A Hall in the Castle of Manfred.
MANFRED and HERMAN.
_Man._ What is the hour?
_Her._ It wants but one till sunset,
And promises a lovely twilight.
_Man._ Say,
Are all things so disposed of in the tower
As I directed?
_Her._ All, my lord, are ready:
Here is the key and casket.
_Man._ It is well:
Thou may'st retire. [_Exit_ HERMAN.
_Man._ (_alone._) There is a calm upon me--
Inexplicable stillness! which till now
Did not belong to what I knew of life.
If that I did not know philosophy
To be of all our vanities the motliest,
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear
From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem
The golden secret, the sought 'Kalon,' found,
And seated in my soul. It will not last,
But it is well to have known it, though but once:
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense,
And I within my tablets would note down
That there is such a feeling. Who is there?
_Re-enter_ HERMAN.
_Her._ My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves
To greet your presence.
_Enter the_ ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.
_Abbot._ Peace be with Count Manfred!
_Man._ Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls;
Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those
Who dwell within them.
_Abbot._ Would it were so, Count!
But I would fain confer with thee alone.
_Man._ Herman, retire. What would my reverend guest?
[_Exit_ HERMAN.
_Abbot._ Thus, without prelude:--Age and zeal, my office,
And good intent, must plead my privilege;
Our near, though not acquainted neighbourhood,
May also be my herald. Rumours strange,
And of unholy nature, are abroad,
And busy with thy name--a noble name
For centuries; may he who bears it now
Transmit it unimpair'd.
_Man._ Proceed,--I listen.
_Abbot._ 'Tis said thou boldest converse with the things
Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits
Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
Thou communest. I know that with mankind,
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.
_Man._ And what are they who do avouch these things?
_Abbot._ My pious brethren--the scared peasantry--
Even thy own vassals--who do look on thee
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril.
_Man._ Take it.
_Abbot._ I come to save, and not destroy--
I would not pry into thy secret soul;
But if these things be sooth, there still is time
For penitence and pity: reconcile thee
With the true church, and through the church to heaven.
_Man._ I hear thee. This is my reply; Whate'er
I may have been, or am, doth rest between
Heaven and myself.--I shall not choose a mortal
To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd
Against your ordinances? prove and punish![1]
_Abbot._ Then, hear and tremble! For the headstrong wretch
Who in the mail of innate hardihood
Would shield himself, and battle for his sins,
There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eternal--
_Man._ Charity, most reverend father,
Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace,
That I would call thee back to it; but say,
What wouldst thou with me?
_Abbot._ It may be there are
Things that would shake thee--but I keep them back,
And give thee till to-morrow to repent.
Then if thou dost not all devote thyself
To penance, and with gift of all thy lands
To the monastery--
_Man._ I understand thee,--well!
_Abbot._ Expect no mercy; I have warned thee.
_Man._ (_opening the casket._) Stop--
There is a gift for thee within this casket.
[MANFRED _opens the casket, strikes a light, and burns some
incense._
Ho! Ashtaroth!
_The_ DEMON ASHTAROTH _appears, singing as follows:--_
The raven sits
On the raven-stone,
And his black wing flits
O'er the milk-white bone;
To and fro, as the night-winds blow,
The carcass of the assassin swings;
And there alone, on the raven-stone[2],
The raven flaps his dusky wings.
The fetters creak--and his ebon beak
Croaks to the close of the hollow sound;
And this is the tune by the light of the moon
To which the witches dance their round--
Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily,
Merrily, speeds the ball:
The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds,
Flock to the witches' carnival.
_Abbot._ I fear thee not--hence--hence--
Avaunt thee, evil one!--help, ho! without there!
_Man._ Convey this man to the Shreckhorn--to its peak--
To its extremest peak--watch with him there
From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know
He ne'er again will be so near to heaven.
But harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks,
Set him down safe in his cell--away with him!
_Ash._ Had I not better bring his brethren too,
Convent and all, to bear him company?
_Man._ No, this will serve for the present. Take him up.
_Ash._ Come, friar! now an exorcism or two,
And we shall fly the lighter.