The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Lord Byron, by Lord Byron This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Works of Lord Byron Poetry, Volume V. Author: Lord Byron Editor: Ernest Hartley Coleridge Release Date: November 14, 2007 [EBook #23475] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON *** Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES This etext is a Unicode (UTF-8) file. The main use of non-ASCII characters is in a few phrases or lines of Greek text. Each of these is followed by a transliteration in Beta-code, for example τραγος [tragos]. The remaining Unicode symbols are a few uses of letters a, e, s and z with breve (curved line) above, and letters a and u 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 Khayyám_, 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, Tragédie Imitée de Lord Byron_, par L. Alvin, was performed at the Théatre 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, Opéra en Trois Actes_, par M. Henry Becque, Musique de M. Victorin Joncières, was performed for the first time at the Théatre Impérial-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 (_Bibliothecæ Historicæ_, 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" (διφθέραι Βασιλικαὶ [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 (Ašur-bāni-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 Tarkū (Tirhakah) of Ethiopia, and his successor, Urdamanē. Ba'al King of Tyre, Yakinlū King of the island-city of Arvad, Sandăsarmū 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 Eulæus, 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 Ašur-bāni-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, Ăsur-etil-ilāni or Sin-šar-iškun, the final catastrophe (B.C. 606) took place (_Encyclopedia Biblica_, art. "Assyria," art. "Ăsur-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 changé 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 PERSONÆ 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._ Curséd 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 contemnéd 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 forkéd 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 acmé 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 crownéd 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."--_Lebensverhältnik 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-- Ταῦτ' ἔχω ὅσ' ἔφαγον καὶ ἐφύβρισα, καὶ μετ' ἔρωτος [Tau~t' e)/chô o(/s' e)/phagon kai\ e)phy/brisa, kai\ met' e)/rôtos] Τέρπν' ἔπαθον' τὰ δὲ πολλὰ καὶ ὄλβια κεῖνα λέλειπται. [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 Deipnosophistæ_ ... of Athenæus, 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 Bœotians, 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 Athenæus (lib. xii. cap. 40) in the _Deipnosophistæ_: "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 Ælian, _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, æras, and intellects_.--[MS. M. erased.] [30] {103}[Athenæus 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."--Athenæus, _Deipnosophistæ_, bk. xii. cap. 38. See _Abydenus apud Eusebium_, Præp. 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} _Funeréal_----.--[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 République de Vénise_ (1821, ii. 520-537), and on Sismondi's _Histoire des Républiques ... 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 "Pièces justificatives," in the collected edition of 1832-1835, xiii. 198-202, and the octavo edition of 1837, etc., pp. 790, 791. Francesco, son of Nicolò 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 _Veneticé_ 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 scripturæ_") 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 Nicolò 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 _scripturæ 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 PERSONÆ 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 accurséd 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._ Accurséd 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 belovéd'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 belovéd! _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 accurséd 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 disturbéd 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 agéd 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 disinterréd 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 agéd 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 quæ 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 præsentiâ 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 _Ecclesiæ Venetæ_, 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 Vénitienne_ 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 _bonâ 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'époque, où Vénise étendit son empire sur Brescia, Bergame, Ravenne, et Crème; où elle fonda sa domination de Lombardie," etc. (Sismondi's _Histoire des Républiques_, 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 aërial 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 païs_, 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 più che mai sentendo il dolore di quel distacco, diceva: _Padre ve priego, procurè per mi, che ritorni a casa mia_. E messer lo doxe: _Jacomo va e obbedisci quel che vuol la terra e non cerear più oltre_. Ma, uscito l'infelice figlio dalla stanza, più non resistendo alla piena degli affetti, si getto piangendo sopra una sedia e lamentando diceva: _O pietà 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, blessé de trouver constamment un contradicteur et un censeur si amer dans son frère, lui dit un jour en plein conseil: 'Messire Augustin, vous faites tout votre possible pour hâter ma mort; vous vous flattez de me succéder; mais, si les autres vous connaissent aussi bien que je vous connais, ils n'auront garde de vous élire.' Là-dessus il se leva, ému de colere, rentra dans son appartement, et mourut quelques jours après. Ce frère, contre lequel il s'etait emporté, fut précisement le successeur qu'on lui donna. C'était un mérite don't on aimait à tenir compte; surtout à un parent, de s'être mis en opposition avec le chef de la république."--DARU, _Hist, de Vénise_, 1821, in. 29. [bx] _I trust Heavens will be done also_.--[MS.] [83] "_L'ha pagata_." An historical fact. See _Hist. de Vénise_, 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 République Française_, 1821, ii. 520-537; (ii.) an extract from J. C. L. Simonde de Sismondi's _Histoire des Républiques 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 Coventriæ_, and in the _Mistère 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 mœurs!_ 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 "Coryphæus 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 £2710 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--_solicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ_." 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 PERSONÆ. 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 belovéd, 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; It _was_ the Tree of Life: knowledge is good, And Life is good; and how can both be evil? _Eve_. My boy! thou speakest as I spoke in sin, Before thy birth: let me not see renewed 40 My misery in thine. I have repented. Let me not see my offspring fall into The snares beyond the walls of Paradise, Which even in Paradise destroyed his parents. Content thee with what _is_. Had we been so, Thou now hadst been contented.--Oh, my son! _Adam_. Our orisons completed, let us hence, Each to his task of toil--not heavy, though Needful: the earth is young, and yields us kindly Her fruits with little labour. _Eve_. Cain--my son-- 50 Behold thy father cheerful and resigned-- And do as he doth. [_Exeunt_ ADAM _and_ EVE. _Zillah_. Wilt thou not, my brother? _Abel_. Why wilt thou wear this gloom upon thy brow, Which can avail thee nothing, save to rouse The Eternal anger? _Adah_. My belovéd Cain Wilt thou frown even on me? _Cain_. No, Adah! no; I fain would be alone a little while. Abel, I'm sick at heart; but it will pass; Precede me, brother--I will follow shortly. And you, too, sisters, tarry not behind; 60 Your gentleness must not be harshly met: I'll follow you anon. _Adah_. If not, I will Return to seek you here. _Abel_. The peace of God Be on your spirit, brother! [_Exeunt_ ABEL, ZILLAH, _and_ ADAH. _Cain_ (_solus_). And this is Life?--Toil! and wherefore should I toil?--because My father could not keep his place in Eden? What had _I_ done in this?--I was unborn: I sought not to be born; nor love the state To which that birth has brought me. Why did he Yield to the Serpent and the woman? or 70 Yielding--why suffer? What was there in this? The tree was planted, and why not for him? If not, why place him near it, where it grew The fairest in the centre? They have but One answer to all questions, "'Twas _his_ will, And _he_ is good." How know I that? Because He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow? I judge but by the fruits--and they are bitter-- Which I must feed on for a fault not mine. Whom have we here?--A shape like to the angels 80 Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect Of spiritual essence: why do I quake? Why should I fear him more than other spirits, Whom I see daily wave their fiery swords Before the gates round which I linger oft, In Twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of those Gardens which are my just inheritance, Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls And the immortal trees which overtop The Cherubim-defended battlements? 90 If I shrink not from these, the fire-armed angels, Why should I quail from him who now approaches? Yet--he seems mightier far than them, nor less Beauteous, and yet not all as beautiful As he hath been, and might be: sorrow seems Half of his immortality.[97] And is it So? and can aught grieve save Humanity? He cometh. _Enter_ LUCIFER. _Lucifer_. Mortal! _Cain_. Spirit, who art thou? _Lucifer_. Master of spirits. _Cain_. And being so, canst thou Leave them, and walk with dust? _Lucifer_. I know the thoughts 100 Of dust, and feel for it, and with you. _Cain_. How! You know my thoughts? _Lucifer_. They are the thoughts of all Worthy of thought;--'tis your immortal part[98] Which speaks within you. _Cain_. What immortal part? This has not been revealed: the Tree of Life Was withheld from us by my father's folly, While that of Knowledge, by my mother's haste, Was plucked too soon; and all the fruit is Death! _Lucifer_. They have deceived thee; thou shalt live. _Cain_. I live, But live to die; and, living, see no thing 110 To make death hateful, save an innate clinging, A loathsome, and yet all invincible Instinct of life, which I abhor, as I Despise myself, yet cannot overcome-- And so I live. Would I had never lived! _Lucifer_. Thou livest--and must live for ever. Think not The Earth, which is thine outward cov'ring, is Existence--it will cease--and thou wilt be-- No less than thou art now. _Cain_. No _less_! and why No more? _Lucifer_. It may be thou shalt be as we. 120 _Cain_. And ye? _Lucifer_. Are everlasting. _Cain_. Are ye happy? _Lucifer_. We are mighty. _Cain_. Are ye happy? _Lucifer_. No: art thou? _Cain_. How should I be so? Look on me! _Lucifer_. Poor clay! And thou pretendest to be wretched! Thou! _Cain_. I am:--and thou, with all thy might, what art thou? _Lucifer_. One who aspired to be what made thee, and Would not have made thee what thou art. _Cain_. Ah! Thou look'st almost a god; and---- _Lucifer_. I am none: And having failed to be one, would be nought Save what I am. He conquered; let him reign! 130 _Cain_. Who? _Lucifer_. Thy Sire's maker--and the Earth's. _Cain_. And Heaven's, And all that in them is. So I have heard His Seraphs sing; and so my father saith. _Lucifer_. They say--what they must sing and say, on pain Of being that which I am,--and thou art-- Of spirits and of men. _Cain_. And what is that? _Lucifer_. Souls who dare use their immortality-- Souls who dare look the Omnipotent tyrant in His everlasting face, and tell him that His evil is not good! If he has made, 140 As he saith--which I know not, nor believe-- But, if he made us--he cannot unmake: We are immortal!--nay, he'd _have_ us so, That he may torture:--let him! He is great-- But, in his greatness, is no happier than We in our conflict! Goodness would not make Evil; and what else hath he made? But let him Sit on his vast and solitary throne-- Creating worlds, to make eternity Less burthensome to his immense existence 150 And unparticipated solitude;[99] Let him crowd orb on orb: he is alone Indefinite, Indissoluble Tyrant; Could he but crush himself, 'twere the best boon He ever granted: but let him reign on! And multiply himself in misery! Spirits and Men, at least we sympathise-- And, suffering in concert, make our pangs Innumerable, more endurable, By the unbounded sympathy of all 160 With all! But _He_! so wretched in his height, So restless in his wretchedness, must still Create, and re-create--perhaps he'll make[100] One day a Son unto himself--as he Gave you a father--and if he so doth, Mark me! that Son will be a sacrifice! _Cain_. Thou speak'st to me of things which long have swum In visions through my thought: I never could Reconcile what I saw with what I heard. My father and my mother talk to me 170 Of serpents, and of fruits and trees: I see The gates of what they call their Paradise Guarded by fiery-sworded Cherubim, Which shut them out--and me: I feel the weight Of daily toil, and constant thought: I look Around a world where I seem nothing, with Thoughts which arise within me, as if they Could master all things--but I thought alone This misery was _mine_. My father is Tamed down; my mother has forgot the mind 180 Which made her thirst for knowledge at the risk Of an eternal curse; my brother is A watching shepherd boy,[101] who offers up The firstlings of the flock to him who bids The earth yield nothing to us without sweat;[by] My sister Zillah sings an earlier hymn Than the birds' matins; and my Adah--my Own and belovéd--she, too, understands not The mind which overwhelms me: never till Now met I aught to sympathise with me. 190 'Tis well--I rather would consort with spirits. _Lucifer_. And hadst thou not been fit by thine own soul For such companionship, I would not now Have stood before thee as I am: a serpent Had been enough to charm ye, as before.[bz] _Cain_. Ah! didst _thou_ tempt my mother? _Lucifer_. I tempt none, Save with the truth: was not the Tree, the Tree Of Knowledge? and was not the Tree of Life Still fruitful? Did _I_ bid her pluck them not? Did I plant things prohibited within 200 The reach of beings innocent, and curious By their own innocence? I would have made ye Gods; and even He who thrust ye forth, so thrust ye Because "ye should not eat the fruits of life, And become gods as we." Were those his words? _Cain_. They were, as I have heard from those who heard them, In thunder. _Lucifer_. Then who was the Demon? He Who would not let ye live, or he who would Have made ye live for ever, in the joy And power of Knowledge? _Cain_. Would they had snatched both 210 The fruits, or neither! _Lucifer_. One is yours already, The other may be still. _Cain_. How so? _Lucifer_. By being Yourselves, in your resistance. Nothing can Quench the mind, if the mind will be itself And centre of surrounding things--'tis made To sway. _Cain_. But didst thou tempt my parents? _Lucifer_. I? Poor clay--what should I tempt them for, or how? _Cain_. They say the Serpent was a spirit. _Lucifer_. Who Saith that? It is not written so on high: The proud One will not so far falsify, 220 Though man's vast fears and little vanity Would make him cast upon the spiritual nature His own low failing. The snake _was_ the snake-- No more;[102] and yet not less than those he tempted, In nature being earth also--_more_ in _wisdom_, Since he could overcome them, and foreknew The knowledge fatal to their narrow joys. Think'st thou I'd take the shape of things that die? _Cain_. But the thing had a demon? _Lucifer_. He but woke one In those he spake to with his forky tongue. 230 I tell thee that the Serpent was no more Than a mere serpent: ask the Cherubim Who guard the tempting tree. When thousand ages Have rolled o'er your dead ashes, and your seed's, The seed of the then world may thus array Their earliest fault in fable, and attribute To me a shape I scorn, as I scorn all That bows to him, who made things but to bend Before his sullen, sole eternity; But we, who see the truth, must speak it. Thy 240 Fond parents listened to a creeping thing, And fell. For what should spirits tempt them? What Was there to envy in the narrow bounds Of Paradise, that spirits who pervade Space----but I speak to thee of what thou know'st not, With all thy Tree of Knowledge. _Cain_. But thou canst not Speak aught of Knowledge which I would not know, And do not thirst to know, and bear a mind To know. _Lucifer_. And heart to look on? _Cain_. Be it proved. _Lucifer_. Darest thou look on Death? _Cain_. He has not yet 250 Been seen. _Lucifer_. But must be undergone. _Cain_. My father Says he is something dreadful, and my mother Weeps when he's named; and Abel lifts his eyes To Heaven, and Zillah casts hers to the earth, And sighs a prayer; and Adah looks on me, And speaks not. _Lucifer_. And thou? _Cain_. Thoughts unspeakable Crowd in my breast to burning, when I hear Of this almighty Death, who is, it seems, Inevitable. Could I wrestle with him? I wrestled with the lion, when a boy, 260 In play, till he ran roaring from my gripe. _Lucifer_. It has no shape; but will absorb all things That bear the form of earth-born being. _Cain_. Ah! I thought it was a being: who could do Such evil things to beings save a being? _Lucifer_. Ask the Destroyer. _Cain_. Who? _Lucifer_. The Maker--Call him Which name thou wilt: he makes but to destroy. _Cain_. I knew not that, yet thought it, since I heard Of Death: although I know not what it is-- Yet it seems horrible. I have looked out 270 In the vast desolate night in search of him; And when I saw gigantic shadows in The umbrage of the walls of Eden, chequered By the far-flashing of the Cherubs' swords, I watched for what I thought his coming; for With fear rose longing in my heart to know What 'twas which shook us all--but nothing came. And then I turned my weary eyes from off Our native and forbidden Paradise, Up to the lights above us, in the azure, 280 Which are so beautiful: shall they, too, die? _Lucifer_. Perhaps--but long outlive both thine and thee. _Cain_. I'm glad of that: I would not have them die-- They are so lovely. What is Death? I fear, I feel, it is a dreadful thing; but what, I cannot compass: 'tis denounced against us, Both them who sinned and sinned not, as an ill-- What ill? _Lucifer_. To be resolved into the earth. _Cain_. But shall I know it? _Lucifer_. As I know not death, I cannot answer.[103] _Cain_. Were I quiet earth, 290 That were no evil: would I ne'er had been Aught else but dust! _Lucifer_. That is a _grovelling_ wish, Less than thy father's--for he wished to know! _Cain_. But not to live--or wherefore plucked he not The Life-tree? _Lucifer_. He was hindered. _Cain_. Deadly error! Not to snatch first that fruit:--but ere he plucked The knowledge, he was ignorant of Death. Alas! I scarcely now know what it is, And yet I fear it--fear I know not what! _Lucifer_. And I, who know all things, fear nothing; see 300 What is true knowledge. _Cain_. Wilt thou teach me all? _Lucifer_. Aye, upon one condition. _Cain_. Name it. _Lucifer_. That Thou dost fall down and worship me--thy Lord. _Cain_. Thou art not the Lord my father worships. _Lucifer_. No. _Cain_. His equal? _Lucifer_. No;--I have nought in common with him! Nor would: I would be aught above--beneath-- Aught save a sharer or a servant of His power. I dwell apart; but I am great:-- Many there are who worship me, and more Who shall--be thou amongst the first. _Cain_. I never 310 As yet have bowed unto my father's God. Although my brother Abel oft implores That I would join with him in sacrifice:-- Why should I bow to thee? _Lucifer_. Hast thou ne'er bowed To him? _Cain_. Have I not said it?--need I say it? Could not thy mighty knowledge teach thee that? _Lucifer_. He who bows not to him has bowed to me.[104] _Cain_. But I will bend to neither. _Lucifer_. Ne'er the less, Thou art my worshipper; not worshipping Him makes thee mine the same. _Cain_. And what is that? 320 _Lucifer_. Thou'lt know here--and hereafter. _Cain_. Let me but Be taught the mystery of my being. _Lucifer_. Follow Where I will lead thee. _Cain_. But I must retire To till the earth--for I had promised---- _Lucifer_. What? _Cain_. To cull some first-fruits. _Lucifer_. Why? _Cain_. To offer up With Abel on an altar. _Lucifer_. Said'st thou not Thou ne'er hadst bent to him who made thee? _Cain_. Yes-- But Abel's earnest prayer has wrought upon me; The offering is more his than mine--and Adah---- _Lucifer_. Why dost thou hesitate? _Cain_. She is my sister, 330 Born on the same day, of the same womb; and She wrung from me, with tears, this promise; and Rather than see her weep, I would, methinks, Bear all--and worship aught. _Lucifer_. Then follow me! _Cain_. I will. _Enter_ ADAH. _Adah_. My brother, I have come for thee; It is our hour of rest and joy--and we Have less without thee. Thou hast laboured not This morn; but I have done thy task: the fruits Are ripe, and glowing as the light which ripens: Come away. _Cain_. Seest thou not? _Adah_. I see an angel; 340 We have seen many: will he share our hour Of rest?--he is welcome. _Cain_. But he is not like The angels we have seen. _Adah_. Are there, then, others? But he is welcome, as they were: they deigned To be our guests--will he? _Cain_ (_to Lucifer_). Wilt thou? _Lucifer_. I ask Thee to be mine. _Cain_. I must away with him. _Adah_. And leave us? _Cain_. Aye. _Adah_. And _me_? _Cain_. Belovéd Adah! _Adah_. Let me go with thee. _Lucifer_. No, she must not. _Adah_. Who Art thou that steppest between heart and heart? _Cain_. He is a God. _Adah_. How know'st thou? _Cain_. He speaks like 350 A God. _Adah_. So did the Serpent, and it lied. _Lucifer_. Thou errest, Adah!--was not the Tree that Of Knowledge? _Adah_. Aye--to our eternal sorrow. _Lucifer_. And yet that grief is knowledge--so he lied not: And if he did betray you, 'twas with Truth; And Truth in its own essence cannot be But good. _Adah_. But all we know of it has gathered Evil on ill; expulsion from our home, And dread, and toil, and sweat, and heaviness; Remorse of that which was--and hope of that 360 Which cometh not. Cain! walk not with this Spirit. Bear with what we have borne, and love me--I Love thee. _Lucifer_. More than thy mother, and thy sire? _Adah_. I do. Is that a sin, too? _Lucifer_. No, not yet; It one day will be in your children. _Adah_. What! Must not my daughter love her brother Enoch? _Lucifer_. Not as thou lovest Cain. _Adah_. Oh, my God! Shall they not love and bring forth things that love Out of their love? have they not drawn their milk Out of this bosom? was not he, their father, 370 Born of the same sole womb,[105] in the same hour With me? did we not love each other? and In multiplying our being multiply Things which will love each other as we love Them?--And as I love thee, my Cain! go not Forth with this spirit; he is not of ours. _Lucifer_. The sin I speak of is not of my making, And cannot be a sin in you--whate'er It seem in those who will replace ye in Mortality[106]. _Adah_. What is the sin which is not 380 Sin in itself? Can circumstance make sin Or virtue?--if it doth, we are the slaves Of---- _Lucifer_. Higher things than ye are slaves: and higher Than them or ye would be so, did they not Prefer an independency of torture To the smooth agonies of adulation, In hymns and harpings, and self-seeking prayers, To that which is omnipotent, because It is omnipotent, and not from love, But terror and self-hope. _Adah_. Omnipotence 390 Must be all goodness. _Lucifer_. Was it so in Eden? _Adah_. Fiend! tempt me not with beauty; thou art fairer Than was the Serpent, and as false. _Lucifer_. As true. Ask Eve, your mother: bears she not the knowledge Of good and evil? _Adah_. Oh, my mother! thou Hast plucked a fruit more fatal to thine offspring Than to thyself; thou at the least hast passed Thy youth in Paradise, in innocent And happy intercourse with happy spirits: But we, thy children, ignorant of Eden, 400 Are girt about by demons, who assume The words of God, and tempt us with our own Dissatisfied and curious thoughts--as thou Wert worked on by the snake, in thy most flushed And heedless, harmless wantonness of bliss. I cannot answer this immortal thing Which stands before me; I cannot abhor him; I look upon him with a pleasing fear, And yet I fly not from him: in his eye There is a fastening attraction which 410 Fixes my fluttering eyes on his; my heart Beats quick; he awes me, and yet draws me near, Nearer and nearer:--Cain--Cain--save me from him! _Cain_. What dreads my Adah? This is no ill spirit. _Adah_. He is not God--nor God's: I have beheld The Cherubs and the Seraphs; he looks not Like them. _Cain_. But there are spirits loftier still-- The archangels. _Lucifer_. And still loftier than the archangels. _Adah_. Aye--but not blesséd. _Lucifer_. If the blessedness Consists in slavery--no. _Adah_. I have heard it said, 420 The Seraphs _love most_--Cherubim _know most_[107]-- And this should be a Cherub--since he loves not. _Lucifer_. And if the higher knowledge quenches love, What must _he be_ you cannot love when known?[ca] Since the all-knowing Cherubim love least, The Seraphs' love can be but ignorance: That they are not compatible, the doom Of thy fond parents, for their daring, proves. Choose betwixt Love and Knowledge--since there is No other choice: your sire hath chosen already: 430 His worship is but fear. _Adah_. Oh, Cain! choose Love. _Cain_. For thee, my Adah, I choose not--It was Born with me--but I love nought else. _Adah_. Our parents? _Cain_. Did they love us when they snatched from the Tree That which hath driven us all from Paradise? _Adah_. We were not born then--and if we had been, Should we not love them--and our children, Cain? _Cain_. My little Enoch! and his lisping sister! Could I but deem them happy, I would half Forget----but it can never be forgotten 440 Through thrice a thousand generations! never Shall men love the remembrance of the man Who sowed the seed of evil and mankind In the same hour! They plucked the tree of science And sin--and, not content with their own sorrow, Begot _me_--_thee_--and all the few that are, And all the unnumbered and innumerable Multitudes, millions, myriads, which may be, To inherit agonies accumulated By ages!--and _I_ must be sire of such things! 450 Thy beauty and thy love--my love and joy, The rapturous moment and the placid hour, All we love in our children and each other, But lead them and ourselves through many years Of sin and pain--or few, but still of sorrow, Interchecked with an instant of brief pleasure, To Death--the unknown! Methinks the Tree of Knowledge Hath not fulfilled its promise:--if they sinned, At least they ought to have known all things that are Of knowledge--and the mystery of Death[cb]. 460 What do they know?--that they are miserable. What need of snakes and fruits to teach us that? _Adah_. I am not wretched, Cain, and if thou Wert happy---- _Cain_. Be thou happy, then, alone-- I will have nought to do with happiness, Which humbles me and mine. _Adah_. Alone I could not, Nor _would_ be happy; but with those around us I think I could be so, despite of Death, Which, as I know it not, I dread not, though It seems an awful shadow--if I may 470 Judge from what I have heard. _Lucifer_. And thou couldst not _Alone_, thou say'st, be happy? _Adah_. Alone! Oh, my God! Who could be happy and alone, or good? To me my solitude seems sin; unless When I think how soon I shall see my brother, His brother, and our children, and our parents. _Lucifer_. Yet thy God is alone; and is he happy? Lonely, and good? _Adah_. He is not so; he hath The angels and the mortals to make happy, And thus becomes so in diffusing joy. 480 What else can joy be, but the spreading joy?[cc] _Lucifer_. Ask of your sire, the exile fresh from Eden; Or of his first-born son: ask your own heart; It is not tranquil. _Adah_. Alas! no! and you-- Are you of Heaven? _Lucifer_. If I am not, enquire The cause of this all-spreading happiness (Which you proclaim) of the all-great and good Maker of life and living things; it is His secret, and he keeps it. _We_ must bear, And some of us resist--and both in vain, 490 His Seraphs say: but it is worth the trial, Since better may not be without: there is A wisdom in the spirit, which directs To right, as in the dim blue air the eye Of you, young mortals, lights at once upon The star which watches, welcoming the morn. _Adah_. It is a beautiful star; I love it for Its beauty. _Lucifer_. And why not adore? _Adah_. Our father Adores the Invisible only. _Lucifer_. But the symbols Of the Invisible are the loveliest 500 Of what is visible; and yon bright star Is leader of the host of Heaven. _Adah_. Our father Saith that he has beheld the God himself Who made him and our mother. _Lucifer_. Hast _thou_ seen him? _Adah_. Yes--in his works. _Lucifer_. But in his being? _Adah_. No-- Save in my father, who is God's own image; Or in his angels, who are like to thee-- And brighter, yet less beautiful and powerful In seeming: as the silent sunny noon, All light, they look upon us; but thou seem'st 510 Like an ethereal night[108], where long white clouds Streak the deep purple, and unnumbered stars Spangle the wonderful mysterious vault With things that look as if they would be suns; So beautiful, unnumbered, and endearing, Not dazzling, and yet drawing us to them, They fill my eyes with tears, and so dost thou. Thou seem'st unhappy: do not make us so, And I will weep for thee. _Lucifer_. Alas! those tears! Couldst thou but know what oceans will be shed---- 520 _Adah_. By me? _Lucifer_. By all. _Adah_. What all? _Lucifer_. The million millions-- The myriad myriads--the all-peopled earth-- The unpeopled earth--and the o'er-peopled Hell, Of which thy bosom is the germ. _Adah_. O Cain! This spirit curseth us. _Cain_. Let him say on; Him will I follow. _Adah_. Whither? _Lucifer_. To a place _Whence_ he shall come back to thee in an hour; But in that hour see things of many days. _Adah_. How can that be? _Lucifer_. Did not your Maker make Out of old worlds this new one in few days? 530 And cannot I, who aided in this work, Show in an hour what he hath made in many, Or hath destroyed in few? _Cain_. Lead on. _Adah_. Will he, In sooth, return within an hour? _Lucifer_. He shall. With us acts are exempt from time, and we Can crowd eternity into an hour, Or stretch an hour into eternity: We breathe not by a mortal measurement-- But that's a mystery. Cain, come on with me. _Adah_. Will he return? _Lucifer_. Aye, woman! he alone 540 Of mortals from that place (the first and last Who shall return, save ONE), shall come back to thee, To make that silent and expectant world As populous as this: at present there Are few inhabitants. _Adah_. Where dwellest thou? _Lucifer_. Throughout all space. Where should I dwell? Where are Thy God or Gods--there am I: all things are Divided with me: Life and Death--and Time-- Eternity--and heaven and earth--and that Which is not heaven nor earth, but peopled with 550 Those who once peopled or shall people both-- These are my realms! so that I do divide _His_, and possess a kingdom which is not _His_[109]. If I were not that which I have said, Could I stand here? His angels are within Your vision. _Adah_. So they were when the fair Serpent Spoke with our mother first. _Lucifer_. Cain! thou hast heard. If thou dost long for knowledge, I can satiate That thirst; nor ask thee to partake of fruits Which shall deprive thee of a single good 560 The Conqueror has left thee. Follow me. _Cain_. Spirit, I have said it. [_Exeunt_ LUCIFER _and_ CAIN. _Adah_ (_follows exclaiming_). Cain! my brother! Cain! ACT II. SCENE I.--_The Abyss of Space_. _Cain_. I tread on air, and sink not--yet I fear To sink. _Lucifer_. Have faith in me, and thou shalt be Borne on the air[110], of which I am the Prince. _Cain_. Can I do so without impiety? _Lucifer_. Believe--and sink not! doubt--and perish! thus Would run the edict of the other God, Who names me Demon to his angels; they Echo the sound to miserable things, Which, knowing nought beyond their shallow senses, Worship the _word_ which strikes their ear, and deem 10 Evil or good what is proclaimed to them In their abasement. I will have none such: Worship or worship not, thou shalt behold The worlds beyond thy little world, nor be Amerced for doubts beyond thy little life, With torture of _my_ dooming. There will come An hour, when, tossed upon some water-drops[cd], A man shall say to a man, "Believe in me, And walk the waters;" and the man shall walk The billows and be safe. _I_ will not say, 20 Believe in _me_, as a conditional creed To save thee; but fly with me o'er the gulf Of space an equal flight, and I will show What thou dar'st not deny,--the history Of past--and present, and of future worlds. _Cain_. Oh God! or Demon! or whate'er thou art, Is yon our earth? _Lucifer_. Dost thou not recognise The dust which formed your father? _Cain_. Can it be? Yon small blue circle, swinging in far ether[ce], With an inferior circlet purpler it still[111], 30 Which looks like that which lit our earthly night? Is this our Paradise? Where are its walls, And they who guard them? _Lucifer_. Point me out the site Of Paradise. _Cain_. How should I? As we move Like sunbeams onward, it grows small and smaller, And as it waxes little, and then less, Gathers a halo round it, like the light Which shone the roundest of the stars, when I Beheld them from the skirts of Paradise: Methinks they both, as we recede from them, 40 Appear to join the innumerable stars Which are around us; and, as we move on, Increase their myriads. _Lucifer_. And if there should be Worlds greater than thine own--inhabited By greater things--and they themselves far more In number than the dust of thy dull earth, Though multiplied to animated atoms, All living--and all doomed to death--and wretched, What wouldst thou think? _Cain_. I should be proud of thought Which knew such things. _Lucifer_. But if that high thought were 50 Linked to a servile mass of matter--and, Knowing such things, aspiring to such things, And science still beyond them, were chained down To the most gross and petty paltry wants, All foul and fulsome--and the very best Of thine enjoyments a sweet degradation, A most enervating and filthy cheat To lure thee on to the renewal of Fresh souls and bodies[112], all foredoomed to be As frail, and few so happy---- _Cain_. Spirit! I 60 Know nought of Death, save as a dreadful thing Of which I have heard my parents speak, as of A hideous heritage I owe to them No less than life--a heritage not happy, If I may judge, till now. But, Spirit! if It be as thou hast said (and I within Feel the prophetic torture of its truth), Here let me die: for to give birth to those Who can but suffer many years, and die-- Methinks is merely propagating Death, 70 And multiplying murder. _Lucifer_. Thou canst not _All_ die--there is what must survive. _Cain_. The Other Spake not of this unto my father, when He shut him forth from Paradise, with death Written upon his forehead. But at least Let what is mortal of me perish, that I may be in the rest as angels are. _Lucifer_. _I_ am angelic: wouldst thou be as I am? _Cain_. I know not what thou art: I see thy power, And see thou show'st me things beyond _my_ power, 80 Beyond all power of my born faculties, Although inferior still to my desires And my conceptions. _Lucifer_. What are they which dwell So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn With worms in clay? _Cain_. And what art thou who dwellest So haughtily in spirit, and canst range Nature and immortality--and yet Seem'st sorrowful? _Lucifer_. I seem that which I am; And therefore do I ask of thee, if thou Wouldst be immortal? _Cain_. Thou hast said, I must be 90 Immortal in despite of me. I knew not This until lately--but since it must be, Let me, or happy or unhappy, learn To anticipate my immortality. _Lucifer_. Thou didst before I came upon thee. _Cain_. How? _Lucifer_. By suffering. _Cain_. And must torture be immortal? _Lucifer_. We and thy sons will try. But now, behold! Is it not glorious? _Cain_. Oh thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased 100 And still-increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measured for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aërial universe of endless Expansion--at which my soul aches to think-- Intoxicated with eternity[113]? Oh God! Oh Gods! or whatsoe'er ye are! 110 How beautiful ye are! how beautiful Your works, or accidents, or whatsoe'er They may be! Let me die, as atoms die, (If that they die), or know ye in your might And knowledge! My thoughts are not in this hour Unworthy what I see, though my dust is; Spirit! let me expire, or see them nearer. _Lucifer_. Art thou not nearer? look back to thine earth! _Cain_. Where is it? I see nothing save a mass Of most innumerable lights. _Lucifer_. Look there! 120 _Cain_. I cannot see it. _Lucifer_. Yet it sparkles still. _Cain_. That!--yonder! _Lucifer_. Yea. _Cain_. And wilt thou tell me so? Why, I have seen the fire-flies and fire-worms Sprinkle the dusky groves and the green banks In the dim twilight, brighter than yon world Which bears them. _Lucifer_. Thou hast seen both worms and worlds, Each bright and sparkling--what dost think of them? _Cain_. That they are beautiful in their own sphere, And that the night, which makes both beautiful, The little shining fire-fly in its flight, 130 And the immortal star in its great course, Must both be guided. _Lucifer_. But by whom or what? _Cain_. Show me. _Lucifer_. Dar'st thou behold? _Cain_. How know I what I _dare_ behold? As yet, thou hast shown nought I dare not gaze on further. _Lucifer_. On, then, with me. Wouldst thou behold things mortal or immortal? _Cain_. Why, what are things? _Lucifer_. _Both_ partly: but what doth Sit next thy heart? _Cain_. The things I see. _Lucifer_. But what _Sate_ nearest it? _Cain_. The things I have not seen, Nor ever shall--the mysteries of Death. 140 _Lucifer_. What, if I show to thee things which have died, As I have shown thee much which cannot die? _Cain_. Do so. _Lucifer_. Away, then! on our mighty wings! _Cain_. Oh! how we cleave the blue! The stars fade from us! The earth! where is my earth? Let me look on it, For I was made of it. _Lucifer_. 'Tis now beyond thee, Less, in the universe, than thou in it; Yet deem not that thou canst escape it; thou Shalt soon return to earth, and all its dust: 'Tis part of thy eternity, and mine. 150 _Cain_. Where dost thou lead me? _Lucifer_. To what was before thee! The phantasm of the world; of which thy world Is but the wreck. _Cain_. What! is it not then new? _Lucifer_. No more than life is; and that was ere thou Or _I_ were, or the things which seem to us Greater than either: many things will have No end; and some, which would pretend to have Had no beginning, have had one as mean As thou; and mightier things have been extinct To make way for much meaner than we can 160 Surmise; for _moments_ only and the _space_ Have been and must be all _unchangeable_. But changes make not death, except to clay; But thou art clay--and canst but comprehend That which was clay, and such thou shall behold. _Cain_. Clay--Spirit--what thou wilt--I can survey. _Lucifer_. Away, then! _Cain_. But the lights fade from me fast, And some till now grew larger as we approached, And wore the look of worlds. _Lucifer_. And such they are. _Cain_. And Edens in them? _Lucifer_. It may be. _Cain_. And men? 170 _Lucifer_. Yea, or things higher. _Cain_. Aye! and serpents too?[cf] _Lucifer_. Wouldst thou have men without them? must no reptiles Breathe, save the erect ones? _Cain_. How the lights recede! Where fly we? _Lucifer_. To the world of phantoms, which Are beings past, and shadows still to come. _Cain_. But it grows dark, and dark--the stars are gone! _Lucifer_. And yet thou seest. _Cain_. 'Tis a fearful light! No sun--no moon--no lights innumerable-- The very blue of the empurpled night Fades to a dreary twilight--yet I see 180 Huge dusky masses; but unlike the worlds We were approaching, which, begirt with light, Seemed full of life even when their atmosphere Of light gave way, and showed them taking shapes Unequal, of deep valleys and vast mountains; And some emitting sparks, and some displaying Enormous liquid plains, and some begirt With luminous belts, and floating moons, which took, Like them, the features of fair earth:--instead, All here seems dark and dreadful. _Lucifer_. But distinct. 190 Thou seekest to behold Death, and dead things? _Cain_. I seek it not; but as I know there are Such, and that my sire's sin makes him and me, And all that we inherit, liable To such, I would behold, at once, what I Must one day see perforce. _Lucifer_. Behold! _Cain_. 'Tis darkness! _Lucifer_. And so it shall be ever--but we will Unfold its gates! _Cain_. Enormous vapours roll Apart--what's this? _Lucifer_. Enter! _Cain_. Can I return? _Lucifer_. Return! be sure: how else should Death be peopled? 200 Its present realm is thin to what it will be, Through thee and thine. _Cain_. The clouds still open wide And wider, and make widening circles round us! _Lucifer_. Advance! _Cain_. And thou! _Lucifer_. Fear not--without me thou Couldst not have gone beyond thy world. On! on! [_They disappear through the clouds_. SCENE II.--_Hades_. _Enter_ LUCIFER _and_ CAIN. _Cain_. How silent and how vast are these dim worlds! For they seem more than one, and yet more peopled Than the huge brilliant luminous orbs which swung So thickly in the upper air, that I Had deemed them rather the bright populace Of some all unimaginable Heaven, Than things to be inhabited themselves,[cg] But that on drawing near them I beheld Their swelling into palpable immensity Of matter, which seemed made for life to dwell on, 10 Rather than life itself. But here, all is So shadowy, and so full of twilight, that It speaks of a day past. _Lucifer_. It is the realm Of Death.