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STRANGER, afterioards CESAR.
Bert. Out, hunchback!
I was born so, mother!
Would that I had been so,
I would so too!
Arn. It bears its burthen!-but, my heart! Willit
• And water shall see thee.
(1) This drama was begun at Pisa in 1821, but was not published rised, or that he studied for ideas, and wrote with difficulty. Thus, till January, 1824. Capt. Medwin says,
he gave Shelley Aikin's edition of the British Poels, that it might “On my calling on Lord Byron one morning, he produced the not be found in his house by some English lounger, and reported Deformed Transformed. Handing it to Shelley, as he was in home: thus, too, he always dated when he began and when he the habit of doing his daily compositions, he said — Shelly, I ended a poem, to prove hereafter how quickly it was done. I do have been writing a Faustish kind of drama : tell me what you not think that he allered a line in this drama after he had once think of it.' After reading it altentively, Shelley returned it. written it down. He composed and corrected in his mind. I 'Well,' said Lord B., how do you like it?' Least,' replied be, do not know how he meant to finish it; but he said himself that of any thing I ever saw of yours. It is a bad imitation of Faust; the whole conduct of the story was already conceived. It was and besides, there are two entire lines of Southey's in it.' Lord at this time that a brutal paragraph alluding to his lameness apByron changed colour immediately, and asked hastily, “What peared, which he repeated to me, lest I should hear it first from lines?' Shelley repeated,
some one else. -No action of Lord Byron's lise-scarce a line he
has wrillen-but was influenced by his personal defect.”E. And sear thee, and flee thee."
(2) "The Three Brothers is a romance, published in 1803, They are in the Curse of Kehama. His Lordship instantly threw the work of a Joshua Pickersgill, junior. It is one of those highthe poem into the fire. He seemed to feel no chagrin al seeing flown histories, in which “terror petrific or annihilative" (ne
use Mr. P.'s own phraseology) waylays us at every page. The il consume at least his countenance betrayed none, and his conversation became more gay and lively than usual. Whether it present story is that of a misshapen youth, who acquires beauty was hatred of Southey, or respect for Shelley's opinion, which and strength by a compact with the enemy of mankind. The made him commit the act that I considered a sort of suicide, was
lenure by which he holds these gifts is bloodshed, to be perpe
trated on some occasion not yet disclosed, for the drama is unalways doubtful to me. I was never more surprised than to see, finished. In some points of character and situation he is not two years afterwards, The Deformed Transformed announced wholly unlike the Black Dwars of Mucklestane Moor, and we (supposing it to have perished at Pisa); but it seems that he must
could almost suspect that the painter of that personage had cinhave had another copy of the manuscript, or that he had rewrillen it perhaps, without changing a word, exceptomitting the Kehama descended, + like Lord Byron, to adopt a thought from the forlines. His memory was remarkably retentive of his own writings. gotten legend of the Three Brothers.” Croly. I believe he could have quoled almost every line he ever wrote.”
(3) A clever anonymous critic thus sarcastically opens his do Mrs. Shelley, whose copy of The Deformed Transformed lies before us, has written as follows on the Ny-lear:
*" The Black Dwarf I have read with great pleasure, and per“This had long been a favourite subject with Lord Byron. I cculy understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive think that he mentioned it also in Switzerland. I copied il--he by me. If you know me as well as they do, you would have fallen,
in the very erroneous persuasion that it must have been written sending a portion of it at a time, as it was finished, lo me. AL perhaps, into the same mistake.” Lord Byron to Mr. M. this time he had a great horror of its being said that he plagia + " The ideal being who is inere presented as residiog in soli.
Save you, in nature, can love aught like me. My labour for the day is over now.
Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;
Yes I nursed thee, For double curses will be my meed now Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not Al home-What home? I have no home, no kin, If there would be another unlike thee,
No kind-not made like other creatures, or That monstrous sport of nature. (1) But get hence, To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too And gather wood!
Like them? Oh that each clrop which falls to earth Arn.
