ACT I.
SCENE I.
Grand Council Chamber. Doge and Senators discovered in debate.
Doge.
I would not counsel to severity.
If Venice be in danger, she has arms
To wield the sword against all threatening foes,
And hearts enough to bleed in her defence.
Loredano.
Should we not watch more jealous o’er her rights?
And rather crush rebellion in the bud,
Than pamper it into luxurious growth
By our delay? Spain looks with eager eye
To find some crevice in the wall of safety
Wherewith our vigilance hath hedged the state:—
France joins the envious league;—their minions lurk
Within the city’s bounds, to discontent
Stirring the populace.—But one way offers
Security—let laws too often slighted
Reign in full force.
Contarini.
It doth become us here
To feign sleep, but unclose a thousand eyes;
To treasure up each doubtful sign and word,
To write down sighs.
Loredano.
Let all suspected die!
Let the first breath of treason be the signal
To crush the offender.
Veniero.
For the guilty, arm
Your power with all its terrors. Be severe,
And firm, but frame not laws whose weight must fall
Upon a thousand innocent heads, to reach
One that deserves their penalty.
Loredano.
Would you bar
The course of justice?
Veniero.
Justice! ye misname
What is but cruelty. Is not your power
Already vast enough? If the pale slave
Whisper of you, he bends his brow to earth,
Lifting in awe his trembling hand toward heaven,
And mutters “Those above!” A power so boundless,
Why would you make but tyranny?
Loredano.
’Tis right
It should be so. The multitude esteem
Each god a tyrant, and all tyrants gods.
Not by the force of hostile powers without,
A state will fall, if in herself she bear not,
As doth the human frame, those hidden seeds
That ripen for destruction.—Ours the charge
To seek and root them out.—Look on the years
Of our brave ancestors. The sacred yoke
Of laws severe, inflexible and just,
They bore unmurmuring—and the citizen
Learned here the lesson to all Italy
Besides, unknown—to govern and obey!
‘On such a policy shone days of splendor:
Easy was then the task to put to rout
The Gallic fleets; to humble Frederick’s pride
In a single conflict—and on every tower
Raised by our foes beyond our country’s bounds,
To plant the Lion standard of St. Mark.
Asia then trembled for her kingdom’s safety,
Though Europe intervened; and ’gainst all Europe
Leagued for our injury, alone and armed
Stood forth the genius of Venetian power.’
Now times are changed. Now crime unblushing claims
Impunity. In this degenerate age,
Nor evils will be borne—nor remedies!
And we are branded with the name of tyrants,
By every worthless flatterer of the people
Who boasts himself a statesman, and would here
Let crime pass scatheless.
Veniero.
Nay—why fix you thus
Your glance on me? am I the “worthless flatterer”
Whom you would here denounce?
Loredano.
Even as you will—
Your conscience must reply.
Doge.
Nay—nay—my lords,
Descend not here to brawl. Retire—and let
The vote be taken.
[Contarini and Badoero count the votes.
Senators of Venice,
Ye to the public eye should be as gods,
Not men thus passion moved.
Contarini.
Fathers! the laws have triumphed.
Read the decree.
Badoero (reads.)
“It is hereby enacted, that if any Patrician be seen to hold intercourse in secret with the ambassadors of France or Spain, or pass their thresholds after sunset, he shall be held guilty of treason and shall suffer its penalty.”
Doge.
’Tis well; such is the Senate’s voice. And now
Another duty. Summon Foscarini.
[A guard goes out, and returns with Foscarini.
Antonio Foscarini!
To you our council hath decreed the trust
Of the embassy to Switzerland. We will
That you depart to-night.
Foscarini.
My gracious lord,
Humble, yet grateful, I receive the trust
You’re pleased to invest me with. My years are few,
Yet ripe for strict obedience.
Doge (rising.)
It grows late.
The council is dissolved.
[Exeunt all but Doge and Foscarini.
Small time remains
To show thee, Foscarini, ere we part,
The prince merged in the friend:—I was thy father’s.
Say, if my efforts can in aught avail
To do thee service?
Foscarini.
I do prize your goodness:
Will tax it for one boon. There is a maid
Within this town, I speak not of her beauty,
For that were idle, and you’d smile perchance,
At lover’s rhapsodies——
Doge.
Well, cut them short;
Her name?
Foscarini.
She is the daughter of Veniero;
All Venice knows his feud with Loredano,
Their strife and hate. My suit is briefly this—
From Loredano and his secret arts,
Protect Teresa and her sire.
Doge.
You ask
As if the Doge did govern here, and were not
Most bound to servitude. Yet will I watch
Over their safety.
Foscarini.
And if peril threaten,
Inform me of the danger?
Doge.
That I promise.
Foscarini.
Enough! with lighter heart I shall now leave
My native city. Fare you well!
Doge.
Heaven guard you.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
A Street.—Enter Vincentio and Leonardo, with other citizens.
Vincentio.
Talk not of patience here! On every pleasure
Some spy doth watch, in mirth’s unguarded hour
To seize stray thoughts which haply may transgress
The straitened bounds of prudence.
Leonardo.
Hush! you tread
Close on its limits now. The mighty ones
Are like the gods, invisible and present.
Vincentio.
Aye, like the gods too, that their cunning visits
Their destined victims with a wholesome madness!
By Heaven! I’d rather grapple with the Hun,
Or serve the turbaned Turk, than linger life out
In such concealed bondage! ’Twas but now,
Even at the masque, I saw the peering eyes
Of that dark villain, Steno, fixed upon me.
I’ve marked him oft—he serves the state in secret!
Mine arm ached for the dagger, as I watched
His lowering face.
Leonardo.
Are you alone in fear?
Our Senators——
Vincentio.
