book i. chap. iii., translated by Leigh Hunt, _Stories from the Italian

Poets_, 1846, i. 22, 23.]

[328] {275} What is Horizon's quantity? Horīzon, or Horĭzon? adopt

accordingly.--[B.]

[cn]--_and the Horizon for bars_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[329] [Compare--

"Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar."

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza lvii.,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 371, note 1.

"Between the second and third chapels [in the nave of Santa Croce at

Florence] is the colossal monument to Dante, by Ricci ... raised by

subscription in 1829. The inscription, '_A majoribus ter frustra

decretum_,' refers to the successive efforts of the Florentines to

recover his remains, and raise a monument to their great

countryman."--_Handbook, Central Italy_, p. 32.]

[330] "E scrisse più volte non solamente a' particolari Cittadini del

Reggimento, ma ancora al Popolo; e intra l' altre un' Epistola assai

lunga che incomincia: '_Popule mee_ (sic), _quid feci tibi?_"--_Le vite

di Dante, etc._, _scritte da Lionardo Aretino_, 1672, p. 47.

[331] {276}[About the year 1316 his friends obtained his restoration to

his country and his possessions, on condition that he should pay a

certain sum of money, and, entering a church, avow himself guilty, and

ask pardon of the republic.

The following was his answer to a religious, who appears to have been

one of his kinsmen: "From your letter, which I received with due respect

and affection, I observe how much you have at heart my restoration to my

country. I am bound to you the more gratefully inasmuch as an exile

rarely finds a friend. But, after mature consideration, I must, by my

answer, disappoint the writers of some little minds ... Your nephew and

mine has written to me ... that ... I am allowed to return to Florence,

provided I pay a certain sum of money, and submit to the humiliation of

asking and receiving absolution.... Is such an invitation then to return

to his country glorious to d. all. after suffering in exile almost

fifteen years? Is it thus, then, they would recompense innocence which

all the world knows, and the labour and fatigue of unremitting study?

Far from the man who is familiar with philosophy, be the senseless

baseness of a heart of earth, that could imitate the infamy of some

others, by offering himself up as it were in chains. Far from the man

who cries aloud for justice, this compromise, by his money, with his

persecutors! No, my Father, this is not the way that shall lead me back

to my country. I will return with hasty steps, if you or any other can

open to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame and honour of d.;

but if by no such way Florence can be entered, then Florence I shall

never enter. What! shall I not every where enjoy the light of the sun

and the stars? and may I not seek and contemplate, in every corner of

the earth, under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful truth,

without first rendering myself inglorious, nay infamous, to the people

and republic of Florence? Bread, I hope, will not fail me."--_Epistola,

IX. Amico Florentino: Opere di Dante_, 1897, p. 413.]

THE MORGANTE MAGGIORE

OF PULCI.

INTRODUCTION TO THE _MORGANTE MAGGIORE_.

It is possible that Byron began his translation of the First Canto of

Pulci's _Morgante Maggiore_ (so called to distinguish the entire poem of

twenty-eight cantos from the lesser _Morgante_ [or, to coin a title,

"_Morganid_"] which was published separately) in the late autumn of

1819, before he had left Venice (see his letter to Bankes, February 19,

1820, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 403). It is certain that it was finished at

Ravenna during the first week of his "domestication" in the Palazzo

Guiccioli (Letters to Murray, February 7, February 21, 1820). He took a

deal of pains with his self-imposed task, "servilely translating stanza

from stanza, and line from line, two octaves every night;" and when the

first canto was finished he was naturally and reasonably proud of his

achievement. More than two years had elapsed since Frere's

_Whistlecraft_ had begotten _Beppo_, and in the interval he had written

four cantos of _Don Juan_, outstripping his "immediate model," and

equalling if not surpassing his model's parents and precursors, the

masters of "narrative romantic poetry among the Italians."

In attempting this translation--something, as he once said of his

Armenian studies, "craggy for his mind to break upon" (Letter to Moore,

December 5, 1816, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 10)--Byron believed that he was

working upon virgin soil. He had read, as he admits in his

"Advertisement," John Herman Merivale's poem, _Orlando in Roncesvalles_,

which is founded upon the _Morgante Maggiore_; but he does not seem to

have been aware that many years before (1806, 1807) the same writer (one

of the "associate bards") had published in the _Monthly Magazine_ (May,

July, 1806, etc., _vide ante_ Introduction to _Beppo_, p. 156) a series

of translations of selected passages of the poem. There is no

resemblance whatever between Byron's laboured and faithful rendering of

the text, and Merivale's far more readable paraphrase, and it is

evident that if these selections ever passed before his eyes, they had

left no impression on his memory. He was drawn to the task partly on

account of its difficulty, but chiefly because in Pulci he recognized a

kindred spirit who suggested and compelled a fresh and final dedication

of his genius to the humorous epopee. The translation was an act of

devotion, the offering of a disciple to a master.

"The apparent contradictions of the _Morgante Maggiore_ ... the brusque

transition from piety to ribaldry, from pathos to satire," the

paradoxical union of persiflage with gravity, a confession of faith

alternating with a profession of mockery and profanity, have puzzled and

confounded more than one student and interpreter. An intimate knowledge

of the history, the literature, the art, the manners and passions of the

times has enabled one of his latest critics and translators, John

Addington Symonds, to come as near as may be to explaining the

contradictions; but the essential quality of Pulci's humour eludes

analysis.

We know that the poem itself, as Pio Rajna has shown, "the _rifacimento_

of two earlier popular poems," was written to amuse Lucrezia Tornabuoni,

the mother of Lorenzo de' Medici, and that it was recited, canto by

canto, in the presence of such guests as Poliziano, Ficino, and

Michelangelo Buonarotti; but how "it struck these contemporaries," and

whether a subtler instinct permitted them to untwist the strands and to

appraise the component parts at their precise ethical and spiritual

value, are questions for the exercise of the critical imagination. That

which attracted Byron to Pulci's writings was, no doubt, the co-presence

of faith, a certain _simplicity_ of faith, with an audacious and even

outrageous handling of the objects of faith, combined with a facile and

wanton alternation of romantic passion with a cynical mockery of

whatsoever things are sober and venerable. _Don Juan_ and the _Vision of

Judgment_ owe their existence to the _Morgante Maggiore_.

The MS. of the translation of Canto I. was despatched to England,

February 28, 1820. It is evident (see Letters, March 29, April 23, May

18, 1820, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 425, 1901, v. 17, 21) that Murray looked

coldly on Byron's "masterpiece" from the first. It was certain that any

new work by the author of _Don Juan_ would be subjected to the severest

and most hostile scrutiny, and it was doubtful if a translation of part

of an obscure and difficult poem, vaguely supposed to be coarse and

irreligious, would meet with even a tolerable measure of success. At any

rate, in spite of many inquiries and much vaunting of its excellence

(see Letters, June 29, September 12, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 314,

362), the MS. remained for more than two years in Murray's hands, and it

was not until other arrangements came into force that the translation of

the First Canto of the _Morgante Maggiore_ appeared in the fourth and

last number of _The Liberal_, which was issued (by John Hunt) July 30,

1823.

For critical estimates of Luigi Pulci and the _Morgante Maggiore_, see

an article (_Quarterly Review_, April, 1819, vol. xxi. pp. 486-556), by

Ugo Foscolo, entitled "Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Italians;"

_Preface_ to the _Orlando Innamorato of Boiardo_, by A. Panizzi, 1830,

i. 190-302; _Poems Original and Translated_, by J. H. Merivale, 1838,

ii. 1-43; _Stories of the Italian Poets_, by J. H. Leigh Hunt, 1846, i.

283-314; _Renaissance in Italy_, by J. A. Symonds, 1881, iv. 431, 456,

and for translations of the _Morgante Maggiore_, _vide ibid_., Appendix

V. pp. 543-560; and _Italian Literature_, by R. Garnett, C.B., LL.D.,

1898, pp. 128-131.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Morgante Maggiore, of the first canto of which this translation is

offered, divides with the Orlando Innamorato the honour of having formed

and suggested the style and story of Ariosto.[332] The great defects of

Boiardo were his treating too seriously the narratives of chivalry, and

his harsh style. Ariosto, in his continuation, by a judicious mixture of

the gaiety of Pulci, has avoided the one; and Berni, in his reformation

of Boiardo's poem, has corrected the other. Pulci may be considered as

the precursor and model of Berni altogether, as he has partly been to

Ariosto, however inferior to both his copyists. He is no less the

founder of a new style of poetry very lately sprung up in England. I

allude to that of the ingenious Whistlecraft. The serious poems on

Roncesvalles in the same language, and more particularly the excellent

one of Mr. Merivale, are to be traced to the same source.[333] It has

never yet been decided entirely whether Pulci's intention was or was not

to deride the religion which is one of his favourite topics. It appears

to me, that such an intention would have been no less hazardous to the

poet than to the priest, particularly in that age and country; and the

permission to publish the poem, and its reception among the classics of

Italy, prove that it neither was nor is so interpreted. That he

intended to ridicule the monastic life, and suffered his imagination to

play with the simple dulness of his converted giant, seems evident

enough; but surely it were as unjust to accuse him of irreligion on this

account, as to denounce Fielding for his Parson Adams, Barnabas,[334]

Thwackum, Supple, and the Ordinary in Jonathan Wild,--or Scott, for the

exquisite use of his Covenanters in the "Tales of my Landlord."

In the following translation I have used the liberty of the original

with the proper names, as Pulci uses Gan, Ganellon, or Ganellone; Carlo,

Carlomagno, or Carlornano; Rondel, or Rondello, etc., as it suits his

convenience; so has the translator. In other respects the version is

faithful to the best of the translator's ability in combining his

interpretation of the one language with the not very easy task of

reducing it to the same versification in the other. The reader, on

comparing it with the original, is requested to remember that the

antiquated language of Pulci, however pure, is not easy to the

generality of Italians themselves, from its great mixture of Tuscan

proverbs; and he may therefore be more indulgent to the present attempt.

How far the translator has succeeded, and whether or no he shall

continue the work, are questions which the public will decide. He was

induced to make the experiment partly by his love for, and partial

intercourse with, the Italian language, of which it is so easy to

acquire a slight knowledge, and with which it is so nearly impossible

for a foreigner to become accurately conversant. The Italian language is

like a capricious beauty, who accords her smiles to all, her favours to

few, and sometimes least to those who have courted her longest. The

translator wished also to present in an English dress a part at least of

a poem never yet rendered into a northern language; at the same time

that it has been the original of some of the most celebrated productions

on this side of the Alps, as well of those recent experiments in poetry

in England which have been already mentioned.

THE MORGANTE MAGGIORE.[335]

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.

In the beginning was the Word next God;

God was the Word, the Word no less was He:

This was in the beginning, to my mode

Of thinking, and without Him nought could be:

Therefore, just Lord! from out thy high abode,

Benign and pious, bid an angel flee,

One only, to be my companion, who

Shall help my famous, worthy, old song through.

II.

And thou, oh Virgin! daughter, mother, bride,

Of the same Lord, who gave to you each key

Of Heaven, and Hell, and every thing beside,

The day thy Gabriel said "All hail!" to thee,

Since to thy servants Pity's ne'er denied,

With flowing rhymes, a pleasant style and free,

Be to my verses then benignly kind,

And to the end illuminate my mind.

III.

'Twas in the season when sad Philomel[336]

Weeps with her sister, who remembers and

Deplores the ancient woes which both befel,

And makes the nymphs enamoured, to the hand

Of Phaëton, by Phoebus loved so well,

His car (but tempered by his sire's command)

Was given, and on the horizon's verge just now

Appeared, so that Tithonus scratched his brow:

IV.

When I prepared my bark first to obey,

As it should still obey, the helm, my mind,

And carry prose or rhyme, and this my lay

Of Charles the Emperor, whom you will find

By several pens already praised; but they

Who to diffuse his glory were inclined,

For all that I can see in prose or verse,

Have understood Charles badly, and wrote worse.

V.

Leonardo Aretino said already,[337]

That if, like Pepin, Charles had had a writer

Of genius quick, and diligently steady,

No hero would in history look brighter;

He in the cabinet being always ready,

And in the field a most victorious fighter,

Who for the church and Christian faith had wrought,

Certes, far more than yet is said or thought.

VI.

You still may see at Saint Liberatore,[338]

The abbey, no great way from Manopell,

Erected in the Abruzzi to his glory,

Because of the great battle in which fell

A pagan king, according to the story,

And felon people whom Charles sent to Hell:

And there are bones so many, and so many,

Near them Giusaffa's[339] would seem few, if any.

VII.

But the world, blind and ignorant, don't prize

His virtues as I wish to see them: thou,

Florence, by his great bounty don't arise,[340]

And hast, and may have, if thou wilt allow,

All proper customs and true courtesies:

Whate'er thou hast acquired from then till now,

With knightly courage, treasure, or the lance,

Is sprung from out the noble blood of France.

VIII.

Twelve Paladins had Charles in court, of whom

The wisest and most famous was Orlando;

Him traitor Gan[341] conducted to the tomb

In Roncesvalles, as the villain planned too,

While the horn rang so loud, and knelled the doom

Of their sad rout, though he did all knight can do:

And Dante in his comedy has given

To him a happy seat with Charles in Heaven.[342]

IX.

'Twas Christmas-day; in Paris all his court

Charles held; the Chief, I say, Orlando was,

The Dane; Astolfo there too did resort,

Also Ansuigi, the gay time to pass

In festival and in triumphal sport,

The much-renowned St. Dennis being the cause;

Angiolin of Bayonne, and Oliver,

And gentle Belinghieri too came there:

X.

Avolio, and Arino, and Othone

Of Normandy, and Richard Paladin,

Wise Hamo, and the ancient Salamone,

Walter of Lion's Mount, and Baldovin,

Who was the son of the sad Ganellone,

Were there, exciting too much gladness in

The son of Pepin:--when his knights came hither,

He groaned with joy to see them altogether.

XI.

But watchful Fortune, lurking, takes good heed

Ever some bar 'gainst our intents to bring.

While Charles reposed him thus, in word and deed,

Orlando ruled court, Charles, and every thing;

Curst Gan, with envy bursting, had such need

To vent his spite, that thus with Charles the king

One day he openly began to say,

"Orlando must we always then obey?

XII.

"A thousand times I've been about to say,

Orlando too presumptuously goes on;

Here are we, counts, kings, dukes, to own thy sway,

Hamo, and Otho, Ogier, Solomon,

Each have to honour thee and to obey;

But he has too much credit near the throne,

Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided

By such a boy to be no longer guided.

XIII.

"And even at Aspramont thou didst begin

To let him know he was a gallant knight,

And by the fount did much the day to win;

But I know _who_ that day had won the fight

If it had not for good Gherardo been;

The victory was Almonte's else; his sight

He kept upon the standard--and the laurels,

In fact and fairness, are his earning, Charles!

XIV.

"If thou rememberest being in Gascony,

When there advanced the nations out of Spain

The Christian cause had suffered shamefully,

Had not his valour driven them back again.

Best speak the truth when there's a reason why:

Know then, oh Emperor! that all complain:

As for myself, I shall repass the mounts

O'er which I crossed with two and sixty counts.

XV.

"'Tis fit thy grandeur should dispense relief,

So that each here may have his proper part,

For the whole court is more or less in grief:

Perhaps thou deem'st this lad a Mars in heart?"

Orlando one day heard this speech in brief,

As by himself it chanced he sate apart:

Displeased he was with Gan because he said it,

But much more still that Charles should give him credit.

XVI.

And with the sword he would have murdered Gan,

But Oliver thrust in between the pair,

And from his hand extracted Durlindan,

And thus at length they separated were.

Orlando angry too with Carloman,

Wanted but little to have slain him there;

Then forth alone from Paris went the Chief,

And burst and maddened with disdain and grief.

XVII.

From Ermellina, consort of the Dane,

He took Cortana, and then took Rondell,

And on towards Brara pricked him o'er the plain;

And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle

Stretched forth her arms to clasp her lord again:

Orlando, in whose brain all was not well,

As "Welcome, my Orlando, home," she said,

Raised up his sword to smite her on the head.

XVIII.

Like him a Fury counsels, his revenge

On Gan in that rash act he seemed to take,

Which Aldabella thought extremely strange;

But soon Orlando found himself awake;

And his spouse took his bridle on this change,

And he dismounted from his horse, and spake

Of every thing which passed without demur,

And then reposed himself some days with her.

XIX.

Then full of wrath departed from the place,

As far as pagan countries roamed astray,

And while he rode, yet still at every pace

The traitor Gan remembered by the way;

And wandering on in error a long space,

An abbey which in a lone desert lay,

'Midst glens obscure, and distant lands, he found,

Which formed the Christian's and the Pagan's bound.

XX.

The Abbot was called Clermont, and by blood

Descended from Angrante: under cover

Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood,

But certain savage giants looked him over;

One Passamont was foremost of the brood,

And Alabaster and Morgante hover

Second and third, with certain slings, and throw

In daily jeopardy the place below.

XXI.

The monks could pass the convent gate no more,

Nor leave their cells for water or for wood;

Orlando knocked, but none would ope, before

Unto the Prior it at length seemed good;

Entered, he said that he was taught to adore

Him who was born of Mary's holiest blood,

And was baptized a Christian; and then showed

How to the abbey he had found his road.

XXII.

Said the Abbot, "You are welcome; what is mine

We give you freely, since that you believe

With us in Mary Mother's Son divine;

And that you may not, Cavalier, conceive

The cause of our delay to let you in

To be rusticity, you shall receive

The reason why our gate was barred to you:

Thus those who in suspicion live must do.

XXIII.

"When hither to inhabit first we came

These mountains, albeit that they are obscure,

As you perceive, yet without fear or blame

They seemed to promise an asylum sure:

From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame,

'Twas fit our quiet dwelling to secure;

But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard

Against domestic beasts with watch and ward.

XXIV.

"These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch;

For late there have appeared three giants rough,

What nation or what kingdom bore the batch

I know not, but they are all of savage stuff;

When Force and Malice with some genius match,

You know, they can do all--_we_ are not enough:

And these so much our orisons derange,

I know not what to do, till matters change.

XXV.

"Our ancient fathers, living the desert in,

For just and holy works were duly fed;

Think not they lived on locusts sole, 'tis certain

That manna was rained down from heaven instead;

But here 'tis fit we keep on the alert in

Our bounds, or taste the stones showered down for bread,

From off yon mountain daily raining faster,

And flung by Passamont and Alabaster.

XXVI.

"The third, Morgante, 's savagest by far; he

Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar-trees, and oaks,

And flings them, our community to bury;

And all that I can do but more provokes."

While thus they parley in the cemetery,

A stone from one of their gigantic strokes,

Which nearly crushed Rondell, came tumbling over,

So that he took a long leap under cover.

XXVII.

"For God-sake, Cavalier, come in with speed;

The manna's falling now," the Abbot cried.

"This fellow does not wish my horse should feed,

Dear Abbot," Roland unto him replied,

"Of restiveness he'd cure him had he need;

That stone seems with good will and aim applied."

The holy father said, "I don't deceive;

They'll one day fling the mountain, I believe."

XXVIII.

Orlando bade them take care of Rondello,

And also made a breakfast of his own;

"Abbot," he said, "I want to find that fellow

Who flung at my good horse yon corner-stone."

Said the abbot, "Let not my advice seem shallow;

As to a brother dear I speak alone;

I would dissuade you, Baron, from this strife,

As knowing sure that you will lose your life.

XXIX.

"That Passamont has in his hand three darts--

Such slings, clubs, ballast-stones, that yield you must:

You know that giants have much stouter hearts

Than us, with reason, in proportion just:

If go you will, guard well against their arts,

For these are very barbarous and robust."

Orlando answered," This I'll see, be sure,

And walk the wild on foot to be secure."

XXX.

The Abbot signed the great cross on his front,

"Then go you with God's benison and mine."

Orlando, after he had scaled the mount,

As the Abbot had directed, kept the line

Right to the usual haunt of Passamont;

Who, seeing him alone in this design,

Surveyed him fore and aft with eyes observant,

Then asked him, "If he wished to stay as servant?"

XXXI.

And promised him an office of great ease.

But, said Orlando, "Saracen insane!

I come to kill you, if it shall so please

God, not to serve as footboy in your train;

You with his monks so oft have broke the peace--

Vile dog! 'tis past his patience to sustain."

The Giant ran to fetch his arms, quite furious,

When he received an answer so injurious.

XXXII.

And being returned to where Orlando stood,

Who had not moved him from the spot, and swinging

The cord, he hurled a stone with strength so rude,

As showed a sample of his skill in slinging;

It rolled on Count Orlando's helmet good

And head, and set both head and helmet ringing,

So that he swooned with pain as if he died,

But more than dead, he seemed so stupified.

XXXIII.

Then Passamont, who thought him slain outright,

Said, "I will go, and while he lies along,

Disarm me: why such craven did I fight?"

But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long,

Especially Orlando, such a knight,

As to desert would almost be a wrong.

While the giant goes to put off his defences,

Orlando has recalled his force and senses:

XXXIV.

And loud he shouted, "Giant, where dost go?

Thou thought'st me doubtless for the bier outlaid;

To the right about--without wings thou'rt too slow

To fly my vengeance--currish renegade!

'Twas but by treachery thou laid'st me low."

The giant his astonishment betrayed,

And turned about, and stopped his journey on,

And then he stooped to pick up a great stone.

XXXV.

Orlando had Cortana bare in hand;

To split the head in twain was what he schemed:

Cortana clave the skull like a true brand,

And pagan Passamont died unredeemed;

Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he banned,

And most devoutly Macon still blasphemed[343];

But while his crude, rude blasphemies he heard,

Orlando thanked the Father and the Word,--

XXXVI.

Saying, "What grace to me thou'st this day given!

And I to thee, O Lord! am ever bound;

I know my life was saved by thee from Heaven,

Since by the Giant I was fairly downed.

All things by thee are measured just and even;

Our power without thine aid would nought be found:

I pray thee take heed of me, till I can

At least return once more to Carloman."

XXXVII.

And having said thus much, he went his way;

And Alabaster he found out below,

Doing the very best that in him lay

To root from out a bank a rock or two.

Orlando, when he reached him, loud 'gan say,

"How think'st thou, glutton, such a stone to throw?"

When Alabaster heard his deep voice ring,

He suddenly betook him to his sling,

XXXVIII.

And hurled a fragment of a size so large

That if it had in fact fulfilled its mission,

And Roland not availed him of his targe,

There would have been no need of a physician[344].

Orlando set himself in turn to charge,

And in his bulky bosom made incision

With all his sword. The lout fell; but o'erthrown, he

However by no means forgot Macone.

XXXIX.

Morgante had a palace in his mode,

Composed of branches, logs of wood, and earth,

And stretched himself at ease in this abode,

And shut himself at night within his berth.

Orlando knocked, and knocked again, to goad

The giant from his sleep; and he came forth,

The door to open, like a crazy thing,

For a rough dream had shook him slumbering.

XL.

He thought that a fierce serpent had attacked him,

And Mahomet he called; but Mahomet

Is nothing worth, and, not an instant backed him;

But praying blessed Jesu, he was set

At liberty from all the fears which racked him;

And to the gate he came with great regret--

"Who knocks here?" grumbling all the while, said he.

"That," said Orlando, "you will quickly see:

XLI.

"I come to preach to you, as to your brothers,--

Sent by the miserable monks--repentance;

For Providence divine, in you and others,

Condemns the evil done, my new acquaintance!

'Tis writ on high--your wrong must pay another's:

From Heaven itself is issued out this sentence.

Know then, that colder now than a pilaster

I left your Passamont and Alabaster."

XLII.

Morgante said, "Oh gentle Cavalier!

Now by thy God say me no villany;

The favour of your name I fain would hear,

And if a Christian, speak for courtesy."

Replied Orlando, "So much to your ear

I by my faith disclose contentedly;

Christ I adore, who is the genuine Lord,

And, if you please, by you may be adored."

XLIII.

The Saracen rejoined in humble tone,

"I have had an extraordinary vision;

A savage serpent fell on me alone,

And Macon would not pity my condition;

Hence to thy God, who for ye did atone

Upon the cross, preferred I my petition;

His timely succour set me safe and free,

And I a Christian am disposed to be."

XLIV.

Orlando answered, "Baron just and pious,

If this good wish your heart can really move

To the true God, who will not then deny us

Eternal honour, you will go above,

And, if you please, as friends we will ally us,

And I will love you with a perfect love.

Your idols are vain liars, full of fraud:

The only true God is the Christian's God.

XLV.

"The Lord descended to the virgin breast

Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine;

If you acknowledge the Redeemer blest,

Without whom neither sun nor star can shine,

Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test,

Your renegado god, and worship mine,

Baptize yourself with zeal, since you repent."

To which Morgante answered, "I'm content."

XLVI.

And then Orlando to embrace him flew,

And made much of his convert, as he cried,

"To the abbey I will gladly marshal you."

To whom Morgante, "Let us go," replied:

"I to the friars have for peace to sue."

Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride,

Saying, "My brother, so devout and good,

Ask the Abbot pardon, as I wish you would:

XLVII.

"Since God has granted your illumination,

Accepting you in mercy for his own,

Humility should be your first oblation."

Morgante said, "For goodness' sake, make known,--

Since that your God is to be mine--your station,

And let your name in verity be shown;

Then will I everything at your command do."

On which the other said, he was Orlando.

XLVIII.

"Then," quoth the Giant, "blessed be Jesu

A thousand times with gratitude and praise!

Oft, perfect Baron! have I heard of you

Through all the different periods of my days:

And, as I said, to be your vassal too

I wish, for your great gallantry always."

Thus reasoning, they continued much to say,

And onwards to the abbey went their way.

XLIX.

And by the way about the giants dead

Orlando with Morgante reasoned: "Be,

For their decease, I pray you, comforted,

And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon me;

A thousand wrongs unto the monks they bred;

And our true Scripture soundeth openly,

Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill,

Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil:

L.

"Because His love of justice unto all

Is such, He wills His judgment should devour

All who have sin, however great or small;

But good He well remembers to restore.

Nor without justice holy could we call

Him, whom I now require you to adore.

All men must make His will their wishes sway,

And quickly and spontaneously obey.

LI.

"And here our doctors are of one accord,

Coming on this point to the same conclusion,--

That in their thoughts, who praise in Heaven the Lord,

If Pity e'er was guilty of intrusion

For their unfortunate relations stored

In Hell below, and damned in great confusion,

Their happiness would be reduced to nought,--

And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought.

LII.

"But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all

Which seems to Him, to them too must appear

Well done; nor could it otherwise befall;

He never can in any purpose err.

If sire or mother suffer endless thrall,

They don't disturb themselves for him or her:

What pleases God to them must joy inspire;--

Such is the observance of the eternal choir."

LIII.

"A word unto the wise," Morgante said,

"Is wont to be enough, and you shall see

How much I grieve about my brethren dead;

And if the will of God seem good to me,

Just, as you tell me, 'tis in Heaven obeyed--

Ashes to ashes,--merry let us be!

I will cut off the hands from both their trunks,

And carry them unto the holy monks.

LIV.

"So that all persons may be sure and certain

That they are dead, and have no further fear

To wander solitary this desert in,

And that they may perceive my spirit clear

By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain

Of darkness, making His bright realm appear."

He cut his brethren's hands off at these words,

And left them to the savage beasts and birds.

LV.

Then to the abbey they went on together,

Where waited them the Abbot in great doubt.

The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither

To their superior, all in breathless rout,

Saying with tremor, "Please to tell us whether

You wish to have this person in or out?"

The Abbot, looking through upon the Giant,

Too greatly feared, at first, to be compliant.

LVI.

Orlando seeing him thus agitated,

Said quickly, "Abbot, be thou of good cheer;

He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated,

And hath renounced his Macon false;" which here

Morgante with the hands corroborated,

A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear:

Thence, with due thanks, the Abbot God adored,

Saying, "Thou hast contented me, O Lord!"

LVII.

He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated,

And more than once contemplated his size;

And then he said, "O Giant celebrated!

Know, that no more my wonder will arise,

How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,

When I behold your form with my own eyes.

You now a true and perfect friend will show

Yourself to Christ, as once you were a foe.

LVIII.

"And one of our apostles, Saul once named,

Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ,

Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed,

'Why dost thou persecute me thus?' said Christ;

And then from his offence he was reclaimed,

And went for ever after preaching Christ,

And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding

O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.

LIX.

"So, my Morgante, you may do likewise:

He who repents--thus writes the Evangelist--

Occasions more rejoicing in the skies

Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.

You may be sure, should each desire arise

With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll exist

Among the happy saints for evermore;

But you were lost and damned to Hell before!"

LX.

And thus great honour to Morgante paid

The Abbot: many days they did repose.

One day, as with Orlando they both strayed,

And sauntered here and there, where'er they chose,

The Abbot showed a chamber, where arrayed

Much armour was, and hung up certain bows;

And one of these Morgante for a whim

Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.

LXI.

There being a want of water in the place,

Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,

"Morgante, I could wish you in this case

To go for water." "You shall be obeyed

In all commands," was the reply, "straight ways."

Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,

And went out on his way unto a fountain,

Where he was wont to drink, below the mountain.

LXII.

Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,

Which suddenly along the forest spread;

Whereat from out his quiver he prepares

An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;

And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,

And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,

And to the fountain's brink precisely pours;

So that the Giant's joined by all the boars.

LXIII.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,

Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear,

And passed unto the other side quite through;

So that the boar, defunct, lay tripped up near.

Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the Giant rushed in fierce career,

And reached the passage with so swift a foot,

Morgante was not now in time to shoot.

LXIV.

Perceiving that the pig was on him close,

He gave him such a punch upon the head[345],

As floored him so that he no more arose,

Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead

Next to the other. Having seen such blows,

The other pigs along the valley fled;

Morgante on his neck the bucket took,

Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook.

LXV.

The tub was on one shoulder, and there were

The hogs on t'other, and he brushed apace

On to the abbey, though by no means near,

Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.

Orlando, seeing him so soon appear

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,

Marvelled to see his strength so very great;

So did the Abbot, and set wide the gate.

LXVI.

The monks, who saw the water fresh and good[346],

Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork;

All animals are glad at sight of food:

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work

With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,

That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork.

Of rankness and of rot there is no fear,

For all the fasts are now left in arrear.

LXVII.

As though they wished to burst at once, they ate;

And gorged so that, as if the bones had been

In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,

Perceiving that they all were picked too clean.

The Abbot, who to all did honour great,

A few days after this convivial scene,

Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well trained,

Which he long time had for himself maintained.

LXVIII.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,

To gallop, and to put him to the proof,

Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;

But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,

And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.

Morgante said, "Get up, thou sulky cur!"

And still continued pricking with the spur.

LXIX.

But finally he thought fit to dismount,

And said, "I am as light as any feather,

And he has burst;--to this what say you, Count?"

Orlando answered, "Like a ship's mast rather

You seem to me, and with the truck for front:

Let him go! Fortune wills that we together

Should march, but you on foot Morgante still."

To which the Giant answered," So I will.

LXX.

"When there shall be occasion, you will see

How I approve my courage in the fight."

Orlando said, "I really think you'll be,

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight;

Nor will you napping there discover me.

But never mind your horse, though out of sight

'Twere best to carry him into some wood,

If but the means or way I understood."

LXXI.

The Giant said, "Then carry him I will,

Since that to carry me he was so slack--

To render, as the gods do, good for ill;

But lend a hand to place him on my back."

Orlando answered, "If my counsel still

May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake

To lift or carry this dead courser, who,

As you have done to him, will do to you.

LXXII.

"Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead,

As Nessus did of old beyond all cure.

I don't know if the fact you've heard or read;

But he will make you burst, you may be sure."

"But help him on my back," Morgante said,

"And you shall see what weight I can endure.

In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey,

With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry."

LXXIII.

The Abbot said, "The steeple may do well,

But for the bells, you've broken them, I wot."

Morgante answered, "Let them pay in Hell

The penalty who lie dead in yon grot;"

And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,

He said, "Now look if I the gout have got,

Orlando, in the legs,--or if I have force;"--

And then he made two gambols with the horse.

LXXIV.

Morgante was like any mountain framed;

So if he did this 'tis no prodigy;

But secretly himself Orlando blamed,

Because he was one of his family;

And fearing that he might be hurt or maimed,

Once more he bade him lay his burden by:

"Put down, nor bear him further the desert in."

Morgante said, "I'll carry him for certain."

LXXV.

He did; and stowed him in some nook away,

And to the abbey then returned with speed.

Orlando said, "Why longer do we stay?

Morgante, here is nought to do indeed."

The Abbot by the hand he took one day,

And said, with great respect, he had agreed

To leave his reverence; but for this decision

He wished to have his pardon and permission.

LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claimed:

He said, "I mean, and quickly, to retrieve

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed;

Some days ago I should have asked your leave,

Kind father, but I really was ashamed,

And know not how to show my sentiment,

So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

"But in my heart I bear through every clime

The Abbot, abbey, and this solitude--

So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from Heaven reward you with all good

The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood.

Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing.

And recommend us to your prayers with pressing."

LXXVIII.

Now when the Abbot Count Orlando heard,

His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,

Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;

And, "Cavalier," he said, "if I have less

Courteous and kind to your great worth appeared,

Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,

I know I have done too little in this case;

But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

"We can indeed but honour you with masses,

And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters,

Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters);

But such a love for you my heart embraces,

For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters,

That wheresoe'er you go I too shall be,

And, on the other part, you rest with me.

LXXX.

"This may involve a seeming contradiction;

But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste,

And understand my speech with full conviction.

For your just pious deeds may you be graced

With the Lord's great reward and benediction,

By whom you were directed to this waste:

To His high mercy is our freedom due,

For which we render thanks to Him and you.

LXXXI.

"You saved at once our life and soul: such fear

The Giants caused us, that the way was lost

By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly Host;

And your departure breeds such sorrow here,

That comfortless we all are to our cost;

But months and years you would not stay in sloth,

Nor are you formed to wear our sober cloth,

LXXXII.

"But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed,

With these as much is done as with this cowl;

In proof of which the Scripture you may read,

This Giant up to Heaven may bear his soul

By your compassion: now in peace proceed.

Your state and name I seek not to unroll;

But, if I'm asked, this answer shall be given,

That here an angel was sent down from Heaven.

LXXXIII.

"If you want armour or aught else, go in,

Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose,

And cover with it o'er this Giant's skin."

Orlando answered, "If there should lie loose

Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turned to my companion's use,

The gift would be acceptable to me."

The Abbot said to him, "Come in and see."

LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall

Was covered with old armour like a crust,

The Abbot said to them, "I give you all."

Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust

The whole, which, save one cuirass[347], was too small,

And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.

They wondered how it fitted him exactly,

Which ne'er had suited others so compactly.

LXXXV.

'Twas an immeasurable Giant's, who

By the great Milo of Agrante fell

Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well;

In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable:

Precisely as the war occurred they drew him,

And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

LXXXVI.

Seeing this history, Count Orlando said

In his own heart, "O God who in the sky

Know'st all things! how was Milo hither led?

Who caused the Giant in this place to die?"

And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,--

As I will tell in the ensuing story:

From evil keep you the high King of Glory!

[Note to Stanza v. Lines 1, 2.--In an Edition of the _Morgante Maggiore_

issued at Florence by G. Pulci, in 1900, line 2 of stanza v. runs thus--

"Com' egli ebbe un Ormanno e 'l suo Turpino."

The allusion to "Ormanno," who has been identified with a mythical

chronicler, "Urmano from Paris" (see Rajna's _Ricerche sui Reali di

Francia_, 1872, p. 51), and the appeal to the authority of Leonardo

Aretino, must not be taken _au pied de la lettre_. At the same time, the

opinion attributed to Leonardo is in accordance with contemporary

sentiment and phraseology. Compare "Horum res gestas si qui auctores

digni celebrassent, quam magnæ, quam admirabiles, quam veteribus illis

similes viderentur."--B. Accolti Aretini (_ob._ 1466) _Dialogus de

Præstantiâ Virorum sui Ævi_. P. Villani, _Liber de Florentiæ Famosis

Civibus_, 1847, p. 112. From information kindly supplied by Professor V.

Rossi, of the University of Pavia.]

FOOTNOTES:

[332] {283}[Matteo Maria Bojardo (1434-1494) published his _Orlando

Innamorato_ in 1486; Lodovico Ariosto (1474-1533) published the _Orlando

Furioso_ in 1516. A first edition of Cantos I.-XXV. of Luigi Pulci's

(1431-1487) _Il Morgante Maggiore_ was printed surreptitiously by Luca

Veneziano in 1481. Francesco Berni, who recast the _Orlando Innamorato_,

was born circ. 1490, and died in 1536.]

[333] [John Hermann Merivale (1779-1844), the father of Charles

Merivale, the historian (Dean of Ely, 1869), and of Herman,

Under-Secretary for India, published his _Orlando in Roncesvalles_ in

1814.]

[334] {284}[Parson Adams and Barnabas are characters in _Joseph

Andrews_; Thwackum and Supple, in _The History of Tom Jones, a

Foundling_.]

[335] {285}[Byron insisted, in the first place with Murray (February 7,

1820, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 402), and afterwards, no doubt, with the

Hunts, that his translation of the _Morgante Maggiore_ should be "put by

the original, stanza for stanza, and verse for verse." In the present

issue a few stanzas are inserted for purposes of comparison, but it has

not been thought necessary to reprint the whole of the Canto.

"IL MORGANTE MAGGIORE.

ARGOMENTO.

"Vivendo Carlo Magno Imperadore

Co' Paladini in festa e in allegria,

Orlando contra Gano traditore

S'adira, e parte verso Pagania:

Giunge a un deserto, e del bestial furore

Di tre giganti salva una badia,

Che due n'uccide, e con Morgante elegge,

Di buon sozio e d'amico usar la legge."

CANTO PRIMO.

I.

"In principio era il Verbo appresso a Dio;

Ed era Iddio il Verbo, e 'l Verbo lui:

Quest' era nel principio, al parer mio;

E nulla si può far sanza costui:

Però, giusto Signor benigno e pio,

Mandami solo un de gli angeli tui,

Che m'accompagni, e rechimi a memoria

Una famosa antica e degna storia.

II.

"E tu, Vergine, figlia, e madre, e sposa,

Di quel Signor, che ti dette le chiave

Del cielo e dell' abisso, e d' ogni cosa,

Quel di che Gabriel tuo ti disse Ave!

Perchè tu se' de' tuo' servi pietosa,

Con dolce rime, e stil grato e soave,

Ajuta i versi miei benignamente,

E'nsino al fine allumina la mente.

III.

"Era nel tempo, quando Filomena

Colla sorella si lamenta e plora,

Che si ricorda di sua antica pena,

E pe' boschetti le ninfe innamora,

E Febo il carro temperato mena,

Che 'l suo Fetonte l'ammaestra ancora;

Ed appariva appunto all' orizzonte,

Tal che Titon si graffiava la fronte:

IV.

"Quand'io varai la mia barchetta, prima

Per ubbidir chi sempre ubbidir debbe

La mente, e faticarsi in prosa e in rima,

E del mio Carlo Imperador m'increbbe;

Che so quanti la penna ha posto in cima,

Che tutti la sua gloria prevarrebbe:

E stata quella istoria, a quel ch'i' veggio,

Di Carlo male intesa, e scritta peggio."]

[336] {287}[Philomela and Procne were daughters of Pandion, King of

Attica. Tereus, son of Ares, wedded Procne, and, after the birth of her

son Itys, concealed his wife in the country, with a view to dishonouring

Philomela, on the plea of her sister's death. Procne discovered the

plot, killed her babe, and served up his flesh in a dish for her

husband's dinner. The sisters fled, and when Tereus pursued them with an

axe they besought the gods to change them into birds. Thereupon Procne

became a swallow, and Philomela a nightingale. So Hyginus, _Fabulæ_,

xlv.; but there are other versions of Philomela's woes.]

[337] [In the first edition of the _Morgante Maggiore_ (Firenze, 1482

[_B. M._ G. 10834]), which is said (_vide_ the _colophon_) to have been

issued "under the correction of the author, line 2 of this stanza runs

thus: "_comegliebbe u armano el suo turpino_;" and, apparently, it was

not till 1518 (Milano, by Zarotti) that _Pipino_ was substituted for

_Turpino_. Leonardo Bruni, surnamed Aretino (1369-1444), in his _Istoria

Fiorentina_ (1861, pp. 43, 47), commemorates the imperial magnificence

of _Carlo Magno_, and speaks of his benefactions to the Church, but does

not--in that work, at any rate--mention his biographers. It is possible

that if Pulci or Bruni had read Eginhard, they thought that his

chronicle was derogatory to Charlemagne. (See Gibbon's _Decline and

Fall_, 1825, iii. 376, note 1, and Hallam's _Europe during the Middle

Ages_, 1868, p. 16, note 3; _et vide post_, p. 309.)]

[338] {288}[For an account of the Benedictine Monastery of San

Liberatore alla Majella, which lies to the south of Manoppello (eight

miles southwest of Chieto, in the Abruzzi), see _Monumenti Storici ed.

Artistici degli Abruzzi_, by V. Bindi, Naples, 1889, Part I. (Testo),

pp. 655, _sq_. The abbey is in a ruinous condition, but on the walls of

"_un ampio porticato_," there is still to be seen a fresco of

Charlemagne, holding in his hands the deed of gift of the Abbey lands.]

[339] [That is, the valley of Jehoshaphat, the "valley where Jehovah

judges" (see Joel iii. 2-12); and, hence, a favourite burial-ground of

Jews and Moslems.]

[340] [The text as it stands is meaningless. Probably Byron wrote "dost

arise." The reference is no doubt to the supposed restoration of

Florence by Charlemagne.]

[341] {289}["The _Morgante_ is in truth the epic of treason, and the

character of Gano, as an accomplished but not utterly abandoned Judas,

is admirably sustained throughout."--_Renaissance in Italy_, 1881, iv.

444.]

[342]

["Così per Carlo Magno e per Orlando,

Due ne segui lo mio attento sguardo,

Com' occhio segue suo falcon volando."

_Del Paradiso_, Canto XVIII. lines 43-45.]

[343] {296}["Macon" is another form of "Mahomet." Compare--

"O Macon! break in twain the steeléd lance."

Fairfax's Tasso, _Gerusalemme Liberata_, book ix. stanza xxx. line i.]

[344] [Pulci seems to have been the originator of the humorous

understatement. Compare--

"And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more."

Bret Harte's Poems, _The Society upon the Stanislaus_, line 26.]

[345] {303} "Gli dette in su la testa un gran punzone." It is strange

that Pulci should have literally anticipated the technical terms of my

old friend and master, Jackson, and the art which he has carried to its

highest pitch. "_A punch on the head_" or "_a punch in the head_"--"un

punzone in su la testa,"--is the exact and frequent phrase of our best

pugilists, who little dream that they are talking the purest Tuscan.

[346] {304}["Half a dozen invectives against tyranny confiscate C^d.^

H^d.^ in a month; and eight and twenty cantos of quizzing Monks,

Knights, and Church Government, are let loose for centuries."--Letter to

Murray, May 8, 1820, _Letters_, 1901, v. 21.]

[347] {308}[Byron could not make up his mind with regard to the

translation of the Italian _sbergo_, which he had, correctly, rendered

"cuirass." He was under the impression that the word "meant _helmet_

also" (see his letters to Murray, March 1, 5, 1820, _Letters_, 1900, iv.

413-417). _Sbergo_ or _usbergo_, as Moore points out (_Life_, p. 438,

note 2), "is obviously the same as hauberk, habergeon, etc., all from

the German _halsberg_, or covering for the neck." An old dictionary

which Byron might have consulted, _Vocabolario Italiano-Latino_, Venice,

1794, gives _thorax_, _lorica_, as the Latin equivalent of "Usbergo =

armadura del busto, corazza." (See, too, for an authority quoted in the

_Dizzionario Universale_ (1797-1805) of Alberti di Villanuova,

_Letters_, 1900, iv. 417, note 2.)]

FRANCESCA OF RIMINI.

INTRODUCTION TO _FRANCESCA OF RIMINI_.