I will: but when I bring it, Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are Or that the devil, to whom they liken me, [me! So beautiful and lusty, and as free
Would aid his likeness! If I must partake As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me : His form, why not his power? Is it because Our milk has been the same.
I have not his will too ? For one kind word Bert.
As is the hedgehog's, From her who bore me would still reconcile me Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds The wound. The nipple next day sore and udder dry.(2)
(ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not
his hand: he starts back. Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was
They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me, As foolish hens at limes hatch vipers, by
What she hath made me. I will not look on it Sitting upon strange eggs. Oul, urchin, out! Again, and scarce dare think on 't. Hideous wretch
[Exit BERTHA. That I am! The very waters mock me with Arn. (solus.) Oh mother!
--She is gone, and I My horrid shadow-like a demon placed Her bidding ;-wearily but willingly (must do Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle I would fulfil it, could I only hope
From drinking therein.
[He pauses. A kind word in return. What shall I do?
And shall I live on, ARNOLD begins to cut woud: in doing this ne A burden to the earth, myself, and shame wounds one of his hands.
Unto what brought me into life! Thou blood,
tice of this poem :-“The reader has, no doubt, often heard of pages of the memoir which related to his early days was where the Devil and Dr. Faustus: this is but a new birth of the same in speaking of his own sensitiveness on the subject of his deuprighteous couple, who are christened, however, by the noble formed fool, he described the feelings of horror and humiliation hierophant who presides over the infernal ceremony, Julius that came over him, when his mother, in one of her fits of passion,
Cæsar and Count Arnold. The drama opens with a scene be called him a lame brat.' As all that he had sell strongly through 1ween the latter, who is to all appearance a well disposed young life was, in some shape or other, reproduced in his poetry, it was man, of a very deformed person, and his mother: this good lady, not likely that an expression such as this should fail of being rewith somewhat less maternal piely about her than adorns the corded." Referring to the opening of The Deformed Transmother-ape in the fable, lurns her dutiful incubus of a son out for med, where Bertha taunts her offspring with his personal of doors to gather wood. Arnold. upon this, proceeds incon- defect, Moore adds: "Il may be questioned indeed, whether the linently to kill himself, by falling, after the manner of Brulus, on whole drama was not indebled for ils origin to this single recol
his wood-knise : he is, however, piously dissuaded from this guilty lection." Amongst anecdotes in Moore's Life, lending to prove acı, by—whom, does the reader think? A monk, perhaps, or now keenly Byron must have felt the mortifications to which his a methodist preacher ? no;-but by the Devil himself, in the lameness occasionally exposed him, is one which he felt with peshape of a tall black man, who rises, like an African water-god, culiar anguish. In the course his ill-fated allachment to Miss out of a fountain. To this stranger, after the exchange of a sew Chaworth, he either was told of, or overheard, that lady saying sinister compliments, Arnold, without more ado, sells his soul, to her maid, “Do you think I could care any thing for that lame for the privilege of wearing the beautiful form of Achilles. In the boy?” “This speech," says Moore, “as he himself described it, midst of all this absurdity, we still, however recognise the master, was like a shot through his heart. Though late at night when he mind of our great poet: bis bold and beautiful spirit flashes at heard it, he instantly darted out of the house, and, scarcely intervals through the surrunding horrors, into which he has knowing whither he ran, never stopped till be found himself at chosen to plunge after Goethe, his magnus Apollo."-E. Newslead."-E.
