SCENE I.--_A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

This etext is a Latin-1 file. The original work contained a few phrases

or lines of Greek text. These are represented here as Beta-code

transliterations, for example [Greek: tragos]. The original text used a

few other characters not found in the Latin-1 character set. These have

been represented using bracket notation, as follows: [)a], [)e], [)s]

and [)z] represent letters with a breve (curved line) above; [=a] and

[=u] represent letters with a macron (straight line) above. In a few

places, a single superscript is shown by a caret, and two superscript

letters by carets, as in J^n 10^th^.

An important feature of this edition is its copious footnotes. Footnotes

indexed with arabic numbers (as [17], [221]) are informational. Note

text in square brackets is the work of editor E. H. Coleridge.

Unbracketed note text is from earlier editions and is by a preceding

editor or Byron himself. Footnotes indexed with letters (as [c], [bf])

document variant forms of the text from manuscripts and other sources.

In the original, footnotes are printed at the foot of the page on which

they are referenced, and their indices start over on each page. Here,

footnotes are collected at the ends of each play or poem, and are

numbered consecutively throughout. Within the blocks of footnotes are

numbers in braces: {321}. These represent the page number on which

following notes originally appeared. To find a note that was originally

printed on page 27, search for {27}.

The Works

OF

LORD BYRON.

A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

Poetry. Vol. V.

EDITED BY

ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,

HON. F.R.S.L.

LONDON:

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.

NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.

1901.

PREFACE TO THE FIFTH VOLUME.

The plays and poems contained in this volume were written within the

space of two years--the last two years of Byron's career as a poet. But

that was not all. Cantos VI.-XV. of _Don Juan_, _The Vision of

Judgment_, _The Blues_, _The Irish Avatar_, and other minor poems,

belong to the same period. The end was near, and, as though he had

received a warning, he hastened to make the roll complete.

Proof is impossible, but the impression remains that the greater part of

this volume has been passed over and left unread by at least two

generations of readers. Old play-goers recall Macready as "Werner," and

many persons have read _Cain_; but apart from students of literature,

readers of _Sardanapalus_ and of _The Two Foscari_ are rare; of _The Age

of Bronze_ and _The Island_ rarer still. A few of Byron's later poems

have shared the fate of Southey's epics; and, yet, with something of

Southey's persistence, Byron believed that posterity would weigh his

"regular dramas" in a fresh balance, and that his heedless critics

would kick the beam. But "can these bones live"? Can dramas which

excited the wondering admiration of Goethe and Lamartine and Sir Walter

Scott touch or lay hold of the more adventurous reader of the present

day? It is certain that even the half-forgotten works of a great and

still popular poet, which have left their mark on the creative

imagination of the poets and playwrights of three quarters of a century,

will always be studied by the few from motives of curiosity, or for

purposes of reference; but it is improbable, though not impossible, that

in the revolution of taste and sentiment, moribund or extinct poetry

will be born again into the land of the living. Poetry which has never

had its day, such as Blake's _Songs of Innocence_, the _Lyrical

Ballads_, or Fitzgerald's _Omar Khayyam_, may come, in due time, to be

recognized at its full worth; but it is a harder matter for a poem which

has lost its vogue to recapture the interest and enthusiasm of the many.

Byron is only an instance in point. Bygone poetry has little or no

attraction for modern readers. This poem or that drama may be referred

to, and occasionally examined in the interests of general culture, or in

support of a particular belief or line of conduct, as a classical or

quasi-scriptural authority; but, with the rarest exceptions, plays and

narrative poems are not read spontaneously or with any genuine

satisfaction or delight. An old-world poem which will not yield up its

secret to the idle _reader_ "of an empty day" is more or less "rudely

dismissed," without even a show of favour or hospitality.

And yet these forgotten works of the imagination are full of hidden

treasures! There is not one of Byron's "impressionist studies" of

striking episodes of history or historical legend, flung, as it were,

with a "Take it or leave it" in the face of friend or foe, which does

not transform names and shadows into persons and substance, which does

not contain lines and passages of unquestionable beauty and distinction.

But some would have it that Byron's plays, as a whole, are dull and

uninspiring, monotonous harpings on worn-out themes, which every one has

mastered or wishes to forget. A close study of the text, together with

some knowledge of the subject as it presented itself to the author and

arrested _his_ attention, may compel these impatient critics to a

different conclusion. Byron did not scruple to refer the reader to his

"sources," and was at pains to publish, in the notes and appendices to

his dramas and poems, long extracts from old chronicles, from Plutarch's

_Lives_, from French and Italian histories, which he had read himself,

and, as he fondly believed, would be read by others, who were willing to

submit themselves to his guidance. He expected his readers to take some

trouble and to display some intelligence.

Poetry is successful only so far as it is intelligible. To a clear cry

an answer comes, but not to a muffled call. The reader who comes within

speaking distance of his author can hear him, and to bring the living

within speaking distance of the dead, the living must know the facts,

and understand the ideas which informed and inspired the dead. Thought

and attention are scarcely to be reckoned among necromantic arts, but

thought and knowledge "can make these bones live," and stand upon their

feet, if they do not leap and sing.

I desire to renew my acknowledgments of the generous assistance of the

officials of the British Museum, and, more especially, of Mr. Ernest

Wallis Budge, Litt.D., M.A., _Keeper of Egyptian and Assyrian

Antiquities_; of Mr. Leonard W. King, M.A., of the same department; and

of Mr. George F. Barwick, _Superintendent of the Reading Room_.

To Dr. Garnett, C.B., I am greatly indebted for invaluable hints and

suggestions with regard to the interpretation of some obscure passages

in _The Age of Bronze_ and other parts of the volume, and for reading

the proofs of the "Introduction" and "Note to the Introduction to

_Werner_."

I have also to acknowledge the assistance and advice of Mr. W. Hale

White, and of my friend Mr. Frank E. Taylor, of Chertsey.

For assistance during the preparation of the volume, and more especially

in the revision of proofs, I desire to express my cordial thanks to Mr.

John Murray.

ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

_December_ 3, 1901.

CONTENTS OF VOL. V

Preface to Vol. V. of the Poems v

SARDANAPALUS: A TRAGEDY.

Introduction to _Sardanapalus_ 3

Dedication 7

Preface 9

_Sardanapalus_ 13

THE TWO FOSCARI: AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.

Introduction to _The Two Foscari_ 115

_The Two Foscari_ 121

CAIN: A MYSTERY.

Introduction to _Cain_ 199

Dedication 205

Preface 207

_Cain_ 213

HEAVEN AND EARTH; A MYSTERY.

Introduction to _Heaven and Earth_ 279

_Heaven and Earth_ 285

WERNER; OR, THE INHERITANCE: A TRAGEDY.

Introduction to _Werner_ 325

Note to the Introduction to _Werner_ 329

Dedication 335

Preface 337

_Werner_ 341

_Werner_. [First Draft.] 453

THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED: A DRAMA.

Introduction to _The Deformed Transformed_ 469

Advertisement 473

_The Deformed Transformed_ 477

Fragment of the Third Part of _The Deformed Transformed_ 531

THE AGE OF BRONZE; OR, CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS.

Introduction to _The Age of Bronze_ 537

_The Age of Bronze_ 541

THE ISLAND; OR, CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES.

Introduction to _The Island_ 581

Advertisement 585

_The Island_. Canto the First 587

Canto the Second 598

Canto the Third 618

Canto the Fourth 626

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1. LORD BYRON, FROM A PORTRAIT IN OILS BY W. E. WEST,

IN THE POSSESSION OF MR. PERCY KENT _Frontispiece_

2. ASSUR-BANI-PAL, FROM A SLAB IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM To face p. 12

3. THE LION OF S. MARK'S 138

4. GOETHE, FROM A DRAWING BY D. MACLISE, R.A., IN THE

VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM 282

5. GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, FROM THE MEZZOTINT

BY VALENTINE GREEN, AFTER SIR J. REYNOLDS, P.R.A. 330

6. MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY, FROM A PICTURE BY R.

ROTHWELL, R.H.A., IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY (1841) 474

SARDANAPALUS

A TRAGEDY.

[_Sardanapale, Tragedie Imitee de Lord Byron_, par L. Alvin, was

performed at the Theatre Royal at Brussels, January 13, 16, 1834.

_Sardanapalus_, a Tragedy, was played for the first time at Drury Lane

Theatre, April 10, 1834, and (for the twenty-second time) June 5, 1834.

Macready appeared as "Sardanapalus," Miss Phillips as "Zarina," and Miss

Ellen Tree as "Myrrha." [In his diary for April 11, 1834 (see

_Reminiscences_, 1875, i. 414, 415) Macready wrote, "On arriving at my

chambers ... I found a letter without a signature; the seal was the head

of Byron, and in the envelope was a folded sheet with merely the words,

'Werner, Nov., 1830. Byron, Ravenna, 1821,' and 'Sardanapalus, April

10th, 1834.' Encircling the name of Byron, etc., was a lock of grey hair

fastened by a gold thread, which I am sure was Byron's, ... it surprised

and pleased me."]

_Sardanapalus, King of Assyria_, was produced at the Princess's Theatre,

June 13, 1853, and played till September 2, 1853. Charles Kean appeared

as "Sardanapalus," Miss Heath as "Zarina," and Mrs. Charles Kean as

"Myrrha."

_Sardanapale, Opera en Trois Actes_, par M. Henry Becque, Musique de M.

Victorin Joncieres, was performed for the first time at the Theatre

Imperial-Lyrique, February 8, 1867.

_Lord Byron's Tragedy of Sardanapalus_, in four acts, was performed at

the Theatre Royal, Manchester, March 31-April 28, 1877. Charles Calvert

(the adapter) played "Sardanapalus," Miss Hathaway "Zarina," and Miss

Fanny Ensor "Myrrha;" and June 26-July 27, 1877, at the Royal Alexandra

Theatre, Liverpool. Calvert's adaptation was also performed at Booth's

Theatre, New York.]

INTRODUCTION TO _SARDANAPALUS_

Byron's passion or infatuation for the regular drama lasted a little

over a year. _Marino Faliero_, _Sardanapalus_, and the _Two Foscari_,

were the fruits of his "self-denying ordinance to dramatize, like the

Greeks ... striking passages of history" (letter to Murray, July 14,

1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 323). The mood was destined to pass, but for a

while the neophyte was spell-bound.

_Sardanapalus, a Tragedy_, the second and, perhaps, the most successful

of these studies in the poetry of history, was begun at Ravenna, January

13, 1821, "with all deliberate speed;" but, for a time, from laziness or

depression of spirits, or, perhaps, from the counter-excitement of "the

poetry of politics" (_Letters_, 1901, v. 205), that is, the

revolutionary drama which had begun to run its course, a month went by

before he had finished the first act (February 15). Three months later

(May 28) he announces the completion of the drama, the last act having

been "dashed off" in two or three days (_Letters_, 1901, v. 300).

For the story of Sardanapalus, which had excited his interest as a

schoolboy, Byron consulted the pages of Diodorus Siculus (_Bibliothecae

Historicae_, lib. ii. pp. 78, sq., ed. 1604), and, possibly to ward off

and neutralize the distracting influence of Shakespeare and other

barbarian dramatists, he "turned over" the tragedies of Seneca

(_Letters_, 1901, v. 173). It is hardly necessary to remind the modern

reader that the Sardanapalus of history is an unverified if not an

unverifiable personage. Diodorus the Sicilian, who was contemporary with

Cicero, derived his knowledge of Assyrian history from the _Persica_ of

Ctesias of Cnidos, who was private physician at the court of Artaxerxes

Mnemon (B.C. 405-359), and is said to have had access to, and to have

consulted, the "Persian authorities" ([Greek: diphthe/rai Basilikai\]).

The character which Ctesias depicted or invented, an effeminate

debauchee, sunk in luxury and sloth, who at the last was driven to take

up arms, and, after a prolonged but ineffectual resistance, avoided

capture by suicide, cannot be identified. Asurbanipal

(A[)s]ur-b[=a]ni-apli), the son of Esarhaddon and grandson of

Sennacherib, who ascended the throne B.C. 668, and reigned for about

forty years, was, as the cuneiform records and the friezes of his palace

testify, a bold hunter and a mighty warrior. He vanquished Tark[=u]

(Tirhakah) of Ethiopia, and his successor, Urdaman[=e]. Ba'al King of

Tyre, Yakinl[=u] King of the island-city of Arvad, Sand[)a]sarm[=u] of

Cilicia, Teumman of Elam, and other potentates, suffered defeat at his

hands. "The land of Elam," writes the king or his "Historiographer

Royal," "through its extent I covered as when a mighty storm approaches;

I cut off the head of Teumman, their king... Beyond number I slew his

warriors; alive in my hands I took his fighting men; with their corpses,

as with thorns and thistles, I filled the vicinity of Susa; their blood

I caused to flow in the Eulaeus, and I stained its waters like wool."

Clearly the Sardanapalus who painted his face and carded purple wool in

the _penetralia_ of his seraglio does not bear even a traditional

resemblance to A[)s]ur-b[=a]ni-apli the Conqueror.

All that can be affirmed with any certainty is that within twenty years

of the death of Asurbanipal, the Assyrian Empire passed into the hands

of the Medes;[1] but there is nothing to show whether the period of

decay had already set in before the close of his reign, or under which

of his two successors, [)A]sur-etil-il[=a]ni or Sin-[)s]ar-i[)s]kun,

the final catastrophe (B.C. 606) took place (_Encyclopedia Biblica_,

art. "Assyria," art. "[)A]sur-bani-pal," by Leonard W. King).

"I have made," writes Byron (May 25, 1821), "Sardanapalus brave though

voluptuous (as history represents him), and as amiable as my poor pen

could make him." Diodorus, or rather Ctesias, who may have drawn upon

personal reminiscences of his patron, Artaxerxes Mnemon (see Plutarch's

_Artaxerxes_, _passim_), does not enlarge upon his amiability, and

credits him only with the courage of despair. Byron's Sardanapalus, with

his sudden transition from voluptuous abandonment to heroic chivalry,

his remorseful recognition of the sanctities of wedlock, his general

good nature, his "sly, insinuating sarcasms" (Moore's Diary, September

30, 1821, _Memoirs_, iii. 282), "all made out of the carver's brain,"

resembles _history_ as little as _history_ resembles the Assyrian

record. Fortunately, the genius of the poet escaped from the meshes

which he had woven round himself, and, in spite of himself, he was

constrained to "beat his music out," regardless of his authorities.

The character of Myrrha, which bears some resemblance to Aspasia, "a

native of Phocea in Ionia--the favourite mistress of Cyrus" (see

Plutarch's _Artaxerxes_, Langhorne's Translation, 1838, p. 699), was

introduced partly to pacify the Countess Guiccioli, who had quarrelled

with him for maintaining that "love was not the loftiest theme for true

tragedy," and, in part, to prove that he was not a slave to his own

ideals, and could imagine and delineate a woman who was both passionate

and high-minded. Diodorus (_Bibl. Hist._, lib. iii. p. 130) records the

exploits of Myrina, Queen of the Amazons, but it is probable that Byron

named his Ionian slave after Mirra, who gives her name to Alfieri's

tragedy, which brought on a convulsive fit of tears and shuddering when

he first saw it played at Bologna in August, 1819 (_Letters_, 1900, iv.

339).

_Sardanapalus, a Tragedy_, was published together with _The Two Foscari,

a Tragedy_, and _Cain, a Mystery_, December 19, 1821.

The three plays were reviewed by Heber in the _Quarterly Review_, July,

1822, vol. xxvii. pp. 476-524; by Jeffrey in the _Edinburgh Review_,

February, 1822, vol. 36, pp. 413-452; in _Blackwood's Edinburgh

Magazine_, February, 1822, vol. xi. pp. 212-217; and in the _Portfolio_

(Philadelphia), December, 1822, vol. xiv. pp. 487-492.

TO

THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE

A STRANGER

PRESUMES TO OFFER THE HOMAGE

OF A LITERARY VASSAL TO HIS LIEGE LORD,

THE FIRST OF EXISTING WRITERS,

WHO HAS CREATED

THE LITERATURE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY,

AND ILLUSTRATED THAT OF EUROPE.

THE UNWORTHY PRODUCTION

WHICH THE AUTHOR VENTURES TO INSCRIBE TO HIM

IS ENTITLED

SARDANAPALUS.[2]

PREFACE

In publishing the following Tragedies[3] I have only to repeat, that

they were not composed with the most remote view to the stage. On the

attempt made by the managers in a former instance, the public opinion

has been already expressed. With regard to my own private feelings, as

it seems that they are to stand for nothing, I shall say nothing.

For the historical foundation of the following compositions the reader

is referred to the Notes.

The Author has in one instance attempted to preserve, and in the other

to approach, the "unities;" conceiving that with any very distant

departure from them, there may be poetry, but can be no drama. He is

aware of the unpopularity of this notion in present English literature;

but it is not a system of his own, being merely an opinion, which, not

very long ago, was the law of literature throughout the world, and is

still so in the more civilised parts of it. But "nous avons change tout

cela," and are reaping the advantages of the change. The writer is far

from conceiving that any thing he can adduce by personal precept or

example can at all approach his regular, or even irregular predecessors:

he is merely giving a reason why he preferred the more regular formation

of a structure, however feeble, to an entire abandonment of all rules

whatsoever. Where he has failed, the failure is in the architect,--and

not in the art.

In this tragedy it has been my intention to follow the account of

Diodorus Siculus;[4] reducing it, however, to such dramatic regularity

as I best could, and trying to approach the unities. I therefore suppose

the rebellion to explode and succeed in one day by a sudden conspiracy,

instead of the long war of the history.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN.

SARDANAPALUS, _king of Nineveh and Assyria, etc._

ARBACES, _the Mede who aspired to the Throne_.

BELESES, _a Chaldean and Soothsayer_.

SALEMENES, _the King's Brother-in-Law_.

ALTADA, _an Assyrian Officer of the Palace_.

PANIA.

ZAMES.

SFERO.

BALEA.

WOMEN.

ZARINA, _the Queen_.

MYRRHA, _an Ionian female Slave, and the Favourite Mistress

of_ SARDANAPALUS.

_Women composing the Harem of_ SARDANAPALUS, _Guards,

Attendants, Chaldean Priests, Medes, etc., etc._

SCENE.--A Hall in the Royal Palace of Nineveh.

SARDANAPALUS.[5]

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_A Hall in the Palace_.

_Salemenes_ (_solus_).

He hath wronged his queen, but still he is her lord;

He hath wronged my sister--still he is my brother;

He hath wronged his people--still he is their sovereign--

And I must be his friend as well as subject:

He must not perish thus. I will not see

The blood of Nimrod and Semiramis

Sink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years

Of Empire ending like a shepherd's tale;

He must be roused. In his effeminate heart

There is a careless courage which Corruption 10

Has not all quenched, and latent energies,

Repressed by circumstance, but not destroyed--

Steeped, but not drowned, in deep voluptuousness.

If born a peasant, he had been a man

To have reached an empire: to an empire born,

He will bequeath none; nothing but a name,

Which his sons will not prize in heritage:--

Yet--not all lost--even yet--he may redeem

His sloth and shame, by only being that

Which he should be, as easily as the thing 20

He should not be and is. Were it less toil

To sway his nations than consume his life?

To head an army than to rule a harem?

He sweats in palling pleasures, dulls his soul,[a]

And saps his goodly strength, in toils which yield not

Health like the chase, nor glory like the war--

He must be roused. Alas! there is no sound

[_Sound of soft music heard from within_.

To rouse him short of thunder. Hark! the lute--

The lyre--the timbrel; the lascivious tinklings

Of lulling instruments, the softening voices 30

Of women, and of beings less than women,

Must chime in to the echo of his revel,

While the great King of all we know of earth

Lolls crowned with roses, and his diadem

Lies negligently by to be caught up

By the first manly hand which dares to snatch it.

Lo, where they come! already I perceive

The reeking odours of the perfumed trains,

And see the bright gems of the glittering girls,[b]

At once his Chorus and his Council, flash 40

Along the gallery, and amidst the damsels,

As femininely garbed, and scarce less female,

The grandson of Semiramis, the Man-Queen.--

He comes! Shall I await him? yes, and front him,

And tell him what all good men tell each other,

Speaking of him and his. They come, the slaves

Led by the monarch subject to his slaves.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS _effeminately dressed, his Head

crowned with Flowers, and his Robe negligently flowing,

attended by a Train of Women and young Slaves_.

_Sar._ (_speaking to some of his attendants_).

Let the pavilion[6] over the Euphrates

Be garlanded, and lit, and furnished forth

For an especial banquet; at the hour

Of midnight we will sup there: see nought wanting,

And bid the galley be prepared. There is

A cooling breeze which crisps the broad clear river:

We will embark anon. Fair Nymphs, who deign

To share the soft hours of Sardanapalus,

We'll meet again in that the sweetest hour,

When we shall gather like the stars above us, 10

And you will form a heaven as bright as theirs;

Till then, let each be mistress of her time,

And thou, my own Ionian Myrrha,[7] choose;

Wilt thou along with them or me?

_Myr._ My Lord--

_Sar._ My Lord!--my Life! why answerest thou so coldly?

It is the curse of kings to be so answered.

Rule thy own hours, thou rulest mine--say, wouldst thou

Accompany our guests, or charm away

The moments from me?

_Myr._ The King's choice is mine.

_Sar._ I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy 20

Is to contribute to thine every wish.

I do not dare to breathe my own desire,

Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still

Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others.

_Myr._ I would remain: I have no happiness

Save in beholding thine; yet--

_Sar._ Yet! what YET?

Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier

Which ever rises betwixt thee and me.

_Myr._ I think the present is the wonted hour

Of council; it were better I retire. 30

_Sal._ (_comes forward and says_)

The Ionian slave says well: let her retire.

_Sar._ Who answers? How now, brother?

_Sal._ The _Queen's_ brother,

And your most faithful vassal, royal Lord.

_Sar._ (_addressing his train_).

As I have said, let all dispose their hours

Till midnight, when again we pray your presence.

[_The court retiring_.

(_To_ MYRRHA,[c] _who is going_.)

Myrrha! I thought _thou_ wouldst remain.

_Myr._ Great King,

Thou didst not say so.

_Sar._ But _thou_ looked'st it:

I know each glance of those Ionic eyes,[d]

Which said thou wouldst not leave me.

_Myr._ Sire! your brother----

_Sal._ His _Consort's_ brother, minion of Ionia! 40

How darest _thou_ name _me_ and not blush?

_Sar._ Not blush!

Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson

Like to the dying day on Caucasus,

Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows,

And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness,

Which will not see it. What! in tears, my Myrrha?

_Sal._ Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one,

And is herself the cause of bitterer tears.

_Sar._ Cursed be he who caused those tears to flow!

_Sal._ Curse not thyself--millions do that already. 50

_Sar._ Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember

I am a monarch.

_Sal._ Would thou couldst!

_Myr._ My sovereign,

I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence.

_Sar._ Since it must be so, and this churl has checked

Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect

That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose

An empire than thy presence. [_Exit_ MYRRHA.

_Sal._ It may be,

Thou wilt lose both--and both for ever!

_Sar._ Brother!

I can at least command myself, who listen

To language such as this: yet urge me not 60

Beyond my easy nature.

_Sal._ 'Tis beyond

That easy--far too easy--idle nature,

Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee!

Though 'twere against myself.

_Sar._ By the god Baal!

The man would make me tyrant.

_Sal._ So thou art.

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that

Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice,

The weakness and the wickedness of luxury,

The negligence, the apathy, the evils

Of sensual sloth--produce ten thousand tyrants, 70

Whose delegated cruelty surpasses

The worst acts of one energetic master,

However harsh and hard in his own bearing.

The false and fond examples of thy lusts

Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap

In the same moment all thy pageant power

And those who should sustain it; so that whether

A foreign foe invade, or civil broil

Distract within, both will alike prove fatal:

The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer; 80

The last they rather would assist than vanquish.

_Sar._ Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people?

_Sal._ Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs;

A natural love unto my infant nephews;

Faith to the King, a faith he may need shortly,

In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line;

Also, another thing thou knowest not.

_Sar._ What's that?

_Sal._ To thee an unknown word.

_Sar._ Yet speak it;

I love to learn.

_Sal._ Virtue.

_Sar._ Not know the word!

Never was word yet rung so in my ears-- 90

Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet:

I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else.

_Sal._ To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice.

_Sar._ From whom?

_Sal._ Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen

Unto the echoes of the Nation's voice.

_Sar._ Come, I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient,

As thou hast often proved--speak out, what moves thee?

_Sal._ Thy peril.

_Sar._ Say on.

_Sal._ Thus, then: all the nations,

For they are many, whom thy father left

In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee. 100

_Sar._ 'Gainst _me!!_ What would the slaves?

_Sal._ A king.

_Sar._ And what

Am I then?

_Sal._ In their eyes a nothing; but

In mine a man who might be something still.

_Sar._ The railing drunkards! why, what would they have?

Have they not peace and plenty?

_Sal._ Of the first

More than is glorious: of the last, far less

Than the King recks of.

_Sar._ Whose then is the crime,

But the false satraps, who provide no better?

_Sal._ And somewhat in the Monarch who ne'er looks

Beyond his palace walls, or if he stirs 110

Beyond them, 'tis but to some mountain palace,

Till summer heats wear down. O glorious Baal!

Who built up this vast empire, and wert made

A God, or at the least shinest like a God

Through the long centuries of thy renown,

This, thy presumed descendant, ne'er beheld

As king the kingdoms thou didst leave as hero,

Won with thy blood, and toil, and time, and peril!

For what? to furnish imposts for a revel,

Or multiplied extortions for a minion. 120

_Sar._ I understand thee--thou wouldst have me go

Forth as a conqueror. By all the stars

Which the Chaldeans read--the restless slaves[e]

Deserve that I should curse them with their wishes,

And lead them forth to glory.

_Sal._ Wherefore not?

Semiramis--a woman only--led

These our Assyrians to the solar shores

Of Ganges.

_Sar._ Tis most true. And _how_ returned?

_Sal._ Why, like a _man_--a hero; baffled, but

Not vanquished. With but twenty guards, she made 130

Good her retreat to Bactria.

_Sar._ And how many

Left she behind in India to the vultures?

_Sal._ Our annals say not.

_Sar._ Then I will say for them--

That she had better woven within her palace

Some twenty garments, than with twenty guards

Have fled to Bactria, leaving to the ravens,

And wolves, and men--the fiercer of the three,

Her myriads of fond subjects. Is _this_ Glory?

Then let me live in ignominy ever.

_Sal._ All warlike spirits have not the same fate. 140

Semiramis, the glorious parent of

A hundred kings, although she failed in India,

Brought Persia--Media--Bactria--to the realm

Which she once swayed--and thou _mightst_ sway.

_Sar._ _I sway_ them--

She but subdued them.

_Sal._ It may be ere long

That they will need her sword more than your sceptre.

_Sar._ There was a certain Bacchus, was there not?

I've heard my Greek girls speak of such--they say

He was a God, that is, a Grecian god,

An idol foreign to Assyria's worship, 150

Who conquered this same golden realm of Ind

Thou prat'st of, where Semiramis was vanquished.

_Sal._ I have heard of such a man; and thou perceiv'st

That he is deemed a God for what he did.

_Sar._ And in his godship I will honour him--

Not much as man. What, ho! my cupbearer!

_Sal._ What means the King?

_Sar._ To worship your new God

And ancient conqueror. Some wine, I say.

_Enter Cupbearer_.

_Sar._ (_addressing the Cupbearer_).

Bring me the golden goblet thick with gems,

Which bears the name of Nimrod's chalice. Hence, 160

Fill full, and bear it quickly. [_Exit Cupbearer_.

_Sal._ Is this moment

A fitting one for the resumption of

Thy yet unslept-off revels?

_Re-enter Cupbearer, with wine_.

_Sar._ (_taking the cup from him_). Noble kinsman,

If these barbarian Greeks of the far shores

And skirts of these our realms lie not, this Bacchus

Conquered the whole of India,[8] did he not?

_Sal._ He did, and thence was deemed a Deity.[f]

_Sar._ Not so:--of all his conquests a few columns.[9]

Which may be his, and might be mine, if I

Thought them worth purchase and conveyance, are 170

The landmarks of the seas of gore he shed,

The realms he wasted, and the hearts he broke.

But here--here in this goblet is his title

To immortality--the immortal grape

From which he first expressed the soul, and gave

To gladden that of man, as some atonement

For the victorious mischiefs he had done.

Had it not been for this, he would have been

A mortal still in name as in his grave;

And, like my ancestor Semiramis, 180

A sort of semi-glorious human monster.

Here's that which deified him--let it now

Humanise thee; my surly, chiding brother,

Pledge me to the Greek God!

_Sal._ For all thy realms

I would not so blaspheme our country's creed.

_Sar._ That is to say, thou thinkest him a hero,

That he shed blood by oceans; and no God,

Because he turned a fruit to an enchantment,

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires

The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, 190

And Fear her danger; opens a new world

When this, the present, palls. Well, then _I_ pledge thee

And _him_ as a true man, who did his utmost

In good or evil to surprise mankind. [_Drinks_.

_Sal._ Wilt thou resume a revel at this hour?

_Sar._ And if I did, 'twere better than a trophy,

Being bought without a tear. But that is not

My present purpose: since thou wilt not pledge me,

Continue what thou pleasest.

(_To the Cupbearer_.) Boy, retire. [_Exit Cupbearer_.

_Sal._ I would but have recalled thee from thy dream; 200

Better by me awakened than rebellion.

_Sar._ Who should rebel? or why? what cause? pretext?

I am the lawful King, descended from

A race of Kings who knew no predecessors.

What have I done to thee, or to the people,

That thou shouldst rail, or they rise up against me?

_Sal._ Of what thou hast done to me, I speak not.

_Sar._ But

Thou think'st that I have wronged the Queen: is't not so?

_Sal._ _Think!_ Thou hast wronged her!

_Sar._ Patience, Prince, and hear me.

She has all power and splendour of her station, 210

Respect, the tutelage of Assyria's heirs,

The homage and the appanage of sovereignty.

I married her as monarchs wed--for state,

And loved her as most husbands love their wives.

If she or thou supposedst I could link me

Like a Chaldean peasant to his mate,

Ye knew nor me--nor monarchs--nor mankind.

_Sal._ I pray thee, change the theme: my blood disdains

Complaint, and Salemenes' sister seeks not

Reluctant love even from Assyria's lord! 220

Nor would she deign to accept divided passion

With foreign strumpets and Ionian slaves.

The Queen is silent.

_Sar._ And why not her brother?

_Sal._ I only echo thee the voice of empires,

Which he who long neglects not long will govern.

_Sar._ The ungrateful and ungracious slaves! they murmur

Because I have not shed their blood, nor led them

To dry into the desert's dust by myriads,

Or whiten with their bones the banks of Ganges;

Nor decimated them with savage laws, 230

Nor sweated them to build up Pyramids,

Or Babylonian walls.

_Sal._ Yet these are trophies

More worthy of a people and their prince

Than songs, and lutes, and feasts, and concubines,

And lavished treasures, and contemned virtues.

_Sar._ Or for my trophies I have founded cities:

There's Tarsus and Anchialus, both built

In one day--what could that blood-loving beldame,

My martial grandam, chaste Semiramis,

Do more, except destroy them?

_Sal._ 'Tis most true; 240

I own thy merit in those founded cities,

Built for a whim, recorded with a verse

Which shames both them and thee to coming ages.

_Sar._ Shame me! By Baal, the cities, though well built,

Are not more goodly than the verse! Say what

Thou wilt 'gainst me, my mode of life or rule,

But nothing 'gainst the truth of that brief record.

Why, those few lines contain the history

Of all things human: hear--"Sardanapalus,

The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes, 250

In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus.

Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip."[10]

_Sal._ A worthy moral, and a wise inscription,

For a king to put up before his subjects!

_Sar._ Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set up edicts--

"Obey the king--contribute to his treasure--

Recruit his phalanx--spill your blood at bidding--

Fall down and worship, or get up and toil."

Or thus--"Sardanapalus on this spot

Slew fifty thousand of his enemies. 260

These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy."

I leave such things to conquerors; enough

For me, if I can make my subjects feel

The weight of human misery less, and glide

Ungroaning to the tomb: I take no license

Which I deny to them. We all are men.

_Sal._ Thy Sires have been revered as Gods--

_Sar._ In dust

And death, where they are neither Gods nor men.

Talk not of such to me! the worms are Gods;[11]

At least they banqueted upon your Gods, 270

And died for lack of farther nutriment.

Those Gods were merely men; look to their issue--

I feel a thousand mortal things about me,

But nothing godlike,--unless it may be

The thing which you condemn, a disposition

To love and to be merciful, to pardon

The follies of my species, and (that's human)

To be indulgent to my own.

_Sal._ Alas!

The doom of Nineveh is sealed.--Woe--woe

To the unrivalled city!

_Sar._ What dost dread? 280

_Sal._ Thou art guarded by thy foes: in a few hours

The tempest may break out which overwhelms thee,

And thine and mine; and in another day

What _is_ shall be the past of Belus' race.

_Sar._ What must we dread?

_Sal._ Ambitious treachery,

Which has environed thee with snares; but yet

There is resource: empower me with thy signet

To quell the machinations, and I lay

The heads of thy chief foes before thy feet.

_Sar._ The heads--how many?

_Sal._ Must I stay to number 290

When even thine own's in peril? Let me go;

Give me thy signet--trust me with the rest.

_Sar._ I will trust no man with unlimited lives.

When we take those from others, we nor know

What we have taken, nor the thing we give.

_Sal._ Wouldst thou not take their lives who seek for thine?

_Sar._ That's a hard question--But I answer, Yes.

Cannot the thing be done without? Who are they

Whom thou suspectest?--Let them be arrested.

_Sal._ I would thou wouldst not ask me; the next moment 300

Will send my answer through thy babbling troop

Of paramours, and thence fly o'er the palace,

Even to the city, and so baffle all.--

Trust me.

_Sar._ Thou knowest I have done so ever;

Take thou the signet. [_Gives the signet_.

_Sal._ I have one more request.

_Sar._ Name it.

_Sal._ That thou this night forbear the banquet

In the pavilion over the Euphrates.

_Sar._ Forbear the banquet! Not for all the plotters

That ever shook a kingdom! Let them come,

And do their worst: I shall not blench for them; 310

Nor rise the sooner; nor forbear the goblet;

Nor crown me with a single rose the less;

Nor lose one joyous hour.--I fear them not.

_Sal._ But thou wouldst arm thee, wouldst thou not, if needful?

_Sar._ Perhaps. I have the goodliest armour, and

A sword of such a temper, and a bow,

And javelin, which might furnish Nimrod forth:

A little heavy, but yet not unwieldy.

And now I think on't, 'tis long since I've used them,

Even in the chase. Hast ever seen them, brother? 320

_Sal._ Is this a time for such fantastic trifling?--

If need be, wilt thou wear them?

_Sar._ Will I not?

Oh! if it must be so, and these rash slaves

Will not be ruled with less, I'll use the sword

Till they shall wish it turned into a distaff.

_Sal._ They say thy Sceptre's turned to that already.

_Sar._ That's false! but let them say so: the old Greeks,

Of whom our captives often sing, related

The same of their chief hero, Hercules,

Because he loved a Lydian queen: thou seest 330

The populace of all the nations seize

Each calumny they can to sink their sovereigns.

_Sal._ They did not speak thus of thy fathers.

_Sar._ No;

They dared not. They were kept to toil and combat;

And never changed their chains but for their armour:

Now they have peace and pastime, and the license

To revel and to rail; it irks me not.

I would not give the smile of one fair girl

For all the popular breath[12] that e'er divided

A name from nothing. What are the rank tongues[13] 340

Of this vile herd, grown insolent with feeding,

That I should prize their noisy praise, or dread

Their noisome clamour?

_Sal._ You have said they are men;

As such their hearts are something.

_Sar._ So my dogs' are;

And better, as more faithful:--but, proceed;

Thou hast my signet:--since they are tumultuous,

Let them be tempered, yet not roughly, till

Necessity enforce it. I hate all pain,

Given or received; we have enough within us,

The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, 350

Not to add to each other's natural burthen

Of mortal misery, but rather lessen,

By mild reciprocal alleviation,

The fatal penalties imposed on life:

But this they know not, or they will not know.

I have, by Baal! done all I could to soothe them:

I made no wars, I added no new imposts,

I interfered not with their civic lives,

I let them pass their days as best might suit them,

Passing my own as suited me.

_Sal._ Thou stopp'st 360

Short of the duties of a king; and therefore

They say thou art unfit to be a monarch.

_Sar._ They lie.--Unhappily, I am unfit

To be aught save a monarch; else for me

The meanest Mede might be the king instead.

_Sal._ There is one Mede, at least, who seeks to be so.

_Sar._ What mean'st thou!--'tis thy secret; thou desirest

Few questions, and I'm not of curious nature.

Take the fit steps; and, since necessity

Requires, I sanction and support thee. Ne'er 370

Was man who more desired to rule in peace

The peaceful only: if they rouse me, better

They had conjured up stern Nimrod from his ashes,

"The Mighty Hunter!" I will turn these realms

To one wide desert chase of brutes, who _were_,

But _would_ no more, by their own choice, be human.

_What_ they have found me, they belie; _that which_

They yet may find me--shall defy their wish

To speak it worse; and let them thank themselves.

_Sal._ Then thou at last canst feel?

_Sar._ Feel! who feels not 380

Ingratitude?[14]

_Sal._ I will not pause to answer

With words, but deeds. Keep thou awake that energy

Which sleeps at times, but is not dead within thee,

And thou may'st yet be glorious in thy reign,

As powerful in thy realm. Farewell! [_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ (_solus_). Farewell!

He's gone; and on his finger bears my signet,

Which is to him a sceptre. He is stern

As I am heedless; and the slaves deserve

To feel a master. What may be the danger,

I know not: he hath found it, let him quell it. 390

Must I consume my life--this little life--

In guarding against all may make it less?

It is not worth so much! It were to die

Before my hour, to live in dread of death,

Tracing revolt; suspecting all about me,

Because they are near; and all who are remote,

Because they are far. But if it should be so--

If they should sweep me off from Earth and Empire,

Why, what is Earth or Empire of the Earth?

I have loved, and lived, and multiplied my image; 400

To die is no less natural than those

Acts of this clay! 'Tis true I have not shed

Blood as I might have done, in oceans, till

My name became the synonyme of Death--

A terror and a trophy. But for this

I feel no penitence; my life is love:

If I must shed blood, it shall be by force.

Till now, no drop from an Assyrian vein

Hath flowed for me, nor hath the smallest coin

Of Nineveh's vast treasures e'er been lavished 410

On objects which could cost her sons a tear:

If then they hate me, 'tis because I hate not:

If they rebel, 'tis because I oppress not.

Oh, men! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres,

And mowed down like the grass, else all we reap

Is rank abundance, and a rotten harvest

Of discontents infecting the fair soil,

Making a desert of fertility.--

I'll think no more.--Within there, ho!

_Enter an_ ATTENDANT.

_Sar._ Slave, tell

The Ionian Myrrha we would crave her presence. 420

_Attend._ King, she is here.

MYRRHA _enters_.

_Sar._ (_apart to Attendant_). Away!

(_Addressing_ MYRRHA.) Beautiful being!

Thou dost almost anticipate my heart;

It throbbed for thee, and here thou comest: let me

Deem that some unknown influence, some sweet oracle,

Communicates between us, though unseen,

In absence, and attracts us to each other.

_Myr._ There doth.

_Sar._ I know there doth, but not its name:

What is it?

_Myr._ In my native land a God,

And in my heart a feeling like a God's,

Exalted; yet I own 'tis only mortal; 430

For what I feel is humble, and yet happy--

That is, it would be happy; but---- [MYRRHA _pauses_.

_Sar._ There comes

For ever something between us and what

We deem our happiness: let me remove

The barrier which that hesitating accent

Proclaims to thine, and mine is sealed.

_Myr._ My Lord!--

_Sar._ My Lord--my King--Sire--Sovereign; thus it is--

For ever thus, addressed with awe. I ne'er

Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet's

Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons 440

Have gorged themselves up to equality,

Or I have quaffed me down to their abasement.

Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names,

Lord--King--Sire--Monarch--nay, time was I prized them;

That is, I suffered them--from slaves and nobles;

But when they falter from the lips I love,

The lips which have been pressed to mine, a chill

Comes o'er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood

Of this my station, which represses feeling

In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me 450

Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara,

And share a cottage on the Caucasus

With thee--and wear no crowns but those of flowers.

_Myr._ Would that we could!

_Sar._ And dost _thou_ feel this?--Why?

_Myr._ Then thou wouldst know what thou canst never know.

_Sar._ And that is----

_Myr._ The true value of a heart;

At least, a woman's.

_Sar._ I have proved a thousand--A

thousand, and a thousand.

_Myr._ Hearts?

_Sar._ I think so.

_Myr._ Not one! the time may come thou may'st.

_Sar._ It will.

Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared-- 460

Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus,

Who founded our great realm, knows more than I--

But Salemenes hath declared my throne

In peril.

_Myr._ He did well.

_Sar._ And say'st _thou_ so?

Thou whom he spurned so harshly, and now dared[g]

Drive from our presence with his savage jeers,

And made thee weep and blush?

_Myr._ I should do both

More frequently, and he did well to call me

Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril

Peril to thee----

_Sar._ Aye, from dark plots and snares 470

From Medes--and discontented troops and nations.

I know not what--a labyrinth of things--

A maze of muttered threats and mysteries:

Thou know'st the man--it is his usual custom.

But he is honest. Come, we'll think no more on't--

But of the midnight festival.

_Myr._ 'Tis time

To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not

Spurned his sage cautions?

_Sar._ What?--and dost thou fear?

_Myr._ Fear!--I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death?

A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? 480

_Sar._ Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale?

_Myr._ I love.

_Sar._ And do not I? I love thee far--far more

Than either the brief life or the wide realm,

Which, it may be, are menaced;--yet I blench not.

_Myr._ That means thou lovest nor thyself nor me;

For he who loves another loves himself,

Even for that other's sake. This is too rash:

Kingdoms and lives are not to be so lost.

_Sar._ Lost!--why, who is the aspiring chief who dared

Assume to win them?

_Myr._ Who is he should dread 490

To try so much? When he who is their ruler

Forgets himself--will they remember him?

_Sar._ Myrrha!

_Myr._ Frown not upon me: you have smiled

Too often on me not to make those frowns

Bitterer to bear than any punishment

Which they may augur.--King, I am your subject!

Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!--

Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness,

Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs--

A slave, and hating fetters--an Ionian, 500

And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more

Degraded by that passion than by chains!

Still I have loved you. If that love were strong

Enough to overcome all former nature,

Shall it not claim the privilege to save you?

_Sar._ _Save_ me, my beauty! Thou art very fair,

And what I seek of thee is love--not safety.

_Myr._ And without love where dwells security?

_Sar._ I speak of woman's love.

_Myr._ The very first

Of human life must spring from woman's breast, 510

Your first small words are taught you from her lips,

Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs

Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing,

When men have shrunk from the ignoble care

Of watching the last hour of him who led them.

_Sar._ My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music:

The very chorus of the tragic song

I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime

Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not--calm thee.

_Myr._ I weep not.--But I pray thee, do not speak 520

About my fathers or their land.

_Sar._ Yet oft

Thou speakest of them.

_Myr._ True--true: constant thought

Will overflow in words unconsciously;

But when another speaks of Greeks, it wounds me.

_Sar._ Well, then, how wouldst thou _save_ me, as thou saidst?

_Myr._ By teaching thee to save thyself, and not

Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all

The rage of the worst war--the war of brethren.

_Sar._ Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors;

I live in peace and pleasure: what can man 530

Do more?

_Myr._ Alas! my Lord, with common men

There needs too oft the show of war to keep

The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king,

'Tis sometimes better to be feared than loved.

_Sar._ And I have never sought but for the last.

_Myr._ And now art neither.

_Sar._ Dost _thou_ say so, Myrrha?

_Myr._ I speak of civic popular love, _self_-love,

Which means that men are kept in awe and law,

Yet not oppressed--at least they must not think so,

Or, if they think so, deem it necessary, 540

To ward off worse oppression, their own passions.

A King of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel,

And love, and mirth, was never King of Glory.

_Sar._ Glory! what's that?

_Myr._ Ask of the Gods thy fathers.

_Sar._ They cannot answer; when the priests speak for them,

'Tis for some small addition to the temple.

_Myr._ Look to the annals of thine Empire's founders.

_Sar._ They are so blotted o'er with blood, I cannot.

But what wouldst have? the Empire _has been_ founded.

I cannot go on multiplying empires. 550

_Myr._ Preserve thine own.

_Sar._ At least, I will enjoy it.

Come, Myrrha, let us go on to the Euphrates:

The hour invites, the galley is prepared,

And the pavilion, decked for our return,

In fit adornment for the evening banquet,

Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until

It seems unto the stars which are above us

Itself an opposite star; and we will sit

Crowned with fresh flowers like----

_Myr._ Victims.

_Sar._ No, like sovereigns,

The Shepherd Kings of patriarchal times, 560

Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths,[h]

And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on.

_Enter_ PANIA.

_Pan._ May the King live for ever!

_Sar._ Not an hour

Longer than he can love. How my soul hates

This language, which makes life itself a lie,

Flattering dust with eternity.[i] Well, Pania!

Be brief.

_Pan._ I am charged by Salemenes to

Reiterate his prayer unto the King,

That for this day, at least, he will not quit

The palace: when the General returns, 570

He will adduce such reasons as will warrant

His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon

Of his presumption.

_Sar._ What! am I then cooped?

Already captive? can I not even breathe

The breath of heaven? Tell prince Salemenes,

Were all Assyria raging round the walls

In mutinous myriads, I would still go forth.

_Pan._ I must obey, and yet----

_Myr._ Oh, Monarch, listen.--

How many a day and moon thou hast reclined

Within these palace walls in silken dalliance, 580

And never shown thee to thy people's longing;

Leaving thy subjects' eyes ungratified,

The satraps uncontrolled, the Gods unworshipped,

And all things in the anarchy of sloth,

Till all, save evil, slumbered through the realm!

And wilt thou not now tarry for a day,--

A day which may redeem thee? Wilt thou not

Yield to the few still faithful a few hours,

For them, for thee, for thy past fathers' race,

And for thy sons' inheritance?

_Pan._ 'Tis true! 590

From the deep urgency with which the Prince

Despatched me to your sacred presence, I

Must dare to add my feeble voice to that

Which now has spoken.

_Sar._ No, it must not be.

_Myr._ For the sake of thy realm!

_Sar._ Away!

_Pan._ For that

Of all thy faithful subjects, who will rally

Round thee and thine.

_Sar._ These are mere fantasies:

There is no peril:--'tis a sullen scheme

Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal,

And show himself more necessary to us. 600

_Myr._ By all that's good and glorious take this counsel.

_Sar._ Business to-morrow.

_Myr._ Aye--or death to-night.

_Sar._ Why let it come then unexpectedly,

'Midst joy and gentleness, and mirth and love;

So let me fall like the plucked rose!--far better

Thus than be withered.

_Myr._ Then thou wilt not yield,

Even for the sake of all that ever stirred

A monarch into action, to forego

A trifling revel.

_Sar._ No.

_Myr._ Then yield for _mine_;

For my sake!

_Sar._ Thine, my Myrrha!

_Myr._ 'Tis the first 610

Boon which I ever asked Assyria's king.

_Sar._ That's true, and, wer't my kingdom, must be granted.

Well, for thy sake, I yield me. Pania, hence!

Thou hear'st me.

_Pan._ And obey. [_Exit_ PANIA.

_Sar._ I marvel at thee.

What is thy motive, Myrrha, thus to urge me?

_Myr._ Thy safety; and the certainty that nought

Could urge the Prince thy kinsman to require

Thus much from thee, but some impending danger.

_Sar._ And if I do not dread it, why shouldst thou?

_Myr._ Because _thou_ dost not fear, I fear for _thee_. 620

_Sar._ To-morrow thou wilt smile at these vain fancies.

_Myr._ If the worst come, I shall be where none weep,

And that is better than the power to smile.

And thou?

_Sar._ I shall be King, as heretofore.

_Myr._ Where?

_Sar._ With Baal, Nimrod, and Semiramis,

Sole in Assyria, or with them elsewhere.

Fate made me what I am--may make me nothing--

But either that or nothing must I be:

I will not live degraded.

_Myr._ Hadst thou felt

Thus always, none would ever dare degrade thee. 630

_Sar._ And who will do so now?

_Myr._ Dost thou suspect none?

_Sar._ Suspect!--that's a spy's office. Oh! we lose

Ten thousand precious moments in vain words,

And vainer fears. Within there!--ye slaves, deck

The Hall of Nimrod for the evening revel;

If I must make a prison of our palace,

At least we'll wear our fetters jocundly;

If the Euphrates be forbid us, and

The summer-dwelling on its beauteous border,

Here we are still unmenaced. Ho! within there! 640

[_Exit_ SARDANAPALUS.

_Myr._ (_solus_).

Why do I love this man? My country's daughters

Love none but heroes. But I have no country!

The slave hath lost all save her bonds. I love him;

And that's the heaviest link of the long chain--

To love whom we esteem not. Be it so:

The hour is coming when he'll need all love,

And find none. To fall from him now were baser

Than to have stabbed him on his throne when highest

Would have been noble in my country's creed:

I was not made for either. Could I save him, 650

I should not love _him_ better, but myself;

And I have need of the last, for I have fallen

In my own thoughts, by loving this soft stranger:

And yet, methinks, I love him more, perceiving

That he is hated of his own barbarians,

The natural foes of all the blood of Greece.

Could I but wake a single thought like those

Which even the Phrygians felt when battling long

'Twixt Ilion and the sea, within his heart,

He would tread down the barbarous crowds, and triumph. 660

He loves me, and I love him; the slave loves

Her master, and would free him from his vices.

If not, I have a means of freedom still,

And if I cannot teach him how to reign,

May show him how alone a King can leave

His throne. I must not lose him from my sight. [_Exit_.

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_The Portal of the same Hall of the Palace_.

_Beleses_ (_solus_).

The Sun goes down: methinks he sets more slowly,

Taking his last look of Assyria's Empire.

How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds,

Like the blood he predicts. If not in vain,

Thou Sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise,

I have outwatched ye, reading ray by ray

The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble[j]

For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest

Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm!

An earthquake should announce so great a fall-- 10

A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk,

To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon

Its everlasting page the end of what

Seemed everlasting; but oh! thou true Sun!

The burning oracle of all that live,

As fountain of all life, and symbol of

Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit

Thy lore unto calamity? Why not

Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine

All-glorious burst from ocean? why not dart 20

A beam of hope athwart the future years,

As of wrath to its days? Hear me! oh, hear me!

I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant--

I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,

And bowed my head beneath thy mid-day beams,

When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watched

For thee, and after thee, and prayed to thee,

And sacrificed to thee, and read, and feared thee,

And asked of thee, and thou hast answered--but

Only to thus much: while I speak, he sinks-- 30

Is gone--and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,

To the delighted West, which revels in

Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is

Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset;

And mortals may be happy to resemble

The Gods but in decay.

_Enter_ ARBACES _by an inner door_.

_Arb._ Beleses, why

So wrapt in thy devotions? Dost thou stand

Gazing to trace thy disappearing God

Into some realm of undiscovered day?

Our business is with night--'tis come.

_Bel._ But not 40

Gone.

_Arb._ Let it roll on--we are ready.

_Bel._ Yes.

Would it were over!

_Arb._ Does the prophet doubt,

To whom the very stars shine Victory?

_Bel._ I do not doubt of Victory--but the Victor.

_Arb._ Well, let thy science settle that. Meantime

I have prepared as many glittering spears

As will out-sparkle our allies--your planets.

There is no more to thwart us. The she-king,

That less than woman, is even now upon

The waters with his female mates. The order 50

Is issued for the feast in the pavilion.

The first cup which he drains will be the last

Quaffed by the line of Nimrod.

_Bel._ 'Twas a brave one.

_Arb._ And is a weak one--'tis worn out--we'll mend it.

_Bel._ Art sure of that?

_Arb._ Its founder was a hunter--

I am a soldier--what is there to fear?

_Bel._ The soldier.

_Arb._ And the priest, it may be: but

If you thought thus, or think, why not retain

Your king of concubines? why stir me up?

Why spur me to this enterprise? your own 60

No less than mine?

_Bel._ Look to the sky!

_Arb._ I look.

_Bel._ What seest thou?

_Arb._ A fair summer's twilight, and

The gathering of the stars.

_Bel._ And midst them, mark

Yon earliest, and the brightest, which so quivers,

As it would quit its place in the blue ether.

_Arb._ Well?

_Bel._ 'Tis thy natal ruler--thy birth planet.

_Arb._ (_touching his scabbard_).

My star is in this scabbard: when it shines,

It shall out-dazzle comets. Let us think

Of what is to be done to justify

Thy planets and their portents. When we conquer, 70

They shall have temples--aye, and priests--and thou

Shalt be the pontiff of--what Gods thou wilt;

For I observe that they are ever just,

And own the bravest for the most devout.

_Bel._ Aye, and the most devout for brave--thou hast not

Seen me turn back from battle.

_Arb._ No; I own thee

As firm in fight as Babylonia's captain,

As skilful in Chaldea's worship: now,

Will it but please thee to forget the priest,

And be the warrior?

_Bel._ Why not both?

_Arb._ The better; 80

And yet it almost shames me, we shall have

So little to effect. This woman's warfare

Degrades the very conqueror. To have plucked

A bold and bloody despot from his throne,

And grappled with him, clashing steel with steel,

That were heroic or to win or fall;

But to upraise my sword against this silkworm,[15]

And hear him whine, it may be----

_Bel._ Do not deem it:

He has that in him which may make you strife yet;

And were he all you think, his guards are hardy, 90

And headed by the cool, stern Salemenes.

_Arb._ They'll not resist.

_Bel._ Why not? they are soldiers.

_Arb._ True,

And therefore need a soldier to command them.

_Bel._ That Salemenes is.

_Arb._ But not their King.

Besides, he hates the effeminate thing that governs,

For the Queen's sake, his sister. Mark you not

He keeps aloof from all the revels?

_Bel._ But

Not from the council--there he is ever constant.

_Arb._ And ever thwarted: what would you have more

To make a rebel out of? A fool reigning, 100

His blood dishonoured, and himself disdained:

Why, it is _his_ revenge we work for.

_Bel._ Could

He but be brought to think so: this I doubt of.

_Arb._ What, if we sound him?

_Bel._ Yes--if the time served.

_Enter_ BALEA.

_Bal._ Satraps! The king commands your presence at

The feast to-night.

_Bel._ To hear is to obey.

In the pavilion?

_Bal._ No; here in the palace.

_Arb._ How! in the palace? it was not thus ordered.

_Bal._ It is so ordered now.

_Arb._ And why?

_Bal._ I know not.

May I retire?

_Arb._ Stay.

_Bel._ (_to Arb. aside_). Hush! let him go his way. 110

(_Alternately to Bal._) Yes, Balea, thank the Monarch, kiss the hem

Of his imperial robe, and say, his slaves

Will take the crumbs he deigns to scatter from

His royal table at the hour--was't midnight?

_Bal._ It was: the place, the hall of Nimrod. Lords,

I humble me before you, and depart. [_Exit_ BALEA.

_Arb._ I like not this same sudden change of place;

There is some mystery: wherefore should he change it?

_Bel._ Doth he not change a thousand times a day?

Sloth is of all things the most fanciful-- 120

And moves more parasangs in its intents

Than generals in their marches, when they seek

To leave their foe at fault.--Why dost thou muse?

_Arb._ He loved that gay pavilion,--it was ever

His summer dotage.

_Bel._ And he loved his Queen--

And thrice a thousand harlotry besides--

And he has loved all things by turns, except

Wisdom and Glory.

_Arb._ Still--I like it not.

If he has changed--why, so must we: the attack

Were easy in the isolated bower, 130

Beset with drowsy guards and drunken courtiers;

But in the hall of Nimrod----

_Bel._ Is it so?

Methought the haughty soldier feared to mount

A throne too easily--does it disappoint thee

To find there is a slipperier step or two

Than what was counted on?

_Arb._ When the hour comes,

Thou shall perceive how far I fear or no.

Thou hast seen my life at stake--and gaily played for:

But here is more upon the die--a kingdom.

_Bel._ I have foretold already--thou wilt win it: 140

Then on, and prosper.

_Arb._ Now were I a soothsayer,

I would have boded so much to myself.

But be the stars obeyed--I cannot quarrel

With them, nor their interpreter. Who's here?

_Enter_ SALEMENES.

_Sal._ Satraps!

_Bel._ My Prince!

_Sal._ Well met--I sought ye both,

But elsewhere than the palace.

_Arb._ Wherefore so?

_Sal._ 'Tis not the hour.

_Arb._ The hour!--what hour?

_Sal._ Of midnight.

_Bel._ Midnight, my Lord!

_Sal._ What, are you not invited?

_Bel._ Oh! yes--we had forgotten.

_Sal._ Is it usual

Thus to forget a Sovereign's invitation?

_Arb._ Why--we but now received it. 150

_Sal._ Then why here?

_Arb._ On duty.

_Sal._ On what duty?

_Bel._ On the state's.

We have the privilege to approach the presence;

But found the Monarch absent.[k]

_Sal._ And I too

Am upon duty.

_Arb._ May we crave its purport?

_Sal._ To arrest two traitors. Guards! Within there!

_Enter Guards_.

_Sal._ (_continuing_). Satraps,

Your swords.

_Bel._ (_delivering his_). My lord, behold my scimitar.

_Arb._ (_drawing his sword_). Take mine.

_Sal._ (_advancing_). I will.

_Arb._ But in your heart the blade--

The hilt quits not this hand.[l]

_Sal._ (_drawing_). How! dost thou brave me?

Tis well--this saves a trial, and false mercy. 160

Soldiers, hew down the rebel!

_Arb._ Soldiers! Aye--

_Alone, you_ dare not.

_Sal._ Alone! foolish slave--

What is there in thee that a Prince should shrink from

Of open force? We dread thy treason, not

Thy strength: thy tooth is nought without its venom--

The serpent's, not the lion's. Cut him down.

_Bel._ (_interposing_). Arbaces! Are you mad? Have I not rendered

_My_ sword? Then trust like me our Sovereign's justice.

_Arb._ No--I will sooner trust the stars thou prat'st of,

And this slight arm, and die a king at least 170

Of my own breath and body--so far that

None else shall chain them.

_Sal._ (_to the Guards_). You hear _him_ and _me_.

Take him not,--kill.

[_The Guards attack_ ARBACES, _who defends himself

valiantly and dexterously till they waver_.

_Sal._ Is it even so; and must

I do the hangman's office? Recreants! see

How you should fell a traitor.

[SALEMENES _attacks_ ARBACES.

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS _and Train_.

_Sar._ Hold your hands--

Upon your lives, I say. What, deaf or drunken?

My sword! O fool, I wear no sword: here, fellow,

Give me thy weapon. [_To a Guard_.

[SARDANAPALUS _snatches a sword from one of the soldiers,

and rushes between the combatants--they separate_.

_Sar._ In my very palace!

What hinders me from cleaving you in twain,

Audacious brawlers?

_Bel._ Sire, your justice.

_Sal._ Or-- 180

Your weakness.

_Sar._ (_raising the sword_). How?

_Sal._ Strike! so the blow's repeated

Upon yon traitor--whom you spare a moment,

I trust, for torture--I'm content.

_Sar._ What--him!

Who dares assail Arbaces?

_Sal._ I!

_Sar._ Indeed!

Prince, you forget yourself. Upon what warrant?

_Sal._ (_showing the signet_). Thine.

_Arb._ (_confused_). The King's!

_Sal._ Yes! and let the King confirm it.

_Sar._ I parted not from this for such a purpose.

_Sal._ You parted with it for your safety--I

Employed it for the best. Pronounce in person.

Here I am but your slave--a moment past 190

I was your representative.

_Sar._ Then sheathe

Your swords.

[ARBACES _and_ SALEMENES _return their swords to the scabbards_.

_Sal._ Mine's sheathed: I pray you sheathe _not_ yours:

Tis the sole sceptre left you now with safety.

_Sar._ A heavy one; the hilt, too, hurts my hand.

(_To a Guard_.) Here, fellow, take thy weapon back. Well, sirs,

What doth this mean?

_Bel._ The Prince must answer that.

_Sal._ Truth upon my part, treason upon theirs.

_Sar._ Treason--Arbaces! treachery and Beleses!

That were an union I will not believe.

_Bel._ Where is the proof?

_Sal._ I'll answer that, if once 200

The king demands your fellow-traitor's sword.

_Arb._ (_to Sal._). A sword which hath been drawn as oft as thine

Against his foes.

_Sal._ And now against his brother,

And in an hour or so against himself.

_Sar._ That is not possible: he dared not; no--

No--I'll not hear of such things. These vain bickerings

Are spawned in courts by base intrigues, and baser

Hirelings, who live by lies on good men's lives.

You must have been deceived, my brother.

_Sal._ First

Let him deliver up his weapon, and 210

Proclaim himself your subject by that duty,

And I will answer all.

_Sar._ Why, if I thought so--

But no, it cannot be: the Mede Arbaces--

The trusty, rough, true soldier--the best captain

Of all who discipline our nations----No,

I'll not insult him thus, to bid him render

The scimitar to me he never yielded

Unto our enemies. Chief, keep your weapon.

_Sal._ (_delivering back the signet_).

Monarch, take back your signet.

_Sar._ No, retain it;

But use it with more moderation.

_Sal._ Sire, 200

I used it for your honour, and restore it

Because I cannot keep it with my own.

Bestow it on Arbaces.

_Sar._ So I should:

He never asked it.

_Sal._ Doubt not, he will have it,

Without that hollow semblance of respect.

_Bel._ I know not what hath prejudiced the Prince

So strongly 'gainst two subjects, than whom none

Have been more zealous for Assyria's weal.

_Sal._ Peace, factious priest, and faithless soldier! thou

Unit'st in thy own person the worst vices 230

Of the most dangerous orders of mankind.

Keep thy smooth words and juggling homilies

For those who know thee not. Thy fellow's sin

Is, at the least, a bold one, and not tempered

By the tricks taught thee in Chaldea.

_Bel._ Hear him,

My liege--the son of Belus! he blasphemes

The worship of the land, which bows the knee

Before your fathers.

_Sar._ Oh! for that I pray you

Let him have absolution. I dispense with

The worship of dead men; feeling that I 240

Am mortal, and believing that the race

From whence I sprung are--what I see them--ashes.

_Bel._ King! Do not deem so: they are with the stars,

And----

_Sar._ You shall join them ere they will rise,

If you preach farther--Why, _this_ is rank treason.

_Sal._ My lord!

_Sar._ To school me in the worship of

Assyria's idols! Let him be released--

Give him his sword.

_Sal._ My Lord, and King, and Brother,

I pray ye pause.

_Sar._ Yes, and be sermonised,

And dinned, and deafened with dead men and Baal, 250

And all Chaldea's starry mysteries.

_Bel._ Monarch! respect them.

_Sar._ Oh! for that--I love them;

I love to watch them in the deep blue vault,

And to compare them with my Myrrha's eyes;

I love to see their rays redoubled in

The tremulous silver of Euphrates' wave,

As the light breeze of midnight crisps the broad

And rolling water, sighing through the sedges

Which fringe his banks: but whether they may be

Gods, as some say, or the abodes of Gods, 260

As others hold, or simply lamps of night,

Worlds--or the lights of Worlds--I know nor care not.

There's something sweet in my uncertainty

I would not change for your Chaldean lore;

Besides, I know of these all clay can know

Of aught above it, or below it--nothing.

I see their brilliancy and feel their beauty[m]--

When they shine on my grave I shall know neither.

_Bel._ For _neither_, Sire, say _better_.

_Sar._ I will wait,

If it so please you, Pontiff, for that knowledge. 270

In the mean time receive your sword, and know

That I prefer your service militant

Unto your ministry--not loving either.

_Sal._ (_aside_). His lusts have made him mad. Then must I save him,

Spite of himself.

_Sar._ Please you to hear me, Satraps!

And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee

More than the soldier; and would doubt thee all

Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part

In peace--I'll not say pardon--which must be

Earned by the guilty; this I'll not pronounce ye, 280

Although upon this breath of mine depends

Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears.

But fear not--for that I am soft, not fearful--

And so live on. Were I the thing some think me,

Your heads would now be dripping the last drops

Of their attainted gore from the high gates

Of this our palace, into the dry dust,

Their only portion of the coveted kingdom

They would be crowned to reign o'er--let that pass.

As I have said, I will not _deem_ ye guilty, 290

Nor _doom_ ye guiltless. Albeit better men

Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you;

And should I leave your fate to sterner judges,

And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice

Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were

Once honest. Ye are free, sirs.

_Arb._ Sire, this clemency----

_Bel._ (_interrupting him_).

Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent,

We thank----

_Sar._ Priest! keep your thanksgivings for Belus;

His offspring needs none.

_Bel._ But being innocent----

_Sar._ Be silent.--Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal, 300

Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful.

_Bel._ So we should be, were justice always done

By earthly power omnipotent; but Innocence

Must oft receive her right as a mere favour.

_Sar._ That's a good sentence for a homily,

Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it

To plead thy Sovereign's cause before his people.

_Bel._ I trust there is no cause.

_Sar._ No _cause_, perhaps;

But many causers:--if ye meet with such

In the exercise of your inquisitive function 310

On earth, or should you read of it in heaven

In some mysterious twinkle of the stars,

Which are your chronicles, I pray you note,

That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven

Than him who ruleth many and slays none;

And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows

Enough to spare even those who would not spare him

Were they once masters--but that's doubtful. Satraps!

Your swords and persons are at liberty

To use them as ye will--but from this hour 320

I have no call for either. Salemenes!

Follow me.

[_Exeunt_ SARDANAPALUS, SALEMENES, _and the Train, etc.,

leaving_ ARBACES _and_ BELESES.

_Arb._ Beleses!

_Bel._ Now, what think you?

_Arb._ That we are lost.

_Bel._ That we have won the kingdom.

_Arb._ What? thus suspected--with the sword slung o'er us

But by a single hair, and that still wavering,

To be blown down by his imperious breath

Which spared us--why, I know not.

_Bel._ Seek not why;

But let us profit by the interval.[n]

The hour is still our own--our power the same--

The night the same we destined. He hath changed 330

Nothing except our ignorance of all

Suspicion into such a certainty

As must make madness of delay.

_Arb._ And yet--

_Bel._ What, doubting still?

_Arb._ He spared our lives, nay, more,

Saved them from Salemenes.

_Bel._ And how long

Will he so spare? till the first drunken minute.

_Arb._ Or sober, rather. Yet he did it nobly;

Gave royally what we had forfeited

Basely----

_Bel._ Say bravely.

_Arb._ Somewhat of both, perhaps--

But it has touched me, and, whate'er betide, 340

I will no further on.

_Bel._ And lose the world!

_Arb._ Lose any thing except my own esteem.

_Bel._ I blush that we should owe our lives to such

A king of distaffs!

_Arb._ But no less we owe them;

And I should blush far more to take the grantor's![16]

_Bel._ Thou may'st endure whate'er thou wilt--the stars

Have written otherwise.

_Arb._ Though they came down,

And marshalled me the way in all their brightness,

I would not follow.

_Bel._ This is weakness--worse

Than a scared beldam's dreaming of the dead, 350

And waking in the dark.--Go to--go to.

_Arb._ Methought he looked like Nimrod as he spoke,

Even as the proud imperial statue stands

Looking the monarch of the kings around it,

And sways, while they but ornament, the temple.

_Bel._ I told you that you had too much despised him,

And that there was some royalty within him--What

then? he is the nobler foe.

_Arb._ But we

The meaner.--Would he had not spared us!

_Bel._ So--

Wouldst thou be sacrificed thus readily? 360

_Arb._ No--but it had been better to have died

Than live ungrateful.

_Bel._ Oh, the souls of some men!

Thou wouldst digest what some call treason, and

Fools treachery--and, behold, upon the sudden,

Because for something or for nothing, this

Rash reveller steps, ostentatiously,

'Twixt thee and Salemenes, thou art turned

Into--what shall I say?--Sardanapalus!

I know no name more ignominious.

_Arb._ But

An hour ago, who dared to term me such 370

Had held his life but lightly--as it is,

I must forgive you, even as he forgave us--

Semiramis herself would not have done it.

_Bel._ No--the Queen liked no sharers of the kingdom,

Not even a husband.[17]

_Arb._ I must serve him truly----

_Bel._ And humbly?

_Arb._ No, sir, proudly--being honest.

I shall be nearer thrones than you to heaven;

And if not quite so haughty, yet more lofty.

You may do your own deeming--you have codes,

And mysteries, and corollaries of 380

Right and wrong, which I lack for my direction,

And must pursue but what a plain heart teaches.

And now you know me.

_Bel._ Have you finished?

_Arb._ Yes--

With you.

_Bel._ And would, perhaps, betray as well

As quit me?

_Arb._ That's a sacerdotal thought,

And not a soldier's.

_Bel._ Be it what you will--

Truce with these wranglings, and but hear me.

_Arb._ No--

There is more peril in your subtle spirit

Than in a phalanx.

_Bel._ If it must be so--

I'll on alone.

_Arb._ Alone!

_Bel._ Thrones hold but one. 390

_Arb._ But this is filled.

_Bel._ With worse than vacancy--

A despised monarch. Look to it, Arbaces:

I have still aided, cherished, loved, and urged you;

Was willing even to serve you, in the hope

To serve and save Assyria. Heaven itself

Seemed to consent, and all events were friendly,

Even to the last, till that your spirit shrunk

Into a shallow softness; but now, rather

Than see my country languish, I will be

Her saviour or the victim of her tyrant-- 400

Or one or both--for sometimes both are one;

And if I win--Arbaces is my servant.

_Arb._ _Your_ servant!

_Bel._ Why not? better than be slave,

The _pardoned_ slave of _she_ Sardanapalus!

_Enter_ PANIA.

_Pan._ My Lords, I bear an order from the king.

_Arb._ It is obeyed ere spoken.

_Bel._ Notwithstanding,

Let's hear it.

_Pan._ Forthwith, on this very night,

Repair to your respective satrapies

Of Babylon and Media.

_Bel._ With our troops?

_Pan._ My order is unto the Satraps and 410

Their household train.

_Arb._ But----

_Bel._ It must be obeyed:

Say, we depart.

_Pan._ My order is to see you

Depart, and not to bear your answer.

_Bel._ (_aside_). Aye[o]!

Well, Sir--we will accompany you hence.

_Pan._ I will retire to marshal forth the guard

Of honour which befits your rank, and wait

Your leisure, so that it the hour exceeds not.

[_Exit_ PANIA.

_Bel._ Now then obey!

_Arb._ Doubtless.

_Bel._ Yes, to the gates

That grate the palace, which is now our prison--

No further.

_Arb._ Thou hast harped the truth indeed! 420

The realm itself, in all its wide extension,

Yawns dungeons at each step for thee and me.

_Bel._ Graves!

_Arb._ If I thought so, this good sword should dig

One more than mine.

_Bel._ It shall have work enough.

Let me hope better than thou augurest;

At present, let us hence as best we may.

Thou dost agree with me in understanding

This order as a sentence?

_Arb._ Why, what other

Interpretation should it bear? it is

The very policy of Orient monarchs-- 430

Pardon and poison--favours and a sword--

A distant voyage, and an eternal sleep.

How many Satraps in his father's time--

For he I own is, or at least _was_, bloodless--

_Bel._ But _will_ not--_can_ not be so now.

_Arb._ I doubt it.

How many Satraps have I seen set out

In his Sire's day for mighty Vice-royalties,

Whose tombs are on their path! I know not how,

But they all sickened by the way, it was

So long and heavy.

_Bel._ Let us but regain 440

The free air of the city, and we'll shorten

The journey.

_Arb._ 'Twill be shortened at the gates,

It may be.

_Bel._ No; they hardly will risk that.

They mean us to die privately, but not

Within the palace or the city walls,

Where we are known, and may have partisans:

If they had meant to slay us here, we were

No longer with the living. Let us hence.

_Arb._ If I but thought he did not mean my life--

_Bel._ Fool! hence--what else should despotism alarmed 450

Mean? Let us but rejoin our troops, and march.

_Arb._ Towards our provinces?

_Bel._ No; towards your kingdom.

There's time--there's heart, and hope, and power, and means--

Which their half measures leave us in full scope.--

Away!

_Arb._ And I even yet repenting must

Relapse to guilt!

_Bel._ Self-defence is a virtue,

Sole bulwark of all right. Away, I say!

Let's leave this place, the air grows thick and choking,

And the walls have a scent of night-shade--hence!

Let us not leave them time for further council. 460

Our quick departure proves our civic zeal;

Our quick departure hinders our good escort,

The worthy Pania, from anticipating

The orders of some parasangs from hence:

Nay, there's no other choice, but----hence, I say[p].

[_Exit with_ ARBACES, _who follows reluctantly_.

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS _and_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ Well, all is remedied, and without bloodshed,

That worst of mockeries of a remedy;

We are now secure by these men's exile.

_Sal._ Yes,

As he who treads on flowers is from the adder

Twined round their roots.

_Sar._ Why, what wouldst have me do? 470

_Sal._ Undo what you have done.

_Sar._ Revoke my pardon?

_Sal._ Replace the crown now tottering on your temples.

_Sar._ That were tyrannical.

_Sal._ But sure.

_Sar._ We are so.

What danger can they work upon the frontier?

_Sal._ They are not there yet--never should they be so,

Were I well listened to.

_Sar._ Nay, I _have_ listened

Impartially to thee--why not to them?

_Sal._ You may know that hereafter; as it is,

I take my leave to order forth the guard.

_Sar._ And you will join us at the banquet?

_Sal._ Sire, 480

Dispense with me--I am no wassailer:

Command me in all service save the Bacchant's.

_Sar._ Nay, but 'tis fit to revel now and then.

_Sal._ And fit that some should watch for those who revel

Too oft. Am I permitted to depart?

_Sar._ Yes----Stay a moment, my good Salemenes,

My brother--my best subject--better Prince

Than I am King. You should have been the monarch,

And I--I know not what, and care not; but

Think not I am insensible to all 490

Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough yet kind,

Though oft-reproving sufferance of my follies.

If I have spared these men against thy counsel,

That is, their lives--it is not that I doubt

The advice was sound; but, let them live: we will not

Cavil about their lives--so let them mend them.

Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep,

Which their death had not left me.

_Sal._ Thus you run

The risk to sleep for ever, to save traitors--

A moment's pang now changed for years of crime. 500

Still let them be made quiet.

_Sar._ Tempt me not;

My word is past.

_Sal._ But it may be recalled.

_Sar._ 'Tis royal.

_Sal._ And should therefore be decisive.

This half-indulgence of an exile serves

But to provoke--a pardon should be full,

Or it is none.

_Sar._ And who persuaded me

After I had repealed them, or at least

Only dismissed them from our presence, who

Urged me to send them to their satrapies?

_Sal._ True; that I had forgotten; that is, Sire, 510

If they e'er reached their Satrapies--why, then,

Reprove me more for my advice.

_Sar._ And if

They do not reach them--look to it!--in safety,

In safety, mark me--and security--

Look to thine own.

_Sal._ Permit me to depart;

Their _safety_ shall be cared for.

_Sar._ Get thee hence, then;

And, prithee, think more gently of thy brother.

_Sal._ Sire, I shall ever duly serve my sovereign.

[_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ (_solus_). That man is of a temper too severe;

Hard but as lofty as the rock, and free 520

From all the taints of common earth--while I

Am softer clay, impregnated with flowers:

But as our mould is, must the produce be.

If I have erred this time, 'tis on the side

Where Error sits most lightly on that sense,

I know not what to call it; but it reckons

With me ofttimes for pain, and sometimes pleasure;

A spirit which seems placed about my heart

To count its throbs, not quicken them, and ask

Questions which mortal never dared to ask me, 530

Nor Baal, though an oracular deity--[q]

Albeit his marble face majestical

Frowns as the shadows of the evening dim

His brows to changed expression, till at times

I think the statue looks in act to speak.

Away with these vain thoughts, I will be joyous--

And here comes Joy's true herald.

_Enter_ MYRRHA.

_Myr._ King! the sky

Is overcast, and musters muttering thunder,

In clouds that seem approaching fast, and show

In forked flashes a commanding tempest.[r] 540

Will you then quit the palace?

_Sar._ Tempest, say'st thou?

_Myr._ Aye, my good lord.

_Sar._ For my own part, I should be

Not ill content to vary the smooth scene,

And watch the warring elements; but this

Would little suit the silken garments and

Smooth faces of our festive friends. Say, Myrrha,

Art thou of those who dread the roar of clouds?

_Myr._ In my own country we respect their voices

As auguries of Jove.[s]

_Sar._ Jove!--aye, your Baal--

Ours also has a property in thunder, 550

And ever and anon some falling bolt

Proves his divinity,--and yet sometimes

Strikes his own altars.

_Myr._ That were a dread omen.

_Sar._ Yes--for the priests. Well, we will not go forth

Beyond the palace walls to-night, but make

Our feast within.

_Myr._ Now, Jove be praised! that he

Hath heard the prayer thou wouldst not hear. The Gods

Are kinder to thee than thou to thyself,

And flash this storm between thee and thy foes,

To shield thee from them.

_Sar._ Child, if there be peril, 560

Methinks it is the same within these walls

As on the river's brink.

_Myr._ Not so; these walls

Are high and strong, and guarded. Treason has

To penetrate through many a winding way,

And massy portal; but in the pavilion

There is no bulwark.

_Sar._ No, nor in the palace,

Nor in the fortress, nor upon the top

Of cloud-fenced Caucasus, where the eagle sits

Nested in pathless clefts, if treachery be:

Even as the arrow finds the airy king, 570

The steel will reach the earthly. But be calm;

The men, or innocent or guilty, are

Banished, and far upon their way.

_Myr._ They live, then?

_Sar._ So sanguinary? _Thou!_

_Myr._ I would not shrink

From just infliction of due punishment

On those who seek your life: were't otherwise,

I should not merit mine. Besides, you heard

The princely Salemenes.

_Sar._ This is strange;

The gentle and the austere are both against me,

And urge me to revenge.

_Myr._ 'Tis a Greek virtue. 580

_Sar._ But not a kingly one--I'll none on't; or

If ever I indulge in't, it shall be

With kings--my equals.

_Myr._ These men sought to be so.

_Sar._ Myrrha, this is too feminine, and springs

From fear----

_Myr._ For you.

_Sar._ No matter, still 'tis fear.

I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath,

Are timidly vindictive to a pitch

Of perseverance, which I would not copy.

I thought you were exempt from this, as from

The childish helplessness of Asian women[t]. 590

_Myr._ My Lord, I am no boaster of my love,

Nor of my attributes; I have shared your splendour,

And will partake your fortunes. You may live

To find one slave more true than subject myriads:

But this the Gods avert! I am content

To be beloved on trust for what I feel,

Rather than prove it to you in your griefs[u],

Which might not yield to any cares of mine.

_Sar._ Grief cannot come where perfect love exists,

Except to heighten it, and vanish from 600

That which it could not scare away. Let's in--

The hour approaches, and we must prepare

To meet the invited guests who grace our feast.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_The Hall of the Palace illuminated_--SARDANAPALUS

_and his Guests at Table.--A storm without, and Thunder

occasionally heard during the Banquet_.

_Sar._ Fill full! why this is as it should be: here

Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces

Happy as fair! Here sorrow cannot reach.

_Zam._ Nor elsewhere--where the King is, pleasure sparkles.

_Sar._ Is not this better now than Nimrod's huntings,

Or my wild Grandam's chase in search of kingdoms

She could not keep when conquered?

_Alt._ Mighty though

They were, as all thy royal line have been,

Yet none of those who went before have reached

The acme of Sardanapalus, who 10

Has placed his joy in peace--the sole true glory.

_Sar._ And pleasure, good Altada, to which glory

Is but the path. What is it that we seek?

Enjoyment! We have cut the way short to it,

And not gone tracking it through human ashes,

Making a grave with every footstep.

_Zam._ No;

All hearts are happy, and all voices bless

The King of peace--who holds a world in jubilee.

_Sar._ Art sure of that? I have heard otherwise;

Some say that there be traitors.

_Zam._ Traitors they 20

Who dare to say so!--'Tis impossible.

What cause?

_Sar._ What cause? true,--fill the goblet up;

We will not think of them: there are none such,

Or if there be, they are gone.

_Alt._ Guests, to my pledge!

Down on your knees, and drink a measure to

The safety of the King--the monarch, say I?

The God Sardanapalus!

[ZAMES _and the Guests kneel, and exclaim_--

Mightier than

His father Baal, the God Sardanapalus!

[_It thunders as they kneel; some start up in confusion_.

_Zam._ Why do you rise, my friends? in that strong peal

His father gods consented.

_Myr._ Menaced, rather. 30

King, wilt thou bear this mad impiety?

