Byron and Satan
A “greatness of character is flawed by vengefulness and pride,” was Percy Shelley’s observation of Milton’s Satan. There is such ambition claiming the first of the fallen one of your peer group. Treating this near deity as hero, role model, and cautionary tale is bold.
Byron and his group certainly kept some qualities of self-awareness as the newspapers published each triumph and setback. How could these men not see themselves in the greatest outlaw? In Satan we have a figure of beauty and grace, which upon seeing his universe handed over to hairless apes did rebel, and was forever exiled from the love and grace he once had known. There’s a sympathy there that walks hand in hand with iconography.
Byron saw loneliness in the heavy head. Men (and I would wager women, history has sidelined) who had the boldness to live by their convictions, and were in turn punished by relenting to their passions. One could wager it requires a particular temperament to announce themself Emperor; Napoleon, Satan, and Manfred each acted on this hubris. Napoleon, when he liberated France from the Crown, Satan when he liberated his clan from grace, and Manfred when he liberated himself from the hold of heaven and hell.
The romantic ideal forever stands in ideological separation from the group. The romantic mind is cycling through the unending ontological war of the individual and society. Satan rebelled against Arcadia, Lord Byron fought to remain himself. I don’t accept Childe Harold, Don Juan, or Manfred as autobiographical texts. They are instead aspects of a man brought to the extreme. They are mythmaking. In the characters Harold and Don Juan, Byron found an avatar with the ability to fully express himself. In Manfred, Byron found himself wrapped in a cosmic drama where his personal actions brought the attentions of heaven and hell, and in the end he declares himself absolved from both.
Let us consider Satan as the Byronic ideal. He is talent personified, the light bringer, tall and dark and considerate of beauty. He stands on the border of heaven in awe not only of his home but also of the beyond. God creates man in “his” image. The world beyond, the great mystery is to be handed over to them. Satan revolts. Is it pride or something more? Where is the line drawn between genuine greatness and hubris? Napoleon had the support of the people oppressed by the French crown. Satan had a third of the Host come to his side, angels described as created without the freewill God had so quickly given to man. Satan’s power was such, his words inspired rebellion from omnipotence.
Satan gives man the capacity for wisdom. “This one, this tree here. The one you were told not to eat from. Do you know what it does? Why has this been kept from you?” Consciousness came from Eve taking the fruit, when she knew good from evil; society began when she shared it with her partner, and together they had to learn to live with this knowledge. Satan gave man the fire in Christian mythology. Satan in turn, also established the pale of permission and what is allowed. In Laconian thought, he established the rule of the father. You are Adam, you are Eve, while you have been given the ability to name the objects of your reality, I have taught you how to interact and live.
Manfred is a curious case. His fall from grace is telegraphed only in innuendo and clipped statements. His sin was great enough to send him in seclusion and as he tries to let go and absolve himself he turns to a source that should be able to recognize his plight. Perhaps the powers below will enable him to forget so may move forward. Both hero and villain he stands outside the stark dichotomies of good and evil. He perseveres and acts on behave of the individual. Through his near martyr behavior we can project ourselves into the scene. The reader is able to see even as envoys from heaven and hell rally about Manfred, it is our life in the balance. How could any being of such power be so petty as to have a stake in an individual’s personal drama?
He Hadn’t Meant To Fall. He’d Just Hung Around With The Wrong People.
The titular character of Manfred is instantly recognizable as a Byronic Hero – he’s alone, he has a torturous secret, and he’s very melodramatic. Manfred is fairly instantly recognizable as both a carryover from Gothic novels – he even shares the name of the protagonist of Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, frequently considered the first Gothic novel – and as the precursor to the “Dark Fantasy Romance” section of the Young Adult fantasy section.
So how does Byron establish Manfred’s character?
As mentioned in “The Satanic and Byronic Hero”, the relationship between Lucifer, Prometheus, and the Gothic or Byronic hero is extremely notable. And Byron clearly establishes these connections in Manfred. When Manfred seeks to summon the “spirits of the unbounded Universe”, he calls on “him / Who is undying” to invoke them (39-40), which the Norton Anthology footnotes say probably refers to “God, to whom traditional magic conjurations often allude” (footnote 4, p 640).1 But after asking God gets him nowhere, Manfred asks “a power / Deeper than all yet urged… / Which had its birthplace in a star condemn’d” (42-4), a clear allusion to Satan (the Morningstar), and a tactic that works for him, as seven spirits appear. From this point on, Manfred is closely associated with Satan. The Seventh Spirit is referred to as “Manfred’s guiding Star” in footnote 5 on page 640, as well as the ruler of “the star which rules [Manfred’s] destiny” in line 110 of the play. Not only has Manfred invoked Satan’s aid, but Satan is in control of Manfred’s destiny.
