Chapter II: Preface

This poem was commenced at Keswick, Dec. 2. 1809, and finished there July 14. 1814.

A French translation, by M. B. de S., in three volumes 12mo., was published in 1820, and another by M. le Chevalier ⸺ in one volume 8vo., 1821. Both are in prose.

When the latest of these versions was nearly ready for publication, the publisher, who was also the printer, insisted upon having a life of the author prefixed. The French public, he said, knew nothing of M. Southey, and in order to make the book sell, it must be managed to interest them for the writer. The Chevalier represented as a conclusive reason for not attempting any thing of the kind, that he was not acquainted with M. Southey’s private history. “Would you believe it?” says a friend of the translator’s, from whose letter I transscribe what follows; “this was his answer _verbatim_: ‘_N’importe, écrivez toujours; brodez, brodez-la un peu; que ce soit vrai ou non ce ne fait rien; qui prendra la peine de s’informer?_’” Accordingly a _Notice sur M. Southey_ was composed, not exactly in conformity with the publisher’s notions of biography, but from such materials as could be collected from magazines and other equally unauthentic sources.

In one of these versions a notable mistake occurs, occasioned by the French pronunciation of an English word. The whole passage indeed, in both versions, may be regarded as curiously exemplifying the difference between French and English poetry.

“The lamps and tapers now grew pale,
And through the eastern windows slanting fell
The roseate ray of morn. Within those walls
Returning day restored no cheerful sounds
Or joyous motions of awakening life;
But in the stream of light the speckled motes
As if in mimicry of insect play,
Floated with mazy movement. Sloping down
Over the altar pass’d the pillar’d beam,
And rested on the sinful woman’s grave
As if it enter’d there, a light from Heaven.
So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!
As in a momentary interval,
When thought expelling thought, had left his mind
Open and passive to the influxes
Of outward sense, his vacant eye was there, ...
So be it, Heavenly Father, even so I
Thus may thy vivifying goodness shed
Forgiveness there; for let not thou the groans
Of dying penitence, nor my bitter prayers
Before thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!
And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous house
Of weeping and of pain, dost look to me
To shorten and assuage thy penal term,
Pardon me that these hours in other thoughts
And other duties than this garb, this night
Enjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-land
Exacted of my heart the sacrifice;
And many a vigil must thy son perform
Henceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,
And tented fields, outwatching for her sake
The starry host, and ready for the work
Of day, before the sun begins his course.”[1]

_Il se livrait à toutes ces réflexions, quand la lumière des lampes et des cierges commença à pâlir, et que les premières teintes de l’aurore se montrèrent à travers les hautes croisées tournées vers l’orient. Le retour du jour ne ramena point dans ces murs des sons joyeux ni les mouvemens de la vie qui se réveille; les seuls papillons de nuit, agitant leurs ailes pesantes, bourdonnaient encore sous les voûtes ténébreuses. Bientôt le premier rayon du soleil glissant obliquement par-dessus l’autel, vint s’arrêter sur la tombe de la femme pécheresse, et la lumière du ciel sembla y pénétrer. “Que ce présage s’accomplisse,” s’écria Pelage, qui absorbé dans ses méditations, fixait en ce moment ses yeux sur le tombeau de sa mere; “Dieu de miséricorde, qu’il en soit ainsi! Puisse ta bonté vivifiante y verser de même le pardon! Que les sanglots de la pénitence expirante, et que mes prières amères ne montent point en vain devant le trône éternel. Et toi, pauvre âme, qui de ton séjour douloureux de souffrances et de larmes, espères en moi pour abréger et adoucir ton supplice, temporaire, pardonne moi d’avoir, sous ces habits et dans cette nuit, détourné mes pensées sur d’autres devoirs. Notre patrie commune a exigé de moi ce sacrifice, et ton fils doit dorénavant accomplir plus d’une veille dans la profondeur des forêts, sur la cime des monts, dans les plaines couvertes de tentes, observant, pour l’amour de l’Espagne, la marche des astres de la nuit, et préparant l’ouvrage de sa journée avant que le soleil ne commence sa course._”—T. i. pp. 175-177.

In the other translation the _motes_ are not converted into moths,—but the image is omitted.

_Consumées dans des soins pareils les rapides heures s’écouloient, les lampes et les torches commençoient à pâlir, et l’oblique rayon du matin doroit déjà les vitraux élevés qui regardoient vers l’Orient: le retour du jour ne ramenoit point, dans cette sombre enceinte, les sons joyeux, ni le tableau mouvant de la vie qui se reveille; mais, tombant d’en haut, le céleste rayon, passant au-dessus de l’autel, vint frapper le tombeau de la femme pécheresse. “Ainsi soit-il,” s’écria Pelage; “ainsi soit-il, ô divin Créateur! Puisse ta vivifiante bonté verser ainsi le pardon en ce lieu! Que les gémissemens d’une mort pénitente, que mes amères prières ne soient pas arrivées en vain devant le trône de miséricorde! Et toi, qui, de ton séjour de souffrances et de larmes, regardes vers ton fils, pour abréger et soulager tes peines, pardonne, si d’autres devoirs ont rempli les heures que cette nuit et cet habit m’enjoignoient de te consacrer! Notre patrie exigeoit ce sacrifice; d’autres vigiles m’attendent dans les bois et les défilés de nos montagnes; et bientôt sous la tente, il me faudra veiller, le soir, avant que le ciel ne se couvre d’étoiles, être prêt pour le travail du jour, avant que le soleil ne commence sa course._”—pp. 92, 93.

A very good translation in Dutch verse, was published in two volumes, 8vo. 1823-4, with this title:—“Rodrigo de Goth, Koning van Spanje. Naar het Engelsch van Southey gevolgd, door Vrouwe Katharina Wilhelmina Bilderdijk. Te ’s Gravenhage.” It was sent to me with the following epistle from her husband, Mr. Willem Bilderdijk.

“Roberto Southey, viro spectatissimo,
Gulielmus Bilderdijk, S. P. D.

“Etsi ea nunc temporis passim invaluerit opinio, poetarum genus
quam maxima gloriæ cupiditate flagrare, mihi tamen contraria
semper insedit persuasio, qui divinæ Poëseos altitudinem
veramque laudem non nisi ab iis cognosci putavi quorum præ
cæteris e meliori luto finxerit præcordia Titan, neque aut
verè aut justè judicari vatem nisi ab iis qui eodem afflatu
moveantur. Sexagesimus autem jam agitur annus ex quo et ipse
meos inter æquales poëta salutor, eumque locum quem ineunte
adolescentia occupare contigit, in hunc usque diem tenuisse
videor, popularis auræ nunquam captator, quin immo perpetuus
contemptor; parcus ipse laudator, censor gravis et nonnunquam
molestus. Tuum vero nomen, Vir celeberrime ac spectatissime,
jam antea veneratus, perlecto tuo de Roderico rege poëmate,
non potui non summis extollere laudibus, quo doctissimo simul
ac venustissimo opere, si minus _divinam Aeneida_, saltem
immortalem Tassonis Epopeiam _tentasse_, quin et certo respectu
ita superasse videris, ut majorum perpaucos, æqualium neminem,
cum vera fide ac pietate in Deum, tum ingenio omnique poëtica
dote tibi comparandum existimem. Ne mireris itaque, carminis
tui gravitate ac dulcedine captam, meoque judicio fultam,
non illaudatam in nostratibus Musam tuum illud nobile poëma
fœminea manu sed non insueto labore attrectasse, Belgicoque
sermone reddidisse. Hanc certe, per quadrantem seculi et quod
excurrit felicissimo connubio mihi junctam, meamque in Divina
arte alumnam ac sociam, nimium in eo sibi sumpsisse nemo facile
arbitrabitur cui vel minimum Poëseos nostræ sensum usurpare
contigerit; nec ego hos ejus conatus quos illustri tuo nomini
dicandos putavit, tibi mea manu offerre dubitabam. Hæc itaque
utriusque nostrum in te observantiæ specimina accipe, Vir
illustrissime, ac si quod communium studiorum, si quod veræ
pietatis est vinculum, nos tibi ex animo habe addictissimos.
Vale.

“Dabam Lugduni in Batavis. Ipsis idib. Februar. CIↃIↃCCCXXIV.”

I went to Leyden in 1825, for the purpose of seeing the writer of this epistle, and the lady who had translated my poem, and addressed it to me in some very affecting stanzas. It so happened, that on my arrival in that city, I was laid up under a surgeon’s care; they took me into their house, and made the days of my confinement as pleasurable as they were memorable. I have never been acquainted with a man of higher intellectual power, nor of greater learning, nor of more various and extensive knowledge than Bilderdijk, confessedly the most distinguished man of letters in his own country. His wife was worthy of him. I paid them another visit the following year. They are now both gone to their rest, and I shall not look upon their like again.

Soon after the publication of Roderick, I received the following curious letter from the Ettrick Shepherd, (who had passed a few days with me in the preceding autumn,) giving me an account of his endeavours to procure a favourable notice of the poem in the Edinburgh Review.

“Edinburgh, Dec. 15. 1814.

“MY DEAR SIR,

“I was very happy at seeing the post-mark of Keswick, and
quite proud of the pleasure you make me believe my “Wake” has
given to the beauteous and happy groupe at Greta Hall. Indeed
few things could give me more pleasure, for I left my heart a
sojourner among them. I have had a higher opinion of matrimony
since that period than ever I had before, and I desire that
you will positively give my kindest respects to each of them
individually.

“The Pilgrim of the Sun is published, as you will see by the
Papers, and if I may believe some communications that I have
got, the public opinion of it is high; but these communications
to an author are not to be depended on.

