Marino Faliero (Act 4 Scene 2)

Scene II.—The Ducal Palace—The Doge's Apartment. The Doge and his Nephew Bertuccio Faliero. Doge. Are all the people of our house in muster? Ber. F. They are arrayed, and eager for the signal, Within our palace precincts at San Polo: I come for your last orders. Doge. It had been As well had there been time to have got together, From my own fief, Val di Marino, more Of our retainers—but it is too late. Ber. F. Methinks, my Lord,'tis better as it is: A sudden swelling of our retinue Had waked suspicion; and, though fierce and trusty, The vassals of that district are too rude And quick in quarrel to have long maintained The secret discipline we need for such A service, till our foes are dealt upon. Doge. True; but when once the signal has been given, These are the men for such an enterprise; These city slaves have all their private bias, Their prejudice against or for this noble, Which may induce them to o'erdo or spare Where mercy may be madness; the fierce peasants, Serfs of my county of Val di Marino, Would do the bidding of their lord without Distinguishing for love or hate his foes; Alike to them Marcello or Cornaro, A Gradenigo or a Foscari; They are not used to start at those vain names, Nor bow the knee before a civic Senate; A chief in armour is their Suzerain, And not a thing in robes. Ber. F. We are enough; And for the dispositions of our clients Against the Senate I will answer. Doge. Well, The die is thrown; but for a warlike service, Done in the field, commend me to my peasants: They made the sun shine through the host of Huns When sallow burghers slunk back to their tents, And cowered to hear their own victorious trumpet. If there be small resistance, you will find These Citizens all Lions, like their Standard; But if there's much to do, you'll wish, with me, A band of iron rustics at our backs. Ber. Thus thinking, I must marvel you resolve To strike the blow so suddenly. Doge. Such blows Must be struck suddenly or never. When I had o'ermastered the weak false remorse Which yearned about my heart, too fondly yielding A moment to the feelings of old days, I was most fain to strike; and, firstly, that I might not yield again to such emotions; And, secondly, because of all these men, Save Israel and Philip Calendaro, I know not well the courage or the faith: To-day might find 'mongst them a traitor to us, As yesterday a thousand to the Senate; But once in, with their hilts hot in their hands, They must on for their own sakes; one stroke struck, And the mere instinct of the first-born Cain, Which ever lurks somewhere in human hearts, Though Circumstance may keep it in abeyance, Will urge the rest on like to wolves; the sight Of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel; And you will find a harder task to quell Than urge them when they have commenced, but till That moment, a mere voice, a straw, a shadow, Are capable of turning them aside.— How goes the night? Ber. F. Almost upon the dawn. Doge. Then it is time to strike upon the bell. Are the men posted? Ber. F. By this time they are; But they have orders not to strike, until They have command from you through me in person. Doge. 'Tis well.—Will the morn never put to rest These stars which twinkle yet o'er all the heavens? I am settled and bound up, and being so, The very effort which it cost me to Resolve to cleanse this Commonwealth with fire, Now leaves my mind more steady. I have wept, And trembled at the thought of this dread duty; But now I have put down all idle passion, And look the growing tempest in the face, As doth the pilot of an Admiral Galley: Yet (wouldst thou think it, kinsman?) it hath been A greater struggle to me, than when nations Beheld their fate merged in the approaching fight, Where I was leader of a phalanx, where Thousands were sure to perish—Yes, to spill The rank polluted current from the veins Of a few bloated despots needed more To steel me to a purpose such as made Timoleon immortal, than to face The toils and dangers of a life of war. Ber. F. It gladdens me to see your former wisdom Subdue the furies which so wrung you ere You were decided. Doge. It was ever thus With me; the hour of agitation came In the first glimmerings of a purpose, when Passion had too much room to sway; but in The hour of action I have stood as calm As were the dead who lay around me: this They knew who made me what I am, and trusted To the subduing power which I preserved Over my mood, when its first burst was spent. But they were not aware that there are things Which make revenge a virtue by reflection, And not an impulse of mere anger; though The laws sleep, Justice wakes, and injured souls Oft do a public right with private wrong, And justify their deeds unto themselves.— Methinks the day breaks—is it not so? look, Thine eyes are clear with youth;—the air puts on A morning freshness, and, at least to me, The sea looks greyer through the lattice. Ber. F. True, The morn is dappling in the sky. Doge. Away then! See that they strike without delay, and with The first toll from St. Mark's, march on the palace With all our House's strength; here I will meet you; The Sixteen and their companies will move In separate columns at the self-same moment: Be sure you post yourself at the great Gate: I would not trust "the Ten" except to us— The rest, the rabble of patricians, may Glut the more careless swords of those leagued with us. Remember that the cry is still "Saint Mark! The Genoese are come—ho! to the rescue! Saint Mark and Liberty!"—Now—now to action! Ber. F. Farewell then, noble Uncle! we will meet In freedom and true sovereignty, or never! Doge. Come hither, my Bertuccio—one embrace; Speed, for the day grows broader; send me soon A messenger to tell me how all goes When you rejoin our troops, and then sound—sound The storm-bell from St. Mark's!                                                       [Exit Bertuccio Faliero. Doge (solus). He is gone, And on each footstep moves a life. 'Tis done. Now the destroying Angel hovers o'er Venice, and pauses ere he pours the vial, Even as the eagle overlooks his prey, And for a moment, poised in middle air, Suspends the motion of his mighty wings, Then swoops with his unerring beak. Thou Day! That slowly walk'st the waters! march—march on— I would not smite i' the dark, but rather see That no stroke errs. And you, ye blue sea waves! I have seen you dyed ere now, and deeply too, With Genoese, Saracen, and Hunnish gore, While that of Venice flowed too, but victorious: Now thou must wear an unmixed crimson; no Barbaric blood can reconcile us now Unto that horrible incarnadine, But friend or foe will roll in civic slaughter. And have I lived to fourscore years for this? I, who was named Preserver of the City? I, at whose name the million's caps were flung Into the air, and cries from tens of thousands Rose up, imploring Heaven to send me blessings, And fame, and length of days—to see this day? But this day, black within the calendar, Shall be succeeded by a bright millennium. Doge Dandolo survived to ninety summers To vanquish empires, and refuse their crown; I will resign a crown, and make the State Renew its freedom—but oh! by what means? The noble end must justify them. What Are a few drops of human blood? 'tis false, The blood of tyrants is not human; they, Like to incarnate Molochs, feed on ours, Until 'tis time to give them to the tombs Which they have made so populous.—Oh World! Oh Men! what are ye, and our best designs, That we must work by crime to punish crime? And slay as if Death had but this one gate, When a few years would make the sword superfluous? And I, upon the verge of th' unknown realm, Yet send so many heralds on before me?— I must not ponder this. [A pause. Hark! was there not A murmur as of distant voices, and The tramp of feet in martial unison? What phantoms even of sound our wishes raise! It cannot be—the signal hath not rung— Why pauses it? My nephew's messenger Should be upon his way to me, and he Himself perhaps even now draws grating back Upon its ponderous hinge the steep tower portal, Where swings the sullen huge oracular bell, Which never knells but for a princely death, Or for a state in peril, pealing forth Tremendous bodements; let it do its office, And be this peal its awfullest and last Sound till the strong tower rock!—What! silent still? I would go forth, but that my post is here, To be the centre of re-union to The oft discordant elements which form Leagues of this nature, and to keep compact The wavering of the weak, in case of conflict; For if they should do battle,'twill be here, Within the palace, that the strife will thicken: Then here must be my station, as becomes The master-mover.—Hark! he comes—he comes, My nephew, brave Bertuccio's messenger.— What tidings? Is he marching? hath he sped? They here!-all's lost-yet will I make an effort.                                    Enter a Signor of the Night, with Guards, etc., etc. Sig. Doge, I arrest thee of high treason! Doge. Me! Thy Prince, of treason?—Who are they that dare Cloak their own treason under such an order? Sig. (showing his order). Behold my order from the assembled Ten. Doge. And where are they, and why assembled? no Such Council can be lawful, till the Prince Preside there, and that duty's mine: on thine I charge thee, give me way, or marshal me To the Council chamBer. Sig. Duke! it may not be: Nor are they in the wonted Hall of Council, But sitting in the convent of Saint Saviour's. Doge. You dare to disobey me, then? Sig. I serve The State, and needs must serve it faithfully; My warrant is the will of those who rule it. Doge. And till that warrant has my signature It is illegal, and, as now applied, Rebellious. Hast thou weighed well thy life's worth, That thus you dare assume a lawless function? Sig. 