The MS. of "a _literal_ translation, word for word (versed like the

original), of the episode of Francesca of Rimini" (Letter March 23,

1820, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 421), was sent to Murray from Ravenna, March

20, 1820 (_ibid_., p. 419), a week after Byron had forwarded the MS. of

the _Prophecy of Dante_. Presumably the translation had been made in the

interval by way of illustrating and justifying the unfamiliar metre of

the "Dante Imitation." In the letter which accompanied the translation

he writes, "Enclosed you will find, _line for line_, in _third rhyme_

(_terza rima_,) of which your British Blackguard reader as yet

understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was born here,

and married, and slain, from Cary, Boyd, and such people already. I have

done it into _cramp_ English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try

the possibility. You had best append it to the poems already sent by

last three posts."

In the matter of the "British Blackguard," that is, the general reader,

Byron spoke by the card. Hayley's excellent translation of the three

first cantos of the _Inferno_ (_vide ante_, "Introduction to the

_Prophecy of Dante_," p. 237), which must have been known to a previous

generation, was forgotten, and with earlier experiments in _terza rima_,

by Chaucer and the sixteenth and seventeenth century poets, neither

Byron nor the British public had any familiar or definite acquaintance.

But of late some interest had been awakened or revived in Dante and the

_Divina Commedia_.

Cary's translation--begun in 1796, but not published as a whole till

1814--had met with a sudden and remarkable success. "The work, which had

been published four years, but had remained in utter obscurity, was at

once eagerly sought after. About a thousand copies of the first edition,

that remained on hand, were immediately disposed of; in less than three

months a new edition was called for." Moreover, the _Quarterly_ and

_Edinburgh Reviews_ were loud in its praises (_Memoir of H. F. Cary_,

1847, ii. 28). Byron seems to have thought that a fragment of the

_Inferno_, "versed like the original," would challenge comparison with

Cary's rendering in blank verse, and would lend an additional interest

to the "Pulci Translations, and the Dante Imitation." _Dîs aliter

visum_, and Byron's translation of the episode of _Francesca of Rimini_,

remained unpublished till it appeared in the pages of _The Letters and

Journals of Lord Byron_, 1830, ii. 309-311. (For separate translations

of the episode, see _Stories of the Italian Poets_, by Leigh Hunt, 1846,

i. 393-395, and for a rendering in blank verse by Lord [John] Russell,

see _Literary Souvenir_, 1830, pp. 285-287.)

FRANCESCA DA RIMINI.

FRANCESCA OF RIMINI[348]

FROM THE INFERNO OF DANTE.

CANTO THE FIFTH.

"The Land where I was born[349] sits by the Seas

Upon that shore to which the Po descends,

With all his followers, in search of peace.

Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,

Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en

From me[350], and me even yet the mode offends.

Love, who to none beloved to love again

Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong[351],

That, as thou see'st, yet, yet it doth remain.

Love to one death conducted us along, 10

But Caina[352] waits for him our life who ended:"

These were the accents uttered by her tongue.--

Since I first listened to these Souls offended,

I bowed my visage, and so kept it till--

'What think'st thou?' said the bard[353]; when I unbended,

And recommenced: 'Alas! unto such ill

How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstacies,

Led these their evil fortune to fulfill!'

And then I turned unto their side my eyes,

And said, 'Francesca, thy sad destinies 20

Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.

But tell me, in the Season of sweet sighs,

By what and how thy Love to Passion rose,

So as his dim desires to recognize?'

Then she to me: 'The greatest of all woes

Is to remind us of our happy days[co][354]

In misery, and that thy teacher knows.

But if to learn our Passion's first root preys

Upon thy spirit with such Sympathy,

I will do even as he who weeps and says.[cp][355] 30

We read one day for pastime, seated nigh,

Of Lancilot, how Love enchained him too.

We were alone, quite unsuspiciously.

But oft our eyes met, and our Cheeks in hue

All o'er discoloured by that reading were;

But one point only wholly us o'erthrew;[cq]

When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her,[cr]

To be thus kissed by such devoted lover,[cs]

He, who from me can be divided ne'er,

Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over: 40

Accurséd was the book and he who wrote![356]

That day no further leaf we did uncover.'

While thus one Spirit told us of their lot,

The other wept, so that with Pity's thralls

I swooned, as if by Death I had been smote,[357]

And fell down even as a dead body falls."[358]

_March_ 20, 1820.

FRANCESCA DA RIMINI.

DANTE, L'INFERNO.

CANTO QUINTO.

'Siede la terra dove nata fui

Sulla marina, dove il Po discende

Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.

Amor, che al cor gentil ratto s'apprende,

Prese costui della bella persona

Che mi fu tolta, e il modo ancor m' offende.

Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,

Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,

Che, come vedi, ancor non mi abbandona.

Amor condusse noi ad una morte: 10

Caino attende chi vita ci spense.'

Queste parole da lor ci fur porte.

Da che io intesi quelle anime offense

Chinai 'l viso, e tanto il tenni basso,

Finchè il Poeta mi disse: 'Che pense?'

Quando risposi, cominciai: 'O lasso!

Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio

Menò costoro al doloroso passo!'

Poi mi rivolsi a loro, e parla' io,

E cominciai: 'Francesca, i tuoi martiri 20

A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio.

Ma dimmi: al tempo de' dolci sospiri

A che e come concedette Amore,

Che conoscesti i dubbiosi desiri?'

Ed ella a me: 'Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria; e ciò sa il tuo dottore.

Ma se a conoscer la prima radice

Del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto

Farò come colui che piange e dice. 30

Noi leggevamo un giorno per diletto

Di Lancelotto, come Amor lo strinse:

Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto.

Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse

Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso:

Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.

Quando leggemmo il disiato riso

Esser baciato da cotanto amante,

Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,

La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante: 40

Galeotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisse--

Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante

Mentre che l'uno spirto questo disse,

L'altro piangeva sì che di pietade

Io venni meno cos com' io morisse;

E caddi, come corpo morto cade.

FOOTNOTES:

[348] {317}[Dante, in his _Inferno_ (Canto V. lines 97-142), places

Francesca and her lover Paolo among the lustful in the second circle of

Hell. Francesca, daughter of Guido Vecchio da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna,

married (circ. 1275) Gianciotto, second son of Malatesta da Verrucchio,

Lord of Rimini. According to Boccaccio (_Il Comento sopra la Commedia_,

1863, i. 476, _sq._), Gianciotto was "hideously deformed in countenance

and figure," and determined to woo and marry Francesca by proxy. He

accordingly "sent, as his representative, his younger brother Paolo, the

handsomest and most accomplished man in all Italy. Francesca saw Paolo

arrive, and imagined she beheld her future husband. That mistake was the

commencement of her passion." A day came when the lovers were surprised

together, and Gianciotto slew both his brother and his wife.]

[349] ["On arrive à Ravenne en longeant une forèt de pins qui a sept

lieues de long, et qui me semblait un immense bois funèbre servant

d'avenue au sépulcre commun de ces deux grandes puissances. A peine y

a-t-il place pour d'autres souvenirs à côté de leur mémoire. Cependant

d'autres noms poétiques sont attachés à la Pineta de Ravenne. Naguère

lord Byron y évoquait les fantastiques récits empruntés par Dryden à

Boccace, et lui-même est maintenant une figure du passé, errante dans ce

lieu mélancolique. Je songeais, en le traversant, que le chantre du

désespoir avait chevauché sur cette plage lugubre, foulée avant lui par

le pas grave et lent du poëte de _l'Enfer_....

"Il suffit de jeter les yeux sur une carte pour reconnaitre l'exactitude

topographique de cette dernière expression. En effet, dans toute la

partie supérieure de son cours, le Po reçoit une foule d'affluents qui

convergent vers son lit; ce sont le Tésin, l'Adda, l'Olio, le Mincio, la

Trebbia, la Bormida, le Taro...."--_La Grèce, Rome, et Dante_ ("Voyage

Dantesque"), par M. J. J. Ampère, 1850, pp. 311-313.]

[350] [The meaning is that she was despoiled of her beauty by death, and

that the manner of her death excites her indignation still. "Among Lord

Byron's unpublished letters we find the following varied readings of the

translation from Dante:--

Seized him for the fair person, which in its

Bloom was ta'en from me, yet the mode offends.

_or_,

Seized him for the fair form, of which in its

Bloom I was reft, and yet the mode offends.

Love, which to none beloved to love remits,

/ with mutual wish to please \

Seized me < with wish of pleasing him > so strong,

\ with the desire to please /

That, as thou see'st, not yet that passion quits, etc.

You will find these readings vary from the MS. I sent you. They are

closer, but rougher: take which is liked best; or, if you like, print

them as variations. They are all close to the text."--_Works of Lord

Byron_, 1832, xii. 5, note 2.]

[351] {319}["The man's desire is for the woman; but the woman's desire

is rarely other than for the desire of the man."--S. T. Coleridge,

_Table Talk_, July 23, 1827.]

[352] [Caïna is the first belt of Cocytus, that is, circle ix. of the

Inferno, in which fratricides and betrayers of their kindred are

immersed up to the neck.]

[353] [Virgil.]

[co] {319}

_Is to recall to mind our happy days_.

_In misery, and this thy teacher knows_.--[MS.]

[354] [The sentiment is derived from Boethius: "_In omni adversitate

fortunæ infelicissimum genus est infortunii, fuisse felicem_."--_De

Consolat. Philos. Lib. II. Prosa_ 4. The earlier commentators (_e.g._

Venturi and Biagioli), relying on a passage in the _Convito_ (ii. 16),

assume that the "teacher" (line 27) is the author of the sentence, but

later authorities point out that "mio dottore" can only apply to Virgil

(v. 70), who then and there in the world of shades was suffering the

bitter experience of having "known better days." Compare--

"For of fortunes sharp adversitee

The worst kinde of infortune is this,

A man to have ben in prosperitee,

And it remembren whan it passéd is."

_Troilus and Criseyde_, Bk. III. stanza ccxxxiii. lines 1-4.

"E perché rimembrare il ben perduto

Fa più meschino lo stato presente."

Fortiguerra's _Ricciardetto_, Canto XI. stanza lxxxiii.

Compare, too--

"A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."

Tennyson's _Locksley Hall_.]

[cp] _I will relate as he who weeps and says_.--[MS.] (The sense is, _I

will do even as one who relates while weeping_.)

[355] [Byron affixed the following note to line 126 of the Italian: "In

some of the editions it is 'dirò,' in others 'faro;'--an essential

difference between 'saying' and 'doing' which I know not how to

decide--Ask Foscolo--the damned editions drive me mad." In _La Divina

Commedia_, Firenze, 1892, and the _Opere de Dante_, Oxford, 1897, the

reading is _faro_.]

[cq] {321} ----_wholly overthrew_.--[MS.]

[cr] _When we read the desired-for smile of her_. [MS, Alternative

reading.]

[cs]--_by such a fervent lover_.--[MS.]

[356] ["A Gallehault was the book and he who wrote it" (A. J. Butler).

"Writer and book were Gallehault to our will" (E. J. Plumptre). The book

which the lovers were reading is entitled _L'Illustre et Famosa Historia

di Lancilotto del Lago_. The "one point" of the original runs thus: "Et

la reina ... lo piglia per il mento, et lo bacia davanti a Gallehault,

assai lungamente."--Venice, 1558, _Lib. Prim_. cap. lxvi. vol. i. p.

229. The Gallehault of the _Lancilotto_, the shameless "purveyor," must

not be confounded with the stainless Galahad of the _Morte d'Arthur_.']

[357] [Dante was in his twentieth, or twenty-first year when the tragedy

of Francesca and Paolo was enacted, not at Rimini, but at Pesaro. Some

acquaintance he may have had with her, through his friend Guido (not her

father, but probably her nephew), enough to account for the peculiar

emotion caused by her sanguinary doom.]

[358]

Alternative Versions Transcribed by Mrs. Shelley.

_March_ 20, 1820.

line 4: Love, which too soon the soft heart apprehends,

Seized him for the fair form, the which was there

Torn from me, and even yet the mode offends.

line 8: Remits, seized him for me with joy so strong--

line 12: These were the words then uttered--

Since I had first perceived these souls offended,

I bowed my visage and so kept it till--

"What think'st thou?" said the bard, whom I (_sic_)

And then commenced--"Alas unto such ill--

line 18: Led these? "and then I turned me to them still

And spoke, "Francesca, thy sad destinies

Have made me sad and tender even to tears,

But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,

By what and how Love overcame your fears,

So ye might recognize his dim desires?"

Then she to me, "No greater grief appears

Than, when the time of happiness expires,

To recollect, and this your teacher knows.

But if to find the first root of our--

Thou seek'st with such a sympathy in woes,

I will do even as he who weeps and speaks.

We read one day for pleasure, sitting close,

Of Launcelot, where forth his passion breaks.

We were alone and we suspected nought,

But oft our eyes exchanged, and changed our cheeks.

When we read the desiring smile of her

Who to be kissed by such true lover sought,

He who from me can be divided ne'er

All tremulously kissed my trembling mouth.

Accursed the book and he who wrote it were--

That day no further did we read in sooth."

While the one spirit in this manner spoke

The other wept, so that, for very ruth,

I felt as if my trembling heart had broke,

To see the misery which both enthralls:

So that I swooned as dying with the stroke,--

And fell down even as a dead body falls.

Another version of the same.

line 21: Have made me sad even until the tears arise--

line 27: In wretchedness, and that your teacher knows.

line 31: We read one day for pleasure--

Of Launcelot, how passion shook his frame.

We were alone all unsuspiciously.

But oft our eyes met and our cheeks the same,

Pale and discoloured by that reading were;

But one part only wholly overcame;

When we read the desiring smile of her

Who sought the kiss of such devoted lover;

He who from me can be divided ne'er

Kissed my mouth, trembling to that kiss all over!

Accurséd was that book and he who wrote--

That day we did no further page uncover."

While thus--etc.

line 45: I swooned to death with sympathetic thought--

[Another version.]

line 33: We were alone, and we suspected nought.

But oft our meeting eyes made pale our cheeks,

Urged by that reading for our ruin wrought;

But one point only wholly overcame:

When we read the desiring smile which sought

By such true lover to be kissed--the same

Who from my side can be divided ne'er

Kissed my mouth, trembling o'er all his frame!

Accurst the book, etc., etc.

[Another version.]

line 33: We were alone and--etc.

But one point only 'twas our ruin wrought.

When we read the desiring smile of her

Who to be kissed of such true lover sought;

He who for me, etc., etc.

MARINO FALIERO,

DOGE OF VENICE;

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

"_Dux_ inquieti turbidus Adria."

Horace, [_Od._ III. c. iii. line 5]

[_Marino Faliero_ was produced for the first time at the Theatre Royal,

Drury Lane, April 25, 1821. Mr. Cooper played "The Doge;" Mrs. W. West,

"Angiolina, wife of the Doge." The piece was repeated on April 30, May

1, 2, 3, 4, and 14, 1821.

A revival was attempted at Drury Lane, May 20, 21, 1842, when Macready

appeared as "The Doge," and Helen Faucit as "Angiolina" (see _Life_ and

_Remains_ of E. L. Blanchard, 1891, i. 346-348).

An adaptation of Byron's play, by W. Bayle Bernard, was produced at

Drury Lane, November 2, 1867. It was played till December 17, 1867.

Phelps took the part of "The Doge," and Mrs. Hermann of "Angiolina." In

Germany an adaptation by Arthur Fitger was performed nineteen times by

the "Meiningers," circ. 1887 (see _Englische Studien_, 1899, xxvii.

146).]

INTRODUCTION TO _MARINO FALIERO_.

Byron had no sooner finished the first draft of _Manfred_ than he began

(February 25, 1817) to lay the foundation of another tragedy. Venice was

new to him, and, on visiting the Doge's Palace, the veiled space

intended for the portrait of Marin Falier, and the "Giants' Staircase,"

where, as he believed, "he was once crowned and afterwards decapitated,"

had laid hold of his imagination, while the legend of the _Congiura_,

"an old man jealous and conspiring against the state of which he was ...

Chief," promised a subject which the "devil himself" might have

dramatized _con amore_.

But other interests and ideas claimed his attention, and for more than

three years the project slept. At length he slips into the postscript of

a letter to Murray, dated, "Ravenna, April 9, 1820" (_Letters_, 1901, v.

7), an intimation that he had begun "a tragedy on the subject of Marino

Faliero, the Doge of Venice." The "Imitation of Dante, the Translation

of Pulci, the Danticles," etc., were worked off, and, in prospecting for

a new vein, a fresh lode of literary ore, he passed, by a natural

transition, from Italian literature to Italian history, from the

romantic and humorous _epopee_ of Pulci and Berni, to the pseudo-classic

drama of Alfieri and Monti.

Jealousy, as "Monk" Lewis had advised him (August, 1817), was an

"exhausted passion" in the drama, and to lay the scene in Venice was to

provoke comparison with Shakespeare and Otway; but the man himself, the

fiery Doge, passionate but not jealous, a noble turned democrat _pro hac

vice_, an old man "greatly" finding "quarrel in a straw," afforded a

theme historically time-honoured, and yet unappropriated by tragic art.

There was, too, a living interest in the story. For history was

repeating itself, and "politics were savage and uncertain." "Mischief

was afoot," and the tradition of a conspiracy which failed might find an

historic parallel in a conspiracy which would succeed. There was "that

brewing in Italy" which might, perhaps, inspire "a people to redress

itself," "and with a cry of, 'Up with the Republic!' 'Down with the

Nobility!' send the Barbarians of all nations back to their own dens!"

(_Letters_, 1901, v. 10, 12, 19.)

In taking the field as a dramatist, Byron sought to win distinction for

himself--in the first place by historical accuracy, and, secondly, by

artistic regularity--by a stricter attention to the dramatic "unities."

"History is closely followed," he tells Murray, in a letter dated July

17, 1820; and, again, in the Preface (_vide post_, pp. 332-337), which

is an expansion of the letter, he gives a list of the authorities which

he had consulted, and claims to have "transferred into our language an

historical fact worthy of commemoration." More than once in his letters

to Murray he reverts to this profession of accuracy, and encloses some

additional note, in which he points out and rectifies an occasional

deviation from the historical record. In this respect, at any rate, he

could contend on more than equal terms "with established writers," that

is, with Shakespeare and Otway, and could present to his countrymen an

exacter and, so, more lifelike picture of the Venetian Republic. It is

plain, too, that he was bitten with the love of study for its own sake,

with a premature passion for erudition, and that he sought and found

relief from physical and intellectual excitement in the intricacies of

research. If his history is at fault, it was not from any lack of

diligence on his part, but because the materials at his disposal or

within his cognizance were inaccurate and misleading. He makes no

mention of the huge collection of Venetian archives which had recently

been deposited in the Convent of the Frari, or of Doria's transcript of

Sanudo's Diaries, bequeathed in 1816 to the Library of St. Mark; but he

quotes as his authorities the _Vitæ Ducum Venetorum_, of Marin Sanudo

(1466-1535), the _Storia, etc._, of Andrea Navagero (1483-1529), and the

_Principj di Storia, etc._, of Vettor Sandi, which belongs to the latter

half of the eighteenth century. Byron's chroniclers were ancient, but

not ancient enough; and, though they "handed down the story" (see

Medwin, _Conversations_, p. 173), they depart in numerous particulars

from the facts recorded in contemporary documents. Unquestionably the

legend, as it appears in Sanudo's perplexing and uncritical narrative

(see, for the translation of an original version of the Italian,

_Appendix_, pp. 462-467), is more dramatic than the "low beginnings" of

the myth, which may be traced to the annalists of the fourteenth and

fifteenth centuries; but, like other legends, it is insusceptible of

proof. Byron's Doge is almost, if not quite, as unhistorical as his

Bonivard or his Mazeppa. (See _Nuovo Archivio Veneto_, 1893, vol. v. pt.

i. pp. 95-197; 1897, vol. xiii. pt. i. pp. 5-107; pt. ii. pp. 277-374;

_Les Archives de Venise_, par Armand Baschet, 1870; _Storia della

Repubblica di Venizia_, Giuseppe Cappelletti, 1849, iv. pp. 262-317.)

At the close of the Preface, by way of an afterthought, Byron announces

his determination to escape "the reproach of the English theatrical

compositions" "by preserving a nearer approach to unity," by

substituting the regularity of French and Italian models for the

barbarities of the Elizabethan dramatists and their successors. Goethe

(_Conversations_, 1874, p. 114) is said to have "laughed to think that

Byron, who, in practical life, could never adapt himself, and never even

asked about a law, finally subjected himself to the stupidest of

laws--that of the _three unities_." It was, perhaps, in part with this

object in view, to make his readers smile, to provoke their

astonishment, that he affected a severity foreign to his genius and at

variance with his record. It was an agreeable thought that he could so

easily pass from one extreme to another, from _Manfred_ to _Marino

Faliero_, and, at the same time, indulge "in a little sally of

gratuitous sauciness" (_Quarterly Review_, July, 1822, vol. xxvii, p.

480) at the expense of his own countrymen. But there were other

influences at work. He had been powerfully impressed by the energy and

directness of Alfieri's work, and he was eager to emulate the gravity

and simplicity, if not the terseness and conciseness, of his style and

language. The drama was a new world to conquer, and so far as "his own

literature" was concerned it appeared that success might be attainable

by "a severer approach to the rules" (Letter to Murray, February 16,

1821)--that by taking Alfieri as his model he might step into the first

rank of English dramatists.

Goethe thought that Byron failed "to understand the purpose" of the

"three unities," that he regarded the law as an end in itself, and did

not perceive that if a play was comprehensible the unities might be

neglected and disregarded. It is possible that his "blind obedience to

the law" may have been dictated by the fervour of a convert; but it is

equally possible that he looked beyond the law or its fulfilment to an

ulterior object, the discomfiture of the romantic school, with its

contempt for regularity, its passionate appeal from art to nature. If he

was minded to raise a "Grecian temple of the purest architecture"

(_Letters_, 1901, v. Appendix III. p. 559), it was not without some

thought and hope of shaming, by force of contrast, the "mosque," the

"grotesque edifice" of barbarian contemporaries and rivals. Byron was

"ever a fighter," and his claim to regularity, to a closer preservation

of the "unities," was of the nature of a challenge.

_Marino Faliero_ was dedicated to "Baron Goethe," but the letter which

should have contained the dedication was delayed in transit. Goethe

never saw the dedication till it was placed in his hands by John Murray

the Third, in 1831, but he read the play, and after Byron's death bore

testimony to its peculiar characteristics and essential worth. "Lord

Byron, notwithstanding his predominant personality, has sometimes had

the power of renouncing himself altogether, as may be seen in some of

his dramatic pieces, particularly in his _Marino Faliero_. In this piece

one quite forgets that Lord Byron, or even an Englishman, wrote it. We

live entirely in Venice, and entirely in the time in which the action

takes place. The personages speak quite from themselves and their own

condition, without having any of the subjective feelings, thoughts, and

opinions of the poet" (_Conversations_, 1874, p. 453).

Byron spent three months over the composition of _Marino Faliero_. The

tragedy was completed July 17 (_Letters_, 1901, v. 52), and the copying

(_vide post_, p. 461, note 2) a month later (August 16, 17, 1820). The

final draft of "all the acts corrected" was despatched to England some

days before October 6, 1820.

Early in January, 1821 (see Letters to Murray, January 11, 20, 1821,

_Letters_, 1901, v. 221-228), an announcement reached Byron that his

play was to be brought out at Drury Lane Theatre, by Elliston. Against

this he protested by every means in his power, and finally, on

Wednesday, April 25, four days after the publication of the first

edition (April 21, 1821), an injunction was obtained from Lord

Chancellor Eldon, prohibiting a performance announced for that evening.

Elliston pursued the Chancellor to the steps of his own house, and at

the last moment persuaded him to allow the play to be acted on that

night only. Legal proceeedings were taken, but, in the end, the

injunction was withdrawn, with the consent of Byron's solicitors, and

the play was represented again on April 30, and on five nights in the

following May. As Byron had foreseen, _Marino Faliero_ was coldly

received by the playgoing public, and proved a loss to the "speculating

buffoons," who had not realized that it was "unfit for their Fair or

their booth" (Letter to Murray, January 20, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v.

228, and p. 226, note 2. See, too, _Memoirs of Robert W. Elliston_,

1845, pp. 268-271).

Byron was the first to perceive that the story of Marino Faliero was a

drama "ready to hand;" but he has had many followers, if not imitators

or rivals.

"_Marino Faliero_, tragédie en cinq actes," by Casimir Jean François

Delavigne, was played for the first time at the Theatre of Porte Saint

Martin, May 31, 1829.

In Germany tragedies based on the same theme have been published by Otto

Ludwig, Leipzig, 1874; Martin Grief, Vienna, 1879; Murad Effendi (Franz

von Werner), 1881, and others (_Englische Studien_, vol. xxvii. pp. 146,

147).

_Marino Faliero_, a Tragedy, by A. C. Swinburne, was published in 1885.

_Marino Faliero_ was reviewed by Jeffrey, in the _Edinburgh Review_,

July 21, 1821, vol. 35, pp. 271-285; by Heber, in the _Quarterly

Review_, July, 1822, vol. xxvii. pp. 476-492; and by John Wilson, in

_Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, April, 1821, vol. 9, pp. 93-103. For

other notices, _vide ante_ ("Introduction to _The Prophecy of Dante_"),

p. 240.

PREFACE.

The conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero is one of the most remarkable

events in the annals of the most singular government, city, and people

of modern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Every thing about

Venice is, or was, extraordinary--her aspect is like a dream, and her

history is like a romance. The story of this Doge is to be found in all

her Chronicles, and particularly detailed in the "Lives of the Doges,"

by Marin Sanuto, which is given in the Appendix. It is simply and

clearly related, and is perhaps more dramatic in itself than any scenes

which can be founded upon the subject.

Marino Faliero appears to have been a man of talents and of courage. I

find him commander-in-chief of the land forces at the siege of

Zara,[359] where he beat the King of Hungary and his army of eighty

thousand men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the besieged at

the same time in check; an exploit to which I know none similar in

history, except that of Cæsar at Alesia,[360] and of Prince Eugene at

Belgrade. He was afterwards commander of the fleet in the same war. He

took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa and Rome,--at which last

he received the news of his election to the dukedom; his absence being a

proof that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprised of his

predecessor's death and his own succession at the same moment. But he

appears to have been of an ungovernable temper. A story is told by

Sanuto, of his having, many years before, when podesta and captain at

Treviso, boxed the ears of the bishop, who was somewhat tardy in

bringing the Host.[361] For this, honest Sanuto "saddles him with a

judgment," as Thwackum did Square;[362] but he does not tell us whether

he was punished or rebuked by the Senate for this outrage at the time of

its commission. He seems, indeed, to have been afterwards at peace with

the church, for we find him ambassador at Rome, and invested with the

fief of Val di Marino, in the march of Treviso, and with the title of

count, by Lorenzo, Count-bishop of Ceneda. For these facts my

authorities are Sanuto, Vettor Sandi,[363] Andrea Navagero,[364] and the

account of the siege of Zara, first published by the indefatigable Abate

Morelli, in his _Monumenti Veneziani di varia Letteratura_, printed in

1796,[365] all of which I have looked over in the original language. The

moderns, Darù, Sismondi, and Laugier, nearly agree with the ancient

chroniclers. Sismondi attributes the conspiracy to his _jealousy_; but I

find this nowhere asserted by the national historians. Vettor Sandi,

indeed, says that "Altri scrissero che....dalla gelosa suspizion di esso

Doge siasi fatto (Michel Steno) staccar con violenza," etc., etc.; but

this appears to have been by no means the general opinion, nor is it

alluded to by Sanuto, or by Navagero; and Sandi himself adds, a moment

after, that "per altre Veneziane memorie traspiri, che non il _solo_

desiderio di vendetta lo dispose alla congiura ma anche la innata

abituale ambizion sua, per cui aneleva a farsi principe independente."

The first motive appears to have been excited by the gross affront of

the words written by Michel Steno on the ducal chair, and by the light

and inadequate sentence of the Forty on the offender, who was one of

their "tre Capi."[366] The attentions of Steno himself appear to have

been directed towards one of her damsels, and not to the

"Dogaressa"[367] herself, against whose fame not the slightest

insinuation appears, while she is praised for her beauty, and remarked

for her youth. Neither do I find it asserted (unless the hint of Sandi

be an assertion) that the Doge was actuated by jealousy of his wife; but

rather by respect for her, and for his own honour, warranted by his past

services and present dignity.

I know not that the historical facts are alluded to in English, unless

by Dr. Moore in his View of Italy[368]. His account is false and

flippant, full of stale jests about old men and young wives, and

wondering at so great an effect from so slight a cause. How so acute

and severe an observer of mankind as the author of Zeluco could wonder

at this is inconceivable. He knew that a basin of water spilt on Mrs.

Masham's gown deprived the Duke of Marlborough of his command, and led

to the inglorious peace of Utrecht--that Louis XIV. was plunged into the

most desolating wars, because his minister was nettled at his finding

fault with a window, and wished to give him another occupation--that

Helen lost Troy--that Lucretia expelled the Tarquins from Rome--and that

Cava brought the Moors to Spain--that an insulted husband led the Gauls

to Clusium, and thence to Rome--that a single verse of Frederick

II.[369] of Prussia on the Abbé de Bernis, and a jest on Madame de

Pompadour, led to the battle of Rosbach--that the elopement of

Dearbhorgil[370] with Mac Murchad conducted the English to the slavery

of Ireland that a personal pique between Maria Antoinette and the Duke

of Orleans precipitated the first expulsion of the Bourbons--and, not to

multiply instances of the _teterrima causa,_ that Commodus, Domitian,

and Caligula fell victims not to their public tyranny, but to private

vengeance--and that an order to make Cromwell disembark from the ship in

which he would have sailed to America destroyed both King and

Commonwealth. After these instances, on the least reflection it is

indeed extraordinary in Dr. Moore to seem surprised that a man used to

command, who had served and swayed in the most important offices, should

fiercely resent, in a fierce age, an unpunished affront, the grossest

that can be offered to a man, be he prince or peasant. The age of

Faliero is little to the purpose, unless to favour it--

"The young man's wrath is like [light] straw on fire,

_But like red hot steel is the old man's ire._"

[Davie Gellatley's song in _Waverley_, chap. xiv.]

"Young men soon give and soon forget affronts,

Old age is slow at both."

Laugier's reflections are more philosophical:--"Tale fù il fine

ignominioso di un' uomo, che la sua nascità, la sua età, il suo

carattere dovevano tener lontano dalle passioni produttrici di grandi

delitti. I suoi _talenti_ per lungo tempo esercitati ne' maggiori

impieghi, la sua capacità sperimentata ne' governi e nelle ambasciate,

gli avevano acquistato la stima e la fiducia de' cittadini, ed avevano

uniti i suffragj per collocarlo alla testa della repubblica. Innalzato

ad un grado che terminava gloriosamente la sua vita, il risentimento di

un' ingiuria leggiera insinuò nel suo cuore tal veleno che bastò a

corrompere le antiche sue qualità, e a condurlo al termine dei

scellerati; serio esempio, che prova _non esservi età, in cui la

prudenza umana sia sicura, e che nell' uomo restano sempre passioni

capaci a disonorarlo, quando non invigili sopra se stesso_."[371]

Where did Dr. Moore find that Marino Faliero begged his life? I have

searched the chroniclers, and find nothing of the kind: it is true that

he avowed all. He was conducted to the place of torture, but there is no

mention made of any application for mercy on his part; and the very

circumstance of their having taken him to the rack seems to argue any

thing but his having shown a want of firmness, which would doubtless

have been also mentioned by those minute historians, who by no means

favour him: such, indeed, would be contrary to his character as a

soldier, to the age in which he lived, and _at_ which he died, as it is

to the truth of history. I know no justification, at any distance of

time, for calumniating an historical character: surely truth belongs to

the dead, and to the unfortunate: and they who have died upon a scaffold

have generally had faults enough of their own, without attributing to

them that which the very incurring of the perils which conducted them to

their violent death renders, of all others, the most improbable. The

black veil which is painted over the place of Marino Faliero amongst

the Doges, and the Giants' Staircase[372], where he was crowned, and

discrowned, and decapitated, struck forcibly upon my imagination; as did

his fiery character and strange story. I went, in 1819, in search of his

tomb more than once to the church San Giovanni e San Paolo; and, as I

was standing before the monument of another family, a priest came up to

me and said, "I can show you finer monuments than that." I told him that

I was in search of that of the Faliero family, and particularly of the

Doge Marino's. "Oh," said he, "I will show it you;" and, conducting me

to the outside, pointed out a sarcophagus in the wall with an illegible

inscription[373]. He said that it had been in a convent adjoining, but

was removed after the French came, and placed in its present situation;

that he had seen the tomb opened at its removal; there were still some

bones remaining, but no positive vestige of the decapitation. The

equestrian statue[374] of which I have made mention in the third act as

before that church is not, however, of a Faliero, but of some other now

obsolete warrior, although of a later date. There were two other Doges

of this family prior to Marino; Ordelafo, who fell in battle at Zara, in

1117 (where his descendant afterwards conquered the Huns), and Vital

Faliero, who reigned in 1082. The family, originally from Fano, was of

the most illustrious in blood and wealth in the city of once the most

wealthy and still the most ancient families in Europe. The length I have

gone into on this subject will show the interest I have taken in it.

Whether I have succeeded or not in the tragedy, I have at least

transferred into our language an historical fact worthy of

commemoration.

It is now four years that I have meditated this work; and before I had

sufficiently examined the records, I was rather disposed to have made it

turn on a jealousy in Faliero. But, perceiving no foundation for this in

historical truth, and aware that jealousy is an exhausted passion in the

drama, I have given it a more historical form. I was, besides, well

advised by the late Matthew Lewis[375] on that point, in talking with

him of my intention at Venice in 1817. "If you make him jealous," said

he, "recollect that you have to contend with established writers, to say

nothing of Shakespeare, and an exhausted subject:--stick to the old

fiery Doge's natural character, which will bear you out, if properly

drawn; and make your plot as regular as you can." Sir William

Drummond[376] gave me nearly the same counsel. How far I have followed

these instructions, or whether they have availed me, is not for me to

decide. I have had no view to the stage; in its present state it is,

perhaps, not a very exalted object of ambition; besides, I have been too

much behind the scenes to have thought it so at any time.[ct] And I

cannot conceive any man of irritable feeling[cu] putting himself at the

mercies of an audience. The sneering reader, and the loud critic, and

the tart review, are scattered and distant calamities; but the trampling

of an intelligent or of an ignorant audience on a production which, be

it good or bad, has been a mental labour to the writer, is a palpable

and immediate grievance, heightened by a man's doubt of their competency

to judge, and his certainty of his own imprudence in electing them his

judges. Were I capable of writing a play which could be deemed

stage-worthy, success would give me no pleasure, and failure great pain.

It is for this reason that, even during the time of being one of the

committee of one of the theatres, I never made the attempt, and never

will[377]. But I wish that others would, for surely there is dramatic

power somewhere, where Joanna Baillie, and Milman, and John Wilson

exist. The _City of the Plague_[1816] and the _Fall of Jerusalem_ [1820]

are full of the best "_matériel_" for tragedy that has been seen since

Horace Walpole, except passages of _Ethwald_[1802] and _De

Montfort_[1798]. It is the fashion to underrate Horace Walpole; firstly,

because he was a nobleman, and secondly, because he was a gentleman;

but, to say nothing of the composition of his incomparable letters, and

of the _Castle of Otranto_[1765], he is the "Ultimus Romanorum," the

author of the _Mysterious Mother_[1768], a tragedy of the highest order,

and not a puling love-play. He is the father of the first romance and of

the last tragedy in our language, and surely worthy of a higher place

than any living writer, be he who he may.[378]

In speaking of the drama of _Marino Faliero_, I forgot to mention that

the desire of preserving, though still too remote, a nearer approach to

unity than the irregularity, which is the reproach of the English

theatrical compositions, permits, has induced me to represent the

conspiracy as already formed, and the Doge acceding to it; whereas, in

fact, it was of his own preparation and that of Israel Bertuccio. The

other characters (except that of the Duchess), incidents, and almost the

time, which was wonderfully short for such a design in real life, are

strictly historical, except that all the consultations took place in the

palace. Had I followed this, the unity would have been better preserved;

but I wished to produce the Doge in the full assembly of the

conspirators, instead of monotonously placing him always in dialogue

with the same individuals. For the real facts, I refer to the

Appendix.[379]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

Marino Faliero, _Doge of Venice_.

Bertuccio Faliero, _Nephew of the Doge_.

Lioni, _a Patrician and Senator_.

Benintende, _Chief of the Council of Ten_.

Michel Steno, _One of the three Capi of the Forty_.

Israel Bertuccio, _Chief of the Arsenal_, }

Philip Calendaro, } _Conspirators_.

Dagolino, }

Bertram, }

_Signor of the Night_, "_Signore di Notte," one of

the Officers belonging to the Republic_.

_First Citizen_.

_Second Citizen_.

_Third Citizen_.

Vincenzo, }

Pietro, } _Officers belonging to the Ducal Palace_.

Battista, }

_Secretary of the Council of Ten_.

_Guards_, _Conspirators_, _Citizens_,

_The Council of Ten_, _the Giunta_, etc., etc.

WOMEN.

Angiolina, _Wife to the Doge_.

Marianna, _her Friend_.

_Female Attendants, etc_.

Scene Venice--in the year 1355.

MARINO FALIERO, DOGE OF VENICE.

(AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS.)

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_An Antechamber in the Ducal Palace_.

PIETRO _speaks, in entering, to_ BATTISTA.

_Pie_. Is not the messenger returned?[cv]

_Bat_. Not yet;

I have sent frequently, as you commanded,

But still the Signory[380] is deep in council,

And long debate on Steno's accusation.

_Pie_. Too long--at least so thinks the Doge.

_Bat_. How bears he

These moments of suspense?

_Pie_. With struggling patience.[cw]

Placed at the Ducal table, covered o'er

With all the apparel of the state--petitions,

Despatches, judgments, acts, reprieves, reports,--

He sits as rapt in duty; but whene'er[cx] 10

He hears the jarring of a distant door,

Or aught that intimates a coming step,[cy]

Or murmur of a voice, his quick eye wanders,

And he will start up from his chair, then pause,

And seat himself again, and fix his gaze

Upon some edict; but I have observed

For the last hour he has not turned a leaf.

_Bat_. 'Tis said he is much moved,--and doubtless 'twas

Foul scorn in Steno to offend so grossly.

_Pie_. Aye, if a poor man: Steno's a patrician, 20

Young, galliard, gay, and haughty.[cz]

_Bat_. Then you think

He will not be judged hardly?

_Pie_. 'Twere enough

He be judged justly; but 'tis not for us

To anticipate the sentence of the Forty.

_Bat_. And here it comes.--What news, Vincenzo?

_Enter_ VINCENZO.

_Vin_. 'Tis

Decided; but as yet his doom's unknown:

I saw the President in act to seal

The parchment which will bear the Forty's judgment

Unto the Doge, and hasten to inform him.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--The Ducal Chamber.

MARINO FALIERO, _Doge; and his Nephew_, BERTUCCIO FALIERO.[381]

_Ber. F._ It cannot be but they will do you justice.

_Doge_. Aye, such as the Avogadori[382] did,

Who sent up my appeal unto the Forty

To try him by his peers, his own tribunal.

_Ber. F._ His peers will scarce protect him; such an act

Would bring contempt on all authority.

_Doge_. Know you not Venice? Know you not the Forty?

But we shall see anon.

_Ber. F._ (_addressing_ VINCENZO, _then entering_.)

How now--what tidings?

_Vin_. I am charged to tell his Highness that the court

Has passed its resolution, and that, soon 10

As the due forms of judgment are gone through,

The sentence will be sent up to the Doge;

In the mean time the Forty doth salute

The Prince of the Republic, and entreat

His acceptation of their duty.

_Doge_. Yes--

They are wond'rous dutiful, and ever humble.

Sentence is passed, you say?

_Vin_. It is, your Highness:

The President was sealing it, when I

Was called in, that no moment might be lost

In forwarding the intimation due 20

Not only to the Chief of the Republic,

But the complainant, both in one united.

_Ber. F._ Are you aware, from aught you have perceived,

Of their decision?

_Vin_. No, my Lord; you know

The secret custom of the courts in Venice.

_Ber. F._ True; but there still is something given to guess,

Which a shrewd gleaner and quick eye would catch at;

A whisper, or a murmur, or an air

More or less solemn spread o'er the tribunal.

The Forty are but men--most worthy men, 30

And wise, and just, and cautious--this I grant--

And secret as the grave to which they doom

The guilty: but with all this, in their aspects--

At least in some, the juniors of the number--

A searching eye, an eye like yours, Vincenzo,

Would read the sentence ere it was pronounced.

_Vin_. My Lord, I came away upon the moment,

And had no leisure to take note of that

Which passed among the judges, even in seeming;

My station near the accused too, Michel Steno, 40

Made me--

_Doge_ (_abruptly_). And how looked _he_? deliver that.

_Vin_. Calm, but not overcast, he stood resigned

To the decree, whate'er it were;--but lo!

It comes, for the perusal of his Highness.

_Enter the_ SECRETARY _of the Forty_.

_Sec_. The high tribunal of the Forty sends

Health and respect to the Doge Faliero,[da]

Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests

His Highness to peruse and to approve

The sentence passed on Michel Steno, born

Patrician, and arraigned upon the charge 50

Contained, together with its penalty,

Within the rescript which I now present.

_Doge_. Retire, and wait without.

[_Exeunt_ SECRETARY _and_ VINCENZO.]

Take thou this paper:

The misty letters vanish from my eyes;

I cannot fix them.

_Ber. F._ Patience, my dear Uncle:

Why do you tremble thus?--nay, doubt not, all

Will be as could be wished.

_Doge_. Say on.

_Ber. F._ (_reading_). "Decreed

In council, without one dissenting voice,

That Michel Steno, by his own confession,

Guilty on the last night of Carnival 60

Of having graven on the ducal throne

The following words--"[383]

_Doge_. Would'st thou repeat them?

Would'st _thou_ repeat them--_thou_, a Faliero,

Harp on the deep dishonour of our house,

Dishonoured in its Chief--that Chief the Prince

Of Venice, first of cities?--To the sentence.

_Ber. F._ Forgive me, my good Lord; I will obey--

(_Reads_) "That Michel Steno be detained a month

In close arrest."[384]

_Doge_. Proceed.

_Ber. F._ My Lord, 'tis finished.

_Doge_. How say you?--finished! Do I dream?--'tis false-- 70

Give me the paper--(_snatches the paper and reads_)--

"'Tis decreed in council

That Michel Steno"--Nephew, thine arm!

_Ber. F._ Nay,

Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncalled for--

Let me seek some assistance.

_Doge_. Stop, sir--Stir not--

'Tis past.

_Ber. F._ I cannot but agree with you

The sentence is too slight for the offence;

It is not honourable in the Forty

To affix so slight a penalty to that

Which was a foul affront to you, and even

To them, as being your subjects; but 'tis not 80

Yet without remedy: you can appeal

To them once more, or to the Avogadori,

Who, seeing that true justice is withheld,

Will now take up the cause they once declined,

And do you right upon the bold delinquent.

Think you not thus, good Uncle? why do you stand

So fixed? You heed me not:--I pray you, hear me!

_Doge_ (_dashing down the ducal bonnet, and offering to

trample upon it, exclaims, as he is withheld by his nephew_).

Oh! that the Saracen were in St. Mark's!

Thus would I do him homage.

_Ber. F._ For the sake

Of Heaven and all its saints, my Lord--

_Doge_. Away! 90

Oh, that the Genoese were in the port!

Oh, that the Huns whom I o'erthrew at Zara[385]

Were ranged around the palace!

_Ber. F._ 'Tis not well

In Venice' Duke to say so.

_Doge_. Venice' Duke!

Who now is Duke in Venice? let me see him,

That he may do me right.

_Ber. F._ If you forget

Your office, and its dignity and duty.

Remember that of man, and curb this passion.

The Duke of Venice----

_Doge_ (_interrupting him_). There is no such thing--

It is a word--nay, worse--a worthless by-word: 100

The most despised, wronged, outraged, helpless wretch,

Who begs his bread, if 'tis refused by one,

May win it from another kinder heart;

But he, who is denied his right by those

Whose place it is to do no wrong, is poorer

Than the rejected beggar--he's a slave--

And that am I--and thou--and all our house,

Even from this hour; the meanest artisan

Will point the finger, and the haughty noble

May spit upon us:--where is our redress? 110

_Ber. F._ The law, my Prince--

_Doge_ (_interrupting him_). You see what it has done;

I asked no remedy but from the law--[386]

I sought no vengeance but redress by law--

I called no judges but those named by law--

As Sovereign, I appealed unto my subjects,

The very subjects who had made me Sovereign,

And gave me thus a double right to be so.

The rights of place and choice, of birth and service,

Honours and years, these scars, these hoary hairs,

The travel--toil--the perils--the fatigues-- 120

The blood and sweat of almost eighty years,

Were weighed i' the balance, 'gainst the foulest stain,

The grossest insult, most contemptuous crime

Of a rank, rash patrician--and found wanting!

And this is to be borne!

_Ber. F._ I say not that:--

In case your fresh appeal should be rejected,

We will find other means to make all even.

_Doge_. Appeal again! art thou my brother's son?

A scion of the house of Faliero?

The nephew of a Doge? and of that blood 130

Which hath already given three dukes to Venice?

But thou say'st well--we must be humble now.

_Ber. F._ My princely Uncle! you are too much moved;--

I grant it was a gross offence, and grossly

Left without fitting punishment: but still

This fury doth exceed the provocation,

Or any provocation: if we are wronged,

We will ask justice; if it be denied,

We'll take it; but may do all this in calmness--

Deep Vengeance is the daughter of deep Silence. 140

I have yet scarce a third part of your years,

I love our house, I honour you, its Chief,

The guardian of my youth, and its instructor--

But though I understand your grief, and enter

In part of your disdain, it doth appal me

To see your anger, like our Adrian waves,

O'ersweep all bounds, and foam itself to air.

_Doge_. I tell thee--_must_ I tell thee--what thy father

Would have required no words to comprehend?

Hast thou no feeling save the external sense 150

Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soul--

No pride--no passion--no deep sense of honour?

_Ber. F._ 'Tis the first time that honour has been doubted,

And were the last, from any other sceptic.

_Doge_. You know the full offence of this born villain,

This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon,

Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,[db]

And on the honour of--Oh God! my wife,

The nearest, dearest part of all men's honour,

Left a base slur to pass from mouth to mouth 160

Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments,

And villainous jests, and blasphemies obscene;

While sneering nobles, in more polished guise,

Whispered the tale, and smiled upon the lie

Which made me look like them--a courteous wittol,

Patient--aye--proud, it may be, of dishonour.

_Ber. F._ But still it was a lie--you knew it false,

And so did all men.

_Doge_. Nephew, the high Roman

Said, "Cæsar's wife must not even be suspected,"[387]

And put her from him.

_Ber. F._ True--but in those days---- 170

_Doge_. What is it that a Roman would not suffer,

That a Venetian Prince must bear? old Dandolo[dc]

Refused the diadem of all the Cæsars,[388]

And wore the ducal cap _I_ trample on--

Because 'tis now degraded.

_Ber. F._ 'Tis even so.

_Doge_. It is--it is;--I did not visit on

The innocent creature thus most vilely slandered

Because she took an old man for her lord,

For that he had been long her father's friend

And patron of her house, as if there were 180

No love in woman's heart but lust of youth

And beardless faces;--I did not for this

Visit the villain's infamy on her,

But craved my country's justice on his head,

The justice due unto the humblest being

Who hath a wife whose faith is sweet to him,

Who hath a home whose hearth is dear to him--

Who hath a name whose honour's all to him,

When these are tainted by the accursing breath

Of Calumny and Scorn.

_Ber. F._ And what redress 190

Did you expect as his fit punishment?

_Doge_. Death! Was I not the Sovereign of the state--

Insulted on his very throne, and made

A mockery to the men who should obey me?

Was I not injured as a husband? scorned

As man? reviled, degraded, as a Prince?

Was not offence like his a complication

Of insult and of treason?--and he lives!

Had he instead of on the Doge's throne

Stamped the same brand upon a peasant's stool, 200

His blood had gilt the threshold; for the carle

Had stabbed him on the instant.

_Ber. F._ Do not doubt it,

He shall not live till sunset--leave to me

The means, and calm yourself.

_Doge_. Hold, nephew: this

Would have sufficed but yesterday; at present

I have no further wrath against this man.

_Ber. F._ What mean you? is not the offence redoubled

By this most rank--I will not say--acquittal;

For it is worse, being full acknowledgment

Of the offence, and leaving it unpunished? 210

_Doge_. It is _redoubled_, but not now by him:

The Forty hath decreed a month's arrest--

We must obey the Forty.

_Ber. F._ Obey _them_!

Who have forgot their duty to the Sovereign?

_Doge_. Why, yes;--boy, you perceive it then at last;

Whether as fellow citizen who sues

For justice, or as Sovereign who commands it,

They have defrauded me of both my rights

(For here the Sovereign is a citizen);

But, notwithstanding, harm not thou a hair 220

Of Steno's head--he shall not wear it long.

_Ber. F._ Not twelve hours longer, had you left to me

The mode and means; if you had calmly heard me,

I never meant this miscreant should escape,

But wished you to suppress such gusts of passion,

That we more surely might devise together

His taking off.

_Doge_. No, nephew, he must live;

At least, just now--a life so vile as his

Were nothing at this hour; in th' olden time[dd]

Some sacrifices asked a single victim, 230

Great expiations had a hecatomb.

_Ber. F._ Your wishes are my law: and yet I fain

Would prove to you how near unto my heart

The honour of our house must ever be.

_Doge_. Fear not; you shall have time and place of proof:

But be not thou too rash, as I have been.

I am ashamed of my own anger now;

I pray you, pardon me.

_Ber. F._ Why, that's my uncle!

The leader, and the statesman, and the chief

Of commonwealths, and sovereign of himself! 240

I wondered to perceive you so forget

All prudence in your fury at these years,

Although the cause--

_Doge_. Aye--think upon the cause--

Forget it not:--When you lie down to rest,

Let it be black among your dreams; and when

The morn returns, so let it stand between

The Sun and you, as an ill-omened cloud

Upon a summer-day of festival:

So will it stand to me;--but speak not, stir not,--

Leave all to me; we shall have much to do, 250

And you shall have a part.--But now retire,

'Tis fit I were alone.

_Ber. F._ (_taking up and placing the ducal bonnet on the table_).

Ere I depart,

I pray you to resume what you have spurned,

Till you can change it--haply, for a crown!

And now I take my leave, imploring you

In all things to rely upon my duty,

As doth become your near and faithful kinsman,

And not less loyal citizen and subject.

[Exit BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). Adieu, my worthy nephew.--Hollow bauble!

[_Taking up the ducal cap_.

Beset with all the thorns that line a crown, 260

Without investing the insulted brow

With the all-swaying majesty of Kings;

Thou idle, gilded, and degraded toy,

Let me resume thee as I would a vizor. [_Puts it on_.

How my brain aches beneath thee! and my temples

Throb feverish under thy dishonest weight.

Could I not turn thee to a diadem?

Could I not shatter the Briarean sceptre

Which in this hundred-handed Senate rules,

Making the people nothing, and the Prince 270

A pageant? In my life I have achieved

Tasks not less difficult--achieved for them,

Who thus repay me! Can I not requite them?

Oh for one year! Oh! but for even a day

Of my full youth, while yet my body served

My soul as serves the generous steed his lord,

I would have dashed amongst them, asking few

In aid to overthrow these swoln patricians;

But now I must look round for other hands

To serve this hoary head; but it shall plan 280

In such a sort as will not leave the task

Herculean, though as yet 'tis but a chaos

Of darkly brooding thoughts: my fancy is

In her first work, more nearly to the light

Holding the sleeping images of things

For the selection of the pausing judgment.--

The troops are few in----

_Enter_ VINCENZO.

_Vin_. There is one without

Craves audience of your Highness.

_Doge_. I'm unwell--

I can see no one, not even a patrician--

Let him refer his business to the Council. 290

_Vin_. My Lord, I will deliver your reply;

It cannot much import--he's a plebeian,

The master of a galley, I believe.

_Doge_. How! did you say the patron of a galley?[389]

That is--I mean--a servant of the state:

Admit him, he may be on public service.

[_Exit_ VINCENZO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). This patron may be sounded; I will try him.

I know the people to be discontented:

They have cause, since Sapienza's[390] adverse day,

When Genoa conquered: they have further cause, 300

Since they are nothing in the state, and in

The city worse than nothing--mere machines,

To serve the nobles' most patrician pleasure.

The troops have long arrears of pay, oft promised,

And murmur deeply--any hope of change

Will draw them forward: they shall pay themselves

With plunder:--but the priests--I doubt the priesthood

Will not be with us; they have hated me

Since that rash hour, when, maddened with the drone,

I smote the tardy Bishop at Treviso,[391] 310

Quickening his holy march; yet, ne'ertheless,

They may be won, at least their Chief at Rome,

By some well-timed concessions; but, above

All things, I must be speedy: at my hour

Of twilight little light of life remains.

Could I free Venice, and avenge my wrongs,

I had lived too long, and willingly would sleep

Next moment with my sires; and, wanting this,

Better that sixty of my fourscore years

Had been already where--how soon, I care not-- 320

The whole must be extinguished;--better that

They ne'er had been, than drag me on to be

The thing these arch-oppressors fain would make me.

Let me consider--of efficient troops

There are three thousand posted at----

_Enter_ VINCENZO _and_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.

_Vin_. May it please

Your Highness, the same patron whom I spake of

Is here to crave your patience.

_Doge_. Leave the chamber,

Vincenzo.--

[_Exit_ VINCENZO.

Sir, you may advance--what would you?

_I. Ber_. Redress.

_Doge_. Of whom?

_I. Ber_. Of God and of the Doge.

_Doge_. Alas! my friend, you seek it of the twain 330

Of least respect and interest in Venice.

You must address the Council.

_I. Ber_. 'Twere in vain;

For he who injured me is one of them.

_Doge_. There's blood upon thy face--how came it there?

_I. Ber_. 'Tis mine, and not the first I've shed for Venice,

But the first shed by a Venetian hand:

A noble smote me.

_Doge_. Doth he live?

_I. Ber_. Not long--

But for the hope I had and have, that you,

My Prince, yourself a soldier, will redress

Him, whom the laws of discipline and Venice 340

Permit not to protect himself:--if not--

I say no more.

_Doge_. But something you would do--

Is it not so?

_I. Ber_. I am a man, my Lord.

_Doge_. Why so is he who smote you.

_I. Ber_. He is called so;

Nay, more, a noble one--at least, in Venice:

But since he hath forgotten that I am one,

And treats me like a brute, the brute may turn--

'Tis said the worm will.

_Doge_. Say--his name and lineage?

_I. Ber_. Barbaro.

_Doge_. What was the cause? or the pretext?

_I. Ber_. I am the chief of the arsenal,[392] employed 350

At present in repairing certain galleys

But roughly used by the Genoese last year.

This morning comes the noble Barbaro[393]

Full of reproof, because our artisans

Had left some frivolous order of his house,

To execute the state's decree: I dared

To justify the men--he raised his hand;--

Behold my blood! the first time it e'er flowed

Dishonourably.

_Doge_. Have you long time served?

_I. Ber_. So long as to remember Zara's siege, 360

And fight beneath the Chief who beat the Huns there,

Sometime my general, now the Doge Faliero.--

_Doge_. How! are we comrades?--the State's ducal robes

Sit newly on me, and you were appointed

Chief of the arsenal ere I came from Rome;

So that I recognised you not. Who placed you?

_I. Ber_. The late Doge; keeping still my old command

As patron of a galley: my new office

Was given as the reward of certain scars

(So was your predecessor pleased to say): 370

I little thought his bounty would conduct me

To his successor as a helpless plaintiff;

At least, in such a cause.

_Doge_. Are you much hurt?

_I. Ber_. Irreparably in my self-esteem.

_Doge_. Speak out; fear nothing: being stung at heart,

What would you do to be revenged on this man?

_I. Ber_. That which I dare not name, and yet will do.

_Doge_. Then wherefore came you here?

_I. Ber_. I come for justice,

Because my general is Doge, and will not

See his old soldier trampled on. Had any, 380

Save Faliero, filled the ducal throne,

This blood had been washed out in other blood.

_Doge_. You come to me for justice--unto _me!_

The Doge of Venice, and I cannot give it;

I cannot even obtain it--'twas denied

To me most solemnly an hour ago!

_I. Ber_. How says your Highness?

_Doge_. Steno is condemned

To a month's confinement.

_I. Ber_. What! the same who dared

To stain the ducal throne with those foul words,

That have cried shame to every ear in Venice? 390

_Doge_. Aye, doubtless they have echoed o'er the arsenal,

Keeping due time with every hammer's clink,

As a good jest to jolly artisans;

Or making chorus to the creaking oar,

In the vile tune of every galley-slave,

Who, as he sung the merry stave, exulted

_He_ was not a shamed dotard like the Doge.

_I. Ber_. Is't possible? a month's imprisonment!

No more for Steno?

_Doge_. You have heard the offence,

And now you know his punishment; and then 400

You ask redress of _me_! Go to the Forty,

Who passed the sentence upon Michel Steno;

They'll do as much by Barbaro, no doubt.

_I. Ber_. Ah! dared I speak my feelings!

_Doge_. Give them breath.

Mine have no further outrage to endure.

_I. Ber_. Then, in a word, it rests but on your word

To punish and avenge--I will not say

_My_ petty wrong, for what is a mere blow,

However vile, to such a thing as I am?--

But the base insult done your state and person. 410

_Doge_. You overrate my power, which is a pageant.

This Cap is not the Monarch's crown; these robes

Might move compassion, like a beggar's rags;

Nay, more, a beggar's are his own, and these

But lent to the poor puppet, who must play

Its part with all its empire in this ermine.

_I. Ber_. Wouldst thou be King?

_Doge_. Yes--of a happy people.

_I. Ber_. Wouldst thou be sovereign lord of Venice?

_Doge_. Aye,

If that the people shared that sovereignty,

So that nor they nor I were further slaves 420

To this o'ergrown aristocratic Hydra,[394]

The poisonous heads of whose envenomed body

Have breathed a pestilence upon us all.

_I. Ber_. Yet, thou wast born, and still hast lived, patrician.

_Doge_. In evil hour was I so born; my birth

Hath made me Doge to be insulted: but

I lived and toiled a soldier and a servant

Of Venice and her people, not the Senate;

Their good and my own honour were my guerdon.

I have fought and bled; commanded, aye, and conquered; 430

Have made and marred peace oft in embassies,

As it might chance to be our country's 'vantage;

Have traversed land and sea in constant duty,

Through almost sixty years, and still for Venice,

My fathers' and my birthplace, whose dear spires,

Rising at distance o'er the blue Lagoon,

It was reward enough for me to view

Once more; but not for any knot of men,

Nor sect, nor faction, did I bleed or sweat!

But would you know why I have done all this? 440

Ask of the bleeding pelican why she

Hath ripped her bosom? Had the bird a voice,

She'd tell thee 'twas for _all_ her little ones.

_I. Ber_. And yet they made thee Duke.

_Doge_. _They made_ me so;

I sought it not, the flattering fetters met me

Returning from my Roman embassy,

And never having hitherto refused

Toil, charge, or duty for the state, I did not,

At these late years, decline what was the highest

Of all in seeming, but of all most base 450

In what we have to do and to endure:

Bear witness for me thou, my injured subject,

When I can neither right myself nor thee.

_I. Ber_. You shall do both, if you possess the will;

And many thousands more not less oppressed,

Who wait but for a signal--will you give it?

_Doge_. You speak in riddles.

_I. Ber_. Which shall soon be read

At peril of my life--if you disdain not

To lend a patient ear.

_Doge_. Say on.

_I. Ber_. Not thou,

Nor I alone, are injured and abused, 460

Contemned and trampled on; but the whole people

Groan with the strong conception of their wrongs:

The foreign soldiers in the Senate's pay

Are discontented for their long arrears;

The native mariners, and civic troops,

Feel with their friends; for who is he amongst them

Whose brethren, parents, children, wives, or sisters,

Have not partook[395] oppression, or pollution,

From the patricians? And the hopeless war

Against the Genoese, which is still maintained 470

With the plebeian blood, and treasure wrung

From their hard earnings, has inflamed them further:

Even now--but, I forget that speaking thus,

Perhaps I pass the sentence of my death!

_Doge_. And suffering what thou hast done--fear'st thou death?

Be silent then, and live on, to be beaten

By those for whom thou hast bled.

_I. Ber_. No, I will speak

At every hazard; and if Venice' Doge

Should turn delator, be the shame on him,

And sorrow too; for he will lose far more 480

Than I.

_Doge_. From me fear nothing; out with it!

_I. Ber_. Know then, that there are met and sworn in secret

A band of brethren, valiant hearts and true;

Men who have proved all fortunes, and have long

Grieved over that of Venice, and have right

To do so; having served her in all climes,

And having rescued her from foreign foes,

Would do the same from those within her walls.

They are not numerous, nor yet too few

For their great purpose; they have arms, and means, 490

And hearts, and hopes, and faith, and patient courage.

_Doge_. For what then do they pause?

_I. Ber_. An hour to strike.

_Doge_ (_aside_). Saint Mark's shall strike that hour![396]

_I. Ber_. I now have placed

My life, my honour, all my earthly hopes

Within thy power, but in the firm belief

That injuries like ours, sprung from one cause,

Will generate one vengeance: should it be so,

Be our Chief now--our Sovereign hereafter.

_Doge_. How many are ye?

_I. Ber_. I'll not answer that

Till I am answered.

_Doge_. How, sir! do you menace? 500

_I. Ber_. No; I affirm. I have betrayed myself;

But there's no torture in the mystic wells

Which undermine your palace, nor in those

Not less appalling cells, the "leaden roofs,"

To force a single name from me of others.

The Pozzi[397] and the Piombi were in vain;

They might wring blood from me, but treachery never.

And I would pass the fearful "Bridge of Sighs,"

Joyous that mine must be the last that e'er

Would echo o'er the Stygian wave which flows 510

Between the murderers and the murdered, washing

The prison and the palace walls: there are

Those who would live to think on't, and avenge me.

_Doge_. If such your power and purpose, why come here

To sue for justice, being in the course

To do yourself due right?

_I. Ber_. Because the man,

Who claims protection from authority,

Showing his confidence and his submission

To that authority, can hardly be

Suspected of combining to destroy it. 520

Had I sate down too humbly with this blow,

A moody brow and muttered threats had made me

A marked man to the Forty's inquisition;

But loud complaint, however angrily

It shapes its phrase, is little to be feared,

And less distrusted. But, besides all this,

I had another reason.

_Doge_. What was that?

_I. Ber_. Some rumours that the Doge was greatly moved

By the reference of the Avogadori

Of Michel Steno's sentence to the Forty 530

Had reached me. I had served you, honoured you,

And felt that you were dangerously insulted,

Being of an order of such spirits, as

Requite tenfold both good and evil: 'twas

My wish to prove and urge you to redress.

Now you know all; and that I speak the truth,

My peril be the proof.

_Doge_. You have deeply ventured;

But all must do so who would greatly win:

Thus far I'll answer you--your secret's safe.

_I. Ber_. And is this all?

_Doge_. Unless with all intrusted, 540

What would you have me answer?

_I. Ber_. I would have you

Trust him who leaves his life in trust with you.

_Doge_. But I must know your plan, your names, and numbers;

The last may then be doubled, and the former

Matured and strengthened.

_I. Ber_. We're enough already;

You are the sole ally we covet now.

_Doge_. But bring me to the knowledge of your chiefs.

_I. Ber_. That shall be done upon your formal pledge

To keep the faith that we will pledge to you.

_Doge_. When? where?

_I. Ber_. This night I'll bring to your apartment 550

Two of the principals: a greater number

Were hazardous.

_Doge_. Stay, I must think of this.--

What if I were to trust myself amongst you,

And leave the palace?

_I. Ber_. You must come alone.

_Doge_. With but my nephew.

_I. Ber_. Not were he your son!

_Doge_. Wretch! darest thou name my son? He died in arms

At Sapienza[398] for this faithless state.

Oh! that he were alive, and I in ashes!

Or that he were alive ere I be ashes!

I should not need the dubious aid of strangers. 560

_I. Ber_. Not one of all those strangers whom thou doubtest,

But will regard thee with a filial feeling,

So that thou keep'st a father's faith with them.

_Doge_. The die is cast. Where is the place of meeting?

_I. Ber_. At midnight I will be alone and masked

Where'er your Highness pleases to direct me,

To wait your coming, and conduct you where

You shall receive our homage, and pronounce

Upon our project.

_Doge_. At what hour arises

The moon?

_I. Ber_. Late, but the atmosphere is thick and dusky, 570

'Tis a sirocco.

_Doge_. At the midnight hour, then,

Near to the church where sleep my sires;[399] the same,

Twin-named from the apostles John and Paul;

A gondola,[400] with one oar only, will

Lurk in the narrow channel which glides by.

Be there.

_I. Ber_. I will not fail.

_Doge_. And now retire----

_I. Ber_. In the full hope your Highness will not falter

In your great purpose. Prince, I take my leave.

[_Exit_ Isreal Bertuccio.

_Doge_ (_solus_). At midnight, by the church Saints John and Paul,

Where sleep my noble fathers, I repair-- 580

To what? to hold a council in the dark

With common ruffians leagued to ruin states!

And will not my great sires leap from the vault,

Where lie two Doges who preceded me,

And pluck me down amongst them? Would they could!

For I should rest in honour with the honoured.

Alas! I must not think of them, but those

Who have made me thus unworthy of a name

Noble and brave as aught of consular

On Roman marbles; but I will redeem it 590

Back to its antique lustre in our annals,

By sweet revenge on all that's base in Venice,

And freedom to the rest, or leave it black

To all the growing calumnies of Time,

Which never spare the fame of him who fails,

But try the Cæsar, or the Catiline,

By the true touchstone of desert--Success.[401]

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the Ducal Palace_.

ANGIOLINA[402] (_wife of the_ DOGE) _and_ MARIANNA.

_Ang_. What was the Doge's answer?

_Mar_. That he was

That moment summoned to a conference;

But 'tis by this time ended. I perceived

Not long ago the Senators embarking;

And the last gondola may now be seen

Gliding into the throng of barks which stud

The glittering waters.

_Ang_. Would he were returned!

He has been much disquieted of late;

And Time, which has not tamed his fiery spirit,

Nor yet enfeebled even his mortal frame, 10

Which seems to be more nourished by a soul

So quick and restless that it would consume

Less hardy clay--Time has but little power

On his resentments or his griefs. Unlike

To other spirits of his order, who,

In the first burst of passion, pour away

Their wrath or sorrow, all things wear in him

An aspect of Eternity: his thoughts,

His feelings, passions, good or evil, all

Have nothing of old age;[403] and his bold brow 20

Bears but the scars of mind, the thoughts of years,

Not their decrepitude: and he of late

Has been more agitated than his wont.

Would he were come! for I alone have power

Upon his troubled spirit.

_Mar_. It is true,

His Highness has of late been greatly moved

By the affront of Steno, and with cause:

But the offender doubtless even now

Is doomed to expiate his rash insult with

Such chastisement as will enforce respect 30

To female virtue, and to noble blood.

_Ang_. 'Twas a gross insult; but I heed it not

For the rash scorner's falsehood in itself,

But for the effect, the deadly deep impression

Which it has made upon Faliero's soul,

The proud, the fiery, the austere--austere

To all save me: I tremble when I think

To what it may conduct.

_Mar_. Assuredly

The Doge can not suspect you?

_Ang_. Suspect _me!_

Why Steno dared not: when he scrawled his lie, 40

Grovelling by stealth in the moon's glimmering light,

His own still conscience smote him for the act,

And every shadow on the walls frowned shame

Upon his coward calumny.

_Mar_. 'Twere fit

He should be punished grievously.

_Ang_. He is so.

_Mar_. What! is the sentence passed? is he condemned?[de]

_Ang_. I know not that, but he has been detected.

_Mar_. And deem you this enough for such foul scorn?

_Ang_. I would not be a judge in my own cause,

Nor do I know what sense of punishment 50

May reach the soul of ribalds such as Steno;

But if his insults sink no deeper in

The minds of the inquisitors than they

Have ruffled mine, he will, for all acquittance,

Be left to his own shamelessness or shame.

_Mar_. Some sacrifice is due to slandered virtue.

_Ang_. Why, what is virtue if it needs a victim?

Or if it must depend upon men's words?

The dying Roman said, "'twas but a name:"[404]

It were indeed no more, if human breath 60

Could make or mar it.

_Mar_. Yet full many a dame,

Stainless and faithful, would feel all the wrong

Of such a slander; and less rigid ladies,

Such as abound in Venice, would be loud

And all-inexorable in their cry

For justice.

_Ang_. This but proves it is the name

And not the quality they prize: the first

Have found it a hard task to hold their honour,

If they require it to be blazoned forth;

And those who have not kept it, seek its seeming 70

As they would look out for an ornament

Of which they feel the want, but not because

They think it so; they live in others' thoughts,

And would seem honest as they must seem fair.

_Mar_. You have strange thoughts for a patrician dame.

_Ang_. And yet they were my father's; with his name,

The sole inheritance he left.

_Mar_. You want none;

Wife to a Prince, the Chief of the Republic.

_Ang_. I should have sought none though a peasant's bride,

But feel not less the love and gratitude 80

Due to my father, who bestowed my hand

Upon his early, tried, and trusted friend,

The Count Val di Marino, now our Doge.

_Mar_. And with that hand did he bestow your heart?

_Ang_. He did so, or it had not been bestowed.

_Mar_. Yet this strange disproportion in your years,

And, let me add, disparity of tempers,

Might make the world doubt whether such an union

Could make you wisely, permanently happy.

_Ang_. The world will think with worldlings; but my heart 90

Has still been in my duties, which are many,

But never difficult.

_Mar_. And do you love him?

_Ang_. I love all noble qualities which merit

Love, and I loved my father, who first taught me

To single out what we should love in others,

And to subdue all tendency to lend

The best and purest feelings of our nature

To baser passions. He bestowed my hand

Upon Faliero: he had known him noble,

Brave, generous; rich in all the qualities 100

Of soldier, citizen, and friend; in all

Such have I found him as my father said.

His faults are those that dwell in the high bosoms

Of men who have commanded; too much pride,

And the deep passions fiercely fostered by

The uses of patricians, and a life

Spent in the storms of state and war; and also

From the quick sense of honour, which becomes

A duty to a certain sign, a vice

When overstrained, and this I fear in him. 110

And then he has been rash from his youth upwards,

Yet tempered by redeeming nobleness

In such sort, that the wariest of republics

Has lavished all its chief employs upon him,

From his first fight to his last embassy,

From which on his return the Dukedom met him.

_Mar_. But previous to this marriage, had your heart

Ne'er beat for any of the noble youth,

Such as in years had been more meet to match

Beauty like yours? or, since, have you ne'er seen 120

One, who, if your fair hand were still to give,

Might now pretend to Loredano's daughter?

_Ang_. I answered your first question when I said

I married.

_Mar_. And the second?

_Ang_. Needs no answer.

_Mar_. I pray you pardon, if I have offended.

_Ang_. I feel no wrath, but some surprise: I knew not

That wedded bosoms could permit themselves

To ponder upon what they _now_ might choose,

Or aught save their past choice.

_Mar_. 'Tis their past choice

That far too often makes them deem they would 130

Now choose more wisely, could they cancel it.

_Ang_. It may be so. I knew not of such thoughts.

_Mar_. Here comes the Doge--shall I retire?

_Ang_. It may

Be better you should quit me; he seems rapt

In thought.--How pensively he takes his way!

[_Exit_ MARIANNA.

_Enter the_ DOGE _and_ PIETRO.

_Doge_ (_musing_). There is a certain Philip Calendaro

Now in the Arsenal, who holds command

Of eighty men, and has great influence

Besides on all the spirits of his comrades:

This man, I hear, is bold and popular, 140

Sudden and daring, and yet secret; 'twould

Be well that he were won: I needs must hope

That Israel Bertuccio has secured him,

But fain would be----

_Pie_. My Lord, pray pardon me

For breaking in upon your meditation;

The Senator Bertuccio, your kinsman,

Charged me to follow and enquire your pleasure

To fix an hour when he may speak with you.

_Doge_. At sunset.--Stay a moment--let me see--

Say in the second hour of night. [_Exit_ PIETRO.

_Ang_. My Lord! 150

_Doge_. My dearest child, forgive me--why delay

So long approaching me?--I saw you not.

_Ang_. You were absorbed in thought, and he who now

Has parted from you might have words of weight

To bear you from the Senate.

_Doge_. From the Senate?

_Ang_. I would not interrupt him in his duty

And theirs.

_Doge_. The Senate's duty! you mistake;

'Tis we who owe all service to the Senate.

_Ang_. I thought the Duke had held command in Venice.

_Doge_. He shall.--But let that pass.--We will be jocund. 160

How fares it with you? have you been abroad?

The day is overcast, but the calm wave

Favours the gondolier's light skimming oar;

Or have you held a levee of your friends?

Or has your music made you solitary?

Say--is there aught that you would will within

The little sway now left the Duke? or aught

Of fitting splendour, or of honest pleasure,

Social or lonely, that would glad your heart,

To compensate for many a dull hour, wasted 170

On an old man oft moved with many cares?

Speak, and 'tis done.

_Ang_. You're ever kind to me.

I have nothing to desire, or to request,

Except to see you oftener and calmer.

_Doge_. Calmer?

_Ang_. Aye, calmer, my good Lord.--Ah, why

Do you still keep apart, and walk alone,

And let such strong emotions stamp your brow,

As not betraying their full import, yet

Disclose too much?

_Doge_. Disclose too much!--of what?

What is there to disclose?

_Ang_. A heart so ill 180

At ease.

_Doge_. 'Tis nothing, child.--But in the state

You know what daily cares oppress all those

Who govern this precarious commonwealth;

Now suffering from the Genoese without,

And malcontents within--'tis this which makes me

More pensive and less tranquil than my wont.

_Ang_. Yet this existed long before, and never

Till in these late days did I see you thus.

Forgive me; there is something at your heart

More than the mere discharge of public duties, 190

Which long use and a talent like to yours

Have rendered light, nay, a necessity,

To keep your mind from stagnating. 'Tis not

In hostile states, nor perils, thus to shake you,--

You, who have stood all storms and never sunk,

And climbed up to the pinnacle of power

And never fainted by the way, and stand

Upon it, and can look down steadily

Along the depth beneath, and ne'er feel dizzy.

Were Genoa's galleys riding in the port, 200

Were civil fury raging in Saint Mark's,

You are not to be wrought on, but would fall,

As you have risen, with an unaltered brow:

Your feelings now are of a different kind;

Something has stung your pride, not patriotism.

_Doge_. Pride! Angiolina? Alas! none is left me.

_Ang_. Yes--the same sin that overthrew the angels,

And of all sins most easily besets

Mortals the nearest to the angelic nature:

The vile are only vain; the great are proud. 210

_Doge_. I _had_ the pride of honour, of _your_ honour,

Deep at my heart--But let us change the theme.

_Ang_. Ah no!--As I have ever shared your kindness

In all things else, let me not be shut out

From your distress: were it of public import,

You know I never sought, would never seek

To win a word from you; but feeling now

Your grief is private, it belongs to me

To lighten or divide it. Since the day

When foolish Steno's ribaldry detected 220

Unfixed your quiet, you are greatly changed,

And I would soothe you back to what you were.

_Doge_. To what I was!--have you heard Steno's sentence?

_Ang_. No.

_Doge_. A month's arrest.

_Ang_. Is it not enough?

_Doge_. Enough!--yes, for a drunken galley slave,

Who, stung by stripes, may murmur at his master;

But not for a deliberate, false, cool villain,

Who stains a Lady's and a Prince's honour

Even on the throne of his authority.

_Ang_. There seems to be enough in the conviction 230

Of a patrician guilty of a falsehood:

All other punishment were light unto

His loss of honour.

_Doge_. Such men have no honour;

They have but their vile lives--and these are spared.

_Ang_. You would not have him die for this offence?

_Doge_. Not _now_:--being still alive, I'd have him live

Long as _he_ can; he has ceased to merit death;

The guilty saved hath damned his hundred judges,

And he is pure, for now his crime is theirs.

_Ang_. Oh! had this false and flippant libeller 240

Shed his young blood for his absurd lampoon,

Ne'er from that moment could this breast have known

A joyous hour, or dreamless slumber more.

_Doge_. Does not the law of Heaven say blood for blood?

And he who _taints_ kills more than he who sheds it.

Is it the _pain_ of blows, or _shame_ of blows,

That makes such deadly to the sense of man?

Do not the laws of man say blood for honour,--

And, less than honour, for a little gold?

Say not the laws of nations blood for treason? 250

Is't nothing to have filled these veins with poison

For their once healthful current? is it nothing

To have stained your name and mine--the noblest names?

Is't nothing to have brought into contempt

A Prince before his people? to have failed

In the respect accorded by Mankind

To youth in woman, and old age in man?

To virtue in your sex, and dignity

In ours?--But let them look to it who have saved him.

_Ang_. Heaven bids us to forgive our enemies. 260

_Doge_. Doth Heaven forgive her own? Is there not Hell

For wrath eternal?[df][405]

_Ang_. Do not speak thus wildly--[dg]

Heaven will alike forgive you and your foes.

_Doge_. Amen! May Heaven forgive them!

_Ang_. And will you?

_Doge_. Yes, when they are in Heaven!

_Ang_. And not till then?

_Doge_. What matters my forgiveness? an old man's,

Worn out, scorned, spurned, abused; what matters then

My pardon more than my resentment, both

Being weak and worthless? I have lived too long;

But let us change the argument.--My child! 270

My injured wife, the child of Loredano,

The brave, the chivalrous, how little deemed

Thy father, wedding thee unto his friend,

That he was linking thee to shame!--Alas!

Shame without sin, for thou art faultless. Hadst thou

But had a different husband, _any_ husband

In Venice save the Doge, this blight, this brand,

This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee.

So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure,

To suffer this, and yet be unavenged! 280

_Ang_. I am too well avenged, for you still love me,

And trust, and honour me; and all men know

That you are just, and I am true: what more

Could I require, or you command?

_Doge_. 'Tis well,

And may be better; but whate'er betide,

Be thou at least kind to my memory.

_Ang_. Why speak you thus?

_Doge_. It is no matter why;

But I would still, whatever others think,

Have your respect both now and in my grave.

_Ang_. Why should you doubt it? has it ever failed? 290

_Doge_. Come hither, child! I would a word with you.

Your father was my friend; unequal Fortune

Made him my debtor for some courtesies

Which bind the good more firmly: when, oppressed

With his last malady, he willed our union,

It was not to repay me, long repaid

Before by his great loyalty in friendship;

His object was to place your orphan beauty

In honourable safety from the perils,

Which, in this scorpion nest of vice, assail 300

A lonely and undowered maid. I did not

Think with him, but would not oppose the thought

Which soothed his death-bed.

_Ang_. I have not forgotten

The nobleness with which you bade me speak

If my young heart held any preference

Which would have made me happier; nor your offer

To make my dowry equal to the rank

Of aught in Venice, and forego all claim

My father's last injunction gave you.

_Doge_. Thus,

'Twas not a foolish dotard's vile caprice, 310

Nor the false edge of agéd appetite,

Which made me covetous of girlish beauty,

And a young bride: for in my fieriest youth

I swayed such passions; nor was this my age

Infected with that leprosy of lust[406]

Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men,

Making them ransack to the very last

The dregs of pleasure for their vanished joys;

Or buy in selfish marriage some young victim,

Too helpless to refuse a state that's honest, 320

Too feeling not to know herself a wretch.

Our wedlock was not of this sort; you had

Freedom from me to choose, and urged in answer

Your father's choice.

_Ang_. I did so; I would do so

In face of earth and Heaven; for I have never

Repented for my sake; sometimes for yours,

In pondering o'er your late disquietudes.

_Doge_. I knew my heart would never treat you harshly:

I knew my days could not disturb you long;

And then the daughter of my earliest friend, 330

His worthy daughter, free to choose again.

Wealthier and wiser, in the ripest bloom

Of womanhood, more skilful to select

By passing these probationary years,

Inheriting a Prince's name and riches,

Secured, by the short penance of enduring

An old man for some summers, against all

That law's chicane or envious kinsmen might

Have urged against her right; my best friend's child

Would choose more fitly in respect of years, 340

And not less truly in a faithful heart.

_Ang_. My Lord, I looked but to my father's wishes,

Hallowed by his last words, and to my heart

For doing all its duties, and replying

With faith to him with whom I was affianced.

Ambitious hopes ne'er crossed my dreams; and should

The hour you speak of come, it will be seen so.

_Doge_. I do believe you; and I know you true:

For Love--romantic Love--which in my youth

I knew to be illusion, and ne'er saw 350

Lasting, but often fatal, it had been

No lure for me, in my most passionate days,

And could not be so now, did such exist.

But such respect, and mildly paid regard

As a true feeling for your welfare, and

A free compliance with all honest wishes,--

A kindness to your virtues, watchfulness

Not shown, but shadowing o'er such little failings

As Youth is apt in, so as not to check

Rashly, but win you from them ere you knew 360

You had been won, but thought the change your choice;

A pride not in your beauty, but your conduct;

A trust in you; a patriarchal love,

And not a doting homage; friendship, faith,--

Such estimation in your eyes as these

Might claim, I hoped for.

_Ang_. And have ever had.

_Doge_. I think so. For the difference in our years

You knew it choosing me, and chose; I trusted

Not to my qualities, nor would have faith

In such, nor outward ornaments of nature, 370

Were I still in my five and twentieth spring;

I trusted to the blood of Loredano[407]

Pure in your veins; I trusted to the soul

God gave you--to the truths your father taught you--

To your belief in Heaven--to your mild virtues--

To your own faith and honour, for my own.

_Ang_. You have done well.--I thank you for that trust,

Which I have never for one moment ceased

To honour you the more for.

_Doge_. Where is Honour,

Innate and precept-strengthened, 'tis the rock 380

Of faith connubial: where it is not--where

Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities

Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,

Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know

'Twere hopeless for humanity to dream

Of honesty in such infected blood,

Although 'twere wed to him it covets most:

An incarnation of the poet's God

In all his marble-chiselled beauty, or

The demi-deity, Alcides, in 390

His majesty of superhuman Manhood,

Would not suffice to bind where virtue is not;

It is consistency which forms and proves it:

Vice cannot fix, and Virtue cannot change.

The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;

For Vice must have variety, while Virtue

Stands like the Sun, and all which rolls around

Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect.

_Ang_. And seeing, feeling thus this truth in others,

(I pray you pardon me;) but wherefore yield you 400

To the most fierce of fatal passions, and

Disquiet your great thoughts with restless hate

Of such a thing as Steno?

_Doge_. You mistake me.

It is not Steno who could move me thus;

Had it been so, he should--but let that pass.

_Ang_. What is't you feel so deeply, then, even now?

_Doge_. The violated majesty of Venice,

At once insulted in her Lord and laws.

_Ang_. Alas! why will you thus consider it?

_Doge_. I have thought on't till--but let me lead you back 410

To what I urged; all these things being noted,

I wedded you; the world then did me justice

Upon the motive, and my conduct proved

They did me right, while yours was all to praise:

You had all freedom--all respect--all trust

From me and mine; and, born of those who made

Princes at home, and swept Kings from their thrones

On foreign shores, in all things you appeared

Worthy to be our first of native dames.

_Ang_. To what does this conduct?

_Doge_. To thus much--that 420

A miscreant's angry breath may blast it all--

A villain, whom for his unbridled bearing,

Even in the midst of our great festival,

I caused to be conducted forth, and taught

How to demean himself in ducal chambers;

A wretch like this may leave upon the wall

The blighting venom of his sweltering heart,

And this shall spread itself in general poison;

And woman's innocence, man's honour, pass

Into a by-word; and the doubly felon 430

(Who first insulted virgin modesty

By a gross affront to your attendant damsels

Amidst the noblest of our dames in public)

Requite himself for his most just expulsion

By blackening publicly his Sovereign's consort,

And be absolved by his upright compeers.

_Ang_. But he has been condemned into captivity.

_Doge_. For such as him a dungeon were acquittal;

And his brief term of mock-arrest will pass

Within a palace. But I've done with him; 440

The rest must be with you.

_Ang_. With me, my Lord?

_Doge_. Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel; I

Have let this prey upon me till I feel

My life cannot be long; and fain would have you

Regard the injunctions you will find within

This scroll (_giving her a paper_)

----Fear not; they are for your advantage:

Read them hereafter at the fitting hour.

_Ang_. My Lord, in life, and after life, you shall

Be honoured still by me: but may your days

Be many yet--and happier than the present! 450

This passion will give way, and you will be

Serene, and what you should be--what you were.

_Doge_. I will be what I should be, or be nothing;

But never more--oh! never, never more,

O'er the few days or hours which yet await

The blighted old age of Faliero, shall

Sweet Quiet shed her sunset! Never more

Those summer shadows rising from the past

Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life,

Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches, 460

Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest.

I had but little more to ask, or hope,

Save the regards due to the blood and sweat,

And the soul's labour through which I had toiled

To make my country honoured. As her servant--

Her servant, though her chief--I would have gone

Down to my fathers with a name serene

And pure as theirs; but this has been denied me.

Would I had died at Zara!

_Ang_. There you saved

The state; then live to save her still. A day, 470

Another day like that would be the best

Reproof to them, and sole revenge for you.

_Doge_. But one such day occurs within an age;

My life is little less than one, and 'tis

Enough for Fortune to have granted _once_,

That which scarce one more favoured citizen

May win in many states and years. But why

Thus speak I? Venice has forgot that day--

Then why should I remember it?--Farewell,

Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet; 480

There's much for me to do--and the hour hastens.[408]

_Ang_. Remember what you were.

_Doge_. It were in vain!

Joy's recollection is no longer joy,

While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.

_Ang_. At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore

That you will take some little pause of rest:

Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid,

That it had been relief to have awaked you,

Had I not hoped that Nature would o'erpower

At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus. 490

An hour of rest will give you to your toils

With fitter thoughts and freshened strength.

_Doge_. I cannot--

I must not, if I could; for never was

Such reason to be watchful: yet a few--

Yet a few days and dream-perturbéd nights,

And I shall slumber well--but where?--no matter.

Adieu, my Angiolina.

_Ang_. Let me be

An instant--yet an instant your companion!

I cannot bear to leave you thus.

_Doge_. Come then,

My gentle child--forgive me: thou wert made 500

For better fortunes than to share in mine,

Now darkling in their close toward the deep vale

Where Death sits robed in his all-sweeping shadow.[dh]

When I am gone--it may be sooner than

Even these years warrant, for there is that stirring

Within--above--around, that in this city

Will make the cemeteries populous

As e'er they were by pestilence or war,--

When I _am_ nothing, let that which I _was_

Be still sometimes a name on thy sweet lips, 510

A shadow in thy fancy, of a thing

Which would not have thee mourn it, but remember.

Let us begone, my child--the time is pressing.

SCENE II.--_A retired spot near the Arsenal_.

ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO.[409]

_Cal_. How sped you, Israel, in your late complaint?

_I. Ber_. Why, well.

_Cal_. Is't possible! will he be punished?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. With what? a mulct or an arrest?

_I. Ber_. With death!

_Cal_. Now you rave, or must intend revenge,

Such as I counselled you, with your own hand.

_I. Ber_. Yes; and for one sole draught of hate, forego

The great redress we meditate for Venice,

And change a life of hope for one of exile;

Leaving one scorpion crushed, and thousands stinging

My friends, my family, my countrymen! 10

No, Calendaro; these same drops of blood,

Shed shamefully, shall have the whole of his

For their requital----But not only his;

We will not strike for private wrongs alone:

Such are for selfish passions and rash men,

But are unworthy a Tyrannicide.

_Cal_. You have more patience than I care to boast.

Had I been present when you bore this insult,

I must have slain him, or expired myself

In the vain effort to repress my wrath. 20

_I. Ber_. Thank Heaven you were not--all had else been marred:

As 'tis, our cause looks prosperous still.

