The Works of Lord Byron

Then my last hope's gone.

I could endure my dungeon, for 't was Venice;

Jac. Fos. My name: look, 't is there-recorded next I could support the torture, there was something The name of him who here preceded me,

If dungeon dates say true.

In my native air that buoy'd my spirits up Like a ship on the ocean toss'd by storms, But proudly still bestriding the high waves,

Jac. Fos. These walls are silent of men's ends; they And holding on its course; but there, afar,

Jac. Fos. And liberty? Mar.

The mind should make its own. Jac. Fos. That has a noble sound; but 't is a sound, A music most impressive, but too transient : The mind is much, but is not all. The mind Hath nerved me to endure the risk of death, And torture positive, far worse than death, (If death be a deep sleep,) without a groan, Or with a cry which rather shamed my judges Than me; but 't is not all, for there are things More woful-such as this small dungeon, where I may breathe many years.

Mar.

Alas! and this

Small dungeon is all that belongs to thee

Of this wide realm, of which thy sire is prince.

In that accursed isle of slaves, and captives,
And unbelievers, like a stranded wreck,
My very soul seem'd mouldering in my bosom,
And piecemeal I shall perish, if remanded.
Mar. And here ?
Jac. Fos. At once-by better means, as briefet,
What! would they even deny me my sire's sepulchre,
As well as home and heritage?

Mar.

My husband!

I have sued to accompany thee hence,
And not so hopelessly. This love of thine
For an ungrateful and tyrannic soil
Is passion, and not patriotism; for me,
So I could see thee with a quiet aspect,
And the sweet freedom of the earth and air,
I would not cavil about climes or regions.
This crowd of palaces and prisons is not
A paradise; its first inhabitants
Were wretched exiles.
Jac. Fos.

Well I know how wretched! Mar. And yet you see how from their banishment Before the Tartar into these salt isles,

Their antique energy of mind, all that
Remain'd of Rome for their inheritance,
Created by degrees an ocean-Rome;
And shall an evil, which so often leads
To good, depress thee thus?

Jac. Fos.

Had I gone forth
From my own land, like the old patriarchs, seeking
Another region, with their flocks and herbs;
Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion

Jac. Fos. That thought would scarcely aid me to en-Or like our fathers, driven by Attila

dure it.

My doom is common, many are in dungeons,
But none like mine, so near their father's palace
But then my heart is sometimes high, and hope
Will stream along those moted rays of light
Peopled with dusty atoms, which afford
Our only day; for, save the jailer's torch,
And a strange firefly, which was quickly caught
Last night in yon enormous spider's net,

I ne'er saw aught here like a ray. Alas!

I know if mind may bear us up, or no,
For I have such, and shown it before men;
It sinks in solitude: my soul is social.

Mar. I will be with thee.
Jac. Fos.

Ah! if it were so!

But that they never granted--nor will grant,
And I shall be alone: no men-no books-
Those lying likenesses of lying men.

I ask'd for even those outlines of their kind,
Which they term annals, history, what you will,
Which men bequeath as portraits, and they were
Refused me, so these walls have been my study,
More faithful pictures of Venetian story,
With all their blank, or dismal stains, than is
The hall not far from hence, which bears on high
Hundreds of doges, and their deeds and dates.
Mar. I come to tell thee the result of their
Last council on thy doom.

Ay-we but hear

Of the survivors' toil in their new lands,
Their numbers and success; but who can number
The hearts which broke in silence of that parting,
Or after their departure; of that malady*
Which calls up green and native fields to view
From the rough deep, with such identity
To the poor exile's fever'd eye, that he
Can scarcely be restrained from treading them?
That melody, which out of tones and tunes
Collects such pasture for the longing sorrow
Of the sad mountaineer, when far away
From his snow canopy of cliffs and clouds,
That he feeds on the sweet, but poisonous thought,
And dies. You call this weakness! It is strength,

I say the parent of all honest feeling.

He who loves not his country, can love nothing.

Mar. Obey her, then: 't is she that puts thee forth. Jac. Fos. Ay, there it is; 't is like a mother's curse Upon my soul-the mark is set upon me.

•The calenture. ↑ Alluding to the Swiss uir and ku effects.

The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,
Their hands upheld each other by the way,
Their tents were pitch'd together-I'm alone.
Mar. You shall be so no more-I will go with thee.
Jac. Fos. My best Marina!—and our children?
Mar.

I fear, by the prevention of the state's
Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties

They,

As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure,)
Will not be suffer'd to proceed with us.

Jac. Fos. And canst thou leave them?
Mar.

Lor.

'Tis not the first time

Nor would be

I have visited these places.
Mar.

The last, were all men's merits well rewarded.

Yes. With many a pang. Came you here to insult us, or remain

But I can leave them, children as they are,
To teach you to be less a child. From this
Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted
By duties paramount; and 'tis our first
On earth to bear.
Jac. Fos.
Mar.

Have I not borne ?

Too much

Ah! you never yet

Were far away from Venice, never saw

Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,
While every furrow of the vessel's track

Seem'd ploughing deep into your heart; you never
Sew day go down upon your native spires
So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,
And after dreaming a disturbed vision

Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.
Mar. I will divide this with you. Let us think
Of our departure from this much-loved city,
(Since you must love it as it seems,) and this
Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.
Our children will be cared for by the Doge,
And by my uncles; we must sail ere night.

Jac. Fos. That's sudden. Shall I not behold my father?

That is true,

And thus far I am also the state's debtor,
And shall be more so when I see us both
Floating on the free wave-away-away-
Be it to the earth's end, from this abhorr'd,
Unjust, and-

Jac. Fos. Curse it not. IfI am silent,
Who dares accuse my country?

Mar. Men and Angels! The blood of myriads reeking up to heaven, The groans of slaves in chains, and men in dungeons, Mothers, and wives, and sons, and sires, and subjects, Held in the bondage of ten bald-heads; and Though last, not least, thy silence. Couldst thou say Aught in its favour, who would praise like thee? Jac. Fos. Let us address us then, since so it must be, To our departure. Who comes here?

As spy upon us, or as hostage for us?
Lor. Neither are of my office, noble lady!

I am sent hither to your husband, to
Announce "the Ten's" decree.

Has been anticipated: it is known.
Lor. As how?
Mar.
I have inform'd him, not so gently,
Doubtless, as your nice feelings would prescribe,
The indulgence of your colleagues; but he knew it.
If you come for our thanks, take them, and hence'
The dungeon gloom is deep enough without you,
And full of reptiles, not less loathsome, though
Their sting is honester.

Jac. Fos. Not long. Lor.

I said-for life.

Jac. Fos. Repeat-not long. Lor.

And I

A year's imprisonment

In Canea-afterwards the freedom of
The whole isle.

Jac. Fos. Both the same to me: the after
Freedom as is the first imprisonment.
Is 't true my wife accompanies me?
Lor.

If she so wills it. Mar.

Yes,

Who obtain'd that justice? Lor. One who wars not with women. Mar. But oppresses Men: howsoever let him have my thanks For the only boon I would have asked or taken From him or such as he is.

Lor.

As they are offer'd.
Mar.

So much!-no more.

Jac. Fus.

He receives them

May they thrive with him

Is tms, sir, your whole mission Because we have brief time for preparation, And you perceive your presence domn disquiet This lady, of a house noble as yours. Mar. Nobler!

If race be aught, it is in qualities
More than in years, and mine, which is as old
yours, is better in its product, nay-
Look not so stern-but get you back, and pore
Upon your genealogic trees most green

Of leaves and most mature of fruits, and there
Blush to find ancestors, who would have blush'd
For such a son-thou cold inveterate hater!
Jac Fos. Again, Marina!
Mar.

Again! still, Marina.
See you not, he comes here to glut his hate
With a last look upon our misery?

Let him partake it!

Jac. Fos.

That were difficult.

Mar. Nothing more easy. He partakes it nowAy, he may veil beneath a marble brow

And sneering lip the pang, but he partakes it.

A few brief words of truth shame the devil's servants
No less than master; I have probed his soul

A moment, as the eternal fire, ere long,

Jac. Fos.

ACT III.

Father, let not these

Our parting hours be lost in listening to
Reproaches, which boot nothing. Is it-is it,
Indeed, our last of meetings?

Doge.

These white hairs!

Jac. Fos.

You behold

And I feel, besides, that mine

Will never be so white. Embrace me, father!

I loved you ever-never more than now.

Look to my children-to your last child's children:
Let them be all to you which he was once,

And never be to you what I am now.

May I not see them also?

Mar.

No-not here.

