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 from5The Question.

Lor. The hour's past--fixed yesterdayFor the resumption of his trial.--Let usRejoin our colleagues in the council, andUrge his recall.10

Bar. Nay, let him profit byA 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?15

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'sMost stoical endurance.20

Lor. Without owningHis crime?

Bar. Perhaps without committing any.But he avowed the letter to the DukeOf Milan, and his sufferings half atone for25Such weakness.

Lor. We shall see.

Bar. You, Loredano,Pursue hereditary hate too far.

Lor. How far?30

Bar. To extermination.

Lor. When they areExtinct, you may say this.--Let's in to council.

Bar. Yet pause--the number of our colleagues is notComplete yet; two are wanting ere we can35Proceed.

Lor. And the chief judge, the Doge?

Bar. No--he,With more than Roman fortitude, is everFirst at the board in this unhappy process40Against his last and only son.

Lor. True--true--His last.

Bar. Will nothing move you?

Lor. Feels he, think you?45

Bar. He shows it not.

Lor. I have marked that--the wretch!

Bar. But yesterday, I hear, on his returnTo the ducal chambers, as he passed the thresholdThe old man fainted.50

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 died55By poison.

Lor. When the Doge declared that heShould never deem himself a sovereign tillThe death of Peter Loredano, bothThe brothers sickened shortly:--he is Sovereign.60

Bar. A wretched one.

Lor. What should they be who makeOrphans?

Bar. But did the Doge make you so?

Lor. Yes.65

Bar. What solid proofs?

Lor. When Princes set themselvesTo work in secret, proofs and process areAlike made difficult; but I have suchOf the first, as shall make the second needless.70

Bar. But you will move by law?

Lor. By all the lawsWhich he would leave us.

Bar. They are such in thisOur state as render retribution easier75Than 'mongst remoter nations. Is it trueThat you have written in your books of commerce,(The wealthy practice of our highest nobles)"Doge Foscari, my debtor for the deathsOf Marco and Pietro Loredano,80My sire and uncle?"

Lor. It is written thus.

Bar. And will you leave it unerased?

Lor. Till balanced.

Bar. And how?85

[Two Senators pass over the stage, as in their wayto "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 long90Thy path of desolation, as the waveSweeps after that before it, alike whelmingThe wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretchWho shrieks within its riven ribs, as gushThe waters through them; but this son and sire95Might move the elements to pause, and yetMust I on hardily like them--Oh! wouldI could as blindly and remorselessly!--Lo, where he comes!--Be still, my heart! they areThy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat100For 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;105But 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 they110Who rule behold us.

Bar. (advancing to the Guard). There is one who does:Yet fear not; I will neither be thy judgeNor thy accuser; though the hour is past,Wait their last summons--I am of "the Ten,"115And waiting for that summons, sanction youEven 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.120

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 harsh125Which yield so much indulgence to a sire,As to allow his voice in such high matterAs the state's safety--

Jac. Fos. And his son's. I'm faint;Let me approach, I pray you, for a breath130Of 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 himFurther than thus: I have transgressed my dutyIn this brief parley, and must now redeem it135Within the Council Chamber. [Exit BARBARIGO.

[Guard conducting JACOPO FOSCARI to the window.

Guard. There, sir, 'tisOpen.--How feel you?

Jac. Fos. Like a boy--Oh Venice!140

Guard. And your limbs?

Jac. Fos. Limbs! how often have they borne meBounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimmedThe gondola along in childish race,And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst145My 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 onWith dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,150And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,Even to the goal!--How many a time have ICloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's strokeFlinging the billows back from my drenched hair,155And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'erThe waves as they arose, and prouder stillThe loftier they uplifted me; and oft,In wantonness of spirit, plunging down160Into their green and glassy gulfs, and makingMy way to shells and sea-weed, all unseenBy those above, till they waxed fearful; thenReturning with my grasp full of such tokensAs showed that I had searched the deep: exulting,165With a far-dashing stroke, and, drawing deepThe long-suspended breath, again I spurnedThe foam which broke around me, and pursuedMy track like a sea-bird.--I was a boy then.

Guard. Be a man now: there never was more need170Of 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,175And cool them into calmness! How unlikeThe hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,Which howled about my Candiote dungeon, andMade my heart sick.

Guard. I see the colour comes180Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bearWhat 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,185And the rack will be spared you.

Jac. Fos. I confessedOnce--twice before: both times they exiled me.

Guard. And the third time will slay you.

Jac. Fos. Let them do so,190So I be buried in my birth-place: betterBe 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 soilWhich persecutes me: but my native earth195Will 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!200

Guard. Signor, you hear the order.

Jac. Fos. Aye, I am used to such a summons; 'tisThe third time they have tortured me:--then lend meThine arm. [To the Guard.

Offi. Take mine, sir; 'tis my duty to205Be nearest to your person.

Jac. Fos. You!--you are heWho yesterday presided o'er my pangs--Away!--I'll walk alone.

Offi. As you please, Signor;210The sentence was not of my signing, butI dared not disobey the Council whenThey----

Jac. Fos. Bade thee stretch me on their horrid engine.I pray thee touch me not--that is, just now;215The time will come they will renew that order,But keep off from me till 'tis issued. AsI look upon thy hands my curdling limbsQuiver with the anticipated wrenching,And the cold drops strain through my brow, as if----220But 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,225The mirth of her Piazza--even nowIts merry hum of nations pierces here,Even here, into these chambers of the unknownWho govern, and the unknown and the unnumberedJudged and destroyed in silence,--all things wear230The 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.235

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; butMore I know not.240

Mem. And that is much; the secretsOf yon terrific chamber are as hiddenFrom us, the premier nobles of the state,As from the people.

Sen. Save the wonted rumours,245Which--like the tales of spectres, that are rifeNear ruined buildings--never have been proved,Nor wholly disbelieved: men know as littleOf the state's real acts as of the grave'sUnfathomed mysteries.250

Mem. But with length of timeWe gain a step in knowledge, and I lookForward to be one day of the decemvirs.

Sen. Or Doge?

Mem. Why, no; not if I can avoid it.255

Sen. 'Tis the first station of the state, and mayBe lawfully desired, and lawfullyAttained by noble aspirants.

Mem. To suchI leave it; though born noble, my ambition260Is limited: I'd rather be an unitOf 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.265

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 life270Has 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 thee275Where thou now art.

Mar. Where I now am!--It wasMy husband's father's palace.

Mem. The Duke's palace.

Mar. And his son's prison!--True, I have not forgot it;280And, if there were no other nearer, bittererRemembrances, would thank the illustrious MemmoFor pointing out the pleasures of the place.

Mem. Be calm!

