The Poems of Felicia Hemans
Of all her sex the flower? Was woman e’er
Adored like her before? Yet this is she,
The cold of heart, th’ ungrateful, who hath left
Her husband and her infants! This is she,
O my deserted children! who at once
Bereaves you of your parents.
_Alc._ Woe is me!
I hear the bitter and reproachful cries
Of my despairing lord. With life’s last powers,
Oh! let me strive to soothe him still. Approach,
My handmaids, raise me, and support my steps
To the distracted mourner. Bear me hence,
That he may hear and see me.
_Adm._ Is it thou?
And do I see thee still? and com’st thou thus
To comfort me, Alcestis? Must I hear
The dying accents _thus_? Alas! return
To thy sad couch--return! ’tis meet for me
There by thy side for ever to remain.
_Alc._ For me thy care is vain. Though meet for
thee--
_Adm._ O voice! O looks of death! are these, are _these_,
Thus darkly shrouded with mortality,
The eyes that were the sunbeams and the life
Of my fond soul? Alas! how faint a ray
Falls from their faded orbs, so brilliant once,
Upon my drooping brow! How heavily,
With what a weight of death thy languid voice
Sinks on my heart! too faithful far, too fond.
Alcestis! thou art dying--and for me!
* * * * *
Alcestis! and thy feeble hand supports
With its last power, supports my sinking head,
E’en now, while death is on thee! Oh! the touch
Rekindles tenfold frenzy in my heart.
I rush, I fly impetuous to the shrine,
The image of yon ruthless Deity,
Impatient for her prey. Before thy death,
There, there, I too, self-sacrificed, will fall.
* * * * *
Vain is each obstacle--in vain the gods
Themselves would check my fury. I am lord
Of my own days--and thus I swear----
_Alc._ Yes! swear,
Admetus! for thy children to sustain
The load of life. All other impious vows,
Which thou, a rebel to the sovereign will
Of those who rule on high, mightst dare to form
Within thy breast, thy lip, by them enchain’d,
Would vainly seek to utter. Seest thou not,
It is from them the inspiration flows
Which in my language breathes? They lend me power,
They bid me through thy strengthen’d soul transfuse
High courage, noble constancy. Submit,
Bow down to them thy spirit. Be thou calm;
Be near me. Aid me. In the dread extreme
To which I now approach, from whom but thee
Should comfort be derived? Afflict me not,
In such an hour, with anguish worse than death.
O faithful and beloved, support me still!
The choruses with which this tragedy is interspersed are distinguished
for their melody and classic beauty. The following translation will
give our readers a faint idea of the one by which the third act is
concluded.
_Alc._ My children! all is finish’d. Now, farewell!
To thy fond care, O Pheres! I commit
My widow’d lord: forsake him not.
_Eum._ Alas!
Sweet mother! wilt thou leave us? From thy side
Are we for ever parted?
_Phe._ Tears forbid
All utterance of our woes. Bereft of sense,
More lifeless than the dying victim, see
The desolate Admetus. Farther yet,
Still farther, let us bear him from the sight
Of his Alcestis.
_Alc._ O my handmaids! still
Lend me your pious aid, and thus compose
With sacred modesty these torpid limbs
When death’s last pang is o’er.
_Chorus._
Alas! how weak
Her struggling voice! that last keen pang is near.
Peace, mourners, peace!
Be hush’d, be silent, in this hour of dread!
Our cries would but increase
The sufferer’s pang; let tears unheard be shed,
Cease, voice of weeping, cease!
Sustain, O friend!
Upon thy faithful breast,
The head that sinks with mortal pain opprest!
And thou assistance lend
To close the languid eye,
Still beautiful in life’s last agony.
Alas, how long a strife!
What anguish struggles in the parting breath,
Ere yet immortal life
Be won by death!
Death! death! thy work complete!
Let thy sad hour be fleet,
Speed, in thy mercy, the releasing sigh!
No more keen pangs impart
To her, the high in heart,
Th’ adored Alcestis, worthy ne’er to die.
_Chorus of Admetus._
’Tis not enough, oh no!
To hide the scene of anguish from his eyes;
Still must our silent band
Around him watchful stand,
And on the mourner ceaseless care bestow,
That his ear catch not grief’s funereal cries.
Yet, yet hope is not dead,
All is not lost below,
While yet the gods have pity on our woe.
Oft when all joy is fled,
Heaven lends support to those
Who on its care in pious hope repose.
Then to the blessed skies
Let our submissive prayers in chorus rise.
Pray! bow the knee, and pray!
What other task have mortals, born to tears,
Whom fate controls with adamantine sway?
O ruler of the spheres!
Jove! Jove! enthroned immortally on high,
Our supplication hear!
Nor plunge in bitterest woes
Him, who nor footstep moves, nor lifts his eye
But as a child, which only knows
Its father to revere.
IL CONTE DI CARMAGNOLA;
A TRAGEDY.
BY ALESSANDRO MANZONI.
