by Lord Byron
The dog’s death, and the wolf’s; but them shall fall
As falls the lion by the hunters, girt
By those who feel a proud compassion for thee,
And mourn even the inevitable death
Provoked by thy wild wrath, and regal fierceness.
Now we remit thee to thy preparation:
Let it be brief, and we ourselves will be 570
Thy guides unto the place where first we were
United to thee as thy subjects, and
Thy Senate; and must now be parted from thee
As such for ever, on the self-same spot.
Guards! form the Doge’s escort to his chamber.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. — The Doge’s Apartment.
The Doge as Prisoner, and the Duchess attending him.
Doge. Now, that the priest is gone, ‘twere useless all
To linger out the miserable minutes;
But one pang more, the pang of parting from thee,
And I will leave the few last grains of sand,
Which yet remain of the accorded hour,
Still falling — I have done with Time.
Ang. Alas!
And I have been the cause, the unconscious cause;
And for this funeral marriage, this black union,
Which thou, compliant with my father’s wish,
Didst promise at his death, thou hast sealed thine own. 10
Doge. Not so: there was that in my spirit ever
Which shaped out for itself some great reverse;
The marvel is, it came not until now —
And yet it was foretold me.
Ang. How foretold you?
Doge. Long years ago — so long, they are a doubt
In memory, and yet they live in annals:
When I was in my youth, and served the Senate
And Signory as Podesta and Captain
Of the town of Treviso, on a day
Of festival, the sluggish Bishop who 20
Conveyed the Host aroused my rash young anger,
By strange delay, and arrogant reply
To my reproof: I raised my hand and smote him,
Until he reeled beneath his holy burthen;
And as he rose from earth again, he raised
His tremulous hands in pious wrath towards Heaven.
Thence pointing to the Host, which had fallen from him,
He turned to me, and said, “The Hour will come
When he thou hast o’erthrown shall overthrow thee:
The Glory shall depart from out thy house, 30
The Wisdom shall be shaken from thy soul,
And in thy best maturity of Mind
A madness of the heart shall seize upon thee;
Passion shall tear thee when all passions cease
In other men, or mellow into virtues;
And Majesty which decks all other heads,
Shall crown to leave thee headless; honours shall
But prove to thee the heralds of Destruction,
And hoary hairs of Shame, and both of Death,
But not such death as fits an agéd man.” 40
Thus saying, he passed on. — That Hour is come.
Ang. And with this warning couldst thou not have striven
To avert the fatal moment, and atone,
By penitence, for that which thou hadst done?
Doge. I own the words went to my heart, so much
That I remembered them amid the maze
Of Life, as if they formed a spectral voice,
Which shook me in a supernatural dream;
And I repented; but ‘twas not for me
To pull in resolution: what must be 50
I could not change, and would not fear. — Nay more,
Thou can’st not have forgot, what all remember,
That on my day of landing here as Doge,
On my return from Rome, a mist of such
Unwonted density went on before
The Bucentaur, like the columnar cloud
Which ushered Israel out of Egypt, till
The pilot was misled, and disembarked us
Between the Pillars of Saint Mark’s, where ‘tis
The custom of the state to put to death 60
Its criminals, instead of touching at
The Riva della Paglia, as the wont is, —
So that all Venice shuddered at the omen.
Ang. Ah! little boots it now to recollect
Such things.
Doge. And yet I find a comfort in
The thought, that these things are the work of Fate;
For I would rather yield to Gods than men,
Or cling to any creed of destiny,
Rather than deem these mortals, most of whom
I know to be as worthless as the dust, 70
And weak as worthless, more than instruments
Of an o’er-ruling Power; they in themselves
Were all incapable — they could not be
Vistors of him who oft had conquered for them.
Ang. Employ the minutes left in aspirations
Of a more healing nature, and in peace
Even with these wretches take thy flight to Heaven.
Doge. I am at peace: the peace of certainty
That a sure Hour will come, when their sons’ sons,
And this proud city, and these azure waters, 80
And all which makes them eminent and bright,
Shall be a desolation and a curse,
A hissing and a scoff unto the nations,
A Carthage, and a Tyre, an Ocean Babel.
Ang. Speak not thus now: the surge of Passion still
Sweeps o’er thee to the last; thou dost deceive
Thyself, and canst not injure them — be calmer.
