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Lovelace's 'Stone walls do not a prison make, /Nor iron bars a cage;/ Minds

innocent and quiet take /That for an hermitage' j^ but it goes further than

this. The 'Eternal Spirit' is 'brightest* in a dungeon, because there

'Liberty' can be experienced (loved) in its purest (ideal) form. The more

the body is restricted, the more palpably the 'Mind' is made aware of its own

limitlessness and the more the love of that 'Liberty' can be proved - that

'love' which is bondage and yet freedom, as in service to God (this is not a

chimerical equation, as will become apparent during our discussion). Thus

the experience of true freedom may be seen as relating in inverse ratio to the

degree of physical or material constraint. In other words, 'Liberty' is the

transcendence of the unfettered 'Mind' over external restraints. But, in

order to achieve such transcendence at all, the mind itself must first be

unfettered; it must become, to use Lovelace's words, 'innocent and quiet', at

peace with itself. And this is how I wish to Interpret The Prisoner of Chlllom

as the mind coming to terms with itself. For, at the outset of the poem, we

are not presented with the conviction expressed in the sonneti the poem is a

progression towards that conviction, a record of the process of the mind freeing

Itself from its own imprisonment.

As has been said in the introduction, there is no desire here to dis­

credit the arguments put forward by other critics who have dealt with this

poem; there is, rather, merely the wish to supplement them, to offer a plausible additional argument. But this argument should be seen as part of a continuing one, which is tracing a specific development in Byron's thought

and career, and of which the sequence of poems considered in this chapter fora

a whole.

The poem is written in the form of a monologue. Not only does this

reduce the distinction between the poetic voice of Byron and that of the persona he has assumed, but it also serves to remind us constantly of the

1. 'To Althea, from Prison', stanza 4.

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Lovelace's 'Stone walls do not a prison make, /Nor Iron bars a cage;/ Minds

Innocent and quiet take /That for an hermitage'; ^ but it goes further than

this. The 'Eternal Spirit' is 'brightest' in a dungeon, because there

'Liberty' can be experienced (loved) in its purest (ideal) form. The more

the body is restricted, the more palpably the 'Mind* is made aware of its own

limitlessness and the more the love of that 'Liberty' can be proved - that

'love' which is bondage and yet freedom, as in service to God (this is not a

chimerical equation, as will become apparent during our discussion). Thus

the experience of true freedom may be seen as relating in inverse ratio to the

degree of physical or material constraint. In other words, 'Liberty' is the

transcendence of the unfettered 'Mind' over external restraints. But, in

order to achieve such transcendence at all, the mind itself must first be

unfettered^ it must become, to use Lovelace's words, 'innocent and quiet', at

peace with itself. And this is how I wish to interpret The Prisoner of Chlllont

as the mind coming to terms with itself. For, at the outset of the poem, we

are not presented with the conviction expressed in the sonnet« the poem Is a

progression towards that conviction, a record of the process of the mind freeing

itself from its own imprisonment.

As has been said in the introduction, there is no desire here to dis­

credit the arguments put forward by other critics who have dealt with this

poem« there is, rather, merely the wish to supplement them, to offer a plausible additional argument. But this argument should be seen as part of a continuing one, which is tracing a specific development in Byron’s thought

and career, and of which the sequence of poems considered in this chapter form

a whole.

The poem is written in the form of a monologue. Hot only does this

reduce the distinction between the poetic voice of Byron and that of the persona he has assumed, but it also serves to remind us constantly of the

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Isolation of the figure speaking. The opening passage underlines Bonnivard's

solitary condition, whilst drawing attention to his mental torture and to the

more symbolic aspects of his prisonj

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white

In a single night,

As men's have grown from sudden fearsi My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air

Are banned, and barred - forbidden fare; But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death; That father perished at the stake For tenets he would not forsake; And for the same his lineal race In darkness found a dwelling place; We were seven - who now are one, Six in youth, and one in age, Finished as they had begun, Proud of Persecution's rage; One in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have sealed, Dying as their father died,

For the God their foes denied; - Three were in a dungeon cast,

Of whom this wreck is left the last. l/26

This passage has been cited in full because of what seem to be significant

historical inaccuracies, and other details which indicate that Byron has super­

imposed himself upon the figure of Bonnlvard.

To the first four lines Byron has appended a note to the effect that

'Grief is said to have the same effect' as fear in suddenly turning the hair

white. That the whole picture of decrepitude here is attributable to grief

rather than to physical imprisonment, is further supported by an earlier MS

reading of line 6; 'But with the inward waste of grief'.^ Such emphasis, together with the sense of isolation which accumulates throughout the passage

and is firmly established in the final couplet, suggests most strongly that

the prison depicted is not so much a prison in a literal sense, but in a

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figurative one: a prison of self. And the historical Inaccuracies seem to

lend weight to this Idea, For, Bonnivard was not imprisoned, as Is here

suggested, for his religious beliefs or for cherishing his 'father's faith*

(he was a staunch supporter of the Reformation), but for his declared opposition

to the alien rule of the Duc de Savoye. He had announced himself the defender

('le défenseur') of the Genevese republic, and it was the Due who had had him

imprisoned. Nor did Bonnivard have seven brothers; he had two, neither of

whom was imprisoned with him. But, concerning the seven brothers, Coleridge ^

2

refers us to Elze's note in his biography of Byron, which draws attention to

the epitaph in Hucknall Torkard Church of Richard, Lord Byron who was one of

seven brothers. This significantly strengthens the suggestion that Byron is or those concerning his own ancestry

borrowing rather more from biographical facts ^ , than from the

historical’ facts of Bonnivard's life and imprisonment.

This is perhaps obvious enough, and it will not be exploited further

than to pave the way for attempting to answer what seems to me to be the crucial

question, although it does not appear to have troubled other critics unduly.

Why does Byron Introduce two brothers into Bonnivard's prison? And why, if it

is only to emphasize Bonnivard's isolation after they have died (as indeed it

does do too), does Byron take such pains to depict their different characters

and the different manner of their deaths? The issue might seem an unnecessary

one to pursue were it not that Byron devotes at least four major passages to

them (iv, v, vii, vlii), and that the death of the younger one in particular

has a peculiarly traumatic effect on Bonnivard.

Without wishing to pre-empt the argument, I am going to suggest that

the brothers are figurative extensions of the central persona (Bonnivard)| and,

taking this a step further, that they represent poetically certain aspects of 12

1, Poetry. IV, 14.