In the Carmagnola having dealt with the internal wars which desolated
medieval Italy, Manzoni in the Adelchi takes a step further back in
time, and evolves his tragedy from the downfall of the Longobard
kingdom and the invasion of the Franks. These enter Italy at the
bidding of the priests, to sustain the Church against the disobedience
and contumacy of the Longobards.
Desiderio and his son Adelchi are kings of the Longobards, and the
tragedy opens with the return to their city Pavia of Ermenegarda,
Adelchi's sister, who was espoused to Carlo, king of the Franks,
and has been repudiated by him. The Longobards have seized certain
territories belonging to the Church, and as they refuse to restore
them, the ecclesiastics send a messenger, who crosses the Alps on
foot, to the camp of the Franks, and invites their king into Italy to
help the cause of the Church. The Franks descend into the valley of
Susa, and soon after defeat the Longobards. It is in this scene that
the chorus of the Italian peasants, who suffer, no matter which
side conquers, is introduced. The Longobards retire to Verona, and
Ermenegarda, whose character is painted with great tenderness and
delicacy, and whom we may take for a type of what little goodness and
gentleness, sorely puzzled, there was in the world at that time (which
was really one of the worst of all the bad times in the world), dies
in a convent near Brescia, while the war rages all round her retreat.
A defection takes place among the Longobards; Desiderio is captured; a
last stand is made by Adelchi at Verona, where he is mortally wounded,
and is brought prisoner to his father in the tent of Carlo. The
tragedy ends with his death; and I give the whole of the last scene:
{_Enter_ CARLO _and_ DESIDERIO.
_Desiderio._ Oh, how heavily
Hast thou descended upon my gray head,
Thou hand of God! How comes my son to me!
My son, my only glory, here I languish,
And tremble to behold thee! Shall I see
Thy deadly wounded body, I that should
Be wept by thee? I, miserable, alone,
Dragged thee to this; blind dotard I, that fain
Had made earth fair to thee, I digged thy grave.
If only thou amidst thy warriors' songs
Hadst fallen on some day of victory,
Or had I closed upon thy royal bed
Thine eyes amidst the sobs and reverent grief
Of thy true liegemen, ah; it still had been
Anguish ineffable! And now thou diest,
No king, deserted, in thy foeman's land,
With no lament, saving thy father's, uttered
Before the man that doth exult to hear it.
_Carlo._ Old man, thy grief deceives thee. Sorrowful,
And not exultant do I see the fate
Of a brave man and king. Adelchi's foe
Was I, and he was mine, nor such that I
Might rest upon this new throne, if he lived
And were not in my hands. But now he is
In God's own hands, whither no enmity
Of man can follow him.
_Des._ 'T is a fatal gift
Thy pity, if it never is bestowed
Save upon those fallen beyond all hope--
If thou dost never stay thine arm until
Thou canst find no place to inflict a wound!
(_Adelchi is brought in, mortally wounded._)
_Des._ My son!
_Adelchi._ And do I see thee once more, father?
Oh come, and touch my hand!
_Des._ 'T is terrible
For me to see thee so!
_Ad._ Many in battle
Did fall so by my sword.
_Des._ Ah, then, this wound
Thou hast, it is incurable?
_Ad._ Incurable.
_Des._ Alas, atrocious war!
And cruel I that made it. 'T is I kill thee.
_Ad._ Not thou nor he _(pointing to Carlo)_, but the
Lord God of all.
_Des._ Oh, dear unto those eyes! how far away
From thee I suffered! and it was one thought
Among so many woes upheld me. 'T was the hope
To tell thee all one day in some safe hour
Of peace--
_Ad._ That hour of peace has come to me.
Believe it, father, save that I leave thee
Crushed with thy sorrow here below.
_Des._ O front
Serene and bold! O fearless hand! O eyes
That once struck terror!
_Ad._ Cease thy lamentations,
Cease, father, in God's name! For was not this
The time to die? But thou that shalt live captive,
And hast lived all thy days a king, oh listen:
Life's a great secret that is not revealed
Save in the latest hour. Thou'st lost a kingdom;
Nay, do not weep! Trust me, when to this hour
Thou also shalt draw nigh, most jubilant
And fair shall pass before thy thought the years
In which thou wast not king--the years in which
No tears shall be recorded in the skies
Against thee, and thy name shall not ascend
Mixed with the curses of the unhappy. Oh,
Rejoice that thou art king no longer! that
All ways are closed against thee! There is none
For innocent action, and there but remains
To do wrong or to suffer wrong. A power
Fierce, pitiless, grasps the world, and calls itself
The right. The ruthless hands of our forefathers
Did sow injustice, and our fathers then
Did water it with blood; and now the earth
No other harvest bears. It is not meet
To uphold crime, thou'st proved it, and if 't were,
Must it not end thus? Nay, this happy man
Whose throne my dying renders more secure,
Whom all men smile on and applaud, and serve,
He is a man and he shall die.
_Des._ But I
That lose my son, what shall console me?
_Ad._ God!
Who comforts us for all things. And oh, thou
Proud foe of mine! _(Turning to Carlo.)_
_Carlo._ Nay, by this name, Adelchi,
Call me no more; I was so, but toward death
Hatred is impious and villainous. Nor such,
Believe me, knows the heart of Carlo.
_Ad._ Friendly
My speech shall be, then, very meek and free
Of every bitter memory to both.
For this I pray thee, and my dying hand
I lay in thine! I do not ask that thou
Should'st let go free so great a captive--no,
For I well see that my prayer were in vain
And vain the prayer of any mortal. Firm
Thy heart is--must be--nor so far extends
Thy pity. That which thou can'st not deny
Without being cruel, that I ask thee! Mild
As it can be, and free of insult, be
This old man's bondage, even such as thou
Would'st have implored for thy father, if the heavens
Had destined thee the sorrow of leaving him
In others' power. His venerable head
Keep thou from every outrage; for against
The fallen many are brave; and let him not
Endure the cruel sight of any of those
His vassals that betrayed him.
_Carlo._ Take in death
This glad assurance, Adelchi! and be Heaven
My testimony, that thy prayer is as
The word of Carlo!
_Ad._ And thy enemy,
In dying, prays for thee!
_Enter_ ARVINO.
_Armno._ (_Impatiently_) O mighty king, thy warriors and chiefs
Ask entrance.
_Ad._ (_Appealingly_.) Carlo!
_Carlo._ Let not any dare
To draw anigh this tent; for here Adelchi
Is sovereign; and no one but Adelchi's father
And the meek minister of divine forgiveness
Have access here.
_Des._ O my beloved son!
_Ad._ O my father,
The light forsakes these eyes.
_Des._ Adelchi,--No!
Thou shalt not leave me!
_Ad._ O King of kings! betrayed
By one of Thine, by all the rest abandoned:
I come to seek Thy peace, and do Thou take
My weary soul!
_Des._ He heareth thee, my son,
And thou art gone, and I in servitude
Remain to weep.
I wish to give another passage from this tragedy: the speech which the
emissary of the Church makes to Carlo when he reaches his presence
after his arduous passage of the Alps. I suppose that all will note
the beauty and reality of the description in the story this messenger
tells of his adventures; and I feel, for my part, a profound effect
of wildness and loneliness in the verse, which has almost the solemn
light and balsamy perfume of those mountain solitudes:
From the camp,
Unseen, I issued, and retraced the steps
But lately taken. Thence upon the right
I turned toward Aquilone. Abandoning
The beaten paths, I found myself within
A dark and narrow valley; but it grew
Wider before my eyes as further on
I kept my way. Here, now and then, I saw
The wandering flocks, and huts of shepherds. 'T was
The furthermost abode of men. I entered
One of the huts, craved shelter, and upon
The woolly fleece I slept the night away.
Rising at dawn, of my good shepherd host
I asked my way to France. “Beyond those heights
Are other heights,” he said, “and others yet;
And France is far and far away; but path
There's none, and thousands are those mountains--
Steep, naked, dreadful, uninhabited
Unless by ghosts, and never mortal man
Passed over them.” “The ways of God are many,
Far more than those of mortals,” I replied,
“And God sends me.” “And God guide you!” he said.
Then, from among the loaves he kept in store,
He gathered up as many as a pilgrim
May carry, and in a coarse sack wrapping them,
He laid them on my shoulders. Recompense
I prayed from Heaven for him, and took my way.
Beaching the valley's top, a peak arose,
And, putting faith in God, I climbed it. Here
No trace of man appeared, only the forests
Of untouched pines, rivers unknown, and vales
Without a path. All hushed, and nothing else
But my own steps I heard, and now and then
The rushing of the torrents, and the sudden
Scream of the hawk, or else the eagle, launched
From his high nest, and hurtling through the dawn,
Passed close above my head; or then at noon,
Struck by the sun, the crackling of the cones
Of the wild pines. And so three days I walked,
And under the great trees, and in the clefts,
Three nights I rested. The sun was my guide;
I rose with him, and him upon his journey
I followed till he set. Uncertain still,
Of my own way I went; from vale to vale
Crossing forever; or, if it chanced at times
I saw the accessible slope of some great height
Rising before me, and attained its crest,
Yet loftier summits still, before, around,
Towered over me; and other heights with snow
From foot to summit whitening, that did seem
Like steep, sharp tents fixed in the soil; and others
Appeared like iron, and arose in guise
Of walls insuperable. The third day fell
What time I had a mighty mountain seen
That raised its top above the others; 't was
All one green slope, and all its top was crowned
With trees. And thither eagerly I turned
My weary steps. It was the eastern side,
Sire, of this very mountain on which lies
Thy camp that faces toward the setting sun.
While I yet lingered on its spurs the darkness
Did overtake me; and upon the dry
And slippery needles of the pine that covered
The ground, I made my bed, and pillowed me
Against their ancient trunks. A smiling hope
Awakened me at daybreak; and all full
Of a strange vigor, up the steep I climbed.
Scarce had I reached the summit when my ear
Was smitten with a murmur that from far
Appeared to come, deep, ceaseless; and I stood
And listened motionless. 'T was not the waters
Broken upon the rocks below; 'twas not the wind
That blew athwart the woods and whistling ran
From one tree to another, but verily
A sound of living men, an indistinct
Rumor of words, of arms, of trampling feet,
Swarming from far away; an agitation
Immense, of men! My heart leaped, and my steps
I hastened. On that peak, O king, that seems
To us like some sharp blade to pierce the heaven,
There lies an ample plain that's covered thick
With grass ne'er trod before. And this I crossed
The quickest way; and now at every instant
The murmur nearer grew, and I devoured
The space between; I reached the brink, I launched
My glance into the valley and I saw,
I saw the tents of Israel, the desired
Pavilion of Jacob; on the ground
I fell, thanked God, adored him, and descended.