Barb. War with them too?

Lored.

With all their house, till theirs or mine are nothing.

Barb. And the deep agony of his pale wife, And the repress'd convulsion of the high And princely brow of his old father, which Broke forth in a slight shuddering, though rarely,

Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped away In stern serenity; these moved you not? [Exit Loredano. He's silent in his hate, as Foscari Was in his suffering; and the poor wretch | moved me

More by his silence than a thousand outcries
Could have effected. 'Twas a dreadful sight
When his distracted wife broke through into
The hall of our tribunal, and beheld
What we could scarcely look upon,long used
To such sights. I must think no more of
this,

Lest I forget in this compassion for
Our foes their former injuries, and lose
The hold of vengeance Loredano plans
For him and me; but mine would be content
With-lesser retribution than he thirsts for,
And I would mitigate his deeper hatred
To milder thoughts; but, for the present,
Foscari

Has a short hourly respite, granted at
The instance of the elders of the Council,
Moved doubtless by his wife's appearance in
The hall, and his own sufferings. - Lo!
they come :

How feeble and forlorn! I cannot bear
To look on them again in this extremity:
I'll hence, and try to soften Loredano.
[Exit Barbarigo.

I found her Queen of Ocean, and I leave her
Lady of Lombardy: it is a comfort
That I have added to her diadem
The gems of Brescia and Ravenna; Crema
And Bergamo no less are hers; her realm
By land has grown by thus much in my
reign,

While her sea-sway has not shrunk.
Senator. "Tis most true,

And merits all our country's gratitude.
Doge. Perhaps so.

Senator. Which should be made manifest.
Doge. I have not complain'd, sir.
Senator. My good lord, forgive me.
Doge. For what?

Senator. My heart bleeds for you.
Doge. For me, signor?
Senator. And for your—
Doge. Stop!

Senator. It must have way, my lord:
I have too many duties towards you
And all your house, for past and present
kindness,

Not to feel deeply for your son.
Doge. Was this
In your commission?

In all her mystery. Hear me-they who aim
At Foscari, aim no less at his father;
The sire's destruction would not save the son;
They work by different means to the same
end,

And that is-but they have not conquer'd yet.
Marina. But they have crush'd.
Doge. Nor crush'd as yet-I live.
Marina. And your son,-how long will
he live?
Doge. I trust,

For all that yet is past, as many years

Of hours.

Doge. You had so. Marina. 'Tis revoked. Doge. By whom?

Marina. The Ten. When we had reach'd the Bridge of Sighs, Which I prepared to pass with Foscari, The gloomy guardian of that passage first Demurr'd: a messenger was sent back to The Ten; but as the court no longer sate, And no permission had been given in writing, I was thrust back, with the assurance that Until that high tribunal re-assembled The dungeon-walls must still divide us. Doge. True,

The form has been omitted in the haste With which the court adjourn'd, and till it

Of blood from Spartans! Though these did

not weep

With womanish impatience to return,
Hath ruin'd all by that detected letter;
A high crime, which I neither can deny
Nor palliate, as parent or as Duke:
Had he but borne a little, little longer
His Candiote exile, I had hopes-he has
quench'd them—

He must return.

Marina. To exile?
Doge. I have said it.

Marina. And can I not go with him?
Doge. You well know

This prayer of yours was twice denied before
By the assembled Ten, and hardly now
Will be accorded to a third request,
Since aggravated errors on the part
Of your lord render them still more austere.
Marina. Austere? Atrocious! The old
human fiends,

With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange

To tears save drops of dotage, with long white

And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads

As palsied as their hearts are hard, they council,

Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if life Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd

In their accursed bosoms.

Doge. You know not

Marina. I do I do-and so should you,

methinks

That they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor
Stretch'd forth a hand to save them?
Doge. You behold me:

I cannot weep-I would I could; but if
Each white hair on this head were a young

life,

This ducal cap the diadem of earth,
This ducal ring with which I wed the waves
A talisman to still them-I'd give all
For him.

Marina

With less he surely might be

saved.

suckled

Who have loved, or talk'd at least of lovehave given

Their hands in sacred vows-have danced their babes

Upon their knees, perhaps have mourn'd

above them

In pain, in peril, or in death—who are, Or were at least in seeming human, could Do as they have done by yours, and you yourself,

You, who abet them?

Doge. I forgive this, for You know not what you say. Marina. You know it well, And feel it nothing.

Doge. I have borne so much,
That words have ceased to shake me.
Marina. Oh, no doubt!

You have seen your son's blood flow, and your flesh shook not;

And, after that, what are a woman's words? No more than woman's tears, that they should shake you.

Doge. Woman, this clamorous grief of thine, I tell thee,

Is no more in the balance weigh'd with that Which but I pity thee, my poor Marina! Marina. Pity my husband, or I cast it from me;

Pity thy son! Thou pity!-'tis a word Strange to thy heart-how came it on thy lips?

Doge. I must bear these reproaches, though they wrong me.

Couldst thou but read

Marina. Tis not upon thy brow, Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,-where then

Should I behold this sympathy? or shall? Doge (pointing downwards). There! Marina. In the earth?

Doge. To which I am tending: when
It lies upon this heart, far lightlier, though
Loaded with marble, than the thoughts
which press it

Now, you will know me better.
Marina. Are you, then,

Indeed, thus to be pitied?

Doge. Pitied! None

To mingle with my name; that name shall be, As far as I have borne it, what it was When I received it.

Marina. But for the poor children Of him thou canst not, or thou wilt not save: You were the last to bear it.

Doge. Would it were so! Better for him he never had been born, Better for me. I have seen our house dishonour'd.

Marina. That's false! A truer, nobler, trustier heart,

More loving, or more loyal, never beat
Within a human breast. I would not change
My exiled, persecuted, mangled husband,
Oppress'd but not disgraced, crush'd, over-
whelm'd,

Alive, or dead, for prince or paladin
In story or in fable, with a world

For what he suffers, not for what he did. 'Tis ye who are all traitors, tyrant!-ye! Did you but love your country like this victim,

Who totters back in chains to tortures, and
Submits to all things rather than to exile,
You'd fling yourselves before him, and
implore

His grace for your enormous guilt.
Doge. He was

Indeed all you have said. I better bore The deaths of the two sons Heaven took from me

Than Jacopo's disgrace.

Marina. That word again?

Doge. Has he not been condemn'd?
Marina. Is none but guilt so?

Doge. Time may restore his memory—
I would hope so.

He was my pride, my-but 'tis useless nowI am not given to tears, but wept for joy When he was born: those drops were ominous.

Marina. I say he's innocent: and were he not 80,

Is our own blood and kin to shrink from us In fatal moments?

Doge. I shrank not from him:
But I have other duties than a father's;
The state would not dispense me from those
duties;

Twice I demanded it, but was refused;
They must then be fulfill'd.

Enter an Attendant.
Attendant. A message from
The Ten.

Doge. Who bears it?
Attendant. Noble Loredano.
Doge. He!-but admit him.

[Exit Attendant. Marina. Must I then retire? Doge. Perhaps it is not requisite, if this Concerns your husband, and if not-Well, signor, [To Loredano entering. Lored. I bear that of the Ten. Doge. They

Your pleasure!

Have chosen well their envoy.
Lored. 'Tis their choice
Which leads me here.

Doge. It does their wisdom honour,
And no less to their courtesy. - Proceed.
Lored. We have decided.
Doge. We?

Lored. The Ten in council.

Doge. What! have they met again, and met without

Apprizing me?

Lored. They wish'd to spare your feelings,

honour'd!

I tell thee, Doge, 'tis Venice is dishonour'd;

Lored. You know well

That they have power to act at their discretion,

With or without the presence of the Doge. Doge. 'Tis some years since I learn'd this, long before

I became Doge, or dream'd of such advance

ment.

You need not school me, signor: I sate in That council when you were a young patrician.

In blood, in mind, in means; and that they

know

heard him and

The admiral, his brother, say as much. Your Highness may remember them: they both

Died suddenly.

Doge. And if they did so, better So die than live on lingeringly in pain. Lored. No doubt! yet most men like to live their days out.

། Doge. And did not they?

Lored. The grave knows best: they died, As I said, suddenly.

Doge. Is that so strange

That you repeat the word emphatically? Lored. So far from strange, that never was there death

In my mind half so natural as theirs.
Think you not so?

Doge. What should I think of mortals?
Lored. That they have mortal foes.
Doge. I understand you;

Your sires were mine, and you are heir in all things.

Lored. 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.

Lored. 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:
I never work'd by plot in council, nor
Cabal in commonwealth, nor secret means
Of practice against life by steel or drug.
The proof is, your existence.

Lored. 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.

Lored. 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,

Am, or at least was, more than a mere duke,

strain'd

(1 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.

Lored. 'Tis decreed,

That, without farther 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
Avow'd 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 convey'd
him.

Marina. 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.

Marina. No, 'twas too human. May I share his exile?

Lored. Of this the Ten said nothing.
Marina. So I thought:

That were too human, also. But it was not
Inhibited?

Lored. It was not named.

Marina (to the Doge). Then, father, 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. Marina. And you, signor? Lored. Lady!

'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasure Of the tribunal.

Marina. Pleasure! what a word To use for the decrees of

It galls you :-well, you are his equal, as 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? Lored. The offspring of a noble house. Marina. And wedded

To one as noble. What or whose, then, is The presence that should silence my free thoughts?

Lored. 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. Marina. Keep

Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics,

Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves,

Your tributaries, your dumb citizens,
And mask'd 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, 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
I trust I am not?

Doge. You hear, she speaks wildly.
Marina. Not wisely, yet not wildly.
Lored. Lady! words

Utter'd within these walls, I bear no further
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. Lored. My mission here is to the Dogc. Doge. Then say

The Doge will choose his own embassador, Or state in person what is meet; and for The father

Lored. I remember mine.-Farewell!

I kiss the hands of the illustrious lady,
And bow me to the Duke. [Exit Loredano.
Marina. Are you content?
Doge. I am what you behold.
Marina. 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,

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;
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,

Where hunger swallows all in one low want,
And the original ordinance, that man
Must sweat for his poor pittance, keeps all
passions

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,

Our days on seasons; our whole being on Something which is not us!-So, we are slaves,

The greatest as the meanest-nothing rests
Upon our will; the will itself no less
Depends upon a straw than on a storm;
And when we think we lead, we are most led,
And still towards death, a thing which
comes as much
Without our act or choice, as birth; so that
Methinks we must have sinn'd in some old

world

And this is hell: the best is, that it is not Eternal.

Marina. 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 call'd upon

To judge my son? I have administer'd
My country faithfully-victoriously-
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.