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A corse-a corse, it might be, fighting for them My heart aches bitterly.
I pray you sit. But come! my son and I will go together
Doge. No; my seat here has been a throne till now. He to his grave, and I to pray for mine.(1)
Marina! let us go. Chief of the Ten. What! thus in public?
Most readily. Doge.
I was publicly Doge (walks a few steps, then stops). I feel athirstElected, and so will I be deposed.
will no one bring me here Marina! art thou willing?
A cup of water?
And I Chief of the Ten. It must not be the people will Lor.
And Iperceive it.
[know it, [The Doge lakes a goblet from the hand of Doge. The people!—There's no people, you well LOREDANO. Else you dare not deal thus by them or me.
Doge. I take yours, Loredano, from the band There is a populace, perhaps, whose looks
Most fit for such an hour as this.(2) May shame you; but they dare not groan nor curse you, Lor.
Why so? Save with their hearts and eyes.
Doge. 'Tis said that our Venetian crystal bas Chief of the Ten. You speak in passion, Such pure antipathy to poisons as Else
To burst, if aught of venom touches it. Doge. You have reason. I have spoken much You bore this goblet, and it is not broken. More than my wont: it is a foible which
Lor. Well, sir! Was not of mine, but more excuses you,
Then it is false, or you are trx Inasmuch as it shows that I approach
For my own part, I credit neither; 'tis A dotage which may justify this deed
An idle legend. Of yours, although the law does not, nor will.
Mar. You talk wildly, and Farewell, sirs !
Had better now be seated, nor as yet Bar. You shall not depart without
Depart. Ah! now you look as look'd my hasband! An escort fitting past and present rank.
Bar. He sinks !--support him!-quick-a chair We will accompany, with due respect,
support him! The Doge unto his private palace. Say!
Doge. The bell tolls on!-let's hence--my brain' My brethren, will we not?
Bar. I do beseech you, lean upon us! (on fire Different voices. Ay!-Ay!
No! Doge. .
You shall not A sovereign should die standing. My poor boy! Stir in my train, at least. I enter'd here
Off with your arms! That bell! As sovereign-I go out as citizen
[The Doge drops down and diese By the same portals, but as citizen.
My God! My C All these vain ceremonies are base insults,
Bar. (to Lor.) Behold! your work's completed! Which only ulcerate the heart the more,
Chief of the Ten.
Is there the Applying poisons there as antidotes.
No aid ? Call in assistance! Pomp is for princes—I am none!—That's false, Att.
'Tis all over. I am, but only to these gates.-Ah!
Chief of the Ten. If it be so, at least his obsequi Hark!
Shall be such as befits his name and nation, [The great bell of St. Mark's tolls. His rank and his devotion to the duties Bar. The bell!
Of the realm, while his age permitted him Chief of the Ten. St. Mark's, which tolls for the To do himself and them full justice. Brethren,
[election | Say, shall it not be so ? Doge. Well I recognise
. He has not had The sound! I heard it once, but once before, The misery to die a subject where And that is five-and-thirty years ago;
He reign'd: then let his funeral rites be princely.(49 Even then I was not young.
Chief of the Ten. We are agreed, then? Bar.
Sit down, my lord! All, except Lor. answer, You tremble.
Chief of the Ten. Heaven's peace be with him! Doge. 'Tis the knell of my poor boy!
Mar. Signors, your pardon: this is mockery.
« And now he goes. It is the hour and past.
I have no business here.'- But wilt thou not
By mine own merits did I come. I go,
Rogers.-L. E. (2) In the MS.
"I take yours, Loredano'tis the draught
(3) The death of the elder Foscart took place not af palace, but in his own house; not immediately on bis descen from the Giants' Stairs, but five days afterwards. " tendant," says M. de Sismondi, "le son des cloches, sonnaient en actions de graces pour l'election de son se seur, il mourut subitement d'une hémorrhagie causée par veine qui s'éclata dans sa poitrine." "-L. E.
(4) By a decree of the Council, the trappings of supre power of which the Doge had divested himself while line were restored to him when dead; and he was interred, will ducal magnificence, in the church of the Minorites, the bra Doge attending as a mourner See Daru.-L.E.
Before I was sixteen years of age," says Lord Byroa. witness to a melancholy instance of the same effect of mixed pasa upon a young person; who, however, did not die in coas at that time, but fell a victim, some years afterwards, to see the same kind, arising from causes intimately connected tion of mind." See Don Juan, c. iv. st. lix. past.-L. E.