_Cal_. You saw

The Doge--what answer gave he?

_I. Ber_. That there was

No punishment for such as Barbaro.

_Cal_. I told you so before, and that 'twas idle

To think of justice from such hands.

_I. Ber_. At least,

It lulled suspicion, showing confidence.

Had I been silent, not a Sbirro[410] but

Had kept me in his eye, as meditating

A silent, solitary, deep revenge. 30

_Cal_. But wherefore not address you to the Council?

The Doge is a mere puppet, who can scarce

Obtain right for himself. Why speak to _him_?

_I. Ber_. You shall know that hereafter.

_Cal_. Why not now?

_I. Ber_. Be patient but till midnight. Get your musters,

And bid our friends prepare their companies:

Set all in readiness to strike the blow,

Perhaps in a few hours: we have long waited

For a fit time--that hour is on the dial,

It may be, of to-morrow's sun: delay 40

Beyond may breed us double danger. See

That all be punctual at our place of meeting,

And armed, excepting those of the Sixteen,[411]

Who will remain among the troops to wait

The signal.

_Cal_. These brave words have breathed new life

Into my veins; I am sick of these protracted

And hesitating councils: day on day

Crawled on, and added but another link

To our long fetters, and some fresher wrong

Inflicted on our brethren or ourselves, 50

Helping to swell our tyrants' bloated strength.

Let us but deal upon them, and I care not

For the result, which must be Death or Freedom!

I'm weary to the heart of finding neither.

_I. Ber_. We will be free in Life or Death! the grave

Is chainless. Have you all the musters ready?

And are the sixteen companies completed

To sixty?

_Cal_. All save two, in which there are

Twenty-five wanting to make up the number.

_I. Ber_. No matter; we can do without. Whose are they? 60

_Cal_. Bertram's[412] and old Soranzo's, both of whom

Appear less forward in the cause than we are.

_I. Ber_. Your fiery nature makes you deem all those

Who are not restless cold; but there exists

Oft in concentred spirits not less daring

Than in more loud avengers. Do not doubt them.

_Cat_. I do not doubt the elder; but in Bertram

There is a hesitating softness, fatal

To enterprise like ours: I've seen that man

Weep like an infant o'er the misery 70

Of others, heedless of his own, though greater;

And in a recent quarrel I beheld him

Turn sick at sight of blood, although a villain's.

_I. Ber_. The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes,

And feel for what their duty bids them do.

I have known Bertram long; there doth not breathe

A soul more full of honour.

_Cal_. It may be so:

I apprehend less treachery than weakness;

Yet as he has no mistress, and no wife

To work upon his milkiness of spirit, 80

He may go through the ordeal; it is well

He is an orphan, friendless save in us:

A woman or a child had made him less

Than either in resolve.

_I. Ber_. Such ties are not

For those who are called to the high destinies

Which purify corrupted commonwealths;

We must forget all feelings save the _one_,

We must resign all passions save our purpose,

We must behold no object save our country,

And only look on Death as beautiful, 90

So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven,

And draw down Freedom on her evermore.

_Cal_. But if we fail----[413]

_I. Ber_. They never fail who die

In a great cause: the block may soak their gore:[di]

Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs

Be strung to city gates and castle walls--

But still their Spirit walks abroad. Though years

Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,

They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts

Which overpower all others, and conduct 100

The world at last to Freedom. What were we,

If Brutus had not lived? He died in giving[dj]

Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson--

A name which is a virtue, and a Soul

Which multiplies itself throughout all time,

When wicked men wax mighty, and a state

Turns servile. He and his high friend were styled

"The last of Romans!"[414] Let us be the first

Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires.

_Cal_. Our fathers did not fly from Attila[415] 110

Into these isles, where palaces have sprung

On banks redeemed from the rude ocean's ooze,

To own a thousand despots in his place.

Better bow down before the Hun, and call

A Tartar lord, than these swoln silkworms[416] masters!

The first at least was man, and used his sword

As sceptre: these unmanly creeping things

Command our swords, and rule us with a word

As with a spell.

_I. Ber_. It shall be broken soon.

You say that all things are in readiness; 120

To-day I have not been the usual round,

And why thou knowest; but thy vigilance

Will better have supplied my care: these orders

In recent council to redouble now

Our efforts to repair the galleys, have

Lent a fair colour to the introduction

Of many of our cause into the arsenal,

As new artificers for their equipment,

Or fresh recruits obtained in haste to man

The hoped-for fleet.--Are all supplied with arms? 130

_Cal_. All who were deemed trust-worthy: there are some

Whom it were well to keep in ignorance

Till it be time to strike, and then supply them;

When in the heat and hurry of the hour

They have no opportunity to pause,

But needs must on with those who will surround them.

_I. Ber_. You have said well. Have you remarked all such?

_Cal_. I've noted most; and caused the other chiefs

To use like caution in their companies.

As far as I have seen, we are enough 140

To make the enterprise secure, if 'tis

Commenced to-morrow; but, till 'tis begun,

Each hour is pregnant with a thousand perils.

_I. Ber_. Let the Sixteen meet at the wonted hour,

Except Soranzo, Nicoletto Blondo,

And Marco Giuda, who will keep their watch

Within the arsenal, and hold all ready,

Expectant of the signal we will fix on.

_Cal_. We will not fail.

_I. Ber_. Let all the rest be there;

I have a stranger to present to them. 150

_Cal_. A stranger! doth he know the secret?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. And have you dared to peril your friends' lives

On a rash confidence in one we know not?

_I. Ber_. I have risked no man's life except my own--

Of that be certain: he is one who may

Make our assurance doubly sure, according[417]

His aid; and if reluctant, he no less

Is in our power: he comes alone with me,

And cannot 'scape us; but he will not swerve.

_Cal_. I cannot judge of this until I know him: 160

Is he one of our order?

_I. Ber_. Aye, in spirit,

Although a child of Greatness; he is one

Who would become a throne, or overthrow one--

One who has done great deeds, and seen great changes;

No tyrant, though bred up to tyranny;

Valiant in war, and sage in council; noble

In nature, although haughty; quick, yet wary:

Yet for all this, so full of certain passions,

That if once stirred and baffled, as he has been

Upon the tenderest points, there is no Fury 170

In Grecian story like to that which wrings

His vitals with her burning hands, till he

Grows capable of all things for revenge;

And add too, that his mind is liberal,

He sees and feels the people are oppressed,

And shares their sufferings. Take him all in all,

We have need of such, and such have need of us.

_Cal_. And what part would you have him take with us?

_I. Ber_. It may be, that of Chief.

_Cal_. What! and resign

Your own command as leader?

_I. Ber_. Even so. 180

My object is to make your cause end well,

And not to push myself to power. Experience,

Some skill, and your own choice, had marked me out

To act in trust as your commander, till

Some worthier should appear: if I have found such

As you yourselves shall own more worthy, think you

That I would hesitate from selfishness,

And, covetous of brief authority,

Stake our deep interest on my single thoughts,

Rather than yield to one above me in 190

All leading qualities? No, Calendaro,

Know your friend better; but you all shall judge.

Away! and let us meet at the fixed hour.

Be vigilant, and all will yet go well.

_Cal_. Worthy Bertuccio, I have known you ever

Trusty and brave, with head and heart to plan

What I have still been prompt to execute.

For my own part, I seek no other Chief;

What the rest will decide, I know not, but

I am with YOU, as I have ever been, 200

In all our undertakings. Now farewell,

Until the hour of midnight sees us meet. [_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_Scene, the Space between the Canal and the

Church of San Giovanni e San Paolo. An equestrian Statue

before it.--A Gondola lies in the Canal at some distance._

_Enter the_ DOGE _alone, disguised_.

_Doge_ (_solus_). I am before the hour, the hour whose voice,

Pealing into the arch of night, might strike

These palaces with ominous tottering,

And rock their marbles to the corner-stone,

Waking the sleepers from some hideous dream

Of indistinct but awful augury

Of that which will befall them. Yes, proud city!

Thou must be cleansed of the black blood which makes thee

A lazar-house of tyranny: the task

Is forced upon me, I have sought it not; 10

And therefore was I punished, seeing this

Patrician pestilence spread on and on,

Until at length it smote me in my slumbers,

And I am tainted, and must wash away

The plague spots in the healing wave. Tall fane!

Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow

The floor which doth divide us from the dead,

Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood,

Mouldered into a mite of ashes, hold

In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes, 20

When what is now a handful shook the earth--

Fane of the tutelar saints who guard our house!

Vault where two Doges rest[418]--my sires! who died

The one of toil, the other in the field,

With a long race of other lineal chiefs

And sages, whose great labours, wounds, and state

I have inherited,--let the graves gape,

Till all thine aisles be peopled with the dead,

And pour them from thy portals to gaze on me!

I call them up, and them and thee to witness 30

What it hath been which put me to this task--

Their pure high blood, their blazon-roll of glories,

Their mighty name dishonoured all _in_ me,

Not _by_ me, but by the ungrateful nobles

We fought to make our equals, not our lords:[dk]

And chiefly thou, Ordelafo the brave,

Who perished in the field, where I since conquered,

Battling at Zara, did the hecatombs

Of thine and Venice' foes, there offered up

By thy descendant, merit such acquittance?[dl] 40

Spirits! smile down upon me! for my cause

Is yours, in all life now can be of yours,--

Your fame, your name, all mingled up in mine,

And in the future fortunes of our race!

Let me but prosper, and I make this city

Free and immortal, and our House's name

Worthier of what you were--now and hereafter!

_Enter_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.

_I. Ber_. Who goes there?

_Doge_. A friend to Venice.

_I. Ber_. 'Tis he.

Welcome, my Lord,--you are before the time.

_Doge_. I am ready to proceed to your assembly. 50

_I. Ber_. Have with you.--I am proud and pleased to see

Such confident alacrity. Your doubts

Since our last meeting, then, are all dispelled?

_Doge_. Not so--but I have set my little left[419]

Of life upon this cast: the die was thrown

When I first listened to your treason.--Start not!

_That_ is the word; I cannot shape my tongue

To syllable black deeds into smooth names,

Though I be wrought on to commit them. When

I heard you tempt your Sovereign, and forbore 60

To have you dragged to prison, I became

Your guiltiest accomplice: now you may,

If it so please you, do as much by me.

_I. Ber_. Strange words, my Lord, and most unmerited;

I am no spy, and neither are we traitors.

_Doge_. _We--We!_--no matter--you have earned the right

To talk of _us_.--But to the point.--If this

Attempt succeeds, and Venice, rendered free

And flourishing, when we are in our graves,

Conducts her generations to our tombs, 70

And makes her children with their little hands

Strew flowers o'er her deliverers' ashes, then

The consequence will sanctify the deed,

And we shall be like the two Bruti in

The annals of hereafter; but if not,

If we should fail, employing bloody means

And secret plot, although to a good end,

Still we are traitors, honest Israel;--thou

No less than he who was thy Sovereign

Six hours ago, and now thy brother rebel. 80

_I. Ber_. 'Tis not the moment to consider thus,

Else I could answer.--Let us to the meeting,

Or we may be observed in lingering here.

_Doge_. We _are_ observed, and have been.

_I. Ber_. We observed!

Let me discover--and this steel-----

_Doge_. Put up;

Here are no human witnesses: look there--

What see you?

_I. Ber_. Only a tall warrior's statue[420]

Bestriding a proud steed, in the dim light

Of the dull moon.

_Doge_. That Warrior was the sire

Of my sire's fathers, and that statue was 90

Decreed to him by the twice rescued city:--

Think you that he looks down on us or no?

_I. Ber_. My Lord, these are mere fantasies; there are

No eyes in marble.

_Doge_. But there are in Death.

I tell thee, man, there is a spirit in

Such things that acts and sees, unseen, though felt;

And, if there be a spell to stir the dead,

'Tis in such deeds as we are now upon.

Deem'st thou the souls of such a race as mine

Can rest, when he, their last descendant Chief, 100

Stands plotting on the brink of their pure graves

With stung plebeians?

_I. Ber_. It had been as well

To have pondered this before,--ere you embarked

In our great enterprise.--Do you repent?

_Doge_. No--but I _feel_, and shall do to the last.

I cannot quench a glorious life at once,

Nor dwindle to the thing I now must be,[dm]

And take men's lives by stealth, without some pause:

Yet doubt me not; it is this very feeling,

And knowing _what_ has wrung me to be thus, 110

Which is your best security. There's not

A roused mechanic in your busy plot[dn]

So wronged as I, so fall'n, so loudly called

To his redress: the very means I am forced

By these fell tyrants to adopt is such,

That I abhor them doubly for the deeds

Which I must do to pay them back for theirs.

_I. Ber_. Let us away--hark--the Hour strikes.

_Doge_. On--on--

It is our knell, or that of Venice.--On.

_I. Ber_. Say rather, 'tis her Freedom's rising peal 120

Of Triumph. This way--we are near the place.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The House where the Conspirators meet._

DAGOLINO, DORO, BERTRAM, FEDELE TREVISANO, CALENDARO,

ANTONIO DELLE BENDE, ETC., ETC.

_Cal_. (_entering_). Are all here?

_Dag_. All with you; except the three

On duty, and our leader Israel,

Who is expected momently.

_Cal_. Where's Bertram?

_Ber_. Here!

_Cal_. Have you not been able to complete

The number wanting in your company?

_Ber_. I had marked out some: but I have not dared

To trust them with the secret, till assured

That they were worthy faith.

_Cal_. There is no need

Of trusting to their faith; _who_, save ourselves

And our more chosen comrades, is aware 10

Fully of our intent? they think themselves

Engaged in secret to the Signory,[421]

To punish some more dissolute young nobles

Who have defied the law in their excesses;

But once drawn up, and their new swords well fleshed

In the rank hearts of the more odious Senators,

They will not hesitate to follow up

Their blow upon the others, when they see

The example of their chiefs, and I for one

Will set them such, that they for very shame 20

And safety will not pause till all have perished.

_Ber_. How say you? _all!_

_Cal_. Whom wouldst thou spare?

_Ber_. _I spare?_

I have no power to spare. I only questioned,

Thinking that even amongst these wicked men

There might be some, whose age and qualities

Might mark them out for pity.

_Cal_. Yes, such pity

As when the viper hath been cut to pieces,

The separate fragments quivering in the sun,

In the last energy of venomous life,

Deserve and have. Why, I should think as soon 30

Of pitying some particular fang which made

One in the jaw of the swoln serpent, as

Of saving one of these: they form but links

Of one long chain; one mass, one breath, one body;

They eat, and drink, and live, and breed together,

Revel, and lie, oppress, and kill in concert,--

So let them die as _one!_[do]

_Dag_. Should _one_ survive,

He would be dangerous as the whole; it is not

Their number, be it tens or thousands, but

The spirit of this Aristocracy 40

Which must be rooted out; and if there were

A single shoot of the old tree in life,

'Twould fasten in the soil, and spring again

To gloomy verdure and to bitter fruit.

Bertram, we must be firm!

_Cal_. Look to it well

Bertram! I have an eye upon thee.

_Ber_. Who

Distrusts me?

_Cal_. Not I; for if I did so,

Thou wouldst not now be there to talk of trust:

It is thy softness, not thy want of faith,

Which makes thee to be doubted.

_Ber_. You should know 50

Who hear me, who and what I am; a man

Roused like yourselves to overthrow oppression;

A kind man, I am apt to think, as some

Of you have found me; and if brave or no,

You, Calendaro, can pronounce, who have seen me

Put to the proof; or, if you should have doubts,

I'll clear them on your person!

_Cal_. You are welcome,

When once our enterprise is o'er, which must not

Be interrupted by a private brawl.

_Ber_. I am no brawler; but can bear myself 60

As far among the foe as any he

Who hears me; else why have I been selected

To be of your chief comrades? but no less

I own my natural weakness; I have not

Yet learned to think of indiscriminate murder

Without some sense of shuddering; and the sight

Of blood which spouts through hoary scalps is not

To me a thing of triumph, nor the death

Of man surprised a glory. Well--too well

I know that we must do such things on those 70

Whose acts have raised up such avengers; but

If there were some of these who could be saved

From out this sweeping fate, for our own sakes

And for our honour, to take off some stain

Of massacre, which else pollutes it wholly,

I had been glad; and see no cause in this

For sneer, nor for suspicion!

_Dag_. Calm thee, Bertram,

For we suspect thee not, and take good heart.

It is the cause, and not our will, which asks

Such actions from our hands: we'll wash away 80

All stains in Freedom's fountain!

_Enter_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO, _and the_ DOGE, _disguised_.

_Dag_. Welcome, Israel.

_Consp_. Most welcome.--Brave Bertuccio, thou art late--

Who is this stranger?

_Cal_. It is time to name him.

Our comrades are even now prepared to greet him

In brotherhood, as I have made it known

That thou wouldst add a brother to our cause,

Approved by thee, and thus approved by all,

Such is our trust in all thine actions. Now

Let him unfold himself.

_I. Ber_. Stranger, step forth!

[_The Doge discovers himself_.

_Consp_. To arms!--we are betrayed--it is the Doge! 90

Down with them both! our traitorous captain, and

The tyrant he hath sold us to.

_Cal_. (_drawing his sword_). Hold! hold!

Who moves a step against them dies. Hold! hear

Bertuccio--What! are you appalled to see

A lone, unguarded, weaponless old man

Amongst you?--Israel, speak! what means this mystery?

_I. Ber_. Let them advance and strike at their own bosoms,

Ungrateful suicides! for on our lives

Depend their own, their fortunes, and their hopes.

_Doge_. Strike!--If I dreaded death, a death more fearful 100

Than any your rash weapons can inflict,

I should not now be here: Oh, noble Courage!

The eldest born of Fear, which makes you brave

Against this solitary hoary head!

See the bold chiefs, who would reform a state

And shake down senates, mad with wrath and dread

At sight of one patrician! Butcher me!

You can, I care not.--Israel, are these men

The mighty hearts you spoke of? look upon them!

_Cal_. Faith! he hath shamed us, and deservedly, 110

Was this your trust in your true Chief Bertuccio,

To turn your swords against him and his guest?

Sheathe them, and hear him.

_I. Ber_. I disdain to speak.

They might and must have known a heart like mine

Incapable of treachery; and the power

They gave me to adopt all fitting means

To further their design was ne'er abused.

They might be certain that who e'er was brought

By me into this Council had been led

To take his choice--as brother, or as victim. 120

_Doge_. And which am I to be? your actions leave

Some cause to doubt the freedom of the choice.

_I. Ber_. My Lord, we would have perished here together,

Had these rash men proceeded; but, behold,

They are ashamed of that mad moment's impulse,

And droop their heads; believe me, they are such

As I described them.--Speak to them.

_Cal_. Aye, speak;

We are all listening in wonder.[dp]

_I. Ber_. (_addressing the conspirators_). You are safe,

Nay, more, almost triumphant--listen then,

And know my words for truth.

_Doge_. You see me here, 130

As one of you hath said, an old, unarmed,

Defenceless man; and yesterday you saw me

Presiding in the hall of ducal state,

Apparent Sovereign of our hundred isles,[dq][422]

Robed in official purple, dealing out

The edicts of a power which is not mine,

Nor yours, but of our masters--the patricians.

Why I was there you know, or think you know;

Why I am _here_, he who hath been most wronged,

He who among you hath been most insulted, 140

Outraged and trodden on, until he doubt

If he be worm or no, may answer for me,

Asking of his own heart what brought him here?

You know my recent story, all men know it,

And judge of it far differently from those

Who sate in judgement to heap scorn on scorn.

But spare me the recital--it is here,

Here at my heart the outrage--but my words,

Already spent in unavailing plaints,

Would only show my feebleness the more, 150

And I come here to strengthen even the strong,

And urge them on to deeds, and not to war

With woman's weapons; but I need not urge you.

Our private wrongs have sprung from public vices,

In this--I cannot call it commonwealth,

Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince nor people,

But all the sins of the old Spartan state[dr]

Without its virtues--temperance and valour.

The Lords of Lacedæmon were true soldiers,[ds]

But ours are Sybarites, while we are Helots, 160

Of whom I am the lowest, most enslaved;

Although dressed out to head a pageant, as

The Greeks of yore made drunk their slaves to form

A pastime for their children. You are met

To overthrow this Monster of a state,

This mockery of a Government, this spectre,

Which must be exorcised with blood,--and then

We will renew the times of Truth and Justice,

Condensing in a fair free commonwealth

Not rash equality but equal rights, 170

Proportioned like the columns to the temple,

Giving and taking strength reciprocal,

And making firm the whole with grace and beauty,

So that no part could be removed without

Infringement of the general symmetry.

In operating this great change, I claim

To be one of you--if you trust in me;

If not, strike home,--my life is compromised,

And I would rather fall by freemen's hands

Than live another day to act the tyrant 180

As delegate of tyrants: such I am not,

And never have been--read it in our annals;

I can appeal to my past government

In many lands and cities; they can tell you

If I were an oppressor, or a man

Feeling and thinking for my fellow men.

Haply had I been what the Senate sought,

A thing of robes and trinkets,[423] dizened out

To sit in state as for a Sovereign's picture;

A popular scourge, a ready sentence-signer, 190

A stickler for the Senate and "the Forty,"

A sceptic of all measures which had not

The sanction of "the Ten,"[424] a council-fawner,

A tool--a fool--a puppet,--they had ne'er

Fostered the wretch who stung me. What I suffer

Has reached me through my pity for the people;

That many know, and they who know not yet

Will one day learn: meantime I do devote,

Whate'er the issue, my last days of life--

My present power such as it is, not that 200

Of Doge, but of a man who has been great

Before he was degraded to a Doge,

And still has individual means and mind;

I stake my fame (and I had fame)--my breath--

(The least of all, for its last hours are nigh)

My heart--my hope--my soul--upon this cast!

Such as I am, I offer me to you

And to your chiefs; accept me or reject me,--

A Prince who fain would be a Citizen

Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be so. 210

_Cal_. Long live Faliero!--Venice shall be free!

_Consp_. Long live Faliero!

_I. Ber_. Comrades! did I well?

Is not this man a host in such a cause?

_Doge_. This is no time for eulogies, nor place

For exultation. Am I one of you?

_Cal_. Aye, and the first among us, as thou hast been

Of Venice--be our General and Chief.

_Doge_. Chief!--General!--I was General at Zara,

And Chief in Rhodes and Cyprus,[425] Prince in Venice:

I cannot stoop--that is, I am not fit 220

To lead a band of--patriots: when I lay

Aside the dignities which I have borne,

'Tis not to put on others, but to be

Mate to my fellows--but now to the point:

Israel has stated to me your whole plan--

'Tis bold, but feasible if I assist it,

And must be set in motion instantly.

_Cal_. E'en when thou wilt. Is it not so, my friends?

I have disposed all for a sudden blow;

When shall it be then?

_Doge_. At sunrise.

_Ber_. So soon? 230

_Doge_. So soon?--so late--each hour accumulates

Peril on peril, and the more so now

Since I have mingled with you;--know you not

The Council, and "the Ten?" the spies, the eyes

Of the patricians dubious of their slaves,

And now more dubious of the Prince they have made one?

I tell you, you must strike, and suddenly,

Full to the Hydra's heart--its heads will follow.

_Cal_. With all my soul and sword, I yield assent;

Our companies are ready, sixty each, 240

And all now under arms by Israel's order;

Each at their different place of rendezvous,

And vigilant, expectant of some blow;

Let each repair for action to his post!

And now, my Lord, the signal?

_Doge_. When you hear

The great bell of Saint Mark's, which may not be

Struck without special order of the Doge

(The last poor privilege they leave their Prince),

March on Saint Mark's!

_I. Ber_. And there?--

_Doge_. By different routes

Let your march be directed, every sixty 250

Entering a separate avenue, and still

Upon the way let your cry be of War

And of the Genoese Fleet, by the first dawn

Discerned before the port; form round the palace,

Within whose court will be drawn out in arms

My nephew and the clients of our house,

Many and martial; while the bell tolls on,

Shout ye, "Saint Mark!--the foe is on our waters!"

_Cal_. I see it now--but on, my noble Lord.

_Doge_. All the patricians flocking to the Council, 260

(Which they dare not refuse, at the dread signal

Pealing from out their Patron Saint's proud tower,)

Will then be gathered in unto the harvest,

And we will reap them with the sword for sickle.

If some few should be tardy or absent, them,

'Twill be but to be taken faint and single,

When the majority are put to rest.

_Cal_. Would that the hour were come! we will not scotch,[426]

But kill.

_Ber_. Once more, sir, with your pardon, I

Would now repeat the question which I asked 270

Before Bertuccio added to our cause

This great ally who renders it more sure,

And therefore safer, and as such admits

Some dawn of mercy to a portion of

Our victims--must all perish in this slaughter?

_Cal_. All who encounter me and mine--be sure,

The mercy they have shown, I show.

_Consp_. All! all!

Is this a time to talk of pity? when

Have they e'er shown, or felt, or feigned it?

_I. Ber_. Bertram,

This false compassion is a folly, and 280

Injustice to thy comrades and thy cause!

Dost thou not see, that if we single out

Some for escape, they live but to avenge

The fallen? and how distinguish now the innocent

From out the guilty? all their acts are one--

A single emanation from one body,

Together knit for our oppression! 'Tis

Much that we let their children live; I doubt

If all of these even should be set apart:

The hunter may reserve some single cub 290

From out the tiger's litter, but who e'er

Would seek to save the spotted sire or dam,

Unless to perish by their fangs? however,

I will abide by Doge Faliero's counsel:

Let him decide if any should be saved.

_Doge_. Ask me not--tempt me not with such a question--

Decide yourselves.

_I. Ber_. You know their private virtues

Far better than we can, to whom alone

Their public vices, and most foul oppression,

Have made them deadly; if there be amongst them 300

One who deserves to be repealed, pronounce.

_Doge_. Dolfino's father was my friend, and Lando

Fought by my side, and Marc Cornaro shared[dt][427]

My Genoese embassy: I saved the life[du]

Of Veniero--shall I save it twice?

Would that I could save them and Venice also!

All these men, or their fathers, were my friends

Till they became my subjects; then fell from me

As faithless leaves drop from the o'erblown flower,

And left me a lone blighted thorny stalk, 310

Which, in its solitude, can shelter nothing;

So, as they let me wither, let them perish!

_Cal_. They cannot co-exist with Venice' freedom!

_Doge_. Ye, though you know and feel our mutual mass

Of many wrongs, even ye are ignorant[dv]

What fatal poison to the springs of Life,

To human ties, and all that's good and dear,

Lurks in the present institutes of Venice:

All these men were my friends; I loved them, they

Requited honourably my regards; 320

We served and fought; we smiled and wept in concert;

We revelled or we sorrowed side by side;

We made alliances of blood and marriage;

We grew in years and honours fairly,--till

Their own desire, not my ambition, made

Them choose me for their Prince, and then farewell!

Farewell all social memory! all thoughts

In common! and sweet bonds which link old friendships,

When the survivors of long years and actions,

Which now belong to history, soothe the days 330

Which yet remain by treasuring each other,

And never meet, but each beholds the mirror

Of half a century on his brother's brow,

And sees a hundred beings, now in earth,

Flit round them whispering of the days gone by,

And seeming not all dead, as long as two

Of the brave, joyous, reckless, glorious band,

Which once were one and many, still retain

A breath to sigh for them, a tongue to speak

Of deeds that else were silent, save on marble---- 340

_Oimé Oimé!_[428]--and must I do this deed?

_I. Ber_. My Lord, you are much moved: it is not now

That such things must be dwelt upon.

_Doge_. Your patience

A moment--I recede not: mark with me

The gloomy vices of this government.

From the hour they made me Doge, the _Doge_ they _made_ me--

Farewell the past! I died to all that had been,

Or rather they to me: no friends, no kindness,

No privacy of life--all were cut off:

They came not near me--such approach gave umbrage; 350

They could not love me--such was not the law;

They thwarted me--'twas the state's policy;

They baffled me--'twas a patrician's duty;

They wronged me, for such was to right the state;

They could not right me--that would give suspicion;

So that I was a slave to my own subjects;

So that I was a foe to my own friends;

Begirt with spies for guards, with robes for power,

With pomp for freedom, gaolers for a council,

Inquisitors for friends, and Hell for life! 360

I had only one fount of quiet left,

And _that_ they poisoned! My pure household gods[429]

Were shivered on my hearth, and o'er their shrine

Sate grinning Ribaldry, and sneering Scorn.[dw]

_I. Ber_. You have been deeply wronged, and now shall be

Nobly avenged before another night.

_Doge_. I had borne all--it hurt me, but I bore it--

Till this last running over of the cup

Of bitterness--until this last loud insult,

Not only unredressed, but sanctioned; then, 370

And thus, I cast all further feelings from me--

The feelings which they crushed for me, long, long[dx]

Before, even in their oath of false allegiance!

Even in that very hour and vow, they abjured

Their friend and made a Sovereign, as boys make

_Playthings_, to do their pleasure--and be broken![dy]

I from that hour have seen but Senators

In dark suspicious conflict with the Doge,

Brooding with him in mutual hate and fear;

They dreading he should snatch the tyranny 380

From out their grasp, and he abhorring tyrants.

To me, then, these men have no _private_ life,

Nor claim to ties they have cut off from others;

As Senators for arbitrary acts

Amenable, I look on them--as such

Let them be dealt upon.

_Cal_. And now to action!

Hence, brethren, to our posts, and may this be

The last night of mere words: I'd fain be doing!

Saint Mark's great bell at dawn shall find me wakeful!

_I. Ber_. Disperse then to your posts: be firm and vigilant; 390

Think on the wrongs we bear, the rights we claim.

This day and night shall be the last of peril!

Watch for the signal, and then march. I go

To join my band; let each be prompt to marshal

His separate charge: the Doge will now return

To the palace to prepare all for the blow.

We part to meet in Freedom and in Glory!

_Cal_. Doge, when I greet you next, my homage to you

Shall be the head of Steno on this sword!

_Doge_. No; let him be reserved unto the last, 400

Nor turn aside to strike at such a prey,[dz]

Till nobler game is quarried: his offence

Was a mere ebullition of the vice,

The general corruption generated

By the foul Aristocracy: he could not--

He dared not in more honourable days

Have risked it. I have merged all private wrath

Against him in the thought of our great purpose.

A slave insults me--I require his punishment

From his proud master's hands; if he refuse it, 410

The offence grows his, and let him answer it.

_Cal_. Yet, as the immediate cause of the alliance

Which consecrates our undertaking more,

I owe him such deep gratitude, that fain

I would repay him as he merits; may I?

_Doge_. You would but lop the hand, and I the head;

You would but smite the scholar, I the master;

You would but punish Steno, I the Senate.

I cannot pause on individual hate,

In the absorbing, sweeping, whole revenge, 420

Which, like the sheeted fire from Heaven, must blast

Without distinction, as it fell of yore,

Where the Dead Sea hath quenched two Cities' ashes.

_I. Ber_. Away, then, to your posts! I but remain

A moment to accompany the Doge

To our late place of tryst, to see no spies

Have been upon the scout, and thence I hasten

To where my allotted band is under arms.

_Cal_. Farewell, then,--until dawn!

_I. Ber_. Success go with you!

_Consp_. We will not fail--Away! My Lord, farewell! 430

[_The Conspirators salute the_ DOGE _and_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO,

_and retire, headed by_ PHILIP CALENDARO. _The_ DOGE _and_

ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _remain_.

_I. Ber_. We have them in the toil--it cannot fail!

Now thou'rt indeed a Sovereign, and wilt make

A name immortal greater than the greatest:

Free citizens have struck at Kings ere now;

Cæsars have fallen, and even patrician hands

Have crushed dictators, as the popular steel

Has reached patricians: but, until this hour,

What Prince has plotted for his people's freedom?

Or risked a life to liberate his subjects?

For ever, and for ever, they conspire 440

Against the people, to abuse their hands

To chains, but laid aside to carry weapons

Against the fellow nations, so that yoke

On yoke, and slavery and death may whet,

_Not glut_, the never-gorged Leviathan!

Now, my Lord, to our enterprise;--'tis great,

And greater the reward; why stand you rapt?

A moment back, and you were all impatience!

_Doge_. And is it then decided! must they die?

_I. Ber_. Who?

_Doge_. My own friends by blood and courtesy, 450

And many deeds and days--the Senators?

_I. Ber_. You passed their sentence, and it is a just one.

_Doge_. Aye, so it seems, and so it is to _you_;

You are a patriot, a plebeian Gracchus--[ea]

The rebel's oracle, the people's tribune--

I blame you not--you act in your vocation;[430]

They smote you, and oppressed you, and despised you;

So they have _me_: but _you_ ne'er spake with them;

You never broke their bread, nor shared their salt;

You never had their wine-cup at your lips: 460

You grew not up with them, nor laughed, nor wept,

Nor held a revel in their company;

Ne'er smiled to see them smile, nor claimed their smile

In social interchange for yours, nor trusted

Nor wore them in your heart of hearts, as I have:

These hairs of mine are grey, and so are theirs,

The elders of the Council: I remember

When all our locks were like the raven's wing,

As we went forth to take our prey around

The isles wrung from the false Mahometan; 470

And can I see them dabbled o'er with blood?

Each stab to them will seem my suicide.

_I. Ber_. Doge! Doge! this vacillation is unworthy

A child; if you are not in second childhood,

Call back your nerves to your own purpose, nor

Thus shame yourself and me. By Heavens! I'd rather

Forego even now, or fail in our intent,

Than see the man I venerate subside

From high resolves into such shallow weakness!

You have seen blood in battle, shed it, both 480

Your own and that of others; can you shrink then

From a few drops from veins of hoary vampires,

Who but give back what they have drained from millions?

_Doge_. Bear with me! Step by step, and blow on blow,

I will divide with you; think not I waver:

Ah! no; it is the _certainty_ of all

Which I must do doth make me tremble thus.

But let these last and lingering thoughts have way,

To which you only and the night are conscious,

And both regardless; when the Hour arrives, 490

'Tis mine to sound the knell, and strike the blow,

Which shall unpeople many palaces,

And hew the highest genealogic trees

Down to the earth, strewed with their bleeding fruit,

And crush their blossoms into barrenness:

_This will_ I--must I--have I sworn to do,

Nor aught can turn me from my destiny;

But still I quiver to behold what I

Must be, and think what I have been! Bear with me.

_I. Ber_. Re-man your breast; I feel no such remorse, 500

I understand it not: why should you change?

You acted, and you act, on your free will.

_Doge_. Aye, there it is--_you_ feel not, nor do I,

Else I should stab thee on the spot, to save

A thousand lives--and killing, do no murder;

You _feel_ not--you go to this butcher-work

As if these high-born men were steers for shambles:

When all is over, you'll be free and merry,

And calmly wash those hands incarnadine;

But I, outgoing thee and all thy fellows 510

In this surpassing massacre, shall be,

Shall see and feel--oh God! oh God! 'tis true,

And thou dost well to answer that it was

"My own free will and act," and yet you err,

For I will do this! Doubt not--fear not; I

Will be your most unmerciful accomplice!

And yet I act no more on my free will,

Nor my own feelings--both compel me back;

But there is _Hell_ within me and around,

And like the Demon who believes and trembles 520

Must I abhor and do. Away! away!

Get thee unto thy fellows, I will hie me

To gather the retainers of our house.

Doubt not, St. Mark's great bell shall wake all Venice,

Except her slaughtered Senate: ere the Sun

Be broad upon the Adriatic there

Shall be a voice of weeping, which shall drown

The roar of waters in the cry of blood!

I am resolved--come on.

_I. Ber_. With all my soul!

Keep a firm rein upon these bursts of passion; 530

Remember what these men have dealt to thee,

And that this sacrifice will be succeeded

By ages of prosperity and freedom

To this unshackled city: a true tyrant[eb]

Would have depopulated empires, nor

Have felt the strange compunction which hath wrung you

To punish a few traitors to the people.

Trust me, such were a pity more misplaced

Than the late mercy of the state to Steno.

_Doge_. Man, thou hast struck upon the chord which jars 540

All nature from my heart. Hence to our task!

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_Palazzo of the Patrician_ LIONI.[431] LIONI _laying

aside the mask and cloak which the Venetian Nobles wore in

public, attended by a Domestic_.

_Lioni_. I will to rest, right weary of this revel,

The gayest we have held for many moons,

And yet--I know not why--it cheered me not;

There came a heaviness across my heart,

Which, in the lightest movement of the dance,

Though eye to eye, and hand in hand united

Even with the Lady of my Love, oppressed me,

And through my spirit chilled my blood, until

A damp like Death rose o'er my brow; I strove

To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be; 10

Through all the music ringing in my ears[ec]

A knell was sounding as distinct and clear,

Though low and far, as e'er the Adrian wave

Rose o'er the City's murmur in the night,

Dashing against the outward Lido's bulwark:

So that I left the festival before

It reached its zenith, and will woo my pillow

For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness.

Antonio, take my mask and cloak, and light

The lamp within my chamber.

_Ant_. Yes, my Lord: 20

Command you no refreshment?

_Lioni_. Nought, save sleep,

Which will not be commanded. Let me hope it,

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

Though my breast feels too anxious; I will try

Whether the air will calm my spirits: 'tis

A goodly night; the cloudy wind which blew

From the Levant hath crept into its cave,

And the broad Moon hath brightened. What a stillness!

[_Goes to an open lattice_.

And what a contrast with the scene I left,

Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'

More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls, 30

Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts

Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries

A dazzling mass of artificial light,

Which showed all things, but nothing as they were.

There Age essaying to recall the past,

After long striving for the hues of Youth

At the sad labour of the toilet, and

Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror,

Pranked forth in all the pride of ornament,

Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood 40

Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide,

Believed itself forgotten, and was fooled.

There Youth, which needed not, nor thought of such

Vain adjuncts, lavished its true bloom, and health,

And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press

Of flushed and crowded wassailers, and wasted

Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure,

And so shall waste them till the sunrise streams

On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not

Have worn this aspect yet for many a year.[432] 50

The music, and the banquet, and the wine,

The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers,

The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments,

The white arms and the raven hair, the braids

And bracelets; swanlike bosoms, and the necklace,

An India in itself, yet dazzling not

The eye like what it circled; the thin robes,

Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven;

The many-twinkling feet so small and sylphlike,

Suggesting the more secret symmetry[ed] 60

Of the fair forms which terminate so well--

All the delusion of the dizzy scene,

Its false and true enchantments--Art and Nature,

Which swam before my giddy eyes, that drank

The sight of beauty as the parched pilgrim's

On Arab sands the false mirage, which offers

A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,

Are gone. Around me are the stars and waters--

Worlds mirrored in the Ocean, goodlier sight[ee]

Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass; 70

And the great Element, which is to space

What Ocean is to Earth, spreads its blue depths,

Softened with the first breathings of the spring;

The high Moon sails upon her beauteous way,

Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls

Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces,[ef]

Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,

Fraught with the Orient spoil of many marbles,

Like altars ranged along the broad canal,

Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed 80

Reared up from out the waters, scarce less strangely

Than those more massy and mysterious giants

Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,

Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have

No other record. All is gentle: nought

Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,

Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.

The tinklings of some vigilant guitars

Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,

And cautious opening of the casement, showing 90

That he is not unheard; while her young hand,

Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,

So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice,[433]

To let in love through music, makes his heart

Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight; the dash

Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle

Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,[434]

And the responsive voices of the choir

Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse; 100

Some dusky shadow checkering the Rialto;

Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire,[eg]

Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade

The ocean-born and earth-commanding City--

How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm!

I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away

Those horrid bodements which, amidst the throng,

I could not dissipate: and with the blessing

Of thy benign and quiet influence,

Now will I to my couch, although to rest 110

Is almost wronging such a night as this,----

[_A knocking is heard from without_.

Hark! what is that? or who at such a moment?[eh]

_Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant_. My Lord, a man without, on urgent business,

Implores to be admitted.

_Lioni_. Is he a stranger?[ei]

_Ant_. His face is muffled in his cloak, but both

His voice and gestures seem familiar to me;[ej]

I craved his name, but this he seemed reluctant

To trust, save to yourself; most earnestly

He sues to be permitted to approach you.

_Lioni_. 'Tis a strange hour, and a suspicious bearing! 120

And yet there is slight peril: 'tis not in

Their houses noble men are struck at; still,

Although I know not that I have a foe

In Venice, 'twill be wise to use some caution.

Admit him, and retire; but call up quickly

Some of thy fellows, who may wait without.--

Who can this man be?--

[_Exit_ ANTONIO, _and returns with_ BERTRAM _muffled_.

_Ber_. My good Lord Lioni,

I have no time to lose, nor thou,--dismiss

This menial hence; I would be private with you.

_Lioni_. It seems the voice of Bertram--Go, Antonio. 130

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

Now, stranger, what would you at such an hour?

_Ber_. (_discovering himself_).

A boon, my noble patron; you have granted

Many to your poor client, Bertram; add

This one, and make him happy.

_Lioni_. Thou hast known me

From boyhood, ever ready to assist thee

In all fair objects of advancement, which

Beseem one of thy station; I would promise

Ere thy request was heard, but that the hour,

Thy bearing, and this strange and hurried mode

Of suing, gives me to suspect this visit 140

Hath some mysterious import--but say on--

What has occurred, some rash and sudden broil?--

A cup too much, a scuffle, and a stab?

Mere things of every day; so that thou hast not

Spilt noble blood, I guarantee thy safety;

But then thou must withdraw, for angry friends

And relatives, in the first burst of vengeance,

Are things in Venice deadlier than the laws.

_Ber_. My Lord, I thank you; but----

_Lioni_. But what? You have not

Raised a rash hand against one of our order? 150

If so--withdraw and fly--and own it not;[ek]

I would not slay--but then I must not save thee!

He who has shed patrician blood----

_Ber_. I come

To save patrician blood, and not to shed it!

And thereunto I must be speedy, for

Each minute lost may lose a life; since Time

Has changed his slow scythe for the two-edged sword,

And is about to take, instead of sand,

The dust from sepulchres to fill his hour-glass!--

Go not _thou_ forth to-morrow!

_Lioni_. Wherefore not?-- 160

What means this menace?

_Ber_. Do not seek its meaning,

But do as I implore thee;--stir not forth,

Whate'er be stirring; though the roar of crowds--

The cry of women, and the shrieks of babes--

The groans of men--the clash of arms--the sound

Of rolling drum, shrill trump, and hollow bell,

Peal in one wide alarum l--Go not forth,

Until the Tocsin's silent, nor even then

Till I return!

_Lioni_. Again, what does this mean?

_Ber_. Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all 170

Thou holdest dear on earth or Heaven--by all

The Souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope

To emulate them, and to leave behind

Descendants worthy both of them and thee--

By all thou hast of blessed in hope or memory--

By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter--

By all the good deeds thou hast done to me,

Good I would now repay with greater good,[el]

Remain within--trust to thy household gods,[em]

And to my word for safety, if thou dost, 180

As I now counsel--but if not, thou art lost!

_Lioni_. I am indeed already lost in wonder;

Surely thou ravest! what have _I_ to dread?

Who are my foes? or if there be such, _why_

Art _thou_ leagued with them?--_thou!_ or, if so leagued,

Why comest thou to tell me at this hour,

And not before?

_Ber_. I cannot answer this.

Wilt thou go forth despite of this true warning?

_Lioni_. I was not born to shrink from idle threats,

The cause of which I know not: at the hour 190

Of council, be it soon or late, I shall not

Be found among the absent.

_Ber_. Say not so!

Once more, art thou determined to go forth?

_Lioni_. I am. Nor is there aught which shall impede me!

_Ber_. Then, Heaven have mercy on thy soul!--Farewell!

[_Going_.

_Lioni_. Stay--there is more in this than my own safety

Which makes me call thee back; we must not part thus:

Bertram, I have known thee long.

_Ber_. From childhood, Signor,

You have been my protector: in the days

Of reckless infancy, when rank forgets, 200

Or, rather, is not yet taught to remember

Its cold prerogative, we played together;

Our sports, our smiles, our tears, were mingled oft;

My father was your father's client, I

His son's scarce less than foster-brother; years

Saw us together--happy, heart-full hours!

Oh God! the difference 'twixt those hours and this!

_Lioni_. Bertram, 'tis thou who hast forgotten them.

_Ber_. Nor now, nor ever; whatsoe'er betide,

I would have saved you: when to Manhood's growth 210

We sprung, and you, devoted to the state,

As suits your station, the more humble Bertram

Was left unto the labours of the humble,

Still you forsook me not; and if my fortunes

Have not been towering, 'twas no fault of him

Who ofttimes rescued and supported me,

When struggling with the tides of Circumstance,

Which bear away the weaker: noble blood

Ne'er mantled in a nobler heart than thine

Has proved to me, the poor plebeian Bertram. 220

Would that thy fellow Senators were like thee!

_Lioni_. Why, what hast thou to say against the Senate?[en]

_Ber_. Nothing.

_Lioni_. I know that there are angry spirits

And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,

Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out

Muffled to whisper curses to the night;

Disbanded soldiers, discontented ruffians,

And desperate libertines who brawl in taverns;

_Thou_ herdest not with such: 'tis true, of late

I have lost sight of thee, but thou wert wont 230

To lead a temperate life, and break thy bread

With honest mates, and bear a cheerful aspect.

What hath come to thee? in thy hollow eye

And hueless cheek, and thine unquiet motions,

Sorrow and Shame and Conscience seem at war

To waste thee.

_Ber_. Rather Shame and Sorrow light

On the accurséd tyranny which rides[eo]

The very air in Venice, and makes men

Madden as in the last hours of the plague

Which sweeps the soul deliriously from life! 240

_Lioni_. Some villains have been tampering with thee, Bertram;

This is not thy old language, nor own thoughts;

Some wretch has made thee drunk with disaffection:

But thou must not be lost so; thou _wert_ good

And kind, and art not fit for such base acts

As Vice and Villany would put thee to:

Confess--confide in me--thou know'st my nature.

What is it thou and thine are bound to do,

Which should prevent thy friend, the only son

Of him who was a friend unto thy father, 250

So that our good-will is a heritage

We should bequeath to our posterity

Such as ourselves received it, or augmented;

I say, what is it thou must do, that I

Should deem thee dangerous, and keep the house

Like a sick girl?

_Ber_. Nay, question me no further:

I must be gone.----

_Lioni_. And I be murdered!--say,

Was it not thus thou said'st, my gentle Bertram?

_Ber_. Who talks of murder? what said I of murder?

Tis false! I did not utter such a word. 260

_Lioni_. Thou didst not; but from out thy wolfish eye,

So changed from what I knew it, there glares forth

The gladiator. If _my_ life's thine object,

Take it--I am unarmed,--and then away!

I would not hold my breath on such a tenure[ep]

As the capricious mercy of such things

As thou and those who have set thee to thy task-work.

_Ber_. Sooner than spill thy blood, I peril mine;

Sooner than harm a hair of thine, I place

In jeopardy a thousand heads, and some 270

As noble, nay, even nobler than thine own.

_Lioni_. Aye, is it even so? Excuse me, Bertram;

I am not worthy to be singled out

From such exalted hecatombs--who are they

That _are_ in danger, and that _make_ the danger?

_Ber_. Venice, and all that she inherits, are

Divided like a house against itself,

And so will perish ere to-morrow's twilight!

_Lioni_. More mysteries, and awful ones! But now,

Or thou, or I, or both, it may be, are 280

Upon the verge of ruin; speak once out,

And thou art safe and glorious: for 'tis more

Glorious to save than slay, and slay i' the dark too--

Fie, Bertram! that was not a craft for thee!

How would it look to see upon a spear

The head of him whose heart was open to thee!

Borne by thy hand before the shuddering people?

And such may be my doom; for here I swear,

Whate'er the peril or the penalty

Of thy denunciation, I go forth, 290

Unless thou dost detail the cause, and show

The consequence of all which led thee here!

_Ber_. Is there no way to save thee? minutes fly,

And thou art lost!--_thou_! my sole benefactor,

The only being who was constant to me

Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor!

Let me save thee--but spare my honour!

_Lioni_. Where

Can lie the honour in a league of murder?

And who are traitors save unto the State?

_Ber_. A league is still a compact, and more binding 300

In honest hearts when words must stand for law;

And in my mind, there is no traitor like

He whose domestic treason plants the poniard[435]

Within the breast which trusted to his truth.

Lioni. And who will strike the steel to mine?

_Ber_. Not I;

I could have wound my soul up to all things

Save this. _Thou_ must not die! and think how dear

Thy life is, when I risk so many lives,

Nay, more, the Life of lives, the liberty

Of future generations, _not_ to be 310

The assassin thou miscall'st me:--once, once more

I do adjure thee, pass not o'er thy threshold!

_Lioni_. It is in vain--this moment I go forth.

_Ber_. Then perish Venice rather than my friend!

I will disclose--ensnare--betray--destroy--

Oh, what a villain I become for thee!

_Lioni_. Say, rather thy friend's saviour and the State's!--

Speak--pause not--all rewards, all pledges for

Thy safety and thy welfare; wealth such as

The State accords her worthiest servants; nay, 330

Nobility itself I guarantee thee,

So that thou art sincere and penitent.

_Ber_. I have thought again: it must not be--I love thee--

Thou knowest it--that I stand here is the proof,

Not least though last; but having done my duty

By thee, I now must do it by my country!

Farewell--we meet no more in life!--farewell!

_Lioni_. What, ho!--Antonio--Pedro--to the door!

See that none pass--arrest this man!----

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and other armed Domestics, who seize_ BERTRAM.

_Lioni_ (_continues_). Take care

He hath no harm; bring me my sword and cloak, 330

And man the gondola with four oars--quick--

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

We will unto Giovanni Gradenigo's,

And send for Marc Cornaro:--fear not, Bertram;

This needful violence is for thy safety,

No less than for the general weal.

_Ber_. Where wouldst thou

Bear me a prisoner?

_Lioni_. Firstly to "the Ten;"

Next to the Doge.

_Ber_. To the Doge?

_Lioni_. Assuredly:

Is he not Chief of the State?

_Ber_. Perhaps at sunrise--

_Lioni_. What mean you?--but we'll know anon.

_Ber_. Art sure?

_Lioni_. Sure as all gentle means can make; and if 340

They fail, you know "the Ten" and their tribunal,

And that St. Mark's has dungeons, and the dungeons

A rack.

_Ber_. Apply it then before the dawn

Now hastening into heaven.--One more such word,

And you shall perish piecemeal, by the death

You think to doom to me.

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant_. The bark is ready,

My Lord, and all prepared.

_Lioni_. Look to the prisoner.

Bertram, I'll reason with thee as we go

To the Magnifico's, sage Gradenigo. [_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The Ducal Palace_--_The Doge's Apartment_.

_The_ DOGE _and his Nephew_ BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_. Are all the people of our house in muster?

_Ber. F._ They are arrayed, and eager for the signal,

Within our palace precincts at San Polo:[436]

I come for your last orders.

_Doge_. It had been

As well had there been time to have got together,

From my own fief, Val di Marino, more

Of our retainers--but it is too late.

_Ber. F._ Methinks, my Lord,'tis better as it is:

A sudden swelling of our retinue

Had waked suspicion; and, though fierce and trusty, 10

The vassals of that district are too rude

And quick in quarrel to have long maintained

The secret discipline we need for such

A service, till our foes are dealt upon.

_Doge_. True; but when once the signal has been given,

_These_ are the men for such an enterprise;

These city slaves have all their private bias,

Their prejudice _against_ or _for_ this noble,

Which may induce them to o'erdo or spare

Where mercy may be madness; the fierce peasants, 20

Serfs of my county of Val di Marino,

Would do the bidding of their lord without

Distinguishing for love or hate his foes;

Alike to them Marcello or Cornaro,

A Gradenigo or a Foscari;[eq]

They are not used to start at those vain names,

Nor bow the knee before a civic Senate;

A chief in armour is their Suzerain,

And not a thing in robes.

_Ber. F._ We are enough;

And for the dispositions of our clients 30

Against the Senate I will answer.

_Doge_. Well,

The die is thrown; but for a warlike service,

Done in the field, commend me to my peasants:

They made the sun shine through the host of Huns

When sallow burghers slunk back to their tents,

And cowered to hear their own victorious trumpet.

If there be small resistance, you will find

These Citizens all Lions, like their Standard;[437]

But if there's much to do, you'll wish, with me,

A band of iron rustics at our backs. 40

_Ber_. Thus thinking, I must marvel you resolve

To strike the blow so suddenly.

_Doge_. Such blows

Must be struck suddenly or never. When

I had o'ermastered the weak false remorse

Which yearned about my heart, too fondly yielding

A moment to the feelings of old days,

I was most fain to strike; and, firstly, that

I might not yield again to such emotions;

And, secondly, because of all these men,

Save Israel and Philip Calendaro, 50

I know not well the courage or the faith:

To-day might find 'mongst them a traitor to us,

As yesterday a thousand to the Senate;

But once in, with their hilts hot in their hands,

They must _on_ for their own sakes; one stroke struck,

And the mere instinct of the first-born Cain,

Which ever lurks somewhere in human hearts,

Though Circumstance may keep it in abeyance,

Will urge the rest on like to wolves; the sight

Of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, 60

As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel;

And you will find a harder task to quell

Than urge them when they _have_ commenced, but _till_

That moment, a mere voice, a straw, a shadow,

Are capable of turning them aside.--

How goes the night?

_Ber. F._ Almost upon the dawn.

_Doge_. Then it is time to strike upon the bell.

Are the men posted?

_Ber. F._ By this time they are;

But they have orders not to strike, until

They have command from you through me in person. 70

_Doge_. 'Tis well.--Will the morn never put to rest

These stars which twinkle yet o'er all the heavens?

I am settled and bound up, and being so,

The very effort which it cost me to

Resolve to cleanse this Commonwealth with fire,

Now leaves my mind more steady. I have wept,

And trembled at the thought of this dread duty;

But now I have put down all idle passion,

And look the growing tempest in the face,

As doth the pilot of an Admiral Galley:[438] 80

Yet (wouldst thou think it, kinsman?) it hath been

A greater struggle to me, than when nations

Beheld their fate merged in the approaching fight,

Where I was leader of a phalanx, where

Thousands were sure to perish--Yes, to spill

The rank polluted current from the veins

Of a few bloated despots needed more

To steel me to a purpose such as made

Timoleon immortal,[439] than to face

The toils and dangers of a life of war. 90

_Ber. F._ It gladdens me to see your former wisdom

Subdue the furies which so wrung you ere

You were decided.

_Doge_. It was ever thus

With me; the hour of agitation came

In the first glimmerings of a purpose, when

Passion had too much room to sway; but in

The hour of action I have stood as calm

As were the dead who lay around me: this

They knew who made me what I am, and trusted

To the subduing power which I preserved 100

Over my mood, when its first burst was spent.

But they were not aware that there are things

Which make revenge a virtue by reflection,

And not an impulse of mere anger; though

The laws sleep, Justice wakes, and injured souls

Oft do a public right with private wrong,

And justify their deeds unto themselves.--

Methinks the day breaks--is it not so? look,

Thine eyes are clear with youth;--the air puts on

A morning freshness, and, at least to me, 110

The sea looks greyer through the lattice.

_Ber. F._ True,

The morn is dappling in the sky.[er][440]

_Doge_. Away then!

See that they strike without delay, and with

The first toll from St. Mark's, march on the palace

With all our House's strength; here I will meet you;

The Sixteen and their companies will move

In separate columns at the self-same moment:

Be sure you post yourself at the great Gate:

I would not trust "the Ten" except to us--

The rest, the rabble of patricians, may 120

Glut the more careless swords of those leagued with us.

Remember that the cry is still "Saint Mark!

The Genoese are come--ho! to the rescue!

Saint Mark and Liberty!"--Now--now to action![es]

_Ber. F._ Farewell then, noble Uncle! we will meet

In freedom and true sovereignty, or never!

_Doge_. Come hither, my Bertuccio--one embrace;

Speed, for the day grows broader; send me soon

A messenger to tell me how all goes

When you rejoin our troops, and then sound--sound 130

The storm-bell from St. Mark's![et]

[_Exit_ BERTUCCIO FALIERO.

_Doge_ (_solus_). He is gone,

And on each footstep moves a life. 'Tis done.[441]

Now the destroying Angel hovers o'er

Venice, and pauses ere he pours the vial,

Even as the eagle overlooks his prey,

And for a moment, poised in middle air,

Suspends the motion of his mighty wings,

Then swoops with his unerring beak.[442] Thou Day!

That slowly walk'st the waters! march--march on--

I would not smite i' the dark, but rather see 140

That no stroke errs. And you, ye blue sea waves!

I have seen you dyed ere now, and deeply too,

With Genoese, Saracen, and Hunnish gore,

While that of Venice flowed too, but victorious:

Now thou must wear an unmixed crimson; no

Barbaric blood can reconcile us now

Unto that horrible incarnadine,

But friend or foe will roll in civic slaughter.

And have I lived to fourscore years[443] for this?

I, who was named Preserver of the City? 150

I, at whose name the million's caps were flung[eu]

Into the air, and cries from tens of thousands

Rose up, imploring Heaven to send me blessings,

And fame, and length of days--to see this day?

But this day, black within the calendar,

Shall be succeeded by a bright millennium.

Doge Dandolo survived to ninety summers

To vanquish empires, and refuse their crown;[444]

I will resign a crown, and make the State

Renew its freedom--but oh! by what means? 160

The noble end must justify them. What

Are a few drops of human blood? 'tis false,

The blood of tyrants is not human; they,

Like to incarnate Molochs, feed on ours,

Until 'tis time to give them to the tombs

Which they have made so populous.--Oh World!

Oh Men! what are ye, and our best designs,

That we must work by crime to punish crime?

And slay as if Death had but this one gate,

When a few years would make the sword superfluous? 170

And I, upon the verge of th' unknown realm,

Yet send so many heralds on before me?--

I must not ponder this. [_A pause._

Hark! was there not

A murmur as of distant voices, and

The tramp of feet in martial unison?

What phantoms even of sound our wishes raise!

It cannot be--the signal hath not rung--

Why pauses it? My nephew's messenger

Should be upon his way to me, and he

Himself perhaps even now draws grating back 180

Upon its ponderous hinge the steep tower portal,

Where swings the sullen huge oracular bell,[ev]

Which never knells but for a princely death,

Or for a state in peril, pealing forth

Tremendous bodements; let it do its office,

And be this peal its awfullest and last

Sound till the strong tower rock!--What! silent still?

I would go forth, but that my post is here,

To be the centre of re-union to

The oft discordant elements which form 190

Leagues of this nature, and to keep compact

The wavering of the weak, in case of conflict;

For if they should do battle,'twill be here,

Within the palace, that the strife will thicken:

Then here must be my station, as becomes

The master-mover.--Hark! he comes--he comes,

My nephew, brave Bertuccio's messenger.--

What tidings? Is he marching? hath he sped?

_They_ here!-all's lost-yet will I make an effort.

_Enter a_ SIGNOR OF THE NIGHT,[445] _with Guards, etc., etc._

_Sig_. Doge, I arrest thee of high treason!

_Doge_. Me! 200

Thy Prince, of treason?--Who are they that dare

Cloak their own treason under such an order?

_Sig_. (_showing his order_).

Behold my order from the assembled Ten.

_Doge_. And _where_ are they, and _why_ assembled? no

Such Council can be lawful, till the Prince

Preside there, and that duty's mine:[446] on thine

I charge thee, give me way, or marshal me

To the Council chamber.

_Sig_. Duke! it may not be:

Nor are they in the wonted Hall of Council,

But sitting in the convent of Saint Saviour's. 210

_Doge_. You dare to disobey me, then?

_Sig_. I serve

The State, and needs must serve it faithfully;

My warrant is the will of those who rule it.

_Doge_. And till that warrant has my signature

It is illegal, and, as _now_ applied,

Rebellious. Hast thou weighed well thy life's worth,

That thus you dare assume a lawless function?[ew]

_Sig_. 'Tis not my office to reply, but act--

I am placed here as guard upon thy person,

And not as judge to hear or to decide. 220

_Doge_ (_aside_).

I must gain time. So that the storm-bell sound,[ex][447]

All may be well yet. Kinsman, speed--speed--speed!--

Our fate is trembling in the balance, and

Woe to the vanquished! be they Prince and people,

Or slaves and Senate--

[_The great bell of St. Mark's tolls._

Lo! it sounds--it tolls!

_Doge_ (_aloud_).

Hark, Signor of the Night! and you, ye hirelings,

Who wield your mercenary staves in fear,

It is your knell.--Swell on, thou lusty peal!

Now, knaves, what ransom for your lives?

_Sig_. Confusion!

Stand to your arms, and guard the door--all's lost 230

Unless that fearful bell be silenced soon.

The officer hath missed his path or purpose,

Or met some unforeseen and hideous obstacle,[ey]

Anselmo, with thy company proceed

Straight to the tower; the rest remain with me.

[_Exit part of the Guard._

_Doge_. Wretch! if thou wouldst have thy vile life, implore it;

It is not now a lease of sixty seconds.

Aye, send thy miserable ruffians forth;

They never shall return.

_Sig_. So let it be!

They die then in their duty, as will I. 240

_Doge_. Fool! the high eagle flies at nobler game

Than thou and thy base myrmidons,--live on,

So thou provok'st not peril by resistance,

And learn (if souls so much obscured can bear

To gaze upon the sunbeams) to be free.

_Sig_. And learn thou to be captive. It hath ceased,

[_The bell ceases to toll_.

The traitorous signal, which was to have set

The bloodhound mob on their patrician prey--

The knell hath rung, but it is not the Senate's!

_Doge_ (_after a pause_).

All's silent, and all's lost!

_Sig_. Now, Doge, denounce me 250

As rebel slave of a revolted Council!

Have I not done my duty?

_Doge_. Peace, thou thing!

Thou hast done a worthy deed, and earned the price

Of blood, and they who use thee will reward thee.

But thou wert sent to watch, and not to prate,

As thou said'st even now--then do thine office,

But let it be in silence, as behoves thee,

Since, though thy prisoner, I am thy Prince.

_Sig_. I did not mean to fail in the respect

Due to your rank: in this I shall obey you. 260

_Doge_ (_aside_). There now is nothing left me save to die;

And yet how near success! I would have fallen,

And proudly, in the hour of triumph, but

To miss it thus!----

_Enter other_ SIGNORS OF THE NIGHT, _with_

BERTUCCIO FALIERO _prisoner_.

_2nd Sig_. We took him in the act

Of issuing from the tower, where, at his order,

As delegated from the Doge, the signal

Had thus begun to sound.

_1st Sig_. Are all the passes

Which lead up to the palace well secured?

_2nd Sig_. They are--besides, it matters not; the Chiefs

Are all in chains, and some even now on trial-- 270

Their followers are dispersed, and many taken.

_Ber. F._ Uncle!

_Doge_. It is in vain to war with Fortune;

The glory hath departed from our house.

_Ber. F._ Who would have deemed it?--Ah! one moment sooner!

_Doge_. That moment would have changed the face of ages;

_This_ gives us to Eternity--We'll meet it

As men whose triumph is not in success,

But who can make their own minds all in all,

Equal to every fortune. Droop not,'tis

But a brief passage--I would go alone, 280

Yet if they send us, as 'tis like, together,

Let us go worthy of our sires and selves.

_Ber. F._ I shall not shame you, Uncle.

_1st Sig_. Lords, our orders

Are to keep guard on both in separate chambers,

Until the Council call ye to your trial.

_Doge_. Our trial! will they keep their mockery up

Even to the last? but let them deal upon us,

As we had dealt on them, but with less pomp.

'Tis but a game of mutual homicides,

Who have cast lots for the first death, and they 290

Have won with false dice.--Who hath been our Judas?

_1st Sig_. I am not warranted to answer that.

_Ber. F._ I'll answer for thee--'tis a certain Bertram,

Even now deposing to the secret Giunta.

_Doge_. Bertram, the Bergamask! With what vile tools[448]

We operate to slay or save! This creature,

Black with a double treason, now will earn

Rewards and honours, and be stamped in story

With the geese in the Capitol, which gabbled

Till Rome awoke, and had an annual triumph, 300

While Manlius, who hurled down the Gauls, was cast[ez]

From the Tarpeian.

_1st Sig_. He aspired to treason,

And sought to rule the State.

_Doge_. He saved the State,

And sought but to reform what he revived--

But this is idle--Come, sirs, do your work.

_1st Sig_. Noble Bertuccio, we must now remove you

Into an inner chamber.

_Ber. F._ Farewell, Uncle!

If we shall meet again in life I know not,

But they perhaps will let our ashes mingle.

_Doge_. Yes, and our spirits, which shall yet go forth, 310

And do what our frail clay, thus clogged, hath failed in!

They cannot quench the memory of those

Who would have hurled them from their guilty thrones,

And such examples will find heirs, though distant.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.--_The Hall of the Council of Ten assembled with the additional

Senators, who, on the Trials of the Conspirators for the Treason of_

MARINO FALIERO, _composed what was called the Giunta,--Guards, Officers,

etc., etc._ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO _as Prisoners_.

BERTRAM, LIONI, _and Witnesses, etc._

_The Chief of the Ten_, BENINTENDE.[fa][449]

_Ben_. There now rests, after such conviction of

Their manifold and manifest offences,

But to pronounce on these obdurate men

The sentence of the Law:--a grievous task

To those who hear, and those who speak. Alas!

That it should fall to me! and that my days

Of office should be stigmatised through all

The years of coming time, as bearing record

To this most foul and complicated treason

Against a just and free state, known to all 10

The earth as being the Christian bulwark 'gainst

The Saracen and the schismatic Greek,

The savage Hun, and not less barbarous Frank;

A City which has opened India's wealth

To Europe; the last Roman refuge from

O'erwhelming Attila; the Ocean's Queen;

Proud Genoa's prouder rival! 'Tis to sap

The throne of such a City, these lost men

Have risked and forfeited their worthless lives--

So let them die the death.

_I. Ber_. We are prepared; 20

Your racks have done that for us. Let us die.

_Ben_. If ye have that to say which would obtain

Abatement of your punishment, the Giunta

Will hear you; if you have aught to confess,

Now is your time,--perhaps it may avail ye.

_I. Ber_. We stand to hear, and not to speak.

_Ben_. Your crimes

Are fully proved by your accomplices,

And all which Circumstance can add to aid them;

Yet we would hear from your own lips complete

Avowal of your treason: on the verge 30

Of that dread gulf which none repass, the truth

Alone can profit you on earth or Heaven--

Say, then, what was your motive?

_I. Ber_. Justice![fb]

_Ben_. What

Your object?

_I. Ber_. Freedom!

_Ben_. You are brief, sir.

_I. Ber_. So my life grows: I

Was bred a soldier, not a senator.

_Ben_. Perhaps you think by this blunt brevity

To brave your judges to postpone the sentence?

_I. Ber_. Do you be brief as I am, and believe me,

I shall prefer that mercy to your pardon. 40

_Ben_. Is this your sole reply to the Tribunal?

_I. Ber_. Go, ask your racks what they have wrung from us,

Or place us there again; we have still some blood left,

And some slight sense of pain in these wrenched limbs:

But this ye dare not do; for if we die there--

And you have left us little life to spend

Upon your engines, gorged with pangs already--

Ye lose the public spectacle, with which

You would appal your slaves to further slavery!

Groans are not words, nor agony assent, 50

Nor affirmation Truth, if Nature's sense

Should overcome the soul into a lie,

For a short respite--must we bear or die?

_Ben_. Say, who were your accomplices?

_I. Ber_. The Senate.

_Ben_. What do you mean?

_I. Ber_. Ask of the suffering people,

Whom your patrician crimes have driven to crime.

_Ben_. You know the Doge?

_I. Ber_. I served with him at Zara

In the field, when _you_ were pleading here your way

To present office; we exposed our lives,

While you but hazarded the lives of others, 60

Alike by accusation or defence;

And for the rest, all Venice knows her Doge,

Through his great actions, and the Senate's insults.

_Ben_. You have held conference with him?

_I. Ber_. I am weary--

Even wearier of your questions than your tortures:

I pray you pass to judgment.

_Ben_. It is coming.

And you, too, Philip Calendaro, what

Have you to say why you should not be doomed?

_Cal_. I never was a man of many words,

And now have few left worth the utterance. 70

_Ben_. A further application of yon engine

May change your tone.

_Cal_. Most true, it _will_ do so;

A former application did so; but

It will not change my words, or, if it did--

_Ben_. What then?

_Cal_. Will my avowal on yon rack

Stand good in law?

_Ben_. Assuredly.

_Cal_. Whoe'er

The culprit be whom I accuse of treason?

_Ben_. Without doubt, he will be brought up to trial.

_Cal_. And on this testimony would he perish?

_Ben_. So your confession be detailed and full, 80

He will stand here in peril of his life.

_Cal_. Then look well to thy proud self, President!

For by the Eternity which yawns before me,

I swear that _thou_, and only thou, shall be

The traitor I denounce upon that rack,

If I be stretched there for the second time.

_One of the Giunta_. Lord President,'twere best proceed to judgment;

There is no more to be drawn from these men.[fc]

_Ben_. Unhappy men! prepare for instant death.

The nature of your crime--our law--and peril 90

The State now stands in, leave not an hour's respite.

Guards! lead them forth, and upon the balcony

Of the red columns, where, on festal Thursday,[450]

The Doge stands to behold the chase of bulls,

Let them be justified: and leave exposed

Their wavering relics, in the place of judgment,

To the full view of the assembled people!

And Heaven have mercy on their souls!

_The Giunta_. Amen!

_I. Ber_. Signors, farewell! we shall not all again

Meet in one place.

_Ben_. And lest they should essay 100

To stir up the distracted multitude--

Guards! let their mouths be gagged[451] even in the act

Of execution. Lead them hence!

_Cal_. What! must we

Not even say farewell to some fond friend,

Nor leave a last word with our confessor?

_Ben_. A priest is waiting in the antechamber;

But, for your friends, such interviews would be

Painful to them, and useless all to you.

_Cal_. I knew that we were gagged in life; at least

All those who had not heart to risk their lives 110

Upon their open thoughts; but still I deemed

That in the last few moments, the same idle

Freedom of speech accorded to the dying,

Would not now be denied to us; but since----

_I. Ber_. Even let them have their way, brave Calendaro!

What matter a few syllables? let's die

Without the slightest show of favour from them;

So shall our blood more readily arise

To Heaven against them, and more testify

To their atrocities, than could a volume 120

Spoken or written of our dying words!

They tremble at our voices--nay, they dread

Our very silence--let them live in fear!

Leave them unto their thoughts, and let us now

Address our own above!--Lead on; we are ready.

_Cal_. Israel, hadst thou but hearkened unto me

It had not now been thus; and yon pale villain,

The coward Bertram, would----

_I. Ber_. Peace, Calendaro!

What brooks it now to ponder upon this?

_Bert_. Alas! I fain you died in peace with me: 130

I did not seek this task; 'twas forced upon me:

Say, you forgive me, though I never can

Retrieve my own forgiveness--frown not thus!

_I. Ber_. I die and pardon thee!

_Cal_. (_spitting at him_).[452] I die and scorn thee!

[_Exeunt_ ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO, _Guards, etc_.

_Ben_. Now that these criminals have been disposed of,

'Tis time that we proceed to pass our sentence

Upon the greatest traitor upon record

In any annals, the Doge Faliero!

The proofs and process are complete; the time

And crime require a quick procedure: shall 140

He now be called in to receive the award?

_The Giunta_. Aye, aye.

_Ben_. Avogadori, order that the Doge

Be brought before the Council.

_One of the Giunta_. And the rest,

When shall they be brought up?

_Ben_. When all the Chiefs

Have been disposed of. Some have fled to Chiozza;

But there are thousands in pursuit of them,

And such precaution ta'en on terra firma,

As well as in the islands, that we hope

None will escape to utter in strange lands

His libellous tale of treasons 'gainst the Senate. 150

_Enter the_ DOGE _as Prisoner, with Guards, etc., etc._

_Ben_. Doge--for such still you are, and by the law

Must be considered, till the hour shall come

When you must doff the Ducal Bonnet from

That head, which could not wear a crown more noble

Than Empires can confer, in quiet honour,

But it must plot to overthrow your peers,

Who made you what you are, and quench in blood

A City's glory--we have laid already

Before you in your chamber at full length,

By the Avogadori, all the proofs 160

Which have appeared against you; and more ample

Ne'er reared their sanguinary shadows to

Confront a traitor. What have you to say

In your defence?

_Doge_. What shall I say to ye,

Since my defence must be your condemnation?

You are at once offenders and accusers,

Judges and Executioners!--Proceed

Upon your power.

_Ben_. Your chief accomplices

Having confessed, there is no hope for you.

_Doge_. And who be they?

_Ben_. In number many; but 170

The first now stands before you in the court,

Bertram of Bergamo,--would you question him?

_Doge_ (_looking at him contemptuously_). No.

_Ben_. And two others, Israel Bertuccio,

And Philip Calendaro, have admitted

Their fellowship in treason with the Doge!

_Doge_. And where are they?

_Ben_. Gone to their place, and now

Answering to Heaven for what they did on earth.

_Doge_. Ah! the plebeian Brutus, is he gone?

And the quick Cassius of the arsenal?--

How did they meet their doom?

_Ben_. Think of your own: 180

It is approaching. You decline to plead, then?[fd]

_Doge_. I cannot plead to my inferiors, nor

Can recognise your legal power to try me.

Show me the law!

_Ben_. On great emergencies,

The law must be remodelled or amended:

Our fathers had not fixed the punishment

Of such a crime, as on the old Roman tables

The sentence against parricide was left

In pure forgetfulness; they could not render

That penal, which had neither name nor thought 190

In their great bosoms; who would have foreseen

That Nature could be filed to such a crime[453]

As sons 'gainst sires, and princes 'gainst their realms?

Your sin hath made us make a law which will

Become a precedent 'gainst such haught traitors,

As would with treason mount to tyranny;

Not even contented with a sceptre, till

They can convert it to a two-edged sword!

Was not the place of Doge sufficient for ye?

What's nobler than the signory[454] of Venice? 200

_Doge_. The signory of Venice! You betrayed me--

_You--you_, who sit there, traitors as ye are!

From my equality with you in birth,

And my superiority in action,

You drew me from my honourable toils

In distant lands--on flood, in field, in cities--

_You_ singled me out like a victim to

Stand crowned, but bound and helpless, at the altar

Where you alone could minister. I knew not,

I sought not, wished not, dreamed not the election, 210

Which reached me first at Rome, and I obeyed;

But found on my arrival, that, besides

The jealous vigilance which always led you

To mock and mar your Sovereign's best intents,

You had, even in the interregnum[455] of

My journey to the capital, curtailed

And mutilated the few privileges

Yet left the Duke: all this I bore, and would

Have borne, until my very hearth was stained

By the pollution of your ribaldry, 220

And he, the ribald, whom I see amongst you--

Fit judge in such tribunal!----

_Ben_. (_interrupting him_). Michel Steno

Is here in virtue of his office, as

One of the Forty; "the Ten" having craved

A Giunta of patricians from the Senate

To aid our judgment in a trial arduous

And novel as the present: he was set

Free from the penalty pronounced upon him,

Because the Doge, who should protect the law,

Seeking to abrogate all law, can claim 230

No punishment of others by the statutes

Which he himself denies and violates!

_Doge_. _His_ punishment! I rather see him _there_,

Where he now sits, to glut him with my death,

Than in the mockery of castigation,

Which your foul, outward, juggling show of justice

Decreed as sentence! Base as was his crime,

'Twas purity compared with your protection.

_Ben_. And can it be, that the great Doge of Venice,

With three parts of a century of years 240

And honours on his head, could thus allow

His fury, like an angry boy's, to master

All Feeling, Wisdom, Faith and Fear, on such

A provocation as a young man's petulance?

_Doge_. A spark creates the flame--'tis the last drop

Which makes the cup run o'er, and mine was full

Already: you oppressed the Prince and people;

I would have freed both, and have failed in both:

The price of such success would have been glory,

Vengeance, and victory, and such a name 250

As would have made Venetian history

Rival to that of Greece and Syracuse

When they were freed, and flourished ages after,

And mine to Gelon and to Thrasybulus:[456]

Failing, I know the penalty of failure

Is present infamy and death--the future

Will judge, when Venice is no more, or free;

Till then, the truth is in abeyance. Pause not;

I would have shown no mercy, and I seek none;

My life was staked upon a mighty hazard, 260

And being lost, take what I would have taken!

I would have stood alone amidst your tombs:

Now you may flock round mine, and trample on it,

As you have done upon my heart while living.[457]

_Ben_. You do confess then, and admit the justice

Of our Tribunal?

_Doge_. I confess to have failed;

Fortune is female: from my youth her favours

Were not withheld, the fault was mine to hope

Her former smiles again at this late hour.

_Ben_. You do not then in aught arraign our equity? 270

_Doge_. Noble Venetians! stir me not with questions.

I am resigned to the worst; but in me still

Have something of the blood of brighter days,

And am not over-patient. Pray you, spare me

Further interrogation, which boots nothing,

Except to turn a trial to debate.

I shall but answer that which will offend you,

And please your enemies--a host already;

'Tis true, these sullen walls should yield no echo:

But walls have ears--nay, more, they have tongues; and if 280

There were no other way for Truth to o'erleap them,[fe]

You who condemn me, you who fear and slay me,

Yet could not bear in silence to your graves

What you would hear from me of Good or Evil;

The secret were too mighty for your souls:

Then let it sleep in mine, unless you court

A danger which would double that you escape.

Such my defence would be, had I full scope

To make it famous; for true _words_ are _things_,

And dying men's are things which long outlive, 290

And oftentimes avenge them; bury mine,

If ye would fain survive me: take this counsel,

And though too oft ye make me live in wrath,

Let me die calmly; you may grant me this;

I deny nothing--defend nothing--nothing

I ask of you, but silence for myself,

And sentence from the Court!

_Ben_. This full admission

Spares us the harsh necessity of ordering

The torture to elicit the whole truth.[ff]

_Doge_. The torture! you have put me there already, 300

Daily since I was Doge; but if you will

Add the corporeal rack, you may: these limbs

Will yield with age to crushing iron; but

There's that within my heart shall strain your engines.

_Enter an_ OFFICER.

_Officer_. Noble Venetians! Duchess Faliero[fg]

Requests admission to the Giunta's presence.

_Ben_. Say, Conscript Fathers,[458] shall she be admitted?

_One of the Giunta_. She may have revelations of importance

Unto the state, to justify compliance

With her request.

_Ben_. Is this the general will? 310

_All_. It is.

_Doge_. Oh, admirable laws of Venice!

Which would admit the wife, in the full hope

That she might testify against the husband.

What glory to the chaste Venetian dames!

But such blasphemers 'gainst all Honour, as

Sit here, do well to act in their vocation.

Now, villain Steno! if this woman fail,

I'll pardon thee thy lie, and thy escape,

And my own violent death, and thy vile life.

_The_ DUCHESS _enters_.

_Ben_. Lady! this just Tribunal has resolved, 320

Though the request be strange, to grant it, and

Whatever be its purport, to accord

A patient hearing with the due respect

Which fits your ancestry, your rank, and virtues:

But you turn pale--ho! there, look to the Lady!

Place a chair instantly.

_Ang_. A moment's faintness--

'Tis past; I pray you pardon me,--I sit not

In presence of my Prince and of my husband,

While he is on his feet.

_Ben_. Your pleasure, Lady?

_Ang_. Strange rumours, but most true, if all I hear 330

And see be sooth, have reached me, and I come

To know the worst, even at the worst; forgive

The abruptness of my entrance and my bearing.

Is it--I cannot speak--I cannot shape

The question--but you answer it ere spoken,

With eyes averted, and with gloomy brows--

Oh God! this is the silence of the grave!

_Ben_. (_after a pause_). Spare us, and spare thyself the repetition

Of our most awful, but inexorable

Duty to Heaven and man!

_Ang_. Yet speak; I cannot-- 340

I cannot--no--even now believe these things.

Is _he_ condemned?

_Ben_. Alas!

_Ang_. And was he guilty?

_Ben_. Lady! the natural distraction of

Thy thoughts at such a moment makes the question

Merit forgiveness; else a doubt like this

Against a just and paramount tribunal

Were deep offence. But question even the Doge,

And if he can deny the proofs, believe him

Guiltless as thy own bosom.

_Ang_. Is it so?

My Lord, my Sovereign, my poor father's friend, 350

The mighty in the field, the sage in Council,

Unsay the words of this man!--thou art silent!

_Ben_. He hath already owned to his own guilt,[fh]

Nor, as thou see'st, doth he deny it now.

_Ang_. Aye, but he must not die! Spare his few years,

Which Grief and Shame will soon cut down to days!

One day of baffled crime must not efface

Near sixteen lustres crowned with brave acts.

_Ben_. His doom must be fulfilled without remission

Of time or penalty--'tis a decree. 360

_Ang_. He hath been guilty, but there may be mercy.

_Ben_. Not in this case with justice.

_Ang_. Alas! Signor,

He who is only just is cruel; who

Upon the earth would live were all judged justly?

_Ben_. His punishment is safety to the State.

_Ang_. He was a subject, and hath served the State;

He was your General, and hath saved the State;

He is your Sovereign, and hath ruled the State.[fi]

_One of the Council_. He is a traitor, and betrayed the State.

_Ang_. And, but for him, there now had been no State 370

To save or to destroy; and you, who sit

There to pronounce the death of your deliverer,

Had now been groaning at a Moslem oar,

Or digging in the Hunnish mines in fetters!

_One of the Council_. No, Lady, there are others who would die

Rather than breathe in slavery!

_Ang_. If there are so

Within _these_ walls, _thou_ art not of the number:

The truly brave are generous to the fallen!--

Is there no hope?

_Ben_. Lady, it cannot be.

_Ang_. (_turning to the Doge_).

Then die, Faliero! since it must be so; 380

But with the spirit of my father's friend.

Thou hast been guilty of a great offence,

Half cancelled by the harshness of these men.

I would have sued to them, have prayed to them.

Have begged as famished mendicants for bread,

Have wept as they will cry unto their God

For mercy, and be answered as they answer,--

Had it been fitting for thy name or mine,

And if the cruelty in their cold eyes

Had not announced the heartless wrath within. 390

Then, as a Prince, address thee to thy doom!

_Doge_. I have lived too long not to know how to die!

Thy suing to these men were but the bleating

Of the lamb to the butcher, or the cry

Of seamen to the surge: I would not take

A life eternal, granted at the hands

Of wretches, from whose monstrous villanies

I sought to free the groaning nations!

_Michel Steno_. Doge,

A word with thee, and with this noble lady,

Whom I have grievously offended. Would 400

Sorrow, or shame, or penance on my part,

Could cancel the inexorable past!

But since that cannot be, as Christians let us

Say farewell, and in peace: with full contrition

I crave, not pardon, but compassion from you,

And give, however weak, my prayers for both.

_Ang_. Sage Benintende, now chief Judge of Venice,

I speak to thee in answer to yon Signor.

Inform the ribald Steno, that his words

Ne'er weighed in mind with Loredano's daughter, 410

Further than to create a moment's pity

For such as he is: would that others had

Despised him as I pity! I prefer

My honour to a thousand lives, could such

Be multiplied in mine, but would not have

A single life of others lost for that

Which nothing human can impugn--the sense

Of Virtue, looking not to what is called

A good name for reward, but to itself.

To me the scorner's words were as the wind 420

Unto the rock: but as there are--alas!

Spirits more sensitive, on which such things

Light as the Whirlwind on the waters; souls

To whom Dishonour's shadow is a substance

More terrible than Death, here and hereafter;

Men whose vice is to start at Vice's scoffing,

And who, though proof against all blandishments

Of pleasure, and all pangs of Pain, are feeble

When the proud name on which they pinnacled

Their hopes is breathed on, jealous as the eagle 430

Of her high aiery;[459] let what we now[fj]

Behold, and feel, and suffer, be a lesson

To wretches how they tamper in their spleen

With beings of a higher order. Insects

Have made the lion mad ere now; a shaft

I' the heel o'erthrew the bravest of the brave;

A wife's Dishonour was the bane of Troy;

A wife's Dishonour unkinged Rome for ever;

An injured husband brought the Gauls to Clusium,

And thence to Rome, which perished for a time; 440

An obscene gesture cost Caligula[460]

His life, while Earth yet bore his cruelties;

A virgin's wrong made Spain a Moorish province;

And Steno's lie, couched in two worthless lines,

Hath decimated Venice, put in peril

A Senate which hath stood eight hundred years,

Discrowned a Prince, cut off his crownless head,

And forged new fetters for a groaning people!

Let the poor wretch, like to the courtesan[461]

Who fired Persepolis, be proud of this, 450

If it so please him--'twere a pride fit for him!

But let him not insult the last hours of

Him, who, whate'er he now is, _was_ a Hero,

By the intrusion of his very prayers;

Nothing of good can come from such a source,

Nor would we aught with him, nor now, nor ever:

We leave him to himself, that lowest depth

Of human baseness. Pardon is for men,

And not for reptiles--we have none for Steno,

And no resentment: things like him must sting, 460

And higher beings suffer; 'tis the charter

Of Life. The man who dies by the adder's fang

May have the crawler crushed, but feels no anger:

'Twas the worm's nature; and some men are worms

In soul, more than the living things of tombs.[462]

_Doge_ (_to Ben._).

Signor! complete that which you deem your duty.[fk]

_Ben_. Before we can proceed upon that duty,

We would request the Princess to withdraw;

'Twill move her too much to be witness to it.

_Ang_. I know it will, and yet I must endure it, 470

For 'tis a part of mine--I will not quit,

Except by force, my husband's side--Proceed!

Nay, fear not either shriek, or sigh, or tear;

Though my heart burst, it shall be silent.--Speak!

I have that within which shall o'ermaster all.

_Ben_. Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice,

Count of Val di Marino, Senator,

And some time General of the Fleet and Army,

Noble Venetian, many times and oft

Intrusted by the state with high employments, 480

Even to the highest, listen to the sentence.

Convict by many witnesses and proofs,

And by thine own confession, of the guilt

Of Treachery and Treason, yet unheard of[fl]

Until this trial--the decree is Death--

Thy goods are confiscate unto the State,

Thy name is razed from out her records, save

Upon a public day of thanksgiving

For this our most miraculous deliverance,[fm]

When thou art noted in our calendars 490

With earthquakes, pestilence, and foreign foes,

And the great Enemy of man, as subject

Of grateful masses for Heaven's grace in snatching

Our lives and country from thy wickedness.

The place wherein as Doge thou shouldst be painted

With thine illustrious predecessors, is

To be left vacant, with a death-black veil

Flung over these dim words engraved beneath,--

"This place is of Marino Faliero,

Decapitated for his crimes."[463]

_Doge_. "His _crimes_!"[464]500

But let it be so:--it will be in vain.

The veil which blackens o'er this blighted name,

And hides, or seems to hide, these lineaments,

Shall draw more gazers than the thousand portraits

Which glitter round it in their pictured trappings--

_Your_ delegated slaves--the people's tyrants!

"Decapitated for his crimes!"--_What_ crimes?

Were it not better to record the facts,

So that the contemplator might approve,

Or at the least learn _whence_ the crimes arose? 510

When the beholder knows a Doge conspired,

Let him be told the cause--it is your history.

_Ben_. Time must reply to that; our sons will judge

Their fathers' judgment, which I now pronounce.

As Doge, clad in the ducal robes and Cap,

Thou shalt be led hence to the Giants' Staircase,

Where thou and all our Princes are invested;

And there, the Ducal Crown being first resumed

Upon the spot where it was first assumed,

Thy head shall be struck off; and Heaven have mercy 520

Upon thy soul!

_Doge_. Is this the Giunta's sentence?

_Ben_. It is.

_Doge_. I can endure it.--And the time?

_Ben_. Must be immediate.--Make thy peace with God:

Within an hour thou must be in His presence.

_Doge_. I am _already_; and my blood will rise

To Heaven before the souls of those who shed it.

Are all my lands confiscated?[465]

_Ben_. They are;

And goods, and jewels, and all kind of treasure,

Except two thousand ducats--these dispose of.

_Doge_. That's harsh.--I would have fain reserved the lands 530

Near to Treviso, which I hold by investment

From Laurence the Count-bishop of Ceneda,[fn]

In fief perpetual to myself and heirs,

To portion them (leaving my city spoil,

My palace and my treasures, to your forfeit)

Between my consort and my kinsmen.

_Ben_. These

Lie under the state's ban--their Chief, thy nephew,

In peril of his own life; but the Council

Postpones his trial for the present. If

Thou will'st a state unto thy widowed Princess, 540

Fear not, for we will do her justice.

_Ang_. Signors,

I share not in your spoil! From henceforth, know

I am devoted unto God alone,

And take my refuge in the cloister.

_Doge_. Come!

The hour may be a hard one, but 'twill end.

Have I aught else to undergo save Death?[fo]

_Ben_. You have nought to do, except confess and die.

The priest is robed, the scimitar is bare,

And both await without.--But, above all,

Think not to speak unto the people; they 550

Are now by thousands swarming at the gates,

But these are closed: the Ten, the Avogadori,

The Giunta, and the chief men of the Forty,

Alone will be beholders of thy doom,

And they are ready to attend the Doge.

_Doge_. The Doge!

_Ben_. Yes, Doge, thou hast lived and thou shalt die

A Sovereign; till the moment which precedes

The separation of that head and trunk,

That ducal crown and head shall be united.

Thou hast forgot thy dignity in deigning 560

To plot with petty traitors; not so we,

Who in the very punishment acknowledge

The Prince. Thy vile accomplices have died

The dog's death, and the wolf's; but them shall fall

As falls the lion by the hunters, girt

By those who feel a proud compassion for thee,

And mourn even the inevitable death

Provoked by thy wild wrath, and regal fierceness.

Now we remit thee to thy preparation:

Let it be brief, and we ourselves will be 570

Thy guides unto the place where first we were

United to thee as thy subjects, and

Thy Senate; and must now be parted from thee

As such for ever, on the self-same spot.

Guards! form the Doge's escort to his chamber.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The Doge's Apartment_.

_The_ DOGE _as Prisoner, and the_ DUCHESS _attending him_.

_Doge_. Now, that the priest is gone, 'twere useless all

To linger out the miserable minutes;

But one pang more, the pang of parting from thee,

And I will leave the few last grains of sand,

Which yet remain of the accorded hour,

Still falling--I have done with Time.

_Ang_. Alas!

And I have been the cause, the unconscious cause;

And for this funeral marriage, this black union,

Which thou, compliant with my father's wish,

Didst promise at _his_ death, thou hast sealed thine own. 10

_Doge_. Not so: there was that in my spirit ever

Which shaped out for itself some great reverse;

The marvel is, it came not until now--

And yet it was foretold me.

_Ang_. How foretold you?

_Doge_. Long years ago--so long, they are a doubt[466]

In memory, and yet they live in annals:

When I was in my youth, and served the Senate

And Signory as Podesta and Captain

Of the town of Treviso, on a day

Of festival, the sluggish Bishop who 20

Conveyed the Host aroused my rash young anger,

By strange delay, and arrogant reply

To my reproof: I raised my hand and smote him,

Until he reeled beneath his holy burthen;[fp]

And as he rose from earth again, he raised

His tremulous hands in pious wrath towards Heaven.

Thence pointing to the Host, which had fallen from him,

He turned to me, and said, "The Hour will come

When he thou hast o'erthrown shall overthrow thee:

The Glory shall depart from out thy house, 30

The Wisdom shall be shaken from thy soul,

And in thy best maturity of Mind

A madness of the heart shall seize upon thee;[fq]

Passion shall tear thee when all passions cease

In other men, or mellow into virtues;

And Majesty which decks all other heads,

Shall crown to leave thee headless; honours shall

But prove to thee the heralds of Destruction,

And hoary hairs of Shame, and both of Death,

But not such death as fits an agéd man."40

Thus saying, he passed on.--That Hour is come.

_Ang_. And with this warning couldst thou not have striven

To avert the fatal moment, and atone,

By penitence, for that which thou hadst done?

_Doge_. I own the words went to my heart, so much

That I remembered them amid the maze

Of Life, as if they formed a spectral voice,

Which shook me in a supernatural dream;

And I repented; but 'twas not for me

To pull in resolution:[467] what must be 50

I could not change, and would not fear.--Nay more,

Thou can'st not have forgot, what all remember,

That on my day of landing here as Doge,[468]

On my return from Rome, a mist of such

Unwonted density went on before

The Bucentaur, like the columnar cloud

Which ushered Israel out of Egypt, till

The pilot was misled, and disembarked us

Between the Pillars of Saint Mark's, where 'tis

The custom of the state to put to death 60

Its criminals, instead of touching at

The Riva della Paglia, as the wont is,--

So that all Venice shuddered at the omen.

_Ang_. Ah! little boots it now to recollect

Such things.

_Doge_. And yet I find a comfort in

The thought, that these things are the work of Fate;

For I would rather yield to Gods than men,

Or cling to any creed of destiny,

Rather than deem these mortals, most of whom[fr]

I know to be as worthless as the dust, 70

And weak as worthless, more than instruments

Of an o'er-ruling Power; they in themselves

Were all incapable--they could not be

Vistors of him who oft had conquered for them.

_Ang_. Employ the minutes left in aspirations

Of a more healing nature, and in peace

Even with these wretches take thy flight to Heaven.

_Doge_. I _am_ at peace: the peace of certainty

That a sure Hour will come, when their sons' sons,

And this proud city, and these azure waters, 80

And all which makes them eminent and bright,

Shall be a desolation and a curse,

A hissing and a scoff unto the nations,

A Carthage, and a Tyre, an Ocean Babel.

_Ang_. Speak not thus now: the surge of Passion still

Sweeps o'er thee to the last; thou dost deceive

Thyself, and canst not injure them--be calmer.

_Doge_. I stand within Eternity, and see

Into Eternity, and I behold--

Aye, palpable as I see thy sweet face 90

For the last time--the days which I denounce

Unto all time against these wave-girt walls,

And they who are indwellers.

_Guard_ (_coming forward_). Doge of Venice,

The Ten are in attendance on your Highness.

_Doge_. Then farewell, Angiolina!--one embrace--

Forgive the old man who hath been to thee

A fond but fatal husband--love my memory--

I would not ask so much for me still living,

But thou canst judge of me more kindly now,

Seeing my evil feelings are at rest. 100

Besides, of all the fruit of these long years,

Glory, and Wealth, and Power, and Fame, and Name,

Which generally leave some flowers to bloom

Even o'er the grave, I have nothing left, not even

A little love, or friendship, or esteem,

No, not enough to extract an epitaph

From ostentatious kinsmen; in one hour

I have uprooted all my former life,

And outlived everything, except thy heart,

The pure, the good, the gentle, which will oft 110

With unimpaired but not a clamorous grief[fs]

Still keep----Thou turn'st so pale!--Alas! she faints,

She has no breath, no pulse!--Guards! lend your aid--

I cannot leave her thus, and yet 'tis better,

Since every lifeless moment spares a pang.

When she shakes off this temporary death,

I shall be with the Eternal.--Call her women--

One look!--how cold her hand!--as cold as mine

Shall be ere she recovers.--Gently tend her,

And take my last thanks--I am ready now. 120

[_The Attendants of_ ANGIOLINA _enter, and surround

their Mistress, who has fainted.--Exeunt the_ DOGE,

_Guards, etc., etc._

SCENE III.--_The Court of the Ducal Palace; the outer gates

are shut against the people.--The_ DOGE _enters in his ducal

robes, in procession with the_ COUNCIL OF TEN _and other Patricians,

attended by the Guards, till they arrive at the top of the

"Giants' Staircase[469] (where the Doges took the oaths); the

the Executioner is stationed there with his sword.--On arriving, a_

CHIEF OF THE TEN _takes off the ducal cap from the Doge's head_.

_Doge_. So now the Doge is nothing, and at last

I am again Marino Faliero:

'Tis well to be so, though but for a moment,[ft]

Here was I crowned, and here, bear witness, Heaven!

With how much more contentment I resign

That shining mockery, the ducal bauble,

Than I received the fatal ornament.

_One of the Ten_. Thou tremblest, Faliero!

_Doge_. 'Tis with age, then.[470]

_Ben_. Faliero! hast thou aught further to commend,

Compatible with justice, to the Senate? 10

_Doge_. I would commend my nephew to their mercy,

My consort to their justice; for methinks

My death, and such a death, might settle all

Between the State and me.

_Ben_. They shall be cared for;

Even notwithstanding thine unheard-of crime.

_Doge_. Unheard of! aye, there's not a history

But shows a thousand crowned conspirators

_Against_ the people; but to set them free,

One Sovereign only died, and one is dying.

_Ben_. And who were they who fell in such a cause? 20

_Doge_. The King of Sparta, and the Doge of Venice--

Agis and Faliero!

_Ben_. Hast thou more

To utter or to do?

_Doge_. May I speak?

_Ben_. Thou may'st;

But recollect the people are without,

Beyond the compass of the human voice.

_Doge_. I speak to Time and to Eternity,

Of which I grow a portion, not to man.

Ye Elements! in which to be resolved

I hasten, let my voice be as a Spirit

Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner. 30

Ye winds! which fluttered o'er as if you loved it,

And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted

To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth,

Which I have bled for! and thou, foreign earth,

Which drank this willing blood from many a wound!

Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but

Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it!

Thou Sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou!

Who kindlest and who quenchest suns!--Attest![fu]

I am not innocent--but are these guiltless? 40

I perish, but not unavenged; far ages

Float up from the abyss of Time to be,

And show these eyes, before they close, the doom

Of this proud City, and I leave my curse

On her and hers for ever!----Yes, the hours

Are silently engendering of the day,

When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark,

Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield,

Unto a bastard Attila,[471] without

Shedding so much blood in her last defence, 50

As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her,

Shall pour in sacrifice.--She shall be bought

And sold, and be an appanage to those

Who shall despise her![472]--She shall stoop to be

A province for an Empire, petty town

In lieu of Capital, with slaves for senates,

Beggars for nobles, panders for a people![fv]

Then when the Hebrew's in thy palaces,[473]

The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek

Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his; 60

When thy patricians beg their bitter bread

In narrow streets, and in their shameful need

Make their nobility a plea for pity;

Then, when the few who still retain a wreck

Of their great fathers' heritage shall fawn

Round a barbarian Vice of Kings' Vice-gerent,[474]

Even in the Palace where they swayed as Sovereigns,

Even in the Palace where they slew their Sovereign,

Proud of some name they have disgraced, or sprung

From an adulteress boastful of her guilt 70

With some large gondolier or foreign soldier,

Shall bear about their bastardy in triumph

To the third spurious generation;--when

Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being,

Slaves turned o'er to the vanquished by the victors,

Despised by cowards for greater cowardice,

And scorned even by the vicious for such vices

As in the monstrous grasp of their conception

Defy all codes to image or to name them;

Then, when of Cyprus, now thy subject kingdom, 80

All thine inheritance shall be her shame

Entailed on thy less virtuous daughters, grown

A wider proverb for worse prostitution;--

When all the ills of conquered states shall cling thee,

Vice without splendour, Sin without relief[fw][475]

Even from the gloss of Love to smooth it o'er,

But in its stead, coarse lusts of habitude,[476]

Prurient yet passionless, cold studied lewdness,

Depraving Nature's frailty to an art;--

When these and more are heavy on thee, when 90

Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without Pleasure,

Youth without Honour, Age without respect,

Meanness and Weakness, and a sense of woe

'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar'st not murmur,[477]

Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts,

Then, in the last gasp of thine agony,

Amidst thy many murders, think of _mine!_

Thou den of drunkards with the blood of Princes![478]

Gehenna of the waters! thou Sea-Sodom![fx][479]

Thus I devote thee to the Infernal Gods! 100

Thee and thy serpent seed!

[_Here the_ DOGE _turns and addresses the Executioner._

Slave, do thine office!

Strike as I struck the foe! Strike as I would

Have struck those tyrants! Strike deep as my curse!

Strike--and but once!

[_The_ DOGE _throws himself upon his knees, and as

the Executioner raises his sword the scene closes._

SCENE IV.--_The Piazza and Piazzetta of St. Mark's.--

The people in crowds gathered round the grated gates

of the Ducal Palace, which are shut._

_First Citizen_. I have gained the Gate, and can discern the Ten,

Robed in their gowns of state, ranged round the Doge.

_Second Cit_. I cannot reach thee with mine utmost effort.

How is it? let us hear at least, since sight

Is thus prohibited unto the people,

Except the occupiers of those bars.

_First Cit_. One has approached the Doge, and now they strip

The ducal bonnet from his head--and now

He raises his keen eyes to Heaven; I see

Them glitter, and his lips move--Hush! hush!--no, 10

'Twas but a murmur--Curse upon the distance!

His words are inarticulate, but the voice

Swells up like muttered thunder; would we could

But gather a sole sentence!

_Second Cit_. Hush! we perhaps may catch the sound.

_First Cit_. 'Tis vain.

I cannot hear him.--How his hoary hair

Streams on the wind like foam upon the wave!

Now--now--he kneels--and now they form a circle

Round him, and all is hidden--but I see

The lifted sword in air----Ah! hark! it falls! 20

[_The people murmur._

_Third Cit_. Then they have murdered him who would have freed us.

_Fourth Cit_. He was a kind man to the commons ever.

_Fifth Cit_. Wisely they did to keep their portals barred.

Would we had known the work they were preparing

Ere we were summoned here--we would have brought

Weapons, and forced them!

_Sixth Cit_. Are you sure he's dead?

_First Cit_. I saw the sword fall--Lo! what have we here?

_Enter on the Balcony of the Palace which fronts St. Mark's

Place a_ CHIEF OF THE TEN,[480] _with a bloody sword.

He waves it thrice before the People, and exclaims,_

"Justice hath dealt upon the mighty Traitor!"

[_The gates are opened; the populace rush in towards the

The foremost of them exclaims to those behind,_

"The gory head rolls down the Giants' Steps!"[fy][481]

[_The curtain falls_.[482]

FOOTNOTES:

[359] {331}[Marin Faliero was not in command of the land forces at the

siege of Zara in 1346. According to contemporary documents, he held a

naval command under Civran, who was in charge of the fleet. Byron was

misled by an error in Morelli's Italian version of the _Chronica

iadratina seu historia obsidionis Jaderæ_, p. xi. (See _Marino faliero

avanti il Dogado_, by Vittorio Lazzarino, published in _Nuovo Archivio

Veneto_, 1893, vol. v. pt. i. p. 132, note 4.)]

[360] [For the siege of Alesia (Alise in Côte d'Or), which resulted in

the defeat of the Gauls and the surrender of Vercingetorix, see _De

Bella Gallico_, vii. 68-90. Belgrade fell to Prince Eugene, August 18,

1717.]

[361] {332}[If this event ever took place, it must have been in 1346,

when the future Doge was between sixty and seventy years of age. The

story appears for the first time in the chronicle of Bartolomeo Zuccato,

notajo e cancelliere of the Comune di Treviso, which belongs to the

first half of the sixteenth century. The Venetian chroniclers who were

Faliero's contemporaries, and Anonimo Torriano, a Trevisan, who wrote

before Zuccato, are silent. See _Marino Faliero, La Congiura_, by

Vittorio Lazzarino.--_Nuovo Archivio Veneto_, 1897, vol. xiii. pt. i. p.

29.]

[362] ["Square talked in a very different strain.... In pronouncing

these [sentences from the _Tusculan Questions, etc_.] he was one day so

eager that he unfortunately bit his tongue ... this accident gave

Thwackum, who was present, and who held all such doctrines to be

heathenish and atheistical, an opportunity to clap a judgment on his

back."--_The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling_, Bk. V. chap. ii. 1768,

i. 234. See, too, Letter to Murray, November 23, 1822, _Letters_, 1901,

vi. 142; _Life_, p. 570.]

[363] [[_Principj di storia civile della Repubblica di Venezia_. Scritti

da Vettor Sandi, 1755, Part II. tom. i. pp. 127, 128.]

[364] [_Storia della Republica Veneziana_. Scritta da Andrea Navagiero,

_apud_ Muratori, _Italic. Rerum, Scriptores_, 1733, xxiii. p. 924,

_sq_.]

[365] [_Istoria dell' assedio e della Ricupera di Zara, Fatta da'

Veneziani nell' anno_ 1346. Scritta da auctore contemporaneo, pp.

i.-xxxviii.]

[366] {333}[Michele Steno was not, as Sanudo and others state, one of

the Capi of the Quarantia in 1355, but twenty years later, in 1375. When

Faliero was elected to the Dogeship, Steno was a youth of twenty, and a

man under thirty years of age was not eligible for the Quarantia.--_La

Congiura,_ etc., p. 64.]

[367] [History does not bear out the tradition of her youth. Aluica

Gradenigo was born in the first decade of the fourteenth century, and

became Dogaressa when she was more than forty-five years of age.--_La

Congiura,_ p. 69.]

[368] [See _A View of the Society and Manners in Italy,_ by John Moore,

M.D., 1781, i. 144-152. The "stale jest" is thus worded: "This lady

imagined she had been affronted by a young Venetian nobleman at a public

ball, and she complained bitterly ... to her husband. The old Doge, who

had all the desire imaginable to please his wife, determined, in this

matter, at least, to give her ample satisfaction."]

[369] {334}[For Frederick's verse, "Evitez de Bernis la stérile

abondance," see _La Bibliographie Universelle_, art. "Bernis"; and for

his jest, "Je ne la connais pas," see _History of Frederick the Great_,

by Thomas Carlyle, 1898, vi. 14.]

[370] [For the story of the abduction of Dervorgilla, wife of Tiernan

O'Ruarc, by Dermot Mac-Murchad, King of Leinster, in 1153, see Moore's

_History of Ireland_, 1837, ii. 200.]

[371] {335}[_Istoria della Repubblica di Venezia_, del Sig. Abate

Laugier, Tradotta del Francese. Venice, 1778, iv. 30.]

[372] {336}[The marble staircase on which Faliero took the ducal oath,

and on which he was afterwards beheaded, led into the courtyard of the

palace. It was erected by a decree of the Senate in 1340, and was pulled

down to make room for Rizzo's façade, which was erected in 1484. The

"Scala dei Giganti" (built by Antonio Rizzo, circ. 1483) does not occupy

the site of the older staircase.]

[373] [On the north side of the Campo, in front of the Church of Santi

Giovanni e Paolo (better known as San Zanipolo), stands the Scuola di

San Marco. Attached to the lower hall of the Scuola is the Chapel of

Santa Maria della Pace, in which the sarcophagus containing the bones of

Marino Faliero was discovered in 1815.]

[374] [In the Campo in front of the church is the equestrian statue of

Bartolomeo Colleoni, designed by Andrea Veroccio, and cast in 1496 by

Alessandro Leopardi.--_Handbook: Northern Italy_, p. 374.]

[375] {337}[See _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 317, note 1.]

[376] [See _Letters_, 1898, ii. 79, note 3.]

[ct] _It is like being at the whole process of a woman's toilet--it

disenchants._--[MS. M.]

[cu] _Any man of common independence._--[MS. M. erased.]

[377] {338}While I was in the sub-committee of Drury Lane Theatre, I can

vouch for my colleagues, and I hope for myself, that we did our best to

bring back the legitimate drama. I tried what I could to get _De

Montford_ revived, but in vain, and equally in vain in favour of

Sotheby's _Ivan_, which was thought an acting play; and I endeavoured

also to wake Mr. Coleridge to write us a tragedy[A]. Those who are not

in the secret will hardly believe that the _School for Scandal_ is the

play which has brought the _least money_, averaging the number of times

it has been acted since its production; so Manager Dibdin assured me. Of

what has occurred since Maturin's _Bertram_ I am not aware[B]; so that I

may be traducing, through ignorance, some excellent new writers; if so,

I beg their pardon. I have been absent from England nearly five years,

and, till last year, I never read an English newspaper since my

departure, and am now only aware of theatrical matters through the

medium of the _Parisian Gazette_ of Galignani, and only for the last

twelve months. Let me, then, deprecate all offence to tragic or comic

writers, to whom I wish well, and of whom I know nothing. The long

complaints of the actual state of the drama arise, however, from no

fault of the performers. I can conceive nothing better than Kemble,

Cooke, and Kean, in their very different manners, or than Elliston in

_Gentleman's_ comedy, and in some parts of tragedy. Miss O'Neill[C] I

never saw, having made and kept a determination to see nothing which

should divide or disturb my recollection of Siddons. Siddons and Kemble

were the _ideal_ of tragic action; I never saw anything at all

resembling them, even in _person_; for this reason, we shall never see

again Coriolanus or Macbeth. When Kean is blamed for want of dignity, we

should remember that it is a grace, not an art, and not to be attained

by study. In all, _not_ super-natural parts, he is perfect; even his

very defects belong, or seem to belong, to the parts themselves, and

appear truer to nature. But of Kemble we may say, with reference to his

acting, what the Cardinal de Retz said of the Marquis of Montrose, "that

he was the only man he ever saw who reminded him of the heroes of

Plutarch."[D]

[A] [See letter to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, March 31, 1815, _Letters_,

1899, iii. 190; letter to Moore, October 28, 1815, and note 1 (with

quotation from unpublished letter of Coleridge), and passages from

Byron's _Detached Thoughts_ (1821) ... _ibid_., pp. 230, 233-238.]

[B] [Maturin's _Bertram_ was played for the first time at Drury Lane,

May 9, 1816. (See _Detached Thoughts_ (1821), _Letters_, 1899, iii. 233,

and letter to Murray, October 12, 1817, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 171.)]

[C] [Elizabeth O'Neill (1791-1872), afterwards Lady Becher, made her

_début_ in 1814, and retired from the stage in 1819. Sarah Siddons

(1755-1831) made her final appearance on the stage June 9, 1818, and her

brother John Philip Kemble (1757-1823) appeared for the last time in

_Coriolanus_, June 23, 1817. Of the other actors mentioned in this note,

George Frederick Cooke (1756-1812) had long been dead; Edmund Kean

(1787-1833) had just returned from a successful tour in the United

States; and Robert William Elliston (1774-1831) (_vide ante_, p. 328)

had, not long before (1819), become lessee of Drury Lane Theatre.]

[D]["Le comte de Montross, Écossais et chef de la maison de Graham, le

seul homme du monde qui m'ait jamais rappelé l'idée de certains héros

que l'on ne voit plus que dans les vies de Plutarque, avail soutenu le

parti du roi d'Angleterre dans son pays, avec une grandeur d'àme qui

rien avait point de pareille en ce siècle."--_Mémoires du Cardinal de

Retz_, 1820, ii. 88.]

[378] {339}[This appreciation of the _Mysterious Mother_, which he seems

to have read in Lord Dover's preface to Walpole's Letters to Sir Horace

Mann, provoked Coleridge to an angry remonstrance. "I venture to remark,

first, that I do not believe that Lord Byron spoke sincerely; for I

suspect that he made a tacit exception of himself at least.... Thirdly,

that the _Mysterious Mother_ is the most disgusting, vile, detestable

composition that ever came from the hand of man. No one with a spark of

true manliness, of which Horace Walpole had none, could have written

it."--_Table Talk_, March 20, 1834. Croker took a very different view,

and maintained "that the good old English blank verse, the force of

character expressed in the wretched mother ... argue a strength of

conception, and vigour of expression capable of great things," etc. Over

and above the reasonable hope and expectation that this provocative

eulogy of Walpole's play would annoy the "Cockneys" and the "Lakers,"

Byron was no doubt influenced in its favour by the audacity of the plot,

which not only put _septentrional_ prejudices at defiance, but was an

instance in point that love ought not "to make a tragic subject unless

it is love furious, criminal, and hopeless" (Letter to Murray, January

4, 1821). He would, too, be deeply and genuinely moved by such verse as

this--

"Consult a holy man! inquire of him!

--Good father, wherefore? what should I inquire?

Must I be taught of him that guilt is woe?

That innocence alone is happiness--

That martyrdom itself shall leave the villain

The villain that it found him? Must I learn

That minutes stamped with crime are past recall?

That joys are momentary; and remorse

Eternal?...

Nor could one risen from the dead proclaim

This truth in deeper sounds to my conviction;

We want no preacher to distinguish vice

From virtue. At our birth the God revealed

All conscience needs to know. No codicil

To duty's rubric here and there was placed

In some Saint's casual custody."

Act i. sc. 3, _s.f._ _Works of the Earl of Orford_, 1798, i. 55.]

[379] {340}[Byron received a copy of Goethe's review of _Manfred_, which

appeared in _Kunst und Alterthum_ (ii. 2. 191) in May, 1820. In a letter

to Murray, dated October 17, 1820 (_Letters_, 1901, v. 100), he enclosed

a letter to Goethe, headed "For _Marino Faliero_. Dedication to Baron

Goethe, etc., etc., etc." It is possible that Murray did not take the

"Dedication" seriously, but regarded it as a _jeu d'esprit_, designed

for the amusement of himself and his "synod." At any rate, the

"Dedication" did not reach Goethe's hand till 1831, when it was

presented to him at Weimar by John Murray the Third. "It is written,"

says Moore, who printed a mutilated version in his _Letters and

Journals, etc._, 1830, ii. 356-358, "in the poet's most whimsical and

mocking mood; and the unmeasured severity poured out in it upon the two

favourite objects of his wrath and ridicule, compels me to deprive the

reader of its most amusing passages." The present text, which follows

the MS., is reprinted from _Letters_, 1901, v. 100-104--

"Dedication to Baron Goethe, etc., etc., etc.

"Sir--In the Appendix to an English work lately translated into

German and published at Leipsic, a judgment of yours upon English

poetry is quoted as follows: 'That in English poetry, great genius,

universal power, a feeling of profundity, with sufficient

tenderness and force, are to be found; but that _altogether these

do not constitute poets_,' etc., etc.

"I regret to see a great man falling into a great mistake. This

opinion of yours only proves that the '_Dictionary of Ten Thousand

living English Authors_'[A] has not been translated into German.

You will have read, in your friend Schlegel's version, the dialogue

in _Macbeth_--

"'There are _ten thousand!_

_Macbeth_. _Geese_, villain?

_Answer_. _Authors_, sir.'[B]

Now, of these 'ten thousand authors,' there are actually nineteen

hundred and eighty-seven poets, all alive at this moment, whatever

their works may be, as their booksellers well know: and amongst

these there are several who possess a far greater reputation than

mine, though considerably less than yours. It is owing to this

neglect on the part of your German translators that you are not

aware of the works of William Wordsworth, who has a baronet in

London[C] who draws him frontispieces and leads him about to

dinners and to the play; and a Lord in the country,[D] who gave him

a place in the Excise--and a cover at his table. You do not know

perhaps that this Gentleman is the greatest of all poets

past--present and to come--besides which he has written an '_Opus

Magnum_' in prose--during the late election for Westmoreland.[E]

His principal publication is entitled '_Peter Bell_' which he had

withheld from the public for '_one and twenty years_'--to the

irreparable loss of all those who died in the interim, and will

have no opportunity of reading it before the resurrection. There is

also another named Southey, who is more than a poet, being actually

poet Laureate,--a post which corresponds with what we call in Italy

Poeta Cesareo, and which you call in German--I know not what; but

as you have a '_Caesar_'--probably you have a name for it. In

England there is no _Caesar_--only the Poet.

"I mention these poets by way of sample to enlighten you. They form

but two bricks of our Babel, (Windsor bricks, by the way) but may

serve for a specimen of the building.

"It is, moreover, asserted that 'the predominant character of the

whole body of the present English poetry is a _disgust_ and

_contempt_ for life.' But I rather suspect that by one single work

of _prose_, _you_ yourself have excited a greater contempt for life

than all the English volumes of poesy that ever were written.

Madame de Stäel says, that 'Werther has occasioned more suicides

than the most beautiful woman;' and I really believe that he has

put more individuals out of this world than Napoleon

himself,--except in the way of his profession. Perhaps, Illustrious

Sir, the acrimonious judgment passed by a celebrated northern

journal[F] upon you in particular, and the Germans in general, has

rather indisposed you towards English poetry as well as criticism.

But you must not regard our critics, who are at bottom good-natured

fellows, considering their two professions,--taking up the law in

court, and laying it down out of it. No one can more lament their

hasty and unfair judgment, in your particular, than I do; and I so

expressed myself to your friend Schlegel, in 1816, at Coppet.

"In behalf of my 'ten thousand' living brethren, and of myself, I

have thus far taken notice of an opinion expressed with regard to

'English poetry' in general, and which merited notice, because it

was yours.

"My principal object in addressing you was to testify my sincere

respect and admiration of a man, who, for half a century, has led

the literature of a great nation, and will go down to posterity as

the first literary Character of his Age.

"You have been fortunate, Sir, not only in the writings which have

illustrated your name, but in the name itself, as being

sufficiently musical for the articulation of posterity. In this you

have the advantage of some of your countrymen, whose names would

perhaps be immortal also--if anybody could pronounce them.

"It may, perhaps, be supposed, by this apparent tone of levity,

that I am wanting in intentional respect towards you; but this will

be a mistake: I am always flippant in prose. Considering you, as I

really and warmly do, in common with all your own, and with most

other nations, to be by far the first literary Character which has

existed in Europe since the death of Voltaire, I felt, and feel,

desirous to inscribe to you the following work,--_not_ as being

either a tragedy or a _poem_, (for I cannot pronounce upon its

pretensions to be either one or the other, or both, or neither,)

but as a mark of esteem and admiration from a foreigner to the man

who has been hailed in Germany 'the great Goethe.'

"I have the honour to be,

With the truest respect,

Your most obedient and

Very humble servant,

Byron,

"Ravenna, 8^bre^ 14º, 1820.

"P.S.--I perceive that in Germany, as well as in Italy, there is a

great struggle about what they call '_Classical_' and

'_Romantic_,'--terms which were not subjects of classification in

England, at least when I left it four or five years ago. Some of

the English Scribblers, it is true, abused Pope and Swift, but the

reason was that they themselves did not know how to write either

prose or verse; but nobody thought them worth making a sect of.

Perhaps there may be something of the kind sprung up lately, but I

have not heard much about it, and it would be such bad taste that I

shall be very sorry to believe it."

Another Dedication, to be prefixed to a Second Edition of the play was

found amongst Byron's papers. It remained in MS. till 1832, when it was

included in a prefatory note to _Marino Faliero, Works of Lord Byron_,

1832, xii. 50.

"Dedication of _Marino Faliero_.

"To the Honourable Douglas Kinnaird.

"My dear Douglas,--I dedicate to you the following tragedy, rather

on account of your good opinion of it, than from any notion of my

own that it may be worthy of your acceptance. But if its merits

were ten times greater than they possibly can be, this offering

would still be a very inadequate acknowledgment of the active and

steady friendship with which, for a series of years, you have

honoured your obliged and affectionate friend,

"BYRON.

"Ravenna, Sept. 1st, 1821."

[A][_A Biographical Dictionary of Living Authors of Great Britain and

Ireland, etc_., London, 1816, 8vo.]

[B] [_Macbeth_. Where got'st thou that goose look?

_Servant_. There is ten thousand--

_Macbeth_. Geese, villain?

_Servant_. Soldiers, sir."

_Macbeth_, act v. sc. 3, lines 12, 13.]

[C][Sir George Beaumont. See Professor W. Knight, _Life of Wordsworth_,

ii. (_Works_, vol. x.) 56.]

[D][Lord Lonsdale (_ibid_., p. 209).]

[E][_Two Addresses to the Freeholders of Westmoreland_, 1818.]

[F][See an article on Goethe's _Aus Meinem Leben_, etc., in the

_Edinburgh Review_ for June, 1816, vol. xxvi. pp. 304-337.] ]

[cv] {345} _Are none yet of the Messengers returned_?--[MS. M.]

[380] [The _Consiglio Minore_, which originally consisted of the Doge

and his six councillors, was afterwards increased, by the addition of

the three _Capi_ of the _Quarantia Criminale_, and was known as the

_Serenissima Signoria_ (G. Cappelletti, _Storia della Repubblica di

Venezia_, 1850, i. 483). The Forty who were "debating on Steno's

accusation" could not be described as the "_Signory_."]

[cw] _With seeming patience_.--[MS. M.]

[cx] _He sits as deep_--[MS. M.]

[cy] {346}_Or aught that imitates_--.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[cz] _Young, gallant_--.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[381] [Bertuccio Faliero was a distant connection of the Doge, not his

nephew. Matters of business and family affairs seem to have brought them

together, and it is evident that they were on intimate terms.--_La

Congiura_, p. 84.]

[382] [The Avogadori, three in number, were the conductors of criminal

prosecutions on the part of the State; and no act of the councils was

valid, unless sanctioned by the presence of one of them; but they were

not, as Byron seems to imply, a court of first instance. The implied

reproach that they preferred to send the case to appeal because Steno

was a member of the "Quarantia," is based on an error of Sanudo's (_vide

ante_, p. 333).]

[da] {348} ----_Marin! Falieræ_ [sic].--[MS. M.]

[383] ["Marin Faliero, dalla bella moglie--altri la gode, ed egli la

mantien."--Marino Samuto, _Vitæ Ducum Venetorum, apud_ Muratori, _Rerum

Italicurum Scriptores_, 1733, xxii. 628-638]. Navagero, in his _Storia

della Repubblica Veneriana_, _ibid_., xxiii. 1040, gives a coarser

rendering of Steno's Lampoon.--"Becco Marino Fallier dalla belta

mogier;" and there are older versions agreeing in the main with that

Faliero's by Sanudo. It is, however, extremely doubtful whether Faliro's

conspiracy was, in any sense, the outcome of a personal insult. The

story of the Lampoon first appears in the Chronicle of Lorenzo de

Monaci, who wrote in the latter half of the fifteenth century. "Fama

fuit ... quia aliqui adolescentuli nobiles scripserunt in angulis

interioris palatii aliqua verba ignominiosa, et quod ipse (il Doge)

magis incanduit quoniam adolescentuli illi parva fuerant animadversione

puniti." In course of time the "noble youths" became a single noble

youth, whose name occurred in the annals, and the derivation or

evolution of the "verba ignominiosa," followed by a natural

process.--_La Congiura, Nuona Archivio Veneto_, 1897, tom. xiii. pt. ii.

p. 347.]

[384] {349}[Sanudo gives two versions of Steno's punishment: (1) that he

should be imprisoned for two months, and banished from Venice for a

year; (2) that he should be imprisoned for one month, flogged with a

fox's tail, and pay one hundred lire to the Republic.]

[385] {350}[_Vide ante_, p. 331.]

[386] {351}[Faliero's appeal to the "law" is a violation of "historical

accuracy." The penalty for an injury to the Doge was not fixed by law,

but was decided from time to time by the Judge, in accordance with

unwritten custom.--_La Congiura_, p. 60.]

[db] {352}_Who threw his sting into a poisonous rhyme_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[387] [For the story of Cæsar, Pompeia, and Clodius, see Plutarch's

_Lives_, "Cæsar," Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 498.]

[dc]----_Enrico_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[388] [According to Sanudo (_Vitæ Ducum Venetorum, apud_ Muratori,

_Rerum Ital. Script_., 1733, xxii. 529), it was Ser Pantaleone Barbo who

intervened, when (A.D. 1204) the election to the Empire of

Constantinople lay between the Doge "Arrigo Dandolo" and "Conte

Baldovino di Fiandra."]

[dd] {354} ----_in olden days._--[MS. M.]

[389] {356}[According to the much earlier, and, presumably, more

historical narrative of Lorenzo de Monaci, Bertuccio Isarello was not

chief of the _Arsenalotti_, but simply the patron, that is the owner, of

a vessel (_paron di nave_), and consequently a person of importance

amongst sailors and naval artisans; and the noble who strikes the fatal

blow is not Barbaro, but a certain Giovanni Dandolo, who is known, at

that time, to have been "_sopracomito and consigliere del capitano da

mar_." If the Admiral of the Arsenal had been engaged in the conspiracy,

the fact could hardly have escaped the notice of contemporary

chroniclers. Signor Lazzarino suggests that the name Gisello, or

Girello, which has been substituted for that of Israel Bertuccio, is a

corruption of Isarello.--_La Congiura_, p. 74.]

[390] [The island of Sapienza lies about nine miles to the north-west of

Capo Gallo, in the Morea. The battle in which the Venetians under Nicolò

Pisani were defeated by the Genoese under Paganino Doria was fought

November 4, 1354. (See _Venice, an Historical Sketch_, by Horatio F.

Brown, 1893, p. 201.)]

[391] An historical fact. See Marin Sanuto's _Lives of the Doges_.

["Sanuto says that Heaven took away his senses for this buffet, and

induced him to conspire:--'Però fu permesso che il Faliero perdesse

l'intelletto.'"--_B. Letters_ (_Works, etc._, 1832, xii. 82. note 1).

[392] {358}["The number of their constant Workmen is 1200; and all these

Artificers have a Superior Officer called _Amiraglio_, who commands the

_Bucentaure_ on Ascension Day, when the Duke goes in state to marry the

sea. And here we cannot but notice, that by a ridiculous custom this

Admiral makes himself Responsible to the _Senat_ for the inconstancy of

the Sea, and engages his Life there shall be no Tempest that day. 'Tis

this Admiral who has the Guard of the Palais, St. Mark, with his

_Arsenalotti_, during the _interregnum_. He carries the Red Standard

before the Prince when he makes his Entry, by virtue of which office he

has his Cloak, and the two Basons (out of which the Duke throws the

money to the People) for his fee."--_The History of the Government of

Venice_, written in the year 1675, by the Sieur Amelott de la Houssaie,

London, 1677, p. 63.]

[393] [_Vide ante_, p. 356, note 1.]

[394] {360}[The famous measure known as the closing of the Great Council

was carried into force during the Dogeship (1289-1311) of Pietro

Gradenigo. On the last day of February, 1297, a law was proposed and

passed, "That the Council of Forty are to ballot, one by one, the names

of all those who during the last four years have had a seat in the Great

Council.... Three electors shall be chosen to submit names of fresh

candidates for the Great Council, on the ... approval of the Doge." But

strict as these provisions were, they did not suffice to restrict the

government to the aristocracy. It was soon decreed "that only those who

could prove that a paternal ancestor had sat on the Great Council, after

its creation in 1176, should now be eligible as members.... It is in

this provision that we find the essence of the _Serrata del Maggior

Consiglio_.... The work was not completed at one stroke.... In 1315 a

list of all those who were eligible ... was compiled. The scrutiny ...

was entrusted to the _Avogadori di Comun_, and became ... more and more

severe. To ensure the purity of blood, they opened a register of

marriages and births.... Thus the aristocracy proceeded to construct

itself more and more upon a purely oligarchical basis."--_Venice, an

Historical Sketch_, by Horatio F. Brown, 1893, pp. 162-164.]

[395] {362}[To "partake" this or that is an obsolete construction, but

rests on the authority of Dryden and other writers of the period.

Byron's "have partook" cannot come under the head of "good, sterling,

genuine English"! (See letter to Murray, October 8, 1820, _Letters_,

1901, v. 89.)]

[396] {363}[The bells of San Marco were never rung but by order of the

Doge. One of the pretexts for ringing this alarm was to have been an

announcement of the appearance of a Genoese fleet off the Lagune.

According to Sanudo, "on the appointed day they [the followers of the

sixteen leaders of the conspiracy] were to make affrays amongst

themselves, here and there, in order that the Duke might have a pretence

for tolling the bells of San Marco." (See, too, _Sketches from Venetian

History, 1831, i. 266, note._)]

[397] ["Le Conseil des Dix avail ses prisons speciales dites

_camerotti_; celles non officiellement appelées les _pozzi_ et les

_piombi_, les puits et les plombs, étaient de son redoubtable domaine.

Les _Camerotti di sotto_ (les puits) étaient obscurs mais non

accessibles à l'eau du canal, comme on l'a fait croire en des récits

dignes d'Anne Radcliffe; les _camerotti di soprà_ (les plombs) étaient

des cellules fortement doublées de bois mais non privées de

lumière."--_Les Archives de Venise_, par Armand Baschet, 1870, p. 535.

For the _pozzi_ and the "Bridge of Sighs" see note by Hobhouse,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 465; and compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV.

stanza i. line 1 (and _The Two Foscari_, act iv. sc. 1), _Poetical

Works_, 1899, ii. 327, note 2.]

[398] {365}[For "Sapienza," _vide ante_, p. 356. According to the

genealogies, Marin Falier, by his first wife, had a daughter Lucia, who

was married to Franceschino Giustiniani; but there is no record of a

son. (See _La Congiura_, p. 21.)]

[399] {366}["The Doges were all _buried_ in _St. Mark's before_ Faliero:

it is singular that when his predecessor, _Andrea Dandolo_, died, the

Ten made a law that _all_ the _future Doges_ should be _buried with

their families in their own churches,--one would think by a kind of

presentiment_. So that all that is said of his _Ancestral Doges_, as

buried at St. John's and Paul's, is altered from the fact, _they being

in St. Mark's_. _Make a note_ of this, and put _Editor_ as the

subscription to it. As I make such pretensions to accuracy, I should not

like to be _twitted_ even with such trifles on that score. Of the play

they may say what they please, but not so of my costume and _dram.

pers_.--they having been real existences."--Letter to Murray, October

12, 1820, _Letters_, 1901, v. 95. Byron's injunction was not carried out

till 1832.]

[400] A gondola is not like a common boat, but is as easily rowed with

one oar as with two (though, of course, not so swiftly), and often is so

from motives of privacy; and, since the decay of Venice, of economy.

[401] {367}["What Gifford says (of the first act) is very consolatory.

'English, sterling _genuine English_,' is a desideratum amongst you, and

I am glad that I have got so much left; though Heaven knows how I retain

it: I _hear_ none but from my Valet, and his is _Nottinghamshire_; and I

_see_ none but in your new publications, and theirs is _no_ language at

all, but jargon.... Gifford says that it is 'good, sterling, genuine

English,' and Foscolo says that the characters are right

Venetian."--Letters to Murray, Sept. 11, Oct. 8, 1820, _Letters_, 1901,

v. 75-89.]

[402] [Byron admits (_vide ante_, p. 340) that the character of the

"Dogaressa" is more or less his own creation. It may be remarked that in

Casimir Delavigne's version of the story, the Duchess (Elena) cherishes

a secret and criminal attachment for Bertuccio Faliero, and that in Mr.

Swinburne's tragedy, while innocent in act, she is smitten with remorse

for a passion which overmasters her loyalty to her husband. Byron's

Angiolina is "faultily faultless, ... splendidly null."

In a letter to Murray, dated January 4, 1821 (_Letters_, 1901, v. 218),

he says, "As I think that _love_ is not the principal passion for

tragedy, you will not find me a popular writer. Unless it is Love,

_furious_, _criminal_, and _hapless_ [as in _The Mysterious Mother_, or

in Alfieri's _Mirra_, or Shelley's _Cenci_], it ought not to make a

tragic subject. When it is melting and maudlin, it _does_, but it ought

not to do; it is then for the gallery and second-price boxes." It is

probable that he owed these sentiments to the theory and practice of

Vittorio Alfieri. "It is extraordinary," writes M. de Fallette Barrol

(_Monthly Magazine_, April, 1805, reprinted in Preface to _Tragedie di

Alfieri_, A. Montucci, Edinburgh, 1805, i. xvi. _sq._), "that a man

whose soul possessed an uncommon share of ardour and sensibility, and

had experienced all the violence of the passions, should scarcely have

condescended to introduce love into his tragedies; or, when he does,

that he should only employ it with a kind of reserve and severity.... He

probably regarded it as a hackneyed agent; for in ... _Myrrha_ it

appears in such a strange character, that all the art of the writer is

not capable of divesting it of an air at once ludicrous and disgusting."

But apart from the example of Alfieri, there was another motive at

work--a determination to prove to the world that he was the master of

his own temperament, and that, if he chose, he could cast away frivolity

and cynicism, and clothe himself with austerity "as with a garment." He

had been taken to task for "treating well-nigh with equal derision the

most pure of virtues, and the most odious of vices" (_Blackwood's Edin.

Mag._, August, 1819), and here was an "answer to his accusers!"]

[403] {368}[The exact date of Marin Falier's birth is a matter of

conjecture, but there is reason to believe that he Was under

seventy-five years of age at the time of the conspiracy. The date

assigned is 1280-1285 A.D.]