_Sar._ Impiety!--nay, if the sires who reigned

Before me can be Gods, I'll not disgrace

Their lineage. But arise, my pious friends;

Hoard your devotion for the Thunderer there:

I seek but to be loved, not worshipped.

_Alt._ Both--

Both you must ever be by all true subjects.

_Sar._ Methinks the thunders still increase: it is

An awful night.

_Myr._ Oh yes, for those who have

No palace to protect their worshippers. 40

_Sar._ That's true, my Myrrha; and could I convert

My realm to one wide shelter for the wretched,

I'd do it.

_Myr._ Thou'rt no God, then--not to be

Able to work a will so good and general,

As thy wish would imply.

_Sar._ And your Gods, then,

Who can, and do not?

_Myr._ Do not speak of that,

Lest we provoke them.

_Sar._ True--, they love not censure

Better than mortals. Friends, a thought has struck me:

Were there no temples, would there, think ye, be

Air worshippers?[v] that is, when it is angry, 50

And pelting as even now.

_Myr._ The Persian prays

Upon his mountain.

_Sar._ Yes, when the Sun shines.

_Myr._ And I would ask if this your palace were

Unroofed and desolate, how many flatterers

Would lick the dust in which the King lay low?

_Alt._ The fair Ionian is too sarcastic

Upon a nation whom she knows not well;

The Assyrians know no pleasure but their King's,

And homage is their pride.

_Sar._ Nay, pardon, guests,

The fair Greek's readiness of speech.

_Alt._ _Pardon!_ sire: 60

We honour her of all things next to thee.

Hark! what was that?

_Zam._ That! nothing but the jar

Of distant portals shaken by the wind.

_Alt._ It sounded like the clash of--hark again!

_Zam._ The big rain pattering on the roof.

_Sar._ No more.

Myrrha, my love, hast thou thy shell in order?

Sing me a song of Sappho[18]; her, thou know'st,

Who in thy country threw----

_Enter_ PANIA, _with his sword and garments bloody, and

disordered. The guests rise in confusion_.

_Pan._ (_to the Guards_). Look to the portals;

And with your best speed to the walls without.

Your arms! To arms! The King's in danger. Monarch 70

Excuse this haste,--'tis faith.

_Sar._ Speak on.

_Pan._ It is

As Salemenes feared; the faithless Satraps----

_Sar._ You are wounded--give some wine. Take breath, good Pania.

_Pan._ 'Tis nothing--a mere flesh wound. I am worn

More with my speed to warn my sovereign,

Than hurt in his defence.

_Myr._ Well, Sir, the rebels?

_Pan._ Soon as Arbaces and Beleses reached

Their stations in the city, they refused

To march; and on my attempt to use the power

Which I was delegated with, they called 80

Upon their troops, who rose in fierce defiance.

_Myr._ All?

_Pan._ Too many.

_Sar._ Spare not of thy free speech,

To spare mine ears--the truth.

_Pan._ My own slight guard

Were faithful, and what's left of it is still so.

_Myr._ And are these all the force still faithful?

_Pan._ No--

The Bactrians, now led on by Salemenes,

Who even then was on his way, still urged

By strong suspicion of the Median chiefs,

Are numerous, and make strong head against

The rebels, fighting inch by inch, and forming 90

An orb around the palace, where they mean

To centre all their force, and save the King.

(_He hesitates_.) I am charged to----

_Myr._ 'Tis no time for hesitation.

_Pan._ Prince Salemenes doth implore the King

To arm himself, although but for a moment,

And show himself unto the soldiers: his

Sole presence in this instant might do more

Than hosts can do in his behalf.

_Sar._ What, ho!

My armour there.

_Myr._ And wilt thou?

_Sar._ Will I not?

Ho, there!--but seek not for the buckler: 'tis 100

Too heavy:--a light cuirass and my sword.

Where are the rebels?

_Pan._ Scarce a furlong's length

From the outward wall the fiercest conflict rages.

_Sar._ Then I may charge on horseback. Sfero, ho!

Order my horse out.--There is space enough

Even in our courts, and by the outer gate,

To marshal half the horsemen of Arabia.

[_Exit_ SFERO _for the armour_.

_Myr._ How I do love thee!

_Sar._ I ne'er doubted it.

_Myr._ But now I know thee.

_Sar._ (_to his Attendant_). Bring down my spear too--

Where's Salemenes?

_Pan._ Where a soldier should be, 110

In the thick of the fight.

_Sar._ Then hasten to him----Is

The path still open, and communication

Left 'twixt the palace and the phalanx?

_Pan._ 'Twas

When I late left him, and I have no fear;

Our troops were steady, and the phalanx formed.

_Sar._ Tell him to spare his person for the present,

And that I will not spare my own--and say,

I come.

_Pan._ There's victory in the very word. [_Exit_ PANIA.

_Sar._ Altada--Zames--forth, and arm ye! There

Is all in readiness in the armoury. 120

See that the women are bestowed in safety

In the remote apartments: let a guard

Be set before them, with strict charge to quit

The post but with their lives--command it, Zames.

Altada, arm yourself, and return here;

Your post is near our person.

[_Exeunt_ ZAMES, ALTADA, _and all save_ MYRRHA.

_Enter_ SFERO _and others with the King's Arms, etc._

_Sfe._ King! your armour.

_Sar._ (_arming himself_). Give me the cuirass--so: my baldric; now

My sword: I had forgot the helm--where is it?

That's well--no, 'tis too heavy; you mistake, too--

It was not this I meant, but that which bears 130

A diadem around it.

_Sfe._ Sire, I deemed

That too conspicuous from the precious stones

To risk your sacred brow beneath--and trust me,

This is of better metal, though less rich.

_Sar._ You deemed! Are you too turned a rebel? Fellow!

Your part is to obey: return, and--no--

It is too late--I will go forth without it.

_Sfe._ At least, wear this.

_Sar._ Wear Caucasus! why, 'tis

A mountain on my temples.

_Sfe._ Sire, the meanest

Soldier goes not forth thus exposed to battle. 140

All men will recognise you--for the storm

Has ceased, and the moon breaks forth in her brightness.

_Sar._ I go forth to be recognised, and thus

Shall be so sooner. Now--my spear! I'm armed.

[_In going stops short, and turns to_ SFERO.

Sfero--I had forgotten--bring the mirror[19].

_Sfe._ The mirror, Sire?

_Sar._ Yes, sir, of polished brass,

Brought from the spoils of India--but be speedy.

[_Exit_ SFERO.

_Sar._ Myrrha, retire unto a place of safety.

Why went you not forth with the other damsels?

_Myr._ Because my place is here.

_Sar._ And when I am gone---- 150

_Myr._ I follow.

_Sar._ _You!_ to battle?

_Myr._ If it were so,

'Twere not the first Greek girl had trod the path.

I will await here your _return_.

_Sar._ The place

Is spacious, and the first to be sought out,

If they prevail; and, if it be so,

And I return not----

_Myr._ Still we meet again.

_Sar._ How?

_Myr._ In the spot where all must meet at last--

In Hades! if there be, as I believe,

A shore beyond the Styx; and if there be not,

In ashes.

_Sar._ Darest thou so much?

_Myr._ I dare all things 160

Except survive what I have loved, to be

A rebel's booty: forth, and do your bravest.

_Re-enter_ SFERO _with the mirror_.

_Sar._ (_looking at himself_).

This cuirass fits me well, the baldric better,

And the helm not at all. Methinks I seem

[_Flings away the helmet after trying it again_.

Passing well in these toys; and now to prove them.

Altada! Where's Altada?

_Sfe._ Waiting, Sire,

Without: he has your shield in readiness.

_Sar._ True--I forgot--he is my shield-bearer

By right of blood, derived from age to age.

Myrrha, embrace me;--yet once more--once more-- 170

Love me, whate'er betide. My chiefest glory

Shall be to make me worthier of your love.

_Myr._ Go forth, and conquer!

[_Exeunt_ SARDANAPALUS _and_ SFERO.

Now, I am alone:

All are gone forth, and of that all how few

Perhaps return! Let him but vanquish, and

Me perish! If he vanquish not, I perish;

For I will not outlive him. He has wound

About my heart, I know not how nor why.

Not for that he is King; for now his kingdom

Rocks underneath his throne, and the earth yawns 180

To yield him no more of it than a grave;

And yet I love him more. Oh, mighty Jove!

Forgive this monstrous love for a barbarian,

Who knows not of Olympus! yes, I love him

Now--now--far more than----Hark--to the war shout!

Methinks it nears me. If it should be so,

[_She draws forth a small vial_.

This cunning Colchian poison, which my father

Learned to compound on Euxine shores, and taught me

How to preserve, shall free me! It had freed me

Long ere this hour, but that I loved until 190

I half forgot I was a slave:--where all

Are slaves save One, and proud of servitude,

So they are served in turn by something lower

In the degree of bondage: we forget

That shackles worn like ornaments no less

Are chains. Again that shout! and now the clash

Of arms--and now--and now----

_Enter_ ALTADA.

_Alt._ Ho, Sfero, ho!

_Myr._ He is not here; what wouldst thou with him? How

Goes on the conflict?

_Alt._ Dubiously and fiercely.

_Myr._ And the King?

_Alt._ Like a king. I must find Sfero, 200

And bring him a new spear with his own helmet.[w]

He fights till now bare-headed, and by far

Too much exposed. The soldiers knew his face,

And the foe too; and in the moon's broad light,

His silk tiara and his flowing hair

Make him a mark too royal. Every arrow

Is pointed at the fair hair and fair features,

And the broad fillet which crowns both.

_Myr._ Ye Gods,

Who fulminate o'er my father's land, protect him!

Were you sent by the King?

_Alt._ By Salemenes, 210

Who sent me privily upon this charge,

Without the knowledge of the careless sovereign.

The King! the King fights as he revels! ho!

What, Sfero! I will seek the armoury--

He must be there. [_Exit_ ALTADA.

_Myr._ 'Tis no dishonour--no--

'Tis no dishonour to have loved this man.

I almost wish now, what I never wished

Before--that he were Grecian. If Alcides

Were shamed in wearing Lydian Omphale's

She-garb, and wielding her vile distaff; surely 220

He, who springs up a Hercules at once,

Nursed in effeminate arts from youth to manhood,

And rushes from the banquet to the battle,

As though it were a bed of love, deserves

That a Greek girl should be his paramour,

And a Greek bard his minstrel--a Greek tomb

His monument. How goes the strife, sir?

_Enter an Officer_.

_Officer_. Lost,

Lost almost past recovery. Zames! Where

Is Zames?

_Myr._ Posted with the guard appointed

To watch before the apartment of the women. 230

[_Exit Officer_.

_Myr._ (_sola_). He's gone; and told no more than that all's lost!

What need have I to know more? In those words,

Those little words, a kingdom and a king,

A line of thirteen ages, and the lives

Of thousands, and the fortune of all left

With life, are merged; and I, too, with the great,

Like a small bubble breaking with the wave

Which bore it, shall be nothing. At the least,

My fate is in my keeping: no proud victor

Shall count me with his spoils.

_Enter_ PANIA.

_Pan._ Away with me, 240

Myrrha, without delay; we must not lose

A moment--all that's left us now.

_Myr._ The King?

_Pan._ Sent me here to conduct you hence, beyond

The river, by a secret passage.

_Myr._ Then

He lives----

_Pan._ And charged me to secure your life,

And beg you to live on for his sake, till

He can rejoin you.

_Myr._ Will he then give way?

_Pan._ Not till the last. Still, still he does whate'er

Despair can do; and step by step disputes

The very palace.

_Myr._ They are here, then:--aye, 250

Their shouts come ringing through the ancient halls,

Never profaned by rebel echoes till

This fatal night. Farewell, Assyria's line!

Farewell to all of Nimrod! Even the name

Is now no more.

_Pan._ Away with me--away!

_Myr._ No: I'll die here!--Away, and tell your King

I loved him to the last.

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS _and_ SALEMENES _with Soldiers_.

PANIA _quits_ MYRRHA, _and ranges himself with them_.

_Sar._ Since it is thus,

We'll die where we were born--in our own halls[x]

Serry your ranks--stand firm. I have despatched

A trusty satrap for the guard of Zames,

All fresh and faithful; they'll be here anon.

All is not over,--Pania, look to Myrrha.

[PANIA _returns towards_ MYRRHA.

_Sal._ We have breathing time; yet once more charge, my friends--

One for Assyria!

_Sar._ Rather say for Bactria!

My faithful Bactrians, I will henceforth be

King of your nation, and we'll hold together

This realm as province.

_Sal._ Hark! they come--they come.

_Enter_ BELESES _and_ ARBACES _with the Rebels_.

_Arb._ Set on, we have them in the toil. Charge!

charge!

_Bel._ On! on!--Heaven fights for us, and with us--On!

[_They charge the King and_ SALEMENES _with their troops,

who defend themselves till the arrival of_

ZAMES _with the Guard before mentioned.

The Rebels are then driven off, and pursued by_

SALEMENES, _etc. As the King is going to join the

pursuit,_ BELESES _crosses him_.

_Bel._ Ho! tyrant--_I_ will end this war.

_Sar._ Even so, 270

My warlike priest, and precious prophet, and

Grateful and trusty subject: yield, I pray thee.

I would reserve thee for a fitter doom,

Rather than dip my hands in holy blood.

_Bel._ Thine hour is come.

_Sar._ No, thine.--I've lately read,

Though but a young astrologer, the stars;

And ranging round the zodiac, found thy fate

In the sign of the Scorpion, which proclaims

That thou wilt now be crushed.

_Bel._ But not by thee.

[_They fight;_ BELESES _is wounded and disarmed_.

_Sar._ (_raising his sword to despatch him, exclaims_)--

Now call upon thy planets, will they shoot 280

From the sky to preserve their seer and credit?

[_A party of Rebels enter and rescue_ BELESES.

_They assail the King, who in turn, is

rescued by a Party of his Soldiers, who drive

the Rebels off_.

The villain was a prophet after all.

Upon them--ho! there--victory is ours.

[_Exit in pursuit_.

_Myr._ (_to Pan._)

Pursue! Why stand'st thou here, and leavest the ranks

Of fellow-soldiers conquering without thee?

_Pan._ The King's command was not to quit thee.

_Myr._ _Me!_

Think not of me--a single soldier's arm

Must not be wanting now. I ask no guard,

I need no guard: what, with a world at stake,

Keep watch upon a woman? Hence, I say, 290

Or thou art shamed! Nay, then, _I_ will go forth,

A feeble female, 'midst their desperate strife,

And bid thee guard me _there_--where thou shouldst shield

Thy sovereign. [_Exit_ MYRRHA.

_Pan._ Yet stay, damsel!--She's gone.

If aught of ill betide her, better I

Had lost my life. Sardanapalus holds her

Far dearer than his kingdom, yet he fights

For that too; and can I do less than he,

Who never flashed a scimitar till now?

Myrrha, return, and I obey you, though 300

In disobedience to the monarch. [_Exit_ PANIA.

_Enter_ ALTADA _and_ SFERO _by an opposite door_.

_Alt._ Myrrha!

What, gone? yet she was here when the fight raged,

And Pania also. Can aught have befallen them?

_Sfe._ I saw both safe, when late the rebels fled;

They probably are but retired to make

Their way back to the harem.

_Alt._ If the King

Prove victor, as it seems even now he must,

And miss his own Ionian, we are doomed

To worse than captive rebels.

_Sfe._ Let us trace them:

She cannot be fled far; and, found, she makes 310

A richer prize to our soft sovereign

Than his recovered kingdom.

_Alt._ Baal himself

Ne'er fought more fiercely to win empire, than

His silken son to save it: he defies

All augury of foes or friends; and like

The close and sultry summer's day, which bodes

A twilight tempest, bursts forth in such thunder

As sweeps the air and deluges the earth.

The man's inscrutable.

_Sfe._ Not more than others.

All are the sons of circumstance: away-- 320

Let's seek the slave out, or prepare to be

Tortured for his infatuation, and[y]

Condemned without a crime. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SALEMENES _and Soldiers, etc._

_Sal._ The triumph is

Flattering: they are beaten backward from the palace,

And we have opened regular access

To the troops stationed on the other side

Euphrates, who may still be true; nay, must be,

When they hear of our victory. But where

Is the chief victor? where's the King?

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS, _cum suis, etc., and_ MYRRHA.

_Sar._ Here, brother.

_Sal._ Unhurt, I hope.

_Sar._ Not quite; but let it pass. 330

We've cleared the palace----

_Sal._ And I trust the city.

Our numbers gather; and I've ordered onward

A cloud of Parthians, hitherto reserved,

All fresh and fiery, to be poured upon them

In their retreat, which soon will be a flight.

_Sar._ It is already, or at least they marched

Faster than I could follow with my Bactrians,

Who spared no speed. I am spent: give me a seat.

_Sal._ There stands the throne, Sire.

_Sar._ Tis no place to rest on,

For mind nor body: let me have a couch, 340

[_They place a seat_.

A peasant's stool, I care not what: so--now

I breathe more freely.

_Sal._ This great hour has proved

The brightest and most glorious of your life.

_Sar._ And the most tiresome. Where's my cupbearer?

Bring me some water.

_Sal._ (_smiling_) 'Tis the first time he

Ever had such an order: even I,[z]

Your most austere of counsellors, would now

Suggest a purpler beverage.

_Sar._ Blood--doubtless.

But there's enough of that shed; as for wine,

I have learned to-night the price of the pure element: 350

Thrice have I drank of it, and thrice renewed,

With greater strength than the grape ever gave me,

My charge upon the rebels. Where's the soldier

Who gave me water in his helmet?[20]

_One of the Guards_. Slain, Sire!

An arrow pierced his brain, while, scattering[aa]

The last drops from his helm, he stood in act

To place it on his brows.

_Sar._ Slain! unrewarded!

And slain to serve my thirst: that's hard, poor slave!

Had he but lived, I would have gorged him with

Gold: all the gold of earth could ne'er repay 360

The pleasure of that draught; for I was parched

As I am now. [_They bring water--he drinks_.

I live again--from henceforth

The goblet I reserve for hours of love,

But war on water.

_Sal._ And that bandage, Sire,

Which girds your arm?

_Sar._ A scratch from brave Beleses.

_Myr._ Oh! he is wounded![ab]

_Sar._ Not too much of that;

And yet it feels a little stiff and painful,

Now I am cooler.

_Myr._ You have bound it with----

_Sar._ The fillet of my diadem: the first time

That ornament was ever aught to me, 370

Save an incumbrance.

_Myr._ (_to the Attendants_). Summon speedily

A leech of the most skilful: pray, retire:

I will unbind your wound and tend it.

_Sar._ Do so,

For now it throbs sufficiently: but what

Know'st thou of wounds? yet wherefore do I ask?

Know'st thou, my brother, where I lighted on

This minion?

_Sal._ Herding with the other females,

Like frightened antelopes.

_Sar._ No: like the dam

Of the young lion, femininely raging

(And femininely meaneth furiously, 380

Because all passions in excess are female,)

Against the hunter flying with her cub,

She urged on with her voice and gesture, and

Her floating hair and flashing eyes,[21] the soldiers,

In the pursuit.

_Sal._ Indeed!

_Sar._ You see, this night

Made warriors of more than me. I paused

To look upon her, and her kindled cheek;

Her large black eyes, that flashed through her long hair

As it streamed o'er her; her blue veins that rose

Along her most transparent brow; her nostril 390

Dilated from its symmetry; her lips

Apart; her voice that clove through all the din,

As a lute pierceth through the cymbal's clash,

Jarred but not drowned by the loud brattling; her

Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born whiteness

Than the steel her hand held, which she caught up

From a dead soldier's grasp;--all these things made

Her seem unto the troops a prophetess

Of victory, or Victory herself,

Come down to hail us hers.[22]

_Sal._ (_aside_). This is too much. 400

Again the love-fit's on him, and all's lost,

Unless we turn his thoughts. (_Aloud_.) But pray thee, Sire,

Think of your wound--you said even now 'twas painful.

_Sar._ That's true, too; but I must not think of it.

_Sal._ I have looked to all things needful, and will now

Receive reports of progress made in such

Orders as I had given, and then return

To hear your further pleasure.

_Sar._ Be it so.

_Sal._ (_in retiring_). Myrrha!

_Myr._ Prince!

_Sal._ You have shown a soul to-night,

Which, were he not my sister's lord----But now 410

I have no time: thou lovest the King?

_Myr._ I love

Sardanapalus.

_Sal._ But wouldst have him King still?

_Myr._ I would not have him less than what he should be.

_Sal._ Well then, to have him King, and yours, and all

He should, or should not be; to have him _live_,

Let him not sink back into luxury.

You have more power upon his spirit than

Wisdom within these walls, or fierce rebellion

Raging without: look well that he relapse not.

_Myr._ There needed not the voice of Salemenes 420

To urge me on to this: I will not fail.

All that a woman's weakness can----

_Sal._ Is power

Omnipotent o'er such a heart as his:

Exert it wisely. [_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ Myrrha! what, at whispers

With my stern brother? I shall soon be jealous.

_Myr._ (_smiling_).

You have cause, Sire; for on the earth there breathes not

A man more worthy of a woman's love,

A soldier's trust, a subject's reverence,

A king's esteem--the whole world's admiration!

_Sar._ Praise him, but not so warmly. I must not 430

Hear those sweet lips grow eloquent in aught

That throws me into shade; yet you speak truth.

_Myr._ And now retire, to have your wound looked to,

Pray lean on me.

_Sar._ Yes, love! but not from pain.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--SARDANAPALUS _discovered sleeping upon a

Couch, and occasionally disturbed in his slumbers,

with_ MYRRHA _watching_.

_Myr._ (_sola, gazing_).

I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be,

Which thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him?

No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou God of Quiet!

Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams,

Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed,

Look like thy brother, Death,[23]--so still, so stirless--

For then we are happiest, as it may be, we

Are happiest of all within the realm

Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin.

Again he moves--again the play of pain 10

Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust

Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac]

Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast

Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling

Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs.

I must awake him--yet not yet; who knows

From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if

I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever

Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of

His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake 20

Me more to see than him to suffer. No:

Let Nature use her own maternal means,

And I await to second, not disturb her.

_Sar._ (_awakening_).

Not so--although he multiplied the stars,

And gave them to me as a realm to share

From you and with you! I would not so purchase

The empire of Eternity. Hence--hence--

Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad]

Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes!

Once bloody mortals--and now bloodier idols, 30

If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame!

Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on

The carcasses of Inde--away! away!

Where am I? Where the spectres? Where--No--that

Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst

All that the dead dare gloomily raise up

From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha!

_Myr._ Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops

Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush--

Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, 40

And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer;

All will go well.

_Sar._ Thy _hand_--so--'tis thy hand;

'Tis flesh; grasp--clasp--yet closer, till I feel

Myself that which I was.

_Myr._ At least know me

For what I am, and ever must be--thine.

_Sar._ I know it now. I know this life again.

Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be.

_Myr._ My lord!

_Sar._ I've been i' the grave--where worms are lords

And kings are----But I did not deem it so;

I thought 'twas nothing.

_Myr._ So it is; except 50

Unto the timid, who anticipate

That which may never be.

_Sar._ Oh, Myrrha! if

Sleep shows such things, what may not Death disclose?

_Myr._ I know no evil Death can show, which Life

Has not already shown to those who live

Embodied longest. If there be indeed

A shore where Mind survives, 'twill be as Mind

All unincorporate: or if there flits

A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay.

Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven, 60

And fetters us to earth--at least the phantom,

Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear Death.

_Sar._ I fear it not; but I have felt--have seen--

A legion of the dead.

_Myr._ And so have I.

The dust we tread upon was once alive,

And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen?

Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimmed mind.

_Sar._ Methought----

_Myr._ Yet pause, thou art tired--in pain--exhausted; all

Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek

Rather to sleep again.

_Sar._ Not now--I would not 70

Dream; though I know it now to be a dream

What I have dreamt:--and canst thou bear to hear it?

_Myr._ I can bear all things, dreams of life or death,

Which I participate with you in semblance

Or full reality.

_Sar._ And this looked real,

I tell you: after that these eyes were open,

I saw them in their flight--for then they fled.

_Myr._ Say on.

_Sar._ I saw, that is, I dreamed myself

Here--here--even where we are, guests as we were,

Myself a host that deemed himself but guest, 80

Willing to equal all in social freedom;

But, on my right hand and my left, instead

Of thee and Zames, and our customed meeting,

Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark,

And deadly face; I could not recognise it,

Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where:

The features were a Giant's, and the eye

Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curled down

On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose

With shaft-heads feathered from the eagle's wing, 90

That peeped up bristling through his serpent hair.[ae]

I invited him to fill the cup which stood

Between us, but he answered not; I filled it;

He took it not, but stared upon me, till

I trembled at the fixed glare of his eye:

I frowned upon him as a king should frown;

He frowned not in his turn, but looked upon me

With the same aspect, which appalled me more,

Because it changed not; and I turned for refuge

To milder guests, and sought them on the right, 100

Where thou wert wont to be. But---- [_He pauses_.

_Myr._ What instead?

_Sar._ In thy own chair--thy own place in the banquet--

I sought thy sweet face in the circle--but

Instead--a grey-haired, withered, bloody-eyed,

And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing,

Female in garb, and crowned upon the brow,

Furrowed with years, yet sneering with the passion

Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust,

Sate:--my veins curdled.[24]

_Myr._ Is this all?

_Sar._ Upon

Her right hand--her lank, bird-like, right hand--stood 110

A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on

Her left, another, filled with--what I saw not,

But turned from it and her. But all along

The table sate a range of crowned wretches,

Of various aspects, but of one expression.

_Myr._ And felt you not this a mere vision?

_Sar._ No:

It was so palpable, I could have touched them.

I turned from one face to another, in

The hope to find at last one which I knew

Ere I saw theirs: but no--all turned upon me, 120

And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared,

Till I grew stone, as they seemed half to be,

Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them,

And life in me: there was a horrid kind

Of sympathy between us, as if they

Had lost a part of death to come to me,

And I the half of life to sit by them.

We were in an existence all apart

From heaven or earth----And rather let me see

Death all than such a being!

_Myr._ And the end? 130

_Sar._ At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose

The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me--

Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of

The Hunter smiled upon me--I should say,

His lips, for his eyes moved not--and the woman's

Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile.

Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand

Rose also, as if aping their chief shades--

Mere mimics even in death--but I sate still:

A desperate courage crept through every limb, 140

And at the last I feared them not, but laughed

Full in their phantom faces. But then--then

The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it,

And grasped it--but it melted from my own;

While he too vanished, and left nothing but

The memory of a hero, for he looked so.

_Myr._ And was: the ancestor of heroes, too,

And thine no less.

_Sar._ Aye, Myrrha, but the woman,

The female who remained, she flew upon me,

And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses; 150

And, flinging down the goblets on each hand,

Methought their poisons flowed around us, till

Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung;

The other phantoms, like a row of statues,

Stood dull as in our temples, but she still

Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if,

In lieu of her remote descendant, I

Had been the son who slew her for her incest.[25]

Then--then--a chaos of all loathsome things

Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling-- 160

Buried, and raised again--consumed by worms,

Purged by the flames, and withered in the air!

I can fix nothing further of my thoughts,

Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee,

In all these agonies,--and woke and found thee.

_Myr._ So shalt thou find me ever at thy side,

Here and hereafter, if the last may be.

But think not of these things--the mere creations

Of late events, acting upon a frame

Unused by toil, yet over-wrought by toil-- 170

Such as might try the sternest.

_Sar._ I am better.

Now that I see thee once more, _what was seen_

Seems nothing.

_Enter_ SALEMENES.

_Sal._ Is the king so soon awake?

_Sar._ Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept;

For all the predecessors of our line

Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them.

My father was amongst them, too; but he,

I know not why, kept from me, leaving me

Between the hunter-founder of our race,

And her, the homicide and husband-killer, 180

Whom you call glorious.

_Sal._ So I term you also,

Now you have shown a spirit like to hers.

By day-break I propose that we set forth,

And charge once more the rebel crew, who still

Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quelled.

_Sar._ How wears the night?

_Sal._ There yet remain some hours

Of darkness: use them for your further rest.

_Sar._ No, not to-night, if 'tis not gone: methought

I passed hours in that vision.

_Myr._ Scarcely one;

I watched by you: it was a heavy hour, 190

But an hour only.

_Sar._ Let us then hold council;

To-morrow we set forth.

_Sal._ But ere that time,

I had a grace to seek.

_Sar._ 'Tis granted.

_Sal._ Hear it

Ere you reply too readily; and 'tis

For _your_ ear only.

_Myr._ Prince, I take my leave.

[Exit MYRRHA.

_Sal._ That slave deserves her freedom.

_Sar._ Freedom only!

That slave deserves to share a throne.

_Sal._ Your patience--

'Tis not yet vacant, and 'tis of its partner

I come to speak with you.

_Sar._ How! of the Queen?

_Sal._ Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety, 200

That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children

For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta[26]

Governs; and there, at all events, secure

My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them

Their just pretensions to the crown in case----

_Sar._ I perish--as is probable: well thought--

Let them set forth with a sure escort.

_Sal._ That

Is all provided, and the galley ready

To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they

Depart, will you not see----

_Sar._ My sons? It may 210

Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep;

And what can I reply to comfort them,

Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles?

You know I cannot feign.

_Sal._ But you can feel!

At least, I trust so: in a word, the Queen

Requests to see you ere you part--for ever.

_Sar._ Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant

Aught--all that she can ask--but such a meeting.

_Sal._ You know, or ought to know, enough of women,

Since you have studied them so steadily[af], 220

That what they ask in aught that touches on

The heart, is dearer to their feelings or

Their fancy, than the whole external world.

I think as you do of my sister's wish;

But 'twas her wish--she is my sister--you

Her husband--will you grant it?

_Sar._ 'Twill be useless:

But let her come.

_Sal._ I go. [_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Sar._ We have lived asunder

Too long to meet again--and _now_ to meet!

Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow,

To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows, 230

Who have ceased to mingle love?

_Re-enter_ SALEMENES _and_ ZARINA.

_Sal._ My sister! Courage:

Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember

From whence we sprung. The Queen is present, Sire.

_Zar._ I pray thee, brother, leave me.

_Sal._ Since you ask it.

[_Exit_ SALEMENES.

_Zar._ Alone with him! How many a year has passed[27],

Though we are still so young, since we have met,

Which I have worn in widowhood of heart.

He loved me not: yet he seems little changed--

Changed to me only--would the change were mutual!

He speaks not--scarce regards me--not a word, 240

Nor look--yet he _was_ soft of voice and aspect,

Indifferent, not austere. My Lord!

_Sar._ Zarina!

_Zar._ No, _not_ Zarina--do not say Zarina.

That tone--That word--annihilate long years,

And things which make them longer.

_Sar._ 'Tis too late

To think of these past dreams. Let's not reproach--

That is, reproach me not--for the _last_ time----

_Zar._ And _first_, I ne'er reproached you.

_Sar._ 'Tis most true;

And that reproof comes heavier on my heart

Than----But our hearts are not in our own power. 250

_Zar._ Nor hands; but I gave both.

_Sar._ Your brother said

It was your will to see me, ere you went

From Nineveh with----(_He hesitates_.)

_Zar._ Our children: it is true.

I wish to thank you that you have not divided

My heart from all that's left it now to love--

Those who are yours and mine, who look like you,

And look upon me as you looked upon me

Once----but _they_ have not changed.

_Sar._ Nor ever will.

I fain would have them dutiful.

_Zar._ I cherish

Those infants, not alone from the blind love 260

Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman.

They are now the only tie between us.

_Sar._ Deem not

I have not done you justice: rather make them

Resemble your own line than their own Sire.

I trust them with you--to you: fit them for

A throne, or, if that be denied----You have heard

Of this night's tumults?

_Zar._ I had half forgotten,

And could have welcomed any grief save yours,

Which gave me to behold your face again.

_Sar._ The throne--I say it not in fear--but 'tis 270

In peril: they perhaps may never mount it:

But let them not for this lose sight of it.

I will dare all things to bequeath it them;

But if I fail, then they must win it back

Bravely--and, won, wear it wisely, not as I[ag]

Have wasted down my royalty.

_Zar._ They ne'er

Shall know from me of aught but what may honour

Their father's memory.

_Sar._ Rather let them hear

The truth from you than from a trampling world.

If they be in adversity, they'll learn 280

Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless Princes,

And find that all their father's sins are theirs.

My boys!--I could have borne it were I childless.

_Zar._ Oh! do not say so--do not poison all

My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert

A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign,

And honour him who saved the realm for them,

So little cared for as his own; and if----

_Sar._ 'Tis lost, all Earth will cry out, "thank your father!"

And they will swell the echo with a curse. 290

_Zar._ That they shall never do; but rather honour

The name of him, who, dying like a king,

In his last hours did more for his own memory

Than many monarchs in a length of days,

Which date the flight of time, but make no annals.

_Sar._ Our annals draw perchance unto their close;

But at the least, whate'er the past, their end

Shall be like their beginning--memorable.

_Zar._ Yet, be not rash--be careful of your life,

Live but for those who love.

_Sar._ And who are they? 300

A slave, who loves from passion--I'll not say

Ambition--she has seen thrones shake, and loves;

A few friends who have revelled till we are

As one, for they are nothing if I fall;

A brother I have injured--children whom

I have neglected, and a spouse----

_Zar._ Who loves.

_Sar._ And pardons?

_Zar._ I have never thought of this,

And cannot pardon till I have condemned.

_Sar._ My wife!

_Zar._ Now blessings on thee for that word!

I never thought to hear it more--from thee. 310

_Sar._ Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects. Yes--

These slaves whom I have nurtured, pampered, fed,

And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till

They reign themselves--all monarchs in their mansions--

Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand

His death, who made their lives a jubilee;

While the few upon whom I have no claim

Are faithful! This is true, yet monstrous.

_Zar._ 'Tis

Perhaps too natural; for benefits

Turn poison in bad minds.

_Sar._ And good ones make 320

Good out of evil. Happier than the bee,

Which hives not but from wholesome flowers.

_Zar._ Then reap

The honey, nor inquire whence 'tis derived.

Be satisfied--you are not all abandoned.

_Sar._ My life insures me that. How long, bethink you,

Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal;

That is, where mortals _are_, not where they must be?

_Zar._ I know not. But yet live for my--that is,

Your children's sake!

_Sar._ My gentle, wronged Zarina!

I am the very slave of Circumstance 330

And Impulse--borne away with every breath!

Misplaced upon the throne--misplaced in life.

I know not what I could have been, but feel

I am not what I should be--let it end.

But take this with thee: if I was not formed

To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine,

Nor dote even on thy beauty--as I've doted

On lesser charms, for no cause save that such

Devotion was a duty, and I hated

All that looked like a chain for me or others 340

(This even Rebellion must avouch); yet hear

These words, perhaps among my last--that none

E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not

To profit by them--as the miner lights

Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering

That which avails him nothing: he hath found it,

But 'tis not his--but some superior's, who

Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth

Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift

Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning 350

The sullen earth.

_Zar._ Oh! if thou hast at length

Discovered that my love is worth esteem,

I ask no more--but let us hence together,

And _I_--let me say _we_--shall yet be happy.

Assyria is not all the earth--we'll find

A world out of our own--and be more blessed

Than I have ever been, or thou, with all

An empire to indulge thee.

_Enter_ SALEMENES.

_Sal._ I must part ye--

The moments, which must not be lost, are passing.

_Zar._ Inhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out 360

Instants so high and blest?

_Sal._ Blest!

_Zar._ He hath been

So gentle with me, that I cannot think

Of quitting.

_Sal._ So--this feminine farewell

Ends as such partings end, in _no_ departure.

I thought as much, and yielded against all

My better bodings. But it must not be.

_Zar._ Not be?

_Sal._ Remain, and perish----

_Zar._ With my husband----

_Sal._ And children.

_Zar._ Alas!

_Sal._ Hear me, sister, like

_My_ sister:--all's prepared to make your safety

Certain, and of the boys too, our last hopes; 370

'Tis not a single question of mere feeling,

Though that were much--but 'tis a point of state:

The rebels would do more to seize upon

The offspring of their sovereign, and so crush----

_Zar._ Ah! do not name it.

_Sal._ Well, then, mark me: when

They are safe beyond the Median's grasp, the rebels

Have missed their chief aim--the extinction of

The line of Nimrod. Though the present King

Fall, his sons live--for victory and vengeance.

_Zar._ But could not I remain, alone?

_Sal._ What! leave 380

Your children, with two parents and yet orphans--

In a strange land--so young, so distant?

_Zar._ No--

My heart will break.

_Sal._ Now you know all--decide.

_Sar._ Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we

Must yield awhile to this necessity.

Remaining here, you may lose all; departing,

You save the better part of what is left,

To both of us, and to such loyal hearts

As yet beat in these kingdoms.

_Sal._ The time presses.

_Sar._ Go, then. If e'er we meet again, perhaps 390

I may be worthier of you--and, if not,

Remember that my faults, though not atoned for,

Are _ended_. Yet, I dread thy nature will

Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes

Which once were mightiest in Assyria--than----

But I grow womanish again, and must not;

I must learn sternness now. My sins have all

Been of the softer order----_hide_ thy tears--

I do not bid thee _not_ to shed them--'twere

Easier to stop Euphrates at its source 400

Than one tear of a true and tender heart--

But let me not behold them; they unman me

Here when I had remanned myself. My brother,

Lead her away.

_Zar._ Oh, God! I never shall

Behold him more!

_Sal._ (_striving to conduct her_).

Nay, sister, I _must_ be obeyed.

_Zar._ I must remain--away! you shall not hold me.

What, shall he die alone?--_I_ live alone?

_Sal._ He shall _not die alone_; but lonely you

Have lived for years.

_Zar._ That's false! I knew _he_ lived,

And lived upon his image--let me go! 410

_Sal._ (_conducting her off the stage_).

Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force,

Which you will pardon.

_Zar._ Never. Help me! Oh!

Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me

Torn from thee?

_Sal._ Nay--then all is lost again,

If that this moment is not gained.

_Zar._ My brain turns--

My eyes fail--where is he? [_She faints_.

_Sar._ (_advancing_). No--set her down;

She's dead--and you have slain her.

_Sal._ 'Tis the mere

Faintness of o'erwrought passion: in the air

She will recover. Pray, keep back.--[_Aside_.] I must

Avail myself of this sole moment to 420

Bear her to where her children are embarked,

I' the royal galley on the river.

[SALEMENES _bears her off_.

_Sar._ (_solus_). This, too--

And this too must I suffer--I, who never

Inflicted purposely on human hearts

A voluntary pang! But that is false--

She loved me, and I loved her.--Fatal passion!

Why dost thou not expire at _once_ in hearts

Which thou hast lighted up at once? Zarina![ah]

I must pay dearly for the desolation

Now brought upon thee. Had I never loved 430

But thee, I should have been an unopposed

Monarch of honouring nations. To what gulfs

A single deviation from the track

Of human duties leads even those who claim

The homage of mankind as their born due,

And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!

_Enter_ MYRRHA.

_Sar._ _You_ here! Who called you?

_Myr._ No one--but I heard

Far off a voice of wail and lamentation,

And thought----

_Sar._ It forms no portion of your duties

To enter here till sought for.

_Myr._ Though I might, 440

Perhaps, recall some softer words of yours

(Although they _too were chiding_), which reproved me,

Because I ever dreaded to intrude;

Resisting my own wish and your injunction

To heed no time nor presence, but approach you

Uncalled for:--I retire.

_Sar._ Yet stay--being here.

I pray you pardon me: events have soured me

Till I wax peevish--heed it not: I shall

Soon be myself again.

_Myr._ I wait with patience,

What I shall see with pleasure.

_Sar._ Scarce a moment 450

Before your entrance in this hall, Zarina,

Queen of Assyria, departed hence.

_Myr._ Ah!

_Sar._ Wherefore do you start?

_Myr._ Did I do so?

_Sar._ 'Twas well you entered by another portal,

Else you had met. That pang at least is spared her!

_Myr._ I know to feel for her.

_Sar._ That is too much,

And beyond nature--'tis nor mutual[ai]

Nor possible. You cannot pity her,

Nor she aught but----

_Myr._ Despise the favourite slave?

Not more than I have ever scorned myself. 460

_Sar._ Scorned! what, to be the envy of your sex,

And lord it o'er the heart of the World's lord?

_Myr._ Were you the lord of twice ten thousand worlds--

As you are like to lose the one you swayed--

I did abase myself as much in being

Your paramour, as though you were a peasant--

Nay, more, if that the peasant were a Greek.

_Sar._ You talk it well----

_Myr._ And truly.