Mar. (looking up towards heaven). I am; but oh, thou eternal God!285Canst 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,290So is the Doge; he has a son at stakeNow, at this moment, and I have a husband,Or had; they are there within, or were at leastAn hour since, face to face, as judge and culprit:Will he condemn him?295

Mem. I trust not.

Mar. But ifHe does not, there are those will sentence both.

Mem. They can.

Mar. And with them power and will are one300In 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 it305Live on, so the good die not, till the hourOf 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!310

Mem. 'Twas a cry of--

Mar. No, no; not my husband's--Not Foscari's.

Mem. The voice was--

Mar. Not his: no.315He 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?320

Mar. His voice! it seemed so: I will notBelieve it. Should he shrink, I cannot ceaseTo love; but--no--no--no--it must have beenA fearful pang, which wrung a groan from him.

Sen. And, feeling for thy husband's wrongs, wouldst thou325Have him bear more than mortal pain in silence?

Mar. We all must bear our tortures. I have notLeft barren the great house of Foscari,Though they sweep both the Doge and son from life;I have endured as much in giving life330To those who will succeed them, as they canIn 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 forthHeroes, and would not welcome them with tears.335

Mem. All's silent now.

Mar. Perhaps all's over; butI will not deem it: he hath nerved himself,And now defies them.

Enter an Officer hastily.340

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.345

Mar. Off! I will tend him.

Mem. You! Remember, lady!Ingress is given to none within those chambersExcept "the Ten," and their familiars.

Mar. Well,350I know that none who enter there returnAs they have entered--many never; butThey shall not balk my entrance.

Mem. Alas! thisIs but to expose yourself to harsh repulse,355And worse suspense.

Mar. Who shall oppose me?

Mem. TheyWhose duty 'tis to do so.

Mar. 'Tis their duty360To trample on all human feelings, allTies which bind man to man, to emulateThe fiends who will one day requite them inVariety of torturing! Yet I'll pass.

Mem. It is impossible.365

Mar. That shall be tried.Despair defies even despotism: there isThat in my heart would make its way through hostsWith levelled spears; and think you a few jailorsShall put me from my path? Give me, then, way;370This is the Doge's palace; I am wifeOf the Duke's son, the innocent Duke's son,And they shall hear this!

Mem. It will only serveMore to exasperate his judges.375

Mar. WhatAre judges who give way to anger? theyWho do so are assassins. Give me way. [Exit MARINA.

Sen. Poor lady!

Mem. 'Tis mere desperation: she380Will not be admitted o'er the threshold.

Sen. AndEven if she be so, cannot save her husband.But, see, the officer returns.[The Officer passes over the stage with another person.385

Mem. I hardlyThought that "the Ten" had even this touch of pity,Or would permit assistance to this sufferer.

Sen. Pity! Is't pity to recall to feelingThe wretch too happy to escape to Death390By the compassionate trance, poor Nature's lastResource 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,395Because all earth, except his native land,To him is one wide prison, and each breathOf foreign air he draws seems a slow poison,Consuming but not killing.

Mem. Circumstance400Confirms his crimes, but he avows them not.

Sen. None, save the Letter, which, he says, was writtenAddressed to Milan's duke, in the full knowledgeThat it would fall into the Senate's hands,And thus he should be re-conveyed to Venice.405

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 homicide410Has been annulled by the death-bed confessionOf Nicolas Erizzo, who slew the lateChief of "the Ten."

Mem. Then why not clear him?

Sen. That415They ought to answer; for it is well knownThat Almoro Donato, as I said,Was slain by Erizzo for private vengeance.

Mem. There must be more in this strange process thanThe apparent crimes of the accused disclose--420But 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 meet425The trial should go further at this moment.

Lor. And so the Council must break up, and JusticePause in her full career, because a womanBreaks in on our deliberations?

Bar. No,430That's not the cause; you saw the prisoner's state.

Lor. And had he not recovered?

Bar. To relapseUpon the least renewal.

Lor. 'Twas not tried.435

Bar. 'Tis vain to murmur; the majorityIn council were against you.

Lor. Thanks to you, sir,And the old ducal dotard, who combinedThe worthy voices which o'er-ruled my own.440

Bar. I am a judge; but must confess that partOf our stern duty, which prescribes the Question,And bids us sit and see its sharp infliction,Makes me wish--

Lor. What?445

Bar. That you would sometimes feel,As I do always.

Lor. Go to, you're a child,Infirm of feeling as of purpose, blownAbout by every breath, shook by a sigh,450And melted by a tear--a precious judgeFor Venice! and a worthy statesman toBe partner in my policy.

Bar. He shedNo tears.455

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 painAs was forced on him; but he did not cry460For 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.465

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,470And were the first to call out for assistanceWhen he was failing.

Lor. I believed that swoonHis last.

Bar. And have I not oft heard thee name475His 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 have480His 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,485And the repressed convulsion of the highAnd princely brow of his old father, whichBroke forth in a slight shuddering, though rarely,Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped awayIn stern serenity; these moved you not?490[Exit LOREDANO.He's silent in his hate, as FoscariWas in his suffering; and the poor wretch moved meMore by his silence than a thousand outcriesCould have effected. 'Twas a dreadful sight495When his distracted wife broke through intoThe hall of our tribunal, and beheldWhat we could scarcely look upon, long usedTo such sights. I must think no more of this,Lest I forget in this compassion for500Our foes, their former injuries, and loseThe hold of vengeance Loredano plansFor him and me; but mine would be contentWith lesser retribution than he thirsts for,And I would mitigate his deeper hatred505To milder thoughts; but, for the present, FoscariHas a short hourly respite, granted atThe instance of the elders of the Council,Moved doubtless by his wife's appearance inThe hall, and his own sufferings.--Lo! they come:510How feeble and forlorn! I cannot bearTo look on them again in this extremity:I'll hence, and try to soften Loredano.[Exit BARBARIGO.

ACT II.515

SCENE I.--A hall in the DOGE'S Palace.

The DOGE and a Senator.

Sen. Is it your pleasure to sign the reportNow, or postpone it till to-morrow?

Doge. Now;520I overlooked it yesterday: it wantsMerely 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.525

Doge. Not signed? Ah, I perceive my eyes beginTo wax more weak with age. I did not seeThat I had dipped the pen without effect.

Sen. (dipping the pen into the ink, and placing the paperbefore the DOGE). Your hand, too, shakes, my Lord: allow me, thus--530

Doge. 'Tis done, I thank you.

Sen. Thus the act confirmedBy you and by "the Ten" gives peace to Venice.

Doge. 'Tis long since she enjoyed it: may it beAs long ere she resume her arms!535

Sen. 'Tis almostThirty-four years of nearly ceaseless warfareWith the Turk, or the powers of Italy;The state had need of some repose.

