University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the Donato Palace.
Donato, Camilla and Laura.
Laura.
Camilla, why so drooping?

Cam.
This hath been
A long and weary day; there is a heat,
A gloom, a heavy closeness. See, this rose
Is withering too, that was so fresh and fair—
The white musk-rose—that which he used to love.

Laura.
It was no day for Venice. 'Twould have been
A calm sweet stillness in our country home,
Bowered amid green leaves and growing flowers,
With fragrant airs about us, and soft light,
And rustling birds.

Don.
The sky portends a storm.
To bed, Camilla!

Cam.
Father! dearest father,
Have I displeased thee?

Don.
No! To bed! To bed!
Laura, good night.

[Exit.
Cam.
He used to call me child,
His dearest child; and when I grasped his hand
Would hold me from him with a long fond gaze,
And stroke my hair and kiss my brow, and bid
Heaven bless his sweet Camilla! And to night
Nought but to bed! to bed!

Laura.
Believe it, Cousin,
A thing of accident.

Cam.
And Cosmo comes not;
He sends not to me—he that never broke
His plighted word before! And Laura! Laura!
Foscari is in Venice, is returned
Triumphant, and he comes not, sends not, Laura!
And when I ask of him my father frowns
Sternly on his poor child.

Re-enter Donato.
Don.
My pretty-one,
I could not go to rest, till I had said
Heaven bless thee!

Cam.
My dear father!

Don.
What is this?
A tear?

Cam.
Oh! gratitude and love and joy
Are in that tear, dear father!—and one doubt—
One fear—

Don.
Sweetest, good night!

Cam.
Foscari, father?

Don.
To bed my own Camilla!

[Exit.
Cam.
Not a word.

Laura.
Something works in him deeply.

Cam.
Yet how kind,
How exquisitely fond! Cosmo must know,
And, Laura, Cosmo never flies from thee,
And thou may'st ask—

Laura.
I will, I will, sweet Coz!
Look, dearest, at the glancing gondolas
Shooting along, each with its little light,
Like stars upon the water. Whither go they?

Cam.
To the proud Ducal Palace, where they hold
High feasting in his honour. There the dance,
And the quaint masque, and music's softer strains
Minister to his praises.

Laura.
And the ear
That would drink in so eagerly that sweet praise,
The heart that would leap up at every sound
Rejoicing, the glad eyes—Would thou wert there!

Cam.
Ah! would I were, since Foscari is there;
That is enough for me! Where'er he is,
In tent or battle-field—Hark! what is that?
That music? Oh 'tis he! 'tis Foscari!
Dost thou not know the strain, the wandering strain,
Trembling and floating like a spirit's song,
With many a—Hark again!—'Tis he! 'tis he!
That air belongs to him even as a name
It thrills my very heart. Am I not pale?

Laura.
No; the bright blood floats trembling in thy cheek,
Most like that wandering music.

Cam.
There is pain
In this excess of joy.

Laura.
He comes.

Enter Foscari.
Fos.
Camilla!
Sweetest Camilla!

Cam.
Thou art come at last
Francesco!

Fos.
My Camilla—Come at last!
Why this is chiding! Can'st thou chide, Camilla?

Laura.
Aye, or she were no woman.

Fos.
Lady Laura!
Forgive me that I saw you not. Camilla,
Chide on—nay thou art smiling—Come begin!
I'd rather hear thy chidings than the praise
Of all the world beside. Let me but hear
Thy voice, whate'er thou speakest.

Cam.
Dear Francesco,
Thou hast been long away.

Fos.
Oh very long!

Cam.
And where?

Fos.
Away from thee. That is enough;
Where thou art not I keep no count of place
Nor time, nor speech, nor act.

Cam.
Yet tell me where.

Fos.
Where I have dreamt of courts and camps and fields
Of glorious battle. A long weary dream
To him, who loves to bask him in thy smiles,
And live upon thy words.

Cam.
Yet hast thou lost
Ten weary hours to-day.

Fos.
Why this, indeed,
Is chiding, my Camilla. I have been
At the Palace, at the Senate hall, at Church,
Have undergone a grand procession, love,
And a long dreary feast.

Cam.
And is that all?

Fos.
And is not that enough? Would'st thou crowd in
More tediousness? Oh thou unmerciful!

Cam.
But why not first—sure he is thinner, Laura,
Thinner and paler?

Laura.
Nay, he is the same.

Cam.
Why not first come to me?

Fos.
Perhaps I love
To visit my heart's treasure by that light
When misers seek their buried hoards; to steal
Upon the loved one, like a mermaid's song,
Unseen and floating between sea and sky;
To creep upon her in love's loveliest hour,
Not in her daylight beauty with the glare
Of the bright sun around her, but thus pure
And white and delicate, under the cool moon
Or lamp of alabaster. Thus I love
To think of thee, Camilla; thus with flowers
About thee and fresh air, and such a light,
And such a stillness; thus I dream of thee,
Sleeping or waking.

Cam.
Dost thou dream of me?

Fos.
Do I! without that lovely mockery,
That sweet unreal joy, how could I live
When we are parted? Do I dream of thee!
Dearest, what ails thee? Thou art not to night
As thou art wont, thine eyes avoid my gaze,
Thy white hand trembles and turns cold in mine.
What ails thee, dearest? Hast thou heard—What fear
Disturbs thee thus, Camilla?

Cam.
I will tell thee.
Cosmo is absent; my dear father grieved;
There is high feasting in thy princely home
And I not there; and thou not here till now,
At midnight, when my father sleeps, and Cosmo
Is still away. Are ye all friends? Say Foscari
The very truth.

Fos.
Well! Thou shalt hear the truth.
Cheer thee! 'Tis nought to weep for. At the Senate
There were to-day some hasty words.—Erizzo,
Thy subtle kinsman, he was most to blame—
I was too hot, too rash; but I implored
Donato's pardon, and am half forgiven;
Though yielding to the crafty Count, he shunned
To sup with us to-night.

Cam.
Ah! I had feared—

Fos.
There is no cause for fear. This sudden storm
Is but a July shower that sweeps away
The o'erblown roses. Cosmo is our friend,
Our truest warmest friend; and well thou know'st
Thy father's kindly heart; he loves thee so;
Aye, and he loves me too; and he shall love me
Better than ever.

Laura.
He shall love! Lord Foscari
Thou'rt a true soldier. Wilt thou conquer love?

Fos.
Surely.

Laura.
And how?

Fos.
By love, and gratitude,
And deep respect, and true observance, Laura.
Shake not thy head, Camilla. He shall love me.
What is he not thy father! Smile on me.
Think'st thou that if I feared to lose thee I
Should be thus tranquil?

[Exit Laura.
Cam.
No. But at my heart
There is a heavy sense of coming pain,
A deep and sad foreboding.

Fos.
Thou hast been
Vexed to-day, sweetest, and thy weary thoughts
Tinge the bright future with the gloomy past.

Cam.
Well, be it so. And yet I would to heaven
That this one night were over!—Where is Laura?

Fos.
She glided off, with a kind parting smile,
And a quick sparkle in her eye, that said
Ye will not miss me!

Cam.
Aye, her merry glance;
But we do miss her. 'Twas a saucy thought,
My pretty gentle Laura!

Fos.
She is grown.

Cam.
Yes, tall and beautiful and rarely good.
Oh 'tis the kindest heart! We think she'll make—
What is that noise?

Fos.
Nothing. A distant door.
What startles thee, Camilla?

Cam.
My own heart.
Hark how it beats, painfully, fearfully!
Hush! hush! Again that noise!

Fos.
'Tis thunder, love,
And that hath stirred thy spirits. Cheer thee, dearest;
A soldier's wife should be as brave as steel.
What did'st thou say of Laura?

Cam.
She will make
A sweet wife for our Cosmo.

Fos.
And doth he
Love the young beauty?

Cam.
He hath scarce forgot
To treat her as a child, the dearest child,
The loveliest and the gentlest,—but a child.
Francesco, thou must praise her—Ha! again!
That is no thunder-clap. My father's door!—
Oh go! go! go!

Fos.
My dear Camilla, no!
Thou can'st not fear me, I will be as calm,
As humble—

Cam.
Go! go! go! I die with fear;—
He is so rash, so sudden;—He will kill thee!

Fos.
Here! Under his own roof! In thy dear sight!
Thy own dear father!

Cam.
He will part us, Foscari!
Go!

Fos.
Well, I go. But my Camilla—

Cam.
Go!

Fos.
Dearest, farewell!

Cam.
Not that way!—That! there! there!
Leap from the window in the corridor,
From the low balcony!

Fos.
Farewell!

[Exit.
Cam.
I'm glad
That he is gone. Fear hath so mastered me
I stumble on the level floor. Thank heaven
They are both safe, my dearest Foscari,
My dearest father! There's no danger now;
And yet the night grows wilder. What a flash!
And I have sent him forth into the storm,
I, that so love him! I have sent him forth
Into this awful storm! Protect him, Heaven!
I thought I heard the window—Can those steps
Be his?

Don.
(without)
Help! help! base traitor! Foscari!
Murder!

Enter Laura.
Laura.
What's that?

Cam.
Undo the door—I cannot—
Undo the door! My father!

[Exeunt.
Laura.
(behind the scenes)
Who hath done
This horrible deed?

Cam.
(behind the scenes)
My father! muder! murder!

SCENE II.

An illuminated Hall in the Ducal Palace.
Doge, Count Zeno, Ladies and Gentlemen.
Doge.
Now for some stirring air to wake the spirits
Of mirth and motion. Sweet ones, to the dance!
Where is this Foscari? Gentles, in my youth
He had been held a recreant that forsook
The revel, and the light of ladies' eyes,
And play of twinkling feet. Degenerate boy!

Gent.
Degenerate days! Ah! we could tell such tales
Of the deep merriment, the gorgeous banquet,
The high festivity of our old time!
Thou may'st smile, Zeno, but his Highness knows
Bright mirth is on the wane. Our puny sons
Shew but faint flashes of their father's fire.

Zeno.
Believe him not, fair maids! 'Tis but the vaunt
Of vaunting age. Believe him not. Why, Moro,
Thy father in those mirthful days hath said
The same to thee, and his to him; yet still
'Tis merry Venice. Forty years to come
We, too, may boast us of our jovial prime,
Nor yet the world grow sadder. Fear it not.
His Highness will not join thee, Signor Moro;
He is too youthful-hearted.

Doge.
What a bribe
Is that to aid thy cause! But Moro's right;
We were fine gallants. Niece, I prythee see
That all are welcomed. Where's thy sister Melfi?

2nd Gent.
Not yet returned from Rome.

Doge.
I would have had
All the fair stars of Venice here to night
Shining in one bright galaxy.

Gent.
We miss
Signor Donato's daughter.

Doge.
Aye, indeed,
My pretty sweet Camilla!—Fair Olivia,
Let Trevisano lead thee to the dance.
Were I one ten years younger, trust me, Sir,
I'd not resign this hand. Now a light measure.
[A Dance.
Is't not a peerless nymph? The youngest Grace
Leading her linked sisters through the maze
Of blossom'd myrtles upon Ida's side,
Is not so light of foot. Rest thee, dear maid.
What is that? Thunder?

Zeno.
Yes; a fearful storm.
It rages awfully. Hark! there again!

Doge.
Well; we must keep such coil of merriment
As shall outroar the rattling storm.
Enter Foscari.
Ah, truant!
How wilt thou make thy peace?

Fos.
I read no war
In these fair looks.

Zeno.
Peace is more perilous.

Fos.
Aye, truly, Zeno.

Zeno.
Whither hast thou been?
Watching her lattice but to catch a glimpse
Of the swift slender shadow that glides past
So gracefully, clouding the soft dim light?

Fos.
Pooh! Pooh!

Zeno.
And with a true devotion bent
Uncovered at her shrine? Why thou art wet!
This is some new device of gallantry,
Some trick of Milan courtship.

Fos.
Tush, man, tush!
Ho! a brisk measure! Drown with merry notes
Count Zeno's merry riddles! Wilt thou dance
With me, dear lady? Do not say me No!

Lady.
Oh, no!

Fos.
Why that should mean Oh yes!

Doge.
Good niece,
Will not the Lady Claudia join the dance?
Seek her. I'm young and light enough to night
To mingle there myself. What ails the music?
Quicker! Why break they off? Dear Zeno ask.

Fos.
Murdered! Impossible! I only left—
I am myself—It cannot be. Play on!
On with the dance!

Gent.
Here is a man hath seen him,
One who still shakes with fear.

Fos.
Bring him to me!
Where is he? Where?

Doge.
Zeno, what is this tale?

Zeno.
A tale of horror!

Enter Erizzo.
Eriz.
Justice, Doge of Venice!
A Senator lies reeking in his blood,
Murdered in his own palace. Justice, Doge!

Fos.
What Senator?

Eriz.
Canst thou ask that? Donato.

Doge.
Donato murdered! the beloved Donato!
The second name of Venice! Mine old friend!
Lords, to the council. This is not a tale
For woman's gentleness. Good night to all.
[Exeunt Ladies, and some Gentlemen.
Would he had ta'en my hand!

Fos.
He is not dead—
It must be false, it shall be!

Eriz.
What dost thou
Doubt of Donato's death? Thou?

Fos.
Hearken, Doge!
His voice hath mockery in it, sharp and loud
As the clear ring of metals: he speaks not
As we, who heard the tale, in broken words
And breathless; his teeth chatter not; his lips
Are firm; there is no trembling in his limbs,
No glare in his keen eyes. None but a fiend,
Fresh from the reek of murder, could so master
The human sympathy, the fellowship
Of Nature and of kind.

Doge.
Yet wherefore—

Enter Cosmo.
Cos.
Justice!

Fos.
Beloved friend!

Cos.
Off! Off! I come for justice,
For equal justice!

Doge.
Thou shalt have it.

Cos.
Doge!
For equal justice!

Doge.
Was he not my friend?
Am I not thine?

Cos.
Aye—so the murderer said!—
Friend! the word chokes me.

Fos.
Grief hath turned his brain.

Doge.
Thou shalt have justice.

Cos.
'Tis no midnight thief,
No hired assassin, no poor petty villain;—
This is a fall, as of the morning star,
A death such as the first great slayer saw
When Abel lay at his feet,—but I'll have justice!
There be hearts here will crack, old valiant hearts
When they shall hear this tale,—but I'll have justice!

Doge.
Go some one call the guard.
[Exit Erizzo.
Name the assassin.

Cos.
Have I not! Whither doth he fly!

Fos.
Camilla!
My poor Camilla!

Cos.
Thine! And the earth hears him
And opens not her womb! The heavens hear
And launch no thunderbolts! This work is mine.
Hold firm my heart.—Cousin! Erizzo!

Enter Erizzo and Guard.
Eriz.
Seize
Francesco Foscari. Nay stand not thus
Gazing on one another. Seize him. Doge,
He is the murderer.

Doge.
Away with thee,
Traitor and slanderer! He is my son—
Stir not a man of ye!—My son, the idol
Of city and of camp. His life hath been
One blaze of honour. Come to my old arms,—
Speak not a word—thy name is pledge enough
My son!

Eriz.
Ye know your duty. Seize him, soldiers.

Fos.
Approach me at your peril. Know you not
This very morning how yon serpent lay
Under my heel unbruised, a thing of scorn?
Look not upon us, lords, with doubting eyes,
Ye dare not doubt me—even to deny
Is in some sort a stain!—My shield is bright.
Ye force me to these vaunts! I could not think
A crime.

Eriz.
Bear hence the murderer. (aside.)
Palsies wither
The cowardly arm and plotting brain that feared
To strike him dead at once! (aloud)
Seize him, I say,

Fos.
Now he that dares!

Cos.
Francesco Foscari,
I do arrest thee for this murder.

Fos.
Thou!
Come forth into the light! Off with those plumes!
Look at me! Is this Cosmo? Hath some fiend
Put on that shape? Speak to me!

Cos.
Murderer!

Fos.
To-day he called me brother!—Deal with me
Even as ye will.

Eriz.
Look to him, soldiers, well,
That he escape not.

Fos.
Sir, the Foscari
Know not what that word means. I wait your pleasure.

Cos.
Doge! Doth he hear me? Once I could have wept
For such a grief, for him; now I am steeled
By merciless misery, made pitiless
By one that hath no pity. Look! he stands
With such a calm of virtue on his brow,
As if he would outface the all-seeing God
With that proud seeming. Foscari, the dead
Shall cry aloud in heaven, and I on earth,
Till vengeance overtake thee. Doge of Venice,
I call on thee for justice on thy son.

Fos.
Father!—Oh, start not!—I am innocent.
Hear that, and breathe again. Sir, I commit
My life, my honour, the unsullied name
Of my great ancestors, of him the greatest
My living father—even his name I trust
To my just cause, and the just laws of Venice.
I am your prisoner.

[Exeunt Foscari, guarded, Erizzo and Cosmo.
Zeno.
Doge!

Doge.
Those lights! Those lights!
They pierce my eye-balls, dart into my brain!
If there be any pity left i' the world
Make me a darkness and a silence, Zeno,
That I may pray.

Zeno.
Lead to his chamber, Sirs.

[Exeunt.