Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice; an Historical Tragedy, in Five Acts

"_Dux_ inquieti turbidus Adria."

Horace,

"The young man's wrath is like straw on fire,

_But like red hot steel is the old man's ire._"

"Young men soon give and soon forget affronts,

Old age is slow at both."

Scene Venice--in the year 1355.

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_An Antechamber in the Ducal Palace_.

PIETRO _speaks, in entering, to_ BATTISTA.

_Pie_. Is not the messenger returned?

_Bat_. Not yet;

I have sent frequently, as you commanded,

But still the Signory is deep in council,

And long debate on Steno's accusation.

_Pie_. Too long--at least so thinks the Doge.

_Bat_. How bears he

These moments of suspense?

_Pie_. With struggling patience.

Placed at the Ducal table, covered o'er

With all the apparel of the state--petitions,

Despatches, judgments, acts, reprieves, reports,--

He sits as rapt in duty; but whene'er

He hears the jarring of a distant door,

Or aught that intimates a coming step,

Or murmur of a voice, his quick eye wanders,

And he will start up from his chair, then pause,

And seat himself again, and fix his gaze

Upon some edict; but I have observed

For the last hour he has not turned a leaf.

_Bat_. 'Tis said he is much moved,--and doubtless 'twas

Foul scorn in Steno to offend so grossly.

_Pie_. Aye, if a poor man: Steno's a patrician,

Young, galliard, gay, and haughty.

_Bat_. Then you think

He will not be judged hardly?

_Pie_. 'Twere enough

He be judged justly; but 'tis not for us

To anticipate the sentence of the Forty.

_Bat_. And here it comes.--What news, Vincenzo?

_Enter_ VINCENZO.

_Vin_. 'Tis

Decided; but as yet his doom's unknown:

I saw the President in act to seal

The parchment which will bear the Forty's judgment

Unto the Doge, and hasten to inform him.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--The Ducal Chamber.

MARINO FALIERO, _Doge; and his Nephew_, BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Ber. F._ It cannot be but they will do you justice.

_Doge_. Aye, such as the Avogadori did,

Who sent up my appeal unto the Forty

To try him by his peers, his own tribunal.

_Ber. F._ His peers will scarce protect him; such an act

Would bring contempt on all authority.

_Doge_. Know you not Venice? Know you not the Forty?

But we shall see anon.

_Ber. F._ (_addressing_ VINCENZO, _then entering_.)

How now--what tidings?

_Vin_. I am charged to tell his Highness that the court

Has passed its resolution, and that, soon

As the due forms of judgment are gone through,

The sentence will be sent up to the Doge;

In the mean time the Forty doth salute

The Prince of the Republic, and entreat

His acceptation of their duty.

_Doge_. Yes--

They are wond'rous dutiful, and ever humble.

Sentence is passed, you say?

_Vin_. It is, your Highness:

The President was sealing it, when I

Was called in, that no moment might be lost

In forwarding the intimation due

Not only to the Chief of the Republic,

But the complainant, both in one united.

_Ber. F._ Are you aware, from aught you have perceived,

Of their decision?

_Vin_. No, my Lord; you know

The secret custom of the courts in Venice.

_Ber. F._ True; but there still is something given to guess,

Which a shrewd gleaner and quick eye would catch at;

A whisper, or a murmur, or an air

More or less solemn spread o'er the tribunal.

The Forty are but men--most worthy men,

And wise, and just, and cautious--this I grant--

And secret as the grave to which they doom

The guilty: but with all this, in their aspects--

At least in some, the juniors of the number--

A searching eye, an eye like yours, Vincenzo,

Would read the sentence ere it was pronounced.

_Vin_. My Lord, I came away upon the moment,

And had no leisure to take note of that

Which passed among the judges, even in seeming;

My station near the accused too, Michel Steno,

Made me--

_Doge_ (_abruptly_). And how looked _he_? deliver that.

_Vin_. Calm, but not overcast, he stood resigned

To the decree, whate'er it were;--but lo!

It comes, for the perusal of his Highness.

_Enter the_ SECRETARY _of the Forty_.

_Sec_. The high tribunal of the Forty sends

Health and respect to the Doge Faliero,

Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests

His Highness to peruse and to approve

The sentence passed on Michel Steno, born

Patrician, and arraigned upon the charge

Contained, together with its penalty,

Within the rescript which I now present.

_Doge_. Retire, and wait without.

Take thou this paper:

The misty letters vanish from my eyes;

I cannot fix them.

_Ber. F._ Patience, my dear Uncle:

Why do you tremble thus?--nay, doubt not, all

Will be as could be wished.

_Doge_. Say on.

_Ber. F._ (_reading_). "Decreed

In council, without one dissenting voice,

That Michel Steno, by his own confession,

Guilty on the last night of Carnival

Of having graven on the ducal throne

The following words--"

_Doge_. Would'st thou repeat them?

Would'st _thou_ repeat them--_thou_, a Faliero,

Harp on the deep dishonour of our house,

Dishonoured in its Chief--that Chief the Prince

Of Venice, first of cities?--To the sentence.

_Ber. F._ Forgive me, my good Lord; I will obey--

(_Reads_) "That Michel Steno be detained a month

In close arrest."

_Doge_. Proceed.

_Ber. F._ My Lord, 'tis finished.

_Doge_. How say you?--finished! Do I dream?--'tis false--

Give me the paper--(_snatches the paper and reads_)--

"'Tis decreed in council

That Michel Steno"--Nephew, thine arm!

_Ber. F._ Nay,

Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncalled for--

Let me seek some assistance.

_Doge_. Stop, sir--Stir not--

'Tis past.

_Ber. F._ I cannot but agree with you

The sentence is too slight for the offence;

It is not honourable in the Forty

To affix so slight a penalty to that

Which was a foul affront to you, and even

To them, as being your subjects; but 'tis not

Yet without remedy: you can appeal

To them once more, or to the Avogadori,

Who, seeing that true justice is withheld,

Will now take up the cause they once declined,

And do you right upon the bold delinquent.

Think you not thus, good Uncle? why do you stand

So fixed? You heed me not:--I pray you, hear me!

_Doge_ (_dashing down the ducal bonnet, and offering to

trample upon it, exclaims, as he is withheld by his nephew_).

Oh! that the Saracen were in St. Mark's!

Thus would I do him homage.

_Ber. F._ For the sake

Of Heaven and all its saints, my Lord--

_Doge_. Away!

Oh, that the Genoese were in the port!

Oh, that the Huns whom I o'erthrew at Zara

Were ranged around the palace!

_Ber. F._ 'Tis not well

In Venice' Duke to say so.

_Doge_. Venice' Duke!

Who now is Duke in Venice? let me see him,

That he may do me right.

_Ber. F._ If you forget

Your office, and its dignity and duty.

Remember that of man, and curb this passion.

The Duke of Venice----

_Doge_ (_interrupting him_). There is no such thing--

It is a word--nay, worse--a worthless by-word:

The most despised, wronged, outraged, helpless wretch,

Who begs his bread, if 'tis refused by one,

May win it from another kinder heart;

But he, who is denied his right by those

Whose place it is to do no wrong, is poorer

Than the rejected beggar--he's a slave--

And that am I--and thou--and all our house,

Even from this hour; the meanest artisan

Will point the finger, and the haughty noble

May spit upon us:--where is our redress?

_Ber. F._ The law, my Prince--

_Doge_ (_interrupting him_). You see what it has done;

I asked no remedy but from the law--

I sought no vengeance but redress by law--

I called no judges but those named by law--

As Sovereign, I appealed unto my subjects,

The very subjects who had made me Sovereign,

And gave me thus a double right to be so.

The rights of place and choice, of birth and service,

Honours and years, these scars, these hoary hairs,

The travel--toil--the perils--the fatigues--

The blood and sweat of almost eighty years,

Were weighed i' the balance, 'gainst the foulest stain,

The grossest insult, most contemptuous crime

Of a rank, rash patrician--and found wanting!

And this is to be borne!

_Ber. F._ I say not that:--

In case your fresh appeal should be rejected,

We will find other means to make all even.

_Doge_. Appeal again! art thou my brother's son?

A scion of the house of Faliero?

The nephew of a Doge? and of that blood

Which hath already given three dukes to Venice?

But thou say'st well--we must be humble now.

_Ber. F._ My princely Uncle! you are too much moved;--

I grant it was a gross offence, and grossly

Left without fitting punishment: but still

This fury doth exceed the provocation,

Or any provocation: if we are wronged,

We will ask justice; if it be denied,

We'll take it; but may do all this in calmness--

Deep Vengeance is the daughter of deep Silence.

I have yet scarce a third part of your years,

I love our house, I honour you, its Chief,

The guardian of my youth, and its instructor--

But though I understand your grief, and enter

In part of your disdain, it doth appal me

To see your anger, like our Adrian waves,

O'ersweep all bounds, and foam itself to air.

_Doge_. I tell thee--_must_ I tell thee--what thy father

Would have required no words to comprehend?

Hast thou no feeling save the external sense

Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soul--

No pride--no passion--no deep sense of honour?

_Ber. F._ 'Tis the first time that honour has been doubted,

And were the last, from any other sceptic.

_Doge_. You know the full offence of this born villain,

This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon,

Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,

And on the honour of--Oh God! my wife,

The nearest, dearest part of all men's honour,

Left a base slur to pass from mouth to mouth

Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments,

And villainous jests, and blasphemies obscene;

While sneering nobles, in more polished guise,

Whispered the tale, and smiled upon the lie

Which made me look like them--a courteous wittol,

Patient--aye--proud, it may be, of dishonour.

_Ber. F._ But still it was a lie--you knew it false,

And so did all men.

_Doge_. Nephew, the high Roman

Said, "Cæsar's wife must not even be suspected,"

And put her from him.

_Ber. F._ True--but in those days----

_Doge_. What is it that a Roman would not suffer,

That a Venetian Prince must bear? old Dandolo

Refused the diadem of all the Cæsars,

And wore the ducal cap _I_ trample on--

Because 'tis now degraded.

_Ber. F._ 'Tis even so.

_Doge_. It is--it is;--I did not visit on

The innocent creature thus most vilely slandered

Because she took an old man for her lord,

For that he had been long her father's friend

And patron of her house, as if there were

No love in woman's heart but lust of youth

And beardless faces;--I did not for this

Visit the villain's infamy on her,

But craved my country's justice on his head,

The justice due unto the humblest being

Who hath a wife whose faith is sweet to him,

Who hath a home whose hearth is dear to him--

Who hath a name whose honour's all to him,

When these are tainted by the accursing breath

Of Calumny and Scorn.

_Ber. F._ And what redress

Did you expect as his fit punishment?

_Doge_. Death! Was I not the Sovereign of the state--

Insulted on his very throne, and made

A mockery to the men who should obey me?

Was I not injured as a husband? scorned

As man? reviled, degraded, as a Prince?

Was not offence like his a complication

Of insult and of treason?--and he lives!

Had he instead of on the Doge's throne

Stamped the same brand upon a peasant's stool,

His blood had gilt the threshold; for the carle

Had stabbed him on the instant.

_Ber. F._ Do not doubt it,

He shall not live till sunset--leave to me

The means, and calm yourself.

_Doge_. Hold, nephew: this

Would have sufficed but yesterday; at present

I have no further wrath against this man.

_Ber. F._ What mean you? is not the offence redoubled

By this most rank--I will not say--acquittal;

For it is worse, being full acknowledgment

Of the offence, and leaving it unpunished?

_Doge_. It is _redoubled_, but not now by him:

The Forty hath decreed a month's arrest--

We must obey the Forty.

_Ber. F._ Obey _them_!

Who have forgot their duty to the Sovereign?

_Doge_. Why, yes;--boy, you perceive it then at last;

Whether as fellow citizen who sues

For justice, or as Sovereign who commands it,

They have defrauded me of both my rights

(For here the Sovereign is a citizen);

But, notwithstanding, harm not thou a hair

Of Steno's head--he shall not wear it long.

_Ber. F._ Not twelve hours longer, had you left to me

The mode and means; if you had calmly heard me,

I never meant this miscreant should escape,

But wished you to suppress such gusts of passion,

That we more surely might devise together

His taking off.

_Doge_. No, nephew, he must live;

At least, just now--a life so vile as his

Were nothing at this hour; in th' olden time

Some sacrifices asked a single victim,

Great expiations had a hecatomb.

_Ber. F._ Your wishes are my law: and yet I fain

Would prove to you how near unto my heart

The honour of our house must ever be.

_Doge_. Fear not; you shall have time and place of proof:

But be not thou too rash, as I have been.

I am ashamed of my own anger now;

I pray you, pardon me.

_Ber. F._ Why, that's my uncle!

The leader, and the statesman, and the chief

Of commonwealths, and sovereign of himself!

I wondered to perceive you so forget

All prudence in your fury at these years,

Although the cause--

_Doge_. Aye--think upon the cause--

Forget it not:--When you lie down to rest,

Let it be black among your dreams; and when

The morn returns, so let it stand between

The Sun and you, as an ill-omened cloud

Upon a summer-day of festival:

So will it stand to me;--but speak not, stir not,--

Leave all to me; we shall have much to do,

And you shall have a part.--But now retire,

'Tis fit I were alone.

_Ber. F._ (_taking up and placing the ducal bonnet on the table_).

Ere I depart,

I pray you to resume what you have spurned,

Till you can change it--haply, for a crown!

And now I take my leave, imploring you

In all things to rely upon my duty,

As doth become your near and faithful kinsman,

And not less loyal citizen and subject.

[Exit BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). Adieu, my worthy nephew.--Hollow bauble!

[_Taking up the ducal cap_.

Beset with all the thorns that line a crown,

Without investing the insulted brow

With the all-swaying majesty of Kings;

Thou idle, gilded, and degraded toy,

Let me resume thee as I would a vizor. [_Puts it on_.

How my brain aches beneath thee! and my temples

Throb feverish under thy dishonest weight.

Could I not turn thee to a diadem?

Could I not shatter the Briarean sceptre

Which in this hundred-handed Senate rules,

Making the people nothing, and the Prince

A pageant? In my life I have achieved

Tasks not less difficult--achieved for them,

Who thus repay me! Can I not requite them?

Oh for one year! Oh! but for even a day

Of my full youth, while yet my body served

My soul as serves the generous steed his lord,

I would have dashed amongst them, asking few

In aid to overthrow these swoln patricians;

But now I must look round for other hands

To serve this hoary head; but it shall plan

In such a sort as will not leave the task

Herculean, though as yet 'tis but a chaos

Of darkly brooding thoughts: my fancy is

In her first work, more nearly to the light

Holding the sleeping images of things

For the selection of the pausing judgment.--

The troops are few in----

_Enter_ VINCENZO.

_Vin_. There is one without

Craves audience of your Highness.

_Doge_. I'm unwell--

I can see no one, not even a patrician--

Let him refer his business to the Council.

_Vin_. My Lord, I will deliver your reply;

It cannot much import--he's a plebeian,

The master of a galley, I believe.

_Doge_. How! did you say the patron of a galley?

That is--I mean--a servant of the state:

Admit him, he may be on public service.

[_Exit_ VINCENZO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). This patron may be sounded; I will try him.

I know the people to be discontented:

They have cause, since Sapienza's adverse day,

When Genoa conquered: they have further cause,

Since they are nothing in the state, and in

The city worse than nothing--mere machines,

To serve the nobles' most patrician pleasure.

The troops have long arrears of pay, oft promised,

And murmur deeply--any hope of change

Will draw them forward: they shall pay themselves

With plunder:--but the priests--I doubt the priesthood

Will not be with us; they have hated me

Since that rash hour, when, maddened with the drone,

I smote the tardy Bishop at Treviso,

Quickening his holy march; yet, ne'ertheless,

They may be won, at least their Chief at Rome,

By some well-timed concessions; but, above

All things, I must be speedy: at my hour

Of twilight little light of life remains.

Could I free Venice, and avenge my wrongs,

I had lived too long, and willingly would sleep

Next moment with my sires; and, wanting this,

Better that sixty of my fourscore years

Had been already where--how soon, I care not--

The whole must be extinguished;--better that

They ne'er had been, than drag me on to be

The thing these arch-oppressors fain would make me.

Let me consider--of efficient troops

There are three thousand posted at----

_Enter_ VINCENZO _and_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.

_Vin_. May it please

Your Highness, the same patron whom I spake of

Is here to crave your patience.

_Doge_. Leave the chamber,

Vincenzo.--

[_Exit_ VINCENZO.

Sir, you may advance--what would you?

_I. Ber_. Redress.

_Doge_. Of whom?

_I. Ber_. Of God and of the Doge.

_Doge_. Alas! my friend, you seek it of the twain

Of least respect and interest in Venice.

You must address the Council.

_I. Ber_. 'Twere in vain;

For he who injured me is one of them.

_Doge_. There's blood upon thy face--how came it there?

_I. Ber_. 'Tis mine, and not the first I've shed for Venice,

But the first shed by a Venetian hand:

A noble smote me.

_Doge_. Doth he live?

_I. Ber_. Not long--

But for the hope I had and have, that you,

My Prince, yourself a soldier, will redress

Him, whom the laws of discipline and Venice

Permit not to protect himself:--if not--

I say no more.

_Doge_. But something you would do--

Is it not so?

_I. Ber_. I am a man, my Lord.

_Doge_. Why so is he who smote you.

_I. Ber_. He is called so;

Nay, more, a noble one--at least, in Venice:

But since he hath forgotten that I am one,

And treats me like a brute, the brute may turn--

'Tis said the worm will.

_Doge_. Say--his name and lineage?

_I. Ber_. Barbaro.

_Doge_. What was the cause? or the pretext?

_I. Ber_. I am the chief of the arsenal, employed

At present in repairing certain galleys

But roughly used by the Genoese last year.

This morning comes the noble Barbaro

Full of reproof, because our artisans

Had left some frivolous order of his house,

To execute the state's decree: I dared

To justify the men--he raised his hand;--

Behold my blood! the first time it e'er flowed

Dishonourably.

_Doge_. Have you long time served?

_I. Ber_. So long as to remember Zara's siege,

And fight beneath the Chief who beat the Huns there,

Sometime my general, now the Doge Faliero.--

_Doge_. How! are we comrades?--the State's ducal robes

Sit newly on me, and you were appointed

Chief of the arsenal ere I came from Rome;

So that I recognised you not. Who placed you?

_I. Ber_. The late Doge; keeping still my old command

As patron of a galley: my new office

Was given as the reward of certain scars

(So was your predecessor pleased to say):

I little thought his bounty would conduct me

To his successor as a helpless plaintiff;

At least, in such a cause.

_Doge_. Are you much hurt?

_I. Ber_. Irreparably in my self-esteem.

_Doge_. Speak out; fear nothing: being stung at heart,

What would you do to be revenged on this man?

_I. Ber_. That which I dare not name, and yet will do.

_Doge_. Then wherefore came you here?

