Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEATH OF TITIAN, by HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEATH OF TITIAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Be silent, music, for the stage is mine
Last Line: [he rises and follows the others. The curtain falls.]
Subject(s): Titian (1490-1576); Vecelli, Tiziano; Vecellio, Tiziano


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

THE PROLOGUE
FILIPPO POMPONIO VECELLIO (CALLED TITIANELLO), the Master's son
GIOCONDO
DESIDERIO
GIANINO (He is sixteen years old and very handsome)
BATISTA
ANTONIO
PARIS
LAVINIA, a daughter of the Master
CASSANDRA
LISA
The time of the action is 1576 when Titian died in his ninety-ninth
year.

SCENE

The curtain, a tapestry, hangs as a background. In front of it stands a bust
of Böcklin on a pillar at the foot of which there is a basket of flowers
and blossoming branches.
At the last measure of the music the PROLOGUE enters, followed by his torch-
bearers. He is a young man dressed as a Venetian mourner, completely in black.

PROLOGUE. Be silent, Music, for the stage is mine,
And I will mourn; 'tis proper that I should!
The blood of all the Youth of these our times,
Flows in my veins; and he, whose statue stands
Beholding me, was my soul's dearest friend.
Great solace have I drawn from this good man,
For deep the darkness of the present age!
And, as the swan, most blessèd bird that lives,
With gentle, amorous kisses takes its food
From Naiads' hands, that shine with pearly drops,
So, bending o'er his hands, I drank in dreams,
My soul's sustaining draught. Shall I then deck,
With blossoms only, thy dear likeness now,
While thou hast decked the likeness of the world
And all the blossoming things therein for me,
With such a wond'rous sheen of light, that I,
Entranced, now cast myself upon the ground,
And, in my joy, can feel great Nature's self
Enfolded in her cloak of mystic light?

Hear me, sweet friend, I'll send no herald forth
To cry thy name to the four winds of Earth,
As when a sovereign dies! Kings' names remain,
Descending to their heirs; and marble tombs
Proclaim the glory of their fame! But thou
Wast a magician of such awful power
That, though thy earthly body pass from sight,
I know not what of thee still lingers here,
Undying in its might, to raise an eye
Of flashing darkness from the sombre stream,
Or, from the ivy, hark with listening ear!
I never shall believe, that I'm alone,
Where trees or flowers are, or even stones
Lie noiselessly, or little clouds that drift
Across the sky; and I shall always think
That something brighter than bright Ariel,
Flits after me. I know that secretly
Thou mad'st alliances with Nature's self!
For, see, the meadows decked in Spring's green cloak
Smile back at thee, as smile a woman's lips
On him, to whom she gave herself, last night!

I came to mourn for thee, but from my tongue
Fall words of ravishing, voluptuous joy,
So 'tis not proper that I linger here.
But I will smite the ground thrice with this rod
And summon ghostly figures to this spot;
And them I will so burden with my woe
That they shall stagger as they walk,—that each
May weep aloud, and deep within him feel
How great the blow that's fallen on our life
And on our every act.
Behold a play
In these sad hours of darkness and cold dread,
And learn the worth of him, Master of All,
From shadowy lips and words of those long dead!
[He goes off followed by his torch-bearers.]

The proscenium is dark; the music begins again; the statue vanishes. Three
blows of a staff resound; the tapestry divides, and discloses the scene.
The scene is on the terrace of TITIAN'S villa near Venice. In the background
a stone railing terminates the terrace. It is broken here and there, and over it
the tops of pines and poplars wave in the distance. On the left, a flight of
steps (invisible from in front), runs backward into the garden; two marble urns
on the railing mark the spot where the steps descend. The left side of the
terrace falls off sharply to the garden below. The balustrade is concealed at
this point by ivy and trailing rose vines, which, with the tall shrubs of the
garden, form an impenetrable thicket.
In the background, on the right, a flight of steps, shaped like a fan, leads
upward to an open balcony from which one passes, through a door, into the house.
In front of the door a curtain now hangs. The walls of the house are covered
with rose bushes and vines, and are decorated with busts, and with vases at each
of the windows, from which vines trail down. The house forms the background on
the right.
It is late on a summer's afternoon. DESIDERIO, ANTONIO, BATISTA and PARIS
sit about the steps, on cushions and mats. All are silent. The wind sways the
curtain in front of the door. After a short time TITIANELLO and GIANINO
enter from the door on the right. DESIDERIO, ANTONIO, BATISTA and PARIS
hasten anxiously over to them, and look at them questioningly as they crowd
around. A short silence.