Doge. No doubt:540I found her Queen of Ocean, and I leave herLady of Lombardy; it is a comfortThat I have added to her diademThe gems of Brescia and Ravenna; CremaAnd Bergamo no less are hers; her realm545By 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.550

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.555

Doge. For me, Signor?

Sen. And for your----

Doge. Stop!

Sen. It must have way, my Lord:I have too many duties towards you560And all your house, for past and present kindness,Not to feel deeply for your son.

Doge. Was thisIn your commission?

Sen. What, my Lord?565

Doge. This prattleOf things you know not: but the treaty's signed;Return with it to them who sent you.

Sen. IObey. I had in charge, too, from the Council,570That 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 cause575The loss of an hour's time unto the State.Let them meet when they will, I shall be foundWhere I should be, and what I have been ever.[Exit Senator. The DOGE remains in silence.

Enter an Attendant.580

Att. Prince!

Doge. Say on.

Att. The illustrious lady FoscariRequests an audience.

Doge. Bid her enter. Poor585Marina![Exit Attendant. The DOGE remains in silence as before.

Enter MARINA.

Mar. I have ventured, father, onYour privacy.590

Doge. I have none from you, my child.Command my time, when not commanded byThe State.

Mar. I wished to speak to you of him.

Doge. Your husband?595

Mar. And your son.

Doge. Proceed, my daughter!

Mar. I had obtained permission from "the Ten"To attend my husband for a limited numberOf hours.600

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,605The gloomy guardian of that passage firstDemurred: 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 that610Until that high tribunal reassembledThe dungeon walls must still divide us.

Doge. True,The form has been omitted in the hasteWith which the court adjourned; and till it meets,615'Tis dubious.

Mar. Till it meets! and when it meets,They'll torture him again; and he and IMust purchase by renewal of the rackThe interview of husband and of wife,620The 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--625You, who can talk thus calmly of a sonIn circumstances which would call forth tearsOf blood from Spartans! Though these did not weepTheir boys who died in battle, is it writtenThat they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor630Stretched forth a hand to save them?

Doge. You behold me:I cannot weep--I would I could; but ifEach white hair on this head were a young life,This ducal cap the Diadem of earth,635This ducal ring with which I wed the wavesA talisman to still them--I'd give allFor him.

Mar. With less he surely might be saved.

Doge. That answer only shows you know not Venice.640Alas! how should you? she knows not herself,In all her mystery. Hear me--they who aimAt 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,645And 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,650For all that yet is past, as many yearsAnd 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 deny655Nor palliate, as parent or as Duke:Had he but borne a little, little longerHis Candiote exile, I had hopes--he has quenched them--He must return.

Mar. To exile?660

Doge. I have said it.

Mar. And can I not go with him?

Doge. You well knowThis prayer of yours was twice denied beforeBy the assembled "Ten," and hardly now665Will be accorded to a third request,Since aggravated errors on the partOf your Lord renders them still more austere.

Mar. Austere? Atrocious! The old human fiends,With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange670To tears save drops of dotage, with long whiteAnd scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and headsAs palsied as their hearts are hard, they counsel,Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if LifeWere no more than the feelings long extinguished675In 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 thatMen, who have been of women born and suckled--680Who have loved, or talked at least of Love--have givenTheir hands in sacred vows--have danced their babesUpon their knees, perhaps have mourned above them--In pain, in peril, or in death--who are,Or were, at least in seeming, human, could685Do as they have done by yours, and you yourself--You, who abet them?

Doge. I forgive this, forYou know not what you say.

Mar. You know it well,690And 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;695And 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 thatWhich----but I pity thee, my poor Marina!700

Mar. Pity my husband, or I cast it from me;Pity thy son! Thou pity!--'tis a wordStrange to thy heart--how came it on thy lips?

Doge. I must bear these reproaches, though they wrong me.Couldst thou but read----705

Mar. 'Tis not upon thy brow,Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,--where thenShould I behold this sympathy? or shall?

Doge (pointing downwards). There.

Mar. In the earth?710

Doge. To which I am tending: whenIt lies upon this heart, far lightlier, thoughLoaded with marble, than the thoughts which press itNow, you will know me better.

Mar. Are you, then,715Indeed, thus to be pitied?

Doge. Pitied! NoneShall ever use that base word, with which menCloak their soul's hoarded triumph, as a fit oneTo mingle with my name; that name shall be,720As far as I have borne it, what it wasWhen I received it.

Mar. But for the poor childrenOf him thou canst not, or thou wilt not save,You were the last to bear it.725

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 beat730Within a human breast. I would not changeMy exiled, persecuted, mangled husband,Oppressed but not disgraced, crushed, overwhelmed,Alive, or dead, for Prince or PaladinIn story or in fable, with a world735To 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!740Did you but love your Country like this victimWho totters back in chains to tortures, andSubmits to all things rather than to exile,You'd fling yourselves before him, and imploreHis grace for your enormous guilt.745

Doge. He wasIndeed all you have said. I better boreThe deaths of the two sons Heaven took from me,Than Jacopo's disgrace.

Mar. That word again?750

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 joy755When 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 usIn fatal moments?

Doge. I shrank not from him:760But 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.765

Att. A message from"The Ten."

Doge. Who bears it?

Att. Noble Loredano.

Doge. He!--but admit him. [Exit Attendant.770

Mar. Must I then retire?

Doge. Perhaps it is not requisite, if thisConcerns your husband, and if not----Well, Signor,[To LOREDANO entering.Your pleasure?775

Lor. I bear that of "the Ten."

Doge. TheyHave chosen well their envoy.

Lor. 'Tis their choiceWhich leads me here.780

Doge. It does their wisdom honour,And no less to their courtesy.--Proceed.

Lor. We have decided.

Doge. We?

Lor. "The Ten" in council.785

Doge. What! have they met again, and met withoutApprising me?

Lor. They wished to spare your feelings,No less than age.

Doge. That's new--when spared they either?790I thank them, notwithstanding.

Lor. You know wellThat 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 before795I became Doge, or dreamed of such advancement.You need not school me, Signor; I sate inThat Council when you were a young patrician.

Lor. True, in my father's time; I have heard him andThe Admiral, his brother, say as much.800Your Highness may remember them; they bothDied suddenly.

Doge. And if they did so, betterSo die than live on lingeringly in pain.

Lor. No doubt: yet most men like to live their days out.805

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?810

Lor. So far from strange, that never was there deathIn my mind half so natural as theirs.Think you not so?

Doge. What should I think of mortals?

Lor. That they have mortal foes.815

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 heard820Foul rumours were abroad; I have also readTheir epitaph, attributing their deathsTo poison. 'Tis perhaps as true as mostInscriptions upon tombs, and yet no lessA fable.825

Lor. Who dares say so?

Doge. I!----'Tis trueYour fathers were mine enemies, as bitterAs their son e'er can be, and I no lessWas theirs; but I was openly their foe:830I never worked by plot in Council, norCabal in commonwealth, nor secret meansOf practice against life by steel or drug.The proof is--your existence.

Lor. I fear not.835

Doge. You have no cause, being what I am; but were IThat you would have me thought, you long ere nowWere past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not.

Lor. I never yet knew that a noble's lifeIn Venice had to dread a Doge's frown,840That 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 knowWho dreaded to elect me, and have since845Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure,Before or since that period, had I held youAt so much price as to require your absence,A word of mine had set such spirits to workAs would have made you nothing. But in all things850I have observed the strictest reverence;Not for the laws alone, for those you have strained(I do not speak of you but as a singleVoice of the many) somewhat beyond whatI could enforce for my authority,855Were I disposed to brawl; but, as I said,I have observed with veneration, likeA priest's for the High Altar, even untoThe sacrifice of my own blood and quiet,Safety, and all save honour, the decrees,860The health, the pride, and welfare of the State.And now, sir, to your business.

Lor. 'Tis decreed,That, without further repetition ofThe Question, or continuance of the trial,865Which only tends to show how stubborn guilt is,("The Ten," dispensing with the stricter lawWhich still prescribes the Question till a fullConfession, and the prisoner partly havingAvowed his crime in not denying that870The 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 moreBefore that horrible tribunal. Would he875But think so, to my mind the happiest doom,Not he alone, but all who dwell here, couldDesire, 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?880

Lor. Of this "the Ten" said nothing.

Mar. So I thought!That were too human, also. But it was notInhibited?

Lor. It was not named.885

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 bePermitted to accompany my husband.890

Doge. I will endeavour.

Mar. And you, Signor?

Lor. Lady!'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasureOf the tribunal.895

Mar. Pleasure! what a wordTo use for the decrees of----

Doge. Daughter, know youIn what a presence you pronounce these things?

Mar. A Prince's and his subject's.900

Lor. Subject!

Mar. Oh!It galls you:--well, you are his equal, asYou think; but that you are not, nor would be,Were he a peasant:--well, then, you're a Prince,905A princely noble; and what then am I?

Lor. The offspring of a noble house.

Mar. And weddedTo one as noble. What, or whose, then, isThe presence that should silence my free thoughts?910

Lor. The presence of your husband's Judges.

Doge. AndThe deference due even to the lightest wordThat falls from those who rule in Venice.

Mar. Keep915Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics,Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves,Your tributaries, your dumb citizens,And masked nobility, your sbirri, andYour spies, your galley and your other slaves,920To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings,Your dungeons next the palace roofs, or underThe water's level; your mysterious meetings,And unknown dooms, and sudden executions,Your "Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and925Your torturing instruments, have made ye seemThe 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 infernalProcess of my poor husband! Treat me as930Ye treated him:--you did so, in so dealingWith him. Then what have I to fear from you,Even if I were of fearful nature, whichI trust I am not?

Doge. You hear, she speaks wildly.935

Mar. Not wisely, yet not wildly.

Lor. Lady! wordsUttered within these walls I bear no furtherThan to the threshold, saving such as passBetween the Duke and me on the State's service.940Doge! have you aught in answer?

Doge. Something fromThe Doge; it may be also from a parent.

Lor. My mission here is to the Doge.

Doge. Then say945The Doge will choose his own ambassador,Or state in person what is meet; and forThe father----

Lor. I remember mine.--Farewell!I kiss the hands of the illustrious Lady,950And 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 them955Save he who made? or, if they can, the fewAnd gifted spirits, who have studied longThat loathsome volume--man, and pored uponThose black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain,But learn a magic which recoils upon960The adept who pursues it: all the sinsWe 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 well965We should remember Fortune can take noughtSave what she gave--the rest was nakedness,And lusts, and appetites, and vanities,The universal heritage, to battleWith as we may, and least in humblest stations,970Where Hunger swallows all in one low want,And the original ordinance, that manMust sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passionsAloof, save fear of famine! All is low,And false, and hollow--clay from first to last,975The Prince's urn no less than potter's vessel.Our Fame is in men's breath, our lives uponLess than their breath; our durance upon daysOur days on seasons; our whole being onSomething which is not us!--So, we are slaves,980The greatest as the meanest--nothing restsUpon our will; the will itself no lessDepends 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 much985Without our act or choice as birth, so thatMethinks we must have sinned in some old world,And this is Hell: the best is, that it is notEternal.

Mar. These are things we cannot judge990On earth.

Doge. And how then shall we judge each other,Who are all earth, and I, who am called uponTo judge my son? I have administeredMy country faithfully--victoriously--995I dare them to the proof, the chart of whatShe was and is: my reign has doubled realms;And, in reward, the gratitude of VeniceHas left, or is about to leave, me single.

Mar. And Foscari? I do not think of such things,1000So I be left with him.

Doge. You shall be so;Thus much they cannot well deny.

Mar. And ifThey should, I will fly with him.1005

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,1010And live nor girt by spies, nor liableTo edicts of inquisitors of state.

Doge. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband,And turn him into traitor?

Mar. He is none!1015The Country is the traitress, which thrusts forthHer best and bravest from her. TyrannyIs far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deemNone rebels except subjects? The Prince whoNeglects or violates his trust is more1020A brigand than the robber-chief.

Doge. I cannotCharge me with such a breach of faith.

Mar No; thouObserv'st, obey'st such laws as make old Draco's1025A code of mercy by comparison.

Doge. I found the law; I did not make it. Were IA subject, still I might find parts and portionsFit for amendment; but as Prince, I neverWould change, for the sake of my house, the charter1030Left by our fathers.

Mar. Did they make it forThe ruin of their children?

Doge. Under such laws, VeniceHas risen to what she is--a state to rival1035In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add,In glory (for we have had Roman spiritsAmongst us), all that history has bequeathedOf Rome and Carthage in their best times, whenThe people swayed by Senates.1040

Mar. Rather say,Groaned under the stern Oligarchs.

Doge. Perhaps so;But yet subdued the World: in such a stateAn individual, be he richest of1045Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest,Without a name, is alike nothing, whenThe policy, irrevocably tendingTo one great end, must be maintained in vigour.

Mar. This means that you are more a Doge than father.1050

Doge. It means, I am more citizen than either.If we had not for many centuriesHad thousands of such citizens, and shall,I trust, have still such, Venice were no city.

Mar. Accurséd be the city where the laws1055Would stifle Nature's!

Doge. Had I as many sonsAs I have years, I would have given them all,Not without feeling, but I would have given themTo the State's service, to fulfil her wishes,1060On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be,As it, alas! has been, to ostracism,Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worseShe might decree.

Mar. And this is Patriotism?1065To me it seems the worst barbarity.Let me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten,"With all its jealousy, will hardly warSo far with a weak woman as deny meA moment's access to his dungeon.1070

Doge. I'llSo far take on myself, as order thatYou may be admitted.

Mar. And what shall I sayTo Foscari from his father?1075

Doge. That he obeyThe laws.

Mar. And nothing more? Will you not see himEre he depart? It may be the last time.

Doge. The last!--my boy!--the last time I shall see1080My 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 walls1085Which never echoed but to Sorrow's sounds,The sigh of long imprisonment, the stepOf feet on which the iron clanked the groanOf Death, the imprecation of Despair!And yet for this I have returned to Venice,1090With some faint hope, 'tis true, that Time, which wearsThe marble down, had worn away the hateOf men's hearts; but I knew them not, and hereMust I consume my own, which never beatFor Venice but with such a yearning as1095The dove has for her distant nest, when wheelingHigh in the air on her return to greetHer callow brood. What letters are these which[Approaching the wall.Are scrawled along the inexorable wall?1100Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the namesOf my sad predecessors in this place,The dates of their despair, the brief words ofA grief too great for many. This stone pageHolds like an epitaph their history;1105And the poor captive's tale is graven onHis dungeon barrier, like the lover's recordUpon the bark of some tall tree, which bearsHis own and his belovéd's name. Alas!I recognise some names familiar to me,1110And 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."1115

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.1120

Jac. Fos. (after drinking). I thank you: I am better.

Fam. I am commanded to inform you thatYour further trial is postponed.

Jac. Fos. Till when?

Fam. I know not.--It is also in my orders1125That 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!1130

Jac. Fos. (embracing her). My true wife,And only friend! What happiness!

Mar. We'll partNo more.

Jac. Fos. How! would'st thou share a dungeon?1135

Mar. Aye,The rack, the grave, all--any thing with thee,But the tomb last of all, for there we shallBe ignorant of each other, yet I willShare that--all things except new separation;1140It 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 joyOf seeing thee again so soon, and so1145Without expectancy, has sent the bloodBack to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine,For thou art pale too, my Marina!

Mar. 'TisThe gloom of this eternal cell, which never1150Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glareOf the familiar's torch, which seems akinTo darkness more than light, by lending toThe dungeon vapours its bituminous smoke,Which cloud whate'er we gaze on, even thine eyes--1155No, 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 meFamiliarity with what was darkness;1160And the grey twilight of such glimmerings asGlide through the crevices made by the windsWas kinder to mine eyes than the full Sun,When gorgeously o'ergilding any towersSave those of Venice; but a moment ere1165Thou earnest hither I was busy writing.

Mar. What?

Jac. Fos. My name: look, 'tis there--recorded nextThe name of him who here preceded me,--If dungeon dates say true.1170

Mar. And what of him?

Jac. Fos. These walls are silent of men's ends; they onlySeem to hint shrewdly of them. Such stern wallsWere never piled on high save o'er the dead,Or those who soon must be so.--What of him?1175Thou 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:1180The tyranny of silence is not lasting,And, though events be hidden, just men's groansWill burst all cerement, even a living grave's!I do not doubt my memory, but my life;And neither do I fear.1185

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:1190The Mind is much, but is not all. The MindHath 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 judges1195Than me; but 'tis not all, for there are thingsMore woful--such as this small dungeon, whereI may breathe many years.

Mar. Alas! and thisSmall dungeon is all that belongs to thee1200Of 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 hope1205Will stream along those moted rays of lightPeopled with dusty atoms, which affordOur only day; for, save the gaoler's torch,And a strange firefly, which was quickly caughtLast night in yon enormous spider's net,1210I 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.1215

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,1220Which they term annals, history, what you will,Which men bequeath as portraits, and they wereRefused me,--so these walls have been my study,More faithful pictures of Venetian story,With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is1225The Hall not far from hence, which bears on highHundreds of Doges, and their deeds and dates.

Mar. I come to tell thee the result of theirLast council on thy doom.

Jac. Fos. I know it--look!1230

[He points to his limbs, as referring to the Questionwhich he had undergone.

Mar. No--no--no more of that: even they relentFrom that atrocity.

Jac. Fos. What then?1235

Mar. That youReturn 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 something1240In my native air that buoyed my spirits upLike 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,1245And 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.1250What! 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 thine1255For an ungrateful and tyrannic soilIs 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.1260This crowd of palaces and prisons is notA Paradise; its first inhabitantsWere wretched exiles.

Jac. Fos. Well I know how wretched!

Mar. And yet you see how, from their banishment1265Before the Tartar into these salt isles,Their antique energy of mind, all thatRemained of Rome for their inheritance,Created by degrees an ocean Rome;And shall an evil, which so often leads1270To good, depress thee thus?

Jac. Fos. Had I gone forthFrom my own land, like the old patriarchs, seekingAnother region, with their flocks and herds;Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion,1275Or like our fathers, driven by AttilaFrom fertile Italy, to barren islets,I would have given some tears to my late countryAnd many thoughts; but afterwards addressedMyself, with those about me, to create1280A new home and fresh state: perhaps I couldHave borne this--though I know not.

Mar. Wherefore not?It was the lot of millions, and must beThe fate of myriads more.1285

Jac. Fos. Aye--we but hearOf the survivors' toil in their new lands,Their numbers and success; but who can numberThe hearts which broke in silence at that parting,Or after their departure; of that malady1290Which calls up green and native fields to viewFrom the rough deep, with such identityTo the poor exile's fevered eye, that heCan scarcely be restrained from treading them?That melody, which out of tones and tunes1295Collects such pasture for the longing sorrowOf the sad mountaineer, when far awayFrom 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,1300I 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 curseUpon my soul--the mark is set upon me.1305The 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?1310

Mar. They,I fear, by the prevention of the state'sAbhorrent policy, (which holds all tiesAs threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),Will not be suffered to proceed with us.1315

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 thisLearn you to sway your feelings, when exacted1320By duties paramount; and 'tis our firstOn earth to bear.

Jac. Fos. Have I not borne?

Mar. Too muchFrom tyrannous injustice, and enough1325To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,Which, as compared with what you have undergoneOf late, is mercy.

Jac. Fos. Ah! you never yetWere far away from Venice, never saw1330Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,While every furrow of the vessel's trackSeemed ploughing deep into your heart; you neverSaw day go down upon your native spiresSo calmly with its gold and crimson glory,1335And after dreaming a disturbéd visionOf them and theirs, awoke and found them not.