Doge. I stand within Eternity, and see
Into Eternity, and I behold —
Aye, palpable as I see thy sweet face 90
For the last time — the days which I denounce
Unto all time against these wave-girt walls,
And they who are indwellers.
Guard (coming forward). Doge of Venice,
The Ten are in attendance on your Highness.
Doge. Then farewell, Angiolina! — one embrace —
Forgive the old man who hath been to thee
A fond but fatal husband — love my memory —
I would not ask so much for me still living,
But thou canst judge of me more kindly now,
Seeing my evil feelings are at rest. 100
Besides, of all the fruit of these long years,
Glory, and Wealth, and Power, and Fame, and Name,
Which generally leave some flowers to bloom
Even o’er the grave, I have nothing left, not even
A little love, or friendship, or esteem,
No, not enough to extract an epitaph
From ostentatious kinsmen; in one hour
I have uprooted all my former life,
And outlived everything, except thy heart,
The pure, the good, the gentle, which will oft 110
With unimpaired but not a clamorous grief
Still keep — — Thou turn’st so pale! — Alas! she faints,
She has no breath, no pulse! — Guards! lend your aid —
I cannot leave her thus, and yet ‘tis better,
Since every lifeless moment spares a pang.
When she shakes off this temporary death,
I shall be with the Eternal. — Call her women —
One look! — how cold her hand! — as cold as mine
Shall be ere she recovers. — Gently tend her,
And take my last thanks — I am ready now. 120
[The Attendants of Angiolina enter, and surround their Mistress, who has fainted. — Exeunt the Doge, Guards, etc., etc.
Sc
ene III. — The Court of the Ducal Palace; the outer gates are shut against the people. — The Doge enters in his ducal robes, in procession with the Council of Ten and other Patricians, attended by the Guards, till they arrive at the top of the “Giants’ Staircase” (where the Doges took the oaths); the Executioner is stationed there with his sword. — On arriving, a Chief of the Ten takes off the ducal cap from the Doge’s head.
Doge. So now the Doge is nothing, and at last
I am again Marino Faliero:
‘Tis well to be so, though but for a moment,
Here was I crowned, and here, bear witness, Heaven!
With how much more contentment I resign
That shining mockery, the ducal bauble,
Than I received the fatal ornament.
One of the Ten. Thou tremblest, Faliero!
Doge. ’Tis with age, then.
Ben. Faliero! hast thou aught further to commend,
Compatible with justice, to the Senate? 10
Doge. I would commend my nephew to their mercy,
My consort to their justice; for methinks
My death, and such a death, might settle all
Between the State and me.
Ben. They shall be cared for;
Even notwithstanding thine unheard-of crime.
Doge. Unheard of! aye, there’s not a history
But shows a thousand crowned conspirators
Against the people; but to set them free,
One Sovereign only died, and one is dying.
Ben. And who were they who fell in such a cause? 20
Doge. The King of Sparta, and the Doge of Venice —
Agis and Faliero!
Ben. Hast thou more
To utter or to do?
Doge. May I speak?
Ben. Thou may’st;
But recollect the people are without,
Beyond the compass of the human voice.
Doge. I speak to Time and to Eternity,
Of which I grow a portion, not to man.
Ye Elements! in which to be resolved
I hasten, let my voice be as a Spirit
Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner. 30
Ye winds! which fluttered o’er as if you loved it,
And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted
To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth,
Which I have bled for! and thou, foreign earth,
Which drank this willing blood from many a wound!
Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but
Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it!
Thou Sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou!
Who kindlest and who quenchest suns! — Attest!
I am not innocent — but are these guiltless? 40
I perish, but not unavenged; far ages
Float up from the abyss of Time to be,
And show these eyes, before they close, the doom
Of this proud City, and I leave my curse
On her and hers for ever! — — Yes, the hours
Are silently engendering of the day,
When she, who built ‘gainst Attila a bulwark,
Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield,
Unto a bastard Attila, without
Shedding so much blood in her last defence, 50
As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her,
Shall pour in sacrifice. — She shall be bought
And sold, and be an appanage to those
Who shall despise her! — She shall stoop to be
A province for an Empire, petty town
In lieu of Capital, with slaves for senates,
Beggars for nobles, panders for a people!