_I. Ber_. I come for justice,

Because my general is Doge, and will not

See his old soldier trampled on. Had any,

Save Faliero, filled the ducal throne,

This blood had been washed out in other blood.

_Doge_. You come to me for justice--unto _me!_

The Doge of Venice, and I cannot give it;

I cannot even obtain it--'twas denied

To me most solemnly an hour ago!

_I. Ber_. How says your Highness?

_Doge_. Steno is condemned

To a month's confinement.

_I. Ber_. What! the same who dared

To stain the ducal throne with those foul words,

That have cried shame to every ear in Venice?

_Doge_. Aye, doubtless they have echoed o'er the arsenal,

Keeping due time with every hammer's clink,

As a good jest to jolly artisans;

Or making chorus to the creaking oar,

In the vile tune of every galley-slave,

Who, as he sung the merry stave, exulted

_He_ was not a shamed dotard like the Doge.

_I. Ber_. Is't possible? a month's imprisonment!

No more for Steno?

_Doge_. You have heard the offence,

And now you know his punishment; and then

You ask redress of _me_! Go to the Forty,

Who passed the sentence upon Michel Steno;

They'll do as much by Barbaro, no doubt.

_I. Ber_. Ah! dared I speak my feelings!

_Doge_. Give them breath.

Mine have no further outrage to endure.

_I. Ber_. Then, in a word, it rests but on your word

To punish and avenge--I will not say

_My_ petty wrong, for what is a mere blow,

However vile, to such a thing as I am?--

But the base insult done your state and person.

_Doge_. You overrate my power, which is a pageant.

This Cap is not the Monarch's crown; these robes

Might move compassion, like a beggar's rags;

Nay, more, a beggar's are his own, and these

But lent to the poor puppet, who must play

Its part with all its empire in this ermine.

_I. Ber_. Wouldst thou be King?

_Doge_. Yes--of a happy people.

_I. Ber_. Wouldst thou be sovereign lord of Venice?

_Doge_. Aye,

If that the people shared that sovereignty,

So that nor they nor I were further slaves

To this o'ergrown aristocratic Hydra,

The poisonous heads of whose envenomed body

Have breathed a pestilence upon us all.

_I. Ber_. Yet, thou wast born, and still hast lived, patrician.

_Doge_. In evil hour was I so born; my birth

Hath made me Doge to be insulted: but

I lived and toiled a soldier and a servant

Of Venice and her people, not the Senate;

Their good and my own honour were my guerdon.

I have fought and bled; commanded, aye, and conquered;

Have made and marred peace oft in embassies,

As it might chance to be our country's 'vantage;

Have traversed land and sea in constant duty,

Through almost sixty years, and still for Venice,

My fathers' and my birthplace, whose dear spires,

Rising at distance o'er the blue Lagoon,

It was reward enough for me to view

Once more; but not for any knot of men,

Nor sect, nor faction, did I bleed or sweat!

But would you know why I have done all this?

Ask of the bleeding pelican why she

Hath ripped her bosom? Had the bird a voice,

She'd tell thee 'twas for _all_ her little ones.

_I. Ber_. And yet they made thee Duke.

_Doge_. _They made_ me so;

I sought it not, the flattering fetters met me

Returning from my Roman embassy,

And never having hitherto refused

Toil, charge, or duty for the state, I did not,

At these late years, decline what was the highest

Of all in seeming, but of all most base

In what we have to do and to endure:

Bear witness for me thou, my injured subject,

When I can neither right myself nor thee.

_I. Ber_. You shall do both, if you possess the will;

And many thousands more not less oppressed,

Who wait but for a signal--will you give it?

_Doge_. You speak in riddles.

_I. Ber_. Which shall soon be read

At peril of my life--if you disdain not

To lend a patient ear.

_Doge_. Say on.

_I. Ber_. Not thou,

Nor I alone, are injured and abused,

Contemned and trampled on; but the whole people

Groan with the strong conception of their wrongs:

The foreign soldiers in the Senate's pay

Are discontented for their long arrears;

The native mariners, and civic troops,

Feel with their friends; for who is he amongst them

Whose brethren, parents, children, wives, or sisters,

Have not partook oppression, or pollution,

From the patricians? And the hopeless war

Against the Genoese, which is still maintained

With the plebeian blood, and treasure wrung

From their hard earnings, has inflamed them further:

Even now--but, I forget that speaking thus,

Perhaps I pass the sentence of my death!

_Doge_. And suffering what thou hast done--fear'st thou death?

Be silent then, and live on, to be beaten

By those for whom thou hast bled.

_I. Ber_. No, I will speak

At every hazard; and if Venice' Doge

Should turn delator, be the shame on him,

And sorrow too; for he will lose far more

Than I.

_Doge_. From me fear nothing; out with it!

_I. Ber_. Know then, that there are met and sworn in secret

A band of brethren, valiant hearts and true;

Men who have proved all fortunes, and have long

Grieved over that of Venice, and have right

To do so; having served her in all climes,

And having rescued her from foreign foes,

Would do the same from those within her walls.

They are not numerous, nor yet too few

For their great purpose; they have arms, and means,

And hearts, and hopes, and faith, and patient courage.

_Doge_. For what then do they pause?

_I. Ber_. An hour to strike.

_Doge_ (_aside_). Saint Mark's shall strike that hour!

_I. Ber_. I now have placed

My life, my honour, all my earthly hopes

Within thy power, but in the firm belief

That injuries like ours, sprung from one cause,

Will generate one vengeance: should it be so,

Be our Chief now--our Sovereign hereafter.

_Doge_. How many are ye?

_I. Ber_. I'll not answer that

Till I am answered.

_Doge_. How, sir! do you menace?

_I. Ber_. No; I affirm. I have betrayed myself;

But there's no torture in the mystic wells

Which undermine your palace, nor in those

Not less appalling cells, the "leaden roofs,"

To force a single name from me of others.

The Pozzi and the Piombi were in vain;

They might wring blood from me, but treachery never.

And I would pass the fearful "Bridge of Sighs,"

Joyous that mine must be the last that e'er

Would echo o'er the Stygian wave which flows

Between the murderers and the murdered, washing

The prison and the palace walls: there are

Those who would live to think on't, and avenge me.

_Doge_. If such your power and purpose, why come here

To sue for justice, being in the course

To do yourself due right?

_I. Ber_. Because the man,

Who claims protection from authority,

Showing his confidence and his submission

To that authority, can hardly be

Suspected of combining to destroy it.

Had I sate down too humbly with this blow,

A moody brow and muttered threats had made me

A marked man to the Forty's inquisition;

But loud complaint, however angrily

It shapes its phrase, is little to be feared,

And less distrusted. But, besides all this,

I had another reason.

_Doge_. What was that?

_I. Ber_. Some rumours that the Doge was greatly moved

By the reference of the Avogadori

Of Michel Steno's sentence to the Forty

Had reached me. I had served you, honoured you,

And felt that you were dangerously insulted,

Being of an order of such spirits, as

Requite tenfold both good and evil: 'twas

My wish to prove and urge you to redress.

Now you know all; and that I speak the truth,

My peril be the proof.

_Doge_. You have deeply ventured;

But all must do so who would greatly win:

Thus far I'll answer you--your secret's safe.

_I. Ber_. And is this all?

_Doge_. Unless with all intrusted,

What would you have me answer?

_I. Ber_. I would have you

Trust him who leaves his life in trust with you.

_Doge_. But I must know your plan, your names, and numbers;

The last may then be doubled, and the former

Matured and strengthened.

_I. Ber_. We're enough already;

You are the sole ally we covet now.

_Doge_. But bring me to the knowledge of your chiefs.

_I. Ber_. That shall be done upon your formal pledge

To keep the faith that we will pledge to you.

_Doge_. When? where?

_I. Ber_. This night I'll bring to your apartment

Two of the principals: a greater number

Were hazardous.

_Doge_. Stay, I must think of this.--

What if I were to trust myself amongst you,

And leave the palace?

_I. Ber_. You must come alone.

_Doge_. With but my nephew.

_I. Ber_. Not were he your son!

_Doge_. Wretch! darest thou name my son? He died in arms

At Sapienza for this faithless state.

Oh! that he were alive, and I in ashes!

Or that he were alive ere I be ashes!

I should not need the dubious aid of strangers.

_I. Ber_. Not one of all those strangers whom thou doubtest,

But will regard thee with a filial feeling,

So that thou keep'st a father's faith with them.

_Doge_. The die is cast. Where is the place of meeting?

_I. Ber_. At midnight I will be alone and masked

Where'er your Highness pleases to direct me,

To wait your coming, and conduct you where

You shall receive our homage, and pronounce

Upon our project.

_Doge_. At what hour arises

The moon?

_I. Ber_. Late, but the atmosphere is thick and dusky,

'Tis a sirocco.

_Doge_. At the midnight hour, then,

Near to the church where sleep my sires; the same,

Twin-named from the apostles John and Paul;

A gondola, with one oar only, will

Lurk in the narrow channel which glides by.

Be there.

_I. Ber_. I will not fail.

_Doge_. And now retire----

_I. Ber_. In the full hope your Highness will not falter

In your great purpose. Prince, I take my leave.

[_Exit_ Isreal Bertuccio.

_Doge_ (_solus_). At midnight, by the church Saints John and Paul,

Where sleep my noble fathers, I repair--

To what? to hold a council in the dark

With common ruffians leagued to ruin states!

And will not my great sires leap from the vault,

Where lie two Doges who preceded me,

And pluck me down amongst them? Would they could!

For I should rest in honour with the honoured.

Alas! I must not think of them, but those

Who have made me thus unworthy of a name

Noble and brave as aught of consular

On Roman marbles; but I will redeem it

Back to its antique lustre in our annals,

By sweet revenge on all that's base in Venice,

And freedom to the rest, or leave it black

To all the growing calumnies of Time,

Which never spare the fame of him who fails,

But try the Cæsar, or the Catiline,

By the true touchstone of desert--Success.

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the Ducal Palace_.

ANGIOLINA (_wife of the_ DOGE) _and_ MARIANNA.

_Ang_. What was the Doge's answer?

_Mar_. That he was

That moment summoned to a conference;

But 'tis by this time ended. I perceived

Not long ago the Senators embarking;

And the last gondola may now be seen

Gliding into the throng of barks which stud

The glittering waters.

_Ang_. Would he were returned!

He has been much disquieted of late;

And Time, which has not tamed his fiery spirit,

Nor yet enfeebled even his mortal frame,

Which seems to be more nourished by a soul

So quick and restless that it would consume

Less hardy clay--Time has but little power

On his resentments or his griefs. Unlike

To other spirits of his order, who,

In the first burst of passion, pour away

Their wrath or sorrow, all things wear in him

An aspect of Eternity: his thoughts,

His feelings, passions, good or evil, all

Have nothing of old age; and his bold brow

Bears but the scars of mind, the thoughts of years,

Not their decrepitude: and he of late

Has been more agitated than his wont.

Would he were come! for I alone have power

Upon his troubled spirit.

_Mar_. It is true,

His Highness has of late been greatly moved

By the affront of Steno, and with cause:

But the offender doubtless even now

Is doomed to expiate his rash insult with

Such chastisement as will enforce respect

To female virtue, and to noble blood.

_Ang_. 'Twas a gross insult; but I heed it not

For the rash scorner's falsehood in itself,

But for the effect, the deadly deep impression

Which it has made upon Faliero's soul,

The proud, the fiery, the austere--austere

To all save me: I tremble when I think

To what it may conduct.

_Mar_. Assuredly

The Doge can not suspect you?

_Ang_. Suspect _me!_

Why Steno dared not: when he scrawled his lie,

Grovelling by stealth in the moon's glimmering light,

His own still conscience smote him for the act,

And every shadow on the walls frowned shame

Upon his coward calumny.

_Mar_. 'Twere fit

He should be punished grievously.

_Ang_. He is so.

_Mar_. What! is the sentence passed? is he condemned?

_Ang_. I know not that, but he has been detected.

_Mar_. And deem you this enough for such foul scorn?

_Ang_. I would not be a judge in my own cause,

Nor do I know what sense of punishment

May reach the soul of ribalds such as Steno;

But if his insults sink no deeper in

The minds of the inquisitors than they

Have ruffled mine, he will, for all acquittance,

Be left to his own shamelessness or shame.

_Mar_. Some sacrifice is due to slandered virtue.

_Ang_. Why, what is virtue if it needs a victim?

Or if it must depend upon men's words?

The dying Roman said, "'twas but a name:"

It were indeed no more, if human breath

Could make or mar it.

_Mar_. Yet full many a dame,

Stainless and faithful, would feel all the wrong

Of such a slander; and less rigid ladies,

Such as abound in Venice, would be loud

And all-inexorable in their cry

For justice.

_Ang_. This but proves it is the name

And not the quality they prize: the first

Have found it a hard task to hold their honour,

If they require it to be blazoned forth;

And those who have not kept it, seek its seeming

As they would look out for an ornament

Of which they feel the want, but not because

They think it so; they live in others' thoughts,

And would seem honest as they must seem fair.

_Mar_. You have strange thoughts for a patrician dame.

_Ang_. And yet they were my father's; with his name,

The sole inheritance he left.

_Mar_. You want none;

Wife to a Prince, the Chief of the Republic.

_Ang_. I should have sought none though a peasant's bride,

But feel not less the love and gratitude

Due to my father, who bestowed my hand

Upon his early, tried, and trusted friend,

The Count Val di Marino, now our Doge.

_Mar_. And with that hand did he bestow your heart?

_Ang_. He did so, or it had not been bestowed.

_Mar_. Yet this strange disproportion in your years,

And, let me add, disparity of tempers,

Might make the world doubt whether such an union

Could make you wisely, permanently happy.

_Ang_. The world will think with worldlings; but my heart

Has still been in my duties, which are many,

But never difficult.

_Mar_. And do you love him?

_Ang_. I love all noble qualities which merit

Love, and I loved my father, who first taught me

To single out what we should love in others,

And to subdue all tendency to lend

The best and purest feelings of our nature

To baser passions. He bestowed my hand

Upon Faliero: he had known him noble,

Brave, generous; rich in all the qualities

Of soldier, citizen, and friend; in all

Such have I found him as my father said.

His faults are those that dwell in the high bosoms

Of men who have commanded; too much pride,

And the deep passions fiercely fostered by

The uses of patricians, and a life

Spent in the storms of state and war; and also

From the quick sense of honour, which becomes

A duty to a certain sign, a vice

When overstrained, and this I fear in him.

And then he has been rash from his youth upwards,

Yet tempered by redeeming nobleness

In such sort, that the wariest of republics

Has lavished all its chief employs upon him,

From his first fight to his last embassy,

From which on his return the Dukedom met him.

_Mar_. But previous to this marriage, had your heart

Ne'er beat for any of the noble youth,

Such as in years had been more meet to match

Beauty like yours? or, since, have you ne'er seen

One, who, if your fair hand were still to give,

Might now pretend to Loredano's daughter?

_Ang_. I answered your first question when I said

I married.

_Mar_. And the second?

_Ang_. Needs no answer.

_Mar_. I pray you pardon, if I have offended.

_Ang_. I feel no wrath, but some surprise: I knew not

That wedded bosoms could permit themselves

To ponder upon what they _now_ might choose,

Or aught save their past choice.

_Mar_. 'Tis their past choice

That far too often makes them deem they would

Now choose more wisely, could they cancel it.

_Ang_. It may be so. I knew not of such thoughts.

_Mar_. Here comes the Doge--shall I retire?

_Ang_. It may

Be better you should quit me; he seems rapt

In thought.--How pensively he takes his way!

[_Exit_ MARIANNA.

_Enter the_ DOGE _and_ PIETRO.

_Doge_ (_musing_). There is a certain Philip Calendaro

Now in the Arsenal, who holds command

Of eighty men, and has great influence

Besides on all the spirits of his comrades:

This man, I hear, is bold and popular,

Sudden and daring, and yet secret; 'twould

Be well that he were won: I needs must hope

That Israel Bertuccio has secured him,

But fain would be----

_Pie_. My Lord, pray pardon me

For breaking in upon your meditation;

The Senator Bertuccio, your kinsman,

Charged me to follow and enquire your pleasure

To fix an hour when he may speak with you.

_Doge_. At sunset.--Stay a moment--let me see--

Say in the second hour of night. [_Exit_ PIETRO.

_Ang_. My Lord!

_Doge_. My dearest child, forgive me--why delay

So long approaching me?--I saw you not.

_Ang_. You were absorbed in thought, and he who now

Has parted from you might have words of weight

To bear you from the Senate.

_Doge_. From the Senate?

_Ang_. I would not interrupt him in his duty

And theirs.

_Doge_. The Senate's duty! you mistake;

'Tis we who owe all service to the Senate.

_Ang_. I thought the Duke had held command in Venice.

_Doge_. He shall.--But let that pass.--We will be jocund.

How fares it with you? have you been abroad?

The day is overcast, but the calm wave

Favours the gondolier's light skimming oar;

Or have you held a levee of your friends?

Or has your music made you solitary?

Say--is there aught that you would will within

The little sway now left the Duke? or aught

Of fitting splendour, or of honest pleasure,

Social or lonely, that would glad your heart,

To compensate for many a dull hour, wasted

On an old man oft moved with many cares?

Speak, and 'tis done.

_Ang_. You're ever kind to me.

I have nothing to desire, or to request,

Except to see you oftener and calmer.

_Doge_. Calmer?

_Ang_. Aye, calmer, my good Lord.--Ah, why

Do you still keep apart, and walk alone,

And let such strong emotions stamp your brow,

As not betraying their full import, yet

Disclose too much?

_Doge_. Disclose too much!--of what?

What is there to disclose?

_Ang_. A heart so ill

At ease.

_Doge_. 'Tis nothing, child.--But in the state

You know what daily cares oppress all those

Who govern this precarious commonwealth;

Now suffering from the Genoese without,

And malcontents within--'tis this which makes me

More pensive and less tranquil than my wont.

_Ang_. Yet this existed long before, and never

Till in these late days did I see you thus.

Forgive me; there is something at your heart

More than the mere discharge of public duties,

Which long use and a talent like to yours

Have rendered light, nay, a necessity,

To keep your mind from stagnating. 'Tis not

In hostile states, nor perils, thus to shake you,--

You, who have stood all storms and never sunk,

And climbed up to the pinnacle of power

And never fainted by the way, and stand

Upon it, and can look down steadily

Along the depth beneath, and ne'er feel dizzy.

Were Genoa's galleys riding in the port,

Were civil fury raging in Saint Mark's,

You are not to be wrought on, but would fall,

As you have risen, with an unaltered brow:

Your feelings now are of a different kind;

Something has stung your pride, not patriotism.

_Doge_. Pride! Angiolina? Alas! none is left me.

_Ang_. Yes--the same sin that overthrew the angels,

And of all sins most easily besets

Mortals the nearest to the angelic nature:

The vile are only vain; the great are proud.

_Doge_. I _had_ the pride of honour, of _your_ honour,

Deep at my heart--But let us change the theme.

_Ang_. Ah no!--As I have ever shared your kindness

In all things else, let me not be shut out

From your distress: were it of public import,

You know I never sought, would never seek

To win a word from you; but feeling now

Your grief is private, it belongs to me

To lighten or divide it. Since the day

When foolish Steno's ribaldry detected

Unfixed your quiet, you are greatly changed,

And I would soothe you back to what you were.

_Doge_. To what I was!--have you heard Steno's sentence?

_Ang_. No.

_Doge_. A month's arrest.

_Ang_. Is it not enough?

_Doge_. Enough!--yes, for a drunken galley slave,

Who, stung by stripes, may murmur at his master;

But not for a deliberate, false, cool villain,

Who stains a Lady's and a Prince's honour

Even on the throne of his authority.

_Ang_. There seems to be enough in the conviction

Of a patrician guilty of a falsehood:

All other punishment were light unto

His loss of honour.

_Doge_. Such men have no honour;

They have but their vile lives--and these are spared.

_Ang_. You would not have him die for this offence?

_Doge_. Not _now_:--being still alive, I'd have him live

Long as _he_ can; he has ceased to merit death;

The guilty saved hath damned his hundred judges,

And he is pure, for now his crime is theirs.

_Ang_. Oh! had this false and flippant libeller

Shed his young blood for his absurd lampoon,

Ne'er from that moment could this breast have known

A joyous hour, or dreamless slumber more.

_Doge_. Does not the law of Heaven say blood for blood?

And he who _taints_ kills more than he who sheds it.

Is it the _pain_ of blows, or _shame_ of blows,

That makes such deadly to the sense of man?

Do not the laws of man say blood for honour,--

And, less than honour, for a little gold?

Say not the laws of nations blood for treason?

Is't nothing to have filled these veins with poison

For their once healthful current? is it nothing

To have stained your name and mine--the noblest names?

Is't nothing to have brought into contempt

A Prince before his people? to have failed

In the respect accorded by Mankind

To youth in woman, and old age in man?

To virtue in your sex, and dignity

In ours?--But let them look to it who have saved him.

_Ang_. Heaven bids us to forgive our enemies.

_Doge_. Doth Heaven forgive her own? Is there not Hell

For wrath eternal?

_Ang_. Do not speak thus wildly--

Heaven will alike forgive you and your foes.

_Doge_. Amen! May Heaven forgive them!

_Ang_. And will you?

_Doge_. Yes, when they are in Heaven!

_Ang_. And not till then?

_Doge_. What matters my forgiveness? an old man's,

Worn out, scorned, spurned, abused; what matters then

My pardon more than my resentment, both

Being weak and worthless? I have lived too long;

But let us change the argument.--My child!

My injured wife, the child of Loredano,

The brave, the chivalrous, how little deemed

Thy father, wedding thee unto his friend,

That he was linking thee to shame!--Alas!

Shame without sin, for thou art faultless. Hadst thou

But had a different husband, _any_ husband

In Venice save the Doge, this blight, this brand,

This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee.

So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure,

To suffer this, and yet be unavenged!

_Ang_. I am too well avenged, for you still love me,

And trust, and honour me; and all men know

That you are just, and I am true: what more

Could I require, or you command?

_Doge_. 'Tis well,

And may be better; but whate'er betide,

Be thou at least kind to my memory.

_Ang_. Why speak you thus?

_Doge_. It is no matter why;

But I would still, whatever others think,

Have your respect both now and in my grave.

_Ang_. Why should you doubt it? has it ever failed?

_Doge_. Come hither, child! I would a word with you.

Your father was my friend; unequal Fortune

Made him my debtor for some courtesies

Which bind the good more firmly: when, oppressed

With his last malady, he willed our union,

It was not to repay me, long repaid

Before by his great loyalty in friendship;

His object was to place your orphan beauty

In honourable safety from the perils,

Which, in this scorpion nest of vice, assail

A lonely and undowered maid. I did not

Think with him, but would not oppose the thought

Which soothed his death-bed.

_Ang_. I have not forgotten

The nobleness with which you bade me speak

If my young heart held any preference

Which would have made me happier; nor your offer

To make my dowry equal to the rank

Of aught in Venice, and forego all claim

My father's last injunction gave you.

_Doge_. Thus,

'Twas not a foolish dotard's vile caprice,

Nor the false edge of agéd appetite,

Which made me covetous of girlish beauty,

And a young bride: for in my fieriest youth

I swayed such passions; nor was this my age

Infected with that leprosy of lust

Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men,

Making them ransack to the very last

The dregs of pleasure for their vanished joys;

Or buy in selfish marriage some young victim,

Too helpless to refuse a state that's honest,

Too feeling not to know herself a wretch.

Our wedlock was not of this sort; you had

Freedom from me to choose, and urged in answer

Your father's choice.

_Ang_. I did so; I would do so

In face of earth and Heaven; for I have never

Repented for my sake; sometimes for yours,

In pondering o'er your late disquietudes.

_Doge_. I knew my heart would never treat you harshly:

I knew my days could not disturb you long;

And then the daughter of my earliest friend,

His worthy daughter, free to choose again.

Wealthier and wiser, in the ripest bloom

Of womanhood, more skilful to select

By passing these probationary years,

Inheriting a Prince's name and riches,

Secured, by the short penance of enduring

An old man for some summers, against all

That law's chicane or envious kinsmen might

Have urged against her right; my best friend's child

Would choose more fitly in respect of years,

And not less truly in a faithful heart.

_Ang_. My Lord, I looked but to my father's wishes,

Hallowed by his last words, and to my heart

For doing all its duties, and replying

With faith to him with whom I was affianced.

Ambitious hopes ne'er crossed my dreams; and should

The hour you speak of come, it will be seen so.

_Doge_. I do believe you; and I know you true:

For Love--romantic Love--which in my youth

I knew to be illusion, and ne'er saw

Lasting, but often fatal, it had been

No lure for me, in my most passionate days,

And could not be so now, did such exist.

But such respect, and mildly paid regard

As a true feeling for your welfare, and

A free compliance with all honest wishes,--

A kindness to your virtues, watchfulness

Not shown, but shadowing o'er such little failings

As Youth is apt in, so as not to check

Rashly, but win you from them ere you knew

You had been won, but thought the change your choice;

A pride not in your beauty, but your conduct;

A trust in you; a patriarchal love,

And not a doting homage; friendship, faith,--

Such estimation in your eyes as these

Might claim, I hoped for.

_Ang_. And have ever had.

_Doge_. I think so. For the difference in our years

You knew it choosing me, and chose; I trusted

Not to my qualities, nor would have faith

In such, nor outward ornaments of nature,

Were I still in my five and twentieth spring;

I trusted to the blood of Loredano

Pure in your veins; I trusted to the soul

God gave you--to the truths your father taught you--

To your belief in Heaven--to your mild virtues--

To your own faith and honour, for my own.

_Ang_. You have done well.--I thank you for that trust,

Which I have never for one moment ceased

To honour you the more for.

_Doge_. Where is Honour,

Innate and precept-strengthened, 'tis the rock

Of faith connubial: where it is not--where

Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities

Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,

Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know

'Twere hopeless for humanity to dream

Of honesty in such infected blood,

Although 'twere wed to him it covets most:

An incarnation of the poet's God

In all his marble-chiselled beauty, or

The demi-deity, Alcides, in

His majesty of superhuman Manhood,

Would not suffice to bind where virtue is not;

It is consistency which forms and proves it:

Vice cannot fix, and Virtue cannot change.

The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;

For Vice must have variety, while Virtue

Stands like the Sun, and all which rolls around

Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect.

_Ang_. And seeing, feeling thus this truth in others,

(I pray you pardon me;) but wherefore yield you

To the most fierce of fatal passions, and

Disquiet your great thoughts with restless hate

Of such a thing as Steno?

_Doge_. You mistake me.

It is not Steno who could move me thus;

Had it been so, he should--but let that pass.

_Ang_. What is't you feel so deeply, then, even now?

_Doge_. The violated majesty of Venice,

At once insulted in her Lord and laws.

_Ang_. Alas! why will you thus consider it?

_Doge_. I have thought on't till--but let me lead you back

To what I urged; all these things being noted,

I wedded you; the world then did me justice

Upon the motive, and my conduct proved

They did me right, while yours was all to praise:

You had all freedom--all respect--all trust

From me and mine; and, born of those who made

Princes at home, and swept Kings from their thrones

On foreign shores, in all things you appeared

Worthy to be our first of native dames.

_Ang_. To what does this conduct?

_Doge_. To thus much--that

A miscreant's angry breath may blast it all--

A villain, whom for his unbridled bearing,

Even in the midst of our great festival,

I caused to be conducted forth, and taught

How to demean himself in ducal chambers;

A wretch like this may leave upon the wall

The blighting venom of his sweltering heart,

And this shall spread itself in general poison;

And woman's innocence, man's honour, pass

Into a by-word; and the doubly felon

(Who first insulted virgin modesty

By a gross affront to your attendant damsels

Amidst the noblest of our dames in public)

Requite himself for his most just expulsion

By blackening publicly his Sovereign's consort,

And be absolved by his upright compeers.

_Ang_. But he has been condemned into captivity.

_Doge_. For such as him a dungeon were acquittal;

And his brief term of mock-arrest will pass

Within a palace. But I've done with him;

The rest must be with you.

_Ang_. With me, my Lord?

_Doge_. Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel; I

Have let this prey upon me till I feel

My life cannot be long; and fain would have you

Regard the injunctions you will find within

This scroll (_giving her a paper_)

----Fear not; they are for your advantage:

Read them hereafter at the fitting hour.

_Ang_. My Lord, in life, and after life, you shall

Be honoured still by me: but may your days

Be many yet--and happier than the present!

This passion will give way, and you will be

Serene, and what you should be--what you were.

_Doge_. I will be what I should be, or be nothing;

But never more--oh! never, never more,

O'er the few days or hours which yet await

The blighted old age of Faliero, shall

Sweet Quiet shed her sunset! Never more

Those summer shadows rising from the past

Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life,

Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches,

Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest.

I had but little more to ask, or hope,

Save the regards due to the blood and sweat,

And the soul's labour through which I had toiled

To make my country honoured. As her servant--

Her servant, though her chief--I would have gone

Down to my fathers with a name serene

And pure as theirs; but this has been denied me.

Would I had died at Zara!

_Ang_. There you saved

The state; then live to save her still. A day,

Another day like that would be the best

Reproof to them, and sole revenge for you.

_Doge_. But one such day occurs within an age;

My life is little less than one, and 'tis

Enough for Fortune to have granted _once_,

That which scarce one more favoured citizen

May win in many states and years. But why

Thus speak I? Venice has forgot that day--

Then why should I remember it?--Farewell,

Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet;

There's much for me to do--and the hour hastens.

_Ang_. Remember what you were.

_Doge_. It were in vain!

Joy's recollection is no longer joy,

While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.

_Ang_. At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore

That you will take some little pause of rest:

Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid,

That it had been relief to have awaked you,

Had I not hoped that Nature would o'erpower

At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus.

An hour of rest will give you to your toils

With fitter thoughts and freshened strength.

_Doge_. I cannot--

I must not, if I could; for never was

Such reason to be watchful: yet a few--

Yet a few days and dream-perturbéd nights,

And I shall slumber well--but where?--no matter.

Adieu, my Angiolina.

_Ang_. Let me be

An instant--yet an instant your companion!

I cannot bear to leave you thus.

_Doge_. Come then,

My gentle child--forgive me: thou wert made

For better fortunes than to share in mine,

Now darkling in their close toward the deep vale

Where Death sits robed in his all-sweeping shadow.

When I am gone--it may be sooner than

Even these years warrant, for there is that stirring

Within--above--around, that in this city

Will make the cemeteries populous

As e'er they were by pestilence or war,--

When I _am_ nothing, let that which I _was_

Be still sometimes a name on thy sweet lips,

A shadow in thy fancy, of a thing

Which would not have thee mourn it, but remember.

Let us begone, my child--the time is pressing.

SCENE II.--_A retired spot near the Arsenal_.

ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO.

_Cal_. How sped you, Israel, in your late complaint?

_I. Ber_. Why, well.

_Cal_. Is't possible! will he be punished?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. With what? a mulct or an arrest?

_I. Ber_. With death!

_Cal_. Now you rave, or must intend revenge,

Such as I counselled you, with your own hand.

_I. Ber_. Yes; and for one sole draught of hate, forego

The great redress we meditate for Venice,

And change a life of hope for one of exile;

Leaving one scorpion crushed, and thousands stinging

My friends, my family, my countrymen!

No, Calendaro; these same drops of blood,

Shed shamefully, shall have the whole of his

For their requital----But not only his;

We will not strike for private wrongs alone:

Such are for selfish passions and rash men,

But are unworthy a Tyrannicide.

_Cal_. You have more patience than I care to boast.

Had I been present when you bore this insult,

I must have slain him, or expired myself

In the vain effort to repress my wrath.

_I. Ber_. Thank Heaven you were not--all had else been marred:

As 'tis, our cause looks prosperous still.

_Cal_. You saw

The Doge--what answer gave he?

_I. Ber_. That there was

No punishment for such as Barbaro.

_Cal_. I told you so before, and that 'twas idle

To think of justice from such hands.

_I. Ber_. At least,

It lulled suspicion, showing confidence.

Had I been silent, not a Sbirro but

Had kept me in his eye, as meditating

A silent, solitary, deep revenge.

_Cal_. But wherefore not address you to the Council?

The Doge is a mere puppet, who can scarce

Obtain right for himself. Why speak to _him_?

_I. Ber_. You shall know that hereafter.

_Cal_. Why not now?

_I. Ber_. Be patient but till midnight. Get your musters,

And bid our friends prepare their companies:

Set all in readiness to strike the blow,

Perhaps in a few hours: we have long waited

For a fit time--that hour is on the dial,

It may be, of to-morrow's sun: delay

Beyond may breed us double danger. See

That all be punctual at our place of meeting,

And armed, excepting those of the Sixteen,

Who will remain among the troops to wait

The signal.

_Cal_. These brave words have breathed new life

Into my veins; I am sick of these protracted

And hesitating councils: day on day

Crawled on, and added but another link

To our long fetters, and some fresher wrong

Inflicted on our brethren or ourselves,

Helping to swell our tyrants' bloated strength.

Let us but deal upon them, and I care not

For the result, which must be Death or Freedom!

I'm weary to the heart of finding neither.

_I. Ber_. We will be free in Life or Death! the grave

Is chainless. Have you all the musters ready?

And are the sixteen companies completed

To sixty?

_Cal_. All save two, in which there are

Twenty-five wanting to make up the number.

_I. Ber_. No matter; we can do without. Whose are they?

_Cal_. Bertram's and old Soranzo's, both of whom

Appear less forward in the cause than we are.

_I. Ber_. Your fiery nature makes you deem all those

Who are not restless cold; but there exists

Oft in concentred spirits not less daring

Than in more loud avengers. Do not doubt them.

_Cat_. I do not doubt the elder; but in Bertram

There is a hesitating softness, fatal

To enterprise like ours: I've seen that man

Weep like an infant o'er the misery

Of others, heedless of his own, though greater;

And in a recent quarrel I beheld him

Turn sick at sight of blood, although a villain's.

_I. Ber_. The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes,

And feel for what their duty bids them do.

I have known Bertram long; there doth not breathe

A soul more full of honour.

_Cal_. It may be so:

I apprehend less treachery than weakness;

Yet as he has no mistress, and no wife

To work upon his milkiness of spirit,

He may go through the ordeal; it is well

He is an orphan, friendless save in us:

A woman or a child had made him less

Than either in resolve.

_I. Ber_. Such ties are not

For those who are called to the high destinies

Which purify corrupted commonwealths;

We must forget all feelings save the _one_,

We must resign all passions save our purpose,

We must behold no object save our country,

And only look on Death as beautiful,

So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven,

And draw down Freedom on her evermore.

_Cal_. But if we fail----

_I. Ber_. They never fail who die

In a great cause: the block may soak their gore:

Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs

Be strung to city gates and castle walls--

But still their Spirit walks abroad. Though years

Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,

They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts

Which overpower all others, and conduct

The world at last to Freedom. What were we,

If Brutus had not lived? He died in giving

Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson--

A name which is a virtue, and a Soul

Which multiplies itself throughout all time,

When wicked men wax mighty, and a state

Turns servile. He and his high friend were styled

"The last of Romans!" Let us be the first

Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires.

_Cal_. Our fathers did not fly from Attila

Into these isles, where palaces have sprung

On banks redeemed from the rude ocean's ooze,

To own a thousand despots in his place.

Better bow down before the Hun, and call

A Tartar lord, than these swoln silkworms masters!

The first at least was man, and used his sword

As sceptre: these unmanly creeping things

Command our swords, and rule us with a word

As with a spell.

_I. Ber_. It shall be broken soon.

You say that all things are in readiness;

To-day I have not been the usual round,

And why thou knowest; but thy vigilance

Will better have supplied my care: these orders

In recent council to redouble now

Our efforts to repair the galleys, have

Lent a fair colour to the introduction

Of many of our cause into the arsenal,

As new artificers for their equipment,

Or fresh recruits obtained in haste to man

The hoped-for fleet.--Are all supplied with arms?

_Cal_. All who were deemed trust-worthy: there are some

Whom it were well to keep in ignorance

Till it be time to strike, and then supply them;

When in the heat and hurry of the hour

They have no opportunity to pause,

But needs must on with those who will surround them.

_I. Ber_. You have said well. Have you remarked all such?

_Cal_. I've noted most; and caused the other chiefs

To use like caution in their companies.

As far as I have seen, we are enough

To make the enterprise secure, if 'tis

Commenced to-morrow; but, till 'tis begun,

Each hour is pregnant with a thousand perils.

_I. Ber_. Let the Sixteen meet at the wonted hour,

Except Soranzo, Nicoletto Blondo,

And Marco Giuda, who will keep their watch

Within the arsenal, and hold all ready,

Expectant of the signal we will fix on.

_Cal_. We will not fail.

_I. Ber_. Let all the rest be there;

I have a stranger to present to them.

_Cal_. A stranger! doth he know the secret?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. And have you dared to peril your friends' lives

On a rash confidence in one we know not?

_I. Ber_. I have risked no man's life except my own--

Of that be certain: he is one who may

Make our assurance doubly sure, according

His aid; and if reluctant, he no less

Is in our power: he comes alone with me,

And cannot 'scape us; but he will not swerve.

_Cal_. I cannot judge of this until I know him:

Is he one of our order?

_I. Ber_. Aye, in spirit,

Although a child of Greatness; he is one

Who would become a throne, or overthrow one--

One who has done great deeds, and seen great changes;

No tyrant, though bred up to tyranny;

Valiant in war, and sage in council; noble

In nature, although haughty; quick, yet wary:

Yet for all this, so full of certain passions,

That if once stirred and baffled, as he has been

Upon the tenderest points, there is no Fury

In Grecian story like to that which wrings

His vitals with her burning hands, till he

Grows capable of all things for revenge;

And add too, that his mind is liberal,

He sees and feels the people are oppressed,

And shares their sufferings. Take him all in all,

We have need of such, and such have need of us.

