[me

He's silent in his hate, as Foscari
Was in his suffering; and the poor wretch moved
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.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-A Hall in the DOGE's Palace. The DOGE and a SENATOR. Sen. Is it your pleasure to sign the report Now, or postpone it till to-morrow? Dǝge.

Now;

I overlook'd it yesterday it wants Merely the signature. Give me the pen[The DOGE sits down and signs the paper. There, signor. [it is not signed. Sen. [Looking at the paper]. You have forgot; Doge. Not sign'd? Ah, I perceive my eyes begin

To wax more weak with age. I did not see That I had dipp'd the pen without effect. Sen. [dipping the pen into the ink, and placing the paper before the DOGE]. Your hand, too, shakes, my lord: allow me, thusDoge. "Tis done, I thank you.

Sen. Thus the act confirm'd By you and by 'the Ten' gives peace to Venice. Doge. 'Tis long since she enjoy'd it may it be As long ere she resume her arms! Sen. Thirty-four years of nearly ceaseless warfare

'Tis almost

Doge. Mar.

Doge.

You had so.

'Tis revoked.

By whom? Mar. 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 meets,
'Tis dubious.

Mar. Till it meets and when it meets, They'll torture him again; and he and I Must purchase by renewal of the rack The interview of husband and of wife, The holiest tie beneath the heavens !-Oh God! Dost thou see this? Doge.

Mar. [abruptly].

Child-child

Call me not 'child!' You soon will have no children-you deserve

none

You, who can talk thus calmly of a son

In circumstances which would call forth tears Of blood from Spartans! Though these did not weep

Their boys who died in battle, is it written
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.

Mar. With less he surely might be saved.
Doge. That answer only shows you know not
Venice.

Alas! how should you? she knows not herself,
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.
Mar. But they have crush'd.
Doge.
Nor crush'd as yet-I live.
Mar. And your son,-how long will he live?
Doge.
I trust,
For all that yet is pass'd, as many years
And happier than his father. The rash boy,
With womanish impatience to return,
Hath ruin'd all by that detected letter:

Mar. 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 renders them still more austere. Mar. 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 counsel,
Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if life
Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd
In their accursed bosoms.
You know not-

Doge.

Mar. I do-Ido-and so should you, methinks That these are demons: could it be else that Men, who have been of women born and suckled[given

Who have loved, or talk'd at least of love-have Their hands in sacred vows-have danced their babes [themUpon their knees, perhaps have mourn'd above 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 yourYou, who abet them? [selfDoge.

I forgive this, for You know not what you say. Mar. You know it well,

And feel it nothing.

Doge.

I have borne so much, That words have ceased to shake me. Mar.

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!

Mar. 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-

Mar. '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.

Mar.

Doge.

In the earth?

To which I am tending: when

It lies upon this heart, far lightlier, though Loaded with marble, than the thoughts which Now, you will know me better. [press it Mar.

Doge. He!-but admit him.

Are you, then,

Pitied! None

Indeed, thus to be pitied?
Doge.
Shall ever use that base word, with which men
Cloak their soul's hoarded triumph, as a fit one
To mingle with my name; that name shall be,
As far as I have borne it, what it was
When I received it.

Mar.
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.

Mar. 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

To back his suit. Dishonour'd!-he dishonour'd!
I tell thee, Doge, 'tis Venice is dishonour'd!
His name shall be her foulest, worst reproach,
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

me

Indeed all you have said. I better bore
The deaths of the two sons Heaven took from
Than Jacopo's disgrace.

Mar.

That word again?

[Exit ATTENDANT.
Mar.
Must I then retire?
Doge. Perhaps it is not requisite, if this
Concerns your husband, and if not-Well,
signor,
Your pleasure? [To LOREDANO entering.
Lor.
I bear that of 'the Ten.'
Doge.
They

Have chosen well their envoy.
Lor.

Which leads me here.

Doge.

'Tis their choice

It does their wisdom honour,

And no less to their courtesy.-Proceed. Lor. We have decided.

Doge. What! have they met again, and met Apprising me? [without Lor. They wish'd to spare your feelings, No less than age.

Doge. That's new-when spared they either? I thank them, notwithstanding. Lor. 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
[ment.

I became Doge, or dream'd of such advance-
You need not school me, signor; I sate in
That council when you were a young patrician.
Lor. True, in my father's time; I have 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.
Lor. No doubt: yet most men like to live
Doge. And did not they? [their days out.
Lor. The grave knows best; they died,

As I said, suddenly.

Doge.

Is that so strange, That you repeat the word emphatically? Lor. So far from strange, that never was there In my mind half so natural as theirs. [death Think you not so? Doge.

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.

Lor. You best know if I should be so.
Doge.

I do.

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.

Lor. I never yet knew that a noble's life In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown, That is, by open meaus.

Doge.

But I, good signor,
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
(I do not speak of you but as a single strain'd
Voice of the many) somewhat beyond what
I could enforce, or 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, do your business.

Lor.

"Tis decreed,

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?
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.

The deference due even to the lightest word
That falls from those who rule in Venice.
Mar.

And

Keep Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics,

[slaves,

Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek
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 cham-
ber, 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.
Mar. Not wisely, yet not wildly.
Lor.
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.
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