Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

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Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series Page 135

by Lord Byron

I have been so beyond the common lot

  Chastened and visited, I needs must think

  That I was wicked. If it be so, may

  What I have undergone here keep me from

  A like hereafter!

  Mar. Fear not: that’s reserved 170

  For your oppressors.

  Jac. Fos.Let me hope not.

  Mar. Hope not?

  Jac. Fos. I cannot wish them all they have inflicted.

  Mar. All! the consummate fiends! A thousandfold

  May the worm which never dieth feed upon them!

  Jac. Fos. They may repent.

  Mar. And if they do, Heaven will not

  Accept the tardy penitence of demons.

  Enter an Officer and Guards.

  Offi. Signor! the boat is at the shore — the wind

  Is rising — we are ready to attend you.

  Jac. Fos. And I to be attended. Once more, father,

  Your hand!

  Doge. Take it. Alas! how thine own trembles! 180

  Joe. Fos. No — you mistake; ‘tis yours that shakes, my father.

  Farewell!

  Doge. Farewell! Is there aught else?

  Jac. Fos.No — nothing.

  [To the Officer.

  Lend me your arm, good Signor.

  Offi. You turn pale —

  Let me support you — paler — ho! some aid there!

  Some water!

  Mar. Ah, he is dying!

  Jac. Fos.Now, I’m ready —

  My eyes swim strangely — where’s the door?

  Mar. Away!

  Let me support him — my best love! Oh, God!

  How faintly beats this heart — this pulse!

  Jac. Fos.The light!

  Is it the light? — I am faint.

  [Officer presents him with water.

  Offi. He will be better,

  Perhaps, in the air.

  Jac. Fos.I doubt not. Father — wife — 190

  Your hands!

  Mar. There’s death in that damp, clammy grasp.

  Oh, God! — My Foscari, how fare you?

  Jac. Fos.Well![He dies.

  Offi. He’s gone!

  Doge. He’s free.

  Mar. No — no, he is not dead;

  There must be life yet in that heart — he could not[bs]

  Thus leave me.

  Doge. Daughter!

  Mar. Hold thy peace, old man!

  I am no daughter now — thou hast no son.

  Oh, Foscari!

  Offi. We must remove the body.

  Mar. Touch it not, dungeon miscreants! your base office

  Ends with his life, and goes not beyond murder,

  Even by your murderous laws. Leave his remains 200

  To those who know to honour them.

  Offi. I must

  Inform the Signory, and learn their pleasure.

  Doge. Inform the Signory from me, the Doge,

  They have no further power upon those ashes:

  While he lived, he was theirs, as fits a subject —

  Now he is mine — my broken-hearted boy![Exit Officer.

  Mar. And I must live!

  Doge. Your children live, Marina.

  Mar. My children! true — they live, and I must live

  To bring them up to serve the State, and die

  As died their father. Oh! what best of blessings 210

  Were barrenness in Venice! Would my mother

  Had been so!

  Doge. My unhappy children!

  Mar. What!

  You feel it then at last — you! — Where is now

  The Stoic of the State?

  Doge (throwing himself down by the body). Here!

  Mar. Aye, weep on!

  I thought you had no tears — you hoarded them

  Until they are useless; but weep on! he never

  Shall weep more — never, never more.

  Enter and .

  Lor. What’s here?

  Mar. Ah! the Devil come to insult the dead! Avaunt!

  Incarnate Lucifer! ‘tis holy ground.

  A martyr’s ashes now lie there, which make it 220

  A shrine. Get thee back to thy place of torment!

  Bar. Lady, we knew not of this sad event,

  But passed here merely on our path from council.

  Mar. Pass on.

  Lor. We sought the Doge.

  Mar. (pointing to the Doge, who is still on the ground

  by his son’s body)He’s busy, look,

  About the business you provided for him.

  Are ye content?

  Bar. We will not interrupt

  A parent’s sorrows.

  Mar. No, ye only make them,

  Then leave them.

  Doge (rising).Sirs, I am ready.

  Bar. No — not now.

  Lor. Yet ‘twas important.

  Doge. If ‘twas so, I can

  Only repeat — I am ready.

  Bar. It shall not be 230

  Just now, though Venice tottered o’er the deep

  Like a frail vessel. I respect your griefs.

  Doge. I thank you. If the tidings which you bring

  Are evil, you may say them; nothing further

  Can touch me more than him thou look’st on there;

  If they be good, say on; you need not fear

  That they can comfort me.

  Bar. I would they could!

  Doge. I spoke not to you, but to Loredano.

  He understands me.

  Mar. Ah! I thought it would be so.

  Doge. What mean you?

  Mar. Lo! there is the blood beginning 240

  To flow through the dead lips of Foscari —

  The body bleeds in presence of the assassin.

  [To .

  Thou cowardly murderer by law, behold

  How Death itself bears witness to thy deeds!

  Doge. My child! this is a phantasy of grief.

  Bear hence the body. [To his attendants] Signors, if it please you,

  Within an hour I’ll hear you.

  [Exeunt , , and attendants with the body.

  Manent and .

  Bar. He must not

  Be troubled now.

  Lor. He said himself that nought

  Could give him trouble farther.

  Bar. These are words;

  But Grief is lonely, and the breaking in 250

  Upon it barbarous.

  Lor. Sorrow preys upon

  Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it

  From its sad visions of the other world,

  Than calling it at moments back to this.

  The busy have no time for tears.

  Bar. And therefore

  You would deprive this old man of all business?

  Lor. The thing’s decreed. The Giunta and “the Ten”

  Have made it law — who shall oppose that law?

  Bar. Humanity!

  Lor. Because his son is dead?

  Bar. And yet unburied.

  Lor. Had we known this when 260

  The act was passing, it might have suspended

  Its passage, but impedes it not — once passed.

  Bar. I’ll not consent.

  Lor. You have consented to

  All that’s essential — leave the rest to me.

  Bar. Why press his abdication now?

  Lor. The feelings

  Of private passion may not interrupt

  The public benefit; and what the State

  Decides to-day must not give way before

  To-morrow for a natural accident.

  Bar. You have a son.

  Lor. I have — and had a father. 270

  Bar. Still so inexorable?

  Lor. Still.

  Bar. But let him

  Inter his son before we press upon him

  This edict.


  Lor. Let him call up into life

  My sire and uncle — I consent. Men may,

  Even agéd men, be, or appear to be,

  Sires of a hundred sons, but cannot kindle

  An atom of their ancestors from earth.

  The victims are not equal; he has seen

  His sons expire by natural deaths, and I

  My sires by violent and mysterious maladies. 280

  I used no poison, bribed no subtle master

  Of the destructive art of healing, to

  Shorten the path to the eternal cure.

  His sons — and he had four — are dead, without

  My dabbling in vile drugs.

  Bar. And art thou sure

  He dealt in such?

  Lor. Most sure.

  Bar. And yet he seems

  All openness.

  Lor. And so he seemed not long

  Ago to Carmagnuola.

  Bar. The attainted

  And foreign traitor?

  Lor. Even so: when he,

  After the very night in which “the Ten” 290

  (Joined with the Doge) decided his destruction,

  Met the great Duke at daybreak with a jest,

  Demanding whether he should augur him

  “The good day or good night?” his Doge-ship answered,

  “That he in truth had passed a night of vigil,

  In which” (he added with a gracious smile)

  “There often has been question about you.”

  ‘Twas true; the question was the death resolved

  Of Carmagnuola, eight months ere he died;

  And the old Doge, who knew him doomed, smiled on him 300

  With deadly cozenage, eight long months beforehand —

  Eight months of such hypocrisy as is

  Learnt but in eighty years. Brave Carmagnuola

  Is dead; so is young Foscari and his brethren —

  I never smiled on them.

  Bar. Was Carmagnuola

  Your friend?

  Lor. He was the safeguard of the city.

  In early life its foe, but in his manhood,

  Its saviour first, then victim.

  Bar. Ah! that seems

  The penalty of saving cities. He

  Whom we now act against not only saved 310

  Our own, but added others to her sway.

  Lor. The Romans (and we ape them) gave a crown

  To him who took a city: and they gave

  A crown to him who saved a citizen

  In battle: the rewards are equal. Now,

  If we should measure forth the cities taken

  By the Doge Foscari, with citizens

  Destroyed by him, or through him, the account

  Were fearfully against him, although narrowed

  To private havoc, such as between him 320

  And my dead father.

  Bar. Are you then thus fixed?

  Lor. Why, what should change me?

  Bar. That which changes me.

  But you, I know, are marble to retain

  A feud. But when all is accomplished, when

  The old man is deposed, his name degraded,

  His sons all dead, his family depressed,

  And you and yours triumphant, shall you sleep?

  Lor. More soundly.

  Bar. That’s an error, and you’ll find it

  Ere you sleep with your fathers.

  Lor. They sleep not

  In their accelerated graves, nor will 330

  Till Foscari fills his. Each night I see them

  Stalk frowning round my couch, and, pointing towards

  The ducal palace, marshal me to vengeance.

  Bar. Fancy’s distemperature! There is no passion

  More spectral or fantastical than Hate;

  Not even its opposite, Love, so peoples air

  With phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

  Enter an Officer.

  Lor. Where go you, sirrah?

  Offi. By the ducal order

  To forward the preparatory rites

  For the late Foscari’s interment.

  Bar. Their 340

  Vault has been often opened of late years.

  Lor. ‘Twill be full soon, and may be closed for ever!

  Offi. May I pass on?

  Lor. You may.

  Bar. How bears the Doge

  This last calamity?

  Offi. With desperate firmness.

  In presence of another he says little,

  But I perceive his lips move now and then;

  And once or twice I heard him, from the adjoining

  Apartment, mutter forth the words — ”My son!”