[de] {369} ----_has he been doomed?_--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[404] {370}[According to Dio Cassius, the last words of Brutus were,

Ὦ τλῆμον ἀρετή, λόγος ἄρ᾽ ἦσθ᾽ [ἄλλως], ἐγὼ δὲ ὡς ἕργων ἥσκουν' σὺ δ᾽ ἀρ᾽

ἐδούλευες τύχῃ

--_Hist. Rom._, lib. xlvii. c. 49, ed. v., P. Boissevain, 1898, ii. 246.]

[df] {375}

_Doth Heaven forgive her own? is Satan saved?_

_But be it so?_--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[405] [There is no MS. authority for "From wrath eternal."]

[dg] _Oh do not speak thus rashly_.-[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[406] {377}

["Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust."

_'Tis Pity she's a Whore_, by John Ford.

Lamb's _Dramatic Poets_, 1835, i. 265.]

[407] {378}[The Dogaressa Aluica was the daughter of Nicolò Gradenigo.

It was the Doge who inherited the "blood of Loredano" through his mother

Beriola.]

[408] {381}[The lines "and the hour hastens" to "whate'er may urge" are

not in the MS.]

[dh] {382}_Where Death sits throned_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[409] [Filippo Calendario, who is known to have been one of the

principal conspirators, was a master stone-cutter, who worked as a

sculptor, and ranked as such. The tradition, to which Byron does not

allude, that he was an architect, and designed the new palace begun in

1354, may probably be traced to a document of the fifteenth century, in

which Calendario is described as _commissario_, i.e. executor, of Piero

Basejo, who worked as a master stone-cutter for the Republic. The

_Maggior Consiglio_ was its own architect, and would not have empowered

a _tagliapietra_, however eminent, to act on his own

responsibility.--_La Congiura_, pp. 76, 77.]

[410] {383}[The _sbirri_ were constables, officers of the police

magistrates, the _signori di notte_. The Italians have a saying, _Dir le

sue ragioni agli sbirri_, that is, to argue with a policeman.]

[411] {384}["It was concerted that sixteen or seventeen leaders should

be stationed in various parts of the city, each being at the head of

forty men, armed and prepared; but the followers were not to know their

destination."--See translation of Sanudo's _Narrative_, _post_, p. 464.]

[412] [In the earlier chronicles Beltramo is named Vendrame. He was,

according to some authorities, _compare_ with Lioni, _i.e._ a co-sponsor

of the same godchild. Signor Lazzarino (_La Congiura_, p. 90 (2))

maintains that in all probability Beltramo betrayed his companions from

selfish motives, in order to save himself, and not from any

"compunctious visitings," or because he was "too full o' the milk of

human kindness." According to Sanudo (_vide post_, p. 465), "Beltramo

Bergamasco" was not one of the principal conspirators, but "had heard a

word or two of what was to take place." Ser Marco Soranzano (p. 466) was

one of the "Zonta" of twenty who were elected as assessors to the Ten,

to try the Doge of high treason against the Republic.]

[413] {386}[Compare--

"If we should fail,----We fail.

But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

And we'll not fail."

_Macbeth_, act i. sc. 7, lines 59-61.]

[di] _In a great cause the block may soak their gore_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[dj] _If Brutus had not lived? He failed in giving_.--[MS. M.]

[414] [At the battle of Philippi, B.C. 42, Brutus lamented over the body

of Cassius, and called him the "last of the Romans."--Plutarch's

_Lives_, "Marcus Brutus," Langhorne's translation, 1838, p. 686.]

[415] [The citizens of Aquileia and Padua fled before the invasion of

Attila, and retired to the Isle of Gradus, and Rivus Altus, or Rialto.

Theodoric's minister, Cassiodorus, who describes the condition of the

fugitives some seventy years after they had settled on the "hundred

isles," compares them to "waterfowl who had fixed their nests on the

bosom of the waves." (See Gibbon's _Decline and Fall, etc._, 1825, ii.

375, note 6, and 376, notes 1, 2.)]

[416] [_Mal bigatto_, "vile silkworm," is a term of contempt and

reproach = "uomo de maligna intenzione," a knave.]

[417] {388}[Compare--

"I'll make assurance double sure,

And take a bond of fate."

_Macbeth_, act iv. sc. I, lines 83, 84.]

[418] {390}[For Byron's correction of this statement, _vide ante_, p.

366. The monument of the Doge Vitale Falier (d. 1096) "was at the right

side of the principal entrance into the Vestibule." According to G.

Meschinello (La Chiesa Ducale, 1753), Ordelafo Falier was buried in the

Atrio of St. Mark's. See, too, _Venetia città nobilissima ... descritta

da F. Sansovino_, 1663, pp. 96, 556.]

[dk] _We thought to make our peers and not our masters_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[dl] ----_merit such requital_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[419] {391}[Compare--

"I have set my life upon a cast,

And I will stand the hazard of the die."

_Richard III_., act v. sc. 4, lines 9, 10.]

[420] {392}["The equestrian statue of which I have made mention in the

third act as before the church, is not ... of a Faliero, but of some

other now obsolete warrior, although of a later date."--_Vide ante_,

Preface, p. 336. "In the Campo in front of the church [facing the Rio

dei Mendicanti] stands the equestrian statue of Bartolomeo Colleoni, the

second equestrian statue raised in Italy after the revival of the

arts....The handsome marble pedestal is lofty, supported and flanked by

composite columns."--_Handbook: Northern Italy_, p. 374.]

[dm] {393}_Nor dwindle to a cut-throat without shuddering_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[dn] _A scourged mechanic_----.--[MS. M.] _A roused mechanic_----.--[MS.

M. erased.]

[421] {394}An historical fact. [See Appendix A, p. 464.]

[do]

/ _in_ \

_So let them die_ < > _one_.--[MS. M.]

\ _as_ /

[dp] {397}_We are all lost in wonder_--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[dq] ----_of our splendid City_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[422] [Compare--

"Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles."

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza i. line 9, and _var_. i.]

[dr] {398}_But all the worst sins of the Spartan state_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[ds] _The Lords of old Laconia_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[423] {399}[Compare--

"A king of shreds and patches."

_Hamlet_, act iii. sc. 4, line 102.]

[424] ["The members of the Ten (_Il Cousiglio de' Dieci_) were elected

in the Great Council for one year only, and were not re-eligible for the

year after they had held office. Every month the Ten elected three of

their own number as chiefs, or _Capi_ of the Council.... The court

consisted, besides the Ten, of the Doge and his six councillors,

seventeen members in all, of whom twelve were necessary to make a

_quorum_. One of the _Avogadori di Comun_, or State advocates, was

always present, without the power to vote, but to act as clerk to the

court, informing it of the law, and correcting it where its procedure

seemed informal. Subsequently it became customary to add twenty members

to the Council, elected in the Maggior Consiglio, for each important

case as it arose."--_Venice, an Historical Sketch_, by Horatio F. Brown,

1893, pp. 177, 178. (See, too, _Les Archives de Venise_, par Armand

Baschet, 1870, p. 525.)]

[425] {400}[The chronicles are silent as to any embassy or commission

from the Republic to Rhodes or Cyprus in which Marin Falier held office

or took any part whatever. Cyprus did not pass into the hands of Venice

till 1489, and Rhodes was held by the Knights of St. John till 1522.]

[426] {401}[Compare--

"We have scotched the snake, not killed it."

Macbeth, act iii. sc. II, line 13.]

[dt] {402}_Fought by my side, and John Grimani shared._--[MS. M.

erased.]

[427] [Marc Cornaro did not "share" his Genoese, but his Hungarian

embassy.--_M. Faliero Avanti il Dogado: Archivio Veneto_, 1893, vol. v.

pt. i. p. 144.]

[du] {403}_My mission to the Pope; I saved the life._--[MS. M. erased.]

[dv]

_Bear witness with me! ye who hear and know,_

_And feel our mutual mass of many wrongs._--[MS. M. erased.]

[428] {404}[The Italian Oimé recalls the Latin _Hei mihi_ and the Greek

Οῖμοι [Greek: Oi~moi] ]

[429] [Compare--

"Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,

Hope sapped, name blighted, Life's life lied away?"

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza cxxxv. lines 5, 6.

And--

"The beings which surrounded him were gone.

Or were at war with him."

_The Dream_, sect. viii. lines 3, 4, _vide ante_, p. 40]

[dw] _Sate grinning Mockery_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[dx] {405}_The feelings they abused_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[dy] ----_and then perish_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[dz] {406}

/ _carrion_ \

_Nor turn aside to strike at such a_ < >--[MS. M.]

\ _wretch_ /

[ea] {407}_You are a patriot, plebeian Gracchus_.--[Ed. 1832.] (MS., and

First Edition, 1821, insert "a.")

[430] [Compare "Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man

to labour in his vocation."--I _Henry IV_., act i. sc. 2, lines 101,

102.]

[eb] {409}_To this now shackled_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[431] {410}[Byron told Medwin that he wrote "Lioni's soliloquy one

moonlight night, after coming from the Benzoni's."--_Conversations_,

1824, p. 177.]

[ec] _High o'er the music_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[432] {411}["At present, I am on the invalid regimen myself. The

Carnival--that is, the latter part of it, and sitting up late o' nights,

had knocked me up a little.... The mumming closed with a masked ball at

the Fenice, where I went, as also to most of the ridottos, etc., etc.;

and, though I did not dissipate much upon the whole, yet I find 'the

sword wearing out the scabbard,' though I have but just turned the

corner of twenty-nine.

"So we'll go no more a roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

"For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And Love itself have rest.

"Though the night was made for loving,

And the day returns too soon,

Yet we'll go no more a roving

By the light of the moon."

Letter to Moore, February 28, 1817, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 59.]

[ed] {412}_Suggesting dreams or unseen Symmetry_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[ee] _Which give their glitter lack, and the vast Æther_.--[MS. M.

erased.]

[ef] ----_seaborn palaces_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[433] {413}[Compare "What, ma'amselle, don't you remember Ludovico, who

rowed the Cavaliero's gondola at the last regatta, and won the prize?

and who used to sing such sweet verses about Orlando's ... all under my

lattice ... on the moonlight nights at Venice?"--_Mysteries of Udolpho_,

by Anne Radcliffe, 1882, p. 195. Compare, too, _Beppo_, stanza xv. lines

1-6, _vide ante_, p. 164.]

[434] [Compare "The gondolas gliding down the canals are like coffins or

cradles ... At night the darkness reveals the tiny lanterns which guide

these boats, and they look like shadows passing by, lit by stars.

Everything in this region is mystery--government, custom,

love."--_Corinne or Italy_, by Madame de Staël, 1888, pp. 279, 280.

Compare, too--

"In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,

And silent rows the songless Gondolier."

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza iii. lines 1, 2,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. note 3.]

[eg] ----_or towering spire_.--[MS. M.]

[eh] ----_at this moment_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[ei] {414} ----_Has he no name?_--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[ej] _His voice and carriage_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[ek] {415}_If so withdraw and fly and tell me not_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[el] {416}_Good I would now requite_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[em] _Remain at home_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[en] {417}_Why what hast thou to gainsay of the Senate?_--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[eo] _On the accursed tyranny which taints._--[Alternative reading. MS.

M.]

[ep] {418}_I would not draw my breath_----.--[Alternative reading. MS.

M.]

[435] {419}[If Gifford had been at the pains to _read_ Byron's

manuscripts, or revise the proofs, he would surely have pointed out, if

he had not ventured to amend, his bad grammar.]

[436] {421}The Doge's family palace.

[eq] {422}_A Loredano_----.--[MS. erased.]

[437] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza xiv. line 3, _Poetical

Works_, 1898, ii. 339, note i.]

[438] {423}[Compare "Themistocles was sacrificing on the deck of the

admiral-galley."--_Plutarch's Lives_, Langhorne, 1838, p. 89.]

[439] [For Timoleon, who first saved, and afterwards slew his brother

Timophanes, for aiming at sovereignty, see _The Siege of Corinth_, line

59, note 1, _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 452.]

[er] {424}_The night is clearing from the sky_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[440] [For the use of "dapple" as an intransitive verb, compare

_Mazeppa_, xvi. line 646, _vide ante_, p. 227.]

[es] ----_Now--now to business_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[et] {425}_The signal_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

_The storm-clock_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[441] ["'Tis done ... unerring beak" (six lines), not in MS.]

[442] [Byron had forgotten the dictum of the artist Reinagle, that

"eagles and all birds of prey attack with their talons and not with

their beaks" (see _Childe Harold_, Canto III. stanza xviii. line 6,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 226, note 1); or, possibly, had discovered

that eagles attack with their beaks as well as their talons.]

[443] [_Vide ante_, p. 368, note 1.]

[eu]

----_ten thousand caps were flung_

_Into the air and thrice ten_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[444] {426}[Compare--

"Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo!"

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza xii. line 8,

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 337.]

[ev]

/ _iron oracle_. \

_Where swings the sullen_ < >

\ _huge oracular bell_. /

[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[445] {427} "I Signori di Notte" held an important charge in the old

republic. [The surveillance of the "sestieri" was assigned to the

"Collegio dei Signori di notte al criminal." Six in all, they were at

once police magistrates and superintendents of police. (See Cappelletti,

_Storia, etc._, 1856, ii. 293.)]

[446] [The Doge overstates his authority. He could not preside without

his Council "in the _Maggior Consiglio_, or in the Senate, or in the

College; but four ducal councillors had the power to preside without the

Doge. The Doge might not open despatches except in the presence of his

Council, but his Council might open despatches in the absence of the

Doge."--_Venetian Studies_, by H. F. Brown, 1887, p. 189.]

[ew] {428}_That thus you dare assume a brigand's power._--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[ex] ----_storm-clock._--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[447] [Byron may have had in his mind the "bell or clocke" (see _var._

ii.) in Southey's ballad of _The Inchcape Rock_.

"On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,

And over the waves its warning rung."]

[ey] _Or met some unforeseen and fatal obstacle._--[Alternative reading.

MS. M.]

[448] {430}[A translation of _Beltramo Bergamasco_, i.e. a native of the

town and province of Bergamo, in the north of Italy. Compare "Comasco."

Harlequin ... was a Bergamasc, and the personification of the manners,

accent, and jargon of the inhabitants of the Val Brembana.--_Handbook:

Northern Italy_, p. 240.]

[ez] {431}_While Manlius, who hurled back the Gauls_----.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[fa] _The Grand Chancellor of the Ten_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[449] ["In the notes to _Marino Faliero_, it may be as well to say that

'_Benintende_' was not really of _the ten_, but merely _Grand

Chancellor_--a separate office, though an important one: it was an

arbitrary alteration of mine."--Letter to Murray, October 12, 1820.

Byron's correction was based on a chronicle cited by Sanudo, which is

responsible for the statement that Beneintendi de Ravignani presided as

Grand Chancellor at the Doge's trial, and took down his examination. As

a matter of fact, Beneintendi was at Milan, not at Venice, when the

trial took place. The "college" which conducted the examination of the

Doge consisted of Giovanni Mocenigo, Councillor; Giovanni Marcello,

Chief of the Ten; Luga da Lezze, "Inquisitore;" and Orio Pasqualigo,

"Avogadore."--_La Congiura_, p. 104(2).]

[450] "Giovedi grasso,"--"fat or greasy Thursday,"--which I cannot

literally translate in the text, was the day.

[451] {435}Historical fact. See Sanuto, Appendix, Note A [_vide post_,

p. 466].

[452] {436}["I know what Foscolo means about Calendaro's _spitting_ at

Bertram: _that's_ national--the _objection_, I mean. The Italians and

French, with those 'flags of Abomination,' their pocket handkerchiefs,

spit there, and here, and every where else--in your face almost, and

therefore _object_ to it on the Stage as _too familiar_. But we who

_spit_ nowhere--but in a man's face when we grow savage--are not likely

to feel this. Remember _Massinger_, and Kean's Sir Giles Overreach--

'Lord! _thus_ I _spit_ at thee and thy Counsel!'"

Letter to Murray, October 8, 1820, _Letters_, v. 1901, 89.

"Sir Giles Overreach" says to "Lord Lovel," in _A New Way to Pay Old

Debts_, act v. sc. 1, "Lord! thus I spit at thee, and at thy counsel."

Compare, too--

"You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,

And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine."

_Merchant of Venice_, act i. sc. 3, lines 106, 107.]

[fd] {437}_It is impending_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[453] {438}["Is [Solon] cum interrogaretur, cur nullum supplicium

constituisset in eum qui parentem necasset, respondit se id neminem

facturum putasse."--Cicero, _Pro Sext. Roscio Amerino_, cap, 25.]

[454] ["Signory" is used loosely to denote the State or Government of

Venice, not the "_collegio_" or "_Signoria Serenissima_."]

[455] [This statement is strictly historical. On the death of Andrea

Dandolo (September 7, 1334) the _Maggior Consiglio_ appointed a

commission of five "savi" to correct and modify the "promissione," or

ducal oath. The alterations which the commissioners suggested were

designed to prevent the Doge from acting on his own initiative in

matters of foreign policy.--_La Congiura_, pp. 30, 31.]

[456] {440}[Gelo is quoted as the type of a successful and beneficent

tyrant held in honour by all posterity; Thrasybulus as a consistent

advocate and successful champion of democracy.]

[457] [The lines from "I would have stood ... while living" are not in

the MS.]

[fe] _There were no other ways for truth to pierce them_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[ff] {441}_The torture for the exposure of the truth_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[fg]

/ _Doge Faliero's consort_. \

_Noble Venetians!_ < >--[MS. M. erased.]

\ _with respect the Duchess_. /

[458] The Venetian senate took the same title as the Roman, of

"conscript fathers." [It was not, however, the Senate, the _Pregadi_,

but the _Consiglio dei Dieci_, supplemented by the _Zonta_ of Twenty,

which tried and condemned the Doge.]

[fh] {443}_He hath already granted his own guilt_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[fi] _He is a Sovereign and hath swayed the state_.--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[459] {445}[The accepted spelling is "aerie." The word is said to be

derived from the Latin _atrium_. The form _eyry_, or _eyrie_, was

introduced by Spelman (_Gl_. 1664) to countenance an erroneous

derivation from the Saxon _eghe_, an egg. _N. Eng. Dict._, art.

"aerie."]

[fj] _Of his high aiery_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[460] [_Vide_ Suetonius, _De XII. Cæsaribus_, lib. iv. cap. 56, ed.

1691, p. 427. Angiolina might surely have omitted this particular

instance of the avenging vigilance of "Great Nemesis."]

[461] {446}[The story is told in Plutarch's _Alexander_, cap. 38.

Compare--

"And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And like another Helen, fired another Troy."

Dryden's _Alexanders Feast_, vi. lines 25-28.]

[462] [Byron's imagination was prone to dwell on the "earthworm's slimy

brood." Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto II. stanzas v., vi. Dallas

(_Recollections of Lord Byron_, 1824, p. 124) once ventured to remind

his noble connection "that although our senses make us acquainted with

the chemical decomposition of our bodies," there were other and more

hopeful considerations to be entertained. But Byron was obdurate, "and

the worms crept in and the worms crept out" as unpleasantly as

heretofore.]

[fk] ----_you call your duty_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[fl] {447} ----_never heard of_.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[fm] _For this almost_----.--[MS. M.]

[463] ["Hic est locus Marini Falethri, decapitati pro criminibus." Even

more impressive is the significant omission of the minutes of the trial

from the pages of the State Register. "The fourth volume of the _Misti

Consiglio X_. contains its decrees in the year 1355. On Friday, the 17th

April in that year, Marin Falier was beheaded. In the usual course, the

minutes of the trial should have been entered on the thirty-third page

of that volume; but in their stead we find a blank space, and the words

'[=N] S[=C]BATUR:' 'Be it not written.'"--_Calendar of State Papers_ ...

in Venice, Preface by Rawdon Brown, 1864, i. xvii.]

[464] [Lines 500-507 were forwarded in a letter to Murray, dated Marzo,

1821 (_Letters_, 1901, v. 261). According to Moore's footnote, "These

lines--perhaps from some difficulty in introducing them--were never

inserted in the Tragedy." It is true that in some copies of the first

edition of _Marino Faliero_ (1821, p. 151) these lines do not appear;

but in other copies of the first edition, in the second and other

editions, they occur in their place. It is strange that Moore, writing

in 1830, did not note the almost immediate insertion of these remarkable

lines.]

[465] {448}[The Council of Ten decided that the possessions of Faliero

should be confiscated; but the "Signoria," as an act of grace, and _ob

ducatûs reverentiam_, allowed him to dispose of 2000 "lire dei grossi"

of his own. The same day, April 17, the Doge dictated his will to the

notary Piero de Compostelli, leaving the 2000 lire to his wife

Aluica.--_La Congiura_, p. 105.]

[fn] {449}_Of the house of Rizzando Caminese_.--[MS. M.]

[fo] _Have I aught else to undergo ere Death?_--[Alternative reading.

MS. M.]

[466] {450}[The story as related by Sanudo is of doubtful authenticity,

_vide ante_, p. 332, note 1.]

[fp] {451}_Until he rolled beneath_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[fq] _A madness of the heart shall rise within_.--[Alternative reading.

MS. M.]

[467] [Compare--

"I pull in resolution."

_Macbeth_, act v. sc. 5, line 42.]

[468] {452}[See the translation of Sanudo's narrative in Appendix, p.

463.]

[fr]

----_whom I know_

_To be as worthless as the dust they trample_.--[MS. M. erased.]

[fs] {453}_With unimpaired but not outrageous grief_.--[Alternative

reading, MS. M.]

[469] {454}[An anachronism, _vide ante_, p. 336.]

[ft] _I am glad to be so_----.--[Alternative reading. MS. M.]

[470] This was the actual reply of Bailli, maire of Paris, to a

Frenchman who made him the same reproach on his way to execution, in the

earliest part of their revolution. I find in reading over (since the

completion of this tragedy), for the first time these six years, "Venice

Preserved," a similar reply on a different occasion by Renault, and

other coincidences arising from the subject. I need hardly remind the

gentlest reader, that such coincidences must be accidental, from the

very facility of their detection by reference to so popular a play on

the stage and in the closet as Otway's chef-d'oeuvre.

["Still crueller was the fate of poor Bailly [Jean Sylvani, born

September 17, 1736], First National President, First Mayor of Paris....

It is the 10th of November, 1793, a cold bitter drizzling rain, as poor

Bailly is led through the streets.... Silent, unpitied, sits the

innocent old man.... The Guillotine is taken down ... is carried to the

riverside; is there set up again, with slow numbness; pulse after pulse

still counting itself out in the old man's weary heart. For hours long;

amid curses and bitter frost-rain! 'Bailly, thou tremblest,' said one.

'_Mon ami_, it is for cold,' said Bailly, '_C'est de froid_.' Crueller

end had no mortal."--Carlyle's _French Revolution_, 1839, iii. 264.]

[fu] {455}_Who makest and destroyest suns!_--[MS. M. Vide letter of

February 2, 1821.]

[471] {456}[In his reply to the envoys of the Venetian Senate (April,

1797), Buonaparte threatened to "prove an Attila to Venice. If you

cannot," he added, "disarm your population, I will do it in your

stead--your government is antiquated--it must crumble to

pieces."--Scott's _Life of Napoleon Bonaparte_, 1828, p. 230. Compare,

too, _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza xc. lines 1, 2--

"The fool of false dominion--and a kind

Of bastard Cæsar," etc.]

[472] Should the dramatic picture seem harsh, let the reader look to the

historical of the period prophesied, or rather of the few years

preceding that period. Voltaire calculated their "nostre bene merite

Meretrici" at 12,000 of regulars, without including volunteers and local

militia, on what authority I know not; but it is, perhaps, the only part

of the population not decreased. Venice once contained two hundred

thousand inhabitants: there are now about ninety thousand; and THESE!!

few individuals can conceive, and none could describe, the actual state

into which the more than infernal tyranny of Austria has plunged this

unhappy city. From the present decay and degeneracy of Venice under the

Barbarians, there are some honourable individual exceptions. There is

Pasqualigo, the last, and, alas! _posthumous_ son of the marriage of the

Doges with the Adriatic, who fought his frigate with far greater

gallantry than any of his French coadjutors in the memorable action off

Lissa. I came home in the squadron with the prizes in 1811, and

recollect to have heard Sir William Hoste, and the other officers

engaged in that glorious conflict, speak in the highest terms of

Pasqualigo's behaviour. There is the Abbate Morelli. There is Alvise

Querini, who, after a long and honourable diplomatic career, finds some

consolation for the wrongs of his country, in the pursuits of literature

with his nephew, Vittor Benzon, the son of the celebrated beauty, the

heroine of "La Biondina in Gondoleta." There are the patrician poet

Morosini, and the poet Lamberti, the author of the "Biondina," etc., and

many other estimable productions; and, not least in an Englishman's

estimation, Madame Michelli, the translator of Shakspeare. There are the

young Dandolo and the improvvisatore Carrer, and Giuseppe Albrizzi, the

accomplished son of an accomplished mother. There is Aglietti, and were

there nothing else, there is the immortality of Canova. Cicognara,

Mustoxithi, Bucati, etc., etc., I do not reckon, because the one is a

Greek, and the others were born at least a hundred miles off, which,

throughout Italy, constitutes, if not a _foreigner_, at least a

_stranger_ (_forestiére_).

[This note is not in the MS. The first eight lines were included among

the notes, and the remainder formed part of the Appendix in all editions

1821-1831.

Nicolò Pasqualigo (1770-1821) received the command of a ship in the

Austrian Navy in 1800, and in 1805 was appointed Director of the Arsenal

of Venice. He took part in both the Lissa expeditions, and was made

prisoner after a prolonged resistance, March 13, 1811. (See _Personaggi

illustri delta Veneta patrizia gente_, by E. A. Cicogna, 1822, p. 33.

See, too, for Lissa, _Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 25, note 3.)

The Abate Jacopo Morelli (1745-1819), known as _Principe dei

Bibliotecarj_, became custodian of the Marciana Library in 1778, and

devoted the whole of his long and laborious life to the service of

literature. (For a list of his works, etc., see Tipaldo's _Biografia,

etc._, 1835, ii. 481. See, too, _Elogio di Jacopo Morelli_, by A.

Zendrini, Milano, 1822.)

Alvisi Querini, brother to Marina Querini Benzon, published in 1759 a

poem entitled _L'Ammiraglio dell' Indie_. He wrote under a pseudonym,

Ormildo Emeressio.

Vittore Benzon (d. 1822), whose mother, Marina, was celebrated by Anton

Maria Lamberti (1757-1832) as _La biondina in gondoleta (Poesie_, 1817,

i. 20), was the author of _Nella_, a love-poem, abounding in political

allusions. (See Tipaldo, v. 122, and _Isabella Teotochi Albrizzi, I Suoi

amici_, by V. Malamani, 1882, pp. 119, 136.)

II Conte Domenico Morosini (see _Letters_, Venezia, 1829) was the author

of two tragedies, _Medea in Corinto_ and _Giulio Sabino_, published in

1806.

Giustina Renier Michiel (1755-1832) was niece to the last Doge, Lodovico

Manin. Her _salon_ was the centre of a brilliant circle of friends,

including such names as Pindemonte, Foscolo, and Cesarotti. Her

translation of _Othello_, _Macbeth_, and _Coriolanus_ formed part of the

_Opere Drammatiche di Shakspeare_, published in Venice in 1797. Her

work, _Origine delle Feste Veneziane_, was published at Milan in 1829.

(See _G. R. Michiel, Archivio Veneto_, tom. xxxviii. 1889.)

Luigi Carrer (1801-1856) began life as a lawyer, but afterwards devoted

himself to poetry and literature. He was secretary of the Venetian

Institute in 1842, and, later, Director of the Carrer Museum. (See Gio.

Crespan, _Della vita e delle lettere di Luigi Carrer_, 1869.)

For Giuseppino Albrizzi (1800-1860), and for Isabella Teotochi Albrizzi,

Countess Albrizzi (? 1761-1836), see _Letters_, 1900, iv. 14, note 1;

and for Francesco Aglietti (1757-1836), Leopoldo Cicognara (1767-1835),

and Andreas Moustoxudes (1787-1860), see _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii.

324, note 1.

The "younger Dandolo" may be Conte Girolamo Antonio Dandolo, author of

_Sui Quattro Cavalli, etc._, published in 1817, and of _La Caduta della

Repubblica di Venezia_, 1855. By "Bucati" may possibly be meant the

satirist Pietro Buratti (1772-1832). (See _Poesie Veneziane_, by R.

Barbiera, 1886, p. 209.)]

[fv] {457}

/ _lazars_ \

_Beggars for nobles_, < _lepers_ > _for a people_!--[MS. M.]

\ _wretches_ /

[473] The chief palaces on the Brenta now belong to the Jews; who in the

earlier times of the republic were only allowed to inhabit Mestri, and

not to enter the city of Venice. The whole commerce is in the hands of

the Jews and Greeks, and the Huns form the garrison.

[474] {458}[Napoleon was crowned King of Italy, May 3, 1805. Venice was

ceded by Austria, December 26, 1805, and shortly after, Eugène

Beauharnais was appointed Viceroy of Italy, with the title of Prince of

Venice. It is certain that the "Vice-gerent" stands for Beauharnais, but

it is less evident why Byron, doubtless quoting from _Hamlet_, calls

Napoleon the "Vice of Kings." Did he mean a "player-king," one who not

being a king acted the part, as the "vice" in the old moralities; or did

he misunderstand Shakespeare, and seek to depreciate Beauharnais as the

Viceroy of a Viceroy, that is Joseph Bonaparte?]

[fw] _Vice without luxury_----.--[Alternative reading, MS. M.]

[475] [Compare--

"When Vice walks forth with her unsoftened terrors."

_Ode on Venice_, line 34, _vide ante_, p. 194.]

[476] See Appendix, Note C.

[477] {459}If the Doge's prophecy seem remarkable, look to the

following, made by Alamanni two hundred and seventy years ago;--"There

is one very singular prophecy concerning Venice: 'If thou dost not

change,' it says to that proud republic, 'thy liberty, which is already

on the wing, will not reckon a century more than the thousandth year.'

If we carry back the epocha of Venetian freedom to the establishment of

the government under which the republic flourished, we shall find that

the date of the election of the first Doge is 697: and if we add one

century to a thousand, that is, eleven hundred years, we shall find the

sense of the prediction to be literally this: 'Thy liberty will not last

till 1797.' Recollect that Venice ceased to be free in the year 1796,

the fifth year of the French republic; and you will perceive that there

never was prediction more pointed, or more exactly followed by the

event. You will, therefore, note as very remarkable the three lines of

Alamanni addressed to Venice; which, however, no one has pointed out:--

"'Se non cangi pensier, l'un secol solo

Non conterà sopra 'l millesimo anno

Tua libertà, che va fuggendo a volo.'

_Sat_., xii. ed. 1531, p. 413.

Many prophecies have passed for such, and many men have been called

prophets for much less."--P. L. Ginguené, _Hist. Lit. d'Italie_, ix. 144

[Paris Edition, 1819].

[478] Of the first fifty Doges, _five_ abdicated--_five_ were banished

with their eyes put out--_five_ were massacred--and _nine_ deposed; so

that _nineteen_ out of fifty lost the throne by violence, besides two

who fell in battle: this occurred long previous to the reign of Marino

Faliero. One of his more immediate predecessors, Andrea Dandolo, died of

vexation. Marino Faliero himself perished as related. Amongst his

successors, _Foscari_, after seeing his son repeatedly tortured and

banished, was deposed, and died of breaking a blood-vessel, on hearing

the bell of Saint Mark's toll for the election of his successor.

Morosini was impeached for the loss of Candia; but this was previous to

his dukedom, during which he conquered the Morea, and was styled the

Peloponnesian. Faliero might truly say,--

"Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes!"

[fx] _Thou brothel of the waters! thou sea Sodom!_--[Alternative

reading. MS. M.]

[479] [See letters to Webster, September 8, 1818, and to Hoppner,

December 31, 1819, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 255, 393.]

[480] {461} "Un Capo de' Dieci" are the words of Sanuto's Chronicle.

[fy]

_The gory head is rolling down the steps!_

_The head is rolling dawn the gory steps!_--

[Alternative readings. MS. M.]

[481] [A picture in oils of the execution of Marino Faliero, by

Ferdinand Victor Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863), which was exhibited in

the Salon in 1827, is now in the Wallace Collection (_Provisional

Catalogue_, 1900, p. 28).]

[482] [End of the Historical Tragedy of Marino Faliero, or the Doge of

Venice.

Begun April 4th, 1820.

Completed July 16th, 1820.

Finished copying in August 16th, 17th, 1820.

The which copying takes ten times the toil of composing, considering the

weather--_thermometer 90 in the shade_--and my domestic duties.

The motto is--

"Dux inquietæ turbidus Adriræ."

Horace.]

APPENDIX.

NOTE A.

I am obliged for the following excellent translation of the old

Chronicle to Mr. F. Cohen,[483] to whom the reader will find himself

indebted for a version that I could not myself--though after many years'

intercourse with Italian--have given by any means so purely and so

faithfully.

Story of Marino Faliero, Doge XLIV. mcccliv.[483a]

On the eleventh day of September, in the year of our Lord, 1354, Marino

Faliero was elected and chosen to be the Duke of the Commonwealth of

Venice. He was Count of Valdemarino, in the Marches of Treviso, and a

Knight, and a wealthy man to boot. As soon as the election was

completed, it was resolved in the Great Council, that a deputation of

twelve should be despatched to Marino Faliero the Duke, who was then on

his way from Rome; for when he was chosen, he was ambassador at the

court of the Holy Father, at Rome,--the Holy Father himself held his

court at Avignon. When Messer Marino Faliero the Duke was about to land

in this city, on the 5th day of October, 1354, a thick haze came on and

darkened the air: and he was enforced to land on the place of Saint

Mark, between the two columns, on the spot where evil doers are put to

death; and all thought that this was the worst of tokens.--Nor must I

forget to write that which I have read in a chronicle.--When Messer

Marino Faliero was Podesta and Captain of Treviso, the Bishop delayed

coming in with the holy sacrament, on a day when a procession was to

take place. Now, the said Marino Faliero was so very proud and wrathful,

that he buffeted the Bishop, and almost struck him to the ground: and,

therefore, Heaven allowed Marino Faliero to go out of his right senses,

in order that he might bring himself to an evil death.

When this Duke had held the dukedom during nine months and six days, he,

being wicked and ambitious, sought to make himself Lord of Venice, in

the manner which I have read in an ancient chronicle. When the Thursday

arrived upon which they were wont to hunt the bull, the bull hunt took

place as usual; and, according to the usage of those times, after the

bull hunt had ended, they all proceeded unto the palace of the Duke, and

assembled together in one of his halls; and they disported themselves

with the women. And until the first bell tolled they danced, and then a

banquet was served up. My Lord the Duke paid the expenses thereof,

provided he had a Duchess, and after the banquet they all returned to

their homes.

Now to this feast there came a certain Ser Michele Steno, a gentleman of

poor estate and very young, but crafty and daring, and who loved one of

the damsels of the Duchess. Ser Michele stood amongst the women upon the

solajo; and he behaved indiscreetly, so that my Lord the Duke ordered

that he should be kicked off the solajo [i.e. platform]; and the

esquires of the Duke flung him down from the solajo accordingly. Ser

Michele thought that such an affront was beyond all bearing; and when

the feast was over, and all other persons had left the palace, he,

continuing heated with anger, went to the hall of audience, and wrote

certain unseemly words relating to the Duke and the Duchess upon the

chair in which the Duke was used to sit; for in those days the Duke did

not cover his chair with cloth of sendal, but he sat in a chair of wood.

Ser Michele wrote thereon--"_Marin Falier, the husband of the fair wife;

others kiss her, but he keeps her._"[484] In the morning the words were

seen, and the matter was considered to be very scandalous; and the

Senate commanded the Avogadori of the Commonwealth to proceed therein

with the greatest diligence. A largess of great amount was immediately

proffered by the Avogadori, in order to discover who had written these

words. And at length it was known that Michele Steno had written them.

It was resolved in the Council of Forty that he should be arrested; and

he then confessed that in the fit of vexation and spite, occasioned by

his being thrust off the solajo in the presence of his mistress, he had

written the words. Therefore the Council debated thereon. And the

Council took his youth into consideration, and that he was a lover; and

therefore they adjudged that he should be kept in close confinement

during two months, and that afterwards he should be banished from Venice

and the state during one year. In consequence of this merciful sentence

the Duke became exceedingly wroth, it appearing to him, that the Council

had not acted in such a manner as was required by the respect due to his

ducal dignity; and he said that they ought to have condemned Ser Michele

to be hanged by the neck, or at least to be banished for life.

Now it was fated that my Lord Duke Marino was to have his head cut off.

And as it is necessary when any effect is to be brought about, that the

cause of such effect must happen, it therefore came to pass, that on the

very day after sentence had been pronounced on Ser Michele Steno, being

the first day of Lent, a gentleman of the house of Barbara, a choleric

gentleman, went to the arsenal, and required certain things of the

masters of the galleys. This he did in the presence of the Admiral of

the arsenal, and he, bearing the request, answered, No, it cannot be

done. High words arose between the gentleman and the Admiral, and the

gentleman struck him with his fist just above the eye; and as he

happened to have a ring on his finger, the ring cut the Admiral and drew

blood. The Admiral, all bruised and bloody, ran straight to the Duke to

complain, and with the intent of praying him to inflict some heavy

punishment upon the gentleman of Cà Barbaro.--"What wouldst thou have me

do for thee?" answered the Duke: "think upon the shameful gibe which

hath been written concerning me; and think on the manner in which they

have punished that ribald Michele Steno, who wrote it; and see how the

Council of Forty respect our person."--Upon this the Admiral answered,

"My Lord Duke, if you would wish to make yourself a prince, and to cut

all those cuckoldy gentlemen to pieces, I have the heart, if you do but

help me, to make you prince of all this state; and then you may punish

them all." Hearing this, the Duke said, "How can such a matter be

brought about?"--and so they discoursed thereon.

The Duke called for his nephew, Ser Bertuccio Faliero, who lived with

him in the palace, and they communed about this plot. And without

leaving the place, they sent for Philip Calendaro, a seaman of great

repute, and for Bertuccio Israello, who was exceedingly wily and

cunning. Then taking counsel among themselves, they agreed to call in

some others; and so, for several nights successively, they met with the

Duke at home in his palace. And the following men were called in singly;

to wit:--Niccolo Fagiuolo, Giovanni da Corfu, Stefano Fagiono, Niccolo

dalle Bende, Niccolo Biondo, and Stefano Trivisano.--It was concerted

that sixteen or seventeen leaders should be stationed in various parts

of the city, each being at the head of forty men, armed and prepared;

but the followers were not to know their destination. On the appointed

day they were to make affrays amongst themselves here and there, in

order that the Duke might have a pretence for tolling the bells of San

Marco; these bells are never rung but by the order of the Duke. And at

the sound of the bells, these sixteen or seventeen, with their

followers, were to come to San Marco, through the streets which open

upon the Piazza. And when the noble and leading citizens should come

into the Piazza, to know the cause of the riot, then the conspirators

were to cut them in pieces; and this work being finished, my Lord Marino

Faliero the Duke was to be proclaimed the Lord of Venice. Things having

been thus settled, they agreed to fulfil their intent on Wednesday, the

15th day of April, in the year 1355. So covertly did they plot, that no

one ever dreamt of their machinations.

But the Lord, who hath always helped this most glorious city, and who,

loving its righteousness and holiness, hath never forsaken it, inspired

one Beltramo Bergamasco to be the cause of bringing the plot to light,

in the following manner. This Beltramo, who belonged to Ser Niccolo

Lioni of Santo Stefano, had heard a word or two of what was to take

place; and so, in the above-mentioned month of April, he went to the

house of the aforesaid Ser Niccolo Lioni, and told him all the

particulars of the plot. Ser Niccolo, when he heard all these things,

was struck dead, as it were, with affright. He heard all the

particulars; and Beltramo prayed him to keep it all secret; and if he

told Ser Niccolo, it was in order that Ser Niccolo might stop at home on

the 15th of April, and thus save his life. Beltramo was going, but Ser

Niccolo ordered his servants to lay hands upon him, and lock him up. Ser

Niccolo then went to the house of Messer Giovanni Gradenigo Nasoni, who

afterwards became Duke, and who also lived at Santo Stefano, and told

him all. The matter seemed to him to be of the very greatest importance,

as indeed it was; and they two went to the house of Ser Marco Cornaro,

who lived at San Felice; and, having spoken with him, they all three

then determined to go back to the house of Ser Niccolo Lioni, to examine

the said Beltramo; and having questioned him, and heard all that he had

to say, they left him in confinement. And then they all three went into

the sacristy of San Salvatore, and sent their men to summon the

Councillors, the Avogadori, the Capi de' Dieci, and those of the Great

Council.

When all were assembled, the whole story was told to them. They were

struck dead, as it were, with affright. They determined to send for

Beltramo. He was brought in before them. They examined him, and

ascertained that the matter was true; and, although they were

exceedingly troubled, yet they determined upon their measures. And they

sent for the Capi de' Quarante, the Signori di Notte, the Capi de'

Sestieri, and the Cinque della Pace; and they were ordered to associate

to their men other good men and true, who were to proceed to the houses

of the ringleaders of the conspiracy, and secure them. And they secured

the foreman of the arsenal, in order that the conspirators might not do

mischief. Towards nightfall they assembled in the palace. When they were

assembled in the palace, they caused the gates of the quadrangle of the

palace to be shut. And they sent to the keeper of the Bell-tower, and

forbade the tolling of the bells. All this was carried into effect. The

before-mentioned conspirators were secured, and they were brought to the

palace; and, as the Council of Ten saw that the Duke was in the plot,

they resolved that twenty of the leading men of the state should be

associated to them, for the purpose of consultation and deliberation,

but that they should not be allowed to ballot.

The counsellors were the following:--Ser Giovanni Mocenigo, of the

Sestiero of San Marco; Ser Almoro Veniero da Santa Marina, of the

Sestiero of Castello; Ser Tomaso Viadro, of the Sestiero of Canaregio;

Ser Giovanni Sanudo, of the Sestiero of Santa Croce; Ser Pietro

Trivisano, of the Sestiero of San Paolo; Ser Pantalione Barbo il Grando,

of the Sestiero of Ossoduro. The Avogadori of the Commonwealth were

Zufredo Morosini, and Ser Orio Pasqualigo; and these did not ballot.

Those of the Council of Ten were Ser Giovanni Marcello, Ser Tomaso

Sanudo, and Ser Micheletto Dolfino, the heads of the aforesaid Council

of Ten. Ser Luca da Legge, and Ser Pietro da Mosto, inquisitors of the

aforesaid Council. And Ser Marco Polani, Ser Marino Veniero, Ser Lando

Lombardo, and Ser Nicoletto Trivisano, of Sant' Angelo.

Late in the night, just before the dawning, they chose a junta of

twenty noblemen of Venice from amongst the wisest, and the worthiest,

and the oldest. They were to give counsel, but not to ballot. And they

would not admit any one of Cà Faliero. And Niccolo Faliero, and another

Niccolo Faliero, of San Tomaso, were expelled from the Council, because

they belonged to the family of the Doge. And this resolution of creating

the junta of twenty was much praised throughout the state. The following

were the members of the junta of twenty:--Ser Marco Giustiniani,

Procuratore, Ser Andrea Erizzo, Procuratore, Ser Lionardo Giustiniani,

Procuratore, Ser Andrea Contarini, Ser Simone Dandolo, Ser Niccolo

Volpe, Ser Giovanni Loredano, Ser Marco Diedo, Ser Giovanni Gradenigo,

Ser Andrea Cornaro Cavaliere, Ser Marco Soranzo, Ser Rinieri du Mosto,

Ser Gazano Marcello, Ser Marino Morosini, Ser Stefano Belegno, Ser

Niccolo Lioni, Ser Filippo Orio, Ser Marco Trivisano, Ser Jacopo

Bragadino, Ser Giovanni Foscarini.

These twenty were accordingly called in to the Council of Ten; and they

sent for my Lord Marino Faliero, the Duke: and my Lord Marino was then

consorting in the palace with people of great estate, gentlemen, and

other good men, none of whom knew yet how the fact stood.

