1), he considers the possibility of being excluded from the Temple of Fame; however, there may be an implied reference to burial in the Abbey. If that thought crossed his mind, as is likely, he disguises it in a metaphor.]
[Βρασίδας γὰρ ἦν μὲν ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς, ῇῃπολλοὶ δ' ἐκείνου κρείσσονες ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ. Plutarchi Moralia, Apophthegmata Laconica (Tauchnitz, 1820), ii. 127.]
[Brasidas was definitely a good person., and many of the people in Sparta were better than him. Plutarchi Moralia, Apophthegmata Laconica (Tauchnitz, 1820), ii. 127.]
[388] [The Bucentaur, "the state barge in which, on Ascension Day, the Doge of Venice used to wed the Adriatic by dropping a ring into it," was broken up and rifled by the French in 1797 (note, by Rev. E. C. Owen, Childe Harold, 1897, p. 197).
[388] [The Bucentaur, "the state barge where, on Ascension Day, the Doge of Venice would marry the Adriatic by dropping a ring into it," was dismantled and looted by the French in 1797 (note, by Rev. E. C. Owen, Childe Harold, 1897, p. 197).
Compare Goethe's "Letters from Italy," October 5, 1786: "To give a notion of the Bucentaur in one word, I should say that it is a state-galley. The older one, of which we still have drawings, justified this appellation still more than the present one, which, by its splendour, makes us forget the original....
Compare Goethe's "Letters from Italy," October 5, 1786: "To describe the Bucentaur in one word, I would say it's a state galley. The older version, which we still have drawings of, justified this name even more than the current one, which, because of its brilliance, makes us forget the original....
"The vessel is all ornament; we ought to say, it is overladen with ornament; it is altogether one piece of gilt carving, for no other use.... This state-galley is a good index to show what the Venetians were, and what they considered themselves."—Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 68.
"The boat is completely decorated; we could say it’s overloaded with decorations; it’s entirely a single piece of gold carving, serving no other purpose... This state galley is a good indication of what the Venetians were like and how they viewed themselves."—Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 68.
Compare, too, Wordsworth's sonnet "On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic"—
Compare, too, Wordsworth's sonnet "On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic"—
No deceit tempted, no power could harm; And when she chose a partner,
She must embrace the eternal Sea."
Works, 1888, p. 180.]
Works, 1888, p. 180.
[389] {336} [For "Lion," see Hobhouse's note iii. The "Horses of St. Mark" (vide post, stanza xiii. line 1), which, according to history or legend, Augustus "conveyed" from Alexandria to Rome, Constantine from Rome to Constantinople, Dandolo, in 1204, from Constantinople to Venice, Napoleon, in 1797, from Venice to Paris, and which were restored to the Venetians by the Austrians in 1815, were at one time supposed to belong to the school of Lysippus. Haydon, who published, in 1817, a curious etching of "The Elgin Horse's Head," placed side by side with the "Head of one of the Horses ... now at Venice," subscribes the following critical note: "It is astonishing that the great principles of nature should have been so nearly lost in the time between Phidias and Lysippus. Compare these two heads. The Elgin head is all truth, the other all manner." Hobhouse pronounces the "Horses" to be "irrevocably Chian," but modern archæologists regard both "school" and exact period as uncertain.]
[389] {336} [For "Lion," check Hobhouse's note iii. The "Horses of St. Mark" (see later, stanza xiii. line 1), which, according to history or legend, Augustus "brought" from Alexandria to Rome, Constantine from Rome to Constantinople, Dandolo, in 1204, from Constantinople to Venice, Napoleon, in 1797, from Venice to Paris, and which were returned to the Venetians by the Austrians in 1815, were once thought to have belonged to the school of Lysippus. Haydon, who published a notable etching in 1817 of "The Elgin Horse's Head," placed alongside the "Head of one of the Horses ... now at Venice," wrote the following critical note: "It is shocking that the great principles of nature could have been so nearly forgotten in the time between Phidias and Lysippus. Compare these two heads. The Elgin head is pure truth, while the other is just style." Hobhouse claims the "Horses" to be "irrevocably Chian," but modern archaeologists consider both the "school" and the exact period to be uncertain.]
[390] [According to Milman (Hist. of Lat. Christianity, v. 144), the humiliation of Barbarossa at the Church of St. Mark took place on Tuesday, July 24, 1177. À propos of the return of the Pope and Emperor to the ducal palace, he quotes "a curious passage from a newly recovered poem, by Godfrey of Viterbo, an attendant on the Emperor. So great was the press in the market that the aged Pope was thrown down—
[390] [According to Milman (Hist. of Lat. Christianity, v. 144), the humiliation of Barbarossa at the Church of St. Mark happened on Tuesday, July 24, 1177. À propos of the Pope and Emperor's return to the ducal palace, he cites "an interesting part from a newly found poem by Godfrey of Viterbo, who was with the Emperor. The crowd in the market was so thick that the elderly Pope was knocked over—
"Cæsar there would not have helped that old man."
"This," he remarks, "is an odd contrast of real life with romance."]
"This," he says, "is a strange clash of reality and romance."
[391] {337} ["Oh, for one hour of Dundee!" was the exclamation of a Highland chieftain at the battle of Sheriff-muir, November 13, 1715 (Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, III. Series, chap. x.; Prose Works, Paris, 1830, vii. 768). Wordsworth makes the words his own in the sonnet, "In the Pass of Killicranky (an Invasion being expected, October, 1803)" (Works, 1888, p. 201)—
[391] {337} ["Oh, for just one hour of Dundee!" was the exclamation of a Highland chieftain at the Battle of Sheriffmuir on November 13, 1715 (Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, III. Series, chap. x.; Prose Works, Paris, 1830, vii. 768). Wordsworth adopts these words in the sonnet, "In the Pass of Killicranky (an Invasion being expected, October, 1803)" (Works, 1888, p. 201)—
Who on that day gave the word to start!
And Coleridge, in a letter to Wordsworth (February 8, 1804), thinking, perhaps, less of the chieftain than the sonnet, exclaims, "'Oh for one hour of Dundee!' How often shall I sigh, 'Oh for one hour of The Recluse!'"—an aspiration which Byron would have worded differently.]
And Coleridge, in a letter to Wordsworth (February 8, 1804), probably focusing more on the sonnet than the chieftain, exclaims, "'Oh for one hour of Dundee!' How often will I sigh, 'Oh for one hour of The Recluse!'"—a wish that Byron would have expressed in a different way.
empire's ultimate rival.—[MS. M.]
[392] [Compare Marino Faliero, act iv. sc. 2, lines 157, 158—
[392] [Compare Marino Faliero, act iv. sc. 2, lines 157, 158—
"To defeat empires and reject their crown."
"The vessels that bore the bishops of Soissons and Troyes, the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were the first which grappled with the Towers of Constantinople [April, 1204].... The bishops of Soissons and of Troyes would have placed the blind old Doge Dandolo on the imperial throne; his election was opposed by the Venetians.... But probably the wise patriotism of Dandolo himself, and his knowledge of the Venetian mind, would make him acquiesce in the loss of an honour so dangerous to his country.... Venice might have sunk to an outpost, as it were, of the Eastern Empire."—Milman's Hist. of Lat. Christianity, v. 350, 353, 354.]
"The ships that carried the bishops of Soissons and Troyes, the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were the first to confront the Towers of Constantinople [April, 1204].... The bishops of Soissons and Troyes wanted to put the blind old Doge Dandolo on the imperial throne; however, the Venetians opposed his election.... But likely, the wise patriotism of Dandolo himself, along with his understanding of the Venetian perspective, would lead him to accept losing an honor that was so risky for his country.... Venice could have become just a remote outpost of the Eastern Empire."—Milman's Hist. of Lat. Christianity, v. 350, 353, 354.]
[393] {338} [Hobhouse's version (see Hist. Notes, No. vi.) of the war of Chioggia is not borne out by modern research. For example, the long speech which Chinazzo attributes to the Genoese admiral, Pietro Doria, is probably mythical. The actual menace of the "bitting and bridling the horses of St. Mark" is assigned by other historians to Francesco Carrara. Doria was not killed by a stone bullet from the cannon named The Trevisara, but by the fall of the Campanile in Chioggia, which had been struck by the bullet. (Venice, an Historical Sketch of the Republic, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, pp. 225-234.)]
[393] {338} [Hobhouse's version (see Hist. Notes, No. vi.) of the war of Chioggia isn't supported by modern research. For instance, the lengthy speech attributed to the Genoese admiral, Pietro Doria, by Chinazzo is probably fictional. The actual threat of “biting and bridling the horses of St. Mark” is credited by other historians to Francesco Carrara. Doria wasn't killed by a stone bullet from the cannon called The Trevisara, but rather by the collapse of the Campanile in Chioggia, which had been hit by that bullet. (Venice, an Historical Sketch of the Republic, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, pp. 225-234.)]
[394] [Compare the opening lines of Byron's Ode on Venice—
[394] [Compare the opening lines of Byron's Ode on Venice—
Are level with the waters, there will be
A shout from nations echoes through your sunken halls,
A loud cry over the vast ocean!
Shelley, too, in his Lines written among the Euganean Hills, bewailed the approaching doom of the "sea-girt city." But threatened cities, like threatened men, live long, and since its annexation to Italy, in 1866, a revival of trade and the re-establishment of the arsenal have brought back a certain measure of prosperity.]
Shelley, too, in his Lines written among the Euganean Hills, lamented the impending doom of the "sea-girt city." But cities facing danger, like people facing danger, tend to survive for a long time, and since it became part of Italy in 1866, a resurgence in trade and the reopening of the arsenal have restored a degree of prosperity.
[395] That is, the Lion of St. Mark, the standard of the republic, which is the origin of the word Pantaloon—Piantaleone, Pantaleon, Pantaloon.
[395] That is, the Lion of St. Mark, the flag of the republic, which is where the word Pantaloon comes from—Piantaleone, Pantaleon, Pantaloon.
[The Venetians were nicknamed Pantaloni. Byron, who seems to have relied on the authority of a Venetian glossary, assumes that the "by-word" may be traced to the patriotism of merchant-princes "who were reputed to hoist flags with the Venetian lion waving to the breeze on every rock and barren headland of Levantine waters" (Memoirs of Count Carlo Gozzi, translated by J. Addington Symonds, 1890, Introd. part ii. p. 44), and that in consequence of this spread-eagleism the Venetians were held up to scorn by their neighbours as "planters of the lion"—a reproach which conveyed a tribute to their prowess. A more probable explanation is that the "by-word," with its cognates "Pantaleone," the typical masque of Italian comedy—progenitor of our "Pantaloon;" and "pantaloni," "pantaloons," the typical Venetian costume—derive their origin from the baptismal name "Pantaleone," frequently given to Venetian children, in honour of St. Pantaleon of Nicomedia, physician and martyr, whose cult was much in vogue in Northern Italy, and especially in Venice, where his relics, which "coruscated with miracles," were the object of peculiar veneration.
[The Venetians were called Pantaloni. Byron, who seems to have relied on a Venetian glossary, suggests that the nickname may come from the patriotic spirit of merchant-princes "who were said to raise flags with the Venetian lion fluttering in the breeze on every rock and barren headland of Levantine waters" (Memoirs of Count Carlo Gozzi, translated by J. Addington Symonds, 1890, Introd. part ii. p. 44), and as a result of this display of pride, the Venetians were mocked by their neighbors as "planters of the lion"—an insult that actually acknowledged their strength. A more likely explanation is that the nickname, along with its related terms "Pantaleone," the typical character in Italian comedy—the ancestor of our "Pantaloon;" and "pantaloni," or "pantaloons," the traditional Venetian outfit—comes from the baptismal name "Pantaleone," commonly given to Venetian children in honor of St. Pantaleon of Nicomedia, a physician and martyr, whose worship was very popular in Northern Italy, especially in Venice, where his relics, which "sparkled with miracles," were particularly revered.]
St. Pantaleon was known to the Greek Church as Παντελεήμων, that is, the "all-pitiful;" and in Latin his name is spelled Pantaleymon and Pantaleemon. Hagiologists seem to have been puzzled, but the compiler of the Acta Sanctorum, for July 27, St. Pantaleon's Day in the Roman calendar (xxxiii. 397-426), gives the preference to Pantaleon, and explains that he was hailed as Pantaleemon by a divine voice at the hour of his martyrdom, which proclaimed "eum non amplius esse vocandum Pantaleonem, sed Pantaleemonem."
St. Pantaleon was referred to by the Greek Church as Παντελεήμων, meaning "the all-pitiful;" and in Latin, his name is spelled Pantaleymon and Pantaleemon. Hagiographers seem to have been confused, but the compiler of the Acta Sanctorum, for July 27, St. Pantaleon's Day in the Roman calendar (xxxiii. 397-426), prefers Pantaleon and explains that he was called Pantaleemon by a divine voice at the moment of his martyrdom, which declared "he is no longer to be called Pantaleon, but Pantaleemon."
The accompanying woodcut is the reproduction of the frontispiece of a black-letter tract, composed by Augustinus de Cremâ, in honour of the "translation" of one of the sainted martyr's arms to Crema, in Lombardy. It was printed at Cremona, in 1493.]
The accompanying woodcut is a reproduction of the front cover of a black-letter pamphlet created by Augustinus de Cremâ, honoring the "translation" of one of the sainted martyr's arms to Crema, in Lombardy. It was printed in Cremona in 1493.
[397] ["On 29th September (1669) Candia, and the island of Candia, passed away from Venice, after a defence which had lasted twenty-five years, and was unmatched for bravery in the annals of the Republic."—Venice, an Historical Sketch, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, p. 378.]
[397] ["On September 29, 1669, Candia and the island of Candia were lost by Venice, following a defense that lasted twenty-five years and was unparalleled in bravery in the history of the Republic."—Venice, an Historical Sketch, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, p. 378.]
[398] ["The battle of Lepanto [October 7, 1571] lasted five hours.... The losses are estimated at 8000 Christians and 30,000 Turks.... The chief glory of the victory rests with Sebastian Veniero and the Venetians."—Venice, etc., 1893, p. 368.]
[398] ["The Battle of Lepanto [October 7, 1571] lasted five hours.... The estimated losses were 8,000 Christians and 30,000 Turks.... The main credit for the victory goes to Sebastian Veniero and the Venetians."—Venice, etc., 1893, p. 368.]
[399] {341} [The story is told in Plutarch's Life of Nicias, cap. xxix. (Plut. Vit., Lipsiæ, 1813, v. 154). "The dramas of Euripides were so popular throughout all Sicily, that those Athenian prisoners who knew ... portions of them, won the affections of their masters.... I cannot refrain from mentioning this story, though I fear its trustworthiness ... is much inferior to its pathos and interest."—Grote's History of Greece, 1869, vii. 186.]
[399] {341} [The story is recounted in Plutarch's Life of Nicias, cap. xxix. (Plut. Vit., Leipzig, 1813, v. 154). "Euripides' plays were so popular across Sicily that Athenian prisoners who knew parts of them earned the favor of their captors.... I can't help but mention this story, even though I worry that its reliability ... is much less than its emotional impact and intrigue."—Grote's History of Greece, 1869, vii. 186.]
[MS. D. erased.]
[400] [By the Treaty of Paris, May 3, 1814, Lombardy and Venice, which since the battle of Austerlitz had formed part of the French kingdom of Naples, were once more handed over to Austria. Great Britain was represented by "a bungler even in its disgusting trade" (Don Juan, Dedication, stanza xiv.), Lord Castlereagh.]
[400] [According to the Treaty of Paris on May 3, 1814, Lombardy and Venice, which had been part of the French kingdom of Naples since the Battle of Austerlitz, were returned to Austria. Great Britain was represented by "a bungler even in its disgusting trade" (Don Juan, Dedication, stanza xiv.), Lord Castlereagh.]
[lv] And Otway's—Radcliffe's—Schiller's—Shakspeare's art.—[MS. M., D.]
[401] Venice Preserved; Mysteries of Udolpho; The Ghost-Seer, or Armenian; The Merchant of Venice; Othello.
[401] Venice Preserved; Mysteries of Udolpho; The Ghost-Seer, or Armenian; The Merchant of Venice; Othello.
[For Venice Preserved, vide ante, stanza iv. line 7, note. To the Mysteries of Udolpho Byron was indebted for more than one suggestion, vide ante, stanza i. line 4, note, and Mysteries, etc., London, 1794, 2. 39: "The air bore no sounds, but those of sweetness echoing along each margin of the canal and from gondolas on its surface, while groups of masks were seen dancing on the moonlit terraces, and seemed almost to realize the romance of fairy-land." The scene of Schiller's Der Geisterseher (Werke, 1819, x. 97, sq.) is laid at Venice. "This [the Doge's palace] was the thing that most struck my imagination in Venice—more than the Rialto, which I visited for the sake of Shylock; and more, too, than Schiller's Armenian, a novel which took a great hold of me when a boy. It is also called the Ghost Seer, and I never walked down St. Mark's by moonlight without thinking of it, and 'at nine o'clock he died!' [For allusion to the same incident, see Rogers's Italy (Poems, 1852, ii. 73).] But I hate things all fiction; and therefore the Merchant and Othello have no great associations for me: but Pierre has."—Letter to Murray, Venice, April 2, 1817. (For an earlier reference to the Ghost-seer, see Oscar of Alva: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 131, note.)]
[For Venice Preserved, see above, stanza iv. line 7, note. To the Mysteries of Udolpho, Byron drew more than one idea, see above, stanza i. line 4, note, and Mysteries, etc., London, 1794, 2. 39: "The air was filled with sweet sounds echoing along the edges of the canal and from gondolas floating on its surface, while groups of masked figures danced on the moonlit terraces, almost bringing to life the romance of fairyland." The setting of Schiller's Der Geisterseher (Works, 1819, x. 97, et seq.) is located in Venice. "This [the Doge's palace] was what captured my imagination the most in Venice—more than the Rialto, which I visited for Shylock's sake; and even more than Schiller's Armenian, a novel that really stuck with me as a boy. It’s also known as The Ghost Seer, and I never walked along St. Mark's under the moonlight without thinking of it, and 'at nine o'clock he died!' [For a reference to the same event, see Rogers's Italy (Poems, 1852, ii. 73).] But I dislike all things fiction; therefore, The Merchant and Othello don’t hold much meaning for me: but Pierre does."—Letter to Murray, Venice, April 2, 1817. (For an earlier mention of the Ghost-seer, see Oscar of Alva: Poetical Works, 1898, i. 131, note.)]
[402] [Shelley, in his Lines written among the Euganean Hills, allows to Venice one lingering glory "one remembrance more sublime"—
[402] [Shelley, in his Lines written among the Euganean Hills, gives Venice one lasting honor "one memory more elevated"—
Of the songs of Albion, Driven from his ancestral lands Through the power of dark dreams,
I found a nest inside you; and Ocean Welcomed him with so much emotion,
That its joy increased his, and arose From his lips like music thrown In a powerful thunderstorm, Chilling fear.
[MS. M. erased.]
——or else mine would be cold and silent now.—[MS. M.]
[Byron did not "know German" (Letter to Murray, June 7, 1820), and he may, as Mr. Tozer suggests, have supposed that the word "tannen" denoted not "fir trees" generally, but a particular kind of fir tree. He refers, no doubt, to the Ebeltanne (Abies pectinata), which is not a native of this country, but grows at a great height on the Swiss Alps and throughout the mountainous region of Central Europe.]
[Byron did not "know German" (Letter to Murray, June 7, 1820), and he may, as Mr. Tozer suggests, have thought that the word "tannen" referred not to "fir trees" in general, but to a specific type of fir tree. He is likely referring to the Ebeltanne (Abies pectinata), which isn’t native to this country but grows at high altitudes in the Swiss Alps and throughout the mountainous areas of Central Europe.]
[lz] Of shrubless granite——.—[MS. M. erased.]
[404] [Cicero, De Finibus, II. xxix., controverts the maxim of Epicurus, that a great sorrow is necessarily of short duration, a prolonged sorrow necessarily light: "Quod autem magnum dolorem brevem longinquum levem esse dicitis, id non intelligo quale sit, video enim et magnos et eosdem bene longinquos dolores." But the sentiment is adopted by Montaigne (1. xiv.), ed. 1580, p. 66: "Tu ne la sentiras guiere long temps, si tu la sens trop; elle mettra fin à soy ou à toy; l'un et l'autre revient a un." ("Si tu ne la portes; elle t'emportera," note.) And again by Sir Thomas Brown, "Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves" (see Darmesteter, Childe Harold, 1882, p. 193). Byron is not refining upon these conceits, but is drawing upon his own experience. Suffering which does not kill is subject to change, and "continueth not in one stay;" but it remains within call, and returns in an hour when we are not aware.]
[404] [Cicero, De Finibus, II. xxix., argues against Epicurus's belief that a deep sorrow is always brief and that a lasting sorrow is necessarily light: "What you say about great sorrow being brief and distant sorrow being light, I don't understand what you mean, because I see both great sorrows and the same sorrows can last a long time." However, Montaigne (1. xiv.), ed. 1580, p. 66, expresses a similar thought: "You won't feel it for long if you feel it too much; it will either end itself or end you; both amount to the same." ("If you don't carry it, it will carry you away," note.) Sir Thomas Brown also states, "Suffering cannot handle extremes, and sorrows either destroy us or fade away" (see Darmesteter, Childe Harold, 1882, p. 193). Byron isn’t just refining these ideas but is drawing from his own experiences. Suffering that doesn’t kill us can change, and "doesn't stay the same;" but it’s always within reach and returns unexpectedly when we least expect it.]
A closing chorus from Euripides,—
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears.
To rap and knock and enter our soul,
"Hold hands and dance there."
Browning's Poetical Works, 1869, v. 268.]
Browning's Poetical Works, 1869, vol. 268.
[407] {348} ["Friuli's mountains" are the Julian Alps, which lie to the north of Trieste and north-east of Venice, "the hoar and aëry Alps towards the north," which Julian and Count Maddalo (vide post, p. 349) saw from the Lido. But the Alpine height along which "a sea of glory" streamed—"the peak of the far Rhætian hill" (stanza xxviii. line 4)—must lie to the westward of Venice, in the track of the setting sun.]
[407] {348} ["Friuli's mountains" refer to the Julian Alps, which are located north of Trieste and northeast of Venice, "the gray and airy Alps to the north," which Julian and Count Maddalo (see later, p. 349) observed from the Lido. However, the Alpine height along which "a sea of glory" flowed—"the peak of the distant Rhaetian hill" (stanza xxviii. line 4)—must be to the west of Venice, on the path of the setting sun.]
[408] The above description may seem fantastical or exaggerated to those who have never seen an Oriental or an Italian sky; yet it is but a literal and hardly sufficient delineation of an August evening (the eighteenth), as contemplated in one of many rides along the banks of the Brenta, near La Mira.
[408] The description above might sound unbelievable or over-the-top to anyone who hasn't witnessed an Eastern or Italian sky. However, it's just a straightforward and barely enough depiction of an August evening (the eighteenth), as seen during one of many rides along the banks of the Brenta, near La Mira.
[Compare Shelley's Julian and Maddalo (Poetical Works, 1895, i. 343)—
[Compare Shelley's Julian and Maddalo (Poetical Works, 1895, i. 343)—
Heaven descends upon a land like yours,
You paradise of exiles, Italy!
... We stood As I look out at the evening and the flood, Which was situated between the city and the shore,
Paved with the image of the sky... the frost And the airy Alps appeared to the north,
Through mist, a heaven-supporting wall rose up Between the East and West; and half the sky Was covered with clouds of vibrant decoration,
Dark purple at the peak, which continued to grow. Down the steep west into a fantastic color, Brighter than blazing gold.
[410] {350} [The Abbé de Sade, in his Mémoires pour la vie de Pétrarque (1767), affirmed, on the strength of documentary evidence, that the Laura of the sonnets, born de Noves, was the wife of his ancestor, Hugo de Sade, and the mother of a large family. "Gibbon," says Hobhouse (note viii.), "called the abbé's memoirs a 'labour of love' (see Decline and Fall, chap. lxx. note 1), and followed him with confidence and delight;" but the poet James Beattie (in a letter to the Duchess of Gordon, August 17, 1782) disregarded them as a "romance," and, more recently, "an ingenious Scotchman" [Alexander Fraser Tytler (Lord Woodhouselee)], in an Historical and Critical Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch (1810), had re-established "the ancient prejudice" in favour of Laura's virginity. Hobhouse appears, but his note is somewhat ambiguous, to adopt the view of "the ingenious Scotchman." To pass to contemporary criticism, Dr. Garnett, in his History of Italian Literature, 1898 (pp. 66-71), without attempting to settle "the everlasting controversy," regards the abbé's documentary evidence as for the most part worthless, and, relying on the internal evidence of the sonnets and the dialogue, and on the facts of Petrarch's life as established by his correspondence (a complete series of Petrarch's letters was published by Giuseppe Fracassetti, in 1859), inclines to the belief that it was the poet's status as a cleric, and not a husband and family, which proved a bar to his union with Laura. With regard, however, to "one piece of documentary evidence," namely, Laura de Sade's will, Dr. Garnett admits that, if this were producible, and, on being produced, proved genuine, the coincidence of the date of the will, April 3, 1348, with a note in Petrarch's handwriting, dated April 6, 1348, which records the death of Laura, would almost establish the truth of the abbé's theory "in the teeth of all objections."]
[410] {350} [The Abbé de Sade, in his Mémoires pour la vie de Pétrarque (1767), claimed, backed by documentary evidence, that Laura from the sonnets, born de Noves, was the wife of his ancestor, Hugo de Sade, and the mother of a large family. "Gibbon," says Hobhouse (note viii.), "called the abbé's memoirs a 'labour of love' (see Decline and Fall, chap. lxx. note 1), and followed him with confidence and delight;" however, the poet James Beattie (in a letter to the Duchess of Gordon, August 17, 1782) dismissed them as a "romance," and, more recently, "an ingenious Scotchman" [Alexander Fraser Tytler (Lord Woodhouselee)], in an Historical and Critical Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch (1810), revived "the ancient prejudice" that Laura was a virgin. Hobhouse seems to adopt, although somewhat ambiguously, the view of "the ingenious Scotchman." In modern criticism, Dr. Garnett, in his History of Italian Literature, 1898 (pp. 66-71), without trying to resolve "the everlasting controversy," considers the abbé's documentary evidence largely worthless, and, based on the internal evidence of the sonnets and the dialogue, along with the facts of Petrarch's life established by his correspondence (a complete series of Petrarch's letters was published by Giuseppe Fracassetti in 1859), leans toward the belief that it was the poet's status as a cleric, rather than being a husband and father, that prevented his union with Laura. However, regarding "one piece of documentary evidence," namely, Laura de Sade's will, Dr. Garnett acknowledges that if it could be produced and verified as genuine, the coincidence of the will’s date, April 3, 1348, with a note written by Petrarch, dated April 6, 1348, which notes Laura's death, would almost confirm the abbé's theory "in the face of all objections."]
[411] {351} ["He who would seek, as I have done, the last memorials of the life and death of Petrarch in that sequestered Euganean village [Arquà is about twelve miles south-west of Padua], will still find them there. A modest house, apparently of great antiquity, passes for his last habitation. A chair in which he is said to have died is shown there. And if these details are uncertain, there is no doubt that the sarcophagus of red marble, supported on pillars, in the churchyard of Arquà, contains, or once contained, his mortal remains. Lord Byron and Mr. Hobhouse visited the spot more than sixty years ago in a sceptical frame of mind; for doubts had at that time been thrown on the very existence of Laura; and the varied details of the poet's life, which are preserved with so much fidelity in his correspondence, were almost forgotten."—Petrarch, by H. Reeve, 1879, p. 14. In a letter to Hoppner, September 12, 1817, Byron says that he was moved "to turn aside in a second visit to Arquà." Two years later, October, 1819, he in vain persuaded Moore "to spare a day or two to go with me to Arquà. I should like," he said, "to visit that tomb with you—a pair of poetical pilgrims—eh, Tom, what say you?" But "Tom" was for Rome and Lord John Russell, and ever afterwards bewailed the lost opportunity "with wonder and self-reproach" (Life, p. 423; Life, by Karl Elze, 1872, p. 235).]
[411] {351} ["If you seek, like I have, the final resting places of Petrarch in that quiet Euganean village [Arquà is about twelve miles southwest of Padua], you'll still find them there. A simple house, seemingly very old, is known as his last home. There's a chair said to be the one where he died. And even if these details are uncertain, it's a fact that the red marble sarcophagus, held up by pillars, in the Arquà churchyard, contains or once contained his remains. More than sixty years ago, Lord Byron and Mr. Hobhouse visited the location with skepticism; at that time, there were doubts about the very existence of Laura, and the various details of the poet's life, captured so accurately in his letters, were almost forgotten."—Petrarch, by H. Reeve, 1879, p. 14. In a letter to Hoppner on September 12, 1817, Byron mentioned he felt compelled "to take a detour on a second visit to Arquà." Two years later, in October 1819, he unsuccessfully urged Moore "to take a day or two to go with me to Arquà. I would love," he said, "to visit that tomb with you—a pair of poetic pilgrims—right, Tom, what do you think?" But "Tom" preferred Rome along with Lord John Russell, and later lamented the missed opportunity "with surprise and regret" (Life, p. 423; Life, by Karl Elze, 1872, p. 235).]
[md] ——formed his sepulchral fane.—[MS. M.]
[412] [Compare Wordsworth's Ode, "Intimations of," etc., xi. lines 9-11—
[412] [Compare Wordsworth's Ode, "Intimations of," etc., xi. lines 9-11—
Take a serious tone from an eye That has kept watch over humanity's mortality."]
[413] ["Euganeis istis in collibus ... domum parvam sed delectabilem et honestam struxi ... hic quanquam æger corpore, tranquillus animo frater dego, sine tumultibus, sine erroribus, sine curis, legens semper et scribens, Deum laudans."—Petrarca, Epistolæ Seniles, xiv. 6 (Opera, Basileæ, 1581, p. 938).
[413] ["In those hills of Euganeis, I built a small but charming and respectable home... Here, although my brother is physically unwell, he lives peacefully, without turmoil, mistakes, or worries, always reading and writing, praising God."—Petrarca, Epistolæ Seniles, xiv. 6 (Opera, Basileæ, 1581, p. 938).
See, too, the notes to Arquà (Rogers's Italy: Poems, 1852, ii. 105-109), which record the pilgrimage of other poets, Boccaccio and Alfieri, to the great laureate's tomb; and compare with Byron's stanzas the whole of that exquisite cameo, delicate and yet durable as if graved on chalcedony.]
See also the notes to Arquà (Rogers's Italy: Poems, 1852, ii. 105-109), which document the journeys of other poets, Boccaccio and Alfieri, to the great laureate's tomb; and compare with Byron's stanzas the entirety of that beautiful cameo, both delicate and enduring as if engraved on chalcedony.
[414] The struggle is to the full as likely to be with demons as with our better thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness for the temptation of our Saviour. And our unsullied John Locke preferred the presence of a child to complete solitude.
[414] The battle is just as likely to be with inner demons as with our nobler thoughts. Satan picked the wilderness to tempt our Savior. And our pure John Locke favored being with a child over complete solitude.
["He always chose to have company with him, if it were only a child; for he loved children, and took pleasure in talking with those that had been well trained" (Life of John Locke, by H. R. Fox-Bourne, ii. 537). Lady Masham's daughter Esther, and "his wife" Betty Clarke, aged eleven years, were among his child-friends.]
["He always preferred to have someone with him, even if it was just a child; he loved children and enjoyed talking to those who were well cared for" (Life of John Locke, by H. R. Fox-Bourne, ii. 537). Lady Masham's daughter Esther and "his wife" Betty Clarke, who was eleven years old, were among his young friends.]
[415] [Byron passed a single day at Ferrara in April, 1817; went over the castle, cell, etc., and a few days after wrote The Lament of Tasso, the manuscript of which is dated April 20, 1817. The Fourth Canto of Childe Harold was not begun till the end of June in the same year.]
[415] [Byron spent a single day in Ferrara in April 1817; he visited the castle, cell, and so on, and a few days later wrote The Lament of Tasso, with the manuscript dated April 20, 1817. He didn't start the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold until the end of June that same year.]
[416] [Of the ancient family of Este, Marquesses of Tuscany, Azzo V. was the first who obtained power in Ferrara in the twelfth century. A remote descendant, Nicolo III. (b. 1384, d. 1441), founded the University of Parma. He married for his second wife Parisina Malatesta (the heroine of Byron's Parisina, published February, 1816), who was beheaded for adultery in 1425. His three sons, Lionel (d. 1450), the friend of Poggio Bracciolini; Borso (d. 1471), who established printing in his states; and Ercolo (d. 1505), the friend of Boiardo,—were all patrons of letters and fosterers of the Renaissance. Their successor, Alphonso I. (1486-1534), who married Lucrezia Borgia, 1502, honoured himself by attaching Ariosto to his court, and it was his grandson, Alphonso II. (d. 1597), who first befriended and afterwards, on the score of lunacy, imprisoned Tasso in the Hospital of Sant' Anna (1579-86).]
[416] [From the old Este family, Marquesses of Tuscany, Azzo V. was the first to gain power in Ferrara in the twelfth century. A distant descendant, Nicolo III. (b. 1384, d. 1441), established the University of Parma. He married Parisina Malatesta as his second wife (the heroine of Byron's Parisina, published in February 1816), who was executed for adultery in 1425. His three sons—Lionel (d. 1450), a friend of Poggio Bracciolini; Borso (d. 1471), who introduced printing in his territories; and Ercolo (d. 1505), a friend of Boiardo—were all supporters of literature and promoters of the Renaissance. His successor, Alphonso I. (1486-1534), who married Lucrezia Borgia in 1502, distinguished himself by bringing Ariosto to his court, and it was his grandson, Alphonso II. (d. 1597), who initially supported and later, citing madness, imprisoned Tasso in the Hospital of Sant' Anna (1579-86).]
[417] {355} [It is a fact that Tasso was an involuntary inmate of the Hospital of Sant' Anna at Ferrara for seven years and four months—from March, 1579, to July, 1586—but the causes, the character, and the place of his imprisonment have been subjects of legend and misrepresentation. It has long been known and acknowledged (see Hobhouse's Historical Illustrations, 1818, pp. 5-31) that a real or feigned passion for Duke Alphonso's sister, Leonora d'Este, was not the cause or occasion of his detention, and that the famous cell or dungeon ("nine paces by six, and about seven high") was not "the original place of the poet's confinement." It was, as Shelley says (see his letter to Peacock, November 7, 1818), "a very decent dungeon;" but it was not Tasso's. The setting of the story was admitted to be legendary, but the story itself, that a poet was shut up in a madhouse because a vindictive magnate resented his love of independence and impatience of courtly servitude, was questioned, only to be reasserted as historical. The publication of Tasso's letters by Guasti, in 1853, a review of Tasso's character and career in Symonds's Renaissance in Italy, and, more recently, Signor Angelo Solerti's monumental work, Vita di Torquato Tasso (1895), which draws largely upon the letters of contemporaries, the accounts of the ducal court, and other documentary evidence, have in a great measure exonerated the duke at the expense of the unhappy poet himself. Briefly, Tasso's intrigues with rival powers—the Medici at Florence, the papal court, and the Holy Office at Bologna—aroused the alarm and suspicion of the duke, whilst his general demeanour and his outbursts of violence and temper compelled, rather than afforded, a pretext for his confinement. Before his final and fatal return to Ferrara, he had been duly warned that he must submit to be treated as a person of disordered intellect, and that if he continued to throw out hints of designs upon his life and of persecution in high places, he would be banished from the ducal court and dominions. But return he would, and at an inauspicious moment, when the duke was preoccupied with the ceremonies and festivities of a third marriage. No one attended to him or took heed of his arrival; and, to quote his own words, "in a fit of madness" he broke out into execrations of the ducal court and family, and of the people of Ferrara. For the offence he was shut up in the Hospital of Sant' Anna, and for many months treated as an ordinary lunatic. Of the particulars of his treatment during these first eight months of his confinement, apart from Tasso's own letters, there is no evidence. The accounts of the hospital are lost, and the Libri di spesa (R. Arch. di Stato in Modena; Camer. Ducale: Casa; Amministrazione, Solerti, iii. Docu. 47) do not commence till November 20, 1579. Two years later, the Libri di spenderia (Solerti, in. Docu. 51), from January, 1582, onward, show that he was put on a more generous diet; and it is known that a certain measure of liberty and other indulgences were gradually accorded. There can, however, be little doubt that for many months his food was neglected and medical attendance withheld. His statement, that he was denied the rites of the Church, cannot be gainsaid. He was regarded as a lunatic, and, as such, he would not be permitted either to make his confession or to communicate. Worse than all, there was the terrible solitude. "E sovra tutto," he writes (May, 1580), "m'affligge la solitudine, mia crudele e natural nimica." No wonder the attacks of delirium, the "unwonted lights," the conference with a familiar spirit, followed in due course. Byron and Shelley were ignorant of the facts; and we know that their scorn and indignation were exaggerated and misplaced. But the "pity of it" remains, that the grace and glory of his age was sacrificed to ignorance and fear, if not to animosity and revenge. (See Tasso, by E. J. Hasell; History of the Italian Renaissance, by J. A. Symonds; Quart. Rev., October, 1895, No. 364, art. x.; Vita di Torquato Tasso, 1895, i. 312-314, 410-412, etc.)]
[417] {355} [It's a fact that Tasso was locked up in the Hospital of Sant' Anna in Ferrara for seven years and four months—from March 1579 to July 1586—but the reasons, nature, and location of his imprisonment have been subjects of myth and distortion. It has long been recognized (see Hobhouse's Historical Illustrations, 1818, pp. 5-31) that a real or imagined love for Duke Alphonso's sister, Leonora d'Este, wasn't the cause of his confinement, and that the well-known cell or dungeon ("nine paces by six, and about seven high") was not "the original place of the poet's confinement." It was, as Shelley notes (see his letter to Peacock, November 7, 1818), "a very decent dungeon;" but it wasn't Tasso's. The framing of the story was agreed to be legendary, but the tale that a poet was locked up in a madhouse because a vindictive nobleman resented his desire for independence and impatience with courtly servitude was doubted, only to be reaffirmed as historical. The publication of Tasso's letters by Guasti in 1853, a review of Tasso's character and career in Symonds's Renaissance in Italy, and more recently, Signor Angelo Solerti's monumental work, Vita di Torquato Tasso (1895), which relies heavily on letters from contemporaries, accounts from the ducal court, and other documentation, have largely exonerated the duke, often at the expense of the unfortunate poet himself. In short, Tasso's relationships with rival factions—the Medici in Florence, the papal court, and the Holy Office in Bologna—raised the duke's alarm and suspicion, while his behavior and outbursts of anger provided a pretext for his confinement. Before he ultimately and tragically returned to Ferrara, he had been warned that he must accept treatment as someone with a disordered mind, and that if he continued to suggest he was being persecuted by powerful figures, he would be banished from the ducal court and lands. Yet, he insisted on returning at an inopportune time when the duke was focused on the ceremonies and festivities of his third marriage. No one paid attention to him or acknowledged his arrival; and, in his own words, "in a fit of madness," he erupted with curses against the ducal court and family, and the people of Ferrara. For this offense, he was locked up in the Hospital of Sant' Anna and treated as an ordinary lunatic for many months. The details of his treatment during these first eight months, aside from Tasso's own letters, are unknown. The accounts from the hospital are lost, and the Libri di spesa (R. Arch. di Stato in Modena; Camer. Ducale: Casa; Amministrazione, Solerti, iii. Docu. 47) do not begin until November 20, 1579. Two years later, the Libri di spenderia (Solerti, iii. Docu. 51) from January 1582 onward show that his diet was improved; and it's known that he gradually received some measure of freedom and other leniencies. However, it’s clear that for many months his food was neglected and he was denied proper medical care. His claim that he was prevented from receiving the rites of the Church is indisputable. He was seen as a lunatic, and as such, was not allowed to confess or receive communion. Worse still, there was the dreadful solitude. "And above all," he writes (May 1580), "the solitude, my cruel and natural enemy, afflicts me." It’s no surprise that episodes of delirium, the "unwonted lights," and conversations with a familiar spirit followed in due course. Byron and Shelley were unaware of these facts; and we know that their scorn and outrage were exaggerated and misplaced. But the "tragedy of it" endures, that the grace and glory of his time were sacrificed to ignorance and fear, if not to spite and revenge. (See Tasso, by E. J. Hasell; History of the Italian Renaissance, by J. A. Symonds; Quart. Rev., October 1895, No. 364, art. x.; Vita di Torquato Tasso, 1895, i. 312-314, 410-412, etc.)]
[418] [Solerti (Vita, i. 418) combats the theory advanced by Hobhouse (see note x.), that Lionardo Salviati, in order to curry favour with Alphonso, was responsible for "the opposition which the Jerusalem encountered from the Cruscan Academy." He assigns their unfavourable criticism to literary sentiment or prejudice, and not to personal animosity or intrigue. The Gerusalemme Liberata was dedicated to the glory of the house of Este; and, though the poet was in disgrace, the duke was not to be propitiated by an attack upon the poem. Moreover, Salviati did not publish his theses in his own name, but under a nom de guerre, "L'Infarinato."]
[418] [Solerti (Vita, i. 418) challenges the theory put forward by Hobhouse (see note x.), arguing that Lionardo Salviati, to win favor with Alphonso, was responsible for "the opposition that Jerusalem faced from the Cruscan Academy." He attributes their negative criticism to literary bias or prejudice, rather than personal grudges or schemes. The Gerusalemme Liberata was dedicated to honoring the house of Este; and, although the poet was in disgrace, the duke would not be appeased by an attack on the poem. Furthermore, Salviati did not publish his theses under his own name, but used a nom de guerre, "L'Infarinato."]
Can judge incorrectly with impunity,
A Malherbe prefers Théophile over Racan,
"And the glitter of the Tasse has all the gold of Virgil."
Perhaps he divined that the phrase, "un sot de qualité," might glance back on a "noble author," who was about to admit that he could not savour Horace, and who turned aside from Mantua and memories of Virgil to visit Ferrara and the "cell" where Tasso was "encaged." (See Darmesteter's Notes to Childe Harold, pp. 201, 217.)
Perhaps he realized that the phrase, "a fool of quality," might refer to a "noble author," who was about to confess that he couldn't appreciate Horace and who turned away from Mantua and memories of Virgil to visit Ferrara and the "cell" where Tasso was "imprisoned." (See Darmesteter's Notes to Childe Harold, pp. 201, 217.)
If "the Youth with brow serene," as Hugo calls him, had lived to read Dédain. A Lord Byron, en 1811, he would have passed a somewhat different criticism on French poetry in general—
If "the Youth with a calm brow," as Hugo describes him, had lived to read Dédain. A Lord Byron, en 1811, he would have had a somewhat different take on French poetry overall—
He just has to get up to cast his shadow. All your fronts; He just has to say a word to cover your high-pitched voices,
Like a chariot passing by muffles the sound of wings. "Of a thousand little flies!"
Les Feuilles d'Automne, par Victor Hugo, Bruxelles, 1833, pp. 59, 63.]
Les Feuilles d'Automne, by Victor Hugo, Brussels, 1833, pp. 59, 63.]
[420] [In a letter to Murray (August 7, 1817) Byron throws out a hint that Scott might not like being called "the Ariosto of the North," and Murray seems to have caught at the suggestion. "With regard to 'the Ariosto of the North,'" rejoins Byron (September 17, 1817), "surely their themes, Chivalry, war, and love, were as like as can be; and as to the compliment, if you knew what the Italians think of Ariosto, you would not hesitate about that.... If you think Scott will dislike it, say so, and I will expunge." Byron did not know that when Scott was at college at Edinburgh he had "had the audacity to produce a composition in which he weighed Homer against Ariosto, and pronounced him wanting in the balance," or that he "made a practice of reading through ... the Orlando of Ariosto once every year" (see Memoirs of the Life, etc., 1871, pp. 12, 747); but the parallel had suggested itself. The key-note of "the harpings of the north," the chivalrous strain of "shield, lance, and brand, and plume and scarf," of "gentle courtesy," of "valour, lion-mettled lord," which the "Introduction to Marmion" preludes, had been already struck in the opening lines of the Orlando Furioso—
[420] [In a letter to Murray (August 7, 1817), Byron hints that Scott might not appreciate being called "the Ariosto of the North," and Murray seems to have picked up on that suggestion. "Regarding 'the Ariosto of the North,'" Byron replies (September 17, 1817), "surely their themes—chivalry, war, and love—are quite similar; and about the compliment, if you knew what the Italians think of Ariosto, you wouldn’t question that.... If you believe Scott will take offense, let me know, and I’ll remove it." Byron was unaware that when Scott was in college in Edinburgh, he had "the audacity to write a piece in which he measured Homer against Ariosto, declaring him lacking in comparison," or that he "made it a habit to read through ... Ariosto's Orlando every year" (see Memoirs of the Life, etc., 1871, pp. 12, 747); but the comparison had already come to mind. The theme of "the harpings of the north," the chivalrous elements of "shield, lance, brand, plume, and scarf," of "gentle courtesy," of "valor, lion-hearted lord," introduced in the opening of Marmion, had already been echoed in the opening lines of Orlando Furioso—
Scott, we may be assured, was neither disconcerted nor uplifted by the parallel. Many years before (July 6, 1812), Byron had been at pains to inform him that so august a critic as the Prince Regent "preferred you to every bard past and present," and "spoke alternately of Homer and yourself." Of the "placing" and unplacing of poets there is no end. Byron had already been sharply rebuked by the Edinburgh Review for describing Christabel as a "wild and singularly original and beautiful poem," and his appreciation of Scott provoked the expostulation of a friendlier critic. "Walter Scott," wrote Francis Hodgson, in his anonymous Monitor of Childe Harold (1818), "(credite posteri, or rather præposteri), is designated in the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold as 'the Northern Ariosto,' and (droller still) Ariosto is denominated 'the Southern Scott.' This comes of mistaking horse-chestnuts for chestnut horses."]
Scott, we can be sure, was neither confused nor excited by the comparison. Many years earlier (July 6, 1812), Byron had made it clear that such a high-profile critic as the Prince Regent "preferred you over every poet, past and present," and "talked about you and Homer in the same breath." There seems to be no end to the ranking and deranking of poets. Byron had already been sharply criticized by the Edinburgh Review for calling Christabel a "wild and uniquely original and beautiful poem," and his praise for Scott led to complaints from a more sympathetic critic. "Walter Scott," wrote Francis Hodgson in his anonymous Monitor of Childe Harold (1818), "(credite posteri, or rather præposteri), is referred to in the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold as 'the Northern Ariosto,' and (even funnier) Ariosto is called 'the Southern Scott.' This comes from confusing horse-chestnuts with chestnut horses."
Doni infelici di bellezza, dove sei Fatal gift of endless woes Che in front of me, written with great sorrow:
If you were more beautiful, or at least stronger, Where you would fear much more, oh much Gather around, everyone beautiful in your light. Because it struggles, and still challenges you to death,
Chè or down from the Alps, I wouldn't see any rivers. Descend without armor, nor stained with blood. Drink the wave of the Po, the Gallic herds; I wouldn’t see you, wearing armor that's not yours,
Fight with the strength of foreign people,
To always serve, whether as the winner or the loser."]
To express feelings of sadness and regret.—[MS. M. erased.]
[422] {362} The celebrated letter of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero, on the death of his daughter, describes as it then was, and now is, a path which I often traced in Greece, both by sea and land, in different journeys and voyages. "On my return from Asia, as I was sailing from Ægina towards Megara, I began to contemplate the prospect of the countries around me: Ægina was behind, Megara before me; Piræus on the right, Corinth on the left: all which towns, once famous and flourishing, now lie overturned and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, I could not but think presently within myself, Alas! how do we poor mortals fret and vex ourselves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose life is yet so short, when the carcasses of so many noble cities lie here exposed before me in one view."—See Middleton's Cicero, 1823, ii. 144.
