2226. Robert Southey to
[Walter
Savage Landor](people.html#LandorWalterSavage),
3 March 1813Address: To/ Walter Savage Landor Esqr/ Lanthony/ Abergavenny./ Single Sheet
Stamped:
KESWICK/ 298
MS: National Art Library, London, MS Forster 48 G.31
2/18–19
Kenneth Curry (ed.), New Letters of Robert
Southey, 2 vols (London and New York, 1965), II, p. 48 [in
part]. 10 What follows is a
draft of the tenth book of Roderick, the Last of the Goths
(1814).
With sword & breastplate under rustic weeds Concealed, at dusk Pelayo past the gate, Florinda following near, disguised alike; Two peasants on their mules they seemd, at eve Returning from the town. Not distant far Alphonso by the appointed orange grove, With anxious eye & agitated heart Watch’d for the Princes coming. Eagerly At every footfall thro the gloom he strain’d His sight, nor did he recognize him when The Chieftain thus accompanied drew nigh, And when the expected signal calld him on, Doubting this female presence, half in fear Obeyd the call. Pelayo too perceived The boy was not alone; he not for that Delayed the summons, but lest need should be Laying hand upon his sword, toward him bent In act soliciting speech, & low of voice, Enquired if friend or foe. Forgive me, cried Alphonso, that I did not tell thee this, Full as I was of happiness before Tis Hoya, servant of my fathers house, Unto whose dutiful care & love when sent To this vile bondage, I was given in charge. How could I look upon my fathers face, If I had in my joy deserted him Who was to me found faithful? – Excellent boy! Exclaimd Pelayo, as he wrung his hand While tears of sudden & intense delight Started: brave boy! good boy! & in his heart He said, supprest in silence, blessed be The womb that bore thee, but of womankind Most blessed she whose hand her happy stars Shall link with thine. And at that happy thought the form Of Ermesind his daughter, in his soul Rose in her beauty. Soon by devious tracts They turnd aside. The favouring Moon arose To guide them on their flight thro upland paths Remote from frequency, & dales retired, Forest & mountain glen. Before their feet The fire-flies, swarming in the woodland shade Sprung up like living sparks, & round their way Twinkled; the blackbird starting at their step Fled from her thicket with shrill note of fear Melodious, far below them in the dell, When all the soothing sounds of eve had ceased, The distant watch-dogs voice at times was heard Answering the nearer wolf. All thro the night Among the hills they travelled silently, Till when the stars were setting, at what hour The breath of heaven is coldest, they beheld Within a lonely grove the expected fire Where Roderick & his comrade anxiously Lookd for the Prince’s coming. Halting there They from the burthen & the bit relieved Their patient bearers, & around the fire Partook of needful food & grateful rest.
Bright rose the flame replenished; it illumed The cork-trees furrowed rind, its rifts & swells And redder scars, & where its aged boughs Oerbowered the travellers, cast upon the leaves A floating, grey, unrealizing gleam. Alphonso, light of heart, upon the heath Lay carelessly dispread, in happy dreams Of home; his faithful Hoya slept beside. Years & fatigue to old Siverian brought Easy oblivion, & the Prince himself, Yielding to wearied Nature’s gentle will Forgot his cares awhile. Florinda sate Beholding Roderick with fixt eyes intent, Yet unregardant of the countenance Whereon she dwelt, in other thoughts absorbed, Collecting fortitude for what she yearnd Yet trembled to perform. Her steady look Disturbd the Goth, albeit he little weend What agony awaited him that hour; The face, well-nigh as changed as his, was now Half-hidden, & the lustre of her eye Extinct; nor did her voice awaken in him One startling recollection when she spoke, So altered were its tones. Father, she said, All thankful as I am to leave behind The unhappy walls of Cordoba, not less Of consolation doth my heart receive At sight of one to whom I may disclose The sins which trouble me, & at his feet Lay down repentantly in Jesu’s name The burthen of my spirit. In his name Hear me, & pour into my wounded soul The balm of righteous counsel. – Saying thus She drew toward the minister ordained, And kneeling by him, Father, dost thou know The wretch who kneels beside thee? she enquird; He answered, Surely we are each to each Equally unknown. Then said she, here thou seest One who is known too fatally for all, The daughter of Count Julian, – Well it was For Roderick that no eye beheld him now; From head to foot a keener pang than death Thrilld him; his heart as at a mortal stroke Ceas’d from its functions; his breath faild, & when The power of life recovering set its springs Again in action, cold & clammy sweats Starting at every pore, suffused his frame. Their presence helped him to subdue himself For else had none been nigh, he would have fallen Before Florinda, prostrate on the earth, Beseeching her forgiveness ere he died; And in that mortal agony belike Both souls had taken flight. She markd him not, For having told her name she bowd her head Breathing a short & silent prayer to heaven, Which as the penitent she wrought herself To open to his eyes her hidden wounds.