"The Deformed Transformed, though confessedly an imila (1) “Lord Byron's own mother, when in ill humour with him, tion of Goethe's Faust, is substantially an original work. In the used to make the deformity in his foot the subject of taunts and opini n of Mr. Moore, it probably owes something to the author's reproaches. She would (we quote from a letter written by one palusul sensibility to the desert in his own fool an accident that of her relations in Scotland) pass from passionate caresses to the must, from the acuteness with which he felt it, have essentially repulsion of actual disgust; then devour him with kisses again, contributed to enable him to comprehend and to express the and swear his eyes were as beautiful as his father's." Quar. Rev. envy of those afflicted with irremediable exceptions to the or
-E. dinary course of fortune, or who have been amerced by nature (2) This is now generally believed to be a vulgar error; the of their fair proportions." Gall.
smallness of the animal's mouth rendering it incapable of the Moore says :—“One of the most striking passages in the few mischief laid to its charge.-E. tude, aod haunted by a consciousness of liis own deformity, and a slate quarries of Strobo, and must have been born in the misshapen suspicion of his beiog generally subjected to the scorn of this fellow furm which he exhibited, though he sometimes imputed it to ill men, is not allogether imaginary. Au individual existed many usage when in infancy. He was a brushmaker at Edinburgh, and years since, under the autbor's observation, which suggested such had wandered to several places, working at his trade, from all which a character. This poor unfortunate man's name was David Rito be was chased by the disagreeab.e altention which bis hideous chie, a Dative of Tweed-dale. He was the son of a labourer in the singularity of form and face allracted wherever he came." Seoul.
Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me You were the demon, but that your approach
Was like one.
Stran. Unless you keep company On earth, to which I will restore at once
With him (and you seem scarce used to such high This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Society) you can't tell how he approaches; Resolve back to her elements, and take
And for his aspect,
the fountain, The shape of any reptile save myself,
And then on me, and judge which of us twain And make a world for myriads of new worms! Looks likest what the hoors bcliere to be This knife! now let me prove if it will sever Their cloven-footed terror. This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade my Arn.
Do you-dare you Vile form-from the creation, as it hath
To taunt me with my born deformity ? The green bough from the forest.
Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this [ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary the point upwards.
With thy sublime of humps, the animals
Now 'tis set, Would revel in the compliment. And yet And I call fall upon it. Yet one glance
Both beings are more swift, more strong, more On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like In action and endurance than thyself, (mighty Myself, and the sweet sun which warmal me, but And all the fierce and fair of the same kind In vain. The birds—how joyously they sing! With thee. Thy form is natural; ' was only So let them, for I would not be lamented :
Nature's mistaken largess to bestow But let iheir inerriest notes be Arnold's knell; The gifts which are of others upon man. The falling leaves my monument; the murmur Arn.Give me the strength ihen of the buffalo's foot, Of the near founlain my sole elegy.
When he spurns high the dust, beholding his Now, knife, stand firmly, as I vain would fall!(1) Near enemy; or let me have the long [A8 herushes to throw himself upon the knife, And patient swiftness of the desert-ship,
his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, The helmless dromedary!-and I 'll bear which seems in motion.
Thy tiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience. The fountain moves without a wind: but shall
Stran. I will. The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
Arn. with surprise.) Thou canst? No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
Stran. Perhaps. Would you aucht else? Not as with air, but by some subterrane
Arn. Thou mockest me. And rocking power of the internal world.
Not I. Why should I mock What's here? A mist! No more?
What all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks. [A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands To talk to thee in human language (for
gazing upon it; it is dispelled, and a tall Thou canst not yet speak minc), the forester black man comes towards him.
Hunts not the wretched coney, bul the boar, Arn.
What would you ? Speak Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game Spirit or man?
To petty burghers, who leave once a-scar Stran. As man is both, why not
Their walls, to fill their household caldrons with Say both in one ?
Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee, Arn.
Your form is man's, and yet Now I can mock the mightiesi. be devil,
Then waste not Stran. So many men are that
Thy time on me: I seek thee not. Which is so call’d or thought, that you may add me Stran.
Arn. What wilt thou do for me?
Change Be interrupted ? If I be the devil
Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you; You deem, a single moment would have made you Or form you to your wish in any shape. Mine, and for ever, by your suicide;
Arn. Oh! then you are indeed the demon, for And yet my coming saves you.
Nought else would wittingly wear mine.
I said not
I'll show thee
(1) Arnold is known to us, before his templations, only as a Sawyer in Ford's Wilch of Edmonton, rather than the consumid: hunchback weary of scoffs and buffets, and more sensible of his discontent and vague aspirations of Faust, he prepares for sell natural disadvantages tban deformed persons usually are. In a destruction. The great force of the scenes which ensuo lies in fit of passion, which resembles the splenetic resentment of Mother the Devil's comments and reparlees." Croly.
The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give
The forin of the stoic The choice.
Or sophist of yore-
Or the shape of each victor,
From Macedon's boy
To each high Roman's picture, To look like other men, and now you pause
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of beauty!
Shadows of power!
Up to your duty-
This is the hour!
Arn.’T is an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement and pass in succession before the Stranger In which it is mislodged. But name your compact:
and ARNOLD. Nust it be sign’d in blood ?
Arn. What do I see?
The black-eyed Roman, with Arn. Whosc blood then ?
The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er Stran,
We will talk of that hereafter. Beheld a conqueror, or look'd along Butlll be moderate with you, for I see
The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became
Inherit but his fame with his defects!
Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than (The Stranger approaches the fountain, and
hairs. turns to ARNOLD.
You see his aspect-choose it, or reject. A little of your blood. I can but promise you his form; his fame Arn,
For what? Must be long sought and fought for. Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters, Arn.
I will fight too, And make the charm effective.
But not as a mock Cæsar. Arn.(holding out his wounded arm.)Take it all. His aspect may be fair, bus suits me not. Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. Stran. Then you are far more difficult to please The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD's blood Than Caio's sister, or than Brutus' mother,
in his hand, and casts il into the fountain. Or Cleopatra at sixteen --an age Stran. Shadows of beauty!
When love is not less in the eye ihan heart.
But be it so! Shadow, pass on!
[The Phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears. This is the hour!
And can it
Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone,
More than enough to track his memory;
But for his shadow, 't is no more than yours,
Except a Jiti le longer and less crook'd
Behold another !
[A second phantom passes. When ether is spann'd ;
Who is he?
Athenians. Look upon him well.
More lovely than the last. How beautiful! (2)
Let him pass;
(1) This is a well-known German superstition - a gigantic (2) In one of Lord Byron's MS. Diaries we find the following shadow produced by reflection on the Brocken. The Brocken is passage :-"Alcibiades is said to have been “succe. ssul in all his the name of the lostiest of the Hariz mountains, a picturesque ballles’—but what battles? Name them! If you mention Cæsar, range which lies in the kingdom of Hanover. From the earliest or Hannibal, or Napoleon, you at once rush upon Pharsalia, periods of authentic history, the Brocken has been the seat | Munda, Alesia, Cannæ, Thrasimenc, Trebia, Lodi, Marengo, of the marvellous. For a description of the phenomenon alluded Jena, Austerlitz, Friedland, Wagram, Moskwa: but it is less easy to by Lord Byron, see Sir Davi: Brewster's Natural Magic, 10 pitch upon the victories of Alcibiades; though shey may be p. 128.-E.)
named too, though not so icadily as the Lcucira and Mantinæa
Stran. Such was the curled son of Clinias, Save that his jocund eye halli more of Bacchus Invest Ihee with his form?
(wouldst thou | Thau the sad purger of the infernal world, Arn.
Would that I had Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,
For whom he had fought.
It was the man who lost Stran. Lo! behold again!
The ancient world for love. Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, Arn.
I cannot blame him, round-eyed satyr,
Since I have risk'd my soul because I find not With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, That which he exchanged the earth for. The splay feet and low stature!(1) I had belter Stran.
Since so far Remain that which I am.
You scem congenial, will you wear his features? Stran. And yet he was
Arn. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult, The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, If but lo sce the heroes I should ne'er And personification of all virtue.
Have seen else on this side of the dim shore
Whence they float back before us.
Hence, triumvir! That which redeem'd it-no.
Thy Cleopatra's waiting (2) Stran.
I have no power [The shade of Antony disappears: another To promise that; but you may try, and find it
rises. Easier in such a form, or in your own.
Who is this? Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy, Who truly looketh like a demigod, Though I have that about me which has need on't. Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature, Let him fleet on.
If not more high than mortal, yet immortal Stran.
Be air, thou hemlock-drinker! In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, [The shadow of Socrates disappears: another Which he wears as the sun his raysma something rises.
Which shines from him, and yel is but the flashing Arn. What's here? wliose broad brow and whose Emanation of a thing more glorious still. curly beard
Was he e'er human only? (3) And manly aspect look like Hercules,
Let the earth speak,
of Epaminondas, the Marathon of Milliades, the Salamis of The Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands were mistocles, and the Thermopylæ of Leonidas. Yel, upon the As places dropp'd from his pockel. whole, it may be doubted whether there be a name of antiquity
Naturc waris slull which comes down with such a general charm as that of Alci To vie strange forms with fancy; yct, to imagine biades. Why? I cannot answer. Who can?"--E.
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst sancy, (1) " The outside of Socrates was that of a satyr and buffoon, Condemning shadows quile." Shakspeare.-E, but his soul was all virtue, and from within him came such divine (3) “The beauty and mien of Demetrius Poliorceles were so and pathetic things, as pierced the heart, and drew tears from inimitable, that no statuary or painter could hit off a likeness. the hearers." Plalo.-E.
Jis countenance had a mixture of grace and dignity, and was at (2) “His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck
once amiable and awful, and the unsubdued and cager air of A sun and moon; which kept their course, and lighted youth was blended with the majesty of the hero and the king. The little O, the earth.
There was the same happy mixture in his bchaviour, which inllis legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm
spired, at the same time, both pleasure and awe. In his hours Crested the world : his voice was propertied
of leisure, a most agreeable companion; in bis talk, and every As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends:
species of entertainment, of all princes the most delicate ; and But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
yel, when business called, nothing could equal bis activity, his He was as rallling thunder. For his bounty,
diligence, and despatch. In which respect he imitated Bacchus There was no winter in 't; an autumn 'l was
most of all the gods; since he was not only t. rrible in war, but That grew the more by reaping: bis delights
knew how to terminate war with peace, and turn with the hapWere dolphin-like; they showed his back above
piest address to the joys and pleasures which that inspires." The element they lived in: in his livery
Plutarch. *" One cannot help being struck with Lord Byron's choice of every grcalevent in which he bad a share has the air of a pereraal a favourite among the beroic names of antiquity. The man who adventure ; and, whatever might be said of his w.nl of principle, was educaled by Pericles, and who commaaded the admiration as moral and political, nobody ever doubled the greatnrss of his well as the affection of Socrates; whose gallantry and boldness powers and the brilliancy of his accomplisbmenis. By the gift of werc always as undisputed as the pre-eminent graces of bis per- nature, the bandsomest creature of bis time, and the possessor of son and manners: who died al forty-five, after baving been suc a very cxtraordinary zenius, he was, by accidents or by fils, a sol cessively the delight and hero of Athens, of Sparta, of Persia ;-this dier,-a hero,-n orator, and even, il sbould seem, a philosomost versatile of great men bas certainly left to the world a very pher; but he played these parts only because he wisbed it to be splendid reputation. But his fame is stained with the recollections thought that there was no part which be could not play He of a most profligate and debauched course of private life, and of thought of polbing but bimself. His vanity entirely commanded the most complete and flagrant contempt of public principle; and the direction of his genius, and could even make bim abandon ocit is to be boped that there are not many men who could gravely casionally bis volupluvusness for the very opposite extreme : wbici. give to the mame of Alcibiades a preference, on the whole, over last circumstance, by the way, was probably one of those that bad such a one as that of an Epaminondas or a Leonidas, or even of a hit Lord Byron's fancy-as indeed it may be suspected to bave inMiltiades or Hannibal. But the career of Alcibiades was romantic : fluenced luis behaviour." Lockhart.