_Cal_. And what part would you have him take with us?

_I. Ber_. It may be, that of Chief.

_Cal_. What! and resign

Your own command as leader?

_I. Ber_. Even so.

My object is to make your cause end well,

And not to push myself to power. Experience,

Some skill, and your own choice, had marked me out

To act in trust as your commander, till

Some worthier should appear: if I have found such

As you yourselves shall own more worthy, think you

That I would hesitate from selfishness,

And, covetous of brief authority,

Stake our deep interest on my single thoughts,

Rather than yield to one above me in

All leading qualities? No, Calendaro,

Know your friend better; but you all shall judge.

Away! and let us meet at the fixed hour.

Be vigilant, and all will yet go well.

_Cal_. Worthy Bertuccio, I have known you ever

Trusty and brave, with head and heart to plan

What I have still been prompt to execute.

For my own part, I seek no other Chief;

What the rest will decide, I know not, but

I am with YOU, as I have ever been,

In all our undertakings. Now farewell,

Until the hour of midnight sees us meet. [_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_Scene, the Space between the Canal and the

Church of San Giovanni e San Paolo. An equestrian Statue

before it.--A Gondola lies in the Canal at some distance._

_Enter the_ DOGE _alone, disguised_.

_Doge_ (_solus_). I am before the hour, the hour whose voice,

Pealing into the arch of night, might strike

These palaces with ominous tottering,

And rock their marbles to the corner-stone,

Waking the sleepers from some hideous dream

Of indistinct but awful augury

Of that which will befall them. Yes, proud city!

Thou must be cleansed of the black blood which makes thee

A lazar-house of tyranny: the task

Is forced upon me, I have sought it not;

And therefore was I punished, seeing this

Patrician pestilence spread on and on,

Until at length it smote me in my slumbers,

And I am tainted, and must wash away

The plague spots in the healing wave. Tall fane!

Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow

The floor which doth divide us from the dead,

Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood,

Mouldered into a mite of ashes, hold

In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes,

When what is now a handful shook the earth--

Fane of the tutelar saints who guard our house!

Vault where two Doges rest--my sires! who died

The one of toil, the other in the field,

With a long race of other lineal chiefs

And sages, whose great labours, wounds, and state

I have inherited,--let the graves gape,

Till all thine aisles be peopled with the dead,

And pour them from thy portals to gaze on me!

I call them up, and them and thee to witness

What it hath been which put me to this task--

Their pure high blood, their blazon-roll of glories,

Their mighty name dishonoured all _in_ me,

Not _by_ me, but by the ungrateful nobles

We fought to make our equals, not our lords:

And chiefly thou, Ordelafo the brave,

Who perished in the field, where I since conquered,

Battling at Zara, did the hecatombs

Of thine and Venice' foes, there offered up

By thy descendant, merit such acquittance?

Spirits! smile down upon me! for my cause

Is yours, in all life now can be of yours,--

Your fame, your name, all mingled up in mine,

And in the future fortunes of our race!

Let me but prosper, and I make this city

Free and immortal, and our House's name

Worthier of what you were--now and hereafter!

_Enter_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.

_I. Ber_. Who goes there?

_Doge_. A friend to Venice.

_I. Ber_. 'Tis he.

Welcome, my Lord,--you are before the time.

_Doge_. I am ready to proceed to your assembly.

_I. Ber_. Have with you.--I am proud and pleased to see

Such confident alacrity. Your doubts

Since our last meeting, then, are all dispelled?

_Doge_. Not so--but I have set my little left

Of life upon this cast: the die was thrown

When I first listened to your treason.--Start not!

_That_ is the word; I cannot shape my tongue

To syllable black deeds into smooth names,

Though I be wrought on to commit them. When

I heard you tempt your Sovereign, and forbore

To have you dragged to prison, I became

Your guiltiest accomplice: now you may,

If it so please you, do as much by me.

_I. Ber_. Strange words, my Lord, and most unmerited;

I am no spy, and neither are we traitors.

_Doge_. _We--We!_--no matter--you have earned the right

To talk of _us_.--But to the point.--If this

Attempt succeeds, and Venice, rendered free

And flourishing, when we are in our graves,

Conducts her generations to our tombs,

And makes her children with their little hands

Strew flowers o'er her deliverers' ashes, then

The consequence will sanctify the deed,

And we shall be like the two Bruti in

The annals of hereafter; but if not,

If we should fail, employing bloody means

And secret plot, although to a good end,

Still we are traitors, honest Israel;--thou

No less than he who was thy Sovereign

Six hours ago, and now thy brother rebel.

_I. Ber_. 'Tis not the moment to consider thus,

Else I could answer.--Let us to the meeting,

Or we may be observed in lingering here.

_Doge_. We _are_ observed, and have been.

_I. Ber_. We observed!

Let me discover--and this steel-----

_Doge_. Put up;

Here are no human witnesses: look there--

What see you?

_I. Ber_. Only a tall warrior's statue

Bestriding a proud steed, in the dim light

Of the dull moon.

_Doge_. That Warrior was the sire

Of my sire's fathers, and that statue was

Decreed to him by the twice rescued city:--

Think you that he looks down on us or no?

_I. Ber_. My Lord, these are mere fantasies; there are

No eyes in marble.

_Doge_. But there are in Death.

I tell thee, man, there is a spirit in

Such things that acts and sees, unseen, though felt;

And, if there be a spell to stir the dead,

'Tis in such deeds as we are now upon.

Deem'st thou the souls of such a race as mine

Can rest, when he, their last descendant Chief,

Stands plotting on the brink of their pure graves

With stung plebeians?

_I. Ber_. It had been as well

To have pondered this before,--ere you embarked

In our great enterprise.--Do you repent?

_Doge_. No--but I _feel_, and shall do to the last.

I cannot quench a glorious life at once,

Nor dwindle to the thing I now must be,

And take men's lives by stealth, without some pause:

Yet doubt me not; it is this very feeling,

And knowing _what_ has wrung me to be thus,

Which is your best security. There's not

A roused mechanic in your busy plot

So wronged as I, so fall'n, so loudly called

To his redress: the very means I am forced

By these fell tyrants to adopt is such,

That I abhor them doubly for the deeds

Which I must do to pay them back for theirs.

_I. Ber_. Let us away--hark--the Hour strikes.

_Doge_. On--on--

It is our knell, or that of Venice.--On.

_I. Ber_. Say rather, 'tis her Freedom's rising peal

Of Triumph. This way--we are near the place.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The House where the Conspirators meet._

DAGOLINO, DORO, BERTRAM, FEDELE TREVISANO, CALENDARO,

ANTONIO DELLE BENDE, ETC., ETC.

_Cal_. (_entering_). Are all here?

_Dag_. All with you; except the three

On duty, and our leader Israel,

Who is expected momently.

_Cal_. Where's Bertram?

_Ber_. Here!

_Cal_. Have you not been able to complete

The number wanting in your company?

_Ber_. I had marked out some: but I have not dared

To trust them with the secret, till assured

That they were worthy faith.

_Cal_. There is no need

Of trusting to their faith; _who_, save ourselves

And our more chosen comrades, is aware

Fully of our intent? they think themselves

Engaged in secret to the Signory,

To punish some more dissolute young nobles

Who have defied the law in their excesses;

But once drawn up, and their new swords well fleshed

In the rank hearts of the more odious Senators,

They will not hesitate to follow up

Their blow upon the others, when they see

The example of their chiefs, and I for one

Will set them such, that they for very shame

And safety will not pause till all have perished.

_Ber_. How say you? _all!_

_Cal_. Whom wouldst thou spare?

_Ber_. _I spare?_

I have no power to spare. I only questioned,

Thinking that even amongst these wicked men

There might be some, whose age and qualities

Might mark them out for pity.

_Cal_. Yes, such pity

As when the viper hath been cut to pieces,

The separate fragments quivering in the sun,

In the last energy of venomous life,

Deserve and have. Why, I should think as soon

Of pitying some particular fang which made

One in the jaw of the swoln serpent, as

Of saving one of these: they form but links

Of one long chain; one mass, one breath, one body;

They eat, and drink, and live, and breed together,

Revel, and lie, oppress, and kill in concert,--

So let them die as _one!_

_Dag_. Should _one_ survive,

He would be dangerous as the whole; it is not

Their number, be it tens or thousands, but

The spirit of this Aristocracy

Which must be rooted out; and if there were

A single shoot of the old tree in life,

'Twould fasten in the soil, and spring again

To gloomy verdure and to bitter fruit.

Bertram, we must be firm!

_Cal_. Look to it well

Bertram! I have an eye upon thee.

_Ber_. Who

Distrusts me?

_Cal_. Not I; for if I did so,

Thou wouldst not now be there to talk of trust:

It is thy softness, not thy want of faith,

Which makes thee to be doubted.

_Ber_. You should know

Who hear me, who and what I am; a man

Roused like yourselves to overthrow oppression;

A kind man, I am apt to think, as some

Of you have found me; and if brave or no,

You, Calendaro, can pronounce, who have seen me

Put to the proof; or, if you should have doubts,

I'll clear them on your person!

_Cal_. You are welcome,

When once our enterprise is o'er, which must not

Be interrupted by a private brawl.

_Ber_. I am no brawler; but can bear myself

As far among the foe as any he

Who hears me; else why have I been selected

To be of your chief comrades? but no less

I own my natural weakness; I have not

Yet learned to think of indiscriminate murder

Without some sense of shuddering; and the sight

Of blood which spouts through hoary scalps is not

To me a thing of triumph, nor the death

Of man surprised a glory. Well--too well

I know that we must do such things on those

Whose acts have raised up such avengers; but

If there were some of these who could be saved

From out this sweeping fate, for our own sakes

And for our honour, to take off some stain

Of massacre, which else pollutes it wholly,

I had been glad; and see no cause in this

For sneer, nor for suspicion!

_Dag_. Calm thee, Bertram,

For we suspect thee not, and take good heart.

It is the cause, and not our will, which asks

Such actions from our hands: we'll wash away

All stains in Freedom's fountain!

_Enter_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO, _and the_ DOGE, _disguised_.

_Dag_. Welcome, Israel.

_Consp_. Most welcome.--Brave Bertuccio, thou art late--

Who is this stranger?

_Cal_. It is time to name him.

Our comrades are even now prepared to greet him

In brotherhood, as I have made it known

That thou wouldst add a brother to our cause,

Approved by thee, and thus approved by all,

Such is our trust in all thine actions. Now

Let him unfold himself.

_I. Ber_. Stranger, step forth!

[_The Doge discovers himself_.

_Consp_. To arms!--we are betrayed--it is the Doge!

Down with them both! our traitorous captain, and

The tyrant he hath sold us to.

_Cal_. (_drawing his sword_). Hold! hold!

Who moves a step against them dies. Hold! hear

Bertuccio--What! are you appalled to see

A lone, unguarded, weaponless old man

Amongst you?--Israel, speak! what means this mystery?

_I. Ber_. Let them advance and strike at their own bosoms,

Ungrateful suicides! for on our lives

Depend their own, their fortunes, and their hopes.

_Doge_. Strike!--If I dreaded death, a death more fearful

Than any your rash weapons can inflict,

I should not now be here: Oh, noble Courage!

The eldest born of Fear, which makes you brave

Against this solitary hoary head!

See the bold chiefs, who would reform a state

And shake down senates, mad with wrath and dread

At sight of one patrician! Butcher me!

You can, I care not.--Israel, are these men

The mighty hearts you spoke of? look upon them!

_Cal_. Faith! he hath shamed us, and deservedly,

Was this your trust in your true Chief Bertuccio,

To turn your swords against him and his guest?

Sheathe them, and hear him.

_I. Ber_. I disdain to speak.

They might and must have known a heart like mine

Incapable of treachery; and the power

They gave me to adopt all fitting means

To further their design was ne'er abused.

They might be certain that who e'er was brought

By me into this Council had been led

To take his choice--as brother, or as victim.

_Doge_. And which am I to be? your actions leave

Some cause to doubt the freedom of the choice.

_I. Ber_. My Lord, we would have perished here together,

Had these rash men proceeded; but, behold,

They are ashamed of that mad moment's impulse,

And droop their heads; believe me, they are such

As I described them.--Speak to them.

_Cal_. Aye, speak;

We are all listening in wonder.

_I. Ber_. (_addressing the conspirators_). You are safe,

Nay, more, almost triumphant--listen then,

And know my words for truth.

_Doge_. You see me here,

As one of you hath said, an old, unarmed,

Defenceless man; and yesterday you saw me

Presiding in the hall of ducal state,

Apparent Sovereign of our hundred isles,

Robed in official purple, dealing out

The edicts of a power which is not mine,

Nor yours, but of our masters--the patricians.

Why I was there you know, or think you know;

Why I am _here_, he who hath been most wronged,

He who among you hath been most insulted,

Outraged and trodden on, until he doubt

If he be worm or no, may answer for me,

Asking of his own heart what brought him here?

You know my recent story, all men know it,

And judge of it far differently from those

Who sate in judgement to heap scorn on scorn.

But spare me the recital--it is here,

Here at my heart the outrage--but my words,

Already spent in unavailing plaints,

Would only show my feebleness the more,

And I come here to strengthen even the strong,

And urge them on to deeds, and not to war

With woman's weapons; but I need not urge you.

Our private wrongs have sprung from public vices,

In this--I cannot call it commonwealth,

Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince nor people,

But all the sins of the old Spartan state

Without its virtues--temperance and valour.

The Lords of Lacedæmon were true soldiers,

But ours are Sybarites, while we are Helots,

Of whom I am the lowest, most enslaved;

Although dressed out to head a pageant, as

The Greeks of yore made drunk their slaves to form

A pastime for their children. You are met

To overthrow this Monster of a state,

This mockery of a Government, this spectre,

Which must be exorcised with blood,--and then

We will renew the times of Truth and Justice,

Condensing in a fair free commonwealth

Not rash equality but equal rights,

Proportioned like the columns to the temple,

Giving and taking strength reciprocal,

And making firm the whole with grace and beauty,

So that no part could be removed without

Infringement of the general symmetry.

In operating this great change, I claim

To be one of you--if you trust in me;

If not, strike home,--my life is compromised,

And I would rather fall by freemen's hands

Than live another day to act the tyrant

As delegate of tyrants: such I am not,

And never have been--read it in our annals;

I can appeal to my past government

In many lands and cities; they can tell you

If I were an oppressor, or a man

Feeling and thinking for my fellow men.

Haply had I been what the Senate sought,

A thing of robes and trinkets, dizened out

To sit in state as for a Sovereign's picture;

A popular scourge, a ready sentence-signer,

A stickler for the Senate and "the Forty,"

A sceptic of all measures which had not

The sanction of "the Ten," a council-fawner,

A tool--a fool--a puppet,--they had ne'er

Fostered the wretch who stung me. What I suffer

Has reached me through my pity for the people;

That many know, and they who know not yet

Will one day learn: meantime I do devote,

Whate'er the issue, my last days of life--

My present power such as it is, not that

Of Doge, but of a man who has been great

Before he was degraded to a Doge,

And still has individual means and mind;

I stake my fame (and I had fame)--my breath--

(The least of all, for its last hours are nigh)

My heart--my hope--my soul--upon this cast!

Such as I am, I offer me to you

And to your chiefs; accept me or reject me,--

A Prince who fain would be a Citizen

Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be so.

_Cal_. Long live Faliero!--Venice shall be free!

_Consp_. Long live Faliero!

_I. Ber_. Comrades! did I well?

Is not this man a host in such a cause?

_Doge_. This is no time for eulogies, nor place

For exultation. Am I one of you?

_Cal_. Aye, and the first among us, as thou hast been

Of Venice--be our General and Chief.

_Doge_. Chief!--General!--I was General at Zara,

And Chief in Rhodes and Cyprus, Prince in Venice:

I cannot stoop--that is, I am not fit

To lead a band of--patriots: when I lay

Aside the dignities which I have borne,

'Tis not to put on others, but to be

Mate to my fellows--but now to the point:

Israel has stated to me your whole plan--

'Tis bold, but feasible if I assist it,

And must be set in motion instantly.

_Cal_. E'en when thou wilt. Is it not so, my friends?

I have disposed all for a sudden blow;

When shall it be then?

_Doge_. At sunrise.

_Ber_. So soon?

_Doge_. So soon?--so late--each hour accumulates

Peril on peril, and the more so now

Since I have mingled with you;--know you not

The Council, and "the Ten?" the spies, the eyes

Of the patricians dubious of their slaves,

And now more dubious of the Prince they have made one?

I tell you, you must strike, and suddenly,

Full to the Hydra's heart--its heads will follow.

_Cal_. With all my soul and sword, I yield assent;

Our companies are ready, sixty each,

And all now under arms by Israel's order;

Each at their different place of rendezvous,

And vigilant, expectant of some blow;

Let each repair for action to his post!

And now, my Lord, the signal?

_Doge_. When you hear

The great bell of Saint Mark's, which may not be

Struck without special order of the Doge

(The last poor privilege they leave their Prince),

March on Saint Mark's!

_I. Ber_. And there?--

_Doge_. By different routes

Let your march be directed, every sixty

Entering a separate avenue, and still

Upon the way let your cry be of War

And of the Genoese Fleet, by the first dawn

Discerned before the port; form round the palace,

Within whose court will be drawn out in arms

My nephew and the clients of our house,

Many and martial; while the bell tolls on,

Shout ye, "Saint Mark!--the foe is on our waters!"

_Cal_. I see it now--but on, my noble Lord.

_Doge_. All the patricians flocking to the Council,

(Which they dare not refuse, at the dread signal

Pealing from out their Patron Saint's proud tower,)

Will then be gathered in unto the harvest,

And we will reap them with the sword for sickle.

If some few should be tardy or absent, them,

'Twill be but to be taken faint and single,

When the majority are put to rest.

_Cal_. Would that the hour were come! we will not scotch,

But kill.

_Ber_. Once more, sir, with your pardon, I

Would now repeat the question which I asked

Before Bertuccio added to our cause

This great ally who renders it more sure,

And therefore safer, and as such admits

Some dawn of mercy to a portion of

Our victims--must all perish in this slaughter?

_Cal_. All who encounter me and mine--be sure,

The mercy they have shown, I show.

_Consp_. All! all!

Is this a time to talk of pity? when

Have they e'er shown, or felt, or feigned it?

_I. Ber_. Bertram,

This false compassion is a folly, and

Injustice to thy comrades and thy cause!

Dost thou not see, that if we single out

Some for escape, they live but to avenge

The fallen? and how distinguish now the innocent

From out the guilty? all their acts are one--

A single emanation from one body,

Together knit for our oppression! 'Tis

Much that we let their children live; I doubt

If all of these even should be set apart:

The hunter may reserve some single cub

From out the tiger's litter, but who e'er

Would seek to save the spotted sire or dam,

Unless to perish by their fangs? however,

I will abide by Doge Faliero's counsel:

Let him decide if any should be saved.