'Tis not my office to reply, but act— I am placed here as guard upon thy person, And not as judge to hear or to decide. Doge(aside). I must gain time. So that the storm-bell sound, All may be well yet. Kinsman, speed—speed—speed!— Our fate is trembling in the balance, and Woe to the vanquished! be they Prince and people, Or slaves and Senate—                                                       [The great bell of St. Mark's tolls. Lo! it sounds—it tolls! Doge (aloud). Hark, Signor of the Night! and you, ye hirelings, Who wield your mercenary staves in fear, It is your knell.—Swell on, thou lusty peal! Now, knaves, what ransom for your lives? Sig. Confusion! Stand to your arms, and guard the door—all's lost Unless that fearful bell be silenced soon. The officer hath missed his path or purpose, Or met some unforeseen and hideous obstacle, Anselmo, with thy company proceed Straight to the tower; the rest remain with me.                                                       [Exit part of the Guard. Doge. Wretch! if thou wouldst have thy vile life, implore it; It is not now a lease of sixty seconds. Aye, send thy miserable ruffians forth; They never shall return. Sig. So let it be! They die then in their duty, as will I. Doge. Fool! the high eagle flies at nobler game Than thou and thy base myrmidons,—live on, So thou provok'st not peril by resistance, And learn (if souls so much obscured can bear To gaze upon the sunbeams) to be free. Sig. And learn thou to be captive. It hath ceased, [The bell ceases to toll. The traitorous signal, which was to have set The bloodhound mob on their patrician prey— The knell hath rung, but it is not the Senate's! Doge (after a pause). All's silent, and all's lost! Sig. Now, Doge, denounce me As rebel slave of a revolted Council! Have I not done my duty? Doge. Peace, thou thing! Thou hast done a worthy deed, and earned the price Of blood, and they who use thee will reward thee. But thou wert sent to watch, and not to prate, As thou said'st even now—then do thine office, But let it be in silence, as behoves thee, Since, though thy prisoner, I am thy Prince. Sig. I did not mean to fail in the respect Due to your rank: in this I shall obey you. Doge(aside). There now is nothing left me save to die; And yet how near success! I would have fallen, And proudly, in the hour of triumph, but To miss it thus!——                                    Enter other Signors of the Night, with Bertuccio Faliero prisoner. nd Sig. We took him in the act Of issuing from the tower, where, at his order, As delegated from the Doge, the signal Had thus begun to sound. st Sig. Are all the passes Which lead up to the palace well secured? nd Sig. They are—besides, it matters not; the Chiefs Are all in chains, and some even now on trial— Their followers are dispersed, and many taken. Ber. F. Uncle! Doge. It is in vain to war with Fortune; The glory hath departed from our house. Ber. F. Who would have deemed it?—Ah! one moment sooner! Doge. That moment would have changed the face of ages; This gives us to Eternity—We'll meet it As men whose triumph is not in success, But who can make their own minds all in all, Equal to every fortune. Droop not,'tis But a brief passage—I would go alone, Yet if they send us, as 'tis like, together, Let us go worthy of our sires and selves. Ber. F. I shall not shame you, Uncle. st Sig. Lords, our orders Are to keep guard on both in separate chambers, Until the Council call ye to your trial. Doge. Our trial! will they keep their mockery up Even to the last? but let them deal upon us, As we had dealt on them, but with less pomp. 'Tis but a game of mutual homicides, Who have cast lots for the first death, and they Have won with false dice.—Who hath been our Judas? st Sig. I am not warranted to answer that. Ber. F. I'll answer for thee—'tis a certain Bertram, Even now deposing to the secret Giunta. Doge. Bertram, the Bergamask! With what vile tools We operate to slay or save! This creature, Black with a double treason, now will earn Rewards and honours, and be stamped in story With the geese in the Capitol, which gabbled Till Rome awoke, and had an annual triumph, While Manlius, who hurled down the Gauls, was cast From the Tarpeian. st Sig. He aspired to treason, And sought to rule the State. Doge. He saved the State, And sought but to reform what he revived— But this is idle—Come, sirs, do your work. st Sig. Noble Bertuccio, we must now remove you Into an inner chamber. Ber. F. Farewell, Uncle! If we shall meet again in life I know not, But they perhaps will let our ashes mingle. Doge. Yes, and our spirits, which shall yet go forth, And do what our frail clay, thus clogged, hath failed in! They cannot quench the memory of those Who would have hurled them from their guilty thrones, And such examples will find heirs, though distant.