University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—A Hall in the Ducal Palace.
Enter Loredano and Barbarigo.
Bar.
And have you confidence in such a project?

Lor.
I have.

Bar.
'Tis hard upon his years.

Lor.
Say rather
Kind to relieve him from the cares of State.

Bar.
'Twill break his heart.

Lor.
Age has no heart to break.
He has seen his son's half broken, and, except
A start of feeling in his dungeon, never
Swerved.

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

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

Bar.
Bidding farewell.

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

Bar.
When embarks the son?

Lor.
Forthwith—when this long leave is taken. 'Tis
Time to admonish them again.

Bar.
Forbear;
Retrench not from their moments.

Lor.
Not I, now
We have higher business for our own. This day
Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign,
As the first of his son's last banishment,
And that is vengeance.

Bar.
In my mind, too deep.

Lor.
'Tis moderate—not even life for life, the rule
Denounced of retribution from all time;
They owe me still my father's and my uncle's.

Bar.
Did not the Doge deny this strongly?

Lor.
Doubtless.

Bar.
And did not this shake your suspicion?

Lor.
No.

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

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

Bar.
What if he will not?

Lor.
We'll elect another,
And make him null.

Bar.
But will the laws uphold us?

Lor.
What laws?—“The Ten” are laws; and if they were not,
I will be legislator in this business.

Bar.
At your own peril?

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

Bar.
But he has twice already
Solicited permission to retire,
And twice it was refused.

Lor.
The better reason
To grant it the third time.

Bar.
Unasked?

Lor.
It shows
The impression of his former instances:
If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:
If not, 'twill punish his hypocrisy.
Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,
And be thou fixed in purpose for this once.
I have prepared such arguments as will not
Fail to move them, and to remove him: since
Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do not
You, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,
And all will prosper.

Bar.
Could I but be certain
This is no prelude to such persecution
Of the sire as has fallen upon the son,
I would support you.

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

Bar.
But discarded Princes
Are seldom long of life.

Lor.
And men of eighty
More seldom still.

Bar.
And why not wait these few years?

Lor.
Because we have waited long enough, and he
Lived longer than enough. Hence! in to council!

[Exeunt Loredano and Barbarigo.
Enter Memmo and a Senator.
Sen.
A summons to “the Ten!” why so?

Mem.
“The Ten”
Alone can answer; they are rarely wont
To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose
By previous proclamation. We are summoned—
That is enough.

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

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

Sen.
I mean not
To oppose them, but—

Mem.
In Venice “but”'s a traitor.
But me no “buts,” unless you would pass o'er
The Bridge which few repass.

Sen.
I am silent.

Mem.
Why
Thus hesitate? “The Ten” have called in aid
Of their deliberation five and twenty
Patricians of the Senate—you are one,
And I another; and it seems to me
Both honoured by the choice or chance which leads us
To mingle with a body so august.

Sen.
Most true. I say no more.

Mem.
As we hope, Signor,
And all may honestly, (that is, all those
Of noble blood may,) one day hope to be
Decemvir, it is surely for the Senate's
Chosen delegates, a school of wisdom, to
Be thus admitted, though as novices,
To view the mysteries.

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

Mem.
Being worth our lives
If we divulge them, doubtless they are worth
Something, at least to you or me.

Sen.
I sought not
A place within the sanctuary; but being
Chosen, however reluctantly so chosen,
I shall fulfil my office.

Mem.
Let us not
Be latest in obeying “the Ten's” summons.

Sen.
All are not met, but I am of your thought
So far—let's in.

Mem.
The earliest are most welcome
In earnest councils—we will not be least so.

[Exeunt.
Enter the Doge, Jacopo Foscari, and Marina.
Jac. Fos.
Ah, father! though I must and will depart,
Yet—yet—I pray you to obtain for me
That I once more return unto my home,
Howe'er remote the period. Let there be
A point of time, as beacon to my heart,
With any penalty annexed they please,
But let me still return.

Doge.
Son Jacopo,
Go and obey our Country's will: 'tis not
For us to look beyond.

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

Doge.
Alas!
You ever were my dearest offspring, when
They were more numerous, nor can be less so
Now you are last; but did the State demand
The exile of the disinterréd ashes
Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,
And their desponding shades came flitting round
To impede the act, I must no less obey
A duty, paramount to every duty.

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

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

Mar.
And if it do, it will not
Change their hearts, or your lot: the galley's oars
Will quickly clear the harbour.

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

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

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

Mar.
And wish you this with me beside you?