--Wouldst have it present? _Cain_. Till I know That which it really is, I cannot answer. But if it be as I have heard my father Deal out in his long homilies, 'tis a thing-- Oh God! I dare not think on't! Curséd be He who invented Life that leads to Death! Or the dull mass of life, that, being life, 20 Could not retain, but needs must forfeit it-- Even for the innocent! _Lucifer_. Dost thou curse thy father? _Cain_. Cursed he not me in giving me my birth? Cursed he not me before my birth, in daring To pluck the fruit forbidden? _Lucifer_. Thou say'st well: The curse is mutual 'twixt thy sire and thee-- But for thy sons and brother? _Cain_. Let them share it With me, their sire and brother! What else is Bequeathed to me? I leave them my inheritance! Oh, ye interminable gloomy realms 30 Of swimming shadows and enormous shapes, Some fully shown, some indistinct, and all Mighty and melancholy--what are ye? Live ye, or have ye lived? _Lucifer_. Somewhat of both. _Cain_. Then what is Death? _Lucifer_. What? Hath not he who made ye Said 'tis another life? _Cain_. Till now he hath Said nothing, save that all shall die. _Lucifer_. Perhaps He one day will unfold that further secret. _Cain_. Happy the day! _Lucifer_. Yes; happy! when unfolded, Through agonies unspeakable, and clogged 40 With agonies eternal, to innumerable Yet unborn myriads of unconscious atoms, All to be animated for this only! _Cain_. What are these mighty phantoms which I see Floating around me?--They wear not the form Of the Intelligences I have seen Round our regretted and unentered Eden; Nor wear the form of man as I have viewed it In Adam's and in Abel's, and in mine, Nor in my sister-bride's, nor in my children's: 50 And yet they have an aspect, which, though not Of men nor angels, looks like something, which, If not the last, rose higher than the first, Haughty, and high, and beautiful, and full Of seeming strength, but of inexplicable Shape; for I never saw such. They bear not The wing of Seraph, nor the face of man, Nor form of mightiest brute, nor aught that is Now breathing; mighty yet and beautiful As the most beautiful and mighty which 60 Live, and yet so unlike them, that I scarce Can call them living.[114] _Lucifer_. Yet they lived. _Cain_. Where? _Lucifer_. Where Thou livest. _Cain_. When? _Lucifer_. On what thou callest earth They did inhabit. _Cain_. Adam is the first. _Lucifer_. Of thine, I grant thee--but too mean to be The last of these. _Cain_. And what are they? _Lucifer_. That which Thou shalt be. _Cain_. But what _were_ they? _Lucifer_. Living, high, Intelligent, good, great, and glorious things, As much superior unto all thy sire Adam could e'er have been in Eden, as 70 The sixty-thousandth generation shall be, In its dull damp degeneracy, to Thee and thy son;--and how weak they are, judge By thy own flesh. _Cain_. Ah me! and did _they_ perish? _Lucifer_. Yes, from their earth, as thou wilt fade from thine. _Cain_. But was _mine_ theirs? _Lucifer_. It was. _Cain_. But not as now. It is too little and too lowly to Sustain such creatures. _Lucifer_. True, it was more glorious. _Cain_. And wherefore did it fall? _Lucifer_. Ask him who fells.[115] _Cain_. But how? _Lucifer_. By a most crushing and inexorable 80 Destruction and disorder of the elements, Which struck a world to chaos, as a chaos Subsiding has struck out a world: such things, Though rare in time, are frequent in eternity.-- Pass on, and gaze upon the past. _Cain_. 'Tis awful! _Lucifer_. And true. Behold these phantoms! they were once Material as thou art. _Cain_. And must I be Like them? _Lucifer_. Let He[116] who made thee answer that. I show thee what thy predecessors are, And what they _were_ thou feelest, in degree 90 Inferior as thy petty feelings and Thy pettier portion of the immortal part Of high intelligence and earthly strength. What ye in common have with what they had Is Life, and what ye _shall_ have--Death: the rest Of your poor attributes is such as suits Reptiles engendered out of the subsiding Slime of a mighty universe, crushed into A scarcely-yet shaped planet, peopled with Things whose enjoyment was to be in blindness-- 100 A Paradise of Ignorance, from which Knowledge was barred as poison. But behold What these superior beings are or were; Or, if it irk thee, turn thee back and till The earth, thy task--I'll waft thee there in safety. _Cain_. No: I'll stay here. _Lucifer_. How long? _Cain_. For ever! Since I must one day return here from the earth, I rather would remain; I am sick of all That dust has shown me--let me dwell in shadows. _Lucifer_. It cannot be: thou now beholdest as 110 A vision that which is reality. To make thyself fit for this dwelling, thou Must pass through what the things thou seest have passed-- The gates of Death. _Cain_. By what gate have we entered Even now? _Lucifer_. By mine! But, plighted to return, My spirit buoys thee up to breathe in regions Where all is breathless save thyself. Gaze on; But do not think to dwell here till thine hour Is come! _Cain_. And these, too--can they ne'er repass To earth again? _Lucifer_. _Their_ earth is gone for ever-- 120 So changed by its convulsion, they would not Be conscious to a single present spot Of its new scarcely hardened surface--'twas-- Oh, what a beautiful world it _was_! _Cain_. And is! It is not with the earth, though I must till it, I feel at war--but that I may not profit By what it bears of beautiful, untoiling, Nor gratify my thousand swelling thoughts With knowledge, nor allay my thousand fears Of Death and Life. _Lucifer_. What thy world is, thou see'st, 130 But canst not comprehend the shadow of That which it was. _Cain_. And those enormous creatures, Phantoms inferior in intelligence (At least so seeming) to the things we have passed, Resembling somewhat the wild habitants Of the deep woods of earth, the hugest which Roar nightly in the forest, but ten-fold In magnitude and terror; taller than The cherub-guarded walls of Eden--with Eyes flashing like the fiery swords which fence them-- 140 And tusks projecting like the trees stripped of Their bark and branches--what were they? _Lucifer_. That which The Mammoth is in thy world;--but these lie By myriads underneath its surface. _Cain_. But None on it? _Lucifer_. No: for thy frail race to war With them would render the curse on it useless-- 'Twould be destroyed so early. _Cain_. But why _war_? _Lucifer_. You have forgotten the denunciation Which drove your race from Eden--war with all things, And death to all things, and disease to most things, 150 And pangs, and bitterness; these were the fruits Of the forbidden tree. _Cain_. But animals-- Did they, too, eat of it, that they must die? _Lucifer_. Your Maker told ye, _they_ were made for you, As you for him.--You would not have their doom Superior to your own? Had Adam not Fallen, all had stood. _Cain_. Alas! the hopeless wretches! They too must share my sire's fate, like his sons; Like them, too, without having shared the apple; Like them, too, without the so dear-bought _knowledge_! 160 It was a lying tree--for we _know_ nothing. At least it _promised knowledge_ at the _price_ Of death--but _knowledge_ still: but what _knows_ man? _Lucifer_. It may be death leads to the _highest_ knowledge; And being of all things the sole thing certain,[ch] At least leads to the _surest_ science: therefore The Tree was true, though deadly. _Cain_. These dim realms! I see them, but I know them not. _Lucifer_. Because Thy hour is yet afar, and matter cannot Comprehend spirit wholly--but 'tis something 170 To know there are such realms. _Cain_. We knew already That there was Death. _Lucifer_. But not what was beyond it. _Cain_. Nor know I now. _Lucifer_. Thou knowest that there is A state, and many states beyond thine own-- And this thou knewest not this morn. _Cain_. But all Seems dim and shadowy. _Lucifer_. Be content; it will Seem clearer to thine immortality. _Cain_. And yon immeasurable liquid space Of glorious azure which floats on beyond us, Which looks like water, and which I should deem[ci] 180 The river which flows out of Paradise Past my own dwelling, but that it is bankless And boundless, and of an ethereal hue-- What is it? _Lucifer_. There is still some such on earth, Although inferior, and thy children shall Dwell near it--'tis the phantasm of an Ocean. _Cain_. 'Tis like another world; a liquid sun-- And those inordinate creatures sporting o'er Its shining surface? _Lucifer_. Are its inhabitants, The past Leviathans. _Cain_. And yon immense 190 Serpent, which rears his dripping mane and vasty Head, ten times higher than the haughtiest cedar, Forth from the abyss, looking as he could coil Himself around the orbs we lately looked on-- Is he not of the kind which basked beneath The Tree in Eden? _Lucifer_. Eve, thy mother, best Can tell what shape of serpent tempted her. _Cain_. This seems too terrible. No doubt the other Had more of beauty. _Lucifer_. Hast thou ne'er beheld him? _Cain_. Many of the same kind (at least so called) 200 But never that precisely, which persuaded The fatal fruit, nor even of the same aspect. _Lucifer_. Your father saw him not? _Cain_. No: 'twas my mother Who tempted him--she tempted by the serpent. _Lucifer_. Good man! whene'er thy wife, or thy sons' wives, Tempt thee or them to aught that's new or strange, Be sure thou seest first who hath tempted _them_! _Cain_. Thy precept comes too late: there is no more For serpents to tempt woman to. _Lucifer_. But there Are some things still which woman may tempt man to, 210 And man tempt woman:--let thy sons look to it! My counsel is a kind one; for 'tis even Given chiefly at my own expense; 'tis true, 'Twill not be followed, so there's little lost.[117] _Cain_. I understand not this. _Lucifer_. The happier thou!-- Thy world and thou are still too young! Thou thinkest Thyself most wicked and unhappy--is it Not so? _Cain_. For crime, I know not; but for pain, I have felt much. _Lucifer_. First-born of the first man! Thy present state of sin--and thou art evil, 220 Of sorrow--and thou sufferest, are both Eden In all its innocence compared to what _Thou_ shortly may'st be; and that state again, In its redoubled wretchedness, a Paradise To what thy sons' sons' sons, accumulating In generations like to dust (which they In fact but add to), shall endure and do.