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 com-
mittee of one of the theatres, I never made the attempt,
and never will. But surely there is dramatic
somewhere, where Joanna Baillie, and Milman, and
John Wilson exist. The «City of the Plague» and the
« Fall of Jerusalem» are full of the best matériel for
tragedy that has been seen since Horace Walpole, ex-
cept passages of «Ethwald» and «De Montfort.»
is the fashion to underrate Horace Walpole, firstly, be-
cause 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,» he is the «< Ultimus Romanorum,» the author
of the « Mysterious Mother,» 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 that any living
writer, be he who he may.
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 Dɔge 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 extracts given in the Appendix in Italian, with a translation.
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An Antechamber in the Ducal Palace.
PIETRO speaks, in entering, to BATTISTA.
While I was in the sub-committee of Drary Lane Theatre, I can vouch for my colleagues and I hope for myself, that we did our best to bring back the legitimate drama. I tried what I could to get De Montfort revived, but in vain, and equally in vain in favour of Sotheby's Ivan, which was thought an acting play; and I en- Is not the messenger return'd? deavoured also to wake Mr Coleridge to write a tragedy. Those who are not in the secret will hardly believe that the School for Scandal is the play which has brought least money, averaging the number of times it has been acted since its production; so Manager
I have sent frequently, as you commanded,
But still the signory is deep in council
And long debate on Steno's accusation.
Dibdin assured me. Of what has occurred since Maturin's « Bertram, »
I am not aware; so that I may be traducing, through ignorance, some
excellent new writers; if so, I beg their pardon. I have been absent
from England nearly five years, and, till last year, I never read an
English newspaper since my departure, and am now only aware of Too long-at least so thinks the Doge.
theatrical matters through the medium of the Parisian English Gn-
zette of Galignani, and only for the last twelve months. Let me then
deprecate all offence to tragic or comic writers, to whom I wish well, These moments of
and of whom I know nothing. The long complaints of the actual
state of the drama arise, however, from no fault of the performers.
I can conceive nothing better than Kemble, Cooke, and Kean, in their
very different manners, or than Elliston in gentleman's comedy, and
in some parts of tragedy. Miss O'Neill, I never saw, having made
and kept a determination to see nothing which should divide or dis-
turb my recollection of Siddons. Siddons and Kemble were the
ideal of tragic action; I never saw any thing at all resembling them,
even in person : for this reason we shall never see again Coriolanus
or Macbeth. Wheu Kean is blamed for want of dignity, we should
remember that it is a grace and not an art, and not to be attained by
study. In all not SUPERNATURAL parts he is perfect; even his very
defects belong, or seem to belong, to the parts themselves, and ap-
pear truer to nature. But of Kemble we may say, with reference to
his acting, what the Cardinal de Retz said of the Marquis of Mont-
rose, that he was the only man he ever saw who reminded him of
With struggling patience.
Placed at the ducal table, cover'd o'er
With all the apparel of the state; petitions,
Dispatches, judgments, acts, reprieves, reports,
He sits as rapt in duty but whene'er
He hears the jarring of a distant door,
Or aught that intimates a coming step,
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 turn'd a leaf.
No, my lord; you know
The secret customs of the courts in Venice.
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,
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.
Will point the finger, and the haughty noble
May spit upon us: where is our redress?
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 't is 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 declined,
And do you right upon the bold delinquent.
Think
you not thus, good uncle? why do you
stand
So fix'd? 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 with-
held by his nephew).
Oh, that the Saracen were in Saint Mark's!
Thus would I do him homage.
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 thingIt is a word-nay, worse-a worthless by-word: The most despised, wrong'd, outraged, helpless wretch, Who begs his bread, if 't is 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 artizan
DOGE (interrupting him).
You see what it has done:
I ask'd no remedy but from the law
I sought no vengeance but redress by law-
I call'd no judges but those named by law-
As sovereign, I appeal'd 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,
The blood and sweat of almost eighty years,
Were weigh'd 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?
I say not that: In case your fresh appeal should be rejected, We will find other means to make all even.
Appeal again! art thou my brother's son?
A scion of the house of Faliero?
The nephew of a doge? and of that blood
Which hath already given three dukes to Venice?
