[bk]
[_He engraves his name_.
[_He engraves his name_.
Byron
What should I think of mortals?
_Lor. _ That they have mortal foes.
_Doge_. I understand you;
Your sires were mine, and you are heir in all things. 220
_Lor. _ You best know if I should be so.
_Doge_. I do.
Your fathers were my foes, and I have heard
Foul rumours were abroad; I have also read
Their epitaph, attributing their deaths
To poison. 'Tis perhaps as true as most
Inscriptions upon tombs, and yet no less
A fable.
_Lor. _ Who dares say so?
_Doge_. I! ----'Tis true
Your fathers were mine enemies, as bitter
As their son e'er can be, and I no less
Was theirs; but I was _openly_ their foe: 230
I never worked by plot in Council, nor
Cabal in commonwealth, nor secret means
Of practice against life by steel or drug.
The proof is--your existence.
_Lor. _ I fear not.
_Doge_. You have no cause, being what I am; but were I
That you would have me thought, you long ere now
Were past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not.
_Lor. _ I never yet knew that a noble's life
In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown,
That is, by open means.
_Doge_. But I, good Signor, 240
Am, or at least _was_, more than a mere duke,
In blood, in mind, in means; and that they know
Who dreaded to elect me, and have since
Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure,
Before or since that period, had I held you
At so much price as to require your absence,
A word of mine had set such spirits to work
As would have made you nothing. But in all things
I have observed the strictest reverence;
Not for the laws alone, for those _you_ have strained 250
(I do not speak of _you_ but as a single
Voice of the many) somewhat beyond what
I could enforce for my authority,
Were I disposed to brawl; but, as I said,
I have observed with veneration, like
A priest's for the High Altar, even unto
The sacrifice of my own blood and quiet,
Safety, and all save honour, the decrees,
The health, the pride, and welfare of the State.
And now, sir, to your business.
_Lor. _ 'Tis decreed, 260
That, without further repetition of
The Question, or continuance of the trial,
Which only tends to show how stubborn guilt is,
("The Ten," dispensing with the stricter law
Which still prescribes the Question till a full
Confession, and the prisoner partly having
Avowed his crime in not denying that
The letter to the Duke of Milan's his),
James Foscari return to banishment,
And sail in the same galley which conveyed him. 270
_Mar. _ Thank God! At least they will not drag him more
Before that horrible tribunal. Would he
But think so, to my mind the happiest doom,
Not he alone, but all who dwell here, could
Desire, were to escape from such a land.
_Doge_. That is not a Venetian thought, my daughter.
_Mar. _ No, 'twas too human. May I share his exile?
_Lor. _ Of this "the Ten" said nothing.
_Mar. _ So I thought!
That were too human, also. But it was not
Inhibited?
_Lor. _ It was not named.
_Mar. (to the Doge_). Then, father, 280
Surely you can obtain or grant me thus much:
[_To_ LOREDANO.
And you, sir, not oppose my prayer to be
Permitted to accompany my husband.
_Doge_. I will endeavour.
_Mar. _ And you, Signor?
_Lor. _ Lady!
'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasure
Of the tribunal.
_Mar. _ Pleasure! what a word
To use for the decrees of----
_Doge_. Daughter, know you
In what a presence you pronounce these things?
_Mar. _ A Prince's and his subject's.
_Lor. _ Subject!
_Mar. _ Oh!
It galls you:--well, you are his equal, as 290
You think; but that you are not, nor would be,
Were he a peasant:--well, then, you're a Prince,
A princely noble; and what then am I?
_Lor. _ The offspring of a noble house.
_Mar. _ And wedded
To one as noble. What, or whose, then, is
The presence that should silence my free thoughts?
_Lor. _ The presence of your husband's Judges.
_Doge_. And
The deference due even to the lightest word
That falls from those who rule in Venice.
_Mar. _ Keep
Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, 300
Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves,
Your tributaries, your dumb citizens,
And masked nobility, your sbirri, and
Your spies, your galley and your other slaves,
To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings,
Your dungeons next the palace roofs, or under
The water's level;[55] your mysterious meetings,
And unknown dooms, and sudden executions,
Your "Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and
Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem 310
The beings of another and worse world!
Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye;[be]
Have known and proved your worst, in the infernal
Process of my poor husband! Treat me as
Ye treated him:--you did so, in so dealing
With him. Then what have I to fear _from_ you,
Even if I were of fearful nature, which
I trust I am not?
_Doge_. You hear, she speaks wildly.
_Mar. _ Not wisely, yet not wildly.
_Lor. _ Lady! words
Uttered within these walls I bear no further 320
Than to the threshold, saving such as pass
Between the Duke and me on the State's service.
Doge! have you aught in answer?
_Doge_. Something from
The Doge; it may be also from a parent.
_Lor. _ My mission _here_ is to the _Doge_.
_Doge_. Then say
The Doge will choose his own ambassador,
Or state in person what is meet; and for
The father----
_Lor. _ I remember _mine_. --Farewell!
I kiss the hands of the illustrious Lady,
And bow me to the Duke. [_Exit_ LOREDANO.
_Mar. _ Are you content? 330
_Doge_. I am what you behold.
_Mar. _ And that's a mystery.
_Doge_. All things are so to mortals; who can read them
Save he who made? or, if they can, the few
And gifted spirits, who have studied long
That loathsome volume--man, and pored upon
Those black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain,[bf]
But learn a magic which recoils upon
The adept who pursues it: all the sins
We find in others, Nature made our own;
All our advantages are those of Fortune; 340
Birth, wealth, health, beauty, are her accidents,
And when we cry out against Fate, 'twere well
We should remember Fortune can take nought
Save what she _gave_--the rest was nakedness,
And lusts, and appetites, and vanities,
The universal heritage, to battle
With as we may, and least in humblest stations,[bg]
Where Hunger swallows all in one low want,[bh]
And the original ordinance, that man
Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passions 350
Aloof, save fear of famine! All is low,
And false, and hollow--clay from first to last,
The Prince's urn no less than potter's vessel.
Our Fame is in men's breath, our lives upon
Less than their breath; our durance upon days[bi]
Our days on seasons; our whole being on
Something which is not _us_! [56]--So, we are slaves,
The greatest as the meanest--nothing rests
Upon our will; the will itself no less[bj]
Depends upon a straw than on a storm; 360
And when we think we lead, we are most led,[57]
And still towards Death, a thing which comes as much
Without our act or choice as birth, so that
Methinks we must have sinned in some old world,
And _this_ is Hell: the best is, that it is not
Eternal.
_Mar. _ These are things we cannot judge
On earth.
_Doge_. And how then shall we judge each other,
Who are all earth, and I, who am called upon
To judge my son? I have administered
My country faithfully--victoriously-- 370
I dare them to the proof, the _chart_ of what
She was and is: my reign has doubled realms;
And, in reward, the gratitude of Venice
Has left, or is about to leave, _me_ single.
_Mar. _ And Foscari? I do not think of such things,
So I be left with him.
_Doge_. You shall be so;
Thus much they cannot well deny.
_Mar. _ And if
They should, I will fly with him.
_Doge_. That can ne'er be.
And whither would you fly?
_Mar. _ I know not, reck not--
To Syria, Egypt, to the Ottoman-- 380
Any where, where we might respire unfettered,
And live nor girt by spies, nor liable
To edicts of inquisitors of state.
_Doge_. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband,
And turn him into traitor?
_Mar. _ He is none!
The Country is the traitress, which thrusts forth
Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny
Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem
None rebels except subjects? The Prince who
Neglects or violates his trust is more 390
A brigand than the robber-chief.
_Doge_. I cannot
Charge me with such a breach of faith.
_Mar_ No; thou
Observ'st, obey'st such laws as make old Draco's
A code of mercy by comparison.
_Doge_. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I
A subject, still I might find parts and portions
Fit for amendment; but as Prince, I never
Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter
Left by our fathers.
_Mar. _ Did they make it for
The ruin of their children?
_Doge_. Under such laws, Venice 400
Has risen to what she is--a state to rival
In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add,
In glory (for we have had Roman spirits
Amongst us), all that history has bequeathed
Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when
The people swayed by Senates.
_Mar. _ Rather say,
Groaned under the stern Oligarchs.
_Doge_. Perhaps so;
But yet subdued the World: in such a state
An individual, be he richest of
Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest, 410
Without a name, is alike nothing, when
The policy, irrevocably tending
To one great end, must be maintained in vigour.
_Mar. _ This means that you are more a Doge than father.
_Doge_. It means, I am more citizen than either.
If we had not for many centuries
Had thousands of such citizens, and shall,
I trust, have still such, Venice were no city.
_Mar. _ Accursed be the city where the laws
Would stifle Nature's!
_Doge_. Had I as many sons 420
As I have years, I would have given them all,
Not without feeling, but I would have given them
To the State's service, to fulfil her wishes,
On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be,
As it, alas! has been, to ostracism,
Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worse
She might decree.
_Mar. _ And this is Patriotism?
To me it seems the worst barbarity.
Let me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten,"
With all its jealousy, will hardly war 430
So far with a weak woman as deny me
A moment's access to his dungeon.
_Doge_. I'll
So far take on myself, as order that
You may be admitted.
_Mar. _ And what shall I say
To Foscari from his father?
_Doge_. That he obey
The laws.
_Mar. _ And nothing more? Will you not see him
Ere he depart? It may be the last time.
_Doge_. The last! --my boy! --the last time I shall see
My last of children! Tell him I will come. [_Exeunt_.
ACT III.
SCENE I. --_The prison of_ JACOPO FOSCARI.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_solus_).
No light, save yon faint gleam which shows me walls
Which never echoed but to Sorrow's sounds,[58]
The sigh of long imprisonment, the step
Of feet on which the iron clanked the groan
Of Death, the imprecation of Despair!
And yet for this I have returned to Venice,
With some faint hope, 'tis true, that Time, which wears
The marble down, had worn away the hate
Of men's hearts; but I knew them not, and here
Must I consume my own, which never beat 10
For Venice but with such a yearning as
The dove has for her distant nest, when wheeling
High in the air on her return to greet
Her callow brood. What letters are these which
[_Approaching the wall_.
Are scrawled along the inexorable wall?
Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the names
Of my sad predecessors in this place,[59]
The dates of their despair, the brief words of
A grief too great for many. This stone page
Holds like an epitaph their history; 20
And the poor captive's tale is graven on
His dungeon barrier, like the lover's record
Upon the bark of some tall tree,[60] which bears
His own and his beloved's name. Alas!
I recognise some names familiar to me,
And blighted like to mine, which I will add,
Fittest for such a chronicle as this,
Which only can be read, as writ, by wretches.
[bk]
[_He engraves his name_.
_Enter a Familiar of "the Ten. "_
_Fam. _ I bring you food.
_Jac. Fos. _ I pray you set it down;
I am past hunger: but my lips are parched-- 30
The water!
_Fam. _ There.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_after drinking_). I thank you: I am better.
_Fam. _ I am commanded to inform you that
Your further trial is postponed.
_Jac. Fos. _ Till when?
_Fam. _ I know not. --It is also in my orders
That your illustrious lady be admitted.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! they relent, then--I had ceased to hope it:
'Twas time.
_Enter_ MARINA.
_Mar. _ My best beloved!
_Jac. Fos. _ (_embracing her_). My true wife,
And only friend! What happiness!
_Mar. _ We'll part
No more.
_Jac. Fos. _ How! would'st thou share a dungeon?
_Mar. _ Aye,
The rack, the grave, all--any thing with thee, 40
But the tomb last of all, for there we shall
Be ignorant of each other, yet I will
Share that--all things except new separation;
It is too much to have survived the first.
How dost thou? How are those worn limbs? Alas!
Why do I ask? Thy paleness----
_Jac. Fos. _ 'Tis the joy
Of seeing thee again so soon, and so
Without expectancy, has sent the blood
Back to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine,
For thou art pale too, my Marina!
_Mar. _ 'Tis 50
The gloom of this eternal cell, which never
Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare
Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin[bl]
To darkness more than light, by lending to
The dungeon vapours its bituminous smoke,
Which cloud whate'er we gaze on, even thine eyes--
No, not thine eyes--they sparkle--how they sparkle!
_Jac. Fos. _ And thine! --but I am blinded by the torch.
_Mar. _ As I had been without it. Couldst thou see here?
_Jac. Fos. _ Nothing at first; but use and time had taught me 60
Familiarity with what was darkness;
And the grey twilight of such glimmerings as
Glide through the crevices made by the winds
Was kinder to mine eyes than the full Sun,
When gorgeously o'ergilding any towers
Save those of Venice; but a moment ere
Thou earnest hither I was busy writing.
_Mar. _ What?
_Jac. Fos. _ My name: look, 'tis there--recorded next
The name of him who here preceded me,--
If dungeon dates say true.
_Mar. _ And what of him? 70
_Jac. Fos. _ These walls are silent of men's ends; they only
Seem to hint shrewdly of them. Such stern walls
Were never piled on high save o'er the dead,
Or those who soon must be so. --_What of him? _
Thou askest. --What of me? may soon be asked,
With the like answer--doubt and dreadful surmise--
Unless thou tell'st my tale.
_Mar. _ _I speak_ of thee!
_Jac. Fos. _ And wherefore not? All then shall speak of me:
The tyranny of silence is not lasting,
And, though events be hidden, just men's groans 80
Will burst all cerement, even a living grave's!
I do not _doubt_ my memory, but my life;
And neither do I fear.
_Mar. _ Thy life is safe.
_Jac. Fos. _ And liberty?
_Mar. _ The mind should make its own!
_Jac. Fos. _ That has a noble sound; but 'tis a sound,
A music most impressive, but too transient:
The Mind is much, but is not all. The Mind
Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death,
And torture positive, far worse than death
(If death be a deep sleep), without a groan, 90
Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges
Than me; but 'tis not all, for there are things
More woful--such as this small dungeon, where
I may breathe many years.
_Mar. _ Alas! and this
Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee
Of this wide realm, of which thy sire is Prince.
_Jac. Fos. _ That thought would scarcely aid me to endure it.
My doom is common; many are in dungeons,
But none like mine, so near their father's palace;
But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope 100
Will stream along those moted rays of light
Peopled with dusty atoms, which afford
Our only day; for, save the gaoler's torch,
And a strange firefly, which was quickly caught
Last night in yon enormous spider's net,
I ne'er saw aught here like a ray. Alas!
I know if mind may bear us up, or no,
For I have such, and shown it before men;
It sinks in solitude: my soul is social.
_Mar. _ I will be with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! if it were so! 110
But _that_ they never granted--nor will grant,
And I shall be alone: no men; no books--
Those lying likenesses of lying men.
I asked for even those outlines of their kind,
Which they term annals, history, what you will,
Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were
Refused me,--so these walls have been my study,
More faithful pictures of Venetian story,
With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is
The Hall not far from hence, which bears on high 120
Hundreds of Doges, and their deeds and dates.
_Mar. _ I come to tell thee the result of their
Last council on thy doom.
_Jac. Fos. _ I know it--look!
[_He points to his limbs, as referring to the Question
which he had undergone_.
_Mar. _ No--no--no more of that: even they relent
From that atrocity.
_Jac. Fos. _ What then?
_Mar. _ That you
Return to Candia.
_Jac. Fos. _ Then my last hope's gone.
I could endure my dungeon, for 'twas Venice;
I could support the torture, there was something
In my native air that buoyed my spirits up
Like a ship on the Ocean tossed by storms, 130
But proudly still bestriding[61] the high waves,
And holding on its course; but _there_, afar,
In that accursed isle of slaves and captives,
And unbelievers, like a stranded wreck,
My very soul seemed mouldering in my bosom,
And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded.
_Mar. _ And _here_?
_Jac. Fos. _ At once--by better means, as briefer. [bm]
What! would they even deny me my Sire's sepulchre,
As well as home and heritage?
_Mar. _ My husband!
I have sued to accompany thee hence, 140
And not so hopelessly. This love of thine
For an ungrateful and tyrannic soil
Is Passion, and not Patriotism; for me,
So I could see thee with a quiet aspect,
And the sweet freedom of the earth and air,
I would not cavil about climes or regions.
This crowd of palaces and prisons is not
A Paradise; its first inhabitants
Were wretched exiles.
_Jac. Fos. _ Well I know _how_ wretched!
_Mar. _ And yet you see how, from their banishment 150
Before the Tartar into these salt isles,
Their antique energy of mind, all that
Remained of Rome for their inheritance,
Created by degrees an ocean Rome;[62]
And shall an evil, which so often leads
To good, depress thee thus?
_Jac. Fos. _ Had I gone forth
From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking
Another region, with their flocks and herds;
Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion,
Or like our fathers, driven by Attila[63] 160
From fertile Italy, to barren islets,
I would have given some tears to my late country
And many thoughts; but afterwards addressed
Myself, with those about me, to create
A new home and fresh state: perhaps I could
Have borne this--though I know not.
_Mar. _ Wherefore not?
It was the lot of millions, and must be
The fate of myriads more.
_Jac. Fos. _ Aye--we but hear
Of the survivors' toil in their new lands,
Their numbers and success; but who can number 170
The hearts which broke in silence at that parting,
Or after their departure; of that malady[64]
Which calls up green and native fields to view
From the rough deep, with such identity
To the poor exile's fevered eye, that he
Can scarcely be restrained from treading them?
That melody,[65] which out of tones and tunes[bn]
Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow
Of the sad mountaineer, when far away
From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds, 180
That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought,
And dies. [66] You call this _weakness_! It is strength,
I say,--the parent of all honest feeling.
He who loves not his Country, can love nothing.
_Mar. _ Obey her, then: 'tis she that puts thee forth.
_Jac. Fos. _ Aye, there it is; 'tis like a mother's curse
Upon my soul--the mark is set upon me.
The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,
Their hands upheld each other by the way,
Their tents were pitched together--I'm alone. 190
_Mar. _ You shall be so no more--I will go with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ My best Marina! --and our children?
_Mar. _ They,
I fear, by the prevention of the state's
Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties
As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),
Will not be suffered to proceed with us.
_Jac. Fos. _ And canst thou leave them?
_Mar. _ Yes--with many a pang!
But--I _can_ leave them, children as they are,
To teach you to be less a child. From this
Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted 200
By duties paramount; and 'tis our first
On earth to bear.
_Jac. Fos. _ Have I not borne?
_Mar. _ Too much
From tyrannous injustice, and enough
To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,
Which, as compared with what you have undergone
Of late, is mercy.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! you never yet
Were far away from Venice, never saw
Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,
While every furrow of the vessel's track
Seemed ploughing deep into your heart; you never 210
Saw day go down upon your native spires[bo]
So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,
And after dreaming a disturbed vision
Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.
_Mar. _ I will divide this with you. Let us think
Of our departure from this much-loved city,
(Since you must _love_ it, as it seems,) and this
Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.
Our children will be cared for by the Doge,
And by my uncles; we must sail ere night. 220
_Jac. Fos. _ That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father?
_Mar. _ You will.
_Jac. Fos. _ Where?
_Mar.
_Lor. _ That they have mortal foes.
_Doge_. I understand you;
Your sires were mine, and you are heir in all things. 220
_Lor. _ You best know if I should be so.
_Doge_. I do.
Your fathers were my foes, and I have heard
Foul rumours were abroad; I have also read
Their epitaph, attributing their deaths
To poison. 'Tis perhaps as true as most
Inscriptions upon tombs, and yet no less
A fable.
_Lor. _ Who dares say so?
_Doge_. I! ----'Tis true
Your fathers were mine enemies, as bitter
As their son e'er can be, and I no less
Was theirs; but I was _openly_ their foe: 230
I never worked by plot in Council, nor
Cabal in commonwealth, nor secret means
Of practice against life by steel or drug.
The proof is--your existence.
_Lor. _ I fear not.
_Doge_. You have no cause, being what I am; but were I
That you would have me thought, you long ere now
Were past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not.
_Lor. _ I never yet knew that a noble's life
In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown,
That is, by open means.
_Doge_. But I, good Signor, 240
Am, or at least _was_, more than a mere duke,
In blood, in mind, in means; and that they know
Who dreaded to elect me, and have since
Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure,
Before or since that period, had I held you
At so much price as to require your absence,
A word of mine had set such spirits to work
As would have made you nothing. But in all things
I have observed the strictest reverence;
Not for the laws alone, for those _you_ have strained 250
(I do not speak of _you_ but as a single
Voice of the many) somewhat beyond what
I could enforce for my authority,
Were I disposed to brawl; but, as I said,
I have observed with veneration, like
A priest's for the High Altar, even unto
The sacrifice of my own blood and quiet,
Safety, and all save honour, the decrees,
The health, the pride, and welfare of the State.
And now, sir, to your business.
_Lor. _ 'Tis decreed, 260
That, without further repetition of
The Question, or continuance of the trial,
Which only tends to show how stubborn guilt is,
("The Ten," dispensing with the stricter law
Which still prescribes the Question till a full
Confession, and the prisoner partly having
Avowed his crime in not denying that
The letter to the Duke of Milan's his),
James Foscari return to banishment,
And sail in the same galley which conveyed him. 270
_Mar. _ Thank God! At least they will not drag him more
Before that horrible tribunal. Would he
But think so, to my mind the happiest doom,
Not he alone, but all who dwell here, could
Desire, were to escape from such a land.
_Doge_. That is not a Venetian thought, my daughter.
_Mar. _ No, 'twas too human. May I share his exile?
_Lor. _ Of this "the Ten" said nothing.
_Mar. _ So I thought!
That were too human, also. But it was not
Inhibited?
_Lor. _ It was not named.
_Mar. (to the Doge_). Then, father, 280
Surely you can obtain or grant me thus much:
[_To_ LOREDANO.
And you, sir, not oppose my prayer to be
Permitted to accompany my husband.
_Doge_. I will endeavour.
_Mar. _ And you, Signor?
_Lor. _ Lady!
'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasure
Of the tribunal.
_Mar. _ Pleasure! what a word
To use for the decrees of----
_Doge_. Daughter, know you
In what a presence you pronounce these things?
_Mar. _ A Prince's and his subject's.
_Lor. _ Subject!
_Mar. _ Oh!
It galls you:--well, you are his equal, as 290
You think; but that you are not, nor would be,
Were he a peasant:--well, then, you're a Prince,
A princely noble; and what then am I?
_Lor. _ The offspring of a noble house.
_Mar. _ And wedded
To one as noble. What, or whose, then, is
The presence that should silence my free thoughts?
_Lor. _ The presence of your husband's Judges.
_Doge_. And
The deference due even to the lightest word
That falls from those who rule in Venice.
_Mar. _ Keep
Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, 300
Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves,
Your tributaries, your dumb citizens,
And masked nobility, your sbirri, and
Your spies, your galley and your other slaves,
To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings,
Your dungeons next the palace roofs, or under
The water's level;[55] your mysterious meetings,
And unknown dooms, and sudden executions,
Your "Bridge of Sighs," your strangling chamber, and
Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem 310
The beings of another and worse world!
Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye;[be]
Have known and proved your worst, in the infernal
Process of my poor husband! Treat me as
Ye treated him:--you did so, in so dealing
With him. Then what have I to fear _from_ you,
Even if I were of fearful nature, which
I trust I am not?
_Doge_. You hear, she speaks wildly.
_Mar. _ Not wisely, yet not wildly.
_Lor. _ Lady! words
Uttered within these walls I bear no further 320
Than to the threshold, saving such as pass
Between the Duke and me on the State's service.
Doge! have you aught in answer?
_Doge_. Something from
The Doge; it may be also from a parent.
_Lor. _ My mission _here_ is to the _Doge_.
_Doge_. Then say
The Doge will choose his own ambassador,
Or state in person what is meet; and for
The father----
_Lor. _ I remember _mine_. --Farewell!
I kiss the hands of the illustrious Lady,
And bow me to the Duke. [_Exit_ LOREDANO.
_Mar. _ Are you content? 330
_Doge_. I am what you behold.
_Mar. _ And that's a mystery.
_Doge_. All things are so to mortals; who can read them
Save he who made? or, if they can, the few
And gifted spirits, who have studied long
That loathsome volume--man, and pored upon
Those black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain,[bf]
But learn a magic which recoils upon
The adept who pursues it: all the sins
We find in others, Nature made our own;
All our advantages are those of Fortune; 340
Birth, wealth, health, beauty, are her accidents,
And when we cry out against Fate, 'twere well
We should remember Fortune can take nought
Save what she _gave_--the rest was nakedness,
And lusts, and appetites, and vanities,
The universal heritage, to battle
With as we may, and least in humblest stations,[bg]
Where Hunger swallows all in one low want,[bh]
And the original ordinance, that man
Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all passions 350
Aloof, save fear of famine! All is low,
And false, and hollow--clay from first to last,
The Prince's urn no less than potter's vessel.
Our Fame is in men's breath, our lives upon
Less than their breath; our durance upon days[bi]
Our days on seasons; our whole being on
Something which is not _us_! [56]--So, we are slaves,
The greatest as the meanest--nothing rests
Upon our will; the will itself no less[bj]
Depends upon a straw than on a storm; 360
And when we think we lead, we are most led,[57]
And still towards Death, a thing which comes as much
Without our act or choice as birth, so that
Methinks we must have sinned in some old world,
And _this_ is Hell: the best is, that it is not
Eternal.
_Mar. _ These are things we cannot judge
On earth.
_Doge_. And how then shall we judge each other,
Who are all earth, and I, who am called upon
To judge my son? I have administered
My country faithfully--victoriously-- 370
I dare them to the proof, the _chart_ of what
She was and is: my reign has doubled realms;
And, in reward, the gratitude of Venice
Has left, or is about to leave, _me_ single.
_Mar. _ And Foscari? I do not think of such things,
So I be left with him.
_Doge_. You shall be so;
Thus much they cannot well deny.
_Mar. _ And if
They should, I will fly with him.
_Doge_. That can ne'er be.
And whither would you fly?
_Mar. _ I know not, reck not--
To Syria, Egypt, to the Ottoman-- 380
Any where, where we might respire unfettered,
And live nor girt by spies, nor liable
To edicts of inquisitors of state.
_Doge_. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband,
And turn him into traitor?
_Mar. _ He is none!
The Country is the traitress, which thrusts forth
Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny
Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem
None rebels except subjects? The Prince who
Neglects or violates his trust is more 390
A brigand than the robber-chief.
_Doge_. I cannot
Charge me with such a breach of faith.
_Mar_ No; thou
Observ'st, obey'st such laws as make old Draco's
A code of mercy by comparison.
_Doge_. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I
A subject, still I might find parts and portions
Fit for amendment; but as Prince, I never
Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter
Left by our fathers.
_Mar. _ Did they make it for
The ruin of their children?
_Doge_. Under such laws, Venice 400
Has risen to what she is--a state to rival
In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add,
In glory (for we have had Roman spirits
Amongst us), all that history has bequeathed
Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when
The people swayed by Senates.
_Mar. _ Rather say,
Groaned under the stern Oligarchs.
_Doge_. Perhaps so;
But yet subdued the World: in such a state
An individual, be he richest of
Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest, 410
Without a name, is alike nothing, when
The policy, irrevocably tending
To one great end, must be maintained in vigour.
_Mar. _ This means that you are more a Doge than father.
_Doge_. It means, I am more citizen than either.
If we had not for many centuries
Had thousands of such citizens, and shall,
I trust, have still such, Venice were no city.
_Mar. _ Accursed be the city where the laws
Would stifle Nature's!
_Doge_. Had I as many sons 420
As I have years, I would have given them all,
Not without feeling, but I would have given them
To the State's service, to fulfil her wishes,
On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be,
As it, alas! has been, to ostracism,
Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worse
She might decree.
_Mar. _ And this is Patriotism?
To me it seems the worst barbarity.
Let me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten,"
With all its jealousy, will hardly war 430
So far with a weak woman as deny me
A moment's access to his dungeon.
_Doge_. I'll
So far take on myself, as order that
You may be admitted.
_Mar. _ And what shall I say
To Foscari from his father?
_Doge_. That he obey
The laws.
_Mar. _ And nothing more? Will you not see him
Ere he depart? It may be the last time.
_Doge_. The last! --my boy! --the last time I shall see
My last of children! Tell him I will come. [_Exeunt_.
ACT III.
SCENE I. --_The prison of_ JACOPO FOSCARI.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_solus_).
No light, save yon faint gleam which shows me walls
Which never echoed but to Sorrow's sounds,[58]
The sigh of long imprisonment, the step
Of feet on which the iron clanked the groan
Of Death, the imprecation of Despair!
And yet for this I have returned to Venice,
With some faint hope, 'tis true, that Time, which wears
The marble down, had worn away the hate
Of men's hearts; but I knew them not, and here
Must I consume my own, which never beat 10
For Venice but with such a yearning as
The dove has for her distant nest, when wheeling
High in the air on her return to greet
Her callow brood. What letters are these which
[_Approaching the wall_.
Are scrawled along the inexorable wall?
Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the names
Of my sad predecessors in this place,[59]
The dates of their despair, the brief words of
A grief too great for many. This stone page
Holds like an epitaph their history; 20
And the poor captive's tale is graven on
His dungeon barrier, like the lover's record
Upon the bark of some tall tree,[60] which bears
His own and his beloved's name. Alas!
I recognise some names familiar to me,
And blighted like to mine, which I will add,
Fittest for such a chronicle as this,
Which only can be read, as writ, by wretches.
[bk]
[_He engraves his name_.
_Enter a Familiar of "the Ten. "_
_Fam. _ I bring you food.
_Jac. Fos. _ I pray you set it down;
I am past hunger: but my lips are parched-- 30
The water!
_Fam. _ There.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_after drinking_). I thank you: I am better.
_Fam. _ I am commanded to inform you that
Your further trial is postponed.
_Jac. Fos. _ Till when?
_Fam. _ I know not. --It is also in my orders
That your illustrious lady be admitted.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! they relent, then--I had ceased to hope it:
'Twas time.
_Enter_ MARINA.
_Mar. _ My best beloved!
_Jac. Fos. _ (_embracing her_). My true wife,
And only friend! What happiness!
_Mar. _ We'll part
No more.
_Jac. Fos. _ How! would'st thou share a dungeon?
_Mar. _ Aye,
The rack, the grave, all--any thing with thee, 40
But the tomb last of all, for there we shall
Be ignorant of each other, yet I will
Share that--all things except new separation;
It is too much to have survived the first.
How dost thou? How are those worn limbs? Alas!
Why do I ask? Thy paleness----
_Jac. Fos. _ 'Tis the joy
Of seeing thee again so soon, and so
Without expectancy, has sent the blood
Back to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine,
For thou art pale too, my Marina!
_Mar. _ 'Tis 50
The gloom of this eternal cell, which never
Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare
Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin[bl]
To darkness more than light, by lending to
The dungeon vapours its bituminous smoke,
Which cloud whate'er we gaze on, even thine eyes--
No, not thine eyes--they sparkle--how they sparkle!
_Jac. Fos. _ And thine! --but I am blinded by the torch.
_Mar. _ As I had been without it. Couldst thou see here?
_Jac. Fos. _ Nothing at first; but use and time had taught me 60
Familiarity with what was darkness;
And the grey twilight of such glimmerings as
Glide through the crevices made by the winds
Was kinder to mine eyes than the full Sun,
When gorgeously o'ergilding any towers
Save those of Venice; but a moment ere
Thou earnest hither I was busy writing.
_Mar. _ What?
_Jac. Fos. _ My name: look, 'tis there--recorded next
The name of him who here preceded me,--
If dungeon dates say true.
_Mar. _ And what of him? 70
_Jac. Fos. _ These walls are silent of men's ends; they only
Seem to hint shrewdly of them. Such stern walls
Were never piled on high save o'er the dead,
Or those who soon must be so. --_What of him? _
Thou askest. --What of me? may soon be asked,
With the like answer--doubt and dreadful surmise--
Unless thou tell'st my tale.
_Mar. _ _I speak_ of thee!
_Jac. Fos. _ And wherefore not? All then shall speak of me:
The tyranny of silence is not lasting,
And, though events be hidden, just men's groans 80
Will burst all cerement, even a living grave's!
I do not _doubt_ my memory, but my life;
And neither do I fear.
_Mar. _ Thy life is safe.
_Jac. Fos. _ And liberty?
_Mar. _ The mind should make its own!
_Jac. Fos. _ That has a noble sound; but 'tis a sound,
A music most impressive, but too transient:
The Mind is much, but is not all. The Mind
Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death,
And torture positive, far worse than death
(If death be a deep sleep), without a groan, 90
Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges
Than me; but 'tis not all, for there are things
More woful--such as this small dungeon, where
I may breathe many years.
_Mar. _ Alas! and this
Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee
Of this wide realm, of which thy sire is Prince.
_Jac. Fos. _ That thought would scarcely aid me to endure it.
My doom is common; many are in dungeons,
But none like mine, so near their father's palace;
But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope 100
Will stream along those moted rays of light
Peopled with dusty atoms, which afford
Our only day; for, save the gaoler's torch,
And a strange firefly, which was quickly caught
Last night in yon enormous spider's net,
I ne'er saw aught here like a ray. Alas!
I know if mind may bear us up, or no,
For I have such, and shown it before men;
It sinks in solitude: my soul is social.
_Mar. _ I will be with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! if it were so! 110
But _that_ they never granted--nor will grant,
And I shall be alone: no men; no books--
Those lying likenesses of lying men.
I asked for even those outlines of their kind,
Which they term annals, history, what you will,
Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were
Refused me,--so these walls have been my study,
More faithful pictures of Venetian story,
With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is
The Hall not far from hence, which bears on high 120
Hundreds of Doges, and their deeds and dates.
_Mar. _ I come to tell thee the result of their
Last council on thy doom.
_Jac. Fos. _ I know it--look!
[_He points to his limbs, as referring to the Question
which he had undergone_.
_Mar. _ No--no--no more of that: even they relent
From that atrocity.
_Jac. Fos. _ What then?
_Mar. _ That you
Return to Candia.
_Jac. Fos. _ Then my last hope's gone.
I could endure my dungeon, for 'twas Venice;
I could support the torture, there was something
In my native air that buoyed my spirits up
Like a ship on the Ocean tossed by storms, 130
But proudly still bestriding[61] the high waves,
And holding on its course; but _there_, afar,
In that accursed isle of slaves and captives,
And unbelievers, like a stranded wreck,
My very soul seemed mouldering in my bosom,
And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded.
_Mar. _ And _here_?
_Jac. Fos. _ At once--by better means, as briefer. [bm]
What! would they even deny me my Sire's sepulchre,
As well as home and heritage?
_Mar. _ My husband!
I have sued to accompany thee hence, 140
And not so hopelessly. This love of thine
For an ungrateful and tyrannic soil
Is Passion, and not Patriotism; for me,
So I could see thee with a quiet aspect,
And the sweet freedom of the earth and air,
I would not cavil about climes or regions.
This crowd of palaces and prisons is not
A Paradise; its first inhabitants
Were wretched exiles.
_Jac. Fos. _ Well I know _how_ wretched!
_Mar. _ And yet you see how, from their banishment 150
Before the Tartar into these salt isles,
Their antique energy of mind, all that
Remained of Rome for their inheritance,
Created by degrees an ocean Rome;[62]
And shall an evil, which so often leads
To good, depress thee thus?
_Jac. Fos. _ Had I gone forth
From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking
Another region, with their flocks and herds;
Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion,
Or like our fathers, driven by Attila[63] 160
From fertile Italy, to barren islets,
I would have given some tears to my late country
And many thoughts; but afterwards addressed
Myself, with those about me, to create
A new home and fresh state: perhaps I could
Have borne this--though I know not.
_Mar. _ Wherefore not?
It was the lot of millions, and must be
The fate of myriads more.
_Jac. Fos. _ Aye--we but hear
Of the survivors' toil in their new lands,
Their numbers and success; but who can number 170
The hearts which broke in silence at that parting,
Or after their departure; of that malady[64]
Which calls up green and native fields to view
From the rough deep, with such identity
To the poor exile's fevered eye, that he
Can scarcely be restrained from treading them?
That melody,[65] which out of tones and tunes[bn]
Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow
Of the sad mountaineer, when far away
From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds, 180
That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought,
And dies. [66] You call this _weakness_! It is strength,
I say,--the parent of all honest feeling.
He who loves not his Country, can love nothing.
_Mar. _ Obey her, then: 'tis she that puts thee forth.
_Jac. Fos. _ Aye, there it is; 'tis like a mother's curse
Upon my soul--the mark is set upon me.
The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,
Their hands upheld each other by the way,
Their tents were pitched together--I'm alone. 190
_Mar. _ You shall be so no more--I will go with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ My best Marina! --and our children?
_Mar. _ They,
I fear, by the prevention of the state's
Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties
As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),
Will not be suffered to proceed with us.
_Jac. Fos. _ And canst thou leave them?
_Mar. _ Yes--with many a pang!
But--I _can_ leave them, children as they are,
To teach you to be less a child. From this
Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted 200
By duties paramount; and 'tis our first
On earth to bear.
_Jac. Fos. _ Have I not borne?
_Mar. _ Too much
From tyrannous injustice, and enough
To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,
Which, as compared with what you have undergone
Of late, is mercy.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! you never yet
Were far away from Venice, never saw
Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,
While every furrow of the vessel's track
Seemed ploughing deep into your heart; you never 210
Saw day go down upon your native spires[bo]
So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,
And after dreaming a disturbed vision
Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.
_Mar. _ I will divide this with you. Let us think
Of our departure from this much-loved city,
(Since you must _love_ it, as it seems,) and this
Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.
Our children will be cared for by the Doge,
And by my uncles; we must sail ere night. 220
_Jac. Fos. _ That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father?
_Mar. _ You will.
_Jac. Fos. _ Where?
_Mar.