Jac. Fos. They might behold their parent any where.
Mar. I would that they beheld their father in

A place which would not mingle fear with love,
To freeze their young blood in its natural current.
They have fed well, slept soft, and knew not that
Their sire was a mere hunted outlaw. Well,

Will reach it always. See how she shrinks from me! I know his fate may one day be their heritage,

With death, and chains, and exile in his hand

To scatter o'er his kind as he thinks fit:
They are his weapons, not his armour, for

I have pierced him to the core of his cold heart.

I care not for his frowns! We can but die,

And he but live, for him the very worst

Of destinies each day secures him more

His tempter's.

Jac. Fos.
Mar. It may be so; and who hath made us mad?
Lor. Let her go on; it irks not me.
Mar.
That's false!
You came here to enjoy a heartless triumph
Of cold looks upon manifold griefs! You came
To be sued to in vain-to mark our tears,
And hoard our groans-to gaze upon the wreck
Which you have made a princ's son-my husband;
In short, to trample on the fallen-an office
The hangman shrinks from, as all men from him!
How have you sped? We are wretched, signor, as
Your plots could make, and vengeance could desire us,
And how feel you?

But let it only be their heritage,

And not their present fee. Their senses, though
Alive to love, are yet awake to terror;

And these vile damps, too, and yon thick green ware
Which floats above the place where we now stand—
A cell so far below the water's level,

Sending its pestilence through every crevice,
Might strike them: this is not their atmosphere
However you-and you-and, most of all,
As worthiest-you, sir, noble Loredano!
May breathe it without prejudice.

I thought they had been mine.
Lor. They are, in all maternal things.
Mar.
That is,

In all things painful. If they're sick, they will
Be left to me to tend them; should they die,
To me to bury and to mourn; but if
They live, they'll make you soldiers, senators,
Slaves, exiles-what you will; or if they are
Females with portions, brides and bribes for nobles!
Behold the state's care for its sons and mothers!

Lor. The hour approaches, and the wind is fair.
Jac. Fos. How know you that here, where the genia.
wind

Ne'er blows in all its blustering freedom?
Lor.
"T was so
When I came here. The galley floats within
A bow-shot of the "Riva di Schiavoni."
Jac. Fos. Father! I pray you to precede me, and
Prepare my children to behold their father.
Doge. Be firm, my son!
Jac. Fos.
I will do my endeavour,
Mar. Farewell! at least to this detested dungeon,
And him to whose good offices you owe
Caution In part your past imprisonment.
Being Lor.

Doge, look there!
[She points to LOREDANO.
Doge. I see the man-what mean'st thou ?
Mar.

Lor.

Bar.
Lor.

The impression of his former instances:

If they were from his heart, he may be thankful:
If not, 't will punish his hypocrisy.

Come, they are met by this time; let us join them,
And be thou fix'd in purpose for this once.

I have prepared such arguments as will not
Fail to move them, and to remove him: since

Their thoughts, their objects, have been sounded, do not
You, with your wonted scruples, teach us pause,
And all will prosper.

Bar.

Could I but be certain

This is no prelude to such persecution
Of the sire as has fallen upon the son,
I would support you.
Lor.

He is safe, I tell you;
Say rather His fourscore years and five may linger on
As long as he can drag them: 't is his throne
Alone is aim'd at.

Kind to relieve him from the cares of state.
Bar. 'T will break his heart.
Lor.
Age has no heart to break.
He has seen his son's half broken, and, except
A start of feeling in his dungeon, never
Swerved.

Bar. In his countenance, I grant you, never;
But I have seen him sometimes in a calm
So desolate, that the most clamorous grief
Had naught to envy him within. Where is he?
Lor. In his own portion of the palace, with
His son, and the whole race of Foscaris.

Bar. Bidding farewell.
Lor.

A last. As soon he shall

Bid to his dukedom.

Bar.

When embarks the son?

Bar.

But discarded princes

And men of eighty

Are seldom long of life.
Lor.

More seldom still.

Bar.
And why not wait these few years?
Lor. Because we have waited long enough, and he
Lived longer than enough. Hence! In to council!
[Exeunt LOREDANO and BARBARIGO.
Enter MEMMO and a Senator.

Sen. A summons to "the Ten!" Why so?
Mem.
"The Ten"
Alone can answer; they are rarely wont
To let their thoughts anticipate their purpose

Lor. Forthwith-when this long leave is taken. 'Tis By previous proclamation. We are summon'dTime to admonish them again.