PARIS. Not worse?
GIANINO (in a subdued voice).
Ay, very bad.
(To TITIANELLO, who begins to weep.)
Poor, dear Pippo!
BATISTA. Sleeps he?
GIANINO. Alas, he is awake and raves,
Calling for brushes and for paints.
ANTONIO. Methinks
We must refuse him—
GIANINO. So the doctor says.
Yet we'll not cross him, and whate'er he craves
We'll give him. Think'st thou not the same, dear friend?
TITIANELLO (breaking out passionately).
Tomorrow, e'en today, must be the end!
GIANINO. He may no longer hide from us, he says—
PARIS. Our dearest Master must not die! Nay, nay!
The doctors lie; they know not what they say!
DESIDERIO. If Titian, who creates this life, should die,
Whose, then, the right to live beneath the sky?
BATISTA. How nearly spent his life he cannot know!
TITIANELLO. In his wild fever he is painting now
With ghastly, breathless haste on his new work.
The maids are with him, and must stand; he sent
Us all away.
ANTONIO. Has he the strength to work?
TITIANELLO. He paints, and with such passion is he rent
As I've not seen at any other hour—
As tortured by some strange, mysterious power!
[A page enters from the right, followed by servants. All start up
anxiously.]
TITIANELLO, GIANINO, and PARIS.
What is it?
PAGE. Nothing; but the Master calls
For his old paintings, from the garden walls.
TITIANELLO. Why wants he them?
PAGE. He wishes them, he says.
"The pitiful, pale works of earlier days!
I would compare them to this last I paint!"
For many things appear to him, he says.
"Things of great import—a clearer sight—"
Till now he has but botched, and squandered paint.
Shall we do as he bids?
TITIANELLO. Go, go! Make haste!
Ye cause him pain each moment that ye waste!
[The servants have passed over the stage; the page rejoins them
beside the steps. TITIANELLO raises the curtain and softly enters the house.
The others walk nervously to and fro.]
ANTONIO (half aloud).
Unutterably sad is this last hour!
Our honored Master speechless, reft of power!
TITIANELLO (coming back).
He's quiet now; a radiance, as a saint's,
Shines through his pallor, as he paints and paints
And from his eye streams forth a hopeful ray,
He talks to the young maids as is his way.
ANTONIO. Come, let us here upon the steps remain,
Hoping—until the Master's worse again.
[They settle down on the steps. TITIANELLO, his eyes half
closed, plays with GIANINO'S hair.]
BATISTA (half aloud).
Worse! Then the worst! It cannot be that way.
The worst must come, though no worse come before;
Then dead and hollow, endless Evermore—
And yet it seems impossible today,
Although tomorrow 'twill be so!
[A pause.]
GIANINO. I'm tired.
PARIS. 'Tis the hot, sultry air by south winds fired.
TITIANELLO (laughing softly).
Poor boy. Throughout the long night's hours he watch'd!
GIANINO (leaning on his elbow).
Ay, friend; the first whole night I've ever watch'd.
But, yet, how did'st thou know?
TITIANELLO. Oh, I could feel,
First by thy slow-drawn breath; then, standing here,
Thine eyes toward yonder steps would ever steal.
GIANINO. Methought that through the night, so blue and clear,
That breathed around, a mystic voice I heard,
For naught in Nature tempted me to sleep;
With moistened lips, and sighs long-drawn, and deep
She lay, and nothing in the darkness stirred.
She hushed to hear dim, secret things afar,
Like pearls of silver dew flashed every star
Above the peaceful meadows soft and damp.
The sap flowed in each fruit, and made it swell
Beneath the yellow moon's great, golden lamp
In whose pale, mystic light bright gleamed each well.
Afar, strange, heavy harmonies awoke,
And, where the shadows of the clouds soft glide,
The tread of naked feet the silence broke—
Then I awoke, and I was by thy side.
[He stands up as he speaks and bends toward TITIANELLO.]
Then through the night a distant music rang
As though the magic flute with soft notes sang
Which yonder fawn holds in his marble hands,
As in the laurel grove, half-hid, he stands.
Beside the bed of nightshades drenched in dew
I saw him stand, and bright the marble shone
Like pale, damp silver in the night's deep blue,
Where red pomegranate blossoms open blown
Wave softly, to and fro. The heavy drone
Of many bees I heard, who sucked the dew
And honey from the cup of each red flower,
And fell, o'ercome by its dull, fragrant power.
Then, as the breath of darkness brushed my face,
With all the garden's air, so dull and sweet,
It seemed to be that floating through dim space
A wondrous garment touched me, passing fleet,
Like gentle hands, so tender and so warm!
Through pallid moon-beams, white as samite sheen,
A myriad amorous gnats danced in a swarm.
A glistening light lay on the lake serene
That floated rippling in the placid night.
Whether 'twas swans I saw, I cannot say,
Or snowy limbs of bathing nymphs at play—
Then fragrance as of women's golden hair
Was mingled with the scent of aloes' flowers,
Until all faded, tingling, through the air
In languorous splendor, deadening all my powers,
And thoughts were numb, and words grew meaningless.
ANTONIO. I envy thee, who'st known such wondrous bliss,
And in the darkness dreamest dreams like this!
GIANINO. Half dreaming, and half waking, thus I passed
To yonder spot, where one may see the town,
That rests, soft whisp'ring, in its flashing gown,
That moon and water round its sleep had cast.
Its slumberous murmurs oft the night wind brought
With ghostly, distant sounds, in echoes dying,
Where strange, appealing fear oppressed each thought.
Oft heard I it, no meaning sign descrying;
But now I felt its sudden thrill: methought
That through the magic silence, still as stone,
From mystic Night's blue flood-gates upward thrown,
I felt the bacchanalian dance of blood
Rush through its veins; and dazzling phosph'rous lights
Flashed round its roofs; in which reflected flood
There shone the image of strange, secret things!
Dim giddiness o'ercame me, as I stood.
The old town slept—intoxication brings
A soothing of all pain, of grief and strife,
And Life awakes—almighty, seething Life!
[A pause.]
Yet, having it, we may forget 'tis ours!
[He pauses a moment.]
'Tis thus has come this weariness, I ween,
For in one night too much I've felt and seen.
DESIDERIO (standing by the balustrade to GIANINO).
See'st thou the city as it rests below,
Veiled in the golden sunset's fragrant glow,
Where rosy safrans, and pale shades of gray
About its feet, with deep blue shadows play
To weave a cloak of dew-drenched purity,
Alluring in its calm serenity?
Alas! in yonder mystic haze there lies
A world of ugliness and moral blight,
Where madmen live like swine in filthy sties!
But distance has concealèd from thy sight
This place of loathing, hollow in its shame,
Yet thronged with men by Beauty quite unstirred—
Though using words which from us they have learned.
But only similarity of name
Exists between their joy and grief and ours.
For, though we slumber deep in midnight hours,
Our very slumber differs from their sleep:
Full, purple blossoms in our sleep we see,
And serpents that on gilded evils creep;
And there a mountain, rising from the sea,
Wherein a thousand giants' forges gleam!
But they, they sleep and dream as oysters dream!
ANTONIO (half rising).
Therefore tall, slender palings stand about
The garden that the Master planted here,
Through which sweet, flowering vines trail in and out
That one may feel the world—not see, nor hear.
PARIS (rising).
This is the lore of alleys without end ...
BATISTA (rising).
The wonder of, the background's sombre depth,
The secret art uncertain lights to lend ...
TITIANELLO (with eyes closed).
The half lost sweetness of a distant note,
The beauty of the words some poet wrote
In ages passed ...! This lesson we should learn
From all we cannot see, but yet discern!
PARIS. And therein lies the magic of the Past,
And boundless Beauty's never-parchèd well ...
Art's great soul stifles there where voices dwell!
[All remain silent for a time; TITIANELLO weeps quietly.]
GIANINO (soothingly).
Thou should'st not in such meditation sink,
Nor ceaselessly of this one matter think!
TITIANELLO (laughing sadly).
As if our pain were aught besides this strength
And power that makes us ponder endlessly,
Until all meaning vanishes at length ...!
I pray thee, let me ponder aimlessly,
For long ago from fleeting Joy and Woe
Their many-colored cloaks I've torn asunder,
'Twas my simplicity clothed them with wonder;
And simple thinking I no longer know!
[A silence. GIANINO has sunk down on his side along the steps
and, resting his head on his arms, has fallen asleep.]
PARIS. Where can Giocondo be?
TITIANELLO. Long before light
He slipped out through the door ere ye awoke;
On his pale brow the kiss of Love's delight,
While his thin lips of jealous Passion spoke.
[Pages carry two paintings across the stage,—that of "Venus
with the Flowers," and the great "Bacchanalia." The pupils rise, and, while the
paintings are carried past, stand with heads bowed, holding their caps in their
hands. A moment of silence.]
DESIDERIO. Who lives when he is gone, Master of Art,
A conqueror of matter, great of heart,
Yet, like a child, wise in simplicity
ANTONIO. Who doth not trust his word implicitly?
BATISTA. Or tremble at his knowledge infinite?
PARIS. Who now shall judge us masters of our art?
TITIANELLO. He filled with life the sombre, lifeless grove,
And, where the yellow waters silent slept,
And clambering ivy round the beeches crept,
A host of gods from nothingness he wove;
While satyrs raised their sounding horns on high,
Till yearning grew, and earthly happiness,
And every shepherd sought his shepherdess ...!
BATISTA. And to the clouds that float across the sky,
In idle reveries, a soul he gave;
And in the pale expanse of filmy white,
Meaning he found, and yearning in each wave,
In every sombre mass, rimmed with gold light,
In soft gray mountains that go rolling by,
All rose and silver through the evening sky;
Each has the soul which to each one he gave!
From naked cliffs, gray, desolate, forlorn;
From each dark-green, foam-crested, roaring wave;
From dreams that in black, lifeless woods are born;
E'en from the sorrow of each blasted oak
Through his great art some human soul awoke—
Something of Life that made us understand,
And know the Soul of Night where'er it spoke!
PARIS. We were aroused from darkness by his hand;
'Twas he that filled us with the golden light,
And taught us to enjoy the passing hours
As though they were a pageant of delight;
The hidden beauty and the shape of flowers,
Of women, and of rolling waves to see!
Above all else our own life to behold;
To grasp the flash of jewels, silk, and gold;
To understand what each man looks to see—
As lofty bridges, or Spring's early gleam—
Or yet the dreams we dream in sleeping hours
Of light-haired nymphs beside a crystal stream.
And what is round us in our waking hours
Nought of its mystic beauty had received
Till in his wondrous soul it was conceived!
ANTONIO. What dancing for fair, graceful bodies is;
What torch-light for the joyous masquerade;
What music for the soul that sleeping lies,
Soothing it by its rhythmic harmonies;
Or what a mirror to a fair, young maid;
What to the flowers the sun's bright, warming light—
An eye, a medium suited to the end—
Wherein all beauty saw herself aright!
This nature found in his great spirit's height!
"Arouse us; make of us a Bacchanal!"
Cry all the living, that before him bend,
And quail before his eye, and prostrate fall!
[While ANTONIO is speaking the three girls have stepped silently
from the door and stand listening. Only TITIANELLO, who has been standing
absent-mindedly, and a little to one side, without taking any part in the
conversation, seems to notice them. LAVINIA'S blond hair is inclosed in a
golden head-net; she wears the rich costume of a Venetian Patrician. CASSANDRA
and LISA, young girls of nineteen and seventeen, wear simple white dresses
made of soft, clinging material; they have gold arm-bands shaped like snakes on
their bare arms above the elbow; sandals and gold belts. CASSANDRA'S hair is
light blond, and LISA wears a yellow rose-bud in her dark hair. There is
something about her which resembles a boy, just as GIANINO reminds one of a
girl. Behind them a page enters, bearing a wine pitcher and cups of chased
silver.]
ANTONIO. To us those distant trees how wondrous fair,
All waving in the dreamy twilight air!
PARIS. What beauty we can find in yon blue bay
Where white-winged ships smooth gliding sail away!
[TITIANELLO, to the maidens whom he has greeted with a slight
inclination of the head. All the others turn.]
TITIANELLO. How we admire the lustre of your hair,
The fragrance it exhales through all the air!
The ivory whiteness of each pure-shaped limb,
The golden girdle that surrounds your form
We feel, as we feel music, deep and warm,
Because our understanding came from him!
(Bitterly.)
Yet they'll ne'er understand it there below!
DESIDERIO (to the maidens).
Is he alone? Shall we not go to him?
LAVINIA. He wishes no one, friends, so none need go.
TITIANELLO. Could Death in this great silence but unfold
His wings above him in the sunset's glow,
'Mid this wild beauty, strange, divine!
[All are silent. GIANINO has awaked, and, during the last
words, has risen to his feet. He is very pale, and looks anxiously from one to
the other.]
[All are silent. GIANINO takes a step toward TITIANELLO;
then stops, shuddering. Suddenly he throws himself at LAVINIA'S
feet,—who is standing a little in front of the others,—and presses
his face against her knees.]
GIANINO (slowly).
Death! Death, Lavinia! Horror seizes me!
I've never stood so close to Death before!
I never shall forget that we must die,
And I shall stand aloof with gloomy stare,
Where others laugh aloud, and silently,
Forevermore, shall think that we must die!
For once I saw how men went singing past,
And led with them a man condemned to death;
He staggered by, and saw about him stand
A host of living men, and trees that swayed,
And heard the wind that whispered in their boughs!
And we, Lavinia, we too go that road!
I slept, Lavinia, but a little space
There on the steps, and yet, when I awoke
The first word that mine ear perceived was
"Death!" [He shudders.]
An awful darkness settles on the world!
[LAVINIA stands erect, her eyes fixed on the clear and brilliant
sky. She strokes GIANINO'S head.]
LAVINIA. I see no darkness, but a butterfly
Unfolding brilliant wings; yonder a star
Begins to shine on high, while there, within,
An old, old man goes to his peaceful rest!
'Tis not the last step brings our weariness,
But rather makes us feel it ...
[While she is speaking with her back to the door of the house an
unseen hand has drawn the curtain aside, silently, but violently. All hurry up
the steps in breathless silence and, TITIANELLO leading the way, enter the
house.]
LAVINIA (speaks on with growing emotion).
Greet this life!
Hail, hail to him who, caught in Life's great net
Breathes deep, nor meditates upon his lot,
Abandoning himself to that great stream
Which bears him to the further shore ...
[She stops suddenly, and looks around; realizing what has occurred,
she turns, and follows the others.]
GIANINO (still kneeling, and shuddering [his voice is muffled].) 'Tis
done!
[He rises and follows the others. The curtain falls.]





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