ABSTRACT
Echoes of Jerome J. Byron's Alpine journal—often startlingly precise in their recall of its wording—occur throughout the first half of the poem. This chapter explores the transformation of Byron's Alpine journal into Manfred's soliloquy—of the private discourse of the epistolary journal into the public discourse of the dramatic poem and examines the significance of what Byron retains, what he omits, and what he adds in the process. The rhetorical form of the passage—an apostrophe—also enhances its narcissism: Byron addresses his Alpine journal to his sister; Manfred addresses only the earth, the day, the mountains, and the sun—inanimate objects that have only the consciousness he grants them. That Manfred should contradict not only Manuel—who has no reason to lie—but also himself suggests that we should be critical of this insistence. Manfred has no companions, and he uses the first person plural almost exclusively to refer to himself and the dead Astarte.
