by Lord Byron
It was, no doubt, with reference to these criticisms that Byron told Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 173) that it was no invention of his that the “young Foscari should have a sickly affection for his native city…. I painted the men as I found them, as they were — not as the critics would have them…. But no painting, however highly coloured, can give an idea of the intensity of a Venetian’s affection for his native city.”
Goethe, on the other hand, was “not careful” to note these inconsistencies and perplexities. He thought that the dramatic handling of The Two Foscari was “worthy of great praise,” was “admirable!” (Conversations with Goethe, 1874, p. 265).
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN.
Francis Foscari, Doge of Venice.
Jacopo Foscari, Son of the Doge.
James Loredano, a Patrician.
Marco Memmo, a Chief of the Forty.
Barbarigo, a Senator.
Other Senators, The Council of Ten, Guards, Attendants, etc., etc.
WOMAN.
Marina, Wife of young Foscari.
Scene — The Ducal Palace, Venice.
THE TWO FOSCARI
ACT I
Scene I. — A Hall in the Ducal Palace.
Enter Loredano and Barbarigo, meeting.
Lor. Where is the prisoner?
Bar. Reposing from
The Question.
Lor. The hour’s past — fixed yesterday
For the resumption of his trial. — Let us
Rejoin our colleagues in the council, and
Urge his recall.
Bar. Nay, let him profit by
A few brief minutes for his tortured limbs;
He was o’erwrought by the Question yesterday,
And may die under it if now repeated.
Lor. Well?
Bar. I yield not to you in love of justice,
Or hate of the ambitious Foscari, 10
Father and son, and all their noxious race;
But the poor wretch has suffered beyond Nature’s
Most stoical endurance.
Lor. Without owning
His crime?
Bar. Perhaps without committing any.
But he avowed the letter to the Duke
Of Milan, and his sufferings half atone for
Such weakness.
Lor. We shall see.
Bar. You, Loredano,
Pursue hereditary hate too far.
Lor. How far?
Bar. To extermination.
Lor. When they are
Extinct, you may say this. — Let’s in to council. 20
Bar. Yet pause — the number of our colleagues is not
Complete yet; two are wanting ere we can
Proceed.
Lor. And the chief judge, the Doge?
Bar. No — he,
With more than Roman fortitude, is ever
First at the board in this unhappy process
Against his last and only son.
Lor. True — true —
His last.
Bar. Will nothing move you?
Lor. Feels he, think you?
Bar. He shows it not.
Lor. I have marked that — the wretch!
Bar. But yesterday, I hear, on his return
To the ducal chambers, as he passed the threshold 30
The old man fainted.
Lor. It begins to work, then.
Bar. The work is half your own.
Lor. And should be all mine —
My father and my uncle are no more.
Bar. I have read their epitaph, which says they died
By poison.
Lor. When the Doge declared that he
Should never deem himself a sovereign till
The death of Peter Loredano, both
The brothers sickened shortly: — he is Sovereign.
Bar. A wretched one.
Lor. What should they be who make
Orphans?
Bar. But did the Doge make you so?
Lor. Yes. 40
Bar. What solid proofs?
Lor. When Princes set themselves
To work in secret, proofs and process are
Alike made difficult; but I have such
Of the first, as shall make the second needless.
Bar. But you will move by law?
Lor. By all the laws
Which he would leave us.
Bar. They are such in this
Our state as render retribution easier
Than ‘mongst remoter nations. Is it true
That you have written in your books of commerce,
(The wealthy practice of our highest nobles) 50
“Doge Foscari, my debtor for the deaths
Of Marco and Pietro Loredano,
My sire and uncle?”
Lor. It is written thus.
Bar. And will you leave it unerased?
Lor. Till balanced.
Bar. And how?
[Two Senators pass over the stage, as in their way to “the Hall of the Council of Ten.”
Lor. You see the number is complete.
Follow me.[Exit Loredano.
Bar. (solus). Follow thee! I have followed long
Thy path of desolation, as the wave
Sweeps after that before it, alike whelming
The wreck that creaks to the wild winds, and wretch
Who shrieks within its riven ribs, as gush 60
The waters through them; but this son and sire
Might move the elements to pause, and yet
Must I on hardily like them — Oh! would
I could as blindly and remorselessly! —
Lo, where he comes! — Be still, my heart! they are
Thy foes, must be thy victims: wilt thou beat
For those who almost broke thee?
Enter Guards, with young Foscari as Prisoner, etc.
Guard. Let him rest.
Signor, take time.
Jac. Fos.I thank thee, friend, I’m feeble;
But thou mayst stand reproved.
Guard. I’ll stand the hazard.
Jac. Fos. That’s kind: — I meet some pity, but no mercy; 70
This is the first.
Guard. And might be the last, did they
Who rule behold us.
Bar. (advancing to the Guard). There is one who does:
Yet fear not; I will neither be thy judge
Nor thy accuser; though the hour is past,
Wait their last summons — I am of “the Ten,”
And waiting for that summons, sanction you
Even by my presence: when the last call sounds,
We’ll in together. — Look well to the prisoner!
Jac. Fos. What voice is that? — ’Tis Barbarigo’s! Ah!
Our House’s foe, and one of my few judges. 80
Bar. To balance such a foe, if such there be,
Thy father sits amongst thy judges.
Jac. Fos.True,
He judges.
Bar. Then deem not the laws too harsh
Which yield so much indulgence to a sire,
As to allow his voice in such high matter
As the state’s safety — —
Jac. Fos.And his son’s. I’m faint;
Let me approach, I pray you, for a breath
Of air, yon window which o’erlooks the waters.
Enter an Officer, who whispers Barbarigo.
Bar. (to the Guard). Let him approach. I must not speak with him
Further than thus: I have transgressed my duty 90
In this brief parley, and must now redeem it
Within the Council Chamber.[Exit Barbarigo.
[Guard conducting Jacopo Foscari to the window.
Guard. There, sir, ‘tis
Open. — How feel you?
Jac. Fos.Like a boy — Oh Venice!
/>
Guard. And your limbs?
Jac. Fos.Limbs! how often have they borne me
Bounding o’er yon blue tide, as I have skimmed
The gondola along in childish race,
And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,
Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;
While the fair populace of crowding beauties, 100
Plebeian as patrician, cheered us on
With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal! — How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughened; with a swimmer’s stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o’er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 110
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they waxed fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens
As showed that I had searched the deep: exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and, drawing deep
The long-suspended breath, again I spurned
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 120
My track like a sea-bird. — I was a boy then.
Guard. Be a man now: there never was more need
Of manhood’s strength.
Jac. Fos. (looking from the lattice). My beautiful, my own,
My only Venice — this is breath! Thy breeze,
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness! How unlike
The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,
Which howled about my Candiote dungeon, and
Made my heart sick.
Guard. I see the colour comes 130
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed! — I dread to think on’t.
Jac. Fos. They will not banish me again? — No — no,
Let them wring on; I am strong yet.
Guard. Confess,
And the rack will be spared you.
Jac. Fos.I confessed
Once — twice before: both times they exiled me.
Guard. And the third time will slay you.
Jac. Fos.Let them do so,
So I be buried in my birth-place: better
Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.
Guard. And can you so much love the soil which hates you? 140
Jac. Fos. The soil! — Oh no, it is the seed of the soil
Which persecutes me: but my native earth
Will take me as a mother to her arms.
I ask no more than a Venetian grave,
A dungeon, what they will, so it be here.
Enter an Officer.
Offi. Bring in the prisoner!
Guard. Signor, you hear the order.
Jac. Fos. Aye, I am used to such a summons; ‘tis
The third time they have tortured me: — then lend me
Thine arm.[To the Guard.
Offi. Take mine, sir; ‘tis my duty to
Be nearest to your person.
Jac. Fos.You! — you are he 150
Who yesterday presided o’er my pangs —
Away! — I’ll walk alone.
Offi. As you please, Signor;
The sentence was not of my signing, but
I dared not disobey the Council when
They — —
Jac. Fos. Bade thee stretch me on their horrid engine.
I pray thee touch me not — that is, just now;
The time will come they will renew that order,
But keep off from me till ‘tis issued. As
I look upon thy hands my curdling limbs
Quiver with the anticipated wrenching, 160
And the cold drops strain through my brow, as if — —
But onward — I have borne it — I can bear it. —
How looks my father?
Offi. With his wonted aspect.
Jac. Fos. So does the earth, and sky, the blue of Ocean,
The brightness of our city, and her domes,
The mirth of her Piazza — even now
Its merry hum of nations pierces here,
Even here, into these chambers of the unknown
Who govern, and the unknown and the unnumbered
Judged and destroyed in silence, — all things wear 170
The self-same aspect, to my very sire!
Nothing can sympathise with Foscari,
Not even a Foscari. — Sir, I attend you.
[Exeunt Jacopo Foscari, Officer, etc.
Enter Memmo and another Senator.
Mem. He’s gone — we are too late: — think you “the Ten”
Will sit for any length of time to-day?
Sen. They say the prisoner is most obdurate,
Persisting in his first avowal; but
More I know not.
Mem. And that is much; the secrets
Of yon terrific chamber are as hidden
From us, the premier nobles of the state, 180
As from the people.
Sen. Save the wonted rumours,
Which — like the tales of spectres, that are rife
Near ruined buildings — never have been proved,
Nor wholly disbelieved: men know as little
Of the state’s real acts as of the grave’s
Unfathomed mysteries.
Mem. But with length of time
We gain a step in knowledge, and I look
Forward to be one day of the decemvirs.
Sen. Or Doge?
Mem. Why, no; not if I can avoid it.
Sen. ‘Tis the first station of the state, and may 190
Be lawfully desired, and lawfully
Attained by noble aspirants.
Mem. To such
I leave it; though born noble, my ambition
Is limited: I’d rather be an unit
Of an united and Imperial “Ten,”
Than shine a lonely, though a gilded cipher. —
Whom have we here? the wife of Foscari?
Enter Marina, with a female Attendant.
Mar. What, no one? — I am wrong, there still are two;
But they are senators.
Mem. Most noble lady,
Command us.
Mar. I command! — Alas! my life 200
Has been one long entreaty, and a vain one.
Mem. I understand thee, but I must not answer.
Mar. (fiercely). True — none dare answer here save on the rack,
Or question save those — —
Mem. (interrupting her). High-born dame! bethink thee
Where thou now art.
Mar. Where I now am! — It was
My husband’s father’s palace.
Mem. The Duke’s palace.
Mar. And his son’s prison! — True, I have not forgot it;
And, if there were no other nearer, bitterer
Remembrances, would thank the illustrious Memmo
For pointing out the pleasures of the place. 210
Mem. Be calm!
Mar. (looking up towards heaven). I am; but oh, thou eternal God!
Canst thou continue so, with such a world?
Mem. Thy husband yet may be absolved.
Mar. He is,
In Heaven. I pray you, Signer Senator,
Speak not of that; you are a man
of office,
So is the Doge; he has a son at stake
Now, at this moment, and I have a husband,
Or had; they are there within, or were at least
An hour since, face to face, as judge and culprit:
Will he condemn him?
Mem. I trust not.
Mar. But if 220
He does not, there are those will sentence both.
Mem. They can.
Mar. And with them power and will are one
In wickedness; — my husband’s lost!
Mem. Not so;
Justice is judge in Venice.
Mar. If it were so,
There now would be no Venice. But let it
Live on, so the good die not, till the hour
Of Nature’s summons; but “the Ten’s” is quicker,
And we must wait on’t. Ah! a voice of wail!
[A faint cry within.
Sen. Hark!
Mem. ‘Twas a cry of —
Mar. No, no; not my husband’s —
Not Foscari’s.
Mem. The voice was —
Mar. Not his: no. 230
He shriek! No; that should be his father’s part,
Not his — not his — he’ll die in silence.
[A faint groan again within.
Mem. What!
Again?
Mar. His voice! it seemed so: I will not
Believe it. Should he shrink, I cannot cease
To love; but — no — no — no — it must have been
A fearful pang, which wrung a groan from him.
Sen. And, feeling for thy husband’s wrongs, wouldst thou
Have him bear more than mortal pain in silence?
Mar. We all must bear our tortures. I have not
Left barren the great house of Foscari, 240
Though they sweep both the Doge and son from life;
I have endured as much in giving life
To those who will succeed them, as they can
In leaving it: but mine were joyful pangs:
And yet they wrung me till I could have shrieked,
But did not; for my hope was to bring forth
Heroes, and would not welcome them with tears.
Mem. All’s silent now.
Mar. Perhaps all’s over; but
I will not deem it: he hath nerved himself,
And now defies them.
Enter an Officer hastily.
Mem. How now, friend, what seek you? 250
Offi. A leech. The prisoner has fainted.[Exit Officer.
Mem. Lady,
‘Twere better to retire.
Sen. (offering to assist her), I pray thee do so.
Mar. Off! I will tend him.
Mem. You! Remember, lady!
Ingress is given to none within those chambers
Except “the Ten,” and their familiars.
Mar. Well,
I know that none who enter there return
As they have entered — many never; but