526 



News from Parnastus...No. Vli. 



lJ"'y 1, 



Bert. My Lord, 'tis finish'd. 

 Doije. How say you ? — finish'd ! Do I 

 dream ? — 'tis false — 

 Give me the paper — (anatchea the paper 

 and reads.) 



'Tis decreed in council 

 " That Michel Steno" — Nephew, thine arm ! 



Bert. Nay, 



Cheer up, be calm ; this transport is un- 

 called for — 

 Let me seek some assistance. 



Doge. Stop, sir— stir not— 



'Tis past. — 



Bert. 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 on you, and even 

 To them, as being your subjects ; but 'tis 



not 

 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 de- 

 clined. 

 And do you right upon the bold delinquent. 

 Think you not thus, good uncle r Why do 



you stand 

 So fix'd ? You heed me not : — I pray you 

 hear me ! 

 Doge. Cdashing dawn the Ducal bonnet, 

 and offering to trample upon it, exclaims, 

 as he is irithheld by his nephew J 

 Oh ! that the Saracen were in St. Mark's 

 Thus would I do him homage. — 



Bert. For the sake 



Of Heaven and all its saints, my Lord — 



Doge. Away ! 



Oh, that the Genoese were in the port ! 

 Oh, that the Huns, whom I o'erthrew at 



Zara, 

 Were ranged around the palace !" 



While these passions are in full ac- 

 tion, Israel Bertuccio arrives, and suc- 

 ceeds in enlisting the Doge into the 

 service of rebellion. In the succeeding 

 interview between him and Angiolina, 

 she attempts in vain to mollify the old 

 man's indignation. — 

 Angio. Heaven bids us to forgive our 



enemies. — 

 Doge. Doth Heaven forgive her own ? 

 Is Satan saved 

 From wrath eternal ? 



Angio. Do not speak thus wildly — 

 Heaven will alike forgive you and your 

 foes. — 

 Doge. Amen! may Heaven forgive them. 

 Angio. And will you ? 



Doge. Yes, when they ire in Heaven! 

 Angio. And not till then? 



Doge. What matters my forgiveness ? 

 an old man's, 

 Worn out, scorn'd, spurn'd, abused ; what 



matters then 

 My pardon more than my resentment, both 



Being weak and worthlcm? 1 have liv'd 



too long. — 

 But let us change the argument. — My child. 

 My injured wife, the child of Loredano, 

 The brave, the chivalrous, how little deem'd 

 Thy father, wedding thee unto his friend. 

 That he was linking thee to shame !— Alas'. 

 Shame without sin, for thou art faultless. — 



Had'st thou 

 But had a different husband, any husband 

 In Venice save the Doge, this blight, this 



brand. 

 This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee. 

 So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure. 

 To suffer this, and yet be unavenged. 

 Angio. I am too well avenged, for you 

 still love me. 

 And trust, and honour me ; and all men 



know 

 That you are just, and I am true: what 



more . 



Could 1 require, or you command ? 



Doge. 'Tis well. 



And may be better ; but whate'er betide, 

 Be thou at least kind to my memory. 

 Angio. Why speak you thus ? 

 Doge. It is no matter why ; 



But I would still, whatever others think. 

 Have your respect both now and in my 

 grave.'' 

 The meeting between the Doge and 

 the conspirators then takes place. — 

 After the bargain is concluded, Faliero 

 feels some compunction, which heover- 

 comes by recounting his grievances. 

 " Oime ! Oime ! and must I do this deed ? 

 Israel. My Lord, you are much mov'd : 

 it is not now 

 That such things must be dwelt upon. 



Doge. Your patience 

 A moment — I recede not. — Mark with me 

 The gloomy vices of this government. 

 From the hour that made me Doge, the 



Doge they made me— 

 Farewell the past ! I died to all that had 



been, 

 Or rather they to me : no friends, no kind- 

 ness, 

 No privacy of life— ^ill were cut off; 

 They came not ne«u: me, such approach 



gave umbrage ; 

 They could not love me, such was not the 



law ; 

 They thwarted me, 'twas the state's policy j 

 They baffled me, 'twas a patrician's duty ; 

 They wronged me, for such was to right 



the state ; 

 They could not right me, that would give 



suspicion ! 

 So that I was a slave to my own subjects ; , 

 So that I was a foe to my own friends ; 

 Begirt with spies for guards — with robes 



for power — 

 With pomp for freedom — gaolers for a 



council— 

 Inquisitors for friends — and hell for life! 

 I had one only fount of quiet left. 



And 



