Those black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain, But learn a magic which recoils upon The deference due even to the lightest word Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves, Your tributaries, your dumb citizens, To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings, Your dungeons next the palace-roofs, or under The water's level, your mysterious meetings, And unknown dooms, and sudden executions, Your Bridge of Sighs, your strangling chamber, and Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem The beings of another and worse world! Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye, Have known and proved your worst, in the 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 Doge. You hear, she speaks wildly. Utter'd within these walls, I bear no further service. Doge! have you aught in answer? Doge. Something from The Doge; it may be also from a parent. Lored. My mission here is to the Doge. Doge. Then say The Doge will choose his own embassador, Or state in person what is meet; and for The father nought Save what she gave-the rest was nakedness, With as we may, and least in humblest stations, Where hunger swallows all in one low want, Aloof, save fear of famine! All is low, | Our days on seasons; our whole being on Something which is not us!-So, we are slaves, The greatest as the meanest—nothing rests Marina. And Foscari? I do not think of | Had thousands of such citizens, and shall, such things, So I be left with him. Thus much they cannot well deny. They should, I will fly with him. Marina. I know not, reck not- And live nor girt by spies, nor liable Doge. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband, And turn him into traitor? The country is the traitress, which thrusts forth Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny Charge me with such a breach of faith. I trust, have still such, Venice were no city. Marina. Accursed be the city where the laws Would stifle nature's! Doge. Had I as many sons 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 Marina. And this is patriotism? So far take on myself, as order that Marina. And what shall I say The laws. Marina. And nothing more? Will you not see him Observ'st, obey'st, such laws as make old Ere he depart? It may be the last time. 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. Marina. Did they make it for The ruin of their children? Doge. Under such laws Venice 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 bequeath'd Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when The people sway'd by senates. Marina. Rather say, But yet subdued the world: in such a state To one great end, must be maintain'd in vigour. Marina. 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 Doge. The last!-my boy!-the last time I shall see My last of children! Tell him I will come. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1.-The Prison of JACOPO FOSCARI. J. Foscari (solus). No light, save yon faint gleam, which shows me walls Which never echo'd but to sorrow's sounds, The sigh of long imprisonment, the step Of feet on which the iron clank'd, the groan Of death, the imprecation of despair! And yet for this I have return'd 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 High in the air on her return to greet the names Of my sad predecessors in this place, And the poor captive's tale is graven on Enter a Familiar of the Ten. Familiar. I bring you food. J. Foscari. I pray you set it down; I am past hunger; but my lips are parch'd — Familiar. There. Marina. As I had been without it. J. Fosari. Nothing at first; but use and Familiarity with what was darkness; Was kinder to mine eyes than the full sun, J. Foscari. My name: look, 'tis there, The name of him who here preceded me, J. Foscari (after drinking). I thank you: If dungeon-dates say true. Familiar. I am commanded to inform Your further trial is postponed. J. Foscari. Till when? orders That your illustrious lady be admitted. 'Twas time. Enter MARINA. Marina. My best beloved! J. Foscari (embracing her). My true wife, And only friend! What happiness! Marina. No more. J. Foscari We'll part Marina. And what of him? J. Foscari. 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 ask'd, With the like answer-doubt and dreadful Unless thou tellst my tale. J. Foscari. And wherefore not? All then The tyranny of silence is not lasting, How! wouldst thou share a Will burst all cerement, even a living dungeon? Marina. Ay, The rack, the grave, all-any thing with thee, But the tomb last of all, for there we shall Why do I ask? Thy paleness J. Foscari. 'Tis the joy Of seeing thee again so soon, and so For thou art pale too, my Marina! grave's! I do not doubt my memory, but my life; Marina. Thy life is safe. J. Foscari. And liberty? Marina. The mind should make its own. '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, 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. Marina. Alas! and this Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee aid me to endure it. But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope Will stream along those moted rays of light | And the sweet freedom of the earth and air, I would not cavil about climes or regions. Last night in yon enormous spider's net, J. Foscari. Well I know how wretched! I ask'd 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 More faithful pictures of Venetian story, Hundreds of doges, and their deeds and dates. Last council on thy doom. J. Foscari. I know it-look! [He points to his limbs, as referring to the tortures which he had un- Before the Tartar into these salt isles, J. Foscari. Had I gone forth From my own land, like the old patriarchs, Another region, with their flocks and herds; And many thoughts; but afterwards address'd It was the lot of millions, and must be J. Foscari. Ay-we but hear Marina. No-no-no more of that: even The hearts which broke in silence of that they relent From that atrocity. J. Foscari. What then? Marina. That you Return to Candia. J. Foscari. Then my last hope's gone. In my native air that buoy'd my spirits up, And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded. J. Foscari. At once-by better means, What! would they even deny me my sires' As well as home and heritage? I have sued to accompany thee hence, J. Foscari. My best Marina! - and our | And thus far I am also the state's debtor, children? Marina. They, I fear, by the prevention of the state's Will not be suffer'd to proceed with us. By duties paramount; and 'tis our first J. Foscari. Have I not borne? From tyrannous injustice, and enough Of late, is mercy. J. Foscari. 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 Seem'd ploughing deep into your heart; you never Saw day go down upon your native spires Marina. I will divide this with you. 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. J. Foscari. That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father? Marina. You will. J. Foscari. Where? And shall be more so when I see us both Floating on the free waves-away-awayBe it to the earth's end, from this abhorr'd, Unjust, and J. Foscari. Curse it not. If I am silent, Who dares accuse my country? Marina. Men and angels! The blood of myriads reeking up to heaven, The groans of slaves in chains, and men in dungeons, Mothers, and wives, and sons, and sires, and subjects, Held in the bondage of ten bald-heads; and Though last, not least, thy silence. Couldst thou say Aught in its favour, who would praise like thee? J. Foscari. Let us address us then, since so it must be, To our departure. Who comes here? Enter LOREDANO, attended by Familiars. Lored. (to the Familiars) Retire, But leave the torch: J. Foscari. [Exeunt the two Familiars. Most welcome, noble signor. I did not deem this poor place could have drawn Such presence hither. Lored. "Tis not the first time I have visited these places. The last, were all men's merits well rewarded. Came you here to insult us, or remain Lored. Neither are of my office,noble lady, I am sent hither to your husband, to Announce the Ten's decree. Marina. That tenderness Marina. I have inform'd him, not so Doubtless, as your nice feelings would prescribe, The indulgence of your colleagues; but he knew it. If you come for our thanks, take them, and hence! The dungeon-gloom is deep enough without you, And full of reptiles, not less loathsome, though Their sting is honester. J. Foscari. I pray you, calm you: What can avail such words? Marina. To let him know That he is known. Lored. Let the fair dame preserve Her sex's privilege. Marina. I have some sons, sir, Will one day thank you better. Lored. You do well 4 |