-- Now let us back to earth! _Cain_. And wherefore didst thou Lead me here only to inform me this? _Lucifer_. Was not thy quest for knowledge? _Cain_. Yes--as being 230 The road to happiness! _Lucifer_. If truth be so, Thou hast it. _Cain_. Then my father's God did well When he prohibited the fatal Tree. _Lucifer_. But had done better in not planting it. But ignorance of evil doth not save From evil; it must still roll on the same, A part of all things. _Cain_. Not of all things. No-- I'll not believe it--for I thirst for good. _Lucifer_. And who and what doth not? _Who_ covets evil For its own bitter sake?--_None_--nothing! 'tis 240 The leaven of all life, and lifelessness. _Cain_. Within those glorious orbs which we behold, Distant, and dazzling, and innumerable, Ere we came down into this phantom realm, Ill cannot come: they are too beautiful. _Lucifer_. Thou hast seen them from afar. _Cain_. And what of that? Distance can but diminish glory--they, When nearer, must be more ineffable. _Lucifer_. Approach the things of earth most beautiful, And judge their beauty near. _Cain_. I have done this-- 250 The loveliest thing I know is loveliest nearest. _Lucifer_. Then there must be delusion.--What is that Which being nearest to thine eyes is still More beautiful than beauteous things remote? _Cain_. My sister Adah.--All the stars of heaven, The deep blue noon of night, lit by an orb Which looks a spirit, or a spirit's world-- The hues of twilight--the Sun's gorgeous coming-- His setting indescribable, which fills My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold 260 Him sink, and feel my heart float softly with him Along that western paradise of clouds-- The forest shade, the green bough, the bird's voice-- The vesper bird's, which seems to sing of love, And mingles with the song of Cherubim, As the day closes over Eden's walls;-- All these are nothing, to my eyes and heart, Like Adah's face: I turn from earth and heaven To gaze on it. _Lucifer_. 'Tis fair as frail mortality, In the first dawn and bloom of young creation, 270 And earliest embraces of earth's parents, Can make its offspring; still it is delusion. _Cain_. You think so, being not her brother. _Lucifer_. Mortal! My brotherhood's with those who have no children. _Cain_. Then thou canst have no fellowship with us. _Lucifer_. It may be that thine own shall be for me. But if thou dost possess a beautiful Being beyond all beauty in thine eyes, Why art thou wretched? _Cain_. Why do I exist? Why art _thou_ wretched? why are all things so? 280 Ev'n he who made us must be, as the maker Of things unhappy! To produce destruction Can surely never be the task of joy, And yet my sire says he's omnipotent: Then why is Evil--he being Good? I asked This question of my father; and he said, Because this Evil only was the path To Good. Strange Good, that must arise from out Its deadly opposite. I lately saw A lamb stung by a reptile: the poor suckling 290 Lay foaming on the earth, beneath the vain And piteous bleating of its restless dam; My father plucked some herbs, and laid them to The wound; and by degrees the helpless wretch Resumed its careless life, and rose to drain The mother's milk, who o'er it tremulous Stood licking its reviving limbs with joy. Behold, my son! said Adam, how from Evil Springs Good![118] _Lucifer_. What didst thou answer? _Cain_. Nothing; for He is my father: but I thought, that 'twere 300 A better portion for the animal Never to have been _stung at all_, than to Purchase renewal of its little life With agonies unutterable, though Dispelled by antidotes. _Lucifer_. But as thou saidst Of all belovéd things thou lovest her Who shared thy mother's milk, and giveth hers Unto thy children---- _Cain_. Most assuredly: What should I be without her? _Lucifer_. What am I? _Cain_. Dost thou love nothing? _Lucifer_. What does thy God love? 310 _Cain_. All things, my father says; but I confess I see it not in their allotment here. _Lucifer_. And, therefore, thou canst not see if _I_ love Or no--except some vast and general purpose, To which particular things must melt like snows. _Cain_. Snows! what are they? _Lucifer_. Be happier in not knowing What thy remoter offspring must encounter; But bask beneath the clime which knows no winter. _Cain_. But dost thou not love something like thyself? _Lucifer_. And dost thou love _thyself_? _Cain_. Yes, but love more 320 What makes my feelings more endurable, And is more than myself, because I love it! _Lucifer_. Thou lovest it, because 'tis beautiful, As was the apple in thy mother's eye; And when it ceases to be so, thy love Will cease, like any other appetite.[119] _Cain_. Cease to be beautiful! how can that be? _Lucifer_. With time. _Cain_. But time has passed, and hitherto Even Adam and my mother both are fair: Not fair like Adah and the Seraphim-- 330 But very fair. _Lucifer_. All that must pass away In them and her. _Cain_. I'm sorry for it; but Cannot conceive my love for her the less: And when her beauty disappears, methinks He who creates all beauty will lose more Than me in seeing perish such a work. _Lucifer_. I pity thee who lovest what must perish. _Cain_. And I thee who lov'st nothing. _Lucifer_. And thy brother-- Sits he not near thy heart? _Cain_. Why should he not? _Lucifer_. Thy father loves him well--so does thy God. 340 _Cain_. And so do I. _Lucifer_. 'Tis well and meekly done. _Cain_. Meekly! _Lucifer_. He is the second born of flesh, And is his mother's favourite. _Cain_. Let him keep Her favour, since the Serpent was the first To win it. _Lucifer_. And his father's? _Cain_. What is that To me? should I not love that which all love? _Lucifer_. And the Jehovah--the indulgent Lord, And bounteous planter of barred Paradise-- He, too, looks smilingly on Abel. _Cain_. I Ne'er saw him, and I know not if he smiles. 350 _Lucifer_. But you have seen his angels. _Cain_. Rarely. _Lucifer_. But Sufficiently to see they love your brother: _His_ sacrifices are acceptable. _Cain_. So be they! wherefore speak to me of this? _Lucifer_. Because thou hast thought of this ere now. _Cain_. And if I _have_ thought, why recall a thought that---- (_he pauses as agitated_)--Spirit! _Here_ we are in _thy_ world; speak not of _mine_. Thou hast shown me wonders: thou hast shown me those Mighty Pre-Adamites who walked the earth Of which ours is the wreck: thou hast pointed out 360 Myriads of starry worlds, of which our own Is the dim and remote companion, in Infinity of life: thou hast shown me shadows Of that existence with the dreaded name Which my sire brought us--Death;[cj] thou hast shown me much But not all: show me where Jehovah dwells, In his especial Paradise--or _thine_: Where is it? _Lucifer_. _Here_, and o'er all space. _Cain_. But ye Have some allotted dwelling--as all things; Clay has its earth, and other worlds their tenants; 370 All temporary breathing creatures their Peculiar element; and things which have Long ceased to breathe _our_ breath, have theirs, thou say'st; And the Jehovah and thyself have thine-- Ye do not dwell together? _Lucifer_. No, we reign Together; but our dwellings are asunder. _Cain_. Would there were only one of ye! perchance An unity of purpose might make union In elements which seem now jarred in storms. How came ye, being Spirits wise and infinite, 380 To separate? Are ye not as brethren in Your essence--and your nature, and your glory? _Lucifer_. Art not thou Abel's brother? _Cain_. We are brethren, And so we shall remain; but were it not so, Is spirit like to flesh? can it fall out-- Infinity with Immortality? Jarring and turning space to misery-- For what? _Lucifer_. To reign. _Cain_. Did ye not tell me that Ye are both eternal? _Lucifer_. Yea! _Cain_. And what I have seen-- Yon blue immensity, is boundless? _Lucifer_. Aye. 390 _Cain_. And cannot ye both _reign_, then?--is there not Enough?--why should ye differ? _Lucifer_. We _both_ reign. _Cain_. But one of you makes evil. _Lucifer_. Which? _Cain_. Thou! for If thou canst do man good, why dost thou not? _Lucifer_. And why not he who made? _I_ made ye not; Ye are _his_ creatures, and not mine. _Cain_. Then leave us _His_ creatures, as thou say'st we are, or show me Thy dwelling, or _his_ dwelling. _Lucifer_. I could show thee Both; but the time will come thou shalt see one Of them for evermore.[120] _Cain_. And why not now? 400 _Lucifer_. Thy human mind hath scarcely grasp to gather The little I have shown thee into calm And clear thought: and _thou_ wouldst go on aspiring To the great double Mysteries! the _two Principles_![121] And gaze upon them on their secret thrones! Dust! limit thy ambition; for to see Either of these would be for thee to perish! _Cain_. And let me perish, so I see them! _Lucifer_. There The son of her who snatched the apple spake! But thou wouldst only perish, and not see them; 410 That sight is for the other state. _Cain_. Of Death? _Lucifer_. That is the prelude. _Cain_. Then I dread it less, Now that I know it leads to something definite. _Lucifer_. And now I will convey thee to thy world, Where thou shall multiply the race of Adam, Eat, drink, toil, tremble, laugh, weep, sleep--and die! _Cain_. And to what end have I beheld these things Which thou hast shown me? _Lucifer_. Didst thou not require Knowledge? And have I not, in what I showed, Taught thee to know thyself? _Cain_. Alas! I seem 420 Nothing.[122] _Lucifer_. And this should be the human sum Of knowledge, to know mortal nature's nothingness; Bequeath that science to thy children, and 'Twill spare them many tortures. _Cain_. Haughty spirit! Thou speak'st it proudly; but thyself, though proud, Hast a superior. _Lucifer_. No! By heaven, which he Holds, and the abyss, and the immensity Of worlds and life, which I hold with him--No! I have a Victor--true; but no superior.[123] Homage he has from all--but none from me: 430 I battle it against him, as I battled In highest Heaven--through all Eternity, And the unfathomable gulfs of Hades, And the interminable realms of space, And the infinity of endless ages, All, all, will I dispute! And world by world, And star by star, and universe by universe, Shall tremble in the balance, till the great Conflict shall cease, if ever it shall cease, Which it ne'er shall, till he or I be quenched! 