[422] {362} The famous letter from Servius Sulpicius to Cicero about the death of his daughter captures a feeling that I have often experienced in Greece, during various travels by land and sea. "On my way back from Asia, as I was sailing from Ægina towards Megara, I started to take in the view of the surrounding countries: Ægina was behind me, Megara was in front; Piræus was to my right, and Corinth to my left: all these towns, once renowned and thriving, now lie in ruins, buried under their own devastation. Looking at this scene made me reflect, how we poor humans stress and worry over the death of any friends who happen to pass away, given how brief life is, while the remains of so many great cities lay before me in one glance."—See Middleton's Cicero, 1823, ii. 144.
[The letter is to be found in Cicero's Epist. ad Familiares, iv. 5. Byron, on his return from Constantinople on July 14, 1810, left Hobhouse at the Island of Zea, and made his own way to Athens. As the vessel sailed up the Saronic Gulf, he would observe the "prospect" which Sulpicius describes.]
[The letter is in Cicero's Epist. ad Familiares, iv. 5. Byron, on his way back from Constantinople on July 14, 1810, left Hobhouse on the Island of Zea and traveled to Athens on his own. As the ship sailed through the Saronic Gulf, he noted the "view" that Sulpicius talks about.]
[423] ["By the events of the years 1813 and 1814, the house of Austria gained possession of all that belonged to her in Italy, either before or in consequence of the Peace of Campo Formio (October 17, 1797). A small portion of Ferrara, to the north of the Po (which had formed part of the Papal dominions), was ceded to her, as were the Valteline, Bormio, Chiavenna, and the ancient republic of Ragusa. The emperor constituted all these possessions into a separate and particular state, under the title of the kingdom of Venetian Lombardy."—Koch's History of Europe, p. 234.]
[423] ["As a result of the events in 1813 and 1814, the House of Austria regained everything that was theirs in Italy, either before or due to the Peace of Campo Formio (October 17, 1797). A small part of Ferrara, located north of the Po (which used to be part of the Papal territories), was given to them, along with the Valteline, Bormio, Chiavenna, and the ancient republic of Ragusa. The emperor established all these territories as a separate entity, under the name of the Kingdom of Venetian Lombardy."]—Koch's History of Europe, p. 234.]
[See De Fortunæ Varietate, ap. Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., ap. Sallengre, i. 502.]
[See De Fortunæ Varietate, in Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., by Sallengre, vol. 1, p. 502.]
[425] [Compare Milton, Sonnet xxii.—
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Compare Milton, Sonnet 22.—
"That everyone in Europe is talking about from one end to the other."
And hidden knowledge looks out into a new day,—[MS. M. erased.]
[426] [The wealth which permitted the Florentine nobility to indulge their taste for modern, that is, refined luxury was derived from success in trade. For example, Giovanni de' Medici (1360-1428), the father of Cosmo and great-grand-father of Lorenzo de' Medici, was a banker and Levantine merchant. As for the Renaissance, to say nothing of Petrarch of Florentine parentage, two of the greatest Italian scholars and humanists—Ficino, born A.D. 1430, and Poliziano, born 1454—were Florentines; and Poggio was born A.D. 1380, at Terra Nuova on Florentine soil.]
[426] [The wealth that allowed the Florentine nobility to indulge in modern, refined luxury came from their success in trade. For instance, Giovanni de' Medici (1360-1428), the father of Cosimo and great-grandfather of Lorenzo de' Medici, was a banker and Levantine merchant. Regarding the Renaissance, not to mention Petrarch, who had Florentine roots, two of the most prominent Italian scholars and humanists—Ficino, born in A.D. 1430, and Poliziano, born in 1454—were from Florence; and Poggio was born in A.D. 1380, in Terra Nuova on Florentine land.]
[427] [The statue of Venus de' Medici, which stands in the Tribune of the Uffizzi Gallery at Florence, is said to be a late Greek (first or second century B.C.) copy of an early reproduction, of the Cnidian Aphrodite, the work, perhaps, of one of his sons, Kephisodotos or Timarchos. (See Histoire de la Sculpture Grecque, par Maxime Collignon, Paris, 1897, ii. 641.) In a Catalogue Raissonné of La Galerie de Florence, 1804, in the editor's possession, which opens with an eloquent tribute to the enlightenment of the Medici, la fameuse Vénus is conspicuous by her absence. She had been deported to Paris by Napoleon, but when Lord Byron spent a day in Florence in April, 1817, and returned "drunk with Beauty" from the two galleries, the lovely lady, thanks to the much-abused "Powers," was once more in her proper shrine.]
[427] [The statue of Venus de' Medici, located in the Tribune of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, is believed to be a late Greek (first or second century B.C.) copy of an earlier version of the Cnidian Aphrodite, possibly created by one of his sons, Kephisodotos or Timarchos. (See Histoire de la Sculpture Grecque, by Maxime Collignon, Paris, 1897, ii. 641.) In a Catalogue Raisonné of La Galerie de Florence, 1804, in the editor's possession, which starts with a passionate tribute to the Medici's enlightenment, la fameuse Vénus is notably missing. She had been taken to Paris by Napoleon, but when Lord Byron visited Florence in April 1817 and returned "drunk with Beauty" from the two galleries, the beautiful lady, thanks to the frequently criticized "Powers," was back in her rightful place.]
[428] {366} [Byron's contempt for connoisseurs and dilettanti finds expression in English Bards, etc., lines 1027-1032, and, again, in The Curse of Minerva, lines 183, 184. The "stolen copy" of The Curse was published in the New Monthly Magazine (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 453) under the title of The Malediction of Minerva; or, The Athenian Marble-Market, a title (see line 7) which must have been invented by and not for Byron. He returns to the charge in Don Juan, Canto 11. stanza cxviii. lines 5-9—
[428] {366} [Byron's disdain for critics and amateurs is evident in English Bards, etc., lines 1027-1032, and later in The Curse of Minerva, lines 183, 184. The "stolen copy" of The Curse was published in the New Monthly Magazine (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 453) under the title The Malediction of Minerva; or, The Athenian Marble-Market, a title (see line 7) that must have been created by someone other than Byron. He revisits this theme in Don Juan, Canto 11, stanza cxviii, lines 5-9—
A group of nothing but frauds, when it’s all said and done—
I've seen much more beautiful women who are genuine and authentic,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).
Even while confessing the presence and power of "triumphal Art" in sculpture, one of "the two most artificial of the Arts" (see his letter to Murray, April 26, 1817), then first revealed to him at Florence, he took care that his enthusiasm should not be misunderstood. He had made bitter fun of the art-talk of collectors, and he was unrepentant, and, moreover, he was "not careful" to incur a charge of indifference to the fine arts in general. Among the "crowd" which found their place in his complex personality, there was "the barbarian," and there was "the philistine," and there was, too, the humourist who took a subtle pleasure in proclaiming himself "a plain man," puzzled by subtleties, and unable to catch the drift of spirits finer than his own.]
Even while admitting the presence and influence of "triumphal Art" in sculpture, which is one of "the two most artificial Arts" (see his letter to Murray, April 26, 1817), first shown to him in Florence, he made sure his enthusiasm wouldn’t be misinterpreted. He had mocked the art discussions of collectors, and he stood firm in that, plus he wasn’t worried about being seen as indifferent to the fine arts overall. Among the "crowd" that made up his complex personality, there was "the barbarian," and there was "the philistine," as well as the humorist who took a subtle joy in calling himself "a plain man," confused by complexities and unable to grasp the essence of spirits finer than his own.
Ovid., Amor., lib. ii. [Eleg. 2, line 6].
Ovid., Amor., book 2. [Eleg. 2, line 6].
[Compare, too, Lucretius, lib. i. lines 36-38—
[Compare, too, Lucretius, lib. i. lines 36-38—
and Measure for Measure, act ii. sc. 2, line 179—
and Measure for Measure, act ii. sc. 2, line 179—
[430] [As the immortals, for love's sake, divest themselves of their godhead, so do mortals, in the ecstasy of passion, recognize in the object of their love the incarnate presence of deity. Love, like music, can raise a "mortal to the skies" and "bring an angel down." In this stanza there is, perhaps, an intentional obscurity in the confusion of ideas, which are "thrown out" for the reader to shape for himself as he will or can.]
[430] [Just as immortals give up their divinity for love, mortals, in their passionate ecstasy, see in their beloved the living embodiment of the divine. Love, like music, can elevate a "mortal to the skies" and "bring an angel down." This stanza may intentionally blend ideas in a way that requires the reader to interpret them as they wish or can.]
[mu] ——and our Fate——[MS. M.]
[431] {369} ["The church of Santa Croce contains much illustrious nothing. The tombs of Macchiavelli, Michael Angelo, Galileo Galilei, and Alfieri make it the Westminster Abbey of Italy" (Letter to Murray, April 26, 1817). Michael Angelo, Alfieri, and Macchiavelli are buried in the south aisle of the church; Galileo, who was first buried within the convent, now rests with his favourite pupil, Vincenzo Viviani, in a vault in the south aisle. Canova's monument to Alfieri was erected at the expense of his so-called widow, Louise, born von Stolberg, and (1772-78) consort of Prince Charles Edward.]
[431] {369} ["The church of Santa Croce has a lot of notable emptiness. The tombs of Machiavelli, Michelangelo, Galileo Galilei, and Alfieri make it Italy's version of Westminster Abbey" (Letter to Murray, April 26, 1817). Michelangelo, Alfieri, and Machiavelli are buried in the south aisle of the church; Galileo, who was originally buried in the convent, now rests with his favorite student, Vincenzo Viviani, in a vault in the south aisle. Canova's monument to Alfieri was paid for by his so-called widow, Louise, born von Stolberg, and (1772-78) consort of Prince Charles Edward.]
[432] [Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803) is one of numerous real and ideal personages with whom, as he tells us (Life, p. 644), Byron was wont to be compared. Moore perceives and dwells on the resemblance. A passage in Alfieri's autobiography (La Vie de V. A. écrite par Lui-même, Paris, 1809, p. 17) may have suggested the parallel—
[432] [Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803) is one of many real and fictional characters with whom, as he tells us (Life, p. 644), Byron was often compared. Moore notices and emphasizes the similarity. A section in Alfieri's autobiography (La Vie de V. A. écrite par Lui-même, Paris, 1809, p. 17) might have inspired the comparison—
"Voici une esquisse du caractère que je manifestais dans les premières anneés de ma raison naissante. Taciturne et tranquille pour l'ordinaire, mais quelquefois extrêmement pétulant et babillard, presque toujours dans les extrêmes, obstiné et rebelle à la force, fort soumis aux avis qu'on me donnait avec amitié, contenu plutôt par la crainte d'être grondé que par toute autre chose, d'une timidité excessive, et inflexible quand on voulait me prendre à rebours."
"Here’s a sketch of the character I showed in the early years of my developing reason. Generally quiet and calm, but sometimes extremely lively and talkative, almost always swinging between extremes. Stubborn and resistant to force, very compliant to advice given to me with affection, more held back by the fear of being scolded than by anything else, excessively shy, and inflexible when someone tried to catch me off guard."
The resemblance, as Byron admits, "related merely to our apparent personal dispositions." Both were noble, both were poets, both were "patrician republicans," and both were lovers of pleasure as well as lovers and students of literature; but their works do not provoke comparison. "The quality of 'a narrow elevation' which [Matthew] Arnold finds in Alfieri," is not characteristic of the author of Childe Harold and Don Juan.
The similarity, as Byron acknowledges, "only has to do with our outward personal traits." Both were noble, both were poets, both were "aristocratic republicans," and both enjoyed pleasure as well as being passionate about literature; however, their works aren't comparable. "The trait of 'a narrow elevation' that [Matthew] Arnold sees in Alfieri," is not typical of the writer of Childe Harold and Don Juan.
Of this stanza, however, Alfieri's fine sonnet to Florence may have been the inspiration. I have Dr. Garnett's permission to cite the following lines of his admirable translation (Italian Literature, 1898, p. 321):—
Of this stanza, though, Alfieri's beautiful sonnet to Florence might have been the inspiration. I have Dr. Garnett's permission to quote the following lines from his excellent translation (Italian Literature, 1898, p. 321):—
The magic of love with the enchantment of the Tuscan language,
Indissolubly blended? And he whose song Revealed the world below to the world above? And he who came from the lonely valley The blue sky and walked among the stars? And the person whose inquisitive mind questions the king's injustice,
"Did it prove to be the source of the people's misery?"
And has denied, to every other sky
Spirits that rise like yours; from your decay
{ Another son of God still rises
Some work of the Divine still emerges—[D.]
And brightens your ruins with a renewing light—
And what these were in the past—Canova is today.—[MS. M.]
[433] [Compare "Lines on the Bust of Helen by Canova," which were sent in a letter to Murray, November 25, 1816—
[433] [See "Lines on the Bust of Helen by Canova," which were sent in a letter to Murray, November 25, 1816—
Above the actions and ideas of humanity,
What nature _could_, but _would not_, do,
And Beauty and Canova can.
In Beppo (stanza xlvi.), which was written in October, 1817, there is a further allusion to the genius of Canova.]
In Beppo (stanza xlvi.), which was written in October 1817, there's another reference to the genius of Canova.
[434] [Dante died at Ravenna, September 14, 1321, and was buried in the Church of S. Francesco. His remains were afterwards transferred to a mausoleum in the friars' cemetery, on the north side of the church, which was raised to his memory by his friend and patron, Guido da Polenta. The mausoleum was restored more than once, and rebuilt in its present form in 1780, at the cost of Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. On the occasion of Dante's sexcentenary, in 1865, it was discovered that at some unknown period the skeleton, with the exception of a few small bones which remained in an urn which formed part of Gonzaga's structure, had been placed for safety in a wooden box, and enclosed in a wall of the old Braccioforte Chapel, which lies outside the church towards the Piazza. "The bones found in the wooden box were placed in the mausoleum with great pomp and exultation, the poet being now considered the symbol of a united Italy. The wooden box itself has been removed to the public library."—Handbook far Northern Italy, p. 539, note.
[434] [Dante passed away in Ravenna on September 14, 1321, and was buried in the Church of S. Francesco. His remains were later moved to a mausoleum in the friars' cemetery on the north side of the church, which was built in his honor by his friend and supporter, Guido da Polenta. The mausoleum has been restored several times and was reconstructed in its current form in 1780, funded by Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. During the celebration of Dante's 600th anniversary in 1865, it was revealed that, at some point, his skeleton—except for a few small bones that were placed in an urn as part of Gonzaga's structure—had been secured in a wooden box and enclosed in a wall of the old Braccioforte Chapel, located outside the church by the Piazza. "The bones found in the wooden box were moved to the mausoleum with great ceremony and celebration, as the poet was now seen as a symbol of a united Italy. The wooden box itself has been relocated to the public library."—Handbook for Northern Italy, p. 539, note.
The house which Byron occupied during his first visit to Ravenna—June 8 to August 9, 1819—is close to the Cappella Braccioforte. In January, 1820, when he wrote the Fourth Canto of Don Juan ("I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid," stanza civ.), he was occupying a suite of apartments in the Palazzo Guiccioli, No. 328 in the Via di Porta Adriana. Compare Rogers's Italy, "Bologna," Poems, ii. 118—
The house where Byron stayed during his first visit to Ravenna—from June 8 to August 9, 1819—is near the Cappella Braccioforte. In January 1820, when he wrote the Fourth Canto of Don Juan ("I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid," stanza civ.), he was living in a suite of rooms at the Palazzo Guiccioli, No. 328 on Via di Porta Adriana. See Rogers's Italy, "Bologna," Poems, ii. 118—
He had often, as many verses show, Inspired."]
[435] [The story is told in Livy, lib. xxxviii. cap. 53. "Thenceforth no more was heard of Africanus. He passed his days at Liternum [on the shore of Campania], without thought or regret of Rome. Folk say that when he came to die he gave orders that he should be buried on the spot, and that there, and not at Rome, a monument should be raised over his sepulchre. His country had been ungrateful—no Roman funeral for him." It is said that his sepulchre bore the inscription: "Ingrata patria, cineres meos non habebis." According to another tradition, he was buried with his family at the Porta Capena, by the Cælian Hill.]
[435] [The story is told in Livy, book 38, chapter 53. "From then on, nothing was heard from Africanus. He spent his days in Liternum [on the coast of Campania], without any thoughts or regrets about Rome. People say that when he was dying, he ordered to be buried on that spot and that a monument should be erected there, not in Rome, over his grave. His country had been ungrateful—no Roman funeral for him." It is said that his grave had the inscription: "Ungrateful homeland, you will not have my ashes." According to another tradition, he was buried with his family at the Porta Capena, near the Cælian Hill.]
[437] [Petrarch's Africa brought him on the same day (August 23, 1340) offers of the laurel wreath of poetry from the University of Paris and from the Senate of Rome. He chose in favour of Rome, and was crowned on the Capitol, Easter Day, April 8, 1341. "The poet appeared in a royal mantle ... preceded by twelve noble Roman youths clad in scarlet, and the heralds and trumpeters of the Roman Senate."—Petrarch, by Henry Reeve, p. 92.]
[437] [Petrarch's Africa led to him receiving offers for the laurel wreath of poetry on the same day (August 23, 1340) from the University of Paris and the Senate of Rome. He chose to accept the one from Rome and was crowned on the Capitol on Easter Day, April 8, 1341. "The poet appeared in a royal mantle ... preceded by twelve noble Roman youths dressed in scarlet, along with the heralds and trumpeters of the Roman Senate."—Petrarch, by Henry Reeve, p. 92.]
[438] {372} [Tomasini, in the Petrarca Redivivus (pp. 168-172, ed. 1650), assigns the outrage to a party of Venetians who "broke open Petrarch's tomb, in 1630, and took away some of his bones, probably with the object of selling them." Hobhouse, in note ix., says, "that one of the arms was stolen by a Florentine," but does not quote his authority. (See the notes to H. F. Tozer's Childe Harold, p. 302.)]
[438] {372} [Tomasini, in the Petrarca Redivivus (pp. 168-172, ed. 1650), attributes the desecration to a group of Venetians who "broke into Petrarch's tomb in 1630 and took away some of his bones, probably intending to sell them." Hobhouse, in note ix., states that "one of the arms was stolen by a Florentine," but he doesn't cite his source. (See the notes to H. F. Tozer's Childe Harold, p. 302.)]
[439] [Giovanni Boccaccio was born at Paris (or Certaldo) in 1313, passed the greater part of his life at Florence, died and was buried at Certaldo, whence his family are said to have sprung, in 1375. His sepulchre, which stood in the centre of the Church of St. Michael and St. James, known as the Canonica, was removed in 1783, on the plea that a recent edict forbidding burial in churches applied to ancient interments. "The stone that covered the tomb was broken, and thrown aside as useless into the adjoining cloisters" (Handbook for Central Italy, p. 171). "Ignorance," pleads Hobhouse, "may share the crime with bigotry." But it is improbable that the "hyæna bigots," that is, the ecclesiastical authorities, were ignorant that Boccaccio was a bitter satirist of Churchmen, or that "he transferred the functions and histories of Hebrew prophets and prophetesses, and of Christian saints and apostles, nay, the highest mysteries and most awful objects of Christian Faith, to the names and drapery of Greek and Roman mythology."—(Unpublished MS. note of S. T. Coleridge, written in his copy of Boccaccio's Opere, 4 vols. 1723.) They had their revenge on Boccaccio, and Byron has had his revenge on them.]
[439] [Giovanni Boccaccio was born in Paris (or Certaldo) in 1313, spent most of his life in Florence, and died and was buried in Certaldo, which is believed to be where his family originated, in 1375. His grave, located in the center of the Church of St. Michael and St. James, known as the Canonica, was moved in 1783, under the pretext of a new law prohibiting burials in churches that affected older graves. "The stone that covered the tomb was broken and discarded as useless into the nearby cloisters" (Handbook for Central Italy, p. 171). "Ignorance," Hobhouse argues, "might share the blame with bigotry." However, it seems unlikely that the "hyæna bigots," referring to the church authorities, were unaware that Boccaccio was a harsh critic of Churchmen or that "he took the roles and stories of Hebrew prophets and prophetesses, as well as Christian saints and apostles, along with the deepest mysteries and most profound beliefs of Christianity, and associated them with the names and imagery of Greek and Roman mythology."—(Unpublished MS. note of S. T. Coleridge, in his copy of Boccaccio's Opere, 4 vols. 1723.) They got their revenge on Boccaccio, and Byron has taken his revenge on them.]
The dust that came from there—does it not lie
With many sweet and serious farewell songs sung
Over the one who created the language of Italy
The music itself, with its harmony
Requests no melody to turn it into a song; No—torn
From the earth—and scattered across the quiet sky
Silenced its angry winds—with calm disdain
The hyena bigots prevented a world from mourning.—[D. erased.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {374} [Compare Beppo, stanza xliv.—
Which melts like kisses from a woman's lips,
And it sounds like it should be written on satin,
"With syllables that echo the charm of the sweet South."
Compare, too, the first sentence of a letter which Byron wrote "on a blank leaf of the volume of 'Corinne,'" which Teresa [Guiccioli] left in forgetfulness in a garden in Bologna: "Amor Mio,—How sweet is this word in your Italian language!" (Life of Lord Byron, by Emilio Castelar, P. 145).]
Compare, too, the first sentence of a letter Byron wrote "on a blank page of the volume of 'Corinne,'" which Teresa [Guiccioli] accidentally left in a garden in Bologna: "My Love,—How sweet is this word in your Italian language!" (Life of Lord Byron, by Emilio Castelar, P. 145).
[441] [By "Cæsar's pageant" Byron means the pageant decreed by Tiberius Cæsar. Compare Don Juan, Canto XV. stanza xlix.—
[441] [By "César's pageant" Byron is referring to the pageant ordered by Tiberius César. See Don Juan, Canto XV, stanza xlix.—
Of Brutus at the Tiberius event.
At the public funeral of Junia, wife of Cassius and sister of Brutus, A.D. 22, the busts of her husband and brother were not allowed to be carried in the procession, because they had taken part in the assassination of Julius Cæsar. But none the less, "Præfulgebant Brutus et Cassius eo ipso quod effigies eorum non videbantur" (Tacitus, Ann., iii. 76). Their glory was conspicuous in men's minds, because their images were withheld from men's eyes. As Tacitus says elsewhere (iv. 26), "Negatus honor gloriam intendit."]
At the public funeral of Junia, the wife of Cassius and sister of Brutus, A.D. 22, the busts of her husband and brother were not allowed to be part of the procession since they were involved in the assassination of Julius Caesar. However, "Brutus and Cassius shone all the more in people’s thoughts precisely because their images were not visible" (Tacitus, Ann., iii. 76). Their glory was prominent in people's minds, even though their likenesses were kept from view. As Tacitus states elsewhere (iv. 26), "Denial of honor enhances glory."
[442] [The inscription on Ricci's monument to Dante, in the Church of Santa Croce—"A majoribus ter frustra decretum" —refers to the vain attempts which Florence had made to recover the remains of her exiled and once-neglected poet.]
[442] [The inscription on Ricci's monument to Dante, in the Church of Santa Croce—"A majoribus ter frustra decretum" —refers to the futile attempts Florence made to reclaim the remains of her exiled and once-forgotten poet.]
[443] ["I also went to the Medici chapel—fine frippery in great slabs of various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and forgotten carcasses. It is unfinished, and will remain so" (Letter to Murray, April 26, 1817). The bodies of the grand-dukes lie in the crypt of the Cappella dei Principi, or Medicean Chapel, which forms part of the Church of San Lorenzo. The walls of the chapel are encrusted with rich marbles and "stones of price, to garniture the edifice." The monuments to Giuliano and Lorenzo de' Medici, son and grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent, with Michael Angelo's allegorical figures of Night and Morning, Aurora and Twilight, are in the adjoining Cappella dei Depositi, or Sagrestia Nuova.]
[443] ["I also visited the Medici chapel—really extravagant with large slabs of various pricey stones, meant to honor fifty decomposed and forgotten bodies. It’s incomplete and will stay that way" (Letter to Murray, April 26, 1817). The remains of the grand-dukes are located in the crypt of the Cappella dei Principi, or Medicean Chapel, which is part of the Church of San Lorenzo. The walls of the chapel are adorned with luxurious marbles and "valuable stones, to decorate the building." The monuments to Giuliano and Lorenzo de' Medici, son and grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent, along with Michelangelo's allegorical figures of Night and Morning, Aurora and Twilight, are in the neighboring Cappella dei Depositi, or Sagrestia Nuova.]
This amazing dome of God?
"It is somewhere mentioned that Michael Angelo, when he set out from Florence to build the dome of St. Peter's, turned his horse round in the road to contemplate that of the cathedral, as it rose in the grey of the morning from among the pines and cypresses of the city, and that he said, after a pause, 'Come te non voglio! Meglio di te non posso.' He never, indeed, spoke of it but with admiration; and, if we may believe tradition, his tomb, by his own desire, was to be so placed in the Santa Croce as that from it might be seen, when the doors of the church stood open, that noble work of Brunelleschi."—Rogers's Italy: Poems, ii. 315, note to p. 133, line 5—"Beautiful Florence."]
"It’s mentioned somewhere that Michelangelo, when he left Florence to build the dome of St. Peter's, turned his horse around in the road to look at the cathedral as it emerged in the morning light among the city’s pines and cypresses, and he said, after a moment, 'I don’t want you! I can’t do better than you.' He always spoke of it with admiration; and if we can trust tradition, he requested that his tomb in Santa Croce be placed so that, when the church doors were open, he could see that magnificent work by Brunelleschi."—Rogers's Italy: Poems, ii. 315, note to p. 133, line 5—"Beautiful Florence."
[445] {377} [Byron, contrary to traditional use (see Wordsworth's sonnet, "Near the Lake of Thrasymene;" and Rogers's Italy, see note, p. 378), sounds the final vowel in Thrasymēné. The Greek, Latin, and Italian equivalents bear him out; but, most probably, he gave Thrasymene and himself an extra syllable "vel metri vel euphoniæ causâ."]
[445] {377} [Byron, unlike the traditional approach (see Wordsworth's poem, "Near the Lake of Thrasymene;" and Rogers's Italy, see note, p. 378), pronounces the final vowel in Thrasymēné. The Greek, Latin, and Italian equivalents support this; however, it's likely that he added an extra syllable to Thrasymene for either metric reasons or to improve the sound.]
[446] ["Tantusque fuit ardor armorum, adeo intentus pugnæ animus, ut eum motum terræ, qui multarum urbium Italiæ magnas partes, prostravit, avertitque cursu rapidos amnes, marce fluminibus invexit, montes lapsu ingenti proruit, nemo pugnantium senserit" (Livy, xxii. 5). Polybius says nothing about an earthquake; and Ihne (Hist, of Rome, ii. 207-210) is also silent; but Pliny (Hist. Nat., ii. 84) and Coelius Antipater (ap. Cic., De Div., i. 35), who wrote his Annales about a century after the battle of Lake Thrasymenus (B.C. 217), synchronize the earthquake and the battle. Compare, too, Rogers's Italy, "The Pilgrim:" Poems, 1852, ii. 152—
[446] ["The passion for battle was so intense and the spirit of the fight was so focused that the earthquake, which devastated large parts of many cities in Italy, diverted the rushing rivers from their courses, caused lakes to overflow, and massively uprooted mountains, went unnoticed by any of the fighters" (Livy, xxii. 5). Polybius doesn't mention an earthquake, and Ihne (Hist, of Rome, ii. 207-210) also doesn't say anything about it; however, Pliny (Hist. Nat., ii. 84) and Coelius Antipater (ap. Cic., De Div., i. 35), who wrote his Annales about a century after the battle of Lake Thrasymenus (B.C. 217), connect the earthquake with the battle. Also, see Rogers's Italy, "The Pilgrim:" Poems, 1852, ii. 152—
And from the shore where armies used to meet,
Swayed back and forth, unnoticed, so terrifying. "I had turned away from the anger and the bloodshed."
Compare, too, Wordsworth's sonnet (No. xii.), "Near the Lake of Thrasymene" (Works, 1888, p. 756)—
Compare, too, Wordsworth's sonnet (No. xii.), "Near the Lake of Thrasymene" (Works, 1888, p. 756)—
Didn’t control its fury; the ground shook without feeling, The sword didn’t fall, and the javelin maintained its deadly aim,—
Now everything is sunny and peaceful.
[447] No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the temple of the Clitumnus, between Foligno and Spoleto; and no site, or scenery, even in Italy, is more worthy a description. For an account of the dilapidation of this temple, the reader is referred to Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, p. 35.
[447] No travel book has failed to elaborate on the Clitumnus temple, located between Foligno and Spoleto; and no location or scenery, even in Italy, deserves a description more. For details about the degradation of this temple, the reader is directed to Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, p. 35.
[448] [Compare Virgil, Georg., ii. 146—
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Compare Virgil, Georg., ii. 146—
The waters of certain rivers were supposed to possess the quality of making the cattle which drank from them white. (See Pliny, Hist. Nat., ii. 103; and compare Silius Italicus, Pun., iv. 545, 546—
The waters of some rivers were believed to have the power to turn the cattle that drank from them white. (See Pliny, Hist. Nat., ii. 103; and compare Silius Italicus, Pun., iv. 545, 546—
For a charming description of Clitumnus, see Pliny's letter "Romano Suo," Epist., viii. 8: "At the foot of a little hill covered with old and shady cypress trees, gushes out a spring, which bursts out into a number of streamlets, all of different sizes. Having struggled, so to speak, out of its confinement, it opens out into a broad basin, so clear and transparent, that you may count the pebbles and little pieces of money which are thrown into it.... The banks are clothed with an abundance of ash and poplar, which are so distinctly reflected in the clear water that they seem to be growing at the bottom of the river, and can easily be counted.... Near it stands an ancient and venerable temple, in which is a statue of the river-god Clitumnus."—Pliny's Letters, by the Rev. A. Church and the Rev. W. J. Brodribb, 1872, p. 127.]
For a lovely description of Clitumnus, check out Pliny's letter "Romano Suo," Epist., viii. 8: "At the bottom of a little hill covered with old, shady cypress trees, a spring bursts forth, creating several streamlets of various sizes. After pushing its way out of confinement, it opens up into a wide basin, so clear and transparent that you can count the pebbles and small coins thrown into it. The banks are lined with plenty of ash and poplar trees, which are so vividly reflected in the clear water that they appear to be growing from the riverbed, making them easy to count. Nearby stands an ancient, venerable temple that houses a statue of the river-god Clitumnus."—Pliny's Letters, by the Rev. A. Church and the Rev. W. J. Brodribb, 1872, p. 127.]
[449] {380} [The existing temple, now used as a chapel (St. Salvatore), can hardly be Pliny's templum priscum. Hobhouse, in his Historical Illustrations, pp. 37-41, defends the antiquity of the "façade, which consists of a pediment supported by four columns and two Corinthian piers, two of the columns with spiral fluting, the others covered with fish-scaled carvings" (Handbook for Central Italy, p. 289); but in the opinion of modern archæologists the whole of the structure belongs to the fourth or fifth century of the Christian era. It is, of course, possible, indeed probable, that ancient materials were used when the building was reconstructed. Pliny says the "numerous chapels" dedicated to other deities were scattered round the shrine of Clitumnus.]
[449] {380} [The current temple, now functioning as a chapel (St. Salvatore), is unlikely to be Pliny's templum priscum. Hobhouse, in his Historical Illustrations, pp. 37-41, argues for the ancient origin of the "façade, which features a pediment supported by four columns and two Corinthian piers, with two of the columns having spiral fluting and the others decorated with fish-scale carvings" (Handbook for Central Italy, p. 289); however, modern archaeologists believe that the entire structure dates back to the fourth or fifth century of the Christian era. It is certainly possible, even probable, that ancient materials were used during the building's reconstruction. Pliny notes that the "numerous chapels" dedicated to various deities were situated around the shrine of Clitumnus.]
[nd] Upon a green declivity——.—[MS. M.]
[451] [By "disgust," a prosaic word which seems to mar a fine stanza, Byron does not mean "distaste," aversion from the nauseous, but "tastelessness," the inability to enjoy taste. Compare the French "Avoir du dégout pour la vie," "To be out of conceit with life." Byron was "a lover of Nature," but it was seldom that he felt her "healing power," or was able to lose himself in his surroundings. But now, for the moment, he experiences that sudden uplifting of the spirit in the presence of natural beauty which brings back "the splendour in the grass, the glory in the flower!"]
[451] [When Byron uses the word "disgust," he's not referring to "distaste" or a strong aversion to something unpleasant; he means "tastelessness," or the inability to appreciate beauty. Compare this to the French phrase "Avoir du dégout pour la vie," which means "To be disillusioned with life." Byron loved nature, but he rarely felt its "healing power" or was able to truly immerse himself in it. However, in this moment, he feels a sudden lift in his spirits in the presence of natural beauty, reminding him of "the splendour in the grass, the glory in the flower!"]
[452] {383} I saw the Cascata del Marmore of Terni twice, at different periods—once from the summit of the precipice, and again from the valley below. The lower view is far to be preferred, if the traveller has time for one only; but in any point of view, either from above or below, it is worth all the cascades and torrents of Switzerland put together: the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse Vache, fall of Arpenaz, etc., are rills in comparative appearance. Of the fall of Schaffhausen I cannot speak, not yet having seen it.
[452] {383} I saw the Cascata del Marmore in Terni twice, at different times—once from the top of the cliff, and again from the valley below. The lower view is definitely the better option if the traveler can only do one; but either way, whether from above or below, it’s worth more than all the cascades and waterfalls in Switzerland combined: the Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse Vache, and Arpenaz Falls are just small streams by comparison. As for the fall at Schaffhausen, I can't comment on it since I haven't seen it yet.
[The Falls of Reichenbach are at Rosenlaui, between Grindelwald and Meiringen; the Salanfe or Pisse-Vache descends into the valley of the Rhone near Martigny; the Nant d'Arpenaz falls into the Arve near Magland, on the road between Cluses and Sallanches.]
[The Reichenbach Falls are located at Rosenlaui, between Grindelwald and Meiringen; the Salanfe or Pisse-Vache drops into the Rhone valley near Martigny; the Nant d'Arpenaz cascades into the Arve near Magland, along the route between Cluses and Sallanches.]
[453] Of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of iris, the reader will see a short account, in a note to Manfred.[A] The fall looks so much like "the Hell of waters," that Addison thought the descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto[B] plunged into the infernal regions. It is singular enough, that two of the finest cascades in Europe should be artificial—this of the Velino, and the one at Tivoli. The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at least as high as the little lake called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine territory was the Italian Tempe (Cicer., Epist. ad Attic., lib. iv. 15), and the ancient naturalists ["In lacu Velino nullo non die apparere arcus"] (Plin., Hist. Nat., lib. ii. cap. lxii.), amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows of the lake Velinus. A scholar of great name has devoted a treatise to this district alone. See Ald. Manut., De Reatina Urb Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., 1735, tom. i. p.773, sq.
[453]You'll find a brief description of the time, place, and qualities of this type of iris in a note to Manfred.[A] The waterfall resembles "the Hell of waters" so closely that Addison believed it referenced the abyss into which Alecto[B] fell into the underworld. It's quite unusual that two of the most beautiful waterfalls in Europe are man-made—this one at Velino and the other at Tivoli. Travelers are strongly encouraged to follow the Velino River at least up to the small lake called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine area was considered the Italian Tempe (Cicero, Epist. ad Attic., lib. iv. 15), and the ancient naturalists noted daily rainbows in the Velinus lake, among other stunning features ["In lacu Velino nullo non die apparere arcus"] (Pliny, Hist. Nat., lib. ii. cap. lxii.). A well-known scholar has written an entire treatise dedicated to this region. See Ald. Manut., De Reatina Urb Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., 1735, tom. i. p.773, sq.
[The "Falls of the Anio," which passed over a wall built by Sixtus V., and plunged into the Grotto of Neptune, were greatly diminished in volume after an inundation which took place in 1826. The New Falls were formed in 1834.]
[The "Falls of the Anio," which flowed over a wall built by Sixtus V. and dropped into the Grotto of Neptune, significantly reduced in size after a flood that happened in 1826. The New Falls were created in 1834.]
[[A] Manfred, act ii. sc. 1, note. This Iris is formed by the rays of the sun on the lower part of the Alpine torrents; it is exactly like a rainbow come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it: this effect lasts till noon.]
[[A] Manfred, act ii. sc. 1, note. This Iris is created by the sunlight on the lower parts of the Alpine streams; it looks just like a rainbow that's come to say hello, so close that you could walk into it: this effect lasts until noon.]
[[B] "This is the gulf through which Virgil's Alecto shoots herself into hell; for the very place, the great reputation of it, the fall of waters, the woods that encompass it, with the smoke and noise that arise from it, are all pointed at in the description ...
[[B] "This is the gap through which Virgil's Alecto plunges herself into hell; because the location itself, its great reputation, the waterfalls, the surrounding woods, along with the smoke and noise that come from it, are all highlighted in the description ...
... densis hunc frondibus atrum The forest urged on both sides, and in the middle was noisy. The sound of the rocks and the swirling river. This horrible cave and the fierce entrances of Dis Monstrantur, and the vast Acheron chasm breaks open Pests open their jaws.'
Æneid, vii. 563-570.
Aeneid, vii. 563-570.
It was indeed the most proper place in the world for a Fury to make her exit ... and I believe every reader's imagination is pleased when he sees the angry Goddess thus sinking, as it were, in a tempest, and plunging herself into Hell, amidst such a scene of horror and confusion."—Remarks on several Parts of Italy, by Joseph Addison, Esq., 1761, pp. 100. 101.
It was truly the perfect place in the world for a Fury to make her exit... and I think every reader's imagination is satisfied when they see the furious Goddess sinking, as if in a storm, and plunging herself into Hell, amidst such a scene of terror and chaos."—Remarks on several Parts of Italy, by Joseph Addison, Esq., 1761, pp. 100. 101.
or, Clothes a more rocky summit——.—[MS. M. erased.]
[454] In the greater part of Switzerland, the avalanches are known by the name of lauwine.
[454] In most of Switzerland, avalanches are called lauwine.
[Byron is again at fault with his German. "Lawine" (see Schiller, Wilhelm Tell, act iii. sc. 3) signifies an avalanche, not avalanches. In stanza xii. line 7 a similar mistake occurs. It may seem strange that, for the sake of local colouring, or for metrical purposes, he should substitute a foreign equivalent which required a note, for a fine word already in vogue. But in 1817 "avalanche" itself had not long been naturalized. Fifty years before, the Italian valanca and valanche had found their way into books of travel, but "avalanche" appears first (see N. Eng. Dict., art. "Avalanche") in 1789, in Coxe's Trav. Switz., xxxviii. ii. 3, and in poetry, perhaps, in Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches, which were written in 1791-2. Like "cañon" and "veldt" in our own day, it might be regarded as on probation. But the fittest has survived, and Byron's unlovely and misbegotten "lauwine" has died a natural death.]
[Byron again makes a mistake with his German. "Lawine" (see Schiller, Wilhelm Tell, act iii. sc. 3) means an avalanche, not avalanches. In stanza xii. line 7, a similar mistake happens. It may seem odd that, for the sake of local color or for metrical reasons, he would swap in a foreign term that needed a footnote for a perfectly good word that was already in use. But in 1817, "avalanche" had only recently been adopted. Fifty years earlier, the Italian valanca and valanche had appeared in travel books, but "avalanche" first showed up (see N. Eng. Dict., art. "Avalanche") in 1789 in Coxe's Trav. Switz., xxxviii. ii. 3, and in poetry, perhaps, in Wordsworth's Descriptive Sketches, which were written in 1791-2. Like "cañon" and "veldt" in our own time, it could be seen as still being accepted. But the strongest term has survived, and Byron's awkward and poorly chosen "lauwine" has faded away.]
[455] {386} These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign Northerton's remarks, "D—n Homo," etc.;[A] but the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express, that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare ("To be or not to be," for instance), from the habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind, but of memory: so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the continent, young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the place of my education. I was not a slow, though an idle boy; and I believe no one could, or can be, more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason;—a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my life; and my preceptor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best and worthiest friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late when I have erred,—and whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitude and veneration—of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following his injunctions, he could reflect any honour upon his instructor.
[455] {386} These lines might remind the reader of Ensign Northerton's comments, "D—n Homo,” etc.;[A] but the reasons for our dislike aren’t exactly the same. I want to say that we get tired of the task before we can appreciate the beauty; that we memorize things before we truly understand them; that the freshness wears off, and the future enjoyment and benefits are dulled and destroyed by the expectation of learning, at an age when we can’t fully feel or grasp the power of works that require both life experience and knowledge of Latin and Greek to appreciate or contemplate. For the same reason, we may never fully appreciate some of Shakespeare's greatest lines (“To be or not to be,” for example), since they've been drilled into us since we were eight, as an exercise for our memory rather than our minds: so that by the time we’re old enough to enjoy them, the taste is lost, and the desire faded. In some parts of Europe, young people are taught using more accessible texts and don’t read the best classics until they’re older. I’m definitely not saying this out of resentment or dislike for my school. I wasn’t a slow student, just a lazy one; and I believe no one could ever be more attached to Harrow than I have been, and rightly so—some of my happiest times were spent there, and my teacher, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best friend I ever had, whose advice I remember all too well, even if too late when I strayed — and whose guidance I followed when I acted well or wisely. If this imperfect record of my feelings for him ever reaches him, let it remind him of someone who always thinks of him with gratitude and respect—someone who would be more than happy to boast about being his student if, by following his advice more closely, he could bring any honor to his teacher.
[[A] "'Don't pretend to more ignorance than you have, Mr. Northerton; I suppose you have heard of the Greeks and Trojans, though, perhaps, you have never read Pope's Homer.'—'D—n Homer with all my heart,' says Northerton: 'I have the marks of him ... yet. There's Thomas of our regiment always carries a Homo in his pocket.'"—The History of Tom Jones, by H. Fielding, vii. 12.]
[[A] "'Don't act like you know less than you do, Mr. Northerton; I assume you’ve heard of the Greeks and Trojans, although maybe you’ve never read Pope's version of Homer.'—'Damn Homer with all my heart,' says Northerton: 'I've got the scars to prove it ... still. There's Thomas from our regiment who always carries a Homer in his pocket.'"—The History of Tom Jones, by H. Fielding, vii. 12.]
[456] [The construction is somewhat involved, but the meaning is obvious. As a schoolboy, the Horatian Muse could not tempt him to take the trouble to construe Horace; and, even now, Soracte brings back unwelcome memories of "confinement's lingering hour," say, "3 quarters of an hour past 3 o'clock in the afternoon, 3rd school" (see Life, p. 28). Moore says that the "interlined translations" on Byron's school-books are "a proof of the narrow extent of his classical attainments." He must soon have made up for lost time, and "conquered for the poet's sake," as numerous poetical translations from the classics, including the episode of Nisus and Euryalus, evidently a labour of love, testify. Nor, too, does the trouble he took and the pride he felt in Hints from Horace correspond with this profession of invincible distaste.]
[456] [The construction is somewhat involved, but the meaning is clear. As a schoolboy, the Horatian Muse couldn’t motivate him to bother with translating Horace; and even now, Soracte brings back unwelcome memories of "confinement's lingering hour," like, "3 quarters of an hour past 3 o'clock in the afternoon, 3rd school" (see Life, p. 28). Moore remarks that the "interlined translations" in Byron's schoolbooks are "a proof of the limited nature of his classical studies." He must have quickly made up for lost time and "conquered for the poet's sake," as numerous poetic translations from the classics, including the episode of Nisus and Euryalus, clearly show. Additionally, the effort he put in and the pride he felt in Hints from Horace don't really match with his claim of having an unshakeable aversion to it.]
[457] [The tomb of the Scipios, by the Porta Latina, was discovered by the brothers Sassi, in May, 1780. It consists of "several chambers excavated in the tufa." One of the larger chambers contained the famous sarcophagus of L. Scipio Barbatus, the great-grandfather of Scipio Africanus, which is now in the Vatican in the Atrio Quadrate. When the sarcophagus was opened, in 1780, the skeleton was found to be entire. The bones were collected and removed by Angelo Quirini to his villa at Padua. The chambers contained numerous inscriptions, which were detached and removed to the Vatican. Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., pp. 169-171) is at pains to point out that the discovery of 1780 confirmed the authenticity of an inscription to Lucius, son of Barbatus Scipio, which had been brought to light in 1615, and rejected by the Roman antiquaries as a forgery. He prints two of the inscriptions (Handbook for Rome, pp. 278, 350, 351, ed. 1899).]
[457] [The tomb of the Scipios by the Porta Latina was found by the Sassi brothers in May 1780. It consists of several chambers carved into the tufa. One of the larger chambers housed the famous sarcophagus of L. Scipio Barbatus, the great-grandfather of Scipio Africanus, which is now located in the Vatican in the Atrio Quadrate. When the sarcophagus was opened in 1780, the skeleton was found to be intact. Angelo Quirini collected the bones and took them to his villa in Padua. The chambers also had many inscriptions, which were detached and sent to the Vatican. Hobhouse (Hist. Illust, pp. 169-171) emphasizes that the 1780 discovery confirmed the authenticity of an inscription to Lucius, son of Barbatus Scipio, that was uncovered in 1615 and previously dismissed by Roman antiquarians as a forgery. He includes two of the inscriptions (Handbook for Rome, pp. 278, 350, 351, ed. 1899).]
[458] [The sepulchres were rifled, says Hobhouse (ibid., p. 173), "either to procure the necessary relics for churches dedicated to Christian saints or martyrs, or" (a likelier hypothesis) "with the expectation of finding the ornaments ... buried with the dead. The sarcophagi were sometimes transported from their site and emptied for the reception of purer ashes." He instances those of Innocent II. and Clement XII., "which were certainly constructed for heathen tenants."]
[458] [The tombs were looted, according to Hobhouse (ibid., p. 173), "either to gather the necessary relics for churches dedicated to Christian saints or martyrs, or" (a more likely theory) "with the hope of discovering the valuables ... buried with the deceased. The sarcophagi were sometimes moved from their original locations and emptied to hold purer ashes." He mentions those of Innocent II. and Clement XII., "which were definitely made for non-Christian occupants."]
[460] [The Goths besieged and sacked Rome under Alaric, A.D. 410, and Totila, 546. Other barbarian invaders—Genseric, a Vandal, 455; Ricimer, a Sueve, 472; Vitiges, a Dalmatian, 537; Arnulph, a Lombard, 756—may come under the head of "Goth." "The Christian," "from motives of fanaticism"—Theodosius, for instance, in 426; and Stilicho, who burned the Sibylline books—despoiled, mutilated, and pulled down temples. Subsequently, popes, too numerous to mention, laid violent hands on the temples for purposes of repair, construction, and ornamentation of Christian churches. More than once ancient structures were converted into cannon-balls. There were, too, Christian invaders and sackers of Rome: Robert Guiscard (Hofmann calls him Wiscardus), in 1004; Frederic Barbarossa, in 1167; the Connétable de Bourbon, in 1527, may be instanced. "Time and War" speak for themselves. For "Flood," vide supra. As for "Fire," during the years 1082-84 the Emperor Henry IV. burnt "a great part of the Leonine city;" and Guiscard "burnt the town from the Flaminian gate to the Antonine column, and laid waste the Esquiline to the Lateran; thence he set fire to the region from that church to the Coliseum and the Capitol." Of earthquakes Byron says nothing; but there were earthquakes, e.g. in 422 and 1349. Another foe, a destroying angel who "wasteth at noonday," modern improvement, had not yet opened a seventh seal. (See Historical Illustrations, pp. 91-168.)]
[460] [The Goths besieged and sacked Rome under Alaric in A.D. 410 and Totila in 546. Other barbarian invaders—Genseric, a Vandal in 455; Ricimer, a Sueve in 472; Vitiges, a Dalmatian in 537; Arnulph, a Lombard in 756—can also be categorized as "Goths." "The Christian," motivated by fanaticism—like Theodosius in 426 and Stilicho, who burned the Sibylline books—looted, mutilated, and demolished temples. Later, popes, too numerous to list, violently impacted these temples for the repair, construction, and decoration of Christian churches. More than once, ancient structures ended up as cannonballs. There were also Christian invaders and plunderers of Rome: Robert Guiscard (Hofmann calls him Wiscardus) in 1004; Frederic Barbarossa in 1167; and the Connétable de Bourbon in 1527 can be mentioned. "Time and War" speak for themselves. For "Flood," see above. As for "Fire," during 1082-84, Emperor Henry IV burned "a significant part of the Leonine city"; and Guiscard "burned the town from the Flaminian gate to the Antonine column and devastated the Esquiline to the Lateran; then he set fire to the area from that church to the Coliseum and the Capitol." Byron says nothing about earthquakes, but there were earthquakes, for example, in 422 and 1349. Another adversary, a destructive force that "devastates at noonday," modern progress had not yet opened a seventh seal. (See Historical Illustrations, pp. 91-168.)]