_Doge_. Ask me not--tempt me not with such a question--

Decide yourselves.

_I. Ber_. You know their private virtues

Far better than we can, to whom alone

Their public vices, and most foul oppression,

Have made them deadly; if there be amongst them

One who deserves to be repealed, pronounce.

_Doge_. Dolfino's father was my friend, and Lando

Fought by my side, and Marc Cornaro shared

My Genoese embassy: I saved the life

Of Veniero--shall I save it twice?

Would that I could save them and Venice also!

All these men, or their fathers, were my friends

Till they became my subjects; then fell from me

As faithless leaves drop from the o'erblown flower,

And left me a lone blighted thorny stalk,

Which, in its solitude, can shelter nothing;

So, as they let me wither, let them perish!

_Cal_. They cannot co-exist with Venice' freedom!

_Doge_. Ye, though you know and feel our mutual mass

Of many wrongs, even ye are ignorant

What fatal poison to the springs of Life,

To human ties, and all that's good and dear,

Lurks in the present institutes of Venice:

All these men were my friends; I loved them, they

Requited honourably my regards;

We served and fought; we smiled and wept in concert;

We revelled or we sorrowed side by side;

We made alliances of blood and marriage;

We grew in years and honours fairly,--till

Their own desire, not my ambition, made

Them choose me for their Prince, and then farewell!

Farewell all social memory! all thoughts

In common! and sweet bonds which link old friendships,

When the survivors of long years and actions,

Which now belong to history, soothe the days

Which yet remain by treasuring each other,

And never meet, but each beholds the mirror

Of half a century on his brother's brow,

And sees a hundred beings, now in earth,

Flit round them whispering of the days gone by,

And seeming not all dead, as long as two

Of the brave, joyous, reckless, glorious band,

Which once were one and many, still retain

A breath to sigh for them, a tongue to speak

Of deeds that else were silent, save on marble----

_Oimé Oimé!_--and must I do this deed?

_I. Ber_. My Lord, you are much moved: it is not now

That such things must be dwelt upon.

_Doge_. Your patience

A moment--I recede not: mark with me

The gloomy vices of this government.

From the hour they made me Doge, the _Doge_ they _made_ me--

Farewell the past! I died to all that had been,

Or rather they to me: no friends, no kindness,

No privacy of life--all were cut off:

They came not near me--such approach gave umbrage;

They could not love me--such was not the law;

They thwarted me--'twas the state's policy;

They baffled me--'twas a patrician's duty;

They wronged me, for such was to right the state;

They could not right me--that would give suspicion;

So that I was a slave to my own subjects;

So that I was a foe to my own friends;

Begirt with spies for guards, with robes for power,

With pomp for freedom, gaolers for a council,

Inquisitors for friends, and Hell for life!

I had only one fount of quiet left,

And _that_ they poisoned! My pure household gods

Were shivered on my hearth, and o'er their shrine

Sate grinning Ribaldry, and sneering Scorn.

_I. Ber_. You have been deeply wronged, and now shall be

Nobly avenged before another night.

_Doge_. I had borne all--it hurt me, but I bore it--

Till this last running over of the cup

Of bitterness--until this last loud insult,

Not only unredressed, but sanctioned; then,

And thus, I cast all further feelings from me--

The feelings which they crushed for me, long, long

Before, even in their oath of false allegiance!

Even in that very hour and vow, they abjured

Their friend and made a Sovereign, as boys make

_Playthings_, to do their pleasure--and be broken!

I from that hour have seen but Senators

In dark suspicious conflict with the Doge,

Brooding with him in mutual hate and fear;

They dreading he should snatch the tyranny

From out their grasp, and he abhorring tyrants.

To me, then, these men have no _private_ life,

Nor claim to ties they have cut off from others;

As Senators for arbitrary acts

Amenable, I look on them--as such

Let them be dealt upon.

_Cal_. And now to action!

Hence, brethren, to our posts, and may this be

The last night of mere words: I'd fain be doing!

Saint Mark's great bell at dawn shall find me wakeful!

_I. Ber_. Disperse then to your posts: be firm and vigilant;

Think on the wrongs we bear, the rights we claim.

This day and night shall be the last of peril!

Watch for the signal, and then march. I go

To join my band; let each be prompt to marshal

His separate charge: the Doge will now return

To the palace to prepare all for the blow.

We part to meet in Freedom and in Glory!

_Cal_. Doge, when I greet you next, my homage to you

Shall be the head of Steno on this sword!

_Doge_. No; let him be reserved unto the last,

Nor turn aside to strike at such a prey,

Till nobler game is quarried: his offence

Was a mere ebullition of the vice,

The general corruption generated

By the foul Aristocracy: he could not--

He dared not in more honourable days

Have risked it. I have merged all private wrath

Against him in the thought of our great purpose.

A slave insults me--I require his punishment

From his proud master's hands; if he refuse it,

The offence grows his, and let him answer it.

_Cal_. Yet, as the immediate cause of the alliance

Which consecrates our undertaking more,

I owe him such deep gratitude, that fain

I would repay him as he merits; may I?

_Doge_. You would but lop the hand, and I the head;

You would but smite the scholar, I the master;

You would but punish Steno, I the Senate.

I cannot pause on individual hate,

In the absorbing, sweeping, whole revenge,

Which, like the sheeted fire from Heaven, must blast

Without distinction, as it fell of yore,

Where the Dead Sea hath quenched two Cities' ashes.

_I. Ber_. Away, then, to your posts! I but remain

A moment to accompany the Doge

To our late place of tryst, to see no spies

Have been upon the scout, and thence I hasten

To where my allotted band is under arms.

_Cal_. Farewell, then,--until dawn!

_I. Ber_. Success go with you!

_Consp_. We will not fail--Away! My Lord, farewell!

[_The Conspirators salute the_ DOGE _and_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO,

_and retire, headed by_ PHILIP CALENDARO. _The_ DOGE _and_

ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _remain_.

_I. Ber_. We have them in the toil--it cannot fail!

Now thou'rt indeed a Sovereign, and wilt make

A name immortal greater than the greatest:

Free citizens have struck at Kings ere now;

Cæsars have fallen, and even patrician hands

Have crushed dictators, as the popular steel

Has reached patricians: but, until this hour,

What Prince has plotted for his people's freedom?

Or risked a life to liberate his subjects?

For ever, and for ever, they conspire

Against the people, to abuse their hands

To chains, but laid aside to carry weapons

Against the fellow nations, so that yoke

On yoke, and slavery and death may whet,

_Not glut_, the never-gorged Leviathan!

Now, my Lord, to our enterprise;--'tis great,

And greater the reward; why stand you rapt?

A moment back, and you were all impatience!

_Doge_. And is it then decided! must they die?

_I. Ber_. Who?

_Doge_. My own friends by blood and courtesy,

And many deeds and days--the Senators?

_I. Ber_. You passed their sentence, and it is a just one.

_Doge_. Aye, so it seems, and so it is to _you_;

You are a patriot, a plebeian Gracchus--

The rebel's oracle, the people's tribune--

I blame you not--you act in your vocation;

They smote you, and oppressed you, and despised you;

So they have _me_: but _you_ ne'er spake with them;

You never broke their bread, nor shared their salt;

You never had their wine-cup at your lips:

You grew not up with them, nor laughed, nor wept,

Nor held a revel in their company;

Ne'er smiled to see them smile, nor claimed their smile

In social interchange for yours, nor trusted

Nor wore them in your heart of hearts, as I have:

These hairs of mine are grey, and so are theirs,

The elders of the Council: I remember

When all our locks were like the raven's wing,

As we went forth to take our prey around

The isles wrung from the false Mahometan;

And can I see them dabbled o'er with blood?

Each stab to them will seem my suicide.

_I. Ber_. Doge! Doge! this vacillation is unworthy

A child; if you are not in second childhood,

Call back your nerves to your own purpose, nor

Thus shame yourself and me. By Heavens! I'd rather

Forego even now, or fail in our intent,

Than see the man I venerate subside

From high resolves into such shallow weakness!

You have seen blood in battle, shed it, both

Your own and that of others; can you shrink then

From a few drops from veins of hoary vampires,

Who but give back what they have drained from millions?

_Doge_. Bear with me! Step by step, and blow on blow,

I will divide with you; think not I waver:

Ah! no; it is the _certainty_ of all

Which I must do doth make me tremble thus.

But let these last and lingering thoughts have way,

To which you only and the night are conscious,

And both regardless; when the Hour arrives,

'Tis mine to sound the knell, and strike the blow,

Which shall unpeople many palaces,

And hew the highest genealogic trees

Down to the earth, strewed with their bleeding fruit,

And crush their blossoms into barrenness:

_This will_ I--must I--have I sworn to do,

Nor aught can turn me from my destiny;

But still I quiver to behold what I

Must be, and think what I have been! Bear with me.

_I. Ber_. Re-man your breast; I feel no such remorse,

I understand it not: why should you change?

You acted, and you act, on your free will.

_Doge_. Aye, there it is--_you_ feel not, nor do I,

Else I should stab thee on the spot, to save

A thousand lives--and killing, do no murder;

You _feel_ not--you go to this butcher-work

As if these high-born men were steers for shambles:

When all is over, you'll be free and merry,

And calmly wash those hands incarnadine;

But I, outgoing thee and all thy fellows

In this surpassing massacre, shall be,

Shall see and feel--oh God! oh God! 'tis true,

And thou dost well to answer that it was

"My own free will and act," and yet you err,

For I will do this! Doubt not--fear not; I

Will be your most unmerciful accomplice!

And yet I act no more on my free will,

Nor my own feelings--both compel me back;

But there is _Hell_ within me and around,

And like the Demon who believes and trembles

Must I abhor and do. Away! away!

Get thee unto thy fellows, I will hie me

To gather the retainers of our house.

Doubt not, St. Mark's great bell shall wake all Venice,

Except her slaughtered Senate: ere the Sun

Be broad upon the Adriatic there

Shall be a voice of weeping, which shall drown

The roar of waters in the cry of blood!

I am resolved--come on.

_I. Ber_. With all my soul!

Keep a firm rein upon these bursts of passion;

Remember what these men have dealt to thee,

And that this sacrifice will be succeeded

By ages of prosperity and freedom

To this unshackled city: a true tyrant

Would have depopulated empires, nor

Have felt the strange compunction which hath wrung you

To punish a few traitors to the people.

Trust me, such were a pity more misplaced

Than the late mercy of the state to Steno.

_Doge_. Man, thou hast struck upon the chord which jars

All nature from my heart. Hence to our task!

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_Palazzo of the Patrician_ LIONI. LIONI _laying

aside the mask and cloak which the Venetian Nobles wore in

public, attended by a Domestic_.

_Lioni_. I will to rest, right weary of this revel,

The gayest we have held for many moons,

And yet--I know not why--it cheered me not;

There came a heaviness across my heart,

Which, in the lightest movement of the dance,

Though eye to eye, and hand in hand united

Even with the Lady of my Love, oppressed me,

And through my spirit chilled my blood, until

A damp like Death rose o'er my brow; I strove

To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be;

Through all the music ringing in my ears

A knell was sounding as distinct and clear,

Though low and far, as e'er the Adrian wave

Rose o'er the City's murmur in the night,

Dashing against the outward Lido's bulwark:

So that I left the festival before

It reached its zenith, and will woo my pillow

For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness.

Antonio, take my mask and cloak, and light

The lamp within my chamber.

_Ant_. Yes, my Lord:

Command you no refreshment?

_Lioni_. Nought, save sleep,

Which will not be commanded. Let me hope it,

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

Though my breast feels too anxious; I will try

Whether the air will calm my spirits: 'tis

A goodly night; the cloudy wind which blew

From the Levant hath crept into its cave,

And the broad Moon hath brightened. What a stillness!

[_Goes to an open lattice_.

And what a contrast with the scene I left,

Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'

More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls,

Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts

Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries

A dazzling mass of artificial light,

Which showed all things, but nothing as they were.

There Age essaying to recall the past,

After long striving for the hues of Youth

At the sad labour of the toilet, and

Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror,

Pranked forth in all the pride of ornament,

Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood

Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide,

Believed itself forgotten, and was fooled.

There Youth, which needed not, nor thought of such

Vain adjuncts, lavished its true bloom, and health,

And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press

Of flushed and crowded wassailers, and wasted

Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure,

And so shall waste them till the sunrise streams

On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not

Have worn this aspect yet for many a year.

The music, and the banquet, and the wine,

The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers,

The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments,

The white arms and the raven hair, the braids

And bracelets; swanlike bosoms, and the necklace,

An India in itself, yet dazzling not

The eye like what it circled; the thin robes,

Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven;

The many-twinkling feet so small and sylphlike,

Suggesting the more secret symmetry

Of the fair forms which terminate so well--

All the delusion of the dizzy scene,

Its false and true enchantments--Art and Nature,

Which swam before my giddy eyes, that drank

The sight of beauty as the parched pilgrim's

On Arab sands the false mirage, which offers

A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,

Are gone. Around me are the stars and waters--

Worlds mirrored in the Ocean, goodlier sight

Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;

And the great Element, which is to space

What Ocean is to Earth, spreads its blue depths,

Softened with the first breathings of the spring;

The high Moon sails upon her beauteous way,

Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls

Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces,

Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,

Fraught with the Orient spoil of many marbles,

Like altars ranged along the broad canal,

Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed

Reared up from out the waters, scarce less strangely

Than those more massy and mysterious giants

Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,

Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have

No other record. All is gentle: nought

Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,

Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.

The tinklings of some vigilant guitars

Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,

And cautious opening of the casement, showing

That he is not unheard; while her young hand,

Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,

So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice,

To let in love through music, makes his heart

Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight; the dash

Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle

Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,

And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse;

Some dusky shadow checkering the Rialto;

Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire,

Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade

The ocean-born and earth-commanding City--

How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm!

I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away

Those horrid bodements which, amidst the throng,

I could not dissipate: and with the blessing

Of thy benign and quiet influence,

Now will I to my couch, although to rest

Is almost wronging such a night as this,----

[_A knocking is heard from without_.

Hark! what is that? or who at such a moment?

_Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant_. My Lord, a man without, on urgent business,

Implores to be admitted.

_Lioni_. Is he a stranger?

_Ant_. His face is muffled in his cloak, but both

His voice and gestures seem familiar to me;

I craved his name, but this he seemed reluctant

To trust, save to yourself; most earnestly

He sues to be permitted to approach you.

_Lioni_. 'Tis a strange hour, and a suspicious bearing!

And yet there is slight peril: 'tis not in

Their houses noble men are struck at; still,

Although I know not that I have a foe

In Venice, 'twill be wise to use some caution.

Admit him, and retire; but call up quickly

Some of thy fellows, who may wait without.--

Who can this man be?--

[_Exit_ ANTONIO, _and returns with_ BERTRAM _muffled_.

_Ber_. My good Lord Lioni,

I have no time to lose, nor thou,--dismiss

This menial hence; I would be private with you.

_Lioni_. It seems the voice of Bertram--Go, Antonio.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

Now, stranger, what would you at such an hour?

_Ber_. (_discovering himself_).

A boon, my noble patron; you have granted

Many to your poor client, Bertram; add

This one, and make him happy.

_Lioni_. Thou hast known me

From boyhood, ever ready to assist thee

In all fair objects of advancement, which

Beseem one of thy station; I would promise

Ere thy request was heard, but that the hour,

Thy bearing, and this strange and hurried mode

Of suing, gives me to suspect this visit

Hath some mysterious import--but say on--

What has occurred, some rash and sudden broil?--

A cup too much, a scuffle, and a stab?

Mere things of every day; so that thou hast not

Spilt noble blood, I guarantee thy safety;

But then thou must withdraw, for angry friends

And relatives, in the first burst of vengeance,

Are things in Venice deadlier than the laws.

_Ber_. My Lord, I thank you; but----

_Lioni_. But what? You have not

Raised a rash hand against one of our order?

If so--withdraw and fly--and own it not;

I would not slay--but then I must not save thee!

He who has shed patrician blood----

_Ber_. I come

To save patrician blood, and not to shed it!

And thereunto I must be speedy, for

Each minute lost may lose a life; since Time

Has changed his slow scythe for the two-edged sword,

And is about to take, instead of sand,

The dust from sepulchres to fill his hour-glass!--

Go not _thou_ forth to-morrow!

_Lioni_. Wherefore not?--

What means this menace?

_Ber_. Do not seek its meaning,

But do as I implore thee;--stir not forth,

Whate'er be stirring; though the roar of crowds--

The cry of women, and the shrieks of babes--

The groans of men--the clash of arms--the sound

Of rolling drum, shrill trump, and hollow bell,

Peal in one wide alarum l--Go not forth,

Until the Tocsin's silent, nor even then

Till I return!

_Lioni_. Again, what does this mean?

_Ber_. Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all

Thou holdest dear on earth or Heaven--by all

The Souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope

To emulate them, and to leave behind

Descendants worthy both of them and thee--

By all thou hast of blessed in hope or memory--

By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter--

By all the good deeds thou hast done to me,

Good I would now repay with greater good,

Remain within--trust to thy household gods,

And to my word for safety, if thou dost,

As I now counsel--but if not, thou art lost!

_Lioni_. I am indeed already lost in wonder;

Surely thou ravest! what have _I_ to dread?

Who are my foes? or if there be such, _why_

Art _thou_ leagued with them?--_thou!_ or, if so leagued,

Why comest thou to tell me at this hour,

And not before?

_Ber_. I cannot answer this.

Wilt thou go forth despite of this true warning?

_Lioni_. I was not born to shrink from idle threats,

The cause of which I know not: at the hour

Of council, be it soon or late, I shall not

Be found among the absent.

_Ber_. Say not so!

Once more, art thou determined to go forth?

_Lioni_. I am. Nor is there aught which shall impede me!

_Ber_. Then, Heaven have mercy on thy soul!--Farewell!

[_Going_.

_Lioni_. Stay--there is more in this than my own safety

Which makes me call thee back; we must not part thus:

Bertram, I have known thee long.

_Ber_. From childhood, Signor,

You have been my protector: in the days

Of reckless infancy, when rank forgets,

Or, rather, is not yet taught to remember

Its cold prerogative, we played together;

Our sports, our smiles, our tears, were mingled oft;

My father was your father's client, I

His son's scarce less than foster-brother; years

Saw us together--happy, heart-full hours!

Oh God! the difference 'twixt those hours and this!

_Lioni_. Bertram, 'tis thou who hast forgotten them.

_Ber_. Nor now, nor ever; whatsoe'er betide,

I would have saved you: when to Manhood's growth

We sprung, and you, devoted to the state,

As suits your station, the more humble Bertram

Was left unto the labours of the humble,

Still you forsook me not; and if my fortunes

Have not been towering, 'twas no fault of him

Who ofttimes rescued and supported me,

When struggling with the tides of Circumstance,

Which bear away the weaker: noble blood

Ne'er mantled in a nobler heart than thine

Has proved to me, the poor plebeian Bertram.