_Sar._ In the hour

Of man's adversity all things grow daring

Against the falling; but as I am not 470

Quite fall'n, nor now disposed to bear reproaches,

Perhaps because I merit them too often,

Let us then part while peace is still between us.

_Myr._ Part!

_Sar._ Have not all past human beings parted,

And must not all the present one day part?

_Myr._ Why?

_Sar._ For your safety, which I will have looked to,

With a strong escort to your native land;

And such gifts, as, if you had not been all

A Queen, shall make your dowry worth a kingdom.

_Myr._ I pray you talk not thus.

_Sar._ The Queen is gone: 480

You need not shame to follow. I would fall

Alone--I seek no partners but in pleasure.

_Myr._ And I no pleasure but in parting not.

You shall not force me from you.

_Sar._ Think well of it--

It soon may be too late.

_Myr._ So let it be;

For then you cannot separate me from you.

_Sar._ And will not; but I thought you wished it.

_Myr._ I!

_Sar._ You spoke of your abasement.

_Myr._ And I feel it

Deeply--more deeply than all things but love.

_Sar._ Then fly from it.

_Myr._ 'Twill not recall the past-- 490

'Twill not restore my honour, nor my heart.

No--here I stand or fall. If that you conquer,

I live to joy in your great triumph: should

Your lot be different, I'll not weep, but share it.

You did not doubt me a few hours ago.

_Sar._ Your courage never--nor your love till now;

And none could make me doubt it save yourself.

Those words----

_Myr._ Were words. I pray you, let the proofs

Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise

This very night, and in my further bearing, 500

Beside, wherever you are borne by fate.

_Sar._ I am content: and, trusting in my cause,

Think we may yet be victors and return

To peace--the only victory I covet.

To me war is no glory--conquest no

Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right

Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs[aj]

These men would bow me down with. Never, never

Can I forget this night, even should I live

To add it to the memory of others. 510

I thought to have made mine inoffensive rule

An era of sweet peace 'midst bloody annals,

A green spot amidst desert centuries,

On which the Future would turn back and smile,

And cultivate, or sigh when it could not

Recall Sardanapalus' golden reign.

I thought to have made my realm a paradise,

And every moon an epoch of new pleasures.

I took the rabble's shouts for love--the breath

Of friends for truth--the lips of woman for 520

My only guerdon--so they are, my Myrrha: [_He kisses her_.

Kiss me. Now let them take my realm and life!

They shall have both, but never _thee!_

_Myr._ No, never!

Man may despoil his brother man of all

That's great or glittering--kingdoms fall, hosts yield,

Friends fail--slaves fly--and all betray--and, more

Than all, the most indebted--but a heart

That loves without self-love! 'Tis here--now prove it.

_Enter_ SALEMENES.

_Sal._ I sought you--How! _she_ here again?

_Sar._ Return not

_Now_ to reproof: methinks your aspect speaks 530

Of higher matter than a woman's presence.

_Sal._ The only woman whom it much imports me

At such a moment now is safe in absence--

The Queen's embarked.

_Sar._ And well? say that much.

_Sal._ Yes.

Her transient weakness has passed o'er; at least,

It settled into tearless silence: her

Pale face and glittering eye, after a glance

Upon her sleeping children, were still fixed

Upon the palace towers as the swift galley

Stole down the hurrying stream beneath the starlight; 540

But she said nothing.

_Sar._ Would I felt no more

Than she has said!

_Sal._ 'Tis now too late to feel.

Your feelings cannot cancel a sole pang:

To change them, my advices bring sure tidings

That the rebellious Medes and Chaldees, marshalled

By their two leaders, are already up

In arms again; and, serrying their ranks,

Prepare to attack: they have apparently

Been joined by other Satraps.

_Sar._ What! more rebels?

Let us be first, then.

_Sal._ That were hardly prudent 550

Now, though it was our first intention. If

By noon to-morrow we are joined by those

I've sent for by sure messengers, we shall be

In strength enough to venture an attack,

Aye, and pursuit too; but, till then, my voice

Is to await the onset.

_Sar._ I detest

That waiting; though it seems so safe to fight

Behind high walls, and hurl down foes into

Deep fosses, or behold them sprawl on spikes

Strewed to receive them, still I like it not-- 560

My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them,

Though they were piled on mountains, I would have

A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood!--

Let me then charge.

_Sal._ You talk like a young soldier.

_Sar._ I am no soldier, but a man: speak not

Of soldiership, I loathe the word, and those

Who pride themselves upon it; but direct me

Where I may pour upon them.

_Sal._ You must spare

To expose your life too hastily; 'tis not

Like mine or any other subject's breath: 570

The whole war turns upon it--with it; this

Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench it--

Prolong it--end it.

_Sar._ Then let us end both!

'Twere better thus, perhaps, than prolong either;

I'm sick of one, perchance of both.

[_A trumpet sounds without_.

_Sal._ Hark!

_Sar._ Let us

Reply, not listen.

_Sal._ And your wound!

_Sar._ 'Tis bound--

'Tis healed--I had forgotten it. Away!

A leech's lancet would have scratched me deeper;[ak]

The slave that gave it might be well ashamed

To have struck so weakly.

_Sal._ Now, may none this hour 580

Strike with a better aim!

_Sar._ Aye, if we conquer;

But if not, they will only leave to me

A task they might have spared their king. Upon them!

[_Trumpet sounds again_.

_Sal._ I am with you.

_Sar._ Ho, my arms! again, my arms!

[_Exeunt_.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-_The same Hall in the Palace_.

MYRRHA _and_ BALEA.

_Myr._ (_at a window_)[28]

The day at last has broken. What a night

Hath ushered it! How beautiful in heaven!

Though varied with a transitory storm,

More beautiful in that variety!

How hideous upon earth! where Peace and Hope,

And Love and Revel, in an hour were trampled

By human passions to a human chaos,

Not yet resolved to separate elements--

'Tis warring still! And can the sun so rise,

So bright, so rolling back the clouds into 10

Vapours more lovely than the unclouded sky,

With golden pinnacles, and snowy mountains,

And billows purpler than the Ocean's, making

In heaven a glorious mockery of the earth,

So like we almost deem it permanent;

So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught

Beyond a vision, 'tis so transiently

Scattered along the eternal vault: and yet

It dwells upon the soul, and soothes the soul,

And blends itself into the soul, until 20

Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch

Of Sorrow and of Love; which they who mark not,

Know not the realms where those twin genii[al]

(Who chasten and who purify our hearts,

So that we would not change their sweet rebukes

For all the boisterous joys that ever shook

The air with clamour) build the palaces

Where their fond votaries repose and breathe

Briefly;--but in that brief cool calm inhale

Enough of heaven to enable them to bear 30

The rest of common, heavy, human hours,

And dream them through in placid sufferance,

Though seemingly employed like all the rest

Of toiling breathers in allotted tasks[am]

Of pain or pleasure, _two_ names for _one_ feeling,

Which our internal, restless agony

Would vary in the sound, although the sense

Escapes our highest efforts to be happy.

_Bal._ You muse right calmly: and can you so watch

The sunrise which may be our last?

_Myr._ It is 40

Therefore that I so watch it, and reproach

Those eyes, which never may behold it more,

For having looked upon it oft, too oft,

Without the reverence and the rapture due

To that which keeps all earth from being as fragile

As I am in this form. Come, look upon it,

The Chaldee's God, which, when I gaze upon,

I grow almost a convert to your Baal.

_Bal._ As now he reigns in heaven, so once on earth

He swayed.

_Myr._ He sways it now far more, then; never 50

Had earthly monarch half the power and glory

Which centres in a single ray of his.

_Bal._ Surely he is a God!

_Myr._ So we Greeks deem too;

And yet I sometimes think that gorgeous orb

Must rather be the abode of Gods than one

Of the immortal sovereigns. Now he breaks

Through all the clouds, and fills my eyes with light

That shuts the world out. I can look no more.

_Bal._ Hark! heard you not a sound?

_Myr._ No, 'twas mere fancy;

They battle it beyond the wall, and not 60

As in late midnight conflict in the very

Chambers: the palace has become a fortress

Since that insidious hour; and here, within

The very centre, girded by vast courts

And regal halls of pyramid proportions,

Which must be carried one by one before

They penetrate to where they then arrived,

We are as much shut in even from the sound

Of peril as from glory.

_Bal._ But they reached

Thus far before.

_Myr._ Yes, by surprise, and were 70

Beat back by valour: now at once we have

Courage and vigilance to guard us.

_Bal._ May they

Prosper!

_Myr._ That is the prayer of many, and

The dread of more: it is an anxious hour;

I strive to keep it from my thoughts. Alas!

How vainly!

_Bal._ It is said the King's demeanour

In the late action scarcely more appalled

The rebels than astonished his true subjects.

_Myr._ 'Tis easy to astonish or appal

The vulgar mass which moulds a horde of slaves; 80

But he did bravely.

_Bal._ Slew he not Beleses?

I heard the soldiers say he struck him down.

_Myr._ The wretch was overthrown, but rescued to

Triumph, perhaps, o'er one who vanquished him

In fight, as he had spared him in his peril;

And by that heedless pity risked a crown.

_Bal._ Hark!

_Myr._ You are right; some steps approach, but slowly.

_Enter Soldiers, bearing in_ SALEMENES _wounded, with

a broken javelin in his side: they seat him upon one of

the couches which furnish the Apartment_.

_Myr._ Oh, Jove!

_Bal._ Then all is over.

_Sal._ That is false.

Hew down the slave who says so, if a soldier.

_Myr._ Spare him--he's none: a mere court butterfly, 90

That flutter in the pageant of a monarch.

_Sal._ Let him live on, then.

_Myr._ So wilt thou, I trust.

_Sal._ I fain would live this hour out, and the event,

But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here?

_Sol._ By the King's order. When the javelin struck you,

You fell and fainted: 'twas his strict command

To bear you to this hall.

_Sal._ 'Twas not ill done:

For seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance,

The sight might shake our soldiers--but--'tis vain,

I feel it ebbing!

_Myr._ Let me see the wound; 100

I am not quite skilless: in my native land

'Tis part of our instruction. War being constant,

We are nerved to look on such things.[an]

_Sol._ Best extract

The javelin.

_Myr._ Hold! no, no, it cannot be.

_Sal._ I am sped, then!

_Myr._ With the blood that fast must follow

The extracted weapon, I do fear thy life.

_Sal._ And I _not_ death. Where was the King when you

Conveyed me from the spot where I was stricken?

_Sol._ Upon the same ground, and encouraging

With voice and gesture the dispirited troops 110

Who had seen you fall, and faltered back.

_Sal._ Whom heard ye

Named next to the command?

_Sol._ I did not hear.

_Sal._ Fly, then, and tell him, 'twas my last request

That Zames take my post until the junction,

So hoped for, yet delayed, of Ofratanes,

Satrap of Susa. Leave me here: our troops

Are not so numerous as to spare your absence.

_Sol._ But Prince----

_Sal._ Hence, I say! Here's a courtier and

A woman, the best chamber company.

As you would not permit me to expire 120

Upon the field, I'll have no idle soldiers

About my sick couch. Hence! and do my bidding!

[_Exeunt the Soldiers_.

_Myr._ Gallant and glorious Spirit! must the earth

So soon resign thee?

_Sal._ Gentle Myrrha, 'tis

The end I would have chosen, had I saved

The monarch or the monarchy by this;

As 'tis, I have not outlived them.

_Myr._ You wax paler.

_Sal._ Your hand; this broken weapon but prolongs

My pangs, without sustaining life enough

To make me useful: I would draw it forth 130

And my life with it, could I but hear how

The fight goes.

_Enter_ SARDANAPALUS _and Soldiers_.

_Sar._ My best brother!

_Sal._ And the battle

Is lost?

_Sar._ (_despondingly_). You see _me here_.

_Sal._ I'd rather see you _thus!_

[_He draws out the weapon from the wound, and dies_.

_Sar._ And _thus_ I will be seen; unless the succour,

The last frail reed of our beleagured hopes,

Arrive with Ofratanes.

_Myr._ Did you not

Receive a token from your dying brother,

Appointing Zames chief?

_Sar._ I did.

_Myr._ Where's Zames?

_Sar._ Dead.

_Myr._ And Altada?

_Sar._ Dying.

_Myr._ Pania? Sfero?

_Sar._ Pania yet lives; but Sfero's fled or captive. 140

I am alone.

_Myr._ And is all lost?

_Sar._ Our walls,

Though thinly manned, may still hold out against

Their present force, or aught save treachery:

But i' the field----

_Myr._ I thought 'twas the intent

Of Salemenes not to risk a sally

Till ye were strengthened by the expected succours.

_Sar._ _I_ over-ruled him.

_Myr._ Well, the _fault's_ a brave one.

_Sar._ But fatal. Oh, my brother! I would give

These realms, of which thou wert the ornament,

The sword and shield, the sole-redeeming honour, 150

To call back----But I will not weep for thee;

Thou shall be mourned for as thou wouldst be mourned.

It grieves me most that thou couldst quit this life

Believing that I could survive what thou

Hast died for--our long royalty of race.

If I redeem it, I will give thee blood

Of thousands, tears of millions, for atonement,

(The tears of all the good are thine already).

If not, we meet again soon,--if the spirit

Within us lives beyond:--thou readest mine, 160

And dost me justice now. Let me once clasp

That yet warm hand, and fold that throbless heart

[_Embraces the body_.

To this which beats so bitterly. Now, bear

The body hence.

_Sol._ Where?

_Sar._ To my proper chamber.

Place it beneath my canopy, as though

The King lay there: when this is done, we will

Speak further of the rites due to such ashes.

[_Exeunt Soldiers with the body of_ SALEMENES.

_Enter_ PANIA.

_Sar._ Well, Pania! have you placed the guards, and issued

The orders fixed on?

_Pan._ Sire, I have obeyed.

_Sar._ And do the soldiers keep their hearts up?

_Pan._ Sire? 170

_Sar._ I am answered! When a king asks twice, and has

A question as an answer to _his_ question,

It is a portent. What! they are disheartened?

_Pan._ The death of Salemenes, and the shouts

Of the exulting rebels on his fall,

Have made them----

_Sar._ _Rage_--not droop--it should have been.

We'll find the means to rouse them.

_Pan._ Such a loss

Might sadden even a victory.

_Sar._ Alas!

Who can so feel it as I feel? but yet,

Though cooped within these walls, they are strong, and we 180

Have those without will break their way through hosts,

To make their sovereign's dwelling what it was--

A palace, not a prison--nor a fortress.

_Enter an Officer, hastily_.

_Sar._ Thy face seems ominous. Speak!

_Offi._ I dare not.

_Sar._ Dare not?

While millions dare revolt with sword in hand!

That's strange. I pray thee break that loyal silence

Which loathes to shock its sovereign; we can hear

Worse than thou hast to tell.

_Pan._ Proceed--thou hearest.

_Offi._ The wall which skirted near the river's brink

Is thrown down by the sudden inundation 190

Of the Euphrates, which now rolling, swoln

From the enormous mountains where it rises,

By the late rains of that tempestuous region,

O'erfloods its banks, and hath destroyed the bulwark.

_Pan._ That's a black augury! it has been said

For ages, "That the City ne'er should yield

To man, until the River grew its foe."

_Sar._ I can forgive the omen, not the ravage.

How much is swept down of the wall?

_Offi._ About

Some twenty stadia.[29]

_Sar._ And all this is left 200

Pervious to the assailants?

_Offi._ For the present

The River's fury must impede the assault;

But when he shrinks into his wonted channel,

And may be crossed by the accustomed barks,

The palace is their own.

_Sar._ That shall be never.

Though men, and gods, and elements, and omens,

Have risen up 'gainst one who ne'er provoked them,

My father's house shall never be a cave

For wolves to horde and howl in.

_Pan._ With your sanction,

I will proceed to the spot, and take such measures 210

For the assurance of the vacant space

As time and means permit.

_Sar._ About it straight,

And bring me back, as speedily as full

And fair investigation may permit,

Report of the true state of this irruption

Of waters. [_Exeunt_ PANIA _and the Officer_.

_Myr._ Thus the very waves rise up

Against you.

_Sar._ They are not my subjects, girl,

And may be pardoned, since they can't be punished.

_Myr._ I joy to see this portent shakes you not.

_Sar._ I am past the fear of portents: they can tell me 220

Nothing I have not told myself since midnight:

Despair anticipates such things.

_Myr._ Despair!

_Sar._ No; not despair precisely. When we know

All that can come, and how to meet it, our

Resolves, if firm, may merit a more noble

Word than this is to give it utterance.

But what are words to us? we have well nigh done

With them and all things.

_Myr._ Save _one deed_--the last

And greatest to all mortals; crowning act

Of all that was, or is, or is to be-- 230

The only thing common to all mankind,

So different in their births, tongues, sexes, natures,

Hues, features, climes, times, feelings, intellects,[ao]

Without one point of union save in this--

To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread

The labyrinth of mystery, called life.

_Sar._ Our clue being well nigh wound out, let's be cheerful.

They who have nothing more to fear may well

Indulge a smile at that which once appalled;

As children at discovered bugbears.

_Re-enter_ PANIA.

_Pan._ 'Tis 240

As was reported: I have ordered there

A double guard, withdrawing from the wall,

Where it was strongest, the required addition

To watch the breach occasioned by the waters.

_Sar._ You have done your duty faithfully, and as

My worthy Pania! further ties between us

Draw near a close--I pray you take this key:

[_Gives a key_.

It opens to a secret chamber, placed

Behind the couch in my own chamber--(Now

Pressed by a nobler weight than e'er it bore-- 250

Though a long line of sovereigns have lain down

Along its golden frame--as bearing for

A time what late was Salemenes.)--Search

The secret covert to which this will lead you;

'Tis full of treasure;[30] take it for yourself

And your companions:[ap] there's enough to load ye,

Though ye be many. Let the slaves be freed, too;

And all the inmates of the palace, of

Whatever sex, now quit it in an hour.

Thence launch the regal barks, once formed for pleasure, 260

And now to serve for safety, and embark.

The river's broad and swoln, and uncommanded,

(More potent than a king) by these besiegers.

Fly! and be happy!

_Pan._ Under your protection!

So you accompany your faithful guard.

_Sar._ No, Pania! that must not be; get thee hence,

And leave me to my fate.

_Pan._ 'Tis the first time

I ever disobeyed: but now----

_Sar._ So all men

Dare beard me now, and Insolence within

Apes Treason from without. Question no further; 270

'Tis my command, my last command. Wilt _thou_

Oppose it? _thou!_

_Pan._ But yet--not yet.

_Sar._ Well, then,

Swear that you will obey when I shall give

The signal.

_Pan._ With a heavy but true heart,

I promise.

_Sar._ 'Tis enough. Now order here

Faggots, pine-nuts, and withered leaves, and such

Things as catch fire and blaze with one sole spark;

Bring cedar, too, and precious drugs, and spices,

And mighty planks, to nourish a tall pile;

Bring frankincense and myrrh, too, for it is 280

For a great sacrifice I build the pyre!

And heap them round yon throne.

_Pan._ My Lord!

_Sar._ I have said it,

And _you_ have sworn.

_Pan._ And could keep my faith

Without a vow. [_Exit_ PANIA.

_Myr._ What mean you?

_Sar._ You shall know

Anon--what the whole earth shall ne'er forget.

PANIA, _returning with a Herald_.

_Pan._ My King, in going forth upon my duty,

This herald has been brought before me, craving

An audience.

_Sar._ Let him speak.

_Her._ The _King_ Arbaces----

_Sar._ What, crowned already?--But, proceed.

_Her._ Beleses,

The anointed High-priest----

_Sar._ Of what god or demon? 290

With new kings rise new altars. But, proceed;

You are sent to prate your master's will, and not

Reply to mine.

_Her._ And Satrap Ofratanes----

_Sar._ Why, _he_ is _ours_.

_Her._ (_showing a ring_). Be sure that he is now

In the camp of the conquerors; behold

His signet ring.

_Sar._ 'Tis his. A worthy triad!

Poor Salemenes! thou hast died in time

To see one treachery the less: this man

Was thy true friend and my most trusted subject.

Proceed.

_Her._ They offer thee thy life, and freedom 300

Of choice to single out a residence

In any of the further provinces,

Guarded and watched, but not confined in person,

Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace; but on

Condition that the three young princes are

Given up as hostages.

_Sar._ (_ironically_). The generous Victors!

_Her._ I wait the answer.

_Sar._ Answer, slave! How long

Have slaves decided on the doom of kings?

_Her._ Since they were free.

_Sar._ Mouthpiece of mutiny!

Thou at the least shalt learn the penalty 310

Of treason, though its proxy only. Pania!

Let his head be thrown from our walls within

The rebels' lines, his carcass down the river.

Away with him! [PANIA _and the Guards seizing him_.

_Pan._ I never yet obeyed

Your orders with more pleasure than the present.

Hence with him, soldiers! do not soil this hall

Of royalty with treasonable gore;

Put him to rest without.

_Her._ A single word:

My office, King, is sacred.

_Sar._ And what's _mine_?

That thou shouldst come and dare to ask of me 320

To lay it down?

_Her._ I but obeyed my orders,

At the same peril if refused, as now

Incurred by my obedience.

_Sar._ So there are

New monarchs of an hour's growth as despotic

As sovereigns swathed in purple, and enthroned

From birth to manhood!

_Her._ My life waits your breath.

Yours (I speak humbly)--but it may be--yours

May also be in danger scarce less imminent:

Would it then suit the last hours of a line

Such as is that of Nimrod, to destroy 330

A peaceful herald, unarmed, in his office;

And violate not only all that man

Holds sacred between man and man--but that

More holy tie which links us with the Gods?

_Sar._ He's right.--Let him go free.--My life's last act

Shall not be one of wrath. Here, fellow, take

[_Gives him a golden cup from a table near_.

This golden goblet, let it hold your wine,

And think of _me_; or melt it into ingots,

And think of nothing but their weight and value.

_Her._ I thank you doubly for my life, and this 340

Most gorgeous gift, which renders it more precious.

But must I bear no answer?

_Sar._ Yes,--I ask

An hour's truce to consider.

_Her._ But an hour's?

_Sar._ An hour's: if at the expiration of

That time your masters hear no further from me,

They are to deem that I reject their terms,

And act befittingly.

_Her._ I shall not fail

To be a faithful legate of your pleasure.

_Sar._ And hark! a word more.

_Her._ I shall not forget it,

Whate'er it be.

_Sar._ Commend me to Beleses; 350

And tell him, ere a year expire, I summon

Him hence to meet me.

_Her._ Where?

_Sar._ At Babylon.

At least from thence he will depart to meet me.

_Her._ I shall obey you to the letter. [_Exit Herald_.

_Sar._ Pania!--

Now, my good Pania!--quick--with what I ordered.

_Pan._ My Lord,--the soldiers are already charged.

And see! they enter.

_Soldiers enter, and form a Pile about the Throne, etc._[31]

_Sar._ Higher, my good soldiers,

And thicker yet; and see that the foundation

Be such as will not speedily exhaust

Its own too subtle flame; nor yet be quenched 360

With aught officious aid would bring to quell it.

Let the throne form the _core_ of it; I would not

Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable,

To the new comers. Frame the whole as if

'Twere to enkindle the strong tower of our

Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect!

How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice

For a King's obsequies?

_Pan._ Aye, for a kingdom's.

I understand you, now.

_Sar._ And blame me?

_Pan._ No--

Let me but fire the pile, and share it with you. 370

_Myr._ That _duty's_ mine.

_Pan._ A woman's!

_Myr._ 'Tis the soldier's

Part to die _for_ his sovereign, and why not

The woman's with her lover?

_Pan._ 'Tis most strange!

_Myr._ But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it.

In the mean time, live thou.--Farewell! the pile

Is ready.

_Pan._ I should shame to leave my sovereign

With but a single female to partake

His death.

_Sar._ Too many far have heralded

Me to the dust already. Get thee hence;

Enrich thee.

_Pan._ And live wretched!

_Sar._ Think upon 380

Thy vow:--'tis sacred and irrevocable.

_Pan._ Since it is so, farewell.

_Sar._ Search well my chamber,

Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold;

Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves

Who slew me: and when you have borne away

All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast

Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace.

The river's brink is too remote, its stream

Too loud at present to permit the echo

To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,-- 390

And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on

Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach

The land of Paphlagonia, where the Queen

Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court,

Say what you _saw_ at parting, and request

That she remember what I _said_ at one

Parting more mournful still.

_Pan._ That royal hand!

Let me then once more press it to my lips;

And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and

Would fain die with you!

[_The Soldiers and_ PANIA _throng round him,

kissing his hand and the hem of his robe_.

_Sar._ My best! my last friends! 400

Let's not unman each other: part at once:

All farewells should be sudden, when for ever,

Else they make an eternity of moments,

And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.

Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not

_Now_ to be pitied; or far more for what

Is past than present;--for the future, 'tis

In the hands of the deities, if such

There be: I shall know soon. Farewell--Farewell.

[_Exeunt_ PANIA _and Soldiers_.

_Myr._ These men were honest: it is comfort still 410

That our last looks should be on loving faces.

_Sar._ And _lovely_ ones, my beautiful!--but hear me!

If at this moment,--for we now are on

The brink,--thou feel'st an inward shrinking from

This leap through flame into the future, say it:

I shall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more,

For yielding to thy nature: and there's time

Yet for thee to escape hence.

_Myr._ Shall I light

One of the torches which lie heaped beneath

The ever-burning lamp that burns without, 420

Before Baal's shrine, in the adjoining hall?

_Sar._ Do so. Is that thy answer?

_Myr._ Thou shalt see.

[_Exit_ MYRRHA.

_Sar._ (_solus_). She's firm. My fathers! whom I will rejoin,

It may be, purified by death from some

Of the gross stains of too material being,

I would not leave your ancient first abode

To the defilement of usurping bondmen;

If I have not kept your inheritance

As ye bequeathed it, this bright part of it,

Your treasure--your abode--your sacred relics 430

Of arms, and records--monuments, and spoils,

In which _they_ would have revelled, I bear with me

To you in that absorbing element,

Which most personifies the soul as leaving

The least of matter unconsumed before

Its fiery workings:--and the light of this

Most royal of funereal pyres shall be[aq]

Not a mere pillar formed of cloud and flame,

A beacon in the horizon for a day,

And then a mount of ashes--but a light[ar] 440

To lesson ages, rebel nations, and

Voluptuous princes. Time shall quench full many

A people's records, and a hero's acts;

Sweep empire after empire, like this first

Of empires, into nothing; but even then

Shall spare this deed of mine, and hold it up

A problem few dare imitate, and none

Despise--but, it may be, avoid the life

Which led to such a consummation.

MYRRHA _returns with a lighted Torch in one Hand,

and a Cup in the other_.

_Myr._ Lo!

I've lit the lamp which lights us to the stars. 450

_Sar._ And the cup?

_Myr._ 'Tis my country's custom to

Make a libation to the Gods.

_Sar._ And mine

To make libations amongst men. I've not

Forgot the custom; and although alone,

Will drain one draught in memory of many

A joyous banquet past.

[SARDANAPALUS _takes the cup, and after drinking

and tinkling the reversed cup, as a drop falls,

exclaims_--

And this libation

Is for the excellent Beleses.

_Myr._ Why

Dwells thy mind rather upon that man's name

Than on his mate's in villany?

_Sar._ The other

Is a mere soldier, a mere tool, a kind 460

Of human sword in a friend's hand; the other

Is master-mover of his warlike puppet;

But I dismiss them from my mind.--Yet pause,

My Myrrha! dost thou truly follow me,

Freely and fearlessly?

_Myr._ And dost thou think

A Greek girl dare not do for love, that which

An Indian widow braves for custom?[as]

_Sar._ Then

We but await the signal.

_Myr._ It is long

In sounding.

_Sar._ Now, farewell; one last embrace.

_Myr._ Embrace, but _not_ the last; there is one more. 470

_Sar._ True, the commingling fire will mix our ashes.

_Myr._ And pure as is my love to thee, shall they,

Purged from the dross of earth, and earthly passion,

Mix pale with thine. A single thought yet irks me.

_Sar._ Say it.

_Myr._ It is that no kind hand will gather

The dust of both into one urn.

_Sar._ The better:

Rather let them be borne abroad upon

The winds of heaven, and scattered into air,

Than be polluted more by human hands

Of slaves and traitors. In this blazing palace, 480

And its enormous walls of reeking ruin,

We leave a nobler monument than Egypt

Hath piled in her brick mountains, o'er dead kings,[32]

Or _kine_--for none know whether those proud piles

Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis:

So much for monuments that have forgotten

Their very record!

_Myr._ Then farewell, thou earth!

And loveliest spot of earth! farewell, Ionia!

Be thou still free and beautiful, and far

Aloof from desolation! My last prayer 490

Was for thee, my last thoughts, save _one_, were of thee!

_Sar._ And that?

_Myr._ Is yours.

[_The trumpet of_ PANIA _sounds without_.

_Sar._ Hark!

_Myr._ _Now_!

_Sar._ Adieu, Assyria!

I loved thee well, my own, my fathers' land,

And better as my country than my kingdom.

I sated thee with peace and joys; and this

Is my reward! and now I owe thee nothing,

Not even a grave. [_He mounts the pile_.

Now, Myrrha!

_Myr._ Art thou ready?

_Sar._ As the torch in thy grasp.

[MYRRHA _fires the pile_.

_Myr._ 'Tis fired! I come.

[_As_ MYRRHA _springs forward to throw herself into

the flames, the Curtain falls_.[33]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] {4}[For a description of the fall of Nineveh, see _Nahum_ ii. 1,

sqq.--"He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face.... The

shield of his mighty men is made red, the valiant men are in scarlet....

The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall justle one against

another in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run

like the lightnings. He shall recount his worthies: they shall stumble

in their walk; they shall make haste to the wall thereof, and the

defence shall be prepared. The gates of the rivers shall be opened, and

the palace shall be dissolved," etc.]

[2] {7}["A manuscript dedication of _Sardanapalus_ ... was forwarded to

him, with an obliging inquiry whether it might be prefixed to the

tragedy. The German, who, at his advanced age, was conscious of his own

powers, and of their effects, could only gratefully and modestly

consider this Dedication as the expression of an inexhaustible

intellect, deeply feeling and creating its own object. He was by no

means dissatisfied when, after long delay, _Sardanapalus_ appeared

without the Dedication; and was made happy by the possession of a

facsimile of it, engraved on stone, which he considered a precious

memorial."--_Lebensverhaeltnik zu Byron_, _Werke_, 1833, xlvi. 221-225.

(See, too, for translation, _Life_, p. 593.)]

[3] {9}[_Sardanapalus_ originally appeared in the same volume with _The

Two Foscari_ and _Cain_. The date of publication was December 19, 1821.]

[4] {10}["Sardanapalus, the Thirtieth from Ninus, and the last King of

the Assyrians, exceeded all his Predecessors in Sloth and Luxury; for

besides that he was seen of none out of his family, he led a most

effeminate life: for wallowing in Pleasure and wanton Dalliances, he

cloathed himself in Womens' attire, and spun fine Wool and Purple

amongst the throngs of his Whores and Concubines. He painted likewise

his Face, and decked his whole Body with other Allurements.... He

imitated likewise a Woman's voice...; and proceeded to such a degree of

voluptuousness that he composed verses for his Epitaph ... which were

thus translated by a Grecian out of the Barbarian language--

[Greek:

Tau~t' e)/cho o(/s' e)/phagon kai\ e)phy/brisa, kai\ met' e)/rotos

Te/rpn' e)/pathon' ta\ de\ polla\ kai\ o)/lbia kei~na le/leiptai.]

"What once I gorged I now enjoy,

And wanton Lusts me still employ;

All other things by Mortals prized

Are left as dirt by me despised."

--_The Historical Library of Diodorus the Sicilian_, made English by G.

Booth, of the City of Chester, Esquire, 1700, p. 65.

"Another king of the sort was Sardanapalus.... And so, when Arbaces, who

was one of the generals under him, a Mede by birth, endeavoured to

manage by the assistance of one of the eunuchs, whose name was

Sparamizus, to see Sardanapalus: and when ... he saw him painted with

vermilion, and adorned like a woman, sitting among his concubines,

carding purple wool, and sitting among them with his feet up, wearing a

woman's robe, and with his beard carefully scraped, and his face

smoothed with pumice stone (for he was whiter than milk, and pencilled

under his eyes and eyebrows; and when he saw Arbaces he was putting a

little more white under his eyes). Most historians, of whom Duris is

one, relate that Arbaces, being indignant at his countrymen being ruled

over by such a monarch as that, stabbed him and slew him. But Ctesias

says that he went to war with him, and collected a great army, and then

that Sardanapalus, being dethroned by Arbaces, died, burning himself

alive in his palace, having heaped up a funeral pile four plethra in

extent, on which he placed 150 golden couches."--_The Deipnosophistae_

... of Athenaeus, bk. xii. c. 38, translated by C. D. Yonge, 1854, iii.

847.]

[5] {13}[This prince surpassed all his predecessors in effeminacy,

luxury, and cowardice. He never went out of his palace, but spent all

his time among a company of women, dressed and painted like them, and

employed like them at the distaff. He placed all his happiness and glory

in the possession of immense treasures, in feasting and rioting, and

indulging himself in all the most infamous and criminal pleasures. He

ordered two verses to be put upon his tomb, signifying that he carried

away with him all he had eaten, and all the pleasures he had enjoyed,

but left everything else behind him,--_an epitaph_, says Aristotle, _fit

for a hog_. Arbaces, governor of Media, having found means to get into

the palace, and having with his own eyes seen Sardanapalus in the midst

of his infamous seraglio, enraged at such a spectacle, and not able to

endure that so many brave men should be subjected to a prince more soft

and effeminate than the women themselves, immediately formed a

conspiracy against him. Beleses, governor of Babylon, and several

others, entered into it. On the first rumour of this revolt the king hid

himself in the inmost part of his palace. Being afterwards obliged to

take the field with some forces which he had assembled, he at first

gained three successive victories over the enemy, but was afterwards

overcome, and pursued to the gates of Nineveh; wherein he shut himself,

in hopes the rebels would never be able to take a city so well

fortified, and stored with provisions for a considerable time. The siege

proved indeed of very great length. It had been declared by an ancient

oracle that Nineveh could never be taken unless the river became an

enemy to the city. These words buoyed up Sardanapalus, because he looked

upon the thing as impossible. But when he saw that the Tigris, by a

violent inundation, had thrown down twenty stadia (two miles and a half)

of the city wall, and by that means opened a passage to the enemy, he

understood the meaning of the oracle, and thought himself lost. He

resolved, however, to die in such a manner as, according to his opinion,

should cover the infamy of his scandalous and effeminate life. He

ordered a pile of wood to be made in his palace, and, setting fire to

it, burnt himself, his eunuchs, his women, and his treasures.--Diod.

Sic., _Bibl. Hist_., lib. ii. pag. 78, sqq., ed. 1604, p. 109.]

[a] {14} _He sweats in dreary, dulled effeminacy_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[b] {15} _And see the gewgaws of the glittering girls_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[6] ["The words _Queen_ (_vide infra_, line 83) and _pavilion_ occur,

but it is not an allusion to his Britannic Majesty, as you may

tremulously (for the admiralty custom) imagine. This you will one day

see (if I finish it), as I have made Sardanapalus _brave_ (though

voluptuous, as history represents him), and also as _amiable_ as my poor

powers could render him. So that it could neither be truth nor satire on

any living monarch."--Letter to Murray, May 25, 1821, _Letters_, 1901,

v. 299.

Byron pretended, or, perhaps, really thought, that such a phrase as the

"Queen's wrongs" would be supposed to contain an allusion to the trial

of Queen Caroline (August-November, 1820), and to the exclusion of her

name from the State prayers, etc. Unquestionably if the play had been

put on the stage at this time, the pit and gallery would have applauded

the sentiment to the echo. There was, too, but one "pavilion" in 1821,

and that was not on the banks of the Euphrates, but at Brighton. _Qui

s'excuse s'accuse_. Byron was not above "paltering" with his readers "in

a double sense."]

[7] {16} "The Ionian name had been still more comprehensive; having

included the Achaians and the B[oe]otians, who, together with those to

whom it was afterwards confined, would make nearly the whole of the

Greek nation; and among the Orientals it was always the general name for

the Greeks."--MITFORD'S _Greece_, 1818. i. 199.

[c] {17} _To Byblis_----.--[MS. M.]

[d] _I know each glance of those deep Greek-souled eyes_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[e] {19}

----_I have a mind_

_To curse the restless slaves with their own wishes_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[8] {21}[For the occupation of India by Dionysus, see Diod. Siculi _Bib.

Hist_., lib. ii, pag. 87, c.]

[f] _He did, and thence was deemed a God in story_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[9] [Strabo (_Rerum Geog_., lib. iii. 1807, p. 235) throws some doubt on

the existence of these columns, which he suggests were islands or

"pillar" rocks. According to Plutarch (Langhorne's Translation, 1838, p.

490), Alexander built great altars on the banks of the Ganges, on which

the native kings were wont to "offer sacrifices in the Grecian manner."

Hence, perhaps, the legend of the columns erected by Dionysus.]

[10] "For this expedition he took only a small chosen body of the

phalanx, but all his light troops. In the first day's march he reached

Anchialus, a town said to have been founded by the king of Assyria,

Sardanapalus. The fortifications, in their magnitude and extent, still

in Arrian's time, bore the character of greatness, which the Assyrians

appear singularly to have affected in works of the kind. A monument

representing Sardanapalus was found there, warranted by an inscription

in Assyrian characters, of course in the old Assyrian language, which

the Greeks, whether well or ill, interpreted thus: 'Sardanapalus, son of

Anacyndaraxes, in one day founded Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink,

play; all other human joys are not worth a fillip.' Supposing this

version nearly exact (for Arrian says it was not quite so), whether the

purpose has not been to invite to civil order a people disposed to

turbulence, rather than to recommend immoderate luxury, may perhaps

reasonably be questioned. What, indeed, could be the object of a king of

Assyria in founding such towns in a country so distant from his capital,

and so divided from it by an immense extent of sandy deserts and lofty

mountains, and, still more, how the inhabitants could be at once in

circumstances to abandon themselves to the intemperate joys which their

prince has been supposed to have recommended, is not obvious. But it may

deserve observation that, in that line of coast, the southern of Lesser

Asia, ruins of cities, evidently of an age after Alexander, yet barely

named in history, at this day astonish the adventurous traveller by

their magnificence and elegance amid the desolation which, under a

singularly barbarian government, has for so many centuries been daily

spreading in the finest countries of the globe. Whether more from soil

and climate, or from opportunities for commerce, extraordinary means

must have been found for communities to flourish there; whence it may

seem that the measures of Sardanapalus were directed by juster views

than have been commonly ascribed to him. But that monarch having been

the last of a dynasty ended by a revolution, obloquy on his memory would

follow of course from the policy of his successors and their partisans.

The inconsistency of traditions concerning Sardanapalus is striking in

Diodorus's account of him."--MITFORD's _Greece_, 1820, ix. 311-313, and

note 1.

[The story of the sepulchral monument with its cynical inscription rests

on the authority of Aristobulus, who served under Alexander, and wrote

his history. The passage is quoted by Strabo (lib. xiv. ed. 1808, p.

958), and as follows by Athenaeus (lib. xii. cap. 40) in the

_Deipnosophistae_: "And Aristobulus says, 'In Anchiale, which was built

by Sardanapalus, did Alexander, when he was on his expedition against

the Persians, pitch his camp. And at no great distance was the monument

of Sardanapalus, on which there is a marble figure putting together the

fingers of its right hand, as if it were giving a fillip. And there was

on it the following inscription in Assyrian characters:--

Sardanapalus

The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes,

In one day built Anchiale and Tarsus:

Eat, drink, and love, the rest's not worth e'en this.'

By '_this_' meaning the fillip he was giving with his fingers."

"We may conjecture," says Canon Rawlinson, "that the monument was in

reality a stele containing the king [Sennacherib] in an arched frame,

with the right hand raised above the left, which is the ordinary

attitude, and an inscription commemorating the occasion of its erection"

[the conquest of Cilicia and settlement of Tarsus].--_The Five Great

Monarchies, etc._, 1871, ii. 216.]

[11] {25}[Compare "Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all

creatures else to fat us; and we fat ourselves for maggots."--_Hamlet_.

act iv. sc. 3, lines 21-23.]

[12] {27}[Compare--"The fickle reek of popular breath." _Childe Harold_,

Canto IV. stanza clxxi. line 2.]

[13] Compare--"I have not flattered its rank breath." _Childe Harold_,

Canto III. stanza cxiii. line 2.

Compare, too, Shakespeare, _Coriolanus_, act iii. sc. i, lines 66, 67.

[14] {28}["Rode. Winter's wind somewhat more unkind than ingratitude

itself, though Shakespeare says otherwise. At least, I am so much more

accustomed to meet with ingratitude than the north wind, that I thought

the latter the sharper of the two. I had met with both in the course of

the twenty-four hours, so could judge."--_Extracts from a Diary_,

January 19, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 177.]

[g] {31}

----_and even dared_

_Profane our presence with his savage jeers_.--[MS. M.]

[h] {34} _Who loved no gems so well as those of nature_.--[MS. M.]

[i] _Wishing eternity to dust_----.--[MS. M.]

[j] {38}

_Each twinkle unto which Time trembles, and_

_Nations grow nothing_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[15] {40}[Compare "these swoln silkworms," _Marino Faliero_, act ii. sc.

2. line 115, _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 386, note 4.]

[k] {43} _But found the Monarch claimed his privacy_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[l]

----_not else_

_It quits this living hand_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[m] _I know them beautiful, and see them brilliant_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[n] {49} ----_by the foolish confidence_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[16] [The first edition reads "grantor." In the MS. the word may be

either "granter" or "grantor." "Grantor" is a technical term, in law,

for one "who grants a conveyance."]

[17] {50}[According to AElian, _Var. Hist._, vii. i, Semiramis, having

obtained from her husband permission to rule over Asia for five days,

thrust him into a dungeon, and obtained the sovereign power for herself

(ed. Paris, 1858, p. 355).]

[o] {52} _Aye--that's earnest!_--[MS. M. erased.]

[p] {54} _Nay, if thou wilt not_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[q] {56}

_Nor silent Baal, our imaged deity_,

_Although his marble face looks frowningly_,

_As the dusk shadows of the evening cast_

_His trow in coming dimness and at times_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[r]

/ _a wide-spread_ \

_In distant flashes_ < _tempest_ > --[MS. M erased]

\ _the approaching_ /

[s] _As from the Gods to augur_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[t] {58} _The weaker merit of our Asian women_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[u] _Rather than prove that love to you in griefs_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[v] {60} _Worshippers in the air_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[18] {61}[Perhaps Grillparzer's _Sappho_ was responsible for the

anachronism. See "Extracts from a Diary," January 12, 1821, _Letters_,

1901, V. 171, note 1.]

[19] {63}["In the third act, when Sardanapalus calls for a _mirror_ to

look at himself in his _armour_, recollect to quote the Latin passage

from _Juvenal_ upon Otho (a similar character, who did the same thing:

Gifford will help you to it). The trait is, perhaps, too familiar, but

it is historical (of Otho, at least), and natural in an effeminate

character."--Letter to Murray, May 30, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 301.

The quotation was not made in the first edition, 1821, nor in any

subsequent issue, till 1832. It is from Juvenal, _Sat._ ii. lines

199-203--

"Ille tenet speculum, pathici gestamen Othonis,

Actoris Aurunci spolium, quo se ille videbat

Armatum, cum jam tolli vexilla juberet.

Res memoranda novis annalibus, atque recenti

Historia, speculum civilis sarcina belli."

"This grasps a mirror--pathic Otho's boast

(Auruncan Actor's spoil), where, while his host,

With shouts, the signal of the fight required,

He viewed his mailed form; viewed, and admired!

Lo, a new subject for the historic page,

A MIRROR, midst the arms of civil rage!"

Gifford.]

[w] {66} ----_and his own helmet_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[x] {68} _We'll die where we were raised_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[y] {70} _Tortured because his mind is tortured_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[z] _He ever such an order_----.--[MS. M. erased.] _He ever had that

order_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[20] {72}["When 'the king was almost dying with thirst' ... the eunuch

Satibarzanes sought every place for water.... After much search he found

one of those poor Caunians had about two quarts of bad water in a mean

bottle, and he took it and carried it to the king. After the king had

drawn it all up, the eunuch asked him, 'If he did not find it a

disagreeable beverage?' Upon which he swore by all the gods, 'That he

had never drunk the most delicious wine, nor the lightest and clearest

water with so much pleasure. I wish only,' continued he, 'that I could

find the man who gave it thee, that I might make him a recompense. In

the mean time I entreat the gods to make him happy and

rich.'"--Plutarch's _Artaxerxes_, Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 694.

Poetry as well as history repeats itself. Compare the "water green"

which Gunga Din brought, at the risk of his own life, to fill the

wounded soldier's helmet (_Barrack-Room Ballads_, by Rudyard Kipling,

1892, p. 25). Compare, too--

"_Arn._ 'Tis a scratch....

In the shoulder, not the sword arm--

And that's enough. I am thirsty: would I had

A helm of water!"

_The Deformed Transformed_, part ii sc. ii. 44, seq., _vide post_, p.

518.]

[aa] {73}

----_ere they had time_

_To place his helm again_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[ab] _O ye Gods! wounded_.--[MS. M.]

[21] {73}[Compare--"His flashing eyes, his floating hair." _Kubla Khan_,

line 49.]

[22] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto I. stanzas lv., lvi., _Poetical

Works, 1898_, i. 57, 58, and note 11, pp. 91, 92.]

[23] {75}[Compare--

"How wonderful is Death,

Death and his brother Sleep!"

Shelley's _Queen Mab, i. lines 1, 2_]

[ac] _Crisps the unswelling wave_.--[MS. M. erased]

[ad] {76}

_Old Hunter of mankind when baited and ye_

_All brutal who pursued both brutes and men_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[ae] {78} _With arrows peeping through his falling hair_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[24] [In the diary for November 23, 1813 (_Letters_, 1898, ii. 334,

335), Byron alludes to a dream which "chilled his blood" and shook his

nerves. Compare Coleridge's _Pains of Sleep_, lines 23-26--

"Desire with loathing strangely mixed,

On wild or hateful objects fixed.

Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!

And shame and terror over all!"]

[25] {79}[For the story of Semiramis and Ninya, see _Justinus Hist_.,

lib. i. cap. ii.]

[26] {81}[See Diod. Siculi _Bibl. Hist._, lib. ii. 80 c. Cotta was not a

kinsman, but a loyal tributary.]

[af] {82} The MS. inserts--(_But I speak only of such as are virtuous_.)

[27] [Byron must often have pictured to himself an unexpected meeting

with his wife. In certain moods he would write letters to her which were

never sent, or never reached her hands. The scene between Sardanapalus

and Zarina reflects the sentiments contained in one such letter, dated

November 17, 1821, which Moore printed in his _Life_, pp. 581, 582. See

_Letters_, 1901, v. 479.]

[ag] {84} _Bravely and won wear wisely--not as I_.--[MS. M, erased.]

[ah] {88}

_Which thou hast lighted up at once? but leavest_

_One to grieve o'er the other's change--Zarina_.-[MS. M, erased.]

[ai] {89} ----_natural_.--[MS. M. The first edition reads "mutual."]

[aj] {91} _Is heavier sorrow than the wrong which_--[MS. M. erased.]

[ak] {93} _A leech's lancet would have done as much_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[28] {94}[Myrrha's apostrophe to the sunrise may be compared with the

famous waking vision of the "Solitary" in the Second Book of the

_Excursion_ (_Works of Wordsworth_, 1889, p. 439)--

"The appearance, instantaneously disclosed,

Was of a mighty city--boldly say

A wilderness of building, sinking far

And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth,

Far sinking into splendour--without end!

Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,

With alabaster domes, and silver spires,

And blazing terrace upon terrace, high

Uplifted."

But the difference, even in form, between the two passages is more

remarkable than the resemblance, and the interpretation, the moral of

Byron's vision is distinct from, if not alien to, Wordsworth's. The

"Solitary" sees all heaven opened; the revealed abode of spirits in

beatitude--a refuge and a redemption from "this low world of care;"

while Myrrha drinks in "enough of heaven," a medicament of "Sorrow and

of Love," for the invigoration of "the common, heavy, human hours" of

mortal existence. For a charge of "imitation," see _Works of Lord

Byron_, 1832, xiii. 172, note I. See, too, _Poetical Works, etc._, 1891,

p. 271, note 2.]

[al] {95}

_Sunrise and sunset form the epoch of_

_Sorrow and love; and they who mark them not_

{_Are fit for neither of those_

{_Can ne'er hold converse with these two_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[am] _Of labouring wretches in alloted tasks_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[an] {97} _We are used to such inflictions_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[29] {101} About two miles and a half.

[ao] {102} _Complexions, climes, aeras, and intellects_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[30] {103}[Athenaeus represents the treasures which Sardanapalus placed

in the chamber erected on his funeral pile as amounting to a thousand

myriads of talents of gold, and ten times as many talents of silver.]

[ap]

_Ye will find the crevice_

_To which the key fits, with a little care_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[31] {106}["Then the king caused a huge pile of wood to be made in the

palace court, and heaped together upon it all his gold, silver, and

royal apparel, and enclosing his eunuchs and concubines in an apartment

within the pile, caused it to be set on fire, and burned himself and

them together."--Diod. Siculi _Bibl. Hist._, lib. ii. cap. 81A.

"And he also erected on the funeral pile a chamber 100 feet long, made

of wood, and in it he had couches spread, and there he himself lay down

with his wife, and his concubines lay on other couches around.... And he

made the roof of the apartment of large stout beams, and there all the

walls of it he made of numerous thick planks, so that it was impossible

to escape out of it,... And ... he bade the slaves set fire to the

pile; and it was fifteen days burning. And those who saw the smoke

wondered, and thought that he was celebrating a great sacrifice, but the

eunuchs alone knew what was really being done. And in this way

Sardanapalus, who had spent his life in extraordinary luxury, died with

as much magnanimity as possible."--Athenaeus, _Deipnosophistae_, bk. xii.

cap. 38.

See _Abydenus apud Eusebium_, Praep. Ev. 9. 41. 4; Euseb., _Chron_.,

1878, p. 42, ed. A. Schoene.

Saracus was the last king of Assyria, and being invaded by Cyaxares and

a faithless general Nabopolassar ... "unable to resist them, took

counsel of despair, and after all means of resistance were exhausted,

burned himself in his palace."

"The self-immolation of Saracus has a parallel in the conduct of the

Israelitish king Zimri, who, 'when he saw that the city was taken, went

into the palace of the king's house, and burnt the king's house over

him, and died' (1 Kings xvi. 18); and again in that of the Persian

governor Boges, who burnt himself with his wives and children at Eion

(Herod., vii. 107)."--_The Five Great Monarchies, etc._, by Rev. G.

Rawlinson, 1871, ii. 232, note 4.]

[aq] {109} _Funereal_----.--[MS. M.]

[ar] _And strew the earth with, ashes_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[as] {110}

----_And what is there_

_An Indian widow dares for custom which_

_A Greek girl_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[32] {111}[Bishop Heber (_Quarterly Review_, July, 1821, vol. xxvii. p.

503) takes exception to these lines on the ground that they "involve an

anachronism, inasmuch as, whatever date be assigned to the erection of

the earlier pyramids, there can be no reason for apprehending that, at

the fall of Nineveh, and while the kingdom and hierarchy of Egypt

subsisted in their full splendour, the destination of those immense

fabrics could have been a matter of doubt.... Herodotus, three hundred

years later, may have been misinformed on these points," etc., etc.

According to modern Egyptology, the erection of the "earlier pyramids"

was an event of remotest antiquity when the Assyrian Empire was in its

infancy.]

[33] End of Act fifth.--B.

Ravenne. May 27^th^ 1821.

Mem.--I began the drama on the 13th of January, 1821, and continued the

two first acts very slowly and at long intervals. The three last acts

were written since the 13th of May, 1821 (this present month, that is to

say in a fortnight).

THE TWO FOSCARI:[34]

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.[35]

"The _father_ softens, but the _governor's_ resolved."--_Critic_.[36]

[_The Two Foscari_ was produced at Drury Lane Theatre April 7, and again

on April 18 and April 25, 1838. Macready played "Frances Foscari," Mr.

Anderson "Jacopo Foscari," and Miss Helen Faucit "Marina."

According to the _Times_, April 9, 1838, "Miss Faucit's Marina, the most

energetic part of the whole, was clever, and showed a careful attention

to the points which might be made."

Macready notes in his diary, April 7, 1838 (_Reminiscences_, 1875, ii.

106): "Acted Foscari very well. Was very warmly received ... was called

for at the end of the tragedy, and received by the whole house standing

up and waving handkerchiefs with great enthusiasm. Dickens, Forster,

Procter, Browning, Talfourd, all came into my room."]

INTRODUCTION TO _THE TWO FOSCARI_

The _Two Foscari_ was begun on June 12, and finished, within the month,

on July 9, 1821. Byron was still in the vein of the historic drama,

though less concerned with "ancient chroniclers" and original

"authorities" (_vide ante_, Preface to _Marino Faliero_, vol. iv. p. 332)

than heretofore. "The Venetian play," he tells Murray, July 14, 1821, is

"rigidly historical;" but he seems to have depended for his facts, not

on Sanudo or Navagero, but on Daru's _Histoire de la Republique de

Venise_ (1821, ii. 520-537), and on Sismondi's _Histoire des Republiques

... du Moyen Age_ (1815, x. 36-46). The story of the Two Doges, so far

as it concerns the characters and action of Byron's play, may be briefly

re-told. It will be found to differ in some important particulars from

the extracts from Daru and Sismondi which Byron printed in his "Appendix

to the _Two Foscari_" (_Sardanapalus, etc._, 1821, pp. 305-324), and no

less from a passage in Smedley's _Sketches from Venetian History_ (1832,

ii. 93-105), which was substituted for the French "Pieces

justificatives," in the collected edition of 1832-1835, xiii. 198-202,

and the octavo edition of 1837, etc., pp. 790, 791.

Francesco, son of Nicolo Foscari, was born in 1373. He was nominated a

member of the Council of Ten in 1399, and, after holding various offices

of state, elected Doge in 1423. His dukedom, the longest on record,

lasted till 1457. He was married, in 1395, to Maria, daughter of Andrea

Priuli, and, _en secondes noces_, to Maria, or Marina, daughter of

Bartolommeo Nani. By his two wives he was the father of ten

children--five sons and five daughters. Of the five sons, four died of

the plague, and the fifth, Jacopo, lived to be the cause, if not the

hero, of a tragedy.

The younger of the "Two Foscari" was a man of some cultivation, a

collector and student of Greek manuscripts, well-mannered, and of ready

wit, a child and lover of Venice, but indifferent to her ideals and

regardless of her prejudices and restrictions. He seems to have begun

life in a blaze of popularity, the admired of all admirers. His wedding

with Lucrezia Contarini (January, 1441) was celebrated with a novel and

peculiar splendour. Gorgeous youths, Companions of the Hose (_della

calza_), in jackets of crimson velvet, with slashed sleeves lined with

squirrel fur, preceded and followed the bridegroom's train. A hundred

bridesmaids accompanied the bride. Her dowry exceeded 16,000 ducats, and

her jewels, which included a necklace worn by a Queen of Cyprus, were

"rich and rare." And the maiden herself was a pearl of great price. "She

behaved," writes her brother, "and does behave, so well beyond what

could have been looked for. I believe she is inspired by God!"

Jacopo had everything which fortune could bestow, but he lacked a

capacity for right conduct. Four years after his marriage (February 17,

1445) an accusation was laid before the Ten (Romanin, _Storia_, etc.,

iv. 266) that, contrary to the law embodied in the Ducal _Promissione_,

he had accepted gifts of jewels and money, not only from his

fellow-citizens, but from his country's bitterest enemy, Filippo

Visconti, Duke of Milan. Jacopo fled to Trieste, and in his absence the

Ten, supported by a giunta of ten, on their own authority and

independently of the Doge, sentenced him to perpetual banishment at

Nauplia, in Roumania. One of the three _Capi di' dieci_ was Ermolao (or

_Venetice_ Almoro) Donato, of whom more hereafter. It is to be noted

that this sentence was never carried into effect. At the end of four

months, thanks to the intervention of five members of the Ten, he was

removed from Trieste to Treviso, and, two years later (September 13,

1447), out of consideration to the Doge, who pleaded that the exile of

his only son prevented him from giving his whole heart and soul to the

Republic, permitted to return to Venice. So ends the first chapter of

Jacopo's misadventures. He stands charged with unlawful, if not

criminal, appropriation of gifts and moneys. He had been punished, but

less than he deserved, and, for his father's sake, the sentence of exile

had been altogether remitted.

Three years went by, and once again, January, 1451, a charge was

preferred against Jacopo Foscari, and on this occasion he was arrested

and brought before the Ten. He was accused of being implicated in the

murder of Ermolao Donato, who was assassinated November 5, 1450, on

leaving the Ducal Palace, where he had been attending the Council of the

Pregadi. On the morning after the murder Benedetto Gritti, one of the

"avvogadori di Commun," was at Mestre, some five miles from Venice, and,

happening to accost a servant of Jacopo's who was loading a barge with

wood, asked for the latest news from Venice, and got as answer, "Donato

has been murdered!" The possession of the news some hours before it had

been made public, and the fact that the newsmonger had been haunting

the purlieus of the Ducal Palace on the previous afternoon, enabled the

Ten to convict Jacopo. They alleged (Decree of X., March 26, 1451) that

other evidence ("_testificationes et scripturae_") was in their

possession, and they pointed to the prisoner's obstinate silence on the

rack--a silence unbroken save by "several incantations and magic words

which fell from him," as a confirmation of his guilt. Moreover, it was

"for the advantage of the State from many points of view" that convicted

and condemned he should be. The question of his innocence or guilt

(complicated by the report or tradition that one Nicolo Erizzo confessed

on his death-bed that he had assassinated Donato for reasons of his own)

is still under discussion. Berlan (_I due Foscari_, etc., 1852, p. 36)

sums up against him. It may, however, be urged in favour of Jacopo that

the Ten did not produce or quote the _scripturae et testificationes_

which convinced them of his guilt; that they stopped short of the

death-penalty, and pronounced a sentence inadequate to the crime; and,

lastly, that not many years before they had taken into consideration the

possibility and advisability of poisoning Filippo Visconti, an event

which would, no doubt, have been "to the advantage of the State from

many points of view."

Innocent or guilty, he was sentenced to perpetual banishment to the city

of Candia, on the north coast of the island of Crete; and, guilty or

innocent, Jacopo was not the man to make the best of what remained to

him and submit to fate. Intrigue he must, and, five years later (June,

1456), a report reached Venice that papers had been found in his

possession, some relating to the Duke of Milan, calculated to excite

"nuovi scandali e disordini," and others in cypher, which the Ten

could not read. Over and above these papers there was direct evidence

that Jacopo had written to the _Imperatore dei Turchi_, imploring him to

send his galley and take him away from Candia. Here was a fresh instance

of treachery to the Republic, and, July 21, 1456, Jacopo returned to

Venice under the custody of Lorenzo Loredano.

According to Romanin (_Storia, etc._, iv. 284), he was not put to the

torture, but confessed his guilt spontaneously, pleading, by way of

excuse, that the letter to the Duke of Milan had been allowed to fall

into the hands of spies, with a view to his being recalled to Venice and

obtaining a glimpse of his parents and family, even at a risk of a fresh

trial. On the other hand, the _Dolfin Cronaca_, the work of a kinsman of

the Foscari, which records Jacopo's fruitless appeal to the sorrowful

but inexorable Doge, and other incidents of a personal nature,

testifies, if not to torture on the rack, "to mutilation by thirty

strokes of the lash." Be that as it may, he was once more condemned to

lifelong exile, with the additional penalty that he should be imprisoned

for a year. He sailed for Venice July 31, 1456, and died at Candia,

January 12, 1457. Jacopo's misconduct and consequent misfortune

overshadowed the splendour of his father's reign, and, in very truth

"brought his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave."

After his son's death, the aged Doge, now in his eighty-fifth year,

retired to his own apartments, and refused to preside at Councils of

State. The Ten, who in 1446 had yielded to the Doge's plea that a father

fretting for an exiled son could not discharge his public duties, were

instant that he should abdicate the dukedom on the score of decrepitude.

Accounts differ as to the mode in which he received the sentence of

deposition. It is certain that he was compelled to abdicate on Sunday

morning, October 23, 1457, but was allowed a breathing-space of a few

days to make his arrangements for quitting the Ducal Palace.

On Monday, October 24, the Great Council met to elect his successor, and

sat with closed doors till Sunday, October 30.

On Thursday, October 27, Francesco, heedless of a suggestion that he

should avoid the crowd, descended the Giants' Staircase for the last

time, and, says the _Dolfin Cronaca_, "after crossing the courtyard,

went out by the door leading to the prisons, and entered his boat by the

Ponte di Paglia." "He was dressed," says another chronicle (_August.

Cod._ I, cl. vii.), "in a scarlet mantle, from which the fur lining had

been taken," surmounted by a scarlet hood, an old friend which he had

worn when his ducal honours were new, and which he had entrusted to his

wife's care to be preserved for "red" days and festivals of State. "In

his hand he held his staff, as he walked very slowly. His brother Marco

was by his side, behind him were cousins and grandsons ... and in this

way he went to his own house."

On Sunday, October 30, Pasquale Malipiero was declared Doge, and two

days after, All Saints' Day, at the first hour of the morning, Francesco

Foscari died. If the interval between ten o'clock on Sunday night and

one o'clock on Tuesday morning disproves the legend that the discrowned

Doge ruptured a blood-vessel at the moment when the bell was tolling for

the election of his successor, the truth remains that, old as he was, he

died of a broken heart.

His predecessor, Tomaso Mocenigo, had prophesied on his death-bed that

if the Venetians were to make Foscari Doge they would forfeit their

"gold and silver, their honour and renown." "From your position of

lords," said he, "you will sink to that of vassals and servants to men

of arms." The prophecy was fulfilled. "If we look," writes Mr. H. F.

Brown (_Venice, etc._, 1893, p. 306), "at the sum-total of Foscari's reign

... we find that the Republic had increased her land territory by the

addition of two great provinces, Bergamo and Brescia ... But the price

had been enormous ... her debt rose from 6,000,000 to 13,000,000 ducats.

Venetian funds fell to 18-1/2.... Externally there was much pomp and

splendour.... But underneath this bravery there lurked the official

corruption of the nobles, the suspicion of the Ten, the first signs of

bank failures, the increase in the national debt, the fall in the value

of the funds. Land wars and landed possessions drew the Venetians from

the sea to _terra ferma_.... The beginning of the end had arrived." (See

_Two Doges of Venice_, by Alethea Wiel, 1891; _I due Foscari, Memorie

Storicho Critiche_, di Francesco Berlan, 1852; _Storia Documentata di

Venezia_, di S. Romanin, 1855, vol. iv.; _Die beiden Foscari_, von

Richard Senger, 1878. For reviews, etc., of _The Two Foscari, vide

ante_, "Introduction to _Sardanapalus_," p. 5.)

Both Jeffrey in the _Edinburgh_, and Heber in the _Quarterly Review_,

took exception to the character of Jacopo Foscari, in accordance with

the Horatian maxim, "Incredulus odi." "If," said Jeffrey, "he had been

presented to the audience wearing out his heart in exile, ... we might

have caught some glimpse of the nature of his motives." As it is (in

obedience to the "unities") "we first meet with him led from the

'Question,' and afterwards ... clinging to the dungeon walls of his

native city, and expiring from his dread of leaving them." The situation

lacks conviction.

"If," argued Heber, "there ever existed in nature a case so

extraordinary as that of a man who gravely preferred tortures and a

dungeon at home, to a temporary residence in a beautiful island and a

fine climate; it is what few can be made to believe, and still fewer to

sympathize with."

It was, no doubt, with reference to these criticisms that Byron told

Medwin (_Conversations_, 1824, p. 173) that it was no invention of his

that the "young Foscari should have a sickly affection for his native

city.... I painted the men as I found them, as they were--not as the

critics would have them.... But no painting, however highly coloured,

can give an idea of the intensity of a Venetian's affection for his

native city."

Goethe, on the other hand, was "not careful" to note these

inconsistencies and perplexities. He thought that the dramatic handling

of _The Two Foscari_ was "worthy of great praise," was "admirable!"

(_Conversations with Goethe_, 1874, p. 265).

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN.

FRANCIS FOSCARI, _Doge of Venice_.

JACOPO FOSCARI, _Son of the Doge_.

JAMES LOREDANO, _a Patrician_.

MARCO MEMMO, _a Chief of the Forty_.

BARBARIGO, _a Senator_.

_Other Senators, The Council of Ten, Guards, Attendants, etc., etc._

WOMAN.

MARINA, _Wife of young_ FOSCARI.

SCENE--The Ducal Palace, Venice.

THE TWO FOSCARI.

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_A Hall in the Ducal Palace_.

_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO, _meeting_.

_Lor._ WHERE is the prisoner?

_Bar._ Reposing from

The Question.

_Lor._ The hour's past--fixed yesterday

For the resumption of his trial.--Let us

Rejoin our colleagues in the council, and

Urge his recall.

_Bar._ Nay, let him profit by

A few brief minutes for his tortured limbs;

He was o'erwrought by the Question yesterday,

And may die under it if now repeated.[at][37]

_Lor._ Well?

_Bar._ I yield not to you in love of justice,

Or hate of the ambitious Foscari, 10

Father and son, and all their noxious race;

But the poor wretch has suffered beyond Nature's

Most stoical endurance.

_Lor._ Without owning

His crime?

_Bar._ Perhaps without committing any.

But he avowed the letter to the Duke

Of Milan, and his sufferings half atone for

Such weakness.

_Lor._ We shall see.

_Bar._ You, Loredano,

Pursue hereditary hate too far.

_Lor._ How far?

_Bar._ To extermination.

_Lor._ When they are

Extinct, you may say this.--Let's in to council. 20

_Bar._ Yet pause--the number of our colleagues is not

Complete yet; two are wanting ere we can

Proceed.

_Lor._ And the chief judge, the Doge?

_Bar._ No--he,

With more than Roman fortitude, is ever

First at the board in this unhappy process

Against his last and only son.[38]

_Lor._ True--true--

His _last_.

_Bar._ Will nothing move you?

_Lor._ _Feels he_, think you?

_Bar._ He shows it not.

_Lor._ I have marked _that_--the wretch!

_Bar._ But yesterday, I hear, on his return

To the ducal chambers, as he passed the threshold 30

The old man fainted.

_Lor._ It begins to work, then.

_Bar._ The work is half your own.

_Lor._ And should be _all_ mine--

My father and my uncle are no more.

_Bar._ I have read their epitaph, which says they died

By poison.[39]

_Lor._ When the Doge declared that he

Should never deem himself a sovereign till

The death of Peter Loredano, both

The brothers sickened shortly:--he _is_ Sovereign.

_Bar._ A wretched one.

_Lor._ What should they be who make

Orphans?

_Bar._ But _did_ the Doge make you so?

_Lor._ Yes. 40

_Bar._ What solid proofs?

_Lor._ When Princes set themselves

To work in secret, proofs and process are

Alike made difficult; but I have such

Of the first, as shall make the second needless.

_Bar._ But you will move by law?

_Lor._ By all the laws

Which he would leave us.

_Bar._ They are such in this

Our state as render retribution easier

Than 'mongst remoter nations. Is it true

That you have written in your books of commerce,

(The wealthy practice of our highest nobles) 50

"Doge Foscari, my debtor for the deaths

Of Marco and Pietro Loredano,

My sire and uncle?"[40]

_Lor._ It is written thus.

_Bar._ And will you leave it unerased?

_Lor._ Till balanced.

_Bar._ And how?

[_Two Senators pass over the stage, as in their way

to "the Hall of the Council of Ten."_

_Lor._ You see the number is complete.

Follow me. [_Exit_ LOREDANO.

_Bar._ (_solus_). Follow _thee_! I have followed long

Thy path of desolation, as the wave

Sweeps after that before it, alike whelming[au]

The wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretch

Who shrieks within its riven ribs, as gush 60

The waters through them; but this son and sire

Might move the elements to pause, and yet

Must I on hardily like them--Oh! would

I could as blindly and remorselessly!--

Lo, where he comes!--Be still, my heart! they are

Thy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat

For those who almost broke thee?

_Enter Guards, with young_ FOSCARI _as Prisoner, etc._

_Guard_. Let him rest.

Signor, take time.

_Jac. Fos._ I thank thee, friend, I'm feeble;

But thou mayst stand reproved.

_Guard_. I'll stand the hazard.

_Jac. Fos._ That's kind:--I meet some pity, but no mercy;[av] 70

This is the first.

_Guard_. And might be the last, did they

Who rule behold us.

_Bar._ (_advancing to the Guard_). There is one who does:

Yet fear not; I will neither be thy judge

Nor thy accuser; though the hour is past,

Wait their last summons--I am of "the Ten,"[41]

And waiting for that summons, sanction you

Even by my presence: when the last call sounds,

We'll in together.--Look well to the prisoner!

_Jac. Fos._ What voice is that?--'Tis Barbarigo's! Ah!

Our House's foe, and one of my few judges. 80

_Bar._ To balance such a foe, if such there be,

Thy father sits amongst thy judges.

_Jac. Fos._ True,

He judges.

_Bar._ Then deem not the laws too harsh

Which yield so much indulgence to a sire,

As to allow his voice in such high matter

As the state's safety--

_Jac. Fos._ And his son's. I'm faint;

Let me approach, I pray you, for a breath

Of air, yon window which o'erlooks the waters.

_Enter an Officer, who whispers_ BARBARIGO.

_Bar._ (to the Guard). Let him approach. I must not speak with him

Further than thus: I have transgressed my duty 90

In this brief parley, and must now redeem it[aw]

Within the Council Chamber. [_Exit_ BARBARIGO.

[_Guard conducting_ JACOPO FOSCARI _to the window_.

_Guard_. There, sir, 'tis

Open.--How feel you?

_Jac. Fos._ Like a boy--Oh Venice!

_Guard_. And your limbs?

_Jac. Fos._ Limbs! how often have they borne me[42]

Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimmed

The gondola along in childish race,

And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst

My gay competitors, noble as I,

Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;

While the fair populace of crowding beauties, 100

Plebeian as patrician, cheered us on

With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,

And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,

Even to the goal!--How many a time have I

Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,

The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke

Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair,

And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,

Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er

The waves as they arose, and prouder still 110

The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,

In wantonness of spirit, plunging down

Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making

My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen

By those above, till they waxed fearful; then

Returning with my grasp full of such tokens

As showed that I had searched the deep: exulting,

With a far-dashing stroke, and, drawing deep

The long-suspended breath, again I spurned

The foam which broke around me, and pursued 120

My track like a sea-bird.--I was a boy then.

_Guard_. Be a man now: there never was more need

Of manhood's strength.

_Jac. Fos._ (_looking from the lattice_). My beautiful, my own,

My only Venice--_this is breath_! Thy breeze,

Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!

Thy very winds feel native to my veins,

And cool them into calmness! How unlike

The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,

Which howled about my Candiote dungeon,[43] and

Made my heart sick.

_Guard_. I see the colour comes[ax] 130

Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear

What more may be imposed!--I dread to think on't.

_Jac. Fos._ They will not banish me again?--No--no,

Let them wring on; I am strong yet.

_Guard_. Confess,

And the rack will be spared you.

_Jac. Fos._ I confessed

Once--twice before: both times they exiled me.

_Guard_. And the third time will slay you.

_Jac. Fos._ Let them do so,

So I be buried in my birth-place: better

Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.

_Guard_. And can you so much love the soil which hates you? 140

_Jac. Fos._ The soil!--Oh no, it is the seed of the soil

Which persecutes me: but my native earth

Will take me as a mother to her arms.

I ask no more than a Venetian grave,

A dungeon, what they will, so it be here.

_Enter an Officer_.

_Offi._ Bring in the prisoner!

_Guard_. Signor, you hear the order.

_Jac. Fos._ Aye, I am used to such a summons; 'tis

The third time they have tortured me:--then lend me

Thine arm. [_To the Guard_.

_Offi._ Take mine, sir; 'tis my duty to

Be nearest to your person.

_Jac. Fos._ You!--you are he 150

Who yesterday presided o'er my pangs--

Away!--I'll walk alone.

_Offi._ As you please, Signor;

The sentence was not of my signing, but

I dared not disobey the Council when

They----

_Jac. Fos._ Bade thee stretch me on their horrid engine.

I pray thee touch me not--that is, just now;

The time will come they will renew that order,

But keep off from me till 'tis issued. As

I look upon thy hands my curdling limbs

Quiver with the anticipated wrenching, 160

And the cold drops strain through my brow, as if----

But onward--I have borne it--I can bear it.--

How looks my father?

_Offi._ With his wonted aspect.

_Jac. Fos._ So does the earth, and sky, the blue of Ocean,

The brightness of our city, and her domes,

The mirth of her Piazza--even now

Its merry hum of nations pierces here,

Even here, into these chambers of the unknown

Who govern, and the unknown and the unnumbered

Judged and destroyed in silence,--all things wear 170

The self-same aspect, to my very sire!

Nothing can sympathise with Foscari,

Not even a Foscari.--Sir, I attend you.

[_Exeunt_ JACOPO FOSCARI, _Officer, etc._

_Enter_ MEMMO _and another Senator_.

_Mem._ He's gone--we are too late:--think you "the Ten"

Will sit for any length of time to-day?

_Sen._ They say the prisoner is most obdurate,

Persisting in his first avowal; but

More I know not.

_Mem._ And that is much; the secrets

Of yon terrific chamber are as hidden

From us, the premier nobles of the state, 180

As from the people.

_Sen._ Save the wonted rumours,

Which--like the tales of spectres, that are rife

Near ruined buildings--never have been proved,

Nor wholly disbelieved: men know as little

Of the state's real acts as of the grave's

Unfathomed mysteries.

_Mem._ But with length of time

We gain a step in knowledge, and I look

Forward to be one day of the decemvirs.

_Sen._ Or Doge?

_Mem._ Why, no; not if I can avoid it.

_Sen._ 'Tis the first station of the state, and may 190

Be lawfully desired, and lawfully

Attained by noble aspirants.

_Mem._ To such

I leave it; though born noble, my ambition

Is limited: I'd rather be an unit

Of an united and Imperial "Ten,"

Than shine a lonely, though a gilded cipher.--

Whom have we here? the wife of Foscari?

_Enter_ MARINA, _with a female Attendant_.

_Mar._ What, no one?--I am wrong, there still are two;

But they are senators.

_Mem._ Most noble lady,

Command us.

_Mar._ _I command_!--Alas! my life 200

Has been one long entreaty, and a vain one.

_Mem._ I understand thee, but I must not answer.

_Mar._ (_fiercely_). True--none dare answer here save on the rack,

Or question save those----

_Mem._ (_interrupting her_). High-born dame![44] bethink thee

Where thou now art.

_Mar._ Where I now am!--It was

My husband's father's palace.

_Mem._ The Duke's palace.

_Mar._ And his son's prison!--True, I have not forgot it;

And, if there were no other nearer, bitterer

Remembrances, would thank the illustrious Memmo

For pointing out the pleasures of the place. 210

_Mem._ Be calm!

_Mar._ (_looking up towards heaven_). I am; but oh, thou eternal God!

Canst _thou_ continue so, with such a world?

_Mem._ Thy husband yet may be absolved.

_Mar._ He is,

In Heaven. I pray you, Signer Senator,

Speak not of that; you are a man of office,

So is the Doge; he has a son at stake

Now, at this moment, and I have a husband,

Or had; they are there within, or were at least

An hour since, face to face, as judge and culprit:

Will _he_ condemn _him_?

_Mem._ I trust not.

_Mar._ But if 220

He does not, there are those will sentence both.

_Mem._ They can.

_Mar._ And with them power and will are one

In wickedness;--my husband's lost!

_Mem._ Not so;

Justice is judge in Venice.

_Mar._ If it were so,

There now would be no Venice. But let it

Live on, so the good die not, till the hour

Of Nature's summons; but "the Ten's" is quicker,

And we must wait on't. Ah! a voice of wail!

[_A faint cry within_.

_Sen._ Hark!

_Mem._ 'Twas a cry of--

_Mar._ No, no; not my husband's--

Not Foscari's.

_Mem._ The voice was--

_Mar._ _Not his_: no. 230

He shriek! No; that should be his father's part,

Not his--not his--he'll die in silence.

[_A faint groan again within_.

_Mem._ What!

Again?

_Mar._ _His_ voice! it seemed so: I will not

Believe it. Should he shrink, I cannot cease

To love; but--no--no--no--it must have been

A fearful pang, which wrung a groan from him.

_Sen._ And, feeling for thy husband's wrongs, wouldst thou

Have him bear more than mortal pain in silence?

_Mar._ We all must bear our tortures. I have not

Left barren the great house of Foscari, 240

Though they sweep both the Doge and son from life;

I have endured as much in giving life

To those who will succeed them, as they can

In leaving it: but mine were joyful pangs:

And yet they wrung me till I _could_ have shrieked,

But did not; for my hope was to bring forth

Heroes, and would not welcome them with tears.

_Mem._ All's silent now.

_Mar._ Perhaps all's over; but

I will not deem it: he hath nerved himself,

And now defies them.

_Enter an Officer hastily_.

_Mem._ How now, friend, what seek you? 250

_Offi._ A leech. The prisoner has fainted. [_Exit Officer_.

_Mem._ Lady,

'Twere better to retire.

_Sen._ (_offering to assist her_), I pray thee do so.

_Mar._ Off! _I_ will tend him.

_Mem._ You! Remember, lady!

Ingress is given to none within those chambers

Except "the Ten," and their familiars.

_Mar._ Well,

I know that none who enter there return

As they have entered--many never; but

They shall not balk my entrance.

_Mem._ Alas! this

Is but to expose yourself to harsh repulse,

And worse suspense.

_Mar._ Who shall oppose me?

_Mem._ They 260

Whose duty 'tis to do so.

_Mar._ 'Tis _their_ duty

To trample on all human feelings, all

Ties which bind man to man, to emulate

The fiends who will one day requite them in

Variety of torturing! Yet I'll pass.

_Mem._ It is impossible.

_Mar._ That shall be tried.[ay]

Despair defies even despotism: there is

That in my heart would make its way through hosts

With levelled spears; and think you a few jailors

Shall put me from my path? Give me, then, way; 270

This is the Doge's palace; I am wife

Of the Duke's son, the _innocent_ Duke's son,

And they shall hear this!

_Mem._ It will only serve

More to exasperate his judges.

_Mar._ What

Are _judges_ who give way to anger? they

Who do so are assassins. Give me way. [_Exit_ MARINA.

_Sen._ Poor lady!

_Mem._ 'Tis mere desperation: she

Will not be admitted o'er the threshold.

_Sen._ And

Even if she be so, cannot save her husband.

But, see, the officer returns.

[_The Officer passes over the stage with another person_.

_Mem._ I hardly 280

Thought that "the Ten" had even this touch of pity,

Or would permit assistance to this sufferer.

_Sen._ Pity! Is't pity to recall to feeling

The wretch too happy to escape to Death

By the compassionate trance, poor Nature's last

Resource against the tyranny of pain?

_Mem._ I marvel they condemn him not at once.

_Sen._ That's not their policy: they'd have him live,

Because he fears not death; and banish him,

Because all earth, except his native land, 290

To him is one wide prison, and each breath

Of foreign air he draws seems a slow poison,

Consuming but not killing.

_Mem._ Circumstance

Confirms his crimes, but he avows them not.

_Sen._ None, save the Letter, which, he says, was written

Addressed to Milan's duke, in the full knowledge

That it would fall into the Senate's hands,

And thus he should be re-conveyed to Venice.[45]

_Mem._ But as a culprit.

_Sen._ Yes, but to his country;

And that was all he sought,--so he avouches. 300

_Mem._ The accusation of the bribes was proved.

_Sen._ Not clearly, and the charge of homicide

Has been annulled by the death-bed confession

Of Nicolas Erizzo, who slew the late

Chief of "the Ten."[46]

_Mem._ Then why not clear him?

_Sen._ That

They ought to answer; for it is well known

That Almoro Donato, as I said,

Was slain by Erizzo for private vengeance.

_Mem._ There must be more in this strange process than

The apparent crimes of the accused disclose-- 310

But here come two of "the Ten;" let us retire.

[_Exeunt_ MEMMO _and Senator_.

_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.

_Bar._ (_addressing_ LOR.).

That were too much: believe me, 'twas not meet

The trial should go further at this moment.

_Lor._ And so the Council must break up, and Justice

Pause in her full career, because a woman

Breaks in on our deliberations?

_Bar._ No,

That's not the cause; you saw the prisoner's state.

_Lor._ And had he not recovered?

_Bar._ To relapse

Upon the least renewal.

_Lor._ 'Twas not tried.

_Bar._ 'Tis vain to murmur; the majority 320

In council were against you.