Mar. I will divide this with you. Let us thinkOf our departure from this much-loved city,(Since you must love it, as it seems,) and this1340Chamber 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.1345

Jac. Fos. Where?

Mar. Here, or in the ducal chamber--He said not which. I would that you could bearYour exile as he bears it.

Jac. Fos. Blame him not.1350I sometimes murmur for a moment; butHe could not now act otherwise. A showOf feeling or compassion on his partWould have but drawn upon his agéd headSuspicion from "the Ten," and upon mine1355Accumulated ills.

Mar. Accumulated!What pangs are those they have spared you?

Jac. Fos. That of leavingVenice without beholding him or you,1360Which might have been forbidden now, as 'twasUpon 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 both1365Floating 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?1370

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; and1375Though last, not least, thy silence! Couldst thou sayAught 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.1380

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 drawnSuch presence hither.1385

Lor. 'Tis not the first timeI have visited these places.

Mar. Nor would beThe last, were all men's merits well rewarded.Came you here to insult us, or remain1390As spy upon us, or as hostage for us?

Lor. Neither are of my office, noble Lady!I am sent hither to your husband, toAnnounce "the Ten's" decree.

Mar. That tenderness1395Has 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.1400If you come for our thanks, take them, and hence!The dungeon gloom is deep enough without you,And full of reptiles, not less loathsome, thoughTheir sting is honester.

Jac. Fos. I pray you, calm you:1405What can avail such words?

Mar. To let him knowThat he is known.

Lor. Let the fair dame preserveHer sex's privilege.1410

Mar. I have some sons, sir,Will one day thank you better.

Lor. You do wellTo nurse them wisely. Foscari--you knowYour sentence, then?1415

Jac. Fos. Return to Candia?

Lor. True--For life.

Jac. Fos. Not long.

Lor. I said--for life.1420

Jac. Fos. And IRepeat--not long.

Lor. A year's imprisonmentIn Canea--afterwards the freedom ofThe whole isle.1425

Jac. Fos. Both the same to me: the afterFreedom as is the first imprisonment.Is't true my wife accompanies me?

Lor. Yes,If she so wills it.1430

Mar. Who obtained that justice?

Lor. One who wars not with women.

Mar. But oppressesMen: howsoever let him have my thanksFor the only boon I would have asked or taken1435From him or such as he is.

Lor. He receives themAs they are offered.

Mar. May they thrive with himSo much!--no more.1440

Jac. Fos. Is this, sir, your whole mission?Because we have brief time for preparation,And you perceive your presence doth disquietThis lady, of a house noble as yours.

Mar. Nobler!1445

Lor. How nobler?

Mar. As more generous!We say the "generous steed" to express the purityOf his high blood. Thus much I've learnt, althoughVenetian (who see few steeds save of bronze),1450From those Venetians who have skirred the coastsOf Egypt and her neighbour Araby:And why not say as soon the "generous man?"If race be aught, it is in qualitiesMore than in years; and mine, which is as old1455As yours, is better in its product, nay--Look not so stern--but get you back, and poreUpon your genealogic tree's most greenOf leaves and most mature of fruits, and thereBlush to find ancestors, who would have blushed1460For such a son--thou cold inveterate hater!

Jac. Fos. Again, Marina!

Mar. Again! still, Marina.See you not, he comes here to glut his hateWith a last look upon our misery?1465Let him partake it!

Jac. Fos. That were difficult.

Mar. Nothing more easy. He partakes it now--Aye, he may veil beneath a marble browAnd sneering lip the pang, but he partakes it.1470A few brief words of truth shame the Devil's servantsNo less than Master; I have probed his soulA 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,1475To scatter o'er his kind as he thinks fit;They are his weapons, not his armour, forI 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 worst1480Of destinies: each day secures him moreHis 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.1485

Mar. That's false!You came here to enjoy a heartless triumphOf cold looks upon manifold griefs! You cameTo be sued to in vain--to mark our tears,And hoard our groans--to gaze upon the wreck1490Which you have made a Prince's son--my husband;In short, to trample on the fallen--an officeThe hangman shrinks from, as all men from him!How have you sped? We are wretched, Signor, asYour plots could make, and vengeance could desire us,1495And 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,1500The sole fit habitant of such a cell,Which he has peopled often, but ne'er fitlyTill he himself shall brood in it alone.

Enter the DOGE.

Jac. Fos. My father!1505

Doge (embracing him). Jacopo! my son--my son!

Jac. Fos. My father still! How long it is since IHave heard thee name my name--our name!

Doge. My boy!Couldst thou but know----1510

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?1515

Mar. Caution!

Lor. BeingThe virtue which this noble lady mostMay practise, she doth well to recommend it.

Mar. Wretch! 'tis no virtue, but the policy1520Of those who fain must deal perforce with vice:As such I recommend it, as I wouldTo one whose foot was on an adder's path.

Doge. Daughter, it is superfluous; I have longKnown Loredano.1525

Lor. You may know him better.

Mar. Yes; worse he could not.

Jac. Fos. Father, let not theseOur parting hours be lost in listening toReproaches, which boot nothing. Is it--is it,1530Indeed, our last of meetings?

Doge. You beholdThese white hairs!

Jac. Fos. And I feel, besides, that mineWill never be so white. Embrace me, father!1535I 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?1540

Mar. No--not here.

Jac. Fos. They might behold their parent any where.

Mar. I would that they beheld their father inA place which would not mingle fear with love,To freeze their young blood in its natural current.1545They have fed well, slept soft, and knew not thatTheir 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, though1550Alive to love, are yet awake to terror;And these vile damps, too, and yon thick green waveWhich floats above the place where we now stand--A cell so far below the water's level,Sending its pestilence through every crevice,1555Might 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 not1560Reflected 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.1565

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,1570In all things painful. If they're sick, they willBe left to me to tend them; should they die,To me to bury and to mourn; but ifThey live, they'll make you soldiers, senators,Slaves, exiles--what you will; or if they are1575Females 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 windNe'er blows in all its blustering freedom?1580

Lor. 'Twas soWhen I came here. The galley floats withinA bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni."

Jac. Fos. Father! I pray you to precede me, andPrepare my children to behold their father.1585

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 oweIn part your past imprisonment.1590

Lor. And presentLiberation.

Doge. He speaks truth.

Jac. Fos. No doubt! but 'tisExchange of chains for heavier chains I owe him.1595He 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 lingeringlyTo leave abodes like this: but when I feel1600That every step I take, even from this cell,Is one away from Venice, I look backEven on these dull damp walls, and----

Doge. Boy! no tears.