Are tigers clothed in robes.
Leonardo.
Not all. Yet when the voice of mirth is heard,
If they appear, in terror steals away
Each startled reveller, and all around
Is silent as the grave—
Vincentio.
To which they doom
The luckless murmurers.
Leonardo.
Hush! some one approaches.
The Signor Loredano, and another.
In converse, too.
Vincentio.
Some double, unheard crime
They ponder.
Leonardo.
Let us go.
[Exeunt.
Enter Contarini and Loredano.
Contarini.
Chafe not at idle words.
Loredano.
I am not wont
To let them move me. In another age
The stain of insult must be washed with blood,
Or it grew rank, and spread unsightliness
On him that bore it. Now, though thrice reviled,
Thrice, at the banquet, in these times the steel
’Tis dangerous to wield. Hate is resisted
By wisdom.
Contarini.
And let wisdom vanquish hate.
And now to softer themes. Wilt go with me
Where pleasure ever waits to greet the guest?
Loredano.
The lady Fiorilla’s?
Contarini.
Fiorilla!
Shame! in a tone where bitterness so lately
Hath dwelt, to breathe her name—were not that name
Of power to sweeten all! Hear but her voice—
Oh! the dull spheres, to hear it, might descend,
Lessoned by music sweeter than their own!
’Twill charm the evil spirit from your soul,
As the enamored bard of old beguiled
Hell’s guilty prisoners to a transient bliss,
And won the bride he loved from Pluto’s arms!
Loredano.
You love this syren?
Contarini.
Nay—to shrines so fair,
Kneeling, we offer passionate vows, but dream not
Of single worship. Would the sun in heaven,
That fills the world with glory, treasure up
His gathered beams for one poor mortal’s gaze?
Or if he might, would not the dazzling tide
O’erwhelm his votary? Fiorilla’s charms
Were never made for one—and all who share
The sunlight of her smile, may bask in safety;
It shines on all alike.
Loredano.
You know I seek not
A lady’s favor. May your hopes grow ripe
Beneath her cherishing glance!
Contarini.
My dearest hopes
Are elsewhere fixed.
Loredano.
So fickle a gallant!
Contarini.
Your pardon! The majestic flower that spreads
Its beauties to the open eye of day
All may admire, and quaff its bounteous fragrance.
But love we less some gentle, shrinking bud,
That blooms but for our gaze?
Loredano.
Ha! and who plays
The treasured blossom to your miser’s bower?
Contarini.
A lovely, and a stately one; full soon
To be transplanted to that genial soil.
To night my vows I pay where hundreds more
Will emulate my worship. Will you go?
Loredano.
I’ll join you soon. [Exit Loredano.
Contarini.
He’ll serve my purpose well.
His anger is well-timed: it gives a color
To my intent, which makes all doubly sure.
This for the marble that so meetly yawns
For secret accusations. Loredano
Must aid my labors, while I reap the fruit. [Exit.
SCENE III.
A Garden—Teresa appears, descending the steps of a balcony.
Teresa.
’Tis sunset, and he is not here; though wont
To anticipate the hour! It matters not.
How lovely is the silvery, deepening twilight!
There needs but some faint sound, in melody
Stealing upon the silence—some fond whisper
Which makes us sigh for quiet in return,
To muse upon its meaning!
(A strain of music without, which continues for some moments.)
Enter Foscarini.
Foscarini.
She listens like a goddess, fresh from heaven,
To airs that breathe nought heavenly save her name.
The winds that wanton, lady, o’er thy lips,
Steal thence the fragrance that with prodigal wings
They lavish round the world!
Teresa.
Flatterer! thy boldness
I would rebuke, but that thy tones have music
That charms away reproof.
Foscarini.
Oh! woman, woman!
Who marking on your cheek the sudden brightness,
The brow that strives so vainly to compel
Disdain to sit there—who could deem you loved not
The voice of homage? Nay—sweet monitor——
Teresa.
I never feigned disdain.
Foscarini.
Nor felt it?
Teresa.
Never
Toward you.
Foscarini.
Why thanks; and well may I be proud,
Who merit scorn so richly; rashly seeking
To win such excellence, as other eyes
Are blinded while they gaze on!
Teresa.
Again, again!
Foscarini.
Forgive me—it is hard to measure words
When the heart overflows. Mine own Teresa!
Do I not love—have I not loved thee long?
As we do ever love all gentle things,
All glorious things, and holy—the rich flowers—
The brilliant morn—the far and smiling heaven!
All these grow sometimes pale;—heaven is o’ercast—
The dawn is clouded—and the fickle flowers
Are blighted ere their bloom be ripe!—Oh, tell me,
Who shall ensure to love, in chilling absence,
Exemption from their change?
Teresa.
It owns no change.
To speak like you in figures,—wears the sky
A fainter hue, because some cloud awhile
Obscures its glory to terrestrial eyes?
But wherefore talk of absence?
Foscarini.
We must part.
Teresa.
Part!
Foscarini.
For a time. Let it not blanch thy cheek,
Though, sooth, that hue of fear is dearer far
Than were ten thousand roses.
Teresa.
Has my favor
O’erwearied you so soon?
Foscarini.
Nay! thou dost wrong
Thy favor, to say thus. What could have power
To lure me from thy presence, save the trust
That short-lived sorrow should a harvest yield
Of rich, enduring bliss? [Music heard at a distance.
Hark! ’tis the gondola
That waits to bear me hence. I must not linger.
Come with me for a space; and as we go
I’ll tell thee of my hopes—hopes that will banish
Intrusive fear, and clothe the rugged peaks
Of wild Helvetia’s Alps with smiles and flowers,
Breathing Elysian fragrance o’er their snows! [Exeunt.