Marino Faliero appears to have been a man of talents and of courage. I find him commanderin-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 language. The moderns, Darù, Sismondi, and Laugier, nearly agree with the ancient chroniclers. Sismondi attributes 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," &c. &c.; 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 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 also 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 honour, warranted by his past services and present dignity.

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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. 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. of Prussia on the Abbé de Bernis, and a jest on Madame de Pompadour, led to the battle of Rosbach-that the elopement of Dearbhorgil 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, that Commodus, Domitian, and Caligula, fell victims, not to their public tyranny, but to private vengeanceand that an order to make Cromwell disembark from the ship in which he would have sailed to America, destroyed both King and Commonwealth. After those 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 straw on fire,
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire."
"Young men soon give and soon forget affronts,
Old age is slow at both."

Laugier's reflections are more philosophical :"Tale fù il fine ignominioso di un' uomo, che la sua nascità, la sua età, il suo carattere dovevano tener lontano dalle passioni produttrici di grandi delitti. I suoi talenti per lungo tempo esercitati ne' maggiori impieghi, la sua capacità 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 republica. Innalzato ad un grado che terminava gloriosamente la sua vita, il risentimento di un' ingiuria leggiera insinuò nel suo cuore tal veleno che bastò a corrompere le antiche sue qualità, e a condurlo al termine dei scellerati; serio esempio, che prova non esservi età, in cui la prudenza umana sia sicura, e che nell' uomo restano sempre passioni capaci a disonorarlo, quando non invigili sopra se stesso."1

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 anything 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

(1) Laugier, Hist. de la Répub. de Venise, vol. iv. p. 30.

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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 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. 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 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 descendants 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 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 gave me nearly the same counsel. How far I have followed these instructions or whether they have availed me, it 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. And I cannot conceive any man of irritable feeling 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. But surely there is dramatic power 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, except passages of Ethwald and De Montfort. 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, he is the Ulti mus 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 ro mance and of the last tragedy in our language, and surely worthy of a higher place than any living writer, be he who he may.

In speaking of the drama of Marino Fuliero, 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.

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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 pass'd among the judges, even in seeming;
My station near the accused too, Michel Steno,
Made me-

Doge [abruptly]. And how look'd he? deliver that.

Vin. Calm, but not overcast, he stood resign'd 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, Chief magistrate of Venice, and requests His highness to peruse and to approve The sentence pass'd on Michel Steno, born Patrician, and arraign'd upon the charge Contain'd, together with its penalty, Within the rescript which I now present. Doge. Retire, and wait without. Take thou this paper:

[Exeunt SECRETARY and VINCENZO. 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 wish'd.

Doge.

Ber. F. [reading].

Say on.

"Decreed

In council, without one dissenting voice,
That Michel Steno, by his own confession,
Guilty on the last night of Carnival

Of having graven on the ducal throne
The following words-

Doge. Would't thou repeat them? Would'st thou repeat them-thou, a Faliero, Harp on the deep dishonour of our house, Dishonour'd 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 detain❜d a month In close arrest." Doge. Ber. F.

Proceed.

My lord, 'tis finish'd. Doge. How say you?-finish'd! Do I dream ?'tis false

Give me the paper — [snatches the paper and reads]

""Tis decreed in council Nephew, thine arm !

Nay,

Ber. F. Cheer up, be calm; this transport is uncall'd for Let me seek some assistance.

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 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 offer-
ing 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 lordDoge.

Away!

Oh, that the Genoese were in the port!
Oh, that the Huns whom I o'erthrew at Zara
Were ranged around the palace!

Ber. F.

In Venice' Duke to say so. Doge.

'Tis not well

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 a 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: The most despised, wrong'd, 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?
Ber. F. The law, my prince-

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 right 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 !

Ber. F.
I say not that:-
In case your fresh appeal should be rejected,
We will find other means to inake 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
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 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.

Doge. I tell thee-must I tell the-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?
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,
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
Which made me look like them- a courteous
wittol,

Patient-ay, 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, "Cæsar's wife must not even be suspected," And put her from him.

Ber. F.

True-but in those days

Doge. What is it that a Roman would not suffer, That a Venetian prince must bear ? old Dandolo Refused the diadem of all the Cæsars, 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 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 accursed breath
Of calumny and scorn.

Ber. F.
And what redress
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? 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.
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 re-
doubled

By this most rank-I will not say-acquittal;
For it is worse, being full acknowledgment
Of the offence, and leaving it unpunish'd?

Doge. It is redoubled, but not now by him:
The Forty hath decreed a month's arrest―
We must obey the Forty.

Ber. F.

Obey them!
Who have forgot their duty to the sovereign?
Doge. 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.

Ber. F. 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.

Doge.
No, nephew, he must live;
At least, just now-a life so vile as his
Were nothing at this hour; in th' olden time
Some sacrifices ask'd a single victim,
Great expiations had a hecatomb.

Ber. F. Your wishes are my law and yet I fain
Would prove to you how dear unto my heart
The honour of our house must ever be.

Doge. Fear not; you shall have time and place

of proof:

But be not thou too rash, as I have been.
I am ashamed of my own anger now;
I pray you, pardon me.

Ber. F.
Why, that's my uncle!
The leader and the statesman, and the chief
Of commonwealths, and sovereign of himself!
I wonder'd to perceive you so forget
All prudence in your fury at these years,
Although the cause-

Doge.
Ay, think upon the cause-
Forget it not-When you lie down to rest,
Let it be black among your dreams; and when
The morn returns, so let it stand between
The sun and you, as an ill-omen'd cloud
Upon a summer day of festival: