Barb. War with them too? Senator. Thus the act confirm'd Barb. And the deep agony of his pale wife, Doge. 'Tis long since she enjoy'd it: may rarely, Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped away More by his silence than a thousand outcries this, Lest I forget in this compassion for Has a short hourly respite, granted at they come : Lo! How feeble and forlorn! I cannot bear Senator. 'Tis almost Thirty-four years of nearly ceaseless warfare Doge. No doubt: I found her Queen of Ocean, and I leave her While her sea-sway has not shrunk. And merits all our country's gratitude. Senator. Which should be made manifest. Senator. My heart bleeds for you. Senator. It must have way, my lord: Not to feel deeply for your son. In your commission? Senator. What my lord? Of things you know not: but the treaty's Return with it to them who sent you. Senator. I obey. I had in charge, too, from the Council, That you would fix an hour for their reunion. Doge. Say, when they will—now, even at this moment, Doge. Marina! Bid her enter. Poor [Exit Attendant. [The Doge remains in silence as before. Enter MARINA. Marina. 1 have ventured, father, on Your privacy. Doge. I have none from you, my child. Command my time, when not commanded by The state. Marina. I wish'd to speak to you of him. Doge. Proceed, my daughter! To attend my husband for a limited number Doge. You had so. Marina. The Ten. When we had reach'd the Bridge of Sighs, Which I prepared to pass with Foscari, The gloomy guardian of that passage first Demurr'd: a messenger was sent back to The Ten; but as the court no longer sate, And no permission had been given in writing, I was thrust back, with the assurance that Until that high tribunal re-assembled The dungeon-walls must still divide us. Doge. True, The form has been omitted in the haste With which the court adjourn'd, and till it meets 'Tis dubious. Marina. Till it meets! and when it meets, They'll torture him again; and he and I Must purchase by renewal of the rack The interview of husband and of wife, The holiest tie beneath the heavens? God! Dost thou see this? Doge. Child-child - Oh Doge. That answer only shows you know not Venice. Alas! how should you? she knows not herself, In all her mystery. Hear me-they who aim And that is-but they have not conquer'd yet. For all that yet is past, as many years He must return. Marina. To exile? Marina. And can I not go with him? This prayer of yours was twice denied before With one foot in the grave, with dim eyes, strange To tears save drops of dotage, with long white And scanty hairs, and shaking hands, and heads As palsied as their hearts are hard, they council, Marina (abruptly). Call me not child! | Cabal, and put men's lives out, as if life You soon will have no children-you deserve none You, who can talk thus calmly of a son In circumstances which would call forth tears Of blood from Spartans! Though these did not weep Their boys who died in battle, is it written | That they beheld them perish piecemeal, nor Stretch'd forth a hand to save them? Doge. You behold me: I cannot weep-I would I could; but if Each white hair on this head were a young life, This ducal cap the diadem of earth, Marina With less he surely might be saved. Were no more than the feelings long extinguish'd In their accursed bosoms. Marina. I do I do-and so should you, methinks That these are demons: could it be else that Men, who have been of women born and suckled Who have loved, or talk'd at least of lovehave given Their hands in sacred vows-have danced their babes Upon their knees, perhaps have mourn'd above them In pain, in peril, or in death-who arc, Or were at least in seeming human, could Do as they have done by yours, and you yourself, You, who abet them? Doge. I forgive this, for Doge. I have borne so much, You have seen your son's blood flow, and your flesh shook not; And, after that, what are a woman's words? No more than woman's tears, that they should shake you. Doge. Woman, this clamorous grief of thine, I tell thee, Is no more in the balance weigh'd with that Which but I pity thee, my poor Marina! Marina. Pity my husband, or I cast it from me; Pity thy son! Thou pity!-'tis a word Strange to thy heart-how came it on thy lips? Doge. I must bear these reproaches, though they wrong me. Couldst thou but read Marina. Tis not upon thy brow, Nor in thine eyes, nor in thine acts,-where then To mingle with my name; that name shall be, As far as I have borne it, what it was When I received it. Marina. But for the poor children Of him thou canst not, or thou wilt not save: You were the last to bear it. Doge. Would it were so! Better for him he never had been born, Better for me.—I have seen our house dishonour'd. Marina. That's false! A truer, nobler, trustier heart, More loving, or more loyal, never beat Alive, or dead, for prince or paladin For what he suffers, not for what he did. 'Tis ye who are all traitors, tyrant!-ye! Did you but love your country like this victim, Who totters back in chains to tortures, and His grace for your enormous, guilt. Indeed all you have said. I better bore The deaths of the two sons Heaven took from me Than Jacopo's disgrace. Marina. That word again? Doge. Has he not been condemn'd? Doge. Time may restore his memory— He was my pride, my-but 'tis useless now— I am not given to tears, but wept for joy When he was born: those drops were ominous. Marina. I say he's innocent: and were he not 80, Is our own blood and kin to shrink from us In fatal moments? Doge. I shrank not from him: Twice I demanded it, but was refused; Enter an Attendant. Doge. Who bears it? [Exit Attendant. Marina. Must I then retire? Doge. Perhaps it is not requisite, if this Concerns your husband, and if not-Well, signor, Your pleasure! [To Loredano entering. Lored. I bear that of the Ten. Doge. They Have chosen well their envoy. Which leads me here. Doge. It does their wisdom honour, Lored. The Ten in council. Doge. What! have they met again, and met without Apprizing me? Lored. They wish'd to spare your feelings, To back his suit. Dishonour'd!