The glory shall depart from out thy house, A madness of the heart shall seize upon thee; 1 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 I could not change, and would not fear.-Nay more, 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 Ang. Employ the minutes left in aspirations Even with these wretches take thy flight to Heaven. A hissing and a scoff unto the nations, 1 ["A madness of the heart shall rise within."- MS.] 2 ["With unimpair'd but not outrageous grief."-MS.] 3 This was the actual reply of Bailli, maire of Paris, to a Frenchman who made him the same reproach on his way to execution, in the earliest part of their revolution. I find in Ay, palpable as I see thy sweet face Guard (coming forward.) Doge of Venice Besides, of all the fruit of these long years, Glory, and wealth, and power, and fame, and name, I have uprooted all my former life, —— faints, I cannot leave her thus, and yet 'tis better, I shall be with the Eternal. Call her women- SCENE 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 crown'd, and here, bear witness, Heaven! That shining mockery, the ducal bauble, One of the Ten. Thou tremblest, Faliero! Doge. I would commend my nephew to their mercy, My consort to their justice; for methinks reading over (since the completion of this tragedy), for the first time these six years, "Venice Preserved," a similar reply on a different occasion by Renault, and other coincidences arising from the subject. I need hardly remind the gentlest reader, that such coincidences must be accidental, from the very facility of their detection by reference to so popular a play on the stage and in the closet as Otway's chef-d'œuvre. But recollect the people are without, Doge. I speak to Time and to Eternity, 1 [Sentence being passed upon the Doge, he is brought with much pomp to the place of execution. His last speech is a grand prophetic rant; something strained and elaboratebut eloquent and terrible. - JEFFREY.] 2 [ -" and Thou! Who makest and destroyest suns!"- MS.] 3 Should the dramatic picture seem harsh, let the reader look to the historical, of the period prophesied, or rather of the few years preceding that period. Voltaire calculated their "nostre bene merite Meretrici" at 12,000 of regulars, without including volunteers and local militia, on what authority I know not; but it is, perhaps, the only part of the population not decreased. Venice once contained two hundred thousand inhabitants: there are now about ninety thousand; and THESE!! few individuals can conceive, and none could describe, the actual state into which the more than infernal tyranny of Austria has plunged this unhappy city. From the present decay and degeneracy of Venice under the Barbarians, there are some honourable individual exceptions. There is Pasqualigo, the last, and, alas! posthumous son of the marriage of the Doges with the Adriatic, who fought his frigate with far greater gallantry than any of his French coadjutors in the memorable action off Lissa. I came home in the squadron with the prizes in 1811, and recollect to have heard Sir William Hoste, and the other officers engaged in that glorious conflict, speak in the highest terms of Pasqualigo's behaviour. There is the Abbate Morelli. There is Alvise Querini, who, after a long and honourable diplomatic career, finds some consolation for the wrongs of his country, in the pursuits of literature with his nephew, Vittor Benzon, the son of the celebrated beauty, the heroine of "La Biondina in Gondoletta." There are the patrician poet Morosini, and the poet Lamberti, the author of the " Biondina," &c. and many other estimable productions; and, not least in an Englishman's estimation, Madame Michelli, the translator of Shakspeare. There are the young Dandolo and the improvvisatore Carrer, and Giuseppe Albrizzi, the accomplished son of an accomplished mother. There is Aglietti, and, were there nothing else, there is the immortality of Canova. Cicognara, Mustoxithi, Bucati, &c. &c. I do not reckon, because the one is a Greek, and the others were born at least a hundred miles off, which, throughout Italy, constitutes, if not a foreigner, at least a stranger forestiere). 4 ["Beggars for nobles, lazars lepers wretches for a people !"-MS.] I perish, but not unavenged; far ages On her and hers for ever! - Yes, the hours Shedding so much blood in her last defence Who shall despise her! - She shall stoop to be [The following sketch of the indigent Venetian noble is by Gritti: "Sono un povero ladro aristocratico "I'm a poor peer of Venice loose among her Marshes! With standing bows I've double grown, I crave, cringe, storm, and strive, through life's short And vote friends, self, and country all"-ROSE] 6 The chief palaces on the Brenta now belong to the Jews: who in the earlier times of the republic were only allowed to inhabit Mestri, and not to enter the city of Venice. The whole commerce is in the hands of the Jews and Greeks, and the Huns form the garrison. 7" It must be owned," says Bishop Heber, "that the Duke bears his calamities with a patience which would be more heroic if it were less wordy. It is possible that a con demned man might recollect his quarrel with the Bishop of Treviso, and the evil omen which accompanied his solemn landing at Venice. But there are not many condemned men who, during a last and stinted interview with a beloved wife, would have employed so much time in relating anecdotes of themselves; and we should least of all expect it in one whose fiery character would have induced him to hurry forward to his end. The same objection applies to his prophecy of the future miseries of Venice. It's language and imagery are. doubtless, extremely powerful and impressive; but we cand allow that it is either dramatic or characteristic. A propboxy (which we know to be er post facto) is, under any cir stances, one of the cheapest and least artificial of poetical machines. But, under such circumstances as the present, a audience could have endured so long a speech without disast and weariness; and Marino Faliero was most likely to have met his death like our own Sydney 1 1 Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being, With no harangue idly proclaim'd aloud We are surprised that Bishop Heber did not quote Andrew "While round the armed bands He nothing common did, or mean, But with his keener eye Nor call'd the Gods with vulgar spight But bow'd his comely head 1 [See APPENDIX: Marino Faliero, Note C.] 2 If the Doge's prophecy seem remarkable, look to the following, made by Alimanni two hundred and seventy years ago:- There is one very singular prophecy concerning Venice: If thou dost not change,' it says to that proud republic, thy liberty, which is already on the wing, will not reckon a century more than the thousandth year.' If we carry back the epocha of Venetian freedom to the establishment of the government under which the republic flourished, we shall find that the date of the election of the first Doge is 697; and if we add one century to a thousand, that is, eleven hundred years, we shall find the sense of the prediction to be literally this: Thy liberty will not last till 1797.' Recollect that Third Cit. Then they have murder'd 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 barr'd. Would we had known the work they were preparing Sixth Cit. Enter on the Balcony of the Palace which fronts Saint 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. 4 Venice ceased to be free in the year 1796, the fifth year of the French republic; and you will perceive, that there never was prediction more pointed, or more exactly followed by the event. You will, therefore, note as very remarkable the three lines of Alamanni addressed to Venice; which, however, no one has pointed out : 'Se non cangi pensier, un secol solo Non conterà sopra 'l millesimo anno Tua libertà, che va fuggendo a volo.' Many prophecies have passed for such, and many men have been called prophets for much less."-GINGUENE', t. ix. p. 144. 3 Of the first fifty Doges, five abdicated —five were banished with their eyes put out-five were MASSACRED and nine deposed; so that nineteen out of fifty lost the throne by violence, besides two who fell in battle: this occurred long previous to the reign of Marino Faliero. One of his more immediate predecessors, Andrea Dandolo, died of vexation. Marino Faliero himself perished as related. Amongst his successors, Foscari, after seeing his son repeatedly tortured and banished, was deposed, and died of breaking a bloodvessel, on hearing the bell of Saint Mark's toll for the election of his successor. Morosini was impeached for the loss of Candia; but this was previous to his dukedom, during which he conquered the Morea, and was styled the Peloponnesian. Faliero might truly say, "Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes!" 4 [As a play, Marino Faliero is deficient in the attractive passions, in probability, and in depth and variety of interest; Heaven and Earth: A MYSTERY, FOUNDED ON THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE IN GENESIS, CHAP. VI. "And it came to pass.... that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose." It is and revolts throughout, by the extravagant disproportion which the injury bears to the unmeasured resentment with which it is pursued. As a poem, though it occasionally displays great force and elevation, it obviously wants both grace and facility. The diction is often heavy and cumbrous, and the versification without sweetness or elasticity. generally very verbose, and sometimes exceedingly dull. Altogether, it gives us the impression of a thing worked out against the grain, and not poured forth from the fulness of the heart or the fancy;-the ambitious and claborate work of a powerful mind engaged with an unsuitable task - not the spontaneous effusion of an exuberant imagination, sporting in the fulness of its strength. Every thing is heightened and enforced with visible effort and design; and the noble author is often contented to be emphatic by dint of exaggeration, and eloquent by the common topics of declamation. Lord Byron is, undoubtedly, a poet of the very first order, and has talents to reach the very highest honours of the drama. But he must not again disdain love, and ambition, and jealousy; he must not substitute what is merely bizarre and extraordinary, for what is naturally and universally interesting, nor expect, by any exaggerations, so to rouse and rule our sympathies by the senseless anger of an old man, and the prudish proprieties of an untempted woman, as by the agency of the great and simple passions with which, in some of their degrees, all men are familiar, and by which alone the Dramatic Muse has hitherto wronght her miracles.- JEFFREY. On the whole, the Doge of Venice is the effect of a powerful and cultivated mind. It has all the requisites of tragedy, sublimity, terror, and pathos-all but that without which the rest are unavailing, interest! With many detached passages which neither derogate from Lord Byron's former fame, nor would have derogated from the reputation of our best ancient tragedians, it is, as a whole, neither sustained nor impressive. The poet, except in the soliloquy of Lioni, scarcely ever seems to have written with his own thorough good liking. He may be suspected throughout to have had in his eye some other model than nature; and we rise from his work with the same feeling as if we had been reading a translation. For this want of interest the subject itself is, doubtless, in some measure to blame; though, if the same subject had been differently treated, we are inclined to believe a very different effect would have been produced. But for the constraint and stiffness of the poetry, we have nothing to blame but the apparent resolution of its author to set (at whatever risk) an example of classical correctness to his uncivilised countrymen, and rather to forego success than to succeed after the manner of Shakspeare. HEBER.] ["Heaven and Earth" was written at Ravenna, in October, 1821. In forwarding it to Mr. Murray, in the following month, Lord Byron says" Enclosed is a lyrical drama, entitled A Mystery.' You will find it pious enough, I trust PART I. SCENE I. A woody and mountainous district near Mount Ararat. Time, Midnight. Enter ANAH and AHOLIBAMAH. 