Juggle no more with that poor remnant, which,
Chief of the Ten. Lady, we revoke not
I know it,
I do, signor.
[She stops with agitation.
Chief of the Ten. Best retain it for your children.
Mar. I have heard of murderers, who have interr'd Their victims; but ne'er heard, until this hour, Of so much splendour in hypocrisy O'er those they slew.(1) I've heard of widows' tearsAlas! I have shed some-always thanks to you! I've heard of heirs in sables—you have left none To the deceased, so you would act the part Of such. Well, sirs, your will be done! as one day, I trust, Heaven's will be done too! Chief of the Ten.
Know you, lady, To whom ye speak, and perils of such speech?
Mar. I know the former better than yourselves; The latter-like yourselves; and can face both. Wish you more funerals ? Bar.
Heed not her rash words; Her circumstances must excuse her bearing.
Chief of the Ten. We will not note them down. Bar.(turning to Lor. who is writing upon his tablets.)
What art thou writing, With such an earnest brow, upon thy tablets ? Lor. (pointing to the Doge's body.) That he has
paid me!(2) Chief of the Ten. What debt did he owe you? Lor. A long and just one; Nature's debt and mine.(3)
The Venetians appear to have bad a particular turn the breaking the hearts of their Doges. The following is another instance of the kind, in the Doge Marco Barbarigo:
Tu succeeded by his brother Agostino Barbarigo, whose che merit is here mentioned :-"Le doge, blessé de trouver sustamment un contradictear et un censeur si amer dans kaforre, loi dit un jour en plein conseil : Messire Augustin, su faites tout votre possible pour hâter ma mort ; vous
Battez de me succéder ; mais, si les autres vous conQuant aussi bien que je vous connais, ils n'auront garde Tous élire.' Là-dessus il se leva, ému de colère, rentra
sou appartement, et mourut quelques jours après. Ce fer, contre lequel il s'était emporté, fut précisément le suc
star qu'on lui donna. C'était un mérite dont on aimait Febir compte, surtout à un parent, de s'être mis en oppo. Bon avec le chef de la république." -Daru, Hist. de Venise,
FRANCISCO Foscar-for my father's death,
Ye who sit
The lesson to your children." Rogers.-L.E. ) « Considered as poems, we confess that Sardanapalus and The Troo Foscari appear to us to be rather heavy, verbose, and inelegant-deficient in the passion and energy which belong to Lord Byron's other writings and still more in the richness of imagery, the originality of thought, and the sweetness of versification for which be used to be distinguished. They are for the most part solemn, prolix, and ostentatious-lengthened out by large preparations for ca. tastrophes that never arrive, and tantalising us with slight specimens and glimpses of a higher interest scattered thinly up and down many weary pages of pompous declamation. Along with the concentrated pathos and homestruck sentiments of his former poetry, the noble author seems also we cannot imagine why to have discarded the spirited and melodious versification in which they were embodied, and to have formed to himself a measure equally remote from the spring and vigour of his former compositions, and from the softness and flexibility of the ancient masters of the drama. There are some sweet lines, and many of great weight and energy; but the general march of the verse is cumbrous and unmusical. His lines do not vibrate like polished lances, at opce strong and light, in the hands of bis persons, but are wielded like clumsy batons in a bloodless affray. Instead of the graceful familiarity and idiomatical melodies of Shakspeare, it is apt, too, to fall into clumsy prose, in its approaches to the easy and colloquial style; and, in the loftier passages, is occasionally deformed by low and com. mon images that harmonise but ill with the general solemnity of the diction.” Jeffrey.-LE.
12. L'ha pagata." An historical fact. See Hist. de Ve. mire, par P. Daru, t. ii. p. 411.-[Here the original MS. ends. be two lines which follow were added by Mr. Gifford. In e margin of the MS. Lord Byron has written-“If the last
e should appear obscure to those who do not recollect the witnical fact mentioned in the first act of Loredano's incaption in his book, of Doge Foscari, debtor for the deaths my father and uncle, you may add the following lines to the conclusion of the last act:Chief of the Ten. For what has he repaid thee?
For my father's
That caused all this the hate of Loredano?
When his father died,
The Deformed Transformed;
| THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED.
This production is founded partly on the story of
PART I. a novel called The Three Brothers, (2) published
SCENE 1. many years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's Wood Demon was also taken—and partly on the Faust of
A Forest. the great Goethe. The present publication contains
Enter Arnold and his mother Bertha. the two first Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The rest may perhaps appear hereafter.