-he dis- No less than age. honour'd! 1 tell thee, Doge, 'tis Venice is dishonour'd; Doge. That's new-when spared they either? His name shall be her foulest, worst reproach, I thank them, notwithstanding. Lored. You know well That they have power to act at their discretion, With or without the presence of the Doge. Doge. 'Tis some years since 1 learn'd this, long before I became Doge, or dream'd of such advance ment. You need not school me, signor: I sate in That council when you were a young patrician. Lored. True, in my father's time; I have heard him and The admiral, his brother, say as much. Your Highness may remember them: they both Died suddenly. Doge. And if they did so, better So die than live on lingeringly in pain. Lored. No doubt! yet most men like to live their days out. Doge. And did not they? Lored. The grave knows best: they died, As I said, suddenly. Doge. Is that so strange That you repeat the word emphatically? Lored. So far from strange, that never was there death In my mind half so natural as theirs. Doge. What should I think of mortals? Lored. You best know if I should be so. Your fathers were my foes, and I have heard Lored. Who dares say so? Your fathers were mine enemies, as bitter Lored. I fear not. Doge. You have no cause, being what I am; but were I That you would have me thought, you long ere now Were past the sense of fear. Hate on; I care not. Lored. I never yet knew that a noble's life In Venice had to dread a Doge's frown, That is, by open means. Doge. But I, good signor, Am, or at least was, more than a mere duke, In blood, in mind, in means; and that they know Who dreaded to elect me, and have since Striven all they dare to weigh me down: be sure, Before or since that period, had I held you At so much price as to require your absence, A word of mine had set such spirits to work As would have made you nothing. But in all things I have observed the strictest reverence; Not for the laws alone, for those you have strain'd (1 do not speak of you but as a single And now, sir, to your business. Lored. 'Tis decreed, That, without farther repetition of The Ten, dispensing with the stricter law Marina. Thank God! At least they will not drag him more Before that horrible tribunal. Would he But think so, to my mind the happiest doom, Not he alone, but all who dwell here, could Desire, were to escape from such a land. Doge. That is not a Venetian thought, my daughter. Marina. No, 'twas too human. May I share his exile? Lored. Of this the Ten said nothing. That were too human, also. But it was not Lored. It was not named. Marina (to the Doge). Then, father, Surely you can obtain or grant me thus much: [To Loredano. And you, sir, not oppose my prayer to be Permitted to accompany my husband. Doge. I will endeavour. Marina. And you, signor? Lored. Lady! 'Tis not for me to anticipate the pleasure Of the tribunal. Marina. Pleasure! what a word To use for the decrees of The deference due even to the lightest word That falls from those who rule in Venice. Marina. Keep Those maxims for your mass of scared mechanics, Your merchants, your Dalmatian and Greek slaves, Your tributaries, your dumb citizens, To whom your midnight carryings off and drownings, Your dungeons next the palace-roofs, or under The water's level, your mysterious meetings, And unknown dooms, and sudden executions, Your Bridge of Sighs, your strangling chamber, and Your torturing instruments, have made ye seem The beings of another and worse world! Keep such for them: I fear ye not. I know ye, Have known and proved your worst, in the infernal Process of my poor husband! Treat me as Ye treated him:-you did so, in so dealing With him. Then what have I to fear from you, Even if I were of fearful nature, which Doge. You hear, she speaks wildly. Utter'd within these walls, I bear no further Doge! have you aught in answer? Doge. Something from The Doge; it may be also from a parent. Lored. My mission here is to the Doge. Doge. Then say The Doge will choose his own embassador, Or state in person what is meet; and for The father Lored. I remember mine.-Farewell! I kiss the hands of the illustrious lady, And bow me to the Duke. [Exit Loredano. Marina. Are you content? Doge. I am what you behold. Marina. And that's a mystery. Doge. All things are so to mortals; who can read them Save he who made? or, if they can, the few And gifted spirits, who have studied long That loathsome volume-man, and pored upon Those black and bloody leaves, his heart and brain, But learn a magic which recoils upon And when we cry out against Fate,'twere well We should remember Fortune can take nought Save what she gave-the rest was nakedness, With as we may, and least in humblest stations, Where hunger swallows all in one low want, Aloof, save fear of famine! All is low, Our days on seasons; our whole being on Something which is not us!-So, we are slaves, The greatest as the meanest—nothing rests Upon our will; the will itself no less Depends upon a straw than on a storm; And when we think we lead, we are most led, And still towards death, a thing which comes as much Without our act or choice, as birth; so that Methinks we must have sinn'd in some old world And this is hell: the best is, that it is not Eternal. Marina. These are things we cannot judge On earth. Doge. And how then shall we judge each other, Who are all earth, and I, who am call'd upon To judge my son? I have administer'd And, in reward, the gratitude of Venice |