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.

Lor. Well?

Bar. I yield not to you in love of justice, Or hate of the ambitious Foscari, 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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) "Doge Foscari, my debtor for the deaths Of Marco and Pietro Loredano, My sire and uncle?"

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 The wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretch Who shrieks within its riven ribs, as gush 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; 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," 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.

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 In this brief parley, and must now redeem it 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 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, 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 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 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, and Made my heart sick.

Guard. I see the colour comes 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?

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 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, 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 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, 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 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 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! 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.

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 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. 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, 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?

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 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. 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; 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 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, 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.

Mem. But as a culprit.

Sen. Yes, but to his country; And that was all he sought,--so he avouches.

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."

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-- 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 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, 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 by a sigh, 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 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.

Lor. He muttered many times between his teeth, But inarticulately.

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.

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? [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 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 To look on them again in this extremity: I'll hence, and try to soften Loredano. [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.

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 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 That I have added to her diadem The gems of Brescia and Ravenna; Crema 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, 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 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?

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," 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 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!" 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, 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.

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-- 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 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 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? 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 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 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, 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, 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 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.

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: 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 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 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.

Doge. And if they did so, better 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.

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: 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, 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 (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, 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.

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, 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 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, 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; your mysterious meetings, And unknown dooms, and sudden executions, Your "Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem The beings of another and worse world! Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye; 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 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?

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, 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; 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, Where Hunger swallows all in one low want, And the original ordinance, that man Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passions 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 Our days on seasons; our whole being on Something which is not us!--So, we are slaves, The greatest as the meanest--nothing rests Upon our will; the will itself no less Depends upon a straw than on a storm; And when we think we lead, we are most led, 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-- 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-- 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 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 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, 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 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 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, 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 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, The dates of their despair, the brief words of A grief too great for many. This stone page Holds like an epitaph their history; And the poor captive's tale is graven on His dungeon barrier, like the lover's record Upon the bark of some tall tree, 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. [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-- 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, 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 The gloom of this eternal cell, which never Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin 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 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?

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 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, 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 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! 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 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, But proudly still bestriding 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. 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, 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 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; 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 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 The hearts which broke in silence at that parting, Or after their departure; of that malady 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, which out of tones and tunes Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow Of the sad mountaineer, when far away From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds, That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought, And dies. 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.

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 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 Saw day go down upon your native spires 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.

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! 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! 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 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 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, 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 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 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 Of his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, although Venetian (who see few steeds save of bronze), From those Venetians who have skirred 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 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. 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 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 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!

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 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 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. 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, 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, 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, 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."

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.

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, 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, 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?

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, 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.

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?

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, 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 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 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 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, 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.

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 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 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 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 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: '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 Now you are last; but did the State demand The exile of the disinterréd ashes Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth, 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 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! 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, 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 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, 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 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!

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-- Your hands!

Mar. There's death in that damp, clammy grasp. 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 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 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 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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.

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. 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" (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." '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 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 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 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 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 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! 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 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 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 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 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: 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; 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. 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: 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. 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, 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, 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,

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. 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 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 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. 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!

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 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 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.

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, [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-- 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, 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. 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 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 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. 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-- 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, 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, 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! [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 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.

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 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! [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 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 He reigned: then let his funeral rites be princely.

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. 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. 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 A dreary comfort in my desolation. 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 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. 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 Of such. Well, sirs, your will be done! as one day, I trust, Heaven's will be done too!

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!

Chief of the Ten. What debt did he owe you?

Lor. A long and just one; Nature's debt and mine. [Curtain falls