[461] [Compare Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, "Prophecy of Capys," stanza xxx.—
[461] [Compare Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, "Prophecy of Capys," stanza xxx.—
Who sees Rome's brightest day, Who sees that grand victory parade Chill along the Sacred Way,
And through the loud Forum,
And around the Suppliant's Grove,
To the eternal gates Of Capitolian Jove."]
[462] [The construction is harsh and puzzling. Apparently the subject of "hath wrapt" is the "double night of ages;" the subjects of "wrap," the "night of ages" and the "night of Ignorance;" but, even so, the sentence is ambiguous. Not less amazing is the confusion of metaphors. Rome is a "desert," through which we steer, mounted, presumably, on a camel—the "ship of the desert." Mistaken associations are, as it were, stumbling-blocks; and no sooner have we verified an association, discovered a ruined temple in the exact site which Livy's "pictured page" has assigned to it—a discovery as welcome to the antiquarian as water to the thirsty traveller—than our theory is upset, and we perceive that we have been deluded by a mirage.]
[462] [The writing is tough to understand and confusing. It seems that the subject of "hath wrapt" refers to the "double night of ages;" the subjects of "wrap" include the "night of ages" and the "night of Ignorance;" but even so, the sentence is unclear. Equally surprising is the mix-up of metaphors. Rome is described as a "desert," where we navigate, presumably riding on a camel—the "ship of the desert." Misguided connections are like obstacles; and just when we've affirmed a connection, uncovering a ruined temple exactly where Livy's "pictured page" describes it—a discovery as refreshing to the historian as water to a thirsty traveler—our theory falls apart, and we realize we’ve been misled by an illusion.]
And Virgil's lines; the beginning and the end must be
Her Resurrection——.—[MS. M.]
[464] Certainly, were it not for these two traits in the life of Sylla, alluded to in this stanza, we should regard him as a monster unredeemed by any admirable quality. The atonement of his voluntary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by us, as it seems to have satisfied the Romans, who if they had not respected must have destroyed him. There could be no mean, no division of opinion; they must have all thought, like Eucrates, that what had appeared ambition was a love of glory, and that what had been mistaken for pride was a real grandeur of soul.—("Seigneur, vous changez toutes mes idées, de la façon dont je vous vois agir. Je croyois que vous aviez de l'ambition, mais aucun amour pour la gloire; je voyois bien que votre âme étoit haute; mais je ne soupçonnois pas qu'elle fut grande."—Dialogue de Sylla et d'Eucrate.) Considérations ... de la Grandeur des Romains, etc., Paris, 1795, ii. 219. By Charles de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu.
[464] Certainly, if it weren't for these two traits in Sylla's life mentioned in this stanza, we would see him as a monster without any redeeming qualities. The atonement of his voluntary resignation from power may perhaps be accepted by us, as it seems to have satisfied the Romans, who, if they had not respected him, would have destroyed him. There could be no middle ground, no division of opinion; they must have all thought, like Eucrates, that what looked like ambition was actually a love of glory, and that what was mistaken for pride was a true greatness of spirit.—("Sir, you are changing all my ideas by the way I see you act. I thought you had ambition, but no love for glory; I could see that your soul was elevated, but I didn't suspect it was great."—Dialogue de Sylla et d'Eucrate.) Considérations ... de la Grandeur des Romains, etc., Paris, 1795, ii. 219. By Charles de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu.
[Stanza lxxxiii. indicates the following events in the life of Sulla. In B.C. 81 he assumed the name of Felix (or, according to Plutarch, Epaphroditus, Plut, Vitæ, 1812, iv. 287), (line 1). Five years before this, B.C. 86, during the consulship of Marius and Cinna, his party had been overthrown, and his regulations annulled; but he declined to return to Italy until he had brought the war against Mithridates to a successful conclusion, B.C. 83 (lines 3-6). In B.C. 81 he was appointed dictator (line 7), and B.C. 79 he resigned his dictatorship and retired into private life (line 9).]
[Stanza lxxxiii. highlights significant events in Sulla's life. In B.C. 81, he took on the name Felix (or, as Plutarch states, Epaphroditus, Plut, Vitæ, 1812, iv. 287), (line 1). Five years earlier, in B.C. 86, during the consuls Marius and Cinna's tenure, his faction was defeated, and his laws were revoked; however, he chose not to return to Italy until he had successfully finished the war against Mithridates in B.C. 83 (lines 3-6). In B.C. 81, he was named dictator (line 7), and in B.C. 79, he stepped down from his dictatorship and went back to private life (line 9).]
or, In self-made sackcloth, Rome should be laid like this.—
[MS. M. erased.]
or, The sound of his wings was hailed as Almighty.—[MS. M. erased.]
The most capable Usurper—Cromwell—he
Who took down the Senate while he built the Throne
Face to face with a block—an immortal Villain! Look
What crimes, etc.
[465] On the 3rd of September Cromwell gained the victory of Dunbar [1650]; a year afterwards he obtained "his crowning mercy" of Worcester [1651]; and a few years after [1658], on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, died.
[465] On September 3rd, Cromwell won the Battle of Dunbar [1650]; a year later, he achieved "his crowning mercy" at Worcester [1651]; and a few years later [1658], on that same day, which he always regarded as the luckiest for him, he died.
[466] {395} [The statue of Pompey in the Sala dell' Udinanza of the Palazzo Spada is no doubt a portrait, and belongs to the close of the Republican period. It cannot, however, with any certainty be identified with the statue in the Curia, at whose base "great Cæsar fell." (See Antike Bildwerke in Rom., F. Matz, F. von Duhn, i. 309.)]
[466] {395} [The statue of Pompey in the Sala dell' Udinanza of the Palazzo Spada is definitely a portrait from the late Republican period. However, it can't be confidently identified as the statue in the Curia, where "great Cæsar fell." (See Antike Bildwerke in Rom., F. Matz, F. von Duhn, i. 309.)]
[467] {396} [The bronze "Wolf of the Capitol" in the Palace of the Conservators is unquestionably ancient, belonging to the end of the sixth or beginning of the fifth century B.C., and probably of Græco-Italian workmanship. The twins, as Winckelmann pointed out (see Hobhouse's note), are modern, and were added under the impression that this was the actual bronze described by Cicero, Cat., iii. 8, and Virgil, Æn., viii. 631. (See Monuments de l'Art Antique, par Olivier Rayet, Paris, 1884, Livraison II, Planche 7.)]
[467] {396} [The bronze "Wolf of the Capitol" in the Palace of the Conservators is definitely ancient, dating from the end of the sixth or the beginning of the fifth century B.C., and is likely of Græco-Italian origin. The twins, as Winckelmann noted (see Hobhouse's note), are modern additions and were included under the assumption that this was the bronze mentioned by Cicero, Cat., iii. 8, and Virgil, Æn., viii. 631. (See Monuments de l'Art Antique, par Olivier Rayet, Paris, 1884, Livraison II, Planche 7.)]
[468] [The Roman "things" whom the world feared, set the fashion of shedding their blood in the pursuit of glory. The nations, of modern Europe, "bastard" Romans, have followed their example.]
[468] [The Roman "warriors" that the world feared established the trend of spilling blood in the quest for glory. The nations of modern Europe, "descendant" Romans, have followed their lead.]
[470] [In Comparison of the Present State of France with that of Rome, etc., published in the Morning Post, September 21, 1802, Coleridge speaks of Buonaparte as the "new Cæsar," but qualifies the expression in a note: "But if reserve, if darkness, if the employment of spies and informers, if an indifference to all religions, except as instruments of state policy, with a certain strange and dark superstition respecting fate, a blind confidence in his destinies,—if these be any part of the Chief Consul's character, they would force upon us, even against our will, the name and history of Tiberius."—Essays on His Own Times, ii. 481.]
[470] [In Comparison of the Present State of France with that of Rome, etc., published in the Morning Post, September 21, 1802, Coleridge refers to Buonaparte as the "new Cæsar," but adds a note to clarify: "However, if traits like secrecy, a reliance on spies and informers, a disregard for all religions except as tools for state affairs, along with a peculiar and unsettling belief in fate and a blind faith in his own destiny—if these characteristics define the Chief Consul, then we would be compelled, even unwillingly, to associate him with the name and history of Tiberius."—Essays on His Own Times, ii. 481.]
[471] [According to Suetonius, i. 37, the famous words, Veni Vidi, Vici, were blazoned on litters in the triumphal procession which celebrated Cæsar's victory over Pharnaces II., after the battle of Zela (B.C. 47).]
[471] [According to Suetonius, i. 37, the well-known phrase, Veni Vidi, Vici, was displayed on litters during the triumphal parade that celebrated Caesar's victory over Pharnaces II. after the battle of Zela (B.C. 47).]
[473] {399} ——"Omnes poene veteres; qui nihil cognosci, nihil percipi, nihil sciri posse dixerunt; augustos sensus, imbecillos animos, brevia curricula vitar, et (ut Democritus) in profundo veritatem esse demersam; opinionibus et institutis omnia teneri; nihil veritati relinqui: deinceps omnia tenebris circumfusa esse dixerunt."—Academ., lib. I. cap. 12. The eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since Cicero wrote this, have not removed any of the imperfections of humanity: and the complaints of the ancient philosophers may, without injustice or affectation, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday.
[473] {399} ——"Almost all the old thinkers said that nothing could be known, nothing could be understood, nothing could be proven; they described lofty feelings, weak minds, brief life spans, and (like Democritus) stated that truth is submerged in deep waters; that everything is held by opinions and beliefs; that nothing is left to truth: and that from then on, everything is shrouded in darkness."—Academ., book I, chapter 12. The eighteen hundred years since Cicero wrote this have not alleviated any of humanity's flaws, and the grievances of the ancient philosophers can, without any exaggeration or pretension, be echoed in a poem written yesterday.
[474] [Compare Gray's Elegy, stanza xv.—
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ [Compare Gray's Elegy, stanza 15.—
The deep, mysterious caves of the ocean hold.
[475] [Compare As You Like It, act ii. sc. 7, lines 26-28—
[475] [Compare As You Like It, act ii. sc. 7, lines 26-28—
And then, from hour to hour, we decay and decay;
And that's a story.
or, Leaving behind their beaten souls until they pass away.—
[MS. M. erased.]
[476] [In his speech On the Continuance of the War with France, which Pitt delivered in the House of Commons, February 17, 1800, he described Napoleon as "the child and champion of Jacobinism." At least the phrase occurs in the report which Coleridge prepared for the Morning Post of February 18, 1800, and it appears in the later edition in the Collection of Pitt's speeches. "It does not occur in the speech as reported by the Times." It is curious that in the jottings which Coleridge, Parliamentary reporter pro hac vice, scrawled in pencil in his note-book, the phrase appears as "the nursling and champion of Jacobinism;" and it is possible that the alternative of the more rhetorical but less forcible "child" was the poet's handiwork. It became a current phrase, and Coleridge more than once reverts to it in the articles which he contributed to the Morning Post in 1802. (See Essays on His Own Times, ii. 293, and iii. 1009-1019; and Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1895, i. 327, note.)]
[476] [In his speech On the Continuance of the War with France, which Pitt delivered in the House of Commons on February 17, 1800, he described Napoleon as "the child and champion of Jacobinism." At least that phrase appears in the report Coleridge prepared for the Morning Post on February 18, 1800, and it shows up in the later edition of the Collection of Pitt's speeches. "It does not show in the speech as reported by the Times." It's interesting that in the notes Coleridge, the Parliamentary reporter pro hac vice, jotted down in pencil in his notebook, the phrase is written as "the nursling and champion of Jacobinism;" and it's possible that the more rhetorical but less impactful "child" was the poet’s choice. It became a popular phrase, and Coleridge referred to it several times in the articles he contributed to the Morning Post in 1802. (See Essays on His Own Times, ii. 293, and iii. 1009-1019; and Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1895, i. 327, note.)]
[478] [Compare Shelley's Hellas: Poems, 1895, ii. 358—
[478] [Compare Shelley's Hellas: Poems, 1895, ii. 358—
Killing its flowers and leaving its thorns exposed!"]
[480] Alluding to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called Capo di Bove. [Four words, and two initials, compose the whole of the transcription which, whatever was its ancient position, is now placed in front of this towering sepulchre: "Cæciliæ. Q. Cretici. F. Metellæ. Crassi."
[480] Referring to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, known as Capo di Bove. [Four words and two initials make up the entire inscription, which, regardless of where it originally was, is now located in front of this impressive tomb: "Cecilia. Quintus Creticus. Son of Metellus. Crassus."
"The Savelli family were in possession of the fortress in 1312, and the German army of Henry VII. marched from Rome, attacked, took, and burnt it, but were unable to make themselves, by force, masters of the citadel—that is, the tomb." The "fence of stone" refers to the quadrangular basement of concrete, on which the circular tower rests. The tower was originally coated with marble, which was stripped off for the purpose of making lime. The work of destruction is said to have been carried out during the interval between Poggio's (see his De Fort. Var., ap. Sall., Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., 1735, i. 501, sq.) first and second visits to Rome. (See Hobhouse's Hist. Illust., pp. 202, 203; Handbook for Rome, p. 360.)]
"The Savelli family owned the fortress in 1312, and the German army of Henry VII marched from Rome, attacked it, took it, and burned it, but they couldn't force their way into the citadel—that is, the tomb." The "stone fence" refers to the rectangular concrete base on which the circular tower stands. The tower was originally covered in marble, which was removed to make lime. This destruction is said to have occurred during the time between Poggio's (see his De Fort. Var., ap. Sall., Nov. Thes. Ant. Rom., 1735, i. 501, sq.) first and second visits to Rome. (See Hobhouse's Hist. Illust., pp. 202, 203; Handbook for Rome, p. 360.)
Dying isn’t shameful, but dying in a shameful way is.
Gnomici Poetæ Græci, R. F. P. Brunck, 1784, p. 231.
Gnomici Poetæ Græci, R. F. P. Brunck, 1784, p. 231.
[482] {405} ["It is more likely to have been the pride than the love of Crassus which raised so superb a memorial to a wife whose name is not mentioned in history, unless she be supposed to be that lady whose intimacy with Dolabella was so offensive to Tullia, the daughter of Cicero, or she who was divorced by Lentulus Spinther, or she, perhaps the same person, from whose ear the son of Æsopus transferred a precious jewel to enrich his daughter (vide Hor., Sat., ii. 3. 239)" (Hist. Illust., p. 200). The wealth of Crassus was proverbial, as his agnomen, Dives, testifies (Plut., Crassus, ii., iii., Lipsiæ, 1813, v. 156, sq.).]
[482] {405} ["It seems more likely that it was Crassus's pride rather than his love that led him to create such a magnificent memorial for a wife whose name isn't recorded in history, unless she is thought to be the woman whose close relationship with Dolabella upset Tullia, Cicero's daughter, or the one who was divorced by Lentulus Spinther, or perhaps the same woman from whom the son of Æsopus took a valuable jewel to give to his daughter (see Hor., Sat., ii. 3. 239)" (Hist. Illust., p. 200). Crassus's wealth was legendary, as his nickname, Dives, indicates (Plut., Crassus, ii., iii., Lipsiæ, 1813, v. 156, sq.).]
with a heated mind
[oe] I have no home——.—[MS. M.]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ I have no home——.—[MS. M.]
For a long time, the seat of Rome was discovered here. Less than enough (the brood was so monstrous
Born there, strong as a titan, to stay One in his madness; and write my name—
My name and date, written on a wide aloe leaf
That shoots and spreads within those very walls. Where Virgil read his divine story aloud,
When his voice wavered and a mother cried Tears of joy!
And compare Shelley's Poetical Works, 1895, iii. 276—
And check out Shelley's Poetical Works, 1895, iii. 276—
Nature is eternally alive.
[*] [At the words Tu Marcellus eris, etc. (vide Tib. Cl. Donatus, Life of Virgil (Virg., Opera), Leeuwarden, 1627, vol. i.).]
[*] [At the words Tu Marcellus eris, etc. (see Tib. Cl. Donatus, Life of Virgil (Virg., Opera), Leeuwarden, 1627, vol. i.).]
[484] The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled brickwork. Nothing has been told—nothing can be told—to satisfy the belief of any but the Roman antiquary. [The Palatine was the site of the successive "Domus" of Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula, and of the Domus Transitoria of Nero, which perished when Rome was burnt. Later emperors—Vespasian, Domitian, Septimius Severus—added to the splendour of the name-giving Palatine. "The troops of Genseric," says Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., p. 206), "occupied the Palatine, and despoiled it of all its riches... and when it again rises, it rises in ruins." Systematic excavations during the last fifty years have laid bare much that was hidden, and "learning and research" have in parts revealed the "obliterated plan;" but, in 1817, the "shapeless mass of ruins" defied the guesses of antiquarians. "Your walks in the Palatine ruins ... will be undisturbed, unless you startle a fox in breaking through the brambles in the corridors, or burst unawares through the hole of some shivered fragments into one of the half-buried chambers, which the peasants have blocked up to serve as stalls for their jackasses, or as huts for those who watch the gardens" (Hist. Illust., p. 212).]
[484] The Palatine is just a mass of ruins, especially on the side facing the Circus Maximus. The ground itself is made up of crumbled bricks. Nothing has been shared—or can be shared—that would satisfy anyone except a Roman history enthusiast. [The Palatine was home to the successive "houses" of Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula, along with Nero's Domus Transitoria, which was destroyed in the great fire of Rome. Later emperors—Vespasian, Domitian, and Septimius Severus—added to the grandeur of the Palatine. "The troops of Genseric," remarks Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., p. 206), "occupied the Palatine and stripped it of all its wealth... and when it rises again, it rises in ruins." Systematic excavations over the last fifty years have uncovered much that was hidden, and "learning and research" have partially revealed the "lost layout;" but in 1817, the "formless mass of ruins" baffled the speculation of historians. "Your walks through the Palatine ruins ... will be peaceful, unless you startle a fox by pushing through the brambles in the corridors, or stumble unexpectedly into a half-buried room that locals have blocked up to use as stalls for their donkeys or as huts for those tending the gardens" (Hist. Illust., p. 212).]
[485] {408} The author of the Life of Cicero, speaking of the opinion entertained of Britain by that orator and his contemporary Romans, has the following eloquent passage:—"From their railleries of this kind, on the barbarity and misery of our island, one cannot help reflecting on the surprising fate and revolutions of kingdoms; how Rome, once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire, and glory, now lies sunk in sloth, ignorance, and poverty; enslaved to the most cruel as well as to the most contemptible of tyrants, superstition and religious imposture; while this remote country, anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become the happy seat of liberty, plenty, and letters; flourishing in all the arts and refinements of civil life; yet running, perhaps, the same course which Rome itself had run before it, from virtuous industry to wealth; from wealth to luxury; from luxury to an impatience of discipline and corruption of morals: till, by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey at last to some hardy oppressor, and, with the loss of liberty, losing everything that is valuable, sinks gradually again into its original barbarism." (See Life of M. Tullius Cicero, by Conyers Middleton, D.D., 1823, sect. vi. vol. i. pp. 399, 400.)
[485] {408} The author of the Life of Cicero, discussing what Cicero and his fellow Romans thought about Britain, includes this powerful statement:—"From their jokes about the barbarism and suffering of our island, one can't help but think about the incredible fate and changes of nations; how Rome, once the ruler of the world, the center of culture, power, and greatness, now lies in laziness, ignorance, and poverty; enslaved to the most brutal as well as the most pathetic of oppressors, superstition and deceitful religion; while this distant land, once the target of scorn and ridicule by educated Romans, has become a fortunate place of freedom, abundance, and intellectual achievements; thriving in all the arts and refinements of civilized life; yet possibly following the same path that Rome took before it—from hardworking virtue to wealth; from wealth to extravagance; from extravagance to a disregard for discipline and moral decay: until, through complete degradation and the loss of virtue, it becomes ripe for destruction, ultimately falling victim to a daring oppressor, and, with the loss of freedom, losing everything that matters, gradually sinking back into its original barbarism." (See Life of M. Tullius Cicero, by Conyers Middleton, D.D., 1823, sect. vi. vol. i. pp. 399, 400.)
And the Sun's rays shone with even more dazzling flames.—[MS. M.]
[486] [The "golden roofs" were those of Nero's Domus Aurea, which extended from the north-west corner of the Palatine to the Gardens of Mæcenas, on the Esquiline, spreading over the sites of the Temple of Vesta and Rome on the platform of the Velia, the Colosseum, and the Thermæ of Titus, as far as the Sette Sale. "In the fore court was the colossal statue of Nero. The pillars of the colonnade, which measured a thousand feet in length, stood three deep. All that was not lake, or wood, or vineyard, or pasture, was overlaid with plates of gold, picked out with gems and mother-of-pearl" (Suetonius, vi. 31; Tacitus, Ann., xv. 42). Substructions of the Domus Aurea have been discovered on the site of the Baths of Titus and elsewhere, but not on the Palatine itself. Martial, Epig. 695 (Lib. Spect., ii.), celebrates Vespasian's restitution of the Domus Aurea and its "policies" to the people of Rome.
[486] [The "golden roofs" were from Nero's Domus Aurea, which stretched from the northwest corner of the Palatine to the Gardens of Mæcenas on the Esquiline, covering the sites of the Temple of Vesta and Rome on the Velia platform, the Colosseum, and the Baths of Titus, reaching as far as the Sette Sale. "In the front courtyard stood a massive statue of Nero. The pillars of the colonnade, measuring a thousand feet in length, were three deep. Everything that wasn't lake, wood, vineyard, or pasture was covered with plates of gold, adorned with gems and mother-of-pearl" (Suetonius, vi. 31; Tacitus, Ann., xv. 42). Foundations of the Domus Aurea have been found at the site of the Baths of Titus and elsewhere, but not on the Palatine itself. Martial, Epig. 695 (Lib. Spect., ii.), praises Vespasian's restoration of the Domus Aurea and its "policies" to the people of Rome.]
Jealous rays shone on the king's halls "Once upon a time, there stood a house in the city."
And towering scaffolds block the public path,
Fell Nero's hated tent shone in the distance,
Standing tall and impressive among the town's decline.
[487] {410} [By the "nameless" column Byron means the column of Phocas, in the Forum. But, as he may have known, it had ceased to be nameless when he visited Rome in 1817. During some excavations which were carried out under the auspices of the Duchess of Devonshire, in 1813, the soil which concealed the base was removed, and an inscription, which attributes the erection of the column to the Exarch Smaragdus, in honour of the Emperor Phocas, A.D. 608, was brought to light. The column was originally surmounted by a gilded statue, but it is probable that both column and statue were stolen from earlier structures and rededicated to Phocas. Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., pp. 240-242) records the discovery, and prints the inscription in extenso.]
[487] {410} [When Byron refers to the "nameless" column, he is talking about the column of Phocas in the Forum. However, it's likely he knew it was no longer nameless by the time he visited Rome in 1817. During excavations led by the Duchess of Devonshire in 1813, the dirt covering the base was removed, revealing an inscription that credits Exarch Smaragdus with erecting the column in honor of Emperor Phocas in A.D. 608. The column originally had a gilded statue on top, but it's likely that both the column and statue were taken from earlier structures and dedicated to Phocas. Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., pp. 240-242) documents the discovery and provides the full inscription in extenso.]
[488] The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter; that of Aurelius by St. Paul. (See Hist. Illust., p. 214.)
[488] The Column of Trajan is topped by St. Peter, while the Column of Aurelius is topped by St. Paul. (See Hist. Illust., p. 214.)
[The column was excavated by Paul III. in the sixteenth century. In 1588 Sixtus V. replaced the bronze statue of Trajan holding a gilded globe, which had originally surmounted the column, by a statue of St. Peter, in gilt bronze. The legend was that Trajan's ashes were contained in the globe. They are said to have been deposited by Hadrian in a golden urn in a vault under the column. It is certain that when Sixtus V. opened the chamber he found it empty. A medal was cast in honour of the erection of the new statue, inscribed with the words of the Magnificat, "Exaltavit humiles."]
[The column was excavated by Paul III in the sixteenth century. In 1588, Sixtus V replaced the bronze statue of Trajan holding a gilded globe, which originally topped the column, with a statue of St. Peter in gilt bronze. The legend claimed that Trajan's ashes were inside the globe. It is said they were placed there by Hadrian in a golden urn in a vault beneath the column. When Sixtus V opened the chamber, he found it empty. A medal was made to honor the erection of the new statue, inscribed with the words of the Magnificat, "Exaltavit humiles."]
[489] {411} Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman princes; and it would be easier to find a sovereign uniting exactly the opposite characteristics, than one possessed of all the happy qualities ascribed to this emperor. "When he mounted the throne," says the historian Dion, "he was strong in body, he was vigorous in mind; age had impaired none of his faculties; he was altogether free from envy and from detraction; he honoured all the good, and he advanced them: and on this account they could not be the objects of his fear, or of his hate; he never listened to informers; he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair exactions and unjust punishments; he had rather be loved as a man than honoured as a sovereign; he was affable with his people, respectful to the senate, and universally beloved by both; he inspired none with dread but the enemies of his country." (See Eutrop., Hist. Rom. Brev. lib. viii. cap. v.; Dion, Hist. Rom., lib. lxiii. caps, vi., vii.)
[489] {411} Trajan was widely regarded as the best of the Roman emperors; it would be easier to find a ruler embodying the complete opposite traits than one with all the admirable qualities attributed to this emperor. "When he took the throne," says the historian Dion, "he was physically strong, mentally sharp; age had not diminished any of his abilities; he was completely free from envy and slander; he respected all good people and helped them thrive: for this reason, they could not be objects of his fear or hatred; he never listened to informers; he didn’t give in to anger; he refrained from unfair taxes and unjust punishments; he preferred to be loved as a person rather than revered as a ruler; he was friendly with his people, respectful to the senate, and adored by both; he inspired fear only in the enemies of his country." (See Eutrop., Hist. Rom. Brev. lib. viii. cap. v.; Dion, Hist. Rom., lib. lxiii. caps, vi., vii.)
[M. Ulpius Trajanus (A.D. 52-117) celebrated a triumph over the Dacians in 103 and 106. It is supposed that the column which stands at the north end of the Forum Trajanum commemorated the Dacian victories. In 115-16 he conquered the Parthians, and added the province of Armenia Minor to the empire. It was not, however, an absolute or a final victory. The little desert stronghold of Atræ, or Hatra, in Mesopotamia, remained uncaptured; and, instead of incorporating the Parthians in the empire, he thought it wiser to leave them to be governed by a native prince under the suzerainty of Rome. His conquests were surrendered by Hadrian, and henceforth the tide of victory began to ebb. He died on his way back to Rome, at Selinus, in Cilicia, in August, 117.
[M. Ulpius Trajanus (A.D. 52-117) celebrated a victory over the Dacians in 103 and 106. It's believed that the column located at the north end of the Forum Trajanum commemorates these Dacian victories. In 115-16, he defeated the Parthians and added the province of Armenia Minor to the empire. However, this wasn't a complete or final victory. The small desert stronghold of Atræ, or Hatra, in Mesopotamia, remained unconquered; instead of fully bringing the Parthians into the empire, he decided it was better to let them be ruled by a local prince under Roman oversight. His conquests were given up by Hadrian, and from that point, the victories began to decline. He died on his way back to Rome, in Selinus, Cilicia, in August, 117.]
Trajan's "moderation was known unto all men." Pliny, in his Panegyricus (xxii.), describes his first entry into Rome. He might have assumed the state of a monarch or popular hero, but he walked afoot, conspicuous, pre-eminent, a head and shoulders above the crowd—a triumphal entry; but it was imperial arrogance, not civil liberty, over which he triumphed. "You were our king," he says, "and we your subjects; but we obeyed you as the embodiment of our laws." Martial (Epig., x. 72) hails him not as a tyrant, but an emperor—yea, more than an emperor—as the most righteous of lawgivers and senators, who had brought back plain Truth to the light of day; and Claudian (viii. 318) maintains that his glory will live, not because the Parthians had been annexed, but because he was "mitis patriæ." The divine honours which he caused to be paid to his adopted father, Nerva, he refused for himself. "For just reasons," says Pliny, "did the Senate and people of Rome assign thee the name and title of Optimus." Another honour awaited him: "Il est seul Empereur," writes M. De La Berge, "dont les restes aient reposé dans l'enceinte de la ville Eternelle." (See Pliny's Panegyricus, passim; and Essai sur le règne de Trajan, Bibliothèque de L'Ecole des Hautes Études, Paris, 1877.)]
Trajan's "moderation was known to all." Pliny, in his Panegyricus (xxii.), describes his first entry into Rome. He could have acted like a king or a popular hero, but he walked on foot, standing out, tall and prominent, a head and shoulders above the crowd—a triumphant entry; yet it was imperial arrogance, not civil liberty, that he celebrated. "You were our king," he says, "and we your subjects; but we followed you as the embodiment of our laws." Martial (Epig., x. 72) greets him not as a tyrant, but as an emperor—indeed, more than an emperor—as the most righteous of lawgivers and senators, who had restored plain Truth to the forefront; and Claudian (viii. 318) asserts that his glory will endure, not because of the annexation of the Parthians, but because he was "mitis patriæ." The divine honors he arranged for his adopted father, Nerva, he declined for himself. "For just reasons," says Pliny, "the Senate and people of Rome bestowed upon you the name and title of Optimus." Another honor awaited him: "Il est seul Empereur," writes M. De La Berge, "dont les restes aient reposé dans l'enceinte de la ville Eternelle." (See Pliny's Panegyricus, passim; and Essai sur le règne de Trajan, Bibliothèque de L'Ecole des Hautes Études, Paris, 1877.)
[490] {412} [The archæologists of Byron's day were unable to fix the exact site of the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline. "On which side," asks Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., p. 224), "stood the citadel, on what the great temple of the Capitol; and did the temple stand in the citadel?" Excavations which were carried on in 1876-7 by Professors Jordan and Lanciani enabled them to identify with "tolerable certainty" the site of the central temple and its adjacent wings, with the site of the Palazzo Caffarelli and its dependencies which occupy the south-east section of the Mons Capitolinus. There are still, however, rival Tarpeian Rocks—one (in the Vicolo della Rupe Tarpea) on the western edge of the hill facing the Tiber, and the other (near the Casa Tarpea) on the south-east towards the Palatine. But if Dionysius, who describes the "Traitor's Leap" as being in sight of the Forum, is to be credited, the "actual precipice" from which traitors (and other criminals, e.g. "bearers of false witness") were thrown must have been somewhere on the southern and now less precipitous escarpment of the mount.]
[490] {412} [The archaeologists of Byron's time couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline Hill. "On which side," asks Hobhouse (Hist. Illust., p. 224), "was the citadel, where was the great temple of the Capitol; and did the temple stand in the citadel?" Excavations conducted in 1876-77 by Professors Jordan and Lanciani allowed them to identify with "reasonable certainty" the location of the central temple and its adjoining wings, along with the site of the Palazzo Caffarelli and its surrounding areas, which occupy the southeast part of the Mons Capitolinus. However, there are still two competing Tarpeian Rocks—one (in the Vicolo della Rupe Tarpea) on the western edge of the hill facing the Tiber, and the other (near the Casa Tarpea) on the southeast towards the Palatine. But if Dionysius, who describes the "Traitor's Leap" as being visible from the Forum, is to be believed, then the "actual precipice" from which traitors (and other criminals, like "bearers of false witness") were thrown must have been somewhere on the southern and now less steep slope of the hill.]
[491] [M. Manlius, who saved the Capitol from the Gauls in B.C. 390, was afterwards (B.C. 384) arraigned on a charge of high treason by the patricians, condemned, and by order of the tribunes thrown down the Tarpeian Rock. Livy (vi. 20) credits him with a "foeda cupiditas regni"—a "depraved ambition for assuming the kingly power."]
[491] [M. Manlius, who defended the Capitol against the Gauls in 390 BC, was later (in 384 BC) brought up on charges of treason by the patricians, found guilty, and, by the order of the tribunes, thrown off the Tarpeian Rock. Livy (vi. 20) attributes to him a "foeda cupiditas regni"—a "corrupt ambition for seizing royal power."]
Yes—still eloquently—the echoes tell me that.—[D.]
[493] {414} [Nicolas Gabrino di' Rienzo, or Rienzi, commonly called Cola di' Rienzi, was born in 1313. The son of a Roman innkeeper, he owed his name and fame to his own talents and natural gifts. His mission, or, perhaps, ambition, was to free Rome from the tyranny and oppression of the great nobles, and to establish once more "the good estate," that is, a republic. This for a brief period Rienzi accomplished. On May 20, 1347, he was proclaimed tribune and liberator of the Holy Roman Republic "by the authority of the most merciful Lord Jesus Christ." Of great parts, and inspired by lofty aims, he was a poor creature at heart—a "bastard" Napoleon—and success seems to have turned his head. After eight months of royal splendour, purchased by more than royal exactions, the tide of popular feeling turned against him, and he was forced to take refuge in the Castle of St. Angelo (December 15, 1347). Years of wandering and captivity followed his first tribunate; but at length, in 1354, he was permitted to return to Rome, and, once again, after a rapid and successful reduction of the neighbouring states, he became the chief power in the state. But an act of violence, accompanied by treachery, and, above all, the necessity of imposing heavier taxes than the city could bear, roused popular discontent; and during a revolt (October 8, 1354), after a dastardly attempt to escape and conceal himself, he was recognized by the crowd and stabbed to death.
[493] {414} [Nicolas Gabrino di' Rienzo, or Rienzi, often called Cola di' Rienzi, was born in 1313. The son of a Roman innkeeper, he gained his name and fame through his own talents and natural abilities. His mission, or maybe his ambition, was to free Rome from the tyranny and oppression of the powerful nobles, and to restore “the good estate,” meaning a republic. For a brief time, Rienzi achieved this. On May 20, 1347, he was announced as tribune and liberator of the Holy Roman Republic “by the authority of the most merciful Lord Jesus Christ.” Very capable and driven by noble goals, he was ultimately a weak person— a “bastard” Napoleon—and it seems that success went to his head. After eight months of royal splendor, bought with more than royal demands, public opinion turned against him, forcing him to seek refuge in the Castle of St. Angelo (December 15, 1347). Years of wandering and imprisonment followed his first term as tribune; but finally, in 1354, he was allowed to return to Rome, and once again, after quickly and successfully conquering the neighboring states, he became the main power in the government. However, an act of violence, accompanied by betrayal, and, above all, the need to impose heavier taxes than the city could handle, stirred public discontent; and during a revolt (October 8, 1354), after a cowardly attempt to escape and hide, he was recognized by the crowd and stabbed to death.]
Petrarch first made his acquaintance in 1340, when he was summoned to Rome to be crowned as poet laureate. Afterwards, when Rienzi was imprisoned at Avignon, Petrarch interceded on his behalf with the pope, but, for a time, in vain. He believed in and shared his enthusiasms; and it is probable that the famous Canzone, "Spirto gentil, che quelle membra reggi," was addressed to the Last of the Tribunes.
Petrarch first got to know him in 1340 when he was called to Rome to be crowned as poet laureate. Later, when Rienzi was imprisoned in Avignon, Petrarch pleaded for him with the pope, but for a while, it was without success. He believed in and shared his passions; and it’s likely that the famous Canzone, "Spirto gentil, che quelle membra reggi," was written for the Last of the Tribunes.
Rienzi's story forms the subject of a tragedy by Gustave Drouineau, which was played at the Odéon, January 28, 1826; of Bulwer Lytton's novel The Last of the Tribunes, which was published in 1835; and of an opera (1842) by Richard Wagner.
Rienzi's story is the basis for a tragedy by Gustave Drouineau, which was performed at the Odéon on January 28, 1826; for Bulwer Lytton's novel The Last of the Tribunes, published in 1835; and for an opera (1842) by Richard Wagner.
(See Encyc. Met., art. "Rome," by Professor Villari; La Rousse, G. Dict. Univ., art. "Rienzi;" and a curious pamphlet by G. W. Meadley, London, 1821, entitled Two Pairs of Historical Portraits, in which an attempt is made to trace a minute resemblance between the characters and careers of Rienzi and the First Napoleon.)]
(See Encyc. Met., article "Rome," by Professor Villari; La Rousse, G. Dict. Univ., article "Rienzi;" and an interesting pamphlet by G. W. Meadley, London, 1821, called Two Pairs of Historical Portraits, where an effort is made to highlight a close resemblance between the characters and lives of Rienzi and the First Napoleon.)
[494] {415} [The word "nympholepsy" may be paraphrased as "ecstatic vision." The Greeks feigned that one who had seen a nymph was henceforth possessed by her image, and beside himself with longing for an impossible ideal. Compare stanza cxxii. line 7—"The unreached Paradise of our despair." Compare, too, Kubla Khan, lines 52, 53—
[494] {415} [The term "nympholepsy" can be rephrased as "ecstatic vision." The Greeks believed that anyone who had seen a nymph would be forever haunted by her image, driven mad with longing for an unattainable ideal. See stanza cxxii, line 7—"The unreachable Paradise of our despair." Also, check Kubla Khan, lines 52, 53—
And drank the milk of Paradise."]
[495] {416} [Byron is describing the so-called Grotto of Egeria, which is situated a little to the left of the Via Appia, about two miles to the south-east of the Porta di Sebastiano: "Here, beside the Almo rivulet [now the Maranna d. Caffarella], is a ruined nymphæum ... which was called the 'Grotto of Egeria,' till ... the discovery of the true site of the Porta Capena fixed that of the grotto within the walls.... It is now known that this nymphæum ... belonged to the suburban villa called Triopio of Herodes Atticus." The actual site of Egeria's fountain is in the grounds of the Villa Mattei, to the south-east of the Cælian, and near the Porta Metronia. "It was buried, in 1867, by the military engineers, while building their new hospital near S. Stefano Rotondo" (Prof. Lanciani).
[495] {416} [Byron is talking about the Grotto of Egeria, located just a bit to the left of the Via Appia, about two miles southeast of the Porta di Sebastiano: "Here, next to the Almo stream [now the Maranna d. Caffarella], is a ruined nymphæum... which was called the 'Grotto of Egeria' until... the true location of the Porta Capena was discovered, placing the grotto within the city walls.... It is now known that this nymphæum... belonged to the suburban villa called Triopio of Herodes Atticus." The actual site of Egeria's fountain is on the grounds of the Villa Mattei, southeast of the Cælian, and near the Porta Metronia. "It was buried in 1867 by military engineers while building their new hospital near S. Stefano Rotondo" (Prof. Lanciani).
In lines 5-9 Byron is recalling Juvenal's description of the valley of Egeria, under the mistaken impression that here, and not by "dripping Capena," was the trysting-place of Numa and the goddess. Juvenal has accompanied the seer Umbritius, who was leaving Rome for Capua, as far as the Porta Capena; and while the one waggon, with its slender store of goods, is being loaded, the friends take a stroll—
In lines 5-9, Byron remembers Juvenal's description of the valley of Egeria, mistakenly thinking that this, and not "dripping Capena," was where Numa and the goddess met. Juvenal had accompanied the seer Umbritius, who was leaving Rome for Capua, as far as the Porta Capena. While one wagon is being loaded with its small amount of goods, the friends take a stroll—
Dissimiles veris. How much better it would be If the water's spirit were to confine the waves with a green edge "Herbs, would they not violate the noble marble?"
Sat. I. iii. 17-20.
Sat. I. iii. 17-20.
The grove and shrine of the sacred fountain, which had been let to the Jews (lines 13-16), are not to be confounded with the "artificial caverns" near Herod's Nymphæum, which Juvenal thought were in bad taste, and Byron rejoiced to find reclaimed and reclothed by Nature.]
The grove and shrine of the sacred fountain, which had been leased to the Jews (lines 13-16), should not be confused with the "artificial caverns" close to Herod's Nymphæum, which Juvenal considered tacky, and Byron was glad to see restored and dressed by Nature.
Looks at the blue sky
Until its color matches what it sees."]
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {418} [Compare Kubla Khan, lines 12, 13—
Down the green hill through a cedar grove!"]
And the sweet sadness of its endless dying.—[MS. M. erased.]
or, And the bittersweet joy that comes with dying.—[MS. M. erased.]
And can indicate your time and place of birth.—[D. erased.]
[499] [M. Darmesteter traces the sentiment to a maxim (No. 76) of La Rochefoucauld: "Il est du véritable amour comme de l'apparition des esprits: tout le monde en parle, mais pen de gens en out vu."]
[499] [M. Darmesteter connects this idea to a saying (No. 76) by La Rochefoucauld: "True love is like the appearance of ghosts: everyone talks about it, but very few have seen it."]
Fretted the pygmy body to decay,
And over-informed the body of clay.
[501] [The Romans had more than one proverb to this effect; e.g. "Amantes Amentes sunt" (Adagia Veterum, 1643, p. 52); "Amare et sapere vix Deo conceditur" (Syri Sententiæ. 1818, p. 5).]
[501] [The Romans had several proverbs that conveyed this idea; for example, "Amantes Amentes sunt" (Adagia Veterum, 1643, p. 52); "Amare et sapere vix Deo conceditur" (Syri Sententiæ. 1818, p. 5).]
[502] [Circumstance is personified as halting Nemesis—"Pede poena claudo." Hor., Odes, III. ii. 32.
[502] [Circumstance is portrayed as stopping Nemesis—"The punishment limps." Hor., Odes, III. ii. 32.
Perhaps, too, there is the underlying thought of his own lameness, of Mary Chaworth, and of all that might have been, if the "unspiritual God" had willed otherwise.]
Perhaps, too, there’s the nagging thought of his own disability, of Mary Chaworth, and of everything that could have happened if the "unspiritual God" had decided differently.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {422} [Compare Milton's Samson Agonistes, lines 617-621—
As a chronic illness,
But, unable to find a solution, they seethe with anger and frustration; No less than incurable wounds Rankle."]
[504] "At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions [Sir William Drummond], "I trust, whatever may be the fate of my own speculations, that philosophy will regain that estimation which it ought to possess. The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been the theme of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of Englishmen, and the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we then forget the manly and dignified sentiments of our ancestors, to prate in the language of the mother or the nurse about our good old prejudices? This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. It was not thus that our fathers maintained it in the brilliant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other: he, who will not reason, is a bigot; he, who cannot, is a fool; and he, who dares not, is a slave."—Vol. i. pp. xiv., xv.
[504] "In any case," says the author of the Academical Questions [Sir William Drummond], "I hope that, regardless of what happens to my own ideas, philosophy will reclaim the respect it deserves. The free and philosophical spirit of our nation has been admired worldwide. This was the proud distinction of Englishmen and the bright source of all their glory. Should we then forget the strong and dignified views of our ancestors in favor of the comforting words of our mothers or nurses about our nice old biases? This isn’t how we defend the truth. Our forefathers didn’t protect it this way during the great times in our history. Prejudice may hold the outer defenses for a little while while reason sleeps inside; but if reason falls into a stupor, prejudice will quickly set up its own standard. Philosophy, wisdom, and freedom support one another: he who refuses to reason is a bigot; he who cannot reason is a fool; and he who is afraid to reason is a slave."—Vol. i. pp. xiv., xv.
[For Sir William Drummond (1770-1828), see Letters, 1898, ii. 79, note 3. Byron advised Lady Blessington to read Academical Questions (1805), and instanced the last sentence of this passage "as one of the best in our language" (Conversations, pp. 238, 239).]
[For Sir William Drummond (1770-1828), see Letters, 1898, ii. 79, note 3. Byron recommended that Lady Blessington read Academical Questions (1805), mentioning the last sentence of this passage "as one of the best in our language" (Conversations, pp. 238, 239).]
[506] [Compare The Deformed Transformed, act i. sc. 2, lines 49, 50—
[506] [Compare The Deformed Transformed, act i. sc. 2, lines 49, 50—
"Stacked on top of each other is a never-ending wall."
The first, second, and third stories of the Flavian amphitheatre or Colosseum were built upon arches. Between the arches, eighty to each story or tier, stood three-quarter columns. "Each tier is of a different order of architecture, the lowest being a plain Roman Doric, or perhaps, rather, Tuscan, the next Ionic, and the third Corinthian." The fourth story, which was built by the Emperor Gordianus III., A.D. 244, to take the place of the original wooden gallery (manianum summum in ligneis), which was destroyed by lightning, A.D. 217, was a solid wall faced with Corinthian pilasters, and pierced by forty square windows or openings. It has been conjectured that the alternate spaces between the pilasters were decorated with ornamental metal shields. The openings of the outer arches of the second and third stories were probably decorated with statues. The reverse of an aureus of the reign of Titus represents the Colosseum with these statues and a quadriga in the centre. About one-third of the original structure remains in situ. The prime agent of destruction was probably the earthquake ("Petrarch's earthquake") of September, 1349, when the whole of the western side fell towards the Cælian, and gave rise to a hill or rather to a chain of hills of loose blocks of travertine and tufa, which supplied Rome with building materials for subsequent centuries. As an instance of wholesale spoliation or appropriation, Professor Lanciani refers to "a document published by Müntz, in the Revue Arch., September, 1876," which "certifies that one contractor alone, in the space of only nine months, in 1452, could carry off 2522 cartloads" of travertine (Smith's Dict. of Gr. and Rom. Ant., art. "Amphitheatrum;" Ruins and Excavations of Ancient Rome, by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 375).]
The first, second, and third stories of the Flavian amphitheatre, or Colosseum, were built on arches. Between the arches, there were eighty columns for each story or tier. "Each tier features a different architectural order, with the lowest being a simple Roman Doric, or maybe more accurately, Tuscan; the next is Ionic, and the third is Corinthian." The fourth story, built by Emperor Gordianus III in A.D. 244 to replace the original wooden gallery (manianum summum in ligneis), which was destroyed by lightning in A.D. 217, was a solid wall embellished with Corinthian pilasters and had forty square windows or openings. It's been suggested that the spaces between the pilasters might have had ornamental metal shields. The outer arches of the second and third stories were likely decorated with statues. The reverse side of an aureus from Titus's reign depicts the Colosseum with these statues and a quadriga in the center. About one-third of the original structure remains in situ. The main cause of destruction was probably the earthquake ("Petrarch's earthquake") of September 1349 when the entire western side collapsed towards the Cælian, creating a hill, or more accurately, a chain of hills made of loose blocks of travertine and tufa, which provided Rome with building materials for centuries to come. As an example of large-scale looting or appropriation, Professor Lanciani cites "a document published by Müntz in the Revue Arch., September 1876," which "certifies that one contractor alone, in just nine months in 1452, managed to remove 2,522 cartloads" of travertine (Smith's Dict. of Gr. and Rom. Ant., art. "Amphitheatrum;" Ruins and Excavations of Ancient Rome, by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 375).
[507] {424} [For a description of the Colosseum by moonlight, see Goethe's letter from Rome, February 2, 1787 (Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 159): "Of the beauty of a walk through Rome by moonlight, it is impossible to form a conception ... Peculiarly beautiful at such a time is the Coliseum." See, too, Corinne, ou L'Italie, xv. 4, 1819, iii. 32—
[507] {424} [For a description of the Colosseum by moonlight, check out Goethe's letter from Rome, February 2, 1787 (Travels in Italy, 1883, p. 159): "It’s hard to imagine the beauty of a stroll through Rome by moonlight ... The Colosseum is particularly stunning at this time." Also, see Corinne, ou L'Italie, xv. 4, 1819, iii. 32—
"Ce n'est pas connaítre l'impression du Colisée que de ne l'avoir vu que de jour ... la lune est l'astre des ruines. Quelque fois, à travers les ouvertures de l'amphithéàtre, qui semble s'élever jusqu'aux nues, une partie de la voûte du ciel paraît comme un rideau d'un bleu sombre placé derrière l'édifice."
"Seeing the Colosseum only by day doesn't give you the full experience... the moon is the star of ruins. Sometimes, through the openings of the amphitheater, which seems to rise up to the clouds, a section of the sky looks like a dark blue curtain placed behind the structure."
For a fine description of the Colosseum by starlight, see Manfred, act iii. sc. 4, lines 8-13.]
For a great description of the Colosseum under the stars, check out Manfred, act iii. sc. 4, lines 8-13.]
[508] {425} [When Byron visited Rome, and for long afterwards, the ruins of the Colosseum were clad with a multitude of shrubs and wild flowers. Books were written on the "Flora of the Coliseum," which were said to number 420 species. But, says Professor Lanciani, "These materials for a hortus siccus, so dear to the visitors of our ruins, were destroyed by Rosa in 1871, and the ruins scraped and shaven clean, it being feared by him that the action of roots would accelerate the disintegration of the great structure." If Byron had lived to witness these activities, he might have devoted a stanza to the "tender mercies" of this zealous archæologist.]
[508] {425} [When Byron visited Rome, and for a long time afterward, the ruins of the Colosseum were covered with a variety of shrubs and wildflowers. Books were written on the "Flora of the Coliseum," claiming there were 420 different species. But, as Professor Lanciani points out, "These materials for a hortus siccus, so cherished by visitors to our ruins, were destroyed by Rosa in 1871, and the ruins were scraped and cleaned, as he feared that the roots would speed up the disintegration of the great structure." If Byron had been around to see this, he might have dedicated a stanza to the "tender mercies" of this eager archaeologist.]
[509] {426} [The whole of this appeal to Nemesis (stanzas cxxx.-cxxxviii.) must be compared with the "Domestic Poems" of 1816, the Third Canto of Childe Harold (especially stanzas lxix.-lxxv., and cxi.-cxviii.), and with the "Invocation" in the first act of Manfred. It has been argued that Byron inserted these stanzas with the deliberate purpose of diverting sympathy from his wife to himself. The appeal, no doubt, is deliberate, and the plea is followed by an indictment, but the sincerity of the appeal is attested by its inconsistency. Unlike Orestes, who slew his mother to avenge his father, he will not so deal with the "moral Clytemnestra of her lord," requiting murder by murder, but is resolved to leave the balancing of the scale to the omnipotent Time-spirit who rights every wrong and will redress his injuries. But in making answer to his accusers he outruns Nemesis, and himself enacts the part of a "moral" Orestes. It was true that his hopes were "sapped" and "his name blighted," and it was natural, if not heroic, first to persuade himself that his suffering exceeded his fault, that he was more sinned against than sinning, and, so persuaded, to take care that he should not suffer alone. The general purport of plea and indictment is plain enough, but the exact interpretation of his phrases, the appropriation of his dark sayings, belong rather to the biography of the poet than to a commentary on his poems. (For Lady Byron's comment on the "allusions" to herself in Childe Harold, vide ante, p. 288, note 1.)]
[509] {426} [This entire appeal to Nemesis (stanzas cxxx.-cxxxviii.) should be compared with the "Domestic Poems" from 1816, the Third Canto of Childe Harold (especially stanzas lxix.-lxxv., and cxi.-cxviii.), and the "Invocation" in the first act of Manfred. Some argue that Byron included these stanzas intentionally to shift sympathy from his wife to himself. The appeal is certainly intentional, followed by an indictment, but its sincerity is shown through its inconsistency. Unlike Orestes, who killed his mother to avenge his father, he doesn't deal with the "moral Clytemnestra of her lord" by responding to murder with murder; instead, he chooses to leave the balancing of the scales to the all-powerful Time-spirit that rectifies every wrong and will address his injuries. However, in responding to his accusers, he exceeds Nemesis and takes on the role of a "moral" Orestes himself. It was true that his hopes were "sapped" and "his name blighted," and it was natural, if not heroic, to first convince himself that his suffering was greater than his fault, that he was more wronged than wrongdoer, and, having convinced himself, to ensure that he didn't suffer alone. The overall meaning of his plea and indictment is clear, but the precise interpretation of his phrases and the understanding of his complex statements belong more to the poet's biography than to a commentary on his poems. (For Lady Byron's comment on the "allusions" to herself in Childe Harold, vide ante, p. 288, note 1.)]
I shy away from the pain—let him talk. decline on my Who is more humble in What has made me tremble? Have you seen my mind's turmoil leave it bleached or weak?
Or my inner spirit changed or weakened
found my mind racing
a But on this page the record I seek will from the depths stands and of that remorse Will stand, and when that hour arrives, it will come
Will come—even if I'm just ashes—and will create a heap
It will come and cause chaos In fire, the measure The intense prophecy The fullness of my The completeness of my prophecy or collection
The mountain of my curse My words won't vanish into thin air. It is said that an hour of deep regret Even though I'm just ashes, a deep hour will come to pass. The fullness of You The deep prophetic depth of my verse
And stack human heads on top of my curse mountain.—[MS. M.]
As God has spoken—on the heads of enemies
Mine should be like a volcano—and rise even higher
After the Titans were defeated, Olympus emerged
Higher than Athos rises, or blazing Aetna shines:
It's true—the ones who caused the pain were small and insignificant—but what
Than a serpent's bite, produce more fatal struggles. The Lion can be harmed by the Gnat—
Who drains the sleepwalker’s life—the Eagle? No, it’s the Bat.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__—
[MS. M.]
[A] [The "Bat" was "a sobriquet by which Lady Caroline Lamb was well known in London society." An Italian translation of her novel, Glenarvon, was at this time in the press at Venice (see letter to Murray, August 7, 1817), and it is probable that Byron, who declined to interdict its publication, took his revenge in a petulant stanza, which, on second thoughts, he decided to omit. (See note by Mr. Richard Edgcumbe, Notes and Queries eighth series, 1895, viii. 101.)]
[A] [The "Bat" was a nickname that Lady Caroline Lamb was well known by in London society. An Italian version of her novel, Glenarvon, was being printed in Venice at this time (see letter to Murray, August 7, 1817), and it's likely that Byron, who chose not to stop its publication, sought revenge with a petulant stanza that he later decided to leave out. (See note by Mr. Richard Edgcumbe, Notes and Queries eighth series, 1895, viii. 101.)]
[511] {431} Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this image be a laquearian gladiator, which, in spite of Winckelmann's criticism, has been stoutly maintained; or whether it be a Greek herald, as that great antiquary positively asserted;[A] or whether it is to be thought a Spartan or barbarian shieldbearer, according to the opinion of his Italian editor; it must assuredly seem a copy of that masterpiece of Ctesilaus which represented "a wounded man dying, who perfectly expressed what there remained of life in him." Montfaucon and Maffei thought it the identical statue; but that statue was of bronze. The Gladiator was once in the Villa Ludovisi, and was bought by Clement XII. The right arm is an entire restoration of Michael Angelo.
[511] {431} Whether the impressive statue that inspired this image is a laquearian gladiator, which has been strongly defended despite Winckelmann's criticism; or if it's a Greek herald, as that distinguished antiquarian claimed;[A] or if it's supposed to be a Spartan or barbarian shieldbearer, according to his Italian editor's view; it surely seems like a copy of that masterpiece by Ctesilaus, which depicted "a wounded man dying, who perfectly conveyed what little life he had left." Montfaucon and Maffei believed it was the same statue; however, that statue was made of bronze. The Gladiator was once in the Villa Ludovisi and was purchased by Clement XII. The right arm is a complete restoration by Michelangelo.
[There is no doubt that the statue of the "Dying Gladiator" represents a dying Gaul. It is to be compared with the once-named "Arria and Pætus" of the Villa Ludovisi, and with other sculptures in the museums of Venice, Naples, and Rome, representing "Gauls and Amazons lying fatally wounded, or still in the attitude of defending life to the last," which belong to the Pergamene school of the second century B.C. M. Collignon hazards a suggestion that the "Dying Gaul" is the trumpet-sounder of Epigonos, in which, says Pliny (Hist. Nat., xxxiv. 88), the sculptor surpassed all his previous works ("omnia fere prædicta imitatus præcessit in tubicine"); while Dr. H. S. Urlichs (see The Elder Pliny's Chapters on the History of Art, translated by K. Jex-Blake, with Commentary and Historical Illustrations, by E. Sellers, 1896, p. 74, note) falls back on Winckelmann's theory that the "statue ... may have been simply the votive-portrait of the winner in the contest of heralds, such as that of Archias of Hybla in Delphoi." (See, too, Helbig's Guide to the Collection of Public Antiquities in Rome, Engl. transl., 1895. i. 399; History of Greek Sculpture, by A. S. Murray, L.L.D., F.S.A., 1890, ii. 381-383.)]
[There’s no doubt that the statue of the "Dying Gladiator" represents a dying Gaul. It can be compared to the previously called "Arria and Pætus" from the Villa Ludovisi, as well as other sculptures in the museums of Venice, Naples, and Rome, depicting "Gauls and Amazons lying critically wounded, or still in the posture of fighting for their lives to the end," which are part of the Pergamene school from the second century B.C. M. Collignon suggests that the "Dying Gaul" is the trumpet player of Epigonos, in which, according to Pliny (Hist. Nat., xxxiv. 88), the sculptor surpassed all his earlier works ("omnia fere prædicta imitatus præcessit in tubicine"); while Dr. H. S. Urlichs (see The Elder Pliny's Chapters on the History of Art, translated by K. Jex-Blake, with Commentary and Historical Illustrations, by E. Sellers, 1896, p. 74, note) refers back to Winckelmann's idea that the "statue ... may have simply been the votive-portrait of the winner in the contest of heralds, like that of Archias of Hybla in Delphoi." (See also Helbig's Guide to the Collection of Public Antiquities in Rome, Engl. transl., 1895. i. 399; History of Greek Sculpture, by A. S. Murray, L.L.D., F.S.A., 1890, ii. 381-383.)]
[A] Either Polyphontes, herald of Laïus, killed by Oedipus; or Kopreas, herald of Eurystheus, killed by the Athenians when he endeavoured to drag the Heraclidæ from the altar of mercy, and in whose honour they instituted annual games, continued to the time of Hadrian; or Anthemocritus, the Athenian herald, killed by the Megarenses, who never recovered the impiety. [See Hist, of Ancient Art, translated by G. H. Lodge, 1881, ii. 207.]
[A] Either Polyphontes, the messenger of Laïus, was killed by Oedipus; or Kopreas, the messenger of Eurystheus, was killed by the Athenians when he tried to drag the Heraclidæ from the altar of mercy, and in his honor they established annual games that continued until the time of Hadrian; or Anthemocritus, the Athenian herald, was killed by the Megarenses, who never got over the sacrilege. [See Hist, of Ancient Art, translated by G. H. Lodge, 1881, ii. 207.]
[ox] Was death and life——.—[MS. M.]
[512] Suetonius [Lib. i. cap. xlv.] informs us that Julius Cæsar was particularly gratified by that decree of the senate which enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was bald. A stranger at Rome would hardly have guessed at the motive, nor should we without the help of the historian.
[512] Suetonius [Lib. i. cap. xlv.] tells us that Julius Caesar was really pleased with the senate's decree that allowed him to wear a laurel wreath all the time. He wanted to make sure that he didn't come off as the conqueror of the world, but instead wanted to cover up his baldness. A visitor in Rome probably wouldn’t have figured out the reason behind it, and we wouldn’t know either without the historian's insight.
[513] This is quoted in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, as a proof that the Coliseum was entire, when seen by the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of the seventh, or the beginning of the eighth, century. A notice on the Coliseum may be seen in the Historical Illustrations, p. 263.
[513] This is mentioned in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire as evidence that the Coliseum was intact when the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims visited it at the end of the seventh or the beginning of the eighth century. You can find a note on the Coliseum in the Historical Illustrations, p. 263.
["'Quamdiu stabit Colyseus, stabit et Roma; quando cadet Colyseus, cadet Roma; quando cadet Roma, cadet et mundus.' (Beda in 'Excerptis seu Collectaneis,' apud Ducange, Glossarium ad Scriptores Med., et Infimæ Latinitatis, tom. ii. p. 407, edit. Basil.) This saying must be ascribed to the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims who visited Rome before the year 735, the æra of Bede's death; for I do not believe that our venerable monk ever passed the sea."—Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 1855, viii. 281, note.]
["'As long as the Colosseum stands, Rome will stand; when the Colosseum falls, Rome will fall; when Rome falls, the world will fall.' (Bede in 'Excerptis seu Collectaneis,' cited in Ducange, Glossarium ad Scriptores Med., et Infimæ Latinitatis, vol. ii, p. 407, Basel edition.) This saying can be traced back to the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims who visited Rome before 735, the year Bede died; because I doubt that our esteemed monk ever crossed the sea."—Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 1855, viii. 281, note.]
[514] {435} "Though plundered of all its brass, except the ring which was necessary to preserve the aperture above; though exposed to repeated fires; though sometimes flooded by the river, and always open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity is so well preserved as this rotundo. It passed with little alteration from the Pagan into the present worship; and so convenient were its niches for the Christian altar, that Michael Angelo, ever studious of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a model in the Catholic church."—Forsyth's Italy, 1816, p. 137.
[514] {435} "Even though it lost all its brass except for the ring needed to keep the opening above, endured multiple fires, was sometimes flooded by the river, and was always exposed to rain, no monument of equal age is as well-preserved as this rotunda. It transitioned with little change from Pagan worship to the present faith; and its niches were so suitable for the Christian altar that Michelangelo, always appreciative of ancient beauty, used their design as an example in Catholic churches."—Forsyth's Italy, 1816, p. 137.
[The Pantheon consists of two parts, a porch or pronaos supported by sixteen Corinthian columns, and behind it, but "obviously disjointed from it," a rotunda or round temple, 143 feet high, and 142 feet in diameter. The inscription on the portico (M. AGRIPPA, L. F. Cos. tertium. Fecit.) affirms that the temple was built by Agrippa (M. Vipsanius), B.C. 27.
[The Pantheon has two sections: a porch or pronaos held up by sixteen Corinthian columns, and behind it, which looks separate from the front, is a rotunda or round temple that stands 143 feet tall and is 142 feet wide. The inscription on the portico (M. AGRIPPA, L. F. Cos. tertium. Fecit.) confirms that the temple was built by Agrippa (M. Vipsanius) in 27 B.C.]
It has long been suspected that with regard to the existing building the inscription was "historically and artistically misleading;" but it is only since 1892 that it has been known for certain (from the stamp on the bricks in various parts of the building) that the rotunda was built by Hadrian. Difficulties with regard to the relations between the two parts of the Pantheon remain unsolved, but on the following points Professor Lanciani claims to speak with certainty:—
It has long been suspected that the inscription on the existing building is "historically and artistically misleading;" but it has only been clear since 1892 (from the stamp on the bricks in different parts of the building) that the rotunda was constructed by Hadrian. Issues regarding the relationship between the two parts of the Pantheon remain unresolved, but on the following points, Professor Lanciani confidently asserts:—
(1) "The present Pantheon, portico included, is not the work of Agrippa, but of Hadrian, and dates from A.D. 120-124.
(1) "The current Pantheon, including the portico, isn't the creation of Agrippa, but of Hadrian, and it dates back to A.D. 120-124.
(2) "The columns, capital, and entablature of the portico, inscribed with Agrippa's name, may be original, and may date from 27-25 B.C., but they were first removed and then put together by Hadrian.
(2) "The columns, capital, and entablature of the portico, marked with Agrippa's name, might be original and could date back to 27-25 B.C., but they were first taken apart and then reassembled by Hadrian.
(3) "The original structure of Agrippa was rectangular instead of round, and faced the south instead of the north."—Ruins and Excavations, etc., by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 483.]
(3) "The original design of Agrippa was rectangular rather than round, and it faced south instead of north."—Ruins and Excavations, etc., by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 483.]
[515] {437} The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of modern great, or, at least, distinguished men. The flood of light which once fell through the large orb above on the whole circle of divinities, now shines on a numerous assemblage of mortals, some one or two of whom have been almost deified by the veneration of their countrymen.
[515] {437} The Pantheon has become a place for the busts of modern greats, or at least notable individuals. The bright light that used to shine through the large dome onto the circle of gods now illuminates a large gathering of mortals, a few of whom have been almost worshiped by the admiration of their fellow citizens.
["The busts of Raphael, Hannibal Caracci, Pierrin del Vaga, Zuccari, and others ... are ill assorted with the many modern contemporary heads of ancient worthies which now glare in all the niches of the Rotunda."—Historical Illustrations, p. 293.]
["The busts of Raphael, Hannibal Caracci, Pierrin del Vaga, Zuccari, and others ... don’t match well with the many modern heads of ancient legends that now stand out in all the niches of the Rotunda."—Historical Illustrations, p. 293.]
[516] This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the Roman daughter, which is recalled to the traveller by the site, or pretended site, of that adventure, now shown at the Church of St. Nicholas in Carcere. The difficulties attending the full belief of the tale are stated in Historical Illustrations, p. 295.
[516] This and the next three stanzas reference the story of the Roman daughter, which is brought to the traveler's mind by the location, or supposed location, of that event, now displayed at the Church of St. Nicholas in Carcere. The challenges involved in fully believing the tale are outlined in Historical Illustrations, p. 295.
[The traditional scene of the "Caritas Romana" is a cell forming part of the substructions of the Church of S. Nicola in Carcere, near the Piazza Montanara. Festus (De Verb. Signif., lib. xiv., A. J. Valpy, 1826, ii. 594), by way of illustrating Pietas, tells the story in a few words: "It is said that Ælius dedicated a temple to Pietas on the very spot where a woman dwelt of yore. Her father was shut up in prison, and she kept him alive by giving him the breast by stealth, and, as a reward for her deed, obtained his forgiveness and freedom." In Pliny (Hist. Nat., vii. 36) and in Valerius Maximus (V. 4) it is not a father, but a mother, whose life is saved by a daughter's piety.]
[The traditional scene of the "Caritas Romana" is in a cell that is part of the underground structures of the Church of S. Nicola in Carcere, near Piazza Montanara. Festus (De Verb. Signif., lib. xiv., A. J. Valpy, 1826, ii. 594), to illustrate Pietas, tells the story briefly: "It is said that Ælius dedicated a temple to Pietas on the very spot where a woman lived long ago. Her father was imprisoned, and she kept him alive by secretly nursing him, and as a reward for her actions, she gained his forgiveness and freedom." In Pliny (Hist. Nat., vii. 36) and in Valerius Maximus (V. 4), it is not a father, but a mother whose life is saved by her daughter's devotion.]
or, Or even the high-pitched small cry——.—[MS. M. erased.]
[517] {439} [It was fabled of the Milky Way that when Mercury held up the infant Hercules to Juno's breast, that he might drink in divinity, the goddess pushed him away, and that drops of milk fell into the void, and became a multitude of tiny stars. The story is told by Eratosthenes of Cyrene (B.C. 276), in his Catasterismi (Treatise on Star Legends), No. 44: Opusc. Mythol., Amsterdam, 1688, p. 136.]
[517] {439} [It was said that when Mercury held the baby Hercules up to Juno's breast so he could receive divinity, the goddess pushed him away, and drops of milk fell into the void, turning into a multitude of tiny stars. This story is told by Eratosthenes of Cyrene (B.C. 276) in his Catasterismi (Treatise on Star Legends), No. 44: Opusc. Mythol., Amsterdam, 1688, p. 136.]
[518] The castle of St. Angelo. (See Historical Illustrations.)
[518] The Castle of St. Angelo. (See Historical Illustrations.)
[Hadrian's mole or mausoleum, now the Castle of St. Angelo, is situated on the banks of the Tiber, on the site of the "Horti Neronis." "It is composed of a square basement, each side of which measures 247 feet.... A grand circular mole, nearly 1000 feet in circumference, stands on the square basement," and, originally, "supported in its turn a cone of earth covered with evergreens, like the mausoleum of Augustus." A spiral way led to a central chamber in the interior of the mole, which contained, presumably, the porphyry sarcophagus in which Antoninus Pius deposited the ashes of Hadrian, and the tomb of the Antonines. Honorius (A.D. 428) was probably the first to convert the mausoleum into a fortress. The bronze statue of the Destroying Angel, which is placed on the summit, dates from 1740, and is the successor to five earlier statues, of which the first was erected in 1453. The conception and execution of the Moles Hadriana are entirely Roman, and, except in size and solidity, it is in no sense a mimic pyramid.—Ruins and Excavations, etc., by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 554, sq.]
[Hadrian's mausoleum, now known as the Castle of St. Angelo, is located on the banks of the Tiber, on the site of the "Horti Neronis." "It consists of a square base, with each side measuring 247 feet.... A massive circular structure, nearly 1000 feet in circumference, stands atop the square base," and originally, "supported a mound of earth covered with evergreens, similar to the mausoleum of Augustus." A spiral path led to a central chamber inside the structure, which likely housed the porphyry sarcophagus that Antoninus Pius used to store Hadrian's ashes, as well as the tomb of the Antonines. Honorius (A.D. 428) was likely the first to turn the mausoleum into a fortress. The bronze statue of the Destroying Angel, located at the top, dates back to 1740, replacing five earlier statues, the first of which was erected in 1453. The design and construction of the Moles Hadriana are entirely Roman, and aside from its size and durability, it is not a replica of a pyramid.—Ruins and Excavations, etc., by R. Lanciani, 1897, p. 554, sq.]
To see the extensive design——.—[MS. M.]
[519] This and the next six stanzas have a reference to the Church of St. Peter's. (For a measurement of the comparative length of this basilica and the other great churches of Europe, see the pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tour through Italy, ii. 125, et seq., chap, iv.)
[519] This and the next six stanzas refer to the Church of St. Peter's. (For a comparison of the lengths of this basilica and other major churches in Europe, see the pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tour through Italy, ii. 125, et seq., chap, iv.)
[pj] Look to the dome——.—[MS. M.]
In a temple greater than any that came before, All people will come together to kneel in—"
Compare, too, Browning's Christmas Eve, sect, x.—
Compare, too, Browning's Christmas Eve, sect, x.—
This amazing dome of God? Has the angel's measuring stick Which numbered cubits, gem from gem, Between the gates of the new Jerusalem,
He distributed it, and what he distributed, Have the sons of men finished? —Binding forever as he asked,
Columns in the arcade,
With arms wide open to welcome The arrival of humankind?"]
[521] [The ruins which Byron and Hobhouse explored, March 25, 1810 (Travels in Albania, ii. 68-71), were not the ruins of the second Temple of Artemis, the sixth wonder of the world (vide Philo Byzantius, De Septem Orbis Miraculis), but, probably, those of "the great gymnasium near the port of the city." In 1810, and for long afterwards, the remains of the temple were buried under twenty feet of earth, and it was not till 1870 that the late Mr. J. T. Wood, the agent of the Trustees of the British Museum, had so far completed his excavations as to discover the foundations of the building on the exact spot which had been pointed out by Guhl in 1843. Fragments of the famous sculptured columns, thirty-six in number, says Pliny (Hist. Nat., xxxvi. 95), were also brought to light, and are now in the British Museum. (See Modern Discoveries on the Site of Ancient Ephesus, by J. T. Wood, 1890; Hist. of Greek Sculpture, by A. S. Murray, ii. 304.)]
[521] [The ruins that Byron and Hobhouse explored on March 25, 1810 (Travels in Albania, ii. 68-71) were not the remains of the second Temple of Artemis, the sixth wonder of the world (see Philo Byzantinus, De Septem Orbis Miraculis), but, most likely, those of "the great gymnasium near the port of the city." In 1810, and for many years afterwards, the temple's remains were buried under twenty feet of soil, and it wasn't until 1870 that Mr. J. T. Wood, the agent of the Trustees of the British Museum, had completed his excavations enough to uncover the foundations of the building at the precise location indicated by Guhl in 1843. Fragments of the famous sculpted columns, totaling thirty-six, as Pliny notes (Hist. Nat., xxxvi. 95), were also revealed and are now housed in the British Museum. (See Modern Discoveries on the Site of Ancient Ephesus, by J. T. Wood, 1890; Hist. of Greek Sculpture, by A. S. Murray, ii. 304.)]
[523] [Compare Canto II. stanza lxxix. lines 2, 3—
[523] [Compare Canto II. stanza lxxix. lines 2, 3—
Though turbans now tarnish Sophia's shrine.
[524] [The emphasis is on the word "fit." The measure of "fitness" is the entirety of the enshrinement or embodiment of the mortal aspiration to put on immortality. The vastness and the sacredness of St. Peter's make for and effect this embodiment. So, too, the living temple "so defined," great with the greatness of holiness, may become the enshrinement and the embodiment of the Spirit of God.]
[524] [The focus is on the word "fit." The concept of "fitness" is about the complete enshrinement or embodiment of human desire to achieve immortality. The grandeur and sanctity of St. Peter's contribute to this embodiment. Similarly, the living temple "as defined," filled with holiness, can also become the embodiment and enshrinement of the Spirit of God.]
[525] [This stanza may be paraphrased, but not construed. Apparently, the meaning is that as the eye becomes accustomed to the details and proportions of the building, the sense of its vastness increases. Your first impression was at fault, you had not begun to realize the almost inconceivable vastness of the structure. You had begun to climb the mountain, and the dazzling peak seemed to be close at your head, but as you ascend, it recedes. "Thou movest," but the building expands; "thou climbest," but the Alp increases in height. In both cases the eye has been deceived by gigantic elegance, by the proportion of parts to the whole.]
[525] [This stanza can be rephrased, but not misinterpreted. It seems to mean that as your eye gets used to the details and scale of the building, your sense of its enormity grows. Your initial impression was incorrect; you hadn’t started to grasp the almost unbelievable vastness of the structure. You’ve started climbing the mountain, and the stunning peak appears to be right above you, but as you go higher, it seems to move further away. “You’re moving,” but the building widens; “you’re climbing,” but the mountain grows taller. In both instances, your eye has been fooled by the grand elegance and the proportions of the parts to the whole.]
And a glorious high altar where it burns forever.—[MS. M. erased.]
[526] [Pliny tells us (Hist. Nat., xxxvi. 5) that the Laocoon which stood in the palace of Titus was the work of three sculptors, natives of Rhodes; and it is now universally admitted that the statue which was found (January 14, 1516) in the vineyard of Felice de' Freddi, not far from the ruins of the palace, and is now in the Vatican, is the statue which Pliny describes. M. Collignon, in his Histoire de la Sculpture Grecque, gives reasons for assigning the date of the Laocoon to the first years of the first century B.C. It follows that the work is a century later than the frieze of the great altar of Pergamos, which contains the figure of a young giant caught in the toils of Athena's serpent—a theme which served as a model for later sculptors of the same school. In 1817 the Laocoon was in the heyday of its fame, and was regarded as the supreme achievement of ancient art. Since then it has been decried and dethroned. M. Collignon protests against this excessive depreciation, and makes himself the mouthpiece of a second and more temperate reaction: "On peut ... gôuter mediocrement le mélodrame, sans méconnaître pour cela les réelles qualités du groupe. La composition est d'une structure irréprochable, d'une harmonie de lignes qui défie toute critique. Le torse du Laocoon trahit une science du nu pen commune" (Hist. de la Sculp. Grecque, 1897, ii. 550, 551).]
[526] [Pliny tells us (Hist. Nat., xxxvi. 5) that the Laocoon which stood in the palace of Titus was created by three sculptors from Rhodes; and it is now widely accepted that the statue discovered (January 14, 1516) in the vineyard of Felice de' Freddi, near the ruins of the palace, is the statue described by Pliny. M. Collignon, in his Histoire de la Sculpture Grecque, provides reasons for dating the Laocoon to the early years of the first century B.C. This indicates that the work is a century newer than the frieze of the great altar of Pergamos, which features the figure of a young giant ensnared by Athena's serpent—a theme that influenced later sculptors from the same school. In 1817, the Laocoon was at the peak of its fame and was considered the pinnacle of ancient art. Since then, it has been criticized and cast aside. M. Collignon argues against this excessive denigration and represents a second, more moderate perspective: "One can ... enjoy the melodrama somewhat, without overlooking the real qualities of the group. The composition has flawless structure and line harmony that defies any critique. The torso of Laocoon reveals an exceptional understanding of the nude" (Hist. de la Sculp. Grecque, 1897, ii. 550, 551).]
[527] [In his description of the Apollo Belvidere, Byron follows the traditional theory of Montorsoli, the pupil of Michael Angelo, who restored the left hand and right forearm of the statue. The god, after his struggle with the python, stands forth proud and disdainful, the left hand holding a bow, and the right hand falling as of one who had just shot an arrow. The discovery, in 1860, of a bronze statuette in the Stroganoff Collection at St. Petersburg, which holds something like an ægis and a mantle in the left hand, suggested to Stephani a second theory, that the Belvidere Apollo was a copy of a statue of Apollo Boëdromios, an ex-voto offering on the rout of the Gauls when they attacked Delphi (B.C. 278). To this theory Furtwaengler at one time assented, but subsequently came to the conclusion that the Stroganoff bronze was a forgery. His present contention is that the left hand held a bow, as Montorsoli imagined, whilst the right grasped "a branch of laurel, of which the leaves are still visible on the trunk which the copyist added to the bronze original." The Apollo Belvidere is, he concludes, a copy of the Apollo Alexicacos of Leochares (fourth century B.C.), which stood in the Cerameicos at Athens. M. Maxime Collignon, who utters a word of warning as to the undue depreciation of the statue by modern critics, adopts Furtwaengler's later theory (Masterpieces of Ancient Greek Sculpture, by A. Furtwaengler, 1895, ii. 405, sq.).]
[527] [In his description of the Apollo Belvidere, Byron follows the traditional view of Montorsoli, a student of Michelangelo, who restored the statue's left hand and right forearm. The god stands proudly and defiantly after his battle with the python, with the left hand holding a bow and the right hand hanging as if he has just shot an arrow. The discovery in 1860 of a bronze statuette in the Stroganoff Collection in St. Petersburg, holding what seems like an ægis and a cloak in its left hand, led Stephani to propose a second theory: that the Belvidere Apollo was a copy of a statue of Apollo Boëdromios, an ex-voto offering from the defeat of the Gauls at Delphi (B.C. 278). Furtwaengler initially agreed with this theory but later concluded that the Stroganoff bronze was a forgery. He now argues that the left hand held a bow, as Montorsoli thought, while the right grasped "a branch of laurel, with the leaves still visible on the trunk added by the copyist to the bronze original." Furtwaengler concludes that the Apollo Belvidere is a copy of the Apollo Alexicacos by Leochares (fourth century B.C.), which stood in the Cerameicos in Athens. M. Maxime Collignon provides a caution against the excessive criticism of the statue by modern critics and adopts Furtwaengler's later theory (Masterpieces of Ancient Greek Sculpture, by A. Furtwaengler, 1895, ii. 405, sq.).]
[529] [It is probable that lines 1-4 of this stanza contain an allusion to a fact related by M. Pinel, in his work, Sur l'Insanité, which Milman turned to account in his Belvidere Apollo, a Newdigate Prize Poem of 1812—
[529] [It’s likely that lines 1-4 of this stanza refer to a fact mentioned by M. Pinel in his work, Sur l'Insanité, which Milman utilized in his Belvidere Apollo, a Newdigate Prize Poem from 1812—
By the divine maid on Delphi's haunted slope,
In the dim twilight of the laurel grove,
Too beautiful to be worshipped, too perfect to be loved.
Yet in that state of wild, ecstatic trance With more than respect, the Maid of France gazed,
Day after day, the lovesick dreamer stood
With him there, I didn’t even consider it solitude!
To hold onto grief, her final and most precious concern,
Her only great wish was to die from despair.
Milman's Poetical Works, Paris, 1829, p. 180.
Milman's Poetical Works, Paris, 1829, p. 180.
Compare, too, Coleridge's Kubla Khan, lines 14-16—
Compare, too, Coleridge's Kubla Khan, lines 14-16—
As ever beneath a sorrowful moon was haunted By a woman crying for her demon-lover.
Poetical Works, 1893, p. 94.]
Poetical Works, 1893, p. 94.
[530] [The fire which Prometheus stole from heaven was the living soul, "the source of all our woe." (Compare Horace, Odes, i. 3. 29-31—
[530] [The fire that Prometheus took from the heavens was the living soul, "the source of all our suffering." (See Horace, Odes, i. 3. 29-31—
Subduction, Thinness, and New Fevers Terris incubuit cohors."]}
[532] [Charlotte Augusta (b. January 7, 1796), only daughter of the Prince Regent, was married to Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, May 2, 1816, and died in childbirth, November 6, 1817.
[532] [Charlotte Augusta (born January 7, 1796), the only daughter of the Prince Regent, married Leopold of Saxe-Coburg on May 2, 1816, and died in childbirth on November 6, 1817.
Other poets produced their dirges; but it was left to Byron to deal finely, and as a poet should, with a present grief, which was felt to be a national calamity.
Other poets created their mournful songs; but it was left to Byron to handle, in a sophisticated way and as a true poet should, the ongoing sorrow that was seen as a national tragedy.
Southey's "Funeral Song for the Princess Charlotte of Wales" was only surpassed in feebleness by Coleridge's "Israel's Lament." Campbell composed a laboured elegy, which was "spoken by Mr ... at Drury Lane Theatre, on the First Opening of the House after the Death of the Princess Charlotte, 1817;" and Montgomery wrote a hymn on "The Royal Infant, Still-born, November 5, 1817."
Southey's "Funeral Song for Princess Charlotte of Wales" was only outdone in weakness by Coleridge's "Israel's Lament." Campbell wrote a forced elegy that was "performed by Mr ... at Drury Lane Theatre, on the First Opening of the House after Princess Charlotte's Death, 1817;" and Montgomery created a hymn about "The Royal Infant, Stillborn, November 5, 1817."
Not a line of these lamentable effusions has survived; but the poor, pitiful story of common misfortune, with its tragic irony, uncommon circumstance, and far-reaching consequence, found its vates sacer in the author of Childe Harold.]
Not a word of these sad expressions has endured; but the unfortunate, tragic tale of shared misfortune, with its painful irony, unusual situation, and far-reaching impact, found its vates sacer in the author of Childe Harold.
Watched her Iris—You too lonely Lord
And lonely Consort! your dowry is deadly,
The husband for a year—the father of an——[? hour].—[D. erased.]
All ash flavor.
[535] [Compare Macbeth, act iii. sc. 2, lines 22, 23—
[535] [See Macbeth, act 3, scene 2, lines 22, 23—
[536] [Compare Coriolanus, act iii. sc. 3, lines 121, 122—
[536] [Compare Coriolanus, act iii. sc. 3, lines 121, 122—
As the smell of the rotten marshlands."]
[537] {453} Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth, of a broken heart; Charles V., a hermit; Louis XIV., a bankrupt in means and glory; Cromwell, of anxiety; and, "the greatest is behind," Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and unhappy.
[537] {453} Mary was executed; Elizabeth died of a broken heart; Charles V. lived as a hermit; Louis XIV. ended up bankrupt in both wealth and fame; Cromwell passed away from anxiety; and, "the greatest is behind," Napoleon is imprisoned. To these rulers, a lengthy but unnecessary list could be added of equally famous and unfortunate names.
[qa] Which sinks——.—[MS. M.]
[538] [The simile of the "earthquake" was repeated in a letter to Murray, dated December 3, 1817: "The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock even here, and must have been an earthquake at home.... The death of this poor Girl is melancholy in every respect, dying at twenty or so, in childbed—of a boy too, a present princess and future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy herself, and the hopes which she inspired."]
[538] [The comparison of the "earthquake" was used again in a letter to Murray, dated December 3, 1817: "The death of Princess Charlotte has shocked us even here, and must have felt like an earthquake back home.... The passing of this poor girl is tragic in every way, dying at just around twenty, in childbirth—of a boy too, a current princess and future queen, right when she was starting to feel happy and enjoy life, along with all the hopes she inspired."]
[The basin of the Lago di Nemi is the crater of an extinct volcano. Hence the comparison to a coiled snake. Its steel-blue waters are unruffled by the wind which lashes the neighbouring ocean into fury. Hence its likeness to "cherished hate," as contrasted with "generous and active wrath."]
[The Lago di Nemi basin is the crater of an extinct volcano. That's why it's compared to a coiled snake. Its steel-blue waters remain calm despite the wind whipping up the nearby ocean into a frenzy. This is why it's likened to "cherished hate," in contrast to "generous and active wrath."]
[540] [The spectator is supposed to be looking towards the Mediterranean from the summit of Monte Cavo. Tusculum, where "Tully reposed," lies to the north of the Alban Hills, on the right; but, as Byron points to a spot "beneath thy right," he probably refers to the traditional site of the Villa Ciceronis at Grotta Ferrata, and not to an alternative site at the Villa Ruffinella, between Frascati and the ruins of Tusculum. Horace's Sabine farm, on the bank of Digentia's "ice-cold rivulet," is more than twenty miles to the north-east of the Alban Hills. The mountains to the south and east of Tusculum intercept the view of the valley of the Licenza (Digentia), where the "farm was tilled." Childe Harold had bidden farewell to Horace, once for all, "upon Soracte's ridge," but recalls him to keep company with Virgil and Cicero.]
[540] [The viewer is expected to be looking toward the Mediterranean from the top of Monte Cavo. Tusculum, where "Tully rested," can be found to the north of the Alban Hills, on the right; however, since Byron points to a location "beneath thy right," he is likely referring to the traditional site of the Villa Ciceronis at Grotta Ferrata, rather than an alternative at the Villa Ruffinella, situated between Frascati and the ruins of Tusculum. Horace's Sabine farm, located by Digentia's "ice-cold stream," is more than twenty miles to the northeast of the Alban Hills. The mountains to the south and east of Tusculum block the view of the Licenza valley (Digentia), where the "farm was cultivated." Childe Harold had said goodbye to Horace once and for all "upon Soracte's ridge," but recalls him to keep company with Virgil and Cicero.]
The Sabine farm was cultivated, a joy for the tired Bard.—
[MS. M.]
[541] ["Calpe's rock" is Gibraltar (compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xxii. line i). "Last" may be the last time that Byron and Childe Harold saw the Mediterranean together. Byron had last seen it—"the Midland Ocean"—by "Calpe's rock," on his return journey to England in 1811. Or by "last" he may mean the last time that it burst upon his view. He had not seen the Mediterranean on his way from Geneva to Venice, in October-November, 1816, or from Venice to Rome, April—May, 1817; but now from the Alban Mount the "ocean" was full in view.]
[541] ["Calpe's rock" refers to Gibraltar (see Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xxii. line i). "Last" could mean the last time that Byron and Childe Harold saw the Mediterranean together. Byron last viewed it—"the Midland Ocean"—by "Calpe's rock" while returning to England in 1811. He might be referring to the last time it came into his sight. He hadn't seen the Mediterranean during his travels from Geneva to Venice in October-November 1816, or from Venice to Rome in April-May 1817; but now from the Alban Mount, the "ocean" was fully visible.]
[542] ["After the stanza (near the conclusion of Canto 4th) which ends with the line—
[542] ["After the stanza (near the end of Canto 4) that finishes with the line—
"'As if there was no man to trouble what is clear,'
"'As if there was no one to disturb what is obvious,'"
insert the two following stanzas (clxxvii., clxxviii.). Then go on to the stanza beginning, 'Roll on thou,' etc., etc. You will find the place of insertion near the conclusion—just before the address to the Ocean.
insert the two following stanzas (clxxvii., clxxviii.). Then continue to the stanza that starts with, 'Roll on thou,' etc., etc. You will find where to insert it near the end—right before the address to the Ocean.
"These two stanzas will just make up the number of 500 stanzas to the whole poem.
"These two stanzas will complete the total of 500 stanzas for the entire poem."
"Answer when you receive this. I sent back the packets yesterday, and hope they will arrive in safety."—D.]
"Respond when you get this. I sent back the packages yesterday and hope they arrive safely."—D.]
[543] [His desire is towards no light o' love, but for the support and fellowship of his sister. Compare the opening lines of the Epistle to Augusta—
[543] [He doesn't seek romantic love but rather the support and companionship of his sister. Compare the opening lines of the Epistle to Augusta—
It should be yours, more valuable and cleaner; Mountains and seas separate us, but I assert
No tears, just a gentle response to mine:
Go wherever I go; to me, you are the same—
A cherished regret that I wouldn't give up. There are still two things in my destiny,—
A world to explore and a home with you.
It was the haven of my happiness.
[546] ["Lay" is followed by a plainly marked period in both the MSS. (M. and D.) of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. For instances of the same error, compare "The Adieu," stanza 10, line 4, and ["Pignus Amoris"], stanza 3, line 3 (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 232, note, and p. 241). It is to be remarked that Hobhouse, who pencilled a few corrections on the margin of his own MS. copy, makes no comment on this famous solecism. The fact is that Byron wrote as he spoke, with the "careless and negligent ease of a man of quality," and either did not know that "lay" was not an intransitive verb or regarded himself as "super grammaticam."]
[546] ["Lay" is followed by a clearly marked period in both the MSS. (M. and D.) of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. For examples of the same mistake, see "The Adieu," stanza 10, line 4, and ["Pignus Amoris"], stanza 3, line 3 (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 232, note, and p. 241). It's worth noting that Hobhouse, who made a few corrections in the margins of his own MS. copy, doesn't comment on this well-known mistake. The truth is, Byron wrote as he spoke, with the "careless and negligent ease of a man of quality," and either didn't realize that "lay" wasn't an intransitive verb or thought of himself as "above grammar."]
"Set up their defenses on the water."
[548] The Gale of wind which succeeded the battle of Trafalgar destroyed the greater part (if not all) of the prizes—nineteen sail of the line—taken on that memorable day. I should be ashamed to specify particulars which should be known to all—did we not know that in France the people were kept in ignorance of the event of this most glorious victory in modern times, and that in England it is the present fashion to talk of Waterloo as though it were entirely an English triumph—and a thing to be named with Blenheim and Agincourt—Trafalgar and Aboukir. Posterity will decide; but if it be remembered as a skilful or as a wonderful action, it will be like the battle of Zama, where we think of Hannibal more than of Scipio. For assuredly we dwell on this action, not because it was gained by Blucher or Wellington, but because it was lost by Buonaparte—a man who, with all his vices and his faults, never yet found an adversary with a tithe of his talents (as far as the expression can apply to a conqueror) or his good intentions, his clemency or his fortitude.
[548] The strong wind that followed the Battle of Trafalgar destroyed most (if not all) of the captured ships—nineteen from the line—taken that unforgettable day. I would feel embarrassed to go into details that everyone should already know—did we not realize that in France, the public was kept in the dark about this most glorious victory of modern times, and that in England it’s now common to talk about Waterloo as if it were solely an English triumph—a thing to be mentioned alongside Blenheim and Agincourt—Trafalgar and Aboukir. Future generations will judge; but if it is remembered as a skilled or remarkable feat, it will be like the Battle of Zama, where we think more of Hannibal than of Scipio. Certainly, we focus on this battle not because it was won by Blücher or Wellington, but because it was lost by Bonaparte—a man who, despite all his flaws and shortcomings, never faced an opponent with even a fraction of his talents (as applicable to a conqueror) or his good intentions, kindness, or courage.
Look at his successors throughout Europe, whose imitation of the worst parts of his policy is only limited by their comparative impotence, and their positive imbecility.—[MS. M.]
Look at his successors across Europe, whose attempts to copy the worst aspects of his policies are only held back by their relative weakness and outright foolishness.—[MS. M.]
[549] {460} ["When Lord Byron wrote this stanza, he had, no doubt, the following passage in Boswell's Johnson floating in his mind.... 'The grand object of all travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those shores were the four great empires of the world—the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman' (Life of Johnson, 1876, p. 505)."—Note to Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza clxxxii. ed. 1891.]
[549] {460} ["When Lord Byron wrote this stanza, he was likely thinking of this quote from Boswell's Johnson.... 'The main purpose of traveling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those shores were the four great empires of the world—the Assyrian, the Persian, the Greek, and the Roman' (Life of Johnson, 1876, p. 505)."—Note to Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza clxxxii. ed. 1891.]
[550] [See letter to Murray, September 24, 1818: "What does 'thy waters wasted them' mean (in the Canto)? That is not me. Consult the MS. always." Nevertheless, the misreading appeared in several editions. (For a correspondence on the subject, see Notes and Queries, first series, vol. i. pp. 182, 278, 324, 508; vol. ix. p. 481; vol. x. pp. 314, 434.)]
[550] [See letter to Murray, September 24, 1818: "What does 'thy waters wasted them' mean (in the Canto)? That's not me. Check the manuscript always." Still, the misreading showed up in several editions. (For a correspondence on the subject, see Notes and Queries, first series, vol. i. pp. 182, 278, 324, 508; vol. ix. p. 481; vol. x. pp. 314, 434.)]
For who has set your boundaries——.—[MS. M. erased.]
[551] [Compare Tennyson's In Memoriam, lv. stanza 6—
[551] [Compare Tennyson's In Memoriam, lv. stanza 6—
They tear each other apart in their slime,
Were calm music matched with him."]
[552] ["While at Aberdeen, he used often to steal from home unperceived; sometimes he would find his way to the seaside" (Life, p. 9). For an account of his feats in swimming, see Letters, 1898, i. 263, note 1; and letter to Murray, February 21, 1821. See, too, for a "more perilous, but less celebrated passage" (from Old Lisbon to Belem Castle), Travels in Albania, ii. 195.]
[552] ["While in Aberdeen, he often sneaked out of the house unnoticed; sometimes he would make his way to the beach" (Life, p. 9). For a description of his swimming accomplishments, see Letters, 1898, i. 263, note 1; and a letter to Murray, February 21, 1821. Also see, for a "more dangerous, but less famous journey" (from Old Lisbon to Belem Castle), Travels in Albania, ii. 195.]
[553] ["It was a thought worthy of the great spirit of Byron, after exhibiting to us his Pilgrim amidst all the most striking scenes of earthly grandeur and earthly decay ... to conduct him and us at last to the borders of 'the Great Deep.' ... The image of the wanderer may well be associated, for a time, with the rock of Calpe, the shattered temples of Athens, or the gigantic fragments of Rome; but when we wish to think of this dark personification as of a thing which is, where can we so well imagine him to have his daily haunt as by the roaring of the waves? It was thus that Homer represented Achilles in his moments of ungovernable and inconsolable grief for the loss of Patroclus. It was thus he chose to depict the paternal despair of Chryseus—" Βή δ' ἀκέων παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης." Note by Professor Wilson, ed. 1837.]
[553] ["It was a thought worthy of the great spirit of Byron, after showing us his Pilgrim in all the most striking scenes of earthly beauty and decline ... to finally lead him and us to the shores of 'the Great Deep.' ... The image of the wanderer can certainly be linked for a time with the rock of Gibraltar, the ruined temples of Athens, or the massive remnants of Rome; but when we want to think of this dark figure as something that exists, where better to imagine him having his daily haunt than by the crashing waves? This is how Homer depicted Achilles in his moments of uncontrolled and inconsolable grief over the loss of Patroclus. This is how he chose to portray the deep sadness of Chryseus—"Step silently beside the shores of the roaring sea.." Note by Professor Wilson, ed. 1837.]
To end the spell of this long-lasting dream And what will happen to this rhyme of mine
It might not be of my foresight——.—[MS. M. erased.]
NOTES
To
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
CANTO IV.
1.