_Lor._ Thanks to _you_, sir,

And the old ducal dotard, who combined

The worthy voices which o'er-ruled my own.

_Bar._ I am a judge; but must confess that part

Of our stern duty, which prescribes the Question,[47]

And bids us sit and see its sharp infliction,

Makes me wish--

_Lor._ What?

_Bar._ That _you_ would _sometimes_ feel,

As I do always.

_Lor._ Go to, you're a child,

Infirm of feeling as of purpose, blown

About by every breath, shook[48] by a sigh, 330

And melted by a tear--a precious judge

For Venice! and a worthy statesman to

Be partner in my policy.

_Bar._ He shed

No tears.

_Lor._ He cried out twice.

_Bar._ A Saint had done so,

Even with the crown of Glory in his eye,

At such inhuman artifice of pain

As was forced on him; but he did not cry[az]

For pity; not a word nor groan escaped him,

And those two shrieks were not in supplication,

But wrung from pangs, and followed by no prayers. 340

_Lor._ He muttered many times between his teeth,

But inarticulately.[49]

_Bar._ That I heard not:

You stood more near him.

_Lor._ I did so.

_Bar._ Methought,

To my surprise too, you were touched with mercy,

And were the first to call out for assistance

When he was failing.

_Lor._ I believed that swoon

His last.

_Bar._ And have I not oft heard thee name

His and his father's death your nearest wish?

_Lor._ If he dies innocent, that is to say,

With his guilt unavowed, he'll be lamented. 350

_Bar._ What, wouldst thou slay his memory?

_Lor._ Wouldst thou have

His state descend to his children, as it must,

If he die unattainted?

_Bar._ War with _them_ too?

_Lor._ With all their house, till theirs or mine are nothing.

_Bar._ And the deep agony of his pale wife,

And the repressed convulsion of the high

And princely brow of his old father, which

Broke forth in a slight shuddering, though rarely,

Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped away

In stern serenity; these moved you not? 360

[_Exit_ LOREDANO.

He's silent in his hate, as Foscari

Was in his suffering; and the poor wretch moved me

More by his silence than a thousand outcries

Could have effected. 'Twas a dreadful sight

When his distracted wife broke through into

The hall of our tribunal, and beheld

What we could scarcely look upon, long used

To such sights. I must think no more of this,

Lest I forget in this compassion for

Our foes, their former injuries, and lose 370

The hold of vengeance Loredano plans

For him and me; but mine would be content

With lesser retribution than he thirsts for,

And I would mitigate his deeper hatred

To milder thoughts; but, for the present, Foscari

Has a short hourly respite, granted at

The instance of the elders of the Council,

Moved doubtless by his wife's appearance in

The hall, and his own sufferings.--Lo! they come:

How feeble and forlorn! I cannot bear 380

To look on them again in this extremity:

I'll hence, and try to soften Loredano.[ba]

[_Exit_ BARBARIGO.

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_A hall in the_ DOGE'S _Palace_.

_The_ DOGE _and a Senator_.

_Sen._ Is it your pleasure to sign the report

Now, or postpone it till to-morrow?

_Doge_. Now;

I overlooked it yesterday: it wants

Merely the signature. Give me the pen--

[_The_ DOGE _sits down and signs the paper_.

There, Signor.

_Sen._ (_looking at the paper_). You have forgot; it is not signed.

_Doge_. Not signed? Ah, I perceive my eyes begin

To wax more weak with age. I did not see

That I had dipped the pen without effect.[bb]

_Sen._ (_dipping the pen into the ink, and placing the paper

before the_ DOGE). Your hand, too, shakes, my Lord: allow me, thus--

_Doge_. 'Tis done, I thank you.

_Sen._ Thus the act confirmed 10

By you and by "the Ten" gives peace to Venice.

_Doge_. 'Tis long since she enjoyed it: may it be

As long ere she resume her arms!

_Sen._ 'Tis almost

Thirty-four years of nearly ceaseless warfare

With the Turk, or the powers of Italy;

The state had need of some repose.

_Doge_. No doubt:

I found her Queen of Ocean, and I leave her

Lady of Lombardy; it is a comfort[bc]

That I have added to her diadem

The gems of Brescia and Ravenna; Crema[50] 20

And Bergamo no less are hers; her realm

By land has grown by thus much in my reign,

While her sea-sway has not shrunk.

_Sen._ 'Tis most true,

And merits all our country's gratitude.

_Doge_. Perhaps so.

_Sen._ Which should be made manifest.

_Doge_. I have not complained, sir.

_Sen._ My good Lord, forgive me.

_Doge_. For what?

_Sen._ My heart bleeds for you.

_Doge_. For me, Signor?

_Sen._ And for your----

_Doge_. Stop!

_Sen._ It must have way, my Lord:

I have too many duties towards you

And all your house, for past and present kindness, 30

Not to feel deeply for your son.

_Doge_. Was this

In your commission?

_Sen._ What, my Lord?

_Doge_. This prattle

Of things you know not: but the treaty's signed;

Return with it to them who sent you.

_Sen._ I

Obey. I had in charge, too, from the Council,

That you would fix an hour for their reunion.

_Doge_. Say, when they will--now, even at this moment,

If it so please them: I am the State's servant.

_Sen._ They would accord some time for your repose.

_Doge_. I have no repose, that is, none which shall cause 40

The loss of an hour's time unto the State.

Let them meet when they will, I shall be found

_Where_ I should be, and _what_ I have been ever.

[_Exit Senator. The_ DOGE _remains in silence_.

_Enter an Attendant_.

_Att._ Prince!

_Doge_. Say on.

_Att._ The illustrious lady Foscari

Requests an audience.

_Doge_. Bid her enter. Poor

Marina!

[_Exit Attendant. The_ DOGE _remains in silence as before_.

_Enter MARINA_.

_Mar._ I have ventured, father, on

Your privacy.

_Doge_. I have none from you, my child.

Command my time, when not commanded by

The State.

_Mar._ I wished to speak to you of _him_.

_Doge_. Your husband? 50

_Mar._ And your son.

_Doge_. Proceed, my daughter!

_Mar._ I had obtained permission from "the Ten"

To attend my husband for a limited number

Of hours.

_Doge_. You had so.

_Mar._ 'Tis revoked.

_Doge_. By whom?

_Mar._ "The Ten."--When we had reached "the Bridge of Sighs,"[51]

Which I prepared to pass with Foscari,

The gloomy guardian of that passage first

Demurred: a messenger was sent back to

"The Ten;"--but as the Court no longer sate,

And no permission had been given in writing,

I was thrust back, with the assurance that 60

Until that high tribunal reassembled

The dungeon walls must still divide us.

_Doge_. True,

The form has been omitted in the haste

With which the court adjourned; and till it meets,

'Tis dubious.

_Mar._ Till it meets! and when it meets,

They'll torture him again; and he and I

Must purchase by renewal of the rack

The interview of husband and of wife,

The holiest tie beneath the Heavens!--Oh God!

Dost thou see this?

_Doge_. Child--child----

_Mar._ (_abruptly_). Call _me_ not "child!" 70

You soon will have no children--you deserve none--

You, who can talk thus calmly of a son

In circumstances which would call forth tears

Of blood from Spartans! Though these did not weep

Their boys who died in battle, is it written

That they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor

Stretched forth a hand to save them?

_Doge_. You behold me:

I cannot weep--I would I could; but if

Each white hair on this head were a young life,

This ducal cap the Diadem of earth, 80

This ducal ring with which I wed the waves

A talisman to still them--I'd give all

For him.

_Mar._ With less he surely might be saved.

_Doge_. That answer only shows you know not Venice.

Alas! how should you? she knows not herself,

In all her mystery. Hear me--they who aim

At Foscari, aim no less at his father;

The sire's destruction would not save the son;

They work by different means to the same end,

And that is--but they have not conquered yet. 90

_Mar._ But they have crushed.

_Doge_. Nor crushed as yet--I live.

_Mar._ And your son,--how long will he live?

_Doge_. I trust,

For all that yet is past, as many years

And happier than his father. The rash boy,

With womanish impatience to return,

Hath ruined all by that detected letter:

A high crime, which I neither can deny

Nor palliate, as parent or as Duke:

Had he but borne a little, little longer

His Candiote exile, I had hopes--he has quenched them-- 100

He must return.

_Mar._ To exile?

_Doge_. I have said it.

_Mar._ And can I not go with him?

_Doge_. You well know

This prayer of yours was twice denied before

By the assembled "Ten," and hardly now

Will be accorded to a third request,

Since aggravated errors on the part

Of your Lord renders them still more austere.

_Mar._ Austere? Atrocious! The old human fiends,

With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange

To tears save drops of dotage, with long white[bd] 110

And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads

As palsied as their hearts are hard, they counsel,

Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if Life

Were no more than the feelings long extinguished

In their accursed bosoms.

_Doge_. You know not----

_Mar._ I do--I do--and so should you, methinks--

That these are demons: could it be else that

Men, who have been of women born and suckled--

Who have loved, or talked at least of Love--have given

Their hands in sacred vows--have danced their babes 120

Upon their knees, perhaps have mourned above them--

In pain, in peril, or in death--who are,

Or were, at least in seeming, human, could

Do as they have done by yours, and you yourself--

_You_, who abet them?

_Doge_. I forgive this, for

You know not what you say.

_Mar._ _You_ know it well,

And feel it nothing.

_Doge_. I have borne so much,

That words have ceased to shake me.

_Mar._ Oh, no doubt!

You have seen your son's blood flow, and your flesh shook not;

And after that, what are a woman's words? 130

No more than woman's tears, that they should shake you.

_Doge_. Woman, this clamorous grief of thine, I tell thee,

Is no more in the balance weighed with that

Which----but I pity thee, my poor Marina!

_Mar._ Pity my husband, or I cast it from me;

Pity thy son! _Thou_ pity!--'tis a word

Strange to thy heart--how came it on thy lips?

_Doge_. I must bear these reproaches, though they wrong me.

Couldst thou but read----

_Mar._ 'Tis not upon thy brow,

Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,--where then 140

Should I behold this sympathy? or shall?

_Doge_ (_pointing downwards_). There.

_Mar._ In the earth?

_Doge_. To which I am tending: when

It lies upon this heart, far lightlier, though

Loaded with marble, than the thoughts which press it

Now, you will know me better.

_Mar._ Are you, then,

Indeed, thus to be pitied?

_Doge_. Pitied! None

Shall ever use that base word, with which men

Cloak their soul's hoarded triumph, as a fit one

To mingle with my name; that name shall be,

As far as _I_ have borne it, what it was 150

When I received it.

_Mar._ But for the poor children

Of him thou canst not, or thou wilt not save,

You were the last to bear it.

_Doge_. Would it were so!

Better for him he never had been born;

Better for me.--I have seen our house dishonoured.

_Mar._ That's false! A truer, nobler, trustier heart,

More loving, or more loyal, never beat

Within a human breast. I would not change

My exiled, persecuted, mangled husband,

Oppressed but not disgraced, crushed, overwhelmed, 160

Alive, or dead, for Prince or Paladin

In story or in fable, with a world

To back his suit. Dishonoured!--_he_ dishonoured!

I tell thee, Doge, 'tis Venice is dishonoured;

His name shall be her foulest, worst reproach,

For what he suffers, not for what he did.

'Tis ye who are all traitors, Tyrant!--ye!

Did you but love your Country like this victim

Who totters back in chains to tortures, and

Submits to all things rather than to exile, 170

You'd fling yourselves before him, and implore

His grace for your enormous guilt.

_Doge_. He was

Indeed all you have said. I better bore

The deaths of the two sons[52] Heaven took from me,

Than Jacopo's disgrace.

_Mar._ That word again?

_Doge_. Has he not been condemned?

_Mar._ Is none but guilt so?

_Doge_. Time may restore his memory--I would hope so.

He was my pride, my----but 'tis useless now--

I am not given to tears, but wept for joy

When he was born: those drops were ominous. 180

_Mar._ I say he's innocent! And were he not so,

Is our own blood and kin to shrink from us

In fatal moments?

_Doge_. I shrank not from him:

But I have other duties than a father's;

The state would not dispense me from those duties;

Twice I demanded it, but was refused:[53]

They must then be fulfilled.

_Enter an Attendant_.

_Att._ A message from

"The Ten."

_Doge_. Who bears it?

_Att._ Noble Loredano.

_Doge_. He!--but admit him. [_Exit Attendant_.

_Mar._ Must I then retire?

_Doge_. Perhaps it is not requisite, if this 190

Concerns your husband, and if not----Well, Signor,

[_To_ LOREDANO _entering_.

Your pleasure?

_Lor._ I bear that of "the Ten."

_Doge_. They

Have chosen well their envoy.

_Lor._ 'Tis _their_ choice

Which leads me here.

_Doge_. It does their wisdom honour,

And no less to their courtesy.--Proceed.

_Lor._ We have decided.

_Doge_. We?

_Lor._ "The Ten" in council.

_Doge_. What! have they met again, and met without

Apprising me?

_Lor._ They wished to spare your feelings,

No less than age.

_Doge_. That's new--when spared they either?

I thank them, notwithstanding.

_Lor._ You know well 200

That they have power to act at their discretion,

With or without the presence of the Doge.

_Doge_. 'Tis some years since I learned this, long before

I became Doge, or dreamed of such advancement.

You need not school me, Signor; I sate in

That Council when you were a young patrician.

_Lor._ True, in my father's time; I have heard him and

The Admiral, his brother, say as much.

Your Highness may remember them; they both

Died suddenly.[54]

_Doge_. And if they did so, better 210

So die than live on lingeringly in pain.

_Lor._ No doubt: yet most men like to live their days out.

_Doge_. And did not they?

_Lor._ The Grave knows best: they died,

As I said, suddenly.

_Doge_. Is that so strange,

That you repeat the word emphatically?

_Lor._ So far from strange, that never was there death

In my mind half so natural as theirs.

Think _you_ not so?

_Doge_. What should I think of mortals?

_Lor._ That they have mortal foes.

_Doge_. I understand you;

Your sires were mine, and you are heir in all things. 220

_Lor._ You best know if I should be so.

_Doge_. I do.

Your fathers were my foes, and I have heard

Foul rumours were abroad; I have also read

Their epitaph, attributing their deaths

To poison. 'Tis perhaps as true as most

Inscriptions upon tombs, and yet no less

A fable.

_Lor._ Who dares say so?

_Doge_. I!----'Tis true

Your fathers were mine enemies, as bitter

As their son e'er can be, and I no less

Was theirs; but I was _openly_ their foe: 230

I never worked by plot in Council, nor

Cabal in commonwealth, nor secret means

Of practice against life by steel or drug.

The proof is--your existence.

_Lor._ I fear not.

_Doge_. You have no cause, being what I am; but were I

That you would have me thought, you long ere now

Were past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not.

_Lor._ I never yet knew that a noble's life

In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown,

That is, by open means.

_Doge_. But I, good Signor, 240

Am, or at least _was_, more than a mere duke,

In blood, in mind, in means; and that they know

Who dreaded to elect me, and have since

Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure,

Before or since that period, had I held you

At so much price as to require your absence,

A word of mine had set such spirits to work

As would have made you nothing. But in all things

I have observed the strictest reverence;

Not for the laws alone, for those _you_ have strained 250

(I do not speak of _you_ but as a single

Voice of the many) somewhat beyond what

I could enforce for my authority,

Were I disposed to brawl; but, as I said,

I have observed with veneration, like

A priest's for the High Altar, even unto

The sacrifice of my own blood and quiet,

Safety, and all save honour, the decrees,

The health, the pride, and welfare of the State.

And now, sir, to your business.

_Lor._ 'Tis decreed, 260

That, without further repetition of

The Question, or continuance of the trial,

Which only tends to show how stubborn guilt is,

("The Ten," dispensing with the stricter law

Which still prescribes the Question till a full

Confession, and the prisoner partly having

Avowed his crime in not denying that

The letter to the Duke of Milan's his),

James Foscari return to banishment,

And sail in the same galley which conveyed him. 270

_Mar._ Thank God! At least they will not drag him more

Before that horrible tribunal. Would he

But think so, to my mind the happiest doom,

Not he alone, but all who dwell here, could

Desire, were to escape from such a land.

_Doge_. That is not a Venetian thought, my daughter.

_Mar._ No, 'twas too human. May I share his exile?

_Lor._ Of this "the Ten" said nothing.

_Mar._ So I thought!

That were too human, also. But it was not

Inhibited?

_Lor._ It was not named.

_Mar. (to the Doge_). Then, father, 280

Surely you can obtain or grant me thus much:

[_To_ LOREDANO.

And you, sir, not oppose my prayer to be

Permitted to accompany my husband.

_Doge_. I will endeavour.

_Mar._ And you, Signor?

_Lor._ Lady!

'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasure

Of the tribunal.

_Mar._ Pleasure! what a word

To use for the decrees of----

_Doge_. Daughter, know you

In what a presence you pronounce these things?

_Mar._ A Prince's and his subject's.

_Lor._ Subject!

_Mar._ Oh!

It galls you:--well, you are his equal, as 290

You think; but that you are not, nor would be,

Were he a peasant:--well, then, you're a Prince,

A princely noble; and what then am I?

_Lor._ The offspring of a noble house.

_Mar._ And wedded

To one as noble. What, or whose, then, is

The presence that should silence my free thoughts?

_Lor._ The presence of your husband's Judges.

_Doge_. And

The deference due even to the lightest word

That falls from those who rule in Venice.

_Mar._ Keep

Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, 300

Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves,

Your tributaries, your dumb citizens,

And masked nobility, your sbirri, and

Your spies, your galley and your other slaves,

To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings,

Your dungeons next the palace roofs, or under

The water's level;[55] your mysterious meetings,

And unknown dooms, and sudden executions,

Your "Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and

Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem 310

The beings of another and worse world!

Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye;[be]

Have known and proved your worst, in the infernal

Process of my poor husband! Treat me as

Ye treated him:--you did so, in so dealing

With him. Then what have I to fear _from_ you,

Even if I were of fearful nature, which

I trust I am not?

_Doge_. You hear, she speaks wildly.

_Mar._ Not wisely, yet not wildly.

_Lor._ Lady! words

Uttered within these walls I bear no further 320

Than to the threshold, saving such as pass

Between the Duke and me on the State's service.

Doge! have you aught in answer?

_Doge_. Something from

The Doge; it may be also from a parent.

_Lor._ My mission _here_ is to the _Doge_.

_Doge_. Then say

The Doge will choose his own ambassador,

Or state in person what is meet; and for

The father----

_Lor._ I remember _mine_.--Farewell!

I kiss the hands of the illustrious Lady,

And bow me to the Duke. [_Exit_ LOREDANO.

_Mar._ Are you content? 330

_Doge_. I am what you behold.

_Mar._ And that's a mystery.

_Doge_. All things are so to mortals; who can read them

Save he who made? or, if they can, the few

And gifted spirits, who have studied long

That loathsome volume--man, and pored upon

Those black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain,[bf]

But learn a magic which recoils upon

The adept who pursues it: all the sins

We find in others, Nature made our own;

All our advantages are those of Fortune; 340

Birth, wealth, health, beauty, are her accidents,

And when we cry out against Fate, 'twere well

We should remember Fortune can take nought

Save what she _gave_--the rest was nakedness,

And lusts, and appetites, and vanities,

The universal heritage, to battle

With as we may, and least in humblest stations,[bg]

Where Hunger swallows all in one low want,[bh]

And the original ordinance, that man

Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passions 350

Aloof, save fear of famine! All is low,

And false, and hollow--clay from first to last,

The Prince's urn no less than potter's vessel.

Our Fame is in men's breath, our lives upon

Less than their breath; our durance upon days[bi]

Our days on seasons; our whole being on

Something which is not _us_![56]--So, we are slaves,

The greatest as the meanest--nothing rests

Upon our will; the will itself no less[bj]

Depends upon a straw than on a storm; 360

And when we think we lead, we are most led,[57]

And still towards Death, a thing which comes as much

Without our act or choice as birth, so that

Methinks we must have sinned in some old world,

And _this_ is Hell: the best is, that it is not

Eternal.

_Mar._ These are things we cannot judge

On earth.

_Doge_. And how then shall we judge each other,

Who are all earth, and I, who am called upon

To judge my son? I have administered

My country faithfully--victoriously-- 370

I dare them to the proof, the _chart_ of what

She was and is: my reign has doubled realms;

And, in reward, the gratitude of Venice

Has left, or is about to leave, _me_ single.

_Mar._ And Foscari? I do not think of such things,

So I be left with him.

_Doge_. You shall be so;

Thus much they cannot well deny.

_Mar._ And if

They should, I will fly with him.

_Doge_. That can ne'er be.

And whither would you fly?

_Mar._ I know not, reck not--

To Syria, Egypt, to the Ottoman-- 380

Any where, where we might respire unfettered,

And live nor girt by spies, nor liable

To edicts of inquisitors of state.

_Doge_. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband,

And turn him into traitor?

_Mar._ He is none!

The Country is the traitress, which thrusts forth

Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny

Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem

None rebels except subjects? The Prince who

Neglects or violates his trust is more 390

A brigand than the robber-chief.

_Doge_. I cannot

Charge me with such a breach of faith.

_Mar_ No; thou

Observ'st, obey'st such laws as make old Draco's

A code of mercy by comparison.

_Doge_. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I

A subject, still I might find parts and portions

Fit for amendment; but as Prince, I never

Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter

Left by our fathers.

_Mar._ Did they make it for

The ruin of their children?

_Doge_. Under such laws, Venice 400

Has risen to what she is--a state to rival

In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add,

In glory (for we have had Roman spirits

Amongst us), all that history has bequeathed

Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when

The people swayed by Senates.

_Mar._ Rather say,

Groaned under the stern Oligarchs.

_Doge_. Perhaps so;

But yet subdued the World: in such a state

An individual, be he richest of

Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest, 410

Without a name, is alike nothing, when

The policy, irrevocably tending

To one great end, must be maintained in vigour.

_Mar._ This means that you are more a Doge than father.

_Doge_. It means, I am more citizen than either.

If we had not for many centuries

Had thousands of such citizens, and shall,

I trust, have still such, Venice were no city.

_Mar._ Accursed be the city where the laws

Would stifle Nature's!

_Doge_. Had I as many sons 420

As I have years, I would have given them all,

Not without feeling, but I would have given them

To the State's service, to fulfil her wishes,

On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be,

As it, alas! has been, to ostracism,

Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worse

She might decree.

_Mar._ And this is Patriotism?

To me it seems the worst barbarity.

Let me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten,"

With all its jealousy, will hardly war 430

So far with a weak woman as deny me

A moment's access to his dungeon.

_Doge_. I'll

So far take on myself, as order that

You may be admitted.

_Mar._ And what shall I say

To Foscari from his father?

_Doge_. That he obey

The laws.

_Mar._ And nothing more? Will you not see him

Ere he depart? It may be the last time.

_Doge_. The last!--my boy!--the last time I shall see

My last of children! Tell him I will come. [_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_The prison of_ JACOPO FOSCARI.

_Jac. Fos._ (_solus_).

No light, save yon faint gleam which shows me walls

Which never echoed but to Sorrow's sounds,[58]

The sigh of long imprisonment, the step

Of feet on which the iron clanked the groan

Of Death, the imprecation of Despair!

And yet for this I have returned to Venice,

With some faint hope, 'tis true, that Time, which wears

The marble down, had worn away the hate

Of men's hearts; but I knew them not, and here

Must I consume my own, which never beat 10

For Venice but with such a yearning as

The dove has for her distant nest, when wheeling

High in the air on her return to greet

Her callow brood. What letters are these which

[_Approaching the wall_.

Are scrawled along the inexorable wall?

Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the names

Of my sad predecessors in this place,[59]

The dates of their despair, the brief words of

A grief too great for many. This stone page

Holds like an epitaph their history; 20

And the poor captive's tale is graven on

His dungeon barrier, like the lover's record

Upon the bark of some tall tree,[60] which bears

His own and his beloved's name. Alas!

I recognise some names familiar to me,

And blighted like to mine, which I will add,

Fittest for such a chronicle as this,

Which only can be read, as writ, by wretches.[bk]

[_He engraves his name_.

_Enter a Familiar of "the Ten."_

_Fam._ I bring you food.

_Jac. Fos._ I pray you set it down;

I am past hunger: but my lips are parched-- 30

The water!

_Fam._ There.

_Jac. Fos._ (_after drinking_). I thank you: I am better.

_Fam._ I am commanded to inform you that

Your further trial is postponed.

_Jac. Fos._ Till when?

_Fam._ I know not.--It is also in my orders

That your illustrious lady be admitted.

_Jac. Fos._ Ah! they relent, then--I had ceased to hope it:

'Twas time.

_Enter_ MARINA.

_Mar._ My best beloved!

_Jac. Fos._ (_embracing her_). My true wife,

And only friend! What happiness!

_Mar._ We'll part

No more.

_Jac. Fos._ How! would'st thou share a dungeon?

_Mar._ Aye,

The rack, the grave, all--any thing with thee, 40

But the tomb last of all, for there we shall

Be ignorant of each other, yet I will

Share that--all things except new separation;

It is too much to have survived the first.

How dost thou? How are those worn limbs? Alas!

Why do I ask? Thy paleness----

_Jac. Fos._ 'Tis the joy

Of seeing thee again so soon, and so

Without expectancy, has sent the blood

Back to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine,

For thou art pale too, my Marina!

_Mar._ 'Tis 50

The gloom of this eternal cell, which never

Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare

Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin[bl]

To darkness more than light, by lending to

The dungeon vapours its bituminous smoke,

Which cloud whate'er we gaze on, even thine eyes--

No, not thine eyes--they sparkle--how they sparkle!

_Jac. Fos._ And thine!--but I am blinded by the torch.

_Mar._ As I had been without it. Couldst thou see here?

_Jac. Fos._ Nothing at first; but use and time had taught me 60

Familiarity with what was darkness;

And the grey twilight of such glimmerings as

Glide through the crevices made by the winds

Was kinder to mine eyes than the full Sun,

When gorgeously o'ergilding any towers

Save those of Venice; but a moment ere

Thou earnest hither I was busy writing.

_Mar._ What?

_Jac. Fos._ My name: look, 'tis there--recorded next

The name of him who here preceded me,--

If dungeon dates say true.

_Mar._ And what of him? 70

_Jac. Fos._ These walls are silent of men's ends; they only

Seem to hint shrewdly of them. Such stern walls

Were never piled on high save o'er the dead,

Or those who soon must be so.--_What of him?_

Thou askest.--What of me? may soon be asked,

With the like answer--doubt and dreadful surmise--

Unless thou tell'st my tale.

_Mar._ _I speak_ of thee!

_Jac. Fos._ And wherefore not? All then shall speak of me:

The tyranny of silence is not lasting,

And, though events be hidden, just men's groans 80

Will burst all cerement, even a living grave's!

I do not _doubt_ my memory, but my life;

And neither do I fear.

_Mar._ Thy life is safe.

_Jac. Fos._ And liberty?

_Mar._ The mind should make its own!

_Jac. Fos._ That has a noble sound; but 'tis a sound,

A music most impressive, but too transient:

The Mind is much, but is not all. The Mind

Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death,

And torture positive, far worse than death

(If death be a deep sleep), without a groan, 90

Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges

Than me; but 'tis not all, for there are things

More woful--such as this small dungeon, where

I may breathe many years.

_Mar._ Alas! and this

Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee

Of this wide realm, of which thy sire is Prince.

_Jac. Fos._ That thought would scarcely aid me to endure it.

My doom is common; many are in dungeons,

But none like mine, so near their father's palace;

But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope 100

Will stream along those moted rays of light

Peopled with dusty atoms, which afford

Our only day; for, save the gaoler's torch,

And a strange firefly, which was quickly caught

Last night in yon enormous spider's net,

I ne'er saw aught here like a ray. Alas!

I know if mind may bear us up, or no,

For I have such, and shown it before men;

It sinks in solitude: my soul is social.

_Mar._ I will be with thee.

_Jac. Fos._ Ah! if it were so! 110

But _that_ they never granted--nor will grant,

And I shall be alone: no men; no books--

Those lying likenesses of lying men.

I asked for even those outlines of their kind,

Which they term annals, history, what you will,

Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were

Refused me,--so these walls have been my study,

More faithful pictures of Venetian story,

With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is

The Hall not far from hence, which bears on high 120

Hundreds of Doges, and their deeds and dates.

_Mar._ I come to tell thee the result of their

Last council on thy doom.

_Jac. Fos._ I know it--look!

[_He points to his limbs, as referring to the Question

which he had undergone_.

_Mar._ No--no--no more of that: even they relent

From that atrocity.

_Jac. Fos._ What then?

_Mar._ That you

Return to Candia.

_Jac. Fos._ Then my last hope's gone.

I could endure my dungeon, for 'twas Venice;

I could support the torture, there was something

In my native air that buoyed my spirits up

Like a ship on the Ocean tossed by storms, 130

But proudly still bestriding[61] the high waves,

And holding on its course; but _there_, afar,

In that accursed isle of slaves and captives,

And unbelievers, like a stranded wreck,

My very soul seemed mouldering in my bosom,

And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded.

_Mar._ And _here_?

_Jac. Fos._ At once--by better means, as briefer.[bm]

What! would they even deny me my Sire's sepulchre,

As well as home and heritage?

_Mar._ My husband!

I have sued to accompany thee hence, 140

And not so hopelessly. This love of thine

For an ungrateful and tyrannic soil

Is Passion, and not Patriotism; for me,

So I could see thee with a quiet aspect,

And the sweet freedom of the earth and air,

I would not cavil about climes or regions.

This crowd of palaces and prisons is not

A Paradise; its first inhabitants

Were wretched exiles.

_Jac. Fos._ Well I know _how_ wretched!

_Mar._ And yet you see how, from their banishment 150

Before the Tartar into these salt isles,

Their antique energy of mind, all that

Remained of Rome for their inheritance,

Created by degrees an ocean Rome;[62]

And shall an evil, which so often leads

To good, depress thee thus?

_Jac. Fos._ Had I gone forth

From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking

Another region, with their flocks and herds;

Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion,

Or like our fathers, driven by Attila[63] 160

From fertile Italy, to barren islets,

I would have given some tears to my late country

And many thoughts; but afterwards addressed

Myself, with those about me, to create

A new home and fresh state: perhaps I could

Have borne this--though I know not.

_Mar._ Wherefore not?

It was the lot of millions, and must be

The fate of myriads more.

_Jac. Fos._ Aye--we but hear

Of the survivors' toil in their new lands,

Their numbers and success; but who can number 170

The hearts which broke in silence at that parting,

Or after their departure; of that malady[64]

Which calls up green and native fields to view

From the rough deep, with such identity

To the poor exile's fevered eye, that he

Can scarcely be restrained from treading them?

That melody,[65] which out of tones and tunes[bn]

Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow

Of the sad mountaineer, when far away

From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds, 180

That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought,

And dies.[66] You call this _weakness_! It is strength,

I say,--the parent of all honest feeling.

He who loves not his Country, can love nothing.

_Mar._ Obey her, then: 'tis she that puts thee forth.

_Jac. Fos._ Aye, there it is; 'tis like a mother's curse

Upon my soul--the mark is set upon me.

The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,

Their hands upheld each other by the way,

Their tents were pitched together--I'm alone. 190

_Mar._ You shall be so no more--I will go with thee.

_Jac. Fos._ My best Marina!--and our children?

_Mar._ They,

I fear, by the prevention of the state's

Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties

As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),

Will not be suffered to proceed with us.

_Jac. Fos._ And canst thou leave them?

_Mar._ Yes--with many a pang!

But--I _can_ leave them, children as they are,

To teach you to be less a child. From this

Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted 200

By duties paramount; and 'tis our first

On earth to bear.

_Jac. Fos._ Have I not borne?

_Mar._ Too much

From tyrannous injustice, and enough

To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,

Which, as compared with what you have undergone

Of late, is mercy.

_Jac. Fos._ Ah! you never yet

Were far away from Venice, never saw

Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,

While every furrow of the vessel's track

Seemed ploughing deep into your heart; you never 210

Saw day go down upon your native spires[bo]

So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,

And after dreaming a disturbed vision

Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.

_Mar._ I will divide this with you. Let us think

Of our departure from this much-loved city,

(Since you must _love_ it, as it seems,) and this

Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.

Our children will be cared for by the Doge,

And by my uncles; we must sail ere night. 220

_Jac. Fos._ That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father?

_Mar._ You will.

_Jac. Fos._ Where?

_Mar._ Here, or in the ducal chamber--

He said not which. I would that you could bear

Your exile as he bears it.

_Jac. Fos._ Blame him not.

I sometimes murmur for a moment; but

He could not now act otherwise. A show

Of feeling or compassion on his part

Would have but drawn upon his aged head

Suspicion from "the Ten," and upon mine

Accumulated ills.

_Mar._ Accumulated! 230

What pangs are those they have spared you?

_Jac. Fos._ That of leaving

Venice without beholding him or you,

Which might have been forbidden now, as 'twas

Upon my former exile.

_Mar._ That is true,

And thus far I am also the State's debtor,

And shall be more so when I see us both

Floating on the free waves--away--away--

Be it to the earth's end, from this abhorred,

Unjust, and----

_Jac. Fos._ Curse it not. If I am silent,

Who dares accuse my Country?

_Mar._ Men and Angels! 240

The blood of myriads reeking up to Heaven,

The groans of slaves in chains, and men in dungeons,

Mothers, and wives, and sons, and sires, and subjects,

Held in the bondage of ten bald-heads; and

Though last, not least, _thy silence! Couldst thou_ say

Aught in its favour, who would praise like _thee_?

_Jac. Fos._ Let us address us then, since so it must be,

To our departure. Who comes here?

_Enter_ LOREDANO _attended by Familiars_.

_Lor._ (_to the Familiars_). Retire,

But leave the torch. [_Exeunt the two Familiars_.

_Jac. Fos._ Most welcome, noble Signor.

I did not deem this poor place could have drawn 250

Such presence hither.

_Lor._ 'Tis not the first time

I have visited these places.

_Mar._ Nor would be

The last, were all men's merits well rewarded.

Came you here to insult us, or remain[bp]

As spy upon us, or as hostage for us?

_Lor._ Neither are of my office, noble Lady!

I am sent hither to your husband, to

Announce "the Ten's" decree.

_Mar._ That tenderness

Has been anticipated: it is known.

_Lor._ As how?

_Mar._ I have informed him, not so gently, 260

Doubtless, as your nice feelings would prescribe,

The indulgence of your colleagues; but he knew it.

If you come for our thanks, take them, and hence!

The dungeon gloom is deep enough without you,

And full of reptiles, not less loathsome, though

Their sting is honester.

_Jac. Fos._ I pray you, calm you:

What can avail such words?

_Mar._ To let him know

That he is known.

_Lor._ Let the fair dame preserve

Her sex's privilege.

_Mar._ I have some sons, sir,

Will one day thank you better.

_Lor._ You do well 270

To nurse them wisely. Foscari--you know

Your sentence, then?

_Jac. Fos._ Return to Candia?

_Lor._ True--

For life.

_Jac. Fos._ Not long.

_Lor._ I said--for _life_.

_Jac. Fos._ And I

Repeat--not long.

_Lor._ A year's imprisonment

In Canea--afterwards the freedom of

The whole isle.

_Jac. Fos._ Both the same to me: the after

Freedom as is the first imprisonment.

Is't true my wife accompanies me?

_Lor._ Yes,

If she so wills it.

_Mar._ Who obtained that justice?

_Lor._ One who wars not with women.

_Mar._ But oppresses 280

Men: howsoever let him have _my_ thanks

For the only boon I would have asked or taken

From him or such as he is.

_Lor._ He receives them

As they are offered.

_Mar._ May they thrive with him

So much!--no more.

_Jac. Fos._ Is this, sir, your whole mission?

Because we have brief time for preparation,

And you perceive your presence doth disquiet

This lady, of a house noble as yours.

_Mar._ Nobler!

_Lor._ How nobler?

_Mar._ As more generous!

We say the "generous steed" to express the purity 290

Of his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, although

Venetian (who see few steeds save of bronze),[67]

From those Venetians who have skirred[68] the coasts

Of Egypt and her neighbour Araby:

And why not say as soon the "_generous man_?"

If race be aught, it is in qualities

More than in years; and mine, which is as old

As yours, is better in its product, nay--

Look not so stern--but get you back, and pore

Upon your genealogic tree's most green 300

Of leaves and most mature of fruits, and there

Blush to find ancestors, who would have blushed

For such a son--thou cold inveterate hater!

_Jac. Fos._ Again, Marina!

_Mar._ Again! _still_, Marina.

See you not, he comes here to glut his hate

With a last look upon our misery?

Let him partake it!

_Jac. Fos._ That were difficult.

_Mar._ Nothing more easy. He partakes it now--

Aye, he may veil beneath a marble brow

And sneering lip the pang, but he partakes it. 310

A few brief words of truth shame the Devil's servants

No less than Master; I have probed his soul

A moment, as the Eternal Fire, ere long,

Will reach it always. See how he shrinks from me!

With death, and chains, and exile in his hand,

To scatter o'er his kind as he thinks fit;

They are his weapons, not his armour, for

I have pierced him to the core of his cold heart.

I care not for his frowns! We can but die,

And he but live, for him the very worst 320

Of destinies: each day secures him more

His tempter's.

_Jac. Fos._ This is mere insanity.

_Mar._ It may be so; and _who_ hath made us _mad_?

_Lor._ Let her go on; it irks not me.

_Mar._ That's false!

You came here to enjoy a heartless triumph

Of cold looks upon manifold griefs! You came

To be sued to in vain--to mark our tears,

And hoard our groans--to gaze upon the wreck

Which you have made a Prince's son--my husband;

In short, to trample on the fallen--an office 330

The hangman shrinks from, as all men from him!

How have you sped? We are wretched, Signor, as

Your plots could make, and vengeance could desire us,

And how _feel you_?

_Lor._ As rocks.

_Mar._ By thunder blasted:

They feel not, but no less are shivered. Come,

Foscari; now let us go, and leave this felon,

The sole fit habitant of such a cell,

Which he has peopled often, but ne'er fitly

Till he himself shall brood in it alone.

_Enter the_ DOGE.

_Jac. Fos._ My father!

_Doge_ (_embracing him_). Jacopo! my son--my son! 340

_Jac. Fos._ My father still! How long it is since I

Have heard thee name my name--_our_ name!

_Doge_. My boy!

Couldst thou but know----

_Jac. Fos._ I rarely, sir, have murmured.

_Doge_. I feel too much thou hast not.

_Mar._ Doge, look there!

[_She points to_ LOREDANO.

_Doge_. I see the man--what mean'st thou?

_Mar._ Caution!

_Lor._ Being

The virtue which this noble lady most[bq]

May practise, she doth well to recommend it.

_Mar._ Wretch! 'tis no virtue, but the policy

Of those who fain must deal perforce with vice:

As such I recommend it, as I would 350

To one whose foot was on an adder's path.

_Doge_. Daughter, it is superfluous; I have long

Known Loredano.

_Lor._ You may know him better.

_Mar._ Yes; _worse_ he could not.

_Jac. Fos._ Father, let not these

Our parting hours be lost in listening to

Reproaches, which boot nothing. Is it--is it,

Indeed, our last of meetings?

_Doge_. You behold

These white hairs!

_Jac. Fos._ And I feel, besides, that mine

Will never be so white. Embrace me, father!

I loved you ever--never more than now. 360

Look to my children--to your last child's children:

Let them be all to you which he was once,

And never be to you what I am now.

May I not see _them_ also?

_Mar._ No--not _here_.

_Jac. Fos._ They might behold their parent any where.

_Mar._ I would that they beheld their father in

A place which would not mingle fear with love,

To freeze their young blood in its natural current.

They have fed well, slept soft, and knew not that

Their sire was a mere hunted outlaw. Well, 370

I know his fate may one day be their heritage,

But let it only be their _heritage_,

And not their present fee. Their senses, though

Alive to love, are yet awake to terror;

And these vile damps, too, and yon _thick green_ wave

Which floats above the place where we now stand--

A cell so far below the water's level,

Sending its pestilence through every crevice,

Might strike them: _this is not their_ atmosphere,

However you--and you--and most of all, 380

As worthiest--_you_, sir, noble Loredano!

May breathe it without prejudice.

_Jac. Fos._ I had not

Reflected upon this, but acquiesce.

I shall depart, then, without meeting them?

_Doge_. Not so: they shall await you in my chamber.

_Jac. Fos._ And must I leave them--_all_?

_Lor._ You must.

_Jac. Fos._ Not one?

_Lor._ They are the State's.

_Mar._ I thought they had been mine.

_Lor._ They are, in all maternal things.