The Promethean allusion is smaller – Manfred refers to himself as containing “the Promethean spark” (154). This reference is notable. Firstly, of course, there are the noted similarities between Prometheus and Lucifer that Romantics like Byron and Shelley loved. In addition, Manfred mentions that this “Promethean spark” is “as bright, / Pervading, and far darting” as that of the spirits he has summoned; Manfred is drawing a direct comparison between himself and these spirits.
Furthermore, Satan is not only the driving force behind Manfred’s destiny – he is “him, / Who is the most powerful” of the spirits (185-6). And Satan then takes the form of “a beautiful female figure” (stagenotes after line 187), noted in the footnote 8 on page 643 as possibly the form of Astarte, Manfred’s sister. As mentioned in the introductory notes, Manfred’s transgression is hinted to be incest with Astarte, who later killed herself (p. 638). Therefore, there are two levels to Satan assuming the form of a beautiful woman: not only is he tempting Manfred with a beautiful woman, but a woman he already has feelings of both love and guilt about. Satan ensnares him easily.
The “Incantation” is delivered by “a Voice”, not the “Seventh Spirit” specifically, but the verses further establish the connection between Manfred and evil:
From thy false tears I did distil
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch’d the snake,
For there it coil’d as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
The voice weaponizes Manfred’s body – note that even before the voice does anything Manfred’s tears are “false” and his blood is “black” – before concluding that nothing in the world is so poisonous as Manfred himself.
Also key to Manfred’s characterization is his melodrama. Byron’s style is a lot more straightforward than Shelley’s, but Manfred still waxes poetically and at length. This aspect is particularly notable when the Chamois Hunter appears. Manfred is too caught up in himself to notice, and continues to compare himself to the wilderness. The two speakers take very different tactics to describe the mist rising in the valley: The Chamois Hunter simply says “the mists begin to rise up from the valley” (82); Manfred, in contrast, says that “The mists boil up around the glaciers… / Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell” (85-87). The Chamois Hunter is succinct and realistic; Manfred is focused on the abstract.
- As a side note, I find the idea of there being “traditional conjurations” for God very interesting, as magic and God don’t tend to be associated positively in modern media.
Kate
The Byronic Hero
The Byronic hero, a figure seen in Byron’s Manfred, shares many parallels with Milton’s Satan. In accordance with Milton’s Satan as a figure of “flawed grandeur” (NAEL e-text 488), Byron’s Manfred is a man stooped in a self-induced torture, “shamefully mastered by his own possessions” (488). In his first monologue, Manfred speaks to his internal intellectual conflict, and that “they who know the most/must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth” (10-11). Though proud in his knowledge of “forbidden” (56) arts and appreciation of the Earth’s “inaccessible” (33) power and mystery, Manfred harbors some unspeakable guilt concerning the death of his love, Astarte, which blocks his full ascension into a sense of romantic unity with the grandeur of nature and the world. Much as Manfred prides himself in his understanding of the sorrowful “Tree of Knowledge”, he evokes the pride of Milton’s Satan in his “passion” (491) of his crime following defeat by God.
Also present for Byron’s take on a Satanic hero is a sense of “rebellious energy” (488). Manfred’s need to trump all authoritative figures in order to retain power to only himself parallels with Milton’s Satan in his need to thwart “oppressive limitation”. When asked by the Witch of the Alps in only “obedience to my will, and do/ my bidding” (156-157), the “gentler” (161) Manfred then becomes vehement in his opposition to a higher power than himself, defiantly and abrubtly ending his summons of the otherworldly power. When threatened by the spirits in the Hall of Arimanes through the warning of facing the perpetual “worst” of their power, Manfred smoothly embraces the pride of power in his knowledge and claims “I know it/ and yet ye see I kneel not” (35-36), defying the grand spirits on their own ground. Even when faced with imminent death at the beckoning of strange demonic spirits, Manfred exclaims the absoluteness of his own destiny, citing himself as “my own destroyer” (139). The rebellion against both “false fiends” (109) and the abbot’s “holy words on idle uses” (96) asserts Manfred’s pride in power over his fate above all other forces, both heavenly and demonically.
The inclusion of Napoleon as a flawed Satanic hero appears in several of Byron’s works, drawing comparison to Childe Harold and Manfred. In Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, an entire section is reserved for Napoleon. Byron declares him “extreme in all things” and “Thunderer of the scene” to the great avail of a fallen Satan. Napoleon is defined amidst a “fire and motion of the soul/ which will not dwell/ in its own narrow being” (371-373) that ultimately remains “fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore” (378). By comparison, Byron associates these images of fatal grandeur with Childe Harold’s own reflections on visiting Waterloo. Through the flawed character of Napoleon can be seen Harold’s own reflection in escaping his own faults and shortcomings.