Stanza i. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. The state dungeons called pozzi, or wells, were sunk in the thick walls of the palace: and the prisoner, when taken out to die, was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through which the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled up; but the passage is still open, and is still known by the name of the "Bridge of Sighs." The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve; but on the first arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however descend by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the [466] passages, and served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their repentance, or of their despair, which are still visible, and may, perhaps, owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, but from the churches and belfries which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows:—
The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is via a dark bridge, or covered walkway, high above the water, and separated by a stone wall into a pathway and a cell. The state dungeons called pozzi, or wells, were built into the thick walls of the palace: and the prisoner, when taken out to be executed, was led across the walkway to the other side, and then brought back into the other section, or cell, on the bridge, where they were strangled. The low doorway through which the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled off; but the passage is still accessible, and is still known as the "Bridge of Sighs." The pozzi are located beneath the floor of the room at the foot of the bridge. There were originally twelve; but upon the first arrival of the French, the Venetians quickly blocked or destroyed the deeper of these dungeons. However, you can still descend through a trap-door and crawl down through openings, half filled with rubble, to a depth of two stories below the first level. If you're looking for solace for the end of noble power, you might find it there; barely a glimmer of light shines into the narrow hallway that leads to the cells, and the confinement areas themselves are completely dark. A small opening in the wall allowed the damp air from the [466] passages and served to bring in the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot off the ground, was the only furniture. The guards will tell you that a light wasn’t allowed. The cells are about five paces long, two and a half wide, and seven feet tall. They are stacked directly on top of each other, and breathing is somewhat difficult in the lower ones. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these dreadful chambers, and he is said to have been confined for sixteen years. But the inhabitants of the dungeons below left signs of their repentance or despair, which are still visible, and may, perhaps, be attributed to recent creativity. Some of those confined seem to have offended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only based on their signatures, but from the churches and belfries they have scratched onto the walls. The reader may not mind seeing a sample of the records inspired by such terrible solitude. As closely as they could be reproduced by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows:—
IF YOU WANT TO ESCAPE FROM SPIES, TRAPS AND SNARES
REGRETTING DOESN’T HELP MA BEN DI VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA
P' LA BESTIEMMA P' AVER DATO TO LOOK AT A DEAD PERSON Iacomo Gritti wrote.
NEGARE PRONTO and
A thought at the end can give life. To us other wretches
I’ll watch out for those I don’t trust. A TA H A NA V . LA S . C . K . R .
The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms; some of which are, however, not quite so decided since the letters were evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed, that bestemmia and mangiar may be read in the first inscription, which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of impiety committed at a funeral; [467] that Cortellarius is the name of a parish on terra firma, near the sea; and that the last initials evidently are put for Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Romana.
The copyist has noted, rather than corrected, the errors; some of which are less obvious since the letters were clearly scratched in the dark. It's worth mentioning that bestemmia and mangiar can be read in the first inscription, likely written by a prisoner confined for some act of disrespect during a funeral; [467] that Cortellarius is the name of a parish on solid ground, near the sea; and that the last initials clearly stand for Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Romana.
2.
Stanza iii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
["I cannot forbear mentioning a custom in Venice, which they tell me is particular to the common people of this country, of singing stanzas out of Tasso. They are set to a pretty solemn tune, and when one begins in any part of the poet, it is odds but he will be answered by somebody else that overhears him; so that sometimes you have ten or a dozen in the neighbourhood of one another, taking verse after verse, and running on with the poem as far as their memories will carry them."—Addison, A.D. 1700.]
["I can’t help but mention a tradition in Venice that I've heard is common among the local people, where they sing lines from Tasso. They set it to a pretty solemn tune, and when one person starts reciting from the poet, it’s likely that someone nearby will chime in; so sometimes you have ten or twelve people close together, taking turns reciting verse after verse and continuing the poem as far as their memories allow."—Addison, A.D. 1700.]
The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original in one column, and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once common, and are still to be found. The following extract will serve to show the difference between the Tuscan epic and the Canta alia Barcariola:—
The famous song of the gondoliers, featuring alternating stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has faded along with Venice's independence. Editions of the poem, displaying the original in one column and the variations sung by the boatmen in another, were once widely available and can still be found. The following excerpt will illustrate the difference between the Tuscan epic and the Canta alia Barcariola:—
May Heaven grant him favor, and under the Saints Segni reduced his wandering companions.
And from Goffredo the immortal glory Che has finally freed them with a strassia, and dogia. Of our good Jesus, the Burial From the middle world united, and from that Bogia Mr. Pluto has never been afraid: God helped him, and the scattered companions Everyone has gathered together the days of Dai.
Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue a stanza of their once familiar bard.
Some of the older gondoliers will, however, pick up and continue a verse from their once-familiar bard.
On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not sing the Venetian but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt his companion, told us that he could translate the original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had not spirits (morbin was the word he used) to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the poor fellow, "look at my clothes and at me; I am starving." This speech was more affecting than his performance, which habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous; and the gondolier behind assisted his voice by holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain; but was too much interested in his subject altogether to repress. From these men we learnt that singing is not confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower classes who are acquainted with a few stanzas.
On January 7th of last year, the author of Childe Harold and I, another Englishman writing this note, rowed to the Lido with two singers—one a carpenter and the other a gondolier. The carpenter took the front of the boat, while the gondolier positioned himself at the back. Shortly after leaving the quay at the Piazzetta, they began to sing and kept it up until we reached the island. They included, among other pieces, the death of Clorinda and the palace of Armida, singing in Tuscan verses instead of Venetian ones. The carpenter, who was the more talented of the two and often had to prompt his partner, told us he could translate the original. He mentioned he could sing nearly three hundred stanzas but didn’t have the energy (the word he used was morbin) to learn more or to perform what he already knew—stating that one needs free time to learn or repeat songs. "Look at my clothes and at me; I am starving," he said. This remark was more touching than his performance, which only habit could make appealing. His singing was shrill, loud, and repetitive, while the gondolier assisted by cupping his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a gentle motion that he clearly tried to control, but he was too engaged in his subject to hold back completely. From these men, we learned that singing isn't just for gondoliers; although the song is rarely voluntary, there are quite a few people from the lower classes who know a couple of stanzas.
It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and sing at the same time. Although the verses of the Jerusalem are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the Venetian canals; and upon holydays, those strangers who are not near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. The writer of some remarks which appeared in the Curiosities of Literature must excuse his being twice quoted; for, with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable description:—
It doesn't seem typical for the performers to row and sing at the same time. Even though you don't often hear the verses of Jerusalem anymore, there's still plenty of music on the Venice canals. On holidays, those visitors who aren't close enough or knowledgeable enough to catch the words might imagine that many of the gondolas still echo with Tasso's melodies. The author of some comments that showed up in Curiosities of Literature deserves some leniency for being referenced twice; aside from a few overly ambitious and extravagant phrases, he provided a very accurate and pleasant description:—
"In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at present on the decline:—at least, after taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who delivered to me in this way a passage from Tasso. I must add, that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to [469] me a passage in Tasso in the manner, as he assured me, of the gondoliers.
"In Venice, the gondoliers know long passages from Ariosto and Tasso by heart and often sing them with a unique melody. However, this talent seems to be fading: after some effort, I could only find two people who recited a passage from Tasso in this way. I should mention that the late Mr. Berry once sang a passage from Tasso to me, claiming it was in the style of the gondoliers."
"There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to the former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished.
"There are always two people involved, who take turns singing the stanzas. We recognize the melody, which is attributed to Rousseau, and it's printed alongside his songs; it doesn’t really have a melodic flow and is somewhat of a mix between the plain chant and the more elaborate style; it leans towards the former with a spoken-like delivery and towards the latter with certain phrases and runs, where one syllable is drawn out and decorated."
"I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself forwards and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. One began the song: when he had ended his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. Throughout the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned; but, according to the subject-matter of the strophe, they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophe as the object of the poem altered.
"I got into a gondola by moonlight; one singer sat in the front and the other in the back, and we headed toward St. Georgio. One started the song: when he finished his verse, the other picked it up, and they continued to alternate. Throughout the entire piece, the same notes kept coming back; however, depending on the topic of the verse, they placed more or less emphasis on different notes, sometimes stressing one note more and at other times another, even changing the delivery of the whole verse as the theme of the poem shifted."
"On the whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and screaming: they seemed, in the manner of all rude uncivilised men, to make the excellency of their singing in the force of their voice. One seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of his lungs; and so far from receiving delight from this scene (shut up as I was in the box of the gondola), I found myself in a very unpleasant situation.
"Overall, the sounds were rough and loud: like all uncivilized people, they seemed to think that good singing was all about how powerful their voices were. It was like they were trying to outdo each other with the strength of their lungs; instead of enjoying this scene (trapped as I was in the gondola's box), I found myself in a really uncomfortable situation."
"My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that the singing was very delightful when heard at a distance. Accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other.
"My friend, to whom I shared this situation, really wanted to uphold the reputation of his fellow countrymen, so he assured me that the singing was very beautiful when heard from a distance. So we stepped out onto the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola while the other moved back a few hundred paces. They started to sing to each other, and I walked back and forth between them, making sure to let the one who was supposed to start go first. I often stopped to listen to each of them."
"Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. The other, who listened attentively, immediately began where the former left off, answering him in milder or more vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits hither [470] and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene; and, amidst all these circumstances, it was easy to confess the character of this wonderful harmony.
"Here, the scene was set perfectly. The strong, dramatic, almost screaming sounds reached our ears from a distance, grabbing our attention. The quick shifts that followed, which had to be sung in a softer tone, felt like sad melodies that came after bursts of emotion or pain. The other person, listening closely, picked up right where the first one left off, responding with gentler or more intense notes, depending on what the lyrics called for. The sleepy canals, the tall buildings, the beauty of the moon, and the deep shadows of the few gondolas that glided like spirits back and forth highlighted the uniqueness of the scene. In the midst of all this, it was easy to appreciate the character of this incredible harmony.[470]"
"It suits perfectly well with an idle, solitary mariner, lying at length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror; and as all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of a large and populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no noise of foot passengers; a silent gondola glides now and then by him, of which the splashings of the oars are scarcely to be heard.
"It suits a laid-back, solitary sailor perfectly, lounging in his boat at rest on one of these canals, waiting for friends or a customer, a situation that gets a bit easier thanks to the songs and stories he's memorized. He often shouts as loud as he can, his voice carrying far across the calm water; and with everything still around him, it feels like he's alone in the middle of a bustling city. There's no clatter of carriages or noise from pedestrians; a silent gondola glides by him now and then, with the sounds of the oars barely audible."
"At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers; he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit convention they alternate verse for verse; though the song should last the whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue: the hearers who are passing between the two take part in the amusement.
"At a distance, he hears another voice, maybe completely unfamiliar to him. The melody and lyrics instantly connect the two strangers; he becomes a responsive echo to the first voice and makes an effort to be heard as he had heard the other. By an unspoken agreement, they take turns singing verses; even if the song were to last all night, they keep themselves entertained without getting tired: the listeners passing between the two join in the fun."
"This vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfills its design in the sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, but not dismal in its sound, and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. My companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately organised person, said quite unexpectedly: E singolare come quel canto intenerisce, e molto più quando lo cantano meglio.
"This vocal performance is most beautiful when heard from afar, and it’s incredibly charming, as it only achieves its purpose in the feeling of distance. It's sad but not bleak, and sometimes it’s hard to hold back tears. My companion, who normally wasn’t very sensitive, said quite unexpectedly: E singolare come quel canto intenerisce, e molto più quando lo cantano meglio."
"I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands that divides the Adriatic from the Lagoons,[555] particularly the women of the extreme districts of Malamocca and Palestrina, sing in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar tunes.
"I heard that the women of Libo, the long row of islands that separates the Adriatic from the Lagoons,[555] especially those from the far areas of Malamocca and Palestrina, sing the works of Tasso to these and similar tunes."
"They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these songs, and continue to do so with great violence, till each of them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance."[556]
"They have a tradition where, when their husbands are out fishing at sea, they sit along the shore in the evenings and loudly sing these songs, and they keep it up passionately until each of them can hear her own husband's responses from a distance."[556]
The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of Venetians, even amongst the tuneful sons of Italy. The city itself can occasionally furnish respectable audiences for two and even three opera-houses at a time; and there are few events in private life that do not call forth a printed and circulated sonnet. Does a physician or a lawyer take his degree, or a clergyman preach his maiden sermon, has a surgeon performed an operation, would a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, are you to be congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the Muses are invoked to furnish the same number of syllables, and the individual triumphs blaze abroad in virgin white or party-coloured placards on half the corners of the capital. The last curtsy of a favourite "prima donna" brings down a shower of these poetical tributes from those upper regions, from which, in our theatres, nothing but cupids and snowstorms are accustomed to descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, which, in its common course, is varied with those surprises and changes so recommendable in fiction, but so different from the sober monotony of northern existence; amusements are raised into duties, duties are softened into amusements, and every object being considered as equally making a part of the business of life, is announced and performed with the same earnest indifference and gay assiduity. The Venetian gazette constantly closes its columns with the following triple advertisement:—
The love of music and poetry sets apart all classes of Venetians, even among the melodious sons of Italy. The city can sometimes provide decent audiences for two or even three opera houses at once; and there are few personal life events that don’t inspire a printed and shared sonnet. Whether a doctor or a lawyer earns their degree, a clergyman delivers his first sermon, a surgeon carries out an operation, a performer announces their departure or benefits, or you’re being congratulated on a marriage, a birth, or a lawsuit, the Muses are called to create the same number of syllables, and individual successes are boldly displayed in fresh white or colorful posters at half the corners of the city. The final bow of a favorite "prima donna" showers these poetic tributes from the higher realms, unlike our theaters, where only cupids and snowstorms typically rain down. There’s a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, which, in its everyday flow, is filled with the surprises and changes that are enjoyable in fiction, but so different from the steady monotony of northern life; amusements become duties, duties transform into amusements, and every aspect of life is treated as equally important, announced and carried out with the same earnest indifference and cheerful dedication. The Venetian gazette always ends its columns with the following triple advertisement:—
Charade.
Exposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the church of St.——
Theatres.
St. Moses, opera.
St. Benedict, a comedy of characters.
St. Luke, repose.
Charade.
Display of the Most Holy Sacrament in St.—— Church.
Theatres.
St. Moses, opera.
St. Benedict, a comedy of characters.
St. Luke, rest.
When it is recollected what the Catholics believe their consecrated wafer to be, we may perhaps think it worthy of a more respectable niche than between poetry and the playhouse.
When we consider what Catholics believe their consecrated wafer to be, we might think it deserves a more respected place than between poetry and the theater.
3.
Stanza xi. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
The Lion has lost nothing by his journey to the Invalides, but the gospel which supported the paw that is now on a [472] level with the other foot. The horses also are returned [A.D. 1815] to the ill-chosen spot whence they set out, and are, as before, half hidden under the porch window of St. Mark's Church. Their history, after a desperate struggle, has been satisfactorily explored. The decisions and doubts of Erizzo and Zanetti, and lastly, of the Count Leopold Cicognara, would have given them a Roman extraction, and a pedigree not more ancient than the reign of Nero. But M. de Schlegel stepped in to teach the Venetians the value of their own treasures; and a Greek vindicated, at last and for ever, the pretension of his countrymen to this noble production[557].
The Lion hasn't lost anything by his trip to the Invalides, except for the belief that once held up the paw that’s now even with the other foot. The horses have also returned [A.D. 1815] to the poorly chosen spot they left from and are, as before, partially hidden under the porch window of St. Mark's Church. Their story, after a tough struggle, has been thoroughly investigated. The decisions and uncertainties of Erizzo and Zanetti, and finally, of Count Leopold Cicognara, would have suggested they were of Roman origin, with a lineage not older than the reign of Nero. But M. de Schlegel intervened to show the Venetians the worth of their own treasures; and a Greek finally and forever defended his countrymen’s claim to this magnificent piece of art[557].
M. Mustoxidi has not been left without a reply; but, as yet, he has received no answer. It should seem that the horses are irrevocably Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by Theodosius. Lapidary writing is a favourite play of the Italians, and has conferred reputation on more than one of their literary characters. One of the best specimens of Bodoni's typography is a respectable volume of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pacciaudi. Several were prepared for the recovered horses. It is to be hoped the best was not selected, when the following words were ranged in gold letters above the cathedral porch:—
M. Mustoxidi hasn’t been left without a response; however, he hasn’t received any answer yet. It seems that the horses are definitely Chian and were brought to Constantinople by Theodosius. Engraved writing is a popular pastime for the Italians and has given a boost to more than a few of their literary figures. One of the finest examples of Bodoni’s typesetting is a respectable book of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pacciaudi. Several were prepared for the returned horses. We can only hope that the best one wasn’t chosen when the following words were arranged in gold letters above the cathedral entrance:—
QUATUOR · EQUORUM · SIGNA · A · VENETIS · BYZANTIO. CAPTA · AD · TEMP · D · MAR · A · R · S · MCCIV · POSITA · QUAE · HOSTILIS · CUPIDITAS · A · MDCCIIIC · ABSTULERAT · FRANC · I · IMP · PACIS · ORBI · DATAE · TROPHAEUM · A. MDCCCXV · VICTOR · REDUXIT.
QUATUOR · EQUORUM · SIGNA · A · VENETIS · BYZANTIO. CAPTA · AD · TEMP · D · MAR · A · R · S · MCCIV · POSITA · QUAE · HOSTILIS · CUPIDITAS · A · MDCCIIIC · ABSTULERAT · FRANC · I · IMP · PACIS · ORBI · DATAE · TROPHAEUM · A. MDCCCXV · VICTOR · REDUXIT.
Nothing shall be said of the Latin, but it may be permitted to observe, that the injustice of the Venetians in transporting the horses from Constantinople [A.D. 1204] was at least equal to that of the French in carrying them to Paris [A.D. 1797], and that it would have been more prudent to have avoided all allusions to either robbery. An apostolic prince should, perhaps, have objected to affixing over the principal entrance of a metropolitan church an inscription having a reference to any other triumphs than those of religion. Nothing less than the pacification of the world can excuse such a solecism.
Nothing will be said about the Latin, but it’s worth noting that the Venetians’ wrongdoing in taking the horses from Constantinople [A.D. 1204] was at least as bad as the French taking them to Paris [A.D. 1797]. It would have been wiser to avoid mentioning either instance of theft. An apostolic prince should have probably objected to putting an inscription above the main entrance of a major church that references any triumphs other than those of religion. Only the pacification of the world can justify such a mistake.
4.
An Emperor walks over the spot where an Emperor once knelt.
Stanza xii. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
After many vain efforts on the part of the Italians entirely to throw off the yoke of Frederic Barbarossa, and as fruitless attempts of the Emperor to make himself absolute master throughout the whole of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles of four-and-twenty years were happily brought to a close in the city of Venice. The articles of a treaty had been previously agreed upon between Pope Alexander III. and Barbarossa; and the former having received a safe-conduct, had already arrived at Venice from Ferrara, in company with the ambassadors of the King of Sicily and the consuls of the Lombard League. There still remained, however, many points to adjust, and for several days the peace was believed to be impracticable. At this juncture, it was suddenly reported that the Emperor had arrived at Chioza, a town fifteen miles from the capital. The Venetians rose tumultuously, and insisted upon immediately conducting him to the city. The Lombards took the alarm, and departed towards Treviso. The Pope himself was apprehensive of some disaster if Frederic should suddenly advance upon him, but was reassured by the prudence and address of Sebastian Ziani, the Doge. Several embassies passed between Chioza and the capital, until, at last, the Emperor, relaxing somewhat of his pretensions, "laid aside his leonine ferocity, and put on the mildness of the lamb."[558]
After many unsuccessful attempts by the Italians to completely shake off the control of Frederic Barbarossa, and after the Emperor's fruitless efforts to establish himself as the absolute ruler over all his Cisalpine territories, the bloody conflict that lasted for twenty-four years finally came to a hopeful end in the city of Venice. The terms of a treaty had already been agreed upon between Pope Alexander III and Barbarossa; the Pope, having obtained a safe passage, had arrived in Venice from Ferrara, accompanied by the ambassadors of the King of Sicily and the consuls of the Lombard League. However, there were still many details to work out, and for several days, achieving peace seemed impossible. At that moment, news suddenly came that the Emperor had reached Chioza, a town fifteen miles from the capital. The Venetians reacted with excitement and insisted on bringing him to the city immediately. The Lombards became alarmed and headed towards Treviso. The Pope himself was worried about potential disaster if Frederic decided to advance on him, but he was calmed by the wisdom and skill of Sebastian Ziani, the Doge. Several diplomatic messages were exchanged between Chioza and the capital, until finally, the Emperor, softening some of his demands, "laid aside his leonine ferocity and put on the mildness of the lamb."
On Saturday, the 23rd of July, in the year 1177, six Venetian galleys transferred Frederic, in great pomp, from Chioza to the island of Lido, a mile from Venice. Early the next morning, the Pope, accompanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and by the envoys of Lombardy, whom he had recalled from the main land, together with a great concourse of people, repaired from the patriarchal palace to St. Mark's Church, and solemnly absolved the Emperor and his partisans from the excommunication pronounced against him. The Chancellor of the Empire, on the part of his master, renounced the anti-popes and their schismatic adherents.
On Saturday, July 23, 1177, six Venetian galleys transported Frederic, with great ceremony, from Chioza to the island of Lido, just a mile from Venice. Early the next morning, the Pope, along with the Sicilian ambassadors and the envoys from Lombardy he had called back from the mainland, along with a large crowd, made their way from the patriarchal palace to St. Mark's Church, where he formally absolved the Emperor and his supporters from the excommunication that had been declared against him. The Chancellor of the Empire, on behalf of his master, renounced the anti-popes and their schismatic followers.
Immediately the Doge, with a great suite both of the clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and waiting on Frederic, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido to the capital. The Emperor descended from the galley at the quay of the Piazzetta. The Doge, the patriarch, his bishops and clergy, and the people of Venice with their crosses and their standards, marched in solemn procession before him to the church of St. Mark. Alexander was seated before the vestibule of the basilica, attended by his bishops and cardinals, by the patriarch of Aquileja, by the archbishops and bishops of Lombardy, all of them in state, and clothed in their church robes. Frederic approached—"moved by the Holy Spirit, venerating the Almighty in the person of Alexander, laying aside his imperial dignity, and throwing off his mantle, he prostrated himself at full length at the feet of the Pope. Alexander, with tears in his eyes, raised him benignantly from the ground, kissed him, blessed him; and immediately the Germans of the train sang with a loud voice, 'We praise thee, O Lord.' The Emperor then taking the Pope by the right hand, led him to the church, and having received his benediction, returned to the ducal palace."[559] The ceremony of humiliation was repeated the next day. The Pope himself, at the request of Frederic, said mass at St. Mark's. The Emperor again laid aside his imperial mantle, and taking a wand in his hand, officiated as verger, driving the laity from the choir, and preceding the pontiff to the altar. Alexander, after reciting the gospel, preached to the people. The Emperor put himself close to the pulpit in the attitude of listening; and the pontiff, touched by this mark of his attention (for he knew that Frederic did not understand a word he said), commanded the patriarch of Aquileja to translate the Latin discourse into the German tongue. The creed was then chanted. Frederic made his oblation, and kissed the Pope's feet, and, mass being over, led him by the hand to his white horse. He held the stirrup, and would have led the horse's rein to the water side, had not the Pope accepted of the inclination for the performance, and affectionately dismissed him with his benediction. Such is the substance of the account left by the archbishop of Salerno, who was present at the ceremony, and whose story is confirmed by every subsequent narration. It would be not worth so minute a record, were it not the triumph of liberty as well as of superstition. The states of Lombardy owed to it the confirmation of their privileges; and Alexander had reason to [475] thank the Almighty, who had enabled an infirm, unarmed old man to subdue a terrible and potent sovereign.[560]
Immediately, the Doge, accompanied by a large group of clergy and laity, boarded the galleys and rowed Frederic in grand style from the Lido to the capital. The Emperor stepped off the galley at the quayside of the Piazzetta. The Doge, the patriarch, his bishops and clergy, along with the people of Venice carrying their crosses and standards, solemnly marched before him to the church of St. Mark. Alexander was seated at the entrance of the basilica, surrounded by his bishops and cardinals, the patriarch of Aquileja, and the archbishops and bishops of Lombardy, all dressed in their ceremonial robes. Frederic approached—"moved by the Holy Spirit, honoring the Almighty in the person of Alexander, he laid aside his imperial dignity, took off his mantle, and prostrated himself fully at the Pope's feet. Alexander, with tears in his eyes, kindly raised him from the ground, kissed him, blessed him; and immediately the Germans in the entourage sang loudly, 'We praise thee, O Lord.' The Emperor then took the Pope by the right hand, leading him to the church, and after receiving his blessing, returned to the ducal palace."[559] The act of humility was repeated the following day. The Pope himself, at Frederic's request, celebrated mass at St. Mark's. The Emperor again removed his imperial mantle, and holding a wand in his hand, acted as verger, clearing the laity from the choir and preceding the pontiff to the altar. After reciting the gospel, Alexander preached to the people. The Emperor positioned himself near the pulpit to listen; the pontiff, touched by this display of attention (knowing that Frederic didn't understand a word), instructed the patriarch of Aquileja to translate the Latin sermon into German. The creed was then sung. Frederic made his offering and kissed the Pope's feet, and after mass, he led him by the hand to his white horse. He held the stirrup and would have taken the reins to the water’s edge if the Pope hadn’t graciously accepted his offer and dismissed him with a blessing. This is the essence of the account left by the archbishop of Salerno, who witnessed the ceremony, and whose story is corroborated by all subsequent narrations. It wouldn't merit such detailed recording if it weren't for being a triumph of both liberty and superstition. The states of Lombardy gained the affirmation of their privileges from it; and Alexander had reason to thank the Almighty, who allowed an infirm, unarmed old man to conquer a formidable and powerful sovereign.[560]
5.
The eighty-year-old leader, the conqueror of Byzantium.
Stanza xii. lines 8 and 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 8 and 9.
The reader will recollect the exclamation of the Highlander, "Oh, for one hour of Dundee!" Henry Dandolo, when elected Doge, in 1192, was eighty-five years of age. When he commanded the Venetians at the taking of Constantinople, he was consequently ninety-seven years old. At this age he annexed the fourth and a half of the whole empire of Romania,[561] for so the Roman empire was then called, to the title and to the territories of the Venetian Doge. The three-eighths of this empire were preserved in the diplomas until the Dukedom of Giovanni Dolfino, who made use of the above designation in the year 1357.[562]
The reader will recall the exclamation of the Highlander, "Oh, for one hour of Dundee!" Henry Dandolo, when he was elected Doge in 1192, was eighty-five years old. When he led the Venetians in the capture of Constantinople, he was ninety-seven years old. At this age, he added about four and a half of the entire Roman Empire, which is what the Roman Empire was called back then, to the title and territories of the Venetian Doge. Three-eighths of this empire were retained in the documents until the Dukedom of Giovanni Dolfino, who used this title in the year 1357.
Dandolo led the attack on Constantinople in person. Two ships, the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a drawbridge or ladder let down from their higher yards to [476] the walls. The Doge was one of the first to rush into the city. Then was completed, said the Venetians, the prophecy of the Erythræan sibyl:—"A gathering together of the powerful shall be made amidst the waves of the Adriatic, under a blind leader; they shall beset the goat—they shall profane Byzantium—they shall blacken her buildings—her spoils shall be dispersed; a new goat shall bleat until they have measured out and run over fifty-four feet nine inches and a half."[563] Dandolo died on the first day of June, 1205, having reigned thirteen years six months and five days, and was buried in the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople. Strangely enough it must sound, that the name of the rebel apothecary who received the Doge's sword, and annihilated the ancient government, in 1796-7, was Dandolo.
Dandolo personally led the attack on Constantinople. Two ships, the Paradise and the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a drawbridge or ladder was lowered from their higher yards to the walls. The Doge was among the first to rush into the city. Then, the Venetians claimed, the prophecy of the Erythræan sibyl was fulfilled: “A gathering of the powerful will happen amidst the waves of the Adriatic, under a blind leader; they will besiege the goat—they will defile Byzantium—they will tarnish her buildings—her treasures will be scattered; a new goat will wail until they have measured out and crossed fifty-four feet nine inches and a half.” Dandolo died on June 1, 1205, after reigning for thirteen years, six months, and five days, and was buried in the Church of St. Sophia in Constantinople. Strangely enough, it's notable that the name of the rebel apothecary who took the Doge's sword and destroyed the ancient government in 1796-97 was also Dandolo.
6.
Stanza xiii. lines 3 and 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 3 and 4.
After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of Chioza on the 16th of August, 1379, by the united armament of the Genoese and Francesco da Carrara, Signor of Padua, the Venetians were reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was sent to the conquerors with a blank sheet of paper, praying them to prescribe what terms they pleased, and leave to Venice only her independence. The Prince of Padua was inclined to listen to these proposals; but the Genoese, who, after the victory at Pola, had shouted, "To Venice! to Venice! and long live St. George!" determined to annihilate their rival; and Peter Doria, their commander-in-chief, returned this answer to the suppliants: "On God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace from the Signer of Padua, nor from our commune of Genoa, until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, that are upon the porch of your evangelist St. Mark. When we have bridled them we shall keep you quiet. And this is the pleasure of us and of our commune. As for these, my brothers of Genoa, that you have brought with you to give up to us, I [477] will not have them: take them back; for in a few days hence, I shall come and let them out of prison myself, both these and all the others" [p. 727, E. vide infra]. In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Malamocco, within five miles of the capital; but their own danger, and the pride of their enemies, gave courage to the Venetians, who made prodigious efforts, and many individual sacrifices, all of them carefully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisani was put at the head of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese broke up from Malamocco, and retired to Chioza in October; but they again threatened Venice, which was reduced to extremities. At this time, the 1st of January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had been cruising on the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The Venetians were now strong enough to besiege the Genoese. Doria was killed on the 22nd of January, by a stone bullet, one hundred and ninety-five pounds' weight, discharged from a bombard called the Trevisan. Chioza was then closely invested; five thousand auxiliaries, among whom were some English condottieri, commanded by one Captain Ceccho, joined the Venetians. The Genoese, in their turn, prayed for conditions, but none were granted, until, at last, they surrendered at discretion; and, on the 24th of June, 1380, the Doge Contarini made his triumphal entry into Chioza. Four thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many smaller vessels and barks, with all the ammunition and arms, and outfit of the expedition, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who, had it not been for the inexorable answer of Doria, would have gladly reduced their dominion to the city of Venice. An account of these transactions is found in a work called The War of Chioza,[564] written by Daniel Chinazzo, who was in Venice at the time.
After losing the battle of Pola and the capture of Chioza on August 16, 1379, by the combined forces of the Genoese and Francesco da Carrara, the Lord of Padua, the Venetians were in total despair. They sent an embassy to the conquerors with a blank sheet of paper, asking them to set whatever terms they wanted, leaving only independence to Venice. The Prince of Padua was open to these offers; however, the Genoese, who after their victory at Pola had shouted, "To Venice! to Venice! and long live St. George!" were determined to destroy their rival. Peter Doria, their commander-in-chief, responded to the Venetians by saying: "On God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, you shall have no peace from the Lord of Padua, nor from our community in Genoa, until we have first tamed those wild horses of yours that are on the porch of your evangelist St. Mark. Once we have bridled them, we will keep you quiet. This is what we and our community desire. As for these brothers of mine in Genoa that you brought to hand over to us, I will not accept them; take them back because in a few days, I will come and release them from prison myself, both these and all the others." In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Malamocco, just five miles from the capital, but their own peril, along with the pride of their enemies, gave the Venetians the courage to make incredible efforts and many personal sacrifices, all of which were carefully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisani was put in command of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese retreated from Malamocco to Chioza in October, but they again threatened Venice, which found itself in dire straits. On January 1, 1380, Carlo Zeno arrived after patrolling the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The Venetians were now strong enough to lay siege to the Genoese. Doria was killed on January 22 by a stone bullet weighing one hundred ninety-five pounds, fired from a bombard known as the Trevisan. Chioza was then closely besieged; five thousand auxiliaries, including some English mercenaries led by Captain Ceccho, joined the Venetians. The Genoese, in turn, sought terms, but none were granted until they finally surrendered unconditionally, and on June 24, 1380, Doge Contarini made his triumphant entry into Chioza. Four thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many smaller vessels and boats, along with all the ammunition and supplies of the expedition, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who, if not for Doria's unwavering response, would have happily reduced their dominion to the city of Venice. A detailed account of these events can be found in a work called The War of Chioza, written by Daniel Chinazzo, who was in Venice at that time.
7.
Stanza xv. lines 7 and 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 7 and 8.
The population of Venice, at the end of the seventeenth century, amounted to nearly two hundred thousand souls. At the last census, taken two years ago [1816], it was no more than about one hundred and three thousand; and it diminishes daily. The commerce and the official employments, which were to be the unexhausted source of Venetian grandeur, [478] have both expired.[565] Most of the patrician mansions are deserted, and would gradually disappear, had not the Government, alarmed by the demolition of seventy-two during the last two years, expressly forbidden this sad resource of poverty. Many remnants of the Venetian nobility are now scattered, and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon the banks of the Brenta, whose Palladian palaces have sunk, or are sinking, in the general decay. Of the "gentiluomo Veneto," the name is still known, and that is all. He is but the shadow of his former self, but he is polite and kind. It surely may be pardoned to him if he is querulous. Whatever may have been the vices of the republic, and although the natural term of its existence may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due course of mortality, only one sentiment can be expected from the Venetians themselves. At no time were the subjects of the republic so unanimous in their resolution to rally round the standard of St. Mark, as when it was for the last time unfurled; and the cowardice and the treachery of the few patricians who recommended the fatal neutrality, were confined to the persons of the traitors themselves. The present race cannot be thought to regret the loss of their aristocratical forms, and too despotic government; they think only on their vanished independence. They pine away at the remembrance, and on this subject suspend for a moment their gay good humour. Venice may be said, in the words of the Scripture, "to die daily;" and so general and so apparent is the decline, as to become painful to a stranger, not reconciled to the sight of a whole nation expiring, as it were, before his eyes. So artificial a creation, having lost that principle which called it into life and supported its existence, must fall to pieces at once, and sink more rapidly than it rose. The abhorrence of slavery, which drove the Venetians to the sea, has, since their disaster, forced them to the land, where they may be at least overlooked amongst the crowd of dependents, and not present the humiliating spectacle of a whole nation loaded with recent chains. Their liveliness, their affability, and that happy indifference which constitution alone can give (for philosophy aspires to it in vain), have not sunk under circumstances; but many peculiarities of costume and manner have by degrees been lost; [479] and the nobles, with a pride common to all Italians who have been masters, have not been persuaded to parade their insignificance. That splendour which was a proof and a portion of their power, they would not degrade into the trappings of their subjection. They retired from the space which they had occupied in the eyes of their fellow citizens; their continuance in which would have been a symptom of acquiescence, and an insult to those who suffered by the common misfortune. Those who remained in the degraded capital, might be said rather to haunt the scenes of their departed power, than to live in them. The reflection, "who and what enthrals," will hardly bear a comment from one who is, nationally, the friend and the ally of the conqueror. It may, however, be allowed to say thus much, that to those who wish to recover their independence, any masters must be an object of detestation; and it may be safely foretold that this unprofitable aversion will not have been corrected before Venice shall have sunk into the slime of her choked canals.
The population of Venice, at the end of the seventeenth century, was nearly two hundred thousand people. In the last census taken two years ago [1816], it was only about one hundred and three thousand, and it keeps decreasing every day. The trade and official jobs that were supposed to be the endless source of Venetian greatness have both come to an end. Most of the noble mansions are empty and would gradually vanish if the Government, worried about the destruction of seventy-two in the last two years, hadn’t specifically banned this sad way of dealing with poverty. Many remnants of the Venetian nobility are now scattered and mixed with the wealthier Jews along the banks of the Brenta, where their Palladian palaces have either collapsed or are collapsing in the general decay. The term "gentiluomo Veneto" is still known, but that’s all. He is just a shadow of his former self, though he remains polite and kind. It’s understandable if he feels a bit whiny. Regardless of the vices of the republic, and although outsiders might think its natural lifespan has run its course, the Venetians themselves can only be expected to feel one way. At no time were the subjects of the republic so united in their determination to rally around the standard of St. Mark as when it was last raised; the cowardice and treachery of the few patricians who suggested the disastrous neutrality were limited to the traitors themselves. The current generation can't be said to regret the loss of their aristocratic titles or overly controlling government; they only think about their lost independence. They dwell on the past, and in this moment, they set aside their cheerful demeanor. Venice could be said, in the words of Scripture, "to die daily," and the decline is so obvious and widespread that it becomes painful for a visitor, unaccustomed to the sight of a whole nation seemingly fading away before his eyes. Such an artificial creation, having lost the driving force that gave it life and sustained its existence, must break apart quickly and sink faster than it rose. The disdain for slavery that once drove the Venetians to the sea has, since their downfall, forced them to the land, where they can at least blend into the crowd of dependents and avoid the humiliating sight of an entire nation bearing new chains. Their liveliness, friendliness, and that natural indifference that only a constitution can provide (for philosophy can only aspire to it) have not vanished despite their circumstances; however, many unique styles of clothing and behavior have gradually disappeared. The nobles, with a pride common to all Italians who have held power, have not been convinced to flaunt their insignificance. The grandeur that once demonstrated their power, they refuse to diminish by turning it into the trappings of their subjugation. They withdrew from the prominent roles they once held in the eyes of their fellow citizens; staying would have been a sign of acceptance and an insult to those suffering from the shared misfortune. Those who remained in the diminished capital might be seen more as specters haunting the sites of their lost power rather than living there. The thought of "who and what enslaves" doesn't require commentary from someone who is, by nationality, the friend and ally of the conqueror. It can, however, be said that for those who wish to regain their independence, any masters are detestable; and it can be confidently predicted that this unproductive disdain will not have changed before Venice sinks into the silt of her clogged canals.
8.
Stanza xxx. lines 8 and 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 8 and 9.
Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we now know as little of Laura as ever.[566] The discoveries of the Abbé de Sade, his triumphs, his sneers, can no longer instruct or amuse. We must not, however, think that these memoirs[567] are as much a romance as Belisarius or the Incas, although we are told so by Dr. Beattie, a great name, but a little authority.[568] His "labour" has not been in vain, notwithstanding his "love" has, like most other passions, made him ridiculous.[569] The hypothesis which overpowered the [480] struggling Italians, and carried along less interested critics in its current, is run out. We have another proof that we can never be sure that the paradox, the most singular, and therefore having the most agreeable and authentic air, will not give place to the re-established ancient prejudice.
Thanks to the sharp insights of a Scotsman, we still know as little about Laura as ever.[566] The findings of the Abbé de Sade, his successes, his mockery, no longer educate or entertain us. However, we shouldn't think that these memoirs[567] are as fictional as Belisarius or the Incas, even though Dr. Beattie, a notable figure but a somewhat limited authority, tells us so.[568] His "work" hasn't been in vain, even if his "love," like most other emotions, has made him look foolish.[569] The theory that overwhelmed the struggling Italians and swept along less invested critics is now exhausted. We have another reminder that we can never be certain that the most unique and therefore seemingly genuine paradox won't be replaced by the old biases coming back.
It seems, then, first, that Laura was born, lived, died, and was buried, not in Avignon, but in the country. The fountains of the Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, may resume their pretensions, and the exploded de la Bastie again be heard with complacency. The hypothesis of the Abbé had no stronger props than the parchment sonnet and medal found on the skeleton of the wife of Hugo de Sade, and the manuscript note to the Virgil of Petrarch, now in the Ambrosian library. If these proofs were both incontestable, the poetry was written, the medal composed, cast, and deposited within the space of twelve hours: and these deliberate duties were performed round the carcass of one who died of the plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day of her death. These documents, therefore, are too decisive: they prove not the fact, but the forgery. Either the sonnet or the Virgilian note must be a falsification. The Abbé cites both as incontestably true; the consequent deduction is inevitable—they are both evidently false.[570]
It seems that Laura was born, lived, died, and was buried, not in Avignon, but in the countryside. The fountains of the Sorga and the thickets of Cabrieres can reclaim their claims, and the discredited de la Bastie can be heard again with satisfaction. The Abbé’s theory had no stronger support than the parchment sonnet and medal found on the skeleton of Hugo de Sade's wife, along with the manuscript note to the Virgil of Petrarch, now in the Ambrosian library. Even if these proofs were both undeniable, the poetry was written, the medal was created, minted, and placed within just twelve hours: and these careful tasks were completed around the remains of someone who died of the plague and was rushed to the grave on the same day. Therefore, these documents are too conclusive: they do not prove the fact but rather indicate a forgery. Either the sonnet or the Virgilian note must be fake. The Abbé cites both as undeniably true; the logical conclusion is clear—they are both obviously false.[570]
Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a haughty virgin rather than that tender and prudent wife who honoured Avignon, by making that town the theatre of an honest French passion, and played off for one and twenty years her little machinery of alternate favours and refusals[571] upon the first poet of the age. It was, indeed, rather too unfair that a female should be made responsible for eleven children upon the faith of a misinterpreted abbreviation, and the decision of a librarian.[572] It is, however, satisfactory to think that the [481] love of Petrarch was not platonic. The happiness which he prayed to possess but once and for a moment was surely not of the mind,[573] and something so very real as a marriage project, with one who has been idly called a shadowy nymph, may be, perhaps, detected in at least six places of his own sonnets. The love of Petrarch was neither platonic nor poetical; and if in one passage of his works he calls it "amore veementeissimo ma unico ed onesto," he confesses, in a letter to a friend, that it was guilty and perverse, that it absorbed him quite, and mastered his heart.
Secondly, Laura was never married and was an arrogant virgin instead of that tender and careful wife who brought honor to Avignon by making it the stage for a genuine French romance, playing her games of alternating affection and rejection[571] with the greatest poet of the time for twenty-one years. It was indeed a bit unfair that a woman should be held accountable for eleven children based on a misunderstood abbreviation and a librarian's decision.[572] However, it's comforting to think that Petrarch's love was not just an abstract concept. The happiness he longed to experience, even just for a moment, was certainly not just a mental thing,[573] and something as substantial as a marriage plan, with someone who has foolishly been referred to as a ghostly nymph, can perhaps be found in at least six of his own sonnets. Petrarch's love was neither platonic nor merely poetic; and if in one part of his works he refers to it as "amore veementeissimo ma unico ed onesto," he admits in a letter to a friend that it was guilty and twisted, consuming him entirely and controlling his heart.
In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for the culpability of his wishes; for the Abbé de Sade himself, who certainly would not have been scrupulously delicate if he could have proved his descent from Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into a stout defence of his virtuous grandmother. As far as relates to the poet, we have no security for the innocence, except perhaps in the constancy of his pursuit. He assures us in his epistle to posterity, that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he not only had in horror, but had lost all recollection and image of any "irregularity." But the birth of his natural daughter cannot be assigned earlier than his thirty-ninth year; and either the memory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, when he forgot or was guilty of this slip.[574] The weakest argument for the purity of this love has been drawn from the permanence of its effects, which survived the object of his passion. The reflection of M. de la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of making [482] impressions which death cannot efface, is one of those which everybody applauds, and everybody finds not to be true, the moment he examines his own breast or the records of human feeling.[575] Such apophthegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for the cause of morality, except with the very weak and the very young. He that has made even a little progress beyond ignorance and pupilage cannot be edified with anything but truth. What is called vindicating the honour of an individual or a nation, is the most futile, tedious, and uninstructive of all writing; although it will always meet with more applause than that sober criticism, which is attributed to the malicious desire of reducing a great man to the common standard of humanity. It is, after all, not unlikely that our historian was right in retaining his favourite hypothetic salvo, which secures the author, although it scarcely saves the honour of the still unknown mistress of Petrarch.[576]
In this case, though, he might have been worried about the consequences of his desires; after all, the Abbé de Sade, who certainly wouldn’t have been overly concerned about delicacy if he could trace his lineage back to Petrarch as well as Laura, finds himself strongly defending his virtuous grandmother. As for the poet, we have no guarantee of his innocence, except perhaps in his consistent pursuit. He claims in his letter to future generations that by the time he turned forty, he not only detested but had forgotten entirely about any “irregularity.” However, the birth of his illegitimate daughter cannot be dated earlier than his thirty-ninth year; either the poet’s memory or his morals must have failed him when he forgot or was guilty of this slip.[574] The weakest argument for the purity of this love has been drawn from the lasting effects it had, which endured beyond the object of his affection. M. de la Bastie’s reflection that only virtue can create impressions that death cannot erase is one of those statements that everyone praises but quickly discovers isn’t true the moment they examine their own feelings or the history of human emotion.[575] Such sayings don't help Petrarch or the cause of morality, except for the very naive and the very young. Anyone who has made even a little progress beyond ignorance and learning cannot be enlightened by anything but the truth. What is called restoring the honor of an individual or a nation is the most pointless, tedious, and uninformative type of writing; yet it consistently receives more praise than that measured criticism, which is seen as a malicious effort to bring a great person down to the common standard of humanity. Ultimately, it’s not unlikely that our historian was correct in retaining his favorite hypothetical safeguard, which protects the author, though it hardly preserves the honor of Petrarch's still unknown mistress.[576]
9.
Stanza xxxi. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Petrarch retired to Arquà immediately on his return from the unsuccessful attempt to visit Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370, and with the exception of his celebrated visit to Venice in company with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to have passed the four last years of his life between that charming solitude and Padua. For four months previous to his death he was in a state of continual languor, and in the morning of July the 19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his library chair with his head resting upon a book. The chair is still shown amongst the precious relics of Arquà, which, from the uninterrupted veneration that has been attached to everything relative to this great man from the moment of his death to the present hour, have, it may be [483] hoped, a better chance of authenticity than the Shaksperian memorials of Stratford-upon-Avon.
Petrarch moved to Arquà right after his unsuccessful trip to see Urban V. in Rome in 1370. Apart from his famous visit to Venice with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he spent the last four years of his life between that lovely solitude and Padua. For four months before he died, he was in a constant state of weakness, and on the morning of July 19, 1374, he was found dead in his library chair with his head resting on a book. The chair is still displayed among the treasured relics of Arquà, which, due to the ongoing admiration for everything related to this great man since his death, might have a better chance of being authentic than the Shakespearean memorials in Stratford-upon-Avon. [483]
Arquà (for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation, although the analogy of the English language has been observed in the verse) is twelve miles from Padua, and about three miles on the right of the high road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the Euganean hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well-wooded meadow, you come to a little blue lake, clear but fathomless, and to the foot of a succession of acclivities and hills, clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pomegranate trees, and every sunny fruit shrub. From the banks of the lake the road winds into the hills, and the church of Arquà is soon seen between a cleft where two ridges slope towards each other, and nearly enclose the village. The houses are scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these summits; and that of the poet is on the edge of a little knoll overlooking two descents, and commanding a view, not only of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately beneath, but of the wide plains, above whose low woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by festoons of vines, tall, single cypresses, and the spires of towns, are seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of these volcanic hills is warmer, and the vintage begins a week sooner than in the plains of Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be said to be buried, in a sarcophagus of red marble, raised on four pilasters on an elevated base, and preserved from an association with meaner tombs. It stands conspicuously alone, but will be soon overshadowed by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's Fountain, for here everything is Petrarch's, springs and expands itself beneath an artificial arch, a little below the church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest season, with that soft water which was the ancient wealth of the Euganean hills. It would be more attractive, were it not, in some seasons, beset with hornets and wasps. No other coincidence could assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. The revolutions of centuries have spared these sequestered valleys, and the only violence which has been offered to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted, not by hate, but veneration. An attempt was made to rob the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms was stolen by a Florentine through a rent which is still visible. The injury is not forgotten, but has served to identify the poet with the country where he was born, but where he would not live. A peasant boy of Arquà being asked who Petrarch was, replied, "that the people of the parsonage knew all about him, but that he only knew that he was a Florentine."