Bert. Our, hunchback!
I was born so, mother!
Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons,
The sole abortion !
Would that I had been ,
And never seen the light!
I would so too! PHILIBERT.
But as thou hast--hence, hence—and do thy best! CELLINI.
That back of thine may bear its burthen; 'tis
More high, if not so broad, as that of others.
Arn. It bears its burthen!-but, my heart! Wil
Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother? Spirits, Soldiers, Citizens of Rome, Priests, | I love, or, at the least, I loved you: nothing Peasants, etc.
Save you, in nature, can love aught like me.
(U This drama was begun at Pisa in 1821, but was not | not know how he meant to finish it; but he said hims published till January, 1824. Mr. Medwin says, -
that the whole conduct of the story was already conceiti “ On my calling on Lord Byron one morning, he produced It was at this time that a brutal paragrapb alluding to the Deformed Transformed. Handing it to Shelley, as he lameness appeared, which he repeated to me, lest I shte was in the habit of doing his daily compositions, he said hear it first from someone else.-Noaction of Lord By "Shelley, I have been writing a Faustish kind of drama : tell life-scarce a line he has written-but was influenced by me what you think of it. After reading it attentively, personal defect."-L.E. Shelley returned it. Well,' said Lord B. how do you like
(2) « The Three Brothers is a romance, published in 1 it?' Least,' replied be, of any thing I ever saw of yours.
the work of a Joshua Pickersgill, junior. It is one of It is a bad imitation of Faust; and besides, there are two
high-flown histories, in which "terror petritic or angi entire lines of Southey's in it.' Lord Byron changed colour
tive" (we use Mr. P.'s own phraseology) waylays us at end immediately, and asked hastily, What lines ? Shelley re
page. The present story is that of a missbapen youth, peated,
acquires beauty and strength by a compact with the ene * And water shall see thee,
of mankind. The tenure by which he holds these gitta And fear thee, and flee thee.'
bloodshed, to be perpetrated on some occasion not yet 4 They are in the Curse of Kehamd. His Lordship instantly closed, for the drama is unfinished. In some points of di threw the poem into the fire. He seemed to feel no chagrin racter and situation he is not wholly unlike the Black Dea at seeing it consume—at least his countenance betrayed none, of Mucklestane Moor, and we could almost suspect that and his conversation became more gay and lively than painter of that personage had condescended. like Lord Byrd usual. Whether it was hatred of Southey, or respect for to adopt a thought from the forgotten legend of the 7h Shelley's opinion, which made him commit the act that I Brothers.” Croly.-- L. E. considered a sort of suicide, was always doubtful to me.
(3) A clever anonymous critic thus sarcastically opel I was never more surprised than to see, two years after his notice of this poem : - “ The reader has, no dou wards, The Deformed Transformed announced (supposing it I often heard of the Devil and Dr. Faustus: this is but a to have perished at Pisa); but it seems that he must have
birth of the same unrighteous couple, who are christene had another copy of the manuscript, or that he had re
however, by the noble hieropbant who presides over written it perhaps, without changing a word, except omit
| infernal ceremony, Julius Cæsar and Count Arnold. 1 ting the Kehama lines. His memory was remarkably re drama opens with a scene between the latter, who is tentive of his own writings. I believe he could have quoted almost every line he ever wrote.”
• "The Black Dwarf I have read with great pleasure, and perford Mrs. Shelley, whose copy of The Deformed Transformed
understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive i 4 lies before us, has written as follows on the fly-leaf :
very erroneous persuasion that it must have been written by
If you knew me as well as they do, you would have fallen, pertan “This had long been a favourite subject with Lord Byron.
into the same mistake,” Lord Byron to Mr. M.-L. E. I think that he mentioned it also in Switzerland. I copied it + "The ideal being who is here presented as residing in solita
-he sending a portion of it at a time, as it was finished, to and haunted by a consciousness of his own deformity, and a sus me. At this time he had a great horror of its being said cion of his being generally subjected to the scorn of his fellow that he plagiarised, or that he studied for ideas, and wrote
is not altogether imaginary. An individual existed many years ita
under the author's observation, which suggested such a charita with difficulty. Thus, he gave Shelley Aikin's edition of
This poor unfortunate man's name was David Ritchie, a native the British Poets, that it might not be found in his house Tweed-dale. He was the son of a labourer in the slate-quare by some English lounger, and reported home : thus, too, he Strobo, and must have been born in the misshapen forma always dated when he began and when he ended a poem,
exhibited, though he sometimes imputed it to ill usage wben to prove hereafter how quickly it was done. I do not think
fancy. He was a brushmaker at Edinburgh, and had wanderno
several places, working at his trade, from all which he was chass that he altered a line in this drama after he had once writ.
by the disagreeable attention which hus hideous singularity of an ten it down. He composed and corrected in his mind. I do and face attracted wherever he came." Sir Weiter Scott-LL
Yor nursed me-do not kill me!