_Mar._ That is,

In all things painful. If they're sick, they will

Be left to me to tend them; should they die, 390

To me to bury and to mourn; but if

They live, they'll make you soldiers, senators,

Slaves, exiles--what _you_ will; or if they are

Females with portions, brides and _bribes_ for nobles!

Behold the State's care for its sons and mothers!

_Lor._ The hour approaches, and the wind is fair.

_Jac. Fos._ How know you that here, where the genial wind

Ne'er blows in all its blustering freedom?

_Lor._ 'Twas so

When I came here. The galley floats within

A bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni." 400

_Jac. Fos._ Father! I pray you to precede me, and

Prepare my children to behold their father.

_Doge_. Be firm, my son!

_Jac. Fos._ I will do my endeavour.

_Mar._ Farewell! at least to this detested dungeon,

And him to whose good offices you owe

In part your past imprisonment.

_Lor._ And present

Liberation.

_Doge_. He speaks truth.

_Jac. Fos._ No doubt! but 'tis

Exchange of chains for heavier chains I owe him.

He knows this, or he had not sought to change them,

But I reproach not.

_Lor._ The time narrows, Signor. 410

_Jac. Fos._ Alas! I little thought so lingeringly

To leave abodes like this: but when I feel

That every step I take, even from this cell,

Is one away from Venice, I look back

Even on these dull damp walls, and----

_Doge_. Boy! no tears.

_Mar._ Let them flow on: he wept not on the rack

To shame him, and they cannot shame him now.

They will relieve his heart--that too kind heart--

And I will find an hour to wipe away

Those tears, or add my own. I could weep now, 420

But would not gratify yon wretch so far.

Let us proceed. Doge, lead the way.

_Lor._ (_to the Familiar_). The torch, there!

_Mar._ Yes, light us on, as to a funeral pyre,

With Loredano mourning like an heir.

_Doge_. My son, you are feeble; take this hand.

_Jac. Fos._ Alas!

Must youth support itself on age, and I

Who ought to be the prop of yours?

_Lor._ Take mine.

_Mar._ Touch it not, Foscari; 'twill sting you. Signor,

Stand off! be sure, that if a grasp of yours

Would raise us from the gulf wherein we are plunged, 430

No hand of ours would stretch itself to meet it.

Come, Foscari, take the hand the altar gave you;

It could not save, but will support you ever. [_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_A Hall in the Ducal Palace_.

_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.

_Bar._ And have you confidence in such a project?

_Lor._ I have.

_Bar._ 'Tis hard upon his years.

_Lor._ Say rather

Kind to relieve him from the cares of State.

_Bar._ 'Twill break his heart.

_Lor._ Age has no heart to break.

He has seen his son's half broken, and, except

A start of feeling in his dungeon, never

Swerved.

_Bar._ In his countenance, I grant you, never;

But I have seen him sometimes in a calm

So desolate, that the most clamorous grief

Had nought to envy him within. Where is he? 10

_Lor._ In his own portion of the palace, with

His son, and the whole race of Foscaris.

_Bar._ Bidding farewell.

_Lor._ A last! as, soon, he shall

Bid to his Dukedom.

_Bar._ When embarks the son?

_Lor._ Forthwith--when this long leave is taken. 'Tis

Time to admonish them again.

_Bar._ Forbear;

Retrench not from their moments.

_Lor._ Not I, now

We have higher business for our own. This day

Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign,

As the first of his son's last banishment, 20

And that is vengeance.

_Bar._ In my mind, too deep.

_Lor._ 'Tis moderate--not even life for life, the rule

Denounced of retribution from all time;

They owe me still my father's and my uncle's.

_Bar._ Did not the Doge deny this strongly?

_Lor._ Doubtless.

_Bar._ And did not this shake your suspicion?

_Lor._ No.

_Bar._ But if this deposition should take place

By our united influence in the Council,

It must be done with all the deference

Due to his years, his station, and his deeds. 30

_Lor._ As much of ceremony as you will,

So that the thing be done. You may, for aught

I care, depute the Council on their knees,

(Like Barbarossa to the Pope,) to beg him

To have the courtesy to abdicate.

_Bar._ What if he will not?

_Lor._ We'll elect another,

And make him null.

_Bar._ But will the laws uphold us?[69]

_Lor._ What laws?--"The Ten" are laws; and if they were not,

I will be legislator in this business.

_Bar._ At your own peril?

_Lor._ There is none, I tell you, 40

Our powers are such.

_Bar._ But he has twice already

Solicited permission to retire,

And twice it was refused.

_Lor._ The better reason

To grant it the third time.

_Bar._ Unasked?

_Lor._ It shows

The impression of his former instances:

If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:

If not, 'twill punish his hypocrisy.

Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,

And be _thou_ fixed in purpose for this once.

I have prepared such arguments as will not 50

Fail to move them, and to remove him: since

Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do not

_You_, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,

And all will prosper.

_Bar._ Could I but be certain

This is no prelude to such persecution

Of the sire as has fallen upon the son,

I would support you.

_Lor._ He is safe, I tell you;

His fourscore years and five may linger on

As long as he can drag them: 'tis his throne

Alone is aimed at.

_Bar._ But discarded Princes 60

Are seldom long of life.

_Lor._ And men of eighty

More seldom still.

_Bar._ And why not wait these few years?

_Lor._ Because we have waited long enough, and he

Lived longer than enough. Hence! in to council!

[_Exeunt_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.

_Enter_ MEMMO[70] _and a Senator_.

_Sen._ A summons to "the Ten!" why so?

_Mem._ "The Ten"

Alone can answer; they are rarely wont

To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose

By previous proclamation. We are summoned--

That is enough.

_Sen._ For them, but not for us;

I would know why.

_Mem._ You will know why anon, 70

If you obey: and, if not, you no less

Will know why you should have obeyed.

_Sen._ I mean not

To oppose them, _but_----

_Mem._ In Venice "_but_"'s a traitor.

But me no "_buts_" unless you would pass o'er

The Bridge which few repass.[71]

_Sen._ I am silent.

_Mem._ Why

Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have called in aid

Of their deliberation five and twenty

Patricians of the Senate--you are one,

And I another; and it seems to me

Both honoured by the choice or chance which leads us 80

To mingle with a body so august.

_Sen._ Most true. I say no more.

_Mem._ As we hope, Signor,

And all may honestly, (that is, all those

Of noble blood may,) one day hope to be

Decemvir, it is surely for the Senate's[br]

Chosen delegates, a school of wisdom, to

Be thus admitted, though as novices,

To view the mysteries.

_Sen._ Let us view them: they,

No doubt, are worth it.

_Mem._ Being worth our lives

If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth 90

Something, at least to you or me.

_Sen._ I sought not

A place within the sanctuary; but being

Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen,

I shall fulfil my office.

_Mem._ Let us not

Be latest in obeying "the Ten's" summons.

_Sen._ All are not met, but I am of your thought

So far--let's in.

_Mem._ The earliest are most welcome

In earnest councils--we will not be least so. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter the_ DOGE, JACOPO FOSCARI, _and_ MARINA.

_Jac. Fos._ Ah, father! though I must and will depart,

Yet--yet--I pray you to obtain for me 100

That I once more return unto my home,

Howe'er remote the period. Let there be

A point of time, as beacon to my heart,

With any penalty annexed they please,

But let me still return.

_Doge_. Son Jacopo,

Go and obey our Country's will:[72] 'tis not

For us to look beyond.

_Jac. Fos._ But still I must

Look back. I pray you think of me.

_Doge_. Alas!

You ever were my dearest offspring, when

They were more numerous, nor can be less so 110

Now you are last; but did the State demand

The exile of the disinterred ashes

Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,[73]

And their desponding shades came flitting round

To impede the act, I must no less obey

A duty, paramount to every duty.

_Mar._ My husband! let us on: this but prolongs

Our sorrow.

_Jac. Fos._ But we are not summoned yet;

The galley's sails are not unfurled:--who knows?

The wind may change.

_Mar._ And if it do, it will not 120

Change _their_ hearts, or your lot: the galley's oars

Will quickly clear the harbour.

_Jac. Fos._ O, ye Elements!

Where are your storms?

_Mar._ In human breasts. Alas!

Will nothing calm you?

_Jac. Fos._ Never yet did mariner

Put up to patron saint such prayers for prosperous

And pleasant breezes, as I call upon you,

Ye tutelar saints of my own city! which

Ye love not with more holy love than I,

To lash up from the deep the Adrian waves,

And waken Auster, sovereign of the Tempest! 130

Till the sea dash me back on my own shore

A broken corse upon the barren Lido,

Where I may mingle with the sands which skirt

The land I love, and never shall see more!

_Mar._ And wish you this with _me_ beside you?

_Jac. Fos._ No--

No--not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thou

Live long to be a mother to those children

Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives

Of such support! But for myself alone,

May all the winds of Heaven howl down the Gulf, 140

And tear the vessel, till the mariners,

Appalled, turn their despairing eyes on me,

As the Phenicians did on Jonah, then

Cast me out from amongst them, as an offering

To appease the waves. The billow which destroys me

Will be more merciful than man, and bear me

Dead, but _still bear_ me to a native grave,

From fishers' hands, upon the desolate strand,

Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received

One lacerated like the heart which then 150

Will be.--But wherefore breaks it not? why live I?

_Mar._ To man thyself, I trust, with time, to master

Such useless passion. Until now thou wert

A sufferer, but not a loud one: why

What is this to the things thou hast borne in silence--

Imprisonment and actual torture?

_Jac. Fos._ Double,

Triple, and tenfold torture! But you are right,

It must be borne. Father, your blessing.

_Doge_. Would

It could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.

_Jac. Fos._ Forgive----

_Doge_. What?

_Jac. Fos._ My poor mother, for my birth, 160

And me for having lived, and you yourself

(As I forgive you), for the gift of life,

Which you bestowed upon me as my sire.

_Mar._ What hast thou done?

_Jac. Fos._ Nothing. I cannot charge

My memory with much save sorrow: but

I have been so beyond the common lot

Chastened and visited, I needs must think

That I was wicked. If it be so, may

What I have undergone here keep me from

A like hereafter!

_Mar._ Fear not: _that's_ reserved 170

For your oppressors.

_Jac. Fos._ Let me hope not.

_Mar._ Hope not?

_Jac. Fos._ I cannot wish them _all_ they have inflicted.

_Mar._ _All!_ the consummate fiends! A thousandfold

May the worm which never dieth feed upon them!

_Jac. Fos._ They may repent.

_Mar._ And if they do, Heaven will not

Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

_Enter an Officer and Guards_.

_Offi._ Signor! the boat is at the shore--the wind

Is rising--we are ready to attend you.

_Jac. Fos._ And I to be attended. Once more, father,

Your hand!

_Doge_. Take it. Alas! how thine own trembles! 180

_Jac. Fos._ No--you mistake; 'tis yours that shakes, my father.

Farewell!

_Doge_. Farewell! Is there aught else?

_Jac. Fos._ No--nothing.

[_To the Officer_.

Lend me your arm, good Signor.

_Offi._ You turn pale--

Let me support you--paler--ho! some aid there!

Some water!

_Mar._ Ah, he is dying!

_Jac. Fos._ Now, I'm ready--

My eyes swim strangely--where's the door?

_Mar._ Away!

Let me support him--my best love! Oh, God!

How faintly beats this heart--this pulse!

_Jac. Fos._ The light!

_Is_ it the light?--I am faint.

[_Officer presents him with water_.

_Offi._ He will be better,

Perhaps, in the air.

_Jac. Fos._ I doubt not. Father--wife-- 190

Your hands!

_Mar._ There's death in that damp, clammy grasp.[74]

Oh, God!--My Foscari, how fare you?

_Jac. Fos._ Well! [_He dies_.

_Offi._ He's gone!

_Doge_. He's free.

_Mar._ No--no, he is not dead;

There must be life yet in that heart--he could not[bs]

Thus leave me.

_Doge_. Daughter!

_Mar._ Hold thy peace, old man!

I am no daughter now--thou hast no son.

Oh, Foscari!

_Offi._ We must remove the body.

_Mar._ Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base office

Ends with his life, and goes not beyond murder,

Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains 200

To those who know to honour them.

_Offi._ I must

Inform the Signory, and learn their pleasure.

_Doge_. Inform the Signory from _me_, the Doge,

They have no further power upon those ashes:

While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject--

Now he is _mine_--my broken-hearted boy! [_Exit Officer_.

_Mar._ And I must live!

_Doge_. Your children live, Marina.

_Mar._ My children! true--they live, and I must live

To bring them up to serve the State, and die

As died their father. Oh! what best of blessings 210

Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother

Had been so!

_Doge_. My unhappy children!

_Mar._ What!

_You_ feel it then at last--_you!_--Where is now

The Stoic of the State?

_Doge_ (_throwing himself down by the body_). _Here!_

_Mar._ Aye, weep on!

I thought you had no tears--you hoarded them

Until they are useless; but weep on! he never

Shall weep more--never, never more.

_Enter_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.

_Lor._ What's here?

_Mar._ Ah! the Devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt!

Incarnate Lucifer! 'tis holy ground.

A martyr's ashes now lie there, which make it 220

A shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment!

_Bar._ Lady, we knew not of this sad event,

But passed here merely on our path from council.

_Mar._ Pass on.

_Lor._ We sought the Doge.

_Mar._ (_pointing to the Doge, who is still on the ground

by his son's body_) He's busy, look,

About the business _you_ provided for him.

Are ye content?

_Bar._ We will not interrupt

A parent's sorrows.

_Mar._ No, ye only make them,

Then leave them.

_Doge_ (_rising_). Sirs, I am ready.

_Bar._ No--not now.

_Lor._ Yet 'twas important.

_Doge_. If 'twas so, I can

Only repeat--I am ready.

_Bar._ It shall not be 230

Just now, though Venice tottered o'er the deep

Like a frail vessel. I respect your griefs.

_Doge_. I thank you. If the tidings which you bring

Are evil, you may say them; nothing further

Can touch me more than him thou look'st on there;

If they be good, say on; you need not _fear_

That they can _comfort_ me.

_Bar._ I would they could!

_Doge_. I spoke not to _you_, but to Loredano.

_He_ understands me.

_Mar._ Ah! I thought it would be so.

_Doge_. What mean you?

_Mar._ Lo! there is the blood beginning 240

To flow through the dead lips of Foscari--

The body bleeds in presence of the assassin.

[_To_ LOREDANO.

Thou cowardly murderer by law, behold

How Death itself bears witness to thy deeds!

_Doge_. My child! this is a phantasy of grief.

Bear hence the body. [_To his attendants_] Signors, if it please you,

Within an hour I'll hear you.

[_Exeunt_ DOGE, MARINA, _and attendants with the

body_. _Manent_ LOREDANO _and_ BARBARIGO.

_Bar._ He must not

Be troubled now.

_Lor._ He said himself that nought

Could give him trouble farther.

_Bar._ These are words;

But Grief is lonely, and the breaking in 250

Upon it barbarous.

_Lor._ Sorrow preys upon

Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it

From its sad visions of the other world,

Than calling it at moments back to this.

The busy have no time for tears.

_Bar._ And therefore

You would deprive this old man of all business?

_Lor._ The thing's decreed. The Giunta[75] and "the Ten"

Have made it law--who shall oppose that law?

_Bar._ Humanity!

_Lor._ Because his son is dead?

_Bar._ And yet unburied.

_Lor._ Had we known this when 260

The act was passing, it might have suspended

Its passage, but impedes it not--once passed.

_Bar._ I'll not consent.

_Lor._ You have consented to

All that's essential--leave the rest to me.

_Bar._ Why press his abdication now?

_Lor._ The feelings

Of private passion may not interrupt

The public benefit; and what the State

Decides to-day must not give way before

To-morrow for a natural accident.

_Bar._ You have a son.

_Lor._ I _have_--and _had_ a father. 270

_Bar._ Still so inexorable?

_Lor._ Still.

_Bar._ But let him

Inter his son before we press upon him

This edict.

_Lor._ Let him call up into life

My sire and uncle--I consent. Men may,

Even aged men, be, or appear to be,

Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle

An atom of their ancestors from earth.

The victims are not equal; he has seen

His sons expire by natural deaths, and I

My sires by violent and mysterious maladies. 280

I used no poison, bribed no subtle master

Of the destructive art of healing, to

Shorten the path to the eternal cure.

His sons--and he had four--are dead, without

_My_ dabbling in vile drugs.

_Bar._ And art thou sure

He dealt in such?

_Lor._ Most sure.

_Bar._ And yet he seems

All openness.

_Lor._ And so he seemed not long

Ago to Carmagnuola.

_Bar._ The attainted

And foreign traitor?

_Lor._ Even so: when _he_,

After the very night in which "the Ten" 290

(Joined with the Doge) decided his destruction,

Met the great Duke at daybreak with a jest,

Demanding whether he should augur him

"The good day or good night?" his Doge-ship answered,

"That he in truth had passed a night of vigil,

In which" (he added with a gracious smile)

"There often has been question about you."[76]

'Twas true; the question was the death resolved

Of Carmagnuola, eight months ere he died;

And the old Doge, who knew him doomed, smiled on him 300

With deadly cozenage, eight long months beforehand--

Eight months of such hypocrisy as is

Learnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola

Is dead; so is young Foscari and his brethren--

I never _smiled_ on _them_.

_Bar._ Was Carmagnuola

Your friend?

_Lor._ He was the safeguard of the city.

In early life its foe, but in his manhood,

Its saviour first, then victim.

_Bar._ Ah! that seems

The penalty of saving cities. He

Whom we now act against not only saved 310

Our own, but added others to her sway.

_Lor._ The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crown

To him who took a city: and they gave

A crown to him who saved a citizen

In battle: the rewards are equal. Now,

If we should measure forth the cities taken

By the Doge Foscari, with citizens

Destroyed by him, or _through_ him, the account

Were fearfully against him, although narrowed

To private havoc, such as between him 320

And my dead father.

_Bar._ Are you then thus fixed?

_Lor._ Why, what should change me?

_Bar._ That which changes me.

But you, I know, are marble to retain

A feud. But when all is accomplished, when

The old man is deposed, his name degraded,

His sons all dead, his family depressed,

And you and yours triumphant, shall you sleep?

_Lor._ More soundly.

_Bar._ That's an error, and you'll find it

Ere you sleep with your fathers.

_Lor._ They sleep not

In their accelerated graves, nor will 330

Till Foscari fills his. Each night I see them

Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towards

The ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance.

_Bar._ Fancy's distemperature! There is no passion

More spectral or fantastical than Hate;

Not even its opposite, Love, so peoples air

With phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

_Enter an Officer_.

_Lor._ Where go you, sirrah?

_Offi._ By the ducal order

To forward the preparatory rites

For the late Foscari's interment.

_Bar._ Their 340

Vault has been often opened of late years.

_Lor._ 'Twill be full soon, and may be closed for ever!

_Offi._ May I pass on?

_Lor._ You may.

_Bar._ How bears the Doge

This last calamity?

_Offi._ With desperate firmness.

In presence of another he says little,

But I perceive his lips move now and then;

And once or twice I heard him, from the adjoining

Apartment, mutter forth the words--"My son!"

Scarce audibly. I must proceed. [_Exit Officer_.

_Bar._ This stroke

Will move all Venice in his favour.

_Lor._ Right! 350

We must be speedy: let us call together

The delegates appointed to convey

The Council's resolution.

_Bar._ I protest

Against it at this moment.

_Lor._ As you please--

I'll take their voices on it ne'ertheless,

And see whose most may sway them, yours or mine.

[_Exeunt_ BARBARIGO _and_ LOREDANO.

ACT V.

SCENE I.--_The_ DOGE'S _Apartment_.

_The_ DOGE _and Attendants_.

_Att._ My Lord, the deputation is in waiting;

But add, that if another hour would better

Accord with your will, they will make it theirs.

_Doge_. To me all hours are like. Let them approach.

[_Exit Attendant_.

_An Officer_. Prince! I have done your bidding.

_Doge_. What command?

_Offi._ A melancholy one--to call the attendance

Of----

_Doge_. True--true--true: I crave your pardon. I

Begin to fail in apprehension, and

Wax very old--old almost as my years.

Till now I fought them off, but they begin 10

To overtake me.

_Enter the Deputation, consisting of six of the Signory

and the Chief of the Ten_.

Noble men, your pleasure!

_Chief of the Ten_. In the first place, the Council doth condole

With the Doge on his late and private grief.

_Doge_. No more--no more of that.

_Chief of the Ten_. Will not the Duke

Accept the homage of respect?

_Doge_. I do

Accept it as 'tis given--proceed.

_Chief of the Ten_. "The Ten,"

With a selected giunta from the Senate

Of twenty-five of the best born patricians,

Having deliberated on the state

Of the Republic, and the o'erwhelming cares 20

Which, at this moment, doubly must oppress

Your years, so long devoted to your Country,

Have judged it fitting, with all reverence,

Now to solicit from your wisdom (which

Upon reflection must accord in this),

The resignation of the ducal ring,

Which you have worn so long and venerably:

And to prove that they are not ungrateful, nor

Cold to your years and services, they add

An appanage of twenty hundred golden 30

Ducats, to make retirement not less splendid

Than should become a Sovereign's retreat.

_Doge_. Did I hear rightly?

_Chief of the Ten_. Need I say again?

_Doge_. No.--Have you done?

_Chief of the Ten_. I have spoken. Twenty four[77]

Hours are accorded you to give an answer.

_Doge_. I shall not need so many seconds.

_Chief of the Ten_. We

Will now retire.

_Doge_. Stay! four and twenty hours

Will alter nothing which I have to say.

_Chief of the Ten_. Speak!

_Doge_. When I twice before reiterated

My wish to abdicate, it was refused me: 40

And not alone refused, but ye exacted

An oath from me that I would never more

Renew this instance. I have sworn to die

In full exertion of the functions, which

My Country called me here to exercise,

According to my honour and my conscience--

I cannot break _my_ oath.

_Chief of the Ten_. Reduce us not

To the alternative of a decree,

Instead of your compliance.

_Doge_. Providence

Prolongs my days to prove and chasten me; 50

But ye have no right to reproach my length

Of days, since every hour has been the Country's.

I am ready to lay down my life for her,

As I have laid down dearer things than life:

But for my dignity--I hold it of

The _whole_ Republic: when the _general_ will

Is manifest, then you shall all be answered.

_Chief of the Ten_. We grieve for such an answer; but it cannot

Avail you aught.

_Doge_. I can submit to all things,

But nothing will advance; no, not a moment. 60

What you decree--decree.

_Chief of the Ten_. With this, then, must we

Return to those who sent us?

_Doge_. You have heard me.

_Chief of the Ten_. With all due reverence we retire.

[_Exeunt the Deputation, etc._

_Enter an Attendant_.

_Att._ My Lord,

The noble dame Marina craves an audience.

_Doge_. My time is hers.

_Enter_ MARINA.

_Mar._ My Lord, if I intrude--

Perhaps you fain would be alone?

_Doge_. Alone!

Alone, come all the world around me, I

Am now and evermore. But we will bear it.

_Mar._ We will, and for the sake of those who are,

Endeavour----Oh, my husband!

_Doge_. Give it way: 70

I cannot comfort thee.

_Mar._ He might have lived,

So formed for gentle privacy of life,

So loving, so beloved; the native of

Another land, and who so blest and blessing

As my poor Foscari? Nothing was wanting

Unto his happiness and mine save not

To be Venetian.

_Doge_. Or a Prince's son.

_Mar._ Yes; all things which conduce to other men's

Imperfect happiness or high ambition,

By some strange destiny, to him proved deadly. 80

The Country and the People whom he loved,

The Prince of whom he was the elder born,

And----

_Doge_. Soon may be a Prince no longer.

_Mar._ How?

_Doge_. They have taken my son from me, and now aim

At my too long worn diadem and ring.

Let them resume the gewgaws!

_Mar._ Oh, the tyrants!

In such an hour too!

_Doge_. 'Tis the fittest time;

An hour ago I should have felt it.

_Mar._ And

Will you not now resent it?--Oh, for vengeance!

But he, who, had he been enough protected, 90

Might have repaid protection in this moment,

Cannot assist his father.

_Doge_. Nor should do so

Against his Country, had he a thousand lives

Instead of that----

_Mar._ They tortured from him. This

May be pure patriotism. I am a woman:

To me my husband and my children were

Country and home. I loved _him_--how I loved him!

I have seen him pass through such an ordeal as

The old martyrs would have shrunk from: he is gone,

And I, who would have given my blood for him, 100

Have nought to give but tears! But could I compass

The retribution of his wrongs!--Well, well!

I have sons, who shall be men.

_Doge_. Your grief distracts you.

_Mar._ I thought I could have borne it, when I saw him

Bowed down by such oppression; yes, I thought

That I would rather look upon his corse

Than his prolonged captivity:--I am punished

For that thought now. Would I were in his grave!

_Doge_. I must look on him once more.

_Mar._ Come with me!

_Doge_. Is he----

_Mar._ Our bridal bed is now his bier, 110

_Doge_. And he is in his shroud!

_Mar._ Come, come, old man!

[_Exeunt the_ DOGE _and_ MARINA.

_Enter_ BARBARIGO _and_ LOREDANO.

_Bar._ (_to an Attendant_). Where is the Doge?

_Att._ This instant retired hence,

With the illustrious lady his son's widow.

_Lor._ Where?

_Att._ To the chamber where the body lies.

_Bar._ Let us return, then.

_Lor._ You forget, you cannot.

We have the implicit order of the Giunta

To await their coming here, and join them in

Their office: they'll be here soon after us.

_Bar._ And will they press their answer on the Doge?

_Lor._ 'Twas his own wish that all should be done promptly. 120

He answered quickly, and must so be answered;

His dignity is looked to, his estate

Cared for--what would he more?

_Bar._ Die in his robes:

He could not have lived long; but I have done

My best to save his honours, and opposed

This proposition to the last, though vainly.

Why would the general vote compel me hither?

_Lor._ 'Twas fit that some one of such different thoughts

From ours should be a witness, lest false tongues

Should whisper that a harsh majority 130

Dreaded to have its acts beheld by others.

_Bar._ And not less, I must needs think, for the sake

Of humbling me for my vain opposition.

You are ingenious, Loredano, in

Your modes of vengeance, nay, poetical,

A very Ovid in the art of _hating_;

'Tis thus (although a secondary object,

Yet hate has microscopic eyes), to you

I owe, by way of foil to the more zealous,

This undesired association in 140

Your Giunta's duties.

_Lor._ How!--_my_ Giunta!

_Bar._ _Yours!_

They speak your language, watch your nod, approve

Your plans, and do your work. Are they not _yours?_

_Lor._ You talk unwarily. 'Twere best they hear not

This from you.

_Bar._ Oh! they'll hear as much one day

From louder tongues than mine; they have gone beyond

Even their exorbitance of power: and when

This happens in the most contemned and abject

States, stung humanity will rise to check it.

_Lor._ You talk but idly.

_Bar._ That remains for proof. 150

Here come our colleagues.

_Enter the Deputation as before_.

_Chief of the Ten_. Is the Duke aware

We seek his presence?

_Att._ He shall be informed.

[_Exit Attendant_.

_Bar._ The Duke is with his son.

_Chief of the Ten_. If it be so,

We will remit him till the rites are over.

Let us return. 'Tis time enough to-morrow.

_Lor._ (_aside to Bar_.) Now the rich man's hell-fire upon your tongue,

Unquenched, unquenchable! I'll have it torn

From its vile babbling roots, till you shall utter

Nothing but sobs through blood, for this! Sage Signors,

I pray ye be not hasty. [_Aloud to the others_.

_Bar._ But be human! 160

_Lor._ See, the Duke comes!

_Enter the_ DOGE.

_Doge_. I have obeyed your summons.

_Chief of the Ten_. We come once more to urge our past request.

_Doge_. And I to answer.

_Chief of the Ten_. What?

_Doge_. My only answer.

You have heard it.

_Chief of the Ten_. Hear _you_ then the last decree,

Definitive and absolute!

_Doge_. To the point--

To the point! I know of old the forms of office,

And gentle preludes to strong acts.--Go on!

_Chief of the Ten_. You are no longer Doge; you are released

From your imperial oath as Sovereign;

Your ducal robes must be put off; but for 170

Your services, the State allots the appanage

Already mentioned in our former congress.

Three days are left you to remove from hence,

Under the penalty to see confiscated

All your own private fortune.

_Doge_. That last clause,

I am proud to say, would not enrich the treasury.

_Chief of the Ten_. Your answer, Duke!

_Lor._ Your answer, Francis Foscari!

_Doge_. If I could have foreseen that my old age

Was prejudicial to the State, the Chief

Of the Republic never would have shown 180

Himself so far ungrateful, as to place

His own high dignity before his Country;

But this _life_ having been so many years

_Not_ useless to that Country, I would fain

Have consecrated my last moments to her.

But the decree being rendered, I obey.[bt][78]

_Chief of the Ten_. If you would have the three days named extended,

We willingly will lengthen them to eight,

As sign of our esteem.

_Doge_. Not eight hours, Signor,

Not even eight minutes--there's the ducal ring, 190

[_Taking off his ring and cap_.

And there the ducal diadem! And so

The Adriatic's free to wed another.

_Chief of the Ten_. Yet go not forth so quickly.

_Doge_. I am old, sir,

And even to move but slowly must begin

To move betimes. Methinks I see amongst you

A face I know not.--Senator! your name,

You, by your garb, Chief of the Forty!

_Mem._ Signor,

I am the son of Marco Memmo.

_Doge_. Ah!

Your father was my friend.--But _sons_ and _fathers!_--

What, ho! my servants there!

_Atten._ My Prince!

_Doge_. No Prince-- 200

There are the princes of the Prince!

[_Pointing to the Ten's Deputation_

--Prepare

To part from hence upon the instant.

_Chief of the Ten_. Why

So rashly? 'twill give scandal.

_Doge_ (_to the Ten_). Answer that;

It is your province.

[_To the Servants_.

--Sirs, bestir yourselves:

There is one burthen which I beg you bear

With care, although 'tis past all farther harm--

But I will look to that myself.

_Bar._ He means

The body of his son.

_Doge_. And call Marina,

My daughter!

_Enter_ MARINA.

_Doge_. Get thee ready, we must mourn

Elsewhere.

_Mar._ And everywhere.

_Doge_. True; but in freedom, 210

Without these jealous spies upon the great.

Signers, you may depart: what would you more?

We are going; do you fear that we shall bear

The palace with us? Its _old_ walls, ten times

As _old_ as I am, and I'm very old,

Have served you, so have I, and I and they

Could tell a tale; but I invoke them not

To fall upon you! else they would, as erst

The pillars of stone Dagon's temple on

The Israelite and his Philistine foes. 220

Such power I do believe there might exist

In such a curse as mine, provoked by such

As you; but I curse not. Adieu, good Signers!

May the next Duke be better than the present!

_Lor._ The _present_ Duke is Paschal Malipiero.

_Doge_. Not till I pass the threshold of these doors.

_Lor._ Saint Mark's great bell is soon about to toll

For his inauguration.

_Doge_. Earth and Heaven!

Ye will reverberate this peal; and I

Live to hear this!--the first Doge who e'er heard 230

Such sound for his successor: happier he,

My attainted predecessor, stern Faliero--

This insult at the least was spared him.

_Lor._ What!

Do you regret a traitor?

_Doge_. No--I merely

Envy the dead.

_Chief of the Ten_. My Lord, if you indeed

Are bent upon this rash abandonment

Of the State's palace, at the least retire

By the private staircase, which conducts you towards

The landing-place of the canal.

_Doge_. No. I

Will now descend the stairs by which I mounted 240

To sovereignty--the Giants' Stairs, on whose

Broad eminence I was invested Duke.

My services have called me up those steps,

The malice of my foes will drive me down them.[79]

_There_ five and thirty years ago was I

Installed, and traversed these same halls, from which

I never thought to be divorced except

A corse--a corse, it might be, fighting for them--

But not pushed hence by fellow-citizens.

But come; my son and I will go together-- 250

He to his grave, and I to pray for mine.

_Chief of the Ten_. What! thus in public?

_Doge_. I was publicly

Elected, and so will I be deposed.

Marina! art thou willing?

_Mar._ Here's my arm!

_Doge_. And here my _staff_: thus propped will I go forth.

_Chief of the Ten_. It must not be--the people will perceive it.

_Doge_. The people,--There's no people, you well know it,

Else you dare not deal thus by them or me.

There is a _populace_, perhaps, whose looks

May shame you; but they dare not groan nor curse you, 260

Save with their hearts and eyes.

_Chief of the Ten_. You speak in passion,

Else----

_Doge_. You have reason. I have spoken much

More than my wont: it is a foible which

Was not of mine, but more excuses you,

Inasmuch as it shows, that I approach

A dotage which may justify this deed

Of yours, although the law does not, nor will.

Farewell, sirs!

_Bar._ You shall not depart without

An escort fitting past and present rank.

We will accompany, with due respect, 270

The Doge unto his private palace. Say!

My brethren, will we not?

_Different voices_. Aye!--Aye!

_Doge_. You shall not

Stir--in my train, at least. I entered here

As Sovereign--I go out as citizen

By the same portals, but as citizen.

All these vain ceremonies are base insults,

Which only ulcerate the heart the more,

Applying poisons there as antidotes.

Pomp is for Princes--I am none!--That's false,

I _am_, but only to these gates.--Ah!

_Lor._ Hark! 280

[_The great bell of St. Mark's tolls_.

_Bar._ The bell!

_Chief of the Ten_. St. Mark's, which tolls for the election

Of Malipiero.

_Doge_. Well I recognise

The sound! I heard it once, but once before,

And that is five and thirty years ago;

Even _then_ I _was not young_.

_Bar._ Sit down, my Lord!

You tremble.

_Doge_. 'Tis the knell of my poor boy!

My heart aches bitterly.

_Bar._ I pray you sit.

_Doge_. No; my seat here has been a throne till now.

Marina! let us go.

_Mar._ Most readily.

_Doge_. (_walks a few steps, then stops_).

I feel athirst--will no one bring me here 290

A cup of water?

_Bar._ I----

_Mar._ And I----

_Lor._ And I----

[_The Doge takes a goblet from the hand of_ LOREDANO.

_Doge_. I take _yours_, Loredano, from the hand

Most fit for such an hour as this.[bu]

_Lor._ Why so?

_Doge_. 'Tis said that our Venetian crystal has

Such pure antipathy to poisons as

To burst, if aught of venom touches it.

You bore this goblet, and it is not broken.

_Lor._ Well, sir!

_Doge_. Then it is false, or you are true.

For my own part, I credit neither; 'tis

An idle legend.

_Mar._ You talk wildly, and 300

Had better now be seated, nor as yet

Depart. Ah! now you look as looked my husband!

_Bar._ He sinks!--support him!--quick--a chair--support him!

_Doge_. The bell tolls on!--let's hence--my brain's on fire!

_Bar._ I do beseech you, lean upon us!

_Doge_. No!

A Sovereign should die standing. My poor boy!

Off with your arms!--_That bell!_[80]

[_The_ DOGE _drops down and dies_.

_Mar._ My God! My God!

_Bar._ (_to Lor._). Behold! your work's completed!

_Chief of the Ten_. Is there then

No aid? Call in assistance!

_Att._ 'Tis all over.

_Chief of the Ten_. If it be so, at least his obsequies 310

Shall be such as befits his name and nation,

His rank and his devotion to the duties

Of the realm, while his age permitted him

To do himself and them full justice. Brethren,

Say, shall it not be so?

_Bar._ He has not had

The misery to die a subject where[bv]

He reigned: then let his funeral rites be princely.[81]

_Chief of the Ten_. We are agreed, then?

_All, except Lor., answer,_ Yes.

_Chief of the Ten_. Heaven's peace be with him!

_Mar._ Signers, your pardon: this is mockery. 320

Juggle no more with that poor remnant, which,

A moment since, while yet it had a soul,

(A soul by whom you have increased your Empire,

And made your power as proud as was his glory),

You banished from his palace and tore down

From his high place, with such relentless coldness;

And now, when he can neither know these honours,

Nor would accept them if he could, you, Signors,

Purpose, with idle and superfluous pomp,

To make a pageant over what you trampled. 330

A princely funeral will be your reproach,

And not his honour.

_Chief of the Ten_. Lady, we revoke not

Our purposes so readily.

_Mar._ I know it,

As far as touches torturing the living.

I thought the dead had been beyond even _you_,

Though (some, no doubt) consigned to powers which may

Resemble that you exercise on earth.

Leave him to me; you would have done so for

His dregs of life, which you have kindly shortened:

It is my last of duties, and may prove 340

A dreary comfort in my desolation.[bw]

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead,

And the apparel of the grave.

_Chief of the Ten_. Do you

Pretend still to this office?

_Mar._ I do, Signor.

Though his possessions have been all consumed

In the State's service, I have still my dowry,

Which shall be consecrated to his rites,

And those of---- [_She stops with agitation_.

_Chief of the Ten_. Best retain it for your children.

_Mar._ Aye, they are fatherless, I thank you.

_Chief of the Ten_. We

Cannot comply with your request. His relics 350

Shall be exposed with wonted pomp, and followed

Unto their home by the new Doge, not clad

As _Doge_, but simply as a senator.

_Mar._ I have heard of murderers, who have interred

Their victims; but ne'er heard, until this hour,

Of so much splendour in hypocrisy

O'er those they slew.[82] I've heard of widows' tears--

Alas! I have shed some--always thanks to you!

I've heard of _heirs_ in sables--you have left none

To the deceased, so you would act the part 360

Of such. Well, sirs, your will be done! as one day,

I trust, Heaven's will be done too![bx]

_Chief of the Ten_. Know you, Lady,

To whom ye speak, and perils of such speech?

_Mar._ I know the former better than yourselves;

The latter--like yourselves; and can face both.

Wish you more funerals?

_Bar._ Heed not her rash words;

Her circumstances must excuse her bearing.

_Chief of the Ten_. We will not note them down.

_Bar._ (_turning to Lor., who is writing upon his tablets_).

What art thou writing,

With such an earnest brow, upon thy tablets?

_Lor._ (_pointing to the Doge's body_). That _he_ has paid me![83]

_Chief of the Ten_. What debt did he owe you? 370

_Lor._ A long and just one; Nature's debt and _mine_.[84]

[_Curtain falls_[85]

FOOTNOTES:

[34] {113}[The MS. of _The Two Foscari_ is now in the possession of

H.R.H. the Princess of Wales.]

[35] [Begun June the 12th, completed July the 9th, Ravenna,

1821.--_Byron MS_.]

[36] [_Gov._ "_The father softens--but the governor is fixed_."

_Dingle_. "Aye that antithesis of persons is a most established

figure."--_Critic_, act ii. sc. 2.

Byron may have guessed that this passage would be quoted against him,

and, by taking it as a motto, hoped to anticipate or disarm ridicule; or

he may have selected it out of bravado, as though, forsooth, the public

were too stupid to find him out.]

[at] ----_too soon repeated_.--[MS. erased.]

[37] {121}[It is a moot point whether Jacopo Foscari was placed on the

rack on the occasion of his third trial. The original document of the X.

(July 23, 1456) runs thus: "Si videtur vobis per ea quae dicta et lecta

sunt, quod _procedatur_ contra Ser Jacobum Foscari;" and it is argued

(see F. Berlan, _I due Foscari, etc._, 1852, p. 57), (1) that the word

_procedatur_ is not a euphemism for "tortured," but should be rendered

"judgment be given against;" (2) that if the X had decreed torture,

torture would have been expressly enjoined; and (3) that as the decrees

of the Council were not divulged, there was no motive for ambiguity. S.

Romanin (_Storia Documentata, etc._, 1853, iv. 284) and R. Senger (_Die

beiden Foscari_, 1878, p. 116) take the same view. On the other hand,

Miss A. Wiel (_Two Doges of Venice_, 1891, p. 107) points out that,

according to the _Dolfin Cronaca_, which Berlan did not consult, Jacopo

was in a "mutilated" condition when the trial was over, and he was

permitted to take a last farewell of his wife and children in

Torricella. Goethe (_Conversations_, 1874, pp. 264, 265) did not share

Eckermann's astonishment that Byron "could dwell so long on this

torturing subject." "He was always a self-tormentor, and hence such

subjects were his darling theme."]

[38] {122}[It is extremely improbable that Francesco Foscari was present

in person at the third or two preceding trials of his son. As may be

gathered from the _parte_ of the Council of Ten relating to the first

trial, there was a law which prescribed the contrary: "In ipsius Domini

Ducis praesentia de rebus ad ipsum, vel ad filios suos tangentibus non

tractetur, loquatur vel consulatur, sicut non potest (_fieri_) quando

tractatur de rebus tangentibus ad attinentes Domini Ducis." The fact

that "Nos Franciscus Foscari," etc., stood at the commencement of the

decree of exile may have given rise to the tradition that the Doge, like

a Roman father, tried and condemned his son. (See Berlan's _I due

Foscari_, p. 13.)]

