The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 4

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I know not that the historical facts are alluded to in English, unless
by Dr. Moore in his View of Italy[368]. His account is false and
flippant, full of stale jests about old men and young wives, and
wondering at so great an effect from so slight a cause. How so acute
and severe an observer of mankind as the author of Zeluco could wonder
at this is inconceivable. He knew that a basin of water spilt on Mrs.
Masham's gown deprived the Duke of Marlborough of his command, and led
to the inglorious peace of Utrecht--that Louis XIV. was plunged into the
most desolating wars, because his minister was nettled at his finding
fault with a window, and wished to give him another occupation--that
Helen lost Troy--that Lucretia expelled the Tarquins from Rome--and that
Cava brought the Moors to Spain--that an insulted husband led the Gauls
to Clusium, and thence to Rome--that a single verse of Frederick
II.[369] of Prussia on the Abbe de Bernis, and a jest on Madame de
Pompadour, led to the battle of Rosbach--that the elopement of
Dearbhorgil[370] with Mac Murchad conducted the English to the slavery
of Ireland that a personal pique between Maria Antoinette and the Duke
of Orleans precipitated the first expulsion of the Bourbons--and, not to
multiply instances of the _teterrima causa,_ that Commodus, Domitian,
and Caligula fell victims not to their public tyranny, but to private
vengeance--and that an order to make Cromwell disembark from the ship in
which he would have sailed to America destroyed both King and
Commonwealth. After these instances, on the least reflection it is
indeed extraordinary in Dr. Moore to seem surprised that a man used to
command, who had served and swayed in the most important offices, should
fiercely resent, in a fierce age, an unpunished affront, the grossest
that can be offered to a man, be he prince or peasant. The age of
Faliero is little to the purpose, unless to favour it--

"The young man's wrath is like [light] straw on fire,
_But like red hot steel is the old man's ire._"

[Davie Gellatley's song in _Waverley_, chap. xiv.]

"Young men soon give and soon forget affronts,
Old age is slow at both."

Laugier's reflections are more philosophical:--"Tale fu il fine
ignominioso di un' uomo, che la sua nascita, la sua eta, il suo
carattere dovevano tener lontano dalle passioni produttrici di grandi
delitti. I suoi _talenti_ per lungo tempo esercitati ne' maggiori
impieghi, la sua capacita sperimentata ne' governi e nelle ambasciate,
gli avevano acquistato la stima e la fiducia de' cittadini, ed avevano
uniti i suffragj per collocarlo alla testa della repubblica. Innalzato
ad un grado che terminava gloriosamente la sua vita, il risentimento di
un' ingiuria leggiera insinuo nel suo cuore tal veleno che basto a
corrompere le antiche sue qualita, e a condurlo al termine dei
scellerati; serio esempio, che prova _non esservi eta, in cui la
prudenza umana sia sicura, e che nell' uomo restano sempre passioni
capaci a disonorarlo, quando non invigili sopra se stesso_."[371]

Where did Dr. Moore find that Marino Faliero begged his life? I have
searched the chroniclers, and find nothing of the kind: it is true that
he avowed all. He was conducted to the place of torture, but there is no
mention made of any application for mercy on his part; and the very
circumstance of their having taken him to the rack seems to argue any
thing but his having shown a want of firmness, which would doubtless
have been also mentioned by those minute historians, who by no means
favour him: such, indeed, would be contrary to his character as a
soldier, to the age in which he lived, and _at_ which he died, as it is
to the truth of history. I know no justification, at any distance of
time, for calumniating an historical character: surely truth belongs to
the dead, and to the unfortunate: and they who have died upon a scaffold
have generally had faults enough of their own, without attributing to
them that which the very incurring of the perils which conducted them to
their violent death renders, of all others, the most improbable. The
black veil which is painted over the place of Marino Faliero amongst
the Doges, and the Giants' Staircase[372], where he was crowned, and
discrowned, and decapitated, struck forcibly upon my imagination; as did
his fiery character and strange story. I went, in 1819, in search of his
tomb more than once to the church San Giovanni e San Paolo; and, as I
was standing before the monument of another family, a priest came up to
me and said, "I can show you finer monuments than that." I told him that
I was in search of that of the Faliero family, and particularly of the
Doge Marino's. "Oh," said he, "I will show it you;" and, conducting me
to the outside, pointed out a sarcophagus in the wall with an illegible
inscription[373]. He said that it had been in a convent adjoining, but
was removed after the French came, and placed in its present situation;
that he had seen the tomb opened at its removal; there were still some
bones remaining, but no positive vestige of the decapitation. The
equestrian statue[374] of which I have made mention in the third act as
before that church is not, however, of a Faliero, but of some other now
obsolete warrior, although of a later date. There were two other Doges
of this family prior to Marino; Ordelafo, who fell in battle at Zara, in
1117 (where his descendant afterwards conquered the Huns), and Vital
Faliero, who reigned in 1082. The family, originally from Fano, was of
the most illustrious in blood and wealth in the city of once the most
wealthy and still the most ancient families in Europe. The length I have
gone into on this subject will show the interest I have taken in it.
Whether I have succeeded or not in the tragedy, I have at least
transferred into our language an historical fact worthy of
commemoration.