Bar.

Retrench not from their moments.

That is enough.
Sen.

Forbear;

For them, but not for us;
I would know why.

Not I, now

This day

Mem.
You will know why anon,
If you obey; and, if not, you no less
Will know why you should have obey'd.
Sen.

1 mean not

Lor.
We have higher business for our own.
Shall be the last of the old Doge's reign,
As the first of his son's last banishment,
And that is vengeance.

Bar.

In my mind, too deep.

Lor. 'Tis moderate-not even life for life, the rule
Denounced of retribution from all time;
They owe me still my father's and my uncle's.
Bar. Did not the Doge deny this strongly ?
Lor.

To oppose them, but—

Mem.

In Venice "but"'s a traitor.
But me no "buts," unless you would pass o'er
The Bridge which few repass.

Sen.
Mem.

I am silent.

Doubtless.

Bar. And did not this shake your suspicion?
Lor.

Why
Thus hesitate? "The Ten" have call'd in aid
Of their deliberation five and twenty

No.

Bar. But if this deposition should take place
By our united influence in the Council,
It must be done with all the deference
Due to his years, his station, and his deeds.

Lor. As much of ceremony as you will,

Be latest in obeying The Ten's" summons.
Sen. All are not met, but I am of your thought
So far-let's in.
Mem.
In earnest councils-we will not be least so. [Exeunt.
Enter the DOGE, JACOPO FOSCARI, and MARINA.
Jac. Fos. Ah, father! though I must and will depart,
Yel-yet-I pray you to obtain for me
That I once more return unto my home,
Howe'er remote the period. Let there be
A point of time as beacon to my heart,
With any penalty annex'd they please,
But let me still return.

The earliest are most welcome

Doge.

Alas!

You ever were my dearest offspring, when
They were more numerous, nor can be less so
Now you are last; but did the state demand
The exile of the disinterred ashes

Of your three goodly brothers, now in earth,
And their desponding shades came flitting round
To impede the act, I must no less obey
A duty, paramount to every duty.

Mar. My husband! let us on: this but prolongs Our sorrow.

Jac. Fos. But we are not summon'd yet; The galley's sails are not unfurl'd:- who knows? 'The wind inay change.

Mar.

And if it do, it will not Change their hearts, or your lot: the galley's oars

Will quickly clear the harbour.

Jac. Fos.

Where are your storms? Mar.

Will nothing calm you?

Jac. Fos.

O ye elements!

In human breasts. Alas!

Never yet did mariner

Put up to patron saint such prayers for prosperous
And pleasant breezes, as I call upon you,
Ye tutelar saints of my own city! which
Ye love not with more holy love than I,
To lash up from the deep the Adrian waves,
And waken Auster, sovereign of the tempest!
Till the sea dash me back on my own shore
A broken corse upon the barren Lido,
Where I may mingle with the sands which skirt
The land I love, and never shall see more!

Mar. And wish you this with me beside you?
Jac. Fos.

Appall'd, turn their despairing eyes on me,
As the Phenicians did on Jonah, then
Cast me out from among them, as an offering
To appease the waves. The billow which destrovs c
Will be more merciful than man, and bear me,
Dead, but still bear me to a native grave.
From fisher's hands upon the desolate strand,
Which, of its thousand wrecks, hath ne'er received
One lacerated like the heart which then

Will be-But wherefore breaks it not? why live [?
Mar. To man thyself, I trust, with time, to inaster
Such useless passion. Until now thou wert

A sufferer, but not a loud one: why

What is this to the things thou hast borne in silenceImprisonment and actual torture?

Jac. Fos.

Double,

Let me support him-my best love! Oh, God!
How faintly beats this heart-this pulse!
Jac. Fos.

No-Is it the light?—I am faint.

No-not for thee, too good, too kind! May'st thou Live long to be a mother to those children

Thy fond fidelity for a time deprives

Of such support! But for myself alone,

May all the winds of heaven howl down the Gulf, And tear the vessel, till the mariners,

Ofi. Perhaps, in the air. Jac. Fos. Your hands!

Mar.

The light!

[Officer presents him with water. He will be better,

I doubt not. Father-wife

There's death in that damp, ciammy gre

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The Works of Lord Byron: In Verse and Prose. Including His Letters, Journals ...