[39] {123}[Pietro Loredano, admiral of the Venetian fleet, died November

11, 1438. His death was sudden and suspicious, for he was taken with

violent pains and spasms after presiding at a banquet in honour of his

victories over the Milanese; and, when his illness ended fatally, it was

remembered that the Doge had publicly declared that so long as the

admiral lived he would never be _de facto_ Prince of the Republic.

Jacopo Loredano chose to put his own interpretation on this outburst of

impatience, and inscribed on his father's monument in the Church of the

Monastery of Sant' Elena, in the Isola della Santa Lena, the words, "Per

insidias hostium veneno sublatus." (See _Ecclesiae Venetae_, by Flaminio

Cornaro, 1749, ix. 193, 194; see, too, Cicogna's _Inscrizioni

Veneziane_, 1830, iii. 381.)

Not long afterwards Marco Loredano, the admiral's brother, met with a

somewhat similar fate. He had been despatched by the X. to Legnano, to

investigate the conduct of Andrea Donate, the Doge's brother-in-law, who

was suspected of having embezzled the public moneys. His report was

unfavourable to Donato, and, shortly after, he too fell sick and died.

It is most improbable that the Doge was directly or indirectly

responsible for the death of either brother; but there was an hereditary

feud, and the libellous epitaph was a move in the game.]

[40] {124}[Daru gives Palazzi's _Fasti Ducales_ and _L'Histoire

Venitienne_ of Vianolo as his authorities for this story.]

[au]4

----_checked by nought_

_The vessel that creaks_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[av] {125} ----_much pity_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[41] ["This whole episode in the private life of the Foscari family is

valuable chiefly for the light it throws upon the internal history of

Venice. We are clearly in an atmosphere unknown before. The Council of

Ten is all-powerful; it even usurps functions which do not belong to it

by the constitution. The air is charged with plots, suspicion,

assassination, denunciation, spies,--all the paraphernalia which went to

confirm the popular legend as to the terrible nature of the

_Dieci_."--_Venice, etc._, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, p. 305.]

[aw] {126} _In this brief colloquy, and must redeem it_.--[MS. M.]

[42] [Compare--

"And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be

Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy

I wantoned with thy breakers."

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza clxxxiv. lines 1-4,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 461, note 2.]

[43] {127}[The climate of Crete is genial and healthy; but the town of

Candia is exposed to winds from the north and north-west.]

[ax] _I see your colour comes_.--[MS. M.]

[44] {130}["She was a Contarini (her name was Lucrezia, not Marina)--

'A daughter of the house that now among

Its ancestors in monumental brass

Numbers eight Doges.'

On the occasion of her marriage the Bucentaur came out in its splendour;

and a bridge of boats was thrown across the Canal Grande for the

bridegroom and his retinue of three hundred horse."--_Foscari_, by

Samuel Rogers, _Poems_, 1852, ii. 93, note.

According to another footnote (_ibid_., p. 90), "this story (_Foscari_)

and the tragedy of the _Two Foscari_ were published within a few days of

each other, in November, 1821." The first edition of _Italy_ was

published anonymously in 1822. According to the announcement of a

corrected and enlarged edition, which appeared in the _Morning

Chronicle_, April 11, 1823, "a few copies of this poem were printed off

the winter before last, while the author was abroad."]

[ay] {132} _Do not deem so_.--[MS. M.]

[45] {133}[Jacopo's plea, that the letter to the Duke of Milan was

written for the express purpose of being recalled to Venice, is

inadmissible for more reasons than one. In the first place, if on

suspicion of a letter written but never sent, the Ten had thought fit to

recall him, it by no means followed that they would have granted him an

interview with his wife and family; and, secondly, the fact that there

were letters in cypher found in his possession, and that a direct

invitation to the Sultan to rescue him by force was among the impounded

documents ("Quod requirebat dictum Teucrum ut mitteret ex galeis suis ad

accipiendum et levandum eum de dicto loco"), proves that the appeal to

the Duke of Milan was _bona fide_, and not a mere act of desperation.

(See _The Two Doges_, pp. 101, 102, and Berlan's _I due Poscari_, p. 53,

etc.)]

[46] {134}[There is no documentary evidence for this "confession," which

rests on a mere tradition. (_Vide_ Sanudo, _Vita Ducum Venetorum_,

_apud_ Muratori, _Rerum Ital. Script_., 1733, xxii. col. 1139; see, too,

Berlan, _I due Foscari_, p. 37.) Moreover, Almoro Donato was not chief

of the "Ten" at the date of his murder. The three "Capi" for November,

1450, were Ermolao Vallaresso, Giovanni Giustiniani, and Andrea Marcello

(_vide ibid._, p. 25).]

[47] {135}["Examination by torture: 'Such presumption is only sufficient

to put the person to the rack or torture' (Ayliffe's _Parergon_)."--_Cent.

Dict._, art. "Question."]

[48] [Shakespeare, Milton, Thompson, and others, use "shook" for

"shaken."]

[az] _As was proved on him_----.--[MS. M.]

[49] [The inarticulate mutterings are probably an echo of the

"incantation and magic words" ("incantationem et verba quas sibi reperta

sunt de quibus ad funem utitur ... quoniam in fune aliquam nec vocem nec

gemitum emittit sed solum inter dentes ipse videtur et auditur loqui"

[_Die beiden Foscari_, pp. 160, 161]), which, according to the decree of

the Council of Ten, dated March 26, 1451, Jacopo let fall "while under

torture" during his second trial.]

[ba] {137} _I'll hence and follow Loredano home_.--[MS. M.]

[bb] _That I had dipped the pen too heedlessly_.--[MS. M.]

[bc] {138} _Mistress of Lombardy--'tis some comfort to me_.--[MS. M.]

[50] [Compare "Ce fut l'epoque, ou Venise etendit son empire sur

Brescia, Bergame, Ravenne, et Creme; ou elle fonda sa domination de

Lombardie," etc. (Sismondi's _Histoire des Republiques_, x. 38). Brescia

fell to the Venetians, October, 1426; Bergamo, in April, 1428; Ravenna,

in August, 1440; and Crema, in 1453.]

[51] {139}[The Bridge of Sighs was not built till the end of the

sixteenth century. (_Vide ante, Marino Faliero_, act i. sc. 2, line 508,

_Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 363, note 2; see, too, _Childe Harold_,

Canto IV. stanza i. line 1, _et post_, act iv. sc. 1, line 75.)]

[bd] {141} _To tears save those of dotage_----.--[MS. M.]

[52] {143}[Five sons were born to the Doge, of whom four died of the

plague (_Two Doges, etc._, by A. Wiel, 1891, p. 77).]

[53] {144}[The Doge offered to abdicate in June, 1433, in June, 1442,

and again in 1446 (see Romanin, _Storia, etc._, 1855, iv. 170, 171,

note 1).]

[54] [_Vide ante_, p. 123.]

[55] {148}[For the _Pozzi_ and _Piombi_, see _Marino Faliero_, act i.

sc. 2, _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 363, note 2.]

[be] _Keep this for them_----.--[MS. M.]

[bf] {149} _The blackest leaf, his heart, and blankest, his

brain_.--[MS. M.]

[bg] ----_and best in humblest stations_.--[MS. M.]

[bh]

_Where hunger swallows all--where ever was_

_The monarch who could bear a three days' fast?_--[MS. M.]

[bi] _Their disposition_----.--[MS. M.]

[56] [It would seem that Byron's "not ourselves" by no means "made for"

righteousness.]

[bj]

----_the will itself dependent_

_Upon a storm, a straw, and both alike_

_Leading to death_----.--[MS. M.]

[57] [Compare--"The boldest steer but where their ports invite." _Childe

Harold_, Canto III. stanza lxx. lines 7-9; and Canto IV. stanza xxxiv.,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 260, 353, and 74, note 1.]

[58] {152}[Compare--

"Our voices took a dreary tone,

An echo of the dungeon stone."

_Prisoner of Chillon_, lines 63, 64.

Compare, too--

"----prisoned solitude.

And the Mind's canker in its savage mood,

When the impatient thirst of light and air

Parches the heart."

_Lament of Tasso_, lines 4-7.]

[59] {153}[For inscriptions on the walls of the _Pozzi_, see note 1 to

_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, Canto IV., _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii.

465-467. Hobhouse transferred these "scratchings" to his pocket-books,

and thence to his _Historical Notes_; but even as prison inscriptions

they lack both point and style.]

[60] [Compare--

"Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree

The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she."

_As You Like It_, act iii. sc. 2, lines 9, 10.]

[bk]

_Which never can be read but, as 'twas written,_

_By wretched beings_.--[MS.]

[bl] {154}

_Of the familiar's torch, which seems to love_

_Darkness far more than light_.--[MS.]

[61] {157}[Compare--

"Once more upon the waters! yet once more!

And the waves bound beneath me as a steed

That knows his rider."

_Childe Harold_, Canto III. stanza ii. lines 1-3,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 217, note 1.]

[bm] _At once by briefer means and better_.--[MS.]

[62] {158} In Lady Morgan's fearless and excellent work upon Italy, I

perceive the expression of "Rome of the Ocean" applied to Venice. The

same phrase occurs in the "Two Foscari." My publisher can vouch for me,

that the tragedy was written and sent to England some time before I had

seen Lady Morgan's work, which I only received on the 16th of August. I

hasten, however, to notice the coincidence, and to yield the originality

of the phrase to her who first placed it before the public.

[Byron calls Lady Morgan's _Italy_ "fearless" on account of her

strictures on the behaviour of Great Britain to Genoa in 1814. "England

personally stood pledged to Genoa.... When the British officers rode

into their gates bearing the white flag consecrated by the holy word of

'_independence_,' the people ... '_kissed their garments_.'... Every

heart was open.... Lord William Bentinck's flag of '_Independenza_' was

taken down from the steeples and high places at sunrise; before noon the

arms of Sardinia blazoned in their stead; and yet the Genoese did not

rise _en masse_ and massacre the English" (_Italy_, 1821, i. 245, 246).

The passage which Byron feared might be quoted to his disparagement runs

as follows: "As the bark glides on, as the shore recedes, and the city

of waves, the Rome of the ocean, rises on the horizon, the spirits

rally; ... and as the spires and cupolas of Venice come forth in the

lustre of the mid-day sun, and its palaces, half-veiled in the aerial

tints of distance, gradually assume their superb proportions, then the

dream of many a youthful vigil is realized" (_ibid_., ii. 449).]

[63] [Compare _Marino Faliero_, act ii. sc. 2, line 110, _Poetical

Works_, 901, iv. 386, note 3.]

[64] {159} The Calenture.--[From the Spanish _Calentura_, a fever

peculiar to sailors within the tropics--

"So, by a calenture misled,

The mariner with rapture sees,

On the smooth ocean's azure bed,

Enamelled fields and verdant trees:

With eager haste he longs to rove

In that fantastic scene, and thinks

It must be some enchanted grove;

And in he leaps, and down he sinks."

Swift, _The South-Sea Project_, 1721, ed. 1824, xiv. 147.]

[65] Alluding to the Swiss air and its effects.--[The _Ranz des Vaches_,

played upon the bag-pipe by the young cowkeepers on the mountains:--"An

air," says Rousseau, "so dear to the Swiss, that it was forbidden, under

the pain of death, to play it to the troops, as it immediately drew

tears from them, and made those who heard it desert, or die of what is

called _la maladie du pais_, so ardent a desire did it excite to return

to their country. It is in vain to seek in this air for energetic

accents capable of producing such astonishing effects, for which

strangers are unable to account from the music, which is in itself

uncouth and wild. But it is from habit, recollections, and a thousand

circumstances, retraced in this tune by those natives who hear it, and

reminding them of their country, former pleasures of their youth, and

all their ways of living, which occasion a bitter reflection at having

lost them." Compare Byron's Swiss "Journal" for September 19, 1816,

_Letters_, 1899, ii. 355.]

[bn] _That malady, which_----.--[MS. M.]

[66] [Compare _Don Juan_, Canto XVI. stanza xlvi. lines 6, 7--

"The calentures of music which o'ercome

The mountaineers with dreams that they are highlands."]

[bo] {160} ----_upon your native towers_.--[MS. M.]

[bp] {162} _Come you here to insult us_----.--[MS. M.]

[67] {163}[For "steeds of brass," compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV.

stanza xiii. line I, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 338, and 336, note 1.]

[68] [The first and all subsequent editions read "skimmed the coasts."

Byron wrote "skirred," a word borrowed from Shakespeare. Compare _Siege

of Corinth_, line 692, _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 480, note 4.]

[bq] {165} ----_which this noble lady worst_,--[MS. M.]

[69] {169}[According to the law, it rested with the six councillors of

the Doge and a majority of the Grand Council to insist upon the

abdication of a Doge. The action of the Ten was an usurpation of powers

to which they were not entitled by the terms of the Constitution.]

[70] {170}[A touching incident is told concerning an interview between

the Doge and Jacopo Memmo, head of the Forty. The Doge had just learnt

(October 21, 1457) the decision of the Ten with regard to his

abdication, and noticed that Memmo watched him attentively. "Foscari

called to him, and, touching his hand, asked him whose son he was. He

answered, 'I am the son of Messer Marin Memmo.'--' He is my dear

friend,' said the Doge; 'tell him from me that it would be pleasing to

me if he would come and see me, so that we might go at our leisure in

our boats to visit the monasteries'" (_The Two Doges_, by A. Weil, 1891,

p. 124; see, too, Romanin, _Storia, etc._, 1855, iv. 291).]

[71] {171}[_Vide ante_, p. 139, note 1.]

[br] _Decemvirs, it is surely_----.--[MS. M.]

[72] {172}[Romanin (_Storia, etc._, 1855, iv. 285, 286) quotes the

following anecdote from the _Cronaca Dolfin_:--

"Alla commozione, alle lagrime, ai singulti che accompagnavano gli

ultimi abbraciamenti, Jacopo piu che mai sentendo il dolore di quel

distacco, diceva: _Padre ve priego, procure per mi, che ritorni a casa

mia_. E messer lo doxe: _Jacomo va e obbedisci quel che vuol la terra e

non cerear piu oltre_. Ma, uscito l'infelice figlio dalla stanza, piu

non resistendo alla piena degli affetti, si getto piangendo sopra una

sedia e lamentando diceva: _O pieta grande_!"]

[73] [_Vide ante_, act ii. sc. I, line 174, p. 143, note 1.]

[74] {175}[So, too, Coleridge of Keats: "There is death in that hand;"

and of Adam Steinmetz: "Alas! there is _death_ in that dear hand." See

_Table Talk_ for August 14, 1832, and _Letter to John Peirse Kennard_,

August 13, 1832, _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, ii. 764. Jacopo Foscari was

sent back to exile in Crete, and did not die till February, 1457. His

death at Venice, immediately after his sentence, is contrived for the

sake of observing "the unities."]

[bs]

----_he would not_

_Thus leave me_.--[MS. M.]

[75] {178}[It is to be noted that the "Giunta" was demanded by Loredano

himself--a proof of his bona fides, as the addition of twenty-five

nobles to the original Ten would add to the chance of opposition on the

part of the supporters and champions of the Doge (see _The Two Doges_,

and Romanin, _Storia, etc., iv. 286, note 3_).]

[76] {179} An historical fact. See DARU [1821], tom. ii. [pp. 398, 399.

Daru quotes as his authorities Sabellicus and Pietro Giustiniani. As a

matter of fact, the Doge did his utmost to save Carmagnola, pleading

that his sentence should be commuted to imprisonment for life (see _The

Two Doges_, p. 66; and Romanin, _Storia, etc._, iv. 161).]

[77] {183}[By the terms of the "parte," or act of deposition drawn up by

the Ten, October 21, 1457, the time granted for deliberation was "till

the third hour of the following day." This limitation as to time was

designed to prevent the Doge from summoning the Grand Council, "to whom

alone belonged the right of releasing him from the dukedom." (_The Two

Doges_, p. 118; _Diebeiden Foscari_, 1878, pp. 174-176).]

[bt] {188} _The act is passed--I will obey it_.--[MS. M.]

[78] [For this speech, see Daru (who quotes from Pietro Giustiniani,

_Histoire, etc._, 1821, ii. 534).]

[79] {190}[See Daru's _Histoire, etc._, 1821, ii. 535. The _Cronaca

Augustini_ is the authority for the anecdote (see _The Two Doges_, 1891,

p. 126).]

[bu] {192}

_I take yours, Loredano--'tis the draught_

_Most fitting such an hour as this_.--[MS. M.]

[80] {193}[_Vide ante_, Introduction to _The Two Foscari_, p. 118.]

[bv] _The wretchedness to die_----.--[MS. M.]

[81] ["A decree was at once passed that a public funeral should be

accorded to Foscari, ... and the bells of St. Mark were ordered to peal

nine times.... The same Council also determined that on Thursday night,

November 3, the corpse should be carried into the room of the 'Signori

di notte,' dressed in a golden mantle, with the ducal bonnet on his

head, golden spurs on his feet, ... the gold sword by his side." But

Foscari's wife, Marina (or Maria) Nani, opposed. "She declined to give

up the body, which she had caused to be dressed in plain clothes, and

she maintained that no one but herself should provide for the funeral

expenses, even should she have to give up her dower." It is needless to

add that her protest was unavailing, and that the decree of the Ten was

carried into effect.--_The Two Doges_, 1891, pp. 129, 130.]

[bw] {194} ----_comfort to my desolation_.--[MS. M.]

[82] {195} The Venetians appear to have had a particular turn for

breaking the hearts of their Doges. The following is another instance of

the kind in the Doge Marco Barbarigo: he was succeeded by his brother

Agostino Barbarigo, whose chief merit is here mentioned.--"Le doge,

blesse de trouver constamment un contradicteur et un censeur si amer

dans son frere, lui dit un jour en plein conseil: 'Messire Augustin,

vous faites tout votre possible pour hater ma mort; vous vous flattez de

me succeder; mais, si les autres vous connaissent aussi bien que je vous

connais, ils n'auront garde de vous elire.' La-dessus il se leva, emu de

colere, rentra dans son appartement, et mourut quelques jours apres. Ce

frere, contre lequel il s'etait emporte, fut precisement le successeur

qu'on lui donna. C'etait un merite don't on aimait a tenir compte;

surtout a un parent, de s'etre mis en opposition avec le chef de la

republique."--DARU, _Hist, de Venise_, 1821, in. 29.

[bx] _I trust Heavens will be done also_.--[MS.]

[83] "_L'ha pagata_." An historical fact. See _Hist. de Venise_, par P.

DARU, 1821, ii. 528, 529.

[Daru quotes Palazzi's _Fasti Ducales_ as his authority for this story.

According to Pietro Giustiniani (_Storia_, lib. viii.), Jacopo Loredano

was at pains to announce the decree of the Ten to the Doge in courteous

and considerate terms, and begged him to pardon him for what it was his

duty to do. Romanin points out that this version of the interview is

inconsistent with the famous "_L'hapagata_."--_Storia, etc._, iv. 290,

note i.]

[84] {196}[Here the original MS. ends. The two lines which follow, were

added by Gifford. In the margin of the MS. Byron has written, "If the

last line should appear obscure to those who do not recollect the

historical fact mentioned in the first act of Loredano's inscription in

his book, of 'Doge Foscari, debtor for the deaths of my father and

uncle,' you may add the following lines to the conclusion of the last

act:--

_Chief of the Ten_. For what has he repaid thee?

_Lor._ For my father's

And father's brother's death--by his son's and own!

Ask Gifford about this."]

[85] [The _Appendix_ to the First Edition of _The Two Foscari_ consisted

of (i.) an extract from P. Daru's _Histoire de la Republique Francaise_,

1821, ii. 520-537; (ii.) an extract from J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi's

_Histoire des Republiques Italiennes du Moyen Age_, 1815, x. 36-46; and

(iii.) a note in response to certain charges of plagiarism brought

against the author in the _Literary Gazette_ and elsewhere; and to

Southey's indictment of the "Satanic School," which had recently

appeared in the Preface to the Laureate's _Vision of Judgement_

(_Poetical Works of Robert Southey_, 1838, x. 202-207). See, too, the

"Introduction to _The Vision of Judgment_," _Poetical Works_, 1891, iv.

pp. 475-480.]

CAIN:

A MYSTERY.

"Now the Serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field

which the Lord God had made."

_Genesis_,

_Chapter 3rd, verse 1_.

INTRODUCTION TO _CAIN_.

Cain was begun at Ravenna, July 16, and finished September 9, 1821

(_vide_ MS. M.). Six months before, when he was at work on the first act

of _Sardanapalus_, Byron had "pondered" _Cain_, but it was not till

_Sardanapalus_ and a second historical play, _The Two Foscari_, had been

written, copied out, and sent to England, that he indulged his genius

with a third drama--on "a metaphysical subject, something in the style

of _Manfred_" (_Letters_, 1901, v. 189).

Goethe's comment on reading and reviewing _Cain_ was that he should be

surprised if Byron did not pursue the treatment of such "biblical

subjects," as the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (_Conversations,

etc._, 1879, p. 62); and, many years after, he told Crabb Robinson

(_Diary_, 1869, ii. 435) that Byron should have lived "to execute his

vocation ... to dramatize the Old Testament." He was better equipped for

such a task than might have been imagined. A Scottish schoolboy, "from a

child he had known the Scriptures," and, as his _Hebrew Melodies_

testify, he was not unwilling to turn to the Bible as a source of poetic

inspiration. Moreover, he was born with the religious temperament.

Questions "of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate," exercised his

curiosity because they appealed to his imagination and moved his spirit.

He was eager to plunge into controversy with friends and advisers who

challenged or rebuked him, Hodgson, for instance, or Dallas; and he

responded with remarkable amenity to the strictures and exhortations of

such orthodox professors as Mr. Sheppard and Dr. Kennedy. He was, no

doubt, from first to last a _heretic_, impatient, not to say

contemptuous, of authority, but he was by no means indifferent to

religion altogether. To "argue about it and about" was a necessity, if

not an agreeable relief, to his intellectual energies. It would appear

from the Ravenna diary (January 28, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 190,191),

that the conception of Lucifer was working in his brain before the

"tragedy of Cain" was actually begun. He had been recording a "thought"

which had come to him, that "at the very height of human desire and

pleasure, a certain sense of doubt and sorrow"--an _amari aliquid_ which

links the future to the past, and so blots out the present--"mingles

with our bliss," making it of none effect, and, by way of moral or

corollary to his soliloquy, he adds three lines of verse headed,

"Thought for a speech of Lucifer in the Tragedy of _Cain_"--

"Were Death an _Evil_, would _I_ let thee live?

Fool! live as I live--as thy father lives,

And thy son's sons shall live for evermore."

In these three lines, which were not inserted in the play, and in the

preceding "thought," we have the key-note to _Cain_. "Man walketh in a

vain shadow"--a shadow which he can never overtake, the shadow of an

eternally postponed fruition. With a being capable of infinite

satisfaction, he is doomed to realize failure in attainment. In all that

is best and most enjoyable, "the rapturous moment and the placid hour,"

there is a foretaste of "Death the Unknown"! The tragedy of _Manfred_

lies in remorse for the inevitable past; the tragedy of _Cain_, in

revolt against the limitations of the inexorable present.

The investigation of the "sources" of _Cain_ does not lead to any very

definite conclusion (see _Lord Byron's Cain und Seine Quellen_, von

Alfred Schaffner, 1880). He was pleased to call his play "a Mystery,"

and, in his Preface (_vide post_, p. 207), Byron alludes to the Old

Mysteries as "those very profane productions, whether in English,

French, Italian, or Spanish." The first reprint of the _Chester Plays_

was published by the Roxburghe Club in 1818, but Byron's knowledge of

Mystery Plays was probably derived from _Dodsley's Plays_ (ed. 1780, l.,

xxxiii.-xlii.), or from John Stevens's Continuation of Dugdale's

_Monasticon_ (_vide post_, p. 207), or possibly, as Herr Schaffner

suggests, from Warton's _History of English Poetry_, ed. 1871, ii.

222-230. He may, too, have witnessed some belated _Rappresentazione_ of

the Creation and Fall at Ravenna, or in one of the remoter towns or

villages of Italy. There is a superficial resemblance between the

treatment of the actual encounter of Cain and Abel, and the conventional

rendering of the same incident in the _Ludus Coventriae_, and in the

_Mistere du Viel Testament_; but it is unlikely that he had closely

studied any one Mystery Play at first hand. On the other hand, his

recollections of Gessner's _Death of Abel_ which "he had never read

since he was eight years old," were clearer than he imagined. Not only

in such minor matters as the destruction of Cain's altar by a whirlwind,

and the substitution of the Angel of the Lord for the _Deus_ of the

Mysteries, but in the Teutonic domesticities of Cain and Adah, and the

evangelical piety of Adam and Abel, there is a reflection, if not an

imitation, of the German idyll (see Gessner's _Death of Abel_, ed. 1797,

pp. 80, 102).

Of his indebtedness to Milton he makes no formal acknowledgment, but he

was not ashamed to shelter himself behind Milton's shield when he was

attacked on the score of blasphemy and profanity. "If _Cain_ be

blasphemous, _Paradise Lost_ is blasphemous" (letter to Murray, Pisa,

February 8, 1822), was, he would fain believe, a conclusive answer to

his accusers. But apart from verbal parallels or coincidences, there is

a genuine affinity between Byron's Lucifer and Milton's Satan. Lucifer,

like Satan, is "not less than Archangel ruined," a repulsed but

"unvanquished Titan," marred by a demonic sorrow, a confessor though a

rival of Omnipotence. He is a majestic and, as a rule, a serious and

solemn spirit, who compels the admiration and possibly the sympathy of

the reader. There is, however, another strain in his ghostly attributes,

which betrays a more recent consanguinity: now and again he gives token

that he is of the lineage of Mephistopheles. He is sometimes, though

rarely, a mocking as well as a rebellious spirit, and occasionally

indulges in a grim _persiflage_ beneath the dignity if not the capacity

of Satan. It is needless to add that Lucifer has a most lifelike

personality of his own. The conception of the spirit of evil justifying

an eternal antagonism to the Creator from the standpoint of a superior

morality, may, perhaps, be traced to a Manichean source, but it has been

touched with a new emotion. Milton's devil is an abstraction of infernal

pride--

"Sole Positive of Night!

Antipathist of Light!

Fate's only essence! primal scorpion rod--

The one permitted opposite of God!"

Goethe's devil is an abstraction of scorn. He "maketh a mock" alike of

good and evil! But Byron's devil is a spirit, yet a mortal too--the

traducer, because he has suffered for his sins; the deceiver, because he

is self-deceived; the hoper against hope that there is a ransom for the

soul in perfect self-will and not in perfect self-sacrifice. Byron did

not uphold Lucifer, but he "had passed that way," and could imagine a

spiritual warfare not only against the _Deus_ of the Mysteries or of the

Book of Genesis, but against what he believed and acknowledged to be

the Author and Principle of good.

_Autres temps, autres m[oe]urs!_ It is all but impossible for the modern

reader to appreciate the audacity of _Cain_, or to realize the alarm and

indignation which it aroused by its appearance. Byron knew that he was

raising a tempest, and pleads, in his Preface, "that with regard to the

language of Lucifer, it was difficult for me to make him talk like a

clergyman," and again and again he assures his correspondents (_e.g._ to

Murray, November 23, 1821, "_Cain_ is nothing more than a drama;" to

Moore, March 4, 1822, "With respect to Religion, can I never convince

you that _I_ have no such opinions as the characters in that drama,

which seems to have frightened everybody?" _Letters_, 1901, v. 469; vi.

30) that it is Lucifer and not Byron who puts such awkward questions

with regard to the "politics of paradise" and the origin of evil. Nobody

seems to have believed him. It was taken for granted that Lucifer was

the mouthpiece of Byron, that the author of _Don Juan_ was not "on the

side of the angels."

Little need be said of the "literature," the pamphlets and poems which

were evoked by the publication of _Cain: A Mystery_. One of the most

prominent assailants (said to be the Rev. H. J. Todd (1763-1845),

Archdeacon of Cleveland, 1832, author _inter alia_ of _Original Sin_,

_Free Will_, etc., 1818) issued _A Remonstrance to Mr. John Murray,

respecting a Recent Publication_, 1822, signed "Oxoniensis." The sting

of the _Remonstrance_ lay in the exposure of the fact that Byron was

indebted to Bayle's _Dictionary_ for his rabbinical legends, and that he

had derived from the same source his Manichean doctrines of the _Two

Principles, etc._, and other "often-refuted sophisms" with regard to the

origin of evil. Byron does not borrow more than a poet and a gentleman

is at liberty to acquire by way of raw material, but it cannot be denied

that he had read and inwardly digested more than one of Bayle's "most

objectionable articles" (_e.g._ "Adam," "Eve," "Abel," "Manichees,"

"Paulicians," etc.). The _Remonstrance_ was answered in _A Letter to Sir

Walter Scott, etc._, by "Harroviensis." Byron welcomed such a "Defender

of the Faith," and was anxious that Murray should print the letter

together with the poem. But Murray belittled the "defender," and was

upbraided in turn for his slowness of heart (letter to Murray, June 6,

1822, _Letters_, 1901, vi. 76).

Fresh combatants rushed into the fray: "Philo-Milton," with a

_Vindication of the "Paradise Lost" from the charge of exculpating

"Cain: A Mystery_," London, 1822; "Britannicus," with a pamphlet

entitled, _Revolutionary Causes, etc., and A Postscript containing

Strictures on "Cain," etc._, London, 1822, etc.; but their works, which

hardly deserve to be catalogued, have perished with them. Finally, in

1830, a barrister named Harding Grant, author of _Chancery Practice_,

compiled a work (_Lord Byron's "Cain," etc., with Notes_) of more than

four hundred pages, in which he treats "the proceedings and speeches of

Lucifer with the same earnestness as if they were existing and earthly

personages." But it was "a week too late." The "Coryphaeus of the Satanic

School" had passed away, and the tumult had "dwindled to a calm."

_Cain_ "appeared in conjunction with" _Sardanapalus_ and _The Two

Foscari_, December 19, 1821. Last but not least of the three plays, it

had been announced "by a separate advertisement (_Morning Chronicle_,

November 24, 1821), for the purpose of exciting the greater curiosity"

(_Memoirs of the Life, etc._ [by John Watkins], 1822, p. 383), and it

was no sooner published than it was pirated. In the following January,

"_Cain: A Mystery_, by the author of _Don Juan_," was issued by W.

Benbow, at Castle Street, Leicester Square (the notorious "Byron Head,"

which Southey described as "one of those preparatory schools for the

brothel and the gallows, where obscenity, sedition, and blasphemy are

retailed in drams for the vulgar"!).

Murray had paid Byron L2710 for the three tragedies, and in order to

protect the copyright, he applied, through counsel (Lancelot Shadwell,

afterwards Vice-Chancellor), for an injunction in Chancery to stop the

sale of piratical editions of _Cain_. In delivering judgment (February

12, 1822), the Chancellor, Lord Eldon (see _Courier_, Wednesday,

February 13), replying to Shadwell, drew a comparison between _Cain_ and

_Paradise Lost_, "which he had read from beginning to end during the

course of the last Long Vacation--_solicitae jucunda oblivia vitae_." No

one, he argued, could deny that the object and effects of _Paradise

Lost_ were "not to bring into disrepute," but "to promote reverence for

our religion," and, _per contra_, no one could affirm that it was

impossible to arrive at an opposite conclusion with regard to "the

Preface, the poem, the general tone and manner of _Cain_." It was a

question for a jury. A jury might decide that _Cain_ was blasphemous,

and void of copyright; and as there was a reasonable doubt in his mind

as to the character of the book, and a doubt as to the conclusion at

which a jury would arrive, he was compelled to refuse the injunction.

According to Dr. Smiles (_Memoir of John Murray_, 1891, i. 428), the

decision of a jury was taken, and an injunction eventually granted. If

so, it was ineffectual, for Benbow issued another edition of _Cain_ in

1824 (see Jacob's _Reports_, p. 474, note). See, too, the case of

Murray _v_. Benbow and Another, as reported in the _Examiner_, February

17, 1822; and cases of Wolcot _v_. Walker, Southey _v_. Sherwood, Murray

_v_. Benbow, and Lawrence _v_. Smith [_Quarterly Review_, April, 1822,

vol. xxvii. pp. 120-138].

"_Cain_," said Moore (February 9, 1822), "has made a sensation." Friends

and champions, the press, the public "turned up their thumbs." Gifford

shook his head; Hobhouse "launched out into a most violent invective"

(letter to Murray, November 24, 1821); Jeffrey, in the _Edinburgh_, was

regretful and hortatory; Heber, in the _Quarterly_, was fault-finding

and contemptuous. The "parsons preached at it from Kentish Town to Pisa"

(letter to Moore, February 20, 1822). Even "the very highest authority

in the land," his Majesty King George IV., "expressed his disapprobation

of the blasphemy and licentiousness of Lord Byron's writings"

(_Examiner_, February 17, 1822). Byron himself was forced to admit that

"my Mont Saint Jean seems Cain" (_Don Juan_, Canto XI. stanza lvi. line

2). The many were unanimous in their verdict, but the higher court of

the few reversed the judgment.

Goethe said that "Its beauty is such as we shall not see a second time

in the world" (_Conversations, etc._, 1874, p. 261); Scott, in speaking

of "the very grand and tremendous drama of _Cain_," said that the author

had "matched Milton on his own ground" (letter to Murray, December 4,

1821, _vide post_, p. 206); "_Cain_," wrote Shelley to Gisborne (April

10, 1822), "is apocalyptic; it is a revelation never before communicated

to man."

Uncritical praise, as well as uncritical censure, belongs to the past;

but the play remains, a singular exercise of "poetic energy," a

confession, _ex animo_, of "the burthen of the mystery, ... the heavy

and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world."

For reviews of _Cain: A Mystery_, _vide ante_, "Introduction to

_Sardanapalus_," p. 5; see, too, _Eclectic Review_, May, 1822, N.S. vol.

xvii. pp. 418-427; _Examiner_, June 2, 1822; _British Review_, 1822,

vol. xix. pp. 94-102.

For O'Doherty's parody of the "Pisa" Letter, February 8, 1822, see

_Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, February, 1822, vol. xi. pp. 215-217;

and for a review of Harding Grant's _Lord Byron's Cain, etc._, see

_Fraser's Magazine_, April, 1831, iii. 285-304.

TO

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.,

THIS MYSTERY OF CAIN

IS INSCRIBED,

BY HIS OBLIGED FRIEND

AND FAITHFUL SERVANT,

THE AUTHOR.[86]

PREFACE

The following scenes are entitled "A Mystery," in conformity with the

ancient title annexed to dramas upon similar subjects, which were styled

"Mysteries, or Moralities."[87] The author has by no means taken the

same liberties with his subject which were common formerly, as may be

seen by any reader curious enough to refer to those very profane

productions, whether in English, French, Italian, or Spanish. The author

has endeavoured to preserve the language adapted to his characters; and

where it is (and this is but rarely) taken from actual _Scripture_, he

has made as little alteration, even of words, as the rhythm would

permit. The reader will recollect that the book of Genesis does not

state that Eve was tempted by a demon, but by "the Serpent[88];" and

that only because he was "the most subtil of all the beasts of the

field." Whatever interpretation the Rabbins and the Fathers may have put

upon this, I take the words as I find them, and reply, with Bishop

Watson[89] upon similar occasions, when the Fathers were quoted to him

as Moderator in the schools of Cambridge, "Behold the Book!"--holding up

the Scripture. It is to be recollected, that my present subject has

nothing to do with the _New Testament_, to which no reference can be

here made without anachronism.[90] With the poems upon similar topics I

have not been recently familiar. Since I was twenty I have never read

Milton; but I had read him so frequently before, that this may make

little difference. Gesner's "Death of Abel" I have never read since I

was eight years of age, at Aberdeen. The general impression of my

recollection is delight; but of the contents I remember only that Cain's

wife was called Mahala, and Abel's Thirza; in the following pages I have

called them "Adah" and "Zillah," the earliest female names which occur

in Genesis. They were those of Lamech's wives: those of Cain and Abel

are not called by their names. Whether, then, a coincidence of subject

may have caused the same in expression, I know nothing, and care as

little. [I[91] am prepared to be accused of Manicheism,[92] or some

other hard name ending in _ism_, which makes a formidable figure and

awful sound in the eyes and ears of those who would be as much puzzled

to explain the terms so bandied about, as the liberal and pious

indulgers in such epithets. Against such I can defend myself, or, if

necessary, I can attack in turn. "Claw for claw, as Conan said to Satan

and the deevil take the shortest nails" (Waverley).[93]]

The reader will please to bear in mind (what few choose to recollect),

that there is no allusion to a future state in any of the books of

Moses, nor indeed in the Old Testament. For a reason for this

extraordinary omission he may consult Warburton's "Divine

Legation;"[94] whether satisfactory or not, no better has yet been

assigned. I have therefore supposed it new to Cain, without, I hope, any

perversion of Holy Writ.

With regard to the language of Lucifer, it was difficult for me to make

him talk like a clergyman upon the same subjects; but I have done what I

could to restrain him within the bounds of spiritual politeness. If he

disclaims having tempted Eve in the shape of the Serpent, it is only

because the book of Genesis has not the most distant allusion to

anything of the kind, but merely to the Serpent in his serpentine

capacity.

_Note_.--The reader will perceive that the author has partly adopted in

this poem the notion of Cuvier,[95] that the world had been destroyed

several times before the creation of man. This speculation, derived from

the different strata and the bones of enormous and unknown animals found

in them, is not contrary to the Mosaic account, but rather confirms it;

as no human bones have yet been discovered in those strata, although

those of many known animals are found near the remains of the unknown.

The assertion of Lucifer, that the pre-Adamite world was also peopled by

rational beings much more intelligent than man, and proportionably

powerful to the mammoth, etc., etc., is, of course, a poetical fiction

to help him to make out his case.

I ought to add, that there is a "tramelogedia" of Alfieri, called

"Abele."[96] I have never read that, nor any other of the posthumous

works of the writer, except his Life.

RAVENNA, _Sept_. 20, 1821.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

ADAM.

CAIN.

ABEL.

SPIRITS.

ANGEL OF THE LORD.

LUCIFER.

WOMEN.

EVE.

ADAH.

ZILLAH.

CAIN: A MYSTERY.

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_The Land without Paradise.--Time, Sunrise_.

ADAM, EVE, CAIN, ABEL, ADAH, ZILLAH, _offering a Sacrifice_.

_Adam_. God, the Eternal! Infinite! All-wise!--

Who out of darkness on the deep didst make

Light on the waters with a word--All Hail!

Jehovah! with returning light--All Hail!

_Eve_. God! who didst name the day, and separate

Morning from night, till then divided never--

Who didst divide the wave from wave, and call

Part of thy work the firmament--All Hail!

_Abel_. God! who didst call the elements into

Earth, ocean, air and fire--and with the day 10

And night, and worlds which these illuminate,

Or shadow, madest beings to enjoy them,

And love both them and thee--All Hail! All Hail!

_Adah_. God! the Eternal parent of all things!

Who didst create these best and beauteous beings,

To be beloved, more than all, save thee--

Let me love thee and them:--All Hail! All Hail!

_Zillah_. Oh, God! who loving, making, blessing all,

Yet didst permit the Serpent to creep in,

And drive my father forth from Paradise, 20

Keep us from further evil:--Hail! All Hail!

_Adam_. Son Cain! my first-born--wherefore art thou silent?

_Cain_. Why should I speak?

_Adam_. To pray.

_Cain_. Have ye not prayed?

_Adam_. We have, most fervently.

_Cain_. And loudly: I

Have heard you.

_Adam_. So will God, I trust.

_Abel_. Amen!

_Adam_. But thou my eldest born? art silent still?

_Cain_. 'Tis better I should be so.

_Adam_. Wherefore so?

_Cain_. I have nought to ask.

_Adam_. Nor aught to thank for?

_Cain_. No.

_Adam_. Dost thou not _live_?

_Cain_. Must I not die?

_Eve_. Alas!

The fruit of our forbidden tree begins 30

To fall.

_Adam_. And we must gather it again.

Oh God! why didst thou plant the tree of knowledge?

_Cain_. And wherefore plucked ye not the tree of life?

Ye might have then defied him.

_Adam_. Oh! my son,

Blaspheme not: these are Serpent's words.

_Cain_. Why not?

The snake spoke _truth_; it _was_ the Tree of Knowledge;