Father! at length she said, all tongues amid This general ruin pour their bitterness On Roderick, load his memory with reproach; And with their curses persecute his soul. – Why shouldst thou tell me this? exclaimd the Goth, Wiping from his cold forehead, as he spake The death-like moisture – Why of Rodericks guilt Tellest thou me! thinkest thou I know it not? Alas who hath not heard of Rodericks fall, Rodericks reproach! – Babes learn it from their nurses, And children by their mothers unreproved, Link their first execrations to his name. Oh it hath caught a taint of infamy, That like Iscariots thro all time shall last Reeking & fresh for ever! There – she cried, Drawing her body backward as she knelt, And stretching forth her arms, with head upraised, – There – it pursues me still! I came to thee Father for comfort, & thou heapest fire Upon my head! But hear me patiently And let me undeceive thee! self-abased, Not to arraign another do I come; I come a self-accuser, self-condemnd, To take upon myself the pain deserved; For I have drank the cup of bitterness And having drank therein of heavenly grace, I must not put away the cup of shame.
Thus as she spake she faltered at the close, And in that dying fall her voice sent forth Somewhat of its original sweetness. There! Thou self-abased, exclaimed the astonished King, Thou self condemnd! the cup of shame for thee, For thee Florinda! – But the very excess Of passion checkd his speech, restraining him From farther transport which perchance had else Masterd him, & he stood as one entranced Gazing upon that countenance so fallen, So changed. Her face raised from its mufflers now Was turnd towards him, & the fore-light shone Full on its mortal paleness; but the shade Concealed the King. She rousd him from the spell Which held him like a statue motionless. Thou too, quoth she, dost join the general curse, Like one who when he sees a felons grave Casting a stone there as he passes by Adds to the heap of shame. Oh what are we, Frail creatures as we are, that we should sit In judgement man on man! & what were we If the all-merciful should mete to us With the same rigorous measure wherewithal Sinner to sinner metes! But God beholds The secrets of the heart; therefore his name Is merciful. Servant of God see thou The hidden things of mine, & judge thou then In charity thy brother who hath fallen. – Nay hear me to the end! I loved the King Tenderly, passionately, madly loved him! Sinful it was to love a child of earth With such entire devotion as I loved Roderick, the heroic Prince, the glorious Goth. And yet methought this was its only crime, The imaginative passion seemed so pure: Quiet & calm like duty, hope nor fear Disturb’d the deep contentment of that love; He was the sunshine of my soul, & like A flower I lived & flourished in his light. Oh bear not with me thus impatiently! No tale of weakness this, that in the act Of penitence, indulgent to itself, With garrulous palliation half repeats The sin it ill repents. I will be brief, And shrink not from confessing how the love Which thus began in innocence, betrayed My unsuspecting heart; nor me alone, But him, before whom, shining as she shone With whatsoeer is noble, whatsoeer Is lovely, whatsoever good & great, I was as dust & ashes, – him alas! The glorious being, this exalted Prince, Even him with all his royalty of soul Did this ill-omened, this accursed love To his most lamentable fall betray And utter ruin. Thus it was, the King By council of cold statesmen ill-advisedHad given & <With> an unworthy mate had hand
<bound himself> In politic wedlock. Wherefore should I tell How nature upon Egilona’s form Profuse of beauty, lavishing her gifts Left, like a statue from the gravers hand, Deformity & hollowness beneath The rich external? For the love of pomp And emptiest vanity, hath she not incurr’d The grief & wonder of good men, the gibes Of vulgar ribaldry, the reproach of all, Profaning the most holy sacrament Of wedlock, to become chief of the wives Of Abdalazis, of the Infidel, The Moor, the Tyrant-Enemy of Spain. All know her now: but they alone who know What Roderick was, can judge his wretchedness To that light spirit & unfeeling heart In hopeless bondage bound. No children rose From this unhappy union, towards whom The springs of love within his soul confined Might flow in joy & fullness; nor was he One like Witiza of the vulgar crew Who in promiscuous appetite can find All their base nature needs seeks. – Alas for