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash Bert.
Yes--I nursed thee, The wound. Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his If there would be another unlike thee,
hand: he starts back.' That monstrous sport of nature. (1) Bat get hence, They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me, And gather wood!
What she hath made me. I will not look on it Ann.
I will; but when I bring it, Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretch
My horrid shadow-like a demon placed
From drinking therein.
(He pauses. Bert. As is the hedgehog's,
And shal! I live on,
Unto what brought me into life! Thou blood, The nipple next day sore and udder dry.(2)
Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me
Pour furth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
[Exit BERTRA. Resolve back to her elements, and take
This knife! now let me prove if it will sever
This wither'd slip of nature's nightshademy (Arsold begins to cut wood: in doing this he Vile form—from the creation, as it hath wounds one of his hands.
The green bough from the forest. My labour for the day is over now.
(ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with the Acearsed be this blood that flows so fast;
point upwards. Fur double curges will be my meed now
Now 'tis set, At homeWhat home? I have no home, no kin, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance No kind-hot made like other creatures, or
On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too Myself, and the sweet sun which warm'd me, but like them? Oh that each drop which falls to earth In vain. The birds—how joyously they sing! Weald rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung So let them, for I would not be lamented :
that the devil, to whom they liken me, [me! But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; Yould aid his likeness! If I must partake
The falling leaves my monument; the murmur is form, why not his power? Is it because Of the near fountain my sole elegy. have not his will too? For one kind word Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!(3) from her who bore me would still reconcile me [As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his eye
22 appearance a well-disposed young man, of a very deform. brat.' As all that he had felt strongly through life was, in person, and his mother: this good lady, with somewhat some shape or other, reproduced in his poetry, it was not
maternal piety about her than adorns the mother-ape likely that an expression such as this should fail of being the fable, turns her dutiful incubus of a son out of doors recorded.” After quoting the opening of The Deformed Puther wood. Arnold, upon this, proceeds incontinently Transformed, in which Bertha taunts her offspring with his Rull himself, by falling, after the manner of Brutus, on personal defect, Moore adds :-"It may be questioned indeed, wood-knife : be is, however, piously dissuaded from this whether the whole drama was not indebted for its origin to
y act, by-whom, does the reader think? A monk, this single recollection." Many anecdotes are scattered erhaps, or a methodist preacher ? no ;- but by the Devil throughout Moore's Life, tending to prove how keenly Byron Rosell, in the shape of a tall black man, who rises, like must have felt the mortifications to wbich his lameness occa
African water-god, out of a fountain. To this stranger, sionally exposed him. One trial of this nature, which he was Mer the exchange of a few sinister compliments, Arnold, doomed to undergo, he felt with peculiar anguish. In the
thout more ado, sells his soul, for the privilege of wear. course of his ill-fated attachment to Miss Chaworth, be 13 the beautiful form of Achilles. In the midst of all this eitber was told of, or overheard, that lady saying to her wardity, we still, however, recognise the master-mind of maid, “Do you think I could care any thing for that lame er great poet : his bold and beautiful spirit flashes at in. boy?” Moore states that “this speech, as he himself de. ervals through the surrounding horrors, into which he scribed it, was like a shot through his heart. Though late as chosen to plange after Goethe, his magnus Apollo." at night when he heard it, he instantly darted out of the
house, and, scarcely knowing whither he ran, never stopped The Deformed Transformed, though confessedly an imi. till he found himself at Newstead --P.E. . una of Goethe's Faust, is substantially an original work. (1) " Lord Byron's own mother, when in ill humour with
the opinion of Mr. Moore, it probably owes something to him, used to make the deformity in his foot the subject of e author's painful sensibility to the defect in his own taunts and reproaches. She would (we quote from a letter 10-an accident that must, from the acuteness with which written by one of her relations in Scotland) pass from pasen it, have essentially contributed to enable him to com sionate caresses to the repulsion of actual disgust; then
ad and to express the envy of those afflicted with irre devour him with kisses again, and swear his eyes were as wable exceptions to the ordinary course of fortune, or beautiful as his father's.” Quar. Rev.-L.E. 10 have been amerced by nature of their fair proportions."