Would that thy fellow Senators were like thee!

_Lioni_. Why, what hast thou to say against the Senate?

_Ber_. Nothing.

_Lioni_. I know that there are angry spirits

And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,

Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out

Muffled to whisper curses to the night;

Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruffians,

And desperate libertines who brawl in taverns;

_Thou_ herdest not with such: 'tis true, of late

I have lost sight of thee, but thou wert wont

To lead a temperate life, and break thy bread

With honest mates, and bear a cheerful aspect.

What hath come to thee? in thy hollow eye

And hueless cheek, and thine unquiet motions,

Sorrow and Shame and Conscience seem at war

To waste thee.

_Ber_. Rather Shame and Sorrow light

On the accurséd tyranny which rides

The very air in Venice, and makes men

Madden as in the last hours of the plague

Which sweeps the soul deliriously from life!

_Lioni_. Some villains have been tampering with thee, Bertram;

This is not thy old language, nor own thoughts;

Some wretch has made thee drunk with disaffection:

But thou must not be lost so; thou _wert_ good

And kind, and art not fit for such base acts

As Vice and Villany would put thee to:

Confess--confide in me--thou know'st my nature.

What is it thou and thine are bound to do,

Which should prevent thy friend, the only son

Of him who was a friend unto thy father,

So that our good-will is a heritage

We should bequeath to our posterity

Such as ourselves received it, or augmented;

I say, what is it thou must do, that I

Should deem thee dangerous, and keep the house

Like a sick girl?

_Ber_. Nay, question me no further:

I must be gone.----

_Lioni_. And I be murdered!--say,

Was it not thus thou said'st, my gentle Bertram?

_Ber_. Who talks of murder? what said I of murder?

Tis false! I did not utter such a word.

_Lioni_. Thou didst not; but from out thy wolfish eye,

So changed from what I knew it, there glares forth

The gladiator. If _my_ life's thine object,

Take it--I am unarmed,--and then away!

I would not hold my breath on such a tenure

As the capricious mercy of such things

As thou and those who have set thee to thy task-work.

_Ber_. Sooner than spill thy blood, I peril mine;

Sooner than harm a hair of thine, I place

In jeopardy a thousand heads, and some

As noble, nay, even nobler than thine own.

_Lioni_. Aye, is it even so? Excuse me, Bertram;

I am not worthy to be singled out

From such exalted hecatombs--who are they

That _are_ in danger, and that _make_ the danger?

_Ber_. Venice, and all that she inherits, are

Divided like a house against itself,

And so will perish ere to-morrow's twilight!

_Lioni_. More mysteries, and awful ones! But now,

Or thou, or I, or both, it may be, are

Upon the verge of ruin; speak once out,

And thou art safe and glorious: for 'tis more

Glorious to save than slay, and slay i' the dark too--

Fie, Bertram! that was not a craft for thee!

How would it look to see upon a spear

The head of him whose heart was open to thee!

Borne by thy hand before the shuddering people?

And such may be my doom; for here I swear,

Whate'er the peril or the penalty

Of thy denunciation, I go forth,

Unless thou dost detail the cause, and show

The consequence of all which led thee here!

_Ber_. Is there no way to save thee? minutes fly,

And thou art lost!--_thou_! my sole benefactor,

The only being who was constant to me

Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor!

Let me save thee--but spare my honour!

_Lioni_. Where

Can lie the honour in a league of murder?

And who are traitors save unto the State?

_Ber_. A league is still a compact, and more binding

In honest hearts when words must stand for law;

And in my mind, there is no traitor like

He whose domestic treason plants the poniard

Within the breast which trusted to his truth.

Lioni. And who will strike the steel to mine?

_Ber_. Not I;

I could have wound my soul up to all things

Save this. _Thou_ must not die! and think how dear

Thy life is, when I risk so many lives,

Nay, more, the Life of lives, the liberty

Of future generations, _not_ to be

The assassin thou miscall'st me:--once, once more

I do adjure thee, pass not o'er thy threshold!

_Lioni_. It is in vain--this moment I go forth.

_Ber_. Then perish Venice rather than my friend!

I will disclose--ensnare--betray--destroy--

Oh, what a villain I become for thee!

_Lioni_. Say, rather thy friend's saviour and the State's!--

Speak--pause not--all rewards, all pledges for

Thy safety and thy welfare; wealth such as

The State accords her worthiest servants; nay,

Nobility itself I guarantee thee,

So that thou art sincere and penitent.

_Ber_. I have thought again: it must not be--I love thee--

Thou knowest it--that I stand here is the proof,

Not least though last; but having done my duty

By thee, I now must do it by my country!

Farewell--we meet no more in life!--farewell!

_Lioni_. What, ho!--Antonio--Pedro--to the door!

See that none pass--arrest this man!----

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and other armed Domestics, who seize_ BERTRAM.

_Lioni_ (_continues_). Take care

He hath no harm; bring me my sword and cloak,

And man the gondola with four oars--quick--

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

We will unto Giovanni Gradenigo's,

And send for Marc Cornaro:--fear not, Bertram;

This needful violence is for thy safety,

No less than for the general weal.

_Ber_. Where wouldst thou

Bear me a prisoner?

_Lioni_. Firstly to "the Ten;"

Next to the Doge.

_Ber_. To the Doge?

_Lioni_. Assuredly:

Is he not Chief of the State?

_Ber_. Perhaps at sunrise--

_Lioni_. What mean you?--but we'll know anon.

_Ber_. Art sure?

_Lioni_. Sure as all gentle means can make; and if

They fail, you know "the Ten" and their tribunal,

And that St. Mark's has dungeons, and the dungeons

A rack.

_Ber_. Apply it then before the dawn

Now hastening into heaven.--One more such word,

And you shall perish piecemeal, by the death

You think to doom to me.

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant_. The bark is ready,

My Lord, and all prepared.

_Lioni_. Look to the prisoner.

Bertram, I'll reason with thee as we go

To the Magnifico's, sage Gradenigo. [_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The Ducal Palace_--_The Doge's Apartment_.

_The_ DOGE _and his Nephew_ BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_. Are all the people of our house in muster?

_Ber. F._ They are arrayed, and eager for the signal,

Within our palace precincts at San Polo:

I come for your last orders.

_Doge_. It had been

As well had there been time to have got together,

From my own fief, Val di Marino, more

Of our retainers--but it is too late.

_Ber. F._ Methinks, my Lord,'tis better as it is:

A sudden swelling of our retinue

Had waked suspicion; and, though fierce and trusty,

The vassals of that district are too rude

And quick in quarrel to have long maintained

The secret discipline we need for such

A service, till our foes are dealt upon.

_Doge_. True; but when once the signal has been given,

_These_ are the men for such an enterprise;

These city slaves have all their private bias,

Their prejudice _against_ or _for_ this noble,

Which may induce them to o'erdo or spare

Where mercy may be madness; the fierce peasants,

Serfs of my county of Val di Marino,

Would do the bidding of their lord without

Distinguishing for love or hate his foes;

Alike to them Marcello or Cornaro,

A Gradenigo or a Foscari;

They are not used to start at those vain names,

Nor bow the knee before a civic Senate;

A chief in armour is their Suzerain,

And not a thing in robes.

_Ber. F._ We are enough;

And for the dispositions of our clients

Against the Senate I will answer.

_Doge_. Well,

The die is thrown; but for a warlike service,

Done in the field, commend me to my peasants:

They made the sun shine through the host of Huns

When sallow burghers slunk back to their tents,

And cowered to hear their own victorious trumpet.

If there be small resistance, you will find

These Citizens all Lions, like their Standard;

But if there's much to do, you'll wish, with me,

A band of iron rustics at our backs.

_Ber_. Thus thinking, I must marvel you resolve

To strike the blow so suddenly.

_Doge_. Such blows

Must be struck suddenly or never. When

I had o'ermastered the weak false remorse

Which yearned about my heart, too fondly yielding

A moment to the feelings of old days,

I was most fain to strike; and, firstly, that

I might not yield again to such emotions;

And, secondly, because of all these men,

Save Israel and Philip Calendaro,

I know not well the courage or the faith:

To-day might find 'mongst them a traitor to us,

As yesterday a thousand to the Senate;

But once in, with their hilts hot in their hands,

They must _on_ for their own sakes; one stroke struck,

And the mere instinct of the first-born Cain,

Which ever lurks somewhere in human hearts,

Though Circumstance may keep it in abeyance,

Will urge the rest on like to wolves; the sight

Of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more,

As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel;

And you will find a harder task to quell

Than urge them when they _have_ commenced, but _till_

That moment, a mere voice, a straw, a shadow,

Are capable of turning them aside.--

How goes the night?

_Ber. F._ Almost upon the dawn.

_Doge_. Then it is time to strike upon the bell.

Are the men posted?

_Ber. F._ By this time they are;

But they have orders not to strike, until

They have command from you through me in person.

_Doge_. 'Tis well.--Will the morn never put to rest

These stars which twinkle yet o'er all the heavens?

I am settled and bound up, and being so,

The very effort which it cost me to

Resolve to cleanse this Commonwealth with fire,

Now leaves my mind more steady. I have wept,

And trembled at the thought of this dread duty;

But now I have put down all idle passion,

And look the growing tempest in the face,

As doth the pilot of an Admiral Galley:

Yet (wouldst thou think it, kinsman?) it hath been

A greater struggle to me, than when nations

Beheld their fate merged in the approaching fight,

Where I was leader of a phalanx, where

Thousands were sure to perish--Yes, to spill

The rank polluted current from the veins

Of a few bloated despots needed more

To steel me to a purpose such as made

Timoleon immortal, than to face

The toils and dangers of a life of war.

_Ber. F._ It gladdens me to see your former wisdom

Subdue the furies which so wrung you ere

You were decided.

_Doge_. It was ever thus

With me; the hour of agitation came

In the first glimmerings of a purpose, when

Passion had too much room to sway; but in

The hour of action I have stood as calm

As were the dead who lay around me: this

They knew who made me what I am, and trusted

To the subduing power which I preserved

Over my mood, when its first burst was spent.

But they were not aware that there are things

Which make revenge a virtue by reflection,

And not an impulse of mere anger; though

The laws sleep, Justice wakes, and injured souls

Oft do a public right with private wrong,

And justify their deeds unto themselves.--

Methinks the day breaks--is it not so? look,

Thine eyes are clear with youth;--the air puts on

A morning freshness, and, at least to me,

The sea looks greyer through the lattice.

_Ber. F._ True,

The morn is dappling in the sky.

_Doge_. Away then!

See that they strike without delay, and with

The first toll from St. Mark's, march on the palace

With all our House's strength; here I will meet you;

The Sixteen and their companies will move

In separate columns at the self-same moment:

Be sure you post yourself at the great Gate:

I would not trust "the Ten" except to us--

The rest, the rabble of patricians, may

Glut the more careless swords of those leagued with us.

Remember that the cry is still "Saint Mark!

The Genoese are come--ho! to the rescue!

Saint Mark and Liberty!"--Now--now to action!

_Ber. F._ Farewell then, noble Uncle! we will meet

In freedom and true sovereignty, or never!

_Doge_. Come hither, my Bertuccio--one embrace;

Speed, for the day grows broader; send me soon

A messenger to tell me how all goes

When you rejoin our troops, and then sound--sound

The storm-bell from St. Mark's!

[_Exit_ BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). He is gone,

And on each footstep moves a life. 'Tis done.

Now the destroying Angel hovers o'er

Venice, and pauses ere he pours the vial,

Even as the eagle overlooks his prey,

And for a moment, poised in middle air,

Suspends the motion of his mighty wings,

Then swoops with his unerring beak. Thou Day!

That slowly walk'st the waters! march--march on--

I would not smite i' the dark, but rather see

That no stroke errs. And you, ye blue sea waves!

I have seen you dyed ere now, and deeply too,

With Genoese, Saracen, and Hunnish gore,

While that of Venice flowed too, but victorious:

Now thou must wear an unmixed crimson; no

Barbaric blood can reconcile us now

Unto that horrible incarnadine,

But friend or foe will roll in civic slaughter.

And have I lived to fourscore years for this?

I, who was named Preserver of the City?

I, at whose name the million's caps were flung

Into the air, and cries from tens of thousands

Rose up, imploring Heaven to send me blessings,

And fame, and length of days--to see this day?

But this day, black within the calendar,

Shall be succeeded by a bright millennium.

Doge Dandolo survived to ninety summers

To vanquish empires, and refuse their crown;

I will resign a crown, and make the State

Renew its freedom--but oh! by what means?

The noble end must justify them. What

Are a few drops of human blood? 'tis false,

The blood of tyrants is not human; they,

Like to incarnate Molochs, feed on ours,

Until 'tis time to give them to the tombs

Which they have made so populous.--Oh World!

Oh Men! what are ye, and our best designs,

That we must work by crime to punish crime?

And slay as if Death had but this one gate,

When a few years would make the sword superfluous?

And I, upon the verge of th' unknown realm,

Yet send so many heralds on before me?--

I must not ponder this. [_A pause._

Hark! was there not

A murmur as of distant voices, and

The tramp of feet in martial unison?

What phantoms even of sound our wishes raise!

It cannot be--the signal hath not rung--

Why pauses it? My nephew's messenger

Should be upon his way to me, and he

Himself perhaps even now draws grating back

Upon its ponderous hinge the steep tower portal,

Where swings the sullen huge oracular bell,

Which never knells but for a princely death,

Or for a state in peril, pealing forth

Tremendous bodements; let it do its office,

And be this peal its awfullest and last

Sound till the strong tower rock!--What! silent still?

I would go forth, but that my post is here,

To be the centre of re-union to

The oft discordant elements which form

Leagues of this nature, and to keep compact

The wavering of the weak, in case of conflict;

For if they should do battle,'twill be here,

Within the palace, that the strife will thicken:

Then here must be my station, as becomes

The master-mover.--Hark! he comes--he comes,

My nephew, brave Bertuccio's messenger.--

What tidings? Is he marching? hath he sped?

_They_ here!-all's lost-yet will I make an effort.

_Enter a_ SIGNOR OF THE NIGHT, _with Guards, etc., etc._

_Sig_. Doge, I arrest thee of high treason!

_Doge_. Me!

Thy Prince, of treason?--Who are they that dare

Cloak their own treason under such an order?

_Sig_. (_showing his order_).

Behold my order from the assembled Ten.

_Doge_. And _where_ are they, and _why_ assembled? no

Such Council can be lawful, till the Prince

Preside there, and that duty's mine: on thine

I charge thee, give me way, or marshal me

To the Council chamber.

_Sig_. Duke! it may not be:

Nor are they in the wonted Hall of Council,

But sitting in the convent of Saint Saviour's.

_Doge_. You dare to disobey me, then?

_Sig_. I serve

The State, and needs must serve it faithfully;

My warrant is the will of those who rule it.

_Doge_. And till that warrant has my signature

It is illegal, and, as _now_ applied,

Rebellious. Hast thou weighed well thy life's worth,

That thus you dare assume a lawless function?

_Sig_. 'Tis not my office to reply, but act--

I am placed here as guard upon thy person,

And not as judge to hear or to decide.

_Doge_ (_aside_).

I must gain time. So that the storm-bell sound,

All may be well yet. Kinsman, speed--speed--speed!--

Our fate is trembling in the balance, and

Woe to the vanquished! be they Prince and people,

Or slaves and Senate--

[_The great bell of St. Mark's tolls._

Lo! it sounds--it tolls!

_Doge_ (_aloud_).

Hark, Signor of the Night! and you, ye hirelings,

Who wield your mercenary staves in fear,

It is your knell.--Swell on, thou lusty peal!

Now, knaves, what ransom for your lives?

_Sig_. Confusion!

Stand to your arms, and guard the door--all's lost

Unless that fearful bell be silenced soon.

The officer hath missed his path or purpose,

Or met some unforeseen and hideous obstacle,

Anselmo, with thy company proceed

Straight to the tower; the rest remain with me.

[_Exit part of the Guard._

_Doge_. Wretch! if thou wouldst have thy vile life, implore it;

It is not now a lease of sixty seconds.

Aye, send thy miserable ruffians forth;

They never shall return.

_Sig_. So let it be!

They die then in their duty, as will I.

_Doge_. Fool! the high eagle flies at nobler game

Than thou and thy base myrmidons,--live on,

So thou provok'st not peril by resistance,

And learn (if souls so much obscured can bear

To gaze upon the sunbeams) to be free.

_Sig_. And learn thou to be captive. It hath ceased,

[_The bell ceases to toll_.

The traitorous signal, which was to have set

The bloodhound mob on their patrician prey--

The knell hath rung, but it is not the Senate's!

_Doge_ (_after a pause_).

All's silent, and all's lost!

_Sig_. Now, Doge, denounce me

As rebel slave of a revolted Council!

Have I not done my duty?

_Doge_. Peace, thou thing!

Thou hast done a worthy deed, and earned the price

Of blood, and they who use thee will reward thee.

But thou wert sent to watch, and not to prate,

As thou said'st even now--then do thine office,

But let it be in silence, as behoves thee,

Since, though thy prisoner, I am thy Prince.

_Sig_. I did not mean to fail in the respect

Due to your rank: in this I shall obey you.

_Doge_ (_aside_). There now is nothing left me save to die;

And yet how near success! I would have fallen,

And proudly, in the hour of triumph, but

To miss it thus!----

_Enter other_ SIGNORS OF THE NIGHT, _with_

BERTUCCIO FALIERO _prisoner_.

_2nd Sig_. We took him in the act

Of issuing from the tower, where, at his order,

As delegated from the Doge, the signal

Had thus begun to sound.

_1st Sig_. Are all the passes

Which lead up to the palace well secured?

_2nd Sig_. They are--besides, it matters not; the Chiefs

Are all in chains, and some even now on trial--

Their followers are dispersed, and many taken.

_Ber. F._ Uncle!

_Doge_. It is in vain to war with Fortune;

The glory hath departed from our house.

_Ber. F._ Who would have deemed it?--Ah! one moment sooner!

_Doge_. That moment would have changed the face of ages;

_This_ gives us to Eternity--We'll meet it

As men whose triumph is not in success,

But who can make their own minds all in all,

Equal to every fortune. Droop not,'tis

But a brief passage--I would go alone,

Yet if they send us, as 'tis like, together,

Let us go worthy of our sires and selves.

_Ber. F._ I shall not shame you, Uncle.

_1st Sig_. Lords, our orders

Are to keep guard on both in separate chambers,

Until the Council call ye to your trial.

_Doge_. Our trial! will they keep their mockery up

Even to the last? but let them deal upon us,

As we had dealt on them, but with less pomp.

'Tis but a game of mutual homicides,

Who have cast lots for the first death, and they

Have won with false dice.--Who hath been our Judas?

_1st Sig_. I am not warranted to answer that.

_Ber. F._ I'll answer for thee--'tis a certain Bertram,

Even now deposing to the secret Giunta.

_Doge_. Bertram, the Bergamask! With what vile tools

We operate to slay or save! This creature,

Black with a double treason, now will earn

Rewards and honours, and be stamped in story

With the geese in the Capitol, which gabbled

Till Rome awoke, and had an annual triumph,

While Manlius, who hurled down the Gauls, was cast

From the Tarpeian.

_1st Sig_. He aspired to treason,

And sought to rule the State.

_Doge_. He saved the State,

And sought but to reform what he revived--

But this is idle--Come, sirs, do your work.

_1st Sig_. Noble Bertuccio, we must now remove you

Into an inner chamber.

_Ber. F._ Farewell, Uncle!

If we shall meet again in life I know not,

But they perhaps will let our ashes mingle.

_Doge_. Yes, and our spirits, which shall yet go forth,

And do what our frail clay, thus clogged, hath failed in!

They cannot quench the memory of those

Who would have hurled them from their guilty thrones,

And such examples will find heirs, though distant.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.--_The Hall of the Council of Ten assembled with the additional

Senators, who, on the Trials of the Conspirators for the Treason of_

MARINO FALIERO, _composed what was called the Giunta,--Guards, Officers,

etc., etc._ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO _as Prisoners_.

BERTRAM, LIONI, _and Witnesses, etc._

_The Chief of the Ten_, BENINTENDE.

_Ben_. There now rests, after such conviction of

Their manifold and manifest offences,

But to pronounce on these obdurate men

The sentence of the Law:--a grievous task

To those who hear, and those who speak. Alas!

That it should fall to me! and that my days

Of office should be stigmatised through all

The years of coming time, as bearing record

To this most foul and complicated treason

Against a just and free state, known to all

The earth as being the Christian bulwark 'gainst

The Saracen and the schismatic Greek,

The savage Hun, and not less barbarous Frank;

A City which has opened India's wealth

To Europe; the last Roman refuge from

O'erwhelming Attila; the Ocean's Queen;

Proud Genoa's prouder rival! 'Tis to sap

The throne of such a City, these lost men

Have risked and forfeited their worthless lives--

So let them die the death.

_I. Ber_. We are prepared;

Your racks have done that for us. Let us die.

_Ben_. If ye have that to say which would obtain

Abatement of your punishment, the Giunta

Will hear you; if you have aught to confess,

Now is your time,--perhaps it may avail ye.

_I. Ber_. We stand to hear, and not to speak.

_Ben_. Your crimes

Are fully proved by your accomplices,

And all which Circumstance can add to aid them;

Yet we would hear from your own lips complete

Avowal of your treason: on the verge

Of that dread gulf which none repass, the truth

Alone can profit you on earth or Heaven--

Say, then, what was your motive?

_I. Ber_. Justice!

_Ben_. What

Your object?

_I. Ber_. Freedom!

_Ben_. You are brief, sir.

_I. Ber_. So my life grows: I

Was bred a soldier, not a senator.

_Ben_. Perhaps you think by this blunt brevity

To brave your judges to postpone the sentence?

_I. Ber_. Do you be brief as I am, and believe me,

I shall prefer that mercy to your pardon.

_Ben_. Is this your sole reply to the Tribunal?

_I. Ber_. Go, ask your racks what they have wrung from us,

Or place us there again; we have still some blood left,

And some slight sense of pain in these wrenched limbs:

But this ye dare not do; for if we die there--

And you have left us little life to spend

Upon your engines, gorged with pangs already--

Ye lose the public spectacle, with which

You would appal your slaves to further slavery!

Groans are not words, nor agony assent,

Nor affirmation Truth, if Nature's sense

Should overcome the soul into a lie,

For a short respite--must we bear or die?

_Ben_. Say, who were your accomplices?

_I. Ber_. The Senate.

_Ben_. What do you mean?

_I. Ber_. Ask of the suffering people,

Whom your patrician crimes have driven to crime.

_Ben_. You know the Doge?

_I. Ber_. I served with him at Zara

In the field, when _you_ were pleading here your way

To present office; we exposed our lives,

While you but hazarded the lives of others,

Alike by accusation or defence;

And for the rest, all Venice knows her Doge,

Through his great actions, and the Senate's insults.

_Ben_. You have held conference with him?

_I. Ber_. I am weary--

Even wearier of your questions than your tortures:

I pray you pass to judgment.

_Ben_. It is coming.

And you, too, Philip Calendaro, what

Have you to say why you should not be doomed?

_Cal_. I never was a man of many words,

And now have few left worth the utterance.

_Ben_. A further application of yon engine

May change your tone.

_Cal_. Most true, it _will_ do so;

A former application did so; but

It will not change my words, or, if it did--

_Ben_. What then?

_Cal_. Will my avowal on yon rack

Stand good in law?

_Ben_. Assuredly.

_Cal_. Whoe'er

The culprit be whom I accuse of treason?

_Ben_. Without doubt, he will be brought up to trial.

_Cal_. And on this testimony would he perish?

_Ben_. So your confession be detailed and full,

He will stand here in peril of his life.

_Cal_. Then look well to thy proud self, President!

For by the Eternity which yawns before me,

I swear that _thou_, and only thou, shall be

The traitor I denounce upon that rack,

If I be stretched there for the second time.

_One of the Giunta_. Lord President,'twere best proceed to judgment;

There is no more to be drawn from these men.

_Ben_. Unhappy men! prepare for instant death.

The nature of your crime--our law--and peril

The State now stands in, leave not an hour's respite.

Guards! lead them forth, and upon the balcony

Of the red columns, where, on festal Thursday,

The Doge stands to behold the chase of bulls,

Let them be justified: and leave exposed

Their wavering relics, in the place of judgment,

To the full view of the assembled people!

And Heaven have mercy on their souls!

_The Giunta_. Amen!

_I. Ber_. Signors, farewell! we shall not all again

Meet in one place.

_Ben_. And lest they should essay

To stir up the distracted multitude--

Guards! let their mouths be gagged even in the act

Of execution. Lead them hence!

_Cal_. What! must we

Not even say farewell to some fond friend,

Nor leave a last word with our confessor?

_Ben_. A priest is waiting in the antechamber;

But, for your friends, such interviews would be

Painful to them, and useless all to you.

_Cal_. I knew that we were gagged in life; at least

All those who had not heart to risk their lives

Upon their open thoughts; but still I deemed

That in the last few moments, the same idle

Freedom of speech accorded to the dying,

Would not now be denied to us; but since----

_I. Ber_. Even let them have their way, brave Calendaro!

What matter a few syllables? let's die

Without the slightest show of favour from them;

So shall our blood more readily arise

To Heaven against them, and more testify

To their atrocities, than could a volume

Spoken or written of our dying words!

They tremble at our voices--nay, they dread

Our very silence--let them live in fear!

Leave them unto their thoughts, and let us now

Address our own above!--Lead on; we are ready.

_Cal_. Israel, hadst thou but hearkened unto me

It had not now been thus; and yon pale villain,

The coward Bertram, would----

_I. Ber_. Peace, Calendaro!

What brooks it now to ponder upon this?

_Bert_. Alas! I fain you died in peace with me:

I did not seek this task; 'twas forced upon me:

Say, you forgive me, though I never can

Retrieve my own forgiveness--frown not thus!

_I. Ber_. I die and pardon thee!

_Cal_. (_spitting at him_). I die and scorn thee!

[_Exeunt_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO, _Guards, etc_.

_Ben_. Now that these criminals have been disposed of,

'Tis time that we proceed to pass our sentence

Upon the greatest traitor upon record

In any annals, the Doge Faliero!

The proofs and process are complete; the time

And crime require a quick procedure: shall

He now be called in to receive the award?

_The Giunta_. Aye, aye.

_Ben_. Avogadori, order that the Doge

Be brought before the Council.

_One of the Giunta_. And the rest,

When shall they be brought up?

_Ben_. When all the Chiefs

Have been disposed of. Some have fled to Chiozza;

But there are thousands in pursuit of them,

And such precaution ta'en on terra firma,

As well as in the islands, that we hope

None will escape to utter in strange lands

His libellous tale of treasons 'gainst the Senate.

_Enter the_ DOGE _as Prisoner, with Guards, etc., etc._

_Ben_. Doge--for such still you are, and by the law

Must be considered, till the hour shall come

When you must doff the Ducal Bonnet from

That head, which could not wear a crown more noble

Than Empires can confer, in quiet honour,

But it must plot to overthrow your peers,

Who made you what you are, and quench in blood

A City's glory--we have laid already

Before you in your chamber at full length,

By the Avogadori, all the proofs

Which have appeared against you; and more ample

Ne'er reared their sanguinary shadows to

Confront a traitor. What have you to say

In your defence?

_Doge_. What shall I say to ye,

Since my defence must be your condemnation?

You are at once offenders and accusers,

Judges and Executioners!--Proceed

Upon your power.

_Ben_. Your chief accomplices

Having confessed, there is no hope for you.

_Doge_. And who be they?

_Ben_. In number many; but

The first now stands before you in the court,

Bertram of Bergamo,--would you question him?

_Doge_ (_looking at him contemptuously_). No.

_Ben_. And two others, Israel Bertuccio,

And Philip Calendaro, have admitted

Their fellowship in treason with the Doge!

_Doge_. And where are they?

_Ben_. Gone to their place, and now

Answering to Heaven for what they did on earth.

_Doge_. Ah! the plebeian Brutus, is he gone?

And the quick Cassius of the arsenal?--

How did they meet their doom?

_Ben_. Think of your own:

It is approaching. You decline to plead, then?

_Doge_. I cannot plead to my inferiors, nor

Can recognise your legal power to try me.

Show me the law!

_Ben_. On great emergencies,

The law must be remodelled or amended:

Our fathers had not fixed the punishment

Of such a crime, as on the old Roman tables

The sentence against parricide was left

In pure forgetfulness; they could not render

That penal, which had neither name nor thought

In their great bosoms; who would have foreseen

That Nature could be filed to such a crime

As sons 'gainst sires, and princes 'gainst their realms?

Your sin hath made us make a law which will

Become a precedent 'gainst such haught traitors,

As would with treason mount to tyranny;

Not even contented with a sceptre, till

They can convert it to a two-edged sword!

Was not the place of Doge sufficient for ye?

What's nobler than the signory of Venice?

_Doge_. The signory of Venice! You betrayed me--

_You--you_, who sit there, traitors as ye are!

From my equality with you in birth,

And my superiority in action,

You drew me from my honourable toils

In distant lands--on flood, in field, in cities--

_You_ singled me out like a victim to

Stand crowned, but bound and helpless, at the altar

Where you alone could minister. I knew not,

I sought not, wished not, dreamed not the election,

Which reached me first at Rome, and I obeyed;

But found on my arrival, that, besides

The jealous vigilance which always led you

To mock and mar your Sovereign's best intents,

You had, even in the interregnum of

My journey to the capital, curtailed

And mutilated the few privileges

Yet left the Duke: all this I bore, and would

Have borne, until my very hearth was stained

By the pollution of your ribaldry,

And he, the ribald, whom I see amongst you--

Fit judge in such tribunal!----

_Ben_. (_interrupting him_). Michel Steno

Is here in virtue of his office, as

One of the Forty; "the Ten" having craved

A Giunta of patricians from the Senate

To aid our judgment in a trial arduous

And novel as the present: he was set

Free from the penalty pronounced upon him,

Because the Doge, who should protect the law,

Seeking to abrogate all law, can claim

No punishment of others by the statutes

Which he himself denies and violates!

_Doge_. _His_ punishment! I rather see him _there_,

Where he now sits, to glut him with my death,

Than in the mockery of castigation,

Which your foul, outward, juggling show of justice

Decreed as sentence! Base as was his crime,

'Twas purity compared with your protection.

_Ben_. And can it be, that the great Doge of Venice,

With three parts of a century of years

And honours on his head, could thus allow

His fury, like an angry boy's, to master

All Feeling, Wisdom, Faith and Fear, on such

A provocation as a young man's petulance?

_Doge_. A spark creates the flame--'tis the last drop

Which makes the cup run o'er, and mine was full

Already: you oppressed the Prince and people;

I would have freed both, and have failed in both:

The price of such success would have been glory,

Vengeance, and victory, and such a name

As would have made Venetian history

Rival to that of Greece and Syracuse

When they were freed, and flourished ages after,

And mine to Gelon and to Thrasybulus:

Failing, I know the penalty of failure

Is present infamy and death--the future

Will judge, when Venice is no more, or free;

Till then, the truth is in abeyance. Pause not;

I would have shown no mercy, and I seek none;

My life was staked upon a mighty hazard,

And being lost, take what I would have taken!

I would have stood alone amidst your tombs:

Now you may flock round mine, and trample on it,

As you have done upon my heart while living.

_Ben_. You do confess then, and admit the justice

Of our Tribunal?

_Doge_. I confess to have failed;

Fortune is female: from my youth her favours

Were not withheld, the fault was mine to hope

Her former smiles again at this late hour.

_Ben_. You do not then in aught arraign our equity?

_Doge_. Noble Venetians! stir me not with questions.

I am resigned to the worst; but in me still

Have something of the blood of brighter days,

And am not over-patient. Pray you, spare me

Further interrogation, which boots nothing,

Except to turn a trial to debate.

I shall but answer that which will offend you,

And please your enemies--a host already;

'Tis true, these sullen walls should yield no echo:

But walls have ears--nay, more, they have tongues; and if

There were no other way for Truth to o'erleap them,

You who condemn me, you who fear and slay me,

Yet could not bear in silence to your graves

What you would hear from me of Good or Evil;

The secret were too mighty for your souls:

Then let it sleep in mine, unless you court

A danger which would double that you escape.

Such my defence would be, had I full scope

To make it famous; for true _words_ are _things_,

And dying men's are things which long outlive,

And oftentimes avenge them; bury mine,

If ye would fain survive me: take this counsel,

And though too oft ye make me live in wrath,

Let me die calmly; you may grant me this;

I deny nothing--defend nothing--nothing

I ask of you, but silence for myself,

And sentence from the Court!

_Ben_. This full admission

Spares us the harsh necessity of ordering

The torture to elicit the whole truth.

_Doge_. The torture! you have put me there already,

Daily since I was Doge; but if you will

Add the corporeal rack, you may: these limbs

Will yield with age to crushing iron; but

There's that within my heart shall strain your engines.

_Enter an_ OFFICER.

_Officer_. Noble Venetians! Duchess Faliero

Requests admission to the Giunta's presence.

_Ben_. Say, Conscript Fathers, shall she be admitted?

_One of the Giunta_. She may have revelations of importance

Unto the state, to justify compliance

With her request.

_Ben_. Is this the general will?

_All_. It is.

_Doge_. Oh, admirable laws of Venice!

Which would admit the wife, in the full hope

That she might testify against the husband.

What glory to the chaste Venetian dames!

But such blasphemers 'gainst all Honour, as

Sit here, do well to act in their vocation.

Now, villain Steno! if this woman fail,

I'll pardon thee thy lie, and thy escape,

And my own violent death, and thy vile life.

_The_ DUCHESS _enters_.

_Ben_. Lady! this just Tribunal has resolved,

Though the request be strange, to grant it, and

Whatever be its purport, to accord

A patient hearing with the due respect

Which fits your ancestry, your rank, and virtues:

But you turn pale--ho! there, look to the Lady!

Place a chair instantly.

_Ang_. A moment's faintness--

'Tis past; I pray you pardon me,--I sit not

In presence of my Prince and of my husband,

While he is on his feet.

_Ben_. Your pleasure, Lady?

_Ang_. Strange rumours, but most true, if all I hear

And see be sooth, have reached me, and I come

To know the worst, even at the worst; forgive

The abruptness of my entrance and my bearing.

Is it--I cannot speak--I cannot shape

The question--but you answer it ere spoken,

With eyes averted, and with gloomy brows--

Oh God! this is the silence of the grave!

_Ben_. (_after a pause_). Spare us, and spare thyself the repetition

Of our most awful, but inexorable

Duty to Heaven and man!

_Ang_. Yet speak; I cannot--

I cannot--no--even now believe these things.

Is _he_ condemned?

_Ben_. Alas!

_Ang_. And was he guilty?

_Ben_. Lady! the natural distraction of

Thy thoughts at such a moment makes the question

Merit forgiveness; else a doubt like this

Against a just and paramount tribunal

Were deep offence. But question even the Doge,

And if he can deny the proofs, believe him

Guiltless as thy own bosom.

_Ang_. Is it so?

My Lord, my Sovereign, my poor father's friend,

The mighty in the field, the sage in Council,

Unsay the words of this man!--thou art silent!

_Ben_. He hath already owned to his own guilt,

Nor, as thou see'st, doth he deny it now.

_Ang_. Aye, but he must not die! Spare his few years,

Which Grief and Shame will soon cut down to days!

One day of baffled crime must not efface

Near sixteen lustres crowned with brave acts.

_Ben_. His doom must be fulfilled without remission

Of time or penalty--'tis a decree.

_Ang_. He hath been guilty, but there may be mercy.

_Ben_. Not in this case with justice.

_Ang_. Alas! Signor,

He who is only just is cruel; who

Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?

_Ben_. His punishment is safety to the State.

_Ang_. He was a subject, and hath served the State;

He was your General, and hath saved the State;

He is your Sovereign, and hath ruled the State.

_One of the Council_. He is a traitor, and betrayed the State.

_Ang_. And, but for him, there now had been no State

To save or to destroy; and you, who sit

There to pronounce the death of your deliverer,

Had now been groaning at a Moslem oar,

Or digging in the Hunnish mines in fetters!

_One of the Council_. No, Lady, there are others who would die

Rather than breathe in slavery!

_Ang_. If there are so

Within _these_ walls, _thou_ art not of the number:

The truly brave are generous to the fallen!--

Is there no hope?

_Ben_. Lady, it cannot be.

_Ang_. (_turning to the Doge_).

Then die, Faliero! since it must be so;

But with the spirit of my father's friend.

Thou hast been guilty of a great offence,

Half cancelled by the harshness of these men.

I would have sued to them, have prayed to them.

Have begged as famished mendicants for bread,

Have wept as they will cry unto their God

For mercy, and be answered as they answer,--

Had it been fitting for thy name or mine,

And if the cruelty in their cold eyes

Had not announced the heartless wrath within.

Then, as a Prince, address thee to thy doom!

_Doge_. I have lived too long not to know how to die!

Thy suing to these men were but the bleating

Of the lamb to the butcher, or the cry

Of seamen to the surge: I would not take

A life eternal, granted at the hands

Of wretches, from whose monstrous villanies

I sought to free the groaning nations!

_Michel Steno_. Doge,

A word with thee, and with this noble lady,

Whom I have grievously offended. Would

Sorrow, or shame, or penance on my part,

Could cancel the inexorable past!

But since that cannot be, as Christians let us

Say farewell, and in peace: with full contrition

I crave, not pardon, but compassion from you,

And give, however weak, my prayers for both.