Jac. Fos.
No—
No—not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thou
Live long to be a mother to those children
Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives
Of such support! But for myself alone,
May all the winds of Heaven howl down the Gulf,
And tear the vessel, till the mariners,
Appalled, turn their despairing eyes on me,
As the Phenicians did on Jonah, then
Cast me out from amongst them, as an offering
To appease the waves. The billow which destroys me
Will be more merciful than man, and bear me
Dead, but still bear me to a native grave,
From fishers' hands, upon the desolate strand,
Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received
One lacerated like the heart which then
Will be.—But wherefore breaks it not? why live I?

Mar.
To man thyself, I trust, with time, to master
Such useless passion. Until now thou wert
A sufferer, but not a loud one: why
What is this to the things thou hast borne in silence—
Imprisonment and actual torture?

Jac. Fos.
Double,
Triple, and tenfold torture! But you are right,
It must be borne. Father, your blessing.

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

Jac. Fos.
Forgive—

Doge.
What?

Jac. Fos.
My poor mother, for my birth,
And me for having lived, and you yourself
(As I forgive you), for the gift of life,
Which you bestowed upon me as my sire.

Mar.
What hast thou done?

Jac. Fos.
Nothing. I cannot charge
My memory with much save sorrow: but
I have been so beyond the common lot
Chastened and visited, I needs must think
That I was wicked. If it be so, may
What I have undergone here keep me from
A like hereafter!

Mar.
Fear not: that's reserved
For your oppressors.

Jac. Fos.
Let me hope not.

Mar.
Hope not?

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

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

Jac. Fos.
They may repent.

Mar.
And if they do, Heaven will not
Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

Enter an Officer and Guards.
Offi.
Signor! the boat is at the shore—the wind
Is rising—we are ready to attend you.

Jac. Fos.
And I to be attended. Once more, father,
Your hand!

Doge.
Take it. Alas! how thine own trembles!

Jac. Fos.
No—you mistake; 'tis yours that shakes, my father.
Farewell!

Doge.
Farewell! Is there aught else?

Jac. Fos.
No—nothing.
[To the Officer.
Lend me your arm, good Signor.

Offi.
You turn pale—
Let me support you—paler—ho! some aid there!
Some water!

Mar.
Ah, he is dying!

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

Mar.
Away!
Let me support him—my best love! Oh, God!
How faintly beats this heart—this pulse!

Jac. Fos.
The light!
Is it the light?—I am faint.

[Officer presents him with water.
Offi.
He will be better,
Perhaps, in the air.

Jac. Fos.
I doubt not. Father—wife—
Your hands!

Mar.
There 's death in that damp, clammy grasp.
Oh, God!—My Foscari, how fare you?

Jac. Fos.
Well!

[He dies.
Offi.
He's gone!

Doge.
He's free.

Mar.
No—no, he is not dead;
There must be life yet in that heart—he could not
Thus leave me.

Doge.
Daughter!

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

Offi.
We must remove the body.

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

Offi.
I must
Inform the Signory, and learn their pleasure.

Doge.
Inform the Signory from me, the Doge,
They have no further power upon those ashes:
While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject—
Now he is mine—my broken-hearted boy!

[Exit Officer.
Mar.
And I must live!

Doge.
Your children live, Marina.

Mar.
My children! true—they live, and I must live
To bring them up to serve the State, and die
As died their father. Oh! what best of blessings
Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother
Had been so!

Doge.
My unhappy children!

Mar.
What!
You feel it then at last—you!—Where is now
The Stoic of the State?

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

Mar.
Aye, weep on!
I thought you had no tears—you hoarded them
Until they are useless; but weep on! he never
Shall weep more—never, never more.

Enter Loredano and Barbarigo.
Lor.
What's here?

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

Bar.
Lady, we knew not of this sad event,
But passed here merely on our path from council.

Mar.
Pass on.

Lor.
We sought the Doge.

Mar.
(pointing to the Doge, who is still on the ground by his son's body).
He's busy, look,
About the business you provided for him.
Are ye content?

Bar.
We will not interrupt
A parent's sorrows.

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

Doge
(rising).
Sirs, I am ready.

Bar.
No—not now.

Lor.
Yet 'twas important.

Doge.
If 'twas so, I can
Only repeat—I am ready.

Bar.
It shall not be
Just now, though Venice tottered o'er the deep
Like a frail vessel. I respect your griefs.

Doge.
I thank you. If the tidings which you bring
Are evil, you may say them; nothing further
Can touch me more than him thou look'st on there;
If they be good, say on; you need not fear
That they can comfort me.

Bar.
I would they could!

Doge.
I spoke not to you, but to Loredano.
He understands me.

Mar.
Ah! I thought it would be so.

Doge.
What mean you?