man Exuberant health diseases him, frail worm; And the slight bias of untoward chance Make his best virtues from the even line With fatal declination swerve aside. Aye, thou well mayst groan! My evil fate Made me an inmate of the royal house; And Roderick found in me, if not a heart Like his, – for who was like the heroic Goth? One which at least felt his surpassing worth, And loved him for himself. – A little yet Bear with me, reverend father, for I touch Upon the point, & this long prologue goes As justice bids, to palliate his offence, Not mine. The passion which I fondly thought Such as fond sisters for a brother feel, Grew day by day, & strengthened x in its
growth Till the beloved presence was become Needful as food, or necessary sleep, My hope, light, sunshine, life & every thing. Thus lapt in dreams of bliss I might have lived Contented with this pure idolatry; Had he been happy; but I saw & knewHis <The> inward discontent & household griefs Which he subdued in silence, & alas Pity with admiration mingling then Alloyed & lowered & humanized my love, Till to the level of my lowliness It brought him down; & in this treacherous heart Too often the repining thought arose That if Florinda had been Rodericks Queen Then might domestic peace & happiness Have blest his home, & crownd our wedded loves Too often did that sinful thought arise, Too feebly the temptation was repell’d.
See Father, I have probed my inmost soul, Have searched to its remotest source the sin And tracing it through all its specious forms Of fair disguisement I present it now Even as it lies before the eye of God, Bare & exposed, convicted & condemn’d. One eve as in the bowers which overhang The glen where Tagus rolls between his rocks, Alone I strayd, alone I met the King His countenance was troubled, & his speech Like that of one whose tongue to light discourse At fits constraind, betrays a heart disturbd. I too albeit unconscious of his thoughts With anxious looks revealed what wandering words Essayed in vain to hide. A little while Did this oppressive intercourse endure, Till our eyes met in silence, each to each Telling their mutual tale, then consciously Together fell abased. He took my hand And said, Florinda would that thou & I Earlier had met, oh what a blissful lot Had then been mine who might have found in thee, The sweet companion & the friend endeard, A fruitful wife & crown of earthly joys. Thou too shouldst then have been of womankind Happiest, as now the loveliest! – And with that First giving way to passion first disclosed, He prest upon my lips a guilty kiss, Alas! more guiltily received than given. Passive, & yielding, & yet self-reproached Trembling I stood, upheld in his embrace; When coming steps were heard, & Roderick said Meet me tomorrow I beseech thee here Queen of my heart – oh meet me here again My own Florinda, – meet me here again! – Tongue, eye, & pressure of the empassioned hand Solicited & urged the ardent suit; And from my hesitating hurried lips The word of promise fatally was drawn. O Roderick! Roderick! hadst thou told me all Thy purpose at that hour; from what a world Of woe had thou & I” –– the bitterness Of that reflection overcame her then And choakd her speech – But Roderick sate the while Covering his face with both his hands close prest, His head bowed down, his spirit to such point Of sufferance knit, as one who patiently Awaits the uplifted sword. Till now, said she Pursuing her confession, I had lived If not in innocence, yet self-deceived, And of my perilous & sinful state Unconscious. But this fatal hour revealed To my awakened soul her guilt & shame, And in those agonies with which RemorseDoth triumph oer the lacerated heart Wrestling with weakness, & with cherished sin, Doth triumph oer the lacerated heart, That night, that miserable night, I vowed A virgin dedicate to pass my life Immured, & like redeemed Magdaline Or that Egyptian penitent, whose tears Fretted the rock, & moistened round her cave The thirsty desert, so to mourn my fall. The struggle ending thus, the victory Thus as I deemd accomplishd, I believed My soul was calm, & that the peace of Heaven Descended to accept & bless my vow; And in this faith prepared to consummate The sacrifice, I went to meet the King. See Father! what a snare had Satan laid! For Roderick came to tell me that the Church From his unfruitful bed would set him free And I should be his Queen. Oh let me