440 And what can quench our immortality, Or mutual and irrevocable hate? He as a conqueror will call the conquered _Evil_; but what will be the _Good_ he gives? Were I the victor, _his_ works would be deemed The only evil ones. And you, ye new And scarce-born mortals, what have been his gifts To you already, in your little world? _Cain_. But few; and some of those but bitter. _Lucifer_. Back With me, then, to thine earth, and try the rest 450 Of his celestial boons to you and yours. Evil and Good are things in their own essence, And not made good or evil by the Giver; But if he gives you good--so call him; if Evil springs from _him_, do not name it _mine_, Till ye know better its true fount; and judge Not by words, though of Spirits, but the fruits Of your existence, such as it must be. _One good_ gift has the fatal apple given,-- Your _reason_:--let it not be overswayed 460 By tyrannous threats to force you into faith 'Gainst all external sense and inward feeling: Think and endure,--and form an inner world In your own bosom--where the outward fails; So shall you nearer be the spiritual Nature, and war triumphant with your own. [_They disappear_. ACT III. SCENE I.--_The Earth, near Eden, as in Act I_. _Enter_ CAIN _and_ ADAH. _Adah_. Hush! tread softly, Cain! _Cain_. I will--but wherefore? _Adah_. Our little Enoch sleeps upon yon bed Of leaves, beneath the cypress. _Cain_. Cypress! 'tis A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourned O'er what it shadows; wherefore didst thou choose it For our child's canopy? _Adah_. Because its branches Shut out the sun like night, and therefore seemed Fitting to shadow slumber. _Cain_. Aye, the last-- And longest; but no matter--lead me to him. [_They go up to the child_. How lovely he appears! his little cheeks, 10 In their pure incarnation,[124] vying with The rose leaves strewn beneath them. _Adah_. And his lips, too, How beautifully parted! No; you shall not Kiss him, at least not now: he will awake soon-- His hour of mid-day rest is nearly over; But it were pity to disturb him till 'Tis closed. _Cain_. You have said well; I will contain My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps!--sleep on, And smile, thou little, young inheritor Of a world scarce less young: sleep on, and smile! 20 Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering And innocent! _thou_ hast not plucked the fruit-- Thou know'st not thou art naked! Must the time Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown, Which were not thine nor mine? But now sleep on! His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, And shining lids are trembling o'er his long Lashes,[125] dark as the cypress which waves o'er them; Half open, from beneath them the clear blue Laughs out, although in slumber. He must dream-- 30 Of what? Of Paradise!--Aye! dream of it, My disinherited boy! 'Tis but a dream; For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers, Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy! _Adah_. Dear Cain! Nay, do not whisper o'er our son Such melancholy yearnings o'er the past: Why wilt thou always mourn for Paradise? Can we not make another? _Cain_. Where? _Adah_. Here, or Where'er thou wilt: where'er thou art, I feel not The want of this so much regretted Eden. 40 Have I not thee--our boy--our sire, and brother, And Zillah--our sweet sister, and our Eve, To whom we owe so much besides our birth? _Cain_. Yes--Death, too, is amongst the debts we owe her. _Adah_. Cain! that proud Spirit, who withdrew thee hence, Hath saddened thine still deeper. I had hoped The promised wonders which thou hast beheld, Visions, thou say'st, of past and present worlds, Would have composed thy mind into the calm Of a contented knowledge; but I see 50 Thy guide hath done thee evil: still I thank him, And can forgive him all, that he so soon Hath given thee back to us. _Cain_. So soon? _Adah_. 'Tis scarcely Two hours since ye departed: two _long_ hours To _me_, but only _hours_ upon the sun. _Cain_. And yet I have approached that sun, and seen Worlds which he once shone on, and never more Shall light; and worlds he never lit: methought Years had rolled o'er my absence. _Adah_. Hardly hours. _Cain_. The mind then hath capacity of time, 60 And measures it by that which it beholds, Pleasing or painful[126]; little or almighty. I had beheld the immemorial works Of endless beings; skirred extinguished worlds; And, gazing on eternity, methought I had borrowed more by a few drops of ages From its immensity: but now I feel My littleness again. Well said the Spirit, That I was nothing! _Adah_. Wherefore said he so? Jehovah said not that. _Cain_. No: _he_ contents him 70 With making us the _nothing_ which we are; And after flattering dust with glimpses of Eden and Immortality, resolves It back to dust again--for what? _Adah_. Thou know'st-- Even for our parents' error. _Cain_. What is that To us? they sinned, then _let them_ die! _Adah_. Thou hast not spoken well, nor is that thought Thy own, but of the Spirit who was with thee. Would _I_ could die for them, so _they_ might live! _Cain_. Why, so say I--provided that one victim 80 Might satiate the Insatiable of life, And that our little rosy sleeper there Might never taste of death nor human sorrow, Nor hand it down to those who spring from him. _Adah_. How know we that some such atonement one day May not redeem our race? _Cain_. By sacrificing The harmless for the guilty? what atonement[127] Were there? why, _we_ are innocent: what have we Done, that we must be victims for a deed Before our birth, or need have victims to 90 Atone for this mysterious, nameless sin-- If it be such a sin to seek for knowledge? _Adah_. Alas! thou sinnest now, my Cain: thy words Sound impious in mine ears. _Cain_. Then leave me! _Adah_. Never, Though thy God left thee. _Cain_. Say, what have we here? _Adah_. Two altars, which our brother Abel made During thine absence, whereupon to offer A sacrifice to God on thy return. _Cain_. And how knew _he_, that _I_ would be so ready With the burnt offerings, which he daily brings 100 With a meek brow, whose base humility Shows more of fear than worship--as a bribe To the Creator? _Adah_. Surely, 'tis well done. _Cain_. One altar may suffice; _I_ have no offering. _Adah_. The fruits of the earth,[128] the early, beautiful, Blossom and bud--and bloom of flowers and fruits-- These are a goodly offering to the Lord, Given with a gentle and a contrite spirit. _Cain_. I have toiled, and tilled, and sweaten in the sun, According to the curse:--must I do more? 110 For what should I be gentle? for a war With all the elements ere they will yield The bread we eat? For what must I be grateful? For being dust, and grovelling in the dust, Till I return to dust? If I am nothing-- For nothing shall I be an hypocrite, And seem well-pleased with pain? For what should I Be contrite? for my father's sin, already Expiate with what we all have undergone, And to be more than expiated by 120 The ages prophesied, upon our seed. Little deems our young blooming sleeper, there, The germs of an eternal misery To myriads is within him! better 'twere I snatched him in his sleep, and dashed him 'gainst The rocks, than let him live to---- _Adah_. Oh, my God! Touch not the child--my child! _thy_ child! Oh, Cain! _Cain_. Fear not! for all the stars, and all the power Which sways them, I would not accost yon infant With ruder greeting than a father's kiss. 130 _Adah_. Then, why so awful in thy speech? _Cain_. I said, 'Twere better that he ceased to live, than give Life to so much of sorrow as he must Endure, and, harder still, bequeath; but since That saying jars you, let us only say-- 'Twere better that he never had been born. _Adah_. Oh, do not say so! Where were then the joys, The mother's joys of watching, nourishing, And loving him? Soft! he awakes. Sweet Enoch! [_She goes to the child_. Oh, Cain! look on him; see how full of life, 140 Of strength, of bloom, of beauty, and of joy-- How like to me--how like to thee, when gentle-- For _then_ we are _all_ alike; is't not so, Cain? Mother, and sire, and son, our features are Reflected in each other; as they are In the clear waters, when _they_ are _gentle_, and When _thou_ art _gentle_. Love us, then, my Cain! And love thyself for our sakes, for we love thee. Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms, And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine, 150 To hail his father; while his little form Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain! The childless cherubs well might envy thee The pleasures of a parent! Bless him, Cain! As yet he hath no words to thank thee, but His heart will, and thine own too. _Cain_. Bless thee, boy! If that a mortal blessing may avail thee, To save thee from the Serpent's curse! _Adah_. It shall. Surely a father's blessing may avert A reptile's subtlety. _Cain_. Of that I doubt; 160 But bless him ne'er the less. _Adah_. Our brother comes. _Cain_. Thy brother Abel. _Enter_ ABEL. _Abel_. Welcome, Cain! My brother, The peace of God be on thee! _Cain_. Abel, hail! _Abel_. Our sister tells me that thou hast been wandering, In high communion with a Spirit, far Beyond our wonted range. Was he of those We have seen and spoken with, like to our father? _Cain_. No. _Abel_. Why then commune with him? he may be A foe to the Most High. _Cain_. And friend to man. Has the Most High been so--if so you term him? 170 _Abel_. _Term him!_ your words are strange to-day, my brother. My sister Adah, leave us for awhile-- We mean to sacrifice[129]. _Adah_. Farewell, my Cain; But first embrace thy son. May his soft spirit, And Abel's pious ministry, recall thee To peace and holiness! [_Exit_ ADAH, _with her child_. _Abel_. Where hast thou been? _Cain_. I know not. _Abel_. Nor what thou hast seen? _Cain_. The dead-- The Immortal--the Unbounded--the Omnipotent-- The overpowering mysteries of space-- The innumerable worlds that were and are-- 180 A whirlwind of such overwhelming things, Suns, moons, and earths, upon their loud-voiced spheres Singing in thunder round me, as have made me Unfit for mortal converse: leave me, Abel. _Abel_. Thine eyes are flashing with unnatural light-- Thy cheek is flushed with an unnatural hue-- Thy words are fraught with an unnatural sound-- What may this mean? _Cain_. It means--I pray thee, leave me. _Abel_. Not till we have prayed and sacrificed together. _Cain_. Abel, I pray thee, sacrifice alone-- 190 Jehovah loves thee well. _Abel_. _Both_ well, I hope. _Cain_. But thee the better: I care not for that; Thou art fitter for his worship than I am; Revere him, then--but let it be alone-- At least, without me. _Abel_. Brother, I should ill Deserve the name of our great father's son, If, as my elder, I revered thee not, And in the worship of our God, called not On thee to join me, and precede me in Our priesthood--'tis thy place. _Cain_. But I have ne'er 200 Asserted it. _Abel_. The more my grief; I pray thee To do so now: thy soul seems labouring in Some strong delusion; it will calm thee. _Cain_. No; Nothing can calm me more. _Calm!