ACT III. SCENE I.—A Hall in the Castle of Manfred. Manfred and Herman. Man. What is the hour? Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy I would not pry into thy secret soul; It wants but one till sunset, With the true church, and through the church to heaven. And promises a lovely twilight. Man. Say, [Exit Herman. Man.(alone). There is a calm upon me- From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem Her. My lord, the abbot of St. Maurice craves To greet your presence. Enter the Abbot of St. Maurice. Abbot. Thy presence honors them, and blesseth those Abbot. Abbot. Thus, without prelude:-Age and zeal, my office, And good intent, must plead my privilege; Man. Proceed, I listen. Abbot. "Tis said thou holdest converse with the things Which are forbidden to the search of man; Man. And what are they who do avouch these things? Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantryEven thy own vassals-who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes. Thy life 's in peril. Man. Take it. * Otho, being defeated in a general engagement near Brixellum, stabbed himself. Plutarch says, that, though he lived full as badly as Nero, his last moments were those of a philosopher. He comforted his soldiers who lamented his fortune, and expressed his concern for their safety, when Man. I hear thee. This is my reply: whate'er I may have been, or am, doth rest between Heaven and myself.-I shall not choose a mortal To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd Against your ordinances? prove and punish! Abbot. My son! I did not speak of punishment, But penitence and pardon;-with thyself The choice of such remains-and for the last, Our institutions and our strong belief Have given me power to smooth the path from sin Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd For this will pass away, and be succeeded The victim of a self-inflicted wound, To shun the torments of a public death "It is too late!" Abbot. I answer with the RomanIt never can be so, To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, "T is strange-even those who do despair above, I knew not whither-it might be to fall; And wherefore so? Man. I could not tame my nature down; for he Must serve who fain would sway-and soothe-and sue And watch all time-and pry into all place- A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such Abbot. And why not live and act with other men? Alas! I'gin to fear that thou art past all aid Look on me! there is an order [Exit Manfred. Abbot. This should have been a noble creature: he Hath all the energy which would have made A goodly frame of glorious elements, *This speech has been quoted in more than one of the sketches of the poet's own life. Much earlier, when only twenty-three years of age, he had thus prophesied :-"It seems as if I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of old age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered. Other men can always take refuge in their families. I have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect, here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. I am, indeed, very wretched. My days are listless, and my nights restless. I have very seldom any society; and when I have, I run out of it. I don't know that I sha'n't end with insanity." -Byron Letters, 1811. "Of the immortality of the soul, it appears to me that there can be little doubt-if we attend for a moment to the action of mind. It is in perpetual activity. I used to doubt Had they been wisely mingled; as it is, | And mind and dust-and passions and pure thoughts, Mix'd, and contending without end or order, SCENE II.-Another Chamber. Manfred and Herman. Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: He sinks behind the mountain. Man. Doth he so? I will look on him. [Manfred advances to the Window of the Hall. Glorious orb! the idol Of early nature, and the vigorous race Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons Of the embrace of angels, with a sex More beautiful than they, which did draw down The erring spirits who can ne'er return. Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere The mystery of thy making was reveal'd! Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Themselves in orisons! Thou material God! And representative of the Unknown Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief star! And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! [Exit Manfred. SCENE III.-The Mountains-The Castle of Manfred at some distance-A Terrace before a Tower. Time, Twilight. Herman, Manuel, and other Dependents of Her. "T is strange enough; night after night, for years, He hath pursued long_vigils in this tower, it--but reflection has taught me better. How far our future state will be individual; or, rather, how far it will at all resemble our present existence, is another question; but that the mind is eternal seems as probable as that the body is not so."-Byron Diary, 1821.—“I have no wish to reject Christianity without investigation; on the contrary, I am very desirous of believing; for I have no happiness in my present unsettled notions on religion.”—Byron Conversations with Kennedy, 1823. "And it came to pass, that the Sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair," etc.-"There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the Sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown."-Genesis, ch. vi., verse 2 and 4. Some strange things in them, Herman. 'T was twilight, as it may be now, and such SCENE IV.—Interior of the Tower. Manfred alone. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learn'd the language of another world. "T was such a night! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight Even at the moment when they should array Themselves in pensive order. Hush! who comes here? I crave a second grace for this approach; But yet let not my humble zeal offend Man. Thou know'st me not; I simply tell thee peril is at hand, Abbot. Man. Abbot. Man. What dost thou see? Not I; What dost mean? And steadfastly;-now tell me what thou seest. Abbot. That which should shake me,—but I fear it not: I see a dusk and awful figure rise, Like an infernal god, from out the earth; His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form Man. Thou hast no cause-he shall not harm thee -but His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. Abbot. Why-ay-what doth he here? Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake: Man. Pronounce-what is thy mission? Spirit. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 't is time. Man. I am prepared for all things, but deny The power which summons me. Who sent thee here? Spirit. Thou 'lt know anon-Come! come! To render up my soul to such as thee: Spirit. Then I must summon up my brethren.- Spirit. Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; It were in vain: this man is forfeited." Man. I do defy ye,-though I feel my soul Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath In knowledge of our fathers-when the earth But thy many crimes What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, And greater criminals?-Back to thy hell! Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel; Thou never shalt possess me, that I know: What I have done is done; I bear within A torture which could nothing gain from thine; The mind which is immortal makes itself Requital for its good or evil thoughtsIs its own origin of ill and endAnd its own place and time: its innate sense, When stripp'd of this mortality, derives No color from the fleeting things without, But is absorb'd in sufferance or in joy, Born from the knowledge of its own desert. Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me; I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy preyBut was my own destroyer, and will be My own hereafter.-Back, ye baffled fiends! The hand of death is on me-but not yours! [The Demons disappear. Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are white And thy breast heaves-and in thy gasping throat The accents rattle: Give thy prayers to HeavenPray-albeit but in thought,-but die not thus. Man. 'Tis over-my dull eyes can fix thee not; But all things swim around me, and the earth Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee wellGive me thy hand. Abbot. Cold-cold-even to the heartBut yet one prayer-Alas! how fares it with thee? Man. Old man! 't is not so difficult to die. [Manfred expires. Abbot. He's gone-his soul hath ta'en his earth less flight Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone. MARINO FALIERO, DOGE OF VENICE: An Historical Tragedy, in Five Acts.* "Dux inquieti turbidus Adria."-HORACE. PREFACE. HE conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero is one of guage. The moderns, Daru, Sismondi, and Laugier, nearly singular government, city, and people of modern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Everything about Venice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect is like a dream, and her history is like a romance. The story of this doge is to be found in all her Chronicles, and particularly detailed in the "Lives of the Doges," by Marin Sanuto, which is given in the Appendix. (See Appendix, Notes 43 and 44.) It is simply and clearly related, and is perhaps more dramatic in itself than any scenes which can be founded upon the subject. Marino Faliero appears to have been a man of talents and of courage. I find him commander-in-chief of the land forces at the siege of Zara, where he beat the king of Hungary and his army of eighty thousand men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the besieged at the same time in check; an exploit to which I know none similar in history, except that of Cæsar at Alesia, and of Prince Eugene at Belgrade. He was afterwards commander of the fleet in the same war. He took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa and Rome,-at which last he received the news of his election to the dukedom; his absence being a proof that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprised of his predecessor's death and his own succession at the same moment. But he appears to have been of an ungovernable temper. A story is told by Sanuto of his having, many years before, when podesta and captain at Treviso, boxed the ears of the bishop, who was somewhat tardy in bringing the Host. For this, honest Sanuto "saddles him with a judgment," as Thwackum did Square; but he does not tell us whether he was punished or rebuked by the senate for this outrage at the time of its commission. He seems, indeed, to have been afterwards at peace with the church, for we find him ambassador at Rome, and invested with the fief of Val di Marino, in the march of Treviso, and with the title of count, by Lorenzo, Count-bishop of Ceneda. For these facts my authorities are Sanuto, Vettor Sandi, Andrea Navagero, and the account of the siege of Zara, first published by the indefatigable Abate Morelli, in his Monumenti Veneziani di varia Letteratura," printed in 1796, all of which I have looked over in the original lan * On the original MS. sent from Ravenna, Lord Byron has written:-"Begun April 4, 1820-completed July 16, 1820finished copying August 16, 17, 1820. It was published in the ..... the conspiracy to his jealousy; but I find this nowhere asserted by the national historians. Vettor Sandi, indeed, says, that "Altri scrissero che . . . . . dalla gelosa suspizion di esso doge siasi fatto (Michel Steno) staccar con violenza," etc., etc.; but this appears to have been by no means the general opinion, nor is it alluded to by Sanuto, or by Navagero; and Sandi himself adds, a moment after, that "per altre Veneziane memorie traspiri, che non il solo desiderio di vendetta lo dispose alla congiura ma anche la innata abituale ambizion sua, per cui anelava a farsi principe independente." The first motive appears to have been excited by the gross affront of the words written by Michel Steno on the ducal chair, and by the light and inadequate sentence of the Forty on the offender, who was one of their "tre Capi." The attentions of Steno himself appear to have been directed towards one of her damsels, and not to the "dogaressa" herself, against whose fame not the slightest insinuation appears, while she is praised for her beauty, and remarked for her youth. Neither do I find it asserted (unless the hint of Sandi be an assertion), that the doge was actuated by jealousy of his wife; but rather by respect for her, and for his own honor, warranted by his past services and present dignity. I know not that the historical facts are alluded to in English, unless by Dr. Moore in his View of Italy. 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 Frederic II. of Prussia on the Abbé de Bernis, and a jest on Madame de Pompadour, led to the battle of end of the same year; and, to the poet's great disgust, and in spite of his urgent and repeated remonstrances, was produced on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre early in 1821. |