close The dreadful tale. I told him of my vow, And from sincere & scrupulous piety, But more I fear me in that desperate mood Of obstinate will perverse, the which with pride And shame & self-reproach, doth sometimes make The woman’s tongue, her own worst enemy Run counter to its dearest heart’s desire, – In that unhappy mood did I resist All his most earnest prayers to let the power Of holy church, – never more rightfully Invoked, he said, than now in our behalf, Release us from our fatal bonds. He urged With kindling warmth his suit, like one whose life Hung on the issue. I dissembled not My cruel self-reproaches, nor my grief, Yet desperately maintaind the rash resolve Till in the passionate argument he grew Inflamed, incensed, & maddened, or possessed; – For Hell too surely at that hour prevaild, And with such subtle toils enveloped him That even in the extremity of wrong guilt No guilt he purported, but rather meant An life-long <amplest> recompense of
life-long love For transitory wrong, which fate perverse, Thus madly he deceived himself, compelled And therefore stern necessity excused. Here then O father, at thy feet I own Myself the guiltier; for full well I knew These were his thoughts; – but vengeance mastered me And in my agony I cursed the man Whom I loved best! Dost thou recall that curse? Cried Roderick in a deep & inward voice, Still with his head depressed & covering still His countenance. Recall it? she exclaimed, Father I come to thee because I gave The reins to wrath too long; – because I wrought His ruin, death & infamy; O God Forgive the wicked vengeance thus indulged As I forgive the King! – But teach me thou What reparation more than tears & prayers May now be made; – how shall I vindicate His injured name, & take upon myself ––
Daughter of Julian, firmly he replied Speak not of that I charge thee. On his fame The Ethiop die fixed ineffaceablyMust For ever will abide; so it must be, So should be; tis his rightful punishment; And if to the full measure of his fault The punishment hath fallen, the more our hope That by the blood of Jesus he may find His sins forgiven him. – Pausing then, he raisd His hand & pointed where Siverian lay Stretchd on the heath. To that old man said he, And to the mother of the unhappy Goth, Tell if it please thee, – not what thou hast pour’d Into my secret ear, – but that the child For whom they weep in hopeless bitterness, Sinn’d not for vicious will or heart corrupt, But fell by fatal circumstance betrayd. And if in charity to them, thou sayest Something to palliate, something to excuse An act of sudden frenzy when the fiend Oercame him, thou wilt do for Roderick All he could ask thee, – all that can be done On earth, & all his spirit could endure.
Venturing toward her an imploring look, – Wilt thou join with me for his soul in prayer He said, & trembled as he spake. That voice Of sympathy was like Heavens influence Wounding at once & comforting the soul. O Father Christ requite thee! she replied: Thou hast set free the springs which withering grief Have closed too long! – forgive me for I thought Thou wert a rigid & unpitying judge, One whose stern virtue knowing in itself No flaw of frailty hear impatiently Of weakness & of guilt. I wrongd thee father! – With that she took his hand & kissing it Bathed it with tears. Then with a firmer speech, For Roderick, for Count Julian, & myself Three, wretchedest of all the human race, Who have destroyed each other & ourselves, Mutually wronged & wronging, – let us pray! _____
You have a part of the Poem so difficult to get over, even
tolerably, that I verily believe, if I had at first anticipated Rodericks
character as thought of making Roderick any thing more than a sincere
penitent, this difficulty would have deterred me from attempting the subject. –
There will probably be much to amend in it hereafter, – but I think it is in the
right strain, & that the passion is properly made diffuse.
I have endeavoured to do something for your Bill, Landor was trying to bring a private
enclosure Bill before parliament in order to enclose the common land around
his Lanthony estate, see John Forster, Walter Savage Landor. A
Biography, 2 vols (London, 1869), I, pp. 374–375. However,
opposition from neighbouring county members forced him to abandon the Bill
early in the parliamentary session. & am told that the opinion of
the county members in its favour will be worth more than any thing else.
RS.March 3. 1813.