Napoleon’s image also makes an appearance in Manfred through the brief song of the Fates. Through their musings of the “Captive Usurper” (16), the omniscient Fates bring to light Napoleon’s failure to ascend to power, with not even “a wretch to lament o’er his wreck” (29). In opposition to the grand and fiery descriptions of Napoleon’s conquest in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, the fallen “Tyrant” now lies “buried in torpor/ forgotten and alone” (18-19). The shifted focus on the vanity of hubris could be an attempt by Byron to further expand on Manfred’s fixation on death and the peace that it could ultimately bring him. The Fates elaborate on this concept towards death as a solution with “the blest are the dead/ who see not the sight/ of their own desolation” (48-50). While Manfred clearly sees the nature of his desolation, he ultimately seeks “self oblivion” from his alienating guilt. Even forcefully through Napoleon being “hurl’d down from the throne” (17), Byron sets up a path for Manfred’s obsession with his destructive sense of pride. Conversely, Napoleon could be shown in this manner to accentuate the irony of Manfred’s wishes; his grand reflections of a death with “supremacy” (119) actually exist as a “wreck of a realm” (52) or an empty tyrant’s death. Both interpretations lend context to Byron’s troubled life and his personal contributions to his Byronic heroes.
Manfred the Antihero – Act I
Though Manfred has great intelligence, physical strength and agility, his guilty conscience seems to be his total undoing. His alienation from conventional social pleasures, philosophy or wisdom leaves him with only his own reason to stand on. Conventional believers trust in God for forgiveness, but Manfred bows to nothing, so he has no relief from his past. All he asks for is forgetfulness and oblivion. Forgiveness – or even drunkenness might have proved more effective. Manfred shows extreme independence from all conventions.
Manfred’s first words in Act I indicate that he is avoiding sleep, because in sleep he gives in to temptation and dreams about his unbearable secret. As long as he remains awake, he stays miserable and feels no false hope or joy. He tells himself this pain he endures comes from knowledge. He equates grief with wisdom, which makes him wiser than others. “Grief should be the instructor of the wise…they who know the most / Must mourn the deepest” (9-11). Wisdom and knowledge lead exactly to his misery. He has eaten from the “Tree of Knowledge” and has been exiled from Life (12). A more conventional hero may be sadder, but wiser, but not tormented. A conventional hero gains satisfaction from something. Conventionally, and as a practical matter for humans, wisdom and knowledge should offer some solace. Montaigne wrote that the most certain sign of wisdom is cheerfulness. Byron’s hero overturns such conventional thought.
He has tried to gain relief from philosophy and science, acts of goodness, and defeating foes, all the things people find helpful, but nothing helps. Manfred’s suffering makes his life a living death. To escape, he uses magic and calls upon pagan spirits. It would be out of character for him to call upon the conventional God, because he would have to admit to a power greater than himself. Pagan spirits lack omnipotence. Manfred must use the power of his curse to compel them to answer. His curse, his unspeakable secret, controls him and defines him.
The powerful Seventh Spirit tries to intimidate Manfred, and a duel of wits ensues. He speaks to Manfred, “Thou worm! whom I obey and scorn – / Forced by a power (which is not thine, / And lent thee but to make thee mine) / For this brief moment to descend” (125-128). Manfred ought to be trembling with fear, but he fears nothing but hope.
The spirits, unable to grant his wish of forgetfulness, offer him power over men, but he only wants to know if death will relieve his pain, which they cannot answer. Showing himself not the least intimidated, he answers, “Ye mock me – but the power which brought ye here / Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will!” (152-3). He takes it another step further and threatens them; “Answer, or I will teach you what I am” (158). It seems an idle threat, but he had been able to summon the spirits. Gratitude for their appearance, or at least respect, might have been a more appropriate response. But Manfred bows to nothing.
The Seventh Spirit takes revenge on the mere mortal Manfred. At Manfred’s request he appears in the form of the spirit’s choosing so that Manfred may look upon him. He appears in the form of the woman of Manfred’s unbearable secret, fooling Manfred into feeling hope and crushing him senseless. Such a dream vision is Manfred’s greatest dread. He claimed to have no fear, but he does fear hope, or else he would have not feared sleep and the false hope it may bring. Hope crushed him senseless. Conventionally, hope inspires one to continue, but Manfred turns the world on its head.
Manfred’s contemplation and eventual attempt at suicide at the end of Act I come as no surprise. Conventional religions condemn suicide, but Manfred is not subject to a conventional religion or philosophy. As sole master of himself, nothing within restrains him from self-destruction. When he prepares to leap, he says, “Earth! take these atoms!” as if that is all that comprises him (109). It takes the strong grip of a hunter to prevent his leap to death. The hunter calls him a “madman” (110). To a humble chamois hunter, Manfred is mad. The hunter would not comprehend that grief equals knowledge.
British Romanticism at Georgia State University 