  Scarce audibly. I must proceed.[Exit Officer.

  Bar. This stroke

  Will move all Venice in his favour.

  Lor. Right! 350

  We must be speedy: let us call together

  The delegates appointed to convey

  The Council’s resolution.

  Bar. I protest

  Against it at this moment.

  Lor. As you please —

  I’ll take their voices on it ne’ertheless,

  And see whose most may sway them, yours or mine.

  [Exeunt and .

  ACT V

  I. — The Apartment.

  The and Attendants.

  Att. My Lord, the deputation is in waiting;

  But add, that if another hour would better

  Accord with your will, they will make it theirs.

  Doge. To me all hours are like. Let them approach.

  [Exit Attendant.

  An Officer. Prince! I have done your bidding.

  DogeWhat command?

  Offi. A melancholy one — to call the attendance

  Of — —

  Doge. True — true — true: I crave your pardon. I

  Begin to fail in apprehension, and

  Wax very old — old almost as my years.

  Till now I fought them off, but they begin 10

  To overtake me.

  Enter the Deputation, consisting of six of the Signory and the Chief of the Ten.

  Noble men, your pleasure!

  Chief of the Ten. In the first place, the Council doth condole

  With the Doge on his late and private grief.

  Doge. No more — no more of that.

  Chief of the Ten.Will not the Duke

  Accept the homage of respect?

  Doge. I do

  Accept it as ‘tis given — proceed.

  Chief of the Ten.”The Ten,”

  With a selected giunta from the Senate

  Of twenty-five of the best born patricians,

  Having deliberated on the state

  Of the Republic, and the o’erwhelming cares 20

  Which, at this moment, doubly must oppress

  Your years, so long devoted to your Country,

  Have judged it fitting, with all reverence,

  Now to solicit from your wisdom (which

  Upon reflection must accord in this),

  The resignation of the ducal ring,

  Which you have worn so long and venerably:

  And to prove that they are not ungrateful, nor

  Cold to your years and services, they add

  An appanage of twenty hundred golden 30

  Ducats, to make retirement not less splendid

  Than should become a Sovereign’s retreat.

  Doge. Did I hear rightly?

  Chief of the Ten.Need I say again?

  Doge. No. — Have you done?

  Chief of the Ten.I have spoken. Twenty four

  Hours are accorded you to give an answer.

  Doge. I shall not need so many seconds.

  Chief of the Ten.We

  Will now retire.

  Doge. Stay! four and twenty hours

  Will alter
nothing which I have to say.

  Chief of the Ten. Speak!

  Doge. When I twice before reiterated

  My wish to abdicate, it was refused me: 40

  And not alone refused, but ye exacted

  An oath from me that I would never more

  Renew this instance. I have sworn to die

  In full exertion of the functions, which

  My Country called me here to exercise,

  According to my honour and my conscience —

  I cannot break my oath.

  Chief of the Ten.Reduce us not

  To the alternative of a decree,

  Instead of your compliance.

  Doge. Providence

  Prolongs my days to prove and chasten me; 50

  But ye have no right to reproach my length

  Of days, since every hour has been the Country’s.

  I am ready to lay down my life for her,

  As I have laid down dearer things than life:

  But for my dignity — I hold it of

  The whole Republic: when the general will

  Is manifest, then you shall all be answered.

  Chief of the Ten. We grieve for such an answer; but it cannot

  Avail you aught.

  Doge. I can submit to all things,

  But nothing will advance; no, not a moment. 60

  What you decree — decree.

  Chief of the Ten.With this, then, must we

  Return to those who sent us?

  Doge. You have heard me.

  Chief of the Ten. With all due reverence we retire.

  [Exeunt the Deputation, etc.

  Enter an Attendant.

  Att. My Lord,

  The noble dame Marina craves an audience.

  Doge. My time is hers.

  Enter .

  Mar. My Lord, if I intrude —

  Perhaps you fain would be alone?

  Doge. Alone!

  Alone, come all the world around me, I

  Am now and evermore. But we will bear it.

  Mar. We will, and for the sake of those who are,

  Endeavour — — Oh, my husband!

  Doge. Give it way: 70

  I cannot comfort thee.

  Mar. He might have lived,

  So formed for gentle privacy of life,

  So loving, so beloved; the native of

  Another land, and who so blest and blessing

  As my poor Foscari? Nothing was wanting

  Unto his happiness and mine save not

  To be Venetian.

  Doge. Or a Prince’s son.

  Mar. Yes; all things which conduce to other men’s

  Imperfect happiness or high ambition,

  By some strange destiny, to him proved deadly. 80

  The Country and the People whom he loved,

  The Prince of whom he was the elder born,

  And — —

  Doge. Soon may be a Prince no longer.

  Mar. How?

  Doge. They have taken my son from me, and now aim

  At my too long worn diadem and ring.

  Let them resume the gewgaws!

 

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