“I have read Roderick over and over again, and am the more and
more convinced that it is the noblest epic poem of the age. I
have had some correspondence and a good deal of conversation
with Mr. Jeffrey about it, though he does not agree with
me in every particular. He says it is too long, and wants
_elasticity_, and will not, he fears, be generally read, though
much may be said in its favour. I had even teazed him to let
me review it for him, on account, as I said, that he could not
appreciate its merits. I copy one sentence out of the letter he
sent in answer to mine:—

“‘For Southey I have, as well as you, great respect, and when
he will let me, great admiration; but he is a most provoking
fellow, and at least as conceited as his neighbour Wordsworth.
I cannot just trust you with his Roderick; but I shall be
extremely happy to talk over that and other kindred subjects
with you; for I am every way disposed to give Southey a lavish
allowance of praise, and few things would give me greater
pleasure than to find he had afforded me a fair opportunity.
But I must do my duty according to my own apprehensions of it.’

“I supped with him last night, but there was so many people
that I got but little conversation with him, but what we had
was solely about you and Wordsworth. I suppose you have heard
what a crushing review he has given the latter. I still found
him persisting in his first asseveration, that it was heavy;
but what was my pleasure to find that he had only got to the
seventeenth division. I assured him he had the marrow of the
thing to come at as yet, and in that I was joined by Mr.
Alison. There was at the same time a Lady M⸺ joined us at
the instant; short as her remark was, it seemed to make more
impression on Jeffrey than all our arguments:—“Oh, I do love
Southey!” that was all.

“I have no room to tell you more. But I beg that you will not
do any thing, nor publish any thing that will nettle Jeffrey
for the present, knowing as you do how omnipotent he is with
the fashionable world, and seemingly so well disposed toward
you.

“I am ever your’s most truly,

“JAMES HOGG.

“I wish the Notes may be safe enough. I never looked at them. I
wish these large quartos were all in hell burning.”

The reader will be as much amused as I was with poor Hogg’s earnest desire that I would not say any thing which might tend to frustrate his friendly intentions.

But what success the Shepherd met
Is to the world a secret yet.

There can be no reason, however, for withholding what was said in my reply of the _crushing_ review which had been given to Mr. Wordsworth’s poem:—“_He_ crush the Excursion!! Tell him he might as easily crush Skiddaw!”

_Keswick, 15 June, 1838._

ORIGINAL PREFACE.

The history of the Wisi-Goths for some years before their overthrow is very imperfectly known. It is, however, apparent, that the enmity between the royal families of Chindasuintho and Wamba was one main cause of the destruction of the kingdom, the latter party having assisted in betraying their country to the Moors for the gratification of their own revenge. Theodofred and Favila were younger sons of King Chindasuintho; King Witiza, who was of Wamba’s family, put out the eyes of Theodofred, and murdered Favila, at the instigation of that Chieftain’s wife, with whom he lived in adultery. Pelayo, the son of Favila, and afterwards the founder of the Spanish monarchy, was driven into exile. Roderick, the son of Theodofred, recovered the throne, and put out Witiza’s eyes in vengeance for his father; but he spared Orpas, the brother of the tyrant, as being a Priest, and Ebba and Sisibert, the two sons of Witiza, by Pelayo’s mother. It may be convenient thus briefly to premise these circumstances of an obscure portion of history, with which few readers can be supposed to be familiar; and a list of the principal persons who are introduced, or spoken of, may as properly be prefixed to a Poem as to a Play.

WITIZA, King of the Wisi-Goths; dethroned and blinded by
Roderick.
THEODOFRED, son of King Chindasuintho, blinded by King Witiza.
FAVILA, his brother; put to death by Witiza.
The Wife of Favila, Witiza’s adulterous mistress.

(_These four persons are dead before the action of the poem commences._)

RODERICK, the last King of the Wisi-Goths: son of Theodofred.
PELAYO, the founder of the Spanish Monarchy: son of Favila.
GAUDIOSA, his wife.
GUISLA, his sister.
FAVILA, his son.
HERMESIND, his daughter.
RUSILLA, widow of Theodofred, and mother of Roderick.
COUNT PEDRO, } powerful Lords of Cantabria.
COUNT EUDON, }
ALPHONSO, Count Pedro’s son, afterwards King.
URBAN, Archbishop of Toledo.
ROMANO, a Monk of the Caulian Schools, near Merida.
ABDALAZIZ, the Moorish Governor of Spain.
EGILONA, formerly the wife of Roderick, now of Abdalaziz.
ABULCACEM, }
ALCAHMAN, }
AYUB, } Moorish Chiefs.
IBRAHIM, }
MAGUED, }
ORPAS, brother to Witiza, and formerly Archbishop of
Seville, now a renegade.
SISIBERT, } sons of Witiza and of Pelayo’s mother.
EBBA, }
NUMACIAN, a renegade, governor of Gegio.
COUNT JULIAN, a powerful Lord among the Wisi-Goths, now a
renegade.
FLORINDA, his daughter, violated by King Roderick.

ADOSINDA, daughter of the Governor of Auria.
ODOAR, Abbot of St. Felix.
SIVERIAN, Roderick’s foster-father.
FAVINIA, Count Pedro’s wife.

The four latter persons are imaginary. All the others are mentioned in history. I ought, however, to observe, that Romano is a creature of monkish legends; that the name of Pelayo’s sister has not been preserved; and that that of Roderick’s mother, Ruscilo, has been altered to Rusilla, for the sake of euphony.

RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS.