FROM CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage is a narrative poem written between 1812 and 1818. In four parts, it describes the melancholy, reflective and world-weary travels of a young man. This poem contributed to the cult of the Byronic hero who
Anthony Trollope (Home Boarder 1823²) is most famous for his series of novels known as The Chronicles of Barsetshire.
contemplates the world, drawn to philosophical musings inspired by an interaction with nature.
CANTO III
FROM BARCHESTER TOWERS CHAPTER XLVI: MR SLOPE’S PARTING INTERVIEW WITH THE SIGNORA
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On the following day the signora was in her pride. She was dressed in her brightest of morning dresses, and had quite
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls,
a levee round her couch. It was a beautifully bright October afternoon; all the gentlemen of the neighbourhood were
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo!
in Barchester, and those who had the entry of Dr Stanhope’s house were in the signora’s back drawing-room. Charlotte
How in an hour the power which gave annuls
and Mrs Stanhope were in the front room, and such of the lady’s squires as could not for the moment get near the
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too!
centre of attraction had to waste their fragrance on the mother and sister.
In ‘pride of place’ here last the eagle flew, Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through: Ambition’s life and labours all were vain; He wears the shattered links of the world’s broken chain. XIX
The first who came and the last to leave was Mr Arabin. This was the second visit he had paid to Madame Neroni since he had met her at Ullathorne. He came he knew not why, to talk about he knew not what. But, in truth, the feelings which now troubled him were new to him, and he could not analyse them. It may seem strange that he should thus come dangling about Madame Neroni because he was in love with Mrs Bold; but it was nevertheless the fact; and though he could not understand why he did so, Madame Neroni understood it well enough. She had been gentle and kind to him, and had encouraged his staying. Therefore he stayed on. She pressed his hand
Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit,
when he first greeted her; and whispered to him little nothings. And then her eye, brilliant and bright, now mirthful,
And foam in fetters, but is Earth more free?
now melancholy, and invincible in either way! What man with warm feelings, blood unchilled, and a heat not guarded
Did nations combat to make ONE submit;
by a triple steel of experience could have withstood those eyes! The lady, it is true, intended to do no mortal injury;
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?
she merely chose to inhale a slight breath of incense before she handed the casket over to another. Whether Mrs Bold
What! shall reviving thraldom again be
would willingly have spared even so much is another question.
The patched-up idol of enlightened days?
And then came Mr Slope. All the world now knew that Mr Slope was a candidate for the deanery, and that he was
Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze And servile knees to thrones? No; PROVE before ye praise! XX If not, o’er one fall’n despot boast no more! In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears For Europe’s flowers long rooted up before The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
generally considered to be the favourite. Mr Slope, therefore, walked rather largely upon the earth. He gave to himself a portly air, such as might become a dean, spoke but little to other clergymen, and shunned the bishop as much as possible. How the meagre little prebendary, and the burly chancellor, and all the minor canons and vicars choral, ay, and all the choristers too, cowered and shook and walked about with long faces when they read or heard of that article of the Jupiter. Now were coming the days when nothing would avail to keep the impure spirit from the cathedral pulpit. That pulpit would indeed be his own. Precentors, vicars, and choristers might hang up their harps on the willows. Ichabod! Ichabod! The glory of their house was departing from them. Mr Slope, great as he was with embryo grandeur, still came to see the signora. Indeed, he could not keep himself away. He dreamed of that soft hand which had kissed so often, and of the imperial brow which his lips had once pressed,
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
and he then dreamed also of further favours.
Of roused-up millions: all that most endears
And Mr Thorne was there also. It was the first visit he had ever paid to the signora, and he made it not without due
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword
preparation. Mr Thorne was a gentleman usually precise in his dress, and prone to make the most of himself in an
Such as Harmodius drew on Athens’ tyrant lord.
unpretending way. The grey hairs in his whiskers were eliminated perhaps once a month; those on his head were softened by a mixture which we will not call a dye; it was only a wash. His tailor lived in St James’s Street, and his
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his shirts was a matter not lightly thought of in the Ullathorne laundry. On the occasion of the present visit he had
And Belgium’s capital had gathered then
rather overdone his usual efforts, and caused some little uneasiness to his sister, who had not hitherto received very
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
cordially the proposition for a lengthened visit from the signora at Ullathorne.
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
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bootmaker at the corner of that street and Piccadilly. He was particular in the article of gloves, and the getting up of
There was a sound of revelry by night,
There were others also there – young men about the city who had not much to do, and who were induced by the lady’s charms to neglect that little; but all gave way to Mr Thorne, who was somewhat of a grand signor, as a country gentleman always is in a provincial city.
And all went merry as a marriage bell;
‘Oh, Mr Thorne, this is so kind of you!’ said the signora. ‘You promised to come; but I really did not expect it. I thought
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
you country gentlemen never kept your pledges.’
HARROW SCHOOL 450 ANTHOLOGY
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