Francesco Bussone, the son of a peasant in Carmagnola, from whence his
_nom-de-guerre_ was derived, was born in the year 1390. Whilst yet a
boy, and employed in the care of flocks and herds, the lofty character
of his countenance was observed by a soldier of fortune, who invited
the youth to forsake his rustic occupations, and accompany him to
the busier scenes of the camp. His persuasions were successful, and
Francesco entered with him into the service of Facino Cane, Lord of
Alessandria. At the time when Facino died, leaving fourteen cities
acquired by conquest to Beatrice di Tenda, his wife, Francesco di
Carmagnola was amongst the most distinguished of his captains. Beatrice
afterwards marrying Philip Visconti, Duke of Milan, (who rewarded her
by an ignominious death for the regal dowery she had conferred upon
him,) Carmagnola entered his army at the same time; and having, by
his eminent services, firmly established the tottering power of that
prince, received from him the title of Count, and was placed at the
head of all his forces. The natural caprice and ingratitude of Philip’s
disposition, however, at length prevailed; and Carmagnola, disgusted
with the evident proof of his wavering friendship and doubtful
faith, left his service and his territories, and after a variety of
adventures took refuge in Venice. Thither the treachery of the Duke
pursued him, and emissaries were employed to procure his assassination.
The plot, however, proved abortive, and Carmagnola was elected
captain-general of the Venetian armies, during the league formed by
that republic against the Duke of Milan. The war was at first carried
on with much spirit and success, and the battle of Maclodio, gained
by Carmagnola, was one of the most important and decisive actions of
those times. The night after the combat, the victorious soldiers gave
liberty to almost all their prisoners. The Venetian envoys having
made a complaint on this subject to the Count, he inquired what was
become of the captives; and upon being informed that all, except four
hundred, had been set free, he gave orders that the remaining ones also
should be released immediately, according to the custom which prevailed
amongst the armies of those days, the object of which was to prevent
a speedy termination of the war. This proceeding of Carmagnola’s
occasioned much distrust and irritation in the minds of the Venetian
rulers; and their displeasure was increased when the armada of the
Republic, commanded by Il Trevisani, was defeated upon the Po, without
any attempt in its favour having been made by the Count. The failure of
their attempt upon Cremona was also imputed to him as a crime; and the
Senate, resolving to free themselves from a powerful chief, now become
an object of suspicion, after many deliberations on the best method of
carrying their designs into effect, at length determined to invite him
to Venice, under pretence of consulting him on their negotiations for
peace. He obeyed their summons without hesitation or mistrust, and was
every where received with extraordinary honours during the course of
his journey. On his arrival at Venice, and before he entered his own
house, eight gentlemen were sent to meet him, by whom he was escorted
to St Mark’s Place. When he was introduced into the ducal palace, his
attendants were dismissed, and informed that he would be in private
with the Doge for a considerable time. He was arrested in the palace,
then examined by the Secret Council, put to the torture, which a wound
he had received in the service of the Republic rendered still more
agonising, and condemned to death. On the 5th May 1432 he was conducted
to execution, with his mouth gagged, and beheaded between the two
columns of St Mark’s Place. With regard to the innocence or guilt of
this distinguished character, there exists no authentic information.
The author of the tragedy, which we are about to analyse, has chosen
to represent him as entirely innocent, and probability at least is on
this side. It is possible, that the haughtiness of an aspiring warrior,
accustomed to command, and impatient of control, might have been the
principal cause of offence to the Venetians; or perhaps their jealousy
was excited by his increasing power over the minds of an obedient army;
and, not considering it expedient to displace him, they resolved upon
his destruction.
This tragedy, which is formed upon the model of the English and German
drama, comprises the history of Carmagnola’s life, from the day on
which he was made commander of the Venetian armies to that of his
execution, thus embracing a period of about seven years. The extracts
we are about to present to our readers, will enable them to form
their own opinion of a piece which has excited so much attention in
Italy. The first act opens in Venice, in the hall of the Senate. The
Doge proposes that the Count di Carmagnola should be consulted on the
projected league between the Republic and the Florentines, against
the Duke of Milan. To this all agree; and the Count is introduced. He
begins by justifying his conduct from the imputations to which it might
be liable, in consequence of his appearing as the enemy of the Prince
whom he had so recently served:--
----He cast me down
From the high place my blood had dearly won;
And when I sought his presence, to appeal
For justice there, ’twas vain! My foes had form’d
Around his throne a barrier: e’en my life
Became the mark of hatred; but in this
Their hopes have fail’d--I gave them not the time.
My life!--I stand prepared to yield it up
On the proud field, and in some noble cause
For glory well exchanged; but not a prey,
Not to be caught ignobly in the toils
Of those I scorn. I left him, and obtain’d
With you a place of refuge; yet e’en here
His snares were cast around me. Now all ties
Are broke between us; to an open foe,
An open foe I come.
He then gives counsel in favour of war, and retires, leaving the Senate
engaged in deliberation. War is resolved upon, and he is elected
commander. The fourth scene represents the house of Carmagnola. His
soliloquy is noble; but its character is much more that of English