Mar.
Lo! there is the blood beginning
To flow through the dead lips of Foscari—
The body bleeds in presence of the assassin.
[To Loredano.
Thou cowardly murderer by law, behold
How Death itself bears witness to thy deeds!

Doge.
My child! this is a phantasy of grief.
Bear hence the body. [To his attendants.]
Signors, if it please you,
Within an hour I'll hear you.

[Exeunt Doge, Marina, and attendants with the body. Manent Loredano and Barbarigo.
Bar.
He must not
Be troubled now.

Lor.
He said himself that nought
Could give him trouble farther.

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

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

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

Lor.
The thing 's decreed. The Giunta and “the Ten”
Have made it law—who shall oppose that law?

Bar.
Humanity!

Lor.
Because his son is dead?

Bar.
And yet unburied.

Lor.
Had we known this when
The act was passing, it might have suspended
Its passage, but impedes it not—once passed.

Bar.
I'll not consent.

Lor.
You have consented to
All that's essential—leave the rest to me.

Bar.
Why press his abdication now?

Lor.
The feelings
Of private passion may not interrupt
The public benefit; and what the State
Decides to-day must not give way before
To-morrow for a natural accident.

Bar.
You have a son.

Lor.
I have—and had a father.

Bar.
Still so inexorable?

Lor.
Still.

Bar.
But let him
Inter his son before we press upon him
This edict.

Lor.
Let him call up into life
My sire and uncle—I consent. Men may,
Even agéd men, be, or appear to be,
Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle
An atom of their ancestors from earth.
The victims are not equal; he has seen
His sons expire by natural deaths, and I
My sires by violent and mysterious maladies.
I used no poison, bribed no subtle master
Of the destructive art of healing, to
Shorten the path to the eternal cure.
His sons—and he had four—are dead, without
My dabbling in vile drugs.

Bar.
And art thou sure
He dealt in such?

Lor.
Most sure.

Bar.
And yet he seems
All openness.

Lor.
And so he seemed not long
Ago to Carmagnuola.

Bar.
The attainted
And foreign traitor?

Lor.
Even so: when he,
After the very night in which “the Ten”
(Joined with the Doge) decided his destruction,
Met the great Duke at daybreak with a jest,
Demanding whether he should augur him
“The good day or good night?” his Doge-ship answered,
“That he in truth had passed a night of vigil,
“In which” (he added with a gracious smile)
“There often has been question about you.”
'Twas true; the question was the death resolved
Of Carmagnuola, eight months ere he died;
And the old Doge, who knew him doomed, smiled on him
With deadly cozenage, eight long months beforehand—
Eight months of such hypocrisy as is
Learnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola
Is dead; so is young Foscari and his brethren—
I never smiled on them.

Bar.
Was Carmagnuola
Your friend?

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

Bar.
Ah! that seems
The penalty of saving cities. He
Whom we now act against not only saved
Our own, but added others to her sway.

Lor.
The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crown
To him who took a city: and they gave
A crown to him who saved a citizen
In battle: the rewards are equal. Now,
If we should measure forth the cities taken
By the Doge Foscari, with citizens
Destroyed by him, or through him, the account
Were fearfully against him, although narrowed
To private havoc, such as between him
And my dead father.

Bar.
Are you then thus fixed?

Lor.
Why, what should change me?

Bar.
That which changes me.
But you, I know, are marble to retain
A feud. But when all is accomplished, when
The old man is deposed, his name degraded,
His sons all dead, his family depressed,
And you and yours triumphant, shall you sleep?

Lor.
More soundly.

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

Lor.
They sleep not
In their accelerated graves, nor will
Till Foscari fills his. Each night I see them
Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towards
The ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance.

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

Enter an Officer.
Lor.
Where go you, sirrah?

Offi.
By the ducal order
To forward the preparatory rites
For the late Foscari's interment.

Bar.
Their
Vault has been often opened of late years.

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

Offi.
May I pass on?

Lor.
You may.

Bar.
How bears the Doge
This last calamity?

Offi.
With desperate firmness.
In presence of another he says little,
But I perceive his lips move now and then;
And once or twice I heard him, from the adjoining
Apartment, mutter forth the words—“My son!”
Scarce audibly. I must proceed.

[Exit Officer.
Bar.
This stroke
Will move all Venice in his favour.

Lor.
Right!
We must be speedy: let us call together
The delegates appointed to convey
The Council's resolution.

Bar.
I protest
Against it at this moment.

Lor.
As you please—
I'll take their voices on it ne'ertheless,
And see whose most may sway them, yours or mine.

[Exeunt Barbarigo and Loredano.