It is now four years that I have meditated this work; and before I had
sufficiently examined the records, I was rather disposed to have made it
turn on a jealousy in Faliero. But, perceiving no foundation for this in
historical truth, and aware that jealousy is an exhausted passion in the
drama, I have given it a more historical form. I was, besides, well
advised by the late Matthew Lewis[375] on that point, in talking with
him of my intention at Venice in 1817. "If you make him jealous," said
he, "recollect that you have to contend with established writers, to say
nothing of Shakespeare, and an exhausted subject:--stick to the old
fiery Doge's natural character, which will bear you out, if properly
drawn; and make your plot as regular as you can." Sir William
Drummond[376] gave me nearly the same counsel. How far I have followed
these instructions, or whether they have availed me, is not for me to
decide. I have had no view to the stage; in its present state it is,
perhaps, not a very exalted object of ambition; besides, I have been too
much behind the scenes to have thought it so at any time.[ct] And I
cannot conceive any man of irritable feeling[cu] putting himself at the
mercies of an audience. The sneering reader, and the loud critic, and
the tart review, are scattered and distant calamities; but the trampling
of an intelligent or of an ignorant audience on a production which, be
it good or bad, has been a mental labour to the writer, is a palpable
and immediate grievance, heightened by a man's doubt of their competency
to judge, and his certainty of his own imprudence in electing them his
judges. Were I capable of writing a play which could be deemed
stage-worthy, success would give me no pleasure, and failure great pain.
It is for this reason that, even during the time of being one of the
committee of one of the theatres, I never made the attempt, and never
will[377]. But I wish that others would, for surely there is dramatic
power somewhere, where Joanna Baillie, and Milman, and John Wilson
exist. The _City of the Plague_[1816] and the _Fall of Jerusalem_ [1820]
are full of the best "_materiel_" for tragedy that has been seen since
Horace Walpole, except passages of _Ethwald_[1802] and _De
Montfort_[1798]. It is the fashion to underrate Horace Walpole; firstly,
because he was a nobleman, and secondly, because he was a gentleman;
but, to say nothing of the composition of his incomparable letters, and
of the _Castle of Otranto_[1765], he is the "Ultimus Romanorum," the
author of the _Mysterious Mother_[1768], a tragedy of the highest order,
and not a puling love-play. He is the father of the first romance and of
the last tragedy in our language, and surely worthy of a higher place
than any living writer, be he who he may.[378]

In speaking of the drama of _Marino Faliero_, I forgot to mention that
the desire of preserving, though still too remote, a nearer approach to
unity than the irregularity, which is the reproach of the English
theatrical compositions, permits, has induced me to represent the
conspiracy as already formed, and the Doge acceding to it; whereas, in
fact, it was of his own preparation and that of Israel Bertuccio. The
other characters (except that of the Duchess), incidents, and almost the
time, which was wonderfully short for such a design in real life, are
strictly historical, except that all the consultations took place in the
palace. Had I followed this, the unity would have been better preserved;
but I wished to produce the Doge in the full assembly of the
conspirators, instead of monotonously placing him always in dialogue
with the same individuals. For the real facts, I refer to the
Appendix.[379]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Marino Faliero, _Doge of Venice_.
Bertuccio Faliero, _Nephew of the Doge_.
Lioni, _a Patrician and Senator_.
Benintende, _Chief of the Council of Ten_.
Michel Steno, _One of the three Capi of the Forty_.
Israel Bertuccio, _Chief of the Arsenal_, }
Philip Calendaro, } _Conspirators_.
Dagolino, }
Bertram, }

_Signor of the Night_, "_Signore di Notte," one of
the Officers belonging to the Republic_.
_First Citizen_.
_Second Citizen_.
_Third Citizen_.

Vincenzo, }
Pietro, } _Officers belonging to the Ducal Palace_.
Battista, }

_Secretary of the Council of Ten_.

_Guards_, _Conspirators_, _Citizens_,
_The Council of Ten_, _the Giunta_, etc., etc.

WOMEN.

Angiolina, _Wife to the Doge_.
Marianna, _her Friend_.
_Female Attendants, etc_.

Scene Venice--in the year 1355.

MARINO FALIERO, DOGE OF VENICE.

(AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS.)

ACT I.

SCENE I.--_An Antechamber in the Ducal Palace_.

PIETRO _speaks, in entering, to_ BATTISTA.

_Pie_. Is not the messenger returned?[cv]

_Bat_. Not yet;
I have sent frequently, as you commanded,
But still the Signory[380] is deep in council,
And long debate on Steno's accusation.

_Pie_. Too long--at least so thinks the Doge.

_Bat_. How bears he
These moments of suspense?

_Pie_. With struggling patience.[cw]
Placed at the Ducal table, covered o'er
With all the apparel of the state--petitions,
Despatches, judgments, acts, reprieves, reports,--
He sits as rapt in duty; but whene'er[cx] 10
He hears the jarring of a distant door,
Or aught that intimates a coming step,[cy]
Or murmur of a voice, his quick eye wanders,
And he will start up from his chair, then pause,
And seat himself again, and fix his gaze
Upon some edict; but I have observed
For the last hour he has not turned a leaf.

_Bat_. 'Tis said he is much moved,--and doubtless 'twas
Foul scorn in Steno to offend so grossly.

_Pie_. Aye, if a poor man: Steno's a patrician, 20
Young, galliard, gay, and haughty.[cz]

_Bat_. Then you think
He will not be judged hardly?

_Pie_. 'Twere enough
He be judged justly; but 'tis not for us
To anticipate the sentence of the Forty.

_Bat_. And here it comes.--What news, Vincenzo?

_Enter_ VINCENZO.

_Vin_. 'Tis
Decided; but as yet his doom's unknown:
I saw the President in act to seal
The parchment which will bear the Forty's judgment
Unto the Doge, and hasten to inform him.
[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--The Ducal Chamber.

MARINO FALIERO, _Doge; and his Nephew_, BERTUCCIO FALIERO.[381]

_Ber. F._ It cannot be but they will do you justice.

_Doge_. Aye, such as the Avogadori[382] did,
Who sent up my appeal unto the Forty
To try him by his peers, his own tribunal.

_Ber. F._ His peers will scarce protect him; such an act
Would bring contempt on all authority.

_Doge_. Know you not Venice? Know you not the Forty?
But we shall see anon.

_Ber. F._ (_addressing_ VINCENZO, _then entering_.)
How now--what tidings?

_Vin_. I am charged to tell his Highness that the court
Has passed its resolution, and that, soon 10
As the due forms of judgment are gone through,
The sentence will be sent up to the Doge;
In the mean time the Forty doth salute
The Prince of the Republic, and entreat
His acceptation of their duty.

_Doge_. Yes--
They are wond'rous dutiful, and ever humble.
Sentence is passed, you say?

_Vin_. It is, your Highness:
The President was sealing it, when I
Was called in, that no moment might be lost
In forwarding the intimation due 20
Not only to the Chief of the Republic,
But the complainant, both in one united.

_Ber. F._ Are you aware, from aught you have perceived,
Of their decision?

_Vin_. No, my Lord; you know
The secret custom of the courts in Venice.

_Ber. F._ 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, 30
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.

_Vin_. My Lord, I came away upon the moment,
And had no leisure to take note of that
Which passed among the judges, even in seeming;
My station near the accused too, Michel Steno, 40
Made me--

_Doge_ (_abruptly_). And how looked _he_? deliver that.

_Vin_. Calm, but not overcast, he stood resigned
To the decree, whate'er it were;--but lo!
It comes, for the perusal of his Highness.

_Enter the_ SECRETARY _of the Forty_.

_Sec_. The high tribunal of the Forty sends
Health and respect to the Doge Faliero,[da]
Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests
His Highness to peruse and to approve
The sentence passed on Michel Steno, born
Patrician, and arraigned upon the charge 50
Contained, together with its penalty,
Within the rescript which I now present.

_Doge_. Retire, and wait without.
[_Exeunt_ SECRETARY _and_ VINCENZO.]
Take thou this paper:
The misty letters vanish from my eyes;
I cannot fix them.