2 Anah. OUR father sleeps; it is the hour when they Who love us are accustom'd to descend Through the deep clouds o'er rocky Ararat : at least some of the chorus might have been written by Sternhold and Hopkins themselves for that, and perhaps for melody. As it is longer, and more lyrical and Greek, than I intended at first, I have not divided it into acts, but called what I have sent Part First; as there is a suspension of the action, which may either close there without impropriety, or be continued in a way that I have in view. I wish the first part to be published before the second; because, if it don't succeed, it is better to stop there, than to go on in a fruitless experiment." Though without delay revised by Mr. Gifford, and printed, this "First Part" was not publ. hed till 1822, when it appeared in the second number of the "Liberal." The Mystery" was never completed.] 2 [" It is impossible to suppose two poems more nearly diametrically opposite to each other in object and execution, than the Loves of the Angels' by Mr. Moore, and Heaven and Earth, a Mystery,' by Lord Byron. The first is ail glitter and point, like a piece of Derbyshire spar; and the other is dark and massy, like a block of marble. In the one, angels harangue each other, like authors wishing to make a great public impression; in the other, they appear silent and majestic, even when their souls have been visited with human passions. In the one, the women whom the angels love, although beautiful and amiable, are blue-stockingsh and pedantic, and their sins proceed from curiosity and the love of knowledge. In the other, they are the gentle, or the daring, daughters of flesh and blood, dissolving in tenderness, or burning with passion for the Sons of the Morning In the one, we have sighs, tears, kisses, shiverings, thril lings, perfumes, feathered angels on beds of down, and all the transports of the honey-moon; in the other, silent looks of joy or despair, passion seen blending in vain union between the spirits of mortal and immortal, love shrieking en the wild shore of death, and all the thoughts that ever agitated human hearts dashed and distracted beneath the blackness and amidst the howling of commingled earth and heaven, The one is extremely pretty, and the other is something ter rible. The great power of this Mystery' is in its fearless and daring simplicity. Lord Byron faces at once all the grandeur of his sublime subject. He seeks for nothing, but it rises before him in its death-doomed magnificence. Man, or angel. or demon, the being who mourns, or laments, or exults, is driven to speak by his own soul. The angels deign not to use many words, even to their beautiful paramours, and they scorn Noah and his sententious sons. The first scene is a woody and mountainous district, near Mount Ararat, and the time midnight. Mortal creatures, coscious of their own wickedness, have heard awful predictions of the threatened flood, and all their lives are darkened with terror. But the sons of God have been dwellers ca earth. and women's hearts have been stirred by the beauty of these celestial visitants. Anah and Aholibamah, two of Aho. That he will single forth some other daughter Of Earth, and love her as he once loved Anah. Anah. And if it should be so, and she loved him, Better thus than that he should weep for me. Aho. If I thought thus of Samiasa's love, All Seraph as he is, I'd spurn him from me. But to our invocation!-'Tis the hour. From thy sphere ! Whatever star contain thy glory; In the eternal depths of heaven Oh! think of her who holds thee dear! Thou canst not tell,—and never be Except in love, and there thou must Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou see'st The face of him who made thee great, As he hath made me of the least Of those cast out from Eden's gate : these angel-stricken maidens, come wandering along while others sleep, to pour forth their invocations to their demon lovers. They are of very different characters: Anah, soft, gentle, and submissive; Äholibamah, proud, impetuous, and Samiasa! Thou rulest in the upper air Or warring with the spirits who may dare Who made all empires, empire; or recalling Some wandering star, which shoots through the abyss, Whose tenants dying, while their world is falling, Share the dim destiny of clay in this; Or joining with the inferior cherubim, I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee. Though I be form'd of clay, And thou of beams More bright than those of day Thine immortality can not repay My love. There is a ray In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine, It may be hidden long: death and decay Into my ears this truth-" Thou liv'st for ever!" I know not, nor would know; That secret rests with the Almighty giver Who folds in clouds the fonts of bliss and woe. But thee and me he never can destroy; aspiring the one loving in fear, and the other in ambition. WILSON.] 1 The archangels, said to be seven in number, and to occupy the eighth rank in the celestial hierarchy. |