Then when the Hebrew’s in thy palaces,
The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek
Walks o’er thy mart, and smiles on it for his; 60
When thy patricians beg their bitter bread
In narrow streets, and in their shameful need
Make their nobility a plea for pity;
Then, when the few who still retain a wreck
Of their great fathers’ heritage shall fawn
Round a barbarian Vice of Kings’ Vice-gerent,
Even in the Palace where they swayed as Sovereigns,
Even in the Palace where they slew their Sovereign,
Proud of some name they have disgraced, or sprung
From an adulteress boastful of her guilt 70
With some large gondolier or foreign soldier,
Shall bear about their bastardy in triumph
To the third spurious generation; — when
Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being,
Slaves turned o’er to the vanquished by the victors,
Despised by cowards for greater cowardice,
And scorned even by the vicious for such vices
As in the monstrous grasp of their conception
Defy all codes to image or to name them;
Then, when of Cyprus, now thy subject kingdom, 80
All thine inheritance shall be her shame
Entailed on thy less virtuous daughters, grown
A wider proverb for worse prostitution; —
When all the ills of conquered states shall cling thee,
Vice without splendour, Sin without relief
Even from the gloss of Love to smooth it o’er,
But in its stead, coarse lusts of habitude,
Prurient yet passionless, cold studied lewdness,
Depraving Nature’s frailty to an art; —
When these and more are heavy on thee, when 90
Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without Pleasure,
Youth without Honour, Age without respect,
Meanness and Weakness, and a sense of woe
‘Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar’st not murmur,
Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts,
Then, in the last gasp of thine agony,
Amidst thy many murders, think of mine!
Thou den of drunkards with the blood of Princes!
Gehenna of the waters! thou Sea-Sodom!
Thus I devote thee to the Infernal Gods! 100
Thee and thy serpent seed!
[Here the Doge turns and addresses the Executioner.
Slave, do thine office!
Strike as I struck the foe! Strike as I would
Have struck those tyrants! Strike deep as my curse!
Strike — and but once!
[The Doge throws himself upon his knees, and as the Executioner raises his sword the scene closes.
Scene IV. — The Piazza and Piazzetta of St. Mark’s. — The people in crowds gathered round the grated gates of the Ducal Palace, which are shut.
First Citizen. I have gained the Gate, and can discern the Ten,
Robed in their gowns of state, ranged round the Doge.
Second Cit. I cannot reach thee with mine utmost effort.
How is it? let us hear at least, since sight
Is thus prohibited unto the people,
Except the occupiers of those bars.
First Cit. One has approached the Doge, and now they strip
The ducal bonnet from his head — and now
He raises his keen eyes to Heaven; I see
Them glitter, and his lips move — Hush! hush! — no, 10
‘Twas but a murmur — Curse upon the distance!
His words are inarticulate, but the voice
Swells up like muttered thunder; would we could
But gather a sole sentence!
Second Cit. Hush! we perhaps may catch the sound.
First Cit. ’Tis vain.
I cannot hear him. — How his hoary hair
Streams on the wind like foam upon the wave!
Now — now — he kneels — and now they form a circle
Round him, and all is hidden — but I see
The lifted sword in air — — Ah! hark! it falls! 20
[The people murmur.
Third Cit. Then they have murdered him who would have freed us.
Fourth Cit. He was a kind man to the commons ever.
Fifth Cit. Wisely they did to keep their portals barred.
Would we had known the work they were preparing
Ere we were summoned here — we would have brought
Weapons, and forced them!
Sixth Cit. Are you sure he’s dead?
First Cit. I saw the sword fall — Lo! what have we here?
Enter on the Balcony of the Palace which fronts St. Mark’s Place a Chief of the Ten, with a bloody sword. He waves it thrice before the People, and exclaims,
“Justice hath dealt upon the mighty Traitor!”
[The gates are opened; the populace rush in towards the “Giants’ Staircase,” where the execution has taken place. The foremost of them exclaims to those behind,
“The gory head rolls down the Giants’ Steps!”
[The curtain falls.
SARDANAPALUS
A TRAGEDY.
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 Thèatre 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.]
‘La Mort de Sardanapale’ by Eugène Delacroix, 1827
INTRODUCTION
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.