_ say I? Never Knew I what calm was in the soul, although I have seen the elements stilled. My Abel, leave me! Or let me leave thee to thy pious purpose. _Abel_. Neither; we must perform our task together. Spurn me not. _Cain_. If it must be so----well, then, What shall I do? _Abel_. Choose one of those two altars. 210 _Cain_. Choose for me: they to me are so much turf And stone. _Abel_. Choose thou! _Cain_. I have chosen. _Abel_. 'Tis the highest, And suits thee, as the elder. Now prepare Thine offerings. _Cain_. Where are thine? _Abel_. Behold them here-- The firstlings of the flock, and fat thereof-- A shepherd's humble offering. _Cain_. I have no flocks; I am a tiller of the ground, and must Yield what it yieldeth to my toil--its fruit: [_He gathers fruits_. Behold them in their various bloom and ripeness. [_They dress their altars, and kindle aflame upon them_[130]. _Abel_. My brother, as the elder, offer first 220 Thy prayer and thanksgiving with sacrifice. _Cain_. No--I am new to this; lead thou the way, And I will follow--as I may. _Abel_ (_kneeling_). Oh, God! Who made us, and who breathed the breath of life Within our nostrils, who hath blessed us, And spared, despite our father's sin, to make His children all lost, as they might have been, Had not thy justice been so tempered with The mercy which is thy delight, as to Accord a pardon like a Paradise, 230 Compared with our great crimes:--Sole Lord of light! Of good, and glory, and eternity! Without whom all were evil, and with whom Nothing can err, except to some good end Of thine omnipotent benevolence! Inscrutable, but still to be fulfilled! Accept from out thy humble first of shepherds' First of the first-born flocks--an offering, In itself nothing--as what offering can be Aught unto thee?--but yet accept it for 240 The thanksgiving of him who spreads it in The face of thy high heaven--bowing his own Even to the dust, of which he is--in honour Of thee, and of thy name, for evermore! _Cain_ (_standing erect during this speech_). Spirit whate'er or whosoe'er thou art, Omnipotent, it may be--and, if good, Shown in the exemption of thy deeds from evil; Jehovah upon earth! and God in heaven! And it may be with other names, because Thine attributes seem many, as thy works:-- 250 If thou must be propitiated with prayers, Take them! If thou must be induced with altars, And softened with a sacrifice, receive them; Two beings here erect them unto thee. If thou lov'st blood, the shepherd's shrine, which smokes On my right hand, hath shed it for thy service In the first of his flock, whose limbs now reek In sanguinary incense to thy skies; Or, if the sweet and blooming fruits of earth, And milder seasons, which the unstained turf 260 I spread them on now offers in the face Of the broad sun which ripened them, may seem Good to thee--inasmuch as they have not Suffered in limb or life--and rather form A sample of thy works, than supplication To look on ours! If a shrine without victim, And altar without gore, may win thy favour, Look on it! and for him who dresseth it, He is--such as thou mad'st him; and seeks nothing Which must be won by kneeling: if he's evil[ck], 270 Strike him! thou art omnipotent, and may'st-- For what can he oppose? If he be good, Strike him, or spare him, as thou wilt! since all Rests upon thee; and Good and Evil seem To have no power themselves, save in thy will-- And whether that be good or ill I know not, Not being omnipotent, nor fit to judge Omnipotence--but merely to endure Its mandate; which thus far I have endured. [_The fire upon the altar of_ ABEL _kindles into a column of the brightest flame, and ascends to heaven; while a whirlwind throws down the altar of_ CAIN, _and scatters the fruits abroad upon the earths_[131] _Abel_ (_kneeling_). Oh, brother, pray! Jehovah's wroth with thee. 280 _Cain_. Why so? _Abel_. Thy fruits are scattered on the earth. _Cain_. From earth they came, to earth let them return; Their seed will bear fresh fruit there ere the summer: Thy burnt flesh-offering prospers better; see How Heaven licks up the flames, when thick with blood! _Abel_. Think not upon my offering's acceptance, But make another of thine own--before It is too late. _Cain_. I will build no more altars, Nor suffer any---- _Abel_ (_rising_). Cain! what meanest thou? _Cain_. To cast down yon vile flatterer of the clouds, 290 The smoky harbinger of thy dull prayers-- Thine altar, with its blood of lambs and kids, Which fed on milk, to be destroyed in blood. _Abel_ (_opposing him_). Thou shalt not:--add not impious works to impious Words! let that altar stand--'tis hallowed now By the immortal pleasure of Jehovah, In his acceptance of the victims. _Cain_. _His_! _His pleasure!_ what was his high pleasure in The fumes of scorching flesh and smoking blood, To the pain of the bleating mothers, which 300 Still yearn for their dead offspring? or the pangs Of the sad ignorant victims underneath Thy pious knife? Give way! this bloody record Shall not stand in the sun, to shame creation! _Abel_. Brother, give back! thou shalt not touch my altar With violence: if that thou wilt adopt it, To try another sacrifice, 'tis thine. _Cain_. Another sacrifice! Give way, or else That sacrifice may be---- _Abel_. What mean'st thou? _Cain_. Give-- Give way!--thy God loves blood!--then look to it:-- 310 Give way, ere he hath _more_! _Abel_. In _his_ great name, I stand between thee and the shrine which hath Had his acceptance. _Cain_. If thou lov'st thyself, Stand back till I have strewed this turf along Its native soil:--else---- _Abel_ (_opposing him_). I love God far more Than life. _Cain_ (_striking him with a brand, on the temples, which he snatches from the altar_). Then take thy life unto thy God, Since he loves lives. _Abel_ (_falls_). What hast thou done--my brother? _Cain_. Brother! _Abel_. Oh, God! receive thy servant! and Forgive his slayer, for he knew not what He did--Cain, give me--give me thy hand; and tell 320 Poor Zillah-- _Cain_ (_after a moment's stupefaction_). _My_ hand! 'tis all red, and with---- What? [_A long pause.--Looking slowly round_. Where am I? alone! Where's Abel? where Cain? Can it be that I am he? My brother, Awake!--why liest thou so long on the green earth? 'Tis not the hour of slumber:--why so pale? What hast thou!--thou wert full of life this morn! Abel! I pray thee, mock me not! I smote Too fiercely, but not fatally. Ah, why Wouldst thou oppose me? This is mockery; And only done to daunt me:--'twas a blow-- 330 And but a blow. Stir--stir--nay, only stir! Why, so--that's well!--thou breathest! breathe upon me! Oh God! Oh God! _Abel_ (_very faintly_). What's he who speaks of God? _Cain_. Thy murderer. _Abel_. Then may God forgive him! Cain, Comfort poor Zillah:--she has but one brother Now. [ABEL _dies_. _Cain_. And I none!--Who makes me brotherless? His eyes are open! then he is not dead! Death is like sleep[132]; and sleep shuts down our lids. His lips, too, are apart; why then he breathes; And yet I feel it not.--His heart!--his heart!-- 340 Let me see, doth it beat? methinks----No!--no! This is a vision, else I am become The native of another and worse world. The earth swims round me:--what is this?--'tis wet; [_Puts his hand to his brow, and then looks at it_. And yet there are no dews! 'Tis blood--my blood-- My brother's and my own! and shed by me! Then what have I further to do with life, Since I have taken life from my own flesh? But he can not be dead!--Is silence death? No; he will wake; then let me watch by him. 350 Life cannot be so slight, as to be quenched Thus quickly!--he hath spoken to me since-- What shall I say to him?--My brother!--No: He will not answer to that name; for brethren Smite not each other. Yet--yet--speak to me. Oh! for a word more of that gentle voice, That I may bear to hear my own again! _Enter_ ZILLAH. _Zillah_. I heard a heavy sound; what can it be? 'Tis Cain; and watching by my husband. What Dost thou there, brother? Doth he sleep? Oh, Heaven! 360 What means this paleness, and yon stream?--No, no! It is not blood; for who would shed his blood? Abel! what's this?--who hath done this? He moves not; He breathes not: and his hands drop down from mine With stony lifelessness! Ah! cruel Cain! Why camest thou not in time to save him from This violence? Whatever hath assailed him, Thou wert the stronger, and shouldst have stepped in Between him and aggression! Father!--Eve!-- Adah!--come hither! Death is in the world! 370 [_Exit_ ZILLAH, _calling on her Parents, etc._ _Cain_ (_solus_). And who hath brought him there?--I--who abhor The name of Death so deeply, that the thought Empoisoned all my life, before I knew His aspect--I have led him here, and given My brother to his cold and still embrace, As if he would not have asserted his Inexorable claim without my aid. I am awake at last--a dreary dream Had maddened me;--but _he_ shall ne'er awake! _Enter_ ADAM, EVE, ADAH, _and_ ZILLAH. _Adam_. A voice of woe from Zillah brings me here-- 380 What do I see?--'Tis true!--My son!--my son! Woman, behold the Serpent's work, and thine! [_To_ EVE. _Eve_. Oh! speak not of it now: the Serpent's fangs Are in my heart! My best beloved, Abel! Jehovah! this is punishment beyond A mother's sin, to take _him_ from me! _Adam_. Who, Or what hath done this deed?--speak, Cain, since thou Wert present; was it some more hostile angel, Who walks not with Jehovah? or some wild Brute of the forest? _Eve_. Ah! a livid light 390 Breaks through, as from a thunder-cloud! yon brand Massy and bloody! snatched from off the altar, And black with smoke, and red with---- _Adam_. Speak, my son! Speak, and assure us, wretched as we are, That we are not more miserable still. _Adah_. Speak, Cain! and say it was not _thou_! _Eve_. It was! I see it now--he hangs his guilty head, And covers his ferocious eye with hands Incarnadine! _Adah_. Mother, thou dost him wrong-- Cain! clear thee from this horrible accusal, 400 Which grief wrings from our parent. _Eve_. Hear, Jehovah! May the eternal Serpent's curse be on him! For he was fitter for his seed than ours. May all his days be desolate! May---- _Adah_. Hold! Curse him not, mother, for he is thy son-- Curse him not, mother, for he is my brother, And my betrothed. _Eve_. He hath left thee no brother-- Zillah no husband--me _no son!_ for thus I curse him from my sight for evermore! A