_Ang_. Sage Benintende, now chief Judge of Venice,

I speak to thee in answer to yon Signor.

Inform the ribald Steno, that his words

Ne'er weighed in mind with Loredano's daughter,

Further than to create a moment's pity

For such as he is: would that others had

Despised him as I pity! I prefer

My honour to a thousand lives, could such

Be multiplied in mine, but would not have

A single life of others lost for that

Which nothing human can impugn--the sense

Of Virtue, looking not to what is called

A good name for reward, but to itself.

To me the scorner's words were as the wind

Unto the rock: but as there are--alas!

Spirits more sensitive, on which such things

Light as the Whirlwind on the waters; souls

To whom Dishonour's shadow is a substance

More terrible than Death, here and hereafter;

Men whose vice is to start at Vice's scoffing,

And who, though proof against all blandishments

Of pleasure, and all pangs of Pain, are feeble

When the proud name on which they pinnacled

Their hopes is breathed on, jealous as the eagle

Of her high aiery; let what we now

Behold, and feel, and suffer, be a lesson

To wretches how they tamper in their spleen

With beings of a higher order. Insects

Have made the lion mad ere now; a shaft

I' the heel o'erthrew the bravest of the brave;

A wife's Dishonour was the bane of Troy;

A wife's Dishonour unkinged Rome for ever;

An injured husband brought the Gauls to Clusium,

And thence to Rome, which perished for a time;

An obscene gesture cost Caligula

His life, while Earth yet bore his cruelties;

A virgin's wrong made Spain a Moorish province;

And Steno's lie, couched in two worthless lines,

Hath decimated Venice, put in peril

A Senate which hath stood eight hundred years,

Discrowned a Prince, cut off his crownless head,

And forged new fetters for a groaning people!

Let the poor wretch, like to the courtesan

Who fired Persepolis, be proud of this,

If it so please him--'twere a pride fit for him!

But let him not insult the last hours of

Him, who, whate'er he now is, _was_ a Hero,

By the intrusion of his very prayers;

Nothing of good can come from such a source,

Nor would we aught with him, nor now, nor ever:

We leave him to himself, that lowest depth

Of human baseness. Pardon is for men,

And not for reptiles--we have none for Steno,

And no resentment: things like him must sting,

And higher beings suffer; 'tis the charter

Of Life. The man who dies by the adder's fang

May have the crawler crushed, but feels no anger:

'Twas the worm's nature; and some men are worms

In soul, more than the living things of tombs.

_Doge_ (_to Ben._).

Signor! complete that which you deem your duty.

_Ben_. Before we can proceed upon that duty,

We would request the Princess to withdraw;

'Twill move her too much to be witness to it.

_Ang_. I know it will, and yet I must endure it,

For 'tis a part of mine--I will not quit,

Except by force, my husband's side--Proceed!

Nay, fear not either shriek, or sigh, or tear;

Though my heart burst, it shall be silent.--Speak!

I have that within which shall o'ermaster all.

_Ben_. Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice,

Count of Val di Marino, Senator,

And some time General of the Fleet and Army,

Noble Venetian, many times and oft

Intrusted by the state with high employments,

Even to the highest, listen to the sentence.

Convict by many witnesses and proofs,

And by thine own confession, of the guilt

Of Treachery and Treason, yet unheard of

Until this trial--the decree is Death--

Thy goods are confiscate unto the State,

Thy name is razed from out her records, save

Upon a public day of thanksgiving

For this our most miraculous deliverance,

When thou art noted in our calendars

With earthquakes, pestilence, and foreign foes,

And the great Enemy of man, as subject

Of grateful masses for Heaven's grace in snatching

Our lives and country from thy wickedness.

The place wherein as Doge thou shouldst be painted

With thine illustrious predecessors, is

To be left vacant, with a death-black veil

Flung over these dim words engraved beneath,--

"This place is of Marino Faliero,

Decapitated for his crimes."

_Doge_. "His _crimes_!"

But let it be so:--it will be in vain.

The veil which blackens o'er this blighted name,

And hides, or seems to hide, these lineaments,

Shall draw more gazers than the thousand portraits

Which glitter round it in their pictured trappings--

_Your_ delegated slaves--the people's tyrants!

"Decapitated for his crimes!"--_What_ crimes?

Were it not better to record the facts,

So that the contemplator might approve,

Or at the least learn _whence_ the crimes arose?

When the beholder knows a Doge conspired,

Let him be told the cause--it is your history.

_Ben_. Time must reply to that; our sons will judge

Their fathers' judgment, which I now pronounce.

As Doge, clad in the ducal robes and Cap,

Thou shalt be led hence to the Giants' Staircase,

Where thou and all our Princes are invested;

And there, the Ducal Crown being first resumed

Upon the spot where it was first assumed,

Thy head shall be struck off; and Heaven have mercy

Upon thy soul!

_Doge_. Is this the Giunta's sentence?

_Ben_. It is.

_Doge_. I can endure it.--And the time?

_Ben_. Must be immediate.--Make thy peace with God:

Within an hour thou must be in His presence.

_Doge_. I am _already_; and my blood will rise

To Heaven before the souls of those who shed it.

Are all my lands confiscated?

_Ben_. They are;

And goods, and jewels, and all kind of treasure,

Except two thousand ducats--these dispose of.

_Doge_. That's harsh.--I would have fain reserved the lands

Near to Treviso, which I hold by investment

From Laurence the Count-bishop of Ceneda,

In fief perpetual to myself and heirs,

To portion them (leaving my city spoil,

My palace and my treasures, to your forfeit)

Between my consort and my kinsmen.

_Ben_. These

Lie under the state's ban--their Chief, thy nephew,

In peril of his own life; but the Council

Postpones his trial for the present. If

Thou will'st a state unto thy widowed Princess,

Fear not, for we will do her justice.

_Ang_. Signors,

I share not in your spoil! From henceforth, know

I am devoted unto God alone,

And take my refuge in the cloister.

_Doge_. Come!

The hour may be a hard one, but 'twill end.

Have I aught else to undergo save Death?

_Ben_. You have nought to do, except confess and die.

The priest is robed, the scimitar is bare,

And both await without.--But, above all,

Think not to speak unto the people; they

Are now by thousands swarming at the gates,

But these are closed: the Ten, the Avogadori,

The Giunta, and the chief men of the Forty,

Alone will be beholders of thy doom,

And they are ready to attend the Doge.

_Doge_. The Doge!

_Ben_. Yes, Doge, thou hast lived and thou shalt die

A Sovereign; till the moment which precedes

The separation of that head and trunk,

That ducal crown and head shall be united.

Thou hast forgot thy dignity in deigning

To plot with petty traitors; not so we,

Who in the very punishment acknowledge

The Prince. Thy vile accomplices have died

The dog's death, and the wolf's; but them shall fall

As falls the lion by the hunters, girt

By those who feel a proud compassion for thee,

And mourn even the inevitable death

Provoked by thy wild wrath, and regal fierceness.

Now we remit thee to thy preparation:

Let it be brief, and we ourselves will be

Thy guides unto the place where first we were

United to thee as thy subjects, and

Thy Senate; and must now be parted from thee

As such for ever, on the self-same spot.

Guards! form the Doge's escort to his chamber.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The Doge's Apartment_.

_The_ DOGE _as Prisoner, and the_ DUCHESS _attending him_.

_Doge_. Now, that the priest is gone, 'twere useless all

To linger out the miserable minutes;

But one pang more, the pang of parting from thee,

And I will leave the few last grains of sand,

Which yet remain of the accorded hour,

Still falling--I have done with Time.

_Ang_. Alas!

And I have been the cause, the unconscious cause;

And for this funeral marriage, this black union,

Which thou, compliant with my father's wish,

Didst promise at _his_ death, thou hast sealed thine own.

_Doge_. Not so: there was that in my spirit ever

Which shaped out for itself some great reverse;

The marvel is, it came not until now--

And yet it was foretold me.

_Ang_. How foretold you?

_Doge_. Long years ago--so long, they are a doubt

In memory, and yet they live in annals:

When I was in my youth, and served the Senate

And Signory as Podesta and Captain

Of the town of Treviso, on a day

Of festival, the sluggish Bishop who

Conveyed the Host aroused my rash young anger,

By strange delay, and arrogant reply

To my reproof: I raised my hand and smote him,

Until he reeled beneath his holy burthen;

And as he rose from earth again, he raised

His tremulous hands in pious wrath towards Heaven.

Thence pointing to the Host, which had fallen from him,

He turned to me, and said, "The Hour will come

When he thou hast o'erthrown shall overthrow thee:

The Glory shall depart from out thy house,

The Wisdom shall be shaken from thy soul,

And in thy best maturity of Mind

A madness of the heart shall seize upon thee;

Passion shall tear thee when all passions cease

In other men, or mellow into virtues;

And Majesty which decks all other heads,

Shall crown to leave thee headless; honours shall

But prove to thee the heralds of Destruction,

And hoary hairs of Shame, and both of Death,

But not such death as fits an agéd man."

Thus saying, he passed on.--That Hour is come.

_Ang_. And with this warning couldst thou not have striven

To avert the fatal moment, and atone,

By penitence, for that which thou hadst done?

_Doge_. I own the words went to my heart, so much

That I remembered them amid the maze

Of Life, as if they formed a spectral voice,

Which shook me in a supernatural dream;

And I repented; but 'twas not for me

To pull in resolution: what must be

I could not change, and would not fear.--Nay more,

Thou can'st not have forgot, what all remember,

That on my day of landing here as Doge,

On my return from Rome, a mist of such

Unwonted density went on before

The Bucentaur, like the columnar cloud

Which ushered Israel out of Egypt, till

The pilot was misled, and disembarked us

Between the Pillars of Saint Mark's, where 'tis

The custom of the state to put to death

Its criminals, instead of touching at

The Riva della Paglia, as the wont is,--

So that all Venice shuddered at the omen.

_Ang_. Ah! little boots it now to recollect

Such things.

_Doge_. And yet I find a comfort in

The thought, that these things are the work of Fate;

For I would rather yield to Gods than men,

Or cling to any creed of destiny,

Rather than deem these mortals, most of whom

I know to be as worthless as the dust,

And weak as worthless, more than instruments

Of an o'er-ruling Power; they in themselves

Were all incapable--they could not be

Vistors of him who oft had conquered for them.

_Ang_. Employ the minutes left in aspirations

Of a more healing nature, and in peace

Even with these wretches take thy flight to Heaven.

_Doge_. I _am_ at peace: the peace of certainty

That a sure Hour will come, when their sons' sons,

And this proud city, and these azure waters,

And all which makes them eminent and bright,

Shall be a desolation and a curse,

A hissing and a scoff unto the nations,

A Carthage, and a Tyre, an Ocean Babel.

_Ang_. Speak not thus now: the surge of Passion still

Sweeps o'er thee to the last; thou dost deceive

Thyself, and canst not injure them--be calmer.

_Doge_. I stand within Eternity, and see

Into Eternity, and I behold--

Aye, palpable as I see thy sweet face

For the last time--the days which I denounce

Unto all time against these wave-girt walls,

And they who are indwellers.

_Guard_ (_coming forward_). Doge of Venice,

The Ten are in attendance on your Highness.

_Doge_. Then farewell, Angiolina!--one embrace--

Forgive the old man who hath been to thee

A fond but fatal husband--love my memory--

I would not ask so much for me still living,

But thou canst judge of me more kindly now,

Seeing my evil feelings are at rest.

Besides, of all the fruit of these long years,

Glory, and Wealth, and Power, and Fame, and Name,

Which generally leave some flowers to bloom

Even o'er the grave, I have nothing left, not even

A little love, or friendship, or esteem,

No, not enough to extract an epitaph

From ostentatious kinsmen; in one hour

I have uprooted all my former life,

And outlived everything, except thy heart,

The pure, the good, the gentle, which will oft

With unimpaired but not a clamorous grief

Still keep----Thou turn'st so pale!--Alas! she faints,

She has no breath, no pulse!--Guards! lend your aid--

I cannot leave her thus, and yet 'tis better,

Since every lifeless moment spares a pang.

When she shakes off this temporary death,

I shall be with the Eternal.--Call her women--

One look!--how cold her hand!--as cold as mine

Shall be ere she recovers.--Gently tend her,

And take my last thanks--I am ready now.

[_The Attendants of_ ANGIOLINA _enter, and surround

their Mistress, who has fainted.--Exeunt the_ DOGE,

_Guards, etc., etc._

SCENE III.--_The Court of the Ducal Palace; the outer gates

are shut against the people.--The_ DOGE _enters in his ducal

robes, in procession with the_ COUNCIL OF TEN _and other Patricians,

attended by the Guards, till they arrive at the top of the

"Giants' Staircase (where the Doges took the oaths); the

the Executioner is stationed there with his sword.--On arriving, a_

CHIEF OF THE TEN _takes off the ducal cap from the Doge's head_.

_Doge_. So now the Doge is nothing, and at last

I am again Marino Faliero:

'Tis well to be so, though but for a moment,

Here was I crowned, and here, bear witness, Heaven!

With how much more contentment I resign

That shining mockery, the ducal bauble,

Than I received the fatal ornament.

_One of the Ten_. Thou tremblest, Faliero!

_Doge_. 'Tis with age, then.

_Ben_. Faliero! hast thou aught further to commend,

Compatible with justice, to the Senate?

_Doge_. I would commend my nephew to their mercy,

My consort to their justice; for methinks

My death, and such a death, might settle all

Between the State and me.

_Ben_. They shall be cared for;

Even notwithstanding thine unheard-of crime.

_Doge_. Unheard of! aye, there's not a history

But shows a thousand crowned conspirators

_Against_ the people; but to set them free,

One Sovereign only died, and one is dying.

_Ben_. And who were they who fell in such a cause?

_Doge_. The King of Sparta, and the Doge of Venice--

Agis and Faliero!

_Ben_. Hast thou more

To utter or to do?

_Doge_. May I speak?

_Ben_. Thou may'st;

But recollect the people are without,

Beyond the compass of the human voice.

_Doge_. I speak to Time and to Eternity,

Of which I grow a portion, not to man.

Ye Elements! in which to be resolved

I hasten, let my voice be as a Spirit

Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner.

Ye winds! which fluttered o'er as if you loved it,

And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted

To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth,

Which I have bled for! and thou, foreign earth,

Which drank this willing blood from many a wound!

Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but

Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it!

Thou Sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou!

Who kindlest and who quenchest suns!--Attest!

I am not innocent--but are these guiltless?

I perish, but not unavenged; far ages

Float up from the abyss of Time to be,

And show these eyes, before they close, the doom

Of this proud City, and I leave my curse

On her and hers for ever!----Yes, the hours

Are silently engendering of the day,

When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark,

Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield,

Unto a bastard Attila, without

Shedding so much blood in her last defence,

As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her,

Shall pour in sacrifice.--She shall be bought

And sold, and be an appanage to those

Who shall despise her!--She shall stoop to be

A province for an Empire, petty town

In lieu of Capital, with slaves for senates,

Beggars for nobles, panders for a people!

Then when the Hebrew's in thy palaces,

The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek

Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his;

When thy patricians beg their bitter bread

In narrow streets, and in their shameful need

Make their nobility a plea for pity;

Then, when the few who still retain a wreck

Of their great fathers' heritage shall fawn

Round a barbarian Vice of Kings' Vice-gerent,

Even in the Palace where they swayed as Sovereigns,

Even in the Palace where they slew their Sovereign,

Proud of some name they have disgraced, or sprung

From an adulteress boastful of her guilt

With some large gondolier or foreign soldier,

Shall bear about their bastardy in triumph

To the third spurious generation;--when

Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being,

Slaves turned o'er to the vanquished by the victors,

Despised by cowards for greater cowardice,

And scorned even by the vicious for such vices

As in the monstrous grasp of their conception

Defy all codes to image or to name them;

Then, when of Cyprus, now thy subject kingdom,

All thine inheritance shall be her shame

Entailed on thy less virtuous daughters, grown

A wider proverb for worse prostitution;--

When all the ills of conquered states shall cling thee,

Vice without splendour, Sin without relief

Even from the gloss of Love to smooth it o'er,

But in its stead, coarse lusts of habitude,

Prurient yet passionless, cold studied lewdness,

Depraving Nature's frailty to an art;--

When these and more are heavy on thee, when

Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without Pleasure,

Youth without Honour, Age without respect,

Meanness and Weakness, and a sense of woe

'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar'st not murmur,

Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts,

Then, in the last gasp of thine agony,

Amidst thy many murders, think of _mine!_

Thou den of drunkards with the blood of Princes!

Gehenna of the waters! thou Sea-Sodom!

Thus I devote thee to the Infernal Gods!

Thee and thy serpent seed!

[_Here the_ DOGE _turns and addresses the Executioner._

Slave, do thine office!

Strike as I struck the foe! Strike as I would

Have struck those tyrants! Strike deep as my curse!

Strike--and but once!

[_The_ DOGE _throws himself upon his knees, and as

the Executioner raises his sword the scene closes._

SCENE IV.--_The Piazza and Piazzetta of St. Mark's.--

The people in crowds gathered round the grated gates

of the Ducal Palace, which are shut._

_First Citizen_. I have gained the Gate, and can discern the Ten,

Robed in their gowns of state, ranged round the Doge.

_Second Cit_. I cannot reach thee with mine utmost effort.

How is it? let us hear at least, since sight

Is thus prohibited unto the people,

Except the occupiers of those bars.

_First Cit_. One has approached the Doge, and now they strip

The ducal bonnet from his head--and now

He raises his keen eyes to Heaven; I see

Them glitter, and his lips move--Hush! hush!--no,

'Twas but a murmur--Curse upon the distance!

His words are inarticulate, but the voice

Swells up like muttered thunder; would we could

But gather a sole sentence!

_Second Cit_. Hush! we perhaps may catch the sound.

_First Cit_. 'Tis vain.

I cannot hear him.--How his hoary hair

Streams on the wind like foam upon the wave!

Now--now--he kneels--and now they form a circle

Round him, and all is hidden--but I see

The lifted sword in air----Ah! hark! it falls!

[_The people murmur._

_Third Cit_. Then they have murdered him who would have freed us.

_Fourth Cit_. He was a kind man to the commons ever.

_Fifth Cit_. Wisely they did to keep their portals barred.

Would we had known the work they were preparing

Ere we were summoned here--we would have brought

Weapons, and forced them!

_Sixth Cit_. Are you sure he's dead?

_First Cit_. I saw the sword fall--Lo! what have we here?

_Enter on the Balcony of the Palace which fronts St. Mark's

Place a_ CHIEF OF THE TEN, _with a bloody sword.

He waves it thrice before the People, and exclaims,_

"Justice hath dealt upon the mighty Traitor!"

[_The gates are opened; the populace rush in towards the

"Giants' Staircase," where the execution has taken place

The foremost of them exclaims to those behind,_

"The gory head rolls down the Giants' Steps!"

[_The curtain falls_.