(2) This is now generally believed to be a vulgar error ; Call.
the smallness of the animal's mouth rendering it incapable On this subjeet Moore says: “One of the most striking of the mischief laid to its charge. For a very amusing con
ses in the few pages of the memoir which related to troversy on the subject, see Gent. Mag. vols. Ixxx, and lxxxi. carly days was where, in speaking of his own sensitive -L.E. u the subject of his deformed foot, he described the (3) Arnold is known to us, before his temptations, only
I borror and humiliation that came over him, when as a hunchback weary of scoffs and buffets, and more der, in one of her fits of passion, called him 'a lame | sensible of his natural disadvantages than deformed persons
Feeling of horror and h
is suddenly caught by the fountain, which seems To talk to thee in human language (for in motion.
Thou canstonot yet speak mine), the forester The fountain moves without a wind: but shall Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
To petty burghers, who leave once a-year Not as with air, but by some subterrane
Their walls, to fill their household caldrons with And rocking power of the internal world.
Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,-What's here? A mist! No more?
Now I can mock the mightiest. [A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands Arn.
Then waste not gazing upon it; it is dispelled, and a tall black Thy time on me: I seek thee not. man comes towards him.
Your thoughts Arn.
What would you? Speak! | Are not far from me. Do not send me back : Spirit or man?
I am not so easily recall’d to do Stran. As man is both, why not
Arn. What wilt thou do for me?
Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you Stran. So many men are that
Or form you to your wish in any shape. Which is so calld or thought, that you may add me Arn. Ob! then you are indeed the demon, for To which you please, without much wrong to either. Nought else would wittingly wear mine. But come: you wish to kill yourself;—pursue
I'll show the Your purpose.
The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee Arn. You have interrupted me.
There's a question! You deem, a single moment would have made you | An hour ago you would have given your soul Mine, and for ever, by your suicide;
To look like other men, and now you pause And yet my coming saves you,
To wear the form of heroes.
I said not
No; I will not,
What soul, Stran. Unless you keep company
Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcasa! With him (and you seem scarce used to such high Arn. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenenet Society) you can't tell how he approaches;
In which it is mislodged. But name your compact: And for his aspect, look upon the fountain,
Must it be sign'd in blood ? And then on me, and judge which of us twain
Not in your own. Looks likest what the boors believe to be
Arn. Whose blood then ? Their cloven-footed terror.
We will talk of that hereafta Arn.
Do you—dare you But I'll be moderate with you, for I see To taunt me with my born deformity ?
Great things within you. You shall have no boed Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this But your own will, no contract save your deeds. Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary
Are you content ? With thy sublime of humps, the animals
I take thee at thy word. Would revel in the compliment. And yet
Stran. Now then! Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty [The Stranger approaches the fountain, and i In action and endurance than thyself,
to ARNOLD. And all the fierce and fair of the same kind
A little of your blood. With thee. Thy form is natural; 't was only
For what Nature's mistaken largess to bestow
Stran, To mingle with the magic of the waters, The gifts which are of others upon man...
And make the charm effective. Arn. Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot, Arn. (holding out his wounded arm.) Take it al When he spurns high the dust, beholding his
Stran. Not now. A few drops will sufice for thi Near enemy; or let me have the long
[The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD's bloodi And patient swiftness of the desert-ship,
his hand, and casts it into the fountais. The helmless dromedaryland I'll bear
Stran. Shadows of beauty! Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.
Shadows of power! Stran. I will.
Rise to your dutyArn. (with surprise.) Thon canst ?
This is the hour! Stran. Perhaps. Would you anght else?
Walk lovely and pliant Arn. Thou mockest me.
From the depth of this fountain, Stran. Not I. Why should I mock
As the cloud-shapen giant What all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks.
Bestrides the Hartz Mountain. (1)
usually are. In a fit of passion, which resembles the 1 This is a well-known German superstition- HE! splenetic resentment of Mother Sawyer in Ford's Witch of tic shadow produced by reflection on the Brocken Edmonton, rather than the consuming discontent and vague Brooken is the name of the loftiest of the Hartz mocutou aspirations of Faust, he prepares for self destruction. The I a picturesque range which lies in the kingdom of Hano great force of the scenes wbich ensue lies in the Devil's From the earliest periods of authentic history, tbe Broche comments and repartees." Croly.-L.E.
has been the seat of the maryellous. For a description