Arquà (the last syllable is emphasized in pronunciation, even though it follows the English language pattern) is twelve miles from Padua and about three miles to the right of the main road to Rovigo, nestled in the Euganean hills. After a twenty-minute walk through a flat, well-wooded meadow, you reach a small blue lake, clear yet unfathomable, at the base of a series of slopes and hills covered in vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pomegranate trees, as well as all kinds of sun-kissed fruit bushes. The road from the lake winds into the hills, and you soon see the church of Arquà between a gap where two ridges lean towards each other, nearly enclosing the village. The houses are spread out along the steep slopes, and the poet's home sits on the edge of a small knoll overlooking two slopes, providing a view not just of the vibrant gardens in the valleys below, but also of the wide plains, where low woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by overlapping vines, tall single cypresses, and distant town spires, stretch all the way to the mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of these volcanic hills is warmer, and the grape harvest starts a week earlier than in the plains of Padua. Petrarch rests, as he cannot truly be said to be buried, in a red marble sarcophagus raised on four pilasters atop an elevated base, kept separate from lesser graves. It stands prominently alone but will soon be overshadowed by four recently planted laurels. Petrarch's Fountain, as everything here is connected to him, springs forth and spreads under an artificial arch just below the church, plentifully providing that soft water which was the ancient treasure of the Euganean hills, especially in the driest season. It would be more appealing if it weren't sometimes swarmed by hornets and wasps. No other coincidence can connect the tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. The passing centuries have left these secluded valleys untouched, and the only violence done to Petrarch's remains was out of respect rather than hatred. An attempt was made to rob the sarcophagus of its treasures, and one arm was stolen by a Florentine through a tear that is still visible. This injury is not forgotten but has helped to link the poet with the country where he was born but chose not to live. When a peasant boy from Arquà was asked who Petrarch was, he replied, "the people at the parsonage know all about him, but all I know is that he was a Florentine."
Mr. Forsyth[577] was not quite correct in saying that Petrarch never returned to Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a boy. It appears he did pass through Florence on his way from Parma to Rome, and on his return in the year 1350, and remained there long enough to form some acquaintance with its most distinguished inhabitants. A Florentine gentleman, ashamed of the aversion of the poet for his native country, was eager to point out this trivial error in our accomplished traveller, whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity, extensive erudition, and refined taste, joined to that engaging simplicity of manners which has been so frequently recognised as the surest, though it is certainly not an indispensable, trait of superior genius.
Mr. Forsyth[577] wasn't entirely right when he said that Petrarch never returned to Tuscany after leaving as a boy. It seems he did pass through Florence on his way from Parma to Rome and again in 1350, spending enough time there to get to know some of its most notable residents. A Florentine gentleman, embarrassed by the poet's disdain for his homeland, was eager to point out this small mistake to our distinguished traveler, whom he admired and respected for his remarkable intellect, broad knowledge, and refined taste, combined with that charming simplicity of character often recognized as a hallmark of great genius, even though it's certainly not a must-have trait.
Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously traced and recorded. The house in which he lodged is shown in Venice. The inhabitants of Arezzo, in order to decide the ancient controversy between their city and the neighbouring Ancisa, where Petrarch was carried when seven months old, and remained until his seventh year, have designated by a long inscription the spot where their great fellow citizen was born. A tablet has been raised to him at Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, at the cathedral, because he was arch-deacon of that society, and was only snatched from his intended sepulture in their church by a foreign death. Another tablet, with a bust, has been erected to him at Pavia, on account of his having passed the autumn of 1368 in that city, with his son-in-law Brossano. The political condition which has for ages precluded the Italians from the criticism of the living, has concentrated their attention to the illustration of the dead.
Every step of Laura's lover has been anxiously tracked and noted. The house where he stayed is located in Venice. The people of Arezzo, to settle the long-standing debate between their city and nearby Ancisa—where Petrarch was taken when he was seven months old and lived until he turned seven—have marked the spot where their esteemed fellow citizen was born with a lengthy inscription. A plaque has been dedicated to him in Parma, at the chapel of St. Agatha in the cathedral, because he was the archdeacon of that community and was only taken from his planned burial in their church due to a foreign death. Another plaque, along with a bust, has been set up for him in Pavia, since he spent the autumn of 1368 in that city with his son-in-law Brossano. The political situation that has for centuries prevented Italians from critiquing the living has focused their attention on honoring the dead.
10.
And Boileau, whose reckless jealousy, etc.
Stanza xxxviii. lines 6 and 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 6 and 7.
Perhaps the couplet in which Boileau depreciates Tasso may serve as well as any other specimen to justify the opinion given of the harmony of French verse—
Perhaps the couplet where Boileau criticizes Tasso might work just as well as any other example to support the view on the harmony of French verse—
"Like the sparkle of Tasso with all the gold of Virgil."
Sat. ix. v. 176.
Sat. 9. 5. 176.
The biographer Serassi,[578] out of tenderness to the reputation either of the Italian or the French poet, is eager to observe that the satirist recanted or explained away this censure, and subsequently allowed the author of the Jerusalem to be "a genius sublime, vast, and happily born for the higher flights of poetry." To this we will add, that the recantation is far from satisfactory, when we examine the whole anecdote as reported by Olivet.[579] The sentence pronounced against him by Bouhours[580] is recorded only to the confusion of the critic, whose palinodia the Italian makes no effort to discover, and would not, perhaps, accept. As to the opposition which the Jerusalem encountered from the Cruscan academy, who degraded Tasso from all competition with Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition must also in some measure be laid to the charge of Alfonso, and the court of Ferrara. For Leonard Salviati, the principal and nearly the sole origin of this attack, was, there can be no doubt,[581] influenced by a hope to acquire the favour of the House of Este: an object which he thought attainable by exalting the reputation of a native poet at the expense of a rival, then a prisoner of state. The hopes and efforts of Salviati must serve to show the contemporary opinion as to the nature of the poet's imprisonment; and will fill up the measure of our indignation at the tyrant jailer.[582] In fact, [486] the antagonist of Tasso was not disappointed in the reception given to his criticism; he was called to the court of Ferrara, where, having endeavoured to heighten his claims to favour, by panegyrics on the family of his sovereign,[583] he was in turn abandoned, and expired in neglected poverty. The opposition of the Cruscans was brought to a close in six years after the commencement of the controversy; and if the Academy owed its first renown to having almost opened with such a paradox,[584] it is probable that, on the other hand, the care of his reputation alleviated rather than aggravated the imprisonment of the injured poet. The defence of his father and of himself, for both were involved in the censure of Salviati, found employment for many of his solitary hours, and the captive could have been but little embarrassed to reply to accusations, where, among other delinquencies, he was charged with invidiously omitting, in his comparison between France and Italy, to make any mention of the cupola of St. Maria del Fiore at Florence.[585] The late biographer of Ariosto seems as if willing to renew the controversy by doubting the interpretation of Tasso's self-estimation[586] related in Serassi's life of the poet. But Tiraboschi had before laid that rivalry at rest,[587] by showing that between Ariosto and Tasso it is not a question of comparison, but of preference.
The biographer Serassi,[578] out of respect for the reputations of both the Italian and French poets, is quick to point out that the satirist took back or clarified this criticism, and later referred to the author of the Jerusalem as "a sublime genius, vast and well-suited for the highest forms of poetry." To this, we’ll add that the retraction is not very convincing when we look at the whole story as reported by Olivet.[579] The sentence issued against him by Bouhours[580] is noted only to the embarrassment of the critic, whose palinodia the Italian makes no attempt to find, and probably wouldn't want to accept. Regarding the opposition that the Jerusalem faced from the Cruscan academy, which ranked Tasso below Bojardo and Pulci and took him out of competition with Ariosto, the blame for this disgrace should also partially rest with Alfonso and the court of Ferrara. Leonard Salviati, the main and nearly sole instigator of this attack, was undoubtedly[581] motivated by a desire to gain favor with the House of Este: something he thought achievable by elevating the reputation of a local poet at the expense of a rival who was then a prisoner of state. Salviati's hopes and efforts illustrate the contemporary view of the poet's imprisonment and amplify our outrage against the cruel jailer.[582] In fact, [486] the opponent of Tasso was not disappointed by the reception of his criticism; he was summoned to the court of Ferrara, where, having tried to bolster his standing by praising his ruler's family,[583] he was ultimately abandoned and died in neglect and poverty. The opposition from the Cruscans ended six years after the controversy began; and while the Academy first gained fame by starting with such a paradox,[584] it’s likely that taking care of his reputation eased rather than worsened the imprisonment of the wronged poet. Defending himself and his father, who were both implicated in Salviati’s criticism, occupied many of his lonely hours, and the captive would have had little trouble responding to accusations that included the rather petty charge of neglecting to mention the dome of St. Maria del Fiore in Florence in his comparison of France and Italy.[585] The recent biographer of Ariosto seems eager to reignite the debate by questioning the interpretation of Tasso's self-assessment[586] discussed in Serassi’s life of the poet. However, Tiraboschi had previously settled that rivalry,[587] demonstrating that the issue between Ariosto and Tasso is one of preference rather than comparison.
11.
Stanza xli. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Before the remains of Ariosto were removed from the Benedictine church to the library of Ferrara, his bust, which [487] surmounted the tomb, was struck by lightning, and a crown of iron laurels melted away. The event has been recorded by a writer of the last century.[588] The transfer of these sacred ashes, on the 6th of June, 1801, was one of the most brilliant spectacles of the short-lived Italian Republic; and to consecrate the memory of the ceremony, the once famous fallen Intrepidi were revived and reformed into the Ariostean academy. The large public place through which the procession paraded was then for the first time called Ariosto Square. The author of the Orlando is jealously claimed as the Homer, not of Italy but Ferrara.[589] The mother of Ariosto was of Reggio, and the house in which he was born is carefully distinguished by a tablet with these words: "Qui nacque Ludovico Ariosto il giorno 8. di Settembre dell' anno 1474." But the Ferrarese make light of the accident by which their poet was born abroad, and claim him exclusively for their own. They possess his bones, they show his arm-chair, and his inkstand, and his autographs.
Before Ariosto's remains were moved from the Benedictine church to the Ferrara library, his bust that topped the tomb was struck by lightning, causing an iron laurel crown to melt away. This event was noted by a writer from the last century.[588] The transfer of these sacred ashes on June 6, 1801, was one of the most impressive events of the short-lived Italian Republic; to commemorate the ceremony, the once-famous fallen Intrepidi were revived and formed into the Ariostean academy. The large public square through which the procession marched was then named Ariosto Square for the first time. The author of the Orlando is proudly considered the Homer, not of Italy but of Ferrara.[589] Ariosto's mother was from Reggio, and the house where he was born is marked by a plaque that reads: "Qui nacque Ludovico Ariosto il giorno 8. di Settembre dell' anno 1474." However, the people of Ferrara downplay the fact that their poet was born elsewhere and claim him exclusively as their own. They have his bones, display his armchair, inkstand, and autographs.
Hic currus exist..."
The house where he lived, the room where he died, are designated by his own replaced memorial,[590] and by a recent inscription. The Ferrarese are more jealous of their claims since the animosity of Denina, arising from a cause which their apologists mysteriously hint is not unknown to them, ventured to degrade their soil and climate to a Boeotian in capacity for all spiritual productions. A quarto volume has been called forth by the detraction, and this supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of the illustrious Ferarrese, has been considered a triumphant reply to the "Quadro Storico Statistico dell' Alta Italia."
The house where he lived and the room where he died are marked by his own memorial,[590] and by a recent inscription. The people of Ferrara are particularly protective of their legacy since the hostility of Denina, linked to a reason that their defenders subtly suggest they are aware of, attempted to belittle their land and climate as being inferior in producing anything of spiritual value. A quarto volume has emerged in response to this criticism, and this addition to Barotti's Memoirs of the illustrious Ferrarese is viewed as a strong rebuttal to the "Quadro Storico Statistico dell' Alta Italia."
12.
No bolt of thunder strikes the tree.
Stanza xli. lines 4 and 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 4 and 5.
The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel, and the white vine,[591] were amongst the most approved preservatives against lightning: Jupiter chose the first, Augustus Cæsar the second, and Tiberius never failed to wear a wreath of the third when the sky threatened a thunder-storm.[592] These superstitions may be received without a sneer in a country where the magical properties of the hazel twig have not lost all their credit; and perhaps the reader may not be much surprised that a commentator on Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely to disprove the imputed virtues of the crown of Tiberius, by mentioning that a few years before he wrote a laurel was actually struck by lightning at Rome.[593]
The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel, and the white vine,[591] were among the most trusted protectors against lightning: Jupiter picked the first, Augustus Caesar chose the second, and Tiberius always wore a wreath of the third when a thunderstorm was approaching.[592] These superstitions can be accepted without mockery in a country where the magical qualities of the hazel twig still have some credibility; and perhaps the reader won’t be too surprised that a commentator on Suetonius has seriously taken it upon himself to disprove the alleged powers of Tiberius's crown by pointing out that a few years before he wrote, a laurel was actually struck by lightning in Rome.[593]
13.
Stanza xli. line 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 8.
The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum, having been touched by lightning, were held sacred, and the memory of the accident was preserved by a pateal, or altar resembling the mouth of a well, with a little chapel covering the cavity supposed to be made by the thunder-bolt. Bodies scathed and persons struck dead were thought to be incorruptible;[594] and a stroke not fatal conferred perpetual dignity upon the man so distinguished by heaven.[595]
The Curtius Lake and the Ruminal fig tree in the Forum, having been struck by lightning, were considered sacred, and the memory of the event was commemorated by a pateal, or altar that resembled the mouth of a well, with a small chapel covering the space believed to be created by the bolt. Bodies that were burned and people who died from the strike were thought to be incorruptible;[594] and a non-fatal strike granted everlasting honor to the person so favored by the divine.[595]
Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a white garment, and buried where they fell. The superstition was not confined to the worshippers of Jupiter: the Lombards believed in the omens furnished by lightning; and a Christian priest confesses that, by a diabolical skill in interpreting thunder, [489] a seer foretold to Agilulf, duke of Turin, an event which came to pass, and gave him a queen and a crown.[596] There was, however, something equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of Rome did not always consider propitious; and as the fears are likely to last longer than the consolations of superstition, it is not strange that the Romans of the age of Leo X. should have been so much terrified at some misinterpreted storms as to require the exhortations of a scholar, who arrayed all the learning on thunder and lightning to prove the omen favourable; beginning with the flash which struck the walls of Velitræ;, and including that which played upon a gate at Florence, and foretold the pontificate of one of its citizens.[597]
Those who were killed by lightning were wrapped in a white cloth and buried where they fell. This belief wasn’t limited to the worshippers of Jupiter; the Lombards also believed in the signs given by lightning. A Christian priest admits that, using a devilish skill to interpret thunder, a seer predicted to Agilulf, the duke of Turin, an event that actually happened, leading to him gaining a queen and a crown. [489] However, there was something ambiguous about this sign that the ancient Romans didn’t always see as a good omen. Since fears tend to last longer than the comforts of superstition, it’s not surprising that the Romans during the time of Leo X were so scared by some misinterpreted storms that they needed a scholar to explain everything he knew about thunder and lightning to show that the omen was a positive one. He started with the lightning that struck the walls of Velitræ and included the one that flashed on a gate in Florence, predicting the papacy of one of its citizens. [596] [597]
14.
Stanza xlix. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines in the Seasons; and the comparison of the object with the description proves, not only the correctness of the portrait, but the peculiar turn of thought, and, if the term may be used, the sexual imagination of the descriptive poet. The same conclusion may be deduced from another hint in the same episode of Musidora; for Thomson's notion of the privileges of favoured love must have been either very primitive, or rather deficient in delicacy, when he made his grateful nymph inform her discreet Damon that in some happier moment he might perhaps be the companion of her bath:—
The sight of the Venus of Medicis immediately brings to mind the lines from the Seasons; and comparing the object with the description shows not only the accuracy of the portrayal but also the unique perspective and, if the term fits, the sexual imagination of the poet. The same conclusion can be drawn from another hint in the same episode of Musidora; for Thomson's idea of the privileges of favored love must have been either very basic or lacking in subtlety when he had his grateful nymph tell her discreet Damon that in some happier moment he might get to join her in the bath:—
The reader will recollect the anecdote told in the Life of Dr. Johnson. We will not leave the Florentine gallery without a word on the Whetter. It seems strange that the character of that disputed statue should not be entirely decided, at least in the mind of any one who has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of the Basilica of St. Paul without the walls, at Rome, where the whole group of the fable of Marsyas is seen [490] in tolerable preservation; and the Scythian slave whetting the knife, is represented exactly in the same position as this celebrated masterpiece. The slave is not naked; but it is easier to get rid of this difficulty than to suppose the knife in the hand of the Florentine statue an instrument for shaving, which it must be, if, as Lanzi supposes, the man is no other than the barber of Julius Cæsar. Winckelmann, illustrating a bas-relief of the same subject, follows the opinion of Leonard Agostini, and his authority might have been thought conclusive, even if the resemblance did not strike the most careless observer.[598] Amongst the bronzes of the same princely collection, is still to be seen the inscribed tablet copied and commented upon by Mr. Gibbon.[599] Our historian found some difficulties, but did not desist from his illustration. He might be vexed to hear that his criticism has been thrown away on an inscription now generally recognised to be a forgery.
The reader will remember the story shared in the Life of Dr. Johnson. We won't leave the Florentine gallery without mentioning the Whetter. It seems odd that the identity of that debated statue isn't fully settled, especially for anyone who has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls in Rome, where the entire group from the fable of Marsyas is in relatively good condition; the Scythian slave sharpening the knife is shown in the exact same pose as this famous artwork. The slave isn't naked, but it's easier to overlook that issue than to suggest that the knife in the Florentine statue's hand is just a shaving tool, which it must be if, as Lanzi claims, the man is actually Julius Caesar's barber. Winckelmann, while explaining a bas-relief of the same topic, agrees with Leonard Agostini, and his authority might seem definitive, even if the likeness doesn't escape the notice of the most inattentive observer.[490] Among the bronzes in the same prestigious collection, there's still the inscribed tablet that Mr. Gibbon copied and commented on. Our historian encountered some challenges but didn’t give up on his interpretation. He might be frustrated to learn that his critique has been wasted on an inscription that is now widely recognized as a forgery.
15.
Stanza liv. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
This name will recall the memory, not only of those whose tombs have raised the Santa Croce into the centre of pilgrimage—the Mecca of Italy—but of her whose eloquence was poured over the illustrious ashes, and whose voice is now as mute as those she sung. Corinna is no more; and with her should expire the fear, the flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or too dark a cloud round the march of genius, and forbad the steady gaze of disinterested criticism. We have her picture embellished or distorted, as friendship or detraction has held the pencil: the impartial portrait was hardly to be expected from a contemporary. The immediate voice of her survivors will, it is probable, be far from affording a just estimate of her singular capacity. The gallantry, the love of wonder, and the hope of associated fame, which blunted the edge of censure, must cease to exist.—The dead have no sex; they can surprise by no new miracles; they can confer no privilege: Corinna has ceased to be a woman—she is only an author; and it may be foreseen that many will repay themselves for former complaisance, by a severity [491] to which the extravagance of previous praises may perhaps give the colour of truth. The latest posterity—for to the latest posterity they will assuredly descend—will have to pronounce upon her various productions; and the longer the vista through which they are seen, the more accurately minute will be the object, the more certain the justice, of the decision. She will enter into that existence in which the great writers of all ages and nations are, as it were, associated in a world of their own, and, from that superior sphere, shed their eternal influence for the control and consolation of mankind. But the individual will gradually disappear as the author is more distinctly seen; some one, therefore, of all those whom the charms of involuntary wit, and of easy hospitality, attracted within the friendly circles of Coppet, should rescue from oblivion those virtues which, although they are said to love the shade, are, in fact, more frequently chilled than excited by the domestic cares of private life. Some one should be found to portray the unaffected graces with which she adorned those dearer relationships, the performance of whose duties is rather discovered amongst the interior secrets, than seen in the outward management, of family intercourse; and which, indeed, it requires the delicacy of genuine affection to qualify for the eye of an indifferent spectator. Some one should be found, not to celebrate, but to describe, the amiable mistress of an open mansion, the centre of a society, ever varied, and always pleased, the creator of which, divested of the ambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give fresh animation to those around her. The mother tenderly affectionate and tenderly beloved, the friend unboundedly generous, but still esteemed, the charitable patroness of all distress, cannot be forgotten by those whom she cherished, and protected, and fed. Her loss will be mourned the most where she was known the best; and, to the sorrows of very many friends, and more dependants, may be offered the disinterested regret of a stranger, who, amidst the sublimer scenes of the Leman lake, received his chief satisfaction from contemplating the engaging qualities of the incomparable Corinna.
This name will remind us not only of those whose graves have made Santa Croce a pilgrimage site—the Mecca of Italy—but also of the one whose eloquence graced the esteemed remains, and whose voice is now as silent as those she celebrated. Corinna is gone; with her, the fear, flattery, and envy that cast either a bright or dark shadow over genius should also vanish, preventing unbiased criticism from taking a steady look. We have her image, either enhanced or warped, as friendship or criticism chose to portray her; a neutral portrayal from a contemporary was unlikely. The immediate reactions from those left behind will probably not provide an accurate assessment of her unique talent. The charm, wonder, and desire for shared fame that dulled criticism will soon fade. The deceased have no gender; they can't perform new miracles or grant favors: Corinna is no longer a woman—she is just an author; and it’s likely that many will make up for past leniency with harsh criticism that may mask previous extravagant praises as genuine. Future generations—who will definitely be her audience—will judge her various works; the longer they look back, the more precise their views will become, leading to a just outcome. She will join an existence where great writers from all times and places are, in a sense, unified in their own realm, and from this higher plane, exert their lasting influence to guide and comfort humanity. However, the individual will gradually fade as the author comes into focus; therefore, someone among those whom Corinna’s charming wit and warm hospitality welcomed into Coppet's friendly circles should prevent her virtues from being forgotten. These qualities, although said to prefer the shadows, are often more stifled than inspired by the everyday responsibilities of private life. Someone should be found to portray the genuine grace she brought to dear relationships, which are often revealed in their intimate truths rather than the visible dynamics of family life, and for which true affection is needed to appeal to an outside observer. Someone should be found, not to glorify, but to depict the charming hostess of an open home, the heart of a society that was always diverse and content, which she created, free from the ambitions and tactics of public competition, shining forth only to energize those around her. The mother, who was both tenderly caring and deeply cherished, the friend who was incredibly generous yet still respected, and the compassionate supporter of those in distress can never be forgotten by those she nurtured, protected, and fed. Her absence will be felt the most by those who knew her best; and, alongside the sorrows of many friends and even more dependents, I express the sincere regret of a stranger who, amidst the grand scenes of Lake Geneva, found his greatest joy in admiring the captivating qualities of the incomparable Corinna.
16.
Stanza liv. lines 6 and 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 6 and 7.
Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians, without waiting for the hundred years, consider him as "a poet [492] good in law."—His memory is the more dear to them because he is the bard of freedom; and because, as such, his tragedies can receive no countenance from any of their sovereigns. They are but very seldom, and but very few of them, allowed to be acted. It was observed by Cicero, that nowhere were the true opinions and feelings of the Romans so clearly shown as at the theatre.[600] In the autumn of 1816, a celebrated improvisatore exhibited his talents at the Opera-house of Milan. The reading of the theses handed in for the subjects of his poetry was received by a very numerous audience, for the most part in silence, or with laughter; but when the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exclaimed The apotheosis of Victor Alfieri, the whole theatre burst into a shout, and the applause was continued for some moments. The lot did not fall on Alfieri; and the Signor Sgricci had to pour forth his extemporary common-places on the bombardment of Algiers. The choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite so much as might be thought from a first view of the ceremony; and the police not only takes care to look at the papers beforehand, but, in case of any prudential afterthought, steps in to correct the blindness of chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri was received with immediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was conjectured there would be no opportunity of carrying it into effect.
Alfieri is the big name of this era. The Italians, without waiting a hundred years, regard him as "a poet good in law." His memory is especially cherished because he is the voice of freedom; and as such, his tragedies do not receive support from any of their rulers. They are rarely allowed to be performed, and even then, only a few get the chance. Cicero remarked that nowhere were the true opinions and feelings of the Romans shown as clearly as at the theater. In the autumn of 1816, a famous improviser showcased his talents at the Opera-house in Milan. The reading of the topics submitted for his poetry was met by a large audience, mostly in silence or with laughter; but when the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exclaimed The apotheosis of Victor Alfieri, the entire theater erupted in cheers, and the applause lasted for several moments. The lot didn’t go to Alfieri, and Signor Sgricci had to share his off-the-cuff remarks on the bombardment of Algiers. The selection isn’t left to chance as much as one might think from a first glance at the ceremony; the police not only reviews the papers beforehand but also steps in to correct any oversight in case of any prudential afterthought. The proposal to deify Alfieri was met with immediate excitement, especially since it was assumed there would be no chance to actually carry it out.
17.
Stanza liv. line 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 9.
The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscriptions, which so often leaves us uncertain whether the structure [493] before us is an actual depository, or a cenotaph, or a simple memorial not of death but life, has given to the tomb of Machiavelli no information as to the place or time of the birth or death, the age or parentage, of the historian.
The pretended simplicity in grave inscriptions often makes us unsure if the structure [493] in front of us is a real burial site, a cenotaph, or just a memorial celebrating life rather than death. This has meant that Machiavelli's tomb provides no details about the time or place of his birth or death, his age, or his family background.
There seems at least no reason why the name should not have been put above the sentence which alludes to it.
There’s really no reason why the name shouldn’t have been placed above the sentence that refers to it.
It will readily be imagined that the prejudices which have passed the name of Machiavelli into an epithet proverbial of iniquity exist no longer at Florence. His memory was persecuted, as his life had been, for an attachment to liberty incompatible with the new system of despotism, which succeeded the fall of the free governments of Italy. He was put to the torture for being a "libertine," that is, for wishing to restore the republic of Florence; and such are the undying efforts of those who are interested in the perversion, not only of the nature of actions, but the meaning of words, that what was once patriotism, has by degrees come to signify debauch. We have ourselves outlived the old meaning of "liberality," which is now another word for treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It seems to have been a strange mistake to accuse the author of The Prince, as being a pander to tyranny; and to think that the Inquisition would condemn his work for such a delinquency. The fact is, that Machiavelli, as is usual with those against whom no crime can be proved, was suspected of and charged with atheism; and the first and last most violent opposers of The Prince were both Jesuits, one of whom persuaded the Inquisition "benchè fosse tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and the other qualified the secretary of the Florentine republic as no better than a fool. The father Possevin was proved never to have read the book, and the father Lucchesini not to have understood it. It is clear, however, that such critics must have objected not to the slavery of the doctrines, but to the supposed tendency of a lesson which shows how distinct are the interests of a monarch from the happiness of mankind. The Jesuits are re-established in Italy, and the last chapter of The Prince may again call forth a particular refutation from those who are employed once more in moulding the minds of the rising generation, so as to receive the impressions of despotism. The chapter [xxvi.] bears for title, "Esortazione a liberare l'Italia da' Barbari," and concludes with a libertine excitement to the future redemption of Italy. "Non si deve adunque lasciar passare questa occasione, acciocchè la Italia vegga dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo [494] redentore. Nè posso esprimere con quale amore ei fusse ricevuto in tutte quelle provincie, che hanno patito per queste illuvioni esterne, con qual sete di vendetta, con che ostinata fede, con que pietà, con che lacrime. Quali porte se gli serrerebbero? Quali popoli gli negherebbero l'ubbidienza? Quale Italiano gli negherebbe l'ossequio? AD OGNUNO PUZZA QUESTO BARBARO DOMINIO."[601]
It’s easy to imagine that the prejudices that turned Machiavelli’s name into a term synonymous with wickedness no longer exist in Florence. His memory was tormented, just as his life was, for his commitment to liberty, which clashed with the new system of despotism that arose after the fall of Italy’s free governments. He was tortured for being a "libertine," which meant he wanted to restore the republic of Florence; and such are the relentless efforts of those interested in twisting not only the nature of actions but also the meaning of words, that what was once patriotism has gradually come to mean debauchery. We ourselves have outlived the old definition of "liberality," which is now considered treason in one country and foolishness everywhere else. It was a bizarre mistake to accuse the author of The Prince of being a supporter of tyranny and to think that the Inquisition would condemn his work for that reason. The truth is, Machiavelli, like many who cannot be proven guilty of any crime, was suspected of and charged with atheism; and the first and strongest opponents of The Prince were both Jesuits, one of whom convinced the Inquisition "benchè fosse tardo" to ban the book, while the other dismissed the secretary of the Florentine republic as nothing more than a fool. Father Possevin was shown to have never read the book, and Father Lucchesini was found not to have understood it. However, it’s clear that such critics must have objected not to the doctrines themselves but to the perceived implications of a lesson showing how separate a monarch's interests are from the happiness of humanity. The Jesuits are back in Italy, and the last chapter of The Prince may once again provoke specific rebuttals from those who are now tasked with shaping the minds of the younger generation to accept the imprints of despotism. The chapter [xxvi.] is titled "Esortazione a liberare l'Italia da' Barbari," and it ends with a libertine call for the future redemption of Italy. "We must not let this opportunity pass, so that Italy can finally see a redeemer after such a long time. Nor can I express how lovingly he would be received in all those provinces that have suffered from these external floods, with what thirst for revenge, with such stubborn faith, with what compassion, and with what tears. Which doors would be closed to him? Which people would deny him obedience? Which Italian would refuse him respect? THIS BARBARIC DOMINION OFFENDS EVERYONE." [601]
18.
Stanza lvii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Dante was born in Florence, in the year 1261. He fought in two battles, was fourteen times ambassador, and once prior of the republic. When the party of Charles of Anjou triumphed over the Bianchi, he was absent on an embassy to Pope Boniface VIII., and was condemned to two years' banishment, and to a fine of 8000 lire; on the non-payment of which he was further punished by the sequestration of all his property. The republic, however, was not content with this satisfaction, for in 1772 was discovered in the archives at Florence a sentence in which Dante is the eleventh of a list of fifteen condemned in 1302 to be burnt alive; Talis perveniens igne comburatur sic quod moriatur. The pretext for this judgment was a proof of unfair barter, extortions, and illicit gains. Baracteriarum iniquarum extorsionum et illicitorum lucrorum,[602] and with such an accusation it is not strange that Dante should have always protested his innocence, and the injustice of his fellow-citizens. His appeal to Florence was accompanied by another to the Emperor Henry; and the death of that Sovereign in 1313 was the signal for a sentence of irrevocable banishment. He had before lingered near Tuscany with hopes of recall; then travelled into the north of Italy, where Verona had to boast of his longest residence; and he finally settled at Ravenna, which was his ordinary but not constant abode until his death. The refusal of the Venetians to grant him a public audience, on the part of Guido Novello da Polenta, his protector, is said to have been the principal cause of this event, [495] which happened in 1321. He was buried ("in sacra minorum æde") at Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which was erected by Guido, restored by Bernardo Bembo in 1483, prætor for that republic which had refused to hear him, again restored by Cardinal Corsi, in 1692, and replaced by a more magnificent sepulchre, constructed in 1780 at the expense of the Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. The offence or misfortune of Dante was an attachment to a defeated party, and, as his least favourable biographers allege against him, too great a freedom of speech and haughtiness of manner. But the next age paid honours almost divine to the exile. The Florentines, having in vain and frequently attempted to recover his body, crowned his image in a church,[603] and his picture is still one of the idols of their cathedral. They struck medals, they raised statues to him. The cities of Italy, not being able to dispute about his own birth, contended for that of his great poem, and the Florentines thought it for their honour to prove that he had finished the seventh Canto before they drove him from his native city. Fifty-one years after his death, they endowed a professorial chair for the expounding of his verses, and Boccaccio was appointed to this patriotic employment. The example was imitated by Bologna and Pisa, and the commentators, if they performed but little service to literature, augmented the veneration which beheld a sacred or moral allegory in all the images of his mystic muse. His birth and his infancy were discovered to have been distinguished above those of ordinary men: the author of the Decameron, his earliest biographer, relates that his mother was warned in a dream of the importance of her pregnancy: and it was found, by others, that at ten years of age he had manifested his precocious passion for that wisdom or theology, which, under the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a substantial mistress. When the Divine Comedy had been recognised as a mere mortal production, and at the distance of two centuries, when criticism and competition had sobered the judgment of the Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to Homer;[604] and though the preference appeared to some casuists "an heretical blasphemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vigorously maintained for nearly fifty years. In later times it was made [496] a question which of the Lords of Verona could boast of having patronised him,[605] and the jealous scepticism of one writer would not allow Ravenna the undoubted possession of his bones. Even the critical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe that the poet had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries of Galileo.—Like the great originals of other nations, his popularity has not always maintained the same level. The last age seemed inclined to undervalue him as a model and a study: and Bettinelli one day rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over the harsh and obsolete extravagances of the Commedia. The present generation having recovered from the Gallic idolatries of Cesarotti, has returned to the ancient worship, and the Danteggiare of the northern Italians is thought even indiscreet by the more moderate Tuscans.
Dante was born in Florence in 1261. He fought in two battles, served as an ambassador fourteen times, and was once the prior of the republic. When the party of Charles of Anjou defeated the Bianchi, he was away on a mission to Pope Boniface VIII and was sentenced to two years of exile and fined 8000 lire; failing to pay this fine led to his property being seized. However, the republic wasn’t satisfied with this punishment; in 1772, a sentence was discovered in the Florence archives listing Dante as the eleventh of fifteen people condemned in 1302 to be burned alive; Talis perveniens igne comburatur sic quod moriatur. The justification for this ruling was claims of wrongful trade practices, extortion, and illegal profits. Baracteriarum iniquarum extorsionum et illicitorum lucrorum,[602] so it’s no surprise that Dante consistently protested his innocence and the unfairness of his fellow citizens. His appeal to Florence was coupled with one to Emperor Henry; the emperor's death in 1313 marked the beginning of his permanent exile. Before that, he had lingered near Tuscany hoping for a return, then traveled north to Italy, where he spent the longest time in Verona, and finally settled in Ravenna, which was his primary but not constant home until he died. It’s said that the refusal of the Venetians to give him a public audience, as requested by Guido Novello da Polenta, his protector, was the main reason behind his passing in 1321. He was buried ("in sacra minorum æde") in a beautiful tomb in Ravenna, erected by Guido, restored by Bernardo Bembo in 1483, who was then the magistrate of the republic that had denied him an audience, later restored by Cardinal Corsi in 1692, and ultimately replaced by a grander tomb built in 1780 at the expense of Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. Dante's misfortune stemmed from his association with a defeated faction, and some of his least favorable biographers claimed he was too outspoken and proud. But the next generation honored him almost divinely. The Florentines, after many unsuccessful attempts to retrieve his remains, crowned his likeness in a church,[603] and his image remains one of the revered icons in their cathedral. They minted medals and erected statues in his honor. The cities of Italy, unable to contest his birthplace, argued over the origins of his great poem, with the Florentines believing it was a point of pride to prove that he completed the seventh canto before being expelled from his home city. Fifty-one years after his death, they established a professorship to teach his works, with Boccaccio appointed to this patriotic role. Bologna and Pisa followed suit, and while the commentators may not have greatly contributed to literature, they increased the reverence that viewed all symbols in his mystical muse as sacred or moral allegories. His birth and early life were seen as extraordinary; the author of the Decameron, his first biographer, reported that Dante's mother was warned in a dream about the significance of her pregnancy. Additionally, it was noted that at ten years old, he showed a keen interest in wisdom and theology, which, under the name of Beatrice, was wrongly thought to be a real beloved. When the Divine Comedy was recognized as a human creation, two centuries later, as criticism and competition tempered the views of Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to Homer; [604] and even though some critics found the preference to be "an heretical blasphemy worthy of the flames," this debate continued vigorously for almost fifty years. In later years, a question arose about which of the Lords of Verona could claim to have supported him,[605] and one writer's jealousy even denied Ravenna the unquestionable right to his remains. Even the critical Tiraboschi seemed to believe Dante had anticipated and predicted one of Galileo's discoveries. Like the great figures of other nations, his fame hasn’t always stayed at the same level. The previous generation seemed prone to overlook him as a model and study, with Bettinelli once reprimanding his student Monti for focusing on the difficult and outdated quirks of the Commedia. The current generation has moved past the Gallic idolatries of Cesarotti and has returned to the traditional admiration, with the Danteggiare of Northern Italians even seen as too excessive by more restrained Tuscans.
There is still much curious information relative to the life and writings of this great poet, which has not as yet been collected even by the Italians; but the celebrated Ugo Foscolo meditates to supply this defect, and it is not to be regretted that this national work has been reserved for one so devoted to his country and the cause of truth.
There is still a lot of interesting information about the life and writings of this great poet that hasn’t been gathered yet, even by the Italians. However, the renowned Ugo Foscolo plans to fill this gap, and it's a good thing that this national project has been entrusted to someone so dedicated to his country and the pursuit of truth.
19.
Your groups, in their conflict that's worse than a civil war,
Banned, etc.
Stanza lvii. lines 2, 3, and 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 2, 3, and 4.
The elder Scipio Africanus had a tomb if he was not buried at Liternum, whither he had retired to voluntary banishment. This tomb was near the sea-shore, and the story of an inscription upon it, Ingrata Patria, having given a name to a modern tower, is, if not true, an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, he certainly lived there.[606]
The elder Scipio Africanus had a tomb unless he was buried at Liternum, where he had gone into voluntary exile. This tomb was close to the shore, and the tale of an inscription on it, Ingrata Patria, which inspired the name of a modern tower, is, if not true, a pleasant fiction. If he wasn't buried there, he definitely lived there.[606]
There was a great man from Africa named __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, Because first with the iron to the living it opens."[607]
[497]Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar to republics; and it seems to be forgotten that for one instance of popular inconstancy, we have a hundred examples of the fall of courtly favourites. Besides, a people have often repented—a monarch seldom or never. Leaving apart many familiar proofs of this fact, a short story may show the difference between even an aristocracy and the multitude.
[497]People often think ingratitude is a flaw unique to republics, but they overlook that for every case of public fickleness, there are countless examples of the downfall of royal favorites. Additionally, while the masses have often regretted their decisions, a king rarely does. Setting aside many well-known examples of this reality, a brief story can illustrate the distinction between an aristocracy and the general public.
Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo, and many years afterwards in the more decisive action of Pola, by the Genoese, was recalled by the Venetian government, and thrown into chains. The Avvogadori proposed to behead him, but the supreme tribunal was content with the sentence of imprisonment. Whilst Pisani was suffering this unmerited disgrace, Chioza, in the vicinity of the capital,[608] was, by the assistance of the Signor of Padua, delivered into the hands of Pietro Doria. At the intelligence of that disaster, the great bell of St. Mark's tower tolled to arms, and the people and the soldiery of the galleys were summoned to the repulse of the approaching enemy; but they protested they would not move a step, unless Pisani were liberated and placed at their head. The great council was instantly assembled: the prisoner was called before them, and the Doge, Andrea Contarini, informed him of the demands of the people, and the necessities of the state, whose only hope of safety was reposed in his efforts, and who implored him to forget the indignities he had endured in her service. "I have submitted," replied the magnanimous republican, "I have submitted to your deliberations without complaint; I have supported patiently the pains of imprisonment, for they were inflicted at your command: this is no time to inquire whether I deserved them—the good of the republic may have seemed to require it, and that which the republic resolves is always resolved wisely. Behold me ready to lay down my life for the preservation of my country." Pisani was appointed generalissimo, and, by his exertions, in conjunction with those of Carlo Zeno, the Venetians soon recovered the ascendancy over their maritime rivals.
Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo and years later in the more decisive battle of Pola by the Genoese, was recalled by the Venetian government and imprisoned. The Avvogadori suggested executing him, but the higher court decided on a sentence of imprisonment instead. While Pisani was enduring this unjust disgrace, Chioza, near the capital,[608] was taken by Pietro Doria with the help of the Signor of Padua. Upon hearing of this disaster, the great bell of St. Mark's tower rang to alert the citizens, and the people and soldiers of the galleys were called to defend against the approaching enemy; however, they insisted they wouldn’t move unless Pisani was freed and put in command. The great council was quickly assembled, and the prisoner was brought before them. The Doge, Andrea Contarini, shared the people's demands and the state's urgent needs, explaining that their only hope for safety rested in his efforts, urging him to overlook the indignities he had faced serving them. "I have accepted your decisions without complaint,” replied the noble republican. “I have endured the pains of imprisonment because they were ordered by you: this isn’t the time to question whether I deserved them—what’s best for the republic may have called for it, and whatever the republic decides is always a wise decision. Here I am, ready to sacrifice my life for the safety of my country." Pisani was appointed commander-in-chief, and through his efforts, along with those of Carlo Zeno, the Venetians soon regained their dominance over their maritime rivals.
The Italian communities were no less unjust to their citizens than the Greek republics. Liberty, both with the one and the other, seems to have been a national, not an individual object: and, notwithstanding the boasted equality before the laws, which an ancient Greek writer[609] considered [498] the great distinctive mark between his countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights of fellow citizens seem never to have been the principal scope of the old democracies. The world may have not yet seen an essay by the author of The Italian Republics, in which the distinction between the liberty of former states, and the signification attached to that word by the happier constitution of England, is ingeniously developed. The Italians, however, when they had ceased to be free, still looked back with a sigh upon those times of turbulence, when every citizen might rise to a share of sovereign power, and have never been taught fully to appreciate the repose of a monarchy. Sperone Speroni, when Francis Maria II. Duke of Rovere proposed the question, "which was preferable, the republic or the principality—the perfect and not durable, or the less perfect and not so liable to change," replied, "that our happiness is to be measured by its quality, not by its duration; and that he preferred to live for one day like a man, than for a hundred years like a brute, a stock, or a stone." This was thought, and called a magnificent answer down to the last days of Italian servitude.[610]
The Italian communities were just as unfair to their citizens as the Greek republics. Freedom, for both, seemed to be a national rather than an individual goal: and, despite the claimed equality before the laws, which an ancient Greek writer[609] viewed as the key difference between his people and the barbarians, the basic rights of fellow citizens never seemed to be the main focus of the ancient democracies. The world may not have yet seen an essay by the author of The Italian Republics that cleverly explores the difference between the freedom of past states and the meaning of that word as understood in the more fortunate system of England. Nevertheless, the Italians, after they lost their freedom, still looked back wistfully at those tumultuous times when every citizen could attain a share of sovereign power, and they never fully learned to value the tranquility of a monarchy. When Francis Maria II, Duke of Rovere, posed the question of which was better—the republic or the principality—the ideal but unstable state, or the less perfect but more enduring one, Sperone Speroni replied that our happiness should be measured by its quality, not its duration; he preferred to live one day as a human being than a hundred years like a beast, a piece of wood, or a stone. This was considered, and called, a magnificent answer until the very end of Italian servitude.[610]
20.
Stanza lvii. lines 6, 7, and 8.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 6, 7, and 8.
The Florentines did not take the opportunity of Petrarch's short visit to their city in 1350 to revoke the decree which confiscated the property of his father, who had been banished shortly after the exile of Dante. His crown did not dazzle them; but when in the next year they were in want of his assistance in the formation of their university, they repented of their injustice, and Boccaccio was sent to Padua to entreat the laureate to conclude his wanderings in the bosom of his native country, where he might finish his immortal Africa, and enjoy, with his recovered possessions, the esteem of all classes of his fellow citizens. They gave him the option of the book and the science he might condescend to expound: they called him the glory of his country, who was dear, and who would be dearer to them; and they added, that if there was anything unpleasing in their letter, he ought to return [499] amongst them, were it only to correct their style.[611] Petrarch seemed at first to listen to the flattery and to the entreaties of his friend, but he did not return to Florence, and preferred a pilgrimage to the tomb of Laura and the shades of Vaucluse.
The Florentines missed the chance during Petrarch's brief visit to their city in 1350 to lift the decree that had confiscated his father's property, who had been exiled shortly after Dante. His crown didn’t impress them; however, the following year, when they needed his help in establishing their university, they regretted their earlier wrong. They sent Boccaccio to Padua to ask the poet to end his travels and return to his homeland, where he could complete his immortal Africa and regain his possessions, along with the respect of all his fellow citizens. They offered him the choice of the book and the subject he would teach: they called him the pride of his country, who was beloved and would continue to be cherished; and they added that if there was anything displeasing in their letter, he should come back just to help them improve their writing.[499] Petrarch initially seemed to be swayed by the compliments and pleas of his friend, but he did not return to Florence, choosing instead to visit the grave of Laura and the tranquil surroundings of Vaucluse.
21.
Stanza lviii. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and St. James, at Certaldo, a small town in the Valdelsa, which was by some supposed the place of his birth. There he passed the latter part of his life in a course of laborious study, which shortened his existence; and there might his ashes have been secure, if not of honour, at least of repose. But the "hyena bigots" of Certaldo tore up the tombstone of Boccaccio and ejected it from the holy precincts of St. Michael and St. James. The occasion, and, it may be hoped, the excuse, of this ejectment was the making of a new floor for the church; but the fact is, that the tombstone was taken up and thrown aside at the bottom of the building. Ignorance may share the sin with bigotry. It would be painful to relate such an exception to the devotion of the Italians for their great names, could it not be accompanied by a trait more honourably conformable to the general character of the nation. The principal person of the district, the last branch of the house of Medicis, afforded that protection to the memory of the insulted dead which her best ancestors had dispensed upon all contemporary merit. The Marchioness Lenzoni rescued the tombstone of Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had some time lain, and found for it an honourable elevation in her own mansion. She has done more: the house in which the poet lived has been as little respected as his tomb, and is falling to ruin over the head of one indifferent to the name of its former tenant. It consists of two or three little chambers, and a low tower, on which Cosmo II. affixed an inscription. This house she has taken measures to purchase, [500] and proposes to devote to it that care and consideration which are attached to the cradle and to the roof of genius.
Boccaccio was buried in the church of St. Michael and St. James in Certaldo, a small town in Valdelsa, which some believe was his birthplace. There, he spent the later part of his life in intense study, which ultimately shortened his life; and there, his ashes could have found peace, if not honor. However, the "bigoted hyenas" of Certaldo removed Boccaccio’s tombstone and tossed it out of the sacred grounds of St. Michael and St. James. This ejection supposedly occurred when a new floor was being installed in the church, but in reality, the tombstone was simply taken up and discarded at the bottom of the building. Ignorance shares the blame with bigotry. It would be painful to share such a deviation from the Italians’ devotion to their great figures if not accompanied by a more honorable reflection of the nation’s character. The leading figure in the area, the last descendant of the House of Medici, provided the protection to the memory of the dishonored dead that her ancestors had offered to all deserving contemporaries. Marchioness Lenzoni rescued Boccaccio's tombstone from the neglect it had faced and placed it in a prominent position in her own home. She has gone further: the house where the poet lived has received as little respect as his tomb and is now falling apart, neglected by someone indifferent to its famous previous occupant. The structure consists of a few small rooms and a low tower, where Cosmo II. placed an inscription. She has taken steps to buy this house, [500] and plans to give it the care and attention that is fitting for the birthplace and home of genius.