_Ber. F._ Patience, my dear Uncle:
Why do you tremble thus?--nay, doubt not, all
Will be as could be wished.

_Doge_. Say on.

_Ber. F._ (_reading_). "Decreed
In council, without one dissenting voice,
That Michel Steno, by his own confession,
Guilty on the last night of Carnival 60
Of having graven on the ducal throne
The following words--"[383]

_Doge_. Would'st thou repeat them?
Would'st _thou_ repeat them--_thou_, a Faliero,
Harp on the deep dishonour of our house,
Dishonoured in its Chief--that Chief the Prince
Of Venice, first of cities?--To the sentence.

_Ber. F._ Forgive me, my good Lord; I will obey--
(_Reads_) "That Michel Steno be detained a month
In close arrest."[384]

_Doge_. Proceed.

_Ber. F._ My Lord, 'tis finished.

_Doge_. How say you?--finished! Do I dream?--'tis false-- 70
Give me the paper--(_snatches the paper and reads_)--
"'Tis decreed in council
That Michel Steno"--Nephew, thine arm!

_Ber. F._ Nay,
Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncalled for--
Let me seek some assistance.

_Doge_. Stop, sir--Stir not--
'Tis past.

_Ber. F._ 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 'tis not 80
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 fixed? 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 withheld by his nephew_).
Oh! that the Saracen were in St. Mark's!
Thus would I do him homage.

_Ber. F._ For the sake
Of Heaven and all its saints, my Lord--

_Doge_. Away! 90
Oh, that the Genoese were in the port!
Oh, that the Huns whom I o'erthrew at Zara[385]
Were ranged around the palace!

_Ber. F._ 'Tis not well
In Venice' Duke to say so.

_Doge_. Venice' Duke!
Who now is Duke in Venice? let me see him,
That he may do me right.

_Ber. F._ If you forget
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: 100
The most despised, wronged, 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 artisan
Will point the finger, and the haughty noble
May spit upon us:--where is our redress? 110

_Ber. F._ The law, my Prince--

_Doge_ (_interrupting him_). You see what it has done;
I asked no remedy but from the law--[386]
I sought no vengeance but redress by law--
I called no judges but those named by law--
As Sovereign, I appealed 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,
The travel--toil--the perils--the fatigues-- 120
The blood and sweat of almost eighty years,
Were weighed 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 borne!

_Ber. F._ I say not that:--
In case your fresh appeal should be rejected,
We will find other means to make all even.

_Doge_. Appeal again! art thou my brother's son?
A scion of the house of Faliero?
The nephew of a Doge? and of that blood 130
Which hath already given three dukes to Venice?
But thou say'st well--we must be humble now.

_Ber. F._ 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 wronged,
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. 140
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.

_Doge_. 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 150
Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soul--
No pride--no passion--no deep sense of honour?

_Ber. F._ 'Tis the first time that honour has been doubted,
And were the last, from any other sceptic.

_Doge_. You know the full offence of this born villain,
This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon,
Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,[db]
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 160
Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments,
And villainous jests, and blasphemies obscene;
While sneering nobles, in more polished guise,
Whispered the tale, and smiled upon the lie
Which made me look like them--a courteous wittol,
Patient--aye--proud, it may be, of dishonour.

_Ber. F._ But still it was a lie--you knew it false,
And so did all men.

_Doge_. Nephew, the high Roman
Said, "Caesar's wife must not even be suspected,"[387]
And put her from him.

_Ber. F._ True--but in those days---- 170

_Doge_. What is it that a Roman would not suffer,
That a Venetian Prince must bear? old Dandolo[dc]
Refused the diadem of all the Caesars,[388]
And wore the ducal cap _I_ trample on--
Because 'tis now degraded.

_Ber. F._ 'Tis even so.

_Doge_. It is--it is;--I did not visit on
The innocent creature thus most vilely slandered
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 180
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.

_Ber. F._ And what redress 190
Did you expect as his fit punishment?

_Doge_. 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? scorned
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
Stamped the same brand upon a peasant's stool, 200
His blood had gilt the threshold; for the carle
Had stabbed him on the instant.

_Ber. F._ Do not doubt it,
f He shall not live till sunset--leave to me
The means, and calm yourself.

_Doge_. Hold, nephew: this
Would have sufficed but yesterday; at present
I have no further wrath against this man.

_Ber. F._ What mean you? is not the offence redoubled
By this most rank--I will not say--acquittal;
For it is worse, being full acknowledgment
Of the offence, and leaving it unpunished? 210