No, my lord; you know
The secret customs of the courts in Venice.
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,
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.
My lord, I came away upon the moment,
And had no leisure to take note of that
Which pass'd among the judges, even in seeming;
My station near the accused too, Michel Steno,
Made me--
DOGE (abruptly).
And how look'd he? deliver that.
VINCENZO.
Calm, but not overcast, he stood resign'd
To the decree, whate'er it were;-but lo!
It comes, for the perusal of his highness.
Enter the SECRETARY of the Forty.
The high tribunal of the Forty sends Health and respect to the Doge Faliero, Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests His highness to peruse and to approve The sentence past on Michel Steno, born Patrician, and arraign'd upon the charge Contain'd, together with its penalty, Within the rescript which I now present.
Retire and wait without.-Take thou this paper: [Exeunt SECRETARY and VINCENZO, The misty letters vanish from my eyes; I cannot fix them.
Patience, my dear uncle :
Why do you tremble thus?-nay, doubt not, all Will be as could be wish'd.
BERTUCCIO FALIERO (reading).
« Decreed
In council, without one dissenting voice,
That Michel Steno, by his own confession,
Guilty on the last night of carnival
Of having graven on the ducal throne
The following words ——->
Wouldst thou repeat them? Wouldst thou repeat them-thou, a Faliero, Harp on the deep dishonour of our house, Dishonour'd in its chief-that chief the prince Of Venice, first of cities?-To the sentence.
Forgive me, my good lord; I will obey(Reads) « That Michel Steno be detain'd a month In close arrest.»>
How, say you?-finish'd! Do I dream?—T is false-
Give me the paper-(Snatches the paper, and reads)
'Tis decreed in council
That Michel Steno»-Nephew, thine arm!
Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncall'd for
Let me seek some assistance.
You see what it has done :
I ask'd no remedy but from the law—
I sought no vengeance but redress by law-
I call'd no judges but those named by law-
As sovereign, I appeal'd 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,
Stop, sir-stir not- The travel, toil, the perils, the fatigues,
The blood and sweat of almost eighty years,
Were weigh'd 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 borue?
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 't is not
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 fix'd? 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 with-
held by his nephew).
Oh, that the Saracen were in Saint Mark's!
Thus would I do him homage.
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:
The most despised, wrong'd, 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 arusan
I say not that:-
In case your fresh appeal should be rejected,
We will find other means to make all even.
Appeal again! art thou my brother's son?
A scion of the house of Faliero?
The nephew of a doge? and of that blood
Which hath already given three dukes to Venice?
But thou say'st well-we must be humble now.
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 wrong'd,
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.
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.
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
Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soul-
No pride-no passion-no deep sense of honour?
'Tis the first time that honour has been doubted, And were the last, from any other sceptic.
You know the full offence of this born villain,
This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon,
Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,
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
Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments,
And villanous jests, and blasphemies obscene;
While sneering nobles, in more polish'd guise,
Whisper'd the tale, and smiled upon the lie
Which made me look like them- a courteous wittol, Patient-ay, proud, it may be, of dishonour.
But still it was a lie-you knew it false,
Nephew, the high Roman
Said Cæsar's wife must not even be suspected,» And put her from him.
BERTUCCIO FALIERO.
True-but in those days――
What is it that a Roman would not suffer,
That a Venetian prince must hear? Old Dandolo
Refused the diadem of all the Cæsars,
And wore the ducal cap I trample on,
Because it is now degraded.
It is it is:-I did not visit on
The innocent creature, thus most vilely slander'd
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
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.
BERTUCCIO FALIERO.
And what redress
Did you expect as his fit punishment?
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? scorn'd
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,
Stamp'd the same brand upon a peasant's stool,
His blood had gilt the threshold, for the carle
Had stabb'd him on the instant.
Be shall not live till sunset-leave to me The means, and calm yourself.
Ay, think upon the causeForget 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-omen'd 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,
And you shall have a part.-But now retire, 'Tis fit I were alone.
(Taking up and placing the ducal bonnet on the table,.
Beset with all the thorns that line a crown,
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
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 dash'd 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
In such a sort as will not leave the task
Herculean, though as yet 't is 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——
Craves audience of your highness.
I'm unwell-
I can see no one, not even a patrician-
Let him refer his business to the council.
VINCENZO.
My lord, I will deliver your reply;
It cannot much import-he's a plebeian,
The master of a galley, I believe.
How did you say the patron of a galley? That is-I mean-a servant of the state: Admit him, he may be on public service.
This patron may be sounded; I will try him.
I know the people to be discontented;
They have cause, since Sapienza's adverse day,
When Genoa conquer'd: they have further cause,
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, madden'd with the drone,
I smote the tardy bishop at Treviso,
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
What was the cause? or the pretext?
In evil hour was I so born; my birth
Hath made me Doge to be insulted: but
I lived and toil'd 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, ay, and conquer'd;
Have made and marr'd 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 birth-place, 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?
Ask of the bleeding pelican why she
Hath ripp'd her bosom? Had the bird a voice,
She'd tell thee 't was for all her little ones.
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