This is not the place to undertake the defence of Boccaccio; but the man who exhausted his little patrimony in the acquirement of learning, who was amongst the first, if not the first, to allure the science and the poetry of Greece to the bosom of Italy;—who not only invented a new style, but founded, or certainly fixed, a new language; who, besides the esteem of every polite court of Europe, was thought worthy of employment by the predominant republic of his own country, and, what is more, of the friendship of Petrarch, who lived the life of a philosopher and a freeman, and who died in the pursuit of knowledge,—such a man might have found more consideration than he has met with from the priest of Certaldo, and from a late English traveller, who strikes off his portrait as an odious, contemptible, licentious writer, whose impure remains should be suffered to rot without a record.[612] That English traveller, unfortunately for those who have to deplore the loss of a very amiable person, is beyond all criticism; but the mortality which did not protect Boccaccio from Mr. Eustace, must not defend Mr. Eustace from the impartial judgment of his successors. Death may canonise his virtues, not his errors; and it may be modestly pronounced that he transgressed, not only as an author, but as a man, when he evoked the shade of Boccaccio in company with that of Aretine, amidst the sepulchres of Santa Croce, merely to dismiss it with indignity. As far as respects
This isn’t the right setting to defend Boccaccio; however, the man who spent his small inheritance on learning, who was among the first to bring the science and poetry of Greece to Italy—who not only created a new style but also established, or at least solidified, a new language; who, besides earning the respect of every cultured court in Europe, was deemed worthy of employment by the leading republic of his homeland, and what’s more, the friendship of Petrarch, who lived as a philosopher and a free man, and who died in pursuit of knowledge—such a person deserved more recognition than he received from the priest of Certaldo and from a recent English traveler, who dismisses his portrait as that of a disgusting, despicable, lewd writer, whose unworthy works should be allowed to decay without a trace. That English traveler, unfortunately for those who lament the loss of a genuinely pleasant individual, is beyond all critique; but the mortality that did not spare Boccaccio from Mr. Eustace should not shield Mr. Eustace from the fair judgment of future readers. Death may honor his virtues, but not his mistakes; and it can be fairly stated that he went wrong, both as a writer and as a person, when he invoked the spirit of Boccaccio alongside that of Aretine in the tombs of Santa Croce, only to dismiss it with disdain. As far as it concerns
Il divin Pietro Aretino,
it is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxcomb who owes his present existence to the above burlesque character given to him by the poet, whose amber has preserved many other grubs and worms: but to classify Boccaccio with such a person, and to excommunicate his very ashes, must of itself make us doubt of the qualification of the classical tourist for writing upon Italian, or, indeed, upon any other literature; for ignorance on one point may incapacitate an author merely for that particular topic, but subjection to a professional prejudice must render him an unsafe director on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be made what is vulgarly called a "case of conscience," and this poor excuse is all that can be offered for the priest of Certaldo, or the author of the Classical Tour. It would have answered the purpose to confine the censure to the novels of Boccaccio; and gratitude to that source which supplied the muse of Dryden with her last and most harmonious numbers might, perhaps, have restricted that censure to the objectionable qualities of the hundred tales. At any rate the repentance of Boccaccio might have arrested his exhumation, and it should have been recollected and told, that in his old age he wrote a letter entreating his friend to discourage the reading of the Decameron, for the sake of modesty, and for the sake of the author, who would not have an apologist always at hand to state in his excuse that he wrote it when young, and at the command of his superiors.[613] It is neither the licentiousness of the writer, nor the evil propensities of the reader, which have given to the Decameron alone, of all the works of Boccaccio, a perpetual popularity. The establishment of a new and delightful dialect conferred an immortality on the works in which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch were, for the same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, "the favourite of kings." The invariable traits of nature and feeling with which the novels, as well as the verses, abound, have doubtless been the chief source of the foreign celebrity of both authors; but Boccaccio, as a man, is no more to be estimated by that work, than Petrarch is to be regarded in no other light than as the lover of Laura. Even, however, had the father of the Tuscan prose been known only as the author of the Decameron, a [502] considerate writer would have been cautious to pronounce a sentence irreconcilable with the unerring voice of many ages and nations. An irrevocable value has never been stamped upon any work solely recommended by impurity.
It hardly matters what criticism is directed at a fool who owes his current existence to the ridiculous portrayal created by the poet, whose legacy has preserved many other lesser figures: but to compare Boccaccio with such a person and to condemn even his very remains must make us question the qualifications of the classical traveler for writing about Italian literature, or any literature, really; for ignorance on one topic may disqualify an author from discussing that specific subject, but being influenced by professional bias makes him an unreliable guide in all cases. Any distortion and unfairness can be turned into what is commonly called a "case of conscience," and this flimsy excuse is all that can be offered for the priest of Certaldo or the writer of the Classical Tour. It would have sufficed to limit the criticism to Boccaccio's novels, and appreciation for the source that provided the muse for Dryden's last and most beautiful work might have focused that criticism solely on the questionable aspects of the hundred tales. In any case, Boccaccio's remorse could have halted this disinterment, and it should have been remembered and mentioned that in his later years he wrote a letter asking his friend to discourage the reading of the Decameron, for the sake of modesty and for his own reputation, as he didn’t want an apologist always available to claim he wrote it when he was young and at the behest of his superiors.[613] It’s neither the indecency of the writer nor the immoral tendencies of the reader that have given the Decameron, uniquely among Boccaccio's works, lasting popularity. The creation of a new and charming dialect granted immortality to the works in which it was first established. Petrarch’s sonnets were, for the same reason, destined to outlast his self-congratulatory Africa, "the favorite of kings." The consistent qualities of nature and emotion that fill both the novels and the poetry have undoubtedly been the main reasons for the international fame of both authors; however, we should not judge Boccaccio as a person based solely on that work, just as we shouldn't view Petrarch only through the lens of his love for Laura. Even if the father of Tuscan prose was only known as the author of the Decameron, a thoughtful writer would have been careful not to make a declaration that contradicts the enduring sentiments of many ages and cultures. No work has ever been deemed invaluable simply because it is favored for its impurity.
The true source of the outcry against Boccaccio, which began at a very early period, was the choice of his scandalous personages in the cloisters as well as the courts; but the princes only laughed at the gallant adventures so unjustly charged upon queen Theodelinda, whilst the priesthood cried shame upon the debauches drawn from the convent and the hermitage; and most probably for the opposite reason, namely, that the picture was faithful to the life. Two of the novels are allowed to be facts usefully turned into tales to deride the canonisation of rogues and laymen. Ser Ciappelletto and Marcellinus are cited with applause even by the decent Muratori.[614] The great Arnaud, as he is quoted in Bayle, states, that a new edition of the novels was proposed, of which the expurgation consisted in omitting the words "monk" and "nun," and tacking the immoralities to other names. The literary history of Italy particularises no such edition; but it was not long before the whole of Europe had but one opinion of the Decameron; and the absolution of the author seems to have been a point settled at least a hundred years ago: "On se feroit siffler si l' on prétendoit convaincre Boccace de n'avoir pas été honnête homme, puis qu'il a fait le Décameron." So said one of the best men, and perhaps the best critic that ever lived—the very martyr to impartiality.[615] But as this information, that in the beginning of the last century one would have been hooted at for pretending that Boccaccio was not a good man, may seem to come from one of those enemies who are to be suspected, even when they make us a present of truth, a more acceptable contrast with the proscription of the body, soul, and muse of Boccaccio may be found in a few words from the virtuous, the patriotic contemporary, who thought one of the tales of this impure writer worthy a Latin version from his own pen. "I have remarked elsewhere," says Petrarch, writing to Boccaccio, "that the book itself has been worried by certain dogs, but stoutly defended by your staff and voice. Nor was I astonished, for I have had proof of the vigour of your mind, and I know you have fallen on that unaccommodating [503] incapable race of mortals, who, whatever they either like not, or know not, or cannot do, are sure to reprehend in others; and on those occasions only put on a show of learning and eloquence, but otherwise are entirely dumb."[616]
The real reason for the backlash against Boccaccio, which started quite early, was his choice of scandalous characters in both monasteries and courts. However, the princes only chuckled at the bold escapades unfairly attributed to Queen Theodelinda, while the clergy condemned the vices depicted in the convent and hermitage. Most likely, this reaction stemmed from the fact that the portrayal was true to life. Two of the stories are acknowledged as facts cleverly turned into narratives that mock the canonization of rogues and non-clerics. Ser Ciappelletto and Marcellinus are even praised by the respectable Muratori.[614] The great Arnaud, as quoted in Bayle, states that a new edition of the stories was proposed, in which the expurgation involved removing the words "monk" and "nun," and attributing the immoral acts to other names. The literary history of Italy does not mention such an edition; but soon, the entire continent seemed to share a single view of the Decameron; and the acceptance of the author appears to have been a point agreed upon at least a hundred years ago: "You would be laughed at if you claimed Boccaccio was not an honest man, since he wrote the Decameron." So said one of the noblest individuals, and perhaps the greatest critic to have ever lived—the true martyr to impartiality.[615] Yet, as this information suggests, at the beginning of the last century, one would have been ridiculed for claiming Boccaccio was not a good man. To balance this against the condemnation of Boccaccio's body, soul, and muse, one can find a more favorable contrast in a few words from the virtuous, patriotic contemporary, who deemed one of the stories of this impure writer worthy of a Latin translation from his own hand. "I have noted elsewhere," writes Petrarch to Boccaccio, "that the book itself has been attacked by certain critics but strongly defended by your staff and voice. I was not surprised, as I have seen the strength of your mind, and I know you have encountered that stubborn breed of people who, whatever they dislike, don't understand, or cannot do, are sure to criticize in others; and in those moments, they only pretend to be knowledgeable and eloquent, but otherwise remain completely silent."[616]
It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not resemble those of Certaldo, and that one of them who did not possess the bones of Boccaccio would not lose the opportunity of raising a cenotaph to his memory. Bevius, canon of Padua, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, erected at Arquà, opposite to the tomb of the Laureate, a tablet, in which he associated Boccaccio to the equal honours of Dante and of Petrarch.
It’s pleasing to see that not all priests are like those from Certaldo, and one of them, who doesn’t have Boccaccio's remains, still took the chance to create a memorial in his honor. Bevius, a canon from Padua, built a plaque at Arquà in the early sixteenth century, across from the tomb of the Laureate, where he recognized Boccaccio alongside Dante and Petrarch with equal respect.
22.
Stanza lx. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Our veneration for the Medici begins with Cosmo and expires with his grandson; that stream is pure only at the source; and it is in search of some memorial of the virtuous republicans of the family that we visit the church of St. Lorenzo at Florence. The tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in that church, designed for the mausoleum of the Dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns and coffins, gives birth to no emotions but those of contempt for the lavish vanity of a race of despots, whilst the pavement slab, simply inscribed to the Father of his Country, reconciles us to the name of Medici.[617] It was very natural for Corinna[618] to suppose that the statue raised to the Duke of Urbino in the capella de' depositi, was intended for his great namesake; but the magnificent Lorenzo is only the sharer of a coffin half hidden in a niche of the sacristy. The decay of Tuscany dates from the sovereignty of the Medici. Of the sepulchral peace which succeeded to the establishment of the reigning families in Italy, our own Sidney has given us a glowing, but a faithful picture. "Notwithstanding all the seditions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the horrid factions of Guelphs and Ghibelins, Neri and Bianchi, nobles and commons, they continued populous, strong, and exceeding rich; but in the space of less than a hundred and fifty years, the peaceable reign of the Medices is thought to have destroyed nine parts in ten of the people [504] of that province. Amongst other things it is remarkable, that when Philip II. of Spain gave Sienna to the Duke of Florence, his ambassador then at Rome sent him word, that he had given away more than 650,000 subjects; and it is not believed there are now 20,000 souls inhabiting that city and territory. Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns, that were then good and populous, are in the like proportion diminished, and Florence more than any. When that city had been long troubled with seditions, tumults, and wars, for the most part unprosperous, they still retained such strength, that when Charles VIII. of France, being admitted as a friend with his whole army, which soon after conquered the kingdom of Naples, thought to master them, the people, taking arms, struck such a terror into him, that he was glad to depart upon such conditions as they thought fit to impose. Machiavel reports, that in that time Florence alone, with the Val d'Arno, a small territory belonging to that city, could, in a few hours, by the sound of a bell, bring together 135,000 well-armed men; whereas now that city, with all the others in that province, are brought to such despicable weakness, emptiness, poverty, and baseness, that they can neither resist the oppressions of their own prince, nor defend him or themselves if they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are dispersed or destroyed, and the best families sent to seek habitations in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This is not the effect of war or pestilence; they enjoy a perfect peace, and suffer no other plague than the government they are under."[619] From the usurper Cosmo down to the imbecile Gaston, we look in vain for any of those unmixed qualities which should raise a patriot to the command of his fellow-citizens. The Grand Dukes, and particularly the third Cosmo, had operated so entire a change in the Tuscan character, that the candid Florentines, in excuse for some imperfections in the philanthropic system of Leopold, are obliged to confess that the sovereign was the only liberal man in his dominions. Yet that excellent prince himself had no other notion of a national assembly, than of a body to represent the wants and wishes, not the will of the people.
Our respect for the Medici starts with Cosmo and ends with his grandson; that source is pure only at the beginning; and it’s in search of some remembrance of the virtuous republicans in the family that we visit the church of St. Lorenzo in Florence. The gaudy, showy, unfinished chapel in that church, made for the mausoleum of the Dukes of Tuscany, surrounded by crowns and coffins, stirs only feelings of disdain for the extravagant vanity of a family of tyrants, while the simple slab in the pavement, merely inscribed to the Father of his Country, helps us accept the name of Medici.[617] Corinna[618] naturally assumed that the statue built for the Duke of Urbino in the capella de' depositi was meant for his famous namesake; but the magnificent Lorenzo is merely sharing a coffin half hidden in a niche of the sacristy. The decline of Tuscany began with the rule of the Medici. Our own Sidney has given us a vivid, yet accurate depiction of the peace that followed the establishment of the ruling families in Italy. "Despite all the disturbances in Florence, and other Tuscan cities, the horrific factions of Guelphs and Ghibellines, Neri and Bianchi, nobles and commoners, they remained populous, strong, and extremely wealthy; yet, in less than a hundred and fifty years, the peaceful reign of the Medici is believed to have wiped out nine-tenths of the population of that province. Among other things, it’s notable that when Philip II of Spain gave Sienna to the Duke of Florence, his ambassador in Rome informed him that he had given away more than 650,000 subjects; and it’s believed there are now fewer than 20,000 people living in that city and its territory. Pisa, Pistoia, Arezzo, Cortona, and other towns that were once thriving and populous have also significantly decreased, with Florence suffering the most. When that city had been long troubled by disturbances, riots, and mostly unsuccessful wars, they still had such strength that when Charles VIII of France entered as a friend with his whole army, which soon after conquered the kingdom of Naples, he thought to take control of them, but the people took up arms and instilled such fear in him that he had to leave under terms they deemed acceptable. Machiavelli reports that at that time Florence alone, along with the Val d'Arno, a small area belonging to that city, could gather 135,000 well-armed men in just a few hours by the sound of a bell; whereas now that city, along with all others in that province, is reduced to such miserable weakness, emptiness, poverty, and degradation that they can neither resist the oppression of their own prince nor protect him or themselves against a foreign enemy. The people are scattered or destroyed, and the best families have gone in search of homes in Venice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This isn’t due to war or disease; they enjoy perfect peace and suffer no other plague than the government they are under."[619] From the usurper Cosmo to the incompetent Gaston, we search in vain for any of the untainted qualities that should elevate a patriot to lead his fellow citizens. The Grand Dukes, especially the third Cosmo, have brought such a total change to the Tuscan character that the honest Florentines, in justifying some flaws in Leopold's philanthropic system, are forced to admit that the sovereign was the only liberal man in his realm. Yet that remarkable prince himself had no other idea of a national assembly than as a group to represent the needs and desires, not the will, of the people.
23.
Stanza lxiii. line 5.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 5.
"And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they upon the battle, that the earthquake, which overthrew in great part many of the cities of Italy, which turned the course of rapid streams, poured back the sea upon the rivers, and tore down the very mountains, was not felt by one of the combatants."[620] Such is the description of Livy. It may be doubted whether modern tactics would admit of such an abstraction.
"And their hatred for each other was so strong, and they were so focused on the fight, that the earthquake, which destroyed many cities in Italy, redirected fast-flowing rivers, pushed the sea back into the rivers, and even caused mountains to collapse, went unnoticed by either combatant."[620] Such is the description of Livy. It may be doubted whether modern tactics would allow for such a disconnect.
The site of the battle of Thrasimene is not to be mistaken. The traveller from the village under Cortona to Casa di Piano, the next stage on the way to Rome, has for the first two or three miles, around him, but more particularly to the right, that flat land which Hannibal laid waste in order to induce the Consul Flaminius to move from Arezzo. On his left, and in front of him, is a ridge of hills bending down towards the lake of Thrasimene, called by Livy "montes Cortonenses," and now named the Gualandra. These hills he approaches at Ossaja, a village which the itineraries pretend to have been so denominated from the bones found there: but there have been no bones found there, and the battle was fought on the other side of the hill. From Ossaja the road begins to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of the mountains until the sixty-seventh milestone from Florence. The ascent thence is not steep but perpetual, and continues for twenty minutes. The lake is soon seen below on the right, with Borghetto, a round tower, close upon the water; and the undulating hills partially covered with wood, amongst which the road winds, sink by degrees into the marshes near to this tower. Lower than the road, down to the right amidst these woody hillocks, Hannibal placed his horse,[621] in the jaws of, or rather above the pass, which was between the lake and the present road, and most probably close to Borghetto, just under the lowest of the "tumuli."[622] On a summit to the left, above the road, is an old circular ruin, which the peasants call "the tower of Hannibal the Carthaginian." Arrived at the highest point of the road, the traveller has a partial view of the fatal plain, which opens fully upon him as he descends the Gualandra. [506] He soon finds himself in a vale enclosed to the left, and in front and behind him by the Gualandra hills, bending round in a segment larger than a semicircle, and running down at each end to the lake, which obliques to the right and forms the chord of this mountain arc. The position cannot be guessed at from the plains of Cortona, nor appears to be so completely enclosed unless to one who is fairly within the hills. It then, indeed, appears "a place made as it were on purpose for a snare," locus insidiis natus. "Borghetto is then found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to the hill, and to the lake, whilst there is no other outlet at the opposite turn of the mountains than through the little town of Passignano, which is pushed into the water by the foot of a high rocky acclivity." There is a woody eminence branching down from the mountains into the upper end of the plain nearer to the side of Passignano, and on this stands a white village called Torre. Polybius seems to allude to this eminence as the one on which Hannibal encamped, and drew out his heavy-armed Africans and Spaniards in a conspicuous position.[623] From this spot he despatched his Balearic and light-armed troops round through the Gualandra heights to the right, so as to arrive unseen and form an ambush amongst the broken acclivities which the road now passes, and to be ready to act upon the left flank and above the enemy, whilst the horse shut up the pass behind. Flaminius came to the lake near Borghetto at sunset; and, without sending any spies before him, marched through the pass the next morning before the day had quite broken, so that he perceived nothing of the horse and light troops above and about him, and saw only the heavy-armed Carthaginians in front on the hill of Torre. The consul began to draw out his army in the flat, and in the mean time the horse in ambush occupied the pass behind him at Borghetto. Thus the Romans were completely enclosed, having the lake on the right, the main army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills filled with the light-armed on their left flank, and being prevented from receding by the cavalry, who, the further they advanced, stopped up all the outlets in the rear. A fog rising from the lake now spread itself over the army of the consul, but the high lands were in the sunshine, and [507] all the different corps in ambush looked towards the hill of Torre for the order of attack. Hannibal gave the signal, and moved down from his post on the height. At the same moment all his troops on the eminences behind and in the flank of Flaminius rushed forwards as it were with one accord into the plain. The Romans, who were forming their array in the mist, suddenly heard the shouts of the enemy amongst them on every side, and before they could fall into their ranks, or draw their swords, or see by whom they were attacked, felt at once that they were surrounded and lost.
The site of the battle of Thrasimene is unmistakable. Travelling from the village beneath Cortona to Casa di Piano, the next stop on the way to Rome, for the first two or three miles, the traveler sees the flat land to the right, which Hannibal devastated to provoke Consul Flaminius to leave Arezzo. On the left and ahead is a ridge of hills sloping down toward Lake Thrasimene, referred to by Livy as "montes Cortonenses," now known as Gualandra. The traveler approaches these hills at Ossaja, a village that sources claim was named after bones found there, but no bones have ever been discovered, and the battle actually occurred on the other side of the hill. From Ossaja, the road begins to rise slightly but doesn't reach the foothills until the sixty-seventh milestone from Florence. The ascent isn't steep but is continuous for about twenty minutes. Soon, the lake is visible below on the right, with Borghetto, a round tower, right by the water, while the rolling hills partially covered in trees, through which the road winds, gradually descend into the marshes near the tower. Lower than the road, on the right among these wooded hills, Hannibal positioned his cavalry, above the pass, which lay between the lake and the current road, likely close to Borghetto, just beneath the lowest of the mounds. On a peak to the left, above the road, is an old circular ruin that the locals call "the tower of Hannibal the Carthaginian." Upon reaching the highest point of the road, the traveler gets a partial view of the fateful plain, which fully reveals itself as he descends the Gualandra. He soon finds himself in a valley, flanked on the left, front, and back by the Gualandra hills, which curve in a shape larger than a semicircle, extending down to the lake, which angles right and creates the chord of this mountain arc. The position isn’t obvious from the plains of Cortona and doesn’t seem completely enclosed unless you’re deep within the hills. It then appears “a place made as if purposefully for a trap.” Borghetto turns out to be situated in a narrow, marshy passage close to the hill and the lake, with no other exit at the opposite turn of the mountains except through the small town of Passignano, pushed into the water by the base of a steep rocky slope. There’s a wooded rise extending down from the mountains into the upper part of the plain closer to Passignano, and atop it stands a white village called Torre. Polybius seems to reference this rise as the location where Hannibal camped and positioned his heavily armed Africans and Spaniards in a prominent spot. From there, he sent his Balearic and light-armed troops around through the Gualandra heights to the right to arrive unseen and set an ambush among the rocky slopes the road now traverses, ready to strike the enemy's left flank from above while the cavalry blocked the passage behind. Flaminius reached the lake near Borghetto at sunset, and without sending any scouts ahead, marched through the pass the next morning before dawn, failing to notice the cavalry and light troops around him, only seeing the heavily armed Carthaginians ahead on the hill of Torre. The consul began to deploy his army in the flat area, while the cavalry ambushed him from behind at Borghetto. Thus, the Romans found themselves entirely surrounded, with the lake to their right, the main army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills filled with light-armed troops on their left flank, and unable to retreat due to the cavalry, who cut off all exits behind them. A fog rising from the lake now enveloped the consul's army, but the higher ground remained sunny, and all the various ambush units looked toward the hill of Torre for the command to attack. Hannibal gave the signal and descended from his position on the height. At the same moment, all his troops situated behind and flanking Flaminius advanced together into the plain. The Romans, while trying to organize their formation in the mist, suddenly heard enemy shouts surrounding them, and before they could fall into line, draw their swords, or see who was attacking, they realized they were completely encircled and defeated.
There are two little rivulets which run from the Gualandra into the lake. The traveller crosses the first of these at about a mile after he comes into the plain, and this divides the Tuscan from the Papal territories. The second, about a quarter of a mile further on, is called "the bloody rivulet;" and the peasants point out an open spot to the left between the "Sanguinetto" and the hills, which, they say, was the principal scene of slaughter. The other part of the plain is covered with thick-set olive-trees in corn grounds, and is nowhere quite level, except near the edge of the lake. It is, indeed, most probable that the battle was fought near this end of the valley, for the six thousand Romans, who, at the beginning of the action, broke through the enemy, escaped to the summit of an eminence which must have been in this quarter, otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole plain, and to pierce through the main army of Hannibal.
There are two small streams that flow from the Gualandra into the lake. The traveler crosses the first of these about a mile after entering the plain, which separates the Tuscan territory from the Papal territories. The second one, about a quarter of a mile further, is known as "the bloody rivulet"; and the locals point out an open area to the left between the "Sanguinetto" and the hills, which they say was the main site of the slaughter. The rest of the plain is filled with dense olive trees among the cornfields, and it's never completely flat, except near the lake's edge. It's likely that the battle took place near this end of the valley because the six thousand Romans, who broke through the enemy at the start of the fight, fled to a hilltop that must have been nearby; otherwise, they would have had to cross the entire plain and break through Hannibal's main army.
The Romans fought desperately for three hours; but the death of Flaminius was the signal for a general dispersion. The Carthaginian horse then burst in upon the fugitives, and the lake, the marsh about Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the Sanguinetto and the passes of the Gualandra, were strewed with dead. Near some old walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the rivulet, many human bones have been repeatedly found, and this has confirmed the pretensions and the name of the "stream of blood."
The Romans fought fiercely for three hours, but the death of Flaminius triggered a complete breakdown. The Carthaginian cavalry then charged at the fleeing soldiers, and the lake, the marsh near Borghetto, but especially the plain of Sanguinetto and the passes of Gualandra, were covered in corpses. Near some old walls on a desolate ridge to the left above the stream, many human bones have been repeatedly discovered, supporting the claims and the name of the "stream of blood."
Every district of Italy has its hero. In the north some painter is the usual genius of the place, and the foreign Julio Romano more than divides Mantua with her native Virgil.[624] To the south we hear of Roman names. Near Thrasimene tradition is still faithful to the fame of an enemy, and Hannibal [508] the Carthaginian is the only ancient name remembered on the banks of the Perugian lake. Flaminius is unknown; but the postilions on that road have been taught to show the very spot where Il Console Romano was slain. Of all who fought and fell in the battle of Thrasimene, the historian himself has, besides the generals and Maharbal, preserved indeed only a single name. You overtake the Carthaginian again on the same road to Rome. The antiquary, that is, the hostler of the posthouse at Spoleto, tells you that his town repulsed the victorious enemy, and shows you the gate still called Porta di Annibale. It is hardly worth while to remark that a French travel writer, well known by the name of the President Dupaty, saw Thrasimene in the lake of Bolsena, which lay conveniently on his way from Sienna to Rome.
Every region in Italy has its own hero. In the north, a local painter is often celebrated as the genius of the area, and the foreign Julio Romano is more than a match for Mantua's native Virgil.[624] In the south, we hear of Roman figures. Near Thrasimene, tradition still honors the fame of an enemy, with Hannibal the Carthaginian being the only ancient name remembered by the shores of Lake Perugia. Flaminius is unknown; however, the postilions on that route have been instructed to point out the exact spot where Il Console Romano was killed. Of all who fought and died in the Battle of Thrasimene, the historian has preserved, aside from the generals and Maharbal, only a single name. You encounter the Carthaginian again on the same road to Rome. The antiquarian, or rather, the host at the posthouse in Spoleto, tells you that his town repelled the victorious enemy and shows you the gate still known as Porta di Annibale. It’s hardly noteworthy that a French travel writer, widely recognized as President Dupaty, mistook Thrasimene for the lake of Bolsena, which happened to be conveniently on his route from Sienna to Rome.
24.
The most serious form of bare grandeur.
Stanza lxxxvii. lines 1 and 2.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1 and 2.
The projected division of the Spada Pompey has already been recorded by the historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it in the memorials of Flaminius Vacca; and it may be added to his mention of it, that Pope Julius III. gave the contending owners five hundred crowns for the statue, and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had prevented the judgment of Solomon from being executed upon the image. In a more civilised age this statue was exposed to an actual operation: for the French, who acted the Brutus of Voltaire in the Coliseum, resolved that their Cæsar should fall at the base of that Pompey, which was supposed to have been sprinkled with the blood of the original dictator. The nine-foot hero was therefore removed to the arena of the amphitheatre, and, to facilitate its transport, suffered the temporary amputation of its right arm. The republican tragedians had to plead that the arm was a restoration: but their accusers do not believe that the integrity of the statue would have protected it. The love of finding every coincidence, has discovered the true Cæsarian ichor in a stain near the right knee; but colder criticism has rejected not only the blood, but the portrait, and assigned the globe of power rather to the first of the emperors than to the last of the republican masters [509] of Rome. Winckelmann[625] is loth to allow an heroic statue of a Roman citizen, but the Grimani Agrippa, a contemporary almost, is heroic; and naked Roman figures were only very rare, not absolutely forbidden. The face accords much better with the "hominem integrum et castum et gravem,"[626] than with any of the busts of Augustus, and is too stern for him who was beautiful, says Suetonius, at all periods of his life. The pretended likeness to Alexander the Great cannot be discerned, but the traits resemble the medal of Pompey.[627] The objectionable globe may not have been an ill-applied flattery to him who found Asia Minor the boundary, and left it the centre of the Roman empire. It seems that Winckelmann has made a mistake in thinking that no proof of the identity of this statue with that which received the bloody sacrifice can be derived from the spot where it was discovered.[628] Flaminius Vacca says sotto una cantina, and this cantina is known to have been in the Vicolo de' Leutari, near the Cancellaria; a position corresponding exactly to that of the Janus before the basilica of Pompey's theatre, to which Augustus transferred the statue after the curia was either burnt or taken down.[629] Part of the "Pompeian shade,"[630] the portico, existed in the beginning of the XVth century, and the atrium was still called Satrum. So says Blondus.[631] At all events, so imposing is the stern majesty of the statue, and so memorable is the story, that the play of the imagination leaves no room for the exercise of the judgment, and the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates on the spectator with an effect not less powerful than truth.
The planned division of the Spada Pompey has already been noted by the historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr. Gibbon found it in the records of Flaminius Vacca; it's worth adding that Pope Julius III gave the feuding owners five hundred crowns for the statue and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had prevented the judgment of Solomon from being carried out on the image. In a more civilized time, this statue was subjected to an actual act: the French, who played the role of Brutus from Voltaire in the Coliseum, decided that their Cæsar should fall at the feet of that Pompey, which was thought to have been stained with the blood of the original dictator. The nine-foot hero was then moved to the arena of the amphitheater and, to make transport easier, temporarily lost its right arm. The republican actors had to argue that the arm was a restoration, but their critics don’t believe that the statue’s integrity would have saved it. The urge to find every connection has identified what’s considered Cæsar's ichor in a stain near the right knee; however, more skeptical critics have dismissed both the blood and the likeness, assigning the globe of power to the first emperor rather than the last republican master of Rome. Winckelmann[625] is hesitant to accept a heroic statue of a Roman citizen, yet the Grimani Agrippa, almost contemporary, is heroic; and naked Roman figures were just very rare, not completely forbidden. The face fits much better with the "hominem integrum et castum et gravem,"[626] than with any of the busts of Augustus and is too stern for someone who was beautiful, as Suetonius says, throughout all periods of his life. The supposed resemblance to Alexander the Great is unrecognizable, but the features resemble the medal of Pompey.[627] The questionable globe may not have been inappropriate flattery to someone who found Asia Minor as the boundary and left it as the center of the Roman Empire. It seems that Winckelmann made a mistake in believing there is no proof linking this statue to the one that received the bloody sacrifice based on where it was found.[628] Flaminius Vacca mentions it as sotto una cantina, and this cantina is known to have been in the Vicolo de' Leutari, near the Cancellaria; this location corresponds exactly to that of the Janus in front of the basilica of Pompey's theatre, to which Augustus moved the statue after the curia was either burned or taken down.[629] Part of the "Pompeian shade,"[630] the portico, existed at the beginning of the 15th century, and the atrium was still called Satrum. So says Blondus.[631] In any case, the statue’s stern majesty is so impressive, and the story so memorable, that the imagination leaves no space for judgment, and the fiction, if it is a fiction, affects the viewer with an impact just as powerful as truth.
25.
Stanza lxxxviii. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded most probably with images of the foster-mother of her founder; but there were two she-wolves of whom history makes particular mention. One of these, of brass in ancient work, was seen by Dionysius[632] at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatine, and is universally believed to be that mentioned by the Latin historian, as having been made from the money collected by a fine on usurers, and as standing under the Ruminal fig-tree.[633] The other was that which Cicero[634] has celebrated both in prose and verse, and which the historian Dion also records as having suffered the same accident as is alluded to by the orator.[635] The question agitated by the antiquaries is, whether the wolf now in the Conservator's Palace is that of Livy and Dionysius, or that of Cicero, or whether it is neither one nor the other. The earlier writers differ as much as the moderns: Lucius Faunus[636] says, that it is the one alluded to by both, which is impossible, and also by Virgil, which may be. Fulvius Ursinus[637] calls it the wolf of Dionysius, and Marlianus[638] talks of it as the one [511] mentioned by Cicero. To him Rycquius tremblingly assents.[639] Nardini is inclined to suppose it may be one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Rome; but of the two rather bends to the Ciceronian statue.[640] Montfaucon[641] mentions it as a point without doubt. Of the latter writers the decisive Winckelmann[642] proclaims it as having been found at the church of Saint Theodore, where, or near where, was the temple of Romulus, and consequently makes it the wolf of Dionysius. His authority is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only says that it was placed, not found, at the Ficus Ruminalis, by the Comitium, by which he does not seem to allude to the church of Saint Theodore. Rycquius was the first to make the mistake, and Winckelmann followed Rycquius.
Ancient Rome, like modern Siena, likely had many images of the founder's foster mother; but there are two she-wolves that history specifically mentions. One of these, made of ancient brass, was seen by Dionysius[632] at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatine Hill, and is generally believed to be the one referred to by the Latin historian, having been created from funds collected through a fine on usurers, and standing under the Ruminal fig-tree.[633] The other is the one Cicero[634] praised in both prose and poetry, which historian Dion also notes as having experienced the same incident mentioned by the orator.[635] The debate among antiquarians is whether the wolf currently in the Conservator's Palace is the one noted by Livy and Dionysius, or Cicero's, or if it is neither. Early writers disagree as much as modern ones: Lucius Faunus[636] states that it is the one referenced by both, which is unlikely, and also by Virgil, which is plausible. Fulvius Ursinus[637] refers to it as the wolf of Dionysius, while Marlianus[638] describes it as the one [511] mentioned by Cicero. Rycquius nervously agrees with him.[639] Nardini is inclined to think it could be one of the many wolves preserved in ancient Rome; however, he leans towards the Ciceronian statue.[640] Montfaucon[641] considers it a settled point. Of the more recent writers, the decisive Winckelmann[642] declares that it was found at the church of Saint Theodore, where, or near where, the temple of Romulus once stood, thus identifying it as Dionysius's wolf. His source is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only mentions it as having been placed, not found, at the Ficus Ruminalis, by the Comitium, suggesting he may not be referring to the church of Saint Theodore. Rycquius made the initial error, and Winckelmann followed his lead.
Flaminius Vacca tells quite a different story, and says he had heard the wolf with the twins was found[643] near the arch of Septimius Severus. The commentator on Winckelmann is of the same opinion with that learned person, and is incensed at Nardini for not having remarked that Cicero, in speaking of the wolf struck with lightning in the Capitol, makes use of the past tense. But, with the Abate's leave, Nardini does not positively assert the statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and if he had, the assumption would not perhaps have been so exceedingly indiscreet. The Abate himself is obliged to own that there are marks very like the scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the present wolf; and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf seen by Dionysius might have been also struck by lightning, or otherwise injured.
Flaminius Vacca shares a different story, claiming he heard that the wolf with the twins was found near the arch of Septimius Severus. The commentator on Winckelmann agrees with this learned opinion and is upset with Nardini for not noting that Cicero, when talking about the wolf struck by lightning in the Capitol, uses the past tense. However, with all due respect to the Abate, Nardini doesn’t definitively claim that the statue is the one Cicero referred to, and even if he did, it may not have been so very inappropriate. The Abate himself must admit that there are marks resembling lightning damage on the back legs of the current wolf; to dismiss this, he suggests that the wolf seen by Dionysius could also have been struck by lightning or otherwise harmed.
Let us examine the subject by a reference to the words of Cicero. The orator in two places seems to particularise the Romulus and the Remus, especially the first, which his audience remembered to have been in the Capitol, as being struck with lightning. In his verses he records that the twins and wolf both fell, and that the latter left behind the marks of her feet. Cicero does not say that the wolf was [512] consumed: and Dion only mentions that it fell down, without alluding, as the Abate has made him, to the force of the blow, or the firmness with which it had been fixed. The whole strength, therefore, of the Abate's argument hangs upon the past tense; which, however, may be somewhat diminished by remarking that the phrase only shows that the statue was not then standing in its former position. Winckelmann has observed that the present twins are modern; and it is equally clear that there are marks of gilding on the wolf, which might therefore be supposed to make part of the ancient group. It is known that the sacred images of the Capitol were not destroyed when injured by time or accident, but were put into certain underground depositories, called favissæ.[644] It may be thought possible that the wolf had been so deposited, and had been replaced in some conspicuous situation when the Capitol was rebuilt by Vespasian. Rycquius, without mentioning his authority, tells that it was transferred from the Comitium to the Lateran, and thence brought to the Capitol. If it was found near the arch of Severus, it may have been one of the images which Orosius[645] says was thrown down in the Forum by lightning when Alaric took the city. That it is of very high antiquity the workmanship is a decisive proof; and that circumstance induced Winckelmann to believe it the wolf of Dionysius. The Capitoline wolf, however, may have been of the same early date as that at the temple of Romulus. Lactantius[646] asserts that in his time the Romans worshipped a wolf; and it is known that the Lupercalia held out to a very late period[647] after every other observance of the ancient [513] superstition had totally expired. This may account for the preservation of the ancient image longer than the other early symbols of Paganism.
Let’s look at the topic by referring to Cicero's words. The orator mentions Romulus and Remus in two places, especially the first one, which his audience remembered to have been struck by lightning in the Capitol. In his verses, he notes that both the twins and the wolf fell, and that the wolf left behind footprints. Cicero doesn’t say the wolf was destroyed: Dion only mentions that it fell, without commenting, as the Abate suggested, on the force of the blow or how firmly it was anchored. Therefore, the entire strength of the Abate's argument relies on the past tense, which can be somewhat weakened by noting that the phrase only indicates the statue was not standing in its original spot. Winckelmann noted that the current twins are modern; it’s also clear there are traces of gilding on the wolf, which could mean it was part of the ancient group. It's known that the sacred images in the Capitol weren’t destroyed when they were damaged by time or accident, but were placed in specific underground storage areas, called favissæ.[644] It’s possible that the wolf was stored there and then put in a prominent location when the Capitol was rebuilt by Vespasian. Rycquius, without citing a source, claims it was moved from the Comitium to the Lateran, and then brought back to the Capitol. If it was found near the arch of Severus, it might have been one of the images that Orosius[645] says was knocked down in the Forum by lightning when Alaric captured the city. The quality of the craftsmanship indicates it is quite ancient, and this led Winckelmann to believe it was the wolf from Dionysius. However, the Capitoline wolf may be from the same early period as the one at the temple of Romulus. Lactantius[646] states that during his time, Romans worshipped a wolf; and it's known that the Lupercalia continued for a long time[647] after all other ancient superstitions had completely faded. This might explain why the ancient image was preserved longer than other early symbols of Paganism.
It may be permitted, however, to remark, that the wolf was a Roman symbol, but that the worship of that symbol is an inference drawn by the zeal of Lactantius. The early Christian writers are not to be trusted in the charges which they make against the Pagans. Eusebius accused the Romans to their faces of worshipping Simon Magus, and raising a statue to him in the island of the Tyber. The Romans had probably never heard of such a person before, who came, however, to play a considerable, though scandalous part in the church history, and has left several tokens of his aërial combat with St. Peter at Rome; notwithstanding that an inscription found in this very island of the Tyber showed the Simon Magus of Eusebius to be a certain indigenal god called Semo Sangus or Fidius.[648]
It’s worth noting that the wolf was a Roman symbol, but the idea of worshipping that symbol comes from Lactantius’s enthusiasm. Early Christian writers can’t be trusted regarding their accusations against the Pagans. Eusebius confronted the Romans directly, claiming they worshipped Simon Magus and even built a statue for him on the island of the Tiber. The Romans likely had never heard of him before, even though he went on to play a significant and controversial role in church history and left several marks of his conflict with St. Peter in Rome. However, an inscription found on the island of the Tiber actually identified this Simon Magus of Eusebius as a local god named Semo Sangus or Fidius.[648]
Even when the worship of the founder of Rome had been abandoned it was thought expedient to humour the habits of the good matrons of the city, by sending them with their sick infants to the church of Saint Theodore, as they had before carried them to the temple of Romulus.[649] The practice is continued to this day; and the site of the above church seems to be thereby identified with that of the temple; so that if the wolf had been really found there, as Winckelmann says, there would be no doubt of the present statue being that seen by Dionysius.[650] But Faunus, in saying that it was at the Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, is only talking of its ancient position as recorded by Pliny; and, even if he had been remarking where it was found, would not have [514] alluded to the church of Saint Theodore, but to a very different place, near which it was then thought the Ficus Ruminalis had been, and also the Comitium; that is, the three columns by the church of Santa Maria Liberatrice, at the corner of the Palatine looking on the Forum.
Even after the worship of Rome's founder had stopped, it was still seen as necessary to cater to the traditions of the city's good women by taking their sick babies to the church of Saint Theodore, just like they used to take them to the temple of Romulus.[649] This practice continues today; and the location of the church appears to be linked to that of the temple. So, if the wolf had truly been found there, as Winckelmann suggests, it would certainly connect to the statue that Dionysius described.[650] However, when Faunus mentions that it was at the Ficus Ruminalis by the Comitium, he is only referencing its historical location noted by Pliny; and even if he had been indicating where it was discovered, he wouldn't have referred to the church of Saint Theodore, but rather to a completely different site, thought to be where the Ficus Ruminalis and the Comitium were located at that time. This would be near the three columns by the church of Santa Maria Liberatrice, situated at the corner of the Palatine looking toward the Forum.
It is, in fact, a mere conjecture where the image was actually dug up; and perhaps, on the whole, the marks of the gilding, and of the lightning, are a better argument in favour of its being the Ciceronian wolf than any that can be adduced for the contrary opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text of the poem as one of the most interesting relics of the ancient city,[651] and is certainly the figure, if not the very animal to which Virgil alludes in his beautiful verses:—
It’s really just a guess about where the image was actually found; and overall, the evidence of the gilding and the lightning marks actually supports the idea that it’s the Ciceronian wolf better than any arguments against it. Regardless, it’s a fitting choice in the poem as one of the most fascinating relics of the ancient city,[651] and it definitely represents the figure, if not the exact animal, that Virgil refers to in his beautiful lines:—
26.
Stanza xc. lines 3 and 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 3 and 4.
It is possible to be a very great man and to be still very inferior to Julius Cæsar, the most complete character, so Lord Bacon thought, of all antiquity. Nature seems incapable of such extraordinary combinations as composed his versatile capacity, which was the wonder even of the Romans themselves. The first general—the only triumphant politician—inferior to none in eloquence—comparable to any in the attainments of wisdom, in an age made up of the greatest commanders, statesmen, orators, and philosophers that ever appeared in the world—an author who composed a perfect specimen of military annals in his travelling carriage—at one time in a controversy with Cato, at another [515] writing a treatise on punning, and collecting a set of good sayings—fighting and making love at the same moment, and willing to abandon both his empire and his mistress for a sight of the Fountains of the Nile. Such did Julius Cæsar appear to his contemporaries, and to those of the subsequent ages who were the most inclined to deplore and execrate his fatal genius.
It’s possible to be a great person and still be very much below Julius Caesar, whom Lord Bacon regarded as the most complete character in ancient history. Nature seems unable to produce such extraordinary combinations as those found in his diverse abilities, which amazed even the Romans. The first general—the only successful politician—unmatched in eloquence—comparable to anyone in wisdom, in an era filled with the greatest leaders, statesmen, speakers, and thinkers the world has ever known—an author who created a perfect record of military history in his traveling carriage—arguing with Cato one moment and the next writing a piece on puns and collecting wise sayings—fighting and flirting at the same time, willing to give up both his empire and his lover for a glimpse of the Nile’s fountains. That’s how Julius Caesar appeared to his contemporaries and to those of later ages who were most inclined to lament and curse his fateful genius.
But we must not be so much dazzled with his surpassing glory, or with his magnanimous, his amiable qualities, as to forget the decision of his impartial countrymen:—
But we must not be so dazzled by his incredible glory, or by his generous and likable qualities, that we forget the judgment of his fair-minded countrymen:—
27.
Stanza cxv. lines 1, 2, and 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 1, 2, and 3.
The respectable authority of Flaminius Vacca would incline us to believe in the claims of the Egerian grotto.[654] He assures us that he saw an inscription in the pavement, stating that the fountain was that of Egeria, dedicated to the nymphs. The inscription is not there at this day, but Montfaucon quotes two lines[655] of Ovid [Fast., iii. 275, 276] from a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he seems to think had been brought from the same grotto.
The respected authority of Flaminius Vacca leads us to believe in the claims about the Egerian grotto.[654] He assures us that he saw an inscription in the pavement, stating that the fountain was Egeria's, dedicated to the nymphs. The inscription is no longer there today, but Montfaucon cites two lines[655] from Ovid [Fast., iii. 275, 276] from a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he believes may have come from the same grotto.
This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in summer, and particularly the first Sunday in May, by the modern Romans, who attached a salubrious quality to the fountain which trickles from an orifice at the bottom of the vault, and, overflowing the little pools, creeps down the matted grass into the brook below. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and qualities are lost in the modern Aquataccio. The valley itself is called Valle di Caffarelli, from the dukes of that name who made over their fountain to the Pallavicini, with sixty rubbia of adjoining land.
This grotto and valley were often visited in the summer, especially on the first Sunday in May, by modern Romans, who believed the fountain that flows from an opening at the bottom of the vault had healing properties. It spills over into small pools and flows down the lush grass into the brook below. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, whose name and characteristics have faded into the modern Aquataccio. The valley itself is called Valle di Caffarelli, named after the dukes of that name who transferred their fountain to the Pallavicini, along with sixty rubbia of adjacent land.
There can be little doubt that this long dell is the Egerian valley of Juvenal, and the pausing place of Umbritius, notwithstanding the generality of his commentators have supposed the descent of the satirist and his friend to have been into the Arician grove, where the nymph met Hippolitus, and where she was more peculiarly worshipped.
There’s no doubt that this long valley is the Egerian valley mentioned by Juvenal, and the stopping point for Umbritius, even though most commentators believe the satirist and his friend descended into the Arician grove, where the nymph encountered Hippolitus, and where she was particularly worshipped.
The step from the Porta Capena to the Alban hill, fifteen miles distant, would be too considerable, unless we were to believe in the wild conjecture of Vossius, who makes that gate travel from its present station, where he pretends it was during the reign of the Kings, as far as the Arician grove, and then makes it recede to its old site with the shrinking city.[656] The tufo, or pumice, which the poet prefers to marble, is the substance composing the bank in which the grotto is sunk.
The distance from Porta Capena to Alban Hill, fifteen miles away, would be too much to cover unless we consider the wild theory of Vossius, who claims that gate moved from its current location, where he says it was during the time of the Kings, all the way to the Arician grove, and then moved back to its original spot with the shrinking city.[656] The tufo, or pumice, which the poet prefers over marble, is what makes up the bank where the grotto is located.
The modern topographers[657] find in the grotto the statue of the nymph, and nine niches for the Muses; and a late traveller[658] has discovered that the cave is restored to that simplicity which the poet regretted had been exchanged for injudicious ornament. But the headless statue is palpably rather a male than a nymph, and has none of the attributes ascribed to it at present visible. The nine Muses could hardly have stood in six niches; and Juvenal certainly does not allude to any individual cave.[659] Nothing can be collected from the satirist but that somewhere near the Porta Capena was a spot in which it was supposed Numa held nightly consultations with his nymph, and where there was a grove and [517] a sacred fountain, and fanes once consecrated to the Muses; and that from this spot there was a descent into the valley of Egeria, where were several artificial caves. It is clear that the statues of the Muses made no part of the decoration which the satirist thought misplaced in these caves; for he expressly assigns other fanes (delubra) to these divinities above the valley, and moreover tells us that they had been ejected to make room for the Jews. In fact, the little temple now called that of Bacchus, was formerly thought to belong to the Muses, and Nardini[660] places them in a poplar grove, which was in his time above the valley.
The modern topographers[657] find a statue of the nymph in the grotto, along with nine niches for the Muses. A recent traveler[658] discovered that the cave has been returned to the simplicity that the poet lamented had been replaced by unnecessary ornamentation. However, the headless statue clearly appears to be more male than a nymph and lacks the attributes that are currently associated with it. The nine Muses likely could not have stood in just six niches, and Juvenal definitely doesn't refer to any specific cave.[659] From the satirist, we can only gather that there was a location near the Porta Capena where it was believed Numa held nightly meetings with his nymph, and that there was a grove and a sacred fountain, along with shrines once dedicated to the Muses; from this place, there was a descent into the valley of Egeria, which contained several artificial caves. It's clear that the statues of the Muses did not form part of the embellishments that the satirist deemed misplaced in these caves, as he specifically assigns other shrines (delubra) to these deities above the valley, and also tells us they had been removed to make space for the Jews. In fact, the small temple now known as Bacchus was once thought to belong to the Muses, and Nardini[660] places them in a poplar grove that was above the valley in his time.
It is probable from the inscription and position, that the cave now shown may be one of the "artificial caverns," of which, indeed, there is another a little way higher up the valley, under a tuft of alder bushes; but a single grotto of Egeria is a mere modern invention, grafted upon the application of the epithet Egerian to these nymphea in general, and which might send us to look for the haunts of Numa upon the banks of the Thames.
It’s likely, based on the inscription and location, that the cave shown now could be one of the "artificial caverns," of which there is indeed another a bit higher up the valley, under a cluster of alder bushes. However, a single grotto of Egeria is just a modern creation, added to the use of the term Egerian for these nymphs in general, which might even lead us to search for Numa's resting places along the Thames.
Our English Juvenal was not seduced into mistranslation by his acquaintance with Pope: he carefully preserves the correct plural—
Our English Juvenal wasn't tempted into mistranslation because of his familiarity with Pope: he carefully keeps the correct plural—
The Egerian grots: oh, how different from the real thing!"
The valley abounds with springs,[661] and over these springs, which the Muses might haunt from their neighbouring groves, Egeria presided: hence she was said to supply them with water; and she was the nymph of the grottos through which the fountains were taught to flow.
The valley is filled with springs,[661] and over these springs, which the Muses might visit from their nearby groves, Egeria was in charge: that's why she was said to provide them with water; she was the nymph of the caves through which the fountains were made to flow.
The whole of the monuments in the vicinity of the Egerian valley have received names at will, which have been changed at will. Venuti[662] owns he can see no traces of the temples of Jove, Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini found, or hoped to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of Honour and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, above all, the temple of the god Rediculus, are the antiquaries' despair.
The entire area of monuments around the Egerian valley has been randomly named and renamed. Venuti[662] claims he can see no signs of the temples dedicated to Jove, Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini discovered or hoped to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of Honour and Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and especially the temple of the god Rediculus, frustrate historians.
The circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that emperor cited by Fulvius Ursinus, of which the reverse [518] shows a circus, supposed, however, by some to represent the Circus Maximus. It gives a very good idea of that place of exercise. The soil has been but little raised, if we may judge from the small cellular structure at the end of the Spina, which was probably the chapel of the god Consus. This cell is half beneath the soil, as it must have been in the circus itself; for Dionysius[663] could not be persuaded to believe that this divinity was the Roman Neptune, because his altar was underground.
The Circus of Caracalla is based on a medal of that emperor noted by Fulvius Ursinus, which features a depiction of a circus on the reverse side. However, some believe it represents the Circus Maximus. It provides a clear idea of that exercise space. The ground hasn’t been raised much, if we can judge by the small structure at the end of the Spina, which was likely the chapel for the god Consus. This structure is partially underground, just as it would have been in the circus itself; Dionysius could not be convinced that this god was the Roman Neptune because his altar was buried.
28.
Here, where the ancients honored you long ago.
Stanza cxxxii. lines 2 and 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 2 and 3.
We read in Suetonius, that Augustus, from a warning received in a dream,[664] counterfeited, once a year, the beggar, sitting before the gate of his palace with his hand hollowed and stretched out for charity. A statue formerly in the villa Borghese, and which should be now at Paris, represents the Emperor in that posture of supplication. The object of that self-degradation was the appeasement of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant on good fortune, of whose power the Roman conquerors were also reminded by certain symbols attached to their cars of triumph. The symbols were the whip and the crotalo, which were discovered in the Nemesis of the Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the above statue pass for that of Belisarius: and until the criticism of Winckelmann[665] had rectified the mistake, one fiction was called in to support another. It was the same fear of the sudden [519] termination of prosperity, that made Amasis king of Egypt warn his friend Polycrates of Samos, that the gods loved those whose lives were chequered with good and evil fortunes. Nemesis was supposed to lie in wait particularly for the prudent; that is, for those whose caution rendered them accessible only to mere accidents; and her first altar was raised on the banks of the Phrygian Æsepus by Adrastus, probably the prince of that name who killed the son of Croesus by mistake. Hence the goddess was called Adrastea.[666]
We read in Suetonius that Augustus, after receiving a warning in a dream,[664] pretended to be a beggar once a year, sitting in front of his palace with his hand outstretched for charity. A statue that used to be in the Villa Borghese, which is now likely in Paris, shows the Emperor in that begging posture. The reason for this act of humility was to appease Nemesis, the constant companion of good fortune, whose power was also acknowledged by Roman conquerors through certain symbols attached to their triumphal chariots. These symbols included the whip and the crotalo, which were found in the Nemesis of the Vatican. This act of begging led the statue to be mistaken for Belisarius, and until Winckelmann's critique[665] corrected the error, one myth was used to support another. The same fear of a sudden end to prosperity prompted Amasis, the king of Egypt, to warn his friend Polycrates of Samos that the gods favored those whose lives mixed good and bad fortunes. Nemesis was believed to particularly target the cautious, meaning those whose carefulness left them vulnerable to random events; her first altar was built on the banks of the Phrygian Æsepus by Adrastus, likely the prince of that name who accidentally killed Croesus's son. Therefore, the goddess was called Adrastea.[666]
The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august: there was a temple to her in the Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia;[667] so great, indeed, was the propensity of the ancients to trust to the revolution of events, and to believe in the divinity of Fortune, that in the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of the day.[668] This is the last superstition which retains its hold over the human heart; and, from concentrating in one object the credulity so natural to man, has always appeared strongest in those unembarrassed by other articles of belief. The antiquaries have supposed this goddess to be synonymous with Fortune and with Fate;[669] but it was in her vindictive quality that she was worshipped under the name of Nemesis.
The Roman Nemesis was sacred and respected: there was a temple dedicated to her in the Palatine called Rhamnusia;[667] so great, in fact, was the tendency of the ancients to rely on the course of events and to believe in the power of Fortune, that in the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of the day.[668] This is the last superstition that still holds sway over the human heart; and by focusing the natural credulity of people on a single entity, it has always seemed strongest among those who are not burdened by other beliefs. Scholars have suggested that this goddess is synonymous with Fortune and Fate;[669] but she was primarily worshipped for her vengeful nature under the name of Nemesis.
29.
Butchered to create a Roman holiday.
Stanza cxli. lines 6 and 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 6 and 7.
Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and voluntary; and were supplied from several conditions;—from slaves sold for that purpose; from culprits; from barbarian captives either taken in war, and, after being led in triumph, set apart for the games, or those seized and condemned as rebels; also from free citizens, some fighting for hire (auctorati), others from a depraved ambition; at last even knights and senators were exhibited,—a disgrace of which the first tyrant was naturally the first inventor.[670] In the end, dwarfs, and even women, fought; an enormity prohibited by Severus. Of these the most to be pitied undoubtedly were the barbarian captives; and, to this species a Christian writer[671] justly applies the epithet "innocent," to distinguish them from the professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius supplied great numbers of these unfortunate victims; the one after his triumph, and the other on the pretext of a rebellion.[672] No war, says Lipsius,[673] was ever so destructive to the human race as these sports. In spite of the laws of Constantine and Constans, gladiatorial shows survived the old established religion more than seventy years; but they owed their final extinction to the courage of a Christian. In the year 404, on the kalends of January, they were exhibiting the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre before the usual immense concourse of people. Almachius, or Telemachus, an Eastern monk, who had travelled to Rome intent on his holy purpose, rushed into the midst of the arena, and endeavoured to separate the combatants. The Prætor Alypius, a person incredibly attached to these games,[674] gave instant [521] orders to the gladiators to slay him; and Telemachus gained the crown of martyrdom, and the title of saint, which surely has never either before or since been awarded for a more noble exploit. Honorius immediately abolished the shows, which were never afterwards revived. The story is told by Theodoret[675] and Cassiodorus,[676] and seems worthy of credit notwithstanding its place in the Roman martyrology.[677] Besides the torrents of blood which flowed at the funerals, in the amphitheatres, the circus, the forums, and other public places, gladiators were introduced at feasts, and tore each other to pieces amidst the supper tables, to the great delight and applause of the guests. Yet Lipsius permits himself to suppose the loss of courage, and the evident degeneracy of mankind, to be nearly connected with the abolition of these bloody spectacles.
Gladiators were of two types: forced and voluntary. They came from various backgrounds—slaves sold for that purpose, criminals, barbarian captives taken in war and displayed in triumph for the games, or those captured and punished for rebellion. Free citizens also participated, some fighting for pay (known as auctorati), while others were motivated by a twisted ambition. Eventually, even knights and senators fought in the arena, a disgrace first introduced by the earliest tyrants. By the end, dwarfs and even women were fighting, a practice that Severus prohibited. The most pitiable were undoubtedly the barbarian captives, which a Christian writer fittingly labeled "innocent" to differentiate them from professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius provided many of these unfortunate victims; the former after his triumph and the latter under the excuse of a rebellion. No war, Lipsius states, was ever as destructive to humanity as these games. Despite the laws of Constantine and Constans, gladiatorial contests outlasted the traditional religion by over seventy years, but their final end came at the hands of a Christian. In 404, on the first of January, the games were taking place in the Flavian amphitheater before a usual crowd. Almachius, or Telemachus, an Eastern monk who traveled to Rome for his holy mission, rushed into the arena to try to stop the fighters. The Praetor Alypius, deeply devoted to these games, immediately ordered the gladiators to kill him, and Telemachus became a martyr and saint, an honor that has likely never been granted for a more noble act. Honorius quickly abolished the games, and they were never revived. This story is recounted by Theodoret and Cassiodorus, and it seems credible despite its inclusion in the Roman martyrology. In addition to the rivers of blood that flowed at funerals, in the amphitheaters, the circus, the forums, and other public spaces, gladiators were brought into feasts, tearing each other apart in front of the dining guests, much to their delight and cheering. Yet Lipsius suggests that the loss of courage and the clear decline of humanity are closely linked to the end of these bloody spectacles.
30.
Stanza cxlii. lines 5 and 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 5 and 6.
When one gladiator wounded another, he shouted, "He has it," "Hoc habet," or "Habet." The wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and advancing to the edge of the arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had fought well, the people saved him; if otherwise, or as they happened to be inclined, they turned down their thumbs, and he was slain. They were occasionally so savage that they were impatient if a combat lasted longer than ordinary without wounds or death. The emperor's presence generally saved the vanquished; and it is recorded, as an instance of Caracalla's ferocity, that he sent those who supplicated him for life, in a spectacle, at Nicomedia, to ask the people; in other words, handed them over to be slain. A similar ceremony is observed at the Spanish bull-fights. The magistrate presides; and after the horseman and piccadores have [522] fought the bull, the matadore steps forward and bows to him for permission to kill the animal. If the bull has done his duty by killing two or three horses, or a man, which last is rare, the people interfere with shouts, the ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is saved. The wounds and death of the horses are accompanied with the loudest acclamations, and many gestures of delight, especially from the female portion of the audience, including those of the gentlest blood. Every thing depends on habit. The author of Childe Harold, the writer of this note, and one or two other Englishmen, who have certainly in other days borne the sight of a pitched battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in the governor's box at the great amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite to Cadiz. The death of one or two horses completely satisfied their curiosity. A gentleman present, observing them shudder and look pale, noticed that unusual reception of so delightful a sport to some young ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued their applause as another horse fell bleeding to the ground. One bull killed three horses, off his own horns. He was saved by acclamations, which were redoubled when it was known he belonged to a priest.
When one gladiator injured another, he shouted, "He has it," "Hoc habet," or "Habet." The wounded fighter dropped his weapon and moved to the edge of the arena, pleading with the spectators. If he fought well, the audience saved him; if not, or based on their mood, they turned their thumbs down, and he was killed. They could be so brutal that they grew impatient if a fight went on too long without injuries or death. The emperor’s presence usually spared the defeated; an example of Caracalla's cruelty is when he sent those who pleaded for their lives at a spectacle in Nicomedia to ask the crowd for mercy, effectively handing them over to be killed. A similar ritual takes place at Spanish bullfights. The magistrate presides, and after the horseman and picadors have engaged with the bull, the matador steps forward and bows to ask for permission to kill the animal. If the bull has done its job by killing two or three horses, or a rare human, the crowd interjects with cheers, ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the bull is spared. The injuries and deaths of the horses are met with loud cheers and many gestures of excitement, especially from the female audience, including those of the gentlest nature. Everything hinges on habit. The author of Childe Harold, the writer of this note, and a couple of other Englishmen, who had certainly witnessed battles before, were in the governor's box at the grand amphitheater of Santa Maria, across from Cadiz, during the summer of 1809. The death of a couple of horses was all it took to satisfy their curiosity. A gentleman present noticed them flinch and turn pale, contrasting sharply with the reaction of some young ladies, who stared and smiled, continuing their applause as another horse collapsed, bleeding on the ground. One bull killed three horses, off his own horns. He was spared amid cheers, which grew even louder when it was revealed he belonged to a priest.
An Englishman who can be much pleased with seeing two men beat themselves to pieces, cannot bear to look at a horse galloping round an arena with his bowels trailing on the ground, and turns from the spectacle and the spectators with horror and disgust.
An Englishman who can find enjoyment in watching two men fight each other to the point of destruction can't stand to watch a horse galloping around an arena with its intestines dragging on the ground, and he turns away from the horrific scene and the onlookers with disgust.
31.
Stanza clxxiv. lines 3 and 4.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ lines 3 and 4.
The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in the cited stanza; the Mediterranean; the whole scene of the latter half of the Æneid, and the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circæum and the Cape of Terracina.
The entire slope of Alban Hill is breathtaking, and from the monastery at the highest point, which replaced the temple of Latin Jupiter, you can see everything mentioned in the referenced stanza: the Mediterranean, the whole setting of the latter part of the Æneid, and the coastline stretching from beyond the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circæum and Cape Terracina.
The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at the Grotta Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Buonaparte.
The location of Cicero's villa is thought to be either at Grotta Ferrata or at the Tusculum of Prince Lucien Buonaparte.
The former was thought some years ago the actual site, [523] as may be seen from Myddleton's Life of Cicero. At present it has lost something of its credit, except for the Domenichinos. Nine monks of the Greek order live there, and the adjoining villa is a cardinal's summer-house. The other villa, called Rufinella, is on the summit of the hill above Frascati, and many rich remains of Tusculum have been found there, besides seventy-two statues of different merit and preservation, and seven busts.
The former location was believed a few years ago to be the actual site, [523] as noted in Myddleton's Life of Cicero. Currently, it has lost some of its reputation, except for the Domenichinos. Nine monks from the Greek order live there, and the nearby villa serves as a summer house for a cardinal. The other villa, known as Rufinella, is located at the top of the hill above Frascati, where many significant remains of Tusculum have been discovered, along with seventy-two statues of varying quality and condition, and seven busts.
From the same eminence are seen the Sabine hills, embosomed in which lies the long valley of Rustica. There are several circumstances which tend to establish the identity of this valley with the "Ustica" of Horace; and it seems possible that the mosaic pavement which the peasants uncover by throwing up the earth of a vineyard may belong to his villa. Rustica is pronounced short, not according to our stress upon—"Usticæ cubantis." It is more rational to think that we are wrong, than that the inhabitants of this secluded valley have changed their tone in this word. The addition of the consonant prefixed is nothing; yet it is necessary to be aware that Rustica may be a modern name which the peasants may have caught from the antiquaries.
From the same height, you can see the Sabine hills, where the long valley of Rustica is nestled. Several factors suggest that this valley is the same as the "Ustica" mentioned by Horace; it's possible that the mosaic tiles the farmers find when they dig in a vineyard could belong to his villa. Rustica is pronounced short, not with our emphasis on—"Usticæ cubantis." It makes more sense to think we’re mistaken than to believe the people in this quiet valley have changed how they say the word. The added consonant at the beginning doesn't mean much, but it's important to note that Rustica might be a modern name that the farmers have adopted from antiquarians.
The villa, or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll covered with chestnut trees. A stream runs down the valley; and although it is not true, as said in the guide books, that this stream is called Licenza, yet there is a village on a rock at the head of the valley, which is so denominated, and which may have taken its name from the Digentia. Licenza contains seven hundred inhabitants. On a peak a little way beyond is Civitella, containing three hundred. On the banks of the Anio, a little before you turn up into Valle Rustica, to the left, about an hour from the villa, is a town called Vicovaro, another favourable coincidence with the Varia of the poet. At the end of the valley, towards the Anio, there is a bare hill, crowned with a little town called Bardela. At the foot of this hill the rivulet of Licenza flows, and is almost absorbed in a wide sandy bed before it reaches the Anio. Nothing can be more fortunate for the lines of the poet, whether in a metaphorical or direct sense:—
The villa, or the mosaic, is located in a vineyard on a hill covered with chestnut trees. A stream flows down the valley; and although it's not true, as stated in the guidebooks, that this stream is called Licenza, there is a village on a rock at the head of the valley that is named that, and may have taken its name from the Digentia. Licenza has seven hundred residents. A bit further up is Civitella, which has three hundred. Along the banks of the Anio, just before you turn into Valle Rustica, to the left, about an hour from the villa, is a town called Vicovaro, another lucky connection to the Varia of the poet. At the end of the valley, towards the Anio, there is a bare hill topped by a small town called Bardela. At the foot of this hill, the stream of Licenza flows and is almost absorbed in a wide sandy bed before it reaches the Anio. Nothing could be better for the poet's lines, whether in a metaphorical or direct sense:—
"Who Mandela drinks from the wrinkled village of cold."
The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the hill of Bardela looks green and yellow like a sulphur rivulet.
The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the hill of Bardela, it looks green and yellow like a sulfur stream.
Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an hour's walk from the vineyard where the pavement is shown, does [524] seem to be the site of the fane of Vacuna, and an inscription found there tells that this temple of the Sabine Victory was repaired by Vespasian. With these helps, and a position corresponding exactly to every thing which the poet has told us of his retreat, we may feel tolerably secure of our site.
Rocca Giovane, a deserted village in the hills, is just half an hour's walk from the vineyard where the pavement is located. It seems to be the site of the shrine of Vacuna, and an inscription found there states that this temple of Sabine Victory was restored by Vespasian. With this evidence, along with a location that matches everything the poet described about his retreat, we can feel pretty confident about identifying the site.
The hill which should be Lucretilis is called Campanile, and by following up the rivulet to the pretended Bandusia, you come to the roots of the higher mountain Gennaro. Singularly enough, the only spot of ploughed land in the whole valley is on the knoll where this Bandusia rises.
The hill that is meant to be Lucretilis is called Campanile, and if you follow the stream up to the so-called Bandusia, you'll reach the base of the higher mountain Gennaro. Interestingly, the only cultivated land in the entire valley is on the small hill where this Bandusia springs up.
The peasants show another spring near the mosaic pavement, which they call "Oradina," and which flows down the hills into a tank, or mill-dam, and thence trickles over into the Digentia.
The peasants gather near another spring by the mosaic pavement, which they call "Oradina." It flows down the hills into a tank, or mill-dam, and then trickles into the Digentia.
But we must not hope
But we shouldn’t have hope
by exploring the windings of the romantic valley in search of the Bandusian fountain. It seems strange that any one should have thought Bandusia a fountain of the Digentia—Horace has not let drop a word of it; and this immortal spring has in fact been discovered in possession of the holders of many good things in Italy, the monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais and Protais near Venusia, where it was most likely to be found.[678] We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller in finding the "occasional pine" still pendent on the poetic villa. There is not a pine in the whole valley, but there are two cypresses, which he evidently took, or mistook, for the tree in the ode.[679] The truth is, that the pine is now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a garden tree, and it was not at all likely to be found in the craggy acclivities of the valley of Rustica. Horace probably had one of them in the orchard close above his farm, immediately overshadowing his villa, not on the rocky heights at some distance from his abode. The tourist may have easily supposed himself to have seen this pine figured in the above cypresses; for the orange and lemon trees which throw such a bloom over his description of the royal gardens at Naples, [525] unless they have been since displaced, were assuredly only acacias and other common garden shrubs.[680]
by exploring the twists of the romantic valley in search of the Bandusian fountain. It's odd that anyone would think Bandusia was a fountain of the Digentia—Horace never mentioned it; and this famous spring has actually been discovered in the possession of those who held many good things in Italy, the monks. It was connected to the church of St. Gervais and Protais near Venusia, where it was most likely to be found.[678] We won’t be as fortunate as a later traveler in finding the "occasional pine" still hanging around the poetic villa. There isn't a pine in the entire valley, but there are two cypresses, which he clearly took, or mistook, for the tree mentioned in the ode.[679] The truth is, the pine is now, as it was in Virgil’s time, a garden tree, and it was unlikely to be found on the rugged slopes of the valley of Rustica. Horace probably had one of them in the orchard just above his farm, directly overshadowing his villa, not on the rocky heights some distance from his home. The tourist may easily have thought he saw this pine represented in the cypresses; for the orange and lemon trees that add such beauty to his description of the royal gardens at Naples, [525] unless they have been replaced since, were definitely just acacias and other common garden shrubs.[680]
32.
Stanza clxxvi. line 1.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ line 1.
[Lord Byron embarked from "Calpe's rock" (Gibraltar) August 19, 1809, and after travelling through Greece, he reached Constantinople in the Salsette frigate May 14, 1810. The two island rocks—the Cyanean Symplegades—stand one on the European, the other on the Asiatic side of the Strait, where the Bosphorus joins the Euxine or Black Sea. Both these rocks were visited by Lord Byron in June, 1810.—Note, Ed. 1879.]
[Lord Byron set sail from "Calpe's rock" (Gibraltar) on August 19, 1809, and after traveling through Greece, he arrived in Constantinople on the Salsette frigate on May 14, 1810. The two rocky islands—the Cyanean Symplegades—are located, one on the European side and the other on the Asian side of the Strait, where the Bosphorus meets the Euxine or Black Sea. Lord Byron visited both of these rocks in June 1810.—Note, Ed. 1879.]
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
FOOTNOTES:
[561] Mr. Gibbon has omitted the important æ, and has written Romani instead of Romaniæ.—Decline and Fall, chap. lxi. note 9 (1882, ii. 777, note i). But the title acquired by Dandolo runs thus in the chronicle of his namesake, the Doge Andrew Dandolo: "Ducali titulo addidit, 'Quartæ partis, & dimidiæ totius Imperii Romaniæ; Dominator.'" And. Dand. Chronicon, cap. iii. pars xxxvii. ap. Script. Rer. Ital., 1728, xii. 331. And the Romaniæ is observed in the subsequent acts of the Doges. Indeed, the continental possessions of the Greek Empire in Europe were then generally known by the name of Romania, and that appellation is still seen in the maps of Turkey as applied to Thrace.
[561] Mr. Gibbon left out the important æ and wrote Romani instead of Romaniæ.—Decline and Fall, chap. lxi. note 9 (1882, ii. 777, note i). However, the title used by Dandolo appears in the chronicle of his namesake, the Doge Andrew Dandolo: "Ducali titulo addidit, 'Quartæ partis, & dimidiæ totius Imperii Romaniæ; Dominator.'" And. Dand. Chronicon, cap. iii. pars xxxvii. ap. Script. Rer. Ital., 1728, xii. 331. The Romaniæ is also noted in the later acts of the Doges. In fact, the Greek Empire's continental possessions in Europe were then commonly referred to as Romania, and that name can still be found on maps of Turkey, specifically applied to Thrace.
[562] See the continuation of Dandolo's Chronicle, ibid., p. 498. Mr. Gibbon appears not to include Dolfino, following Sanudo, who says, "Il qual titolo si uso fin al Doge Giovanni Dolfino." See Vite de' Duchi di Venezia [Vitæ Ducum Venetorum Italiæ scriptæ, Auctore Martino Sanuto], ap. Script. Rer. Ital., xxii. 530, 641.
[562] See the continuation of Dandolo's Chronicle, ibid., p. 498. Mr. Gibbon doesn't seem to mention Dolfino, following Sanudo, who states, "This title was used until Doge Giovanni Dolfino." See Vite de' Duchi di Venezia [Vitæ Ducum Venetorum Italiæ scriptæ, by Martino Sanuto], ap. Script. Rer. Ital., xxii. 530, 641.
[563] {476} "Fiet potentium in aquis Adriaticis congregatio, cæco præduce, Hircum ambigent, Byzantium prophanabunt, ædificia denigrabunt, spolia dispergentur; Hircus novus balabit, usque dum liv. pedes, & ix. pollices, & semis, præmensurati discurrant."—Chronicon, ibid., xii. 329.
[563] {476} "They gather strong forces in the Adriatic waters, led by an unseen guide, will encircle the Hircus, desecrate Byzantium, defile buildings, and scatter spoils; the new Hircus will bellow until they measure out liv. feet, & ix. inches, & half, in a chaotic rush."—Chronicon, ibid., xii. 329.
[565] {478} "Nonnullorum e nobilitate immensæ sunt opes, adeo ut vix æstimari possint; id quod tribus e rebus oritur, parsimonia, commercio, atque iis emolumentis, quæ e Repub. percipiunt, quæ hanc ob caussam diuturna fore creditur."—See De Principatibus Italia Tractatus Varii, 1628, pp. 18, 19.
[565] {478} "The wealth of the nobility is so immense that it can hardly be measured; this comes from three sources: frugality, trade, and the profits derived from the Republic, which is believed to last for a long time for this reason."—See De Principatibus Italia Tractatus Varii, 1628, pp. 18, 19.
[569] Mr. Gibbon called his Memoirs "a labour of love" (see Decline and Fall, chap. lxx. note 2), and followed him with confidence and delight. The compiler of a very voluminous work must take much criticism upon trust; Mr. Gibbon has done so, though not as readily as some other authors.
[569] Mr. Gibbon referred to his Memoirs as "a labor of love" (see Decline and Fall, chap. lxx. note 2), and he was followed with confidence and enjoyment. The author of a lengthy work has to accept a lot of criticism at face value; Mr. Gibbon has done this, though not as easily as some other writers.
[571] "Par ce petit manège, cette alternative de faveurs et de rigueurs bien ménagée, une femme tendre & sage amuse pendant vingt et un ans le plus grand Poète de son siècle, sans faire la moindre brêche à son honneur." Mémoires pour la Vie de Pétrarque, Préface aux Français, i. p. cxiii.
[571] "Through this little routine, this carefully balanced mix of kindness and strictness, a caring and wise woman keeps the greatest poet of her time entertained for twenty-one years without causing the slightest damage to his honor." Memoirs for the Life of Petrarch, Preface to the French, i. p. cxiii.
[572] In a dialogue with St. Augustin, Petrarch has described Laura as having a body exhausted with repeated ptubs. The old editors read and printed perturbationibus; but M. Capperonier, librarian to the French king in 1762, who saw the MS. in the Paris library, made an attestation that "on lit et qu'on doit lire, partubus exhaustum." De Sade joined the names of Messrs. Boudot and Béjot with M. Capperonier, and, in the whole discussion on this ptubs, showed himself a downright literary rogue. (See Riflessioni, p. lxxiv. sq.; Le Rime del Petrarca, Firenze, 1832, ii. s.f.) Thomas Aquinas is called in to settle whether Petrarch's mistress was a chaste maid or a continent wife.
[572] In a conversation with St. Augustine, Petrarch described Laura as having a body worn out from repeated ptubs. The earlier editors read and published perturbationibus; however, M. Capperonier, the librarian for the French king in 1762, who viewed the manuscript in the Paris library, asserted that "one should read, partubus exhaustum." De Sade combined the names of Messrs. Boudot and Béjot with M. Capperonier and, throughout the discussion on this ptubs, proved himself to be a total literary fraud. (See Riflessioni, p. lxxiv. sq.; Le Rime del Petrarca, Firenze, 1832, ii. s.f.) Thomas Aquinas is called upon to determine whether Petrarch's love was a chaste maid or a continent wife.
Of your image, if a thousand times "Don't you have that one thing I really want?"
Sonetto 50, Quando giunse a Simon l'alto concetto.
Le Rime, etc., i. 118, edit. Florence, 1832.
Sonnet 50, When the lofty concept came to Simon.
The Rhymes, etc., i. 118, ed. Florence, 1832.
[574] "A questa confessione così sincera diede forse occasione una nuova caduta, ch' ei fece."—Tiraboschi, Storia, lib. iii., della Letteratura Italiana, Rome, 1783, v. 460.
[574] "Perhaps a new slip he made prompted this heartfelt confession."—Tiraboschi, History, vol. iii., of Italian Literature, Rome, 1783, p. 460.
[575] {482} "Il n'y a que la vertu seule qui soit capable de faire des impressions que la mort n'efface pas."—M. de Bimard, Baron de la Bastie, in the Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions de Belles Lettres for 1740 (Mémoires de Littérature [1738-1740], 1751, xvii. 424). (See also Riflessioni, etc., p. xcvi.; Le Rime, etc., 1832, ii. s.f.)
[575] {482} "Only virtue has the power to make impressions that death cannot erase."—M. de Bimard, Baron de la Bastie, in the Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions de Belles Lettres for 1740 (Mémoires de Littérature [1738-1740], 1751, xvii. 424). (See also Riflessioni, etc., p. xcvi.; Le Rime, etc., 1832, ii. s.f.)
[576] "And if the virtue or prudence of Laura was inexorable, he enjoyed, and might boast of enjoying, the nymph of poetry."—Decline and Fall, 1818, chap. lxx. p. 321, vol. xii. 8vo. Perhaps the if is here meant for although.
[576] "And even if Laura's virtue or wisdom was unyielding, he took pleasure in, and could proudly say that he enjoyed, the muse of poetry."—Decline and Fall, 1818, chap. lxx. p. 321, vol. xii. 8vo. Perhaps the if is here meant for although.
[579] Histoire de l'Académie Française depuis 1652 jusqu'a 1700, par M. l' Abbé [Thoulier] d'Olivet, Amsterdam, 1730. "Mais, ensuite, venant à l'usage qu'il a fait de ses talens, j'aurois montré que le bon sens n'est pas toujours ce qui domine chez lui," p. 182. Boileau said he had not changed his opinion. "J'en ai si peu changé, dit-il," etc., p. 181.
[579] History of the Académie Française from 1652 to 1700, by M. l' Abbé [Thoulier] d'Olivet, Amsterdam, 1730. "However, when it comes to how he uses his talents, I would have shown that common sense is not always what prevails with him," p. 182. Boileau said he had not changed his mind. "I have hardly changed at all," he said, etc., p. 181.
[580] La Manière de bien Penser dans les Ouvrages de l'esprit, sec. Dial., p. 89, edit. 1692. Philanthes is for Tasso, and says in the outset, "De tous les beaux esprits que l'Italie a portez, le Tasse est peut-estre celuy qui pense le plus noblement." But Bohours seems to speak in Eudoxus, who closes with the absurd comparison: "Faites valoir le Tasse tant qu'il vous plaira, je m'en tiens pour moy à Virgile," etc. (ibid., p. 102).
[580] The Way of Thinking Well in Intellectual Works, sec. Dial., p. 89, ed. 1692. Philanthes is for Tasso and begins with, "Of all the great minds that Italy has produced, Tasso is perhaps the one who thinks the most nobly." But Bohours seems to speak through Eudoxus, who ends with the ridiculous comparison: "You can praise Tasso as much as you want, but I’ll stick with Virgil," etc. (ibid., p. 102).
[581] La Vita, etc., lib. iii. p. 90, tom. ii. The English reader may see an account of the opposition of the Crusca to Tasso, in Black's Life, 1810, etc., chap. xvii. vol. ii.
[581] La Vita, etc., lib. iii. p. 90, tom. ii. English readers can find details about the Crusca's opposition to Tasso in Black's Life, 1810, etc., chap. xvii. vol. ii.
[582] For further, and it is hoped, decisive proof, that Tasso was neither more nor less than a prisoner of state, the reader is referred to Historical Illustrations of the IVth Canto of Childe Harold, p. 5, and following.
[582] For additional, and hopefully conclusive evidence, that Tasso was just a political prisoner, the reader is directed to Historical Illustrations of the IVth Canto of Childe Harold, p. 5, and onwards.
[586] La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, scritta dall' Abate Girolamo Baruffaldi Giuniore, etc. Ferrara, 1807, lib. in. p. 262. (See Historical Illustrations, etc., p. 26.)
[586] The Life of M. L. Ariosto, written by Abate Girolamo Baruffaldi Giuniore, etc. Ferrara, 1807, lib. in. p. 262. (See Historical Illustrations, etc., p. 26.)
[589] "Appassionato ammiratore ed invitto apologista dell' Omero Ferrarese." The title was first given by Tasso, and is quoted to the confusion of the Tassisti, lib. iii. pp. 262, 265. La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, etc.
[589] "Passionate admirer and steadfast defender of Homer of Ferrara." The title was first introduced by Tasso, and is referenced to the confusion of the Tassisti, book iii, pages 262, 265. The Life of M. L. Ariosto, etc.
"Sordid, yet made my home with money."
[597] I. P. Valeriani De fulminum significationibus declamatio, apud J. G. Græv., Thes. Antiq. Rom., 1696, v. 604. The declamation is addressed to Julian of Medicis.
[597] I. P. Valeriani De fulminum significationibus declamatio, published by J. G. Græv., Thes. Antiq. Rom., 1696, v. 604. The speech is directed to Julian of Medicis.
[600] {492} The free expression of their honest sentiments survived their liberties. Titius, the friend of Antony, presented them with games in the theatre of Pompey. They did not suffer the brilliancy of the spectacle to efface from their memory that the man who furnished them with the entertainment had murdered the son of Pompey: they drove him from the theatre with curses. The moral sense of a populace, spontaneously expressed, is never wrong. Even the soldiers of the triumvirs joined in the execration of the citizens, by shouting round the chariots of Lepidus and Plancus, who had proscribed their brothers, De Germanis, non de Gallis, duo triumphant consules; a saying worth a record, were it nothing but a good pun. [C. Vell. Paterculi, Hist., lib. ii. cap. lxxix. p. 78, edit. Elzevir, 1639. Ibid., lib. ii. cap. lxvii.]
[600] {492} The open expression of their true feelings outlasted their freedoms. Titius, Antony's friend, threw games at the theater of Pompey for them. They didn’t let the dazzling spectacle make them forget that the person providing their entertainment had killed Pompey's son: they cursed him and drove him out of the theater. The moral instinct of a crowd, expressed naturally, is never mistaken. Even the soldiers of the triumvirs joined in the people’s anger, shouting around the chariots of Lepidus and Plancus, who had banished their fellow soldiers, De Germanis, non de Gallis, duo triumphant consules; a saying worth remembering, if only for the clever pun. [C. Vell. Paterculi, Hist., lib. ii. cap. lxxix. p. 78, edit. Elzevir, 1639. Ibid., lib. ii. cap. lxvii.]
[602] Storia della Lett. Ital., edit. Venice, 1795, tom. v. lib. iii. par. 2, p. 448, note. Tiraboschi is incorrect; the dates of the three decrees against Dante are A.D. 1302, 1314, and 1316.
[602] History of Italian Literature, edited in Venice, 1795, vol. v. book iii. section 2, p. 448, note. Tiraboschi is wrong; the dates of the three decrees against Dante are A.D. 1302, 1314, and 1316.
[604] By Varchi, in his Ercolano. The controversy continued from 1570 to 1616. See Storia, etc., edit. Rome, 1785, tom, vii. lib. iii. par. iii. p. 187.
[604] By Varchi, in his Ercolano. The debate went on from 1570 to 1616. See Storia, etc., edited in Rome, 1785, vol. vii, book iii, section iii, p. 187.
[606] "Vitam Literni egit sine desiderio urbis." See T. Liv., Hist., lib. xxxviii. cap. liii. Livy reports that some said he was buried at Liternum, others at Rome. Ibid., cap. lv.
[606] "He lived in Liternum without longing for the city." See T. Liv., Hist., book 38, chapter 53. Livy reports that some say he was buried at Liternum, while others say it was in Rome. Ibid., chapter 55.
[608] {497} See Note 6, p. 476.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ {497} See __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.
[611] {499} "Accingiti innoltre, se ci è lecito ancor l'esortarti, a compire l'immortal tua Africa ... Se ti avviene d'incontrare nel nostro stile cosa che ti dispiaccia, ciò debb' essere un altro motive ad esaudire i desiderj della tua patria." Storia della Lett. Ital., edit. Venice, 1795, tom. v. par. i. lib. i. p. 75.
[611] {499} "Continue on, if we may still encourage you, to complete your timeless Africa... If you come across something in our style that you dislike, that should be another reason to fulfill the desires of your homeland." Storia della Lett. Ital., edit. Venice, 1795, tom. v. par. i. lib. i. p. 75.
[612] {500} Classical Tour, chap. ix. vol. iii. p. 355, edit. 3rd. "Of Boccaccio, the modern Petronius, we say nothing; the abuse of genius is more odious and more contemptible than its absence, and it imports little where the impure remains of a licentious author are consigned to their kindred dust. For the same reason the traveller may pass unnoticed the tomb of the malignant Aretino." This dubious phrase is hardly enough to save the tourist from the suspicion of another blunder respecting the burial-place of Aretine, whose tomb was in the church of St. Luke at Venice, and gave rise to the famous controversy of which some notice is taken in Bayle. Now the words of Mr. Eustace would lead us to think the tomb was at Florence, or at least was to be somewhere recognised. Whether the inscription so much disputed was ever written on the tomb cannot now be decided, for all memorial of this author has disappeared from the church of St. Luke.
[612] {500} Classical Tour, chap. ix. vol. iii. p. 355, edit. 3rd. "We won’t say anything about Boccaccio, the modern Petronius; the misuse of talent is worse and more contemptible than not having it at all, and it hardly matters when the unclean remnants of a lewd author return to the dust. For the same reason, the traveler may easily overlook the grave of the malicious Aretino." This questionable statement is barely sufficient to protect the tourist from being suspected of another mistake regarding Aretine's burial site, whose grave was in the church of St. Luke in Venice, leading to the well-known debate mentioned in Bayle. Now, Mr. Eustace's wording would make us believe that the tomb was in Florence, or at least recognized somewhere. Whether the highly debated inscription was ever on the tomb is impossible to determine now, as all traces of this author have vanished from the church of St. Luke.
[613] {501} "Non enim ubique est, qui in excusationem meam consurgens dicat: juvenis scripsit, & majoris coactus imperio." The letter was addressed to Maghinard of Cavalcanti, marshal of the kingdom of Sicily. See Tiraboschi, Storia, etc., edit. Venice, 1795, tom. v. par. ii. lib. iii. p. 525, note.
[613] {501} "There’s not everyone who will stand up to say in my defense: the young man wrote this, and he was forced by his superior's orders." The letter was addressed to Maghinard of Cavalcanti, the marshal of the kingdom of Sicily. See Tiraboschi, Storia, etc., edit. Venice, 1795, vol. v. part ii. book iii. p. 525, note.
[619] {504} Discourses concerning Government, by A. Sidney, chap. ii. sect. xxvi. p. 208, edit. 1751. Sidney is, together with Locke and Hoadley, one of Mr. Hume's "despicable" writers.
[619] {504} Discourses concerning Government, by A. Sidney, chap. ii. sect. xxvi. p. 208, edit. 1751. Sidney is, along with Locke and Hoadley, one of Mr. Hume's "despicable" authors.
[621] Ibid., cap. iv.
[622] Ibid.
[626] Cicer., Epist. ad Atticum, xi. 6.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Cicero, Letters to Atticus, 11.6.
[629] Sueton., in Vit. August., cap. xxxi., and in Vit. C. J. Cæsar, cap. lxxxviii. Appian says it was burnt down. See a note of Pitiscus to Suetonius, p. 224.
[629] Suetonius, in Life of Augustus, chapter 31, and in Life of Julius Caesar, chapter 88. Appian states it was destroyed by fire. Refer to Pitiscus's note on Suetonius, page 224.
[633] Liv., Hist., lib. x. cap. xxiii.
[634] "Tum statua Nattæ, tum simulacra Deorum, Romulusque et Remus cum altrice belua vi fulminis icti conciderunt."—Cic., De Divinat., ii. 20. "Tactus est etiam ille qui hanc urbem condidit Romulus: quem inauratum in Capitolio parvum atque lactentem uberibus lupinis inhiantem fuisse meministis."—In Catilin., iii. 8.
[634] "Then the statue of Natta, along with the images of the gods, and Romulus and Remus with their she-wolf foster mother fell to the ground, struck by a force of lightning."—Cic., On Divination., ii. 20. "Also touched is the one who founded this city, Romulus: you remember that he was depicted as a small, golden infant, eagerly suckling from the she-wolf on the Capitol."—Against Catiline., iii. 8.
Martia, who gave birth to the small children of Mars, It was watering the heavy crops with vital dew: When then, with boys, struck by the blazing bolt of lightning "He fell, and leaving behind the traces of his feet, he vanished."
De Suo Consulatu, lib. ii. lines 42-46.
De Suo Consulatu, vol. ii, lines 42-46.
[642] Storia delle Arti, etc., Milan, 1779, lib. iii. cap. iii. s. ii. note * (i. 144). Winckelmann has made a strange blunder in the note, by saying the Ciceronian wolf was not in the Capitol, and that Dion was wrong in saying so.
[642] History of the Arts, etc., Milan, 1779, book iii, chapter iii, section ii, note * (i. 144). Winckelmann made a strange mistake in the note by claiming that the Ciceronian wolf was not in the Capitol, and that Dion was incorrect in stating otherwise.
[646] "Romuli nutrix Lupa honoribus est affecta divinis. Et ferrem, si animal ipsum fuisset, cujus figuram gerit." Lactant., De Falsâ Religione, lib. i. cap. xx., Biponti, 1786, i. 66; that is to say, he would rather adore a wolf than a prostitute. His commentator has observed that the opinion of Livy concerning Laurentia being figured in this wolf was not universal. Strabo thought so. Rycquius is wrong in saying that Lactantius mentions the wolf was in the Capitol.
[646] "Romulus’ nurse Lupa is honored with divine accolades. And I would support this if the animal itself were the one it represents." Lactantius, On False Religion, Book I, Chapter XX, Biponti, 1786, p. 66; meaning he would rather worship a wolf than a prostitute. His commentator noted that Livy’s view of Laurentia being symbolized in this wolf wasn't universally accepted. Strabo believed so. Rycquius is mistaken in stating that Lactantius claims the wolf was in the Capitol.
[647] To A.D. 496. "Quis credere possit," says Baronius [Ann. Eccles., Lucæ, 1741, viii. 602, in an. 496], "viguisse adhuc Romæ ad Gelasii tempora, quæ fuere ante exordium Urbis allata in Italiam Lupercalia?" Gelasius wrote a letter, which occupies four folio pages, to Andromachus the senator, and others, to show that the rites should be given up.
[647] To A.D. 496. "Who could believe," says Baronius [Ann. Eccles., Lucæ, 1741, viii. 602, in an. 496], "that the Lupercalia, which were brought to Italy before the founding of the City, still thrived in Rome during the times of Gelasius?" Gelasius wrote a letter, spanning four folio pages, to Senator Andromachus and others, arguing that these rites should be abandoned.
[650] Nardini, lib. v. cap. 3, ap. J. G. Græv., iv. 1143, convicts Pomponius Lætus Crassi erroris, in putting the Ruminal fig-tree at the church of Saint Theodore; but, as Livy says the wolf was at the Ficus Ruminalis, and Dionysius at the temple of Romulus, he is obliged to own that the two were close together, as well as the Luperal cave, shaded, as it were, by the fig-tree.
[650] Nardini, book 5, chapter 3, in J. G. Græv., iv. 1143, points out that Pomponius Lætus made a mistake in placing the Ruminal fig tree at the church of Saint Theodore. However, since Livy mentions the wolf was at the Ficus Ruminalis and Dionysius at the temple of Romulus, he has to acknowledge that the two were located very close to each other, as well as the Luperal cave, which was somewhat shaded by the fig tree.
[653] {515} "Jure cæsus existimetur," says Suetonius, i. 76, after a fair estimation of his character, and making use of a phrase which was a formula in Livy's time. "Mælium jure cæsum pronuntiavit, etiam si regni crimine insons fuerit:" [lib. iv. cap. xv.] and which was continued in the legal judgments pronounced in justifiable homicides, such as killing house-breakers.
[653] {515} "The law considers it justifiable homicide," says Suetonius, i. 76, after fairly evaluating his character and using a phrase that was standard in Livy’s time. "He declared the killing of Maelius justifiable, even if he was innocent of the crime against the state:" [lib. iv. cap. xv.] and this principle continued in legal decisions made in cases of justifiable homicides, like killing burglars.
[655] "In villa Justiniana exstat ingens lapis quadras solidus, in quo sculpta hæc duo Ovidii carmina sunt:—
[655] "In Villa Justiniana, there’s a huge solid stone with these two Ovid poems carved into it:—
Illa Numæ was his partner and advisor.'
Qui lapis videtur eodem Egeriæ fonte, aut ejus vicinia, istuc comportatus."—Diarium Italic., Paris, 1702, p. 153.
Qui lapis videtur eodem Egeriæ fonte, aut ejus vicinia, istuc comportatus."—Diarium Italic., Paris, 1702, p. 153.
[657] Eschinard, Descrizione di Roma e dell' Agro Romano, Roma, 1750. They believe in the grotto and nymph. "Simulacro di questo Fonte, essendovi scolpite le acque a pie di esso" (p. 297).
[657] Eschinard, Descrizione di Roma e dell' Agro Romano, Roma, 1750. They believe in the cave and the nymph. "The representation of this fountain, with the waters sculpted at its base" (p. 297).
[659] Lib. 1. Sat. iii. lines 11-20.
[664] Sueton., in Vit. Augusti, cap. xci. Casaubon, in the note, refers to Plutarch's Lives of Camillus and Æmilius Paulus, and also to his apophthegms, for the character of this deity. The hollowed hand was reckoned the last degree of degradation; and when the dead body of the præfect Rufinus was borne about in triumph by the people, the indignity was increased by putting his hand in that position.
[664] Suetonius, in Vit. Augusti, chapter 91. Casaubon, in the note, points to Plutarch's Lives of Camillus and Æmilius Paulus, as well as his sayings, for the depiction of this deity. The hollowed hand was considered the ultimate mark of disgrace; and when the dead body of the prefect Rufinus was paraded around by the people, the insult was heightened by placing his hand in that position.
[665] Storia delle Arti, etc., Rome, 1783, lib. xii. cap. iii. tom. ii. p. 422. Visconti calls the statue, however, a Cybele. It is given in the Museo Pio-Clement., tom. i. par. xl. The Abate Fea (Spiegazione dei Rami. Storia, etc., iii. 513) calls it a Crisippo.
[665] History of the Arts, etc., Rome, 1783, vol. xii, chap. iii, vol. ii, p. 422. However, Visconti refers to the statue as a Cybele. It appears in the Pio-Clement Museum, vol. i, part xl. Abate Fea (Explanation of the Branches. History, etc., iii. 513) identifies it as a Crisippo.
N/A PISTORIVS RVGIANVS V.C. LEGAT. LEG. XIII. G. GORD.
(See Questiones Romanæ, etc., ap. Græv., Antiq. Roman., v. 942. See also Muratori, Nov. Thesaur. Inscrip. Vet., Milan, 1739, i. 88, 89, where there are three Latin and one Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others to Fate.)
(See Questiones Romanæ, etc., ap. Græv., Antiq. Roman., v. 942. See also Muratori, Nov. Thesaur. Inscrip. Vet., Milan, 1739, i. 88, 89, where there are three Latin and one Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others to Fate.)
[671] "Ad captiuos pertinere Tertulliani querelam puto: Certe quidem & innocentes gladiatores inludum veniunt, & voluptatis publicæ hostiæ fiant." Justus, Lipsius, 1588, Saturn. Sermon., lib. ii. cap. iii. p. 84.
[671] "I believe Tertullian's complaint relates to the captives: Surely, innocent gladiators come to the arena, and they become victims for the public's enjoyment." Justus, Lipsius, 1588, Saturn. Sermon., lib. ii. cap. iii. p. 84.
[674] Augustinus (Confess., lib. vi. cap. viii.): "Alypium suum gladiatorii spectaculi inhiatu incredibiliter abreptum," scribit. ib., lib. i. cap. xii.
[674] Augustine (Confessions, book vi, chapter viii): "He writes that Alypius was incredibly swept away by the thrill of the gladiatorial spectacle," ib., book i, chapter xii.
[677] Baronius, De Ann. et in Notis ad Martyrol. Rom. I. Jan. (See Marangoni, Delle memorie sacre, e profane dell' Anfiteatro Flavio, p. 25, edit. 1746.)
[677] Baronius, On the Years and in the Notes to the Roman Martyr's Calendar, January 1. (See Marangoni, On the Sacred and Secular Memories of the Flavian Amphitheater, p. 25, ed. 1746.)
Download ePUB
If you like this ebook, consider a donation!