Mar. Let them flow on: he wept not on the rack1605To 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 awayThose tears, or add my own. I could weep now,But would not gratify yon wretch so far.1610Let 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.1615

Jac. Fos. Alas!Must youth support itself on age, and IWho ought to be the prop of yours?

Lor. Take mine.

Mar. Touch it not, Foscari; 'twill sting you. Signor,1620Stand off! be sure, that if a grasp of yoursWould 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.1625

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.1630

Bar. 'Tis hard upon his years.

Lor. Say ratherKind to relieve him from the cares of State.

Bar. 'Twill break his heart.

Lor. Age has no heart to break.1635He has seen his son's half broken, and, exceptA start of feeling in his dungeon, neverSwerved.

Bar. In his countenance, I grant you, never;But I have seen him sometimes in a calm1640So desolate, that the most clamorous griefHad nought to envy him within. Where is he?

Lor. In his own portion of the palace, withHis son, and the whole race of Foscaris.

Bar. Bidding farewell.1645

Lor. A last! as, soon, he shallBid to his Dukedom.

Bar. When embarks the son?

Lor. Forthwith--when this long leave is taken. 'TisTime to admonish them again.1650

Bar. Forbear;Retrench not from their moments.

Lor. Not I, nowWe have higher business for our own. This dayShall be the last of the old Doge's reign,1655As 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 ruleDenounced of retribution from all time;1660They 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.1665

Bar. But if this deposition should take placeBy our united influence in the Council,It must be done with all the deferenceDue to his years, his station, and his deeds.

Lor. As much of ceremony as you will,1670So that the thing be done. You may, for aughtI care, depute the Council on their knees,(Like Barbarossa to the Pope,) to beg himTo have the courtesy to abdicate.

Bar. What if he will not?1675

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.1680

Bar. At your own peril?

Lor. There is none, I tell you,Our powers are such.

Bar. But he has twice alreadySolicited permission to retire,1685And twice it was refused.

Lor. The better reasonTo grant it the third time.

Bar. Unasked?

Lor. It shows1690The 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.1695I have prepared such arguments as will notFail to move them, and to remove him: sinceTheir thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do notYou, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,And all will prosper.1700

Bar. Could I but be certainThis is no prelude to such persecutionOf the sire as has fallen upon the son,I would support you.

Lor. He is safe, I tell you;1705His fourscore years and five may linger onAs long as he can drag them: 'tis his throneAlone is aimed at.

Bar. But discarded PrincesAre seldom long of life.1710

Lor. And men of eightyMore seldom still.

Bar. And why not wait these few years?

Lor. Because we have waited long enough, and heLived longer than enough. Hence! in to council!1715[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 wont1720To let their thoughts anticipate their purposeBy previous proclamation. We are summoned--That is enough.

Sen. For them, but not for us;I would know why.1725

Mem. You will know why anon,If you obey: and, if not, you no lessWill know why you should have obeyed.

Sen. I mean notTo oppose them, but----1730

Mem. In Venice "but"'s a traitor.But me no "buts" unless you would pass o'erThe Bridge which few repass.

Sen. I am silent.

Mem. Why1735Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have called in aidOf their deliberation five and twentyPatricians of the Senate--you are one,And I another; and it seems to meBoth honoured by the choice or chance which leads us1740To 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 thoseOf noble blood may,) one day hope to be1745Decemvir, it is surely for the Senate'sChosen delegates, a school of wisdom, toBe thus admitted, though as novices,To view the mysteries.

Sen. Let us view them: they,1750No doubt, are worth it.

Mem. Being worth our livesIf we divulge them, doubtless they are worthSomething, at least to you or me.

Sen. I sought not1755A place within the sanctuary; but beingChosen, however reluctantly so chosen,I shall fulfil my office.

Mem. Let us notBe latest in obeying "the Ten's" summons.1760

Sen. All are not met, but I am of your thoughtSo far--let's in.

Mem. The earliest are most welcomeIn earnest councils--we will not be least so. [Exeunt.

Enter the DOGE, JACOPO FOSCARI, and MARINA.1765

Jac. Fos. Ah, father! though I must and will depart,Yet--yet--I pray you to obtain for meThat I once more return unto my home,Howe'er remote the period. Let there beA point of time, as beacon to my heart,1770With any penalty annexed they please,But let me still return.

Doge. Son Jacopo,Go and obey our Country's will: 'tis notFor us to look beyond.1775

Jac. Fos. But still I mustLook back. I pray you think of me.

Doge. Alas!You ever were my dearest offspring, whenThey were more numerous, nor can be less so1780Now you are last; but did the State demandThe exile of the disinterréd ashesOf your three goodly brothers, now in earth,And their desponding shades came flitting roundTo impede the act, I must no less obey1785A duty, paramount to every duty.

Mar. My husband! let us on: this but prolongsOur sorrow.

Jac. Fos. But we are not summoned yet;The galley's sails are not unfurled:--who knows?1790The wind may change.

Mar. And if it do, it will notChange their hearts, or your lot: the galley's oarsWill quickly clear the harbour.

Jac. Fos. O, ye Elements!1795Where are your storms?

Mar. In human breasts. Alas!Will nothing calm you?

Jac. Fos. Never yet did marinerPut up to patron saint such prayers for prosperous1800And pleasant breezes, as I call upon you,Ye tutelar saints of my own city! whichYe love not with more holy love than I,To lash up from the deep the Adrian waves,And waken Auster, sovereign of the Tempest!1805Till the sea dash me back on my own shoreA broken corse upon the barren Lido,Where I may mingle with the sands which skirtThe land I love, and never shall see more!

Mar. And wish you this with me beside you?1810

Jac. Fos. No--No--not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thouLive long to be a mother to those childrenThy fond fidelity for a time deprivesOf such support! But for myself alone,1815May 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, thenCast me out from amongst them, as an offering1820To appease the waves. The billow which destroys meWill be more merciful than man, and bear meDead, but still bear me to a native grave,From fishers' hands, upon the desolate strand,Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received1825One lacerated like the heart which thenWill be.--But wherefore breaks it not? why live I?

Mar. To man thyself, I trust, with time, to masterSuch useless passion. Until now thou wertA sufferer, but not a loud one: why1830What 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.1835

Doge. WouldIt could avail thee! but no less thou hast it.

Jac. Fos. Forgive----

Doge. What?

Jac. Fos. My poor mother, for my birth,1840And 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 charge1845My memory with much save sorrow: butI have been so beyond the common lotChastened and visited, I needs must thinkThat I was wicked. If it be so, mayWhat I have undergone here keep me from1850A like hereafter!

Mar. Fear not: that's reservedFor your oppressors.