At the same time Bertuccio Israello, who, as one of the ringleaders, was

to head the conspirators in Santa Croce, was arrested and bound, and

brought before the Council. Zanello del Brin, Nicoletto di Rosa,

Nicoletto Alberto, and the Guardiaga, were also taken, together with

several seamen, and people of various ranks. These were examined, and

the truth of the plot was ascertained.

On the 16th of April judgment was given in the Council of Ten, that

Filippo Calendaro and Bertuccio Israello should be hanged upon the red

pillars of the balcony of the palace, from which the Duke is wont to

look at the bull hunt: and they were hanged with gags in their mouths.

The next day the following were condemned:--Niccolo Zuccuolo, Nicoletto

Blondo, Nicoletto Doro, Marco Giuda, Jacomello Dagolino, Nicoletto

Fidele, the son of Filippo Calendaro, Marco Torello, called Israello,

Stefano Trivisano, the money-changer of Santa Margherita, and Antonio

dalle Bende. These were all taken at Chiozza, for they were endeavouring

to escape. Afterwards, by virtue of the sentence which was passed upon

them in the Council of Ten, they were hanged on successive days; some

singly and some in couples, upon the columns of the palace, beginning

from the red columns, and so going onwards towards the canal. And other

prisoners were discharged, because, although they had been involved in

the conspiracy, yet they had not assisted in it; for they were given to

understand by some of the heads of the plot, that they were to come

armed and prepared for the service of the state, and in order to secure

certain criminals; and they knew nothing else. Nicoletto Alberto, the

Guardiaga, and Bartolommeo Ciricolo and his son, and several others, who

were not guilty, were discharged.

On Friday, the 16th day of April, judgment was also given in the

aforesaid Council of Ten, that my Lord Marino Faliero, the Duke, should

have his head cut off; and that the execution should be done on the

landing-place of the stone staircase, where the Dukes take their oath

when they first enter the palace. On the following day, the 17th of

April, the doors of the palace being shut, the Duke had his head cut

off, about the hour of noon. And the cap of estate was taken from the

Duke's head before he came down stairs. When the execution was over, it

is said that one of the Council of Ten went to the columns of the palace

over against the place of St. Mark, and that he showed the bloody sword

unto the people, crying out with a loud voice--"The terrible doom hath

fallen upon the traitor!"--and the doors were opened, and the people all

rushed in, to see the corpse of the Duke, who had been beheaded.

It must be known that Ser Giovanni Sanudo, the councillor, was not

present when the aforesaid sentence was pronounced; because he was

unwell and remained at home. So that only fourteen balloted; that is to

say, five councillors, and nine of the Council of Ten. And it was

adjudged, that all the lands and chattels of the Duke, as well as of the

other traitors, should be forfeited to the state. And as a grace to the

Duke, it was resolved in the Council of Ten, that he should be allowed

to dispose of two thousand ducats out of his own property. And it was

resolved, that all the councillors and all the Avogadori of the

Commonwealth, those of the Council of Ten, and the members of the junta,

who had assisted in passing sentence on the Duke and the other traitors,

should have the privilege of carrying arms both by day and by night in

Venice, and from Grado to Cavazere. And they were also to be allowed two

footmen carrying arms, the aforesaid footmen living and boarding with

them in their own houses. And he who did not keep two footmen might

transfer the privilege to his sons or his brothers; but only to two.

Permission of carrying arms was also granted to the four Notaries of the

Chancery, that is to say, of the Supreme Court, who took the

depositions; and they were, Amedio, Nicoletto di Lorino, Steffanello,

and Pietro de Compostelli, the secretaries of the Signori di Notte.

After the traitors had been hanged, and the Duke had had his head cut

off, the state remained in great tranquillity and peace. And, as I have

read in a Chronicle, the corpse of the Duke was removed in a barge, with

eight torches, to his tomb in the church of San Giovanni e Paolo, where

it was buried. The tomb is now in that aisle in the middle of the little

church of Santa Maria della Pace which was built by Bishop Gabriel of

Bergamo. It is a coffin of stone, with these words engraven thereon:

"_Heic jacet Dominus Marinus Faletro Dux._"--And they did not paint his

portrait in the hall of the Great Council:--but in the place where it

ought to have been, you see these words:--"_Hic est locus Marini

Faletro, decapitati pro criminibus._"--And it is thought that his house

was granted to the church of Sant' Apostolo; it was that great one near

the bridge. Yet this could not be the case, or else the family bought it

back from the church; for it still belongs to Cà Faliero. I must not

refrain from noting, that some wished to write the following words in

the place where his portrait ought to have been, as

aforesaid:--"_Marinus Faletro Dux, temeritas me cepit. Pænas lui,

decapitatus pro criminibus._"--Others, also, indited a couplet, worthy

of being inscribed upon his tomb.

"_Dux Venetum jacet heic, patriam qui prodere tentans,_

_Sceptra, decus, censum perdidit, atque caput._"

NOTE B.

Petrarch on the Conspiracy of Marino Faliero.[485]

"Al giovane doge Andrea Dandolo succedette un vecchio, il quale tardi si

pose al timone della repubblica, ma sempre prima di quel, che facea d'

uopo a lui ed alia patria: egli è Marino Faliero, personaggio a me noto

per antica dimestichezza. Falsa era l' opinione intorno a lui, giacchè

egli si mostrò fornito più di coraggio, che di senno. Non pago della

prima dignità, entrò con sinistro piede nel pubblico Palazzo:

imperciocchè questo doge dei Veneti, magistrato sacro in tutti i secoli,

che dagli antichi fu sempre venerato qual nume in quella città, l'

altr'jeri fu decollato nel vestibolo dell' istesso Palazzo. Discorrerei

fin dal principio le cause di un tale evento, se cosi vario, ed ambiguo

non ne fosse il grido: nessuno però lo scusa, tutti affermano, che egli

abbia voluto cangiar qualche cosa nell' ordine della repubblica a lui

tramandato dai maggiori. Che desiderava egli di più? Io son d' avviso,

che egli abbia ottenuto ciò, che non si concedette a nessun altro:

mentre adempiva gli uffici di legato presso il Pontefice, e sulle rive

del Rodano trattava la pace, che io prima di lui avevo indarno tentato

di conchiudere, gli fu conferito l' onore del ducato, che nè chiedeva,

nè s' aspettava. Tornato in patria, pensò a quello, cui nessuno non pose

mente giammai, e soffrì quello, che a niuno accadde mai di soffrire:

giacchè in quel luogo celeberrimo, e chiarissimo, e bellissimo infra

tutti quelli, che io vidi, ove i suoi antenati avevano ricevuti

grandissimi onori in mezzo alle pompe trionfali, ivi egli fu trascinato

in modo servile, e spogliato delle insegne ducali, perdette la testa, e

macchiò col proprio sangue le soglie del tempio, l' atrio del Palazzo, e

le scale marmoree endute spesse volte illustri o dalle solenni

festività, o dalle ostili spoglie. Ho notato il luogo, ora noto il

tempo: è l' anno del Natale di Cristo, 1355, fu il giorno diciotto

aprile si alto è il grido sparso, che se alcuno esaminerà la disciplina,

e le costumanze di quella città, e quanto mutamento di cose venga

minacciato dalla morte di un solo uomo (quantunque molti altri, come

narrano, essendo complici, o subirono l' istesso supplicio, o lo

aspettano) si accorgerà, che nulla di più grande avvenne ai nostri tempi

nella Italia. Tu forse qui attendi il mio giudizio: assolvo il popolo,

se credere si dee alia fama, benchè abbia potuto e castigate più

mitemente, e con maggior dolcezza vendicare il suo dolore: ma non cosi

facilmente, si modera un' ira giusta insieme, e grande in un numeroso

popolo principalmente, nel quale il precipitoso, ed instabile volgo

aguzza gli stimoli dell' iracondia con rapidi, e sconsigliati clamori.

Compatisco, e nell' istesso tempo mi adiro con quell' infelice uomo, il

quale adorno di un' insolito onore, non so, che cosa si volesse negli

estremi anni della sua vita: la calamità di lui diviene sempre più

grave, perchè dalla sentenza contra di esso promulgata apparirà, che

egli fu non solo misero, ma insano, e demente, e che con vane arti si

usurpò per tanti anni una falsa fama di sapienza. Ammonisco i dogi, i

quali gli succederanno, che questo e un' esempio posto innanzi ai loro

occhi, quale specchio, nel quale veggano d' essere non signori, ma duci,

anzi nemmeno duci, ma onorati servi della Repubblica. Tu sta sano; e

giacchè fluttuano le pubbliche cose, sforziamoci di governar

modestissimamente i privati nostri affari."--_Viaggi di Francesco

Petrarca_, descritti dal Professore Ambrogio Levati, Milano, 1820, iv.

323-325.

The above Italian translation from the Latin epistles of Petrarch

proves--1stly, That Marino Faliero was a personal friend of Petrarch's;

"antica dimestichezza," old intimacy, is the phrase of the poet. 2dly,

That Petrarch thought that he had more courage than conduct, "più di

_coraggio_ che di senno." 3dly, That there was some jealousy on the part

of Petrarch; for he says that Marino Faliero was treating of the peace

which he himself had "vainly attempted to conclude." 4thly, That the

honour of the Dukedom was conferred upon him, which he neither sought

nor expected, "che nè chiedeva, nè aspettava," and which had never been

granted to any other in like circumstances, "ciò che non si concedette a

nessun altro," a proof of the high esteem in which he must have been

held. 5thly, That he had a reputation for _wisdom_, _only_ forfeited by

the last enterprise of his life, "si usurpò per tanti anni una falsa

fama di sapienza."--"He had usurped for so many years a false fame of

wisdom," rather a difficult task, I should think. People are generally

found out before eighty years of age, at least in a republic.--From

these, and the other historical notes which I have collected, it may be

inferred, that Marino Faliero possessed many of the qualities, but not

the success of a hero; and that his passions were too violent. The

paltry and ignorant account of Dr. Moore falls to the ground. Petrarch

says, "that there had been no greater event in his times" (_our times_

literally), "nostri tempi," in Italy. He also differs from the historian

in saying that Faliero was "on the banks of the _Rhone_," instead of at

Rome, when elected; the other accounts say, that the deputation of the

Venetian senate met him at Ravenna. How this may have been, it is not

for me to decide, and is of no great importance. Had the man succeeded,

he would have changed the face of Venice, and perhaps of Italy. As it

is, what _are_ they both?

NOTE C.

Venetian Society and Manners.

"Vice without splendour, sin without relief

Even from the gloss of love to smooth it o'er;

But in its stead, coarse lusts of habitude," etc.

"To these attacks so frequently pointed by the government against the

clergy,--to the continual struggles between the different constituted

bodies,--to these enterprises carried on by the mass of the nobles

against the depositaries of power,--to all those projects of innovation,

which always ended by a stroke of state policy; we must add a cause not

less fitted to spread contempt for ancient doctrines; _this was the

excess of corruption_.

"That freedom of manners, which had been long boasted of as the

principal charm of Venetian society, had degenerated into scandalous

licentiousness: the tie of marriage was less sacred in that Catholic

country, than among those nations where the laws and religion admit of

its being dissolved. Because they could not break the contract, they

feigned that it had not existed; and the ground of nullity, immodestly

alleged by the married pair, was admitted with equal facility by priests

and magistrates, alike corrupt. These divorces, veiled under another

name, became so frequent, that the most important act of civil society

was discovered to be amenable to a tribunal of exceptions; and to

restrain the open scandal of such proceedings became the office of the

police. In 1782 the Council of Ten decreed, that every woman who should

sue for a dissolution of her marriage should be compelled to await the

decision of the judges in some convent, to be named by the court.[486]

Soon afterwards the same council summoned all causes of that nature

before itself.[487] This infringement on ecclesiastical jurisdiction

having occasioned some remonstrance from Rome, the council retained only

the right of rejecting the petition of the married persons, and

consented to refer such causes to the holy office as it should not

previously have rejected.[488]

"There was a moment in which, doubtless, the destruction of private

fortunes, the ruin of youth, the domestic discord occasioned by these

abuses, determined the government to depart from its established maxims

concerning the freedom of manners allowed the subject. All the

courtesans were banished from Venice; but their absence was not enough

to reclaim and bring back good morals to a whole people brought up in

the most scandalous licentiousness. Depravity reached the very bosoms of

private families, and even into the cloister; and they found themselves

obliged to recall, and even to indemnify,[489] women who sometimes

gained possession of important secrets, and who might be usefully

employed in the ruin of men whose fortunes might have rendered them

dangerous. Since that time licentiousness has gone on increasing; and we

have seen mothers, not only selling the innocence of their daughters,

but selling it by a contract, authenticated by the signature of a public

officer, and the performance of which was secured by the protection of

the laws.[490]

"The parlours of the convents of noble ladies, and the houses of the

courtesans, though the police carefully kept up a number of spies about

them, were the only assemblies for society in Venice; and in these two

places, so different from each other, there was equal freedom. Music,

collations, gallantry, were not more forbidden in the parlours than at

the casinos. There were a number of casinos for the purpose of public

assemblies, where gaming was the principal pursuit of the company. It

was a strange sight to see persons of either sex masked, or grave in

their magisterial robes, round a table, invoking chance, and giving way

at one instant to the agonies of despair, at the next to the illusions

of hope, and that without uttering a single word.

"The rich had private casinos, but they lived _incognito_ in them; and

the wives whom they abandoned found compensation in the liberty they

enjoyed. The corruption of morals had deprived them of their empire. We

have just reviewed the whole history of Venice, and we have not once

seen them exercise the slightest influence."--Daru, _Hist. de la Répub.

de Vénise_, Paris, 1821, v. 328-332.

* * * * *

The author of "Sketches Descriptive of Italy," (1820), etc., one of the

hundred tours lately published, is extremely anxious to disclaim a

possible plagiarism from _Childe Harold_ and _Beppo_. See p. 159, vol.

iv. He adds that still less could this presumed coincidence arise from

"my conversation," as he had "_repeatedly declined an introduction to me

while in Italy_."

Who this person may be I know not;[491] but he must have been deceived

by all or any of those who "repeatedly offered to introduce" him, as I

invariably refused to receive any English with whom I was not previously

acquainted, even when they had letters from England. If the whole

assertion is not an invention, I request this person not to sit down

with the notion that he could have been introduced, since there has been

nothing I have so carefully avoided as any kind of intercourse with his

countrymen,--excepting the very few who were for a considerable time

resident in Venice, or had been of my previous acquaintance. Whoever

made him any such offer was possessed of impudence equal to that of

making such an assertion without having had it. The fact is, that I hold

in utter abhorrence any contact with the travelling English, as my

friend the Consul General Hoppner and the Countess Benzoni (in whose

house the Conversazione mostly frequented by them is held), could amply

testify, were it worth while. I was persecuted by these tourists even to

my riding ground at Lido, and reduced to the most disagreeable circuits

to avoid them. At Madame Benzoni's I repeatedly refused to be introduced

to them;--of a thousand such presentations pressed upon me, I accepted

two, and both were to Irish women.

* * * * *

I should hardly have descended to speak of such trifles publicly, if the

impudence of this "sketcher" had not forced me to a refutation of a

disingenuous and gratuitously impertinent assertion; so meant to be, for

what could it import to the reader to be told that the author "had

repeatedly declined an introduction," even if it had been true, which,

for the reasons I have above given, is scarcely possible. Except Lords

Lansdowne, Jersey, and Lauderdale, Messrs. Scott, Hammond, Sir Humphry

Davy, the late M. Lewis, W. Bankes, Mr. Hoppner, Thomas Moore, Lord

Kinnaird, his brother, Mr. Joy, and Mr. Hobhouse, I do not recollect to

have exchanged a word with another Englishman since I left their

Country; and almost all these I had known before. The others,--and God

knows there were some hundreds, who bored me with letters or visits, I

refused to have any communication with, and shall be proud and happy

when that wish becomes mutual.

FOOTNOTES:

[483] {462}Mr. Francis Cohen, afterwards Sir Francis Palgrave

(1788-1861), the author of the _Rise and Progress of the English

Constitution, History of the Anglo-Saxons_, etc., etc.

[483a][In the earlier editions (1821-1825) Francis Cohen's translation

(Appendix II.) is preceded by an Italian version (Appendix I.), taken

directly from Muratori's edition of Marin Sanudo's _Vite dei Dogi_

(_Rerum Italicarum Scriptores_, 1733, xii. 628-635). The two versions

are by no means identical. Cohen's "translation" is, presumably an

accurate rendering of Sanudo's text, and must have been made either from

the original MS. or from a transcript sent from Italy to England.

Muratori's Italian is a _rifacimento_ of the original, which has been

altered and condensed with a view to convenience or literary effect.

Proper names of persons and places are changed, Sanudo's Venetian

dialect gives place to Muratori's Italian, and notes which Sanudo added

in the way of illustration and explanation are incorporated in the text.

In the _Life of Marino Faliero_, pp. 199, 200 of the original text are

omitted, and a passage from an old chronicle, which Sanudo gives as a

note, is made to appear part of the original narrative. (See Preface to

_Le Vite dei Dogi di Marin Sanudo_, by G. Monticolo, 1900; _Marino

Faliero, La Congiura_, by V. Lazzarino; _Nuovo Archivio Veneto_, 1897,

vol. xiii. pt. i. p. 15, note 1.)]

[484] {463}["_Marin Faliero dalla bella moglie: altri la gode, ed egli

la mantien._" According to Andrea Navagero (_It. Rer. Script._, xxiii.

1038), the writing on the chair ran thus: "_Becco Marino Falier dalla

bella mogier_" (_vide ante_, p. 349). Palgrave has bowdlerized Steno's

lampoon.]

[485] {468}["Had a copy taken of an extract from Petrarch's Letters,

with reference to the conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero, containing

the poet's opinion of the matter."--_Diary_, February 11, 1821,

_Letters_, 1901, v. 201.]

[486] {470}Correspondence of M. Schlick, French chargé d'affaires.

Despatch of 24th August, 1782.

[487] _Ibid_. Despatch, 31st August.

[488] _Ibid_. Despatch of 3d September, 1785.

[489] The decree for their recall designates them as _nostre benemerite

meretrici_: a fund and some houses, called _Case rampane_, were assigned

to them; hence the opprobrious appellation of _Carampane_. [The writer

of the Preface to _Leggi e memorie Venete sulla Prostituzione_, which

was issued from Lord Orford's private press in 1870, maintains that the

designation is mythical. "Tale asserzione che non ha verum fondamento,

salvo che nella imaginazione di chi primo la scrisse lo storico francese

Daru non si fece scrupolo di ripetuta ciecamente. Fu altresi ripetuta da

Lord Byron e da altri," etc. The volume, a sumptuous folio, prints a

series of rescripts promulgated by the Venetian government against

_meretrici_ and other disagreeable persons.]

[490] Meyer, Description of Venice, vol. ii.; and M. de Archenholtz,

Picture of Italy, vol. i. sect. 2, pp. 65, 66. [_Voyage en Italie_, par

F. J. L. Meyer, An X. cap. iii.]

[491] {471}[In a letter to Murray, September 11, 1820 (_Letters_, 1901,

v. 75, 84), Byron writes, "Last post I sent you a note fierce as Faliero

himself, in answer to a trashy tourist, who pretends that he could have

been introduced to me;" but at the end of the month, September 29, 1820,

he withdraws his animadversions: "I open my letter to say, that on

reading more of the 4 volumes on Italy [_Sketches descriptive of Italy

in the Years_ 1816, 1817, etc., by Miss Jane Waldie] ... I perceive

(_horresco referens_) that it is written by a WOMAN!!! In that case you

must suppress my note and answer.... I can only say that I am sorry that

a Lady should say anything of the kind. What I would have said to one of

the other sex you know already." Nevertheless, the note was appended to

the first edition, which appeared April 21, 1821.]

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.

BY

QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR

OF "WAT TYLER."

"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."

[_Merchant of Venice_, act iv. sc. 1, lines 218, 336.]

INTRODUCTION TO _THE VISION OF JUDGMENT_.

Byron's _Vision of Judgment_ is a parody of Southey's _Vision of

Judgement_.

The acts or fyttes of the quarrel between Byron and Southey occur in the

following order. In the summer of 1817 Southey, accompanied by his

friends, Humphrey Senhouse and the artist Edward Nash, passed some weeks

(July) in Switzerland. They visited Chamouni, and at Montanvert, in the

travellers' album, they found, in Shelley's handwriting, a Greek

hexameter verse, in which he affirmed that he was an "atheist," together

with an indignant comment ("fool!" also in Greek) superadded in an

unknown hand (see _Life of Shelley_, by E. Dowden, 1886, ii. 30, note).

Southey copied this entry into his note-book, and "spoke of the

circumstance on his return" (circ. August 12, 1817). In the course of

the next year some one told Byron that a rumour had reached England that

he and Shelley "had formed a league of incest with two sisters," and

that Southey and Coleridge were the authors of the scandal. There is

nothing to show through what channel the report of the rumour reached

Byron's ears, but it may be inferred that it was in his mind (see Letter

to Murray, November 24, 1818, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 272) when he assailed

Southey in the "Dedication" ("in good, simple, savage verse") to the

First Canto of _Don Juan_, which was begun September 6, 1818. Shelley,

who was already embittered against Southey (see the account of a dinner

at Godwin's, November 6, 1817, _Diary of H. C. Robinson_, 1869, ii. 67),

heard Byron read this "Dedication," and, in a letter to Peacock (October

8, 1818), describes it as being "more like a mixture of wormwood and

verdigrease than satire."

When _Don Juan_ appeared (July 15, 1819), the "Dedication" was not

forthcoming, but of its existence and character Southey had been

informed. "Have you heard," he asks (Letter to the Rev. H. Hill,

_Selections from the Letters, etc._, 1856, iii. 142), "that _Don Juan_

came over with a Dedication to me, in which Lord Castlereagh and I ...

were coupled together for abuse as the 'two Roberts'? A fear of

persecution (_sic_) from the _one_ Robert is supposed to be the reason

why it has been suppressed. Lord Byron might have done well to remember

that the other can write dedications also; and make his own cause good,

if it were needful, in prose or rhyme, against a villain, as well as

against a slanderer."

When George III. died (January 29, 1820), it became the duty of the

"laurel-honouring laureate" to write a funeral ode, and in composing a

Preface, in vindication of the English hexameter, he took occasion

"incidentally to repay some of his obligations to Lord Byron by a few

comments on _Don Juan_" (Letter to the Rev. H. Hill, January 8, 1821,

_Selections, etc._, iii. 225). He was, no doubt, impelled by other and

higher motives to constitute himself a _censor morum_, and take up his

parable against the spirit of the age as displayed and fostered in _Don

Juan_ (see a letter to Wynne, March 23, 1821, _Selections, etc._, iii.

238), but the suppressed "Dedication" and certain gibes, which had been

suffered to appear, may be reckoned as the immediate causes of his

anathema.

Southey's _Vision of Judgement_ was published April 11, 1821--an

undivine comedy, in which the apotheosis of George III., the

beatification of the virtuous, and the bale and damnation of such

egregious spirits as Robespierre, Wilkes, and Junius, are "thrown upon

the screen" of the showman or lecturer. Southey said that the "Vision"

ought to be read aloud, and, if the subject could be forgotten and

ignored, the hexameters might not sound amiss, but the subject and its

treatment are impossible and intolerable. The "Vision" would have "made

sport" for Byron in any case, but, in the Preface, Southey went out of

his way to attack and denounce the anonymous author of _Don Juan_.

"What, then," he asks (ed. 1838, x. 204), "should be said of those for

whom the thoughtlessness and inebriety of wanton youth can no longer be

pleaded, but who have written in sober manhood, and with deliberate

purpose?... Men of diseased hearts and depraved imaginations, who,

forming a system of opinions to suit their own unhappy course of

conduct, have rebelled against the holiest ordinances of human society,

and hating that revealed religion which, with all their efforts and

bravadoes, they are unable entirely to disbelieve, labour to make others

as miserable as themselves, by infecting them with a moral virus that

eats into the soul! The school which they have set up may properly be

called the Satanic school; for, though their productions breathe the

spirit of Belial in their lascivious parts, and the spirit of Moloch in

those loathsome images of atrocities and horrors which they delight to

represent, they are more especially characterized by a Satanic pride and

audacious impiety, which still betrays the wretched feeling of

hopelessness wherewith it is allied."

Byron was not slow to take up the challenge. In the "Appendix" to the

_Two Foscari_ (first ed., pp. 325-329), which was written at Ravenna,

June-July, but not published till December 11, 1821, he retaliates on

"Mr. Southey and his 'pious preface'" in many words; but when it comes

to the point, ignores the charge of having "published a lascivious

book," and endeavours by counter-charges to divert the odium and to

cover his adversary with shame and confusion. "Mr. S.," he says, "with a

cowardly ferocity, exults over the anticipated 'death-bed repentance' of

the objects of his dislike; and indulges himself in a pleasant 'Vision

of Judgment,' in prose as well as verse, full of impious impudence.... I

am not ignorant," he adds, "of Mr. Southey's calumnies on a different

occasion, knowing them to be such, which he scattered abroad on his

return from Switzerland against me and others.... What _his_ 'death-bed'

may be it is not my province to predicate; let him settle it with his

Maker, as I must do with mine. There is something at once ludicrous and

blasphemous in this arrogant scribbler of all works sitting down to deal

damnation and destruction upon his fellow-creatures, with Wat Tyler, the

Apotheosis of George the Third, and the Elegy on Martin the regicide,

all shuffled together in his writing-desk."

Southey must have received his copy of the _Two Foscari_ in the last

week of December, 1821, and with the "Appendix" (to say nothing of the

Third Canto of _Don Juan_) before him, he gave tongue, in the pages of

the _Courier_, January 6, 1822. His task was an easy one. He was able to

deny, _in toto_, the charge of uttering calumnies on his return from

Switzerland, and he was pleased to word his denial in a very

disagreeable way. He had come home with a stock of travellers' tales,

but not one of them was about Lord Byron. He had "sought for no staler

subject than St. Ursula." His charges of "impiety," "lewdness,"

"profanation," and "pollution," had not been answered, and were

unanswerable; and as to his being a "scribbler of all work," there were

exceptions--works which he had _not_ scribbled, the _nefanda_ which

disfigured the writings of Lord Byron. "Satanic school" would stick.

So far, the battle went in Southey's favour. "The words of the men of

Judah were fiercer than the words of the men of Israel," and Byron was

reduced to silence. A challenge (sent through Kinnaird, but not

delivered) was but a confession of impotence. There was, however, in

Southey's letter to the _Courier_ just one sentence too many. Before he

concluded he had given "one word of advice to Lord Byron"--"When he

attacks me again, let it be in rhyme. For one who has so little command

of himself, it will be a great advantage that his temper should be

obliged to _keep tune_."

Byron had anticipated this advice, and had already attacked the laureate

in rhyme, scornfully and satirically, but with a gay and genial mockery

which dispensed with "wormwood and verdigrease" or yet bitterer and more

venomous ingredients.

There was a truth in Lamb's jest, that it was Southey's _Vision of

Judgement_ which was worthy of prosecution; that "Lord Byron's poem was

of a most good-natured description--no malevolence" (_Diary of H. C.

Robinson_, 1869, ii. 240). Good-natured or otherwise, it awoke

inextinguishable laughter, and left Byron in possession of the field.

The _Vision of Judgment_, begun May 7 (but probably laid aside till

September 11), was forwarded to Murray October 4, 1821. "By this post,"

he wrote to Moore, October 6, 1821 (_Letters_, 1901, v. 387), "I have

sent my nightmare to balance the incubus of Southey's impudent

anticipation of the Apotheosis of George the Third." A chance perusal of

Southey's letter in the _Courier_ (see Medwin's _Conversations_, 1824,

p. 222, and letters to Douglas Kinnaird, February 6, 25, 1822) quickened

his desire for publication; but in spite of many appeals and suggestions

to Murray, who had sent Byron's "copy" to his printer, the decisive step

of passing the proofs for press was never taken. At length Byron lost

patience, and desired Murray to hand over "the corrected copy of the

proof with the Preface" of the _Vision of Judgment_ to John Hunt (see

letters to Murray, July 3, 6, 1822, _Letters_, 1901, vi. 92, 93).

Finally, a year after the MS. had been sent to England, the _Vision of

Judgment_, by Quevedo Redivivus, appeared in the first number (pp. 1-39)

of the _Liberal_, which was issued October 15, 1822. The Preface, to

Byron's astonishment and annoyance, was not forthcoming (see letter to

Murray, October 22, 1822, _Letters_, 1901, vi. 126, and _Examiner_,

Sunday, November 3, 1822, p. 697), and is not prefixed to the first

issue of the _Vision of Judgment_ in the first number of the _Liberal_.

The _Liberal_ was severely handled by the press (see, for example, the

_Literary Gazette_ for October 19, 26, November 2, 1822; see, too, an

anonymous pamphlet entitled _A Critique on the "Liberal"_ (London,

1822, 8vo, 16 pages), which devotes ten pages to an attack on the

_Vision of Judgment_). The daily press was even more violent. The

_Courier_ for October 26 begins thus: "This _scoundrel-like_ publication

has at length made its appearance."

There was even a threat of prosecution. Byron offered to employ counsel

for Hunt, to come over to England to stand his trial in his stead, and

blamed Murray for not having handed over the corrected proof, in which

some of the more offensive passages had been omitted or mitigated (see

letter to Murray, December 25, 1822, and letter to John Hunt, January 8,

1823, _Letters,_ 1901, vi. 155, 159). It is to be noted that in the list

of _Errata_ affixed to the table of Contents at the end of the first

volume of the _Liberal,_ the words, a "weaker king ne'er," are

substituted for "a worse king never" (stanza viii. line 6), and "an

unhandsome woman" for "a bad, ugly woman" (stanza xii. line 8). It would

seem that these emendations, which do not appear in the MS., were

slipped into the _Errata_ as precautions, not as after-thoughts.

Nevertheless, it was held that a publication "calumniating the late

king, and wounding the feelings of his present Majesty," was a danger to

the public peace, and on January 15, 1824, the case of the King _v._

John Hunt was tried in the Court of King's Bench. The jury brought in a

verdict of "Guilty," but judgment was deferred, and it was not till July

19, 1824, three days after the author of the _Vision of Judgment_ had

been laid to rest at Hucknall Torkard, that the publisher was sentenced

to pay to the king a fine of one hundred pounds, and to enter into

securities, for five years, for a larger amount.

For the complete text of section iii. of Southey's Preface, Byron's

"Appendix" to the _Two Foscari_, etc., see _Essays Moral and Political_,

by Robert Southey, 1832, ii. 183, 205. See, too, for "Quarrel between

Byron and Southey," Appendix I. of vol. vi. of _Letters of Lord Byron,_

1901.

* * * * *

NOTE.

The following excerpt from H. C. Robinson's _Diary_ is printed from the

original MS., with the kind permission of the trustees of Dr. Williams'

Theological Library (see "Diary," 1869, ii. 437):--

"[Weimar], August 15, [1829].

"W[ordsworth] will not put the nose of B[yron] out with Frau von

Goethe, but he will be appreciated by her. I am afraid of the

experiment with the great poet himself....

" ... I alone to the poet....

"I read to him the _Vision of Judgment_. He enjoyed it like a

child; but his criticisms went little beyond the exclamatory 'Toll!

Ganz grob! himmlisch! unübertrefflich!' etc., etc.

"In general, the more strongly peppered passages pleased him the

best. Stanza 9 he praised for the clear distinct painting; 10 he

repeated with emphasis,--the last two lines conscious that his own

age was eighty; 13, 14, and 15 are favourites with me. G. concurred

in the suggested praise. The stanza 24 he declared to be sublime.

The characteristic speeches of Wilkes and Junius he thought most

admirable.

"Byron 'hat selbst viel übertroffen;' and the introduction of

Southey made him laugh heartily.

"August 16.

"Lord B. he declared to be inimitable. Ariosto was not so _keck_ as

Lord B. in the _Vision of Judgment_."

PREFACE

It hath been wisely said, that "One fool makes many;" and it hath been

poetically observed--

"[That] fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

[POPE'S _Essay on Criticism_, line 625.]

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he

never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not

have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his

own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or

acquired, be _worse._ The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the

renegade intolerance, and impious cant, of the poem by the author of

"Wat Tyler," are something so stupendous as to form the sublime of

himself--containing the quintessence of his own attributes.

So much for his poem--a word on his preface. In this preface it has

pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed

"Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the notice of the

legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those

of an informer. If there exists anywhere, except in his imagination,

such a School, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own

intense vanity? The truth is that there are certain writers whom Mr. S.

imagines, like Scrub, to have "talked of _him_; for they laughed

consumedly."[492]

I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to

allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done

more good, in the charities of life, to their fellow-creatures, in any

one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his absurdities

in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. But I have a few

questions to ask.

1stly, Is Mr. Southey the author of _Wat Tyler_?

2ndly, Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge of his

beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious

publication?[493]

3rdly, Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full parliament, "a

rancorous renegado?"[494]

4thly, Is he not poet laureate, with his own lines on Martin the

regicide staring him in the face?[495]

And, 5thly, Putting the four preceding items together, with what

conscience dare _he_ call the attention of the laws to the publications

of others, be they what they may?

I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding; its meanness speaks

for itself; but I wish to touch upon the _motive_, which is neither more

nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in some recent

publications, as he was of yore in the _Anti-jacobin_, by his present

patrons. Hence all this "skimble scamble stuff" about "Satanic," and so

forth. However, it is worthy of him--"_qualis ab incepto_."

If there is anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion of

the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. He might

have written hexameters, as he has written everything else, for aught

that the writer cared--had they been upon another subject. But to

attempt to canonise a monarch, who, whatever were his household virtues,

was neither a successful nor a patriot king,--inasmuch as several years

of his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say nothing of

the aggression upon France--like all other exaggeration, necessarily

begets opposition. In whatever manner he may be spoken of in this new

_Vision_, his _public_ career will not be more favourably transmitted by

history. Of his private virtues (although a little expensive to the

nation) there can be no doubt.

With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only say

that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a better

right to talk of them than Robert Southey. I have also treated them more

tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, the Laureate,

deals about his judgments in the next world, is like his own judgment in

this. If it was not completely ludicrous, it would be something worse. I

don't think that there is much more to say at present.

QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

P.S.--It is possible that some readers may object, in these

objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and

spiritual persons discourse in this _Vision_. But, for precedents upon

such points, I must refer him to Fielding's _Journey from this World to

the next_, and to the Visions of myself, the said Quevedo, in Spanish

or translated.[496] The reader is also requested to observe, that no

doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; that the person of the

Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more than can be said

for the Laureate, who hath thought proper to make him talk, not "like a

school-divine,"[497] but like the unscholarlike Mr. Southey. The whole

action passes on the outside of heaven; and Chaucer's _Wife of Bath_,

Pulci's _Morgante Maggiore_, Swift's _Tale of a Tub_, and the other

works above referred to, are cases in point of the freedom with which

saints, etc., may be permitted to converse in works not intended to be

serious.

Q.R.

* * * Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive,

threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be hoped

that his visionary faculties will in the meantime have acquired a little

more judgment, properly so called: otherwise he will get himself into

new dilemmas. These apostate jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let him

take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously "one Mr. Landor,"[498]

who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses; and

not long ago, the poet laureate dedicated to him, it appeareth, one of

his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem called "_Gebir_." Who

could suppose, that in this same Gebir the aforesaid Savage Landor (for

such is his grim cognomen) putteth into the infernal regions no less a

person than the hero of his friend Mr. Southey's heaven,--yea, even

George the Third! See also how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a

mind. The following is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign:--

(Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the

shades of his royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his

view; and he exclaims to his ghostly guide)--

"'Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch

Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow?

Listen! him yonder who, bound down supine,

Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung;

He too amongst my ancestors! [I hate

The despot, but the dastard I despise.

Was he our countryman?'

'Alas,][499] O king!

Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst

Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east.'

'He was a warrior then, nor fear'd the gods?'

'Gebir, he feared the Demons, not the gods,

Though them indeed his daily face adored;

And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives

Squandered, as stones to exercise a sling,

And the tame cruelty and cold caprice--

Oh madness of mankind! addressed, adored!'"

_Gebir_ [_Works, etc._, 1876, vii. 17].

I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallics of Savagius, wishing to keep

the proper veil over them, if his grave but somewhat indiscreet

worshipper will suffer it; but certainly these teachers of "great moral

lessons" are apt to be found in strange company.

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.[500]

I.

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:

His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,

So little trouble had been given of late;

Not that the place by any means was full,

But since the Gallic era "eighty-eight"

The Devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,

And "a pull altogether," as they say

At sea--which drew most souls another way.

II.

The Angels all were singing out of tune,

And hoarse with having little else to do,

Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,

Or curb a runaway young star or two,[fz]

Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon

Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue,

Splitting some planet with its playful tail,

As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III.

The Guardian Seraphs had retired on high,

Finding their charges past all care below;[ga]

Terrestrial business filled nought in the sky

Save the Recording Angel's black bureau;

Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply

With such rapidity of vice and woe,

That he had stripped off both his wings in quills,

And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV.

His business so augmented of late years,

That he was forced, against his will, no doubt,

(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)

For some resource to turn himself about,

And claim the help of his celestial peers,[gb]

To aid him ere he should be quite worn out

By the increased demand for his remarks:[gc]

Six Angels and twelve Saints were named his clerks.

V.

This was a handsome board--at least for Heaven;

And yet they had even then enough to do,

So many Conquerors' cars were daily driven,

So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

Each day, too, slew its thousands six or seven,

Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,

They threw their pens down in divine disgust--

The page was so besmeared with blood and dust.[gd]

VI.

This by the way; 'tis not mine to record

What Angels shrink from: even the very Devil

On this occasion his own work abhorred,

So surfeited with the infernal revel:

Though he himself had sharpened every sword,[ge]

It almost quenched his innate thirst of evil.

(Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertion--

'Tis, that he has both Generals in reversion.)[gf][501]

VII.

Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace,

Which peopled earth no better, Hell as wont,

And Heaven none--they form the tyrant's lease,

With nothing but new names subscribed upon't;

'Twill one day finish: meantime they increase,[gg]

"With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front,

Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours are born

Less formidable in the head than horn.[gh]

VIII.

In the first year of Freedom's second dawn[502]

Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one

Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn[gi]

Left him nor mental nor external sun:[503]

A better farmer ne'er brushed dew from lawn,[gj]

A worse king never left a realm undone!

He died--but left his subjects still behind,

One half as mad--and t'other no less blind.[gk][504]

IX.

He died! his death made no great stir on earth:

His burial made some pomp; there was profusion

Of velvet--gilding--brass--and no great dearth

Of aught but tears--save those shed by collusion:

For these things may be bought at their true worth;

Of elegy there was the due infusion--

Bought also; and the torches, cloaks and banners,

Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners,[505]

X.

Formed a sepulchral melodrame. Of all

The fools who flocked to swell or see the show,

Who cared about the corpse? The funeral

Made the attraction, and the black the woe,

There throbbed not there a thought which pierced the pall;

And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low,

It seemed the mockery of hell to fold

The rottenness of eighty years in gold.[506]

XI.

So mix his body with the dust! It might

Return to what it _must_ far sooner, were

The natural compound left alone to fight

Its way back into earth, and fire, and air;

But the unnatural balsams merely blight

What Nature made him at his birth, as bare

As the mere million's base unmummied clay--

Yet all his spices but prolong decay.[507]

XII.

He's dead--and upper earth with him has done;

He's buried; save the undertaker's bill,

Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone

For him, unless he left a German will:[508]

But where's the proctor who will ask his son?

In whom his qualities are reigning still,[gl]

Except that household virtue, most uncommon,

Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman.

XIII.

"God save the king!" It is a large economy

In God to save the like; but if he will

Be saving, all the better; for not one am I

Of those who think damnation better still:[509]

I hardly know too if not quite alone am I

In this small hope of bettering future ill

By circumscribing, with some slight restriction,

The eternity of Hell's hot jurisdiction.

XIV.

I know this is unpopular; I know

'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damned

For hoping no one else may e'er be so;

I know my catechism; I know we're crammed

With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow;

I know that all save England's Church have shammed,

And that the other twice two hundred churches

And synagogues have made a _damned_ bad purchase.

XV.

God help us all! God help me too! I am,

God knows, as helpless as the Devil can wish,

And not a whit more difficult to damn,

Than is to bring to land a late-hooked fish,

Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb;

Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish,

As one day will be that immortal fry

Of almost every body born to die.

XVI.

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate,

And nodded o'er his keys: when, lo! there came

A wondrous noise he had not heard of late--

A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame;

In short, a roar of things extremely great,

Which would have made aught save a Saint exclaim;

But he, with first a start and then a wink,

Said, "There's another star gone out, I think!"[gm]

XVII.

But ere he could return to his repose,

A Cherub flapped his right wing o'er his eyes--

At which Saint Peter yawned, and rubbed his nose:

"Saint porter," said the angel, "prithee rise!"

Waving a goodly wing, which glowed, as glows

An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes:

To which the saint replied, "Well, what's the matter?

"Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?"

XVIII.

"No," quoth the Cherub: "George the Third is dead."

"And who _is_ George the Third?" replied the apostle:

"_What George? what Third?_" "The King of England," said

The angel. "Well! he won't find kings to jostle

Him on his way; but does he wear his head?

Because the last we saw here had a tustle,

And ne'er would have got into Heaven's good graces,

Had he not flung his head in all our faces.

XIX.

"He was--if I remember--King of France;[510]

That head of his, which could not keep a crown

On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance

A claim to those of martyrs--like my own:

If I had had my sword, as I had once

When I cut ears off, I had cut him down;

But having but my _keys_, and not my brand,

I only knocked his head from out his hand.

XX.

"And then he set up such a headless howl,

That all the Saints came out and took him in;

And there he sits by Saint Paul, cheek by jowl;[gn]

That fellow Paul--the parvenù! The skin[511]

Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl

In heaven, and upon earth redeemed his sin,

So as to make a martyr, never sped

Better than did this weak and wooden head.

XXI.

"But had it come up here upon its shoulders,

There would have been a different tale to tell:

The fellow-feeling in the Saint's beholders

Seems to have acted on them like a spell;

And so this very foolish head Heaven solders

Back on its trunk: it may be very well,

And seems the custom here to overthrow

Whatever has been wisely done below."

XXII.

The Angel answered, "Peter! do not pout:

The King who comes has head and all entire,

And never knew much what it was about--

He did as doth the puppet--by its wire,

And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt:

My business and your own is not to inquire

Into such matters, but to mind our cue--

Which is to act as we are bid to do."

XXIII.

While thus they spake, the angelic caravan,

Arriving like a rush of mighty wind,

Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan

Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde,

Or Thames, or Tweed), and midst them an old man

With an old soul, and both extremely blind,

Halted before the gate, and, in his shroud,

Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud.[512]

XXIV.

But bringing up the rear of this bright host

A Spirit of a different aspect waved

His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast

Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved;

His brow was like the deep when tempest-tossed;

Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved

Eternal wrath on his immortal face,

And _where_ he gazed a gloom pervaded space.

XXV.

As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate

Ne'er to be entered more by him or Sin,

With such a glance of supernatural hate,

As made Saint Peter wish himself within;

He pottered[513] with his keys at a great rate,

And sweated through his Apostolic skin:[go]

Of course his perspiration was but ichor,

Or some such other spiritual liquor.[gp]

XXVI.

The very Cherubs huddled all together,

Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt

A tingling to the tip of every feather,

And formed a circle like Orion's belt

Around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither

His guards had led him, though they gently dealt

With royal Manes (for by many stories,

And true, we learn the Angels all are Tories).

XXVII.

As things were in this posture, the gate flew

Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges

Flung over space an universal hue

Of many-coloured flame, until its tinges

Reached even our speck of earth, and made a new

Aurora borealis spread its fringes

O'er the North Pole; the same seen, when ice-bound,

By Captain Parry's crew, in "Melville's Sound."[gq][514]

XXVIII.

And from the gate thrown open issued beaming

A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light,[515]

Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming

Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight:

My poor comparisons must needs be teeming

With earthly likenesses, for here the night

Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving