Manfred, a dramatic poem/Act 3 Scene 3
SCENE III.
The Mountains.— The Castle of Manfred at somedistance.—
A Terrace before a Tower.—Time, Twilight.
Herman, Manuel, and other Dependants of Manfred.
Her. 'Tis strange enough; night after night, for years,He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,Without a witness. I have been within it,—So have we all been oft-times; but from it,Or its contents, it were impossibleTo draw conclusions absolute, of aughtHis studies tend to. To be sure, there isOne chamber where none enter; I would give
The fee of what I have to come these three years,To pore upon its mysteries.
Manuel.'Twere dangerous;Content thyself with what thou knowest already.
Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise,And could'st say much; thou hast dwelt within the castle—How many years is't?
Manuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth,I served his father, whom he nought resembles.
Her. There be more sons in like predicament.But wherein do they differ?
Manuel.I speak notOf features or of form, but mind and habits:Count Sigismund was proud,—but gay and free,— A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt notWith books and solitude, nor made the nightA gloomy vigil, but a festal time,Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocksAnd forests like a wolf, nor turn asideFrom men and their delights.
Her. Beshrew the hour,But those were jocund times! I would that suchWould visit the old walls again; they lookAs if they had forgotten them.
Manuel.These wallsMust change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seenSome strange things in them, Herman.
Her. Come, be friendly;Relate me some to while away our watch:I've heard thee darkly speak of an eventWhich happened hereabouts, by this same tower.
Manuel. That was a night indeed; I do remember'Twas twilight, as it may be now, and suchAnother evening;—yon red cloud, which restsOn Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,—So like that it might be the same; the windWas faint and gusty, and the mountain snowsBegan to glitter with the climbing moon;Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower,—How occupied, we knew not, but with himThe sole companion of his wanderingsAnd watchings—her, whom of all earthly thingsThat lived, the only thing he seem'd to love,—As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,The Lady Astarte, his———Hush! who comes here?
Enter the Abbot.
Abbot. Where is your master?
Her. Yonder, in the tower.
Abbot. I must speak with him.
Manuel.'Tis impossible;He is most private, and must not be thusIntruded on.
Abbot.Upon myself I takeThe forfeit of my fault, if fault there be—But I must see him.
Her.Thou hast seen him onceThis eve already.
Abbot.Herman! I command thee,Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach.
Her. We dare not.
Abbot. Then it seems I must be heraldOf my own purpose.
Manuel.Reverend father, stop—I pray you pause.
Abbot.Why so?
Manuel.But step this way,[Exeunt.And I will tell you further.