Jac. Fos. Let me hope not.

Mar. Hope not?1855

Jac. Fos. I cannot wish them all they have inflicted.

Mar. All! the consummate fiends! A thousandfoldMay the worm which never dieth feed upon them!

Jac. Fos. They may repent.

Mar. And if they do, Heaven will not1860Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

Enter an Officer and Guards.

Offi. Signor! the boat is at the shore--the windIs rising--we are ready to attend you.

Jac. Fos. And I to be attended. Once more, father,1865Your 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?1870

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!1875Some water!

Mar. Ah, he is dying!

Jac. Fos. Now, I'm ready--My eyes swim strangely--where's the door?

Mar. Away!1880Let 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.1885

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.1890Oh, 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;1895There must be life yet in that heart--he could notThus leave me.

Doge. Daughter!

Mar. Hold thy peace, old man!I am no daughter now--thou hast no son.1900Oh, Foscari!

Offi. We must remove the body.

Mar. Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base officeEnds with his life, and goes not beyond murder,Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains1905To those who know to honour them.

Offi. I mustInform the Signory, and learn their pleasure.

Doge. Inform the Signory from me, the Doge,They have no further power upon those ashes:1910While 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 live1915To bring them up to serve the State, and dieAs died their father. Oh! what best of blessingsWere barrenness in Venice! Would my motherHad been so!

Doge. My unhappy children!1920

Mar. What!You feel it then at last--you!--Where is nowThe Stoic of the State?

Doge (throwing himself down by the body). Here!

Mar. Aye, weep on!1925I thought you had no tears--you hoarded themUntil they are useless; but weep on! he neverShall weep more--never, never more.

Enter LOREDANO and BARBARIGO.

Lor. What's here?1930

Mar. Ah! the Devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt!Incarnate Lucifer! 'tis holy ground.A martyr's ashes now lie there, which make itA shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment!

Bar. Lady, we knew not of this sad event,1935But 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 groundby his son's body) He's busy, look,1940About the business you provided for him.Are ye content?

Bar. We will not interruptA parent's sorrows.

Mar. No, ye only make them,1945Then leave them.

Doge (rising). Sirs, I am ready.

Bar. No--not now.

Lor. Yet 'twas important.

Doge. If 'twas so, I can1950Only repeat--I am ready.

Bar. It shall not beJust now, though Venice tottered o'er the deepLike a frail vessel. I respect your griefs.

Doge. I thank you. If the tidings which you bring1955Are evil, you may say them; nothing furtherCan touch me more than him thou look'st on there;If they be good, say on; you need not fearThat they can comfort me.

Bar. I would they could!1960

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 beginning1965To flow through the dead lips of Foscari--The body bleeds in presence of the assassin.[To LOREDANO.Thou cowardly murderer by law, beholdHow Death itself bears witness to thy deeds!1970

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 thebody. Manent LOREDANO and BARBARIGO.1975

Bar. He must notBe troubled now.

Lor. He said himself that noughtCould give him trouble farther.

Bar. These are words;1980But Grief is lonely, and the breaking inUpon it barbarous.

Lor. Sorrow preys uponIts solitude, and nothing more diverts itFrom its sad visions of the other world,1985Than calling it at moments back to this.The busy have no time for tears.

Bar. And thereforeYou would deprive this old man of all business?

Lor. The thing's decreed. The Giunta and "the Ten"1990Have 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 when1995The act was passing, it might have suspendedIts passage, but impedes it not--once passed.

Bar. I'll not consent.

Lor. You have consented toAll that's essential--leave the rest to me.2000

Bar. Why press his abdication now?

Lor. The feelingsOf private passion may not interruptThe public benefit; and what the StateDecides to-day must not give way before2005To-morrow for a natural accident.

Bar. You have a son.

Lor. I have--and had a father.

Bar. Still so inexorable?

Lor. Still.2010

Bar. But let himInter his son before we press upon himThis edict.

Lor. Let him call up into lifeMy sire and uncle--I consent. Men may,2015Even agéd men, be, or appear to be,Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindleAn atom of their ancestors from earth.The victims are not equal; he has seenHis sons expire by natural deaths, and I2020My sires by violent and mysterious maladies.I used no poison, bribed no subtle masterOf the destructive art of healing, toShorten the path to the eternal cure.His sons--and he had four--are dead, without2025My dabbling in vile drugs.

Bar. And art thou sureHe dealt in such?

Lor. Most sure.

Bar. And yet he seems2030All openness.

Lor. And so he seemed not longAgo to Carmagnuola.

Bar. The attaintedAnd foreign traitor?2035

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 him2040"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 resolved2045Of Carmagnuola, eight months ere he died;And the old Doge, who knew him doomed, smiled on himWith deadly cozenage, eight long months beforehand--Eight months of such hypocrisy as isLearnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola2050Is dead; so is young Foscari and his brethren--I never smiled on them.

Bar. Was CarmagnuolaYour friend?

Lor. He was the safeguard of the city.2055In early life its foe, but in his manhood,Its saviour first, then victim.

Bar. Ah! that seemsThe penalty of saving cities. HeWhom we now act against not only saved2060Our own, but added others to her sway.

Lor. The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crownTo him who took a city: and they gaveA crown to him who saved a citizenIn battle: the rewards are equal. Now,2065If we should measure forth the cities takenBy the Doge Foscari, with citizensDestroyed by him, or through him, the accountWere fearfully against him, although narrowedTo private havoc, such as between him2070And 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 retain2075A feud. But when all is accomplished, whenThe 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.2080

Bar. That's an error, and you'll find itEre you sleep with your fathers.

Lor. They sleep notIn their accelerated graves, nor willTill Foscari fills his. Each night I see them2085Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towardsThe ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance.

Bar. Fancy's distemperature! There is no passionMore spectral or fantastical than Hate;Not even its opposite, Love, so peoples air2090With phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

Enter an Officer.

Lor. Where go you, sirrah?

Offi. By the ducal orderTo forward the preparatory rites2095For the late Foscari's interment.

Bar. TheirVault has been often opened of late years.

Lor. 'Twill be full soon, and may be closed for ever!

Offi. May I pass on?2100

Lor. You may.

Bar. How bears the DogeThis last calamity?

Offi. With desperate firmness.In presence of another he says little,2105But I perceive his lips move now and then;And once or twice I heard him, from the adjoiningApartment, mutter forth the words--"My son!"Scarce audibly. I must proceed. [Exit Officer.

Bar. This stroke2110Will move all Venice in his favour.

Lor. Right!We must be speedy: let us call togetherThe delegates appointed to conveyThe Council's resolution.2115

Bar. I protestAgainst 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.2120[Exeunt BARBARIGO and LOREDANO.