But thou say'st well-we must be humble now.
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 wrong'd,
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.
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.
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
Of torture from the touch? hast thou no soul—
No pride-no passion-no deep sense of honour?
'T is the first time that honour has been doubted, And were the last, from any other sceptic.
You know the full offence of this born villain,
This creeping, coward, rank, acquitted felon,
Who threw his sting into a poisonous libel,
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
Of loose mechanics, with all coarse foul comments,
And villanous jests, and blasphemies obscene;
While sneering nobles, in more polish'd guise,
Whisper'd the tale, and smiled upon the lie
It is it is :-I did not visit on
The innocent creature, thus most vilely slander'd,
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
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.
BERTUCCIO FALIERO.
And what redress
Did you expect as his fit punishment?
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? scorn'd
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,
Stamp'd the same brand upon a peasant's stool,
His blood had gilt the threshold, for the carle
Had stabb'd him on the instant.
He shall not live till sunset-leave to me
The means, and calm yourself.
Hold, nephew! this Would have sufficed but yesterday: at present I have no further wrath against this man.
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 unpunish'd?
It is redoubled, but not now by him;
The Forty hath decreed a month's arrestWe must obey the Forty.
BERTUCCIO FALIERO.
Obey them!
Who have forgot their duty to the sovereign?
Why, yes;-boy, you perceive it then at last :
Whether as fellow-citizen who sues
For justice, or as sovereign who commands it,
They have defrauded me of both my rights
(For here the sovereign is a citizen);
But, notwithstanding, harm not thou a hair
Of Steno's head-he shall not wear it long.
Not twelve hours longer, had you left to me
The mode and means: if you had calmly heard me,
I never meant this miscreant should escape,
But wish'd you to repress such gusts of passion,
That we more surely might devise together
His taking off.
I had lived too long, and willingly would sleep
Next moment with my sires; and, wanting this,
Better that sixty of my fourscore years
Had been already where-how soon, I care not-
The whole must be extinguish'd;-better that
They ne'er had been, than drag me on to be
The thing these arch oppressors fain would make me.
Let me consider-of efficient troops
There are three thousand posted at――
Enter VINCENZO and ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.
Could I not turn thee to a diadem?
Could I not shatter the Briarean sceptre
Which in this hundred-handed senate rules,
Making the people nothing, and the prince
A pageant? In my life I have achieved
Tasks not less difficult-achieved for them
Who thus repay me!-Can I not requite them?
Oh, for one year! Oh, but for even a day
Of
my full youth, while yet my body served
My soul, as serves the generous steed his lord!
I would have dash'd amongst them, asking few
In aid to overthrow these swoln patricians;
But now I must look round for other hands
To serve this hoary head; but it shall plan
In such a sort as will not leave the task
Herculean, though as yet 't is but a chaos
Of darkly-brooding thoughts: my fancy is
In her first work, more nearly to the light
Holding the sleeping images of things,
For the selection of the pausing judgment.-
The troops are few in--
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This patron may be sounded; I will try him.
I know the people to be discontented;
They have cause, since Sapienza's adverse day,
When Genoa conquer'd: they have further cause,
Since they are nothing in the state, and in
The city worse than nothing-mere machines,
To serve the nobles' most patrician pleasure.
The troops have long arrears of pay, oft promised,
And murmur deeply-any hope of change
Will draw them forward: they shall pay themselves
With plunder :--but the priests-I doubt the priesthood
Will not be with us; they have hated me
my friend, you seek it of the twain Of least respect and interest in Venice. You must address the council.
'T were in vain ; For he who injured me is one of them.
There's blood upon thy face-how came it there?
T is mine, and not the first I've shed for Venice,
But the first shed by a Venetian hand:
A noble smote me.
But for the hope I had and have, that you,
My prince, yourself a soldier, will redress
Him, whom the laws of discipline and Venice
Permit not to protect himself: if not-
I say no more.
He is call'd so; Nay, more, a noble one—at least, in Venice : But since he hath forgotten that I am one, And treats me like a brute, the brute may turnT is said the worm will.
Say his name and lineage?
ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.
What was the cause, or the pretext?
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